OF C1LIF. LIBRABY, LOS ANGELES
 
 Famous Books for Girls 
 
 NEW EDITION, J907 
 
 1 A Very Nt-ughty Girl 
 
 By L. T. Meade 
 
 2 A Girl in Ten Thousand 
 
 By L. T. Meade 
 
 3 A Sweet Girl Graduate 
 
 By L. T. Meade 
 
 4 Aunt Diana 
 
 By Rosa N. Carey 
 
 5 Averil 
 
 By Rosa N. Carey 
 
 6 Chums 
 
 By Maria Louise Pool 
 
 7 Daddy's Girl 
 
 By L. T. Meade 
 
 8 Six Little Princesses 
 
 By Prentiss 
 
 9 Rebel of the School, Th-i 
 
 By L. T. Meade 
 
 10 Girls of the True Blue 
 
 By L. T. Meade 
 
 11 House that Grew, The 
 
 By Mrs. Molesworth 
 
 12 Lamplighter, The 
 
 By Maria S. Cummins 
 
 13 Little Minister, The 
 
 By James M. Barrie 
 
 14 Margery Keith 
 
 By Virginia F. Townsend 
 
 15 Kitty Landon's Girlhood 
 
 By Jessie Armstrong 
 
 16 Not Like Other Girls 
 
 By Rosa N. Carey 
 
 17 Our Bessie 
 
 By Rosa N. Carey 
 
 18 Forced Acquaintances 
 
 By Edith Robinson 
 
 19 Polly 
 
 By L. T. Meade 
 
 20 Queechy 
 
 By Elizabeth Wetherell 
 
 21 Six to Sixteen 
 
 By J. H. Ewing 
 
 22 Three Bright Girls 
 
 By Annie E. Armstrong 
 
 23 Whom Kathie Married 
 
 By Amanda M. Douglas 
 
 24 First Violin, The 
 
 By Jessie Fothergill 
 
 25 Wide, Wide World 
 
 By Elizabeth Wetherell 
 
 26 World of Girls 
 
 By L. T. Meade 
 
 27 Yellow Violin, The 
 
 By Mary A. Denison 
 
 28 Wild Kitty 
 
 By L. T. Meade 
 
 29 An Honorable Miss 
 
 By L. T. Meade 
 
 30 A Girl of the People 
 
 By L. T. Meade 
 
 H. M. CALDWELL COMPANY 
 
 Publishers 
 NEW YORK AND BOSTON
 
 Margery Keith 
 
 By 
 Virginia F. Townsend 
 
 Illustrated 
 
 New York and Boston 
 
 H. M. Caldwell Company 
 
 Publishers
 
 MARGERY KEITH. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 " ONCLE Jed uncle Jed, what is it to V>e?" 
 The roice was so clear and fresh there was such 
 a sparkle of young life and hope all through it, 
 that it must have found its way straight to your 
 heart, like a sweet old tune. 
 
 There she stood the speaker midway be- 
 tween her eleventh and twelfth birthdays, with a 
 face that suited the voice ; that is better than 
 saying it was a handsome one. A fair complexion 
 and a soft glow in it, which reminded you of 
 peach blooms ; and eyes of a kind of nut-brown 
 shade, and the dark, glossy hair which belonged 
 to the girl's dozen years ; not a face to strike you 
 on the street or in a crowded parlor, it may be, 
 but one whose charm and sweetness would grow 
 on you with every interview. 
 
 " But what if, this tune, it is to be no 
 where Margery ? "
 
 4 MAEGEHr KEITH. 
 
 A man's voice now, with a little pleasant, 
 tender ring through the deep bass, and something 
 sound and hearty in the tones, which would make 
 you trust them, even if you did not see the 
 speaker. 
 
 He laid down his paper as he spoke, and set- 
 tled himself back comfortably in his easy-chair ; 
 you would probably have called him, on the first 
 glance, a young man still ; though he was, already, 
 inside his forties ; he was, on the whole, rather 
 good-looking, with sandy complexion and hair 
 and a thick beard with a reddish tinge ; the keen, 
 spirited gray eyes could be stern at times, and 
 they could smile very pleasantly at others : a 
 well-knit, broad-shouldered, stalwart figure, sit- 
 ting in that easy-chair in the warm June sunshine 
 near the open bay-window, where rose-bushes and 
 geraniums made a green, fragrant thicket, whose 
 blossoms were like tapers, twinkling all over it, 
 in lovely lights and colors. 
 
 This girl, whom he has called by that pleasant, 
 old-fashioned name of Margery, which has, to me, 
 always a fresh, tender sweetness clinging to it, 
 like the blossoms of some wild-brier, or the clear, 
 cool scent of mint whose roots are laved by some 
 mountain spring this girl laughed a fresh, 
 pleasant, rippling laugh, that was like a delightful 
 little air, flowing all around her words.
 
 MABGERY KEITH. 5 
 
 "As though I did not know better than that, 
 uncle Jed ! As though it could be summer in 
 New York and ' nowhere ' with us ! Do I look as 
 though I could by any possibility be humbugged 
 into swallowing that fiction?" and she stood 
 before him, her whole face in a bright glow of 
 defiant fun. 
 
 "No," stroking his beard and looking at her 
 with his gray eyes at their pleasantest, "I see my 
 attempt is quite hopeless. Ah, Margery, what a 
 fearful thing it is to have such wits, keen and 
 bright as a Spanish rapier ! This time it is to be 
 ," he stopped there a moment; he enjoyed 
 whetting her eager curiosity ; as you have seen a 
 doting parent hold a ripe plum or a glittering toy 
 an instant just above a child's strained, fluttering 
 hands. 
 
 " O uncle Jed, don't be cruel do speak." 
 
 " It is to be Long Branch ! " 
 
 She burst out into a little cry of delighted 
 astonishment, "It is to be a beautiful, splendid 
 miracle I " she said. 
 
 " Oh, no, not quite so much as that, Margery." 
 And this time he laughed a little pleased laugh to 
 himself, thinking she was true to her sex she 
 came honestly enough by her highly colored 
 adjectives, but he would not say this, even to 
 her. Jeremiah Woolcott was by no means a
 
 6 MABGEBY KEITH. 
 
 perfect man, but he had this fineness and courtesy 
 at the heart of him, that he could never breathe a 
 coarse or disparaging remark of a woman, even in 
 jest. 
 
 "But it has been the mountains, * Saratoga,' in 
 small doses, as you said, the Gap, but never 
 Long Branch. You had foresworn that I 
 thought." 
 
 "So I had; so I should now, if it were the 
 hotels with their rush and fashion, and the crowds 
 of fast, vulgar, overdressed men and women. But 
 it is to be nothing of that sort. It is to be a 
 home, quiet and comfortable and independent as 
 the one which this roof covers." 
 
 " It is ! Have you made terms for it with 
 Aladdin?" 
 
 "What a fine thrust of satire that was, you 
 midge ! I build no castles out of silver timbers 
 of moonshine." 
 
 "No, you do not; only out of stone and oak, 
 solid and well seasoned. Now, uncle Jed, tell 
 me how this house at Long Branch came about. 
 I am so glad it fairly takes my breath away." 
 
 " It came about in the most matter-of-fact way 
 conceivable. You've heard me speak of my old 
 business-partner, Tom Maxwell. He was up here 
 last year to dinner, with Ben, that bright boy 
 whom you beat at croquet 1 "
 
 MAEGBBY KBITS. 7 
 
 Margery had drawn a low chair close to her uncle, 
 and she bowed her head she would not break 
 the thread of his talk by a word. 
 
 " Well, he came into the office in a hurry 
 said he was off to Europe next week with his wife 
 and daughter; talked the matter over at break- 
 fast, and made up their minds to sail. That's- the 
 way they do things nowadays. When I was a 
 boy people didn't rush their lives through at such 
 high-pressure." 
 
 M No matter, uncle Jed, what they did in those 
 antediluvian times ; I want to hear about Long 
 Branch and the house there now." 
 
 " There goes another thrust of that swift little 
 rapier I What a hen-pecked uncle I am, Margery ! " 
 
 " Are you ? If another bright thing comes into 
 my small wits, I will not say it, so you will be 
 good and tell me." 
 
 "Well, this is the upshot of the business. 
 Maxwell owns a pretty gray cottage with trellised 
 piazzas and a big sweep of lawn in front, just off 
 Ocean Avenue, at Long Branch. He doesn't like 
 to have it shut up all summer, and when he in- 
 quired where I was to pass the dog-days, and 
 found my plans were all nebulous, he just pro- 
 posed that I would go down with my traps and 
 establish myself in the cottage, sovereign of the 
 whole domain. I was doubtful at first ; but Max-
 
 8 MARGERY KEITH. 
 
 well urged the matter strongly ; said it would be 
 just the place for his boy, Ben, who is to be left 
 behind ; a fine, generous fellow turning fourteen, 
 who needs a slight rein, of course, like all boys 
 of fourteen. 
 
 " The house, too, is furnished from attic to ice- 
 house, and there is nothing for us to do but to 
 bundle in, with trunks and books. Tisn't every 
 man will have an offer sprung on him like that ; 
 sole proprietorship, for a summer, of one of the 
 finest places at Long Branch ! " 
 
 "I should think not. And there is the sea, 
 uncle Jed I " 
 
 "Yes, the old miracle, before one in all its sol- 
 emn splendor I That thought does make the blood 
 leap in one's veins, doesn't it?" 
 
 Margery sprang up as though she moved on elastic 
 springs. She executed a little impromptu half 
 whirl, half waltz, before her uncle, her whole 
 Tiovement expressing intense delight in a more 
 fervid fashion than her words could, and the gray 
 ejos, at their pleasantest, watched her. 
 
 "When are we to go, uncle?" she asked, com- 
 ing to a full stop at last. 
 
 " The city is crowded and getting hot and dusty 
 every day. The house stands there, wide and 
 cool, silent and waiting. What do you say to our 
 getting off the last of next week ? "
 
 MARGERY KEITH. 9 
 
 There was, of course, no need that he should 
 ask this question; there is none that I should 
 write her answer. 
 
 Who this Jeremiah Woolcott and Margery Keith 
 were, and how they came to be together under 
 the pleasant house-roof, whose front windows 
 looked out on a lovely bit of Central Park, I want 
 to tell you now, briefly as possible. 
 
 They were not in the least related ; indeed, 
 neither the man nor the girl had any near living 
 kindred ; but that only made each dearer to the 
 other. 
 
 " Uncle Jed " had had a long, rough scramble 
 with the world. He had come out master in the 
 end, as the pleasant home with the handsome 
 appointments and the bit of Central Park view 
 amply witnessed. But he knew the hard grip 
 and grind of poverty. His childhood had been 
 passed in one of those small villages that cluster 
 along the Sound shore. His father had been a 
 small farmer, but shiftless habits and heavy mort- 
 gages had consumed the estate before the man's 
 death, and the son inherited nothing but his 
 father's name. 
 
 The boy had energy and shrewdness. His 
 young arm kept the wolf at bay during his mother's 
 life, and when in his late teens she died he was 
 quite alone hi the world, and soon after left his
 
 l<6 MARGEBT KEITH. 
 
 aative town for the West. It was in the old 
 pioneer times, and Jeremiah Woolcott had his 
 shaie of the hardship and toil and privation of a 
 miner's life. 
 
 In a few years, however, he had made his for- 
 tune, and he had a hankering for the old gray 
 beach, and the white gleam and tumbling of the 
 tides which had sung the cradle hymn of his boy- 
 hood ; and he came back to his native town, and 
 in less than a year married the daughter of the old 
 doctor, who had been kind to his mother, and 
 everything went, for three years, smooth and 
 prosperously as marriage-bells with Jeremiah 
 Woolcott. 
 
 Then his wife sickened and died. His loss 
 almost killed her husband. She had been wor- 
 thy of the strong, tender, chivairic love of the 
 man who had wedded her. The old home grew 
 unutterably distasteful to him, and he went West 
 again, hoping to drown the bitterness of his sor- 
 row in the sweep and rush of the wild, intense 
 life of the Pacific coast. 
 
 He succeeded partly ; still he was a lonely, 
 sad-hearted man, underneath all his pleasant, 
 hearty manner, when business took him East a 
 second time. 
 
 On the j ourney he met with Margery Keith . This 
 \a the way it happened. It was an awful night
 
 MARGERY KEITH. 11 
 
 out on the plains somewhere in the great valley of 
 Platte River. The rains fell in thick, black tor- 
 rents, caught and twisted, and smitten and hurled 
 by the mad gales that trampled and thundered 
 over the wide landscape. 
 
 The overland stage, with its half-dozen passen- 
 gers for the east, broke down in a gully, and 
 the driver, turning from the mam road, made for 
 an outpost where they were laying the Pacific 
 Railroad track. 
 
 In the teeth of the smiting wind and the bellow- 
 ing rain the stage at last reached the station, 
 which comprised a cluster of isheds and the log- 
 cabin of the overseer. 
 
 The passengers alighted to learn that one of the 
 largest sheds was the only accommodation the 
 place afforded ; but this was an improvement on 
 the pitiless rain and the howling gales. 
 
 It happened that Jeremiah Woolcott was among 
 the stage passengers. One of the laborers in- 
 formed the strangers that the cabin would have 
 been at their service, only it was at present occu- 
 pied by the overseer, and he would probably be a 
 dead man before morning. 
 
 On hearing this, Woolcott turned at once to 
 this day he cannot tell what impulse seized him 
 and walked straight through the rage of the winds 
 and the rush of the rain to the log-cabin. He
 
 12 MARGERY KEITH. 
 
 opered the door, or the wind did it for him, 
 and went in. There was only a single room, with 
 a log ablaze on the hearth, and a kerosene light 
 on the bit of unplaned shelf above. 
 
 The tragedy of the room was all centred in one 
 corner, where a man's lean ghastly face lay, 
 propped up by pillows. The lines were strong 
 and fine, and even now in sharp contrast with the 
 two or three rough, heavily hewn faces of the men 
 who watched around him. 
 
 It was evident the end had come, and that 
 Azrael waited in this lonely log-cabin out on the 
 stormy plains, as he waits by gilded couches in 
 splendid palaces. 
 
 But the pathos of the scene was in a little face 
 mounted on a high chair close by the dying man's, 
 a little girl's face, pale and wistful, under a mass 
 of bright hair, and a solemn, bewildered terror 
 shining in the bright, dark eyes. 
 
 Jeremiah Woolcott came straight up to the bed, 
 and the men made way for him to pass. 
 
 He took the cold, skinny hand in his own. 
 "What is his name?" he asked, turning to the 
 others, and the next moment he wondered at him- 
 self for asking. 
 
 Then the little girl answered in her soft, clear, 
 childish voice, " It is my papa, and his name is 
 Harry Keith."
 
 MARGERY KEITH. 13 
 
 That told the whole story I It brought up in 
 an instant the old gray beach, with the damp feel 
 of the wet sands and the happy boy's bare feet 
 amongst the shells and sea-weed, and the snowy 
 gleams of the surf, and the joyous sweep of the 
 incoming tides. 
 
 Harry Keith and Jeremiah Woolcott had been 
 school-boys and playfellows together. The former, 
 the squire's son, was a brave, merry-hearted lad 
 as ever you saw, his future prospects altogether 
 fairer than young "Woolcott's; and now he was 
 dying like this like this I 
 
 The stranger put his lips down to the sick man's 
 ear, " Don't you know me, Harry ? " he said. " I'm 
 your old friend, Jerry Woolcott, the squire's son ! " 
 
 A sudden light flashed into the glazing eyes . 
 " Jerry I Jerry ! " the sick man muttered, as 
 though the name came up like a beautiful surprise 
 into his dying hour. 
 
 Then his face worked with a swift pain. 
 " There's little Margery," he said. " She will be all 
 alone, Jerry ! " 
 
 "No, she won't, so long as I live, Harry." 
 Only a few monosyllables, but no sign or bond 
 could have made them more sacred to him who 
 spoke them. They were the last words Harry 
 Keith heard in this world. That he heard them 
 those could never doubt who saw the flash of joy
 
 14 MARGERY KEITH. 
 
 in his face before the still, solemn peace settled 
 upon it forever. 
 
 The little girl there watched breathlessly with 
 her great, frightened eyes the stillness grow and 
 grow. She had a vague, childish instinct of what 
 it must mean. 
 
 Then she turned that little, scared, white face 
 of hers to the stranger and looked at him. She 
 saw in his eyes, the great tears which half hid 
 her from view. 
 
 She reached out her little fluttering hands to 
 him. " Did my papa give me to you ? " she asked, 
 in her sweet, eager childish treble. 
 
 The man took her in his arms, strained her to 
 his heart. " Yes, he and God," he said, solemnly. 
 
 She was only six years old at that time. 
 
 And this was the way that in six years more 
 Margery Keith and "uncle Jed" came to have 
 that sparkling little talk together one morning by 
 the great bay-window, with its thicket of roses 
 and geraniums, and the blossoming glory of its 
 cactus, and the pleasant June s^ishine over all.
 
 MAEOEKY KEITH. 15 
 
 CHAPTER U. 
 
 IT was a wonderful morning in the glowing 
 heart of the summer. There were the deep blues 
 of the sky set against the gleaming silver of the 
 clouds about the horizon; below was the broad, 
 dazzling green of the fields ; the long, shining 
 stretch and curve of the beach, and, beyond and 
 greater than all, the sea, in its strength and splen- 
 dor ; the sunlight on it,and on the sails coming and 
 going with their own slow, wonderful grace, as 
 though, in the words of the savages, " the gods had 
 actually come down to visit men." 
 
 This was the morning at Long Branch. In the 
 city, a few miles away, it was quite another thing. 
 There were the thick, stifling heats shut in by 
 great stone walls, the loathsome smells, the glare 
 of light, the grind of labor, and over all the strips 
 of hot, dazzling sky. 
 
 Margery Keith came out on the upper piazza, and 
 stood there a few moments, drumming with her 
 fingers on the parapet. This side of the house 
 commanded a magnificent view of the sea and all
 
 16 MABGEBY KEITH. 
 
 the glory of it ; the joyful movement, the flashing 
 and quivering of the waves for miles and miles 
 were before her that morning. The girl gazed 
 and gazed, and a great happiness, beautiful to see, 
 grew and grew in her face. She wore a white 
 cambric dress, which hung about her like a soft 
 cloud, and against her glossy hair a couple of 
 fuchsias hung their great crimson bells. These 
 were all the color about her, except her own lips 
 and eyes. 
 
 The house where she stood was an ample Gothic 
 cottage, of a brownish-gray, enclosed in deep, cool 
 piazzas. There was a wide lawn in front, and a 
 broad drive, and on a mound in the centre of the 
 lawn a beautiful marble group of Neptune, with his 
 tridents and two sea-nymphs. 
 
 A month ago Margery and her uncle had come to 
 Long Branch. It seemed to the girl the most wonder- 
 ful month of her life, "almost as good as heaven," 
 with a little catching of her breath, not just sure 
 but that was going a little too far. 
 
 The ocean fascinated her. The mysterious 
 going and coming of the tides; the ships that 
 loomed like vast spectres among its gray mists ; 
 the little silver blossoms of the pleasure-boat 
 sails ; the great white line of surf, that lay like 
 a fallen " milky way " upon the beach, were every 
 day a fresh wonder to the girl.
 
 MARGERY KEITH. 17 
 
 She loved the cool softness of the waves about 
 her feet, and the feel of the moist, warm sand, in 
 the long, happy noons, when she took off her 
 shoes and buried her bare toes in it ; she spent 
 hours gathering pebbles on the beach, crystal, 
 and amber and lilac ; and she came home with such a 
 glow in her cheeks and such a gladness in her 
 eyes to meet her uncle when he came down on the 
 night-train ; and with that little, fluttering, in-drawn 
 breath, which he knew so well, and out of which 
 her words always came in a hurry, seeming to 
 shake and jostle each other to get through her 
 voice. 
 
 W O uncle Jed, it is just the most wonderful 
 thing in the world I " 
 
 "What, Margery?" 
 
 He knew well enough, only he liked to hear her 
 answer. 
 
 "That old ocean, that harps and chants to 
 itself, all through the day and the night." 
 
 K Lucky it is you are a girl, Margery. If you 
 were a boy, I should have you suddenly flinging 
 yourself into a pea-green jacket and tarpaulin, 
 and shipping before the mast on some whaler, 
 bound for a three years' cruise, hammock and 
 hard tack thrown in." 
 
 Her laugh came out now in a sweet, clear, 
 rippling way. "No, uncle Jed, I don't really 
 I
 
 18 MARGERY KEITH. 
 
 think I could do anything quite so bad as that, 
 not even if I were that horrid, unconscionable 
 thing a boy I" 
 
 And with their second week at Long Branch a 
 boy had come, the Ben Maxwell, under whose 
 father's roof they were passing the summer. 
 Margery had rather vague notions of him, mixed up 
 with memories of a long croquet game, and a pair 
 of bright, merrily-flashing black eyes. 
 
 This was about all she knew of him until he 
 came to Long Branch ; what he was there, I shall 
 leave him to tell for himself. 
 
 While Margery stood leaning over the parapet, the 
 carriage suddenly came around the drive from the 
 stable. Margery did not hear the wheels, she was 
 so intent listening for another sound. 
 
 Suddenly her face brightened, and she clapped 
 her hands. " There it comes ! " she cried. " I 
 knew it was time." 
 
 "What's that?" her uncle asked, coming out 
 from his room on the piazza. 
 
 " The tide has turned, uncle Jed. Don't you 
 hear?" 
 
 "Is that all? You are making a great fuss, it 
 strikes me, over a very commonplace affair ; one 
 that has been happening every day for as many 
 thousand years as the earth and sea are old." 
 
 "No matter; it isn't any the less wonderful
 
 MARGERY KEITH. 19 
 
 because it is commonplace. I have heard you say 
 that about other things that were not so great as 
 the sea and the tides, uncle Jed." 
 
 I cannot tell what reply the man would have 
 made, for just then there was a loud, swift ring of 
 boots on the lower piazza, and a voice shouted 
 up, a boy's voice, eager and bright, "Tune we 
 were off, uncle Jed ; only twenty-five minutes to 
 reach the train ! " 
 
 Margery leaned over the parapet ; she saw Ben 
 Maxwell standing by the carriage steps. He was 
 only half a year ahead of her, a well-built, broad- 
 shouldered boy, with a thick, dark-brown crop of 
 hair, and merry black eyes, in a squarely-moulded, 
 well-tanned face. It was not a handsome face, 
 but it bore acquaintance well, for it was bright 
 and open, and full of boyish good-nature. 
 
 " Where have you been ever since breakfast ? " 
 asked the girl, playfully doubling up her fist at the 
 boy down there on the piazza. 
 
 " Off on such a grand lark. Been to a gypsy 
 encampment up in the woods, and had my fortune 
 told I It was fun ! " 
 
 Margery's imagination was at once attracted. 
 She came downstairs after her uncle in bound and 
 leaps. 
 
 "What did the fortune-teller look like, 
 Cleopatra?"
 
 20 MARGERY KEITH. 
 
 Ben laughed outright, a boy's outringing laugh, 
 "Not much," he said. "She was an old crone, 
 weird and withered, and when she set her fierce, 
 black eyes on me, I thought of Meg Merrilies." 
 
 " You did I How I should like to see her, 
 and" 
 
 " Have your fortune told." Uncle Jed finished 
 dp the sentence. " I should rather give her the 
 money, and let her keep her humbugging to her- 
 self." 
 
 " But are you just sure that it is all humbug- 
 ging?" 
 
 w Margery I a sensible little girl like you ask such 
 a question ! " 
 
 "I know it is," answering her own query, 
 " only I rather like to believe in the humbugging, 
 as I do hi dear old Kriss Kringle, and Cinderella, 
 and Aladdin and his lamp, and all the wonderful 
 fairy tales." 
 
 "Well, you may believe the fortune-teller as 
 you do the fairies, precisely," answered uncle Jed, 
 getting into the carriage ; and Ben followed him. 
 
 " What I " cried Margery, aghast ; " you are not 
 going to the city too, and the tide just coming 
 in?" 
 
 Both the man and boy laughed, for one would 
 have fancied, by the way Margery spoke, that such 
 a thing had never happened before.
 
 MARGERY KEITH. 21 
 
 w No, Margery , I'm only going to ride down to the 
 depot, and see if the new croquet-balls have come. 
 I'll be back soon, and we'll have a high old time 
 on the beach." 
 
 Uncle Jed looked from the girl to the boy with 
 a pleasant smile, just touched with some grave 
 thought. 
 
 " Nothing to trouble you," he said, " more than 
 croquet-games, and scampers on the seashore, and 
 raids after gypsy encampments. You small 
 people, do you really suppose life is always to be 
 set to such a merry jig for you ? " 
 
 "I mean to have a jolly time all through, and 
 send trouble whistling down the wind," answered 
 Ben, with the bright, careless defiance of a boy 
 who did not know what he was talking about. 
 
 "Uncle Jed," exclaimed Margery, " don't go to 
 that hot, noisy, dusty city to-day. Stay at home, 
 and have a good time with us." 
 
 " Can't do it, my dear. Business won't be 
 shirked in that fashion. Come, Jack, hurry up ! " 
 
 The coachman seized the reins ; the man and 
 the boy lifted their hats to the girl standing there 
 on the front steps ; and as they drove off, Ben 
 shouted back, " I'll tell you all about the gypsies 
 when we go down to the shore. It will keep, 
 Margery." 
 
 As the girl turned to re-enter the house, she
 
 22 MARGERY KEITH. 
 
 suddenly caught sight of a figure, curled up like a 
 round ball, on the gravel of the drive. She heard 
 a little, half-suppressed cry, too, like one in pain. 
 
 The figure lifted itself up in a moment, and 
 Janet saw a boy, ragged and barefooted, with a 
 mop of stiff, birch-colored hah*, md a pinched, 
 freckled face, and thin,, dirty claws of fingers. 
 
 His appearance was anything but attractive to a 
 little girl of graceful and fastidious tastes like her 
 own, and her first feeling was one of dislike 
 and repugnance. 
 
 She understood hi an instant what had hap- 
 pened. The boy had been standing behind the 
 carriage where nobody had seen him, and when 
 the wheels turned suddenly, they had knocked him 
 down, and probably grazed his ankle. 
 
 The boy looked up and saw the girl standing 
 on the piazza. He had not a good face ; the coarse, 
 pinched features were haunted by an expression, 
 half sly, half sullen, which did not promise well 
 for the soul behind. 
 
 As for the girl, she must have seemed to him, 
 as she stood there in her snowy cloud of cambric, 
 and the crimson bells in her hair, like a being from 
 another sphere. 
 
 Their eyes met. Perhaps the boy felt what was 
 hi the girl's thoughts. Children of that kind have 
 keen instincts. Margery went into the house without
 
 MARGERY KEITH. 23 
 
 speaking a word. "He had no business to be 
 there,' she said to herself. "If he gets in 
 people's way, he must expect to be hurt. Beggar, 
 I dare say, or thief." Yet, with her foot on the 
 lowest stair, the girl paused. Uncle Jed's words 
 about the comfortable time she and Ben were 
 having in the world still lingered in her thoughts. 
 Margery had a soft heart when you got down to it, 
 though it was sometimes a heedless one. 
 
 She thought of the boy out there, ragged and 
 dirty and friendless ! What a different world it 
 was to him from the world which sparkled and 
 smiled on her and Ben I They were all three 
 about the same age, too. 
 
 Yet it cost Margery a little struggle. She had a 
 water-color drawing upstairs a yacht, with a 
 bit of gray-blue sea-front, which she wanted to 
 finish before Ben got back to go down to the 
 beach with her. 
 
 If Margery could have peered a little way up her 
 future, and seen how much hung for her and 
 others on the turning of the scale that summer 
 morning I Yet, either way it was the simplest of 
 matters ; a mere making up her mind whether she 
 would keep on upstairs or go back and speak a 
 few kindly words to the miserable boy out there 
 on the drive. 
 
 Her heart carried it at last. She wheeled about
 
 24 MARGERY KEITH. 
 
 suddenly, as though half afraid her impulse would 
 fail, and walked straight outdoors and down the 
 front steps, to the boy, who had only limped a 
 few feet from the spot where she had seen him. 
 
 "Did the carriage knock you down when it 
 turned round ? " asked Margery, going straight to 
 the point, as her words usually did. 
 
 "Yes," said the boy in the ragged coat, that 
 was all, all but the look of amazement in his 
 freckled face a look which fitly emphasized his 
 monosyllable. 
 
 "It hurt you, didn't it? I thought I heard 
 you groan as I went into the house, and I was 
 very sorry for you." 
 
 The feeling of repugnance grew fainter as she 
 talked, looking right at the boy with those bright, 
 honest eyes of hers. 
 
 He was evidently not used to talk of that kind ; 
 something like a blush reddened among the freckles, 
 and he made an awkward effort to place one foot 
 before the other, and then winced with sudden 
 pain. 
 
 " Yes, it hurt a good deal," he said. 
 
 " That is too bad ; will you let me see it ? *' 
 
 .He lifted his ankle a little way. It was grimed 
 with dirt, but there was the long red streak that 
 the wheel had made. 
 
 Margery 'was really shocked. w Why, it must
 
 MARGERY KEITH. 25 
 
 have hurt you dreadfully," she said, and the voice 
 was pitiful as the pitiful words. 
 
 This time the boy did not answer, but the tears 
 came into his eyes. The sight decided Margery. 
 
 " Come right into the house," she said, quite 
 forgetting the rags and dirt ; " I can do something 
 to help you I'm just sure I can." 
 
 The boy glanced at a small basket which lay in 
 the grass, and which Margery had not perceived 
 before. It was heaped with blackberries, great, 
 glistening, jet ovals, which the July sun and 
 sand of Long Branch had ripened to such perfec- 
 tion. 
 
 So he was not a beggar, after all ; and these were 
 the first blackberries Margery had seen this year. 
 
 "What big things they are ! Just what we 
 shall want to-night for supper, with sweet cream. 
 Bring them up into the hall." 
 
 She led the way, and the boy limped after, 
 leaving his basket in the hall. In her flush of 
 pity and generosity, Margery took him right up to 
 her own room. She made him sit down oc the 
 prettily-covered chintz lounge, and brought out 
 of her work-basket a small roll of soft linen. 
 
 It did require some courage to touch that bare 
 foot, grimed and stained with mud and sand ; but 
 Margery went at it bravely. She was not the kind 
 of a girl to stop when she had made up her inind
 
 26 MARGERY KEITH. 
 
 to do anything. She bathed the wound with arnica, 
 and then bound the cool, soft folds of linen about 
 it, fastening them together with a few stitches ; and 
 all the while the look of awed bewilderment was 
 growing in the boy's eyes ; and, as he felt the 
 light touch of the soft fingers about his foot, he 
 w^ould certainly have thought that Queen Titania 
 had borne him off to her castle in fairy-land, only 
 he knew no more about these than the canary did, 
 swinging in his perch by the window. 
 
 All the while, too, Margery's heart was grow- 
 ing tender toward the ragged, friendless creature,' 
 for whom she was so busily at work. 
 
 When all was done she lifted up her face with 
 the smile that would make her beautiful when she 
 grew to be a wrinkled old woman. 
 
 "There, it feels better now, doesn't it?" she 
 said. 
 
 " Oh, yes, a great deal ; " and this time all the 
 sly, sullen look seemed to fade out of the boy's 
 face, and he smiled a little in return, a pleased, 
 grateful smile. 
 
 " You don't look as though you had a very jolly 
 time in life," said Margery, the words coming 
 out before she had thought twice. 
 
 w No, I haven't," said the boy ; and there was a 
 flash of bitterness or pain in his face. 
 
 Margery saw it. It seemed to her for a moment
 
 MABGBRY KEITH. 27 
 
 as though she had no right to all the love and 
 happiness, and luxury that filled her life, when it 
 was brought face to face with such poverty and 
 misery as this. 
 
 Yet she could not put her feeling into words, 
 and so it came out in a moment in the most mat- 
 ter-of-fact question, "How much do you ask for 
 your berries ? " 
 
 " Twelve cents a quart ; there's two of 'em." 
 
 She went to her purse, and emptied what scrip 
 it held into her small palm. There was so little 
 to buy at Long Branch that she had not recently 
 examined her finances, and now discovered that the 
 sum total amounted to a dollar ! 
 
 She put it all into the boy's fingers. "Part is 
 to pay for the berries, you see," with her sparkle 
 of a smile, " and part is a kind of salve for that 
 cruel hurt. Money cures a good many aches, you 
 know." 
 
 "Yes," answered the boy, pocketing the scrip, a 
 good deal as though some fair Dryad had floated 
 out of an oak, and brought him a precious gift 
 and he turned to go. 
 
 n Take care of that foot ; I hope it will be well 
 in a little while," called the sweet, hopeful voice. 
 
 The boy had reached the door now ; the bewil- 
 dered, half-dazed look suddenly cleared out of 
 his eyes. There was a flash of feeling in them.
 
 28 MARGERY KEITH. 
 
 He turned to Margery and said, with a kind of 
 awkward earnestness, and another dull, red flush 
 working into his freckles, "I thank you, ma'am. 
 I think you have been real kind to me." 
 
 Then he stumped away. Something in the 
 words or the manner actually brought the tears 
 into Margery's eyes. 
 
 She went to the window ; but this time she did 
 not see the blue glitter of the waves, or the sun- 
 light on the sails, or the wide gladness of the 
 green fields. It was all there, but the girl only 
 saw the small, lowly figure, with the little limp, 
 going down to the gate. 
 
 " Poor boy ! " murmured Margery. " I wonder 
 where he came from ? I wish I had asked him his 
 name. So different ! And yet God made him, 
 and must love him just as well as he does us ! 
 That's the hardest of all to believe. Seems to me, 
 if I were in his place, I never should believe it." 
 
 Just then she caught sight of the carriage 
 coming up Ocean Avenue, and Ben Maxwell with 
 his restless head outside looking for her. 
 
 * And now comes the beach ! " said Margery, with 
 that little glad quiver in her words ; and she sprang 
 for her hat, and was down on the piazza awaiting 
 Ben when he rolled up the drive. 
 
 But she did not tell him what had happened that 
 morning. It might be because she herself had had 
 so much to do with it.
 
 MAKGERY KEITH. 9 
 
 CHAPTER m. 
 
 "THAT man had a bad face," said uncle Jed, 
 leaning on his mallet, and looking after the figure 
 that went up the lane, a rather round-shouldered, 
 thick-set figure, in a seedy, ill-fitting coat and 
 pants. 
 
 K A bad face," he repeated, mostly to himself. 
 " I should not like to trust it hi some places where 
 I have been." 
 
 He was standing in a corner of a wide pasture- 
 field at the foot of the cottage grounds. A lane 
 ran on one side, and a great wild-cherry tree grew 
 close to the bars, and threw its wide shade over 
 the smooth ground which Ben and Margery had 
 s sleeted as the best stage on which to execute 
 their croquet feats. 
 
 A few quince and barberry clumps were the 
 only trees which grew on the cottage grounds, 
 and the young people being liable, even in the 
 noon-heats, to a seizure of "croquet intermittent," 
 as uncle Jed with playful irony called their pas- 
 sion for the game, the great, wide-spreading,
 
 30 MABGERY KEITH. 
 
 green roof of the wild-cherry tree afforded them 
 just the shelter they needed for these exploits with 
 ball and mallet. 
 
 Such times as they had here such fun and 
 frolics such long, breathless croquet games ! at 
 which sometimes uncle Jed, sauntering down 
 when he was tired of his papers and books, would 
 take a hand, and then the fun and frolic would be 
 redoubled. 
 
 For if there was one thing uncle Jed knew how 
 to be perfectly, that was a boy ! He could throw 
 himself with such heart and soul into whatever 
 was going on among the young people ; he could 
 play and romp and rollic with the merriest of 
 them ; indeed, grown man as he was, he could 
 bring a spirit and flavor to the fun which nobody 
 else could ; the secret of it all being the core of 
 youth and warmth at the heart of uncle Jed. It 
 would always keep him from growing old, though 
 the frosts were deep in his hair and the wrinkles 
 thick in his face. 
 
 Whatever you do, boys and girls reading my 
 story, be sure you keep just such a warm some- 
 thing at the core of you. 
 
 It was about midway of the afternoon ; you 
 might have heard soft lisps and whispered secrets 
 of the sea as the tide went out, and there were 
 little flickers of wind among the thick leaves of
 
 MABGEBY KEITH. 31 
 
 the cheny-tree. The boy, the girl, and the man, 
 had just finished up the game which had absorbed 
 them for the last hour . Margery was full of the heat 
 and eagerness of the play ; she would certainly 
 have shouted out, " Now, let's have another game," 
 if the bulky, round-shouldered figure had not 
 gone by at that moment and occasioned uncle 
 Jed's remark. 
 
 They had all looked at the man, strangers not 
 being in the habit of passing through this lane, 
 which led down by a gentle slope to the huckle- 
 berry woods half a mile off. 
 
 He had looked at them in turn with a pair of 
 bold, dark eyes something evil in them too, 
 which had struck uncle Jed, who seldom was mis- 
 taken in his estimates of men. 
 
 " What kinds of places ? " asked Ben Maxwell, 
 who had overheard the remark. 
 
 "All kinds of lonely, desolate, jumping-off 
 places, my boy : in thick wildernesses, in wide 
 plains, and deep canons, and mountain gorged, 
 where I have spent so many days and bivouacked 
 so many nights." 
 
 " You must have met some very bad people hi 
 all those travels, uncle Jed," said Margery, with a 
 grave face and an indrawn breath. 
 
 "Not a few of them. That fellow who just 
 went by starts up some of them; strange how
 
 32 MARGERY KEITH. 
 
 things are always coming back ! " this last hi an 
 undertone, half to himself. 
 
 " O uncle Jed, do tell us about some of them," 
 cried Margery, the prospect of one of his stories 
 putting croquet in the shade, when she was in the 
 full heat of it too I 
 
 "Yes, I should like to hear it hugely, sir," 
 added Ben Maxwell, who had had an appetizing 
 taste at Long Branch of some of uncle Jed's 
 stories. 
 
 He was not one of those men who are full of 
 moods and crotchets, and whose stories have to 
 be coaxed and wheedled out of them much as you 
 would a gift from a miser. 
 
 There was a long, low rustic seat, brought out 
 here for the accommodation of occasional spectators 
 of the games. Uncle Jed sat down, and Ben and 
 Margery actually threw themselves on the short 
 grass ; for which imprudent action on their part, 
 I can only say it was midsummer, and there had 
 been a long drought. 
 
 He told the first story that came up. You must 
 hear, all through it, the croon of the winds in the 
 leaves, and the soft, low whispers and laughters of 
 the waves on the beach. 
 
 "I didn't like the looks of the man when we 
 both got into the stage at Wolfs Head station. 
 This was nothing but a small government post
 
 MARGERY KEITH. 33 
 
 out on the plains in Colorado. I had seen him 
 pouring down his vile whiskey at the little way 
 cabin which served for a hotel to all the overland 
 passengers on that route. 
 
 " A man out on the plains can't afford to be too 
 fastidious about his society. I had had some 
 rough schooling before, but when the light of the 
 stage lamp fell full upon the man's face, and we 
 each turned and took a fair look at the other be- 
 fore entering, I just said to myself, ' If you should 
 make up your mind it would pay to Mil me, my 
 life wouldn't be worth a sixpence.' " 
 
 " Did you say that and then get into the stage 
 with that man, uncle Jed? " asked Margery with 
 her indrawn breath and great solemn eyes. 
 
 "Precisely. There was a strong chance that 
 my fellow-traveller might not think it worth while 
 to murder me; and an even one that if he did 
 think so my own mother-wit might preserve me. 
 As for brute force, he had immeasurably the ad- 
 vantage, being at least six feet high, powerful, 
 muscular ; one of those sinewy trappers who had 
 been for two years on the frontiers, used to bowie- 
 knife, big rows, and vile whiskey. 
 
 " But there was no help for it. This man was 
 to be my sole companion for all that long night- 
 ride, and thinking that a man could not always af- 
 ford to choose his company, and whistling a tune,
 
 34 HABGEBY KEITH. 
 
 partly to keep my courage up, I got into the 
 stage. The next station was forty miles off, and 
 we should not reach it until early dawn." 
 
 "Forty miles with a man whom you believed 
 was ready to murder you if he found reasons satis- 
 factory to his own mind for doing it ! " exclaimed 
 Ben Maxwell. 
 
 He was a brave boy, but he looked at uncle Jed 
 as though he would not like to try it for himself. 
 
 K Mining, like misery, makes strange bedfellows, 
 Ben. It was not the first time I had eaten and 
 drunk and slept among men with whom my life 
 would not have been worth a moment's purchase 
 if I had stood in their way. 
 
 " The trapper was sociable enough, offering me 
 his flask of whiskey, and taking huge draughts 
 every little while himself, waxing coarsely merry 
 over stories of Indian fights and buffalo hunts, and 
 things of that sort. 
 
 " I had been out day and night for two weeks on 
 the plains, and was well used up. All the money 
 I had in the world at that tune I carried with me 
 in a little canvas bag, snugly stowed away under 
 my ribs. Don't stare, children. It wasn't enough 
 to lift us comfortably over this summer. The 
 question was whether my travelling comrade sus- 
 pected the amount I carried with me, and if he did, 
 whether he would think it worth while to put an
 
 MABGEBY KEITH. 85 
 
 end to me for so paltry a sum : murder in cold 
 blood being not an altogether pleasant thing even 
 to a rough trapper used to drunken rows and 
 Indian fights." 
 
 " But how should he know anything about your 
 money ? " put in Margery. 
 
 "There was the rub. In the little way cabin 
 I had met an old comrade from the diggings. He 
 was going on to inspect a claim somewhere among 
 the foot-hills of the Sierras. He told me the first 
 comers would have a chance for a fortune. I was 
 younger than I am now, and the prospect was 
 alluring. In the course of our talk I told my 
 friend the extent of my fortune, and that I had it 
 all about me." 
 
 " And this fellow in the stage might have over- 
 heardI see," exclaimed Ben. 
 
 "Yes, we had imprudently grown interested, 
 and waxed loud in our talk. The trapper might 
 have listened, and then again he might not. There 
 was something furtive in his eyes when they stud- 
 ied me occasionally, which I did not like, while his 
 great hairy hands fumbled at his shaggy brick-red 
 beard. I made up my mind to keep eyes and 
 ears open for that night ; but when a man has not 
 had two hours' sleep for a week, it's one thing to 
 make up his mind to keep awake, and quite an- 
 other to do it."
 
 36 MARGERY KEITH. 
 
 " Was it very dark outside, uncle Jed ? " inquired 
 Margery. She was a little girl still, and relished 
 the surroundings and atmosphere of the picture. 
 
 "As a pocket, child. Gusts of rain slapping 
 angrily every few minutes against the stage win- 
 dows, and sudden howls of wind through the wide, 
 dreary blackness. It was hardly a pleasant posi- 
 tion to be shut up there alone with a man who 
 might be weighing the chances for or against 
 murdering you I " 
 
 There was a little cry from Margery. 
 
 " But there was the stage-driver," put in Ben, 
 stoutly. 
 
 " I had taken his measure in the cabin : a fresh 
 hand on the line ; a coarse-featured, weak-mouthed 
 young chap from the diggings . That great double- 
 fisted, hulking trapper would find ways to settle 
 with him buy or frighten him into silence, if 
 nothing worse. Altogether my plight was not a 
 pleasant one ; but for all that I dropped off in a 
 so and sleep." 
 
 " You did ? " Two monosyllables pitched to the 
 same note of amazement from the young voices. 
 
 " I did. Lord Russell fell asleep several times, 
 you know, when they were dressing him to be be- 
 headed. T managed to keep awake until about 
 midnight, the evil leer in the trapper's eyes seem- 
 ing to deepen whenever he watched me over his 
 
 9 r
 
 MAliQEHY KEITH. 37 
 
 whiskey-flask; but, for all that, I succumbed at 
 last, and went off into a dead sleep. I am not 
 sure but a man might do that, under some circum- 
 stances, even if a bowie-knife were held at his 
 throat. 
 
 " Two hours afterward I woke up of a sudden. 
 There was a stealthy movement of a heavy hand 
 just under my collar-bone. At first a kind of 
 sickening chill went all over me ; the next 
 moment I was wide awake, and alert as I am now. 
 In a flash I saw it all. The trapper had cut a 
 deep gash through my coat and vest, and reached 
 the canvas bag beneath. A revolver lay on the 
 seat close to his hand. A movement now might 
 cost me my life : I closed my eyes and reflected. 
 The ruffian's clutch was already on the bag. If he 
 killed me well, life did seem sweet just then, 
 but it seemed ignoble too, to keep it at the price 
 of silence at that crisis. So, without moving a 
 muscle, I opened my eyes, and, looking straight 
 at the robber, asked very quietly, 'Do you think 
 it is going to pay, after all ? ' The villain actually 
 started and turned pale under his yellow tan. 
 The evil eyes glared at me with the fierceness of a 
 tiger about to spring. ' What do you mean ? ' he 
 asked, with an oath. 
 
 ' l Nothing ; only I see what you are about, and 
 I asked the question.'
 
 38 MAIIGERY KEITH. 
 
 "The trapper's pistol was in his hand; the 
 bowie-knife with which he had spoiled my coat 
 lay at his feet. If I had so much as lifted my 
 head at that moment, I should have done it for 
 the last tune, 
 
 " He looked at me with a little startled, curious 
 gleam in his bad eyes. I held him with a cairn, 
 steady gaze. Really, I was as cool as I am now. 
 I don't think a pulse quickened. 
 
 "'Do you know you are in my power?' half 
 aiming his revolver at me. 
 
 " ' Oh, perfectly. You can shoot me this min- 
 ute, and the next you can take my money. It's 
 likely nobody will ever be the wiser.' 
 
 "'Then' there was an oath here 'whj 
 shouldn't I do it?' 
 
 " ' You must decide that ; only, as I said, are 
 you sure it will pay to remember all the rest of 
 your life that you murdered a helpless man on his 
 journey, for the paltry sum in that bag?' 
 
 " He swore a big oath or two. * I'd rather have 
 done it in fair fight, but a fellow can't afford to be 
 squeamish where I am. I want your money.' 
 
 "'Well, if you must have it, and are cent on 
 shooting me, let me stand up, so that you can take 
 fair aim. You can't refuse that.' 
 
 " The trapper stared at me a moment, then his
 
 1CABGBRY KEITH. 39 
 
 huge features twisted into a grin, and he broke 
 into a loud guffaw. 
 
 'You have devillish good pluck,' he said, and 
 a new and better look came at last into the evil 
 eyes. I had struck some manhood at the bottom 
 of the trapper's soul. 
 
 '' ' I can't shoot a man who takes it like that ! 
 Will you shake hands over it ? ' and he actually 
 reached his big, hairy paw over to me, and the pis- 
 tol dropped on the floor, right under the flaring 
 inside light. 
 
 "Muscle was all on the man's side, nerve and 
 alertness on mine. In a flash I had whisked up 
 that revolver. You know how I can do those 
 things, Margery. Before he could wink I held it at 
 his head. " Now, my man,' I said, ' the tables are 
 turned, you see I' 
 
 " He turned ashen pale he - quivered through 
 bis big, hulking frame he begged for his life. 
 
 "'No need of that,' I said; 'I shall not be so 
 long deciding as you were ; I don't think it will 
 pay to shoot you ; and in proof of it I am going 
 to give you back this, 'returning him the revolver. 
 
 "After that, of course, I had my man. I had 
 secured his respect for what he called my pluck, 
 and I think I could have made that whole over- 
 land journey with him, and not so much as a hair 
 of my head been harmed.
 
 40 MARGERY KEITH. 
 
 "I reached, too, I believe, some softer place in 
 the rough, hardened soul before we parted in the 
 early dawn at the post-station. 
 
 " The trapper gave me bits of his history. He 
 was from Kentucky ; had had a year's bad luck on 
 the plains, gambling and drinking, and had lost 
 everything ; was going to the diggings to try and 
 repair his fortunes. At the last I gave him a 
 couple of hundred dollars, and said some things to 
 him which brought tears into his eyes. But I had 
 faint hopes for him. I had seen men shed bitter 
 tears before, and they had gone away, and after- 
 ward lied, stolen, murdered, perhaps taking with 
 them seven other spirits more wicked than the 
 first." 
 
 Wide-mouthed, oy en-eyed, breathless, the boy 
 and girl, lying on the grass under the wild cherry- 
 tree, had listened to uncle Jed's story ; at its dra- 
 matic climax a little cold shudder had gone over 
 each. 
 
 Margery spoke first, in an eager, breathless 
 way: 
 
 " Was that all you ever heard from him ? " 
 
 K No ; less than six months after, I received a let- 
 ter, written in a coarse, bungling hand, enclosing a 
 check for two hundred dollars, and telling me that 
 the writer had struck a lode in a claim among the 
 mountains, and was ' havin' luck.' It was from
 
 MARGERY KEITH. 41 
 
 the trapper I am speaking of, and who came so 
 near murdering me." 
 
 " O uncle Jed, then there was really some good 
 in him, after all." 
 
 " After all, Margery. I like to think we can say 
 as much as that of everybody whom God has 
 made." 
 
 " And you never heard anything more of him? ' 
 asked Ben. 
 
 " Not directly ; but I saw a man from the trap- 
 per's claim, less than two years after that night- 
 ride. He knew the great, hulking Kentuckian, who 
 drank and gambled and had his share in every 
 brawl and row as before, not without streaks of 
 good nature and careless generosity. He made a 
 good thing of the lode, and left the camp for South 
 America. What became of him afterward I never 
 learned." 
 
 " What a wonderful story I " said Margery, with 
 one of her long breaths, which alwayj denoted an 
 exclamation-point. "Uncle Jed, will you have 
 any objection to answering one more question ? " 
 
 "None, whatever, I presume." 
 
 "Just how much money did you have in the 
 canvas bag that night ? " 
 
 The man's gray eyes twinkled on the girl. 
 " Fifteen hundred dollars, just." 
 
 The words were hardly out of his mouth before
 
 42 MAEQBBY KEITH 
 
 there came a message that company was in the 
 house awaiting uncle Jed. 
 
 He went his way, and the boy and girl stayed 
 behind to gather up balls and mallets. In the 
 midst of the work Ben suddenly stood still. 
 
 " I tell you, Margery," he said enthusiastically, 
 " that was a specimen of grand pluck, lying there 
 perfectly still, and that fellow just ready to mur- 
 der him. Wasn't uucle Jed game ? " 
 
 " Wasn't he ? It made my hair stand on end 
 when he was talking, though. What started the 
 story, I wonder?" 
 
 " Why, don't you remember? It was that big 
 fellow that loafed down the lane here a while ago.'" 
 
 " So it was, Ben ; I had quite forgotten him 1 "
 
 MARGERY KEITH. 43 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 w I DON'T know as I was ever so furious in my life 
 quite " said Ben Maxwell, stumping into the small 
 library where Margery sat, cosily tucked up in her 
 uncle's great easy-chair, cushioned with green 
 rep. 
 
 The room was a cool little nest, opening out of 
 the drawing-room, and the pretty writing-cabinet, 
 and the book-shelves on one side, with that great 
 green dell of an easy-chair, fairly filled it up. It 
 was a nice place to dream in, Margery thought, 
 and the long window opened on the piazza, where 
 there was a wide, grassy lot, with golden butterflies 
 flashing about, and a hum of brown-belted bees, 
 and, beyond all, a delicious bit of sea view. 
 
 Ben Maxwell had been searching all over the 
 house for Margery. He burst in upon her now, 
 boy-fashion, his eyes aflash and his cheeks ablaze, 
 his voice, in a loud, angry key yet there was at 
 the bottom of him a sturdy honesty that made him 
 qualify his remark with that last adverb, and shade 
 it with a softer tone, as some old explosions of his
 
 44 MARGERY KEITH. 
 
 temper loomed up vaguely, the boy having one 
 swift and smiting as a flash. Margery looked up 
 from her book. The girl was actually deep in 
 dear old Robinson Crusoe 1 
 
 " What has happened, Ben ? " she asked, a good 
 deal startled. 
 
 The whole came out in a few hurried, energetic 
 sentences, little sparks of anger shooting all 
 through them, though Ben's first heat had a good 
 deal cooled by this time. 
 
 The upshot of the boy's story was this : He 
 had been down in the village that morning on some 
 errands, and returned with Sorrel, a slender, hand- 
 some colt which his father had given him a few 
 weeks before sailing, and which the boy probably 
 valued a little more than anything else that he 
 possessed. 
 
 Ben had lost the day before a pocket-knife 
 which he prized, and, having had a game of base 
 ball with some young friends who were stopping 
 at the hotel, suspected he might have dropped his 
 knife in the midst of the fun. 
 
 So he rode Sorrel through the lane, dropped 
 off her back under the wild-cherry tree, and 
 started to search on the scene of yesterday's ex- 
 ploits for his knife, the quest taking him to the 
 middle of the great lot in one corner of which 
 were the play-grounds.
 
 MARGERY KEITH. 45 
 
 After some time Ben's search was successful, 
 but when he returned to the tree, Sorrel was net 
 there I The boy could hardly believe his eyes. 
 The creature, with all her fire and swiftness, was 
 gentle and docile to her young master as an old 
 shepherd-dog. Ben had left her a great many 
 times as he had done this morning, quietly nib- 
 bling the clover-grass. Had she thrown her 
 slender-limbs in the air and darted away? Or 
 had some double-dyed rascal pounced upon his 
 beauty, as she was grazing under the cherry-tree, 
 and ridden off wit h her ? 
 
 The young master's heart throbbed with a kind 
 of sick terror as he questioned these possibilities, 
 and he was just starting for the house to raise a 
 hue-and-cry, when he caught the well-known sound 
 of the swift hoofs coming up the lane. Ben had 
 just presence of mind to drop down on the low, 
 rustic bench where uncle Jed had told, a few days 
 ago, the story of his night's stage-ride on the 
 plains. 
 
 To his unutterable amazement and rage, Sorrel's 
 master saw an under-sized, ragged, barefooted 
 boy astride the back of the animal. Horse and 
 rider dashed up to the tree. There was a flush of 
 scared excitement in the thin, sallow face of the 
 boy, and his eyes glittered, half with triumph, 
 half with fright, as he dropped to the ground, and
 
 46 MARGERY KEITH. 
 
 Sorrel, shaking her bright avalanche of mane 
 with some instinct that an indignity had been put 
 on her, returned to her sweet morsels of clover- 
 grass. 
 
 The boy who had stolen the ride was moving 
 rapidly away, when Ben, in the full blast of his 
 rage, sprang to his feet. 
 
 " You young rascal ! " he shouted, " I'd like 
 to know what business you have to meddle with 
 my horse," and he started after the boy, intent 
 on " administering a drubbing," to use the narrator's 
 own word, "which the small scamp would not 
 soon forget." 
 
 But the latter had the advantage of several 
 rods ; besides, Ben had to swing himself over the 
 lot bars ; still it was a race that summer day 
 in the dead heat and middle of it too down the 
 long grassy lane, a race which tried the wind of 
 both boys. If they had started even, no doubt 
 Ben would have won, and that ragged, barefooted 
 urchin would have paid in some stiff muscles foi 
 his stolen ride, which, at the best, could not have 
 exceeded twenty minutes. 
 
 Ben bore down with a steady swiftness on his 
 foe. The latter, small and wiry, seemed almost 
 to glide over the ground, and no doubt fear lent 
 some fresh energy to his movements. When he 
 reached the outer edge of woods, however, Ben
 
 MAEGEBT KEITH. 47 
 
 gave over the chase. He knew the boy could HID 
 like a deer to covert among the hollows and under- 
 brush. Sorrel's master did not feel any better 
 that he had been distanced in this chase, he who 
 was the best runner in his class. All this he told 
 to Margery as she sat in the green glade of a chair, 
 with the Robinson Crusoe open in her lap. 
 
 Her first remark had little laughters tinkling 
 like silver bells all through it. 
 
 " Oh, how funny it must been to see you at full 
 blast up the lane ! I just wish I had been there." 
 
 Ben hardly saw the joke. He took out his 
 handkerchief and wiped his flushed face. "If 
 that fellow hadn't had the advantage of me at the 
 start," he said, " he would have felt the effects of 
 my fists. Didn't I long to get them at him? He 
 may thank his stars and his little black bullets of 
 feet that he came off scot-free." 
 
 " O Ben, I doubt whether your wrath would 
 have been so terrible as you imagine," said the 
 girl. 
 
 " He wouldn't have doubted if I'd once got him 
 under me," said Ben, trying to look very valiant. 
 " The small scoundrel I " 
 
 "But was it such a frightful crime, after all, 
 Ben?" 
 
 " To coolly mount Sorrel and go off with her in 
 that sneaking way, Margery ? " Ben's tone showed ,
 
 48 MARGERY KEITH. 
 
 better than his words, his opinion of the flagranc) 
 of the act. 
 
 "Oh, I don't mean it was right or proper, Ben, 
 of course. But considering what this boy was, 
 and that probably he had never mounted a colt 
 before in his life, I can make some allowance for 
 him, can't you?" 
 
 Ben had not looked at the thing in this light 
 before. Any liberty taken with Sorrel touched his 
 pride and sense of possession to the quick. He 
 was a spoiled boy, arrogant, self-willed, and with 
 a temper, as I have told you, that flashed and 
 blazed like sparks among tinder. But for all 
 that, he had a sound, brave, generous heart. 
 
 " I don't know, Margery," doubtfully twisting his 
 handkerchief around his wrist. " If he had asked 
 me, like any honest boy, I might, perhaps, have 
 given him a bit of a ride." 
 
 " But he could not know, and the poor are not 
 apt to ask such favors." 
 
 " Well, they've no business to take them," per- 
 sisted Ben, stoutly. 
 
 " Of course not, and I'm sorry you had such a 
 dreadful scare, Ben." 
 
 " When I thought Sorrel was gone I shouldn't 
 like to live over those few minutes again, and it 
 was all that young scoundrel's doings."
 
 MARGERY KEITH. 49 
 
 "Well, Ben, try and forget it. Can't I help 
 you?" 
 
 " How ? Bead me a chapter of jolly old Rob. 
 I wonder if it has lost its ancient flavor? That 
 book tided me smoothly over the measles, Mar- 
 gery." 
 
 " I wonder what dear old Robinson Crusoe hasn't 
 tided small people over for the last century and a 
 half!" said Margery. "But I have something 
 which I think will be better just now than he." 
 
 She went to the window and opened it. It was 
 just a little surprise which she had been preparing 
 for him that morning. 
 
 On the corner of the piazza was a table spread 
 with the daintiest lunch : crisp rolls, and cold 
 chicken, and great golden raspberries, and a 
 pitcher of thick yellow cream. 
 
 How Ben's eyes did brighten I 
 
 "Why, Margery, what put this into youi 
 thoughts? A fellow can't find words to thank 
 you." 
 
 " I was sure you would like it. I planned it all 
 myself, to surprise you when you returned." 
 
 "What a good little fairy you are, Margery I " 
 
 " If I am, sit right down then in my bower and 
 eat. This is my throne, you know," taking hei 
 seat with a little royal air which quite became her. 
 
 So they sat there, in the noonday, in the cool, 
 4
 
 50 MARGERY KEITH. 
 
 deep piazza, and eat their feast. Nothing could 
 have been pleasanter. Outside in the wide, warm 
 stillness, the golden butterflies flashed, and the 
 brown-belted bee hummed in the soft grasses. 
 
 The winds were quite still, and only faint, dis- 
 tant voices came in from the sea. The boy and 
 girl waxed merry enough, and said all manner of 
 bright and witty things to each other, which, no 
 doubt, would lose some of their sparkle if I were to 
 write them down here. 
 
 Ben brought a boy's appetite to the feast, and 
 bolted crisp rolls and cold chicken, and saucers 
 of golden berries and sweet cream, "as though," 
 Margery told him, " he had been off on some sea- 
 lark and seen nothing better than salt-junk and 
 hard biscuit for a month ! " 
 
 Once, however, she looked up at him with an 
 amused glint in her bright eyes. " Ben," she said, 
 " haven't you almost forgiven him ? " 
 
 Ben's spoon was making bee-line passages from 
 the saucer to his mouth. His hand paused a 
 moment in its rapid journeys to and fro. K Him I 
 who?" 
 
 Margery's laugh lurked and quivered along her 
 syllables. 
 
 " The boy who stole that ride on Sorrel." 
 
 W O -h," said Ben, returning to his fruit, "I'd 
 forgotten. I do feel in a more complacent Irame
 
 MARGERY KEITH. 53 
 
 of mind towards the rascal than I did an hour ago, 
 putting down the lane after him." 
 
 " Don't you think now, if he stood right here, 
 Ben, you'd be prevailed on to give him a roll, and 
 a leg of that cold chicken ? " 
 
 "Likely enough, I should be just such a fool , 
 but the small ragamuffin 1 he should ask my 
 ft rgiveness first." 
 
 " Oh, dear I " said Margery, a moment later, 
 "I wish " 
 
 She broke right off there. She had not meant 
 to speak her thoughts. 
 
 "Let's have it, Margery, please," asked Ben, 
 who by this time had nearly satiated even his 
 palate. 
 
 " I was thinking how I wished every boy and 
 girl in this whole world could sit down to just 
 such a lunch as this I " 
 
 " Margery," said Ben, gravely this time, and it 
 might be a little curiously, " how is it you are 
 always thinking of poor people always feeling 
 sorry for them ? I don't know anybody else like 
 you." 
 
 A sudden change came over Margery's face. 
 Away down in her memory rose up the lonely 
 night, and the solitary cabin out on the Western 
 plains. The kerosene lamp flared over the sharp, 
 ghastly face propped up on the pillows, over which
 
 52 MARGERY KEITH. 
 
 she was leaning in breathless wonder and terror, 
 She saw, too, the great red log ablaze in the cor- 
 ner. She heard the swoop and roar of the storm 
 outside. It was a picture that lay far off in Mar- 
 gery's childhood, but it came up once in a great 
 while, and stood over against all the warmth and 
 brightness of the present. 
 
 Margery's lips quivered a little, then she koked 
 Ben Maxwell straight in the eyes, and answered, 
 " I suppose, Ben, I think of the poor a little 
 oftener, and pity them more, because 1 was once 
 one of them I n 
 
 Less than a week after that lunch on the piazza, 
 Margery rode down one afternoon to the depot to 
 meet her uncle and Ben, who had been to the city, 
 and were to return on the evening train. 
 
 She heard the short, sharp screech of the loco- 
 motive as she sprang out on the depot platform, 
 and then something brushed hurriedly up close to 
 her, and a thin, dirty hand reached out a limp 
 bouquet of faded wild-flowers. They might have 
 looked pretty in the dew and freshness of a sum- 
 mer morning, and had evidently been gathered 
 and assorted with care. There was a centre of 
 wild white asters, encircled with the tender purple 
 of wood-violets; there were feathery sprays of 
 fern, and the deep Termilion glitter of winter-
 
 MARGERY KEITH. 53 
 
 green-berries, a golden glow of buttercups and 
 silvery tassels of wild clematis. 
 
 " It's for you I " said a hurried, excited voice, 
 rather under its breath; 
 
 Margery turned in amazement and confronted 
 the boy whose foot she had bound up a fortnight 
 ago, coarse, dirty, ragged still, but with a pleased 
 light in his eyes instead of the sullen gloom she 
 remembered. 
 
 She understood in a moment. " Oh, thank you 
 for the flowers. I shall keep them to remember 
 you." She could not have said it with a sweeter 
 grace, had the giver been the most accomplished 
 of carpet-knights, or the flowers the choicest that 
 ever blossomed in some carefully tended conserv- 
 atory. 
 
 " Has your foot got quite well ? " 
 
 "Oh, yes'm, that's all right ever so long ago I" 
 
 w Did you really gather these flowers for me ? '' 
 
 "Yes'm. In the woods over there," with a dip 
 of his rough little head toward the west. 
 
 " I've had 'em all day. I thought you might be 
 round here to-night." 
 
 " And how I want to know your name ? " said 
 Margery, in that straightforward fashion of hers. 
 
 " Dick Crombly ! " 
 
 Just then the train came hissing and thunder- 
 ing into the depot. In a moment uncle Jed and
 
 54 MARGERY KEITH. 
 
 Ben were out on the depot platform. They came 
 toward her. As soon as the boy caught sight of 
 Ben, he gave a little start, turned square about, 
 took to his heels and was gone. Margery had 
 not even seen him disappear. She was greatly 
 vexed when she looked around, for she had sev- 
 eral things to say to the giver of that withered 
 bouquet in her hand. 
 
 There were cordial greetings from all parties, 
 and then Ben Maxwell exclaimed, " Margery, did 
 that boy have anything to say to you ? " 
 
 "What boy, Ben?" 
 
 "Why, the one who stood so close to you, and 
 took to his heels when I came in sight. I knew 
 the small rascal. He's the very fellow who stole 
 Sorrel, the other day." 
 
 "Come, young people, bundle in," cried the 
 voice of uncle Jed, for Margery was standing 
 there on the platform quite dazed. 
 
 On the way home, though, the girl had the talk- 
 ing most to herself; the man or the boy I forget 
 which had playfully asked her, "Where she 
 came across that ancient bouquet? " 
 
 Then Margery had told him the story of Dick 
 Crombly, and after that Ben Maxwell never spoke 
 of him again, as "the rascal who had stolen 
 
 Sorrel."
 
 MABGBRY KEITH. 55 
 
 CHAPTEB V. 
 
 "DlCKl" 
 
 "Well, Jake?" 
 
 " I've got a chance for a haul ! " 
 
 The last speaker twirled his little, greasy round 
 cap with his thumb and forefinger as he spoke. 
 There was a greedy gleam in his eyes and a hard 
 set of the under jaw, though that was half covered 
 by a bushy, reddish beard, and the face was the 
 one of which uncle Jed, watching it that day as it 
 went up the lane, had said : " I should not like to 
 trust it." 
 
 The two sat or lounged at the foot of a great 
 rock-maple in the very piece of woods where the 
 boy had disappeared that day after his ride on 
 Sorrel, and thus escaped the severe drubbing which 
 the irate owner was prepared y <5 inflict on him. 
 
 It was the stillest of summer afternoons, the 
 blue above all hidden away in low, silvery clouds, 
 no sound in the air but a low hum of insects. 
 
 Of all this, however, the two boy and young 
 man sitting under the big birch-tree were quite
 
 56 MARGERY KEITH. 
 
 unconscious. They were second or third cousins , 
 they had always known each other, and there was 
 a tie of kindred between them, the stronger per- 
 haps, because neither had any other relative in the 
 world. 
 
 Jake Barton had always assumed a kind of elder 
 brother authority over Dick Crombly; whether 
 there was any real feeling for the boy at bottom, I 
 am unable to say. Very bad natures have some- 
 times a tender streak of human affection. Perhaps 
 this existed in Jake Barton's soul, and he was so 
 very bad that I do not want to give him a prominent 
 place in my story ; but he has his part to act there, 
 just as very bad people do act their part in this 
 beautiful world where you and I are living to-day. 
 
 Jake Barton was what they c:ill in New York a 
 "water thief;" he haunted the docks, the piers, 
 and wharves, and watched his chances to pilfer 
 from barges, ships, boats, lighters that lie along 
 the great river front of the city. 
 
 In such a life all the evil propensities of Jake 
 Barton were sure to develop rapidly. The loose 
 habits, the daily dishonesty, the vile associations 
 had already turned out a scoundrel by the time he 
 was eighteen. He was shrewd and cunning though ; 
 he always managed to elude the harbor police, and 
 never yet had been arrested, although some crown-
 
 MARGERY KEITH. 57 
 
 ing villany would be certain to lodge him, sooner 
 or later, within the walls of a prison. 
 
 The picture, dear boys and girls, is a dark one. 
 I want to lighten it a little for Jake, if I can. So 
 much may be said for him, he had not had father 
 or mother, or home for years ; he had been turned 
 out in his early boyhood on the world ; he had 
 had a long fight there : hunger and cold and misery 
 had soured, hardened him ; and here he was, facing 
 his twentieth birthday, and ripe for almost any 
 villany. 
 
 He had turned up at Long Branch, partly out 
 of a vagrant, roving habit, which never let him stay 
 long in one place, and partly because he knew Dick 
 was there ; the boy having fallen in, in New York, 
 with a company of English tramps, who lived in the 
 woods summers, sang songs, told fortunes, wove 
 baskets ; while the wild, idle life had a wonderful 
 attraction to a boy who was tired of the dusty 
 streets and the stifling brick walls ; and who had 
 nothing better than a bit of garret corner to sleep 
 In at night, and who kept soul and body together 
 by selling papers, running errands, blacking boots, 
 and sometimes lending a hand to some of Jake's 
 enterprises on the dock. 
 
 For this Jake was the younger boy's evil genius. 
 Dick admired his cousin in a way, and was a little 
 afraid of him. If there was any good in the boy,
 
 58 MABOEBT KEITH. 
 
 it certainly had little chance of development, and 
 there was every reason to suppose that Jake would 
 lend his cousin to the devil. 
 
 The people in the "gypsy camp," as the cabin 
 in the clearing was called, drank more or less, 
 swore, gambled and quarrelled; but they were 
 never cruel to Dick ; he was welcome to a corner 
 and a crust, on condition that he threw in any 
 chance scrip he happened to pick up into the gen- 
 eral fund ; and the cool, fresh air, and the wide 
 green woods were better for the boy's body and 
 soul than the hot, stifling streets, and the coarse, 
 vile companions whom he had left behind. 
 
 Dick's light eyes glittered with curiosity at 
 Jake's remark. He knew the other was " hard up " 
 just now, and that the tramps scarcely relished 
 the addition of this fresh, stalwart consumer to 
 their circle, though Jake could tell his coarse 
 stories, and drink his vile drink with any of them. 
 
 " Tell me all about it, Jake," said the boy, hitch- 
 ing a little nearer his companion. 
 
 Jake's voice lowered itself; he ceased to twirl 
 his greasy brown cap round his thumb and finger. 
 "Up the lane, yonder," he said, "there's a big lot 
 that lies at the back of a grand gentleman's 
 grounds. I've been lookin' round there of late, 
 with an eye to business." There was a hard gleam
 
 MARGERY KEITH. 59 
 
 in his eyes, and the big under jaw worked in an 
 ugly way, as he said these last words. 
 
 "What kind of business?" Dick's yoice had 
 dropped almost to a whisper. 
 
 Jake's dropped too ; he leaned forward until his 
 breath came hot on Dick's ear, as he said, " There's 
 a boy and a girl plays croquet every afternoon in 
 a corner of that lot ; once in a while a gentleman 
 comes out and takes part, but the chance is, any 
 day, the two will be there alone. There's a big 
 cherry-tree outside the lot, and a fellow might hide 
 behind the big trunk and watch 'em for hours, as 
 I did t'other day." 
 
 "You did, Jake? What for?" Dick's dirty 
 fingers were fumbling among the spires of grass. 
 
 Jake set his big jaws together. The evil look 
 grew and grew in his face. ".There's things on 
 that boy and girl worth makin' a grab for," he 
 said. " The boy has a watch and chain that must 
 have cost a pretty pile, and the girl has a ring and 
 a brooch and a gold necklace. The whole would 
 make a bright little heap, for a single haul." 
 
 "And you mean to try for it, Jake?" 
 
 He was not more than eleven years old, and yet 
 the boy asked that question with no horror in his 
 face or voice, only with a kind of blank amaze- 
 ment at Jake's cool daring. 
 
 w That's it precisely. I've taken a fancy to them
 
 60 MiHGEBY KEITH. 
 
 gimcracks on that boy and girl. My fingers have 
 got the itch for them," and he lifted his big freckled 
 hands up to Dick's face with a hard, cruel laugh. 
 
 Dick laughed too in a weaker way ; but it was 
 not a pleasant laugh to hear and it twisted his thin , 
 sullen face into a most disagreeable expression. 
 
 "Jake, you're a cool un I " he said. 
 
 The elder took no notice of this compliment. 
 He went on to develop his plan. " It's a lonely 
 place, a long ways from the house, and a scream 
 or two wouldn't be heard any great distance. Of 
 course we'd have to hurry business. A single 
 well-aimed blow would take all the airs out of my 
 fine gentleman and lay him dead as a log on the 
 ground. The girl could be easily managed ; we 
 might gag her, or, if that didn't work, have a bot- 
 tle of chloroform handy. One could ease them of 
 their trinkets in a trice, and clear out on the next 
 tram. The whole thing would require a little 
 nerve, and for all it has a kind of dare-devil look, 
 there wouldn't be much risk about it. I've got 
 friends enough round the docks to give me a 
 helpin' hand, if I could only once get to them with 
 my prize. It's only a stroke o' business a little 
 out o' my usual line that's all." 
 
 " You wouldn't want to do the job on anybody 
 forever, you know, Jake?" said Dick, still work- 
 ing with those thin, dirty fingers among the grass
 
 MARGERY KEITH. 61 
 
 M Oh, no danger of any killin'. I'll look out for 
 that. All it wants is a little nerve. A fellow 
 can't do any smart work in this world without 
 some pluck." 
 
 " The boy'd be a tough un to manage. You'd 
 have to look out sharp for him." There was a 
 flash in Dick's eyes, and a hard set of his thin lips 
 as he said these words. He was thinking of the 
 stolen ride on Sorrel, and the hot chase through 
 the lane. He had had a grudge against Ben Max- 
 well since that time, and the prospect of seeing 
 him brought to grief was like a sweet morsel of 
 revenge to his soul. 
 
 Dick, however, had a grudge against all rich 
 boys ; thought their fine clothes and jaunty airs 
 an insolent defiance to his own poverty and misery. 
 He could not have put it in any such words, of 
 course ; but he nevertheless had a feeling that theii 
 very existence was a grievance and an insult to 
 him and his class. 
 
 There was a gleam to make one fairly shudder 
 in Jake's eyes. " I'll fix my young man," he said ; 
 " take all the nonsense out of him double quick. 
 As for the girl, she won't be more than a good- 
 sized pullet to manage ; " with a little coarse sniff 
 of contempt. 
 
 This time the dirty fingers ceased their fumbling
 
 62 MAJtGKRY KEITH. 
 
 in the grasses. w But what if she should get an 
 awful scare go into fits you know ? " 
 
 There was a short sound, between a laugh and a 
 snort. " That's her look out. Can't give up such 
 a likely stroke o' business for a girl's fits. I tell 
 you I'm hard up, and business has been mighty 
 dull all along shore this summer." 
 
 Jake evidently felt that this fact disposed of all 
 objections. Dick stood in too much fear of his 
 cousin to think of raising any. Indeed, there was 
 something in this whole vile project which ap- 
 pealed to the worst side of the boy ; and while 
 he drew his breath over the bold villany of Jake's 
 purpose, he admired him a little more than ever. 
 
 " When shall you try it on, Jake?" 
 
 " First chance I have ; I'm getting tired o' 
 loafing round here. To-morrow, by two o'clock, I 
 intend to be on watch behind the cherry-tree. If 
 nothin's in the way I shall do up business. If 
 things look squally it can wait until next time. I 
 shall want you round, my man." 
 
 These last words were added in a tone whicn 
 implied that the elder was doing the younger a 
 great favor. 
 
 " What's my part to be, Jake ? " trying to look 
 very cool as he asked this question, but hardly 
 succeeding. 
 
 w There's a little holler place in the pastur' ou
 
 MAROEBY KEITH. 63 
 
 the other side of the lane where I want to depend 
 on your bein' after two o'clock. When I whistle 
 for you, up and over the ground in a flash. The 
 heft o' the business will ha' been done by that 
 time ; but you can relieve the boy of some of his 
 extra freight. We shall be in a hurry, and want 
 to make swift tracks after the job's over." 
 
 The insects hummed on in the summer stillness 
 sometimes a bird's song wavered and shut down 
 its sweetness among the leaves ; the gray velvety 
 clouds hung low in the sky, while this talk went 
 on between the two lying under the rock-maple. 
 They got up at last and went their way. The 
 plan had been most skilfully laid, Dick's share in it 
 appointed, and he had promised Jake to be on 
 hand in time, and there seemed every prospect 
 that the infamous plot would succeed. 
 
 One slender possibility alone might prostrate 
 the whole. If the heart or the conscience of the 
 boy, whose foot Margery had bound so tenderly 
 that day, should wake up and come to her rescue 
 but after all there seemed little hope of this. 
 There was his old fear of Jake, and, at bottom, 
 no doubt, some nerve of tenderness for the rela- 
 tive so ripe in villany ; there were all the old 
 habit* ana associations of Dick's life, and there, 
 too, was the grudge agaiwt Ben Maxwell.
 
 64 MARGERY KEITH. 
 
 It seemed altogether probable that he would 
 follow his cousin's beck meekly wherever it led. 
 
 That night, however, the boy could not sleep. 
 He lay awake on his straw pallet in a corner of the 
 gypsy-camp, and his thoughts came and went in a 
 confused, troublesome fashion. The talk that 
 afternoon with Jake came up terribly distinct in 
 the darkness and stillness, except when the latter 
 was broken by the heavy sound of snorers in the 
 next room ; the old blackened cabin, half fallen to 
 ruin, containing but four rooms for its large 
 brood. 
 
 Dick tumbled from one side to the other, and 
 tried to go to sleep, and wondered if he was going 
 to be sick, and all the while the face of the little 
 girl who had bound up his foot that day when the 
 cruel wheel had grazed it was standing before the 
 boy ; he felt the soft, cool touch of the dainty fin- 
 gers about his ankle ; he saw the young head, with 
 its shower of glossy hair, and the sweet face, with 
 the shocked pity in the dark eyes, and heard the 
 girlish voice, as it said so eagerly, " I can do some- 
 thing to help you ; I'm sure I can." 
 
 In and out of all Jake's talk, as Dick remem- 
 bered it, the face kept floating and shining, the 
 words kept echoing, and it seemed as- though, 
 sometimes, they hurt the boy like a sudden pain. 
 He thought, too, of the terror and the evil that
 
 MABGERT KEITH. <>5 
 
 was coming to that face the sweetest and kind- 
 est he had ever seen in his life. He wished he 
 could tell Jake ; but that wish was dismissed in a 
 moment the big fellow would only laugh at and 
 bully him. 
 
 The boy sat up in bed at last, and worked at his 
 big toe, just as his fingers had worked among the 
 spires of grass that afternoon while Jake was 
 talking. He saw the moonlight shining in at the 
 small cabin-window, and still his thoughts worked 
 and worked, and it seems to me there were good 
 spirits, watching eagerly what the end should be, 
 in the corner of that lonely cabin. 
 
 At last, because he could not bear the stillness, 
 tne boy rolled off on the floor, slipped on his rag- 
 ged jacket, and went out. The moon was up now, 
 and so were the stars, and they looked down in 
 their still, solemn beauty on the troubled face of 
 the boy, as he gazed up at them. 
 
 "I wish I could do something," he kept mutter- 
 ing to himself, as he wandered about in the night. 
 "I don't want any trouble to come to that girl. 
 I don't, I say. If it was only the boy I wouldn't 
 care no sir'ee. But the girl I wish I could 
 do something about her." 
 
 The boy wandered in and out among the shadows 
 of the trees, in and out of the moonlight, until 
 there was a little cold streak of dawn in the east. 
 I
 
 66 MARGERY KEITH. 
 
 When he came back to the cabin, cold and tired, 
 and flung himself down in the corner, Dick Crom- 
 bly had made up his mind ! 
 
 " See here now." 
 
 Margery Keith was just about to spring into 
 the carriage when she heard an eager voice close 
 to her ear, and, turning, she confronted the boy, 
 ragged and soiled, who had given her the faded 
 bouquet two or three nights before. 
 
 She had not a minute to spare ; she was expect- 
 ing to meet some friends at the depot, and it was 
 almost time for the train ; but she did pause a 
 breath to ask kindly, "What is it?" 
 
 The boy seemed greatly agitated. He drew his 
 face down close to hers. His eyes fairly glittered 
 with some strange excitement. "I came to tell 
 you," he said, in a thick, rapid way, " not to go 
 down to-day or to-morrow and play croquet by the 
 lane, as you always do. Jest keep away from 
 there." 
 
 "What for?" inquired Margery, too much 
 amazed to ask anything further. 
 
 " Cos ! I can't tell you I " looking all about him 
 in a scared way. " Nobody must know I've been 
 here only you. Keep clear of the place. It will 
 be good for you." 
 
 " Train will be in, Migg Margery," shouted the
 
 MABGEBT KEITH. 67 
 
 driver, who imagined some beggar was imposing 
 on his young mistress with a miserable lie. 
 
 Margery sprang into the carriage, calling back 
 her thanks to the boy, and yet not knowing what 
 to think of it all, and half inclined to believe he 
 had gone mad. 
 
 As the carriage swept off Dick turned and 
 walked rapidly away, throwing scared glances 
 around him, as though he was afraid he would be 
 seen. 
 
 At the side-gate, however, he came suddenly 
 upon Ben Maxwell, who was passing out in hot 
 haste to join some companions for a " lark on the 
 beach." 
 
 Ben recognized the boy who had ridden Sorrel 
 so audaciously; but since the little scene at the 
 depot, and Margery's story on top of that, his feel- 
 ing toward Dick had undergone a great change. 
 
 There was a lovable, generous side to Ben 
 with all his faults. He stopped a moment, despite 
 his haste, and gave the boy a good-natured rap on 
 the shoulders. "You won the race, didn't you?" 
 he said. " Next time you want a trot on my horse, 
 don't take it in that way, but come and ask me 
 squarely, and you shall have it. Can't stop to say 
 more now," and he rushed away. 
 
 Dick stood still a moment at the gate, like one 
 thunderstruck ; then he hurried off to the woods
 
 68 MARGERY KEITH. 
 
 again, looking back every little while in a soared 
 way, as though he feared to see somebody behind 
 him, and so he did, the big, burly figure of his 
 cousin Jake. 
 
 The boy reached the woods at last. He 
 trembled like a leaf when he sank down in the 
 damp shade. He was pale through his tan. "I'm 
 glad I did it I'm glad ! " he kept muttering to 
 himself. "I hope it'll save the boy, too, I do. 
 How kind he was just now so different from 
 what I thought ! If Jake knew, he'd say I'd 
 turned traitor; I aint that, though. I give the 
 girl warning, and I'm glad of it." 
 
 Suddenly he burst into tears. The excitement 
 had overstrained his nerves. He buried his face 
 in the wet grass, and cried ; and some hardness and 
 bitterness, wept out of the heart of Dick Crombly 
 at that tune, never got back there again.
 
 MARGEKY KEITH. 69 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 " OH, I forgot," said Margery, with a kind of 
 start, " the funniest thing that happened yester- 
 day ! " 
 
 She was in the library, she and uncle Jed and 
 Ben Maxwell. It was just after breakfast. The 
 guests of the day before had left in order to reach 
 the forenoon boat. The boy and girl had been 
 having the merriest kind of time, going over with 
 all the funny scenes which have happened in the 
 last few hours ; and uncle Jed had read his letters, 
 and listened to the bright, absurd talk, and thrown 
 in occasionally a sentence of his own which had a 
 flash like a rapier ; and he had just threatened to 
 turn his "unmanageable brace of bipeds " out on 
 the portico so that he could answer his letters in 
 peace, when Margery spoke, as I said, with a 
 start. 
 
 "What was it?" asked Ben Maxwell, always 
 on the alert for something new, and Margery's 
 tone had a little sound of mystery in it. 
 
 She commenced her story with, " It was just as
 
 70 MABGEBY KEITH. 
 
 I was jumping into the carriage in breathless haste 
 to get to the depot, you know," and she went on 
 describing, in her rapid, vivid way, the singular 
 little scene which had occurred at that precise 
 moment, and the boy listened, and so did the man, 
 too, gathering up his letters and papers on the 
 library table. 
 
 "It's funny the way that fellow turns up," 
 said Ben Maxwell. "I came on him I remem- 
 ber it now at the back gate, just as I was rushing 
 sharp down to the beach. I stopped and spoke 
 to him, though, remembering that little scene 
 with you, Margery, at the depot, and I believe I 
 was actually so magnanimous as to tell him he 
 should have a ride on Sorrel 1 " 
 
 " You were 1 " said Margery, those big nut- 
 brown eyes of hers opening with surprise. 
 
 w I was ! Provided he'd come and ask me for 
 it like a Christian, instead of taking it like a Bed- 
 ouin. But I wonder what sort of a maggot has 
 got into the fellow's brain ? We'll be sure to go 
 down to croquet this afternoon. So if there's any 
 fun we shan't lose it." 
 
 "Yes, we will go," assented Margery, in the 
 eager, thoughtless way of her twelve years. 
 
 " You say, Margery, the boy's manner struck 
 you as very singular that he seemed scared ? " 
 asked uncle Jed.
 
 MARGERY KEITH. 71 
 
 This was the first time he had spoken, though 
 he had listened to every word of Margery's story. 
 
 "Oh, yes, he was certainly scared shaking all 
 over, indeed, with excitement. He was pale, too, 
 between his freckles, and under his tan, and he 
 kept staring all around him while he was speaking, 
 as though he was afraid somebody was at hand 
 ready to pounce on him and carry him off : One 
 of the old women, perhaps, who ride on broom- 
 sticks through the air ! " with a flash of her native 
 fun. " There was no doubt the fellow was thor- 
 oughly in earnest, and had had an awful scare of 
 some sort." 
 
 "There's fun behind, I'll bet high," said Ben 
 Maxwell, lounging about the small room. 
 
 " What if there should be something else, my 
 boy?" inquired uncle Jed. 
 
 It was singular enough that while Margery had 
 been talking, the face which uncle Jed had seen 
 going that day up the lane, and whose hard coarse- 
 ness, with the bold, bad eyes, had struck him 
 suddenly, rose up in the man's thoughts. He 
 could not connect it with any of their late talk, 
 yet it was the same face, with the same evil stare, 
 uncle Jed had seen as it went up the lane that 
 summer day. 
 
 "What else do you mean, uncle Jed?" asked 
 Margery, before Ben could reply.
 
 72 MAEGEEY KBITS. 
 
 w I mean that I a little prefer you and Ben should 
 not go down alone to play croquet this after- 
 noon." 
 
 " Of course not, sir, if you think there is any 
 danger," answered Ben, trying to keep down a 
 lurking scorn in his voice. "But that boy I Why, 
 I could lay a dozen of his size flat, if they were to 
 attempt to set on me." 
 
 " Probably the boy knows that as well as you do, 
 Ben, and had, I imagine, no thought of attacking 
 you. But it seems he did suspect that danger 
 threatened somebody, and was at a good deal of 
 trouble, perhaps risk to himself, to give this warn- 
 ing." 
 
 " But in broad daylight, with people all around, 
 sir I Why, the fellow must be a fool or an idiot ;" 
 with the scorn growing more positive in his 
 tones. 
 
 Uncle Jed was silent a few moments before 
 speaking. He was not at all sure that Ben was 
 not right. Any suspicion of impending mischief 
 might have had its sole origin in the boy's weak or 
 half-crazed brain ; yet it was certain some con- 
 viction of danger that threatened Margery had 
 existed there, and had prompted the warning to 
 the girl. 
 
 Now uncle Jed had had to read men and motives 
 keenly and promptly in his life on the frontiers,
 
 MARGERY KEITH. 73 
 
 and he had often proved in his own experience the 
 truth of the limping old couplet 
 
 " And we all know security 
 Is mortal's direst enemy." 
 
 The possibility of any danger lying in wait for 
 the boy and girl down there on the croquet ground, 
 in broad daylight, too, did seem at the first glance 
 purely absurd ; but, on second thought, uncle Jed 
 saw that this locality was remote from the house ; 
 that a cry there for help, in case of need, would 
 not be likely to reach anybody, while the lane 
 would afford every chance of escape to one bent 
 on mischief. 
 
 Still he did not like to excite the children's 
 imaginations, and it was probable the whole thing 
 was moonshine. So he spoke: "I won't spoil 
 your croquet this afternoon, but I want you to 
 promise me you will not go down to the lane with 
 out taking me along. If there's any sport brew 
 ing, or any mischief on hand, I want to have a 
 share in it ; besides, I wish to have another look at 
 Margery's queer protege if he is prowling around.'' 
 
 Uncle Jed spoke lightly. If his tone covered 
 any apprehension, the children could not discover 
 it that morning. 
 
 Of course, they promised, gladly enough, and 
 he could trust them absolutely. 
 
 They were briskly ordered to take themselves
 
 74 MARGERY KEITH. 
 
 out of his room, if they did not wish to find them- 
 selves hustled off without ceremony, and they 
 bounded out on the portico in high glee, and uncle 
 Jed was soon buried in his letters. 
 
 w Uncle Jed, it's croquet time I " About three 
 o'clock Margery's voice rippled into the library, 
 where uncle Jed had just settled himself to an 
 essay by one of his favorite authors. 
 
 The pearl leaf-cutter was still in his hand ; he 
 had just glanced at the opening paragraph, when 
 the girl's voice struck into his reading. The sum- 
 mons was quite out of harmony with his mood. 
 He had forgotten his engagement, and was more 
 than half inclined to let the young people go down 
 and have their game together, " despite that ragged 
 little rascal's warning." For a moment it seemed 
 quite too absurd for a sensible man to sacrifice his 
 ease to it. Perhaps the after-thought that he 
 could carry his book down to the cherry-tree and 
 have his reading out there, and be on hand in case 
 anything should happen " a most unlikely suppo- 
 sition" was what settled the matter. 
 
 Going out with the boy and girl, they foun^ 
 Watch, the huge, black mastiff, sunning himself 
 on the door-step. " Come along, sir," uncle Jed 
 said, pulling the big creature's ears, and he thought,
 
 MARGERY KEITH. 75 
 
 " In case of need, Watch will be a host in himself; " 
 but the bright, still, summer afternoon seemed to 
 mock any possibility of danger. 
 
 About two-thirds of the distance from the house 
 to the lane was a cluster of hardy evergreens. 
 This had been ingeniously trained into a kind of 
 thicket, which made a cool, delicious shade, in 
 which somebody had recently placed a bit of rus- 
 tic bench. 
 
 The sight caught uncle Jed's eye. M I'll stop 
 here," he said, " and have my article out. Then, 
 if there's tune, I'll come over and help you young- 
 sters with your croquet. Here, Watch, old fellow, 
 if you've instinct enough to know where you are 
 wanted, you will stay with me." 
 
 "Good luck to you and your book, uncle Jed,' 
 laughed Margery. " If my mysterious ragamuffin 
 turns up, I shall send for you." 
 
 " That's right ; and whatever turns up, Margery, 
 don't be frightened, child. Give one big war- 
 whoop for me, and Watch and I will be at your side 
 in a twinkling." 
 
 He said this mostly in jest, and the two went 
 down in the soft afternoon sunshine to their cro- 
 quet; and uncle Jed settled himself among the 
 cool shadows to his book, and Watch stretched his 
 huge bulk at the man's feet and snapped lazily at 
 the flies.
 
 76 MARGERY KEITH. 
 
 It came in an instant that shriek of wild 
 panic-terror, through the still afternoon. Uncle 
 Jed, buried for the last half hour in his essay, 
 sprang to his feet like a man suddenly shot, for he 
 knew the shriek was Margery's, and that, in some 
 shape, the evil against which she had been warned 
 had come upon her. 
 
 " To the rescue, Watch I " shouted the man, as 
 he bent himself for the breathless race to the cro- 
 quet-ground. 
 
 An instant or two brought the spot full in sight, 
 but what a scene it was which met uncle Jed's 
 eyes 1 Ben Maxwell lay stretched upon the ground 
 like one suddenly struck dead, and a little way off, 
 a big, brawny-limped fellow had seized Margery's 
 arm, and made a dive at the chain around her 
 neck. The poor girl, well-nigh paralyzed with 
 terror, was making weak efforts to tear herself 
 away. At the sight, Watch gave a howl of rage. 
 Then the ruffian turned, and uncle Jed saw the 
 face ; but before he had seen the man, he knew the 
 face was the one he had watched going, hard and 
 evil, up the lane. 
 
 Jake Barton saw in a twinkling that the game 
 was up that his evil plot had miscarried. His 
 desperation was wonderful. With an oath he 
 shoved Margery aside so fiercely that she dropped 
 on the ground, while he took to his heels.
 
 MAEGEEY KEITH. 77 
 
 He leaped the bars, and tore along the lane, and 
 a small figure which had been standing near him 
 darted after, while Watch followed in hot pursuit. 
 The mastiff soon overtook the smaller figure, 
 which could not keep pace with the larger one : 
 and this was all that saved Jake Barton ; for after 
 the creature had thrown the boy on the ground, 
 and worried him a little, snapping at him savagely 
 with his huge jaws, he started in pursuit of the 
 other, seeming to comprehend that the larger man 
 was the real villain. 
 
 But the brief respite had saved him. Despite 
 his large frame he could run like a deer, and ter- 
 ror on this occasion lent speed to his wings. By 
 the time Watch bent once more to the race the 
 man was out of sight. He had darted into the 
 woods, and had his own coverts there. 
 
 But before this uncle Jed was in the croquet- 
 grounds. His first thought was for Margery. 
 
 " O uncle Jed I " That was all the white, 
 quivering lips could say, as she fell against him. 
 He took the trembling figure in his arms, as though 
 it had been a baby's. "My poor, scared little 
 girl 1 " he said, in his steady, soothing voice. 
 " There 1 there 1 " as she quivered and gasped. 
 " Don't be frightened, dear ; it's all over now ; and 
 the villain can't harm you. I've come as I 
 promised. Be a woman, my little Margery."
 
 78 MAEGBEY KEITH. 
 
 She clung to him with convulsive clutches, but 
 her first question was not for herself, it was for 
 Ben. " Has he killed him, do you think ? " 
 
 "Oh, no. Probably only stunned him a mo- 
 ment, and if you can be calm, Margery, we will go 
 to him at once." 
 
 She loosened her grasp then with a shudder ; 
 but the best thing he could do was to draw her 
 out of herself. 
 
 He led her over to Ben Maxwell. The boy had 
 a long bruise on one side of his forehead, where 
 the blow had fallen. When Margery saw that 
 she gave a little suppressed cry. Uncle Jed 
 lifted the boy's head and found it was as he sus- 
 pected, Ben was only stunned. 
 
 " If I had a little water to dash in his face I 
 think he would revive at once," said uncle Jed. 
 
 Margery caught the hint. There was a little 
 cool stream among the grass close to the bars. 
 She looked about her for some vessel In which to 
 bring the water, and found it in an old tin can 
 which somebody had left under the cherry-tree. 
 
 "There, Watch, don't worry the boy, but keep 
 guard and bring him here," shouted uncle .led to 
 Watch, who had returned to Dick Crombly, and 
 was showing his teeth and growling savagely at 
 the boy lying on the ground, not daring to stir,
 
 MABGHBY KEITH. 79 
 
 knowing that at the first movement the dog would 
 spring on and tear him. 
 
 But Watch understood his master ; he dropped 
 off a little way when uncle Jed shouted to the 
 boy to get up and come to him, assuring Dick 
 that so long as he made no attempt to run away 
 the dog should not harm him. 
 
 So he had at last taken courage and got on his feet, 
 and was making slow approaches toward uncle 
 Jed, with Watch following close and suspicious at 
 the bare heels. 
 
 Margery meanwhile was trying to fill the tin 
 vessel with water, her hand shaking so that the 
 task proved a long and difficult one ; but it was 
 at last accomplished, and she returned to uncle 
 Jed. 
 
 With the dash of cold water about his temples 
 Ben Maxwell revived. It took him some time to 
 comprehend where he was, or what had happened, 
 but at last he was able to stand on iis feet, and 
 then uncle Jed gave him one arm and Margery 
 the other, and, ordering Dick Crombly and Watch 
 to follow, they all proceeded toward the house. 
 
 Through the pleasant sunshine and the soft 
 afternoon air they went, as an hour before they 
 had gone to the croquet-ground ; but now there 
 were no bright laughters, and young, merry voices 
 rippling along the golden stillness only a white,
 
 80 MARGERY KEITH. 
 
 faint boy and girl leaning on uncle Jed, and a boy 
 following behind with a scared, guilty face, and 
 the big dog snuffing at his heels and ready to 
 spring on him if he yeered an inch from the 
 straight path. 
 
 " Oh, thank God 1 " said uncle Jed once, speak- 
 ing out loud ; he had not meant to. 
 
 "For what?" asked Margery, drawing closer to 
 him. 
 
 " That I was there at that moment," remember- 
 ing how near he had come to staying behind in 
 the library. 
 
 " Oh, yes, thank God 1 " said Margery, with pale, 
 quivering lips, while poor Ben was still too weak 
 and bewildered to say anything. 
 
 Once in the house, however, uncle Jed did his 
 work well ; calming and soothing the strained, 
 excited children, who, as soon as their tongues 
 were loose, went over and over with the short, 
 dreadful scene. Ben refused to lie down ; but 
 uncle Jed soon discovered there was no reason for 
 serious fears on his behalf. A cordial and an 
 easy-chair soon brought the boy back to his old 
 self. 
 
 There was very little to tell, however. The 
 ruffian had rushed from behind the cherry-tree and 
 vaulted over the bars and dealt Ben the blow that 
 stunned him, in a flash. Margery's shriek had rung
 
 MARQEKt KEITH. 81 
 
 out before the man had seized her. The struggle 
 and the dive at her chain had hardly commenced 
 befove uncle Jed was in sight, and Watch's bark 
 had ended the tragedy. 
 
 As soon as it was quite safe to leave the boy and 
 girl alone, who, shocked with the fright they had 
 undergone, clung to him desperately, uncle Jed 
 went out on the porch, where Dick Crombly sat 
 ruefully enough, guarded by the mastiff, and not 
 daring to stir. 
 
 His connection with the villanous plot was 
 apparent enough now to all concerned, and its 
 failure at the last moment was owing to the warn- 
 ing he had given Margery. 
 
 The poor boy was half paralyzed with his terror 
 of these people and of his cousin Jake, and had 
 not the faintest suspicion he had given occasion for 
 gratitude to anybody. 
 
 The look of imploring anguish in the small, 
 homely face touched uncle Jed when he approached 
 the boy. He spoke to him very kindly; he 
 soothed his fears ; he took Dick to his own room, 
 and there, all alone, and very slowly, the truth 
 came out at last. 
 
 But it took hours for uncle Jed to learn it. 
 The boy's abject fear of his cousin was pitiful. 
 He sobbed, and sometimes fairly howled, and in- 
 sisted that Jake would kill him if he turned traitor.
 
 82 MARGERY KEITH. 
 
 But uncle Jed never lost patience. He promised 
 to protect Dick from every harm, and gave his 
 word that if he would tell the whole truth his 
 cousin should not suffer for it. And at last, just 
 as the sun went down in the sea, there was no 
 more to tell, Dick Crombly had made a clean 
 breast of it ! 
 
 Is there any more that I should tell? You 
 know that uncle Jed, being the man he was, would 
 keep his word. 
 
 But Jake Barton saved him any further trouble. 
 The villain fled from Long Branch that very after- 
 noon in terror at the discovery of his crime, and 
 the next day shipped on board a whaler. 
 
 As for Dick Crombly, a thorough bath and a 
 suit of new clothes quite transformed the pooi 
 gypsy waif. 
 
 It seemed to him that he had suddenly entered 
 Paradise. He had a room in the attic, he was 
 feasted and praised, and had rides on Sorrel, and 
 Ben and Margery in their gratitude made quite as 
 much of the boy as he deserved. Still he had 
 fairly proved, by one act of his life, that there was 
 some courage and fidelity and generosity at bottom 
 of him. 
 
 He always insisted that he had no intention of 
 robbing Ben Maxwell. Fear of Jake had alone 
 brought him on the scene, and he had confidently
 
 MAROEKY KEITH. 83 
 
 relied on the effect of his warning, and believed 
 that neither the boy nor girl would present them- 
 selves on the croquet-ground. 
 
 His dismay on seeing them enter it had quite 
 unnerved him, and his only safety appeared to him 
 in flying with his cousin. 
 
 tc The poor little ragamuffin shall have a chance 
 now that big ruffian is out of the way. We will 
 let him stay among us at Long Branch, and take 
 him back when we return to the city, and I will 
 fiud him a berth as errand-boy in my office." 
 
 It was uncle Jed said this to Ben and Margery 
 one day when they were talking the whole affair 
 over together.
 
 64 CkAGEBT KEITH. 
 
 CHAPTER VJL. 
 
 IT was a young face, beaming with life and 
 gladness which sat that winter morning at the 
 breakfast-table. Had it not been there, the meal 
 would have been quite another thing, "a dull, 
 solitary affair enough," uncle Jed thought; 
 though the steak was of the choicest and the 
 golden brown of the omelette and the ri^i flavor 
 of the Mocha would have gone far to console an 
 epicure for the absence of human companioi>ship. 
 
 In the centre of the table was a small vase of 
 flowers, scarlet geraniums, like quivers of led 
 flame ; and purple bells of fuchsia among gre^n 
 leaves, and, at the heart of all, two or three great, 
 cool, cream-colored roses. 
 
 The brightest of winter mornings looked in at 
 the pleasant breakfast-room where Jeremiah 
 Woolcott and Margery Keith were having theii 
 meal together. The man had a notion that these 
 breakfasts were on the whole the pleasantest 
 times of the day ; at least, when business took 
 him out of town occasionally, his thoughtg
 
 MARGERY KEITH. 85 
 
 recurred oftenest to the breakfast hour, and the 
 glimmer of that bright, sweet face behind the 
 coffee-urn followed him everywhere. 
 
 Margery Keith had a knack of preparing her 
 uncle's cup of coffee which none of the domestics 
 had ever acquired. 
 
 She knew the number of lumps of sugar and 
 the precise amount of cream which suited his 
 palate. 
 
 Then he liked to hear her young, fresh voice ; 
 the foolish, girlish talk slipping along it, with the 
 sudden laughters and indrawn breaths ; and the 
 quaint, grave speeches which would crop out here 
 and there, and were to the man like the first 
 shoots and blossoms of the spring, a sign and 
 promise of that summer of womanhood which was 
 to be. 
 
 It would have been very bright and amusing to 
 a stranger, even, this talk of Margery Keith's. 
 It was full of life ; it had the freshness and sparkle 
 of her thirteen years all through it. 
 
 She confided everything to uncle Jed which 
 could be of the slightest interest to either. He 
 knew the names and characters of all her young 
 friends, and, in a general way, all that was going 
 on at the school which Margery attended three 
 hours every day for recitations. 
 
 She used to assure him that he saved her the
 
 86 MARGERY KEITH. 
 
 trouble of keeping a journal, and it was a great 
 deal nicer to talk to somebody who could listen 
 and have things to say in turn. 
 
 But Margery's breakfast talks were doomed to 
 frequent interruptions. Uncle Jed was the soul 
 of hospitality and always kept " open house." 
 
 He had friends and acquaintances in all parts of 
 the world, and he was a man, once known, not 
 likely to be forgotten. I suppose that was owing 
 to the magnetism of his great, warm, sympathetic 
 heart, which drew people to him and held him in 
 their memories. 
 
 His old friends were always hunting him up, 
 and the roof of the large, elegant house near Cen- 
 tral Park had guests beneath it most of the time. 
 
 But this morning the two were alone, and the 
 winter sunshine came in triumphantly and shone 
 and sparkled about the table, where the man in 
 his prime and the girl on the frontier of her teeng 
 sat at breakfast. 
 
 " There I Do you hear them, uncle Jed ? " 
 asked Margery, suddenly, face and voice full of 
 rapture. 
 
 "Hear what, child?" setting down his cup of 
 coffee. 
 
 " Why, those delightful old sleigh-bells I The 
 first time we have had them this year I How 
 splendid it will be in Central Park to-day I Uncle
 
 MARGERY KEITH. 87 
 
 Jed is there anything so lovely as a winter's morn- 
 ing full of sunshine and the sparkle of snow ? " 
 
 " Oh, yes ; there are other mornings in every 
 year, which to my fancy are far lovelier ; but this 
 one is perfect of its kind." 
 
 "But those other mornings, though they are 
 alive with leaves and flowers and singing-birds, 
 don't have the sleigh-bells, you know. They say 
 so many things." As she caught the flashes of 
 sound, the merry jingles and laughter of the bells, 
 " Don't you hear them ? " 
 
 M An old muff like myself couldn't be expected 
 to hear all your young ears and fancies do. When 
 I was a boy, the sleigh-bells said things to me too, 
 which they have not done of late years. What 
 are they saying to you now, Margery ? " 
 
 " Oh, so much ! " with the red in her cheeks, 
 and the lights in her nut-brown eyes. " They 
 make me think of flutes ringing among mountain 
 solitudes, of horns blowing in the heart of still, 
 shady valleys ; but, above all, the bells call for me 
 to come, uncle Jed." 
 
 ' Precisely 1 I knew it was coming to that," 
 with a twinkle of fun in his eyes. " In short, set- 
 ting aside all that pretty nonsense about melodious 
 horns and flutes, and getting down to the plain 
 prose of the matter, what the sleigh-bells really 
 say, amounts to this, 'Don't you give uncle Jed a
 
 88 MAKGERY KEITH. 
 
 moment's peace, Margery, until you have wheedled 
 a sleigh-ride out of him."' Margery's laugh broke 
 out now, a sweeter sound than all the tunes which 
 the bells were singing outside. 
 
 " That is precisely what they say, uncle Jed 1 
 How glad I am you have interpreted it for me 1 " 
 
 " And how you hope I will act on it before 
 noon, you saucebox ! " 
 
 "Oh, no, I don't hope that in the least, uncle 
 Jed; I just know you will." 
 
 "I suppose that I shall. You have led me by 
 the nose so long that it is safe now to count on my 
 obeying any slight hints and suggestions. Ah 
 Margery, what a terrible little tyrant you are 1 " 
 
 "Who has made me so, uncle Jed?" her lips 
 pursed up in a sudden gravity which all the rest 
 of her face belied. It was evident they were 
 used to each other's rallying. 
 
 w There it goes again ! I have been so long 
 under your thumb and finger that I can only stand 
 by meekly, like a donkey, while you pack me with 
 your burden of faults." 
 
 * And it is so nice and easy to slip them off on 
 your shoulders, you know. And you can afford 
 to carry them." 
 
 " Why can I?" 
 
 " Because you have such a very smill pack of 
 your own faults, uncle Jed I "
 
 MARGERY KEITH. 89 
 
 "My dear, you have the happiest faculty of 
 tickling an old fellow into good humor with a 
 compliment. Won't that gift of yours work mis- 
 chief enough some day, with younger brains and 
 hearts than your tough old uncle's ! But I must 
 have another cup of coffee on that." 
 
 " And uncle Jed," counting her lumps of sugar, 
 " you will go with me, of course, on this sleigh 
 ride?" 
 
 " My dear, you ask of me an impossibility. 
 Business will not let me off to-day, until almost 
 dark, but I will send up a sleigh for you right 
 after lunch." 
 
 A little shadow fell into the brightness of her 
 face, a cloud so light, indeed, that the next thought 
 would send it flying. " It would be so much nicer 
 to have you with me, uncle Jed. I think business 
 is a great bother. It is always pushing itself into 
 the way of one's comfort and pleasure." 
 
 " Ah, but it lies at the bottom of all one's com- 
 fort and pleasure, too, in more ways than you can 
 comprehend." 
 
 " Perhaps I can comprehend more than you sup- 
 pose, uncle Jed," she answered, significantly. 
 
 The cloud was already gone, but her expression 
 was grave and earnest, and seemed to belong to 
 an older face than Margery Keith's. 
 
 "Well?"
 
 90 MABGEBY KEITH. 
 
 " I mean about business and the great and ter- 
 rible differences it makes in human lots." 
 
 "Ah, that is a problem, dear, that will trouble 
 and vex you at times all your life through. It 
 does everybody who has a brain to think and a 
 heart to feel." 
 
 " It seems as though there was something wrong 
 at the heart of things. I think and think about it, 
 uncle Jed, until my thoughts come plump up 
 against a stone wall ; and I don't know what it all 
 means, only it almost seems as though I hadn't a 
 right to all my own ease and comfort and good 
 things, generally, to even such a breakfast as 
 this, when there are so many shivering limbs, so 
 many hungry mouths within a half mile of us." 
 
 "I would not have you without just such 
 thoughts, Margery. You could not be the woman 
 I hope to see you some day, if they did not come 
 up at times to sadden and perplex you. The 
 noblest souls have been harassed and goaded by 
 these knotty questions ; and some have tried one 
 way and some another of solving them, and many 
 have failed pitifully." 
 
 " But I think, uncle Jed, there was something 
 grand, even in a failure of that kind, trying to 
 find some way to lighten the burdens, and lessen 
 the sorrows of human lives. I think I should 
 rather fail in an attempt of that sort than have
 
 MARGERY KEITH. 91 
 
 some successes which the world would call glo- 
 rious. 
 
 Uncle Jed's eyes shone on the girl with a light 
 in their gray depths which was kindled at his soul. 
 
 " That is right, Margery," he said. " Generous, 
 courageous work for one's kind can never, in the 
 long run, be a failure. But, my child, your 
 breakfast will get cold. You mustn't let the 
 thoughts of the hungry mouths you cannot help 
 quite spoil that, you know. We can't carry God's 
 world on our shoulders at least only a very 
 little piece of it." 
 
 " I wonder if I shall carry my little piece ? " 
 said Margery, with a flash of her quick humor. 
 
 At that moment the. servant-girl entered with 
 the morning papers and the waffles. 
 
 She was the same Margery Keith, you see, whom 
 we met and learned to love a year and a half ago, 
 down on the sands at Long Branch, bright, im- 
 petuous, warm-hearted as ever, only the year and 
 a half has made her a little older and wiser. 
 
 After breakfast was over and her uncle was 
 seated in his easy-chair, she went up to him and 
 said, " So I am a terrible little tyrant, am I? " 
 
 He drew her to him. "You are all that, my 
 dear I " But his tone and his look said something 
 so very different. 
 
 "But, bad as I am, you wouldn't know how to 
 get along without me, uncle Jed?"
 
 92 MABGERY KEITH. 
 
 w Of course I shouldn't, I've got so used to the 
 teasing that I heartily enjoy it. Men have been 
 known to grow into a liking for worse torments 
 than yours, Margery." 
 
 This light, half-badgering talk was their habit, 
 you see, but Margery was liable to swift changes 
 of mood ; she was gay or grave in a moment, as 
 the thoughts and feelings came and went in that 
 rapid little heart and brain of hers. 
 
 "What should I do without you, uncle Jed?" 
 she exclaimed, and then, in a moment, she buried 
 her face on his shoulder, with a cry, " Oh, what 
 should I have done without you once ? " 
 
 He knew in an instant to what she alluded. He 
 had hoped she had quite forgotten that scene 
 the old cabin on the stormy western plains, and 
 the ghastly face of the dying man between them. 
 She had not spoken of it for years ; but he saw 
 now that the meaning had not faded, and that it 
 was one of those things she would carry to her 
 grave. 
 
 He remembered what a sad, lonely man he was 
 at that time ; how his aching heart seemed to him 
 only a sepulchre for the beautiful, dead face of 
 the wife of his youth, and how the little orphan- 
 gill in the western cabin had dropped from hei 
 father's dying hands to his own strong, sheltering 
 ones, bringing light and comfort and gladnesa
 
 MAEGEEY KEITH. 93 
 
 with herself, and he said, very solemnly, " Look 
 in my eyes, Margery ! " 
 
 She lifted her head and opened her great brown 
 orbs upon him. " You have repaid me a thousand 
 times for anything I have done or may do for you. 
 You came to me like a messenger from God, when 
 my soul was heaviest and sorest. My little girl 
 has been to me, all these years, the light of my 
 home, and the joy of my heart. She may well ask 
 what I would do without her." This time the 
 glossy head went down without any words upon 
 uncle Jed's shoulder. 
 
 There were some last ones, however, before he 
 left the house. 
 
 " Oh, I almost forgot to tell you, uncle Jed, that 
 Stacie Garrett's brother Tom has just returned 
 from abroad. You know he has been studying 
 year in Dresden. Stacie is just wild with delight. 
 It must be a glorious thing to have a brother come 
 home after a whole year in Europe. She said she 
 should bring him around the very first chance to 
 show him and her best friend to each other. I 
 wouldn't wonder if they came this very day." 
 
 Stacie Garrett only lived a few blocks from 
 uncle Jed's. She and Margery were in the same 
 classes. They had known each other for the last 
 year, and an intimate friendship had grown 
 betwixt them.
 
 94 MARGERY KEITH. 
 
 CHAPTEE VHL 
 
 DURING the forenoon, Stacie Garrett, followed 
 by her brother Tom, burst in on Margery Keith. 
 Such a merry greeting and such a clatter of 
 tongues as followed ! Stacie was not in the least 
 like Margery ; she was a little dumpling of a girl, 
 with a complexion like a snow-drop and cheeks 
 like the pink of the first May rose, and a mass of 
 soft, light hair about a sweet face, with eyes 
 which seemed a bit of the summer's loveliest sky. 
 
 She was an affectionate little puss, and she was 
 in a seventh heaven of delight, now Tom had got 
 home, full a head taller than he went away the 
 year before. 
 
 Stacie couldn't talk fast enough, telling how it 
 all happened, and what a splendid surprise Tom 
 had given them the previous morning, when they 
 were hardly seated at breakfast before the front- 
 door bell rang, and a minute after, Tom walked in 
 as cool as a grenadier, and was brown as an East 
 Indian, and asked in the most matter-of-fact tone 
 imaginable, "Is there anybody here who would
 
 MABGERT KEITH. 95 
 
 like to see me?" And Stacie knew the voice 
 quicker than she did the face, and with a screair 
 and a bound she had her arms around her brother's 
 neck ; and it was all very funny, but the next 
 thing she knew she was sobbing like a baby, when 
 she never was so glad in her whole life before. 
 
 Torn Garrett was a couple of years older than 
 Stacie, a fine, manly looking fellow, with an 
 honest face, and big, merry black eyes, and there 
 was not a trace of family likeness between him 
 and his sister. 
 
 He had been abroad a year with some friends of 
 his father's. A fever in the first place had brought 
 the boy to the brink of the grave, and the doctors 
 had prescribed a sea-voyage and a change of cli- 
 mate ; so he had gone off in a hurry in charge of a 
 party setting out on a continental tour. 
 
 The pale-faced, sickly boy, who had left his native 
 shores the year before, had come back to them, 
 plump, brown and hardy as a Swiss mountaineer. 
 
 Stacie had been eager enough to bring about 
 this interview between her brother and her best 
 friend ; for she had confided to Tom that she 
 loved Margery Keith better than she did any 
 other girl in the world, and that it would be an 
 unutterable grief to her if they two did not like 
 each other immensely. But it was a good while 
 before she gave them a chance for the conversa-
 
 96 MARGERY KEITH. 
 
 tion which she had been at such pains to bring 
 about ; at last, however, she awoke to a conscious- 
 ness that she was having the talk mostly to her- 
 self, and that about all Tom and Margery could 
 do was to slide in exclamations and laughs between 
 her sentences. 
 
 Tom was also apt to be a little reserved and 
 bashful on first acquaintance, and Margery was 
 used to declaring very sagely that there were " folks 
 she could talk to and folks she couldn't ;" in which 
 experience, I suspect, she did not differ from the 
 most of us. 
 
 " I'm talking all the time and not giving you or 
 Tom a chance for a word ! " said Stacie, with a 
 laugh that made you think of a robin's chirrup. " I 
 suppose I am very rude ; but, dear me, it isn't every 
 day, you know, that Tom comes home from 
 Europe to upset my wits." 
 
 "I'm just certain, Stacie, if I had a brother 
 come home from Europe, after a whole year away 
 from me, I shouldn't behave half as well as you do." 
 
 " And you are to call each other Tom and Mar- 
 gery, just as though you had known each other all 
 your lives. Anything else would be stiff and 
 horrid. It will become easy and natural enough, 
 after you have said it the first time." 
 
 The boy and girl looked at each other, and 
 broke into a peal of laughter. After this the ice
 
 MARGERY KEITH. 9? 
 
 of first acquaintance, which, under ordinary cir- 
 cumstances, it might have taken a dozen interviews 
 to melt, was broken. 
 
 " I ha 7e promised Stacie that I would do every- 
 thing that she asks for the next week," said Tom. 
 " I shall break my word if I don't call you Mar- 
 gery." 
 
 " You may call me that always, because you are 
 such a good brother Tom," Margery promptly 
 answered. 
 
 Stacie clapped her hands in high glee. " That 
 was done superbly," she said. " Now, you see, 
 it is just as though you had known each other all 
 your lives." 
 
 "But, really, I have known you a good deal 
 longer than you suspect," said Tom to Margery. 
 
 She laughed and glanced knowingly at Stacie. 
 It was evident that she had not the slightest diffi- 
 culty in divining the source of all Tom's knowl- 
 edge of herself. " I suppose Stacie had a line or a 
 postscript for me in nearly every letter," she said. 
 
 " A line or a postscript I " echoed the girl , in an 
 almost aggrieved tone. " It was never less than 
 one or two pages, and oftener, half my letter." 
 
 "Oh, you girls are wholly off-soundings," said 
 
 Tom, who already felt himself quite at home. " I 
 
 knew a great deal about you, Margery Keith, 
 
 before I had ever heard of you through my sister." 
 
 7
 
 98 MAEGERY KEITH. 
 
 This statement was an immense surprise to both 
 girls. 
 
 " Who in the world could have told you, Tom ? " 
 asked Stacie. 
 
 " Who in the world ? " echoed Margery, looking 
 into ,the bright, merry eyes of the boy, who was 
 enjoying the double amazement hugely. 
 
 "Try and guess." 
 
 Both girls gave it up as hopeless, and the boy 
 yielded to Stacie's imploring. "O Tom, you 
 won't be at your old tricks of teasing now, the 
 very day after your return home, too ? " 
 
 "Well, then, it was Ben Maxwell who first told 
 me about Margery Keith." 
 
 She was off her feet in a moment ; the summer 
 days at Long Branch, the long, gleaming gray of 
 the beach, the vast, shining sea, and the swing and 
 leap of the white surf along the sands, all rose up 
 before Margery Keith. " Oh, do you know Ben 
 Maxwell ? * she cried. 
 
 " I should rather think I did. He and I footed 
 it last year half over Switzerland, and he is a jolly 
 fellow for a climb or a tramp. We were in 
 Dresden together too, for a couple of months, 
 last winter." 
 
 " How glad I am that you know him ! " said 
 Margery, her face quite radiant. "And how
 
 MARGERY KEITH. 99 
 
 oddly it has all come about 1 Ben is a splendid 
 fellow." 
 
 " Grand stuff in him," said Tom, fervently. 
 
 "We met first at a hotel in Edinburgh, where 
 both our parties were staying for a couple of days. 
 After that we were perpetually running against 
 each other on the continent. He told me all 
 about his summer at Long Branch, and one night, 
 when we were both lying awake on the top of 
 St Bernard, he told me something else." 
 
 "What was that?" asked two voices in one 
 breath. 
 
 " It was about the awful scare you had one after- 
 noon, on the croquet-ground ; and how he was 
 lying there senseless, in a flash, and that scoun- 
 drel was pulling at your chain when uncle Jed 
 came to the rescue ; and the part that barefooted 
 little ragamuffin, Dick Crombly, had in the busi- 
 ness ; you see how well I remember it all. 
 There's no place like a night on St. Bernard for 
 a story. The world seems so far away, and you 
 are shut up there with the silence and the snows." 
 
 ' Ah, it must be grand 1 " chimed in Margery. 
 " But to think Ben Maxwell should have carried 
 that story over the ocean, and up the Alps to you. 
 Row very funny it all is I " 
 
 " And that I should have brought it down the 
 A.lps and over the ocean to you again," said Tom.
 
 100 MARGERY KEITH. 
 
 Stacie broke right in here with her chirrup, which 
 had been silent for an astonishing period. "It 
 only all goes to prove what Dickens says, you 
 know." 
 
 "No, we don't know unless you tell us," said Tom. 
 
 " Why, that the world isn't nearly so large as it 
 eeems, and that is the reason why people who 
 have once known each other are always coming 
 together again, turning up in the oddest, most un- 
 expected ways." 
 
 "I believe that is true," said Margery, with 
 what uncle Jed called her " owl's face," it was so 
 grave and solemn, while she was hunting about for 
 some facts in her experience which should help to 
 establish Dickens's theory. 
 
 " I could tell you a good many other things Ben 
 Maxwell said about you," said Tom to Margery. 
 
 " I wonder with all Europe around him that he 
 found time to talk so much about me only we 
 did have grand times at Long Branch." 
 
 " So he said, and he thought the best thing of 
 all there was " Tom stopped a moment, and 
 seemed waiting for Margery to conclude. 
 
 " Uncle Jed, I am sure it must have been he," 
 she answered promptly, and Tom, looking in her 
 face, saw that she meant just what she said. 
 
 " She isn't like other girls. They would have 
 known I meant to pay her a compliment," Tom
 
 MARGERY KEITH. 101 
 
 Garrett thought to himself, but he only said, " Oh, 
 no, Ben Maxwell always declared the very best 
 thing at Long Branch was Margery Keith I " 
 
 Margery's laugh rang out pleased and gleeful. 
 She liked praises and compliments ; she was a 
 girl, and thirteen; but she was quite honest, a 
 moment later, when she said, " That is really the 
 least sensible thing I ever knew Ben Maxwell say. 
 To place me first where uncle Jed was." 
 
 "Well, how do you like her, Tom?" asked 
 Stacie, breathlessly, as soon as they were outside 
 the door, after a call which had doubled the time 
 she had intended to devote to it. 
 
 "Brightest girl I ever saw," said the boy. "A 
 little odd, and keeps a fellow on his mettle, you 
 know, but that only makes her the more interest- 
 ing. Brave as a heroine and honest as sunlight, 
 Maxwell was right." 
 
 "I knew you'd like her," said Stacie, delighted. 
 
 " And, Tom, you are such a dear fellow, that I 
 would give you a big hug, if we were not out on 
 the street." 
 
 Tom Garrett had a heart, and it had been learn- 
 ing through these months of absence how dear 
 this little blue-eyed, silvery-voiced sister was to
 
 102 MABGEBY KEITH. 
 
 him ; but, like most boys, he felt a great shyness 
 at putting his best self into words ; so he answered 
 with a laugh, " That's just like a girl, Stacie. 
 I've not the slightest doubt that before the week 
 is over we shall be at our old bouts I " 
 
 In the evenings when they two happened to be 
 alone together, Margery had a habit of going over 
 with uncle Jed, all the principal events of the 
 day, or, what was oftener of more interest to the 
 man, she would relate what had been uppermost 
 in her thoughts and feelings during the time. 
 
 This was one of the nights when they two sat 
 alone together in the cosiest little room at the 
 back of the house. The walls from floor to ceil- 
 ing were lined with bookcases, and there were 
 bjonzes and marble busts on brackets, and a great 
 library-table in the centre of the room ; and some 
 lounging chairs, and a glowing fire in the grate, 
 and its light fell like a tender, half-sad caress on 
 the wide cases where the mighty souls of the 
 books lay dumb between their covers, as the 
 hands that wrote most of them had long ago lain 
 still in their graves. This place uncle Jed 
 called his " den." It was in reality the heart of 
 his home ; the dearest, cosiest spot beneath the
 
 MABGEBY KEITH. 
 
 ample roof, tc him. From time to time old friends 
 came and sat here by the table, in the glow of the 
 cunnel coal fire, and told their stories of the great 
 world around which they had roamed and in which 
 they had done their work more or less bravely and 
 thoroughly ; but the cannel coal fire never shone 
 on a head so fair and dear to uncle Jed as the little 
 girl with her nut-brown eyes, and the lights in 
 her glossy hair. 
 
 Margery had a great deal to tell her uncle to- 
 night. There was Stacie's visit with her brother 
 Tom, and the surprise about Ben Maxwell, and 
 the ride in the park with a couple of girls younger 
 than herself, for whom uncle Jed had ordered the 
 driver to call, their dead father having been an 
 old friend of his, who had left his widow and 
 children in circumstances that made sleigh-rides 
 rare luxuries to them. 
 
 Uncle Jed had a good many questions to ask 
 about Ben Maxwell, for that summer at Long 
 Branch had given him a warm interest in the 
 boy. 
 
 "And you liked this brother of Stacie's?" he 
 inquired at last. He had more respect for the 
 girl's native acuteness in getting at the real stuff in 
 people than he ever told her. 
 
 " Oh, yes," in her prompt, decided way. " He 
 is a real fine fellow, a little quiet at first, but keen
 
 104 MARGERY KEITH. 
 
 and jolly as possible when he lets his real self 
 out. I think Stacie may be proud of her brother. 
 If I had one I should want him to be like Ben 
 Maxwell or Tom Garrett." 
 
 "And in the place of some handsome, brave 
 young brother, my little girl has to take up with 
 her graybeard of an uncle." 
 
 " She wouldn't exchange him, anyhow, for all the 
 brave, gallant young brothers in the world." 
 
 Soon after this speech, which she delivered with 
 heart-felt fervor, Margery settled in a brown study, 
 and she had not come out of it when, a good while 
 afterward, uncle Jed, looking up from his papers, 
 saw her with her eyes on the fire. 
 
 " Are you building air-castles out of the coals, 
 my dear?" 
 
 "Not this time, uncle Jed; I was thinking of 
 something I read to-day about George Washing- 
 ton. You know you brought me up on him and 
 the star-spangled banner." 
 
 M Just so ; on what else should a sound-hearted 
 little American girl be brought up ? " 
 
 " And I thought I knew his history pretty thor- 
 oughly, from the small hatchet and the apple- 
 tree, and the lie he couldn't tell. But I read some- 
 thing about him to-day which I never did before ; 
 something which seems to me grand, sublime." 
 
 "What was it?"
 
 MARGERY KEITH. 105 
 
 " It happened after the war was over. Washing- 
 ton had won his laurels ; he had earned his great 
 name in history as the Father of his country ; he 
 was President of the new Republic, and was living 
 in Philadelphia ; he was taken very ill one day, 
 and they feared he would die. When the doctor 
 came, his patient said to him as calmly as I am 
 saying it to you now, uncle Jed, ' Tell me the 
 truth. I do not fear to die. It makes no differ- 
 ence whether death comes to-day or twenty years 
 later.' 
 
 "Weren't those brave, noble words, uncle Jed? 
 Wasn't that a grand way of meeting death?" 
 
 " Yes, my child 1 I presume George Washington 
 felt that way every time he rode into one of those 
 old battle-fields. He believed in God, and in 
 striking the hour." 
 
 "Long before his day, Hamlet, too, beloved of 
 men, had set the same truth in the crystal of his 
 felicitous old English : ' If it be not now, yet it 
 will come. The readiness is all.' " 
 
 " But, uncle Jed, if death should come for me to- 
 night, I couldn't say any such thing. Heaven, no 
 doubt, is the best, but I know this world, and it is 
 good enough for me. You are here, and all the 
 people whom I love ; and so are the robins and the 
 roses, and all the beautiful things which make this 
 world such a dear, delightful old place. If death
 
 106 MARGERY KEITH. 
 
 should come for me, / should want him to wait 
 twenty years." 
 
 " Probably George Washington would have at 
 your age ; life lay all before him then, as it does 
 before you now. Do you think, Brownie," onn 
 of his pet names which had its origin in the color 
 of her eyes, "that the cry of your youth would 
 not be natural and right ; that there could be any 
 harm in your liking to stay in the world which 
 God has made so pleasant for you ? " 
 
 "Not while you are talking, uncle Jed. It 
 seems all to grow clear to me." 
 
 "And you see that George Washington was 
 getting to be an old man when he made that speech ; 
 at least he had got over the meridian line of a cen- 
 tury. He had done his work as he found it to 
 do ; he had always struck his hour." 
 
 The little fine, sensitive face brightened out of 
 its gravity. " If I can only strike mine as they come 
 round through the years 1 " she said. 
 
 " You will, dear, a good many of them, if you 
 try.- 
 
 Just then the clock on the mantel struck ten. 
 It was Margery's bedtime. But circumstances 
 occurred not long afterward which brought this 
 evening talk back very forcibly to Margery Keith.
 
 MARGERY KEITH. 107 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 A FIERCE, bitter north-easter was holding a high 
 revel on the little island where the mightiest city 
 of a continent lies locked in and densely packed 
 between its two rivers. 
 
 The gale blew its trumpet through the cross- 
 streets, and went tearing and thundering up the 
 wide avenues, and at times a strong man would 
 find he had enough to do to hold his way against 
 some wild onset of that fierce north-easter. 
 
 In the lower part, of the city, in one of the 
 crowded business streets, an errand-boy on the 
 way to the bank had a race for his cap. The wind 
 whirled it off his head and tossed it into the middle 
 of the street, and when the boy made a dive there, 
 the wind was before him again, and sent the thing 
 gyrating down the gutter. In a lull of the gale, 
 however, the boy, after a good many trials, suc- 
 ceeded in capturing his cap and setting it on his 
 head with a laugh of triumph and a glow in his 
 cheeks that came of his fight with the wind. L 
 you had seen him, as a sudden winter sunbeam
 
 108 MAEGEEY KEITH. 
 
 struck his face, you might have recognized him as 
 the boy whose torn foot Margery Keith had 
 bound up two summers ago at Long Branch. 
 
 The change, however, in the boy would have 
 struck you with a great surprise. It was not 
 altogether in the comfortable gray overcoat, the 
 neat trowsers and shoes, although these must have 
 had their share in the general improvement, but it 
 was in the boy's whole look and bearing. 
 
 The cowed, sneaking expression was gone ; 
 while wholesome diet and regular habits had 
 rounded the starved cheeks, and cleared up the 
 sallow skin. Dick's daily work, too, which took 
 him to the office and kept him busy until twilight, 
 had given him a new sense of responsibility and 
 self-respect. It would have done your heart good 
 to see the change which a year and a half had 
 wrought in the boy whom Margery Keith had 
 found, that summer morning, as he lay on the drive 
 in front of the cottage at Long Branch ; and the 
 best of it was that the change had been wrought 
 from within, outward, which is the only change 
 worth anything. 
 
 Yet this year and a half had not been altogether 
 smooth sailing for Dick Crombly. Nobody ever 
 yet found it easy to change the whole habits and 
 purposes of a lifetime. 
 
 When he came back to New York in the autumn ,
 
 MARGEBY KEITH. 109 
 
 and entered on his new career of office-boy at the 
 great warehouse, and had to lead a life of steady 
 industry from sunrise to sunset, without an hour 
 that he could call his own, Dick Crombly found the 
 novelty and gloss of his new life were pretty much 
 gone. 
 
 The old vagabond days, the lounging about the 
 wharves, the laying about the streets, the mingling 
 with the crowds, the fun and excitement of days 
 when he could not see where his next meal was 
 coming from, and he was well off if he had a dark 
 corner and a dirty pallet to crawl into at night, 
 looked wonderfully alluring to the boy through the 
 mists of distance. 
 
 A fierce hunger and thirst for the old freedom, 
 if it did come with rags and dirt and every con- 
 ceivable hardship, beset Dick Crombly. Every 
 drop of his blood was stung with a mad longing 
 to return to the old life. Many a morning, when 
 he went down in the bright, early sunrise, and the 
 great city was slowly waking up to the life of a 
 11 ew day, Dick found it was all that he could do 
 to turn his back on the piers where the shipping lay, 
 amid which he longed to dive and bound once more 
 with one of his old savage whoops of joy. He felt, 
 those days, a good deal like a prisoner, bound and 
 chained to a dreary treadmill of toil ; and there 
 was nobody to whom he could confide what devils
 
 110 MABGERT KEITH. 
 
 were tempting his soul, and perhaps nothing gave 
 him strength to resist them, but a smile, or a kind 
 word or two from uncle Jed when he came into 
 the office in the morning, or sent the boy off on 
 some errand. 
 
 But uncle Jed had a great many people to see, a 
 great many things to absorb his thoughts in busi 
 ness hours, and Dick Crombly, like all the rest of 
 us, had to work out his own salvation ; and the 
 forces of good and evil held many a battle, whose 
 prize was the soul of this boy hankering for the 
 slums and dark alley-ways and rotting, noisome old 
 piers, amid which his first dozen years of life had 
 been passed. 
 
 Uncle Jed, however, had done what he could. 
 If he meddled with a human soul, he was pretty 
 certain to leave it a little wiser, better, happier 
 than he found it. He had seen that Dick was pro- 
 vided with a humble but very comfortable home, 
 in a family whose mistress was the widow of a 
 former porter of the warehouse. 
 
 Dick had a neat little chamber, under the roof. 
 It was a palace in comparison with those to which 
 he had been used all his life, but it had the look 
 of a very clean and very dreary prison-cell to the 
 boy in moments when his whole being was han- 
 kering for the old, vagabond, devil-may-care times. 
 
 But these hankerings had grown fainter and
 
 MARGERY KEITH. Ill 
 
 farther between of late, and his life, with its steady 
 work and order, and the evening school, were all 
 growing easier and pleasanter to Dick Crombly. 
 
 There was a shrill, sharp cry the moment after 
 he had set the cap on his head. The voice came 
 from just around the corner, and was that of one in 
 sudden distress or terror. 
 
 Dick hurried to the crossing and looked up the 
 street. In a flash the whole scene was before 
 him. 
 
 On the edge of the sidewalk, and half within the 
 shelter of an old stone arch, which broke the force 
 of the wind, was a low stand, with a jar of candy 
 and a pile of oranges, and another of apples, the 
 whole set within a border of very carefully laid 
 and rather ancient-looking ginger-cakes. 
 
 On one side of this stand was the oddest-look- 
 ing mite of a girl, of nine or ten birthdays. The 
 child had a pinched, white face under a mass of 
 loose, flaxen hair ; and her dress was so altogether 
 out of keeping with her size and years that she 
 made an inexpressibly comical appearance. Her 
 bonnet, with its two great red and yellow bows, 
 had evidently been intended for a much larger and 
 older person than herself. She wore a shawl, in 
 bright scarlet stripes, and over that a faded green 
 flannel sack. A very shabby calico dress, and 
 shoes so worn and patched that the little, half
 
 112 MAEGEET KEITH. 
 
 frozen feet ought never to have gone inside of 
 them, completed a toilet so singular that it struck 
 one at a glance, and must have awakened a laugh, 
 if pity for the small, pinched creature within that 
 motley dress had not been quick enough to check 
 the mirth. 
 
 But the child's face was white now, and con- 
 vulsed with tears, while her little blue, skinny 
 fingers were frantically striving to push away a 
 huge black dog, who was mouthing and growling 
 at her, and tearing her dress with his great teeth. 
 
 The brute evidently meant mischief, and he 
 was set on to this by three or four big, bullying 
 boys, who were loafing about the streets, and who 
 had gathered together in a small crowd to watch 
 the fun, and get all the sport they could out of the 
 terror and misery of the child, whose odd dress 
 made her in their eyes a legitimate subject for 
 cruel sport. 
 
 Numbers gave them fresh courage in their bar- 
 barous work. They shouted and clapped their 
 hands, and excited the fierce animal against the 
 trembling creature he was worrying ; he left the 
 girl for a moment, fastened his paws upon the 
 apple-stand, brought all his huge weight against 
 it ; the next instant it toppled over, and its whole 
 contents rolled on the sidewalk and tumbled into 
 the gutter.
 
 MAKGERT KEITH. 113 
 
 The boys set up a tremendous howl of triumph, 
 The child burst out in a wail, which was pitiful to 
 hear ; and the dog, fiercer than ever, showed his 
 teeth and commenced tearing her shawl with hia 
 great paws. 
 
 The sight made Dick Crombly's blood boil. It 
 seemed as though the strength of a dozen men had 
 suddenly entered into him. He forgot that he 
 was only one rather under-sized boy, against half 
 a dozen who had the advantage of him in wind and 
 muscle; he darted forward and confronted the 
 gaping, shouting crowd. 
 
 K You miserable hounds I " he cried. " You mean, 
 dastardly, sneaking cowards, to set on a poor, 
 helpless, frightened girl like that ! You deserve 
 to be horsewhipped, every soul of you, and you 
 should be, if I was only a man 1 " 
 
 The words came out strong and swift, as words 
 are apt to, when we are at a white heat. Dick 
 did not know what he was saying ; he only knew 
 the wrath and pity at the core of him were pour- 
 ing from his lips. 
 
 The crowd stood still, looking in amazement at 
 the small boy who had dared defy its rage. 
 Any member of it could easily have laid Dick 
 prostrate with a blow ; but nobody attempted it. 
 There is something in moral courage which speaks 
 to every human soul. The crowd tried to set up a 
 I
 
 114 MAKGERY KEITH. 
 
 derisive laugh, it is true, but each felt thar '/., was 
 a failure. 
 
 " Hadn't we better turn in, boys, and giV-9 the 
 impident rascal a bruisin ' ? " asked one of the /um- 
 ber, a big, bull-headed fellow, with hair of b/ick- 
 red. 
 
 But the general voice did not encourage this 
 proposal. The boys looked from Dick to the 
 broken jar of candies, to the apples and cakes which 
 strewed the sidewalks, poor wrecks of one more 
 hard fortune. Conscience-stricken and ashamed, 
 they slunk off to their business of boot-blacking 
 and paper-hawking ; only the boy with the bull-head 
 and the brick-colored hair turned back with an 
 ugly look, and with a heavy stick which he carried 
 he gave Dick a terrible blow on his left arm, 
 which made the boy turn faint and stagger back 
 several paces. When he came to himself he found 
 somebody had called the dog off, and he and the 
 girl to whose help he had rushed so gallantly were 
 I eft alone. 
 
 She stood there quite still, the hopeless tears 
 rolling down her thin cheeks and dropping on her 
 half-frozen hands as she surveyed the loss of all 
 her capital in life ; for whatever the contents of 
 the apple-stand seemed to the rest of the world, 
 they meant to her food, and warmth, and shelter. 
 But she made no attempt to rescue anything.
 
 MARGERY KEITH. 115 
 
 The terrible fright and strain had unnerved and 
 exhausted her. 
 
 " They were a villanous set of rascals I " ex- 
 claimed Dick, glowing from his recent triumph, 
 and pressing his left arm tightly to his side ; 
 " You're well rid of 'em now, though." 
 
 w Yes, you was very good to me," said a broken 
 voice and a quivering lip, but a grateful glance 
 shot up through the tears of the blue, sorrowful 
 eyes. 
 
 The look went to Dick's heart again. " It won't 
 do any good to try to gather 'em up. Nobody 
 would want them now," looking at the broken 
 apple-stand and its lost wares. " What can you 
 do, little girl?" 
 
 " I must go home to grandma ; " her voice 
 choked here again at the thought of the sad tale she 
 would have to carry to the miserable home, and 
 all the time she had not ceased to shiver with the 
 terrible fright she had so lately undergone. 
 
 "Come, don't mind, cheer up," said Dick, his 
 whole soul stirred with pity at the sight of that 
 small, scared face. "I know of a good man, who, 
 if I tell him, would hand over money enough to 
 set you up in business again. You don't carry 
 it on for yourself, though?" looking over the mite 
 of figure in the odd motley. 
 
 K Oh, no ; " and then, in a few broken sentences,
 
 L16 MARGERY KEITH. 
 
 the pitiful story came out, the story of poverty, 
 sickness and misery, as old as the world, as fresh 
 and real as the latest sufferer. 
 
 The money was all gone, and, in order to raise 
 a pittance for pressing necessities, the child had 
 taken the place, at the apple-stand, of the old 
 grandmother, who had been ill and unable to attend 
 to her business for several days. 
 
 Just as the last syllables of the family history 
 had been confided to Dick, a hand touched his 
 shoulder, and, turning around, he confronted a 
 boy a head taller than himself, with great black 
 eyes, which gazed on him admiringly ; the whole 
 manner and dress of the stranger showed that he 
 had been nursed in the lap of kindly fortune. " I 
 was in the building over there," with a wave of his 
 hand across the street. "I saw all that happened 
 just now. You are a plucky fellow, and I honor 
 you ; if I could have got out in time I should have 
 had a hand in the business. It was glorious, I say 
 the way a small boy like you talked to those big 
 bullies and sent them sneaking off like the cowards 
 they were. I heard every word you said." 
 
 Dick was fumbling with his right hand at his 
 buttons, and actually blushing red to his temples 
 at this praise ; and the little girl listened with her 
 big, sorrowful eyes, and the great tears on cheeks 
 pale and peaked with hardship and hunger.
 
 MARGERY KEITH. 117 
 
 w She's lost everything," said Dick, turning sucU 
 denly to the child, and glad in his shyness to find 
 something to say. "Her grandmother is sick, 
 and she'd taken her place, you see." 
 
 " I wish I could get among those rascals with a 
 cat-o'-nine-tails ! " growled the strange boy as he 
 looked at the strewn pavement. 
 
 He took out his purse. There were only a couple 
 of dollars and some loose change lying inside. He 
 had laid out his money, that morning, to procure 
 reserved seats for his sister, a friend of hers, and 
 himself, at Bistori's next matin6e ; which fact 
 accounted for the low state of his finances. 
 
 The contents of the apple-stand would, how- 
 ever, have been high at two dollars. " You have 
 done your part," he said to Dick, with his frank 
 smile, that took your heart by storm, and his merry 
 eyes; "now I am going to do mine. Here, lit- 
 tle girl ; you hold out both hands, please." 
 
 The bewildered child held out her thin, cold 
 fingers, and the boy emptied the contents of his 
 Russia leather purse into them. " Now go straight 
 home to your sick grandmother," he said. " Such 
 a mite of a girl as you are has no business to be 
 out in the streets, where high winds can blow her 
 away, and bad boys can set big dogs on her." 
 
 At that moment somebody from the wholesale 
 house opposite shouted to the boy. W I must
 
 118 MABOEBT KEITH. 
 
 rush," he said. * Not an instant to spare. Give 
 me your hand, boy. You've got the true grit in 
 you. You're a grand, plucky little fellow." 
 
 He wrung Dick's hand, and was gone in a flash ; 
 and the two the boy and girl were standing on 
 the sidewalk together, and the wind, after its long 
 lull, was rising fiercely again. 
 
 " There ! you won't have so bad a story to tell 
 grandma, after all," said Dick, in a protecting, 
 great-uncle kind of fashion. " She will think you 
 have made a splendid thing of it when you show 
 her all that money." 
 
 A sudden light shone in the sorrowful eyes, and 
 a smile steadied the quivering lips. " Won't you 
 come with me, and help me tell her what you did? 
 She'll want to thank you," said the voice, broken 
 by no sobs this time. 
 
 Dick's arm gave an awful twinge then. He 
 lifted it very carefully, and supported it with his 
 right hand. 
 
 " I will come to-morrow," he said. w Where do 
 you live ? " 
 
 She named the place. It was not very far off. 
 Dick followed her to the corner of the narrow, dark 
 alley-way, full of miserable, tumble-down tene- 
 ments ; and in the fifth story of one of the oldest 
 and shabbiest of which the child and her grand- 
 mother had what they called a home.
 
 MABGERY KEITH. 119 
 
 After she had made the dwelling clear to him, 
 Dick started at once for his own home. The pain 
 in his arm had grown almost insupportable by this 
 tune. 
 
 As soon as he reached it, he attempted to show 
 the hurt to his landlady, of whose help and sympa- 
 thy he was certain. But when she tried to take 
 off his coat, the boy gave a yell of pain, and his 
 arm dropped down. 
 
 Then the woman lifted up both hands. " Dick 
 Crombly," she said, "you've just gone and broke 
 your poor arm ! " which was the truth, if the sen- 
 tence was not grammatical. 
 
 They went for a surgeon, and, before the next 
 hour was over, Dick's arm was set, and he took 
 his supper that night in Mrs. Carter's rocking-chair 
 by the pleasant kitchen stove fire, which was the 
 place he liked beat of all in the house.
 
 120 MABGKBT KKTM. 
 
 CHAPTEB X. 
 
 DESPITE his impatience, Dick Crombly'g arm 
 did not allow him to leave the house until the 
 third day after it had been set. 
 
 At the best, he could only make his way at a 
 snail's pace, for any sudden movement was certain 
 to send those dreadful pains quivering up to his 
 shoulder. 
 
 He found the dark, slippery alley to which the 
 girl had led him, as well as the old house, settling 
 alarmingly on one side, hi the centre of the tall, 
 gloomy row. 
 
 At last he reached the fifth landing, and, fum- 
 bling around there in the dim light, he struck 
 upon a latch and knocked. 
 
 The door was at once opened by the little girl 
 with the pale, meagre face and flaxen hair, which 
 had been floating about the boy's dreams and 
 thoughts for the last three days. 
 
 Her eyes brightened wonderfully at seeing him. 
 w It has been so many days and you did not come
 
 MABGERY KEITH. 121 
 
 I was afraid you had forgotten," she said, standing 
 aside to let him pass in. 
 
 "I've had a broken arm, you see, and I couldn't 
 get here before," pointing to the carefully ban- 
 daged limb. 
 
 " Did they break your arm ? " she asked, with 
 such a look of fright and horror that he hastened 
 to reassure her. 
 
 " They did ; but it will be as good as new the 
 doctor says, in a little while, only it kept me at 
 home all this time, you see." 
 
 He looked around the room. It was a low, bare 
 chamber, with a bit of rag-carpet, a few chairs, a 
 small table, and a bed in one corner. Everything 
 about it bore witness to the miserable poverty of 
 its inmates. 
 
 There was a very old, rusty stove, in which a 
 coal fire was burning, and for the last three days, 
 thanks to the strange boy's gift, the occupants of 
 the chamber had not suffered from cold or hunger. 
 
 An old woman lay on the bed, with a wrinkled, 
 yellow, ghastly face, which made Dick shudder, 
 and yet drew him toward it with a kind of terrible 
 fascination. 
 
 She lay very still. The pillow had been care- 
 fully arranged, and the blue, coarse coverlet drawn 
 smoothly around her throat by loving hands. 
 
 " I can't make out what ails her," looking grieved
 
 122 MARGERY KEITH. 
 
 and anxious at the ghastly face. w She sleept 
 most of the time, and only wakes up and talks a 
 few minutes. Sometimes she mumbles and mut- 
 ters to herself in the strangest way. I wish she'd 
 wake up." 
 
 " Maybe she's sicker than you think," said Dick, 
 and it seemed to him that while he gazed, the 
 yellow wrinkles grew deeper and the ashen shadow 
 gathered heavier over them. 
 
 The old woman suddenly stirred and opened 
 her eyes. The child darted forward eagerly, and 
 exclaimed, " Grandma, the boy's come I " 
 
 "What boy?" asked the slow, feeble voice, 
 which strangely reminded Dick of last falling 
 drops of water, the words flowed so faintly out of 
 the pallid lips. 
 
 " Why, the one I told you about, who sent off 
 the dreadful boys and the big dog that was goin' 
 to eat me up I " 
 
 There was a flash of intelligence in the glazing 
 eyes. The old woman lifted her hand and her 
 fingers groped and fumbled for the pale, small 
 face which bent over her. " Little Esther I 
 Little Esther ! " she said, with a world of human 
 tenderness and yearning in the tones, " what will 
 become of you when grandma's gone ? " 
 
 " Where are you going, grandma?" 
 
 ' Jlome, child I It will all be made right, there.*
 
 MABGERT KEITH. 128 
 
 Esther did not understand, but Dick did, 
 although he did not know that the great tears were 
 thick on his eyelashes. 
 
 " Little Esther will be all alone. Who will take 
 care of the child ? " cried the old woman, and the 
 dim, staring eyes looked straight at Dick Crombly, 
 although he was not certain that they saw him. 
 
 He stepped up to the bedside ; he forgot now 
 that he was an errand-boy, with a salary that did 
 little more than pay for his board and clothes. 
 
 " I will do what I can for her, ma'am," he said. 
 
 A faint smile stole across the gray lips, the last 
 peace gathered into the old, wrinkled face. 
 
 M You hear what he says. I shan't forget it when 
 I wake up there. Good-by, little Esther. Don't 
 cry for grandma." 
 
 The last words died down in a faint whisper. 
 The calm deepened upon that old face with which 
 life had dealt so hardly. There were two or three 
 swift breaths, but no struggle, and then the old 
 woman had gone out of the long dark of her years 
 in this world, to the light and comfort which 
 awaited her somewhere. 
 
 "What is it?" said the child, turning with a 
 frightened, perplexed look to Dick. 
 
 It was best to tell her at once. " She's gone ; 
 she's dead I " he said. 
 
 Then a dreadful cry rung ID hu> ears. It
 
 124 MABOEKT KEITH. 
 
 wandered out into the entries and floated among 
 the noisome atmospheres of the dark old halls ; 
 and it brought, hi a little while, the faces of three 
 or four curious, startled women to the door. 
 
 They were having the merriest conceivable 
 time, that morning, at uncle Jed's. Margery 
 Keith had been, a few days before, accompanied 
 by Tom Garrett and his sister, to see Ristori. 
 Since that time her wise little head had been 
 quite turned by the drama; uncle Jed usually 
 allowed all fevers of that sort to have their run, 
 and left the girl and her glowing visions of private 
 theatricals to take their own way. 
 
 It is true he had been off the best part of a week 
 on business ; but he felt as secure of Margery as 
 he did of the sun's rising ; as for doing a thing in 
 uncle Jed's absence which she would have hesi- 
 tated to do in his presence, and with his entire 
 knowledge well, I should not envy the fate of 
 that person who would have dared suggest such a 
 thing to Margery Keith. 
 
 This morning she was hi a perfect whirl of fun, 
 excitement and enthusiasm. She had, with infi- 
 nite pains, made up a little programme of Shake- 
 sperian recitations ; and she had talked it all over
 
 MARGERY KEITH. 125 
 
 with Tom Garrett and Stacie, who went into the 
 matter, heart and soul. Indeed, without their 
 sympathy and aid, Margery had already discovered 
 that she would never have been able to carry out 
 her programme, which really was a most creditable 
 piece of brain-work for so young a girl. The 
 recitations were not to come off until the following 
 week, and the back parlor was to be devoted to 
 the actors, as the front one was to the audience. 
 Half a dozen of Margery's schoolmates were to 
 take part in the entertainment, and already had 
 their roles assigned them. 
 
 Meanwhile there was an endless amount of 
 rehearsing to be gone through with, and it was 
 Margery Keith's nature to put her whole soul into 
 whatever she did. 
 
 Uncle Jed had a secret conviction that the girl 
 possessed real dramatic ability. Sometimes when 
 she was going over to him with some event which 
 she had witnessed, she would throw herself so 
 completely into its spirit, repeating every tone and 
 gesture with such unconscious, but perfect render- 
 ing, that the thought would flash through the 
 man's mind, " If I hadn't come across the child 
 she might have found her way at last to the stage, 
 and enjoyed the footlights, the crowds, the storms 
 of applause ; but what a rough road she must 
 have travelled first, all alone in the world as she
 
 126 MARGERY KEITH. 
 
 was ! God be thanked I found my darling in 
 time ! " 
 
 I Jut Margery never suspected that any of these 
 thoughts went on in the heart or brain of uncle 
 Jed. 
 
 But this morning, as I said, she was in a full 
 tide of rehearsals with Tom and Stacie Garrett. 
 
 A part of the evening's programme was to con- 
 sist of the last scene in Shakespeare's great histori- 
 cal drama of Henry V. Margery was to act the 
 role of the Princess Katharine. Stacie was to be 
 her favorite maid of honor, the Lady Alice ; who 
 taught her mistress the pretty broken English she 
 lisped to her royal lover. 
 
 Tom Garrett made what his sister and Margery 
 thought " a splendid Henry V." 
 
 Margery's enthusiasm, and the power and life 
 of the old play, stirred the boy, and.he went through 
 his part with real appreciation and feeling for the 
 character, while his sister did Lady Alice to per- 
 fection. 
 
 But Margery was no longer in Uncle Jed's par- 
 lor in the upper part of the vast, noisy, modern 
 city. She was far away in that dim, old century, 
 which had never opened its eyes wide enough to 
 see the mighty world that lay sleeping in its prime- 
 val wildernesses far across the seas. She was in 
 France, the daughter of kings, standing in the olcj
 
 MARGERY KEITH. 127 
 
 palace of her fathers, face to face, for the first time, 
 with her royal lover. 
 
 He was no less than the king of England ; the 
 handsome, young Lancastrian monarch, who had 
 been the terrible foe of her race ; who had filled all 
 the homes of France with woe and mourning, from 
 the palaces of its nobles to the huts of its peasants ; 
 and who had come now across the Channel to woo 
 her with his broken French, and his brave, gallant 
 presence, to be his bride ; and she knew that her 
 father's crown, the safety and honor of her coun- 
 try, were all at hazard now; all hanging on the 
 magic power which her fair, young face and her 
 woman's art should gain over the soul of the 
 English monarch. 
 
 She was to conquer, where her father's bravest 
 warriors and his gray-haired statesmen had failed. 
 
 Margery's instinct had seized the situation. The 
 little Eepublican girl was now the royal daughter 
 of France. Tom Garrett, standing before her with 
 his merry, admiring, black eyes, was now the 
 great, dreaded English monarch, who, transformed 
 from the most terrible of enemies by the witchcraft 
 of her eyes and smile, was asking her to share his 
 crown and his island home. 
 
 " Your majesty shall mock at me. I cannot 
 speak your England." 
 
 Margery's sweet, clear voice had caught tlie
 
 128 MABGERY KEITH. 
 
 prettiest foreign lisp, as she repeated these words, 
 and before Tom could strike in with King Henry'a 
 reply, she burst out with her face all alive : " And 
 to think that the young girl who said these words 
 that day was to be the mother of the Tudors ; the 
 great-great-grandmother of Queen Elizabeth ! " 
 
 " How wonderfully you are up in English his- 
 tory ! " exclaimed Tom. " You just appal me, 
 Miss Margery. I feel as ignorant as a long-eared 
 donkey. As soon as I get fairly settled down 
 under the dear old star-spangled, you know, I'm 
 going to plunge in and read up savagely." 
 
 At that moment the door opened, and a servant 
 ushered in a small boy, with a gray overcoat, his 
 arm in a sling. 
 
 It was contrary to orders to admit, that morning, 
 any person to the library ; but the servant knew 
 the boy's face, he having been occasionally up to 
 the house on some errand for uncle Jed. . 
 
 " Why, Dick Crombly ! " cried Margery, spring- 
 ing up, as she caught sight of the sling, and going 
 toward the boy, whom she had not seen for months, 
 but who always had some pleasant, lingering asso- 
 ciations, in her mind, with the summer at Long 
 Branch. 
 
 Before Margery had reached the boy, however, 
 Tom Garrett had sprung forward eagerly, and to 
 the girls' amazement cried out, with quite the air
 
 MARGERY KEITH. 12JJ 
 
 of an old acquaintance, "How in tne world did 
 you get up here ? " 
 
 Dick, surprised and confused by tne sight of 
 Tom Garrett, and two questions to loply to at 
 once, made bungling work of his answer 
 
 "I've come from the girl's grandma. She is 
 dead," he said. 
 
 Of course this was entirely Greek to Margery 
 " Who is dead ? " staring at Dick's /ace ana sling 
 
 Before he could reply, Tom Garrett struck in 
 again with, "Did those rascals break your arm?" 
 
 " Yes ; but it's been set, and it's getting on well, 
 the doctor says." 
 
 " The savages ! I saw the blow ; but I had no 
 idea it was as bad as that," growled Tom. 
 
 Margery looked aghast at mention of the 
 broken arm, while she and Stacie, crowding close 
 to the boys, listened in blank bewilderment to their 
 talk. 
 
 At last, Margery, trying in vain to find some 
 clue out of this hopeless labyrinth, broke out with, 
 '' What do you two mean ? It's altogether the 
 oddest affair ! Where have you ever met ? " 
 
 " Give me a chance and I'll explain," cried Tom. 
 
 Margery got Dick into a chair, for the boy 
 looked pale and worn, and then Tom Garrett told 
 the story of his first and only meeting with Dick 
 ^Vorably, three days before.
 
 130 MARGERY KEITH. 
 
 The life and power of the scene on the street- 
 corner did not lose anything under the narrator's 
 handling. He made Dick Crombly just the hero 
 he had seemed that day. Perhaps his description 
 was a little more highly touched because his 
 thoughts were vibrating still to the movement and 
 grandeur of the immortal old play ; although they 
 had all made a sudden- plunge across the long, 
 wide abyss which separates the fifteenth from the 
 nineteenth century, and instead of an English king 
 for hero, they had now a New York errand-boy. 
 
 Tom concluded his animated recital with, " 1 
 wouldn't have missed seeing the whole thing for a 
 thousand dollars. I tell you it was heroic the 
 way he went for that shivering mite of an apple-girl 
 before the big dog and those bigger brutes of boys 
 who were setting him on her." 
 
 Margery Keith could not have been the girl she 
 was, and have listened, unmoved to this story. 
 
 After she had taken in every word, she turned 
 to Dick, her eyes full of light, her voice haidly 
 steady. " Dick," she said, w I honor you from my 
 heart. How proud uncle Jed will be of you, 
 when he comes to hear what a hero you have 
 been ! " 
 
 " And to think he should have to pay with a 
 broken arm for his generous courage I " came in, at 
 the right place, Stacie's pitying chime.
 
 MAKGERY KEITH. 131 
 
 Dick blushed up to his light hair at all this 
 praise. Margery was as full of sympathy for his 
 broken arm, as she was of honest admiration at 
 his bravery. She considered Dick Crombly too, 
 as, in eome sense, her protege", although in her 
 busy city life she had almost lost sight of him. 
 
 "Does your arm ache now?" she asked, 
 anxiously. 
 
 "Not much ; only nights." 
 
 " Poor boy ! Ah, wouldn't I like k> have five min- 
 utes' talk with those wretches ! " eyes and cheeks 
 aflame while she spoke. " But, Dick," recollecting 
 herself, " I think you said somebody was dead ? " 
 
 It was Dick's turn now. For a few minutes 
 he had the talking to himself. He had come 
 directly from the garret of the old apple-woman. 
 He described the miserable chamber, the strange 
 death-scene which had just taken place in it, and 
 the solitary, heart-broken child he had left there, 
 sobbing over the dead. 
 
 Here was a tragedy in the commonplace light 
 of to-day ; on no splendid stage, with no mighty 
 and picturesque actors, it is true, such as filled 
 those old dramas which had stirred all their young 
 souls that morning. 
 
 But Dick's story of the lonely garret, and the 
 dying old apple-woman, and her friendless grand- 
 child, went to all their hearts, and brought tears to
 
 133 MAEGERT KEITH. 
 
 all their eyes, even to Tom Garret's, who was a 
 hoy, however, and mortally ashamed of himself 
 for crying before girls. 
 
 He, too, had his turn at astonishment on learn- 
 ing that his hero of the street-corner was the iden- 
 tical Dick Crombly of Long Branch. 
 
 Margery's pity took at once a helpful form. 
 She promised to send down an old serving-woman, 
 a kind of factotum in the household, and one on 
 whom she could rely to render any needed service, 
 and to bring little Esther home with her ; while 
 Stacie volunteered that "mamma would furnish 
 everything necessary to give the old woman a 
 decent burial." 
 
 It was finally decided among them that Tom 
 should accompany Dick to the alley, and return 
 with the servant and the child. 
 
 So the rehearsals were over for that morning. 
 The hard, stern face of the Present had thrust 
 itself into the soft, picturesque twilight of the 
 Past. 
 
 Margery would not let Dick Crombly go out of 
 her sight until he had been well toasted by the fire, 
 and treated to a lunch which might have tempted a 
 far more delicate appetite than that of a hungry, 
 growing boy's, even if he did have a broken arm. 
 But the red sling in which that broken arm lay 
 was a badge of honor in the girl's eyes ; and she
 
 MARGERY KEITH. 133 
 
 treated Dick now with a deference she had never 
 shown him in the days when she and Ben Maxwell 
 together made a point of pampering the poor littlo 
 waif at Long Branch. 
 
 The evening of that very day Esther Deems sat, 
 with her watchful eyes and her small, sorrowful 
 face, in the cosiest corner of uncle Jed's library. 
 
 She wore a dress of soft wool, and morocco 
 shoes which Margery had long outgrown. 
 
 They had had no easy time to get the child 
 away from the garret where the dead woman slept 
 peacefully as in a palace. It had taken all Dick's 
 entreaties and arguments, reinforced by Tom 
 Garrett's, to leave the chamber which was her 
 only home, and the dead who was her only relative. 
 
 She had a feeling that her grandmother would 
 awake in a little while and call for her, and grieve 
 that her little girl was gone. 
 
 But Tom and Dick prevailed at last, after a 
 woman who occupied the room beneath had been 
 hired to sit by the dead all night. 
 
 No wonder the child was bewildered by the 
 new world into which she had come. It was such 
 a contrast to the dark, old garret and the wretched 
 life there. 
 
 At first she was quite dazed by all the splendor
 
 134 MARGERY KEITH. 
 
 and beauty, but she soon settled it in her own 
 mind that it could only belong to heaven, and 
 that the lovely young lady who smiled on her so 
 sweetly, and said such kind words, must be one 
 of the angels. 
 
 Every time the door opened she actually started, 
 expecting her grandmother to walk in, with great 
 wings and a beautiful crown, and that she would 
 say, with a bright smile, "We've got here, you 
 see, Esther. The trouble's all gone forever I 
 Aint it as beautiful as I told you, child?" 
 
 But her grandmother did not come, and the little 
 girl was worn out with the grief and sobbing of 
 that day. She could not cry any more. The pain 
 had slipped off from her little heart. She would 
 have been content to sit there forever by the warm 
 fire, in the beautiful room, and watch the lovely 
 lady ; and she did not suspect how the curious, 
 intent gaze of her sorrowful eyes was going to 
 Margery's heart. 
 
 But at last the lids dropped softly over them, 
 uid they carried Esther Deems, fast asleep, to her 
 \varm, soft bed under uncle Jed's roof. " 
 
 No ; it certainly was not heaven, and yet, under 
 God's shining roof of stars that night, there were 
 perhaps fewer places nearer it than the home of 
 Jeremiah Woolcott.
 
 MAKGERY KEITH. 135 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 ONCE more uncle Jed and Margery Keith sat 
 alone, late in the evening, in the library. That 
 very morning he had returned home, having been 
 away twice as long as he had anticipated. 
 
 Of course Margery had volumes to relate ; for 
 the " private theatricals " were to come off the 
 next evening, and the programme had hardly been 
 developed when he went away. 
 
 He knew, too, that some tide of events had, 
 during his absence, cast up at his door a little, 
 strange waif of a girl. One look at her curious, 
 half-scared, little face, as Margery brought her up 
 for an introduction, told the man that the small 
 life had taken its roots away down in soils of pov- 
 otty and misery; but the frightened, appealing 
 look went to his soft heart, and his thoughts, as he 
 looked on her, were somewhat on this fashion : 
 " Well, you poor little morsel of humanity, you've 
 had a hard time of it thus far, I see. Born to no 
 silver spoon, and no soft cradle, were you? It 
 must seem to you now as though you'd got among 
 the clover and daisies. Make the most of them."
 
 136 MARGERY KEITH. 
 
 But uncle J>d said nothing of all this to Esther 
 Deems, ^ she fltood before him in the plaid dress 
 and the snowy, embroidered apron which Margery 
 had worn so long ago ; and which effected such a 
 thorough transformation in her appearance, that 
 the boys would never have recognized her for the 
 girl in the ridiculous bonnet and the scarlet and 
 yellow striped shawl, whom they had so shame- 
 fully bullied. 
 
 But when uncle Jed saluted the child in his 
 kindly, humorous way, with the pleasant twinkle 
 of a smile in his gray eyes, the shy, little heart 
 warmed toward him at once, and Esther's secret 
 thought was, " Oh, what a beautiful man 1" 
 
 But she could not have said this, though, to save 
 her life. 
 
 Esther Deems had, after a good deal of reflec- 
 tion, made up her mind that she had not got to 
 heaven, after all. 
 
 But she was quite satisfied to remain where she 
 was, now there was such a beautiful, undreamt-of 
 side to this world. The dreadful ache for the dead 
 grandmother went out of the little heart forever. 
 She felt very sure that the old woman, in her new, 
 beautiful home, knew all about the good fortunes 
 into which her darling had fallen ; and hear<*n 
 seemed a great deal nearer to Esther than her io~v 
 home did to the dark, old garret, and yet th*i
 
 MARGERY KEITH. 137 
 
 come from one to the other in little more than an 
 hour. 
 
 Uncle Jed had been quite too busy on the day 
 of his return to learn anything but the merest 
 fragment of Esther Deems' story. Margery re- 
 served it for the evening and the library, when 
 they two should be alone together. 
 
 And here they two were, as I said, and it was 
 late, and Margery had told the tale, and the part 
 Dick Crombly had borne in it. 
 
 Uncle Jed had listened silently. It was not his 
 habit to interrupt her, when she was launched on a 
 full tide of talk ; but she was sure that the life and 
 pathos of the story could not fail to move him. 
 
 " I knew, uncle Jed, the only thing to do was 
 to have that forlorn little midget brought up here. 
 I gave the order, sure of your approval when you 
 heard it." 
 
 "You did the very best thing, my dear." 
 
 " But you cannot imagine what an absurd-look- 
 ing little Guy she was when I first saw her in that 
 coal-scuttle of a bonnet, and that fiery shawl. I 
 forgot all about them, though, when I caught a 
 glimpse of the scared, sorrowful face. It has 
 grown so much happier these days." 
 
 " That is one good thing. Now what do you 
 propose doing with this small protegee of yours, 
 Margery ? "
 
 138 MARGERY KEITH. 
 
 " If you had only waited half a minute more, 
 uncle Jed, I should have asked you that very 
 question." 
 
 " Well, we will let her stay on for the present ; 
 happily, there's room enough and to spare, under 
 this wide roof, for her small head. If she has any 
 special aptitude we can find it out, and give it a 
 chance. One of these days you will be a fine 
 young lady, and want a small maid, I suppose. 
 We can put her in training for that, perhaps." 
 
 " Uncle Jed, you do have the brightest ideas and 
 the nicest wishes for people. The servants have 
 taken a fancy to the child, and she will be suffi- 
 ciently petted and spoiled in the kitchen." 
 
 "A little cosseting will do her no harm. What 
 a rough wind has blown through her years thus 
 far ! She will find, I trust, that the gale which 
 brought her to our gate was a friendly one. If 
 we meddle with people's lives, it must be to make 
 them a little happier, a little better. I think that 
 rule, fairly acted upon, would carry one smoothly 
 and biT'cly through the world." 
 
 "But % uncle Jed, what is to be said for all the 
 poor little waifs, like this one, out in the dark and 
 cold of the world, whom no friendly wind blow? 
 to any gate that will open and take them in ? " 
 
 "This is to be said, my child : that the world is 
 God's, and that he does not ask us to carry its
 
 MARGERY KEITH. 139 
 
 huge weight on our slight human shoulders, only 
 to do the best we can with our one little corner." 
 
 She was silent a little while, over that ; think- 
 ing the more. 
 
 Then she burst out again : " How things do run 
 into one another I If it had not been for Dick 
 Crombly and that day at Long Branch, when I 
 took pity on his torn foot, that midget would 
 never have showed her little, sorrowful face under 
 our roof." 
 
 " Precisely. Things do run into and open out 
 of one another. Dick did a brave deed the other 
 day. I shall let the boy know what I think of it, 
 and that I don't believe he will be sorry for it 
 when he is a grown-up man, though it has cost 
 him a broken arm now." 
 
 "He says he shall get back to the office next 
 week. I have had him up here a good deal since 
 you were away. He gets on swimmingly with 
 Esther, who, shy as she is with everybody else, 
 chatters away to him by the hour. I have 
 invited him up to-morrow evening." 
 
 Her closing remark suggested the rehearsals once 
 more to Margery. She gave uncle Jed a detailed 
 and very animated account of these as they had 
 occurred each day. 
 
 When she was through, her uncle remarked 
 "To-morrow will be an exciting time for
 
 140 MARGERY KEITH. 
 
 Margery. If I had had my wits about me 1 
 should have sent you to bed an hour ago." 
 
 " Oh, no, you wouldn't have ; for in that case, 
 uncle Jed, I should only have lain wide awake, 
 tormenting myself with the things I wanted to say 
 to you and couldn't, so nobody would have gained 
 anything. To think you and I are sitting here 
 alone to-night, talking together, and to-morrow 
 evening how changed it will all be ! the crowds, 
 the lights, the hum of voices, the rustle of 
 dresses " 
 
 "There, that's enough for to-night. I shall 
 repent being wheedled into all this nonsense, 
 unless you kiss me, and march straight to bed, 
 without another word, Miss Margery Keith." 
 
 When he spoke in that tone she knew it was 
 useless to say anything further. 
 
 Dick Crombly, hurrying along the street that 
 afternoon, heard his name suddenly called by 
 somebody behind him. 
 
 The boy was just on the point of signalling a 
 Fourth Avenue car. He was on his way up town, 
 for he had had an invitation, not only to the pri- 
 vate theatricals, but to take tea at uncle Jed's. 
 
 Better than all, he had had a private interview,
 
 MARGERY KEITH. 141 
 
 that day with Mr. Woolcott, and the man had said 
 some things to the boy which would make the 
 interview memorable through all Dick Crombly's 
 future life. Praise from the lips of uncle Jed 
 was always a very delightful thing, because the 
 man himself took such thorough delight in bestow- 
 ing it, and every word had the ring of honest 
 truth. 
 
 His approval was a thing worth having, because 
 it must be fairly earned first, with such a man mere 
 flattery being impossible. Dick had gone down to 
 the office that afternoon, for the first time since 
 his accident ; somebody else having taken his place 
 for a week. To his surprise he found uncle Jed 
 there, who called him to his side, and saluted him 
 with great cordiality. 
 
 " I know all about it, Dick," he said. " 1 heard 
 it from Miss Margery's own lips, last evening. I 
 am proud of you, and proud of that broken arm, 
 too ! It does you as much honor as though you 
 had received it on a battle-field. You know the 
 knights and heroes of old always made it their 
 highest glory to defend the wronged and helpless. 
 Yours was a noble deed, my boy." 
 
 Dick went out of uncle Jed's office prouder and 
 happier than he had ever been in his life. It was 
 two hours afterward, when, making his way to the
 
 142 MAKQEKY KEITH. 
 
 street-car, he heard his name called by a voice 
 just behind him. 
 
 He turned and saw a young man with very red 
 whiskers, in a shaggy green jacket and tarpaulin 
 hat, and that roll in his gait that showed at once 
 that he had followed the seas from his boyhood. 
 
 "Don't know me, eh? "said the young sailor, 
 putting out his hand and evidently enjoying the 
 stare of perplexed curiosity with which Dick 
 regarded him. 
 
 "I can't say I do," replied the boy, giving his 
 hand, however, in turn, and it was seized with a 
 hearty grip. 
 
 The sailor mentioned a name which had been 
 familiar enough to Dick in those old days when 
 he haunted the docks and swam off to the lighters, 
 and had his. own reasons for keeping in the 
 shadows of the great hulks of vessels riding at 
 anchor by the piers. The sailor had been em- 
 ployed on one of the lighters, and was an old crony 
 of Jake Barton's. 
 
 "I al'ays remember a face when I've seen it 
 once, though you've been pretty thoroughly hauled 
 over and new rigged," with a glance which took 
 Dick in from caps to boots. "If you've fe'l into 
 good luck I'm glad on't." 
 
 " I have, Jack. I've got a good bunk as office
 
 MARGEKY KEITH. 143 
 
 boy now. You've been off on a long cruise, 1 
 take it?" 
 
 The two walked along the street, continuing 
 their talk. The sailor had shipped on board a 
 merchant-vessel, bound first for California and 
 afterward for Calcutta. He had only reached 
 New York on the return voyage the day before. 
 
 Dick's heart gave a great thump when the sailor 
 went on to say that Jake Barton had shipped on 
 the same vessel with him. 
 
 There was a little pause there ; the sailor looked 
 doubtfully at Dick. " You haven't heard anything 
 about him of late, I reckon?" he asked. 
 
 "Not since I saw him at Long Branch two 
 years ago next summer. Did he come back with 
 you?" 
 
 And as Dick asked the question, the heart which 
 had thumped so, a moment before, sank like lead. 
 
 In a little while it was all out. The sailor had 
 a kindly heart, for he bungled at first telling the 
 story, remembering that Dick was the cousin of his 
 old crony. When he had done talking, however, 
 Dick knew that Jake Barton had taken the ship- 
 fever during the voyage out, and died while the 
 vessel was rounding Cape Horn. 
 
 The news shocked Dick at first. There was a 
 time when Jake Barton, despite the coarse vil- 
 lain that he was, had shown Dick a good deal of
 
 144 MARGERY KEITH. 
 
 kindness, and probably been nearer the boy's 
 heart than anything on earth. He wiped some 
 tears away with his coat-sleeve, and asked a num- 
 ber of questions about the last illness of Jake. 
 The sailor gave him all the information he pos- 
 sessed, and when they reached an eating-saloon, 
 where he expected to meet some of his crew, he 
 cordially invited Dick to enter. But the boy 
 thanked him and declined, and the two parted, 
 the sailor promising to call on Dick before he left 
 port. 
 
 Going up town that afternoon, hi the horse-cars, 
 Dick drew a long breath of relief. Despite his 
 first shock on learning of Jake Barton's death, the 
 thought of him had been a kind of nightmare 
 hanging over Dick ever since the days at Long 
 Branch. He felt that some tune Jake Barton 
 would be certain to turn up again. How would 
 they two meet, between whom such a gulf had 
 been widening all these months ? Yet old mem- 
 ories and old habits and a tough tie of gratitude still 
 held Dick to Jake Barton. The boy was afraid of 
 his cousin, afraid of himself, lest, when they two 
 met, some devil which he had long been trying to 
 keep down and strangle should spring up suddenly 
 and overmaster him, and drag him back, reluc- 
 tant, shuddering, yet longing for the old life with its 
 freedom, and excitement, and perils. Dick knew
 
 MAKGEEr KEITH. 145 
 
 where, down in all its squalor and misery, its bad 
 charm and fascination lay, as only those can who 
 have tried it. 
 
 Then it seemed mean to the boy, because his 
 own fortunes were bettered, to turn the cold 
 shoulder on the relative who had shared many a 
 meal and many a pallet with him. Far from 
 quarrelling with Dick Crombly for this feeling, I 
 think it did him honor. 
 
 But all doubts and fears on that score were now 
 set at rest forever, and, though he wiped his eyes 
 more than once on that long car-ride, it cannot be 
 denied that the news of his cousin's death had 
 been a great relief, as though some incubus that 
 weighed down his soul had suddenly slipped off. 
 
 A human life may go out from this world with- 
 out being a real loss or grief to any other. 
 
 Jake Barton had gone to his own place. 
 
 The morning after the Shakespearian recitations, 
 there was a lively scene going on in uncle Jed's 
 library. Margery Keith was there, with Tom and 
 Stacie Garrett, who had come directly after break- 
 fast to talk over the triumphs of the previous 
 evening ; and Dick Crombly, having remained over 
 night, was there also, and Margery had little 
 Esther up, to keep him company. 
 M
 
 146 MARGEBY KEITH. 
 
 It was quite as good as the play, heariag those 
 young people talk about it. They were all of one 
 mind regarding the evening, that it had been a 
 great success. They went over with every detail, 
 and told how they had felt, and there was a vast 
 amount of fun and merriment mixed up with the 
 whole ; all manner of ludicrous mistakes had just 
 escaped occurring, each one of which brought out 
 peals of laughter and pages of talk. 
 
 w Everybody said you made the most splendid 
 princess," said Stacie, her blue eyes glowing with 
 girlish delight and admiration on her friend. 
 " I never saw you look so lovely, did you, Tom?" 
 
 " Never 1 " answered the boy, fervently. 
 
 " Stacie, darling, you are too bad to put him to 
 the cruel test of the question," laughed Margery. 
 " How was he to answer you without paying me a 
 compliment ? " 
 
 " I should have contrived to get out of it some- 
 how, Miss Margery, without telling what was not 
 true," replied the boy, with sudden gravity. 
 
 Margery liked him better than she had ever 
 done before, after he made that answer. 
 
 In a corner of the room, on a small lounge, Dick 
 Crombly sat with Esther Deems and listened to 
 the talk. They enjoyed the spirit and fun of it 
 thoroughly, although they did not understand all 
 that was said. The child always warmed out of
 
 MARGERY KEITH. 147 
 
 her shyness and silence when she was with Dick. 
 She was at ease, in a homely way, with him, as she 
 was not with any of the grand people about her. 
 She chatted with the boy, and it was a pleasant 
 thing to see the pale little face brighten and the 
 merry light of childhood break up the shadows in 
 those sorrowful eyes. 
 
 In some pause of the talk, Margery came over 
 and stood by the boy and girl. She patted Esther's 
 soft hair, and said, " I hope, Dick, your arm is no 
 worse for your dissipation last night." 
 
 " Oh, no, the pain has almost gone, Miss Mar- 
 gery." In an instant he added, "I heard some- 
 thing yesterday which I think you and your uncle 
 ought to know." 
 
 " Well, suppose you tell me then." 
 
 Dick related the story which he had heard yes- 
 terday of Jake Barton. 
 
 Margery listened intently. Stacie, seeing how 
 earnestly the two were talking, made a little sign 
 to her brother not to interrupt them ; and the two 
 went to examining some lovely Rhine views in 
 water-colors which lay on the library-table. 
 
 The mention of Jake Barton's name carried 
 Margery back to that afternoon at Long Branch, 
 when the sudden, awful fright had rushed upon 
 her. 
 
 It all came up in a moment fresh with life and
 
 148 MARGERY KEITH. 
 
 horror, as though it had happened yesterday. A 
 shudder went over the glowing young frame just 
 as a cold east wind will sometimes come shivering 
 into the warm heart of a June day. Yet she 
 never thought of that time without a glow of grat- 
 itude toward the boy whose mysterious warning 
 had brought uncle Jed at once to the rescue. She 
 could hear the man's voice ringing like a trumpet 
 over the field, and sending a thrill of courage to 
 her heart, while that villain's deadly eyes were 
 glaring on her, and his hands gripping her chain. 
 It turned her sick to think of it. 
 
 Dick saw the change in the girl's face, and half- 
 divined what was in her thoughts. " I shouldn't 
 have spoken Jake's name to you," he said, half 
 apologetically, "only I thought you and Mr. 
 Woolcott ought to know." 
 
 " Yes ; you did quite right, Dick ; I shall tell 
 uncle Jed." 
 
 Then her eyes went to the sling, in which his 
 arm was lying. " A broken arm is a bad thing, 
 Dick," she said very kindly. " But you got yours 
 in a good cause." 
 
 The boy's face brightened, and a spirit shone in 
 it which Margery had never seen there before. 
 
 " I aint sorry that my arm was broke," he said 
 decidedly. 
 
 "You're not?"
 
 MARGERY KEITH. 149 
 
 w No ; " drawing himself up proudly. " Because 
 IVe felt sure ever since, that I'm going to make a 
 man." 
 
 " I know you will, Dick," said Margery ; and her 
 eyes shone into his, and almost dazzled him, as 
 she continued : "Now I'm going to tell you one 
 thing that grand old Thomas Jefferson wrote to 
 his nephew, Peter Carr. Uncle Jed says it is a 
 piece of advice that will make a man of any boy 
 who lays it up in his soul and lives it. ' Give 
 up money, give up fame; give the earth itself, and 
 all that it contains, rather than do an immoral act. 
 And never suppose that, in any possible situation, 
 or any circumstances, it is best for you to do a 
 dishonorable thing. ,' There ! don't you like that?" 
 
 Tom Garrett answered her question with a clap- 
 ping of hands, and a "Bravo ! " In her earnest- 
 ness, Margery had spoken so loud that everybody 
 in the room heard. 
 
 A little while afterward, Dick and Esther left 
 the library, uncle Jed having given orders, before 
 he went down town that morning, that the boy 
 was not to leave the house that day. 
 
 Then Margery repeated her conversation with 
 Dick, to Tom and Stacie Garrett. 
 
 " I'm going to write to Ben Maxwell to-night," 
 aaid Tom, when Margery had concluded. " I shall
 
 150 MARGEEY KEITH. 
 
 have a long story to tell ; all about Dick Crombly 
 and last evening." 
 
 " A letter, Tom," chirruped Stacie. " I should 
 think, if you go over all that ground, it would 
 have to be a book." 
 
 Just then the lunch-bell rang.
 
 
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