THE STANIFORDS OF STANIFORD'S FOLLY. A Story of Winged and Wingless Richet By MRS. E. D. KENDALL. Author of " Master and Pupil," "The Judge's Sons, " i BOSTON D L O T H H O P CO M P A X Y FUAXKU.V AXI> n.4 \VfKV .-TJ.TKT.S that the good in you will triumph over the evil. Grod will never forswear himself" She shivered, and sank back exhausted, among the chintz cushions. " It is cold, I think,'* she said, feebly. 14 The Stamfords of Stamford's FoUy. Johnny ran to the bed, and pulling off the blanket, contrived, not ungently, to wrap it about his mother's shoulders; and then dashed out through the kitchen, and down stairs, into the cellar to find some more wood. The last stick had been consumed. What should he do ? The house was a hired one, and belonged to Mr. Stamford. The Forbeses had no right to a timber in it, and their rent had been unpaid for two months. But his mother must not suffer. It was already November, and there was snow upon the ground, and a chilly dampness in-doors. Besides, night was coming, and it was growing colder. Should he borrow of his next neighbor ? But with what could he hope to pay ? Should he beg ? Never ! There was the heavy plank floor of the cellar. How easily he could tear up a board and convert it into heat and comfort for the sick parent he "Sick, and Ye Visited Me." 15 loved so dearly I He got down upon his knees, and placing both hands in a hole partly gnawed and partly splintered, pulled with all his might. Up came the board. He leaned back a little, after his effort, to get breath. All at once it struck him that he was in the very attitude he assumed when he said his prayers. " How funny ! " he thought ; for directly opposite him, upon a rude, projecting shelf, stood a figure- head, with staring eyes, apparently watching him. It was the figure-head of the " Admiral Nelson," the last vessel his father had com- manded. The nose had been knocked off, the forehead deeply indented, and it was almost bare of paint, except in patches. It looked more like some hideous heathen idol, than a representation of the hero of the Nile ; and for a moment, the situation appeared to Johnny ludicrous in the extreme. He ha ! ha !-ed iq 16 The Stamfords of Stamford 1 8 Folly. spite of himself; but his involuntary mirth was checked as suddenly by the bitterest self- reproaches. How could he be merry when his mother had only just told him that the day of her death was near at hand ? And quickly the voice of conscience within him cried, " Johnny I what is this you are doing ? Thieving ? What ! Serving your mother by sinning against God ? Put back that board. It does not belong to you. Beg; but don't steal. It is no disgrace to be poor, when vice has not invited the wolf to cross the threshold ; but it is a crime to lay unlawful hands upon that which is another's." Johnny put the timber back into its place, and pounded in the loose nails with the butt end of the axe. 1 " I'll take the figure-head," said he. " It is hard wood, and father wouldn't care, if he knew it was for mother." "Sick, and Ye Visited Me." 17 Alas ! poor Nelson ! and it cost even Johnny a pang to split up the precious relic. But it barred out the winter for two severe days, and then God sent good Mrs. Staniford to minister to then- distress. Johnny was at school, when she came ; and Molly, as usual, was playing the tidy housewife. Little Lizzie, standing upon a stool by the kitchen table, was trying her hand, for the first time, at washing dishes. Poor little lamb ! In a family happy with health, and blest amply with the good things of this life, the sight would have been simply amusing and pretty ; here, it was pitiful. At least, so thought Mrs. Stani- ford ; and hastily ungloving her hands, she waited for no apology, but with a pleasant " Good-morning, my dear," to Molly, lifted her busy atom of a sister from her perch, kissed her rose-bud lips, and setting her down in the little 18 The Stamfords of Stamford's Folly. rush-bottomed rocker by the fire, finished the dishes herself, notwithstanding Molly's shame- faced remonstrance. " Don't be troubled, my child," she said in answer to Molly's demurrer ; " it is a real pleasure to me to find myself at the old work ; for, do you know, Molly, time was when Mr. Stamford was not a very wealthy man, and I labored as hard with these hands as my servant maids do with theirs to-day. Yes, harder ; for I sometimes did work for other people as well as for my own family. And now tell me, my dear, how your mother is, this morning. I felt so anxious about her, that though the house is full of company, and we are just as busy as we can be getting ready for Christmas, I could not stay away another day. Is she asleep ? Just go and see, child. You're light-footed as a fawn, and won't disturb her ; but I'm pretty ponderous, as you feiow, and shod with steel, besides." 11 Sick, and Ye Visited Me." 19 Molly opened the door softly, and returned with the intelligence that her mother was awake and would be happy to see Mrs. Staniford. So the good lady entered the sick room. Her first quick glance told her that the fire was low, and that more fuel was needed. The easy- chair, too, she saw was anything but an ' easy ' one, with its high, straight back, and worn-out padding ; and the bed seemed but scantily cov- ered for so cold a day. All this she discovered before she had taken three steps into the room, and reproached herself that she had let a whole month slip by without coming to acquaint herself personally with Mrs. Forbes's condition, and the needs of her family. For she was a sister in the same church with the sick woman, and had meant to undertake for her specially. But the " cares of the world," some of which she had mentioned to Molly, had 20 The Stamfords of Stamford's Folly. absorbed her thought, and the time had sped so rapidly that she was surprised to find how long she had neglected this charge which should have been the first to claim her zeal and effort. For are not Christ's " little ones " his own represen- tatives in the flesh ? Mrs. Staniford was a genuine Christian, not- withstanding her temporary forgetfulness in this instance of an assumed duty. It pained her to think how remiss she had been. She felt almost as though she had acted the part of the priest and Levite ; only she had " passed by on the other Bide," not indeed a common Jewish wayfarer, but Christ himself, wounded, lonely, forsaken of those to whom he should have been dearest. She took the patient invalid's wasted hand in both her own, and, bending over her, whispered, " Forgive ! That must be my first word, dear Mrs. Forbes. I did not dream you were so ill, "Sick, and Te Visited Me." 21 though that is no excuse for my neglect. I've been very selfish, I'm afraid, and I feel guilty and remorseful, standing here, and looking into your wan, white face ; I've had so much, and you so little husband, and home, and health, and every comfort and luxury. And you've been suffering for the actual necessaries of life ; I saw that the moment Molly opened the door. It is too bad ! too bad I But it isn't too late, now, I hope, foi me to discharge a part of my duty to you and to Christ, and I'm very glad I didn't put off coming any longer. Tell me, have you a physician? " " Oh no," replied the poor woman. "No phy- sician can cure a seated consumption. The dis- ease is hereditary with me. I took a severe cold a year ago, you remember, and have never been able to throw it off, but have added to it instead, from exposure, until now I feel myself sinking 22 The Stamfords of Stanifor d's Folly. into the same state in which my brother and sis- ters lingered for a few months before their death. I know the symptoms well. There is no help for me. And I'm sorry you should feel so troubled because you have not called here of late. You accuse yourself very unjustly. You have always been mere than kind to me and mine, and I know God will reward you for it. Forgive you, my dear friend ? Why ! I can only bless you'. There is nothing but your great goodness to forgive, and to overlook that wuld be impossible. I shall take the remembrance of it into the other world with me, and keep it always." " Then, indeed, I shall have treasure laid up in heaven," returned her visitor, affectionately ; " for ' moth and rust ' can never consume love, nor thieves rob me of what is immortal. It is very sweet to be loved, Mrs. Forbes, and I'm glad you love me, little as I deserve it. Your "Sick, and Ye Visited Me" 23 gentle words reproach me bitterly. But I am coming now to see you every day, and you shall want for nothing that it is in my. power to pro- vide for your comfort. I am going away imme- diately to bring you a physician. You need a skilled doctor to prescribe for you ; and if he cannot cure you, he may at least think of some- thing which will ease your cough, and make it less wearing. Sleep, while I'm absent, just as peacefully as you can. Let nothing worry you in mind. Give up every anxiety for the morrow, and rest in God's love," she whispered, as she bent lower, and kissed the pale lips. Mrs. Forbes pressed the plump, warm hands which held her own, as though loath to let them go, and followed with her eyes the broad, retreat- ing figure until the door closed behind it ; then sank into the sweetest slumber she had known for a long, long time. CHAPTER II. A "LIBERAL REWARD." FTER all, Johnny had not told anybody what he had found in the snow. He had thought better of his first impulse or was it worse? At all events, he had been passing through the ordeal of another tempta- tion. When he tore up the plank in the cellar, he knew that it did not belong to him, and did belong to Mr. Staniford. The act of seizure wa3 deliberate. But when he found lying by the (24) A "Liberal Reward" 25 side of the street, the beautiful gold necklace and locket which he had picked up and put in his pocket, he was utterly ignorant of its owner- ship, and did what anybody else would have done under the circumstances. At the time, he did not stop to examine them, but he afterward found engraved upon the inside of the locket, *' Papa's birth-day gift to Pearl," together with the date. Also a miniature of a gentleman, the original of which he was sure he had met at some time, on his way to school. The trinket was valuable, and Johnny could not help knowing it; and the circumstance of his taking it out of the snow did not make it his. Unless it were given to him by its owner, it could never belong him. This he fully under- stood. Of course it was his duty to try and discover the person who had lost it ; not to keep it a secret, but, while reserving an exact 26 The Stamfords of Stamford's Folly. debcription of it, to make inquiries which should lead to its immediate or ultimate discovery by Pearl or her papa. Johnny knew that people frequently advertised " found " as well as " lost " property, in the papers ; but that was out of the question with him : he could not pay for the briefest advertisement. Besides, Satan was at his elbow, urging that the wood was almost gone again, and that a visit to the pawnbroker's would convert the useless ornament into fuel and food. *' Nobody could blame you," whispered the tempter. " The people who lost this were not hungry, - and cold, and sick. You found it, too ; and if you hadn't, somebody else would, and would have disposed of it, in nine cases out of ten. The thing is yours. Pawn it, and nobody will be the wiser." It was noon of the very day Mrs. Staniford had called on Johnny's mother. On the way A "Liberal Reward" 27 home from school, Johnny stopped, as he fre- quently did, to look in at the windows of a shop full of the most curious toys of foreign and native construction. China, Japan, India, Turkey, Austria, Bohemia, Sweden, Holland, Germany, France, Switzerland, England, and Scotland, were all represented here, with not a few useful as well as ingenious articles from Fayal, Madeira, and Mexico. It was a grand Cosmopolitan Bazaar, and attracted the older people quite as much as the boys and girls, particularly as the Christmas holidays were near. Johnny was so intent upon the funny images of mandarins in their dragon-embroidered robes, holding out for inspection little lacquered trays of puzzles, and ivory carvings, and parlor fire- works, and the group of gaily dressed clay figures representing the castes in India, from 28 The Stamford* of Stamford's Folly. Brahmin to beggar, that he did not at lirst notice a paper wafered upon the inside of the window pane since he last passed that way ; but in attempting to get a peep into the magic glass held up by a wooden monkey, which, by means of some subtle machinery, was perpetually bow- ing his head, and grinning at outsiders, he became aware of the little placard intercepting his view, and, somewhat angrily, looked squarely at it, and read LOST. On the afternoon of "Wednesday, the 29th inst., between Shawmut Place and Madison Avenue, on Washington Street, a heavy link chain of dead gold, with enamelled locket attached, set with pearls. On the inside of the locket, opposite an ivory miniature of a gentleman, was engraved, "Papa's birth-day gift to Pearl. June 2nd, 18 " Whoever will leave the same with Mr. Seccomb at the counting-room, shall be liberally rewarded. " Dovale & Seccomb," that was the name of the firm who kept the Cosmopolitan Bazaar. Imagine Johnny's surprise and momentary A "Liberal Reward." 29 confusion ! for here was the exact description of the very trinket he carried in his pocket ! There could be no doubt that the owner was not far off. What should he do ? Would you have hesitated ? "Keep it," said the tempter. "Mr. Seccomb will not offer you as a reward, one tenth of its actual worth. It must be very valuable, or he would not have advertised that the finder should be ' liberally ' rewarded. Pawn it, pawn it ! Johnny. Nobody will know anything about it." " Dashed if I will ! " exclaimed Johnny aloud, much to the surprise of a gentleman who stood near, and noticed the quick, emphatic movement of Johnny's head, and the sudden mounting of color to his face. He smiled, fancying for a moment that the boy was light-witted. But you and I know how egregiously he was mistaken. Johnny marched boldly into the store, and 30 The Stamfords of Stamford" s Folly. asked of the nearest clerk, " Where is the counting-rooin, sir ? " " Do you want to see Mr. Dovale ? " inquired the officious fellow. "No," replied Johnny, "I want to find the counting-room." " Mr. Seccomb is very busy on his balance sheet, and can't be disturbed." But the repulse did not frighten Johnny. It only nettled him. " I've got to see him ! " he insisted. " Oh, you're the new boy at the telegraph office, with a dispatch, I suppose. Well, como along, Seedy. Your boots don't hurt you, nor anything, do they? and I reckon your mother won't have to shorten your pants many times more before you'll grow to 'em." There was a certain manliness about Johnny, despite his boyish love of mischief and fun. Tlie A "Liberal Reward:' 81 rude taunt hurt him ; for the blow of a bludgeon will make the flesh quiver, even if it fail to draw the life-blood ; and he replied quickly, " No. My mother will never sew for me again. And you can't be much of a son to your mother, or you wouldn't slur mine." " Sho ! " was the young upstart's rejoinder. " Where were you fledged ? " " In a place where I found out something about good manners," retorted Johnny, now very red in the face. " And I don't remember seeing you there," he added. " Very likely," returned his interlocutor, not at all abashed. "I'd graduated by that time, and was studying for a professor. But you're a smart one for a small chap, and I reckon you won't be long cutting your eye teeth. Here's the counting-room, and that's Seccomb inside." Then opening the door and looking in, " Mr. 32 The Stanifords of Stamford" s Folly. Seccomb, this is the new messenger from the telegraph office, with a dispatch for you." Mr. Seccomb replied without looking up, " I will attend to you presently," and finished transferring some figures to his balance-sheet. Then, wiping his pen, and laying it upon the rack, he turned toward Johnny. " A telegram, eh ? let's have it, if you please." "I'm not the messenger, sir," answered Johnny. " I came in to see you about the paper that's in the window." "What paper?" " The one that tells about the chain and locket, sir." "Oh! ah! Have you found the lost articles ? " " Yes, sir. Was it you who lost them ? " " What business is that of yours ? " " I must give them to the right person, that is all," insisted Johnny. A "Liberal Reward." 33 " Well, then, Pearl Seccomb lost them, and I am her father. How's that ? " " They belong to you. I picked them out of the snow, two days ago, and here they are." And Johnny produced the chain and locket from his pocket, and laid them upon the desk. " So ! and they are uninjured," examining them. "Do you know, boy, how much these ornaments are worth ? " " No, sir," replied Johnny. " I never asked." "Well, here's twenty-five cents for your honesty. Now Johnny knew what a " liberal reward " is supposed to mean as well as anybody. He had presumed that he should be offered at least five dollars, since the jewelry was evidently worth ten times that amount, probably, more. And although he did not intend to accept it as the price of a right action, he did mean to tell 3 34 The Stanifords of Stamford's Folly. the gentleman about the straits in which his mother was placed, and how much she needed even the necessaries of life, and to assure him that only actual want would tempt him to take the sum offered. But when Mr. Seccomb said, "Here's twenty-five cents for your honesty," Johnny's blood boiled at the man's meanness. " Thank you," he said. " My honesty is worth more than twenty-five cents to me. I'll make you a present of the money." How Johnny dared to utter the stinging words, or how he got out of the counting-room, and the store, he never knew., The first thing he was really conscious of, was a broad hand held out to him, and a pleasant voice saying, " I'm glad to see you, Johnny ! and you're just the boy I want I " He looked up. Who should it be but Mrs. Stamford I A "Liberal Reward." 35 There stood her sleigh by the side-walk, directly in front of a large furniture store. Her arms were full of bundles, and her coachman was running after an express-wagon, and halloo- ing at the driver, who did not hear him. "Can you manage these packages, do you think, Johnny?" she asked. "I'm in great haste, as I have several other errands to do, and must get home by one o'clock, or Peter should drive round to Vine Street. But if you can carry them instead, it will oblige me very much. They're for your mother, child, and you may untie every bundle yourself, when you get home. And, Johnny dear, there's some wood and coal coming in an hour or so, and you must tell the man where to put it. Then too but you'll be at school by that time, and Molly can attend to it just as well. Now don't lose anything, will you?" 36 The Stanifords of Stamford's Folly. " No ma'am, not a bundle. And I thank yon over and over again." Well, the rich are not all selfish, avaricious, and mean ; and Johnny, who was beginning to think pretty hardly of moneyed people, and was almost wishing he had never seen that notice in Dovale & Seccomb's window, so that he might have had some excuse for retaining the costly articles he had found in his own possession, became suddenly aware of a great revulsion of feeling. Gratitude was taking the place of hatred in his heart; he was glad he had restored to its rightful owner what had only been a temptation to him ; and he said to him- self, " ' Honesty is the best policy,' because it is right to be honest; and the right always pays better than the wrong. Mrs. Staniford is the best woman that ever lived except mother; and I'll never call her husband 4 old Nahum * again." CHAPTER III. THE FAIRY. OU may be sure that Johnny was not long in reaching Vine Street, and that when the packages were deposited upon the kitchen table, not one was missing. How Molly opened those snapping black eyes of hers ! and how her olive cheeks flushed, when Johnny assured her that a fat fairy in a velvet cloak had given them to him for his mother. She knew who the "fat fairy" was, in a moment. (37) 38 The Stamfords of Stamford's Folly. "Now just come here, Molly, and look with all your nose ! And you too, Sis. For Mrs. Stamford told me I might open every single bundle first, myself, and my 'opening' will beat any of the store * openings,' you see if it don't ! " First, there was a roll of heavy flannel, and Rome fine, soft towels. Then a piece of striped cashmere, for a sick-gown. Then a pretty little japanned tray. Then a bottle of, sherry wine, another of cod-liver oil, and a third of bay- water. Johnny's arms had ached with carrying them, and he breathed like a race horse while he was untying the packages. " Oh ! isn't it splendid ! " exclaimed Molly, jump- ing up and down, and clapping her hands. " Wait till you see what else there is," said Johnny, drawing from his pockets sundry smaller bundles. " Here's corn starch, and gelatine, and The Fairy. 39 tapioca, and moss, and lemons. Now isn't that a show worth looking at ? / tell you ! Mrs. Stan- iford's just jolly ! " He flung his cap into a chair, and proceeded to divest himself of coat and scarf. " Just let 'em alone, Sis ! and we'll give moth- er a surprise. Molly ! you get down the clothes- basket and we'll spread the whole lot in the bot- tom of it, and cover it up with the table-cloth, and then make her guess what there is under- neath. You'd better believe it was a load though, and if the bottles hadn't been done up together, I should have dropped some of them on the way." " That would have been too bad," said Molly. " I'm real glad you got them all home safe. Oh 1 isn't it isn't it splendid? " And she ran to the tin-closet, and took the basket down from the nail and brought it in a trice ; while Johnny disposed the various articles 40 The Stamfords of Stamford's Folly. in the bottom of it to suit himself, and then spread the table-cloth over the whole, leaving only the two handles in sight. " Just you peep, Lizzie, and see if mother's awake," said he. Lizzie opened the door softly, and crept in on tiptoe. " What does my little girl want ? " asked Mrs. Forbes. " Oh, Johnny asked me to " " Whist, then ! " exclaimed Johnny, " We're coming, Molly and I." And they brought in their burden, and rested it on the edge of the bed. "Now guess, mother," said Johnny. "What's in this basket ? " " Something you've wanted this ever so long," added Molly, by way of a slight clew. " It's nice and warm," echoed Lizzie. The Fairy. 41 " Hold on to the tail of that cat, Sis ! " said Johnny, " or it'll be out before you know it." " It isn't a cat," argued Lizzie. " It's '* "Avast! now. It's not fair to tell." " But where did it come from, children ? " asked Mrs. Forbes. " A Pharoah gave the things to Johnny," ex- claimed Lizzie, eagerly. "A fat Pharaoh." How Johnny and Molly laughed ! and eveu Mrs. Forbes joined faintly, though it set her to coughing directly, and the basket came near sliding to the floor. There was an ominous sound of glass bottles knocking together, which frightened Molly a little, and she exclaimed ex- citedly, ** Oh dear, Johnny ! what if we've smashed them, and spilt the wine and the cod-liver oil 1 " and off came the table-cloth with a jerk. *' See now what you've done I " said Johnny, a 42 The Stanifords of Stamford's Folly. little indignant at his sister's alarm and haste. "You've just spoiled the fun. Girls are such scarecrows ! " " Never mind," said Mrs. Forbes, gently. " I don't believe I could have guessed, Johnny. What ! a dress ? And flannel ? " " Didn't I tell you it was nice and warm, moth- er? " asked Lizzie. " That you did," commented Johnny, dryly. " And so many other nice things ? Somebody I has been very, very good, children." And the tears glistened in Mrs. Forbes's eyes. " That's so I " said Johnny, emphatically. " And there's some rich folks in the world, that ain't mean I " he added. " Hurrah ! for Mrs. Stamford." " Don't Johnny," remonstrated Molly. " Moth- er's head can't bear such a noise. You ought to be ashamed of yourself." The Fairy. 43 " Well, I won't do it again. But I had to, then, or I should just have blown up." The wood and coal arrived before school-time, and not long afterward a bag of flour, some oat- meal, Indian meal, molasses, soap, oil, and other groceries. Then another pung drove up, and left a reclin- ing chair. That brought all Vine street to the front windows. Next came a boy with a pair of blankets and comforters ; and, toward evening, Doctor Bowles, with a nurse for the sick woman. Mrs. Stamford's promise had meant something. It may seem strange to you that Mrs. Forbes's neighbors had not been more neighborly ; but with only one exception, they had turned their backs upon the widow in her distress, and I am afraid, secretly, if. not openly, rejoiced in her misfortunes. They called her " proud," " stuck 44 The Stamfords of Stamfords Folly. up," " aristocratic ; " the reason for their prejudice lying in the fact that Mrs. Forbes had forbidden Johnny to associate in any manner with boys addicted to profane swearing or the use of vile language. Most of the boys in their immediate vicinity, belonged, unfortunately, to the forbidden class ; for the poor woman's limited means and failing health had compelled her to take up with such a tenement as once she would have shuddered at the thought of occupying. Providentially, she had found in Mr. Staniford a most lenient landlord ; and, latterly, though her rent had been in arrears, he had not pressed her for payment, knowing that she was ill, and that the little she had to depend upon, while it lasted, must supply the daily bread for herself and family. His wife, too, was a member of the same church with Mrs. Forbes, and guessing her The Fairy. 45 straitened circumstances, had begged hard in her behalf, and Mr. Stamford, though often pig- headed and obstinate with others, loved the mother of his children too sincerely to refuse her requests for his needy tenant. Sometimes he would say in his bluff, disagreeable way, and with the stammer which was characteristic of his rapid utterance, '* Wh-wh-why don't you d-dress better, your- self, M-Margaret? instead of l-laying out your m-money on other folks ? You don't g-g-get a c-cent of interest for it, and it's a p-p-plaguey p-poor investment. If you g-get ' Thank you,' it's as much as ever, I'll w-w-warrant. I've always found that the p-poor d-d-devils that need help and get it, are always the ones that w-want to hang rich folks wh-when there's a strike or a r-row over p-p-politics. They don't know how to be g-grateful." 46 The Stamfords of Staniforffs Folly. Mr. Stamford seldom attempted to argue with her husband ; but for all that, he gave her what money she wanted for charities, whether the sum were great or small. I have sometimes thought, that, notwithstand- ing the ridicule he too frequently cast upon city, home, and foreign missions, and other benevolent enterprises, and the sport he made of his wife'3 " sandbank investments," as he termed them, he secretly believed in the wisdom of them, and flattered himself that he was " lending to the Lord," through her, to be repaid with compound interest in the other life. If he ever tried to form any idea of what heaven was like, I am sure he must have imagined the New Jerusalem to be an enormously wealthy commercial city, filled with merchants of all nations, a sort of celestial and greatly enlarged London or New York ; and I can readily believe that in fancy ha The Fairy. 47 saw blazoned in some conspicuous place upon its jasper wall, where the multitudes passing in through the gates might read it, STANIFORD. Good and faithful AGENT. (Not " servant," oh, no !) For he was a very pompous man, and inclined to be arrogant and overbearing, and Money meant to him as much as Worth does to some other men. Several years before, Mr. Staniford, then in moderate circumstances, had become suddenly and unexpectedly rich through a lucky specula- tion, and removed from the pretty little country village where he was born, to Englewood, a city suburb, apparently for no other purpose than to spend lavishly the fortune he had so easily acquired. 48 The Stamfords of Stamford's Folly. He purchased some thirty acres of woodland and rich upland, a part of one of the finest farms in the county, and converted it into parka and lawns, and gardens, planting shrubbery, and vines, and ornamental trees, making walls and setting out hedges, planning walks and drive- ways, raising arbors, erecting summer-houses, and green-houses, and graperies, laying out hot-beds, and sinking a costly artesian well for the supply of a fountain and ponds. The grounds were in good order, and cultivated for three years before the house foundations were laid ; and the mansion itself was more than a twelve-month in building. It was a strange jumble, I assure you, with its Grecian portico supported by fluted columns resting upon tigers' feet ; its Venetian arches, Mansard roof, and Gothic dormer windows ; and its Egyptian sphinxes reclining upon huge blocks The Fairy. 49 of hammered granite, on either side of the long flight of white marble steps. No architect, ancient or modern, could ever have dreamed such a structure ; but Mr. Stani- ford did ; and to him alone belongs the credit of the fantastic design. It was as he expressed it, "a c-creation of the brain ! an original S- Staniford idea, done in b-b-brown-stone, and in good shape, too, sir ! " Well, if he was satisfied it was nobody else's business ; for he built the house to suit himself aud not his Englewood neighbors. Massive and showy that describes " Staniford's Folly " as well as words can describe it, and its owner, too. Inside, it was most luxurious ; and where Mrs. Staniford's good judgment had been consulted in the furnishing, tasteful, also. But the drawing- room I You would have known at a glance that 4 50 The Stanifords of Stamford* s Folly. she had had nothing to do with that. It was " shoddy " from end to end, and from floor to ceiling, containing much that was expensive, but little that was really elegant. It seemed like a saloon rather than a drawing-room, with its three chandeliers, dazzlingly brilliant, with innumera- ble cut-glass facets, and gilt filagree ; its furni- ture, richly upholstered in Turkish damask inwoven with silver, and ornamented with mono- gram medallions ; its heavily-carved tables sur- mounted by slabs of marbleizen slate ; its thick Aubusson carpet, covered with flowers of fabu- lous size, its long mirrors in massive frames, its portraits, daubs at which the Munich bronzes were always laughing ; its handsome Italian mantlepiece, enclosing and overhanging ugly, square, iron registers ; its draperies, half the most costly satin damask, the other half cheap, though not the cheapest Nottingham The Fairy. 51 lace ; and its panel papers, each panel of which represented a life-size statue, gilded, and shaded in neutral tints. It was Mr. Staniford's pride that nearly every- thing in this room was " imported ; " and, once a year, generally on Christmas night, he gave a grand fete, in order that his neighbors and friends might be suitably impressed with the glory of the Stamford state. You think, perhaps, children, that you would like to have been there on the grand occasion ; and listened to the music , and seen the dancing and the rich dresses, and breathed the fragrance of the flowers, and feasted upon the dainties so bountifully provided in the long dining-hall rich with its walnut carvings of fruit, and fish, and fowl, and its great side-boards resplendent with silver and the choicest glass. Doubtless it seems like a picture of fairy-land to some of you ; 62 The Stanifords of Stamford's Folly. and, indeed, a fairy dwelt there, and a good fairy, too, who was very real just now to poor Mrs. Forbes and her children. But wealth does not always bring happiness, whatever you may think ; indeed, it seldom does, I fear. Too often it fosters selfishness and vice, and hides behind its tinsel splendors, passions the most cruel, griefs the most pitif ul, and shames the most ab- ject. Staniford's Folly was a mansion, but it was not a home ; and the fairy of Staniford's Folly, alas ! was far from being a happy woman. Do not grudge her the luxury with which she was surrounded ; the wealth which lay at her command : for she bore such crosses as virtuous poverty knows nothing about. Love her, chil- dren, as you read about her, and pity her, for she deserves both your love and your pity ; but do not do not envy her I CHAPTER IV. TWENTY-ONE. HE new nurse was a quiet little body, 5 with a sweet face, and such a pleasant way ! She was young, too, though her thick, wavy hair was very gray. The children made friends with her directly ; and she had not been at Mrs. Forbes's more than a week when Molly would have scrubbed her fingers' ends off, and Johnny cheerfully run till he had blistered his toes, in order to serve her. For now there was a head to the family, and (53) 54 The Stanifords of Stamford's Folly. though Molly had done nobly, making the most and the best of her limited knowledge of house keeping, yet they all felt relieved when Mrs. Scott took the charge; and home began again to seem homelike, with order and system. Mrs. Forbes, too, had sadly needed the ten- derest care, and had suffered for want of it, though uncomplainingly; and it was a happy day for the poor consumptive that brought with it the calm face, soothing voice, and deft hands of the new nurse. Mrs. Staniford came every morning, as she had said she would, and what seemed strange to the children, always called Mrs. Scott " Lucy," and often kissed her affectionately when she went away. Once Johnny thought he had heard Mrs. Scott address her as " mother," but afterwards concluded he must have been mistaken, Molly having assured him that Mrs. Staniford had only Twenty-one. 55 two daughters, one of whom was Mrs. Arnold, " the tall, proud lady who dressed in black for her husband, and had the cross girl with the long, light curls," and the other was Mrs. Rentz, who " lived way off hi Chicago. And then there are two boys," continued Molly, " one great, large, grown-up one, named Horace, and one little fellow not much bigger than you. That's Carl." "Do you call me little?" asked Johnny, indignantly. "I'm most as big now, as Mr. "Carter." " Well, he isn't much of a man, for size," returned Molly. " Don't you think ' Carl Stan- iford ' is a pretty name ? " " No ! " replied downright Johnny. * It sounds too Dutchy. I like his looks, though, and I guess he's a pretty clever sort of a chap, if he is rich ; for I saw him pull that dirty little 56 The tStanifords of Stamford? s Folly. Patsy Brine out of the middle of the street, the other day, just as a sleigh was going to run over him ; aiid when he began to cry, Stamford just handed him five cents, and told him to buy some candy with it." " He bows to me," said Molly, growing con- fidential ; " and last Wednesday afternoon, when I went with Lizzie to the grocery store, for Mrs. Scott, he stopped me, and asked me if Lizzie was my sister, and how mother was. I think he is a very polite boy," she added. "Well, why shouldn't he be polite?" demanded Johnny. " It don't cost him any- thing." "And it don't cost you anything, either," returned Molly. "But you're pretty saucy to me, sometimes." "Well, perhaps Carl Staniford don't always have his manners about him, any more than Twenty- one. 67 other folks," he retorted. " Just as likely as not he sauces his sister, now and then. Ten to one he does. Come, now." " Johnny, dear," asked Mrs. Scott, who had heard the latter part of the conversation, " do you think it's hard or easy to be polite ? I know several boys who think it's very hard." " Well, I do," said Johnny. But I don't think it's so hard as I used to." *' That's because you're older, and a little more manly, and realize more fully the impor- tance of courtesy in your relations with others. I've been very much pleased, Johnny, to notice that you've always treated me with respect." " Of course I have," he replied. " And I al- ways mean to." " But why ? " Johnny looked the surprise he felt at such a question. 58 The Stamfords of Stamford 1 8 Folly. " Because it's right," he answered. " And be- cause I like you." " Do you ? I thought you did. And I'm glad you do. But don't you like Molly, Johnny ? " " Why yes. To be sure I do." *' But not quite so well as you like me ? " Johnny's cheeks turned scarlet. " You ought to like me a great deal better," said Molly, " for I'm your own sister ; and," catching eagerly at the drift of Mrs. Scott's cross questioning, " you ought to be as polite to me as you are to people that are no relation to you, no matter how old they may be, and good, and all that." Mrs. Scott smiled funnily. " I guess I treat you as well as you do me," retorted Johnny. " But supposing you were to treat Molly as well as she ought to treat you," suggested Mrs. Twenty-one. 59 Scott. " How would that do, my dear ? Molly is pretty sensitive, I think. Girls are apt to be. She feels a harsh word from you rather more than you do an equally harsh word from her. Supposing, Johnny, that you say the unkind things to me, for a week, and the kind and polite ones to Molly. I don't believe she'll ever forget herself again, and be unsisterly. What do you think about it ? " " I think I won't be impudent to you, anyway. You're never cross to me." " But how about Molly ? " Johnny hesitated. " I'll go half way," he said, at length. " That's just, certainly." "Well, I'll go more than half way," said Molly. " I'll be polite to Johnny whether he is to me or not." " You don't care half so much for me as you 60 The Stamfords of Stanford's Folly. do for Mrs. Scott," she continued, addressing her brother ; " but I like you a great deal better, though I like her, too. And I don't care wheth- er you say good things or ugly things to me ; I'm going to begin to try and keep my temper and be polite, the same as Mrs. Scott and Mrs. Stam- ford do, and as mother always said we ought to." " That's better than just, isn't it, Johnny ? " asked Mrs. Scott. " Don't let Molly outdo you in generosity, my dear." " I don't mean to," he replied. " But I guess I won't promise too much." And with that, he walked off. Mrs. Forbes failed daily, though the children did not perceive it. She kept the reclining-chair altogether, now, being unable to lie upon the bed hi a horizontal position. Her cough, too, was more harassing, and she slept but little, ex- cept under the influence of opiates. Twenty-one. 61 The time wore on toward Christmas, and the cold strengthened. The ground was covered with snow; and from morning till night the sleigh-bells jingled merrily in all the suburbs of the great city. Hampton avenue, in the vicinity of the Englewood House, was alive with gay turn-outs and mettlesome horses ; and thousands of dollars' worth of blood and pedigree were bai- ted every day in its ample stables. How the champagne bottles and decanters were emptied I and at Staniford's Folly, already gay with guests bidden to the approaching fete, the wine flowed like water. This year the fete was to take place on the twenty-second, that being Horace's freedom anniversary ; and unusual preparations had been made for the auspicious occasion. But on the evening of the twenty-first, snow began to fall ; at first lightly, and in fine 62 The Stamfords of Stamford's Folly. flakes evenly descending, but before midnight in thick clouds, borne onward on a strong north- east blast, whirling in blinding eddies sharp and sleety, drifting drifting, till by daylight the fences were quite obliterated, and the travel seriously interrupted. The snow-ploughs were of little use ; for no sooner had they opened a road, than the furious wind swept a huge slide from the nearest drift, and filled up the gap to its former level. Towards noon, the sun struggled to be seen, and there was a lull in the storm; but again the clouds closed over, and down came the swaying shroud, an unending length of icy whiteness. There were few who were tempted out to honor Horace Stamford's twenty-first birthnight ; but those who had the temerity to face the storm, held high carnival with the other guests until long after midnight. Twenty-one. 63 The " reception " was little else than a debauch; and Horace Stamford was early carried to his bed in a disgraceful state of intoxication. It was a dreadful night for his mother ; for ' she had foreseen what must be the result of Mr. Stamford's insane passion to outdo his wealthy- neighbors, and acquire notoriety. She knew her son's weakness, his desire for stimulants was already a besetting sin ; and she had begged her husband, with all the eloquence she could command, to withhold from him this strongest of all temptations, on the eve of his manhood, as he valued the well-being of his child, and her own happiness. " What ? Margaret ! " was his reply. " B-bolt my wine-cellar, and l-lock up my s-s-sideboards ? Wh-what would T-Travers and Holland say? That Nahum S-Staniford s-set out to have a big 64 The Stamfords of Stamford's Folly. t-time, and hadn't m-money enough to carry it through. That he hadn't 1-liquor enough to go round, and so s-saved it for f-f-family use, for jelly, and wh-whey, and p-p-pudding-sauce I Leave the w-wine out, Margaret ? I'd b-better, a great deal, Heave the w-windows out, and hang the chandeliers up in the s-servants' rooms. No, Margaret. I w-won't be made a laughing- stock of by anybody in Englewood. I'll show 'em that my p-purse hasn't got a hole in it yet, and that Nahum S-Staniford, when he s-sets out to do anything, can do it on a b-big scale, and in a style to b-b-beat all the n-nobs around." No matter about Horace, though it was his anniversary which was to be celebrated ; no matter about Horace's mother. What would the guests say and think of Mr. Staniford ? That was the question. And yet, the man was a kind husband, and a Twenty-one. 65 very indulgent father ; too indulgent, indeed, for the good of his children. Poor boy ! Poor mother ! She went to his room, when his companions had left him. He lay in a heavy slumber, his handsome face pale and bloated, his mouth open, his matted and tangled black locks hanging over his half- shut eyes, his clothes disgustingly soiled, a limp and helpless object of pity. Did she loathe him? No. She yearned toward him with a mother's love. She kissed his damp forehead, and smoothed back his hair, though the smell of his breath was sickening. And then she knelt beside the bed, and prayed for him till day-dawn. And, if you had listened, you would have heard coupled with the name of Horace, another name not less dear, but which was never mentioned now beneath that 5 66 The Stanifords of Stamford' ' Folly. roof, except in this mother's earnest pleadings with God ; the name of her eldest son, whom crime had exiled from his home and native land, and whom none cared for now save her who had given him life, and the sweet wife whom he had wronged so cruelly. Mrs. Stamford rose from her knees, lifted the draperies, and looked out. The storm had ceased, and the sky was faintly flushing with the first hint of sunrise. The house was quiet. It had been still for more than an hour, but she did not know it. She had heeded no earthly thing in her communion with God. Her eyes were dim with weeping, but slumber was far from them. Again she bent over, and kissed her boy, and then left him to his drunken rest. Passing the door of her own chamber, she heard her husband's heavy breathing. He, too, Twenty-one. 67 had " looked upon the wine while it was red." She did not disturb him. Anna's room was locked. Alice's too. But Carl there he lay, her youngest born, his hand beneath his head, and a smile playing about his lips, upon which there was no taint. He had kept his promise to her. " God bless my darling ! " she whispered. His eyes unclosed, and he started up suddenly, wide awake. " Is that you, mother ? I was dreaming of you that very minute." Then, glancing toward the window, " It must be very early, isn't it ? " he asked. " Are you sick, mother ? Has any- thing happened ? " " No. Lie down, my boy, and go to sleep. I didn't mean to disturb you." " Oh, I'm not sleepy in the least. I went to bed at eleven o'clock, as I said I would. I got 68 The Stanifords of Stamford's Folly. tired of the dancing, and drinking, and billiard- playing. Besides, Horace kicked me. But then he'd been having too much champagne, and didn't half know what he was about. I didn't touch a drop, mother." She sat down upon the side of the bed, and drew her boy toward her. " Why, mother ! you are crying 1 " " Oh, I am very unhappy, Carl/* * 4 What for ? Tell me. Is it anything I have done?" " No, child, no." "What is it, then?" " Come and see," she said. He sprang from the bed, dressed himself hur- riedly, and then followed her soundless footsteps down the broad, sweeping staircase. The lights many of them were still burn- ing, for the servants there was a retinue at Twenty-one. 69 Stamford's Folly were worn out, or sleeping off their un usual potations ; and the air was heavy with the odor of flowers, which were scat- tered about the floor, or hanging, withered, from the walls and ceiling. Here was a broken vase, there, a torn curtain ; and, sparkling in a corner, upon the linen floor-covering, Horace's diamond pin. In the opposite corner, two chairs over- turned, one of them lying against the pedestal of a statuette which had fallen prostrate upon its face, a ruin. A tassel here ; a glove yonder ; white-ribboned, gilt-lettered cards everywhere. Upon one of the massive tables standing in the recess of a bay-window, spread an unsightly pool of brown liquid, in the middle of which lay a jewel-set bouquet-holder, a costly point-lace fan, and a shivered goblet ; and near them a gentle- man's handkerchief, blood-stained, and soiled. They passed on to the dining-hall, the door of which stood ajar. 70 The Stamfords of Stamford 1 8 Folly. Here, the growing daylight looking in at the east windows mocked the red glare from the chandeliers, streaming down upon tables laden with delicacies which could tempt no longer. Those at the sides of the room had been com- paratively untouched. But the long table in the midst, reaching from end to end of the hall, was a disgusting wreck. Viands were heaped up in nauseating masses : salads mingled with pre- serves and m ?lted ices ; oysters swimming in custard curdled with claret, upon which floated orange-peel and grape-skins; sodden fruit cake and pickles lying side by side in the same dish with blanc mange or Charlotte Russe ; shred rose-petals, heath-stems, broken bottles and glasses, spilt wine and brandy, and clinging jelly everywhere. Smilax trailed through the cream ; and the glowing orange berries of the poison eolanum lay among the sardines. The beautiful Twenty-one. 71 gilded epergnes were empty of flowers and fruit, and filled with debris of all sorts ; and silver spoons and forks lay scattered among the dishes and upon the floor. The sight was almost loathsome ; but that was nothing to the odor. Mrs. Stamford shuddered, and turned faint. *' Come Carl," said she. " Let us go up stairs once more. The room is like a charnel-house, where ghouls have been feasting I " He shut the door behind him, and followed her to his brother's chamber. They entered softly, but there was no need. He would not wake for hours yet. " Carl ! " she said, " Look I " pointing toward the bed. " Yes, mother," he answered, half frightened. " It is Horace." She shook her head. 72 The Stanifords of Stamford's Folly. " No, my boy, it is not Horace," she replied, sadly. "It is wine. Carl!" looking at him earnestly " ' At the last, it biteth like a serpent, and stingeth like an adder ! ' : He put both arms about her ample waist. " Poor mother I " he whispered. "I know what you mean. I know what you have been crying for. And I'll never forget this, never ! " " Oh ! my son ! my son ! " she exclaimed with compressed emphasis, her large frame quivering with strong emotion, " Our wealth is a curse ! a bitter curse I God send us poverty, if my cliildren must be ruined by riches I " CHAPTER V. BLESSED ARE THE COMFORTERS. you remember, children, that verse from one of the Psalms, " My soul waiteth for the Lord more than they that watch for the morning?" I think I never knew what those words really meant, until once when I was very ill. Ah I then how J" watched for the morning ! " " It has been a long, long night, Lucy, " said Mrs. Forbes. " Will the daylight never come ? " " Oh ! yes. It always comes. No matter (73) 74 The Stamfords of Stamford? s Folly. how long or black the night, the sunrise always follows it. The storm is over, I think, aud the dawn is certainly peeping over the drifts, between the houses. Shall I raise the curtain ? " " Yes, if you will. Do you know, Lucy, I am longing for the dawn of the everlasting day ? There is only one thing, I believe, that makes me cling to this weary life, and that is my children." "I understand. But God loves them better than you do. He will be father and mother both, to them, when you are gone ; and perhaps you may be permitted to watch over them, and do more for them in your spiritual state than you have been able to do here. Of course we cannot know. But if there be ministering angels, as the Bible says there are, who could minister more fitly to the needs of lonely, orphaned little ones, than the mother God gave them in the flesh ? " Blessed are the Comforters. 76 Mrs. Forbes was silent for some seconds. At length she folded her hands and said, " Whether he permit me to return to earth or not, it will be all right. I trust him. He is my Father, and theirs. Lucy, have you children ? " " Yes, one," she replied, " up yonder, where you are going. My little Bell." " I will find her. There are no strangers in heaven. What shall I tell her ? " " That I am waiting waiting for papa. And that I love him still. Will you have some gruel ? " she asked, presently. " Yes, Lucy. I wish you knew what a comfort you are to me." " Am I ? That is very sweet. And I shall always be glad that mother that Mrs. Stan- iford gave me the opportunity to care for you." " Is Mrs. Stamford your mother, Lucy ? You need not fear to tell me." 76 The Stanifords of Staniford' 's Folly. Mrs. Scott hesitated for a moment, and then answered, "Yes. She is my husband's mother. Ten years ago William Staniford and I were married. But he is dead to all but Mrs. Stan- iford and me ; and for the sake of the family, I wear my old name, Lucy Scott." " But you do not live with the Stanifords ? " " No. And that is for my own sake. My husband is a felon, and I bear the stigma of his crime, because I am his wife. I should be very, very unhappy at Staniford's Folly, so I am a nurse. I need not be ; mother does not wish it ; but it is my choice. When the heart is heavy, as mine is sometimes, it is better to keep the hands employed ; and when one sees others suffer in body and mind, one forgets one's own personal woes.'* She had been stirring the gruel on the top of Blessed are the Comforters. 77 the stove, when the door quietly opened behind her, and Mrs. Forbes's one friendly neighbor entered. She was a short, chubby, round-faced, rosy- cheeked little woman, probably not far from fifty years of age. She wore a neat French print dress, and an ample gingham apron ; and had donned a quilted hood with a sort of large cape to it, fur trimmed, and nearly covering her shoulders. Her leggings, which she had shaken out at the door, hung across her arm, and she brought with her a bowl and saucer wrapped in a fine fringed napkin, white as snow. " Good mornin' to ye, Mrs. Forbes, dear," she said. " Good mornin' to ye, Mrs. Scott. It's a very airly breekfast ye're getting, sure. An* didn't I think I would forestall ye, so I did, an* bade me goodman hasten the fire, that I might hate me chicken broth, an' bring it over fornenst the time Mrs. Forbes was up ! " 78 The Stamfords of Stani/ord* s Folly. At the sound of her cheery voice, Mrs. Scott turned directly. " Ah ! Mrs. Garter. We're glad to see you. It is early, but Mrs. Forbes had very little sleep last night, so we've been coaxing the daylight for her benefit. She shall have the chicken broth, if you'd like. I know it will taste good to her. Everything you bring in does. You * rise with the lark,' too, it seems, as well as we ; the lark, or the robin, or some other early winter bird whose name I've forgotten," she added, laughing. "I haven't a good memory, Mrs. Carter, or else ] don't observe as I ought to." " It's not the lark, thin, dear," said Mrs. Car- ter. " Unless it's a Christmas 4 lark,' an they're plinty with the Irish at this time, if they're not with the Americans. But it's not that bird that wakened meself an' me goodinan. Blessed are the Comforters. 79 It's me own cockeril. An' vexed I am with him, too, sometimes ; for I fear he disturbs ye with his great crowun'. He's a brave bird, sure, for bringin' the marnin', but I'd be better plazed with him, if he wouldn't bring it so airly in the night." And Mrs. Carter laughed heartily at her own Irish joke, her merry blue eyes twinkling, and her fat little body shaking all over. Mrs. Forbes looked up and smiled ; and the nurse said. " You're a happy soul, Mrs. Carter, and our invalid declares that you're as good as you are happy, which I am quite ready to be- lieve. I really don't know but you are the sun- light Mrs. Forbes has been so longing for, the past two days." The little woman shook her head. ** Ah ! it's but a farden candle I am, dear. But I'll flicker me best to serve ye and yer pa- 80 The Stamfords of Staniford ' Folly. tient. An' patient she is, that's thrue ! the Lord spare her I " Mrs. Scott had taken the bowl and set it upon the tiny table which always stood near the sick woman's chair. " Sit down, won't you, Mrs. Carter ? " she said, drawing the rush-bottomed rocker near the fire. " But tell us, how did you get over here ? for the snow at the back of the house is very badly drifted." " Thank ye, dear, but I'll not be stopping long enough to sit. Yis, there was a bit of a dhrift, that's thrue ; an' me goodman shovelled me over. It's convanient, ye know, to have a path atween the two houses ; and Johnny's not a stout lad, an' he'll be after having his other chores to do." She went to see Mrs. Forbes, and took her wasted hand. Then, looking tenderly into her face. " May the broth give ye strength, darlint," Blessed are the Comforters. 81 she said, "an' the blissed Saviour uphold ye in yer sickness. It's nigh he always is to the wid- dys an' the fatherliss, for He's a husband to the widdy, an' the father of the orphan. An' a great heart He has, darlint, an' it's always thrue to thim He's promised to love. An' ye suffer, sure, he suffers, too, forbye his love for ye, an* he'll pray the Father for to aise ye of yer pain, so he will ; an' a dale heartier than ye can pray for yerself. It'll not be long, dear, afore ye'll raich the shady valley, an' away through it he'll carry ye in his blissed arms, with yer wairy head a-restin' on his bosom. Ah ! there's none can comfort in throuble or sickness like the blissed Saviour ! Good-bye, darlint, an' the Lord be nigh ye. I'll have to go, now, but I'll be in again." At the door she turned back, and added, " If ye're after wantin' me at any time, yerself or Mrs. Scott, just let Johnny come across to me, of 6 82 The Stamfords of StaniforcC 8 Folly. tinkle the bell at yer back door, an' I'll be over diractly. Good mornin', Mrs. Scott." " That little woman is one of the salt of the earth, I know, if she is Irish ! " exclaimed Mrs. Scott, when she had gone. " She is Protestant, of course ? " inquiringly Mrs. Fobes nodded assent, and added hi a whisper, for her conversation with the nurse previous to Mrs. Carter's entrance had wearied her more than she was at first aware of, " She has been in America twenty years." " Ah I you are tired too tired. I must not let you talk. And, indeed, you ought to have some wine before you take your broth. Will you have a little sherry ? It will brace you more than the elderberry, being older, but I will weak- en it so that it shall not make you cough." In less than an hour, the children were up and dressed, and Johnnv was out with his shovel Blessed are the Comforters. 83 trying to break through to the street. But not progressing as fast as he had expected to do, he came in for his breakfast, and finished his work afterwards. "Oh! Molly! Molly! this is jolly!" he exclaimed, rubbing his hands, and striking them together, and against his breast. " But Christ- mas '11 be a stinger, see if it isn't ! My ! how cold my ears are ! You'd better believe they ache some. Who made that great wide path through the back yard ? " " I don't know. It couldn't have been Mrs. Scott, could it ? " she ventured, timidly. " Mrs. Scott ! " with ineffable disdain. " Why, it's all / can do to clean a path through these big drifts, the snow is so deep, and keeps falling back so. I'll bet I forgot ; mother told me not to say 'bet,' I don't believe but what Carter did it." 84 The Stamfords of Stamford 1 s Folly. " And mother said we ought always to say * Mr. ' when we speak of a gentleman." " He isn't a gentleman. He's an Irishman." "And you think an Irishman can't be a gentleman. Is that it, Johnny ? " asked Mrs. Scott, who had come hi to the kitchen to sweeten some whey. "Now it seems to me that Mr. Carter's shovelling the snow for us of his own free will, and out of the kindness of his heart, was a very gentlemanly thing to do. What do you think about it, Lizzie ? " "I think it was," said Lizzie. " And so do I," echoed Molly. " I like Mr. Carter. And Mrs. Carter, too. They've always been real good to us. And their house is sweet pretty inside, Mrs. Scott, for all they're Irish. Their things are a great deal nicer than ours. But Mrs. Stamford's house is the nicest. It's perfectly splendid ! " Blessed are the Comforters. 85 "Is it?" "Yes'm. And they're richer than anybody else in Englewood." " And would you like to be rich, Molly ? " " I guess I would ! " " You think it would make you a very happy little girl, I suppose ? " pouring the whey into a glass. *' I know it would." " Well, dear, we'll talk about that sometime. Perhaps I could tell you a story that would lead you to think differently. Would you like to come in very quietly, children, and say ' good- morning ' to mother ? Let me see. Perhaps I had better speak to her, first. Yes, she is ready. Come." What an effort Johnny made to walk on hia toes ! and how his boots would clomp, notwith standing ! The girls succeeded better, their 86 The Stamfords of Stamford' s Folly. shoes being lighter ; but their welcome was not any more affectionate than his. He kissed his mother tenderly, and stood by her side, caressing her hand, while he looked wistfully into her face, and now and then sighed heavily. For Johnny noticed what his sisters did not that she was thinner and feebler than she had been, and that their thoughtless prattle wearied her far more than it used to do. It sent a pang to his young heart; for he began now dimly to realize that the time was drawing nearer, one day nearer with each sunset, when they must part with her, and their home be home no longer. The thought came to him, as he stood there by the side of her whom he loved so dearly, that perhaps the parting was coming sooner than he had guessed. Ah ! she seemed so weak, and her cough was so distressing and exhausting ! Tears started to his eyes, and Blessed are the Comforters. 87 though he strove, he could not choke back the rising sobs. He dropped the dear hand he held in his, and turning abruptly away, went to his own room and shut himself in. They rightly guessed what it meant Mrs. Forbes and the nurse ; but Lizzie asked inno- cently, " Mother, what made Johnny cry ? Did he do anything naughty ? " She shook her head. " No, darling. Johnny feels sorry be- cause mother is sick," she whispered. " And I feel sorry, too," said Lizzie. " But I shan't any more, when you get well. Shall you Molly?" Poor Molly! The light was breaking upon her, too. " Oh mother ! dear mother I shall you get well ? " she asked. " Come Molly ! " said Mrs. Scott, putting her 88 The Stamfords of Stamford's Folly. arm about the child. Come, Lizzie ! Let us go into the other room, I want to talk with you. Mother must rest, now." The gentle woman took Lizzie upon her knee, while Molly stood by her side still clinging to her, and in a few quiet words told them that probably before many days they would be orphans. Molly wept bitterly ; but Mrs. Scott spoke so soothingly of heaven, and the poor invalid's freedom from pain in that world which sickness never enters, and of the hope they would always have before them of meeting her again on the other side of the river of death, with the father whom little Lizzie had never seen, and Molly only just remembered, that, though they were very, very sad, and the tears would come, they felt comforted, in a measure, and grateful for her sweet sympathy. Blessed are the Comforters. 89 " And, Mrs. Scott, shall we stay here when when mother is gone ? " , " I don't know, my dear," she replied. " Prob- ably not long if at all. But you shall all have a good home, somewhere." "Together?" asked Molly. "Oh! I hope it will be together ! " she said. It rent even the gentle nurse's heart to answer, "I'm afraid, my child, that that cannot be. But then," she added, " we can't tell. We shall not decide upon it just at present. Don't be troubled about it in the least, dear Molly. God will provide for you all. You know he has a special care over the orphans. David said, * When thy father and thy mother forsake thee, then the Lord will take thee up.' Kiss me, children, and look on the bright side. Will you not? I must begin to think about mother's 90 The Stamfords of Stamford's Folly. lunch. What shall we give her with the whey ? Some white grapes ? And would you like to get them, Molly ? The fresh ones, please. Those that Mrs. Stamford sent yesterday, in the storm." " Does Mrs. Staniford know that " she stopped. " Does she know how sick mother is?" " Oh, yes, my dear. The doctor told us both, long ago, that she could not get well." Molly brought the grapes, and laid a bunch upon a pretty cut-glass dish that had once belonged to Mrs. Forbes's youngest married sister. " That was aunty's dish when I was a baby," said she. " And is your aunty dead ? " " Yes'm. Aunt Clara and Aunt Addie both died in consumption, and so did grandma and Blessed are the Comforters* 91 uncle George. We haven't any aunties now. Nor any uncles, except Uncle Joshua, father's brother, and he went to California, round Cape Horn, in his vessel, and mother thinks he is lost, because the ship hasn't been heard from for so long." "Utterly alone! poor children!" thought Mrs. Scott. She carried in the grapes and whey, with some delicate biscuit ; but Mrs. Forbes had at length fallen asleep, so she set them down upon the table by her side, and went out to meet the doctor, whose sleigh had just stopped on the opposite side of the street. He shook off the snow, and dried himself by the kitchen fire, waiting to say a few pleasant words to Molly, and to pat Lizzie upon the head ; then quietly entered the sick room with tha nurse. 92 The Stamfords of Stamford's Folly. " How long has she been asleep ? " he asked. " Not more than fifteen or twenty minutes," Mrs. Scott replied. " How long did she sleep last night ? " " Not one second, doctor. She slept last, an hour, yesterday afternoon." " She is much weaker, to-day." " Yes. She is failing very rapidly, it seems to me." He nodded assent, " How long can she last, doctor ? " " Probably not more than a day or two, at the longest." " Will she be likely to have an easy death ? " " I cannot tell. But I think she will die like the snuffing out of a candle. It's a sad case for the children. Has any provision been made for them ? " " None that I know of. But from what Mrs. Blessed are the Comforters. 93 Staniford has said to me, I think she will adopt the youngest, if Mrs. Forbes is willing. " And no doubt she will be. And yet, it seema a pity to separate them. Have they no rela- tives ? " " None living, I believe. Doctor ! you have no children. Why couldn't you take Johnny ? He is such an affectionate boy ! and his mother is so anxious, at times, about his future. I think it would be a great relief to her, if she could know just who will care for him when she is gone. I shall take him, if you do not ; but the boy needs a father's watchfulness and author- ity, or will need it, as he grows older. I am very audacious, am I not ? but I feel nearly as much interest in him as his own mother does." The doctor smiled. " You are certainly a good advocate," he re- plied. " Do you know I have been considering 94 The Stanifords of Stamford's Folly. that very plan, myself ? As you say, I have no children, and my wife and I have fairly entered upon the ' down hill ' of life. " " Ah ! why separate them, doctor ? Why not take Molly and Johnny both ? You'll never be sorry for it, and think how much happier it will make them ! It would be very lonely for either in your great house, without the other, and no young faces to look upon. And they are such good children, and so attached to each other ! " " I see how it is," he replied, good-humoredly. " I've given you an inch, and you're going to take an ell. Mrs. Scott, let me advise you to leave off nursing, and practice law, or else solicit for life-insurance." " Ah ! that is raillery. I can only plead well where my heart is interested, doctor. I love the children, and I love their mother, and it would grieve me deeply to feel that they must be home- Blessed are the Comforters. 95 less as well as motherless. But they shall not be homeless ! for, as I said, if you do not adopt them for yours, I shall for mine." " Well, Mrs. Scott, I will consider the matter, and consult my wife. I am a little afraid that the care of both will be too much of a burden for her." " Don't think so, doctor, or let her think so, please ; for I assure you, Molly is a very capable child, unusually so for one of her years. She is busy, apt, and neat ; and would be far more help to Mrs. Bowles than trouble. Do persuade her that it will be for her advantage to take Molly, as I am sure it will. When you are old, Mrs. Bowles will need a daughter quite as much as you will need a son. And, indeed, she will need both son and daughter more than you." " You expect to gain your point, I see, Mrs. Scott." 96 The Stamfords of Stamford's Folly. " I hope to, certainly.'* " Well, you deserve to. And I shouldn't won- der if you did. I will let you know our decision to-morrow." It was late in the afternoon when Mrs. Stam- ford came to make her inquiries for the welfare of the invalid ; and Mrs. Scott noticed at once that she was bearing the weight of some new sorrow, or else that the old griefs were growing heavier. An irresistible yearning to say some comforting word to this woman who had been more than a mother to her in her own great trouble, impelled her to answer Mrs. Stamford's query, " Is there anything I can do to-day, Lucy ? Is anything needed ? " with, " Yes. We must see you. Cannot you come hi for a few min- utes?" Mrs. Staniford gave some directions to Peter, and stepped out of the sleigh. Blessed are the Comforters. 9T " Is Mrs. Forbes worse ? " she asked. " I fear she is much weaker. But she is rest- ing now. She has been very drowsy ever since eleven o'clock in the forenoon. Molly, will you take your sewing, and sit with your mother for a few minutes ? If she stirs, call me immediately." When they were alone, Mrs. Scott clasped her arms around Mrs. Stamford's neck and whis- pered, "Mother, dear, whatever it is, let me help you bear it. You have been so good to me ! so tender and kind ! And we have at least one grief in common. You know, too, that I love you." Ah ! who that had seen Mrs. Staniford only a few minutes before, when she sat erect in her sumptuously furnished sleigh, with its costly mountings, and Axminster carpet, and Persian rugs, its damask cushions, and tiger-skin robes, 7 98 The Stamfords of Stamford's Folly. and blooded horses, rich sables wrapped about her, and jewels sparkling at her throat, could have imagined her weeping upon the shouldei of this poor serving- woman, for such she really was, and accusing her wealth of being a mill- stone about her neck and the necks of her children, to plunge them into misery and perdition ? CHAPTER VI. NEW HOMES, || E ARIL Y oh! how wearily, Mrs. ^P Forbes dragged through another night, sinking slowly, but surely. The doctor came early in the morning. " I think," said he, in answer to Mrs. Scott's questioning, " that she cannot last through the day. About the children, madam. I have talked my wife over. We will take the two eldest, if Mrs. Forbes consents. Have you spoken with her about it ? " (99) 100 The Stamfords of Staniford ' Folly. " No. Shall I do so this forenoon ? " Yes, you had better. Her life now must be reckoned by hours if not by minutes. Would you like to talk with her alone ? If so, I will retire." " Wait, please, here in the kitchen, if you will. She may have something to say to you ; though indeed she seems stupid, notices but little, apparently, that is going on, andjnay not realize what I shall tell her." " I will wait, however. Where are the children ? " " Johnny has gone to the store for me, but he will be back soon, and Molly and Lizzie are making up Johnny's bed." " Never mind, then. I did not want them for anything in particular." Mrs. Scott returned to the sick room, where her patient lay, with half-shut eyes, almost motionless. New Homes. 101 " Mrs. Forbes ! " she called, softly, for she rightly guessed that the poor woman was not asleep. Her eyelids unclosed. " Well, Lucy ? " she whispered. " Did you know, dear, that you were very near jour end ? that you cannot be with us many hours longer ? " And she sat down beside her, and took the sufferer's wasted hand in her own. " Ah ! thank God ! " Mrs. Forbes murmured. " I shall welcome death." " Yes. It will be sweetest rest for you. And the children " She pressed the nurse's hand. " I thought, Mrs. Forbes, that it would make your last moments happier to know that they need not be homeless. Mrs. Stamford would like to adopt Lizzie, and Doctor Bowles only 102 The Stamfords of Stamford's Folly. waits your consent to provide Johnny and Molly with a pleasant home beneath his own roof, and a father's and mother's care. Are you willing to trust him?" But the invalid closed her eyes, and did not answer. Mrs. Scott thought her sinking into a stupor, and called, gently, " Mrs. Forbes ! " " Yes, Lucy," she replied, faintly. " I heard you speak. But I am talking with Christ, now." She moved her lips, as though in prayer; and Mrs. Scott did not disturb her. At length she looked up, and said, "Call the children, Lucy! Call Mrs. Staniford. Call Doctor Bowles." And then added, " Quick ! It is coming." Hastily stepping to the door, the nurse found New Homes. 103 them gathered in the kitchen, the doctor, Mrs. Staniford, who had picked up Johnny on the way, and taken him to Vine Street in her sleigh, Molly, and Lizzie. She beckoned to the doctor. " Come," she said. " Come, Mrs. Staniford. Come children." Mrs. Staniford led in Lizzie, followed by Molly and Johnny, and the doctor. Poor Molly was already crying, and Johnny struggling hard to keep back the tears. Mrs. Scott poured some wine into a glass, and held it to the dying woman's lips, carefully sup- porting her head, as she did so. " Sip slowly," she said. " It will revive you." Mrs. Forbes sipped twice, and then held out her hand to little Lizzie. " Come," she whispered. " Molly, and Jolmny." 104 The Stamfords of Stamford 1 s Folly. They drew near her, knowing that it was for farewell, now, rather than greeting. The last farewell ; and they sobbed aloud. "Don't, darlings! Don't!" pleaded Mrs. Scott. " It distresses poor mother. Be brave, Johnny, and remember that the parting is not to be forever, my child ; but that in a little while, only a little while, for life is short, though it seems long to you, I know, you will all meet her and your dear father, never to be parted any more." But they had not yet learned that self-control which comes of experience in suffering. They were tasting the bitterness of a first grief ; and, being but children, bore it after the fashion of children, naturally ; feeling, poor things ! as though their hearts must break. But few hearts break for lost love, least of all, the hearts of children. New Homes. 105 " Kiss me Johnny ! " whispered the dying mother. "And be a good son to your new parents. Love them and obey them. That will be proof that you loved me. Molly ! You have been very dutiful, my child ; and a great help to mother. Let it comfort you when I'm gone, that you did the best you could, and that mother blessed you for it. Lizzie ! my baby ! God keep you, darling. Be a good little daughter to " She fell back exhausted, and it was some seconds before she could drink the wine they offered her. Once more she essayed to speak. " Doctor Bowles tell your dear wife " She gasped for breath, and her words could no longer be distinguished. Clasping between her wasted palms little Lizzie's tiny fingers, 106 The Stamfords of Staniford 's Folly. sleep stole over her, the sleep she had longed for, rest eternal. So swiftly it came, yet so sweetly, that they waited to hear her voice again, thinking that the silence was only momentary, as before; but the doctor, who had stooped over her, to catch, if possible, the message she had striven to utter, no longer felt the flutter of uneven breath against his cheek, and, laying his hand upon her heart, found that it had ceased beating. " She is dead," he said, quietly. Then Mrs. Staniford gathered Lizzie to her bosom, and softly cried over the little motherless lamb, while Molly laid her head upon her mother's pillow, sobbing distressfully; and Johnny, kneeling down by the side of her whom he had so loved, covered her wan, motionless fingers with passionate kisses and tears It was a touching sight ; and even Doctor New Homes. 107 Bowles, accustomed as he was to scenes of sorrow, and death-bed partings, felt the moisture gather upon his own eyelids, while his large heart yearned toward the desolate orphans. Mrs. Scott stole an arm about Molly. " My dear child," she said, gently, " this is not right. You will make yourself ill. Remem- ber, mother is no longer here. She is with the angels. Come away, Molly. Come, Johnny. Let us go into your bed-room for a few moments." They followed her ; and by Johnny's bed, she knelt between them, and prayed the Saviour to comfort them in their loneliness and grief. And then she left them together. In a few minutes Mrs. Carter came over to assist Mrs. Scott, and when she went back, took the children home with her to her own house, where she brooded them tenderly, saying such 108 The Stanifords of Stamford* s Folly. sweet, soothing words in her own cheery, hr .rty, trusting way, that when they went to bed, w let's go into the grove and see if we can find Madge, and Ma- bel," she added, " for I don't know but by this time they've begun to think we're lost. How old is Madge ? " asked Pearl. " Eleven. And Mabel's eight. And oh, they're such good girls. I have such good times with them ! I wish they'd stay always. And I wish Johnny and Molly were here, to-day. But Mrs. Bowles said she couldn't let them come." " Mrs. Bowles ? " " Yes. She's Doctor Bowles's wife. And they've taken Molly and Johnny, that's my brother and sister." " Oh, I know now. I've seen them at church, and you can't think, Lizzie, how I like their looks. You must introduce them to me some time." 172 The Stanifords of Stamfords Folly "Pearl! Pearl Seccomb; Where's Pearl?" It was Edith's voice. " Coming ! " she called ; and she soon found her way into the midst of the gay little group, who were all laughing and talking together, and evidently in the highest spirits. It looked as though both sides had beat at croquet ; but I have since learned that the boys rather ungallantly left the girls, to kick football ; and that finding they were deserted, the girls only made believe croquet, until the football came flying in amongst them, when they seized it and hid it, and the boys searching for it in vain, Wal- lace finally proposed a game, which all assented to, without a hint being given of the football's whereabouts. Girls will do such things, as all girls know. And now I should like to stop and tell you about the game, if I knew just how it was The Children's Picnic. 173 played ; but as I do not, I will only say that in the very midst of the forfeits, I believe they were heavy forfeits, came the summons to lunch ; and the boys being very hungry, as boys are apt to be, wouldn't take time to finish their sport, but good-naturedly whisked theii partners into line, and headed for the big tent on the lawn. Ah ! such a beautiful sight as met their eyes when they entered it ! It was hung with ever- greens and wreaths of flowers, and gilded cages were suspended at the two entrances ; while the table tempted with all manner of dainties, among which were scattered vases filled with green- house bouquets, one for each child. After the collation, they rolled ball, and tried the archery, all but Mabel and Lizzie ; for Mabel was tired, and the elder children rather neglected the two little girls in their eagerness 174 The Stanifords of Staniford'8 Folly. to get ten strikes in the alley, and hit the eye of the target on the archery ground ; so they raced across the turf, hand in hand, and wandered into the grove, in search of wonders. How the young grasshoppers capered, and the early butter- cups and daisies laughed, and nodded as their " twinkling feet " sped over the lawn ! Down in the cool wood-depths they found mushrooms, pine-cones, cup-mosses, puff-ball, tender checker- berry leaves, delicate wild flowers, and plenty of ants, spiders, and young beetles, in which, by-the- by, Mabel was very much interested. It was her delight to turn over an old stone, or pull a bit of moss from a rock, and watch the little squirming, wriggling things beneath it, suddenly revealed by the unexpected act. How she laughed over them, and their frantic attempts to hide from the day- light! She would sit for hours, and study an ant-hill ; and had more than once been stung by The Children's Picnic. 175 an invidious bee for wanting to pry too closely into the secrets of honey-making. She was not a bit afraid of caterpillars or grasshoppers ; and let the lady-birds creep where they would, upon face or hands. She could not bear to kill a fly, or even a spider or mosquito ; and half thought the birds wicked to eat bugs and worms. On and on they wandered, till they came to a fence, the boundary line of Mr. Stamford's land. They followed it down to a brook, full of pebbles and clinging green mosses, and bright cresses. This they crossed upon some planks laid for the purpose, and soon found themselves in the com- pany of four sleek and meek-eyed Jersey cows, who were contentedly chewing, and seemed to care very little about their childish visitors. Lizzie, however, was a trifle afraid of them, and felt relieved when they had reached the pasture- gates and were safe upon the other side of the 176 The Stamfords of Stamfords Folly. " Where are we, Mabel ? " she asked. " I'm sure I don't know," replied the little girl, " but we shall come out all right, if we keep on." And so they did, for, climbing a wooded knoll, they saw through the bushes the back part of the great house, and Peter mounting the seat of the carryall, to which were harnessed a pair of bay horses. Mrs. Staniford had just been speaking with him at the porch door, and listen- ing, they distinctly heard the old-fashioned clock in the hall strike four before the door closed upon her. " Oh ! I'm so tired ! " sighed Lizzie. " Are you ? So am I. Let's go into the tent and rest awhile. I saw a sofa there when we had our lunch." There was a lounge, and Lizzie and Mabel curling themselves up on it, in less than five minutes were fast asleep. CHAPTER IX. MOLLY AND JOHNNY MEET PEARL. >a U[RS. STANIFORD had had a great deal to think of during the day, but her thoughts were of and for others, rather than herself. How to make her guests happy, that was the principal one ; and then it came across her how Johnny and Molly would have enjoyed the romps, and games, and collation, and she half rebelled against Doctor and Mrs. Bowles's wise decision. All at once, and that was in the middle of 12 (177) 178 The Stamfords of Stamford's Folly. the afternoon, it occurred to her that the school closed at four o'clock, and that there were fivo hours more before nine. " The children shall come, yet I " she said to herself ; and then found Peter, and bade him harness, and go again for them. Meantime, there had been great sport at the archery-ground, and some vexation upon Edith's part, for Carl, and Madge, and the two younger Weldon boys were very much amused at her ill success, and two or three times laughed aloud, as her arrow went flying past the target and fell into the grass ; for she had boasted a good deal that morning about her accomplishments, and among others, had named this, affirming that she could lodge her arrows within the inner ring next to the bull's-eye, three times out of five ; where- as, after more than a dozen attempts, she had succeeded but once, the gay little shafts almost Molly and Johnny meet Pearl. 179 always darting by the target, or, if striking it, lodging close to its outer circle, to Edith's great mortification. Finally, she threw down bow and arrow in a pet, and declared that " she hoped they were all saucy enough ; she wouldn't stay with such a set." Whereupon Pearl, who could not bear to see any one unhappy, tripped after her, and put- ting her arms about Edith's waist, said coaxingly, * Never mind, Edith. You and I will go down to the grove, and have a run all to ourselves." But when Pearl left, the archery practice grew to be dull music, and it was not long before Arthur and the others, catching the sound of the violin, agreed that something lively was the best fan after all, and with a loud whoop, the boys set off at full speed for the summer house, followed by Madge and Mary. 44 There they are, now I " exclaimed Edith. " I 180 The Stamfords of Stamford* 8 Folly. think it's real mean. I won't play any more if Carl and those horrid Weldons are going to stick their noses in ; I hate boys, anyway ! They're always round where they're not wanted, and just as rude and ugly as they can be." But Carl had all at once discovered that Liz- zie was missing ; and as he had voluntarily as- sumed the care of her, he began to wonder where she could be. " Perhaps she has gone up to the house," sug- gested Arthur. " No," said Mary. " She went down into the wood with Mabel Rentz. I called to them to come with George and me, but Mabel said they were only going a little way, to 'find funny things and hear the birds sing.' " " Then I know they're in the wood," argued Madge. " Mabel would stay there till dark, hunting for bugs and worms, if she wasn't told Molly and Johnny meet Pearl. 181 not to. She's the queerest little thing about that you ever saw ; and she makes the greatest fuss if mother kills a spider or a caterpillar. Oh, if she went into the wood, I know she's there now." " There's no danger of they're getting lost, I suppose," said Wallace. " Not on our land," returned Carl. ** But Orme's wood-lot joins ours, and it's a big one. If they got in there, they wouldn't find their way out very soon." Wallace took out his watch. " It's four o'clock, already," he said. " Hadn't we better look for them, Carl, before it gets any later ? " Pearl had joined the little group. * Oh, do ! Carl ! " she exclaimed. " It would be dreadful, if they were lost. And it grows dark so much earlier where the trees and bushes are thick, and I can't help thinking about the snakes, ugh I " 182 The Stamfords of Stamford* 8 Folly. ** I'll tell you how to manage it," advised Arthur. " Let Madge go up to the house, and if they're there, get one of the maids to strike the big bell. We can all hear that. George can run down to the bowling alley, meantime, and scour about by the pond, and afterward hunt around the barns and out-buildings ; if the bell doesn't sound by then, Pearl and Mary can search all the clumps and hiding places on the lawn, and you, and Wallace, and I will dive into Orme's wood. But really, Carl, I don't believe they're there." *' Somehow, I don't think they are, myself,'* returned he. "Mabel wouldn't be afraid to start for California on foot, if she took a notion to ; but I don't believe Lizzie would get through the bars into Orme's woods without permission She never does anything she thinks mother wouldn't like." Molly and Johnny meet Pearl. 183 "Let's try Arthur's plan," said Wallace. " Only I'll run up to the house instead of Madge, and if they're not to be found there, I'll join you two boys in less than five minutes." And off he darted on his errand, while the rest separated according to Arthur's suggestion, disconsolate Edith complaining to Pearl that she " never could have any enjoyment ; " and that children were " forever doing something they'd no business to do, and spoiling all the fun for everybody else ; " a failing it is to be presumed, of which Miss Edith was never guilty. The boys shouted the little ones' names, but only echo answered. On the other side of the fence boundary, separating Mr. Stamford's land from Mr. Orme's was a rank growth of grass and bushes. Mount- ing the top rail, Carl looked over; but the children had evidently not been there, for the long, green blades were untrampled. 184 The Stamfords of Stamford? 8 Folly. The boys followed the fence to the brook. At the brook, was a stile into Mr. Orme's meadow. Halting here, Carl shouted again. No answer. He went along to the little plank- bridge. Ah ! acorns and pine-cones ! Mabel had dropped these; and across the brook, where Lizzie had become frightened at the cows, was a scattered handful of checkerberry leaves. " Come along, Arthur," he called. "I've struck the trail ; " then gave a shrill whistle, which Wallace answered, as he came bounding toward them. "See!" said Carl. "They came this way," pointing to the lost spoils. "Well, then, somebody's sure to find them about the grounds," returned Wallace. " They're not at the house." They passed through the gate, to the lawn, and again Carl shouted. No response. Molly and Johnny meet Pearl. 18-5 " Pearl hasn't come upon them, yet. it seems," said Wallace. " I wonder if anybody tried the big tent." " Sure enough ! " rejoined Carl. " I never thought of that. I'll go and see if they're there." He crossed the lawn in double quick time, while Arthur and Wallace joined Pearl, and her sister, and Edith, George having returned mean- time without intelligence. Carl looked in at the tent opening. There lay the children, wrapped in slumber, Mabel's arm about Lizzie, her sunny hair rippling over the pillow beside Lizzie's dark brown curls, and her peachy cheek resting upon her little playmate's shoulder. Her treasures had fallen from her lap, and were scattered here and there among the shaven grass. Ah ! then he shouted to some purpose. Yon 186 The Stamfords of Stamford* s Folly. could have heard his "Wallace! Here! Safe I " almost to the farther end of the grove. The frightened children sprang up, wide awake, Mabel rolling off the lounge, face down- ward, among the wild flowers, and mosses, and curling fern-fronds. She was half angry, too, and cried a little. " What's the matter ? " asked Carl, coming to the rescue. But Mabel would not let him touch her. " You needn't have made such a horrid noise," she jerked out, as she picked herself up and shook out her dress. *' Oh, don't be cross, Mabel," said Carl. ** We all thought you and Lizzie were lost." She relented a little. " I ain't cross, but I was having such a nice dream, and you woke me up just when I didn't want to be waked." Molly and Johnny meet Pearl. 187 Did I ? Well, I didn't mean to. What was you dreaming about ? " " About a big green beetle with long hind legs that sat up to me and held out his hands like Squib does his paws. He made a bow, and scratched his ear, and then winked at me so funny I couldn't help laughing; and if you hadn't frightened me so, I was going to speak to him." "Well, now, look here, Mabel. I'll find a lady-bird or a grasshopper, and put it under your pillow, and you can dream the beetle pan- tomime over again, and make the old fellow tell you how it happened that he came to have ears when all the rest of the ' big bugs ' haven't got any. I'd like to know about it, myself. Were you dreaming about beetles, Lizzie ? " going toward her. " Oh ! don't step on the little funny things I 188 The tStanifords of StaniforcT 8 Folly. found in the wood I " screamed Mabel, clutching at the ferns and pine-cones. And then she sat down on the grass, and gathered them all into her lap. " What good are they, anyway ? " asked Carl. " They're pretty, and I'm going to carry them home when I go," she replied. *' Much you will ! " he said. " Your mother won't let you put that trash into the trunk." " It isn't trash," she retorted. " God made them, and God doesn't make any trash but ' poor white trash,' " she added. Carl laughed. "You're an odd stick," he said. "Who told you about * poor white trash ? '" " Uncle Csesar, that saws papa's wood." " Hark ! what's that ? " exclaimed Carl. " Carriage wheels ? Who's come now ? I won- der," going to the tent opening. "Come quick 1 Molly and Johnny meet Pearl. 189 Lizzie. It's Johnny and Molly, as true as you live ! That's prime now, isn't it ? " Down she jumped, her face radiant. She did not need a second summons, but skipped across the lawn, followed by Carl- at a quick pace. Mabel took it leisurely, for her treasures would spill out at either side of her dress into the grass at every other step, and of course she must stop and pick them up. Pearl, Wallace, Arthur and the others had just turned back toward the grove, thinking at first that the carriage contained callers for Mrs. Staniford, but George having discovered, as it came up the avenue, that it was Mrs. Stamford's own team with Peter driving, they halted till it should pass them, when Edith caught sight of the new guests, and forthwith launched her ready invectives. "Those hateful Forbeses ! I should like to 190 The Stamfords m;Mit ' ; but then she was not in the secret which lay behind 224 The Stamfords of Stamford? s Folly. it. Afterward, Wallace met Doctor Bowles one day upon the street, and told him how Pearl and he felt, but that they were convinced it was their duty to submit to their parent's wishes in the matter and sacrifice their inclinations. " That is all very right," replied the doctor, and I honor you for your obedience to an unjust command for such it is, in this instance, as I could prove to you, if it were worth while. But that is neither here nor there ; you do right to obey, and you would do wrong, if you did not. Tell Miss Pearl that we understand all about it, her feelings and yours, as well as Mr. Seccomb's ; and that we shan't think any the less of that gentleman's daughter and son because they are good children. We are all the more sorry for our loss on account of it. Here's my hand, Wal- lace, the hand of an honorable man, believe me, whatever you may have been led to think to Johnny Confides in the Doctor. 225 the contrary, as yours is of an honorable lad. I wish you the,best that life can give to you, and that's a sterling character and a stainless name, and if I am not greatly deceived in you, ray wish will be realized. Good-day, Wallace. We part friends, I am confident." " That we do, sir," returned Wallace, heartily. " And I thank you for your kind words." A month passed; and one morning, Do vale & SeccomVs Bazaar was not open as usual, but the shutters remained up all day. Then it began to be whispered about that a screw was loose somewhere, that it wasn't quite right with the firm ; and by the next forenoon, the truth be- came pretty widely known. They had failed for two hundred thousand dollars, and the stock was mortgaged, at that. City firms lost heavily ; but Englewood suffered, too ; for Nahum Staniford and Mr. Holland had both endorsed for Mr. 15 226 The Stanifords of Stanford's Folly. Seccomb, and were largely out of pocket in con- sequence. "Johnny," said the doctor, that evening, *' how much money do you suppose you have earned for me within a month ? " Johnny colored. " Not a cent, sir. I wish I had ; for I'm afraid I cost you a good deal." " Then you don't think farming profitable, I take it," he said, laughing. " Oh, if that's what you mean, " " No ; it isn't. I don't refer to the farm at all, although I am quite aware that it's a credit to you, as well as a convenience to Mrs. Bowles, and may be a decided success financially, I'll inquire into that, sometime, for our mutual satis- faction. But that isn't the speculation I had in mind. You know they say, Johnny, that * a penny saved is a penny earned.' If such be the Johnny Confides in the Doctor. 227 case, you have earned ten thousand dollars for me." Johnny opened his eyes wide, you may be sure. " I don't see how, sir," he replied. " Don't you ? Well, I didn't endorse for Mr. Seccomb the other day. And he's failed, sys- tematically. How's that ? " " Then," said Johnny, " I'm glad I told you what I did, though I didn't want to, and thought you'd no right to to pump me so. But I won't feel that way another time, Doctor Bowles." " ' Doctor Bowles,' ' Doctor Bowles,' " he repeated. " Always ' Doctor Bowles.' Why, that's what strangers call me, and people I don't care anything about, and enemies who would like to ruin me. But I think when my son, who has somehow grown into my heart through giving 228 The Stamfords of Stamford 1 s Folly. me his confidence, has saved me ten thousand dollars as well by his manly confession , he might call me ' father,' just once." " Then I will, sir I " returned Johnny ; " for you've been a father to me ever since I came here, and a good one, too, and there's nothing I wouldn't do for you. I hope you haven't thought me ungrateful because I'm odd sometimes. It don't seem as though I could help that, but I'm going to try to, and perhaps I may outgrow it some day. At any rate, I'm not ungrateful ; and if you could see inside of me, you'd know that I thanked you through and through, and all the time, too, for this good home, and everybody's kind words, and your love, father ! " And, looking up into the doctor's face, as he spoke the words so hard to utter, he saw tears in the man's eyes. After that, would you believe it ? it always came easy for him to say it. Johnny Confides in the Doctor. 229 But it took poor Johnny a good while longer to call Mrs. Bowles " mother," gentle as she was to him. For he could not forget her who had given him life, and cared for him so many years, bearing her wearisome burdens uncomplainingly, and loving her children with a devotion such as no other human being could ever feel for them. And Mrs. Bowles did not urge it. She had not the heart to wound him. As long as he was dutiful, what did it matter ? A little, perhaps, because she had learned to call him her child, and to feel that he belonged to her. But then she was willing to wait. And because she was willing to wait, the desire of her heart was given to her. But I cannot tell you how, unless I take you to Shute's Falls, is not that strange? and before going to Shute's Falls, we must stop at Mr. Staniford's office. CHAPTER XL . THE RESCUEj ma R. STANIFORD was in the wholesale grain business ; and he had agencies in Chicago, Buffalo, and Ogdensburg. His eldest son, William, had been at one time in his employ ; but on account of certain irregu- larities, was quietly advised to seek a situation elsewhere, his father recommending him as he had no right to do, to the firm whom he after- wards wronged. His crime against them was (230) The Rescue. 231 forgery ; and his employers, learning through other parties of his former dishonesty, were not a little incensed against Mr. Stamford himself, and would not come to any terms with him. The consequence was that William fled to England to escape the clutches of the law, and carried a new disgrace with him in his flight, which it is not necessary to mention here. At eighteen, Horace also became a clerk for his father, and being a good accountant, was promoted, after a year's service. But his dissi- pated habits began to be disastrous to the business. He made blunders in his entries, forgot to attend to commissions he was appointed to execute, and left things at loose ends generally. If he wanted a day's pleasure, he took the time, and left the junior clerks to do his work ; and was angry when he returned, if they had not obeyed his orders. 232 The Stamfords of Stamford's Folly. His father talked with him ; but advice and remonstrance failing to work a reform, he told Horace, as he had told William, that he must find some other employer. Horace found one ; but unfortunately it was the one who furnishes " mischief " for " idle hands ; " and he gave him plenty to do at the Englewood House, in the way of smoking, drinking, and billiard playing, and at the race- coarse, in the way of betting. The race-course was two miles out of Engle- wood, and reached by a road running across Shute's Creek, a narrow, inky stream, with a deep and rapid current, which flowed around Englewood, and emptied into a broad, smooth, flowing river. The bridge was an old one, with a wooden railing on either side, decayed and broken. There was a better bridge, higher up the stream ; The Rescue. 233 but as this was the nearest to the race-ground, it was the one usually chosen by turf men and their friends. Horace always took this road rather than the turnpike, since it shortened his distance nearly half a mile. Not far below the lower bridge was the falls, a descent in the creek partly natural and partly artificial. It was a cataract of three falls, giving, when the creek was high, immense water-power advantage, and this had been improved by saw- mills, grist-mills, and paper-mills, till there was quite a settlement in the vicinity. Here Doctor Bowles had one or two patients, one of whom was ill of congestive fever, and in a very critical condition, requiring two visits daily. One afternoon, it was the month of July, the doctor asked Johnny how he would like to get into the chaise and ride over to Falls Village with him. " We will stop at the paper-mills, if 234 The Stanifords of Stamford's Folly. you say so," he added, " when I have made my call at Mr. Hole's." Johnny's countenance brightened in a mo- ment. *' I should like it very much, sir," he answered. * 4 Are you in earnest, father ? May I go?" " Yes. Jump in.'* And they drove off together. But when the doctor got to the other side of the bridge, he found waiting for him a surgical case. Ten minutes before, a man had fallen down the elevator at one of the grist-mills, and lay groaning in agony upon some sacks of grain on the lower floor of the mill. Of course he must attend to him ; so Johnny drove the horse across the street into Mr. Hale's barn, tied him, and went down to the river to look at the falls. Built against either bank was a wall of heavy The Rescue. 235 stone masonry to break the force of the water where it would be likely otherwise to undermine and wash away the earth ; and out to the very edge of one of these parapets Johnny walked, and watched the trembling, writhing, seething flood, sending its spray high into the air, the white spume frothing and curdling downwards in angry eddies, and losing itself by degrees in little foamy streamlets in the dark mass of waters rushing to feed the great mill-wheels. He had not noticed what the doctor had, that clouds were gathering ; but a sudden flash of lightning, succeeded by a sharp crack, and a rat- tle and rumble like the discharge of musketry and artillery at a distance startled him, and he looked up to see the sky covered with angry looking clouds trailing their fleeces across the sun, and huddling together in ominous masses. Then came a quick gust of wind, and with it a 236 The Stanifords of Stamford' ' Folly. few drops spattered down. Then followed a strange silence, and it began to grow darker. Another flash, almost blinding, succeeded by a thunder-peal so loud and terrific that it seemed to shake the earth, -and jar the wall upon which Johnny was standing. He drew back a little from its verge, half in fear, and the next moment a red bolt shot across the leaden sky, and fell into the top of a huge chestnut tree standing upon the opposite side of the creek, opening it like a fan, and tearing up the ground at its roots. Oh ! what a crash was that which followed it ! and down fell the big drops, first a little show- er, and then a torrent. Johnny started up the bank, for he was really frightened now ; but while he was running he heard an angry shout, then curses, and the clatter of a horse's hoofs upon the little bridge, with a cry for help. A thick growth of bushes on the margin of the The Kescue. 237 stream obscured his view for an instant ; but he passed them, reaching an opening, just in time to see a black horse rear and plunge, a plank fly up, the railing give way, and horse and buggy precipitated into the inky flood below. The harness broke as the buggy fell, and the horse, a powerful animal, almost regained his footing ; but not quite. After one frantic effort, he plunged downward, falling upon his back, and striking the carriage just as it disap- peared beneath the water. He righted himself, struggled, and sank ; and then Johnny observed a man's head, bruised and bleeding, come to the surface not a dozen yards above where he stood, and only a few feet from the bank. There was a slight bend in the stream at this point ; and along the curve were four or five young ash-trees, tall and supple, one of which grew close to the water's edge, indeed, so close 238 The Stamfords ef Stamford's Folly. that a last spring's freshet had washed its roots quite bare of earth, and it lay supine, its branches dipping -into the current, and only waiting for another rise in the creek to be borne down- ward over the falls. Johnny's quick eyes saw the means of rescue. He plunged boldly into the water,, and caught the man's sleeve, as he drifted toward him, the swift tide bearing them on, to the point of the bend. They struck the tree, and Johnny grasped it firmly, and getting his arm around it, worked his way slowly toward the lower branches. It bent beneath his weight, the upper part of it be- ing now wholly under water ; but that helped him in this respect, that it partially broke the force of the current, and enable him to retain his hold of the drowning man. How he got him to the bank he could never tell, for the rain dashed into his face, the lightning was almost The Rescue. 239 incessant, and he had used every particle of strength he was capable of exerting, being so thoroughly exhausted when he reached a spot of safety, that he trembled violently from head to foot, and could scarcely drag himself into the partial shelter of the bushes. But he did not lie there long. The horse had gone over the falls, and the buggy-top as well, and a mill-hand had discovered them as they reached the flume, and called for assistance; and Johnny hearing the men's voices shouting along the bank in the intervals of the thunder, managed at last to bring them to his aid. As they turned the apparently lifeless body over, and carefully lifted it, Johnny thought he detected in the face a likeness to some one he had seen, and all at once it rushed upon him that he must have known the horse. It could be no other than Mr. Staniford's superb black 240 The Stanifords of Stamford's Folly. horse, " Monarch," and the young man whom he had drawn out of the water was Horace himself. He found his feet after awhile, and dragged himself back to Mr. Hale's house, where he met Doctor Bowles, who had been not a little anxious about him. His story was told in a few minutes, and Mrs. Hale made him come in and change his wet clothes, while the doctor went to the succor of Horace, who had been carried to the tavern. It was a long time before he gave any signs of life, and when he did, his mind seemed to be affected, and he talked wildly and incoherently. He had suffered a severe concussion of the brain, and there was danger of inflammation and jongestion. They sent for a coach, and laid him in it upon ft ecft Hed, the doctor giving directions that the The Rescue. 241 horses should not be driven faster than a walk, while he took Johnny into the chaise, and rode over to Stamford's Folly to prepare the mother for the sad reception. Mrs. Staniford met him all smiles and cor- diality. " Why, doctor ! " she exclaimed, " were you out in the storm ? That is too bad. But I sup- pose you have been to see poor Mr. Hale. Tell me, how is he to-day ? And Johnny, too ? Do come in, both." " Mr. Hale is a little more comfortable," re- plied the doctor. " He has not quite so high a fever this afternoon. But Johnny and I are too wet to come in. We must get to Myrtle Street as soon as possible. And, Mrs. Stamford, Horace is on the way home. He he met with an accident in Falls Village." "What! sir? An accident? What kind 16 242 The Stamfords of Stamford 1 s Folly. of an accident ? Was it very severe ? " and as the doctor looked into her face, he saw that every particle of color had fled from it, and she was grasping at the door jamb for support. " I am sorry to say, madam, that I fear it is quite serious," he replied. " It happened at the lower bridge. The horse became unmanageable through fright, and backed off into the creek ; and though Horace did not go over the falls, his head is badly injured. I have done the best I could for him, having been fortunately upon the spot at the time ; and after I have taken Johnny to Myrtle Street, will return and meet the Coach when it comes, and we will have him placed comfortably in bed. But, Mrs. Stani- ford, one thing is essential, he must have a faith- ful nurse." " He shall have no nurse, doctor, but his mother," she replied. "And you may trust her." The Rescue. 243 " But, my dear madam " " Not a word, doctor. No one shall take care of my poor boy but me. No one loves him as I do." The doctor did not tell her what he had dis- covered, that Horace had been indulging in brandy, and was probably intoxicated at the time of the accident, and that the quantity of liquor he had swallowed made the congestion more imminent, but such was the fact. He took Johnny home, and then drove back to Mrs. Staniford's, alighting at the door just as the coach entered the gateway. Meantime, Mr. Stamford had been sent for, but had not yet arrived, not being at his Englewood office ; and the coachman and Peter carefully carried the young man to his chamber, where the bed had been prepared by Mrs. Staniford and Alice. His wound had already been cleansed and 244 The Stamfords of Stamford's Folly. properly dressed ; and now the tavern blankets were removed and others substituted ; and Mrs. Stamford and Mrs. Rentz sat by his side, vainly watching for a glance of recognition. But his mind still wandered, his eyes roved wildly, and he only muttered things unintelligible. The doctor staid with him for two hours, and then left directions with regard to the bandages and medicines, promising to come again early next morning. But at midnight Johnny was taken very ill, threatened with fever, and racked with pain, and Doctor Bowles did not reach Mrs. Staniford's until nearly ten o'clock. Mrs. Arnold met him in the hall, and bowed very coolly, for she disliked him exceedingly, though for what reason she could not for her life have told, since he was a gentleman, fine looking, easy and affable, skilful in his profession, and The Meseue. 245 very kind at heart. It was ' her way * to be uncivil, when she chose, and that is all that can be said about it. As soon as he entered the room, Mrs. Rentz came forward in her usual impulsive manner. " Oh, doctor ! " she exclaimed, " why didn't you come sooner ? You don't know how anxious we have been, and it does look as though you were hard-hearted. I could cry with vexation and indignation to think you should have the cruelty to keep us in such suspense. Now was it not cruel ? But mother wouldn't let me send for you, because she said you knew how critical the 'situation was, and would come just as soon as you could." " As I did," he replied. * 4 Johnny is very ill this morning." Mrs. Stamford looked up quickly. " Johnny ill ? " she asked. " How is that, doctor ? " 246 The Stamfords of Stamford 1 s Folly. " He took a severe cold from being so long in the water, I suspect. And then he must have over-exerted himself, besides. He has a rljeu- matic fever.'* " What did you say ? That he was in the water ? " " Yes. It was Johnny who rescued Horace, yesterday, in time to prevent his going over the falls." " Johnny saved Horace ? Why ! he is a mere lad ! And you never told us of it I " exclaimed Mrs. Rentz. Then going up to the doctor, she took both his hands. " And I spoke so harshly to you just now. Forgive me, Doctor Bowles. I am always saying something I ought not to, I believe, and then begging pardon for it after- wards. The boy is a hero I and I am very, very Borry he is ill. Tell him we thank him more than words can utter, and that we love him for being so brave." The Beseue. 247 " Poor Johnny ! " said Mrs. Staniford. "Yes, tell the dear child, that whether Horace lives or dies, we can never repay him, doctor. It seems hard that he should have to suffer for his noble act, but God will solve the mystery for us, one of these days. He knows best. He has some good design in it, or he would not add your trouble to mine, dear friend." " No," replied the doctor. " Sickness and suffering have their moral uses ; that I firmly believe. And' time reveals them." He leant over and looked at his patient ; then drawing a chair to the bedside, counted his pulse. " What do you think of him ? " asked the anxious mother. " He is weaker to-day, but there is less dan- ger. I shall change the medicine, but wish you to continue the wet bandages ; and for diet, give him only the simplest gruel, a little at a time." 248 The Stamfords of Stamford 1 s Folly. " Thank God for so much encouragement ! " exclaimed Mrs. Staniford. " My husband is greatly alarmed about him, and I may send word to him may I not ? that Horace is better." " I will see him myself," returned the doctor, " if you would like to have me. I shall pass his office." *' Oh, thank you. I shall be so grateful. And doctor, I shall pray for Johnny. God keep him in his tender care ! " And God did care for the poor, patient suffer- er. He watched at both bedsides. Horace Staniford's illness was shorter and less painful, physically, than Johnny's ; but Horace was tor- tured with pangs of conscience which did not trouble his brave deliverer. Over and over again he passed through the horrors of those brief mo- ments, when he struggled in vain to get his horse across that treacherous bridge, and felt the The Rescue. . 249 doom from which he strove to escape rushing upon him ; but he never told his startling men- tal experience in words. It made its impression upon him, however, and when he rose from his bed, it was with a firm resolution to lead a differ- ent life from what he had done hitherto. " Mother," said he, " don't worry about me any more. I have sown all my wild oats, I hope ; and, thanks to brave Johnny Bowles, may sow wheat, now, if I will. I believe I shall find it worth while." And as for Johnny, though it was weeks be- fore he could leave his chamber, and he suffered, often intensely, yet he bore it manfully, and never once regretted the occasion of his illness, but thanked God in his heart that he had been per- mitted to be of so much use as to save a human Hie. One day, when Mrs. Bowles had been tenderly 250 The Stamfords of Stamford's Folly. bathing Ms limbs, he took her head in both his hands, and leaning over, kissed her hair, already plentifully sprinkled with gray. " I love you, mother," said he. " You have been so good to me, you, and father, and Molly. Don't think I'll ever, ever forget it. And I should have a dreadful hard heart if I called you ' Mrs. Bowles ' any longer. I couldn't do it after this ; and it won't make me love my own mother that's gone, any the less." " I hope not, my dear boy," she replied, with the tears in her eyes. " If it would, I should not permit it. * Mother ' sounds sweeter to me than you can guess ; for, years ago, I buried a little lad who was my only darling ; and when you speak, I seem to hear his voice again." Johnny was silent for some time. Then he esaid, " I mean, mother, that neither you nor fa- ther shall ever be sorry that you adopted me. The Rescue. 251 And I often think that Mrs. Scott must have had something to do with your taking Molly and me. I wish I could see her again. You don't know how good she was to us children, and to my other poor mother." *' Oh, yes, I do. Mrs. Stamford has told me. And Mrs. Stamford has been here nearly every day for the past two weeks to inquire how you were, or to leave something for you." " And somebody else has been here, too," ad- ded Molly. " You couldn't guess who it was." " Then you ought to tell me," said Johnny. " It was our dear, funny little Mrs. Carter. And she brought you a great mould of wine jel- ly, and a dish of rennet custard." " She's a good woman, Molly, and Mr. Carter is a good man. But I wish I could see Mrs. Scott again." " She's in Canada," said Molly. " Didn't we 252 The Stanifords of Stamford's Folly. tell you ? Mr. Scott, that's her husband, came over from England, and sent for her, and she's gone to him. So Mrs. Stamford says. But, Johnny, there's something else. May I tell him, mother?" she asked. " Yes," replied Mrs. Bowles. " And show it to him ? " " Certainly." So Molly vanished from the room for a few minutes, but presently returned, with a morocco case in her hand. " Guess I " she said, holding it up. " I should almost think it was a watch, only the case doesn't look thick enough for that." " No. It isn't a watch," she replied, with a twinkle in her eyes. " But here, you shall have it, Johnny. It's mean in me to tease you." And, opening the case, she showed him, lying upon its purple velvet bed, the medal of the The Rescue. 253 Humane Society, with his own name engraved upon it. Johnny's wan cheeks flushed with pleasure as he lifted it up and turned it over to examine the device upon the obverse. He laid that side uppermost when he replaced it. " Put it away in my drawer, Molly," said he. " It's handsome, and they were good to give it to me ; but then, saving Horace Stamford is worth more to me than all the medals in the world ; for you know," he added, " he never liked me, though he wasn't mean and hateful, as Mrs. Arnold was." " Well, he likes you now," said Molly, " and he'd better, I think. There's something else, Johnny," she added, presently ; for Molly could not long keep a secret so tantalizing. " Mr. Stamford sent it." " Did he ? Well, I don't care what it is, if 254 The Stamfords of Stamford* 8 folly. they've only got over hating me, some of them. that's all. I never harmed any of them, or meant to, and we weren't either of us to blame for having been poor, and losing our father and mother." And Johnny lay back on the pillows, and turned his face toward the wall. Soon after- ward he fell asleep, and Molly was obliged to bottle up her impatience until after dinner. Just as the doctor was going out, a man handed him a basket of beautiful flowers. In the midst of a lovely group of lilies lay a tiny note, addressed to his boy; and Johnny being awake, he carried the basket up himself. The message read thus : " For our brave friend, Johnny Bowles. We are very proud of you, though we may not come and tell you so ; and we are so glad to hear that you are getting better. Love to Molly. PBAEL AND WAL T The Rescue. 255 * And now," said Molly, " you must see what Mr. Staniford sent. It's what you've always been wishing for." As she spoke, she held up an elegant hunter's watch, to which was attached a chain and charm. Tears gathered in Johnny's eyes. " It's too much," he said, hiding his face in the pillows. " They're all too good." " Well, Johnny, if that's the case," said the doctor, cheerfully, " let's rejoice over it. It isn't a common failing, by any means. Most people, even the best, such as you and I, are not half good enough. Molly dear, lay the watch on the bed. Johnny will examine it when he feels like it. And set the basket where the sun won't kiss the bloom off these beautifully tinted petals. They have just been sprinkled, I think. There, that's it. On the table, where our patient can have a look at them now and then, as well 256 The Stamfords of Stamford's Folly. as take in their fragrance. You're getting to be quite a nurse, my girl. Mother thinks you take famous care of Johnny." Molly's black eyes shone. It did her heart good to feel that she was useful, and the doctor knew it, and loved her for it. As he turned to go, he dropped his cane. She stooped and picked it up for him. " Thank you, my dear." And he kissed her, and was gone. By-and-by Johnny sat up again, and taking the pretty little " Frodsham " into his hand, inspected it narrowly, and with increasing admi- ration. Opening the case, he found engraved upon the inner side, " To John F. Bowles. July 20th, 18 . In token of the gratitude of Na- hum and Horace Staniford." He closed it again, and examined the chain and charms, which, though not showy, were of The Rescue. 257 the finest material and workmanship. Wherever else shoddy might assert itself as characteristic of Nahum Staniford, there was no shoddy about this gift. It was genuinely a valuable one, intrinsically as well as ideally. He handed it to Molly. " Put it with the medal," he said. When she returned to the room, " Has Arthur Weldon been here ? " he asked. " I thought I saw him one day, but everything's so mixed up, 1 don't remember much about it." ' Yes," said Molly. " He came to inquire for you ever so many times, before he went away." " Went away ? Has he gone home ? " " Yes. And Mrs. Rentz has gone, and taken Madge and Mabel. Arthur lives in Philadelphia, you remember, and Mrs. Rentz lives in Chicago. The Weldon boys went a week before she did. Horace and Carl have gone to Chicago, too, and 17 258 The Stamfords of Stanifortf s Folly. Horace intends to stay there, Mrs. Stamford says. They wanted Lizzie to go, but she wouldn't leave Mrs. Stamford, and, besides, she wanted to see you. And, Johnny, she's coming here to- morrow to spend the day, if you're well enough." " Then I'll be well enough," replied Johnny, with something like his usual brusque manner. "And we'll have a gay time together, won't we, Molly ? But I shall miss Arthur. I hope he'll write to me." " He told me to tell you that he would. He said he was going to try to cram for West Point, if you know what that means." " Oh, he wants to get into the Military Acade- my. His father was an army officer. I shouldn't wonder if he'd fetch it. He's A No 1 in mathematics." "I like Wallace Seccomb the best," said The Rescue. 259 Molly. " Arthur's good ; but Wallace is more polite, I think. Don't you ? '* " Of course Wallace is the best. I wish his father wasn't such a such a villain. I don't care if I do say it, it's just the word for him. Didn't Dovale & Seccomb fail just before I was taken sick ? " " Yes." *' And the store was closed up." ** Was it ? I didn't know that. Anyway, it's open again now, and the sign isn't taken down." " Well, that's strange. I'll ask father about it. Molly, did you ever hear anybody say that Mr. Stamford wasn't a exactly a an honest man?" 44 No, indeed ! " she replied. " And I wouldn't believe a word of it, if they did say so." 44 Wouldn't you ? Why not ? " 260 The Stamfords of Stamford's Folly. Molly looked surprised. " Because Mrs. Staniford is such a good woman." " Oh, pshaw ! He doesn't consult her about making his money. If he did, he wouldn't be the rich man he is to-day, or, at least, I don't believe he would." Mrs. Bowles's entrance put a stop to the conversation. " Isn't my Molly letting her patient do a little too much talking ? " she asked, good-naturedly. " We mustn't allow Johnny to get too tired to- day, because he will want to see Lizzie to- morrow, you know." In the evening, when the doctor came to look in upon his boy for a few minutes, Johnny asked him about the failure. It had quite passed from his mind during his tedious illness. The doctor essayed to answer him briefly; The Keseue. 261 but he found himself subjected to such a rigid cross-questioning, that he was compelled to go into details a good deal more fully than he had meant to do. " Well," said Johnny, at last, after a moment's silence, " ' honesty ' may be ' the best policy ' in the long run, but I don't believe money and hon- esty often go together." The doctor smiled at Johnny's sage conclusion. " Isn't that dangerous doctrine ? " he asked. " I don't know, sir. I suppose if a person thinks money worth more than character, it is. But I guess it wouldn't be dangerous to me." " Ah, Johnny ! You can't tell what attrac- tions wealth may have for you, six or eight years from now." " I know I can't," he replied. But if a person keeps resisting and overcoming tempta- tion when he's young, it seems to me it'll come easy for him to do so when he's older." 262 The Stanifords of Staniford'' * Folly. "Easier, no doubt, my son, much easier." And then Doctor Bowles wisely interdicted further conversation, as his wife had done a few hours before. But the discussion they had held, and the information he had elicited, gave Johnny something to think about when Lizzie had made her visit ; and he solved some knotty problems growing out of Dovale & Seccomb's failure, and came to some very wise and righteous conclusions with respect to the workings of certain mercantile transactions ; solutions and decisions which stood him in good stead in after years, helping him in more than one crisis of his young manhood. The 4 boy ' is indeed, ' father of the man ; ' and Johnny's theory that beginning to think and act right in youth, helps one to think and act right when he is older, was as true as truth itself. CHAPTER XII. . THE "BOOT OP ALL EVIL." OVALE & SECCOMB'S store was in a substantial brick building upon Washing- ton Street, and was owned by the latter gentleman. The thoroughfare next east of Washington Street, and running parallel with it, was Madison Avenue, and between the houses on the west side of Madison Avenue, and the stores on the East side of Washington Street, was a lane known as Travers Alley. On this alley were situated a blacksmith's, harness- (263) 264 The Stamfords of Stamford's Folly. maker's, and plumber's shop, a marble yard and slate yard, two stables, and a block of a dozen tenement bouses, usually known as Dublin Row. One cold and very windy evening in Novem- ber a man called at Doctor Bowles's house, and not being able to read the writing upon his slate, rang the bell. Katy was out ; so Johnny answered the summons, " I want to see Doctor Bowles," said the man. *' He is not in town," replied Johnny, " and won't be back probably before ten or eleven o'clock." The man hesitated, and turned to- go away, but altered his mind, and said, " Tell him when he comes home, that there's a sick girl down in number four, Dublin Row, and that he's wanted to come there to-night." " Well," returned Johnny, " I'll tell him." The "Root of all Evil." 265 The clock struck twelve just as the doctor crossed the upper bridge. He was chilly and tired, and glad that he was BO near home ; and as he turned into Travers Alley, toward the stable where his horse was kept, he mentally hoped that he should not have occasion to go out again before morning. The door was barred inside, and he was obliged to shout before he could bring anybody to his aid. But after awhile the stable-boy appeared, half asleep, and the doctor drove in and left his horse, the door coming together after him with a bang, which said plainly, *' You've no business to rout people out of bed at this time of night ! " He walked on rapidly, smiling to himself at the boy's irritability, his feet making no sound on the thick bed of tan which had been laid over the mud as an accommodation to pedestrians. There were no sidewalks in Travers Alley. 266 The Stamfords of Stanford? 8 Folly. He was now nearly opposite the back part of Dovale & Seccomb's store. The alley, it is true, ran by the yards of the Madison Avenue houses, and not those of the Washington street stores ; but there was an arch-way just here, under the tenement houses, which would take one through, to the narrow eight-foot passage behind them, used only by the dust-carts and scrap-gatherers. As Doctor Bowles neared this arch-way, he stopped and lis'tened ; for he thought he detected a grating sound like the turning of a key in a lock. It suddenly occurred to him that burglars had recently been at work in the neighborhood of his own house on Myrtle Street, and perhaps they were attempting to force an entrance into some of the stores. He slipped quietly through the arch-way, and, standing in its blackest shadow, watched. The "Root of all Evil." 267 The wind was still blowing shrill and biting, bringing with it a hint of snow. But it was starlight, though clouds were beginning to gather in the east ; and, peering through the darkness, he saw he was certain he saw the figure of a man at the back entrance of Dovale & Sec- comb's store, a man, too, who acted suspi- ciously ; for he stopped on the walk to listen, went on a little, and then seemed to be looking about him, fearful lest he should be discovered. Now Doctor Bowles knew that the store was closed promptly at nine in the evening, Mr. Seccomb seldom returning to business after dinner. This man's conduct, therefore, at half- past twelve at night, looked, to say the least, somewhat singular ; and since the doctor was armed, he determined to follow the marauder till he should light upon a policeman. But it was a very curious chase the fellow led 268 The Stamfords of Stamford's Folly. him, and the doctor found it was not so easy to play the detective as he had imagined ; for he was taken through by-streets and lanes never under the lamps through the lowest and dir- tiest places in Englewood, and there were plenty of them. But for the wind, and their keeping continually in the shadow, he must have been discovered. Indeed, he came near it more than once. At length they emerged into a broader street, and here the burglar stopped to look above and below, and make sure that he should meet nobody. Then he crossed to the opposite side, directty under the glare of a lamp. Doctor Bowles had stepped behind a tree, and was watching him ; but as the fellow turned a minute to take a last observation, the doctor saw his features lighted up, and recognized him instantly. He saw more. He saw him open the The "Root of all Evil." 269 iron gate to Mr. Seccomb's yard, and glide stealthily in, closing it behind him without the slightest jar. And then he saw the man take a key from his pocket, and let himself in at the basement of the house. It was Mr. Scccomb himself I You think, perhaps, that Doctor Bowles made a very funny mistake, but I assure you he was more troubled about what he had witnessed than you can guess. He took the shortest route to Myrtle Street, and though he met two policemen, said nothing to them about his adventure. When he reached home, he found written in a large hand upon his office slate, "You are wanted to go down to number four, Dublin Row, Travers Alley, as soon as you get home, whenever that may be. JOHNNY." 270 The Stamfords of StanifortiT s Folly. ** Well, I shan't go to-night," he said to him- self, and set down to take off his boots. But all at once, he got up again, put on his hat and coat, took his cane, and went out. It was a little vexing, to be sure ; for, had he known that he was wanted at number four, Dub- lin Row, at the time he left his horse at the sta- ble, he might have been saved a good deal of journeying ; and then, too, a certain dread was on him, which he could not explain, and which made him very uncomfortable. Still, when he got into Eustis street, he took the cart-way behind Dublin Row, instead of the alley, and went up under the arch, looking back at the store. Nothing to be seen, nothing whatever, and he blundered through the lower entry of number four, up over the worn stairs, to the first land- ing. He had seen a light under the door, and The "Root of all Evil." 271 taking it for granted that this was the plaee, knocked. And at that minute he heard the clock strike one. He was not mistaken ; but when he entered the close and ill-ventilated apartment, he saw at a glance that he had come too late. Nevertheless, he sat down in the chair that was offered him, explaining his delay, and answering the inquiries with regard to the state of the sick girl, who, it seemed, had been in convulsions nearly all day, and, a.s the doctor now learned, had been given up by two other physicians at the time he was himself sent for. " She's going to have another," said one of the women, who, after the manner of her people, had been crying, and wailing, and wringing her hands, and again she commenced her lamentations. " Hush ! " said the doctor, authoritatively, ris- ing and going toward the bed. " Where is the girl's mother ? " 272 The Stamfords of Stamford? 8 Folly. " She's dead," replied the father. " God rest her soul I " crossing himself. " Go to your child, yourself, then," said he. " She wants to speak to you. She is coming to her senses, and has not long to live." The man leant over her, and caught her last words. " Tell them not to make such a noise over me when I'm dead ; " and presently she struggled, gasped, and all was over. The doctor did not stay longer. There was no need. He said " Good-night," and closed the door carefully behind him. As he stepped into the entry, he caught the glimpse of a light outside, red and unsteady. It guided him to the back window, and he looked out. He turned quickly, dashed down the stairs, at the risk of breaking his neck, out into the alley, and down Eustis to Washington Street, where The "Root of all Evil." 273 he stood, and with all the voice he could sum- mon, shouted " Fire ! fire 1 fire I " then ran on a few blocks, and shouted again. The streets were very quiet, and the seconds seemed hours before he heard feet hurrying to- ward hun over the pavements, and the long, clicking whirr of the watchman's rattle, and then clang ! went the bells, and other voices echoed his cry of " Fire ! fire ! " At last the engines were got out, and the flying shouts became a clamor, mingled with impatient orders, and curses, the stamping of horses' feet, and the thunder of wheels over the flag-stones. The whole neighborhood was now thoroughly awake ; and the doctor, who was worn out with fatigue, bent his steps homeward, pondering upon what he had witnessed. The bells rang for a long, long time, and the 18 274 The Stamfords of Staniforff s Folly. whole sky was lighted up for miles around, while the wind blew fiercely, and the cinders were wafted in every direction, here and there light- ing other fires, which were, however, quickly extinguished. It was a fearful morning, and one long to be remembered in Englewood, for the fire destroyed nearly four hundred thousand dollars' worth of property, and left scores of families homeless. The whole of Travers Alley was burnt out, and the horses at the boarding-stables saved with great difficulty. The occupants of Dublin Row lost nearly all they had, and the dead body of the poor girl whom the doctor had been called to see was consumed in the flames. Madison Avenue was a ruin, as far as Hancock Street, and down Eustis Street on both sides, walls only were standing. On the east side of Wash- ington Street, as far as Hancock, it was nearly The "Moot of all Evil." 275 as bad, though here the fire had been stayed by the blowing up of one or two frame buildings. Ruin ruin everywhere, and a dense pall of smoke over all. That evening the doctor read the account of the conflagration, with a statement of the losses sustained, in the city paper. He glanced across the column of incidents, barely noticing the other items, until he came to this : " Dovale & Seccomb, Loss $75.000. Insured for $50.000, at the following offices ; American, $10.000 ; Vulcan, $10.000; Transatlantic, $20.000; Englewood Mutual, $7.500 ; Holland Mutual, $2.500." " So that was the game 1 " he commented aloud. " I suspected it." "What's that?" asked Johnny. "What game ? " " Ah ! Johnny ! " replied the doctor, " it is a game you don't understand, and I trust never 276 The Stamfords of Stamford's Folly. will. The name of it is Fraud. Now ask me no more questions, for I've said my say." But before retiring that night, he sat down at his office table, and wrote the following letter : 44 MR. SECCOMB : Sir, I see by the paper, this evening, that your losses by the late fire are estimated at $75.000, and that you are insured for $50.000, which you are no doubt intending to collect. Allow me to advise you not to attempt it. Do you ask, why not ? You may and may not be aware that I have for months past boarded my horse at Dailey's stable, in Travers Alley. I had occasion yesterday to attend a critical case in Shalersville, and did not return until midnight, when I put up my horse, and walked home, but not until I had seen, what if it were recited as testimony before a jury, taken in The "Moot of all Evil." 277 connection with the breaking out of the fire at one o'clock, would give you a term of fifteen or twenty years in the State Prison. That your crime deserves public mention, and yourself the punishment which other criminals have been made to suffer, there can be no doubt ; but, for the sake of your innocent family, I with- hold for the present my knowledge of your prob- able part in the affair, on the conditions named above ; and advise you further, as a friend, to re- move to some other locality. If you present your application to either of the offices which have insured you, for the amount of your policy, I will assuredly lay before the Board of Directors of such Company the facts which have come to my knowledge, and you must take the consequences. I am, sir, yours, &c. CURTIS BOWLES." Mr. Dovale had been dead for more than six 278 The Stanifords of Stamford 1 s Folly. mouths ; but his widow desiring that his capital should continue in the business, the firm name was still retained, though Mr. Seccomb, of course, had now the sole management of affairs. His office-boy brought to his house Doctor Bowles's letter at noon of the next day. He tore off the envelope, glanced at the signature, and was about to consign it to the waste-paper basket, when the words " fifteen or twenty years in the State Prison " caught his eye. Where- upon, he read the letter, and when he had finished it, sat erect in his chair, as pale as a ghost. Then he got up, and walked the floor excitedly, stopped a moment at the window, and looked out ; came back again to the desk, and re-read the missive which had so startled him ; paced slowly, with firm set lips, and hands folded behind him ; began walking again rapidly, The "Root of all Evil" 279 muttering to himself and shaking his head ; an d finally sat down once more, and opening a drawer, took out a small silver-mounted pistol, and examined it. He returned it to its box after loading it, closed the drawer, and seizing a pen, dipped it into the ink, and hastily dashed off the following : "Dn. BOWLES: Yours received. I defy you I GEO. W. SECCOMB." He put on his hat and coat, stepped to the street corner, and mailed it himself. Then coming back to the house, locked himself into the library. He never passed the door again alive. About an hour elapsed, and the family were shocked by the report of a pistol in the direction 280 The Stanifords of Stamford's Folly. of the sitting-room. Wallace and Pearl were playing croquet in the garden, " the last game of the season," as Wallace had said ; and Mrs. Seccomb and her eldest daughter were up stairs. They tried the door. Then Wallace got in at a window, and unfastened it. Of course you know what they found. There was a scrap of paper upon the table, with a line written upon it ; and the cinders of burnt paper upon the floor. The cinders were the remains of Doctor Bowles's letter ; this was the line : "I cannot survive my losses." False to the last ! Was not this man a villain, as much as the veriest highwayman ? and a coward as well. The news of the suicide spread rapidly, and people commiserated the fate of the " upright merchant " whose misfortunes had caused him to make way with himself in a moment of The "Root of all Evil." 281 aberration. He had calculated upon it ; he knew nobody would speak ill of him when lie was dead. He had calculated also upon some thing else, Doctor Bowles's silence, and the payment of the insurance money to his family. He was righ t there, too. Doctor Bowles had not the heart to set himself to blackening this wretch's memory, and beggaring his children. He never told what he knew until years after- ward, when he told it to Johnny, to point effectually this moral : " The love of money is the root of all evil." After the funeral, Johnny and Molly called ou Pearl, to tender her their sympathy. She was very much affected by their visit, and by Molly's mute caress and tearful kiss. Each had suffered loss, and knew how to feel for the other. By-and-by the old pleasant relations, so un- happily interrupted, were resumed ; and Pear) 282 The Stanifords of Stamford's Folly. and Molly went away together to a finishing school, while Wallace, and Johnny, and Carl Stamford studied Latin and Greek every day at Doctor Bowles's, under a tutor. The next summer the girls came home, and Molly had grown so tall and womanly, that Mrs. Bowles could hardly believe it was her own dear girl, and Johnny was half afraid to kiss his sister, lest it should happen, after all, to be somebody else. Pearl had altered very little, she was her own sweet, unassuming self, still touched with just a shade of sadness, for she had loved her father dearly, loved him for what she had believed him to be, rather than for what he was, and she felt his loss deeply. They returned to school again in the fall, and the next summer graduated, young ladies. CHAPTER XIII. HOME AGAIK. JVE years have passed. A long, long time, is it not, children ? And here are Wallace and Johnny seniors in col- lege. Carl left a year ago, and is now a banker's clerk. He never cared much for study, though he is a fine fellow in many respects, for all that. Arthur Weldon is at West Point, and Ernest and Louie at a private military academy. John- ny thinks he shall go through the Law School after leaving the University; and Wallace pro (283) 284 The Stanifords of Stamford' ' Folly. poses to study medicine with Doctor Bowles, and attend lectures during the winter. Meantime, let us introduce ourselves at Stam- ford's Folly. As usual, the house is thronged with company, for it is the month of June, and summer here is always delightful, with the large, airy, high- studded rooms, furnished for the warm weather in mattings, bamboo, and chintzes ; the long, cool, vine-hung verandas, and covered balconies ; the Venetian awnings, and ample lawn tents with their light hammocks and folding-chairs ; the shady summer-houses and groves ; and Solis's Pond only four miles away, just a pleasant drive. And then, too, Mr. and Mrs. Staniford are so hospitable ! and when Mrs. Rentz is here, as she is now, she has such a knack of making people feel at home I Mrs. Arnold is married again, and lives ID Home Again. 285 Philadelphia, not far from the Weldons. That is her husband standing on the portico, talking with her father, a man, by the way, nearly as old as Mr. Staniford, and with whom that gentle- man never agrees. Yonder, strolling up the avenue, toward the greenhouses, is Horace's new wife, with Madge and Mabel Rentz on either side of her. Madge is nearly as tall as her aunt Agnes; and what a buxom little cherry-cheeked lass is Mabel, her curls still tossing about her temples, though a shade darker than they used to be ! Just in front of them walk Edith and her step-brother, Oscar Prewitt. On the veranda is another group. Mrs. Prewitt, embroidering a design in lace, with Mrs. Rentz leaning over her shoulder, and in- specting her work admiringly ; Horace playing bo-peep with baby Rentz ; Mrs. Stamford sitting in a cane rocker, knitting a ball in bright-colored 286 The Stamfords of Stamford's Folly. worsteds ; and Lizzie trying to teach, little three- year-old Minnie Prewitt the mysteries of " cat'a cradle." At the end of the veranda, under the grape- vine, are some young people, apparently very merry over a letter one of them has been reading. One of these is Miss Weldon, Arthur's only sister, and the other two are Laura and Sallie Van Alsten, Mr. Rente's cousins. Ah! here comes Mr. Rentz himself, or Fred, as every- body calls him. He is arm in arm with Carl, and they are just from the banking-house of Hall, Travers & Co. Carl lifts his hat gracefully to the little company, and Fred, letting go his companion, holds out his hands for his baby, after throwing a kiss to his wife ; and then nurse catches up her darling, and they run to meet papa. Ah ! here come the girls, too, hurrying Home Again. 287 down the veranda, glad to see Carl, but as glad to see Fred, who is, I assure you, a great favorite with everybody. He kisses them all round, and then asks for Lizzie and Minnie. " Yes ; where's Lizzie, girls ? " echoes Carl. "Oh, the two are inseparable, you know," returned Laura ; and Margie "VVeldon adds, "Lizzie makes herself a perfect slave to that little beauty of Anna's." " A loving and a willing one, though, I'm sure," insists Sallie. " Nobody can doubt that who sees them together." " Yes, Lizzie loves the babies, doesn't she, Pet ? " says Fred, tossing up his treasure, and catching her in his arms. " Let's go and find Lizzie." Baby nods her head briskly in the affirmative, and lisps out, " Hot, too." " Hot ? Well, 'tis a hot day, baby. There's no mistake about that." 288 The Stanifords of Staniford ' Folly. " She means * Horace,' " suggested Sallie, laughing. " ffoss ', eh ? With a t for an *. That's it, is it ? Respectful, Sallie, for a two-year-old. What do you think of that, Horace ? " "Tell me what 'that' is, Fred, and I'll answer," returned the young man addressed. " Why, baby here has begun to call her uncle a ' hoss.' How do you feel about it ? " " Oh, not very bad. One can forgive * gum- Arabic.' She'll learn English fast enough, when she gets fairly started." " Come, Lizzie," says Fred. " The rest of the girls have kissed me. Where are you ? My whiskers won't scorch you, if they are red. What are you afraid of? I feel slighted. Well, baby, if she won't kiss me, I'll kiss her, and you shall carry it for papa." So baby takes the kiss on her own fat cheeks, Home Again. 289 and tumbles over Minnie in her zeal to bestow it on the children's playmate, but is up again in a moment, with outstretched arms, running toward Lizzie. Lizzie's face crimsons, for she is still shy at times, and does not like to be made in the least conspicuous. " How handsome she is ! " whispers Laura. " How sweet she is ! " whispers Sallie. " You must think the world of her, Carl," adds Margie. " Yes, we all ought to," he replies, " for she's done more to unite the family than any one of the rest of us. She's fairly made herself nec- essary to Anna, and that's saying a great deal." ** So it is," echoes Marg'e. " I know all about it," meaningly. Margie never liked Mrs. Prewitt. Baby gave Lizzie the kiss, and Lizzie returned 19 290 The Stamfords of Stamford's Folly. it, looking up roguishly as she did so, at baby's papa. " How much she resembles Johnny Bowles," observed Laura. "More and more, every year," said Margie * Did you ever see Molly ? " " Molly?" " Molly Bowles." " No. Not that I remember." " She and Johnny are not at all alike. She is very dark, has a perfect Spanish complexion, with a flush of red in her cheeks, eyes black as sloes only there's fire in them, let me tell you and hair like a raven's wing. I call her ' shadow,' and Pearl * light.' They're always together." "Pearl is a blonde, I suppose." " Yes, and rather pretty ; though not so pret- ty as she used to be." ' There you're mistaken, I think, Margie," said CarL Home Again. 291 " Oh, well, we won't quarrel. You and I have never agreed about Pearl, you know." " No, and never shall." And he took the camp-chair Mrs. Prewitt had just abandoned, and seated himself near Lizz'e, while Fred enter- tained the girls with his afternoon's adventures in the city. * I'm always glad to get home, Lizzie," said Carl. " We're always glad to have you," she replied. " Mother would feel so badly if you were like some other young men, Mat Holland, for in- stance, who think a great deal more of their club than they do of the family." " Oh, well, that depends on tho way they're brought up," he said. " If home isn't a pleasant place, and those who are there don't try to make it so, you can't blame a young fellow for going off somewhere else to- enjoy himself. The Hoi- 292 The Stanifords of Stamford's Folly. lands are always bickering and quarreling amongst themselves. Mrs. Holland and the girls think of nothing but dress and show; Mat and Warren may go to the deuce for all them, and I think there isn't much doubt that, they will. But mother, she isn't of their ilk, and never was, and you're not a bit like Maud Holland. A young man knows whether or not they have an affection for him at home, Lizzie ; and it's pretty hard work loving people who don't care a button for anybody but themselves. And then, too, one doesn't like to be checked, and harried, and found fault with, and preached to or at, all the time, even when he knows it's done for conscience' sake, and because his father or mother, or both, are really anxious about him. He doesn't always feel like going to bed at eight o'clock, or spend- ing his evenings reading heavy works on relig- ious or philosophical, mental or physical science, Home Again. 293 and sometimes he gets through with the newspa- per before he leaves the office, or steps off the car platform. What shall he do to while away the time after dinner or supper, whichever it may be ? Suck his thumbs and meditate ? It may do, once in a way, but hardly six nights out of seven. I believe in improving one's self, but we're not all book-worms ; and after a day's hard work in the shop or the counting-room, we want, generally, some sort of recreation. If a man has a family, he feels differently, I suppose i but young fellows, like Al Travers and me, do like a good time, some sort of entertainment. Al's mother is an excellent woman, everybody knows that ; but you can't name any kind of amusement Al is partial to, or thinks he is, that she doesn't consider sinful and corrupting, un- less it is chess : and that's more of a study than a recreation, really. Well, Al likes chess, but 294 The Stamfords of Stamford's Folly. there's nobody at home plays it ; and if there were, he wouldn't want it every evening in the week. He craves variety just as other people do, young people particularly. It's natural, born in them, they can't help it, and I don't believe it was ever meant that they should. Well, what's the result of this over-strictness big- otry, I call it, in Al Travers' case ? Why, he goes where he can have things to his liking, and gets into places and company that would break his mother's heart, if she knew it, or else teach her wisdom. You remember the last time Al was at our house, Lizzie ? Well, the next morn- ing we got to talking about something that led up by a sort of side track to this very subject. * Carl,' said he, ' what a pity it is that all Christ- ians are not of your mother's stripe. Is it al- ways as jolly at your house as it was last night ? ' * Jolly ? ' said I. * Was it jolly ? ' * Why, yes, Home Again. 295 I thought so,' he answered. "Well, I tried to think it over if we did anything out of the common course what was going on, and so forth, and all I could recall was that mother, and you, and Al had a chat together, and when fa- ther came in, he made Madge sing, and then he and Alice fell to joking, as they always do when Alice is here, and the rest of us did about as we pleased, and didn't make company of our visitor at all. I know I skipped across the floor two or three times with Madge, and ran against father's obesity, which set us all to laughing, and after- ward played several games with Mabel ; and somewhere about ten o'clock we had hot coffee, and cake, and a little fruit, and after that I took a hand at a game along with Alice, and Madge, and Al, and we broke up just before midnight. I told Al that we spent the evening a good deal aa usual, only we didn't always sit up so late when 29G The Stamfords of Stamford's Folly. we were by ourselves ; but that mother invaria- bly tried to have things cheerful, and generallj succeeded. Sometimes I read aloud; sometimes you did ; now and then we had chess ; often, fa- ther and I would get into a discussion ; then there were family letters from Anna, or Fred, or Horace, or some of our hundred-and-one relatives or friends at the West, or South, or in California, that we all had to have a peep into and talk about, and so, somehow, the time crept away, and our evenings were the pleasantest part of the day to us. 4 Well,' said Al, * I'll tell you how it is at our house. Since Laura died, the piano has been always shut. There's never any music ex- cept Sundays, when cousin Julia dines with us, and they open the cabinet organ and play psalm tunes until service time. After tea, every even- ing, we have family devotions. I don't object to that, it's a good thing, I think, though not al- Home Again. 297 ways pleasant to visitors, who don't often annoy us, by the way. Devotions ended, father buries himself in the New York Herald or Tribune or Times he has all three of them, and you don't hear from him again till he goes to bed, unless he wants something. Jack gets out his Latin Lexi- con and exercise book, and mother takes her knitting, or sewing, or puts on her specs and pores over the Missionary Herald. Nobody speaks. If they do, father can't read. Now isn't that ex hilarating to a young fellow who was born with a love for a good joke, and a li vely game of some- thing or other, and a propensity for social inter course ? * Well, Lizzie, I thought it was too bad and didn't so much wonder that Al kicks in the traces. I don't know but I should, if I were in his place. I'll tell you what we must do. We must have him come up here once a week, or so. I don't know that it will make any material dif- 298 The Stamfords of Stamford's Folly. ference with him, but perhaps he won't go to the dogs quite so fast." " Perhaps not," said Horace, coming up to them. " Who is it that's going to the dogs ? " " Oh, any number of good-looking young fel- lows who are big enough, and old enough, and ought to know better. You can't transfix me with that gaze, Horace. I'm not one of them." " I don't believe you are, Carl. But look out for yourself. One can back off a precipice inad- vertently as well as jump off intentionally. How's business to-day ? JJ " Pretty much as usual. What have you and old Prewitt been about ? brother Archibald, I ought to say, I suppose." " Riding, most of the time. We drove to Shalersville this forenoon, and to Moorfield Junction after lunch. Alice is beckoning me. Or is it you, Carl ? " Home Again. 299 " Oh, it's to you. Go. I'm tired, and don't want to get up just yet.*' Carl leaned back against the railing. His father and Mr. Prewitt stood on the lawn not far away, evidently engaged in a lively discus- sion, for Mr. Staniford was stammering fearfully, and Mr. Prewitt endeavoring to convince him that he had the right of the argument, appar- ently by some subtle logic of the finger of one hand playing upon the palm of the other. Carl laughed, and drew Lizzie's attention. " Look at those two buffers " he began. " Why 1 Carl ! " exclaimed Lizzie, reproach- fully. Why, what?" * Father a buffer ? ' " " Isn't he, Miss Critic ? " " It's city-fied, I suppose, to say buffer,' and ' governor,' and * old man,' ' she replied, 300 The Stamfords of StanifordCs Folly. Lizzie was not quite so timid about expressing her opinions now, as she had been once, " but it isn't exactly " " Respectful ? Oh, no. I don't claim that for it, puss. But, mind you, I'm speaking of, and not to him. I shouldn't address him as ' My beloved buffer,' you know." " Of course not. But is it just the thing to " " What a way you have of stopping in the middle of your sentences, sis. Why don't you out with it ?. To what ? Let's have the rest of it, Lizzie." " To speap of him yourself, as you wouldn't want others to do." "You have me there. How you do always cut in with a reason for everything ! You're a regular Chitty." "Am I? Well, I don't mind your hard Home Again. 301 names, Carl, so long as I don't know what they mean." '* Chitty ? Why, Chitty was a lawyer, at least, I've always supposed he was. He's dead, now. But logic isn't, it seems. What ! you want to get upon my knee, Minnie ? Well, come along, daughter of Prewitt. One can't well resist you. But you must let me smoke, if Lizzie's willing." '* I've come back just in time," said Horace, playfully taking the cigar out of his brother's fingers. " The half-dozenth or the dozenth? which is it, Carl ? " he asked, holding it behind him. " It's the last in my case," replied Carl, a trifle vexed. " If you want it r you're welcome to it." Horace handed it back. " I wouldn't, if I were you," lie said, kindly. 302 The Stanifords of Stamford' s Folly. " But you're not me ; so that puts another face on the matter. I can remember, though, when you liked a cigar as well as I, and smoked like a chimney, too. You've sowed your * wild oats,' Horace. That's good. But I suppose I've got mine to sow." " God forbid! for mother's sake," exclaimed Horace, and turning on his heel, he walked away. It startled Carl a little, and glancing at Lizzie, he saw a shadow on her face. " And you've got the same ' bee in your bonnet,' it seems, sis. What's the harm of a cigar ? Now tell me." " Oh ! Iddie ! " cried Minnie ; 'oo'd got bee in 'oo'd hat. Get it out ! get it out, kick ! 'oo be 'tung!" And she jumped down, picked up Lizzie's hat, and commenced shaking it vigorously, over the railing. Home Again. 303 Minnie 'on't 'et bee 'ting 'oo, Iddie ! n Carl laughed heartily at the performance, and so did Lizzie. " How literal children always are ! " said Carl. " There's baby, now, running to her papa for protection. She thinks she's going to be stung, sure. Tell me, Lizzie, why don't you like to have me smoke ? Not that I mean to let you influence me, at all," he added roguishly. " I'm several years older than you are, and you ought to take my advice rather than I yours." Lizzie blushed a little. " Never mind, then," she answered. " Ah ! but just for curiosity's sake, oblige me. Won't you ? I want another leaf from Chitty." *' You're making sport of me, Carl. Why don't you ask somebody that's older than I ? Why don't you ask Horace ? " " Oh I bother Horace I I can guess at his 304 The Stamfords of Stamford's lolly. reasons well enough. But I want to know yours. Now see. If you won't tell me, I'll light this match. And if you will, whether I agree with you or not, I won't light this cigar, although I want to very much. Instead, I'll offer it to brother Prewitt. He's fire proof." Lizzie's face lighted. " Well." " To begin with. Clear your throat in good shape, sis. That's right. Go on." " If there isn't any harm, there isn't any good comes of smoking." " She commences "by stating the case negative- ly. That's lawyer-like, as anybody can see, though I don't really know anything about it. Now, just you hold on, sis. Did you ever smoke, yourself ? If you never did, how do you know there's no good ? Why, smoking preserves the teeth." Home Again. 305 "Well, it doesn't preserve them so that they keep handsome. They grow yellow and ugly looking. And tobacco taints one's breath. " Now, as I said before, I don't know anything about it, but it seems to me that you've got over the negative fence into the positive grounds. To proceed. " " It makes people nervous, and gets their heads and stomachs out of order. I never smoked ; girls don't, often, but ever so many persons who have, say it gives one a taste for liquor. And then, besides, cigars cost a great deal of money, good ones, Fred told me, are very expensive, and amount to ever so much in the course of a year. And when you've got through with your cigars and your money, there's nothing to show for it but the spittoon." Carl clapped a gentle applause. " Good ! good ! Elizabeth Stamford, Doctor of 20 306 The Stanifords of Stamford's Folly. Laws. You've pointed your argument equal to a first-class green-bag. I retire herewith from the field of logic to present my weed to brother Prewitt. I'm much obliged to you." Horace, who had been indulging in a brief meditation at the other end of the veranda, now left his post and walked toward Lizzie, whose busy fingers were already searching for a dropped stitch in her mother's knitting. As he approached, he heard her say, probably in reply to Mrs. Stamford's question, " Oh, I was only giving him my reasons for not approving of smoking, that was all." " Were they satisfactory, do you think, Lizzie ? I saw that Carl applauded you." " I can't tell, I'm sure. I don't know whether he was in earnest, or making a jest of what I said. And he might have been satisfied with them, and yet keep on smoking just as many cigars as Home Again. 307 ever. I don't think our talk amounted to any- thing." " He teased you," said Horace, " in order to mask his interest. You have more real influence with him than any of us, except mother, and your talk may amount to more than you imagine. Carl doesn't like advice gratuitously given ; I've found that out ; but when he asks for counsel or suggestion, no matter how much sport he may appear to make of it at the time, be sure he considers it afterwards. Drop in the leaven, Lizzie, whenever you have an opportunity, and don't be discouraged. It will work, never fear ; for Carl thinks there never was a little sister so patient and good, loving and devoted, as you." . " And she is a darling, Horace," said Mrs. Staniford, putting her arm about the young girl, as she knelt beside her ; " and I bless God for 308 Tne Stamfords of Stamford's Folly. her every day of my life. You don't know what a comfort she has been to father and me. No child was ever more gentle and dutiful, than my daughter Lizzie." " Don't praise me, mother," said Lizzie. " It makes me feel badly. I owe more to you than I can ever pay ; and love me as dearly as you may, you can't begin to love me as I love you." And grateful tears stood in Lizzie's eyes. She lifted herself up, and drawing the dear, calm, sweet face toward her, kissed it again and again. " Let me put my share in the same spot," said Horace, suiting the action to the word. " Mother ! you're the best woman that ever lived!" ** I wish I were," she replied. " If I had been, my sons " She stopped a moment. " God is good," she said. " I'll trust him. Horace, my dear, where is Agnes ? I haven't seen her since lunch." Home Again. 309 "Oh, she ran away from me. Shall I take Lizzie, and find her ? " * ; Yes, if you will. I have a surprise for her. Madge must be with her, I think, for I miss her merry voice." " And Mabel, too,'* said Lizzie. " Is this your hat, Lizzie ? '' inquired Horace. " What ails it ? " She laughed heartily. "I don't wonder you ask!" she exclaimed. " Why, Minnie hasn't left anything of it except the strings, I believe. The little witch I " " Never mind the brim. Put it on, and we'll make believe you're a gypsy." " No. It looks too bad. I'll tie my veil about my head instead." Minnie came running toward them. " Tate me, too, Hot," she said, holding out her arms. Then, spying the castaway hat, she 310 The Stanifords of Stamford's Folly. brought it to Lizzie. " Here, Iddie ! " she ex- claimed, eagerly, " Here 'oo'n hat. I dot bee out." Horace caught her up. He was very fond of his little niece. " Lizzie's going to wear her veil, Chicken," he exclaimed. " But she's much obliged to you for shaking out the bee." At the foot of the broad veranda steps, Carl joined them with Sallie Van Alsten, and they walked on together to the grapery, where they found the Three Graces, as Sallie called them, and Edith, helping themselves to Hamburgs, while Oscar was watching the gardener at work outside. " We didn't know but you were trying those handsome new balls and mallets," said Sallie. " Let's christen them," proposed Edith. " Come, Uncle Horace, put the baby down, and lend a hand." Home Again. 31 1 " Can't, possibly," he replied. " And mother wants to see Agnes. But there are enough without us. Take hold, Carl and Sallie. Come, Oscar, you're needed; pair off with Lizzie. There, Edith, your hosts are marshalled. He offered his arm to Agnes, and they returned to the house, and soon after they heard the clang - clang of the great dinner-bell. CHAPTER XIV. FABEWELL. days passed by at Staniford's Folly, ^ untroubled and shadowless. Not that the little ones did not sometimes cry, or that Mrs. Prewitt was always agreeable, or Edith invariably sweet-tempered, but there were no dark clouds to interrupt their happiness long at a time. They enjoyed each other's society ; the ties of kindred and friendship were strengthened, and the great mansion, for one brief summer, at least, ceased to seem more like a hotel than a (312) Farewell. 313 home, with the ringing laughter of merry chil- dren, and the glad content of the other guests whom the fairy of the castle took to her heart not less than her table. Winged days they were, and forever to be remembered. If they only could have lasted. It was the last of August, and the Rentzes and Horace were making their preparations to return to Chicago. The Prewitts had already gone home. " Oh, Auntie Staniford ! " said Sallie. " We have had the most delightful summer ! When I get back to the old humdrum life, this will seem like a lovely dream to me, as short as it was beautiful ! " " A dream often to be realized, I hope, my dear," replied the fairy, kissing her tenderly, and then her daughter Agnes. " Ah ! bright faces ! you little know how I shall miss you when you are 314 The Stanifords of Stamford 1 8 Folly. gone, how I shall long to have you back again I I shall have my dream, too. I shall close my eyes, and see your shadows flitting through the sunlit rooms, and down the veranda, and across the lawn, and for a few minutes it will all be as real to me as it is to-day. Agnes ! when you are at home once more, in your own home, with Horace, tell him, my dear girl, that this was the happiest summer of my life, tell him I said so ; and that I shall fold it away in my memory as one folds away a rose in a book that is precious and seldom opened. And yet, if God will ! we know not the future, we will repeat it next year, and I will have all my scattered children about me, every one ; even William and Lucy. I wish they had been with us this summer ; for I sometimes think, and yet I don't like to cast a cloud upon your going that we may never all meet again." Farewell. 315 Agnes looked up, and saw tears in her mother's eyes. She said nothing, but kissed them away, and slipping her arm about the fairy, leaned her head lovingly upon the broad shoulder. Sallie, who was more impulsive, burst out crying in earnest; and then, laughing in the same breath, exclaimed, " Oh, auntie ! what a funny spectacle we must present! a trio of dissolving Niobes ! Come. We'll turn the bright side out, and keep it out, and toss our handkerchiefs away. But I'd forgotten. I shall want to save mine to wave to you from the car window, for of course you'll see us off to-morrow.'* " Oh yes, my dear." " And if you'd only throw an old slipper after us, for luck 1 " " Anything you say, Sallie and you shall have my prayers, besides," she added, reverently and sweetly. 316 The Stanifords of Staniford' ' Folly. " Then we shall surely arrive at Chicago without accident ; for the prayers of the saints are always answered." Mrs. Staniford laid her hand gently upon the young girl's lips. " No more, my dear," she said. " We mustn't trifle with things sacred." "Indeed, auntie, I meant no trifling," she replied. " For you are a saint, I think ; and I almost worship you in my heart." " Then tear down the shrine, I beg you, Sallie, and build a holier one. I am only a handful of animated dust, and the soul which the Author of all life breathed into it, is the soul of an erring, sinful woman. None is good save One. Ah ! my dear girl ! He is Purity, Good- ness, Love's own fullness. Worship Him. He only is worthy." The next morning was a busy one, as you may Farewell. 317 imagine ; and suoh a load of trunks as Peter strapped into the wagon, and carried away to the depot ! Then he came back with the checks, and harnessed the bays to the landau, the white horse to the beach-wagon, and the little sorrel Lizzie's, to the basket-phaeton, and soon baskets, and bags, and strapped shawls, and other bundles were deposited, and the whole party, save Mr. Staniford, were ready to start. He had gone before them, having some business matters to attend to early, and was to meet them at the depot. The expected train had not yet arrived ; so they alighted, and separated into little groups in the waiting-room, laughing, and chatting, and saying last words, while Peter fastened the horse outside. " I wish father would come ! " remarked Carl to Horace, sotto voce, and they went toward the 318 The Stamfords of Stamford's Folly. window. " That new black horse isn't used to the steam-whistle," he continued, anxiously, ** and I'd rather see him on the spot, tied to the hitching-post, than have father run the risk of crossing the track with him after the cars come in sight. He's hard bitted and mettlesome, and it's all father can do to manage him." Horace opened the door, and they walked along the platform, where they found Fred, loaded down with travelling accessories, seated on a trunk, and waiting. He took out his watch. " Father's late, boys," he said. " I hope we're not going to miss his good-bye. Alice and baby won't like that.'* " I hope not," echoed Horace, and consulted his own watch. ** He ought to be here, this minute," he said, looking nervously up the road. " There's the whistle ! " exclaimed Carl ; and Farewell. 319 " Here comes the buggy tearing over the hill ! " said Horace, in the same breath. " What ails the horse ? Is he running away ? " Fred shot one quick glance in that direction. " Good heaven ! " burst from his lips. " Boys ! look after these traps." And, flinging them from him, he sprang up, and dashed across the track right in the face of the advancing engine. They saw Mr. Stamford braced back upon the seat, drawing on the lines with all his might, while the horse, frantic with terror, was plung- ing forward to certain destruction. They saw- Fred seize the creature by the head, clinging to the bridle with desperate energy, while he shouted to Mr. Staniford to save himself. They saw what blanched both their faces, and made them sick with sudden terror. A struggle, short, sharp, and fearful ; and then the engine crashing down upon those who were so dear to 320 The Stamfords of Stamford's Folly. them. A cry rent the air, which could be heard above the din of the wheels and the roar of the locomotive, and a shudder ran through the startled passengers at the sound. They backed the engine, and lifted from the bloody track all that was left of Nahum Staniford and his heroic son-in-law. The latter was mangled and lifeless. Death came to him almost instantly. But Mr. Staniford still breathed, though his legs were both severed from his body. They bore him tenderly into the waiting-room, and then his life ebbed rapid- ly away. He knew all the tearful faces which bent over him, and kept his arm about his wife, to the last. " Forgive ! Margaret," was all he said ; and then, with a brief struggle, came the parting breath. CHAPTER XV. PAETTNG GLIMPSES. NOTHER year has vanished. Another summer sleeps with the past. It is a lovely October morning. The sky is blue and cloudless, the air clear and sweet, and the brown grass is covered with a frosty rime sparkling in the glow of sunrise. If " God is great " seems written upon the grand, calm brows of yonder distant hills, surely " God is good " breathes in the fresh beauty of tliis autumn landscape. 21 (321) 322 The Stamfords of Staniforff s Folly. Before us, under those three wide-spreading elms, now yellow, and shedding their leaves upon the sward, is an old farm-house, large and roomy, with gables .many, and old-fashioned windows almost as broad as they are long, containing I dare not say how many funny little panes of bubbly glass, and wide, substantial chimneys from which no tempest has ever started a brick, and which an earthquake could scarcely shake down. You would know by just looking at it from the outside, that the rooms were delightfully low-studded, deep-wainscotted, and mysterious, with their great open-mouthed fire-places, shady corners, and out-of-the-way cupboards here and there, and their oaken posts and beams dark with age and smoke. You would know there were plenty of sunny little nooks, too, up stairs ; and blind entries and passages where one might easi- ly lose one's self ; and a perfect treasure-house of a Parting Glimpses. 323 garret over all, filled with wrecks of by-gone fur- niture, piles of worm-eaten books yellow with age, here a broken-down spinning-wheel, and there a flint-lock musket that did duty against the British in the Revolution, and in the gables, ghostly bunches of sweet herbs, white with dust, and falling to balmy decay. Old trunks and boxes ; chests of forgotten things, some rare and curious, some scarcely hinting at the colors with which they were gay a century ago ; broken farm-utensils ; rusty andirons ; a dusty bunch of yellow palm-leaf here ; yonder, a cracked violin ; and hanging amongst the rafters, spiders luxuriat- ing in its shady roominess, a bonnet of the days of the empire, odd, uncouth, and witch-like. It is the old homestead of the Stamfords, this ancient farm-house, and here Nahum Stam- ford and all his children were born, though only William, Anna, and Alice, remember much about their early days under the homely roof. 324 The Stamfords of Stamford's Folly. Hark ! a door opens, and a girl's voice rings sweetly out on the autumn air. She is singing a madrigal, brimming over with gladness. She never dared to sing much at Stamford's Folly. There ! She has vanished. This must be the main entrance, for the brass knocker is brightly polished, and there is a name- plate. W. STAMFORD, it says, in Old English capitals. That smacks of the city a little, does it not ? Will you lift the knocker, or shall I ? Rat-tat I Rat-tat-tat ! Somebody is certainly coming. Do you know the step ? Lucy ! Yes, it is Mrs. Scott, or rather, Mrs. Staniford, once more ; for William Staniford is no longer a refugee. They have come back to the old home, theirs, now, and their mother's, and Lizzie's. Parting G-limpsea. 325 Stamford's Folly has passed into other hands, and is what it alwaj's ought to have been, a sum- mer boarding-house. All Englewood supposed Mr. Staniford to be possessed of immense wealth ; his death proved their error. He was deeply involved ; had sus- tained from time to time great losses ; his invest- ments had not been as profitable as formerly ; he had speculated largely and rashly, had borrowed money ; and had sunk Mr. Rentz's fortune as well as his own. It was a great failure, as great a failure as was the man's life. His death caused a momentary sensation, sharp and sudden ; and then he was forgotten, save in the hearts of his wife and children. Even Alice remembered him bitterly at first; for had he not robbed her husband of his all, and her- self of one who was dearer to her than her own life? 826 The Stamfords of Stamford's Folly. And yet she learned to say, " Pa didn't mean it. Pa would never have taken the bread out of my children's months. He had too tender a heart for that." And the judgment of her calmer moments was juster than the judgment of her grief. She had said once, that come what would, she would never be dependent. And though no doubt her mother owed her a home, she preferred to rely alone upon herself and her daugh- ters. She had many friends in Chicago, for she had always been warm-hearted and hospitable, and her husband had been beloved by all who knew him. She became head cloak-cutter in a large and fashionable manufacturing establishment, and Madge obtained a situation as teacher in one of the public schools ; while Mabel was installed housekeeper, with the care of her little sister. Parting Glimpses. 327 It was hard ; for the woman had tasted the sweets of luxury ; but Alice Rentz had a brave heart, and the memory of her husband's con- stancy and cheerfulness kept her up. Then, too, she had this always to recall in connection with him ; that to the last he was unselfish, living for others ; his death itself a heroic if vain sacrifice. I think it helped her over many stumbling blocks and rough places ; and I know it made her a better and gentler woman. Mrs. Prewitt strongly urged her mother and Lizzie to come and live with her, in Philadel- phia ; but the good woman knew only too well that both would be happier elsewhere. The old homestead was still left to her; and she returned to the farm-house under the elms, the home of her early married life. Then came a letter from the firm whom Wil- liam had wronged, saying that they forgave his 828 The Stamfords of Stamford's Folly. crime, and had taken means to prevent his being punished further ; and William and Lucy were re-instated under the roof from which he had been banished when a young man. There was a large farm, and it had been profitable under good management, in days gone by; and William, who had now no wish to return to the city, bent his energies to turn it to account once more. He strove with the earth ; he planted and sowed, and a new light came into his eyes, a healthier color to his cheeks, and a cheerier tone to his voice. And now he was harvesting, and planning improvements, and mentally laying out the work for the next year. Ah ! how good it is to have something to do ! Honest work, if hard, is surely better and sweeter than bread of idleness. And so Lizzie thought. You should have Been her bustling about in her print dress, with Parting Glimpses. 329 broom and duster, or with bared arras standing over a cloud of steam, and lifting out the drip- ping china, white and clean ; shaking the mats under the elms ; singing at the ironing-table, or over her sewing, snatches of Madge's gay songs ; calling the chickens about her, and feeding them from her apron ; or leading out the horse, and harnessing him into the hay-rigging for William. But Saturday afternoons Lizzie donned her best attire, and sat where she could see the road, Mrs. Staniford in the rocking-chair close by, knitting or mending ; and you could tell as plainly as if they had spoken, which they did, often, as you may be sure, that somebody was expected. Yes ; Carl always spent Sunday with them, and glad Sundays those were, too I and when Molly or Johnny, or both, or Al Travers accom- panied him, they were gladder still. And often 830 The Stamfords of Stamford* B Folly. Doctor Bowles drove out with his wife on pur- pose to make them a little visit, bringing Lizzie or Lacy back with him to Englewood for a day or two ; or William got out the buggy, and Mrs. Staniford and Lizzie went shopping in the city. It was a quiet life they led during most of the year, but a very pleasant one ; and but for Mrs. Stamford's anxiety about Carl, would have been unshadowed and almost too sweet. But one cannot have pleasure unalloyed in this world ; and so this good fairy still had her cross to beai She prayed often, and wept not a little, and tried to hope a great deal for this her youngest son, so impulsive and susceptible to temptation, and now and then she spread out her trouble before Lucy and Lizzie, and they talked it over together, the one counselling and the other com- forting, until she blessed God for her children, and took fresh courage, lifting only a corner of Parting Glimpses. 331 her burden, and leaving the rest with the Lord ; who could just as well have borne it wholly for her. Truth to tell, Carl was a little reckless ; but his Sundays at home did him more good than they guessed. Somehow, his better self always came to him under the shadow of those elms, and with every new week, staid longer by him. The dear, saintly face under the widow's cap, spoke to him as often almost as her prayers in his behalf spoke to God ; and the occasional home-letter coming when he least expected it, stirred deep chords in his heart, strong and tender, loving and reverent. Ah ! a young man. meets with so many allurements to evil in the great city ! Many a mother would shudder and turn soul-sick, if she knew all ; ay ! if she but knew a tithe of them. And yet God has a way of leading about, and 332 The Stamfords of Stamford's Folly. over, and through, and even sometimes to the depths turn not faint at the thought! of great temptations, and bringing the worn feet out upon a rock, at last. Stronger are they who have endured, than they who have never been tried. Still let us ever pray, " Lead us not into temptation I " for so Jesus taught us ; while we hope in the transforming power of mother's love and of God's, which is infinitely fuller and deep- er, and yearns over the wayward ones with a pain we may never fathom, mothers though we be a pain born of the cross and Calvary. God knows we love our sons ! but, blessed thought I they are dearer to him than even to us. And so the months roll on, carrying with them the wild winter winds, fierce snows, and biting frosts, and it is spring once more, and Carl's birthday, his twenty-first. Horace is here to celebrate it, not as he Parting Glimpses. 333 celebrated his own ; and has brought with him Agnes and his baby boy. Can you guess what he has named the child ? John Bowles. So you see he has not forgotten. The doctor and his wife are here, too, and of course Johnny and Molly ; and so are Pearl and Wallace, Mary and George. It almost seems like the old days come back again ; only the children of that time are children no longer. Yet the fairy is the fairy still ; but lovelier, if possible, with her gray hair, and in her widow's cap and weeds, than she used to be in her rich silks and costly jewels. How they all gather about her ! and how radiant is her smile I how gentle her caress ! how kind her welcome to each! " Horace, old boy," says Carl, as they walk together under the elms, " I've been thinking." 334 The Stanifords of Stamford's Folly. " I don't doubt it, Carl. And so have I." " You know I begin to be a man to-day." " I hope so." " I might have begun sooner, I suppose." " Yes," quietly, but without reproach. " Well, to-day is as good a starting-point as I shall ever have, perhaps the best." " To-day is always the best, Carl." " I mean to make it an epoch in my life." " I'm glad of that." " I mean to leave off every bad habit I've formed, when I ought to have been forming good ones. And, so help me, God I I'll never take one of them up again." Horace pressed his brother's hand. , " That has the true manly ring to it !" he said in tones which betrayed his strong emotion " God bless you ! Carl." " Will you tell mother to-morrow ? when I've gone back to the city ? " Parting Glimpses. 835 " My dear fellow," he replied, " we don't know whether we shall ever see to-morrow. Tell her to-day. Tell her yourself. She would rather hear it from your lips than from mine. And, indeed, Carl," he added, " I couldn't, remembering my own twenty-first. And you won't ask it, for you can't have forgotten that I began life like like a beast, rather than a man. I would to heaven I could blot that day, and many another just like it, forever from my memory ! " " Forgive me, Horace. I didn't mean to hurt you. You re right. It's my place to speak, not yours. I'll go in, now." He found her, and putting his arm around her, drew her to the window. And then and there, with the budding grass and trees before her, and the unfailing promise of all good in earth and air, and every created thing tingling 336 The Stanifords of Stamford' s Folly. with life, he told her manfully all he had resolved to be and do. Do you think she was happy ? If I know her heart, heaven itself will not make her happier than she was in that glad moment. She clasped her arms about his neck, and wept on his shoulder tears of the purest joy. And now, between me and the characters in my story, descends a veil, which I cannot pene- trate. It is called the Future. Day by day it will lift a little, and become Present. And before long there will be neither Future nor Present to any of us. It will all be Past. Perhaps somebody will tell your story and mine, then. If they do, I wonder what they will say of us. I would like to have them say sweet and pleasant things of me, and hide a loving memory of me in their hearts. Would not you ? Parting Glimpses. 337 Ah ! love and goodness are all there is in life worth living for. And that recalls the moral of my story ; for, like Pearl Seccomb, I don't feel that my stories amount to much without one. Can you guess what it is ? This : "A good name is rather to be chosen than great riches ; and loving favor rather than silver or gold." Young Folks' Illustrated Quartos. Wide Awake Volume Z. Quarto, boards, 1.75. Good literature and art have been put into this volume. Henry Bacon's paper about Rosa Bonheur, the great painter of horses and lions, and Steffeck's painting of Queen Louise with Kaiser William would do credit to any Art publication. Chit Chat for Boys and Girls. Quarto, boards, 75 cts. A volume of selected pieces upon every conceivable subject. As a distinctive feature it devotes considerable space to Horn* Life and Sports and Pastimes. Good Cheer for Boys and Girls. Short stories, sketches, poems, bits of history, biography and natural history. Our Little Men and Women for 1888. Quarto, boards, 1.50. No boys and girls who have this book can be ignorant beyond their years of history, natural history, foreign sight* or the good times of other boys and girls. Babyland for 1888. Quarto, boards, 75 cts. Finger-plays, cricket stories, Tales told by a Cat and scores of jingles and pictures. Large print and easy words. Colored frontispiece. Kings and Queens at Home. By Frances A. Hum- phrey. Quarto, boards, 50 cts. Short-story accounts of living royal personages. Queen Victoria at Home. By Frances A. Humphrey. Quarto, boards, 50 cts. Peu picture of a noble woman. It will aid in educating the heart by presenting the domestic side of the queen's character. Stories about Favorite Authors. By Frances A. Humphrey. Quarto, boards, 50 cts. Little literature lessons for little boys and girls. Child Lore. Edited by Clara Doty Bates. Quarto, doth, tinted edges, 2.25; boards, 1.50. More than 50,000 copies sold. The most successful quarto for children. Natural History. Stories and Pictures of Wild Animals. By Ann* F. Burnham. Quarto, boards, 75 cts. Big letters, big pictures and easy stories of elephants, lions, tigers, lynxes, jaguars, bears and many others. Life and Habits of "Wild Animals. Quarto, cloth, 1.50. The very best book young folks can have if they are at all in- terested in Natural History. If they are not yet interested it will make them so. Illustrated from designs by Joseph Wolf. Children's Out-Door Neighbors. By Mrs. A. E. Andersen-Maskell. j volumes, i2mo, cloth, each i.oo. Three instructive and interesting books : Children with Animals, Children with Birds, Children with Fishes. The author has the happy faculty of interesting boys and girls in the wonderful neigh- bors around them and that without introducing anything which is not borne out by the knowledge of learned men. Some Animal Pets. By Mrs. Oliver Howard. Quarto, boards, 35 cts. The experiences of a Colorado family with young, wild and tame animals. It is one of the pleasantest animal books we have met in many a day. Well thought, well written, well pictured, the book itself, apart from its contents, is attractive. Full page pictures. Tiny Polk in Red and Black. Quarto, boards, 35 cts. The tiny folk are ants and they make as interesting a study as human folk perhaps more interesting in the opinion of some* The book gives a full and graphic description of their many wise and curious ways how they work, how they harvest their grain, how they milk their cows, etc. It will teach the children to keep eyes and ears open. My Land and Water Friends. By Mary E. Bam- ford. Seventy illustrations by Bridgnian. Quarto, cloth, 1.50. The frog opens the book with a "talk" about himself, in the course of which he tells us all about the changes through which he passes before he arrives at perfect froghood. Then the grass- hopper talks and is followed by others, each giving his riew of life from his own individual standpoint. Illustrated Stories for Young Folks. Young Folks' Cyclopedia of Stories. Quarto, doth, 3.00. Contains in one large book the following stories with many illus- trations : Five Little Peppers, Two Young Homesteaders, Royal Lowrie's Last Year at St. Olaves, The Dogberry Bunch, Youne Rick, Nan the New-Fashioned Girl, Good-for-Nothing Polly ana The Cooking Club of Tu-Whit Hollow. What the Seven Did ; or, the Doings of the Wordsworth Club. By Margaret Sidney. Quarto, boards, 1.75. The Seven are little girl neighbors who meet once a week at their several homes. They helped others and improved them- selves. Me and My Dolls. By L. T. Meade. Quarto, 50 cts. A family history. Some of the dolls have had queer adventures. Twelve full-page illustrations by Margaret Johnson. Little Wanderers in Bo -Peep's World. Quarto, boards, double lithograph covers, 50 cts. Polly and the Children. By Margaret Sidney. Boards, quarto, 50 cts. The story of a funny parrot and two charming children. The parrot has surprising adventures at the children's party and wears a medal after the fire. Five Little Peppers. By Margaret Sidney. i2mo, 1.50. Story of five little children of a fond, faithful and capable " marasie." Full of young life and family talk. Seal Series. 10 vols., boards, double lithographed covers, quarto. Rocky Fork, Old Caravan Days, The Dogberry Bunch, by Mary H. Catherwood; The Story of Honor Bright and Royal Lowrie's Last Year at St. Olaves, by Charles R. Talbot ; Their Club and Ours, by John Preston True ; From the Hudson to the Neva, by David Ker; The Silver City, by Fred A. Ober; Two Young Homesteaders, bv Theodora Jenness; The Cooking Club of Tu-whit Hollow, by Ella Farman. Cat3' Arabian Nights. By Abby Morton Diaz. Quarto, clo'h, 1.75; board-, 1.23. The wonderful cat story of cat stories told by Pussyaniu that saved the lives of all the cats. Science Stories. My Wonder Story. By Anne K. Benedict, Quarto. illustrated, cloth, 1.50. A young folks' science story based on physiology. A high-school teacher writes : " One might well wish himself a little child again to be charmed with this study of his own body. No ' dry bones ' here." Look-About Club. By Mary E. Bamford. Quarto, boards, 1.25. The club is a family given to the study of animal life. Under the guise of play they learn about the folks in the brook, on the ground and in the air. My Land and Water Friends. By Mary E. Barn- ford. Seventy illustrations by Bridgman. Boards, 1.25. An out-door book giving delicious little accounts of strange and familiar creatures. The book is a treat for children under ten. Overhead. By Annie Moore and Laura D.' Nichols. Quarto, boards, 1.25. A trip to the moon, Saturn, the sun and various other stations with a bit of easy astronomy sprinkled in. Underfoot. By Laura D. Nichols. Quarto, boards, 1.25. Peeps into the earth we live on, especially at ks caves, volcanoes, fossils and petrifactions. Up Hill and Down Dale. By Laura D. Nichols. Quarto, boards, 1.25. A story of nature. Juvenile readers will be very much pleased with little Nelly Marlow and her life at Hickory Corners. Eyes Right. By Adam Stwin. Quarto, boards, 1.25. A little fellow with an eager, exploring soul back of his eyes ; to make them see is the author's delight, and he loves both a good romp and a quiet talk with the boys. Nelly Marlow in Washington. By Laura D. Nich- ols, Quarto, boards, 1.25. Nelly goes to Washington and takes her friends along and ends in the Adlrondacks. She learns history at one place and natural nee at the other. Travel and History for Young Folks. Story of the American Indian (The). By Elbridgo S. Brooks. 8vo, cloth, 2.50. A thorough compendium of the archaeology, history, present standing and outlook of our nation's wards. . . We commend it as the bt:st and most comprehensive bonk on the Indian for gen- era] reading known to us." Literary World. Story of the American Sailor (The). By Elbridge S. Brooks. Octavo, cioth, 2.50. The first consecutive narrative yet attempted, sketching the rise and development of the American seaman on board merchant ves- sel and man-of-war. Ned Harwood's Visit to Jerusalem. By Mrs. S. G. Knight. Quarto, 1.25. Travel in the Holy Land. The manuscript was approved by Rev. Selah Merrill, for many years U. S. Consul at Jerusalem. The strictest accuracy has thus been secured without impairing the interest of the story. Out and About. By Kate Tannatt Woods. Quarto, boards, 1.25. Cape Cod to the Golden Gate with a lot of young folks along, and plenty of yarns by the way. Sights Worth Seeing. By those who saw them. Quarto, cloth, 1.50. Eleven descriptive articles by such writers as Margaret Sidney. Amanda B. Harris, Annie Sawyer Downs, Frank T! Merrill and Rose Kingsley. Copiously and beautifully illustrated. Adventures of the Early Discoverers. By Frances A. Humphrey. 410, cloth, i.oo. Real history written and pictured for readers both sides of ten years old. It begins with the mythology of discovery and comes down to the sixteenth and seventeenth century. The Golden West : as Seen by the Ridgway Club. By Margaret Sidney. Quarto, boards, 1.75. Description of a trip through Southern California taken by Mr. and Mrs. Ridgway and their children. The careful observations and the fine illustrations make it a treasure for boys and girls. Days and Nights in the Tropics. By Felix L, Oswa.d. Quarto, boards, 1.25. The collector of curiosities for the Brazilian museum goes on his quest with his eyes open. A book of adventures and hunters' yarns. CHOICE BOOKS FOR READERS OF ALL AGES Pansy Books. The Pansy for 1888. With colored frontispiece. Edited by Pansy. More than 400 pages of reading and pictures for children of eight to fifteen years in various lines of interest. Quarto, boards, 1.25. Pansy Sunday Book for 1 889. With colored frontispiece. Edited by Pansy. Quarto, boards, 1.25. Just the thing for children on Sunday afternoon, when the whole family are gathered in the home to exchange helpful thought and gain new courage for future work and study which the tone and excellence of these tales impart. Pansy's Story Book. By Pansy. Quarto, boards, 1.25. Made up largely of Pansy's charming stories with an occasional sketch or poem by some other well-known children's author to give variety. Mother's Boys and Girls. By Pansy. Quarto, boards, 1.25. A book full of stories for boys and girls, most of them short, so all the more of them. Easy words and plenty of pictures. Pansy Token (A); or An Hour with Miss Streator. For Sunday School teachers. 241110, paper, 15 cts. Young Folks Stories of American History and Home Life. Edited by Pansy. Quarto, cover in colors, ?scts. Sketches, tales and pictures on New- World subjects. Youngr Folks Stories of Foreign Lands. Edited by Pansy. First Series, quarto, cover in colors, 75 cts. Sketches, tales and pictures on Old- World subjects. Stories and Pictures from the Life of Jesus. By Pansv. 12010, boards, 50 cts. The life of Jesus as recorded in the four gospels simplified and unified for children. A Christmas Time. By Pansy. i2mo, boards. 15 cts. A Christmas story full of Christmas trees and sleigh-rides. It esaon Jt the joy tp be got in helping others. Helpful Books for Young Folks. Danger Signals. By; Rev. F. E. Clark, President of the United Society of Christian Endeavor. 12010, cloth, 75 cts. The enemies of youth from the business man's standpoint. The substance of a series of addresses delivered two or three years ago in one of the Boston churches. Marion Harland's Cookery for Beginners, umo, Tellum cloth, 75 cts. The untrained housekeeper needs such directions as will not confuse and discourage her. Marion Har'and makes her book simple and practical enough to meet this demand. Bible Stories. By Laurie Loring. 4to, boards, 35 cts. Very short stories with pictures. The Creation, Noah and the Dove, Samuel, Joseph, Elijah, the Christ Child, the Good Shep- herd, Peter, etc. The Magic Pear. Oblong, 8vo, boards, 75 cts. Twelve outline drawing lessons with directions for the amuse- ment of little folks. They are genuine pencil puzzles for untaught fingers. A pear gives shape to a dozen animal pictures. What O'ClOCk Jingles. By Margaret Johnson. Ob- long, 8vo, boards, 75 cts. Twelve little counting lessons. Pretty rhymes for small chil- dren. Twenty-seven artistic illustrations by the author. Ways for Boys to Make and Do Things. 60 cts. Eight papers by as many different authors, on subjects that in- terest boys. A book to delight active boys and to inspire lazy ones. Our Young Folks at Home. 4to, boards, i.oo. A collection of illustrated prose stories by American authors and artists. It is sure to make friends among children of all ages. Colored frontispiece. Peep of Day Series. 3 vols., 1.20 each. Peep of Day, Line upon Line, Precept upon Precept. Ser- mpnettes for the children, so cleverly preached that the children will not grow sleepy. Home Primer. Boards, square, 8vo, 50 cts. A book for the little ones to learn to read in before they are old enough to be sent off to school, too illustrations. THE ART OP LIVING. From the Writings of Samuel Smiles. With Introduction by the ven- erable Dr. I eabocly of Harvard University, and Biographical Sketch by the editor, Carrie Adelaide Cooke. Bos 'on : D. Lothrop Company. Price $1.00. Samuel Snr.iles is the Benjamin Franklin of Eng- land. His sayings have a similar terseness, apt- ness and fore? ; they are directed to practical ends, like Franklins; they have the advantage of being nearer our tine and therefore more directly related to subjects ipon which practical wisdom is of practical use Success in life is his subject all through, The Art of Living ; and he confesses on the very first page that " happiness consists in the enjoyment of little pleasures sea .tered along the common path of life, which in the eager search for some great and ex- citing joy we are apt to overlook. It finds deligrhf; in the perfoi mance of common duties faithfully and honorabl/ fulfilled." Let the reac er go back to that quotation again and consider how" contrary it is to the spirit that under- lies the busint isses that are nowadays tempting men to sudden fortune, torturing with disappointments nearly all wh yield, and burdening the successful beyond their endurance, shortening lives and mak- ing them wea ry and most of them empty. Is it worth while to join the mad rush for the lottery ; or tc take the old road to slow success ? This book of the chosen thoughts of a rare phil- osopher leads to contentment as well as wisdom ; for, when we choose the less brilliant course be- cause we are jure it is the best one, we have the most complete and lasting repose from anxiety. MONTEAGLE. By Pansy. Boston : D. Lothrop Company. Price 75 cents. Both girls and boys will find this story of Pansy's pleasant and profit- able reading. Dilly West is a character whom the first will find it an excellent thing to intimate, and boys will find in Hart Hammond a noble, manly, fellow who walks for a time dangerously near temptation, but escapes through providential in- fluences, not the least of which is the steady devotion to duty of the young girl, who becomes an unconscious power of good. A DOZEN OF THEM. By Pansy. Boston : D. Lothrop Company. Price 60 cents. A Sunday- school story, written in Pansy's best vein, and having for its hero a twelve-year-old boy who has been thrown upon the world by the death of his parents, and who has no one left to look after him but a sister a little older, whose time is fully occupied in the milliner's shop where she is em- ployed. Joe, for that is the boy's name, finds a place to work at a farmhouse where there is a small private school. His sister makes him promise to learn by heart a verse of Scripture every month. It is a task at first, but he is a boy of his word, and he fulfills his promise, with what results the reader of the story will find out. It is an excellent book for the Sunday-school. AT HOME AND ABROAD. Stories from TJie Pansy Boston: D. Lothrop Company. Price, $1.00. A score of short stories which originally appeared in the delightful magazine, The Pansy, have been here brought together in collected form with the illustrations which originally accompanied them. They are from the pens of various authors, and re bright, instructive and entertaining ABOUT GIANTS. By Isabel Smith son. Boston : D. Lothrop Company. Price 60 cents. In this little volume Miss Smithson has gathered together many curious and interesting facts relating to real giants, or people who have grown to an ex- traordinary size. She does not believe that there was ever a race of giants, but that those who are so-called are exceptional cases, due to some freak of nature. Among those described are Cutter, the Irish giant, who was eight feet tall, Tony Payne, whose height exceeded seven feet, and Chang, the Chinese giant, who was on exhibition in this country a few years ago. The volume contains not only accounts of giants, but also of dwarfs, and is illustrated. AMERICAN AUTHORS. By Amanda B. Harris. Boston: D. Lothrop Company. Price $1.00. This is one of the books we can heartily commend to young readers, not only for its interest, but for the information it contains. All lovers of books have a natural curiosity to know something about their writers, and the better the books, the keener the curiosity. Miss Harris has written the various chapters of the volume with a full appreciation of this fact. She tells us about the earlier group of American writers, Irving, Cooper, Prescott, Emer- son, and Hawthorne, all of whom are gone, and also of some of those who carae later, among them the Gary sisters, Thoreau, Lowell, Helen Hunt, Donald G. Mitchell and others. Miss Har- ris has a happy way of imparting information, and the boys and girls into whose hands this little book may fall will find it pleasant reading. TILTING AT WINDMILLS : A Story of the Blue Grass Country. By Emma M. Connelly. Boston : D. Lothrop Company. 12mo, $1.50. Nor since the days of " A Fool's Errand " has so strong and so characteristic a " border novel " been brought to the attention of the public as is now presented by Miss Connelly in this book which she so aptly terms " Tilting at Windmills." Indeed, it is questionable whether Judge Tourgee's famous book touched so deftly and yet so practically the real phases of the reconstruction period and the interminable antagonisms of race and section. The self-sufficient Boston man, a capital fellow at heart, but tinged with the traditions and envi- ronments of his Puritan ancestry and conditions, coming into his strange heritage in Kentucky at the close of the civil war, seeks to change by in- stant manipulation all the equally strong and deep- rooted traditions and environments of Blue Grass society. His ruthless conscience will allow of no com- promise, and the people whom he seeks to prose- lyte alike misunderstand his motives and spurn his proffered assistance. Presumed errors are materialized and partial evils are magnified. Allerton tilts at windmills and with the customary Quixotic results. He is, seemingly, unhorsed in every encounter. Miss Connelly's work in this, her first novel, will make readers anxious to hear from her again and It will certainly create, both in her own and other States, a strong desire to see her next forthcoming work announced by the same publishers in one of their new series her " Story of the State of Ken- tucky." When a novel-writer makes a girl so uncon- ciously bright and catching in the very first chap- ter he must not complain if the reader mixes her up in a plot of his own. Romance of a Letter. By Lowell Choate. 356 pages. 12mo, Cloth, $1.25. But we are not going to spoil a good story by letting the least of its secrets out. Whether city boys go to the country or country boys go to the city wonderful things are experi- enced. Boys of Gary Farm. By Minna Caroline Smith. 313 pages. 12mo, cloth, $1.25. The story lies between Chicago and Iowa. The boys get mixed up variously. It is a Sunday School book to this extent : The boys are good boys and the girls are good girls ; the seeing and doing are all well meant if they are a trifle ad- venturous here and there. The Spare Minute series of anthologies Is en- riched by one from Ruskin. Thoughts of Beauty from John Buskin. By Rose Porter. 286 pages. 12mo, cloth, $1.00. " I have confined myself to his discoveries on Nature, Morals and Religion ; gathering for your perusal revelations of th5 blessed wonders of sky and cloud, mountain and rock, trees, mosses, and the green grass, birds of the air, and flowers, and the marvelous coloring all these display which in beauty of hue and delicacy of tinting as far out- pass the works of man as the heavens are higher than the earth." From The Introduction. Quite a new sort of history. School days over, four girl friends return to their homes and life begins. As often happens, life is not as they picture it. What it was for the four and how they met it you shah 1 read in the quiet book. After School Days. By Christina Goodwin. 198 pages. 12iuo, doth, $1.00. It is a comforting fact a thousand times that nobody knows, to be sure of it, what is good for him or her. Disappointments are often shorn of their bitterness by the remembrance of it. Ofteu what we look forward to, hope for, strive for, make ourselves anxious about, turns out to be of no particular value ; and what we fear and strive against turns out good fortune. Rarely is this practical wisdom made so sure as in this whole- some history out of the stuff that dreams are made of. A practical help for a girl to surround herself with pleasant things without much shopping. The book is mainly filled with ways to exercise taste on waste or picked-up things for use with an eye to decoration as well. For a Girl's Room. By Some Friends of the Girls. 236 pages. 12mo, cloth, $1.00. A friendly sort of a book to fill odd minutes, whether at home or out, for herself or another. By no means on " fancy-work" not all work Chapter XXI is How to Tame Birds and XXV is What to Do hi Emergencies. How to Cook Well is promising title. The au- thor, J. Rosalie Benton. We light on this sen- tence on breakfast : "Yet in how many families is it the custom to send the master of the house to his daily round of business with an unsatisfied feeling after partaking of a hurried meal alto- gether unpalatable ! " That is still more promis- ing. There are 400 pages of performance. 12mo, cloth, $1.50. One of the ways to get some notions of things Into young folks' heads without any work on their part is to tell them stories and weave in tha knowledge. Another way is to make a book of such stories. The book has the advantage of the story-teller. It can be full of pictures ; and one can be more careful in making a book than in talking. If his memory slips a little, he can stop and hunt up the facts. Story Book of Science. By Lydia Hoyt Farmer. Illus- trated. 330 pages. 12mo, cloth, $ 1.50. There are twenty different stories and seventy-- five pictures. A surprising number of bits of knowledge are woven and pictured in; and the book is as light and easy as if it were nonsense. ' There's so much to know nowadays. Children have to begin before they know it. Waifs and their Authors is a collection, by A. A. Hopkins, of poetry worthy of preservation, mainly out of newspapers and by living writers not yet ranked as Poets with notes, personal, biographical, critical, genial always, under twenty one names. 317 pages. A 000124973