QUINCY-ADAMS-SAWYER 
 
 A- STORY- OF 
 NEW- ENGLAND HOME-LIFE 
 
 CHARLES -FELTON PIDGIN
 
 713
 
 " THE VILLAGE GOSSIPS WONDERED WHO HE WAS, WHAT 
 HE WAS, WHAT HE CAME FOtt. AND HOW LONG HE 
 INTENDED TO STAY."
 
 Q U I N C Y 
 ADAMS 
 SAWYER 
 
 AND 
 
 MASON S CORNER FOLKS 
 
 A PICTURE OF NEW 
 ENGLAND HOME LIFE 
 
 BY 
 
 CHAS. FELTON PIDGIN 
 
 BOS TON 
 
 THE C. M. CLARK 
 PUBLISHING COMPANY 
 
 NEW YORK 
 GROSSET y DUNLAP 
 
 SOLS AGENTS FOR THE 
 POPULAR EDITIONS 
 
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 REVISED 
 
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 EDITION 
 
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 Copyright 1900 by 
 
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 CHAS. FM.TON PIDGIN, 
 
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 BOSTON, MASS., U.S.A. 
 
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 Copyright 1901 by 
 
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 CHAS. FELTON PIDGIN, 
 
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 BOITON, MASS., U.S.A. 
 
 
 
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 Entered at Stationers Hall 
 
 
 
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 Foreign Copyright Secured 
 
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 Rights of Translation, 
 
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 Respectfully dedicated r .o 
 the Memory of the tatc 
 H ON JAMES 
 RUSSELL LOWELL 
 the pernsai of whos 
 famoo* poem 
 " Tat COURTIH" 
 tappCed the inspiration 
 that led to the writing 
 off th book 
 
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 AUTHOR S PREFACE. 
 
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 J 
 
 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER S 
 
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 only title was plain * Mr." His ancestors 
 
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 were tradesmen, merchants, lawyers, politi 
 
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 cians, and Presidents. He, too, was proud 
 
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 of his honored ancestry, and I have en 
 
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 deavored in this book to have him live up to 
 
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 an ideal personification of gentlemanly qual 
 
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 ities for which the New England standard 
 
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 should be fully as high as that of Old 
 
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 England ; in fact, I see no reason why the 
 
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 heroes of American novels, barring the single 
 
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 matter of hereditary titles, should not com 
 
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 pare favorably as regards gentlemanly attri 
 
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 butes with their English cousins across the 
 
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 eas. C. P. P. 
 
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 GRAY CHAMBERS, 
 
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 BOSTON, October, 1902. 
 
 
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 CHAPTERS 
 
 
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 AGE 
 
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 I. 
 
 
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 II. 
 
 Mason s Corner Folks . . <> 
 
 12 
 
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 in. 
 
 The Concert in the Town Hall 
 
 9 
 
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 IV. 
 
 Ancestry versus Patriotism . 
 
 3 2 
 
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 V. 
 
 Mr. Sawyer Meets Uncle Ike 
 
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 VI. 
 
 Some New Ideas .... 
 
 45 
 
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 VII. 
 
 "That City Feller" . . . 
 
 52 
 
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 VIII. 
 
 City Skill versus Country 
 
 
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 Muscle 
 
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 IX. 
 
 Mr. Sawyer Calls on Miss 
 
 
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 68 
 
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 X. 
 
 
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 XI. 
 
 Some Sad Tidings .... 
 
 85 
 
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 XII. 
 
 Looking for a Boarding Place . 
 
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 XIII. 
 
 A Visit to the Victim . . 
 
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 XIV. 
 
 A Quiet Evening .... 
 
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 XV. 
 
 A Long Lost Relative . . . 
 
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 XVI. 
 
 A Promise Kept .... 
 
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 xvn. 
 
 An Informal Introduction . . 
 
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 xvni. 
 
 The Courtin* 
 
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 XIX. 
 
 Jim Sawyer s Funeral . . . 
 
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 CHAPTERS 
 
 PAGE 
 
 XX. A Wet Day 149 
 
 XXI. Some More New Ideas . .160 
 
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 * XXII. After the Great Snowstorm . 172 
 
 XXIII. A Visit to Mrs. Putnam . .186 
 
 XXIV. The New Doctor . . . .196 
 XXV. Some Plain Fact* and Infcr- 
 
 * ences 210 
 
 * XXVI. The Surprise Party . . .227 
 XXVII. Town Politics ..... 256 
 
 XXVIII. The Town Meeting . . .279 
 
 XXIX. Mrs. Hawkins s Boarding 
 
 House 306 
 
 XXX. A Settlement 321 
 
 XXXI. An Inheritance . . . .330 
 
 XXXH. Aunt Ella 347 
 
 XXXIII. The Wcddin s 367 
 
 XXXIV. Blennerhassett 380 
 
 XXXV. "The Bird of Lore" . .400 
 
 XXXVI. Then They Were Married . 433 
 
 XXXVII. Linda s Birthright .... 440 
 
 XXXVIII. Fernborough 469
 
 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 THE REHEARSAL. 
 
 IT was a little after seven o clock on the evening of De 
 cember 31, 1 86 . Inside, the little red schoolhouse 
 was ablaze with light. Sounds of voices and laughter came 
 from within and forms could be seen flitting back and forth 
 through the uncurtained windows. Outside, a heavy fall 
 of snow lay upon hill and vale, trees and house-tops, while 
 the rays of a full-orbed moon shone down upon the glisten 
 ing, white expanse. 
 
 At a point upon the main road a short distance beyond 
 the square, where the grocery store was situated, stood a 
 young man. This young man was Ezekiel Pettengill, one 
 of the well-to-do young farmers of the village. His coat 
 collar was turned up and his cap pulled down over his ears; 
 for the air was piercing cold and a biting wind was blowing. 
 Now and then tie would walk briskly back and forth for a 
 few minutes, clapping his hands, which were encased in 
 gray woollen mittens, in order to restore some warmth to 
 those almost frozen members. As he walked back and 
 forth, he said several times, half aloud to himself, "I don t 
 b lieve she s comin anyway. I s pose she s goin to stay
 
 2 QUIXCY ADAMS SAWYER, 
 
 ter hum and spend the evenin with him." Finally he re 
 sumed his old position near the corner and assumed his 
 previous expectant attitude. 
 
 As he looked down the road, a man came out of Mrs, 
 Hawkins s boarding house, crossed the road and walked 
 swiftly towards him. 
 
 As the new-comer neared him, he called out, "Hello, Pet- 
 tengill! is that you? Confounded cold, ain t it? Who wuz 
 yer waitin for? Been up to the schoolhouse yet? 
 
 To these inquiries Zekiel responded: "No!" and added, 
 "I saw yer comin out of the house and thought I d walk up 
 with yer. 
 
 "Wall! they can t do nuthin till I git thar," said Mr. 
 Obadiah Strout, the singing-master, "so we shall both be on 
 time. By the way," he continued, "I was up to Boston 
 to-day to git some things I wanted for the concert to-morrer 
 night, and the minister asked me to buy some new music 
 books for the church choir, and I m goin up there fust to 
 take em; and Zekiel s attention was attracted to a pack 
 age that Mr. Strout held under his arm. "Say, Pettengill!" 
 continued Mr. Strout, "when yet git up ter the schoolhouse, 
 tell them I ll be along in a few minutes;" and he started off, 
 apparently forgetful of Zekiel s declaration that he had 
 intended to walk up with him. 
 
 It is evident that Zekiel s statement was untruthful, for 
 his words have betrayed the fact that it was not the Pro 
 fessor of whom he had been thinking 1 . 
 
 Zekiel did not move from his position until he had seen 
 Strout turn into the yard that led to the front door of the 
 minister s house. Then he said to himself again, "I don t 
 believe she s comin , arter all." 
 
 As he spoke the words a deep, heavy sigh came from his 
 great, honest heart, heard only by the leaflless trees through 
 which the winter wind moaned as if in sympathv. 
 
 What was going on in the little red schoolhouse? The
 
 THE REHEARSAL. 3 
 
 occasion was the last rehearsal of the Eastborough Singing 
 Society, which had been studying vocal music assiduously 
 for the last three months under the direction of Professor 
 Obadiah Strout, and was to give its annual concert the fol 
 lowing evening at the Town Hall at Eastborough. 
 
 A modest sum had been raised by subscription. A big 
 barge had been hired in Cottonton, and after the rehearsal 
 there was to be a sleigh ride to Eastborough Centre and re 
 turn. It was evident from the clamor and confusion that 
 the minds of those present were more intent upon the ride 
 than the rehearsal, and when one girl remarked that the 
 Professor was late, another quickly replied that, "if he 
 didn t come at all twould be early enough." 
 
 There were about two score of young persons present, 
 very nearly equally divided between the two sexes. Ben 
 jamin Bates was there and Robert Wood, Cobb s twins, 
 Emmanuel Howe, and Samuel Hill. Among the girls were 
 Lindy Putnam, the best dressed and richest girl in town, 
 Mandy Skinner, Tilly James, who had more beaus than any 
 other girl in the village; the Green sisters Samanthy and 
 Betsy, and Miss Sera-phina Cotton, the village school 
 teacher. 
 
 Evidently all the members of the society had not arrived, 
 for constant inquiries were being made about Huldy Mason 
 and Zekiel Pettengill. When Betsy Green asked Mandy 
 Skinner if Hiram Maxwell wa n t comin , the latter replied 
 that he d probably come up when Miss Huldy and the new 
 boarder did. 
 
 N<ews had reached the assemblage that Arthur Scates, 
 the best tenor singer in the society, was sick. Lindy Put 
 nam was to sing a duet with him at the concert, and so she 
 asked if anybody had been to see him. 
 
 "I was up there this arternoon," said Ben Bates, "and he 
 seemed powerful bad in the throat. Grandmother Scates 
 tied an old stockin round his throat and gin him a bowl of
 
 4 QUINCT ADAMS SAWYER, 
 
 catnip tea and he kinder thought he d be all right to- 
 morrer. I told htm you d have a conniption fit if he didn t 
 show up, but Grandmother Scates shook her head kind o* 
 doubtful and said, The Lord s will be done. What can t 
 be cured must be endured; and I guess that s about the 
 way it will be," 
 
 The outer door opened and Zekiel Pettengill entered. 
 The creaking of the opening door attracted the attention of 
 all. When the girls saw who it was, they ran and gathered 
 about him, a dozen voices crying out, "Where is Huldy? 
 We all thought she d come with you." 
 
 Zekiel shook his head. 
 
 "You don t know?" asked Tilly James, incredulously. 
 Zekiel shook his head again. "Of course you do," said 
 Tilly contemptuously. 
 
 She turned away, followed (by a number of the girls. 
 "He knows well enough," she observed in an undertone, 
 "ibut .he -won t tell. He s gone on Huldy, and when a 
 feller s gone on a girl he s pretty sure to keep the run of 
 her." 
 
 In the meantime Lindy Putnam had been using her most 
 persuasive powers of coaxing on Zekiel and with some suc 
 cess, for Zekiel told quite a long story, but with very little 
 information in it. He told the crowd of girls gathered 
 about him that he d be twenty-eight on the third of January, 
 and that ever since he was a little boy, which was, of course, 
 before any of those present were born, he d always followed 
 the rule of not saying anything unless he knew what he 
 was talking about. 
 
 "Now," said Zekiel, feeling that it was better to talk on 
 than to stand sheep-facedly before this crowd of eager, ex 
 pectant faces, "I might tell yer that Huldy was ter hum 
 and wasn t -comm up to-night, but yer see, p r aps she s on 
 the road now and may pop in here any minute! Course 
 you all know Deacon Mason s got a boarder, a young feller
 
 THE REHEARSAL 5 
 
 from the city. P r aps he ll come up with Huldy. But I 
 heerd tell his health wa n t very good and mebbe he went to 
 bed right after supper." 
 
 "What s he down here for anyway?" asked Tilly James. 
 
 "Now you ve got me," replied Zekiel. "I s pose he had 
 ^some purpose in view, but you see I ain t positive even of 
 that. As I said before, I heerd he s come down here for his 
 health. It s too late for rakin hay, and as hard work s the 
 best country doctor, p r aps he ll go to choppin wood; but 
 there s one point I feel kinder positive on." 
 
 "What is it? What is it?" cried the girls, as they looked 
 into his face inquiringly. 
 
 "Wall, I think," drawled Zekiel, "that when he gits what 
 he s come for, he ll be mighty apt to pull up stakes and go 
 back to Boston." 
 
 Again the outer door creaked upon its hinges, and again 
 every face was turned to see who the new-comer might be. 
 
 "Here she is," cried a dozen voices; and the owners 
 thereof rushed forward to greet and embrace Miss Huldy 
 Mason, the Deacon s daughter and the most popular girl in 
 the village. 
 
 Zekiel turned and saw that she was alone. Evidently 
 the city fellow had not come with her. 
 
 Huldy was somewhat astonished at the warmth of her 
 greeting, and was at a loss to understand the reason for it, 
 until Lindy Putnam said: 
 
 "Didn t he come with you? 
 
 "Who?" asked Huldy, with wide-open eyes. 
 
 "Oh, you can t fool us," cried Tilly James. " Zeke Pet- 
 tengill told us all about that city feller that s boarding 
 down to your house. We were just talking it over to 
 gether, and he surmised that it might be the same one that 
 you met down to your aunt s house, when you went to 
 Boston last summer." 
 
 "As Mr. Pettengill seems to know so much about my
 
 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER. 
 
 gentlemen friends, if you want any more information, no 
 doubt he can supply it," said Huldy coldly. 
 
 " Zeke kinder thought/ said Bob Wood, "that he 
 might be tired, and probably went to bed right after 
 supper." 
 
 "Well, he didn t/ said Huldy, now thoroughly excited, 
 "he came with me, and he s outside now talking with 
 Hiram about the barge." 
 
 "Why don t he come in?" asked Bob Wood. "P raps 
 he s bashful." 
 
 "If he didn t have no more common sense than you ve 
 got/ retorted Huldy, "he d have to go to bed as soon as 
 he had eaten his supper." 
 
 The laugh that followed this remark so incensed W r ood 
 that he answered coarsely, "I never saw one of those city 
 chaps who knew B from a bull s foot." 
 
 "Perhaps he ll teach you the difference some day," re 
 marked Huldy, sarcastically. 
 
 "Well, I guess not," said Wood with a sneer; " less he. 
 can put two b s in able." 
 
 Further altercation was stopped by the sudden entrance 
 of Mr. Strcmt, who quickly ascended the platform and 
 called the society to order. It must <be acknowledged that 
 the Professor had a good knowledge of music and thor 
 oughly understood the very difficult art of directing a 
 mixed chorus of uncultivated voices. With him enthusi 
 asm was more important than a strict adherence to quavers 
 and semiquavers, and what was lost in fine touches was 
 more than made up in volume of tone. 
 
 Again, the Professor paid strict attention to business at 
 rehearsals, and the progress of the society in musical knowl 
 edge had been very marked. So it is not to <be wondered 
 at that the various numbers allotted to the chorus on the 
 next evening s programme were gone through quickly and 
 to the evident satisfaction of the leader.
 
 THE REHEARSAL. 7 
 
 The last number to be taken up was an original com 
 position, written and composed by the singing-master him 
 self, and during its rehearsal his enthusiasm reached its 
 highest pitch. At the conclusion of the chorus, which had 
 been rendered with remarkable spilit, the Professor darted 
 from one end of the platform to the other, crying out, 
 "Bravo! Fust rate! Do it again! That ll fetch em!" 
 
 After several repetitions of the chorus, each one given 
 with increasing 1 spirit and volume, the Professor threw down 
 his baton and said: "That ll do. You re excused until to 
 morrow night, seven o clock sharp at Eastborough Town 
 Hall. I guess the barge has just drove up and we d better 
 be gittin ready for our sleigh ride." 
 
 Miss Tilly James, who had acted as accompanist on the 
 tin-panny old piano, was putting up her music. The Pro 
 fessor, with his face wreathed in smiles, walked up to her 
 und said, "I tell you what, Miss James, that last composition 
 of mine is bang up. One of these days, when the Star 
 Spangled Banner/ Hail Columbia/ and Marching through 
 Georgia are laid upon the top shelf and all covered with 
 dust, one hundred million American freemen will be sing 
 ing Strout s great national anthem, Hark, and hear the 
 Eagle Scream. What do you think of that prophecy?" 
 
 "I think," said Miss James, turning her pretty face 
 towards him, her black eyes snapping with fun, "that if 
 conceit was consumption, there d be another little 
 r<*en grave in -the cemetery with O. Strout on the head 
 stone/ 
 
 The Professor never could take a joke. In his eye, jokes 
 were always insults to be resented accordingly. Turning 
 upon the young lady savagely, he retorted: 
 
 "If sass was butter, your folks wouldn t have to keep any 
 
 . OWS." 
 
 Then he walked quickly across the room to where Zekiel
 
 9 QUIKCY ADAMS SAWYER. 
 
 Fsttengill stood aloof from the rest, wrapped in some 
 apparently not very pleasant thoughts. 
 
 At this juncture Hiram Maxwell dashed into the school 
 room, and judging from appearances his thoughts were of 
 the pleasantest possible description. 
 
 Say, fellers and girls," he cried, "I ve got some news for 
 yer, and when you hear it you ll think the day of judgment 
 h?* come, and you re goin to git your reward." 
 
 An astonished "Oh! came up from the assemblage. 
 
 "Out with it," said Bob Wood, in his coarse, rough voice. 
 
 "Well, fust," said Hiram, his face glowing with anima 
 tion, "you know we got up a subscription to pay for the 
 barge and made me treasurer, cuz I worked in a deacon s 
 family. Wall, when I asked Bill Stalker to-night how much 
 the bill would be, just to see if I d got enough, he told me 
 that a Mr. Sawyer, who said he boarded down to Deacon 
 Mason s, had paid the hull bill and given him a dollar be- 
 sMe for hisself." Cheers and the clapping of hands showed 
 that the city fellow s liberality was appreciated by a major 
 ity, at least, of the singing society. "When we git on the 
 br\rge I ll pay yer back yer money, and the ride won t cost 
 any one on us a durn cent. That ain t all. Mr. Sawyer jest 
 told me hisself that when he was over to Eastborough 
 Centre yesterday he ordered a hot supper for the whole 
 caboodle, and it ll be ready for us when we git over to the 
 Eagle Hotel. So come along and git your seats in the 
 barge." A wild rush was made for the door, but Hiram 
 backed against it and screamed at the top of his voice: 
 "No two girls must sit close together. Fust a girl, then a 
 feller, next a girl, then a feller, next a girl, then a feller, 
 that s the rule." 
 
 He opened the door and dashed out, followed by all the 
 members of the society excepting the Professor and Zekiel, 
 who were left alone in the room. 
 
 "See that flock of sheep," said the Professor to Zekiel
 
 THE REHEAIISAL. 
 
 with a strong touch of sarcasm in his tone. "That s what 
 makes me so cussed mad. Brains and glorious achieve 
 ment count for nothin in this community. If a city swell 
 comes along with a pocketful of money and just cries, 
 Baa/ over the fence they all go after him." 
 
 "Hasn t it always been so?" asked Zekiel. 
 
 "Not a bit of it," said Strout. "In the old days, kingsj 
 and queens and princes used to search for modest merit, 
 and when found they rewarded it. Nowadays modest merit 
 has to holler and yell and screech to make folks look at it. 
 
 Hiram again appeared in the room, beckoning to the two 
 occupants. 
 
 "Say, ain t you two comin along?" he cried. "We ve 
 saved good places for yer." 
 
 "Where s Mr. Sawyer?" asked Zekiel. 
 
 "Oh, he s goin along with the crowd/ said Hiram; "he s 
 got a seat in between Miss Putnam and Miss Mason, and 
 looks as snug as a bug in a rug. There s a place for you, 
 Mr. Pettengill, foetween Miss Mason and Mandy, and I 
 comes in between Mandy and Mrs. Hawkins. Mandy 
 wanted her mother to go cuz she works so confounded hard 
 and gits out of doors so seldom, and there s a seat tween 
 Mrs. Hawkins and Tilly James for the Professor, and Sam 
 Hill s t other side of Tilly and nex to S frina Cotton." 
 
 "I guess I can t go," said Zekiel. "The house is all alone, 
 and I m kind of fraid thet thet last hoss I bought may get 
 into trouble again as he did last night. So I guess I d 
 better go home and look arter things. Leaning over he 
 whispered in Hiram s ear, "I reckon you d better take the 
 seat between Huldy and Mandy, you don t want ter 
 separate a mother from her daughter, you know." 
 
 "All right," said Hiram, with a knowing wink, "I m 
 satisfied to obleege." 
 
 Hiram then turned to the Professor: "Ain t yer goin , 
 Mr. Strout?"
 
 /O QUIXCY ADAMS SAWYER. 
 
 "When this sleigh ride was projected/ said the Professor 
 with dignity, "I s posed it was to be for the members of the 
 singin class and not for boardin mistresses and city 
 loafers." 
 
 "I guess it don t make much difference who goes," re 
 plied Hiram, "as long as we git a free ride and a free supper 
 for nothing.** 
 
 "Present my compliments to Mr. Sawyer," said the Pro 
 fessor, "and tell him I ve had my supper, and as I don t 
 belong to a fire company, I don t care for crackers and 
 cheese and coffee so late in the evenin ." 
 
 "Oh, bosh!" cried Hiram, "it s goin to be a turkey sup 
 per, with fried chicken and salery and cranberry juice, and 
 each feller s to have a bottle of cider and each girl a bottle 
 of ginger ale.* 
 
 A horn was heard outside, it being the signal for the 
 starting of the barge. Without stopping to say good-by, 
 Hiram rushed out of the room, secured his seat in the barge, 
 and with loud cheers the merry party started off on their 
 journey. 
 
 The Professor extinguished the lights and accompanied 
 by Zekiel left the building. He locked the door and hung 
 the key in its accustomed place, for no one at Mason s Cor 
 ner ever imagined that a thief could be so bad as to steal 
 anything from, a schoolhouse. And it was once argued in 
 town meeting that if a tramp got into it and thus escaped 
 freezing, that was better than to have the town pay for 
 burying him. 
 
 Both men walked along silently until they reached Mrs. 
 Hawkins boarding house; here the Professor stopped and 
 bade Zekiel good night. After doing so he added: 
 
 "Pettengill, you and me must jine agin the common 
 enemy. This town ain t big enough to hold us and this 
 destroyer of our happiness, and we must find some way of 
 smokin him out."
 
 THE KEHEAKSAL. 1J 
 
 The slumbers of both Zekiel and the Professor were 
 broken when the jolly party returned home after midnight 
 Zekiel recalled Hiram s description of the arrangement of 
 seats, and another deep sigh escaped him; but this time 
 there were no leafless trees and winter wind to supply an 
 echo. 
 
 The Professor s half-awakened mind travelled in very 
 different channels. He imagined himself engaged in several 
 verbal disputes with a number of fisticuff encounters in 
 which he invariably proved to be .too much for the city 
 fellow. Just before he sank again into a deep sleep he 
 imagined that the entire population of Mason s Corner 
 escorted a certain young man forcibly to the railroad station 
 at Eastborough Centre and put him in charge of the 
 expressman, to be delivered in Boston. And that young 
 *nan, in the Professor s dream, had a tag tied to the lapel of 
 bis coat upon which was written, "Quincy Adams Sawyer,"
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 MASON S CORNER FOLKS. 
 
 IN 1 86 the town of Eastborough was located in the 
 southeastern part of Massachusetts, in the county of 
 Normouth. It was a large town, being fully five miles 
 wide from east to west and from five to seven miles long-, 
 the northern and southern boundaries being very irregular. 
 
 The town contained three villages; the western one being 
 known as West Eastborough, the middle one as Eastbor- 
 ough Centre, and the easterly one as Mason s Corner. 
 West Eastborough was exclusively a farming section, hav 
 ing no store or post office. As the extreme western bound 
 ary was only a mile and a half from Eastborough Centre, 
 the farmers of the western section of the town were well 
 accommodated at the Centre. The middle section con 
 tained the railroad station, at which five trains a day, each 
 way, to and from Boston, made regular stops. The Centre 
 contained the Town Hall, two churches, a hotel, and ex 
 press office, a bank, newspaper office, and several general 
 stores. Not very far from the hotel, on a side road, was 
 the Almshouse, or Poorhouse, as it was always called by 
 the citizens of Eastborough. 
 
 Between the Centre and Mason s Corner was a long 
 interval of three miles. The land bordering the lower and 
 most direct route was, to a great extent, hilly and rocky, 
 or full of sand and clay pits. The upper and longest road 
 ran through a more fertile section. The village of Mason s 
 Corner contained the best arable land in the town, and the 
 village had increased in population and wealth much faster 
 than the other sections of the town. To the east of the vil-
 
 MASON S CORNER FOLKS. X3 
 
 lage of Mason s Corner lay the town of Montrose, and be 
 yond that town was situated the thriving city of Cottonton, 
 devoted largely, as its name indicated, to the textile manu 
 facturing industries. 
 
 The best known and most popular resident of Mason s 
 Corner was Deacon Abraham Mason. He was a retired 
 farmer on the shady side of fifty. He had married young 
 and worked very hard, his labors being rewarded with pe 
 cuniary success. When a little over fifty, he gave up active 
 farm work and devoted his time to buying and selling real 
 estate, and to church and town affairs, in both of which he 
 was greatly interested. His house stood about halfway 
 down a somewhat steep hill, the road over which, at the 
 top, made a sharp turn. It was this turn which had received 
 the appellation of Mason s Corner and from which the 
 village eventually had taken its name. 
 
 Mrs. Sophia Mason, the Deacon s wife, was a little less 
 than fifty years of age. She was a comely, bright-need, 
 bright-eyed, and energetic woman, who had been both a 
 loving wife and a valued helpmeet to her husband. Their 
 only living child was a daughter named Huldah Ann, about 
 nineteen years of age, and considered by many to be the 
 prettiest and smartest girl in Mason s Corner. The only 
 other resident in Deacon Mason s house was Hiram Max 
 well, a young man about thirty years of age. He had been 
 a farm hand, but had enlisted in 1861, and served through 
 the war. On his return home he was hired by Deacon 
 Mason to do such chores as required a man s strength, for 
 the Deacon s business took him away from home a great 
 deal. Hiram was not exactly what would be called a pro 
 nounced stutterer or stammerer, but when he was exoited 
 or had a matter of more than ordinary importance to com 
 municate, a sort of lingual paralysis seemed to overtake 
 him and interfered materially with the vocal expression of 
 his thoughts and ideas. Type would be inadequate to ex-
 
 14 QUINCT ADAMS SAWYEE. 
 
 press the facial contortions and what might be termed the 
 chromatic scales of vocal expression in which he often in 
 dulged, and they are, therefore, left for full comprehension 
 to those of inventive and vivid imaginative powers. This 
 fact should not be lost sight of in following the fortunes of 
 this brave soldier, honest lover, good husband, and success 
 ful business man. 
 
 The Pettengill homestead was situated on the other side 
 of the road, southwest from Deacon Mason s house. 
 Ezekiel s grandfather had left three sons, Abraham, Isaac, 
 and Jacob, the latter being Ezekiel s father. Abraham had 
 died when he was a young man, and Jacob had been dead 
 about five years. Uncle Ike was in his seventy-sixth year, 
 and was Ezekiel s only living near relative, with the excep 
 tion of his sister Alice, who had left home soon after her 
 father s death and was now employed as bookkeeper in a 
 large dry goods store in Boston. 
 
 Ezekiel was about twenty-eight years of age, being seven 
 years older than .his sister. He was a hardy, strong-willed, 
 self-reliant young fellow. He loved farming and had re 
 solved to make a better living out of it than his father had 
 ever done. A strong incentive to win success proceeded 
 from the fact that he had long been in love with "Huldy 
 Ann," the Deacon s daughter, and he had every reason to 
 believe that his affection was returned, although no formal 
 engagement existed between them, and marriage had never 
 been spoken of by them or the young lady s parents. 
 
 Uncle Ike Pettengill had been a successful business man 1 
 in Boston, but at the age of sixty had wearied of city life/ 
 and decided to spend the rest of his days in the country. 
 Despite the objections of his wife and two grown up daugh 
 ters, he sold out his business, conveyed two-thirds of his 
 property to his wife and children, and invested the remain 
 ing third in an annuity, which gave him sufficient income 
 for a comfortable support. He did not live at the Pettengill
 
 MASON S CORNER FOLKS. If 
 
 house, but in a little two-roomed cottage or cabin that he 
 had had built for him on the lower road, about halfway 
 between Mason s Corner and Eastborough Centre. A 
 short distance beyond his little house, a crossroad, not very 
 often used, connected the upper and lower roads. Uncle 
 Ike had a fair-sized library, read magazines and weekly 
 papers, but never looked at a daily newspaper. His only 
 companions were about two hundred hens and chickens and 
 a big St. Bernard dog which he had named "Swiss," after 
 his native land. 
 
 The other residents of the Pettengill homestead were 
 two young men named Jim and Bill Cobb, who aided 
 Ezekiel in his farm work, and Mandy Skinner, the "help/* 
 who was in reality the housekeeper of the establishment 
 Jim and Bill Cobb were orphans, Jim being about twenty- 
 one and Bill three years older. When young they re 
 sembled each other very closely, for this reason they had 
 been nicknamed "Cobb s Twins, * and the name had clung 
 to them, even after they had reached manhood. 
 
 Mandy Skinner was about twenty-three, and was the only 
 child of Malachi and Martha Skinner. Her father was dead, 
 "but her mother had married again and was now Mrs. Jonas 
 Hawkins, the proprietor of Mrs. Hawkins s boarding house, 
 which was situated in the square opposite Hill s grocery, 
 and about a quarter of a mile from the top of Mason s Hill. 
 Mandy had a double burden upon her shoulders. One was 
 the care of such a large house and family, and the other 
 was the constant necessity of repelling the lover-like Hints 
 and suggestions of Hiram Maxwell, who was always ready 
 and willing to overlook his work at Deacon Mason s so 
 that he could run down and see if Mandy wanted him to do 
 anything for her. 
 
 Hill s grocery was owned and carried on by Benoni Hil! 
 and his son Samuel. Their residence was on the easterly 
 edge of the town, being next to the one occupied by old
 
 A QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER. 
 
 Ben James, who was a widower with one daughter, Miss 
 Matilda James. 
 
 About a quarter of a mile east of Hill s grocery was the 
 village church, presided over by the Rev. Caleb Howe. He 
 had one son, Emmanuel, who had graduated at Harvard 
 and had intended to fit for the ministry, but his health had 
 failed him and he had temporarily abandoned his studies. 
 He was a great admirer of Miss Lindy Putnam, because, as 
 he said, she was so pretty and accomplished. But after 
 long debate one evening at the grocery store, it had been 
 decided without a dissenting vote that "the minister s son 
 was a lazy good-for-nothing , and that he wanted the 
 money more than he did the gal." The village schoolhouse 
 stood a short distance eastward from the church. The 
 teacher, Miss Seraphina Cotton, a maiden lady of uncertain 
 age, who boasted that the city of Cottonton was named after 
 her grandfather, boarded at the Rev. Mr. Howe s, and was 
 ardently attached to the minister s wife, who was an invalid 
 and rarely seen outside of her home. 
 
 On the upper road, about half a mile to the west of Dea 
 con Mason s, lived Mr. and Mrs. Silas Putnam. They 
 owned the largest house and best farm at Mason s Corner. 
 They were reputed to be quite wealthy and it was known 
 for a sure fact that their only daughter, Lindy, was worth 
 one hundred thousand dollars in her own right, it having 
 been left to her by her only brother, J. Jones Putnam, who 
 had died in Boston about five years before. 
 
 Mrs. Hawkins had a large house, but it was always full 
 of boarders, all of the masculine gender. Mrs. Hawkins 
 had declared on several occasions that she d "sooner have 
 the itch than a girl boarder. She was a hard-working 
 woman and had but one assistant, a young girl named 
 Betsy Green, one of whose sisters -was "working out" up at 
 Mrs. Putnam s. Mrs. Hawkins s husband, his wife declared.
 
 MASON S CORNER FOLKS. 17 
 
 was "no account nohow," and for the present her estimate 
 of him must be accepted without question. 
 
 Among Mrs. Hawkins s twelve boarders were Robert 
 Wood and Benjamin Bates, two young men who were na 
 tives of Montrose. Bates was a brick and stone mason, 
 and Wood was a carpenter, and they had been quite busily 
 employed during the two years they had lived at Mason s 
 Corner. 
 
 Mrs. Hawkins owned a buggy and carryall and a couple 
 of fairly good horses. They were cared for by Abner Stiles. 
 He was often called upon to carry passengers over to the 
 railway station at the Centre, and was the mail carrier be 
 tween the Centre and Mason s Corner, for the latter village 
 had a post office, which was located in Hill s grocery, Mr. 
 Benoni Hill being the postmaster. 
 
 Since his return from the war Mr. Obadiah Strout had 
 been Mrs. Hawkins s star boarder. He sat at the head of 
 tlie table and acted as moderator during the wordy dis 
 cussions which accompanied every meal. Abner Stiles be 
 lieved implicitly in the manifest superiority of Obadiah 
 Strout over the other residents of Mason s Corner. He 
 was his firm ally and henchman, serving him as a dog does 
 his master, not for pay, but because he loves the service. 
 
 Mr. Strout was often called the "Professor" because he 
 was the singing-master of the village and gave lessons in 
 instrumental and vocal music. The love of music was an 
 other bond of union between Strout and Stiles, for the lat- 
 !ter was a skilful, if not educated, performer on the violin. 
 
 The Professor was about forty years of age, stout in per 
 son, with smooth shaven face and florid complexion. In 
 Eastborough town matters he was a general factotum. He 
 had been an undertaker s assistant and had worked for the 
 superintendent of the Poorhouse. In due season and in 
 turn he had been appointed to and had filled the positions of 
 fence viewer, road inspector, hog reeve, pound keeper, and
 
 18 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER. 
 
 the year previous he had been chosen tax collector. Abner 
 Stiles said that there "wasn t a better man in town for 
 selectman and he knew he d get there one of these days." 
 
 To those residents of Mason s Corner whose names have 
 been given, whose homes have been described and some 
 whose personal peculiarities have been portrayed, must be 
 added a late arrival. The new-comer whose advent in town 
 during Christmas week had caused so much discussion at 
 the rehearsal in the old red schoolhouse, and whose liber 
 ality in providing a hot supper with all the fixings for the 
 sleighing party from Mason s Corner, when it arrived at 
 the Eagle Hotel at Eastborough Centre, had won, at a 
 bound, the hearts of the majority of the younger residents 
 of Mason s Corner. The village gossips wondered who he 
 was, what he was, what he came for, and how long he 
 intended to stay. If these questions had been asked of him 
 personally, he might have returned answers to the first 
 three questions, but it would have been beyond his power 
 to have answered the fourth inquiry at that time. But the 
 sayings and doings of certain individuals, and a chain of 
 circumstances not of his own creation and -beyond his per 
 sonal control, conspired to keep him there for a period of 
 nearly four months. During that time certain things were 
 said and done, certain people were met and certain events 
 took place which changed the entire current of this young 
 man s future life, which shows plainly that we are all crea 
 tures of circumstance and that a man s success or failure 
 ?n life may often depend as much or even more upon his^ 
 environment than upon himself.
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 THE CONCERT IX THE TOWN HALL. 
 
 IT was the evening of New Year s day, 186 . The 
 ing people, in fact nearly all the people of the three 
 villages forming the town of Eastborough, were assembled 
 in the Town Hall at Eastborough Lentre. The evening was 
 pleasant and this fact had contributed to draw together the 
 largest audience ever assembled in that hall. Not only was 
 every seat taken, but the aisles were also crowded, while 
 many of the younger citizens had been lifted up to eligible 
 positions in the wide window seats of the dozen great win 
 dows on three sides of the large hall. 
 
 The large attendance was also due in part to the fact 
 that a new and original musical composition by Mr. Strout, 
 the singing-master, would be sung for the first time in pub 
 lic. Again, it had been whispered up at Hill s grocery at 
 Mason s Corner that the young city fellow who was board 
 ing at Deacon Mason s was going to be present, and this 
 rumor led to a greatly increased attendance from that 
 village. 
 
 The audience was a typical one of such communities at 
 that period; horny-handed farmers with long shaggy beards 
 and unkempt hair, dressed in ill-fitting black suits ; matronly 
 looking farmers wives in their Sunday best; rosy-cheeked 
 daughters full of fun and vivacity and chattering like mag 
 pies; tall, lank, awkward, bashful sons, and red-haired, 
 black-haired, and tow-headed urchins of both sexes, the 
 latter awaiting the events of the evening with the wild an-
 
 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER.* 
 
 ticipations that are usually called forth only by the advent 
 of a circus. 
 
 The members of the chorus were seated on the large plat 
 form, the girls being on the right and the fellows on the 
 left. A loud hum of conversation arose from the audience 
 and chorus, a constant turning over and rattling of pro 
 grammes gave a. cheerful and animated appearance to the 
 scene. The centre door at the rear of the platform was 
 opened and all eyes were turned in that direction, the chorus 
 twisting their necks or turning half round in their seats. 
 
 Professor Strout entered and was greeted with a loud 
 burst of applause. He wore a dress suit that he had hired 
 in Boston, and there was a large white rose in the lapel of 
 his coat. He was accompanied by Miss Tilly James, the 
 pianist, who wore a handsome wine-colored silk dress that 
 had been made for the occasion by the best dressmaker in 
 Cottonton. As she took her place at the piano and ran her 
 fingers over the keys, she, too, came in for a liberal round 
 of applause. Professor Strout bowed to the audience, then 
 turning his back upon them, he stood with baton uplifted 
 facing the chorus and waiting the advent of the town com 
 mittee. Every eye in the audience was fixed upon the pro 
 gramme. It contained thu information that the first num 
 ber was an opening chorus entitled, "Welcome to the Town 
 Committee," written and composed by Professor Qbadiah 
 Strout and sung for the first time with great success at the 
 last annual concert. 
 
 The door at the rear of the platform was opened again 
 and Deacon Abraham Mason, the Rev. Caleb Howe, and 
 Mr. Benoni Hill, the members of the town committee on 
 singing school, entered. Deacon Mason was accompanied 
 by Quincy Adams Sawyer, and all eyes were fastened on 
 the couple as they took their seats at the right of the plat 
 form, the Rev. Mr. Howe and Mr. Hill being seated on the
 
 THE CONCERT IN THE TOWN HALL. 21 
 
 Quincy Adams Sawyer in appearance and dress was a 
 marked contrast to the stout, hardy, and rugged young 
 farmers of Eastborough. He had dark hair, dark eyes, and 
 a small black mustache curled at the ends. His face was 
 pallid, but there was a look of determination in the firmly 
 set jaw, resolute mouth, and sharp eye. He wore a dark 
 suit with Prince Albert coat. Upon one arm hung an over 
 coat of light-colored cloth. He wore light-brown kid 
 gloves and in one hand carried a light-colored Kossuth hat. 
 
 As soon as the committee and their guest had taken their 
 seats, Professor Strout tapped upon his music stand with 
 his baton and the members of the Eastborough Singing 
 Society arose to their feet with that total disregard of uni 
 formity and unanimity of motion that always characterizes 
 a body of undrilled performers. Each girl was obliged to 
 look at her own dress and that of her neighbor to see if 
 they were all right, while each fellow felt it absolutely nec 
 essary to shuffle his feet, pull down his cuffs, pull up his col 
 lar, and arrange lids necktie. Despite the confusion and 
 individual preparations the chorus took the opening note 
 promptly and sang the "Welcome to the Town Committee" 
 with a spirit and precision which well merited the applause 
 it received. The words were not printed on the programme, 
 but they conveyed the idea that the members of the sing 
 ing class were very much obliged to the town committee 
 for hiring a singing-master and paying his sala.^. Also 
 that the members of the chorus had studied hard to learn to 
 sing and would do their best that evening as a return for 
 the favors bestowed upon them by the town. 
 
 Professor Strout then advanced to the edge of the plat 
 form and called the attention of the audience to the second 
 number upon the programme which read, "Address by 
 Abraham Mason, Esq." Prof. Strout added that by special 
 request Deacon Mason s remarks would relate to the sub 
 ject of "Education." The Deacon drew a large red ban-
 
 22 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER 
 
 danna handkerchief from his pocket, wiped the perspira 
 tion from his forehead, blew his nose vigorously, and then 
 advanced to the centre of the platform near the music stand. 
 
 "I dote on eddikation," he began; "it makes the taxes 
 high; I ve lived in this town man and boy more n fifty year 
 and I never saw them anythin but high." A general 
 laugh greeted this remark. "But when I m in town meet- 
 in I allus votes an aye to make our schools as good as 
 those found in neighborin towns, and none of them are 
 any too good. For my political actions I m proud to give 
 my grounds, for I never cast a vote that I was ashamed to 
 give my reasons for." A burst of applause followed this 
 declaration. 
 
 "Years back when I was young, we had no modern 
 notions. We had to be satisfied with the three R s, Readin , 
 Ritin , and Rithmetic, and larnin was dealt out in rather 
 meagre potions, bout three months in the winter after the 
 wood was cut, sawed and split, and piled up in the wood 
 shed. We allus had to work in the summer, make hay and 
 fill the barn in, and not till winter come could get a speck 
 of larnin/ and then it took most of our time to pile wood 
 into the stove and settle our personal accounts with the 
 teacher." An audible titter ran through the audience at this 
 sally. "And yet when I was young, though this commun 
 ity was rather behind in letters, no people in the land could 
 say they were our betters. But now the world is changed, 
 we live without such grubbin , learn Latin, French, and 
 Greek, how to walk Spanish, talk Dutch, draw picters, 
 keep books, fizziology, and lots of other ologies and much 
 piano drubbin . Now what brought this about? I think 
 I nave a notion; you know the immergrants from about 
 every country under the sun have piled across the ocean. 
 They ve done the diggin and other rough work and we ve 
 thruv on their labor. I have some ready cash. Mr. Strout 
 comes round and gets some oft every year, and likewise
 
 THE CONCERT IN THE TOWN HALL. 23 
 
 my neighbor has some put aside for a rainy day." Many 
 of the audience who probably had nothing laid aside 
 glanced at the well-to-do farmers who had the reputation of 
 being well fixed as regards this world s goods. "Perhaps 
 I m doin wrong, tout I would like my darter to know as 
 much as those that s likely to come arter. But if the world 
 keeps on its progress so bewild rin and they put some more 
 ologies into the schools together with cabinet organs and 
 fife and drum, I m afraid it will cost my darter more than 
 it did me to eddikate her childrin.", 
 
 A storm of applause filled the hall when the Deacon con 
 cluded his remarks. As he resumed his chair, Quincy 
 handed him a tumbler of water that the had poured from a 
 pitcher that stood upon a table near the piano. This act 
 of courtesy was seen and appreciated by the audience and a 
 loud clapping of hands followed. At the commencement 
 of the Deacon s speech, the Professor had left the platform, 
 for it gave him an opportunity for an intended change of 
 costume, for which time could be found at no other place 
 on the programme. It was a marvellous rig that he wore 
 when he reappeared. A pair of white duck pantaloons, 
 stiffly starched, were strapped under a pair of substantial, 
 well-greased, cowhide boots. The waistcoat was of bright- 
 red cloth with brass buttons. The long-tailed blue broad 
 cloth coat was also supplied with big brass buttons. He 
 wore a high linen dickey and a necktie made of a small silk 
 American flag. On his head he had a cream-colored, woolly 
 plug hat and carried in his hand a baton resembling a small 
 barber s pole, having alternate stripes of red, white, and 
 blue with gilded ends. 
 
 The appearance of this apparition of Uncle Sam was 
 received with cries, cheers, and loud clapping of hands. The 
 Professor bowed repeatedly in response to this ovation, and 
 it was a long time before he could make himself heard by 
 the audience. At last he said in a loud voice:
 
 24 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER. 
 
 "The audience will find the words of number three 
 printed on the last page of the programme, and young and 
 old are respectfully invited to jine in the chorus." 
 
 A fluttering of programmes followed and this is what the 
 audience found on the last page, "Hark! and Hear the Eagle 
 iScream, a new and original American national air written, 
 [composed, and sung for the first time in public by Professor 
 Obadiah Strout, author of last season s great success, We/ 
 come to the Town Committee. " 
 
 I. 
 
 They say our wheat s by far the best; 
 Our Injun corn will bear the test; 
 Our butter, beef, and pork and cheese, 
 The furriner s appetite can please. 
 The beans and fishballs that we can 
 Will keep alive an Englishman; 
 While many things I can t relate 
 He must buy from us or emigrate. 
 
 CHORUS 
 
 Raise your voices, swing the banners, 
 Pound the drum-s and bang pianners; 
 Blow the fife and shriek for freedom, 
 Meriky is bound to lead em. 
 Emigrate! ye toiling millions! 
 Sile enuf for tens of billions! 
 Land of honey, buttermilk, cream; 
 Hark! and hear the eagle scream. 
 
 II. 
 
 In manufactures, too, we re some; 
 Take rubber shoes and chewing gum;
 
 IT WAS A MARVELLOUS RIG THAT HE WORE WHEN HE REAPPEARED.
 
 THE CONCERT IN THE TOWN HALL. 25 
 
 In cotton cloth, and woollen, too, 
 
 In time we shall outrival you; 
 
 Our ships with ev ry wind and tide, 
 
 With England s own will sail beside, 
 
 In ev ry port our flag unfurled, 
 
 When the Stars and Stripes will rule the world. 
 CHORUS : 
 
 III. 
 
 < 
 
 For gold and silver, man and woman, 
 
 For things that s raised, made, dug, or human, 
 
 Meriky s the coming nation; 
 
 She s bound to conquer all creation! 
 
 Per aps you call this brag and bluster; 
 
 No, taint nuther, for we muster 
 
 The best of brain, the mighty dollar; 
 
 We ll lead on, let others f oiler. 
 CHORUS : 
 
 Professor Strout sang the solo part of the song himself. 
 The singing society and many of the audience joined in the 
 chorus. Like many teachers of vocal music, the Professor 
 had very little voice himself, but he knew how to make 
 the best possible use of what he did possess. But the patri 
 otic sentiment of the words, the eccentric make-up of the 
 singer, his comical contortions and odd grimaces, and what 
 was really a bright, tuneful melody won a marked success 
 for both song and singer. Encore followed encore. Like 
 many more cultured audiences in large cities the one as 
 sembled in Eastborough Town Hall seemed to think that 
 there was no limit to a free concert and that they were 
 entitled to all they could get. But the Professor himself 
 fixed the limit. When the song had been sung through 
 three times he ran up the centre aisle of the platform and 
 facing the audience, he directed the chorus, holding the
 
 26 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER. 
 
 variegated baton in one hand and swinging his woolly plug 
 hat around his head with the other. At the close, amid 
 screams, cheers, and clapping of hands, he turned upon his 
 heel, dashed through the door and disappeared from sight. 
 
 The next number upon the programme was a piano solo 
 by Miss Tilly James. Nothing could have pleased her audi 
 ence any better than the well-known strains of the ever,, 
 popular "Maiden s Prayer." In response, to an encore 
 which Quincy originated, and dexterously led, Miss James 
 played the overture to Rossini s William Tell" without 
 notes. A fact which was perceived by the few, but un 
 noticed t>y the many. 
 
 At the close of .these instrumental selections, the Pro 
 fessor reappeared in evening costume and again assumed 
 the directorship of the concert. Robert Wood had a pon 
 derous bass voice, which if not highly cultivated was highly 
 effective, and he sang "Simon the Cellarer" to great ac 
 ceptation. Next followed a number of selections sung 
 without accompaniment by a male quartette composed of 
 Cobb s twins, who were both tenors, Benjamin Bates, and 
 Robert Wood. This feature was loudly applauded and one 
 old farmer remarked to his neighbor, who was evidently 
 deaf, in a loud voice that was heard all over the hall, "That s 
 the kind of music that fetches me," which declaration was a 
 signal for another encore. 
 
 The singing society then sang a barcarolle, the words of 
 the first line being, "Of the sea, our yacht is the pride." It 
 went over the heads of most of the audience, but was greatly 
 appreciated by the limited few who were acquainted with 
 the difficulties of accidentals, syncopations, and inverted 
 musical phrases. 
 
 According to the programme the next feature was to be 
 a duet entitled "Over the Bridge," composed by Jewell and 
 sung by Arthur Scates and Miss Lindy Putnam. The Pro-
 
 THE CONCERT IN THE TOWN HALL. 27 
 
 fessor stepped forward and waved his hand to quiet the 
 somewhat noisy assemblage. 
 
 "The next number will have to be omitted," he said, 
 "because Mr. Scates is home sick abed. The doctor says 
 he s got a bad case of quinsy," with a marked emphasis on 
 the last word, which, however, failed to make a point. "In 
 response to requests, one verse of Hark! and Hear the) 
 Eagle Scream will be sung to take the place of the piece 
 that s left out." 
 
 While the Professor was addressing the audience, Quincy 
 had whispered something in Deacon Mason s ear which 
 caused the latter to smile and nod his head approvingly. 
 Quincy arose and reached the Professor s side just as the 
 latter finished speaking and turned towards the chorus. 
 Quincy said something in a low tone to the Professor which 
 caused Mr. Strout to shake his head in the negative in a 
 most pronounced manner. Quincy spoke again and looked 
 towards Miss Putnam, who was seated in the front row, 
 and whose face wore a somewhat disappointed look. 
 
 Again the Professor shook his head by way of negation 
 and the words, "It can t be did," were distinctly audible to 
 the majority of (both singing society and audience, at the 
 same time a -look of contempt spread over the singing- 
 master s face. Quincy perceived it and was nettled by it. 
 He was not daunted, however, nor to be shaken from his 
 purpose, so he said in a loud voice, which was heard in all 
 parts of the hall: "I know the song, and will sing it if 
 Miss Putnam and the audience are willing." 
 
 With a smile upon her face, Miss Putnam nodded her 
 acquiescence. All the townspeople had heard of Quincy s 
 liberality in providing a hot supper for the sleighing party 
 the night before, and cries of "Go ahead! Give him a 
 chance! We want to hear him!" and "Don t disappoint 
 Miss Putnam," were heard from all parts of the hall. The 
 Professor was obliged to give in. He sat down with a
 
 28 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER. 
 
 disgusted look upon his face, and from that moment war 
 to the knife was declared between these champions of city 
 and country civilization. 
 
 Mr. Sawyer went to the piano, opened Miss James s copy 
 of the music and placed it upon the music rack before her, 
 isaying a few words to her which caused her to smile< 
 fQuincy then approached Lindy, opened her music at the 
 proper place and passed it to her. Next he took her hand 
 and led her to the front of the platform. These little acts 
 of courtesy and politeness, performed in an easy, graceful, 
 and self-possessed manner, were seen iby all and won a 
 round of applause. 
 
 The duet was beautifully sung. Quincy had a fine well- 
 trained tenor voice, while Miss Putnam s mezzo-soprano 
 was full and melodious and her rendition fully as artistic 
 as that of her companion. One, two, three, four, five, six 
 encores followed each other in quick succession, in spite of 
 Professor Strout s endeavors to quell the applause and 
 take up the next number. The ovation given earlier in the 
 evening to Professor Strout was weak in comparison with 
 that vouchsafed to Quincy and Lindy when they took their 
 seats. In vain did the Professor strive to make himself 
 heard. Audience and chorus seemed to be of one mind. 
 The Professor, his face as red as a beet, turned to Ezekiel 
 Pettengill and said: 
 
 "That was a. mighty impudent piece of business, don t 
 you think so?" 
 
 "They re both mighty fine singers," Ezekiel responded 
 "in a rather unsympathetic tone. 
 
 Quincy realized that something must be done to satisfy 
 the demands of the now thoroughly excited audience. 
 Going to Miss James, he asked her a question in a low 
 voice, in reply to which she nodded affirmatively. He next 
 sought Miss Putnam and evidently asked her the same 
 question, receiving a similar answer. Then he led her for-
 
 THE CONCERT IN THE TOWN HALL. 29 
 
 ward, and she sang" the opening part of "Listen to the 
 Mocking Bird." After they had sung- the chorus it was 
 repeated on the piano and Quincy electrified the audience 
 by whistling it, introducing all the trills, staccatos, and 
 roulades that he had heard so many times come from under 
 Billy Morris s big mustache at the little Opera House on 
 Washington Street, opposite Milk, run by the Morris 
 Brothers, Johnny Pell, and Mr. Trowbridge, and when he 
 finished there flashed through his mind a pleasant memory 
 of Dr. Ordway and his ^Eolians. An encore was responded 
 to, but the tumult still continued. Turning to Ezekiel, 
 Strout said: 
 
 "Ain t it a cussed shame to spoil a first-class concert this 
 way?" 
 
 "He s a mighty fine whistler," replied Ezekiel in the 
 same tone that he had used before. 
 
 Finally to quiet their exuberance Quincy was obliged to 
 say a few words, which were evidently what the audience 
 was waiting for. 
 
 "Ladies and gentlemen," he said, "the hour is getting 
 late and there is another number on the programme. Miss 
 Putnam is tired and I shall have to wet my whistle before 
 I can use it again. I thank you for your kind indulgence 
 and applause." 
 
 This little speech pleased the audience. It was down to 
 their level, with "no sign of stuckupativeness about it," as 
 one country girl remarked to her chum. Quincy bowed, 
 the audience laughed, and quiet was restored. 
 
 The Professor had fidgeted, fumed, and fussed during 
 Quincy s occupancy of the platform. He now arose with 
 feelings impossible to express and took up his baton to lead 
 the closing chorus. He -brought it down with such a 
 whack upon the music stand that it careened, tottered, and 
 fell to the platform with a crash. Tilly James leaned over 
 and whispered to Huldy Mason: "The Professor seems to
 
 30 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER. 
 
 have a bad attack of Quincy, too." And the two girls 
 smothered their laughs in their handkerchiefs. If the sing 
 ing society had not been so well acquainted with the dosing 
 chorus the Professor certainly would have thrown them 
 out by his many mistakes in beating time. The piece was a 
 "sleighride" song. The Professor forgot to give the signal 
 for the ringing of the sleigh bells, but the members of the 
 singing society did not, and their introduction, which was 
 unexpected by the audience, to use a theatrical term, 
 "brought down the house." The number was well ren* 
 dered, despite the manifest defects in leadership. The con 
 cert came to a close. 
 
 Deacon Mason and his wife, accompanied by their 
 daughter, Huldy, and Rev. Mr. Howe, occupied a double 
 sleigh, as did Hiram, Mandy, and Cobb s twins. Another 
 double-seated conveyance contained Mr. and Mrs. Benoni 
 Hill, their son, Samuel, and Miss Tilly James. Quincy also 
 had accommodations for four in his sleigh, but its only 
 occupants were Miss Putnam and himself. Abner Stiles 
 sat on the front seat of another double-seated sleigh, while 
 the Professor and Ezekiel were on the back one; the re 
 mainder of the Mason s Corner folks occupied the big 
 barge which had been used for the sleigh ride the night 
 before. 
 
 The barge led the procession to Mason s Corner, 
 followed by the vehicles previously mentioned and scores 
 of others containing residents of Mason s Corner, whose 
 names and faces are alike unknown. By a strange fatality, 
 the sleigh containing the Professor and Ezekiel was the 
 last in the line. Ezekiel was inwardly elated that Mr. Saw 
 yer had gone home with Lindy instead of with Deacon 
 Mason s party. Strout s bosom held no feelings of elation. 
 He did not seem to care whether the concert was consid 
 ered a success or not. He had but one thought in his mind,
 
 THE CONCERT IN THE TOWN HALL. 81 
 
 and that was the "daring impudence of that city feller." 
 Turning to Ezekiel, he said: 
 
 Til get even with that city chap the next time I meet 
 him. As I said last night, Pettengill, this town ain t big 
 enough to -hold tooth on us and one on us has got to git." 
 
 As he said this, he leaned back in the sleigh and puffed 
 his cigar savagely while Ezekiel was wondering if Huldv\ 
 was thinking half as much about him as he was about her,
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 ANCESTRY VERSUS PATRIOTISM. 
 
 FOUR days had passed since the concert in the Town 
 Hall at Eastborough. The events of that evening had 
 been freely discussed i^ barn and workshop, at table and at 
 the various stores in Eastborough and surrounding towns, 
 for quite a number had been present who were not residents 
 of the town. All interest in it had not, however, passed 
 away as subsequent occurrences proved. 
 
 It was the morning of the fifth of January. Benoni Hill, 
 who ran the only grocery store at Mason s Corner, was 
 behind his counter and with the aid of his only son, Samuel, 
 was attending to the wants of several customers. 
 
 While thus engaged, Miss Tilly James entered, and 
 young Samuel Hill forgot to ask the customer on whom he 
 had been waiting the usual question, "Anything else, 
 ma am?" so anxious was he to speak to and wait upon the 
 pretty Miss James, whose bright eyes, dark curly hair, and 
 witty remarks had attracted to her side more suitors than 
 had fallen to the lot of any other young girl in the village. 
 As yet she had evinced no especial liking for any particu 
 lar one of the young men who flocked about her, and this 
 fact had only served to increase their admiration for her 
 and to spur them on to renewed efforts to win her favor. 
 
 "Do you know, Miss James," said Samuel, "I can t get 
 it out of my ears yet." As he said this, he leaned over the 
 counter, and being a brave young man, looked straig-ht into 
 Miss James s smiling face.
 
 THE BARGE LED THE PROCESSION TO MASON S CORNER.
 
 ANCESTRY VERSUS PATRIOTISM. 83 
 
 "If all home remedies have failed," said Tilly, "why don t 
 you go to Boston and have a doctor examine them?" 
 
 "What a joker you are!" remarked Samuel; "I believe 
 you will crack a joke on the minister the day you are mar 
 ried." 
 
 "It may be my last chance," rejoined Tilly. "Mother 
 says the inside of a boiled onion put into the ear is good for 
 some troubles; give me a pound of tea, Oolong and green 
 mixed, same as we always have." 
 
 As Samuel passed the neatly done up package to Miss 
 James, he leaned across the counter again and said in a 
 low voice, "You know what is in my ears, Miss James. 
 How beautifully you played for Mr. Sawyer when he 
 whistled Listen to the Mocking Bird. I don t think I shall 
 ever forget it." 
 
 "Well, I don t know about the playing, Mr. Hill. I came 
 near losing my place several times, because I wanted so 
 much to hear him whistle." 
 
 During this conversation Tilly and Samuel had been so 
 preoccupied that they had not noticed the entrance of a 
 new-comer and his approach towards them. Only one 
 other customer, a little girl, was left in the store, and Mr. 
 Hill, Sr., had gone down cellar to draw her a quart of 
 molasses. 
 
 As Tilly uttered the words, "I wanted so much to hear 
 him whistle," she heard behind her in clear, melodious, 
 flute-like notes, the opening measures of "Listen to the, 
 Mocking Bird." Turning quickly, she saw Mr. Sawyer, 
 standing beside her. 
 
 Why, how do you do, Mr. Sawyer? I am delighted to 
 see you again," she said in that hearty, whole-soukd way 
 that was so captivating to her country admirers. 
 
 The delight is mutual," replied Quincy, raising his hat 
 and bowing 1 . 
 
 Samuel Hill was evidently somewhat disturbed by the
 
 34 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER. 
 
 great friendliness oi the greetings that he had just wit 
 nessed. This fact did not escape Tilly s quick eye, and turn 
 ing to Mr. Sawyer she said: 
 
 "Have you been introduced to my friend, Mr. Samuel 
 Hill?" 
 
 "I have not had that pleasure," replied Quincy. "This 
 is my first visit to the store." 
 
 "Then allow me," continued Tilly, "to present you to 
 Mr. Samuel Hill and to Mr. Benoni Hill, his father, both 
 valued friends of mine," and she added, as a roguish smile 
 came into her face, "as they keep the only grocery store in 
 the village, you will be obliged to "buy what they have and 
 pay them what they ask, unless you prefer a three-mile 
 tramp to Eastborough Centre." 
 
 "I hope you re enjoyin your stay at Mason s Corner," 
 said Mr. Benoni Hill, "though I don t s pose you city folks 
 find much to please yer in a country town, specially in the 
 winter. 
 
 "So far I have found two things that have pleased me 
 very much," replied Quincy. 
 
 The milk and eggs, I suppose," remarked Tilly. 
 
 "No," said Quincy, "I refer to Miss Lindy Putnam s 
 fine singing and the beautiful playing of a young lady who 
 is called Miss Jaimes." 
 
 "I have heard," said Tilly, "that you city gentlemen are 
 great flatterers. That is not the reason why I am obliged 
 to leave you so suddenly, but the fact is the tea caddy ran 
 low this morning and grandma s nerves will remain un 
 strung until she gets a cup of strong tea." 
 
 With a graceful bow and a parting wave of the hand to 
 the three gentlemen, the bright and popular young lady 
 left the store. 
 
 "Mr. Hill," said Quincy, addressing the elder gentle 
 man, "I ve smoked all the cigars that I brought from Bos 
 ton, but Deacon Mason told me perhaps you had some
 
 ANCESTRY VERSUS PATRIOTISM. 36 
 
 that would suit me. I like a good-sized, strong cigar and 
 one that .burns freely." 
 
 "Well," said Mr. Hill, "Professor Strout is the most par- 
 tikler customer I have in cigars ; he says he always smokes 
 a pipe in the house, cause it don t hang round the room 
 so long as cigar smoke does, but he likes a good cigar to 
 smoke on the street or when he goes ridin. I just had 
 a new box come down for him last night. Perhaps some 
 of them will satisfy yer till I can git jest the kind yer want." 
 
 Mr. Hill took his claw-hammer and opening the box 
 passed it to Quincy, who took one of the cigars and lighted 
 it. As he did so he glanced at the brand and the names of 
 the makers, and remarked, "This is a good cigar, I ve 
 smoked this brand before. What do you ask for them?" 
 
 "I git ten cents straight, but as Mr. Strout always smokes 
 up the whole box before he gits through, though he don t 
 usually buy more than five at a time, I let him have em 
 for nine cents apiece. There ain t much made on them, 
 but yer see I have to obleege my customers." 
 
 "You don t ask enough for them," said Quincy, throw 
 ing down a twenty-dollar bill. "They sell for fifteen cents, 
 two for a quarter, in Boston." 
 
 "How many will you have?" asked Mr. Hill, thinking 
 that Boston must be a paradise for shopkeepers, when seven 
 cents profit could be made on a cigar that cost only eight 
 cents. 
 
 "I ll take the whole box," said Quincy. "Call it ten 
 dollars, that s cheap enough. No matter about the dis 
 count." As he said this he took half a dozen cigars from 
 the box and placed them in a silver-mounted, silk- 
 embroidered cigar case. "Please do them up for me, Mr. 
 Hill, and the next time Hiram Maxwell comes in he will 
 take them down to Deacon Mason s for me." 
 
 After much rummaging through till and pocketbook, 
 Mr. Hill and his son found ten dollars in change, which
 
 86 
 
 was passed to Quincy. He stuffed the large wad of small 
 bills and fractional currency into his overcoat pocket and 
 sitting 1 down on a pile of soap boxes drummed on the Lower 
 one with his boot heels and puffed his cigar with evident 
 pleasure. 
 
 While Quincy was thus pleasantly engaged, Professor 
 Strout entered the store and walked briskly up to the coun 
 ter. He did not see, or if he did, he did not notice, Quincy 
 who kept his place upon the pile of soap boxes. Strout 
 was followed by Abner Stiles, Robert Wood, and several 
 other idlers, who had been standing on the store platform 
 when the Professor arrived. 
 
 "Did those cigars come down, Hill? asked Strout in his 
 usual pompous way. 
 
 "Yes !" replied Mr. Hill, "but I guess you ll have to wait 
 till I git another box down." 
 
 "What for?" asked Strout sharply. "Wa n t it under 
 stood between us that them cigars was to be kept for me?" 
 
 "That s so," acknowledged Mr. Hill, "but you see, when 
 I told that gentleman on the soap box over yonder that you 
 smoked them, he bought the whole box, paid me a cent 
 more apiece than you do. A dollar s worth saving now 
 adays. He says they sell for fifteen cents, two for a quarter, 
 up in Boston." 
 
 "If he s so well posted on Boston prices," growled Strout, 
 "why didn t he pay them instead of cheatin you out of two 
 dollars and a half? I consider it a very shabby trick, Mr. 
 Hill. I shall buy my cigars at Eastborough Centre in the 
 future. Perhaps you ll lose more than that dollar in the 
 long run." 
 
 "Perhaps the gentleman will let you have some of them," 
 expostulated Mr. Hill, "till I can get another box." 
 
 "All I can say is," said Strout in snappish tones, "if the 
 man who bought them knew that you got them for me, he 
 was no gentleman to take the whole box. What do yer
 
 ANCESTRY VERSUS PATRIOTISM. 87 
 
 say, Stiles?" he asked, turning to Abner, who had kept his 
 eyes fixed on the placid Quincy since entering the store, 
 though listening intently to what the Professor said. 
 
 "Well, I kinder reckon I agree to what you say, Pro 
 fessor, 5 drawled Abner, "unless the other side has got some 
 sort of an explanation to make. Tain t quite fair to judge 
 a man without a hearin ." 
 
 "Allow me to offer you one of your favorite brand, Pro 
 fessor Strout," said Quincy, jumping down from the soap 
 boxes and extending his cigar case. 
 
 "No! thank you!" said Strout, "I always buy a box at a 
 time, the same as you do. Judging from the smell of the 
 one you are smoking, I guess they made a mistake on that 
 box and sent second quality. Give me a five-cent plug, Mr. 
 Hill, if some gentleman hasn t bought out your whole 
 stock. I fancy my pipe will have to do me till I get a 
 chance to go over to Eastborough Centre." 
 
 During this conversation Hiram Maxwell had come in to 
 do an errand for Mrs. Mason, and several more platform 
 idlers, having heard the Professor s loud words, also 
 entered. 
 
 Strout was angry. When in that condition he usually 
 lost his head, which he did on this occasion. Turning to 
 Quincy he said with a voice full of passion: 
 
 "What s yer name, anyway? You ve got so many of 
 them I don t know which comes fust and which last. Is it 
 Quincy or Adams or Sawyer? How in thunder did you 
 get em all, anyway? I s pose they tucked em on to you 
 when you was a baby and you was too weak to kick at 
 being so abused." 
 
 At this sally a loud laugh arose from the crowd gathered 
 in the store, and Abner Stiles, who was the Professor s 
 henchman and man-of-all-work, cried out, "Fust blood for 
 the Professor." 
 
 Quincy faced the Professor with a pale face and spoke in
 
 38 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER. 
 
 clear, ringing tones, still holding his lighted cigar between 
 the fingers of his right hand. When he spoke all listened 
 intently. 
 
 "Your memory has served you well, Mr. Strout. You 
 have got my names correct and in the proper order, Ouincy 
 Adams Sawyer. I do not consider that any child could be 
 abused by being obliged to wear such honored names as 
 those given me by my parents. My mother was a Quincy, 
 and that name is indissolubly connected with the history 
 and glory of our common country. My father s mother was 
 an Adams, a family that has given two Presidents to the 
 United States. If your knowledge of history is as great as 
 your memory for names you should be aware of these facts, 
 but your ignorance of them will not affect the opinion of 
 those knowing to them. My father, Nathaniel Adams Saw 
 yer, has a world-wide reputation as a great constitutional 
 lawyer, and I am proud to bear his name, combined with 
 those of my illustrious ancestors. It is needless for me to 
 add that I, too, am connected with the legal profession/ 
 
 Here Hiram Maxwell called out, "First round for Mr. 
 Sawyer." 
 
 "Shut up, you dough-head/ cried Strout, his face pur 
 ple with rage. Turning to Quincy he said in a choked 
 voice, "My name is Obadiah Strout, no frills or folderob 
 about it either. That was my father s name too, and he 
 lived and died an honest man, in spite of it. He raised 
 potatoes and one son, that was me. When the nation called 
 for volunteers I went to war to save the money bags of 
 such as you that stayed at home. It was such fellers as 
 vou that made money out of mouldy biscuits and rotten 
 beef, shoddy clothin , and paper- soled boots. It was such 
 fellers as your father that lent their money to the govern 
 ment and got Wg interest for it. They kept the war going 
 as long as they could. What cared they for the blood of 
 the poor soldier, as long 1 as they could keep the profits and
 
 ANCESTBif VEKSUS PATRIOTISM. 39 
 
 interest coming in? It wasn t the Quincys and the Adamses 
 and the other fellers with big names that stayed at home 
 and hollered who saved the country, but the rank and file 
 that did the fightin , and I was one of them." 
 
 As he said this the irascible Professor shook his fist in 
 Quincy s face, to which a red flush mounted, dyeing cheek 
 and brow. 
 
 "That s the Lord s truth," said Abner Stiles. Then he 
 called out in a loud voice, "Second round for the Professor. 
 Now for the finish." 
 
 But the finish did not come then. The settlement be 
 tween these two lingual disputants did not come for many 
 days. The reason for a sudden cessation of the wordy con 
 flict was a shrill, feminine voice, which cried out from the 
 store platform: 
 
 "Hiram Maxwell, where are you? Mother s most out of 
 patience waiting for you." 
 
 "Good Lord!" cried Hiram, breaking through the crowd 
 and rushing to the counter to make the long-deferred pur 
 chase. "Fm coming in a minute." 
 
 "I think i had better see you home," remarked Huldy 
 Mason, entering the store. 
 
 As she advanced the crowd separated and moved back 
 ward, leaving her a dear path. 
 
 "Why, how do you do, Mr. Sawyer?" said she in a pleas 
 ant voice and with a sweet smile, as she reached Quincy. 
 "Won t you help me take Hiram home?" 
 
 "I should ibe happy to be of service to you/ replied 
 Quincy. 
 
 The professor turned his back toward Miss Mason and 
 began talking in an animated manner to Abner Stiles, Bob 
 Wood, and a few other ardent sympathizers who gathered 
 about him. 
 
 The rest of the crowd were evidently more interested in 
 watching the pretty Miss Mason and the genteel Mr. Saw-
 
 40 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER. 
 
 yer. When Hiram left the store with his purchases under 
 one arm and Quincy s box of cigars under the other, he was 
 closely followed by Quincy and Huldy, who were talking 
 and laughing together. The crowd of loungers streamed 
 out on the platform again to watch their departure. As 
 Quincy and Huldy turned from the square into the road 
 that led to the Deacon s house they met Ezekiel Petten- 
 gill. Huldy nodded gayly and Quincy raised his hat, but 
 Ezekiel was not acquainted with city customs and did not 
 return the salutation. A few moments later the Professor 
 and Abner Stiles were relating to him the exciting occur 
 rences of the last half hour.
 
 V. 
 
 MR. SAWYER MEETS UNCLE IKE. 
 
 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER had not come down to 
 Mason s Corner with any idea of becoming a hermit. 
 His father was a great lawyer and a very wealthy man. 
 He had made Quincy a large allowance during his college 
 days, and had doubled it when his only son entered his law 
 office to complete his studies. 
 
 Quincy had worked hard in two ways; first, to read law, 
 so as to realize the great anticipations that his father had 
 concerning him; second, he worked still harder between 
 eight in the evening and one, two, and even four in the 
 morning, to get rid of the too large allowance that his father 
 made him. 
 
 Like all great men, his father was unsuspicious and easily 
 hoodwinked aoout family matters; so when Quincy grew 
 listless and on certain occasions fell asleep at his desk his 
 renowned and indulgent father decided it was due to over 
 work and sent him down to Eastborough for a month s rest 
 and change of scene. 
 
 His father had known Isaac Pettengill, and in fact had 
 conducted many successful suits for him; besides this he 
 had drawn up the papers when Uncle Ike divided his for 
 tune. Quincy s father had written to Uncle Ike, asking 
 him to find his son a boarding place, and Uncle Ike had 
 selected Deacon Mason s as the best place for him. 
 
 Quincy s father had told him to be sure and get ac 
 quainted with Mr. Isaac Pettengill, saying he was a man of
 
 42 QUIXCY ADAMS SAWYER. 
 
 fine education, and added, "I sometimes feel, Quincy, as 
 though I would like to go into the country and take care of 
 a chicken farm myself for a while." 
 
 His mother came of the best New England stock, and 
 although she had been named Sarah and her husband s 
 name was Nathaniel, we have seen that the son had been 
 endowed with the rather high-sounding name of Quincy 
 Adams, which his schoolmates had shortened to Quince, 
 and his college friends had still further abbreviated to 
 Ouinn. Quincy had two sisters and they had been equally 
 honored with high-sounding appellations, the elder being 
 called Florence Estelle and the younger Maude Gertrude, 
 but to pa, ma, brother, and friends they were known as 
 Flossie and Gertie. 
 
 The next day after the affair at Hill s grocery, Quincy 
 put several of the best cigars in town in his pocket and 
 started towards Eastborough Centre for a walk, intending 
 to call upon Uncle Ike Pettengill. 
 
 The young man knew that late hours and their usual ac 
 companiments were what had undermined his health, so 
 he determined to make his vacation of good service to him 
 and recover his accustomed health and strength, and when 
 he returned home cut his old acquaintances and settle down 
 earnestly and honestly to the battle of life. 
 
 He had been a favorite in city society; he was well edu 
 cated, well read, had travelled considerably and w r as uni 
 formly polite and affable to all classes, from young chil 
 dren to old men and women; he was very careful about his 
 dress, and always had that well-groomed appearance, which 
 in the city elicits commendation, but which leads the aver 
 age countryman to say "dude 5 to himself and near friends 
 when talking about him. 
 
 Quincy was no dude; he had been prominent in all college 
 athletic games ; he had been a member of the Varsity eight 
 in one of its -contests with Yale, and had won a game for
 
 MR. SAWYER MEETS UNCLE IKE. 48 
 
 Harvard wkh Yale at base ball by making a home run in the 
 tenth inning on a tied score. He was a good musician and 
 fine singer. In addition he was a graceful dancer, and had 
 taken lessons in boxing, until his feather-weight teacher 
 suggested that he had better find a heavy-weight instructor 
 to practise on. 
 
 i Quincy was in his twenty-third year. He had been in love 
 a dozen times, but, as he expressed it, had been saved from 
 matrimony by getting acquainted with a prettier girl just as 
 he was on the point of popping the question. 
 
 But we left him walking along on his way to Eastborough 
 Centre. Deacon Mason had told him Uncle Ike s house 
 was away from the road, some hundred feet back, and that 
 he could not mistake it, as he could see the chicken coop 
 from the road. He finally reached it after traversing about 
 a mile and a half, it being another mile and a half to East- 
 borough Centre. 
 
 He found the path that led to the house. As he neared 
 the steps a huge dog arose from a reclining posture and 
 faced him, not in an ugly mood, but with an expression that 
 seemed to say, "An introduction will be necessary before 
 you come any farther." The dog seemed to understand 
 that it was his duty to bring about the necessary introduc 
 tion, so he gave a series of loud barks. The door was 
 quickly opened and Uncle Ike stood in the doorway. 
 
 "Do I address Mr. Isaac Pettengill?" asked Quincy. 
 
 Uncle Ike replied, "That s what they write on my letters. 
 
 Quincy continued, "My name is Quincy Adams Sawyer. 
 ? am the only son of the Hon. Nathaniel Sawyer of Boston, 
 and I bear a letter of introduction from him to you." 
 
 Quincy took the letter from his pocket and held it in his 
 hand. The dog made a quick movement forward and be 
 fore Quincy could divine his object, he took the letter in 
 his mouth and took it to Uncle Ike, and, returning, faced 
 Quincy again.
 
 44 QUINCT ADAMS SAWYER. 
 
 Uncle Ike read the letter slowly and carefully; then he 
 turned to Quincy and said, "If you will talk about birds, 
 fish, dogs, and chickens, you are welcome, and I shall be 
 glad to see you now or any time. If you talk about law 
 suits or religion I shall be sorry that you came. I am sick 
 of lawyers and ministers. If you insist upon talking on such 
 subjects I ll tell Swiss, and the next time you come he 
 won t even bark to let me know you re here. 
 
 Quincy took in the situation, and smiling said, "I am 
 tired of lawyers and lawsuits myself; that is the reason I 
 came down here for a change. The subjects you mention 
 will satisfy me, if you will allow me to put in a few words 
 about rowing, running, boxing, and football." 
 
 Uncle Ike replied, "The physically perfect man 1 admire, 
 the intellectually perfect man is usually a big bore ; I prefer 
 the company of my chickens." Turning to Swiss he said 
 with a marked change in his voice, "This is a friend of mine, 
 Swiss." Turning to Quincy he said, "He will admit you 
 until I give him directions to the contrary. 5 
 
 The dog walked quietly to one side and Quincy advanced 
 with outstretched hand toward Uncle Ike. 
 
 Uncle Ike did not extend his. He said, "I never shake 
 hands, young man. It is a hollow social custom. With 
 Damon and Pythias it meant something. One was ready 
 to die for the other, and that hand-clasp meant friendship 
 until death. How many hand shakings mean that now 
 adays? Besides," with a queer smile, "I have just been 
 cutting up a broiler that I intend to cook for my dinner.? 
 Come in, you are welcome on the conditions I have menJ 
 tioned." 
 
 Quincy obeyed and stepped into the kitchen of Sleepy 
 Hollow. He owned to himself in after years that that was 
 the most important step he had taken in life the turning- 
 point in his career.
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 SOME NEW IDEAS. 
 
 DID you ever kill a chicken?" asked Uncle Ike, as 
 Quincy entered the room and took a seat in the wil 
 low rocker Uncle Ike pointed out to him. 
 
 "No," replied Qukicy, "but out in Chicago I saw live 
 hogs killed, bristles taken off, cut up, assorted according to 
 kind and quality, and hung up -to cool off, in three minutes." 
 
 Uncle Ike responded vehemently, "Yes, I know, and it is 
 a shame to the American people that they allow such 
 things. * 
 
 "That may be true," said Quincy, "but even at that speed 
 they cannot kill and pack as fast as it is wanted. 
 
 "Yes," said Uncle Ike, "in the old days man feared God, 
 and he treated man and beast better for that reason. In 
 these days man serves Mammon and he will do anything to 
 win his favor." 
 
 "Do you think it is true that men were better in the old 
 days? asked Quincy. 
 
 "No," answered Uncle Ike, "I didn t say so. I said that 
 in the old days man was afraid to do these things; now if he 
 has money he is afraid of neither God, man, nor the devil. 
 To speak frankly, that is why I am so independent myself. 
 I am sure of enough to support me as long as I live; I owe 
 no man anything, and I allow no man to owe-me anything." 
 
 Quincy, changing -the subject, inquired, "What is your 
 method of killing chickens?"
 
 46 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER. 
 
 Uncle Ike said, "Let me tell you why I devised a nc>r 
 plan. When I was about eight years old I went with my 
 mother to visit an uncle in a neighboring town. I was 
 born in Eastborough myself, in the old Pettengill house. 
 But this happened some twenty miles from here. My uncle 
 was chopping wood, and boy like, I went out to watch him. 
 An old rooster kept running around the block, flapping its 
 wings, making considerable noise. Uncle shooed him off 
 three or four times. Finally uncle made a grab at him, 
 caught him by the legs, whacked him down on the block 
 and with his axe cut off his head close to his body, and then 
 threw it out on the grass right in front of me. Was that 
 rooster dead? I thought not. It got up on its legs, ran 
 right towards where I was sitting, and before I could get 
 away I was covered with the blood that came from its neck. 
 I don t know how far the rooster ran, but I know I never 
 stopped until I was safe in my mother s arms. The balance 
 of the time I stayed there you could nt get me within forty 
 yards of my uncle, for every time I met him I could see 
 myself running around without my head." 
 
 "That made a lasting impression on you," remarked 
 Quincy. 
 
 "Yes," said Uncle Ike, "it has lasted me sixty-eight years, 
 one month, and thirteen days," pointing to a calendar that 
 hung on the wall. 
 
 As Quincy looked in the direction indicated he saw 
 something hanging beside it that attracted his attention. 
 
 It was a sheet of white paper with a heavy black border. 
 Within the border were written these words, "Sacred to 
 the memory of Isaac Pettengill, who was killed at the battle 
 of Gettysburg, July 4th, 1863, aged twenty-nine years. He 
 died for his namesake and his native land." 
 
 Quincy said interrogatively, "Did you lose a son in the 
 war?"
 
 SOME NEW IDEAS. 41 
 
 "No/ was the reply. "I never had a son. That was 
 my substitute. 
 
 "Strange that your substitute should have the same name 
 as yourself." 
 
 "Yes, it would have been if he had, but he didn t. His 
 right name was Lemuel Butters. But I didn t propose to 
 put my money into such a name as that." 
 
 "Were you drafted?" asked Quincy. 
 
 "No," said Uncle Ike. "I might as well tell you the 
 whole story, for you seem bound to have it. I came down 
 here in 1850, when I was about sixty. Of course I knew 
 what was going on, but I didn t take much interest in the 
 war, till a lot of soldiers went by one day. They stopped 
 here; we had a talk, and they told me a number of things 
 that I hadn t seen in the papers. I haven t read the daily 
 papers for thirteen years, but I take some weeklies and the 
 magazines and buy some books. Well, the next day I 
 went over to Eastborough Centre and asked the select 
 men how much it would cost to send a man to the war. 
 They said substitutes were bringing $150 just then, but 
 that I was over age and couldn t be drafted, and there was 
 no need of my sending anybody. I remarked that in my 
 opinion a man s patriotism ought not to die out as long as 
 he lived. It seemed to me that if a man had $150 it was his 
 duty to pay for a substitute, if he was a hundred. The 
 selectmen said that they had a young fellow named Lem 
 Butters who was willing to go if he got a hundred and fifty. 
 So I planked down the money, but with the understanding 1 
 that he should take my name. Well, to make a long story 
 short, I got killed at Gettysburg and I wrote that out as a 
 reminder." 
 
 "Don t you ever get lonesome alone here by yourself?" 
 Quincy asked. 
 
 "Yes." said Uncle Ike. "I am lonesome every minute of 
 the time. That s what I came down here for. I got tired
 
 & QOlXCt ADAMS SAWTEJi 
 
 being lonesome with other people around me, so I thought 
 I would come down here and be lonesome all by myself, 
 and I have never been sorry I came." 
 
 Quincy opened his eyes and looked inquiringly at Uncle 
 Ike. 
 
 "I don t quite understand what you mean by being lone 
 some with other people around you," said he. 
 
 "No, of course you don t," replied Uncle Ike. "You are 
 too young. I was sixty. I was thirty-five when I got mar 
 ried and my wife was only twenty-two, so when I was 
 sixty she was only forty-seven. One girl was twenty-three 
 and the other twenty. I went to work at seven o clock in 
 the morning and got home at seven at night. My wife 
 and daughters went to theatres, dinners, and parties, and of 
 course I stayed at home and kept house with the servant 
 girl. In my business I had taken in two young fellows as 
 partners, both good, honest men, but soon they got to fig 
 uring that on business points they were two and I was one, 
 and pretty soon all I had to do was to put wood on the fire 
 and feed the office cat. So you can see I was pretty lone 
 some about eighteen hours out of the twenty-four." 
 
 Quincy said reflectively, "And your family 
 
 Uncle Ike broke in, "Are alive and well, I suppose. 
 They don t write me and I don t write them. I told my 
 partners they must buy me out, and I gave them sixty days 
 to do it in. I gave my wife and daughters two-thirds of 
 my fortune and put the other third into an annuity. I am 
 calculating now that if my health holds good I shall beat 
 the insurance company in the end." 
 
 Quincy, finding that his inquiries provoked such inter 
 esting replies, risked another, "Are your daughters mar 
 ried?" 
 
 Uncle Ike laughed quietly. "I don t read the daily 
 papers as I said, so I don t know, but they wouldn t send 
 me cards anyway. They know my ideas of marriage/
 
 SOME NEW IDEAb. 
 
 Quincy, smiling-, asked, "Have you some new ideas on 
 that old custom?" 
 
 "Yes, I have," replied Uncle Ike. "If two men go into 
 business and each puts in money and they make money or 
 don t make it, the law doesn t fix it so that they must keep 
 together for their natural lives, but allows the firm to be 
 dissolved by mutual consent." 
 
 "Why, sir, that would make marriage a limited partner- 
 ship," said Quincy with a smile. 
 
 "What better is it now?" asked Uncle Ike. "The law 
 doesn t compel couples to live together if they don t want 
 to, and if they don t want to live together, why not let 
 them, under proper restrictions, get up some new firms? 
 Of course, -there wouldn t be any objection to parties living 
 together for their natural lives, if they wanted to, and the 
 fact that they did would be pretty good proof that they 
 wanted to." 
 
 Quincy started to speak, "But what " 
 
 "I know what you were going to say," said Uncle Ike. 
 "You are going to ask that tiresome old question, what 
 will become of the children? Well, I should consider them 
 part of the property on hand and divide them and the 
 money according to law/ 
 
 "But few mothers would consent to be parted from their 
 children." 
 
 "Oh, that s nonsense," replied Uncle Ike. "I have a 
 (Massachusetts State Report here that says about five hun 
 dred children every year are abandoned by their mothers 
 for some cause or other. They leave them on doorsteps and 
 in railroad stations ; they put them out to board and don t 
 pay their board ; and the report says that every one of these 
 little waifs is adopted by good people, and they get a better 
 education and a better bringing up than their own parents 
 could or would give them. Have you ever read, Mr. Saw-
 
 W QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER. 
 
 yer, of the Austrian baron who was crossed in love and 
 decided he would never marry?" 
 
 Quincy shook his head. 
 
 "Well, he was wealthy and had a -big castle, with no one 
 to live in it, and during his life he adopted, educated, 
 clothed, and sent out into the world, fitted to make their 
 own living", more than a thousand children. To my mind,^ 
 Mr. Sawyer, he was a bigger man than any emperor or king 
 who has ever lived." 
 
 Quincy asked, "But how are you going to start such a 
 reform, Mr. Pettengill? The first couple that got reunited 
 on the partnership plan would be the laughing stock of the 
 community." 
 
 "Just so," said Uncle Ike, "but I can get over that diffi 
 culty. The State of Massachusetts has led in a great many 
 social reforms. Let it take the first step forward in this 
 one ; let it declare by law that all marriages on and after a 
 certain day shall terminate five years from the date of 
 marriage unless the couples wish to renew the bonds. Then 
 let everybody laugh at everybody else if they want to." 
 
 "Well, how about those couples that were married before 
 that day?" 
 
 "That s easy," was Uncle Ike s reply. "Give them all a 
 chance five years after the law to dissolve by mutual con 
 sent, if they want to. Don t forget, Mr. Sawyer, that with 
 such a law there would be no need of divorce courts, and 
 if any man insulted a woman, imprisonment for life and 
 even the gallows wouldn t be any too good for him. Will 
 you stay to lunch, Mr. Sawyer? My chicken is about done." 
 
 Quincy arose and politely declined the invitation, saying 
 he had been so much interested he had remained much 
 longer than he had intended, but he would be pleased to 
 call again some day if Mr. Pettengill were willing. 
 
 "Oh, yes, come any time," said Uncle Ike, "you re a good 
 listener, and I always like a man that allows me to do most
 
 SOME NEW IDEAS. & 
 
 oJ the talking. By the way, we didn t get a chance to say 
 much this time about shooting, fishing, or football. * 
 
 Quincy went down the steps, and Uncle Ike stood at the 
 door, as he did before he entered. Swiss looked at Quincy 
 with an expression that seemed to say, "You have made a 
 pretty long call. Quincy patted him on the head, called 
 him "good dog/ and walked briskly down the path towards 
 the road. When he was about fifty feet from the house, 
 Uncle Ike called out sharply, "Mr. Sawyer!" Quincy 
 turned on his heel quickly and looked towards the speaker. 
 Uncle Ike s voice, still sharp, spoke these farewell words: 
 
 "I forgot to tell you, Mr. Sawyer, that I always chloro 
 form my chickens before I cut their heads off." 
 
 He stepped back into the house. Swiss, with a bound, 
 was in the room beside him, and when Quincy again turned 
 his steps towards the road the closed door had shut then? 
 both from view.
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 "THAT CITY FELLER.** 
 
 r 
 
 AS usual, the next morning Hiram was down to the 
 Pettengill house between nine and ten o clock. He 
 opened the kitchen door unobserved by Mandy and looked 
 in at her. She was standing at the sink washing dishes 
 and singing to herself. Suddenly Hiram gave a jump into 
 the room and cried out in a loud voice, "How are you, 
 Mandy?" 
 
 She dropped a tin pan that she was wiping, which fell 
 with a clatter, breaking a plate that happened to be in the 
 sink. 
 
 "I m much worse, thank you," she retorted, "and none 
 the better for seeing you. What do you mean by coming 
 into the house and yelling like a wild Injin? I shall expect 
 you to pay for that plate anyway." 
 
 "He who breaks pays," said Hiram with a laugh. "But 
 why don t you shake hands with a fellow?" 
 
 "I will if I like and I won t if I like," replied Mandy, 
 extending her hand, which was covered with soapsuds. 
 , "Wipe your hand," said Hiram, "and I ll give you this 
 ten cents to pay for the plate." 
 
 As he said this he extended the money towards her. 
 iMandy did not attempt to take it, but giving her wet hand 
 a flip threw the soapsuds full in Hiram s face. He rushed 
 forward and caught her about the waist; as he did so he 
 dropped the money, which rolled under the kitchen table. 
 
 Mandy turned around quickly and facing Hiram, caught
 
 THAT CITY FELLER. 68 
 
 him by both ears, which she pulled vigorously. He released 
 his hold upon her and jumped back to escape further pun 
 ishment. 
 
 "Now, Mr. Hiram Maxwell/ said she, facing him, "what 
 do you mean by such actions? I ve a good mind to put 
 you outdoors and never set eyes on you again. What 
 would Mr. Pettengill have thought if he d a come in a min 
 ute ago? 7 
 
 "I guess he d a thought that I was gittin on better n I 
 really am," replied Hiram, with a crestfallen look. "Now, 
 Mandy, don t get mad, I didn t mean nothin , I was only 
 foolin and you began it fust, by throwin that dirty water 
 in my face, and no feller that had any spunk could stand 
 that. As he said this, a broad smile covered his face. 
 "Say, Mandy," he continued, "here comes Obadiah Strout, 
 we d better make up before he gits in or it ll be all over 
 town that you and me have been fightin . Got any chores 
 this mornin , Mandy, that I can do for you?" 
 
 At this moment the kitchen door was again opened and 
 Professor Strout entered. 
 
 "Where s Pettengill?" he asked of Mandy, not noticing 
 Hiram. 
 
 "I guess he s out in the wood-shed, if he hasn t gone 
 somewheres else," replied Mandy, resuming her work at 
 the sink. 
 
 Strout turned towards Hiram and said, as if he had been 
 unaware previously of his presence, "Oh! you there, 
 Hiram? Just go find Pettengill for me like a good feller 
 and tell him Professor Strout wishes to see him up to the 
 house." 
 
 "At the same time, Hiram/ said Mandy, "go find me 
 that dozen eggs that I told you I wanted for that puddin ." 
 
 Hiram winked at Mandy, unseen by the Professor, and 
 started for the chicken coop. 
 
 "Guess I ll have a chair," remarked the Professor.
 
 64 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER. 
 
 "All right, if you don t take it with you whea you go," 
 replied Mandy, still busily washing dishes. 
 
 "Fine weather/ said Strout. 
 
 "Sorter between," laconically replied Mandy. 
 
 "Did you enjoy the concert? asked Strout. 
 i "Some parts of it," said Mandy. "I thought Mr. Sawyer 
 and Miss Putnam were just splendid. His whistling was 
 just grand. 
 
 "He ll whistle another kind of a tune in a few days," 
 remarked Strout. 
 
 "What? Are you going to give another concert?" asked 
 Mandy, looking at him for the first time. 
 
 "If I do," replied the Professor, "you bet he won t be 
 one of the performers. 5 
 
 "Oh, I see/ said Mandy, "you re mad with him cause 
 he hogged the whole show. Mr. Maxwell was just telling 
 me as how Mr. Sawyer was going to hire the Town Hall on 
 Washington s birthday and bring down a big brass band 
 from Bostpn and give a concert that would put you in the 
 shade, and somebody was telling me, I forget who, that 
 iMr. Sawyer don t like to sit round doing nothin , and he s 
 goin to give music lessons." 
 
 These last two untruthful shots hit the mark, as she 
 knew they would, and Strout, abandoning the subject, 
 blurted out, "Where in thunder s that Hiram? I ll be 
 blowed if I don t believe he went to look for the eggs first." 
 
 "I reckon he did," said Mandy, "if he means to keep on 
 good terms with me. He ain t likely to tend to stray jobs 
 till he s done up his regular chores." 
 
 "I s pose Deacon Mason sends him down here to wait on 
 you?" remarked Strout with a sneer. 
 
 "Did Deacon Mason tell you that you could have him to 
 run your errands?" inquired Mandy, with a pout. 
 
 "Guess the best thing I can do," said Strout rising, "is 
 to go hunt Pettengill up myself."
 
 THAT CITY FELLER. 55 
 
 n l guess you ve struck it right this time," assented 
 Mandy, as Strout left the room and started for the wood 
 shed. 
 
 As he closed the door, Mandy resumed her singing as 
 though such conversations were of everyday occurrence. 
 
 She finished her work at the sink and was fixing the 
 kitchen fire when Hiram returned. 
 
 "All I could find," said he, holding an egg in each hand. 
 "The hens must have struck or think it s a holiday. S pose 
 there s any out in the barn? Come, let s go look, Mandy. 
 Where s old Strout?" 
 
 "I guess he s gone to look for Mr. Pettengill," replied 
 Mandy, with a laugh. 
 
 "I kinder thought the would if I stayed long enough," 
 said Hiram, with a grin ; "but come along, Mandy, no hen 
 fruit, no puddinV 
 
 "Mr. Maxwell," said Mandy, soberly, "I wish you d be 
 more particular about your language. You know I abom 
 inate slang. You know how careful I try to be." 
 
 "You re a dandy," said Hiram, taking her hand. 
 
 They ran as far as the wood-shed, when seeing the door 
 open, they hid behind it until Strout came out and walked 
 down towards the lane to meet Ezekiel, whom he had seen 
 coming up from the road. Then Hiram and Mandy sped 
 on their way to the (barn, which they quickly reached and 
 were soon upon the haymow, apparently searching intently 
 for eggs. 
 
 When Strout reached Ezekiel he shook hands with him 
 and said, "Come up to the barn, Pettengill, I ve got a little 
 somethin I want to tell you and it s kinder private. It s 
 about that city feller that s swellin round here puttin on 
 airs and tryin to make us think that his father is a bigger 
 man than George Washington. He about the same as 
 told me down to the grocery store that the blood of all the 
 Quincys flowed in one arm and the blood of all the Adams*"
 
 56 QUUSCY ADAMS SAWYER. 
 
 in the other, but I kinder guess that the rest of his carcass 
 is full of calf s blood and there s more fuss and feathers 
 than fight to him." 
 
 By this time they had reached the barn and they sat down 
 upon a pile of hay at the foot of the mow. 
 
 "Now my plan s this," said Strout. "You know Bob 
 Wood; well, he s the biggest feller and the best fighter in 
 town. I m goin to post Bob up as to how to pick a quar 
 rel with that city feller. When he gets the lickin that he 
 deserves, I rayther think that Deacon Mason will lose a 
 boarder." 
 
 "But s posin Mr. Sawyer licks Bob Wood?" queried 
 Ezekiel. 
 
 "Oil! I dor c count much on that," said Strout; "but if 
 it should turn out that way we re goin to turn in and get 
 up a surprise party for Miss Mason and jist leave him out." 
 
 "I hope you ain t goin to do any fightin down to Deacon 
 Mason s?" remarked Ezekiel. 
 
 "Oh, no !" protested Strout, "it ll be kind o quiet, under- 
 minin work, as it were. Remarks and sayin s and side 
 whispers and odd looks, the cold shoulder business, you 
 know, that soon tells a feller that his company ain t 
 appreciated." 
 
 "Well, I don t think that s quite fair," said Ezekiel. "You 
 don t like him, Mr. Strout, but I don t think the whole town 
 will take it up." 
 
 The Professor said sternly, "He has insulted me and in 
 doing that he has insulted the whole town of East 
 borough." 
 
 A smothered laugh was heard. 
 
 "By George! What was that?" cried Strout. 
 
 Ezekiel was at a loss what to say, and before he could 
 reply, Mandy s laughing had caused the hay to move. As 
 it began to slide she clutched at Hiram in a vam sffort to 
 save herself, and the next instant a large pile of hay, bear-
 
 THAT CITY FELLER. 67 
 
 ing Hiram and Mandy, came down, falling upon Ezekiel 
 and Strout and covering them from sight. 
 
 When all had struggled to their feet, Ezekiel turned to 
 Mandy and said sharply, "What were you doin up there, 
 Mandy?" 
 
 "Looking for eggs," said she, as she ran out of the barn 
 and started for the house. 
 
 Hiram stood with his mouth distended with a huge smile. 
 Strout turned towards him and said savagely, "Well, if 
 you re the only egg she got, twas a mighty bad one." 
 
 Hiram retorted, "I would rather be called a bad egg 
 than somethin 5 I heard about you. 
 
 Strout, in a. passion, cried out, "Who said anything about 
 me"?" 
 
 Hiram made for the barn door and then said, "heard a 
 gentleman say as how there was only one jackass in East- 
 borough and he taught the singin school." 
 
 Strout caught up a rake to throw at him, but Hiram was 
 out of sight before he could carry out his purpose. Turn 
 ing to Ezekiel, Strout said, "I bet a dollar, Pettengill, it 
 was that city feller that said that, and as I have twice re 
 marked and this makes three times, this town ain t big 
 enough to hold both on us."
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 CITY SKILL VERSUS COUNTRY MUSCLE. 
 
 HIRAM MAXWELL was not called upon to perform 
 very arduous duties at Deacon Mason s. The Dea 
 con had given up farming several years before, and Hiram s 
 duties consisted in doing the chores about the house. He 
 had plenty of spare time, and he used it by going down to 
 the Pettengill place and talking to Mandy Skinner. 
 
 The next morning after the adventure in the barn, Hiram 
 went down as usual after his morning s work was done to 
 see Mandy. 
 
 "How do you find things, Mandy?" said Hiram, opening 
 the kitchen door and putting his head in. 
 
 "By looking for them," said Mandy, without looking up 
 from her work. 
 
 "You are awful smart, ain t you?" retorted Hiram. 
 
 Mandy replied, "People s opinion that I think a good deal 
 more of than yours have said that same thing, Mr. Max 
 well." 
 
 Hiram saw that he was worsted, so he changed the con* 
 versation. 
 
 "Anybody to hum?" 
 
 Mandy answered sharply, "Everybodj " out but me, of 
 course I am nobody." 
 
 Hiram came in and closed the door. 
 
 "You needn t be so pesky smart with your tongue, 
 Mandy. Of course I can t keep up with you and you know 
 it. What s up?"
 
 CITY SKILL VEKSUS COUNTRY MUSCLE. 55 
 
 Mandy replied, "The thermometer. It isn t nearly as 
 cold as it was yesterday." 
 
 Hiram, seeing a breakfast apparently laid out on a side 
 table inquired, "Expectin somebody to breakfast?" 
 
 "No," said Mandy, "I got that ready for Mr. Pettengill, 
 but he didn t have time to eat it because he was afraid he 
 would lose the train." 
 
 "Has he gone to the city?" asked Hiram. 
 
 "I spect he has," answered Mandy. 
 
 "Well," remarked Hiram, "s posin I eat that breakfast 
 myself, so as to save you the trouble of throwin it away." 
 
 "Well," said Mandy, "I was going to give it to the pigs; 
 I suppose one hog might as well have it as another." 
 
 Hiram said, "Why, you don t call me a big eater, do you, 
 Mandy?" 
 
 Mandy laughed and said, "I can t tell, I never saw you 
 when you wasn t hungry. How do you know when you 
 have got enough?" 
 
 Hiram said, "I haven t got but one way of tellin , I allus 
 eats till it hurts me, then I stop while the pain lasts." 
 
 Then he asked Mandy, "What did Zekiel go to the city 
 for?" 
 
 Mandy answered, "Mr. Pettengill does not confide his 
 private business to me." 
 
 Hiram broke in, "I bet a dollar you know why he went, 
 just the same." 
 
 Mandy said, "I bet a dollar I do." 
 
 Then she broke into a loud laugh. Hiram evidently 
 thought it was very funny and laughed until the tears stood 
 in his eyes. 
 
 "What are you laughing for?" asked Mandy. 
 
 Hiram s countenance fell. 
 
 "Come down to the fine point, Mandy, durned if I 
 know." 
 
 "That s a great trick of yours, Hiram," said Mandy.
 
 60 QUINOY ADAMS SAWYER. 
 
 "You ought not to laugh at anything unless you under 
 stand it." 
 
 "I guess I wouldn t laugh much then," said Hiram. "I 
 allus laugh when I don t understand anythin , so folks 
 won t think that I don t know where the p int comes in. 
 But say, Mandy, what did Pettengill go to the city for?" 
 
 During this conversation Hiram had been eating the 
 breakfast that had been prepared for Ezekiel. Mandy sat 
 down near him and said, "I ll tell you, but it ain t nothing 
 to laugh at. Mr. Pettengill had a telegraph message come 
 last night." 
 
 "You don t say so!" said Hiram. "It must be pretty 
 important for persons to spend money that way. Nobody 
 dead, I s pose? 
 
 "Well," said Mandy, "Mr. Pettengill left the telegram in 
 his room and I had to read it to see whether I had to throw 
 it away or not, and I remember every word that was in it." 
 
 Hiram asked earnestly, "Well, what was It? Is his sis 
 ter Alice goin to get married?" 
 
 -Mandy answered, "No, she is sick and she wanted him 
 to come right up -to Boston at once to see her." 
 
 Hiram said, " Zekiel must think a powerful lot of that 
 sister of his n. Went right off to Boston without his break 
 fast." 
 
 "I guess it would have to be something nearer than a 
 sister to make you do that," said Mandy. "I don t know but 
 one thing, Hiram, that would make you go without your 
 feed. 
 
 "What s that, Mandy?" said he. "You?" 
 
 "No," replied Mandy, "a famine." 
 
 "You ain t no sort of an idea as to what s the matter 
 with her, have you?" he asked. 
 
 "No, I haven t," said Mandy, "and if I had I don t im 
 agine I would tell you. Now you better run right home,
 
 CITY SKILL VERSUS COUNTRY MUSCLE. 61 
 
 little boy, for I have to go upstairs and do the chamber 
 work." 
 
 She whisked out of the room, and Hiram, helping himself 
 to a couple of apples, left the house and walked slowly 
 along the road towards Eastborough Centre. 
 
 Suddenly he espied a man coming up the road and soon 
 saw it was Quincy Adams Sawyer. 
 
 "Just the feller I wanted to see," soliliquized Hiram. 
 
 As Quincy reached him he said, "Mr. Sawyer, I want 
 to speak to you a minute or two. Come into Pettengill s 
 barn, there s nobody to hum but Mandy and she s upstairs 
 makin the beds. 
 
 They -entered the barn and sat down on a couple of half 
 barrels that served for stools. 
 
 "Mr. Sawyer, you ve treated me fust rate since you ve 
 been here and I want to do you a good turn and put you 
 on your guard." 
 
 Quincy laughed. 
 
 Hiram continued, "Well, maybe you won t laugh if Bob 
 Wood tackles you. I won t tell you how I found it out 
 for I m no eavesdropper, but keep your eye on Bob Wood 
 and look out he don t play no mean tricks on you." 
 
 Quincy remarked, "I suppose Mr. Strout is at the bottom 
 of this and he has hired this Bob Wood to do what he can t 
 do himself. 
 
 "I guess you have got it about right, Mr. Sawyer," said 
 Hiram. "Can you fight?" he asked of Quincy. 
 
 "I am a good shot with a rifle," Quincy replied. "I can 
 hit the ace of hearts at one hundred feet with a pistol." 
 
 "I don t mean that," said Hiram. "Can you fight with 
 yer fists?" 
 
 "I don t know much about it," said Quincy with a queer 
 smile. 
 
 "Then I am afraid you will find Bob Wood a pretty 
 tough customer. He can lick any two fellers in town. Why,
 
 62 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER. 
 
 he polished off Cobb s twins one day in kss than five min 
 utes, both of em." 
 
 "Where does this Bob Wood spend most of his time?" 
 asked Quincy. 
 
 "He loafs around Hill s grocery. When he ain t wokin 
 at his trade," said Hiram, "he does odd jobs for the Put- 
 nams in summer and cuts some wood for them in winter. 
 You know Lindy Putnam, the gal you sang with at the 
 concert?" 
 
 "Come along," said Quincy, "I feel pretty good this 
 morning, we ll walk down to Hill s and see if that Mr. 
 Wood has anything to say to me." 
 
 "Don t you think the best plan, Mr. Sawyer, would be 
 to keep out of his way?" queried Hiram. 
 
 "Well, I can t tell that," said Quincy, "until I get better 
 acquainted with him. After that he may think he d better 
 keep out of my way." 
 
 "Why, he s twice as big as you/ cried Hiram, with a 
 look of astonishment on his face. 
 
 "Come along, Hiram/ said Quincy. "By the way, I 
 haven t seen Miss Putnam since the concert. I think I 
 will have to call on her." 
 
 Hiram laughed until his face was as red as a beet. 
 
 "By gum, that s good," he said, as he struck both legs 
 with his hands. 
 
 "What s good?" asked Quincy. "Calling on Miss Put 
 nam?" 
 
 "Yes," said Hiram. "Wouldn t she be s prised?" 
 
 "Why?" asked Quincy. "Such a call wouldn t be con 
 sidered anything out of the way in the city." 
 
 "No, nor it wouldn t here," said Hiram, "but for the fact 
 that Miss Putnam don t encourage callers. She goes round 
 a visitin herself ,and she treats the other girls fust rate, 
 cause she has plenty of money and can afford it. But she 
 has got two good reasons for not wantin visitors."
 
 CITY SKILL VERSUS COUNTRY MUSCLE. 63 
 
 "What are they?" asked Quincy. 
 
 "Well, I m country myself," said Hiram, "and there are 
 others in Eastborough that are more country than I am. 
 But if you want to see and hear the genooine old Rubes 
 you want to see old Sy Putnam and his wife Heppyc" 
 
 "But Miss Mason said Miss Putnam was quite wealthy." 
 
 "You bet she is," said Hiram. "She s worth hundreds 
 of millions of dollars." 
 
 "I think you must mean thousands," remarked Quincy. 
 
 "Well, as far as Pm concerned," said Hiram, "when you 
 talk about millions or thousands of money, one s just the 
 same to me as t other. I never seed so much money in my 
 life as I seed since you ve been here, but I don t want you to 
 think I m beggin for more." 
 
 "No," said Quincy, "I should never impute such a motive 
 to you." 
 
 Quincy took a dollar bill from his pocket and held it up 
 before Hiram. 
 
 "What s that?" he asked. 
 
 "That s one hundred cents," said Hiram, "considerably 
 more than I have got." 
 
 "Well," said Quincy, "if you tell me why Miss Putnam 
 doesn t like callers I will give you that dollar." 
 
 "Stop a minute," replied Hiram. "Soon as we turn this 
 next corner we ll be in full sight of the grocery store. You 
 can go ahead and I ll slip cross lots and come up from 
 behind the store. If Wood thought I d told you he would 
 lick me and I m no fighter. Now about Miss Putnam," 
 dropping his voice, "I heard it said, and I guess it s pretty 
 near the truth, that she is so blamed stuck up and dresses 
 so fine in city fashions that she is just shamed of her old 
 pa and ma and don t want nobody to see em." 
 
 "But," asked Quincy, "where did she get her money?" 
 
 Hiram answered, "From her only brother. He went 
 down to Boston, made a pile of money, then died and left
 
 94 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER. 
 
 it all to Lindy. If what I ve told you ain t gospel truth it s 
 mighty near it Well, I ll see you later, Mr. Sawyer." 
 
 And Hiram ran down a path that led across the fields. 
 
 Quincy turned the corner and walked briskly towards 
 Hill s grocer> r store. A dozen or more young- men and as 
 many older ones were lounging 1 about the platform that 
 ran the whole length of the store, for it was a very mild 
 day in January, and the snow was rapidly leaving under the 
 influence of what might be called a January thaw. 
 
 Quincy walked through the crowd, giving a friendly nod 
 to several faces that looked familiar, but the names of whose 
 owners were unknown to him. He entered the store, found 
 a letter from his mother and another from his sister Gertie, 
 and saying "Good morning" to Mir. Hill, who was the 
 village postmaster, soon reached the platform again. 
 
 As he did so a heavily built young fellow, fully six feet 
 tall and having a coarse red face, stepped up to him and 
 said brusquely, "I believe your name s Sawyer." 
 
 "Your belief is well founded," replied Quincy. "I regret 
 that I do not know your name." 
 
 "Well, you won t have to suffer long before you find out," 
 said the fellow. "My name s Robert Wood, or Bob Wood 
 for short." 
 
 "Ah! I see/ said Quincy. "Robert for long wood and 
 Bob for short wood. 
 
 Wood s face grew redder. 
 
 "I s pose you think that s mighty smart makin fun of 
 folks names. I guess there ain t much doubt but what you 
 said what a friend of mine tells me you did." 
 
 Quincy remarked calmly, "Well, what did your friend 
 say I said about you?" 
 
 By this time the loungers in and outside the store had 
 gathered around the two talkers. Wood seemed encour 
 aged and braced up by the presence of so many friends. 
 He walked up close to Quincy and said, "Well, my friend
 
 CITY SKILL VEESUS COUNTRY MUSCLE. 6fl 
 
 told me that you said there was but one jackass in East 
 borough and he sang bass in the quartette." 
 
 Quincy paled a little, but replied firmly, "I never said 
 it, and if your friend says I did he lies and he knows it." 
 
 At this juncture, as if prearranged, Obadiah Strout sud 
 denly emerged from the grocery store. 
 
 What s the matter, gentlemen? 3 asked Mr. Strout. 
 
 "Well," said Wood, "I told this young man what you 
 said he said, and he says you re a liar. 
 
 "Well," said Strout pompously, "I know that he said it 
 and I have witnesses to prove it. When you settle with 
 him for calling you a jackass I ll settle with him for calling 
 me a liar." 
 
 "Take your coat off, Mr. Sawyer, and get ready. I won t 
 keep you waitin* but a few moments," said Bob. 
 
 A jeering laugh went up from the crowd. Quincy, turn 
 ing, saw Hiram. 
 
 "Here, Hiram/ said he, "hold my things." 
 
 He took off his overcoat and then his black Prince Albert 
 coat and passed them to Hiram. Then he removed his hat, 
 which he also handed to Hiram. 
 
 Turning to Wood he said, "Come right out here, Mr. 
 Wood; here is a place where the sun has kindly removed 
 the snow and we can get a good footing." 
 
 Wood followed him, and the crowd formed a ring about 
 them. 
 
 "Now, Mr. Wood, or perhaps I should say Bob Wood 
 for short, put up your hands." 
 
 Bob put them up in defiance of all rules governing box 
 ing 1 . This was enough for Quincy; he had sized up his man 
 and determined to make the most of his opportunity. 
 
 "Mr. Wood," he said politely, "before I hit you I am 
 going to tell you just exactly where I am going to strike, 
 x> you can t blame me for anything that may happen. I 
 shall commence on your right eye."
 
 66 QUIXCY ADAMS SAWYER. 
 
 Wood s face grew livid; he made a rush at Quincy as 
 though he would fall on him and crush him. Quincy easily 
 eluded him, and when Wood made his second rush at him 
 he parried a right-hander, and before Wood could recover, 
 he struck him a square blow full on his right eye. They 
 faced each other again. 
 
 "Now, Mr. Wood," said Quincy, "I see you have a watch 
 in your vest pocket. Is it an open-faced watch?" 
 
 "S posin you find out," said Wood, glaring at Quincy 
 with his left eye, his right one being closed up. 
 
 "Well, then," remarked Quincy, you will be obliged to 
 have it repaired, for I am going to hit you just where 
 that watch is and it may injure it." 
 
 Wood was more wary this time and Quincy was more 
 scientific. He gave Wood a left-hander in the region of 
 the heart which staggered him. 
 
 They faced each other for the third time. 
 
 "I regret the necessity this time, but I will be obliged to 
 strike you full in the face and in my excitement may hit 
 your nose." 
 
 It required all of Quincy s dexterity to avoid the wild 
 rushes and savage thrusts made by Wood. But Quincy 
 understood every one of the boxer s secrets and was as 
 light and agile on his feet as a cat. It was three minutes 
 at least before Quincy got the desired opening, and then 
 he landed a blow on Wood s nose that sent him flat upon 
 his back. 
 
 "That s enough," cried the crowd, and several friends 
 led Wood to a seat on the platform. 
 
 Quincy turned to Strout. "Now, Mr. Strout, I am at 
 your service. 
 
 "No, sir," said Strout, "I am willing to fight a gentle 
 man, but I don t fight with no professional prize fighter 
 like you." Turning to the crowd: "I know all about this 
 fellow. He is no lawyer at all, he is a regular prize fighter,
 
 CITY SKILL VERSUS COUNTRY MUSCLE. 67 
 
 and down in Boston he is known by the name of Billy 
 Shanks." 
 
 Quincy smiled. Turning 1 to the crowd he said, "The 
 statement just made by Mr. Strout is like his statement to 
 Mr. Wood. The first was a lie, the second is a lie, and the 
 man who uttered them is a liar. Good morning, gentle 
 men." 
 
 Quincy went to Hiram, who helped him on with his 
 coats. They walked along together. After they turned 
 the corner and got out of sight of the grocery store, Hiram 
 said: 
 
 "Geewhilikins! What a smasher you gave him. I 
 thought you said you didn t know nothin about fightin ." 
 
 "I don t know much," responded Quincy. "There are 
 a dozen men in Boston who could do to me just exactly 
 what I did to Bob Wood. *
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 MR. SAWYER CALLS ON MISS PUTNAM. 
 
 QUINCY had a double purpose in calling on Lindy; 
 he actually wished to see her, for they had not met 
 since the concert, but his principal wish was to meet a real 
 old-fashioned country couple. To be sure, Deacon Mason 
 and his wife often dropped into the vernacular, but the 
 Deacon was a very dignified old gentleman and his wife 
 was not a great talker. What he desired was to find one 
 of the old-fashioned style of country women, with a tongue 
 hung in the middle and running at both ends. His wish 
 was to be gratified. 
 
 When he clanged the old brass knocker on the door, 
 Samanthy Green answered the call. 
 
 "Is Miss Putnam at home?" asked Quincy politely. 
 
 "No, she ain t/ said Samanthy, "but Mr. and Mrs. Put 
 nam is. They re allus to hum. They don t go nowheres 
 from one year s end to t other." 
 
 "I would like to see them," said Quincy. 
 
 "Yes, sir," said Samanthy, "walk right in." 
 
 She threw open the door of the sitting-room. "Here s 
 a gentleman that wants to see you, Mis Putnam. Least 
 wise he asked for Lindy fust." 
 
 Samanthy left the room, slamming the door after her. 
 
 "My name is Sawyer," said Quincy, addressing the old 
 lady and gentleman who were seated in rocking chairs. 
 "I met your daughter at the concert given at the Town 
 Hall New- Year s night." 
 
 O 
 
 Mrs. Putnam said, "Glad to see ye, Mr. Sawyer; have a 
 chair."
 
 MR. SAWYEK CALLS ON MISS PUTNAM. 69 
 
 As Quincy laid his hand upon the chair, the old gentle 
 man called out in a voice that would have startled a bull o! 
 Bashan, "What s his name, Heppy?" 
 
 Mrs. Putnam answered in a shrill voice with an edge like 
 a knife, "Sawyer." 
 
 "Sawyer! yelled the man. "Any relation to Jim Saw 
 yer that got drunk, beat his wife, starved his children, and 
 finally ended up in the town Poorhouse?" 
 
 Quincy shook his head and replied, "I think not. I don t 
 live here; I live in Bos-ton. 
 
 "Du tell," said Mrs. Putnam. "How long you been 
 here?" 
 
 Quincy replied that he arrived two days after Christmas. 
 
 "Where be you stoppin ?" asked Mrs. Putnam. 
 
 Quincy answered, "I am boarding at Deacon Mason s." 
 
 "He s a nice old gentleman," said Mrs. Putnam, r and 
 Mrs. Mason s good as they make em. Her daughter 
 Huldy s a pert young thing, she s pretty and she knows it. 
 
 Quincy remarked that he thought Miss Mason was a 
 very nice young lady. 
 
 "Oh, yes," said Mrs. Putnam, "you young fellers never 
 look more than skin deep. Now the way she trifles with 
 that young Zekiel Pettengill I think s shameful. They ust 
 to have a spat every week about somethin , but they allus 
 made it up. But I heard Lindy say that after you come 
 here, Zeke he got huffy and Huldy she got independent, 
 and they hain t spoke to each other nigh on two weeks." 
 
 This was a revelation to Quincy, but he was to hear more 
 about it very soon. 
 
 "How long be you goin to stay, Mr. Sawyer?" 
 
 "I haven t decided, said Quincy. 
 
 "What s your business?" persisted Mrs. Putnam. 
 
 "I am a lawyer," replied Quincy. 
 
 Mrs. Putnam looked at him inquiringly and said, "Be n t 
 you rather young for a lawyer? How old be you, anyway?"
 
 70 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER. 
 
 Quincy decided to take a good humored part in his cross 
 examination and said without a smile, "I am twenty-three 
 years, two months, sixteen days old." 
 
 "Be you?" exclaimed Mrs. Putnam. "I shouldn t have 
 said you were a day over nineteen. 
 
 Quincy never felt his youth so keenly before. He deter 
 mined to change the conversation. 
 
 "Did you attend the concert, Mrs. Putnam?" 
 
 "No," said she. "Pa and me don t go out much; he s 
 deefer n a stone post and I ve had the rheumatiz so bad in 
 my knees for the last five years that I can t walk without 
 crutches ;" and she pointed to a pair that lay on the floor 
 beside her chair. 
 
 During this conversation old Mr. Putnam had been eying 
 Quincy very keenly. He blurted out, "He s a chip of the 
 old block, Heppy; he looks just as Jim did when he fust 
 came to this town. Did yer say yer had an Uncle Jim?" 
 
 Quincy shook his head. 
 
 Mrs. Putnam turned to her husband and yelled, "Now 
 you shet up, Silas, and don t bother the young man. Jinn 
 Sawyer ain t nothin A o be proud of, and I don t blame the 
 young man for not ownin up even if Jim is his uncle." 
 
 Quincy made another attempt to change the conversa 
 tion. "Your daughter is a very fine singer, Mrs. Putnam. * 
 
 "Well, I s pose so," said she; "there s been enougfi 
 money spent on her to make suthin of her. As for me I 
 don t like this folderol singin . Why, when she ust to be 
 practisin I had to go up in the attic or else stuff cotton 
 in my ears. But my son, Jehoiakim Jones Putnam, he sot 
 everythin by Lncinda, and there wasn t anythin she 
 wanted that she couldn t have. He s dead now, but he 
 left more n a hundred thousand dollars, that he made specu- 
 latin ." 
 
 "Then your daughter will be quite an heiress one of 
 these days, Mrs. Putnam?
 
 AND THEN HE LANDED A BLOW ON WOOD S NOSE."
 
 ME, SAWYER CALLS Otf MISS PUTXAM. 71 
 
 She answered, "She won t get none of my money. 
 Jehoiak-im left her all of his n, but before she got it she had 
 to sign a paper, a wafer, I believe they call it, if you re a 
 lawyer you ought to know what it was, givin up all claim 
 on my money. I made my will and the girl who ll get it 
 needs it and will make good use of it." 
 
 Quincy determined to get even with Mrs. Putnam for 
 the questioning she put him through, so he said, "Did you 
 make your money speculating, Mrs. Putnam?" 
 
 "No," said she, "pa made it by hard work on the farm: 
 hn.it he gave it all to me more n fifteen year ago, and he 
 hasn t got a cent to his name. He s just as bad off as Jim 
 Sawyer. I feed him and clothe him and shall have to bury 
 him. I guess it seems kinder odd to ye, so I reckon I ll 
 have to tell ye the hull story. I ve told it a dozen times, 
 but I guess it ll bear tellin once more. You see my hus 
 band here, Silas Putnam, was brought up religis and he s 
 allus been a chiirchgoin man. We were both Methodists, 
 and everythin went all right till one day a Second Advent 
 preacher came along, and then things went all wrong. He 
 canoodled my husband into believin that the end of the 
 world was comin and it was his duty to give all his prop 
 erty away, so he could stand clean handed afore the Lord, 
 My dander riz when I heerd them makin their plans, but 
 afore my husband got deef he was great on argifyin and 
 argumentin , and I didn t stand much show against two on 
 em; but when Silas told me he was goin to give his prop 
 erty away I sot up my Ebenezer, and I says, Silas Putnam, 
 if you gives your property to any one you gives it to me. 
 So after a long tussle it was settted that way and the lawyers 
 drew up the papers. The night afore the world was goin 
 to end he prayed a-11 night. You can imagine with that air 
 voice of his n I didn t sleep a wink. When mornin came 
 it was late in October and the air was pretty sharp Silas 
 stopped prayin ^nd put on his white robe, which was a
 
 72 
 
 shirt of hisn t I pieced out so it came down to his feet, and 
 takin a tin trumpet that he bought over to Eastborough 
 Centre, he went out, climbed up on the barn, sot down on 
 the ridgepole and waited for Kingdom Come. He sot 
 there and tooted all mornin and spected the angel Gabriel 
 would answer back. He sot there and tooted all the arter- 
 noon till the cows come home and the chickens went to 
 roost. I had three good square meals that day, but Silas 
 didn t get -a bite. Bout six o clock I did think of takin 
 him out some doughnuts, but then I decided if he was goin 
 up so soon it was no use a wastin em, so I put em back in 
 the pantry, fie sot there and tooted all the evenin till the 
 moon come up and the stars were all out, and then he slid 
 down off n the barn, and barked both his shins doin it, 
 threw his trumpet into the pig pen, come into the house and 
 huddled up close to the fire. He didn t say nothin for a 
 spell, but finally says he, I guess, Heppy, that feller made a 
 mistake in figurin out the date. I guess- Silas, says I, 
 that you ve made an all-fired fool of yerself. And if you 
 don t go to bed quick and take a rum sweat, I shall be a 
 widder in a very short time. He was sick for more n three 
 weeks, but I pulled him through by good nussin , arid the 
 fust day he was able to set up, I says to him, Now, Silas 
 Putnam, when I married ye forty-five year ago I promised 
 to obey ye, ye was allus a good perwider and I don t per- 
 pose to see yer want for nothin , but ye have got to hold up 
 yer right hand and swear to obey me for the rest of yer 
 nateral life, and he did it. He got well, and he is tougher n 
 a biled owl, if he is eighty-six. But the cold sorter settled in 
 his ears, and he s deef as an adder. Ef angel Gabriel blew 
 his horn now I m afeared Silas wouldn t hear him." 
 
 During this long story Ouincy had listened without a 
 smile on his face, but the manner in which the last remark 
 was made was too much for him and he burst into a loud 
 laugh. Silas, who had been eying him, also gave a loud
 
 MR. SAWYER CALLS ON MISS PUTNAM. 74 
 
 laugh and said with his ponderous voice, "I guess Heppy s 
 been tellin ye about my goin up." 
 
 Quincy laughed again and Mrs. Putnam took part. He 
 arose, told Mr. and Mrs. Putnam he had enjoyed his visit 
 very much, was very sorry Miss Putnam was not at home, 
 and said he would call again, with their kind permission. 
 
 "Oh, drop in any time," said MJrs. Putnam; "we re allus 
 to hum. You seem to be a nice young man, but you re too 
 young to marry. Why, Lindy s twenty-eight, and I tell her 
 she don t know enough to get married yet. Ef you ll take 
 a bit of advice from an old woman, let me say, less you 
 mean to marry the girl yourself, you d better git away from 
 Deacon Mason s." 
 
 And with this parting shot ringing in his ears, he left 
 the house and made his way homeward. 
 
 In half an hour after Quincy s departure, Lindy Putnam 
 entered the sitting-room and facing her mother said with a 
 voice full of passion, "Samanthy says Mr. Sawyer called to 
 see me." 
 
 Mrs. Putnam answered, "Well, ef ye wanted to see him 
 so much why didn t ye stay to hum?" 
 
 Lindy continued, "Well, I have told you; a dozen times 
 that when people come to see me that you are not to invite 
 them in." 
 
 "Wall, I didn t," said Mrs. Putnam, "When he found 
 you wuz out he said he wanted to see pa and me, and he 
 stayed here more n an hour." 
 
 "Yes," said Lindy, "no doubt you told him all about pa s 
 turning Second Advent and how much money 1 had, and 
 you have killed all my chances." 
 
 "Well, I guess not/ said Mrs. Putnam. *I told him 
 about your brother leavin yer all his money, and I guess 
 that won t drive him away." 
 
 Lindy continued, "Money don t count with him; they 
 say his father is worth more than a million dollars."
 
 f4 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER 
 
 Mrs. Putnam answered, "Wall, I s pose there s a dozea 
 or so to divide it among." 
 
 Undy said, "Did you tell him who you were going to 
 leave your money to?" 
 
 "No, I didn t," replied Mrs. Putnam. "But I did tell 
 him that you wouldn t get a cent of it." 
 
 Lindy sobbed, "I think it is a shame, mother. I like him 
 better than any young man I have ever met, and now after 
 what you have told me I sha n t see him again. I have a 
 good mind to leave you for good and all and go to Boston 
 to live." 
 
 "Wall, you re your own mistress," replied Mrs. Putnam, 
 "and I m my own mistress and pa s. Come to think on t, 
 there was one thing I said to him that might sot him against 
 yer." 
 
 "What was that?" demanded IJndy fiercely. 
 
 "Wall," said Mrs. Putnam, "he said he was twenty-three, 
 and I sort a told him incidentally you was twenty-eight 
 You know yer thirty, and p raps he might object to ye on 
 account of yer age." 
 
 This was too much for Lindy. She rushed out of the 
 room and up to her chamber, where she threw herself on 
 her bed in a passion of tears. 
 
 "It s too bad," she cried. "I will see him again, I will 
 find some way, and I ll win him yet, even if I am twenty- 
 eight." 
 
 Two days afterwards Hiram told Mandy that he heard 
 down to Hill s grocery that that city chap had two strings 
 to his bow now. He was courting the Deacon s daughter^ 
 but had been up to see Mr. and Mrs. Putnam to find out 
 how much money Undy had in her own right, and to see 
 if there was any prospect of getting anything out of the 
 old folks.
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 VILLAGE GOSSIP. 
 
 FTER supper on the day he had been visiting Mr 
 and Mrs. Putnam, Quincy went to his room and 
 wrote a long letter to his father, inquiring if he ever had an 
 uncle by the name of James Sawyer. Before retiring he sat 
 and thought over the experiences of the past fortnight since 
 his arrival in Eastborough, but the most of his thoughts 
 were given to the remark made by Mrs. Putnam about his 
 leaving Deacon Mason s. He had been uniformly polite 
 and to a slight degree attentive to Miss Mason. The Dea 
 con s horse was a slow one, and so on several occasions he 
 had hired a presentable rig and a good stepper over to 
 Eastborough Centre, and had taken Miss Mason out to ride. 
 He reflected now, as he had never done before, that of 
 course the whole town knew this, and the thought came 
 home to him strongly that by so doing he might have in 
 flicted a triple injury upon Miss Mason, Mr. Pettingill, and 
 himself. He was not in love with Miss Mason, nor Mass 
 Putnam; they were both pretty girls, and in the city it was 
 the custom to be attentive to pretty girls without regard tc 
 consequences. 
 
 He had asked Miss Mason to go riding with him the next 
 day, but he inwardly resolved that it would be the last time 
 he would take her, and he was in doubt whether to go back 
 to the city at once or go to some other town and board at a 
 hotel, or look around and find some other place in East- 
 borough. One consideration kept him from leaving
 
 76 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER. 
 
 Eastborough; he knew that if he did so the singing-master 
 would claim that he had driven him out of town, and 
 although he had a hearty contempt for the man, he was 
 too high spirited to leave town and give the people any 
 reason to think that Strout s antipathy to him had anything 
 to do with it. 
 
 Finally a bright idea struck him. Why hadn t he 
 thought of it before? He would go and see Uncle Ike, 
 state the case frankly and ask him to let him live with him 
 for a month. He could bunk in the kitchen, and he pre 
 ferred Uncle Ike s conversation to that of any other of the 
 male sex whom he had met in Eastborough. With this 
 idea firmly fixed in his mind he. retired and slept peacefully. 
 
 While Quincy was debating with himself and coming to 
 the conclusion previously mentioned, another conversation, 
 in which his name often occurred, took place in Deacon 
 Mason s kitchen. 
 
 The old couple were seated by the old-fashioned fireplace, 
 in Which a wood fire w r as burning. The stove had super 
 seded the hanging crane and the tin oven for cooking pur 
 poses, but Deacon Mason clung to the old-fashioned fire 
 place for heat and light. The moon was high and its rays 
 streamed in through the windows, the curtains of which 
 had not been drawn. 
 
 For quite a while they sat in silence, then Deacon Mason 
 said, "There is something I want to speak about, mother, 
 and yet I don t want to. I know there is nothing to it and 
 nothing likely to come of it, but the fact is, mother, Huldy s 
 bein talked about down to the Corner, caus Mr. Sawyer is 
 boardin here. You know she goes out ridin with him, 
 which ain t no harm, and she has a sort o broken with 
 Zekiel, for which I am sorry, for Zekiel is one of the likely 
 young men of the town." 
 
 "So I do, father, said Mrs. Mason, "and if you don t 
 meddle, things will come out all right. Mr. Sawyer don t
 
 VILLAGE GOSSIP. 77 
 
 care nothing for Huldy, and I don t think she cares any. 
 thing for him. He will be going back to the city in a little 
 while and then things will be all right again." 
 
 "Well," said the Deacon, "I think Huldy better stop 
 goin out to ride with him anyway; she is high spirited, 
 and if I tell her not to go she ll want to know why." 
 
 "But," broke in Mrs. Mason, "ef you tell him, won t he 
 want to know why?" 
 
 "Well, perhaps," said the Deacon, "but I will speak to 
 him anyway. 
 
 The next morning after breakfast Deacon Mason asked 
 Mr. Sawyer to step into the parlor, and remarking that 
 when he had anything to say he always said it right out, he 
 asked Quincy if he was on good terms with Mr. Zekiel 
 Pettengill. 
 
 "I don t know," said Quincy. "I don t know of anything 
 that I have done at which he could take offence, but he 
 keeps away from me, and when I do meet him and speak 
 to him, a yes or no is all I get in reply." 
 
 "Haven t you any idea what makes him treat you so? 
 asked the Deacon. 
 
 Quincy flushed. 
 
 "Yes, Mr. Mason, I think I do know, but it never en 
 tered my mind until late yesterday afternoon, and then it 
 was called to my attention by a stranger. I am glad I have 
 this chance to speak to you, Mr. Mason, for while I have 
 had a very enjoyable time here, I have decided to find 
 another boarding place, and I shall leave just as soon as 1 
 make the necessary arrangements." 
 
 The Deacon was a little crestfallen at having the business 
 taken out of his hands so quickly, and saying he was very 
 sorry to have the young man go, he sought his wife and told 
 her everything was fixed up and that Mr. Sawyer was going 
 away. 
 
 Quincy started to leave the house by the front door; in
 
 TO QUINCY ADAMS SAWTEK. 
 
 the hallway he met Huldy, who had just come down stairs. 
 He had asked her to go to ride with him that day, and as he 
 looked at her pretty face he vowed to himself that he would 
 not be deprived of that pleasure. It could do no harm, for 
 it would be their last ride together and probably their last 
 meeting. 
 
 He said, "Good morning, Miss Mason," and then added 
 with that tone which the society belle considers a matter of 
 course, but which is so pleasing to the village maiden, 
 "You look charming this morning, Miss Mason. I don t 
 think our ride to-day could make your cheeks any redder 
 than they are now. Huldy blushed, making her cheeks a 
 still deeper crimson. "I will be here at one o clock with 
 the team, 3 said Quincy. "Will you be ready? 
 
 "Yes," answered Huldy softly. 
 
 Quincy raised his hat, and a moment later he was on his 
 way to Eastborough Centre. 
 
 He walked briskly and thought he would stop at Uncle 
 Ike s and carry out the resolution he had made the night 
 before, but as he turned up the path that led to the house he 
 saw a man standing on the steps talking to Uncle Ike, who 
 stood in the doorway. The young man was Ezekiel Pet- 
 tengill. Shakespeare says, 
 
 " Tis conscience that makes cowards of us all," 
 and although Quincy at heart was a gentleman, he also 
 knew it was not quite right for him to take Miss Mason out 
 riding again under the circumstances; but young men are 
 often stubborn and Quincy felt a little stiff-necked and 
 rebellious that morning. 
 
 He reached Eastborough Centre, mailed his father the 
 letter relating to Jim Sawyer, and going to the stable, 
 picked out the best rig it could supply. He always had the 
 same horse. It was somewhat small in size, but a very 
 plump, white mare; she was a good roadster and it was 
 never necessary to touch her with the whip. Shake it in
 
 VILLAGE GOSSIP. 7f 
 
 the stock and she would not forget it for the next two miles. 
 The stable keeper told with much unction how two fellows 
 hired her to go from Eastborough Centre to Montrose. On 
 their way home they had drunk quite freely at the latter 
 place, and thought they would touch the mare up with the 
 whip; they were in an open team and the result was ths.1 
 she left them at different points along the road and reached 
 home with no further impediment to her career than the 
 shafts and the front wheels. 
 
 Instead of coming back by the main road which led by 
 Uncle Ike s, Quincy went through by what was called The 
 Willows, which increased the distance a couple of miles. 
 Nevertheless, it lacked five minutes of one o clock when he 
 drove up to Deacon Mason s front door. 
 
 Huldy was all dressed for the occasion, and with a "Good- 
 by, mother," to Mrs. Mason, who was in the kitchen, was 
 out the front door, helped into the team, and they were off 
 just as the startled matron reached the parlor window. 
 Mrs. Mason returned to the kitchen and at that moment the 
 Deacon came in from the barn. 
 
 "What s the matter, mother?" asked the Deacon, noticing 
 her excited and somewhat troubled look. 
 
 "Huldy is gone out riding again with Mr. Sawyer," said 
 she. 
 
 The Deacon was a good Christian man and didn t swear, 
 but he was evidently thinking deeply. Finally he said, 
 "Well, mother, we must make -the best of it. I ll help 
 him find a boarding place if he don t get one by to-morrow." 
 
 They had a splendid drive. The air was cool, but not 
 biting, the sun was warm, the roads had dried up since the 
 recent thaw, which had removed the snow, with the excep 
 tion of some patches in the fields, and the high-topped 
 k u "gy rolled smoothly over the ground. 
 
 They passed through the little square in front of Hill s 
 grocery, and as luck would have it, Professor Strout was
 
 BO QUIXCY ADAMS SAWYER. 
 
 standing on the platform smoking a cigar. Huldy smiled 
 and nodded to him, and Quincy, with true politeness, fol 
 lowed a city custom and raised his hat, but the Professor 
 did not return the bow, nor the salute, but turning on his 
 heel walked into the grocery store. 
 
 "Professor Strout is not very polite, is he, Mr. Sawyer?", 
 asked Huldy, laughing. 
 
 Quincy replied, looking straight ahead, "He has never 
 learned the first letter in the alphabet of the art." 
 
 Quincy had a disagreeable duty to perform. He enjoyed 
 Miss Huldy s company, but she was not Ihe sort of girl Vie 
 could love enough to make his wife. Then the thought 
 came to him, supposing she should fall in love with him; 
 that was not impossible, and it must be. prevented. 
 
 When they were about half a mile from Mason s Corner, 
 on their way home, Quincy realized that he could not put 
 the matter off any longer. 
 
 Just as he was going to speak to her she turned to him 
 and said, "Let me drive the rest of the way home, Mr. 
 Sawyer." 
 
 "6h, no," replied Quincy, "I think I had better keep the 
 reins. You know I am responsible for you until you are 
 saie at home." 
 
 Huldy pouted. "You think I can t drive," said she, "I 
 have driven horses all my life. Please let me, Mr. Sawyer," 
 she added coaxingly. And she took the reins from his 
 hands. 
 
 "Well," said Quincy, "you are now responsible for me 
 and I shall expect you to be very careful. 5 
 
 They drove a short distance in silence; then Quincy 
 turned to her and said abruptly, "This is our last ride to 
 gether, Miss Mason." 
 
 "Why?" inquired she with an astonished look in her face. 
 
 "I am going to leave your very pleasant home to 
 morrow," said Quincy.
 
 VILLAGE GOSSIP. 81 
 
 The girl s cheeks paled perceptibly. 
 
 "Are you going back to Boston?" she asked. 
 
 "No, not for some time," Quincy replied, "but I have 
 had some advice given me and I think it best to follow it/ 
 
 "You have been advised to leave my father s house/ 
 isaid she, holding the reins listlessly in her hand. 
 | Quincy said, "You won t be offended if I tell you the 
 whole truth?" 
 
 "No; why should I?" asked Huldy. 
 
 As she said this she gathered up the reins and gave them 
 a sharp pull. The white mare understood this to be a sig 
 nal to do some good travelling and she started off at a 
 brisk trot. 
 
 Quincy said, "I was told yesterday by a friend that if I 
 was not a marrying man they would advise me to leave 
 Deacon Mason s house at once. 
 
 The blood shot into Huldy s face at once. He was not a 
 marrying man and consequently he was going to leave. 
 He did not care for her or he would stay. Then another 
 thought struck her. Perhaps he was going away because 
 he was afraid she would fall in love with him. 
 
 As the Deacon had said, she was high spirited, and for an 
 instant she was filled with indignation. She shut her eyes, 
 and her heart seemed to stop its beating. She heard 
 Quincy s voice, "Look out for the curve, Miss Mason." 
 She dropped the left rein and mechanically gave the right 
 one a strong, sharp pull with both hands. Quincy grasped 
 "the reins, but it was too late. 
 
 Huldy s pull on the right rein had thrown the horse 
 almost at right angles to the buggy. The steep hill and 
 sharpcurve in the road did the rest. The buggy stood for 
 an instant on two wheels, then fell on its side with a crash, 
 taking the horse off her feet at the same time. 
 
 Huldy pitched forward as the buggy was falling, striking 
 her left arm upon the wheel, and then fell into the road.
 
 82 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER, 
 
 Quincy gave a quick leap over the dasher, falling on the 
 prostrate horse, and grasping her by the head, pressed it 
 to the ground. The mare lay motionless. Quincy rushed 
 to Miss Mason and lifted her to her feet, but found her a 
 dead weight in his arms. He looked in her face. Sire had 
 evidently fainted. Her left arm hung by her side in a help 
 less sort of way; he touched it lightly between the elbow and 
 shoulder. It was broken. Grasping her in his arms he ran 
 to the back door and burst into the kitchen where Mrs. 
 Mason was at work. 
 
 Quincy said in quick, excited tones, "There has been an 
 accident, Mrs. Mason, and your daughter s arm is broken; 
 she has also fainted. I will take her right to her room and 
 put her on her bed. You can bring her out of that," Suit 
 ing the action to the word, he took Huldy upstairs, saying, 
 "I will go for the doctor at once." 
 
 Then he dashed down the stairs and out of the front 
 door; as he reached the team he found Hiram standing 
 beside it, his eyes wide open with .astonishment. 
 
 "Had a smash-up, Mr. Sawyer?" he asked. "How did it 
 happen?" 
 
 "All my carelessness," said Quincy. "Come, give me a 
 lift on the buggy, quick." 
 
 How it was done Quincy could never tell afterwards, but 
 in a very short time the buggy was righted, the mare on her 
 feet and the harness adjusted. Hiram took off his cap and 
 began dusting the mare, whose white coat showed the dust 
 very plainly. 
 
 "Where does the nearest doctor live, Hiram?" asked 
 Quincy. 
 
 "Second house up the road you just come down," said 
 Hiram. "The folks say he don t know much, anyway." 
 
 "Well, you get him here as quick as possible," said 
 Quincy. "I am going to Eastborough Centre to telegraph
 
 VILLAGE GOSSIP, 83 
 
 for a surgeon and a trained nurse. Can you remember 
 that?" 
 
 Quincy passed him a dollar bill. 
 
 Hiram winked and said, "I guess I can," and darted off 
 up the hill. 
 
 Quincy sprang into the team and the white mare dashed 
 forward at full speed. As he reached the Pettengill house 
 he saw Ezekiel standing at the front gate. With difficulty 
 he pulled the mare up, for she was greatly excited. 
 
 "Mr. Pettengill, said he, "there has been a serious acci 
 dent. Miss Mason has been thrown from her carriage and 
 her left arm is broken. I sent Hiram for a doctor and I 
 am on my way to Eastborough to telegraph to Boston for 
 a surgeon and a nurse. I shall not return to-night. Go up 
 to the Deacon s and stay with her." 
 
 As he said this the mare gave a bound forward and she 
 never slackened pace until Eastborough Centre was 
 reached. 
 
 Quincy sent his telegram and returned the injured buggy 
 and the horse to the stable keeper, telling him to have It 
 repaired and he would pay the bill. He arranged to have 
 a driver and a four-seated team ready on the arrival of the 
 train bearing the doctor and the nurse. In about an hour 
 he received a telegram that they would leave on the 6.05 
 express and would reach Eastborough Centre at 7.15- 
 
 They arrived, and the hired driver, doctor, and nurse 
 started for Mason s Corner. 
 
 The last train to Boston left at 9.20. Ten minutes before 
 that hour the team returned with the doctor. 
 
 "She is all right," he said. "Everything has been done 
 for her, and the other doctor will write me when my services 
 are needed again. Good night." 
 
 The train dashed in and the doctor sped back to Boston, 
 
 Quincy had engaged a room at the hotel, and he at once
 
 84 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER. 
 
 retired to it, but not to sleep. He passed the most uncom 
 fortable night that had ever come to him. 
 
 The next afternoon Hiram told MJandy that he heard 
 Professor Strout say to Robert Wood that he guessed that 
 "accident would never have occurred if that city chap 
 hadn t been trying to drive hoss with one hand." 
 
 Mandy said, "That Strout is a mean old thing, anyway, 
 and if you tell me another thing that he says, I ll fill your 
 mouth full o soft soap, or my name isn t Mandy Skinner."
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 SOME SAD TIDINGS. 
 
 THE morning of -the accident, when Quincy saw Ezekiel 
 Pettengill standing on the steps of Uncle Ike s house, 
 Ezekiel was the bearer of some sad tidings. 
 
 He recognized Quincy as the latter started to come up 
 the path, and saw him retrace his steps, and naturally 
 thought, as most men would, that the reason Quincy did 
 not come in was because he did not wish to meet him. 
 
 "Who was you looking after?" asked Uncle Ike, as Eze 
 kiel entered the room and closed the door. 
 
 "I think it was Mr. Sawyer," replied Ezekiel, "on his 
 way to Eastborough Centre." 
 
 "That Mr. Sawyer," said Uncle Ike, "is a very level 
 headed young man. He called on me once and I like him 
 very much. Do you know him, Zeke?" 
 
 "Yes, I know who he is," Ezekiel answered, "but I have 
 never been introduced to him. He nods and I nod, or I 
 say, good mornin , -and he says, good morninV " 
 
 "Don t you go up to Deacon Mason s as much as you 
 used to, Zeke?" asked Uncle Ike. "I thought Huldy and 
 you were going to make a match of it." 
 
 Ezekiel replied, "Well, to be honest, Uncle Ike, Huldy 
 and me had a little tiff, and I haven t seen her to speak to 
 her for more than three weeks, but I guess it will all come 
 out aH right some day." 
 
 "Well, you re on the right track, Zeke," said Uncle Ike. 
 "Do all your fighting before you get married. But what 
 brings you down here so early in the morning?"
 
 86 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER. 
 
 "I ve got some bad news," replied Ezekicl. "Have you 
 heard from Alice lately?" 
 
 "No," said Uncle Ike, "and I can t understand it She 
 has always written to me once a fortnight, and it s a month 
 now since I heard from her, and she has sent me a book 
 every Christmas until this last one." 
 
 "She has been very sick, Uncle Ike," said Ezekiel. "She 
 was taken down about the middle of December and was 
 under the doctor s care for three weeks." 
 
 "Is she better?" asked Uncle Ike eagerly. 
 
 "Yes, she is up again," said Ezekiel, "but she is very 
 weak; but that ain t the worst of it," he added. 
 
 "Why, what s the matter?" asked Uncle Ike. "Why 
 didn t her friends let us know?" 
 
 "She wouldn t let them," said Ezekiel. "If it hadn t 
 been for what the eye doctor told her she wouldn t have 
 telegraphed to me what she did." 
 
 "Well, what s the matter with her?" cried Uncle Ike 
 almost fiercely. 
 
 "Well, Uncle Ike," said Ezekiel, and the tears stood in 
 his eyes as he said it, "our Allie is almost blind, but the 
 eye doctor says she will get better, but it will take a very 
 long time. She has had to give up her job, and I arn going 
 to Boston again to-morrow to bring her home to the old 
 house." 
 
 "What s the matter with her eyes?" asked Uncle Ike. 
 
 "He called them cataracts," said Ezekiel, "or something 
 like that." 
 
 Uncle Ike sat down in his armchair and thought for a 
 minute or two. 
 
 "Yes," he said, "I know what they are; I have read all 
 about them, and I know people who have had them. One 
 was a schoolmate of mine. He was a mighty smart fellow 
 and I felt sorry for him and used to help him out in his
 
 SOME SAD TIDINGS. 87 
 
 studies. I heard he had his eyes operated on and recovered 
 his sight." 
 
 "Well, the doctor she has," said Ezekiel, "is agin opera 
 tions. He says they can be cured without them. She 
 drops something in her eyes and blows something in them, 
 and then the tears come, and then she sits quietly with her 
 hands folded, thinking, I suppose, till the time comes to 
 use the medicine again. 
 
 "What can I do to help you?" asked Uncle Ike. "You 
 know I always loved Alice even better than I did my own, 
 children, because she is more lovable, I suppose. Now, 
 Zeke, if you want any money for doctor s bills or anything 
 else, I am ready to do everything in the world I can for 
 Alice. Did she ask after me, Zeke? 
 
 "Almost the first thing she said was, How is dear old 
 Uncle Ike? and then she said how glad she would be to get 
 back to Eastborough, where she could have you to talk to. 
 I am lonesome now, she said, I cannot write nor read, and 
 the time passes so slowly with no one to talk to. " 
 
 "But the poor dear girl can t walk down here to see me," 
 said Uncle Ike. 
 
 "That s just what I came to see you aTxmt," said Ezekiel. 
 "The greatest favor you can do Alice and me is to come up 
 to the old house and live with us for a while and be com 
 pany for Alice. You can have the big front room that 
 father and mother used to have, and Alice s room, you 
 know, is just side of that. In a little while I shall have to 
 be busy on the farm and poor Alice " 
 
 "Don t talk any more about it. Zeke," said Uncle Ike. 
 "Of course I ll come. She will do me as much good as I ll 
 do her. Send down the boys with the team to-morrow 
 noon and I ll be all settled by the time you get back." 
 
 "I ll do it," said Ezekiel. "It is very good of you. Uncle 
 Ike, to give up your little home here tbat you like so much 
 and come to live with us. I know you wouldn t do it for
 
 88 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER. 
 
 anybody but Alice, and I ll leave her to thank you when 
 she gets down here." 
 
 Uncle Ike and Ezekiel shook hands warmly. 
 
 "Don t you need any money, Zeke? asked Uncle Ike. 
 
 "No," replied Ezekiel. "Alice wouldn t let me pay out 
 a cent; she had some money saved up in the bank and she 
 insisted on paying for everything herself. She wouldn t 
 come home till I promised her I d let her pay her board 
 when she got able to work again." 
 
 "She always was independent," said Uncle Ike, "and that 
 was one reason why I liked her. But more than that, she 
 is the fairest-minded and best-tempered woman I ever met 
 in my life, and I have seen a good many." 
 
 Ezekiel shook hands again with Uncle Ike, and then 
 started off briskly with a much lighter heart than he had 
 before the interview. Reaching home he astonished Mandy 
 Skinner by telling her that he was going to bring his sister 
 down from Boston and that Uncle Ike was coming to live 
 with them for a while. 
 
 "My Lord! cried Mandy, "and do you expect me to do 
 all this extra work?" 
 
 "I don t expect nothing," said Ezekiel. "You can get 
 old Mrs. Crowley to come and do the heavy work, and I 
 guess you can get along. You allus said you liked her, she 
 was such a nice washer and ironer. She can have the little 
 room over the ell, and I ll give you a dollar a week extra for 
 your trouble. Do you think you can get along, Mandy? 
 
 Mandy answered, "I know I can with your sister all 
 right, but if your Uncle Ike conies out here in the kitchen 
 and tells me how to roast meat and make pies, as he did 
 once, there will be trouble, and he may have to do all the 
 cooking-." 
 
 Ezekiel smiled, but said nothing, and went off upstairs to 
 look at the two rooms that were to be occupied by Uncle 
 Ike and poor Allie.
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 LOOKING FOR A BOARDING PLACE. 
 
 WHEN Quincy awoke in his room at the hotel on the 
 morning 1 after the accident he found to his great 
 surprise that it was nine o clock. He arose and dressed 
 quickly, and after a light breakfast started off towards 
 Uncle Ike s. Reaching the house he was astonished at the 
 sight that met his gaze. Everything was out of place. The 
 bed was down and the bedding tied up in bundles ; the books 
 had been taken froi" *He bookcase and had been piled up on 
 the table. There was no fire in the stove, and the funnel 
 was laid upon the top of it. Quincy had remembered that 
 he had seen a pile of soot on the ground near the steps as he 
 came up them. All of Uncle Ike s cooking utensils were 
 packed in a soap box which stood near the stove. 
 
 "What s the matter, Mr. Pettengill, are you going to 
 move?" asked Quincy. 
 
 "For a time at least," replied Uncle Ike. " Zeke Petten- 
 gill s sister has been struck blind and he is going to bring 
 her down home this afternoon and I am going to live with 
 them and be company for her. I always thought as much 
 of Alice as if she was my own daughter, and now she is in 
 trouble, her old uncle isn t going back on her. It isn t Ike 
 Pettengill s way." 
 
 "Have you seen Zekiel Pettengill this morning?" asked 
 Quincy. 
 
 "No, nor I didn t expect to," replied Uncle Ike. "I sup 
 pose he went to Boston ^ n the nine o clock train and will 
 be back on the three o clock express."
 
 go QUIKCY ADAMS SAWYER. 
 
 "Mr. Pettengill," said Quincy, "can you give me fifteen 
 minutes time for a talk?" 
 
 "Well, said Uncle Ike, looking at his watch, "it will be 
 half an hour before Cobb s twins will be down here with 
 the team, and I might as well listen to you as sit around and 
 do nothing. They are coming down again by and by to 
 ,get the chickens. I have a good mind to set the house on 
 fire and burn it up. If I don t, I suppose some tramp will, 
 and if I need another house like it, thank the Lord I ve got 
 money enough to build it." 
 
 "No, don t burn it up, Mr. Pettengill," said Quincy. 
 "Let it to me. I am around looking for a boarding place 
 myself." 
 
 "Why, what s the matter, what made you leave Deacon 
 Mason s ?" 
 
 "That s what I want to tell you/ =" - Quincy. "Time is 
 limited and I ll make my story short, but you are a friend 
 of my father s, and I want you to understand the whole 
 business." 
 
 "Why, what have you been up to?" asked Uncle Ike, 
 opening his eyes. 
 
 "Nothing," said Quincy, "and that s the trouble. When 
 I went to Deacon Mason s nobody told me that his daugh 
 ter was engaged to Ezekiel Pettengill." 
 
 "And she isn t," interjected Uncle Ike. 
 
 "Well," said Quincy, "they have been keeping company 
 together, but I didn t know it. Miss Mason is a pretty girl 
 and a very pleasant one. Time hung heavily on my hands 
 and I naturally paid her some attentions; gave her flowers 
 and candy, and took her out to ride, but I never thought of 
 falling in love with her, and I am not conceited enough to 
 think she is in love with me." 
 
 "Well, I don t know," said Uncle Ike reflectively. "Per- 
 haps she has heard your father ws worth a million dollars." 
 
 "No, I don t believe that," said Quincy. "Miss Mason
 
 LOOKING FOB A BOARDING PLACE. Oil 
 
 is too true and honest a girl to marry a man simply for his, 
 money." 
 
 "Well, I think you are right there," remarked Uncle Ike. 
 
 "New Year s night," said Quincy, "at the Concert in the 
 Town Hall, Strout, the singing teacher, got down on me be 
 cause Mass Putnam and I received so much applause for 
 singing a duet together. Then I broke his heart by whis 
 tling a tune for the girls and boys, and then again he doesn t 
 like me because I am from the city! he hired a fellow to 
 whip me, but the fellow didn t know how to box and I 
 knocked him out very quickly. Now that Strout can t hurt 
 me any other way he has gone to work making up lies, and 
 the village is full of gossip about Miss Mason and me. 
 Deacon Mason was going to talk to me about it, but I told 
 him yesterday morning that I was going to get another 
 boarding place, and I should have done so yesterday but 
 for .a very unfortunate accident." 
 
 "Accident?" said Uncle Ike; "why, you seem to be al! 
 right." 
 
 "I wish I had been the victim, said Quincy, "instead of 
 Miss Mason. I took her out riding yesterday and the 
 buggy got tipped over right in front of Deacon Mason s 
 house, a,nd Miss Mason had her left arm broken above the 
 elbow. I have done all I could to atone for my careless 
 ness, but I am afraid Zeke Pettengill will never forgive me. 
 I wish, Air. Pettengill, you would make him understand my 
 position in the matter. I would like to be good friends with 
 him, for I have nothing against him. He is the most gen-: 
 tlemanly young man that I have seen in the town. I value 
 his good opinion and I want him to understand that I 
 haven t intentionally done anything to wrong or injure 
 him." 
 
 Uncle Ike covered his eyes with his hands and mused for 
 a few minutes; then he finally said, "Mr. Sawyer, I have 
 got an idea. That fellow, Strout, thinks he runs this
 
 B2 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYEK. 
 
 and it would tickle him to death if he thought he made 
 things uncomfortable for you. Then, again, I happen to 
 know that he is sweet on Huldy Mason himself, and he 
 would do all he could to widen Ahe breach between Zeke 
 and her. You see he isn t but forty himself, and he 
 wouldn t mind the difference in ages at all. Now, my plan 
 is this. Uncle Ike looked out the window and said, "Here 
 comes Cobb s twins with the team. Now we will take my 
 things up to the house, then you take the team and go up 
 to Deacon Mason s and get your trunk and bring it down 
 to PettenguTs house. You will be my guest for to-night, 
 anyway, and if I don t make things right with Zeke so you 
 can stay there, I ll fix it anyway so you can stay till you get 
 a place to suit you. Now don t say no, "Mr .Sawyer. Your 
 father and I are old friends and he will sort o hold me 
 responsible for your good treatment. I won t take no for 
 an answer. If you have no objections, Mr. Sawyer, I wish 
 you would keep your eye on those books when they are 
 put into the team, for those Cobb boys handle everything 
 as though it was a rock or a tree stump." And Uncle Ike, 
 taking his kerosene lamp in one hand and his looking 
 glass in the other, cried, "Come in," as one of the Cobb 
 boys knocked on the door.
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 A VISIT TO THE VICTIM. 
 
 IT was not until Quincy had reached the Pettengill house 
 and helped Uncle Ike get his things in order, that he 
 finally decided to accept Uncle Ike s offer. If he went to 
 East bo rough Centre to live at the hotel, he knew Strout 
 would consider he had won a victory. He had thought of 
 going to Mr. and Mrs. Putnam about a room and board, 
 but then he remembered Lindy, and said to himself that 
 Miss Putnam was a pretty girl and it would be the same old 
 story over again. Then he thought, "There won t be any 
 danger here with a blind girl and Mandy Skinner, and if 
 Uncle Ike can arrange matters it will be the best thing I 
 can do." 
 
 And so he drove up to Deacon Mason s with Cobb s 
 twins, saw Mrs. Mason, went upstairs and packed his trunk 
 quickly, and the Cobb boys drove away with it to his new, 
 though perhaps only temporary, lodgings. 
 
 When Quincy went downstairs, Mrs. Mason was in the 
 parlor, and she beckoned to him to come in. He entered 
 and closed the door. 
 
 "I want to speak to you a few minutes," said she, "and I 
 want to tell you first I don t blame you a bit. I know you 
 told Zeke Pettengill that the tip-over was all your careless 
 ness, but Huldy says it ain t so. She said she was driving, 
 though you didn t want her to, and the accident was all her 
 fault. Now, I believe my daughter tells the truth, and the 
 Deacon thinks so too." 
 
 "Well, Mrs. Mason/ said Quincy, "what your daughter
 
 94 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER. 
 
 says is partly true, but I am still to blame for allowing her 
 to drive a horse with which she was not acquainted." 
 
 "That warn t the trouble, Mr. Sawyer," said Mrs. Mason. 
 "Huldy told me the whole truth. You said something to 
 her about going away. She had heard what the village 
 gossips were saying. Huldy s got & high temper and she 
 was so mad that she got flustrated, and that s what caused 
 all the trouble. I like you, Mr. Sawyer, and Huldy likes 
 you. She says you .have allus been a perfect gentleman, 
 and the Deacon now is awful sorry you are going, but I 
 hope you will come and see us often while you stay at 
 Mason s Corner." 
 
 "I certainly shall, Mrs. Mason," replied Quincy. "How 
 is Miss Mason?" 
 
 "Oh, she is fust rate," said the Deacon s wife. "That 
 doctor from the city fixed her arm all up in what he called 
 a jacket, and that nurse that you sent just seems to know 
 what Huldy wants before she can ask for it. I hear them 
 nurses are av/ful expensive, and I don t think she better 
 stay but a day or -two longer." 
 
 "She can t leave till the surgeon comes from Boston and 
 says she can go," he remarked, thinking this was the easiest 
 way to get out of it. "May I see Miss Mason?" he added. 
 
 "Certainly/ replied Mrs. Mason. "She is in the front 
 chamber. We moved her in there cause there is a fireplace 
 in the room and the nurse objected to the wood stove that 
 Huldy had in her room. She said it was either too hot or 
 too cold, and that Huldy must have an even temperature." 
 
 As Quincy entered the room Huldy looked up and a 
 faint smile lighted her face. Her usually rosy cheeks 
 showed only a faint touch of pink. The helpless left arm, 
 in its plaster of paris jacket, rested on the outside of the 
 white quilt, the fingers on her little hand projecting beyond 
 the coverine. 
 
 Quincy advanced to the bedside and took a vacant chair.
 
 A VISIT TO THE VICTIM. 95 
 
 The nurse was sitting by the window. She glanced up at 
 him and at Mrs. Mason, who followed close behind him, 
 but continued the reading of her book. 
 
 Quincy said lightly, as he reached over and took the 
 right hand and gave it a little shake, "You re not shaking 
 hands with the left, Miss Mason." 
 
 "Nb," said Huldy, "I wish I could shake it, but nurse 
 says it will have to stay on for .two or three weeks, and it is 
 so heavy, Mr. Sawyer." 
 
 Mrs. Mason went to the nurse and whispered to her, 
 "Don t let him stay too long." The nurse nodded and Mrs. 
 Mason left the room. 
 
 Quincy said in a low tone, as he sat in the chair by the 
 bedside, "Miss Mason, I can t express my sorrow for this 
 unfortunate occurrence. Your mother says you have told 
 her it was your fault. But I insisted it was my fault in 
 allowing you to drive a strange horse." 
 
 Huldy smiled. "It wasn t the horse, Mr. Sawyer," she 
 said, and quickly changing the subject asked, "Where are 
 you going to board now?" 
 
 "Old Uncle Ike Pettengill has taken pity on me/ replied 
 Quincy, thinking he would not say anything about going 
 to Ezekiel Pettengill s house. 
 
 "But," said Huldy, " Zekiel called here this morning 
 before he went to Boston for his sister and told me that 
 Uncle Ike was coming to live with him. Didn t I hear 
 them take your trunk away a little while ago?" 
 
 Quincy saw it was useless to prevaricate, so he said, "My 
 trunk was taken to Mr. Ezekiel Pettengill s house." 
 
 "I hope you and Zekiel will be good friends," said 
 Huldy, with a grave look on her face. 
 
 "I trust we may become so." remarked Quincy. "I am 
 afraid we are not now, and I am still more afraid it is my 
 fault that we are not on the best of terms." 
 
 Huldy turned her face towards him, a red flush coloring
 
 96 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER. 
 
 her cheeks and brow. "No," she said, with vehemence, 
 "it was my fault, and you know it, Mr. Sawyer. How you 
 must hate me for having- caused you so much trouble." 
 She gave a convulsive sob and burst into a flood of tears. 
 
 Quincy was on the point of assuring Huldy that he could 
 never hate her and that they would always be good 
 friends, but he had no opportunity to frame the words. 
 
 As Huldy sobbed and began to cry, the nurse jumped to 
 her feet, dropped -her book on the floor, and came quickly 
 to the bedside. She said nothing, but the look upon her 
 face convinced Quincy that he must wait for a more aus 
 picious moment to declare his friendly sentiment. So 
 with a "Good-by, Miss Mason, I ll call again soon," he 
 quitted the apartment and left the victim to the ministra 
 tions of the nurse.
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 A QUIET EVENING. 
 
 FTER the somewhat exciting- termination of his inter 
 view with Miss Mason, Quincy left the house quickly 
 and walked down to Ezekiel Pettengill s. Uncle Ike was 
 there and he told Mandy to show Mr. Sawyer to his room, 
 which proved to be the big- front one upstairs. 
 
 When he was alone, Quincy sank into the capacious 
 rocking chair and fell to thinking. His mind went back to 
 his parting with Miss Mason. She had said that it wasn t 
 the horse, so it must have been what he said to her. Was 
 she angry because he had decided to go in order to stop 
 village gossip, or had she really cared for him? Well, it 
 was over now. He would never know what her real feel 
 ings were, and after all it was best for him not to know. 
 He would drop the whole matter where it was. Then he 
 began to think about his present position. Here he was 
 located in the house of the man who would naturally be 
 considered the last one to desire his company. 
 
 Uncle Ike had told him that he would make it all right. 
 If he failed in this and Ezekiel objected to his remaining 
 he could move again. He was determined not to leave 
 Mason s Corner till he got ready, and he felt sure he would 
 not be ready to go until he had squared accounts with 
 Strout. 
 
 Presently he heard the sound of wheels. The Pettengill 
 house faced the south and Eastborough Centre lay west of 
 Mason s Corner, so he could not see the team when it
 
 98 QUINCY ADAMS SA\YYEIi. 
 
 arrived, as it drove up to the back door, but he knew that 
 Ezekiel had arrived with his sister. Uncle Ike and Cobb s 
 twins went down stairs quickly; there was a jumble of 
 voices, and then the party entered the house. A short time 
 after he heard persons moving in the room adjoining his, 
 and guessed that Ezekiel s sister was to occupy it. 
 
 Then he fell to imagining the conversation that was 
 doubtless going on between Uncle Ike and his nephew. 
 Quincy was not naturally nervous, but he did not like sus 
 pense; almost unconsciously he arose and walked back and 
 forth across the room several times. Then it occurred to 
 him that probably the uncle and nephew were having their 
 conversation in the parlor, which was right under him, and 
 he curbed his impatience and threw himself into the arm 
 chair, which stood near the open fireplace. 
 
 As he did so there came a sharp rap at the door. In 
 response to the quick uttered "Come in," the door opened 
 and Uncle Ike entered. He came forward, took a seat in 
 the rocking chair near Quincy and passed him two letters. 
 
 Quincy looked up 1 inquiringly. He had had his mail 
 sent to Eastborough Centre, where he had hired a box. 
 At the Mason s Corner post office the letters were stuck 
 upon a rack, where every one could see them, and Quincy 
 did not care to have the loungers at Hill s grocery inspect 
 ing his correspondence. 
 
 Uncle Ike saw the look and understood it. Then he 
 said, " Zekiel brought these over from Eastborough Cen 
 tre. He didn t want to, but the postmaster said one of 
 them was marked In haste, and he had been over to the 
 hotel and found that you had gone to Mason s Corner, and 
 probably wouldn t be back to-day, and so he thought 
 Zekiel better bring it over." 
 
 "It was very kind of Mr. Pettengill, said Quincy, "and 
 I wish you would thank him for me." 
 
 In the meantime he had glanced at his letters. One
 
 A QUIET EVENING. 98 
 
 bore, printed in the corner, the names, Sawyer, Crownin- 
 shield, & Lawrence, Counsellors at Law, Court Street, Bos 
 ton, Mass. That was from his father. The other was 
 directed in a feminine .hand and bore the postmark, Mason s 
 Corner, Mass. He could not imagine from whom it could 
 be. 
 
 "I have had a talk with Zekiel," said Uncle Ike, "and 
 the whole matter is satisfactorily arranged; he is a fair- 
 minded young fellow and he don t believe you have done 
 anything with the intention of injuring him. What did 
 you pay up to Deacon Mason s?" 
 
 "Five dollars a week," replied Quincy. 
 
 "Well, it will be the same here," said Uncle Ike. "You 
 can stay as long as you like. Zeke wouldn t charge you 
 anything, but I said no, you have got to look out for your 
 sister, and Mr. Sawyer can afford to pay." 
 
 Quincy broke in, "And I wouldn t stay unless I did pay. 
 I am able and willing to pay more, if he will take it." 
 
 "Not a cent more," .said Uncle Ike. "He will give you 
 your money s worth, and then one won t owe the other 
 anything. When you come down to supper I ll introduce 
 you, just as if you had never seen each other, and you can 
 both take a fresh start." 
 
 Uncle Ike arose. "By the time you have read your let 
 ters supper will be ready, and I want to go in and have a 
 talk with Alice. She is my only niece, Mr. Sawyer, and I 
 think she is the finest girl in Massachusetts, and, as far 
 as I know, there ain t any better one in the whole world;" 
 and Uncle Ike went out, closing the door behind him. 
 
 Quincy resumed his seat by the window. The light had 
 faded considerably, but he could still see to read. Nat 
 urally enough he first opened the letter bearing the femi 
 nine handwriting. He looked at the signature first of all 
 and read "Lucinda Putnam." "What can she (have to write 
 to me about?" he thought. He read the letter:
 
 100 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER. 
 
 Mason s Corner, January 22, 186 
 
 My dear Mr. Sawyer: I regret very much that I was 
 absent when you called, but am glad to learn from mother 
 that you had a pleasant visit. Although you are from the 
 city I am sure you would blush if you could hear the nice 
 things mother said about you. I am conceited enough to 
 think that you will find time to call on us again soon, for 
 I wish to consult you regarding an important business 
 matter. I am going to Boston next Monday in relation to 
 this business and if you could make it convenient to call 
 before then it would be greatly appreciated by 
 
 Yours very truly, 
 
 LUCINDA PUTNAM. 
 
 Quincy reflected. "What is she up to? Some legal bus 
 iness, I suppose. Well, I am not practising law now; I 
 shall have to refer her to " 
 
 He took up the other letter and read, "Sawyer, Crownin 
 shield, & Lawrence." 
 
 His father s letter read as follows: 
 
 Boston, January 21, 186 
 
 My dear Son: Yours at hand, and inquiries carefully 
 noted. I had a brother, James Edward Sawyer; he was 
 five years older than I and must be about sixty. Father 
 wished him to study law, but he wouldn t study anything. 
 When father died he got .his share of the money, about 
 $50,000, but he squandered the most of it in high living. 
 The next we heard of him he had married a country girl 
 named Eunice Raymond, I think. He brought her to 
 Boston and tried to introduce her into the society he had 
 been brought up in. She was a nice, pretty woman, but 
 uneducated, and naturally bashful, and James finally left 
 the city and went to live somewhere in the country, I never
 
 A QUIET EVENING. 101 
 
 knew where! he never wrote me after leaving Boston. This 
 Jim Sawyer may be your uncle. I hope not, but if he is, 
 remember he is my brother, and if he needs any assistance 
 let me know at once. I hope your health is improving. 
 Your mother and sisters are well and send love, as does also 
 
 Your affectionate father, 
 
 NATHANIEL ADAMS SAWYER. 
 
 As Quincy finished his second letter there was another 
 rap at the door and Mandy s voice was heard outside 
 saying, "Supper s ready, Mr. Saw yer." 
 
 Quincy jumped to his feet. He had not unlocked his 
 trunk, as he was not certain that it would be worth while 
 to do so. It was but the work of a few moments to make 
 the necessary changes in his toilet. He put on a black 
 Prince Albert coat in place of a sack coat that he usually 
 wore, but before he had completed this change there came 
 another tap on the door, and Mandy s voice was hear3 
 saying, "The things will get cold if you don t come down 
 right away." 
 
 As Quincy entered the large room which was used for a 
 dining-room, he was met by Uncle Ike. Ezekiel was stand 
 ing a short distance from his uncle. Uncle Ike said, 
 " Zekiel, this is my friend, Mr. Sawyer. Mr. Sawyer, this 
 is my nephew, Zekiel Pettengill. I am good friends with 
 both of you, and I hope you will be good friends to each 
 other." 
 
 The two men shook hands. If each had any idea of what 
 the other was thinking about he did not betray it by look 
 or act. 
 
 Uncle Ike continued, "Mr. Sawyer, this is Jim Cobb and 
 this is Bill Cobb, and this," as Miandy entered bearing 
 something for the table, "is Miss M andy Skinner. Now 
 that we are all acquainted, I think we had all better intro-
 
 102 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER. 
 
 duce ourselves at once to the supper. I haven t done such 
 a hard day s work for sixteen years." 
 
 Ezekiel insisted upon Uncle Ike taking the head of the 
 table. He motioned Mr. Sawyer to take the second seat 
 from .his uncle on the right, while he took the first seat on 
 the left, with Cobb s twins next to him. 
 
 Quincy immediately surmised that when the sister 
 appeared at the table she would probably sit between him 
 and Uncle Ike. 
 
 The meal was not a very lively one as far as conversa 
 tion went. Quincy inquired politely concerning Miss Pet- 
 tengill s health, and Uncle Ike said she was tired after her 
 trip, and Mandy was going to take her supper up to her. 
 
 The meal was plentiful and well cooked. Quincy thought 
 to himself, how much brighter it would have looked, and 
 how much better the food would have tasted if Miss Huldy 
 Mason had been present with her pretty face, joyous laugh, 
 and occasional bright sayings. 
 
 After supper the things were quickly taken out by 
 Mandy. The white tablecloth was removed, and one in 
 which the prevailing color was bright red took its place. 
 
 The three men drew up to the open fireplace. Uncle 
 Ike pulled out his pipe and said, "Do you allow smoking 
 here, Zeke?" 
 
 Zekiel replied, "I wish you and Mr. Sawyer to make 
 yourselves perfectly at home and do just as you would if 
 you were in your own house." 
 
 "Well, if I did that," said Uncle Ike, "you wouldn t need 
 Mandy, for I should be chief cook and bottle washer 
 myself." 
 
 Uncle Ike lighted his pipe, and Ezekiel took a cigar from 
 his pocket, saying, "I guess I ll smoke, too." Then his face 
 reddened. He said, "Beg pardon, Mr. Sawyer, I have only 
 this one." 
 
 "That s all right," rejoined Quincy, "a cigar would be
 
 A QUIET EVENING. 103 
 
 too Heavy for me tonight. I have a slight headache, and 
 if you will excuse me I will roll a cigarette." 
 
 He took his little case of rice paper from his pocket and 
 also a small pouch of tobacco, and deftly made and lighted 
 a cigarette. Tihe three men sat smoking, and as Quincy 
 blew a ring into the air he wondered what Sir Walter 
 Raleigh would have said if he could have looked in upon 
 them. 
 
 Quincy broke the silence. "I am afraid, Uncle Ike, tha.t 
 I have caused you much inconvenience by driving you out 
 of that pleasant front room where I found my trunk." 
 
 Not a bit," replied Uncle Ike. "I hate carpets, and I 
 prefer to sleep .in my own bed, and what s more, I wanted 
 to put up my stove, and there was no chance in that front 
 room. When real cold weather comes I always have a ton 
 of coal for my stove, so I am much better off where I am 
 than I would be downstairs. By the way, Zeke, iust *efl 
 me all about Alice again. You won t mind Mr. Sawyer; he 
 is one of the family now." 
 
 "Well," said Ezekiel, "Alice was taken sick al>out the 
 middle of December. The folks where she boarded sent 
 for a doctor. It was about eight o clock in the morning 
 w r hen she was taken, and it was noon before she go*, easy, 
 so they could get her to bed. She thought she w^s get 
 ting better; then, she had another attack; then she thought 
 she was getting better again, and tihe third attack was th*5 
 worst of the .three. The folks wanted to write to me, but she. 
 wouldn t let them. When she really did begin to get bitter, 
 she found out there was something that was worse than 
 being sick. She found she couldn t see to read either print 
 or writing, but Alice is a spunky girl, and she wouldn t 
 give in, even then. A friend told her to go and see Dr. 
 Moses, who was an eye doctor, and put herself right under 
 his treatment. She thought she was going to get well right 
 off at first, but when she found it was likely to be a long
 
 104 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER. 
 
 job, then she gave in and wrote to me. She has brought 
 her treatment down with her, and the doctor says she will 
 have to go to Boston once a month to see .him. as he is too 
 busy to come down here." 
 
 At this point in the proceedings the door opened and 
 Mandy entered, bringing a large dish of big red apples and 
 another full of cracked shellbarks. She left the room and 
 returned almost immediately with a large dish full of pop 
 corn. 
 
 "Have an apple?" said Ezekiel. "Help yourselves; we 
 don t pass anything round here. We put the things on the 
 table and each one helps himself." 
 
 Jvlandy came in again, bringing a large pitcher of cider 
 and some glasses, which she placed upon the table. 
 
 While the three men were discussing their country even 
 ing lunch in silence, an animated conversation was taking 
 place in the kitchen, the participants being Mandy, Mrs. 
 Bridget Crowley, and Hiram, who always dropped in dur 
 ing the evening to get his glass of cider, a luxury that was 
 not dispensed at Deacon Mason s. 
 
 "Well, said Mandy, "I think it s wasteful extravagance 
 for you Irish folks to spend so much money on carriages 
 when one of your friends happens to die. As you just said, 
 when you lived in Boston you own up you spent fourteen 
 dollars in one month going to funerals, and you paid a 
 dollar a seat each time." 
 
 "I did that," said Mrs. Crowley, "and I earned every bit 
 of it doing washing, for Pat, bless his sowl, was out of 
 work at the time. 
 
 "Just think of that!" said Mandy, turning to Hiram. 
 
 "Well, it can t be helped," said Mrs. Crowley, obstinately. 
 "Shure and if I don t go to folks funerals they won t come 
 to mine." 
 
 This was too much for Mandy and Hiram, and they 
 began laughing, which so incensed Mrs. Crowley that she
 
 MANDY SKINNER," AS ShV APPEARS IN THE PLAY.
 
 A QUIET EVENING. 105 
 
 trudged off to her little room in the ell, which departure 
 just suited Mandy and Hiram. 
 
 "Have you got any soft soap here in the kitchen?" asked 
 Hiram. 
 
 "No," said Mandy, "I used the last this afternoon. I shall 
 have to go out in the shed to-morrow morning and get 
 some. 
 
 "You wouldn t be likely to go out to-night for any?" 
 asked Hiram. 
 
 "I guess not," said Mandy. "Why, there is rats out in 
 that shed as big as kittens. Did you want to use some?" 
 
 "Nio," said Hiram, "but I didn t want you to have any 
 round handy, for I am bound to tell you 1 heard Strout 
 telling the minister s son that Lindy Putnam writ a letter 
 to Mr. Sawyer and mailed it at Mason s Corner post office 
 this mornin , and it was directed to Ea&tborough Centre, 
 and Strout said it looked as though they were keeping up 
 correspondence. I tell you that made Manuel Howe mad, 
 for .he s gone on Lindy Putnam himself, and then Strout 
 said that probably all the fellers in town would have to 
 put off getting married until that city chap had decided 
 which one of the girls he wanted himself. And now, hang 
 it," said Hiram, "he has come to live in this house, and I 
 sha n t I tave any peace of mind." 
 
 Hiram dodged the first apple Mandy threw at his head, 
 but the second one hit him squarely, and he gave a loud 
 "Oh!" 
 
 "Stop your noise," said Mandy, "or Mr. Pettengill will 
 be out here. "I ll ask them if they want anything else," as 
 she rapped on the door. There was no response and she 
 opened it and looked in. "Why, they have all gone to bed," 
 she said. At that moment the old clock an the kitchen 
 struck nine. "It s nine o clock and you had better be going 
 ncme, Hiram Maxwell." 
 
 "I shall have to get some anarchy to put on my fore-
 
 106 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER. 
 
 head," said Hiram. "See that big bump, Mandy, that yoa 
 made. 
 
 Mandy approached him quite closely and looked at his 
 forehead; as she did so she turned up her nose and puck 
 ered her mouth. Her arms were hanging by her side. 
 Hiram grasped her around the waist, holding -both of her 
 arms tight, and before Mandy could break away he gave 
 her a kiss full on the mouth. 
 
 He made a quick rush for the door, opened it and dashed 
 out into the night. Luckily for him there was no moon 
 and the was out of sight before Mandy could recover her 
 self-possession and reach the door. She peered out into 
 the darkness for a moment; them she closed the door and 
 bolted it, took a lamp and went up to her own room. 
 Standing in front of her looking glass, she turned up her 
 nose and puckered up her mouth as she had done when 
 facing Hiram. 
 
 "Tthat s the first time Hiram Maxwell ever kissed me," 
 she said to herself. "Mebbe it will be the last time and 
 mebbe it won t." Then she said reflectively, "I didn t 
 think the little fellow had so much spunk in him." 
 
 In a quarter of an hour she was dreaming of cupids, and 
 hearts, and arrows, and St. Valentine s Day, which was not 
 so very far away.
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 A LONG LOST RELATIVE. 
 
 EZEKIEL PETTENGILL owned wthat Deacon Mason 
 did not a nice carryall and a good road horse. 
 Ezekiel would fix no price, but Quincy would not drive 
 him unless he paid for the use of the team. One dollar for 
 half a day, two dollars for a whole day, were the prices 
 finally fixed upon. 
 
 Quincy drove first to Mrs. Putnam s. As he was ascend 
 ing the steps the front door was opened and Lindy stood 
 there to welcome him, which she did by extending her 
 hand and then showing him into the parlor. She was evi 
 dently on the point of going out, for she had on her outdoor 
 garments. After a few commonplaces relating to health 
 and the weather, Quincy. abruptly approached the object 
 of his visit by saying, "I received your letter, Miss Putnam, 
 and I have come to see if I can be of any service to you." 
 
 "Oh! I know you can," said Lindy; "you are wealthy " 
 
 "I beg your pardon," interposed Quincy, "I am not what 
 they call a wealthy young man; the fact that my father is 
 possessed of a large fortune has probably given rise to 
 the incorrect impression just repeated by you." 
 
 "I understand," said Lindy, with a laugh. "What I 
 meant to say was, that you are undoubtedly acquainted 
 with wealthy gentlemen, who know the best ways of invest 
 ing money. I find my money a great trouble to me," she 
 continued. "I had $25,000 invested in a first mortgage, 
 but the property has been sold and the money repaid to me, 
 and I don t know what to do with it."
 
 108 QUIXCY ADAMS SAWYER. 
 
 "The obvious thing 1 to do," remarked Quincy, "is to 
 invest it at once, so that it will begin paying you interest." 
 
 "That is just what I wished to see you about," re 
 sponded Lindy. "How would you advise me to invest it?" 
 she asked. 
 
 "I would not presume," replied Quincy, "to give positive 
 advice in such a case. I would go either to Foss & Follans- 
 bee, or Braithwaite & Mellen, or perhaps Rothwell Broth 
 ers & Co., look over the securities they have for sale and 
 make my own selection, if I were in your place. 
 
 Lindy was manifestly disappointed at Quincy s polite 
 refusal to recommend any particular security, but she evi 
 dently realized that further argument or entreaty would 
 be useless, so she quickly changed the subject by remarking 
 that her mother had considerable money invested, but that 
 she was a woman who never took any advice and never 
 gave any. 
 
 "I wonder who my mother is going to leave her money 
 to? Do you know, Mr. Sawyer?" 
 
 Quincy replied that he did not. "But she did tell me 
 that by the terms of your brother s will you were not to 
 inherit it." 
 
 "Well, if you ever find out," said Lindy, "you will tell 
 me, won t you, Mr. Sawyer? 
 
 "Yes," said Quincy, "unless I am requested to keep it a 
 secret." 
 
 "But you wouldn t keep it from me, their own daugh 
 ter," said Lindy. 
 
 "Well," he replied, "I don t think it at all likely that they 
 will inform me ; "but I promise to tell you if I learn who it is 
 and am not bound in any way to keep the information 
 secret." 
 
 "And will you tell me just as soon as you know?" per 
 sisted Lindy. 
 
 "In less than twenty-four hours from the time I learn;
 
 A LONG LOST KELATIVE. 109 
 
 the name you shall hear it from my own lips," he re 
 plied. 
 
 "Thank you, said Lindy. "Would you like to see father 
 and mother? Father has been quite sick for a few days and 
 they are in their own room. I will go up and tell them you 
 are coming 1 ." 
 
 Quincy was left in the room. That gossip about Miss 
 Putnam could not be true. Gossip said she was ashamed 
 of her father and mother, and yet s>he had invited him to go 
 up and see them. What a pretty girl she was, well edu 
 cated and with a hundred thousand dollars; such a beautiful 
 singer and their voices blended so nicely together. How 
 pleased his mother and sisters would be if he should bring 
 home a wife like her. On the wall hung an oil portrait of 
 her, evidently painted within a short time. He sat looking 
 at it as Lindy opened the door. 
 
 Before he could remove his eyes from the picture, Lindy 
 had noticed ihis fixed gaze at it and smiled brightly. 
 
 "Mother would be delighted to see you." 
 
 Lindy rang a small bell that was on a table. In a mo 
 ment Samanthy entered the room. 
 
 "Samantha, please show Mr. Sawyer to mother s room. 
 Will you excuse me, Mr. Sawyer, if I am not here to say 
 good-by to you after you have seen mother? I am going 
 to the city this morning and there " looking out of the 
 window "here comes Abner Stiles; he is going to drive 
 me over to Eastborough. Did you ever meet Mr. Stiles, 
 Mr. Sawyer? 
 
 "I may have seen him," replied Quincy. 
 
 "Seeing him is nothing," said Lindy. "He must be 
 heard to be appreciated. He is a most engaging talker; he 
 has caught the biggest fish and killed the biggest bears " 
 
 "And told the biggest lies," broke in Quincy, 
 
 "Of any man in town," Lindy concluded. 
 
 "I think there is one man in town who can tell bigger
 
 110 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER. 
 
 ones," Quincy said gravely; "he has been telling a good 
 many lately." 
 
 Lindy looked up and smiled. "He will never forgive 
 us for what w r e did at the concert," said she. "Well, I 
 mustn t keep Mr. Stiles waiting any longer, if I do he 
 may" 
 
 "Try to compete with the other one," added Quincy. 
 
 She smiled again, and gave him her little gloved hand, 
 which he took in -his for an instant. 
 
 She ran out quickly and got into the team, which imme 
 diately drove off. Samanbhy, who had been waiting im 
 patiently in the liallway, ushered Quincy into an upper 
 chamber, where sat Mrs. Putnam. Her husband was 
 reclining on a lounge near the fire. 
 
 "Weil, I am awful glad to see yer," said Mrs. Putnam. 
 "Silas here hasn t been feelin fust rate for more n a week. 
 Ke s most frozen to death all the time. So I got him up 
 front of the fire, same as I used to roast turkeys. Set down, 
 Mr. Sawyer, and tell me all the news. Have you heerd 
 anybody going to git engaged or anybody going to git 
 married? I heerd as how you had left Deacon Mason s. 
 So you cided to take my advice. I m kinder sorry you 
 tipped the buggy over, for Huldy Mason s a. nice girl. The 
 fact is I was thinkin more of her than I was of you, when 
 I told yer you d better git out. Where be yer boar din 
 now ?" 
 
 "I am boarding at Mr. Ezeklel Pettengill s. His sister 
 has got home and his Uncle Isaac lias come back to live 
 with him." 
 
 "Lord sakes, do tell!" said Mrs. Putnam. "I allus 
 thought tihat old fool would die out there in .the woods and 
 they d bury him in his chicken coop. But what on airth is 
 Alice home for? Has she lost her job?" 
 
 "No," replied Quincy; "poor girl, she has almost lost
 
 A LONG LOST RELATIVE. Ill 
 
 her sight. She. has been very sick, and as a result she is 
 almost blind, and had to give up work and come home." 
 
 Mrs. Putnam sank back in her chair. 
 
 "If I didn t think you were a truthful man, Mr. Sawyer, 
 I wouldn t b lieve a word you said. My poor Alice. Why, 
 do you know, Mr. Sawyer, I never saw a human being in 
 ail my life that I liked so much as I have Alice Pettengill. 
 Did you ever see her, Mr. Sawyer?" 
 
 "No," said Quincy, "she only arrived yesterday after 
 noon, and she did not appear at supper nor at breakfast this 
 morning. She was tired and wished to rest, her brother 
 told me." 
 
 "Well, I hope she won t die," said Mrs. Putnam. "I 
 have left her every dollar I ve got in the world, and if she 
 should die I shouldn t know wh on airth to give it to. 
 Well, there, I ve let the cat out of the bag, and my daughter 
 Lindy, mean as she is about money, would give a thou 
 sand dollars to know who I am goin to leave my money 
 to. I wish I could see Alice. I can t walk, and that poor, 
 dear girl can t see. Why, Mr. Sawyer, I think she s the 
 prettiest, sweetest girl I ever sot eyes on in my life, and 
 I ve seed a good many on em. Now you tell me what you 
 think of her the next time you come up, won t you, Mr. 
 Sawyer?" 
 
 "I certainly will/ said Quincy, "and if she will come 
 with me I will bring her over to see you. If sihe came from 
 Boston with her brother, she can surely ride as far as this," 
 he added. 
 
 "Tell her I shall count every minute till she comes over 
 here, but don t say a word to her about my money," said 
 Mrs. Putnam. 
 
 "Certainly not," Quincy answered. "You did not in 
 tend to tell me." 
 
 "No, I didn t," acknowledged Mrs. Putnam, "it slipped 
 out before I thought."
 
 112 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER. 
 
 Quincy arose. "I must go now, Mrs. Putnam. I have 
 business at Eastborough Centre, and I don t know how 
 long it will take me, and besides, I am anxious to see Miss 
 Pettengill after your glowing description of her beauty 
 and her virtues. 
 
 "Well, I haven t put the paint on half as thick as it 
 would stand," said Mrs. Putnam. "Well, good-by, Mr. 
 Sawyer. It s very kind in you to come and see two old 
 folks like us. No use saying good-by to Silas; he s stone 
 deef and besides he s sound asleep." 
 
 When Quincy took up the reins and started towards 
 Eastborough Centre .it was with conflicting emotions. If 
 there had been no Alice Pettengill to see, Jhis thoughts, no 
 doubt, would have related chiefly to Lindy Putnam, who 
 had never attracted his attention before as she had that 
 morning. Could Alice Pettengill be as pretty and as good 
 as Mrs. Putnam had portrayed? And she was to be an 
 heiress. He was sorry that Mrs. Putnam had told him. 
 When ihe was talking to Miss Pettengill what he knew 
 would be continually in his mind. He was glad that she 
 was to have the money, but very sorry that he knew she 
 was to have it; heihad promised not to tell her, but he had 
 promised to tell Lindy. Mrs. Putnam had not told him 
 not to tell Lindy, but she had said Lindy would give a 
 thousand dollars to know. Now, was that the same as 
 requesting him not to tell Lindy, and should he tell Lindy 
 for nothing what her mother said she would give a thou 
 sand dollars to know? Anyhow, that question must be 
 decided within the next twenty-four hours. 
 
 Then he began to think of his intended visit to East- 
 borough Poorhouse. Would the Jim Sawyer that he 
 found there turn out to be his own uncle? What a sweet 
 morsel that would be for Strout if it proved to be true. 
 Anyhow, he would follow his father s instructions and do 
 all he could for his uncle, come what might.
 
 A LONG LOST RELATIVE. 113 
 
 Since he had arrived at Mason s Corner everything that 
 he had done seemed to give rise to gossip, and a little more 
 of it could do no harm. 
 
 Quincy reached the Poorhouse and inquired for the 
 keeper. A very stout, red-faced man answered the sum 
 mons. 
 
 He informed Quincy that his name was Asa Waters, and 
 that he had been keeper of the town Poorhouse for the 
 last ten years. 
 
 Quincy thought from his size, as he evidently weighed 
 between three and four hundred pounds, that he had prob 
 ably eaten all the food supplied for the inmates. In reply 
 to a direct question whether there was a man there by the 
 name of Jim Sawyer, Mr. Waters said "yes," but that he 
 was sick abed and had been for the last week. 
 
 "He coughs awful," said Waters; "in fact, I had to 
 change his room because the rest of us couldn t sleep. 
 When we tried to move him he became sort of crazy like, 
 and it took three on us to get him out of the room and take 
 him upstairs. He seems sot on getting back in that room. 
 The other day he crawled down stairs and we found him 
 trying to get into the room, but I had it locked and we had 
 another fight to get him upstairs again." 
 
 "Well," said Quincy, "I would like to see him; it may 
 be he is a distant relative of our family. My father wishes 
 me to talk with him and make the inquiry anyway." 
 
 "What mought your name be?" asked Mr. Waters. 
 i "My name is Quincy Adams Sawyer." 
 
 "Oh, yes, I remember you," said Waters. "Wasn t you 
 the singer that Mr. Strout hired to come down from Bos 
 ton to sing at his concert. Strout told me he paid you $50 
 for singing that night, and by gosh it was worth it." 
 
 Quincy was not a profane young man, but he had to 
 smother an oath on hearing that. He replied, "Yes, I 
 sang that night."
 
 a4 QUIXCY ADAMS SAWYEK. 
 
 "And," said Waters, didn t you whistle that piece, 
 Listen to the Bobolink, fine?" 
 
 "Here, Sam," said he to a young- fellow who appeared 
 in sight, "show this gentleman up to Jim Sawyer s room; 
 I m getting kind of pussy, and I don t go upstairs much." 
 
 Sam performed his mission and Quincy was ushered into 
 the room and found himself with the sick man. 
 
 "Is your name James Sawyer?" asked Quincy. 
 
 "Yes/ said the man. "I used to be proud of it once. 
 
 "Did you have a brother?" asked Quincy. 
 
 "Well," said Jim, "I don t think he would be proud of 
 me now, so I guess I won t claim any relationship." 
 
 Quincy stopped for a moment. Evidently the man s 
 pride would keep him. from telling anything about himself. 
 He would try him on a new tack. The man had a long fit 
 of coughing. When it had subsided, Quincy said, "It 
 wearies you to talk. I will do the talking, and if what I 
 say is true you can nod your head." Quincy continued, 
 "Your name is James Edward Sawyer, your brother s name 
 was Nathaniel." The man opened his eyes wide and looked 
 steadfastly at him. "Your father, Edward Sawyer, left 
 you fifty thousand dollars." The man clutched with both 
 hands at the quilt on the bed. "You are about sixty years 
 of aige." The man nodded. "You married a young girl 
 who lived in the country and took her to Boston with you; 
 her maiden name was Eunice Raymond." 
 
 The man started up in bed, resting on his elbow. "How 
 did you know all this?" asked he. "Who has told you this? 
 Who are you?" 
 
 The exertion and the rapid speaking brought on another 
 fit of coughing and he fell back on his pillow. 
 
 "If what I have said is true," remarked Quincy quietly, 
 "your brother, Nathaniel, is my father, and I am your 
 nephew, Quincy Adams Sawyer." 
 
 "Who sent you to see me?" asked the man.
 
 A LONG LOST KELATIVE. 115 
 
 "I heard," replied Quincy, "that a man named James 
 Sawyer was in the Eastborough Poorhouse. I wrote to 
 my father, and in his reply he told me what I have just 
 said to you. If you are my uncle, father says to do every 
 thing I can to help you, and if he had not said so I would 
 have done it anyway." 
 
 "It is all true," said the man faintly. "I squandered the 
 money my father left me. I married a sweet, young girl 
 and took her to the city. I tried to introduce her into the 
 set to which I once belonged. It was a failure. I was 
 angry, not with myself for expecting too much, but with 
 her because she gave me too little, as I then thought. We 
 had two children a boy named Ray and a little girl named 
 Mary, after my mother." 
 
 "My grandmother/ said Quincy. 
 
 James Sawyer continued: "I took to drink. I abused the 
 woman whose only fault had been that -she had loved me. I 
 neglected to provide for my family. My wife fell sick, my 
 two little children died, and my wife soon followed them* 
 I returned from a debauch which had lasted me for about a 
 month to find that I was alone in the world. I fled from 
 the town where we had lived, came here and tried to re 
 form. I could not. I fell sick and they sent me here to the 
 Poorhouse. I have had no ambition to leave. I knew if 
 I did it would mean the same old life. I am glad you 
 came. I cannot tell you how glad. I do not wish for any 
 assistance; the town will care for me as long as I live, which 
 will not be very long-; but your coming enables me to per 
 form an act of justice which otherwise I could not have 
 done." 
 
 "Tell me in what way I can serve you," said Quincy,, 
 "and it shall be done." 
 
 "Look outside of the door," said the man, "and see il 
 anybody is listening."
 
 116 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER. 
 
 Quincy opened the door suddenly and the broad face of 
 Mr. Asa Waters stood revealed. 
 
 "I thought I would come up and see if Mr. Sawyer 
 wanted anything." 
 
 "If he does," said Quincy, "I will inform you; and he 
 closed the door in Mr. Waters s face. 
 
 Quincy waited till he heard his ponderous footsteps de 
 scending the stairs at the foot of the hallway. 
 
 "Was old Waters out there listening?" asked Jim Saw 
 yer. 
 
 "I don t think he had time to hear anything," Quincy 
 replied. 
 
 "Come closer/ said Jim; "let me whisper. I am not 
 penniless. I have got some money. I have five thousand 
 dollars in government bonds. I sold some stock I owned 
 just before I went off on that last debauch, but I didn t 
 spend all the money. When I die I want you to pay back 
 to the town of Eastborough every dollar I owe for board. 
 Don t let anybody know you got the money from me. Pay 
 it yourself and keep the balance of it yourself." 
 
 "Where is the money?" said Quincy. 
 
 "It is down in my old room, No. 24, one flight down 
 from here, at the otiher end of the hallway. I have got a 
 key that will open the door. I made it myself. I nearly 
 got in there the other day, but they caught me before I 
 had a chance to open the door. If you can get in there take 
 up the fourth brick from the window, second row from the 
 front of the fireplace, and you will find the bonds in an old 
 leather wallet. What time is it?" he asked quickly. 
 
 "Half-past eleven," replied Quincy. 
 
 "Nbw is your time," said the man; "all the hands have 
 their dinner from half-past eleven to twelve ; at twelve they 
 feed us; take this key, and if you get the money, for God s 
 sake come around to-morrow and let me know. I sha n t 
 .sleep a wink till I hear from you."
 
 A LONG LOST RELATIVE. 117 
 
 Quincy pressed the sick man s hand and left the room. 
 He went downstairs on tiptoe and quickly reached room 
 No. 24. He listened; all was quiet; it took but an instant 
 to open the door, and, slipping quietly in, he locked it 
 after him. With some difficulty he found the wallet, 
 looked inside and saw five one thousand dollar United 
 States bonds. He put the wallet in his pocket, replaced the 
 brick, and listened at the door; all was quiet. He unlocked 
 it, slipped out, locked it, and was retracing his steps, when 
 he saw Sam coming 1 upstairs at the other end of the hallway. 
 
 "I think I took the wrong turn/ said Quincy. "I 
 thought I came up that way. 5 
 
 "No," said Sam; "that s the back way." 
 
 "Thank you, said Quincy, as he ran lightly downstairs. 
 At the foot he met Mr. Waters. 
 
 "Well, is he any relative of yours?" asked Waters. 
 
 * I don t know yet," replied Quincy; "he has given me 
 some facts, and I am going to write to Boston, and when I 
 hear from there I will be able to answer your question. I 
 will come around in a few days, as soon as I hear from the 
 city." 
 
 Quincy jumped into his team and drove to Eastborough 
 Centre post office to see if there were any letters for him. 
 
 When he reached the post office he found a letter from 
 his father, informing him his mother and sisters were going 
 to New York for a two weeks visit and would very much 
 like to see him if he would run up the next day. 
 
 Quincy s mind was made up instantly. He drove to the 
 hotel, left the team, with instructions to have it ready for 
 him when he came down on the express that reached East- 
 borough Centre at 7.15 P. M., ran for the station and 
 caught on to the back platform of the last car as it sped on 
 its way to Boston. 
 
 Arriving there, he first took a hasty lunch, then hiring 
 a coupe by the hour, drove to his bank on State Street.
 
 118 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER. 
 
 Here he left the bonds with instructions to write to East- 
 borough Centre the amount realized from them and passed 
 to the credit of his account. 
 
 His next trip was to his father s house on Beacon Street, 
 where .he found his motiher and sisters. They were over 
 joyed to see him, and his younger sister declared that he 
 had grown better looking since he went away. She wanted 
 to know if he had fallen in love with a country girl. Quincy 
 replied that his heart was still free and if it wasn t for the 
 law he would have her for his wife, and no one else. Maude 
 laughed and slapped him. 
 
 He next rode to his father s office on Court Street. The 
 Hon. Nathaniel had just lunched at Parker s and was en 
 joying a good cigar when his son came in. 
 
 Quincy told him that the Jim Sawyer at Eastborough 
 Poorhouse was unquestionably their missing relative. 
 
 "Poor Jim," said Nathaniel; "I ought to go and see ihim." 
 
 "No; I wouldn t," said Quincy, "it will do no good, and 
 his remorse is deep enough now without adding to it." 
 
 He then told his father about the money, and the latter 
 agreed that Jim s idea was right and Quincy had best use 
 the money as though it were his own. 
 
 "By the by," said his father, wheeling round in his office 
 chair, "that Miss Putnam from Eastborough is a very pretty 
 girl; don t you think so, Quincy?" 
 
 "Handsome is as handsome does," thought Quincy to 
 himself, but he only said, "Where did you see her?" 
 
 "She was in here to-day," replied his father. "She said 
 she had $25,000 to invest, and that you gave her the address 
 of some broker, but that she had forgotten it. 
 
 "Her statement is partially true," said Quincy, "but not 
 complete. I gave her three addresses, because I did not 
 wish to recommend any particular one. I wished her to 
 make her own choice." 
 
 "I was not so conservative," remarked his father. "I
 
 A LONG LOST RELATIVE. 119 
 
 advised her to go to Foss & Follansbee and even suggested 
 that Quinnebaug Copper Company was one of the most 
 promising investments before the public to-day." 
 
 "Did she confide in you any farther," said Quincy. 
 
 "Oh, yes," replied his father; "I gleaned she was worth 
 $100,000 and that her parents, who were very old people, 
 had nearly as much more. I remember her brother, J. Jones 
 Putnam. He was a plunger/ and a successful one. He 
 died suddenly of lung fever, I believe." 
 
 Quincy smiled. 
 
 "She seemed to be well educated," his father continued, 
 "and told me that you and she sang together at a concert." 
 
 "Did she tell you wihat her father s religion was? 
 inquired Quincy. 
 
 "You don t seem to admire this young lady, Quincy. I 
 thought she would be likely to be a great friend of yours. 
 You might do worse than " 
 
 "I know,* said Quincy, "she is pretty, well educated, 
 musical, very tasteful in dress, and has money, but she can t 
 have me. But how did it end? 5 asked he; "how did you get 
 rid of her?" 
 
 "Well," replied his father, "as I said before, I thought 
 she must be a great friend of yours, and perhaps more, so I 
 went down to Foss & Follansbee s with her; then we went 
 to Parker s to lunch, then I sent her to the station in a 
 coupe. 
 
 "I am greatly obliged to you, father," said Quincy, "for 
 the kind attentions you paid her. I shall get the full credit 
 of them down in Eastborougth ; your name will not be men 
 tioned; only," said Quincy with a laugh, "if she is coming 
 to the city very often I think perhaps I had better come 
 back to Boston and look after mother s interests." 
 
 The Hon. Nathaniel was nettled by this and said sternly, 
 * I do not like that sort of pleasantry, Quincy."
 
 120 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER. 
 
 "Neither do I," said Quincy coolly, "and I hope there 
 will be no further occasion for it." 
 
 "How long do you intend to remain in Eastborough?" 
 asked his father. 
 
 "I don t know," replied Quincy. "I can t come home 
 while Uncle Jim is sick, of course. I will ask him if he 
 would like to see you, and if he says yes, I will telegraph 
 you. Well, good-by. I was up to the house and saw mother 
 and the girls. I am going up to the club to see if I can 
 meet some of the boys and have some dinner, and I shall 
 go down on the 6.05 express." 
 
 Quincy lighted a cigar, shook hands rather stiffly with 
 his father and left the office. 
 
 When Quincy reached the Pettengill house it was a little 
 after eight o clock. Hiram came out to help him put up 
 the horse. "Anybody up?" asked Quincy. 
 
 "Only Mandy and me," said Hiram. "Uncle Ike is up 
 in his attic, and Zeke is up talkin to his sister, and Mandy 
 and me has been talkin to each other; and, say, Mr. Saw 
 yer, did you meet Lindy Putnam up in Boston to-day? 
 
 "No," said Quincy between his shut teeth. 
 
 "Well, that s funny," said Hiram; "I heard Abner Stiles 
 telling Strout as how Miss Putnam told him that Mr. Saw 
 yer had been to the banker s with her to invest her money, 
 and that Mr. Sawyer took her out to lunch and then rode 
 down to the station in a carriage and put her aboard the 
 train." 
 
 "There are a great many Mr. Sawyers in Boston, you 
 must remember, Hiram," remarked Quincy. "Anything 
 else, Hiram?" 
 
 "Well, not much more," replied Hiram; "but Strout said 
 that if you got Lindy and her money and then cajoled the 
 old couple into leavin their money to you, that it would 
 be the best game of bunco that had ever been played in 
 Eastborough."
 
 A LOtfG LOST KELATIVE. 121 
 
 "Well, Strout ought to know what a good bunco game 
 is/ said Quincy. "Have the horse ready by nine o clock in 
 the morning if you can get over. Good night, Hiram," he 
 said. 
 
 He passed through the kitchen, saying good night to 
 Mandy, and went straight to his own room. He sat and 
 thougiht for an hour, going over the events of the day. 
 
 "As soon as Unck Jim is dead and buried," said he to 
 himself, "I think I will leave this town. As the children say 
 when they play hide and go seek, I am getting warm."
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 A PROMISE KEPT. 
 
 QUINCY was up next morning at eight o clock and 
 ate his breakfast with Zekiel. Zekiel said his 
 sister did not sleep well nights, and so would not be down 
 till later. 
 
 "Do you want the team this morning, Mr. Pettengill?" 
 asked Quincy. 
 
 "No, said Zekiel, "but the Boston doctor wrote to Dea 
 con Mason that he was comin down this afternoon to take 
 that stuff off Huldy s arm, and she wanted me to come 
 up, so I shall be up there all the afternoon. 
 
 That reminds me," said Quincy. "Will you tell Deacon 
 Mason that I want the nurse to stay until to-morrow and 
 I will be up to see her at nine o clock?" 
 
 Quincy took up the reins and started for Eastborough 
 Poorhouse. 
 
 He found his uncle weaker than on the day before. 
 Quincy touched his hand, but did not lift it from the bed. 
 Jim pointed towards the door. 
 
 "It s all right," said Quincy, "there is no one there. 
 
 "Did you get it?" asked Uncle Jim in a whisper. 
 
 "Yes," replied Quincy, "and it s safe in the bank in 
 Boston." 
 
 "Thank God!" exclaimed Uncle Jim. "Now I don t care 
 how soon I am called to judgment for my sins. 
 
 "Uncle Jim," said Quincy, "I saw my father yesterday 
 afternoon. Would you like to have your brother come 
 and see you?"
 
 A PKOMISE KEPT. 123 
 
 Uncle Jim shook his head. "It will do no good, said 
 he. "You have done all I could wish for. Pay the town 
 for my board. Give them what they ask. Do with the 
 balance what you wish, Quincy. It is yours." 
 
 "Where do you wish to be buried, Uncle?" asked Quincy; 
 bravely. 
 
 "Right here," replied Uncle Jim. "One of the boys 
 here died about a month ago; ihis name was Tom Buck. 
 Be was a good fellow and did many kind things for me. 
 Bury me side of him." 
 
 "One more question, Uncle," said Quincy. "In what 
 town did your wife and children reside when they died?" 
 
 "In Amesbury," said Un-cle Jim. An idea seemed to 
 strike him. "Well, Quincy, do you suppose you could find 
 where they are buried?" 
 
 "Of course I can," Quincy answered. 
 
 "Well," continued Uncle Jim, "I don t deserve it, I am 
 not worthy of it, but she always loved me, and so did the 
 children. I never struck her, nor them, nor did I ever 
 speak unkindly to them. I never went home when I was 
 drunk. I deserted them and left them to suffer. I don t 
 think she would object, do you?" 
 
 Quincy divined his thoughts and answered, "No, I do 
 not, Uncle." 
 
 "If you will do it, Quincy," said Uncle Jim, "I shall die 
 a happy man. Buy a little lot and put me beside Eunice 
 and the children. Don t put my name on the stone, put 
 her name and those of the children. That will please me 
 best. She will know I am there, but others will not." 
 
 "It shall -be done as you say, Uncle," said Quincy. "I 
 will be here early to-morrow morning and I shall come 
 every day to see you. Good-by." 
 
 He touched his uncle s hand again softly and left the 
 room. Uncle Jim, with a smile upon his wasted face, fell 
 asleep.
 
 124 
 
 Quiticy drove leisurely towards Mason s Corner. It was 
 more than twenty-four hours since he had learned who 
 was to be Mrs. Putnam s heiress. He had made a promise. 
 Should he keep it? How could he avoid keeping it? He 
 would see Miss Putnam and be governed by circumstances. 
 
 He reached the Putnam house and was shown, into the 
 same room as on the morning before. In a few minutes 
 Lindy joined him. He had never seen faer looking better. 
 She had on a handsome gown that he had never seen before 
 Quincy opened the conversation. 
 
 "Did you enjoy your trip to Boston yesterday, Miss 
 Putnam?" 
 
 "Oh, yes," replied Lindy, "I must tell you all about 
 it." 
 
 "There is no need to, Miss Putnam, I am acquainted 
 with the most important events of your trip already." 
 
 "Why, how?" asked Lindy. "Oh, I see," said she, "you 
 had a letter from your father." 
 
 "No," said Quincy. "I had the pleasure of a conversa 
 tion with my father yesterday afternoon in Boston." 
 
 "Is that so?" exclaimed Lindy. 
 
 "Yes," said Quincy, "but I might have learned all the 
 principal facts without leaving Mason s Corner. In fact, I 
 did learn them in a somewihat distorted shape late last even 
 ing." 
 
 Lindy colored until her forehead was as red as her 
 cheeks. 
 
 "I do not understand you, Mr. Sawyer," she remarked, 
 
 "It is easily explained," said Quincy. "Mr. Stiles for 
 got to mention that it was my father who was your escort 
 and not myself. Of course he would offer the similarity in 
 names as his excuse." 
 
 "And so, * said Lindy, recovering herself, "you have 
 come here to scold me because Abner Stiles didn t tell the 
 truth. I told you he was a wonderful story teller."
 
 A PROMISE KEPT. 125 
 
 "No, Miss Putnam," said Quincy, "I did not come here 
 for any such purpose. I made you a promise yesterday 
 and I have come to keep it. I know who is to inherit your 
 mother s money. She did not intend to tell me, but the 
 name escaped her unintentionally." 
 
 "Did she ask you not to tell me?" asked Lindy. 
 
 "No," replied Quincy, "not in so many words." 
 
 "Then you must tell me," cried Lindy eagerly. 
 
 "Well, I don t know/ said Quincy. "Your mother said 
 you would give a thousand dollars to know the name of the 
 person. This fixes the condition on which I shall divulge 
 the name." 
 
 "And if I did give you a thousand dollars, inquired 
 Lindy, "what would you do with the money?" 
 
 "I should give it to your mother," said Quincy. "She 
 fixed the price of the secret, not I." 
 
 Lindy walked to the window and looked out. She 
 wished to know the name. She had her suspicions, but 
 she could not bear to give up a thousand dollars of her own 
 money, for she knew that this, too, would go to the un 
 known heiress. She knew Alice Pettengill was in town and 
 at her brother s house. She had been there for a whole day 
 and parts of two others. She would save her money and at 
 the same time learn the truth. 
 
 Turning to Quincy she said, "I cannot afford to pay you, 
 or rather my mother, a thousand dollars for the secret. It 
 is not worth it. I will not ask you again for her name, 
 but if you will answer me one simple question I will 
 absolve you from your promise." 
 
 Quincy reflected. He knew that Lindy was deep and 
 that she was plotting something while she stood at the win 
 dow. But he wished this matter over, he was tired of it, 
 so he replied, "I will answer your simple question, Miiss 
 Putnam, on one condition. It is that you will not deem
 
 126 QUINCY ADAMd SAWYEF* 
 
 me guilty of any intentional discourtesy if, after replying 
 to it, I at once take my leave." 
 
 They faced each other, she hardly able to conceal her 
 impatience, he with a stern look upon his face. 
 
 "My simple question is this, Mr. Sawyer, have you ever 
 eaten a meal at the same table with my mother s heiress?" 
 
 "I have never seen her," replied Quincy coldly. He 
 took his hat, and with a low bow quitted the house and 
 drove away. 
 
 Lindy threw herself in a passion on the sofa and burst 
 into a flood of tears. She had played her last card and had 
 lost.
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 AN INFORMAL INTRODUCTION. 
 
 ^R X 7HEN Quincy drove into the -barn he found Jim 
 ^ * Cobb there, and .he turned the horse over to him. 
 Entering by the back door he passed through the kitchen 
 without seeing either Mandy or Mrs. Crowley, and went 
 slowly upstairs. The (house was very quiet. He remem 
 bered that Uncle Ike had gone to Eastborough Centre and 
 Zekiel had gone to Deacon Mason s. It was necessary 
 for him to pass the door of the room occupied by Alice 
 Pettengill in order to reach his own room. The door of 
 her room was open. He involuntarily glanced in and then 
 stood still. 
 
 What vision was this that met his eye? The sun, now 
 dropping to the westward, threw its rays in at the window 
 and they fell upon the head of the young girl seated beside 
 it. 
 
 The hair was golden in the sunlight, that real golden that 
 is seldom seen excepting on the heads of young children. 
 She seemed slight in figure, but above the average stature. 
 She wore a loose-fitting dress of light blue material, faced 
 down the front with white, and over her shoulders was 
 thrown a small knitted shawl of a light pink color. Quincy 
 could not see her face, except in profile, for it was turned 
 towards the window, but the profile was a striking one. He 
 turned to step forward and enter his own room. As he did 
 so the board upon which he stood creaked. He stopped 
 again suddenly, hoping that the noise would not attract 
 her attention, but her quick ear had caught the sound, and,
 
 128 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER. 
 
 rising, she advanced towards the door, her hands extended 
 before her. 
 
 "Is that you, Uncle Ike?" she asked in a clear, sweet 
 voice. "I heard you drive in." 
 
 She had started in a straight line towards the door, but 
 for some cause, perhaps the bright light coming from the 
 wood fire in the open fireplace, she swerved in her course 
 and would have walked directly towards the blazing wood 
 had not Quincy rushed forward, caught her by the hahU 
 and stopped her further progress, saying as he did so, "Miss 
 Pettengill, you will set your dress on fire." 
 
 "You are not Uncle Ike," said she, quickly. "He could 
 not walk as fast as that. Who are you? You must know 
 me, for you called me by name. 
 
 Quincy replied, "Under the circumstances, Miss Petten 
 gill, I see no way but to introduce myself. I am your 
 brother s boarder, and my name is Sawyer." 
 
 "I am pleased to meet you, Mr. Sawyer," said she, ex 
 tending her hand, which Quincy took. "I feel acquainted 
 with you already, for Uncle Ike speaks of you very often, 
 and Zekiel said you used to board at Deacon Mason s. 
 Don t you think Huldy is a lovely girl?" 
 
 Quincy avoided this direct question and replied, "Uncle 
 Ike has been equally kind in speaking of his niece, Miss 
 Pettengill, so that I feel acquainted with .her even without 
 this, I was going to say formal introduction, but I think 
 that we must both confess it was rather informal." 
 
 Alice laughed merril}. "Won t you sit down, Mr. Saw 
 yer? I have been alone nearly all day, and have really been 
 very lonesome." 
 
 She turned and groped, as if feeling for a chair. Quincy 
 sprang forward, placed a large rocking chair before the 
 fire, then, taking her hand, saw her safely ensconced in it. 
 He then took a seat in a large armchair at the end of the 
 fireplace nearest the door.
 
 AN INFORMAL INTRODUCTION. 128 
 
 "Thank you, Mr. Sawyer," said Alice. "Everybody has 
 been so kind to me since I have had this -trouble with my 
 eyes. Of course Zekiel has told you about it." 
 
 "Yes," assented Quincy. 
 
 He really did not care to talk. He was satisfied to sit 
 and look at her, and he could do this with impunity, for 
 she could not see his earnest gaze fixed upon her. 
 
 "I have been used to an active life," said Alice. "I have 
 had my business to attend to every day, and evenings I 
 had my books, papers, pictures, and music. At first it 
 seemed so hard to be shut out from them all, but years ago 
 Uncle Ike taught me to be a philosopher an.d to take life 
 as it came, without constantly fretting or finding fault. 
 Uncle Ike says, It is not work but worry that wears men 
 out. That s why he came down here to live in the woods. 
 He said they wouldn t let him work and so he worried all 
 the time, but when he came here he had plenty to do, and 
 in his work he found happiness." 
 
 "I am learning a good lesson," said Quincy with a laugh. 
 "I have studied much, but I actually never did QJ day s 
 work in all my life, Miss Pettengill." 
 
 "Then you are to be pitied," said Alice frankly; "but I 
 see I should not blame you, you are studying now and get 
 ting ready to work." 
 
 "Perhaps so," Quincy remarked. "My father wishes me 
 to be a lawyer, but I detest reading law, and have no in 
 clination to follow in my father s footsteps." 
 
 "Perhaps you are too young," said Alice, "to settle upon 
 your future career. I cannot see you, you know, and 
 Uncle Ike did not say how old you were." 
 
 Quincy smiled. "I am in my twenty-fourth year," said 
 he. "I graduated at Harvard two years ago." 
 
 "So old!" exclaimed Alice; "why, I am not twenty-one 
 until next June, and I have been working for my living 
 since I was sixteen."
 
 130 QUmCY ADAMS SAWYER. 
 
 Quincy said, "I wish I had as honorable a record." 
 
 "Now you are vexed with me for speaking so plainly ,V 
 said Alice. 
 
 "Not at all," Quincy replied. "I thank you for it. I 
 have learned from Uncle Ike that frankness of speech and 
 honesty of heart are Pettengill characteristics." 
 
 "You might add," said Alice, "firmness in debate, for 
 none of us like to own up that we are beaten. I remember 
 years ago Uncle Ike and I had a long discussion as to 
 whether it were better to be stone blind or stone deaf. I 
 took the ground that it was better to be blind, for one could 
 hear music and listen to the voices of friends, and hear the 
 sound of approaching danger, and then, besides, everybody 
 is so kind to a person who is blind. But you see Uncle Ike 
 don t care for music, and had rather talk himself than listen, 
 so he decided that it was best to be stone deaf, for then 
 he could read and write to his friends. But of course 
 neither of us gave in, and the question, so far as we are 
 concerned, is still unsettled. 5 
 
 At that moment the sound of a team was heard, and a 
 few minutes later Uncle Ike came upstairs, followed by the 
 driver of the team bearing a big basket and a large bundle. 
 These contained Uncle Ike s purchases. 
 
 "Wait a minute and I will go upstairs with you," called 
 out Uncle Ike to the man. He entered the room, and 
 looking somewhat surprised at seeing Quincy, he said 
 somewhat sharply, "So you two have got acquainted, have 
 you? I have been waiting for two days to introduce you." 
 
 "I am greatly indebted to Mr. Sawyer," said Alice. 
 "When he passed my door, which was open, I thought it 
 was you and I started forward to meet you, but I missed 
 my way and was walking directly towards the fire, when 
 Mr. Sawyer interposed." 
 
 "I should have done the same thing had it been me,"
 
 AN INFOKMAL INTRODUCTION 131 
 
 said Uncle Ike. "So I don t see as you were in any real 
 danger." 
 
 Quincy thought that it was noticeably evident that the 
 Pettengills were noted for plainness of speech. 
 
 "Here are three letters for you, Alice, and here is one 
 for you, Mr. Sawyer. I thought I would bring it over to 
 you as I met Asa Waters down to the post office and he 
 said you d started for home. I ll be down in a few min 
 utes, Alice, and read your letters for you." And Uncle 
 Ike showed the man the way up to his domicile. 
 
 Quincy arose, expressed his pleasure at having met 
 Miss Pettengill, and presuming they would meet again at 
 dinner, took his leave. 
 
 The letter was from Quincy s father. It was short, but 
 was long enough to cause Quincy to smother an oath, crush 
 the letter in his hands and throw it into the open fire. The 
 flames touched it, and the strong draught took it still ablaze 
 up tfie wide-mouthed chimney. 
 
 But Quincy s unpleasant thought did not go with it. The 
 letter had said, "Quinnebaug stock has dropped off five 
 points. Foss & Follansbee have written Miss Putnam that 
 she must put up five thousand dollars to cover margin. 
 Better see her at once and tell her the drop is only tem 
 porary, and the stock is sure to recover." 
 
 Quincy sat down in his easy-chair, facing the fire, upon 
 which he put some more wood, which snapped and crackled. 
 
 "I won t go near that girl again," said he, with a deter 
 mined look upon his face. The next moment he had ban- 
 ,shed Lindy Putnam from his mind, and was thinking of 
 chat other girl who was sitting not six feet from him. He 
 could hear Uncle Ike s voice, and he knew that Alice s let 
 ters were being read to her. Then he fell into a reverie 
 as the twilight shadows gathered round him. As the room 
 grew -darker the fire grew brighter, and in it he could seem 
 to see a picture of a fair-haired girl sitting in a chair and
 
 132 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER. 
 
 listening with evident interest to a young man who was 
 reading to her from a newspaper. 
 
 Xfoe young girl placed her hand upon his arm and asked 
 a question. The young man dropped the paper and gazed 
 into the girl s face with a look full of tenderness, and plac 
 ing one of his hands upon that of the young girl clasped it 
 fondly, and Quincy saw that the face of this young man 
 was his own. He sat there until there came a loud rap upon 
 the door and Mandy s voice called out, "Supper s ready."
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 THE COURTIN . 
 
 WHILE Quincy was taking his first steps in Lover s 
 Lane, which steps so often lead to the high road of 
 Matrimony, Zekiel Pettengill had reached the end of his 
 lane, which had been very long with many devious turns, 
 and he found himself at that point where the next import 
 ant question was to fix the day. 
 
 Zekiel was a strong-minded, self-willed, self-reliant 
 young man, but in the presence of Huldy Mason he was 
 as big a coward as the world ever saw. She had sent a 
 little note to him, saying that she wished to see him that 
 afternoon, and he knew their fates would be decided that 
 day. He was hopeful, but the most hopeful lover has 
 spasms of uncertainty until his lady love has said yes and 
 yes again. 
 
 Dressed in his best, Zekiel knocked at Deacon Mason s 
 front door. For an instant he wished himself safe at home 
 and debated whether he could get round the corner of the 
 house before the door was opened. He turned his head to 
 measure the distance, but at that moment the door wai 
 opened, and Mrs. Mason s smiling face was before him, 
 and her pleasant, cheery voice said, "Come in, Zekiel." 
 
 He felt reassured by this, for he argued to himself that 
 she would have called him Mr. Pettengill if there had been 
 any change in her feelings towards him. They entered the 
 parlor, and Mrs. Mason said, "Take off your things and 
 leave them right here, and go right up and see Huldy. 
 She is waitin for you. The doctor s been and gone. He 
 took that plaster thing off Huldy s arm, says she s all right
 
 134 QUIWY ADAMS SAWYER. 
 
 now, only she must be keerful, not do any heavy liftin wrtH 
 it till it gets good and strong. He said it would be some 
 time before she could help me much with the housework, 
 so I am going to get a girl for a month or two. I heerd your 
 sister got home, Zeke. They do say she s blind. I am 
 awful sorry, Zekiel. Hope she will get better of it. I am 
 coming over to see her just as soon as I get me my girl. 
 But you go right up, there s nobody there but Huldy. Mr. 
 Sawyer is coming after the nurse to-morrow morning, and 
 she is up in the spare room trying to catch up with her 
 sleep. We told her there was no use in setting up with 
 Huldy, but she said she had her orders from the doctor, 
 and she wouldn t mind a single thing we said. But we 
 will get rid on her to-morrow. Now you go right up, 
 Zekiel; and Mrs. Mason took him by the arm and saw 
 him on his way up the front stairs before she returned to 
 her work in the kitchen. 
 
 Zekiel went upstairs deliberately, one step at a time. 
 His footfalls, it seemed to him, must be heard all over the 
 house. He paused before Huldy s door. He opened it a 
 couple of inches, when the thought struck him that he 
 ought to knock. He started to close the door and do so, 
 \vhen he heard a faint voice say, "Come in, Zekiel." So 
 he was still Zekiel to Huldy. He opened the door and 
 walked bravely into the room, but his bravery forsook him 
 when he had taken a few steps. He had expected to find 
 her in bed, as she had been every day before when he had 
 called. But there she stood before him, the same Huldy 
 as of old. Not exactly the same, however, for her cheeks 
 had lost much of their rosy tint and there was a pensive 
 look to the face that was new to it, which Zekiel saw, but 
 could not understand. 
 
 There were two chairs close together before the fire. 
 She sat down in the left-hand one and motioned Zekiel to 
 the other, which he took.
 
 THE COUIIT1N . 135 
 
 "I thought I would find you abed," said Zekiel. "I 
 didr. t know you were up." 
 
 "Qh, yes," said Huldy. "I got up and dressed as soon 
 as the doctor took the jacket, that s what he called it, off my 
 arm. I felt so much better I couldn t stay in bed any 
 longer." 
 
 "Well," said Zekiel, "when the schoolmaster used to 
 tell me to take my jacket off I didn t feel near as well as I 
 did before," and then they both laughed heartily. 
 
 They sat silent for a few moments, when Huldy, turning 
 her face with that sad look towards him, said, "There is 
 something on my mind, Zekiel, that I wish I could take 
 off as easily as the doctor did that jacket. 
 
 "Oh, nonsense," cried Zekiel; "why should you have 
 anything on your mind? You are a little bit low spirited 
 because you have been cooped up in bed so long." 
 
 "No," said Huldy, "that isn t it. I have wronged a per 
 son and I am afraid that person will never fully forgive me. 
 I am real sorry for what I have done, and I am going to tell 
 the person and ask for pardon." 
 
 "Well," said Zekiel, "the person must be pretty mean 
 spirited if he or she don t forgive you after you say you are 
 sorry, specially if you promise not to do it again." 
 
 "Oh, I shall never do it again," said Huldy. "Once has 
 nearly killed me. I suffered ten times more from that than 
 from my broken arm." 
 
 "Well," said Zekiel, "if that person don t forgive you I 
 don t want anything more to do with him." 
 
 "Let me tell you a little story," said Huldy. "A little 
 boy and girl whose homes were not a quarter of a mile 
 apart grew up together in a little country town. As chil 
 dren they loved each other, and as they grew older that 
 love really grew stronger, though not so plainly shown or 
 spoken. Everybody thought that one day they would be
 
 136 QUINCT ADAMS SAWYER. 
 
 married, though he had never asked her to be his wrfe. 
 Did you ever hear of anything" like that, Zekiel? 
 
 "Well," remarked Zekiel, "I have in my mind two per 
 sons whose relations were pretty similar up to a certain 
 2oint." 
 
 "Yes," said Huldy, eagerly, "and that point was reached 
 when a young man from the city, whose father was known 
 to be very wealthy, came to board in her father s house." 
 Huldy looked at Zekiel inquiringly. 
 
 "Yes, I ve heard of something like that," said Zekiel. 
 
 "For a time," continued Huldy, "the young girl was 
 unfaithful to her old-time lover. She thought the young 
 man from the city was learning to love her because he was 
 polite and attentive to her. She thought it would be nice 
 to be rich and go to the city to live, but the young man 
 soon undeceived her. He took her to ride one day, and on 
 their way home he told her he was going to leave her 
 father s house. She wished to know the reason, but he 
 would not give it. She divined it, however, and in her agi 
 tation lost control of the horse she was driving. The 
 buggy was overturned and her arm was broken." She 
 looked up at Zekiel. His face was grave, but he nodded 
 for her to go on. "She stayed in bed for three weeks, and 
 during that time she lived over her short life a hundred, 
 yes, a thousand, times; she knew that her fancy had been 
 but a fleeting dream. A suspicion that perhaps the young 
 man had imagined her feelings towards him was what had 
 nearly broken her heart. Supposing you were the man, 1 
 Zekiel, and I were the woman in this little story, could 
 you forgive me if I said I was sorry and would never do it 
 again?" 
 
 "I forgave you, Huldy, when I let him come to board in 
 my house. He told Uncle Ike why he left your father s 
 house. The folks were talking about you and him, but he 
 never imagined that you were in love with him, or thought
 
 THE COUKTIN . 137 
 
 any more about him than you would have of any passing 
 acquaintance." 
 
 "I am so glad," cried Huldy; "you have done me more 
 good than the doctor, Zekiel;" and she dropped her head 
 upon his shoulder. 
 
 Zekiel was struck with an idea. "If I am a better doctor 
 than the other one, Huldy, I ought to get a bigger price 
 for my services than he does. 
 
 Huldy looked up. "What will your price be, Dr. Pet- 
 tengill?" 
 
 "I think I shall charge," said Zekiel, "one hundred thou 
 sand dollars, and as I know you haven t got the money and 
 can t raise it, I think I shall have to hold you for security." 
 
 He -suited the action to the word, and they sat there so 
 long, happy in their mutual love, that the Deacon and his 
 wife came uostairs and entered the room quietly. When 
 they saw the picture before them, thrown into prominence 
 by the light of the fire, the Deacon said in a low tone to 
 his wife, "I have thought so all along." 
 
 And as Mrs. Mason looked up into her husband s 
 she said, "I am glad on t."
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 JIM SAWYER S FUNERAL. 
 
 QUINCY obeyed the call to supper with alacrity. Pos 
 sibly he thought he would be the first on<e at the 
 table, but Cobb s twins were in their places when he en 
 tered the room. Zekiel came in next, and Quincy s quick 
 eye discerned that there was a look of quiet contentment 
 on his face which had not been there before. 
 
 Uncle Ike came down with Alice, and for the first time 
 since her arrival she sat beside Ouincy. For some reason 
 or other the conversation lagged. Ouincy surmised that 
 Zekiel was too happy with his own thoughts to wish to 
 talk, and Uncle Ike rarely conversed during meal time. 
 He said he could not talk and eat at the same time, and as 
 meal time was for eating he proposed to give his attention 
 to that exclusively. 
 
 Quincy ventured a few commonplace remarks to Alice, 
 to which she replied pleasantly. He was at a loss for a 
 topic, when he remembered his last visit to Mrs. Putnam s 
 and recalled his promise to bring Alice to see her some 
 day. 
 
 He spoke of visiting Mrs. Putnam, and Alice s face 
 immediately shone with pleasure. "Dear old Aunt Heppy! 
 I must go and see her as soon as I can." 
 
 "If you can find no better escort than myself, I trust you 
 will command my services, unless," said Quincy, "your 
 brother thinks it unsafe to trust you with me." 
 
 "He won t be likely to let you drive, Alice," responded 
 Zekiel dryly, "so I don t think there will be any danger." 
 
 Quincy knew by this remark that Huldy had told Zekiel
 
 JIM SAWYER S FUNERAL. 138 
 
 the facts of the case, but he maintained his composure and 
 said, "Any time you wish to go, Miss Pettengill, I am at 
 your service." 
 
 As they arose from the table Zekiel said to his uncle, "I 
 am coming up in your room to-night, Uncle Ike, to see 
 
 you." 
 
 Ouincy knew by this that the pleasant chat in the dining- 
 room beside the fireplace was to be omitted that evening, so 
 he went up to his own room and read until it was time to 
 retire. 
 
 Quincy was up early next morning. He knew. his uncle 
 could not live long, but he wished to take the trained nurse 
 to Eastborough Centre, so he rnight have the best of care 
 during the short time left to him on earth. 
 
 He found Zekiel at the breakfast table, and beyond a 
 few commonplace remarks the meal was eaten in silence. 
 
 "Are you going to Eastborough Centre to-day, Mr. 
 Sawyer?" asked Zekiel. 
 
 "Yes," said Quincy; "I intended to go just as soon as 
 one of the boys could get the team ready." 
 
 "I ll speak to Jim about it," said Zekiel. "If you will 
 step into the parlor, Mr. Sawyer, I would like to have a 
 few minutes talk with you." 
 
 Zekiel went out into the barn and Ouincy walked into 
 the parlor, where he found a bright fire burning on the 
 hearth. He threw himself into an easy-chair and awaited 
 Zekiel s return. What was up? Could Zekiel and Huldy 
 have parted, and was Zekiel glad of it? Quincy, as the 
 saying is, passed a "bad quarter of an hour," for he did not 
 like suspense. The truth, however bitter or unpalatable, 
 was better than uncertainty. 
 
 Zekiel entered the room and took a seat opposite to 
 Quincy. He bent forward and placed his hands upon his 
 knees. 
 
 "Mr. Sawyer," said he, "I am a man of few words, so I
 
 140 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYEK. 
 
 will come right to the point. Huldy Mason and me are 
 engaged to be married." 
 
 Quincy was equal to the occasion. He arose, stepped 
 forward, and extended his hand. Zekiel rose also and 
 grasped it unhesitatingly. Quincy said, "Accept my most 
 sincere congratulations, Mr. Pettengill. I have known Miss 
 Mason but a short time, but any man ought to be proud of 
 her and happy in her love. 
 
 "Thank you, Mr. Sawyer, said Zekiel; "I agree with 
 you in both the particulars you ve mentioned, but both of 
 us have what we consider good reasons for not having our 
 engagement known in the village just at present, and to 
 keep it a secret we need the assistance of a mutual friend." 
 
 "If I might aspire to that honor," said Quincy, "my time 
 and services are at your disposal." 
 
 "That s what I told Huldy," said Zekiel, "but she was 
 afraid that you would be vexed at what the gossips said 
 about you and her; she s mad as a hornet herself, and she 
 wants to teach them a lesson." 
 
 "Personally, said Quincy, "I don t care what the gos 
 sips say, but I was both sorry and indignant that they 
 should have referred to Miss Mason in the way they did." 
 
 "Well," said Zekiel, "we have hatched up a sort of a 
 plot, and if you will help us, all three of us will have some 
 fun out of it." 
 
 "Well, inquired Quincy, "what s my share in the fun?" 
 
 "It s this," said Zekiel, "you know you used to take 
 Huldy out to ride with you. To help out our plan, would 
 you be willing to do it again?" 
 
 "Certainly," replied Quincy. "Miss Mason has been 
 confined to her room so long I think she ought to have 
 some fresh air." 
 
 "That s true," remarked Zekiel; "she s lost considerable 
 flesh staying in so long; but if I took her out to ride they 
 would jump at conclusions right off and say Huldy and
 
 JIM SAWYER S FUNERAL. 141 
 
 Zekiel nave made up, and they will guess we are going to 
 make a match of it. Then, again," Zekiel continued, 
 "Huldy says she s bound to have it out with the one that 
 started the stories. There s no use mincing matters be 
 tween us, because you know as well as I do who is at the 
 bottom of all this tittle-tattle. Since I refused to join hands 
 with him to try and drive you out of town, he has talked 
 about me almost as bad as he has about you. So. says 
 Huldy to me, you know he is the only teacher of music 
 in Eastborough. I want to take music lessons very much, 
 and so I have got to have him for teacher. Then she said, 
 Zekiel, you leave the rest of it to me, and we will all have 
 some fun before we get through. I expect she is going 
 to flirt with ham, for it comes as nat ral to her as it does 
 to most women." 
 
 Quincy did not think it polite to assent to this last 
 remark and changed the subject by remarking, "This is a 
 beautiful day. I am going to drive the nurse over to East- 
 borough ; perhaps Miss Mason would like to accompany us. 
 That is, if you can trust her with me." 
 
 "Oh, that s all right," said Zekiel; "Huldy had to pay 
 pretty dearly for getting mad at the wrong time. Besides, 
 I don t think she will want to drive horse again for a 
 while." 
 
 Mandy rapped on the parlor door and called out that the 
 team was ready. 
 
 Quincy assured Zekiel that he understood his part and 
 would play it to the best of his ability. 
 
 When he arrived at Deacon Mason s house he found the 
 latter just coming out of the front gate. As Quincy 
 leaped from the team the Deacon came forward and shook 
 hands with him. "You are just the man I want to see," he 
 remarked. "I ve paid our doctor, but I want to know what 
 the bill is for the Boston doctor and the nurse." 
 
 "I don t know yet, said Quincy, "but there will be noth-
 
 142 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYEK. 
 
 ing for you to pay. It is my duty to settle that bill myself." 
 
 "No," said the Deacon firmly. She is my daughter, 
 and it is my place as her father to pay such bills, until she 
 has a husband to pay them for her." 
 
 Qttincy said, "Deacon Mason, when I took your daugh 
 ter out to ride it was my duty to return her to her home 
 without injury. I did not do so, and I trust that you will 
 allow me to atone for my neglect. Remember, sir, you 
 have lost her services for several weeks, and the board of 
 the nurse has been an expense J:o you." 
 
 "I prefer," rejoined the Deacon, "that the bill should 
 be sent to me." 
 
 "Well," said Quincy, to close the discussion, "I will ask 
 him to send you one;" mentally resolving, when it was 
 sent, it would be a receipted one. 
 
 Quincy received a hearty welcome from Mrs. Mason, 
 who said the nurse had her things packed and was all ready 
 to go. He then told Mrs. Mason that he had a message 
 for Miss Mason from Mr. Zekiel Pettengill, and Mrs. 
 Mason said she would send Huldy to the parlor at once. 
 Huldy greeted Quincy with a happy face and without any 
 show of confusion. 
 
 "I had a long talk with Mr. Pettengill," said Quincy, 
 "and he has induced me to become a conspirator. The first 
 act in our comedy is to ask you if you will ride over to 
 Eastborough Centre this morning with the nurse and my 
 self, and get a little fresh air?" 
 
 "I should be delighted," said Huldy, "if you can wait 
 long enough for me to dress. " 
 
 "That s what I came early for," remarked Quincy. 
 "How long will it take you?" 
 
 "Fifteen minutes," said Huldy. 
 
 "It is now half-past seven," remarked Quincy, looking 
 at his watch. "You mean you will be ready by quarter 
 of nine?"
 
 JIM SAWYER S FUNERAL. 143 
 
 "No," said Huldy, with a flash of her eyes, "I am no city 
 lady. I am a plain, country girl, and I mean just one-quar 
 ter of an hour. You can time me, Mr. Sawyer;" and she 
 ran gayly out of the room. 
 
 Quincy looked out of the window and saw that Hiram 
 had put the nurse s heavy valise on the front seat of the 
 carryall. The nurse herself was standing by the side of 
 the team, evidently uncertain which seat to take. Quincy 
 was quickly at her side. 
 
 "You can sit in here, Miss Miller," .said Quincy, point 
 ing to one of the rear seats; and when she was seated 
 Quincy told Hiram to put the valise on the seat beside her. 
 He had no idea of having Huldy take a back seat. 
 
 True to her promise, Huldy made her toilet in the 
 appointed time, and taking her seat beside Quincy, he took 
 up the reins. Turning to Hiram he asked, "If I drive by 
 Hill s grocery and take the road to the left, will it bring 
 me round to the main road to Eastborough Centre again? 
 
 "Yaas," said Hiram, "you take the road where Mis 
 Hawkins s boardin house is on the corner. You remem 
 ber that big yellow house. You know I told you Mandy s 
 mother kept it." 
 
 "All right," said Quincy, and off they went. 
 
 Quincy gave a side glance at Huldy. He discovered 
 she was throwing a side glance at him. They both smiled, 
 but said nothing. He drove around the big tree that stood 
 in the centre of the square in front of the grocery, which 
 brought the team quite close to the store platform. No 
 one was in sight, but just as he reached Mrs. Hawkins s 
 boarding house the door opened and Obadiah Strout came 
 out. Huldy placed her hand on Quincy s arm. 
 
 "Please hold up a minute, Mr. Sawyer." 
 
 Quincy brought the horse to a standstill with a jerk and 
 looked straight ahead. 
 
 "Ah, good morning, Mr. Strout," said Huldy. "Did
 
 144 QUmCY ADAMS SAWYER. 
 
 you get the letter I sent up by Hiram last evening about 
 my taking music lessons?-" 
 
 "Yes," said Mr. Strout, "and I was coming down this 
 morning to settle on the best time for you taking them." 
 
 "Could you come to-morrow afternoon from two to 
 three?" asked Huldy. 
 
 Strout took a well-worn memorandum book from his 
 pocket and consulted it. "Three to four would be the best 
 I could do," said he, "for I have a lesson from half-past one 
 to half-past two." 
 
 "That will do just as well/ replied Huldy. "Three to 
 four to-morrow afternoon. Isn t this a beautiful day, Mr. 
 Strout? I am taking a little drive for my health;" and 
 she nodded smilingly to Strout, who had recognized 
 Quincy as her companion. 
 
 "That s all, Mr. Sawyer," said Huldy, and they drove on. 
 
 "By thunder," said Strout, "they say the hair of a dog 
 is good for his bite. Just as soon as she got well, off she 
 goes riding again with the same feller who tipped the 
 team over and broke her arm. I guess Zeke Pettengill s 
 chances ain t worth much now. It beats all how Zeke 
 can let that feller board in his house, but I suppose he does 
 it to let us folks see that he don t care. Well, Huldy Mason 
 is a bright little girl, and I always liked her. That city 
 chap don t mean to marry her, and if I don t make the best 
 of my chances when I get to teaching her music, my name 
 ain t Obadiah Strout, which I guess it is. And he walked 
 across the square to Hill s grocery to smoke his morning 
 cigar. 
 
 On the way to Eastborough Centre Quincy wondered 
 what he would do with Huldy when he arrived there. He 
 did not care to take her to the Poorhouse, .and particularly 
 he did not wish her to see his uncle. Quincy was proud, 
 but he was also sensible, and he decided upon a course of
 
 JIM SAWYER S FUNERAL. 14$ 
 
 action that would prevent any one from saying that his 
 pride had made him do a foolish act. 
 
 As they neared the Poorhotise Quincy turned to Huldy 
 and said, "The Jim Sawyer who has been at the Eastbor- 
 ough Poorhouse for the last five years is my father s 
 /brother and my uncle. His story is a very sad one. I will 
 tell it to you some day. He is in the last stages of con 
 sumption, and I am taking Miss Miller over to care for 
 him while he lives." 
 
 Huldy nodded, and nothing more was said until they 
 reached the Poorhouse. Quincy jumped out and called 
 to Sam, who was close at hand, to hold the horse. Sam 
 looked at him with a. peculiar expression that Quincy did 
 not stop to fathom, but running up the short flight of steps 
 entered the room that served as the office for the Poor 
 house. Mr. Waters was there writing at his desk. He 
 turned as Quincy entered. 
 
 "How is my uncle?" asked Quincy. 
 
 "He is better off than us poor mortals," replied Mr. 
 Waters with a long-drawn countenance. 
 
 "What do you mean?" asked Quincy. "Is he dead?" 
 
 "Yes," said Mr. Waters, "he died about four o clock this 
 mornin . Sam sat up with him till midnight, and I stayed 
 with him the balance of the time." 
 
 "I am so sorry I was not here/ said Quincy. 
 
 "It wouldn t have done any good," said Waters. "He 
 didn t know what was going on after two o clock, and you 
 couldn t have been of any use if you d been here. If t had 
 been daytime I should have sent over for you. He only 
 spoke once after I went upstairs and that was to say that 
 you would see to buryin him." 
 
 "Yes," said Quincy, "I will take charge of the remains." 
 
 "Well," remarked Mr. Waters, "I called in the town 
 undertaker and he has got him all ready."
 
 146 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYEK. 
 
 "When does the next train leave for Boston?" asked 
 Quincy, taking out his watch. 
 
 "In just twenty minutes," Waters replied, looking up at 
 the clock. 
 
 "I will be back from. Boston at the earliest possible 
 moment," said Quincy; and before the astonished Waters 
 could recover himself, the young man had left the room. 
 
 Quincy jumped into the team, grasped the reins, and 
 started off at full speed for Eastborough Centre. 
 
 "My uncle died this morning," said he, turning to 
 Huldy, "I must go to Boston at once to make the neces 
 sary arrangements for his funeral. He is to be buried at 
 Amesbury with his wife and children, so please get word 
 to Mr. Pettengill that I shall not be home for several days. 
 I will get some one at the hotel to drive you home, Miss 
 Mason. Only stern necessity compels me to leave you in 
 this way." 
 
 "You will do nothing of the sort/ said Huldy. "I am 
 perfectly confident that I am able to drive this team home 
 all by myself." 
 
 "I never can consent to it," said Quincy. "If anything 
 happened to you, your father and " Huldy glanced at 
 him. "I mean," said Quincy, "I should never forgive my 
 self, and your father would never forgive me. Your arm 
 is still weak, I know." 
 
 "My arm is just as good as ever," said Huldy. "The 
 doctor told me it wouldn t break in that place again. 
 Besides, Mr. Sawyer/ she said, as the hotel came in sight, 
 "I shall drive back just the same way we came, and there 1 
 are no hills or sharp corners, you know." She laughed 
 heartily and added, "I shall enjoy it very much, it is part 
 of the comedy." 
 
 "Well," said Quincy in an undertone, "rebellious young- 
 woman, do as you will, and bear the consequences. I will 
 turn the team around so that you won t have any trouble,
 
 JIM SAWYEE S FUNERAL. 14? 
 
 and Hiram can take it down to Mr. Pettengill s and deliver 
 my message. Good-by," and he shook hands with her. 
 
 "We will get out here, Miss Miller," said he, and he 
 helped the nurse to alight. Grasping the heavy valise, he 
 started at a brisk pace for the station, and Miss Miller was 
 obliged to run in order to keep up with him. They boarded 
 the train and took their seats. The train was ahead of 
 time and waited for a few minutes at the station. 
 
 Quincy did not know as he sped towards Boston on his 
 sad errand that Miss Lindy Putnam was in the second car 
 behind him, bound to the same place. Nor did he know 
 for several days that Abner Stiles, who drove her to the 
 station, had seen Huldy driving towards Mason s Corner. 
 Nor did he know that Strout had told Abner of his seeing 
 Huldy and Sawyer together. Nor did he know that Abner 
 whipped up his horse in a vain attempt to overtake Huldy 
 on her return to Mason s Corner. She, too, had whipped 
 up her horse and had reached home, and was in the house, 
 calling for Hiram, just as Abner turned into the square by 
 Hill s grocery. 
 
 Quincy made the necessary purchases, and with the city 
 undertaker returned to Eastborough Centre by the noon 
 train. The body was placed in a leaden casket and Quincy 
 and the undertaker with their sad burden returned to 
 Boston by the five o clock express. 
 
 His mother and sisters were still in New York, but he 
 passed the evening with his father, who approved of all 
 he had done and what he proposed doing. 
 
 Quincy went to Amesbury and purchased a small lot in 
 the cemetery. After a day s search he discovered the place 
 of burial of his uncle s wife and children. They were dis 
 interred, and the four bodies were placed in the little lot. 
 
 On his return to Boston he made arrangements for two 
 plain marble stones for his uncle and aunt, and two small et 
 ones for his little cousins, whom he had never seen.
 
 148 QUIffCY ADAMS SAWYER. 
 
 The directions that he left with the monument maker 
 and the undertaker at Amesbury were followed to the letter. 
 If one should pass by that little lot he would see on one 
 marble slab these words: 
 
 Eunice Raymond Sawyer, 
 
 Aged 29 yrs., 6 mos. 
 On the little slab at her feet the simple words : 
 
 Mary, Aged 4 yrs., 2 mos. 
 At its side another little stone bearing only these words : 
 
 Ray, Aged 6 yrs., 8 mos. 
 
 Adhering strictly to his uncle s request, the other large 
 .stone bore no name, but on it were engraved these words: 
 In Heaven we Know our Own.
 
 CHAPTER XX, 
 
 A WET DAY. 
 
 HEN Quincy alighted from the train at Eastborough 
 Centre, after attending his uncle s funeral, he found 
 the rain descending in torrents. He hired a closed car 
 riage and was driven to Mason s Corner, arriving there 
 about ten o clock. He had taken his breakfast in 
 Boston. 
 
 When he reached the Pettengill house he saw Hiram 
 standing at the barn door. Bidding the driver stop, he got 
 out and paid his score; he then took Hiram by the arm 
 and led him into the barn. When he had primed the latter 
 with a good cigar, he said, "Now, Hiram, I ve been away 
 several days and I want to know what has been going on. 
 You know our agreement was that you should tell me the 
 whole truth and nothing but the truth. I don t want you 
 to spare my feelings nor anybody else s. Do you under 
 stand?" said he to Hiram. Hiram nodded. "Then go 
 ahead," said Quincy. 
 
 "Well, first," said Hiram, puffing his cigar with evident 
 satisfaction, "they got hold of the point that Miss Huldy 
 drove back alone from Eastborough Centre. Abner Stiles 
 took Lindy Putnam down to the station and she went to 
 Boston on the same train that you did. Abner tried to. 
 catch up with Huldy, so he could quiz her, but s<he whipped 
 up her horse and got away from him. 
 
 "Smart girl!" interjected Quincy. 
 
 "You can just bet," said Hiram, "there ain t a smarter 
 one in this town, though, of course, I think Mandy is pretty 
 smart, too." 
 
 "Mandy s all right," said Quincy; "go ahead."
 
 150 QUIXCY ADAMS SAWYER. 
 
 "Well, secondly, as the ministers say," continued Hiram, 
 "Lindy Putnam told Abner when he drove her home from 
 the station that night that the copper company that Mr, 
 Sawyer told her to put her money in had busted, and she d 
 lost lots of money. That s gone all over Mason s Corner, 
 and if Abner told Asa Waters, it s all over Eastborough 
 Centre by this time." 
 
 "The whole thing is a lie/ said Ouincy hotly; "the stock 
 did go down, but my father told me yesterday it had rallied 
 and would soon advance from five to ten points. What s 
 the next confounded yarn?" 
 
 "Well, thirdly/ continued Kirani, "of course everybody 
 knows Jim Sawyer was your uncle, and somebody said 
 you can guess who that it would look better if you would 
 pay up his back board instead of spending so much money 
 on a fancy funeral and cheating the town undertaker out 
 of a job." 
 
 "I paid him for all that he did/ said Quincy. 
 
 "Yes," said Hiram, "but this is how it is. You see the 
 undertaker makes a contract with the town to bury all the 
 paupers who die during the year for so much money. They 
 averaged it up and found that about three died a year, so 
 the town pays the undertaker on that calculation; but this 
 year, you see, only two have died, and there ain t another 
 one likely to die before town meeting day, which comes the 
 first Monday in March, so, you see the undertaker gets paid 
 for buryin your uncle, though he didn t do it, and some one 
 says you can guess who that he is going to bring the 
 matter up in town meeting." 
 
 Ouincy smothered an exclamation and bit savagely into 
 his cigar. 
 
 "Anything else?" inquired he. "Have they abused the 
 ladies as well as me?" 
 
 "No," said Hiram; "you see somebody you know who 
 is giving Huldy music lessons and he will keep quiet
 
 A WET DAY. 151 
 
 aSout her anyway; but he says he can t understand how 
 Zeke Pcttengill can let you board in his house and go out 
 riding with Huldy, unless things is up between Zeke and 
 Huldy." 
 
 "Well, I guess that s about the size of it," said Quincy. 
 "Now, for instance, Hiram, you and Mandy are good 
 friends, aren t you?" 
 
 "Yes," said Hiram, "after we get over our little difficul 
 ties we are. 
 
 "Well," said Quincy, "I happen to know that Zekiel and 
 Huldy have got over their little difficulties and they are 
 now good friends." 
 
 "Been t they going to get married?" asked Hiram. 
 
 "Are you and Mandy going to get married?" asked 
 Quincy. 
 
 "Well, we haven t got so far along as to set the day 
 exactly, said Hiram. 
 
 "And I don t believe Zekiel and Huldy will get mar 
 ried any sooner than you and Mandy will," remarked 
 Quincy. "But don t say a word about this, Hiram." 
 
 "Mum s the word," replied Hiram. "I am no speaker, 
 but I hear a thing or two." 
 
 "Now, Hiram/ said Quincy, "run in and tell Mandy I ll 
 be in to lunch as usual, and then come back, for I have 
 something more to say to you. 
 
 Hiram did as directed, and Quincy sat and thought the 
 situation over. So far he had been patient and he had 
 borne the slings and arrows hurled at him without making 
 any return. The time had come to change all that, and 
 from now on he would take up arms in his own defence, 
 and even attack his opponents. 
 
 When he had reached this conclusion, Hiram reappeared 
 and resumed his seat on the chopping block. 
 
 Quincy asked, "In what regiment did the singing-master 
 go to war?"
 
 152 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER. 
 
 "The same one as I did, th Mass.," replied Hiram. 
 
 "Did you go to war?" inquired Quincy. 
 
 "Well, I rather guess," said Hiram. "I went out as a 
 bugler; he was a corporal, but he got detailed for hospital 
 duty, and we left him behind before we got where there 
 was any fightin ." 
 
 "Was he ever wounded in battle?" asked Quincy 
 
 "One of the sick fellers in the hospital gave him a Hckin 
 one day, but I don t suppose you d call that a battle," 
 remarked Hiram. 
 
 "Well, how about that rigmarole he got off down to the 
 grocery store that morning? Quincy interrogated. 
 
 "Oh, that was all poppycock," said Hiram. "He said 
 that just to get even with you, when you were telling about 
 your grandfathers and grandmothers." 
 
 Quincy laughed. 
 
 "Oh, I see," said he. "Were you ever wounded in battle, 
 Hiram?" 
 
 "Well, I was shot onct, but not with a bullet." 
 
 "What was it," said Quincy, "a cannon ball?" 
 
 "No/ said Hiram. "I never was so thunderin mad in 
 my life. When I go to regimental reunions the boys just 
 joke the life out of me. You see I was blowin my bugle 
 for a charge, and the boys were goin ahead in great style, 
 when a shell struck a fence about twenty feet off. The 
 shell didn t hit me, but a piece of that darned fence came 
 whizzin along and struck me where I eat, and I had a 
 dozen stummick aches inside o half a minute. I justj 
 dropped my bugle and clapped my hands on my stummick 
 and yelled so loud that the boys told me afterwards that 
 they were afraid I had busted my bugle." 
 
 Quincy laid back in his chair and laughed heartily. 
 
 "What do the boys say to you when you go to the 
 reunions?" he asked. 
 
 "They tell me to take a little whiskey for my stummick s
 
 A WET DAY. 153 
 
 sake," said Hiram, "and some of them advise me to put on 
 a plaster, and, darn em, they always take me and toss me 
 in a blanket ever} time I go, and onct they made me a 
 present of a bottleful of milk with a piece of rubber hose 
 on top of it. They said it would be good for me, but I 
 chucked it at the feller s head, darn him." 
 
 Quincy had another good laugh. Then he resumed his 
 usual grave expression and asked, "What town offices does 
 the singing-master hold?" 
 
 "Well," said Hiram, "he is fence viewer and hog reeve 
 and pound keeper, but the only thing he gets much money 
 out of is tax collector. He gets two per cent on about 
 thirty thousand dollars, which gives him about ten dollars a 
 week on an average, cause he don t get no pay if he don t 
 collect." 
 
 "Did he get a big vote for the place?" asked Quincy. 
 
 "No," said Hiram,, "he just got in by the skin of his 
 teeth; he had last town meetin two more votes than Wal 
 lace Stackpole, and Wallace would have got it anyhow if 
 it hadn t been for an unfortunate accident. 
 
 How was that?" asked Quincy. 
 
 "Well, you see," said Hiram, "two or three days before 
 town meetin Wallace went up to Boston. He got an oyster 
 stew for dinner, and it made him kinder sick, and some 
 one gave him a drink of brandy, and I guess they gave him 
 a pretty good dose, for when he got to Eastborough Centre 
 they had to help him off the train, cause his legs were 
 kinder weak. Well, Bias Smith, who lives over to West 
 Eastborough, he is the best talker we ve got in town 
 meetin . He took up the cudgels for Wallace, and he just 
 lammed into those mean cusses who d go back on a man 
 cause he was sick and took a little too much medicine. 
 But Abner Stiles, you know Abner, well, he s the next 
 best talker to Bias Smith, he stood up and said he didr>"^ 
 think it was safe to trust the town s money to a man who
 
 154 QUTNCY ADAMS SAWYER. 
 
 couldn t go to Boston and come home sober, and that 
 pulled over some of the fellers who d agreed to vote for 
 Wallace." 
 
 "Has the tax collector performed his duties satisfac 
 torily?" asked Quincy. 
 
 "Well," said Hiram, "Wallace Stackpole told me the 
 other day that he hadn t got in more -than two-thirds of 
 last year s taxes. He said the selectmen had to borrow 
 money and there d be a row at the next town meetin ." 
 
 "Weil," said Quincy, rising, "I think I will go in and 
 get ready for lunch. I had a very early breakfast in 
 Boston." 
 
 "Did you have oyster stew?" asked Hiram. 
 
 "No," replied Quincy, "people who live in Boston never 
 eat oyster stews at a restaurant. If they did there wouldn t 
 be enough left for those gentlemen who come from the 
 country." 
 
 He opened the door and Hiram grasped his arm. 
 
 "By Gosh! I forgot one thing," he cried. "You remem 
 ber Tilly James, that played the pianner at the con 
 cert?" 
 
 "Yes," said Quincy, "and she was a fine player, too." 
 
 "Well," said Hiram, "she s engaged to Sam Hill, you 
 know, down to the grocery store. That ain t all, old Ben 
 James, her father, he s a paralytic, you know, and pretty 
 well fixed for this world s goods, and he wants Benoni to 
 sell out his grocery when Tilly gets married and come over 
 and run the farm, which is the biggest one in the town, and 
 I heerd Abner Stiles say to Manuel Howe, that he reck 
 oned he you know who I mean would get some fellers 
 to back him up and he d buy out the grocery and get 
 p inted postmaster. I guess that s all ;" and Hiram started 
 off towards Deacon Mason s. 
 
 Quincy went to his room and prepared for the noonday 
 meal. While doing so he mentally resolved that the singing-
 
 A WET DAY. 155 
 
 master would not be the next tax collector if he could pre 
 vent it; he also resolved that the same party would not get 
 the grocery store, if he had money enough to outbid him; 
 and lastly he felt sure that he had influence enough to 
 prevent his being appointed postmaster. 
 
 Quincy met Ezekiel at lunch. He told Quincy that 
 everything was working smoothly; that the singing-master 
 evidently thought he had the field all to himself. He said 
 Huldy and Alice were old friends, and Huldy was coming 
 over twice a week to see Alice, and so he shouldn t go 
 up to Deacon Mason s very often. 
 
 "Where is Miss Pettengill?" said Quincy. 
 
 "Well," replied Ezekiel, "she isn t used to heavy dinners 
 at noon, so she had a lunch up in her room. I am going 
 over to West Eastborough this afternoon with the boys to 
 see some cows that Bias Smith has got to sell. The sun 
 is coming out and I guess it will be pleasant the rest of the 
 day." 
 
 " Bias Smith?" asked Quincy. 
 
 "His name is Tobias," said Ezekiel, "but everybody calls 
 him Bias." 
 
 "I have heard of him," said Quincy. "You just mention 
 my name to him, Mr. Pettengill, and say I am coming over 
 some day with Mr. Stackpole to see him." 
 
 Zekiel smiled. "Going to take a hand yourself? * asked 
 he. 
 
 "Yes," said Quincy, "the other fellow has been playing 
 tricks w ith the pack so long that I think I shall throw downi 
 a card or two myself, and I may trump his next lead." 
 
 "By the way/ said Zekiel, "while you were away Uncle 
 Ike had our piano tuned and fixed up. It hasn t been 
 played since Alice went to Boston five years ago. But the 
 tuner who came from Boston said it was just as good as 
 ever. So if you hear any noise underneath you this after 
 noon you will know what it means.
 
 156 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER. 
 
 "Music never troubles me," said Quincy, "I play and 
 sing myself. 
 
 "Well, I hope you and Alice will have a good time with 
 the piano," remarked Zekiel as he left the room. 
 
 Quincy went back to his room and wrote a letter to a 
 friend in Boston, asking him to get a certified copy of the 
 war record of Obadiah Strout, Corporal th Miass. Vol 
 unteers, and send it to him at Eastborough Centre as soon 
 as possible. It was many days before that letter reached 
 its destination. 
 
 He then sat down in his favorite armchair and began 
 thinking out the details of his aggressive campaign against 
 the singing-master. He had disposed of his enemy in half 
 a dozen pitched battles, when the sound of the piano fell 
 upon his ear. 
 
 She was playing. He hoped she was a good musician, 
 for his taste in that art was critical. He had studied the 
 best, and he knew it when he heard it sung or played. The 
 piano was a good one, its tone was full and melodious, and 
 it was in perfect tune. 
 
 He listened intently. He looked and saw that he had 
 unintentionally left the door of his room ajar. The parlor 
 door, too, must be open partly, or he could not have heard 
 so plainly. What was that she was playing? Ah! Men 
 delssohn. Those "Songs Without Words" were as familiar 
 to him as the alphabet. Now it is Beethoven, that beautiful 
 work, "The Moonlight Sonata," she was evidently trying 
 to recall her favorites to mind, for of course she could not 
 be playing by note. Then she strayed into a "valse" by 
 Chopin, and followed it with a dashing galop by some 
 unknown composer. "She is a classical musician," said 
 Quincy to himself, as the first bars of a Rhapsodic Hon- 
 groise by Liszt fell upon his ear. "I hope she knows some 
 of the old English ballads and the best of the popular 
 songs/ thought Quincy.
 
 A WET DAY. 157 
 
 As if in answer to his wish she played that sterling old 
 song, " Tis but a Little Faded Flower," and Quincy lis 
 tened with pleasure to the pure, sweet, soprano voice that 
 rang out full and strong and seemed to reach and permeate 
 every nook and corner in the old homestead. 
 
 Quincy could stand it no longer. He stepped quietly 
 to his door, opened it wide, and listened with delight to the 
 closing lines of the song. 
 
 Then she sang that song that thrilled the hearts of thou 
 sands of English soldiers in the Crimea on the eve of the 
 battle of Inkermann, "Annie Laurie, and it was with dif 
 ficulty that Quincy refrained from joining in the chorus. 
 Surely Annie Laurie could have been no purer, no sweeter, 
 no more beautiful, than Alice Pettengill; and Quincy felt 
 that he could do and die for the girl who was singing in the 
 parlor, as truly as would have the discarded suitor who 
 wrote the immortal song. 
 
 But Quincy was destined to be still more astonished. 
 Alice played a short prelude that seemed familiar to him, 
 and then her voice rang out the words of that beautiful 
 duet that Quincy had sung with Lindy Putnam at the 
 singing-master s concert. Yes, it was Jewell s "Over the 
 Bridge." This was too much for Quincy. He went quietly 
 down the stairs and looked in at the parlor door, which 
 was wide open. Alice was seated at the piano, and again 
 the sun, in its westward downward course, shone in at the 
 \vindo\v, and lighted up her crown of golden hair. This- 
 time she had reversed the colors which she evidently knew 
 became her so well, and wore a dress of light pink, while 
 a light blue knitted shawl, similar to its pink companion, 
 lay upon the chair beside her. 
 
 When she reached the duet Quincy did not attempt to 
 control himself any further, but joined in with her, and 
 they sang the piece together to the end.
 
 158 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER, 
 
 Alice turned upon the piano stool, faced the door and 
 clapped her hands. 
 
 That was capital, Mr. Sawyer. I didn t know that you 
 sang so well. In fact, I didn t know that you sang at all." 
 
 "How did you know it was I? 5 said Quincy, as he ad 
 vanced towards her. "It is a little cool here, Miss Petten- 
 gill. Allow me to place your shawl about you;" and, suit 
 ing the action to the word, he put it gently over her shoul 
 ders. 
 
 "Yes," said Alice, "I put it on when I first came down. 
 It interfered with my playing and I threw it into the chair." 
 
 "May I take the chair, now that it is unoccupied?" he 
 asked. 
 
 "Yes," said Alice, "if you will give me your word of 
 honor that you did not try to make me think i : t was cold 
 here, so that you could get the chair." 
 
 Quincy replied with a laugh, "If I did my reward is a 
 great return for my power of invention, but I assure ^ ou 
 I was thinking of your health and not of the chair, when 
 I tendered my services." 
 
 "You are an adept in sweet speeches, Mr. Sawyer. You 
 city young men all are; but our country youth, who are 
 just as true and honest, are at a great disadvantage, be 
 cause they cannot isay what they think in so pleasing a 
 way." 
 
 "I hope you do not think I am insincere," remarked 
 Quincy, gravely. 
 
 \ "Not at all," said Alice, "but I have not answered your 
 ^question. How did I know that it was you? You must 
 remember, Mr. Sawyer, that those who cannot see have 
 their hearing accentuated, and the ear kindly sends those 
 pictures to the brain which unfortunately the eye cannot 
 supply." 
 
 "I fiave enjoyed your playing and singing immensely , n 
 Uid Quincy. "Let us try that duet again."
 
 A WET DAY. 159 
 
 They sang it again, and then they went from piece to 
 piece, each suggesting her or his favorite, and it was not 
 till Mandy s shrill voice once more called out with more 
 than usual force and sharpness, "Supper s ready," that the 
 piano was closed and Quincy, for the first time taking 
 Alice s hand in his, led her from the parlor, which was 
 almost shrouded in darkness, into the bright light of the 
 dining-room, where they took their accustomed seats. 
 They ate but little, their hearts were full of the melody that 1 
 each had enjoyed so much.
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 SOME MORE NEW IDEAS. 
 
 HEN Ezekiel and Cobb s twins returned from West 
 Eastborough, they said the air felt like snow. 
 Mandy had kept some supper for them. Ezekiel said they 
 had supper over to Eastborough Centre, but the home 
 cooking smelled so good that all three sat down in the 
 kitchen and disposed of what Mandy had provided. 
 
 The other members of the Pettengill household were in 
 their respective rooms. Uncle Ike was reading a maga 
 zine. Alice had not retired, for Mandy always came to 
 her room before she did so to see that her fire was all right 
 for the night. Alice was a great lover oi music and she 
 had enjoyed the afternoon almost as much as Ouincy had. 
 She could not help thinking what musical treats might be 
 in store for them, and then the thought came to her how 
 she would miss him when he went back to Boston. 
 
 In the next room, Quincy was pursuing a similar line of 
 thought. He was thinking of the nice times that Alice 
 and he could have singing together. To be sure he wished 
 to do nothing to make his father angry, for Ouincy appre 
 ciated the power of money. He knew that with his 
 mother s third deducted, his father s estate would give him 
 between two and three hundred thousand dollars. He had 
 some money in his own right left him by a fond aunt, his 
 father s sister, the income fro/n which gave him a good 
 living without calling upon his father. 
 
 He knew his father wished him to become a lawyer, and
 
 SOME MORE NEW IDEAS. 161 
 
 keep up the old firm which was so well known in legal and 
 business circles, but Quincy in his heart realized that he 
 was not equal to it, and the future had little attraction for 
 him, if it were to be passed in the law offices of Sawyer, 
 Crowninshield, & Lawrence. At any rate his health was 
 not fully restored and he determined to stay at Mason s 
 Corner as long as he could do so without causing a break 
 in the friendly relations existing between his father and 
 himself. His present income was enough for his personal 
 needs, but it was not sufficient to also support a Mrs. 
 Quincy Adams Sawyer. 
 
 What Ezekiel had prophesied came true. No one knew 
 just when the storm began, but the picture that greeted 
 Mandy Skinner s eyes when she came down to get break 
 fast was a great contrast to that of the previous day. 
 
 The snow had fallen steadily in large, heavy flakes, the 
 road and the fields showed an even, unbroken surface of 
 white; the tops of the taller fences were yet above the 
 snow line, each post wearing a white cap. As the morn 
 ing advanced the storm increased, the wind blew, and great 
 drifts were indications of its power. The thick clouds of 
 white flakes were thrown in every direction, and only dire 
 necessity, it seemed, would be a sufficient reason for leav 
 ing a comfortable fireside. 
 
 Mandy and Mrs. Crowley were busily engaged in pre 
 paring the morning meal, when a loud scratching at a 
 door, which led into a large room that was used as an addi 
 tion to the kitchen, attracted their attention. In bounded 
 Swiss, the big St. Bernard dog belonging to Uncle Ike. 
 At Uncle Ike s special request Swiss had not been banished 
 to the barn or tHe wood-shed, but had been allowed to sleep 
 on a pallet in the corner of the large room referred to. 
 
 Swiss was a great favorite with Mandy, and he was a 
 great friend of hers, for Swiss was very particular about 
 his food, and he had found Mandy to be a much better
 
 162 QUINCT ADAMS SAWYER. 
 
 cook than Uncle Ike had been; besides the fare was more 
 bounteous at the Pettengill homestead than down at the 
 chicken coop, and Swiss had gained in weight and strength 
 since his change of quarters. 
 
 After breakfast Uncle Ike came into the kitchen and 
 received a warm welcome from Swiss. Uncle Ike told 
 Mandy and Mrs. Crowley the well-known story of the 
 rescues of lost travellers made by the St. Bernard dogs on 
 the snow-clad mountains of Switzerland. When Mrs. 
 Crowley learned that Swiss had come from a country ?. 
 great many miles farther away from America than Ireland 
 was, he rose greatly in her estimation and she made no 
 objection to his occupying a warm corner of the kitchen. 
 
 About noon, when the storm was at its very worst, 
 Mandy, who was looking out of the kitchen window, espied 
 something black in the road about halfway between Deacon 
 Mason s and the Pettengill house. She called Mrs. Crow- 
 ley to the window and asked her what she thought it was. 
 
 "That s aisy," said Mrs. Crowley. "It s a man coming 
 down the road." 
 
 "What can bring a man out in such a storm as this?" 
 asked Mandy. 
 
 "Perhaps he is going for the docther," remarked Mrs. 
 Crowley. 
 
 "Then he would be going the other way," asserted 
 Mandy. 
 
 "He s a plucky little divil anyway," said Mrs. Crowley. 
 
 "That s so," said Mandy. "He is all right as long as 
 he keeps on his feet, but if he should fall down " 
 
 At that moment the man did fall down or disappear from 
 sight. Miandy pressed her face against the window pane 
 and looked with strained eyes. He was up again, she 
 could see the dark clothing above the top of the snow. 
 
 What was that! A cry? The sound was repeated. 
 
 "I do believe the man is calling for help," cried Mandy.
 
 SOME MOKE NEW IDEAS. 163 
 
 She rushed to the kitchen door and opened it. A gust 
 of snow swept into the room, followed by a stream, of cold, 
 chilling air. Swiss awoke from his nap and lifted his head. 
 Despite the storm, Mandy stood at the door and screamed 
 "Hello !" with her sharp, strident voice. Could she believe 
 her ears? Through the howling storm came a word! 
 uttered in a voice which her woman s heart at once recog 
 nized. The word was "Mandy," and the voice was Hiram s. 
 
 "What on earth is he out in this storm for?" said Mandy 
 to herself. She called back in response, "Hello! Hello! 
 Hello!" and once more her own name was borne to her 
 through the beating, driving storm. 
 
 She shut the door and resumed her post at the window. 
 Hiram was still struggling manfully against the storm and 
 had made considerable progress. 
 
 Mandy turned to Mrs. Crowley and said, "Mr. Maxwell 
 is coming, Mrs. Crowley." 
 
 "More fool he," remarked Mrs. Crowley, "to be out in 
 a storm like this." 
 
 "Get some cider, Mrs. Crowley," said Mandy, "and put 
 it on the stove. He will need a good warm drink when he 
 gets here." 
 
 "If he was a son of mine he d get a good warmin ," said 
 Mrs. Crowley, as she went down cellar to get the cider. 
 
 Mandy still strained her eyes at the window. The dark 
 form was still visible, moving slowly through the snow. 
 At that moment a terrific storm of wind struck the house; 
 it made every window and timber rattle; great clouds of 
 snow were swept up from the ground to mingle with those 
 coming from above, and the two were thrown into a 
 whirling eddy that struck the poor traveller and took him 
 from his feet, covering him from sight. Mandy rushed to 
 the door and opened it. This time slie did not scream 
 "Hello." The word this time was "Hiram! He is lost! 
 He is lost!" she cried. "His strength has given out; but
 
 164 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER. 
 
 what shall I do? I could not reach him if I tried. Oh, 
 Hiram! Hiram!" and the poor girl burst into tears. She 
 would call Mr. Pettengill; she would call Cobb s twins; 
 she would call Mr. Sawyer; one of them would surely go 
 to ! his assistance. 
 
 She turned, and to her surprise found Swiss by her side, 
 looking up at her with his large, intelligent eyes. Quick 
 as lightning, Uncle Ike s story came back to her mind. 
 She patted Swiss on the head, and pointed out into the 
 storm. 
 
 Not another word was needed. With a bound Swiss 
 went into the snow and rapidly forward in the direction 
 of the road. Mandy was obliged to close the door again 
 and resume her place at the window. How her heart beat! 
 How she watched the dog as he ploughed his way through 
 the drifts? He must be near the place. Yes, he is scratch 
 ing and digging down into the snow. Now the dark form 
 appears once more. Yes, Hiram is on his feet again and 
 man and dog resume their fight with the elements. 
 
 It seemed an age to Mandy, but it was in reality not 
 more than five minutes, before Hiram and Swiss reached 
 the kitchen door and came into the room. 
 
 "Come out into the back room," said Mandy to Hiram. 
 "I don t want this snow all over my kitchen floor. So 
 Hiram and Swiss were taken into the big room and in a 
 short time came back in presentable condition. 
 
 "Now, Mr. Maxwell, if you have recovered the use of 
 your tongue, will you kindly inform me what sent you 
 out in such a storm as this?" 
 
 "Well," replied Hiram, "I reckoned I d git down kinder 
 early in the mornin and git back afore dark. 
 
 "That s all right," said" Mandy; "but that don t tell me 
 what you are out for, anyway." 
 
 "Well, you didn t suppose," said Hiram, "that I could go 
 all day long without seein you, did yer, Mandy?"
 
 SOME MOKE NEW IDEAS. 16f 
 
 Mrs. Crowley chuckled to herself and went into the 
 side room. Even Swiss seemed to recognize that two were 
 company and he followed Mrs. Crowley and resumed his 
 old resting place in the corner on the pallet. 
 
 As Mrs. Crowley went about her work, she chuckled 
 again, and said to herself, "It s a weddin I ll be goin to 
 next time in place of a funeral." 
 
 Upstairs other important events were taking place. 
 Quincy had gone to his room directly after breakfast, and 
 looked out upon the wild scene of storm with a sense of 
 loneliness that had not hitherto oppressed him. Why 
 should he be lonely? Was he not in the same house with 
 her, with only a thin wall of wood and plaster between 
 them? Yes, but if that wall had been of granite one hun 
 dred feet thick, it could not have shut him off more effec 
 tually from seeing her lovely face and hearing her sweet 
 voice. 
 
 There came a sharp rap at the door. 
 
 "Come in/ called out Quincy. 
 
 "Ah!" said Uncle Ike as he entered, "I am glad to see 
 you have a good fire. The snow has blown down into 
 Alice s room and her fire is out. Will you let her step 
 in here for a few moments, Mr. Sawyer, until Zeke and I 
 get the room warm again?" 
 
 "Why, certainly," replied Quincy. "I am only too 
 happy " 
 
 But Uncle Ike was off, and returned in a few moments 
 leading 1 Alice. Quincy placed a chair for her before the 
 fire. This cold wintry day she wore a morning dress of 
 a shade of red which, despite its bright color, seemed to 
 harmonize with the golden hair and to take the place of 
 the sun, which was not there to light it up. 
 
 "If Miss Pettengill prefers," said Quincy, "I can make 
 myself comfortable in the dining-room, and she can have 
 my room to herself."
 
 366 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER. 
 
 He had started this speech to Uncle Ike, who left the 
 room abruptly in the middle of it, and Quincy s closing 
 words fell on Alice s ears alone. 
 
 "Why, certainly not," said Alice; "sit down, Mr. Sawyer, 
 and we will talk about something. Don t you think it is 
 terrible? As Quincy was contemplating his fair visitor, 
 lie could hardly be expected to say "yes to her question. 
 "Perhaps you enjoy it?" said she. 
 
 "I certainly do," answered Quincy, throwing his whole 
 heart into his eyes. 
 
 "Well, I must differ with you," said Alice. "I never 
 did like snow. 
 
 "Oh, you were talking about the weather! remarked 
 Quincy. 
 
 "Why, yes," -said Alice. "What else did you think I 
 was talking about? 
 
 Quincy, cool and self-possessed as he invariably was, 
 was a trifle embarrassed. 
 
 Turning to Alice -he said, "I see, Miss Pettengill, that 
 I must make you a frank statement in order that you may 
 retain your respect for me. I know you will pardon me 
 for not hearing what you said, and for what I am about 
 to say; but the fact is, I was wondering whether you have 
 had the best advice and assistance that the medical science 
 of to-day can afford you as regards your eyes." 
 
 "It is very kind of you, Mr. Sawyer, to think of me, and 
 my trouble, and I will answer you in the same friendly 
 way in which you have spoken. I was taken sick one* 
 morning just as I was eating my breakfast. I never felt 
 better in my life than I did that morning, but the pain in 
 my side was so intense, so agonizing, that by the time I 
 reached my room and threw myself on the bed, physically 
 I was a complete wreck. A doctor was called at once amd 
 he remained with me from eight o clock until noon before 
 1 became comfortable. I thought I was going to get better
 
 SOME MORE NEW IDEAS. 167 
 
 right off, or I should have written to Zekiel. Two other 
 attacks, each more severe than the one preceding, followed 
 the first, and I was so sick that writing, or telling any one 
 else what to write, or where to write, was impossible. Then 
 I began slowly to recover, but I was very weak and what 
 made me feel worse than ever was the fact that the trouble 
 with my eyes, which before my illness I had attributed to 
 nearsightedness, was now .so marked that I could not see 
 across the room. I could not even see to turn a spoonful 
 of medicine from a bottle on the table beside my bed. The 
 Pettengills, Mr. Sawyer, are a self-reliant race, and I con 
 cluded in my own mind that the trouble with my eyes was 
 due to my illness, and that when I recovered from that, 
 they would get well; but they did not. I was able, physically, 
 to resume my work, but I could not see to read or write. I 
 sent for my employer and told him my condition. He 
 advised me to consult an oculist at once. In fact, he got a 
 carriage and took me to one himself. The oculist said that 
 the treatment would require at least three months; so my 
 employer told me I had better come home, and that when 
 I recovered I could -have my place back again. He is a 
 fine, generous-hearted man and I should be very miserable 
 if I thought I was going to lose my place." 
 
 "But what did the oculist say was the trouble with your 
 eyes? Quincy asked. 
 
 "He didn t tell me," replied Alice. "He may have told 
 my employer. He gave me some drops to put in my eyes 
 three times a day; and a little metal tube with a cover to it 
 like the top of a pepper box; on the other end is a piece of 
 rubber tubing, with a glass mouthpiece attached to it." 
 
 "How do you use that?" asked Quincy. 
 
 Alice continued, "I hold the pepper box in front of my 
 wide-opened eye; then I put the glass mouthpiece in my 
 mouth and blow, for a certain length of time. 1 don t know 
 how long it is. It seems as though a thousand needles
 
 168 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER. 
 
 were driven into my eyeball. The drops make me cry; but 
 the little tube brings the tears in torrents." 
 
 "Isn t that harsh treatment?" asked Quincy, as he looked 
 at the beautiful blue but sightless eyes that were turned 
 towards him. 
 
 "No," said Alice with a laugh, "the pain and the tears 
 are like an April shower, for both soon pass away." 
 
 At this moment Uncle Ike entered the room and Eze- 
 kiel s steps were heard descending the stairs. Uncle Ike 
 said, "We have got it started and Zeke s gone down to 
 bring up a good stock of wood. If you have no objection, 
 Mr. Sawyer, I will sit down here a few minutes. Don t let 
 me interrupt your conversation." 
 
 "I hope you will take a part in it/ said Quincy. "You 
 put a lot of new ideas into my head the first time I came 
 to see you, and perhaps you may have some more new 
 ones for me to-day. Miss Pettengill was just saying she 
 would feel miserable if she lost her situation." 
 
 "I have no doubt of it," said Uncle Ike. "The Petten- 
 gills are not afraid to work. If a man is obliged to earn 
 his living by the sweat of his brow, I don t see why woman 
 shouldn t do the same thing." 
 
 "But the home is woman s sphere," said Quincy. 
 
 "Bosh!" cried Uncle Ike. 
 
 "Why, Uncle!" cried Alice. 
 
 "Oh, Mr. Sawyer understands me!" said Uncle Ike. "In 
 the Middle Ages, when women occupied the highest posi 
 tion that has fallen to her lot since the days of Adam, the 
 housework was done by menials and scullions. Has the 
 world progressed when woman is pulled down from hcr 
 high estate and this life of drudgery is called her sphere? 
 Beg your pardon, Mr. Sawyer, but there should be no 
 more limit fixed to the usefulness of woman than there is to 
 the usefulness of man." 
 
 "But," persisted Alice, "I don t think Mr. Sawyer means
 
 SOME MORE NEW IDEAS. 169 
 
 that exactly. He means a woman should stay at home 
 and look after her family." 
 
 "Well," said Uncle Ike, "so should the man. I am in 
 clined to think if the father spent more time at home, it 
 would be for the advantage of both sons and daughters." 
 
 "But," said Quincy, "do you think it is for the best in 
 terests of the community that woman should force her 
 way into all branches of industry and compete with man 
 for a livelihood?" 
 
 "Why not? said Uncle Ike. "In the old days when they 
 didn t work, for they didn t know how and didn t want to, 
 because they thought it was beneath them, if a man died, 
 his wife and children became dependent upon some brother 
 or sister or uncle or aunt, and they were obliged to provide 
 for them out of their own small income or savings. In 
 those days it was respectable to be genteelly poor, and 
 starve rather than work and live on the fat of the land. 
 Nothing has ever done so much to increase the self-respect 
 of woman, and add to her feeling of independence, as the 
 knowledge of the fact that she can support herself." Alice 
 bowed her head and covered her eyes with her hand. 
 "There s nothing personal in what I say," said Uncle Ike. 
 "1 am only talking on general principles. 
 
 Quincy yearned to say something against Uncle Ike s 
 argument, but how could he advance anything against 
 woman s work when the one who sat before him was a 
 working-woman and was weeping because she could not 
 work? There was one thing he could do, he could change 
 the subject to one where there was an opportunity for 
 debate. So he said, "Well, Mr. Pettengill, I presume if 
 you are such an ardent advocate of woman s right or even 
 duty to work, that you are also a supporter of her right to 
 vote." 
 
 "That does not follow," replie-d Uncle Ike. "To be self- 
 reliant, independent, and self-supporting is a pleasure and a
 
 170 QursrcY ADAMS SAWYER. 
 
 duty, and adds to one s self-respect. As voting is done at 
 the present day, I do not see how, woman can take part in it 
 and maintain her self-respect. Improvements no doubt 
 will be made in the manner of voting. The ballot will 
 become secret, and the count will not be disclosed until 
 after the voting is finished. The rum stores will be closed 
 on voting day and an air of respectability will be given to 
 it that it does not now possess. It ought to be made a legal 
 holiday." 
 
 "Granted," said Quincy, "but what has that to do with 
 the question of woman s right to vote?" 
 
 "Woman has no inherent right to vote," said Uncle Ike. 
 "The ballot is a privilege, not a right. Why, I remember 
 reading during the war that young soldiers, between 
 eighteen and twenty-one years of age, claimed the ballot 
 as a right, because they were fighting for their country. 
 If voting is a right, what argument could be used against 
 tiheir claim?" 
 
 "I remember," added Quincy, "that (they argued that 
 bullets should win ballots. Do you think any one should 
 vote who cannot fight?" asked Quincy. 
 
 "If he does not shirk his duty between eighteen and 
 forty-five, said Uncle Ike, "he should not be deprived of 
 bis ballot when he is older; but the question of woman s 
 voting does not depend upon her ability to fight. The 
 mother at home thinking of her son, the sister thinking of 
 her brother, the wife thinking of her husband, are as loy 
 ally fighting for their native land as the soldiers in the 
 field, and no soldier is braver than the hospital nurse, who, 
 day after day and night after night, watches by the bed 
 sides of the wounded, the sick, and the dying. No, Mr. 
 Sawyer, it is not a question of fighting or bravery." 
 
 During the discussion Alice had dried her eyes and was 
 listening to her uncle s words. She now asked a question, 
 "When will women vote, Uncle?"
 
 SOME MOKE NEW IDEAS. 171 
 
 "When it is deemed expedient for them to do so/ replied 
 Uncle Ike. "The full privilege will not be given all at once. 
 They will probably be allowed to vote an some one matter 
 in which they are deeply interested. Education and the 
 rum question are the ones most likely to be acted upon 
 first. But the full ballot will not come, and now I know 
 Alice will shake her head and say, No! I repeat it the 
 full ballot will not come for woman until our social super 
 structure is changed. Woman will not become the political 
 equal of man until she is his social and industrial equal; and 
 until any contract of whatever nature made by a man and a 
 woman may be dissolved by them by mutual consent, with 
 out their becoming criminals in the eye of the law, or out 
 casts in the eyes of society. 
 
 At this moment Ezekiel looked in the door and said, 
 "Alice s room is nice and warm now." Advancing, he 
 took her ihand and led her from the room. Uncle Ike 
 thanked Quincy for his kindness and followed them. 
 Quincy sat and thought. The picture that his mind drew 
 placed the woman wiho had just left his room in a large 
 house, with servants at her command. She was the head 
 of the household, but no menial nor scullion. She did not 
 work, because he was able and willing to support her. She 
 did not vote, because she felt with him that at home was 
 her sphere of usefulness; and then Quincy thought that 
 what would make this possible was money, money that not 
 he but others had earned, and he knew that without this 
 money the question could not be solved as his mind had 
 pictured it; and he reflected that all women could not have 
 great houses and servants and loving husbands to care for 
 them, and he acknowledged to himself that his solution 
 was a personal, selfish one and not one that would answer 
 for the toiling millions of the working world.
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 AFTER THE GREAT SNOWSTORM. 
 
 ANDY was, of course, greatly pleased inwardly be 
 cause Hiram had come through such a great storm 
 to see her, but, woman-like, she would not show it. 
 
 So she said to Hiram, Your reason is a very good one, 
 and of course I am greatly flattered, but there must be 
 something else besides that. Now, what have you got to 
 tell me?" 
 
 "Well, the fact is, Mandy, I ve got two things on my 
 mind. One of em is a secret and t other isn t. I meant 
 to have told you yesterday; but Mr. Sawyer kept me busy 
 till noon, and the Deacon kept me busy all the afternoon, 
 and I was too tired to come over last night." 
 
 "Well," said Mandy, "tell me the secret first. If the 
 other one has kept so long it won t spoil if it s kept a little 
 longer." 
 
 Hiram had kept his eyes on the stove since taking his 
 seat, and he then remarked, "I am afraid that cider will 
 spoil unless I get a drink of it pretty soon." 
 
 "Well, I declare," cried Mandy, "if I didn t forget to 
 give it to you, after sending Mrs. Crowley down stairs for 
 it, when you was out there in the road." 
 
 "That s all right," said Hiram, as he finished the mugful 
 she passed him, and handed it back to be refilled. "That 
 sort o limbers a feller s tongue a bit. Well, the secret is," 
 said Hiram, lowering his voice, "that when Huldy saw me 
 gettin ready to go out, sez she, Where are you goin ?
 
 AFTER THE GREAT SNOWSTORM. 173 
 
 Over to Mr. PettengiU s/ sez I. Then sez she, Will you 
 wait a minute till I write a note? Certainly, sez I. And 
 when she brought me the note, sez she, Please give that 
 to Mr. Pettengill and don t let anybody else see it. Then 
 sez I to her, No, ma am; but I sez to myself, Nobody 
 but Mandy. " And Hiram took from an inside pocket 
 an envelope, addressed to Mr. Ezekiel Pettengill, and 
 showed it to Mandy. Then he put it back quickly in his 
 pocket. 
 
 "Well, what of that? asked Mandy. "That s no great 
 secret." 
 
 "Well, not in itself," said Hiram; "but I am willing to 
 bet a year s salary agin a big red apple that those two 
 people have made up and are engaged reg lar fashion." 
 
 "You don t say so," cried Mandy, "what makes you 
 think so?" 
 
 "Well, a number of things," said Hiram. "I overheard 
 the Deacon say to Huldy, It will be pretty lonesome for 
 us one of these days, and then you see Mrs. Mason, she is 
 just as good as pie to me all the time, and that shows some 
 thing has pleased her more than common; and then you. 
 see Huldy has that sort of look about her that girls hava 
 when .their market s made, and they feel so happy that they 
 can t help showing it. You see, Mandy, I m no chicken. 
 I ve -had lots of experience." 
 
 What Mandy might have said in reply to this remark 
 will never be known, for at this juncture Ezekiel entered 
 the room and passed through on his w.ay to the wood-shed. 
 
 "Now s my time, 5 said Hiram, and he arose and followed 
 him out. 
 
 Ezekiel was piling up some wood which he was to take 
 to Alice s room, when Hiram came up beside him and 
 slyly passed him the note. Then Hiram looked out of the 
 wood-shed window at the storm, which had lost none of its 
 fury, while Ezekiel read the note.
 
 174 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER. 
 
 "Are you going home soon?" asked Ezekiel. 
 
 "Well, I guess I ll try it again," said Hiram, "as soon as 
 I get warm and kinder limbered up." 
 
 "I guess I ll go back with you/ said Ezekiel. "We will 
 take Swiss with us; two men and a dog ought to be enough 
 for a little snowstorm like this." 
 
 "You won t find it a little one," said Hiram, "when you 
 get out in the road, but I guess the three on us can pull 
 through." 
 
 Ezekiel went upstairs with the wood and Hiram resumed 
 his seat before the kitchen fire. 
 
 "What did I tell you?" said Hiram to Mandy. " Zeke s 
 going back with me. She has writ him to come over and 
 see her. Now you see if you don t lose your apple. 
 
 "I didn t bet," said Mandy; "but what was that other 
 thing you were going to tell me that was no secret?" 
 
 "Oh, that s about another couple," said Hiram. "Tilly 
 James is engaged." 
 
 "Well, k s about time," said Mandy. "Which one of 
 them?" 
 
 "Samuel Hill," replied Hiram, "and she managed it fust 
 rate. You know the boys have been flocking round her 
 for more than a year. Old Ben James, her pa, told me 
 he d got to put in a new hitchin post. You see, there has 
 been Robert Wood and Manuel Howe and Arthur Scates 
 and Cobb s twins and Ben Bates and Sam Hill, but Samuel 
 was .the cutest one of the lot." 
 
 "Why, what did he do that was bright?" asked Mandy. 
 
 "Well," replied Hiram, "you see, Tilly sot down and 
 writ invites to all the boys that had been sparkin round 
 her to come to see her the same night. She gave these 
 invites to her brother Bill to deliver. Well, Sam Hill 
 met him, found out what he was about, and kinder sur 
 mised what it all meant. Wall, the night came round and 
 Sain Hill was the only one that turned up at the time
 
 AFTER THE GREAT SNOWSTORM. 175 
 
 app inted. After talkin about the weather, last year s 
 crops, and spring plantin , Sam just braced up and pro 
 posed, and Tilly accepted him on the spot." 
 
 "Where were the other fellers?" asked Mandy. "I 
 always surmised that she thought more of Ben Bates than 
 (she did of Sam Hill." 
 
 "Well, it didn t come out till a couple of days afterwards," 
 said Hiram. "You see, the shortest way -to old James s 
 place is to go over the mill race, and all of the fellers but 
 Sam Hill went that way, and the joke of it was that they 
 all fell over into the river and got a duckinV 
 
 "Well/ said Mandy, "they must have been drinking. 
 Tilly is well rid of the whole lot of -them. Why, I ve walked 
 over that log time and time again." 
 
 "Well, they hadn t been drinkin ," said Hiram. "You 
 see it was pretty dark and they didn t get on to the fact that 
 the log was greased till it was kinder too late to rectify 
 matters." 
 
 "And did Sam Hill do that?" asked Mandy. 
 
 "He did, 1 said Hiram; and he burst into a loud laugh, 
 in which Mandy joined. 
 
 The laughing was quickly hushed as the kitchen door 
 opened and Ezekiel entered, warmly dressed for his fight 
 with the snow and carrying a heavy cane in his hand. 
 
 "Call the dog, Hiram," said Ezekiel, "and we ll start. 
 Mandy, tell Jim and Bill to come over to Deacon Mason s 
 ( for me about four o clock, unless it looks too bad; if it does 
 they needn t try it till to-morrow morning. 
 
 "All ready," said he to Hiram, who was patting Swiss s 
 head, and off they started. 
 
 Again fylandy went to the window and watched the 
 progress of the travellers. Mrs. Crowley came into the 
 kitchen and seeing Mandy at the window quietly turned 
 out a mug of the hot cider and drank it She then ap<
 
 176 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER. 
 
 preached Mandy and said, "What was all the laughin 
 about? I like a good joke myself." 
 
 Mandy said, "Oh, he was telling me about a girl that 
 invited all her fellers to come and see her the same even 
 ing, and only one of them got there because he greased the- 
 log over the mill race, and all the rest of them fell into the 
 water." 
 
 "It was a mane trick," said Mrs. Crowley. "Now, when 
 all the boys were after me, for I was a good-lookin girl 
 once, Pat Crowley, he was me husband, had a fight on 
 hand every night for a fortnight and all on account of me; 
 and they do say there were never so many heads broken 
 In the County of Tipperary on account of one girl since the 
 days of St. Patrick." 
 
 Mandy had paid but little attention to Mrs. Crowley s 
 speech. She was too busy watching the travellers. Mrs. 
 Crowley filled and emptied the mug once more. 
 
 The last potation was too much for her equilibrium, and 
 forgetting the step that led from the kitchen to the side 
 room, she lost her balance and fell prone upon the floor. 
 Her loud cries obliged Mandy to turn from the window, 
 but not until she had seen that the travellers had reached 
 the fence before Deacon Mason s house, and she knew they 
 were safe for the present. Mrs. Crowley was lifted to her 
 feet by Mandy. The old woman declared that she was 
 "kilt intirely," but Mandy soon learned the cause of the 
 accident, and returning to the kitchen closed the door and 
 continued her morning duties. 
 
 Before Ezekiel left the house he had interrupted 
 Ouincy s meditations by knocking on his door, and when 
 admitted told >him that he had had a letter from Huldy. 
 
 "She is kind of lonesome," he said, "and wants me to 
 come over to see her." 
 
 "But it is a terrible storm." said Ouincy, looking out. of 
 the window.
 
 AFTER THE GREAT SNOWSTORM. 17? 
 
 "Oh," said Ezekiel, "we ll be all right! Hiram is going 
 with me, and we are going to take Swiss along with us. 
 Now, Mr. Sawyer, I am going to ask you to do me and 
 Alice a favor. Uncle Ike is upstairs busy reading, and if 
 you will kinder look out for Alice till I get back I shall be 
 greatly obliged. 
 
 Quincy promised and Ezekiel departed. 
 
 Quincy thought the fates had favored him in imposing 
 upon him such a pleasant task. But where was she, and 
 what could lie do to amuse .her? Then h>e thought, "We 
 can sing together as we did yesterday." 
 
 He went down stairs to the parlor, thinking she might be 
 there, but the room was empty. The fire was low, but the 
 supply of wood was ample, and in a short time the great 
 room was warm and comfortable. Quincy seated himself 
 at the piano, played a couple of pieces and then sang a 
 couple ; he did not think while singing the second song that 
 he had possibly transcended propriety, but when he sang 
 the closing lines of "Alice, Where Art Thou?" it suddenly 
 dawned upon him, and, full of vexation, he arose and 
 walked to the window and looked out upon the howling 
 storm. 
 
 Suddenly he heard a sweet voice say, "I am here." And 
 then a low laugh reached his ear. 
 
 Turning, he saw Alice standing in the middle of the 
 room, while Mandy s retreating figure snowed who had 
 been her escort. Her brother Ezekiel had rigged a bell 
 .wire from her room to the kitchen, so that she could call 
 Maridy when she needed her assistance. 
 
 "I beg your pardon, Miss Pettengill," said Quincy, ad 
 vancing towards her. "The song has always been a favor 
 ite of mine, but I never thought of its personal application 
 until I reached the closing words. I trust you do not 
 think I was so presuming 1 as to " 
 
 Alice smiled and said, "The song is also a favorite one of
 
 178 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER. 
 
 mine, Mr. Sawyer, and you sang it beautifully. No apolo 
 gies are -needed, for the fact is I was just saying to myself, 
 Mr. Sawyer, where are you? for Zekiel told me that fie 
 was going to speak to you and ask you to help me drive 
 away those lonesome feelings that always come to me on a 
 day like this. I cannot see the storm, but I can hear it and 
 feel it." 
 
 As Quincy advanced towards her he saw she held several 
 sheets of paper in her hand. 
 
 "I am at your service," said he. "I am only afraid that 
 your requirements will exceed my ability." 
 
 "Very prettily spoken," said Alice, as Qukicy led her 
 to a seat by the fire, and took one himself. "I am going to 
 confess to you," said she, "one of my criminal acts. I am 
 going to ask you to sit as judge and mete out what you 
 consider a suitable punishment for my offence." 
 
 "What crime have you committed?" asked Quincy 
 gravely. 
 
 Alice laughed, shook the papers she held in her hand, 
 and said, "I have written poetry." 
 
 "The crime is a great one," said Quincy. "But if the 
 poetry be good k may serve to mitigate your sentence. 
 Are those the evidences of your crime you hold in your 
 hand, Miss Pettingill?" 
 
 "Yes," she answered, as she passed a written sheet to 
 him; "I wrote them before my eyes failed me. Perhaps 
 you will find it hard to read .them. Which one is that?" 
 she asked. 
 
 "It is headed, On the Banks of the Tallahassee, " 
 replied Quincy. 
 
 "Oh!" cried Alice, "I didn t write that song myself. A 
 gentleman friend, who is now dead, was the author of it. 
 But he couldn t write a chorus and he asked me to do it 
 for him. The idea of the chorus is moonlight on the river." 
 
 "Shall I read it?" asked Quincy.
 
 AFTER THE GEEAT SNOWSTORM. 176 
 
 "Only the chorus part, if you please," replied Alice, "and 
 be as lenient as you can, good Mr. Judge, for that was my 
 first offence." 
 
 Quincy, in a smooth, even voice, read the following 
 words : 
 
 The moon s bright rays, 
 In a silver maze, 
 
 Fall on the rushing river; 
 Each ray of light 
 Like an arrow white 
 
 Drawn from a crystal quiver. 
 They romp and play, 
 In a wond rous way, 
 
 On tree and shrub and flower; 
 And fill the night 
 With a radiant light, 
 
 That falls like a silver shower. 
 
 "You do not say anything," said Alice, as Quincy finished 
 reading and remained silent. 
 
 He replied, "You have conferred judicial functions upon 
 me and a judge does not give his opinion until the evidence 
 is all in." 
 
 "Ah! I see," said Alice. "My knowledge of metrical 
 composition-," she continued, "is very limited. What I 
 know of it I learned from an old copy of Fowler s Gram 
 mar that I bought at Burnham s on School Street soon 
 after I went to Boston. I have always called what you 
 just read a poem. Is it one?" she asked, looking up with, 
 a smile. 
 
 "I think it Is," replied Quincy, "and," he added inad 
 vertently, "a very pretty one, too." 
 
 "Oh! Mr. Judge/ laughing outright, you have given 
 aid and comfort to the prisoner before the evidence wa* 
 all in."
 
 180 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER. 
 
 And Quincy was forced to laugh heartily at the acute* 
 ness she had shown in forcing his opinion from him prema 
 turely." 
 
 "Now, this one," said Alice, "I call a song. I know 
 which one it is by the size and thickness of the paper." 
 And she handed him a foolscap sheet. 
 
 Quincy took it and glanced over it -a moment or two 
 before he spoke, Alice leaning forward and listening in 
 tently for the first sound of his voice. Then Quincy uttered 
 those ever pleasing words, "Sweet, Sweet Home/ and 
 delivered, with great expression, the words of the song. 
 
 "You read it splendidly," cried Alice, with evident de 
 light. "Would it be presuming on your kindness if 1 
 asked you to read the refrain and chorus once more, Mr. 
 Sawyer? 
 
 "I shall enjoy reading it again myself," remarked 
 Quincy, as he proceeded to comply with Alice s pleasantly 
 worded request. 
 
 REFRAIN: 
 
 There is no place like home, they say, 
 
 No matter where it be ; 
 
 The lordly mansion of the rich, 
 
 The hut of poverty. 
 
 The little cot, the tenement, 
 
 The white- winged ship at sea; 
 
 The heart will always seek its home, 
 
 Wherever it may be. 
 
 CHORUS: 
 
 Sweet, sweet home! 
 
 To that sweet piace where youth was passed OUT 
 
 thought;: will turn; 
 Sweet, sweet home! 
 
 Will send the blood to flaming face, and hearts will burn.
 
 AFTEK THE GREAT SNOWSTOKM. 18J 
 
 Sweet, sweet home! 
 
 It binds us to our native land where er we roam, 
 No land so fair, no sky so blue, 
 As those we find when back we come to sweet, sweet home! 
 
 "Of course you know that lovely song, Juanita ?" said 
 Alice. 
 
 "Certainly," said Quincy, and he sang the first line of 
 the chorus. 
 
 Alice s voice joined in with his, and they finished the 
 chorus together. A thrill went through Quincy as he 
 sang the last line, and he was conscious that his voice quiv 
 ered when he came to the words, "Be my own fair bride," 
 
 "You sing with great expression," said Alice. "If you 
 like these new words that I have written to that old melody 
 we can sing them together. I have called it Loved Days. 
 I think this is the one, she said, as she passed him several 
 small sheets pinned together. 
 
 "It is," said Quincy, as he took the paper and read it 
 slowly. 
 
 As before, he said nothing when he had finished. 
 
 "Mr. Judge," said Alice, "would it be improper, from a 
 judicial point of view, for me to ask you which lines in the 
 song you -have just read please you the most? But per 
 haps," said she, looking up at him, "none of them are 
 worthy of repetition." 
 
 "If you will consider for a moment," replied Quincy, 
 !f that I am off the bench and am just sitting here quietly, 
 /vith you, I will say, confidentially, that I am particularly 
 well pleased with this;" and he read a portion of the first 
 stanza: 
 
 On Great Heaven s beauties, 
 
 Gaze the eyes I loved to see, 
 Done earth s weary duties, 
 
 Now, eternity.
 
 182 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER. 
 
 "And.* continued Quincy, "I think -these lines from the 
 second stanza are fully equal to those I have just read/" 
 
 But my soul, still living, 
 
 Speaks its words of comfort sweet, 
 
 Grandest promise giving 
 That again we ll meet. 
 
 "1 should think," continued Quincy, "that those woras 
 were particularly well suited to be sung at a funeral. I 
 shall have to ask my friend Bradley to have his quartette 
 learn them, so as to be ready when I need them." 
 
 "Oh! Mr. Sawyer," cried Alice, with a strong tone of 
 reproof in her voice, "how can you speak so lightly of 
 death?" 
 
 "Pardon me," replied Quincy, "if I have unintentionally 
 wounded your feelings, but after all life is only precious 
 to those who have something to live for." 
 
 "But you certainly," said Alice, "can see something in 
 life worth living for." 
 
 "Yes," assented Quincy, "I can see it, but I am not sat 
 isfied in my own mind that I shall ever be able to possess 
 it." 
 
 "Oh, you must work and wait and hope!" cried Alice. 
 
 "I shall be happy to," he said, "if you will be kind and 
 say an encouraging word to me, so that I may not grow 
 weary of the battle of life." 
 
 "I should be pleased to help you all I can," she said 
 > sweetly. 
 
 "I shall need your help," Quincy remarked gravely, and 
 then with a quick change in tone he said playfully, "I 
 think it is about time for the judge to get back upon th e 
 bench." 
 
 "This," said Alice, as she passed him a manuscript 
 enclosed in a cover, "is my capital offence. If I escape pun-
 
 AFTER THE GREAT SNOWSTORM. 183 
 
 ishment for my other misdemeanors, I know I shall not 
 when you have read this." And she handed him the paper. 
 Quincy opened it and read, The Lord of the Sea, a 
 Cantata. 
 
 CHARACTERS. 
 
 Canute, the Great, King of England and Denmark. 
 
 A Courtier. 
 
 An Irish Harper. 
 
 Queen Emma, the "Flower of Normandy." 
 
 Courtiers, Monks, and Gleemen. 
 
 PLACE. 
 
 Part I. The palace of the king. 
 
 Part ] I. The seashore at Southampton. 
 
 Time- -About A. D. 1030. 
 
 As he proceeded with the reading he became greatly 
 interested in it. He had a fine voice and had taken a prize 
 for oratxny at Harvard. 
 
 Wher he finished he turned to Alice and said, "And you 
 wrote that?" 
 
 "Cervainly," said she. "Can you forgive me?" 
 
 Quincy said seriously, "Miss Pettengill, that is a fine 
 poem; ir is grand when read, but it would be grander still 
 if set tc- music. I can imagine," Quincy continued, "how 
 those choruses would sound if sung by the Handel and 
 Haydt: Society, backed tip by a full orchestra and the big 
 organ." And he sang, to an extemporized melody of his 
 cwn, tlK words: 
 
 God bless the king of the English, 
 The Lord of the land, 
 The Lord of the seal
 
 184 QU1NCT ADAMS SAWYER. 
 
 "I can imagine," said he, as he rose and stood before 
 Alice, "King Canute as a heavy-voiced basso. How he 
 would bring out these words 1 
 
 Great sea! the land on which I stand, is mine; 
 Its rocky shores before thy blows quail not. 
 Thou, too, O! sea, are part of my domain, 
 And, like the land, must bow to my command. 
 I ll sit me here! rise not, nor dare to touch, 
 With thy wet lips, the ermine of my robe! 
 
 "And," cried he, for the moment overcome by ihis enthu 
 siasm, "how would this sound sung in unison by five hun 
 dred well-trained voices? 
 
 For God alone is mighty, 
 
 The Lord of the sea, 
 
 The Lord of the land! 
 
 For He holds the waves of the ocean 
 
 In the hollow of His hand, 
 
 And the strength of the mightiest king 
 
 Is no more than a grain of sand. 
 
 For God alone is mighty, 
 
 The Lord of the sea, 
 
 The Lord of the land!" 
 
 As Quincy resumed his seat, Alice clapped her hands 
 to show her approbation of his oratorical effort. Then 
 tney both sat in silence for a few minutes, each evidently 
 absorbed in thought. 
 
 Suddenly Alice spoke : 
 
 "And now, Mr. Sawyer, will you let me ask you a serious 
 question? If I continue writing pieces like these, can I 
 hope to earn enough from it to support myself?"
 
 AFTER THE GREAT SNOWSTORM. 185 
 
 Quincy thought for a moment, and then said, "I am 
 afraid not. If you would allow me to take them to Boston 
 the next time I go I will try and find out their market 
 value, but editors usually say that poetry is a drug, and 
 they have ten times as much offered them as they can find 
 room for. On the other .hand, stories, especially short 
 ones, are eagerly sought and good prices paid for them. 
 Did you ever think of writing a story, Miss Pettengill?" 
 
 "Oh, yes!" said Alice, "I have several blocked out, I call 
 it, in my own mind, but it is such a task for me to write 
 that I dare not undertake them. If I could afford to pay 
 an amanuensis it would be different. 
 
 Quincy comprehended the situation in a moment. "I 
 like to write, Miss Pettengill," said he, "and time hangs 
 heavily upon my hands. We are likely to have a long 
 spell of winter weather, during which I Sihall be confined 
 to the house as well as yourself. Take pity on me and give 
 my idle hands something to do." 
 
 "Oh, it would be too much to ask," said Alice. 
 
 "But you have not asked," answered Quincy. "I have 
 offered you my services without your asking." 
 
 "But when could we begin?" asked Alice, hesitatingly. 
 
 "At once," replied Quincy. "I brought with me from 
 Boston a half ream of legal paper and a dozen good pen 
 cils. I can write faster and much better with a pencil than 
 I can with a pen, and as all legal papers have to be copied, 
 I have got into the habit of using pencils for everything." 
 
 It took Quincy but a few minutes to go to his room and 
 secure his paper and pencils. He drew a table close to 
 Alice s chair and sat down beside her. 
 
 "What is the name of the story?" asked he. 
 
 Alice replied, "I have called it in my mind, How He Lost 
 Both Name and Fortune. "
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 A VISIT TO MRS. PUTNAM. 
 
 IT must not be supposed that Alice s story was written 
 out by Quincy in one or even two days. The oldest 
 inhabitants will tell yiou that the great snowstorm lasted 
 three days and three nights, and it was not till the fourth 
 day thereafter that the roads were broken out, so that safe 
 travel between Eastborough Centre and Mason s Corner 
 became possible. 
 
 The day after the storm the sad intelligence came to 
 Quincy and Alice that old Mr. Putnam had passed quietly 
 away on the last day O f the storm. Quincy attended the 
 funeral, and he could <not help acknowledging to himself 
 that Lindy Putnam never looked more beautiful than in 
 her dress of plain black. The only ornament upon her 
 was a pair of beautiful diamond earrings, but she always 
 w r ore them, and consequently they were not obtrusive. 
 
 Quincy bore an urgent request from Mrs. Putnam that 
 Alice should come to see her. As the story was finished 
 and copied on the seventh day after the storm, Quincy had 
 the old-fashioned sleigh brought out and lined with robes. 
 Taking the horse Old Bill, that sleigh bells or snow slides 
 could not startle from his equanimity, Alice was driven to 
 Mrs. Putnam s, and in a few minutes was clasped to Mrs. 
 Putnam s bosom, the old lady crying and laughing by turns. 
 
 Quincy thought it best to leave them alone, and descend 
 ing the stairs he entered the parlor, the door being halfway 
 open. He started back as he saw a form dressed in black, 
 seated by the window. 
 
 "Come in, Mr. Sawyer," said Lindy. "I knew you were
 
 A VISIT TO MRS. PUTNAM. 13? 
 
 here. I saw you when you drove up with Miss Pettengiil. 
 What a beautiful girl she is, and what a pity -that she is 
 blind. I hope with all my heart that, she will recover her 
 sight." 
 
 "She would be pleased to hear yet say that," remarked 
 Quincy. 
 
 "We were never intimate," said Lindy. "You can tell 
 her from me, you are quite the gallant chevalier, Mr. Saw 
 yer, and what you say to her will so. ind sweeter than if it 
 came from other lips. Are you going tc marry her, Mr. 
 Sawyer?" 
 
 "I do not think that our acquaintance is of such long 
 standing that you are warranted in asking me so personal 
 a question/ replied Quincy. 
 
 "Perhaps not," said Lindy, "but as I happened to know, 
 though not from your telling, that she is to be my mother s 
 heiress, I had a little curiosity to learn whether you had 
 already proposed or were going " 
 
 "Miss Putnam," said Quincy sternly, "do not complete 
 your sentence. Do not make me think worse of you than 
 I already do. I beg your pardon for intruding upon you. 
 I certainly should not have done so had I anticipated such 
 an interview. 
 
 Lindy burst into a flood of tears. Her grief seemed un 
 controllable. Quincy closed the parlor door, thinking that 
 if her cries and sobs were heard upstairs it would require 
 a double explanation, which it might be -hard for him to 
 give. 
 
 He stood and looked at the weeping girl. She had evi 
 dently known all along who her mother s heiress was. She 
 had been fooling him, but for what reason? Was she In 
 love with him? No, he did not think so; if she h ad been 
 she would have confided in him rather than have sought 
 to force him to confide in her. What could be the motive 
 for her action? Quincy was nonplussed. He had had
 
 188 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER 
 
 considerable experience with society girls, but they either 
 relied upon languid grace or light repartee. They never 
 used tears either for offence or defence. 
 
 A surprise was in store for Quincy. Lindy rose from 
 her chair and. came towards him, her eyes red with weep 
 ing. 
 
 "Why do you hate me so, Mr. Sawyer?" she asked. 
 "Why will you not be a friend to me, when I need one so 
 much? What first turned you against me?" 
 
 Quincy replied, "I will tell you, Miss Putnam. They told 
 me you were ashamed of your father and mother because 
 they were old-fashioned country people and did not dress 
 as well or talk as good English as you did." 
 
 "Who told you so?" asked Lindy. 
 
 "It was common talk in the village," he replied. 
 
 "I should think you had suffered enough from village 
 gossip, Mr. Sawyer, not to believe that all that is said is 
 true." 
 
 Quincy winced and colored. It was a keen thrust and 
 went home. 
 
 "Where tihere is so much smoke there must be some 
 fire," he answered, rather lamely, as he thought, even to 
 himself. 
 
 "Mr. Sawyer, when I asked you to tell me a little secret 
 you had in your possession, you refused. I wanted a 
 friend, but I also wanted a proven friend. No doubt I 
 took the wrong way to win your friendship, but I am going 
 to tell you something, Mr. Sawyer, if you will listen to 
 me, that will at least secure your pity for one who is rich 
 in wealth but poor in that she has no friends to whom she 
 can confide .her troubles." 
 
 Quincy saw that he was in for it, and like a gentleman, 
 determined to make the best of it, o he said, "Miss Put 
 nam, I will listen to your story, and if, after hearing it, I 
 can honorably aid you I will do so with pleasure."
 
 A VISIT TO MRS. PUTNAM. iS9 
 
 Lindy took his hand, which he had half extended, and 
 said, " Come, sit down, Mr. Sawyer. It is a long story, 
 and I am nervous and tired," and she looked down at her 
 black dress. 
 
 They sat upon the sofa, he at one end, she at the other. 
 
 "Mr. Sawyer," she began abruptly, "I am not a natural- 
 born child of Mr. and Mrs. Putnam. I was adopted by* 
 them when but two years of age. I do not know who my 
 father and mother were. I am sure Mrs. Putnam knows, 
 but she will not tell me." 
 
 "It could do no (harm now that you are a woman grown," 
 said Ouincy. 
 
 "At first they both loved me/ Lindy continued, "but a 
 year after I came here to live their son was born, and from 
 that time on all was changed. Mr. Putnam was never 
 unkind to me but once, but Mrs. Putnam seemed to take 
 delight in blaming me, and tormenting me, and nagging 
 me, until it is a wonder that my disposition is as good as it 
 is, and you know it is not very good," said she to Quincy 
 with a little smile. She resumed her story: "I loved the 
 little boy, Jones I always called him, and as we grew up 
 together he learned to love me and took my part, although 
 he was three years younger than myself. This fact made 
 Mrs. Putnam hate me more than ever. He stayed at nome 
 until he was (twenty-two, then he went to ihis father and 
 mother and told them that he loved me and wished to marry 
 me. Both Mr. and M rs. Putnam flew into a great rage at 
 this. The idea of a brother marrying his sister! They said 
 it was a crime and a sacrilege, and the vengeance of God 
 would surely fall upon us both. Jones told them he had 
 written to a lawyer in Boston, and he had replied that there 
 was no law prohibiting such a marriage. But the law of 
 God shines before you like a flaming sword/ said Mrs. 
 Putnam; and Mr. Putnam agreed with her, for she had all 
 his property in her possession." Quincy smiled. "They
 
 190 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYEK. 
 
 packed Jones off to the city at once," said Lindy, "and his 
 mother gave him five thousand dollars to go into business 
 with. Jones began speculating, and he wa? successful from 
 first to last. In three months he paid back the five thou 
 sand dollars his mother had given him, and he never took 
 a dollar from them after that day. At twenty-six he was 
 worth one hundred thousand dollars. When I went to Bos 
 ton I always saw him, and he at last told me he could stand 
 it no longer. He wanted me to 1 marry him and go to 
 Europe with him. I told him I must have a week to think 
 it over. If I decided to go I would be in Boston on a cer 
 tain day. I would bring my trunk and would stop at a 
 certain hotel and send word for him to> come to me. I used 
 all possible secrecy in getting my clothes ready, and packed 
 them away, as I thought, unnoticed, in my trunk, which was 
 in the attic. Mrs. Putnam must have suspected that I 
 intended to leave home, and she knew that I would not go 
 unless to meet her son. The day before I planned going to 
 Boston, or rather the night before, she entered my room 
 while I was asleep, took every particle of my clothing, with 
 the exception of one house dress and a pair of slippers, 
 and locked me in. They kept me 1 there for a week, and I 
 wished that I had died there, for when they came to me it 
 was to tell me that Jones was dead, and I was the cause 
 of it. I who loved him so!" And the girl s eyes filled with 
 tears. 
 
 "What was the cause of his death?" asked Quincy. 
 
 "He was young, healthy, and careless/ answered Lindy. 
 "He took a bad cold and it developed into lung fever. 
 Even then he claimed it was nothing and would not see a 
 doctor. One morning he did not come to the office, his 
 clerk went to his room, but when the doctor was called it 
 was too late. It was very sad that he should die so, believ 
 ing that I had refused to go with him, when I would have 
 given my life for liim. He loved me till death. He left
 
 A VISIT TO MRS. PUTNAM. 191 
 
 me all his money, but in his will he expressed the wish that 
 I would never accept a dollar from his parents. So now 
 you see why Mrs. Putnam does not make me her heiress. 
 You think I hate Miss Pettengill because she is going to 
 give it to her, but truly I do not, Mr. Sawyer. What I 
 said when you came in I really meant, and I hope you will 
 be happy, Mr. Sawyer, even as I hoped to be years ago." 
 
 Quincy had been greatly interested in Lindy s story, and 
 that feeling of sympathy for the unhappy and suffering 
 that always shows itself in a true gentleman rose strongly 
 in his breast. 
 
 "Miss Putnam," said he, "I have wronged you both in 
 thought and action, but I never suspected what you have 
 told me. Will you forgive me and allow me to be your 
 friend? I will try to atone in the future for my misdoings 
 in the past." 
 
 He extended his hand, and Lindy laid hers in his. 
 
 "I care not for the past," said she. "I will forget that. I 
 have also to ask for forgiveness. I, too, have said and done 
 many things which I would not have said or done, but for 
 womanly spite and vanity. You see my excuse is not so 
 good as yours," said she, as she smiled through her tears. 
 
 "In what way can I serve you?" asked Quincy. "Why 
 do you not go to Boston and live? I could introduce you 
 to many pleasant families." 
 
 "What!" cried Lindy. "Me, a waif and a stray! You 
 are too kind-hearted, Mr. Sawyer. I shall not leave the 
 woman every one but you thinks to be my mother. When; 
 she is dead I shall leave Eastborough never to return. My 
 sole object in life from that day will be to find some trace 
 of my parents or relatives. Now it may happen that 
 through Mrs. Putnam or Miss Pettengill you may get 
 some clew that will help me in my search. It is for this 
 that I wish a friend, and I have a presentiment .that some 
 day you will be able to help me."
 
 192 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER. 
 
 Quincy assured her that if it lay in his power any time 
 to be of assistance to .her, she could count upon him. 
 
 "By tihe way, Miss Putnam," said he, <s how did your in 
 vestment with Foss & Follansbee turn out? I heard a 
 rumor that the stock fell, and you lost considerable 
 money." 
 
 Lindy flushed painfully. "It did drop, Mr. Sawyer, but 
 it rallied again, as you call it, and when they sold out for me 
 I made nearly five thousand dollars ; but," <and she looked 
 pleadingly uip into Quincy s face, "you have forgiven me 
 for that as well as for my other wrong doings." 
 
 "For (everything up to date," said Quincy, laughing. 
 
 !At that instant a loud pounding was heard on the floor 
 above. 
 
 "Mrs. Putnam is knocking Cor you," said Lindy. "Miss 
 Pettengill must be ready to go home. Good-by, Mr. Saw 
 yer, and do not forget your unhappy friend." 
 
 "I promise to remember her and her quest," said Quincy. 
 
 He gave the little hand extended to him a slight pressure 
 amd nan up the stairs. As he did so he heard the parlor 
 dioor close behind him. 
 
 As they were driving home, Alice several times took what 
 appeared to be a letter from her muff and held it up as 
 though trying to read it. Quincy glanced towards her. 
 
 "Mr. Sawyer, can you keep a secret?" asked Alice. 
 
 "I have a big one on my mind now," replied Quincy, 
 "that I would like to confide to some one." 
 
 "Why don it you?" asked Alice. 
 
 "As soon as I can find a person whom I think can fully 
 sympathize with me I shall do so, but for the present I 
 must bear my tmrdien in silence," said he. 
 
 "I hope you wiU not have <to wait long before finding 
 that sympathetic friend," remarked Alice. 
 
 "I hope so, too," he replied. "But I have not answered
 
 A VISIT TO MRS. PUTNAM. 19* 
 
 your question, Miss Pettengill. If I can serve you by 
 sharing a secret with you, at shall be safe with me." 
 
 "Will you promise not to speak of it, not even -to me? * 
 she asked. 
 
 "If you wish it I will promise," he answered. 
 
 "Then please read to me what is written on that 
 envelope." ( 
 
 Quincy looked at the envelope. "It is written in an old- 
 fashioned, cramped hand," he said, "and the writing is con 
 fided to Miss Alice Pettengill, and to be destroyed without 
 being read by her within twenty-four hours after my death. 
 Hepsibeth Putnam. * 
 
 "Thank you," said Alice simply, and she replaced the 
 envelope in her muff. 
 
 Like a flash of lightning the thought came to Quincy 
 that the letter to be destroyed had some connection with 
 the strange story so recently told him by Lindy. He must 
 take some action in the matter before it was too> late. 
 Turning to Alice he staid, "Miss Pettengill, if I make a 
 strange request of you, which you can easily grant, will you 
 do it, and not ask me for any explanation until after you 
 have complied?" 
 
 "You -have worded your inquiry so carefully, Mr. Sawyer, 
 that I am a little afraid of you, you being a lawyer, but as 
 you have so graciously consented to keep a secret with me, 
 I will trust you and will promise to comply with your 
 request." 
 
 "All I ask is," said Quincy, "that before you destroy that 
 letter, you will let me read to you once more what is written 
 upon the envelope." 
 
 "Why, certainly," said Alice, "how oould I refuse so 
 harmless a request as that?" 
 
 "I am greatly obliged for your kindness," said Quincy 
 to her; but he thought to himself, "I will find out what is 
 in that envelope, if there is any honorable way of doing so."
 
 i94 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER, 
 
 Hiram came over -to see Mandy .that evening, and Mrs, 
 Crowley, who was in the best of spirits, sang several old- 
 time Irish songs to them, Hiram and Mandy joining in the 
 choruses. They were roasting big red apples on the top of 
 the stove and chestnuts in the oven. Quincy, attracted by 
 the singing, came dlownstairs to the kitchen, and was invited 
 to join in the simple feast. He then asked Mrs. Crowley to 
 sing for him, which -she did, and he repaid her by singing, 
 "The Harp That Once Tihro Tara s Halls" so sweetly that 
 tears coursed down the old woman s cheeks, and she said, 
 "My poor boy Tom, that was killed in the charge at Bala- 
 klava, used to sing just like that." 
 
 Then the poor woman began weeping so violently that 
 IMandy coaxed her off to bed and left the room with her. 
 
 Wihen HLram and Quincy were alone together, the latter 
 said: "Any news, Hiram?" 
 
 "Not much," replied Hiram. "The snow is too deep, and 
 it s too darned cold for the boys to travel round and do 
 much gossipin this weather, A notice is pasted up on Hill s 
 grocery that it ll be sold by auction next Tuesday ait three 
 o clock in the afternoon. And I got on to one bit of news. 
 Strout and his friends are goin to give Huldy Mason a sur 
 prise party. They have invited me and Mandy simply be 
 cause they want you to hear all about it. But they don t 
 propose to invite you, nor Zeke, nor his sister." 
 
 "Has Strout got anybody to back him up on buying the 
 grocery store? asked Quincy. 
 
 "Yes," said Hiram, "he has got two thousand dollars 
 pledged, and I hear he wants five hundred dollars more. 
 He don t think die whole thing will run over twenty five 
 hundred dollars. 
 
 "How much is to be paid in cash?" Quincy inquired, 
 
 "Five hundred dollars," said Hiram; "and that s what 
 troubles Strout. His friends will endorse his notes and 
 a mortgage on the store, for they know it s a good
 
 A VISIT TO MKS. PUTNAM* 9 
 
 payin business. They expect to get their money back with 
 good interest, but it comes kinder hard on them to plunk 
 down five hundred dollars in cold cash." 
 
 At that moment Mandy returned, and after asking her 
 for a spoon and a plate upon which to take a roast apple and 
 some chestnuts upstairs, Quincy left the young couple 
 together. As he sat before the fire enjoying his lunch, h>e 
 resolved that he would buy that grocery store, cost what it 
 might, and that Zeke Pettengill, Alice, and himself would 
 go to that surprise iparty.
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 THE NEW DOCTOR. 
 
 QUINCY improved the first opportunity offered for 
 sate travelling to make a visit to the city. He had 
 several matters to attend to. First, he had not sent his 
 letter to his friend, (requesting ham to make inquiries as to 
 Obadiah Sbrout s war record, for the great snowstorm had 
 come the day after he had written it. Second, tfie was going 
 to take Alice s story to show to a literary friend, and see if 
 he could secure its publication. And this was not all ; Alice 
 had told ; him, after he had finished copying .the story she 
 had dictated to him, that she had written several other short 
 stories during the past two years. 
 
 In response to his urgent request, she allowed him to 
 read her treasured manuscripts. Tihe first was a passionate 
 love story in which a young Spanish officer, stationed on 
 the island of Cuba, and a beautiful young Cuban girl were 
 the principals. It was entitled "Her Native Land," and 
 was replete with startling situations and effective tableaus. 
 Quincy was delighted with it, and told Alice if dramatized 
 it would make a fine acting play. This was, of course, very 
 pleasing to the young author. Quincy was her amanuensis, 
 her audience, and iher critic, and she knew that in his eyes 
 she was already a success. 
 
 She also gave him to read a series of eight stories, in a 
 line usually esteemed quite foreign to feminine instincts. 
 Alice had conceived the idea of a young man, physically 
 weak and suffering from nervous debility, being left an 
 immense fortune at the age of twenty-tone. His money was 
 well invested, and in company with a faithful attendant he 
 travelled for fifteen years, covering every nook and corner
 
 THE XEW DOCTOR. 191 
 
 of the habitable globe. At thirty-six he returned home 
 much improved in health, but still having a marked aversion 
 to engaging in any business pursuit. A mysterious case 
 and its solution having been related to :him, >he resolved to 
 devote his income, now amounting 1 to a million dollars 
 yearly, to amateur detective work. His great desire was 
 to ferret out and solve mysteries, murders, suicides, rob 
 beries, and disappearances that baffled the police and 
 eluded their vigilant inquiry. 
 
 The titles that Alice had chosen for her stories were as 
 mysterious, in their way, as the stories themselves. Ar 
 ranged in /the order of their writing, they were: Was it 
 Signed? The Man Without a Tongue; He Thought He 
 Was Dead; The Eight of Spades; The Exit of Mrs. Del* 
 monnay; How I Caught the Fare-Bugs; The Hot Hand; 
 and The Mystery of Unreaohable Island. 
 
 When Quincy readied the city, his first visit was to his 
 father s office, but he found him absent. He was told that 
 he was conducting a case in the Equity Session of the 
 Supreme Court, and would not return to the office that 
 day. 
 
 Instead of leaving his letter at his friend s office, be went 
 directly to the Adjutant-General s office at the State House. 
 Here he found that an acquaintance of his was employed 
 as a clerk. He was of foreign birth, but had served gal 
 lantly through ithe war and had left an arm upon the battle 
 field. He made his request for a copy of the war record of 
 Obadiah Strout, of the th Mass. Volunteers. Then a 
 thought came suddenly to him and he requested one also 
 of the record of Hiram Maxwell of the same regiment. 
 
 Leaving the State House on the Hancock Avenue side, 
 he walked down that narrow but convenient thoroughfare, 
 and was standing at its entrance to the sidewalk on Beacon 
 Street, debating which publisher he would call on first, 
 when a cheery voice said, Hello, Sawyer." When he
 
 198 QUIXCY ADAMS SAWYER. 
 
 looked up he saw an old Latin School and college chum, 
 named Leopold Ernst. Ernst was a Jew, but -he had been 
 one of the smartest and most popular of the boys in school 
 and of Che men at Harvard. 
 
 "What are you up to? * asked Ernst. 
 
 "Living on my small fortune and my father s bounty," 
 said Quincy. "Nat a very creditable record, I know, but 
 my liealth has niot been very good, and I have been resting 
 for a couple of months in the country." 
 
 "Not much going on in the country at this time of the 
 year I fancy," remarked Ernst. 
 
 "That s wihere you are wrong," said Quincy. "There 
 has been the devil to pay ever since I landed in the town, 
 and I ve got mixed up in -so many complications that I don t 
 expect to get back to town before next Christmas. But 
 what are you doing, Ernst?" 
 
 "Oh, I am in for literature; not the kind that consists in 
 going round with a notebook and prying into people s busi 
 ness, with a hope one day of becoming an editor, and work 
 ing twenty hours out of the twenty-four each day. Not a 
 bit of it, I am reader for ;" and he mentioned the name 
 of a large publishing house. "I have my own hours and a 
 comfortable salary. I sit like Solomon upon the efforts 
 of callow authors and the productions of ripened genius. 
 Sometimes I discover a diamond in the rough, and introduce 
 a new star to the literary firmament; and at other times I 
 cut up some egotistical old writer, who thinks anything he 
 turns out wall be sure to please the public." 
 
 "How fortunate that I have met you?" said Quincy. 
 "I have in this little carpet bag tlie first effusions of one of 
 those callow authors of whom you spoke. She is poor, 
 beautiful, and blind." 
 
 "Don t try to trade on my sympathies, old boy," said 
 Ernst. "No person who is poor has any right to become 
 an author. It tabes too long in these days to make a hit t
 
 THE NEW DOCTOR. 199 
 
 and the poor author is bound to die before the hit comes. 
 The beautiful gag don t work with me at all. The best 
 authors are homelier .than sin and it s a pity that their pic 
 tures are ever published. As regards the blind part, that 
 may be an advantage, for dictating relieves one of the 
 drudgery of writing one s self, and gives one a chance for 
 a fuller play of one s fancies than if tied to a piece of wood, 
 a scratchy pen, and a bottle of thick ink." 
 
 "Then you won t look at them," said Quincy. 
 
 "I didn t say so," replied Ernst "Of course, I can t 
 look at them in a business way, unless .they are duly sub 
 mitted to my house, but I have been reading a very badly 
 written, but mightily interesting manuscript, for the past 
 two days and a half, and I want a change of work or diver 
 sion, to brush up my wits. Now, old fellow," said he, taking 
 Quincy by the arm, "if you will come up to the club with 
 me, and have a good dinner with some Chianti, and a glass 
 or two of champagne, and a pousse cafe to finish up with, 
 then we will go up to my rooms on Chestnut Street I have 
 a whole top floor to myself we will light up our cigars, 
 and you may read to me till to-morrow morning and I 
 won t murmur. But, mind you, if the Stories are mighty 
 poor I may go to sleep, and if I do that, you migiht as well 
 go to bed too , for when I once go to sleep I never wake 
 up till I get good and ready." 
 
 Quincy had intended after seeing a publisher to leave the 
 manuscripts for examination, then to take tea with, his 
 mother and sisters, and go back to Eastborough on the 
 five minutes past six express. But he was prone to yield to 
 fate, which is simply circumstances, and he accepted his old 
 college chum s invitation with alacrity. He could get the 
 opinion of an expert speedily, and that fact carried the day 
 with him. 
 
 When they were comfortably ensconced in their easy- 
 chairs on the top floor, and the cigars lighted, Quincy com-
 
 200 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER. 
 
 menced reading. Leopold had previously shown him his 
 suite, which consisted of a parlor, or rather a sitting^oom, a 
 library, which included principally the works of standard 
 authors and reference books, his sleeping apartment, and 
 a bathroom. 
 
 There was a large bed lounge in the sitting-room, and 
 Quincy determined to read every story in his carpet bag, 
 if it took him all night. He commenced with the series of 
 detective or mystery stories. He had read them over before 
 and was able to bring out their strong points oratorically, 
 for, as k has been said before, he was a fine speaker. 
 
 Quincy eyed Ernst over -the cornier of the manuscript he 
 was reading, but the latter understood his business. Occa 
 sionally he was betrayed into a nod of approval and several 
 times shook his head in a negative way, but he uttered no 
 word of commendation or disapproval. 
 
 After several of the stories had been read, Ernst called 
 a halt, and going to a cupboard brought out some crackers, 
 cake, and a decanter of wine, with glasses, which he put 
 upon a table, and placed within comfortable reach of both 
 reader and listener. Then he said, "Go ahead," munched 
 a cracker, sipped his wine, and then lighted a fresh cigar. 
 
 When the series was finished, Leopold said, "Now we 
 will have some tea. I do a good deal of my reading at 
 home, and I don t like to go out again after I have crawled 
 up four flights of stairs, so my landlady sends me up a 
 light supper at just about this hour. There is the maid 
 now," as a light knock was heard on the door. 
 
 Leopold opened it, and the domestic brought in a tray 
 with a pot of tea and the ingredients of a light repast, 
 which she placed upon another table near a window. 
 
 "There is always enough for two," said Leopold. "Read 
 ing is mighty tiresome work, and listening is too, and a cup 
 of good strong tea will brighten us both up immensely.
 
 THE NEW DOCTOR. 201 
 
 You can come back for the tray in fifteen minutes, Jennie," 
 said Ernst. 
 
 The supper was finished, the tray removed, and) the critic 
 sat in judgment once more upon the words that fell from 
 the reader s lips. Leopold s face lighted up during the 
 reading of "Her Native Land." He started to speak, and 
 the word "That s* " escaped him, but he recovered himself 
 and said no more, though he listened intently. 
 
 Quincy .took a glass of wine and a cracker before start 
 ing upon the story which had been dictated to him. Leo 
 pold gave no sign of falling asleep, but patted his hands 
 lightly together at certain points in the story, whether 
 contemplatively or approvingly Quincy could not deter 
 mine. As he read the dosing lines of the last manuscript 
 the cuckoo clock struck twelve, midnight. 
 
 "You are a mighty good reader, Qudncy," said 1 Leo 
 pold, "and barring fifteen minutes for refreshments, you 
 have been ait it ten hours. Now you want my opinion of 
 those stories, and what s more, you want -my advice as to 
 the best place to put them to secure their approval and 
 early publication. Now I am going to smoke a cigar quietly 
 and think the whole thing over, and at half past twelve I 
 will give you my opinion in writing. I am going into my 
 library for half an hour to write down what I have to say. 
 You take a nap on the lounge there, and you will be re 
 freshed when I come back after having made mince meat 
 of your poor, beautiful, blind protege." 
 
 Leopold disappeared into the library, and Quincy 
 stretching himself on the lounge, rested, but did not sleep. 
 Before he had realized that ten minutes had passed, Leopold 
 stood beside him with a letter sheet in his hand, and said, 
 "Now, Quincy, read this to me, and I will see if I have 
 got it down straight." 
 
 Quincy s hand trembled nervously as he seated himself
 
 202 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYEK. 
 
 in his old position and turning the sheet so that the light 
 would fall upon it, he read the following: 
 
 Opinion of Leopold Ernst, Literary Critic, of certain 
 manuscripts submitted for examination by Quincy A. Saw 
 yer, with some advice gratis. 
 
 1. Series of eight stories. Mighty clever general idea; 
 good stories well written. Same style maintained through 
 out; good plots. Our house could not handle them not 
 
 of our line. Send to . (Here followed the name of a 
 
 New York publisher.) I will write Cooper, one of their 
 readers. He is a friend of mine, and will secure quick de 
 cision, which, I prophesy, wfill be favorable. 
 
 2. "Her Native Land" is a fine story. I can get it into a 
 weekly literary paper that our house publishes. 1 know 
 Jameson, the reader, will take it, especially if you would 
 give him the right to dramatize it. He is hand and glove 
 with all the theatre managers and has had several successes. 
 
 3. That story about the Duke, I want for our magazine. 
 It lis capital, and has enough meat in it to make a full-blown 
 novel. All it wants is oysters, soup, fish, entrees, and a 
 dessert prefixed to and joined on to the solid roast and 
 game which the story as now written itself supplies. 
 
 In Witness Whereof, I have hereunto set my hand, this 
 24th day of February, 186 . 
 
 LEOPOLD ERNST, Literary Critic. 
 
 Quincy remained all night with Leopold, sleeping on the 
 bed lounge in the sitting-room. He was up at six o clock 
 the next morning, but found that his friend was also an early 
 riser, for on entering the library he saw the latter seated 
 at his desk regarding the pile of manuscript which Quincy 
 had read to him. 
 
 Leopold looked up with a peculiar expression on his face. 
 
 "What s the matter," asked Quincy, "changing your 
 mind?"
 
 THE NEW DOCTOR. 203 
 
 "No," said Leopold, "I never do that, it would spoil my 
 value as a reader if I did. My decisions are as fixed as 
 the laws of the Medes and Persians, and are regarded by 
 literary aspirants as being quite as severe as the statutes of 
 Draco ; but the fact is, Quincy, you and your protege you 
 see I consider you equally culpable have neglected to 
 put any real name or pseudonym to these interesting stories. 
 Of course I can affix the name of the moist popular author 
 that the world has ever known, Mr. Anonymous, but you 
 two probably have some pet name that you wish immor 
 talized." 
 
 "By George!" cried Quincy, "we did forget that. I will 
 talk it over with her, and -send you the nom de plume by 
 mail. 
 
 "Very well," said Leopold, rising. "And now let us go 
 and have some breakfast." 
 
 "My dear fellow, you must excuse me. I have not seen 
 my parents this trip, and I ought to go up to the house and 
 take breakfast with the family." 
 
 "All right," said Leopold, "rush that pseudonym right 
 along, so I can send the manuscripts to Cooper. And don t 
 forget to drop in and see me next time you come to the 
 city." 
 
 On his way to Beacon Street Quincy suddenly stopped 
 and regarded a sign that read, Paul Culver, M. D., physician 
 and surgeon. He knew Culver, but hadn t seen him for 
 eight years. They were in the Latin School together under 
 pater Gardner. He rang the bell and was shown into Dr. 
 Culver s office, and in a few minutes his old schoolmate en 
 tered. Paul Culver was a tall, broad-chested, heavily-built 
 young man, with frank blue eyes, and hair of the color that 
 is sometimes irreverently called, or rather the wearers of 
 it are called, towheads. 
 
 They had a pleasant talk over old school days and college 
 experiences, which were not identical, for Paul had grad-
 
 204 
 
 uated from Yale College at his father s desire, instead of 
 from Harvard. Then Quincy broached what was upper- 
 most in <his mind and which had been the real reason for 
 his call. He stated briefly the facts concerning Alice s case, 
 and asked Paul s advice. 
 
 Dr. Culver sat for a few moments apparently in deep 
 study. 
 
 "My advice," said he, "is to see Tillotson. He has an 
 office in the Hotel Pelham, up by the Public Library, you 
 know." 
 
 "Is he a regular ?" asked Quincy. 
 
 "Well," said Culver, "I don t think he is. For a fact I 
 know he is not an M. D., but I fancy that the diploma that 
 he holds from the Almighty is worth more to suffering 
 humanity than a good many tissued by the colleges." 
 
 "You are a pretty broad-minded allopath," said Quincy, 
 "to give such a sweeping recommendation to a quack." 
 
 "I didn t say he was a quack," replied Culver. "He is a 
 natural-born healer, and he uses only nature s remedies in 
 his practice. Go and see -him, Quincy, and judge for your 
 self." 
 
 "But/ said Quincy, "I had hoped that you " 
 
 "But I couldn t," broke in Paul. "I am an emergency 
 doctor. If baby has the croup, or Jimmy has the measles, or 
 father has the lung fever, they call me in, and I get them 
 well as soon as possible. But if mother-in-law has some 
 obscure complaint I am too busy to give the time to study 
 it up, and they wouldn t pay me for it if I did. Medicine, 
 like a great many other things, is going into the hands of 
 the specialists eventually, and Tillotson is one of the first of 
 the new school." 
 
 At that moment a maid announced that some one wished 
 to see Dr. Culver, and Quincy took a hurried leave. 
 
 He found his father, mother, and sisters at home, and 
 breakfast was quickly served after his arrival. They^ all
 
 THE NEW DOCTOR. 205 
 
 said he was looking much better, and all asked him when 
 he was coming home. He gave an evasive answer, saying 
 that there were lots of good times coming down in East- 
 borough and he didn t wish to miss them. He told his 
 father he was improving his time reading and writing, and 
 would give a good account of himself when he did return. 
 
 He had to wait an hour before he could secure an inter 
 view with Dr. Tillotson. The latter had a spare day in each 
 week, that day being Thursday, which he devoted to cases 
 that he was obliged to< visit personally. Quincy arranged 
 with him to visit Eastborough on the following Thursday, 
 and by calling a carriage managed to catch the half-past 
 eleven train for that town, and reached his boarding place 
 a little before two o clock. He had arranged with the driver 
 to wait for a letter that he wished to have mailed to Boston 
 that same afternoon. 
 
 He went in by the back door, and as ihe passed through 
 the kitchen, Mandy made a sign, and he went to her. 
 
 "Hiram waited tlill one o clock," said she, "but he had to 
 go home, and >he wanted me to tell you that the surprise 
 party is coming off next Monday night, and they are going 
 to get -there at seven o clock, so as to have plenty of time 
 for lots of fun, and Hiram suspects," .and her voice fell to a 
 whisper, "that Strout is going to try and work the Deacon 
 for .that five hundred in cash to >put up for the grocery store 
 next Tuesday. That s -all," said she. 
 
 "Where is Miss Pettengill?" Quincy inquired, 
 
 "She s in the parlor," said Mandy. "She has been play 
 ing the piano and singing beautifully, but I guess she has 
 got tired." 
 
 Quincy went directly to the parlor and found Alice seated 
 before the open fire, her right hand covering her eyes. 
 
 She looked up as Quincy entered the room and said, "I 
 am so glad you ve got back, Mr. Sawyer. I (have been very 
 lonesome since you have been away."
 
 208 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER. 
 
 Alice did not see the -happy smile that spread over 
 Quincy s face, and he covered up his pleasure by saying, 
 "How did you know it was I?" 
 
 "Oh," said Alice, "my hearing is very acute. I know 
 the step of every person in the .house. Swiss has been with 
 me all the morning, but he asked a few minutes ago to be 
 excused, so he could get his dinner." 
 
 Quincy laugihed, and then, said, "Miss Pettengill, we for 
 got a very important matter in connection with your stories; 
 we omitted to put on the name of the author." He told her 
 of his meeting with Ernst, and what had taken place, and 
 Alice was delighted. Quincy did not refer to the coming 
 visit of Dr. Tillo tson, for he did not mean to speak of it 
 until the day appointed arrived. "Now, Miss Pettengill, 
 I have some letters to write to send back by .the hotel car 
 riage, so that they can be mailed this afternoon. While I 
 am doing this you can decide upon your pseudonym, and I 
 will put it in the letter that I am going to write to Ernst." 
 
 Quincy went up to his room and sat down at his writing 
 table. The first letter was to his bankers, and endosed a 
 check for five hundred dollars, with a request to send the 
 amount in biHs by Adams Express to Eastborough Centre, 
 to reach there not later than noon of the next Tuesday, 
 and to be held until called for. The second letter was to a 
 prominent confectioner and caterer in Boston, ordering 
 enough ice cream, sherbet, frozen pudding, and assorted 
 cake for a party of fifty persons, and fifty grab-bag presents; 
 all to reach Eaiatborough Centre in good order on Monday 
 night on the five minutes past six express from Boston. 
 The third letter was to Ernst. It was short and to the point. 
 "The pseudonym is " And he left a blank space for the 
 name. Then be signed his own. He glanced over his writ 
 ing table and saw the three poemls that Alice had given hian 
 to read. He added a postscript to his letter to Ernst. It 
 read as follows:
 
 THE NEW DOCTOK. 207 
 
 "I enclose -three poems written by the same person who 
 wrote the stories. Tell me what you think of them, and if 
 you can place them anywhere do so, and this shall be your 
 warrant therefor. Q. A. S." 
 
 When his mail was in readiness >he went downstairs to the 
 parlor, taking a pen and bottle of ink with him, and saying 
 to himself, "That pseudonym shall -not be written in pencil. * 
 
 "I am in a state of hopeless indecision," remarked Alice. 
 "I can think of Christian names that please me, and sur 
 names that please me, but when I put them together they 
 don t please me at all." 
 
 "Then we will leave it to fate," said Quincy. He tore a 
 sheet of paper into six pieces and passed three, with a book 
 and pencil, to Alice. "Now you write," said he, "three 
 Christian names that please you, and I will write three 
 surnames that please me; then we will put the pieces in 
 my hat, and you will select two and what you select shall 
 be the name." 
 
 "That s a capital idea," said Alice, "it is harder to select 
 a name than it was to write the story." 
 
 The slips were written, placed in the hat, shaken up, and 
 Alice selected two, which she held up for Quincy to read. 
 
 "This is not fair," said Quincy. "I never thought. Both 
 of the slips are mine. We must try again." 
 
 "No," said Alice, "it is Kismet. What are the names?" 
 she asked. 
 
 "Bruce Douglas, or Douglas Bruce, as you prefer," said 
 Quincy. 
 
 "I like Bruce Douglas best," replied Alice. 
 
 "I am so glad," said Quincy, "that s the name I should 
 have selected myself." 
 
 "Then I will bear your name in future," said Alice, and 
 Quincy thought to himself that he wished she had said 
 those words in response to a question that was an his mind,
 
 208 QUIXCY ADAMS SAWYER. 
 
 but which he had decided it was not yet time to ask her. 
 He was too much of a gentleman .to irefer in a joking man 
 ner to the words which Alice had spoken and which had 
 been uttered with no thought or idea that they bore a 
 double meaning. 
 
 Quincy wrote the selected name in the blank space in 
 Leopold s letter, -sealed it and took his mail out to the car 
 riage driver, who was seated in the kitchen enjoying a 
 piece of mince pie and a mug of cider which Mandy had 
 given him. 
 
 As Quincy entered the kitchen he heard Mandy say, 
 "How is Bias nowadays?" 
 
 "Oh, dad s all right," said the young man ; "he is going 
 to run Wallace Stackpole again for tax collector against 
 Obadiah Strout." 
 
 "Is your name Smith? asked Quincy, advancing with 
 the letters in his hand. 
 
 "Yes/ replied 1 the young man, "my name is Abbott 
 Smith. My dad s name is Bias; he is pretty well known 
 round these parts." 
 
 "I have heard of him," said Quincy, "and I wish to see 
 him and Mr. Stackpole together. Can you come over for 
 me next Wednesday morning and bring Mr. Stackpole 
 with you? I can talk to him going back, and I want you 
 to drive us over to your father s place. Don t say anything 
 about it except to Mr. Stackpole and your father, but I am 
 going to take a hand in town politics this year." 
 
 The young man laughed and said, "I will be over here 
 by eight o clock next Wednesday." 
 
 "I wish you would have these letters weighed at the 
 post office, and if any more stamps are needed please put 
 them on. Take what is left for your trouble," and Quincy 
 passed Abbott a half dollar. 
 
 He heard the retreating carriage wheels as he went up 
 stairs to his room. He made an entry in his pocket diary,
 
 THE NEW DOCTOR. 20 
 
 and then ran his eye over several others that preceded and 
 followed it. 
 
 "Let me see, soliloquized he, as he read aloud, "this is 
 Friday ; Saturday, expect war records from Adjutant- 
 General; Monday, hear from Ernst, surprise party in the 
 evening; Tuesday, get money at express office; Tuesday 
 (afternoon, buy Hill s grocery and give Strout his first 
 knock-out; Wednesday, see Stackpole and Smith and ar 
 range to kno ck Strout out again ; Thursday, Dr. Tillotson." 
 He laughed and closed the book. Then he said, "And the 
 city fellows think it must be dull down .here because there 
 is nothing going on in a country, town in the winter."
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 SOME PLAIN FACTS AND INFERENCES. 
 
 THE next day was Saturday ; the sun did not show itself 
 from behind -the clouds till noon, and Quincy put off 
 his trip to the Eastborough Centre post office with the hope 
 that the afternoon would be ipleasant. His wish was grati 
 fied, and at dinner he said he was go-ingf to drive over to 
 Eastborough Centre, and asked Mfes Pettengill if she would 
 not like to accompany him. Alice hesitated, but Uncle Ike 
 advised her to go, telling her that she stayed indoors too 
 much and needed outdoor exercise. Ezekiel agreed with 
 his uncle, and Alice finally gave what seemed to Quincy to 
 be a somewhat reluctant consent. 
 
 He saw that the sleigh was amply supplied with robes, 
 and Handy, at his suggestion, heated a large piece of soap- 
 stone, which was wrapped up and placed in the bottom of 
 the .sleigh. 
 
 Alice appeared at the door equipped for her journey. 
 Always lovely in Quincy s eyes, she appeared still more 
 so in her suit of dark blue cloth. Over her shoulders she 
 wore a fur cape lined with quilted red satin, and on her head 
 a fur ca,p, which made a strong contrast with her light hair 
 which crept out in little curls from underneath. 
 
 They started off at a smart speed, for Old Bill was not 
 in the shafts this time. Alice had been familiar with the 
 road to Eastborough before leaving home, and as Quincy 
 described the various points they passed, Alice entered into 
 the spirit of the drive with all the interest and enthusiasm 
 of a child. The sharp winter air brought a rosy bloom to 
 her cheeks, and as Quincy looked at those wonderful large 
 blue eyes, he could hardly make himself believe that they
 
 SOME PLAIN FACTS AND DEFERENCES. 211 
 
 could not see him. He was sure he had never seen a 
 handsomer girl. 
 
 As they passed Uncle Ike s little house, Quincy called 
 her attention to it. Alice said: 
 
 "Poor Uncle Ike, I wish I could do more for him, he 
 has done so much for me. He paid for my lessons in book 
 keeping and music, and also fo>r my board until I had fin 
 ished my studies and obtained a position. He has been a 
 father to me since my own dear father died." 
 
 Quincy felt some inclination to find out the real reason 
 why Uncle Ike had left his family, but he repressed it and 
 called attention to some trees, heavily coated with snow 
 and ice, which looked beautiful in the sunshine, and he de 
 scribed them so graphically, bringing in allusions to pearls 
 and diamonds and strings of glistening jewels, that Alice 
 clapped her hands in delight and said she would take him 
 as her literary partner, to write in the descriptive passages. 
 Quincy for an instant felt impelled to take advantage of 
 the situation, but saying to himself, "The time is not yet," 
 he touched the ih orse with his whip and for half a minute 
 was obliged to give it his undivided attention. 
 
 "Did you think the horse was running away? said he 
 to Alice, when he had brought him down to a trot. "Were 
 you afraid?" 
 
 "I am afraid of nothing nowadays," she replied. "I 
 trust my companions implicitly, knowing that they will tell 
 me if I am in danger and advise me what to do. I had a 
 debate a long time ago with Uncle Ike about blind people 
 and deaf people. He said he would rather be stone deaf 
 than blind. As he argued it, the deaf person could read and 
 write and get along very comfortably by himself. I argued 
 on the other side. I wish to hear the voices of my friends 
 when they talk and sing and read, and then, you know, 
 everybody lends a helping hand to a person who is blind, 
 but the deaf person must look out for himself.
 
 212 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER. 
 
 "Either state is to be regretted, if there is no hope of re 
 lief," remarked Quincy. He thought he would refer to Dr. 
 TWlotson, but they were approaching the centre of the 
 town, and he knew he would not have time to explain his 
 action before he reached the post office, so he determined 
 to postpone it until they were on the way home. 
 There were three letters for himself, two for Alice and 
 a lot of papers and magazines for Uncle Ike. He resumed 
 his seat in the sleigh and they started on their journey 
 homeward. 
 
 "Would you like to go back the same way that we came?" 
 asked Quincy, "or shall we go by the upper road and come 
 by Deacon Mason s?" 
 
 "I should like to stop and see Huldy," said Alice, and 
 Quincy took Dhe upper road. 
 
 Conversation lagged on the homeward trip. Alice held 
 her two letters in her hand and looked at them several 
 times, apparently trying to recognize the handwriting. As 
 Quincy glanced at her sidewise, he felt sure that he saw 
 tears in her eyes, and he decided that it would be an in 
 appropriate time to announce the subject of the new doctor. 
 In fact, he was beginning to think, the more his mind dwelt 
 upon the subject, that he had taken an inexcusable liberty 
 in arranging for Dr. Tillotson to come down without first 
 speaking to her, or at least to her brother or uncle. But 
 the deed was done, and he must find some way to have her 
 see the doctor, and get his opinion about her eyes. 
 
 Quincy spent so much time revolving this matter in his 
 mind, that he was quite astonished when he looked around 
 and found himself at the exact place where he spoke those 
 words to Huldy Mason that had ended in the accident. 
 This time be gave careful attention to horse and hill and 
 curve, and a moment later he drew up the sleigh at Deacon 
 Mason s front gate. 
 
 Mrs. Mason welcomed them at the door and they were
 
 SOME PLAIN FACTS AND INFERENCES. 213 
 
 shown into the parlor, where Huldy sat at the piano. The 
 young girls greeted each other warmly, and Mrs. Mason 
 and Huldy both wished Quincy and Alice to stay to tea. 
 They declined, saying they had many letters to read before 
 supper and Zekiel would think something had happened 
 to them if they did not come home. 
 
 "I will send Hiram down to let them know," said Mrs. 
 Mason. 
 
 "You must really excuse us this time," protested Quincy. 
 "Some other time perhaps Miss Pettengill will accept your 
 hospitality." 
 
 "But when?" asked Mrs. Mason. "We might as well 
 fix a time right now." 
 
 "Yes, said Huldy, "and we won t let them go till they 
 promise." 
 
 "Well, my plan," said Mrs. Mason, "is this. Have Zekiel 
 and Alice and Mr. Sawyer come over next Monday after 
 noon about five o clock, and we will have tea at six, and we 
 will have some music in the evening. I have so missed 
 your singing 1 , Mr. Sawyer, since you went away." 
 
 "Yes," said Huldy, "I think it is real mean of you, Alice, 
 not to let him come and see us oftener." 
 
 Alice flushed and stammered, "I I I do not keep 
 him from coming to see you. Why, yes, I have too," said 
 she, as a thought flashed through her mind. "I will tell you 
 the truth, Mrs. Mason. Mr. Sawyer offered to do some 
 writing for me, and I have kept him very busy." 
 
 She stopped and Quincy continued: 
 
 "I did do a little writing for her, Mrs. Mason, during the 
 great snowstorm, and it was as great a pleasure to me, as I 
 hope it was a help to her, for I had nothing else to do." 
 
 "Well," said Mlrs. Mason, "you can settle that matter 
 between yer. All that HuJdy and me wants to know is, 
 will all three of you come and take tea with us next Mon 
 day night?"
 
 214 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYEK. 
 
 "I shall be greatly pleased to do so," said Quincy. 
 
 "If Zekiel will come, I will," said Alice, and Quincy for 
 an instant felt a slight touch of wounded feeling because 
 Alice had ignored him entirely in accepting the invitation. 
 
 As they drove home, Alice said: "Mrs. Mason managed 
 that nicely, didn t she? I didn t wish to appear too eager 
 to come, for Huldy might have suspected. 
 
 "What mystery is this?" asked Quin cy. "I really don t 
 know what you are talking about." 
 
 "What!" said Alice. "Didn t Zekiel tell you about the 
 surprise party that Mr. Strout was getting up, and that 
 you, Zekiel, and I were not to be invited?" 
 
 "Oh! I see," said Quincy. "How stupid I have been! 
 I knew all about it and 1 that it was to be next Monday, but 
 Mrs. Mason asked us -so honestly to come to tea, and Huldy 
 joined in so heartily, that for the time being I got things 
 mixed, and besides, to speak frankly, Miss Pettengill, I 
 was thinking of something else." 
 
 "And what was it?" asked Alice. 
 
 Well/ said Quincy, determined to break the ice, "I 
 will tell you. I was wondering why you said you would 
 come to tea if Zekiel would come." 
 
 "Oh!" said Alice, laughing. "You thought I was very 
 ungenerous to leave you out of the question ^entirely." 
 
 "Honestly I did think so," remarked Quincy. 
 
 "Well, now," said Alice, "I did it from the most generous 
 of motives. I thought you knew about the surprise party 
 as well as I did. I knew Zekiel would go with me and I 
 thought that (perhaps you had some other young lady in 
 view for your companion." 
 
 "What?" asked Quincy. "Whom could I have had in 
 view?" 
 
 "Shall I tell you whom I think?" asked Alice. 
 
 "I wish you would," Quincy replied.
 
 SOME PLAIN FACTS AND INFERENCES. 215 
 
 "Well," said Alice, "I thought it .might be Lindy Put 
 nam." 
 
 Quincy bit his lip and gave the reins a savage jerk, as 
 he turned up the short road that led to the Pettengill 
 house. "What could make you think that, Miss Petten 
 
 "Well, I have only one reason to give," Alice replied, 
 "for that opinion, but the fact is, when we made our call 
 on Mrs. Putnam she pounded on the floor three times with 
 her crutch before you came upstairs. Am I justified, Mr. 
 Sawyer?" 
 
 "I m afraid you are," said Quincy. "I should have 
 thought so myself if I had been in your place." 
 
 But when he reached his room he threw his letters on 
 the table, his coat and hat on the bed, and thrusting his 
 hands into has pockets, he walked rapidly up and down the 
 room, saying to himself in a savage whisper, "Confound 
 that Putnam girl; she is a hoodoo." 
 
 Quincy was philosophical, and his excited feelings soon 
 quieted down. It would come out all right in the end. 
 Alice would find that he had not intended to take Miss 
 Putnam to the surprise party. He could not betray Lindy s 
 confidence just at that time, even to justify himself. He 
 must wait until Mrs. Putnam died. It might be years from 
 now before the time came to destroy that letter, and he 
 could not, until then, disclose to Alice the secret that Lindy 
 had confided to him. Yes, it would come out all right in 
 the end, for it imight be if Alice thought he was in love with 
 Lindy that she would give more thought to him. He had 
 read somewhere that oftentimes the best way to awaken a 
 dormant love was to appear to fall in love with some one 
 else. 
 
 Somewhat reconciled to the situation by fais thoughts, 
 he sat down to read his letters. The first one that he took 
 up was from the confectioner. It informed him that his
 
 216 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYEK. 
 
 order would receive prompt attention, and the writer 
 thanked him for past favors and solicited a continuance of 
 the same. The second was from Ernst. It was short and 
 to the point, and written in his characteristic style. It said: 
 
 "Dear Quincy : Pseudonym received. Bruce Douglas is 
 a name to conjure with. It smacks of Auki Lang Syne/ 
 The Scotch are the only people on the face of the earth who 
 were never conquered. You will remember, if you haven t 
 forgotten your ancient history, that the Roman general sent 
 back word to his emperor that the d d country wasn t 
 worth conquering. Enclosures also at hand. The shorter 
 ones are more songs than poems. I will turn them over to a 
 music publisher, who is a friend of mine. Will report his 
 decision later. 
 
 "I gave the long poem to Francis Lippitt, the well-known 
 composer, and he is delighted with it and wishes to set it to 
 music. He is great on grand choruses, Bach fugues, and 
 such like. If he sets it to music he will have it sung by the 
 Handel and Haydn Society, for he is a great gun among 
 them just now. The eight stories have reached New York 
 by this time, and Jameson is reading Her Native Land. 
 
 "With best regards to Mr. Bruce Douglas and yourself. 
 
 LEOPOLD ERNST. 
 
 The third letter was from the Adjutant-General s office, 
 and Quincy -smiled as he finished the first sheet, folded it 
 up and replaced it in the envelope. As he read the second 
 the smile left his face. "Who would have thought it?" he 
 said to himself. "Well, after all, heroes are made out of 
 strange material. He is the man for my money and I ll 
 back him up, and beat that braggart." 
 
 On the following Sunday, after dinner, Quincy had a 
 drat with Uncle Ike. He took the opportunity of asking 
 tfie old gentleman if he was fully satisfied with the progress 
 towards recovery that his niece was making 1 .
 
 SOME PLAIN FACTS AND INFEKENCES. 217 
 
 "I don t see that she is making any progress," said Uncle 
 Ike frankly. "I don t think she can see a "bit better than 
 she could when she came -home. In fact, I d on t think she 
 can see as well. She had a pair of glasses made of bla ck 
 rubber, with a pinhole in the centre of them, that she could 
 read a little with, but I notice now that she never puts them 
 on." 
 
 "Well," remarked Quincy, "perhaps I have taken an 
 unwarrantable liberty, Uncle Ike; .but when I was last in 
 Boston I heard of a new doctor who has made some won 
 derful cures, and I have engaged him to come down here 
 next week and see your niece. Of course, if you object I 
 will write to him not to come, and no harm will be done." 
 
 Quincy did not think it necessary to state that he had 
 paid the doctor his fee of one hundred dollars in advance. 
 
 "Well," said Uncle Ike, "I certainly sha n t object, if the 
 doctor can do her any good. But I should like to know 
 something about the course of treatment, the nature of it, 
 I mean, before she gives up her present doctor. 
 
 "That s just what I mean," said Quincy. "I want you to 
 be so kind as to take this whole matter off my hands, just 
 as though I had made the arrangement at your suggestion. 
 I am going down for the doctor next Thursday noon. 
 Won t you ride down with me and meet Dr. Tillotson? 
 You can talk to him on the way home, and then you can 
 manage the whole matter yourself, and do as you think 
 best about changing doctors." 
 
 "You have been very Vmd to my niece, Mr. Sawyer, 
 since you have been here; said Uncle Ike, "and very help 
 ful to her. I attribute your interest in her case to your 
 kindness of heart and a generosity which is seldom found 
 in the sons of millionaires. But take my advice, Mr. Saw 
 yer, and let your feelings stop .there." 
 
 "I dto not quite understand vou," replied Quincy, though 
 from a sudden sinking of his heart he felt that he did.
 
 8 QTJINCY ADAMS SAWYER. 
 
 "Then I will speak plainer/ said Uncle Ike. "Don t fa } 
 m love with my niece, Mr. Sawyer. She is a good girl, a 
 sweet girl, and some might call her a beautiful one, but she 
 has her limitations. She is not fitted to sit in a Beacon 
 Street parlor; and your parents and sisters would not be 
 pleased to have you place her there. Excuse an old man, 
 Mr. Sawyer, but you know wisdom cotmeth with age, al-^ 
 though its full value is not usually appreciated by the 
 young." 
 
 Ouincy, for the first time in his life, was entirely at a 
 loss for a reply. He burned to declare his love then and 
 there; but how could he do so in the face of such a plain 
 statement of facts? He did the best thing possible under 
 the circumstances; he quietly ignored Uncle Ike s advice, 
 and thanking him for his kindness in consenting to meet 
 the new doctor he badie him good afternoon and went to 
 has room. 
 
 After Quincy had 1 gone Uncle Ike rubbed has hands 
 together gleefully and shook with laughter. 
 
 "The sly roguel" he said to himself. "Wanted Uncle 
 Ike to help him out." Then .he laughed again. "If he don t 
 love her he will take my advice, but if he does, what I told 
 Mm will drive him on like spurs in the side of a horse. He 
 is a good fellow, a great deal better than his father and the 
 rest of his family, for he isn t stuck up. I like him, but my 
 Alice is good enough for him even if he were a good deal 
 better than he is. How it would tickle me to hear my niece 
 calling the Hon. Nathaniel Sawyer papa!" And Uncle Ike 
 laughed until his sides shook. 
 
 Monday promised to be a dull day. Zekiel told Quincy 
 at breakfast, after -the others had left the table, that Alice 
 had spoken to ihim about Mrs. Mason s invitation to tea, 
 and, of course, he was going. Quincy said that he had 
 accepted the invitation and would be pleased to accompany 
 him and his sister.
 
 SOME PLAIN FACTS AND INFERENCES. 219 
 
 After breakfast he heard Alice singing in the parlor, and 
 joining her there told her that he had received a letter from 
 Mr. Ernst, which he would like to read to her. Alice was 
 delighted with the letter, and they both laughed heartily 
 over it, Quincy humorously apologizing for the swear word 
 by saying that being historical it could not be profane. 
 
 Alice had in .her hand the two letters that she had re 
 ceived on Saturday. 
 
 "Have you answered your letters? 1 he asked. 
 
 "No, I have- not -even heard them read," she replied. 
 "Uncle Ike has grown tired all at once and won t read to 
 me nor write for me. I don t understand him at all. I sent 
 for him yesterday afternoon, after you came down, and told 
 him what I wanted him to do. He sent back word that he 
 was too busy and I must get somebody else, but who can I 
 get? Mandy and Zekiel are both too much occupied with 
 their own duties to help me." 
 
 "If I can be of any service -to you, Miss Pettengill, you 
 know " 
 
 "Oh, I don t think I should dare to let you read these 
 letters," interrupted Alice, laughing. "No doubt they are 
 from two of my lady friends, and I have always heard that 
 men consider letters that women write to each other very 
 silly and childish." 
 
 "Perhaps I have not told you," said Quincy, "that I have 
 two sisters and am used to that sort of thing. When I was 
 in college hardly a day passed that I did not get a letter 
 from one or the other of them, and they brightened up my 
 life immensely." 
 
 "What are their names and how 1 old are they?" asked 
 Alice. 
 
 "The elder," replied Quincy, "is nineteen and her name 
 is Florence Estelle." 
 
 "What a sweet name!" said Alice.
 
 220 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER. 
 
 "The younger is between fifteen and sixteen, and is 
 named Maude Gertrude." 
 
 "Is she as dignified as her name?" asked Alice. 
 
 "Far from it," remarked Quincy. "She would be a tom 
 boy if she had an opportunity. Mother and father call 
 them Florence and Maude, for they both abhor nicknames, 
 but among ourselves they are known as Flossie, or Stell, 
 and Gertie." 
 
 "What was your nickname?" asked Alice. 
 
 "Well," said Quincy, "they used to call me Quinn, but 
 that had a Hibernian sound to it, and Maude nicknamed me 
 Ad, which she said was short for adder. She told me she 
 called me that because I was so deaf that I never heard her 
 when she asked me to take her anywhere." 
 
 "Well, Mr. Sawyer, if you will promise not to laugh out 
 loud, I will be pleased to have you read these letters to me. 
 You can smile all you wish to, for of course I can t see 
 you." 
 
 "I agree," said Quincy; and he advanced towards her, 
 took the two letters and drew a chair up beside her. 
 
 "My dear May," read Quincy. He stopped suddenly, 
 and turndng to Alice said, "Is this letter for you?" 
 
 "Before we go any further," said Alice, "I must explain 
 my various names and nicknames. I was named Mary 
 Alice, the Mary being my mother s name, while the Alice 
 was a favorite of my father s. Mother always called me 
 Mary and father always called me Alice! and brother Zekiel 
 |a.nd Uncle Ike seem to like the name Alice best. When I 
 went to Commercial College to study they asked me rny 
 name and I said naturally Mary A. Pettengill. Then the 
 girls began to call me May, and the boys, or young men 
 I suppose you call them, nicknamed me Miss Atlas, on 
 account of my initials. Now that I have given you a chart 
 of my names to go by, the reading will no doubt be plain 
 sailing in future,"
 
 SOME PLAIN FACTS A D INFERENCES. 221 
 
 Quincy laughed and said, "I shotdd call it a M. A. P. 
 instead of a chart." 
 
 "Fie! Mr. Sawyer, to make such a joke upon my poor 
 name. No doubt you have thought of one that would please 
 you better than any I have mentioned. 
 
 Quincy thought he had, but he wisely refrained from 
 saying so. He could not help thinking, however, that Miss 
 Atlas was a very appropriate name for a girl who was all 
 the world to -him. It is evident that Uncle Ike s words of 
 advice the previous afternoon had not taken very deep 
 root in Quincy s heart. 
 
 He resumed his reading: 
 
 "My dear May: How are you getting along in that dis 
 mal country town, and how are your poor eyes? I know you 
 can t write to me, but I want you to know that I have not 
 forgotten you. Every time I see my sister, Stella, she waves 
 your photograph before my eyes. You know you prom 
 ised me one before you were sick. Just send it to me, and 
 it will be just as nice as a good, long letter. As somebody 
 else will probably read this to you, in order to keep them 
 from committing a robbery I send you only one kiss. 
 
 From your loving, 
 
 EMMA FARNUM." 
 
 Are you smiling, Mr. Sawyer? asked Alice. 
 
 "Not at all," he answered. "I am looking grieved be 
 cause Miss Farnum has such a poor opinion of me." 
 
 Alice laughed merrily. "Emma is a very bright, pretty 
 girl," said Alice. "She boarded at the same house that I 
 dij. Her sister Stella is married to a Mr. Dwight. I will 
 arrswer her letter as she suggests by sending her the prom 
 ised photograph. On the bureau in my room, Mr. Sawyer, 
 you will find an envelope containing six photographs. I 
 had them taken about a month before I was sick. Under-
 
 222 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER. 
 
 neath you will find some heavy envelopes 
 grapher gave me to mail them in." 
 
 Quincy went upstairs three steps at a time. He found 
 the package, and impelled by an inexplicable ot riosity he 
 counted the pictures and found there were s^ven. "She 
 said six," he thought to himself. "I am positive she said 
 there were only six." He took one of the pictures and put 
 it in one of the mailing envelopes. He took another pic 
 ture, and after giving it a long, loving IOQK he placed it in 
 the inside pocket of his coat, and with a guilty flush upon 
 bis face he fled from the room. 
 
 Just as he reached the open parlor dooi a second thought, 
 which is said to be the best, came to him, and he was about 
 turning to go upstairs and replace the picture when Alice s 
 acute ear heard him and she asked, "Did you find them?" 
 
 Quincy, seeing that retreat was now impossible, said, 
 "Yes," and resumed his seat beside her. 
 
 "Did you find six?" said Alice. 
 
 "There are five upstairs in the envelope and one here 
 ready to address," replied Quincy. 
 
 "Her address," continued Alice, "is Miss Emma Far- 
 num, care Cotton & Co., Real Estate Brokers, Tremont 
 Row." 
 
 Quincy went to the table, wrote the address as directed, 
 and tied the envelope with the string attached. 
 
 "I am afraid the other letter cannot be so easily an- 
 .swered," said Alice. "Look at the signature, pkase, and 
 see if it is not from Bessie White. 
 
 "It is signed Bessie," said Quincy. 
 
 "I thought so," exclaimed Alice. "She works for the 
 same firm that I did." 
 
 Quincy read the following: 
 
 "My dear May: I know that you will be glad 1 to learn 
 what is going on at the great dry goods house of Borden t
 
 SOME PLA:N FACTS AND INFERENCES. 223 
 
 Waitt, & Fisher. Business is good, and we girls are all 
 tired out when night comes and have to go to a party or 
 the theatre to get rested. Mr. Ringgold, the head book 
 keeper, is disconsolate over your absence, and asks one 
 or more of us every morning if we have heard from Miss 
 Pettengill. Then, every afternoon, he says, Did I ask you. 
 this morning how Miss Pettengill was getting along? Of 
 course it is <his devotion to the interest of the firm that leads 
 him to ask these questions." 
 
 Alice flushed slightly, and turning to Quincy said, "Are 
 you smiling, Mr. Sawyer? There is nothing in it, I assure 
 you; Bessie is a great joker and torments the other girls 
 unmercifully. 
 
 "I am glad there is nothing in it," said Quincy. "If I 
 were a woman I would be afraid to marry a bookkeeper. 
 My household cash would have to balance to a cent, and 
 at the end of the year he would insist on housekeeping 
 showing a profit." 
 
 Alice regained her composure and Quincy continued his 
 reading: 
 
 "What do you think! Rita Sanguily has left, and they 
 say she is going to marry a Dr. Culver, who lives up on 
 Beacon Hill somewhere." 
 
 Quincy started a little as he read this, but made no com 
 ment. 
 
 "I was out to see Stella D wight the other day, and she 
 showed me a picture of you. Can you spare one to your 
 old friend, 
 
 BESSIE WHITE. 
 
 "P. S. I don t expect an answer, but I shall expect the 
 picture. I shall write you whenever I get any news, and 
 send you a dozen kisses and two big hugs. B. W."
 
 824 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER. 
 
 "She is more liberal than Miss Farnum," remarked 
 Quincy. "She is not afraid that I will commit robbery." 
 
 "No," rejoined Alice, "but I cannot share with you. 
 Bessie White is the dearest friend I have in the world." 
 
 "Miss White is fortunate," said Quincy, "but who is 
 Rita Sanguily, if I am not presuming in asking the ques 
 tion?" 
 
 "She is a Portuguese girl," answered Alice, "with black 
 eyes and beautiful black hair. She is very handsome and 
 can talk Portuguese, French, and Spanish. She held a cer 
 tain line of custom on this account. Do you know her?" 
 
 "No," replied Quincy, "but I think I know Dr. Culver." 
 
 "What kind of a looking man is he?" asked Alice. 
 
 "Oh! he is tall and heavily built, with large bright blue 
 eyes and tawny hair," said Quincy. 
 
 "I like such marked contrasts in husband and wife, re 
 marked Alice. 
 
 "So do I," said Quincy, looking at himself in a looking 
 glass which hung opposite, and then at Alice; "but how 
 about Miss White s picture?" 
 
 "Can I trouble you to get one?" said Alice. 
 
 "No trouble at all," replied Quincy ; but he went up the 
 stairs this time one step at a time. He was deliberating 
 whether he should return that picture that was in his coat 
 pocket or keep it until the original should be his own. He 
 entered the room, took another picture and another en 
 velope and came slowly downstairs. His crime at first had 
 been unpremeditated, but his persistence was deliberate 
 felony. 
 
 "Now there are four left," said Alice, as Quincy entered 
 the room. 
 
 "Just four," he replied. "I counted them to make sure." 
 He sat at the table and wrote. "Will this do?" he asked: 
 "Miss Bessie White, care of Borden, Waitt, & Fisher, Bos 
 ton, Mass.?"
 
 SOME PLAIN FACTS AND INFERENCES. 221 
 
 * Oh, thank you so much," said Alice. 
 
 At this moment Mandy appeared at the door and an 
 nounced dinner, and Quincy had the pleasure of leading 
 Alice to her accustomed seat at the table. 
 
 "I took the liberty while upstairs/ said Quincy, "to 
 glance at a book that was on your bureau entitled, The 
 Love of a Lifetime. Have you read it?" 
 
 "No," replied Alice. "I commenced it the night before 
 I was taken sick." 
 
 "I shall be pleased to read it aloud to you," said Quincy. 
 
 "I should enjoy listening to it very much," she replied. 
 
 So after dinner they returned to the parlor and Quincy 
 read aloud until the descending sun again sent its rays 
 through the parlor windows to fall upon Alice s face and 
 hair, and Quincy thought to himself how happy he should 
 be if the fair girl who sat beside him ever became the love 
 of his lifetime. 
 
 Alice finally said she was tired and must have a rest. 
 Quincy called Mandy and she went to her room. A few- 
 moments later Quincy was in his own room and after lock 
 ing his door sat down to inspect his plunder. 
 
 Alice did not rest, however; something was on her mind. 
 She found her way to the bureau and took up the pictures. 
 
 "Only four, she said to herself, after counting them. 
 "Let me see/ she continued, "the photographer gave me 
 thirteen, a baker s dozen he called it. Now to whom 
 have I given them? Zekiel, one; Uncle Ike, two; Mrs. 
 Putnam, three; Stella Dwight, four; Bessie White, five; 
 Emma Farnum, six; Mr. Ringgold, seven; Mr. Fisher, 
 eight. That would leave five and I have only four. Now 
 to whom did I give that other picture?" 
 
 And the guilty thief sat on the other side of the parti 
 tion and exulted in his crime. There came a loud rap at 
 his door, and Quincy started up so suddenly that he dropped 
 the picture and it fell to the floor. He caught it up quickly
 
 226 QUIXCY ADAMS SAWYER. 
 
 and placed it in his pocket. As he unlocked the door and 
 opened it he heard loud rapping on the door of Miss Pet- 
 tengiU s room. 
 
 Looking into the entry lie saw Zekiel, who cried out, 
 "Say, you folks, have you forgotten that you have been 
 invited out to tea this evening, and that we are going to give 
 a surprise party to Mr. Strout and his friends? I am all 
 dressed and the sleigh is ready." 
 
 Without waiting for a reply he dashed downstairs. 
 
 While Quincy was donning his sober suit of black, with 
 a Prince Albert coat and white tie, Alice had put on an 
 equally so ber costume of fawn colored silk, with collar and 
 cuffs of dainty lace, with little dashes of pink ribbon, bf 
 way of contrast in color.
 
 CHAPTER XXVI. 
 
 THE SURPRISE PARTY. 
 
 FTER Alice had taken her place on the back seat in 
 the double sleigh, Quincy started to take his place on 
 the front seat, beside Zekiel, but the latter motioned him 
 to sit beside Alice, and Quincy did so without needing any 
 urging. 
 
 As Zekiel took up the reins, Quincy leaned forward and 
 touched him on the shoulder. 
 
 "I ve just thought," said he, "that I ve made a big blun 
 der and I can t see how I can repair it." 
 
 "What s the matter?" asked Zekiel; and Alice turned an 
 inquiring face towards Quincy. 
 
 "The fact is," Quincy continued, "I ordered some ice 
 cream and cake sent down from the city for the show to 
 night, but I forgot, I am ashamed to say, to make arrange 
 ments to have it sent up to Deacon Mason s. It will be 
 directed to him, but the station agent won t be likely to 
 send it up before to-morrow." 
 
 "What time is it?" asked Zekiel. 
 
 Quincy looked at his watch and replied, "It is just half- 
 past four." 
 
 "Wh> do we go so early?" inquired Alice, "they will not 
 have tea till six." 
 
 "Oh," said Zekiel, "I intended to give you a sleigh ride 
 first anyway. Now with this pair of trotters I am going to 
 take you over to Eastborough Centre and have you back at 
 Deacon Mason s barn door in just one hour and with appe 
 tites that it will take two suppers to satisfy." 
 
 With this Zekiel whipped up his horses and they dashed
 
 228 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER. 
 
 off towards the town. A short distance beyond Uncle Ike s 
 chicken coop they met Abner Stiles driving home from the 
 Centre. He nodded to Zekiel, but Quincy did not notice 
 : nim, being engaged in conversation with Alice at the time. 
 They reached the station, and Quincy gave orders to have 
 the material sent up, so that it would arrive at about half- 
 past nine. Zekiel more than kept his promise, for they 
 reached Deacon Mason s barn at exactly twenty-nine min 
 utes past five. Hiram was on hand to put up the horses, 
 and told Quincy in a whisper that some of the boys thought 
 it was mighty mean not to invite the Pettengill folks and 
 their boarder. 
 
 The sharp air had whetted the appetites of the travellers 
 during their six-mile ride, and they did full justice to the 
 nicely-cooked food that the Deacon s wife placed before 
 them. Supper was over at quarter before seven, and in 
 half an hour the dishes were washed and put away and the 
 quartette of young folks adjourned to the parlor. 
 
 Quincy took his seat at the piano and began playing a 
 popular air. 
 
 "Oh, let us sing something," cried Huldy. "You know 
 I have been taking lessons from Professor Strout, and he 
 says I have improved greatly. If he says it you know it 
 must be so; and, did you know Alice, that Zekiel has a 
 fine baritone voice?" 
 
 "We used to siing a good deal together," said Alice, "but 
 I was no judge of voices then." 
 
 "Well, Zeke don t know a note of music," continued 
 Huldy, "but he has a quick ear and he seems to know natu 
 rally just how to use his voice." 
 
 "Oh, nonsense," said Zekiel, "I don t know how to sing, I 
 only hum a little. Sing us something, Mr. Sawyer," said 
 he. 
 
 Quincy sang a song very popular at the time, entitled 
 "The Jockey Hat and Feather." All four joined in the
 
 THE SURPRISE PARTY. 229 
 
 chorus, and at the close the room rang- with laughter, 
 Quincy then struck up another popular air, "Pop Goes the 
 Weasel," and this was sung by the four with great gusto. 
 Then he looked over the music on the top of the piano, 
 which was a Bourne & Leavitt square, and found a copy 
 of the cantata entitled, "The Haymakers," and for half art 
 hour the solos and choruses rang through the house and 1 
 out upon the evening air. 
 
 Mrs. Mason looked in the door and said, "I wouldn t 
 sing any more now, it is nearly eight o clock." 
 
 And thus admonished they began talking of Tilly James s 
 engagement to Sam Hill and the sale of the grocery store, 
 which was to come off the next day. 
 
 "I wonder who will buy it? asked Huldy. 
 
 "Well, I hear Strout has got some backers," said Zekiel, 
 "but I don t see what good it will be to him unless he is 
 appointed postmaster. They say he has written to Wash 
 ington and applied for the position." 
 
 Quincy pricked up his ears at this. He had almost for 
 gotten this chance to put another spoke in Mr. Strout s 
 wheel. He made a mental memorandum to send telegrams 
 to two Massachusetts congressmen with whom he was well 
 acquainted to hold up Strout s appointment at all hazards 
 until they heard from him again. 
 
 A little after seven o clock the advance guard of the sur 
 prise party arrived at Hill s grocery, which was the ap 
 pointed rendezvous. Abner Stiles drew Strout to one side 
 and said, "I saw the Pettengill folks and that city feller in 
 Zeke s double sleigh going over to the Centre at about five 
 o clock." 
 
 "So much the better," said Strout. 
 
 "Do you know where they ve gone?" inquired Stiles. 
 
 "No, but I guess I can find ouV Strout replied. 
 
 He had spied Mandy Skinner among a crowd of girls on 
 the platform. He called her and she came to him.
 
 S30 QULtfCY ADAMS SAWYER. 
 
 "Did Mr. Pettengill and his sister take tea at home to- 
 night?" 
 
 "No," said Mandy. "I told them I was going away to 
 night, and Mr. Pettengill said they were going away too. 
 And Cobb s twins told me at dinner time that they wouldn t 
 be home to supper; and as I didn t wish to eat too much, 
 considering what was coming later, I didn t get no supper 
 at all. I left Crowley to look out for Uncle Ike, who 
 is always satisfied if he gets toast and tea." 
 
 "Don t you know where they ve gone?" inquired Strout. 
 
 "Over to the hotel, I guess," said Mandy. "I heard Mr. 
 Sawyer tell Miss Alice that they had good oysters over 
 there, and she said as how she was dying to get some raw 
 oysters. 
 
 "Things couldn t have worked better," remarked Strout, 
 as he rejoined Abner, who was smoking a cheap cigar. 
 "The Pettengill crowd has gone over to the hotel to sup 
 per. You ought not to smoke, Abner, if you are going to 
 kiss the girls to-night," said Strout. 
 
 "I guess I sha n t do much kissin ," replied Abner, "ex 
 cept what I give my fiddle with the bow, and that fiddle of 
 mine is used to smoke/ 
 
 Strout looked around and saw that the whole party had 
 assembled. There were about fifty in all, very nearly 
 equally divided as regarded numbers into fellows and girls. 
 
 "Now I am going ahead," said Strout, "to interview the 
 old lady, before we jump in on them. The rest of you just 
 follow Abner and wait at the top of the hill, just round the 
 corner, so that they can t see you from the house. I have 
 arranged with Hiram to blow his bugle when everything is 
 ready, and when you hear it you just rush down hill laugh 
 ing and screaming and yelling like wild Injuns. Come in 
 the back door, right into the big kitchen, and when Miss 
 Huldy comes into the room you just wait till I deliver my 
 speech."
 
 THE SURPRISE PARTY. 231 
 
 Strout started off, and the party followed Abner to the 
 appointed waiting- place. 
 
 S trout knocked lightly at the kitchen door, and it was 
 opened by Mrs. Mason. 
 
 "Is the Deacon at home?" inquired die, endeavoring to 
 disguise his voice. 
 
 "No," said Mrs. Mason, "he has gone to Eastborough 
 Centre on some business, but told me he would be back 
 about half past nine." 
 
 "Is Hiram here?" asked Strout. 
 
 "He s out in the kitchen polishing- up his bugle/ said 
 Mrs. Mason. "But come in a minute, Mr. Strout, I have 
 got something- to tell you." 
 
 Strout stepped in and quietly closed the door. 
 
 "What s the matter, Mrs. Mason? I hope Huldy isn t 
 sick." 
 
 "No," said she, "it s unfortunate it >has happened as it 
 has, but it couldn t be avoided. You see she invited some 
 company to tea, and I supposed that they would have gone 
 home long fore this. You see, Huldy don t suspect noth 
 ing, and she has asked them to spend the evening, and I 
 dbn t see how in the world I am going to get rid of them. 
 
 "Don t do it," said Strout. "Extend to them an invita 
 tion in my name to remain and enjoy the evening s festivi 
 ties with us. No doubt Miss Huldy will be pleased to have 
 them stay. 
 
 "I know she will," said Mrs. Mason, "and I ll give them 
 your invite as soon as you re ready." 
 
 "Well, Mrs. Mason/ said Strout, "just tell Hiram I am 
 ready to have him blow that bugle, and when you hear it 
 you can just tell your daughter and her friends what s up." 
 
 Hiram soon joined Strout outside the kitchen door. The 
 latter went out in the road and looked up the hill to see 
 if his party was all ready. Abner waved his hand, and
 
 232 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER. 
 
 Strout rushed back to Hiram and cried, "Give it to em 
 now, Hiram, and do your darnedest!" 
 
 Huldy and her friends were engaged in earnest conver 
 sation, when a loud blast burst upon the air, followed by a 
 succession of piercing notes from Hiram s old cracked 
 bugle. 
 
 Huldy jumped to her feet and exclaimed, "What does 
 Hiram want to blow that horrid old bugle at this time of 
 night for? I will tell ma to stop him." 
 
 She started towards the parlor door, when the whole 
 party heard shouts of laughter, screams from female voices, 
 and yells from male ones that would have done credit to a 
 band of wild Comanches. 
 
 All stood still and listened. Again the laughter, screams, 
 and yells were heard. This time they seemed right under 
 the parlor window, 
 
 A look of surprise and almost terror passed over Alice s 
 face, and turning to Quincy unthinkingly she said in a low 
 whisper, "What was that, Quincy? What does it mean?" 
 
 Quincy s heart jumped as his Christian name fell from 
 the girl s lips. He put his left hand over his heart (her 
 picture was in the pocket just beneath it) a.nd said as natu 
 rally as he could, although with a little tremor in his voice, 
 "It s all right, Alice, that s Mr. Strout s idea of a surprise 
 party." 
 
 "A surprise party!" cried Huldy, "who for? Me?" 
 
 At this moment Mrs. Mason opened the door and entered 
 the room. 
 
 "Huldy," said she, "Professor Strout wishes me to tell 
 you that he and his friends have come to give you a sur 
 prise party, and he wished me to invite you," turning to 
 the others, "as Huldy s friends to remain and enjoy the fes 
 tivities of the evening." 
 
 Then the poor old lady, who had been under a nervous 
 strain for the past ten days, and who had come nearer tell-
 
 THE SURPRISE PARTY. 239 
 
 ing untruths than she ever had before in her, life, began to 
 laugh, and then to cry, and finally sank into a chair, over 
 come for the moment. 
 
 "I wish Abraham was here," said she, "I guess Fm get 
 ting a little bit nervous. 
 
 Let us return to the great kitchen, which the members 
 of the surprise party now had in their possession. A dozen 
 of the men produced lanterns, which they lighted, and 
 which were soon hung upon the walls of the kitchen, one 
 of the number having brought a hammer and some nails." 
 
 It was a pound party, and two young men fetched in a 
 basket containing the goodies which had been brought for 
 the supper. Strout had made arrangements to have the 
 hot coffee made at the grocery store, and it was to be 
 brought down at half-past nine. 
 
 He arranged his party so that all could get a good view 
 of the door through which Huldy must come. He stepped 
 forward within ten feet of the door and stood expectantly. 
 Why this delay? Strout looked around at the party. There 
 were Tilly James and Sam Hill; Cobb s twins, and each 
 brought a pretty girl; Robert Wood, Benjamin Bates, and 
 Arthur Scates were equally well supplied; Lindy Putnam, 
 after much solicitation, had consented to come with Em 
 manuel Howe, the clergyman s son, and he was in the 
 seventh heaven of delight; Mandy stood beside Hiram 
 and his bugle, and Samantha Green had Farmer Tomp- 
 kins s son George for escort. It was a real old-fashioned, 
 democratic party. Clergymen s sons, farmers sons, girls 
 that worked out, chore boys, farm hands, and an heiress to 
 a hundred thousand dollars, met on a plane of perfect 
 equality without a thought of caste, and to these were soon 
 to be added more fanners sons and daughters and the only 
 son of a millionaire. 
 
 "Just give them a call," said Strout, turning to Hiram, 
 and the latter gave a blast on his bugle, which sent fingers
 
 234 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYEK. 
 
 to the ears of his listeners. The handle of the door turned 
 and opened and Huldy entered, her mother leaning upon 
 her arm. 
 
 They were greeted by hand clapping and cries of "Good 
 evening" from the party, and all eyes were fixed upon 
 Strout, who stood as if petrified and gazed at the three fig 
 ures that came through the open door and stood behind 
 Huldy and her mother. Hamlet following the fleeting 
 apparition on the battlements of the castle ait Elsinore, 
 Macbeth viewing Banquo at his feast, or Richard the Third 
 gazing on the ghostly panorama of the murdered kings and 
 princes, could not have felt weaker at heart than did Pro 
 fessor Strout when he saw the new-comers and realized 
 that they were there by his express invitation. 
 
 The members of the surprise party thought Strout had 
 forgotten his speech, and cries of "Speech!" "Speech! 
 "Give us .the speech!" fell upon his ear, but no words fell 
 from his lips. It was a cruel blow, but no crueler than the 
 unfounded stories that he had started and circulated about 
 the town for the past three months. Those who had 
 thought it was mean not to invite the Pettengills and Mr. 
 Sawyer enjoyed his discomfiture and were the loudest in 
 calling for a speech. 
 
 The situation became somewhat strained, and Huldy 
 looked up to Quincy with an expression that seemed to say, 
 How are we going to get out of this? 
 
 Quite a number of the party saw this look and imme 
 diately began calling out, "Mr. Sawyer, give us a speech!" 
 "A speech from Mr. Sawyer!" 
 
 Huldy smiled and nodded to Quincy, and then there 
 were loud cries of "Speech! "Speech!" and clapping of 
 hands. 
 
 Abner Stiles got up and gave his chair to Professor 
 Strout, who sank into it, saying as he did so, "I guess it was. 
 the heat."
 
 THE SURPRISE PARTY. 281 
 
 Quincy stepped forward and bowing- to Huldy and then 
 to Mrs. Mason, addressed the party in a low but clearly dis 
 tinct voice. 
 
 "Authorized by these ladies to speak for them, I desire 
 to return sincere thanks for this manifestation of your re 
 gard for them. Your visit was entirely unexpected by Miss 
 Mason and a great surprise to her. But it is a most pleas 
 ant surprise, and she desires me to thank you again and 
 again for your kind thoughts and your good company this 
 evening. She and her mother join iin giving you a most 
 hearty welcome. They wish you to make yourselves at 
 home and will do all in their power to make the evening a 
 happy one and one long to be remembered by the inhab 
 itants of Mason s Corner. The inception of this happy 
 event, I learn, is due to Professor Strout, who for some 
 time, I understand, has been Miss Mason s music teacher, 
 and the ladies, whose ideas I am expressing, desire me to 
 call upon him to take charge of the festivities and bring 
 them to a successful close, as he is no doubt competent and 
 willing- to do." 
 
 Quincy bowed low and retired behind the other members 
 of the party. 
 
 Quincy s speech was greeted with cheers and more clap 
 ping of hands. Even Strout s friends were pleased by the 
 graceful compliment paid to the Professor, and joined in 
 the applause. 
 
 Strout had by this time fully recovered his equanimity. 
 A chair was placed upon the kitchen table and Abner Stiles 
 was boosted up and took his seat thereon. While he was 
 tuning up his fiddle the Professor opened a package that 
 one of the girls handed to him and passed a pair of knitted 
 woollen wristers to each lady in the company. He gave 
 three pairs to Huldy, who in turn gave one pair to her 
 mother and one to Alice. There were several pairs over,
 
 236 QUItfCY ADAMS SAWYER. 
 
 as several girls who had been expected to join the party had 
 not come. 
 
 "Now, Mrs. Mason," said the Professor, "oould you 
 kindly supply me with a couple of small baskets, or if not, 
 with a couple of milk pans?" 
 
 The Professor took one of the pans and Robert Wood 
 the other. 
 
 "The ladies wiill please form in line," cried the Professor; 
 which was done. "Now will each lady," said the Professor, 
 "as she marches between us, throw one wrister in one pan 
 and t other wrister in the other pan? Give us a good, lively 
 march, Abner," he added, and the music began. 
 
 The procession passed between the upheld pans, one 
 wrister of each pair thrown right and the. other left, as it 
 moved on. 
 
 The music stopped. "Now, will the ladies please form 
 in line again," said the Professor, "and as they pass through 
 each one take a wrister from the pan held by Mr. Wood." 
 
 The music started up again and the procession moved 
 forward and the work of selection was completed. 
 
 Again the music stopped. "Now will the gentlemen 
 form in line, and as they march forward each one take a 
 wrister from the pan that I hold," said the Professor. 
 
 Once more the music started up. The line was formed, 
 the procession advanced, Zekiel and Quincy bringing up 
 the rear. As Quincy took the last wrister from the pan 
 that the Professor held, the latter turned quickly away and 
 beat a tattoo on the bottom of the pan with his knuckles 
 and cried out, "Gentlemen will please find their partners. 
 The wristers become the property of the gentlemen." 
 
 Then a wild rush took place. Screams of laughter were 
 heard on every side, and it was fully five minutes before 
 the excitement subsided, and in response to another tattoo 
 upon tfie milk pan by the Professor, the couples, as ar 
 ranged by the hand of Fate, formed in line and marched
 
 THE SUPvPBLSE PARTY. 237 
 
 anound the great kitchen to the music of a sprightly march 
 written by the Professor and called "The Wrister March," 
 and respectfully dedicated to Miss Hulda Mason. This an 
 nouncement was made by Mr. Stiles from his elevated posi* 
 tion upon the kitchen table. 
 
 The hand of Fate had acted somewhat strangely. The 
 Professor and Mandy Skinner stood side by side, as did 
 Zekiel Pettengill and Mrs. Mason. Lindy Putnam ami 
 Huldy by a queer twist of fortune were mated with Cobb s 
 twins. 
 
 But Fate did one good act. By chance Quincy and 
 Alice stood side by side. She looked up at him and said to 
 her partner, "What is your name, I cannot see your face?" 
 
 "My name is Quincy," said Sawyer in a low voice. 
 
 "I am so glad! said Alice, leaning a little more heavily 
 on his arm. 
 
 "So am I," responded Quincy ardently. 
 
 After the procession had made several circuits of the 
 great kitchen, Professor Strout gave a signal, and it broke 
 up, each gentleman being then at liberty to seek the lady 
 of his own choice. 
 
 "What games shall we play fust?" asked Strout, taking 
 the centre of the room, and looking round upon the com 
 pany with a countenance full of smiles and good nature. 
 
 "Who is it?" "Who is it? came from a dozen voices. 
 
 "All fight," cried Strout; "that s a very easy game to 
 play. Now all you ladies git in a line and I ll put this 
 one chair right front of yer. Now all the gentlemen must 
 leave the room except one. I suppose we can use the parlor, 
 Mrs. Mason?" 
 
 Mrs. Mason nodded -her head in the affirmative. 
 
 "I ll tend door," said Hiram; and he took his position 
 accordingly. After the rest of the gentlemen had left the 
 room, Hiram closed the door, and turning to Huldy said, 
 "Shall I call them, or will you?" 
 
 "You call them," said Huldy.
 
 238 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER. 
 
 "Got the handkerchief ready?" asked Hiram. 
 
 Huldy swung a big red bandanna in the air. Opening 
 ti door, Hdram called out in a loud voice, "Obadiah Strout." 
 
 As Strout walked towards the line of young girls they 
 called out together, "Mister, please take a chair." 
 
 Strout sat down in a chair. One of the girls who had 
 the bandanna handkerchief in her hand passed it quickly 
 over his eyes and tied it firmly behind his head. Two of 
 the girls then stepped forward and each one taking one 
 of his hands and extending it at right angles with his body 
 held it firmly in their grasps. At the same instant his head 
 was pulled back by one of the girls and a kiss was imprinted 
 on his upturned mouth. 
 
 "Who is it?" screamed the girls in unison. The holds on 
 the Professor s head and hands were released and he sat up 
 right in the chair. 
 
 "I kinder guess it was Miss Huldy Mason/ said he. 
 
 A loud laugh burst from the girls, mixed with cries of 
 "You re wrong! "You ain t right!" "You didn t get 
 it!" "You re out!" and similar ejaculations. 
 
 The handkerchief was taken from his eyes and he was 
 marched to the left of the Hne of girls, which ran length 
 wise of the kitchen. 
 
 Abner Stiles was the next one called in, and he was sub 
 jected to the same treatment as had befallen his prede 
 cessor, but to the intense disgust of Professor Strout he saw 
 Hiram Maxwell come on tiptoe from the parlor door, lean 
 over and kiss Abner Stiles. The thought of course ran 
 through his mind that he had been subjected to the same 
 treatment. He was on the point of protesting at this way 
 of conducting the game when the idea occurred to him 
 that it would be a huge satisfaction to have that city chap 
 subjected to the same treatment, and he decided to hold his 
 peace. 
 
 The next one called was Zekiel Pettengill, and he was 
 treated in the same manner as the Professor and Abner had
 
 THE SURPRISE PARTY. 239 
 
 been; but as Hiram leaned over to kiss him, ZekieFs foot 
 slipped upon the floor and struck against Hiram s, Hiram 
 being in front of him. Zekiel then put up both of his feet 
 and kicked with them in such a way that Hiram was un 
 able to approach him. 
 
 , Zekiel called out, "It s Hiram Maxwell, and the room 
 rang with the laughs and cries of the girls. 
 
 Zekiel, having guessed who it was, was marched off to 
 the right of the line of girls. 
 
 Strout called out, "Let s play something else," but the 
 sentiment of the company seemed to be that it wasn t fair 
 to the others not to give them a chance, so the game con 
 tinued. Quincy was the next one called, and to still fur 
 ther increase the disgust of Strout and Abner, instead of 
 Hiram leaving the door, as before, one of the girls stepped 
 out from the line, at a signal from Huldy, and kissed 
 Quincy. He guessed that it was Miss Huldy M ason, and 
 was greeted wi*h the same cries that Strout had heard. He 
 took his place at the left with the latter. 
 
 Strout leaned over and whispered in Abner s ear, "That 
 was a put-up job. I ll get even with Hiram Maxwell before 
 I get through." 
 
 The game continued until all the men had been called in. 
 With the exception of Emmanuel Howe, none of them 
 were able to guess who it was. When Emmanuel took 
 his place by the side of Zekiel he confided the fact to him 
 that he guessed it was Miss Putnam on account of the per 
 fumery which he had noticed before he left the house with 
 her. 
 
 After this game others followed 1 in quick succession. 
 There were "Pillow," "Roll the Cover," "Button, Button, 
 Who s Got the Button?" "Copenhagen," and finally "Post 
 Office." From all of these games Alice begged to be ex 
 cused. She told the Professor that she was not bashful nor 
 diffident, but that her eyesight was so poor that she knew 
 she would detract from the pleasure of the others if she
 
 240 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER. 
 
 engaged in the games. The Professor demurred at first, 
 but said finally that her excuse was a good one. Then he 
 turned to Abner and remarked that he supposed Mr. Saw 
 yer would ask to be excused next cause (his girl wasn t 
 going to play. 
 
 But Quincy had no such intention. After leading- Alice 
 to a seat beside Mrs. Mason, -he returned to the company 
 and took part in every game, entering with spirit and vi 
 vacity into each of them. He invented some forfeits that 
 one girl objected to the forfeit exacted of her as being all 
 out of proportion to her offence, the matter was referred 
 to Quincy. He said that he would remit the original forfeit 
 and she could kiss him instead. But she objected, saying 
 that forfeit was worse than the other one. This pleased 
 Strout greatly, and he remarked to Abner, who kept as 
 close to him as the tail to a kite, that there was one girl 
 in town who wasn t afraid to speak her mind. 
 
 The game of Post Office was the most trying one to 
 Quincy. Of his own free will he would not have called 
 either Huldy or Lindy, but Strout and Abner and all the 
 rest of them had letters for both of these young ladies. 
 He was afraid that his failure to call them out might lead 
 to remark, as he knew that Strout and Abner and Robert 
 Wood were watching his actions closely. So, near the 
 middle of the game, when he had been called out, he had a 
 letter from England for Miss Lindy Putnam. 
 
 As she raised her face to his for the kiss on the cheek 
 that he gave her, she said, "I was afraid you had not for-( 
 given me, after all." 
 
 "Oh, yes, I have," said Quincy, and carried away by the 
 excitement of the occasion, he caught her again in his arms 
 and gave her another kiss, this time upon the lips. 
 
 At this instant Abner Stiles, who was tending door, 
 opened it and called out, "Takes a long time to pay the 
 postage on one letter! 5 
 
 A little later Quincy was again called out, and this time
 
 THE SURPRISE PARTY. 241 
 
 he had a letter from Boston for Miss Mason. He kissed 
 her on the cheek, as he had done with Lindy. Huldy looked 
 up with a laugh and said, "Were you as bashful as that 
 with Miss Putnam?" 
 
 "Yes," said Quincy, "at first, but there was double post 
 age on her letter, the same as on yours." And though 
 Huldy tried to break away from him he caught her and 1 
 kissed her upon, the lips, as he had done to Lindy. 
 
 Again Abner opened the door and cried out that the 
 mails would close in one minute, and he d better get the 
 stamps on that letter quick. 
 
 All such good times come to an end, and the signal for 
 the close was the return of Deacon Mason from his visit to 
 town. He was popular with all parties, and Stroutites, 
 Anti-Stroutites, and neutrals all gathered round him and 
 said they were having a beautiful time, and could they have 
 a little dance after supper? 
 
 The Deacon said he didn t know that dancing in itself 
 was so bad, for the Bible referred to a great many dances. 
 "But," said he, "I have always been agin permiscuous danc 
 ing." 
 
 "But we ain t permiscuous, said Tilly James. "We are 
 all friends and neighbors." 
 
 "Most all," said Strout; but his remark was unnoticed 
 by all excepting Quincy. 
 
 "Well, under the circumstances," concluded the Deacon, 
 "I don t object to your finishing up with an old-fashioned 
 reel, and mother and me mil jine in with you, so as to ooun- 
 tenance the perceedings." 
 
 The call was now made for supper. A procession was 
 again formed, each gentleman taking the lady who had 
 accompanied him to the party. They all filed into the 
 dining-room and took their places around the long table. 
 The most of them looked at its contents with surprise and 
 delight. Instead of seeing only home-made cakes, and pies, 
 and dishes of nuts, and raisins, and apples, that they had
 
 242 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER. 
 
 expected, occupying the centre of the table, they gazed 
 upon a large frosted cake, in the centre of which arose what 
 resembled the spire of a church, made of sugar and adorned 
 with small American flags and streamers made cf various 
 colored silk ribbons. Flanking the centrepiece at each cor 
 ner were large dishes containing mounds of jelly cake, 
 pound cake, sponge cake, and angel cake. On either side of 
 the centrepiece, shaped in fancy moulds, were two large 
 dishes of ice cream, a third full of sherbet, and the 
 fourth one filled with frozen pudding. In the vacant spaces 
 about the larger dishes were smaller plates containing the 
 home-made pies and cake, and the apples, oranges, dates, 
 figs, raisins, nuts, and candy taken from the pound packages 
 brought by the members of the surprise party. Piled upon 
 the table in heaps were the fifty boxes containing the souve 
 nir gifts that Quincy had ordered. 
 
 As they- took their places about the table, Quincy felt it 
 incumbent upon him to say something. Turning to the 
 Professor he addressed him: 
 
 "Professor Strout, I think it is my duty to inform you 
 that I have made this little addition to the bountiful supper 
 supplied by you and the members of this party, on behalf 
 of my friends, Mr. and Miss Pettengill, and myself. I 
 trust that you will take as much pleasure in disposing of it 
 as I have in sending it. In the language of the poet I 
 would now say, Fall to and may good digestion wait on 
 appetite ! " 
 
 Quincy s speech was received with applause. The hot 
 coffee had arrived and was soon circulating in cups, mug?,, 
 and tumblers. Everybody was talking to everybody else at 
 the same time, and all petty fueds, prejudices, and animosi 
 ties were, apparently, forgotten. 
 
 The young fellows took the cue from Quincy, who, as 
 soon as he had finished his little speech, began filling the 
 plates with the good things provided, and passing them to 
 the ladies, and in a short time all had been waited upon.
 
 THE SURPRISE PARTY. 24S 
 
 When both hunger and appetite had been satisfied, Quincy; 
 again addressed the company. 
 
 "In those small paper boxes," said he, "you will find some 
 little souvenirs, which you can keep to remind you of this 
 very pleasant evening, or you can eat them and remembei 
 ( how sweet they were." A general laugh followed this re 
 mark. "In making your selection," continued Quincy, 
 "bear in mind that the boxes tied up with red ribbon are 
 for the ladies, while those having blue ribbons are for the 
 gentlemen. 
 
 A rush was made for the table, and almost instantly each 
 member of the company became possessed of a souvenir 
 and was busily engaged in untying the ribbons. 
 
 Again Quincy s voice was heard above the tumult. 
 
 "In each package," cried he, "will be found printed on a 
 slip of paper a noetical selection. The poetry, like that 
 found on valentines, is often very poor, but the sentiment 
 is there just the same. In the city the plan that we follow 
 is to pass our own slip to our left- hand neighbor and he 01 
 she reads it. 
 
 This was too much for the Professor. 
 
 "I don t think," said he, "that we ought to foller that 
 style of doin things jest because they do it that way in the 
 city. We are pretty independent in the country, like to do 
 things our own way." 
 
 "Oh! it don t make any difference to me," said Quincy; 
 "in the city when we get a good thing w<e are willing to 
 share it with our partners or friends; you know I said if 
 you didn t wish to keep your souvenir, you could eat it, and 
 of course the poetical selection is part of the souvenir." 
 
 A peal of laughter greeted this sally, which rose to a 
 shout when Strout took his souvenir out of the box. It 
 proved to be a large sugar bee, very lifelike in appearance 
 and having a little wad of paper rolled up and tucked under 
 one of the wings.
 
 244 
 
 As Strout spread out the slip of paper with his fingers, 
 loud cries of "Eat it!" "Read it!" and "Pass it along!" 
 came from the company. The Professor stood apparently 
 undecided what course to pursue, when Tilly James, who 
 was standing at his left, grabbed it from his fingers, and 
 running to the end of the table, stood beside young Hill 
 with an expression that seemed to say, "This is my young 
 man, and I know he will protect me." 
 
 Loud cries of "Read it, Tilly!" came from all parts of 
 the table. 
 
 "Not unless Professor Strout is willing," said Tilly with 
 mock humility. 
 
 All eyes were turned upon Strout, who, seeing that he 
 had nothing to gain by objecting, cried out, "Oh, go ahead; 
 what do I care about such nonsense!" 
 
 Tilly then read with much dramatic expression the fol 
 lowing poetical effusion: 
 
 "How does the wicked bumblebee 
 
 Employ the shining hours, 
 In stinging folks that he dislikes, 
 
 Instead of sipping flowers." 
 
 Another loud laugh greeted this; largely due to the 
 comical expression on Tilly James s face, which so far upset 
 Quincy s habitual gravity that he was obliged to smile in 
 spite of himself. 
 
 If Strout felt the shot he did not betray it, but turned to 
 Hufldy, who stood at his right, and said, "Now, Miss Mason, 
 let me read your poetry for you, as they do it in the city." 
 
 Huldy hesitated, holding the slip of paper between her 
 fingers, "Oh! that ain t fair," said Strout. "I ve set you a 
 good example, now you mustn t squeal. Come, walk right 
 up to the trough." 
 
 "I m no pig," protested Huldy. 
 
 As Strout leaned over to take the paper he said in an
 
 THE SURPRISE PARTY. 245 
 
 undertone, "No, you are a little dear;" whereat Huldy s 
 iace flushed a bright crimson. 
 
 Strout cleared his voice and then read: 
 
 "Come wreathe your face with smiles, my dear, 
 A husband you ll find within the year." 
 
 This was greeted with laughter, clapping of hands, and 
 cries of "Who is it, Huldy?" 
 
 The Professor looked at Huldy inquiringly, but she 
 averted her eyes. He leaned over and said in an undertone, 
 "May I keep this?" 
 
 Huldy looked up and said in a tone that was heard by 
 every one at the table,"! don t care; if you like it better than 
 that one about the bumblebee you can have it." 
 
 The Professor then turned to Quincy and said, "Perhaps 
 Mr. Sawyer will oblige the company by passing his poetry 
 along, as they do it in the city." 
 
 Quincy answered quickly, "Why, certainly, and handed 
 the slip to his left-hand neighbor, who chanced to be Miss 
 Seraiphina Cotton, who was the teacher in the public school 
 located at Mason s Corner. 
 
 She prided herself on her elocutionary ability, and read 
 the following with great expression: 
 
 "Though wealth and fame fall to my lot, 
 I d much prefer a little cot, 
 In which, apart from care and strife, 
 I d love my children and my wife." 
 
 Strout laughed outright. 
 
 "By the way, Mr. Sawyer," said he, "have you seen any 
 little cot round here that you d swap your Beacon Street 
 house for?" 
 
 "I ve got my eye on some real estate in this town," said 
 Quincy, "and if you own it perhaps we can make a trade."
 
 240 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER. 
 
 Zekiel Pettengill passed his slip to Lindy Putnam; it ran 
 thus: 
 
 " An honest man s the noblest work of God, 
 No nobler lives than he who tills the sod." 
 
 ; This was greeted with shouts and cries of "Good for 
 Zeke!" while one of Cobb s twins, who possessed a thin, 
 high voice, cried out, "He s all wool and a yard wide." 
 
 This provoked more shouts and hand-clapping, and 
 Zekiel blushed like a peony. 
 
 Lindy Putnam handed her slip to Quincy; he took in its 
 meaning at a glance and looked at her inquiringly. 
 
 Stro-ut saw the glance and cried out, "Oh, come, now; 
 don t leave out nothin ; read it jist as it s writ." 
 
 Lindy nodded to Quincy and he read: 
 
 "There is no heart but hath some wish unfilled, 
 There is no soul without some longing killed, 
 With heart and soul work for thy heart s desire, 
 And turn not back for storm, nor flood, nor fire." 
 
 "This is gittin quite tragic/ said Strout. "I guess we ve 
 had all we want to eat and drink, and have listened to all the 
 bad poetry we want ter, and I move " 
 
 "Second the motion," cried Abner Stiles. 
 
 "And I move," continued Strout, "that we git back inter 
 the kitchen, and have a little dance jist to shake our sup 
 pers down." 
 
 After the company returned to the kitchen, Abner was 
 again lifted to his elevated position on the kitchen table, 
 and the fun began again. There was no doubt that in tell 
 ing stories Abner Stiles often drew the long bow, but it was 
 equally true that he had no superior in Eastborough and 
 vicinity on the violin, or the fiddle, as he preferred to call it. 
 lie was now in his glory. His fiddle was tucked under his
 
 THE SUKPRISE PAKTY. 247 
 
 chin, a red silk handkerchief with large yellow polka dots 
 protecting the violin from injury from -his stubbly beard 
 rather than his chin from being injured by the instrument. 
 
 After a few preliminary chords, Abner struck up the 
 peculiar dance movement very popular in those days, called 
 "The Cure." As if prearranged, Hiram Maxwell and Mandy 
 Skinner ran to the centre of the room and began singing 
 the words belonging to the dance. Abner gradually in 
 creased the speed of the melody, and the singers conformed 
 thereto. Faster and faster the music went, and higher and 
 higher the dancers jumped until the ceiling prevented any 
 further progress upward. They leaned forward and back 
 ward, they leaned from side to side, but still kept up their 
 monotonous leaps into the air. Finally, when almost ex 
 hausted, they sank into chairs hastily brought for them, 
 amid the applause of the party. 
 
 Quincy had seen the dance at the city theatres, but ac 
 knowledged to himself that the country version was far 
 ahead of the city one. At the same time it seemed to him 
 that the dance savored of barbarism, and he recalled pic 
 tures and stories of Indian dances where the participants 
 fell to the ground too weak to rise. 
 
 "I put my right hand in," called out one of the fellows. 
 Cries of "Oh, yes, that s it!" came from the company, and 
 they arranged themselves in two rows, facing each other 
 and running the length of the long room. They were in 
 couples, as they came to the party. Abner played the 
 melody on his violin, and the fellows and girls sang these 
 words: 
 
 "I put my right hand in, 
 I put my right hand out, 
 I give my right hand a shake, shake, shake, 
 And I turn myself about." 
 
 As they sang- the last line they did turn themselves about
 
 248 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER. 
 
 so many times that it seemed a wonder to Quincy, who was 
 an amused spectator, how they kept upon their feet. 
 
 Seeing that one of the young- ladies in the line was with 
 out a partner, Quincy took his place beside her and joined 
 in the merriment as heartily as the rest. Then followed all 
 the changes of "I put my left ihand in," "I put my right 
 foot in," "I put my left foot in," and so on until the whole 
 party was nearly as much exhausted as Hiram and Mandy 
 had been. 
 
 At this mom ent the door leading to the parlor opened 
 and Deacon Mason entered, accompanied by his wife. 
 They were greeted with shouts of laughter. Quincy looked 
 at them with astonishment, and had it not been for their 
 familiar faces, which they had not tried to disguise, he 
 would not have recognized them. 
 
 Out of compliment to their guests, the Deacon and his 
 wife had gone back to the days of their youth. Probably 
 from some old chest in the garret each had resurrected a 
 costume of fifty years before. They advanced into the 
 room, smiling and bowing to the delighted spectators on 
 either side. They went directly to Abner, and the latter 
 bent over to hear what the Deacon whispered dn his ear. 
 The Deacon then went to Strout and whispered something 
 to him. 
 
 Strout nodded, and turning to the company said, "As 
 it s now half past leven and -most time for honest folks to 
 be abed and rogues a runnin , out of compliment to Miss 
 Huldy s grandpa and grandma, who have honored us with 
 their presence this evenin , we will close these festivities 
 with a good old-ftas hioned heel and toe Virginia reel. 
 Let er go, Abner, and keep her up till all the fiddle strings 
 are busted." 
 
 Like trained soldiers, they sprang to their places. Quincy 
 and his partner took places near the end of the line. He 
 explained to her that he had never danced a reel, but
 
 "THE DEACON AND HIS WIFE LED OFF.
 
 THE SURPRISE PARTY. 249 
 
 thought he could easily learn from seeing- the others, and 
 he told her that when their turn came she need not fear 
 but that he would do his part. 
 
 The Deacon and his wife led off, and their performance 
 
 caused great enthusiasm. Sam Hill was not a good dancer, 
 
 "so he resigned Miss Tilly James to Professor Strout. Miss 
 
 James was a superb dancer, and as Quincy looked at her 
 
 his face showed his appreciation. 
 
 His partner saw the glance, and looking up to him said, 
 "Don t you wish you could dance as well as that?" 
 
 "I wish I could," said Quincy. "I have no doubt you 
 can," he added, looking ait his partner s rosy face. 
 
 "Well," said she, "you do the best you can, and I ll do 
 the same. 
 
 Professor Strout and Tilly did finely, and their perform 
 ance gained them an encore, which they granted. One by 
 one the couples went under the arch of extended arms, 
 and one by one they showed their Terpsichorean agility 
 on the kitchen floor, over which Mandy Skinner had 
 thoughtfully sprinkled a handful of house sand. 
 
 At last came the turn of Quincy and his little partner, 
 whose name was unknown to him. He observed the grace 
 with which she went through the march, and when the 
 dance came he wished he could have stood still and 
 watched her. Instead, he entered with his whole soul into 
 the dance, and at its conclusion he was astonished to hear 
 the burst of applause and cheers that fell upon his ears, 
 i "Come along!" said his partner, and taking him by the 
 hand she drew him back through the arch, and the dance 
 was repeated. 
 
 Three times in succession was this done in response to 
 enthusiastic applause, and Quincy was beginning to think 
 that he would soon fall in his tracks. He had no idea that 
 any such fate would befall his partner, for she seemed equal 
 to an indefinite number of repetitions.
 
 260 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER 
 
 But, as has been said before, to all good things an end 
 must come at last, and when the old-fashioned Connecticut 
 clock on the mantelpiece clanged out the midnight hour, as 
 if by magic a hush came over the company and the jollities 
 came to an end. Then followed a rush for capes, and coats, 
 and jackets, and shawls, and hats. Then came good-byes 
 and good-nights, and then the girls all kissed Huldy and 
 her mother, wished them long life and happiness, while 
 their escorts stood quietly by thinking of the pleasant 
 homeward trips, and knowing in their hearts that they 
 should treasure more the pressure of the hand or the single 
 good-night kiss yet to come than they did the surprise 
 party kisses that had been theirs during the evening. 
 
 Mrs. Mason and 1 Zekiel had prepared Alice for her 
 homeward trip. Quincy took occasion to seek out his part 
 ner in the reel to say good night, and as he shook hands 
 with her he said, "Would you consider me rude if I asked 
 your name and who taught you to dance?" 
 
 "Oh! no," she replied ; "my name is Bessie Chisholm. I 
 teaoh the dancing school at Eastborough Centre, and Mr. 
 Stiles always plays for me." 
 
 "Is he going to see you home to-night?" asked Quincy. 
 
 "Oh! no," said she; "I came with my brother. Here, 
 Sylvester," cried she, and 1 a smart-looking, country fellow, 
 apparently about twenty-one years of age, came towards 
 them. "I m ready," said Bessie to him, and then, turning 
 to Quincy, "Mr. Sawyer, make you acquainted with my, 
 brother, Sylvester Chisholm." 
 
 "Ah, you know my name," said Quincy. 
 
 "I guess everybody in Eastborough knows who you are," 
 retorted she with a toss of her head, as she took her broth 
 er s arm and walked away. 
 
 Hiram had brought round the Pettengill sleigh from the 
 barn. Zekiel, Alice, Quincy, and Mandy were the last ol
 
 THE SURPRISE PARTY. 25J 
 
 the party to leave. Ouincy took his old place beside Alice, 
 while Mandy sat on the front seat with Zekiel. 
 
 It was a beautiful moonlight night and the ride home was 
 a most enjoyable one. 
 
 "I am sorry," said Quincy to Alice, "that you could not 
 take part in more of the games. I enjoyed them very 
 much." 
 
 "Oh, Mrs. Mason kept me informed of your actions," 
 said Alice with a laugh. 
 
 Halfway to Hill s grocery they passed the Professor and 
 Abner walking home to Mrs. Hawkins s boarding house. 
 They called out, "Good night and pleasant dreams," and 
 drove rapidly on. In the Square a number of the party 
 had stopped to say good night again before taking the 
 various roads that diverged from it, and another inter 
 change of "Good nights" followed. 
 
 When Strout and Abner reached the Square it was de 
 serted. There was no light shining in the boarding house. 
 The kerosene lamps and matches were on a table in the 
 front entry. Strout lighted his lamp and went upstairs. 
 Strout s room was one flight up, while Abner s was up two. 
 As they reached Strout s room he said, "Come in, Abner, 
 and warm up. Comin out of that hot room into this cold 
 air has given me a chill." He went to a closet and brought 
 out a bottle, a small pitcher, and a couple of spoons. "Have 
 some rum and molasses, nothin better for a cold." 
 
 They mixed their drinks in a couple of tumblers, which 
 Strout found in the closet. Then he took a couple o<f cigars 
 from his pocket and gave one to Abner. They drank and 
 smoked for some time in silence. 
 
 At last Abner said, "How are you satisfied with this 
 evenin s perceedin s?" 
 
 "Wall, all things considered, 5 said Strout, "I think it was 
 the most successful party ever given in this ere town, if I 
 did do it."
 
 252 QULNCY ADAMS SAWYER. 
 
 "That s so," responded Abner sententiously. "Warn i 
 you a bit struck up when that city feller come in? 
 
 "Not a bit," said Strout. "You know when I come back, 
 you see it was so cussed hot, yer know I said it was the 
 heat, but I knew they wuz there. Mrs. Mason, told me." 
 
 "Did she?" asked Abner, with wide-opened eyes. "I 
 thought it was one on you." 
 
 "When I went down to the road before the bugle was 
 blown," said Strout, "Mrs. Mason told me they was there. 
 You see, Huldy didn t suspect nothin about the party and 
 so she asked them over to tea. She sorter expected they 
 would go right .after tea, but they got singin songs and 
 tellin stories, and Huldy saw they had come to stay." 
 
 "But," said Abner, "that city fdler must have known 
 all about it aforehand or how could he git that cake and 
 frozen stuff down from Bos ting so quick?" 
 
 "Didn t you say," said Strout, "that you seen them going 
 over to Eastborough Centre about five o clock?" 
 
 "Yes," replied Abner, "but how did he know when it 
 was? Some one (must have told him, I guess." 
 
 "There are times, Abner Stiles," exclaimed Strout, "when 
 you are too almighty inquisitive." 
 
 "Wall, I only wanted to know, so I could tell the truth 
 when folks asked me," said Abner. 
 
 "That s all right," said Strout. "Cuddent you guess who 
 told him? Twas that Hiram Maxwell. I ve been pumping 
 him about the city chap, and of course, I ve had to tell him 
 somethin for swaps. But to-morrow when I meet him 
 I ll tell him I don t want anythin more to do with a tittle- 
 tattle tell-tale like him." 
 
 "What d ye think of that pome bout the bumblebee?" 
 drawled Abner. 
 
 "Oh, that was a put-up job," said Strout. 
 - "How could that be?" asked Abner, "when you took it 
 out of your own box?"
 
 THE SURPRISE PARTY. 253 
 
 "Well," rejoined Strout, he ll find) I m the wu-stest kind 
 of a bumblebee if he stirs me up much more. When my 
 dander s up a hornet s nest ain t a patch to me. 
 
 "I kinder fancied," continued Abner, "that the reason 
 he had them fancy boxes sent down was because he sorter 
 thought our pound packages would be rather omary." 
 
 "I guess you ve hit it bout .right," remarked Strout; 
 "them city swells would cheat their tailor so as to make a 
 splurge and show how much money they ve got. I guess 
 he thought as how I d never seen ice cream, but I showed 
 him I knew all about it. I eat three sassersful myself." 
 
 "I beat you on that," said Abner; "I eat a sasserful of 
 each kind." 
 
 As Abner finished speaking he emptied his glass and 
 then reached forward for the bottle in order to replenish 
 it. Strout s glass was also empty, and being much nearer 
 to the bottle than Abner was, he had it in his possession 
 before Abner could reach it. When he put it down again 
 it was beyond his companion s reach. Abner turned some 
 molasses into his tumbler, and then said, "Don t you think 
 twas purty plucky of that city feller to> come to our party 
 to-night?" 
 
 "No, I don t," said Strout, "he jest sneaked in with Zeke 
 Pettengill and his sister. He ll find out that I m no slouch 
 here in Eastborough. When I marry the Deacon s daughter 
 and git the Deacon s money, and am elected tax collector 
 agin, and buy the grocery store, and I m app inted post 
 master at Mason s Corner, he ll diskiver that it s harder 
 fightin facts like them than it is Bob Wood s fists. I kinder 
 reckon there won t be anybody that won t take off their 
 hats to me, and there won t be any doubts as to who runs 
 this ere town. That city feller s health will improve right 
 off, and he ll go up to Boston <a wiser man than when he 
 come down." 
 
 "That s so," remarked Abner; and as he spoke he stood
 
 254 
 
 up as if to emphasize his words. Before he sat down, how 
 ever, he reached across the table for the bottle, but again 
 Strout was too quick for him. 
 
 "I was only goin to drink yer health an success to yer/ 
 said Abner. 
 
 "All right," said Strout, "make it half a glass and I ll 
 jine yer." 
 
 The two men clinked their glasses, drank, and smacked 
 their lips. 
 
 "If you don t go to bed now you won t git up till to- 
 morrer/ said the Professor. 
 
 "Yer mean ter-day," chuckled Abner, as he got up and 
 walked round to the other side of the table, where he had 
 left his lamp. 
 
 "I guess," remarked Strout, "I ll have some more fire. 
 I ain t goin to bed jest yet. I ve got some heavy thinkin 
 to dio." 
 
 While he was upon his knees arranging the wood, start 
 ing up the embers with the bellows, Abner reached across 
 the table and got possession of his tumbler, from which he 
 had fortunately removed the spoon. Grasping the bottle 
 he filled it to the brim and tossed it down in three big 
 swallows. As he replaced the tumbler on the table, Strout 
 turned round. 
 
 "There was bout a spoonful left in the bottom of my 
 tumbler," said Abner, apologetically. "Them that drinks 
 last drinks best," said he, as he took up his lamp. "I guess 
 that nightcap won t hurt me," he .muttered to himself as he 
 stumbled up the flight of stairs that lied to his room. 
 
 The fire burned brightly and Strout resumed his seat 
 and drew the bottle towards him. He lifted it up and 
 looked at it. 
 
 "The skunk!" said he half aloud; "a man that ll steal 
 rum will hook money next. Wall, it won t be many days 
 before that city chap will buy his return ticket to Boston.
 
 THE SQKPKISK PAB JLT 255 
 
 Then I sha n t have any further use for Abner. Let me 
 see," he soliloquized, "what I ve got to do to-morrer? Git 
 the Deacon s money at ten, propose to Huldy bout half 
 past, git home to dinner at twelve, buy the grocery store 
 bout quarter-past three; that ll be a pretty good day s 
 work!" 
 
 Then the Professor mixed up a nightcap for himself and 
 was soon sleeping soundly, regardless of the broad smile 
 upon the face of the M an in the Moon, who looked down 
 upon the town with an expression tihat seemed to indicate 
 that he considered himself the biggest man in it.
 
 CHAPTER XXVII. 
 
 TOWN POLITICS. 
 
 AT the table next morning the conversation was all about 
 the surprise party. The Cobb twins declared that 
 without exception it was the best party that had ever been 
 given at Mason s Corner, to their knowledge. 
 
 After breakfast Quincy told Ezekiel that he was going 
 over to Eastborough Centre that morning; in fact, he should 
 like the single horse and team for the the next tbnee days, 
 as he had considerable business to attend to. 
 
 He drove first to the office of the express company ; but 
 to his great disappointment he was informed that no pack 
 age had arrived for him 1 on the morning train. Thinking 
 that possibly some explanation of the failure of the bank 
 to comply wlith his wishes might have been sent by mail, 
 he went to the post office; there he found a letter from the 
 cashier of his bank, informing him that he had taken the 
 liberty to send him enclosed, instead of the five hundred 
 dollars in bills, his own check certified for that amount, and 
 stated that the local bank would undoubtedly cash the 
 same for him. 
 
 As he turned to leave the post office he met Sylvester 
 Chisholm. Quincy greeted the young man pleasantly, and 
 asked him if he were in business at ithe Centre. Sylvester 
 replied that he was the compositor and local newsman on 
 the "Eastborough Express," a weekly newspaper issued 
 every Friday. The bank being located in the same building, 
 Quincy drove him over. Sylvester asked Quincy if he 
 would not step in and look at their office. Quincy did so. 
 A man about thirty years of age arose from a ch air and
 
 TOWN POLITICS. 267 
 
 stepped forward as they entered, saying, "Hello, Chisholm, 
 1 have been waiting nearly half an hour for you." 
 
 "Mr. Appleby, Mr. Sawyer," said Sylvester, introducing 
 the two men. 
 
 "Mr. Appleby occupies a similar position on the Mon- 
 trase Messenger to the one that I hold on the Eastbor- 
 ough Express/ " said Sylvester, by way of explanation to 
 Quincy. "We .exchange items ; that is, he supplies me with 
 items relating to Montrose that are supposed to be inter 
 esting to the inhabitants of Eastborough, and I return the 
 compliment. Here are your items/ said Sylvester, passing 
 an envelope to Mr. Appleby. 
 
 Mr. Appleby seemed to be in great haste, and with a 
 short "Good morning" left the office. 
 
 "He is a great friend of Professor Strout s," remarked 
 Sylvester. 
 
 "You speak as though you were not," said Quincy. 
 
 "Well," replied Sylvester, "I used to think a good deal 
 more of him at one time than I do now, not on account of 
 anything that he has done to me, but I do not think he has 
 treated one of my dearest friends just right. Did you hear 
 anything, Mr. Sawyer, about his being engaged or likely 
 to be engaged to Deacon Mason s daughter, Huldy?" 
 
 Quincy looked at Sylvester and then laughed outright 
 
 "No, I haven t heard of any such thing," he replied, 
 "and considering certain information that I have in my 
 mind and which I know to be correct, I do not think I ever 
 shall." 
 
 "Will you tell me what that information is?" asked Syl 
 vester. 
 
 "Well, perhaps I will," said Quincy, "if you will inform 
 me why you wish to know/ 
 
 "Well, the fact is," remarked Sylvester, "that for quite a 
 while Professor Strout and my sister Bessie, whom you saw 
 last night at the party and with whom you danced, kept 
 company together, and everybody over here to the Centre
 
 258 QUmCY ADAMS SAWYER. 
 
 thought that they would be engaged and get married one 
 of these days; but skice that concert at the Town Hall, 
 where you sang, a change of mind seems to have come over 
 the Professor, and he has not seen my sister except when 
 they met by accident. She thinks a good deal of him still, 
 and although the man has done me no harm personally, of 
 course I do not feel very good toward the fellow who makes 
 my sister feel unhappy." 
 
 "Now," said Quincy, "what I am going to say I am 
 going to tell you for your personal benefit and not for pub 
 lication. I happen to know that Miss Huldy Mason is en 
 gaged definitely to Mr. Ezekiel Pettengill, and has been 
 for some time. Now, promise me not to put that in your 
 paper." 
 
 "I promise, 5 said Sylvester, "unless I obtain the same in 
 formation from some other source." 
 
 "All right," rejoined Quincy, and shaking hands with 
 the young man he crossed the passageway and went into 
 the bank. 
 
 He presented his certified check, and the five hundred 
 dollars in bills were passed to him, and he placed them in 
 his inside coat pocket. He was turning to leave the bank 
 when he met Deacon Mason just entering. 
 
 Ah, Deacon," said he, "have you come to draw some 
 money? I think I have just taken all the bank bills they 
 have on hand." 
 
 "I hope not," said the Deacon, "I kinder promised some 
 one that I d be on hand about noon to-day with five hundred 
 dollars that he wants to use on a business matter this after 
 noon. 
 
 Quincy took the Deacon by the arm and pulled him one 
 side, out of hearing of any other person in the room 
 
 "Say, Deacon Mason, I am going to ask you a question, 
 which, of course, you can answer or not, as you see fit; but 
 if this business matter turns out to be what I think it is, I 
 may be able to save you considerable trouble n
 
 TOWN POLITICS. 258 
 
 "I don t think you would ask me any question that I 
 ought not to answer/ replied the Deacon, glancing up at 
 Quincy with a sly look in his eye and a slight smile on his 
 face. 
 
 "Well," continued Quincy, "are you going to let Strout 
 have that money to pay down on account of the grocery 
 store?" 
 
 "Why, yes," -said the Deacon, "I guess you have hit it 
 j^bout right. Strout seemed to think that there warn t 
 any doubt but What he could get the store, but as he said 
 the town clerk was willing to endorse his note, I came over 
 here last night just on purpose to find that out. I kinder 
 thought I was perfectly safe in letting him have the money." 
 
 "Oh, you would be all right, Deacon, financially, if the 
 town clerk or any other good man endorsed his note; but 
 you see Strout won t need the money. I happen to know 
 of another man that is going to bid on that grocery store. 
 How much money do you think Strout can command; how 
 high will he bid?" 
 
 "Well, he told me," the Deacon answered, "that he had 
 parties that would back him up to the extent of two thou 
 sand dollars, and this five hundred dollars that I was goin 
 to lend him would make twenty-five hundred, and he had 
 sort o figured that the whole place, including the land and 
 buildings and stock, warn t wuth any more than that, and 
 that Benoni Hill would be mighty glad to get such a good 
 offer." 
 
 "That s all right," said Quincy, "but I happen to know 
 i man that s going to bid on that grocery store and he will 
 have it if he has to bid as high as five thousand dollars, and 
 he is ready to put down the solid cash for it without any 
 notes." 
 
 The Deacon glanced up at Quincy, and the sly look in his 
 eye was more pronounced than ever, while the smile on his 
 face very much resembled a grin. 
 
 "1 guess it must be some outside feller that is a-going to
 
 260 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER. 
 
 buy it then," said the Deacon, "for I don t believe there is 
 a man in Eastborough that would put up five thousand dol 
 lars in cold cash for that grocery store, unless he consid 
 ered that he was paying for something besides groceries 
 when he bought it." 
 
 "Well, I don t think, Deacon, continued Quincy, "that 
 we need go further into particulars; I think we understand 
 -each other; all is, you come up to the auction this afternoon, 
 and if the place is knocked down ito Strout I will let you 
 have the five hundred dollars that I have here in my pocket ; 
 besides, it would have been poor business policy for you to 
 let him have the money on that note before the sale; for 
 if -the store was not sold to him you could not get back your 
 money until the note became due." 
 
 "That s so," assented the Deacon. "Well, I ve got to 
 get home, cuz I promised to meet him by twelve o clock." 
 
 "So have I," said Quincy, "for I have got to see the man 
 who is going to buy the grocery store and fix up a few busi 
 ness matters with him." 
 
 Both men left the bank and got into their respective 
 teams, which were standing in front of the building. 
 
 "Which road are you going, Deacon?" asked Quincy. 
 
 "Waal, I guess, for appearance s sake, Mr. Sawyer, you 
 better go on the straight road, while I ll take the curved 
 one. Yer know the curved one leads right up to my barn 
 door." 
 
 "Yes, I know," said Quincy, "I found that out last 
 night;" and the two men parted. 
 
 Quincy made quick time on his homeward trip. As he 
 neared the Pettengill house he saw Cobb s twins and Hiram 
 standing in front of the barn. He drove up and threw the 
 reins to Bill Cobt>, saying, "I shall want the team again 
 right after dinner;" and turning to Hiram, he said, "Gome 
 down to Jacob s Parlor, I want to have a little talk with 
 you." 
 
 They entered the large wood-shed that Ezekiel s father
 
 TOWN POLITICS. 261 
 
 had called by the quaint name just referred to, and took 
 their old seats, Quincy in the armchair and Hiram on the 
 chopping 1 block facing him. Hiram looked towards the 
 stove and Quincy said, "l!t is not very cold this morning, I 
 don t think we shall need a fire; besides, what I have got to 
 i say will take but a short time. Now, young man, con* 
 tinued he, "how old did you say you were? 
 
 "I am about thirty," replied Hiram. 
 
 "You are about thirty?" repeated Quincy, "and yet you 
 are satisfied to stay with Deacon Mason and do his odd jobs 
 for about ten dollars a month and your board, I suppose." 
 
 "Well, he isn t a mean man," said Hiram, "he gives me 
 ten dollars a month and my board, and two suits of clothes 
 a year, including shoes and hats." 
 
 "Have you no ambition to do any better?" asked Quincy. 
 
 "Ambition? cried Hiram 1 , "why I m full of k. I ve 
 thought of more than a dozen different kinds of business 
 that I would like to go into and work day and night to 
 make my fortune, but what can a feller do if he hasn t any 
 capital and hasn t got any backer?" 
 
 "Well, the best thing that you can do, Hiram, is to find a 
 partner; that s what people do when they have no money; 
 they look around and find somebody who has." 
 
 "You mean," said Hiram, "that I ve got to look round 
 and find some one who has got some money, who s willin to 
 let me have part of <it. There s lots of fellers in Easitbor- 
 ough that have got money, but they hang to it tighter n the 
 bark to a tree." 
 
 "And yet," said Quincy, "a man like Obadiah Strout 
 can go around this town and get parties to back him up to 
 the extent of twenty-five hundred dollars." 
 
 "Yes, I know," answered Hiram, "but he couldn t do 
 that if the parties didn t have a mortgage on the place, and 
 o course if Strout can t keep up his payments they ll grab 
 the store and get the hull business. I happen to know that 
 one of the parties that s goin to put his name on one of
 
 262 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER. 
 
 Sprout s notes said quietly to another party that told a 
 feller that I heerd it from that it wouldn t be more n a year 
 afore he d be runnin that grocery store himself." 
 
 "Well, Hiram Maxwell, I ve got some money that I am 
 not using just now. You know that I ve got quite a large 
 account to settle with that Professor Strout, and I can af 
 ford to pay pretty handsomely to get even with him. Now 
 do you think if you had that grocery store that you could 
 make a success of it?" 
 
 "Could I? cried Hiram, "waal, I know I could. I know 
 every man, woman, and child in this town, and there isn t 
 one of them that s got anythin agin me that I knows of." 
 
 "Td back you up, 5 said Quincy, "but I ve got something 
 against you, and I will not agree to put my money into that 
 store unftil you explain to me something that you told me 
 several weeks ago. I don t say but that you told me the 
 truth as far as k went, but you didn t tell me the whole 
 truth, and that s what I find fault with you for." 
 
 Hiram s eyes had dilated, and he looked at Quincy with a 
 wild glance of astonishment. Could he believe his ears? 
 Here was this young man, a millionaire s son, saying that 
 he would have backed him up in business burt for the fact 
 that he had told him a wrong story 7 . Hiram scratched his 
 head and looked perplexed. 
 
 "True as I live, Mr. Sawyer, I don t remember ever 
 tellin you a lie since I ve known yer. I may have added 
 a little somethin to some of my stories that I have brought 
 inter yer, jest to make them a little more interestin , and 
 p r aps ter satisfy a little pussonal spite that I might have 
 agin some o the parties that I was tellin yer about, but I 
 know as well s I m slandin here that I never told yer 
 nothin in the way of a lie to work yer any injury. You ve 
 alwus treated me white, and if there s one thing that Mandy 
 Skinner says she can t abear, it s a man that tells lies." 
 
 "Then," remarked Quincy with a smile, "you think a 
 good deal of Miss Mandy Skinner s opinion?"
 
 TOWIST POLITICS. 26S 
 
 "I ain t never seen any girl whose opinion I think more 
 of," answered Hiram. 
 
 "Did you ever see. any girl that you thought more of?" 
 continued Quincy. 
 
 "Waal, I guess it s an open secret round town," said 
 Hiram, "that I d marry her quicker n ligihtrmn , if she d t 
 have me." 
 
 "Well, why won t she have you? persisted Quincy. 
 
 "That s easy to answer," said Hiram. "You stated the 
 situation purty plainly yourself when you counted up my 
 income, ten dollars a month and my food and two suits of 
 clothes. How could I pervide for Mandy out o* 
 that?" 
 
 "Well," asked Quincy, "supposing I bought that grocery 
 store for you and you got along well and made money. 
 Do you think Mandy would consent to become Mrs. Max 
 well?" 
 
 "I can t say for sure, Mr. Sawyer, but I think Miss Mandy 
 Skinner would be at a loss for any good reason for refusin 
 me, in case what you jest talked about come to pass, * said 
 Hiram. 
 
 "Now," proceeded Quincy, "we will settle that little mat 
 ter that I referred to a short time ago. You remember you 
 were telling me your war experiences. You said you were 
 never shot, but that you were hit with a fence rail at the 
 battle of Cedar Mountain." 
 
 "Waal, I guess if you git my war record you will find 
 I didn t tell yer any lie about that." 
 
 "Well, no," said Quincy, "that s all right; but why didn t 
 you tell me that on one occasion, when the captain of your 
 company was shot down, together with half the attacking 
 force, that you took his body on your back and bore him 
 off the field, at the same time sounding the retreat with 
 your bugle? Why didn t you tell me that on two separate 
 occasions, when the color sergeants of your company wers
 
 264 QUESTCY ADAMS SAW FEB. 
 
 shot and the flag fell from their grasp, that you took the 
 flag and bore it forward, sounding the charge, until you 
 were relieved of your double duty? In other words, when 
 there were so many good things that you could say for 
 yourself, why didn t you say them?" 
 
 Hiram thought for a moment and then he said, "Waal, 
 I didn t think that I had any right to intercluoe outside mat 
 ters not connected with what we were talkin about. You 
 asked me if I d ever been shot, and I told yer how I got 
 hit; but I didn t consider the luggin the cap n off the field 
 or h istin Old Glory, when there wasn t anybody else to 
 attend to it jest that minute, come under the head of bein 
 shot." 
 
 Quincy laughed outright and extended his hand, which 
 Hiram took. Quincy gave it a hearty shake and said, 
 "Hiram, I think you re all right. I ve decided to buy that 
 grocery store for you for two reasons. The first is that 
 you have served me well; Mandy has been very kind and 
 attentive to me, and I want to see you both prosper and be 
 happy. My second reason relates to the Professor, and, 
 of course, does not need any explanation, so far as you re 
 concerned. Now, you go up to the house, put on your best 
 suit of clothes, tell the Deacon that I want your company 
 this afternoon; I wi ll drive up your way about two o clock, 
 and we will go to the auction." 
 
 While these events were taking place, others, perhaps 
 equally interersting, were transpiring in another part of 
 Mason s Corner. The Professor had not arisen until late,, 
 but ten o clock found him dressed in his best and survey 
 ing his personal appearance with a pleased expression. He 
 felt that this was a day big with the fate of Professor Strout 
 and Mason s Corner! 
 
 When he left Mrs. Hawkins s boarding house be went 
 straight to Deacon Mason s. 
 
 "Is the Deacon in?" he asked, as pleasant-faced Mrs< 
 Mason opened the door.
 
 TOWN POLITICS. 285 
 
 "No, he has gone over to the Centre. He saidi he d got 
 to go to the bank to get some money for somebody, but 
 that he d be back tween leven and twelve." 
 
 "Oh, that s all right," said Strout, stepping inside the 
 door; "is Miss Huldy in?" 
 
 "Yes, she s in -the parlor; she went in to practise on her 
 music lesson, but I guess she s reading a book instead, for 
 I haven t heard (the piano since she went in half an hour 
 ago." 
 
 "Waal, I ll step in and have a little chat with her whilst 
 I m waiting for the Deacon," said the Professor; "but you 
 just let me know as soon as the Deacon comes, won t you, 
 Mrs. Mason?" 
 
 Mrs. Mason replied that she would, and the Professor 
 opened the parlor door and stepped in. 
 
 "Oh, good morning, Miss Mason," said the Professor; "I 
 hope I see you enjoying your usual good health after last 
 evening s excitement. 
 
 Huldy arose and shook hands with the Professor. 
 
 "Oh, yes," said she, "I got up a little late this morning, 
 but I never felt better in my life. It was very kind of 
 you, Mr. Strout, and of my other friends, to show your ap 
 preciation in such a pleasant manner, and I shall never for 
 get your kindness." 
 
 "Waal, you know, I ve always taken a great interest in 
 you, Miss Mason." 
 
 "I know you have in my singing," answered Huldy, "and 
 I know that I have improved a great deal since you have; 
 been giving me lessons." \ 
 
 "But I don t refer wholly -to your singin ," said the Pro 
 fessor. 
 
 "Oh, you mean my playing, remarked Huldy. "Well, 
 I don t know that I shall ever be a brilliant performer on 
 the piano, but I must acknowledge that you have been the 
 cause of my improving in that respect also." 
 
 "Waal, I don t mean," continued the Professor, "jes*
 
 266 QUIXCY ADAMS SAWYER, 
 
 your singin and your playin . I ve been interested in you 
 as a whole." 
 
 "I don t exactly see what you mean by that, Mr. Strout, 
 unless you mean my ability as a housekeeper. I am afraid 
 if you ask my mother, she will not give me a very flattering 
 recommendation." 
 
 "Oh, you know enough about ho>usekeepin to satisfy 
 me, said the Professor. 
 
 Huldy by this time divined what was on the Professor s 
 mind ; in fact, she had known it for some time, but had as 
 sured herself that he would never have the courage to put 
 his hints, and suggestions, and allusions, into an actual de 
 claration. So she replied with some asperity, "What made 
 you think I was looking for a situation as housekeeper?" 
 
 "Oh, nothin ," said he, "I wasn t thinkin anythm about 
 what I thought you thought, but I was a-thmkin about 
 somiethin that I thought myself." 
 
 Huld) looked up inquiringly. 
 
 "What wouJd you say," asked the Professor, "if I told 
 you that I thought of gettin married?" 
 
 "Well," replied Huldy, "I think my first question would 
 be, have you asked her? " 
 
 "No, I haven t yet," said the Professor. 
 
 "Well, then, my advice to you," continued Huldy, "is 
 don t delay; if you do perhaps some other fellow may ask 
 her first, and she may consent, not knowing that you think 
 so much of her." 
 
 "Well, Pve thought of that," said the Professor. "I 
 guess you re right. What would you say," continued he, 
 "if I told you that i had asked her?" 
 
 "Well, I should say," answered Huldv, "that you told 
 me only a minute or two ago that vou hadn t." 
 
 "Well, I hadn t then," said the Professor. 
 
 "I don t really see how you have had anv chance to ask 
 her, as you say you have," remarked Huldv, "in the short
 
 TOWN POLITICS. 267 
 
 time that has passed since you said you hadn t. I am 
 not very quick at seeing 1 a joke, Professor, out p r aps 
 I can understand what you mean, if you will tell me when 
 you asked her, and where you asked her to marry you." 
 
 "Just now! Right here! cried the Professor; and before 
 Huldy could interpose he had arisen from his chair and 
 had fallen on his knees before her. 
 
 Huldy looked at him with a startled expression, then as 
 the whole matter dawned upon her she burst into a loud 
 laugh. The Professor looked up with a grieved expression 
 on his face. Huldy became grave instantly. 
 
 "I wasn t laughing at you, Professor. I m sure I m 
 grateful for your esteem and friendship, but it never en 
 tered my head till this moment that you had any idea of 
 asking me to be your wife. What made you think such a 
 thing possible?" 
 
 The Professor was quite portly, and it was with some 
 little difficulty that he regained his feet, and his face was 
 rather red with the exertion when he had succeeded. 
 
 "Well, you ;see," said he, "I never thought much about 
 it till that city feller came down here to board; then the 
 whole town knew that you and Zeke Pettengill had had a 
 fattin out, and then by and by that city feller who was 
 boardin with your folks went away, and I kinder thought 
 that as you didn t have any steady feller " 
 
 Huldy broke in,- "You thought I was in the market 
 again and that your chances were as good as those of any 
 one else?" 
 
 "Yes, that s jest it," said the Professor. "You put it jest 
 as I would have said it, if you hadn t said it fust." 
 
 Well, really, Professor," I can t understand what gave 
 you and the whole town- the idea that there was any falling 
 out between Mr. Pettengill and myself. We have grown 
 up together, we have always loved each other very much, 
 and we have been engaged to be married "
 
 868 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER. 
 
 "Since when?" broke in the Professor, .excitedly. 
 
 "Since the day before I last engaged you to give me 
 music lessons," replied Huldy. 
 
 What the Professor would have said in reply to this will 
 never be known; for at that moment Mrs. Mason opened 
 the door, and looking in, said, "The Deacon s come. 
 
 Strout grasped his hat, and with a hurried bow and 
 "Good morning" to Huldy, left -the room, closing the door 
 behind him. It must be said for the Professor that he bore 
 defeat with great equanimity, and when he reached the 
 great kitchen and shook hands with Deacon Mason, who 
 had just come in from the barn, the casual observer would 
 have noticed nothing peculiar in his expression. 
 
 "Waal, Deacon," said he in a low tone, "did you git the 
 money?" 
 
 "Oh, I ve ranged bout the money," said the Deacon; 
 "but I had a talk with my lawyer, and he said it wasn t 
 good bizness for me to pay over the five hundred dollars 
 till the store was actually knocked down to you. Here s 
 that note of yourn that the town clerk endorsed las night. 
 Neow, when the auctioneer says the store is yourn I ll give 
 yer the five -hundred dollars and take the note. I ll be up 
 to the auction by half-pasit two, so you needn t worry, it ll 
 be jest the same as though yer had the money in yer hand." 
 
 Strout looked a little disturbed; but thinking the matter 
 over quickly, he decided that he had nothing to gain by 
 arguing the question with the Deacon ; so saying, "Be sure 
 and be on hand, Deacon, for it s a sure thing my gettin 
 that store, if I have the cash to pay down," he left the house. 
 
 He went up the hill and turned the corner on the way 
 back to his boarding house. When he got out of sight of 
 the Deacon s house he stopped, clenched his hands, shut his 
 teeth firmly together and stamped his foot on the ground; 
 then he ejaculated in a savage whisper, Women are 
 wussern catamounts; you know which way a catamount s
 
 TOWN POLITICS. 268 
 
 goin to jump. I wonder whether she was honest about 
 that, or whether she s been ioolin me all this time; she ll 
 be a <sorry girl when I git that stone and lected tax collec 
 tor, and git app inted postmaster. I ve got three tricks 
 left, ef I have lost two. I wonder who it was put that idea 
 .into the Deacon s head not ter let me have thet money till 
 the sale was over. I bet a dollar it wuz ithet city feller. 
 Abner says thet he met Appleby on his way back to Mon- 
 trose, and he told him thet he saw thet city feller and the 
 Deacon drive off tergether from front o the bank. Oh! 
 nonsense, what would the son of a millionaire want of a 
 grocery store in a little country town like this?" and he 
 went into his boarding house to dinner. 
 
 A few moments after two o clock Strout could restrain 
 his impatience no longer, and leaving his boarding house 
 he walked over to the grocery store. Quite a number of 
 the Mason s Corner people were gathered in the Square, for 
 to them an auction sale was as good as a show. Quincy 
 had not arrived, and the Professor tried to quiet his nerves 
 by walking up and down the platform and smoking a cigar. 
 The crowd gradually increased, quite a number coming in 
 teams from Montrose and from Eastborough Centre. One 
 of the teams from Montrose brought the auctioneer, Mr. 
 Beers, with whom Strout was acquainted. He gave the 
 auctioneer a cigar, and they walked up and down the plat 
 form smoking and talking about everything else but the 
 auction sale. It was a matter of professional dignity with 
 Mr. Barnabas Beers, auctioneer, not to be on too friendly 
 terms with bidders before an auction. He had found that 
 it had detracted from his importance and had lowered bids, 
 if he allowed would-be purchasers to converse with him 
 concerning the articles to be sold. It was their business, 
 lie maintained in a heated argument one evening in the 
 hotel at Montrosie, to find out by personal inspection the 
 condition and value of what was to be sold, and it was his
 
 270 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER. 
 
 business, he said, to know as little about it as possible, for 
 the less he knew the less it would interfere with his descrip 
 tive powers when, ihammer in hand, he took his position on 
 .the bench. Having 1 established a professional standing, 
 Barnabas Beers was not a man to step down, and though 
 the Professor, after a while, endeavored to extract some 
 information from/ the auctioneer as to whether there was 
 likely to be many bidders, he finally gave it up in despair, 
 for he found Mr. Beers as uncommunicaitive as a hitching 
 post, as he afterwards told Abner Stiles. 
 
 About half-past two Deacon Mason drove into the 
 Square, and the Professor went to meet him, and shook 
 hands with him. In a short time his other backers, who had 
 agreed to endorse his notes to the amount of two thousand 
 dollars, arrived upon the scene, and he took occasion to 
 welcome them in a manner that could not escape the atten 
 tion of the crowd. It was now ten minutes of three, and the 
 auctioneer stepped upon the temporary platform that had 
 been erected for him, and bringing his hammer down upon 
 the head of a barrel that had been placed in front of him, 
 he read, in a loud voice, which reached every portion of 
 the Square, the printed notice that for several weeks had 
 hung upon the fences, sheds, and trees of Mason s Corner, 
 Eastborough Centre, West Eastborough, and Montrose. 
 
 It was now -three o clock, for that hour was rung- out by 
 the bell on the Rev. Caleb Howe s church. The auctioneer 
 prefaced his inquiry for bids by the usual grandiloquence 
 in use by members of that fraternity, closing his oration 
 with that Often-heard remark, "How much am I offered?" 
 
 The Professor, who was standing by the side of Deacon 
 Mason s team, called out in a loud voice, "Fifteen hundred! 
 
 "Well, I ll take that just for a starter," said the auction 
 eer, "but of course no sane man not fitted to be the inmate 
 of an idiotic asylum thinks that this fine piece of ground, 
 this long-built and long-established grocery store, filled to 
 overflowing with all the necessities and delicacies of the
 
 TOWN POLITICS. 271 
 
 season, a store which has been in successful operation for 
 nearly forty years, and of which the good will is worth a 
 good deal more than the sum just bid, will be sold for any 
 such preposterous figure! Gentlemen, I am listening." 
 
 Suddenly a voice from the rear of the crowd called out, 
 "T-o-o-t-o to to-oo-two thousand !" 
 
 As if by magic, every head was turned, for the majority 
 of those in the crowd recognized the voice at once. There 
 was but one man in Mason s Corner who stammered, and 
 that man was Hiram Maxwell. 
 
 They turned, and all saw seated in the Pettengill team 
 Hiram Maxwell, and beside him sat Mr. Sawyer from 
 Boston. 
 
 "Oh, that s more like it," said the auctioneer. "Compe 
 tition is the life of trade, and is particularly pleasing to an 
 auctioneer. The first gentleman who bid now sees that 
 there is another gentleman who has a better knowledge of 
 the value of this fine property than he has evinced up to 
 the present moment. There is still an opportunity for 
 him to see the error of his ways, and put himself on record 
 as being an observing and intelligent person." 
 
 All eyes were turned upon Strout at these words from 
 the auctioneer; his face reddened, and he called out, 
 Twenty-five hundred!" 
 
 "Still better," cried the auctioneer; "the gentleman, as I 
 supposed, has shown that he is a person of discernment; he 
 did not imagine that I was engaged simply to make a pres 
 ent of this fine establishment to any one who would offer 
 any sum that suited his convenience for it. He knew as 
 well as I did that there would be a sharp contest to secure 
 this fine property. Now, gentlemen, I am offered twenty- 
 five hundred, twenty-five hundred I am offered, twenty-five 
 hundred 
 
 Again a voice was heard from the team on the outer 
 limits of the crowd, "Twenty-five fifty!" 
 
 The crowd again turned their gaze upon Strout; the
 
 272 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER. 
 
 Professor was not an extravagant man, and he had saved 
 a little money. He had in his pocket at the (time a little 
 over a hundred dollars; he would not put it in the bank, 
 for, he argued, if he did everybody in town would know 
 how much money he had; so he called out, "Twenty-six 
 hundred!" 
 
 "Ah, gentlemen," continued the auctioneer, "let me 
 thank you for the keen appreciation (that you show of a 
 good thing. When I looked this property over I said 
 to myself, the bidders will tumble over themselves to secure 
 this fine property ; and I have not been disappointed." 
 
 Again the faces of the crowd were turned towards the 
 team in which sat Quincy and Hiram. Hiram stood up in 
 the team, and making a horn with his hands, shouted at the 
 top of his voice, for the time overcoming his propensity to 
 stammer, "Twenty-seven hundred!" 
 
 "Better! still better!" cried the auctioneer; "we are now 
 approaching the figure that I had placed on this property, 
 and my judgment is usually correct. I am offered twenty- 
 seven hundred, twenty-seven hundred; who will go one 
 hundred better?" 
 
 At this moment Abner Stiles, who had been watching 
 the proceedings with eyes distended and mouth wide open, 
 went up to Strout and whispered something in his ear. 
 Strout s face brightened, he grasped Abner s hand and 
 shook it warmly, then turning towards the auctioneer cried 
 out, "Twenty-eight hundred !" 
 
 By this time the crowd was getting excited. To them it 
 was a battle royal; nothing of the kind had ever been seen 
 at Mason s Corner before. A great many in the crowd 
 were friends of Strout s, and admired his pluck in standing 
 out so well. They had seen at a glance that Abner Stiles 
 had offered (to help Strout. 
 
 Again the auctioneer called out in his parrot-like tone, 
 "Twenty-eight hundred! I am offered twenty-eight hun 
 dred!"
 
 TOWN POLITICS. 273 
 
 And again Hiram put his hands to his mouth, and his 
 voice was heard over the Square as he said, "Three thou 
 sand!" 
 
 "Now, gentlemen," continued the auctioneer, "I am 
 proud to be with you. When it is my misfortune to stand 
 up before a company, the members of which have no appre 
 ciation of the value of the property to be sold, I often wish 
 myself at home; but, as I said before, on this occasion I am 
 proud to be with you, for a sum approximating to the true 
 value of the property offered for sale has been bidden. I 
 am offered three thousand three thousand three thou 
 sand going at three thousand! Did I hear a bid? No, 
 it must have been the wind whistling through the trees." 
 At this sally a laugh came up from the crowd, "Going at 
 three thousand going going going gone at three 
 thousand to 
 
 "Mr. Hiram Maxwell ! came from the score of voices. 
 
 "Gone at three thousand to Mr. Hiram Maxwell 1" said 
 the auctioneer, as he brought down his hammer heavily 
 upon the barrel head with such force that it fedi in, and, 
 losing his hold upon the hammer, that dropped in also. 
 This slight accident caused a great laugh among the crowd. 
 
 The auctioneer continued, "According to the terms of 
 the sale, five hundred dollars in cash must be paid down to 
 bind the bargain, and the balance must be paid within 
 three days in endorsed notes satisfactory to the present 
 owner." 
 
 Quincy and Hiram alighted from the Pettengill team 
 and advanced towards the auctioneer. Reaching the plat 
 form, Quincy took from his pocket a large wallet and passed 
 a pile of bills to the auctioneer. 
 
 "Make out a receipt, please," he said to Mr. Beers, "in 
 the name of Mr. Hiram Maxwell; the notes will be madte 
 out by him and endorsed by me. If you will give a dis 
 count of six per cent, Mr. Maxwell will pay the entire sum
 
 274 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER 
 
 in cash within ten days; whichever proposition is accepted 
 by Mr. Hill will be satisfactory to Mr. Maxwell/ 
 
 The show was over and the company began to disperse. 
 Deacon Mason nodded to Strout and turned his horse s 
 head homeward. While Quincy and Hiram were settling 
 their business matters with the auctioneer, everybody had 
 left the Square with the exception of a few loungers about 
 the platform of the grocery store, and Strout and Abner, 
 who stood near the big tree in the centre of the Square, 
 talking earnestly to each other. 
 
 The auctioneer, together with Quincy and Hiram, en 
 tered the store to talk over business matters with Mr. Hill 
 and his son. Mr. Hill argued that Mr. Sawyer was good 
 for any sum, and he would just as soon have the notes; in 
 fact, he would prefer to have them, rather than make any 
 discount. 
 
 This matter being adjusted, Mr. Hill treated the party 
 to some of his best cigars, which he kept under the counter 
 in a private box, and when Quincy and Hiram came out and 
 took their seats in the team, they looked about the Square 
 and found that the Professor and his best friend were not 
 in sight. 
 
 The next morning at about nine o clock, Abbott Smith 
 arrived at Pettengill s, having with him Mr. Wallace Stack- 
 pole. Quincy was ready for the trip, and they started imme 
 diately for Bastborough Centre. On the way Quincy had 
 plenty of time for conversation with Mr. Stackpole. The 
 latter gave a true account of the cause that had led to his 
 losing his election as tax collector at -the town meeting a| 
 year before. He had been 1 taken sick on the train while 
 coming from Boston, and a kind passenger had given him 
 a drink of brandy. He acknowledged that he took too 
 much, and that he really was unable to walk when he 
 reached the station at Eastborough Centre; but he said 
 that he was not a drinking man, and would not have taken 
 the brandy if he had not been sick. They reached East-
 
 TOWN POLITICS. 275 
 
 borough Centre in due season, but made no stop, contin 
 uing on to West Eastborough to the home of Abbott 
 Smith s father. 
 
 Here Quincy was introduced to Bias Smith, and found 
 that what had been said about him was not overstated. He 
 was a tall, heavily-built man, with a .hard, rugged face, but 
 with a pleasant and powerful countenance, and, in the 
 course of conversation, ran the whole gamut of oratorical 
 expression. He was what New England 1 country towns 
 have .so often produced a natural-born orator. In addi 
 tion he was an up-to-date man. He was well read in his 
 tory, and kept a close eye on current political events, in 
 cluding not only local matters, but State and National affairs 
 as well. 
 
 Quincy gave him Strout s war record that he had ob 
 tained from the Adjutant-General s office, and it was read 
 over and compared with that of Wallace Stackpole, which 
 was also in Bias Smith s possession. Mr. Stackpole had 1 
 obtained from the town clerk a statement of taxes due and 
 collected for the past twenty years, and this was also de 
 livered to Mr. Smith. Quincy confided to Mr. Smith sev 
 eral matters that he wished attended to in town meeting, 
 and the latter agreed to present them, as requested. 
 
 It was finally settled that Bias Smith and Mr. Stackpole 
 should .come over to M ason s Corner the following Satur 
 day and see if Deacon Mason would agree to act as mod 
 erator at the annual town meeting on the following Mon 
 day, the warrants for same having already been posted. 
 
 When Quincy reached home he found Hiram waiting 
 for him. They went into Jacob s Parlor and took their 
 accustomed seats. 
 
 "Any news? asked Quincy. 
 
 "Not a word," said Hiram, "neither Strout or Abner 
 have been seen on the street sence the sale wuz over, but 
 Strout has got hold of it in some way that Huldy s engaged 
 to Zeke Pettengill, and it s all over town."
 
 276 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER. 
 
 At that moment Ezekiel opened 1 the door and stepped 
 into the shed. There was a roguish twinkle in his eye and 
 a smile about his lips as he advanced towards Qumcy. 
 
 "Waal, the cat s out o the bag," said he <to Quincy. 
 
 "Yes, Hiram was just telling me that Strout got hold of 
 it in some way." 
 
 "Yaas," said Ezekiel, "he got hold of it in the most direct 
 way that he possibly could." 
 
 "How s that," asked Quincy, "did Miss Mason tell him?" 
 
 "Yaas," said Ezekiel, "he seemed to want a satisfactory 
 reason why she couldn t marry him, and it sorter seemed 
 to her that the best reason that she could give him was that 
 she was engaged to marry me." 
 
 Hiram nearly lost his seat on the chopping block while 
 expressing his delight, and on Quincy s face there was a 
 look of quiet satisfaction that indicated that he was quite 
 well satisfied with the present condition of affairs. 
 
 "By the way, Hiram/ said Quincy, "I believe you told 
 me once that Mrs. Hawkins, who keeps the house where 
 the Professor boards, is Mandy Skinner s mother." 
 
 "Yaas," said Hiram, "Mandy s father died and her mother 
 married Jonas Hawkins. He wasn t much account afore 
 he was married 1 , but I understand that he has turned out 
 to be a rale handy man round the boardin" house. Mrs. 
 Hawkins s a mighty smart woman, and she knew just what 
 kind of a man she wanted." 
 
 "Well," said Quincy, "I want you to tell Mandy to see 
 her mother as soon as she can, and engage the best room* 
 that she has left in the house for a gentleman that I expect, 
 down here from Boston next Monday night. Here s ten 
 dollars, and have Mandy tell her that this is lier week s 
 pay in advance for room and board, counting from to-day." 
 
 "Waal, I don t believe she ll take it," said Hiram; "she s 
 a mighty smart woman and mighty clus in money matters, 
 but she s no skin, and I don t believe she ll take ten dollars 
 for one week s board and room."
 
 TOWN POLITICS. 277 
 
 "Well, if she won t take it/ remarked Quincy, "Handy 
 may have the balance of it for her trouble. The man wants 
 the room, and he is able to pay for it." 
 
 Then Quincy and Ezekiel went into the house for supper. 
 
 The next morning- Quincy found that Uncle Ike had not 
 forgotten his promise, for he was on hand promptly, dressed 
 for a trip to Eastborough Centre. This time they took the 
 carryall and two horses, and Uncle Ike sat on the front 
 seat with Quincy. 
 
 They reached Eastborough Centre and found Dr. Tillot- 
 son awaiting 1 them. The return home was quickly made 
 and Uncle Ike took the doctor to the parlor. Then he 
 went to Alice s room, <and Quincy heard them descend the 
 stairs. The conversation lasted for a full hour, and Quincy 
 sat in his room thinking 1 and hoping for the best. Suddenly 
 he was .startled from his reveries by a rap upon the door, 
 and Uncle Ike said the doctor was ready. Quincy drove 
 him back to Eastborough Centre, and on the way the doctor 
 gave him his diagnosis of the case and his proposed treat 
 ment. He said it would not be necessary for him to see her 
 again for three weeks, or until the medicine that he had left 
 for her was gone. He would come down again at a day s 
 notice from Quincy. 
 
 On his return Mandy told him that Miss Alice was in 
 the parlor and would like to see him. As he entered the 
 room she recognized his footstep, and starting to her feet 
 turned towards him. He advanced to meet her and took 
 both her hands in his. j 
 
 "How can I thank you, my good friend," said she, "foty 
 the interest that you have taken in me, and how can I repay 
 you for the money that you have spent?" 
 
 Quincy was at first disposed to deny his connection with 
 the matter, but thinking that Uncle Ike must have told of 
 it, ne said, "I don t think it was quite fair for Uncle Ike, 
 after promising to keep si lent!" 
 
 T.t was not Uncle Ike s fault, broke in Alice; "it was
 
 278 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER. 
 
 nobody s fault. Nobody had told the doctor that there was 
 any secret about it, and so he spoke freely of your visit to 
 the city, and of what you had said, and of the arrangements 
 that you had made to have the treatment continued as long 
 as it produced satisfactory results. But," continued Alice, 
 "how can I ever pay you this great sum of money that it 
 will cost for my treatment?" 
 
 "Do not worry about that, Alice," said he, using her 
 Christian name for the second time, "the money is nothing. 
 I have more than I know what to do with, and it is a pleas 
 ure for me to use it in this way, if it will be of any benefit 
 to you. You can repay me at any time. You will get 
 money from your poems and your stories in due time, and 
 I shall not have to suffer if I have to wait a long time for 
 it. God know-s, Alice," and her name fell from his lips as 
 though he had always called her by that name, "that if 
 half, or even the whole of my fortune would give you back 
 your sight, I would give it to you willingly. Do you believe 
 me?" And he took her hands again in his. 
 
 "I believe you," she said simply. 
 
 At that moment Mandy appeared at the door with the 
 familiar cry, "Supper s ready," and Quincy led Alice to 
 her old place at the table and took his seat at her side.
 
 CHAPTER XXVIII. 
 
 THE TOWN MEETING. 
 
 THE next day was Friday. After breakfast Quincy 
 went to his room and looked over the memorandum 
 pad upon which he had taken pleasure in jotting- down the 
 various items of his campaign against the singing-master. 
 As he looked at the paid he checked off the items that he 
 had attended to, but suddenly started back with an expres 
 sion of disgust. 
 
 "Confound it," said he, "I neglected to telegraph to those 
 congressmen when I was at Eastborough Centre last Tues 
 day. I hope I m not too late." He reflected for a moment, 
 then said to himself, "No, it s all right; this is the long 
 session, and my friends will be in Washington." 
 
 He immediately wrote two letters to his Congressional 
 friends, stating that he had good reasons for having the 
 appointment of Obadiah Strout as postmaster at Mason s 
 Corner, Mass., held up for a week. 
 
 "At the end of that time," he wrote, "I will either with 
 draw my objections or present them in detail, accompanied 
 by affidavits in opposition to the appointment." 
 
 Having finished the letters, he went downstairs to the 
 kitchen, and, as usual, found Hiram engaged in conversa 
 tion with Mandy. 
 
 "You are just the man I want," said he to Hiram; "I 
 would like to have you take these letters to the Mason s 
 Corner post office and mail them at once. You can tell Mr. 
 Hill that the papers relating to the store are nearly ready, 
 anH if he and his son will come here this afternoon we will
 
 280 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER. 
 
 execute them. I would like to have you and Mr. Pettengill 
 on hand as witnesses." 
 
 Hiram started off on his mission, and Quincy returned to 
 his room and busied himself with the preparation of the 
 documents for the transfer of the grocery store, and the 
 making out of the necessary notes to cover the twenty-five 
 hundred dollars due for the same. 
 
 He had not seen Alice at breakfast, nor did she appear 
 at the dinner table. He had followed the rule since she 
 came to the house not to make any open inquiries about her 
 heailth, but from words dropped by Ezekiel and Uncle Ike, 
 he had kept fairly well informed as to the result of her 
 treatment. At dinner Ezekiel remarked that his sister 
 had commenced to take her new medicine, and that he 
 reckoned it must be purty powerful, for she had said that 
 she didn t wish anything to eat, and didn t want anything 
 sent to her room. 
 
 Quincy politely expressed his regrets at i her indisposition 
 and trusted that she would soon be able to join them again 
 at meal time. 
 
 About three o clock in the afternoon, Samuel Hill and 
 his father arrived, and Hiram, remembering Quincy s in 
 structions, had found Ezekiel Pettengill, and all came to tihe 
 room together. It took a comparatively short time to 
 sign, seal, and deliver the documents and papers. It was 
 arranged that Samuel Hill and his father should take 
 charge of the grocery store and carry on the business until 
 a week from, the following Monday; as Quincy told young 
 Hill that he had some business to attend to the early part 
 of the following week that would prevent his giving any 
 attention to the store until the latter part of the week. 
 
 Quincy treated 1 his principals and witnesses to cigars, and 
 an interchange of ideas was made in relation to the result 
 of the auction sale. 
 
 How does Strout take it?" inquired Quincy. 
 
 "I don t know," spoke up Hiram. "He acts as though
 
 THE TOWN MEETING. 281 
 
 he thought I was pizen. Every time he sees me he crosses 
 over on t other side of the street, if we happen to be oomin 
 towards each other." 
 
 "Well, I imagine," said Quincy, "that your usefulness 
 to him has departed in some respects, but it s just as well." 
 
 "Well," said young Hill, "I can tell you what he said 
 the other night in the grocery store. There was a crowd 
 of his friends there, and he remarked that you," turning to 
 Quincy, "might own Hill s grocery store, but that wasn t 
 the whole earth. He said that he had no doubt that he 
 would be elected unanimously as tax collector, and he was 
 sure of his appointment as postmaster, and if he got it he 
 should start another grocery store on his own hook and 
 make it lively for you." 
 
 "Well," said Quincy with a laugh, "competition is the 
 life of trade, and I sha n t object if he does go into the bus 
 iness; but if he does, I will guarantee to undersell him on 
 every article, and I will put on a couple of teams and hire 
 a couple of men, and we ll scour Eastborough and Mason s 
 Corner and Montrose for orders in the morning, and then 
 we ll deliver all the goods by team in the afternoon in 
 regular Boston style. I never knew just exactly what I 
 was cut out for. I know I don t like studying law, and it 
 may be, after all, that it s my destiny to become a grocery- 
 man." 
 
 Quincy took Ezekiel by the arm, led him to the window, 
 and whispered something to him. 
 
 Ezekiel laughed, then turned red in the face, then finally 
 said in an undertone, "Waal, I dunno, seems kinder early, 
 but I dunno but it jest as we ll might be then as any other 
 time. I hain t got nuthin ter do this afternoon, so I think 
 I ll take a walk up there to see how the land lays." 
 
 Be said, "Good afternoon" to the others and left the 
 room. 
 
 Quincy then took Samuel Hill by the arm in the same 
 manner as he had done to Ezekiel, led him to the window,
 
 282 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER. 
 
 and said something to him which wrought a similar effect 
 to that produced upon Ezekiel. 
 
 Samuel thought for a moment and then said, "That ain t 
 a bad idea; I m satisfied if the other party is. I m going 
 to drive over this afternoon .and tell the old gentleman that 
 matters are all fixed up, and I ll find out if there s any ob- 
 jjection to the plan. Guess I ll go now, as I ve got to git 
 back to-night." 
 
 So he said "Good afternoon," and, accompanied by his 
 father, took his departure. 
 
 "Sit down, Hiram/ said Quincy, "I want to have a talk 
 with you. Have you settled up that little matter with 
 Mandy?" 
 
 "No," said Hiram, "not yet; I ve ben tryin to muster 
 up courage, but I haven t ben able to up to the present 
 moment." 
 
 "I should think," remarked Quancy, "that a man who 
 had carried his captain off the field with a shower of bullets 
 raining about him, or who had pushed forward with his 
 country s flag in the face of a similar storm of bullets, 
 ought not to be afraid to ask a young girl to marry him." 
 
 "Waal, do yer know," said Hiram, "I m more afraid o* 
 Mandy than I would be of the whole army." 
 
 "Well," said Quincy, "I don t see ony other way for you 
 except to walk up like a man and meet your fate. Of course 
 if I could do it for you I d be willing to> oblige you." 
 
 "No, thank yer," said Hiram, "I kinder reckon thet little 
 matter had better be settled between the two principals in 
 the case without caillm in a lawyer." 
 
 Quinoy leaned over and whispered 1 something- to him. 
 
 "By crickey!" said Hiram, "what put thet idea inter yer 
 head?" 
 
 "Oh/ said Quincy, "since I ve had to spend so much 
 time plotting against my enemies, I ve got into the habit of 
 thinking out little surprises for my friends." 
 
 "Waal, I swan!" cried Hiram, "that would be the biggest
 
 THE TOWN MEETING. 283 
 
 thing ever happened in Mason s Comer. Well, I rather 
 think I shall be able to tend to that matter now, at once. 
 One, two, three," said Hiram, "just think of it; well, that s 
 the biggest lark that I ve -ever ben connected with; beasts 
 buying the grocery store all holler." 
 
 "Well," continued Quincy, "you three gentlemen under, 
 stand it now, and if matters can be arranged I will do 
 my part, and I promise you all a grand send-off; but not a 
 word of it must be breathed to outside parties, remember. 
 It won t amount to anything unless its a big surprise." 
 
 "All right," said Hiram, "I kinder reckon Sawyer s sur 
 prise party will be a bigger one than Strout s was." 
 
 "Oh," continued Hiram, "I most forgot. Mandy was 
 up ter see her mother abeout thet room for thet man that s 
 comin down from Boston Monday night, and Mis Haw 
 kins says the price of the room is three dollars per week 
 and the board fifty cents a day. Mandy paid for the room 
 far a week, and Mis Hawkins says after she takes out what 
 the board comes to she ll give the balance back ter M andy." 
 
 "That s all right," said Quincy, "I ve heard from the 
 man in Boston, and he ll surely occupy the room next 
 Monday night. Mandy can tell her mother to have it all 
 ready." 
 
 Next morning about ten o clock, Abbott Smith drove 
 over from Eastborough Centre, accompanied by his father 
 and Wallace Stackpole. Quincy took his place beside Mr. 
 Stackpole on the rear seat of the carryall, and Abbott drove 
 off as though he intended to return to Eastborough Centre, 
 but when he reached the crossroad he went through, then 
 turning back towards Mason s Corner, drove on until he 
 readied Deacon Mason s barn, following the same plan that 
 Ezekiel had on the night of the surprise party. 
 
 They found the Deacon at home, and all adjourned to 
 tfhe parlor, where Bias Smith stated his business, which 
 was to ask the Deacon to act as Moderator at the town 
 meeting on the following Monday. The Deacon objected
 
 884 QUESTCY ADAMS SAWYER. 
 
 at first, but finally consented, after Mr. Smith had explained 
 several matters to him. 
 
 "Yer know," said the Deacon, "my fellow citizens have 
 tried on several occasions to have me run for selectman, 
 but I reckoned thet I wuz too old to be out so late nights 
 and have to drive home from Ea;stborough at ten or leven 
 o clock at night. Besides I ve worked hard in my day, 
 and there s no place I like so well as my own home. I m 
 alwus sorry to go away in the mornin and -alwuis glad ter 
 git home at night, and although I consider that every citi 
 zen ought ter do everything he can for the public good, I 
 reckon thet there s a good many more anxious than I am 
 to serve the town, and I m not so consated but thet I think 
 they know how ter do it better n I could. But as that 
 Moderator work comes in the daytime, as I stand ready to 
 do all I can for my young friend here," turning towards 
 Quincy, "I ll be on hand Monday mornin and do the best 
 I can to serve public and private interests at the same 
 time." 
 
 Wallace Stackpole, while the others were talking, had 
 taken a couple of newspapers from his pocket, and as Dea 
 con Mason finished, .he looked up and said, "There s an 
 item here in the Eastborough Express, Deacon, that I 
 imagine you ll be interested in. I ll read it to you : We are 
 informed on the best authority that Miss Huldy Mason, 
 only daughter of Deacon Abraham Mason of Mason s Cor 
 ner, is engaged to Mr. Ezekiel Pettengill. The day of the 
 marriage has not been fixed, but our readers will be in 
 formed in due season. 
 
 "I m afraid, Deacon," said Quincy, "that s all my fault. 
 I met young Chishoim last Tuesday when I was over to the 
 Centre, and he told me something that actually obliged me 
 to confide in him the fact that I knew that your daughter 
 was not likely to become Mrs. Obadiah Strout, but he 
 promised me on his word of honor that he would not put it
 
 THE TOWN MEETING. 286 
 
 in the paper unless he got the same information from some 
 other source." 
 
 The Deacon haw-hawed in good old-fashioned country 
 style. 
 
 "Waal," said he, "young Chishohn tackled me, and said 
 he heard a rumor abeout Huldy and Strout, and, as you say, 
 Mr. Sawyer, he kinder bliged me to set him right. But 
 he made me a promise, as he did you, thet he wouldn t say 
 anythin abeout it unless some other feller toid him the 
 same thing." 
 
 "That young man is sure to get ahead in the world ; he 
 buncoed us both, Deacon/ said Quincy. 
 
 "Waal, I dunno as I know just what you mean by bun 
 coed," said the Deacon, "but I kinder think he got the best 
 of both on us on thet point." 
 
 As they took their places again in the carryall, Quincy 
 said to Mr. Smith, "If you can drive to Mr. Pettengill s 
 house and wait a few minutes, I think I ll go over to East- 
 borough Centre with you. I m going to Boston this after 
 noon, and shall not be back again until Monday night." 
 
 This they consented to do, and after Quincy had obtained 
 certain papers and had packed his travelling bag, be left 
 word with Mandy that he would not be back to the house 
 until Tuesday of tihe following week, and it might be 
 Wednesday, as he was going to Boston to see his parents. 
 
 When they reached Eastborough Centre, Quincy went at 
 once to the post office; there he found a short letter from 
 Leopold Ernst. It read as follows: 
 
 "Dear Q: 
 
 "Come up and see me as soon as you can; I shall be at 
 home all day Sunday. Am ready to report on the stories, 
 but have more to say than I have time to write. 
 
 Invariably thine, 
 
 LEOPOLD ERNST."
 
 286 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER. 
 
 Quincy then crossed the Square and entered the office oi 
 the "Eastborough Express." Sylvester flushed a little as 
 Quincy came in, but the latter reassured him by extending 
 his hand and shaking it heartily. 
 
 "Is the editor in? asked Qudncy. 
 
 ! "No," replied Sylvester, "he never shows up on Satur 
 days." 
 
 "Who is going to report the town meeting?" continued 
 Quincy. 
 
 "I am," answered Sylvester. "The editor w;.li be on 
 hand, but he told me yesterday that he should depend on 
 me to write the meeting up, because he had a little political 
 work to attend to that would take all his time. He told 
 me he was going over to see Bias Smith on Sunday, so I 
 imagine that Mr. Smith arid he are interested on the same 
 side." 
 
 Well, Mr. Chisholm," said Quincy, "you managed that 
 little matter about Miss Mason s engagement so neatly that 
 I have something for you to do for me. I m going to Bos 
 ton this afternoon, and shall not be back until half-past 
 seven Monday night. I m going over to see Mr. Parsons 
 when I leave here, and shall arrange with him to supply all 
 our boys with all they want to eat and drink next Monday." 
 
 "Well, the boys, as you call them, will be pretty apt to 
 be hungry and thirsty next Monday," laughed Sylvester. 
 
 "That s all right," said Quincy, "1*11 stand the bills." 
 
 "How s Parsons going to know which are our boys?" 
 continued Chisholm. "They ought to have some kind of 
 badge or some kind of a password, or your enemies, as well 
 as your friends, will be eating up your provisions. 
 
 "That s what I want you to attend to," added Quincy. 
 "I ll arrange with Parsons that if anybody gives him the 
 letters B D on the quiet, he is to consider that they are on 
 our side, and mustn t take any money from them, but chalk 
 it up on my score. Now, I depend upon you, Mr. Chis-
 
 THE TOWN MEETING. 287 
 
 holm, to give the password to the faithful, and to pay you 
 for your time and trouble just taike this. 
 
 And he passed a twenty-dollar bill to Sylvester. The 
 latter drew back. 
 
 No, Mr. Sawyer, * said he, "I cannot take any money for 
 that service. This work is to be done, for I understand 
 the whole business, to defeat the man who, I think, has 
 treated my sister in a very mean manner, and I m willing 
 to work all day and all night without any pay to knock 
 that fellow out. Let s put it that way, I m working against 
 him, and not for you ; and, looking at it that way, of course, 
 there s no reason why you should pay me anything." 
 
 "All right, rejoined Quincy, "I should have no feeling 
 if you took the money, but I can appreciate your senti 
 ments, and will have no feeling because you do not take 
 it. One of these days I may be able to do as great a ser 
 vice for you, as you are wilding to do for me between now 
 and next Monday." 
 
 They shook hands and parted, and Quincy made his way 
 to the Eagle Hotel, of which Mr. Seth Parsons was the 
 proprietor. Mr. Parsons greeted him heartily and invited 
 him into his private room. Here Quincy told the arrange 
 ment that he had made with young Chisholm, and gave 
 him the password. 
 
 "Don t stint them," said Quincy, "let them have a good 
 time ; but don t let anybody know who pays for it. I shall 
 be down on the half-past seven express, Monday night, and 
 I would like to have a nice little dinner for eight or nine 
 people ready in your private diniing-room at eight o clock. 1 
 Mr. Tobias Smith knows who my guests are to be, and if I 
 am delayed from any cause, he will tell you who are entitled 
 to go in and eat the dinner." 
 
 ^The next train to Boston was due in ten minutes, and 
 sfiaking hands wath the hotel proprietor, he made his way 
 quickly to the station. As he reached the platform he no- 
 tice d that Abner Stiles was just driving away; the thought
 
 288 QTJINCY ADAMS SAWYER. 
 
 flashed through his mind that somebody from Mason s Cor 
 ner was going to the city ; but that was no uncommon event, 
 and the thought passed from him. 
 
 He entered the car, and, to his surprise, found that it 
 was filled; every seat in sight was taken. He walked for 
 ward and espied a seat near the farther end of the car. He 
 noticed that a lady sat near the window; when he reached 
 it he raised his hat, and leaning forward, said politely, "Is 
 this seat taken?" 
 
 "No, sir," replied a pleasant, but somewhat sad voice, 
 and he sank into the seat without further thought as to its 
 other occupant. 
 
 When they reached the first station beyond Eastborough 
 Centre he glanced out of the window, a/nd as he did so, 
 noticed that his companion was Miss Lindy Putnam. 
 
 "Why, Miss Putnam," cried he, turning towards her, 
 "how could I be so ungallant as not to recognize you?" 
 
 "Well," replied Lindy, "perhaps it s just as well that you 
 didn t; my thoughts were not very pleasant, and I should 
 not have been a very entertaining companion." 
 
 "More trouble at home?" he inquired in a low voice. 
 
 "Yes," answered Lindy, in a choked voice, "since Mr. 
 Putnam died it has been worse than ever. While he lived 
 she had him to talk to ; but now she insists on talking to me, 
 and sends for me several times a day, ostensibly to do some 
 thing for her, but really simply to get me in the room so 
 she can talk over the old, old story, and say spiteful and 
 hateful things to me. May Heaven pardon me for saying 
 so, Mr. Sawyer, but I am thankful that it s nearly at an 
 end." 
 
 "Why, what do you mean," asked Quincy,"is she worse?" 
 
 "Yes," said Lindy, "she is failing very rapidly physically, 
 but her voice and mental powers are as strong as ever; in 
 feict, I think she is more acute in her mind and sharper in 
 her words than she has ever been before. Dr. Budd ordered 
 some medicine that I could not get at the Centre, and sc
 
 THE TOWN MEETING. 28$ 
 
 there was no way for me except to go to the city for it 
 Let me tell you now, Mr. Sawyer, something that I should 
 have been obliged to write to you, if I had not seen you. 
 I shall stay with Mrs. Putnam until she dies, for I prom 
 ised Jones that I would, and I could never break any prom 
 ise that I made to him; but the very moment that she s dead 
 I shall leave the house and the town forever !" 
 
 "Shall you not stay <to the funeral? 5 said Quincy; "what 
 will the townspeople say?" 
 
 "I don t care what they say," rejoined Lindy, in a sharp 
 tone; "she is not my mother, and I will not stay to the 
 funeral and hypocritically mourn over her, when in my 
 secret heart I shall be glad she is dead." 
 
 "Those are harsh words," said Quincy. 
 
 "Not one-tenth nor one-hundredth as harsh and unfeeling 
 as those she has used to me," said Lindy. "No, my mind 
 is made up; my trunks are all packed, and she will not be 
 able to lock me in my room this time. I shall leave town 
 by the first train after her death, and Eastborough will 
 never see me nor hear from me again." 
 
 "But how about your friends," asked Quincy, "suppos 
 ing that I should find out something that would be of in 
 terest to you ; supposing that I should get some information 
 that might lead to the discovery of your real parents, how 
 could I find you?" 
 
 "Well," replied Lindy, "if you will give me your promise 
 that you will not disclose to any one wfhat I am going to 
 say, I will tell you how to find me." 
 
 "You have my word," replied Quincy. 
 
 "Well," answered Lindy, "I m going to New York! I 
 would tell you where, but I don t know. But if you wish 
 to find me at any time advertise in the Personal Column of 
 the New York Herald ; address it to Linda, and sign it 
 Eastborough," said she, after a moment s thought. "I shall 
 drop the name of Putnam when I arrive in New York, but 
 what name I shall take I have not yet decided upon ; it will
 
 290 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER. 
 
 depend upon circumstances. But I shall have the New 
 York Herald every day, and if you advertise for me I 
 shall be sure to see it." 
 
 She then relapsed into silence, and Quincy forbore to 
 speak any more, as he saw she was busy with her own 
 thoughts. They soon reached the city and parted at the 
 >door of the station. She gave him her hand, and as he held 
 it in his for a moment, he said, "Good-by, Miss Linda." 
 She thanked him for not saying "Miss Putnam" with a 
 glance of her eyes. "I may not see you again, but you may 
 depend upon me. If I hear of anything that will help you 
 in your search for your parents, my time shall be given to 
 the matter, and I will communicate with you at the earliest 
 moment. Good-by." 
 
 He raised his hat and they parted. 
 
 Town Meeting Day proved to be a bright and pleasant 
 one. At nine o clock the Town Hall was filled with the 
 citizens of Eastborough. They had come from the Centre, 
 they had come from West Eastborough and from Mason s 
 Corner. There were very nearly four hundred gathered 
 upon the floor, the majority of them being horny-handed 
 sons of toil, or, more properly speaking, independent New 
 England farmers. 
 
 When Jeremiah Spinney, the oldest man in town, who 
 had reached the age of ninety-two, and who declared that 
 he hadn t "missed a town meetin for seventy year," called 
 the meetir-o-to order, a hush fell upon the assemblage. In 
 a cracked, but still distinct voice, he called for a nomination 
 for_Moderator of the meeting. Abraham Mason s name, 
 of Mason s Corner, was the only one presented. The choice 
 was bv acclamation; for it was acknowledged on all sides 
 that Deacon Mason was as square a man as there was in 
 town. 
 
 The newlv-elected Moderator took the chair and called 
 upon the clerk to read the warrant for the meeting. This 
 was soon done, and the transaction of the town s business
 
 THE TOWN MEETING. S* 
 
 in earnest. It will be, of course, impossible atva un 
 necessary to give a complete and connected account of all 
 that took place in town meeting on that day. For such an 
 account the reader is referred to the columns of the "East- 
 borough Express," for it was afterwards acknowledged on 
 all sides that the account of the meeting written by Mr. 
 Sylvester Chisholm was the most graphic and comprehen 
 sive that \had ever appeared in that paper. We have to do 
 omly with those items in the warrant that related directly 
 or indirectly to those residents of the town with whom we 
 are interested. 
 
 When the question of appropriating a certain sum for 
 the Support of the town Almshouse was reached, Obadiah 
 Strout sprang to his feet and called out, "Mister Modera 
 tor," in a loud voice. He was recognized, and addressed 
 t/he chair as follows: 
 
 "Mister Moderator, before a vote is taken on the ques 
 tions of appropriatin for the support of the town poor, I 
 wish to call the attention of my fellow-citizens to a matter 
 that has come to my knowledge durin the past year. A 
 short time ago a man who had been a town charge for more 
 than three years, and whose funeral expenses were paid by 
 the town, was discovered by me to be the only brother of 
 a man livin in Boston, who is said to be worth a million 
 dollars. A very strange circumstance was that the son of 
 this wealthy man, and a nephew of this town pauper, has 
 been livin in this town for several months, and spendin ? 
 his money in every way that he could think of to attract 
 attention, but it never occurred to him that he could have 
 used his money to better advantage if he had taken some of 
 it and paid it to the town for takin care of his uncle. 
 These facts are well known to many of us here, and I move 
 that a ballot " 
 
 Tobias Smith had been fidgeting uneasily in his seat 
 while Strout was speaking, and when he mentioned the 
 word "ballot," he could restrain himself no longer,
 
 292 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER. 
 
 jumped to !his feet and called out in his stentorian voice, 
 "Mister Moderator, I rise to a question of privilege." 
 
 "I have the floor," shouted Strout, "and I wash to finish 
 my remarks. This is only an attempt of the opposition to 
 shut me off. I demand to be heard!" 
 
 "Mister Moderator," screamed Abner Stiles, "I move 
 that Mr. Strout be allowed to continue without further 
 interruption." 
 
 The Moderator brought his gavel down >on the table and 
 called out, "Order, order." Then turning to Tobias, he 
 said, "Mr. Smith, state your question of privilege." 
 
 Strout sank into his seat, his face livid with passion; 
 turning to Stiles, he said, "This is all cooked up between 
 em. You know you told me you saw Smith and Stack- 
 pole and that city chap drivin away from the Deacon s 
 house last Saturday morninV 
 
 Stiles nodded his head and said, "I gues-s you re right. 
 
 Mr. Smith continued, "My question of privilege, Mister 
 Moderator, is this : I desire to present it now, because when 
 I ve stated it, my fellow citizen," turning to Strout, "will 
 find that it s unnecessary to make any motion in relation 
 to the matter to which he has referred. I hold in my hand 
 a letter from Mr. Quincy Adams Sawyer, whose father is 
 the Hon. Nathaniel Sawyer of Boston, and whose uncle was 
 Mr. James Sawyer, who died in the Eastborough Poor- 
 house several weeks ago. By conference with Mr. Waters, 
 who is in charge of the Poorhouse, and with the Toivn 
 Treasurer, he ascertained that the total expense to which 
 the town of Eastborough has been put for the care of his 
 uncle was four hundred and sixty-eight dollars and 
 seventy-two cents. I hold his check for that sum, drawn to 
 the order of the Town Treasurer, and certified to be good 
 by the cashier of the Eastborough National Bank. He has 
 requested me to offer this check to the town, and that a 
 receipt for the same be given by the Town Treasurer." 
 
 Strout jumped to his feet.
 
 THE TOWN MEETING. 393 
 
 "Mister Moderator, I am glad to learn, * cried he, "that 
 this son of a millionaire has had his iheart touched and his 
 conscience pricked by the kindness shown by the town of 
 Eastborough to his uncle, and I move the check be accepted 
 and a receipt given by the Town Treasurer, as requested." 
 
 "Second the motion !" called out Abner Stiles. 
 
 "Before puttin the question, said the Moderator slowly, 
 "I want to say a few -words on this matter, and as it may be 
 thought not just proper for me to speak from the chair, 
 I will call upon the Rev. Caleb Hiowe to take the same durin 
 my remarks." 
 
 The well-known clergyman at Mason s Corner came for 
 ward, ascended the platform, took the chair, and 1 recog 
 nized Deacon Mason s claim to be heard. 
 
 "I have heerd the motion to accept this check, an I de 
 sire ter say thet I am teetotally opposed to the town s takin 
 this money. If the Honorable Nathaniel Sawyer, who s the 
 dead man s brother, or Mr. Quincy Adams Sawyer, who s 
 his nephew, had known that he wuz a pauper, they would 
 er relieved the town of any further charge. We hev no 
 legal claim agin either of these two gentlemen. Our claim 
 is agin ther town of Amesbury, in which Mr. James Sawyer 
 was a citizen and a taxpayer. If Mr. Quincy Adams Saw 
 yer wishes to pay ther town of Amesbury after ther town 
 of Amesbury has paid us, thet s his affair and none o> our 
 business, but we ve no legal right to accept a dollar from 
 him, when our legal claim is agin the town in which he hed 
 a settlement, and I hope this motion will not prevail." 
 
 As Deacon Mason regained the platform loud cries of 
 "Vote i Vote ! Vote !" came from all parts of the hall. 
 
 Tellers were appointed, and in a few .moments the result 
 of the vote was announced. In favor of Mr. Strout s mo 
 tion to accept the check, eighty-five. Opposed, two hundred 
 and eighty. And it was not a vote. 
 
 "We will now proceed," said the Moderator, as he re-
 
 894 QUINCT ADAMS SAWYER. 
 
 sumed the chair, "to consider the question of appropriating 
 money k>r the support of the Poor-farm." 
 
 The next matter on the warrant of general interest was 
 the appropriation of a small sum of money to purchase 
 some reference books for the town library, which consisted 
 of but a few hundred volumes stowed away in a badly- 
 lighted and poorly-ventilated room on the upper floor of 
 the Town Hall. 
 
 This question brought to his feet Zachariah Butterfield, 
 who was looked upon as the watchdog of the town treasury. 
 He had not supported Strout on the question of accepting 
 the dheck, because he knew the position taken by the Mod 
 erator was legally correct, and he was very careful in oppos 
 ing appropriations to attack only those where, as it seemed 
 to him, he had a good show of carrying his point. He had 
 been successful so often, that with him success was a duty, 
 for he had a reputation to maintain. 
 
 "Mister Moderator," he said, "I m agin appropriatin any 
 more money for this ere town lib ry. We hev got plenty 
 of schoolbooks in our schools; we hev got plenty of books 
 and newspapers in our houses, and it s my opinion thet those 
 people who spend their time crawlin up three flights er 
 stairs and readin those books had better be tillin ther soil, 
 poundin on ther anvil, or catchin fish. Neow, I wuz talkin* 
 with Miss Burpee, the li brari n, and she sez they want a 
 new Wooster s Dictshuneery, cause ther old one iz all worn 
 eout. Neow, I looked through the old one, and I couldn t 
 see but what it s jest as good as ever; there may be a few 
 pages missin , but what s thet amount ter when there s 
 more n a couple of thousan on em left? 
 
 Mr. Tobias Smith was again fidgeting in his seat. He 
 evidently had something to say and was anxious to say it. 
 
 Mr. Butterfield continued: "Neow, to settle this question 
 onct fer all, I make ther motion that this ere lib ry be 
 closed up and the librari n discharged; she gits a dollar a
 
 THE TOWN MEETING. 39* 
 
 week, and ther town ken use that fifty-two dollars a year, 
 in my opinion, to better advantege." 
 
 "Mister Mbd erstor," came again from Mr. Tobias Smith, 
 "I rise to a question of privilege 
 
 Mr. Butterfield kept on talking: "Mister Moderator, this 
 is not a question of privilege; this is a question of expendi 
 ture of money for a needless purpose. Yes, Mister Mod 
 erator, for a needless purpose." 
 
 Mr. Butterfield had evidently lost the thread of his dis 
 course, and Mr. Smith, taking advantage of his temporary 
 indecision, said, "I agree with the gentleman who has just 
 spoken; I am in favor of closing up this musty, dusty old 
 room, and saving the further expenditure of money upon 
 it." 
 
 Mr. Butterfield, hearing these words, and not having suf 
 ficiently collected his thoughts to say anything himself, 
 nodded approvingly and sank into his seat. 
 
 Mr. Smith continued, "I have a proposition to submit in 
 relation to the town library. I hold in my hand a letter 
 from Mr. Quincy Adams Sawyer, whose name has been 
 previously (mentioned " 
 
 Mr. Strout jumped to ihis feet. 
 
 "Mister Moderator, I rise to a question of privilege/ 
 
 "I second the motion!" cried Abner Stiles. 
 
 "State your question of privilege, Mr, Strout," said the 
 Moderator. 
 
 "I wish to inquire," answered Strout, "if the time of 
 this town meetin is to be devoted to the legitimate business 
 of the town, or is it to be fooled away in hearin letters read 
 from a person who is not a citizen of the town, and who is 
 not entitled to be heard in this town meetin- ?" 
 
 "Mister Moderator," said Mr. Smith, "I am a citizen of 
 this town, and I m entitled to be heard in this meeting, and 
 the matter that I m about to bring to the attention of this 
 meeting is a most important one and affects the interests of 
 the town materially. I consider that I have a right to read
 
 296 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER. 
 
 this letter or any other letter that relates to the question 
 before the meeting, which is, Shall money be appropriated 
 to buy books for -what is called the town library? I say 
 NO ; and my reason for this is contained in this letter, which 
 I propose to read." 
 
 "Go on, Mr. Smith," said the Moderator. 
 
 "Well," continued : Mt. /Smith, "Mr. Qumcy Adams 
 Sawyer, in this letter, offers to the town of Eastborough 
 the sum of five thousand dollars, to be used either for pur 
 chasing books and paying the expenses of a library to be 
 located in the Town Hall; or a portion of the money may 
 be used to build a suitable building, and the balance for the 
 equipment and support of the library." 
 
 Mr. Butter-field was on his feet again, 
 
 "Mister Moderator, I m agin aoceptin this donation. If 
 we take it, we shall only jump out er the fryin-pan inter 
 the fire; instead of buyin a few books and payin the li- 
 brari n a dollar -a week, we shall hev to hev a jan ter for 
 the new buildin , and pay fer insurance, and we shell hev 
 ter hev a librari n ev ry day in ther week, and by m by the 
 ungodly will want ter :hev it open on a Sunday, so thet they 
 kin hev a place to loaf in ; and I m agin the whole bizness 
 teetotally. I ve sed my say; neow, you kin go ahead, and 
 do jest as you please." 
 
 This was Mr. Butterfield s usual -wind-up to his argu 
 ments; but on this occasion it seemed to fail of its effect. 
 
 The Moderator said, "Was Mr. Biutterfield s motion sec 
 onded?" There was no response. "Then the matter be 
 fore the meeting is the question of appropriating money 
 for the support of the town library." 
 
 "Mister Moderator," said Mr. Smith, "I move that the 
 donation from Mr. Ouincy Adams Sawyer be accepted, and 
 that the library be named The Sawyer Free Public Library 
 of the Town of Eastborough. 
 
 "Second the motion!" came from a hundred voices. 
 
 Strout was on his feet again.
 
 THE TOWN MEETING. 297 
 
 "Mister Moderator," said he, "I move to amend the mo 
 tion by havin it read that we decline, that the town declines 
 the donation without thanks." 
 
 A loud laugh arose from the assemblage. 
 
 Abner Stiles had evidently misinterpreted Mr. Strout s 
 motion, for he called out, "Mister Moderator," and when he 
 got the floor, "I move to amend so that the motion would 
 read, this library shall be called the Strout Free Library 
 of the Town of Eastboroug h." 
 
 This was greeted with shouts of laughter, and Strout 
 grasped Abner by his coat collar and pulled him violently 
 back upon the settee. 
 
 "Shut up, you fool, cried he between his teeth to Abner; 
 "do you want to make a laughin stock of me?" 
 
 "I kinder thought I wuz a-helpin yer," said Abner, as 
 he ran his fingers down under his chin and pulled away this 
 shirt collar, which had been drawn back so forcibly that it 
 interfered with his breathing. 
 
 "The question now/ said the Moderator, "is on the adop 
 tion of Mr. Smith s motion. Those in favor will please stand 
 up and be counted." 
 
 When the tellers had attended to their duty the Modera 
 tor said, "Those opposed will now rise and be counted." 
 
 The vote was soon announced. In favor of accepting 
 the donation, three hundred and one ; opposed, fifty-eight. 
 
 "It s a vote," declared the Moderator. 
 
 A dozen matters of minor importance were quickly dis 
 posed of, and but one remained upon the warrant, with the 
 exception of the election of town officers. Lirtle squads 
 of the members were now gathered together talking over 
 the most important question of the meeting, which was the 
 election of town officers for the ensuing year. The last 
 item on the warrant read: "Will the town appropriate 
 money to buy .a new hearse?" 
 
 Mr. Butterfield had evidently been holding himself hi
 
 298 QDIITOT ADAMS SAWYEK. 
 
 reserve, for he was on his feet in an instant, and he secured 
 the eye of the Moderator and -the floor. 
 
 "Mister Moderator," began Mr. Butterfield, "I desire to 
 raise my voice agin this biznez of unnecessary and unex 
 ampled extravagance. What do we want of a new hearse? 
 , Those who are dead and in the cemetery don t find any 
 fault with the one we ve got, and those who are livin have 
 no present use for it, and why should they complain? I 
 know what this means. This is only an enterin wedge. 
 If this ere bill passes and we git a new hearse, then it ll be 
 said thet ther horses don t look as well as the hearse, and 
 then if ther hearse gits out in ther storm, we shell hev ter 
 pay money to git it polished up agin, and we who are livin 
 will hev to work harder and harder for the benefit of those 
 who are jest as well satisfied with the old hearse as they 
 would be with a new one. I move, Mister Moderator, that 
 instid of buyin a new hearse, thet ther old one be length 
 ened six inches, which ken be done at a slight expense." 
 
 Mr. Tobias Smith now took the floor. 
 
 "I am glad that my friend has not opposed this measure 
 entirely, but has provided for my proper exit from this 
 world when my time comes. I must confess that it has 
 troubled me a great deal when I have thought about that 
 hearse. I was born down in the State of Maine, where the 
 boys and the trees grow up together. I stand six feet two 
 in my stockings and six feet three with my boots on, and 
 I haven t looked forward with any pleasure to being- car 
 ried to my last resting place in a hearse that was only six 
 feet long. I second Mr. Butterfield s motion, but move 
 to amend it by extending the length to seven feet." 
 
 The vote was taken, and Mr. Butterfi eld s motion was 
 carried by a vote of three hundred and forty to twenty-two. 
 Mr. Butterfield sank back in his seat with an expression on 
 his face that seemed to say, "I ve done the town some ser 
 vice to-day." 
 
 The Moderator then rose axui said, "Fellow-citizens, all
 
 THE TOWN MEETING. 299 
 
 the business matters upon the warrant have now been dis 
 posed of. We will now proceed to the election of town 
 officers for the ensuing" year." 
 
 Mr. Stackpole rose and called out, "Mister Moderator, 
 it is now nearly twelve o clock, and some of us had to leave 
 home quite early this morning in order to be in time at the 
 meeting. I move that we adjourn till one o clock, at which 
 time balloting for town officers usually commences." 
 
 Forty voices cried out, "Second the motion/ and al 
 though Strout, Stiles, and several others jumped to their 
 feet and endeavored to secure the Moderator s eye, the mo 
 tion was adopted by an overwhelming vote, and the greater 
 portion of the members .made their way out of the hall and 
 directed their steps towards the Eagle Hotel, ac if the 
 whole matter had been prearranged. Here, Mr. Parsons, 
 the proprietor, had set out a most tempting lunch in the 
 large dining-room, and those who were able to give the 
 password were admitted to the room, and feasted to their 
 heart s content. 
 
 Abner Stiles, impelled by curiosity, had followed the 
 party, and had noticed that each one said something to the 
 proprietor before he was admitted to the dining-room. 
 Going up to Parsons, he said, "What s goin on in there?" 
 
 "Oh, I guess they re having a caucus," replied Mr. Par 
 sons. 
 
 "When thet last feller went in," said Abner, "I saw that 
 the table was all set, and I kinder magined they must be 
 liavin a dinner. I d kinder like some myself." 
 
 "Well, I m sorry," said Mr. Parsons, "but I cannot ac 
 commodate any more than have already applied. You can 
 get a lunch over to the railroad station, you know, if you 
 want one. * 
 
 "I know," answered Abner, "but I kinder magine 
 they re talkin over lection matters in there, and I d rafchei- 
 like ter know what s goin on."
 
 300 QUItfCY ADAMS SAWYER. 
 
 "Well, I .guess you ll find out when they get back to the 
 Town Hall/ remarked Mr. Parsons; and he stepped for 
 ward to greet three or four other citizens, who leaned over 
 and whispered in his ear. 
 
 (Mr. Parsons smiled and nodded, and opening 1 the door 
 admitted them to the dining-room. 
 
 "Well, that beats all," said Abner, as he went out on the 
 platform in front of the hotel. "They jest whispered some- 
 thin to him and he let em, rigiht in. I kinder think some- 
 thin s goin on and thet Strout ain t up to it. Guess I ll go 
 back and tell him," which he proceeded to do. 
 
 He found Strout and some sixty or seventy of the citizens 
 stiill remaining in the Town Hall, the majority of whom 
 were eating the luncheons tihat they had brought with them 
 from home. Taking- Strout aside, Abner confided to him 
 the intelligence of which he had become possessed.. 
 
 " D yer know what it means? asked Abner. 
 
 "No, I don t," said Strout, "but I bet a dollar that it s 
 some of that city chap s doin s. Is he round about town 
 this mornin ?" 
 
 "No," said Abner, "he went to Bosting on the same train 
 with Miss Lindy Putnam, for I fetched her down, and I 
 saw him git inter the same car with her as I wuz drivin 
 off." 
 
 One o clock soon arrived, and the large party that had 
 regaled themselves with the appetizing viands and non 
 alcoholic beverages supplied by mine host of the Eagle 
 Hotel came back to the Town Hall in the best of spirits. 
 The majority of them were smoking good cigars, which 
 had been handed to them by the proprietor, as they passed 
 from the dining-room. 
 
 When asked if there was anything 1 to pay, Mr. Parsons 
 shook his head and remarked sententiously, "This is not the 
 only present that the town has received to-day ," which was 
 a delicate way of insinuating the name of the donor of the 
 feast without actually mentioning it.
 
 THE TOWN MEETING. 80J 
 
 The election of a dozen minor officers calls for no special 
 attention, except to record the fact that Abner Stiles, wfoo 
 had cautiously taken a position several settees removed 
 from Strout, arose as the nominations were made for each 
 office, and in every case nominated Mr. Obadiah Strout for 
 the position, and it is needless to add that Mr. Obadiah 
 Strout had at least one vote for each office in the gift of 
 the town. 
 
 The nomination of a collector of taxes for the town was 
 finally reached. Abner Stiles was first on his feet, and 
 being recognized -by the Moderator, nominated "Mr, Oba 
 diah Strout, who had performed the duties of the office so 
 efficiently during the past year." 
 
 Now the battle royal began. Mr. Tobias Smith next 
 obtained the floor andi nominated Mr. Wallace Stackpole. 
 
 "In presenting this nomination, Mister Moderator, I do 
 it out of justice to an old -soldier who served the country 
 faithfully, and who lost the election a year ago on account 
 of an untrue statement that was widely circulated and 
 wihi ch could not be refuted in time to affect the question of 
 his election. I .hold in my hand three documents. The 
 first one is a certified copy of the war record of Wallace 
 Stackpole, who entered one of our regiments of Volunteers 
 as a private, served throughout the war, and was honorably 
 discharged with the rank of captain. This record shows 
 that during his four years of -service he was three times 
 wounded; in one instance so badly that for weeks his life 
 hung by a thread, and it was only by the most careful treat 
 ment that amputation of his right arm was avoided. I 
 hold here also the war record of the present incumbent of 
 the office. From it I learn that he entered the army as a 
 private and was discharged at the end of two years still 
 holding the rank of private, and sent home as an invalici. 
 He is not to blame for this, but inspecting his record I find 
 that within a month after he joined the army he was de 
 tailed for service in the hospital, and during the two years
 
 302 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER. 
 
 of his connection with the army lie was never engaged in a 
 single battle, not even in a skirmish." 
 
 Cries rose from certain parts of the hall in opposition to 
 the speaker, and Deacon Mason remarked that while it was 
 perfectly proper to compare the war records of the two 
 candidates for the position, it -must be borne in mind that 
 because a man was a soldier, or, rather, because he did a 
 little more fighting than the other one, was no reason that 
 he would make a better tax collector. 
 
 The Moderator s remarks were greeted with applause, 
 and Strout s face brightened. 
 
 "I am glad to see the Deacon s .bound to have fair play," 
 said he to an old farmer who sat next to him. 
 
 "Waal, I guess you re more liable to git it than you are 
 disposed to give it," drawled the old farmer, who evidently 
 was not an adherent of the present incumbent of the office. 
 
 iMr. Tobias Smith continued his remarks: 
 
 "I acknowledge the correctness of the remarks just made 
 iby our honored Moderator, and desire to say that I hold 
 in my hand a third document, whidh is a statement of the 
 taxes due and collected during the past twenty years by the 
 different persons who have held the office of tax collector. 
 I find during nineteen years of that time that the lowest 
 percentage of taxes left unpaid at the end of the year was 
 five per cent; the highest percentage during these nineteen 
 years, and that occurred during the war, was fourteen per 
 cent; but I find that during the past year only seventy- 
 eight per cent of the taxes due have been collected, leaving 
 twenty-two per cent still due the town, and the non-receipt 
 of this money will seriously hamper the selectmen during 
 the coming year, unless we choose a man who can give his 
 entire time to the business and collect the money that is 
 due. This statement is certified to by the town treasurer, 
 and I do not suppose that the present incumbent will pre 
 sume to question its accuracy." 
 
 Strout evidently thought that a further discussion of the
 
 THE TOWN MEETING. SOS 
 
 matter might work to his still greater disadvantage, for he 
 leaned over and spoke to one of his adherents, who rose 
 and said: 
 
 "Mister Moderator, this discussion has "taken a personal 
 nature, in which I am not disposed to indulge. I don t 
 think that anything will be gained by such accusations and 
 comparisons. It strikes me that the last speaker is trying 
 to give tit for tat because his candidate lost at the last 
 election; but I am one of those who believe that crimina 
 tions and recriminations avail nothing, and I move that w>e 
 proceed to vote at once." 
 
 "Second the motion!" screamed Abner Stiles from the 
 settee on which he had assumed a standing posture. 
 
 The vote was taken. Those in favor of Obadiah Strout 
 being called upon to stand up first, they numbered exactly 
 one hundred and one. Then those in favor of Wallace 
 Stackpole were called upon to rise, and they numbered 
 two hundred and eighty-four; several citizens having put in 
 an appearance at one o clock who had not attended the 
 morning session. 
 
 The next matter was the election of the Board of Select 
 men; and the old board was elected by acclamation with 
 out a division. The meeting then adjourned without day. 
 
 The five minutes past six train, express from Boston, ar 
 rived on time, and at twenty minutes of eight, Mr. Quincy 
 Adams Sawyer entered the private dining-room in the 
 Eagle Hotel. There he found gathered Mr. Tobias Smith, 
 JVIr. Wallace Stackpole, Mr. Ezekiel Pettengill, Mr. Sylves- 
 Ster Chisholm, and the Board of Selectmen, making the 
 party of eight which Quincy had mentioned. It was eleven 
 o clock before the dinner party broke up, and during that 
 time Quincy had heard from one or another of the party a 
 full account of the doings at the town meeting. 
 
 It is needless to say that he was satisfied with the results, 
 but he said nothing 1 to indicate that fact in the presence of 
 the Board of Selectmen. They were the first to leave, and
 
 804 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER. 
 
 then there was an opportunity for mutual congratulations 
 by the remaining members of the party. To these four 
 should be added Mr. Parsons, the proprietor, upon whose 
 face rested a broad smile when lie presented his bill for the 
 day s expense s, and the sum was paid by Quincy. 
 
 "We liad a very pleasant time," remarked Mr. Parsons to 
 Mr. Sawyer as he bade him good evening. 
 
 "I am delighted to hear it," said Quincy, "and I regret 
 very much that my busine&s in the city prevented my being 
 here to enjoy it." 
 
 On the way home with Ezekiel they went over the events 
 of the day again together, and Ezekiel told him many little 
 points, that for obvious reasons had been omitted at the 
 dinner party. 
 
 Quincy was driven directly to Mrs. Hawkins s boarding 
 huose, for he had explained his programme to Ezekiel. He 
 turrred tip his coat collar and pulled his hat down over his 
 eyes, as he was admitted; and, although Mrs. Hawkins s 
 eyes were naturally sharp, she did not recognize the late 
 comer, who proceeded upstairs to his room, which Mrs. 
 Hawkins informed him was right opposite the head of the 
 stairs, and there was a light burning in the room and a good 
 warm fire, and if he needed anything, if he would just call 
 to her inside of <the next ten minutes, she would get it for 
 him. 
 
 Quincy said nothing, but went into his room and shut the 
 door, and there we will leave him. 
 
 As Strout and Abner drove back to Mason s Corner, after 
 the adjournment of the town meeting, nothing was said for] 
 the first mile of the trip. 
 
 Then Abner turned to him and remarked, "You ought 
 ter be well satisfied with to-day s perceedin s. 
 
 "How do you make that out?" growled Strout. 
 
 "Waal, I think the events proved," said Abner, "that 
 you wuz the most pop lar man in ther town." 
 
 "How do you make that out?" again growled Strout.
 
 THE TOWN MEETING. 305 
 
 "Why," said Abner, "you wuz nominated for every office 
 in the gift o Cher town, and that s more n any other feller 
 could say." 
 
 "If you don t shut up," saM Strout, "I ll nominate you 
 for town idytrt, and there won t be any use of any one run- 
 nin agin yer! 
 
 Abner took his reproof meekly. He always did when 
 Strout spoke to him. No more was said until they reached 
 home. Strout entered the boarding house and went up 
 stairs to his room, forgetting that there was a man from 
 Boston, to arrive late that evening, who was to have the 
 next room to his. 
 
 Abner put up the (horse and went home. As he went by 
 Strout s door, thoughts of the rum and molasses, and the 
 good cigar that he had enjoyed the night of the surprise 
 party one week ago went through his mind, and he stopped 
 before Strout s door and listened attentively, but there was 
 no -sound, and he went upstairs disconsolately, and went to 
 bed feeling that his confidence in the Professor had been 
 somewhat -diminisihed by the events of the day.
 
 CHAPTER XXIX. 
 MRS. HAWKINS BOARDING HOUSE. 
 
 MRS. HAWKINS waited patiently until eight o clock 
 for the gentleman from Boston to come down to 
 breakfast. She then waited impatiently from eight o clock 
 till nine. During that time she put the breakfast on the 
 stove to keep it warm, and also made several trips to the 
 front entry, where she listened to see if she could hear any 
 signs of movement on the part of her new boarder. 
 
 When nine o clock arrived s>he could restrain her impa 
 tience no longer, and, going upstairs, she gave a sharp 
 knock on the door of Quincy s room. 
 
 "What is it?" answered a voice, somewhat sharply. 
 
 "It s nine o clock, and your breakfast s most dried up," 
 replied Mrs. Hawkins. 
 
 "I don t wish for any breakfast," said the voice within 
 the room, but in a much pleasanter tone. "What time do 
 you have dinner?" 
 
 "Twelve o clock," said Mrs. Hawkins. 
 
 "All right," answered the voice, cheerfully. "I ll take 
 my breakfast and dinner together." \ 
 
 "That beats all," said Mrs. Hawkins, as she entered the 
 kitchen. 
 
 "What beats all? asked Betsy Green, who worked for 
 Mrs. Hawkins. 
 
 "It beats all," repeated Mrs. Hawkins, "how these city 
 folks can sit up till twelve o clock at night, and then go with 
 out their breakfast till noontime. I ve fixed up somethin 
 oretty nice for him, and I don t propose to see it wasted."
 
 MKS. HAWKINS BOARDING HOUSE. 80? 
 
 "What are you goin to do with it?" asked Betsy. 
 " Twon t keep till to-morrer mornin ." 
 
 "I m gain to eat it myself," said Mrs. Hawkins. And 
 suiting the action to the word, she transferred the appetiz 
 ing breakfast to the kitchen table, and, taking a seat, began 
 to devour it. 
 
 "Have you seen your sister, Samanthy, lately? she 
 asked. 
 
 "I was up there Sunday evening," replied Betsy, "and 
 she said Mis Putnam was failin very fast. She keeps her 
 bed all the time now, and Samanthy has to run up and 
 down stairs bout forty times a day. She won t let Miss 
 Lindy do a thing for her." 
 
 "Well, if I was Lindy," said Mrs. Hawkins, "I wouldn t 
 do anything for her if she wanted me to. She used to abuse 
 that ohild shamefully. Is Miss Lindy goin to keep house 
 arter her mother dies?" 
 
 "No," said Betsy, "she s got her things all packed up, 
 and she told Samanthy she should leave town for well and 
 good as soon as her mother was buried." 
 
 "I don t blame her," exclaimed Mrs. Hawkins. 
 "Where s Samanthy goin ?" 
 
 "Oih, she says she wants to rest awhile afore she goes 
 anywheres else to live. She s all run down." 
 
 "P r aps she ll go and stay with yer mother for a while.** 
 
 "No," said Betsy, "she won t go there." 
 
 "Ain t yer mother n her on good terms?" 
 
 "Oh, yes," replied Betsy, "but the four boys send mother 
 five dollars a month apiece, and us girls give her two dol 
 lars a month apiece, and it s understood that none of us is 
 to go and loaf round at home, less we pay our board." 
 
 "That s all right," said Mrs. Hawkins. "You can tefl 
 Samanthy for me that she can come here and stay a couple 
 o weeks with you. Your bed s big enough for two, and I 
 won t charge her no board if she s willin to wait on table
 
 308 QUINCT ADAMS SAWYER. 
 
 at dinner time. You ll get the benefit of it, ye know, 
 Betsy, for you kin get the dinner dishes done so much ear 
 lier." 
 
 "That s very kind of you, Mrs. Hawkins," said Betsy, 
 and the conversation lapsed for a moment till she in 
 quired, "Will your daughter Mandy stay with Mr. Petten- 
 gill arter he marries Huldy Mason?" 
 
 "I don t know," replied Mrs. Hawkins. "Mandy says 
 that Hiram Maxwell is the biggest fool of a man she ever 
 saw." 
 
 "Then she must think a good deal of him," laughed 
 Betsy. 
 
 "Wall, I fancy she does," replied Mrs. Hawkins; "and 
 I ve no objections to him, seein as that Mr. Sawyer is goin 
 to put him inter the grocery store and back him up. But 
 Mandy says that he won t come to the pi nt. He hints and 
 hints and wobbles all round the question, but he don t ask 
 her to marry him right out and out. Mandy says she won t 
 gin in until he does, for if she does, she says he ll be 
 chuckin it at her one of these days that he didn t ask her 
 to marry him and be sayin as how she threw herself at 
 him, but there s too much of the old Job Skinner spirit in 
 Mandy for her to do anythin like that." 
 
 At this moment Mrs. Hawkins looked up and saw Hiram 
 Maxwell standing in the half-open doorway that led into 
 the wood-shed. 
 
 "List ners never hear any good of themselves," remarked 
 Mrs. Hawkins, as Hiram advanced into the room. 
 
 "I didn t hear nothin ," said Hiram. "I ve got too 
 many things in my head to tell yer to mind any women s 
 talk," he continued. 
 
 "What is it?" cried Mrs. Hawkins and Betsy simul 
 taneously. 
 
 "Well, fust," said Hiram, "early this mornin your sister 
 Sajmanthy," here he looked at Betsy, "came tearin down
 
 MKS. HAWKINS BOAKDING HOUSE. 309 
 
 to Deacon Mason s house and said as how Mis Hepsey 
 Putnam was powerful bad, and she wanted, me to run 
 down to Zeke Pettengill s and have him bring his sister 
 right up to the house, cause Mis Putnam wanted to see 
 her afore she died, and the Deacon s wife said as how I 
 could go up with him and (her, and so we druv up, and a 
 little while ago your sister Samanthy," here he looked at 
 Betsy again, "asked me if I d drive over and ask Mis 
 Hawkins if you," here he looked at Betsy for the third 
 time, "could come up and stay with her this arternoon, for 
 she thinks Mis Putnam is goin to -die, and she don t want 
 to be left alone up in that big house." 
 
 Betsy looked at Mrs. Hawkins inquiringly. 
 
 Mrs. Hawkins saw the glance and said, "I can t spare 
 yer till &rter dinner, Betsy; say bout one o clock. You 
 kin go and stay till the fust thing to-morrer mornin . I 
 guess I kin manage supper alone." 
 
 "Samanthy will be much obleeged, Mis Hawkins," said 
 Hiram. "I ll drive right back and tell her, and I ll drive 
 down agin about one o clock arter Betsy." 
 
 "List ners get a good p int now and then," remarked 
 Hiram to himself. "Now I see what made Mandy so 
 durned offish. Wall, she won t have any excuse in the 
 future. I guess I kin ask her a straight question when I 
 git good and ready, Mother Hawkins." And he struck 
 the horse such a violent -blow with the whip that it required 
 all his attention for the next few minutes to bring him 
 down to a trot. When he had done so he had reached his 
 destination and his resentful feelings had subsided. 
 
 After Hiram had gone, Mrs. Hawkins and Betsy busied 
 themselves getting dinner. Happening to glance out of 
 the window, the former exclaimed, "Why, there s Jonas, 
 and what on airth has he got in his hands? 5 
 
 Betsy ran to the window and looked out. 
 
 "I guess it s a head of lettuce," said she.
 
 810 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER. 
 
 At that moment the door opened and Jonas Hawkins 
 entered, bearing a huge head of lettuce in his hand. 
 
 "Wall, Marthy," said Mr. Hawkins, "how did the man 
 from Bosting like his breakfast? I kalkilated them fresh- 
 laid eggs would suit him to a T." 
 
 "He ain t got up yet," replied Mrs. Hawkins. 
 
 "Must have been putty tired," continued Air. Hawkins. 
 "I kinder envy him. Do yer know, Marthy, if I wuz rich 
 I wouldn t git up any day till it wuz time to go to bed 
 agin." And he laughed loudly at his own remark. 
 
 "What do yer expect me to do with that head of let 
 tuce?" asked Mrs. Hawkins with some asperity in her 
 tone. 
 
 "Wall," said Jonas, "I was over to Hill s grocery and 
 he d ordered some from Bosting for Mis Putnam, but she s 
 too sick to eat em, so Sam gave me this one, cause we re 
 putty good customers, you know, and I kalkilated that if 
 you made up one of them nice chicken salads o yourn it 
 might please the new boarder and the old ones too;" and 
 chuckling to himself he laid the lettuce on the kitchen 
 table and walked out into the wood-shed. In a few mo 
 ments he was vigorously at work chopping wood, whistling 
 to himself as he worked. 
 
 "Mr. Hawkins is an awful good-natured man, isn t he?" 
 asked Betsy. 
 
 "Yes," replied Mrs. Hawkins, "he s too all-fired good- 
 natured for his own good. If I d known him twenty-five 
 years ago he d have money in the bank now. His fust 
 wife wuz slacker n dish water. But I guess we ve talked 
 enough for one mornin , Betsy. You jest git that chicken 
 I boiled and bone it and chop it up, and I ll -make the 
 dressin ." 
 
 When twelve o clock sounded from the bell in the 
 church tower, dinner was on the table at Mrs. Hawkins s 
 boarding house. By five minutes past twelve there were
 
 MRS. HAWKINS BOARDING HOUSE. 311 
 
 fourteen seated at the table, with one vacant chair. Pro 
 fessor Strout sat at the head of the table. At his left was 
 Abner Stiles, while Robert Wood sat next to Stiles. The 
 vacant seat was at the Professor s right hand, and all eyes 
 were turned toward it, for all had heard of the Boston man 
 who had arrived the night before, but who, much to their 
 disappointment, had not appeared at breakfast. 
 
 At ten minutes past twelve the door leading into the 
 dining-room from the front entry was opened quietly, and 
 the young man who entered, seeing the vacant chair near 
 the head of the table, took possession of it. 
 
 For a moment nobody looked up, each apparently wait 
 ing for some one else to take the initiative. 
 
 Quincy, for it was he, broke the silence, and immediately 
 every face at the table was turned towards him. 
 
 "How do you do, Professor?" said he. "Good afternoon, 
 Mr. Stiles and Mr. Wood. Ah, glad to see you, Mr. Hill," 
 he added, as he espied Samuel Hill at the farther end of the 
 table. 
 
 The Professor s face grew crimson, then bright red, an t 
 finally assumed a bluish tinge. Abner sat transfixed. The 
 others at the table had a charming diversity of expressions 
 on their faces, ranging from "grave to gay, from lively to 
 severe." No one at the table enjoyed the situation anv 
 more than Samuel Hill, who was very fond of a joke and 
 who knew of Quincy s intention to meet his enemy at close 
 quarters. 
 
 For several minutes no one spoke. Betsy flew from one 
 to the other waiting upon table, but a solemn hush seemed 
 to have fallen upon the dinner party. Again Quincy broke 
 the silence. 
 
 "I trust, gentlemen," said he, "that you will not let my 
 presence interfere with your usual conversation. I have 
 no doubt Mr. Stiles can tell us a good story, and I am
 
 B12 QOINCT ADAMS SAWYER. 
 
 equally sure that Professor Strout has some entertaining 
 bit of village gossip that he would like to circulate." 
 
 Here Samuel Hill purposely dropped liis fork upon the 
 floor and was obliged to get under the table to recover it, 
 Betsy assisting him in the search. When they emerged 
 from under the table their faces were red with their exer 
 tions. 
 
 As we have seen on other occasions, the Professor was 
 very quick in rescuing himself from any dilemma into 
 which he might be thrown. He saw an opportunity to 
 divert attention from himself and speedily improved it. 
 
 "I think I ll have to walk over and see Miss Tilly James 
 this afternoon," said the Professor. 
 
 At this shot at Samuel Hill and Betsy everybody 
 laugihed, including Quincy, and thus the ice was broken. 
 
 "I ve heard some pretty big lies told in my life," said 
 Robert Wood, "but I think Abel Coffin, yer know him, 
 Professor, old Jonathan Coffin s son, the one that goes car- 
 penterin , he lives over in Montrose, yer know, can beat 
 anybody we ve got in this town, not exceptin you, Stiles;" 
 and he gave the latter a nudge with his elbow that nearly 
 knocked him out of his chair. 
 
 "Tell us the story, Robert," said the Professor, who had 
 recovered his self-complacency; "we re dyin to hear it." 
 
 "Well," continued Robert Wood, "Abel had been shin- 
 glin a house, ancl I told him there wuz a place where he d 
 left off a shingle. Abel laughed and, scz he, If I hadn t 
 better eyesight than you ve got I d carry a telescope round 
 with me. Well, sez I, thinkin I d fool him, let s see 
 which one of us has got the best eyesight. I pointed up 
 to the ridgepole of the house, which was bout a hundred 
 feet off from where we stood, and sez I to Abel, Can you 
 see that fly walkin along on the ridgepole near the chim 
 ney? I ken. Abel put his hand up back of his ear, an<3
 
 MRS. HAWKINS BOARDING HOUSE. 313 
 
 sez he, No, I can t see him, but I can hear him walkin 
 round. " 
 
 As Robert concluded, a loud shout of laughter went up 
 from the table. Quincy had no desire to be considered 
 "stuck up," so he joined in the laugh, although he had 
 heard the story in a different form before. 
 
 So had the Professor, and he never allowed an old story 
 to be told in his presence without working in two lines of 
 doggerel which he had composed, and of which he was 
 very proud. So, turning to Robert Wood he said patron 
 izingly, "That was very well told, Robert. The story is 
 an old one, but you worked it up very nicely; but," con 
 tinued the Professor, "as I have often remarked on similar 
 occasions: 
 
 It makes no difference whether a story s new or old, 
 Everything depends on the way it s told." 
 
 Turning quickly to Quincy he said, "No doubt Mr. Saw 
 yer can favor us with a story that we ve never heard be 
 fore." 
 
 Quincy was a little taken aback, for the appeal was un 
 expected, but he quickly recovered his self-possession and 
 said in a low but pleasant voice, "I am afraid that my story 
 will have to depend on the way it is told rather than upon 
 its novelty." He wondered if his hearers were acquainted 
 with the travels of Baron Munchausen, but decided to try 
 the experiment. "About a year ago," resumed Quincy, 
 "I went down to Mlaine on some law business. I transacted 
 it, but had to travel some ten miles to the county town to 
 record my papers. I had a four-wheeled buggy, and a 
 strong, heavily-built horse. It began to snow very fast 
 after I started, but I knew the road and drove steadily on. 
 As I approached the county town I noticed that the snow 
 was deeper than the highest building in the town, in fact*
 
 314 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER, 
 
 none of the town was visible, excepting about three feet of 
 the spire of the tallest church in the place." 
 
 Quincy stopped and glanced about the table. Every eye 
 was fastened upon him, and all, including the Professor 
 and Stiles particularly, were listening intently. Quincy 
 continued his story: 
 
 "I was well supplied with buffalo robes, so after tying 
 m} horse firmly to the weather vane on the spire, I made 
 up a bed on the snow with my buffalo robes, and slept 
 soundly and comfortably all night. When I woke in the 
 morning I was still enveloped in the robes, but found to my 
 surprise that I was lying upon the ground. I looked 
 around, but there was no sign of snow anywhere. I arose 
 and looked about for my horse and buggy, but they were 
 not in sight. Then I remembered that I had tied my horse 
 to the weather vane. Casting my eyes upward I saw my 
 horse and buggy hanging by the strap, the horse having 
 secured a footing on the side of Uhe spire. Happily I had 
 a revolver with me, and with one shot I severed the broacl 
 leathern strap. Naturally the horse and buggy fell to the 
 ground. I put my buffalo robes back into the buggy, rode 
 to the court house, had my papers recorded, and then 
 drove back ten miles to town, none the worse for my ad 
 venture, but the stableman charged me fifty cents for the 
 strap that I was obliged to leave on the church spire." 
 
 A number of low whistles, intermixed with several 
 "whews!" were heard, as Quincy finished his story. 
 
 "Wall, by thunder!" ejaculated Stiles, "how do yer ac 
 count for " 
 
 "I think it must have been a sudden thaw," remarked 
 Quincy, with a grave face. 
 
 "One thing puzzles me," said the Professor. 
 
 "What is that?" asked Quincy politely, "perhaps I can 
 explain." 
 
 "Before you left the church," asked the Professor, "why 
 didn t you reach up and ontie that strap?"
 
 MRS. HAWKINS BOARDING HOUSE. 3U 
 
 Another loud shout of laughter broke from the company, 
 and Quincy, realizing that the Professor >had beaten him 
 fairly by putting a point on his own story, joined heartily in 
 the laugh at his own expense. 
 
 "That reminds me," said Abner Stiles, "of an adventure 
 that I had several years ago, down in Maine, when I wuz 
 younger and spryer n I am now." 
 
 "How old be you?" said the Professor. 
 
 "Wall," replied Abner, "the family Bible makes me out 
 to be fifty-eight, but jedgin from the fun I ve had I m 
 as old as Methooserlar." 
 
 This remark gave Stiles the preliminary laugh, which 
 he always counted upon when he told a story. 
 
 "Did yer ever meet a b ar?" asked he, directing his re 
 mark to Quincy. 
 
 "Yes," said Quincy, "I ve stood up before one many a 
 time." 
 
 "Well, really," exclaimed Abner, "how d yer come off?" 
 
 "Usually with considerable less money than when I went 
 up," replied Quincy, seeing that Abner was mystified. 
 
 "What?" said Abner. "I mean a real black b ar, one of 
 those big, shaggy fellers sech as you meet in the woods 
 down in Maine." 
 
 "Oh," said Quincy, "I was talking about an open bar, 
 such as you find in bar-rooms and hotels." 
 
 This time the laugh was on Abner, and he was consider 
 ably nettled by it. 
 
 "Go on, Abner, go on!" came from several voices, and 
 thus reassured, he continued: 
 
 "Wall, as I wuz goin to say, I was out partridge shoot 
 ing down in Maine several years ago, and all I had with me 
 was a fowlin piece and a pouoh of bird shot. In fact, I 
 didn t have any shot left, for I d killed bout forty par 
 tridges. I had a piece of strong twine with me, so I tied 
 their legs together and slunsr em over rav .shoulder. 1
 
 *16 QUINCT ADAMS SATVYER. 
 
 was jest goin to start for hum when I heerd the boughs 
 crackin behind me, and turnin round I saw Geewhilli- 
 kins! a big black b ar not more n ten feet from me. I 
 had nothin to shoot him with, and knew that the only way 
 to save my life wuz to run for it. I jest bent over and 
 threw the partridges on the ground, thinkin as I did so 
 that perhaps the b ar would stop to eat them, and I couid 
 git away. I started to run, but caught my toe in some 
 underbrush and went down ker-slap. I said all the prayers 
 I knew in bout eight seconds, then got up, and started to 
 run ag in. Like Lot s wife, I couldn t help lookin back, 
 and there wuz the b ar flat on his back. I went up to him 
 kinder cautious, for I didn t know but he might be sham- 
 min , them black b ars are mighty cute; but, no, he wuz 
 deader n a door nail. I took the partridges back to town, 
 and then a party on us came back and toted the b ar home." 
 
 Every one sat quietly for a moment, then Quincy asked 
 with a sober face, "What caused the bear s death; was it 
 heart disease?" 
 
 "No," said Abner, " twas some sort of brain trouble. 
 Yer see, when I threw those partridges onter the ground it 
 brought a purty powerful strain onto my galluses. When 
 we cut the b ar up we found one of my pants buttons right 
 in the centre of his brain." 
 
 Abner s story was greeted with those signs of approval 
 that were so dear to his heart, and Quincy, realizing that 
 when you are in Rome you must do as the Romans do, wa? 
 not backward in his applause. 
 
 All eyes were now turned to the Professor. 
 
 "I don t think," said he, "that I can make up a lie to 
 match with those that have jist been told, but if any of you 
 are enough interested in the truth to want to li sten to a 
 true story, I kin tell you one that came under my ofoserva- 
 tion a few days ago." 
 
 All looked inquiringly at Strout, but none spoke.
 
 MBS. HAWKINS BOAKDING HOUSE. 317 
 
 "Wall," said he, "I s pose I must consider as how silence 
 means consent, and go ahead. Wall" he continued, "you 
 all know, or most all on yer do, old Bill Tompkins, that 
 lives out on the road to Montrose. This occurrence took 
 place early las summer. Old Bill hisself is too close- 
 mouthed to let on about it, but when I was over there the 
 other day, arter givin Lizzy Tompkins her music-lesson, I 
 got talkin with her mother, and one thing led to another, 
 and finally I got the whole story outer her. Old Bill had 
 a cow that they called Old Jinnie. She was always mis- 
 cheevous, but last year she d been wusser n ever. She d 
 git out of the barn nights, and knock down fences, and 
 tramp down flower gardens, and everybody said she wuz a 
 pesky noosance. One night old Bill and his family wuz 
 seated round the centre table in the sittin -room. There 
 wuz Mary, his wife; and George, his oldest boy, a young 
 fellow about eighteen; Tommy, who is a ten-year-older, 
 and little Lizzy, who is about eight. George wuz readin 
 somethin out of a paper to em, when they heerd a-runnin 
 and a-jumpin , and old Bill said, That varmint s got out of 
 the barn and is rampagin* round agin. The winder 
 curt ins wuz up, and old Jinnie must a seed the light, for 
 she run pell-mell agin the house, and drove her horns 
 through the winder, smashin four panes. Old Bill and 
 George managed to git her back Inter the barn and tied her 
 tip. 
 
 "As they wuz walking back to the house, old Bill said fj 
 Consarn her picter, I ll make beef o her to-morrer or myj 
 name ain t Bill Tompkins. When they got back to the 
 settin -room, George said, How be yer goin* ter do it, dad? 
 Why, cut her throat, said Bill. You can t do it, said 
 George, the law sez yer must shoot her fust in the temple. 
 All right, said old Bill, you shoot and I ll carve. So next 
 inornin they led old Jinnie out with her head p inted 
 towards the barn. George had loaded up the old musket,
 
 318 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER. 
 
 and stood "bout thirty feet off. George didn t know just 
 edzactly where the cow s temple wuz, but he imagined it 
 must be somewhere atween her eyes, so he fired and hit 
 her squar in the forehead. That was enough for old Jinnie, 
 she jist ducked her head, and with a roar like the bull of 
 fBashan she put for George. He dropped the musket and 
 went up the ladder inter the haymow livelier n he ever did 
 before, you kin bet. Old Jinnie struck the ladder and 
 knocked it galley-west. Old Jinnie then turned round and 
 spied little Tommy. He put, and she put arter him. There 
 wasn t nothin else to do, so Tommy took a high jump and 
 landed in the pig-sty. Old Bill is kinder deef in one ear, and 
 he didn t notice much what wuz goin on on that side of 
 him. He was runnin the grindstone and puttin a good 
 sharp edge on his butcher knife, when he happened to look 
 up and seed old Jinnie comin head on. He dropped the 
 knife and started for the house, thinkin he d dodge in the 
 front door. Over went the grindstone and old Jinnie, too, 
 but she wuz up on her feet ag in quicker n scat. She 
 seemed to scent the old man, for when she got to the front 
 door she turned in and then bolted right into the parlor. 
 Old Bill heerd her comin , and he went head fust through 
 the open winder, and landed in the orchard. He got up 
 and run for a big apple-tree that stood out near the road, 
 and never stopped till he d dumb nearly to the top. Little 
 Lizzie gave a yell like a catamount and ran behind the 
 pianner, which was sot out a little from the wall. Old Jin 
 nie went bunt inter the pianner and made a sandwich of 
 Lizzie, who wuz behind it. Mis Tompkins heard Lizzie 
 scream, and come to see what the matter was. When she 
 see Jinnie she jist made strides for the wood-shed, and old 
 Jinnie sashayed arter her. Mis Tompkins went skitin* 
 through the wood-shed. There wuz a pair of steps that led 
 up inter the corn barn, and Mis Tompkins got up there 
 jist as old Jinnie walked off with the steps. Then old Jinnie
 
 MRS. HAWKINS BOARDING HOUSE. 319 
 
 took a walk outside and looked round as unconsarned as 
 though nothin had happened. Jist about this time one 
 of them tin peddlers come along that druv one of them red 
 carts with pots, and pans, and kittles, and brooms, and 
 brushes, and mops hung all over it. He spied old Bill up 
 in the tree, and sez .he, What be yar doin , Farmer Tomp- 
 kins? Tickin apples/ said old Bill. He don t waste 
 words on nobody. Ain t it rather early for apples? in 
 quired the peddler. These are some I forgot to pick last 
 fall/ replied old Bill. Anythin in my line? said the ped 
 dler. Ain t got no money/ said Bill. Hain t you got 
 something you want to trade? asked the peddler. Yes/ 
 said Bill, I ll swap that cow over yonder; you kin have her 
 for fifteen dollars, an I ll take it all in trade. Good 
 milker? said the man. Fust-class butter/ said old Bill. 
 What do you want in trade? said the man. Suit yerself/ 
 said Bill, chuck it down side of the road there. This was 
 soon done, and the peddler druv up front of old Jinnie and 
 went to git her, so as to tie her behind his waggin. She 
 didn t stop to be led. Down went her head agin and she 
 made for the peddler. He got the other side of his team 
 jist as old Jinnie druv her horns tween the spokes of the 
 forrard wheel. Down come the pots, and pans, and kittles, 
 in ev ry direction. A clotheshorse fell on the horse s back 
 and off he started on a dead run, and that wuz the end of 
 poor Jinnie. Before she could pull back her horns, round 
 went the wheel and broke her neck. The peddler pulled up 
 his horse and went back to see old Bill, who was climbin* 
 down from the apple tree. W hat am I goin* to do about 
 this? said the peddler. I wuz countin on drivin her over 
 to the next town and sellin her or tradin her off, but I 
 hain t got no use for fresh beef. Wall/ said old Bill, con 
 sidering circumstances we ll call the trade off. You kin keep 
 your stuff and I ll keep my beef. The peddler loaded up 
 and druv off. Then old Bill went in and pulled Lizzie out
 
 520 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYEK. 
 
 from behind the planner, and put up the steps so Mrs. 
 Tornpkins could come down from the corn barn, and fished 
 Tommy out of the pig-sty, and threw a bucket of water 
 over him, and put up the ladder so George could git down 
 from the haymow, and they all got round poor old Jinnie 
 and stood as hard as they could and laughed." Here Pro 
 fessor Strout pushed back his chair and rose to his feet. 
 "That s how old Bill Tompkins got his beef." 
 
 There was a general laugh and a pushing back of chairs, 
 and the whole company arose and went in various direc 
 tions to their afternoon work. Professor Strout went into 
 the front entry, for he always entered and left the house by 
 the front door. Quincy followed him, and closing the door 
 that led into the dining-room, said, "Mr. Strout, I would 
 like to see you in my room for half an hour on important 
 business." 
 
 "I guess tain t as important as some business of my own 
 I ve got to attend to this arternoon. I m goin over to the 
 Centre to fix up my accounts as tax collector with the town 
 treasurer." 
 
 "I think my business is fully as important as that," said 
 Quincy, "it relates to your appointment as postmaster." 
 
 "Oh, you ve got a hand in that, have yer?" asked Strout, 
 an angry flush suffusing his face. 
 
 "I have both hands in it," replied Quincy imperturbably, 
 "and it rests with you entirely whether I keep hold or let 
 go" 
 
 "Wall," said Strout, looking at his watch, "I kin spare 
 you half an hour, if it will be as great an accommodation 
 to yer as yer seem to think it will." 
 
 And he followed Quincy upstairs to the latter s room.
 
 CHAPTER XXX. 
 
 A SETTLEMENT. 
 
 
 
 WHEN they entered the room Quincy motioned 
 Strout to a chair, which he took. He then closed 
 the door and, taking a cigar case from his pocket, offered a 
 cigar to Strout, which the latter refused. Quincy then 
 lighted a cigar and, throwing himself into an armchair in a 
 comfortable position, looked straight at the Professor, who 
 returned his gaze defiantly, and said: 
 
 "Mr. Strout, there is an open account of some two 
 month s standing between us, and I have asked you to 
 come up here to-day, t>ecause I think it is time for a settle 
 ment" 
 
 "I don t owe you nuthin ," said Strout, doggedly. 
 
 "I think you owe me better treatment than you have 
 given me the past two months," remarked Quincy, "but 
 we ll settle that point later." 
 
 "I guess I ve treated you as well as you have me," re 
 torted Strout, with a sneer. 
 
 "But you began it," said Quincy, "and had it all your 
 own way for two months; I waited patiently for you to 
 stop, but you wouldn t, so the last week I ve been squaring 
 up matters, and there is only one point that hasn t been 
 settled. From what I have heard," continued Quincy, "I 
 am satisfied that Miss Mason has received full reparation 
 for any slanderous remarks that may have been started or 
 circulated by you concerning herself." 
 
 The Professor attentively regarded the pattern of the 
 carpet on the floor. 
 
 Quincy continued, "Miss Lindy Putnam has repeated to
 
 322 QUINCY. ADAMS SAWYER. 
 
 me what she told Mr. Stiles about her visit to Boston, and 
 attributed the distorted and untrue form in which it reached 
 the inhabitants of this town to your well-known powers of 
 invention. Am I right?" 
 
 The Professor looked up. "I ll have somethin to say 
 ^when you git through," he replied. 
 
 "I expect and ask no apology or reparation for what 
 you ve said about me," remarked Quincy. "You made your 
 boast that one of us had got to leave town, and it wouldn t 
 be you. When I heard that I determined to stay at what 
 ever cost, and we ll settle this afternoon which one of us is 
 going to change his residence." 
 
 "I don t think you kin run me out o town," said Strout, 
 savagely. 
 
 "Well, I don t know," rejoined Quincy. "Let us see 
 what I have done in a week. You insulted Mr. Pettengill 
 and his sister by not inviting them to the surprise party. I 
 know it was done to insult me rather than them, but you 
 will remember that we three were present, and had a very 
 pleasant time. I was the lawyer that advised Deacon Mason 
 not to loan that five hundred dollars to pay down on the 
 store. I told the Deacon I would loan ihim five hundred 
 dollars if the store was knocked down to you, but I would 
 have had that store if it had cost me ten thousand dollars 
 instead of three. I was the one who put your war record 
 in the hands of Mr. Tobias Smith, and I was the one that 
 prepared the statement wh ch showed how negligent you 
 had been in attending to your duties as tax collector. 5 
 
 "Payin so much attention to other people s business 
 must have made yer forget yer own," said Strout, shutting 
 his teeth together with a snap. 
 
 "Oh, no," remarked Quincy, with a laugh; "I had plenty 
 of time left to take a hand in village politics, and my friend 
 Mr. Stackpole was elected by a very handsome vote, as you,
 
 A SETTLEMENT. 325 
 
 have no doubt heard." Strout dug his heel into the carpet, 
 but said nothing. 
 
 "Now," continued Quincy, "I ve had your appointment 
 as postmaster held up till you and I come to terms." 
 
 "You re takin a lot of trouble for nothin ," said Strout. 
 "I can t be postmaster unless I have a store. I guess I kin 
 manage to live with my music teachin and organ playin 
 at the church." 
 
 "I ve thought of that," said Quincy. "I don t wish to go 
 to extremes, but I will if it is necessary. Before you leave 
 this room, Mr. Strout, you must decide whether you will 
 work with me or against me in the future." 
 
 "S posin 5 I decide to work agin yer?" asked Strout; 
 "what then?" 
 
 "Well/ said Quincy sternly, "if you drive me to it, I ll 
 bring down a couple of good music teachers from Boston. 
 They ll teach music for nothing, and I ll pay them good 
 salaries. The church needs a new organ, and I ll make 
 them a present of one, on condition that they get a new 
 organist." 
 
 Strout looked down reflectively for a few minutes, then 
 he glanced up and a queer smile passed over his face. 
 "S posin I switch round," said he, "and say I ll work with 
 yer?" 
 
 "If you say it and mean it, Mr. Strout," replied Quincy, 
 rising from his chair, "I ll cross off the old score and start 
 fresh from to-day. I m no Indian, and have no vindictive 
 feelings. You and I have been playing against each other 
 and you ve lost every trick. Now, if you say so, we ll play 
 as partners. I ll give you a third interest in the grocery 
 store for a thousand dollars. The firm name shall be Strout 
 & Maxwell. I ll put in another thousand dollars to buy a 
 couple of horses and wagons, and we ll take orders and de 
 liver goods free to any family within five miles of the store. 
 Maxwell will have a third, and I ll have a third as silent
 
 324 QUINSY ADAMS SAWYER. 
 
 partner, and I ll see that you get your appointment as 
 postmaster." 
 
 Quincy looked at Strotit expectantly, awaiting his an 
 swer. Finally it came. 
 
 "Gonsiderin as how you put it," said Strout, "I don t 
 think you and me will clash in the futur ." 
 
 Quincy extended his hand, which Strout took, and the 
 men shook hands. 
 
 That settles it," said Quincy. 
 
 "Just half an hour!" exclaimed Sprout, looking at his 
 watch. 
 
 A loud knock was heard on the door. 
 
 "I guess Abner has got tired o waitin and has come 
 arter me," remarked Strout. 
 
 Quincy opened the door and Mr. Stiles stood revealed. 
 
 "Is Professor Strout here?" asked he. 
 
 "Yes," said Quincy; "come in." 
 
 "I guess I ll see him out here," continued Abner. "What 
 I ve got to say may be kinder private." 
 
 "Come in, Abner," cried Strout, "and let s .hear what s 
 on your mind." 
 
 "Wall," said Abner, looking askance at Quincy, "if yer 
 satisfied, I am. Hiram Maxwell s jest come down from 
 Mis Putnam s, and Mis Heppy Putnam s dead," 
 Quincy started on hearing this, ."and Samanthy Green is 
 at her wits end, cause she never was alone in the house 
 with a dead pusson afore, an Hiram s goin to take Betsy 
 Green back to stay with he . sister, and then he s goin to 
 take Miss Alice Pettengill down home, cuz Miss Petten- 
 gnTs most tired out; cuz, you see, she s been there since 
 eight o clock this mornin , and Mis Putnam didn t die till 
 about one o clock, and Samanthy says Mis Putnam took 
 on awful, so you could hear her all over the house, and 
 Mss Lindy Putnam, she s goin to take the next train to 
 Bosting she s goin , bag and baggage and I ve got to
 
 A SETTLEMENT. 32 
 
 drive her over to the station, and Bob Wood, he s comin* 
 along with a waggin to carry her trunks and bandboxes 
 and sich, and so I ve come to tell yer, Professor, that I 
 can t take yer over to the Centre this arternoon, no how." 
 
 "That s all right, Abner," said Strout; "considerin as 
 how things has gone, to-morrow will do just as well, but I 
 wish you d drop in and tell the town treasurer that I m 
 goin into business with Mr. Maxwell and Mr. Sawyer 
 here," Abner s eyes dilated, "under the firm name of 
 Strout, Maxwell, & Co." 
 
 "No!" interrupted Quincy, "let the sign read, Strout & 
 Maxwell." 
 
 "And," continued Mr. Strout, "Mr. Sawyer here is goin 
 to push through my app intment as postmaster." 
 
 By this time Abner s mouth was wide open. Quincy saw 
 it, and imagined the conflict going on in poor Abner s 
 mind. 
 
 "What Mr. Strout says is correct," remarked Quincy, 
 "but you have no time to lose now. Perhaps to-night Mr. 
 Strout will explain the matter more fully to you." 
 
 Abner turned, without a word, and left the room. 
 
 "Mr. Stiles is a faithful friend of yours," said Quincy, 
 turning to the Professor. 
 
 "Yes," assented Strout; "Abner s a very good shaft 
 horse, but he wouldn t be of much vally as a lead." 
 
 Quincy again extended his cigar case. This time the 
 Professor did not refuse, but took two. Holding up one 
 of them between his fingers, he said, "This is the one I 
 didn t take wfaen I came in." 
 
 "I will have the partnership papers drawn up in a few 
 days, Mr. Strout, ready for signature, and I will v/rite at 
 once to my friends in Washington, and urge them to see 
 the Postmaster General, and have your appointment made 
 as soon as possible."
 
 826 QUINCT ADAMS SAWYER. 
 
 "Yer don t let no grass grow under yer feet, do yer?" 
 said Strout. 
 
 Quincy was a little taken aback by this remark, for he 
 had not anticipated a compliment from the Professor. He 
 turned to him and said, "Until you forfeit my esteem, we 
 are friends, and it is always a pleasure to me to help my 
 friends." 
 
 The men shook .hands again, and the Professor left the 
 room. 
 
 "Not a bad man at heart," soliloquized Quincy. "I am 
 glad the affair has had such a pleasant termination. Poor 
 Alice! What a time she must have had with Mrs. Putnam, 
 and so Lindy is going to keep her word, and not stay to 
 the funeral. Well, knowing what I do, I don t blame her. 
 Perhaps Mrs. Putnam told Alice that Lindy was not her 
 own child, for Alice would not accept the fortune, I know, 
 if she thought she was wronging Lindy by doing so. I ll 
 go home," he smiled as he said this, "and probably Alice 
 will teH me all about it." 
 
 He went down stairs, and not seeing Mrs. Hawkins in 
 the dining-room, walked out into the kitchen, where she 
 was hard at work washing the dinner dishes. 
 
 "Law, Mr. Sawyer, why didn t you holler for me ef you 
 wanted anything?" 
 
 "I don t wish for anything particularly," said Quincy, 
 "but I do wish to compliment you on your chicken salad; it 
 was as fine as any I ever ate at Young s, or Parker s, in 
 Boston, and," continued he, "here are twelve dollars." He 
 held out the money to her, she wiped her hands on her 
 apron. 
 
 "What s that fur?" she asked. "I ve got six dollars of 
 your money now." 
 
 "That s for Mandy," said Quincy; "and this," pressing 
 the money into her hand, "is for four weeks room rent; I 
 ! im liable to come here any time during the next month. I
 
 A SETTLEMENT. 32^ 
 
 am going into business with Mr, Strout and Mr. Maxwell 
 we re going to run the grocery store over here, and it 
 will be very handy to be so near to the store until we get 
 the business established. Good afternoon, Mrs. Hawkins, 5 
 and he took her hand, which was still wet, in his, and shook 
 it warmly. 
 
 He turned to leave the house by the kitchen door, but 
 Mrs. Hawkins interposed. 
 
 "You better go out the front way," said she, and she ran 
 before him and opened the door leading to the front entry, 
 and then the front door. As he passed out, she said, "I 
 wish you success, Mr. Sawyer, and we ll gin you all our 
 trade." 
 
 "Thank you!" said Quincy. He walked down the path, 
 opened the front gate, and as he closed it raised his hat to 
 Mrs. Hawkins, who stood in the front doorway, her thin, 
 angular face wreathed in smiles. 
 
 "Wall," said she, as she closed the front door and walked 
 back into the kitchen, what lies some folks tell. Now, that 
 Professor Strout has allus said that Mr. Sawyer was so 
 stuck up that he wouldn t speak to common folks. Wall, I 
 think he s a real gentleman. Twon t do for any one to run 
 him down to me arter this." 
 
 Here she thought of her money, and, spreading out the 
 tihree bills in her hand, she opened the kitchen door and 
 screamed at the top of her voice, "Jonas! Jonas!! Jonas!!!" 
 There were no signs of Jonas. "Where is that man? He s 
 never round when he s wanted." 
 
 "What is it, Marthy?" said a voice behind her. Turning, 
 she saw her husband puffing away at his brierwood pipe. 
 
 "I thought you went out to the barn," said she, "to help 
 Abner hitch up?" 
 
 "Wall, I did," he replied; "but it didn t take two on us 
 long to do that. I eat so much chicken salad that it laid 
 kinder heavy on my stummick, so I went out in the wood-
 
 S28 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER. 
 
 shed to have a smoke. But where did you git all that 
 
 money?" 
 
 "Mr. Sawyer took the front room for two weeks and 
 paid for it ahead, and do you know he said my chicken 
 salad was jist as good as Mrs. Young and Mrs. Parker 
 makes down to Bosting." 
 
 "I don t know Mrs. Young nor Mrs. Parker," said Jonas, 
 "but on makin chicken salad I ll match Mrs. Hawkins 
 agin em any day;" and he went out in the wood-shed to 
 finish his smoke. 
 
 As Quincy walked down the road towards the Pettengill 
 house his mind was busy with his thoughts. 
 
 "To think," said he to himself, "that while I was listening 
 to those stories, to call them by no worse name, at the 
 dinner table, the woman I love was witnessing the death 
 agony and listening to the last words of a dear friend the 
 woman who s going to leave her a fortune. Now that she 
 knows that sihe s an heiress, I can speak; she never would 
 have listened to me, knowing that she was poor and I was 
 rich, and I never could have spoken to her with that secret 
 in my mind that Mrs. Putnam told me that she was going 
 to leave her all her money. J am so glad for Alice s sake, 
 even if she does not love me. She can have the best medi 
 cal attendance now, and she will be able to give all her 
 time to her literary work, for which she has a decided 
 genius. Won t she b delighted when I tell her that Leo 
 pold has placed all her stories and wants her to write a 
 took?" 
 
 As he reached the front gate he saw Hiram driving up 
 the road and Alice was with him. As Hiram stopped, 
 Quincy stepped forward and took Alice s hand to assist her 
 in alighting from the buggy. 
 
 "Oh, Mr. Sawyer," said she, "have you heard that Mrs. 
 Putnam is dead, and I ve had such a terrible day with her?" 
 
 Her nervous svstem had been wrought to its highest
 
 A SETTLEMENT. S2f 
 
 tension by what she had undergone during the past six 
 hours. She burst into a flood of tears. Then she tottered 
 and would have fallen if Quincy had not grasped her. 
 
 "Can you walk?" he asked. 
 
 She took a step forward, but (he saw at a glance that she 
 had not sufficient strength to reach her room. 
 
 "Open the gate, Hiram. Then give the door-bell a good 
 sharp ring, .so that Mandy will come quickly." 
 
 He took her in his arms and went up the path, by tihe 
 astonished Mandy, and upstairs to Alice s room, where he 
 laid her tenderly upon her bed. Turning to Miandy, who 
 had followed close at his heels, he said: 
 
 "She is not sick, only nervous and worn out. If you 
 need me, call me." 
 
 He went into his own room and thanked Heaven that 
 
 he had been at hand to render her the service that she so 
 
 much needed. When he went down to supper Mandy told 
 
 him that Miss Alice was asleep, and she guessed she d be 
 
 all right in the morning.
 
 CHAPTER XXXI. 
 
 AN INHERITANCE. 
 
 QUINCY reached his room at Mrs. Hawkins s board 
 ing house about midnight of the day of the town 
 meeting. About the same hour Mrs. Heppy Putnam 
 awoke from a troubled sleep and felt a pain, like the thrust 
 of a knife blade, through her left side. The room was 
 dark and cold, the wood fire in the open grate having died 
 out a couple of hours before, while a cool wind was blowing 
 with great force outside. 
 
 Mrs. Putnam came of the old stock which considered it 
 a virtue to suffer and be silent, rather than call out and be 
 saved. So she lay for five long hours suffering intense 
 pain, but declaring to herself, with all the sturdiness of an 
 old Roman warrior or an Indian chief, that she would not 
 ask for any assistance "till it wuz time for folks to git up/ 
 
 This delay was fatal, or was destined to become so, but 
 she did not know it ; she had had colds before, and she had 
 always got well. Why should nt she now? It is a strange 
 vagary of old people to consider themselves just as young 
 as they used to be, notwithstanding their advanced years 
 To the majority of the old people, the idea of death is not 
 so appalling as the inability to work and the incapacity to 
 enjoy the customary pleasures of life. 
 
 Mrs. Putnam had always been an active, energetic 
 woman until she had lost her power to walk as the result of 
 rheumatic fever; in fact, it was always acknowledged and 
 said by the country folk that she was the better half of the 
 matrimonial firm of Silas and Hepsibeth Putnam. Since 
 her husband s failure to mount to Heaven on the day fixed
 
 AN INHERITANCE. 331 
 
 for the Second Advent she had had entire control of the 
 family finances. Her investments, many of which had 
 been suggested by her deceased son, J. Jones Putnam, had 
 been very profitable. 
 
 She owned the house in which she lived, which was the 
 largest, best finished, and best furnished one in the town of 
 Eastborough. It occupied a commanding position on the 
 top of a hill, and from its upper windows could be obtained 
 a fine view of the surrounding country. The soil at Mason s 
 Corner was particularly fertile, and this fact had led to the 
 rapid growth of the village, which was three miles from the 
 business centre of Eastborough, and only a mile from the 
 similar part of the adjoining town of Montrose. 
 
 Back of the Putnam homestead were the best barns, car 
 riage houses, sheds and other outbuildings to be found in 
 the town, but for years they had been destitute of horses, 
 cattle, and other domestic animals. 
 
 Mr. Putnam had disliked dogs because they killed sheep, 
 and Mrs. Putnam detested cats. For years no chanticleer 
 had awakened echoes during the morning hours, and no 
 hens or chickens wandered over the neglected farm. The 
 trees in the large orchard had not been pruned for a long 
 time, and the larg e vegetable garden was overrun with 
 grass and weeds. 
 
 Back of the orchard and the vegetable garden, and to 
 the right and left of the homestead, were about a hundred 
 and sixty acres of arable pasture and wood-land, the whole 
 forming what could be easily made the finest farm in the 
 town. 
 
 The farm had been neglected simply because the income 
 from her investments was more than sufficient for the sup 
 port of the family. The unexpended income had been 
 added to the principal, until Mrs. Putnam s private for 
 tune now amounted to fully fifty thousand dollars, invested
 
 583 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER. 
 
 in goou securities, together with the house and farm, 
 which were free from mortgage. 
 
 When the first streaks of morning reached the room 
 in which Mrs. Putnam lay upon her bed of pain, she seized 
 one of her crutches, and pounded vigorously upon the 
 floor. In a short time Samanthy Green entered the room. 
 She was buttoning up her dress as she came in, and her 
 hair was in a dishevelled condition. 
 
 "Why, what on earth s the matter? You wheeze like 
 our old pump out in the barn. You do look real sick, to 
 be sure." 
 
 "Wall, if you don t like the looks of me," said Mrs. Put 
 nam sharply, "don t look at me." 
 
 "But didn t you pound?" asked Samanthy. "Don t you 
 want me to go for the doctor?" 
 
 "No," replied Mrs. Putnam, "I don t want no doctor. 
 The fust thing that I want you to do is to go and comb 
 that frowzy pate of yourn, and when you git that done I 
 want yer to make me a mustard plaster bout as big as 
 that;" and she held up her hands about a foot apart. 
 "Now go, and don t stand and look at me as though I wuz 
 a circus waggin." 
 
 Samanthy left the room quickly, but she had no sooner 
 closed the door when Mrs. Putnam called out her name 
 in a loud voice, and Samanthy opened the door and looked 
 in. 
 
 "Did you call, marm?" she asked. 
 
 "Of course I did," said Mrs. Putnam testily. "I guess 
 ye wouldn t have come back if yer hadn t known I did." 
 
 Mrs. Putnam was evidently in a bad temper, and Sa 
 manthy had learned by years of experience to keep a close 
 mouth under such circumstances, so she waited for Mrs. 
 Putnam s next words without replying. Finally Mrs Put 
 nam spoke. "I wish you d bring up some wood and start 
 a fire, the room s kinder cold."
 
 AN INHERITANCE. 35S 
 
 When Samanthy reached the kitchen she found Lindy 
 there. 
 
 "Why, Miss Lindy," said she, "what are you up so early 
 for?" 
 
 "I heard mother pounding and I thought she might be 
 sick." 
 
 "She is awful sick," rejoined Samanthy; "I never saw 
 her look so poorly afore; she seems to be all choked up. 
 She wants a big mustard plaster and a fire up in her room, 
 and I don t know which to do fust. Oh!" she cried, "I 
 must comb my hair before I go back;" and she wet a brush 
 and commenced brushing out her long brown hair, which, 
 with her rosy cheeks, formed her two principal claims to 
 good looks. 
 
 "Sit down," said Lindy, "and I ll fix your hair up much 
 quicker than you can do it yourself." 
 
 "And much better, too," added Samanthy thankfully. 
 
 "While you re building the fire," continued Lindy, "I ll 
 mix up the mustard plaster." 
 
 When Samanthy entered the chamber with the materials 
 for the fire, Mrs. Putnam opened her eyes and said sharply, 
 "Did yer bring that plaster?" 
 
 "No," said Samanthy, "I thought I would build the fire 
 fust." 
 
 "Wall," said Mrs. Putnam, "I want the plaster fust, and 
 you go right down stairs and mix it up quick." 
 
 When Samanthy returned to the kitchen she found that 
 7 Judy had the plaster all ready. Samanthy took it, and 
 started upstairs. 
 
 Lindy said to her, "Don t tell her that I made it." As 
 she said this she stepped back into the kitchen and closed 
 the door. 
 
 As Samanthy approached the bedside with the plaster, 
 IMrs. Putnam looked up and asked, "Did you make that 
 plaster, Samanthy?" 
 
 "Yes m," replied Samanthy.
 
 334 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER. 
 
 "You re lyin , Samanthy Green, and you know yer are. 
 You can t fool me. Didn t I hear yer talkin to somebody 
 in the kitchen?" 
 
 "Yes m," assented Samanthy. 
 
 "Wall," rejoined Mrs. Putnam, "of course I know who 
 it wuz yer wuz talkin to. Did she make the plaster?" 
 
 "Yes m," again assented Samanthy. 
 
 "Give it to me," said Mrs. Putnam. 
 
 Samanthy passed it to her, and the old lady crumpled 
 it in her hand s and threw it across the room. "Now go 
 down stairs, Samanthy Green, and make me a mustard 
 plaster, as I told yer to, and when I git up outer this I ll 
 see if I can t git somebody to wait on me that kin tell the 
 truth thout my havin to help em." 
 
 In the course of half an hour the new plaster was made 
 and applied, and a bright fire was shedding its warmth 
 into the room. 
 
 "Go down stairs and git yer breakfast," said Mrs. Put 
 nam. " "Tis a trifle early, but I hearn tell that lyin makes 
 people hungry." 
 
 As Samanthy gave her an inquiring look, Mrs. Putnam 
 said, "No, I don t want nothin to eat or drink nuther, but 
 when yer git the dishes washed I want yer ter go on an 
 errand for me." 
 
 It was half past six when Samanthy Green again stood 
 in Mrs. Putnam s room. 
 
 "I want yer to go right down to Zeke Pettengill s and 
 tell his sister Alice that I want her to come right up here. 
 Tell her it s my las sickness, and I won t take no for an 
 answer. Be sure you put it to her jest as I do; and Sa 
 manthy," as Samanthy opened the door and was leaving 
 the room, "say, Samanthy, don t git anybody to do the 
 errand for you." 
 
 About ten minutes after Samanthy left the house, Lindy 
 Putnam entered the sick room. Mrs. Putnam s pain had
 
 AX INHERITANCE. 835 
 
 been relieved somev/hat by the mustard, and this relief re 
 stored, to a great extent, her usual vigor of mind. 
 
 "What are you up here for?" cried Mrs. Putnam, a look 
 of displeasure clouding her face. 
 
 "I knew Samanthy had gone out, and so I came up to 
 see if I could do anything for you, mother." 
 
 "Don t mother me. I ain t your mother, and I mean, 
 ev rybody shall know it soon s I m dead." 
 
 "I ve had to say mother before other people," explained 
 Lindy, "and that s why I forgot myself then. Pray ex 
 cuse me." 
 
 "Oh, don t put on yer citified airs when yer talkin to me. 
 Ain t yer glad I m goin ter die?" 
 
 "I hope you will get better, Mrs. Putnam," answered 
 Lindy. 
 
 "You know better," rejoined Mrs. Putnam. "You ll be 
 glad when I m gone, for then you kin go gallivantin round 
 and spend the money that my son worked hard fur." 
 
 "I ve used very little of it," said Lindy; "less than the 
 interest; I have never touched the principal." 
 
 Lindy still remained standing at the foot of the bed. 
 
 "Didn t yer hear me say I didn t want nuthin ?" asked 
 Mrs. Putnam. 
 
 "I will leave the room then," replied Lindy quietly. 
 
 "I wish you would," said Mrs. Putnam, "and you ll do 
 me a favor if you ll pack yer duds as quick as yer ;can 
 and git out of the house and never come back agin." 
 
 "I will leave the room, but I cannot leave the house 
 while you are alive," remarked Lindy firmly. 
 
 "Why not?" said Mrs. Putnam. "I want to die in peace, 
 and I shall go much easier if I know I haven t got to set 
 my eyes on your face agin." 
 
 "I promised Jones," said Lindy, "that I would never 
 leave you while you were alive." 
 
 "Oh, you promised Jones, did yer?" cried Mrs. Putnam
 
 336 QUINCT ADAMS SAWYEli. 
 
 with a sneer. "Wall, Jones will let you off on yer promise 
 jest to blige me, so yer needn t stay any longer." 
 
 As Lindy walked towards the door, Mrs. Putnam spoke 
 again. 
 
 "Did yer ever tell anybody I wasn t yer mother?" Lindy 
 hesitated. Why don t you out with it," said Mrs. Put 
 nam, "and say no, no matter if it is a lie? Samanthy can 
 lie faster n a horse can trot, and I know you put her up to 
 it." 
 
 "I have been impudent and disrespectful to you many 
 times, Mrs. Putnam, when you were cross to me, but I 
 never told you a deliberate lie in my life. I have told one 
 person that you were not my mother." 
 
 "What did yer do it fur?" asked Mrs. Putnam. 
 
 "I wished to retain his good opinion," replied Lindy. 
 
 "Who was it?" inquired Mrs. Putnam eagerly. Lindy 
 did not answer. "Oh, you won t tell!" said Mrs. Putnam. 
 "Wall, I bet I can guess; it s that feller that s boardin 
 over to Pettingill s." 
 
 Mrs. Putnam saw the blood rise in Lindy s face, and she 
 chuckled to herself. 
 
 "What reason have you for forming such an opinion?" 
 asked Lindy. 
 
 "Wall, I can kinder put two and two together," said 
 Mrs. Putnam. "The day Alice Pettengill came over here 
 with him you two wuz down in the parlor together, and 1 
 had to pound on the floor three times afore I could make 
 him hear. I knew you must be either spoonin or abusin , 
 me." 
 
 It was with difficulty that Lindy kept back the words 
 which rose to her lips, but she said nothing. 
 
 "Did yer tell him that I wuz goin* to leave my money 
 to some one else?" 
 
 "It wasn t necessary," said Lindy, "I judged from some 
 things that he said that you had told him yourself."
 
 AN INHERITANCE. 337 
 
 Did he tell you who it wuz?" persisted Mrs. Putnam. 
 
 "No," said Lindy. "I did my best to find out, but he 
 wouldn t tell me." 
 
 "Good for him/ cried Mrs. Putnam. "Then ye don t 
 know?" 
 
 "I can put two and two together," replied Lindy, 
 I "But where d yer git the two and two?" asked Mrs. Put 
 nam. 
 
 "Oh, I have surmised for a long time," continued Lindy. 
 "This morning I asked Samanthy where she was going 1 , 
 and she said down to Pettengili s. Then I knew." 
 
 "I told her not to tell," said Mrs, Putnam, "the lyin* 
 jade. If I git up off this bed she ll git her walkin ticket." 
 
 "She s ready to go," said Lindy; "she told me this morn 
 ing that she d wait until you got a new girl." 
 
 Mrs. Putnam closed her eyes and placed both of her 
 hands over her heart. Despite her fortitude the intense 
 pain wrung a groan from her. 
 
 Lindy rushed forward and dropped on her knees beside 
 the bed. "Forgive me, Mrs. Putnam," said she, "but you 
 spoke such cruel words to me that I could not help an 
 swering you in the same way. I am so sorry. I loved 
 your son with all my heart, and I had no right to speak so 
 to his mother, no matter what she said to me." 
 
 The paroxysm of pain had passed, and Mrs. Putnam was 
 her old self again. Looking at the girl who was kneeling 
 with her head bowed down she said, "I guess both of us 
 .talked about as we felt; as for loving my son, yer had no 
 right to, and he had no right to love you." 
 
 "But we were brother and sister," cried Lindy, looking 
 up. 
 
 Twould have been all right if he d let it stop there," 
 replied Mrs. Putnam. "Who put it into his head that 
 there was no law agin a man marryin* his adopted sister? 
 You wuz a woman grown of eighteen, and he wuz only a 
 young boy of sixteen, and you made him love yer and turn
 
 138 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYEK, 
 
 agin his mother, and then we had ter send him away from 
 home ter keep yer apart, and then you ran after him, and 
 then he died, and it broke my heart. You wuz the cause 
 of it, but for yer he would be livin now, a comfort to his 
 poor old mother. I hated yer then for what yer did. 
 Ev ry time I look at yer I think of the happiness you stole 
 from me, an I hate yer wusser n ever." 
 
 "Oh, mother, mother!" sobbed Lindy. 
 
 "I m not your mother," screamed Mrs. Putnam. "I s pose 
 you must have had one, but you ll never know who she 
 wuz; she didn t care nuthin fer yer, for she left yer in 
 the road, and Silas was fool enough to pick yer up and 
 bring yer home. Wihat yer right name is nobody knows, 
 and mebbe yer ain t got none." 
 
 At this taunt Lindy arose to her feet and looked de 
 fiantly at Mrs. Putnam. "You are not telling the truth, 
 Mrs. Putnam," said the girl ; "you know who my parents 
 were, but you will riot tell me." 
 
 "That s right," said Mrs. Putnam, "git mad and show 
 yer temper; that s better than sheddin crocodile s tears, 
 as yer ve been doin ; yer ve been a curse to me from the 
 day I fust set eyes on yer. I ve said I hate yer, and I do, 
 an I ll never forgive yer fer what yer ve done to me." 
 
 Lindy saw that words were useless. Perhaps Mrs. Put 
 nam might recover, and if she did not provoke her too far 
 she might relent some day and tell her what she knew 
 about her parents; so she walked to the door and opened 
 it. Then she turned and said, "Good-by, Mrs. Putnam l 1 
 truly hope that you will recover." 
 
 "Wall, I sha n t," said Mrs. Putnam. I m goin to die, 
 I want ter die. I want ter see Jones; I want ter talk ter 
 him; I want ter tell him how much I loved him how 
 much I ve suffered through yer. I m goin ter tell him 
 how I ve hated yer and what fer, and when I git through 
 telkin to him, I ll guarantee he ll be my way o thinl-nV." 
 
 As the old woman said this, with an almost superhuman
 
 AN INHERITANCE. 339 
 
 effort she raised herself to a sitting posture, pointed her 
 finger at Lindy, and gave utterances to a wild, hysterical 
 laugh that almost froze the blood in the poor girl s veins. 
 
 Lindy slammed the door behind her, rushed to her own 
 room, locked the door, and threw herself face downward 
 upon the bed. Should she ever forget those last fearful 
 words, that vengeful face, that taunting finger, or that 
 mocking laugh? 
 
 Samanthy took Alice up to Mrs. Putnam s room about 
 eight o clock. Alice knelt by the bedside. She could 
 not see the old lady s face, but she took her withered 
 hands in hers, and caressed them lovingly, saying, "Aunt 
 Heppy, I am sorry you are so sick. Have you had the 
 doctor?" 
 
 The old lady drew the young girl s head down close to 
 her and kissed her upon the cheek. "The docter kin do 
 me no good.. I ve sent fer yer becuz I know yer love me, 
 and I wanted to know that one person would be sorry 
 when I wuz gone." 
 
 "I m so sorry," said Alice, "that I cannot see to help 
 you, but you are not going to die ; you must have the doc 
 tor at once." 
 
 "No," said Mrs. Putnam, "I want to die, I want to see 
 my boy. I sent for you becuz I wanted to tell you that 
 I am goin to leave this house and farm and all my money 
 to you." 
 
 "To me!" cried Alice, astonished. "Why, how can you 
 talk so, Aunt Heppy? You have a daughter, who is your 
 legal heir; how could you ever think of robbing your own 
 flesh and blood of her inheritance?" 
 
 "She s no flesh and blood of mine!" 
 
 What!" cried Alice, "isn t Lindy your own child?" 
 
 "No," said Mrs. Putnam savagely. "Silas and me didn t 
 think we d have any children, so we dopted her jest afore 
 we moved down from New Hampshire and settled in this 
 town."
 
 S40 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYEK. 
 
 "Do you know who her parents were?" inquired Alice. 
 
 "Alice, what did you do with that letter I gave you the 
 las time you were here?" 
 
 "It is locked up in my writing desk at home," answered 
 Alice. 
 
 "What did yer promise to do with it?" said Mrs. Putnam. 
 
 "1 promised," replied Alice, "not to let any one see it, 
 and to destroy it within twenty-four hours after your 
 death." 
 
 "And you will keep yer promise?" asked the old woman. 
 
 "My word is sacred," said Alice solemnly. 
 
 "Alice Pettengill," cried Mrs. Putnam, "if you break 
 your word to me I shall be sorry that I ever loved you; I 
 shall repent that I made you my heiress." And her voice 
 rose to a sharp, shrill tone. "I ll haunt you as long as you 
 live." 
 
 The girl shrank back from her. 
 
 "Don t mind a poor old woman whose hours are num 
 bered, but you ll keep yer promise, won t yer, Alice?" And 
 she grasped both Alice s hands convulsively. 
 
 "Aunt Heppy," said Alice, "I ve given you my promise, 
 and I ll keep my word whatever happens. So don t worry 
 any more about it, Auntie." 
 
 For a few moments Mrs. Putnam remained quiet; then 
 she spoke in clear,even tones. Not a word was lost upon 
 Alice. "This adopted daughter of mine has been a curse 
 to me ever since I knew her. She was two years older 
 than Jones. They grew up together as brother and sister, 
 but she wasn t satisfied with that, she fell in love with my 
 son, and she made him love her. She turned him agin his 
 mother. She found out that there wuz no law agin a 
 man s marryin* his adopted sister. We had to send him 
 away from home, but she followed him. She wuz goin* to 
 elope with him, but I got wind of it, and I stopped that; 
 then Jones died away from home and left her all his money. 
 He wuz so bitter agin me that he put in his will that
 
 AN INHERITANCE. 341 
 
 was not to touch a dollar of my money, but better that than 
 to have her marry him. I stopped that!" and the old 
 woman chuckled to herself. Then her mood changed. 
 "Such a marriage would a been a sin agin God and man," 
 she said sternly. "She robbed me of any son, my only 
 boy, but I ll git even with her. She asked me this mornin 
 if I knew who her parents wuz. I told her no, that she 
 was a waif picked up in a New Hampshire road, but I lied 
 to her. I had to." 
 
 "But do you know who they were?" said Alice. 
 
 "Certainly I do," said Mrs. Putnam; "that letter you ve 
 got, and that yer promised to destroy, tells all about em, 
 but she shall never see it. Never! Never!! Never!!!" 
 
 Again she rose to a sitting posture, and again that wild, 
 mocking laugh rang through the house. Lhidy, still lying 
 upon her bed in her room, heard it, shuddered, and covered 
 her ears with her hands to shut out the terrible sound. 
 Samanthy, in the kitchen, heard it, and saying to herself, 
 "Mrs. Putnam has gone crazy, and only that blind girl 
 with her," ran upstairs. 
 
 When Mrs. Putnam uttered that wild laugh, Alice started 
 from her chair with beating heart and a frightened look 
 upon her face. As the door opened and Samanthy entered, 
 Alice stepped forward. She could not see who it was, but 
 supposing it was Lindy, she cried out, "Oh, Lindy, I m so 
 glad you ve come!" 
 
 Mrs. Putnam had fallen back exhausted upon her pil 
 low; when she heard the name Lindy she tried to rise 
 again, but could not. But her indomitable spirit still sur 
 vived. 
 
 "So you ve come back, have you?" she shrieked. <: Yer 
 couldn t let me die in peace. You want to hear more, do 
 you? Well, I ll tell you the truth. I know who your par 
 ents are. but I destroyed the letter; it s burned. That s 
 what I had the fire built for this mornin . You robbed me 
 of my son and I ve got even with yer." The old womao
 
 342 QU1KCY ADAMS SAWYER. 
 
 pointed her finger at poor Samanthy, who stood petrified 
 in the doorway, and shrieked again, "Go!" and she pointed 
 her withered finger toward the door, "and hunt for your 
 parents." 
 
 The astonished Samanthy finally plucked up courage to 
 close the door; she ran to Lindy s room and pounded upon 
 the door until Lindy was forced to admit her; then the 
 frightened girl told Lindy what she had heard, and again 
 the worse than orphan threw herself upon her bed and 
 prayed that she, too, might die. 
 
 Alice did not swoon, but she sank upon the floor, over 
 come by the horror of the scene. No sound came from 
 the bed. Was she dead? Alice groped her way back to 
 the chair in which she had previously sat; she leaned over 
 and listened. Mrs. Putnam was breathing still faint, 
 short breaths. Alice took one of her hands in hers and 
 prayed for her. Then she prayed for the unhappy girl. 
 Then she thought of the letter and the promise she had 
 made. Should she keep her promises to the dying wom 
 an, and thus be a party to the wronging of this poor girl? 
 
 "Mrs. Putnam! Mrs. Putnam!! Aunt Heppy!!!" she 
 cried; "take back your fortune, I do not want it; only re 
 lease me from my oath. Oh, that I could send for that 
 letter and put it back into her hands before she dies! If 
 Mr. Sawyer were only here; but I do not know where to 
 find him." 
 
 For hours, it seemed ages to Alice, she remained by the 
 bedside of the dying woman, seeing nothing, but listening 
 intently, and hoping that she would revive, hear her words, 
 and release her from that horrid oath. 
 
 Suddenly, Alice started; the poor old wrinkled, wasted 
 hand that she held in hers, was cold so cold she leaned 
 over and put her ear above the old woman s lips. There 
 was no sound of breathing. She pulled down the bed 
 clothes and placed her hand upon her heart. It was still.
 
 AN INHERITANCE. i 43 
 
 Mrs. Putnam had gone to meet the boy she ha.^ ov.x and 
 lost. 
 
 Feeling her way along the wall, she reached the door, 
 Flinging it wide open, she cried, " Samantha! LmdyT* 
 
 Samanthy came to the foot of the stairs. 
 
 "What is it, Miss Pettengill?" asked she. 
 
 "She s dead," said Alice, and she sank down upon At 
 stairway. 
 
 Samanthy ran quickly upstairs. She went first to Miss 
 Lindy s room and told her that all was over; then she 
 came back, went into Mrs. Putnam s room, pulled down 
 the curtains, went to the bed and laid the sheet ovt>r Mrs, 
 Putnam s face. She looked at the fire to see that it was 
 safe, came out and closed the door. Then she helped 
 Alice down stairs, led her into the parlor and seated her in 
 an easy-chair. 
 
 "I ll bring you a nice cup of hot tea," said she; "I ve 
 just made some for dinner." 
 
 Lindy came down stairs and went to the front door. 
 Hiram was there, smoking a cigar, and beating his arms to 
 keep warm. He had been waiting outside for a couple 
 of hours, and he was nearly frozen. 
 
 "Mr. Maxwell," said Lindy; and Hiram came up the 
 steps. "Mrs. Putnam is dead," said she. "She expired 
 just a few moments ago, about one o clock," she continued, 
 looking at her watch. "I want you to go right down to 
 Mrs. Hawkins s and bring Betsy Green back to stay with 
 her sister; then tell Mr. Stiles to come up at once with the 
 buggy and a wagon to carry my trunks to the station. Tell 
 Mr. Stiles I am going to Boston on the next train. When 
 you come back you can take M iss Pettengill home. She 
 will be through her lunch by the time you get back. After 
 you ve taken her home, I want you to go and get Mrs. 
 Pinkham, the nurse; tell her Mrs. Putnam is dead, and 
 that I want her to come and lav her out. Then drive over 
 to Montrose and tell Mr. Tilton, the undertaker,, that K
 
 344 QUIKCY ADAMS SAWYER. 
 
 want him to make all the arrangements for the funeral 
 And take this for your trouble," said she, as she passed 
 him a five dollar bill. 
 
 "Oh, that s too much," cried Hiram, drawing 1 back. 
 
 "Take it," said Lindy, with a smile; "I have plenty more 
 more than I need more than I know what to do with." 
 
 As Hiram drove off he said to himself, "Lucky girl; she s 
 mighty putty, too. I wonder that city feller didn t shine 
 up to her. I s pose she s comin back to the funeral." 
 
 As Lindy turned to go upstairs she looked into the par 
 lor, and saw Alice sitting with her head bowed upon her 
 hand. Her first impulse was to go in and try to justify her 
 self in the eyes of this girl, with whom she knew that Mr. 
 Sawyer was in love; but no, she was but a waif, with no 
 name, no birthright, no heritage; that woman had cut her 
 off from her people. Truly, she had avenged her fancied 
 wrongs. 
 
 So Lindy went upstairs to her room, and remained there 
 until after Alice went home. 
 
 When Abner Stiles returned from Eastborough, after 
 having seen Lindy Putnam and all her belongings safe on 
 board the Boston train, he stopped at the Putnam house 
 to see if he could be of any further service. Mrs. Pink- 
 ham had arrived some time before, and had attended to 
 those duties which she had performed for many years for 
 both the young and old of Mason s Corner, who had been 
 called to their long home. Mr. Tilton, the undertake!* 
 from M ontrose, had come over immediately, and had given 
 the necessary professional service which such sad occa 
 sions demand. Mrs. Pinkham called to Mr. Tilton, and 
 he came to the door. 
 
 "No; there is really nothing- you can do, Mr. Stiles, un 
 less you will be so kind as to drive around to Deacon 
 Mason s, Mr. Pettengill s, and Mrs. Hawkins s, and inform 
 them that the funeral will be from the church, at two
 
 AN INHERITANCE. 845 
 
 o^clock Friday afternoon. I will see that you are paid 
 for your services." 
 
 Undertakers are naturally polite and courteous men. 
 They step softly, speak low, and are even-tempered. Their 
 patrons do not worry them with questions, nor antagonize 
 their views of the fitness of things. 
 
 When Abner reached his boarding house, after making 
 his numerous calls, it was about five o clock; as he went up 
 stairs he noticed that the door of Strout s room was ajar. 
 In response to his knock, the Professor said, "Come in." 
 
 "Wall, how do find things?" said Abner, as he entered 
 the room. 
 
 "By lookin for em," said the Professor, with a jaunty 
 air. 
 
 "Oh, yer know what I mean," said Abner, throwing him 
 self into a chair and looking inquiringly at Strout. 
 "What was goin on this noon tween you and that city 
 feller?" 
 
 "Well, you see," continued Strout, "Mr. Sawyer and me 
 have been at swords points the las two months over some 
 pussonal matters. Well, he kinder wanted to fix up things, 
 but he knew I wouldn t consent to let up on him less he 
 treated me square; so I gets a third interest in the grocery 
 store, the firm name is to be Strout & Maxwell, and I m to 
 be postmaster; so, you see, I got the best end after all, jest 
 as I meant to from the fust. But, see here, Stiles, Mr. 
 Sawyer and I have agreed to keep our business and our 
 jttissonal matters strictly private in the futer, and you 
 mustn t drop a word of what I ve told yer to any : vin s> 
 soul." 
 
 "I ve carried a good many of yer secrets round with 
 sne," responded Abner, "anc never dropped one of em, 
 as far as I know." 
 
 "Oh, yer all right, old <man,"said the Professor: "but, 
 know, for the last two months our game has been td
 
 346 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER. 
 
 keep talkin ; now it will pay us best to keep our mouths 
 shet." 
 
 "Mine s shut," said Abner; "now, what do I git? That 
 job in the grocery store that you promised me?" 
 
 "Well, you see," said Strout, "when I made yer that 
 promise, I expected to own the whole store, but now, yer 
 see, Maxwell will want ter pick one of the men." 
 
 "Yis, I see," said Abner; "but that leaves one fer you to 
 pick, and I m ready to be picked." 
 
 "Yes, I know," answered Strout; "but the work is goin 
 to be very hard, liftin barrels and big boxes, and I m afraid 
 you couldn t stand it very long." 
 
 A disappointed look came over Abner s face; he mused 
 for a moment, then he broke out, "Yes, I see; I m all right 
 for light work, sech as telli/SF lies bout people and spyin 
 out their actions, and makin believe I ve seen things tha* I 
 never heard of, and hearin things that were never said; 
 but when it comes to good, clean, honest work, like lif^n* 
 barrels and rollin hogsheads, the other feller gets the job. 
 All right, Professor!" said he, getting up and walking tow 
 ards the door; "when you want any thin in my line, let me 
 know." And he went out and slammed the door behind 
 him. 
 
 As he went upstairs to his room, he said to himself, "I 
 have sorter .got the opinion that the Professor took what 
 wuz given him, instid of gittin what he asked fer. I kinder 
 guess that it ll pay me to be much more partickler about 
 number one in the futer than I ve been."
 
 CHAPTER XXXII. 
 
 AUNT ELLA. 
 
 kEACON MASON had an early caller Wednesday 
 morning. He was out in the barn polishing up his 
 silver-plated harness, for he was going to the funeral 
 on Friday with his family. Hiram had given him notice 
 that he would have to go up to the store at once. The 
 Deacon didn t have anybody in mind to take Hiram s place, 
 and thought he might as well get used to doing his own 
 work until he came across the right party. 
 
 He heard a voice. It said, "Good mornin , Deacon 
 Mason;" and, looking up, he saw Abner Stiles standing 
 before him. 
 
 "Good mornin , Abner," answered the Deacon, pleas 
 antly; "what does the Professor want?" 
 
 "I don t know," said Abner; "I heerd that Hiram was 
 goin to leave yer, so I came round to see if yer wanted ter 
 hire a man." 
 
 "Do yer know of one?" asked the Deacon with a smile. 
 
 "That s all right, Deacon," said Abner. "I don t blame 
 yer fer havin yer little joke. I ve worked so long fer the 
 Professor that I expect to have it flung up at me. But I ve,, 
 renounced the Evil One and all his wicked ways, and P 
 want to be taken into a good Christian home, and even- 
 tooally jine the church." 
 
 "While the lamp holds out to burn, 
 The vilest sinner may return," 
 
 quoted the Deacon, as he hung up one piece of harness 
 and took down another.
 
 348 QTJINCY ADAMS SAWTEK. 
 
 "That s true as Gospel," said Abner ; "and I hope you ll 
 see it s your duty, as I ve heerd Parson Howe say, to save 
 the brand from the burnin ." 
 
 "Well, you go in and talk to Mrs. Mason," said the Dea 
 con; "she s the one that wants the work done, and if she s 
 .satisfied to give yer a trial, it s all the same to me." 
 i "Thank yer, Deacon," answered Abner. "There s one 
 p int in my favor, Deacon; I hain t got no girl, and I sha n t 
 take any of your time to go courtin ;" and with this sly 
 dig at Hiram, he went in to settle his fate with the Dea 
 con s wife. 
 
 On that same Wednesday morning all of the Pettengill 
 family were together at the breakfast table. The con 
 versation naturally turned to Mrs. Putnam s death, and 
 Ezekiel remarked "that she was a nice old lady, and that 
 she and his mother were great friends. It beats all," con 
 tinued he, "the way Lindy has acted. Abner Stiles told me 
 that she took the half-past three train to Boston, and he 
 said Bob Wood took over an express wagon full of trunks. 
 Samanthy Green told Stiles that Lindy hadn t left a single 
 thing in the house that belonged to her, and it don t look as 
 though she was comin back to the funeral." 
 
 During this recital, Alice listened intently. She flushed 
 then grew pale, and finally burst into tears. All present, 
 of course, attributed her agitation to her well known love 
 for Mrs. Putnam. 
 
 "Shall I go upstairs with you, Sis?" asked Ezekiel. 
 
 "No," said Alice, drying her eyes, "I m going into the 
 parlor. I told Mand y to build a fire there, and I want you 
 and Uncle Ike and Mr. Sawyer to come with me." 
 
 When they were gathered in the parlor, Alice began her 
 story. Every word said by the dead woman had burned 
 itself deep into her memory, and from the time she entered 
 the sick room until she fell exhausted upon the stairway, 
 after calling loudly for Samanthy and Lindy, not a word 
 was missing from the thrilling narrative. Her audience.
 
 AUNT ELLA. 148 
 
 including even Quincy, listened intently to the dramatic 
 ally told story, and they could almost see the frenzied face, 
 the pointed finger, and hear the wild, mocking laugh. 
 
 For a few moments nothing was said. Finally, Ezekiel 
 broke the silence. 
 
 "Well, I guess," said he, "that will of her n will stand, 
 all right. Lindy s got enough of her own; she won t be 
 likely to interfere; and I never he rd of their havin any 
 other relatives. 
 
 Then Uncle Ike spoke up. "I shall go to the funeral, of 
 course, next Friday, and I shall expect to hear the Rev. 
 Mr. Howe stand up in his pulpit and tell us what a good 
 Christian woman Hepsy was; she was so kind and so be 
 nevolent, and so regardful of the feelings of others, and it 
 wouldn t make a bit of difference if you went and told him 
 what you ve told us, Alice; he d say just the same thing. * 
 
 "Oh, hush! Uncle Ike," cried Alice, pleadingly; "she was 
 y, good woman, excepting on that one point, and you must 
 own that she had some provocation. Let me ask you a 
 question, Uncle Ike. How far should promises made to 
 the dead be kept? 
 
 "Just so far," replied Uncle Ike, "as they do not inter 
 fere with the just rights of the living. Where is that letter 
 that she wanted you to destroy?" he asked. 
 
 "Here it is," said Alice, and she took it from the bosom 
 of her dress. 
 
 "Well," said Uncle Ike, "if I were in your place I d 
 open that letter, read it, and if it was likely to be of any 
 value to Miss Putnam in finding her parents or relatives, 
 I d hunt her up and give it to her. Mrs. Putnam owned up 
 that she lied about it, and the whole thing, any way, may 
 be a bluff. Perhaps it s only blank paper, after all." 
 
 "No," said Alice, "I could never open it or read it. I 
 laid awake all night, thinking about my promise, and I 
 finally made up my mind that I would go to see Lindy this 
 morning, and let her read it; but now she has gone away,
 
 S50 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER. 
 
 and we do not know where to find her. What shall I do 
 with this dreadful thing?" she cried, as she held the letter 
 up in her hand. 
 
 Quincy felt called upon to speak. 
 
 "Miss Pettengill," said he, "I think I could find Miss 
 i Putnam for you. A slight flush arose to Alice s cheek 
 [which did not escape Quincy s notice. He continued, 
 "When I went to Boston, last Saturday, I happened to 
 meet her on the train. She told me then something of her 
 story, and said she was going to leave the house forever, as 
 soon as Mrs. Putnam died. She also told me that if I ever 
 learned anything about her parents I could reach her by 
 advertising in the Personal Column of the New York 
 Herald, addressing Linda, and signing it Eastborough. " 
 
 "And will you do this at once for me?" cried Alice, 
 eagerly. "I am so thankful; you have taken such a load 
 from my mind, Mr. Sawyer. How fortunate it was that you 
 met her as you did! 
 
 "I think Mr. Sawyer is about as lucky as they make 
 em," remarked Uncle Ike, with a laugh. 
 
 "Kind fortune owes me one or two favors yet before I 
 shall be entirely satisfied," said Quincy. "Now, Miss Pet 
 tengill, will you allow me to make a suggestion that will 
 free you from the further care of this document?" 
 
 "I don t care what is done with it," said Alice; "but no 
 one but Lindy must read it." 
 
 "That is my idea exactly," assented Quincy. "I will go 
 to Boston on the noon train and send that advertisement 
 to the New York Herald. With your permission, I will 
 turn that document over to a legal friend of mine. He will 
 put it in an envelope and seal it up. He will write on the 
 outside, "To be delivered only to Miss Putnam, on the 
 written order of Miss Alice Pettengill, and it will repose 
 quietly in his big safe until Miss Putnam is found." 
 
 "That will do splendidly!" said Alice, with animation.
 
 ATJNT ELLA. 351 
 
 "What magicians you lawyers are! You discover a way 
 out of every difficulty." 
 
 "Wait until you get one of those lawyers working 
 against you," remarked Uncle Ike, "then you ll change 
 your mind. Well, I s pose now this matter s settled, I can 
 go upstairs and have my morning smoke. 
 
 "And I ve got to go to the store," said Ezekiel to Uncle 
 Ike, "and get some corn, or those chickens of your n will 
 swaller the hen coop." And both men left the room to 
 gether. 
 
 "If you can give me a little of your time, Miss Petten- 
 gill," said Quincy, "I have some news for you that I think 
 will please you very much." 
 
 "About my stories?" cried Alice. 
 
 "Yes," replied Quincy. "Just before I went to Boston 
 last Saturday I got a letter from Leopold, asking me to call 
 on him as soon as convenient. I found him at home Sun 
 day evening, and this is what he said. The New York 
 house has accepted your series of eight detective stories, 
 and will pay you twenty-five dollars for each of them. The 
 house will send you a check from time to time, as they pub 
 lish them. Leopold has accepted your long story for the 
 magazine published by the house for which he is reader. 
 He says Jameson will get your other story into one of the 
 Sunday papers, and he will have his dramatic version ready 
 for production next fall. He can t tell how much you will 
 make out of these just yet; the magazine pays by the page 
 and the newspaper by the column, and, of course, Jame 
 son will give you part of his royalty, if he gets the play 
 on." 
 
 Why, Mr. Sawyer, you are showering wealth upoi* me 
 like another Count of Monte Cristo." 
 
 "But you have not heard all," continued Quincy. "Leo 
 pold has placed your two songs with a music publishing 
 house, and you will get a royalty on them in time. He says 
 they don t pay any royalty on the first three hundred
 
 802 QUmCY ADAMS SAWYEit. 
 
 copies, and perhaps they won t sell; the public taste on 
 sheet music is very fickle. Then, that composer, I can 
 never remember his name, is at work on your poem, The 
 Lord of the Sea. He told Leopold he was going to make 
 it his opus wte, the work of his life, you know, and he is 
 talking it up to the director of the Handel and Haydn 
 Society." 
 
 "How true it is," said Alice, "that gladness qaickly fol 
 lows sadness! I was so unhappy this morning, but now the 
 world never looked so bright to me. You have brushed 
 away all my sorrows, Mr. Sawyer, and I am really very 
 happy to hear the good news that you have told me." 
 
 There is one sorrow that I have not yet relieved you 
 of," continued Quincy. 
 
 "And that?" asked Alice, brushing back the wavy golden 
 hair from her forehead, and looking up at him with her 
 bright blue eyes, which bore no outward sign of the dark 
 cloud that dimmed their vision, "and that is?" she re 
 peated. 
 
 "That letter," taking the hand that held it in both cf his 
 own. "If I am to get that noon train I have no time to 
 lose. 1 
 
 "Before you 1 take it," said Alice, "you must promise me 
 that it shall not be opened, and no eye but Lindy s must 
 ever rest upon it." 
 
 "You have my word," he replied. 
 
 "Then take it" said she; and she released her hold upon 
 it. 
 
 He took the letter with one hand, his other hand still 
 retaining its grasp upon hers. 
 
 "I go," said Quincy, assuming a bantering tone, "upon 
 your quest, fair lady. If I return victorious, what shall be 
 my reward?" 
 
 "Gallant knights," said Alice, as she withdrew her hand 
 from his, "do not bargain for their reward until they have 
 fulfilled their trust"
 
 AUNT ELLA. 833 
 
 "I accept the reproof," said Quincy gravely. 
 
 "It was not so intended, Sir Knight," responded Alice 
 brightly ; "so I will make amends by answering your query. 
 If you return successful, tell me what you would prize the 
 most, and even if it be half my kingdom, it shall be yours." 
 
 "I am content, but modern locomotives do not wait even 
 for gallant knights of old. So adieu." 
 
 He quitted the room, and 1 Alice stood where he had left 
 her until she heard the rumble of wheels as he drove off for 
 the station ; then she found her way to her chair before the 
 fire, and her mind wove the outline of a romantic story, in 
 which there was a gallant knight and a lovely maiden. But 
 in her story the prize that the knight asked when he re 
 turned successful from his quest was the heart and hand of 
 the lovely maiden. 
 
 Jim Cobb went over to Eastborough Centre, so as to 
 drive the team back. Before going to the station, Quincy 
 stepped into the post office and found a letter addressed to 
 him in a peculiar, but familiar, handwriting. 
 
 "From Aunt Ella," he said. "I will read it after I get on 
 the train." 
 
 Quincy s Aunt Ella was Mrs. Robert Chessman, his 
 mother s widowed sister. 
 
 As soon as the train started Quincy opened his letter. It 
 was short and. to the point. 
 
 "Mr DEAR QUINCY: Maude gave me your address. 
 What are you doing in a miserable, little country town in 
 the winter? They are bad enough in the summer, but iiu 
 March! >Bah! Come and see me at once, you naughty 
 boy! AUNT ELLA." 
 
 ^Dated yesterday," said Quincy; "how fortunate. I will 
 go up to Mt. Vernon Street to-morrow noon and take 
 lunch with her." 
 
 When Quincy reached Boston he went directly to his
 
 854 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER. 
 
 father s office. The Hon. Mr. Sawyer was not present, but 
 his partners, Mr. Franklin Crowninshield and Mr. Ather- 
 ton Lawrence, were busily engaged. Quincy took a seat at 
 the desk which he had occupied before going to Eastbor- 
 ough, and wrote out his advertisement for the New York 
 "Herald. It read as follows: "Linda. Important paper 
 discovered; communicate at once with Q. A. S., Eastbor- 
 ough." 
 
 He enclosed a check to cover a fortnight s insertion? 
 then walked down State Street to the post office to mail his 
 letter. When he returned, Mr. Lawrence informed him. 
 that his father was in his private office. His father greeted 
 him pleasantly, but not effusively; in fact, any marked ex 
 hibition of approval or disapproval was foreign to the Saw 
 yer character, while the Quincys were equally notable for 
 their reticence and imperturbability. 
 
 "When shall we have the pleasure of your continued 
 presence at home?" asked the father. 
 
 "To-night," replied Quincy, with a smile, "I shall be with 
 you at dinner, stay all night, and take breakfast with you." 
 
 "I trust your long visit will not oblige you to neglect 
 other more important matters," said the father. 
 
 "Oh, nO I" answered Quincy. "I have looked out for 
 that." 
 
 "And when do you think your health will allow you to 
 resume your position in the office? inquired the Hon. 
 iNathaniel. 
 
 "That is very uncertain," replied Quincy. 
 
 "If you do not intend to come back at all," continued 
 the father, "that would simplify matters. I could then make 
 room for a Harvard graduate to study with us." 
 
 Quincy reflected. He had been taught by his father not 
 to give a positive answer to any question on the spur of the 
 moment, if more time could be taken, as well as not, for 
 consideration. So, after a few moments of thought, Quincy
 
 AUNT ELLA. 365 
 
 said, "I will write you in the course of ten days or a fort 
 night, and give you a positive answer." 
 
 "That will be entirely satisfactory," answered his father. 
 "As you are going out, will you kindly tell Mr. Crownin* 
 shield that I wish to consult with him? 
 
 Quincy knew that the interview had expired by limita 
 tion. He went home, but found that his mother and sisters 
 were out riding. 
 
 "They will return in time for dinner," said Delia, the 
 parlor maid., 
 
 Quincy went into the parlor and opened the grand piano. 
 He sat down before it, touched a few of the keys casually, 
 then sang, with great expression, the song by J. R. Thomas 
 entitled "Pleasant Memories. He next wandered into the 
 library, and took down and glanced at several books that 
 he had devoured with avidity when a boy of sixteen. Then 
 he went upstairs to his own room, which he had occupied 
 since he was eight years old. It looked familiar, every 
 thing was in its accustomed place; still, the room did not 
 look homelike. Strange as it may seem, Quincy had been 
 happier in the large west chamber, with its old-fashioned 
 bureau and carpet and bed, than he had ever been in this 
 handsomely furnished apartment in the Beacon Street 
 mansion. There was no wide fireplace here, with ruddy 
 embers, into whose burning face he could look and weave 
 fanciful dreams of the fortune and happiness to be his in 
 the future. 
 
 He spent a pleasant evening with the family. His father 
 was present, but passed the time in reading the newspapers 
 and a legal brief that he wished to more closely examine. 
 His mother was engrossed in a new novel, but no approving 
 smile or sympathetic tear demonstrated any particular in 
 terest in the fates of the struggling hero or suffering 
 heroine. 
 
 Florence sat at the piano, and, in response to Quincy s 
 request that she would give him some music, played
 
 gid QUttfCY ADAMS SAWYER, 
 
 some chromatic scales and arpeggios. He declared that 
 they reminded him of grand opera, which remark sent 
 Maude into a fit of satirical laughter, and Florence up to 
 her room in a pout. 
 
 Then Maude fell to asking Quincy questions about him 
 self, to which he returned evasive and untruthful answers, 
 until she was, as she said, completely disgusted. Then she 
 dropped her head upon his shoulder, and with the arms of 
 the brother whom she dearly loved clasped around her, she 
 went to sleep. He looked at the sweet girlish face and 
 thought, not of her, but of Alice. 
 
 Next morning he was up early, for he knew that a busy 
 day was before him. The last thing before retiring, and 
 the first thing upon getting up, he examined his inside 
 vest pocket, to see if that precious letter, that priceless trust 
 that he had given his knightly word to deliver, was safe. 
 _ He breakfasted early, and eight o clock found him in 
 Bowdoin Square, at the corner of Green and) Chardon 
 Streets. His first visit was to a safe manufactory, a few 
 doors from the corner, where he purchased one for the 
 firm of Strout & Maxwell. 
 
 After traversing both sides of Friend Street, he finally 
 settled upon two horses, stout country roadsters, and left 
 an order for their shipment to Eastborough Centre, when 
 they were notified that the wagons were ready. He bought 
 the wagons in Sudbury Street. They had red bodies and 
 yellow wheels, and the words, "Strout & Maxwell, Mason s 
 Corner, Mass.," were to be placed on them in gold letters. 
 
 These tasks completed, Quincy walked up Tremont Row 
 by Scollay s Building. Crossing Pemberton Square, he 
 continued up Tremont Street until he came to the building 
 in which was the law office of Curtis Carter, one of his law 
 school chums. 
 
 "Hello, Curt !" said he, as he entered the somewhat dingy 
 office. 
 
 "Well, ? pon honor, Quincy," cried Curtis, "the sight of
 
 AUNT ELLA. 857 
 
 you is good for sore eyes, and I ve got such a beastly cold 
 that I can t see with one eye and can t read with the other." 
 
 "Well," said Quincy, "I came in here intending to con 
 sult you professionally, but I don t think a blind lawyer 
 will answer my purpose." 
 
 "Oh, I shall be all right in a few minutes," replied Cur 
 tis. "I dropped into Young s as I came up and took an 
 eye-opener. What s the matter, old fellow, breach of 
 
 promise 
 
 Quincy took a seat near Curtis s desk. 
 
 "No/ said he, "it s a case of animosity carried beyond 
 the grave/ 
 
 "Oh! I see," said Curtis, "party cut off with a shilling, 
 going to try and break the will?" 
 
 "Have a cigar?" asked Quincy. "While you are light- 
 ing it and getting it under way I may slide in and get a 
 chance to state my business." 
 
 "Oh! you want to do the talking?" said Curtis good 
 humoredly. "Well, go ahead, old man;" and he leaned 
 back and smoked complacently. 
 
 Quincy then related as much as he thought necessary of 
 the story of the sealed letter, and as he concluded he took 
 the package from his pocket and placed it on the corner of 
 the lawyer s desk. 
 
 "You are doing just right," said Curtis; "the probate 
 judges nowadays are looking more carefully at wills, espec 
 ially when their provisions indicate that the signer was 
 more red Indian than white Christian. I understand you 
 perfectly," he continued; "what you wish me to do is to 
 put this letter in an envelope, seal it securely, and endorse 
 upon it these words, To be delivered only to Miss Lindy 
 Putnam upon the written order of Miss Alice Pettengill. " 
 
 "That s it exactly," said Quincy; "only I wish a receipt 
 from you for the document." 
 
 "Certainly," replied Curtis. As he raised the lid of his 
 old-fashioned desk the letter fell to the floor- The envel-
 
 358 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER. 
 
 ope had received rough treatment in its progress from 
 ha; i to hand, and it was not strange that when it struck 
 the floor one corner was split open by ih?, fall. 
 
 As Quincy stooped to pick it up, he noticed that some- 
 tb ng that resembled a small piece of white cloth dropped) 
 fj jm the broken corner of the envelope. When he picked 
 i j? np to replace it, he saw that it was a small piece of white 
 r.otton cloth, and his quick eye caught the name "Linda 
 . Fernborough" stamped thereon with indelible ink. He 
 Eaid nothing, but replacing the piece of cloth passed the 
 package to Curtis, who enclosed, sealed, and endorsed it, 
 md gave a receipt therefor to Quincy. 
 
 "I will put this in my big steel vault," said he, as he went 
 into another room. 
 
 Quincy knew that Curtis would accept no fee for such a 
 slight service, so placing a five dollar greenback under a 
 paperweight, he quietly left the office and was out of sight 
 long before Curtis, with the bill in his hand, ran down stairs, 
 bareheaded, and looked up and down the street in search 
 of him. 
 
 Five minutes later Quincy reached his aunt s house. A 
 "Buttons," dressed in blue livery, opened the door, and 
 Quincy was ushered into the long parlor, which ran the 
 full depth of the house, some sixty feet, in which he had 
 passed many pleasant evenings. He sent up his card, and 
 in a few moments Buttons returned and delivered the 
 speech which Mrs. Chessman had taught him and which 
 he had learned by heart: "Mrs. Chessman desires that 
 you will come up at once." 
 
 Quincy bounded upstairs, to the evident astonishment of 
 Buttons, and made his way to the front chamber, which he 
 knew was his aunt s room. She loved the sunlight, and it 
 was a constant visitor in that room, summer and winter. 
 His aunt did not greet him with a "how do you do?" and a 
 hand-shake. Instead of such a formal reception, she gave 
 him a hearty hug and kissed him three times, once on the
 
 AUNT ELLAo 85* 
 
 forehead, then on the cheek, and finally on the lips, in 
 which latter osculation Quincy took part. 
 
 His aunt led him to an easy-chair, then threw herself 
 upon a lounge opposite to him. She eyed him attentively 
 for a moment. 
 
 "Ouincy," said she, "you are better looking than ever; 
 you re almost as good looking as Robert was, and he was 
 the handsomest man I ever saw. How many different 
 country girls have you kissed since you saw me last? 
 
 "I kept the count," said Quincy, "till I went to a sur 
 prise party a week ago Monday, and then I lost it." 
 
 "Of all the kisses that you have had, whose do you prize 
 the most?" 
 
 "Those from my beloved Aunt Ella," replied Quincy. 
 
 Aunt Ella smiled and said, "You know how to keep on 
 the right side of an old woman who has got money." 
 
 " I didn t think of that until you called my attention to it " 
 said Quincy gravely. 
 
 "And I didn t believe it when I said it," added Aunt Ella c 
 A few moments later she rang and ordered a light lunch, 
 \Vhen this was over she went to an old secretary with brass 
 handles, opened a drawer, and took out a cigar box. 
 
 "I have a few of Robert s cigars left, 5 she said. 
 
 Quincy took one and resumed his seat in the easy-chair. 
 
 Aunt Ella opened another drawer in the secretary and 
 took out a pouch of tobacco, a package of rice paper and a 
 box of wax tapers. She put these articles on a small dia 
 mond-shaped table and placed the table between Quincy 
 ard herself. She handed Quincy the match-box, then deftly 
 rolling a cigarette, she lighted it, leaned back upon the 
 lounge and blew rings of smoke into the air, which she 
 watched until tHey broke. 
 
 "Do you think it s horribly unbecoming for me to 
 smoke?" she asked, looking at Quincy. 
 
 "Do you wish me to express my real thoughts?" replied 
 Quincy, "or flatter you because you have money?"
 
 800 
 
 Aunt Ella reddened a little, then said, "A good shot, 
 Quincy, but I deserve it. Go on." 
 
 "Well, Aunt Ella," said he, "you are the only woman 
 whom I ever saw smoke who, in niy opinion, knew how to 
 do it gracefully." 
 
 "I think you are sincere," she rejoined, "and I beg par 
 don for wounding your feelings as I did before. Give me 
 your hand on it. * 
 
 They shook hands as two men would have done after set 
 tling differences. 
 
 Then she said, "Now dtaw your chair up closer, Quincy, 
 and tell me what you ve been doing, and what other people 
 have been doing to you since the day before Christmas, 
 the last time I set eyes on you until to-day. You know I 
 am your mother confessor. 
 
 Quincy complied, and in his quiet, concise way gave her 
 a full account of his doings in Eastborough, omitting 
 nothing, concealing nothing-. If anything, he gave fuller 
 details of his acquaintance with Huldy, Lindy, and Alice 
 than he did of the other portions of his story. He could 
 not forbear to give at full length the account of his final 
 settlement with the Professor. 
 
 Aunt Ella laughed heartily at some parts of the recital, 
 and looked sorrowful and sympathetic when she listened to 
 other portions. She rolled and smoked half a dozen cigar 
 ettes during its continuance, and when she saw that Quincy 
 had finished his cigar she placed the remainder of the box 
 before him. 
 
 When he closed she said, "Quincy, you re a brick. I 
 haven t enjoyed myself so much for years. I do so love 
 anything that isn t commonplace, and your experience is 
 both novel and interesting. What a dear old man Deacon 
 Mason is, and Ezekiel Pettengill is a fine young fellow, hon 
 est and square. That Hiram and Mandy must be a team. 
 Are they going to get married?" 
 
 "1 think so," said Quincy. "He stammers, you know,,
 
 AUNT ELLA, 861 
 
 and I think he is afraid he will break down when he tries 
 to propose." 
 
 Aunt Ella laughed heartily; then she said, "What a con 
 stitutional liar that Stiles must be, and as for the Professor, 
 I would like to have a set-to with him myself. 
 
 As she said this she doubled up her fists. 
 
 "Oh, he wouldn t .meet you that way," said Quincy. "He 
 only fights with a woman s weapon, his tongue;" and he 
 told her of his little boxing match with Robert Wood. 
 
 Aunt Ella continued: "I can imagine what a pretty, 
 cweet, little country girl Huldy Mason is. My heart aches 
 for Lindy, her martyrdom has been out of all proportion to 
 her contemplated wrongdoing, if wrongdoing it really was. 
 Had I been in her place I would have married Jones and 
 left my clothes behind; and then," said Aunt Ella, "how 
 my heart goes out to that dear, sweet girl that you call 
 Alice! Do you love her, Quincy?" 
 
 "Devotedly," answered Quincy, "I never really loved a 
 woman before." 
 
 "Then marry her," cried Aunt Ella decidedly. 
 
 "Everybody at home but Maude will object," said 
 Quincy. 
 
 "Maude s the best one in the family, next to yourself," 
 snapped Aunt Ella. 
 
 "They will bring up Uncle Jim," continued Quincy. 
 
 <r Nonsense!" replied 1 Aunt Ella. "Uncle Jim was a 
 fool; any man is a fool who thinks he can win the battle of 
 life by making a sot of himself. Bring this girl to me, 
 Quincy. She must be a genius, if she can write as you say 
 she can. Let me care for her and love her and make 
 life pleasant and beautiful for her until you get ready to do 
 k yourself." 
 
 "I will, some day, Aunt Ella. You are the best friend 
 I have in the world, and when I have the right to bring 
 Alice to you, I will lose no time in doing so. Thank you 
 for your kind words about her. I shall never forget them,
 
 and she shall hear them some day. But I must go now.*" 
 
 They both arose. "Promise that you will come and see 
 me every time you are in Boston, Quincy; if you don t,. J 
 shall come down to Eastborough to see you/ 
 
 She gave him another kiss at parting. 
 
 As he left the house he deliberated for a moment as to 
 where he should go next. It was half-past four. He de 
 cided to go to Leopold s lodgings in Chestnut Street. He 
 found him at home, but for a wonder he was net working, 
 
 "This is an off day with me/ he explained; "this is our 
 haying season, and I ve been working nights, days, and 
 Sundays for a fortnight/ 
 
 "I came to express Miss Pettengill s obligations and 
 thanks for your kind and very successful efforts in her be 
 half." 
 
 "Oh! that s all right," said Leopold. "By the way, have 
 you told her she ought to write a book?" 
 
 "Not yet/ said Quincy; "but I m going to soon. She 
 has just lost a dear friend; but I won t forget it." 
 
 "Don t! repeated Leopold. "She is a diamond that 
 ought to be dug up, cut, and set in eighteen carat gold. 
 Excuse my apparently brutal language, but you get my 
 meaning." 
 
 "Certainly," said Quincy; **and you are not working to- j 
 day." 
 
 "No/* replied Leopold; "loafing and enjoying it, too. 
 I ve a good mind to turn vagrant and loaf on, loaf ever/* 
 
 "Come down to Parker s and have dinner with me." 
 
 "Can t do it," replied Leopold; "my stomach is loafing-, 
 too. Twouldn t be fair to make it work and do nothing 
 myself. Just as much obliged. Some other day. Don t 
 forget the book," he cried, as Quincy left the room. 
 
 Quincy took his dinner at Parker s, caught the five min 
 utes past six express, and reached Eastborough Centre at 
 half-past seven. Abbott Smith drove him home to the 
 Pettengill house.
 
 AUNT ELLA. 368 
 
 The next day was Friday. Everybody at Mason s Cor 
 ner, with quite a number from Eastborough and Montrose, 
 came to Mrs. Putnam s funeral. The little Square in front 
 of the church, as well as the shed, was filled with teams. 
 While waiting for the arrival of the body, quite a number 
 or the male residents of Mason s Comer were gathered 
 upon the steps of the church. 
 
 Strout spied Abner Stiles and approached him. "Bob 
 Wood has jest told rne," said the Professor, "that he has de 
 cided not to leave his present place, so I ve concluded on 
 second thoughts to give yer that job at the grocery store/ 
 
 Abner s eyes twinkled. 
 
 "I ve had my second thoughts, too," said he, "I ve hired 
 out to Deacon Mason for life, and if I jine the church he 
 says I can work for him in the next world. So I kinder 
 guess I shall have to decline yer kind invitation to lift boxes 
 and roll barrels. 5 
 
 When the services were over every person in the church 
 passed up the centre aisle to take a last view. Her hus 
 band had been buried in the Montrose cemetery, and she 
 had told Mr. Tilton that she was to be laid by his side. The 
 Eastborough cemetery was in West Eastborough, and for 
 that reason many of the late residents of Mason s Corner 
 slept their last sleep at Montrose. 
 
 As they stood by the coffin, Alice said, "How does stie 
 look?" 
 
 "Very pleasant/ replied Quincy; "there is a sweet smile 
 ,upon her face. 
 
 "I am so glad," said Alice. She pressed his arm a little 
 tighter, and looking up to him, she said, "Perhaps she has 
 met her boy, and that smile is but the earthly reflection ot 
 the heavenly one that rests upon her face in her home 
 above. * 
 
 "I hope so/ replied Quincy; and they walked slowly out 
 of church and took their places on the rear seat of the 
 teng^li carryall s Ezekiel and Uncle Ike sitting: in front.
 
 364 QUINCT ADAMS SAWYER. 
 
 Mandy Skinner and Mrs. Crowley had not gone to the 
 funeral. The latter was busy skimming cream from a 
 dozen large milk pans, while Mandy sat before the kitchen 
 stove, with Swiss by her side. She was thinking of Hiram, 
 and wondering if he really intended to ask her to marry 
 him. 
 
 "I don t think he s been foolin* me, but now he s goin* 
 into business I should think it was about time for him to 
 speak up or quit/ 
 
 Swiss suddenly arose, sniffed and went to the kitchen 
 door. The door was opened softly and some one entered 
 the room. Mandy did not turn her head. Perhaps she 
 guessed who it was. Then some one placed a chair close 
 to Mandy and took a seat beside her. 
 
 "Say, M-m-m-m-m-a-andy," said Hiram, "will you please 
 read this to me? It s an important document, and I want 
 to be sure I ve got it jest right." As he said this he passed 
 Mandy a folded paper. 
 
 She opened it and the following words met her eye: 
 "This is to certify that I, Hiram Maxwell, of Mason s Cor 
 ner, in the town of Eastborough, county of Normouth, and 
 Commonwealth of Massachusetts, hereby declare my in 
 tention to ask Miss Amanda Skinner of the village, town, 
 county, and state aforesaid, to become my lawful wedded 
 wife." 
 
 "Oh, you big silly!" cried Mandy, dropping the paper, 
 for she didn t think it necessary to read any further. 
 
 "Is it all right?" cried Hiram, "it cost a quarter to git it 
 drawn up. Then I swore to it ibefore old Squire Rundlett 
 over to Montrose, and it ought ter hold water. You d bet 
 ter keep it, Mandy, then I can t fling it up at yer that I 
 never axed yer to marry me." 
 
 "Who told you that? asked the girl indignantly. 
 
 Ma Hawkins. Well, she didn t exactly say it to me, but 
 she spoke it out so loud to Betsy Green that I heered it!
 
 AUNT ELXJL Sti* 
 
 clear out in the wood-shed and I ll tell yer what, Maady, 
 it kinder made me mad." 
 
 "Well, it s all right now," said Mandy soothingly. 
 
 "Is it?" asked Hiram, his face beaming with delight. 
 
 The next instant there was a succession of peculiar 
 sounds heard in the room. As Swiss came back from the 
 kitchen door but one chair was needed for the happy coupk, 
 and an onlooker would have thought that chair was occu 
 pied by one person with a very large head, having light 
 curly hair on one side and straight dark hair on the other, 
 no face being visible. 
 
 It was upon this picture that Mrs. Crowley looked as she 
 opened the door leading into the kitchen and started to 
 come into the room with a large pan full of cream. 
 
 Astonished, she stepped backward, forgetting the two 
 steps that she had just ascended. Flat upon her back she 
 fell, the j>an of cream drenching her from head to foot. 
 
 "It s drowncled I am! It s drownded I ami" she cried at 
 the top of her voice. 
 
 "What s the matter? How did it happen?" said Mandy, 
 as she rushed into the room, followed by Swiss. 
 
 "Shure it s thinkin I was, moaned Mrs. Crowley, 
 "when the milk fell on me." 
 
 "Thinkin of what? cried Mandy sharply. "You couldn t 
 have been thinkin of your business." 
 
 "Shure I was thinkin of the day when Pat Crowley and 
 I both sat in the same chair, forty years ago," said Mrs. 
 Crowley, rising to her feet and wiping the cream from her 
 eyes, and nose, and ears. 
 
 During this time Swiss was busily engaged having a rich 
 feast upon the cream left in the pan. Hiram appeared at 
 the kitchen door to learn the cause of Mandy s absence. 
 
 Raising her hands high in the air, Mrs. Crowley said, 
 "Bless you, my darlints; may yer live long and may all the 
 saints pour blessin s on yer hids."
 
 866 QUIN T CY ADAMS SAWYER. 
 
 And with this invocation the poor old woman hobbled 
 off to her room in the ell and was not seen again until the 
 next morning.
 
 CHAPTER XXXIII 
 
 HE next day was Saturday. While the Pettengil! 
 faniily was at breakfast, Squire Rundlett arrived. 
 He had driven over from Montrose with the partnership 
 papers for Strout, Hiram, and Quincy to sign and also the 
 will of the late Mrs. Hepsibeth Putnam. 
 
 As he came into the kitchen he espied Mandy, and a 
 broad smile spread over his face as he said, "Good morning, 
 Miss Skinner, was that paper all right ?" Mandy flushed 
 scarlet but said nothing. "Honestly, Miss Skinner," said 
 the Squire, "I think it was a very sensible act on Hiram s 
 part. If men were obliged to put their proposals in writ 
 ing there wouldn t be any more breach of promise cases." 
 
 "I think he was a big goose, finally ejaculated Mandy, 
 laughing in spite of herself. 
 
 "At any rate," continued the Squire, "he knew how to 
 pick out a smart, pretty little woman for a wife;" and he 
 raised his hat politely and passed into the dining-room. 
 
 Here he was asked to have some breakfast. He accepted 
 a cup of coffee, and, while drinking it, informed Quincy 
 and Alice of the twofold purpose of his visit. 
 
 Quincy led Alice into the parlor, the Squire accompany 
 ing them. Quincy then retired, saying he would join the 
 Squire in a short time and ride up to the store with him. 
 
 When they were alone, the Squire informed \lice that 
 by the terms of Mrs. Putnam s last will she had been left 
 sole heiress of all the real and personal property of the de 
 ceased. The dwelling house and farm were worth fully 
 ten thousand dollars, while the bonds, stocks, and other
 
 368 QTJINCY ADAMS SAWYER, 
 
 securities, of which he had had charge for many years, were 
 worth at least forty thousand more. For several years 
 Mrs. Putnam s income had been about twenty-five hundred 
 dollars a year. 
 
 "It was very kind of her to leave it to me," said Alice; 
 "I have never done anything to deserve it and I would not 
 take it were it not that I understand there are no near rela-. 
 tives, and that Miss Lindy Putnam was amply provided for 
 by her brother." 
 
 There was a knock upon the door, and Quincy looked in. 
 
 "Come in, Mr. Sawyer/ said the Squire. "I have an 
 important bit of news for you that concerns this young 
 lady." 
 
 Quincy did as requested and stood expectantly. 
 
 The Squire went on: "Mrs. Putnam s old will, made 
 some six years ago, gave all the property to Miss Petten- 
 gill, but provided that its provisions should be kept secret 
 for ninety days. In that will I was named as sole executor." 
 
 "Why did she change it? asked Alice earnestly. 
 
 "I don t know," replied the Squire. "About three weeks 
 ago she sent for me and cut out the ninety-day restriction 
 and named our young friend here as co-executor with 
 myself." 
 
 Alice remained! silent, while a look of astonishment crept 
 into Quincy s face. 
 
 "I do not quite comprehend her reason for making this 
 change," remarked Quincy. 
 
 "Mrs. Putnam was a very far-seeing lady," said the 
 Squire, with a laugh, looking first at Alice and then at 
 Quincy. 
 
 A slight flush mounted to Alice s cheeks, and Quincy 
 said coolly, "I do not perceive the application of your re* 
 mark." 
 
 "Easy enough," said the Squire, seeing that he had put 
 his foot in it, and that it was necessary to explain his false 
 step in some way, "easy enough. I have had sole charge
 
 THE WEDDIN S. 6* 
 
 of her property for six years, and she wished some cool- 
 headed business man to go over my accounts and see if I 
 had been honest in my dealings with her/ 
 
 "That way of stating the case is satisfactory," said 
 Quincy, a little more genially. 
 
 "I don t think I am in danger of being robbed with two 
 sucli trusty guardians," said Alice. 
 
 Then all three laughed, and the little rift was closed. 
 But the Squire s words had not been unheeded and two 
 hearts were busily thinking and wondering if he had really 
 meant what he said. 
 
 The Squire then turned to Quincy. "If you will name 
 a day we will go over to the county town, present the will 
 for probate, and at any time thereafter my books will be 
 ready for inspection." 
 
 Quincy named the following Wednesday, and then both 
 men congratulated Miss Pettengill on her good fortune, 
 bade her good morning, and then started to go to the store. 
 
 As they passed through the kitchen Mandy was not in 
 sight. She evidently did not intend to have a second inter 
 view with the Squire. 
 
 When they reached the store they found Strout and 
 Hiram and Mr. Hill and his son already there. The bus 
 iness with Mr. Hill was soon concluded, and he delivered 
 the keys of the property to Squire Rundlett; then the co 
 partnership papers were duly signed and witnessed, and 
 then the Squire passed the keys to Mr. Obadiah Strout, the 
 Senior partner of the new firm of Strout & Maxwell, who 
 formally took possession of the property in his own name 
 and that of his partners. 
 
 Since Abner s curt declination of a position in the store, 
 Strout had been looking around for some one to take his 
 place, and had finally settled upon William Ricker, or, as 
 he was generally called, Billy Ricker, a popular young 
 resident of Montrose, as it was thought he could control a 
 great deal of trade in that town.
 
 370 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYEK. 
 
 For a similar reason, Quincy and Hiram had united in 
 choosing young Abbott Smith, who was known by every 
 body in Eastborough Centre and West Eastborough. 
 Abbott had grown tired of driving the hotel carriage and 
 wished to engage in some permanent business. 
 
 The choice was naturally not particularly palatable to 
 Strout, but he had consented to let bygones be bygones andj 
 could offer no valid objection. These two young men were 
 to report for duty that Saturday evening, and the close of 
 that day s business terminated Benoni and Samuel Hill s 
 connection with the grocery store. 
 
 Sunday morning all of the Pettengill family went to 
 church and listened to a sermon by Mr. Howe, the minister, 
 from the text, "Blessed are the peacemakers, for they shall 
 inherit the kingdom of Heaven." 
 
 As they were driving home, Uncle Ike remarked in his 
 dry. sarcastic way, "I s pose Mr. Howe was thinkin of Mrs. 
 Putnam when he was praisin the peacemakers; it s a fash 
 ion in the country, I understand, the Sunday after a funeral 
 to preach in a general way about the departed one." 
 
 "Mrs. Putnam has been very kind to me, protested 
 Alice, "and you should forgive her for my sake. 
 
 "I ll forgive her," said Uncle Ike, "when the wrong she 
 has done has been righted." He shut his teeth together 
 sharply, faced the horses again, and lapsed into silence. 
 
 In the afternoon Quincy joined Alice in the parlor, and 
 they sang some sacred music together. 
 
 Quincy picked up a book from the table and said, "Why, 
 Miss Pettengili, by this turned down comer I imagine 
 there are some thirty pages of this very interesting story, 
 "The Love of a Lifetime, that I have not read to you. 
 Would you like to have me finish it this afternoon?" 
 
 "I have been afraid to hear the last chapter," said Alice. 
 "I fear Herbert and Clarice will both die, and I so hate a 
 book with a sad ending. Why don t authors keep their 
 lovers alive "
 
 THE WEDDIN S. 371 
 
 "Marry them off and let them live happily ever after 
 ward/ Quincy concluded. 
 
 "I don t think I could ever write a book with a sorrowful 
 conclusion, 7 mused Alice, 
 
 Quincy saw the opportunity for which he had long 
 waited. 
 
 "Why don t you write a book?" asked he earnestly/ 
 "My friend Leopold says you ought to; he further said 
 that you were a genius, and if I remember him correctly, 
 compared you to a diamond 
 
 "In the rough," added Alice quickly. 
 
 "That s it," said Quincy; "but Leopold added that rough 
 diamonds should be dug up, cut, and set in a manner worthy 
 of their value." 
 
 "I am afraid Mr. Ernst greatly overrates my abilities and 
 my worth, said she, a little constrainedly. "But how un 
 kind and ungrateful I am to you and Mr. Ernst, who have 
 been so kind and have done so much for me. I will prom 
 ise this much," she continued graciously. "I will think It 
 over, and if my heart does not fail me, I will try." 
 
 "I hope your conclusion will be favorable," remarked 
 Quincy. "In a short time you will be financially indepen 
 dent and freed from any necessity of returning to your 
 former vocation. I never knew of an author so completely 
 successful at the start, and I think you have every encour 
 agement to make literature your love of a lifetime. 
 
 "I will try to think so too," replied Alice softly. 
 
 Then he took up the book and finished reading it. When 
 he had closed, neither he nor she were thinking of that 
 future world in which Herbert and Clarice had sealed those 
 vows which they had kept so steadfastly and truly during 
 life, but of the present world, bright with promise for each 
 of them, in which there was but one shade of sorrow 
 that filmy web that shut out the beauties of nature from 
 the sight of that most beautiful of God s creations, a lovely 
 woman.
 
 372 QUIXCY ADAMS SAWYER. 
 
 Monday morning Qtiincy made another trip to Boston. 
 He had obtained the measurements for a large sign, upon 
 which, on a blue ground, the words "Strout & Maxwell" 
 were to appear in large gold letters. He paid another visit 
 to the carriage factory, and ordered two leather covered 
 wagon tops, to be used in stormy weather, and picked out 
 two sets of harness resplendent with brass buckles and 
 bosses and having "S. & M." in brass letters on the blinders. 
 
 He reached Aunt Ella s in time for lunch. He told her 
 of the approaching wedding of Ezekiel and Huldy; then, 
 leaning over, he whispered something in her ear, which 
 made her face beam with delight. 
 
 "What a joke it will be," cried she, "and how the coun 
 try folks will enjoy it. Can t I come down to the wedding, 
 Quincy, and bring my landau, my double span of cream- 
 colored horses, and my driver and footman in the Chess 
 man livery? I ll take you and your lady love to the church." 
 
 "Why, certainly," said Quincy. "I ll ask Miss Mason 
 to send you an invitation. 
 
 "Let me do something to help," begged the impetuous 
 but good-hearted Aunt Ella. "Bring the girls up some 
 morning early. We will go shopping, then we ll lunch 
 here. We will have to go without our wine and cigars 
 that day, you know, and then we ll go to the modiste s and 
 the milliner s in th e afternoon. We ll make a day of it, 
 young man." 
 
 Quincy leaned back in his easy-chair and blew a ring of 
 blue smoke from one of Uncle Robert s cigars. 
 ) "Excuse me, Aunt Ella," said he, "but do you ever in 
 tend to get married again? 
 
 "Quincy Adams Sawyer!" cried Aunt Ella, with an as 
 tonished look on her face, "are you joking?" 
 
 "Certainly not," replied Quincy. "My question was in 
 tended to be a serious and respectful inquiry. You are 
 only forty, fine looking, well educated, well connected and 
 wealthy. Why should you not?"
 
 THE WEDDIN S. S73 
 
 * I will answer you seriously then, Quincy. I could not 
 marry again. Ten years life with Robert Chessman was 
 a greater pleasure than a lifetime with an ordinary man. 
 I was twenty-five when I married him; we lived together 
 ten years; he has been dead for five. How often I have 
 wished that Robert had lived to enjoy his fortune with me. 
 
 "But he was satisfied," she continued. " Better be a 
 success at the end/ he used to say, than be a success in mid 
 dle life and fall from your greatness. Look at Wolsey, 
 look at Richelieu, look at Napoleon Bonaparte. He would 
 often remark: Earth has no sadder picture than a broken 
 idol. He used to consider Abraham Lincoln the most suc 
 cessful man that ever lived, for he died before making a 
 mistake, and when he was strongest in the hearts of the 
 people. 
 
 "Your question reminds me, * continued Aunt Ella, "of 
 something I had in mind to say to you at some future day, 
 but I may as well say it now. How much money have 
 you, Quincy, and what is your income?" 
 
 "Father gave me fifty thousand dollars outright when I 
 was twenty-one; it pays on an average six per cent. Be 
 sides this he allows me two thousand a year for sup 
 posed professional services rendered in his law office." 
 
 "That makes five thousand a year," said Aunt Ella 
 quickly. "Well, Fll allow you five thousand more a year, 
 and the day you are married I ll give you as much outright 
 as your father did. That s unconditional. Now, condition 
 ally, if you bring your wife here and live with me you, 
 shall have rooms and board free, and I ll leave you every 
 dollar I possess when I m through with it. Don t argue 
 with me now," she continued, as Quincy essayed to speak. 
 "Think it over, tell her about it. You will do as you please, 
 of course, but I shall not change my mind on this point." 
 
 "Didn t your husband leave any relatives that might 
 turn up and prevent any such disposition of your proj>> 
 erty?"
 
 74 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYEK. 
 
 "When we married, Robert said he was alone in the 
 world," replied Aunt Ella; "he had no sisters, and only one 
 brother, named Charles. Charles was an artist; he went 
 to Paris to study about thirty-five years ago. From there 
 he went to London. Some thirty years ago Robert got a 
 letter from him in which he said he was going to return to 
 America. Robert waited, but he did not come; then he 
 wrote again to his English address, but the letter was re 
 turned with the words Gone to America endorsed 
 thereon." 
 
 "Was he .married? inquired Quincy. 
 
 "Robert never knew," said Aunt Ella, "but he imagined 
 not, as Charlie, as he called him, never spoke in his letters 
 of being in love, much less of being married." 
 
 Quincy caught the three o clock train to Eastborough 
 Centre, and Ellis Smith, another son of Bias Smith, who 
 had taken the hotel carriage in place of his brother Abbott, 
 drove him home. 
 
 A few diays thereafter invitations to the wedding of 
 Ezekiel Pectengill and Hulda Ann Mason were sent broad 
 cast through Eastborough Centre, West Eastborough, 
 Mason s Corner, and Montrose. Then it was decided by 
 the gossips that Ezekiel was going to have Mr. Sawyer and 
 Hiram Maxwell and Sam Hill to stand up with him, while 
 Huldy Ann was going to have Alice Pettengill, Mandy 
 Skinner, and Tilly James as bridesmaids. 
 
 The whole town turned out when the two gaudy wagons, 
 with their handsome horses and fine harness reached East- 
 borough Centre, and a number of Centre folks followed 
 the unique procession over to Mason s Corner. One of 
 the wagons contained the new sign, which was soon put 
 in place, and was a source of undisguised admiration for a 
 long time. 
 
 On the tenth of April, Strout & Maxwell s two heavy 
 teams went over to Eastborough Centre and returned about 
 noon heavily loaded, followed by three other teams from
 
 THE WEDDIN S. 375 
 
 the Centre equally well filled. Then Mr. Obadiah Strout 
 could contain himself no longer. He let the cat out of the 
 hag, and the news spread like wildfire over the village, and 
 was soon carried to Eastborough Centre and to Montrose. 
 The Mason s Corner church was to have a new organ, a 
 present from Mr. Sawyer, and Professor Obadiah Strout 
 had been engaged to officiate for one year. 
 
 The nineteenth of April was fixed for Huldy s wedding 
 day. The hour was ten in the morning. As early as eight 
 o clock teams began to arrive from north, east, south, and 
 west. Enough invitations had been issued to fill the church, 
 and by half-past nine every seat was taken. 
 
 The little church was profusely decorated with vines, 
 ferns and potted plants, while a wealth of cut flowers 
 adorned the altar, the front of the new organ, which rose 
 towering to the very top of the church, and the pews 
 reserved, for the bridal party. 
 
 Outside the edifice hundreds of sightseers, not honored 
 with invitations, lined both sides of the spacious Square in 
 front of the church, and occupied positions of vantage on 
 the steps. 
 
 It lacked but ten minutes of ten. The sexton rung a 
 merry peal from the sweet-toned bell, which was the pride 
 of the inhabitants of Mason s Corner. Within the church 
 the ushers, having attended to the seating of the audience, 
 stood just within the door awaiting the arrival of the bride 
 and groom. They were in dress suits, with white gloves, 
 and each had a white rose in his butonhole. Robert Wood 
 and Cobb s twins had been assigned to the right of the 
 centre aisle, while Abbott Smith, Benjamin Bates, and 
 Emmanuel Howe had charge of the left side of the edifice. 
 If any noticed the absence of Samuel Hill and Hiram Max 
 well, it did not provoke general remark, although Mrs. 
 Hawkins asked Jonas if he d seen Mandy anywhere, and 
 Til y James s scHool chum, Eliza Allen, managed to occupy 
 seats, so as to have one for TiUv when she
 
 376 QU1NCY ADAMS SAWYER. 
 
 At exactly five minutes of ten, Professor Strout emerged 
 from the rear of the platform and proceeded towards the 
 new organ. He, like the ushers, was in a dress suit, with a 
 white rose in the lapel of his coat. He was greeted with 
 applause and bowed his acknowledgements. He took his 
 seat at the organ and played a soft prelude, during which 
 the Rev. Caleb Howe entered and advanced to the altar. 
 
 Then loud cheers were heard from the assembled crowd 
 outside. The organ stopped and the sexton again filled 
 the au* with merry peals. The sight outside was one which 
 those inside could not see, and therefore could not appre 
 ciate. What was that coming up the road? Mason s Cor 
 ner had never seen an equipage like that before. An open 
 carriage, drawn by four cream-colored horses, with white 
 nianes and tails and silver-tipped harness. A coachman 
 in livery sat upon the box, while a footman, in similar 
 livery, rode behind. Following behind this were other car 
 riages, containing the other members of the bridal party. 
 
 Within the church every eye was turned upon the door 
 through which the party was to come. Professor Strout s 
 sharp eye saw the first couple as they reached the entrance, 
 and the strains of Mendelssohn s Wedding March, that 
 have preceded so many happy bridals, sounded through 
 the church. The party included Ezekiel and Huldy, Dea 
 con Mason and wife, Mr. Sawyer and Miss Alice Pet- 
 tengill, and a handsome, richly dressed lady unknown to 
 anv of the villagers, who was escorted by Mr. Isaac Petten- 
 gill. 
 
 Ezekiel and Huldy advanced) and took their positions 
 before the minister, while the remainder of the party took 
 seats in one of the bridal pews. 
 
 When the ceremony was over the audience naturally 
 expected that the wedded couple would leave the church 
 by the right-hand aisle, on both sides of which, from end 
 to end, white silk ribbons had been drawn to keep the pas 
 sage clear.
 
 THE WEDDDT S. 3T? 
 
 But no! Shouts and cheers were again heard from 
 -outside the church, again the church bell rang out, and 
 once more the melody of the Wedding March fell upon the 
 ears of the Professor s auditors, while to their astonish 
 ment Ezekiel and his wife seated themselves quietly in the 
 front bridal pew,, Again every eye was turned, every neck 
 was craned, and Samuel Hill and Tilly James walked down 
 the centre aisle and took their places before the clergyman. 
 Again the solemn words were spoken, and this time the 
 spectators felt sure that the double couple would leave the 
 church by the silken pathway. 
 
 But no; again were cheers and shouts from the outside 
 borne to the excited spectators within. Once more the 
 sexton sent out pleasing tones from the church bell; once 
 more the Professor evoked those melodious strains from 
 the sweet-toned organ; and as Samuel Hill and his wife 
 took their seats in the front pew beside Mr. and Mrs. Eze 
 kiel Pettengill, the excitement of the audience could no 
 longer be controlled. It overcame all restraint, and as 
 Hiram Maxwell and Mandy Skinner entered, the people 
 arose to their feet and cheered loudly, as they would have 
 done at a political meeting or a circus. 
 
 Again, and for the last time, the Rev. Mr. Howe went 
 through the time-honored ceremony, and at its close Mr 
 arid Mrs. Ezekiel Pettengill, Mr. and Mrs. Samuel Hill, 
 and Mr. and Mrs. Hiram Maxwell left the church by way 
 of the right-hand aisle, preceded by the ushers, who strewed 
 the aisle with white roses as they advanced, and were fol 
 lowed by the occupants of the second bridal pew. 
 
 As Quincy rode over to Eastborough Centre with his 
 Aunt Ella, after partaking of the wedding breakfast, which 
 was served in Deacon Mason s dining-room, she remarked 
 to him that the events of the day had been most enjoyable, 
 and that she didn t know, after all. but that she should 
 change her mind about getting married again. 
 
 When asked by Quincy if she had seen any one whom
 
 378 QUINCT ADAMS SAWYER. 
 
 she thought would suit her for a second husband, she re< 
 plied that "Mr. Isaac Pettengill was a very well-preserved 
 old gentleman, and the most original man in thought and 
 speech that she had met since Robert died. 
 
 Ouincy did not inform her that Uncle Ike had a wife 
 and two grown-up daughters living, thinking it best to re 
 serve that information for a future occasion. 
 
 That night Strout & Maxwell s grocery store was the 
 centre of attraction. Strout was in his glory, and was, of 
 course, in his own opinion, the most successful feature of 
 that eventful day. It was a very common thing to get 
 married, but it was a most uncommon thing to play on a 
 new church organ, and play as well as he had done, "for 
 the first time, too," as he remarked a score of times. 
 
 Stepping upon a barrel, the Professor called out in a 
 loud voice, "Order, please," and in a short time the assem 
 bled crowd became quiet. 
 
 "Friends and Feller Citizens: I have this day received 
 my commission as postmaster at Mason s Corner, Mass. 
 Mail matter will be sorted with celerity and delivered only 
 to the proper parties, while the firm of Strout & Maxwell 
 will always keep on hand a full assortment of the best 
 family groceries at reasonable prices. Soliciting your con 
 tinued patronage, I remain, yours respectively. 
 
 OBADIAH STROUT, Postmaster. 
 
 As the Professor stepped down from the barrel, Abner 
 Stiles caught him by the arm and said in a low voice, 
 "Isn t Deacon Mason one of your bondsmen? 
 
 "Yes," said Strout, somewhat pompously, "but what of 
 it?" 
 
 "Why, yer see/ said Abner, "I m workin for the Dea 
 con now, and I m just as devoted to his interests as I used 
 to be to yourn onct, and with a much better hope of reward, 
 both on this earth and in Heaven, and if he s got money
 
 THE WEDDIN S. 
 
 put up cm yer, of course yer won t object if I drop in onct 
 in a while and kinder keep an eye on yer." And with this 
 parting shot he dashed out a side door and was lost to 
 sight.
 
 CHAPTER XXXIV. 
 
 BLENNERHASSETT. 
 
 k 
 
 FHEN comparatively great events follow each other 
 in quick succession, those of minor importance are 
 liable to escape mention. It was for this reason, probably, 
 that the second visit of Dr. Tillotson was not spoken of at 
 the time of its occurrence. He examined Alice s eyes and 
 declared that progress towards recovery was being made, 
 slowly but surely. He left a bottle of new medicine, and 
 advised Alice, as an aid to recovery, to take a long walk, 
 ^>r a ride, each pleasant day. This advice he repeated to 
 Uncle Ike, who was waiting for him outside the front door, 
 and to Ouincy, who brought him from the station and took 
 him back. 
 
 On the day fixed upon, Quincy drove over to Montrose, 
 and accompanied by Squire Rundlett, went to the county 
 town and presented Mrs. Putnam s will for probate. In 
 d"ue time the will was admitted, the executors bonds were 
 filed and approved, and Quincy, at the age of twenty~three s 
 found himself one of the financial guardians of the young" 
 heiress, Mary Alice Pettengill, she being his junior by less 
 than two years. 
 
 About ten days after Quincy s interview with his Aunt 
 Ella, in which she had signified her intention of making 
 him an allowance, he received a letter from a Boston bank 
 ing firm, informing him that by direction of Mrs, Ells 
 Chessman, the sum of five thousand dollars had been placed 
 to his credit, and that a similar sum would be so placed 
 on the first business day of January in each succeeding 
 yeai* - A blank card was enclosed for a copy of his signa-
 
 BLESTNEKHASSETT. 38i 
 
 ure, and the statement made that his drafts would be duly 
 honored. 
 
 When Quincy and his aunt reached Eastborough Cen 
 tre, after the trio of weddings, they found that they had a 
 full hour to wait before the arrival of the next ingoing 
 train. 
 
 This gave plenty of time for the reloading of the horses 
 and carriage on the special car in which they had been 
 brought from Boston and which had been side-tracked. 
 
 Quincy wished to accompany his aunt to Boston and 
 escort her to her home, but she demurred. He insisted, 
 but his aunt replied, "Don t go, please don t, Quincy; they 
 will take me for your mother, and I really am not quite old 
 enough for that." 
 
 This argument was unanswerable, and Quincy bade her 
 a laughing good-by as the train sped on towards Boston, 
 the special car in charge of the coachman, and footman 
 bringing up the rear. 
 
 Thus Aunt Ella s visit to Mason s Corner became an 
 event of the past, but the memory of it remained green for 
 a long time in the minds of those who had witnessed her 
 arrival and departure. 
 
 Ellis Smith drove Quincy home to the Pettengill house. 
 It was to be home no longer, for Hiram and Mandy were 
 to have the room that Quincy had occupied so long. His 
 trunk and other belongings he had packed up the night 
 before, and at Quincy s request, Cobb s twins had taken 
 them out to Jacob s Parlor, where he found thenic He 
 knew that Mr and Mrs. Hawkins were to spend the after 
 noon with their daughter and son-in-law. 
 
 Quincy also knew that Uncle Ike and Alice were at 
 Deacon Mason s, where Ezekiel and Huldy were to remain 
 ior the coming week. 
 
 For the first time since he had been at Mason s Corner, 
 Quincy felt lonesome and deserted. He reflected on his 
 way to Mrs. Hawkins s boarding house that these weddings
 
 882 QUINCT ADAMS SAWYER. 
 
 were all very nice, to be sure, but they had deprived hi?*;, 
 of the society of many good friends, who were now united 
 by stronger ties than those of simple, everyday friendship. 
 
 He did not care to go to the grocery store, for he felt 
 that the Professor was entitled to all the credit that he was 
 likely to get for his day s performance, and he did not wish 
 to detract from it. So he went directly to his room, and 
 for the first time felt out of sorts with Eastborough and its 
 people. 
 
 He was not hungry for food, so he did not answer the 
 call to supper, but sat in the dark and thought. He real 
 ized that he was hungry, yes, desperately hungry, for love 
 the love of one woman, Alice Pettengill. Why should 
 he wait longer? Even if his father and mother objected his 
 Aunt Ella was on his side, and her action had made him 
 independent. He had felt himself so before, but now there 
 was no doubt of it. 
 
 This determined young man then made up his mind he 
 would declare his love at the first auspicious moment. 
 Then he would go to his parents and learn their verdict 
 on his proposed action. Thinking thus he went to bed, 
 and in his dreams, ushers, and bridesmaids, and cut flowers, 
 and potted plants, and miles of silken ribbon, and cream- 
 colored horses, and carnages, and clergymen, and organ 
 ists, and big pipe organs were revolving about him and 
 Alice, as the planets revolve about the sun. 
 
 Once more Quincy s breakfast was on the stove being 
 kept warm, and once more Mrs. Hawkins was waiting im 
 patiently for him to come down. 
 
 Betsy Green and she were washing the breakfast dishes, 
 How happy Eve must have been in Eden, where there was 
 no china, no knives and forks, and no pots and kettles, and 
 what an endless burden of commonplace drudgery she en 
 tailed upon her fair sisters when she fell from her high 
 estate. Man s labor is uniformly productive, but woman s, 
 alas! is still almost as uniformly simply preservative.
 
 BLENNERHASSETT. S8& 
 
 "Mr. Sawyer," said Mrs. Hawkins to Betsy Green, "is 
 no doubt a very nice young 1 man, but I shouldn t want him 
 for a steady boarder, less he got up on time and eat his 
 meals reg lar." 
 
 "I s pose he s all tired out," remarked Betsy. "He had 
 a pretty hard day of it yesterday, you know, Mis Haw* 
 kins." 
 
 "Wall, I s pose I ought to be kinder easy on him on that 
 account. I must say he managed things fust rate." 
 
 "How did the brides look?" asked Betsy. 
 
 Poor girl, she was one of the few who were not able to 
 view the grand sight. 
 
 "I can think of no word to express my feelin s," replied 
 Mrs. Hawkins after a pause, "but splendiferous! Huldy s 
 dress was a white satin that would a stood alone. She had 
 a overskirt of netted white silk cord, heavy enough to use 
 for a hammock. You know she s neither light nor dark, 
 kind of a between, but she looked mighty poorty all the 
 same." 
 
 "Was Tilly James dressed in white, too?" inquired Betsy. 
 
 "No, answered Mrs. Hawkins. "She wore a very light 
 pink silk, with a lace overskirt, and it just matched her 
 black eyes and black hair fine, I can tell yer." 
 
 "Mandy must have looked pretty, with her light curly 
 hair and blue eyes, and those rosy cheeks." 
 
 "Well," said Mrs. Hawkins reflectively, "I m her mother,, 
 and a course I m prejoodished, but I honestly think she 
 was the best lookin one of the three. Of course Hiram 
 is no beauty, and I m all out of patience when he tries to 
 talk to me. But I know he ll make Mandy a good hus 
 band, and that s a tarnal sight better n good looks." 
 
 "What color was Mandy s dress?" persisted Betsy. 
 
 "Lord a massy," cried Mrs. Hawkins, "I e en a most for 
 got to tell yer. Her dress was a very light blue silk, with 
 a lace overskirt, bout the same as Tilly s. Mr. Sawyer 
 gave her two hundred dollars to buy her things with, cause
 
 384 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER. 
 
 she s been so nice to him since he boarded at PettengiU s." 
 
 "Who was that stylish lookin lady that came in a car 
 riage with the four beautiful horses? I saw her outer the 
 attic winder." 
 
 "She was a Mrs. Chessman," replied Mrs. Hawkins. I 
 heern tell she s a widder d aunt of Mr. Sawyer s, and she s 
 as rich as Creazers." 
 
 "How rich is that?" inquired Betsey, with an astonished 
 look. 
 
 "Creazers," replied Mrs. Hawkins, with an expression 
 that savored of erudition, "was a man who was so ail fired 
 rich that he had to hire folks to spend his money for him." 
 
 At that moment a step was heard in the dining-room, 
 and both Mrs. Hawkins and Betsy flew to wait upon the 
 new-comer who proved to be Mr. Quincy Adams Sawyer. 
 As he took his seat at the table the Connecticut clock en 
 the mantelpiece struck ten. 
 
 At eleven o clock that same morning- Mr. Sawyer 
 knocked at the front door of Mr. Ezekiel Pettengill s resi 
 dence. How strange it seemed, how much more home 
 like it would have been to have entered by the back door 
 and to have come through the kitchen and dining-room, as 
 of old. But no! He was not a regular boarder now, only 
 an occasional visitor. 
 
 The door was opened by young Mrs. Maxwell, and her 
 usually rosy cheeks were ruddier than ever when she saw 
 who the caller was. 
 
 "Is Miss Pettengill in?" Quincy politely inquired. 
 
 "She s in the parlor, sir; won t you walk in?" And she 
 threw open the door of the room in which Alice sat by the 
 fire. 
 
 "Do I disturb your dreams, Miss Pettengill?" asked 
 Quincy, as he reached her side. 
 
 "I m so glad you have come, Mr. Sawyer/ said Alice, 
 extending her hand. "I never was so lonesome in my life 
 as I have been this morning. The house seems deserted.
 
 BLENNEEHASSETT. 385 
 
 Uncle Ike ate too many good things yesterday, and says he 
 is enjoying an attack of indigestion to-day. I had Swiss in 
 here to keep me company, but he wouldn t stay and Mandy 
 had to let him out." 
 
 "He came up to Mrs. Hawkins s," said Quincy, as he 
 took his accustomed seat opposite Alice. "He walked 
 down with me, but when he saw me safe on the front door 
 step he disappeared around the corner." 
 
 "I didn t tell him to go after you," said Alice, laughing.; 
 "but I am very glad that you have come. I have a very 
 important matter to consult you about. You know you 
 are my business man now." 
 
 "I m always at your service," replied Quincy. "I think 
 I know what you wish to see me about." 
 
 "And what do you think it is?" asked Alice, shaking her 
 head negatively. 
 
 "Well," said Quincy, "I saw Squire Rundlett the day 
 before the weddings and he thought that you might pos 
 sibly want some money. He had a thousand dollars in 
 cash belonging to you, and I brought you half of it. If 
 you will kindly sign this receipt," he continued, as he took 
 a small parcel from his pocket, "you will relieve me of 
 further responsibility for its safe keeping." 
 
 He moved the little writing table close to her chair, and 
 dipping the pen in the ink he handed it to her, and indi 
 cated with his finger the place where she should sign. She 
 wrote as well as ever, though she could see nothing that she- 
 penned. I 
 
 "There are eight fifty-dollar bills, eight tens and foutf 
 fives, he said, as he passed her the money. 
 
 "Which are the fifties?" she asked, as she handled the 
 money nervously with her fingers. 
 
 "Here they are," said Quincy, and he separated them 
 from the rest of the bills and placed them in her hands. 
 
 "Oh! thank you." said she. She counted out four of the 
 bills and passed them to Quincy. "That settles my money
 
 586 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER. 
 
 debt to you, does it not?" she inquired; "but nothing 1 can 
 pay the debt of gratitude that I owe you for your many 
 acts of kindness to me, Mr. Sawyer." 
 
 "I am fully repaid by that very kind speech of yours," 
 replied Quincy. "But what was the important matter you 
 .wished to see me about? I don t think it was the money." 
 
 "It was not, 5 said Alice. "I have little use for money 
 just at present. I never had so much before at once in all 
 my life. I shall have to learn to be an heiress." 
 
 "It s a lesson that is very easily learned," replied Quincy. 
 
 "What I wish to speak about/ continued Alice, musing 
 ly, "is Mrs. Putnam s house. I could never live in it. I 
 could never go into that room again; and she shuddered. 
 
 "You can sell it," interposed Quincy. 
 
 "No," said Alice earnestly, "I am going to give it away. 
 Father just made a living here, and Ezekiel can do no bet 
 ter, but with the Putnam farm, properly stocked, he can 
 in time become a rich man, for he is a good farmer, and he 
 loves his work. I wish," continued Alice, "to give Zekiel 
 and Huldy the farm outright, then I would like to loan him 
 enough money to buy live stock and machinery and what 
 ever else he may need, so that he may begin his new life 
 under the most favorable auspices." 
 
 "I think your proposed action a most commendable 
 one," remarked Quincy. "I am sure you need anticipate 
 no objections on the part of Squire Rundlett or myself. 
 Our duties are limited to seeing that all the property that 
 was willed to you is properly delivered. It gives us no 
 right to interfere with your wishes or to question your mo 
 tives. I will see Squire Rundlett at an early day and have 
 the matter put into shape. Does Ezekiel know of this?" 
 
 "Not a word," said Alice; "I do not w : sh to speak to him 
 about it until the matter is all settled and the papers are 
 signed. He is high spirited, and at the first mention I know 
 he would refuse my offer, especially if he thought twas 
 only known to us two. But when he learns that the deed \?
 
 BLENKERHASSETT. 38* 
 
 done, and that the Squire and yourself are knowing to it, 
 he will be more tractable. 
 
 "Speaking of the Putnam house, or more properly, I 
 suppose, Petterigill house number two " 
 
 "This will always be number one," interposed Alice. 
 
 " reminds me/ said Quincy, that my efforts to discovel 
 Lindy s whereabouts have so far proved unavailing. The 
 advertisement that I put in for a month has run out and 
 I have received no word." 
 
 "Do you think she went to New York, as she promised?" 
 inquired Alice. 
 
 "I do not," replied Quincy. "I think she always had an 
 idea that Mrs, Putnam had some letter or document in her 
 possession relating to her parents. I think the poor girl 
 lost hope when she learned that it was destroyed, and I 
 imagine that she has intentionally hidden herself and does 
 not wish to be found, I might, after long search, discover 
 her bankers, but she has probably notified them to keep her 
 address a secret. I do not like to confess/ he continued, 
 "to so abject a failure, but I really do not know what to 
 do next." 
 
 "We must wait and hope," said Alice. Then looking up 
 at Quincy with an arch smile upon her face, she added, 
 "I will extend your time, Sir Knight. Your gallant efforts 
 have so far been unsuccessful, but I shall pray that you may 
 some day return victorious." 
 
 Quincy replied in the same tone of banter: "Knowing 
 that you, fair lady, are ever thinking of me, and that my 
 name is ever upon your fair lips in prayer, will spur me to 
 renewed effort, for surely no cavalier ever had a more lovely 
 mistress or a greater incentive to knightly action. 
 
 Although he spoke in a chaffing tone, there was an under 
 current of seriousness in his manner and pathos in his voice 
 that made Alice start and flush visibly. 
 
 Fearing that he had gone too far he quickly changed the
 
 S8S QUINCY ADAMS SAWYES, 
 
 subject by asking abruptly, "Have you come to any decision 
 about your book?" 
 
 "Yes," replied Alice, "and I am ashamed to say that 
 your friend s suggestion and your warm endorsement of it 
 have so increased my egotism and enlarged .my apprecia 
 tion of my own abilities that I am tempted to try it, espe 
 cially now, as you inform me I am independent and can do 
 as I please. 
 
 "Have you progressed so far as to fix upon a subject?" 
 inquired Quincy. 
 
 "Yes, provisionally/ replied Alice. "I have always been 
 a great admirer of history, and particularly that of my own 
 country. For the period from 1776, no, from 1607, to 
 the present time I have become conversant with the 
 thoughts and acts of our patriots and public men. One 
 character has always been a mystery to me, and I wish to 
 learn all I can about him." 
 
 "And he? questioned Quincy. 
 
 "Is Aaron Burr," said Alice. "How I wish 1 could learn 
 the truth about the loss of his daughter Theodosia; then 
 the real reasons for his duel with Alexander Hamilton 
 are not fully understood at the present day. Then again, I 
 should enjoy writing about that fine old Irish gentleman 
 and lover of science, Harman Blennerhassett, arid his lovely 
 wife, Margaret." 
 
 "Have you decided upon the title?" still further ques 
 tioned Quincy. 
 
 "I have thought of two," she replied, " Theodosia, and 
 Blennerhassett, but I strongly incline to the latter." 
 
 "So do I," said Quincy, "but you will have to do much 
 more reading, no doubt, before you commence writing. 
 Historical novels are usually savagely attacked by the 
 critics, presumably very often from political motives, and 
 you would have to be very strong in your authorities." 
 
 "That is what troubles me/ said Alice; "if I only could 
 read *
 
 BLENNERHASSETT. 388 
 
 "But others can read to you and make such notes as you 
 desire," remarked Quincy. "I should like nothing better 
 than to help you in such a work, but I have been away from 
 home so long that I feel it imperative to resume my busi 
 ness duties at an early day." 
 
 "I think you ought," said Alice. "I could not presume 
 to trespass upon your kindness and good nature to such an 
 extent. The idea of writing this book has grown very 
 pleasing to me, but I can wait until " She stopped speak 
 ing and placed both of her hands over her eyes. "I can 
 wait," she repeated, "until my eyes are better." 
 
 "Will you allow me to make a suggestion, Miss Petten- 
 gill?" 
 
 Alice smiled and nodded. "You are my literary as well 
 as my financial adviser," said she. 
 
 "It will no doubt appear quite an undertaking to you," 
 continued Quincy, "but I shall be very glad to help you. 
 My plan is to secure a lady who reads well and can write a 
 good hand to assist you. Besides this, she must understand 
 correcting proof sheets. I think Leopold could easily find 
 such a person for you. Then, again, you know what Dr. 
 Tillotson said about your taking exercise and fresh air. 
 The second feature of my plan, and the most important in 
 my mind, is to find some quiet place in the country, or at 
 the beach, where you and your amanuensis can both work 
 and play. I can buy for you such books as you need, and 
 you can finish the work this summer." 
 
 Alice reflected. After a few moments pause she said, 
 "I like the plan and I thank you very much for speaking of 
 it; but I prefer the beach. I love the plash and roar and 
 jboom> of the water, and it will be a constant inspiration to 
 me. How soon can I go? she asked, with a look upon her 
 face that a young child 1 might have had in speaking to its 
 father. 
 
 This was Alice Pettengill s great charm. She was hon 
 est and disingenuous, and was always ready to think that
 
 890 QUIXCY ADAMS SAWYEK. 
 
 what others deemed it best for her to do was really so. Imi 
 tation may be the sincerest flattery, but appreciation of the 
 advice and counsel of others, combined with gratitude for 
 the friendly spirit that prompts it, makes and holds more 
 friends. 
 
 Quincy looked at his watch. 
 
 "I can get the afternoon train, I think," said he. "I will, 
 see Leopold, and then run up and make Aunt Ella a call. 
 She knows the New England coast from Eastport to New 
 port. Did she speak to you at the wedding?" 
 
 "Some lady with a very pleasant voice asked me if I 
 were Miss Pettengill, while we were in the church," re 
 plied Alice. "I said yes, and then she told me that her 
 name was Chessman, adding the information that she was 
 your aunt, and that you could tell me all about her. 
 
 "I shall be happy to," said Quincy; "but I can assure 
 you it would be much more enjoyable for you to hear it 
 from herself. I hope you will have that pleasure some 
 day." And again adopting a bantering tone, "I trust, fair 
 lady, I shall not return this time from a bootless errand." 
 
 Alice listened again, as she had often done, until she 
 heard the sound of departing wheels, and then she fell to 
 wondering whether -her future paths in life would continue 
 to be marked out by this Sir Knight, who was ever at her 
 beck and call, and whether it was her destiny to always 
 tread the partis that he laid out for her. 
 
 Quincy was fortunate in finding Leopold at home. 
 
 "I m glad you ve come, Quincy," said he; "I was going 1 
 to write you to-night." 
 
 "What s up? inquired Quincy. 
 
 "Please pass me that package of papers on the corner of 
 the table," answered Leopold, being loath to rise from his 
 recumbent position on the lounge. 
 
 Quincy did as requested and took a seat beside Leopold. 
 
 "These," said Leopold, "are the proofs of the first writ 
 ings of a to-be-famous American author. Glad she took a
 
 BLENNERHASSETT. Wl 
 
 an s name, so I don t have to say authoress. Here," he 
 continued, "are the proofs of the story, Was it Signed? 
 Cooper wishes it read and returned immediately. Editors 
 wish everything done immediately. They loaf on their end 
 and expect the poor author to sit up all night and make up 
 for their shortcomings. I m a sort of editor myself, and I 
 know what I m talking about. This lot," he continued, 
 "will appear in The Sunday Universe a week from next 
 Sunday. I had a copy made for Jameson to work from. 
 Bruce Douglas owes me four-fifty for expenses, necessary 
 but not authorized." 
 
 "I will see that you are reimbursed," said Quincy; "want 
 it now?" and he made a motion to take out his pocketbook. 
 
 "No," replied Leopold, "I m flush to-day; keep it till 
 some time when I m strapped. Last, and most important 
 of all, here are the proofs of the story that is to appear in 
 our monthly. Now, my advice to you is, Quincy, seek the 
 fair author at once, correct these proofs and have them 
 back to me within three days, or they ll go over and she ll 
 be charged for keeping the type standing, besides having 
 her pay hung up for another week." 
 
 "She won t mind that, said Quincy, with a laugh. "She s 
 an heiress now, with real and personal property valued at 
 fifty thousand dollars. But what am I to do?" asked he 
 seriously. "I could read the manuscript, but we have no 
 one at Eastborough who knows how to make those pot 
 hooks and scratches that you call corrections. " 
 . "Well, you two young aspirants for literary fame are in 
 a box, are nt you? I was thinking about that fifty thou 
 sand. Perhaps I d better go home with you and get ac 
 quainted with the author," said Leopold with a laugh. 
 
 "Well, returned Quincy, "it would be very kind of you 
 in our present emergency, but, strange as it may seem, I 
 came to see you this afternoon about securing a literary as 
 sistant for Miss Pettengill. She has decided to write that 
 book."
 
 892 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYEK. 
 
 "Good girl!" cried Leopold, sitting bolt upright upon the 
 lounge. "I mean, good boy, for it was, no doubt, your ac 
 knowledged powers of argument and gently persuasive 
 ways that have secured this consummation of my desire. 
 Let me think; and he scratched his head vigorously. "I 
 think I have it," said he, finally. "One of our girls down 
 to the office worked so hard during our late splurge that 
 the doctor told her she must rest this week. She rooms 
 over on Myrtle Street. I happened to be late in getting out 
 one day last week, and we walked together up as far as 
 Chestnut Street. She lives nearly down to the end of 
 Myrtle Street." 
 
 "No further explanation or extenuation is necessary," 
 said Quincy. "Is she pretty?" 
 
 "You re right, she is," replied Leopold. "She s both 
 pretty and smart. She has a beautiful voice and writes a 
 hand that looks like copperplate. She s a first-class proof 
 reader and a perfect walking dictionary on spelling, defini 
 tions, and dates. They treat her mighty shabby on pay, 
 though. She s a woman, so they gave her six dollars a 
 week. If she were a man they d give her twenty, and think 
 themselves lucky. I ll run over and see if she is at home, 
 At what time could she go down with you to-morrow?" he 
 asked. 
 
 "I ll come after her at nine o clock. Tell her Miss Pet- 
 tengill will give her eight dollars a week, with board and 
 lodging free." 
 
 "All right," cried Leopold, "that s business. While I m, 
 gone just see how pretty those stories look in cold type. 
 I ve been all through them myself just for practice." 
 
 Leopold dashed out of the room and Quincy took up the 
 proofs of the story, Was It Signed? He became so ab 
 sorbed in its perusal that Leopold pulled it out of his hand 
 in order to attract his attention. 
 
 "It s all right," he said. "She s delighted at the idea of 
 going. She thinks the change will do her good. She can t
 
 BLENKEKHASSETT. 393 
 
 build tip very fast in a little back room, up three flights." 
 
 "What s her name?" asked Quincy. 
 
 "Oh! I forgot, replied Leopold. "I ll write her name 
 and address down for you. There it is," said he, as he 
 passed it to Quincy. "Her first name is Rosa, and that s all 
 right. She s of French-Canadian descent, and her last 
 name is one of those jawbreakers that no American can 
 pronounce. It sounded something like Avery, so she called 
 herself at first Rosa Avery; then the two A s caused trou 
 ble, for everybody thought she said Rose Avery. Being a 
 proof reader," continued Leopold^ "she is very sensitive, so 
 while the name Rosa satisfied her inmost soul, the name 
 Rose jarred upon her sensibilities. Thus another change 
 became necessary, and she is now known, and probably will 
 continue to be known, as Miss Rosa Very, until she makes 
 up her mind to change it again." 
 
 "I m greatly obliged, Leopold," said Quincy, making the 
 proofs into a flat parcel and putting them into his inside 
 overcoat pocket. 
 
 "Don t mention it, old fellow," remarked Leopold. "You 
 may be the means of supplying me with an assistant some 
 day. If you should, don t fail to call my attention to it." 
 
 Aunt Ella was at dinner when Quincy arrived. She 
 sent word up by Buttons for Quincy to come down to the 
 dining-room at once. She was alone in the room when he 
 entered. 
 
 "Just in time," said he, "and I m hungry as a bear." 
 
 "That s a good boy; sit down and help rne out," said his 
 aunt. "These extravagant servants of mine cook ten times- 
 as much as I can possibly eat." 
 
 "I don t imagine it is wasted, replied Quincy. 
 
 "I think not," said Aunt Ella, with a laugh; "for, judg 
 ing from the extra plentiful supply, they probably have a 
 kitchen party in view for this evening. But what keeps yots 
 away from Eastborough over night?"
 
 894 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER. 
 
 "I thought you couldn t eat and talk at the same time,** 
 remarked Quincy. 
 
 "I can t," she replied. "I m through eating and I m go 
 ing to sit and listen to you. Go right ahead, the servants 
 won t come in. I won t let them stand and look at me when 
 I m eating. If I want them I ring for them." 
 
 Quincy then briefly related the principal events that had 
 taken place at Mason s Corner since the nineteenth, re 
 marking, incidentally, that he had received no word from 
 Lindy. 
 
 "Let her alone, and she ll come home when she gets 
 ready," said Aunt Ella. "As to the best place for your 
 young lady to go, I shall have to think a minute. Old 
 Orchard is my favorite, but I m afraid it would be too noisy 
 for her there, the hotels are so close to the railroad track. I 
 suppose your family, meaning your mother s, of course, will 
 go to Nahant, as usual. Sarah would have society convul 
 sions at Old Orchard. I should like to see her promenad 
 ing down in front of the candy stores, shooting for cigars 
 in the shooting gallery, or taking a ride down to Saco Pool 
 on the narrow-gauge; excuse me for speaking so of your 
 mother, Quincy, but I have been acquainted with her much 
 longer than you have." She went on, "Newport is too sty 
 lish for comfort. Ah! I have it, Quincy. I was there three 
 years ago, and I know what I m talking about. Quaint 
 place, funny looking houses, with little promenades on 
 top, crooked streets that lead everywhere and nowhere, 
 very much like Boston, full of curiosities, hardy old 
 mariners and peaceable old Quakers, plenty of nice milk 
 and eggs and fresh fish, more fish than anvthinf else, 
 every breeze is a sea breeze, and it is so delightfully quiet 
 that the flies and mosquitoes imitate the inhabitants, and 
 sleep all day and all night." 
 
 "Where is this modern Eden, this corner lot in Para 
 dise?" asked Quincy; "it can t be part of the United States.** 
 
 r Not exactly," replied Aunt Ella; it s off shore, I forget
 
 BLEKNERHASSETT. 395 
 
 how many miles, but you can find it swimming around 
 in the water just south of Cape Cod." 
 
 "Oh! you mean Nantucket/ cried Quincy. 
 
 That s the place," assented his aunt. "Now, Quincy, 
 I ll tell you just what I want you to do, and I want you to 
 promise to do it before I say another word." 
 
 "That s a woman s way," remarked Quincy, "of avoid 
 ing argument and preventing a free expression of opinion 
 by interested parties; but I ll consent, only be merciful." 
 
 "What I m going to ask you to do, Quincy Sawyer, is for 
 your good, and you ll own up that I ve been more than a 
 mother to you before I get through." 
 
 "You always have been," said Quincy, seriously. "Of 
 course, I love my mother in a way, but I m never exactly 
 comfortable when I m with her. But when I m with you, 
 Aunt Ella, I m always contented and feel perfectly at 
 home." 
 
 "Bless you, my dear boy," she said. Then, rising, she 
 went behind his chair, leaned over and kissed him -on the 
 forehead; then, pulling a chair close to him, she went on: 
 "I haven t spoken to you of her, Quincy, because I have 
 had no opportunity until now. I ve fallen in love with her 
 myself. I am a physiognomist as well as a phrenologist. 
 Robert taught me the principles. She s almost divinely 
 lovely. I say almost, for, of course, she ll be still lovelier 
 when she goes to Heaven. Her well-shaped head indicates 
 a strong, active, inventive mind, while her pure heart and 
 clean soul are mirrored in her sweet face. She is a good 
 foil for you, Quincy. You are almost dark enough for a 
 Spaniard or an Italian, while she is Goethe s ideal Mar 
 guerite." 
 
 It was not necessary for Quincy to ask to whom she re 
 ferred, nor to praise her powers of discernment. It was 
 Aunt Ella s time for talking, and she was not inclined to 
 brook any interference. So she went on. 
 
 "I want you to bring her here to me and have Rosa
 
 S96 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER. 
 
 What-d yer-call-her come with her. Here they can work 
 and play until you get the nest ready for her down to Nan- 
 tucket. You say she plays and sings. I love music passion 
 ately, but I can t play a note, even on a jew s-harp; but if 
 she plays a wrong- note I shall feel inclined to call her atten 
 tion to it. When I used to go to the theatre with Robert, I 
 delighted in telling him how badly some of the members of 
 the orchestra were playing, but I repented of it. He got in 
 the habit of going out between the acts to escape the music, 
 he said, and I never could keep him in his seat after that." 
 
 Quincy laughed heartily at this. "I see no way of stop 
 ping this bad habit that gentlemen have of going out be 
 tween the acts, said he, "unless you ladies combine, and 
 insist on a higher grade of orchestral excellence." 
 
 "I have a large library," continued Aunt Ella, "and she 
 may find many books in it that will be of use to her. Robert 
 spent eighteen thousand dollars on it, and I ve bought a 
 couple of thousand dollars worth more since his death. 
 Now, what do you say, Quincy? You know I will d o all in 
 my power to make her comfortable and happy while she is 
 here. If Maude runs up, and she s the only one that is 
 likely to, I will tell her that I have friends here from Eng 
 land. I will keep her out of the way. Will you bring her?" 
 
 "If she will come, I will," Quincy replied. 
 
 "You will never repent it," said Aunt Ella. "Now let 
 us go upstairs." 
 
 W r hen they reached her room the cigars and cigarettes 
 were again in requisition. 
 
 "I kept my promise the other day, Quincy," said she, 
 "when the three girls were here. What a sweet, rosy- 
 cheeked, healthy, happy trio they were! I wasn t more than 
 twenty myself that day. I give you my solemn promise, 
 Quincy, that I won t smoke a cigarette nor drink a glass of 
 wine while Alice is here, until after she goes to bed; and 
 then I ll eat a clove and air the room out thoroughly before 
 I let her in in the morning."
 
 BLENNEKHASSETT. 397 
 
 Quincy was up early next morning, and at ten minutes of 
 nine reached the lodging house in Myrtle Street. He had 
 taken a carriage, for he knew Miss Very would have her 
 luggage, probably a trunk. His call at the door was an 
 swered by a sharp-eyed, hatchet-faced woman, whose face 
 was red with excitement. To Quincy s inquiry if Miss Very 
 was in, the woman replied, "that she was in and was likely 
 to stay in." 
 
 "I trust she is not sick/ said Quincy. 
 
 "No! she ain t sick," the woman replied, "what you mean 
 by sick; but there s worse things than bein sick, especially 
 when a poor widder has a big house rent to pay and coal 
 seven dollars and a half a ton. 
 
 A small trunk, neatly strapped, stood in the hallway, 
 Glancing into the stuffy little parlor, he saw a woman, ap 
 parently young, with her veil down, seated on a sofa, with 
 a large valise on the floor and a hand bag at her side. 
 
 Quincy divined the situation at once. Stepping into the 
 hallway, he closed the parlor door, and, turning to the 
 woman, said, "How much?" 
 
 "Three dollars," replied the woman,"and it s cheap 
 enough for " 
 
 "A miserable little dark stuffy side room, without any 
 heat, up three flights, back," broke in Quincy, as he passed 
 her the money. 
 
 The woman was breathless with astonishment and anger. 
 Taking advantage of this, Quincy opened the parlor door, 
 first beckoning to the coachman to come in and get the 
 trunk. 
 
 "Miss Very, I presume?" said Quincy, as he advanced 
 towards the young lady on the sofa. 
 
 She arose as he approached, and answered, "Yes ; sir." 
 
 "Come with me, please," said he, grasping the valise. 
 She hesitated; he understood why. "It s all right," he said, 
 in a low tone. "I ve settled with the landlady, and you can 
 settle with me any time."
 
 398 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER* 
 
 "Thank you, so -much/ spoke a sweet voice from unfler 
 neath the veil, and the owner of it followed close behind 
 him, and he handed her into the carriage. As Quincy 
 pulled the carriage door to, that of the lodging house closed 
 with a report like that of a pistol, and Mrs. Colby went 
 down stairs and told the servant, who was scrubbing the 
 kitchen floor, what had occurred, and added that she "had 
 always had her suspicions of that Miss Very." 
 
 While Quincy was talking with Alice the day before, his 
 dinner that Mrs. Hawkins had saved for him was being 1 
 burned to a crisp in and on the stove. Mrs. Hawkins s at 
 tention was finally attracted to it, and, turning to Betsy, 
 she said, "Law sakes, somethin must be burnin. " Run 
 ning to the stove, she soon discovered the cause. "Mercy 
 on me!" she ejaculated. "I left that damper open, and his 
 dinner s burnt to a cinder. Wall, I don t care; he may be a. 
 good lodger, an all that, but he s a mighty poor boarder; 
 and it s no satisfaction gittin up things for him to eat, and 
 then lettin them go to waste, even if he does pay for it. 
 Them s my sentiments, and I ll feel better now I ve spit it 
 out." 
 
 The good woman went to work to clean up her stove, 
 while Betsy kept on with the seemingly endless dish wash 
 ing. Mrs. Hawkins finished her work, and, going to the 
 sink, began to wipe the accumulated pile of dishes. 
 
 "I s pose everybody in town will go to church next Sun-, 
 day," said Mrs. Hawkins, "to see them brides." 
 
 "Will they look any different than they did the other 
 day?" Betsy innocently inquired. 
 
 "Well, I guess," remarked Mrs. Hawkins. "I saw 
 Mandy yesterday and she told me all about her trip to the 
 city. Mrs. Chessman went shoppin with them, and the 
 way she beat them shopkeepers down was a sight, Mandy 
 says. It beats all how them rich folks can buy things so 
 much cheaper than us poor people can. She took them all
 
 BLESTKEKHASSETT. 399 
 
 home to dinner, and Mandy says she lives in the most 
 beautifulest house she ever saw. Then she went to the 
 dressmakers with them, and she beat them down more n 
 five dollars on each gown. Then she took em to the milli 
 nery store, and she bought each one of them a great big 
 handsome hat, with feathers and ribbons and flowers all 
 over em. Nobody has seen em yet, but all three on em 
 are going to wear em to church next Sunday, and won t 
 there be a stir? Nobody ll look at the new orgin. 
 
 "I wish I could go," said Betsy. 
 
 Mrs. Hawkins rattled on: "Mandy says she took em all 
 into a jewelry store, and bought each one on em a breast 
 pin, a pair of earrings, and a putty ring, to remember her 
 by. Then she druv em down to the deepo in her carriage." 
 
 "I wish I could see them with all their fine things on," 
 said Betsy, again. 
 
 "Well, you shall, Betsy," said good-hearted Mrs. Haw 
 kins. "I ll make Jonas help me wash the dishes Sunday 
 mornin , and you shall go to church." 
 
 Betsy s face was wreathed in smiles. 
 
 "You re so good to me, Mrs. Hawkins," she cried. 
 
 "Well," answered Mrs. Hawkins, "you ve worked like a 
 Trojan the last week, and you deserve it. I guess if I go up 
 in the attic I can git a good look at them as they re walking 
 home from church." 
 
 In her excitement the old lady dropped a cup and sauce? 
 on the floor, and both mistress and maid went down on 
 their hands and knees to pick up the pieces.
 
 CHAPTER XXXV. 
 
 "THE BIRD OF LOVE." 
 
 THE carriage containing Quincy and Rosa was driven 
 at a rapid rate toward the station. There was no 
 time to lose, as some had already been lost in the alterca 
 tion with Mrs. Colby. They had proceeded but a short 
 distance, when Rosa took out a pocketbook, and, lifting 
 her veil, turned her face to Quincy. 
 
 What a striking face it was ! Large, dark blue eyes, regu 
 lar features, a light olive complexion, with a strong dash of 
 red in each cheek, full red lips, and hair of almost raven 
 blackness. Like lightning the thought flashed through 
 Quincy s mind, "What a contrast to my Alice!" for he al 
 ways used the pronoun when he thought of her. 
 
 "Allow me to cancel part of my indebtedness to you/ 
 said Rosa, in a low, sweet voice, and Quincy again thought 
 how pleasant that voice would be to Alice when Miss Very 
 was reading to her. 
 
 As Rosa spoke she handed Quincy a two-dollar bill and 
 seventy-five cents in currency. 
 
 " 1 owe you an explanation/ she continued. "Mr. Ernst 
 told me that I must be ready to accompany you the mo 
 ment you called, so I packed and strapped my trunk last 
 evening. When I returned from breakfast this morning I 
 looked through my pocketbook, and found to my surprise 
 that I lacked a quarter of a dollar of enough to pay for my 
 week s lodging. In my haste I had put my jewel case, 
 which contained the greater part of my money, in my trunk, 
 and I realized that there would not be time to unpack and 
 pack it again before your arrival. I offered Mrs. Colby the
 
 THE BIRD OF LOVE. 401 
 
 two seventy-five, and told her I would send her the balance 
 in a letter as soon as I arrived at my destination. To my 
 astonishment, she refused to take it, saying that she would 
 have the three dollars or nothing." 
 
 "If I had known that," said Quincy, "she would have got 
 nothing." 
 
 "Oh! it s all right," remarked Rosa, with a smile. *I 
 know the poor woman has hard work to make a living, and 
 I also know that she has lost considerable money from per 
 sons failing to pay at all or paying part of their bills and 
 then not sending the balance, as they promised to do. v 
 
 "And did she get up all that ugliness for a quarter of a 
 dollar?" inquired Quincy. 
 
 "Oh! that wasn t the reason at all," replied Rosa; "I ve 
 always paid her promptly and in advance. She was mad 
 because I was going away. If she lets the room right off 
 she will get double rent this coming week, for it so hap 
 pened my week ended last night." 
 
 "Lodging-house keepers," said Quincy, "seem to be a 
 class by themselves, and to have peculiar financial and 
 moral codes. Here we are at the station," he added, as the 
 carriage came to a stop. 
 
 As Quincy handed Rosa from the carriage, his observant 
 eye noticed that the hand placed in his was small and well- 
 gloved, while the equally small feet were encased in a pair 
 of dainty boots. "She is true to her French origin/ he 
 soliloquized, as they entered the station, "well-booted, 
 well-gloved. I am glad she is a lady." 
 
 The train was soon on its way to Eastborough. It was an 
 accommodation, and Quincy had plenty of time to point 
 out the objects of interest on the way. Rosa was not a lover 
 of the country. She acknowledged this to Quincy, saying 
 that she was born and educated in the country, but that she 
 preferred paved streets and brick sidewalks to green lanes 
 and dusty roads.
 
 402 QUINCT ADAMS SAWYER. 
 
 Alice had not waited for Quincy s return to broach the 
 matter of the gift of the Putnam house to Ezekiel and 
 Huldy. She had simply asked Quincy, so as to assure her 
 self that there was no legal objection or reason why she 
 should not make the transfer. 
 
 After breakfast the next morning she told her uncle that 
 she wished to have a talk with him in the parlor, and when 
 they were alone together, she stated her intentions to him, 
 as she had to Quincy. The old gentleman approved of her 
 plan, only suggesting that it should be a swap; that is, that 
 Ezekiel should deed the house in which they were, in 
 which, in fact, she owned a half-interest, to her, so she 
 would be sure of a home in case she lost part of her money, 
 or all of it, or wished to live in the country. 
 
 Most opportunely, Ezekiel and Huldy came over that 
 morning to make a call, and the matter was soon under dis 
 cussion in family conclave. 
 
 Ezekiel at first objected strenuously to the gift. He 
 would buy the house, he said, and pay so much a year on it, 
 but both Alice and Uncle Ike protested that it was foolish 
 for a young couple to start in life with such a heavy debt 
 hanging over them. 
 
 The only circumstance that led him to change his mind 
 and agree to accept the Putnam homestead as a gift was 
 Uncle Ike s suggestion that he deed the Pettengill home 
 stead to Alice, and pay her all he received for the sale of 
 products from the present Pettengill farm; but Zekiel 
 would not accept any loan. He said Deacon Mason had 
 given his daughter five thousand dollars outright, and that 
 would be all the cash they would need to stock and carry on 
 both the farms. 
 
 Then Zekiel said he might as well settle on who was to 
 live in the two houses. He knew that Cobb s twins would 
 like to stay with him, and he would take them up to the 
 Putnam house with him. Mrs. Pinkham had been hired
 
 THE BIRD OF LOVE. 403 
 
 by the executors to remain with Samanthy until some one 
 came to live in the house. Ezekiel said Samanthy was a 
 good girl, and he and Huldy both liked her, and he felt 
 pretty sure she d be willing to live with them, because she 
 was used to the house, and as it was the only one she d 
 ever lived in, it would seem like going away from home if 
 she left there and went somewhere else. 
 
 Then Zekiel was of the opinion that Abbott Smith and 
 Billy Ricker had better board with Hiram and Mandy, be 
 cause the grocery teams and horses would have to be kept 
 in the Pettengill barn, as there was no stable to the grocery 
 store. " Twon t be stealin anythin from Mrs. Hawkins if 
 they don t boardi with her, cuz none of em ever lived with 
 her afore." 
 
 "Don t you think, Zekiel," asked Huldy, "that Uncle 
 Ike ought to come down stairs and have a better room? It 
 will be awful hot up there in the summer. Alice and I used 
 to play up there, and in July and August it was hot enough 
 to roast eggs, wasn t it, Alice? 
 
 Alice, thus appealed to, said it might have been hot 
 enough, but she was positive that they never did roast any 
 up there, although she remembered setting the attic floor 
 on fire one day with a burning glass. Zekiel remembered 
 that, too, and how they had to put new ceilings on two 
 rooms, because he used so much water to put the fire out. 
 
 When Uncle Ike got a chance to speak, he said to Huldy, 
 "Thank you, my dear Mrs. Pettengill, with a strong ac 
 cent on the Mrs., which made Huldy blush a rosy red, "but 
 I wouldn t swap my old attic for all the rest of the rooms 
 in the house. My old blood requires warmth, and I can 
 stand ninety-six without asking for a fan. When I come 
 up to see you, you can put me in one of your big square 
 rooms, but I sha n t stay long, because I don t like them." 
 
 The noise of wheels was heard, and Huldy ran to the 
 window to look out. 
 
 r Oh, it s Mr. Sawyer," said she; "and he s got a young
 
 404 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER. 
 
 lady with him, and she s got a trunk. I wonder who she 
 is? Do you know, Alice?" 
 
 "I don t know who she is," replied Alice; "but I can 
 imagine what she s here for." 
 
 "Is it a secret?" asked Huldy. 
 
 "No, not exactly a secret," replied Alice. "It s a busi 
 ness matter. I have a great many things to be read over to 
 me, and considerable writing to do, and as Mr. Sawyer is 
 going away, I was obliged to have some one to help me." 
 
 "Well!" said Huldy, "you ll miss Mr. Sawyer when he 
 goes away; I did. Now you mustn t get jealous, Mr. Pet- 
 tengill," she said to Zekiel; "you know Mr. Sawyer and I 
 were never in love with each other. That was all village 
 gossip, started by, you know who, and as for Mr. Sawyer 
 liking Lindy Putnam, or she liking him, I know better. 
 She s never got over the loss of her brother Jones, who, it 
 seems, wasn t her real brother, after all; and Samanthy 
 Green told me the other day that Lindy wanted to marry 
 him." 
 
 "I think matters are getting rather too personal for 
 me," said Uncle Ike, rising. "I may get drawn into it if I 
 stay any longer. I always liked Lindy Putnam myself." 
 And the old gentleman laughed heartily as he left the 
 room. 
 
 "Well, I guess you and me d better be goin , if we want 
 to be home at dinner time," said Zekiel to Huldy. Then, 
 going to his sister, he took her in his arms and kissed her 
 on the cheek. "You know, Alice," said he, "that I ain t 
 much of a talker, but I shall never forget how good you ve 
 been to me and Huldy, and if the old house burns down or 
 you get lonesome, you ll always find the latchstring out up 
 to the new house, an* there ll be a room, an board, an 
 good care for you as long as you want to stay. Eh, 
 Huldy?" said Zekiel, turning to his wife. 
 
 "You know, Zekiel," replied the impulsive Huldy, "I ve
 
 THE BIKD OF LOVE. 405 
 
 said a dozen times that I wished Alice would come and live 
 with us. Won t you, Alice?" she added. "I never had a 
 sister, and I think it would be delightful to have one all to 
 myself, especially," she added archly, "when 1 have her 
 brother, too." 
 
 "I could never live in that house," said Alice, with a 
 slight shudder; "besides, I think my future path in life is 
 being marked out for me by the hand of Fate, which I am 
 powerless to resist. I am afraid that it will take me away 
 from you, my dear ones; but if it does, I shall always love 
 you both, and pray for your happiness and success." 
 
 At the front door Zekiel and Huldy met Quincy. The 
 latter had turned Miss Very over to the care of Mrs. Max 
 well, and had got one of the twins to carry the young lady s 
 trunk to her room, which was the one formerly occupied by 
 Mandy. He had then driven the carryall around to the 
 barn and was returning, anxious to bear his tidings of suc 
 cess to Alice, when he met the departing couple. 
 
 "I hear you are going to leave us," said Huldy. 
 
 "Who told you?" inquired Quincy. 
 
 "Alice," replied Huldy; "and I told her she d miss you 
 very much when you were gone. 
 
 "I am afraid," replied Quincy, "that any service that I 
 have rendered Miss Pettengill has not been of so important 
 a nature that it would be greatly missed. I am glad that I 
 have succeeded in securing her a companion and assistant 
 of her own sex, which will much more than compensate for 
 the loss of my feeble services." 
 
 "That s what I don t like about city folks," said Huldy" 
 Pettengill, as she walked along the path, hanging on her 
 husband s arm. 
 
 "What s that?" asked Zekiel bluntly. 
 
 "Because," continued Huldy, "they use such big words 
 to cover up their real feelings. Of course, he wouldn t let 
 on to us, but any one with half an eye could see that he s
 
 406 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYEB, 
 
 head over heels in love with your sister Alice, and he d 
 stand on his head if she told him to." 
 
 "Well, Alice is too sensible a girl to ask him to do that 
 sort of thing-/ said Zekiel frankly. "Any way, I don t 
 believe she s in love with him." 
 
 " Twould be a great match for her/ said Huldy. 
 
 "I don t know bout that. On general principles, I don t 
 believe in country girls marryin city fellers." 
 
 "I know you don t," said Huldy, and she gave his arm a 
 little squeeze. 
 
 "But," continued Zekiel, "Alice is different from most 
 country girls. Besides, she s lived in the city and knows 
 city ways. Anyway, I sha n t interfere; I know Mr. Saw 
 yer is a respectable young man, and, by George! when he 
 wants to do anything, don t he jest put it through. The 
 way he sarcumvented that Strout was as good as a circus/ 
 
 "I thrnk I sarcumvented that Strout, too," said Huldy, 
 as they reached the corner of Deacon Mason s front fence. 
 
 "You ve been quite a little flirt in your day," remarked 
 Zekiel, "but it s all over now; and he squeezed the little 
 hand that stole confidingly into his big, brawny one. 
 
 Quincy at once entered the parlor and found Alice seated 
 in her accustomed easy-chair. 
 
 "You have returned, Sir Knight," was the remark with 
 which Alice greeted him, 
 
 "I have, fair lady/ replied Quincy, in the same vein; "I 
 have captured one of the enemy and brought her as a pris 
 oner to your castle. Here are some documents," he con 
 tinued, as he placed the proofs in Alice s hands, "that con 
 tain valuable secrets, and they will, no doubt, furnish strong 
 evidence against the prisoner/ 
 
 "What is it?" asked Alice, holding up the package. 
 
 "They are the proofs of three of your stones," replied 
 Quincy, relapsing into commonplace; "and Leopold says 
 they must be read and corrected at once. If we can attend 
 to this during the afternoon and evening, I will go up to
 
 THE BIRD OF LOVE. 407 
 
 Boston again to-morrow morning ." Quincy then told 
 Alice about Rosa and the terms that he had made with her, 
 and Alice expressed herself as greatly pleased with the 
 arrangement. "You will find Miss Very a perfect lady, 
 said Quincy, "with a low, melodious voice that will not jar 
 upon your ears, as mine, no doubt, has often done." 
 
 "You are unfair to yourself, when you say that," re 
 marked Alice earnestly. "Your voice has never jarred 
 upon my ears, and I have always been pleased to listen to 
 you. 
 
 Whether Quincy s voice would have grown softer and 
 sweeter and his words more impassioned if the interview 
 had continued, cannot be divined, for Mrs. Maxwell at that 
 moment opened the parlor door and called out, "Dinner s 
 ready," just as Mandy Skinner used to do in the days gone 
 by. 
 
 Miss Very was introduced to Alice and the others at the 
 dinner table, and took the seat formerly occupied by Ze- 
 kiel. Quincy consented to remain to dinner, as he knew his 
 services would be required in the proof reading. When 
 Cobb s twins reached the barn, after dinner, Jim said to 
 Bill, "Isn t she a stunner! I couldn t keep my eyes ofPn 
 her." 
 
 "Neither could I," rejoined Bill. "I tell yer, Jim, style 
 comes nat ral to city folks. I ll be durned if I know whether 
 I had chicken or codfish for dinner." 
 
 After the noonday meal the three zealous toilers in the 
 paths of literature began work. Quincy read from the man 
 uscript, Rosa held the proofs, while Alice listened intently, 
 and from time to time made changes in punctuation or 
 slight alterations in the language. No sentence had to be 
 rewritten, and when the reading of the story, Was It 
 Signed? was finished, Rosa said, "A remarkably clean set 
 of proofs; only a few changes, and those slight ones. In the 
 case of very few authors are their original ideas and second
 
 406 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER 
 
 thoughts so harmonious. How do you manage it, Miss 
 Pettengill? 
 
 "Oh, I don t know/ replied Alice, with a smile, "unless 
 it is that I keep my original ideas in my mind until they 
 reach the stage of second thoughts, and then I have them 
 written down. 
 
 "You will find Miss Pettengill very exact in dictation," 
 said Quincy to Rosa. "I took that long story there down in 
 pencil, and I don t think I was obliged to change a dozen 
 words." 
 
 "To work with Miss Pettengill,^ remarked Rosa, "will be 
 more of a pleasure than a task." 
 
 This idea was re-echoed in Quincy s mind, and for a mo 
 ment he had a feeling of positive envy towards Miss Very. 
 Then he thought that hers was paid service, while his had 
 been a labor of love. Yes, it might as well be put that 
 way. 
 
 The sun had sunk quite low in the west when the second 
 story, Her Native Land, was completed. "How dramatic!" 
 cried Rosa; "the endings of those chapters are as strong as 
 stage tableaus." 
 
 "It is being dramatized by Jameson of the Daily Uni 
 verse, " said Quincy. 
 
 "I am well acquainted with Mr. Jameson," remarked 
 Rosa; "I belong to a social club of which he is the presi 
 dent. He is a very talented young man and a great worker. 
 He once told me that when he began newspaper work he 
 wrote eighteen hours out of twenty-four for a month, and 
 nearly every night he woke tip and made notes that he 
 wrote out in the morning. Do you believe in unconscious 
 mental cerebration. Mr. Sawyer?" 
 
 "I m afraid not, * replied Quincy, laughing; "I never 
 had ideas enough to keep my brain busy all day, much less 
 supply it with work at night." 
 
 "Mr Sawyer :s always unfair to himself," remarked Alice 
 $O Miss Very. "As for myself, I will answer your question
 
 THB BIRD OF LOVE, 409 
 
 in the affirmative. I have often gone to bed with only the 
 general idea of a story in my mind, and have awakened 
 with the details all thought out and properly placed." 
 
 "1 think it best to postpone the reading of the last story 
 until after supper," said Quincy. 
 
 Alice assented, and, turning to Rosa, asked, "Do you like 
 the country, Miss Very?" 
 
 "To speak honestly, replied Rosa, "I do not. I told Mr. 
 Sawyer so on the train. It is hotter in the country than it 
 is in the city. I can t bear the ticking of a clock in my 
 room, and I think crickets and owls are more nerve-destroy 
 ing than clocks, and I positively detest anything that buzzes 
 and stings, like bees, and wasps, and hornets. 
 
 "But don t you like cows, and sheep, and horses? asked 
 Alice; "I love them." 
 
 "And I don t," said Rosa frankly. "I like beefsteak and 
 roast lamb, but I never saw a cow that didn t have a fero 
 cious glare in its eye when it looked at me." Both Quincy 
 and Alice laughed heartily. "As for horses," continued 
 Rosa, "I never drive alone. When I m with some one I 
 alternate between hope and fear until I reach my destina 
 tion." 
 
 "I trust you were more hopeful than fearful on your way 
 from Eastborough Centre, * said Quincy. 
 
 "Oh! I saw at a glance, remarked Rosa, "that you were 
 a skilful driver, and I trusted you implicitly." 
 
 "I have had to rely a great deal upon Mr. Sawyer," re 
 marked Alice, "and, like yourself, I have always placed the 
 greatest confidence in him. Huldy told me this morning, 
 Mr. Sawyer, that I would miss you very much, and I know 
 I shall." 
 
 "But you will nave Miss Very with you constantly," said 
 Quincy. 
 
 ft Oh! she does not like the country ,** continued Alice, 
 "and she will get homesick in a little while." 
 
 "One s likes and one s duties often conflict," said Rosa?
 
 ilO QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER. 
 
 and a grave look settled upon her face. "But how can you 
 write your book down here, Miss Pettengill? You will 
 have to consult hundreds of books, if you intend to write an 
 historical novel, as Mr. Sawyer told me you did. You ought 
 to have access to the big libraries in Boston, and, besides, in 
 the second-hand bookstores you can buy such treasures for 
 a mere song, if you will only spend the time to hunt for 
 them." 
 
 "That reminds me," broke in Quincy, "that my aunt, 
 Mrs. Chessman, she is my mother s only sister, who lives 
 on Mt. Vernon Street, wished me to extend a cordial invi 
 tation to you two young ladies to visit her, while I am get 
 ting your summer home ready for you. She suggests Nan- 
 tucket as the best place for work, but with every oppor 
 tunity for enjoyment, when work becomes a burden." 
 
 "Oh, that will be delightful," cried Rosa. "I love the 
 sea, and there we shall have it all around us; and at night, 
 the great dome of Heaven, studded with stars, will reach 
 down to the sea on every side, and they say at Sconset, on 
 the east end of the island, that when the breakers come in 
 the sight is trulv magnificent/ 
 
 Quincy was inwardly amused at Rosa s enthusiasm, but 
 it served his purpose to encourage it, so he said, "I wish 
 Aunt Ella were her to join forces with Miss Very. You 
 would find it hard work to resist both of them, Miss Pet- 
 tengffi." 
 
 "You mean all three of you," said Alice, with a smile. 
 j If we go to Nantucket," added Rosa, "I shall have to 
 Spend a week in the city, and perhaps more. I have no 
 dresses suitable for so long a residence at the beach. 
 
 "Neither have T," coincided Alice, with a laugh. 
 
 There the matter waa dropped. Quincy knew too much 
 to press the question to a decision that evening. He had 
 learned by experience that Alice never said yes or no until 
 her mind was made up, and he knew that the answer was 
 more likely to be favorable if he gave her plenty of time
 
 THE BIRD OF LOVE. 411 
 
 for reflection; besides, he thought that Alice might wish to 
 know more particularly what his aunt said, for she would 
 be likely to consider that his aunt must have some reason 
 for giving such an invitation to two persons who were vir 
 tually strangers to her. 
 
 After supper, the third story, How He Lost Both Name 
 and Fortune, was read and corrected, and it was the unu 
 sually late hour of eleven o clock before the lights in the 
 Pettengill house were extinguished. It was past midnight 
 when Quincy sought his room at Mrs. Hawkins s boarding 
 house, and the picture of Alice Pettengill, that he had pur 
 loined so long ago, stood on a little table at the head of his 
 bed, leaning against a large family Bible, which he found 
 in the room. 
 
 The next morning he was up early, and visited the gro 
 cery store. Mr. Strout and Hiram both assured him that 
 business had picked up amazingly, and was really "splen 
 did/ The new wagons were building up trade very fast. 
 Billy Ricker went over to Montrose for orders Monday, 
 Wednesday, and Friday mornings, and delivered them in 
 the afternoons. This gave Abbott Smith a chance to post 
 up the books on those days, for he had been made book 
 keeper. He went to Eastborough Centre and Westvale, 
 the new name given to West Eastborough at the last town 
 meeting, Tuesday, Thursday, and Saturday mornings. He 
 delivered goods on the afternoons of those days, which 
 gave him an opportunity to spend Sunday at home with his 
 father and his family. 
 
 When Quincy reached the Pettengill house, Mrs. Max 
 well informed him that Miss Pettengill was in the parlor 
 alone. After greeting Alice, Quincy asked, "But where is 
 Miss Very?" 
 
 "I told her I should not need her services until after I 
 had seen you," she replied. "I have a question to ask you 
 Mr, Sawyer, and I know you will give me a truthful an-
 
 412 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER. 
 
 swer. What led your aunt to invite me to come and visit 
 her?" 
 
 Quincy knew that Alice had been considering" the mat 
 ter, and this one simple question, to which she expected a 
 truthful answer, was the crucial test. 
 
 He did not hesitate in replying. If he did, he know the 
 result would be fatal to his hopes. 
 
 "Only the promptings of her own good nature. She is 
 one of the warmest-hearted women in the world," contin 
 ued Quincy. "I will tell you just how it happened. I told 
 her I had found an assistant to help you in your work, and 
 that the next thing- was to fix upon a place for a summer 
 residence. I asked her opinion, and after considering the 
 advantages and disadvantages of a score of places, she 
 finally settled upon Nantucket as being the most desirable. 
 Then she said, While you are finding a place and getting it 
 ready for them, ask Miss Pettengill to come and visit me 
 and bring her friend. Tell her that I am rich, as far as 
 money goes, but poor in love and companionship. Tell 
 them both that I shall love to have them come and will do 
 everything I can to make their visit a pleasant one. Those 
 were her words as nearly as I can remember them;" and 
 Quincy waited silently for the decision. 
 
 It soon came. Alice went to him and extended her hand, 
 which Quincy took. 
 
 "Tell her/ said Alice in her quiet way, "that I thank 
 her very much and that we will come." 
 
 "How soon?" inquired Quincy anxiously and rather ab 
 ruptly. 
 
 "In a few days," replied Alice. "I can get ready much 
 sooner with Miss Very to help me." 
 
 She withdrew the hand, which she had unconsciously 
 allowed to remain in his so long, and a slight flush mounted 
 to her cheek, for Quincy had equally unconsciously given 
 it a gentle pressure as he relinquished it. 
 
 "I must do up these proofs," said he, going to the table.
 
 THE BIKD OF LOYE. 413 
 
 "I will get the next train to Boston. I will be back to 
 morrow noon, and in the afternoon I will drive over to 
 Montrose about that deed of the Putnam house. I know 
 Aunt Ella will be delighted to hear that you are coming." 
 But he said nothing about his own delight at being the 
 bearer of the tidings. 
 
 When he had gone, Alice sat in her chair as she had 
 many a time before and thought. As she sat there she real 
 ized more strongly than she had ever done that if Fate was 
 marking out her course for her, it had certainly chosen as 
 its chief instrument the masterful young man who had just 
 left her. 
 
 The remainder of that day and the. morning of the next 
 Alice spent in dictating to Rosa a crude general outline of 
 Blennerhassett. During the work she was obliged, natur 
 ally, to address Rosa many times, and uniformly called 
 her Miss Very. Finally Rosa said, "Wouldn t you just as 
 soon call me Rosa? Miss Very seems so stiff and formal." 
 
 "I hope you will not consider me uncompanionable or 
 set in my ways," remarked Alice. "We are working, you 
 know, and not playing," she continued with a sweet smile. 
 "I have no doubt you are worthy of both my esteem and 
 love, but I have known you less than a day and such things 
 come slowly with me. Let me call you Miss Very, because 
 you are that to me now. When the time comes, as I feel it 
 will, to call you Rosa, it shall come from a full .heart. 
 When I call you Rosa, it will be because I love you, and, 
 after that, nothing will ever change my feelings towards 
 you." 
 
 "I understand you, replied Rosa. "I will work and 
 wait." 
 
 Quincy arrived at about the same time of day that he 
 did when he came with Rosa. Miss Very had gone to her 
 room, so that he saw Alice alone. He told her that his aunt 
 was greatly pleased at her acceptance and would be ready 
 fr o receive her at any time that it was convenient for her to
 
 414 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYEBo 
 
 come. He proffered his services to aid her in getting ready 
 for the journey, but she told him that with Miss Very s help 
 she would need no other assistance. 
 
 "I have another matter of business to speak about," con 
 tinued she, "and if you will kindly attend to that, when you 
 go to Montrose, it will oblige me very much. You are al 
 ways doing something to make me your debtor," she added 
 with a smile. 
 
 "I would do more if you would allow me," replied 
 Quincy. 
 
 "The fact is," said Alice, " Zekiel does not wish to bon 
 /ow any money, nor would he accept the gift of the Put 
 nam homestead unless he, in turn, deeded this house and 
 farm to me. He is going to run this farm and pay me what 
 he gets from the sale of products. If you will have Squire 
 Rundlett draw up both deeds and the agreement, the whole 
 matter can be fixed before I go away." 
 
 Quincy promised to give his attention to the matter that 
 afternoon. He drove up to his boarding house and hitched 
 his horse at the front door. Mrs. Hawkins saw him enter 
 and take his seat at the dinner table. "There s that Mr. 
 Sawyer; he s slept in this house just one night and eaten 
 just one meal up to this noon for nigh on a week. Them 
 city folks must have Injun rubber stummicks and cast iron 
 backs or they couldn t eat in so many different places and 
 sleep in so many different beds. Why, if I go away and 
 stay over night, when I git home I m allus sicker n a horse 
 and tired enough to drop. 
 
 Quincy went to Montrose that afternoon and saw Squire 
 Rundlett. The latter promised to make the papers out the 
 next day, and said he would bring them over for signing 
 the following morning. Quincy drove down to Deacon 
 Mason s and told Zekiel when to be on hand, and after 
 leaving the team in the Pettengill barn, saw Alice and in 
 formed her of the Squire s proposed visit. He told her
 
 THE BIRD OF LOVE. 415 
 
 that he would come down that morning to act as a witness, 
 if his services were required. 
 
 He spent the next day at the grocery store, going over 
 the stock with Strout and Abbott Smith, and had a list 
 made of articles that they thought it would be advisable to 
 carry in the future. He told Strout that he would visit 
 some wholesale grocery houses in Boston and have sam 
 ples sent down. 
 
 "Mr. Sawyer is improvinY said Mrs. Hawkins to Betsy 
 the next morning after breakfast. "He s slept in his bed 
 two nights runnin , and he s eat four square meals, and 
 seemed to enjoy them, too. I guess he didn t git much 
 when he was jumpin round so from one place to another." 
 
 Squire Rundlett kept his word, and the legal documents 
 were duly signed and executed. Alice told the Squire that 
 she was going away for several months, and that she would 
 undoubtedly send to him from time to time. 
 
 "My dear Miss Pettengill," replied the gallant Squire, 
 "you shall have all you ask for if I have to sell my best 
 horse and mortgage my house. But I don t think it will 
 be necessary/ he added. "Some more dividends and in 
 terest have come in and I have more than a thousand dol 
 lars to your credit now." 
 
 After the Squire had left, Alice told Ouincy that her 
 preparations were all made, and that she would be ready 
 to go to Boston the next day. The mid-day train was fixed 
 upon. After dinner that day, Quincy informed Mrs. Haw 
 kins that he wished to pay his bill in full, as he shouldi 
 leave for good the next day. 
 
 Holding the money in her hand, Mrs. Hawkins entered 
 the kitchen and addressed Betsy. 
 
 "Just what I expected," said she; "jest as that Mr. Saw 
 yer got to stayin home nights and eating his meals like a 
 Christian, he ups an gits. I guess it ll be a dry summer. 
 I kinder thought them two boys over to the grocery would 
 come here, but I understand they re goin down to Petten-
 
 416 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYEK. 
 
 gill s, and somebody told me that Strout goes over to East- 
 borough Centre every Sunday now. I s pose he s tryin 
 to shine up again to that Bessie Chisholm, that he used to 
 be sweet on. When he goes to keepin house there ll be 
 another boarder gone;" and the poor woman, having bor 
 rowed enough trouble, sat down and wiped a supposed tear 
 out of each eye with her greasy apron. 
 
 Ouincy reached Aunt Ella s residence with the young 
 ladies about noon. Aunt Ella gave the three travellers a 
 hearty welcome, and the young ladies were shown at once 
 to their rooms, which were on the third floor at the front of 
 the house. They were connected, so that Rosa could be 
 close at hand in case Alice should need assistance. 
 
 While the footman and Buttons were taking -the trunks 
 upstairs, Quincy asked his aunt if he could leave his trunk 
 there for a short time. "I do not wish to take it home," 
 lie said, "until after I have the ladies settled at Naritucket. 
 The carriage is waiting outside and I am going to get the 
 one o clock train. 
 
 "I will take good care of your trunk," said Aunt Ella, 
 "and you, too, if you will come and live with me. But 
 can t you stop to lunch with us?" she asked. But Quincy 
 declined, and requesting his aunt to say good-by to the 
 young ladies for him, he entered the carriage and was 
 driven off. 
 
 After luncheon, which was served in the dining-room, 
 General Chessman and Aides-de-Camp Pettengill and Very 
 held a counsel of war in the General s private tent. It was 
 decided that the mornings should be devoted, for a while, 
 at least, to shopping and visiting modistes and milliners. 
 Miss Very was also to give some of her time to visits to the 
 libraries and the second-hand bookstores looking for books 
 that would be of value to Alice in her work. The afternoons 
 were to be passed in conversation and in listening to Miss 
 Very s reading from the books that she had purchased or 
 taken from the libraries. The evenings were to be filled up
 
 THE BIRD OF LOVE. 4H 
 
 with music, and the first one disclosed the pleasing fact 
 that Miss Very had a rich, full contralto voice that had 
 been well cultivated and that she could play Beethoven or 
 the songs of the day with equal facility. 
 
 While the feminine trio were thus enjoying- themselves 
 in Boston with an admixture of work and play, Quincy was 
 busily engaged at Nantucket in building a nest for them, 
 as he called it. 
 
 He had found a large, old-fashioned house on the bluff 
 at the north shore, overlooking the harbor, owned by Mrs. 
 Gibson. She was a widow with two children, one a boy of 
 about nineteen, named Thomas, and the other a girl of 
 twelve, named Dorothy, but generally designated as 
 Tommy and Dolly. 
 
 Mrs. Gibson consented to let her second floor for a period 
 of four months, and to supply them with meals. The price 
 was fixed upon, and Quincy knew he had been unusually 
 lucky in securing so desirable a location at such a reason 
 able price. 
 
 There were three rooms, one a large front room, with a 
 view of the harbor, and back of it two sleeping rooms, look 
 ing out upon a large garden at the rear of the house. 
 Quincy mentally surveyed the large room and marked the 
 places with a piece of chalk upon the carpet where the 
 piano and the bookcase were to go. Then he decided that 
 the room needed a lounge and a d esk with all necessary 
 fixtures and stationery for Rosa to work at. There were 
 some stiff-backed chairs in the room, but he concluded that 
 a low easy-chair, like the one Alice had at home, and a 
 couple of wicker rocking chairs, which would be cool and 
 comfortable during the hot summer days, were absolutely 
 essential. 
 
 He then returned to Boston, hired an upright piano and 
 purchased the other articles, including a comfortable office- 
 chair to go with the desk. He was so afraid that he would 
 forget some article of stationery that he made a list and
 
 418 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER. 
 
 checked it off. But this did not satisfy him. He spent a 
 whole morning in different stationery stores looking over 
 their stocks to make sure that he had omitted nothing. 
 The goods were packed and shipped by express to Mrs. 
 Thomas Gibson, Nantucket, Mass. Then, and not till then, 
 (did Quincy seek his aunt s residence with the intelligence 
 that the nest was builded and ready for the birds. When 
 he informed the ladies that everything was ready for their 
 reception at their summer home, Aunt Ella said that their 
 departure would have to be delayed for a few days, as the 
 delinquent dressmakers had failed to deliver certain arti 
 cles of wearing apparel. This argument was, of course, 
 unanswerable, and Quincy devoted the time to visiting the 
 wholesale grocers, as he had promised Strout that he would 
 do, and to buying and shipping a long list of books that 
 Miss Very informed him Miss Pettengill needed for her 
 work. He learned that during his absence the proofs of 
 The Man Without a Tongue had been brought over by Mr. 
 Ernst and read and corrected, Aunt Ella taking Quincy s 
 place as reader. 
 
 At last all was ready, and on the tenth of May a party of 
 three ladies and one gentleman was driven to the station in 
 time for the one o clock train. They had lunched early 
 and the whole party was healthy, happy, and in the best of 
 spirits. Then came the leave-takings. The two young la 
 dies and the gentleman sped away upon the train, while the 
 middle-aged lady started for home in her carriage, telling 
 herself a dozen times on the way that she knew she would 
 be lonesomer than ever when she got there. 
 
 The trip by train and boat was uneventful. Alice sat 
 quietly and enjoyed the salt sea breeze, while both Quincy 
 and Rosa entertained her with descriptions of the bits of 
 land and various kinds of sailing craft that came in sight. 
 It was nearly seven o clock when the steamer rounded 
 Brant Point. In a short time it was moored to the wharf, 
 and the party, with their baggage, were conveyed swiftly
 
 THE BIRD OF LOVE. 419 
 
 to Mrs. Gibson s, that lady having been notified by Quincy 
 to expect them at any moment. He did not enter the 
 house. He told Miss Very to address him care of his aunt 
 if they needed anything, and that Mr. Ernst and himself 
 would come down when Miss Pettengill had completed two 
 or three chapters of her book. Quincy then bade them 
 good-by and was driven to a modest hotel close to the 
 steamboat wharf. He took the morning boat to Boston, 
 and that afternoon informed Aunt Ella of the safe arrival 
 of his fair charges. 
 
 "What are you going to do now?" asked Aunt Ella. 
 
 "I m going to find my father," replied Quincy, "and! 
 through him secure introductions to the other members of 
 my family." 
 
 "Good-by," said Aunt Ella; "if they don t treat you well 
 come and stay with me and we will go to Old Orchard to 
 gether about the first of June. I never skip out the last of 
 April, because I always enjoy having a talk with the as 
 sessor when he comes around in May." 
 
 When Rosa took her seat at the new desk next morning, 
 she exclaimed with delight, "What a nice husband Mr. 
 Sawyer would make!" 
 
 "What makes you think so?" inquired Alice gravely. 
 
 "Because he d be such a good hand to go shopping, * 
 Rosa answered. "I ve been all over this desk twice and I 
 don t believe he has forgotten a single thing that we are 
 likely to need." 
 
 "Good work requires good tools," remarked Alice. 
 
 "And a good workman," interposed Rosa. 
 
 "Then we have every adjunct for success," said Alice, 
 "and we will commence just where we left off at Mrs. 
 Chessman s." 
 
 The work on the book progressed famously. Alice wasi 
 in fine mental condition and Rosa seemingly took as much 
 interest in its progress as did her employer. In three 
 weeks the three opening chapters had been written. "I
 
 420 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER, 
 
 wonder what Mr. Sawyer and Mr. Ernst will think of that?** 
 said Alice, as Rosa wrote the last line of the third chapter. 
 
 "I am going to write to Mr. Sawyer to-day. We must 
 have those booki before we can go much farther. Would 
 it not be well to tell him that we are ready for our audi 
 ence?" 
 
 Alice assented, and the letter reached Quincy one Fri 
 day evening, it being his last call on his aunt before her 
 departure for Old Orchard. "Give my love to both of 
 them, said Aunt Ella, "and tell Alice I send her a kiss. I 
 won t tell you how to deliver it; you will probably find some 
 way before you come back." 
 
 Quincy protested that he could not undertake to deliver 
 it, but his aunt only laughed, kissed him, bade him good-by, 
 and told him to be sure and come down to Maine to see 
 her. 
 
 Quincy and Leopold took the Saturday afternoon boat 
 and arrived, as usual, about seven o clock. They both re 
 paired to the hotel previously patronized by Quincy, hav 
 ing decided to defer their call upon the young ladies until 
 Sunday morning. It was a bright, beautiful day, not a 
 cloud was to be seen in the broad, blue expanse above them. 
 A cool breeze was blowing steadily from the southwest, 
 and as the young men walked down Centre Street towards 
 the Cliff, Leopold remarked that he did not wonder that the 
 Nantucketers loved their "tight little isle and were sorry 
 to leave it. "One seems to be nearer Heaven here than he 
 does in a crowded city, don t he, Quincy?" Quincy thought 
 to himself that his Heaven was in Nantucket, and that he 
 was very near to it, but he did not choose to utter these 
 feelings to his friend, so he merely remarked that the sky 
 did seem much nearer. 
 
 They soon reached Mrs. Gibson s and were shown di 
 rectly to the young ladies parlor and library, for it an 
 swered both purposes. They were attired in two creations 
 of Mrs. Chessman s dressmaker, Aunt Ella having selected
 
 THE BIRD OF LOVE. 421 
 
 the materials and designed the costumes, for which art 
 she had a great talent. Rosa s dress was of a dark rose tint, 
 with revers and a V-shaped neck, filled in with tulle of a 
 dark green hue. The only other trimming on the dress was 
 a green silk cord that bordered the edges of the revers and 
 the bottom of the waist. As Quincy looked at her, for she 
 sat nearest to the door, she reminded him of a beautiful 
 red rose, and the green leaves which enhanced its beauty. 
 Then his eyes turned quickly to Alice, who sat in her easy- 
 chair, near the window. Her dress was of light blue, with 
 square-cut neck, filled in with creamy white lace. In her 
 hair nestled a flower, light pink in color, and as Quincy 
 looked at her he thought of the little blue flower called! 
 forget-me-not, and recalled the fact that wandering one 
 day in the country, during his last year at college, he had 
 come upon a little brook, both sides of which, for hundreds 
 of feet, were lined with masses of this modest little flower. 
 Ah! but this one forget-me-not was more to him than all 
 the world beside. 
 
 The greetings were soon over, and Quincy was assured 
 by both young ladies that they were happy and contented, 
 and that every requisite for their comfort had been supplied 
 by Mrs. Gibson. 
 
 The reading trien began. Rosa possessed a full, flexible, 
 dramatic voice, and the strong passages were delivered with 
 great fervor, while the sad or sentimental ones were tinged 
 with a tone of deep pathos. 
 
 At the conclusion Alice said, "I wish Miss Very could 
 read my book to the publishers." 
 
 "You forget/ remarked Leopold, with a laugh, "that 
 reading it to me will probably amount to the same thing/ 
 
 A merry party gathered about Mrs. Gibson s table at 
 dinner, after which they went for a drive through the 
 streets of the quaint old town. Quincy had, as the phre 
 nologists say, a great bump for locality. Besides, he had 
 studied a map of the town while coming down, and, as he
 
 422 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER. 
 
 remarked, they couldn t get lost for any great length of 
 time, as Nantucket was an island, and the water supplied 
 a natural boundary to prevent their getting too far out of 
 their way. 
 
 While Dolly Gibson was helping her mother by wiping 
 the dinner dishes, she said, with that air of judicial convic 
 tion that is shown by some children, that she guessed that 
 the lady in the red dress was Mr. Leopold s girl, and that 
 the blind lady in the blue dress was Mr. Quincy s. 
 
 After a light supper they again gathered in the parlor 
 and an hour was devoted to music. Leopold neither played 
 nor sang, but he was an attentive and critical listener. It 
 was a beautiful moonlight night, and Leopold asked Rosa 
 if she would not like to take a walk up on the Cliff. She 
 readily consented, but Alice pleasantly declined Quincy s 
 invitation to accompany them, and for the first time since 
 the old days at Mason s Corner, he and she were alone to 
 gether. 
 
 They talked of Eastborough and Mason s Corner and 
 Aunt Ella for a while. Then conversation lagged and they 
 sat for a time in a satisfied, peaceful silence. 
 
 Suddenly Quincy spoke. "I had almost forgotten, Miss 
 Pettengill, I bought a new song yesterday morning, and I 
 brought it with me. If you have no objection I will try, 
 it over." 
 
 "I always enjoy your singing," she replied. 
 
 He ran down stairs and soon returned with the music. 
 He seated himself at the piano and played the piece through 
 with great expression. 
 
 "It is a beautiful melody," remarked Alice. "What is 
 it?" 
 
 "It is a German song," replied Quincy, "by Reichardt. 
 It is called Love s Request. I will sing it this time." 
 
 And he did sing it with all the force and fervor of a 
 noble, manly nature, speaking out his love covertly in the 
 words of another, but hoping in his heart that the beautiful
 
 THE BIRD OF LOVE. 423 
 
 girl who listened to him would forget the author and 
 think only of the singer. How many times young lovers 
 have tried this artful trick, and in what proportion it has 
 been successful only Heaven knows. 
 
 "The words are very pretty, are they not?" said Alice. 
 "I was listening so closely to the melody that I did not 
 catch them all. 
 
 "I will read them to you," rejoined Quincy, and going* 
 to the window, where the light was still bright enough, he 
 read the words of the song in a low, impassioned voice: 
 
 <7 Now the day is slowly waning, 
 
 Evening breezes softly, softly moan; 
 Wilt thou ne er heed my complaining, 
 
 Canst thou leave me thus alone? 
 Stay with me, my darling, stay! 
 
 And, like a dream, thy life shall pass away, 
 
 Like a dream shall pass away. 
 
 "Canst thou thus unmoved behold me, 
 
 Still untouched by love, by love so deep? 
 Nay, thine arms more closely fold me, 
 
 And thine eyes begin to weep! 
 Stay with me, my darling, stay! 
 
 And, like a dream, thy life shall pass away, 
 
 Like a dream shall pass away. 
 
 "No regret shall e er attend thee, 
 
 Ne er shall sorrow dim thine eyes; 
 Gainst the world s alarms to fend thee, 
 
 Gladly, proudly, would I die! 
 Stay with me, my darling, stay! 
 
 And, like a dream, thy life shall pass away, 
 
 Shall pass away."
 
 424 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER. 
 
 As Quincy finished reading, Leopold and Rosa came ud 
 denly into the room. 
 
 "We were not eavesdropping," explained Leopold, "but 
 just as we were going to enter the room we heard your 
 voice and knew that you were either reading or speaking a 
 piece, so we waited until you had finished. 
 
 "I was only reading the word s of a new song that I 
 brought down to Miss Pettengill," said Quincy; "she liked 
 the melody and I thought she would appreciate it still more 
 if she knew the words. 5 
 
 "Exactly," said Leopold; "that s the reason I don t like 
 opera, I mean the singing part. All that I can ever make 
 out sounds like oh! ah! ow! and when I try to read the 
 book in English and listen to the singers at the same time I 
 am lost in a hopeless maze." 
 
 The young gentlemen were soon on their way- to their 
 hotel, and the next afternoon found them again in Boston 
 
 The month of June was a busy, but very enjoyable one, 
 for both Alice and Rosa. They were up early in the morn 
 ing and were at work before breakfast. They ate heartily 
 and slept soundly. Every pleasant afternoon, when tea was 
 over, they went riding. Tommy Gibson held the reins, 
 and although Dolly was not yet in her teens, she knew 
 every nook and corner, and object of interest on the island^ 
 and she took a child s delight in pointing them out, and 
 telling the stories that she had heard about them. The 
 books that Quincy brought on his last visit were utilized, 
 and Miss Very made up another list to be sent to him be 
 fore his next visit. 
 
 The proofs of three more stories Mr. Ernst sent down 
 by mail, and after correction, they were returned to him 
 in a similar manner. Little Dolly Gibson was impressed 
 into service as a reader, for Rosa could not read and cor 
 rect at the same time, and there was no obliging Mr. Sawyer 
 near at Hand. As Huldy had said, Alice did miss him. It 
 must be said, in all truthfulness, not so much for himself r
 
 THE BIBD OF LOVE. 428 
 
 but for the services he had rendered. As yet, Alice s heart 
 was untouched. 
 
 When Dolly Gibson showed her mother the money that 
 Miss Very had given her, at Alice s direction, she was told 
 to take it right back at once, but Dolly protested that she 
 had earned it, and when her mother asked her to tell how, 
 the child, whose memory was phenomenal, sat down and 
 made her mother s hair stand almost on end and her blood 
 almost run cold with her recitals of the Eight of Spades, 
 The Exit of Mrs. Delmonnay, and He Thought He Was 
 Dead. 
 
 "They are immense," cried Dolly, "they beat all the 
 fairy stories I ever read!" 
 
 In due time another letter was sent to Mr. Sawyer, in 
 forming him that more books were needed, and that more 
 chapters were ready, and on the morning of the last Sun 
 day in June the young ladies were awaiting the arrival of 
 Mr. Sawyer and Mr. Ernst. 
 
 The morning had opened with a heavy shower and the 
 sky was still overcast with angry-looking, threatening rain 
 clouds. Within the little parlor all was bright and cheer 
 ful. 
 
 Familiar voices were heard greeting Mrs. Gibson 
 and the children, and men s footsteps soon sounded upon 
 the stairs. Leopold entered first, and, advancing to Rosa, 
 handed her a large bouquet of beautiful red roses. 
 
 "Sweets to the sweet, roses to Miss Rosa/ said he, as he 
 bowed and presented them. 
 
 "They are beautiful," she exclaimed. 
 
 "All roses are considered so," he remarked with a smile. 
 
 While this little byplay, was going on, Quincy had ap 
 proached Alice, who, as usual, was sitting by the window, 
 and placed in her hand a small bunch of flowers. As he 
 did so he said in a low voice, "They are forget-me-nots. 
 There is a German song about them, of which I remember 
 a little, and he hummed a few measures.
 
 426 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER. 
 
 "Oh! thank you," cried Alice, as she held the flowers 
 before her eyes in a vain effort to see them. "The music 
 is pretty. Can t you remember any of the words? 
 
 "Only a few," replied Quincy. Then he repeated in a 
 low, but clear voice: 
 
 "There is the sweet flower 
 They call forget-me-not; 
 That flower place on thy breast, 
 And think of me. 
 
 "Say, Quincy, can t you come over here and recite a lit 
 tle poem about roses to Miss Very, just to help me out?" 
 cried Leopold. "All I can think of is: 
 
 "The rose is red, 
 The violet s blue" 
 
 "Stop where you are, said Rosa laughingly, "for that 
 will do." 
 
 Alice dropped the forget-me-nots in her lap. The illu 
 sion was dispelled. 
 
 The newly-completed chapters were next read, and quite 
 a spirited discussion took place in regard to the political 
 features introduced in one of them. Dinner intervened 
 and then the discussion was resumed. 
 
 Alice maintained that to write about Aaron Burr and 
 omit politics would be the play of "Hamlet," with Hamlet 
 left out; and her auditors were charmed and yet some 
 what startled at the impassioned and eloquent manner in 
 which she defended Burr s political principles. 
 
 When she finished Leopold said, "Miss Pettengill, if you 
 will put in your book the energetic defence that you have 
 just made, I will withdraw my objections." 
 
 "You will find that and more in the next chapter," Alice 
 replied.
 
 THE BIED OF LOVE. 427 
 
 And the reading was resumed. 
 
 The angry, threatening clouds had massed themselves 
 once more; the thunder roared; the lightning flashed and 
 the rain fell in torrents. 
 
 Leopold walked to the window and looked out. "Walk 
 ing is out of the question," said he; "will you come for a 
 sail?" 
 
 Music filled the evening, and during a lull in the storm 
 the young men reached their lodgings. 
 
 Another month had nearly passed. The weather was 
 much warmer, but there was a great incentive to hard work 
 the book was nearly finished. Quincy had sent down a 
 package of books soon after his return home, and Alice and 
 Rosa had worked even harder than in June. 
 
 Another letter went from Miss Very to Mr. Sawyer. It 
 contained but a few words: "The book is done. Miss Pet- 
 tengill herself wrote the words, The end, on the last 
 page, signed her name, and dated it July 30, 186 . She 
 awaits your verdict. 
 
 The first Sunday in August found the young ladies 
 again expectant. Once more they sat on a Sunday morn 
 ing awaiting the advent of their gentlemen friends. The 
 day was pleasant, but warm. Soon a voice was heard at 
 the front door. Both ladies listened intently; but one per 
 son, evidently, was coming upstairs. Alice thought it 
 must be Mr. Sawyer, while Rosa said to herself, "I think it; 
 must be Mr. Ernst." 
 
 A light knock, the door was opened and Quincy entered, 
 
 Rosa looked up inquiringly. 
 
 "Mr. Ernst," said Quincy, "wished me to present his 
 regrets at not being able to accompany me. The fact is he 
 will be very busy this coming week. He is going to try 
 to close up his work, so that he can come down next Sat 
 urday. He intends to take a month s vacation. I shall 
 come with him, and we will endeavor to have a fitting cele* 
 bration of the completion of your book, Miss Pettengill.
 
 428 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER. 
 
 You young 1 ladies look very cool and comfortable this hot 
 day." 
 
 They were both dressed in white, Alice with a sash of 
 blue, while Rosa wore one of pink. 
 
 "Then we shall have no reading till next Sunday, re 
 marked Rosa. 
 
 "Yes." said Quincy, seating himself in one of the willow 
 rockers; "we have decided upon the following programme, 
 if it meets with Miss Pettengill s approval. I am to listen 
 to the remainder of the book to-day. I will hand the com 
 plete manuscript over to him to-morrow afternoon. He 
 will then finish the chapters that he has not read and turn 
 the work over to his firm, with his approval, before he 
 comes down for his rest. If the work is accepted, Mr. 
 Morton, one of the firm, will write him to that effect." 
 
 "The plan is certainly satisfactory to me," said Alice, 
 "and Miss Very and I will be delighted to contribute our 
 aid to the proposed celebration." 
 
 Rosa then resumed her reading. But dinner time came 
 before it was completed. At that meal they were ail intro 
 duced to Captain Henry Marble. 
 
 "My only brother," Mrs. Gibson said, by way of introduc 
 tion. "He s just home from a cruise. His ship is at New 
 Bedford. He is going to take the children out late this 
 afternoon for a sail in the harbor. He always does when 
 he comes here. Wouldn t you ladies and Mr. Sawyer like 
 to go with him?" 
 
 Captain Marble repeated the invitation, adding that he 
 was an old sailor, that he had a large sailboat, and that they 
 were "only going to Wauwinet, not out to sea, you know, 
 but only up the inner harbor, which is just like a pond, you 
 know. * 
 
 Rosa thought it would be delightful, but such a trip had 
 no attractions for Alice, and it was finally decided that Rosa 
 should go, while Alice and Mr. Sawyer would remain at 
 home.
 
 THE BIKD OF LOVE. 429 
 
 The reading of the remaining chapters of Blennerhassett 
 was completed by three o clock, and at quarter of four, 
 Miss Very, attired in a natty yachting costume, which 
 formed p^rt of her summer outfit, was ready to accompany 
 Captain Marble and the children on their trip. 
 
 When they were alone Quincy turned to Alice and said, 
 "I bought another song yesterday morning, which I 
 thought you might like to hear." 
 
 "Is it another German song?" asked Alice. 
 
 "No/ replied Quincy, as he took a roll from the piano 
 and opened it. "It is a duet; the music is by Bosco, but 
 you can tell nothing by that. The composer s real name 
 may be Jones or Smith." 
 
 He seated himself at the piano and played it through, as 
 he had done with that other song two long months before. 
 
 "I think it more beautiful than the other," said Alice. 
 Are the words as sweet as those in that other song?" 
 
 "Then you have not forgotten the other one," said 
 Quincy, earnestly. 
 
 "How could I forget it?" answered Alice. "Rosa has 
 sung it to me several times, but it did not sound to me as 
 it did when you sang it." 
 
 "I will sing this one to you," said he; and Alice came and 
 stood by his side at the piano. 
 
 Quincy felt that the time to which he had looked for 
 ward so long had come at last. He could restrain the 
 promptings of his heart no longer. He loved this woman, 
 and she must know it; even if she rejected that love, he 
 must tell her. 
 
 "It is called "The Bird of Love/" he said Then he 
 played the prelude to the song. He sang as he had never 
 sung before ; all the power and pathos and love that in him 
 lay were breathed forth in the words and music of that song. 
 
 With his voice lingering upon the last word, he turned 
 and looked up at Alice. Upon her face there was a startled, 
 almost frightened look.
 
 430 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER. 
 
 "Shall I read the words to you, Miss Pettengill?" 
 There was almost a command in the way he said it. His 
 love had o ermastered his politeness. 
 Alice said nothing, but bowed her head. 
 Then Quincy recitedi the words of the song. He had no 
 need to read them, for he knew them by heart. It seemed 
 to him that he had written the words himself. He did not 
 even remember the author s name, and Alice stood with 
 bowed head and closed eyes and drank in these words as 
 they fell from his lips: 
 
 In this heart of mine the bird of love 
 Has built a nest, 
 Has built a nest. 
 And so she has in mine! 
 Response: 
 
 And so she has in mine! 
 
 And she toils both day and night, no thought 
 Of food or rest 
 Of food or rest, 
 And sings this song divine. 
 Response : 
 
 And sings this song divine. 
 Duet: 
 
 All the day long, 
 Such a sweet song, 
 Teaching love true, 
 I love! Do you? 
 
 When Quincy came to the last line, instead of reading it 
 he turned to the piano and sang it with even more passion 
 in his voice than at first. 
 
 "Will you try it over with me?" he said. And without 
 waiting for her reply he dashed off the prelude. 
 
 Their voices rang out together until they reached the 
 line, "And so she has in mine. As Alice sang these words 
 she opened her eyes and looked upward. A smile of su-
 
 THE BIRD OF LOVE. 431 
 
 preme joy spread over and irradiated her face. Her voice 
 faltered; she stopped, then she caught at the piano with her 
 right hand. She tottered and would have fallen if Quincy 
 had not sprung up and taken her in his arms. 
 
 "Is it true, Alice?" cried he; "is it so? Can you truly 
 .say, And so she has in mine? " 
 
 And Alice looked up at him with that glorious smile still 
 upon her face and softly whispered, " And so she has in 
 mine, Quincy." 
 
 Quincy led her to the lounge by the window, through 
 which the cool evening breeze was blowing, and they sat 
 down side by side. It has been truly said that the conver 
 sations of lovers are more appreciated by themselves than 
 by anybody else, and it is equally true that at the most ten 
 der moment, in such conversations, intensely disagreeable 
 interruptions are likely to occur. 
 
 Sometimes it is the well-meaning but unthinking father; 
 again it is the solicitous but inquisitive mother; but more 
 often it is the unregenerate and disrespectful young brother 
 or sister. In this case it was Miss Rosa Very, who burst 
 into the room, bright and rosy, after her trip upon the 
 water. As she entered she cried out, "Oh! you don t know 
 what you missed. I had a most d elightful " She stopped 
 short, the truth flashed upon her that there were other de 
 lightful ways of passing the time than in a sailboat. She 
 was in a dilemma. 
 
 Quincy solved the problem. He simply said, "Good-by, 
 Alice, for one short week. 
 
 He turned, expecting to see Miss Very, but she had van 
 ished. He clasped Alice in his arms, and kissed her, for 
 the first time, then he led her to her easy-chair and left 
 her there. 
 
 As he quitted the room and closed the door he met Miss 
 Rosa Very in the entry. 
 
 "I did not know," said she, "but I am so glad to know it. 
 She is the sweetest, purest, loveliest woman I have eve*
 
 432 QUINCT ADAMS SAWYER. 
 
 known, and your love is what she needed to complete her 
 happiness. She will be a saint now. I will take good care 
 of her, Mr. Sawyer, until you come again, for I love her, 
 too." 
 
 Quincy pressed her hand warmly, and the next moment 
 was in the little street. He was a rich man, as the world 
 judges riches, but to him his greatest treasure was Alice s 
 first kiss, still warm upon his lips.
 
 CHAPTER XXXVI. 
 
 THEN THEY WERE MARRIED. 
 
 PHEN he bade Alice good-by for a week, Quincy was 
 keeping a promise he had made to his father. The 
 second evening before he had spent with his family at. 
 Nahant, and while he was smoking an after-dinner cigar 
 upon the veranda, the Hon. Nathaniel had joined him. 
 
 "Quincy," said the latter, "I must ask you when you 
 intend to resume your professional duties. You are now 
 restored to health, and it is my desire that you do so at 
 once." 
 
 "While I would not wilfully show disrespect to your 
 wishes, father," said Quincy, calmly, "I must say frankly 
 that I do not care to go back to the office. The study of 
 law is repugnant to me, and its practice would be a daily 
 martyrdom." 
 
 "What!" cried the Hon. Nathaniel, starting in his chain 
 "Perhaps, sir, you have fixed upon a calling that is more 
 elevated and ennobling than the law." 
 
 "One more congenial, at any rate/ remarked Quincy. 
 
 "Then you have chosen a profession/ said his father 
 with some eagerness. "May I inquire what it is? 
 
 "It can hardly be called a profession," he answered.. 
 "I ve bought a third interest in a country grocery store. 
 
 If the Hon. Nathaniel started before, this last piece of in 
 formation fairly brought him to his feet. "And may I in 
 quire, sir," he thundered, "if this special partnership in a 
 country grocery store is the summit of your ambitions? 
 I suppose I shall hear next that you are engaged to some 
 farmer s daughter, and propose to marry her, regardless
 
 434 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER. 
 
 of the wishes of your family, and despite the terrible exam 
 ple supplied by your Uncle James. 
 
 "It hasn t come to that yet," remarked Quincy, calmly, 
 "but it may if I find a farmer s daughter who comes up to 
 my ideal of a wife and to whom I can give an honest love. 
 
 The Hon. Nathaniel sank back in his chair. Quincy 
 continued, "I will not try to answer your sarcastic refer 
 ence to the grocery store. It is a good investment and an 
 honorable business, fully as honorable as cheating the 
 prison or the gallows of what is due them; but the summit 
 of my ambition is by no means reached. I am young yet 
 and have plenty of time to study the ground before ex 
 panding my career, but I will tell you, privately and confi 
 dentially, that my friends have asked me to run for the 
 General Court, and I have about decided to stand as a can 
 didate for nomination as representative from our district." 
 
 "I am glad to hear you say that, Quincy, said his father, 
 somewhat mollified, and he edged his arm-chair a little 
 closer to his son, despite the heavy clouds of smoke emitted 
 from Quincy s cigar. "If you get the regular nomination 
 in our district it s tantamount to an election. I need 
 scarcely say that whatever influence I may possess will be 
 exerted in your favor." 
 
 "Thank you," said Quincy; "I mean to stump the dis 
 trict, anyway. If I lose the regular nomination I shall take 
 an independent one. I had rather fight my way in than be 
 pushed in." 
 
 His father smiled and patted him on the arm. Then they 
 rose from their chairs, Quincy observing that as he was 
 going away early in the morning he would immediately 
 retire. 
 
 "That reminds me, said his father. "I have a favor to 
 ask of you, Quincy. It is this, Lord Algernon Hastings, 
 heir to the earldom of Sussex, and his sister, Lady Elfrida, 
 are now in Boston, and bring letters from the Lord High 
 Chancellor, with whom I became acquainted when I was
 
 THEN THEY WERE MARRIED. 435 
 
 in England, two years ago. I have invited them to visit us 
 here next week, and my wish is that you will spend as 
 much of your time at home as possible and assist me in 
 entertaining them I mean the son, of course, particu 
 larly." 
 
 Quincy s thoughts flew quickly to Nantucket and back. 
 Had he foreseen what was to happen on his coming visit, 
 he would have hesitated still longer, but thinking that, 
 after all. next Sunday s journey might not end any more 
 conclusively than the previous one, he presently turned to 
 his father and answered: 
 
 "I will do so. I must go to-morrow, but I will return 
 early on Monday, and will stay at home the entire week." 
 
 "I thank you very much, Quincy," said the Hon. Nathan 
 iel, and he laid his hand on his son s shoulder as affection 
 ately as he was capable of doing, when they entered the 
 house. 
 
 Lady Elfrida Hastings and her brother, Lord Algernon, 
 arrived in due season, and Quincy was there to assist at 
 their reception. The former was tall, and dark, and stately; 
 her features were cast in a classic mould, but the look in 
 her eye was cold and distant, and the face, though having 
 all the requirements of beauty, yet lacked it. To Mrs. 
 Sawyer and her daughter, Florence, the Lady Elfrida was 
 a revelation, and they yearned to acquire that statuesque 
 repose that comes so natural to the daughter of an earl. 
 But Maude told her brother that evening that the Lady 
 Elfrida was a "prunes and prisms, and was sure to die an 
 old maid. 
 
 Lord Algernon was tall and finely built; he had a pro 
 fusion of light brown curly hair, and a pair of large blue 
 eyes that so reminded Quincy of Alice that he took to the 
 young lord at once. They rode, played billiards, bowled, 
 and smoked together. 
 
 One afternoon while they were enjoying a sail in the bay t 
 Quincy inquired of his guest how he liked America,
 
 436 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER. 
 
 " Pon honor, my dear fellow, I don t know," replied 
 Lord Algernon. "I came here for a certain purpose, and 
 have failed miserably. I am going to sail for home in a 
 week, if my sister will go." 
 
 "Then you didn t come to enjoy the pleasures of travel?" 
 remarked Quincy, interrogatively. 
 
 "No! By Jove, I didn t. My sister did, and she supposes 
 I did. I m going to tell you the truth, Mr. Sawyer. I 
 know you will respect my confidence." Quincy nodded. 
 
 "The fact is," Lord Algernon continued, "I came over 
 here to find a girl that I m in love with, but who ran away 
 from me as soon as I told her of it. 
 
 "But why?" asked Quincy, not knowing what else to say. 
 
 "That s the deuce of it/ replied Lord Algernon; "I 
 sha n t know till I find her and ask her. I met her at Nice, 
 in France; she was with her mother, a Mdme. Archim- 
 bault; the daughter s name was Celeste Celeste Archim- 
 bault. They said they were not French, they were French 
 Canadians; came from America, you know. I was travel 
 ing as plain Algernon Hastings, and I don t think she ever 
 suspected I was the son of an earl. I proposed one even 
 ing. She said she must speak to her mother, and if I would 
 come the next evening about seven o clock, she would give 
 me her answer, and I thought by the look in her eye that 
 she herself was willing to say Yes then. But when I called 
 the next evening they had both gone, no one knew where. 
 
 "You are sure she was not an adventuress?" inquired 
 Quincy. "Excuse the question, my lord, but you really 
 knew nothing about her? 
 
 "I knew that I loved her," said Lord Algernon, bluntly, 
 "and I would give half of my fortune to find her. I know 
 she was a true, pure, beautiful girl, and her mother was as 
 honest an old lady as you could find in the world." 
 
 "I wish I could help you," remarked Quincy. 
 
 "Thank you," said Lord Algernon ; "perhaps you may be 
 ible to some day. Don t forget her name, Celeste Archim-
 
 THEN THEY WEKE MAKKIED. 437 
 
 bault; she is slight in figure, graceful in her carriage, lady 
 like in her manners. She has dark hair, large, dreamy 
 black eyes, with a hidden sorrow in them; in fact, a very 
 handsome brunette. Here is my card, Mr. Sawyer. I will 
 write my London address on it, and if you ever hear of her, 
 cable me at once and I ll take the next steamer for 
 America." 
 
 Quincy said that he would, and put the card in his card- 
 case. 
 
 He excused himself to Lord Algernon and his sister that 
 evening; a prior engagement made it necessary for him to 
 leave for Boston early next morning, and the farewells 
 were then spoken. Lord Algernon s last words to Quincy 
 were whispered in his ear, "Don t forget her name Celeste 
 Archimbault! 
 
 The next Sunday morning Quincy and Leopold, as they 
 approached Mrs. Gibson s house on the Cliff, found Rosa 
 Very standing at the little gate. She had on the white 
 dress that she had worn the Sunday before, but which Leo 
 pold had not seen. Upon her head was a wide-brimmed 
 straw hat, decked with ribbons and flowers, which intensi 
 fied the darkness of her hair and eyes." 
 
 "Don t forget her name Celeste Archimbault," came 
 into Quincy s mind, but he said, "Nonsense/ to himself, 
 and dismissed the thought. 
 
 "All ready for a walk on the Cliff ?" asked Leopold, as he 
 raised his hat and extended his hand to Rosa. She shook 
 hands with him and then with Quincy. She opened the 
 little gate, placed her hand on Leopold s arm and they 
 walked on up the Cliff Road. 
 
 As Quincy entered the little parlor, Alice sprang toward 
 him with a cry of joy. He caught her in his arms, and this 
 time one kiss did not suffice, for a dozen were pressed on 
 hair and brow and cheek and lips. 
 
 "It is so long since you went away, said Alice, 
 
 "Only one short week/ replied Quincy.
 
 J3S QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER, 
 
 "Short! Those six days have seemed longer than all tha 
 time we were together at Eastborough. I cannot let you 
 go away from me again," she cried. 
 
 "Stay with Me, My Darling, St^y," sang Quincy, in a 
 low voice, and Alice tried to hide her blushing face upon 
 |his shoulder. 
 
 Then they sat down and talked the matter over. "I 
 must leave you," said Quincy, "and only see you occasion 
 ally, and then usually in the presence of others, unless " 
 
 "Unless what? cried Alice, and a sort of frightened look 
 came into her face. 
 
 "Unless you marry me at once/ said Quincy. "I don t 
 mean this minute; :ay Wednesday o* this coining week. I 
 have a license with me I got in Boston yesterday morning. 
 We ll be married quietly in this little room, in which you 
 first told me that you loved me. We could be married in a 
 big church in Boston, with bridesmaids, and groomsmen, 
 and music on a big organ. We cculd make as big a day 
 of it as they did down to Eastborough/ 
 
 "Oh, no! said Alice; "I could n t go through that. I 
 cannot see well enough, and I might make some terrible 
 blunder. I might trip an ! fall, and then I should be so 
 nervous and ashamed." 
 
 "I will not ask you to go through such an ordeal, my 
 dearest. I know that we could have all these grand things, 
 and for that reason, if for no better one, I m perfectly will 
 ing to go without them. No, Alice, we will be married here 
 in this room. We will deck it with flowers, continued 
 Quincy. "Leopold will go to Boston to-morrow and get 
 them. Rosamond s Bower was not sweeter nor more lovely 
 than we will make this little room. I will get an old clergy* 
 man; I don t like young ones; Leopold shall be my best 
 man and Rosa shall be your bridesmaid. Mrs. Gibson and 
 her brother, who I see is still here, shall be our witnesses; 
 and we will have Tommy and Dolly for ushers." 
 
 Both laughed aloud in their chiMrsh glee at the
 
 THEN THEY WERE MARRIED. 439 
 
 that Quincy had painted. "I could ask for nothing better," 
 said Alice; "the ceremony will be modest, artistic, and 
 idyllic." 
 
 "And economical, too," Quincy added with a laugh. 
 
 And so it came to pass! They were married, and the 
 transformation in the little room, that Quincy and Alice 
 had seen in their mind s eye, was realized to the letter. 
 Flowers, best man, bridesmaid, witnesses, ushers, and the 
 aged clergyman, with whitened locks, who called them his 
 children, and blessed them and wished them long life and 
 happiness, hoped that they would meet and know each 
 other some day in the infinite all were there. 
 
 This was on Wednesday. On Thursday came a letter 
 from Aunt Ella. It contained the most kindly congratula 
 tions, and a neat little wedding present of a check for fifty 
 thousand dollars. She wrote further that she was lonesome 
 and wanted somebody to read to her, and talk to her, and 
 sing to her. If the book was done, would not Miss Very 
 come to spend the remainder of the season with her, and if 
 Mr. Ernst was there could he not spare time to escort Miss 
 Very. 
 
 That same evening Leopold received a letter from Mr. 
 Morton. It simply read, "Blennerhassett accepted; will 
 be put in type at once and issued by the first of November, 
 perhaps sooner." 
 
 The next morning Leopold and Rosa started for Old 
 Orchard, and the lovers were left alone to pass their honey 
 moon, with the blue sea about them, the blue sky above 
 them, and a love within their hearts which grew stronger 
 day by day,
 
 CHAPTER XXXVII, 
 LINDA S BIRTHRIGHT 
 
 FOR Quincy and Alice, day after day, and week after 
 week, found them in a state of complete happiness. 
 The little island floating in the azure sea was their world, 
 and for the time, no thought of any other intruded upon 
 their delightful Eden. It seemed to Quincy all a blissful 
 dream of love, and everything he looked upon was wreathed 
 in flowers and golden sunshine. 
 
 But lotus land is not so far distant from the abodes of 
 .mortal man but that his emissaries may reach it. The first 
 jarring note in the sweet harmony of their married life 
 came in the form of a letter from Dr. Culver, who wrote to 
 remind Quincy that it would soon be time to start in 
 ploughing the political field. Quincy s reply was brief and 
 to the point. 
 
 s Mv DEAR CULVER: I will see you m Boston on the tenth 
 of September. Q. A, S." 
 
 When Aunt Ella learned that her nephew was going to 
 town, she made hurried preparations for her departure from 
 Old Orchard, and wrote to him insisting that he and Alice 
 should come and stay with her. This invitation they gladly 
 accepted, Quincy arranging in his mind to explain matters 
 to his family by saying that, as he had now entered politics 
 and would necessarily have a great many callers to enter 
 tain, he thought it best to make his headquarters with Aunt 
 Ella until the campaign was over. 
 
 Accordingly, the ninth of September saw them located 
 at Mt Vernon Street On the very day of their arrivalj
 
 LINDA S BIRTHKIGHT- 4AV 
 
 proof of the remaining stories and a large instalment of 
 Blennerhassett reached them, with a note from Ernst 
 
 "Please rush. Press is waiting." 
 
 Miss Very s assistance was now absolutely necessary, 
 but when Quincy asked Leopold for her address> he wa* 
 surprised at the reply he received. 
 
 "I haven t seen her," said Leopold, "since we came back 
 from Old Orchard together. In fact, since that time, our 
 relations, for some reason or other, have undergone a great 
 change. However, I think I can help you out. I don t 
 believe in keeping a good friend like you, Quincy, in sus 
 pense, so I will tell you the truth. I am married. My 
 wife is fully as competent to assist Mrs. Sawyer as Miss 
 Very would have been. She is in the library now at wo>rk u 
 I will go and ask her." 
 
 He entered the room, closing the door behind him. 
 Quincy threw himself rather discontentedly into a chair, 
 He fancied he heard laughing in the next room, but he 
 knew Alice would be disappointed, and he himself felt in 
 no mood for laughter. 
 
 Leopold opened the library door. "Quincy, I ve induced 
 her to undertake the task," he said. "Do spare a moment 
 from your work, Mrs. Ernst; I wish to introduce to you 
 Mr. Quincy Adams Sawyer, the husband of the author of 
 that coming literary sensation, Blennerhassett. Mr. Saw 
 yer," he continued, "allow me to present you to my wife, 
 Mrs. Rosa Ernst. And as he said this, Leopold and Rosa 
 stood side by side in the doorway. 
 
 "When did you do it?" finally ejaculated Quincy, rushing 
 forward and grasping each by the hand. "Leopold, I owe 
 you one." And then they all laughed together. 
 
 By some means, Dr. Culver said by the liberal use 
 of money, Barker Dalton secured the regular nomina 
 tion from Quincy s party. The latter kept his word 
 and entered the field as an independent candidate. A 
 hot contest followed. The papers were full of the
 
 M& QUINCT ADAMS SAWTEE. 
 
 speeches of the opposing candidates, and incidents 
 nected with their lives. But in none relating to Quincy 
 was a word said about his marriage, and the fact 
 was evidently unknown, except to a limited few. When 
 the polls closed on election day and the vote was 
 declared, it was found that Sawyer had a plurality of two 
 hundred and twenty-eight and a clear majority of twenty- 
 two over both Dalton and Burke, the opposing candidates, 
 Then the papers were full of compliments for Mr. Sawyer, 
 who had so successfully fought corruption and bribery in 
 fiis own party, and won such a glorious victory. 
 
 But Quincy never knew that the Hon. Nathaniel Adams 
 Sawyer had used all his influence to secure his son s dec 
 tion, and for every dollar expended by Dalton, the Hon. 
 Nathaniel had covered it with a two or five if necessary. 
 
 The publication of Blennerhassett had been heralded by 
 advance notices that appeared in the press during the month 
 of October. 
 
 These notices had been adroitly written. Political preju 
 dices, one notice said, would no doubt be aroused by state 
 ments made in the book, and one newspaper went so far 
 as to publish a double-leaded editorial protesting against 
 the revival of party animosities buried more than two gen 
 erations ago. The leaven worked, and when the book was 
 placed in the stores on the eleventh of November, the de* 
 mand for it was unparalleled. Orders came for it from all 
 parts of the country, particularly from the State of New 
 York, and the resources of the great publishing house of 
 Hinckley, Morton, & Co, were taxed to the utmost to muet 
 the demand. 
 
 While Quincy was fighting Dalton in the political field, 
 another campaign was being planned in the clever diplo 
 matic brain of Aunt Ella. It related to the introduction of 
 Alice, the "farmer s daughter," to the proud patrician fam 
 ily of Sawyer, as Quincy s wife no easy matter to accom 
 plish satisfactorily, as all agreed,,
 
 LINDA S BIRTIIKIGHT, 448 
 
 The initial step was taken a couple of weeks after 
 Thanksgiving, when a daintily-engraved card was issued 
 from Mt. Vernon Street, which read: 
 
 Your company is respectfully requested on the evening 
 of the tenth of December at a reception to be given to 
 Bruce Douglas, the author of Blennerhassett." 
 
 One evening, Quincy ran up the steps of the Mt. Vernon 
 Street house. He opened the door and started to run up 
 the stairs to his wife s room, as was his custom, when he 
 came into collision with a young lady, who, upon closer in 
 spection, he found to be his sister Maude. 
 
 "Come in here, * she said. She grasped him by the arm, 
 and, dragging him into the parlor, she closed the door be 
 hind him. 
 
 "Oh, Mr. Man!" she cried, "Pve found you out, but 
 horses sha n t drag it out of me. No, Quincy, you re 
 always right, and I won t peach. But twas mean not to tell 
 me." 
 
 Quincy looked at her in voiceless astonishment. "What 
 do you mean, Maude, and where did you gather up all that 
 slang?" 
 
 "I might ask you," said Maude, "where you found your 
 wife. _I ve been talking to her upstairs. She must have 
 thought that papa and mamma knew all about it, for she 
 told me who she was, just as easy. Who is she, Quincy? 
 
 He drew his sister down beside him on a sofa. "She was 
 Miss Mary Alice Pettengill. She is now known to a lim 
 ited few, of which you, sister Maude, are one, as Mrs. 
 Mary Alice Sawyer; but she is known to a wide circle of 
 readers as Bruce Douglas, the author of many popular 
 stories, as also of that celebrated book entitled Blenner^ 
 hassett." 
 
 "Is that so?" cried Maude ; "why, papa is wild over that 
 book. He s been reading it aloud to us evenings, and he 
 said last night that that young man you hear, Quincy? <
 
 fi44 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER. 
 
 ihat young man, had brought the truth to the surface at 
 last." 
 
 "Now, Maude," said Quincy, "you go right home and 
 keep your inouth shut a little while longer, and when you 
 are sixteen" "the ninth of next January," broke in 
 Maude "I ll give you a handsome gold watch, with my 
 picture in it." 
 
 "I don t have to be paid to keep your secrets, Quincy,* 
 replied Maude archly, as Quincy kissed her. 
 
 "I know it, deal , said Quincy; "I ll give you the watch, 
 not as pay, but *o show my gratitude." 
 
 Quincy took an early opportunity to explain to his wife 
 his remissness in not informing his parents of his mar 
 riage, and disclosed to her Aunt Ella s plan. 
 
 On the tenth, Mrs. Chessman s spacious parlor was 
 thronged from nine till eleven o clock with bright and 
 shining lights, representing the musical, artistic, literary, 
 and social culture of Boston. Among the guests were the 
 Hon. Nathaniel Adams Sawyer, his wife, and his daugh 
 ters, Florence and Maude. The surprise of the visitors at 
 the discovery that Bruce Douglas was a young woman was 
 followed by one of great pleasure at finding her beautiful 
 and affable. 
 
 The reception and entertainment were acknowledged on 
 all sides to have been most successful, and a thoroughly 
 pleased and satisfied company had spoken their farewells 
 to author and hostess by quarter-past eleven. So, when 
 Quincy came up Walnut Street and glanced across at his 
 aunt s house, a little before twelve, he found the windows 
 dark and the occupants, presumably, in their bed s. 
 
 As part of her plan, Quincy had been advised by Aunt 
 Ella to stay away from the reception, to spend the night 
 at his father s house, and to be sure and take breakfast 
 with them, so as to hear what was said about the previous 
 evening.
 
 LINDA S BIRTHRIGHT. 445 
 
 As soon as the morning meal was over, Quincy ran 
 
 quickly upstairs, seized his hand-bag, which he always kept 
 packed, ready for an emergency, and in a very short space 
 of time, reached Mt. Vernon Street. He found his wife 
 and aunt in the den. The latter was reading a manuscript 
 to Alice. 
 
 As soon as the greetings were over, and a little time 
 given to discussing the reception, Quincy asked: "Who is 
 this Mr. Fernborough that Maude told me about this 
 morning?" 
 
 "He is an English gentleman," explained Alice, "who 
 has come to this country to see if he can find any trace of 
 an only daughter, who ran away from home with an Amer 
 ican more than thirty years ago, and who, he thinks, came 
 to this country with her husband. His wife is dead, he is 
 alone in the world, and he is ready to forgive her and care 
 for her, if she needs it." 
 
 "He hasn t hurried himself about it, has he?" said 
 Quincy; "but why did he come to you? 
 
 "That s the strange part of it," Alice replied. "He said he 
 thoughtlessly picked up a magazine at a hotel where he 
 was staying, and his eye fell upon my story, How He Lost 
 Both Name and Fortune. He read it, and sought me out, 
 to ask if it were fiction, or whether it was founded on some 
 true incident. He was quite disappointed when I told him 
 it was entirely a work of the imagination. * 
 
 "Did he say what hotel?" asked Quincy. 
 
 "No," replied Alice; "but why are you so interested in a 
 total strang-er?" 
 
 Then Quincy told the story of the broken envelope 
 the little piece of cloth and the name, Linda Fernborough. 
 
 "I must find him at once," said he, "for I have an im 
 pression that his daughter must have been Lindy Putnam s 
 real mother. You gave me my reward, Alice, before my 
 quest was successful, but I gave my word to find her for
 
 446 
 
 you, and I shall not consider myself fully worthy of yew 
 till that word is kept." 
 
 "But what did your father and mother say?" broke in 
 Aunt Ella. 
 
 "My father took me to task, began Quincy, "for not 
 being present at the reception, but I told him I had to see 
 Culver on some political business. Then he remarked that 
 I missed a very pleasant evening. He complimented Aunt 
 Ella, here, for her skill as an entertainer, and expressed 
 his surprise that Bruce Douglas, instead of being a young 
 man, was a young and very beautiful woman. Yes, Aunt 
 Ella, he actually called my wife here a very beautiful young 
 woman. 
 
 "That is a capital beginning!" cried Aunt Ella. "Go on, 
 Quincy." 
 
 "In order to continue the conversation, I ventured the 
 remark that Bruce Douglas came from an ordinary country 
 family and one not very well off; for which aspersion, I 
 humbly ask your pardon, Mrs. Sawyer. Father replied 
 that he thought that I must have been misinformed; that 
 Bruce Douglas was worth fifty thousand dollars in her own 
 right, and he added that she would become a very wealthy 
 woman if she kept up her literary activity." 
 
 "What did sister Sarah say?" asked Aunt Ella. 
 
 "Well," said Quincy, "I resolved to do something des 
 perate, so I asked: Doesn t she look countrified? again 
 .asking your pardon, Mrs. Sawyer." 
 
 "No," said mother, "she has the repose of a Lady Gara 
 Vere de Vere, and is as correct in her speech as was the 
 Lady Elfrida Hastings." 
 
 "It will come out all right," cried Aunt Ella; and Quincy, 
 kissing his aunt and wife, and promising to write or tele 
 graph every day, caught up his hand-bag and started fortti 
 in search of the Hon. Stuart Fernborough, M. P. 
 
 When Quincy left his aunt s house he had not the slight- 
 fcst idea which way would be the best to turn his footsteps.
 
 LINDA S BIRTHRIGHT 44& 
 
 He commenced his search, however, at the Revere House, 
 then he tried the American House, but at neither place was 
 Mr. Fernborough a guest. 
 
 At the Quincy House the clerk was busy with a num 
 ber of new arrivals. He had just opened a new hotel regis 
 ter, and the old one lay upon the counter. Quincy took it 
 up, and turning over the leaves, glanced up and down its 
 pages. Suddenly he started back; then, holding the book 
 closer to his eyes he read it again. There it was, under the 
 date of September 10, "Mdme. Rose Archimbault and 
 daughter." The residence given in the proper column was 
 "New York." Quincy kept the book open at the place 
 where he found this entry until the clerk was at leisure. 
 He remembered Mdme. Archimbault and daughter in a 
 general way. He was sure that they arrived from Europe 
 the day that they came to the hotel, and he was equally 
 sure that they went to New York when they left. What 
 made him positive was that he remembered asking the 
 young lady when she wrote New York in the register if she 
 had not just returned from Europe. She said yes, but that 
 her home residence was in New York. 
 
 Quincy thanked the clerk, and started forth again in 
 search of the elusive Mr. Fernborough. A visit to Young s, 
 Parker s, and the Tremont furnished no clue, and Quincy 
 was wondering whether his search, after all, was destined to 
 be fruitless, when he thought of a small hotel in Central 
 Court, which led from Washington Street, a little south of 
 Summer Street. 
 
 It was noted for its English roast beef, Yorkshire mut 
 ton chops, and musty ale, and might be just the sort of 
 place that an English gentleman would put up at, provided 
 he had been informed of its whereabouts. 
 
 On his way Quincy dropped into the Marlborough, but 
 Mr. Fernborough had not been there, and Quincy imagine3 
 that the little hotel in Central Court was his last hope. 
 
 His persistence was rewarded, Mr. Fernborough
 
 448 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYEK. 
 
 not only a guest, but he was in his room. Quincy sent up 
 his card, and in a very short time was shown into the pres 
 ence of a courtly gentleman, between sixty and seventy 
 years of age. His face was smooth shaven, and had a firm 
 but not hard expression. His eyes, however, showed that 
 he was weighed down by some sorrow, which the unyield 
 ing expression of his face indicated that he would bear in 
 silence rather than seek sympathy from others. 
 
 Quincy s story was soon told. The old gentleman lis 
 tened with breathless interest, and when at the close Quincy 
 said, "What do you think?" Mr. Fernborough cried, "It 
 must be she, my daughter s child. There are no other 
 Fernboroughs in England, and Linda has been a family 
 name for generations. Heaven bless you, young man, for 
 your kindly interest, and take me to my grandchild at once, 
 She is the only tie that binds me to earth. All the others 
 are dead and gone. 5 
 
 The old gentleman broke down completely, and for sev 
 eral minutes was unable to speak. 
 
 Quincy waited until his emotion had somewhat subsided. 
 Then he said, "I am at your service, sir; we will do our 
 best to find her. I have a feeling that she is in New York, 
 but not a single fact to prove it. We can take the one 
 o clock train, if you desire. 
 
 The old gentleman began at once to prepare for the jour 
 ney. Quincy told him he would meet him at the hotel 
 office, and from there he sent a note to Aunt Ella inform 
 ing her of his intended departure. 
 
 Arriving in New York they were driven at once to the 
 Fifth Avenue Hotel. Quincy prevailed upon Sir Stuart 
 to retire at once, telling him that he would prepare an ad 
 vertisement and have it in the next morning s issue of the 
 "New York Herald." 
 
 Quincy wrote out two advertisements and sent them by 
 special messenger to the newspaper office. The first one
 
 LINDA S BIRTHRIGHT. 448 
 
 read: "Linda: important paper not destroyed, as suspected. 
 Communicate at once with Eastborough, Herald office." 
 
 The second was worded as follows: "Celeste A 1: 
 
 an American friend has a message for you from me. Send 
 your address at once to Eastborough, Herald office. 
 ALGERNON H." 
 
 Then began the days of weary waiting; the careful ex 
 amination of the "Herald" each morning, to be sure that the 
 advertisements were in, for both had been paid for a week 
 in advance. The request for mail made every morning at 
 the "Herald office received a stereotyped "no" for answer; 
 then he vowed that he would advertise no more, but would 
 enlist other aids in the search. 
 
 On the morning of the eighth day Quincy stood upon 
 the steps of the Fifth Avenue Hotel. He was undecided 
 which way to go. It is in such cases of absolute uncer 
 tainty that unseen powers should give their aid, if they 
 ever do, for then it is most needed. He did not hear any 
 angels voices, but he crossed over Broadway and started 
 up town on the right-hand side of that great thoroughfare. 
 As he walked on he glanced at the shop windows, for they 
 were resplendent with holiday gifts, for Christmas was only 
 one short week away. 
 
 Just beyond the corner of Broadway and Twenty-ninth 
 Street his attention was attracted by a wax figure in a mil 
 liner s window. The face and golden hair reminded him 
 of his wife, and he thought how pretty Alice would look 
 in the hat that was upon the head of the figure. His first 
 inclination was to go in and buy it, then he thought that it 
 would make an unhandy package to carry with him, and 
 besides his taste might not be appreciated. 
 
 "Thinking, however, that he might return and purchase 
 it, he glanced up at the sign. One look and he gave a sud 
 den start backward, coming- violently in contact with a 
 gentleman who was passing. Quincy s apology was ac 
 cepted and the gentleman passed on, giving his right
 
 150 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER, 
 
 shoulder an occasional pressure to make sure that it was 
 not dislocated. Then Quincy took another look at the 
 sign to make sure that he had not been mistaken. On it he 
 read, in large golden letters, "Mdme. Archimbault." 
 
 It was but the work of an instant for Quincy to enter the 
 store and approach the only attendant, who was behind the 
 counter nearest the door. 
 
 "Could I see Mdme. Archimbault?" he inquired in the 
 politest possible manner. 
 
 "Ze madame eez seeck zis morning 1 , monsieur, mais ze 
 Mademoiselle Celeste eez in ze boudoir. 
 
 As she said this she pointed to a partition with windows 
 of ground glass, which extended across the farther end of 
 the store, evidently forming a private department for try 
 ing on hats and bonne s. Quincy said nothing, but tak 
 ing out his cardcase passed one to the attendant. 
 
 The girl walked towards the boudoir, opened the door 
 and entered. Quincy followed her, and was but a few feet 
 from the door when it was closed. He heard a woman s 
 voice_say, "What is it, Hortense? And the girl s reply 
 was distinctly audible. This is what she said, "A veezitor, 
 mademoiselle." 
 
 An instant s silence, followed by a smothered cry of as 
 tonishment, evidently from mademoiselle. Then ensued 
 a short conversation, carried on in whispers. Then Hor- 
 tense emerged from the boudoir, and facing Quincy said, 
 "Ze mademoiselle weel not zee you. She has no desire to 
 continue ze acquaintance. * 
 
 As she said this she stepped behind the counter, evi 
 dently thinking that Quincy would accept the rebuff and 
 depart. Instead of doing this he took a step forward, 
 which brought him between Hortense and the door of the 
 boudoir. Turning to the girl he said in a low tone, "There 
 must be some mistake. I have never met Mademoiselle 
 Archimbault. I will go in and explain the purpose of my 
 visit. * And before Hortense could prevent him, Quincy
 
 LINDA S BIKTHRIGHT. 451 
 
 had entered the boudoir and closed the door behind him, 
 
 In the centre of the room stood a beautifully carved and 
 inlaid table. Before it sat an elegantly-dressed woman, 
 whose hair, artistically arranged, was of the darkest shade 
 of brown almost black. Her arms were crossed upon the 
 table, her face was buried in them, and from her came a 
 succession of convulsive sobs, that indicated she was in 
 great physical or mental distress. 
 
 Quincy felt that she knew he was there, but he did not 
 speak. 
 
 Finally she said, and there was a tone of deep suffering 
 in her voice: "Oh! Algernon, why have you followed me? 
 I can never, never marry you. If it had been possible I 
 would have met you that evening, as I promised." 
 
 The thought flashed across Quincy s mind, "This is the 
 girl that ran away from Lord Hastings. But why did she 
 call me Algernon?" Then he spoke for the first time. 
 "Mademoiselle, there k some misunderstanding; my name 
 is not Algernon. I am not Lord Hastings. 
 
 As he spoke he looked at the woman seated at the table. 
 She looked up; there was an instantaneous, mutual recog 
 nition. In her astonishment she cried out, "Mr. Sawyer!" 
 
 As these words fell from her lips, Quincy said to himself, 
 "Thank God! she s found at last." But the only words 
 that he spoke aloud were, "Lindy Putnam! 
 
 "Why do I find you here, asked Quincy, "and under 
 this name? Why have you not answered my advertise 
 ments in the Herald? " And he sank into a chair on the 
 other side of the little table. 
 
 The revulsion of feeling was so great at his double dis 
 covery that he came nearer being unmanned than ever be 
 fore in his life. 
 
 "How did you come by this card!" asked Mademoiselle 
 Archimbault in a broken voice. "When you have ex 
 plained, I will answer your questions." 
 
 Quincy took the card from her hand and glanced at it,
 
 452 QUINCT ADAMS SAWYER. 
 
 "What a big blunder I made and yet what a fortunate one," 
 cried he, for he now saw that he had sent in Lord Hast 
 irigs s card bearing the London address. "Lord Hastings 
 himself gave it to me/ he continued. "He was a guest at 
 my father s cottage at Nahant last summer. He came to 
 America and spent three months vainly searching for you. 
 He loves you devotedly, and ! made me promise that if I 
 ever found you I would cable at once to the address on 
 that card, and he said he would come to America on the 
 next steamer. Of course when I made that promise I did 
 not know that Lindy Putnam and Celeste Archimbault 
 were one and the same person." 
 
 "But knowing it as you now do, Mr. Sawyer, you will 
 not send him any word. Give me your solemn promise 
 you will not. I cannot marry him. You know I cannot. 
 There is no Lindy Putnam, and Celeste Archimbault has 
 no right to the name she bears." 
 
 "Did you come to New York when you left Eastborough, 
 as you promised you would?" inquired Quincy. 
 
 "No, I did not, Mr. Sawyer," said she. "Forgive me, 
 but I could not. I was distracted, almost heartbroken 
 when I reached Boston the day she died. She had robbed 
 me of all hope of ever finding my relatives, and but for 
 my hatred of her I believe I would have had brain fever. 
 One thing I could not do, I would not do. I would not 
 remain in America. I was rich, I would travel and try to 
 drown my sorrow and my hatred. I did not go to a hotel, 
 for I did not wish any one to find me. What good could 
 it do? I looked in the Transcript and found a boarding 
 place. There I met Mdme. Archimbault, a widow, a 
 French-Canadian lady, who had come to Boston in search 
 of a niece who had left her home in Canada some five years 
 before. Mdme. Archimbault had spent all the money she 
 had in her unavailing search for her relative, and she told 
 me, with tears in her eyes and expressive French gestures, 
 that she would have to sell her jewelry to pay her board,
 
 LINDA S BIETHEIGHT. 403 
 
 as she had no way of making a living in a foreign land. 
 Then I told her part of my story. She was sure her niece 
 was dead, and so I asked her to be my mother, to let me 
 take her name and be known as her daughter. I told her 
 I was rich and that I would care for her as long as our com 
 pact was kept and the real truth not known. My visit to 
 Nice and my meeting with Algernon Hastings, he has no 
 doubt told you. I did not know he was a lord, but I sus 
 pected it. So much the more reason why he should not 
 marry a nameless waif, a poor girl with no father or mother 
 and all hope lost of ever finding them. I came back to 
 America with Mdme. Archimbault, covering my tracks by 
 cross journeys and waits which he could not anticipate. 
 We landed in Boston." 
 
 "I found your names in the Quincy House register/ re 
 marked Qtrincy. 
 
 "I don t think I could escape from you as easily as I did 
 from him," she said, the first faint sign of a smile showing 
 itself upon her face. "I went to my bankers in Boston 
 and told them that I had been adopted by a wealthy French 
 lady named Archimbault. I informed them that we were 
 going to return to France at once. They made up my ac 
 count, and I found I was worth nearly one hundred and 
 forty thousand dollars. I took my fortune in New York 
 drafts, explaining that madame wished to visit relatives in 
 New York, and that we should sail for France from that 
 port. I did this so my bankers could not disclose my 
 whereabouts to any one. We came here, but I could not 
 remain idle. I always had a natural taste for millinery 
 work, so I proposed to madame that we should open a 
 store under her name. We did this late in September, 
 and have had great success since our opening day. Now 
 you know all about me, Mr. Sawyer. Give me your prom 
 ise that you will not tell Lord Hastings where I am." 
 
 "Then," said Quincy, "you do not know why I am here."
 
 154 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER. 
 
 "To keep your word to Lord Hastings, I presume, 
 What other reason could you have? 
 
 "Then you have not read the Personal Column in the 
 New York Herald? " Quincy inquired. 
 
 "No," said she. "Why should I?" 
 
 Quincy took a copy of the paper from his pocket, laid it 
 upon the table and pointed with his finger to the word 
 "Linda." She read the advertisement, then looked up to 
 him with distended eyes, full of questioning. 
 
 "What does the paper say? It could not have disclosed 
 much or you would not have waited so long to tell me." 
 
 Then Quincy related the story of the sealed package, 
 how it had been given to Alice Pettengill long before Mrs. 
 Putnam died ; how Miss Pettengill had sworn to destroy it, 
 but would not when she learned that it might possibly con 
 tain information relating to her parents. He told her that 
 Miss Pettengill would not allow any one to read it but her 
 self; and how he had promised to search for her until he 
 found her. Then he related the incident at the lawyer s 
 office and the piece of cloth bearing the name, "Linda Fern- 
 borough," "which," said Quincy, "I think must have been 
 your mother s maiden name." He did not tell her of the 
 old gentleman only five blocks away, ready and willing to 
 claim her as his granddaughter without further proof than 
 that little piece of cloth. 
 
 Quincy looked at his watch. "I have just time," said 
 he, "to get the one o clock train for Boston. I will obtain 
 the papers to-morrow morning, and be in New York again 
 to-morrow night. The next morning early I will be at 
 your residence with the papers, and let us hope that they 
 will contain such information as will disclose your parent 
 age and give you a name that you can rightfully bear." 
 
 She wrote her home address on a card and passed it to 
 him. 
 
 He gave her hand a quick, firm pressure and left the 
 store, not even glancing at Hortense, who gazed at him
 
 LINDA S BIRTHK1GHT. 45S 
 
 with wonderment. He hailed a hack and was driven to 
 the hotel. He found Sir Stuart and told him that he had 
 found his supposed granddaughter, but that he must wait 
 until he returned 1 from Boston with the papers, that his 
 wife s feelings must be respected, and that the document 
 could only be opened and read by the person who had been 
 known to her as Lindy Putnam. 
 
 Quincy reached Mt. Vernon Street about eight o clock 
 that evening. His wife and aunt listened eagerly to the 
 graphic recital of his search. He pictured the somewhat 
 sensational episode in the boudoir in the most expressive 
 language, and Alice remarked that Quincy was fast gather 
 ing the materials for a most exciting romance ; while Aunt 
 Ella declared that the disclosure of the dual personality of 
 Linda and Celeste would form a most striking theatrical 
 tableau. 
 
 Aunt Ella informed him that she had been requested by 
 Mr. and Mrs. Nathaniel Adams Sawyer to extend an invi 
 tation to Miss Bruce Douglas to dine with them on any 
 day that might be convenient for her. "I was included in 
 the invitation, of course," Aunt Ella added. "What day 
 had we better fix, Quincy?" she inquired. 
 
 "Make it Christmas," replied Quincy. "Tell them Miss 
 Bruce Douglas has invitations for every other day but 
 that for a month to come. What a precious gift I shall 
 present to my father," said he, caressing his wife, who laid 
 her fair head upon his shoulder. 
 
 "Do you think he will be pleased?" asked Alice. 
 
 "I don t know which will please him most," replied 
 Quincy, "the fact that such a talented addition has been 
 made to the family, or the knowledge, which will surely 
 surprise him, that his son was smart enough to win such a 
 prize." 
 
 The next morning Quincy arose early and was at Curtis 
 Carter s office as soon as it was opened. Alice had signed 
 an order for the delivery of the package to him and he pre-
 
 416 QUJNCY ADAMS SAWYER. 
 
 sented it to Mr. Carter s clerk, to whom he was well known. 
 The ponderous doors of the big safe were thrown open and 
 the precious document was produced. When the clerk- 
 passed the package to him and took Alice s order therefor, 
 Quincy noticed that a five-dollar bill was pinned to the en 
 velope; a card was also attached to the bill, upon which was 
 written: "This money belongs to Mr. Quincy Sawyer; he 
 dropped it the last time he was in the office." 
 
 Quincy would not trust the package to his hand-bag, but 
 placed it in an inside pocket of his coat, which he tightly 
 buttoned. After leaving the lawyer s office he dropped 
 into Grodjinski s, and purchased a box of fine cigars. He 
 had the clerk tack one of his cards on the top of the box. 
 On this he wrote: 
 
 "Mv DEAR CURTIS: Keep the ashes for me; they make 
 good tooth powder. QUINCY." 
 
 The box was then done up and addressed to Curtis Car 
 ter, Esq., the clerk promising to have it delivered at once. 
 
 Quincy had found a letter at his aunt s from Mr. Strout, 
 asking him to buy a line of fancy groceries and confec 
 tionery for Christinas trade, and it was noon before he had 
 attended to the matter to his complete satisfaction. A 
 hasty lunch and he was once more on his way to New York, 
 and during the trip his hand sought the inside pocket of his 
 coat a score of times, that he might feel assured that the 
 precious document was still there. 
 
 / Arriving, Quincy proceeded at once to the Fifth Avemie 
 Hotel. Sir Stuart was eagerly awaiting his arrival, and 
 his first question was, "Have you the papers?" 
 
 Quincy took the package from his pocket and placed it 
 on the table before him, remarking as he did so, "It must 
 not be opened until to-morrow morning, and then by the 
 young lady herself." 
 
 The old man pushed the package away from him and
 
 LINDA S BIRTHRIGHT. 457 
 
 turned a stern face toward Quincy. "I yield obedience/ 
 said he, "to your wife s command, but if one man or two 
 stood now between me and my darling s child, I would 
 have their lives, if they tried to keep her from my arms for 
 one instant even." 
 
 After a little reflection he apologized for his vehement 
 language, and sought his room to think, and hope, and wait 
 but not to sleep. 
 
 The next morning, a little before nine o clock, a carriage 
 containing two gentlemen stopped before a modest brick 
 dwelling in West Forty-first Street. A servant admitted 
 them and showed them into the little parlor. The room 
 was empty. Quincy pointed to a sofa at the farther end of 
 the room, and Sir Stuart took a seat thereon. Quincy 
 stepped into the entry and greeted Celeste, who was just 
 descending the stairs. 
 
 "Sir Stuart Fernborough is in your parlor," said he; "he 
 may be, and I hope to Heaven he is, your grandfather, but 
 you must control your feelings until you know the truth. 
 Come and sit by me, near the window, and read what is 
 written in this package, so loud that he can hear every 
 word." As he said this he placed the package, which might 
 or might not prove her honorable heritage, in her hands. 
 
 They entered the room and took seats near the window. 
 Celeste opened the package with trembling fingers. As 
 she did so that little telltale piece of cloth, bearing the 
 name "Linda Fernborough," once more fell upon the floor. 
 Quincy picked it up, and held it during the reading of the 
 letter, for a letter it proved to be. 
 
 It had no envelope, but was folded in the oU-fashioned 
 way, so as to leave a blank space on the back of the last 
 sheet for the address. The address was, "Mr. Silas Put 
 nam, Hanover, New Hampshire." 
 
 Celeste began to read in a clear voice: "Dear brother 
 Silas." 
 
 "Is there no date?" asked Quincy.
 
 58 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER. 
 
 "Oh, yes," replied Celeste, "March 18, 183." 
 ^Thirty years ago," said Quincy. 
 Celeste read on: 
 
 "DEAR BROTHER SILAS: You will, no doubt, be 
 to find I am in this town when I usually go to Gloucester 
 or Boston, but the truth is I had a strange adventure dur 
 ing my last fishing trip on the Polly Sanders, and I thought 
 I would come into port as close to you as I could. About 
 ten days ago I had a good catch on the Banks and sailed 
 for home, bound for Boston. A heavy fog came up. and 
 we lay to for more than twenty-four hours. During the 
 night, heard cries, and my mate, Jim Brown, stuck to it 
 that some ship must have run ashore; and he was right, 
 for when the fog lifted we saw the masts of a three-master 
 sticking out of water, close on shore, and about a mile 
 from where we lay. We up sail and ran down as close as 
 we dared to see if there was anybody living on the wreck. 
 We couldn t see anybody, but I sent out Jim Brown with 
 a boat to make a thorough search. In about an hour he 
 came back, bringing a half-drowned woman and just the 
 nicest, chubbiest, little black-eyed girl baby that you ever 
 saw in your life. Jim said the woman was lashed to a spar, 
 and when he first saw her, there was a man in the water 
 swimming and trying to push the spar towards the land, 
 but before he reached him the man sunk and he didn t get 
 another sight of him." 
 
 "Oh, my poor father!" cried Celeste. The letter dropped 
 from her hands and the tears rushed into her eyes. 
 
 "Shall I finish reading it?" asked Quincy, picking up the 
 letter. 
 
 Celeste nodded, and he read on: 
 
 "I gave the woman some brandy and she came to long 
 enough to tell me who she was. She said her name was
 
 LINDA S BIRTHRIGHT. 45ft 
 
 Linda Chester or Chessman, I couldn t tell just which. Her 
 husband s name was Charles, and he was an artist. He 
 had a brother in Boston named Robert, and they were on 
 their way to that city. The wrecked ship was the Cana 
 dian Belle, bound from Liverpool to Boston. I didn t tell 
 her her husband was drowned. I gave her some more 
 brandy and she came to again and said her husband left a 
 lot of pictures in London with Roper & Son, on Ludgate 
 Hill. I asked her where she came from and she said from 
 Heathfield, in Sussex. She said no more and we couldn t 
 bring her to again. She died in about an hour and we bur 
 ied her at sea. I noticed that her nightdress had a name 
 stamped on it different from what she gave me, and so I 
 cut it out and send it in this letter. Now, I ve heard you 
 and Heppy say that if you could find a nice little girl baby 
 that you would adopt her and bring her up. I sold out my 
 cargo at Portland, and so I ve put in here, and 111 stay 
 till you and Heppy have time to drive down here and make 
 up your minds whether you ll take this handsome little baby 
 off my hands. Come right along, quick, for I must be off 
 to the Banks again soon. From your brother, 
 OBED PUTNAM, 
 
 Captain of the Polly Sanders. 
 
 "Portsmouth Harbor, N. H. 
 
 "P. S. The baby was a year old the eighth of last Jan 
 uary. Its name is Linda Fernborough Chessman. * 
 
 The tears had welled up again in the young girl s eyes, 
 when Quincy read of the death of her mother and her 
 burial at sea. His own hand trembled perceptibly when 
 he realized that the young woman before him, though not 
 his cousin, was yet connected by indisputable ties of rela 
 tionship to his own aunt, Mrs. Ella Chessman. Following 
 his usual habit of reticence he kept silence, thinking that it
 
 460 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER. 
 
 would be inappropriate to detract in any way from the 
 happy reunion of grandfather and granddaughter. 
 
 Sir Stuart had scarcely moved during the reading of the 
 letter. He had sat with his right hand covering his eyes, 
 but yet evidently listening attentively to each word as it 
 fell from the reader s lips. As Quincy folded up the letter 
 and passed it back to Linda, Sir Stuart arose and came for 
 ward to the front part of the room. Quincy took Linda s 
 hand and led her towards Mr. Fernborough. Then he 
 said, "Sir Stuart, I think this letter proves conclusively that 
 this young lady s real name is Linda Fernborough Chess 
 man. I knew personally Mr. Silas Putnam, mentioned in 
 the letter, and scores of others can bear testimony that she 
 has lived nearly all her life with this Silas Putnam, and has 
 been known to all as his adopted daughter. There is no 
 doubt but that the Linda Fernborough who was buried at 
 sea was her mother. If you are satisfied that Mrs. Charles 
 Chessman was your daughter, it follows that this young 
 lady must be your granddaughter." 
 
 "There is no doubt of it in my mind," said Sir Stuart, 
 taking both of Linda s hands in his. "I live at Fernbor- 
 ough Hall, which is located in Heathfield, in the county of 
 Sussex. But, my dear, I did not know until to-day that my 
 poor daughter had a child, and it will take me just a little 
 time to get accustomed to the fact. Old men s brains do 
 not act as quickly as my young friend s here. As he said 
 this he looked towards Quincy. "But I am sure that we 
 jboth of us owe to him a debt of gratitude that it will be 
 difficult for us ever to repay. 
 
 The old gentleman drew Linda towards him and folded 
 her tenderly in his arms. "Come, rest here, my dear one, 
 said he; "your doubts and hopes, your troubles and trials, 
 and your wanderings are over." He kissed her on the fore 
 head, and Linda put her arms about his neck and laid her 
 head upon his breast. 
 
 "You are the only one united to me by near ties of blood
 
 LINDA S BIRTHRIGHT. 461 
 
 in the world," Sir Stuart continued, and he laid his hand 
 on Linda s head and turned her face towards him. "You 
 have your mother s eyes," he said. "We will go back to 
 England, and Fernborough Hall will have a mistress once 
 more. You are English born, and have a right to sit in that 
 seat which might have been your mother s but for the 
 pride and prejudice which thirty years ago ruled both your 
 grandmother and myself." 
 
 Leaving them to talk over future plans, Quincy went 
 back to the hotel and wrote two letters. The first was 
 addressed to Lord Algernon Hastings in London. The 
 other was a brief note to Aunt Ella, informing her that a 
 party of four would start for Boston on the morning train 
 and that she might expect them about four o clock in the 
 afternoon. 
 
 It lacked but five minutes of that hour when a carriage, 
 containing the party from New York, stopped before the 
 Mt. Vernon Street house. It suited Quincy s purpose that 
 his companions should first meet his wife, although the 
 fact that she was his wife was as yet unknown to them. 
 
 The meeting between Alice and Linda was friendly, but 
 not effusive. They had been ordinary acquaintances in 
 the old days at Eastborough, but now a mutual satisfaction 
 and pleasure drew them more closely together. 
 
 "I have come," said Linda, "to thank you, Miss Petten- 
 gill, for your kindness and justice to me. Few women 
 would have disregarded the solemn oath that Mrs. Putnam 
 forced you to take, but by doing so you have given me a 
 lawful name and a life of happiness for the future. May 
 every blessing that Heaven can send to you be yours. 
 
 "All the credit should not be given to me, replied Alice. 
 "The morning 1 after Mrs. Putnam s death I was undecided 
 in my mind which course to follow, whether to destroy the 
 paper or to keep it. It was a few words from my Uncle 
 Isaac that enabled me to decide the matter. He told me 
 that a promise made to the dead should not be carried out
 
 462 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER, 
 
 if it interfered with the just rights of the living. So I 
 decided to keep the paper, but how? It was then that Mr. 
 Sawyer came to the rescue and pointed out to me the line 
 of action, which I am truly happy to learn has ended so 
 pleasantly." 
 
 "Grandpa and I have both thanked Mr. Sawyer so much," 
 said Linda, "that he will not listen to us any more, but I 
 will write to Uncle Ike, for I used to call him by that name, 
 and show him that I am not ungrateful. I have lost all my 
 politeness, I am so happy," continued Linda; "I believe 
 you have met grandpa. 
 
 Sir Stuart came forward, and, in courtly but concise lan 
 guage, expressed his sincere appreciation of the kind ser 
 vice that Miss Pettengill had rendered his granddaughter. 
 
 Then Linda introduced Mdme. Archimbault as one who 
 had been a true friend and almost a mother to her in the 
 hours of her deepest sorrow and distress. 
 
 "Now, my friends," said Quincy, "I have a little surprise 
 for you myself. I believe it my duty to state the situation 
 frankly to you. My father is a very wealthy man a mil 
 lionaire. He is proud of his wealth and still more proud of 
 the honored names of Quincy and Adams, which he con 
 ferred upon me. Like all such fathers and mothers, my 
 parents have undoubtedly had bright dreams as to the fu 
 ture of their only son. One of their dreams has, no doubt, 
 been my marriage to some young lady of honored name 
 and great wealth. In such a matter, however, my own mind 
 must decide. I have acted without their knowledge, as I 
 resolved to deprive them of the pleasure of my wife s ac 
 quaintance until Christmas day. 
 
 Stepping up to Alice, Quincy took her hand and led her 
 forward, facing their guests. "I take great pleasure, my 
 friends, in introducing to you my wife, Mrs. Quincy Adams 
 Sawyer." 
 
 There came an exclamation of pleased surprise from 
 Linda, followed by congratulations from all, and while
 
 LINDA S BIRTHRIGHT. 463 
 
 these were being 1 extended, Aunt Ella entered the room. 
 She advanced to meet Sir Stuart, who had been present at 
 Alice s reception. Quincy introduced Mdme. Archimbault, 
 and then Aunt Ella turned towards Linda. "This is the 
 young lady, I believe," said she, "who^ has just found a 
 long-lost relative, or rather, has been found by him. You 
 must be very happy, my dear, and it makes me very happy 
 to know that my nephew and niece, who are so dear to me, 
 have been instrumental in bringing this pleasure to you. 
 But have you been able to learn your mother s name? 
 Quincy did not mention that in his letter. 
 
 "Yes," said Quincy, stepping forward, "the letter con 
 tained that information, but I thought I would rather tell 
 you about it than write it. My dear aunt, allow me to in 
 troduce to you Miss Linda Fernborough Chessman." 
 
 "What!" cried Aunt Ella, starting back in astonishment. 
 
 "Listen to me, Aunt Ella; and taking her hand in his 
 he drew her towards him. "Your husband had a brother, 
 Charles Chessman; he was an artist and lived in England; 
 while there he married; he wrote your husband some thirty 
 years ago that he was going to return to America, but 
 Uncle Robert, you told me, never heard from him again 
 after receiving the letter. 
 
 "Yes, yes!" assented Aunt Ella; "I have the letter. But 
 what is the mystery, Quincy? You know I can bear any 
 thing but suspense." 
 
 "There is no mystery, auntie, now; it is all cleared up. 
 Uncle Robert s brother Charles married Linda Fernbor* 
 ough, Sir Stuart s daughter. The vessel in which father, 
 mother, and child sailed for America was wrecked. Father 
 and mother were lost, but the child was rescued. This is 
 the child. Aunt Ella, Linda Chessman is your niece, but 
 unfortunately I am unable to call her cousin." 
 
 Aunt Ella embraced Linda and talked to her as a mother 
 might talk to her daughter. Her delight at finding this 
 relative of the husband whom she had loved so well and
 
 464 QUIXCY ADAMS SAWYER. 
 
 mourned so sincerely, showed itself in face, and voice, and 
 action. Her hospitality knew no bounds. Linda must 
 stay with her a month at least, so must Sir Stuart and 
 Mdme. Archimbault. It was the holiday season, and they 
 must all feast and be merry over this happy, unexpected 
 return. 
 
 It was a joyous party that gathered in the dining-room at 
 A. ant Ella s house that evening. She said that such an occa 
 sion could not be fitly celebrated with plain cold water, so a 
 bottle of choice old port was served to Sir Stuart, and 
 toasts to Mrs. Sawyer and 1 Miss Chessman were drunk from 
 glasses rilled with foaming champagne. 
 
 Then all adjourned to Aunt Ella s room and Uncle 
 Robert s prime cigars were offered to Sir Stuart and 
 Quincy. But Aunt Ella had too much to say to think of 
 her cigarette. For an hour conversation was genera); 
 everybody took part in it. The events of the past year, 
 which were of so great interest to all present, were gone 
 over, and when conversation lagged it was because every 
 body knew everything that everybody else knew. 
 
 Quincy spent that night at his father s house. The next 
 morning his mother told him that the author had selected 
 Christmas day on which to be received by them at dinner, 
 and that she was making unusual preparations for that 
 event. 
 
 "I wish I codltl invite a few friends to meet her that 
 <iay," said Qwncy. 
 
 "You may invite as many as you choose, Quincy, if you 
 will promise to be here yourself. You have been away 
 from home so much the past year I hardly anticipate the 
 pleasure of your company on that day." 
 
 "Have no fear, mother, Quincy said. "I wish very- 
 much to meet the author that father and you are so greatly 
 pleased with. Of course Aunt Ella is coming? 
 
 "Certainly," answered his mother. "I understand that 
 the author has been stopping with her since the reception."
 
 LINDA S BIRTHRIGHT. 466 
 
 "I shall invite five friends," said Quincy, "and you may 
 depend upon me." 
 
 To his mother s surprise he gave her a slight embrace, a 
 light kiss upon her cheek, and was gone. 
 
 The sun showed its cheerful face on Christmas morning. 
 The snow that fell a fortnight previous had been washed 
 away by continued heavy rains. A cold wind, biting, but 
 healthful, quickened the pulse and brought roses to the 
 cheeks of holiday pedestrians. 
 
 The programme for the meals on Christmas day had 
 been arranged by Mrs. Sawyer as follows: Breakfast at 
 nine, dinner at one, and 1 a light supper at six. It had al 
 ways been the rule in the Sawyer family to exchange Christ 
 mas gifts at the breakfast hour. Quincy was present, and 
 his father, mother, and sisters thanked him for the valuable 
 presents that bore his card. Father, mother, and sisters, 
 on their part, had not forgotten Quincy, and the reunited 
 family had the most enjoyable time that they had experi 
 enced for a year. 
 
 As Quincy rose to leave the table, he said to his mother, 
 "I have another gift for father and you, but it has not yet 
 arrived. I am going to see about it this morning." 
 
 "You will be sure to come to dinner, Quincy," fell from 
 his mother s lips. 
 
 "I promise you, mother," he replied. "I would not miss 
 it for anything. 
 
 A little after noontime, the Chessman carriage arrived 
 at the Beacon Street mansion of the Hon. Nathaniel 
 Adams Sawyer, and a moment later Mrs. Ella Chessman 
 and the young author, Bruce Douglas, were ushered into 
 the spacious and elegant parlor. They were received by 
 Mr. and Mrs. Sawyer and their daughter Florence. 
 
 Twenty minutes later a carriage arrived before the same 
 mansion. Its occupants were Sir Stuart Fernborough, his 
 granddaughter, and Mdme. Archimbault. A few minutes 
 later Mr. and Mrs. Leopold Ernst appeared, having walked
 
 466 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER. 
 
 the short distance from their rooms on Chestnut Street. 
 The new arrivals were presented to Mr. and Mrs. Sawyer 
 by Mrs. Chessman, and a pleasant ante-prandial conversa 
 tion was soon under way. 
 
 From behind the curtains of a second-story window of 
 the mansion, a young miss had watched the arrival and de 
 parture of the carriages. As the second one drove away 
 she exclaimed, "Oh! what a lark! Those last folks came in 
 Aunt Ella s carriage, too. I bet Quincy and auntie have 
 put up some sort of a game on pa and ma. I won t go 
 down stairs till Quincy comes, for I want to give my new 
 sister a hug and a squeeze and a kiss, and I sha n t dare to 
 do it till Quincy has introduced her to pa and ma." 
 
 At that moment the young man, faultlessly attired, came 
 down stairs from the third story, and Maude sprang out 
 from her doorway on the second floor and said in a whis 
 per, "How long have you been home, Quincy?" 
 
 "I came in about half-past eleven," he replied. 
 
 "Oh, you rogue," cried Maude. "I have been watching 
 out the window for an hour. I see it all now, you don t 
 mean to give pa and ma a chance to say boo until after 
 dinner. Let me go down first, Quincy." 
 
 Maude went down stairs and was duly presented to the 
 assembled guests as the youngest scion of the house of 
 Sawyer. 
 
 At exactly five minutes of one Quincy entered the parlor 
 through the rear door. Aunt Ella and Alice were seated 
 side by side between the two front windows. As Quincy 
 advanced he exchanged the compliments o>f the season with 
 the guests. Finally the Hon. Nathaniel and his son Quincy 
 stood facing Aunt Ella and Alice. 
 
 "Quincy," said his father, in slow, measured tones, "it 
 gives me great pleasure to present you to the celebrated 
 young author, Bruce Douglas." 
 
 Quincy bent low, and Alice inclined her head in acknowl 
 edgment. He reached forward, clasped her hand in his and
 
 LINDA S BIETHRIGHT. 407 
 
 took his place by her side. "Father, mother, and sisters," 
 he cried, and there was a proud tone in his clear, ringing 
 voice, "there is still another presentation to be made that 
 Christmas gift of which I spoke this morning at breakfast. 
 You see I hold this lady by the hand, which proves that 
 we are friends and not strangers. To her friends in the 
 town of Eastborough, where she was born, the daughter of 
 an honest farmer, who made a frugal living and no more, 
 she was known by the name of Mary Alice Pettengill. To 
 the story and book-reading public of the United States, she 
 is known as Bruce Douglas, but to me she is known by the 
 sacred name of wife. I present to you as a Christmas gift, 
 a daughter and a sister. 
 
 There was a moment of suspense, and all eyes were fixed 
 upon the parents so dramatically apprised of their son s 
 marriage. The Hon. Nathaniel cleared his throat, and ad 
 vancing slowly, took Alice s hand in his and said, "It give* 
 me great pleasure to welcome as a daughter one so highly 
 faA ored by nature with intellectual powers and such marked 1 
 endowments for a famous literary career. I am confident! 
 that the reputation of our family will gain rather than lose- 
 by such an alliance. 
 
 "He thinks her books are going to sell," remarked Le" 
 pold to his wife. 
 
 Mrs. Nathaniel Adams Sawyer took Alice s hand in hers 
 and kissed her upon the cheek. "You will always be wel 
 come, my daughter, at our home. I know we shall lea^n 
 to love you in time." 
 
 It was Florence s turn now. Like her mother, she took 
 her new sister s hand and gave her a society kiss on the 
 cheek. Then she spoke: "As mother said, I know I shall 
 learn to love you, sister, in time." 
 
 A slight form dashed through the front parlor d oor, and 
 throwing her arms about Alice s neck, gave her a hearty 
 kiss upon the lips. "My sweet sister, Alice, I love you now, 
 and I always shall love you, and I think my brother Quincy
 
 468 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER. 
 
 is just the luckiest man in the world to get such a nice 
 wife." 
 
 Then abashed at her own vehemance, she got behind 
 Aunt Ella, who said to herself, "Maude has got some 
 heart." 
 
 Dinner was announced. The Hon. Nathaniel Adams 
 Sawyer offered 1 his arm to Mrs. Quincy Adams Sawyer, 
 and they led the holiday procession. Sir Stuart Fernbor* 
 ough, M. P., escorted Mrs. Sarah Quincy Sawyer; next 
 came Mr. Leopold Ernst and Miss Linda Fernborough 
 Chessman, followed by Mr. Quincy Adams Sawyer and 
 Mrs. Leopold Ernst; behind them walked, arm in arm, Mrs. 
 Ella Quincy Chessman and Mdme. Rose Archimbault; 
 while bringing up the rear came the Misses Florence Es- 
 telle and Maude Gertrude Sawyer. Maude had politely 
 offered her arm to Florence, but the latter had firmly de 
 clined to accept it. In this order they entered the gor 
 geous dining-room and took their places at a table bearing 
 evidences of the greatest wealth, if not the greatest refine 
 ment, to partake of their Christmas dinner.
 
 CHAPTER XXXVIII. 
 
 FERNBOROUGH. 
 
 IVE years passed away, years of not unmixed happi 
 ness for any of those with whom this story has made 
 us acquainted. Quincy and Alice had undergone a severe 
 trial in the loss of two of the three little ones that had been 
 born to them; the remaining child was a fair little boy, 
 another Quincy, and upon him the bereaved parents lav 
 ished ail the wealth of their tenderness and affection. 
 
 In his political life, however, Quincy had found only 
 smooth and pleasant sailing, and thanks to his bright and 
 energetic nature, and not a little, perhaps, to his father s 
 name and influence, he had risen rapidly from place to place 
 and honor to honor. One of his earliest political moves 
 had been the introduction of a bill into the House for the 
 separation of Mason s Corner and Eastbrough into indi 
 vidual communities. 
 
 Soon after the incorporation of the former town under 
 its new name of Fernborough, Abbot Smith, at Quincy s 
 suggestion, had started the Fernborough Improvement 
 Association, and now after these few years, the result of its 
 labors was plainly and agreeably apparent. The ruins of 
 Uncle Ike s chicken coop had been removed, and grass 
 covered its former site. Shade trees had been planted along 
 all the principal streets, for the new town had streets in 
 stead of roads. The three-mile road to Eastborough Cen 
 tre had been christened Mason Street, and the square be 
 fore Strout & Maxwell s store had been named Mason 
 Square. Mrs. Hawkins s boarding house had become a 
 hotel, and was known as the Hawkins House. The square
 
 470 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER. 
 
 before the church was called Howe s Square, in honor of 
 the aged minister. The old Montrose road was now dig 
 nified by the appellation of Montrose Avenue. The upper 
 road to Eastborough Centre that led by the old Putnam 
 house was named Pettengill Street, although Ezekiel pro 
 tested that it was a "mighty poor name for a street, even 
 if it did answer all right for a man. The great square 
 facing Montrose Avenue, upon which the Town Hall and 
 the Chessman Free Public Library had been built, was 
 called Putnam Square. On three sides of it, wide streets 
 had been laid out, on which many pretty houses had been 
 erected. These three streets had been named Ouincy 
 Street, Adams Street, and Sawyer Street. 
 
 It was the morning of the fifteenth of June, a gala day in 
 the history of the town. The fifth anniversary of the laying 
 of the corner stone of the Town Hall and the library was 
 to be commemorated by a grand banquet given in the Town 
 Hall, and was to -be graced by many distinguished guests, 
 among them the Hon. Quincy Adams Sawyer and wife, 
 and Mrs. Ella Chessman. After the banquet, which was to 
 take place in the evening, there was to be an open-air con 
 cert given, followed by a grand display of fireworks. Dur 
 ing the feast, the citizens were to be admitted to the gal 
 leries, so that they could see the guests and listen to the 
 speeches. 
 
 About ten o clock the visiting party started off to view 
 the sights of the town. Under the leadership of the town 
 officers they turned their steps first towards the new li 
 brary. On entering this handsome building, they observed 
 hung over the balcony, facing them, a large oil painting of 
 a beautiful dark-haired, dark-eyed woman, dressed in satin 
 and velvet and ermine, and having a coronet upon her 
 head. Underneath was a tablet bearing an inscription. 
 
 "An admirable portrait," said Quincy to his wife. "Can 
 you read the tablet, dear? I fear I shall really have to see 
 Dr. Tillotson about my eyes."
 
 FERNBORObGH. 471 
 
 Alice smiled at the allusion, and directing her gaze upon 
 it, read without the slightest hesitation: "Linda Putnam, 
 once a resident of this town, now Countess of Sussex, and 
 donor of this library building, which is named in honor of 
 her father, Charles Chessman, only brother of Robert 
 Chessman." 
 
 During the evening festivities the Town Hall was bril 
 liantly lighted, and every seat in the galleries and coigns of 
 vantage were occupied. The guests at the banquet num 
 bered fully sixty. A Boston caterer, with a corps of trained 
 waiters, had charge of the dinner. During its progress the 
 Cottonton Brass Band performed at intervals. They were 
 stationed in Putnam Square, and the music was not an 
 oppressive and disturbing element, as it often is at close 
 range on such occasions. 
 
 When coffee was served, Toastmaster Obadiah Strout, 
 Esq., arose, and the eyes of banqueters and sightseers were 
 turned toward him. 
 
 "This is a glorious day in the history of our town/ the 
 toastmaster began. "The pleasant duty has fallen to me of 
 proposing the toasts to which we shall drink, and of intro 
 ducing our honored guests one by one. I know that words 
 o-f advice and encouragement will come from them. But 
 before I perform the duties that have been allotted to me, 
 it is my privilege to make a short address. Instead of do 
 ing so, I shall tell you a little story, and it will be a differ 
 ent kind of a story from what I have been in the habit of 
 telling." 
 
 This remark caused an audible titter to arise from some 
 of the auditors in the galleries, and Abner Stiles, who was 
 sitting behind Mrs. Hawkins, leaned over and said to her, 
 "I guess he s goin to tell a true story." 
 
 The toastmaster continued: "More than six years ago a 
 young man from the city arrived in this town. It was 
 given out that he came down here for his health, but he 
 wasn t so sick but that he could begin to take an active part
 
 472 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER. 
 
 in town affairs as soon as he got here. They say confession 
 is good for the soul, and I m goin to confess that I didn t 
 take to this young man. I thought he was a city swell, 
 who had come down here to show off, and in company 
 with several friends, who looked at his visit down here 
 about the same as I did, we did all we could for a couple of 
 months to try and drive him out of town. Now I am 
 comin to the point that I want to make. If we had let him 
 alone the chances are that he wouldn t have stayed here 
 more than a month any way. Now, s posen he had gone 
 home at the end of the month; in that case he never would 
 have met the lady who sits by his side to-night, and who by 
 her marriage has added new lustre to her native town. If 
 he had not remained, she never would have written those 
 stories which are known the world over, and I tell you, fel 
 low-citizens, that in writing Blennerhassett, An American 
 Countess, The Majesty of the Law, and The Street Boy, she 
 has done mo-re to make this town famous than all the men 
 who were ever born in it." 
 
 The speaker paused and drank a glass of water, while 
 cheers and applause came from all parts of the gallery. 
 Abner Stiles apparently forgot his surroundings, and, 
 thinking probably that it was a political rally, called out, 
 "Three cheers for Alice Pettengill"! which were given with 
 a will, much to his delight^ and the surprise of the ban 
 queters. 
 
 The toastmaster resumed: "If he had gone away dis 
 gusted with the town and its people, he never would have 
 found out who Linda Putnam really was, and she, conse 
 quently, would never have been what she is to-day, a peer 
 ess of England and the great benefactress of this town, a 
 lady who will always have our deepest affection and most 
 sincere gratitude." 
 
 Again the orator paused, and the audience arose to its 
 feet. Applause, cheers, and the waving of handkerchiefs 
 attested that the speaker s words had voiced the popular
 
 FERNBOROTJGH. 473 
 
 feeling. Once more Abner Stiles s voice rose above the 
 din, and three cheers for "Lindy Putnam, Countess of Sus 
 sex, were given with such a will that the band outside 
 caught the enthusiasm and played "God Save the Queen," 
 which most of the audience supposed was "America." 
 
 "In conclusion," said the orator, "I have one more point 
 to make, and that is a purely personal one. Some writer 
 has said the end justifies the means, and another writer puts 
 it this way, Do evil that good may come. In these two 
 sayin s lies all the justification for many sayin s and doin s 
 that can be found; and if I were a conceited man or one in 
 clined to praise my own actions, I should say that the good 
 fortune of many of our distinguished guests this evening, 
 and the handsome financial backin that this town has re 
 ceived, are due principally to my personal exertions." 
 
 Here the speaker paused again and wiped his forehead, 
 which was bedewed with perspiration. 
 
 "Good Lord!" said Mrs. Hawkins to Olive Green, who 
 sat next to her, "to hear that man talk anybuddy would 
 think that nobuddy else in the town ever did anything. 
 
 "To conclude, said the speaker, "I don t wish, feller- 
 citizens, to have you understand that I am defendin my 
 actions. They were mean in spirit and mean in the way in 
 which they were done, but the one against whom they were 
 directed returned good for evil, and heaped coals of fire on 
 tny head. At a time when events made me think he was 
 fny greatest enemy, he became my greatest friend. It is to 
 his assistance, advice, and influence that I owe the present 
 honorable position that I hold in this town, and here to 
 night, in his presence, and in the presence of you all, I 
 have made this confession to show that I am truly repentant 
 for the past. At the same time, I cannot help rejoicing in 
 the good fortune that those misdeeds were the means of se- 
 curin for us all." 
 
 As tfie speaker sat down, overcome with emotion, he was 
 greeted with applause, which was redoubled when Mr. Saw-
 
 474 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER. 
 
 yer arose in his seat. But when Quincy leaned forward and 
 extended his hand to Strout, which the latter took, the ex 
 citement rose to fever heat, and cheers for Quincy Adams 
 Sawyer and Obadiah Strout resounded throughout the hall 
 and fell upon the evening air. This time the band played 
 "The Star Spangled Banner. * 
 
 Again the toastmaster arose and said, "Ladies and gen 
 tlemen, the first toast that I am going to propose to-night is 
 a double one, because, for obvious reasons, it must include 
 not only the State, but its chief representative, who is with 
 us here to-night. Ladies and gentlemen, let us drink to the 
 Old Bay State, and may each loyal heart say within itself, 
 God save the Commonwealth of Massachusetts!" 1 The 
 guests touched their lips to their glasses. "And now/ 
 continued the toastmaster, "to his Excellency QUINCY 
 ADAMS SAWYER, Governor of the Commonwealth, whom 
 I have the honor of introducing to you." 
 
 The Governor arose amid wild applause and loud accla 
 mations, while the band played "Hail to the Chief 1" 
 
 THE END.
 
 A FEW OF 
 
 GROSSET & DUNLAP S 
 Great Books at Little Prices 
 
 NEW, CLEVER, ENTERTAINING. 
 
 GRET; The Story of a Pagan. By Beatrice Mantle. Illustrated 
 
 by C. M. Relyea, 
 
 The wild free life of an Oregon lumber camp furnishes the setting for this 
 strong original story. Gret is the daughter of the camp and is utterly con 
 tent with the wild life until love comes. A fine book, unmarred by con 
 vention. 
 OLD CHESTER TALES. By Margaret Deland. Illustrated 
 
 by Howard Pyle. 
 
 A vivid yet delicate portrayal of characters in an old New England town. 
 
 Dr. Lavendar s fine, kindly wisdom is brought to bear upon the lives at 
 
 all, permeating tha whole volume like the pungent odor of pine, healthful 
 
 and life giving. " Old Chester Tales " will surely be among the books that 
 
 abide. 
 
 THE MEMOIRS OF A BABY. By Josephine Daskam. Illus 
 trated by F. Y. Cory. 
 
 The dawning intelligence of the baby was grappled with by its great aunt, 
 i an elderly maiden, whose book knowledge ofbabies was something at which 
 even the infant himself winked. A delicious bit of humor. 
 REBECCA MARY. By Annie Hamilton Donnell. Illustrated 
 
 by EHzabeth Shippen Green. 
 
 The heart tragedies of this little girl with no one near to share them, an 
 told with a delicate art, a keen appreciation of the needs of the cbildisL 
 heart and a humorous knowledge of the workings of the childish mind. 
 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL. By Katherine Cecil Thurstcn. 
 
 Frontispiece by Harrison Fisher. 
 
 An Irish story of real power, perfect in development and showing a triu. 
 conception of the spirited Hibernian character as displayed in the tragic a 
 well as the tender phases of life. 
 THE MAN FROM BRODNEY S. By George BarrMcCutcheon. 
 
 Illustrated by Harrison Fisher. 
 
 An island in the South Sea is the setting for this entertaining tale, and 
 an all-conquering hero and a beautiful princess figure in a most complicated 
 plot. One of Mr. McCutcheon s best books. 
 TOLD BY UNCLE REMUS. By Joel Chandler Harris. Illus- 
 
 trated by A. B. Frost, J. M. Conde and Frank Verbeck. 
 Again Uncle Remus enters the fields of childhood, and leads another 
 little boy to that non-locatab!e land called " Brer Rabbit s Laughing 
 Place," and again the quaint animals spring into active life and play theii 
 parts, for the edification of a small but appreciative audience. 
 
 THE CLIMBER. By E. F. Benson. With frontispiece. 
 
 An unsparing analysis of an ambitious woman s soul a woman who 
 believed that in social supremacy she would find happiness, and who finds 
 instead the utter despair of one who has chosen the things that pass away. 
 SYNCH S DAUGHTER. By Leonard Merrick. Illustrated by 
 
 Geo. Brehm. 
 
 _ A story of to-day, telling how a rich girl acquires ideals of beautiful and 
 simple living, and of men and love, quite apart from the teachings of her 
 father, " Old Man Lynch "JofJWall St. True to life, clever in treatment, 
 
 GROSSET & DUNLAP, 526 WEST 26th ST., NE\* YORK
 
 GROSSET & DUNLAP S 
 
 DRAMATIZED NOVELS 
 
 A Few that are Making Theatrical History 
 
 MARY JANE S PA. By Norman Way. Illustrated with scenes 
 
 from the play. 
 
 Delightful, irresponsible " Mary Jane s Pa " awakes one morning to find 
 himseit famous, and, genius being ill adapted to domestic joys, lie wanders 
 from home to work out his own unique destiny. One of the most humorou J 
 bits of recent fiction. 
 
 CHERUB DEVINE. By Sewell Ford. 
 
 " Cherub," a good hearted but not over refined your.g man -Is brought In 
 touch with the aristocracy. Of sprightly wit, he is sometimes a merciless 
 analyst, but he proves in the end that manhood counts for more than anci 
 ent lineage by winning the love cf the fairest girl in the flock. 
 
 WOMAN S WAY. By Charles Somerville. Illustrated with 
 scenes from the play. 
 
 A story in which a woman s wit and self-sacrificing love save her husbancj 
 ?/om the toils of an adventuress, and change an apparently tragic situation 
 into one of delicious comedy. 
 
 THE CLIMAX. By George C. Jenks. 
 
 With ambition luring her on, a young choir soprano leaves the little villaga 
 where she was born and the limited audience of St. Jude s to train for thu 
 opera in New York. She leaves love behind her and meets love more ardent 
 but not more sincere in her new environment. How she works, how sha 
 studies, how she suffers, are vividly portrayed. 
 
 A FOOL THERE WAS. By Porter Emerson Browne. Illus. 
 trated by Edmund Magrath and W. W. Fawcett. 
 
 A relentless portrayal of the career of a man who comes under the influence 
 of a beautiful but evil woman ; how she lures him on and on, how he 
 struggles, falls and rises, only to fall again into her net, make a story of 
 unflinching realism, 
 
 THE SQUAW MAN. By Julie Opp Faversham and Edwin 
 
 Milton Royle. Illustrated with scenes from the play. 
 A glowing story, rapid in action, bright in Dialogue with a fine courageous 
 hero and a beautiful English heroine. 
 
 THE GIRL IN WAITING. By Archibald Eyre. Illu3trated 
 
 with scenes from the play. 
 
 A droll little comedy of misunderstandings, told with a light touch, a vei* 
 Tiresome spirit and an eye for human oddities. 
 
 THE SCARLET PIMPERNEL. By Baroness Orczy. Illus 
 trated with scenes from the play. 
 
 A realistic story of the days of the French Revolution, abounding ir 
 dramatic incident, with a your.g English soldier of fortune, daring, m>steri- 
 ous as the hero, 
 
 GROSSET & DUNLAP, 526 WEST 26th ST., NEW
 
 A FEW OF 
 
 GROSSET & DUN LAP S 
 Great Books at Little Prices 
 
 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER. A Picture of New 
 England Home Life. With illustrations by C. W< 
 Reed, and Scenes Reproduced from the Play. 
 
 One of the best New England stories ever written. It is 
 full of homely human interest * * * there is a wealth of frew 
 England village character, scenes and incidents * * * forcibly, 
 vividly and truthfully drawn. Few books have enjoyed a 
 greater sale and popularity. Dramatized, it made the great* 
 est rural play of recent times. 
 
 THE FURTHER ADVENTURES OF QUINCY 
 ADAMS SAWYER. By Charles Felton Pidgin. 
 Illustrated by Henry Roth. 
 
 All who love honest sentiment, quaini and sunny humor t 
 and homespun philosophy will find these " Further Adven* 
 tures" a book after their own heart. 
 
 HALF A CHANCE. By Frederic S< Isham. Illus 
 trated by Herman Pfeifer. 
 
 The thrill of excitement will keep the reader in a state of 
 suspense, and he will become personally concerned from the 
 start, as to the central character, a very real man who suffers, 
 dares and achieves ! 
 
 VIRGINIA OF THE AIR LANES. By Herbert 
 Quick. Illustrated by William R. Leigh. 
 
 The author has seized the romantic moment for the airship 
 novel, and created the pretty story of "a lover and his lass" 
 contending with an elderly relative for the monopoly of the 
 skies. An exciting tale of adventure in midair. 
 
 THE GAME AND THE CANDLE. By Eleanor M, 
 
 Ingram. Illustrated by P. D. Johnson. 
 The hero is a young American, who, to save his family from 
 poverty, deliberately commits a felony. Then follow his cap 
 ture and imprisonment, and his rescue by a Russian Grand 
 Duke. A stirring story, rich in sentiment. 
 
 GROSSET & DUNLAP, 526 WEST 26th ST., NEW YORK
 
 A FEW OF 
 
 GROSSET & DUNLAP S 
 Great Books at Little Prices 
 
 CY WHITTAKER S PLACE. By Joseph C. Lincoln. 
 Illustrated by Wallace Morgan. 
 
 A Cape Cod story describing the amusing efforts of an e! 
 derly bachelor and his two cronies to rear and educate a little 
 girl. Full of honest fun a rural drama. 
 THE FORGE IN THE FOREST. By Charles G. D. 
 Roberts. Illustrated by H. Sandham. 
 
 A story of the conflict in Acadia after its conquest by the 
 British. A dramatic picture that lives and shines with the in 
 definable charm of poetic romance. 
 
 A SISTER TO EVANGELINE. By Charles G. D. 
 Roberts. Illustrated by E. McConnell. 
 
 Being the story of Yvonne de Lamourie, and how she went 
 into exile with the villagers of Grand Pre. Swift action, 
 fresh atmosphere, wholesome purity, deep passion and search 
 ing analysis characterize this strong novel. 
 THE OPENED SHUTTERS. By Clara Louise Burn- 
 ham. Frontispiece by Harrison Fisher. 
 
 A summer haunt on an island in Casco Bay is the back 
 ground for this romance. A beautiful woman, nfc discord with 
 life, is brought to realize, by her new friends, that she may 
 open the shutters of her soul to the blessed sunlight of joy by 
 casting aside vanity and self love. A delicately humorous 
 work with a lofty motive underlying it all. 
 THE RIGHT PRINCESS. By Clara Louise Burnham. 
 
 An amusing story, opening at a fashionable Long Island re 
 sort, where a stately Englishwoman employs a forcible New 
 England housekeeper to serve in her interesting home. How 
 types so widely apart react on each others lives, all to ulti 
 mate good, makes a story both humorous and rich in sentiment. 
 
 THE LEAVEN OF LOVE. By Clara Louise Burn- 
 ham. Frontispiece by Harrison Fisher. 
 At a Southern California resort a world-weary woman, young 
 and beautiful but disillusioned, meets a girl who has learned 
 the art of living of tasting life in all its richness, opulence and 
 joy. The story hinges upon the change wrought in the soul 
 of the blasfc woman by this glimpse into a cheery life. 
 
 GROSSET & DUNLAP, 526 WEST 26th ST., NEW YORK
 
 A FEW OF 
 
 GROSSE1 & DUNLAP S 
 Great Books at Little Prices 
 
 THE MUSIC MASTER. By Charles Klein. Illustrated 
 
 by John Rae. 
 
 This marvelously vivid narrative turns upon the search of a Ger 
 man musician in JNew York for his little daughter. Mr. Klein has 
 well portrayed his pathetic struggle with poverty, his varied expe 
 riences in endeavoring to meet the demands of a public not trained 
 to an appreciation of the classic, and his final great hour when, in 
 the rapidly shifting events of a big city, his little daughter, now a 
 beautifnl young woman, is brought to his very door. A superb bit 
 of fiction, palpitating with the life of the great metropolis. The 
 play in which David WarS eld scored his highest success. 
 
 DR. LAVENDAR S PEOPLE. By Margaret Deland. 
 
 Illustrated by Lucius Hitchcock. 
 
 Mrs. Deland won so many friends through Old Chester Tales 
 that this volume needs no introduction beyond its title. The lova 
 ble doctor is more ripened in this later book, and the simple come- 
 dies and tragedies of the old village are told with dramatic charm. 
 
 OLD CHESTER TALES. By Margaret Deland, Illustrated 
 
 by Howard Pyle. 
 
 Stories portraying with delightful humor and pathos a quaint peo 
 ple in a sleepy old town. Dr. Lavendar, a very human and lovable 
 "preacher," is the connecting link between these dramatic starves 
 from life. 
 
 HE FELL IN LOVE WITH HIS WIFE. By E. P.Koe. 
 
 With frontispiece. 
 
 The hero is a farmer a man with honest, sincere views of life. 
 Beieft of his wife, his home is cared for by a succession of domes 
 tics of varying degrees of inefficiency until, from a most unpromis 
 ing source, comes a young woman who not only becomes his wife 
 but commands his respect and eventually wins his love. A bright 
 and delicate romance, revealing on both sides a love that surmounts 
 all difficulties and survives the censure of friends as well as the bit 
 terness of enemies. 
 
 THE YOKE. By Elizabeth Miller. 
 
 Against the historical background of the days when the children 
 of Israel were delivered from the bondage of Egypt, the author has 
 sketched a romance of compelling charm. A biblical novel as great 
 as any since " Ben Hur." 
 
 SAUL OF TARSUS. By Elizabeth Miller. Illustrated by 
 
 Andre" Castaigne. 
 
 The scenes of this story are laid in Jerusalem, Alexandria, Rome 
 and Damascus. The Apostle Paul, the Martyr Stephen, Herod 
 Agrippa and the Emperors Tiberius and Caligula are among the 
 mighty figures that move through the pages. Wonderful descrip 
 tions, and a love story of the purest and noblest type mark this 
 most remarkable religious romance. 
 
 GROSSET & DUNLAP, 526 WEST 26th ST., NEW YORK
 
 A FEW OF 
 
 GROSSET & DUNLAP S 
 Great Books at Little Prices 
 
 BRUVVER JIM S BABY. By Philip Verrill Mighels. 
 
 An uproariously funny story of a tiny mining settlement in the 
 West, which is shaken to the very roots by the sudden possession 
 of a baby, found on the plains by one of its residents. The town is 
 as disreputable a spot as the gold fever was ever responsible for, 
 and the coming of that baby causes the upheaval of every rooted 
 tradition of the place. Its christening, the problems of its toys and 
 its illness supersede in the minds of the miners all thought of earthy 
 treasure. 
 
 THE FURNACE OF GOLD. By Philip Verrill Mighels, 
 author of "Bruvver Jim s Baby." Illustrations by J. *T. 
 Marchand. 
 
 An accurate and informing portrayal of scenes, types, and condi 
 tions of the mining districts in modern Nevada, 
 
 The book is an out-door story, clean, exciting, exemplifying no 
 bility and courage of character, a nd bravery, and heroism in the sort 
 of men and women we all admire and wish to know. 
 THE MESSAGE. By Louis Tracy. Illustrations by Joseph 
 C. Chase. 
 
 A breezy tale of how a bit of old parchment, concealed in a figure 
 head from a sunken vessel, comes into the possession of a pretty 
 girl and an army man during regatta week in the Isle of Wight. 
 This is the message and it enfolds a mystery, the development of 
 which the reader will follow with breathless interest. 
 THE SCARLET EMPIRE. By David M. Parry. Illus- 
 trations by Hermann C. Wall. 
 
 A young socialist, weary of life, plunges into the sea and awakes 
 in the lost island of Atlantis, known as the Scarlet Empire, where 
 a social democracy is in full operation, granting every man a living 
 but limiting food, conversation, education and marriage. 
 
 The hero passes through an enthralling love affair and other ad 
 ventures but finally returns to his own New York world. 
 
 THE THIRD DEGREE. By Charles Klein and Arthur 
 Hornblqw. Illustrations by Clarence Rowe. 
 
 A novel which exposes the abuses in this country of the police 
 system. 
 
 The son of an aristocratic New York family marries a woman 
 socially beneath him, but of strong, womanly qualities ^hat, later 
 on, save the man from the tragic consequences of a dissipated life 
 
 The wife believes in his innocence and her wit and good senst- 
 help her to win against the tremendous odds imposed by law. 
 
 THE THIRTEENTH DISTRICT. By Brand Whitlock, 
 A realistic westernstory of love and politics and a searching study 
 r>f their influence on character. The author shows with extraordi- 
 3 ry vitality of treatment the tricks, the heat, the passion, t^. tu- 
 luult of the political arena the triumph and strength of love. 
 > . . i , 
 
 GROSSET & DUNLAP, 526 WEST 26th ST., NEW YORK
 
 A FEW OF 
 
 GROSSET & DUNLAP S 
 Great Books at Little Prices 
 
 HAPPY HAWKINS. By Robert Alexander Wason. Illus- 
 
 trated by Howard Giles. 
 
 A ranch and cowboy novel. Happy Hawkins tells his own story 
 With such a fine capacity for knowing how to do it and with so much 
 humor that the reader s interest is held in surprise, then admiration 
 and at last in positive affection. 
 
 COMRADES. By Thomas Dixon, Jr. Illustrated by C. D. 
 
 Williams. 
 
 The locale of this story is in California, where a few socialists 
 establish a little community. 
 
 The author leads the little band along the path of disillusion 
 ment, and gives some brilliant flashes of light on one side of an 
 important question. 
 
 TONO-BUNGAY. By Herbert George Wells. 
 
 The hero of this novel is a young man who, through hard work, 
 earns a scholarship and goes to London. 
 
 Written with a frankness verging on Rousseau s, Mr. Wells stili 
 uses rare discrimination and the border line of propriety is never 
 crossed. An entertaining book with both a story and a moral, and 
 without a dull page Mr. Wells s most notable achievement. 
 A. HUSBAND BY PROXY. By Jack Steele. 
 
 A young criminologist, but recently arrived in New York city, 
 is drawn into a mystery, partly through financial need and partly 
 through his interest in a beautiful woman, who seems at times the 
 simplest child and again a perfect mistress of intrigue. A baffling 
 detective story. 
 
 LIKE ANOTHER HELEN. By George Horton. Illus 
 trated by C. M. Relyea. 
 
 ^Ir. Horton s powerful romance stands in a new field and brings 
 an almost unknown world in reality before the reader the world 
 of conflict between Greek and Turk on the Island of Crete. The 
 " Helen " of the story is a Greek, beautiful, desolate, defiant pure 
 as snow. 
 
 There is a. certain new force about the story, a kind of master- 
 crafts <nanship and mental dominance that holds the reader. 
 THE MASTER OF APPLEBY. By Francis Lynde 
 Illustrated by T. de Thulstrup. 
 
 "A novel tale concerning itself in part with the great struggle in 
 the two Carolinas, but chiefly with the adventures therein of two 
 gentlemen who loved one and the same lady. 
 
 A strong, masculine and persuasive story. 
 A MODERN MADONNA. By Caroline Abbot Stanley. 
 
 A story of American life, founded on facts as they existed some 
 years ago in the District of Columbia. The theme is the maten>al 
 love and splendid courage of a woman. 
 
 GROSSET & DUNLAP, 526 WE^T 26th ST., NEW YORK
 
 A FEW OF 
 
 GROSSET & DUN LAP S 
 Great Books at Little Prices 
 
 WHEN A MAN MARRIES. By Mary Roberts Rinehart, 
 Illustrated by Harrison Fisher and Mayo Bunker. 
 
 A young artist, whose wife had recently divorced him, finds that 
 a visit is due from his Aunt Selina, an elderly lady having ideas 
 about things quite apart from the Bohemian set in which her 
 nephew is a shining light. The way in which matters are tempo 
 rarily adjusted forms the motif of the story. 
 
 A farcical extravaganza, dramatized under the title of "Seven Days" 
 
 THE FASHIONABLE ADVENTURES OF JOSHUA 
 > CRAIG. By David Graham Phillips. Illustrated. 
 A young westerner, uncouth and unconventional, appears in 
 political and social life in. Washington. He attains power in poli 
 tics, and a yc ang woman of the exclusive set becomes his wife, un 
 dertaking hi: education in social amenities. 
 
 " DOC." G ORDON. By Mary E. Wilkins-Freeman. Illus 
 trated >y Frank T. Merrill. 
 
 Against tue familiar background of American town life, the 
 author portrays a group of people strangely involved in a mystery. 
 "Doc. Gordon, the one physician of the place, Dr. Elliot, his 
 assistant, a beautiful woman and her altogether charming daughter 
 are all involved in the plot. A novel of great interest. 
 
 HOLY ORDERS. By Marie Corelli. 
 
 A dramatic story, in which is pictured a clergyman in touch with 
 society people, stage favorites, simple village folk, powerful finan 
 ciers and others, each presenting vital problems to this man " in 
 holy orders" problems that we are now struggling with in America. 
 KATRINE. By Elinor Macartney Lane. With frontispiece. 
 
 Katrine, the heroine of this story, is a lovely Irish girl, of lowly 
 birth, but gifted with a beautiful voice. 
 
 The narrative is based on the facts of an actual singer s career, 
 and the viewpoint throughout is a most exalted one. 
 
 THE FORTUNES OF FIFI. By Molly Elliot Seawell. 
 . Illustrated by T. de Thulstrup. 
 
 A story of life in France at the time of the first Napoleon. Fifi, 
 ft glad, mad little actress of eighteen, is the star performer in a third 
 late Parisian theatre. A story as dainty as a Watteau painting. 
 
 SHE THAT HESITATES. By Harris Dickson. Illus- 
 trated by C. W. Relyea. 
 
 The scene of this dashing romance shifts from Dresden to St. 
 Petersburg in the reign of Peter the Great, and then to New Orleans. 
 
 The hero is a French Soldier of Fortune, and the princess, who 
 hesitates but yon must read the story to know how she that hesitates 
 may be lost and yet saved. 
 
 GROSSET & DUNLAP, 526 WEST 26th ST., NEW YORK
 
 THE NOVELS OF 
 
 GEORGE BARR McCUTCHEQN 
 
 GRAUSTARK. 
 
 A story of love behind a throne, telling how a young 
 American met a lovely girl and followed her to a new and 
 strange country. A thrilling, dashing narrative. 
 BEVERLY OF GRAUSTARK. 
 
 Beverly is a bewitching American girl who has gone to 
 that stirring little principality Graustark to visit her friend 
 the princess, and there has a romantic affair of her own. 
 BREWSTER S MILLIONS. 
 
 A young man is required to spend one million dollars in 
 one year in order to inherit seven. How he does it forms the 
 basis of a lively story. 
 CASTLE CRANEYCROW. 
 
 The story \ evolves round the abduction of a young Amer 
 ican woman, her imprisonment in an old castle and the adven 
 tures created through her rescue. 
 COWARDICE COURT. 
 
 An amusing social feud in the Adirondacks in which an 
 English girl is tempted into being a traitor by a romantic 
 young American, forms the plot. 
 THE DAUGHTER OF ANDERSON CROW. 
 
 The story centers about the adopted daughter of the town 
 mnrshal in a western village. Her parentage is shrouded in 
 mystery, and the story concerns the secret that deviously 
 works to the surface. 
 THE MAN FROM BRODNEY S. 
 
 The hero meets a princess in a far-away island among 
 fanatically hostile Musselmen. Romantic love making amid 
 amusing situations and exciting adventures. 
 NEDRA. 
 
 A young couple elope from Chicage to go to London 
 traveling as brother and sister. They are shipwrecked and a 
 strange mix-up occurs on account of it. 
 THE SHERRODS. 
 
 The scene is the Middle West and centers around a man 
 ;vho leads a double life. A most enthralling novel. 
 TRUXTON KING. 
 
 A handsome good natured young fellow ranges on the 
 earth looking for romantic adventures and is finally enmeshed 
 in most complicated intrigues in Graustark. 
 
 GROSSET & DUNLAP, 526 WEST 26th ST., NEW YORK
 
 TITLES SELECTED FROM 
 
 GROSSET & DUNLAP S LIST 
 
 REALISTIC. ENGAGING PICTURES OF LIFE 
 
 THE GARDEN OF FATE. By Roy Norton. Illustrated 
 
 by Joseph Clement Coll. 
 
 The colorful romance of 3n American girl in Morocco, an<3 
 of a beautiful garden, whose beauty and traditions of strange 
 subtle happenings were closed to the world by a Sultan s seal, 
 
 THE MAN HIGHER UP. By Henry Russell Miller. 
 Full page vignette illustrations by M. Leone Bracker. 
 
 The story of a tenement waif who rose by his own ingenuity 
 to the office of mayor of his native city. His experiences 
 while "climbing," make a most interesting example of the 
 possibilities of human nature to rise above circumstances. 
 
 THE KEY TO YESTERDAY. By Charles Neville 
 Buck. Illustrated by R. Schabelitz. 
 
 Robert Saxon, a prominent artist, has an accident, while in 
 Paris, v;hich obliterates his memory, and the only clue he has 
 4o his former life is a rusty key. What door in Paris will it 
 unlock ? He must know that before he woos the girl he ioves. 
 
 THE DANGER TRAIL. By James Oliver Curwood. 
 
 Illustrated by Charles Livingston Bull. 
 The danger trail is over the snow-smothered North. A 
 young Chicago engineer, who is building a road through the 
 Hudson Bay region, is involved in mystery, and is led into 
 imbush by a young woman. 
 
 THE GAY LORD WARING. By Houghton Townley. 
 
 Illustrated by Will Grefe. 
 
 A story of the smart hunting set in England. A gay young 
 lord wins in love against his selfish and cowardly brother ana 
 apparently against fate itself. 
 
 BY INHERITANCE. By Octave Thanet. Illustrated 
 by Thomas Fogarty. Elaborate wrapper in colors. 
 A wealthy New England spinster with the most elaborate 
 pl*ns for the education of the negro goes to visit her nephew 
 in Arkansas, where she learns the needs of the colored race 
 hand and begins to lose her theories. 
 
 GROSSET & DUNLAP, 526 WEST 26th ST., NEW YORK
 
 Stewart Edward White s 
 
 Great Novels of Western Life, 
 
 THE BLAZED TRAIL. With illustrations by Thomas Fogarty. 
 
 " It is a wholesome story, full of sinew and pluck and endur 
 ance, with gleams of humor and touches of philosophy and play 
 of courage. It tells of the young man who blazed his way to for 
 tune through the heart of the Michigan pines." The Critic. 
 THE CLAIM JUMPERS. A Romance. 
 
 A tale of a Western mining camp and the making of a man. 
 DeLancy Bennington, of an aristocratic Boston family, finds him 
 self manager of a mine in a gulch of the Black Hills. The ten 
 derfoot has a hard time of it, but meets the situation, shows the 
 stuff he is made of and " wins out " in more ways than one. 
 
 THE MAGIC FOREST. With illustrations. 
 
 " No better book could be put in a young boy s hands. The 
 sympathetic way in which the children of the wild and their life 
 is treated could only belong to one who is in love with the forest 
 and the open air. Based on fact and throbbing with life." 
 
 THE SILENT PLACES. With illustrations. 
 
 " The wonders of the northern forests through all the four sea 
 sons, as well as the contrasts between youth and age, feminine de 
 votion and masculine power, the intelligence of the Caucasian 
 and the instinct of the Indian, all are finely drawn, while the 
 knowledge of nature informs every page." The Dial. 
 
 THE WESTERNERS. 
 
 " Belongs to that brilliant galaxy of novels which open with such 
 promise for pure American fiction. This story of the Black Hills 
 will claim its place among the best of the American novels. It 
 portrays the life of the new West as no other book has yet done. 
 
 CONJUROR S HOUSE. 
 
 Was a shipping center in the fur trade in the great days of tha 
 Hudson s Bay Company. How Ned Trent entered the forbid 
 den territory, took la longue traverse, and subsequently the long 
 journey down the river of life with the factor s daughter is 
 ingeniously told, with a wealth of thrilling and romantic situations. 
 
 ARIZONA NIGHTS. With illustrations by N. C. Wyeth. 
 
 A series of spirited tales emphasizing some phase of the life of . 
 the ranch, plains and desert, and all, taken together, forming a 
 single sharply-cut picture of life in the far Southwest. All the 
 tonic of the West is in this masterpiece of Stewart Edward White. 
 
 THE MYSTERY. With illustrations by Will Crawford. 
 
 tor breathless interest, concentrated excitement and extraordi 
 narily good story-telling on all counts, no more completely satis 
 fying romance has appeared for years. It is mystery and adven- 
 venture, and the best story of its kind since Treasure Island. 
 
 GROSSET & DUNLAP. Publishers, - - NEW YORK
 
 FAMOUS COPYRIGHT BOOKS 
 IN POPULAR PRICED EDITIONS 
 
 Re-issues of the great literary successes of the time. Library 
 size. Printed on excellent paper most of them with illustra 
 tions of marked beauty and handsomely bound in cloth. 
 Price, 75 cents a volume, postpaid. 
 
 BARREL OF THE BLESSED ISLES. By Irving Bach- 
 
 eller. With illustrations by Arthur Keller. 
 "Darrel, the clock tinker, is a wit, philosopher, and man of mystery. 
 Learned, strong, kindly, dignified, he towers like a giant above the 
 people among whom he lives. It is another tale of the North Coun 
 try, full of the odor of wood and field. Wit, humor, pathos and high 
 t [linking are in this book." Boston Transcript. 
 
 P RI AND I : A Tale of Daring Deeds in the Second War 
 with the British. Being the Memoirs of Colonel Ramon 
 Bell, U. S. A. By Irving Bacheller. With illustrations by 
 F. C. Yohn. 
 
 " Mr. Bacheller is admirable alike in his scenes of peace and war. 
 D ri, a mighty hunter, has the same dry humor as Uncle Eb. He 
 fights magnificently on the Lawrence, and was among the wounded 
 when Perry went to the Niagara. As a romance of early American 
 history it is great for the enthusiasm it creates." New York Times. 
 
 EBEN HOLDEN : A Tale of the North Country. By Irving 
 
 Bacheller. 
 
 " As pure as water and as good as bread," says Mr. Howells. "Read 
 Eben Holden "is the advice of Margaret Sangster. " It is a forest- 
 scented, fresh-aired, bracing and wholly American story of country 
 and town life. * * * If in the far future our successors wish to 
 know what were the real life and atmosphere in which the country 
 folk that saved this nation grew, loved, wrought and had their being, 
 they must go back to such true and zestful and poetic tales of fiction* 
 as Eben Holden, " says Edmund Clarence Stedman. 
 
 SILAS STRpNG: Emperor of the Woods. By Irving Bach 
 eller. With a frontispiece. 
 
 " A modern Leatherstocking. Brings the city dweller the aroma of 
 the pine and the music of the wind in its branches an epic poem 
 * * * forest-scented, fresh-aired, and wholly American. A stronger 
 character than Eben Holden." Chicago Record-Herald. 
 
 VERGILIUS: A Tale of the Coming of Christ. By Irving 
 Bacheller. 
 
 A thrilling and beautiful story of two young Roman patricians whose 
 great and perilous love in the reign of Augustus leads them through 
 the momentous, exciting events that marked the year just preceding 
 the birth of Christ. 
 
 Splendid character studies of the Emperor Augustus, of Herod and 
 his degenerate son, Antipater, and of his daughter "the incomparable" 
 Salome. A great triumph in the art of historical portrait painting. 
 
 GROSSET & DUNLAP, NEW YORK
 
 360 874