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 C
 
 BROWN'S RETREAT 
 
 AND OTHER STORIES 
 
 BY 
 
 ANNA EICHBERG KING
 
 Copyright, 1S98, 
 BY ROBERTS BROTHERS. 
 
 Slnttoersttg 
 JOHN WILSON AND SON, CAMBRIDGE, U.S.A.
 
 QE0 m 
 
 I DEDICATE THESE STORIES 
 WITH GRATEFUL LOVE. 
 
 WITHIN her home, like some rare jewel set, 
 The lustre of her beauty lives and glows 
 
 With all the fragrance of the violet, 
 
 And all the radiant splendor of the rose. 
 
 CELIA THAXTER. 

 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 Page 
 BROWN'S RETREAT, .... .5 
 
 ODELIA BLYNN, 22 
 
 THE HEART STORY OF MISS JACK, . . 45 
 
 "FATHER," 65 
 
 THE STORY OF AGEE SANG LONG, . 95 
 
 JOHN STERLING'S COURTSHIP, . 112 
 
 THE PROFESSOR OF DOLLINGEN, . . 132 
 
 A TRIFLE OF INFORMATION 154 
 
 MR. CARMICHAEL'S CONVERSION, . . .188 
 
 JACINTH 200 
 
 A FREAK OF FATE, 221 
 
 MONSIEUR PAMPALON'S REPENTANCE, . 247 
 
 A LEGEND OF OLD NEW YORK 276
 
 BROWN'S RETREAT. 
 
 i. 
 
 BROWN'S RETREAT flashed upon them all of a 
 sudden. 
 
 The neighborhood went to sleep, one night, guile- 
 less and innocent, that is, theoretically guileless and 
 innocent, and awoke in the morning to the con- 
 sciousness that Brown's Retreat was in its midst. 
 
 There was considerable mystery and confusion at- 
 tending the want of knowledge whether Brown's Re- 
 treat meant that Brown had retreated, or if it was a 
 general invitation into the "retreat," or if Brown was 
 a practical joker and Brown's Retreat merely a gentle 
 stimulant to that weakness. 
 
 Edgerly was a prosperous town, with a harbor, an 
 East India trade, and a charming collection of water- 
 side characters. It had also a state-prison that was 
 kept on the most desirable plan, where five hundred 
 gentlemen were lodged who had differences with their 
 country's laws. Once in a while, curiously enough, 
 one of these gentlemen would escape. There were 
 other worthy institutions in Edgerly, of which it is, 
 however, unnecessary to speak. 
 
 Edgerly itself was built on some three or four hills, 
 so that the narrow, zigzag streets were not only nar- 
 row and zigzag, but they had quite an abrupt slope, 
 and some of them, had they been built as surveyors 
 intend, would have led you, running at a smart pace, 
 down into the very depths of the dubious-looking 
 
 (5)
 
 O BROWN'S RETREAT. 
 
 black water at the foot of the hill, where, at the 
 weather-beaten wharves, with their perfume of bilge- 
 water, some rusty-looking schooner would be lying at 
 anchor, displaying on its bare spars a varied collection 
 of trousers and under-garments hung out to dry, be- 
 sides affording a glimpse of a decidedly untidy nau- 
 tical character, mopping the unsavory deck. 
 
 Brown's Retreat was nearly at the foot of Edgerly's 
 down-hill street. At a rough guess it was six feet by 
 ten, and occupied one half of the ground floor of 
 No. 7, a wooden house with depressed-looking win- 
 dows, at each of which appeared a vision of some- 
 body's baby and some baby's mother, all looking 
 very frouzy and much in want of soap and water and 
 fresh air. 
 
 It left lookers-on no doubt of its character, as it 
 boldly proclaimed itself " Brown's Retreat " on a deal- 
 board, painted in lamp-black by one whose right hand 
 had lost its cunning, for the letters resembled Edg- 
 erly streets, being narrow and zigzag in the extreme. 
 Nevertheless, they stared into the world over the 
 small, dingy show-window, which revealed as a solid 
 foundation, two quarts of dismal apples, surmounted 
 by several rows of sticky pop-corn balls, a collection 
 of combs and seed-cakes, a few paper dolls, a sprink- 
 ling of dead flies, clay-pipes, and shoe-strings. 
 
 Sometimes a child's face would peer out eagerly 
 from among these treasures ; a child's face, yet 
 strangely unchild-like, with shrewd gray eyes watch- 
 ing stealthily, a poor little body shivering in a 
 doubtful calico dress, with an attempt at finery, in a 
 string with three glass beads about her wretched lit- 
 tle neck. 
 
 The child was small, the shop was small, and the 
 counter was very small. The selection of wares was 
 modest, and the greater part graced the window. 
 
 When the sign, "Brown's Retreat," appeared over
 
 BROWN'S RETREAT. 7 
 
 that wmdow the neighborhood stared. Whether the 
 invisible Brown grinned is unknown ; but true it is 
 that the mysterious child kept the little shop with 
 much solemnity. Once in a while, when the shop 
 was empty, which, Heaven knows, was most of the 
 time, for neither money nor trade was very brisk in 
 that part of Edgerly town, a cautious voice would 
 whisper," Coast clear, Popsy?" 
 
 The mysterious child would reconnoitre stealthily, 
 and then whisper back through the key-hole of a 
 small door in the back of the shop, half lost in the 
 gloom of the place, " Yes, Nunc ! " Then out would 
 come a man's head with tumbled, brown hair, an un- 
 shaven face, and undecided blue eyes, that had, how- 
 ever, little redeeming wrinkles at the corners, as if 
 the man could laugh at a joke. 
 
 If Popsy whispered warningly, " Shoo, shoo, 
 Nunc ! " there came back a muffled " All right, 
 Popsy ! " By which you will see that not only was 
 there a Brown's Retreat, but there was even a re- 
 treat to that. 
 
 It was on a late November day that Brown's Re- 
 treat appeared before an astonished world ; a raw 
 day, when the inky waves with a greasy scum, down 
 in the harbor, had foamy white caps tossing upon 
 them, and plebeian Edgerly went about with a red nose 
 and its hands in its pockets, and some of the ladies 
 had their dress skirts over their heads. 
 
 Popsy, having flashed out along with the Retreat, 
 was much stared at and questioned ; but the only 
 information gleaned was that Popsy had a sick uncle 
 in the back room, who wasn't to be disturbed. It 
 seems he had bought out the previous occupant who 
 had failed ingloriously, with five dollars debts and 
 assets nil. 
 
 " Uncle says, too, we musn't trust," Popsy added. 
 As she spoke a low chuckle was heard through the
 
 BROWN'S RETREAT. 
 
 key-hole of the back room, as if some one couldn't 
 help laughing, for the life of him. 
 
 " Merciful powers, what's that ? " asked the visitor. 
 
 "It's only uncle a-choking," said Popsy, with much 
 presence of mind. 
 
 II. 
 
 A MAN may be a rascal, and yet possess a fine sense 
 ^x of humor. That was the matter with Popsy's 
 uncle. His name was Brown, and before he became 
 ripe for the penitentiary he had been quite a decent 
 member of society, who even went to church once in 
 a while. That was his misfortune. Had he not gone 
 to church he might still have been a decent member 
 of society instead of what he was. 
 
 One Sunday morning he wandered into a meeting- 
 house, and heard the preacher grow eloquent on 
 forgiving the sins of our fellow-men ; how he, the 
 preacher, loved mankind, and there was nothing his 
 erring brethren could do to him which would turn 
 him against them. Brown had gone into the sacred 
 edifice more for warmth than from piety, for it was a 
 bitter, biting winter day, and his lucky star was, just 
 then, very dim. Being there he listened, and listen- 
 ing believed the eloquent words. Confidingly, and 
 with a certain sense of humor, too, he took the rever- 
 end gentleman at his word : that night the parsonage 
 was entered and a large number of valuables were 
 stolen. Brown was not caught in the act, exactly, 
 but a silver cream jug was found in his left coat-tail 
 pocket for which he could not account ; especially, as 
 it had a strange monogram engraved on one fat side. 
 To his surprise and disappointment the minister ap- 
 peared against him ; a jury without a bit of humor 
 found him guilty, and a prosaic judge sentenced him 
 to five years' imprisonment.
 
 BROWN'S RETREAT. 9 
 
 Brown did not belong to the class that novelists 
 delight in describing the noble convict. He was 
 simply human, and being down on his luck and be- 
 cause of that unfortunate sense of humor, he had 
 stolen, but beyond that he would harm neither woman 
 nor child. 
 
 The late November night when he escaped, one 
 thought had been uppermost in his distracted mind, 
 to secrete himself on some outward-bound vessel in 
 Edgerly harbor, and be carried to parts unknown ; 
 very fine in theory, very hard in practice, though 
 Brown had his friends, and there's truth in the adage, 
 " honor among thieves." 
 
 That eventful night, when, trembling and shudder- 
 ing, he stood once more under the skies, a free man, 
 unimaginative creature though he was, he felt his own 
 unspeakable wretchedness. With the instinct of a 
 hunted beast more than the consciousness of a man, 
 with a deadly fear at heart, that made him repent 
 too late of his rash folly, he turned his back on the 
 open country, which would have meant safety to many 
 a man, and groped his way through miserable alleys 
 and no -thoroughfares, shrinking at every sound and 
 starting at every shadow, to Edgerly's market-place. 
 The sky was black, the rain fell in torrents ; and 
 a piercing wind swept the great drops hither and 
 thither. 
 
 " Dog's weather ! " muttered a policeman, and 
 pulled his coat collar about his ears, and was for a 
 moment not quite as watchful as he should have been. 
 " Good convict's weather," Brown may have thought, 
 if the power of thinking was still left to him in the 
 midst of cold and terror, as he crouched in an angle 
 of the great market that stretched its granite length 
 in dim perspective, lighted at distant intervals by 
 flickering gas-lamps, about which the rays, falling on
 
 10 BROWN'S RETREAT. 
 
 mist and rain, formed a dismal yellow halo. De- 
 serted all, deserted. 
 
 Edgerly market lay quite near the wharves ; not 
 very respectable to be sure, but Brown and respecta- 
 bility had long since ceased to know each other. 
 Quite unhindered he continued his vagrant, groping 
 way, till, being about to turn a corner, a corner with 
 a traitorous street-lamp, he ran face to face against 
 another man. 
 
 " Damn you ! " muttered the new-comer. Then 
 catching sight of the cowering face, he grasped the 
 wretched man's arm with the power of a vice. " You, 
 Brown," 
 
 " You, Jim," and Brown tried to free himself 
 and raised one clenched fist. 
 
 " None o' that, Brown ; we're friends ! Aren't 
 you why you must have you must have " 
 
 " Cut ? Yes," Brown interposed. " I'm off, Jim. 
 They'll be after me now, sure ! " he cried, and peered 
 anxiously about. 
 
 "From the . . . ?" Jim asked, turning his thumb 
 in the direction of Edgerly's prison. Brown nodded, 
 and was about to hurry on, when the other stopped 
 him. " Yours is hard luck, old boy. Here, take 
 this ; it'll help you on. I'll do more for you if I can, 
 for old time sake, ye know." Thrusting some 
 money into the man's hand, this good Samaritan, in 
 the guise of a common sailor, vanished. 
 
 With a ray of comfort at heart Brown clutched the 
 money to his breast, and at last found himself in that 
 narrow, zigzag street which led to the black water at 
 the foot of the wharf, a street not very dainty as to its 
 inhabitants, and very willing to give anything it pos- 
 sessed for miserable money. It was the most unde- 
 sirable of all the streets in a great city, a street with 
 tumble-down, wooden houses and odd nooks ; with 
 narrow lanes and alleys creeping out, and, here and
 
 BROWN'S RETREAT. II 
 
 there, dark quadrangles below the level of the street, 
 with rickety wooden steps leading down to them, and 
 dimly lighted by an oil lamp swinging from a wooden 
 arch overhead and throwing a wretched glimmer on 
 unspeakable poverty and crime. Down this street 
 the culprit crept. He had just reached such a quad- 
 rangle, and had shrunk back from the dreary darkness 
 and the dreary light, when he heard a bitter sobbing, 
 and the next instant he felt something pull at his 
 trousers. With a shudder and an oath he looked 
 down. 
 
 " Let go, you brat ! " he muttered, as he caught 
 sight of the shivering form of a child crouching on 
 the top of the miserable flight of steps. The child 
 ceased sobbing and shrank back at the sudden vio- 
 lence of face and tone, while the unhappy man dis- 
 appeared into the darkness. There is a touch of 
 superstition in the most unimaginative and irreligious 
 of us, a feeling that, somehow, as we do, so shall 
 we be done by. Fleeing, as he was, from every known 
 peril, Brown was yet stopped in his headlong course 
 by an unexplained feeling that a certain guiding 
 power Brown would call it " luck," in an unvar- 
 nished statement might, in retribution, forsake him 
 as he had forsaken the child. So he retraced his 
 steps to where she had fallen on her face and was 
 weeping bitterly. " What's the matter ? " he asked, 
 roughly. 
 
 " They've turned me out o' doors, for father's gone, 
 I don't know where, and mother mother's dead, 
 and oh, I'm so cold and hungry, and I'm so afraid ! u 
 she cried, looking about, fearfully. 
 
 "Well, what shall I do with you, young 'un ? " 
 
 The child stopped sobbing, and looking up to him 
 with an imploring face said, with innocent confidence, 
 " P'raps you'll take me with you."
 
 12 BROWN'S RETREAT. 
 
 It did not enter Brown's head to disbelieve her 
 story. 
 
 "Take you with me," he repeated, with a grim 
 smile, for he saw the ghastly humor of the thing, 
 " take you with me ? Why, I haven't got a bunk for 
 myself to-night." 
 
 The child had been bred in that state of society 
 where hunted-down Brown was but an every-day ob- 
 ject to her. He seemed a stranger in Edgerly, and 
 what wonder, therefore, that he was without a lodging? 
 
 " I know of a house where they'll take you in," 
 she said eagerly ; " that is, if you can pay," she added, 
 with some misgivings. Brown nodded. " It's right 
 here in the street, near the wharf ; and and 
 p'raps you'll tell 'em to take me in, too, and and 
 p'raps you'll give me a bit of bread." 
 
 " Go ahead," said Brown, and he followed his 
 ragged guide. He was reckless, this breaker of laws, 
 and as a gambler stakes his all on one throw of the 
 dice, so he staked life and liberty on this small va- 
 grant, with a feeling of superstition that his " luck " 
 could not forsake him, for had he not befriended one 
 nearly as wretched as himself? 
 
 The child led the way to a tumble-down wooden 
 house. The landlady, a middle-aged virago, was just 
 having a dispute with a slightly intoxicated lodger, 
 which she postponed to attend to business. The 
 delicate matter of references not being alluded to, 
 the stranger, in consideration of a certain modest sum, 
 was allowed to take possession of a dingy six-by-ten- 
 feet shop, with a small room back of it, which its dis- 
 couraged last occupant had forsaken. 
 
 "Two doors and a window," said Brown, peer- 
 ing curiously about in the miserable room. "One 
 door leads into the shop, the other into the entry, and 
 the window," he said, throwing it open and putting 
 his head out, " into an alley so ! " Then he seated
 
 BROWN'S RETREAT. 13 
 
 himself on the ragged bed, and, dangling his legs, 
 stared into the pinched, haggard face of the child, 
 who stood watching him very patiently. " And what 
 may your name be, young' un ? " he asked. 
 
 " Popsy," she said, and returned his stare. 
 
 " You're pretty well alone in the world ? " 
 
 " Yes," she whispered. 
 
 " So am I, so am I. We might," he added, as if 
 thinking aloud, " we might hang on to each other, 
 for the present at least, might n't we ? " 
 
 " I bet we might ! " Popsy answered energetically, 
 with a world of gratitude in her old young eyes. 
 
 " Well, then, call me uncle ; Nunc, you might say, 
 for short. Now, Popsy ? " 
 
 " Well, Nunc ? " 
 
 " Fetch a pint of milk and a loaf of bread." 
 
 Popsy disappeared, and Brown lay back on the bed 
 and laughed. The idea of his playing the part of 
 protector was too funny; it struck him so forcibly 
 that he forgot his own precarious position in amuse- 
 ment at the comic side of the transaction. 
 
 Such was the advent of Brown, who hiding by day 
 prowled about at night in search of means to escape 
 from Edgerly town and the Edgerly laws he had bro- 
 ken. Yet the man could not be the man he was 
 without having his little joke. In his leisure mo- 
 ments, so very plentiful, he traced the words " Brown's 
 Retreat " on a pine board, and, trusting to the name of 
 Brown as a disguise, nailed it over the shop window 
 one night, where it surprised Edgerly the next morn- 
 ing, to the intense delight of its owner, who nearly 
 choked with suppressed laughter when an unsuspect- 
 ing policeman, in passing, read the sign and grinned. 
 
 That policeman had a nice sense of humor, but it 
 was as nothing compared to Brown's.
 
 14 BROWN'S RETREAT. 
 
 III. 
 
 BUT Justice did not sleep. Indeed she put her 
 hand into her respectable pocket and offered two 
 hundred and fifty dollars reward for the apprehension 
 of the fugitive Brown, which stimulated quite a num- 
 ber of loafers to find him out. 
 
 November turned into the bitterest, coldest De- 
 cember. Approaching Christmas hardly disturbed 
 this part of Edgerly by any undue gladness ; though 
 Brown's Retreat made a sacrifice to the season in the 
 shape of a few twigs of holly and an evergreen-tree. 
 
 Popsy had developed fine shop-keeping talents, 
 with a shrewd eye open for cash customers. This 
 calculating eye, in looking over the street one De- 
 cember morning, lighted on a stranger in an attire 
 several degrees better than that usually worn by the 
 gentlemen about, with something military in his 
 slouched hat and dyed mustache. 
 
 This personage, with his hands in his trousers 
 pockets, stared at the sign of Brown's Retreat, and 
 said " Hallo ! " with a dim sense of amusement. 
 Then he looked in at the door, and said " Hallo ? " 
 interrogatively. Without waiting for an answer, he 
 leaned his elbow gracefully on the counter, and re- 
 marked to Popsy, 
 
 " Brown's a great one to joke, ain't he ? " and he 
 stared about at the dismal place. " Calling this a re- 
 treat is a joke ! You belong to Brown, don't you ? " he 
 abruptly asked Popsy, who stood by in open mouthed 
 consternation. 
 
 " If you please," she said, with a little curtsy, 
 " if you please, sir, Brown's my sick uncle, and mustn't 
 be disturbed." 
 
 " Mustn't he ? Well, we'll just see ! "
 
 BROWN'S RETREAT. 15 
 
 " No, you shan't ! " cried Popsy, and thrust herself 
 between the stranger and the back room. 
 
 " Why, you ferocious little savage ! what harm 
 would it do him ? " he cried, retreating, nevertheless, 
 while he stroked his dyed mustache and laughed a 
 weak laugh, which would have been still weaker 
 could he have seen through the door, where Brown 
 sat on the bed with a loaded revolver in his hand, 
 ready with an unexpected welcome. 
 
 " He's sick, and you mustn't go in," Popsy said has- 
 tily, fearing, child though she was, that she had made 
 a blunder, even in her quick defence of him ; for she 
 knew his story, and that he was waiting for a favor- 
 able moment to escape on one of the schooners down 
 at the wharf, a transaction by no means strange to 
 Popsy. 
 
 The mysterious stranger, as if in his turn to allay 
 her suspicion, or her alarm, looked over the wares on 
 the counter, and at last purchased a clay pipe, and 
 then sauntered out of the shop, followed by the child's 
 eager gaze and by a couple of cautious eyes that 
 looked stealthily out of the inner door after the re- 
 treating figure, and made such a mental note of it, 
 that that inquisitive person would not have been safe 
 from Brown beneath any disguise. " The devil's in 
 that sneaking cuss ! " he muttered, as he drew his 
 head in again. " Popsy." 
 
 " What's it, Nunc ? " the child asked, putting her 
 shrewd face in at the door. 
 
 " If that chap comes loafing round here again, you 
 do this ; do you understand ? " So Popsy coughed 
 obediently, as Brown directed. " It's getting as hot 
 as h 11 round here. I'll have to cut, or they'll pin 
 me again," he muttered. 
 
 " Nunc," said Popsy, still lingering, " there was 
 another man here this morning what asked to see 
 you ; and I said you was sick, and he said he was a
 
 1 6 BROWN'S RETREAT. 
 
 doctor. I said you wouldn't see no doctor ; then he 
 said he was a friend o' yourn, and he'd come round 
 again." 
 
 There was a look of veiled fear in the man's eyes, 
 and he clenched his brawny hands, and felt as if the 
 game he was playing was coming to a delicate point. 
 
 The zigzag street was indeed becoming unsafe 
 quarters. The neighborhood was accustomed to 
 harbor suspicious characters, and after a first nod of 
 surprise, forgot all about them. But the mysterious 
 Brown, who was never seen, who rented a shop where 
 there was little to sell, became the subject of conver- 
 sation. The police was after him too ; but it was 
 not the police that looked in at the store and bought 
 clay pipes. The police was scouring the country 
 far and wide in search of the criminal, but it had not 
 occurred to that able body to examine the region un- 
 der its very nose ; that duty was being performed by 
 self-constituted spies, who had recourse to the police 
 only at the last moment, fearing it might claim the 
 reward. The culprit, knowing the tricks of the trade, 
 instantly recognized his visitors' errand, and muttered 
 a curse upon them. The man was not so delicate in 
 his sentiments not being a noble convict as to 
 doubt the honor or purity of their profession ; he 
 merely questioned their right to be stepping into the 
 shoes of those whose duty it was to arrest him in the 
 way of business. 
 
 " Curse them for sneaking dogs ! Why can't they 
 leave a fellow alone ! " he thought, with a despair at 
 heart that nearly made him give in, beaten. 
 
 Nevertheless, that night he once more groped his 
 way stealthily out of the house, through a back door 
 that led into an alleyway, darker for a cloudy night 
 and dirtier than usual for a spell of thawing. Into 
 this dirt and darkness Brown disappeared.
 
 BROWN'S RETREAT. I/ 
 
 The neighborhood about Brown's Retreat, if not 
 very honest or respectable, had a touching confidence 
 in other people's honesty and respectability ; for it 
 always slept with its doors wide open in summer and 
 on the latch in winter, the delicate formality of a bell 
 being quite unknown. At midnight, or a little later, 
 the faint light of a tallow candle woke Popsy from 
 her slumbers on a miscellaneous heap of old clothes 
 and a patchwork quilt, to the fact that an unknown 
 man was bending over her. A sailor he seemed ; a 
 strong looking man, with a face smoothly shaven but 
 for a short, cleanly cut mustache. 
 
 Being only a child, Popsy was for a moment filled 
 with unspeakable terror at the sudden awakening, 
 the light, and the strange man. Then there flashed 
 into her mind, the danger of the man who had be- 
 friended her. 
 
 Without moving her eyes from the stranger's face, 
 she slipped to her feet, and stood at the door of 
 Brown's room, as if to defend it. Not a word she 
 said, but stood there shivering and trembling, with 
 one small hand on the door-knob and a pleading look 
 in her faithful eyes that made his own dim ; that made 
 him turn away for an instant, and then ask in a husky 
 voice, " Don't you know me, Popsy ? " Popsy started 
 at the tones. " Well, this beats all ! Don't you know 
 your Nunc? " cried the man. "I swear, youngster, 
 either you're asleep or I'm another man. What, 
 don't you know me, Popsy ? " he repeated and held 
 out his arms to her. 
 
 " Yes, you are Nunc ! " the child cried, throwing 
 her arms about his neck, "and yet you are not." 
 
 The man was, indeed, well disguised. Since Popsy 
 had known him his face had become rough and dark 
 by a beard of some weeks' growth. Soap and water 
 and a comb, had helped the transformation. The 
 trim sailor's dress, rough as it was, formed such a 
 
 2
 
 1 8 BROWN'S RETREAT. 
 
 contrast to the wretched clothes he had picked up 
 piece-meal. 
 
 With better clothes something of that disgraced, 
 hunted-down look in his eyes had disappeared ; so 
 that as far as his outer man was concerned Brown 
 might again have been classed as a respectable mem- 
 ber of society. 
 
 " And yet you are not Nunc," the child repeated, 
 not quite comprehending his disguise. 
 
 Brown said nothing, but lifting her in his arms 
 carried her into the back room and locked the door. 
 Placing the candle on the rough table, he seated 
 himself and took the child on his knee. 
 
 "Look here, Popsy," he began, with some embar- 
 rassment, "you know I'm hiding from the from 
 the " 
 
 " Perlice." 
 
 "Well, yes, to be sure. And the fact is, to make 
 a long story short, those two chaps who've been 
 a-prowling round here are making the place too hot 
 for me ; and, Popsy," he said, with a certain tender- 
 ness in his voice one would hardly have expected from 
 so rough a man, " Popsy, I've got to leave you, 
 though I said I wouldn't ; and it does seem hard and 
 mean, now, doesn't it, young 'un ? " 
 
 " Oh, Nunc, Nunc ! " the child sobbed. 
 
 " There, there ! " Brown said, rocking her to and 
 fro like a sick baby. " Now, listen to what I've done. 
 You don't know Jim ? Jim's a good one and has 
 stood by me like a rock, darn him ! Now Jim's got 
 me a berth along with him on the Mary Ann, bound 
 for the East Indies. The skipper's glad of a steady 
 hand, and asks no questions this time o' year. 
 There'll come a woman for you to-morrow, Popsy, 
 who'll take ye along with her. She's Jim's sister, 
 and," speaking almost in a whisper, " once she was 
 to have been my wife, my wife. But I went to the
 
 BROWN'S RETREAT. 1 9 
 
 dogs God forgive me ! and she's only Jim s sistei 
 now. Be mindful of her, Popsy; be true and good 
 like her, and some day you'll grow up to be a good 
 woman, just as she is, Heaven bless her ! " Brown 
 buried his face in his hands for a moment. 
 
 " I will, I will, Nunc ! " the child answered piteously. 
 " But when are you coming back ? " 
 
 " Never," said Brown, accustomed to staring hard 
 facts in the face, never. But when you're a woman 
 grown, a good woman, mind, like her, perhaps 
 then you'll come out to me But what's the matter, 
 young 'un ? " as Popsy, slipping from his knee, with 
 head bent forward, listened intently. 
 
 " Nunc, don't you hear something ? " she whispered, 
 terror-stricken. 
 
 Instantly Brown was deadly still, listening with that 
 keen suspense which only a man feels whose liberty 
 and life are at the mercy of a sound. 
 
 There was the noise as of a delicate tampering 
 with the metal about the knob of the inner door which 
 Brown had locked, a noise which would have been 
 unheard in the day-time, but which the dead midnight 
 caught. 
 
 There was only time to act. With the quickness 
 of a man to whom self-possession in danger has be- 
 come a second nature, he sprang to the low window, 
 tore it open, and without another word or look, leaped 
 out into the midnight darkness, and ran, ran for dear 
 life, with the horror at heart of perhaps running into 
 the very hands of his pursuers. 
 
 The child, with quick instinct, shut the betraying 
 window, and then, with the hot tears welling up into 
 her eyes, shrank back into a dim corner, and waited 
 till the door opened, and by the flash of a lantern 
 and the flaring light of the candle, she saw three men 
 enter, one of whom carried a revolver in his hand. 
 This last man was a policeman, and he stepped in
 
 20 BROWN'S RETREAT. 
 
 with a certain business-like air which was in fine con- 
 trast to the lagging steps of the men behind him, in 
 whom the child instantly recognized the nautical 
 loafer of the morning, and the individual who had said 
 he was a doctor and a friend. 
 
 "Where's Brown?" and the policeman peered 
 about, his lantern in one hand and the revolver in the 
 other. 
 
 " This is Brown's Retreat with a vengeance," said 
 the nautical gentleman, while the friendly individual 
 growled out some strong language about meddling 
 fools. 
 
 Without a knowledge of what would happen, with 
 the glitter of the ugly looking pistol in her eyes, but 
 with a world of gratitude in her heart, poor Popsy 
 crept out of her corner, and said humbly and plead- 
 ingly, " Please, sir, I'm Brown ! " 
 
 Of course they tried to ferret him out, but the hu- 
 morous rogue did actually escape on the Mary Ann, 
 bound for the East Indies, with the briskest kind of 
 a breeze to push her along. 
 
 I had a feeling of sympathy with Brown all the 
 time, for he had a vein of humor in him ; and a vein 
 of humor is an excellent point in a man, even if two 
 hundred and fifty dollars are offered as a reward for 
 his capture as a common thief. 
 
 He was, to be sure, a bit fool-hardy, in his apprecia- 
 tion of a joke, for in his leisure he nailed up another 
 deal-board with " Brown's Retreat " upon it at the 
 head of his bunk, to the curiosity of the seamen. 
 Only one understood the delicate innuendo, and that 
 was the good Samaritan, Jim. 
 
 As his country's prisons were never again honored 
 by his presence, as nothing was heard of his death, 
 as mysterious presents are continually reaching Popsy, 
 who has grown to be a true and noble-hearted girl
 
 BROWN'S RETREAT. 21 
 
 just as Jim's sister was before her, it is pleasant to 
 think that the wretched criminal found some spot on 
 earth where be prospered ; where he could have his 
 little joke without being locked up ; where preachers 
 say what they mean,and human nature is to be trusted. 
 The name of Brown is not uncommon. Should 
 you know a middle aged man of that name, with a 
 misty past and a taste for a joke, you might ask him 
 if he ever heard of Brown's Retreat.
 
 ODELIA BLYNN. 
 I. 
 
 DEACON NYMPHUS PROUTY, being tempted 
 by Satan, succumbed. His fellow-deacons, on 
 hearing of it, were surprised that Heaven did not 
 strike him dead then and there. At present, how- 
 ever, he had just been in Satan's claws, and he was 
 returning home to Timlik, travel-stained and tired. 
 
 It was a rather hilly road, and as the Deacon 
 looked down from the summit he saw in the valley 
 below the sharp point of a church steeple, at sight 
 of which he paused, and, resting on his stick, 
 chuckled sinfully. 
 
 " I've ben a professin' Christian more'n fifty 
 years," he thought, wagging his old head, " an' I 
 guess the Lord won't give me over for one little 
 backslide. The ways of sin air pleasant, I might 
 a'most say that they air pleasanter than the ways o' 
 righteousness." Here he shook his head at the 
 steeple. . " Lor', Lor'," he exclaimed in sudden 
 alarm ; " the Devil 's very nigh on to you, Nym- 
 phus ! " 
 
 The shadows were creeping like ghosts out of the 
 fringe of woodland on one side of the road. On the 
 other, high on a ragged bank, stood a tumble-down 
 house of two rooms, whose gray, decaying sides 
 were half hidden by a disorderly tangle of grape- 
 vines. The rank grass grew to the sunken thresh- 
 old, where by the open door sat a cat which looked 
 at the old man with wicked, indifferent eyes. 
 22
 
 ODELIA BLYNN. 23 
 
 Of all the dreary places it was the dreariest. 
 
 A slim, tall girl, with a sallow face and unsmiling 
 gray eyes, came to the door, upset the cat, and in 
 turn moodily watched the Deacon trudging nearer. 
 One bright star trembled in the East, and in the 
 sparse farm houses the lights began to twinkle like 
 an echo of sight from the stars above. The clamor- 
 ous chirp of the crickets beat the air, emphasizing 
 the stillness. Then there broke through the silence 
 the quick, unsteady clangor of a thin-toned bell. 
 
 The Deacon glanced at the girl in the door-way. 
 
 " Be you goin' to meetin', Odelia," he asked, stand- 
 ing still. 
 
 She nodded. " P'r'aps you don't know that I ain't 
 ben 'round here since mornin' ? " 
 
 " Haven't you ? " 
 
 " I guess ef I wanted to, I could tell you some- 
 thin' that'd kinder s'rprise you, Odelia Blynn." 
 
 " Well ? " 
 
 "You come 'long down here." 
 
 She came unwillingly down the footpath trodden 
 through the grass, while the cat followed her with ele- 
 vated tail. The Deacon grasped her wrist and put- 
 ting up one horny hand as a wall, whispered, " I've 
 ben to the circus, Odelia Blynn." 
 
 For a moment she stared at him, then slowly a 
 faint smile crept over her unsmiling face. 
 
 " I've ben a professin' Christian more'n fifty years," 
 the Deacon continued, " and the Devil ain't had no 
 hold on me at all, for I ain't gev him no chance. But 
 I says to myself ' 'Tain't no glory to the Lord, Nym- 
 phus, ef you don't never backslide, cos' you keep out- 
 er the ways of sin. So you jest git into 'em, an' then 
 see what Satan '11 do !* an' so I did, and it's six miles 
 there and six miles back, an' I'm kinder shaky in my 
 legs." 
 
 " Deacon Prouty, what did you see ? " There was
 
 24 ODELIA BLYNN. 
 
 such a feverish light in Odelia's eyes, her lank, lithe 
 body quivered in the faded. print gown she wore, so 
 that even the Deacon was startled. 
 
 " I never see you like this before, Odelia." 
 
 " Tell me ! " she cried, and she shook the aged man. 
 
 " That ain't the way to git information out of me," 
 he retorted, and turned away. 
 
 " I'm sorry there ! " she cried impatiently. " Now 
 sit down and tell." 
 
 The Deacon relented, for he yearned for sympathy ; 
 so they sat down on a flat rock by the road and 
 Odelia listened to the Deacon's story. 
 
 " Music and lights, and folks, and women smiling 
 and riding on horses, and dancing," she repeated 
 slowly as he concluded. 
 
 " The women-folks was that bewtiful," he added, 
 with a grin. 
 
 Odelia did not heed him. 'She started to her feet 
 in a frenzy of defiance. "Wouldn r t I just like to 
 belong to a circus ! Don't I just wish I could run 
 away, and be like one of them women that ride on 
 horses and laugh and dance and hear music and see 
 sights ! " 
 
 "Lord hev mercy on you, you're out of your 
 senses," the Deacon remonstrated, and then added 
 with pleasing frankness, " Besides you really ain't 
 good lookin' enough for that. Them women-folks 
 they was plump an' smiling, an' they had red cheeks 
 and sech bright eyes. Now you know you're nothin' 
 but a yellow slip of a critter and you looks mostly 
 cross an' no ways bewtiful that I can see. So you'd 
 best stay here, for them ways ain't your ways." 
 
 The momentary excitement had passed and Odelia 
 hung her head, and the light faded out of her eyes. 
 
 " It ain't right of the Lord to make some women 
 like them and some like me."
 
 ODELIA BLYNN. 2$ 
 
 The Deacon coughed in expostulation just as the 
 second meeting-bell rang. 
 
 "Guess you'd best keep goin' to meetin' pretty 
 reg'lar, Odelia, you take easy to the ways o' sin ; 
 you'd best go and git supported." 
 
 " I'm going," she answered moodily, and climbed 
 the narrow path to the house to fetch her hood, and 
 then went down the road to the church in the hollow. 
 
 II. 
 
 LIFE was not long enough to call it properly Tim- 
 berlake, so it was called " Timlik," with a nasal 
 twang. 
 
 The Timberlake lay in the heart of the valley, and 
 on summer evenings when the low, pine-covered hills 
 stood clear against a red-gold sky, then the Timber- 
 lake was transformed into a sheet of molten gold, 
 while, amid the rushes, reeds and grasses along its 
 banks, the bull frogs uttered their solitary note, like 
 the rough stroke of a bow across a bass-fiddle. 
 
 Poverty and thrift were characteristic of Timlik, 
 which found its only relaxation in the whitewashed 
 meeting-house with the pointed steeple. 
 
 Behind the church stood a weather-beaten shed 
 where the farmers hitched their horses of a Sunday, 
 and here the poor beasts shivered through the bitter 
 winter weather. Timlik was easy about its horses, 
 and so they were an asthmatic breed, lean in the 
 flanks, rough of hide and of short life. 
 
 A varied array of vehicles loomed up in the dusk 
 as Odelia approached, and a familiar hymn, dragging 
 its weary length, greeted her as she entered the ves- 
 try. It was a low-studded room, lighted by dull 
 kerosene lamps, and the whitewashed walls were dec-
 
 26 ODELIA BLYNN. 
 
 orated with mottoes of a godly nature, that hung 
 askew. 
 
 The minister sat on the low platform, facing his 
 people ; he was a young man with a hectic flush on 
 his cheeks, and he looked tired, but that was char- 
 acteristic of the congregation. Odelia was surprised 
 to see a stranger beside the minister, for strangers 
 were very rare. 
 
 She sat down on a bench, and for the first time 
 she was hardly conscious of either the hymn or 
 the prayer. She was at war with herself, and she 
 looked up with a conscience-stricken, flushed face 
 when the minister said wearily : " We have among 
 us a great sinner." Would he command her to rise 
 and confess her wickedness ? 
 
 "Let us pray for him," he added. A series of 
 energetic groans betrayed the sinner behind her, and 
 when Odelia ventured to look back, she discovered 
 Deacon Prouty mopping his face with a red and yel- 
 low handkerchief. 
 
 " I'm a great sinner," he moaned, rocking to and 
 fro. " I've ben to the Devil jest about straight." 
 
 " The Lord hev mercy on you, Nymphus," cried a 
 sympathizing worshiper. 
 
 " Deacon Prouty, we will hear you later on," inter- 
 posed the minister. " At present we are to listen to 
 the Rev. Mr. Tourtelot, missionary to the Kalkamazu 
 Islands, who hopes to interest you in the cause." 
 
 It is not our purpose to give Mr. Tourtelot's ad- 
 dress. He had a certain rough, picturesque elo- 
 quence unknown to Timlik. He rejoiced in his work, 
 and there was something contagious in the enthu- 
 siasm with which he demanded aid and workers. 
 " We want men and women who will give their lives 
 to the cause, who will go to that far-off world and 
 carry the gospel of Christ Jesus to the unregenerate, 
 who are living and dying and lost, ignorant of the
 
 ODELIA BLYNN. 2/ 
 
 blessed tidings of Salvation. Do your duty, Chris- 
 tian men and women, or live with the anguish of 
 duties unfulfilled." 
 
 Timlik dispersed in a glow of ardor, and the Dea- 
 cons remained to inquire into the backsliding of their 
 erring brother. They were five gaunt and bony men, 
 with long beards and smoothly shaven upper lips. 
 Their hair they wore rather long and their broadcloth 
 garments were gray in the seams ; an air of acute 
 solemnity struck a chill to the soul of Nymphus 
 Prouty. He also regretted that Deacon Fell seemed 
 to be the ruling spirit, for he had sold an ancient 
 mare to that brother only a few days before, which 
 was not all that Deacon Fell's fondest hopes had 
 painted. 
 
 "He's a-goin' for me jest on that account," the 
 aged man reflected, " but it ain't being a good Chris- 
 tian." 
 
 The minister opened the proceedings with another 
 prayer in which he confided the erring sinner to the 
 Lord, who would punish him as He should see fit, to 
 which the brethren assented with groans more forci- 
 ble than polite. 
 
 Then the minister looked solemnly at him. " Bro- 
 ther Prouty, we have heard awful accounts of you. 
 You're on your way to hell ! How dare you, an old 
 man on the very brink of the grave ? " 
 
 " Some one's ben a-tellin' stories about me," said 
 the culprit, and his eyes rested on Deacon Fell. He 
 was an emaciated individual, and his gray beard was 
 tinged with tobacco juice, while a straggling halo of 
 yellow-gray hair escaped from underneath the brown 
 wig which he had inherited from his grandfather. 
 
 " Guess I know who's ben telling" and the Dea- 
 con blew a blast on his bandanna handkerchief. 
 
 " Wai', it was me, brother Nymphus," Deacon Fell 
 retorted. "But an' old man who sells a spavined
 
 28 ODELIA BLYNN. 
 
 mare one week an' goes to the circus " (an awful groan 
 corroborated this statement) " the next, guess it's about 
 time to snatch him as a brand from the burning." 
 
 A grin illuminated Deacon Prouty's face, and he 
 rocked to and fro in noiseless glee. 
 
 " Lord hev mercy on his sinful soul, he ain't a mite 
 sorry." 
 
 " I move," added a righteous man with unrighteous 
 curiosity, " that he tell us what he saw at the place 
 of sin." 
 
 A murmur of approbation hailed this suggestion. 
 They stared at him, and the young minister's face 
 was more than usually flushed. 
 
 " I've ben an' seen the Devil's works," the sinner 
 began, boastfully. " I've ben walkin' right in the 
 jaws of hell." 
 
 "That you hev, Nymphus, that you hev." 
 
 " An' its a bewtiful place." There was a dramatic 
 pause and the minister sighed. 
 
 " I'm an old man, more'n seventy years old, an* 
 I've walked in the paths o' righteousness all my 
 days," (there was a doubting sniff from Deacon Fell 
 which the ancient man ignored,) " an' jest when I'm 
 ripe for glory, Satan comes 'long an', says he, no, 
 Nymphus, not yet, for, says he, there's a circus at 
 East Timlik. And, brethren, my soul's ben a-han- 
 kerin' for a circus or some such worldly sight, these 
 fifty years or more. An' I jest giv' in to Satan at 
 half past six this morning. So I walks to East Tim- 
 lik six miles, an' six miles back, a pretty good stretch 
 for an old man's legs." 
 
 " What did you see, Deacon ? " a brother asked, with 
 some impatience. 
 
 " I see lots o' wild beasts," the Deacon began, with 
 a sense of his new importance. " There was a lion 
 a-roarin' fit to split, and there was a sarpint jest the 
 pattern of Mis' Pinsey's best Sunday-go-to-meetin'
 
 ODELIA BLYNN. 29 
 
 calliker. There was a tiger that kind'er ups when 
 he sees me, so I pokes him with my stick. There 
 was a elephant a-dancin' tew music O Lor' there 
 was lots ! " Here the old gentleman paused. 
 
 " Is that all, Nymphus? " 
 
 " No, 'tain't quite all, brother Fell. I see men- 
 folks a-standin' on their heads an' a-ridin' on hosses, 
 an' a-playin' on instrewments." Here he paused 
 again. 
 
 " Deacon Prouty, did you see anything else ? " the 
 young minister asked. 
 
 " I see," the Deacon replied in a hollow voice, " I 
 see women-folks, too." The assembly groaned. 
 
 " I see women-folks, too," the ancient sinner re- 
 peated, " an' they was mighty han'some lookin'." 
 
 The assembly groaned again. 
 
 The minister cleared his throat. " Well ? " he said. 
 
 " I seen them ride hosses a-standin' on their heads 
 an' on their tails, an' smilin' all 'round. They jumped 
 through paper hoops a-burnin', an' all tew music. An' 
 their cheeks was that red, an' their eyes was a-spark- 
 lin', an' they'd on sech clothes. I never see sech 
 clothes before in all my born days ! White they was, 
 an" a-glitterin' behind an' a-glitterin' before, an' wal',' 
 here he paused bashfully. " They wa'n't special long 
 either ways." 
 
 Another groan greeted this description, and the 
 minister broke in, harshly. 
 
 "That's enough, Nymphus Prouty, you've been 
 into the fire of hell." 
 
 " I ain't a man for talkin'," the sinner remarked as 
 he spread his coat-tails and sat down. " I will say 
 that I've ben led away by Satan, but," he grinned 
 defiance, " gracious, I ain't sorry. I'm a pretty old 
 man an' whatever you do agen me 'twon't be for long." 
 
 So was Timlik disgraced. It had boasted of su- 
 perior sanctity to the neighboring villages and now it
 
 30 ODELIA BLYNN. 
 
 was under an eclipse. So it came to pass that Tim- 
 lik was on the lookout for symptoms of exalted piety 
 which should cause the stain of Deacon Prouty's 
 backsliding to be forgotten. 
 
 III. 
 
 MRS. BLYNN was of no account in Timlik. This 
 poor opinion began when Joshua Blynn brought 
 her home as a bride, a small, washed-out slip of a girl 
 with a conciliatory giggle, which displayed her pink 
 gums. Timlik resented the giggle, and being itself 
 of a sober nature, referred all Mrs. Blynn's misfortunes 
 to those days when she laughed too much ; and her 
 punishment was sufficient, for she lost her husband 
 and five children, and was turned out of her farm, after 
 it had gone to rack and ruin. 
 
 Now she was a withered old woman with faded 
 eyes, and white hair like a thin layer of cotton wool, 
 and even the ghost of the old smile had vanished. 
 She earned a pittance braiding rough straw hats, such 
 as are worn by farmers, and, as people did not speak 
 to her much, she muttered to herself a good deal, and 
 stared into the dim woods over the way, where the 
 white birches had a wind-blown tilt towards the road, 
 as if they were listening. 
 
 From early spring until late autumn she sat by the 
 open door working monotonously. It is difficult to 
 conquer the popular opinion that you are of no ac- 
 count, especially in a small place, and Mrs. Blynn re- 
 signed herself to the inevitable, early in her career. 
 Even Odelia long ago agreed with Timlik, with a bit- 
 ter resentment against her mother. Though they 
 were miserably poor, the unwritten laws of Timlik de- 
 clared certain methods of earning a living to be un-
 
 ODELIA BLYNN. 31 
 
 genteel, and to hire out as a servant was the crown 
 and summit of humiliation. 
 
 So Odelia, having exhausted the village school, em- 
 ployed the rest of the time in doing nothing in par- 
 ticular. Timlik was of the opinion that Odelia was 
 " mighty proud," and it was considered greatly to her 
 credit why, no one knew. 
 
 " Things ain't ben as they'd oughter with Odelia, 
 her mother bein' of no account," was the general ver- 
 dict on her career. 
 
 So Odelia did nothing, but she went to all the 
 church meetings, and this had been her life, to the 
 day when she heard about the circus and listened to 
 the missionary from Kalkamazu. She left the meet- 
 ing in a state of mental dizziness. Imagination was 
 not a faculty much cultivated in Timlik, and there 
 was to her a pain in the birth-throe of unsuspected 
 fancies. The familiar road was hateful, and the low 
 hills, melting into the darkness, suffocated her. So 
 she reached home, and opened the door into the dark 
 room and lighted the lamp that stood on the table 
 covered with a meagre supper. It was a sad place, 
 and the dull green walls seemed to absorb and make 
 sickly the light. Bits of plaster had dropped out of 
 the low ceiling, and the ragged mats on the bare 
 floor were a perpetual trap for the unwary. In a 
 rocking chair by the stove sat Mrs. Blynn. On her 
 way to fetch a mug of water out of the supply-pail, 
 Odelia paused and looked at her mother, whose head 
 was thrown back while her hands hung lifelessly by 
 her side. 
 
 " Mother ! " the sharp impatient young voice star- 
 tled the sleeper, and she awoke in a daze. 
 
 " What's the matter," she asked, struggling with 
 sleep. 
 
 " I was frightened ! You looked as if as if you
 
 32 ODELIA BLYNN. 
 
 were dead," Odelia replied, with frightened resent- 
 ment. 
 
 "An* you was really frightened 'bout me, Delia? " 
 
 The girl nodded, and sat down and ate her bread 
 and butter in silence. 
 
 "Did you taste the honey, Delia? I bought it for 
 you. I had a few cents saved and I thought you'd 
 like it." 
 
 " Yes, it's nice," she replied, absently, while her 
 mother began to wash the few dishes, quite as a mat- 
 ter of course. 
 
 "An' so you was frightened for me, Delia," she 
 repeated, reverting to this unaccustomed touch of 
 feeling. Then she sat down in her old place and 
 took up her work. " It's a hard life for you, child. 
 Sometimes I think it 'ud be better for you if I was 
 dead and gone, and then I think I'm better'n none." 
 
 The clock over the stove ticked noisily in the si- 
 lence. 
 
 " I don't know what you'll do when I'm gone, 
 Delia, 'cept go out to service, on'y you're so dreadful 
 proud." 
 
 Odelia looked at her mother a moment, and then 
 she spoke in a low voice : 
 
 " I want to go away as a missionary, mother." 
 
 " Delia, you're not goin' to leave me, you're not 
 goin' to leave me, child ! " and the old woman 
 dragged herself forward, and laid her hand on the 
 girl's knees. " I've lost all in this cruel world, don't 
 you leave me, too, Delia." 
 
 " I shall go mad if I stay here, mother. There's 
 nothing for me to do. I'm wasting my life away. 
 To-night I found out my duty : it's to go out into the 
 world and to bring the Gospel to heathen men and 
 women. The missionary said to-night that they 
 wanted workers in the field who'd give their lives to
 
 ODE LI A BLYNN. 33 
 
 the cause. And as I came home I felt, all of a sud- 
 den, that Jesus wants me out there, and so I must 
 go at his call ! " The old woman rubbed her hands 
 together and at last spoke. "Wait till I'm dead, 
 Odelia, wait till I'm dead," and she threw herself 
 forward and broke into sobs. 
 
 IV. 
 
 *"pIMLIK always stood in an attitude of conde- 
 A scending approval to self sacrifice. It was in 
 a spirit of stunned wonder that it heard of Odelia 
 Blynn's intention to go out as missionary to the Kal- 
 katnazu Islands, those islands which could only be 
 reached by way of Cape Horn. The natives were 
 degraded and savage, wild beasts and earthquakes 
 abounded, and mail facilities were limited to letters 
 once a year. 
 
 Timlik rejoiced over these facts, and Odelia rose 
 to an extraordinary height of popularity ; even Mrs; 
 Blynn's being of no account was temporarily for- 
 gotten. 
 
 Deacon Fell came himself to inquire into the mat- 
 ter one winter day, and for the first time in twenty 
 years he again crossed the threshold. Mrs. Blynn 
 looked up in an apathetic way as the Deacon's sharp 
 red nose was thrust in at the open door. A shaft of 
 sunlight lay across the bare floor and the cat basked 
 in its rays, and Odelia stood at the window with an 
 eloquent protest in her slim, flat back. 
 
 She turned, and both women stared at the Deacon, 
 who calmly sat down, opened a singular garment of 
 a moth eaten buffalo hide, and proceeded to uncoil 
 several yards of comforter from his neck. Then 
 with one hand on each knee and his sharp face bent 
 3
 
 34 ODELIA BLYNN. 
 
 forward, he said, "Wai', Odelia, air you truly a-goin' 
 off missionarying to the heathen ? Now, do tell." 
 
 Mrs. Blynn paused in her work as Odelia answered, 
 shortly, " I want to go, I'm dying to." 
 
 " Then why don't you ? " asked the Deacon. 
 
 " Mother won't let me." 
 
 Deacon Fell drew himself up and his eyebrows 
 rose in righteous astonishment. 
 
 " Do you mean to say, ma'am, that you air standin' 
 in the way of your gal's salvation ? " 
 
 " She's a-goin' to wait till I'm dead." 
 
 The Deacon stared at her, and Odelia's eyes filled 
 with angry tears. 
 
 " The minister wrote to the Board of Foreign Mis- 
 sions, and they said that I was to go to the Islands 
 as soon as they'd hear of others going the same way. 
 And now, when I thought it settled, mother won't 
 let me go." 
 
 " Wait till I'm dead, Delia, you're dreadful im 
 patient." 
 
 " Dead ! " the Deacon cried in virtuous indignation, 
 " it's jest them no account folks that live forever." 
 
 It was a remark in the nature of a soliloquy and 
 perhaps he did not intend Mrs. Blynn to hear. She 
 paused in her work and looked at him. 
 
 "Do you know what you air doin'," he asked, 
 frowning," you're keepin' Odelia from doin' her duty." 
 
 "Am I?" 
 
 Then Odelia turned upon them, her sallow face all 
 aglow. 
 
 " That's the way she goes on, and I can't stand 
 it! Why won't she let me do my duty? You'll 
 make a wicked woman of me yet, mother," and with- 
 out another word she ran out of the house. 
 
 The Deacon felt it was time for a serious word. 
 
 "Mis' Blynn," he begun, not unkindly, "you jest 
 be a reasonable woman and let her go. Ef the Lord
 
 ODELIA BLYNN. 35 
 
 has set her that work to do, it ain't for you to keep her 
 here. It'll be an awful disappointment for Timlik ef 
 she don't go. Timlik's heart is jest set on it and we 
 mean to do the han'some thing by her. Now what'll 
 become of her if you air took ? She'll have to go out 
 to service, an' you know yourself she's proud, dread- 
 ful proud." 
 
 " An' ain't she got no work to do here ? " 
 
 The Deacon resented the interruption. 
 
 " No," he retorted. 
 
 The old woman rose slowly and pointed to the 
 door. " You hard man," she said, " leave this house. 
 When you come to. die one day, all alone in the great, 
 wide world, an' your children far away, think of me, 
 Deacon Fell, think of me." 
 
 "Gracious sakes," the Deacon began pettishly, 
 but there was something in that poor old face he 
 could not resist, and he slunk out of the house, drag- 
 ging a yard or two of dingy comforter behind him. 
 
 V. 
 
 TN the meantime Timlik rejoiced over Odelia Blynn. 
 J- The farmers' wives sent her presents and invited 
 her to tea. Afterwards the neighbors dropped in, 
 the best room with the " two ply " was thrown open, 
 and here Odelia told all she knew about Kalkamazu, 
 for the Board of Foreign Missions had sent her a box 
 full of books on the subject. So great was her im- 
 portance that she was borrowed by the neighboring 
 churches to tell the story of her future duties, and 
 the only disappointment was that she did not speak 
 the Kalkamazu language. 
 
 And yet the old woman of no account remained 
 obdurate. " When I'm dead she can go," she replied 
 to all entreaties.
 
 36 ODELIA BLYNN. 
 
 In those days the ladies of Timlik came often to 
 the little house to soften Mrs. Blynn. They were 
 gaunt, sallow women, with sunken cheeks and pain- 
 fully perfect false teeth, and they coaxed and taunted 
 her with high, shrill voices, to which she opposed an 
 obstinate silence, braiding her hats and chewing. 
 All the ladies chewed some favorite substance. 
 One enthusiastic friend did one day warn Odelia that 
 her mother was becoming mighty queer and light- 
 headed like, and she wouldn't be surprised if she 
 didn't last. " Then," said the good lady, tipping her 
 calico sunbonnet forward, for the spring sun was 
 rather warm, " then there'll be no one to keep you 
 from doin' your duty by them poor, heathen critters, 
 Odelia," and so departed. 
 
 The girl stood at the door, shading her eyes with 
 her hand, when the minister came towards her from 
 the village. It was a sunny spring day, with a chill 
 in the air, the clouds chased across the steel-blue sky 
 and the Timberlake in the distance was covered with 
 white caps. A soft green mist lay on the woodlands 
 as the promise of corning summer, and a brook 
 among the trees across the way, tumbled and frolicked 
 down its pebbly bed, with a fresh, sweet cadence. 
 
 " Walk up the hill with me, Odelia, I wish to speak 
 to you," the minister called to her. 
 
 She went towards him and waited for him to speak, 
 for he coughed, and his breath came short and fast. 
 
 " First, Odelia, the people want to see you in the 
 vestry to-night ; they have a surprise in store for you." 
 
 After all, she was young and she longed for what 
 is the birthright of youth, and so her heart beat fast 
 and a vivid blush crept up to her face at the thought. 
 But something more serious was to follow. 
 
 " I have also had a letter from the Board and you 
 must decide within a day if you will go to Kalkamazu. 
 It seems that a missionary and his family are to sail
 
 ODELIA BLYNN. 37 
 
 next week and they will be glad to take you along, 
 but, as there is another applicant for the place, you 
 see that you must make up your mind. Of course 
 they ask you first, as you were the first to apply. 
 Good-bye, Odelia, don't fail at the vestry to-night." 
 
 Odelia went on as if in a dream, conscious of only 
 one thing : she must decide. Her whole soul was on 
 fire with visions of heroic purpose and self sacrifice, 
 and she loathed her commonplace life, with its emp- 
 tiness and its poverty. " It is my only chance and 
 if I lose it, I shall have to be a servant," she thought, 
 in bitter revolt. 
 
 How far she had gone she did not know, when 
 some one called to her. "Where be you goin', 
 Odelia Blynn ? " and as she turned, a shrill, unnatural 
 voice shrieked, "To the devil, to the devil." 
 
 At the words her heart nearly stopped beating. It 
 was a narrow, lonely path through a pine forest, in 
 which, on a small clearing, stood a cottage of a couple 
 of rooms, and before the threshold, wrapped in an 
 old buffalo robe, sat Deacon Prouty, while in a tin 
 cage, swinging from the branch of a tree, hung a par- 
 rot with a scarlet tail and a cruel beak. 
 
 This was the Deacon's home. At present he was 
 under the severe displeasure of the church, which he 
 bore with feelings regulated by rheumatism. If that 
 was bad, the Deacon considered it wise to be submis- 
 sive, but if he felt well, then he didn't mean to be 
 bossed by any one. To-day the ancient man felt 
 pretty smart and quite independent of religion. 
 
 " Was it he who spoke," Odelia asked, pointing to 
 the parrot. 
 
 " Yes, an' wa'n't it 'propriate ? I bought him in 
 East Timlik for company. But he does swear awful. 
 Wa'n't it 'propriate ! " he repeated, blinking at the 
 girl. 
 
 " I don't know what you mean."
 
 3 ODELIA BLYNN. 
 
 " Lor', there ain't no folks here who'll tell you the 
 truth, you poor critter ! You think you're goin' to 
 do your duty by them unbelieving heathens ? Lor' 
 sakes, you're goin' straight to the devil. Your 
 duty is to home with your mother ! You just leave 
 heathen preachin' to other folks an' you stay here 
 an' do for her. I ain't spoke to you since the day 
 you wanted to go circusin'. I didn't tell on you 
 or I guess they'd a-talked to you pretty smart. So 
 I was s'rprised when I hear on you a-goin' to bring 
 religion to them heathen sinners. Lor', Odelia, 
 guess I know you ! You're jest dyin' to git away 
 from this place, that's all. There ain't no religion 
 'bout you or you'd stay an' do your duty to home." 
 
 Odelia stood before him as if rooted to the spot. 
 " Them folks is a drivin' of you on ; they don't care 
 nothin' what becomes of you or your mother. Gra- 
 cious, it's wickeder than the circus." 
 
 " Don't, don't, I won't hear you, you wicked man," 
 she cried at last, struggling for breath, and without 
 another word she disappeared down the path she had 
 come. 
 
 " Where be you goin', Odelia ? " the Deacon piped 
 after her, regretting that he had driven away a chance 
 visitor, but no one answered. 
 
 The blasphemous parrot plumed himself and bit 
 the bars of his cage and looked amazingly like the 
 Deacon. Then he whistled a hideous tune, to which 
 the old sinner in the buffalo robe kept time with his 
 head, with great zest and enjoyment. 
 
 VJ. 
 
 THE early spring evening had crept on when Ode- 
 lia returned home. It was too early for the 
 lamps to be lighted in the scattered cottages, and it 
 was too dark for serious work.
 
 ODELIA BLYNN. 39 
 
 The ploughs lay idle in the long furrows of the 
 fields, a few farm laborers trudged along the road 
 homeward, and occasionally a characteristic Timlik 
 steed harnessed to a loose country wagon, jolted past. 
 
 There was no sign of life about the little house as 
 Odelia approached, and her own unrest made the 
 silence seem more oppressive. The girl looked 
 about her in vague surprise as she opened the door. 
 
 " You've ben late comin' home, Delia," said her 
 mother. 
 
 " How nice you've fixed yourself up, haven't you, 
 mother." 
 
 There was an expectant air of festivity in the poor 
 place. The stove was newly blacked and the ragged 
 mats had disappeared, and the supper stood on the 
 table in the best holiday china on the best table- 
 cloth. All trace of work was put aside as never 
 before. 
 
 " How real nice you look, mother," Odelia repeated. 
 
 " I've finished my work," she answered, looking 
 down at the idle hands in her lap. 
 
 "Why, mother, you've got on your wedding-dress," 
 Odelia said, with a start. 
 
 "Yes, yes, my wedding-dress," and Mrs. Blynn 
 smoothed it down gently. " I've ben very happy in it, 
 Delia. I should like to have it on when I go, 'cos 
 your father liked it. He might'n know me if 'twa'n't 
 for that, for I'm a broken an' changed old woman." 
 
 " Don't speak so ! " Odelia cried, with quick re- 
 sentment ; " it's putting on that old thing makes you." 
 
 " I ain't wore it since the year we was married," 
 she went on, nevertheless. " I was nice enough look- 
 in' then, an' Joshua liked it. Two shillings a yard, 
 I paid for it, an' mother said I was crazy to put all 
 that money in it for a day's wear, but Joshua liked 
 it," and she gazed down with faint pride at the anti- 
 quated gown, with its faded pink roses.
 
 40 ODELIA BLYNN. 
 
 Suddenly she looked up and met Odelia's troubled 
 eyes. " The minister's ben here an' gone, an' he 
 spoke to me." 
 
 "And you'll let me go, mother," Odelia longed to 
 cry, but something forced her to be silent. 
 
 " I told him what I told you all along. Now sit 
 down an' hev your supper." 
 
 But Odelia could not eat, and every mouthful 
 seemed to choke her. " She's coaxing me to stay," 
 she thought, and pushed her plate away. " They 
 want to see me at the Vestry to-night," she said at 
 last, rising, " and guess I'd better go now." 
 
 At the door she turned at the faint sound of her 
 name and a quivering, broken sob. 
 
 " Odelia ! " 
 
 She went back to her mother's chair and looked 
 silently down at her. 
 
 " Odelia, child, let me kiss you before you go." 
 Involuntarily she knelt down and the white, trembling 
 lips touched her cheek. 
 
 " I loved you more'n you thought I did; I jest 
 couldn't live without you, child. There, go now." 
 
 The door closed and the soft spring breeze rustled 
 faintly through the ghostly birches that leaned for- 
 ward, listening, forever listening. 
 
 VII. 
 
 A SMALL boy with a red head was on the look- 
 out for Odelia when she reached the church. 
 It was a great day for Timlik, and the small boy wel- 
 comed her with shouts of rejoicing. Deacon Fell 
 followed her in and gave her a considerate poke for- 
 ward as she looked about bewildered. But the min- 
 ister came towards her through the crowd and led
 
 ODELIA BLYNN. 4 1 
 
 her to the surprise, which was of a bulky nature and 
 temporarily hidden under a cloth. 
 
 Then he held her trembling, cold hands and made 
 a little speech. " The people of Timlik wish you to 
 know how they rejoice in your devotion to the call of 
 duty. They wish to show you that they appreciate 
 your heroism in giving your life for a noble purpose. 
 They desire to hold a place in your heart when you 
 are far away, and they expect to be very proud of 
 you, Odelia Blynn. In testimony of their love and 
 esteem they beg you to accept this slight remem- 
 brance, with the hope that in the far distant land its 
 tones may bring you comfort." 
 
 So speaking the minister whisked the cover from 
 the surprise, which stood confessed in all its glory : 
 it was a melodeon. The trifling circumstance that 
 Odelia could not play did not concern Timlik, nor 
 that as luggage it might be expensive transportation 
 to Kalkamazu. Timlik had done itself credit and it 
 groaned approval. Deacon Fell rubbed his hands 
 for joy, for it was he who had bought the surprise in 
 East Timlik and received a handsome commission. 
 
 As for Odelia, she bowed her head over the melo- 
 deon and wept for joy and -pride. " You are too 
 good," she sobbed, " and you know I mayn't perhaps 
 go after all, for mother ain't willing." 
 
 "The Lord'll work a miracle for you, Odelia," 
 said a sympathizing neighbor, "an* p'rhaps He'll 
 move the obstacle out of your path." 
 
 " Anyhow, Odelia, you let us know to-morrow, sure," 
 the minister added in conclusion. 
 
 Timlik was not foolishly gallant, so after supper all 
 round the folks dispersed, and though it was quite 
 late, no one felt that Odelia could not go home alone. 
 She went swiftly up the familiar road. She had never 
 before been so happy or so excited. 
 
 Suddenly a voice seemed to say, " Suppose she
 
 4 2 ODELIA BLYNN. 
 
 won't let you go, even now ? " " The Lord will work 
 a miracle," she cried. " But if not ? " 
 
 A flood of angry thoughts surged through her brain. 
 " God forgive me," she exclaimed in sudden terror. 
 
 A ray of light streamed towards her through a 
 crack in the green paper curtain. " Mother's up, 
 still," she thought in some surprise, " or she's left 
 the light burning for me." That, however, she had 
 never done before. 
 
 " Perhaps mother's sick." 
 
 Her heart beat fast as she slowly opened the door ; 
 the clock ticked as usual, the lamp burned on the 
 table and, the idea of being frightened ! there sat 
 her mother asleep in her usual place. Yes, asleep. 
 Her head rested in her hand and both were supported 
 by the high back and the arm of the chair. 
 
 " Mother," Odelia called, but the quiet figure did 
 not stir. 
 
 "Mother!" she repeated sharply and touched her 
 shoulder. " I want to tell you about the pleasant 
 evening, mother." 
 
 She looked at her one long, awful moment, and 
 then with a sudden, terrible cry she sank down on 
 the floor by her side. 
 
 " Mother, mother, speak to me, mother." 
 
 From between the worn dead hand and the worn 
 dead cheek slipped an old glove, a man's glove. 
 It fell and touched the girl's head as it lay in her 
 mother's lap, and she started and shuddered at the 
 light touch. " It was father's," she said, and shivered 
 as with intense cold. 
 
 The cat slipped in at the open door and chased a 
 slim flask about the floor, and at the sound Odelia 
 awoke out of her stupor, and, as it dashed against her, 
 mechanically she picked it up. It had contained 
 laudanum such as is used by country folks for a 
 variety of ills.
 
 ODELIA BLYNN. 43 
 
 " The Lord will work a miracle and He'll remove 
 the obstacle out of your path." 
 " I killed her ! " Odelia cried. 
 
 At last, with wonderful strength, she lifted the 
 slender figure and carried it to the bed in the other 
 room, and laid the glove once more under the still 
 face. She drove the cat out of the house, closed the 
 door and went down to the village for help. 
 
 The doctor and minister came back with her, 
 
 " She took an overdose of laudanum," the doctor 
 said, and then added with some hesitation, " I fear 
 she's been in the habit of taking it for some time 
 past." 
 
 As the minister was leaving he paused on the 
 threshold. The faint streak of coming dawn broke 
 in the east, and the stars were fading out of the sky. 
 A song-sparrow thrilled the silence with a carol of 
 joy, and in the distance an early cock crowed loud 
 and long. 
 
 " Odelia," said the minister, " now you'll be ready 
 to start next week, for there's nothing to prevent 
 your doing your duty," he added, kindly. 
 
 "Duty," she repeated. Her lips were parched as 
 if with fever. " That wasn't my duty. It ain't such 
 as me ought to go." 
 
 He looked at her in surprise ; he did not under- 
 stand. 
 
 " Tell them I can't," she cried, in a passion of re- 
 nunciation. 
 
 " You are doing wrong, Odelia." 
 
 He watched the struggle in her down-bent face. 
 Then she spoke. 
 
 " It ain't wrong, it's right." 
 
 " How will you earn your living now that your 
 mother's gone ? " he asked, with cold disapproval.
 
 44 ODELIA BLYNN. 
 
 She turned from him. Her voice was hard but 
 there were tears in her eyes. 
 
 " I shall go out to service," she said. 
 
 Odelia closed the door and the minister walked 
 down the road lost in thought, and in the east broke 
 forth the glory of the morning.
 
 THE HEART STORY OF MISS JACK. 
 
 I. 
 
 ONLY the rich and great ever went to the Pennock 
 Shoals. There were a few cottages on the island 
 where the more exclusive lived in fashionable and 
 expensive discomfort ; the rest were content with its 
 single hotel. 
 
 Nobody ever did anything at the Pennock Shoals, 
 but everybody was immensely respectable. Indeed, 
 the Pennock amusement was to discover if any one 
 failed to reach this supreme standard of respecta- 
 bility. 
 
 In this desirable summer resort Mrs. Pendexter 
 owned a cottage. Rumor cruelly declared that this 
 had helped to make the lamented Mr. Pendexter pos- 
 sible as a husband. 
 
 Mr. Beresford, strolling from the Pennock hotel 
 across the lawn to Mrs. Pendexter's desirable cottage, 
 saw before him, as he had seen for three weeks past, 
 a queer little house perched on a rock, a flower- 
 garden, that flaunted its gold and scarlet against the 
 blue sky, and below, beyond the rocks of the island, 
 the great sea, and in the distance white sails mirror- 
 ing the sunlight. 
 
 Mr. Beresford was hardly conscious of all this 
 beauty, but he would have felt its absence. The first 
 time he had called on Mrs. Pendexter he was greeted, 
 on entering the room, by a solitary occupant two feet 
 
 (45)
 
 4 6 THE HEART STORY OF MISS JACK. 
 
 high, with a small fat body squeezed in a red jersey ; 
 impertinence was betrayed in his turned-up nose, and 
 cunning in his black eyes. 
 
 " What's 'oo here for ? " this apparition demanded. 
 
 " I came to see your mother, my little man," young 
 Beresford replied engagingly, trying to lay a friendly 
 hand on the imp. 
 
 " I ain't a little man, I'se a boy. You go home ; 
 she don't like you ; she said so to Jacky. I heard 
 her, I did," and young Adolphus Pendexter danced 
 a dance of joy. 
 
 " O you bad boy ! " a gentle, feminine voice cried ; 
 but the white hand that grasped the jersey from be- 
 hind was firm, and Adolphus was carried out in dis- 
 grace. 
 
 " He tells the most dreadful lies," Mrs. Pendexter 
 remarked composedly, sinking into her chair ; " he's 
 a Pendexter all over." 
 
 Mr, Beresford stroked his dark mustache, and pon- 
 dered in some perplexity on the infant Pendexter, as 
 he approached the cottage. 
 
 Mr. Robert Beresford had a certain charm for 
 which he was not responsible, it was inborn. He 
 would look intently in your eyes, if you were a woman, 
 and somehow you were sure you were all the world 
 to him ; at the same time you became suddenly con- 
 scious of any short-comings in your gown. If you 
 were a man Mr. Beresford met you on the equality 
 of common sense, and you respected him. 
 
 He went on his smiling, conquering way through 
 the world till he met Mrs. Pendexter. For once his 
 weapons failed him, and in his new earnestness Mr. 
 Beresford even ceased to smile. 
 
 He had once solemnly vowed never to fall in love, 
 at least never to marry a widow, especially a widow 
 with a child. When he could so far separate his love 
 for the fair sex in general to concentrate it on one
 
 THE HEART STORY OF MISS JACK. 47 
 
 individual in particular, it was always for a theoreti- 
 cal "young thing," whose mental and moral educa- 
 tion he meant to complete. With human inconsis- 
 tency he had not only fallen in love with a widow, 
 but a widow with a dreadful child. Far from being 
 a young thing, whose education was to be his care, 
 she really made him, Robert Beresford, feel like a 
 raw school-boy. 
 
 The afternoon sun swept through the low windows 
 of Mrs. Pendexter's cottage, and came in, like Mr. 
 Beresford, across the veranda. 
 
 The veranda was curtained by a tangle of delicate 
 vines, that swayed in the sea-breeze, sweeping across 
 the summer garden, with its blaze of flowers, and 
 beyond their beauty lay the endless stretch of sea, 
 glittering in the sun. It also fell aross Mr. Virginius 
 Chick. Mr. Virginius Chick was an ancient ruin, 
 whom Beresford hardly counted, for he seemed to 
 bask, in a grandfatherly way, in Mrs. Pendexter's 
 light. Mr, Chick would never see seventy-five again ; 
 he looked like a perambulating champagne bottle ; 
 he had a wheeze, a red face, narrow forehead, and 
 triple chin, and he was the embodiment of money. 
 The sunlight fell across Mrs. Pendexter, a picture of 
 summer elegance and languor, in a cloudy white 
 gown, that rippled and fell about her, and at sight of 
 this creation of white lace and coquettish knots of 
 ribbon, Mr. Beresford started visibly. 
 
 Mrs. Pendexter was aware of the start, and a pink 
 flush touched her delicate face. There was an eager 
 eloquence in Beresford's look, quite out of place in 
 the presence of Mr. Chick. To this glance Mrs. Pen- 
 dexter opposed two dovelike eyes, full of innocence 
 and entreaty, and so warded off a scene which would 
 have been highly objectionable ; for Mr. Virginius 
 Chick sat on the corner of the sofa, with a scarlet
 
 48 THE HEART STORY OF MISS JACK. 
 
 face, an agitated and asthmatic wheeze, and jealous 
 eyes that were hardly grandfatherly. 
 
 Mrs. Pendexter did not carry her heart on her 
 sleeve ; indeed, it was rumored that the departed 
 Pendexter had doubted the existence of this neces- 
 sary organ. Yet he had no reason to complain, as 
 Mrs. Pendexter mourned for him in garments that 
 reflected great credit on his memory, and the greatest 
 on her taste. Perhaps it was the exquisite decorum 
 with which Mrs. Pendexter mourned for Mr. Pendex- 
 ter that, for a moment, chilled Bob Beresford. 
 
 The very day before this one he had said to her, 
 as she stood, a slender figure, clad in the gloomiest 
 of crape, in her garden, amid the glory of nastur- 
 tiums, marigolds, and poppies that clung about her, 
 "If you cared so little for him, why will you persist 
 in wearing that dismal black and those ghastly long 
 veils ? " 
 
 " It is becoming ; besides, it is my only fortress of 
 defence," she answered, with some amusement. " I 
 know five men who are only waiting to see me in 
 colors, to honor me with a declaration. I am simply 
 warding them off." 
 
 " May I ask if you do me the honor of counting 
 me among them ? " Mr. Beresford demanded, with 
 amazing sang-froid. 
 
 " Do you really think me guilty of such presump- 
 tion ? " and she turned to pass up the narrow path. 
 
 " Stay," he cried, with forced composure. " If I 
 ever see you wear a dress of another color than 
 black, it will be a sign of capitulation to some one ? " 
 
 For a moment she was silent, standing with her 
 graceful head down-bent over the great bunch of 
 poppies she held, quite aware of the charming picture 
 she made ; then she looked up : "I shall have been 
 conquered," she answered with a smile, as she passed 
 into the house.
 
 THE HEART STORY OF MISS JACK. 49 
 
 Mr. Beresford, standing beside Mrs. Pendexter's 
 chair, thought of that scene of yesterday, as his eager 
 eyes rested on her white laces and embroideries. 
 He hardly looked torn by hope and fear and jealousy, 
 as he stood before her, hat in hand ; and yet he was 
 so. 
 
 Perhaps Mrs. Pendexter recognized an emotion 
 in his intent gaze that needed a safety-valve. " I 
 think," she said, dexterously applying the valve, "I 
 think that as Miss Jack cannot have been baked in 
 the Pennock Ovens, she must have been drowned 
 there. Mr. Beresford, pray go and see, and please 
 bring her back alive. Miss Jack is the first gover- 
 ness" and Mrs. Pendexter turned to Mr. Chick 
 with this explanation "who has staid with Adol- 
 phus more than a week. Johnny took Adolphus and 
 Miss Jack out rowing this noon, and they left her in 
 the Ovens to cool, and forgot all about her." 
 
 " So you insist on making a hero of me ? " Beres- 
 ford asked, lingering. 
 
 " I can do many things," Mrs. Pendexter answered, 
 with a fine smile, " but I am not capable of that." 
 
 Mr. Beresford turned away with a feeling of impo- 
 tent passion that wrecked on her repose. She was 
 about his own age, and yet she was vastly older. 
 He rebelled against her, protested against her, and 
 was unaffectedly miserable unless he sat in a certain 
 wicker chair, in that charming room, watching her 
 delicate face, and even willing (Heaven help him !) 
 to make a truce for her sake with young Adolphus, 
 who at the age of five seemed to possess a fund of 
 infantile wickedness sufficient for fifty. 
 
 Beresford was hardly blind, and he called himself 
 a confounded fool for being so at the mercy of a 
 woman. Yet, as he stepped into Mrs. Pendexter's 
 flower-garden, he knew that all his happiness was 
 bound up in the mystery of a snow-white gown. 
 4
 
 50 THE HEART STORY OF MISS JACK. 
 
 Instead of receiving an explanation he was sent 
 to the Pennock Ovens to rescue Miss Jack. Miss 
 Jack ! What did he care for Miss Jack ? 
 
 At the thought he stumbled against another indi- 
 vidual who did not care for Miss Jack. It was Adol- 
 phus, rolling in the gravel. 
 
 The infant made a hideous face at Beresford, 
 turned a somersault, leaped to his feet, and, placing 
 himself in a sparring attitude towards the visitor, 
 cried, with undisguised joy: "Jack's drowned! 
 Johnny 'n me left her in the cave a-purpose." 
 
 Yes, poor Beresford would even take this imp into 
 the bargain, if a certain woman would only 
 
 He tried to pass, with a smile on his face, expressive 
 of artificial pleasure at sight of young Adolphus, 
 when he heard the same shrill voice shriek after 
 him: 
 
 " Chick says you want to be my pa ; you sha'n't be 
 my pa ! you sha'n't ! " 
 
 " Confound Chick's impertinence ! " Beresford 
 thought, in a white rage; yet what could he say? 
 He did not stop to argue with Adolphus. Perhaps 
 his retreat was ignominious. " It may yet be my 
 privilege," he reflected, with grim satisfaction, "to 
 thrash the Pendexter character out of that boy." 
 
 Five minutes later Mrs. Pendexter, who had trailed 
 her laces into the garden, could see the strong, steady 
 stroke of his oars as Beresford rowed away from the 
 wharf to the " Ovens." The " Pennock Ovens " were 
 two caves, cut off from the island at high tide ; at 
 low tide they were pleasant loitering-places ; but 
 they were dangerous when the water rose in their 
 depths with a sweep and roar that were deafening. 
 
 Mrs. Pendexter followed the boat with absent 
 eyes, and she lifted them in a meditative way to Mr. 
 Chick, who had followed her. 
 
 " Youth," Mr. Chick remarked, as if in answer to
 
 THE, HEART STORY OF MISS JACK. $1 
 
 some unasked question, and lifting his white eye- 
 brows high on his scarlet forehead, " youth is desir- 
 able, but it is fleeting ; more fleeting," he added, 
 impressively, "than" "money." Mrs. Pendexter 
 finished the sentence with a gracious smile, and 
 stooped to pick a pansy for Mr. Chick's buttonhole. 
 
 II. 
 
 THE truth is that Bob Beresford really did save 
 Miss Jack's life. Miss Jack had retreated into 
 the cave before the Alantic Ocean, and was perched 
 on a rock over which the water was already dashing 
 and surging, when Bob swam in, it was the only way 
 in which he could reach her. 
 
 Miss Jack prided herself on her presence of mind, 
 so she did not faint till Bob, having rescued her, and 
 lifted her into his boat, she could do so and not be 
 in the way. 
 
 Mr. Beresford was far from feeling like a hero ; 
 he had, indeed, an uneasy sense that between them 
 they cut a ridiculous figure. Being occupied with 
 rowing he could only look helplessly at Miss Jack's 
 forlorn figure in the bottom of the boat. He had i 
 not very poetic vision of a black alpaca gown, thai 
 shed a stream of water over a scant balmoral skirt, 
 and two congress gaiters. Miss Jack's black hat 
 had slipped to the back of her head, and a tiny 
 stream of blackened water was trickling down her 
 face. It was either this reviving fluid or Mr. Beres- 
 ford's absently intent gaze that acted as restorer, for 
 life seemed suddenly to come back to her, and, with 
 a gasp, Miss Jack sat bolt upright. 
 
 She glanced up and down and sideways, and then 
 she looked at Mr. Beresford. At sight of his intent, 
 handsome face, Miss Jack drew her alpaca skirt
 
 52 THE HEART STORY OF MISS JACK. 
 
 over her congress gaiters and blushed ; it was her first 
 acknowledgment of feminine weakness. 
 
 " You have saved my life, sir," she said with sur- 
 prising stiffness ; but there was a curious trembling 
 in her hands as they smoothed her drenched skirts. 
 
 " It really was nothing," Mr. Beresford hastened 
 to reply, filled with a vague alarm that this young 
 person might bore him with gratitude. " I only hope 
 that you will not take cold. Here we are at the 
 wharf. Take care, Miss Jack. Let me help you up 
 the steps. By George ! the inhabitants have turned 
 out en masse" 
 
 Sure enough the little wharf was full of gayly 
 dressed people, who made way for the dripping hero 
 and heroine to pass, and, while they stared at them 
 to their hearts' content, made audible and uncompli- 
 mentary remarks. Popular curiosity but not popular 
 enthusiasm was aroused ; the heroine was only Miss 
 Jack, young Adolphus's governess, and young Adol- 
 phus took it very ill indeed, that she had not chosen 
 to be drowned. Even Beresford felt how different 
 it would have been had he had the inexpressible 
 bliss of rescuing Mrs. Pendexter from a watery grave. 
 He would not have walked silently beside her, only 
 intent to get her off his hands. Ah, no ! 
 
 They reached Mrs. Pendexter's flower-garden and 
 Beresford opened the gate. 
 
 " I am obliged to you, sir," Miss Jack began, with 
 a gasp, looking with painful shyness into his politely 
 attentive face. 
 
 "I I am sorry that you got so wet only for me," 
 she continued, with humility. " I am afraid that 
 your clothes are quite ruined ;" and she looked dis- 
 consolately at Mr. Beresford s dripping garments. 
 " Would you let me " 
 
 " What ? " Beresford demanded with chilling cour- 
 tesy.
 
 THE HEART STORY OF MISS JACK. 53 
 
 " Oh, dear me ! nothing ! " Miss Jack cried in terror, 
 clutched her bedraggled skirts, and fled into the 
 house. 
 
 What indeed had she rashly wished to offer this 
 elegant man ? 
 
 " I couldn't afford to buy him a new suit of 
 clothes," she confessed to herself (Miss Jack was 
 from Maine, and painfully conscientious), "but I did 
 want to offer to have them cleansed. I didn't dare, 
 though." 
 
 Mrs. Pendexter had a surface geniality, which was 
 skin deep. That peculiar virtue came out in full 
 strength as Miss Jack, that same evening, combed 
 out, as usual, Mrs. Pendexter's wavy brown hair. 
 
 Mrs. Pendexter examined in the mirror before her, 
 with silent amusement, the two figures reflected. Her 
 own rounded form, half hidden, half revealed by the 
 laces and embroideries of her loose wrapper, while 
 the dusky hair falling over her shoulders shadowed 
 her lovely face. In curious contrast this to the awk- 
 ward and angular figure behind her. 
 
 For the first time in her twenty-eight years of life 
 Miss Jack was so weak as to be absent-minded. Miss 
 Jack was not an object of pity, far from it, she 
 was a person who carried about with her a private 
 pedestal, upon which she stood, not to be worshiped, 
 but to see over people's heads. To-day she had 
 ascended this height to judge of Mr. Beresford, and 
 failed. For the first time Miss Jack looked up to 
 some one- 
 It would have petrified Mrs. Pendexter to know 
 that Miss Jack, whom she scorned as an ill-dressed 
 woman, should stand towards her in an attitude of 
 criticism as harsh as the ancient Puritan employed 
 towards the dreaded Scarlet Woman. 
 
 Miss Jack came from Maine, as we have said, and
 
 54 THE HEART STORY OF MISS JACK. 
 
 there was, as it were, an icy precipitate in her atmos- 
 phere, oddly in harmony with her angular move- 
 ments, the puritanic rigidity of her mind, and her 
 sallow face, from which the rather sparse sandy hail 
 was drawn back with uncompromising harshness. 
 
 Miss Jack was not without an aim in life ; she 
 hoped some day to be sent to a far-off country, there 
 to teach those religious precepts inculcated in the 
 stern white meetinghouse of her native village, where 
 once in a while a religious frenzy shook the people 
 out of the vegetating quiet of their lives. If the 
 subject of marriage had ever entered Miss Jack's 
 mind it was not in connection with love, but simply 
 as a greater convenience in the missionary enterprise. 
 Love she considered as a kind of insanity, while 
 feminine graces were the invention of one in whom 
 she firmly believed. 
 
 " What are you thinking of, Miss Jack ? " Mrs. 
 Pendexter demanded, suddenly, looking at the re- 
 flected face. 
 
 Miss Jack started, gave a sharp pull at Mrs. Pen- 
 dexter's hair, dropped the ivory brash, and remained 
 silent. 
 
 What if that frivolous woman could look into her 
 soul ! She shuddered as one who has been detected 
 in some crime, remembering those thoughts, and a 
 traitorous glow swept across her face. In her sinful 
 mind she had lived over once more the scenes of 
 the afternoon. Once more she, Miss Jack, felt her- 
 self upborne through the surging water by the strong 
 arms of a man, and against her heart she again felt 
 the beating of his. All this as she stood impassible 
 behind Mrs. Pendexter's chair. 
 
 " Miss Jack, have you ever been in love ? " her tor- 
 mentor asked. 
 
 " No," Miss Jack whispered more than said, in a 
 daze of astonishment at herself. Yesterday she
 
 THE HEART STORY OF MISS JACK. 55 
 
 would have resented so impertinent a question, would 
 have mounted her pedestal and discoursed, yea, even 
 unto Mrs. Pendexter. 
 
 "You have had quite a romance to-day," that lady 
 said, rising, and turning her surface geniality in a 
 cool glow on Miss Jack. " Romances often have a 
 pleasant ending," she concluded, and smiled Miss 
 Jack out of the room with a queer smile. 
 
 " To think that piece of wood is a woman. It 
 must be very convenient to have no feeling," Mrs. 
 Pendexter pondered, as one overburdened with too 
 much. She paused to listen, for the house door be- 
 low was softly opened. It was only Miss Jack, who 
 had stepped on the deserted veranda. The moon- 
 light lay across the sea over which she had rowed 
 that afternoon ; and Miss Jack, rowing once more 
 over the sea in her thoughts, sighed wearily. It 
 marked an era in her life. 
 
 What had Mrs. Pendexter meant by romance and 
 love ? They were not for her. And yet, why not ? 
 she asked herself, with something like resentment 
 against Fate. Was she not a woman ? Had she not 
 a heart to love ? She was a better woman than that 
 frivolous creature upstairs. She was more intelli- 
 gent ; and yet 
 
 She looked down with some scorn at the scant 
 folds of her ill-fitting gown. That happiness should 
 hang on the fit of a gown ! 
 
 " If I were as well dressed as Mrs. Pendexter I 
 could make him like me," she concluded, with femi- 
 nine injustice. Because she saw through Mrs. Pen- 
 dexter's wiles and falsities, Miss Jack only gave her 
 credit for fine gowns. Miss Jack went upstairs, and 
 by the light of a candle she examined her scanty 
 wardrobe ; and that night Heaven save her weak- 
 ness ! Miss Jack sacrificed her conscience to vanity, 
 and put her scanty front locks in curl-papers.
 
 56 THE HEART STORY OF MISS JACK. 
 
 III. 
 
 ~C*VERY morning Miss Jack and Adolphus battled 
 -"-' with the alphabet and the nine figures. From 
 these daily scenes of warfare Miss Jack retired with 
 an unbecoming flush on her tired face, while the 
 button of her linen collar invariably worked round 
 to her right ear in these educational struggles. 
 
 The morning after her rescue Adolphus looked up 
 at her with a glance which made Miss Jack tremble. 
 
 " What's those ? " he demanded peremptorily, 
 pointing to a couple of paper bunches on Miss Jack's 
 forehead. 
 
 " It's it's nothing ! " and Miss Jack surreptitiously 
 removed the curl-papers. 
 
 " How funny you look ! " young Adolphus then re- 
 marked, frankly. 
 
 Something that blurred her gaze rose to Miss 
 Jack's eyes, and she coughed to clear her throat. 
 
 What if Mr. Beresford should think she looked 
 funny ! Listening to the thrilling narrative of A B C, 
 she tried to picture to herself what change combing 
 out would make in her appearance. 
 
 That afternoon Miss Jack came down in Mrs. Pen- 
 dexter's parlor with an odd, sparse fuzz about her 
 face, and at her throat was pinned an awkward knot 
 of ribbon, that seemed to make her a trifle plainer 
 than before. 
 
 Mr. Chick sat in his usual corner, wheezing. Mrs. 
 Pendexter, in another white gown, the very summit 
 and crown of expensive simplicity, raised her eye- 
 brows with languid surprise at Miss Jack's transfor- 
 mation. 
 
 " Pray sit down, Miss Jack," she said, stifling a 
 yawn, and tired to death of Mr. Chick's society. 
 
 Miss Jack, who had never been so honored before,
 
 THE HEART STORY OF MISS JACK. 57 
 
 sat stiffly down on the stiffest chair in the room, 
 which stood by the open door, and, half hidden by a 
 screen, she added her silence to that other silence to 
 such good purpose that Mr. Virginius Chick rose to 
 his gouty feet and took his departure. 
 
 Mrs. Pendexter settled herself more easily in her 
 low chair, and became interested in a book whose 
 binding was in harmony with her dress. Presently 
 the garden-gate swung open, and some one strolled 
 up the garden-walk, crossed the veranda, and stood 
 in the doorway. It was Mr. Beresford. He looked 
 around the screen and became aware of Miss Jack. 
 
 " You, Miss Jack ? How do you do ? " 
 
 A delicious thrill crept up Miss Jack's spine, and 
 her heart beat very fast. He absolutely looked down 
 into her face as he looked in the faces of other 
 women. For even she, Miss Jack, knew his ways ! 
 Perhaps, she thought wildly, perhaps she did look 
 nice after all, and the little fuzz and the little bow 
 were not without success. 
 
 " Now he will go," she thought, with all her soul in 
 her eyes and a trembling of her pale lips. " He will 
 go to that other woman, who is but a form for fineries 
 and who has neither heart nor soul." 
 
 So thought Miss Jack while Beresford still spoke 
 to her, spoke to her with wonderful earnestness, 
 laying aside the artificial homage that characterized 
 his manner to women. But in her pain and joy she 
 did not hear a word he uttered. 
 
 Still Mr. Beresford did not go. She heard instead 
 the delicate rustle of a gown, there was the faintest 
 suggestion of passing violets, and Mrs. Pendexter 
 had left the room. Miss Jack was alone with the 
 man who, like a modern god, had awakened in her 
 soul the woman. 
 
 She sat before him with her thin hands clasped
 
 $8 THE HEART STORY OF MISS JACK. 
 
 cruelly, and with down-bent face. No, she could not 
 trust herself to gaze into those deep, gray eyes. 
 
 "Do you know, Miss Jack, how I have watched 
 you ? " Beresford broke the silence. 
 
 " No." Miss Jack's lips formed the word, but her 
 voice failed her. 
 
 Watched her ? What could he mean ? What pos- 
 sible interest could he have in watching her ? 
 
 Mr. Beresford drew a chair up, and sitting down, 
 looked quietly into her face. 
 
 " You have a quality which is not so common with 
 women as men suppose ; you have such lovely pa- 
 tience, Miss Jack." 
 
 " Patience ! " she repeated, and raised her eyes to 
 his, perplexed. 
 
 "I have sat here so often with Mrs. Pendexter, 
 and admired your unwearied kindness to her boy, 
 spoiled and ill-behaved as he is." 
 
 " I love children, sir ; it is no virtue in me." 
 
 " The man you marry will be very fortunate," Mr. 
 Beresford continued, gravely ; " such sweet patience 
 in a wife is the highest virtue ; it is strength in mis- 
 fortune." 
 
 " I shall never marry," Miss Jack replied, with a 
 catch in her breath, looking at him with troubled 
 eyes. " I fear you are laughing at me, sir." 
 
 " Laughing at you ! " 
 
 He was so evidently hurt that she hastened to say 
 to him, with lips that would tremble : 
 
 " You say such very kind things to all ladies, I 
 I could not help noticing." 
 
 "So you have been watching me in turn, Miss 
 Jack! " he said, smiling. Then he rose, and Miss 
 Jack's heart beat with coming pain : now he would 
 certainly leave her. 
 
 She looked wistfully into the garden, where two 
 humming-birds were playing hide-and-seek in the
 
 THE HEART STORY OF MISS JACK. 59 
 
 very hearts of the flowers, and the sun shone as never 
 the sun shone before. 
 
 " Will you come into the garden with me ? " Mr, 
 fBeresford asked. " It seems a sin to stay in the 
 house this beautiful summer day." 
 
 A look of such delight swept over her face that Mr. 
 Beresford smiled in answer. 
 
 " Do you know how lovely you can look ? " he 
 asked, in frank wonder. "You will pardon me for 
 saying so, but surely it is not the most beautiful 
 women who reach the perfection of beauty." 
 
 This to her, Miss Jack ! What could he mean ? 
 
 Taking her hat she followed him into the garden, 
 and watched him breathlessly as he stooped and 
 gathered a great handful of forget-me-nots, blue as 
 the sky above them. He was to her the embodiment 
 of manly strength and beauty. He had come into 
 her barren life as the sun shines through prison-bars, 
 and she was grateful. 
 
 Perhaps he read her soul in her eyes ; it was not 
 hard, for the soul was a very simple one. 
 
 " Miss Jack, will you take these flowers, and wear 
 them for my sake ? " 
 
 She took them awkwardly enough, and tried to 
 fasten them in her gown as she had seen Mrs. Pen- 
 dexter do. 
 
 "I am so very awkward," she said, wistfully, as 
 some of the flowers fell to the ground in her struggles. 
 " Mrs. Pendexter is so so graceful." 
 
 " You are one person and Mrs. Pendexter is an- 
 other. I would not wish you to be like Mrs. Pendex- 
 ter," he said, gently. 
 
 "Why not? " she asked in surprise. 
 
 " Is the beauty of the rose greater than the beauty 
 of the violet ? " 
 
 What did he mean ? Was she dreaming ? Who 
 was the violet ?
 
 60 THE HEART STORY OF MISS JACK. 
 
 She looked across the sea, and a sudden feeling 
 came over her that it would be good to lie down 
 among the flowers now, with his voice in her ear, to 
 fall asleep and never to wake again. She had never 
 thought life a burden before, but she felt that now 
 without him the very sun would shine no more. 
 
 A humming-bird swirled and whirled about her, 
 and its gold-green plumage glistened royally in the 
 sun. With a flutter he flew against the flowers on 
 her breast and rested there a moment, she was so 
 still. 
 
 " The very birds love you," Beresford said, watch- 
 ing her. 
 
 " Please say no more kind things to me," she cried, 
 with so passionate a protest in her voice that the 
 humming-bird flew away, and the forget-me-nots rose 
 and fell with the quick beating of her heart. 
 
 " I am not like other women," she cried ; " I am 
 poor and plain. What is there in me to make you so 
 kind ? Your kindness is cruel." 
 
 For the first time she looked into his face full and 
 frank. 
 
 " You are a man who plays with women's hearts " 
 
 What was it her lips dared to say ? 
 
 " Only with hearts that are offered to me without 
 the asking," he said, simply. " You," he added, 
 with a frankness which would have been cruel but 
 for its earnestness, "you are a plain woman; >ou 
 have nothing of that which heretofore has attracted 
 me, and yet you do attract me. I do not mean to 
 say fine words to you. What I say I cannot help 
 saying. You attract me the woman in you is 
 stronger than the man in me." 
 
 She looked up at him with a smile which once more 
 seemed to make her beautiful. 
 
 He stooped and took a spray of the forget-me-nots 
 on her breast and held it in his hand.
 
 THE HEART STORY OF MISS JACK. 6 1 
 
 "Yesterday I found you," he said, his eager gaze 
 holding hers. " I rowed you across the sea, and we 
 were alone together. To-day I found your soul, and 
 I want to be alone with you again on the sea. Will 
 you come with me ? " 
 
 "Yes," she whispered, as if in a dream, and fol- 
 lowed him across the lawn to the rowboat moored at 
 the wharf. All the world was a world of enchantment 
 to her, and in it they two were alone together. 
 Steadily he bore her across the deep, deep water, and 
 in the distance she could hear the idle flapping of 
 sails and the cry of sea-gulls. 
 
 The glory of a summer day was over the enchanted 
 island they had left, and on the sea lay the brooding 
 quiet of the afternoon. 
 
 The splash of the oars, that caught the light of the 
 sun on their glistening blades, alone broke the still- 
 ness between them, as she watched him with bated 
 breath so happy ! God knows, so unspeakably 
 happy ! and not daring to look in his eyes, that 
 watched her, she knew, with a tender, wondering 
 look, as one who finds unknowingly a jewel of great 
 price. 
 
 " I have found you," he said, a little huskily, bend- 
 ing forward. He laid down the oars, and the boat 
 drifted with the tide. " I have found you, beloved, 
 and I will keep you. Come to me ! " 
 
 He held out his hands to her and drew her towards 
 him, and for one divine moment her head lay on his 
 breast. 
 
 Oh, the glory of that summer day! The cruel 
 glory, the cruel happiness ! " I love you ! love you ! 
 love you ! " he cried.
 
 62 THE HEART STORY OF MISS JACK. 
 
 IV. 
 
 AS sure as that she was living the words had been 
 spoken : they rang in her ears. 
 
 What had happened to her? Miss Jack looked 
 about her dazed. She was still sitting in her corner 
 by the screen and the open door, but she was quite 
 alone. 
 
 A passionate voice his voice said again, " I love 
 you." To whom ? 
 
 Miss Jack rose to her feet, and held out two trem 
 bling hands, as a blind person would. There was 
 an odor of violets in the air that made her faint, and 
 in her usual corner sat Mrs. Pendexter, and beside 
 her Mr. Beresford, half kneeling, looked into her 
 averted face with imploring eyes. 
 
 " You know that I love you blindly, foolishly," he 
 cried. " You know that I love you as you would wish 
 a man to love. My love for you takes away my very 
 manhood " 
 
 " Mr. Beresford, you have evidently forgotten that 
 Miss Jack is behind the screen. She is probably lis- 
 tening." 
 
 " What do I care for Miss Jack ! The whole world 
 may listen to what I have to say." 
 
 " Pardon me, Mr. Beresford, I would rather not." 
 
 " You certainly do not speak like a woman who is 
 in love," Beresford said, bitterly. 
 
 " I am not," Mrs. Pendexter remarked, with ex- 
 ceeding frankness. 
 
 Miss Jack drew a tremulous breath and cowered 
 behind the screen. For the salvation of her soul, she 
 could not have left the room. 
 
 " I had some hope," Beresford said, with an entreaty 
 which was pitiable, "I had some hope when I saw
 
 THE HEART STORY OF MISS JACK. 63 
 
 your black gown changed to this ; " and he touched 
 her dress as only a man who loves touches the gar 
 ment of his beloved. 
 
 " So had five others. I told you so. You make 
 the sixth. And perhaps I might just as well tell 
 you," Mrs. Pendexter hesitated. 
 
 " Well ? " he asked, rising. 
 
 " I have already given my promise." 
 
 "You said that you were not in love." He spoke 
 through his set teeth, and looked down at the woman 
 he loved. 
 
 " I am not," Mrs. Pendexter began, but rose with 
 uncommon swiftness at the sound of ponderous feet 
 shuffling across the veranda. Mr. Virginius Chick 
 came into the room, jealous, suspicious, and scowling. 
 Mrs. Pendexter looked into his face with a very faint 
 smile. 
 
 " My dear, Mr. Beresford has just come to bid me 
 good-by. I was about to tell him that the next time 
 he would see me I should be your wife," 
 
 Mr. Beresford was so dazed when he left the room 
 that he nearly ran against a thin, black person on the 
 piazza. 
 
 " Pardon me ! Oh, is it you, Miss Jack ? Good- 
 by ! I'm going." 
 
 " Going, Mr. Beresford ? Good-by." 
 
 A dismal and long-drawn howl swept through the 
 air. 
 
 " Miss Jack, where are you ? Why don't you see 
 to Adolphus ? " Mrs. Pendexter cried, with her languid 
 voice pitched to an uncommonly high key. 
 
 Miss Jack turned down the garden-walk with a 
 curious, pinched look in her thin face, as if all youth 
 and hope had vanished out of her life. 
 
 "I guess I must have dozed off and dreamed," 
 Miss Jack thought drearily, " God help me ! "
 
 64 THE HEART STORY OF MISS JACK. 
 
 So she came back to reality again in the shape of 
 Adolphus Pendexter, who was battling with a grim 
 cat, upon whose stately back he was trying to ride. 
 The cat hissed, the infant Pendexter howled, and 
 Miss Jack took up the burdens of life again.
 
 " FATHER." 
 I. 
 
 JACK WARDLOW stood before the entrance of 
 the Hotel Metropole, in Geneva, and examined 
 the prospect. 
 
 He was a man above the middle size, his shoulders 
 well back, with a promise of strength, and the rather 
 negligently artistic cut of his clothes was tempered 
 by good taste. Above everything, he had an ami- 
 able, smiling face, which left his friends in doubt 
 whether he could ever hope to live up to it. 
 
 He was a painter by profession ; belonging to that 
 tribe of young American artists in Paris who paint 
 from a French recipe. In general he was not dis- 
 satisfied with existence, though now he confessed to 
 being a trifle bored. A sharp wind swept across the 
 lake, and, with an impatient shiver, Wardlow lighted 
 a cigarette and looked down the street, with its tall, 
 gray houses, till his eyes rested on a vehicle, which 
 clattered toward him and pulled up with a jerk at the 
 entrance of the hotel. 
 
 The head waiter so far unbent as to meet half 
 way the individual who shot out of the carriage. 
 
 The stranger was a short, thick-set man, and when 
 he took off his slouchy hat he mopped his head ap- 
 parently as a matter of habit with a red handker- 
 chief. 
 
 Pulling a plebeian traveling shawl about his shoul- 
 5 (65)
 
 66 " FATHER." 
 
 ders, he fixed the head waiter with shrewd gray eyes, 
 and demanded, "Any museum in this town?" 
 
 The head waiter, betrayed into truth by the unex- 
 pectedness of the question, mournfully said, " No." 
 
 " Thank God ! " the other exclaimed, stumping 
 back to the carriage. 
 
 " Nothin' to see," he murmured. " This is just the 
 place for me ! A regular one-hoss town. Come out, 
 mother. Don't forget anything, Rose." 
 
 The free Swiss mountaineer who drove the cab, 
 and who was only conspicuous for independent dirt, 
 rolled off his box and stared at mother while she was 
 extricated from the vehicle by the head waiter. 
 
 " Father," mother began, struggling for breath. 
 
 " Bethia, just the place for us," father cried, 
 stalking on ahead, free as air, while mother followed, 
 much bewildered. It was the head waiter's suc- 
 cumbing to youth and beauty which prevented the 
 last of the party who blushed as red as the long red 
 cloak she wore from depositing the whole collection 
 of small luggage on the sidewalk, out of sheer weari- 
 ness. Followed by the approving head waiter, she 
 was about to pass Wardlow, still loitering by the door, 
 when an imperative voice briefly called out : " Rose 
 body." 
 
 With a blush and a shy raising of her brown eyes 
 to Wardlow, she returned to the chariot, and, in 
 passable French, begged the Swiss mountaineer to be 
 careful how he handled a long and mysterious box 
 which formed a portion of their eccentric-looking 
 
 -T body ! how very remarkable," Wardlow 
 mused, as the wearer of the scarlet cloak disappeared. 
 " If they are traveling about with the body of a de- 
 ceased good heavens, impossible ! Certainly they 
 don't believe in mourning ; I should say not. Scar- 
 let, with a line of black fur about the hood. Curious
 
 "FATHER." 67 
 
 traveling costume. On the whole, I rather like it. 
 I'll go in and reconnoiter." 
 
 In the hall he discovered " father " leaning against 
 a pillar, and staring with much surprise at a huge 
 printed placard against the wall. 
 
 He still wore his traveling shawl, the old felt hat 
 was on his head, and the red bandanna was in full 
 play ; he seemed to be an object of mingled scorn 
 and perplexity to the soul of the proud head waiter. 
 
 At the sound of footsteps, father turned and gazed 
 at Wardlow with a shrewd smile. 
 
 " So you're a Yankee ? Should have known it 
 even if I hadn't been told. 
 
 " Very flattering, I am sure," Wardlow murmured. 
 
 "The head waiter told me. I'm a great one for 
 finding out things. What may your name be ? " 
 
 Wardlow looked at his countryman helplessly, then 
 handed him his card. Father extracted a pair of 
 steel-bowed spectacles from a shabby case, and pro- 
 ceeded to study the scanty information. 
 
 " Mr. John Winthrop Wardlow, Boston. I suppose 
 some of your folks came over in the Mayflower ? " 
 he demanded, with a grin. 
 
 " I really don't know. If they did, I wish they had 
 staid in England. May I ask whom I have the pleas- 
 ure of addressing ? " 
 
 Without a waste of words father took him confi- 
 dentially by the arm and pointed to the following 
 printed notices against the wall : 
 
 " Bains chaud i franc 50 centimes. Bains froid 
 i franc. Bains de vapeur 2 francs." 
 
 " Excuse me, but I don't understand," Wardlow 
 confessed, after reading this statement of facts. 
 
 "A very curious circumstance, quite a coinci- 
 dence," father said. " I don't read French, myself, 
 but I suppose that is their way of spelling it. I spell 
 mine with an 'e.'"
 
 68 FATHER." 
 
 " Spell yours with an ' e,' " Jack repeated, in per- 
 plexity. 
 
 " My name is Baines. Baines with an ' e.' Thomas 
 G. Baines, Pittsburgh, Pa. All I ask you is, why did 
 they put it up there ? " 
 
 Jack struggled for self-command. " It means 
 baths," he explained. 
 
 " You don't say so ? " 
 
 He looked suspiciously at his neighbor, then turned 
 about, muttering, "Baths bains baths don't 
 know about that! Seems to me," here he stopped 
 short as the mysterious box, standing on end, came 
 within range of his irritated vision. 
 
 It was a kind of pine coffin-shaped structure, with 
 "Thomas G. Baines, Pittsburgh, Pa.," stenciled on 
 one side, and, near by, the caution, " Glass. This side 
 up, with care." 
 
 " On his head ! " was all father exclaimed, as he 
 sternly contemplated the pine monument. 
 
 " Shall I " the head waiter began. 
 
 " Yes," father interrupted with a growl, " take it 
 up to Miss Baines's room. Leaving him down here ! " 
 he growled, following the porters who bore the mys- 
 terious burden upstairs. 
 
 Wardlow watched them till he saw the last of Mr. 
 Baines's short gray trousers disappear up the marble 
 stairs, and, for a moment, he was lost in reflections. 
 " If it is a body, it is disposed of in a very business- 
 like way. But why should Miss Baines have to give 
 the body house-room ? And if it isn't a body, what 
 is it ? By George, I mean to know," Wardlow ex- 
 claimed, and followed in father's wake. 
 
 He looked up and down the first broad corridor, 
 and, sure enough, by an open door stood Miss Baines, 
 apparently in considerable distress. 
 
 To her appeared Wardlow, suggesting assistance 
 with smiling eyes, that took in Miss Baines, and, be-
 
 " FATHER." 69 
 
 yond Miss Baines, the mysterious pine box deposited 
 in the very center of the room. 
 
 " Can I be of any assistance ? You seem in trou- 
 ble. I met your father downstairs. I am an Ameri- 
 can, like yourself," Jack began, and stopped, slightly 
 embarrassed. 
 
 Miss Baines looked at him with brown eyes quite 
 devoid of coquetry. 
 
 " I would like to get rid of that, and I can't," Miss 
 Baines said, with a deep sigh. " We've had him with 
 us for three months, and father is so afraid he may 
 be lost." 
 
 " Three months ? He who what ? " Jack asked, 
 bewildered. 
 
 " It is Thotmes the Second. Father bought him, 
 for he intends to start a museum of antiquities in 
 Pittsburgh. We've brought him all the way from 
 Egypt. He is a mummy." 
 
 For a moment they looked at each other, then 
 Wardlow laughed, but his amusement found no re- 
 sponse in Miss Baines's perplexed face. 
 
 " You know," she continued, with unaffected sad- 
 ness, " I cannot forget that he really is a body, poor 
 thing ! though he is a mummy. I can hardly sleep 
 when he is in the room. I'm so sorry that he's not 
 nicely buried. I'm always thinking of his poor wife 
 and children ; how dreadfully they'd feel if they knew 
 that father means to take him to Pittsburgh." 
 
 " But, Miss Baines, you mustn't forget how many 
 thousand years ago he died." 
 
 " It's of no use," she replied, with mournful cer- 
 tainty ; " they are somewhere where they can see, and 
 I know just how they feel." 
 
 " Poor old chap ! " Jack exclaimed, filled with sud- 
 den commiseration for Thotmes II. 
 
 "Miss Baines, you don't know me," he said, "but 
 I can assure you I am honest, and I give you my
 
 7 " FATHER." 
 
 word of honor not to run away with Thotmes. Sup 
 pose I have him carried across to my room and there 
 he can stay comfortably while you remain in Geneva. 
 He won't be stolen and he won't spoil your dreams, 
 or indeed mine. I am afraid I'm not so tender as 
 you are." 
 
 " It is very kind of you. Perhaps father wouldn't 
 miss him for a few days ; but," Rose added, with a 
 sigh, " father always has him placed in my room to 
 cure me of superstition and make me independent. 
 I mostly see to the trunks as well. It is for my good, 
 you know." 
 
 " Hang father ! " Jack thought. " Tell me, will you 
 trust him to me ? " he continued, aloud. 
 
 " Indeed, I will ! " Before she could say another 
 word Jack was downstairs, and in five minutes more 
 Thotmes II. was transferred to Wardlow's room. 
 Sitting tte-a-tete with the deceased monarch, he 
 studied the stenciling. 
 
 " I'm booked for Geneva as long as father stays," 
 he reflected. " Poor Thotmes, what a curious des- 
 tiny yours the crown of Egypt and the dust of Pitts- 
 burgh ! To think that you haven't even the pleasure 
 of knowing how sorry she is for you. If anything 
 could comfort a fellow under such circumstances, that 
 would in spite of father." 
 
 II. 
 
 IT was Mr. Baines's boast never, under any circum- 
 stances, to do anything like any one else. 
 He had been torn from his Pittsburgh tannery by 
 a severe and sudden illness. On recovering, and in 
 the same attire in which he went to his business of a 
 morning, he embarked for Europe, and there regained
 
 "FATHER." 71 
 
 his health and those peculiarities which distinguished 
 him. 
 
 " Father," in traveling-shawl and bandanna hand- 
 kerchief, led his family through Europe, Africa and 
 Asia. He planted his sturdy legs on Arabian soil 
 and ate cold camel in the desert. He insisted on 
 mother's keeping house in Jerusalem, and, turning up 
 in Egypt, he became the victim of a mania called 
 " Baines's Museum of Antiquities," for which he 
 collected a variety of expensive trash, which followed 
 in his train as if European collectors had one eye, 
 and that was enviously fixed on his treasures. 
 
 With unerring instinct Mr. Baines always went to 
 the hot places in the heat, and to the cold places in 
 the cold. 
 
 It was owing to accident that he did not reach 
 Switzerland in the depth of winter ; the truth is, he 
 needed a breathing spell to collect his ideas. Europe 
 troubled him ; there was too much to see in a small 
 space. He thought of Thotmes II. and a few other 
 trifles he had bought, yet, somehow, he felt, try as he 
 would, he could not compete with the " Loovers " 
 and the " Pity Palaces." But here was Geneva 
 without the shadow of a museum, and Geneva was 
 as old as the hills, while Pittsburgh's museum was 
 started and stowed away in Jack Wardlow's room. 
 
 To him Mr. Baines explained his plans. 
 
 He acknowledged the superior merits of masculine 
 society by desertihg mother and Rose for Wardlow. 
 Mother did not care, but it was hard for Rose, as 
 Mrs. Baines hated walking and objected to driving; 
 so the poor child had nothing to do but to look out 
 of the window, sighing a little as she watched father 
 stump through the park over the way, beside the gal- 
 lant man who had such a pleasant smile, and who 
 three days before had saved her from Thotmes II. 
 
 It was not till the second day after their arrival
 
 72 " FATHER." 
 
 that Wardlow, going upstairs, met Miss Baines de- 
 scending. 
 
 " I have had no chance to tell you how well I 
 sleep," she said, smiling shyly. 
 
 "And I sleep no worse. I have just left your 
 father he does not even suspect. I hope you be- 
 lieve he is quite safe Thotmes, I mean." 
 
 " Indeed, I do." 
 
 "Miss .Baines, there is such a pretty walk by the 
 lake, do let me show you ! " 
 
 Miss Baines consented, but, somehow, fate was 
 against them in the shape of father. They found him 
 at the hotel entrance, expatiating to the head waiter 
 on the low and thievish dispositions of all Europeans, 
 and the superior intelligence and wealth of Americans. 
 All this in a distinct, nasal voice, with much waving 
 of a pair of vigorous arms. 
 
 " Going out, are you ? " he asked, as Wardlow and 
 Rose passed him. "I guess I'll go too," And he 
 took such possession of Jack, that Rose had to walk 
 behind them in the narrow paths, and having acci- 
 dentally interfered with the free play of father's feet, 
 was commanded to return to the hotel and see to 
 mother. 
 
 " But, Mr. Baines, the walk will do her good," Jack 
 remonstrated. 
 
 " Don't you worry, she's got health enough. Be- 
 sides, I ain't for having my women-folks round all the 
 time." 
 
 Rose went back without a word, but for the first 
 time in her nineteen years of existence, something in 
 her heart rebelled against father. 
 
 The next afternoon Wardlow eluded father and 
 looked about for a glimpse of a red cloak. 
 
 The great drawing-room stood open and Wardlow 
 strolled in ; sure enough, he saw the object of his 
 search seated on a scarlet " pouf," reading to mother,
 
 " FATHER." 73 
 
 with a tired flush on her bent-down face. Mrs. Baines 
 was surreptitously napping, with a look of profound 
 wisdom. 
 
 Rose gave a startled glance over her shoulder, and 
 blushed as Wardlow came towards her. 
 
 " I was so disappointed not to have that walk yes- 
 terday," he began, in a stage whisper. " I looked 
 for you this morning, but your father would take me 
 out." 
 
 " I was very sorry," Rose murmured, with a sigh ; 
 " but I mustn't speak now, or mother will wake up. 
 She always wakes up if I stop reading." 
 
 " But, if she is asleep," Jack remonstrated. 
 
 " Please don't. I would like to talk, but I mustn't." 
 
 " May I sit down and listen ? It would be such a 
 pleasure, such a a privilege." 
 
 " You mayn't think so, it's a sermon on Justifica- 
 tion by Faith or Works, and it worries mother a good 
 deal, for she isn't sure There, I knew she'd wake if 
 I stopped." 
 
 " Don't lose a minute, Miss Baines, go on reading 
 she may go to sleep again," Jack urged. 
 
 But mother's eyes were open and she looked wildly 
 about. 
 
 " You don't read as distinctly as you used to, Rose, 
 or perhaps I don't hear as well. I didn't even hear 
 you come in, Mr. Wardlow. Sometimes I think jus- 
 tification is by one way, and sometimes by the other. 
 He is considered very learned I wish he were clearer. 
 I really think that I know as much about it now as I 
 did before," which was very likely, as Mrs. Baines 
 had been fast asleep all the time.
 
 74 " FATHER." 
 
 III. 
 
 WARDLOW climbed the narrowest of zigzag 
 streets that wound up hill like a corkscrew. 
 It led him to a mouldy square, paved with cobble- 
 stones and made more dim by a row of linden trees 
 that backed up against a weather-beaten church. 
 
 The yellow leaves were beginning to fall, and a 
 young person in a red cloak was absently collecting 
 them with the end of a huge cotton umbrella, till they 
 lay in withered heaps at her feet. 
 
 Wardlow, with an involuntary exclamation, looked 
 up and down the square as if reconnoitering, and in 
 three strides he was beside her. 
 
 " Why, Miss Baines, you here all alone ? " 
 
 Miss Baines appeared to check a desire to run 
 away ; but she only looked past him, and then down 
 at the umbrella, and at last her eyes rested on the 
 familiar shawl over her arm. 
 
 " I have lost father," she said, and was silent. 
 
 " By Jove, a happy accident," Jack thought. " As 
 luck I mean ill luck will have it," he said aloud, 
 " I cannot find him. I was to meet him here to go 
 to the Dubois watch factory." 
 
 " He gave me his shawl and umbrella to hold, and 
 then he went away. I suppose he meant me to wait 
 for him. He has been gone some time." 
 
 " Would would you be willing to take a walk now, 
 Miss Baines ? " 
 
 "Oh, I must not." 
 
 " You know we have tried eight times, but your 
 father would go in your stead. It isn't that I don't 
 appreciate him, he is a very remarkable man, but it 
 it isn't quite the same thing, is it ? " 
 
 " Father is so afraid of missing something," Miss 
 Baines murmured.
 
 "FATHER." 75 
 
 " Hang him ! I wish he would ! " Wardlow thought, 
 tsavagely. 
 
 " He said yesterday," she added with a sigh, " that 
 he has seen all he wants to of Geneva." 
 
 They were silent a moment, when from the open 
 door of the church swept out the deep, full tones of 
 the organ. 
 
 " Perhaps," Wardlow ventured, " if you will not 
 take a walk, you will at least come into the church 
 and sit down. Your father will be sure to look in 
 he expects me also, you know. You must be tired ; 
 let me take the shawl." 
 
 It was a gray old church, with a stone pavement, 
 much worn ; rough straw chairs were piled up against 
 the pillars, and a point of red light burned before the 
 deserted high altar. In a rambling gallery, at the 
 back, the organist played in desultory fashion, and 
 the only other living creature about was an ancient 
 chore-woman, who was sweeping the floor. A few 
 patches of scarlet and gold lay on the worn pavement, 
 where the daylight fell through a painted window, 
 and there was still a faint odor of incense in the air. 
 
 Wardlow placed a couple of chairs in the shadow 
 of a pillar, and for a moment they sat there without 
 speaking. 
 
 " So your father has seen all he wants of Geneva ? " 
 Wardlow broke the silence. , 
 
 " It doesn't take him long ; he goes to work so 
 practically. I don't know where the time has gone. 
 You know we've been here nearly two weeks." 
 
 " And so in a day or two you will be gone, and 
 shall we ever see each other again ? " he asked, Jean- 
 ing forward. 
 
 Her eyes fell before his earnest look. 
 
 " I hope so," she whispered, at last. 
 
 " Hope so ? "
 
 ?6 " FATHER." 
 
 " What more can I say ? " she asked, taking a deep 
 breath. 
 
 They were quite in twilight, and the music swept 
 softly past them. 
 
 " If if we should ever meet again, you wouldn't 
 be sorry, would you ? " 
 
 The dark eyes met his with shy reproach. 
 
 " I'm going to Cologne in two or three weeks ; 
 there is to be some kind of a great time there, well 
 worth seeing, and if I could induce your father to go 
 there, perhaps perhaps we might meet again." 
 
 "Indeed, I should like to see you again, Mr. Ward- 
 low. You have been very kind to us." 
 
 Again there was a momentary silence, which Jack 
 broke : 
 
 " Let me put the shawl under your feet ; you will 
 be chilled." So, doubling up father's sacred shawl, 
 he knelt and placed it there with infinite care ; then, 
 still kneeling he looked up into her face. " I have 
 known you just two weeks, Miss Baines but to me 
 they have been an eternity for O Rose, my darling, 
 if you only knew how I love you." 
 
 " Mr. Wardlow ! " 
 
 " See, dear, I can be patient I will wait forever 
 for your love " 
 
 " Mr. Wardlow, you would never think well of a 
 woman so lightly won," and the hand in his firm 
 clasp struggled faintly. 
 
 " Had I known you forever, my darling, I " 
 
 " Mr. Wardlow, I beg of you, rise there is father." 
 
 " Confound him," muttered Jack. 
 
 Sure enough, there was father, hat in hand, peer- 
 ing through the darkness, and mightily triumphant. 
 
 " Found you at last ! Guess where I've been ! In 
 the steeple all the way up." 
 
 " See how dusty you are, dear ! Stand still a mo- 
 ment and let me brush you."
 
 " FATHER." 77 
 
 Rose began to dust father, when of a sudden 
 she gave a nervous laugh. " O father, just see ! " 
 
 Mr. Baines could not see, for the accident had 
 happened to the tail of his linen duster, upon which 
 was marked in outline stenciling, " Thomas G. Baines, 
 Pittsburgh, Pa." 
 
 With Jack's help father emerged from this garment 
 and examined the disaster. 
 
 " I sat on it. It'll never come out. I know, I 
 made the ink. I thought the stencil-plate was dry 
 when I laid it down. That's what I went up the 
 steeple for," he explained to Wardlow. 
 
 " To sit on a stencil plate ? " 
 
 " Gracious, no ! I've stenciled it upon the steeple 
 as high as I could reach," father continued, with a 
 knowing wink. " I always do it. There ain't no 
 place in Europe, Asia, or Africa where you don't see 
 that name. It's on Solomon's Temple in Jerusalem, 
 and on the top of the highest pyramid." 
 
 " When I undertook this tower (tour) it came to 
 me like a flash to do it. Some folks use lead pen- 
 cils, others jack-knives ; but when I do a thing, I do 
 it thorough, so I brought my stencil-plate along. It 
 saves time, and this blacking just eats into the stone. 
 I mean to come back some day and do the places all 
 over again, just to see how the ink wears." 
 
 " You don't say so ! " Jack murmured. 
 
 "There's nothing like being wide awake. I want 
 all the folks who go everywhere to know that there 
 is some one from Pittsburgh, Pa., who's as spry as 
 the best of 'em. Now let's go home." 
 
 He led the way through the iron gate and looked 
 casually over his shoulder at Rose. 
 
 " Guess you'll be glad to get out of here, daughter. 
 We're going to-morrow. I've bought three watches 
 and two clocks, so I calculate we'll be set up for life
 
 7& " FATHER." 
 
 as far as time-pieces go. By the way, Where's my 
 shawl ? " 
 
 " I forgot it. It was left in the church, father." 
 
 Rose ran back, picked it up and, turning, stood face 
 to face with Wardlow, who had followed her. 
 
 " I love you, and Rose, my darling, I'll be patient 
 and some day you will learn to love me." 
 
 She looked into his face as if to speak ; but, as if 
 the words would not come, she darted past him into 
 the dim square, where the withered leaves were whirl- 
 ing in a sudden gust of wind. 
 
 IV. 
 
 A FTER hundreds of years the Cathedral of Cologne 
 * was at last completed. The final stone, to rest 
 on the apex of the spire, swayed aloft, waiting for the 
 great day when it should be lowered with all due 
 pomp and ceremony, and when, in the presence of 
 kings and princes, amid the booming of cannons and 
 the ringing of bells, the mighty edifice should be de- 
 clared finished. 
 
 A few days previous to the great event, the curious 
 that is, those who were ste'ady of legs and not too 
 short of wind were at liberty to climb to the highest 
 pinnacle, up some seven hundred steps. Winding 
 in and out of the scaffolding they could reach the 
 point where the last stone swayed over the still un- 
 finished tower. This altitude was never again to be 
 reached by the most persistent tourist, for, after the 
 i6th of October, the scaffolding was to be removed, 
 and the two spires were to be seen free from that net- 
 work of beams, with which they had been surrounded, 
 apparently since time immemorial. 
 
 In the old part of the city, not far from the Rhine, 
 where the ancient houses have each a different gable,
 
 " FATHER." 79 
 
 where there are no sidewalks, but a good deal of gut- 
 ter between the cobble-stones, there stood an anti- 
 quarian shop, called " The Golden Bell." It was a 
 curious, tumble-down place, opening directly on the 
 street, and from the musty warerooms on the ground 
 floor, to the gable roof, five stories overhead, it was 
 crammed with all sorts of antiquarian odds and ends. 
 There was, besides, an art gallery in an L beyond, 
 where the most famous of the old masters were repre- 
 sented, apparently in a state of dotage. 
 
 The gem of the collection in size, at least was 
 a trifle by Rubens, which represented, in an area 
 twelve feet square, a remarkably well developed old 
 patriarch receiving a volume from a couple of angels, 
 whose draperies needed washing. That this produc- 
 tion was authentic, was attested by a " barn-door " 
 torn in the skirt of the patriarch's garment. 
 
 Two men stood in front of it, while the third, a 
 Frenchman, ostensibly examined the pictures on an- 
 other wall. Of the two, one was the shopkeeper. 
 The other was Jack Wardlow. 
 
 Wardlow examined the patriarch with undisguised 
 enjoyment. 
 
 " Rubens ah, yes," he murmured. " A little 
 thing done for an album ; probably never meant for 
 exhibition. He may have been right. It shows that 
 the Great may have moments of well imbecility. 
 Next." 
 
 Wardlow moved to the next picture, and, at a 
 quickly suppressed exclamation, the shopkeeper cock- 
 ed up his head and the Frenchman glanced over his 
 shoulder. 
 
 "Velasquez," the shopkeeper grunted in explana- 
 tion, " thirty-six inches by twenty-five. Fifteen hun- 
 dred mark ; same price as that one, which is very 
 cheap, very cheap ; it's so big ; " and he nodded at 
 the soi-disant Rubens.
 
 8O FATHER." 
 
 Wardlow, with his hands clasped behind his back, 
 studied the Velasquez, with his soul in his gaze. A 
 woman looked down upon him from the canvas with 
 dark, brooding eyes that had a strange, golden glim- 
 mer in their depths. A mass of bronze hair crowned 
 the low forehead and level brows, while a robe of 
 some lustrous gold brocade, left bare neck and throat, 
 that all but throbbed with life and passion. 
 
 " I see the picture is signed," Wardlow said, at last, 
 to break the silence. 
 
 " They are all signed," the man of trade remarked, 
 injured. 
 
 " Of course the signature is a forgery," Wardlow 
 mused ; " yet I'll stake my knowledge, my whole fu- 
 ture, that these shrewd knaves have cheated them- 
 selves. It is a Velasquez. If I only had money 
 enougli ! But, hang it, I'm cleaned out." 
 
 He turned away and stared at the patriarch, when, 
 suddenly, he threw back his head and laughed. 
 
 "By Jove, I have it father! He shall buy it. 
 It's worth $100,000 at least. All is fair in love ; why 
 not do him a good turn ? Father is naturally ill 
 disposed to artists ; would be more sympathetic if I 
 were a gentleman pork-packer from Chicago. Now 
 if I help him to as neat a bargain as he ever made, 
 at what will the old gentleman's gratitude stop ? 
 Nothing. The waiter at their hotel said they would 
 be sure to be in this afternoon. To see her again 
 after three whole weeks ! " 
 
 He turned to the shopkeeper : " Look here, I shall 
 come back to-morrow with a friend, to whom I wish 
 to show these two pictures," and diplomatically he 
 included the patriarch. " He or I may buy one or 
 both." 
 
 No sooner was he gone than the Frenchman saun 
 tered up and although he barely glanced at the 
 Rubens, he remained lost in deep thought before 
 Wardlow's fair woman.
 
 "FATHER." 8 1 
 
 V. 
 
 THE young Mees is in, certainly." 
 This from the obliging waiter of the " Dom- 
 hof " on the Cathedral Square, to Wardlow, that after- 
 noon. 
 
 " The young ' Mees ' will do," Jack confided to 
 himself as he knocked at the door. 
 
 She stood by the window watching the turmoil in 
 the square below ; at sight of him her lips quivered 
 a little. 
 
 " You see I I have turned up again," Wardlow 
 replied, struggling with a slight huskiness of voice. 
 
 " Do I look very murderous, Miss Baines ? " 
 
 " Why, Mr. Wardlow ? " 
 
 " I have been solely occupied in killing time. 
 Three weeks ago it was two weeks, now it is five 
 weeks. Five weeks is a very long time. How can 
 I ever win you ? If I could only kill a lot of dragons 
 or fight a few chaps, as they used to ! But now there 
 is nothing to kill but time, and that is the hardest of 
 all. Forgive me," he cried ; " if you only knew how 
 long these weeks have been ; how you have pulled 
 me here by my heart-strings." 
 
 She was so sure of him now, that she could look 
 into his eager face with a smile and a doubting shake 
 of her head, hypocrite that she was. 
 
 " What have you done with Thotmes, Mr. Ward- 
 low?" 
 
 " Poor old sinner, he has been my only consolation \ 
 your legacy, you know, when I found that, by some 
 accident, he had been left behind." 
 
 " We were so afraid you might forget us " 
 
 " Forget you, O Miss Baines ! " 
 
 "Us, I said, Mr. Wardlow. Ah, there is father. 
 6
 
 82 FATHER." 
 
 I thought I heard him coming upstairs. " Father, you 
 remember Mr. Wardlow ? " 
 
 " So, you're here again." 
 
 " I haven't been here before," Jack replied, with 
 a sense of injustice, as he shook the horny paw held 
 out to him. 
 
 " Curious, but you always seem to be 'round. Got 
 the body safe ? " 
 
 " Body ? Yes, to be sure, yes, quite safe. I'll send 
 it to you." 
 
 " No hurry. Glad to be rid of it for a time. By 
 the way, you did us a good turn to tell us to come 
 here for this powwow. I've hired three seats near 
 the Emperor of Germany for the show down there," 
 nodding in the direction of the square, where elabo- 
 rate grand stands were being constructed before the 
 entrance of the Cathedral. "I've engaged a window 
 to see the procession, and done nothing but look at 
 kings and queens, and most of 'em aren't much to 
 see, either. There's a little king expected at the 
 depot in an hour, the head waiter tells me. I'm 
 going ; will you come along ? " 
 
 Jack, meditating an assault on father, said he was 
 at his disposal, and watched Mr. Baines, in a genial 
 glow, back into the familiar shawl, which Rose held 
 ready for him. 
 
 The two men walked on in silence for some time, 
 during which Jack endeavored to accommodate his 
 long stride's to the eccentric gait of his companion. 
 
 "Mr. Baines," he said, at last, "would you like to 
 do a stroke of business ? " 
 
 Father pricked up his ears like an ancient war- 
 horse. 
 
 " I know of a picture which you can buy for $375, 
 which is worth one hundred thousand at least." 
 
 "You are joking!" and Mr. Baines stood stock- 
 still in the crowded street.
 
 " FATHER." 83 
 
 " Upon my honor, no." 
 
 " Why don't you buy it yourself ? " 
 
 " I am an artist, and well, I haven't enough ready 
 money," Jack said, annoyed at his forced confession. 
 " I'm on my way back to Paris to earn more." 
 
 " You are honest, at least. But how came you to 
 discover this treasure ? " 
 
 " Because I know pictures," Jack replied. " I 
 found it in an antiquarian junk-shop where no one 
 goes except to be cheated, so people fight shy of it. 
 I have found one or two good things there in my 
 time, for I only buy that of which I can judge." 
 
 " But why let me get all the benefit of this luck ? " 
 
 " Because," Jack began, in some embarrassment, 
 " because I'd like to put you under obligations, for 
 I " and he looked earnestly into father's face " for 
 I long to be under a life-long obligation to you, sir." 
 
 " Hum ! " father said, reflectively, and for the life 
 of him, Wardlow couldn't make out if Mr. Baines un- 
 derstood him or not. 
 
 V. 
 
 T^ATHER declared himself at Jack's disposal the 
 next afternoon, at 4 o'clock, and the young man 
 was to call for him at the hotel. Not to keep the 
 reader in suspense as to the catastrophe, when 
 4 o'clock and Wardlow arrived, no Mr. Baines was 
 to be found in or out of the " Domhof." At 5 o'clock, 
 Jack, in consternation, drove to the " Golden Bell," 
 hoping that father might have strayed in there. At 
 6 o'clock mother was crying, and Rose, with a very 
 pale face, was trying to comfort her. At 7 o'clock 
 the host of the " Domhof " declared that the police 
 ought to be apprised, as in the present crowded 
 state of the city, something might have happened.
 
 84 " FATHER." 
 
 At 8 o'clock the Chief of Police and all the police 
 departments, were notified of the disappearance of 
 an elderly American gentleman. 
 
 In their sitting-room mother was silently crying in 
 a corner, while Rose, in her cloak and hat, stood be- 
 fore Wardlow, who held her hands in his. 
 
 " For your mother's sake keep up your courage," 
 Wardlow implored. "God knows I would give my 
 life to be of service to you forgive me ! But you 
 must stay here." 
 
 As she still stood before him in a daze of trouble, 
 he unclasped the long, red cloak. 
 
 " My poor child," he said, with infinite tenderness, 
 and at the words she turned away, and kneeling be- 
 side her mother, she hid her face in the poor lady's 
 lap and cried as if her heart would break. 
 
 As for father, not to keep the anxious reader in 
 further suspense, he was neither dead, wounded, nor 
 robbed ; he was simply an involuntary prisoner some 
 500 feet above ground, with as superb an opportunity 
 of studying Gothic architecture for which he did not 
 care a rap as mortal ever had. 
 
 In the solitude and silence of the scaffolding about 
 the great towers of the Cathedral of Cologne, as near 
 as a human being will ever again reach its highest 
 pinnacle, Mr. Baines was imprisoned, with only the 
 moonlight shining through the wooden network to 
 keep him company. He could hear the confused 
 hum of the city, lying below with twinkling lights, the 
 clang of the church bells, while, beneath him, the 
 " Kaiser " bell boomed out the hours in a fashion 
 that made the sacrilegious intruder shake in his boots. 
 On the other side, the Rhine flowed silently on its 
 way to the "Sieben Gebirge," a river of moonlight, 
 broken only where the boats floated down the tide. 
 
 Father was not poetic ; he ignored both the moon
 
 "FATHER." 85 
 
 and the scenery. He hugged himself in his shawl 
 and shivered, when a cold blast of wind played hide 
 and seek in the scaffolding, and jocosely threatened 
 to knock him over. 
 
 With futile rage he looked down at the '' Domhof " 
 in the square, and wondered how mother and Rose 
 would account for his absence. 
 
 Mr. Baines was the victim of misplaced ambition, 
 and it had cost him dear. That afternoon he stole 
 away to perform at leisure the ascent of the cathedral. 
 He was neither actuated by curiosity nor a weak taste 
 for the beautiful. Mr. Baines had heard that in a 
 day or two the scaffolding was to be removed, upon 
 which a bold plan occurred to him. Had it been 
 connected with a lead pencil all might have been 
 well, but as it had to do with a bottle of blacking and 
 a stencil-plate, it proved his destruction. 
 
 To begin with, father was not as much impressed 
 by Wardlow's story of the picture, as he should have 
 been ; neither did he calculate for the length of time 
 it would take him to make the ascent. When he 
 reached the summit he found only a couple of work- 
 men clearing up the debris that had fallen from the 
 surmounting cross, for sight-seers there were none. 
 
 Fortune, apparently, favored him, for one of the 
 workmen shouldered a box of stone chips, nodded to 
 his companion, and disappeared down the only flight 
 of steps which led to the platform on which they were 
 standing. The chance was fine for father, and re- 
 treating behind a beam he extracted from his pocket 
 an ink bottle, a brush, and a stencil-plate, and then 
 peeped out to seize his opportunity. 
 
 From below the " Kaiser " bell boomed 5, but Mr. 
 Baines did not care, for he was watching the remain- 
 ing man, who, in turn, examined the pure gray stone 
 of the farther spire, with undisguised pride. Quick as 
 a flash, father darted from his place of concealment
 
 86 "FATHER." 
 
 to the other, and, in a moment more, " Thomas G. 
 Baines, Pittsburgh, Pa.," was immortalized on the 
 great south tower of the Cathedral of Cologne. 
 
 It was father's misfortune that to reach the steps 
 he was obliged to pass the workman. With great 
 discretion Mr. Baines again extinguished himself be- 
 hind the beam, but, as ill luck would have it, from 
 the contemplation of one tower the stone-cutter pro- 
 ceeded to the other, and the next moment he stood 
 face to face with the jet-black information rather 
 down hill that Thomas G. Baines was of Pittsburgh, 
 Pa. 
 
 " Himmel donner-wetter kreuz-sakrament ! " he 
 roared. 
 
 Father smiled, but he felt that this was no time to 
 appear. 
 
 After a moment of consternation the stone-cutter 
 fetched his tool-chest, and vainly tried to scrape off 
 the black with his chisel. 
 
 " He doesn't know how it eats in," father chuckled, 
 and, seized with compassion for such wasted energy, 
 he disclosed himself. 
 
 " Don't, don't, it won't do any good," he remon- 
 strated, as if the man could understand. He glared 
 at father, pointed to the inscription, then at him. 
 
 Father nodded. "Yes, that's me, Thomas G. 
 Baines, Pittsburgh, Pa., and you may scratch till 
 you're blue and you'll never get it off." 
 
 With a volley of ugly German words the stone- 
 cutter shook his fist in father's face, grasped his 
 tool-chest, and in an instant disappeared down the 
 steps. 
 
 " Most remarkable fellow," father declared, quite 
 bewildered. " What's the use getting so mad about 
 it ? 'Tain't his house. Glad he's gone. Guess I'll 
 go in a few minutes." 
 
 There, father was mistaken, for after descending
 
 " FATHER." / 
 
 some 200 steps in and out of the scaffolding, when he 
 at last reached the heavy iron door that leads into 
 the body of the church, and down to terra firma, he 
 found that door to be securely locked. He banged 
 away at it for half an hour, till he was forced to the 
 pleasing conclusion that he was destined to spend the 
 night on top of the Cathedral of Cologne. 
 
 VI. 
 
 *~PHAT memorable night Wardlow did not go to 
 J- bed. He sat in the office of the " Domhof " and 
 answered the summons of forty-five policemen, who 
 came in turn for him to identify Mr. Baines in the 
 persons of forty-five vagrants in every stage of intoxi- 
 cation and general lowness. 
 
 About 7 o'clock the next morning a chilly morn- 
 ing with a gray haze in the air he came back from a 
 visit to a distant police station, pondering as to Mr. 
 Baines's probable fate. 
 
 To be honest, and as Jack was not in love with 
 father, it must be confessed that he was filled with 
 natural indignation that the old gentleman should 
 have disappeared before he had settled about the 
 Velasquez. 
 
 "Just my luck," he exclaimed, and, as he climbed 
 the three or four steps into the " Domhof," he looked 
 over his shoulder towards the cathedral, which lay at 
 right angles to the hotel. 
 
 " My God ! " he shouted, stared, then with one leap 
 was down the street, and the next moment he grasped 
 by the shoulders an individual arrayed in a familiar 
 shawl and wearing a hat much crushed. At Ward- 
 low's touch a face expressive of cold misery, and eyes 
 that flashed fire and fury, met his. 
 
 "In God's name, where have you been, sir?"
 
 "FATHER." 
 
 " Been ? Ugh ! You wait till I've had my break- 
 fast." 
 
 " Your wife and daughter are nearly distracted 
 with grief on your account." 
 
 "Women folks fools," father returned. 
 
 Wardlow followed Mr. Baines, with a secret grief 
 that he should have turned up so undamaged. 
 
 " We've had the whole police force out after you, 
 sir." 
 
 " What kind of a ninny do you take me for ? " 
 father cried, exploding. 
 
 Jack commanded himself. 
 
 " At least, sir, you will let some one prepare your 
 wife and daughter for the happy event." 
 
 " Guess I'll see to that myself," father replied, and 
 trotted upstairs. 
 
 You see, father not having had any anxiety on his 
 own account, was not disposed to countenance such 
 weakness in others, neither was the last night spent in 
 such a lively fashion as to uphold him in the supper- 
 less, breakfastless, and chilly condition in which he 
 found himself. 
 
 That morning the stone-cutter who had locked him 
 out, came to his airy prison and talked to him in such 
 a threatening way though Mr. Baines didn't under- 
 stand him that father could hardly realize the trans- 
 formation caused by two broad gold pieces which he 
 instinctively slipped in the horny palm of that " son 
 of toil." 
 
 From that moment, by some magic not unconnected 
 with gold pieces, the honest laborer grew calmer, and 
 escorting father down to the entrance, took leave of 
 him with a grip of friendship and pleasure.
 
 1 FATHER." 89 
 
 VII. 
 
 MOTHER did not die of joy, neither did Rose. 
 "O Thomas, Thomas, I thought you were 
 dead," Mrs. Baines sobbed, clinging to him. 
 
 " But I ain't, and I want my breakfast," Mr. Baines 
 replied, as he struggled out of her grasp. 
 
 That was all. After breakfast, when he had filled 
 the void within him and was thawing, then Rose said, 
 with a blush creeping up to her dusky hair, " Father, 
 Mr. Wardlow " 
 
 " I don't want to hear about him," he interrupted. 
 
 " Father," Rose continued, leaning over the table, 
 " we are under the greatest obligations to Mr. Ward- 
 low. If it had not been for him, I don't know what 
 we should have done last night." 
 
 " What's he got to bother about me for ? I ain't 
 an infant in arms. I wish he'd mind his own busi- 
 ness ! " 
 
 " I never thought you could be so cruel, father," 
 Rose cried, indignantly, 
 
 " Look here, daughter, what d'you mean by that ? " 
 Mr. Baines asked in amazement. 
 
 " You are unfeeling, for you won't let mother and me 
 show how glad we are to see you. You make nothing 
 of all that mother has been through, and you weren't 
 even civil to Mr. Wardlow who was up all night long, 
 trying to find you. You are under great obligations 
 to him and you'll always be ! All I wanted you to 
 do was to thank him." 
 
 " Obligations !" father shouted, starting to his feet. 
 " I won't be under obligations to any man. Guess I 
 know what'll make us quits. See if I don't. What 
 did he say the name was ? Idiotic name for a shop. 
 Oh, yes Golden Bell. I'm going out. Obligations, 
 indeed."
 
 90 " FATHER." 
 
 Father slammed the door behind him, and in a 
 moment, they saw him drive off in a cab with a seedy 
 individual who did duty in the hotel as an interpreter. 
 
 Father never did anything by halves, and the way 
 he made a bee-line for the picture-gallery of the 
 " Golden Bell " quite refreshed its owner. 
 
 He was rather staggered on being confronted by 
 the patriarch, which, the shopkeeper explained to 
 the interpreter, was one of the two paintings the gen- 
 tleman had admired, the other, a smaller picture, 
 having been sold to a Frenchman. Mr. Baines felt 
 that he was receiving a good deal for his money, and 
 so, without more ado, he purchased the trifle. 
 
 An hour after a covered furniture van, drawn by a 
 couple of dray horses, rumbled up to the front en- 
 trance of the " Domhof." Beside the driver father 
 sat in democratic independence, his face beaming 
 with smiles ; for he was at heart a generous soul, and 
 as he was, according to Jack's statement, about to 
 oblige him $100,000 worth, he looked not unconscious 
 of superior virtue. He also rejoiced to think that 
 very soon he would be able to wash his hands, so to 
 speak, of this gigantic work of art and leave its future 
 disposal to another. 
 
 Cautiously father climbed down from his perch and 
 ran against Wardlow, who was hanging about the 
 " Domhof " in a very low state of mind, and who ob- 
 served Mr. Baines's arrival in speechless amazement. 
 Father's dominant desire was to get rid of him, for 
 he felt that the sidewalk was an inappropriate place 
 for a presentation speech. Ignoring Wardlow's cold- 
 ness, he said : " Won't you go upstairs ? I think 
 daughter wishes to speak to you." Rose's indigna- 
 tion against father had not subsided, and as she held 
 out both her hands to Jack standing before her, she 
 looked into his face with tears in her eyes, and said, 
 with a gratitude which included father's, " How can
 
 "FATHER." 9 1 
 
 I ever thank you enough for your goodness to us, Mr. 
 Wardlow ? " 
 
 " Don't try to you make me feel ashamed. Miss 
 Baines Rose my darling do you not know that 
 I would die for you ! " 
 
 He held her hands and looked into her downcast 
 face, and at his eager gaze she looked up at last, and 
 it seemed as if you could hear their foolish hearts 
 beat in the silence as she whispered, " I I would 
 rather you'd live for me Jack." 
 
 Just as he held her in his arms and kissed her, as 
 if he never meant to part from her again, the door 
 opened, after a perfect chaos of scuffling, to which 
 they had been oblivious, and father burst in with a 
 genial smile, which froze on his face at the scene be- 
 fore him. 
 
 " I'd prepared a little surprise for you, Mr. Ward- 
 low, but you've given me one which beats it hollow. 
 How dare you, sir ! Why, I don't know you." 
 
 "You can inquire about me, sir," Jack said, boldly, 
 " then if you find my record unsatisfactory, I will give 
 up your daughter." 
 
 Before father could recover from his amazement, 
 Rose threw her arms about his neck and rubbed her 
 coaxing cheek against his. 
 
 " We will be patient, father, and not unreasonable. 
 You know you were not rich when you fell in love 
 with mother." 
 
 For a moment father succumbed, but the allusion 
 to mother brought him to himself. 
 
 "Good Lor', yes, mother. She's waiting in the 
 bedroom with our surprise." So speaking, he trotted 
 to a side door and flung it wide open. Sure enough 
 it disclosed mother sitting before the patriarch, frame- 
 less, for so majestic were his proportions that hardly 
 any door would let him pass. Mother was staring at 
 the soi-disant Rubens in consternation.
 
 92 " FATHER." 
 
 " This," said father, with a backward wave of his 
 hand to the picture, and in a tone of deep reproach 
 to Jack, whose amazement lacked all the ingredients 
 of joy, " this mother and me wish to give you as a 
 remembrance, for Rose says we are under obligations 
 to you " 
 
 " Not I, Thomas, not I," mother interrupted, re- 
 fusing her share of father's little surprise. 
 
 " Please don't give it to me ! Do pray be under 
 obligations," Jack cried, in undisguised alarm. 
 
 "You know you said it was worth a hundred thou- 
 sand dollars." 
 
 " That picture ! That isn't worth a copper it is 
 the vilest daub I've seen for many a day. The pic- 
 ture I meant was a small one " 
 
 " That is sold," father groaned. 
 
 " You see. father, you still are under obligations to 
 him," Rose ventured to say, patting his hard old fist. 
 
 " I suppose if I'd give way to you, the obligation 
 would be on the other side ? " 
 
 " Yes, father, dear." 
 
 "Well, I'll see. What I want to know is, what 
 shall I do with that," and he turned to the patriarch 
 with a scowl. 
 
 It was then that Wardlow laid the foundation to 
 father's future favor. " Present it to the Pittsburgh 
 Museum it is quite an art gallery in itself," he sug- 
 gested. 
 
 " Gracious, yes," father exclaimed, with an involun- 
 tary sigh of relief. " I had quite forgotten the Baines 
 collection." 
 
 " There is Thotmes, you know, father," Rose added. 
 
 "Really, my darling, I hate to part with Thotmes," 
 Jack murmured. " It was he who first " 
 
 " Oh, but, Jack, dear, you can't have everything." 
 
 Of course they were married, so it is no use to
 
 " FATHER." 93 
 
 disguise this singular fact. Five months from that 
 October day, Mr. and Mrs. John Winthrop Wardlow, 
 permanently established in Paris, strolled down the 
 main gallery of paintings in the Louvre, Mother, 
 gorgeous in black velvet, followed them, greatly ad- 
 miring her son-in-law, while beside her trotted father, 
 with an unmistakable indigestion of the "old masters." 
 
 Wardlow was proceeding leisurely, explaining this 
 and that to his wife, proudly conscious of admiring 
 glances thrown in her direction, when of a sudden 
 he not only stopped as if he had turned to stone, but 
 he grew deathly pale as he stared at a picture on the 
 wall, in a gorgeous new frame, upon which was en- 
 graved in distinct black letters: "Velasquez, 1599- 
 1660." 
 
 "Jack, dear Jack, what has happened ? " 
 
 " Our picture, Rose ! A real Velasquez, as I knew. 
 Worth thousands. To have all but had it, and to 
 lose it, and then to find it here ! It is too horrible." 
 
 " But, Jack, dear, father lost it as well." 
 
 " Bring him up. I want him to suffer a little." 
 
 Father and mother were stranded on a red velvet 
 bench and father was staring at the generous skylights 
 overhead, while mother dozed. 
 
 " Mr. Baines," Jack said, with much emotion, as 
 father came up to him, followed by mother and Rose. 
 " This, Mr. Baines, is a real Velasquez, and it is the 
 picture you did not buy in Cologne." 
 
 Father, wholly unmoved, closed a calculating eye 
 and remarked, " I should say that the other one is 
 four times as big." 
 
 "A very bold looking person," mother added, with 
 much disfavor. 
 
 "You call that an 'old master,' " father continued 
 scornfully, "why it might have been painted yester- 
 day. As for the young woman, she looks so natural 
 she might be mother."
 
 94 " FATHER. 
 
 " Go 'long, Thomas, how can you ! " mother ex- 
 claimed, quite shocked. 
 
 " Only a figure of speech, mother. Now that pic- 
 ture I sent to Pittsburgh anybody down there'd know 
 it for an 'old master,' because it was so almighty 
 dirty. Besides it was so big with the new frame I 
 ordered for it. that they had to build an L to the pic- 
 ture gallery a-purpose. Now if I'd sent that," and 
 father pointed his forefinger at the masterpiece of 
 Velasquez, "they could have hung it anywhere. Be- 
 sides, Pittsburgh is particular ; they'd never go to 
 see her there's nothing surprisin' about her ! But 
 take an ' old master ' like that Rubens I sent 'em, 
 there's nothing like it on earth. That race of men 
 died when Rubens died," and father shook his head 
 in deep meditation. 
 
 " They were giants in those days. If you can call 
 to mind the patriarch's arms not a young man, but 
 what muscles, Jack."
 
 THE STORY OF AGEE SANG LONG. 
 
 FOR a whole month I listened in agony to the tin- 
 kle of the front-door bell, and when footsteps 
 shuffled up and down stairs and then out, I leaned 
 back in my chair and laughed mirthlessly at my own 
 disappointment. I was a young doctor waiting for 
 my first patient. 
 
 Such was my despair, because the neighborhood to 
 a man refused to be cured at my hands, that at last I 
 ceased to keep up appearances even with my old 
 landlady, Mrs. Macgruder. At first she was unmis- 
 takably overawed by my writing-desk, a very hand- 
 some skeleton, a couple of skulls, and a few hearts 
 and livers in spirits, which I kept on a shelf in my 
 office. However, I had not been her lodger one week 
 when she took an early opportunity to tell me that 
 she thought I was very young. 
 
 Regarding me, as she did, as a medical infant, I 
 longed to have her become horribly ill with a compli- 
 cation of disorders till then unknown to science, 
 whereupon I, like a nineteenth-century knight-errant, 
 would come to the rescue, save her, and earn her 
 eternal gratitude. It is needless to say that she con- 
 tinued in good health. 
 
 Mrs. Macgruder dropped into my office at all hours, 
 and on a certain late November afternoon she came 
 in with an untimely feather duster, which she held 
 over her head in an Oriental fashion, while she sub- 
 sided into my office chair, one fat hand spread over 
 
 (95)
 
 96 THE STORY OF AGEE SANG LONG. 
 
 her fat person. From this shelter she favored me 
 with sketches of the Macgruders, interspersed with 
 sops of comfort. 
 
 " I've been a-talking about you, sir. If you was 
 my own I couldn't think more of you. My heart's 
 that soft I'd let you poison my best friend. It was 
 only last night Sally Macgruder's first cousin said as 
 he'd be certain to have you, sir, if he was took ill. 
 Next week he's going to Texas to settle. But, Lor ' ! 
 he may break his neck twenty times afore that." 
 
 " Mrs. Macgruder, I am sorry that I can't enjoy 
 your society any longer," I said, with dignity, " but I 
 have a a consultation." 
 
 " Dear me ! " Mrs. Macgruder said, with a parting 
 stab, " and you so young ! " 
 
 She vanished, and I stared hopelessly out of the 
 dingy window. Fifty years ago the street was solidly 
 respectable ; to-day it is quite ungenteel. A few dy- 
 ing trees before the old houses, displayed upon their 
 sides cards proclaiming lodgings to let and table 
 board, at starvation prices. The bit of ground railed 
 in before each house, was fruitful now in broken bot- 
 tles and bones. Here organ-grinders were welcome, 
 and the inhabitants were generous to monkeys ; itiner- 
 ant street bands played here with redoubled vigor, 
 for they were at home, and the garrets loved them. 
 I settled in this modest location thinking that this, 
 indeed, might be called the foot of the ladder. 
 
 Twilight crept on, dull and gray, and the narrow 
 street was deserted. It was so still that I could 
 faintly hear the tooting of the street band, frozen into 
 a garret, and it was growing so dark that the skeleton 
 in. the corner, modestly wrapped himself in a shadow. 
 Suddenly the door-bell rang, and for the first time in 
 four weeks, I paid no attention to its tinkle, and turned 
 about half scared, as some one knocked at my door, 
 which opened, and a figure crossed the threshold. I
 
 THE STORY OF AGEE SANG LONG. 97 
 
 thought it was a child wrapped in its mother's poor 
 shawl, and I could not see her face at first for the 
 hood about her head. The child dropped a series of 
 curtsys, and then I noticed that she carried a great 
 bundle in her arms. 
 
 " Agee Sang Long, sa','' said a thin, quavering voice, 
 as a small hand pushed the hood aside, and I was 
 startled to find the child to be a tiny Chinese woman, 
 whose set and careworn face showed her to be at least 
 sixty years old. 
 
 For a moment I could only stare at the queer, yel- 
 low, flat countenance, with its snub-nose, and a mouth 
 like a pale slit between a long upper lip and a short 
 chin. Coarse black hair fell across her bright black 
 eyes, full not so much of intelligence, as of a pathetic 
 remonstrance. 
 
 " And what can I do for you, Agee Sang Long ? 
 Are you ill ? " 
 
 " I no ill, but he be. He a' my companee, my on'y 
 frien', and he be so si'. I bring him to you, docto', 
 fo' to makee well." Whereupon she softly undid the 
 bundle and discovered, wrapped in a warm shawl, a 
 melancholy specimen of a cat. " I hab monee, docto' ; 
 I can payee ri' off. You makee he well," she ven- 
 tured, wistfully, as I took the poor beast in my arms. 
 
 It was humiliating to find that my first patient was 
 a cat, but after a month's waiting even a cat was 
 welcome. The poor thing was suffering from slow 
 poison. I explained it learnedly, while Agee bobbed 
 a curtsy, and held one limp paw in her yellow hand. 
 I administered a hopeless antidote, and then they 
 prepared to go, the patient wrapped in his shawl, and 
 cuddling up to that heathen breast. 
 
 " He' be a dolla', sa'," said Agee Sang Long. 
 " Me ha' monee to payee you." 
 
 The blood rushed to my face. I couldn't take a 
 fee for a cat.
 
 9 8 THE STORY OF AGEE SANG LONG. 
 
 " No, Agee, it's all right," I exclaimed, as if fees 
 were no object. " I'll come round to-morrow and 
 see the patient." I wished to cast dust iii the eyes 
 of Mrs. Macgruder. 
 
 I watched her down the street, and my blood boiled 
 as some ragamuffins tore after her, shouting " Rat ! 
 rat ! " As I turned away I saw something glisten on 
 my desk. Jt was a silver dollar that Agee Sang Long 
 had left. 
 
 The next day I hunted up No. 2 Paris Court, where 
 my only patient lived. Paris Court consisted of six 
 shabby houses, in the rear of front yards full of re- 
 mains. I groped my way through a decaying arbor 
 to reach No. 2. I never saw houses look so ill at 
 ease. They had once been respectable, if not opu- 
 lent. This had been a suburb with fresh air, and a 
 brook had trickled past ; it was a dirty puddle now. 
 Chestnut trees once shaded the porches, and over 
 the fences, white and purple lilacs had blossomed in 
 spring. One day a suspicion crossed the houses that 
 the town was creeping dangerously near, and a few 
 months after, they found themselves imprisoned by 
 rows of dirty brick dwellings that shut out the sun- 
 light and air. At first they clung to gentility, but 
 when the trees died, and the bushes withered for want 
 of air, and the lilacs were parched with the heat and 
 dust, and when the pretty fence itself broke down 
 under neglect, then they gave up pretending, and, 
 like gentility when it at last gives up appearances, 
 broke down worse than their neighbors. 
 
 I stood in the dull, musty entry, and shouted, " Agee 
 Sang Long ! " and I was about to repeat it, when queer 
 sounds, proceeding from a door opening near by, 
 struck my ear. I knocked, and as no one answered, 
 I turned the door-knob and entered a poor little room, 
 with the light of day creeping feebly through two 
 small windows that were cross-barred by gnarled and
 
 THE STORY OF AGEE SANG LONG. 99 
 
 stalky remains of ancient grape-vines on tumbling 
 trellises. Everything but two great wash-tubs was 
 very diminutive, and, as I hastily noticed, scrupu- 
 lously clean. But there was only one thing I dis- 
 tinctly saw. In the middle of the bare floor, on a 
 wooden cricket, stood a small, rude, pine box, and in 
 it, surrounded by wintergreen, and about his neck a 
 new ribbon, lay my patient of yesterday. Beside it 
 crouched Agee Sang Long, her head against the box, 
 sobbing bitterly, and on a chair at its foot, stood a 
 music-box, which cheerfully and monotonously rattled 
 out " The Beautiful Blue Danube " waltz. 
 
 " Agee ! why, Agee Sang Long ! " 
 
 At the touch of my hand she looked up with fright- 
 ened eyes and a haggard face. 
 
 " Oh, docto', he die he die ! Him all frien' I 
 hab," she sobbed. " Dey pizen him, and I hab no 
 frien' mo'." 
 
 Then she rose, with something of Oriental com- 
 posure and politeness, and put her own grief momen- 
 tarily aside to attend to me. 
 
 " It is only a cat, Agee," I suggested, awkwardly. 
 " There are plenty of cats in the world ; you will find 
 pets enough." 
 
 She looked at me with patient wonder, and a spasm 
 crossed her ugly face. 
 
 " Wha' dice, dice. I lub no cat mo'." 
 
 All this time the air was rent with " The Beauti- 
 ful Blue Danube." 
 
 " Who poisoned your cat ? " I asked. 
 
 " De peopl' in de house. Dey ha' me 'cos I Chinee. 
 Dey wan' me turn ou' ob de house." 
 
 She said this with unflinching composure. She 
 hardly pitied herself; it was all fatality. 
 
 " Do they ill-treat you ? " I asked, indignantly. 
 
 " De man of de house he drinkee, and when he 
 drinkee, he ha' all Chinee. Dey try to pizen I. Dey
 
 100 THE STORY OF AGEE SANG LONG. 
 
 pizen he." She turned back and patted her dead 
 friend. 
 
 I looked at her aghast. All this persecution 
 against a harmless, lonely creature, in this nineteenth 
 century, as if, by the grace of God, we were in the 
 Dark Ages ! 
 
 " Are you all alone in the world ? " 
 
 "Yes." Not in pity at all; simply as a fact a 
 fatality. 
 
 " Look here, Agee," I said, as I left the room, " if 
 these wretches annoy you in any way, come to me, 
 and I will see that it is stopped." 
 
 As I turned into Paris Court, I was so indignant 
 that, for a moment, I forgot my own pressing cares. 
 It was a very cold evening, and the sharp wind swept 
 up all small objects and whirled them round the cor- 
 ners. I was going at a swinging pace, buried in 
 wrath, when something came puffing up behind me 
 and pressed against my legs with piteous whines. I 
 looked down, and found it was a dog. Such a dog ! 
 Never in my life had I seen so pitiful a cur. Thin 
 and lank, spindle-legged, and so emaciated that his 
 ribs were all outside, and covered with a pink-white 
 hide ; he was a perfect albino of a dog. In race he 
 was a terribly diluted bull-dog, and one pink eye gazed 
 trustfully at me out of a black surrounding, the only 
 bit of color upon his ungainly person. He shivered 
 and whined and waved an emaciated tail, and, when 
 I went on, he followed me as close as if he were an 
 ancient retainer. I felt that he reflected discredit 
 upon me, and I vainly endeavored, by suggesting rats, 
 to lure him into byways. 
 
 When I reached Mrs. Macgruder's, I sneaked into 
 the house, and left him whining and shivering on the 
 steps. I took off my overcoat in my office, and, stir- 
 ring the fire, sat down in its blaze. Unfortunately I 
 heard that wretched dog howl outside, till at last I
 
 THE STORY OF AGEE SANG LONG. IOI 
 
 could bear it no longer, so I opened the door and let 
 him in. He required no pressing invitation, but sat 
 contentedly in the humblest place by the fire, and 
 gazed at me with blinking eyes, his jaws open, and 
 his tongue finely displayed. If ever I saw a dog 
 smile, that was the dog, and he beat the floor with 
 his tail in a way I knew was meant to be complimen- 
 tary and grateful. 
 
 I don't know why I thought of Agee Sang Long as 
 I gazed into his melancholy eyes, but I felt instinc- 
 tively that these two belonged together. So the next 
 morning, after a breakfast such as he never dreamed 
 of in all his wildest dog-dreams, I took him to my 
 Chinese friend. She looked at us without surprise, 
 and accepted him, when offered by me, as another 
 bit of fatality. 
 
 " He'll be company for you, Agee," I urged, " and 
 I shouldn't be surprised if he were a good watch-dog." 
 This I remarked douotfully, the ancient retainer hav- 
 ing brought no reference as to character. Nor was 
 his pedigree, as exhibited in his countenance, reassur- 
 ing ; but, somehow, he looked trustworthy, and in- 
 stantly proved to be a dog of no prejudice, by cuddling 
 up to Agee and holding out a paw, until the little 
 woman took it in one of her hard-worked hands. 
 
 "Goo' doggee," she said, and looked gratefully in- 
 to his pink eyes. 
 
 Whether it was instinct or a trick, we never knew, 
 but he was only happy when he could cuddle up to 
 some one who would hold his paw. At night, when 
 Agee's work was done she scrubbed, washed and 
 ironed, and did chores for a living she locked the 
 door, and then she and her dog sat by the fire, side 
 by side, he with an affectionate paw in her left hand, 
 while her right held, upside down, the breviary she 
 could not read. 
 
 Beside them on a chair, so close that none of its
 
 102 THE STORY OF AGEE SANG LONG. 
 
 delicious strains could be lost, the music-box ground 
 out "The Beautiful Blue Danube," Agee listening 
 reverently. This music-box was her joy. After years 
 of toil she had saved twenty dollars, and, not without 
 deep reflection, she spent ten in a burial lot for 
 she longed to rest peacefully in death, she who in life 
 had been so tossed about and the rest she invested 
 in this precious music-box. It is unnecessary to say 
 that she was cheated, for it is the privilege of civili- 
 zation to get the better of heathens. However, she 
 listened to "The Beautiful Blue Danube" and 
 "Coming thro' the Rye "with profound joy, heath- 
 endom and Christendom battling in her breast some- 
 times, when she yearned to consider the music-box as 
 something divine. But Christendom conquered, for 
 she was a Christian. 
 
 Years and years ago she had been converted, and 
 every Sunday morning she trotted to the cathedral 
 with her prayer-book, that she could not read, clasped 
 to her Chinese breast, and as surely as the martyrs of 
 old, she suffered persecution on the way. The people 
 frightened her, but particularly the children, and she 
 only felt safe and at peace kneeling on the stone 
 floor, with her head bowed on her breast, and her 
 yellow hands folded humbly. Then it seemed to her 
 as if she were not so very different from the people 
 about. To be sure, they would edge away, and some- 
 times, in the interval of prayer, a hard Irish face 
 glared contemptuously at her, but she expected no 
 better. There was peace here in the light of the 
 gleaming candles on the high altar, and the sunlight 
 falling through the beautiful gold and scarlet win- 
 dows, out of which people with kind, divine faces 
 looked down upon their poor sister, not clad in scar- 
 let and gold and azure, but ugly and forsaken, and 
 yet not so far removed from them, as God sees men, 
 their deeds and suffering.
 
 THE STORY OF AGEE SANG LONG. IO3 
 
 Forty years before, a Salem sea-captain had brought 
 her from China as nurse to his little child, and some- 
 how she stranded on civilization, and never returned 
 to her. Celestial Kingdom. She was utterly alone in 
 the world, not a woman of her race in any place 
 around, and society was banded against her. The 
 ladies of Irish extraction, who took in washing and 
 scrubbed, persecuted her for daring to do the same. 
 They did her all the mischief they could, and suc- 
 ceeded in all but killing her. Ill-smelling powders 
 were thrown into her room, gunpowder was put in 
 her coal, and water on her firewood ; her cat was poi- 
 soned, and a sick sparrow she saved from wind and 
 weather, was freed from its cage and flew away. She 
 did not complain, she did not think of revenge, and 
 oh, for the narrow-mindedness of such a wretched 
 Chinese ! she saved the life of her worst little perse- 
 cutor. 
 
 It seemed as if Agee Sang Long turned the tide of 
 my ill-luck, for, from that day, patients began to drop 
 in slowly, and so it was a week or two before I saw 
 her again. She was such a frail creature, full of 
 rheumatism, and she had a heart trouble which I felt 
 was serious. 
 
 It was a glorious December afternoon when I 
 stepped briskly into Paris Court, to inquire after Agee 
 and our mutual friend, to whom she had given the 
 extraordinary name of Mowa. I felt that life was 
 worth living. I had had a run of two patients ; one 
 of whom, I distinctly remember, was a considerate 
 coal-heaver, whose skull was temporarily damaged by 
 a brother in trade. 
 
 I stepped into Paris Court, just concluding that the 
 world was a beautiful and satisfactory place, when a 
 creature crossed the sunshine like a ragged shadow, 
 and stood in my path a woman like a nighthawk, a 
 bird of ill omen. A pale, sullen face, framed by rough
 
 IO4 THE STORY OF AGEE SANG LONG. 
 
 red hair, half hidden by a rusty shawl, looked into 
 mine. She was a ruin of cheap finery, and some good 
 looks, and she was young. As I opened the gate of 
 No. 2, this woman came up behind me. 
 
 "Are you going in there?" she asked, and hesi- 
 tated. 
 
 I turned, and her worn eyes held mine. 
 
 " Yes. Can I do anything for you ? " 
 
 "For me? Yes." Then she added with unex- 
 pected violence : " No, you can do nothing. God 
 couldn't help me." 
 
 I turned from her. 
 
 "Wait," she cried. "There's a Chinese woman 
 down there lives there. You know her? Is she 
 kind or is she cruel ? " 
 
 " She is a good woman," I replied, surprised, " and 
 she is very kind." 
 
 " She ought to be bad ; the world is bad to her," 
 the girl muttered. 
 
 "She is better than many a Christian. What do 
 you want of her ? " I asked, peremptorily. 
 
 " If she were no better ! " the woman exclaimed, with 
 a mirthless laugh ; and without answering my ques- 
 tion, but with a strange, searching look out of those 
 worn eyes that had seen awful things, she turned and 
 shuffled away, a blot on the sunshine. 
 
 I opened Agee's door, deep in thought, when, to 
 my amazement, I heard a baby's voice. 
 
 "Why, Agee Sang Long ! " I cried. For there she 
 sat on her accustomed cricket near the stove, and she 
 held a baby in her arms. Mowa sat before her, 
 thrusting an unheeded paw nearly into her face, and 
 devoured by jealousy, and, as usual, the music-box 
 was spinning out " The Beautiful Blue Danube." As 
 I looked at the baby I thought I had never seen so 
 patient a little creature before. It was a baby with a 
 past, and it had known trouble. Though it was en-
 
 THE STORY OF AGEE SANG LONG. IO$ 
 
 veloped in an ancient shawl of Agee's, it was unmis- 
 takably a beggar. But it was appreciative, and liked 
 music, for it smiled at the music-box with a strange, 
 Sphinx-like expression in its clear eyes. But the 
 most extraordinary sight was Agee herself, for she 
 was laughing, and it was the first time I saw her ex- 
 press an emotion of mirth. There was no merriment 
 in her eyes, but her mouth was widely distended, ex- 
 hibiting gums and tongue and teeth to full advantage. 
 
 No sooner did she see me than she struggled to her 
 feet, the baby nearly capsizing her. 
 
 " Him mine ! " she cried in triumph. " Him lef 
 at de doo' las' nigh'. Lookee, docto' ; him nice 
 babee." 
 
 She put him in my arms as if she were conferring 
 a favor, then gazed joyously at us both, while the 
 neglected Mowa rubbed against me, with a pathetic 
 desire to be noticed. I looked into the poor baby's 
 eyes, and vaguely thought, " I have seen those eyes 
 before." Then, of a sudden, it all flashed across me, 
 and I saw again the woman whose worn eyes, full of 
 a bad past, had held mine. Now I understood. 
 
 " Shall you send him to the Orphans' Home, 
 Agee ? " I asked. 
 
 " Me keepee babee," she answered, with some re- 
 proach. "Me workee for babee. Me hab monee. 
 Me makee a gen'leman ob babee." 
 
 The future gentleman becoming restless with me, 
 he stretched out two soft arms to be taken by Agee. 
 Never shall I forget the joy and pride with which 
 she received him. 
 
 " Him my babee ! " she cried, enraptured, hugging 
 him tight. For the first time in forty years a human 
 creature showed her love ; a creature weaker than 
 herself clung to her for protection, and the mother 
 instinct, that nature gives eyen to a poor Chinese, 
 made her strong and happy.
 
 106 THE STORY OF AGEE SANG LONG. 
 
 When I left them, Agee was again sitting on her 
 cricket, rocking the baby to sleep, and singing to it 
 some unearthly song, of Chinese origin probably. 
 Mowa's head had found a resting-place on her lap, 
 and he kept time with his tail. Ah ! she was a dif- 
 ferent person now, Agee Sang Long. She had an 
 object in life. 
 
 How hard she worked to make both ends meet. 
 She denied herself everything to buy warm clothing 
 for the baby, and she gave Mowa a bite when she 
 was very hungry herself. Her rheumatism was bad, 
 and she had queer pains inside, she told me ; but that 
 could not mar her great content. 
 
 She, who had always been so lonely and deserted, 
 noticed that now, when she left the house, a wild, wan 
 creature would appear suddenly and dog her steps. 
 Agee imagined that this person desired to speak to 
 her, so she lingered on her way to give her a chance ; 
 but the other only retreated in haste, her poor rags 
 fluttering in the chill air. 
 
 " She be a unfotnit lady," Agee said, with much 
 delicacy, describing her to me. 
 
 It was Christmas-time, and Agee Sang Long, being 
 a person of family now, determined to celebrate the 
 day. She worked harder than ever, supposing that 
 were possible, and though the rheumatism was very 
 bad, it could not subdue her. On Christmas eve, 
 after she had washed all day, she came home through 
 the heavily falling snow, and proceeded to scrub her 
 own floor until it shone. She washed the baby, and 
 then she turned Mowa into a monument of soap-and- 
 water wretchedness. Having arrayed herself in her 
 poor best, she made the baby fine, tied him into a 
 chair for safety, then turned him temporarily around, 
 with his back to the Christmas surprise in store. 
 
 Mowa whined and was restless. He sniffed at the
 
 THE STORY OF AGEE SANG LONG. IO/ 
 
 window and growled at the door, but Agee did not 
 notice him. 
 
 I At last her surprise was complete. She clapped 
 her hands and laughed ; then limped to the baby, 
 caught him in her arms, gave him a great hug as a 
 Christmas present for herself, and turned him about 
 so that the whole glory burst at once upon his blink- 
 ing eyes. 
 
 The baby crowed with joy, and Mowa barked. 
 Agee Sang Long laughed until the tears stood in her 
 black eyes and rolled down her furrowed face. Such 
 a Christmas tree ! It stood in a flower-pot, and was 
 nearly two feet high, and nine little candles made it 
 a scene of extraordinary brilliancy. And that wasn't 
 all. On one branch hung a collar for Mowa, and on 
 the other a rattle and a rubber elephant for the baby, 
 while three gingerbread men leaned unsteadily and 
 sadly against the branches, as if they rather suspected 
 what fate had in store for them. 
 
 Mowa, much protesting, was decorated with the 
 new collar, the baby swung the rattle and clutched 
 the elephant, and the music-box played " The Beauti- 
 ful Blue Danube." Then Agee sat down on her 
 cricket with the baby in her arms, while Mowa, in 
 front of her, looked fondly into her yellow face, and 
 then they proceeded to eat the gingerbread men, each 
 after his own fashion. 
 
 Mowa stopped in his feast to turn to the window 
 and growl. Discovering that the source of ginger- 
 bread had run dry, he ran toward the door and growl- 
 ed, then trotted back to Agee, looked at her, wagged 
 his tail, and ran back toward the door. There he sat 
 down on his haunches, with a look upon his mongrel 
 countenance which plainly declared that he had no 
 opinion of the human kind. 
 
 There was a hesitating knock at the door, unheed- 
 ed except by Mowa ; then the door opened, and a
 
 IO8 THE STORY OF AGEE SANG LONG. 
 
 woman crossed the threshold a terrible woman, like 
 a blight and a curse. Her rags were powdered with 
 snow, and she shook with cold, but she only looked 
 at the child in Agee's arms. It was a wild, hungry, 
 jealous gaze, and she turned to Agee with but half- 
 suppressed violence in her pale face. 
 
 " I am cold ; let me come in," she said, harshly. 
 
 The candles on the tree flickered and blew out in 
 the gust of icy wind sweeping across the threshold ; 
 the lamp on the chimney smoked and burned dark, 
 the dog sniffed uneasily at the stranger, and even the 
 baby turned away from her with instinctive fear. 
 
 A white rage filled the woman's face as the little 
 Chinese patted the frightened child and tried to re- 
 store his equanimity by a sight of the elephant. His 
 sobs grew fainter and fainter, and so she put him on 
 the floor, where he lay doubled up. trying to find com- 
 fort in his toes. Then she went towards the woman, 
 who still stood by the open door. 
 
 " Come in and ge' warm, you poo' ooman," she 
 said, kindly, and touched her ragged shawl. 
 
 The woman shrank away with aversion, but she 
 came in the room, nevertheless. 
 
 " I no do you harm," Agee Sang Long said, sadly, 
 feeling the aversion to which she was accustomed. 
 
 The woman sank down on a chair by the stove, and 
 stared at the child. 
 
 " Le' me dry yoo shawl," Agee ventured, humbly. 
 
 " Leave me alone," the other interrupted, shaking 
 her rough head, from which the shawl had fallen. 
 
 " Sal I gib 'oo a cup of tea ? " Agee persisted. " Ity 
 warmee 'oo." 
 
 The woman turned on her in a frenzy. " Leave 
 me alone, you rat; I hate you." 
 
 Agee Sang Long shrunk back, more in dismay than 
 terror. She looked at the woman with deprecating 
 reproach, then stooped and took the baby in her arms,
 
 THE STORY OF AGEE SANG LONG. 109 
 
 as if to assure herself of some human love. Mowa, 
 the faithful, crept close to her and held out his paw ; 
 and so the three stood together in the shadow of the 
 extinguished Christmas tree, and gazed wistfully at 
 their enemy. 
 
 Some strong feeling was evidently at work in the 
 woman. "Let me take the child," she cried, with 
 sudden passion. 
 
 " He be Taid," Agee Sang Long implored, clasp- 
 ing the little one tighter to her breast. 
 
 " 'Fraid of his mother ! " the woman shrieked, threw 
 herself upon the poor creature, and tried to tear the 
 child out of her grasp. 
 
 " Don', goo' ooman ; he's so li'le babee ; he Taid," 
 Agee urged, trying to shelter the poor thing. 
 
 " You wretch ! you heathen wretch ! " the woman 
 screamed. " Dare to keep him from me ! " And the 
 next instant she had him in her arms, and hugged 
 and kissed him with half-mad passion. " I can't live 
 without him. I gave him up because we were starv- 
 ing," she cried, wildly. " And so I left him at your 
 door. But they told me here in the house, that you 
 were teaching him your dirty Chinese ways. But you 
 sha'n't have him," she cried, spurning with her foot 
 Agee Sang Long, who kneeling before her, clasped 
 the ragged skirts with piteous hands. 
 
 " Leave him to me, dea' unfotnit lady," she cried, 
 the tears streaming down her face. " Lib wid me 
 an' I workee for 'oo till I dice. But leave him. Him 
 all I ha' in dis wi' worl'." 
 
 " I'd rather he'd die with me." 
 
 She turned, and the baby in her arms struggled out 
 of the shawl and held out his arms to his Agee Sang 
 Long. As if that culminated the creature's fury, she 
 snatched the child back, and, with a cruel blow, flung 
 Agee Sang Long to the floor, and vanished into the 
 night.
 
 IIO THE STORY OF AGEE SANG LONG. 
 
 A couple of hours later I came down Paris Court, 
 for I had promised Agee to look at her tree, but I 
 was belated. As I turned into the court, the snow 
 beating against my face, a dog bounded up to me, 
 whining. It was Mowa. " Why, old boy, what is it ? " 
 I asked, trying to pat his blunt head. But he es- 
 caped, ran forward, looked back to see if I was com- 
 ing, and never stopped until I stood in the doorway 
 of the familiar room. 
 
 In the middle of the floor I saw, by the light of the 
 dim lamp, an undistinguishable heap that filled me 
 with sudden terror and pain, though I knew that it was 
 only a poor Chinese. I knelt down and lifted her 
 unconscious head, then laid the frail little figure on 
 the bed. It was so hard to bring her back to life, 
 and I almost despaired, when suddenly her eyes 
 opened, and she looked across my shoulder at the 
 open door, where a wretched woman stood with a 
 baby in her arms. I recognized both, and I under- 
 stood. 
 
 A flicker of joy crossed Agee's face as she saw the 
 baby. Without a word I rose, took the child from its 
 mother, and placed its soft cheek against Agee's. 
 
 I turned to the woman. " Behave yourself, or leave 
 the room," I said, sternly, "for you are in the presence 
 of death." 
 
 " I am sorry now," she muttered, uneasily. " I did 
 her wrong. You see I've come back. I didn't think 
 I hurt you so bad when you fell." 
 
 " Did she hurt you, Agee ? " I asked, gently. I 
 saw that the poor forsaken creature was dying of the 
 heart-disease that I feared, but evidently it had been 
 brought on by some great shock. 
 
 " Oh, no, no ! " Agee Sang Long murmured, and 
 laid her face against the baby's, and touched its soft 
 cheek with her lips. " She do me goo', for she his 
 mudder, poo' unfotnit lady."
 
 THE STORY OF AGEE SANG LONG. Ill 
 
 She became dimly conscious that a faithful paw 
 was stretched up to her ; she groped toward it with 
 one weak hand, then, turning toward the baby with a 
 contented smile, she fell asleep, to awaken in a land 
 where men are equal before God.
 
 JOHN STERLING'S COURTSHIP. 
 I. 
 
 I AM John Sterling. I was first mate on the Sally 
 Tompkins and Joe Snow was second mate, when we 
 were scouring the Atlantic for mackerel, it being 
 mackerel season. 
 
 Joe Snow and I had shipped on the Sally Tomp- 
 kins for the first time ; and this was the first time we'd 
 met, though, on comparing notes, we found that he 
 hailed from Oversea and I from East Oversea, about 
 two miles of dreary sand stretch apart, on Cape Cod. 
 We also found that his bunk was just over mine in 
 the Sally Tompkins ; by the same token I soon dis- 
 covered that he had nailed a woman's picture just in 
 sight of his bright black eyes, when he'd wake of a 
 morning. 
 
 In all honesty and truth this made me feel precious 
 lonely, for I had nothing to look at except the sagging 
 of the mattress over me, for young Joe had a good 
 solid weight, though he was as spry as a squirrel. 
 
 I made believe not to notice her at first, and I kinder 
 shut my eyes in passing, being rather tall, for I said 
 to myself, " He ain't the man as 'd want his sweet- 
 heart stared at by every fellow, and he can't help her 
 being jest there." 
 
 However, I did catch sight of her once, and it was 
 the sweetest face in all God's world, with eyes so kind 
 and a mouth so tender, that it made my heart ache, 
 
 (112)
 
 JOHN STERLING'S COURTSHIP. 1 1.3 
 
 though I liked young Joe none the less for the woman 
 who loved him. 
 
 One day there came up a gale that made the Sally 
 Tompkins curtsy to an extent that was a credit to 
 her manners, and, in the midst, down came young Joe's 
 beauty, and young Joe after, much against his will. 
 I picked her up in a twinkling and held her out to 
 him. " My sister," says he, by way of introduction, 
 and dusts her as a man only dusts the picture of his 
 sister. It was kind and fond, you know, but it wanted 
 something. 
 
 God forgive me, but I was glad ! I stood quite lost 
 in a suppressed joy, when luckily the Sally Tompkins 
 gives a lurch, and I decide to postpone consideration 
 of young Joe's sister. 
 
 " So that's your sister ? " I asked the next time we 
 had a minute to talk. This time I looked at her 
 straight in the face. 
 
 " Yes, that's Sis. She's an angel," says he coolly, 
 as if it was a matter of course. 
 
 " What's her name ? " said I, clearing my throat a 
 bit, for it would get husky like. 
 
 " Oh, Olive." 
 
 " Does does she live in Oversea ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Perhaps some day I'll see her," I went on, dread- 
 ful rash. 
 
 Then says this young Joe, perfectly thoughtless, 
 " I hope she'll see you, for I want her to know the 
 kindest, dearest fellow in the world." 
 
 Then he laid his hand on my shoulder, and, some- 
 how, I said to myself, looking into his smiling eyes, 
 " If the sister is anything like the brother, and if she 
 don't like you, then I shall be sorry for you, John 
 Sterling." 
 
 From that time, the ice being broken between us, 
 young Joe talked a good deal about his sister. 
 8
 
 114 JOHN STERLING'S COURTSHIP. 
 
 " There's only one fellow in the world good enough 
 for her," he said at last, his eyes flashing. Then he 
 laughed, showing all his handsome white teeth. " I'm 
 going aft, old fellow," and he leaped up the gangway. 
 " I don't like to be below when the waves play high> 
 jinks with Sally. Come 'long !" 
 
 I didn't come for a minute, for his thoughtless 
 words had made me sore. 
 
 " So there's some one chosen," I thought, and my 
 heart was like a lump of lead. Then said I to my- 
 self : " Don't be a moon-calf, John Sterling ! A pretty 
 girl like that don't wait for your coming." 
 
 I climbed up the gangway as steadily as the wild 
 tumbling and tossing of the Sally Tompkins would let 
 me, for we had struck about as ugly a bit of weather 
 as I'd seen for many a day. A dull leaden sky lay 
 over the sea, and the spray and the waves came dash- 
 ing and swishing over the deck, and the Sally rose 
 and fell in the trough of the sea, as if every moment 
 was to be her last. 
 
 Said I to myself just then, " What ain't taut and 
 fast on this ship I don't give a copper for, and a man 
 'd better look to his footing aboard this craft," when 
 I heard a cry that wrung my heart, for I knew the voice. 
 
 " Man overboard ! " came in a shout of horror, for 
 it seemed death certain death. Then followed a 
 trampling of feet, a wild confusion of voices, just 
 heard through the storm and the flapping of sails, as 
 the schooner came up to the wind. I was at the ship's 
 side in a bound, and saw in the gray dim distance, a 
 speck that a moment before was a face that had smiled 
 into mine. Her life and his and mine I lived in a 
 flashing second, and then, though they tried to hold 
 me, I was overboard, and before I could think, the 
 Sally Tompkins was tossing far away from me, and I 
 was struggling with the waves. 
 
 Heaven be praised, by a miracle for God was
 
 JOHN STERLING'S COURTSHIP. US 
 
 good I reached him in that terrible sea, as he was 
 sinking. 
 
 They launched a lifeboat, at the risk of their lives, 
 and saved us. It is strange that, of the two, I should 
 have been the one to be unconscious and light-headed. 
 From the moment we were saved I knew nothing, till 
 I looked up one day and saw young Joe bending over 
 me, with tears in his eyes, while the Sally Tompkins 
 glided along as smooth as you please. 
 
 " So you're really saved, young Joe ? " said I. 
 
 " And so're you," he cried. " God bless you, you 
 brave man ! " 
 
 " Don't," I murmured ; for I was very weak, and 
 could bear but little. 
 
 Now, curiously enough, the first thing I saw as I 
 turned, was her picture nailed just in sight of me. I 
 used to lie there hours at a time, wondering why it 
 was there, watching it and dreaming about it in a 
 helpless way. 
 
 But I was very weak, and of no more use aboard 
 than a land-lubber in a squall, and when we came in 
 reasonable sight of land, and the low green shores 
 melted into gray sand and blue sea, I said to the 
 skipper that he'd best land me along with his mack- 
 erel, and p'r'aps I could find at East Oversea what 
 I hadn't yet found on that tidy bit of timber, the Sally 
 Tumpkins, namely, health. 
 
 " Young Joe," said I, as I was leaving " I'm going 
 to East Oversea." 
 
 " East Oversea is two miles to the east'ard of 
 Oversea," he remarked, with much cheerfulness. 
 
 " You said you had a grandfather and a great-aunt 
 living there," I said, a-leading him on. 
 
 " Grandfather Snow and Great-aunt Jerusha yes." 
 
 " Shall I give 'em your love ? " said I. " I may 
 happen in at Oversea some day." 
 
 " No," said he, with a grin far from respectful.
 
 Il6 JOHN STERLING'S COURTSHIP. 
 
 " He's seen right through you, John Sterling," I 
 thought, and turned away, all scarlet. 
 
 " Look here, old boy," he says, and gives my shoul- 
 der a hearty grip ; " there ain't much love lost 'tween 
 grandfather and Aunt Jerusha and me. So don't go 
 outer your reasonable way to tell such a whopper. 
 But you can go and see Sis, and if you tell her you're 
 John Sterling, I guess that'll do. And all I got to 
 tell you, old boy," says he, as if I was a land-lubber- 
 boy goin' on a first journey (he was awful bold) " is, 
 there's only one fellow good enough for her in this 
 world, and don't you be so blamed bashful." 
 
 I sighted him again as I stood on the wharf, while 
 he leaned over the Sally Tompkins, smiling at me and 
 at all the world, like the rising sun. 
 
 I thought over what he said, and couldn't exactly 
 understand his meaning, except that another man 'd 
 been luckier than I. As for bashfulness, why, it 
 wasn't in his place no, 'twasn't to talk of bashful- 
 ness. " It 'ud be money in your pocket, young Joe, 
 if you'd be a bit more so yourself," thinks I, dread- 
 ful sore, and swung round and steered toward East 
 Oversea." 
 
 II. 
 
 THERE were four Overseas, and in the dark they 
 were so much alike you couldn't have told one 
 from the other. 
 
 To be sure, East Oversea had a railroad station, 
 but that was so far from making it a center of traffic 
 that the single horse attached to the mildewed vehi- 
 cle in the shadow of the modest station, had worn four 
 permanent holes in the ground waiting for customers 
 that never came. 
 
 A single grass-grown road formed the one street, 
 and the United States mail rarely consisted of more
 
 JOHN STERLING'S COURTSHIP. 1 17 
 
 than one letter, which was a satire on the leather bag 
 with a patent lock which national generosity furnished 
 for Oversea correspondence. 
 
 The train rumbled leisurely to the East Oversea 
 station even the trains ceased to be in a hurry near 
 the Overseas and, to the amazement of the station- 
 master, a passenger alighted. 
 
 The station-master was supported in his duties by 
 a couple of antiquated fishermen and the owner of 
 the mildewed chariot. All four were chewing tobacco, 
 and three were whittling sticks, as the passenger ap- 
 proached. 
 
 " Lor,' ef that ain't John Sterling ! " they said, with 
 one accord ; then, turning to each other, remarked, 
 dispassionately, " Ain't he pale, though ? " 
 
 The owner of the chariot did not bid for custom, 
 for it was an unwritten law of East Oversea, that for 
 a native Overscan to return home in its stately peril, 
 was to put on " airs." That was left for the unwary 
 stranger, who shot in through the front, for the suffi- 
 cient reason that a previous owner had permanently 
 nailed up the doors because the latches had ceased to 
 catch. 
 
 The animal that drew this vehicle pricked up his 
 ears in a vain hope that a customer would release him 
 from bondage, but he sank into apathy at sight of 
 John, for he knew his man-. 
 
 " Anna Maria ain't grown any fatter since I've 
 been gone, has she ? " John said, bestowing a friendly 
 thump on the animal's protruding ribs. 
 
 Now this was not to be denied ; so John was silent, 
 and looked kindly at Anna Maria. He had grave, 
 pleasant blue eyes, and when he could so far be false 
 to his national melancholy as to smile, it was like the 
 sun rising on a sad landscape.
 
 Il8 JOHN STERLING'S COURTSHIP. 
 
 " And how's mother ? " he asked the assembled 
 company, gathering up his carpet-bag. 
 
 " Pretty middlin'," they remarked, still in chorus. 
 
 " Guess I'll go and see her," John suggested, as if 
 it were a new and startling departure. 
 
 " Perhaps you'd better," the chorus answered, ap- 
 provingly ; and so John went. 
 
 John's mother had the best house in East Oversea. 
 It stood on a proud sand bank, and was surrounded 
 by a row of weeping willows. From the back one 
 could see the Atlantic roll in as near as the Oversea 
 bar, and from the front there was the view of the 
 street, and at night could be counted the patient lights 
 of seven lighthouses and the life-saving station. The 
 smooth, treacherous beach lay like a silver line edg- 
 ing the shore, quite unbroken save where the moulder- 
 ing beams of a wreck struggled out of the engulfing 
 sand. 
 
 The people of Oversea were of a silent, moralizing 
 turn, presenting to jokes a stolid front, but enjoying 
 greatly the sad things of life. 
 
 John, quite overtopping the willows, entered his 
 mother's house by the kitchen door, and was greeted 
 by the pleasing smell of frying doughnuts, that had a 
 certain general resemblance to Mrs. Sterling herself, 
 for, like them, she was fat and round and pleasing. 
 It is perhaps only just to say that such a departure 
 from Oversea characteristics was due to the good 
 lady's not being the real native-born Oversea article. 
 
 Mrs. Sterling, being so amazed at the unexpected 
 sight of John, and her thoughts being also engaged 
 with the doughnuts, she several times endangered his 
 life by trying to prod him with the frying fork. John 
 sat down in the wooden rocking-chair and answered 
 all questions methodically, while he stroked the cat 
 that had leaped on his knees, and watched his bus- 
 tling mother, and then looked out at the sea glittering
 
 JOHN STERLING'S COURTSHIP. HQ 
 
 in the sunshine, framed by the scarlet geraniums that 
 bloomed on the window-sill. 
 
 " Mother," he said, at last, " no woman ever looks 
 so pretty as when she's doing her woman's work." 
 
 " Now, John, what put that in your head ? " she 
 asked, in great perplexity. " I've heard such things 
 said before, John ; and 'twas always the unmarried 
 kind as said it." 
 
 John grew red to his short, straight hair, and was 
 silent. 
 
 " A man as is unmarried," Mrs. Sterling continued, 
 gracefully rescuing several beautifully brown dough- 
 nuts from the spluttering fat, " an' if he's seen a girl 
 he likes, sets her in his mind a-dustin', a cookin', an' 
 a-scrubbin', jest as he sees her, bless his innocent 
 heart ! in her Sunday clothes." 
 
 "I wasn't thinking of anybody but you, mother," 
 John said hurriedly, and stroked the cat's outraged 
 fur the wrong way. " There was a young fellow 
 aboard the Sally Tompkins from Oversea young Joe 
 Snow do you know his people, mother?" and John 
 couldn't help the healthy glow that half betrayed him. 
 
 Mrs. Sterling, v/ith her arms akimbo, rejoiced at a 
 fruitful topic of conversation, and went into a long and 
 detailed account of the Snow family, taking in by the 
 way, biographies of the various side branches, and 
 was in a fair way of bringing up with Noah's ark in 
 her reminiscences, when John came to his own rescue. 
 Not a word of Olive all this time. 
 
 " Do you know Grandfather Snow, and Great-aunt 
 Jerusha?" he asked, artfully. 
 
 " No ; only I heard they're about the tryingest old 
 folks " 
 
 " And and " John began, in great agitation. 
 
 "What, John?"" 
 
 " Nothing, mother. I guess I'll take a walk before
 
 I2O JOHN STERLING'S COURTSHIP. 
 
 tea. Guess I'll jest go to Oversea. Got any errand 
 in Oversea, mother ? " 
 
 " Lord 'a mussy, John ! why, you've only jest 
 come ! " his mother cried, and shook her head. Did 
 I ever have an errand in Oversea now did I ? In 
 Oversea, of all places ! " 
 
 " Well, then I won't go," John declared, and sat 
 down with an abruptness which was equally unex- 
 pected. 
 
 "John," his mother said, anxiously, as she went up 
 to him and patted his head, " you're sure you haven't 
 had a bit of a sunstroke, John, dear ? " 
 
 III. 
 
 BUT John did go to Oversea. He had a way ot 
 disappearing out of the house, and though he al- 
 ways steered east, north, or south, somehow he always 
 landed in Oversea which lay west and that with a 
 surprised expression, as if he hadn't expected it at all. 
 
 It took him a long time and cost desperate efforts 
 before he summoned up courage to penetrate to the 
 heart of Oversea, which was the town-pump. One 
 day, after a dozen fruitless trudgings over two miles 
 of grass-grown highway, with a sea-breeze stirring the 
 modest weeds and flowers along the path, and the 
 blackberry vines clinging to the gray sand, he reached 
 the blue pump once more, and debated in his modest 
 heart how to find Olive. 
 
 Oversea was a place from which young men fled 
 with enthusiasm, and its population consisted entirely 
 of very old folks and very little folks. Samples of 
 the latter were playing about the blue pump, and, 
 with the engaging playfulness of infancy, were squirt- 
 ing water over each other. 
 
 Now it is certainly true that a naturally bashful
 
 JOHN STERLING'S COURTSHIP. 121 
 
 man will meet, well, anything dreadful, rather than 
 run the gauntlet of irresponsible infancy. 
 
 With one accord they solemnly stared at him ; for 
 a masculine stranger was an event in Oversea. They 
 were a sandy-haired, bony little race, with colorless, 
 shrewd eyes, and were preparing very young to follow 
 in the melancholy characteristics of their parents. 
 
 Standing about the pump, they made audible and 
 unflattering remarks as to his personal appearance. 
 John smiled on them with a slight exaggeration of 
 friendliness, perhaps, in his efforts to break the ice, 
 when an urchin in cotton breeches, bare feet, and 
 no hat, remarking, in a melancholy way, " What be 
 you a-grinnin' at, stranger?" being himself impervi- 
 ous to the lighter emotions, so completely routed 
 John, that he fled, and never took breath again till 
 East Oversea was reached. 
 
 Oversea always had a Joel Snow, just as it had a 
 pump and a meeting-house. The Snows were a slow, 
 methodical race, and they generally died with great 
 regularity at the age of threescore and ten. When 
 the masculine Snows couldn't fish, they kept the one 
 little shop, which contained everything that the mod- 
 est heart of Oversea desired. A crazy bell rang as 
 the shop door was opened, and, there being one low 
 step downward, the unwary always shot into the pres- 
 ence of the then Joel Snow, till one day, by an aston- 
 ishing convulsion of nature, they shot into the presence 
 of Olive instead. 
 
 Though Oversea was most decidedly blind to beauty, 
 it had a dim consciousness that it liked to trade with 
 Olive. She would turn her bright, smiling face on a 
 querulous old woman as if the fate of the world were 
 involved in a cent's worth u o' somethin'." She had 
 a cheery word for the old fishermen who sat about the 
 pump evenings, and in the gloaming told of the storms
 
 122 JOHN STERLING'S COURTSHIP. 
 
 they had seen, and the wrecks, and that, after all, 
 'twasn't young folks as knew what danger was. 
 
 Oversea was so full of old people that, perhaps, 
 Olive's young face might have grown old in the con- 
 templation of so many wrinkles, if it hadn't been for 
 the children. To be sure, there was young Joe, her 
 brother, but he was always away ; so there was only 
 herself to tend the little shop and wait on the old 
 grandfather and great-aunt. Grandfather was ninety 
 and great-aunt was ninety-two. In winter they sat on 
 either side of the kitchen stove, and in summer in the 
 shop, for a glimpse of " life." They were like two 
 aged winter apples with wrinkled pink cheeks. They 
 were stone-deaf, and horribly jealous of Olive, and 
 always prepared to do battle with the unknown who 
 was to come "a-courtin'." 
 
 From the altitude of ninety all others were so young, 
 that there wasn't an aged man in the village whom 
 they hadn't nearly turned out-of-doors, suspecting un- 
 hallowed designs on Olive. They made the house 
 hot for young Joe and for young Joe's occasional 
 friends who came to Oversea and, without exception, 
 fell in love with Olive. Tokens of this hopeless pas- 
 sion always took the shape of molasses candy, bought 
 of Olive in the morning, and presented to her in the 
 evening, as a Paris novelty, on the kitchen veranda. 
 Here hopeless love chewed it alone, while the old 
 folks in the kitchen glared out furiously, and Olive 
 knitted, smiling in a motherly way. 
 
 One day she had a letter from Joe which set her 
 to dreaming, for youth will have its rights. The let- 
 ter said : " When you see John Sterling in Oversea, 
 be good to him, for he saved my life at the risk of 
 his own ; he is just the bravest, best fellow in the 
 world ; " and a lot more, written with boyish gratitude 
 and enthusiasm. 
 
 So Olive dreamed a little for the first time in her
 
 JOHN STERLING'S COURTSHIP. 123 
 
 young life, and longed to see Joe's hero, never think- 
 ing that the bravest of men had not been able to 
 muster courage enough to penetrate farther than the 
 town-pump. 
 
 One late afternoon the old people sat beside the 
 kitchen stove, dozing. They had a way of roaring at 
 each other in supposed whispers and in the way of 
 conversation they had roared themselves speechless. 
 A heavy stride, heavy with an artificial boldness, came 
 down the veranda, and then a heavy hand knocked 
 modestly at the door. As no one answered, the in- 
 truder, after the fashion of Oversea, turned the door- 
 knob, and, unexpectedly to himself, bolted in. 
 
 Two very old people were dozing on either side of 
 the stove. Aunt Jerusha's cap had slipped to one 
 side, giving her a rakish appearance, while Grand- 
 father Snow's spectacles, pushed high on his forehead, 
 looked as if they were keeping watch. Grandfather 
 was snoring deeply, while Aunt Jerusha kept up an 
 accompaniment of little shrill gasps. 
 
 For a moment John Sterling stood speechless it 
 was John when, by some unaccountable accident, 
 the old people awoke and stared at him with little 
 eyes full of wrath. 
 
 " Sister Jerusha," the old man roared, in a supposed 
 whisper, "he's come a-courtin'." 
 
 " I want to see Miss Olive," John shouted, blush- 
 ing violently at having to roar out his dearest wish. 
 
 " Ain't he got a sly face ? " said Miss Jerusha. 
 
 " Ef you don't go away, I'll set the dog on you," 
 grandfather shrieked. 
 
 " Go away ! go away ! " Miss Jerusha added, wav- 
 ing her hands at him. " Don't come a-courtin' here." 
 
 " You don't think I've come a-courtin' you ? " John 
 remarked, in great disgust. Aunt Jerusha didn't 
 hear, so she nodded vigorously. " I'll be hanged," 
 John murmured to himself, " if I know when these
 
 124 JOHN STERLING'S COURTSHIP. 
 
 women-folks's vanity ends. Well, I ain't comin' 
 a-courtin'," he roared through his hands, as if he were 
 in high gale at sea. 
 
 " Wa'al, so you ain't comin' a-courtin' ? " the old 
 man piped in ; and John nodded. " An' who be ye, 
 anyhow ? " 
 
 "I'm John Sterling." 
 
 "Can't hear." 
 
 "John Sterling." 
 
 " Can't you open your jaws ? " 
 
 "John Sterling." 
 
 " Wa'al, John Sterling, glad to see you ; but ef 
 that's all you've got to say, guess we won't mind your 
 going." - 
 
 " I came to see your grand-daughter." 
 
 " Courtin' ?"Miss Jerusha interposed, acidly. 
 
 "Oh, she ain't much to see," grandfather an 
 swered ; " and what's the use o' wastin' time ? She 
 don't care for what ain't dreadful young or dread- 
 ful old. Besides, she ain't in." 
 
 " Oh, well, then," said John, with a deep sigh, and 
 shut the kitchen door on the two old people, who 
 roared and chuckled and winked their little eyes at 
 each other. John turned down the road in a stunned 
 condition from disappointment and much shouting. 
 
 If he had come courting indeed ! 
 
 A great glow swept up from his foolish old heart 
 at the bare thought. " I mustn't forget that there's 
 only one man in the world good enough for her," he 
 thought, bitterly. 
 
 The sun was just setting, and half of its golden 
 disk had sunk into a golden sea. The faintest, 
 softest breeze swept across the land, and the only 
 sound that broke the stillness, was the chirp of the 
 crickets. A rough stone wall ran along a bit of the 
 road, to which the blackberry vines clung with ripen- 
 ing fruit, and the golden-rod swayed in its shadow.
 
 JOHN STERLING'S COURTSHIP. 125 
 
 John, buried in his reflections, looked up hastily at 
 the sound of children's voices and shrill young laugh- 
 ter and his eyes became eager in their gaze. It must 
 be a prosaic man who forgets how his sweetheart 
 looked when first they met. Poor John never forgot. 
 She was sitting on the low stone wall, and his infantile 
 enemies were playing about her, evidently subdued. 
 
 She watched the children with smiling eyes, while 
 she knitted busily at a big blue stocking, but the smile 
 faded away as she looked up and saw John passing by. 
 
 Yes, passing poor weak John ! The stocking 
 dropped into her lap, and she followed him with wist- 
 ful dark eyes. "I'm sure that is John Sterling, but 
 he doesn't know me," she thought, with a feeling 
 nearly of pain. 
 
 John strode down the road in hot haste. He pitied 
 himself in a vague way. He conjured up a picture 
 of that too virtuous man who alone was worthy of her, 
 till he clinched his fists and cried, " Confound him ! " 
 with such vigor, that he startled a couple of cows graz- 
 ing in a field beside the road, and they looked up at 
 him with soft, reproachful eyes. 
 
 At a turn of the road he pulled up sharp, and called 
 himself a fool, with a short and to the point expletive, 
 and go back he would. 
 
 And go back he did, slowly, very slowly ; and when 
 he at last reached her, he had nothing to say but, 
 "You're Olive Snow, are you not?" 
 
 He did not see how her dark eyes brightened at 
 sight of him. 
 
 " And you are John Sterling, I am sure. I was 
 certain you would look just as you do," she said, and 
 put her sun-browned hand in his. 
 
 He was very awkward and silent, but that, she re- 
 flected, was an eccentricity of heroism. Certainly 
 he dropped her hand with an alacrity far from polite', 
 and having looked at her gravely with his deep blue
 
 126 JOHN STERLING'S COURTSHIP. 
 
 eyes such dear blue eyes, poor Olive thought he 
 then gazed over her head and sighed. How could 
 Olive know how bitter he was with fate at that mo- 
 ment ! " If I see her again I'm a darnder fool than 
 I was jest now in passing," he thought. 
 
 He roused himself enough to answer Olive's little 
 remarks, each preceded by a faint sigh of disappoint- 
 ment. John sighed also, and talked of Grandfather 
 Snow's amiability and Aunt Jerusha's, till poor Olive's 
 eyes were wide open with wonder. At last he looked 
 about him in a helpless way, and then sighed again, 
 and it being perfectly evident that if he really had 
 something to say he couldn't say it, John went away 
 with the pleasing feeling that he was a hopeless fail- 
 ure in general conversation. 
 
 When Olive came home, the whole family roared 
 at her. 
 
 " Some one's ben here ; 'twas a man," Aunt Jeru- 
 sha piped up. 
 
 " He said his name 's John Sterling," grandfather 
 continued ; " but he ain't come a-courtin'," he con- 
 cluded, as if to dispel any such pleasing illusion. " I 
 asked him. Says I, ' Air ye comin' a-courtin' ? ' ' No,' 
 says he, ' I ain't comin' a-courtin',' " 
 
 Olive knew the old folks' ways, and she had always 
 laughed at them. But to-day oh, to-day was differ- 
 ent ! She turned to the open window and watched the 
 golden and scarlet gleam of the lighthouses, and the 
 scarlet and gold were blurred in the seeing. 
 
 Something like a sob came to her throat, and she 
 fought with it and conquered. The old folks watched 
 her greedily, but she said nothing, only she was very 
 silent, and at last she hurried up to her room. 
 
 She understood all now, she thought, her face wet 
 with tears. What wonder he seemed so embarrassed 
 in his talk with her, and so relieved to go at last ! 
 He did not know the old people. He might have
 
 JOHN STERLING'S COURTSHIP. I2/ 
 
 even misunderstood their dreadful questions, and 
 supposed and, at the bare idea Olive sobbed as if 
 her heart would break and supposed that they 
 wished him to come courting her. 
 
 " He will never come again ! " she cried at last, 
 "he will never come again. I hope he never will," 
 she murmured, but very hopelessly. Time had 
 passed, and it had grown quite dark. An uncertain 
 hobbling upstairs and a tremulous thump at the door 
 brought her to herself, and there stood the two old 
 people and demanded their gruel. 
 
 " You are very old, poor dears," Olive thought, 
 conscience-stricken, and led them downstairs, and 
 made the gruel and tucked in their napkins. 
 
 " He ! he ! hope he won't come courtin' again," 
 said grandfather, in a stentorian whisper ; " courtin' 
 spiles the gruel." 
 
 IV. 
 
 NO sooner did John reach home than he felt that he 
 had been a grievous failure. Running off at a 
 tangent, as many a bashful man does, he yearned to go 
 back, and to display himself in that amiable light 
 which, if it could not work destruction in Olive's 
 heart, would leave, perhaps, a mild flavor of regret, in 
 spite of that other " blasted paragon," as John called 
 him. 
 
 Until that fateful day, John's long and sinewy per- 
 son had been arrayed in garments whose fashion was 
 to him a matter of profound indifference. However, 
 the day after John's meeting with Olive, Mrs. Sterling 
 received a shock. In the garret stood a wardrobe 
 containing the best garments of her deceased hus- 
 band. Mrs. Sterling, climbing up to these heights, 
 met a ghost, at sight of whom she shrieked, and would
 
 128 JOHN STERLING'S COURTSHIP. 
 
 have fallen down the narrow stairs if the ghost hadn't 
 saved her with two vigorous hands. 
 
 "Oh, John!" she sobbed, "you've got on the 
 clothes your father wore when he came a-courtin' me, 
 and you're as like him as two peas in a pod." 
 
 Love had done this thing it had made John vain. 
 He looked down at himself with innocent pride, and 
 felt that even if he did not make an impression, his 
 clothes must. 
 
 Perhaps some of the courage that attended that by- 
 gone courtship still clung to the garments, for John 
 stepped down the road at quite a brisk pace, and in 
 no time at all he was gazing into Olive's little shop 
 through its modest window. 
 
 Oversea was not proof against good clothes, and 
 as fashions there were always ten or twenty years be- 
 hindhand, John's black broadcloth, in which he felt 
 as much at home as if he had been armed cap-h-pie, 
 was regarded with much respect by the youth of Over- 
 sea. The ladies of Oversea, in fact, forsook their 
 household pursuits to gaze at him surreptitiously from 
 back doors. Rumor had it that he was a summer 
 boarder, than whom, to the simple mind of Oversea, 
 no one could be more opulent or more foolish. 
 
 Then the crazy shop bell set up a din, and the un- 
 known disappeared into Olive's store. The younger 
 generation flattened its nose against the window for 
 further information. 
 
 A veritable ghost would not have caused more con- 
 sternation than John did. Olive, coming into the 
 kitchen, turned quite pale, and the old folks, in their 
 usual place by the stove, glared at him with angry 
 eyes. 
 
 John shook two old reluctant hands, and held 
 Olive's one blissful moment, and having fired off all 
 his ammunition, stood helpless in the enemy's camp.
 
 JOHN STERLING'S COURTSHIP. 129 
 
 " I came to call on you," he shouted at last to 
 grandfather. 
 
 " Don't see why ; you were here yesterday," grand- 
 father retorted, with extreme frankness. 
 
 " He's comin' a-courtin'," Aunt Jerusha shrieked. 
 " Look at his clothes ! 'Twas in jest such clothes 
 Nephew Joel came a-courtin' Mary Jane Hyde, she 
 who was your mother, Olive." 
 
 " Aunt Jerusha, dear aunt, do please stop ! " Olive 
 cried, piteously. 
 
 Perhaps that lively old lady had a momentary touch 
 of humanity, for she concluded with indignant mum- 
 blings, while grandfather remarked, " Don't be a 
 durned fool, Jerusha. What air you a-takin' on for ? " 
 
 "Please go away," Dorothy implored, turning to 
 poor John. " You see, the old people are jealous of 
 every one who comes here." 
 
 Whether it was that the courage of the old love 
 battles fought in these famous garments was conta- 
 gious, whether it was that John felt hopeless, and 
 having, in his opinion, nothing to lose, so dared any- 
 thing, certain it is that John grew bold. 
 
 " What'll they do if you get married ? " he asked. 
 
 " I marry ? " Olive repeated, in surprise, turning 
 from Aunt Jerusha, whom she had succeeded in quiet- 
 ing. " Why, if I ever do marry, John Sterling, it will 
 be after those to whom I owe duty will need me no 
 more." 
 
 " He's courtin' ! he's at it again ! " Aunt Jerusha 
 burst out, with gathering venom. 
 
 " Then he's a fool for waiting that young man o' 
 yours," John said, bluntly. 
 
 " What do you mean ? what young man ? " 
 
 "The man you're to marry," John cried, in a burst 
 of rage and jealousy. 
 
 " I marry ? Who told you so ? " Olive asked. 
 
 " Who told me so ? " John repeated, and sat down 
 9
 
 13 JOHN STERLING'S COURTSHIP. 
 
 on the nearest chair for reflection and support. 
 " Why, young Joe said " 
 
 " Why, bless you, John Sterling, what did he say ? " 
 a familiar voice cried, while the shop bell shook itself 
 mad, and a breath of the freshest sea-breeze swept 
 through the open door. 
 
 Sure enough, it was young Joe himself who stood 
 in the open door. 
 
 " Oh, Joe ! dear Joe ! " and Olive hid her face on 
 his shoulder. 
 
 " Halloo ! little girl, what's the matter with you ? " 
 and Joe patted her head, and turned with some sur- 
 prise to the others. " And what's up with the old 
 'uns ? and in Heaven's name, John Sterling, perhaps 
 you'll explain? " 
 
 " He's comin' a-courtin'," Aunt Jerusha interposed, 
 shrilly. 
 
 " Oh, Joe ! Joe ! take me away," poor Olive sobbed ; 
 then she looked up at John with a little catch in her 
 breath. "You'll forgive them," she murmured, "for 
 they are such old, old people, and they really mean 
 no harm," and she turned away ; but John stood in 
 her path. " I've something to say you mayn't like to 
 hear," he said, gravely; "but I must speak. I love 
 you oh ! I love you so dearly, Olive, that this is 
 all a-torturing me." She stood before him with her 
 face hidden in her hands. "I would have come 
 a-courtin'," he faltered, " if " 
 
 " If what, John ? " Joe asked. 
 
 " If if you hadn't said that there was only one 
 man in the world good enough for her," John an- 
 swered, grimly. 
 
 " And that's true, John," young Joe said, and laid 
 one hand on John's shoulder, and slipped the other 
 about Olive's waist. 
 
 " Don't say it again ! " John cried. " It's enough
 
 JOHN STERLING'S COURTSHIP. 1$! 
 
 for me to lose her. I deserve better of you, young < 
 Joe ! " he exclaimed, turning upon him. 
 
 Over Olive's face, hidden on Joe's shoulder, there 
 crept a blush that tinted her throat and neck and fair 
 round chin. 
 
 " Olive, little girl," and Joe smiled, " what do you 
 think of this man ? " But Olive would not look up 
 she could not say a word. " Shall I speak for you, 
 Olive ? Shall I tell him what you think of him ? " 
 Joe asked. 
 
 Olive hid her face deeper on Joe's shoulder, and 
 sobbed a bit. 
 
 " Why, Olive," John cried, and a blissful, heavenly 
 light dawned in his great dull head, " and wouldn't 
 you be angry, dear, if I really came a-courtin' ? " 
 Olive peeped up from Joe's shoulder, and smiled a 
 little and sobbed a little. " Why, Olive, my darling, 
 there's that other man," John cried, in great bewilder- 
 ment, coming very near. 
 
 " That that other man is you John," Olive fal- 
 tered, and though John was the bashfulest man in the 
 world, he held her in his arms the very next moment. 
 
 " Olive," said Joe, " I'm sure you and John don't 
 need me any longer." 
 
 John agreed with him. He felt that he could do 
 his own courting now. 
 
 There was nothing mean about young Joe. " I'll 
 tell you what I'll do. I'll break it to the old folks 
 for you." He turned to them with his friendly smile. 
 " I said I'd break it to you," he explained. 
 
 " What ? " they asked, with wide-eyed expectancy. 
 
 "Olive's going to marry, and you "he said, 
 wickedly. 
 
 " Burn you, young Joe, have it out 1 " shrieked 
 grandfather. 
 
 " And you've been doing the courtin' 1 "
 
 THE PROFESSOR OF DOLLINGEN. 
 I. 
 
 THE doctor's hand came down with such a bang 
 that the dominoes before him leaped up in con- 
 sternation, and the students at the next table, who 
 were smoking and drinking over a noisy game of cards, 
 turned to see what the matter was. The professor's 
 shaggy eyebrows twitched nervously over his absent- 
 minded gray eyes and round spectacles, at this mani- 
 festation of the doctor's excitement. 
 
 " Yes," the doctor repeated, " an idea ! " 
 " But, my friend," the professor began, slightly irri- 
 tated, with a touch of superiority in his tone, " don't 
 agitate yourself." 
 
 " I tell you," the doctor continued, with an angry 
 glance at his unconscious neighbor " I tell you it 
 would be better for the world, if pen, ink and paper 
 were confined to an elect few. It is the misery of our 
 age that every boarding-school chit and every old ped- 
 ant," another look " consider themselves called 
 upon to give the world the benefit of their minds bah ! 
 on one hand to fill the circulating libraries with 
 trashy romances, and on the other hand to publish 
 works which are but the accumulated result of years 
 of reading, given to the world as original because the 
 old idiot " another look " has forgotten where his 
 mind ends and other men's minds begin. Ugh," 
 the doctor exclaimed, in utter disgust.
 
 THE PROFESSOR OF DOLLINGEN. 133 
 
 " Hagen, now " the professor again began im- 
 patiently. 
 
 "I swear," the doctor interrupted, "if I had any 
 control of the literature of this world, I would make 
 it a law that every one proposing to write a book must 
 come before some proper authority, and there and 
 then show that he has at least one good, original idea 
 in his work. Only one idea. I am reasonable, you 
 see. No matter how simple and unpretending that 
 idea might be, it should obtain permission for the book 
 to be published. I know, I know you need not 
 speak," the doctor cried in a passion " I know it is 
 a quixotic plan, and cannot be brought about," "or 
 where would you be, my learned friend ? " he thought, 
 looking scornfully at the professor, whose face ap- 
 peared curiously blurred behind the clouds of smoke 
 from his porcelain pipe. So thinking, with the scorn 
 that could not be suppressed, he buried his face in the 
 tankard of beer before him, to hide his emotions in 
 congenial bitterness. 
 
 " Of course I agree with you," and the professor 
 took his pipe out of his mouth, and spoke with the 
 impatience natural to a man who hates to be a lis- 
 tener. 
 
 " Oh, no, you don't ; you would be a jackass if you 
 did," Dr. Hagen said, under his breath. 
 
 " What I wonder at is, how we got on such an irri- 
 tating subject." 
 
 " We were talking of your book, The Progress of 
 Lucifer" the doctor answered, with a malicious twin- 
 kle in his green eyes. 
 
 The professor drew himself up and frowned at the 
 doctor. " Strange ! " he cried, " strange ! Had we 
 been talking of some frivolous story, it would seem 
 natural ; but after speaking of a work that deals with 
 the subtlest truths in Nature a book that must form 
 an epoch in literature, upon which I have bestowed
 
 134 THE PROFESSOR OF 
 
 the ripest thoughts of the ripest years ! " he concluded, 
 greatly excited. 
 
 " Perhaps the thoughts and years are over-ripe, de- 
 caying," the doctor muttered with much contempt. 
 
 " What did you say ? " The professor had the 
 habit of absent-minded people, of only hearing what 
 he chose to hear. " Recall your words, sir," he cried 
 excitedly. 
 
 The doctor was caught, and in his confusion, his 
 face turned three shades deeper red than his usual 
 color, which was that fine crimson to be expected in 
 a choleric gentleman of sixty. He was a little, stunted 
 man, with a large head thickly covered by a crop of 
 short, tightly-curled gray hair, that contrasted most 
 oddly with his red face, out of which two green eyes 
 looked defiantly into the world through a pair of gold 
 spectacles. As for the mouth, it was a great long slit, 
 firmly pressed together, and when open, it revealed a 
 superb set of teeth, white, strong and cruel. 
 
 The doctor was disgusted with himself at his un- 
 necessary stupidity; but instead of apologizing, he 
 half rose in his chair and sniffed the air with an in- 
 jured expression. 
 
 " Sir, your manner is an insult," he cried to his en 
 raged companion. 
 
 " Sir," the professor retorted, "you have insulted 
 me. You hate success, but you cannot control it. I 
 will leave the world to judge of The Progress of Lucifer ; 
 and as for your opinion, I hold it in the greatest con- 
 tempt." 
 
 However, Nature had never intended that the pro- 
 fessor should cope with the doctor, though he was 
 certainly twice as tall and twice as broad as the little 
 man. Hatred and envy he was indifferent to, so long 
 as they did not touch his literary works, of which each 
 in turn was his world, his all. He was a very learned 
 man, with perhaps- a trifle too much reverence for
 
 THE PROFESSOR OF DOLLINGEN. 135 
 
 past wisdom, and a want of toleration for new ideas. 
 In certain circles, sacrilegious young men did call him 
 an old fogy and a pedant, but the wicked remarks 
 never reached his ears. Thus, when some new book 
 of his was to be reviewed, faint-hearted critics took off 
 their hats before the long words and ponderous sen- 
 tences, and weakly bade the top-heavy stranger " God 
 speed " into a new world. 
 
 When the professor was not absent-minded, there 
 was a pleasant light in his gray eyes that brightened 
 the heavy features and swept away the dazed, far-off 
 look, like a fog before a summer's sun. But now he 
 was trembling with wrath. With a look of assumed 
 firmness, though his great hands shook, he grasped 
 his faithful cotton umbrella and his well-worn, tall hat, 
 and, with a voice choked by suppressed passion, said, 
 as ceremoniously as he could under the circumstances, 
 '' After such language on your part I cannot again 
 look upon you as a friend, Dr., Hagen," and marched 
 majestically away, with his long pipe under his arm, 
 leaving the little man dumb and amazed. 
 
 Just as he reached the door the professor paused. 
 " Waiter ! " As that light-footed functionary stood 
 before him, the professor pulled an old, time-worn 
 purse from the depths of his breeches-pocket. " Wait- 
 er, here are five groschens to pay for two glasses of 
 beer for that gentleman and two for myself. You 
 may keep the other;" and so speaking, while the 
 gratified waiter held the door open, as if for the exit 
 of a whole triumphal procession, the old man, in the 
 happy consciousness of be;ng a generous enemy and 
 heaping coals of fire on the doctor's head, walked out 
 into the chilly autumn air, and the door of the little 
 inn, with its contents of smoke and beer, was shut 
 upon him. 
 
 The professor and the doctor were not cronies. 
 They were simply two odd men, who, not being able
 
 THE PROFESSOR OF DOLLINGEN. 
 
 to find their mates, had drifted into the habit of 
 meeting each other at the tavern of an afternoon, to 
 smoke a pipe and drink a glass of beer over a game 
 of dominoes. The professor was too much wrapt up 
 in his own thoughts to be a very intimate friend for 
 anybody, and the doctor had too bad an opinion of 
 everybody to desire to be an intimate friend. 
 
 The doctor was a man with a ceaseless, secret pain 
 at heart : he was an intensely ambitious man, with an 
 ambition directed into a channel which was forever 
 closed to him. His profession he chose from neces- 
 sity, but the dream of his life had been to become a 
 great writer : it had remained a dream. His standard 
 was too high for his abilities, a lesser one he disdained. 
 So, from one extreme to the other, he remained an 
 obscure physician in a small German university town, 
 seeing men of less talent than himself become famous, 
 looking with keen, angry eyes behind the scenes of 
 their daily workings ; recognizing the tinsel and 
 makeshifts and unreality, till his whole life seemed 
 flooded with scorn and misanthropy. 
 
 " Waiter ! " the doctor cried grimly, his firm, white 
 teeth set on edge " Waiter, did that that person 
 pay for me ? " he asked, pointing with his thumb over 
 his shoulder, in the direction of the professor. 
 
 " He did, sir," the man replied. 
 
 "Then he made a mistake : I pay for both. You 
 can keep what he gave you." So the doctor, in his 
 turn, pulled out a scantily-filled purse and counted 
 four groschens into the astonished waiter's hand. 
 The doctor was a misanthrope, and gave only the 
 exact sum, but the professor always had a penny to 
 spare, if only for the grateful look on a man's face. 
 
 So the doctor, to his own satisfaction, balanced his 
 enemy's coals of fire, and having relieved his feelings, 
 took up his silver-headed cane and the round cap 
 with a tremendous shiny visor, and strode out of
 
 THE PROFESSOR OF DOLLINGEN. 137 
 
 doors, muttering to himself and bestowing all manner 
 of maledictions on every object in the world, among 
 which, after the manner of misanthropes, he was care- 
 ful not to forget himself. 
 
 II. 
 
 IN the mean time the professor shambled along 
 through the chilly air in the direction of his lodg- 
 ing, muttering to himself and gesticulating with his 
 umbrella in a very angry fashion. His poor old heart 
 beat with rage and grief to think how that that 
 crocodile of a doctor had spoken of him, and, by im- 
 plication, of his Progress of Lucifer, the work that 
 was child and wife and life to him. Day and night, 
 he had worked at it. Many a breaking dawn had 
 discovered him at his writing-desk, poring over musty 
 manuscripts, trying with half dazed brain, to under- 
 stand crabbed old characters, or plunged, to all ap- 
 pearance beyond rescue, in philosophical speculations 
 of the most abstruse kind. 
 
 Now he shambled along till he reached the narrow 
 street with the chronic lack of sunlight and the old, 
 old houses, in one of which he lived over a confec- 
 tioner's shop, which was, curiously enough, a sore and 
 constant temptation to him, for he had a passion for 
 sweets. The confectioner, a round-faced, fat man in 
 a white apron and a paper cap, looked with great 
 pride on his lodger overhead, whom he called " com- 
 rade " in select and intimate circles not owing to the 
 professor's sweet tooth, but because he, the confec- 
 tioner, considered himself something of a literary 
 character, as he wrote all the mottoes for his candies. 
 The good man's friendship did not end here, but 
 often and often he invited the professor into the little 
 back room as he passed, and treated him there to a
 
 138 THE PROFESSOR OF DOLLINGEN. 
 
 glass of maraschino and a piece of cake, then lingered 
 about respectfully, to catch whatever of wisdom must 
 fall from the lips of so distinguished a man. 
 
 Now, however, so great was the professor's indig- 
 nation, that neither cake nor maraschino could retard 
 the heavy, wrathful steps with which he ascended the 
 stairs to his solitary room. 
 
 The professors of the university of Dollingen were 
 not very royally paid, but they had the infinite satis- 
 faction of starving in excellent company. Our pro- 
 fessor had a title twice as long as his purse, and he 
 was content. He liked to have his belongings at 
 arm's length about him, so that he could reach some 
 dusty tome of an early morning, without getting out 
 of bed, by just stretching one long, gaunt arm out of 
 the bed-curtains to the book-shelves above his head. 
 
 It was a low-studded room, with two huge windows, 
 whose diamond-shaped panes were favorite resorts 
 for spiders and flies. In one corner, discreetly hid- 
 den by a green baize curtain, stood the bed, and in 
 another, the great wardrobe that the professor had 
 inherited from his mother. The walls were covered 
 with books ; books lay on the painted floor and on 
 the chairs ; they even encroached on the sacred 
 precincts of the wardrobe ; and as for the wash-stand, 
 why, the pitcher stood in familiar proximity to that 
 learned book of Fabricius, the Holy, Sagacious and 
 Learned Devil. 
 
 But everything in the familiar room was blurred to 
 the old man's sight. In great agitation he threw 
 himself into the leathern arm-chair at his work-table, 
 and buried his face in his hands. Suddenly, moved 
 by a curious, uncontrollable impulse, he thrust aside 
 the heap of papers and references that littered the 
 desk, and from whose every page Satan and Lucifer 
 and the Devil peeped forth in his heavy, irregulai 
 handwriting.
 
 THE PROFESSOR OF DOLLINGEN. 139 
 
 " Fool ! fool ! " he cried passionately, then laid 
 his hands upon them again with a certain tenderness, 
 as a fond father tries to shield the child of his heart, 
 whom some danger threatens. 
 
 But there was no peace in store for the poor pro- 
 fessor. His head ached furiously and his hands and 
 feet were like ice. With a shiver he started up and 
 paced the room with hurried, irregular strides. 
 
 " I I have taken cold," he muttered to himself, 
 chafing his gaunt hands, and continued muttering, as 
 he strode up and down the room. 
 
 " Damn him ! damn him ! " he cried at last, standing 
 stock still and shaking his fist at an imaginary doctor. 
 " But I defy him ! I'll write a pamphlet against him : 
 I'll I'll unmask him, the envious wretch ! " and over 
 the professor's face there spread a triumphant smile. 
 " I'll write a letter and say what I think of him as a 
 doctor, and have it printed. I'll say he is decaying, 
 over-ripe, gone to seed. Ha ! ha ! ha ! Nothing un- 
 derhand about that : he will recognize his enemy." 
 
 So in the gathering darkness he sat down at his 
 desk, and began to scratch away on the first piece of 
 paper that lay before him. But his fingers failed 
 him, and he sank back, shivering and dizzy. 
 
 " I'll wait till to-morrow to-morrow ; he cannot 
 escape me," he muttered. "And yes, yes, I had 
 better go to bed. How the room swims about ! Ugh ! 
 I am afraid I have taken a bad cold," and the pro- 
 fessor shivered in the chilly darkness, in which only 
 the bed and wardrobe could be distinguished, looking 
 grim and ghastly in their respective corners. 
 
 The professor dispensed with light at his simple 
 toilet, for he was, above all things, a creature of 
 habit; and in a moment more his harassed, aching 
 old head was tossing about on the pillow, while his 
 outward shell lay in artistic confusion on the floor.
 
 I4O THE PROFESSOR OF DOLLINGEN. 
 
 III. 
 
 HHHE sun shone in at the professor's window the 
 -L next morning, and, in cheery fashion, could be 
 made to stop nowhere but at the green curtains of 
 his bed, where it doubtless obtained admission through 
 some forgotten hole not an unusual thing in the be- 
 longings of the learned man for, in a second more, 
 the professor put his old head out to look at the un- 
 usual guest. 
 
 Simultaneously with the appearance of his head, the 
 knob of the door was turned, dishes rattled, then the 
 click-clack of a pair of pattens ; and the next instant 
 there stood before the professor's gaze Hebe, with a 
 tray containing his breakfast of coffee and bread ; 
 Hebe with a mop under her arm ; Hebe looking 
 domineeringly at her charge from under an enormous 
 cap of a whitish material, which fitted with uncom- 
 promising closeness about her head, and was tied 
 under her huge chin, by two simple tape strings. 
 
 Hebe was accustomed to her vocation, for she was 
 included in the bill, and so she clacked about in her 
 wooden shoes in search of a chair. As they were all 
 covered with books, she calmly emptied the Talmud, 
 Velez de Guevara and an old book of Wynkin de 
 Worde, with a dozen or more biographies of the Devil, 
 on the floor, to the mute horror of the professor ; and 
 at last, on the rescued chair, she placed the breakfast 
 at his side, and then, leaning on her long-handled mop, 
 she calmly watched him. 
 
 " Ho ! " Hebe exclaimed at length. 
 
 " What is it ? " the professor asked, accustomed to 
 this mode of address. 
 
 " Ho, but the city authority " by which she meant 
 a policeman " left this an hour ago for you." With
 
 THE PROFESSOR OF DOLLINGEN. 14! 
 
 these words the handmaiden began a methodical ex- 
 amination of a dozen pockets, and at last, from a very 
 secret recess of her petticoat, produced an official- 
 looking document sealed with the three great seals 
 of the university of Dollingen, the whole a little the 
 worse for the wear of Hebe's pocket. 
 
 " Dear me ! what can it be ? " he exclaimed, turn- 
 ing it every which way. 
 
 " Perhaps if it were opened " Hebe volunteered, 
 when the professor, looking up suddenly, felt that she 
 was slightly familiar and a little near, and with a 
 sharp " Take the dishes away now, Trinka " for 
 Hebe's earthly name was Trinka wounded that faith- 
 ful chore-woman to the heart. 
 
 The official-looking envelope was at last opened. 
 " Good God ! am I dreaming ? " shouted the professor. 
 
 It was dated the day before from the university. 
 As the professor read the date he remained open- 
 mouthed, and at length could only gasp, "What a 
 coincidence ! " 
 
 The document was printed, and ran thus : 
 
 "The Faculties of all the universities of Germany 
 have met for the purpose of deciding in what manner 
 to prevent the present corrupting influence on our 
 literature and our nation of the publication of the 
 vast quantity of worthless books and other printed 
 matter, injurious alike to intellect and morals. 
 
 " As the literature of a country is the education of 
 its people, the greatest minds in Germany have, for 
 this purpose, given their most faithful and valuable 
 counsel, the result of which has obtained the august 
 sanction of our emperor, who, for the sake of his be- 
 loved people, has commanded that which we would 
 only too gladly have tried as an experiment shall, 
 from this day, become a law."
 
 I4 2 THE PROFESSOR OF DOLLINGEN. 
 
 "THE LAW. 
 
 " From this day forth, in every city there shall be 
 established the office of censor of literature, to whom 
 all works previous to publication must be brought 
 for examination, that he may judge if it will be for 
 the advancement of literature that they be printed. 
 If there is only one good and original idea in a whole 
 work, the book shall be published. If, however, it is 
 found that the book contains but old ideas in new 
 language, then it will be best that such a work be 
 suppressed. This law shall hold good in the case of 
 every manuscript, of whatever magnitude, which is to 
 be printed and sold." 
 
 Underneath was written in the well-known hand- 
 writing of the secretary of the university of Dollingen : 
 " Three rooms have been set apart in the town-hall for 
 the censor of literature, who enters upon his office to- 
 day, and may be seen between the hours- of 9 A. M. and 
 2 P. M. by any applicant who feels convinced that his 
 work contains the requisite qualities for success. In 
 conclusion, it will be as well to state that those whose 
 works are completed will be wise to apply immediately, 
 as the censor will be overwhelmed with duties as soon 
 as his office is more popularly understood." 
 
 " Good God ! " the professer again cried, and sank 
 into deep meditation. "What will the doctor say 
 when he hears of this ? " 
 
 He meditated profoundly, and the upshot was that, 
 it being a mere formality for such a man as himself, 
 and as The Progress of Lucifer was completed, he 
 would comply with the advice of the writer and take 
 Lucifer to the town-hall. 
 
 At the same time he would satisfy his curiosity 
 which was greatly aroused by discovering who was 
 the man who could be impartial, inhuman and wise
 
 THE PROFESSOR OF DOLLINGEN. 143 
 
 enough to criticise every variety of polite and learned 
 literature. 
 
 " One thing I am sure of," he muttered as he per- 
 formed his ablutions " that Hagen knew all about 
 it yesterday, and instead of telling me outright, like 
 an honest man, he went about hinting and sneering. 
 But I'll be even with him yet," he exclaimed angrily ; 
 and in his passion got soap into his eyes, and so 
 splashed and sputtered away, that the ffoly, Sagacious 
 and Learned Devil was more drenched than comfort- 
 able for an individual presumably used to warm re- 
 gions. 
 
 It was just ten o'clock when the professor descended 
 the stairs with Lucifer under his arm, and content and 
 satisfaction beaming from his face. 
 
 " Why, bless my soul ! how do you do, neighbor ? " 
 he cried, for ihere, on the sidewalk, stood the con- 
 fectioner, brilliant in his Sunday best. " Where are 
 you going at this time of day ? " he continued, amazed. 
 
 It was neither Sunday nor a holiday, and the baker 
 for of course he was also a baker should by rights 
 have been standing behind his counter selling penny 
 tarts. 
 
 " I am bound to the town-hall," the little man said, 
 with much pride. 
 
 " Are you, indeed ? " the professor cried, astonished. 
 " So am I ; then we will go together." 
 
 Thus the gratified baker accompanied the learned 
 man, lingering one step behind as a sacrifice to his 
 notions of respect. 
 
 The professor walked on engrossed in thought, 
 while the honest confectioner racked his brains for a 
 topic of conversation worthy of so great a man ; and 
 he was still so engaged when they crossed the market- 
 place. 
 
 The market-place was silent and deserted this morn- 
 ing, except for the bronze statue of an old fighting
 
 144 THE PROFESSOR OF DOLLINGEN. 
 
 prince, immortally portrayed in periwig and cocked 
 hat, and mounted on a well-fed horse with a superb 
 mane and tail. 
 
 At the door of the old, weather-beaten town -hall, 
 with the memory of something Spanish in its time- 
 stained angles and curves, there was a small crowd 
 of people going in. 
 
 " Curious," the professor murmured. " I never saw 
 so many people here. I suppose I must leave you 
 now," and he turned to his companion. 
 
 " I am going up to the first floor," the man answer- 
 ed. 
 
 " So am I, and, so it seems, are all these people," 
 and the professor watched them file up the great stone 
 stairs. 
 
 "Perhaps," the little baker ventured to say "per- 
 haps we are all bound on the same errand." 
 
 " Ha ! ha ! ha ! " laughed the professor. He could 
 not help it for the life of him. "Ha! ha! ha!" Con- 
 necting his Progress of Lucifer and that rabble ! As 
 he thought of it he laughed again. 
 
 " I myself am going for this purpose," the confec- 
 tioner said humbly ; and, with these words, he drew 
 from his coat-tail pocket an exact copy of the solemn 
 looking envelope which the professor had received 
 that same morning. 
 
 " You ? you ? " cried the professor. " Do you mean 
 to say that you cultivate literature as well as confec- 
 tionery ? " and he stared at his neighbor with wide- 
 opened eyes. 
 
 " A little, a little," the other answered, not without 
 pride. " If your honor was at the Baroness Stumpf- 
 stein's party last week you must have noticed my work, 
 for I wrote all the mottoes for the sugar-balls." So 
 speaking, the little man with his right hand on his 
 breast struck an attitude which all but said, " I am the 
 Man ! "
 
 THE PROFESSOR OF DOLLINGEN. ' 145 
 
 " Ha ! ha ! ha ! " the professor laughed and, in his 
 vast amusement, he had to cling to the railing of the 
 steps to keep from falling. " Ha ! ha ! ha ! Excuse 
 my hilarity. I was not at the baroness's party ; never- 
 theless, I greet you as a poet. May I ask if you in- 
 tend publishing any more verses ? " 
 
 " Yes, honored sir ; the Countess Hasenfels gives 
 a party next week, when my Muse is to have carte 
 blanche." 
 
 " You are a lucky poet," cried the professor, as they 
 climbed the stairs to the rooms of the censor, "you 
 will never starve. If one profession gives out, you 
 have the other. Lucky, lucky poet ! " he cried, shak- 
 ing his forefinger at his companion, who would as soon 
 have expected bitterness in one of his own almond 
 tarts, as irony in the professor. 
 
 The professor peeped curiously about, wondering 
 in which of the labyrinths of corridors he should dive, 
 when from one of the neighboring rooms there ap- 
 peared a solemn being in black, who, seeing the man- 
 uscript under the professor's arm, asked his name, 
 which he no sooner heard than he respectfully led 
 the way into a small bare room, destitute of everything 
 but a couple of pine chairs. 
 
 " As soon as His Excellency, the court poet, has 
 finished with the censor, you may take your turn. In 
 that room we let the herd wait," pointing to a closed 
 door with his thumb. " But who is this ? " and he 
 turned on his heel and confronted the unhappy con- 
 fectioner, who felt in his inmost heart that he belong- 
 ed to the " herd " and had no business there. 
 
 " A friend of mine, pray let him stay," the professor 
 answered, hastily. 
 
 The respectable man stared at the confectioner 
 
 from head to foot with much contempt, who crept 
 
 into a remote corner, and sat down, holding his hat 
 
 between his knees. The professor stood looking out 
 
 10
 
 146 THE PROFESSOR OF DOLLINGEN. 
 
 of the solitary window, quite near the door of the 
 room where the court poet and the terrible censor 
 were closeted together, by which door some old lock- 
 smith, long since dead, had not done his duty ; for the 
 latch would not catch, leaving it open enough for the 
 professor to hear distinctly every word that was ut- 
 tered ; a fact of which he would have remained un- 
 conscious, if suddenly a well known voice had not 
 reached his ears a bitter, biting voice that had called 
 him, the author of The Progress of Lucifer, over-ripe, 
 decaying, the day before. 
 
 " What can the doctor have to do here ? " he thought, 
 starting forward. 
 
 The next instant his doubts were set at rest when 
 he heard that same voice say, " I am still a novice in 
 my position, Your Excellency, but so much the more 
 will I do my duty." 
 
 " Merciful Heavens ! " the professor thought " he 
 the censor? he, the unsuccessful man of letters, a 
 critic ? But they were wise who made this bitter foe 
 to success the judge, for what sterner critic could they 
 find ? " 
 
 1 " Sir," said this same voice with much dignity, " the 
 insults you lavish on me but recoil upon yourself. 1 
 have read your poems, and I find in them no line 
 worthy of you. Your Excellency, you wrong your 
 genius, and some day you will thank me, for, in spite 
 of your great name, I will not allow your poems to 
 be published." 
 
 " Prevent me, if you dare," cried a passionate voice, 
 and the next instant His Excellency dashed out of the 
 room. But it is not often that a court poet hears the 
 truth. 
 
 " Aha ! you here, my good friend ? " cried the doc- 
 tor, and, rubbing his hands in high glee he walked up 
 to the professor. " Let by-gones be by-gones. Come, 
 shall we be on friendly terms again ? For I must tell
 
 THE PROFESSOR OF DOLLINGEN. 147 
 
 you that I feel contented ; I like this position amaz- 
 ingly. It just suits my taste." 
 
 " Dr. Hagen," the professor began, " I did not come 
 to see you ; I came to see the censor of literature, in 
 whom I regret to find you, though I believe you to be 
 an honest man. You do not need or want my friend- 
 ship, so I only ask you to judge of my work as im- 
 partially as you would that of a stranger." 
 
 " You are at least just," the doctor answered, with 
 a malicious smile, " and so am I. You will acknowl- 
 edge that I have the right to judge of your work, for 
 I have been a silent witness of its progress. Oblige 
 me by entering my office. Let me take your manu- 
 script. Some men have the ridiculous idea that an 
 original subject is to be desired. Your subject is not 
 entirely new." 
 
 " Not new in the past, perhaps," and the professor 
 grew excited, " but now in our practical nineteenth 
 century, who would care to write on so mystical a 
 subject." 
 
 " My dear professor, it is always the dreamers who 
 deny their natures ; and it is just the same with the 
 nineteenth century. If we could judge of other ages 
 with the same knowledge we do of this, I believe their 
 romance would pale before ours. Let me give you a 
 practical example. Johann ! " The man of service 
 appeared, to whom the doctor gave instructions in 
 a whisper, and as he turned his back to the professor, a 
 grin of exquisite malice made his green eyes greener, 
 and distended his wide mouth from ear to ear. " My 
 dear friend, I must give you a lesson," he thought. 
 
 At that moment there was heard a humble, falter- 
 ing tap at the door. 
 
 It opened, and there entered a procession of seven. 
 One of the seven was fat and wore a pompous look and 
 a gold watch chain ; he was an exception. Middle- 
 aged men they were all, with anxious, narrowed faces,
 
 148 THE PROFESSOR OF DOLLINGEN. 
 
 and a bewildered look in their spectacled eyes. 
 Each carried a voluminous manuscript under his arm, 
 and they all glared at each other with deep sus- 
 picion. 
 
 " Gentlemen," the doctor said with much friendli- 
 ness, as if deprecating his new authority " Gentle- 
 men, I had Johann call you, fearing that your time 
 would be lost waiting in such a crowd. It will be 
 best if each of you will in turn leave his manuscript 
 and address at the desk. Herr Simponius," said the 
 doctor, seating himself at his desk quite near the pro- 
 fessor, and addressing the individual who had tapped 
 at the door, " Herr Simponius, pray advance," which 
 he did, and apologetically dictated to the doctor: 
 " Adolph Simponius, author of The World and the 
 Devil" and apologetically laid his manuscript down, 
 while the doctor, with a look of sly enjoyment, watched 
 the surprise on the professor's face. 
 
 The next man had more assurance : " Dietrich 
 Reinhold, author of Demonology and Witchcraft" 
 
 " Many thanks, Herr Reinhold : I shall be delight- 
 ed to examine your fine library, and proud to meet 
 your wife." 
 
 Number three : " Heinrich Hermann, author of 
 The Life of Satan." 
 
 A glance of venomous amusement at the bewil- 
 dered surprise of the professor. 
 
 So through the list till the seven had disappeared, 
 and seven manuscripts alone remained as a token of 
 their presence. 
 
 With his chin resting on his hand, the doctor, as if 
 absent-minded, read the remainder of the titles out 
 loud : " The Devil's Book, Lucifer's Kingdom, The 
 Club-footed Devil, Modern Demons. Hum ! hum ! a 
 pretty collection ! " he muttered to himself, all the 
 while sharply watching his victim. 
 
 " Good God ! What do you mean by this farce ? "
 
 THE PROFESSOR OF DOLLINGEN. 149 
 
 and a heavy hand was laid on his shoulder. " Why 
 can't you be honest, outspoken ? " 
 
 " Take your hand from my shoulder, sir," the doc- 
 tor cried, turning haughtily on the old man. " As for 
 understanding the drift of such expressions, I am 
 afraid I am as much at a loss for a meaning as your 
 readers generally are." 
 
 " What am I now ? what am I now ? " murmured 
 the old man, as he turned away and buried his face in 
 his hands. 
 
 " You are one of eight," the doctor cried with a 
 mocking smile. " Eight there are in the good town 
 of Dollingen alone who write about the Devil. You 
 know they say ha ! ha ! that misery loves company. 
 Yesterday I dared only hint ; to-day I may nay, it 
 is my duty to speak openly. Would you put your 
 name to that book ? " he cried, placing his hand on 
 the professor's manuscript. "Then you would be 
 giving your name to a lie a lie, I say. You did not 
 write it : ages of long-forgotten men, have written it. 
 It is their wisdom, their knowledge and pray be 
 comforted their folly. You have read much in your 
 life " 
 
 " Stop, Hagen ! " 
 
 " No, I will not. You have read much, but while 
 you remember the contents of books, you forget their 
 authors, and their ideas, and yours become strangely 
 intermingled until you claim the paternity of all. 
 Why, you have neither originality nor ideas you, the 
 learned man ! Mark me ! " he cried with a trium- 
 phant smile, pointing toward the half-opened door, 
 " that little confectioner out there has more originality 
 than you, and does more good to the world, for he at 
 least amuses with his imbecile rhymes, while you, you 
 great man, can neither teach nor amuse." 
 
 " Spare me ! spare me ! " cried the old man, sink- 
 ing back into his chair, with a smothered groan.
 
 15 THE PROFESSOR OF DOLLINGEN. 
 
 "Why should I spare you? The world did not 
 spare me, but I had to learn the bitter lesson from 
 every penny paper." 
 
 "You are a stern teacher," the old man cried, 
 rising, and, as the doctor watched him with curious 
 eyes, he seemed ten years older than the hale, hearty 
 man who had entered the room only half an hour be- 
 fore " you are a stern teacher, you have unmanned 
 me and seen the agony of my heart. That I regret. 
 We often have to stand as we are before our con- 
 sciences, and you are my conscience, which has been 
 sleeping till now. Could you have been gentler in 
 your treatment of me, I I forgive you. Perhaps 
 your way was the kindest. My manuscript ? Yes, 
 yes, I will take it. O God ! the ruined hopes ! the 
 lost years ! " he cried, burying his face in his hands. 
 
 Recovering himself, and without another look at 
 his enemy, he opened the 'door. The confectioner 
 sat dozing in his corner. 
 
 The professor shook him. " Come ! come home 
 with me ! " he cried in a dazed way. 
 
 " Holy Virgin ! what's the matter, sir ? " the little 
 man exclaimed, so haggard and worn did the pro- 
 fessor look. 
 
 " A blow, my friend a blow." 
 
 " What ? " cried the confectioner, understanding 
 it literally, and evidently making for the doctor. 
 
 " Not so, not so," and the professor detained him 
 gently. " Nothing you can heal, my friend nothing 
 you can heal. Only come now ; let us go home." 
 
 So they went. Johann shut them out with little 
 ceremony, for they were of no account in the literary 
 world or any other world. They passed a new crowd 
 going in with hopes full blown, but nobody noticed 
 them, the bowed old man leaning on the little round 
 poet. 
 
 So they reached the narrow street. Again the well-
 
 THE PROFESSOR OF DOLLINGEN. IS 1 
 
 known room closed about him, and at last even the 
 green curtains of the bed ; and now. for the first time, 
 he was alone alone with his misery. In his despair 
 and sorrow he buried his gray head in the pillow and 
 burst into a wild, dreadful flood of tears. 
 
 " He has come back to consciousness," said the 
 doctor, as he bent anxiously over the professor. 
 
 From the pillow two hollow eyes glared at him, and 
 a feeble hand tried to push him away. 
 
 " You here ? " the professor whispered. 
 
 " Why, of course been here for a couple of weeks. 
 In fact, had a bed put up here. You've been pretty 
 sick, and I had a hard time pulling you through." 
 
 " You ! After what you told me at the town-hall 
 I can never forget it and what you said about The 
 Progress of Lucifer ! " 
 
 "Hush!" the doctor commanded, gently. "You 
 are dreaming. For two weeks you have been dream- 
 ing : we call it brain fever." 
 
 " But but what you said at the inn ? " the pro- 
 fessor murmured, bewildered. 
 
 " I have said many things that I have regretted 
 sorely : that was one. I came here the next morning 
 to bid you not mind an old misanthrope like myself, 
 and I found you already delirious. Trinka said that 
 you talked all sorts of nonsense to her when she 
 brought you your breakfast. So I found you." 
 
 " Oh, forgive me ! forgive me ! " and the professor 
 grasped with two thin hands the doctor's right hand. 
 
 " Forgive you ? I ? Why, you should forgive me." 
 
 " No, no ! I have been so unjust to you ! I 
 thought of you with hatred. I dreamed you said The 
 Progress of Lucifer was not original that it did not 
 contain one good idea," and the poor professor looked 
 wistfully at the doctor's embarrassed face. " Yes,
 
 IS 2 THE PROFESSOR OF DOLLINCEN. 
 
 yes, my dream has come true ; I have wasted my 
 life," he groaned, turning his head away. 
 
 "My dear professor," and the doctor, took the old 
 man's unresisting hand in his own, " The Progress 
 of Lucifer must be a forbidden subject to you. It has 
 been your death, nearly ; that is as much as you can 
 give to one work. If you still wish to live, I forbid 
 you thinking of it for one year at least. I have had 
 all the damned histories of the Devil taken away ; if 
 after a year you wish them back, you shall have them." 
 
 " I obey," the professor said solemnly, " for I have 
 had a warning." 
 
 There was an incredulous smile about the doctor's 
 mouth, and a question in the end of his turned-up 
 nose. 
 
 " Do not smile," the professor said sadly. " I have 
 had a warning which I shall obey. You will laugh 
 if you know that I have had a lesson in a dream, and 
 that instead of waiting for the judgment of the world, 
 I accept yours and abide by it. You came here 
 grieved for your hasty words, but with unchanged 
 opinions, I know." 
 
 " You have done wisely and bravely," thought the 
 doctor, and pressed the professor's hand, and for the 
 first time he loved him. Was he not on his own 
 level now, defeated and unhappy? From this mo- 
 ment the contradictory doctor was ready to sacrifice 
 everything to restore these shattered hopes. 
 
 " Take all these things away," the professor cried 
 "books, papers. Heaven knows, I wish you could 
 take my memory also ! " 
 
 " Nonsense ! nonsense ! " the doctor interrupted 
 cheerily. " In a few days you will be well again, and 
 you and I will quarrel as we used. The old times 
 will come back with the old professor." 
 
 " Never, Hagen ! The old times have carried 
 away the old professor."
 
 THE PROFESSOR OF DOLLINGEN. 153 
 
 " There's Trinka come to see how you are. Trinka, 
 bring me a chair and a pipe," the doctor command- 
 ed : "I want to sit down by your master and show 
 him that as long as a friend remains and there is a 
 curl of smoke in a pipe, the old times must surely 
 come back."
 
 A TRIFLE OF INFORMATION. 
 I. 
 
 FROM Miss Dorothy Outerbridge to her brother, 
 Captain Richard Outerbridge. 
 
 ( Villa Bellevue, St. Sever in on the Rhine, 
 \ June 2nd, 1890. 
 
 DEAREST DICK : Why didn't you take me with you ! 
 To say that no nice young man wants his sister tag- 
 ging after him ! Did I not offer to pretend not to be 
 your sister, and you said that would not do at all ? 
 Aunt Mumler botanizes and comes home all mosquito 
 bites. Such mosquitoes as they have here ! I told 
 Aunt we'd have to take to smoking, and she was aw- 
 fully shocked. 
 
 It is so tiresome here, Dick, and I am just dying for 
 a romance. I thought romances were commoner here 
 than in New York, but Priscilla says that men who 
 know anything, don't fall in love with things like me, 
 and she may be right. 
 
 I have no chance when Priscilla's about ! Sunday 
 we went to church and everybody stared at her, and 
 she captured a girl. It wasn't much, but it was better 
 than nothing. The girl comes every afternoon to 
 adore her and I just run, I can't stand it. 
 
 I have thought it over and I mean to form myself 
 on Priscilla's plan, my mind and my style, I mean, 
 for I can't get my nose down straight, and that is a 
 trial ! 
 
 I've found just the loveliest place where I can be 
 alone, only don't tell ! It is a garden. I practise
 
 A TRIFLE OF INFORMATION. 155 
 
 here raising my head and showing off my eyelashes 
 just as Prissy does, while I hold my nose. A girl I 
 knew did a great deal that way towards making hers 
 Grecian, and she said it was a great deal worse than 
 mine. 
 
 Perhaps when I am quite perfect the romance will 
 come. 
 
 I heard the other day that there is an awfully hand- 
 some man here among the summer boarders, who 
 forges bonds and things, millions worth ! I'd like 
 to meet him ! Perhaps after a while he would fall in 
 love with me, and repent. Wouldn't that be a ro- 
 mance ! But he'd be sure to fall in love with Priscilla 
 instead, I have no chance. 
 
 Do send me a box of candy from Baden-Baden ; I 
 think it would make life more endurable till you come 
 back. 
 
 There's that dreadful Cordula (Priscilla's girl) and 
 now I must run, for they're beginning ! 
 
 Your loving sister, 
 DOLLY. 
 
 The hills about St. Severin on the Rhine were capped 
 by gloomy mediseval castles, from which the noble 
 proprietors gazed with scorn upon unassorted summer 
 boarders, giddily enjoying themselves by means of 
 donkeys, dancing and band concerts in the casino. 
 
 Beyond the village there were certain villas to be 
 rented for the season, and one, the loneliest and most 
 expensive, seemed to rent along with its other advan- 
 tages, a vague claim to at least moderate civility from 
 the (truly) upper circles, for the upper circles, after 
 penetrating into a boarder's pedigree, were not insen- 
 sible to the state of his cash account. 
 
 As this story opens, this desirable villa had been 
 rented by an American family, upon whom St. Severin 
 turned a perplexed scrutiny.
 
 156 A TRIFLE OF INFORMATION. 
 
 There was a lively young man who never ceased 
 asking questions, and there was an old lady in spec- 
 tacles who would have asked questions had she not 
 been mercifully ignorant of the German language. 
 
 The other two members refreshed the sight of St. 
 Severin the next Sunday at the Protestant chapel, 
 where the select of St. Severin worshiped, the unse- 
 lect being Roman Catholics, while the summer board- 
 ers, for unexplained reasons, were heathens. 
 
 A couple of old generals and a gouty baron or two, 
 stared heavily as a very beautiful woman passed up 
 the aisle, followed by a young person in pink. 
 
 It was at once known that this was the lady of the 
 villa, Mrs. Oldecott from New York, and the young 
 person in pink was her sister, Miss Outerbridge. The 
 gentleman was their brother, Captain Outerbridge, U. 
 S. A. on leave, and the old lady of the inquiring mind 
 was their aunt, Mrs. Mumler. 
 
 It further transpired that Capt. Outerbridge, hav- 
 ing exhausted St. Severin, had embraced his family 
 and retired to the joys of Baden-Baden. 
 
 II. 
 
 FROM Mrs. Oldecott to her brother, Captain Outer- 
 bridge. 
 
 ( Villa Bellevue. 
 \ June 2nd. 
 
 MY DEAR DICK : You would have liked St. Severin 
 better had you stayed. Aunt Mumler is so contented, 
 she botanizes and keeps a diary for the people in 
 Portland. I wish Dolly liked it better ; I think she 
 misses you, and she dusts your room every day in 
 melancholy remembrance. I found her crying over 
 your cigarettes the other day. She has a way of dis- 
 appearing after breakfast and if this were not so quiet
 
 A TRIFLE OF INFORMATION. 1 57 
 
 and safe a place, I should certainly interfere, she is 
 too independent. 
 
 I have met some very pleasant people, quite the 
 nicest here, a Baron and Baroness Von Stendal and 
 their daughter, who is devoted to me. There is a 
 brother attached to the German embassy in London. 
 Cordula talks about him a good deal and that is rather 
 tiresome. 
 
 Don't stay away too long, Dick dear, for we do 
 miss you badly. With much love, 
 
 PRISCILLA. 
 
 The Stendals firmly believed that they were as old 
 as the hills and, indeed, the first Baron Stendal was 
 of the 7th century, when he became at once a good 
 Christian and the most scoundrelly robber on the 
 Rhine. The present Baroness wore a breakfast shawl 
 and had her hair cut short, and she nagged the Baron, 
 her husband, in the intervals of knitting endless 
 stockings. 
 
 They were, however, united in wholesome awe of 
 their son, Baron Kurt von Stendal, and his occasional 
 visits were the joy and terror of their lives. The 
 young man did not realize what an event his coming 
 was, nor how he upset that respectable establishment. 
 His own infallibility bored him fearfully, and he had 
 been known to disappear for a couple of days to 
 breathe air unincensed, and even his good mother did 
 not dare to remark on these abrupt departures. 
 
 The continental train was just leaving the London 
 station, when Baron Stendal opened his sister's last 
 letter and smiled absently at its enthusiasm. " I have 
 a new friend who is so lovely, and how I wish you 
 would fall in love with her, though there ! she is a 
 widow, and I used to think widows should not marry 
 again. But her husband was old and she only married 
 him because he was so distinguished, her Aunt told
 
 158 A TRIFLE OF INFORMATION. 
 
 me. Her Aunt is a nice person who asks a great 
 many questions. 
 
 " Truly, Kurt dear, this is the first woman I ever 
 wanted you to marry. She is nearly worthy of you, 
 and I adore her. There is a sister, but I do not think 
 much of her." 
 
 III. 
 
 THE pride of St. Severin was its "Jaeger-hof," an 
 old rococo hunting-lodge, all stucco-work and 
 statues. Its owner, a prince of Prussia, had died, 
 and the Jaeger-hof, with its concert-hall and ball-room 
 decorated with fat, improper cupids and faded rose 
 garlands, was deserted. 
 
 The gardens were overgrown with weeds, and time, 
 aided by a tangle of vines, had arrayed the broken- 
 nosed statues in a manner more befitting igth cent- 
 ury propriety. 
 
 In the midst of what was once a lawn, but which 
 was now a wilderness of grass dotted by vagrant 
 poppies, stood a huge gnarled apple tree, about which 
 some considerate soul had built a wooden bench. 
 Not a sound was to be heard but the drone of the 
 locusts and the hum of the bumble-bees. Even the 
 girl who sat in the shade of the apple tree reading, 
 did not stir. It was so peaceful and yet the enemy 
 was preparing for assault. 
 
 " Buzz- -uzz- -zz- -z-pick ! " 
 
 " O dear me, those horrid mosquitoes ! " and Dolly 
 lashed herself with a bunch of poppies, then leaned 
 forward, her round chin in her hand, and dreamed 
 a little. " A hundred years is a long time to wait for 
 a prince, I do think the poor princess must have 
 felt a little old in her heart when O dear me, do go 
 away ! " here she sat bolt upright and flicked the
 
 A TRIFLE OF INFORMATION". 159 
 
 poppies about her head, for the mosquitoes were 
 swarming merrily. 
 
 Constant and solitary possession had given Dolly 
 quite a sense of owning this garden of the late prince 
 of Prussia, and she never dreamed that any other 
 person would intrude ; it was therefore with a sense 
 of security that Miss Outerbridge practiced modifying 
 herself on the plan of the stately Priscilla, raising her 
 head and lowering her eyelashes, in the meantime 
 holding her nose with commendable gravity. 
 
 Just then a stranger sauntered through the oppo- 
 site entrance ; he carried a book and look bored. The 
 heavy grass deadened his tread, and sitting down on 
 the other side of the apple tree, he proceeded to en- 
 tertain himself with a joyous report (statistical) of the 
 German consular service. 
 
 He did pause to say, " The child is a perfect nui- 
 sance with her widow ! What is her name ? Never 
 mind. Go to see her? I'll be hanged if I do," and 
 he dived into his report. 
 
 There being a serpent in this garden of Eden, with 
 historic accuracy he addressed himself to Eve. 
 
 " Buzz- -uzz- -zz-z-pick ! " 
 
 " It's just too dreadful ! " and Eve lashed herself 
 with the poppies. 
 
 No sooner said, than she heard a masculine excla- 
 mation, and before she could struggle into an engaging 
 attitude, there he stood, her romance. He had ap- 
 peared from the other side of the tree. 
 
 " Pardon me, but can I be of service ? " he asked 
 in excellent English, and it sounded so natural to 
 Dolly, that she quite forgot to wonder, except as to 
 what Priscilla would do in this delightful situation. 
 In the meantime she sat up very straight and made a 
 frantic effort to hide her feet ; then she wondered how 
 long he had observed her, and at the thought, she 
 blushed crimson.
 
 160 A TRIFLE OF INFORMATION. 
 
 Of course Priscilla would be gracious, but with a 
 film of frost, and so Dolly cheeked a too friendly smile. 
 
 " Thank you, it is only the mosquitoes, they are so 
 troublesome," she murmured. 
 
 " Please don't let them drive you away," this sym- 
 pathetic stranger urged. 
 
 Here Dolly was false to her model. " I do have 
 such times with them since Dick went away, he used 
 to smoke. Were you sitting at the other side of the 
 tree ? " 
 
 " Yes, I was reading. I am afraid I startled you." 
 
 " Never mind. Do you know I don't really want 
 to go home quite yet ! Perhaps you wouldn't mind 
 smoking a cigar ? I should be so awfully obliged, I 
 know that will keep them away." 
 
 " With pleasure, if I have one with me. I am not 
 much of a smoker." 
 
 However he found one, lighted it and looked be- 
 seechingly at the curve of the bench by her side. 
 
 But Dolly was alarmed, what would Priscilla say 
 if she knew ! 
 
 " Please don't let me detain you any longer." 
 
 The accommodating stranger hastened to say that 
 he had nothing else to do all day. 
 
 " I do like the smoke best at a little distance," 
 Dolly urged. 
 
 The effect of this speech was instantaneous, the 
 stranger retired to his side of the tree. 
 
 "I don't think that sounded quite polite," Dolly 
 meditated, and she considered whether Priscilla in 
 her place would explain that she didn't mean to be 
 rude. 
 
 The sufferer on the other side of the tree pondered, 
 smoking vigorously. 
 
 This young person was very impolite, but why should 
 she let him 'take a liberty ? Here he was seized with 
 a longing for another sight of her face, and succumb-
 
 A TRIFLE OF INFORMATION. ll 
 
 ing to temptation he looked cautiously around the 
 corner and met the gaze of two inquiring eyes. 
 
 " I only wanted to ask if the mosquitoes are still 
 troubling you ? " he faltered. 
 
 " They have all gone, thank you so much. And 
 if if you please, I wanted to say that I didn't mean 
 to be rude about the smoke, you know. Dick cor- 
 rects me a great deal, but he's away now. It was 
 awfully good of you to oblige me, but you needn't 
 smoke any longer for that, as I'm going. Good-by," 
 and she disappeared, and he stood there gazing after 
 her, trying long after she was out of sight, to think of 
 something brilliant and appropriate to say. 
 
 Mrs. Oldecott lay back in a low willow chair. She 
 was a picture and she knew it. Beside her on a table 
 were Cordula's roses. They had been sent the even- 
 ing before with a message that she had been detained, 
 as her brother had arrived. 
 
 " Now for a deluge of Stendals." 
 
 But Priscilla was mistaken, no Stendals came and 
 even Cordula stayed away. Priscilla resented this 
 defection of her slave and so she was cross to Aunt 
 Mumler. When things went wrong, Dolly's short- 
 comings came triumphantly to the fore. 
 
 " What has become of Dolly ? You don't look out 
 for her a bit, Aunt ! " 
 
 " Dolly is all right, Priscilla, this place is safe, safer 
 than Portland." Aunt Mumler was just writing in 
 her diary. " I have seen a young man in Portland, 
 but I haven't here." 
 
 " I don't mean that, Dolly is such a child ; but one 
 ought to think of appearances." 
 
 Here the culprit sauntered in. " Where have you 
 been, Dolly?" 
 
 Dolly turned to the window and became engrossed 
 in the landscape. 
 
 " Been reading." 
 ii
 
 1 62 A TRIFLE OF INFORMATION. 
 
 " Dolly, you are frightfully rude." 
 
 " I'm afraid I am, Prissy." 
 
 " It is something that you realize it. I wish you 
 had one of your dolls here, you need amusement, 
 child." 
 
 " Why Priscilla, I play with dolls ! Why, you were 
 married at my age ? " 
 
 " That is the only thing you don't need to imitate." 
 
 "I shall do just as I please " 
 
 " I dare say you will, only don't surprise us too 
 much." 
 
 Dolly gazed at her sister with a forgiving smile. 
 To mention dolls to her, Dorothy Outerbridge, 
 who had been spending the morning in the society of 
 an interesting stranger with a cigar. A stranger upon 
 whom even Mrs. Oldecott herself would gaze with 
 charity, for Priscilla had in the strictest sense, charity 
 towards all men, 
 
 Miss Outerbridge retired to a nook where, in her 
 hitherto unromantic career, she had dreamed about 
 nothing in particular. 
 
 She curled herself in the broad window-seat and 
 turned her thoughts to the accommodating stranger. 
 
 " I mustn't go over there again, though it was so 
 nice and quiet; or I might go in the afternoon, for I've 
 just as much right there as he. I would be ashamed 
 to meet him there again he might think I no, I 
 won't go ! How well he speaks English. I wonder 
 what he thinks of me ? I wish I had worn my pink 
 dress ! But that is too late now. What would Prissy 
 do ? I simply can't go over there again. Oh, dear ! 
 and it was the only place where they would leave me 
 alone ! " 
 
 The next morning at breakfast Dolly's entrance 
 excited some comment. 
 
 " Why, Dolly, you have on your pink dress." 
 
 " The blue one is all shrunk in the washing, Pris-
 
 A TRIFLE OF INFORMATION. 163 
 
 cilia, and it doesn't near reach my ankles. You don't 
 pay any attention to my clothes, you are so taken up 
 with your own." 
 
 " Why, Dolly, what has happened ? Didn't I beg 
 you yesterday morning not to go tearing about in that 
 dreadful buff gingham, and you said I was always 
 bothering. The other day you said you wished you 
 could live in a suit of armor and be scoured off once 
 a week." 
 
 Dolly, confronted with her own inconsistencies, re- 
 marked with dignity, " It's a long time since yester- 
 day morning, Priscilla, and I've changed my mind. 
 It doesn't take twenty-four hours to do that." 
 
 After breakfast Dolly lingered irresolutely. She 
 flattened her nose against the window panes and flung 
 herself in turn on all the chairs. 
 
 At last, with a look of heroic purpose, she fetched 
 her hat and a book. 
 
 " Why shouldn't I ? It isn't his garden ! Besides, 
 he probably won't come." 
 
 Baron Kurt had finished a late and lonely breakfast 
 in the ancestral dining-room. He strolled to the 
 Gothic window and stared at the distant village. 
 
 " Yes, I think I will go down to the Jaeger-hof, 
 delightful place for reading. Intrusion ? Why, it's 
 not her garden. Besides, she may not be there. I 
 must not forget the cigars." 
 
 Just then Cordula came into the room. 
 
 " Will you come this morning and make that call, 
 Kurt dear?" 
 
 " Do leave me alone, you absurd child," and he 
 pulled her ear good-naturedly, " I am busy. Besides, 
 don't try your hand at match-making. If you knew 
 more of human nature, you would understand that a 
 brother and sister never fall in love with the same 
 woman."
 
 164 A TRIFLE OF INFORMATION. 
 
 When Baron Kurt reached the apple tree he found 
 there a young person in pink reading with such in- 
 tentness that, though she blushed furiously, she did 
 not see him until he stood before her. 
 
 " O, good-morning, there you are again," Dolly 
 said with an engaging smile, "I've been wondering 
 if you'd I mean, I was wondering if there would be 
 any mosquitoes here to-day." 
 
 " They shall not disturb you, I have brought plenty 
 of cigars." 
 
 " How nice of you. It is just as if Dick were here. 
 Dick is my brother. It doesn't seem right to let you 
 smoke all your cigars to keep off the mosquitoes, does 
 it ? But I mustn't interfere with your reading, how 
 wise your book looks." 
 
 Baron Stendal blushed. In fleeing from Cordula 
 he had grasped the first book at hand, and it hap- 
 pened to be a dictionary. 
 
 " May I smoke ? " 
 
 " Isn't that what you are here for ? " The stranger 
 retired to his side of the tree, injured, and Dolly 
 meditated on the curious way she had of saying rude 
 things with the best intentions. 
 
 On his side of the tree, the injured one smoked and 
 nursed his resentment. 
 
 " So she thinks I am here only to smoke for her 
 benefit ! She probably imagines I came here for a 
 sight of her blue eyes and well, to-morrow I rather 
 think she will be surprised, I won't come ! " 
 
 " If you please," a contrite voice interrupted, " I'm 
 afraid you must think I am very uncivil, you'll ex- 
 cuse me, won't you ? I never thought how it would 
 sound. I do mean to say the nicest things and then 
 they sound horrid, and Priscilla says horrid things and 
 they sound nice, until you stop to think." 
 
 The injured one was at once reconciled. He ap- 
 proached her curve of the bench and took up her book.
 
 A TRIFLE OF INFORMATION. 165 
 
 "Please don't look at it, please don't! You'll 
 think I am so very young, and after all I am seven- 
 teen, nearly seventeen and a half." 
 
 It was a book of fairy-stories and it opened to the 
 tale of the sleeping princess, and Dolly blushed as she 
 thought how he must guess at once what she and the 
 princess were waiting for. " I dare say you have de- 
 cided that she lives in this old palace." 
 
 " Why, yes. How did you guess ? She is sleeping 
 on the loveliest white silk couch and she has long 
 golden hair and a trailing veil, as fine as a cobweb, 
 and because she is a princess she wears a tiny crown 
 all of diamonds. Some day the prince will come 
 and and how I should like to be there. What non- 
 sense ! You musn't think that I never read anything 
 else, I've fallen asleep over nearly all of Aunt's books, 
 and they are very improving. 
 
 V. 
 
 11 T HAVE never seen Kurt so contented before," his 
 
 A mother declared, highly gratified. " He has not 
 even suggested going away." 
 
 " I don't see what a man wants more than to be 
 left alone," the old Baron growled. 
 
 " But he shouldn't hurry off to study, right after 
 breakfast," the Baroness continued, shaking her head ; 
 " strong as he is, he will wear himself out." 
 
 " My private impression is he has his French novels 
 bound in law-calf." 
 
 Here Cordula appeared, a bunch of fragrant roses 
 in her hand. She put on her eyeglasses and looked 
 hurt. 
 
 " I only want to leave the roses at the villa, but I 
 shall not call on Mrs. Oldecott until Kurt goes with
 
 1 66 A TRIFLE OF INFORMATION. 
 
 me. It is very uncivil of him after all I have said to 
 her." 
 
 But Kurt found a champion in his mother. 
 
 " Don't be so foolish, child, about this young per- 
 son. Kurt has more important matters to attend to 
 than to call on all the strangers who stray into St. 
 Severin ! Besides, she is an American and with Kurt's 
 title and prospects my dear, he must be protected." 
 
 Time was passing and the little apples on the old 
 apple tree were swelling visibly. 
 
 " Ought I to tell Priscilla ? " Dolly wondered. 
 
 After all, when one is seventeen one is at liberty 
 to read under any apple tree, and she could not for- 
 bid the Nameless one, so Dolly called him to herself, 
 occupying the other side ; besides, his conversation 
 was improving and respectful, and his cigars were 
 good. She only feared that he was smoking all his 
 best ones in that enthusiastic battle with the mosqui- 
 toes. 
 
 The result of this meditation was that Dolly retired 
 to Dick's room and examined his belongings. 
 
 The next morning the Nameless one was already 
 there and his face brightened amazingly at sight of 
 her. 
 
 She smiled and yet she looked rather embarrassed. 
 
 " Please take this," she said, and thrust a little 
 package in his hand. " You see, I ought to do my 
 share towards keeping the mosquitoes away, and 
 and as I can't smoke I I really thought it wasn't 
 more than fair that that " here she broke down 
 and blushed. 
 
 " I I hope you ar'n't offended at my asking you 
 to take them ? " 
 
 The Nameless one glanced with a smile at a red and 
 gold bunch of cigarettes in his hand.
 
 A TRIFLE OF INFORMATION. 167 
 
 " You mustn't smoke them if you don't want to, 
 but I fancy they're good." 
 
 He took a meditative whiff. A peculiar taste. 
 Never mind, they were from her so he smoked on, 
 resolutely. 
 
 " Will you allow me ? " he asked, and sat down be- 
 side her. 
 
 Dolly observed him with some trepidation, she 
 couldn't help thinking that the Nameless one was 
 taking a liberty; he had never shown such assurance 
 before, for, though they generally happened together 
 at the end, he always started respectfully with his own 
 side of the bench. 
 
 Dolly pretended to read, but she watched him out 
 of the corner of her eye while he smoked and looked 
 at her with, yes, with frightful emphasis. 
 
 What would Priscilla say if she knew, and Dick ! 
 She, Dorothy Outerbridge, had bestowed a bunch 
 of Dick's cigarettes on a nameless stranger, whose 
 only passport to her esteem was his improving con- 
 versation and his well-fitting clothes. 
 
 As it was, he smoked one cigarette after another 
 and stared at her with equal perseverance. 
 
 For all practical purposes, considering what hearts 
 are for, Dolly had hitherto been quite unconscious of 
 hers, but now it began to beat in an unpardonable 
 manner, and she looked desperately at her book. 
 
 Half of the red and gold package had vanished 
 into thin air, and the Nameless one was beginning to 
 regard life as a pleasant dream, the more so as he was 
 decidedly drowsy. 
 
 " I'll tell Prissy all, and I'll never come here again ! 
 The idea of sitting there and not saying a word ! " 
 
 She stole a glance at him. He had stopped smoking 
 and passed his hand across his eyes, drowsily. 
 
 Dolly returned to her book. " I wonder who he
 
 1 68 A TRIFLE OF INFORMATION. 
 
 is, the idea of not knowing his name. I beg your 
 pardon what did you say ? " 
 
 With a faint exclamation the Nameless one rose 
 to his feet, with one hand against the tree for support. 
 
 " It is nothing a sudden dizziness," he murmured, 
 and sank down on the bench again. 
 
 " Do come over to our house," Dolly cried, " we 
 live only just across the way and I am afraid you 
 are ill." 
 
 He rose, made a few steps, then paused, covering 
 his eyes again. " I don't think I can I I this 
 dizziness " 
 
 " You must take my arm. No, that won't do, I'm 
 not tall enough. Just put your hand on my shoulder 
 don't be afraid, I'm strong. Now you do feel stead- 
 ier, don't you ? " 
 
 He obeyed, and it took forever to cross the road to 
 the villa. Dolly felt him swerve, and she grasped his 
 arm with all her young strength. " Only two or three 
 steps more. Courage ! " 
 
 " Forgive me I I " here he made a hopeless 
 effort to grasp Dolly's hand, and the next instant he 
 was lying unconscious at her feet. 
 
 Aunt Mumler heard Dolly's cry, and ran out to find 
 her kneeling beside an unknown young man, trying 
 to raise his head. 
 
 " O Aunt, help quick he is dying ! Call Priscilla 
 the gardener any one ! " 
 
 Aunt Mumler was paralyzed. " Get up this instant, 
 Dolly, are you hurt ? Did he hurt you ? " 
 
 " O Aunt, don't you see he'll die if you don't do 
 something ! He must be put into Dick's room at 
 once." 
 
 Aunt surrendered, and the gardener and a strapping 
 maid managed it between them, and by that time a 
 doctor arrived. 
 
 Dolly waited for him outside the patient's room.
 
 A TRIFLE OF INFORMATION. 169 
 
 " What ails him," and she tried to rub some warmth 
 into her trembling hands. 
 
 " He has all the symptoms of opium poisoning, 
 I think I found the explanation in his pocket, a bunch 
 of cigarettes." 
 
 There was a cry, and Dolly, white and trembling, 
 leaned against the wall for support. " Will will 
 will he die." 
 
 " He is young and strong, and so " 
 
 A touch of color crept back to Dolly's face. 
 
 " If I were to advise the gentleman pardon me, 
 I did not hear his name ? " 
 
 Dolly stared at the little summer doctor with fright- 
 ened eyes. 
 
 His name, indeed ! 
 
 " B Brown ! " Dolly murmured, and clutched the 
 nearest chair for support. 
 
 " Mr. Brown should beware of cigarettes unless he 
 wishes to kill himself. Those he has been smoking 
 contained, I should say, a murderous proportion of 
 opium. Quite an instructive case, my dear young 
 lady." 
 
 Aunt Mumler stepped softly out of Dick's room 
 and found Dolly stranded on the hall-settle, crying 
 torrents. 
 
 " Perhaps, Dolly, you'll now kindly explain why, 
 child, what is the matter ? " For Dolly hung about 
 her neck. 
 
 " Save me, Aunt, save me ! " 
 
 " Save you ? " 
 
 " Don't tell, Aunt, but if he dies, I'll have killed 
 him ! " 
 
 " What ! " 
 
 " I don't know him, and I haven't any idea what 
 his name is, but, all the same, I've killed him." 
 
 " You're crazy, child." 
 
 " I wish I were ! but I am only disgraced, that's 
 all."
 
 17 A TRIFLE OF INFORMATION. 
 
 " Dolly ! " 
 
 " Dick's cigarettes killed him, and I gave him Dick's 
 cigarettes there ! " 
 
 " Dolly ! " 
 
 " That horrid doctor would know his name, and I 
 had to say something," here she wept afresh, " and so 
 I said it was B Brown." 
 
 " And you mean to say, Dolly, that his name isn't 
 Brown ? " 
 
 " I told you just now that I don't know what his 
 name is ! " 
 
 " What would Dick say if he knew ! " 
 
 " I couldn't be any more miserable if he did," here 
 she shook out a morsel of a handkerchief dripping 
 with tears, and hid her face on Aunt Mumler's shoul- 
 der. 
 
 " Auntie, if you ever really liked me, say that his 
 name is B Brown, and that he is a friend of yours 
 from America he he speaks just the nicest Eng- 
 lish," 
 
 " But suppose, my dear, he says his name isn't 
 Brown ? " Aunt Mumler urged feebly. 
 
 " It's got to be." 
 
 " Dolly ! " a voice called from above. 
 
 " There's Priscilla, and she'll want to know ! It's 
 just too dreadful ! " 
 
 The wretched little criminal appeared before her 
 judge. Her nose was red with friction and her hand- 
 kerchief could absorb no more moisture. 
 
 " Please explain, Dorothy ! " 
 
 "You see, Prissy dear, we were having such a 
 pleasant time together until to-day. There was no 
 harm, really. He went to the palace-garden to read, 
 and so did I and and you know there is only one 
 bench. His conversation was always very respect- 
 ful." 
 
 " Oh, indeed."
 
 A TRIFLE OF INFORMATION. I/ 1 
 
 "Yes, truly. But there were a great many mos- 
 quitoes about, and as he smoked just to oblige me, 
 I thought I really ought to do my share. So this 
 morning, I never dreamed of harm, I brought him a 
 b bunch of Dick's cigarettes and there he is now 
 downstairs dy dying perhaps!" and Dolly 
 gazed about for something fresh into which to weep. 
 
 "Take a towel and damp it right through, if you 
 have any sense of propriety left." 
 
 "There's another thing, Prissy," a muffled voice 
 urged from behind the towel, " you've got to call him 
 B Brown. The Doctor would know and so I had to 
 say something, and so I said B Brown, and he is sup- 
 posed to be a friend of Aunt's, from America. She's 
 ever so good about it. If I could see him just a min- 
 ute, I'd explain. I know he'd be glad to say his name 
 is Brown, to oblige me." 
 
 " That is accommodating. Well, you can't ; be- 
 sides, he is too ill to care what his name is." 
 
 " You must be dreadfully ashamed of me, Prissy ! " 
 
 " Rather, Dolly, child." 
 
 " I don't mind that so much, but I couldn't bear to 
 have Dick ashamed. Don't tell him, dear, and you 
 shall see how grateful I can be." ' 
 
 Whereupon Dolly went in search of her aunt. 
 
 " Just as soon as he knows anything, tell him his 
 name is Brown, that I told you so." 
 
 " I can't, Dolly, besides you said he doesn't know 
 your name." 
 
 "That's true. But you tell him 'the girl in pink,' 
 he'll know. He likes my pink dress very much he 
 said so." 
 
 " Certainly I sha'n't ! " 
 
 " Then just let me put my head in the room and 
 say " 
 
 " Child, what are you thinking of 1 "
 
 1 72 A TRIFLE OF INFORMATION. 
 
 " Well, what am I to do ! Don't be so unreason- 
 able, Aunt ! Shall I write him a note ? " 
 
 " Don't you dare ! " 
 
 "Then how is he to know his name? And what 
 am I to do ? Besides, he may be dying ! Oh, Aunt, 
 Aunt, I am too wretched. Do you think it is a broken 
 heart ? It feels more like that than anything else." 
 
 VI. 
 
 *T*HE next day the Nameless one rallied and looked 
 J- about perplexed. An old lady, beaming mild 
 sympathy out of gold spectacles, came towards him. 
 
 " Where am I ? " he asked in German. 
 
 " You must speak English, we are Americans." 
 
 " Why am I here," and he looked in deep disap- 
 proval at the bed. 
 
 " Because, my poor boy, you have been very ill." 
 
 " Humph ! Where am I ? " 
 
 " In Mrs. Oldecott's house, dear. Well, I don't 
 suppose you would know. You were taken ill here." 
 
 The Nameless one suddenly remembered. 
 
 "You don't mean to say that she is married," and 
 he stared at Aunt Mumler with gaunt eyes. 
 
 " Who ? " 
 
 " That is just what I don't know who ! But it 
 seems that Dick is her brother, and that Priscilla is 
 her sister." 
 
 "You probably mean my niece, Dorothy Outer- 
 bridge," Aunt Mumler said with dignity, and added 
 under her breath, " who is a little fool, or you wouldn't 
 be here, young man." 
 
 However she treated him well, in fact spoiled him, 
 and gave him a hand-glass so that he could measure 
 the ravages of disease. 
 
 " When he is stronger he shall explain," she de-
 
 A TRIFLE OF INFORMATION. 1/3 
 
 cided severely. The Nameless one had no intention 
 of explaining, so he took refuge in weakness. 
 
 Confess his name, indeed, and have his family come 
 pouring down upon him, or, worse still, to be packed 
 off home never ! 
 
 " To-morrow you will be on your feet again, Mr. 
 Brown," the Doctor said to him that afternoon, 
 " but, ha ! ha ! n/>t independent of me." 
 
 The Nameless one stared. Here the German maid 
 appeared. " Is Mr. Brown to have soup or a bit of 
 chicken for dinner ? " 
 
 "Mr. Brown?" he repeated, in growing amaze- 
 ment. 
 
 " He is ready for a good dinner," the Doctor said, 
 genially. 
 
 "As an American how well you speak German, 
 Mr. Brown. I suppose you spell your name with an 
 *ow.' We Germans spell it with an 'au.' You are 
 quite like a German, really, and Miss Outerbridge sur- 
 prised me when she said you were an American." 
 
 " Miss Outerbridge said so ? Yes, I spell my name 
 with an ' ow,' " and he smiled. Shades of his ances- 
 tors ! What melody in the plebeian name of Brown 
 with which she had favored him. 
 
 When dinner time came he was famished, and he 
 suffered tortures for fear that he should recover too 
 soon. 
 
 Mrs. Oldecott was very severe with Dolly. " Nurs- 
 ing a man we don't know from Adam ! A man who 
 doesn't tell his name, too, Dolly ; that looks like a 
 very bad conscience." 
 
 " I am sure that he is a gentleman," Dolly remon- 
 strated, much subdued. 
 
 " He is probably something dreadful." 
 
 " Don't, please, Prissy ! " 
 
 " What would Dick say if he knew ? "
 
 174 A TRIFLE OF INFORMATION. 
 
 "But don't make it any worse, Prissy! Dick is in 
 Baden-Baden." 
 
 Priscilla strolled into the garden, she was greatly 
 annoyed. A familiar voice roused her from her un- 
 pleasant meditations, and two arms were thrown about 
 her neck. 
 
 " Dearest Mrs. Oldecott, I have not seen you for 
 an age ! " 
 
 " Why, Cordula, where have you been ? " Cordula 
 looked at her divinity through eyeglasses that twinkled 
 as in a mist. 
 
 " Dearest, you knew that my brother came ? A few 
 days ago he went away without saying a word, and we 
 have not heard from him since, and we are so anxious ! 
 He has done this before, but he never stayed away so 
 long. We don't know what to do." 
 
 " He'll be sure to come back, dear ; don't worry. 
 When he does come, give him a good scolding. You 
 spoil him terribly." 
 
 As Cordula went away, an aged man hobbled to- 
 wards Priscilla with a telegram. He was a familiar 
 visitor, for Dick did most of his correspondence by 
 wire, but Priscilla stared at this message in consterna- 
 tion. 
 
 " Homesick for you and Dolly. Am on the train to 
 St. Severin. Dick." 
 
 " What shall I do ? " was all she could say, but, in- 
 deed, there was little to do, for at that moment a dilap- 
 idated depot-carriage turned in at the gate. 
 
 " Here I am, Prissy ; glad to see me ? Where is 
 Dolly ? " and the next instant she was in Dick's arms. 
 
 "Just what I expected, telegram and I came to- 
 gether! A regular one-horse country! I say, are 
 you glad to see me ? " 
 
 " Don't be foolish, Dick," and she struggled out 
 of his grasp.
 
 A TRIFLE OF INFORMATION. 1 75 
 
 " Is this the welcome for which I have been pin- 
 ing ? Same room, eh ? " 
 
 In a moment he would have dashed in, only Dolly 
 barred the way. 
 
 " Why, Dolly, old girl, what's up ? " 
 
 "There there is some one ill here, Dick." 
 
 " Don't say Aunt is laid up." 
 
 " N no it's a a friend." 
 
 " Didn't know we had friends here on such inti- 
 mate terms. Anything catching ? If she is a real, 
 nice, jolly American, why I say, Prissy, what is 
 up?" 
 
 " I I meant to say, Dick dear, that it's a gentle- 
 man, a a friend of Aunt's," Dolly interposed faintly. 
 
 " I see, some crony of Aunt's, old Baptist parson 
 from down East on a Cook's excursion. Got banged 
 up and lets himself down on a parishioner. What's 
 his name, Dolly ? " 
 
 " B Brown." 
 
 " Thank Heaven, that won't wear my memory out 
 as most of these infernal foreign names do. Don't 
 bother about me, girls, stow me anywhere." 
 
 Aunt Mumler found Dick in the midst of chaos, in 
 his new quarters. He lit a cigar and resigned his 
 wardrobe to her care. ' 
 
 " I say, Aunt, how is the old man ? " 
 
 " What old man, Dick ? " 
 
 "Why, your sick old man downstairs." 
 
 " O but he isn't old, he is young." 
 
 Dick whistled softly. " From Portland, eh ? " 
 
 "No no not exactly. He's a German young 
 man," and Aunt Mumler tried to hide her confusion 
 in a bureau-drawer. 
 
 " By the name of Brown ? " 
 
 Y yes, Oyes." 
 
 " Humph, been very ill ? " 
 
 " Dreadfully. But he's up now and dressed."
 
 I7 6 A TRIFLE OF INFORMATION. 
 
 "What kind of a chap is he ? " 
 
 " Perfectly charming and so handsome." 
 
 " I'd like to see your paragon. Guess he'll be glad 
 to talk to a man for a change." 
 
 "I'll inquire, Dick," and Aunt Mumler fled in 
 search of Dolly. " I simply can't keep Dick out of 
 that room, child." 
 
 "Very well, then, but I must speak to him before 
 Dick does," Dolly cried in despair. 
 
 The Nameless one was in very low spirits when 
 there came a hesitating knock at the door, and Aunt 
 Mumler appeared, followed by a young person in 
 pink, whose lips quivered at sight of him. 
 
 " At last," (or words to that effect) he stammered, 
 and rose rather unsteadily to his feet. 
 
 " Forgive me do forgive me ! it was all my fault," 
 Dolly cried, though that was not at all what she 
 meant to say, and she let him hold her hand as if he 
 could never let it go again, and that was not at all 
 what she meant to do. 
 
 Aunt Mumler coughed back the proprieties. 
 
 " I I came to tell you that my brother has ar- 
 rived, and that he wishes to see you." Here Dolly 
 paused and looked at him with tragic eyes. 
 
 " I shall be delighted to meet " 
 
 "Yes, but you don't see how dreadful it is for me, 
 
 for I I have been telling such awful lies ! 
 
 And Dick will find them all out and I shall be dis- 
 graced," and she burst into tears. 
 
 " You disgraced ! Surely you are dreaming ! " 
 
 " N no," she sobbed ; " I felt obliged to give you 
 a name ; the doctor would ask, and there was Dick, 
 and so so we've called you B Brown, and that 
 that's what I've come to tell you, so you'll know what 
 to do." 
 
 " Do forgive me, though I hardly can forgive my- 
 self ! I never thought to what my silence might ex-
 
 A TRIFLE OF INFORMATION. 
 
 
 
 pose you. My excuse is that I was too ill at first to 
 quite realize. My name is " 
 
 "Don't tell me, I don't want to know," Dolly cried 
 in a reaction of emotion. " Everybody will know then, 
 and that I tell lies. All I beg of you is that you call 
 yourself B Brown as long as you are here, for if 
 Dick should know he'd never forgive me. I I 
 was considered a very truthful person," and her lips 
 trembled. 
 
 " I understand ; you think it is easier to forget me 
 without a name." 
 
 " I couldn't forget you ! " 
 
 " Dolly ! " Aunt Mumler interposed. 
 
 " I I couldn't, Aunt, I have had such a horrid 
 time ever since." 
 
 " You may be sure I shall release you at once from 
 my troublesome presence," he retorted, injured. 
 
 " I don't mean that, either," and she held out her 
 hand to him with a gesture of entreaty. " You know 
 I mean well, but I do somehow say the wrong things. 
 Priscilla never does ; you'll like her a great deal bet- 
 ter than you do me " 
 
 " Dolly ! " 
 
 "Well, I'm going, Aunt. I dare say Dick is dying 
 to come in and ask questions. O dear me ! " 
 
 VII. 
 
 /CAPTAIN OUTERBRIDGE examined Mr. Brown 
 >- with thoughtful curiosity, as that gentleman ex- 
 pressed his sense of obligation. 
 
 " As a friend of Aunt Mumler's they would do any- 
 thing for you Mr. a Brown." 
 
 Dick spoke the name so deliberately, that its tem- 
 porary possessor turned crimson. 
 12
 
 I? 8 A TRIFLE OF INFORMATION. 
 
 Captain Outerbridge gazed at him as one who is 
 searching the recesses of memory. 
 
 " What excellent English you speak, Mr. Brown." 
 
 " I I live in London." 
 
 " London ? Nice place except on Sundays. In 
 business ? " 
 
 " I am attached to the German embassy," the 
 Nameless one explained, off his guard. 
 
 " Indeed,"and Dick leaned forward on one elbow. 
 " I was at a ball there last spring. Delightful quar- 
 ters. Fine supper, too. Our own minister feeds the 
 free and independent, and somehow it flavors the 
 cookery." 
 
 As Dick finished his cigar that night he turned to 
 Dolly, who gave a nervous start. 
 
 " Come upstairs, Dolly, I've something to say to 
 you." 
 ' " Please say it here." 
 
 " Do you think I want my remarks tacked down in 
 Aunt's diary and sent to Portland ? " 
 
 Captain Outerbridge lighted his lamp with elabo- 
 rate slowness. 
 
 " Now then, Dolly, about Mr. Brown." 
 
 There never was so eloquent a pause as preceded 
 Mr. Brown ; Dolly surrendered at once. 
 
 "What is his real name ? " 
 
 " I I don't know." 
 
 " Yet you turn this house into a hospital for a man 
 whose very name you don't know ! " 
 
 "Please please, don't be angry, Dick." 
 
 " Now, how did this all happen ? " 
 
 " I I really can't tell you." 
 
 " You'd better, if you wish me to get you out of a 
 scrape." 
 
 Then Dolly hung her head and confessed how the 
 Nameless one had been poisoned by Dick's cigarettes, 
 bestowed on him by Dick's own sister.
 
 A TRIFLE OF INFORMATION. 
 
 " By George, but you gave him a dose ! " and Dick 
 whistled gently. " Why, they're not fit to smoke. 
 They're Sam Mallory's experiment he sent them 
 to me and said the effect was blissful. Two nearly 
 floored me. I meant to throw them away, but I for- 
 got. I say, Dolly, if this man didn't tell his name 
 as soon as he came to his senses, it is because he is 
 either afraid or ashamed." 
 
 " Oh, no, no, Dick ! " 
 
 " Then prepare yourself, my child. Your Mr. 
 Brown is no stranger to me." Dolly stared, spell- 
 bound. 
 
 " Do you remember what you wrote me about a 
 suspected forger who is moving in the best society 
 here ? Not a common forger, you said, but decidedly 
 aristocratic ? You rather hoped he would fall in love 
 with you " 
 
 " Dick, don't say another word ! I cannot bear it, 
 I have been punished enough ! O I'm so wretch- 
 edly unhappy." 
 
 Captain Outerbridge the next morning strolled into 
 the Nameless one's room and found him drumming a 
 dreary tune on the window pane. 
 
 " You will be sorry to hear that my sister Dolly is 
 ill," he said politely, " and she so regrets not tb see 
 you again before you go." 
 
 The Nameless one looked helplessly at the Captain, 
 but he was bound in honor not to explain. 
 
 Was the Captain really so obtuse as not to see that 
 though he was an impostor, he was a very respectable 
 one? 
 
 That night, like the prodigal son, Baron Kurt re- 
 turned to the home of his ancestors with a look on 
 his face which forbade interrogations. 
 
 The fatted calf took the shape of an extra fine bot- 
 tle of Johannisberger, and Cordula hung about her 
 brother's neck, dissolved in tears.
 
 180 A TRIFLE OF INFORM ATION. 
 
 " She said you'd come back." 
 
 " Who ? Your widow ? " 
 
 " She said we were spoiling you." 
 
 " Perhaps she would like to try a hand at it her- 
 self." 
 
 "You are greatly mistaken, Mrs. Oldecott would 
 never " 
 
 " Cordula ! Who ? " 
 
 " My dear friend, Mrs. Oldecott." 
 
 " Why didn't you tell me her name before ? " 
 
 " You never listened." 
 
 Serenity returned to Baron Stendal's heart. With 
 Cordula's help he would again penetrate into that en- 
 chanted abode, with colors flying and drums playing. 
 He was prepared to sacrifice the whole Stendal 
 tribe, a diplomatic career, and his own untrammeled 
 affections, on the altar of a young person in pink, who 
 read fairy tales and who had bestowed on him, Baron 
 Stendal, the plebeian name of Brown. 
 
 Now that the prodigal had returned, the family un- 
 derwent a reaction, and glared at him. Kurt declined 
 to inhale this reproachful atmosphere any longer. 
 He strolled towards his sister and kissed her with 
 unusual warmth. " I'll call on Mrs. Oldecott with 
 you to-morrow, child." 
 
 " I have no intention of taking you, Kurt." 
 
 Here again, like the prodigal son, Baron Kurt pro- 
 ceeded to pick up the crumbs of what had once been 
 a goodly feast waiting his pleasure. Such is life ! 
 
 VIII. 
 
 A HAMMOCK swung under the linden trees be- 
 fore the drawing-room windows. In it lay Dick, 
 smoking and meditating. 
 
 To him appeared Aunt Mumler with an air-cushion,
 
 A TRIFLE OF INFORMATION. l8l 
 
 which she proceeded to blow up, like an ancient 
 cherub. 
 
 " For your head, Dick, child. Hadn't we better 
 send for the doctor, Dolly looks so ill." 
 
 " Serve her right ! " 
 
 " Serve her right ? Why what do you mean ? " 
 
 " She is worrying, of course. What business have 
 you fools of women to take in a strange man, and to 
 coddle him ! You'll be town-talk next." 
 
 " We only did our duty, he was sick and we took 
 him in. I'd have done it in Portland just the same 
 such a lovely, considerate young man, and such a gen- 
 tleman ! " 
 
 " Have you heard that this place is the headquar- 
 ters of a band of forgers, Aunt Mumler ? " Dick in- 
 terposed, gravely, 
 
 " Bless me, yes, so I have," and she stared at him. 
 
 Dick turned away. 
 
 "At the same time what has that to do with this 
 young man ? I don't understand ! Dick, I insist, I 
 really must insist ! You don't dare to tell me that 
 this gentleman, this perfect gentleman, is connected 
 with Richard, why don't you speak ! " 
 
 " I have nothing further to say," he replied, in a 
 faint voice, and before Aunt Mumler could aSk an- 
 other question, he swung himself out of the hammock 
 and strolled away. 
 
 She turned still aghast at sound of a light foot- 
 fall. It was Dolly, a picture of woe and humility. 
 
 " Goodness, child, how you look ! There, lie down. 
 Don't worry, it will all come right." 
 
 Dolly obeyed and turned her poor little face from 
 the sight of mankind in general and of Cordula von 
 Stendal in particular, who came up the garden path 
 in search of her divinity. 
 
 She found Priscilla in the summer-house, bored
 
 1 82 A TRIFLE OF INFORMATION. 
 
 with St. Severin, indignant with Dolly, and frosty 
 with Cordula herself. 
 
 " You were right, dear Mrs. Oldecott, my brother 
 has returned. He looks very ill and he is cross. 
 But even mamma doesn't dare to ask him where he 
 has been. Do you know, I have punished him." 
 Cordula was triumphant. " He was coming to call 
 on you ; he just begged me to take him, and do you 
 know what I did ? I left him waiting for me at one 
 door, while I ran away by another." 
 
 Priscilla declined to be amused she was pining 
 for society, and she thought that even a heavy diplo- 
 matist might be better than nobody. 
 
 " My brother has come back from Baden-Baden, 
 Cordula. There he is, don't move." 
 
 Cordula made an awkward bow in answer to the 
 Captain's graceful salutation, and becoming a prey 
 to shyness, she bade her adored friend good-by and 
 fled, with a desperate nod to the Captain. 
 
 " 'Pon my word, Prissy, she is just like a green 
 apple," and Dick's face puckered up, as if he had 
 taken a bite out of something very sour. 
 
 Cordula ran until she reached the foot-path to 
 Castle Stendal, where she met a tall man, who greet- 
 ed her as one injured and indignant. 
 
 " I waited half an hour at least, and then I found 
 you had gone." 
 
 " I hate to go calling with a martyr," she replied, 
 pertly. 
 
 " I told you distinctly that nothing would give me 
 greater pleasure." 
 
 " Don't you think I understand, Kurt ? You have 
 fallen in love with Mrs. Oldecott, I dare say you have 
 seen her somewhere. Don't think I am blind ! but I 
 sha'n't help you ! " and Cordula retreated in just re- 
 sentment, partly on account of Kurt, but principally
 
 A TRIFLE OF INFORMATION. 183 
 
 in remembrance of that elaborate bow with which she 
 had been favored by Captain Outerbridge. 
 
 Dolly felt so humiliated that the very sight of her 
 reproachful family was unendurable. So she avoided 
 everybody and sought a spot where she could be alone 
 with her disgrace. 
 
 Instinctively she strayed into a certain deserted 
 garden, where, under an apple tree, there stood a man- 
 trap in the shape of a wooden bench. 
 
 She sank wearily down in the old place and closed 
 her eyes, oblivious to all things. 
 
 Just then another person sauntered in, his tread 
 dulled by the heavy grass. 
 
 He had come for the simple reason that he wanted 
 to see again the divine spot where for the first time he 
 had found a little person in pink ; perhaps to discover 
 in this inspired place a solution for his happiness. 
 
 He looked up from meditation and stood spell- 
 bound, for there, in the old place, sat the girl of his 
 heart, her dear eyes closed. 
 
 He sighed for very happiness, and Dolly looked up. 
 The quick blood flushed her face, and she gazed at 
 him with mute reproach, while her heart beat so fast 
 that she could not speak. ' 
 
 " Why are you here ? " she stammered at last. 
 
 The Baron was so astounded that he hesitated, with 
 the semblance of a very bad conscience. 
 
 " Had I known you were here," he said, recover- 
 ing himself, " I should, yes, I should have been sure 
 to come." 
 
 " How dare you speak so to me ! " and Dolly hid 
 her face in her hands. 
 
 " Dare ? If my presence is so hateful to you 
 I " 
 
 " I I hoped that you had left St. Severin," she 
 sobbed, " but it is best to tell you I know all."
 
 1 84 A TRIFLE OF INFORMATION. 
 
 "Who told you?" 
 
 " My brother." 
 
 w I thought he recognized me. But, surely, you 
 must confess that I am not quite to blame ? " 
 
 " I I am very sorry for you, I dare say you 
 were terribly tempted." 
 
 " Indeed I was," he cried eagerly, " and you may 
 well be sorry for me, if such a trifle has caused me to 
 lose your regard." 
 
 " A trifle ? " and she looked at him aghast. 
 
 " If you knew what those days were to me, you 
 would understand." 
 
 " Don't don't, I want to forget them forever ! " 
 
 " If you but knew how I love you, you would " 
 
 " Don't don't speak of love to me the man you 
 are ! " 
 
 " The man I am ! Miss Outerbridge ? -" 
 
 Here Dolly dried her eyes, and made a little speech. 
 
 " I'll tell you something, though it is just too dread- 
 ful ! I really do like you there ! Perhaps it will 
 help you in the future, and you will repent." 
 
 "Repent?" 
 
 "And I'll just as lief promise never to marry any- 
 one, if you wish. I don't mind, for I feel too dread- 
 fully old." 
 
 " Miss Outerbridge Dolly " 
 
 " Please don't touch me ! Oh, if I had only known 
 who you were ! " 
 
 " Was I quite to blame for not telling you at once ? 
 When I found myself ill and in your house, I could 
 not give up the joy of being under the same roof with 
 you foolish and wrong though it was. I could not 
 bear to be taken to Castle Stendal " 
 
 " Taken where ? " and Dolly held her breath. 
 
 " Love makes us so selfish," he continued, heed- 
 less of interruption. "To be under your roof, for 
 the sound of your voice for a possible glimpse of
 
 A TRIFLE OF INFORMATION. 185 
 
 your dear face, I sacrificed my whole family, and all 
 I get for this is to be told to repent, as if I had com- 
 mitted a terrible crime," and he turned away without 
 another look. 
 
 " Forgive me, forgive me ! " and an appealing 
 hand was laid on his arm. " I I did not know that 
 you were I mean, I I mean I thought you were 
 some one else." 
 
 " Did you not say that Captain Outerbridge told 
 you " 
 
 " I I can't explain ! But please say you forgive 
 me and and I suppose you don't care a bit now 
 whether I ever do get married or not." 
 
 " I should care, my darling, unless you married 
 me," and he held her in his arms. 
 
 " Do you really mean it ? And you won't repent ? 
 And what do you see in me to love ? But please 
 don't repent, dear ! " and she put her arms about his 
 neck and hid her face, and so Dick found them as he 
 strolled over in search of Dolly. 
 
 " Now, Captain Outerbridge, will you kindly ex- 
 plain ? " 
 
 " Pardon, Baron Stendal, will you kindly explain," 
 and Dick glanced at Dolly, blushing and crurrupled. 
 
 " Dick, you knew who he is, and yet you told 
 me " 
 
 Dick was as calm and sunny as a May morning. 
 
 " Dick, you spoke of of forgers the other day." 
 
 " I believe I did." 
 
 " And you said that that this gentleman was one 
 of the " 
 
 " I didn't ! But if you will jump at ridiculous con- 
 clusions " 
 
 " Dick ! " 
 
 "I have been looking for you, Richard." 
 
 It was Aunt Mumler. " Priscilla wants you." 
 
 Here she started back in dismay, at sight of Baron
 
 1 86 A TRIFLE OF INFORMATION. 
 
 Stendal, while Dolly grasped her arm with painful 
 emphasis. 
 
 " What did Dick say about this gentleman ? " 
 
 " That that there ! I can't and I won't believe 
 it!" 
 
 " He said he belonged to the forgers ! " Dolly de- 
 clared, with tragic denunciation. 
 
 " I didn't," the culprit replied, unmoved, " for that 
 would have been absurd, since I recognized him at 
 once as Baron Stendal, for I saw him in London at 
 a ball at the German embassy. But I was rather 
 surprised to meet him again in our house as Mr. 
 Brown." 
 
 " Will you please explain about the forgers, Dick ? " 
 
 " All I said was that there is supposed to be a band 
 of forgers here. Don't you remember, Dolly, writing 
 about them ? " 
 
 " What has that to do with Baron Stendal ? " 
 
 " I am sure I don't know," and Dick opened his 
 cheerful eyes very wide. " It was simply a trifle of 
 information, and anything is interesting in this dull 
 place." 
 
 Dolly began with withering scorn, and ended by 
 laughing on Dick's shoulder. 
 
 " You see it was only a little misunderstanding, 
 Baron Stendal. Dolly, I really must go. Suppose 
 you stay and explain. After all, you are to blame." 
 
 The morning passed, luncheon time came, but 
 neither Dolly nor the Baron. So Dick sauntered 
 across to the apple tree, to announce the prose of 
 existence. 
 
 At sight of her brother, Dolly tried to draw her 
 hand out of Kurt's. 
 
 " The explanation seems rather long ? " 
 
 " For life," Baron Stendal answered gayly, and 
 drew Dolly still closer.
 
 A TRIFLE OF INFORMATION. 1 8? 
 
 She looked up at him with laughing eyes. " We'll 
 be grateful, and put up a monument here." 
 
 "A monument? " 
 
 " To the mosquitoes, of course ! Don't you see, 
 if it hadn't been for those dear mosquitoes, we would 
 never " 
 
 And that was true !
 
 MR. CARMICHAEL'S CONVERSION. 
 
 A NINETEENTH-CENTURY MIRACLE. 
 I. 
 
 HPHE gout and whaling-voyages not being compati- 
 J- ble, Captain Jonathan Dunlow gave up the latter 
 to attend to the former. 
 
 He anchored in the old Portsmouth harbor for the 
 last time, and would have felt much sadder as he 
 passed the harbor-light, if at that moment a twinge of 
 his enemy in the great toe of his left foot, had not 
 warned him that it was high time to settle down. So 
 Captain Dunlow anchored the Lovely Sal at the 
 weather-beaten wharf, and watched her a moment 
 after he landed with a choking sensation in his throat. 
 The only things he took with him to remind him 
 of his past career, were his telescope and speaking- 
 trumpet ; indeed, unimportant as this fact may seem, 
 had he left them behind there would have been no 
 story to tell. With these under his arm he lounged 
 down the silent streets of Portsmouth town, with the 
 afternoon sun blinking lazily on the hot cobblestones, 
 and at last knocked at the widow Curdy's front door. 
 
 " My goodness, mum ! it's the capt'in, come home 
 for good," the maid-of-all-work cried, hanging out of 
 a convenient window. 
 
 " Open the door, you ! D'ye think I like to broil ! " 
 
 the captain shouted irritably ; and in a moment more 
 
 he was ushered from the glaring light of day into the 
 
 coolness of a long, broad corridor cool by reason 
 
 ('88)
 
 MR. CARMICHAEL'S CONVERSION. 189 
 
 of generous doors, cooler for the presence of the widow 
 Curdy gliding downstairs, thin and long and exasper- 
 atingly chilly, the captain justly thought as he threw 
 himself into an easy chair and mopped his head mean- 
 while with a bandanna handkerchief of a fiery scarlet. 
 Captain Dunlow was a short, thick-set man, weather- 
 beaten and heavy -featured, but with shrewd gray 
 eyes, which he winked knowingly. Being the widow 
 Curdy's only lodger, he was the subject of fond specu- 
 lations to that estimable woman ; still, in spite of the 
 undoubted advantages she possessed, the captain's 
 heart remained untouched, and three days after his 
 reappearance, he collected his luggage, paid his bill, 
 and, with his telescope and speaking-trumpet once 
 more under his arm, disappeared forever out of the 
 widow Curdy's horizon. 
 
 II. 
 
 Fate, in connecting the lives of people, at 
 ^ the same time draw between them a thread of 
 light, in what a curious mesh we should be entangled ! 
 Could such a thing be, then would there have been a 
 delicate connecting link between Mr. Carmich'ael of 
 Milboro' and Captain Dunlow, at that moment hazard- 
 ing his life on the top of a New Hampshire stage- 
 coach, and still clinging to the telescope and the 
 speaking-trumpet. His disappearance from under 
 Mrs. Curdy's roof was not nearly so mysterious as it 
 might at first seem, for he had long since contemplated 
 occupying a certain little farm on Milboro' hillside, 
 as soon as he could get his sister Dinah to keep house 
 for him. 
 
 Mr. Carmichael was at that identical moment in 
 his own home in South Milboro', lying on his bed, with 
 a vacant look in his eyes, and an unkempt aspect to
 
 19 MR. CARMICHAEL'S CONVERSION. 
 
 his hair, which, with the perfumeof bad whiskey about, 
 if it did not explain, at least hinted at Mr. Carmi- 
 chaePs condition. 
 
 There was a boot and shoe factory in Milboro' 
 which in prosperous times had given Mr. Carmichael 
 sufficient work to do, till one day, elated by too much 
 prosperity, he came near taking to himself a wife ; of 
 which, for reasons best known to himself, he had 
 thought better. But from that day, curiously enough, 
 his good luck deserted him, till he had no work and 
 could get none, and there seemed no hope in living. 
 It being injudicious to kill himself outright, Mr. Car- 
 michael concluded to stupefy himself, which he pro- 
 ceeded to do as fast as he conveniently could. Mr. 
 Carmichael, then, lay on the bed in a stifling little 
 room that late summer afternoon, just as the captain, 
 having at last reached his destination, was sitting on 
 the veranda of his farm on the hill, while he smoked a 
 comforting pipe, and watched the eastern hills turn 
 purple, and the western capped an instant with the 
 last superb radiance of the sinking sun. 
 
 " Dinah " and the captain turned to his sister, who 
 was knitting near him " it may do well enough for 
 landlubbers," nodding his head at the offending moun- 
 tains, "but it just chokes me. If I'd been the Lord, 
 I'd made the world all water." 
 
 Miss Dunlow looked up to heaven in pious horror, 
 and felt certain, of what she had before only suspected, 
 that Jonathan's soul needed saving very badly. 
 
 Mr. Carmichael, too, could see the mountains from 
 his solitary window, but they did not trouble him 
 much, and he would have remained passive at least, 
 if an inquisitive hen had not wandered in at the open 
 door, which so unexpectedly incensed him that he 
 sent his solitary pillow flying after her, with little 
 damage to either. So the summer sun sank behind 
 the hills and hid them from Captain Dunlow's pro-
 
 MR. CARMICHAEL'S CONVERSION. IQI 
 
 testing eyes, and at the same time kindly extinguished 
 the man named Carmichael, who at that moment had 
 in his low soul neither courage to live nor courage to 
 die. 
 
 III. 
 
 MISS DUNLOW called it a freak, but the captain 
 declared, he'd be darned if he cared what she 
 called it. 
 
 The matter was, that the captain, with a fond recol- 
 lection of the deck of the Lovely Snf, had taken pos- 
 session of the rotunda on the roof, which was, however, 
 in common language, nothing but a small square room 
 with a window on each side. Here he placed his 
 telescope on a stand of his own construction, and on 
 the wall behind it he hung his speaking-trumpet, oc- 
 casionally amusing himself by bellowing down at un- 
 wary passers-by ; and, what with scanning the whole 
 neighborhood with his telescope, Milboro' might be 
 said to be an open book to the captain. Sometimes, 
 by gazing fixedly at the sky through his telescope or 
 staring steadily at the small stream in the valley as it 
 rippled by, he could delude himself into the innocent 
 belief that he was still sailing the Lovely Sat, espe- 
 cially if he accompanied the act by a vigorous motion 
 of his rocking-chair. 
 
 The house lay quite high up on the side of a hill, 
 with a fine stretch of cultivated ground about. But, 
 beyond the sloping fields, there were acres of dense 
 woods, with a bit of clearing in one place showing a 
 tremendous rent in the granite rocks, with a few lonely 
 pine trees overshadowing the black chasm, where 
 nothing grew but dogwood and poison-ivy ; the whole, 
 from its gloom and foreboding sternness, called " Pur- 
 gatory " by the country folks. The captain in his 
 tower, half a mile away, could see this dimly, but
 
 I9 2 MR. CARMICHAEL'S CONVERSION. 
 
 every inch of ground was distinct to his sight as soon 
 as he put his faithful telescope to his eye. 
 
 Strange as it may seem, Mr. Carmichael's good 
 angel kept guard over this telescope, seeing he was 
 certainly not in the society of that gentleman, who 
 was by this time plunged in such depths, that it was a 
 delicate question whether he would leave this world 
 sober or not. Mr. Carmichael's faults and misfor- 
 tunes, till he took to drinking, were mostly of a nega- 
 tive kind ; which was at this time his misfortune, for 
 had he committed a serious crime he might have 
 been hung respectably. But now he had made up his 
 drunken mind that on the whole it would be better to 
 die than to live on forever in this way, with nothing to 
 hope for, and only the jail or a poorhouse staring him 
 in the face. It was no fault of his, so ran his argu- 
 ment ; and on the third day after Captain Dunlow's 
 arrival in Milboro', Mr. Carmichael borrowed if he 
 did not steal a ragged halter in the tumble-down 
 barn behind the house, and with shambling gait and 
 hanging head, shuffled along under Heaven's bright 
 sunlight, in the perfect loveliness of a summer's day, 
 unmoved by the birds or sunshine, by flowers or pass- 
 ing breeze, and unconsciously took the path that led 
 to the place called Purgatory. 
 
 Mr. Carmichael's fate ordained that Captain Dun- 
 low should be in his rotunda reconnoitering the neigh- 
 borhood with his spyglass, much after the manner of 
 the Arabian sorcerers. The scraps of information ob- 
 tained were, however, of the prosiest description, and 
 were each in turn shouted down, through the trapdoor 
 in the floor, to the unfortunate Miss Dinah below, who, 
 suffering from delicate nerves, was hardly soothed 
 by having " Cows ahoy ! " " There them confounded 
 turkeys in the potatoes ! " " Boys in the cherry trees ! " 
 yelled at her every few minutes. Suddenly a death- 
 like silence prevailed, and Miss Dinah, taking advan-
 
 MR. CARMICHAEL'S CONVERSION. 1 93 
 
 tage of the lull, folded her thin, respectable hands 
 and dropped into a doze. 
 
 Mr. Carmichael's good angel had so arranged mat 
 ters that when the captain had examined the fields of 
 grain swaying in the afternoon breeze, and had looked 
 at every conceivable object far and near, he should 
 bring his glass to bear on that open space in the woods 
 which Carmichael had reached in his reckless deter- 
 mination, and where Dunlow overtook him like a 
 nineteenth-century magician, and not too soon! God 
 knows, not too soon, and the captain's hair stood on 
 end in horror. 
 
 Down below, in the clearing, he could just see a 
 man with a wild, despairing face a rope the high, 
 strong branch of a tree. God's mercy on the wretch ! 
 he was going to hang himself! 
 
 For a moment the captain's heart stood still with 
 the horrible sense of his helplessness to save the man, 
 who would be dead before the quickest could reach the 
 spot even if a straight path led through the dense 
 woods when, suddenly, an idea flashed upon him. 
 He grasped his speaking-trumpet, and with his eye 
 glued to the fatal spot, he shouted with all the strength 
 of his strong lungs, " Sinner, beware ! The eye of 
 the Lord is upon you ! " 
 
 The man named Carmichael had already hung the 
 rope on the tree, and fashioned a good strong noose ; 
 perhaps, in a moment more, there would have been 
 little left to tell, had not the words come to him 
 through the still air. Rough, hardened man though he 
 was, his strong hands shook, and his knees so trem- 
 bled that he fell flat to the ground. A sickening fear 
 took possession of him as he stared stealthily about 
 the lonely spot and saw no one, heard nothing more ! 
 Carmichael knew of Heaven. Why, he'd even been in 
 the church in Milboro' a church that had a familiar 
 trust in Divine Providence, believing it would go out 
 '3
 
 IQ4 MR. CARMICHAEL'S CONVERSION. 
 
 of its way and upset all known laws to save one sin- 
 ner, however unworthy. So this man, with shaken 
 nerves, in the midst of terror and cowardice, had a 
 vague belief in a miracle performed, and so slunk 
 away through the woods, leaving the horribly sugges- 
 tive noose still hanging on the tree, to darken and 
 disgrace the sunny afternoon. 
 
 IV. 
 
 A CURIOUS age, the nineteenth century, with its 
 ** bad reputation for skepticism, and at foundation 
 a touching desire to believe everything, in default of 
 believing nothing. There is no doubt that the Church 
 needs a periodical stirring up, and it happened that 
 at that time any religious incident with a flavor of ex- 
 citement, was welcomed rapturously. 
 
 These things were known to Mr. Carmichael, in a 
 vague and rude fashion. This man, who would have 
 faced death with immovable stupidity, had at the 
 eleventh hour been utterly shaken by a voice without 
 an attendant body, where there could have been no 
 one, it seemed on close examination ; therefore, it must 
 have been a voice direct from Heaven, from which 
 Mr. Carmichael concluded, in his by no means clear 
 mind, that he was reserved for something better. 
 
 There is no doubt that the world is glad to give 
 unsuspected merit a lift ; and Mr. Carmichael, hav- 
 ing entered on his new lease of life, washed and 
 shaved processes which he needed extremely and 
 after having had a private interview with the pastor 
 of the Milboro' church, felt certain that Heaven had 
 interposed in his behalf, especially after his story 
 leaked out so much to his advantage that he was 
 called upon to repeat it at a revival-meeting in the 
 market-town. This he did with such unbounded sue-
 
 MR. CARMICHAEL'S CONVERSION. 1 95 
 
 cess that he went from one place to another in the 
 character of a hardened sinner saved from the vilest 
 and lowest fate by the grace of God, till he grew fat 
 and oily with too much temporal prosperity, and in 
 the course of time developed an unconscious but ar- 
 tistic talent for adding trifling touches to the original 
 story, at which Mr. Carmichael of that summer's day 
 at Purgatory, would have stared in drunken surprise. 
 
 V. 
 
 CAPTAIN DUNLOW was a scoffer. So Miss 
 Dinah said, and it was the object of her life to 
 enlighten his soul and to take him to church ; both 
 of which projects were eminently unsuccessful. The 
 captain hated regular church-going, and he had, too, 
 religious opinions of his own, which, if not quite after 
 Miss Dinah's respectable pattern, probably answered 
 quite as well in the eyes of an all-wise Creator. 
 
 Milboro' was the proud possessor of a town-hall 
 of the barest and most angular description, warranted 
 to contain no object which could divert the most 
 thoughtless mind from religious contemplation. The 
 early autumn had come, and that mansion of grace 
 was hired by the piously disposed for a religious revi- 
 val. The cold winds were beginning to blow rather 
 rudely, so it seemed best to hold the meetings here, 
 instead of on the camp-ground. 
 
 Miss Dunlow was in a ferment of excitement all 
 the time, and the captain was in a corresponding 
 state of fury. " I'd like to know where your duty be- 
 gins," he snouted in a passion. " At home, it seems 
 to me. D'ye know, I haven't had a hot mouthful to 
 eat since that confounded show started. Charity and 
 duty begin at home ; d'ye hear me, ma'am ? " and the 
 captain rushed off, with passion at white heat.
 
 196 MR. CARMICHAEL'S CONVERSION. 
 
 Miss Dinah shut her eyes and let the bottled wrath 
 pour over her head without a murmur. 
 
 Matters had by this time come to such a pass that 
 no revival was anything without Mr. Carmichael and 
 his story. 
 
 " Carmichael ? Carmichael ? " the captain asked 
 gruffly one day. " Carmichael ? Who's he ? " 
 
 " Oh," Miss Dinah said with a sigh and a pitying 
 look at her brother " oh, he's one of the saved. He 
 was a dreadful drunkard and a sinner, but now he's 
 full of grace." 
 
 "A precious shining light! " the captain interrupt- 
 ed in great disgust : " it must do folks a darned sight 
 of good to hear him ! " 
 
 "Jonathan," his sister said, as pleadingly as possi- 
 ble for her undemonstrative nature "Jonathan, come 
 with me this afternoon. It'll do you good indeed it 
 will. Mr. Carmichael speaks for the first time. They 
 say " lowering her voice mysteriously " they say 
 he's had awful experiences." 
 
 Captain Dunlow, moved by an unexpected curi- 
 osity, not only consented to go, but hitched the horse 
 to the " shay," and he and Miss Dinah were off to the 
 town-hall in good time. 
 
 There was a peculiar delicate flavor of excitement 
 about Mr. Carmichael's appearance, as he was a na- 
 tive of the town, and people had some curiosity to 
 see the saint who had been developed from such a 
 vagabond. So Milboro' and all the surrounding 
 towns turned out in full force to do him honor, and 
 the open square before the town-hall was filled with 
 any and every kind of vehicle which would hold to- 
 gether enough for the occupants to reach their des- 
 tination. An enthusiastic multitude had preceded 
 the captain and Miss Dunlow, so they could barely 
 squeeze into a back settee between a door and a win- 
 dow, through which blew a brisk breeze that began
 
 MR. CARMICHAEL'S CONVERSION. IQ7 
 
 to tell on the captain's temper. However, there was 
 something in the air, an excited earnestness, which 
 made the unhappy scoffer even forget himself. 
 
 The hymns were sung with tremendous fervor, and 
 the women's voices rang out shrill and high with ex- 
 citement. The prayers, too, were fervently listened 
 to, and wet eyes, and bony, hard-worked hands wrung 
 in repentance, spoke more in honor of trusting hearts 
 than of the preacher's eloquence. 
 
 Even the captain became excited, and ran his stubby 
 hand through his gray hair till it stood on end, and 
 then took out his scarlet handkerchief and blew his 
 nose, till the people about turned round in disgust, 
 not knowing the captain's way of showing his emo- 
 tions. 
 
 Suddenly there was a commotion ; the people stood 
 up and stretched their necks, till the captain, who was 
 a short man, and wedged into a corner as well, turned 
 this way and that in balked curiosity, vainly dodging 
 his head in between his neighbors. 
 
 " Confound it ! " cried the captain, and leaped on 
 the settee. Looking over the heads of the peo'ple to- 
 wards the platform, he gave a gasp and a start as he 
 saw a man standing there with a half-conquered, hang- 
 dog air, a defiant look in his eyes and a snarl and a 
 whine in his voice in other words, Mr. Carmichael 
 in his well-known character of a rescued wretch. 
 
 " Bless my soul ! who's he ? " the captain thought, 
 but had no time to recollect, for Miss Dinah, red with 
 shame and horror, pulled at his coat-tails. 
 
 " Down ! down there ! " shouted an outraged wor- 
 shiper ; and so the captain descended, and Mr. Car- 
 michael began. 
 
 He had no intention of giving himself a good char- 
 acter ; he reveled in every vile epithet he could use 
 against himself, and groveled in such dire abase- 
 ment that his admiring hearers acknowledged that
 
 198 MR. CARMICHAEL'S CONVERSION. 
 
 Heaven had stooped a long way to pick him out of 
 the mire ; while a certain choleric old gentleman in a 
 corner, with a distracted mind and two clenched fists, 
 wished he'd had Mr. Carmichael alone on board the 
 Lovely Sal with a rope's end handy, when that re- 
 formed sinner suddenly threw an unexpected light 
 upon himself. 
 
 " Heaven," said Mr. Carmichael, and raised his 
 eyes to the ceiling " Heaven saved this poor wretch 
 for its own purposes. A miracle was performed : there 
 came a voice from the clouds saying, ' Sinner ' " 
 
 The choleric old gentleman in a corner gasped for 
 breath, and turned fatally red. The choleric old gen- 
 tleman wanted to get up, but was held down by the 
 hands of a middle-aged gentlewoman. 
 
 "'Sinner,'" continued Mr. Carmichael "'sin- 
 ner, beware ! The eye of the Lord is upon you ! ' ' 
 
 " You lie ! " 
 
 It rang through the place, and Mr. Carmichael 
 stopped open-mouthed and glared down on the red- 
 faced old gentleman in the corner, who had leaped 
 upon the settee and was waving a scarlet bandanna 
 handkerchief like a flag of defiance. 
 
 "You lie, you you landlubber! 'Twa'n't a voice 
 from the clouds. 'Twas I with my speaking-trumpet ! 
 Don't you go round telling such darned lies ! " 
 
 Mr. Carmichael came to himself ; he tore off his 
 coat and leaped down from the platform, where he 
 was, however, grasped by several stalwart worshipers, 
 who held him struggling and frantic and using lan- 
 guage unbecoming an object of grace. 
 
 " Put him out ! out with him ! " the crowd yelled 
 at the captain ; and so the good man was hustled 
 out, and Miss Dinah, without a moment's reflection, 
 fainted right under the settee. 
 
 Three hundred years ago such boldness might have 
 cost the captain his life : the angry religious feeling
 
 MR. CARMICHAEL'S CONVERSION. 1 99 
 
 of the nineteenth century cost him his hat, at which 
 sacrifice the captain was disgusted. 
 
 " Blamed if I do a good turn for another feller ! " 
 he thought as he climbed into his "shay." "Let 'em 
 go hang and welcome. Go 'long ! " he said to the 
 horse, and so disappeared up the hill. 
 
 The fine effect of Mr. Carmichael's spiritual expe- 
 riences was, however, spoiled by the interruption, and 
 it was amazing to see how popular interest in him 
 languished at once. That he had without doubt been 
 indirectly saved by Divine Providence was of no 
 earthly concern to Milboro', in its keen disappoint- 
 ment that he had not been saved directly. Milboro' 
 pined for a direct miracle. 
 
 So there was nothing left for Mr. Carmichael to do 
 but to disappear, which he did very soon, leaving be- 
 hind him nothing but a vague rumor sometimes re- 
 ferred to as " Carmichael's Conversion."
 
 JACINTH. 
 I. 
 
 '"pWILIGHT began to dim the corners of the large, 
 J- low-studded room, and to obliterate the family 
 portraits on the wainscoted walls. It softened the 
 worn face of Miss Penelope Macilvaine as she sat 
 before the open fire, occasionally glancing over her 
 shoulder towards the nearest window, and sighing. 
 At the two farther windows sat her sisters, Miss Sarah 
 and Miss Judith, as they had done for thirty years. 
 They also looked out of their respective windows 
 once in a while, but they did not sigh, that was Miss 
 Penelope's privilege. 
 
 They were three old women, for even Miss Penel- 
 ope, and she was the youngest, would never again 
 see fifty, but they were all secretly stirred at sight of 
 young Malcolm Dunston walking by Jacinth's side 
 at the foot of the garden, where the hawthorn hedge 
 divided the soft green lawn from the high road. 
 
 " So to-morrow you leave Rothmere and Scotland, 
 Miss Jacinth," he was saying. " You will return to 
 America and forget us ! " He could not look into 
 her face and command his heart, and so he watched 
 the river over the way as it rippled and tumbled under 
 the rustic bridge. 
 
 For a moment Jacinth's lips quivered, but then she 
 lifted her eyes, and there was a quiet strength in their 
 tender depths as they met his, that troubled him, and 
 his heart rebelled against his practical Scotch mind 
 and his self-made barriers. 
 (200)
 
 JACINTH. 201 
 
 " I have had a long holiday, and if I do not go now 
 I shall forget how to work, for my aunts are so good 
 to me," she said, and looked lovingly at the old brick 
 house, unconscious of being watched by eager eyes. 
 
 "I hope," said Miss Sarah, "that it is settled; 
 then the dear child can stay with us until they are 
 married." 
 
 " I can't understand you, Sarah ; he is poorer than 
 Job ; he's only a clerk in the bank, and he hasn't any 
 prospects." 
 
 " He is Mr. Dunston's son, Judith." 
 
 "A nice, shiftless lot that, though I shouldn't say 
 it of the minister." 
 
 " Oh, hush, please," Miss Penelope interrupted ; 
 "they are coming up the walk! Fetch the lamp, 
 Sarah, do oh, I'm all of a tremble." 
 
 The door was quietly opened just as Miss Sarah 
 came in at another with the lamp. She placed it 
 among the books on the table, and then, as if with 
 one accord, all three stared expectantly at Jacinth. 
 
 " Where is Malcolm ? " Miss Sarah broke 'the si- 
 lence. 
 
 " He bade me good-by and went back to the par- 
 sonage across the pasture." 
 
 " Is that all, Jacinth ? " 
 
 " All, Aunt Sarah," she answered, smiling, and 
 drew a chair to the table, while they still watched her 
 as if spellbound. 
 
 " I am glad of it," Aunt Judith cried and broke 
 the spell. 
 
 Aunt Sarah shook her head, but she did not trust 
 herself to speak, and after a moment of stupor, they 
 both left the room. 
 
 No sooner were they gone than Jacinth's face slip- 
 ped into the palms of her hands and lay hidden, until, 
 at a soft touch on her shoulder, she looked up with 
 hopeless eyes.
 
 202 JACINTH. 
 
 "You, Aunt Penelope?" 
 
 Between the two had stood the wall of Aunt Penel- 
 ope's grief, a luckless romance upon which she had 
 built the sad structure of her existence, by right of 
 which she enjoyed unstinted melancholy, which her 
 sisters bore with the patience of long habit, but which, 
 in the uncharitableness of youth, Jacinth called self- 
 ishness. 
 
 " My dear," Aunt Penelope said, and a faint flush 
 crept to the border of her lace cap, " my dear, out of 
 my sorrows and mistakes I speak to you. Thirty 
 years ago the man who once said he loved me, told 
 me that the old feeling had changed. There was 
 nothing to do but to bear it, but, God forgive me, 
 how ill I bore it, how selfish I was. Child, be better 
 and stronger than I, and you will yet be happy. You 
 are young, dear, and prettier than ever I was, and you 
 will forget." 
 
 " Aunt Penelope," Jacinth cried, " he never once 
 told me that he " she paused and hid her face on the 
 old woman's breast. 
 
 " I know, child, I know, it is not only words that 
 speak." 
 
 " It was a mistake, that is all," Jacinth murmured, 
 trying to smile ; then, with a cry that broke down 
 the barriers of her good resolutions, she threw herself 
 forward on the table and buried her face in her out- 
 stretched arms. 
 
 " Have patience with me, Aunt Penelope." 
 
 " My dear, it is not for me to tell you to do at once 
 what I could not do in thirty years," Aunt Penelope 
 said humbly, when the door opened, and Miss Judith 
 appeared. For a moment she stared in consternation 
 at Jacinth, and then she sank into the nearest chair 
 with an eloquent bounce. 
 
 With a quick movement Jacinth was by her side, 
 and threw her arms about the old lady.
 
 JACINTH. 203 
 
 " I love you so dearly, Aunt Judith, forgive me for 
 my foolishness, for to-morrow I shall be far away, and 
 who knows when we shall see each other again ? " 
 
 " See each other again ! " an indignant voice re- 
 peated, and there stood Aunt Sarah, with the tea-tray. 
 "Don't talk nonsense. You are coming back next 
 year, sure ! Now come and have tea by the fire." 
 So they sat about the blazing logs on the hearth, with 
 Jacinth in their midst, resting her bright head on 
 Aunt Penelope's lap, while Aunt Sarah held her hand 
 and Aunt Judith patted her head softly ; and there 
 was peace in the still room and even in poor Jacinth's 
 heart, while, a mile away, in the Rothmere parsonage, 
 Malcolm Dunston was pacing up and down the floor 
 of his shabby room. " I could curse my destiny if I 
 did not mean to conquer it," he cried, stopping short 
 in his walk. 
 
 "Yet if I had said to-night, 'Jacinth, be my wife, 
 wait and be patient until I have earned enough to 
 support you in comfort,' why then she would still have 
 had to go away, and there would have been thtf misery 
 of waiting, for her as well as for me. Now I alone 
 have the sorrow of parting, the fear for the future, and 
 the hope," something seemed to whisper. " Yet she 
 shall be my wife, some day with God's help ! When 
 I can make her happy and when poverty shall not 
 drag her down as it has my mother. I can work, and, 
 by Heaven I will," and he stretched out his strong 
 arms like a young giant trying his strength. 
 
 " Yet suppose," he thought of a sudden, " she sees 
 in the meantime some one she can love, free from any 
 promise to me ? " He stood still and pondered. 
 " Then I shall have kept the sorrow out of her life 
 with the hope." 
 
 So Malcolm Dunston took Fate into his own hands.
 
 204 JACINTH. 
 
 II. 
 
 IN a dreary, shabby New York street, Jacinth Mac- 
 ilvaine looked out of an attic window and watched 
 the forest of chimneys that stood out against the steel 
 blue of the spring sky, and for once she was idle. 
 
 It was a shabby, whitewashed attic, with a dim 
 window, a bare floor, and the cheapest of furniture. 
 In a corner hung a couple of gowns, elaborately dec- 
 orated and boldly proclaiming themselves sham. 
 
 "Ten years ago, on just such a day, I sailed for 
 Scotland," Jacinth thought, as the afternoon crept 
 away, " and now I am thirty instead of twenty, and 
 Eve is as old as I was then." 
 
 "After all, it is good that I have so little time 
 to think," she murmured, when an unceremonious 
 hand rattled the broken door-knob, and then the rat- 
 tler shot in with a celerity which astonished even 
 her airy self. A wonderfully pretty young person, in 
 a dress that proclaimed itself a near relative to those 
 on the wall. 
 
 " From Aunt Sally," she remarked, tossing a let- 
 ter to Jacinth, pirouetted about once or twice in the 
 very wantonness of spirits, slammed the shaky door, 
 and was gone. 
 
 Yes, it was from Rothmere. They had not once 
 forgotten her during these ten long years. " Come 
 to us, Jacinth, child," Aunt Sarah wrote. The same 
 old story, repeated every year with loving persistency. 
 But every year a new baby or an illness, and an in- 
 valid, fretful mother, had tied her down to duty, and 
 so she refused, with pretended cheerfulness. 
 
 ''But Eve is old enough now to take your place," 
 Aunt Sarah wrote, " and we long for the sight of you. 
 Besides, we are old women and who knows when "
 
 JACINTH. 205 
 
 for a moment Jacinth's eyes filled with unaccustomed 
 tears. " One has a duty to perform even to one's 
 self," she read, " and it is the only one you have 
 neglected. We send you a check, so that you can- 
 not have any excuse for not coming." 
 
 The letter fell in her lap, and her heart leaped with 
 joy at the thought of seeing them all again, and per- 
 haps why not ? seeing him once more, and for a 
 moment she grew faint and dizzy with longing. Then 
 came the awakening. 
 
 Deliberately she placed before herself her faded 
 image, with the touch of care on her forehead ; the 
 prim lines of her gray gown, the dawn of old maid- 
 hood, to which she had surrendered without a struggle. 
 
 "If I should see him again and love him, for I am 
 so weak, so weak ! Oh, Jacinth, what is there in you 
 that he would care for ? Old, even for your age, and 
 careworn, and faded. Better, you poor thing, the 
 quiet of your daily life, looking forward to no hope, 
 than such unbearable pain." 
 
 For a moment she sat quite still, when suddenly 
 she saw one of her sister's gloves lying on the floor. 
 Why not Eve instead of herself ? Was she not as 
 much Aunt Sarah's niece ? To transplant her into 
 the purity and peace of Rothmere would be worth 
 any sacrifice. 
 
 " She is so pretty," Jacinth thought fondly, just as 
 the door flew open and Eve skipped in. 
 
 " There it is ! " she cried, and picked up the lost 
 glove, and prepared to skip out once more. 
 
 " Eve, wait a moment ; I want to speak to you." 
 
 " I can't wait, for I'm to take a walk in the ceme- 
 tery." 
 
 Eve's admirers being as a rule rich in hope, but 
 poor in purse, tokens of their devotion were mostly 
 confined to these lugubrious strolls. 
 
 "My dear," Jacinth said, putting her arm about
 
 206 JACINTH. 
 
 her sister, " would you like to go to Scotland on a 
 visit ? " 
 
 " Do they really want me, old girl ? " Eve cried in 
 a glow of delight. Then Jacinth explained that she 
 hardly cared to go (God forgive her), and Eve should 
 go in her stead, if father and mother were willing. 
 
 " Oh, they'll let rne go," and Eve, in rapture, scam- 
 pered towards the door. But as she reached it she 
 ran back and flung her arms about Jacinth, and gave 
 her an affectionate dab of a kiss nowhere in partic- 
 ular, and pronounced these words : " My dear, it's 
 no use being too good in this world. It's nice for 
 others, but it's bad for yourself. Folks take it for 
 granted after awhile, and don't even thank you." 
 Then, with a parting hug, she added : " You're a 
 dear old thing, and of course I'll go." At the door 
 she looked back. " Any men in Rothmere ? Good 
 gracious, I forgot ! They must have been babies in 
 your time. Still, I do hope there are one or two I 
 should die of nothing but old women." 
 
 So Eve disappeared, and Jacinth, looking out into 
 the shabby street and seeing nothing, felt that she, 
 also, had taken Fate into her own hands. 
 
 III. 
 
 TIME, that ruthless joker, had, in spite of his bad 
 character, dealt tenderly during the past ten years 
 with the old ladies of Rothmere. To be sure, he had 
 turned Aunt Sarah's hair quite white, and given Miss 
 Judith a twinge of rheumatism, but he had left Aunt 
 Penelope her gentle grief, and a fondness for soft gray 
 gowns and dainty lace caps. 
 
 The long, quaint house was still the same, the only 
 change being that the luxurious ivy had so entangled 
 the sprightly legs of the weather-cock, that this unre-
 
 JACINTH. 2O7 
 
 liable bird had settled himself permanently due south. 
 About the house was a subdued air of welcome and 
 festivity, and the opening of the distant kitchen door 
 sent delicious whiffs through the old-fashioned hall. 
 
 The Misses Macilvaine sat in their usual places, 
 trying to work, but they gave it up and looked ex- 
 pectantly out of the windows. Miss Penelope spoke. 
 
 " I wonder if she is much changed ? She has had 
 a hard life, and at thirty " 
 
 " I can't understand," Miss Judith interrupted ir- 
 ritably, " why she did not write to say that she was 
 coming by the next steamer, as Sarah suggested. It 
 was thoughtless ! She may not be coming at all." 
 
 " I am sure she will come," Miss Sarah spoke with 
 decision. " I said so to Malcolm last night." 
 
 " Mark my words, Sarah, you're making a terrible 
 mistake. If ten years ago Malcolm made a mistake, 
 and made Jacinth unhappy, don't you help him to do 
 it again. Do you believe that Malcolm Dunston, 
 good looking and rich, with half the girls of the coun- 
 ty running after him do you believe he will'fall in 
 love again with the poor child, after all these years ? 
 Do you believe he will fall in love with her again, 
 when, ten years ago, when she was young and pretty, 
 he could let her go without a word or a promise ? Is 
 it natural, Sarah ? " 
 
 " No, it isn't natural, Judith," she replied, sighing. 
 " But he loved her once, and I believe in his faithful 
 heart, for we know why he did not speak." 
 
 " Nonsense ! Believe in his fiddlestick. What right 
 have you ? When he should have spoken, he was as 
 dumb as an oyster. Lord ! he's only for money- 
 making he's always calculating. He's been at it now 
 for ten years without stopping. I tell you, Sarah " 
 
 Down the road at that moment came the rattle of 
 wheels, and Miss Sarah sprang to her feet. " God 
 bless her, it's Jacinth," she .said, and the next instant
 
 208 JACINTH. 
 
 she was down the garden path, her spectacles bobbing 
 up and down on her nose. 
 
 The ancient cab which served Rothmere drew up 
 at the gate, and the first sound that greeted Miss 
 Sarah's horrified ears was a choice selection of " swear 
 words," as the cabby wrestled with a gigantic trunk 
 atop. Then, to cap Miss Sarah's surprise, there 
 stepped out of the vehicle a youth with an eyeglass, 
 and a young person in an astonishing toilette, who 
 threw her arms about the struggling Miss Sarah, and 
 imprinted a kiss upon the end of that good woman's 
 nose. 
 
 " Heaven preserve us ! who are you ? " she gasped, 
 freeing herself. 
 
 " Good gracious me ! I quite forgot. I'm Eve, 
 aunt. You see pa forgot to post Jacinth's letter, and 
 so I brought it myself." 
 
 " And who is he ? " and Miss Sarah turned severely 
 on the young man. 
 
 " O we met on the train, aunt. He's been real 
 good to me. I told him I was a stranger." 
 
 For a moment Aunt Sarah was staggered, then she 
 collected all her strength, and in a moment the young 
 man with the eyeglass, the rickety cab and the swear- 
 ing cabby had disappeared as chaff before the wind, 
 and Eve, calmly seated on her trunk, listened with a 
 faint smile to the angry old lady. 
 
 " A heart of gold, loving and generous which 
 will be all the better for your love and gentle ways." 
 So Jacinth wrote, and the three discussed it with 
 many a sigh, as they sat about the fire, while Eve was 
 upstairs, emptying the amazing trunk. 
 
 The sitting-room was deserted when she opened 
 the door with a propitiatory smile on her pretty face. 
 The smile died away, and for the first time, perhaps, 
 in her life, the quick tears rushed to her eyes. 
 
 With a stamp of her foot, she dragged Aunt Sarah's
 
 JACINTH. 209 
 
 sacred chair to the fire and threw herself with much 
 spite into its wicker embrace. 
 
 " Why did I come ? " she cried. " Of course they 
 hate me, for they've hardly been civil. As for Aunt 
 Sally, the idea of her flying like an old cat at that nice 
 young man, who was so very polite." This sent her 
 light thoughts off at a tangent, and she only looked 
 up at the sound of a firm tread, and the opening of 
 the door. 
 
 In an instant life in Rothmere exhibited one point 
 of interest at least ; for a grave, handsome man, hold- 
 ing in one hand his hat and riding-whip, stood in the 
 door-way. 
 
 " I came to see Miss Macilvaine," he said, coming 
 forward, but the eager look in his eyes vanished at 
 sight of Eve's pretty face. " She was expected to ar- 
 rive to-day from America." 
 
 He had a low, steady voice, and he seemed to take 
 the girl's measure, body and soul, at one quiet glance. 
 
 That young person bowed graciously. 
 
 " I am Miss Macilvaine, and I'm sure I s<hall be 
 delighted to know to whom I have the pleasure " 
 
 " Surely there must be some mistake," he inter- 
 rupted. " Pardon me, I must find Miss Sarah." And 
 quite unmoved by the younger Miss Macilvaine's toi- 
 lette, her big eyes, and her small feet, he left the 
 room. 
 
 " Well, I never ! " she exclaimed, then with a bound 
 she was at the window. 
 
 There they were, sure enough, walking up and 
 down the garden path. He, with grave, down-bent 
 face, listening to Aunt Sarah's eloquence. For she 
 was eloquent, anxious, exasperated, and her cap- 
 strings shook with indignation, as she glanced towards 
 the house. So Aunt Penelope, coming in, found Eve 
 watching them. 
 
 " O, Aunt Penelope, who is he ? " 
 14
 
 2IO JACINTH. 
 
 Miss Penelope sank into her usual place and 
 watched her niece with a hard line about her mouth, 
 for there was something in the pretty face and vola- 
 tile temperament, that turned Miss Penelope's com- 
 fortable sadness to gall. 
 
 "That is Malcolm Dunston," "The richest man 
 in Rothmere," Miss Judith added. She had just 
 come in. 
 
 " You don't say so ! Why, then he'd do to marry ! " 
 
 There was a moment of stupor, during which Aunt 
 Penelope smiled with scorn. 
 
 " Marry whom ? What are you talking about ? " 
 and in came Miss Sarah. 
 
 " Eve means to marry Malcolm Dunston," Miss 
 Penelope exclaimed, with a sharp laugh. 
 
 Aunt Sarah pulled her spectacles down to get a 
 better look at the girl, and, with a sinking heart, she 
 silently acknowledged her loveliness. 
 
 " Marry him ! " she v cried with indignation. " He 
 isn't the man for every chit ! Better girls than you 
 have tried." 
 
 " Do you really think it's so hard to fall in love with 
 me ? There, you don't know. Why, I've had no end 
 of offers ! Mostly bad ones," she acknowledged, 
 "but this is a chance," and she rose and faced her 
 astonished relatives. " So, first he shall fall in love 
 with me and then," here she looked back at them 
 with undutiful defiance, " and then he shall marry 
 me!" 
 
 Having, so to speak, flung down the gauntlet, Eve 
 scampered upstairs and left the three old women 
 staring at each other in speechless consternation. 
 
 " Poor Jacinth ! " Miss Penelope broke the silence 
 
 "For Jacinth's sake," Aunt Sarah said, "I think 
 we'd better send her home as soon as possible. After 
 all, he is only a man " (Miss Sarah had a very poor 
 opinion of men), " and there is no knowing. If we
 
 JACINTH. 211 
 
 can only keep Malcolm away," she sighed, "and as 
 he is the only man who ever does come here, I think 
 she will be ready to go." 
 
 IV. 
 
 THE monotonous days passed, and poor Eve was 
 much like the Lady of Shalott, with the differ- 
 ence that any Lancelot would have been welcome. 
 It was the necessity of her nature to make an im- 
 pression on some one, and at last she was reduced 
 to flirting with the ancient gardener. As he was 
 wholly deaf and half blind, she found, one day, 
 nothing left for her to do but to lean over the hedge 
 and stare up and down the road. Then, in default 
 of other amusement, she opened the gate and strolled 
 down the road into unknown regions, sheltered from 
 the sun by a huge Japanese parasol of flamboyant 
 colors. 
 
 Rothmere was still barbarous and, while Eve was 
 only conscious that she was making a very pretty 
 picture, she was roused from a contemplation of the 
 queer old houses of Rothmere, buried in honeysuckles 
 and roses, by a most diabolical " whoop ! " and the 
 next minute she was surrounded by a lot of dirty 
 ragamuffins who greeted her umbrella with derision. 
 
 Miss Macilvaine was no coward. "Go away, you 
 little wretches ! " she cried, with a stamp of her foot, 
 but as that effected only another " whoop," Eve, hold- 
 ing her umbrella as a shield, made a regular onslaught, 
 when, of a sudden, it was torn from her grasp, and the 
 next instant it was borne triumphantly down the street. 
 
 She looked helplessly about. 
 
 " Why, Miss Macilvaine, what has happened ? " 
 
 It was Malcolm, who had come upon her from a
 
 212 JACINTH. 
 
 side path, and she had not heard the sound of his 
 horse's hoofs. 
 
 He swung himself down from the saddle while she 
 explained ; and throwing the mare's bridle over his 
 arm, walked beside her and listened with rather 
 absent-minded amusement to Miss Macilvaine's chat- 
 ter. 
 
 Aunt Sarah, trimming the roses about the porch, 
 saw them coming, and stood rooted to the spot. 
 
 " Now there's a man about, she'll never go," she 
 groaned, gifted as if with the power of prophesy. 
 But in a few weeks it was not of a poor solitary man 
 that the old women complained, but of what they were 
 pleased to call " hordes of men." 
 
 One afternoon Miss Sarah, opening the sitting- 
 room door, turned into stone upon the spot. In the 
 Misses Macilvaine's sacred chairs reposed three young 
 men. Three men, where once only Malcolm had dared 
 to enter. 
 
 " Mr. Parkins, is it parish business ? " Aunt Sarah 
 demanded, recovering herself. 
 
 The wretched young curate turned purple to the 
 roots of his sandy hair, and the others, one from the 
 circulating library and the other from the apothecary 
 store on High street, kept him company. 
 
 " And I suppose you, sir," and she glared at the 
 first, " have come about the book club." Then she 
 closed like a steel trap on the apothecary's young 
 man. " You'll excuse me, sir, if I can't imagine why 
 you are here ! " 
 
 Then up sprang Eve. " They are calling on me. 
 I asked them." 
 
 " I beg your pardon, gentlemen ; this is a new cus- 
 tom. I was not aware of it. You'll excuse me, I'm 
 sure. Pray don't let me hurry you ; good morning," 
 Miss Sarah concluded with much irony, and out she 
 stalked.
 
 JACINTH. 213 
 
 The truth is, it did hurry them, and they departed 
 as if they had been shot out of a gun. Eve took a 
 long breath as Parkins's clerical coat-tails disappeared. 
 
 " How I hate her ! " she cried ; " how I hate this 
 place ! Why did I ever come ? O, if I were only 
 at home again." She ran out of the house, slamming 
 the doors, and leaning over the hedge she stared at 
 the river through a haze of angry tears. 
 
 " Why, Miss Eve, am I always to find you in trou- 
 ble ? " At the sound of Malcolm's voice, she dashed 
 her tears away and forced a smile. 
 
 " If everybody hated you and you hated everybody, 
 you'd be in trouble, Mr. Dunston." 
 
 " What has happened now ? " he asked, perplexed 
 at the footing of warfare upon which the Misses Mac- 
 ilvaine stood with regard to their niece. 
 
 " Were you coming in ? " she asked, heedless of his 
 question. 
 
 " Well, to tell the truth, no. I was only strolling 
 by." 
 
 " Are you busy ? No ? Then do me a favbr ; ask 
 me to take a walk." 
 
 " I shall be only too glad. There is Miss Sarah ; 
 I will talk to her while you fetch your wraps." 
 
 " I sometimes feel," Eve explained to Malcolm as 
 they left the house, " as if I should die of badness up 
 there. They act on me like a a plaster well, per- 
 haps it is for my good to have the badness drawn 
 out." 
 
 The three old women, with unspeakable dismay, 
 watched them until they disappeared down the road. 
 
 For a moment Eve was silent, but at last the signs 
 of conflict smoothed themselves out of her face, and 
 she looked up with her old smile. 
 
 " Do you think I am so very horrid, Mr. Dun* 
 ston ? "
 
 214 JACINTH. 
 
 She was rather afraid of him, but she enjoyed the 
 emotion. 
 
 " You may lay it up against me if I tell you what 
 I think of you." 
 
 "What an idea!" 
 
 " The truth is, perhaps you are a little selfish." 
 
 " Mr. Dunston, I should like to go home." 
 
 " I thought so." 
 
 " You are mistaken," she said, pouting ; " on the 
 whole, I prefer to go on." 
 
 " Why can you and your aunts not agree ? " 
 
 "It is Jacinth." 
 
 "Jacinth!" As he repeated the name, his face 
 flushed. 
 
 " They expected Jacinth, and Jacinth sent me in- 
 stead. It wasn't my fault that she wouldn't come. 
 I'm sure I wish she had ! " 
 
 " And so Jacinth is alone at home ? " 
 
 " Alone ? O, dear, no. No one is ever alone in 
 our house, there are so many of us; it's the only 
 thing we're rich in. What Jacinth has to do ? Every- 
 thing. She likes to work ; I don't. Of course you 
 know we're poor ; it's no use pretending. As for 
 goodness, why, if you come to that, Jacinth is good- 
 ness itself." 
 
 " Does she look like you ? I don't quite remem- 
 ber." Listening with a smile and a far-away look in 
 his eyes. 
 
 "Oh, dear, no ! She's over thirty, and you know 
 light-haired people fade soon. Besides," she added 
 with much importance," she has no style. Now, I'm 
 stylish ; at least so they say. Still, how can she have 
 any style ! She never goes anywhere, not even to the 
 theatre ; she never sees anyone but father and mother 
 and the children, except her pupils, and they are poor 
 and haven't any style. She really hasn't any ambi-
 
 JACINTH. 215 
 
 tion any go. Now pa told me that ten years ago 
 she was very pretty." 
 
 " Prettier than you are ! " her companion inter- 
 posed quietly. 
 
 " Oh, no," Eve replied, shaking her head. " Of 
 course I don't pretend to goodness, as she does, 
 but" 
 
 " But does she pretend ? " 
 
 " Oh, no, no ! Not pretend ! She is goodness it- 
 self," Eve cried, " but I can't make believe not to 
 know that I am decently good looking." 
 
 " What shall you do when your sister marries and 
 leaves you her work to do ? " 
 
 " Dear me, Jacinth will never marry. Srue says so 
 herself. People's tastes are so funny ! Now I know 
 that I'm a horrid, selfish little thing, but I've more 
 offers than you'd believe, while Jacinth, who is the 
 dearest, cheerfulest, most unselfish of creatures, 
 why," and she stood still, to give emphasis to her 
 climax, " I never heard of any one being in love 
 with her in my whole life." 
 
 Malcolm looked down at her with a frown, and bit 
 his lips. 
 
 " We'll go home now, Miss Eve," he said abruptly, 
 and led the way back at such a swinging pace, that 
 she had to scamper over the ground to keep abreast. 
 
 The moral atmosphere was all wrong, and when she 
 entered the sitting-room, the three old women looked 
 at her with speechless disfavor. 
 
 She went up to the round table, looked at them, 
 and then she spoke. "Aunt Judith, Aunt Sarah, and 
 Aunt Penelope, I am going home by the next steam- 
 er." There was an awful silence. 
 
 " We just can't get on together. I suppose it's my 
 fault, for it seems that I am horrid and selfish. I am 
 not really as bad as I'm here. You've frozen me and 
 haven't given me time to thaw."
 
 2l6 JACINTH. 
 
 "We couldn't think of letting you go what would 
 people say ? " 
 
 " Not let me go ? " Eve interrupted Miss Judith, 
 "why, then I'll run away, for I am just dying, I'm so 
 homesick," and, throwing herself down by the near- 
 est chair, Eve burst into tears. 
 
 Miss Sarah, conscience-stricken, laid her hand on 
 Eve's shoulder. At the touch she sprang up, with a 
 faint quiver of her lips. 
 
 " If you'll only let me go, I'll think kindly of you 
 all. I'm selfish, I found that out to-day ; but I didn't 
 mean badly. I'll go home and send Jacinth instead, 
 then, perhaps, you'll forgive me for coming. I never 
 thought," she confessed, " that anyone would like 
 Jacinth, and not me. I'll be willing to scrub and 
 take care of the babies, if I can only go home and 
 sometimes go to the theatre with pa," and at that 
 reflection she brightened. 
 
 So, somehow, it was tacitly decided that Eve was to 
 return to America, and in a few days the impossible 
 trunk was once more lifted to the top of the Roth- 
 mere cab. 
 
 At the railroad station Malcolm was waiting for 
 them, and at sight of his erect figure, Eve's heart gave 
 a thump. 
 
 As he helped her into the railway carriage she 
 turned and said softly, " I am going home to try 
 and learn from Jacinth how to be unselfish." 
 
 For a moment she wondered at the light in his 
 face, and that he should stoop to kiss her slender 
 hand. Then her light heart beat fast as he said, 
 " We shall see each other again, for I am going to 
 America in a few weeks. For the first time in ten 
 years I shall be idle. Wish me happiness, little Eve, 
 and God bless you. There is no need, you see, of 
 saying good-by."
 
 JACINTH. 217 
 
 V. 
 
 SO Eve came back again to the shabby street in 
 New York. Jacinth stood at the door, waiting 
 for her, with all the small Macilvaines clinging to her 
 skirts. 
 
 " We've missed your bright face sadly, my darling," 
 she said, as Eve hid her face on her sister's shoulder 
 and began to cry, to the anguish of the little Macil- 
 vaines and the sympathetic interest of the hackman. 
 
 It seemed to Eve as if she looked at Jacinth for 
 the first time. What business had she to wear that 
 mean, faded, skimpy gown ? Why did she brush the 
 fair, soft curls from her forehead, till each wrinkle 
 (and there were wrinkles) stood out for its full worth ? 
 Why need her blue eyes look so unreasonably kind 
 and quiet? 
 
 Eve pitied her with impulsive remorse, and she con- 
 tinued to sob until, in a pause, she looked up 'with a 
 faint laugh into Jacinth's distressed face. 
 
 " It's because I'm so happy," she explained. " But 
 you just wait, Jacinth, after I've seen mother I'll tell 
 you something." 
 
 Under the branches of the hat-rack in the entry, 
 Eve at last made her confession to Jacinth. " I prom- 
 ised some one that I'd be good, Jacinth," and she 
 looked down with a smile. " Just now I said I hated 
 them all. That isn't true. 1 like one, and that one, 
 well, that one is a man." 
 
 "Thank God, my darling. You will be happy, 
 and you will make him a good wife," and, with a 
 quick impulse, Jacinth drew the pretty face to her 
 breast and kissed her sister. 
 
 " It hasn't gone so far as that," Eve confessed. 
 " He is coming to America, and, to tell the truth, it
 
 2l8 JACINTH. 
 
 was only what he said at parting that first made me 
 think that he really liked me. He's a great deal 
 older than I ; but he's really a fine match and well, 
 I like him. Just imagine, Jacinth, why, he knows you, 
 and admires you very much. Indeed, he gave me to 
 understand that I was a horrid, selfish little pig. The 
 first day he called he expected to find you. Perhaps 
 you remember him Malcolm Dunston ? " 
 
 Did she remember him ? She had tried to cheat 
 her heart and now she stood shrinking together as if 
 she had received a blow. Then, to punish her own 
 weakness, she said, " I thank God for it, my darling, 
 for he is a good man, and you will be happy." 
 
 There was an air of smouldering excitement in the 
 Macilvaine dwelling. Mr. Macilvaine had received 
 a letter, the object of which for the Macilvaines dis- 
 dained all mystery was known even to the youngest. 
 
 The letter was from Malcolm Dunston. He had 
 come to New York on purpose to see Mr. Macilvaine, 
 and he took this opportunity to ask for the honor of 
 Miss Macilvaine's hand in marriage. In deference 
 to his own old-world notions, and as a simple man of 
 business, he first addressed Mr. Macilvaine. At the 
 same time he begged permission to call that evening 
 to learn his fate. 
 
 " So I suppose I may consider you as good as 
 married, Eve," Mr. Macilvaine remarked, patheti- 
 cally. " I'm sorry that I have to go out to-night 
 when Mr. Dunston comes, but I guess you and Ja- 
 cinth can take care of him." 
 
 In honor of the occasion, one small Macilvaine 
 was delegated to open the door ; to which end Ja- 
 cinth scrubbed him, and cheered him with promises 
 of candy. Then she hurried up to the room where 
 Eve was dressing. 
 
 " Why, darling, you're worthy of the king," she
 
 JACINTH. 219 
 
 said, fondly, examining the pretty figure, when, sud- 
 denly, unmindful of her dress, Eve flung her arms 
 about her sister. 
 
 " O Jacinth, Jacinth, how I love you ! " she cried. 
 " How good you are ; if I could only once show you 
 that I am truly grateful." 
 
 From below there came the tinkle of the door bell, 
 and Jacinth freed herself gently, and listened. There 
 was the sound of scuffling feet, for five young Macil- 
 vaines had supported their brother in the trial of 
 opening the door ; the next instant a shrill, small 
 voice, ignoring gentility, called up from below, " Here 
 he is, sis, come down." 
 
 Rather pale, but all the prettier for that, Eve kissed 
 her sister and went slowly downstairs. 
 
 Jacinth roused herself with an effort, and tried to 
 put order in the confusion about, but to no purpose. 
 Shivering, she took up a little red knit shawl, and 
 drawing it about her shoulders, she sat down on the 
 bed and softly rubbed her hands. 
 
 She dared not think. " I am so wicked, so sel- 
 fish," she cried in her despair, when the door was 
 quickly opened again, and Eve stood before her. 
 
 " Eve, my child, my dear, what has happened ? " 
 
 Eve's face was as white as her own, but she smiled 
 as she laid her hand on Jacinth's shoulder. 
 
 " Jacinth, Jacinth, you know that I love you." 
 
 " For heaven's sake, Eve, what has happened ? " 
 
 " You know whatahare-brained, fickle-minded kind 
 of a creature I am. I I don't care a snap for 
 Malcolm, Jacinth ; I never would have thought of 
 him, if he hadn't told me the day I left that he was 
 coming to America. I I thought that he meant me 
 all along I'm such a little fool," and Eve smiled 
 even more brightly. 
 
 " Eve ! Eve, what does this mean ! " 
 
 ** It means, my dear, dear, that it was all a mistake."
 
 220 JACINTH. 
 
 " How dared he ! " 
 
 "O, Jacinth, it's all my fault. For my sake for- 
 give him. I should die if he ever knew how foolish 
 I had been. See, he has been so faithful, waiting 
 and working for you for ten long years. If you had 
 only seen the light in his -eyes when he asked me, 
 ' Why doesn't Jacinth come ? ' He has no idea how 
 silly I was. There, let me curl your hair about your 
 face let me put in this bit of ribbon at your throat. 
 No? Oh, Jacinth, Jacinth, you grudge happiness 
 only to yourself," 
 
 With a bewildered start Jacinth came to herself, 
 and, drawing the shabby knit shawl tightly about her 
 shoulders, she crept downstairs to her fate. 
 
 She paused at the threshold of the shabby parlor 
 and, for a moment, she listened to his impatient stride. 
 
 " He shall see me just as I am " she thought. She 
 would not spare herself. At the sound of the slowly 
 opening door he turned, and so he saw her once again : 
 a slender, faded woman in a little, faded shawl, with 
 the sign of trouble in her blue eyes and on her open 
 forehead. But she was the woman he loved. 
 
 "Jacinth! my love, my darling, at last! " he cried, 
 and held her in his strong arms, and bending his 
 handsome head, he kissed her with something of 
 compassion born of the most innocent self-conceit. 
 
 " The sorrow in her face was all for me," he thought, 
 exulting. 
 
 And so they were married, and happiness, the great 
 magician, made Jacinth young and fair again.
 
 A FREAK OF FATE. 
 I. 
 
 "DERTHOLET declared gloomily that he meant 
 D to see something of " life." 
 
 You would not believe how he clung to youth, or, 
 rather, the wild fantasies of Parisian youth, in the 
 shape of wide trousers, cuffs that scratched his 
 knuckles, and a shirt collar too tall behind and too 
 low in front. He nursed his sparse dyed hair with 
 pathetic anxiety, and so pomaded and perfumed him- 
 self, that he carried about his own sacred atmosphere, 
 to Madame's disgust. 
 
 Madame Bertholet's objections to her husband 
 dated from their wedding-day. He was not her ideal 
 when his hair was brown, not green, accidents will 
 happen, and when his teeth were his own, and after 
 thirty years of married life, custom had failed to rec- 
 oncile Madame to the inevitable. 
 
 Thirty years ago Madame was round and rosy, 
 with a slightly hard line about the corners of her 
 mouth. Time, that jester, amused himself by exag- 
 gerating these characteristics : Madame's roundness 
 had developed into fourteen stone, and her complexion 
 to what it would be false politeness to term rosy. 
 The hard line had crept up to her black eyes, and 
 found congenial outlet in a prayer-book with a steel 
 clasp. 
 
 Madame was Calvinistic, and life was to her neither 
 a pleasure nor a joke. Neither was it to Monsieur. 
 He was not Calvinistic, but he reflected Madame's 
 
 (221)
 
 A FREAK OF FATE. 
 
 moods, and so distorted them that when she spoke 
 of death, with the profound indifference born of the 
 toughest life, Monsieur, pulling his stiff cuffs over his 
 lean knuckles, imagined he was already dead. 
 
 The trouble was that Monsieur Bertholet was rich. 
 He had amassed a fortune in supplying Paris with 
 horse-flesh in the guise of joints and cutlets, till at last 
 Madame, who was ambitious, suggested selling out, 
 and retiring into the gloomy grandeur of a mansion 
 whose noble occupant had left his fortune on various 
 roulette tables, and who gladly disposed of his family 
 mansion on condition that a single room was reserved 
 for his own use. 
 
 Madame's soul rejoiced in the gloom of her new 
 acquisition. It did her good to see her family strug- 
 gle over the slippery floors, or lean their harassed 
 backs against the perpendicular stiffness of the chairs. 
 
 Two vulnerable spots there were, however, in her 
 rigorous heart : Monsieur le Pasteur and " the little 
 one." Madame's pastor was a comfortable sight, sit- 
 ting by the fire in the only easy-chair, sipping curagoa 
 or crunching chocolate confits sacred to his coming, 
 while he and Madame pronounced damning judg- 
 ments on heathen, Jews, and Christians. 
 
 " I do not often see Monsieur Auguste at church, 
 my daughter," M. le Pasteur would say. 
 
 " My poor little one, he works so hard, and Sundays 
 he is so tired. You know he is delicate." 
 
 Whereupon M. le Pasteur brushed a few crumbs 
 from his priestly coat and coughed. However, he 
 only crunched some more chocolate and said nothing. 
 
 There was a fiction in the family called " the little 
 one," otherwise Auguste. He was Madame's hot- 
 house growth, and at the age of twenty-eight in the 
 intervals of studying law was fed by her on the most 
 harmless pap of knowledge. It was his mother's 
 mission in life to show him the nice, straight path of
 
 A FREAK OF FATE. 22$ 
 
 existence, which would lead him to the fortune of a 
 Calvinistic maiden. 
 
 Monsieur Bertholet was early sacrificed to the fiction 
 of "the little one's" innocence, and, not to contami- 
 nate the infantile purity of his own son, the un- 
 happy man was restricted to a life of such monoto- 
 nous misery that, driven to extremity, he had even 
 tried to make friends with Madame, and M. le Pasteur. 
 In both efforts he signally failed. Then he lingered 
 about the kitchen, and being, so to speak, ejected, 
 prowled about the stairs. The noble occupant of the 
 third floor back, coming down one evening, recog- 
 nized, with a grim smile, in the solitary figure lean- 
 ing against the banisters, a humble imitation of his 
 own scant hair and generous linen. 
 
 "M. le Comte," Bertholet murmured, gratefully, 
 as that nobleman threw him a smile. 
 
 The next day the same meeting ; M. le Comte said 
 a word or two. Three days after, Bertholet confessed 
 to Madame that M. le Comte had invited him to his 
 club. t 
 
 " Is it a righteous place ? " Madame asked M. le 
 Pasteur, lifting her black eyebrows. 
 
 M. le Pasteur was in his usual place by the hearth. 
 
 " Heavens, yes ! To be sure they play a game or 
 two at cards, of an evening ; but it is very noble and 
 select;" and so Bertholet was allowed to go. 
 
 Bertholet went, and sensibly kept the secret of the 
 five thousand francs he had lost to his accommodating 
 tenant. 
 
 M. le Comte being a gentlemanly blackguard, and, 
 having present supply, dropped his landlord, who, 
 however, preserved the fiction of this friendship, and, 
 under its shelter, even reached a certain theatre whose 
 very name suggests the world, the flesh, and the devil. 
 
 There was something of good in Bertholet's sinful 
 heart, that the thought of " the little one " should h'aunt
 
 224 A FREAK OF FATE. 
 
 him as he sank into the velvet arm-chair, and looked 
 stealthily at the audience. 
 
 "Think of .the 'little one,'" the fiddles scratched 
 and the flutes piped, while the double-bass and the 
 trombones added, ominously, " and Madame." 
 
 Monsieur Bertholet's gaze wandered enviously to- 
 ward the stalls where the jeunesse doree lolled in aris- 
 tocratic laziness, and beheld, to his gasping amaze- 
 ment, " the little one," M. Auguste, in claw-hammer, 
 an inherited fondness for a too expansive display of 
 linen, and a fashion of studying the stage through his 
 opera glass that but too surely betokened much prac- 
 tice. 
 
 "Man Dieu!" M. Bertholet gasped, then a faint 
 grin dawned over his face. " So ! These are the 
 prayer meetings he attends ha, ha ! " 
 
 As father, M. Bertholet was, for a moment, over- 
 come, but he was, however, mortal, and a feeling 
 of joy stole over his heart to think how Madame was 
 being deceived, and, being human before being a 
 father, M. Bertholet smiled again, sat a little more 
 at ease in the shadow of the lace curtains, and de- 
 voted his undivided attention to the stage. 
 
 From that day M. Bertholet, having lost all inter- 
 est in making a shining example of himself, quite 
 forsook the path of virtue, and hardly again darkened 
 the slippery threshold of Madame's salon. " Life " 
 was to M. Bertholet an awful phrase, unbefitting the 
 Calvinistic sanctity of the parlor. Indeed, it was 
 only to be dreamed of far away from Madame's pres- 
 ence ; so M. Bertholet, having weighed the pros and 
 cons in his distracted mind, determined to flee to 
 some congenial land, where plunging into mysterious 
 depths was compatible with personal security. In 
 other words, he decided to take his fortune and, in 
 disguise, to fly to parts unknown.
 
 A FREAK OF FATE. 22$ 
 
 II. 
 
 *T*HREE days after, M. Bertholet disappeared from 
 J- the bosom of his family. 
 
 Gradually it dawned on Madame and "the little 
 one," that something unusual had happened, but they 
 bore the uncertainty with calmness till the third day, 
 when they both hurried in secret to M. Bertholet's 
 lawyer, for information about the will. There, to their 
 momentary confusion, they met. 
 
 " Little one ! " 
 
 "Mother!" 
 
 M. Auguste was round, like his mother, and his 
 hair lay over his forehead in a shining sweep. He 
 pressed his hat to his heart, and remarked gently 
 for he was always polite that if his sainted father 
 had left no will, the greater part of the property would 
 revert to him, M. Auguste. 
 
 Madame looked up with a gasp, and, for a mo- 
 ment, her face turned to a dull yellow. Was this her 
 Auguste, her " little one " ? 
 
 " In fact, I may as well tell you that I mean to 
 marry, now that I am my own master." 
 
 " You marry, ' little one ' ? " Madame gasped. 
 
 "Confound 'little one'!" M. Auguste replied, with 
 some exasperation. 
 
 " Little one ! " and Madame stamped her foot, " I 
 I forbid it ! " 
 
 M. Auguste turned on her with a most unfilial look 
 in his small black eyes. 
 
 " Suppose, mother, your ' little one ' were already 
 married ? " 
 
 With astonishing quickness Madame leaped to her 
 feet and boxed M. Auguste's ears. 
 
 " I I hope he isn't dead ! I hope he'll come back 
 and send you begging, miserable I " 
 
 '5
 
 226 A FREAK OF FATE. 
 
 " But then, mother, you will not be able to marry 
 M. le Pasteur." 
 
 An angry red swept over Madame's face, and, with 
 the last of her by no means feeble strength, she gave 
 her child another blow, and sank exhausted into a 
 chair. 
 
 One side of his face was white, and the other red 
 with the marks of five fingers. 
 
 He stood before his mother, hat in hand, and said, 
 quite politely : 
 
 " Come and see us bring M. le Pasteur. My wife 
 is an angel. She dances at the ' Varietes.' " 
 
 " Wretch." 
 
 M. Auguste turned with a shrug, and nearly fell 
 against a little man with a quill behind his ear. 
 
 " Madame ! " He held a brown snuffbox, which 
 he snapped with nervous violence. 
 
 "Well, M. le Notar?" 
 
 " M. Bertholet cannot be dead." 
 
 Madame's eyes flashed triumphantly, while " the 
 little one," turning the door handle, muttered an oath. 
 
 " I fear," the little notary said, turning from mother 
 to son, " I fear, from all I have discovered, that 
 Monsieur Bertholet has run away with his own for- 
 tune, five hundred thousand francs, and that he has 
 left nothing behind." 
 
 Madame did not faint, but she leaned back in her 
 chair and stared into vacancy. 
 
 " Not dead, but gone ! Gone with all the money 
 our money my money ! " 
 
 "You are no better off than I, mother." 
 
 She looked up. M. Auguste stood before her, 
 twirling his cane. " I am going in search of him, 
 poor old man ; and when I find him I shall make his 
 life pleasant. Good-by, mother come and see us," 
 and so with a polite bow he left the room. 
 
 " Little one ! "
 
 A FREAK OF FATE. 
 
 A man who can run away with five hundred thou- 
 sand francs is not to be despised, and Madame felt 
 that she had, perhaps, been a little unsympathetic in 
 her treatment of Bertholet. 
 
 She rose in unfeigned trouble. " He must be 
 found," she said to the lawyer. " He must have 
 been mad to have deserted me. Employ detectives 
 anything but bring him back. Five hundred thou- 
 sand francs," she said, laying her hand on the little 
 man's arm, "five hundred thousand francs left with- 
 out guidance in a sinful world, will come to no good." 
 
 III. 
 
 MONSIEUR BERTHOLET, trying to lose him- 
 self in the great Northern Railway station, felt 
 the by no means strange sensation that the eyes of 
 the world were upon him. A flaxen beard and wig, 
 marvelous checked trousers, and a tall gray hat, had 
 transformed him into the Frenchman's ideal of an 
 Englishman, and filled his French soul with disgust. 
 
 In a frenzied effort to discover whether the train 
 destined to bear him to Calais and to London and 
 liberty ever meant to start, he tangled himself in 
 the meshes of wheelbarrows, porters, and travelers. 
 He was jostled about and hurried along, till at last 
 he stood, aching and battered, behind three broad- 
 shouldered fellows, in whose shadow he hid himself, 
 while he hugged to his breast a small newspaper par- 
 cel, his only luggage. 
 
 He breathed more freely, and looked with silent 
 envy at the broad backs before him. They were only 
 common soldiers, these three poor devils, with the 
 prospect of a third-class ride, and a meal of dry 
 bread out of the forage-bag each carried slung across 
 his shoulders.
 
 228 A FREAK OF FATE. 
 
 A whistle and a shriek from the engine. " Calais ! 
 Calais ! " and then a skurry and rush of people down 
 the platform. 
 
 " Tiens ! Duval, the old Englishman has gone," 
 and one of the soldiers looked over his shoulder. 
 
 Gone ? Poor M. Bertholet had made a dash for a 
 coupe, when a couple of arms were thrown about his 
 neck, and an affectionate kiss resounded on each of 
 his cheeks. 
 
 " Little one ! " 
 
 " I knew you," Auguste cried, gleefully. " I knew 
 your walk." 
 
 " Let me go ! " and M. Bertholet struggled to free 
 himself. 
 
 It was an unpropitious time for explanations ; bells 
 were ringing, and barrow-loads of luggage threatened 
 destruction to their legs. 
 
 " Come home with me, and you shall have a rous- 
 ing good time ! " Auguste shouted, just as his father 
 leaped towards the train, with the cry : 
 
 " Dieu I Dieu ! your mother ! " 
 
 Sure enough, there was Madame, struggling through 
 the crowd, and searching with keen black eyes. 
 
 M. Bertholet was appalled ; but he had also the 
 strength of utter despair. How he freed himself 
 from Auguste's encircling arms he never knew ; but 
 he struck wildly out, leaped into an empty coupe, and 
 slammed the door, just as, with a puff and a shriek 
 from the engine, the train glided out of the station. 
 
 Madame stared blankly into " the little one's " 
 face. ''''Imbecile!' 1 '' she cried, and turned her broad 
 back on him, and wrung her hands under her lady- 
 like shawl. 
 
 M. Auguste had traced his father easily enough, 
 and Madame had watched M. Auguste, and this was 
 the end of their successful scheming. Tears filled her 
 angry eyes, and so blinded them that, as she turned
 
 A FREAK OF FATE. 
 
 she stumbled against a broad-shouldered soldier, who 
 muttered something under his curly dark mustache, 
 before he saw that it was a lady. Then he made a 
 hasty military salute, and rejoined his two friends. 
 
 " Ah, Chelot, the day is out of joint with you ! " 
 the man called Duval cried, as the other came up, 
 and he kicked at an unsightly newspaper parcel, that 
 had been rolled and pushed along, till it touched his 
 hobnailed boots. The package was rather small, 
 round, and dusty, and did not invite inspection. 
 
 Chelot said nothing, but a look of pain came into 
 his honest brown eyes, as he watched the other two 
 play at foot-ball with the accidental plaything. 
 
 As for M. Auguste, he stood for a moment per- 
 fectly helpless, grasping his inoffensive, retreating 
 chin with one hand, while he wondered angrily how 
 everybody could be so calm ; wondered what those 
 three men would do if they had lost five hundred 
 thousand francs those three men who, he hoped, 
 would get shot some day for the way they grinned 
 as he pushed past them. 
 
 In a coupb of the train tearing Calais-ward at the 
 rate of fifty miles an hour, a mysterious old gentle- 
 man was rolling over the seats and beating his bald 
 head against the cushions. 
 
 " Lost ! lost ! lost ! " he screamed, over and over 
 again. " Five hundred thousand francs in a news- 
 paper parcel ! Guard, for heaven's sake, stop the 
 train ! " 
 
 " Five hundred thousand francs in a newspaper ! 
 Monsieur is wild," the guard said, looking in. " But 
 if it will quiet Monsieur, he shall be listened to at 
 Calais." 
 
 But nothing would persuade M. Bertholet to be 
 quiet. He tried to leap out of the window, and, be- 
 ing held back by force, flung himself at full length 
 on the floor.
 
 230 A FREAK OF FATE. 
 
 Quick as lightning the guard tied his hands behind 
 his back with a handy cord, and left him, after he had 
 made a neat pile of a yellow beard and wig, a tall 
 white hat and a pair of blue spectacles. 
 
 As for M. Bertholet, he lay prone, and, having 
 struggled all the strength out of himself, he could only 
 gasp: 
 
 " Lost lost lost five hundred thousand francs 
 wrapped in a newspaper ! " 
 
 IV. 
 
 *T^HOSE were the days of the third Napoleon and 
 J- Mexican ambition. That glittering bubble, the 
 Empire, had soared its highest, was glittering its 
 gaudiest, and, like all bubbles under the same cir- 
 cumstances, it was about to burst. 
 
 Chelot, waiting for the train to Merle, strode up 
 and down the platform, with thoughts far away in the 
 village, three miles beyond Merle, where Claude used 
 to wait for him, under the big chestnut tree before the 
 mill with its red gable. 
 
 Of the other two, Duval, still kicking the impro- 
 vised foot-ball, remarked that such a wet blanket of 
 a friend as Chelot he had never seen. 
 
 " In six days he'll be sick deadly sick," the other, 
 Jean Pierre, added, tilting himself up and down, ship 
 fashion. 
 
 " In three weeks, Chelot, you'll be making love to 
 a Mexican ma'm'selle." 
 
 " In three weeks Ma'm'selle Claude will be for- 
 gotten," 
 
 Chelot turned his back on them, and strode to the 
 edge of the platform, just as the train came along- 
 side.
 
 A FREAK OF FATE. 23! 
 
 " Ah del, the old boy is angry ! I say, Chelot, for- 
 get bad jokes!" Duval cried. 
 
 But Chelot was sick and sore, and, somehow, he 
 couldn't turn his honest face about with a pleasant 
 smile, so he sprang on the coupk step and paid no at- 
 tention. Duval gave a parting kick to the dusty news- 
 paper and hurried after him. 
 
 " Old boy," he said, with a friendly blow on his 
 shoulder, " why be angry at foolish words ? We 
 were always good friends ; so come, now, and shake 
 hands. You're going far away, and who knows the for- 
 tune of war. Bah ! " he cried, hastily, " I mean to 
 dance at your wedding till I drop ! " And he wrung 
 Chelot's outstretched hand. 
 
 " Now, there's Jean Pierre ; take his hand ; he's a 
 good fellow." 
 
 Jean Pierre, who had strolled up, was a bit of a 
 joker, and while he shook Chelot's hand, he secretly 
 thrust a battered newspaper bundle into his forage 
 bag, rejoicing, with the hollow joy of all practical 
 jokers, to think of the disappointment in store when 
 he should pull out the dirty paper, instead of the 
 piece of bread underneath. 
 
 Chelot leaned out of the car window and watched 
 them sadly, till the train swung around a curve and 
 tore its way into the golden summer afternoon. 
 
 Chelot was young, and five days ago, before the 
 news came that his regiment was ordered to Mexico, 
 he had loved all the world in his honest fashion, be- 
 cause Claude was his world and Claude loved him. 
 But now, in six days, his regiment was ordered to 
 sail ; but six days of youth and love are better than 
 ten years of old age, he thought, and he stroked his 
 brown mustache and imagined Claude's surprise at 
 sight of him. Five days of happiness, and then he 
 would gently tell her that he must leave her for a 
 long time, perhaps forever. He leaned his head
 
 232 A FREAK OF FATE. 
 
 against the window, and watched the wheat fields 
 bend beneath the sweep of the summer wind, that 
 touched the frail petals of the scarlet poppies, till 
 they hid beneath the ripening grain. The apple trees 
 were heavy with fruit, and between the orchards and 
 far-spreading fields, the red-roofed farmhouses twin- 
 kled into sight. Flocks of sheep, nibbling peacefully 
 in the pastures, followed the bell-wether, and scam- 
 pered into safe distance. At last came Merle, where 
 Chelot leaped out, gave himself a shake by way of 
 toilet, and looked down with pride at his scarlet 
 trousers and smoothed his blue jacket. He swung 
 his forage-bag a trifle farther back, gave a cock to his 
 cap, and trudged down the highway with an easy, 
 swinging gait that sent the blood to his brown face 
 and made his eyes sparkle. " In five days ? Ah, bah ! 
 Vogue la galere !" He whistled a merry tune, trudging 
 up and down hill to Plaileroi and Claude. At the foot 
 of the hill, just beyond the bridge, lay the mill with 
 the ancient chestnut street standing before the door, 
 where the time-worn millstones were piled, step- 
 fashion, to the broad threshold, where Claude sat, 
 summer evenings, spinning and waiting for him. 
 Chelot knew every stone and tree on the road. The 
 children came up and touched him with friendly, 
 black paws, and the landlord of the " Pot-au-Feu " 
 shook his tassel ed nightcap at him. 
 
 " If thou art not too tired for a dance in the kitchen, 
 bring thy sweetheart after dusk and show us what thy 
 legs can do." 
 
 No wonder that the landlord of the " Pot-au-Feu " 
 was maire of Plaileroi : he knew how to make himself 
 necessary. 
 
 The young man shouted back a joyous acceptance, 
 and sprang down hill, while his heart beat like a sledge- 
 hammer, as he crossed the bridge over the mill-stream 
 and saw the huge wheel turn noisily. He was sc
 
 A FREAK OF FATE. 233 
 
 near that he could distinguish a dusty, white figure 
 in the door-way the miller scraping and bowing to 
 a retreating figure, who passed Chelot just as he 
 reached the chestnut tree, a long, lank personage, 
 with a yellow face, in the ominous elegance of broad- 
 cloth, baggy at the knees and too short at the wrists, 
 and with a huge bouquet on his breast. Chelot glanced 
 after him, with an instinctive desire to punch his shiny 
 tall hat a foot or two deeper over his face and dusty 
 hair; then he turned towards the house. The miller 
 had disappeared, and he stood alone under the chest- 
 nut tree, with the exception of a donkey hitched to a 
 cart, who was examining his legs with profound at- 
 tention. So this was the coming back to Plaileroi 
 and Claude ! 
 
 He sat down disconsolately on the bench, and the 
 next instant a shower of chestnut burrs and leaves 
 rained down upon him. 
 
 He sprang to his feet, and looking up between the 
 dark branches, caught sight of a laughing, rosy face 
 peeping at him through the clustering chestnut leaves, 
 and tantalizingly out of his reach. 
 
 " Claude ! " 
 
 There was a sparkle of white teeth and a funny 
 nod of a brown head toward the figure plodding down 
 the road. Then, with a warning " Chut ! " Claude 
 glided and scrambled out of her hiding-place, and 
 fell into her lover's outstretched arms. 
 
 " I have you again, beloved," she whispered, hiding 
 her rough head against his breast ; then she tore her- 
 self away with a little laugh, and stood before him, 
 shading her face with a bunch of poppies. " Are you 
 sure that you love me ? " 
 
 With one quick motion he clasped her to his heart, 
 poppies and all. 
 
 " Why do you ask, my torment ? " 
 
 "Because he" (nodding down the road) "says he
 
 234 A FREAK OF FATE. 
 
 loves me. He wants to buy the mill and the miller's 
 daughter, and he is rich oh, so very rich. Every 
 day I have to hide from him and father." 
 
 " Your father ? and we betrothed ? " 
 
 " Yes, father favors him," she said, with a troubled 
 look toward the mill. 
 
 " And you, Claude ? " and he grasped her hands. 
 
 " Doubt me, Bertrand ? If I could only show you 
 how true I am ! " Then with a sigh, " If you were 
 rich you might buy your discharge, and then we could 
 marry, and you would be the miller." 
 
 " And if not ? " 
 
 " Why do you ask ? What is the matter ? " she 
 cried, in sudden alarm, clinging to his arm. 
 
 " Nothing ; nothing shall come between us but 
 death." 
 
 " Death ? Why do you speak of death ? You are 
 well and strong, and God is good. Bertrand, Bert- 
 rand, what has happened ? " 
 
 " I am a fool ! " he cried. " Because I am so happy, 
 I fear something may happen." 
 
 She shook her head, and it seemed as if the twi- 
 light that was creeping over the valley, the mill, and 
 the stream, had touched her sunny face, as without 
 a word but with a wistful look at Bertrand she led 
 the way to the mill. 
 
 V. 
 
 TT had grown so dark that the oil-lamps twinkled 
 * throughout the village. In the huge kitchen of 
 the u Pot-au-feu " two fiddles and a trumpet twanged 
 and tooted a rollicking galop, and whatever of Plaileroi 
 had a pair of sound legs, went scampering up and 
 down the bare floor, till the whole village was in a 
 whirl, from the fat cook with a huge ladle in her hand, 
 to Claude.
 
 A FREAK OF FATE. 23$ 
 
 It seemed to Claude as if the world were spinning 
 about, so did Bertrand whirl her up and down to the 
 music. 
 
 Plaileroi balls were primitive enough the world 
 went as it stood, and hardly smoothed its hair, and 
 so Chelot : he hadn't even taken off his forage-bag. 
 
 " If we f could only dance forever ! " and faster, faster 
 he went, clasping her more tightly, knowing that it 
 was, perhaps, his last dance. 
 
 " I am tired, Bertrand." 
 
 He stood still, holding her hand as if in a dream. 
 
 Some one in black broadcloth, and with a withered 
 bouquet on his breast looked in at the door, over the 
 heated crowd, and watched the two jealously. Chelot 
 brushed past him and Claude turned her face away. 
 
 So they went through the porch of the " Pot-au- 
 Feu" into the garden. The crickets chirped and the 
 soft breeze touched the leaves of the poplars lining 
 the roadside. 
 
 " See ! a falling star. I have wished," Claude 
 whispered. 
 
 "A fine dance, Ma'm'selle. To last a year eh, 
 Monsieur ? " 
 
 Like an unpleasant ghost in broadcloth, he stood 
 beside them, with his tall hat on the back of his head 
 and his hands in his pockets. 
 
 " Monsieur Garbelle." 
 
 " Another kind of dance in Mexico eh, Monsieur 
 Chelot?" 
 
 Claude looked up at M. Garbelle with a white face. 
 
 " What do you mean ? Tell me ! Mexico for 
 God's sake, what is it ? " 
 
 Chelot turned on his rival in a quivering rage, and 
 one strong hand nearly came in fatal contact with the 
 withered nosegay on M. Garbelle's breast. 
 
 " Claude, wait till I tell you," he cried, and grasped 
 her hands in his.
 
 236 A FREAK OF FATE. 
 
 " No, now ! " 
 
 " Monsieur Chelot's regiment is ordered to Mexico 
 for a year. Perhaps Mademoiselle don't know that 
 there is a war in Mexico ? It is a wild country, far 
 away, and M. Chelot will have to cross the sea before 
 he is there. The big sea so big," and M. Garbelle 
 spread out his lank arms to give an adequate idea of 
 the ocean. 
 
 "Is this true?" 
 
 " It is true. I thought we might be happy five days 
 more in this world. Forgive me, Claude," he im- 
 plored, looking into the dull misery of her eyes. 
 
 As for Monsieur Garbelle, having succeeded in his 
 little plan, he slunk away. From the rambling old 
 tavern the shrill fiddles and the trumpet struck up a 
 new tune, that floated gayly down the hill after them. 
 But the old charm had fled ; it was all discord. With 
 her head on Bertrand's breast, Claude was weeping 
 bitterly. 
 
 It was high noon the next day. The miller in the 
 kitchen was cutting huge junks of bread from a long 
 loaf on the table, washing the bites down with coffee. 
 
 Across the other end of the table Chelot had flung 
 his forage-bag the night before, and there it still lay. 
 The miller, with a scornful laugh, leaned across the 
 table, and took it up, and out dropped a crust of bread 
 and a dirty roll of newspaper. 
 
 " Not much to bring from Paris," he said, with 
 great contempt. He knew some one with a sly look 
 at poor Claude, who was standing listlessly at the 
 window who at least would bring home a silk gown 
 from such a journey. 
 
 The girl paid no attention. Her father was talk- 
 ing nonsense. The miller was a weasel-faced old 
 man in a smock-frock and a nightcap. He had am- 
 bition, and fortune was favoring him. He rose to
 
 A FREAK Of FATE. 237 
 
 leave the kitchen, giving a parting push to the bag, 
 when Claude turned upon him suddenly. 
 
 " Father, what will make him free ? " 
 
 He knew what she meant, without explanation. 
 
 "Money much money." 
 
 " We are poor, are we not ? " 
 
 " Yes, poor as rats," he answered, with great cheer- 
 fulness, knowing the drift of her thoughts. 
 
 " Where he Bertrand is going is a wild and dan- 
 gerous country ? " 
 
 " Oh, yes ; very dangerous." 
 
 " He may never come back," she murmured. 
 
 " Very likely. If they are not shot, they are starv- 
 ed." 
 
 She grew so deadly pale that the miller was alarmed. 
 
 " Can no one save him ? " she cried, wringing her 
 hands. " Oh, for a little money ! " 
 
 " Monsieur Garbelle," he suggested. 
 
 " Do you think he would lend us some ? " 
 
 " Not for nothing," and he scratched his head. 
 "But I'll send him to make his own terms. He's 
 always about the mill nowadays," and the miller tried 
 to suggest a shattered existence, and shuffled out of 
 the kitchen. 
 
 M. Garbelle was there, and came sneaking in, 
 doubtful of his reception. He was not an inviting- 
 looking object, covered with a thin layer of flour, from 
 too much prowling about the mill. 
 
 Claude sat with her back to him, her head on the 
 table against Bertrand's bag. She looked up as he 
 stood beside her. It was a new look to Garbelle, 
 and he liked it. She was wonderfully handsome. 
 
 " Ma'm'selle, you want money ? I have it, and I 
 will give you what you want, if " 
 
 She looked at him breathlessly. 
 
 " Well, M. Garbelle ? " 
 
 " If you will marry me."
 
 238 A FREAK OF FATE. 
 
 VI. 
 
 TDOOR Chelot went away in the early dawn, and 
 -I came back with a heavy heart. He had been to 
 all the Chelots to borrow money. It was a wild en- 
 deavor. They shrugged their shoulders, and declared 
 that men were cheap and money dear. So he returned 
 to Plaileroi at twilight, with empty hands and quite 
 hopeless. 
 
 He looked up drearily, for some one called to him 
 from the " Pot-au-Feu." It was M. le Maire, waving 
 a letter. The " Pot-au-Feu " and the post office were 
 one in primitive Plaileroi. 
 
 A letter for him Chelot ! The miracle did not 
 happen once a year, and so he turned it in all direc- 
 tions in his perplexity. 
 
 "It was left for you an hour ago. For heaven's 
 sake, open it, man ! " the mayor suggested, with some 
 irritation. He was dying of curiosity. 
 
 It was a soft letter with a downhill direction in one 
 corner; a pleasant letter, M. le Maire concluded, for, 
 after a second of bewildered delight Chelot leaped 
 in the air, seized M. le Maire and hugged him pas- 
 sionately." 
 
 " Free, free, free ! " and he shook three one-hundred- 
 franc bills in his face. There was a bit of paper 
 inclosed, on which was written, in crabbed writing, 
 " From a faithful friend." 
 
 " God is so good ! " and a film dimmed his eyes, 
 and his lips quivered under his brown mustache. 
 
 Then, with a laugh, he swung his cap in the air 
 and sprang downhill. He had escaped a great dan- 
 ger, and, in his sudden joy, he never once thought of 
 the cause. 
 
 Free ! and Claude his forever !
 
 A FREAK OF FATE. 239 
 
 Monsieur Garbelle was crossing the bridge ; he 
 looked up at the other's radiant face with a frown. 
 But Chelot did not care ; in his great happiness he 
 was willing to love even his rival. 
 
 " I am free, M. Garbelle. See, all this money is 
 mine ! " and he thrust it into the other's face. 
 
 " Have you received it already ? " and M. Garbelle 
 retreated to the moss-grown stone railing. 
 
 " What do you mean ? Who sent it ? " 
 
 M. Garbelle had had an unpleasant courting, and 
 an expensive, so he needed something to soothe his 
 soul. 
 
 "Ha! ha! It is a little bargain : Ma'm'selle Claude 
 accepts three hundred francs from me, and I take 
 Ma'm'selle Claude." 
 
 " Sold herself for me ! " Bertrand thought over and 
 over again, as if he could not grasp the idea. How- 
 ever, there stood M. Garbelle, grinning, until with 
 one hand the young man grasped his broadcloth col- 
 lar, and with the other stuffed the bank-bills into M. 
 Garbelle's pocket, and then, with a vigorous kick, 
 sent him staggering uphill. 
 
 "The debt is repaid, M. Garbelle," he said, and, 
 turning his back on him, went towards the mill. 
 
 That whole afternoon the miller had been happy 
 in his chosen son-in-law M. Garbelle. As for Claude, 
 she said nothing but she worked with feverish activity. 
 
 After M. Garbelle had given her the money he tried 
 to reward himself by clasping her arm with one bony 
 hand, but she shook him off like a spider. 
 
 At dusk she sat down by the open hearth, shiver- 
 ing in the fire-light, and the miller put on a fresh log 
 and the flames went blazing and crackling up the 
 chimney. 
 
 She was still sitting there when Bertrand came in. 
 For a moment they looked silently and sorrowfully 
 at each other.
 
 240 A FREAK OF FATE. 
 
 " Claude," he said, at last, drawing her towards him, 
 "I shall come back to you again I swear I shall. 
 The price you paid for my life was too dear I I have 
 given the money back. Have patience, my darling, 
 for a year onlv a year." 
 
 She hid her face on his shoulder and wept, but 
 something of peace touched her heart. God only 
 knew how patient she would be ! It grew darker, 
 and the fire-light cast red shadows across the floor; 
 a yellow glimmer pierced through a crack in the door. 
 
 It was the miller who came in holding a lamp, fol- 
 lowed by M. le Maire, longing to know what the let- 
 ter and the money were about. 
 
 The miller caught sight of Bertrand. 
 
 " You here again ? " he asked, with much disfavor. 
 He would have said more, but he was afraid of 
 Claude. M. le Maire pricked up his sharp ears, but 
 he was also a Frenchman, and polite, and he had no 
 interest in family skirmishes. 
 
 There was an ominous silence, and M. le Maire, 
 sitting down by the table, stretched out his fat hands 
 to a ragged newspaper parcel, lying beside a forage-bag 
 and a crust of bread. Anything to break the dead 
 silence. 
 
 " Tiens ! A paper from Paris ! " and, without a 
 moment's hesitation, M. le Maire began to unroll it 
 with nimble fingers. 
 
 " It is the only thing Chelot brought from Paris," 
 the miller said, with much scorn, while he filled a 
 couple of pipes, and dived into the recesses of a huge 
 carven chest for a bottle of wine, for M. le Maire was 
 an honored guest. 
 
 " In the name of heaven, what's this ? " 
 
 Only to hear M. le Maire, it was no wonder that 
 the miller leaped to his feet, and dropped the bottle 
 
 with a crash. He wasn't dreaming, but money ? 
 
 The table was covered with it, and the ragged paper
 
 A FREAK OF FATE. 241 
 
 that Bertrand had brought from Paris, was bursting 
 with more. It strewed the table and fell on the 
 ground, and the numbers on the bills were fabulous. 
 Between all stood M. le Maire, open-mouthed, petri- 
 fied, and pointing a fat forefinger at Bertrand. 
 
 For a second Chelot was bewildered ; then a sud- 
 den light dawned upon him. 
 
 " To be sure yes, I remember ! Jean Pierre thrust 
 it in my bag yesterday, as I left Paris. He and 
 Duval were kicking it about till Jean Pierre dropped 
 it in there," pointing to the bag, " I suppose some one 
 lost it," Bertrand added, indifferently. 
 
 It seemed like a nineteenth century fairy-tale, as 
 they stood .about M. le Maire, while he counted the 
 bills with a moist forefinger. The miller watched 
 each motion with open-mouthed wonder. After the 
 first few thousands, his ears were dulled, he could 
 comprehend no more ; while Claude thought of the 
 happiness such a bit of paper could give her and hers. 
 
 She turned to the window, and looked into the 
 darkness till the last bill was counted and the whole 
 was safely tucked into an inside pocket of M. le 
 Maire's waistcoat. 
 
 Bertrand looked on with calm indifference. 
 
 " If we had all that money," she whispered, laying 
 her hand on his arm. 
 
 Something of his old bright smile came back as he 
 stroked his mustache and looked down at her. 
 
 " But we haven't," he answered, lightly, and that 
 was all. 
 
 "Five hundred thousand francs. Some one has 
 lost half a million," M. le Maire said, impressively. 
 " Whoever it is, will cry loud enough to be heard. If 
 it hadn't been for me, that money would have lain 
 there till doomsday. What would you do without 
 me just tell me ? I shall ride to Merle to-night, 
 and telegraph to the chief of police in Paris. As 
 16
 
 242 A FREAK OF FATE. 
 
 for you, Chelot, the money is yours till the owner 
 appears ; so you must sleep at the inn to-night. I 
 shouldn't like all the world to know what's hidden in 
 the ' Pot-au-Feu.' Come, Chelot ! You, miller, bring 
 a lantern. Good-night, Ma'm'selle Claude." 
 
 The miller accompanied the two to the inn. To 
 say that M. le Maire was excited was to say nothing. 
 He was magnificent! 
 
 " Legends," he declared, as he harnessed his fat 
 horse to a square box on four wheels, " legend? 
 will be handed down about that money, Chelot, my 
 
 boy ; and you, miller, won't be forgotten. But I " 
 
 and M. le Maire paused a second and laid his forefin- 
 ger against his nose, " I oh I " 
 
 Language failed to provide him with words suffi 
 ciently eulogistic, and, like other artists under equally 
 impressive circumstances, M. le Maire remained silent. 
 
 VII. 
 
 MLE MAIRE was still snoring placidly in the 
 early morning, when a coach tore down the 
 highway and pulled up, with a sweep, at the " Pot- 
 au-Feu." 
 
 He sat up in bed and rubbed his heavy eyes, when 
 a thundering knock sent him to the window like a 
 shot. 
 
 Two men stood below ; one looked up with a stern, 
 official eye. 
 
 "I am a police commissary ; this gentleman " 
 pointing to his companion "has lost a package 
 containing a large sum of money that answers the 
 description of the one you found. Let us in ! " 
 
 For a second M. le Maire stared at the happy pos- 
 sessor of so much money, though he wasn't much to 
 look at. Of course it was Monsieur Bertholet ; but
 
 A FREAK OF FATE. 243 
 
 after a day of unspeakable misery and an early jour- 
 ney, a pea-green haze covered his features ; but with 
 the last remnants of energy he pulled down his cuffs. 
 He trembled with joy and eagerness, and M. le 
 Maire, enveloped in a mysterious, long garment, 
 had hardly unbarred the door before M. Bertholet 
 fell about his neck. 
 
 " My preserver ! " 
 
 " No, not exactly." 
 
 " Well, then, who is he ? Where is he ? Let me 
 see him ! " 
 
 " He is in bed ; I'll send him down directly." 
 
 That did not satisfy M. Bertholet's grateful impa- 
 tience. He followed M. le Maire's fluttering gar- 
 ments down the winding corridors, and burst into a 
 small room where Bertrand, dreaming of Mexico with 
 the magnificent fantasy of a Frenchman, suddenly 
 awoke to find a queer old man sitting at his bedside, 
 clasping his hand, a strange old man, with wisps of 
 thin, green hair, and a limp but generous display of 
 linen. 
 
 "You shall have the reward, twenty thousand 
 francs ! " cried Bertholet, over and over. 
 
 " He is mad ! " Chelot thought, and shuddered. f 
 
 " Day before yesterday I lost the money in the 
 railway station in Paris. In Calais they said I was 
 mad, and sent me to Paris by the next train, with two 
 keepers." 
 
 Chelot watched him, horror struck. 
 
 " I remember, I saw you at the station, my fine fel- 
 low ; I'll make your fortune." 
 
 A light dawned on Chelot. 
 
 " I'm the owner of the five hundred thousand 
 francs," M. Bertholet explained. 
 
 "And you are not mad ? " Chelot asked, still doubt- 
 ing M. Bertholet's feverish joy. 
 
 M. Bertholet mad ? He was mad the night he
 
 244 A FREAK OF FATE. 
 
 had been left to recover his reason at leisure in a 
 police cell, after a forced journey back to Paris, with 
 two keepers and a pair of handcuffs. He was mad 
 the next morning, when Madame and " the little 
 one " came, each in turn, and overwhelmed him 
 with reproaches. But mad now ? No, he was com- 
 ing to himself ; he had learned a lesson. Madame 
 was nothing without him, and " the little one " less 
 than nothing. 
 
 Experience has been an extravagant luxury ever 
 since Mother Eve ate an apple and lost Paradise. It 
 cost M. Bertholet twenty thousand francs. 
 
 It was a great day for Plaileroi and the " Pot-au- 
 Feu." Bertholet sat beside M. le Maire in the great 
 kitchen, and watched him brew wonderful drinks. All 
 Plaileroi came and stared at the rich man, who had 
 lost a fortune in Paris and found it in Plaileroi. 
 They drank to his health and to M. le Maire's, and 
 stared again when they heard that he had given the 
 miller's Claude a dowry of twenty thousand francs, 
 and remembered M. le Maire handsomely. 
 
 Chelot would accept nothing, even when he was 
 told that twenty thousand francs was the advertised 
 reward. However, after a moment's consultation with 
 the host of the " Pot-au-Feu," Claude was transformed 
 into an heiress by the mere scratch of M. Bertholet's 
 pen. 
 
 " It's all one," M. le Maire said in explanation, 
 as Claude came shyly into the room, followed by 
 Bertrand. 
 
 "Am I mad ? " M. Bertholet asked the young man, 
 and patted Claude's blushing face. It was an expen- 
 sive pat. It was all he had seen of " life," and it 
 cost a pile of money. Still he did not care, though 
 he watched them rather enviously when the fiddlers 
 arrived, and in a trivet set Plaileroi scampering and 
 spinning down the long kitchen.
 
 A FREAK OF FATE. 245 
 
 " They have the best of it," he thought, catching 
 sudden glimpses of a laughing face, the glitter of 
 white teeth, and Bertrand's brown mustache in dan- 
 gerous proximity. 
 
 Grandeur begets solitude, and M. Bertholet pulled 
 down his cuffs, rasped his throat, and wished M. le 
 Maire to the devil. 
 
 " Will Monsieur dance with me ? " asked a shy 
 voice, and Claude stood before him, blushing. 
 
 Would he ? Good heavens, yes ! 
 
 He leaped to his feet, pulled down his cuffs, the 
 fiddles struck up a new tune, and, after thirty years 
 of inaction, M. Bertholet's feet cracked their old 
 muscles to the tune of a dance, and M. Bertholet's 
 elbows forced a way through the population of Plaile- 
 roi with superb effect. In the midst of it 
 
 " Mon mart / " said a familiar voice. 
 
 M. Bertholet thought he was dreaming, and danced 
 on. 
 
 " Mon mart/" said the voice again, plaintively. 
 
 He stopped as if he had been shot. There stood 
 Madame at the open door, travel-stained and humble. 
 
 " My friend, I heard that you were here, and so I 
 followed you." 
 
 " And now you can go home again," M. Bertholet 
 interposed, politely, and, taking her by one fat elbow, 
 he led her through the garden to the vehicle in which 
 she had come. 
 
 " Will you not come home with me, my friend ? " 
 
 " Not till I choose, my dear," he answered, shut- 
 ting her into the coach. 
 
 " Perhaps you haven't heard the news," she said, 
 spitefully, looking out of the window. " Our little 
 one is married." 
 
 "Then I pity him," M. Bertholet replied, with 
 much feeling. 
 
 "She's a dancer a ballet dancer!" Madame
 
 246 A FREAK OF FATE. 
 
 screamed, as the coachman, with a crack of his whip, 
 started his lank beasts toward Merle. 
 
 It was sinful and not fatherly, but he laughed till 
 he ached ; he was still laughing when he reached the 
 " Pot-au-Feu," and the merry tune of a dance tickled 
 his ears. 
 
 " Now," said M. Bertholet, and he pulled his cuffs 
 down for the last time in this story, " now I shall 
 begin to live. Madame is crushed, and 'the little 
 one ' is ha ! ha ! married." 
 
 The fiddles twanged and the trumpet tooted, and 
 M. Bertholet and all Plaileroi whirled about in the 
 kitchen of the " Pot-au-Feu."
 
 MONSIEUR PAMPALON'S REPENT- 
 ANCE. 
 
 I. 
 
 MONSIEUR PAMPALON had no care : that was 
 the trouble a solitary case in the world, I'm 
 afraid. 
 
 He would go out of his way to make himself miser- 
 able, and finding everything as it should be, he grum- 
 bled because he had nothing to grumble about. 
 
 Monsieur had been in the confectionery business on 
 the most magnificent scale so unlimited that it em- 
 braced all the varieties of dainty boxes and bags and 
 flowers and fancy papers with which Parisian candy 
 is decorated, to tempt a morally weak world. Being 
 candies, you would naturally imagine a dainty little 
 shop, at whose contents you could gaze with varied 
 emotions and then buy a franc's worth. Don't flat- 
 ter yourself ; you could never buy a franc's worth, 
 the business was wholesale, fearfully wholesale. 
 
 Monsieur's warehouses stood in the midst of Old 
 Paris. They were reached through a labyrinth of nar- 
 row streets, above which the tall houses towered in a 
 fashion that kept out very much sunlight and all fresh 
 air. You crossed a small courtyard, and then you were 
 irrevocably lost unless some one came to your aid ; 
 for the three small doors that opened into the court- 
 yard, and the tall, narrow windows, with their iron 
 shutters, were all deserted. So you wandered in at 
 the first door like a stray sheep, and meandered among 
 
 (247)
 
 248 MONSIEUR PAMPALON'S REPENTANCE. 
 
 a wilderness of pasteboard boxes until, fate propitious, 
 you were rescued by a gentleman in a paper cap and 
 white garments, who would poUtely give you the clew 
 to the labyrinth, and lead you to M. Pampalon's 
 presence in a dim counting-room, very dusty and very 
 full of samples of candy and fly-speckled flowers of 
 some bygone fashion, 
 
 M. Pampalon was very short and very fat, with a 
 large, smoothly-shaven face surmounted by a thick 
 crop of stiff gray hair. First you would notice his ears, 
 and then his gray eyes, with their heavy, melancholy 
 lids. The nose was blunt and large, and the mouth, 
 with drooping corners, was moved by the same machin- 
 ery as the melancholy eyelids. 
 
 M. Pampalon was born with a natural pity for him 
 self, in which he was quite unjustified. As a boy he 
 was affected to tears by his virtuous school-record ; 
 at the age of fifty his eyes would grow dim as he gave 
 a sou to a cripple, not owing to his sorrow at misfor- 
 tune, but because he was moved at his own philan- 
 thropy. He had, besides, a strong tendency to look 
 at the dark side of life, in which, again, he was not 
 justified, for if ever a man was controlled by the most 
 blind and stupid of good luck, Pampalon was that man. 
 So true was this, that a saying went about among his 
 neighbors, " La chance a Pampalon," in which every- 
 body agreed but himself. 
 
 Madame Pampalon was short and broad, like her 
 husband. While his, however, was a flabby stout- 
 ness, hers was good and solid, and there was not a 
 fraction of melancholy in her bright black eyes. 
 Madame had been a pretty shop-girl before she be- 
 came monsieur's wife, and her loyal soul never forgot 
 that he had raised her from that condition to be the 
 ruler of a most desirable country mansion within two 
 miles of Paris. 
 
 On Saturday afternoons, about three o'clock, ma-
 
 MONSIEUR PAMPALON'S REPENTANCE. 249 
 
 dame appeared at the warerooms, gorgeous in her 
 finest attire, followed by Dode', who cast down her 
 brown eyes and blushed crimson, whenever a stray 
 clerk made his appearance. There was a curious 
 sympathy between father and daughter. M. Pampa- 
 lon rarely surprised this young philosopher, and though 
 he was affectionate by spasms, Dode' was always ready 
 to meet him halfway. Though she loyally defended 
 her mother, when family skirmishes obliged her to 
 give up neutrality, still in her heart she felt for her 
 father and praised him and spoilt him, setting him up 
 for a stubby, wayward, outwardly unattractive idol, 
 which she worshiped blindly. These were the two 
 kind fairies who rescued M. Pampalon from his sugar- 
 coated chains, and bore him off, melancholy but re- 
 signed, to the desirable country mansion. 
 
 Monsieur Pampalon was no silent martyr. A faith- 
 ful audience of two admired and pitied him, and 
 would have henpecked in the usual innocent, feminine 
 fashion, had not this husband and father, in the midst 
 of their cooing, always said to himself, " Why do they 
 pity me ? I know I suffer, I know that I am miserable, 
 but there's something back of this : they're too ten- 
 der by half. I'll watch." 
 
 By which will be seen that the good man was a hyp- 
 ochondriac of the deepest dye. There was, too, a 
 fiction in his mind of the fearful sacrifices he was mak- 
 ing for his family. No man, he declared, slaved as 
 he did ; he used to cast it at his wife and daughter, as 
 if to bid these unfeeling tyrants reflect before they 
 goaded him too far. So, of an evening he would come 
 up from Paris on the top of the omnibus, smoking a 
 cigar and talking politics with a chance neighbor, 
 quite forgetful of his griefs till* coming in sight of the 
 desirable country mansion, he suddenly returned to 
 his normal condition, and appeared crushed and care- 
 worn.
 
 25O MONSIEUR PAMPALON'S REPENTANCE. 
 
 Among other peculiarities, M. Pampalon reveled 
 in the prospect of old age, and he had a way of hint- 
 ing at his years which made Methuselah a rollicking 
 young blade in comparison. That he was a devoted 
 patriot was a matter of course. He read all the news- 
 papers, beginning with the advertisements. During 
 the siege of Paris he had threatened to enlist, and had 
 gone so far as to describe to his harrowed listeners, 
 with tears in his eyes, how he would like to be buried 
 should he fall for his country. But he never enlisted. 
 However, these sentiments gave him a right to grow 
 eloquent on the duties of a patriot. It was terrible 
 to hear him hold forth after dinner over a cigar and 
 a cup of coffee, and madame was heartily glad that a 
 man of such reckless courage should not be in the 
 midst of carnage. 
 
 Said M. Pampalon to madame one evening, as they 
 sat on the veranda, and monsieur was gloomily heap- 
 ing up a pile of that day's miseries : " I am growing 
 old. There comes a time after a man has worked 
 like a cart-horse " with a faltering voice and a look 
 of silent reproof at this wife " when he, too, would 
 like to enjoy something of life." 
 
 " Well, papa " she always called him papa " why 
 don't you sell the business ? " 
 
 " ' Sell the business ! ' " monsieur echoed with much 
 contempt. " Much you women know ! Sell it ? Who'd 
 buy it in such times? No, there's no hope for me. I 
 shall have to grind and wear my life out in the usual 
 way. Had you been economical " 
 
 "Papa! papa!" madame interrupted, with good- 
 natured decision, " we are economical enough." 
 
 " Dear little papa ! " and a soft small hand caught 
 him right under his fat chin, "do sell that tiresome 
 business." 
 
 " Dode", be quiet ! You're too young to give ad- 
 vice."
 
 MONSIEUR PAMPALON'S REPENTANCE. 25 1 
 
 Dodd whose real name was Rose retired into a 
 corner and pouted, but after a moment, a feeling of 
 her extreme age came to her rescue a trait inher- 
 ited from her father " After all, I'm eighteen," she 
 thought, triumphantly. " When a person's eighteen 
 it doesn't take very long to grow old." Which is a 
 lamentable fact. 
 
 Pampalon's blind luck following him, he came from 
 Paris one day and told his wife, in the deepest dejec- 
 tion, that he had an offer for the business. He de- 
 clared that he was breaking down, and he considered 
 it his duty to preserve himself to them. However, he 
 did not mention that the offer was so brilliant that it 
 was a subject of nine days' wonder among his busi- 
 ness friends. Madame and Bode" having been called 
 upon to admire such self-sacrifice, Monsieur Pampa- 
 lon further announced that he meant to devote the rest 
 of his existence to peaceful agricultural pursuits. 
 
 II. 
 
 M PAMPALON'S desirable country-seat was 
 situated in Ligny, that charming suburb of 
 Paris where Arcadian bliss is tuned to the keynote 
 of Parisian bourgeois luxury where the honest 
 French republican turns his back on the city and 
 lives in the contemplation of ripening apricots. 
 
 Perhaps there was a sameness in the houses, which 
 were mostly of a chocolate color, with a mansard roof, 
 a veranda in front, and under the veranda a hammock. 
 Each house stood in the center of a little garden, whose 
 flowers thrust their inquisitive heads out of the fence 
 palings and became pale with the dust of the high- 
 way, where the omnibus rattled by every hour, kindly 
 leaving each resident at his own door. 
 
 The Pampalons were at breakfast. The dining-
 
 252 MONSIEUR PAMPALON'S REPENTANCE. 
 
 room was not large, but two low windows opened on 
 the veranda, and let in the concentrated freshness 
 and fragrance of a summer's morning. It was already 
 quite late, for M. Pampalon, in spite of his agricultu- 
 ral pursuits, had overslept himself. He was reading 
 the morning paper, and had just emerged out of its 
 depths to ask for a second cup of coffee from madame, 
 who sat, smooth and dark and neat, behind the cof- 
 fee urn. 
 
 Monsieur was cross, and he eyed his wife with a 
 great deal of slumbering conjugal wrath. " There, 
 now ! you're putting too much water in the coffee," 
 he exclaimed, peevishly. " You know I hate dish- 
 water, and I won't drink it." 
 
 " Papa, you are growing near-sighted," madame 
 answered, unmoved, " don't you see this is milk ? " 
 
 " It's all the same," monsieur muttered, foiled. 
 
 " If it is all the same, we had better buy a pump 
 instead of a cow it's much cheaper," madame re- 
 plied calmly, as her husband growled himself back 
 into his paper, while Dode, who sat between them, 
 smothered an untimely laugh. 
 
 There is no knowing what monsieur might have 
 done at such a lack of feeling in his daughter, if he 
 had not started up, in sudden excitement, " Madame, 
 command yourself ! " 
 
 "In Heaven's name, what is the matter?" she 
 cried in consternation. 
 
 " The matter is," monsieur began with exasperat- 
 ing slowness " the matter is that we are beggars : 
 the Russian National Railway bonds, in which I have 
 invested the greater part of my money, have fallen to 
 absolutely nothing. I told you so ! I knew how it 
 would end ! " monsieur cried with a great groan, and 
 again groped his distracted way to the alarming piece 
 of news. All at once there succeeded an embarrassed
 
 MONSIEUR PAMPALON'S REPENTANCE. 253 
 
 pause, and monsieur raised his paper and coughed 
 apologetically. 
 
 " I suppose you have made a mistake ? " madame 
 said with some iciness, for she knew her husband's 
 familiar ways. 
 
 " The fact is, my dear," monsieur said, quite sub- 
 dued, " I read ' Russian National Railway bonds,' 
 and, looking to see their value, I accidentally followed 
 the wrong line." 
 
 Madame rose and went toward the window : she 
 had lost her appetite for breakfast. Mademoiselle 
 Dode played with her coffee cup, but had her young 
 ears unconsciously very wide open, for, hearing a faint 
 sound in the distance, she cried, " The coach is com- 
 ing ! " and ran to the window. 
 
 The family Pampalon, reunited by a common ex- 
 citement, buried the hatchet and stood on the veranda 
 to see the omnibus pass. Instead of galloping on 
 as it had done ever since M. Pampalon retired from 
 business, it stopped before the gate. There was a 
 letting down of steps, a banging of doors, and the 
 creak of a gravel walk ; then a jovial voice cried to 
 M. Pampalon, in execrable French, " How are you, 
 old fellow ? " the question being followed by a vigor- 
 ous slap on the shoulder which made the wretched 
 victim jump. 
 
 *' Karl ! " Monsieur Pampalon faltered, " why" 
 
 " Surprised, are you ? " Karl said, unconcernedly. 
 " Didn't you get my letter ? Sent it to your office 
 said I was coming, and meant to bring the captain 
 instead of my wife. My son, the captain family 
 Pampalon. Now, that's settled. Where's Rose ? 
 Why do you call her Dode' ? .vile name, Dod6 ! 
 Ah, ha! gone, has she ? I know why; she had her 
 hair in curl papers. So you didn't get my letter ? 
 Queer ! queer ! Sent it to your office." 
 
 The captain^made a military salute, while M. Pam-
 
 254 MONSIEUR PAMPALON'S REPENTANCE. 
 
 palon stared at them both in speechless consternation. 
 Madame, being the first to recover, held out a very 
 pretty hand to her unexpected guests. "You know 
 that you are always welcome, and how much more 
 after so many years ! And this is your son ? Albert, 
 is it not ? I am glad to see you, not only for your 
 father's sake, but for your own," she said kindly to 
 the young man, who stood aside, evidently greatly 
 embarrassed at finding their visit so unexpected. 
 
 There was no need to say that they had come from 
 Berlin; it was enough to see them, enough to hear 
 the old president murder the French language. 
 
 Officially, the president was the chief magistrate of 
 a Prussian criminal court ; privately he was under 
 subjection to a very decided little wife, in spite of 
 whom he enjoyed hugely all such chance pleasures as 
 came in his way. 
 
 The captain was a newer, handsomer edition of his 
 father a great broad shouldered fellow with a fine 
 head, kind blue eyes, and in his buttonhole the ribbon 
 of the Iron Cross. 
 
 Extremes will meet. M. Pampalon had met the 
 president in Germany while there on business. 
 Strange to say, they had taken a fancy to each other, 
 and in the course of long intervals M. Pampalon 
 would drop in at Berlin, and the president would sur- 
 prise the Pampalon family at Ligny. 
 
 " Glad to see me, old boy ? And you mean to say 
 that you never got my letter ? " the president cried 
 cheerfully, slapping his host on the knee. 
 
 " It seems you don't know, Karl, that I am out of 
 business," M. Pampalon answered, making a desper- 
 ate effort to raise his spirits. " Sometimes they forget 
 to send my letters as promptly as I could wish." 
 
 " Rolling in riches, are you ? Well, I'm glad of it." 
 
 " No, not at all ; times are bad."
 
 MONSIEUR PAMPALON'S REPENTANCE. 255 
 
 " Why, what's the matter with you ? " the president 
 exclaimed, quite overcome by his host's misery. 
 
 Madame came gracefully to the rescue, and bur- 
 dened monsieur with a fictitious attack of rheumatism 
 from which he vainly tried to free himself. The cap- 
 tain sat by and twisted the ends of his fair mustache 
 and thought of the pretty girl in the curl-papers. This 
 is, however, not the captain's story, it is M. Pampa- 
 Ion's, and poor Pampalon might indeed have melted 
 the heart of a rock as he sat there listening in misan- 
 thropic agony. You see, he had noticed the sparkle 
 in Madame's eyes, and he hated to have her pleased 
 even by this long-legged old judge of a Prussian 
 criminal court. 
 
 III. 
 
 M PAMPALON was impressed with the belief 
 that all marriageable men had Dodd's hand as 
 their aim in life, with a wary eye opened to pecuniary 
 results. This feverish problem, being studied by an 
 impartial mind, resolved itself into Monsieur Al- 
 phonse Gaspard. Alphonse Gaspard lived next door 
 to the Pampalon's, and was the sad spectacle of a 
 weak young man with a strong-minded and widowed 
 mother, a nice income, and no visible occupation but 
 to stare over the garden-paling at Mademoiselle Dodd. 
 Monsieur Pampalon patronized Alphonse. Al- 
 phonse played piquet, carte, vingt-et-un in fact, all 
 those pleasant games without which retirement be- 
 comes an unbearable bore. Besides, Alphonse en- 
 joyed being patronized by Dode's father, and Dode's 
 father had, without much ado, made up his mind that 
 it would be a great convenience if she should marry 
 Alphonse and live next door, with an income inde- 
 pendent of himself. He was not a cruel father 
 Heaven forbid ! but he had made up his mind to
 
 256 MONSIEUR PAMPALON'S REPENTANCE. 
 
 that effect without consulting anyone, and he consid- 
 ered the matter as good as settled. 
 
 No one could expect Monsieur Pampalon to waste 
 much romance on his chosen son-in-law : he viewed 
 him practically not from the heart, but from the 
 pocket and found him extremely desirable, so M. 
 Pampalon being a tyrant and Alphonse a willing slave, 
 there was a bond of accommodating friendship be- 
 tween them. M. Pampalon hated to be forgotten ; 
 and now this poor misanthrope felt his eyes grow dim 
 as the president and madame talked and laughed to- 
 gether, unmindful of him, and the captain looked 
 cautiously about for some one in curl-papers. 
 
 Just then fate sent Alphonse up the front walk in a 
 magnificent morning toilet, as she sent him twelve 
 hours in the twenty-four. M. Pampalon, forcing back 
 some tears, rose and welcomed Alphonse vehemently 
 flung himself, so to speak, on the poor fellow in a 
 manner which all but said, " You see how I am for- 
 saken ! " Alphonse was highly flattered, but when 
 he saw strangers he would have fled, only that M. 
 Pampalon clung to him. 
 
 The blunt old president stared at Alphonse in un- 
 disguised wonder, and the captain bowed stiffly, and 
 twirled his mustache. 
 
 There was a moment's awkward pause, then a light 
 step came down the veranda. The captain and his 
 father turned with quick military precision. 
 
 " Coquette ! coquette ! where have you left your 
 curl-papers ? " the president laughed, threatening her 
 with his forefinger. "What! you won't kiss Uncle 
 Karl because you are eighteen ? There ! I knew you 
 would ! " and he gallantly kissed Mademoiselle Dodd. 
 " Albert," he said to that young man, " I am sorry 
 for your sake that you are not your father. Rose, my 
 child, this is my son the captain. By the way, the 
 captain saw the curl-papers. He is very sharp."
 
 MONSIEUR PAMPALON'S REPENTANCE. 257 
 
 Dodd smiled and blushed, and looked shyly up to 
 the captain till she reached his blue eyes that were so 
 much more eloquent than his poor lame tongue. 
 
 So you see how all these dramatis persona came 
 together how the president laughed loud and long 
 with madame ; how the captain smiled and Dode 
 blushed ; how M. Alphonse hid himself behind M. 
 Pampalon's broad back, and felt an unknown emo- 
 tion of jealousy beneath his magnificent waistcoat ; 
 how poor M. Pampalon, our unhappy hero, felt life 
 to be a burden to him, and, hating everybody as he 
 did, hated most of all long-legged guests who burst 
 upon you unawares and make life miserable. 
 
 IV. 
 
 " TV /TADAME, I hate people who come visiting with- 
 
 L A out being invited." 
 
 M. Pampalon had retired to rest one night, and 
 only the outline of a lowering face surmounted by a 
 tasseled nightcap could be seen among the bedclothes. 
 Monsieur addressed madame, who was tying her night- 
 cap under her double chin, and wisely made believe 
 not to hear. " Are you deaf ? I say it's a confound- 
 ed impertinence for people to come visiting without 
 an invitation ! " 
 
 " Well ? " 
 
 " Well ? " monsieur echoed, " is that all you have 
 to say ? At your age you should do something else 
 than encourage these these idlers." 
 
 " At my age ! " madame was angry. " At my age 
 I might be doing something else than listening to 
 your nonsense." 
 
 " What do you say, madame ? " monsieur cried, and 
 raised a wrathful head from the conjugal pillow. 
 " You're a coquette a coquette, madame ! "
 
 258 MONSIEUR PAMPALON'S REPENTANCE. 
 
 " Monsieur Pampalon, you're a fool ! " but madame 
 was mollified. 
 
 "This to me? " and with a sudden change of voice 
 from the wrathful to the lachrymose, M. Pampalon 
 sank back on his pillow and groaned at the misery 
 of his life. 
 
 " If you dislike them, why don't you tell them to 
 go?" 
 
 " I tell them ? It's your duty. You say to them " 
 
 " Indeed I shall not. I like them both, but if you 
 want them to go, why don't you tell them so ? " 
 
 " It's abominable ! " monsieur groaned. 
 
 "You're a coward," madame remarked, kindly. 
 
 " You shall repent this ! " and monsieur half rose 
 in bed. 
 
 However, madame had a fine temper well under 
 control. With a firm hand she extinguished the can- 
 dle, then saying quite unmoved, " Papa, go to sleep 
 now your threats always end in words," lay down 
 and shut her bright black eyes, preparatory to sleeping 
 the sleep of the unromantic just. 
 
 V. 
 
 M PAMPALON was in despair. One day he cut 
 across his front garden into Alphonse's, and 
 threw himself on young Gaspard's neck, crying out 
 piteously, " I am deserted ! They I mean she, my 
 wife, has deserted me for an enemy of her country ! " 
 
 " Have you followed them ? " Alphonse asked with 
 great sympathy. 
 
 " No, I scorn to," and monsieur relapsed into mel- 
 ancholy wrath. 
 
 " Where's mademoiselle ? " 
 
 "Gone with them." 
 
 " What ! " and Alphonse started back and absolutely
 
 MONSIEUR PAMPALON'S REPENTANCE. 259 
 
 forced some expression into his small black eyes 
 "what ! you allow your daughter to stay with a mother 
 who is disgraced ? " 
 
 " Yes, that is it disgraced ! " 
 
 " And you you call yourself a father ? " 
 
 " What else should I call myself ? " 
 
 " And the captain ? " Alphonse groaned. 
 
 " Gone too." 
 
 Alphonse took off his smoking-cap and wrung it. 
 
 "They've taken everything to eat in the house," 
 monsieur continued gloomily. " The captain sat by 
 the driver holding two bottles of champagne and one 
 of sauterne. Madame had a whole goose in a basket 
 at her feet, and that German beggar, the president, 
 laughed in my face as they drove off." 
 
 " You saw them go and never stopped them ? " Al- 
 phonse cried, in such undisguised horror that M. Pam- 
 palon paused in his anguish to ask, " Why should I ? " 
 
 " What ! when madame elopes " 
 
 " M. Alphonse, you misunderstand : madame has 
 gone to a picnic. She has left me alone, and, as if 
 that were not enough, there is nothing to eat in the 
 house. Can you give me something ? " 
 
 For a moment monsieur's stomach conquered his 
 emotions, but when the mistaken Alphonse had dis- 
 appeared to order a lunch, the wretched man, seeing, 
 in his mind's eye, the champagne, sauterne, goose and 
 sandwiches vanishing down the throats of his enemies, 
 felt his wrongs rising in double-distilled strength, and 
 vowed vengeance. 
 
 Monsieur had indeed been deserted. There was, 
 to be sure, some excuse for madame. Being of a joy- 
 ous nature, she had little chance in the companionship 
 of her husband to cultivate that side of her character. 
 What wonder that she liked the president's society 
 and shared all the amusements of that benighted for- 
 eigner? The president had soon remarked the sink-
 
 26O MONSIEUR PAMPALON'S REPENTANCE. 
 
 ing of his host's hospitable thermometer, but madame 
 growing more cordial in the ratio of her husband's 
 iciness, the jovial old fellow lived in a constant state 
 of mental see-saw, and could only encourage his own 
 visit by remembering how often his capricious host 
 had lodged in the Konigsstrasse in Berlin. 
 
 As for the captain, by this time he was in love, 
 quickly, frankly, incurably. They were so constantly 
 together, he and Mademoiselle Dode : they had been 
 as clearly forgotten as the babes in the wood, in the 
 midst of the president's pleasure excursions, madame's 
 gayety and Monsieur Pampalon's unspeakable jeal- 
 ousy and misanthropy. This is not the captain's story, 
 and so I will not tell how Captain Albert and Made- 
 moiselle Dode' found themselves in the garden one 
 summer's twilight under the dense shade of a noble 
 evergreen, and well ! well ! the gallant captain stoop- 
 ed and whispered something, and some one looked up 
 at him very shyly with eyes full of tears and smiles. 
 But, as I said before, this is not the captain's story, 
 it is M. Pampalon's. 
 
 So what wonder that Mademoiselle Dode looked at 
 the world through rose-colored glasses, until even her 
 unhappy father partook of the general hue : truly, only 
 love can be so blind. 
 
 To be sure, madame was not in love. Her daily 
 flights with the president were of the most prosaic 
 character, even M. Pampalon being cordially invited 
 to join. He, however, received the invitation with 
 such utter gloom, muttering something about extrava- 
 gance and carriage hire, that it was never repeated. 
 Madame, though not in love, closed her eyes willing- 
 ly ; so monsieur was alone with his grievances, roam- 
 ing about with hanging under-lip and melancholy 
 eyelids. 
 
 Misery not only loves company, but generally finds 
 it. Not that Madame Gaspard was miserable, by no
 
 MONSIEUR PAMPALON'S REPENTANCE. 26 1 
 
 means ; she was only miserable when she had to pay 
 a bill. Madame Gaspard was Alphonse's mother and 
 lived next door, and it was a great convenience for 
 M. Pampalon was lazy, even in his unhappiness to 
 pour into her ear the tale of his misery and his ex- 
 penses. Madame had a fellow-feeling when her af- 
 flicted neighbor spoke of bills. She had also made up 
 her maternal mind that Alphonse should marry Bode 1 
 and Dodo's fortune. So she watched the captain with 
 suspicious eyes, and saw through his feelings with a 
 clearness that should have put the Pampalon family 
 to the blush at their marvelous stupidity. 
 
 It would be impossible to do justice to Madame 
 Gaspard's emotions as she saw the captain gallantly 
 escorting Mademoiselle Dodd through the garden, car- 
 rying the watering-pot and the garden shears, while 
 her own Alphonse lay under a pear tree reading Al- 
 fred de Musset. He had neglected Dode' of late for 
 he was desperately shy in spite of Alfred de Musset, 
 and it was with a sinking heart that he obeyed his 
 mother's stern commands logo to thePampalon's and 
 be fascinating. 
 
 Fascinating ? Why, he never had a chance, for he 
 always encountered M. Pampalon on the veranda, who 
 forgot the emotions of a father in his hunger for sym- 
 pathy. So Alphonse listened, sliding about on the 
 hard veranda chair, a prey to terror, fearing that some- 
 body would come. 
 
 There was no need, for in the sunlit flower garden 
 the captain and Dode' were gathering roses.
 
 262 MONSIEUR PAMPALON'S REPENTANCE. 
 
 VI. 
 
 A PARTY, madame ? " 
 ** " Yes ; why not, papa ? " 
 
 " What ! a party a party at my house ? May I 
 ask what you intend to do with a party ? " 
 
 " Amuse myself." 
 
 " Never ! " " never in my house ! To have it torn 
 up for German beggars, and my money wasted ! 
 Never ! never ! never ! " 
 
 " M. Pampalon, you forget that I, too, have a word 
 to say," madame interposed. "As it is, perhaps you 
 had better know that we have already set the day for 
 the party, and the invitations are out. Dode is to 
 have a new dress so am I. The captain has gone to 
 town to hire the band, and the president " 
 
 Madame did not end, for monsieur, in a frenzy, 
 grasped his head with both hands and tore out of the 
 house. He fled down the well-worn path, and stood 
 gasping and furious before Madame Gaspard, whom 
 he awoke from her afternoon nap. 
 
 " What is it now ? " madame asked in a hard, rasp- 
 ing voice, looking at her visitor with much disfavor, 
 for she had an unacknowledged feeling that had mon- 
 sieur been her husband he would have been managed 
 differently. 
 
 " A party ! my wife is going to give a party ! " 
 monsieur gasped, and in his despair thrust his hands 
 through his hair and made it stand on end. 
 
 " Are we invited ? " 
 
 " Madame, do you not see that I am in despair ? 
 I a party to have my money flung to the dogs 
 rioting and feasting ! But I'll spoil their pleasure 
 yet ! " 
 
 Madame had brought her son up on eau sucrt, and
 
 MONSIEUR PAMPALON'S REPENTANCE. 263 
 
 had found it efficient in keeping down the manly tem- 
 per. To M. Pampalon she brought a glass of this 
 innocent elixir. " Drink it, my friend. You should 
 be careful not to excite yourself ; you are stout, with 
 apoplectic tendencies." 
 
 " Thanks ! thanks ! you are a true friend," mon- 
 sieur murmured. " But I I must go I'm un- 
 strung." 
 
 " See that Alphonse gets an invitation ; he hasn't 
 had a chance with Dod6 since that monkey of a cap- 
 tain has been dancing attendance." 
 
 " Don't speak of him," monsieur said, with a slight 
 shudder. " But I'll spoil their pleasure. I'll " 
 
 What monsieur meant to do remained unsaid, for 
 just then Alphonse appeared with an immense envel- 
 ope in his hand, out of whose contents he read with 
 much satisfaction that Madame and Monsieur Pam- 
 palon requested the pleasure of his company, etc., etc. 
 " We are very much obliged," said the grateful Al- 
 phonse, shaking Pampalon's limp and dejected hand. 
 
 "Don't be ! It's a lie ! " was that gentleman's far 
 from satisfactory reply. 
 
 "What?" 
 
 " It's a lie ! " M. Pampalon repeated with passion at 
 white heat, " but I'll be hanged if they don't have a 
 good time, a high old time ! " and he fled out of the 
 house leaving Madame and Alphonse to wonder if 
 the last promise was not to be taken in a figurative 
 sense. 
 
 VII. 
 
 'T'HE night of the party came a lovely evening 
 -L with the blue-black zenith radiant with stars, 
 and the air full of the perfume of flowers heavily laden 
 with dew. Everybody knew that there was a party 
 at the Pampalons', for a double row of Chinese Ian-
 
 264 MONSIEUR PAMPALON'S REPENTANCE. 
 
 terns led from the gate to the entrance, to the great 
 satisfaction of the captain, who had arranged this 
 decoration, and the great satisfaction of Mademoiselle 
 Dode*, who admired everything the captain did. 
 
 Mademoiselle Dode' had herself made a hurried 
 and shy appearance before that gallant officer in the 
 drawing-room an hour before the party, and quite 
 overwhelmed him with a vision of airy lace and deli- 
 cate rosebuds, and a pair of brown eyes that dared 
 him to say that the lace, the rosebuds and the afore- 
 said brown eyes were not the loveliest of their kind, 
 and, it being quite dark in the room, the captain 
 I am afraid one of the band heard, for he was dis- 
 covered in a corner blowing his nose with unnatural 
 violence. 
 
 Madame Pampalon was gorgeous in yellow satin 
 and scarlet poppies. 
 
 "Upon my word, ma'am, you are magnificent," the 
 president said ; which madame would have continued 
 to be had she not gone into the kitchen and had a 
 violent altercation with the caterer. The emotions 
 so excited caused her face to turn of a fine crimson, 
 which would not and could not harmonize with the 
 poppies. 
 
 Monsieur had a plan alas for him ! and for once 
 he was a silent martyr. As silent martyr he arrayed 
 himself in a claw-hammer coat and a white necktie, 
 and made a dismal effort to put one half of a light 
 lavender kid glove on a perspiring hand. But there 
 is a point when even the worm will turn : it was not 
 monsieur's time to turn quite yet, but he already bade 
 defiance to the world, as it were, when he made his ap- 
 pearance in society with only half a glove on. Society, 
 consisting of madame at that time, looked at him criti- 
 cally from head to foot, and concluded, very wisely, 
 that this votary to pleasure was in such a state of ex- 
 asperation that it would be best to leave him alone.
 
 MONSIEUR PAMPALON'S REPENTANCE. 265 
 
 Society began to arrive at half-past eight, and its 
 individual members trod on each other's heels, so 
 exactly had Ligny calculated the time of coming. 
 Madame had even been successful enough to include 
 one count and half a dozen " De " Something-or- 
 others among her guests. In fact, everybody who 
 was anybody in Ligny was invited, and madame's 
 heart beat high with gratification under her yellow 
 satin bodice. 
 
 A bow, a curtsy, a scrape, and madame welcomed 
 a new arrival, then turned him over to monsieur, who 
 received him with speechless resentment. Still, how 
 was the victim to know monsieur's secret thoughts as 
 he pressed that unhappy hand and congratulated him- 
 self on being in the distinguished society of monsieur 
 and madame and their amiable family ? 
 
 The amiable family was at that moment dancing 
 with the captain, and casting lace and rosebud thun- 
 derbolts at Alphonse. M. Gaspard was very unhappy, 
 but madame his mother was grand and proud in black 
 velvet, and made mental disparaging remarks about 
 Madame Pampalon's yellow satin. 
 
 There were other beauties there besides Bode", and 
 they looked encouragement at Alphonse, for dancers 
 were scarce ; but Alphonse was loyal, so he remained 
 alone and silent, leaning against a door-post till his 
 turn should come to claim Mademoiselle Dode"s hand 
 for the cotillon. 
 
 M. Pampalon was strangely passive : he allowed 
 madame to dictate his line of conduct with such 
 speechless meekness that she patted him on the back 
 with her fan and said, " After all, it is a good child," 
 but overlooked a curious flaring up of the light in her 
 husband's eyes, which boded ill. 
 
 So he went off on duty, as directed, to a certain 
 hard-featured, gray-complexioned, thin woman who 
 persisted in sitting solitary and alone as near the band
 
 266 MONSIEUR PAMPALON'S REPENTANCE. 
 
 as possible. Her M. Pampalon rescued, or rather 
 he gave her a companion in misery, for he brought a 
 stiff chair and sat down beside her. Though they said 
 not a word, for the crash of the instruments hindered 
 all conversation, still they felt that they were a couple 
 of congenial souls. 
 
 Madame Gaspard, if she had been tasting of unal- 
 loyed bliss that evening, did not look so. To soothe 
 her ruffled feelings, Madame Pampalon delegated to 
 her husband the pleasant duty of leading his sympa- 
 thizing neighbor to supper. She had organized an 
 intricate pilgrimage through the hall and the parlor, 
 ad infinitum, preparatory to getting up an appetite for 
 supper, which pilgrimage she proposed to lead off with 
 the president. The band had begun a hopeful march 
 in anticipation of supper, when, as she was on the 
 point of starting, madame discovered Madame Gas- 
 pard still seated alone and neglected in the shadow 
 of a window-curtain, with feelings she took no pains 
 to conceal. " Dear me, Madame Gaspard ! where's 
 my husband ? " 
 
 Madame Gaspard, like a forlorn Ariadne, denied 
 all knowledge of her truant swain. Here the lady of 
 the musical shower-bath volunteered the information 
 that when monsieur left her an hour ago, he declared 
 that he felt far from well. 
 
 " I must see where he is," madame said like a good 
 wife, feeling some internal and nameless compunc- 
 tions. " Excuse me for a moment, will you not, presi- 
 dent ? " she said, and left that gallant man, who was 
 enjoying himself hugely making love to every woman 
 with whom he danced. 
 
 Madame disappeared, and the orchestra, like clock- 
 work wound up, still continued its runs and flourishes, 
 when, through the brightness, the talking and laughter, 
 more horrible for the contrasted gayety there 
 rang a sudden, piercing cry. It was madame's voice,
 
 MONSIEUR PAMPALON'S REPENTANCE. 267 
 
 and it had hardly died away before the president, the 
 captain and poor Dode' were already in M. Pampa- 
 lon's room. On the floor madame lay senseless in 
 crushed yellow satin, and on the bed Monsieur Pam- 
 palon lay dead. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 THE five doctors who were at madame's party 
 hurried up at the first alarm. Each applied dif- 
 ferent remedies, yet the body of M. Pampalon refused 
 to be reanimated. 
 
 Poor M. Pampalon, who only meant to sham illness 
 and have all the house in an uproar for his sake, had 
 taken laudanum to give his wife a good fright when 
 she should find him. Supper-time being propitious, 
 knowing he should be missed, he had set to work and 
 had surprised himself completely by taking a trifle too 
 much. 
 
 The spirit of M. Pampalon was not in his body, for 
 that lay limp and lifeless on the bed, animated by 
 nothing nobler than earthiness. The spirit of M. 
 Pampalon had fled from its body as far as the foot of 
 the bed, and there it stood and wrung its hands, as 
 for the first time, in seeing the bitter grief of wife and 
 child, it realized the happiness it had placed at stake. 
 M. Pampalon, unfettered by a body, saw with clearer 
 eyes and wrung his hands in mute repentance, and 
 for the first time, when he would have gladly wept, 
 M. Pampalon, being a spirit, lacked tears. 
 
 The house was still lighted ; the Chinese lanterns 
 still burned brightly, but the guests had gone. The 
 remnants of the night's gayety lingered about like 
 wretched ghosts. 
 
 Poor Madame Pampalon, having recovered from 
 the first terrible shock, returned to her normal con- 
 dition of a helpful little woman, though her eyes were
 
 268 MONSIEUR PAMPALON'S REPENTANCE. 
 
 red and swollen with weeping ; and the spirit of M. 
 Pampalon, looking on, became strangely humble and 
 repentant, for the soul of M. Pampalon had received 
 a lesson. 
 
 The doctors called it apoplexy, and the doctors 
 called it heart disease, while the spirit at the foot of 
 the bed shook its head wofully, for the soul of M. 
 Pampalon wanted to return to its body, and life seem- 
 ed very sweet now that it was so nearly lost. The 
 chances for the life of M. Pampalon were becoming 
 fainter, when one of the physicians, in lifting mon- 
 sieur's head, displaced the pillow. It was lucky that 
 the unhappy sinner had not hidden that bottle more 
 successfully. 
 
 "I have it, gentlemen!" the doctor cried, brisk- 
 ly ; " it's laudanum. He has tried to kill himself. 
 There is some hope now, though, really, he has made 
 it a very delicate case," and he nodded approvingly 
 at the body. 
 
 The spirit of M. Pampalon hung its head in shame 
 and wrung its hands again as his poor child, clasping 
 the hand of what had been M. Pampalon, whispered 
 in eager defence, " Not my father oh, not my father ! 
 he loved us so much! " and fell back in the arms of 
 madame's Brittany maid, who bore her young mistress 
 away. 
 
 I could tell you very much about the distracted 
 captain, who stood guard at Dode's door, but, as I said 
 before, this is not the captain's story. 
 
 A flickering of the eyelids, a gasp, a sigh, and the 
 doctor had conquered, for Monsieur Pampalon's spirit 
 returned to its normal condition, and, being M. Pam- 
 palon, groaned. 
 
 At that moment the door opened and the captain 
 came in. 
 
 " Monsieur is out of danger," the doctor cried.
 
 MONSIEUR PAMPALON'S REPENTANCE. 269 
 
 " Then come at once to Mademoiselle for she is 
 very ill," the captain interrupted, harshly, for the cap- 
 tain was human and not at all in love with M. Pam- 
 palon. 
 
 In an instant that self-made invalid was deserted 
 except by the captain, who stared at him with half- 
 fascinated eyes. 
 
 Another gasp, another sigh, and M. Pampalon 
 opened his eyes and looked at Albert in a dazed 
 way. 
 
 " What do they mean by deserting me ? " he whim- 
 pered. 
 
 " Mademoiselle is is ill." 
 
 " What is that to you ? " for M. Pampalon resented 
 the captain's undisguised emotion. 
 
 " I love her," the young man replied simply. 
 
 M. Pampalon was the soul of honor, but he mut- 
 tered " Alphonse Gaspard." 
 
 " What is he to her ? " 
 
 " Her future husband." And M. Pampalon closed 
 his eyes and the conversation at the same time. 
 
 Albert looked with helpless rage at the exasperat- 
 ing form of M. Pampalon, shielded by weakness, and 
 with a heavy heart he left the room. Not for an instant 
 did he doubt her. " I'll wager it's some confounded 
 family arrangement of which she is ignorant," he 
 thought with a groan. " I'll join my regiment," and 
 as he stalked out of the room he nearly fell over Al- 
 phonse, lingering on the threshold. 
 
 M. Pampalon was in a state of weak rage because 
 of the captain's desertion. As if it were an every-day 
 occurrence to see him, M. Pampalon, die ! Just then 
 Alphonse knocked. "Come in !" M. Pampalon said 
 in an expiring tone, and groaned aloud. It was really 
 unnecessary, but M. Pampalon felt that this was the 
 least you could expect of a man who had been at the 
 point of death.
 
 2/O MONSIEUR PAMPALON'S REPENTANCE. 
 
 Alphonse stared at his prospective father-in-law 
 with damp, sympathetic eyes. 
 
 " Sit down, Alphonse ; I want to speak to you 
 about DodeY' monsieur said, with a vivid recollec- 
 tion of the captain. 
 
 The unhappy Alphonse obeyed. 
 
 " Now, if she were here we might settle a certain 
 little matter." 
 
 " Oh, monsieur, don't you know " Alphonse stam- 
 mered. 
 
 " What ? " cried monsieur. 
 
 " The shock of last night she is threatened with 
 brain fever," Alphonse exclaimed, regardless of mon- 
 sieur's feelings. 
 
 " My God ! I Let me go ! I tell you I must go 
 to my child ! " and the poor old culprit tried to get 
 out of bed. But even Alphonse could manage him 
 now, he was so weak. The unhappy father buried his 
 head in the pillows and shed bitter tears, and knew 
 that if his child died he had killed her. Alphonse 
 looked helplessly at the wretched man, and begged 
 him to look up, for it might all end well. To all of 
 which M. Pampalon paid no heed, for he was repent- 
 ing at leisure. 
 
 IX. 
 
 A FEW days afterward President Karl sat in his 
 room, nursing his leg, with a perplexed look in 
 the only eye capable of expression. The captain was 
 packing ; he had decided to go, with a look as stern 
 as a pair of naturally sunny eyes could assume. 
 
 " It's a pity " President Karl began, when the cap- 
 tain interrupted him unceremoniously : " Father, we 
 must go. How can I stay here, when I love that girl 
 more than my life ? When I know she's to marry 
 that confounded jackass? "
 
 MONSIEUR PAMPALON'S REPENTANCE. 2/1 
 
 " Mildly, my son mildly." 
 
 "It's easy enough for you to say 'mildly,' but 
 you'd be the last man to give up a girl if you really 
 wanted her." 
 
 " There is truth in that; "and the president was 
 highly flattered, " but it won't do to say so. Con- 
 sider, Albert," he said aloud, " she may never marry 
 anyone. You know she is very ill, and we might as 
 well look facts in the face." 
 
 " Don't speak so, father ; I cannot bear it ! " 
 
 " Albert, be a man. Do you think you are the 
 only man who has lost the woman he loves ? " 
 
 " Will you go, father ? " and the Captain ignored 
 the philosophy. 
 
 " Well, if I must." 
 
 So the fiery steeds of the Ligny omnibus once more 
 reined in at M. Pampalon's front gate ; again there 
 was the creak of the gravel walk and the letting down 
 of steps. Captain Albert looked wistfully back at a 
 certain little room with closed windows, but the un- 
 feeling coachman gave him no time for reflection. 
 
 They had gone without leave-taking, for the whole 
 house was in confusion. Only Alphonse saw them 
 start, and his emotions were of unequivocal joy, for, 
 after all, Alphonse was a man, and he hated his rival. 
 
 " They've gone ! " Alphonse cried triumphantly to 
 M. Pampalon as that poor man came out of Dode's 
 door late that evening, looking haggard and careworn. 
 
 " Who ? " 
 
 " The president and the captain." 
 
 " Gone ? The captain gone ? The very man I 
 want to see ! " The poor father groaned and hid 
 his face in his hands. 
 
 In the closed room a small restless head was toss- 
 ing about on the pillow and moaning, "Albert! Al- 
 bert ! " till the doctor said, " Who is Albert ? " and
 
 2/2 MONSIEUR PAMPALON'S REPENTANCE. 
 
 M. Pampalon, after a moment's reflection, with a 
 sinking heart confessed it must be the captain. 
 
 " Bring the captain ; he may save your daughter's 
 life," the doctor said. 
 
 Bring the captain ? Why, he would have brought 
 the moon to save her. So he went humbly to bring 
 the captain, and the captain was now on his way to 
 Berlin at the rate of fifty miles an hour. 
 
 " I'll go after him," M. Pampalon cried as he hur- 
 ried past the bewildered Alphonse. " I must bring 
 him back. Bear it like a man, Alphonse," and M. 
 Pampalon disappeared. 
 
 For an instant M. Alphonse stared about him, then 
 a blur dimmed his eyes, so that he could hardly find 
 the way to his own gate. 
 
 Madame Gaspard was knitting by the lamp in the 
 family sitting-room when Alphonse came in. " Mother, 
 I'm going to London to-morrow." 
 
 " Are you mad ? " 
 
 " The captain is coming back ; Monsieur Pampalon 
 has gone to Berlin for him." 
 
 " My poor child, take some of this," and madame 
 offered him a glass of eau sucrt, "it will do you 
 good." 
 
 " Mother, pray don't ! " Alphonse cried with aver- 
 sion ; " you seem to think that sugar and water will 
 cure everything." 
 
 " My son, it cured all the emotions of your late 
 lamented father." 
 
 For the first time in his life Alphonse rebelled ; the 
 next morning he rebelled for the second time when he 
 took the train for London without as much as saying 
 to madame, " By your leave." 
 
 Whether Alphonse ever recovered from his passion 
 is not known. Yet I do know that a retributive Provi- 
 dence sent a very tall and bony woman into the Gas- 
 pard house in the course of time, who tyrannized over
 
 MONSIEUR PAMPALON'S REPENTANCE. 2/3 
 
 the tyrant Madame Gaspard, and called her mother- 
 in-law, and who. hasn't called on the Pampalons to 
 this day. 
 
 X. 
 
 MPAMPALON had followed in the footsteps of 
 President Karl, but not of the captain, for the 
 captain had deserted his father just as they reached 
 Paris in the omnibus. He was unspeakably wretched, 
 and could not tear himself away from Ligny ; he 
 could not return to Berlin with the haunting thought 
 that the girl he loved might be dying. But he wanted 
 to be alone in his misery, so he escaped from his 
 father, seeing that unhappy man for the last time as 
 he was defending himself from enthusiastic cabmen. 
 
 The captain returned to Ligny that same evening, 
 and met madame's Brittany maid in the narrow lane 
 behind the house. Mademoiselle was worse, much 
 worse, the faithful follower sobbed, and hiding her 
 face in her sturdy arms, bawled very sincerely. 
 
 The wretched captain said nothing, but he looked 
 unsteadily at her for a few seconds, then turned away 
 with a face pale and worn. 
 
 " He'll do himself something ! " cried madame's 
 Brittany maid, with a dim remembrance of certain 
 well-thumbed romances. 
 
 But the captain did not lay violent hands on him- 
 self ; in fact, the thought did not enter his mind. He 
 lingered about the house, hoping to hear more ; he 
 would have gone in, but he dared not. In his rest- 
 less misery he trudged down the country roads about 
 Ligny till the church bells sounded midnight. Then 
 he retraced his steps, and paced up and down before 
 M. Pampalon's front gate until the light in the hall 
 changed to a flash as the door opened. There was 
 the sound of a man's tread on the gravel walk, and 
 18
 
 274 MONSIEUR PAMPALON'S REPENTANCE. 
 
 in a moment more the doctor was lifting the latch of 
 the front gate. He paused at sight of a man pacing 
 up and down. Something familiar about the figure, 
 or some sudden suspicion, made him pause. " Who 
 are you ? What are you doing here ? " 
 
 The other stopped, and the two men faced each 
 other. 
 
 " Why, it is the captain ! " 
 
 " Is there hope ? " 
 
 " Where is M. Pampalon ? " 
 
 "How should I know?" the captain cried, with an 
 impatient stamp of his foot. 
 
 " True ! true ! he only went to-day. Yes, now there 
 is hope ; you're just the man I want ; you bring hope 
 along with you. Come ! " and the doctor led the cap- 
 tain, bewildered and with a beating heart, into the 
 familiar house, where the Brittany maid received them 
 with satisfaction, where madame was too unhappy to 
 be astonished, where poor Dodd grew quiet when the 
 captain laid his hand on hers. 
 
 You cannot, of course, expect the Ligny omnibus 
 to have human sympathy : therefore you can hardly 
 lay it up against the horses that they galloped just as 
 gayly down the highway and left M. Pampalon wvth 
 as much of bustle and clatter as in the happy days 
 when he was devoted to the candy business. How- 
 ever, the man who alighted two days afterward with 
 an aching head and a heavy heart, was a different 
 M. Pampalon from that one. A man who begins to 
 repent after he is fifty generally means it. 
 
 " He is not in Berlin," he said hoarsely to his wife, 
 who ran to the gate to meet him. 
 
 " My dear, Heaven is very good to us," and there 
 were happy tears in her eyes. " Come and see." 
 Taking him gently by the hand she led him to
 
 MONSIEUR PAMPALON'S REPENTANCE. 275 
 
 Dodd's room. " Softly ! " said madame, and opened 
 the door. 
 
 Mademoiselle Dodd was sleeping quietly, with a 
 smile on her lips, and beside the bed, in the easiest 
 chair of the house, sat the captain, with the light of 
 perfect contentment in his blue eyes. 
 
 " What ! " and M. Pampalon stared at the captain. 
 
 " He never left Ligny," madame cried, with an ap- 
 proving nod at Albert, for she dearly loved a bit of ro 
 mance. 
 
 Of course Bode" recovered and married the cap- 
 tain, but then this is not really the captain's story. 
 
 As for M. Pampalon, no one ever said that he be- 
 came an angel instantly, and that he never grumbled 
 again. To tell the truth, he and madame had their 
 little differences just as they used to, both being hu- 
 man. I do say, however, that from that time M. Pam- 
 palon gave up the habit of brooding and took to 
 thinking, and there is a delicate distinction. Madame 
 Pampalon, being a sensible woman, appreciated the 
 difference. When, once in a while, she saw that poor 
 inborn misanthrope battle with some particularly dis- 
 agreeable emotion, and after a hard tussle conquer, 
 madame would write it up high in her memory of her 
 husband's good deeds, and say gently, " It is Mon- 
 sieur Pampalon's repentance."
 
 A LEGEND OF OLD NEW YORK. 
 I. 
 
 OVER two hundred years ago where the great city 
 of New York now stands there stood the town 
 of New Amsterdam, and Peter Stuyvesant of blessed 
 and hard-headed memory was governor : peace to 
 him ! 
 
 In those days there were no elevated roads, no 
 crowded tenement-houses, no deadly spider-webs of 
 electric wires overhead. Instead, there was a market- 
 place with a town-pump, flanked by queer Dutch houses 
 with dazzling brass knockers against the green front 
 doors. Cows grazed on Wall street, and the good 
 citizens strolled along the Battery of an evening and 
 watched the setting sun. 
 
 The Battery of those old days was overgrown with 
 grass and clover, and shaded by spreading elms and 
 sycamores, beneath which the children played and 
 made posies of dandelion blossoms. 
 
 On the outskirts of the Battery, facing the sea, stood 
 a lane of curious gabled houses, one of which " De 
 Blauwe Druif " (The Blue Grape) was a tavern famous 
 for its pojfertjes and wafelen, Dutch delicacies as cele- 
 brated as the victories of Admiral de Ruyter. On 
 the benches beside the porch the good fathers of the 
 town smoked their long clay pipes, meditating about 
 nothing in particular, while the young folks danced to 
 the tooting of Kristoffel Sauer's trumpet. Exhilarat- 
 ing were Kristoffel's strains, and delicious were the 
 crisp poffertjes and the sweet cider with which the gal- 
 (276)
 
 A LEGEND OF OLD NEW YORK. 2/7 
 
 lant swains revived the exhausted energies of the fair 
 juffrouws, while the summer breeze swept up from the 
 bay and lightly swayed the trees, tempering the heat 
 of the fiery sun. 
 
 There was no turmoil of ships in the harbor as in 
 these days, and it was a six months' wonder when a 
 Dutch brig as broad as she was long rolled into the 
 bay and cast anchor. It gave the good mynheers in- 
 exhaustible food for reflection as they smoked their 
 pipes before " De Blauwe Druif " and stared sleepily 
 into the sunset. 
 
 Even old Governor Stuyvesant lightened the cares 
 of government occasionally by stumping down from 
 the Town Hall on the market-place to the Battery for 
 a sniff of sea air, and it was his privilege to pat the 
 cheeks of the prettiest juffrouws with a condescending 
 forefinger. There was nothing in this attention to 
 excite gossip, though it was faintly whispered if Mev- 
 rouw Stuyvesant were no more, and she was very 
 lively, and old Peter were fifty years younger, then 
 would young Mistress Van Witt have the best chance 
 to be in her turn Dame Stuyvesant. But then Juff- 
 rouw Van Witt ! What man, governor or not, could 
 resist stroking a cheek like a peach blossom, when it 
 may be said to have been a perquisite of his exalted 
 station. There were certain heavy young mynheers 
 who would joyfully have taken his place without his 
 salary for the chance. But they were very shy of 
 words, and their adoration only took the form of steady 
 pilgrimages to Mynheer Van Witt's mansion, " Boven- 
 kirk," just beyond Governor Stuyvesant's " Bowery." 
 
 Here of an afternoon they would find Wimpje Van 
 Witt sitting by a window in the great living-room and 
 spinning vigorously, while at another sat Juffrouw van 
 Twist, and if there was a chill in the air a blazing fire 
 on the hearth warmed the story of Daniel in the lions' 
 den, in chilly Delft tiles about the chimney. Over it
 
 278 A LEGEND OF OLD NEW YORK. 
 
 hung a time-dulled oil painting, " The Martrydom of 
 St. Nepomuk," which made the sturdy table, bearing 
 up under the weight of Juffrouw van Twist's choicest 
 dishes, more comforting by contrast. 
 
 In the cosiest corner of the chimney, in a mighty 
 leather arm-chair sacred to his use, reposed Cornelis 
 Van Witt, alderman of New Amsterdam, chosen as 
 such by Governor Stuyvesant for the curious merit in 
 a legislator of being always asleep. Thus in assem- 
 bling his council old Peter was always certain of one 
 loyal, uncontradictory adherent, sound asleep in his 
 high-backed chair, his pipe-stem firmly clutched be- 
 tween his teeth ; and this slumbering legislator was 
 always acknowledged as being on the side of his Ex- 
 cellency. 
 
 Though Mynheer Van Witt wore six pairs of breech- 
 es and as many waistcoats, and represented the dignity 
 of the town, it must be acknowledged that he had two 
 mortal terrors ghosts and Englishmen. He had 
 been brought up with a ghost, so to speak, for there 
 was a haunted graveyard only separated from his 
 threshold by a spreading field and the public highway. 
 It was Tante Jantje, his old darky nurse, who had 
 educated him to a gruesome terror of that ancient 
 graveyard beside the Church of St. Bartholomew. 
 
 It seems that many years before, a crack-brained 
 sexton in a fit of madness took up all the headstones 
 and planted them in straight rows in another part of 
 the cemetery, whereupon he razed the quiet mounds 
 and departed from the sight of men, and the worthy 
 burghers, being unable to disentangle the ghastly re- 
 sult, left the stones standing in their straight, sad rows. 
 
 But that which really appalled Mynheer was that 
 the figure of the mad sexton, in trailing white dra- 
 peries, had been seen by credible witnesses at mid- 
 night gliding from stone to stone and wringing its hand 
 in evident remorse. As Mynheer had retired to his
 
 A LEGEND OF OLD NEW YORK. 2/9 
 
 couch at nine o'clock for fifty years, and as the ghost 
 appeared at midnight, it is needless to say that he had 
 not personally encountered the apparition, but on wak- 
 ing at night from a heavy sleep evolved out of sauer- 
 kraut, sausages, and cider, he would turn pale to the end 
 of his red bottle-nose on hearing a rat scamper behind 
 the wainscoting. Nothing in the world would have 
 induced him to pass the kirkyard of St. Bartholomew 
 at midnight, though he stood high in the esteem of the 
 sacred establishment by reason of a ponderous silver 
 communion service straight from Amsterdam, which 
 had already excited the righteous longing of every 
 rascal in town. 
 
 Mynheer's abhorrence of the British nation was 
 patriotic. Great was his agitation when the belated 
 tidings of the victories of the Dutch navy reached 
 New Amsterdam. Mynheer was always a little be- 
 hind time in everything, and this Juffrouw van Twist 
 was obliged to acknowledge she who had been wait- 
 ing for eighteen years, since the death of Mevrouw, 
 for Mynheer to propose. 
 
 Thus, from being a moderately young thing, sandy, 
 and sharp of elbows, bony of ancles, and with color- 
 less hair crowned by a stiff muslin cap, Juffrouw van 
 Twist grew elderly and thinner, with all the other ad- 
 vantages unchanged, but with a heroic determination 
 to marry Mynheer Van Witt sooner or later. If it 
 be added that Mistress van Twist was not without a 
 touch of romance, and that it was she who had edu- 
 cated Wimpje Van Witt, it will surprise no one to 
 hear that young Wimpje's day dreams were enlivened 
 by slimmer and more poetic figures than those silent 
 young mynheers who trundled out to Bovenkirk of 
 an afternoon, and whose only token of love was an 
 abnormal staying power.
 
 280 A LEGEND OF OLD NEW YORK. 
 
 II. 
 
 nPHOUGH Governor Stuyvesant had appointed 
 -L Cornells Van Witt to his high office for the origi- 
 nal merit of being always asleep, there came a day 
 when Mynheer for the first time wished he had been 
 awake. 
 
 It was a Friday a miserable, unlucky day, as every 
 one knows. Governor Stuyvesant greeted his assem- 
 bled council in full uniform and with a portentous 
 frown, and at the end of a stormy meeting in which 
 he did all the storming he gave such a thump to the 
 table, that Mynheer Van Witt awoke gasping, and was 
 with difficulty made to understand that something 
 awful had happened. It seems that from private in- 
 formation the governor was warned that Great Britain 
 was hungering for the Dutch possessions in America, 
 and his Excellency was entreated to defend the colo- 
 nies to the bitter end in case of invasion. 
 
 The aldermen's faces grew as long as their clay 
 pipes and fully as white, and they answered with en- 
 ergetic silence his heroic appeal for support, and when 
 it came to a vote it was found that only hard-headed 
 old Peter and the gently slumbering Cornelis Van 
 Witt were for a defence to the death. 
 
 This heroic, if unuttered, resolution being after vast 
 difficulty imparted to Mynheer, that brave man stag- 
 gered downstairs to the street, with dazed eyes and 
 his knees quivering under his six pairs of breeches. 
 
 Such was the perturbation of his heroic soul that 
 he ran afoul of one of the stone posts before the Town 
 Hall, and only a grip in the rear saved him from the 
 cobble-stones. 
 
 " Home, take me home," and Mynheer clutched 
 the air for support.
 
 A LEGEND OF OLD NEW YORK. 28 1 
 
 " By all means, Mynheer, but where ? " 
 
 The unhappy man took his gaze out of the future 
 and fastened it upon his rescuer, who rested his fore- 
 finger with impertinent jocularity against the side of 
 a very red nose. 
 
 " Too deep a glance into the eyes of the fair Ginev- 
 ra, eh, Mynheer ? " he remarked with shocking famil- 
 iarity. 
 
 Mynheer was in no condition to resent this allusion 
 to the national beverage, for he was fighting the en- 
 tire British nation. He leaned against the stone post 
 and said, " Bring Powtje." 
 
 Powtje was a fat cob harnessed to a chariot with- 
 out springs, and it may be considered a dispensation 
 of Providence that Powtje should decline to do any- 
 thing but walk. 
 
 Mynheer climbed in and was in danger of forget- 
 ting the obliging stranger, had he not patted Powtje's 
 flanks with sudden enthusiasm. 
 
 " A beautiful creature, Mynheer ; a veritable Arab 
 steed." 
 
 " To be sure. I'd forgotten you, my man. Come 
 home with me and you shall have a good supper. I 
 am Cornelis Van Witt of Bovenkirk." 
 
 After much coaxing Powtje decided to lift his Arab 
 legs and crawl along, and thus did Abraham Baas, 
 in moments of tenderness called " Brammatje," make 
 the acquaintance of Mynheer, who sat beside him a 
 victim to an active imagination which pictured to him 
 all the horrors of war. 
 
 " O Lord, O Lord, have you heard," he groaned at 
 last, "the British are coming?" 
 
 "Coming?" cried the valiant Brammatje, "Let 
 'em come! "and he slapped his threadbare doublet un- 
 til the dust rose in clouds. " We'll be ready for 'em. 
 I've seen 'em in Boston, a lean lot whom a pottle of 
 good Schiedam schnapps tips under the table."
 
 282 A LEGEND OF OLD NEW YORK. 
 
 " You are not afraid," Mynheer cried in undisguis- 
 ed admiration ; and a vague idea took possession of 
 him that it would be well to have so valorous a soul 
 always about, as a bodyguard for an evil day. 
 
 Thus it was, that Brammatje entered Mynheer's 
 service, not so much because he was asked as that 
 he declined to leave. And in return for his suste- 
 nance he gave Mynheer the comforting assurance of 
 his moral support in case of British invasion. 
 
 III. 
 
 THE first Mynheer Van Witt had chosen the loca- 
 tion of his domain in fond remembrance of the 
 marshes about his own beloved Amsterdam. He also 
 constructed a canal behind his back door, which was 
 speedily covered with an aromatic green growth, the 
 smell of which positively made him homesick until 
 he built himself a windmill, and at sight of the slowly 
 turning sails his soul found some repose. Having 
 one day by accident discovered beyond his broad 
 fields a glimpse of the distant hills of the Hudson, 
 he had a high wall and a barn built to hide so obnox- 
 ious a sight. His son Cornelis inherited his father's 
 domain, his waistcoats, his breeches, and all his pre- 
 judices. 
 
 The day Cornelis Van Witt defied the British 
 lion, Wimpje Van Witt sat at the kitchen window 
 mending the household linen. Beside her, in speech- 
 less ecstacy, sat young Mynheer Wissenkerke watch- 
 ing a buxom darky in a scarlet turban, frying poffert- 
 jes. At the kitchen table Mistress van Twist was 
 preparing a roast of pork, and with the exception, 
 perhaps, of Wimpje, there was nothing Jan Wissen- 
 kerke loved quite so much. The situation was too 
 much for him ; he uttered these passionate words :
 
 A LEGEND OF OLD NEW YORK. 283 
 
 " When I marry, Juffrouw Wimpje, and am master 
 in my own house, I shall eat pork and poffertjes every 
 day I just love 'em." 
 
 There is a picture of Wimpje, a slim young thing, 
 yet with a suggestion of dimpling roundness, a sunny 
 face framed by a tangle of short gold-brown curls 
 held in place by a saucy muslin cap. A gray home- 
 spun skirt, a red-laced bodice, and about her pretty 
 shoulders a ruffled kerchief tied in a knot at her 
 breast. If it be added that the gray petticoat dis- 
 played the neatest of red stockings and a high-heeled 
 shoe with a silver buckle, it will still be difficult to 
 give to anyone a proper idea of young Wimpje Van 
 Witt. 
 
 At Mynheer Wissenkerke's words the upward tilt 
 of Mistress Van Witt's nose seemed to be accentu- 
 ated ; but before she could utter a word the door was 
 flung open and Mynheer Van Witt sank exhausted 
 into the nearest chair, and it was only after several 
 pulls out of a high-shouldered black jug that the good 
 man revived. Then was a discreet cough heard, and 
 Brammatje Baas was discovered lingering on the 
 threshold. 
 
 " Give the man a drink," Mynheer murmured. 
 
 " Why, father, what has happened ? " 
 
 "These be terrible times, Wilhelmina," and Myn- 
 heer shuddered. "Invasion threatens the British 
 are coming. But it behooves us to to be brave. 
 We'll all die together. 
 
 Here Jan Wissenkerke's legs shook so pitifully that 
 he sat down, while Brammatje sniffed the aroma of 
 the frying poffertjes. 
 
 " Who is that man, father? " 
 
 Mynheer replied with elaborate caution : " A man 
 of valor, whom it were well to befriend if the British 
 are coming. A grateful soul who is, perhaps, destined 
 to be killed in our defence."
 
 284 A LEGEND OF OLD NEW YORK. 
 
 They all turned to look at this prospective martyr 
 to gratitude. 
 
 " At any rate count the spoons first," Juffrouw Van 
 Twist said with a sniff. 
 
 "Jan, we depend on you," Mynheer continued 
 tremulously. " A Wissenkerke never yields." 
 
 No description could do justice to the want of en- 
 thusiasm with which young Wissenkerke answered 
 this appeal. Even Mynheer's moving description of 
 the death of a hero had such a discouraging effect 
 on him that he presently vanished, forgetful of love 
 and roast pork. 
 
 There were for the present no further rumors of 
 English invasion ; nevertheless Brammatje remained 
 and attacked five mighty meals a day and waged a 
 heroic war on the cider barrel and the gin bottles, 
 mercifully unconscious that Mynheer proposed, if 
 necessary, to make a rampart of his well fed body. 
 
 IV. 
 
 ONCE a year there was a kirmess in New Amster- 
 dam. 
 
 In those days the market-place afforded ample room 
 for the rude wooden booths built in narrow lanes and 
 containing all manner of ware to tempt folks, from the 
 governor down to the Indians. On one side stood 
 the town-hall, and opposite was the Dutch Reformed 
 Church, and in between were the dwelling-houses open- 
 ing on the cobblestones and decked with flags and 
 banners and evergreens. There was even a dance 
 booth, towards which the exhilarating strains of Kris- 
 toffel Sauer's trumpet lured the juffrouws. A most 
 delightful place to twirl about in if you kept clear of 
 the posts. The sides were open to the summer air, 
 and there were tables at which the exhausted could
 
 A LEGEND OF OLD NEW YORK. 285 
 
 recruit their strength. At the table of honor sat 
 Juffrouw van Twist, her eyes secretly fixed on the 
 next table where sat a lithe and tall young stranger, 
 who followed young Wimpje's evolutions in a country 
 dance with smiling sympathy. He even bent forward 
 to catch a glimpse of her slim form when a post, or 
 the broader charms of some other damsel, hid her 
 from view. Juffrouw van Twist rejoiced, for she had 
 a grievance against man by reason of the belated dec- 
 laration of Mynheer Van Witt. 
 
 Strangers were common enough in the town these 
 kirmess days, but this one was altogether different 
 from the ordinary variety. He had a handsome, 
 frank face, and a brown mustache with an upward 
 curl at the ends, that suggested adventure to Mistress 
 van Twist. His knee-breeches and well-fitting doub- 
 let were black, and in pleasing contrast to the gray 
 of his stockings, his broad silk sash, and the wide- 
 brimmed beaver hat that lay on the table ; and, as a 
 good Dutch housewife, she noted how fine was the 
 linen of his broad cuffs and collar. 
 
 It was Jan Wissenkerke who led Wimpje back, red 
 as a June rose and pouting, for they had wrecked on 
 a post. 
 
 There must have been some magnetism in the gaze 
 of the handsome stranger, for Wimpje, looking up 
 shyly, met his admiring glance, and with an invol- 
 untary smile her eyes sank before his, as he gallantly 
 stepped forward and begged Juffrouw Van Witt for 
 the favor of the next reel. 
 
 New Amsterdam was aghast, but Wimpje rose, 
 shook her fair head and homespun petticoats in defi- 
 ance, and lifted her pretty feet with renewed ardor to 
 the tune of KristoffeFs most pleasing strain. Well 
 might New Amsterdam stare ; not even the posts 
 were obstacles to this agile stranger. Neither did 
 he grow red nor lose his breath ; nay, when Kris-
 
 286 A LEGEND OF OLD NEW YORK. 
 
 toffel finished with a hilarious flourish, then did this 
 obnoxious stranger stoop and kiss young Wimpje's 
 hand in the very face of New Amsterdam, and lead 
 her, blushing furiously, to Mistress van Twist, who ac- 
 knowledged with a tender sigh that he was the belated 
 realization of her youthful dreams. 
 
 Who was he and what did he want ? It transpired 
 that his name was Cawardine Captain Tom Cawar- 
 dine ; that he was staying at The Blue Grape ; and, 
 to explain his universal disfavor, that he came from 
 Boston, though some experienced old burghers doubt- 
 ed if so much agility and cheerfulness could hail from 
 a town famous only for the crookedness of its streets, 
 the hanging of witches, the length of its sermons, and 
 a certain unwholesome dish called pork and beans. 
 
 What Captain Cawardine wanted was plain. It 
 was a new way to lay siege to a peaceful colony by 
 marrying its richest heiress, for it would be a muni- 
 cipal misfortune should Mynheer Van Witt's fortune 
 leave the land. So it was no wonder that all New Am- 
 sterdam shuddered when Captain Cawardine kissed 
 the hand of Juffrouw Wimpje Van Witt, who yes, 
 who blushed and smiled. 
 
 V. 
 
 HOW describe the speechless amazement of the 
 town when the rumor spread like wildfire that 
 Captain Cawardine was courting Mistress Pamplona 
 van Twist ; but the most amazed was Cornelis Van 
 Witt. He had just prepared to take his afternoon 
 nap under the protection of St. Nepomuk when that 
 worthy damsel looked in. 
 
 " I I have something to say to you ; " and she 
 looked at St. Nepomuk as if for support. 
 
 Mynheer was in undisguised consternation.
 
 A LEGEND OF OLD NEW YORK. 287 
 
 " Mynheer Van Witt," she began, and paused ; 
 then there was such a terrible silence that a bum- 
 blebee straying in at the window where Wimpje was 
 spinning, rilled the air with its droning and flew out 
 again. 
 
 " Mynheer Van Witt, I am going to get married." 
 
 Here Wimpje's spinning-wheel fell with a furious 
 clatter. 
 
 Mynheer was speechless. Then he gathered his 
 faculties together. " Juffrouw van Twist, are you 
 am I Married ? Did you say married ? Blicksem, 
 Juffrouw ! When did I ask you to marry me ? " 
 
 " You ! " And out burst the suppressed resent- 
 ment of eighteen years. " Not you, thanks be to 
 gracious ! " 
 
 ' I don't believe there's another." 
 
 ' There is ! " she retorted in triumph. 
 
 ' He waited long enough." 
 
 ' He's in no hurry, he's young." 
 
 'Well, then, what the d 1 is it to me ! " 
 
 'I only want Mynheer to know that the young man 
 is coming here ahem ! courting." 
 
 " Courting ! " Mynheer leaped to his feet and tore 
 up and down the room. " Courting I'll be hanged 
 if he will ! " 
 
 " Perhaps, then, you will kindly look out for an- 
 other housekeeper." 
 
 Mynheer stamped with his feet. 
 
 "Bonder and blicksem ! I'd rather have married 
 you myself." 
 
 " May the young man come ? " Mistress van Twist's 
 composure was unruffled. 
 
 Mynheer clenched his fists and spoke. "Tell him 
 to come, or go to the devil ; " whereupon he retreated 
 to his favorite haunt, a Chinese pagoda on the canal, 
 and tried to collect himself. This was truly a day of 
 horrors. It began early that morning when Bram-
 
 288 A LEGEND OF OLD NEW YORK. 
 
 matje announced that, as he was a sober Christian, 
 he had himself seen the ghost of the mad sexton 
 just as the bell of St. Bartholomew struck midnight. 
 
 Mynheer thought of the apparition and shuddered, 
 and he thought of Juffrouw van Twist and swore. How 
 serene had been his existence these eighteen years, 
 and how divinely she stuffed roast goose with chest- 
 nuts. He was unspeakably moved. Yes, Pamplona 
 van Twist was fully revenged for the silence of eighteen 
 years. And now all these beautiful accomplishments 
 were to be devoted to a rascal who probably did not 
 appreciate his blessings ; and when it seemed as if 
 his cup of bitterness was full, who should stagger into 
 view but Brammatje, and the valiant man's voice was 
 all of a quaver. 
 
 " O Lord, O Lord, the English have come ! " he 
 gasped, and fled to the woodshed. 
 
 A great sirloin of beef was roasting merrily over 
 the kitchen fire as Mynheer passed. He paused at 
 the door of the living-room with his hand on the knob. 
 He heard voices, laughter, scuffling; in fact levity out 
 of place in these terrible times. 
 
 It was too true the English had come ! On the 
 other side of the door young Wimpje, playing with a 
 red rose, smiled bewitchingly at the enemy through 
 its leaves, while Mistress van Twist considerately 
 nodded over a worthy book. 
 
 "Juffrouw Wimpje," the enemy pleaded, "give me 
 the rose." 
 
 At this moment ponderous steps were heard ap- 
 proaching, and Wimpje, with a startled blush, drew 
 back the hand which had found its way into British 
 possession. The rose fell, both stooped to pick it up, 
 and before Juffrouw Wimpje knew how it happened 
 her head was on his breast, two dark eyes looked 
 laughingly into hers, and why explain ? 
 
 The next instant the door was flung open, and
 
 A LEGEND OF OLD NEW YORK. 289 
 
 Juffrouw Wimpje, as red as the rose safely tucked in 
 the enemy's gray silk sash, looked guiltily down at 
 sight of her father. Mynheer remarked with indig- 
 nation that there was a jug of his best cider on the 
 table. 
 
 " What who ? " Mynheer demanded, with a qua- 
 vering voice. 
 
 " Yes, Mynheer ; the young man of whom I spoke," 
 and Mistress van Twist smoothed her best apron, 
 "Captain Cawardine." 
 
 "From where?" 
 
 " From Boston an Englishman from Boston." 
 
 " I hate Boston and Englishmen," Mynheer mut- 
 tered. 
 
 " So I hear," and Captain Cawardine smiled gently. 
 
 " A nest of Puritan bigots and hypocrites. What 
 are you doing here ? " 
 
 " Courting a wife, as you may have heard, Myn- 
 heer." 
 
 " The more fool she," and Mynheer retreated to 
 his sacred chair and pretended to take a nap, though 
 he raged under his scarlet handkerchief until it rose 
 and fell like an angry red sea. 
 
 But Mynheer was not the only one, for Brammatje 
 sat on a woodpile in the shed and swore like a trooper. 
 
 "That hook-nosed Bostonian '11 bring you ill luck, 
 Brammatje. He's seen you in Boston breaking stones 
 on the highway with the rest of 'em, and all for the 
 sake of that old mare. I know you, young sir, a 
 king's officer fresh from England, famous at a sword 
 thrust, a fandango, or a light ditty they'd hang an- 
 other on the Common for less. I've only to say 
 ' British spy ' to Mynheer and where'll you be, curse 
 you ! " 
 
 Nevertheless, Juffrouw van Twist's courtship pros- 
 pered slowly and steadily ; Captain Cawardine was at 
 Bovenkirk every hour of the day, and poor Mynheer 
 '9
 
 290 A LEGEND OF OLD NEW YORK. 
 
 Van Witt experienced symptoms of neglect, and to 
 add to his wretchedness the ghost of St. Bartholo- 
 mew had been encountered by several sober wit- 
 nesses. 
 
 But as the proverbial worm turns at last, so did 
 Mynheer, and he went in search of Juffrouw van 
 Twist. He found her stirring batter in the pantry. 
 From the solitary window there was a delicious view 
 of the canal, the windmill, and the pagoda ; this and 
 the prospect of waffles moved Mynheer unspeakably. 
 
 "Juffrouw van Twist! " 
 
 The fair Pamplona paused with uplifted ladle. 
 
 "Juffrouw van Twist, what have we done that you 
 wish to leave us? What is there so captivating in that 
 young man, Pamplona?" 
 
 " He is a very pleasing youth, Mynheer." 
 
 Mynheer spoke with solemn politeness. 
 
 " Juffrouw, do not be offended, but how shall I put 
 it to you ? Shall I say he is too young for you, or that 
 you are too ahem ! mature for him ? " 
 
 " It comes to the same thing, Mynheer." 
 
 " Then why do you marry him ? " 
 
 " Because because it is high time for me to settle. 
 It may be my last chance, and the young man is will- 
 ing. He likes me, Mynheer." 
 
 " So do others, Juffrouw van Twist," and Mynheer 
 took the ladle out of her hand. " So do others, Juf- 
 frouw van Twist. I like you marry me ! " 
 
 " O Mynheer ! why didn't you speak before ? " 
 
 " Send him away, Pampy ; send the youth away." 
 
 " And break his heart. No, I couldn't " here she 
 reflected " unless " 
 
 "Unless what?" 
 
 " Unless some one else could be found to take my 
 place." 
 
 "We'll find some one," Mynheer cried with enthu- 
 siasm ; and not only seized the fair hand of Mistress
 
 A LEGEND OF OLD NEW YORK. 291 
 
 van Twist, but he was about to embrace her waist 
 with one arm when the pantry door burst open and 
 in flew Brammatje. " The English ! " he roared, and 
 vanished ; and Mynheer followed. 
 
 This time it was true. That very morning on awak- 
 ening, New Amsterdam was appalled by the spectacle 
 of six English men-of-war anchored in the quiet bay, 
 their guns pointed directly at The Blue Grape ; and in 
 the course of the day the English commander-in-chief, 
 Colonel Matthew Borden, politely demanded of Gov- 
 ernor Stuyvesant the surrender of the Dutch colonies 
 in the name of his gracious Majesty Charles II. As 
 further inducement, Colonel Borden added that if he 
 refused it would be his painful duty to blow New 
 Amsterdam into mince-meat. Whereupon the good 
 burghers clamored enthusiastically to be surrendered. 
 But old Peter Stuyvesant declined ; he and that other 
 patriot, Cornelis Van Witt, he declared to the deputa- 
 tion, would teach their fellow-citizens to be patriotic. 
 
 VI. 
 
 TV/TYNHEER overtook Brammatje. " The English 
 ! 1 will rob and ruin me," he groaned. 
 
 " Of course they will, for he'll set 'em on." 
 
 " He who ? " Mynheer gasped. 
 
 " That long-legged British spy. He ain't been spy- 
 ing round here for nothing. With six ships down 
 there to back him, he's only to say, ' Fork out, Corne- 
 lis Van Witt, or I'll ' " 
 
 " O Lord, what shall I do ? " 
 
 " Make him harmless." 
 
 " But how, my dear, excellent friend ? " 
 
 " When he comes lure him into the garret, that's 
 safest ; lock him in and make terms with him through
 
 2g2 A LEGEND OF OLD NEW YORK. 
 
 the keyhole. If he won't " the rest Brammatje con- 
 fided to Mynheer in a blood-curdling whisper. 
 
 " So, young man, you will spy on me, will you ? " 
 he reflected with natural resentment. " Well, two 
 can play at that game. I'll be blessed if I want to 
 see your long legs round by the churchyard at night 
 any more. Grudge a poor man a trifle of luck, do 
 you ? " 
 
 Late that afternoon Captain Cawardine appeared ; 
 he looked preoccupied. " I have something to say 
 to you, Mynheer." 
 
 Mynheer grasped the arms of his chair. Did this 
 British spy mean to murder him or take him prisoner ? 
 
 " Mynheer, I want to warn you against Brammatje 
 Baas. I have seen him in Boston ; he is an escaped 
 convict." 
 
 Mynheer's muscles relaxed ; he received this in- 
 formation with admirable composure. 
 
 " I have no proof, Mynheer, only suspicions ; but 
 I am inclined to think he is planning a burglary." 
 
 " Indeed, where ? " 
 
 " The old church over the way." 
 
 " Well, then, young sir, why don't you stop him ? " 
 Mynheer retorted with unrepressed scorn. 
 
 " I can, if you will let me lodge in your house to- 
 night." 
 
 Mynheer Van Witt himself conducted his guest to 
 his room. 
 
 " Bolt yourself in, young man, and God rest you," 
 he said piously, and when after two hours sleep Cap- 
 tain Cawardine tried the door he found that he was 
 locked in, for what reason he did not stop to consider. 
 Given a garret window, Juffrouw van Twist's home- 
 spun sheets, the roof of a broad veranda below, the 
 rest was a trifle for Tom Cawardine. He dropped 
 like a cat, still holding one of Juffrouw Pampy's sheets 
 in his hand.
 
 A LEGEND OF OLD NEW YORK. 293 
 
 " Now for a little fun," he thought with a twinkle 
 in his eye ; and flinging the sheet about his shoulders 
 he grasped the ledge of the veranda and swung him- 
 self into the midst of the famous Van Witt dahlias. 
 
 The bell of St. Bartholomew struck midnight. The 
 pine trees cast black shadows across the old cemetery, 
 and the weather-beaten headstones lay deep in the 
 unmown grass. It required courage even in a ghost 
 to break such profound silence. Yet the vibration of 
 the bell had hardly ceased when something white, 
 tall, and shadowy appeared against the darkness of 
 the old church, crept along with flowing garments, its 
 face hidden, but bearing in its hands a heavy burden ; 
 progress was slow over the long grass. Suddenly 
 through the silence there rang a cry of abject terror. 
 The moment was unique in supernatural history : the 
 ghost itself was haunted ; for before it, under the 
 shadow of a pine tree, stood another apparition for all 
 the world like itself. 
 
 " I have been waiting for you," an unearthly voice 
 spoke ; and at the words the first ghost dropped its 
 burden and fell on its knees and shrieked. 
 
 " How dare you mock me, you wretch ? " the other 
 demanded, and pointed to the flowing draperies. 
 
 " Forgive forgive," the miserable mummer gasped. 
 
 " Brammatje Baas, you've been robbing the church. 
 The communion service is in that chest." 
 
 " Ow-ow-ow ! " and Brammatje bowed his rascally 
 head in terror to the ground and made a discovery : 
 the ghost wore spurs, and who ever heard of a mad 
 sexton with spurs ! 
 
 " The devil ! " and he would have run, only his head 
 came in smart contact with the muzzle of a pistol. 
 
 " I'd rather not blow your brains out," said Captain 
 Cawardine, with a firm grip of Brammatje's collar, 
 " never mind your plunder, I'll see to it." 
 
 Whereupon he trundled Brammatje to the damp
 
 294 A LEGEND OF OLD NEW YORK. 
 
 sacristy, dumped him in, locked the heavy door with 
 Brammatje's own false key, and left that valorous soul 
 to the companionship of the dominie's surplice and 
 his own wrecked hopes. 
 
 Who will describe the condition of Mynheer Van 
 Witt on discovering the captain's flight ? He was now 
 at the mercy of an implacable enemy. To add to his 
 terror, rumor declared that New Amsterdam would be 
 bombarded if the governor and Cornelis Van Witt 
 did not surrender. Threats were uttered as to what 
 would be done to Cornelis Van Witt if he insisted on 
 being too heroic. Three times that day was he vainly 
 summoned to attend the town council. Venture in 
 range of the British guns and Captain Cawardine 
 never ! 
 
 There being nothing else to do, a deputation of the 
 worthy aldermen waited on Mynheer to remonstrate 
 with him on his warlike folly. 
 
 "What is the use of being so heroic, Cornelis Van 
 Witt ?" they asked. Mynheer shuddered. With less 
 trouble than they expected the deputation proved to 
 Mynheer that it makes no difference whether you live 
 under a Dutch or an English flag, if you have five 
 meals a day. 
 
 So the common sense of New Amsterdam tri- 
 umphed ; Governor Stuyvesant gave way in a huff, 
 and the British troops under Colonel Borden took 
 possession of the town. The only apparent result of 
 this bloodless victory was that in honor of his Majes- 
 ty's brother, the Duke of York, New Amsterdam re- 
 ceived the now famous name of New York.
 
 A LEGEND OF OLD NEW YORK. 295 
 
 VII. 
 
 THE evening after Brammatje's disappearance the 
 sexton of St. Bartholomew's thumped against 
 Mynheer's front door. 
 
 He was all of a quiver. 
 
 " O Mynheer, Mynheer ! a great misfortune has 
 happened." 
 
 " Another ? " Mynheer spoke with stunned resigna- 
 tion. 
 
 "Your communion service, of which we were so 
 proud, is is stolen ! " 
 
 " Stolen ! " 
 
 " Yes, Mynheer. I rang the six o'clock bell and 
 went to the sacristy, and just as I turned the key the 
 door flew open ; some one knocked me down, but I 
 recognized the rogue : it was Brammatje. I flew to 
 the cupboard where the service is kept ; the lock was 
 broken and the silver chest gone." 
 
 Mynheer was left to his reflections, and they were 
 not comforting. By the advice of a rascal, he had 
 locked a blameless gentleman into his attic, leaving 
 him no choice but to jump out of a garret window at 
 the risk of breaking his neck. This same maligned 
 gentleman was an English officer, who could make it 
 very unpleasant for him in these days of British inva- 
 sion. The communion service, which cost a small 
 fortune, had disappeared. Juffrouw van Twist had 
 been deprived of a bridegroom who was not yet defi- 
 nitely replaced, and Wimpje went about in tears. To 
 add to his anguish the very next morning there ap- 
 peared a musketeer on a brawny mare, with a com- 
 mand from Colonel Borden that Cornelis Van Witt 
 should appear before him forthwith in the Town Hall 
 of New York.
 
 296 A LEGEND OF OLD NEW YORK. 
 
 In this same town-hall, in Governor Stuyvesant's 
 own chair, sat Colonel Borden, writing a letter and 
 cursing liberally, for Colonel Borden was not as handy 
 at a goose-quill as at a good stout sword. 
 
 "Confound it! Where's Tom? Here you, Ca-j 
 wardine ! " 
 
 But no Captain Tom appeared. The colonel pulled 
 a watch like a warming-pan out of his breeches pocket. 
 
 " Time for Tom's old man. So I'm to frighten the 
 old chap a bit and make him mellow afterwards. Well, 
 I'm willing." 
 
 Just then there was an awful scuffle at the outer 
 door ; it burst open, and in flew something ponder- 
 ous followed by a musketeer. 
 
 " I've brought him, your Excellency. This is Cor- 
 nelrs Van Witt." 
 
 There was an awful pause, then Colonel Borden 
 spoke. 
 
 " So you're the man who defied the British nation 
 and refused to surrender these colonies to my gra- 
 cious lord and master, Charles the Second, King of 
 England ! " 
 
 Mynheer stared at the colonel in silent horror. 
 Why was he obliged to shoulder the entire heroism 
 of New Amsterdam ? 
 
 " The British nation " here the colonel frowned 
 majestically " is not to be trifled with." 
 
 Mynheer grew so limp that he clutched at the near- 
 est chair for support ; it was the very chair in which 
 he had once fallen asleep and awakened an unwilling 
 hero. 
 
 Mynheer, your conduct has been such that you 
 have aroused the aw the suspicion and resent- 
 ment of the English government." 
 
 " Cornelis wrung his fat hands. " I'm only a peace- 
 ful citizen, your Excellency ; and I I yes, I love 
 and respect the English nation."
 
 A LEGEND OF OLD NEW YORK. 297 
 
 " Then why, Mynheer," Colonel Borden demand- 
 ed, with singular abruptness " then why did you lock 
 a beloved and respected Englishman into your garret ? 
 A nice way to treat a guest, by Jupiter ! " 
 
 Mynheer sank on his knees. 
 
 " Pardon, your Excellency ! I thought I thought 
 the young man was a British spy." 
 
 So, then, it was out. " A British spy ! " the colonel 
 roared. "Tom Cawardine, the son of my old friend 
 General Cawardine, a British spy ! I say, Tom, d'ye 
 hear ? " For Tom had come into the room, none the 
 worse for the tumble into Mynheer's dahlias. 
 
 Tom helped Mynheer to his feet and dusted him 
 tenderly. "Why did you suspect me, Mynheer? " 
 
 Cornelis was silent, and then he stammered, " Bram- 
 matje Baas." 
 
 " Against whom I warned you. Mynheer, why do 
 you believe the word of a ruffian instead of that of a 
 gentleman ? " 
 
 " Young sir, why does a gentleman jump out of a 
 window at midnight? " 
 
 " Mynheer, since when does the host lock his guest 
 into his room ? But, pardon me, I owe you an ex- 
 planation." 
 
 With these words Captain Cawardine pulled from 
 under the table a huge box with a broken padlock. 
 He flung the iron-bound lid back, and there, in all 
 its glory, lay the communion service of St. Bartholo- 
 mew's. 
 
 " This," the captain said modestly,"ismy explana- 
 tion. If I had not jumped out of the window I could 
 not have restored the treasure of St. Bartholomew to 
 its generous donor." 
 
 Mynheer beamed with joy, and he grasped both of 
 Tom's hands. 
 
 " I have done you a great wrong, Captain Cawar 
 dine. Forgive me."
 
 298 A LEGEND OF OLD NEW YORK. 
 
 Tom smiled. "Tell me, Mynheer, why do you dis- 
 like me?" 
 
 Mynheer changed color, cleared his throat, and 
 then he blurted out, " Why did you come courting 
 Juffrouw van Twist, sir ? What do you, a young and 
 handsome man, want with a woman old enough to be 
 your mother ? " he urged. " The fact is, I have been 
 meaning to marry the lady myself one of these days." 
 
 " Zounds, Tom ! If Mynheer is very anxious you 
 might be induced to relinquish the older fair for one 
 younger," Colonel Borden interposed, jovially. " So 
 it seems the lady is a trifle mature for the boy, eh ? 
 But if you take her and leave our young friend with an 
 aching heart, sure it will be your duty to supply her 
 place." 
 
 Mynheer looked dazed. 
 
 Colonel Borden continued, with some emphasis : 
 
 " It will be well for Cornelis Van Witt to be on 
 good terms with the new government. As a Dutch- 
 man who obstinately refused to surrender you may be 
 heroic, my good sir, but you will certainly be unpop- 
 ular." 
 
 Mynheer changed color and cursed his own heroism. 
 
 " If, on the other hand, you can ally yourself with 
 a good English family of undoubted loyalty, that will 
 be a guarantee for your future patriotism. You un- 
 derstand, Mynheer?" 
 
 But Mynheer was all at sea. 
 
 " Listen," the colonel continued. " Here's a boy 
 I love as my own," and he laid his hand on Cawar- 
 dine's arm. " His people are the stanchest of good 
 English folks, well to do and honorable. You, Myn- 
 heer, are wealthy; you have a daughter " 
 
 " Yes, Wilhelmina ; a little maid with yellow hair 
 and brown eyes," Mynheer murmured, absently. 
 
 " Perhaps you can persuade him to take the younger
 
 A LEGEND OF OLD NEW YORK. 299 
 
 maid for the older. What do you say, Tom, old 
 fellow ? " 
 
 Captain Cawardine watched Mynheer with breath- 
 less eagerness. Mynheer's perplexity was something 
 painful. "This is so very sudden so so unexpect- 
 ed," he stammered. 
 
 " Sir," the colonel interposed, " do not forget my 
 warning. I speak to you not as a prisoner of war, as 
 I might, but as a friend." 
 
 " I I thank your Excellency, I I am deeply 
 beholden to you, but you see, gentlemen, I must 
 first speak to Wimpje my little daughter. It will be 
 for her to decide." 
 
 " Tell her to sacrifice herself for your sake, Myn- 
 heer, do you hear ? And, I say, take Captain Tom 
 with you. I don't trust you you are a desperate char- 
 acter. You are the hero of New York these days, 
 Mynheer. God be with you, gentlemen." 
 
 VIII. 
 
 MYNHEER rode beside the captain and pon- 
 dered, and every moment he inclined more 
 and more to the colonel's plan. As for its being 
 an English government mere prejudice ; what had 
 the Dutch government ever done for him ? 
 
 Mynheer broke the silence. " It all depends on 
 Wimpje, and whether her heart inclines to you. She's 
 desperate woful since two days, and such matters as 
 courting may come amiss. Such weeping and hang- 
 ing round my neck when I left why, blicksem ! there 
 they are running down the road to meet me. Why, 
 Wimpje, child, and Juffrouw van Twist, here am I 
 safe back ;" and he held out a fat hand to each, while 
 Powtje stood still and took a nibble of grass. " But 
 there, child, don't you see the captain ? "
 
 3O A LEGEND OF OLD NEW YORK. 
 
 Captain Cawardine swung himself out of his sad- 
 dle, and with the horse's bridle over his arm he walked 
 beside young Wimpje Van Witt. 
 
 " Juffrouw Van Witt," the captain said, softly, 
 " have you missed me ? " 
 
 There was no answer, only a sudden little sob. 
 "Why, Wimpje, my darling, so much ? " 
 
 She turned upon him with a quiver of her pretty 
 lips. " I must tell father. I can bear it no longer. 
 To think that you are an Englishman, and that of all 
 the world he should just hate Englishmen. I fear he 
 will never pardon our deception." 
 
 " My darling, it will all end well, believe me. Per- 
 haps it was a foolish plan, but how else could I have 
 had my sweetheart ? All's fair in love and war, and 
 it was kind of Juffrouw Pampy to let me come court- 
 ing her for the joy of seeing you. It was for the best, 
 Wimpje, dear. Captain Cawardine was an unwelcome 
 suitor for the hand of Juffrouw Van Witt," 
 
 " Oh, if my father will only forgive me for loving 
 you ! If he does not why then I'll follow you to 
 the end of the earth, for I cannot live without you. 
 I'll go as far then as ever you wish even if it is to 
 Boston." 
 
 IX. 
 
 A PEACEFUL late-afternoon quiet rested over the 
 living-room, and the holy saint was fading into 
 twilight. 
 
 Two sighs broke the stillness. 
 
 "Why, Wimpje?" 
 
 " Why, father ? " 
 
 " I wish to speak to you, Wimpje." 
 
 Wimpje brought the settle to the sacred chair, and 
 rubbed her soft cheeks against Mynheer's hand. 
 
 " How old are you, Wimpje ? "
 
 A LEGEND OF OLD NEW YORK. 3 O1 
 
 " Eighteen, father." 
 
 "Now, Wimpje, did it did it ever occur to you 
 that young girls do sometimes marry ? " 
 
 Wimpje sighed. 
 
 A sudden thought struck Mynheer. You are not 
 opposed to marrying ? Young maids have such fool- 
 ish notions sometimes." 
 
 The answer was inaudible and yet satisfactory. 
 Mynheer proceeded. 
 
 " Wimpje child, there now, tell your old father, is 
 your heart quite free ? " 
 
 Here, to Mynheer's speechless consternation, she 
 hid her face on his arm and burst into tears. 
 
 " What does this mean ? And just as I had a nice 
 little plan." 
 
 " A plan ? " Juffrouw Van Witt murmured, sobbing. 
 
 " Well, child, you must be told. Here is Pamplona 
 you always liked Pamplona, and some day I meant 
 to marry her ; but there was no hurry, and all would 
 have gone well, but just then there comes Captain 
 Cawardine courting my Pamplona. And she took 
 him, but only because I I had not spoken." 
 
 Mynheer was unspeakably elated. "The fact is, 
 child, not to hide anything from you, the decided stand 
 I took in the matter of the siege of New Amsterdam 
 (there be those who call it heroic) has been miscon- 
 strued. The English Government doubts my patri- 
 otism ; the English Government requires a guaranty 
 for my ahem ! loyalty. 
 
 " Now, Wimpje, tell me, what do you think of Cap- 
 tain Cawardine ? " 
 
 Wimpje controlled a sudden sparkle in her brown 
 eyes, and hung her head discreetly. " He seems a 
 worthy young man." 
 
 "He is more than that." Mynheer spoke with 
 sudden impatience. " He is a young man of taste 
 and discretion, or he would not have courted Juffrouw
 
 302 A LEGEND OF OLD NEW YORK. 
 
 van Twist. That wound will heal. He is, besides, 
 of excellent family and well to do, and he is as a son 
 to Colonel Borden. Being so well with the govern- 
 ment, young and sturdy, and pleasant to gaze upon, I 
 thought yes, I thought " 
 
 "Well, father?" 
 
 " I thought, Wimpje, you might n't do much bet- 
 ter, and you could do a great deal worse." 
 
 " But he is an Englishman, father." 
 
 " A mere prejudice, child. Through Captain Caw- 
 ardine your old father could get many a good trading 
 privilege. There, listen to me, Wimpje, do not sacri- 
 fice your father for a foolish fancy." 
 
 " So it would please you if I married Captain Caw- 
 ardine ? " young Wimpje said meekly. 
 
 " It would, child." 
 
 " Very well, then for your sake, you dear " and 
 before he could remonstrate Wimpje's arms were 
 flung about his neck. 
 
 " I am so happy, so happy, ! " 
 
 "Why?" Mynheer cried, struggling. 
 
 " Now you will have to forgive. Wait, I'll call him." 
 
 And Captain Cawardine came, smiling and eager. 
 
 " O Tom, I've promised to marry you," and before 
 Mynheer could say a word, she was in his arms. 
 
 " This is very extraordinary, Captain ; will you ex- 
 plain, Wilhelmina? I thought, Juffrouw, you said 
 your heart was not free." 
 
 " It wasn't, for there was Captain Cawardine." 
 
 " But there was also Juffrouw van Twist. Blicksem ! 
 Whom did you come courting, Captain Cawardine ? " 
 
 But Wimpje was already at his side stroking his 
 fat cheek. " It was me he came courting, but it was 
 all Pamplona's little plan, so you will have to forgive." 
 
 Of course Mynheer forgave, and before winter set 
 in there were two fine weddings at Bovenkirk. 
 
 In the course of time Cornells Van Witt's increas-
 
 A LEGEND OF OLD NEW YORK. 3O3 
 
 ing wealth proved on what excellent terms he was 
 with the government, while the wisdom and patriotism 
 of Governor Cawardine of New York have passed 
 into history. 
 
 As for the ghost of the mad sexton, it disappeared 
 with Brammatje Baas. 
 
 Whoever doubts the truth of this narrative, let him 
 take the elevated road in the great city of New York 
 and search for the old church of St. Bartholomew 
 not far from the Bowery. There will he find an an- 
 cient graveyard surrounded by time-stained ware- 
 houses. He will observe that the crumbling head- 
 stones still stand in straight rows as placed by the 
 mad sexton. If he searches very carefully he will 
 discover on one weather-beaten slab, beneath a soli- 
 tary willow tree the years have spared, this half- 
 obliterated inscription : 
 
 CORNELIS VAN WITT, 
 
 DIED AT THE GREAT AGE OF QO 
 
 IN THE TOWN OF NEW YORK. 
 
 1695. 
 REQUIESCAT IN PACE.
 
 
 PRINTED IN U..*. CAT. NO. 24 161
 
 000701 126 5 
 
 
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