DJSVfaFF r-. 
 
 Cv ^
 
 THE DISTAFF SERIES 
 
 Issued under the auspices of the Board of Women 
 
 Managers of the State of New York for 
 
 the Columbian Exposition
 
 THE DISTAFF 1 SERIES. 
 
 16mo, Cloth, Ornamental, $1 00 each. 
 
 WOMAN AND THI HIQHBB EDUCATION. Edited by 
 
 Anna C. Bracket!. 
 TH LITBBATUBE or PHILANTHBOPY. Edited by 
 
 France* A. Goodale. 
 EAKI.Y Pnos* AM. VKRRB. Edited by Alice Mon 
 
 Earle and Emily ElUworth Ford. 
 Tin Kixniur.ARTiN. Edited by Kate Doiif-lai Wippn. 
 HOUSSHOLD ART. Edited by Candare Wheeler. 
 SHORT STORKS. Edited by Constance Gary Harrison. 
 
 PUBLISHKD BY HARPER A BROTHERS, N. T. 
 
 GT For tale by all laoluttltn, or win be tent, r*<*9* 
 prtpaid, to any fart nf tie United Slatet, Canada, or 
 ilnito, on rtfeift of (A* ;>ri r.
 
 EDITED BY 
 
 CONSTANCE CARY HARRISON 
 
 
 
 NEW YORK 
 
 HARPER & BROTHERS PUBLISHERS 
 MDCCCXCIII
 
 Copyright, 1893, by HABPKR & BROTHERS. 
 
 A a riyktt rtuntd.
 
 NOTE. 
 
 MRS. STODDARD S "My Own Story" was pub 
 lished in Tlie Atlantic Monthly; Miss Cliesebro s 
 "In Honor Bound" and Mrs. Slosson s "A Speak- 
 in Ghost " appeared in Harper s Magazine; Miss 
 Crosby s "An Islander" was first printed in 
 Seribner t Magazine; and Mrs. Harrison s "Mon 
 sieur Alcibiade " is reprinted from The Century 
 Magazine. 
 
 438553
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 Page 
 INTRODUCTION vii 
 
 MY OWN STORY 1 
 
 BY ELIZABETH DEAN BARSTOW STODDARD. 
 
 IN HONOR BOUND 74 
 
 BY Miss CAROLINE CHESKBRO. 
 
 AN ISLANDER 116 
 
 BY Miss MARGARET CROSBY. 
 
 A SPEAKIN GHOST 150 
 
 BY MRS. ANNIE TRUMBCLL SLOSSOX. 
 
 MONSIEUR ALCIBIADE .-...- 191 
 
 BY COXSTAXCE GARY HARRISON.
 
 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 THE series of collections of which this volume 
 is a part is made up of representative work of 
 the women of the State of New York in period 
 ical literature. 
 
 This literature has been classified under its 
 conspicuous divisions Poetry, Fiction, History, 
 Art, Biography, Translation, Literary Criticism, 
 and the like. 
 
 A woman of eminent success in each depart 
 ment has then been asked to make a collection 
 of representative work in that department, to 
 include in it an example of her own work, and 
 to place her name upon the volume as its 
 Editor. 
 
 These selections have been made, as far as 
 possible, chronologically, beginning with the 
 earliest work of the century, in order that 
 the volumes may carry out the plan of the
 
 viii 
 
 "Exhibit of Women s Work in Literature in 
 the State of New York," of which they are 
 an original part. 
 
 The aim of this Exhibit was to make for the 
 Columbian Exposition a record of literary work, 
 limited, through necessity, both by sex and local 
 ity, but, as far as possible, accurate and com 
 plete, and to preserve this record in the State 
 Library in the Capitol at Albany. 
 
 It includes twenty-five hundred books, begin 
 ning witli the works of Charlotte Ramsay Lennox, 
 the first-born female author of the province of 
 New York, published in London in 1752, closing 
 with the pages of a translation of Herder, still 
 wet from the press, and comprising the works of 
 .almost every author in the intervening one hun 
 dred and forty years. 
 
 It includes also three hundred papers read be 
 fore the literary clubs of the State, a summary 
 of the work of all writers for the press, and the 
 folios which preserve the work of many able 
 women who have not published books. 
 
 The women of the State of New York have 
 had the honor of decorating and furnishing the 
 Library of the Woman s Building. Bulievin-r
 
 the best equipment of a library to be literature, 
 they have therefore prepared this Exhibit, and 
 have made its character comprehensive and his 
 toric, in order that it may not be temporary, but 
 that it may be preserved in the State Library 
 and may have permanent value for future lovers 
 and students of Americana. 
 
 In the preparation of these volumes Messrs. 
 Harper & Brothers have arranged that the com 
 position and other mechanical work, as well as 
 the designing of the cover, should be done by 
 women, thus giving especial significance to the 
 title, " The Distaff Series." 
 
 BLANCHE WILDER BELLAMY, 
 Chairman of the Committee on Literature 
 of the Board of Women Managers of the 
 State of New York.
 
 SHOET STOKIES.
 
 MY OWN STORY. 
 
 BY 
 
 MRS. ELIZABETH DEAX BARSTOW STODDARD. 
 
 "Oh, tell her, brief is life, but love is long." 
 
 " WHAT have I got that you would like 
 to have ? Your letters are tied Tip and 
 directed to yon. Mother will give them 
 to you when she finds them in my desk. I 
 could execute my last will myself, if it 
 were not for giving her additional pain. I 
 will leave everything for her to do except 
 this : take these letters, and when I am 
 dead give them to Frank. There is not a 
 reproach in them, and they are full of wit ; 
 but he won t laugh when he reads them 
 iigain. Choose now, what will you have 
 of mine ?" 
 
 " Well," I said, " give me the gold pen 
 holder that Redmond sent you after he 
 went away/ 
 
 Laura rose up in her bed and seized me 
 by my shoulder and shook me, crying be 
 tween her teeth. " You love him ! you love 
 i
 
 him f* -Then six?" fpli Ijaek on her pillow. 
 " Oil, if he .were_ here now ! He went. I 
 s4y,th. Ui;\.rtv the: won.a i lie v as en^aiM-.I 
 to before he saw you. lie was nearly mad, 
 though, when he went. The night mother 
 gave them their last party, when you w,ore 
 your black lace dress, and had pink roses in 
 your hair, somehow I hardly knew yon that 
 night. I was in the little parlor, looking 
 at the flowers on the mantel-piece, when 
 Redmond came into the room, and, rushing 
 up to me, bent down and whispered, Did 
 you see her go? I shall see her no more; 
 she is walking on the beach with Maurice. 
 He sighed so loud fhat I IVlt embarrassed, 
 for I was afraid that Harry Lothrop, who 
 \va> laughing and talking in a corner with 
 two or three men, would hear him ; but ho 
 was not aware that they were there. I did 
 not know what to do, unless I ridiculed 
 him. Follow them, I said. Step on her 
 flounces, and Maurice will have a chance to 
 humiliate you with some of his cutting, ex 
 quisite politeness. He never answered a 
 word, and I would not look at him ; but 
 presently I understood that there were tears 
 falling. Oli, you need not look towards mo 
 with such longing ; he does not cry for you 
 now. They seemed to bring him to his
 
 senses. He stamped his foot ; but the car 
 pet was thick ; it only made a thud. Then 
 he buttoned his coat, giving himself a vio 
 lent twist as he did it, and looked at me 
 with such a haughty composure that, if I 
 had been you, I should have trembled in 
 my shoes. He walked across the room 
 towards the group of men. Ah, Harry, he 
 said, where is Maurice? Don t you 
 know ? they all cried out; he has gone as 
 Miss Denham s escort. By Jove! said 
 Harry Lothrop, Miss Denham was as hand 
 some as Cleopatra to-night. Little Maurice 
 is now singing to her. Did he take his 
 guitar under his arm ? It was here, for I 
 .saw ;i green bag near his hat when we came 
 in to-night. Just then we heard the twang 
 of a guitar under the window, and Redmond, 
 in spite of himself, could not help a grimace. 
 Is it not a droll world ?" said Laura, after a 
 pause; "things come about so contrariwise." 
 
 She laughed such a shrill laugh that I 
 shuddered to hear it, and I fell a-crying. 
 
 "But," she continued, "I am going, I 
 trnst, where a key will be given me for this 
 cipher." 
 
 Tears came into her eyes, and an expres 
 sion of gentleness rilled her face. 
 
 "It is strange," she said, " when I know
 
 that I must die, that I should bo so moved 
 by earthly passions and so interested in 
 earthly speculations. My heart supplicates 
 God for peace and patience, and at the same 
 moment my thoughts float away in dreams 
 of the past. I shall soon be wiser; I am 
 convinced of that. The doctrine of compen 
 sation extends beyond this \vorld; if it be 
 not so, why should I die at twenty, with 
 all this mysterious suffering of soul? Yon 
 must not wonder over me, when I am gone, 
 and ask yourself, "Why did she live T Be 
 lieve that I shall know why I lived, and let 
 it suffice yon and encourage you to go on 
 bravely. Live and make your powers felt. 
 Your nature is affluent, and yon may yet 
 learn how to be happy." 
 
 She sighed softly, and turned her face ti> 
 the wall, and moved her fingers as sick 
 people do. She waited for mo to cease 
 weeping ; my tears rained over my face so 
 that I could neither see nor speak. 
 
 After I had become calmer, she moved 
 io\\ards me again and took my hand; her 
 own trembled. 
 
 " It is for the last time, Margaret. My 
 good, skilful father gi\es me no medicine 
 now. My sisters have come home; they sit 
 about the house like mourners, with idle
 
 Lands, ami do not speak with each other. 
 It is terrible, but it will soon be over." 
 
 She pulled at my hand for me to rise. I 
 staggered up, and met her eyes. Mine 
 were dry now. 
 
 " Do not come here again. It will be 
 enough for my family to look at my coffin. 
 I feel better to thiuk you will be spared the 
 pain." 
 
 I nodded. 
 
 "Good-bye!" 
 
 A sob broke in her throat. 
 
 " Margaret" she spoke like a little child 
 " I am going to heaven." 
 
 I kissed her, but I was blind and dumb. 
 1 lifted her half out of the bed. She clasped 
 her frail arms round me, and hid her face in 
 my bosom. 
 
 " Oh, I love yon !" she said. 
 
 Her heart gave such a violent plunge 
 that I felt it, and laid her back quickly. 
 Slie waved her hand to me with a deter 
 mined smile. I reached the door, still look 
 ing at her, crossed the dark threshold, and 
 passed out of the house. The bold sunshine 
 smote my face, and the insolent wind played 
 about me. The whole earth was as brilliant 
 and joyous as if it had never been furrowed 
 by graves.
 
 Laura lived some days after my interview 
 with her. She sent me no message, and I 
 did not go to see her. From the garret 
 windows of our house, which was half a 
 mile distant from Laura s, I could see the 
 windows of the room where she was lying. 
 Three tall poplar - trees intervened in the 
 landscape. I thought they stood motion 
 less so that they might not intercept my 
 view while I watched the house of death. 
 One morning I saw that the blinds had 
 been thrown back and the windows opened. 
 I knew then that Laura was dead. 
 
 The day after the funeral I gave Frank 
 his letters, his miniature, and the locket 
 which held a ring of his hair. 
 
 " Is there a fire f" he asked, when I gave 
 them to him ; " I want to burn these 
 things." 
 
 I went to another room with him. 
 
 "I ll leave everything here to-day, and 
 may I never see this cursed place again! 
 Did she die, do you know, because 1 held 
 her promise that she would bo my wife f" 
 
 He threw the papers into the grate, and 
 crowded them down with his boot, and 
 watched them till the last blackened Hake 
 disappeared. Ho then took from his neck a 
 hair chain, and threw that into the fire also.
 
 "It is all done now," he said. 
 
 He shook my hand with a firm grasp and 
 left me. 
 
 A mouth later Laura s mother sent me a 
 package containing two bundles of letters. 
 It startled me to see that the direction was 
 dated before she was taken ill : " To be 
 given to Margaret in case of my death. 
 June 5th, 1848." They were my letters, and 
 those which she had received from Harry 
 Lothrop. On this envelope was written, 
 " Put these into the black box he gave 
 you." The gold pen-holder came into my 
 hands also. Departure was engraved on 
 the handle, and Laura s initials were cut in 
 an emerald in its top. The black box was 
 an ebony, gold-plated toy, which Harry 
 Lothrop had given me at the same time 
 Redmond gave Laura the pen-holder. It 
 was when they went away, after a whole 
 summer s visit in our little town, the year 
 before. I locked the letters in the black 
 box, and, 
 
 "Whether from reason or from impulse only," 
 
 I know not, but I was prompted to write a 
 line to Harry Lothrop. 
 
 " Do not," I said, " write Laura any more 
 letters. Those you have already written to
 
 her are in my keeping, for she is dead. 
 Was it not a pleasant summer we |>as>r.l 
 together? The second autumn is already 
 nt hand; time flies the same, whether we 
 are dull or gay. For all this period what 
 remains except the poor harvest of a lew 
 letters ?" 
 
 I received in answer an incoherent and 
 agitated letter. What was the matter with 
 Laura? he asked. He had not heard from 
 her for months. Had any rupture occurred 
 between her and her friend Frank ? Did I 
 suppose she was ever unhappy? He \\a> 
 shocked at the news, and said he must 
 come and learn the particulars of the event. 
 He thanked me for my note, and beg^t-d me 
 to lii-lievo how sincere was his friendship 
 for my poor friend. 
 
 "Redmond," he continued, "is for the 
 present attached to the engineer corps to 
 which I belong, and he has offered to take 
 charge of my business while I am a day or 
 two absent. He is in my room at this mo 
 ment, holding your note in his hand, and 
 appears painfully disturbed." 
 
 It was now a little past the time of year 
 when Redmond and Harry Lothrop had left 
 us early autumn. After their departure 
 Laura and I had been sentimental enough
 
 to talk over the events of their visit. Re 
 calling these associations, we created an 
 illusion of pleasure which of course could 
 not last. Harry Lothrop wrote to Laura, 
 but the correspondence declined and died. 
 As time passed on we talked less and less of 
 our visitors, and finally ceased to speak of 
 them. Neither of us knew or suspected the 
 other of any deep or lasting feeling towards 
 the two friends. Laura kne\v Redmond, 
 better th.au I did at least, she saw him 
 ofteuer; in fact, she knew both in a differ 
 ent way. They had visited her alone, 
 while I had met them almost entirely iu 
 society. I never found so much time to 
 spare as she seemed to have, for everybody 
 liked her, and everybody sought her. As 
 often as we had talked over our acquaint 
 ance, she was wary of speaking of Red 
 mond. Her last conversation with me re 
 vealed her thoughts, and awakened feelings 
 which I thought I had buffeted down. The 
 tone of Harry Lothrop s note perplexed me, 
 and I found myself drifting back into au old 
 state of mind I had reason to dread. 
 
 As I said, the autumn had come round. 
 Its quiet days, its sombre nights, filled my 
 soul with melancholy. The lonesome moan 
 of the sea and the waiting stillness of the
 
 10 
 
 woods were just the same a year ago ; but 
 Laura was dead, ami Natnn; grieved me. 
 Yet none of us are in one mood long, and at 
 this very time there were intervals when I 
 found something delicious in life, either in 
 myself or the atmosphere. 
 
 "Moreover, something is or seems 
 That touches me with mystic gleams." 
 
 A golden morning, a starry night, the azure 
 round of the sky, the undulating horizon of 
 sea, the hluo haze which rose and fell over 
 the distant hills, the freshness of youth, the 
 power of boauty all gave me deep volupt 
 uous dreams. 
 
 I can afford to confess that I possessed 
 beauty ; for half my faults and miseries 
 arose from the fact of my being beautiful. 
 I was not vaiu, but as conscious of my 
 beauty as I was of that of a flower, and 
 sometimes it intoxicated me. For iu spi ti 
 nt the comforting novels of the Jane Eyre 
 school, it is hardly possible to set an undue 
 value upon beauty; it defies ennui. 
 
 As I expected, Harry Lothrop came to see 
 me. The sad remembrance of Laura s death 
 prevented any ceremony between us ; we 
 met as old acquaintances, of course, although 
 we had never conversed together half an
 
 hour without interruption. I began with 
 the theme of Laura s illness and death, aud 
 the relation which she had held towards me. 
 All at once I discovered, without evidence, 
 that he was indifferent to what I was say 
 ing ; but I talked on mechanically, and like 
 a phantasm the truth came to my mind. 
 The real man was there not the one I had 
 carelessly looked at aud kuowii through 
 Laura. 
 
 I became silent. 
 
 He twisted his fingers in the fringe of my 
 scarf, which had fallen off, and I watched 
 them. 
 
 "Why," I abruptly asked, "have I not 
 known you before ?" 
 
 He let go the fringe, and folded his hands, 
 and in a dreamy voice replied, 
 
 " Redmond admires you." 
 
 " What a pity !" I said. "And yon you 
 admire me, or yourself, just now ; which ?" 
 
 Ho flushed slightly, but continued with a 
 bland voice, which irritated and interested 
 me: 
 
 "All that time I was so near you, and you 
 scarcely saw me ; what a chance I had to 
 study you ! Your friend was intelligent and 
 sympathetic, so we struck a league of friend 
 ship : I could dare so much with her, be-
 
 19 
 
 cause I knew that she was engaged to marry 
 Mr. Ballard. I own that I have beeu trou 
 bled about her since I went away. How 
 odd it is that I am hero alone with you in 
 this room! how many times I have wished 
 it! I liked you best here; and while absent 
 the remembrance of it has been inseparable 
 from the remembrance of you a picture 
 within a picture. I know all that the room 
 contains : the white vases, and the wire bas 
 kets, with pots of Egyptian lilies and dam 
 ask roses, the books bound in greeu and 
 gold, the engravings of nymphs and fauns, 
 the crimson bars in the carpet, the flowers 
 on the cushions, and, best of all, the arched 
 window and its low seat. But I had prom 
 ised myself never to see you ; it was all I 
 could do for Laura. She is dead, and I am 
 here." 
 
 I rose and walked to the window, and 
 looked out on the misty sea, and felt 
 strangely. 
 
 "Another lover, 1 I thought, and lVd- 
 moud s friend, and Laura s. But it all be 
 longs to the comedy we play." 
 
 He came to where I stood. 
 
 "I know you so well," he said "your 
 pride, your self-control, even your foibles; 
 but they attract oue, too. You did not es-
 
 cape heart-whole from Bedmoud a iufluenco. 
 Ho is not married yet, but be will be ; be is 
 a chivalrous fellow. It was a desperate 
 matter between yon two a band-to-band 
 struggle. It is over with you both, I be 
 lieve : yon are something alike. Now may 
 I offer you my friendship ? If I love you, 
 let me say so. Do not resist me. I appeal 
 to tbe spirit of coquetry which tempted you 
 before you saw me to-night. You are dressed 
 to please me." 
 
 I was thinking wbat I should say when 
 he skilfully turned the conversation into 
 an ordinary channel. He shook off his 
 dreamy manner, and talked with his old 
 vivacity. I was charmed a little; an asso 
 ciation added to the charm, I fancy. It was 
 late at night when he took his leave. He 
 had arranged it all ; for a man brought his 
 carriage to the door and drove him to the 
 next town, where he had procured it to 
 come over from the railway. 
 
 When I was shut in my room for the 
 night rage took possession of me. I tore 
 off my dress, twisted my hair with vehe 
 mence, and hurried to bed and tried to go 
 to sleep ; but could not, of course. As when 
 we press onr eyelids together for meditation 
 or sleep, violet rings and changing rays of
 
 14 
 
 light flash and fade before the 
 eyeballs, so in the dark unrest of my mind 
 the past flashed up, and this is what I saw : 
 
 The county ball, where Laura and I first 
 met Redmond, Harry Lothrop, and Maurice. 
 We were struggling through the crowd of 
 girls at the dressing-room door, to rejoin 
 Frank, who was waiting for ns. As we 
 passed out, satisfied with the mutual inspec 
 tion of our dresses of white silk, which were 
 trimmed with bunches of rose-geranium, we 
 saw a group of strangers close by ns, button 
 ing their gloves, looking at their boots, and 
 comparing looks. Laura pushed her fan 
 against my arm; wo looked at each other, 
 and made signs behind Frank, and were 
 caught in the act, not only by him, but by 
 a tall gentleman in the group which she 
 had signalled me to notice. The shadow of 
 a smile was travelling over his face as I 
 caught his eye, but he turned away so sud 
 denly that I had no opportunity for embar 
 rassment. An usher gave us a place near 
 the band, at the head of the hall. 
 
 " Do not be reckless, Laura," I said " at 
 least, till the music gives you an excuse." 
 
 " Yon are obliged to me, yon know," she 
 answered, " for directing your attention to
 
 such attractive prey. Being in bonds my 
 self, I can only use my eyes for yon; don t 
 be ungrateful." 
 
 The band struck up a crashing polka, and 
 she and Frank whirled away, with a hun 
 dred others. I found a seat and amused my 
 self by contrasting the imperturbable coun 
 tenances of the musicians with those of the 
 dancers. The perfumes the women wore 
 floated by me. These odors, the rhythmic 
 motion of the dancers, and the hard, ener 
 getic music exhilarated me. The music 
 ended, and the crowd began to buzz. The 
 loud, inarticulate speech of a brilliant crowd 
 is like good wine. As my acquaintances 
 gathered about me, I began to feel its elec 
 tricity, and grew blithe and vivacious. Pres 
 ently I saw one of the ushers speaking to 
 Frank, who went down the hall with him. 
 
 "Oh, my prophetic soul!" said Laura, 
 " they are coming." 
 
 Frank came back with the three and in 
 troduced them. Redmond asked me for the 
 first quadrille, and Harry Lothrop engaged 
 Laura. Frank said to me behind his hand 
 kerchief, "It s en regie; I know where they 
 came from ; their fathers are brave, and their 
 mothers are virtuous." 
 
 The quadrille had not commenced, so I
 
 18 
 
 talked with several persons near; but I felt 
 a constraint, for I knew I was closely ob 
 served by the stranger, who was entirely 
 quiet. Curiosity made me impatient for 
 the dance to begin ; and when we took our 
 places I was cool enough to examine him. 
 Tall, slender, and swarthy, with a delicate 
 moustache over a pair of thin scarlet lips, 
 penetrating eyes, and a tranquil air. My 
 antipodes in looks, for I was short and fair; 
 my hair was straight and black like his, but 
 my eyes were blue, and my month wide and 
 full. 
 
 "What an unnaturally pleasant thing a 
 ball-room is!" he said "before the diist 
 rises and the lights flare, I mean. But no 
 body ever leaves early; as the freshness 
 vanishes the extravagance deepens. Did 
 you ever notice how much faster the musi 
 cians play as it grows late ? When we open 
 the windows, the fresh breath of the night 
 increases the delirium within. I have seen 
 the quietest women toss their failed bou 
 quets out of the windows without a thought 
 of making a comparison between the flowers 
 and themselves." 
 
 My poor geraniums!" I said "what 
 eloquence!" 
 
 He laughed, and answered,
 
 17 
 
 "My friend Maurice yonder would have 
 said it twice as well." 
 
 We were in the promenade then, and 
 stopped where the said Maurice was fanning 
 himself against the wall. 
 
 " May I venture to ask you for a waltz, 
 Miss Deuliam? it is" the next dance on the 
 card," said Maurice; " but of course you are 
 engaged." 
 
 I gave him my card, and he began to 
 mark it, when Redmond took it, and placed 
 his own initials against the dance after sup 
 per, and the last one on the list. He left 
 me then, and I saw him a moment after 
 talking with Laura. 
 
 We passed a gay night. When Laura and 
 I equipped for our ten miles ride it was 
 four in the morning. Redmond helped 
 Frank to pack us in the carriage, and we 
 rewarded him with a knot of faded leaves. 
 
 "This late event," said Laura, with a 
 ministerial air, after we had started, " was 
 a providential one. You, my dear Frank, 
 were at liberty to pursue your favorite pas 
 time of whist, in some remote apartment, 
 without being conscience -torn respecting 
 me. I have danced very well without you, 
 thanks to the strangers. And you, Mar 
 garet, have had an unusual opportunity of
 
 u 
 
 displaying your latent forces. Three such 
 different men ! But let ns drive fast. lam 
 in want of the cup of tea which mother will 
 have waiting for me." 
 
 We arrived first at my door. As I was 
 going up the steps Laura broke the silence, 
 for neither of us had spoken since her re 
 marks. 
 
 "By-the-way, they are coming here to 
 stay awhile. They are anxious for some 
 deep-sea fishing. They ll have it, I think. 
 
 I heard Frank s laugh of delight at 
 Laura s wit as the carriage drove off. 
 
 It was our last ball that season. 
 
 It was late in the spring; and when KYd- 
 mond came with his two friends and.sct.tled 
 at the hotel in our town it was early sum 
 mer. When I saw them again they came 
 with Laura and Frank to pay me a visit. 
 Laura was already acquainted with tlnni, 
 and asked mo if I did not perceive her su 
 periority in the fact. 
 
 "Let us arrange," said Harry Lothrop, 
 "some systematic plan of amusement by sea 
 and land. I have a pair of horses, Maurice 
 owns a guitar, and Redmond s boat will be 
 here in a few days. Jones, our landlord, 
 has two horses that are tolerable under the 
 saddle. Let us ride, sail, and be serenaded.
 
 The Lake House, Jones again, is eight miles 
 distant. This is Monday ; shall \ve go there 
 on horseback Wednesday ?" 
 
 Laura looked mournfully at Frank, who 
 replied to her look, 
 
 " You must go ; I^canuot ; I shall go back 
 to business to-morrow." 
 
 I glanced at Redmond; he was contem 
 plating a portrait of myself at the age of 
 fourteen. 
 
 "Shall we go?" Laura asked him. 
 
 " Nothing, thank you," he answered. 
 
 We. all laughed, and Harry Lothrop said, 
 
 " Redmond, my boy, how fond you are of 
 pictures !" 
 
 Redmond, with an unmoved face, said, 
 
 " Don t be absurd about my absent-mind 
 edness. What were you saying?" And he 
 turned to me. 
 
 "Do you like our plan," I asked, "of go 
 ing to the Lake House ? There is a deep 
 pond, a fine wood, a bridge ; perch, pickerel, 
 a one-story inn with a veranda; ham and 
 eggs, stewed quince, elderberry wine, and 
 a romantic road to ride over." 
 
 "I like it." 
 
 Frank opened a discussion on fishing ; 
 Laura and I withdrew, and weiit to the 
 window-seat.
 
 J l 
 
 " I am light-hearted," I said. 
 
 "It is my duty to be melancholy," she re 
 plied ; " but I shall not niope after Frank 
 has gone." 
 
 " After them the deluge, " said I. " How 
 long will they stay ?" 
 
 "Till they are bored, I fancy." 
 
 " Oh, they are going ; we must leave our 
 recess." 
 
 Frank and she remained ; the others bid 
 us good-night. 
 
 "I shall not come again till Christmas. 
 he said. "These college chaps will amuse 
 you and make the time pass; they are 
 young quite suitable companions for you 
 girls. Tivc Ja bagatelle!" 
 
 He sighed, and, drawing Laura s arm in 
 his, rose to go. She groaned loudly, and lie 
 nipped her ears. 
 
 "Good-bye, Margaret; let Laura lake 
 care of you. There is a deal of wisdom in 
 her." 
 
 We shook hands, Laura moaning all the 
 while, and they went home. 
 
 Frank and Laura had boon engaged throe 
 years. He was about thirty, and was still 
 too poor to marry. 
 
 Wednesday pruvod pleasant. Wo had an 
 early dinner, and our cavalcade started from
 
 Jl 
 
 Laura s. I rode my small bay horse Folly, 
 a gift from my abseutee brother. His coat 
 was sleeker than satin ; his ears moved per 
 petually, aud his wide nostrils were always 
 in a quiver. He was not entirely safe, for 
 uow aud then he jumped unexpectedly ; but 
 I had ridden him a year without accident, 
 and felt enough acquainted with him not to 
 be afraid. 
 
 Redmond eyed him. 
 
 " Yon are a bold rider," he said. 
 
 " No," I answered " a careful one. Look 
 at the bit, aud my whip, too. I cut his hiud- 
 legs when he jumps. Observe that I do not 
 wear a long skirt. I can slip off the saddle, 
 if need be, without danger." 
 
 "That s all very well; but his eyes are 
 vicious; he will serve you a trick some 
 day." 
 
 " When he does, I ll sell him for a cart- 
 liorse." 
 
 Laura and Redmond rode Jones s horses. 
 Harry Lothrop was mounted on his horse 
 Black, a superb, thick-maned creature, with 
 a cluster of white stars on one of his shoul 
 ders. Maurice rode a wall-eyed pony. Our 
 friends Dickeuson and Jack Parker drove 
 two young ladies in a carriage all the sad 
 dle-horses our town could boast of being in
 
 use. We were in high spirits, and rode fast. 
 I was occupied iu watching Folly, who had 
 not been out for several days. At last, tired 
 of tugging at his mouth, I gave him rein, 
 and he flew along. I tucked the edge of my 
 skirt under the Saddle-flap, slanted forward, 
 :ind held the bridle with both hands cl.r it. 
 his head. A long sandy reach of road I;iy 
 before me. I enjoyed Folly s fierce trot 
 ting; but, as I expected, the good hurst- 
 Black was on my track, while the rest of 
 the party were far behind. He soon over 
 took me. Folly snorted when In- heard 
 Black s step. We pulled up, and the two 
 horses began to sidle, and prance, and throw 
 np their heads so that we could not indulge 
 iu a bit of conversation. 
 
 "Brute!" said Harry Lothrop, "if I were 
 sure of getting on again, I would dismount 
 and thrash you awfully." 
 
 " Remember Pickwick," I said ; " don t do 
 it." 
 
 I had hardly spoken when the strap >t 
 his cap broke, aud it fell from his head to 
 the ground. I laughed, and so did he. 
 
 "I can hold your horse while you dis 
 mount for it." 
 
 I stopped Folly, and he forced Black near 
 enough for mo to seize the rein and twist it
 
 round ray hand ; when I had done so Folly 
 turned his head, and was tempted to take 
 Black s mane in his teeth ; Black felt it, 
 reared, and came down with his nose in my 
 lap. I could not loose my hands, which con 
 fused me, but I saw- Harry Lothrop making 
 a great leap. Both horses were running now, 
 and he was lying across the saddle, trying to 
 free my hand. It was over in an instant. He 
 got his seat, and the horses were checked. 
 
 "Good God!" he said, "your lingers are 
 crushed." 
 
 He pulled off my glove, and turned pale 
 when he saw my purple hand. 
 
 " It is nothing," I said. 
 
 But I was miserably fatigued, and prayed 
 that the Lake House might come in sight. 
 We were near the wood, which extended to 
 it, and I was wondering if we should ever 
 reach it, when he said : 
 
 ft You must dismount, and rest under the 
 first tree. We will wait there for the rest 
 of the party to come up." 
 
 I did so. Numerous were the inquiries 
 when they reached us. Laura, when she 
 heard the story, declared she now believed 
 in Ellen Pickering. Eedmond gave me a 
 .searching look, and asked me if the one- 
 story inn had good beds.
 
 "I can take a nap, if necessary," I an 
 swered, "in one of Mrs. Sampson s i(\^\\- 
 bottomed chairs on the veranda. Tlit- croak 
 of the frogs in the pond and the buzz of tlio 
 blue-bottles shall be my lullaby." 
 - "No matter how, if you will rest," he 
 said, and assisted me to remount. 
 
 We rode quietly together the rest of the 
 way. After arriving, we girls went by our 
 selves into one of Mrs. Sampson s sloping 
 chambers, where there was a low bedstead, 
 and a thick feather-bed covered with a 
 patch work -quilt of the "Job s Trouble" 
 pattern, a small, dim looking-glass sur 
 mounted by a bunch of "sparrow -grass," 
 and an unpaiuted floor ornamented with 
 home-made rugs which were embroidered 
 with pink flower-pots containing worsted 
 rose-bushes, the stalks, leaves, and flowcr> 
 all in bright yellow. We hung up our rid 
 ing-skirts on ancient wooden pegs, for we 
 had worn others underneath them suitable 
 for walking, and then tilted tin- wooden 
 chairs at a comfortable angle against the 
 wall, put our feet on the rounds, and felt at 
 peace with all mankind. 
 
 " Alas !" I said, " it is too early forcurrant- 
 pies." 
 
 " I saw," said one of the girls, " Mrs.
 
 Sampson poking the oven, and a smell of 
 pies was in the air." 
 
 " Let us go into the kitchen," exclaimed 
 Laura. 
 
 The proposal \vas agreeable ; so we went, 
 and found Mrs. Sampson making plum- 
 cake. 
 
 " The pies are green - gooseberry - pies," 
 whispered Laura " very good, too. 
 
 " Miss Denhain," shrieked Mrs. Sampson, 
 "yon .haven t done growing yet. How s 
 your mother and your grandmother? Have 
 you had a revival in your church ? I heard 
 of the young men down to Jones s our min 
 ister s wife knows their fathers first-rate 
 men, she says. I thought you would be 
 here with them. Sampson, I said this 
 morning, as soon as I dressed, do pick 
 some gooseberries. I ll have before sun 
 down twenty pies in this house. There 
 they are six gooseberry, six custard, and, 
 though it s late for them, six mince, and two 
 awful great pigeon pies. It s poor trash, I 
 expect ; I m afraid you can t cat it ; but it is 
 as good as anybody s, I suppose." 
 
 We told her we should devour it all, but 
 must first catch some fish ; and we joined 
 the gentlemen on the veranda. A boat was 
 ready for us. Laura, however, refused to go
 
 M 
 
 in it. It was too small; it was wet; she 
 wauted to walk oil the bridge; she could 
 watch us from that; she wanted some flow 
 ers, too. Like many who are not afraid of 
 the ocean, she held ponds and lakes in ab 
 horrence, and fear kept her from going with 
 us. Harry Lothrop ottered to stay with IIIT, 
 ;iud lake lines to tish from the bridge. She 
 assented, and, after we pushed olF, (hey 
 strolled away. 
 
 The lake was as smooth and white as sil 
 ver beneath the afternoon sun and a wind 
 less sky ; it was bordered with a mound of 
 greeu bushes, beyond which stretched deep 
 pine woods. There was no shade, and we 
 soon grew weary. Jack Parker caught all 
 the fish, which flopped about our feet. A 
 little way down, where the lake narrowed, 
 we saw Laura and Harry Lothrop hanging 
 over the bridge. 
 
 "They must be interested in conversa 
 tion," I thought; " he has not lifted his line 
 out of the water once." 
 
 Krdmond, too, looked over that way often, 
 and at last said, 
 
 "We will row up to the liridgo, and walk 
 bcick to the house, il \on. .Mam ice. \vill take 
 the boat to the little pier again." 
 
 "Oh yes," said Maurice.
 
 We came to the bridge, and Laura reached 
 out her hand to me. 
 
 " Why, dear," she exclaimed, " you have 
 burnt yonr face ! Why did you," turning to 
 Redmond, " paddle about so long in the hot 
 sun ?" % 
 
 Her words were light enough, but the tone 
 of her voice was savage. Redmond looked 
 surprised ; he waved his hand deprecatingly, 
 but said nothing. We weut up towards the 
 house, but Laura lingered behind, and did not 
 come in till we were ready to go to supper. 
 
 It was past sundown when we rose from 
 the ruins of Mrs. Sampson s pies. We voted 
 not to start for home till the evening was 
 advanced, so that we might enjoy the gloom 
 of the pine wood. We sat ou the veranda 
 and heard the sounds of approaching night. 
 The atmosphere was like powdered gold. 
 Swallows fluttered in the air, delaying to 
 drop into their nests, and chirped their even 
 ing song. We heard the plunge of the lit 
 tle turtles in the lake, and the noisy crows 
 as they flew home over the distant tree-tops. 
 They grew dark, and the sky deepened slow 
 ly into a soft gray. A gentle wind arose, 
 and wafted us the sighs of the pines and 
 their resinous odors. I was happy, but Lau 
 ra was unaccountably silent.
 
 "What is it, Laura f" I asked in a whis 
 per. 
 
 Nothing Margaret ; only it seems to me 
 that we mortals are always riding orlishing. 
 eating or drinking, and that we never get to 
 living. To tell you the truth, the pies \\ t-n 
 too sour. Come, we must go," she said aloud. 
 
 Redmond himself brought Folly from the 
 stable. 
 
 " We will ride home together," he said. 
 "My calm nag will suit yours bettor than 
 Black. Why does your hand tremble?" 
 
 He saw my shaking hands as I took the 
 rein; the fact was, my wrists were nearly 
 broken. 
 
 " Nothing shall happen to-night, I assure 
 you," he continued, while he tightened Fol 
 ly s girth. 
 
 He contrived to be busy till all the party 
 had disappeared down a turn of the road. 
 As he was mounting his horse, Mrs. Sampson, 
 who was on the steps, whispered to me, 
 
 " He s a beautiful young man, now !" 
 
 He heard her; lie had the ear of a wild 
 animal ; ho took off his hat to Mrs. Samp 
 son, and we rode slowly away. 
 
 As soon as we were in the wood Redmond 
 tied the bridles of the horses together with 
 his handkerchief. It was so dark that my
 
 sight could not separate him from his horse. 
 They moved beside me, a vague, black shape. 
 The horses feet fell without noise in the cool, 
 moist sand. If our companions were near us 
 we could not see them, and we did not hear 
 them. Horses generally keep an even pace 
 when travelling at night subdued by the 
 darkness, perhaps and Folly went along 
 without swaying an inch. I dropped the 
 rein on his neck, and took hold of the pom 
 mel. My hand fell on Eedmond s. Before I 
 could take it away he had clasped it, and 
 touched it with his lips. The movement 
 was so sudden that I half lost my balance, 
 but the horses stepped evenly together. He 
 threw his arm round me, and recoiled from 
 me as if he had received a blow. 
 
 " Take up your rein," he said, with a 
 strange voice; "quick! we must ride fast 
 out of this." 
 
 I made no reply, for I was trying to untie 
 the handkerchief. The knot was too firm. 
 
 " No, no," ho said, when he perceived what 
 I was doing, "let it be so." 
 
 " Untie it, sir !" 
 
 " I will not." 
 
 I put my face down between the horses 
 necks and bit it apart, and thrust it into my 
 bosom.
 
 " Now," I said, " shall we ride fast ?" 
 
 He shook his rein, aud \e rode fiercely : 
 past our party, who shouted at us; through 
 the wood ; over the hrow of the great hill, 
 from whose top \ve s;i\v the dark, motionless 
 sea; through the long street, and through 
 my father s gateway into the stable -yard, 
 where I leaped from my 4iorse, aud, bridle 
 iu hand, said " Good-night !" in a loud voice. 
 
 Redmond swung his hat and galloped off. 
 
 Early next morning Laura sent me a 
 uote: 
 
 "DEAR MARGARET, I have an ague, and 
 mean to have it till Sunday night. The pines 
 did it. Did you bring home any needles f Oil 
 Monday mother will give one of her whist- 
 parties. I shall add a dozen or two of our 
 set ; you will come. 
 
 " P. S. What do you think of Mr. Harry 
 Lothrop f Good young man, eh f" 
 
 1 was glad that Laura had shut herself up 
 for a few days ; I dreaded to see her just 
 now. I suffered from an inexplicable feeling 
 of pride and disappointment, and did not 
 care to have her discover it. Laura, like 
 myself, sometimes chose to protert herself 
 against neighborly invasions. We never 
 Kept our doors locked in the country: I lie
 
 sending in of a card was an unknown pro 
 cess there. Our acquaintances walked in 
 upon us whenever the whim took them, and 
 it now and then happened to be an incon 
 venience to us who loved an occasional fit 
 of solitude. I determined to keep in-doors 
 for a few days also. Whenever I was in an 
 unquiet mood I took to industry; so that 
 day I set about arranging my drawers, mak 
 ing over my ribbons, and turning my room 
 upside-down. I reining all my pictures, and 
 moved my bottles and boxes. Then I mend 
 ed my stockings, and marked my clothes, 
 which was not a necessary piece of work, as 
 I never left home. I next attacked the par 
 lor washed all the vases, changed the places 
 of the furniture, and distressed my mother 
 very much. When evening came I brushed 
 my hair a good deal, and looked at my hands, 
 and went to bed early. I could not read then, 
 though I often took books from the shelves, 
 and I would not think. 
 
 Sunday came round. The church-bells 
 made me lonesome. I looked out of the 
 window many times that day, and, fixing 
 011 the sash one of my father s ship-glasses, 
 swept the sea, and peered at the islands on 
 the other side of the Lay, gazing through 
 their openings, beyond which I could see the
 
 .great dim ocean. Mother came botne from 
 church, and said young Maurice was there 
 and inquired about me. He hoped I did 
 not take cold; his friend Redmond had been 
 hoarse ever since our ride, and had passed 
 most of the time in his own room, drumming 
 on the window-pane and whistling dirges. 
 Mother dropped her acute eyes on me while 
 she was telling mo this; but I yawned all 
 expression from my face. 
 
 As Monday night drew near my numbness 
 of feeling began to pass off; thought came 
 into my brain by plunges. Now I denied, 
 now I hoped. I dressed myself in black silk, 
 and wore a cape of black Chantilly lace. I 
 made my hair as glossy as possible, drew it 
 down on my face, and put round my head a 
 band composed of minute sticks of coral. 
 When all was done I took the candle and 
 held it above my head and surveyed myself 
 in the glass. I was very pale. The pupils 
 of my eyes were dilated, as if I had received 
 some impression that would not pass away. 
 My lips had the redness of youlli; their 
 color was deepened by my paleness. 
 
 " Ho\v handsome I am !" I thought, as 1 
 set down the candle. 
 
 \Vhen I entered Laura s parlor she came 
 towards me and said.
 
 "Artful creature! you knew well, this 
 warm night, that every girl of us would 
 wear a light dress ; so you wore a black 
 one. How well you understand sucli mat 
 ters ! You are very clever ; your real sensi 
 bility adds effect to jsour cleverness. I see 
 how it is. Come into this corner. Have 
 you got a fan? Good gracious! black, with 
 gold spangles; where do you buy your 
 things ? I can tell you now," she contin 
 ued, " my conversation on the bridge the 
 other day." 
 
 She hesitated, and asked me if I liked her 
 new muslin. She did look well in it ; it was 
 a white fabric, with red rose-buds scattered 
 over it. Her delicate face was shadowed by 
 light, brown curls. She was attractive, and 
 I told her so, and she began again : 
 
 " Harry Lothrop said, as he was impaling 
 the half of a worm, 
 
 " Redmond is a handsome fellow, is he 
 not? 
 
 " He is too awfully thin, I answered, but 
 his eyes are good. 
 
 " He gave me a crafty side-look, like that of 
 a parrot when he means to bite your finger. 
 
 " Your friend, too, he added, is really 
 one of the most beautiful girls I ever saw 
 a coquette with a heart. 
 3
 
 "Let down your line into the water, I 
 said. 
 
 " He laughed a- little langh. By-the-bye, 
 there is an insidious tenacity about Mr. 
 Harry Lothrop which irritates me ; but I 
 like him, for I think he understands wom 
 en. I feel at ease with him when ho is not 
 throwing out his tenacious feelers. Then IIP 
 said, 
 
 " Redmond is engaged to his cousin. The 
 girl s mother had the charge of him through 
 his boyhood. He is ardently attached to her 
 the mother, I mean. She is most anxious 
 to call Kedmond her son. 
 
 " Didn t you have a bite ? I said. 
 
 " Well, I think the bait is off the hook, 
 he answered; and then we were silent and 
 pondered the water. 
 
 " There are some people I must speak to," 
 and Laura moved away without looking at 
 me. 
 
 I opened my fan, but felt chilly. A bustle 
 near mo caused me to raise my eyes; Red 
 mond was speaking to a lady. He was in 
 black, too, and very pale. He turned tow 
 ards me and our eyes met. His expression 
 agitated me so that I unconsciously rose to 
 my feet and warned him off with my fan; 
 Inn lie seemed rooted to the spot. Laura
 
 took care of us both ; she came and stood be 
 tween ns. I saw her look at him so sweetly 
 and so mournfully that he understood her 
 in a moment. He shook his head and walked 
 abruptly into another room. Laura went 
 again from me without giving me a look. 
 Maurice came up, and I made room for him 
 beside me. We talked of the riding-party, 
 and then of our first meeting at the ball. 
 He told me that Redmond s boat had arrived, 
 and what a famous boat it was, and " what 
 jolly sprees we fellows had, cruising about 
 with her." I asked him about his guitar, 
 and when we might hear him play. He 
 grow more chatty, and began to tell me about 
 his sister when Redmond and Harry Loth- 
 rop came over to us, which ended his chat. 
 
 The party was like all parties dull at first, 
 and brighter as it grew late. The old ladies 
 played whist in one room, and the younger 
 part of the company were in another. Cham 
 pagne was not a prevalent drink in our vil 
 lage, but it happened tbat we had some that 
 night. 
 
 " It may be a sinful beverage," said an old 
 lady near me, " but it is good." 
 
 Redmond opened a bottle for me, we clink 
 ed glasses, and drank to an indefinite, silent 
 wish.
 
 M 
 
 "One more," he asked, "and let us change 
 glasses." 
 
 Presently a cloud of delicate warmth 
 spread over my brain, and gave me courage 
 to seek and meet his glance. There must 
 have been an expression of irresolution in 
 my face, for he looked at me inquiringly, 
 and then his own face grew very s;i<l. I 
 felt awkward from my intuition of his opin 
 ion of my mood, when he relieved me by 
 saying something about Shelley, a copy of 
 whose poems lay on a table near. From 
 Shelley he went to his boat, and said he 
 hoped to have some pleasant excursions with 
 Laura and myself. He " would go at once 
 and talk with Laura s mother about thorn. 
 I watched him through the door while he 
 spoke to her. She was in a low chair, and 
 he leaned his face on one hand close to 
 hers. I saw that his natural expression 
 was one of tranquillity and courage. He 
 was not more than twenty- two, but the 
 firmness of the lines about his mouth belied 
 his youth. 
 
 " He has a wonderful face," I thought, 
 "andjnst as wonderful a will." 
 
 I felt my own will rise as I looked at him 
 a will that should make me mistress of 
 myself, powerful enough to contend with
 
 and resist or turn to advantage any con 
 trolling fate which might come near me. 
 
 "Do you feel like singing?" Harry Lo- 
 throp inquired. " Do you know Byron s song, 
 One struggle more and I am free ?" 
 
 " Oh yes," I replied ; " it is set to music 
 which suits my voice. I will sing it." 
 
 Laura had been playing polkas with great 
 spirit. Since the champagne the old ladies 
 had closed their games of whist for talking, 
 and, as it was nearly time to go, the company 
 was gay. There was laughing and talking 
 when I began, but silence soon after, for the 
 wine made my voice husky and effective. 
 I sang as if deeply moved. 
 
 "Lord," I heard Maurice say to Laura as 
 I rose from the piano, "what a girl! She s 
 really tragic." 
 
 I caught Harry Lothrop s eye as I passed 
 through the door to go tip-stairs; it was burn 
 ing ; I felt as if a hot coal had dropped on 
 me. Maurice ran into the hall and sprang 
 upon the stair-railing to ask me if he might 
 be my escort home. That night he sere 
 naded me. He was a good-hearted, cheerful 
 creature ; conceited, as small men are apt to 
 be conceit answering for size with them 
 but pleasantly so, and I learned to like him 
 as much as Redmond did.
 
 sa 
 
 The summer days were passing. W< had 
 ill sorts of parties parties iii houses and out- 
 of-doors; we rode and sailed and walked. 
 Laura walked and talked much with Harry 
 Lothrop. We did not often see each other 
 alone, but when we met were more serious 
 and affectionate with each other. Wo did 
 not speak, except in a general way, of Kcd- 
 inond and Harry Lothrop. I did not avoid 
 Redmond, nor did I seek him. We had many 
 a serious conversation in public, as well us 
 many a gay one; but I had never met him 
 alone since the night we rode through the 
 pines. 
 
 He went away for a fortnight. On the 
 day of his return he came to see me. He 
 looked so glad when I entered the room 
 that I could not help feeling a wild thrill. 
 I went up to him, but said nothing. He 
 held out both his hands. I retreated. An 
 angry feeling rushed into my heart. 
 
 " No," I said. " Whose hand did yon hold 
 hist ?" 
 
 He turned deadly pale. 
 
 " That of the woman I am going to 
 marry, 
 
 I smiled to hide the trembling of my lips, 
 and ollered my hand to him ; but In- icdrl it 
 (iirai/. and fell back on his chair, hurriedly
 
 39 
 
 drawing bis handkerchief across his face. I 
 saw that he was very faint, and stood against 
 the door, waiting for him to recover. 
 
 " More than I have played the woman 
 and the fool before you." 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " I thought so. You seem experienced." 
 
 " I am." 
 
 "Forgive me," he said, gently; "being 
 only a man, I think you can. Good God," 
 he exclaimed, " what an infernal self-posses 
 sion you show !" 
 
 "Redmond, is it not time to end this? 
 The summer has been a long one, has it 
 not ? Long enough for me to have learned 
 what it is to live. Our positions are re 
 versed since we have become acquainted. I 
 am for the first time forgetting self, and you 
 for the first time remember self. Redmond, 
 you are a noble man. You have a steadfast 
 soul. Do not be shaken. I am not like yon ; 
 I am not simple or single-hearted. But I 
 imitate you. Now come, I beg you will 
 go." 
 
 " Certainly, I will. I have little to say." 
 
 August had nearly gone when Maurice 
 told me they were about to leave. Laura 
 said we must prepare for retrospection and 
 the fall sewing.
 
 Ifl 
 
 " Well," I said, " the future looks gloomy, 
 !ind I must Lave some new dresses." 
 
 Maurice came to see me one morning in a 
 stall- of excitement to say we were all going 
 to Bird Island to spend the day, dine at the 
 light-house, and sail home by moonlight. 
 Fifteen of the party were going down by the 
 sloop Sapphire, and Redmond had begged 
 him to ask if Laura and I would go in.his 
 boat. 
 
 "Do go," said Maurice; "it will be our 
 last excursion together ; next week we are 
 off. I am broken-hearted about it. I shall 
 never be so happy again. I have actually 
 whimpered once or twice. Yon should hear 
 Redmond whistle nowadays. Harry pulls 
 his moustache and laughs his oily laughs, but 
 he is sorry to go, and kicks his clothes about 
 awfully. By-the-way, he is going down in 
 the sloop because Miss Fairfax is going, he 
 says that tall young lady with crinkled 
 hair ; he hates her, and hopes to see her 
 sick. May I come for you in the morning, 
 by ten o clock? Redmond will be waiting 
 ou the wharf." 
 
 " Tell Redmond," I answered, " that T will 
 go; and will you ask Harry Lothrop not to 
 engage himself for all the reels to Miss Fair- 
 lax r
 
 41 
 
 He promised to fulfil my message, and 
 went off in high spirits. I wondered, as 
 I saw him going down the walk, why it 
 was that I felt so much more natural and 
 friendly with him than with either of his 
 friends. I often talked confidentially to him ; 
 he knew how I loved my mother, and how I 
 admired my father, and I told him all about 
 my brother s business. He also knew what 
 I liked best to eat and to wear. In return, 
 he confided his family secrets to me. I knew 
 his tastes and wishes. There was no com 
 mon ground where I met Redmond and 
 Harry Lothrop. There were too many topics 
 between Redmond and myself to be avoided 
 for us to venture upon private or familiar 
 conversation. Harry Lothrop was an ac 
 complished, fastidious man of the world. I 
 dreaded boring him, and so I said little. He 
 was several years older than Redmond, and 
 possessed more knowledge of men, women, 
 and books. Redmond had no acquirements, 
 he knew enough by nature, and I never saw 
 a person with more fascination of manner 
 and voice. 
 
 The evening before the sailing-party I 
 had a melancholy-fit. I was restless, and 
 after dark I put a shawl over my head and 
 went out to walk. I went up a lonesome
 
 road beyond our house. On one side I heard 
 the water washing against the shore with 
 regularity, as if it were breathing. On the 
 other side were meadows, where there were 
 cows crunching the grass. A mile farther 
 was a low wood of oaks, through which ran 
 a path. I determined to walk through that. 
 The darkness and sharp breeze which blew 
 against me from limitless space made me 
 feel as if I were the only human creature the 
 elements could find to contend with. I turn 
 ed down the little path into the deeper dark 
 ness of the wood, eat down on a heap of 
 dead leaves, and began to cry. 
 
 " Mine is a miserable pride," was my 
 thought " that of arming myself with beau 
 ty and talent, and going through the world 
 conquering! Girls are ignorant till they are 
 disappointed. The only knowledge men prof 
 fer us is the knowledge of the heart ; it be 
 comes us to profit by it. Redmond will 
 marry that girl. He must, and shall. I will 
 empty the dust and ashes of my heart as 
 soon as tho fire goes down that is, I think 
 KO; but I know that I do not know myself. 
 I have two natures one that acts, and one 
 that is acted upon ; and I cannot always 
 separate the one from the other." 
 
 Something darkened the opening into the
 
 tt 
 
 path. Two persons passed in slowly. I 
 perceived the odor of violets, and felt that 
 one of them must be Laura. Waiting till 
 they passed beyond me, I rose and went 
 home. 
 
 The next morning was cloudy, and the 
 sea was rough with a high wind ; but we 
 were old sailors, and decided to go on our ex 
 cursion. The sloop and Redmond s boat left 
 the wharf at the same time. We expected to 
 be several hours beating down to Bird Island, 
 for the wind was ahead. Laura and I, muf 
 fled in cloaks, were placed on the thwarts 
 aud neglected ; for Redmond and Maurice 
 were busy with the boat. Laura was silent, 
 and looked ill. Redmond sat at the helm, 
 and kept the boat up to the Aviud, which 
 drove the hissing spray over us. The sloop 
 hugged the shore, aud did not feel the blast 
 as we did. I slid along my seat to be near 
 Redmond. He saw me coming, and put out 
 his hand and drew me towards him, looking 
 so kindly at me that I was melted. Trying 
 to get at my handkerchief, which was iu my 
 dress-pocket, my cloak flew open, the wind 
 caught it, and, as I rose to draw it closer, I 
 nearly fell overboard. Redmoud gave a 
 spring to catch me, and the boat lost her 
 headway. The sail flapped with a loud bang.
 
 11 
 
 Maurice swore, and we chopped about in the 
 short sea. 
 
 " It is your destiny to have a scene where- 
 ever you are," said Laura. " If I did not feel 
 desperate I should be frightened. But these 
 green crawling waves are so opaque, if wo 
 fall in we shall not see ourselves drown." 
 
 " Courage ! the boat is under way," Mau 
 rice cried out ; " we are nearly there." 
 
 And rounding a little point we saw the 
 light-house at last. The sloop anchored a 
 quarter of a mile from the shore, the water 
 being shoal, and Redmond took off her party 
 by instalments. 
 
 " What the deuse was the matter with you 
 
 at one time T" asked Jack Parker. " We saw 
 
 you were having a sort of convulsion. Our 
 
 cap n said you were bold chaps to be trifling 
 
 . with such a top-heavy boat." 
 
 " Miss Deuhain," said Redmond, " thought 
 she could steer the boat as well as I could, 
 and so the boat lost headway." 
 
 Harry Lnthrop gave Redmond one of his 
 soft smiles, and a vexed look passed over 
 Redmond s face when he saw it. 
 
 \Vr had to scramble over a low range of 
 rocks to get to the shore. Redmond anchor 
 ed his boat by one of them. Ilird Island was 
 a famous place for parties. It was a mile iu
 
 extent. Not a creature was on it except the 
 light-bouse keeper, his wife, and daughter. 
 The gulls made their nests in its rocky bor 
 ders ; tbeir shrill cries, the incessant dashing 
 of the waves on tbe ledges, and tbe creak 
 ing of the lanternin the stone tower wore 
 all the souuds tbe family heard, except 
 wben they were invaded by some noisy 
 party like ours. They were glad to see us. 
 Tbe ligbt-bouse keeper w y eut into the world 
 only wben it was necessary to buy stores, or 
 when his wife and daughter wanted to pay 
 a visit to the mainland. 
 
 The bouse was of stone, one story bigb, 
 with thick walls. The small, deep-set win 
 dows and tbe low ceilings gave tbe rooms 
 the air of a prison ; but there was also an 
 air of security about them ; for in looking 
 from the narrow windows one felt that the 
 bouse was a steadfast ship in tbe circle of 
 tbe turbulent sea, whose waves from every 
 point seemed advancing towards it. A pale, 
 coarse grass grew in tbe sand of tbe island. 
 It was too feeble to resist the acrid breath 
 of tbe ocean, so it shuddered perpetually, 
 and bent landward, as if invoking tbe pro 
 tection of its step-mother, the solid earth. 
 
 " It is perfect," said Redmond to me ; " I 
 have been looking for this spot all my life ; I
 
 am ready to swear that I will never leave 
 it." 
 
 Wo were sitting in a window, facing each 
 other Ho looked out towards the west, and 
 invsently was lost in thought. He folded 
 his arms tightly across his breast, and his 
 eyes were a hundred miles away. The sound 
 of a fiddle in the long alley which led from 
 the house to the tower broke his reverie. 
 
 " We shall be uproarious before we leave, 
 I said ; " we always are when we come here." 
 
 The fun had already set in. Some of the 
 girls had pinned up their dresses and bor 
 rowed aprons from the light-house keeper s 
 wife, and with scorched faces were helping 
 her to make chowder and fry fish. Others 
 were arranging the table, assisted by the 
 young men, who put the dishes in the wrong 
 places. Others were singing in the best room. 
 One or two had brought novels along, and 
 were reading them in corners. It was all 
 merry and pleasant, but I felt quiet. Ke<l- 
 iiionil entered into the spirit of the scene. 
 I had never seen him so gay. He chatted 
 with all the girls, interfering or helping, as 
 the case might be. Maurice brought his gui 
 tar, and had a group about him at the loot 
 of the tower stairs. He sang loud, but his 
 voice seemed to fluctuate iiow it rang
 
 through the tower, now it was half over 
 powered by the roar of the sea. His poeti 
 cal temperament led him to choose songs in 
 harmony with the place, not to suit the com 
 pany melancholy words set to wild, fitful 
 chords, which rose -and died away according 
 to the skill of the player. I had gone near 
 him, for his singing had attracted me. 
 
 " Yon are inspired," I said. 
 
 He nodded. 
 
 " You never sang so before." 
 
 " I feel old to-day," he answered, and he 
 swept his hands across all the strings ; " my 
 ditties are done." 
 
 After dinner Laura asked me to go out 
 with her. We slipped away nnseen, and 
 went to the beach, and seated ourselves on 
 a great rock whose outer side was lapped 
 by the water. The sun had broken through 
 the clouds, but shone luridly, giving the sea 
 a leaden tint. The wind was going down. 
 We had not been there long when Red 
 mond joined us. He asked us to go round 
 the island in his boat. Laura declined, and 
 sftid she would sit on the rock while we 
 went, if I chose to go. I did choose to go, 
 and he brought the boat to the rock. He 
 hoisted the sail half up the mast, and we 
 sailed close to the shore. Jt rose gradually
 
 along the east side of the island, and ter 
 minated in a bold ledge which curved into 
 the sea. We ran inside the curve, where 
 the water was nearly smooth. Redmond low 
 ered the sail, and the boat drifted towards 
 the ledge slowly. A tongue of land, cover 
 ed with pale sedge, was on the left side. 
 Above the ledge, at the right, we could see 
 the tower of the light-house. Redmond 
 tied down the helm, and, throwing himself 
 beside me, leaned his head on his hand, and 
 looked at me a long time without speaking. 
 I listened to the water, which plashed faint 
 ly against the bows. He covered his face 
 with his hands. I looked out seaward over 
 the tongue of land ; my heart quaked, like 
 the grass which grew upon it. At last lie 
 rose, and I saw that he was crying the 
 tears rained fast. 
 
 " My soul is dying," he said, in a stifled 
 voice; "Iain not more than mortal I can 
 not endure it." 
 
 I pointed towards the open sea, which 
 loomed so vague in the distance. 
 
 "The future is like that, is it not T 
 Courage ! we must drift through it ; we shall 
 find something." 
 
 He stamped his foot on the deck. 
 
 " Women always talk so ; but men are dif-
 
 ferent. If there is a veil before us we must 
 tear it away, not sit muffled iu its folds, 
 and speculate on what is behind it. JBise." 
 
 I obeyed him. He held iue firmly. We 
 were face to face. 
 
 " Look at ine." 
 
 I did. His eyes were blazing. 
 
 " Do you love me ?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 He placed me on the bench, hoisted the 
 sail, untied the helm, and we were soon 
 ploughing round to the spot where we had 
 left Laura ; but she was gone. On the rock 
 where she was perched a solitary gull, which 
 flew away with a scream as we approached. 
 
 That day was the last that I saw Red- 
 mond alone. He was at the party at Lau 
 ra s house which took place the night before 
 they left. We did not bid each other adieu. 
 
 After the three friends had gone, they sent 
 us gifts of remembrance. Redmond s keep 
 sake was a white fan with forget-me-nots 
 painted on it. To Laura he sent the pen 
 holder which was now mine. 
 
 We missed them, and should have felt 
 their loss had no deep feeling been involved ; 
 for they gave an impetus to our dull conn- 
 try life, and the whole summer had been one 
 of excitement and pleasure. We settled by
 
 degrees into our old habits. At Christmas 
 Frank came. He looked worried and older. 
 He bad heard something of Laura s intimacy 
 with Harry Lothrop, and was troubled about 
 it, I know ; but I believe Laura was silent 
 ou the matter. She was quirt and affec 
 tionate towards him during his visit, and 
 he went back cousoled. 
 
 The winter passed. Spring came and wont, 
 and we were deep into the summer when 
 Laura was taken ill. She had had a little 
 cough, which no one except her mother no 
 ticed. Her spirits fell, and she failed fast. 
 When I saw her last she had been ill some 
 weeks, and had never felt strong enough to 
 talk as much as she did in that interview. 
 She nerved herself to make the effort, and 
 as she bade me farewell, bade farewell to 
 life also. And now it was all over with her! 
 
 I fell asleep at length, and woke late. It 
 seemed as if a year had dropped out of the 
 procession of Time. My heart was still beat 
 ing with the emotion which stirred it when 
 Redmond and I were together last. Recol 
 lection had stung me to the quick. A ter 
 rible longing urged me to go and find him. 
 The feeling 1 had when we were in the boat, 
 face to face, thrilled my fibres again. I saw
 
 his gleaming eyes; I could have rushed 
 through the air to meet him. But, alas! ex 
 altation of feeling lasts only a moment; it 
 drops us where it finds us. If it were not 
 so, ho\v easy to he a hero ! The dull reac 
 tion of the present,, like a slow avalanche, 
 crushed and ground me into nothingness. 
 
 " Something must happen at last," I 
 thought, " to amuse me, and make time eu- 
 dnrahle." 
 
 What can a woman do when she knows 
 that an epoch of feeling is rounded off, fin 
 ished, dead ? Go hack to her story-hooks, 
 her dress-making, her worsted-work ? Shall 
 she attempt to rise to mediocrity on the pi 
 ano or in drawing, distribute tracts, become 
 secretary of a Dorcas society ? or shall sho 
 turn her mind to the matter of cultivating 
 another lover at once ? Few of us women 
 have courage enough to shoulder out the 
 corpses of what men leave in our hearts. 
 We keep them there, and conceal the ruins 
 in which they lie. We grow cunning and 
 artful in our tricks the longer we practise 
 them. But how we palpitate and shrink and 
 shudder when we are alone in the dark ! 
 
 After Redmond departed I had locked 
 np my feelings and thrown the key away. 
 The death of Laura, and the awakening of
 
 n 
 
 my recollections, caused by the appearance 
 of Harry Lothrop, wrenched the door open. 
 Hitherto I had acted with the bravery of a 
 girl ; I must now behave with the resolution 
 of a woman. I looked into my heart closely. 
 No skeleton was there, but the image of a 
 living man Redmond. 
 
 11 1 love him," I confessed. " To be his 
 wife and the mother of his children is the 
 only lot I ever care to choose. He is noble, 
 handsome, and loyal. But I cannot belong 
 to him, nor can he ever be mine. 
 
 " Of love that never found his earthly close 
 What sequel? 
 
 What did he do with the remembrance of 
 me ? Ho scattered it, perhaps, with the ash 
 es of the first cigar he smoked after he went 
 from me made a mound of it, maybe, in 
 honor of Duty. I am as ignorant of him as 
 if he no longer existed; so this image must 
 be torn away. I will not burn the lamp of 
 life before it, but will build up the niche 
 where it stands into a solid wall." 
 
 The ideal happiness of love is so sweet 
 and powerful that, for a while, adverse in 
 fluences only exalt the imiigiiiatioii. When 
 Laura told me of Redmond s engagement, it 
 did but change my dream of what might be
 
 into what might have been. It was a mir 
 age which continued while he was present 
 and faded with his departure. Then my 
 heart was locked in the depths of will till 
 circumstances brought it a power of revenge. 
 I think now, if we had spoken freely and 
 truly to each other, I should have suffered 
 less when I saw his friend. We feel better 
 when the funeral of our dearest friend is 
 over and we have returned to the house. 
 There is to be no more preparation, no wait 
 ing; the windows may be opened, and the 
 doors set wide ; the very dreariness and des 
 olation force our attention towards the liv 
 ing. 
 
 " Something will come," I thought ; and I 
 determined not to have any more reveries. 
 " Mr. Harry Lothrop is a pleasant riddle ; I 
 shall see him soon, or he will write." 
 
 It occurred to me then that I had some 
 letters of his already in my possession 
 those he had written to Laura. I found the 
 ebony box, and, taking from it the sealed 
 package, unfolded the letters one by one, 
 reading them according to their dates. 
 There was a note among them for me from 
 Laura. 
 
 " When you read these letters, Marga-
 
 M 
 
 ret," it said, "yon will see that I must 
 have studied the writer of them in vain. 
 You know uow that he made me unhappy : 
 not that I was in love with him much, but 
 he stirred depths of feeling which I had no 
 knowledge of, and which between Frank. 
 my betrothed husband, and myself had no 
 existence. But le roi s amuae. Perhaps ;i 
 strong passion will master this man ; but I 
 shall never know. Will you f" 
 
 I laid the letters back in their place, and 
 felt no very strong desire to learn any thing 
 more of the writer. I did not know then 
 how little trouble it would be my share of 
 making the acquaintance. 
 
 It was not many weeks before Mr. Lothrop 
 came again, and rather ostentatiously. ^> 
 that everybody knew of his visit to me. 
 But he saw none of the friends he had 
 made during his stay the year before. I hap 
 pened to see him coming, and went to the 
 door to meet him. Almost his first words 
 were: 
 
 " Maurice is dead. He went to Florida, 
 took the fever, which killed him, of course. 
 He died only a week after after Laura. 
 Poor fellow ! did he interest you much? I 
 believe he was in love with you, too; but
 
 musical people are never desperate, except 
 when they play a false note." 
 
 "Yes," I answered, "I was fond of him. 
 His conceit did not trouble me, and he 
 never fatigued me; he had -nothing to con 
 ceal. He was a -commonplace man ; one 
 liked him when with him, and when away 
 one had no thought about him." 
 
 " I alone am left you," said my visitor, 
 putting his hat on a chair, and slowly pull 
 ing off his gloves, linger by finger. 
 
 He had slender, white hands, like a wom 
 an s, and they were always in motion. After 
 he had thrown his gloves into his hat, ho 
 put his finger agaiust his cheek, leaned his 
 elbow on the arm of his chair, crossed his 
 legs, and looked at me with a cunning self- 
 possession. I glanced at his feet ; they were 
 small and well -booted. I looked into his 
 face ; it was not a handsome one, but ho 
 had magnetic eyes of a lightish blue, and a 
 clever, loose mouth. It is impossible to de 
 scribe him just as impossible as it is for a 
 man who was born a boor to attain the 
 bearing of a gentleman ; any attempt at it 
 would prove a bungling matter when com 
 pared with the original. He felt my scru 
 tiny, and knew, too, that I had never looked 
 at him till then.
 
 " Do you sing nowadays ?" he asked, tap 
 ping with his fingers the keys of the piano 
 behind him. 
 
 " Psalms." 
 
 " They suit you admirably ; but I perceive 
 you attend to your dress still. How effec 
 tive those velvet bands are ! You look older 
 ihau you did two years ago." 
 
 "Two years are enough to age a wom 
 an. 1 
 
 " Yes, if she is miserable. Can you be 
 unhappy ?" he asked, rising, and taking a 
 M-at beside me. 
 
 There was a tone of sympathy in his voice 
 which made me shudder, I knew not why. 
 It was neither aversion nor liking ; but I 
 dreaded to be thrown into any tumult of 
 feeling. I realized afterwards more fully 
 that it is next to impossible for a passionate 
 woman to receive the sincere addresses of 
 :i manly man without feeling some fluctua 
 tion of soul. Ignorant spectators call her a 
 coquette for this. Happily, there are teach 
 ers among our own sex, women of cold 
 temperaments, able to vindicate themselves 
 from the imputation. They spare themselves 
 great waste of heart and some generous 
 emotion also remorse and self-accusations 
 regarding the want of propriety and the
 
 57 
 
 other ingredients which go to make up a 
 white-muslin heroine. 
 
 Harry Lothrop saw that my cheek was 
 burning, and made a movement towards me. 
 I tossed my head back, and moved down the 
 sofa ; he did not follow me, but smiled and 
 mused iu his old way. 
 
 And so it went on not once, but many 
 times. He wrote me quiet, persuasive, elo 
 quent letters. By degrees I learned his 
 own history and that of his family, his 
 prospects and his intentions. He was rich. 
 I knew well what position I should have 
 if I were his wife. My beauty would be 
 splendidly set. I was well enough off, but 
 not rich enough to harmonize all things ac 
 cording to my taste. I was proud, and he 
 was refined; if we were married, what bet 
 ter promise of delicacy could be given than 
 that of pride in a woman, refinement iu a 
 man ? He brought me flowers or books 
 when he came. The flowers were not deli 
 cate and inodorous, but magnificent and 
 deep-scented; and the material of the books 
 was stalwart and vigorous. I read his fa 
 vorite authors with him. He was the first- 
 person who ever made any appeal to my in 
 tellect. In short, he was educating me for 
 a purpose.
 
 Once he offered me a diamond cross. I 
 refused it, and Le never asked me to accept 
 any gift again. His visits were not fre 
 quent, and they were short. However great 
 the distance he accomplished to reach me, 
 lie stayed only an evening, and then re 
 turned. He came and weut at uight. In 
 time I grew to look upon our connection as 
 an established thing. He made me under 
 stand that he loved me, and that he only 
 waited for me to return it ; hut he did not 
 say so. 
 
 I lived an idle life, inhaling the perfume 
 of the flowers he gave me, devouring old lit 
 erature, the taste for which he had created. 
 and reading and answering his letters. To 
 he sure, other duties were fulfilled. I was 
 an affectionate child to my parents, and 
 a proper acquaintance for my friends. I 
 never lost any sleep now, nor was I troubled 
 with dreams. I lived in the outward : all 
 my restless activity, that constant question 
 ing of the heavens and the earth, had erased 
 entirely. Five years had passed since I first 
 saw Redmond. I was now twenty-four. 
 The Fates grew tired of the monotony of 
 my life, I suppose, for about this time it 
 changed. 
 
 My oldest brother, a bachelor, lived in
 
 New York. He asked me to spend the win 
 ter with him ; he lived in a quiet hotel, had 
 a suite of rooms, aud conld make me com 
 fortable, he said. He had just asked some 
 body to marry him, aud that somebody 
 wished to make my acquaiutauce. I was 
 glad to go. My heart gave a bouud at the 
 prospect of change; I was still young enough 
 to dream of the impossible when any chance 
 offered itself to my imagination ; so I ac 
 cepted my brother s invitation with some 
 elation. 
 
 I had been in New York a month. One 
 day I was out with my future sister ou a 
 shopping raid; with our hands full of little 
 paper parcels, we stopped to look into Gou- 
 pil s window. Tbere was always a rim of 
 crowd there, so I paid no attention to the 
 jostles we received. We were looking at an 
 engraving of Ary Scheffer s " Francoise do 
 Rimini." " Not the worst hell," muttered a 
 voice behind me which I knew. I started, 
 aud pulled Leonora s -arm ; she turned round, 
 and the fringe of her coat-sleeve caught a 
 button on the overcoat of one of the gentle 
 men standing together. It was Redmond ; 
 the other was his " ancient," Harry Lothrop. 
 Leonora was arrested ; I stood still, of course. 
 Redmond had not seen my face, for I turned
 
 it from him; and his head was bent down 
 to the task of disengaging his button. 
 
 " Each ouly as God wills 
 
 Can work; God s puppets, best and worst, 
 Are we ; there is 110 lust nor first, " 
 
 I thought, and turned ray head. He in 
 stinctively took off his hat, and then planted 
 it back on his head firmly, and looked over to 
 Harry Lothrop, to whom I gave my hand. 
 He knew me before I saw him, I am con 
 vinced ; but his dramatic sense kept him si- 
 loiit perhaps a deeper feeling. There was 
 an expression of pain in his face which im 
 pelled me to take his arm. 
 
 " Let us move on, Leonora," I said ; " these 
 are some summer friends of mine," and I 
 introduced them to her. 
 
 My chief feeling was embarrassment, 
 which was shared by all the party ; for Leo 
 nora felt that there was something unusual 
 in the meeting. The door of the hotel seemed 
 to come round at last, and as we were going 
 in, Harry Lothrop asked mo if he might see 
 me the next morning. 
 
 " Do come," I answered aloud. 
 
 We all bowed, and they disappeared. 
 
 " What an elegant Indian your tall friend 
 is! 1 said Leonora.
 
 61 
 
 " Yes ; of the Comanche tribe." 
 
 " But he would look better hanging from 
 his horse s inane than he does in a long 
 coat." 
 
 " He is spoiled by civilization and white 
 parents. But, Leonora, stay and dine with 
 me in my own room. John will not come home 
 till it is time for the opera. You know we 
 are going. You must make me splendid ; 
 you can torture me into style, I know." 
 
 She consented, provided I would send a 
 note to her mother, explaining that it was 
 my invitation, and not her old John s, as she 
 irreverently called him. I did so, and she 
 was delighted to stay. 
 
 " This is fast," she said ; " can t we have 
 champagne and black coffee ?" 
 
 She fell to rummaging John s closets, and 
 brought out a dusty, Chinese-looking affair, 
 which she put on for a dressing-gown. She 
 found some Chinese straw shoes, and tucked 
 her little feet into them, and then braided 
 her hair in a long tail, and declared she was 
 ready for dinner. Her gayety was refresh 
 ing, and I did not wonder at John s admira 
 tion. My spirits rose, too, and I astonished 
 Leonora at the table with my chat; she had 
 never seen me except when quiet. I fell 
 into one of those unselfish, uuaskiug moods
 
 which arc the glory (if youth: I felt tha.t 
 the pure heaven of love was in the depths 
 of my being; my soul shone like a star in its 
 atmosphere; my heart throbbed, and I cried 
 softly to it, "Live! live! ho is here!" I 
 still chatted with Leonora and made her 
 laugh, and the child for the first time thor 
 oughly liked me. We were finishing our 
 dessert when we heard John s knock. We 
 allowed him to come in for a moment, and 
 gave him some almonds, which he leisurely 
 (racked and ate. 
 
 " Somehow, Margaret," he said, " you re 
 mind me of those women who enjoy the Ind 
 ian festival of the funeral pile. I have 
 seei "the thing done; you have something of 
 the sort in your mind; be sure to immo 
 late yourself handsomely. Women are the 
 dense." 
 
 " Finish your almonds, John," I said, " and 
 go away : we must dress." 
 
 He put his hand on my arm, and whis 
 pered : 
 
 " Smother that light in your eyes, my girl ; 
 it is dangerous. And you have lived under 
 your mother s eye all your life! You see 
 what I have done" indicating Leonora 
 with his eyebrows; "taken a baby on iny 
 hands."
 
 " John, John !" I inwardly ejaculated, 
 " you are an idiot." 
 
 " She shall never suffer what you suffer; 
 she shall have the benefit of the experience 
 which other women have given me." 
 
 " Very likely," I answered ; I know we 
 often serve you as pioneers merely." 
 
 He gave a sad nod, and I closed the door 
 upon him. 
 
 "Put these pins into my hair, Leonora, and 
 tell me, how do yon like my new dress ?" 
 
 " Paris !" she cried. 
 
 It was a dove-colored silk with a black 
 velvet stripe through it. I showed her a 
 shawl which John had given me a pale 
 yellow gauzy fabric with a gold-thread bor 
 der and told her to make me np. She pro 
 duced quite a marvellous effect; for this 
 baby understood the art of dress to perfec 
 tion. She made my hair into a loose mass, 
 rolling it away from my face; yet it was 
 firmly fastened. Then she shook out the 
 shawl and wrapped me in it, so that my 
 head seemed to be emerging from a pale- 
 tinted cloud. John said I looked outlandish, 
 but Leonora thought otherwise. She begged 
 him for some Indian perfume, and he found 
 an aromatic powder, which he sprinkled in 
 side my gloves and over my shawl.
 
 Wo found the opera-house crowded. Our 
 seats were near the stage. John sat behind 
 us, so that he might slip out into the lob- 
 by occasionally ; for the opera was a bore 
 to Mm. The second act was over ; John 
 had left his seat ; I was opening and shutting 
 my fan mechanically, half lost in thought, 
 when Leonora, who had been looking at the 
 house with her lorgnette, turned and >:ii<l : 
 
 "Is not that your friend of this morning 
 on the other side, in the second row, leaning 
 against the third pillar? There is a queen- 
 ish-looking old lady with him. He hasn t 
 spoken to her for a long time, and she con 
 tinually looks up at him." 
 
 I took her glass and discovered Redmond. 
 He looked back at me through another; I 
 made a slight motion with my handkerchief; 
 he dropped his glass into the lap of the lady 
 next him and darted out, and in a moment 
 he was behind me in John s seat. 
 
 "Who is with you?" he asked. 
 
 " Brother," I answered. 
 
 "You intoxicate me with some strange 
 perfume; don t fan it this way." 
 
 I quietly passed the fan to Leonora, who 
 now looked back and spoke to him. He 
 talked with her a moment, aud then she dis 
 creetly resumed her lorgnette.
 
 " What happened for two years after I left 
 B. ? The last year I know something of." 
 
 "Breakfast, dinner, and tea, the ebb and 
 How of the tide, and the days of the week." 
 
 " Nothing more ?" Aud his voice came 
 nearer. . 
 
 " A few trifles." 
 
 " They are under lock and key, I sup 
 pose ? 
 
 " We do not carry relics about with us." 
 
 " There is the conductor ; I must go. 
 Turn your face towards me more." 
 
 I obeyed him, and our eyes met. His 
 searching gaze made me shiver. 
 
 "I have been married," he said, and his 
 eyes were unflinching, " and my wife is 
 dead." 
 
 All the lights went down, I thought; I 
 struck out my arm to find Leonora, Avho 
 caught it and pressed it down. 
 
 " I must get out," I said ; arid I walked 
 up the alley to the door without stumbling. 
 
 I knew that I was fainting or dying ; as 
 I had never fainted, I did not know which. 
 Redmond carried me through the cloak-room 
 and put me on a sofa. 
 
 " I never can speak to him again," I 
 thought, and then I lost sight of them all. 
 
 A terribly sharp pain through my heart
 
 ronsed mo, and I was in a violent chill. 
 They had thrown water over my face; my 
 hair was matted, and the water was drip 
 ping from it on my naked shoulders. The 
 gloves had been ripped from my hands, and 
 Leonora was wringing my handkerchief. 
 
 " The heat made you faint, dear," she 
 said. 
 
 John was walking up and down the room 
 with a phlegmatic countenance, but he was 
 fuming. 
 
 " My new dress is ruined, John," I said. 
 
 " Hang the dress ! How do you feel 
 now f" 
 
 " It is drowned ; and I feel better. Shall 
 we go home I" 
 
 He went out to order the carriage, and 
 Leonora whispered to me that she had for 
 gotten Redmond s name. 
 
 "No matter," I answered. I could not 
 have spoken it then. 
 
 When John came, Leonora beckoned to 
 Redmond to introduce himself. John shook 
 hands with him, gave him an intent look, 
 and told us the carriage was ready. Red 
 mond followed us, and took leave of us at 
 the carriage door. 
 
 Leonora begged me to stay at her house ; 
 I refused, for I wished to be alone. John
 
 67 
 
 deposited her with her mother, and we 
 drove home. He gave me one of his infal 
 lible medicines, and told me not to get tip 
 in the morning. But when morning came 
 I remembered Harry Lothrop was coming, 
 and made myself feady for him. As human 
 nature is not qnite perfect, I felt unhappy 
 about liiin, and rather fond of him, and 
 thought he possessed some admirable qual 
 ities. I never could read the old poets any 
 more without a pang, unless he were with 
 me, directing my eye along their pages with 
 his long white finger ! I never should smell 
 tuberoses again without feeling faint, un 
 less they were his gift ! 
 
 By the time he came I was in a state of 
 romantic regret, and in that state many a 
 woman has answered, " Yes !" He asked 
 me abruptly if I thought it would be folly 
 in him to ask me to marry him. The ques 
 tion turned the tide. 
 
 "No," I answered, "not folly, for I have 
 thought many times in the last two years 
 that I should marry you if you said I must. 
 But now I believe that it is not best. You 
 have pursued me patiently; your self-love 
 made the conquest of me a necessary 
 pleasure. That was well enough for me, 
 for you made me feel all the while that, if I
 
 loved you, yon were worth possessing. And 
 you are. I liked you. But my feeliug for 
 you did not prevent my fainting away at 
 the opera-house last night when Redmond 
 told me that his wife was dead. 
 
 "So," he said, " the long-smothered fire 
 has broken out again ! Chance does not 
 befriend me. He saw you last night, and 
 yielded. He said yesterday he should not 
 tell you. He asked me about you after we 
 left you, and wished to know if I had seen 
 you much for the last year. I offered him 
 your last letter to read am I not gener 
 ous ? but he refused it. 
 
 " When I see her, he asked, am. I at 
 liberty to say what I choose! 
 
 "On that I could have said, No. Red 
 mond and 1 had not seeu each other since 
 the period of my iirst visit to you. He has 
 been nursing his wife in the meantime, tak 
 ing journeys with her, and trying all sorts 
 of cures; and now he seems tied to his aunt 
 and mother-in-law. He was merely passing 
 through the city with her, and this morn 
 ing they have gone again. Well," after a 
 pause, " there is no need of words between 
 us. I have in my possession a part of you. 
 Beautiful women are like flowers which 
 open their leaves wide enough for their per-
 
 fume to attract wandering bees; the per 
 fume is wasted, though the honey may be 
 hid." 
 
 "Alas, what a lesson this man is giving 
 me!" I thought. 
 
 " Farewell, th.en," he said. He bit his 
 lips, and his clinched hands trembled; but 
 he mastered his emotion. " You must think 
 of me." 
 
 " Ami see you, too," I answered. "Every 
 thing comes round again, if we live long 
 enough. Dramatic unities are never pre 
 served in life ; if they were, how poetical 
 would all these things be ! But Time whirls 
 us round, showing us our many-sided feel 
 ings as carelessly as a child rattles the bits 
 of glass in his kaleidoscope." 
 
 "So be it !" he replied. "Adieu !" 
 
 That afternoon I stayed at home, and put 
 John s room in order, and cleaned the dust 
 from his Indian idols, and was extremely 
 busy till he came in. Then I kissed his 
 whiskers, and told him all my sins, and 
 cried once or twice during my confession. 
 He petted me a good deal, and made me eat 
 twice as much dinner as I wanted ; he said 
 it was good for me, and I obeyed him, for I 
 felt uncommonly meek that day. 
 
 Soon after, Redmond sent me a long
 
 letter. He said he had been, from a boy, 
 under an obligation to his anut, the mother 
 of his wife. It was a common story, and he 
 would not trouble me with it. He was 
 married soon after Harry Lothrop s first visit 
 to me, at the time they had received the 
 news of Laura s death. How much he had 
 thought of Laura afterwards, while he was 
 watching tlie fading away of his pale blos 
 som ! His aunt had been ill since the death 
 of her daughter, restless, and discontented 
 with every change. He hoped she was now 
 settled among some old friends with whom 
 she might find consolation. In conclusion, 
 he wrote : " My aunt noticed our hasty exit 
 from the opera-house that night, when I was 
 brute enough to nearly kill you. I told her 
 that I loved you. She now feels, after a 
 struggle, that she must let me go. Old 
 women have no rights, she said to me yes 
 terday. Margaret, may I come, and never 
 leave you again T" 
 
 My answer may be guessed, for one day 
 he arrived. It was the dusk of a cheery 
 winter day, the time when home wears so 
 bright a look to those who seek it. It was 
 an hour before dinner, and I was waiting 
 for John to come in. The amber evening 
 sky gleamed before the windows, and the
 
 71 
 
 fire made a red core of light in the room. 
 John s sandal-wood hoxes gave out strange 
 odors in the heat, and the pattern of the 
 Persian rug was just visible. A servant 
 came to the door with a card. I held it to 
 the grate, and the fire lit up his name. 
 
 " Show him up-stairs," I said. 
 
 I stood in the doorway, and heard his 
 step on every stair. When he came I took 
 him by the hand, and drew him into the 
 room. He was speechless. 
 
 " Oh, Redmond, I love you ! How long 
 J T OU were away !" 
 
 He knelt by me, and put my arms around 
 his neck, and we kissed each other with the 
 first, best kiss of passion. 
 
 John came in, and I reached out my hand 
 to him and said, "This is my husband." 
 
 "That s comfortable," he answered. 
 " Won t you stay to dinner?" 
 
 " Oh yes," replied Redmond ; " this is my 
 hotel." 
 
 "I see," said John. 
 
 But after dinner they had a long talk to 
 gether. John sent me to my room, and I 
 was glad to go. I walked up and down, 
 crying, I must say, most of the time, asking 
 forgiveness of myself for my faults, and re 
 membering Laura and Maurice and then
 
 thinking Redmond was mine with a con 
 traction of the heart which threatened to 
 .-tiili- me. 
 
 John took us up to Leonora s that even 
 ing ; he said he wanted to see if Puss would 
 be tantalized with the sight of such a 
 heautiful romantic couple just from fairy 
 land, who were now prepared "to live in 
 peace." 
 
 We were married the next day in a church 
 in a by-street. John was the only witness, 
 and flourished a largo silk handkerchief so 
 that it had the effect of a triumphal banner. 
 Redmond put the ring on the wrong finger 
 a mistake which the minister kindly 
 rectified. All I had now for the occasion 
 was a pair of gloves. 
 
 One morning after my marriage, when 
 Redmond and John were smoking together, 
 I was turning over some boxes, for I was 
 packing to go homo on a visit to our mother. 
 I called Redmond to leave his pipe and 
 come to me. 
 
 " Yon have not seen any of my property. 
 Look, here it is: 
 
 "One bitten handkerchief. 
 
 " A fan never used. 
 
 " A gold pen-holder. 
 
 "A draggled shawl.
 
 T.i 
 
 " Margaret," bo said, taking my chin in 
 his hand and bringing his eyes close to 
 mine, "I am wild with happiness." 
 
 " Your pipe has gone out," we heard John 
 say.
 
 IN HONOR BOUND. 
 
 BY MISS CAROLINE CHESEBRO. 
 
 THE little hamlot called Juniper, lying at 
 the foot of the Granite Hills, had contribu 
 ted men out of all proportion to the State 
 and country twenty ministers to the pul 
 pit, a judge to the Court of Appeals, a gov 
 ernor and a bishop to the Northwestern ter 
 ritory. Poor in crops, it had been rich in 
 men. The traditions of the region for 
 Juniper was yet more a region thaii a place 
 were remarkable. 
 
 At length, however, came a time when 
 rising generations exhibited all the signs of 
 contented resting on the laurels won, when 
 energy exhibited itself in amassing wealth 
 and in seeking for enjoyment. Farms and 
 stocks looked up as men looked down. There 
 was very little study done by firelight after 
 a long day of labor in the field. The people 
 of Juniper had not yet ceased to worship at 
 the shrines of their ancestors, but the pride
 
 75 
 
 kindled by tradition seemed to Lave lost the 
 element of emulation. There was no more 
 of it. Soul took its ease in Juniper; the 
 sacred fire went out. 
 
 In these days of decline Matthew Reardon 
 was born, of a liue which had neither part 
 nor lot in this heritage of Juniper glory. 
 His father was not a landed proprietor of 
 even the humblest pretensions, but a black 
 smith, who, after roving about with his 
 family of five children from one place to an 
 other, finally settled at Juniper, and there 
 remained, because there he was attacked by 
 a disease which put an end to his wander 
 ings. He did not die, but became palsied 
 and purblind , and henceforth his boys and 
 his old woman must get on as best they 
 could. 
 
 They exhibited themselves in ways com 
 mon to people among whom nature is strong. 
 They quarrelled over work, food, clothing, 
 fire; and the weakest of the five they were 
 all boys bade fair to be worst off. His 
 mother, perceiving the fact, took the child 
 under her special protection, and thus taught 
 him the great lesson that whatever is desir 
 able in this world may be obtained easily if 
 one have but the wisdom to keep still and 
 use opportunity.
 
 7.; 
 
 If you ask whether a better character bado 
 fair to be formed in Matthew by this train 
 ing, arid the tact which was thus developed 
 in him, than was fashioned in Abel, the eld 
 est, by his almost desperate use of the weap 
 ons with which he had supplied himself 
 when he found that he must take the place 
 of leader in his father s house, I am afraid 
 you must wait some time for an answer. 
 
 But without doubt Matthew did make a- 
 more agreeable exhibition of himself. He 
 seemed to be gentle, but perhaps was only 
 calculating ; ho appeared to be generous, 
 possibly was merely timid. Abner Reardou 
 was the fourth son ; Matthew was the sec 
 ond; Michael, the third, had gone to seek 
 his fortune nobody knew where ; Luke was 
 dead since infancy ; and Abel was the eldest. 
 
 Abner was the only one of the brothers 
 who seemed to know anything about Mat 
 thew, and ho was ten years Matthew s jurf- 
 ior, and but seven when that wonder of the 
 household died. So it happened quite easily 
 that his imagination, fastening upon the 
 dead, made of him something between hu 
 man and divine which by no possibility 
 could have found lodgment within Keardou 
 llesh and blood at least, not at that period 
 of the Kcardon history.
 
 77 
 
 Destitute of family record or tradition, 
 blessed merely with a Saxon common-sense 
 which controlled well a Celtic imagination, 
 it is difficult to understand is it ? his 
 belief that, had Matthew lived, the world 
 must have had another notable man out of 
 Juniper. 
 
 Abner s destiny was not an unhappy one. 
 He was born to star - worship to a devo 
 tional impulse towards the station his broth 
 er had aimed at. With the spirit of an 
 tagonism strongly developed in him, and 
 the disposition to appropriate Avhatever he 
 wanted, wherever he found it, and to ques 
 tion and decide rights on the unquestion 
 able power of the strongest, taking up the 
 tradition of his brother, he felt within him 
 the proud purpose that would give back to 
 his mother what she had really never lost 
 comfort a grief which, in the degree he con 
 ceived of, she had never borne. See how 
 this fiction of an imaginary hero in the house 
 worked on the life of this lad, and speak 
 reverently of imagination, the grandest of 
 gifts to mortals. 
 
 Abner believed tliat Matthew, who was 
 gentle, had also been brave, and bravely set 
 to work to acquire a, like gentleness. He 
 imagined that the born plodder was patient
 
 78 
 
 in the way that lie must be patient would ho 
 win what Mat would certainly have won, 
 and steadily ho sought to discipline his 
 rough and fiery wilfulness into order. 
 
 As he grew older he saw in his mother a 
 suffering woman who had lost a son by 
 whom, in the midst of savage natures, she 
 had been tenderly loved and served, a son 
 who had been to her as a daughter, and into 
 his heart trickled drops from a divine fount 
 ain that made it a well of brightness. 
 
 You are in the secret of Abuer Keardon s 
 growth. You know how he conquered his 
 dislike for anything like study; how he 
 struggled to win his own approbation ; how 
 he stood as a slayer of dragons in the den 
 where he was bom. By no miracle was it 
 that a sou like Abner loomed up among the 
 Reardous. For the reason that he was noth 
 ing that could have been lorn of them, nei 
 ther the blacksmith nor his wife understood 
 the lad; and in time, as his eyes opened 
 wider, and his brain more clearly perceived, 
 must it not become as evident to himself as 
 to others, and more intelligible to himself 
 than to them, that between them lay a gulf 
 as deep as time, a wall as high as heaven f 
 
 Years passed on, and Abel, of coarse, mar 
 ried ; and as he had already a family to a
 
 great degree dependent on him in his fa 
 ther s bouse, bo brought bis wife to it, and 
 after tbat, tbough there were slight changes, 
 and perhaps a little gain in cheerfulness, 
 things did not, on the vvbole, go on much 
 better with the Jieardous than they bad 
 from the beginning. 
 
 A young bride, my young lady, who brings 
 no fortune into the home of a poor man, 
 and, alas! not even health, must she not 
 have inexhaustible good nature, faith un 
 limited, and unquenchable cheerfulness to 
 secure for herself an immovable place in the 
 household affections ? Poor Ruth seemed to 
 have all that could be required, for she soon 
 became the centre of the house, and the 
 bouse was transformed into a home. 
 
 Yet it seemed strange to all the neighbors 
 when Ruth Colt went over to the Reardous . 
 What could hare induced her to exchange 
 her father s for the blacksmith s house ? 
 Perhaps Abel s bluff kind of man fulness 
 seemed to a delicate girl, who had grown up 
 in a family of girls, full of protecting power. 
 Whatever she expected, whatever she found, 
 it began to appear that Ruth had married 
 Abel and come into the house chiefly that 
 she might instruct Abner how he might find 
 bis wav out. of it.
 
 The twenty ministers, the bishop, and tlio 
 judge had each and all passed to their high 
 position through college doors, with mid 
 night lamps and text-books in their hands, 
 and Abner had thought of no other way of 
 egress, and had begun to look with doubt 
 ing gaze towards the future. But Abel s wife 
 came, and made a life-long friend of him by 
 her more than wonderous fairy tale about 
 her uncle in New York, who had begun lift) 
 as a saddler, and was ending it a millionaire. 
 Perhaps the blacksmith s trade might prove 
 as good a beginning, but the saddler had 
 not got on without learning of some sort. 
 Yes, and had taught school before he set 
 himself up in business! There it all was iu 
 a nutshell. The time Abuer had given to 
 study had not been lost the more time ho 
 continued to give to it the better but en 
 terprise also must have Lts opportunity. 
 Abner boldly took the money he had been 
 saving for college expenses money lie had 
 earned by performing sextou duty in a 
 church five miles away and, selling the ap 
 ples which he had dried to a peddler for 
 three cents a pound, he bought tobacco, 
 pipes, cigars, yeast - cakes, matches, soap, 
 and other like light wares, aud these ho 
 exposed for sale on neat shelves which he
 
 put np back of a counter in the little shed 
 adjoining Abel s shop. Many a child has 
 "played store" on the outlay of a larger 
 capital than was expended by the experi 
 ment Abner so seriously made. Abel laughed 
 at "the boy;" but there was his o\vu Ruth s 
 story about her uncle, and the Colts had 
 rich relations. Everybody knew it. Abel 
 could not put the testimony of their expe 
 riences out of sight. 
 
 From time to time, as inquiries were made 
 at the blacksmith s shop for articles of do 
 mestic use, the stock on Abner s shelves be 
 came larger and more varied, and among 
 the goods were displayed, probably by way 
 of ornament, specimens of quartz and of 
 minerals, which Abner s observing eyes had 
 discovered on his Sunday walks to and from 
 the church where he officiated in his hum 
 ble capacity. 
 
 But Abner was growing older with the 
 months which saw these changes. It took 
 some time to bring about the necessity of 
 enlarged stock, a longer time to collect the 
 specimens and bring them together. Still 
 he never forgot Matthew, and between the 
 books he brought from Juniper Centre Li 
 brary and the shoeing of horses and the 
 selling of wares he had sufficient occnpa- 
 c
 
 tion. When would the tide rise, though, so 
 as to surge through the inlet, and set the 
 smooth water his bark was moored in in 
 motion. 
 
 Sometimes Ruth s younger sister, Abby, 
 came to visit them. She was a lively girl, 
 who had taught school since she was twelve 
 years old a loving girl, who took no over 
 burdening thought of the morrow, and was 
 as satisfied with the pleasure of a day as if 
 the promise of eternal duration were in it. 
 
 People at the Outre began to say that it 
 would be a pity if another of the Colt girls 
 should be so easily satisfied as to " take " a 
 Reardon,but for all that it was by no means 
 a rare sight on a Sunday morning to see the 
 two walking together on the high-road tow 
 ards the meeting- house. And, indeed, it 
 seemed quite unlikely that they would make 
 any other disposition of themselves than 
 just this which the gossips suggested with 
 thr doubting of sceptics. 
 
 One day there came a letter from the I m 
 West to the Colt family, and after it had 
 been duly read and discussed by the house 
 hold, Abby put it into her pocket and walked 
 over to Abel s, carrying a thought with her 
 which she hardly dared to measure in its 
 lenjitli and breadth.
 
 Abner ought to know about the prairies 
 and the cattle, siiid ho\v a mail might make 
 a fortune by hardly a turn of the hand if lie 
 would only go far enough away from all lie 
 knew and loved in search of it. That was 
 the direction towards which the thought 
 tended. Could she counsel such a step? 
 What couldn t Abby do for Abner ? She 
 could at least sacrifice herself. He ought to 
 go from Juniper. 
 
 Before she had gone to the house looking 
 for Ruth, or to the blacksmith s shop seek 
 ing Abel that tall, gaunt, black-browed, 
 rather dejected-looking man, to whose face 
 she could bring a kindly smile sooner than 
 any other being except his wife Abby went 
 to speak with Abner, and good reason had 
 she to be surprised at what she found in his 
 shop, and near it, for neither at Juniper nor 
 at Juniper Centre had a like group ever be 
 fore been seen. 
 
 A short, stout, elderly gentleman, whose 
 head not only, but whose face, seemed to be 
 covered with beautiful gray hair, a man 
 who looked capable of coaxing the secrets 
 out of any kind of nature, stood leaning 
 against Abner s counter, with every speci 
 men that had ornamented the shelves un 
 der his loving eyes. He was talking with
 
 M 
 
 Abner. Two young ladies, attired in curious 
 costume, stood near, listening to the con 
 versation, and evidently surprised by the 
 answers the young man was making. One 
 of these girls was Miss Elizabeth Smiles, 
 the professor s daughter. She had all her 
 father s love of Nature, with an equal curi 
 osity concerning the secrets to be disclosed 
 by her, and even more than his disposition 
 to rejoice over every beautiful thing. She 
 was now perceiving in Abner a second Hugh 
 Miller, whom her father would presently 
 in a manner adopt, and by a rapid mental 
 process peculiar to herself, by which she 
 decided on the destiny of all whom she met, 
 Miss Elizabeth set Abner forward on the 
 path of discovery, and made him a ruler in 
 the field of modern science. Whether Ab- 
 iier s powerful eyes, his dclibcrateness of 
 speech, or the rugged kind of splendor 
 which was revealed in his face when he 
 smiled, helped her in forming her conclu 
 sions, I do not know, but my guess in the 
 matter is worth as much, perhaps, as an 
 other person s, and I guess she was so as 
 sisted. Miss Elizabeth held the lamp of 
 Aladdin in her hand. 
 
 Abel was busy shoeing a horse, and talk 
 ing at the same time with the professor s
 
 s;, 
 
 wife about a cut the auimal had received 
 from a sharp stone, just above the aukle, 
 which had lamed him somewhat. A group 
 of three girls stood near, watching the oper 
 ation as gravely as though they were taking 
 a lesson in a braiich of horsemanship new to 
 them. The horses on which the party had 
 been mounted Avere fastened to the trees 
 close by, and it was evident that the riders 
 had depended on the animals they might 
 chance to find on their journey to take them 
 from place to place. 
 
 Nobody noticed Abby, though Abner, she 
 knew, had seen her as she came around the 
 corner; but he made no sign to show that he 
 had. She did not, for that reason, retire to 
 the house. Nobody noticed her, and there 
 was too much to be seen the individuals of 
 the party, the beauty of some of the faces, 
 the oddity of the attire, excited her curi 
 osity; their voices enchanted her. When at 
 last they had mounted their steeds and rode 
 away, she still lingered within sight and 
 sound of what was going on. 
 
 Abuer came from behind the counter as 
 the gentleman turned from it, and repeated 
 his promise that he would be ready to go 
 with him the next morning at any time he 
 might call for him, and then stood looking
 
 M 
 
 after them as they slowly rodr away towards 
 tLe Juniper Inn, and would not have vent 
 ured to offer his .assistance when the ladies 
 were mounting the steeds had he not been 
 asked to hold a rein or a stirrup, and to pick 
 up a, riding-whip. 
 
 When he returned to his shop lie saw 
 Abby sitting on the trunk of a tree a little 
 way up the hill-side. " There !" he said, "I 
 knew you would be coining. What do you 
 think ?" 
 
 "I think volumes," said she. 
 "But what have you there T A letter? 
 " Something worth your reading." 
 "Read it tome. Will you!" Claim 
 ing service, rebuking his claim in the same 
 breath that was Abner. 
 
 Abby read the letter. He leaned over tin 
 counter, his face supported between his two 
 hands, his eyes glowing, and listened. 
 
 A bright fire blazed on the hearth of the 
 Juniper Inn ; for though the month was 
 June, night brought not rarely a more than 
 chilling breeze through the valley of the 
 Granite Hills. 
 
 Surrounded by his wife and the five girls, 
 all his summer pupils, as he called them, be 
 cause lie loved his vocation so well, sat Pro-
 
 87 
 
 fessor Smiles, happy in his element. Cau 
 tion, who had mild suggestions to make to 
 Enthusiasm now and tlien^ \vhen it appear 
 ed probable that the latter might entice the 
 girls too fast and too far, was now counsel 
 ling him. Fortunate were the girls to have 
 for their guide a man on culture bent, and 
 intent, too, on proving that the natural sci 
 ences offered the best aids to mental disci 
 pline anywhere to be found. 
 
 To this select audience around the fire he 
 repeated the story which he had somewhere 
 heard of the Juniper heroes, the twenty min 
 isters, the bishop, and the judge. 
 
 Elizabeth would have said, but for her 
 conviction that the girls would laugh if she 
 said it, "And there s another hero preparing 
 to graduate from the blacksmith shop." 
 
 True to the purpose with which he had 
 set out on his tour, the professor had been 
 his own guide so far, but ho had begun to 
 see that he was not getting his share of the 
 rest which the vacation should give him, nor 
 securing exactly the results he had defined 
 to himself before he set out. A male com 
 panion who should serve other purposes 
 than those of a servant merely would great 
 ly lighten his cares. He had been thinking 
 of the available young men in the Polytech-
 
 nic School and the School of Mines, but 
 wlieu ho took into consideration the party 
 to whom such student must be attendant, 
 he found that there was no one at liberty 
 whom ho would call to his aid. Had he now 
 and here, in this out-of-the-way place, found 
 the very person whom he needed f It would 
 tally with many of Professor Smiles s experi 
 ences should ho find that this was so. Ho 
 was always expecting the best things, and 
 generally finding them. After the young 
 people and his wife had left him, while ho 
 sat dreaming before the ashen embers, the 
 professor recalled and dwelt upon the intel 
 ligent face of the possible heir of all the 
 Juniper greatness, until he became almost 
 impatient of the hours which must pass be 
 fore the morning walk among the hills which 
 would show him whether he had found here 
 a guide. 
 
 "Something worth the reading," said Ab- 
 by, as she looked up from her letter. 
 
 Abner drew the sheet of paper towards 
 him without speaking, and read it slowly 
 for himself. 
 
 "That is the place for making nimu \." 
 .said he at length, folding the letter and giv 
 ing it back to her.
 
 Abby was eloquent iu answer, more so by 
 her voice and glance than, by her words 
 even. 
 
 Yon understand it, don t yon ? Yon buy 
 the cattle, and brand them with your name, 
 and then let theju run. There is no feed 
 ing. They feed themselves. The prairies 
 make a pretty wide field. All you have to 
 do when you want to sell is to catch them, 
 and they are all ready." 
 
 " Yes," said Abuer, " if they don t all get 
 the cattle disease and die off, so when you 
 want em they can t be found." 
 
 "I never thought of that," said Abby. 
 "There s always something starting up you 
 don t expect." 
 
 "Yes," said Abner; but he looked quickly 
 at Abby, as if he would encourage her by 
 some cheerful words if she really needed to 
 hear them. Then he thought how quickly 
 she had conie over to Juniper to let them 
 know about her cousin s good-fortuue in 
 prospect. 
 
 "I d. rather go to Kansas," said he. "But 
 if I went, I must go alone. I wouldn t ask 
 anybody to go with me." 
 
 " I suppose not," she answered. " Why 
 should you unless you could find somebody 
 who had money."
 
 " You know what I mean, Abby," he said, 
 slowly and so gravely that she blushed ; but 
 she rallied. 
 
 " It wouldn t be as handy boarding round 
 in wigwams as it is in New Hampshire, I 
 expect." 
 
 Abuer laughed now. 
 
 "If a girl should go out there with me 
 she would have a rough time of it. She 
 would have to board in her own cabin wrck 
 in and week out, and no neighbors, like 
 enough. That would be lonesome. But, 
 West or East, it s all the same, so one is sat 
 isfied." 
 
 " Who is satisfied ?" asked Abby. " That s 
 the reason West or East isn t all the same 
 to anybody. You are satisfied, thinking yon 
 will bring things around to your liking some 
 time. But you re not satisfied to have them 
 stay as they are. If you are, I m not." 
 
 Abuer s eyes brightened. " You have hit 
 the nail on the head," said he. " If you 
 would go with me, I would be a fool to leave 
 you behind." 
 
 There seemed to bo nothing to say to 
 that at least, Abby said nothing directly 
 in response; but she spoke directly to the 
 point when she took from her pocket a little 
 book, and said :
 
 " Little Sammy Newton lent me the Tour 
 ist s Guide here it is. Kansas is a long way 
 off. But you see they have marked out a 
 railroad, and there there are those great 
 wide gardens, the prairies." Ah, now it was 
 the pioneer that^ spoke, that heroic heart 
 whose destiny it is to make our future. She 
 pointed with rather tremulous ringer to the 
 section marked Kansas. 
 
 Abncr took the book from her the little 
 paper -covered book, with its great map 
 which folded into compass of insignificant 
 proportions book which thousands of eyes, 
 old and young, have scanned as closely, as 
 believingly, as ever childhood scanned the 
 wonder-books of fable book that will be 
 studied more and more intently by succeed 
 ing generations. Loug he studied it in the 
 twilight, while lines and names were becom 
 ing obscure. At last he folded it, and gavo 
 it back to Abby. 
 
 " It would be all work out there," he said ; 
 " but the chances are first-rate. If I should 
 make up my mind to go, Abby, would you 
 go with me?" 
 
 She did not answer instantly, and he added, 
 " It wouldn t be right to ask it ?" 
 Why wouldn t it ?" said she, quickly. 
 " What difference would it make to me?"
 
 09 
 
 "Could \ve make ii home then- . " 
 
 " Could \ve any where?" 
 
 " If \ve couldn t, I don t want any." 
 
 "Same here," she said, in a playful, 
 cheerful tone ; but there were tears iu 
 her eyes. " Let me kuow half an hour 
 before you are ready to start. You shall 
 have your fortune if I can help you to 
 it." 
 
 Abner understood her. And he knew 
 that he had not won Abby quite as easily 
 as he seemed to have done. But he waa 
 far enough from guessing all her thoughts. 
 What man, what woman, in a like moment 
 has guessed all the other s thoughts! 
 
 " We should risk all we have," said he, 
 " and you would be the loser, if either of us, 
 Abby." 
 
 " I have all to gain, and nothing to lose," 
 she said. 
 
 "Well, then, I think before long we will 
 go and look up your cousin." 
 
 Hand iu hand they walked back to the 
 house, and then Caleb s letter was talked 
 over by Abby and Ruth, and the sisters re 
 called the day when the orphan boy left 
 tlu-ir father s house for the West with ouly 
 his two hands for his stock iu trade, and 
 now he had his flocks and his herds, aud
 
 seemed sure of Fortune s favor. Abel lis 
 tened to it all, and said, finally : 
 
 "If yon otily go fur enough, and make up 
 your mind what you want before you start, 
 and can put up with nothiu , you are all 
 right. I don t want one o them red dev 
 ils carrying round my top -knot in his 
 pocket." 
 
 While they talked and argued, Abner 
 walked out of the house, and made no haste 
 to return. A great fire was slowly making 
 its way through his life s secret chamber. 
 The material was heavy ignited with diffi 
 culty ; but it had been kindled, and it 
 would be long before the flame went out. 
 
 He went to his shop, restored the miner 
 als to their places on the shelves again, and 
 looked around him, not with the eyes of a 
 pleased proprietor, but with the observa 
 tion of a critic who has discovered a stand 
 ard more exacting than he has known be 
 fore. 
 
 His aspect as he stood there reflecting on 
 the Kansas prospect, and on the party whom 
 he was to escort in the morning to Hopper s 
 Glen, ten miles distant, might not have led 
 a stranger to suspect what had passed be 
 tween a spirited young woman and himself 
 during that past hour. Yet he had not been
 
 M 
 
 able to dwell upon the fact that was now 
 established \\\ih regard to their future as ho 
 sat in the house. He required all out-doors, 
 the heavens above and the stars, the free 
 air and the hills, for the tabernacle of that 
 fact. The doubt he had long entertained 
 whether this bright-minded Abby would 
 ever consent to share his slow fortunes for 
 he had not seen without perceiving the skil 
 ful hand with which she brought order out 
 of disorder wherever she went, and how rich 
 she was in suggestion when other people 
 seemed to bo at their wits end had cost 
 him much disquiet, and now it was removed ! 
 He could not but be amazed. No place short 
 of Kansas seemed to offer him a field large 
 enough and conditions generous enough for 
 the enterprise he must engage in, with Abby 
 for a partner. 
 
 So it was that he could not sit quietly in 
 the house thinking of these things, and hear 
 Abel talk about the lack of timber in Kansas 
 and the prairie fires, the cattle disease, and 
 the Indians. How should he suspect that 
 Abel in this talk was merely trying to rea 
 son himself into content with his own small 
 chance at fortune, and curbing his restive 
 spirit to do the plodding work of duty, ex 
 pounding, in his way, the doctrine of com-
 
 9.1 
 
 pensation, which lie had once heard preached 
 by Now England s high-priest ? 
 
 It was full ten miles to Hopper s Glen, and 
 as the way was none of the smoothest, the 
 professor had decided to go on foot, and, 
 quite contrary to expectation, his wife and 
 the five girls decided to accompany him, 
 and made such a scornful outcry, when ho 
 had thrown ten miles of difficulty in their 
 way, that he was quite ready to yield; and 
 having ascertained that tiie tourists were 
 prepared in advance for climbing rocky hill 
 sides, and for crossing, if need be, unbridged 
 streams and swamp lauds, all set forth. 
 
 Going or returning, the young people 
 never lost sight of the professor or their 
 guide. They rested by the way-side under 
 forest trees, examining the floral specimens 
 gathered as they went ; with their small 
 hammers they tapped a cheerful tune on the 
 venerable rocks, and they enriched them 
 selves with the crystals which seemed to be 
 seech of them release from the place of their 
 captivity. They made themselves at home 
 in Nature s grounds, and manifestly were 
 her dearly beloved children. 
 
 Abner thought of Matthew on that excur 
 sion, and blushed to think how high he had
 
 M 
 
 supposed his own aims to Lave been, how 
 low they really were. The professor mani 
 fested no little desire to be taught concern 
 ing the region; and Abner could tell him 
 the "lay of the land." and the formation of 
 the rocky region within a radius of fifty 
 miles, as well as if he had studied a treatise 
 on tbe subject. He had once accompanied 
 an engineer, who went seeking the most 
 direct line for a railway across the Stale, 
 and in that tour Abner had learned to use 
 his eyes. The rocks, trees, streams, had 
 taken their place in his memory, and what 
 ever information that was desired concern 
 ing them he could give. The professor was 
 not so much surprised as pleased. He knew 
 how in that barren land, side by side with 
 the need which demanded labor of the 
 hands, fair culture throve; and had. Abner 
 been ten times as well versed iu book- 
 knowledge as he was, it would not have 
 astonished him. 
 
 But those girls, would they not have been 
 astonished had Abby also been of the party ? 
 Let them try conjugating Latin verbs with 
 her, or quoting from Vergil, or singing witli 
 the birds, or dishing up a good meal under 
 nupropitious circumstances! I wish Abby 
 had been of that company. Would she have
 
 97 
 
 Lad, as Abner had, an at first overwhelming 
 sense of the distance that lay between her 
 and her company ? Perhaps, and probably 
 on her own behalf; but she would have been 
 astonished and indignant that Abuer shared 
 the humiliation. 
 
 Poor fellow! true to his inspiration, ho 
 said, "Mat would not have felt it, because 
 it wouldn t have existed." But, as one 
 moment swiftly followed another, the ideal 
 Mat supplied Abner with reasons why he 
 should, stand erect in this company, and 
 with modest self-respect he finally stood 
 erect. Oh, Matthew Keardon, if you saw 
 your work, were not you amazed thereat? 
 Nevertheless, Hail to every veiled prophet," 
 thought of whom has nourished in human 
 hearts the passion of worship ! 
 
 The next day after this excursion to the 
 Glen, which far exceeded in its wonderful 
 beauty anything that had been imagined 
 by the most fancy-free of the little party, 
 Professor Smiles went down to Abuer s shopj 
 and proposed that he should join him and 
 the ladies as a guide on their projected trip 
 across the State to the White Hills. 
 
 They expected, he said, to be absent from 
 home a month or six weeks longer ; and, be 
 sides expenses, fair wages would be allowed. 
 
 7
 
 The professor dwelt briefly 011 the advan 
 tages the youug man might derive from the 
 trip, and gave him a day to decide. 
 
 Here was a great opportunity. Should 
 Abuer reject it, think lightly of it, grind on 
 with his feeble hand Fortune s grist, while 
 here was the great windmill, with all the 
 winds of heaven waiting to fill the sails ? 
 It depended on how he looked at the chance. 
 The professor had explained it well. The lad 
 was no fool ; he could not see far into the 
 future, but he conld see with tolerable eyes 
 the present. One day with this party had 
 given him a hundred new ideas. Perhaps 
 Abby could look after the shop ; she iutend- 
 *ed to spend her vacation, now at baud, with 
 Ruth. Why did he say to himself instantly 
 rather than allow her to perform such serv 
 ice, he would give his wares over to moth, 
 rust, and mildew ? Let it not be supposed 
 that had Abner been required to give his 
 answer to the professor within an hour he 
 could not have given it. There was, in re 
 ality, no hesitation in his mind, merely the 
 shadows of a few doubts which were hover 
 ing around, but would never come boldly 
 into sight. 
 
 In the female mind of the family, how 
 ever, another view was taken of this oppor-
 
 99 
 
 tnnity than Abuer took. Abel s wife, who 
 had been thinking with increasing enthu 
 siasm, not to say longing, of the cattle ou 
 those plains, where the way to fortune was 
 made easy, asked and no wonder " Will 
 tramping over the^hills be the same, or bet 
 ter, than getting ready for Kansas ? Time 
 is worth something ; " while the mother of 
 sainted Matthew was troubled about the ap 
 ple crop, which should have instant atten 
 tion if Abner expected to send to market his 
 hundred bushels of dried fruit, as he did last 
 year. It is indeed a grave matter to let go 
 the hold ou certainty such chasing of 
 chimeras as the appalled human heart has 
 seen since the beginning! 
 
 "Maybe not," Abner said to Ruth. "I 
 must take my chance, though ; and, anyway, 
 there ll be room for me in Kansas after that. 
 It seems to me as if a door had opened, and 
 I must go in." To his mother he said, " The 
 apple business is very well in its way, but I 
 think I see a short-cut to college." And he 
 said the same thing to Abby, though in other 
 words ; and she answered, with the under 
 standing and the heart : 
 
 " Go with em, Abner. As you say, Kansas 
 is as likely to stand fast as anything. You 
 can take your chance there any time."
 
 100 
 
 Her encouraging word seemed to circuit- 
 him. He acknowledged to himself that it 
 did so it was all oue. Abby was associ 
 ated with his decision for better, for worse. 
 Doubtless he would have gone without her 
 encouragement, but it was in accordance 
 with all that favored his going out that she 
 should see, as he did, that there was a chance 
 uot to be made light of. No matter whether 
 all or half he expected, or nothing, came of 
 the " tramping," Abby would never go back 
 of her counsel and lament it. She did not 
 belong to the stoics, who never repent, but 
 had the steady brain of a Juniper girl, and 
 counselled according to her light, and took 
 the consequences bravely. I would like to 
 discourse on Abby, but I resist the tempta 
 tion. 
 
 The next day saw Abner Rcardon going 
 out of Juniper, not to return that season, 
 nor for many another. 
 
 The professor liked the young man at tlxi 
 outset, and as they proceeded on their jour 
 ney, day after day, he liked him more and 
 more, and at length, when the right moment 
 had come, he proposed that he should go 
 back with him to town as his assistant, 
 offering him as compensation a home in his 
 own house and a collegiate course.
 
 101 
 
 The proposal startled Abner. He wrote 
 home to Abby. What did Abby answer? 
 "You aud I arU Ji VtVsu cii idiots i liat we can 
 not see that New England is your trump 
 card, and not4y il 1 isa ?- ?" S<X 4-1^4* ?*l*k,back 
 with the professo r* to" Boston , and is there 
 need that I should show that the gentleman 
 had secured an invaluable assistant? Any 
 body can tell how it was that he proved 
 himself invaluable who considers the dis 
 cipline to which Abner had subjected him 
 self since he began to think. He was mas 
 ter of himself iu many directions: more 
 methodical, more painstaking and exact,than 
 any other student in college ; and so thor 
 oughly did he understand the truest way of 
 getting on that he yielded only at rare in 
 tervals to the make-shifts of brilliaut lazi 
 ness. I am compelled in all seriousness to 
 say of him, in commendation, what oue can 
 hardly suggest now in reference to thinker 
 or worker without exciting critical suspi 
 cion or pathetic commiseration that he was 
 " conscientious" in his work. 
 
 There seemed to be reason sufficient why 
 he should not return to Juniper invariably 
 at holiday seasons. He had, in fact, few 
 holidays that were his own for leisure. His 
 vacations were spent chiefly iu journeys
 
 102 
 
 with or for Professor Smiles. Ho made tlio 
 tour of libraries and laboratories ; his hands 
 seemed tc be ahvayy frll of noics in short 
 hand ; and time sped so fast he had had 
 hardly. Qpp-oftinjiry. fqr*iiHhilj*ing In a re- 
 grett ul thought concerning Juniper. And 
 when now and then at rare intervals he did 
 go back to the silent hill country, do you 
 think it was all the same as if during his 
 absence he had worked in a less absorbed 
 way? How is it with those who plunge 
 into trade or politics to win the glory or 
 the gold wherewith they will go back to 
 adorn the home and secure the ideal ? Do 
 they find the old home where they left it f 
 Is it forever to remain what it was when 
 the heart loved it best f Is the ideal there ? 
 Abby was there, that good girl who loved 
 him ; and his poor old mother ; sickly Ruth ; 
 the little house full of children ; Abel, grow 
 ing gray and wrinkled ; the paralytic fa 
 ther ; hills that looked not so high as once ; 
 a blacksmith s shop, into which no thought, 
 apparently, beyond that of rudest labor had 
 ever entered. Envy not the youth those 
 visits homo. Twice he returned thither, 
 and the professor, who watched him nar 
 rowly, inspecting him on his return the sec 
 ond time, said to himself, " This will usver
 
 103 
 
 do. He must stay with me till he has his 
 diploma, or ho will lose all heart and cour 
 age." The professor had himself kuown 
 the early privation, the hnmble home, the 
 dismay awaiting awakened intelligence that 
 has not yet compjissed the all of human ex 
 perience. He understood what he per 
 ceived in Abuer when he came back from 
 these visits, and therefore determined that 
 they should not be repeated. " Get thee out 
 of thine own country," " Forget thy people 
 and thy father s house," he would have said 
 in so many words had he not had the 
 knowledge of a more excellent way. 
 
 Abner began to be talked about in col 
 lege circles, and to appear now and then in 
 social gatherings. Wise ones said that he 
 was made of " the right stuff," and to speak 
 of him as a young man of great promise. 
 Elderly ladies took notice of him ; and there 
 was one young lady I need not say the 
 professor s daughter Elizabeth, who studied 
 botany, chemistry, and mineralogy with 
 him a young lady in whom scientific pre 
 dilections were as the vital spark who 
 sometimes congratulated herself on the 
 summer trip which had discovered Abner. 
 This young lady ! Must it not have been a 
 pleasant thing for a young working-man like
 
 104 
 
 Abner, whoso hands and whose thoughts 
 found so constantly noble occupation, to 
 have for a companion one who understood 
 his successes because she understood so well 
 the obstacles he had overcome in winning 
 them? Could a comparison between his 
 old home and his present abode suggest it 
 self, and not suggest also a train of thought 
 which might lead who would dare to pre 
 dict, who could avoid predicting, whither f 
 
 And this companion was a handsome girl, 
 quick-witted, gay-hearted, sweet-tempered, 
 capable of hard study and of deep thought, 
 and the daughter of the man who had 
 proved his best friend, his more than father. 
 Poor Abby ! But then, after all, even the 
 great wall of China could not secure from 
 the nineteenth century the foredoomed Ce 
 lestials. Aud all things must take their 
 chances. 
 
 In writing to Abby one day Aimer per 
 ceived a reluctance which was perhaps not 
 quite new, but which was more intelligible 
 than it had been before. It occasioned a 
 peculiar movement of his pen, and its sus 
 pension in the air. It seemed unlikely that 
 ho would add another word. And yet he 
 did add many. He deliberately entered on 
 an elaborate description of the social aspect
 
 of his life in the city, and it was almost as 
 if he thought that by doing this his dear 
 girl might possibly be led to see with her 
 own. eyes more than he could say how un 
 like Juniper life this life he was living was, 
 and how improbable it was that Juniper, or 
 anybody in Juniper would ever have in him 
 the man anticipated. It became after that 
 his desire to find ont how many of all Juni 
 per s great men had gone back to Juniper 
 for a wife. How strange it was that, after 
 months and months of waiting, he had 
 found courage to speak to Abby the very 
 night when the professor came to Juniper! 
 Looking at the relations he sustained to 
 ward Abby with the unpoetic eyes of com 
 mon-sense, it must at once be seen that for 
 Abner to have cherished at this time any 
 great enthusiasm in view of those relations 
 would argue a very remarkable youth in 
 deed. Do you, my reader, happen to know 
 one such elect of invinciblcs? Of stanch 
 fidelity he might be capable, but consider 
 how society dazzles the gray-beards, and 
 then think of this lad. The well-dressed 
 woman of the world wills not to be rudely 
 ignored by the rustic genius. Soft hair, 
 sweet eyes, sweet voices, perfumes, gar 
 ments, graces, know you not all your worth I
 
 106 
 
 Correspondence between Juniper and Bos 
 ton did not rival telegrams. Four-footed 
 beasts could do all its work acceptably. No 
 need of the birds of the air. 
 
 One day Abner received a letter from 
 Abby, saying that Abel s wife had died, and 
 that she was staying with the family. 
 There was great need of a strong-handed 
 woman in the house, and poor Abel, she 
 knew not what would become of him. And 
 then the children, the poor little motherless 
 children, that were to live and grow up in 
 this hard world ! 
 
 Abner read it, and he folt not a little 
 grieved, thinking of poor Ruth. But the 
 letter came at a time when ho was more 
 than usually occupied with laboratory and 
 class work, and when his eyes happened to 
 fall on it several hours after he had received 
 it, he was chiefly shocked to find how little 
 impression the death even of this woman, 
 whom he had once thought of as a great 
 family blessing, had made upon him. 
 
 When his hurry was over he deliberately 
 sat down to think upon all these entangle 
 ments and snares which beset him, and one 
 result of his thinking was that ho told Eliz 
 abeth about Abby and the Kansas cattle 
 plan, which had been unexpectedly de-
 
 107 
 
 feated by the coming of her father and the 
 party by whom he was carried out of Juni 
 per. Consider his condition. Could he 
 have told her with any other hope than 
 that by so doing he would be thrown npon 
 his honor, and stand committed to noblest 
 behavior before -the professor s daughter, 
 that noblest woman in the world ? And yet 
 he had been thinking, "Poor Abel! what 
 will become of him, with all that load on 
 him ? Abby was always fond of his chil 
 dren. He will be obliged to marry again. 
 Wliat a mother she would prove to those 
 motherless little ones ! No other man than 
 Abel but " 
 
 A curious train of thought for a young 
 lover to take up and seriously entertain, 
 and not for a day only. A mouth, six weeks 
 passed, six mouths, and the thought was 
 not yet worn threadbare and dismissed. 
 One day Abuer went to the professor and 
 said : " Do not think me foolish. I know 
 exactly how things stand. I shall have my 
 diploma within a fortnight, if ever, and 
 there s not a little work to be done ; but I 
 must go home. I can t study. I can t fix 
 my mind on anything. They need me there 
 to settle things. We have met with a loss. 
 They do not say it outright, but I know I
 
 can bo of great service to all, and there is 
 no use of my trying to accomplish anything 
 here as I am now." 
 
 The professor looked surprised, of course. 
 It was not the report of himself he could 
 have expected of Abner, his model of self- 
 discipline, bnt he said: "If you must go, 
 you must ; but I should be sorry if anything 
 hindered your going abroad with us alter 
 Commencement, my son. 1 
 
 When Abucr looked at Elizabeth, who 
 was in the room preparing certain botan 
 ical specimens for her father s class, she, 
 absorbed in her work, felt that he was look 
 ing at her, and, half lifting her eyes, said : 
 
 " Who knows what the young lady will 
 say ? Perhaps she can go too." 
 
 What did she mean by that? As kindly 
 as she said ? Was it probable that she 
 would be so ill-bred and so cruel as to smite 
 and humiliate him by the suggestion of an 
 impossibility, which, had it been a possi 
 bility, would still perhaps have pleased him 
 so little? 
 
 The professor looked from his daughter 
 to Abner, as if about to exclaim, " How s 
 that I" bnt he did not say it. 
 
 I Living found the way so clear to Juni 
 per, Abner advanced. He took it without
 
 rcluctauce but with gladness ? Yes, but 
 gladness may have little joy. When the 
 sense of honor must be appealed to in be 
 half of love, how is it with love ? Abner 
 packed his worldly goods in a portmanteau, 
 and went to Juniper to say to Abby what 
 he could not write. He would know whether 
 it must be said the instant he looked at her. 
 If either of them had made a mistake choos 
 ing for life and life s happiness, best for life, 
 liberty, and sacred honor that they should 
 know it before the further and more fatal 
 mistake had been made. He believed that 
 the first mistake was not to be denied. Ho 
 must explain things to Abby, must talk with 
 her face to face, aud after that they would 
 always be friends. 
 
 So he left the city, and went by the 
 crowded routes of travel homeward till he 
 came within fifty miles of Juniper, then by 
 stage; and at last, on foot, he approached 
 tlio blacksmith s shop and the house of 
 Beardon. 
 
 The door of the old brown house stood 
 open as he approached. How every vine 
 aud shrub and tree in the neighborhood had 
 grown during those two years which had 
 not been broken by return ! The lilac bushes 
 were as a wall shielding the house from the
 
 no 
 
 road, and gave to the place an aspect of se 
 clusion, though the blacksmith s shop was 
 so close at hand. The old trees looked 
 older, the old house more humble. A little 
 yellow-haired girl was swinging on the gate 
 Abel s motherless girl, he knew with a 
 flower in her hand. Ruth stood there when 
 he went away, with a smile op her face and 
 tears in her kind eyes, and wished him well. 
 Where was she now T Could she from any 
 near or far distance look upon him as he 
 came f 
 
 He spoke to the little girl. But she had 
 forgotten him, and when he looked at her 
 with such scrutiny in his eyes, she jumped 
 down from the gate and ran into the house. 
 He made no haste to follow her, but stood 
 looking around him ; and so, presently, a 
 voice quite near said to him : 
 
 "You might come in, perhaps." 
 
 Then he saw Abby standing in the gate 
 way looking at him with a gaze every whit 
 as terrifying as he had bestowed just now 
 upon the child, but merely because they 
 were Abby s own eyes that looked, calm, 
 steady, tender. 
 
 Here, then, was Abel s wife and the 
 mother of Ruth s motherless children. He 
 ventured a question, like one half wakened
 
 Ill 
 
 from sleep and from iiightmare. Yet be 
 had not come home to play with words. 
 
 " Are you ready for Kansas ?" said be. 
 
 "Are you ?" sbe asked iu turn. 
 
 " We will talk about that," he answered. 
 "Where s mother!" 
 
 Was it mere honor that had spoken ? 
 Must he now shame himself by his midnight 
 reflections on duty, after he had heard from 
 Abel and his mother how Abby had been as 
 the mother of the household since poor 
 Eutb s death, even as Abner and as Abuer s 
 wife, the mother and the servant of all ? 
 
 Possibly he had need to test himself still 
 further in order to discover whether he was 
 in honor bound. Possibly Abby, aware of 
 what she did, supplied the test ; but I think 
 not. I think it was rather the result of sad 
 and solemn thinking that made her say to 
 him, next day, when she had made for her 
 self an opportunity : 
 
 " Abuer, the neighbors say I ought to 
 marry Abel." 
 
 " They know what your duty is, I dare 
 say," he answered, \vith a glow on his face 
 kindled by what fire, let us hope, she would 
 never suspect. 
 
 " But I am thinking the same thing." 
 
 " Abel too, I dare say."
 
 " I don t know. But poor Abel !" 
 
 "You expect me to give you away is 
 that it? To-day, then, for I must go back 
 to-morrow." 
 
 " I expect your consent," she said, grave 
 ly, so much absorbed by what she had to 
 say and by what she was saying that she 
 seemed to pay no heed to what was evi 
 dently enough passing within bis mind, 
 who had so unexpectedly found the door 
 of deliverance opening. "Abel must mar 
 ry. There are all those children who cau 
 take care of them as well f And the old 
 people ? As to you " She did uot look at 
 him. 
 
 " As to me," he said, turning his back 
 suddenly on the door of which I have 
 spoken, and expressing himself with a di 
 rectness which must have amazed him, "if 
 I am uot worth your taking, let it be as yon 
 have said." 
 
 " I have set my common-sense at work," 
 said she. " I have thought a great deal 
 about it. lloston isn t like .hmiprr. It is 
 inhabited by another kind of people." 
 
 "It js indeed," said he. 
 
 " Your kind not mine." 
 
 " I deny that." 
 
 " Well, you cau find your kind there."
 
 113 
 
 " When I Lave found already -what I 
 \vant, and it is mine !" 
 
 "Don t think of that, Abuer," she said, 
 quickly. " That belonged to the old time. 
 Since then everything is changed. I have 
 often thought it never could have happened 
 if I hadn t come over that night with Cousin 
 Caleb s letter." She was sufficiently in ear 
 nest. 
 
 " Then you have learned to love Abel 
 and it was a mistake about me," said Abner, 
 slowly. 
 
 "I have learned many things since you 
 went away." 
 
 How did it happen that a little later in 
 the day Abner was calling on all that was 
 within him to prove to Abby that a diploma 
 wasn t worth the having if it took him away 
 from her again ? 
 
 " So far as I can see," she said, " you are 
 in honor bound to the professor. No Kansas 
 for us yet." Where had she learned those 
 words which had haunted and tormented 
 him so long? And did he tell her then, by 
 way of warning, that Miss Elizabeth was 
 there in the place to which she would re 
 turn him ? Not he. He had forgotten Miss 
 Elizabeth. It was, in fact, Abby s talk that 
 sent Abuer the next day back to town, and
 
 114 
 
 coustraiued biin to remain there until 
 be should have rendered some invaluable 
 service to Professor Smiles. But who does 
 not behold on the far Kansas plains a 
 thousand cattle bearing A. R. s brand f 
 
 What did Abner see in the eyes of Miss 
 Elizabeth when he went back f Bountiful 
 loving-kindness. And no more T No more 
 that he could interpret. 
 
 " I should have expected the heavens to. 
 tall as soon as to hear that you did not 
 know your own heart and mind, Abner. I 
 never could have forgiven you if you had 
 not seen how you were in honor bound." 
 
 " Ah !" said he ; " but that was not it, 
 Miss Elizabeth. Though, perhaps, I thought 
 it was." 
 
 " I know it," said she. 
 
 Thank God for every creature who iu the 
 Father s House makes himself a zealous cus 
 todian of the sacred ideals !
 
 AN -ISLANDER. 
 
 BY MISS MARGARET CROSBY. 
 I. 
 
 AT four o clock on a September afternoon 
 Vestal Street, Nantucket, is curiously quiet. 
 The square white bouses stand on either 
 side of the sandy road. The lowering sun 
 light is beginning to cast a gray shadow 
 across its glaring whiteness. The houses 
 have no outside shutters, and the closed in 
 side blinds, of solid wood painted white, 
 have a sightless expression. Beyond, in 
 Lily Street and in the lower part of the 
 town, many of the houses have a railed 
 platform on the roof, called the " walk," 
 where the Nantucket wives were wont, in 
 former days, to watch longingly the out 
 ward or homeward bound sails; but in 
 Vestal Street the houses have not this dig 
 nity. From their upper windows is seen 
 the old windmill, on its green mound, and
 
 116 
 
 the moor, undulating unbrokeuly for three 
 miles uutil the sen is reached. 
 
 Ou such an afternoon in one of these 
 houses an elderly man and woman sat in the 
 living-room talking together. Both were 
 seated in black wooden rockiug-chairs ; and 
 as these two persons talked they rocked, 
 the creaking of the chairs keeping up a 
 groaning accompaniment to their conversa 
 tion. 
 
 "So Eunice wouldn t go to the Continent 
 with Mrs. Lane?" said the old man. " Well, 
 Mrs. Adams, I always said she was one of 
 the elect." 
 
 He was small and thin ; his face was 
 smooth-shaven, all but a fringe of white 
 beard that started close to his ears and ran 
 around under his chin. The same fringe 
 grew low down on his bald head and waved 
 on the collar of his bine flannel coat. His 
 face, thus left exposed, had an expression of 
 innocent curiosity and kindliness. 
 
 At one of the windows a shutter \vas 
 open, and a square of blue mosquito-netting 
 in a frame fitted into the casements and 
 kept the flies out. Mrs. Adams sat by this 
 window making a patch-work quilt, and 
 rocking gently as she sewed. She had a 
 rigid, cautious face and gray hair, brushed
 
 117 
 
 smoothly down on either side of her fore 
 head. She spoke with emphasis. 
 
 "You are right, Deacon Swain, Eunice 
 has always had a calling, as I may say. 
 From the time she was right small she was 
 seriously inclined. She s a conscientious 
 girl, if I do say it. It was a chance to go 
 to the Continent to New York, and it weren t 
 nothing to be governess to Mrs. Lane s 
 children compared to teaching school here; 
 but she had a call to stay here. She said 
 she couldn t go off suddenly and leave 
 everything at loose ends. She d undertook 
 the grammar-school, and this was her place." 
 
 Deacon Swain s face glowed with ap 
 proval. 
 
 "Yet it icas a chance to go to New York," 
 he said, as if to provoke Mrs. Adams to 
 further speech. 
 
 " So folks said," Mrs. Adams answered, 
 dryly. " But Eunice only said as she didn t 
 know as they needed her over to the Conti 
 nent, and they did here, so twas her duty 
 to stay." 
 
 By "Continent" a Nantucketer always 
 means the mainland. Mrs. Adams paused, 
 and then resumed, with a slight change of 
 tone, 
 
 " Have you called a minister yet ?"
 
 118 
 
 " Well no " replied the deacon. 
 
 "Should think you d best be hurryin 
 up," said Mrs. Adams, with some severity. 
 "It s a cry in disgrace that the Congrega 
 tional Church of Nantucket should be so 
 long without a minister. There s a falliu 
 away, and it ll grow. I heard of Maria 
 Barnes and all the Aaron Macys at the 
 Episcopal Church last Sunday." 
 
 The deacon looked uneasy. 
 
 " That s so," he assented ; but he added, 
 guardedly, " We had a meetiu yesterday, 
 and we re bringin matters to a p iut s 
 quick s we can. Where s Eunice f" he con 
 cluded. 
 
 "Out in the back lot, parin apples for 
 apple-butter," Mrs. Adams answered. 
 
 There was a pause of a few moments, 
 while the two rockers creaked in concert. 
 
 "How does your boarder suit?" inquired 
 the deacon at last. 
 
 The cautious expression deepened in Mrs. 
 Adams s face. 
 
 " Well enough !" she said, shortly. 
 
 The deacon looked at her with mild yet 
 active curiosity. 
 
 " Does he um pay regular ?" 
 
 "Yes, he pays regular enough," Mrs. 
 Adams admitted.
 
 119 
 
 The deacon gazed, meditatively at the 
 ceiling. He did not wish to appear eager, 
 yet he was anxious to discover the secret of 
 Mrs. Adams s dissatisfaction with her lodger. 
 
 "I must say the young man commends 
 himself strongly l^o me," he said. "He came 
 into my store for some cigars the day he 
 come, and he didn t seem much to like Nan- 
 tucket. He d took a room to the Spring 
 field House. He s kind of foreign and open- 
 spoken, you know. He said he didn t want 
 to stay to a hotel, when he came to Nan- 
 tncket, with a lot of tourists. That s what 
 he called the strangers." 
 
 The deacon laughed gently as he made 
 this comment. 
 
 " Said he d come to study the place and 
 inhabitants; that what he wanted was local 
 coloring. I ve been a-kinder pouderiu that 
 term ever since. Thought he d go back to 
 the Continent right oif. Now, says I "- 
 the deacon was warming to his subject, for 
 Mrs. Adams had stopped working and re 
 garded him with deep attention " says I, 
 don t cross the bay to-day, it s as rugged as 
 fury ; stay a few days and you ll shake 
 down. You see, I says, this is a corner 
 grocery, and folks drop in afternoons and 
 it s real social. You re welcome, I says, to
 
 120 
 
 come in and get weighed as many times a 
 day s yon want. He seemed kinder pleased, 
 and then be wanted me to recommend him 
 to some private house, in a quiet street. 
 where he could take a room ; and I told him 
 about you, for Eunice said you was thinking 
 about taking a boarder. I m sorry he don t 
 suit." 
 
 He paused diplomatically. Mrs. Adams 
 began to sew again. 
 
 " Tain t that he doesn t suit," she said. 
 " He s talcing enough ; but it s against con 
 science, my keepin him. He s a godless, 
 Sabbath -breakiu man !" 
 
 She uttered this terrible accusation in a 
 calm, dry voice. 
 
 " You don t say !" said the deacon, breath 
 lessly. His face was unaffectedly regretful. 
 "Yet," he continued, "he s full of natural 
 grace." 
 
 "Natural grace ain t goin to help a man 
 where his eternal salvation is concerned. 
 Mrs. Adams returned, severely. "You km>\\- 
 that, deacon, as well as I do." 
 
 The deacon made an unwilling movement 
 of assent with his head. "Yes, we are 
 taught so," he said, musingly ; " and yet it 
 seems strange, for we are all made in the 
 image of God."
 
 121 
 
 Mrs. Adams was too much occupied with 
 her own thoughts to heed him. 
 
 "The question is," she continued, 
 " whether, as the wife of a Presbyterian 
 minister, I am justified in keeping him in 
 my house." ,. 
 
 The old man looked distressed. " It s a- 
 question, it s a question," he said; "but 
 what makes you think he s in an uuregen- 
 erate state f" 
 
 " Plenty of things. He ain t much in the 
 habit of making friends with strangers ; but 
 after he came I told him that, though we 
 wouldn t vacate the sittin -room for any one, 
 he was welcome to come in and sit and play 
 on the music. I do say he makes a sight 
 of music come out of that melodeon ; sounds 
 like the organ I heard when I was to Boston 
 with Ephraim." 
 
 " Yes," nodded the old man, "I remember 
 your mentioning it to Lucilla when yon 
 came back to the Island." 
 
 " Well," said Mrs. Adams, " Sundays Dr. 
 Otto played and sang same s other days, and 
 such music! I can t liken it to anything I 
 ever heard. It sounded, well " 
 
 " French ?" suggested the deacon. His im 
 agination had been fired by the widow s elo 
 quence, and the word came patly to his lips.
 
 122 
 
 Mrs. Adams gave his eager, simple old 
 face a sharp look over her glasses. 
 
 "Persian, more likely," she said, shortly. 
 "Heathenish, anyhow. I soon put an end 
 to that ; but that ain t all. He works at his 
 paiutin s all day Sundays. He let fall in 
 conversation that he makes a habit of at- 
 tendin the play. In Germany he had a seat 
 regular, same as we have a pew in church. 
 As far s I can see he has no Bible. The 
 other day I gave him Ephraim s tract, Go 
 ing to the Play, you kuow." The elder 
 nodded. " He was polite enough to me 
 about it; but when I came in after, he was 
 readin it, and as far as I could make out he 
 was laughing. It just showed his feelings 
 on sacred subjects." 
 
 A look of helpless distress had come into 
 the deacon s face. 
 
 "What does Eunice say ?" he asked. 
 
 "Well, Eunice always looks at things in 
 a high kind of way. When I spoke to her 
 she only says, Mother, perhaps his coinin 
 here is a leadin of Providence, and wo 
 ought not to bar the way. That was three 
 weeks ago. I don t know how she feels 
 now." 
 
 The old man seemed relieved. " Eunice 
 ain t likely to be far wrong iu such matters.
 
 123 
 
 The things of God are spiritually discerned, 
 and it is given to such as her to discern 
 them." He rose and took his hat from the 
 table. " I must be goin .along." He shook 
 hands somewhat limply with Mrs. Adams, 
 who did not rise from the chair. " You d 
 better let Eunice Settle that matter." His 
 face became very grave and tender. " En- 
 nice is one of the Elect, as I said before. 
 It s my belief, Mrs. Adams, that the Lord 
 has great things in store for her." 
 
 Mrs. Adams only gave him another scru 
 tinizing glance. He left the room, and, as 
 he let himself out of the door, she resumed 
 her work, only calling to him, 
 
 " I ll send Lucilla some of my apple-but 
 ter ; she told me she wa u t preservin this 
 season ." 
 
 The back porch of the house looked out 
 on a small enclosure of sandy grass. There 
 was but one stunted tree and no flowers. 
 The gabled end of a neighboring house, 
 painted a dull red, jutted out beyond the 
 rickety fence, at one end of the enclosure. 
 Beyond could be seen the windmill, on its 
 mound, and the green moors. The atmos 
 phere was so clear and sparkling that it 
 lent an actual beauty to the very simple 
 elements which made up this scene.
 
 1-21 
 
 In the porch a man sat before his easel, 
 painting. lie had evidently intended to 
 paint simply the gable of the house, with 
 the glimpse of the windmill and (lie moor 
 beyond but Eunice Adams stood at a table 
 just beyond the porch. On the table lay a, 
 pile of. rusty-yellow and red apples, which 
 she was paring. The background of the 
 red house threw her figure into relief, and 
 the temptation to add it to his picture was 
 too strong for Dr. Julius Otto. He had 
 sketched in her figure hastily, and was 
 working carefully on the face. He seemed 
 to be about thirty-five. His light-brown 
 hair grew straight up from his forehead in 
 a thick mass. His moustache swept away 
 from his mouth in a bold wave. His beard 
 was parted in the Prussian fashion, and he 
 had a slightly obstinate mouth and chin. 
 In the turn of his head, the expression of 
 his eyes, in his whole manner, there was an 
 enormous naturalness that was almost 
 startling. He was speaking in rapid, lluent 
 English, with a marked German accent. 
 
 "For my part," he said, " I am glad I am 
 going to Vienna. I have been five years in 
 this country, and it has treated me kindly. 
 But I find you Americans too prejudiced, too 
 narrow. Now, if you, for instance, could
 
 shake off some of the Puritanism that is 
 blighting your life, you would be far hap 
 pier." 
 
 He threw off this suggestion in a half- 
 teasing manner, yet with a vivid heartiness 
 that was like a cordial. 
 
 Eunice remained silent for a moment. 
 Then she spoke with an effort. 
 
 " It is not always necessary to be happy." 
 
 Her face was one of those we sometimes 
 see in New England. Her forehead was 
 somewhat high, and her features had the 
 same regularity that in her mother had 
 hardened into rigidity. Her skin was 
 colorless, and her dark hair was twisted iu 
 a heavy, waveless mass at the back of her 
 head. Her eyes were singularly clear gray, 
 with dark lashes and eyebrows. Her face 
 had much beauty ; but, more than this, it 
 was so refined and spiritualized by some in 
 ward experience and habitual moral lofti 
 ness that it made a vivid impression on 
 those who saw it for the first time. The 
 Nantucketers were accustomed to this qual 
 ity in her face, and took it as a matter of 
 course ; but the summer visitors who met 
 her in the street used to wonder at the 
 strange, exquisite face, afterwards remem 
 bering its transparent lambency of expres-
 
 1-26 
 
 siou as something rarer and more exquisite 
 than beauty. 
 
 Dr. Otto received her remark with a sort 
 of kindly amusement. 
 
 "Why, if you please, Miss Enuice, is it 
 not necessary to be happy 1" 
 
 Eunice looked at him anxiously as ho 
 bent over his easel. She seemed to force 
 herself to speak. 
 
 " Because, if we do our duty, it makes no 
 difference whether we are happy or not. 
 Things may seem hard here, but in another 
 life " She stopped suddenly, catching her 
 breath nervously. 
 
 Dr. Otto s face had an expression of half- 
 pitying protest. 
 
 "All very well," he said, with the same- 
 heartiness, " if one could be guaranteed the 
 second lease. But you know wo are only 
 sure of one life !" 
 
 He laughed good-hnmoredly as ho spoke. 
 
 The girl s face only became slightly paler. 
 She dropped the knife and apple she IK Id 
 in her hands. 
 
 " Do not say that !" she said, in a low 
 voice. " Every one can be sure. You do 
 believe that ?" 
 
 Her voice was so urgent that the German 
 spoke with more seriousness.
 
 127 
 
 "Really, Miss Eunice, do you wish me to 
 speak the truth ?" 
 
 "Yes," sbe answered. 
 
 "Well, then, I will tell you fraukly, I 
 have loug since arranged my life without 
 reference to any such beliefs." 
 
 " How can you live, then I" Her eyes 
 dilated as she looked at him. 
 
 " All the better," he answered, " since 
 I have ceased to support or torment myself 
 with false hopes or fears. The world is 
 wide. There is so much to do, so much to 
 live for, that there is more than scope for 
 the largest intelligence. It satisfies me. 
 If I complain and wish for more, I am not 
 worthy to have standing-room. Out of it, 
 and let some better man take my place ! 
 But I have not come to that yet. It is true 
 there is misery and suffering, but we can 
 all help each other. Let us do our duty. 
 Yes but let us be happy also, and not 
 starve our lives as you do." 
 
 Eunice had remained motionless then 
 she spoke again in the same low voice. 
 
 " Do you mean to say you have no hope 
 of immortality?" 
 
 Otto laughed. 
 
 " My dear Miss Eunice," he said, gently, 
 " spend six months in a dissecting-room,
 
 128 
 
 and your ideas of life aud immortality will 
 undergo a startling change." 
 
 His words seemed to give Eunice a mo 
 mentary insight into his hahits of thought. 
 Her face was strangely illuminated as she 
 answered, 
 
 "It does no good to talk about it, Dr. 
 Otto. It is not in my power that you shall 
 or shall not believe. But the spirit of God 
 is stronger than the mind or will of man. 
 It can teach you aud lead you as I can 
 not, as your own understanding cannot 
 whether you believe it or not, this is 
 true." 
 
 At any other moment of his life Otto 
 would have looked upon such "an outburst 
 as a pitiable exhibition of superstition. But 
 perfect sincerity has a power of its own, 
 aud he was strangely impressed. To his 
 surprise, Eunice suddenly gathered up the 
 basket of apples and went rapidly into the 
 house. As she passed him he saw that 
 tears were streaming down her face. Their 
 talk was only one of many, but none had 
 reached this point. He whistled very soft 
 ly to himself, and then went on painting iu 
 silence. Dr. Otto had little instinctive 
 reverence, or, as he would have expressed it, 
 no superstitious; but ho had broad sympa-
 
 thies and a tender heart. He began to re 
 gret having spoken so frankly. 
 
 At meals Eunice first served her mother 
 and their guest, and then took her own seat 
 at the table. When he first came this pro 
 ceeding was highly embarrassing to Otto. 
 If Eunice had been less educated and less re 
 fined, it would not have seemed so incongru 
 ous. He used to jump up from his seat to 
 assist her; but he found that this was only 
 disturbing to both Mrs. Adams and her 
 daughter, and he now submitted with a 
 good grace. This evening Eunice was un 
 usually quiet. Long before now Otto had 
 learned the secret of waking her laughter. 
 It had a fresh, unused sweetness, and he 
 learned to wait for this sound and to enjoy 
 it genuinely when it came. But now this 
 pleasure was not in store for him. The 
 girl s eyes were swollen from crying, and 
 her manner w r as full of the dignity of a 
 quiet sorrow. After supper Mrs. Adams 
 took her seat in the rocking-chair of the 
 living-room, with her knitting. Eunice was 
 clearing away the dishes. Otto, who had 
 lingered in the room, spoke suddenly to her. 
 
 "Miss Eunice, I am afraid my thought 
 less remarks this afternoon have troubled 
 you?" 
 9
 
 -130 
 
 She made no reply, but stood with her 
 eyes cast down. He went on with his usual 
 fluency, 
 
 "Even if one lias no household gods, 
 one should not try to knock down one s 
 neighbor s. I have no desire to shake your 
 faith. I have no creed to offer you in ex 
 change but the very finite one I proposed 
 this afternoon "he broke off "in fact, I 
 can only ask you to forgive me." 
 
 She looked up quietly, and he saw that, 
 in spite of her reddened eyes, her expression 
 was lofty and collected. 
 
 "You have not shaken my faith. It is 
 only terrible to know that you that any 
 one should feel as you do. If yon were ig 
 norant, it -would be different " she stopped 
 "but it does no good to talk about it." 
 She took a dish from the table and left the 
 room. 
 
 Otto, a little baffled, went into his own 
 room and lighted his lamp. Mrs. Adams 
 and Eunice had arranged this room with 
 their own hands. The walls were white 
 washed, and a square of blue and gray 
 ingrain carpeting covered the floor. The 
 drop-shades were of thick light-blue paper, 
 and the window-curtains of blue and white 
 mosquito-netting, looped back with a wide
 
 131 
 
 strip of the blue paper of which the shades 
 were made. The furniture was of the cheap 
 est painted wood, with the exception of a 
 mahogany bureau with small brass knobs. 
 
 Above the looking-glass hung a worsted- 
 work sampler, framed, and covered with 
 glass. There was an inscription thereon 
 to this effect : 
 
 "Mary Folger is my name, 
 America is my nation ; 
 Nantucket is my dwelling-place, 
 And Christ is my salvation." 
 
 The figure of the German was in curious 
 contrast to the air of humble sanctity which 
 this room possessed. He looked too large 
 for its small proportions, and too aggressive 
 for its timid propriety. His tweed shoot 
 ing-jacket and a pair of muddy corduroys 
 sprawled over a chair, where he had flung 
 them when he came in from a sketching ex 
 pedition the day before. His portfolio lay 
 open on the table, and lie sat down by it 
 and looked at his sketches. They seemed 
 to him monotonous some of the most char 
 acteristic Nautucket houses ; one or two of 
 the narrowest and crookedest lanes ; and 
 the rest of the moors, always the moors. At 
 sunset, in the golden haze of the setting sun ; 
 at twilight, purpled and shadowy ; at dawn.
 
 132 
 
 by Tom Nevei^s Head, the brown moor and 
 the still sea reddened with the flush of the 
 morning. 
 
 For a moment they brought back the 
 perfect reality woven into his mental fibres 
 by the tenderest thoughts of his life; then 
 they seemed only faded reflections. He 
 pushed them aside almost angrily. 
 
 He had graduated from a medical college 
 in Berlin as a physician some years before ; 
 but after a couple of years he gave up his 
 practice, and became an artist from sheer 
 inability to keep out of his studio when he 
 should have been cultivating the good-will 
 of his patients. He came to America, and 
 although he made little money, his artistic 
 reputation induced his friends in Germany 
 to secure for him the position of professor of 
 drawing in the principal art school of Vieniin. 
 
 He was to sail in a mouth more, and had 
 come to Nantucket to sketch, as well as for 
 a rest before sailing. Now, as the weeks 
 passed, Dr. Otto realized that he was pain 
 fully unwilling to go away. He was almost 
 impatient of this feeling, yet ho could not 
 overcome it. The remote oddity of the 
 place and people, with one exception, were 
 repugnant to him. The fact that the little 
 island was sea-girt and thirty miles from
 
 133 
 
 the mainland gave him a sense of confine 
 ment. The four walls of his room seemed 
 to suffocate him. He started np and opened 
 the door of his room. The chill Septemher 
 air blew in at the open hall door. 
 
 "I shall sail tw,o weeks earlier," thought 
 Otto, " and go to Italy for a fortnight before 
 going to Vienna." 
 
 He went into the sitting-room. It was 
 deserted. He heard Mrs. Adams moving 
 abont in the kitchen. Eunice was nowhere 
 to be seen. He sat down at the open melo- 
 deon and played and sang the Mignon s Lied 
 of Liszt. 
 
 "Kennst da das Land wo die Citronen bliih u 
 Im dunkeln Laub die Gold-Orangen gluh n ? " 
 
 floated out through the open door into a 
 room across the hall, where Eunice Adams 
 sat at a table piled with books and papers. 
 She was correcting the children s exercises 
 for the next day. She had not been at the 
 Nantucket high-school, nor had the run of 
 the town library, for nothing. She under 
 stood the words Otto sang. The mellow, 
 pleading tones seemed to curl around her 
 heart and sink into it. 
 
 "Kennst dn es wohl? 
 
 Dahin ! Dahin ! mocht ich mil dir, O mein Gelieb- 
 ter, zielm."
 
 134 
 
 After a moment she got up, walked firmly 
 across the hall, and softly closed the door of 
 the sitting-room ; and, coming back, shut 
 and bolted the door of her own room. lu 
 the slightly built house the music still 
 sounded, but she bent her head in her hands 
 as she sat by the table, and then went on 
 slowly and patiently with her task. 
 
 Dr. Otto was beginning to enjoy thorough 
 ly his own music. He made the little in 
 strument tremble and vibrate and give forth 
 grandly the rich harmonies of the song. He 
 sang with feeling, with soul. Suddenly he 
 heard the door shut gently, and footsteps 
 retreat across the hall and the shutting of a 
 second door. He sprang from his chair. 
 
 "Barbarians!" he muttered in German, 
 " they do not even appreciate good music." 
 
 Then he laughed, and, shutting the rnelo- 
 deon, looked at his watch and yawned nine 
 o clock. 
 
 Mrs. Adams put out the light in the din 
 ing-room and looked suspiciously into the 
 sitting-room. 
 
 " Oh, you can put the light out here," said 
 Otto, apologetically, as if he had been dis 
 covered in a crime 
 
 "I s pose I might as well," said Mrs. Ad 
 ams, dryly. " It s gettin late."
 
 135 
 
 "Late! O ye gods!" murmured Otto. 
 He went down the passage to his room 
 aud went meekly to bed. 
 
 II. 
 
 Two or three days later Otto was staud- 
 ing at the window of the sitting-room. As 
 he looked down the road he saw Eunice 
 Adams coming towards the house with a 
 young man. They were in earnest conver 
 sation. The stranger was evidently a cler 
 gyman, from his provincially clerical dress 
 and white cravat. He was tall and slender, 
 with a thin, intellectual face, a long nose, 
 and meditative blue eyes. Otto saw a look 
 of deep affection and respect in these eyes 
 as .the young man bent them on Eunice. 
 Otto turned abruptly away from the win 
 dow, and, taking his hat and sketching ma 
 terials from the table, went out into the 
 hall, meeting Eunice and her companion as 
 they entered. Eunice looked at him with 
 vague anxiety. To his surprise she spoke 
 to him. 
 
 " Are you going out, Dr. Otto ? Dinner 
 will be ready in a few minutes."
 
 130 
 
 " I shall not be at home to dinner. I am 
 going out to sketch," he replied. 
 
 He almost brushed by the young clergy 
 man, who stood against the wall of the nar 
 row hall to let him pass, and left the house. 
 A half an hour later his cheeks tingled at 
 the recollection of his childishness. " Block 
 head!" he muttered to himself, "thou art 
 not a boy, why shouldst thou care!" and 
 later, " Why not have waited and found 
 out" 
 
 Otto managed to get some dinner at a 
 farm-house on the moors that day. Some 
 thing seemed to be dragging him back to 
 the little house in Vestal Street, but he 
 obstinately prolonged his own suspense. 
 He made sketch after sketch, painstaking 
 and laborious, and ended by destroying 
 them all. 
 
 In a sort of inward vision he had seen all 
 day the figures of Eunice and the young 
 clergyman. It was dark when he reached 
 the town, at last, worn out with his long 
 struggle with himself. The moon had come 
 out and bathed the still, white streets with 
 its pure light. It was as still and warm as 
 a midsummer night. The houses looked 
 blanker than ever as he passed them. As 
 lie neared the Adams house he saw a figure
 
 137 
 
 approaching him ; small, ami walking with 
 a tremulous step ; his head was uncovered, 
 and his white locks floated iu a silver aure 
 ole as he came towards him. He held a tall 
 buuch of white, feathery grasses iu his hand, 
 and looked not unlike an elderly Angel of 
 the Annunciation. It was Deacon Swain. 
 He moved his hat into his left hand, and 
 held out his right in greeting to the young 
 er man. His face shone with a gentle ra 
 diance as he looked up at him. 
 
 "A beautiful night, doctor," he said. 
 
 Otto assented. The old man looked up 
 at the night sky. 
 
 " It reminds me of the hymn we sang last 
 Sunday," he said. 
 
 " Soon as the evening shades prevail 
 The moon takes up the wondrous tale, 
 And nightly to the listening earth 
 Repeats the story of her birth ; 
 And all the stars that round her burn, 
 And all the planets in their turn, 
 Confirm the tidings as they roll, 
 And spread the truth from pole to pole. 
 
 " It seems as though such nights as this 
 came to show us that God s mercy to man 
 kind is as boundless as His universe." He 
 put on his hat as he ended. "Good-night, 
 doctor," he said, and passed on.
 
 138 
 
 Otto s footsteps made no sound on the 
 sandy path as he reached the house. At 
 the gate beyond the house, which led iuto 
 the " pasture," as the enclosure was called, 
 stood two figures. In the moonlight Otto 
 recognized them as the realization of his 
 vision that day. The man held Eunice s 
 hand in his, and she looked at him earnest 
 ly. Otto stood still for an instant ; then he 
 turned quickly aside, and going up the three 
 steps which led to the door, opened it and 
 went in. Mrs. Adams confronted him in 
 the hall with a startled face. 
 
 "How you scart me!" she exclaimed. 
 " You came in so quiet. There s a letter for 
 you here," she continued. 
 
 She led the way into the sitting-room, 
 and Otto followed. 
 
 The letter was a brief summons from the. 
 directors of the art school, requesting him 
 to come to Vienna to begin his duties at 
 once. As he stood by the table reading the 
 letter, Mrs. Adams went on speaking. Ev 
 ery word she saul pierced his consciousness 
 like an electric shock. 
 
 "It was a pity you wa n t in to-day. .My 
 nephew, the Rev. Amos Lathrop, \vas here- 
 He came over from Wood s Hull for tin day. 
 and his conversation is of a nature to im-
 
 139 
 
 prove the most hardened person. Deacon 
 Swain came in to tea, and he and Amos and 
 Eunice talked. It reminded me of the mil 
 lennium. Amos planned to bring his wife 
 with him, but she couldn t leave the chil 
 dren." 
 
 Mrs. Adams turned to go out. 
 
 " Have you had your supper?" she added. 
 " Because, if you haven t, Eunice saved some 
 for you." 
 
 She left the room without waiting for a 
 reply. 
 
 Otto stood motionless by the table for a 
 moment. Then he threw back his head and 
 laughed a low, happy laugh. He went 
 out in the hall to the open door at the back 
 of the house. A figure stood in the moon 
 light near the porch. It was Eunice. He 
 went towards her. His happiness at the 
 sight of her overflowed in his eyes and whole 
 expression. In the moonlight her features 
 had an ineffable suavity and purity. She 
 spoke to him gently. 
 
 " You have come back. I m sorry you 
 could not have talked to my cousin, who 
 has been here all day." 
 
 Otto almost laughed at the earnest anxie 
 ty of her look and words. What were the 
 speculations of a worn-out theology to him
 
 140 
 
 compared with the reality of his love? It 
 carried him on like a great tide. Its strength 
 must carry Enuice with it. 
 
 A half -hour later Mrs. Adams was sit 
 ting in her room, reading her Bible, when 
 Eunice came and stood before her. Mrs. 
 Adams closed her Bible, keeping one of her 
 fingers between the pages as a mark, and 
 looked up at her daughter. Eunice was 
 very pale, and her manner was filled with 
 an intense, controlled excitement. 
 
 " Well f" said Mrs. Adams, calmly. 
 
 "Mother, Dr. Otto is going away." 
 
 " Well f " said Mrs. Adams again. 
 
 Eunice turned her head away, and her 
 voice sank. Her mother watched her with 
 immovable confidence. 
 
 " He asked me to marry him and go with 
 him." She waited a moment, and went on 
 slowly : " I told him I could never marry an 
 unbeliever; and more, that my life \vas prom 
 ised for another service." 
 
 Mrs. Adams opened her Bible at the place 
 where her finger divided the pages. She 
 read aloud with emphasis: 
 
 " No man having put his hand to the 
 plough and looking back is fit for the king 
 dom of God. " She turned the pages and
 
 141 
 
 read again: " Be ye not unequally yoked 
 together with unbelievers. " 
 
 "I know," said Eunice. The words came 
 with a deep expiration of her breath, a sigh 
 that was like a renunciation of her whole 
 nature. She turned away, and slowly left 
 the room. 
 
 The next morning Otto waked late. In 
 spite of the confident spirit of mastery in 
 which he had finally fallen asleep, he awoke 
 with a feeling of overpowering desolation, 
 and found his eyes wet with tears, a thing 
 which was so novel that it startled him. 
 The rebuff of the night before was puz 
 zling, and he began to feel that there might 
 be something in Eunice s theology which 
 was stronger than he, stronger than herself. 
 By the time he was dressed he had reason 
 ed away his fears. It was Saturday, and 
 he congratulated himself, with a sense of 
 triumph, that there was no school that 
 day or the next, and that Eunice would 
 be free. He found h is breakfast saved for 
 him in the dining-room; the striped cot 
 ton cloth turned back at one end and his 
 plate laid on the unpainted wood. Eunice 
 was nowhere to be seen. Mrs. Adams came 
 into the room. He was not in a mood for 
 finesse.
 
 14 2 
 
 " Mrs. Adams, where is Miss Eunice f" he 
 asked, abruptly. 
 
 Mrs. Adams looked at him inscrutably. 
 
 " Eunice is over to Surfside, to my sister 
 Mrs. Burdick s. She s goue for Sunday." 
 
 On Monday Otto was going. His pride 
 was stuug, and he made his preparations to 
 go away. If the desire of his heart was to 
 be unfulfilled, he would burn his ships be 
 hind him. He would go without seeing Eu 
 nice again. Twice on Sunday he watched 
 Mrs. Adams, in her rusty black dress and 
 bonnet, go down the sandy road on her way 
 to church. The warm weather still held, 
 and the sun shone through a golden Sep 
 tember haze. In spite of this sunshine in 
 the still, darkened house and glaring, shad- 
 owless street, life and hope seemed dead. 
 Otto thought of Eunice, with her violin-soul 
 waiting for the strings to be touched, and 
 then of Vestal Street, and the grammar- 
 school forever! Why should such things 
 be ? Then passion and hope rushed hack 
 in a warm, indignant tide. He would not 
 give her up. . . . 
 
 The last rays of sunlight bathed the sea. 
 The bronze moors were laid with cloth of 
 gold. At the western horizon the sun s own
 
 majesty was lost in a blaze of transparent 
 light. 
 
 Eunice Adams stood in the porch of her 
 aunt s house with Deacon Swain. His box- 
 cart stood before the house. Eunice s face 
 was turned towards the sun, but she did not 
 see it. The light touched the white hair of 
 the old man as he stood before her. 
 
 He held her hand in his. 
 
 " You have decided, then. The Lord has 
 called yon, Eunice," he said, with tremulous 
 solemnity. " Thank God that your ears 
 have not been closed, but, like Samuel, you 
 have heard and answered His voice. I al 
 ways said He had great things in store for 
 you." 
 
 He turned away, and, getting into his 
 cart, drove away. 
 
 Eunice looked out on the sea, rapt in a 
 peace from which there seemed no recall. 
 The future seemed to her like the path of 
 light from the setting sun on the Western 
 sea lonely, perhaps, but clearly defined, 
 and ending in a glorious infinity. A sound 
 aroused her. She looked and saw Otto stand 
 ing before her. To see him there was like 
 the sound of a loved voice calling from earth 
 to a ransomed soul in bliss. 
 
 He told her he was going away ; that he
 
 114 
 
 must speak to her before leaving. He spoke 
 in abrupt, short sentences, almost in gasps. 
 With her calm, glorified face she seemed to 
 be slipping away from him. 
 
 " What is the use ?" said Eunice, slowly. 
 " Do not ask me to listen." 
 
 In her quiet resistance he felt the hopeless 
 ness of the early morning stealing over him. 
 
 He began to speak with enforced self- 
 control. 
 
 " You are sacrificing yourself me to 
 some principle some idea which has no 
 reasonable foundation." His German accent 
 became stronger than ever as he rolled out 
 these words. " Why should you not be 
 happy ? You are young 
 
 " I am twenty-eight," Eunice interrupted 
 with mechanical truth. Her lips had become 
 very white. 
 
 " It is cruel," Otto began, vehemently. 
 He stopped abruptly. 
 
 With one hand he had grasped the post of 
 the porch ; the other hung at his side. He 
 turned away and looked out over the sea. 
 The glory had faded, and there was only a 
 gray expanse of water. 
 
 " I have made a mistake," he said, heavi 
 ly ; " I thought perhaps you loved me a lit 
 tle."
 
 Eunice stood with her hands clasped 
 tightly, her eyes fixed on his face. She sud 
 denly caught the hand that hung by his side 
 and pressed it against her heart, and then 
 raised it to her lips. In her face was an 
 agony of love and renunciation . 
 
 " You don t understand," she murmured ; 
 "I must do what is right." She seemed 
 about to say more, but before she could do 
 so a third person came from the house into 
 the porch a middle-aged woman, sallow 
 and dark-eyed. She looked sharply at Eu 
 nice and Otto. 
 
 "Won t you ask yer company into the 
 house, Eunice ?" she said, reproachfully. 
 
 " Yes, Aunt Eunice," she said, faintly. 
 " This is mother s boarder Dr. Otto please 
 excuse me, I do not feel well. 
 
 She left them, and, going into the house, 
 went wearily up the narrow stairs to her 
 room. 
 
 "Come in and take a seat, doctor," said 
 Mrs. Burdick. 
 
 Otto waited ten minutes while Mrs. Bur- 
 dick subjected him to a cross-questioning; 
 at the end of it she decided there was 
 " something between " Eunice and " doctor." 
 Then at Otto s request she went to call her 
 niece. After a few minutes she came back 
 10
 
 146 
 
 with a message tbat her niece was not 
 well, and was sorry she could not see him 
 again. 
 
 " I s pose you d like to know about Eu 
 nice s plans, doctor," she said ; " I could tell 
 you," said Mrs. Burdick, peering sharply at 
 him in the dim light. 
 
 But Dr. Otto seemed iu no mood for listen 
 ing, and after a brief good-night he walk 
 ed away over the darkening moors. From 
 a window iu the farm-house some one watch 
 ed him through blinding tears. The next 
 morning he had left Nuutncket. 
 
 It was curious that, after a month of rus 
 ticating, Dr. Otto should have been seized 
 with a low, nervous fever. Instead of sail 
 ing for Germauy he remained with an artist 
 friend, who took care of him until he was 
 well enough to go out again. It was Friday, 
 three weeks after he had left Nautucket ; his 
 passage in a German steamer was taken for 
 the following Wednesday. It lias been said 
 that he was well enough to go out, and Sat 
 urday evening found him again in Xan- 
 tucket. He had overrated his strength, and 
 when he arrived at the hotel his head swam 
 and throbbed with a dizzy weakness. It con 
 quered his impulses, and he was obliged to
 
 147 
 
 go to bed and toss about all night and all 
 the next day, half blind with headache and 
 fever. Towards evening the pain ebbed away. 
 He dressed, ordered a cup of hot coffee, 
 drank it. and felt that his nerves were steady 
 once more. He waited until he knew that 
 the Adams s supper-hour was past, aucl then 
 took a carriage and drove to Vestal Street. 
 The church-bells were ringing for evening 
 service as he drove through the dark streets. 
 The sparkling October air refreshed him. 
 When he reached the silent house he got 
 out and rang the bell, his heart beatiug 
 wildly. There was no answer ; he rang again, 
 and waited with a vague apprehension. The 
 driver suggested that "perhaps the folks was 
 to evening church." Otto smiled at his for 
 ge tf ulness. He would drive to the church 
 and wait in the last pew until Eunice came 
 out, and then 
 
 When he reached the church Otto dismiss 
 ed the carriage and slipped silently into the 
 last pew. The lights at the back were dim. 
 The sermon was just ending. There was per 
 fect stillness except a single voice. This 
 voice gave Otto a strauge thrill. He thought 
 he was dreaming. Eunice Adams stood in 
 the pulpit speaking in alow tone of entreaty, 
 a slight figure in a black dress. Her face was
 
 118 
 
 pale, but it was illumined as from an in\\ ;u d 
 radiance. 
 
 Otto only received a bewildered impres 
 sion of the self-forgetful tenderness of her 
 face as she pleaded with the listening peo 
 ple before her, dedicating her life to the mis 
 sion of their salvation. She ceased speaking. 
 and, clasping her hands, looked upward. 
 There was a breathless hush ; then the con 
 gregation bowed their heads for the closing 
 prayer. In the rustle of the bending forms 
 Otto left the church. His brain was in a tur 
 moil. He seemed to hear in the air around 
 him a voice saying, " Tour God is not my 
 God, nor your // HII/ ways." . . 
 
 He made no effort to see her again. 
 
 The next morning Otto sat on the deck 
 of the boat as it steamed out of the Nan- 
 tucket harbor. He felt strangely weak and 
 quiet. He watched the gray town, throned 
 like a queen on the risiug ground of the isl 
 and. The shore became blurred as the boat 
 travelled silently over the shining water. 
 The town sank as the distance from it be 
 came greater, until at length there was only 
 a faint white line on the horizon where the 
 blue sea met the blue sky. A few smoke- 
 wreaths shadowed the sky above flu- phu-e
 
 149 
 
 where the town had been. At length they, 
 too, had vanished. Only the sea glittered 
 under the sun. 
 
 A sick man has strange fancies. Had the 
 island ever been there ? Perhaps, like Eu 
 nice s God, the -island Eunice herself 
 were dreams. Yes, but Eunice and the isl 
 and existed although he could not see them. 
 Why should not the same be true of . . . ? 
 Eunice seemed cruel, but perhaps they would 
 both understand some day. Pshaw ! the light 
 dazzled his eyes. He would go to sleep. Dr. 
 Otto pulled his hat over his eyes and .slept; 
 or, at least, the pilot, who sat just above 
 him in his little house, thought he did.
 
 A SPEAKIN GHOST. 
 
 BY MRS. ANNIE TRUMBULL SLOSSON. 
 
 YES, I do b lieve in em iu oue of em, 
 teuiierate. An I know \vliy you ask me if 
 I do. Somebody s put you up to it, so s yon 
 can make me tell my ghost story. Well, 
 you re welcome to that if you want it. It s 
 no great of a story, but it s true; an , artor 
 all, that s the main p iut iu a story ghost 
 or no gliost. 
 
 Well, I s pose I ll s prise yon when I say 
 it all happened iu New York city. Seem 
 me hero iu Kitt ry, an knowiu my name s 
 Jenness a real Kitt ry an Portsmouth an 
 Rye name why, o course you d take it for 
 granted I d allers lived round here, an all 
 my happenin s had been in this local ty. 
 Well, you re right oue way. I was born 
 about here, an come of good old Scata- 
 qua River stock. My father was Androu- 
 icus Jeuuess, born an raised in Rye, and 
 the fust thing I rec lect we was liviir in
 
 151 
 
 Portsmouth, ou the old Odiorne s P int 
 road. i 
 
 There was father u mother, three boys 
 Amos, Ezry, an Peleg an me, Mary Ann, 
 the oldest o the family an the only girl. 
 It s the ghost story you want to hear, so I 
 ain t goin to bother you with anything else. 
 
 But that time I lived there in the old red 
 house, with my own folks round me pears 
 to me now the only time I did ever reely 
 live. We was pretty well to do, we had a 
 good home, and we was all together. Fa 
 ther was a good man, mother the very best 
 o women, an I was dreffle fond on em. 
 An the boys, they was just rugged, noisy, 
 good-natur d chaps, that kep the house 
 lively enough, I can tell you. But when I 
 was nigh on to twenty-five, an the boys was 
 twenty an seventeen an fifteen, ifc all ended, 
 that life in the old red house. Father an 
 my three laughiu , high-sperrited, pleasant- 
 spoken boys, was all drownded at once, one 
 day in September. They went out in a sail 
 boat, a storm come up twas the bcginnin 
 of the line gale an their boat capsized ; 
 an them that went out rugged an big an 
 healthy, laughiu back at ma an me as we 
 stood at the door to see em off, was fetched 
 back stiff an wet an cold, an so dreffle still.
 
 152 
 
 I never d seen the boys still afore in all tlu-ir 
 lives. 
 
 Mother never held up her head arter that 
 day, au afore the new year come in she d 
 follered pa an the hoys. It left me dreffle 
 lonesome. You couldn t a broke up a t um ly 
 in all that section that d a took it harder. 
 For we d allers set so much by each other, 
 an done ary thing we could to keep together 
 an not "be sep rated, an there we was. nil 
 broke up at once, an the old house nothin 
 now but a dry holler shell. I didn t want. 
 o course, to rattle round in it longer n I 
 could help. I got red on it s fast as I could, 
 an went over to Rye. I kuowed how to 
 work an wa n t afraid of it, an , o course, 
 the more I had to do just then the better 
 for me. For I was stupid an scared an 
 sore with the dreffle trouble that come on me 
 so quick an suddiu, an I was so terr ble 
 lonesome. 
 
 Well, I s pose twas because I d allers 
 liked boys, an was used to bavin em round, 
 an because, too, o my missiu my own boys 
 so bad, that I got a place at fust in Mr. 
 Sheaf s school. Twas a boys school, an 
 they took me for a kind of house-keeper 
 to see to things generally. Twas a sort of 
 comfort as much as anything in this world
 
 could be a comfort to see the boys an do 
 for em. I had a little place to myself right 
 off the school-room, an there I used to do 
 my mendin an everything I could contrive 
 to do for an excuse to stay right there, where 
 I could see an hear them boys. Twas a 
 kind of eddication jest to hear em go over 
 their lessons their jography an rethmetic 
 an grammar an partikly their readiu an 
 sayiu pieces. Ev ry speakin day Friday 
 twas I was allers on hand, never losin a 
 word, an sometimes I d practise the boys 
 forehand till they knowed their pieces per 
 fect. I stayed there about six months, an I 
 hoped I could stay there the rest o my days. 
 But even that poor comfort had to be took 
 away ; for Mr. Sheaf s health broke down ; 
 he give up the school an moved away. So 
 I lost even them borrered boys, who d been 
 in a sort o way helpiu to fill up the places 
 o my own. An so agin I was left terr ble 
 lonesome. I didn t know what to do, nor 
 care much. So, when I had an opp tunity 
 to go to New York I took it. 
 
 Twas a lady who d had a boy at the school, 
 an had been there herself an seen me. Mis 
 Davis she was, an she writ to know if I d 
 come on to stay in her house through the 
 summer, an do for her pa while she an her
 
 children was off to the country. As I said 
 afore, I didn t tnnch care what I done, I was 
 so lonesome an mis rable ; so I said I d go. 
 
 But if I d been lonesome afore, I \vas a 
 hnnderd times lonesomer there. I never d 
 been in a big city afore, an I d kind <> 
 thought twould be folksy an livenin an 
 cheerful. But twa n t a mite like that. 
 The house was mostly shet up an dark. 
 Mr. Rice Mis Davis s pa was off all day 
 long, took his dinner an supper to a tavern 
 somewheres, an was only to home to sleep 
 an eat his breakfast. I didn t have much 
 of anything to do. I had a big down-stairs 
 room they called the front basement to set 
 in. It had two windows on the street, but 
 twas so low down that you couldn t see 
 much out of em without screwin your neck 
 an peekin up. There was lots o folks 
 passiu by all the time, but you couldn t 
 scasly see anything but their feet an 1< us. 
 An oh, the noise o the wagons an cars ! It 
 made me most crazy at first, but bimeby I 
 got a little used to it. But I thought I 
 should jest die o homesickness. How I d 
 think an think an think o the old days an 
 the old house on the Odiorne s P int road! 
 How diff rent it was from this city one! 
 The old home was so quiet an still outside,
 
 an so noisy an lively in-doors; an the city 
 house was so noisy an lively out-doors, an 
 so dreffle still an quiet inside. 
 
 An twas right there in the front base 
 ment o that city house that I see the ghost. 
 Twa n t like ary other ghost I ever heerd on. 
 Them I ve read about mostly wore white 
 sheets, an looked drfeffle skully an bouy, an 
 kind o awful. One o that sort would a 
 scaret me, I know; but this one Avhy, I 
 never felt a mite scaret from the very fust. 
 Fact is, I never knowed twas a ghost for a 
 spell, for it looked like a boy, jest a common, 
 ord nary boy; an twas a speakin one. I 
 don t mean one that talked, but a speakin 
 one that spoke pieces. 
 
 I don t think I smelt pepp mint the fust 
 time it come. I don t rec lect it anyway, 
 but allers arter that I did. I was settin in 
 the front basement when it come. Twas 
 between live an six in the arternoon, light 
 enough still out-doors, but kind o dusky 
 in my down -stairs room. I wasn t doin 
 anything jest then but settin in my chair 
 an thinkiu . I don t know what twas ex- 
 ackly that made me look up an across the 
 room, but I done it ; an there, staudin right 
 near the table an lookin at me, was the 
 ghost ; though, s I said afore, I didn t know
 
 156 
 
 it for a ghost tbeii ; it looked like a boy. 
 But he wasn t a city boy, nor like any one 
 I d seen for a long spell. He was about 
 fourteen or fifteen, I should think, an he 
 wa u t no way pretty to look at, but I liked 
 him from the fust minute. He was real 
 freckled, but that never was a great draw 
 back to me ; an he had kind o light, red- 
 dish-yeller hair, not very slick, but mussy 
 an rough like. His eyes was whity-blue, 
 an he hadn t much in the way o eye-wink 
 ers or eyebrows. An his nose was kind o 
 wide, an jest a mask o freckles, like a tur 
 key egg. So, you see, he wa n t much to 
 look at for beauty, but I took to him right 
 off. I knowed he was from the country s 
 soon as I see him. Any one could tell that. 
 His hands was red an rough an scratched, 
 an he had warts. Then his clothes showed 
 it too. You could see in a jiffy they was 
 home-made, an cut over and down from his 
 pa s. There was a sort o New Hampshire 
 look about him too, an I felt a real draw in 
 to him right off. I was jest a mite s prised 
 to see him staudiu there, for I hadn t heerd 
 a knock or anything, but afore I could speak 
 an ask him what he wanted, he stepped up 
 in front o me, an says, sort o quick an ex 
 cited like,
 
 157 
 
 " Don t you want to bear ine speak my 
 piece?" 
 
 An afore I had time to say that yes, bless 
 bis little heart, I jest would, be begun : 
 
 "My name is Norvle; on the crampin hills 
 My father feeds his flock," 
 
 an a lot more about bis folks, an all so 
 pretty spoken an nice. When he d done he 
 drawed one foot up to t other an made a 
 bow, real polite, an then he stood stock-still 
 agin. O course I praised him up, said he d 
 spoke bis piece beautiful, an asked him if he 
 wouldn t like a cooky. I got up an went 
 to the pantry to get some, but when I turned 
 round to ask him if he liked sugar or m las- 
 ses best, he d gone. I thought twas pretty 
 suddin, but then I s posed he was bashful, 
 an had took that way o leavin to save talk 
 an fuss. I looked out o the winder to see 
 if he was round, but there wa u t a sign on 
 him, an I give him up. An twas jest then 
 I begun to smell pepp miut. But I didn t 
 put the two things the boy an the pepp - 
 mint together then ; not till some time 
 arterwards. 
 
 Well, you don t know how it chirked me 
 up, that little visit. To be sure, it had been 
 real short an uusat sfact ry. He hadn t never
 
 158 
 
 told me one word about hisself where he 
 come from, who lie was, nor anything. But 
 that didn t seem to make no difference to 
 me. I felt s if I knowed him real well, an 
 his folks afore him ; an somehow, too, I had 
 afeelin that he d come agin, an I d find out 
 all I wanted to about him an his belongin s. 
 But thinkin about him an his call an all 
 made the time pass real quick, an twas bed 
 time afore I knowed it the fust evenin 
 senee I come there that I hadn t jest longed 
 for nine, an looked at the clock twenty times 
 an hour. 
 
 The next day slipped by in the same slip- 
 pety way, for I was goin over in my mind 
 what he d done an said, an s posiu an s po- 
 sin who his folks was, an all that. 
 
 About the same time o day, towards six 
 o clock or so, I set down in the same place 
 by the winder an begun to watch for him. 
 He hadn t said he d come, but I had a strong 
 feelin inside that he was goin to. An he 
 did. But twa n t out o the winder I see 
 him. For I begun to smell a strong pepp - 
 minty kind o smell agin , an I turned to look 
 up at the shelf where I kept my med cines 
 to see if the bottle was broke or the stopple. 
 out, an there stood the ghost. Though 
 even then I never dreamed twas a ghost.
 
 159 
 
 I thought twas jest a boy. He was stand- 
 in across the room, jest where I fust see him, 
 by the table, an lookin straight at me. An 
 afore I conlcl say a word he started right for 
 me, an says, lookin real bright an int rest- 
 ed, "Don t you want to hear me speak my 
 piece ?" An off h went as glib as could be. 
 I can t, for the life o ine, rec lect what twas 
 he spoke that time. I get the pieces mixed 
 somehow them days, afore the time come 
 when they meant somethiu , an I begun to 
 take iu their rneauiu s. Mebbe twas 
 
 "At midnight when the sun was low," 
 or it might be 
 
 "On Linden in his gardin tent," 
 
 for I know he spoke them some time. Ten- 
 nerate he said off something. An when he d 
 done he drawed up his foot an bowed real 
 nice. I clapped my hands an praised him 
 up, an then I beguu to ask questions. I 
 wanted to know what his name was, where 
 he come from, who his folks was, how he 
 knowed about me, why he come, an lots o 
 things. He stayed quite a long spell, an I 
 did jest enjoy that talk. Biineby I went 
 into the closet to get something to show
 
 IfX) 
 
 him, an when I come back, he was gone 
 agin. TwaVt till some time arter he d left 
 that I rec lected that though it seemed s if 
 I d had a good talk with him, I d done it all 
 my own self, an he never d said one single 
 word. Nothin , I mean, but that one thing 
 he allers said, " Don t you want to hear me 
 speak my piece ?" 
 
 An yet somehow I kuowed lots more about 
 him than afore. In the fust place, I d eome 
 to feel cert in sure his name was Norvle. an 
 that he wa n t only speakin a piece about 
 that, but meant it for gospel truth. An 
 arter that I never thought o him by any 
 other name. An I did think o him lots. 
 For even in them two little visits, when I d 
 done most o the talk myself, I d got dreffle 
 fond on him. Yon know I allers liked boys, 
 partikerly boys raised in the country iler>- 
 tricks. An up to this time an quite a spell 
 arterwards I never guessed he was anything 
 but a boy, jest a common, ord nary boy. 
 Well, he kept comin . Every single arirr- 
 noon, jest about six o clock, or a sperk rar- 
 lier or later, I begun to smell a sort o pepp - 
 minty smell, an in come that boy, walked 
 up to me, with his eyes all shinin , lookiu 
 pleased an sort o excited, au says, " Don t 
 you want to hear me speak my piece !"
 
 101 
 
 Then he d speak. They was diffreut kinds 
 o pieces; some was verses an some wasn t. 
 But they was all nice, pretty pieces. There 
 was one I remember abont a boy standin on 
 the deck of a ship afire, an how he stood 
 an stood an stood, an wouldn t set down 
 a minute. Another r lated to the breakin 
 waves, an how they dashed up real high. 
 An there was a long one that didn t rhyme, 
 about Romans an countrymen an lovers; 
 he did speak that jest beautiful. 
 
 Then he d hold out one arm straight an 
 tell how nobody never heerd a drum nor a 
 fun ral note the time they buried somebody 
 in a awful hurry. Agin he d start off speech- 
 iflyiu about its bein a real question arter all 
 whether you had nt better be, or hadn t bet 
 ter not be. That one seemed to be a kind o 
 riddle; not much sense to it. An there was 
 a loud one where he jest insisted that our 
 chains is forged. " Their clankin ," he says, 
 " may be heerd on the plains o Boston." I 
 b lieve twas in that one he kep a-sayin , 
 "Let it come; I repeat it, sir, let it come. 
 Gentlemen may cry peace, peace, but there 
 ain t no peace, an so on. Eeal el quent 
 twas, I hold. 
 
 An I growed so proud o that boy. By 
 this time I knowed a good deal about him, 
 11
 
 162 
 
 for I d have long talks with him most every 
 day. That is, I thought I Avas haviu long 
 talks with him ; but allers, arter he d goue, 
 I d rec lect he Iiadu t really said anything. 
 But ten iterate, strange as it seems, I did 
 know lots more about him every time. As 
 I said afore, his name was Norvle. His folks 
 was plain farmiu people. You know he 
 spoke of his pa s keepiu sheep the fust time 
 he come. An twas up in the mountains 
 they lived ; prob ly somewheres in the White 
 Mountains, this State. I know once he spoke 
 o Couway s if he lived round there. That: 
 was in a piece about there bein jest seven 
 children in their fam ly. He was real par- 
 tikler about the quantity, an kep callin at 
 tention to the fact that there was exackly 
 seven ; no more, no less. He says, 
 
 " Two of us at Conway dwells, 
 An two has goue to sea"; 
 
 ail he went oil to say, 
 
 " Two of us in the church-yard layt>," 
 
 (that was him an another, I s posc now, but 
 still says he, 
 
 "Seven boys an girls is we."
 
 I was sorry be hadn t been brougbfc up 
 near tbe water as my boys bad, with the 
 great big sea to look at an sail on. No 
 wonder he spoke o the crampin bills. It 
 allers seemed to me dreffle crampin to bo 
 shut np among tbe hills an away from tbe 
 salt- water. > 
 
 An now he was off from home an real 
 lonesome, so twas a comfort to him to 
 come over an see me, a plain, self-respectin 
 countrywoman, like his ma an his aunts. 
 So I about made up my mind to take charge 
 on him, do for him, an if bis folks would 
 let me sort o adopt him, in the place o my 
 own boys layiu in Portsmouth graveyard. 
 
 I never s long s I live shall forgit the 
 day I found out he wa n t a boy, a common, 
 ord nary boy, but a ghost. He d jest come 
 in, an was sayin his piece, when the grocer 
 come to the door with some things. 
 
 "Wait a minute, Norvle," I says, for I 
 did nt like to lose a word of his speeches, 
 I liked em all so, an I went to the door. 
 But as I opened it an let the man in, I 
 beerd the boy goin right on speakiu . So I 
 says to the grocer man, in a kind o whisper, 
 beck nin as I spoke, " Jest come in an hear 
 this boy ! " For I was real proud of him, ail 7 
 glad o a chance to show him off.
 
 164 
 
 The mau looked rather s prised, but ho 
 fullered me in, an we both stood there by 
 the door, list nin to the little feller. That 
 is, / was list nin with all uiy ears, for twas 
 one o his very best, about England may s 
 well tempt a dam up the waters o the Nile 
 with bulrushes. But when I looked round 
 at the man, smilin at him an noddin uiy 
 head, s if to say, "Ain t he smart?" I see 
 he wa n t pearin to hear anything tall. He 
 was lookin at me, an then round, an 
 seemiu so dumfouudered. 
 
 " What s the matter o you f" lie says. 
 "What s up?" 
 
 Norvle was jest closiu then, an I waiu-d 
 till he d made his bow, an theu I says agin, 
 " Wait a minute, Norvlo, an then we ll have 
 our talk." Then I turned round to the 
 grocer, an I says, "Don t he speak fust- 
 rate ?" 
 
 " What you talkiu about ?" says he. 
 "Got a sunstroke ?" 
 
 Somehow I knowed all at once that he 
 wa n t foolin , an that he didn t see nor hear 
 what I see an hear so plain, so plain. An 
 I knowed more n that, for that one little 
 thing opened my eyes that I jest wouldn t 
 open till then, an I couldn t shet em agin. 
 I felt queer an dizzy, my head swum, an I
 
 put out my hands to keep from fallin . The 
 man stiddied me, helped me into my chair, 
 fetched me some water, an I was well 
 enough arter a little to speak. I told him 
 I felt hetter, an he could go ; so he went 
 away. I looked for Norvle, hut he wasn t 
 there. There was., jest a little smell o 
 pepp mint in the air, but the hoy d gone. I 
 was glad lie had, for I wanted to be all 
 alone fora spell. 
 
 Well, you can t understand anything 
 about what I went through then ; nobody 
 can. To folks I m jest a queer old woman 
 who tells a com cal ghost story out of her 
 stupid old head. It wa n t very com cal to 
 me that day. For I d got so fond o that 
 boy. I allers liked em ; au I d lost all I 
 ever had. An now this one had come to 
 me when I was so lonesome an low in my 
 mind, an I d gone an took him right into 
 my heart. An he wa n t a boy at all, but a 
 ghost ! That meant so much. Queer s it 
 seems, the fnst thought that struck me was 
 this : he wa u t he or Jiim, but jest it. Then 
 I remembered how I d planned some new 
 clothes for him. But ghosts don t wear out 
 their clothes. An I d meant if his folks 
 would let me to adopt him ; bring him up 
 like my own. How ever could I adopt a
 
 166 
 
 ghost? Wa u t it impossible? Come to 
 think o it, could I have dealin s iu any way 
 with a ghost ? We d allers been a re- 
 spect ble faiu ly ; none more so in all New 
 Hampshire ; a religious fam Iy too, orth dox, 
 every single one. Never, s fur s I d hecrd, 
 was there a ghost of any kind mixed up 
 with ary branch o the Jennesses for gen ra- 
 tions. To be sure, there was a story of one 
 that appeared to the Fosses, connected by 
 marriage with the Jenuesses, way back fifty 
 years or more. But that one never showed 
 itself; twas only a sort o weepin an 
 groanin au complainin noise goin through 
 the house at night. An they never encour 
 aged it a mite, but sent for old Parson 
 Williams an had him pray at it till it cleared 
 out. Then they aired the house thorough 
 ly, an never had a sign of it agin. But 
 here was I talkin with one, sociatin with 
 it, gettin fond on it, an really talkin of 
 adoptin it. What was I goin to do ? What 
 was I goin not to do? Over an over in my 
 mind I went at that, an little sleep I got 
 that night, I tell you. As I said afore, we 
 was brought up in a pious fam Iy, an my 
 religion, small s it was to what it oughter 
 been, had brought me through all my 
 troubles so fur, as nothin else could a
 
 167 
 
 done. So I prayed, a good deal that night, 
 an read my Bible lots. An bimeby most 
 mornin twas I begun to git red o that 
 whirlin , scaret kind o thinkin , an to look 
 at things stiddier an easier. Mebbe twas 
 the prayin ; anyway I got all o a suddiu so 
 s to see the matter reasonable an cipher it 
 out plain for myself. Twas about this way 
 I went at it. Fust place I says to myself: 
 "What s a ghost, anyway? Why, it s a 
 sperrit. An what s a sperrit? Why, it s a 
 soul. Well, there ain t no harm in a soul; 
 we ve all got em. But then," thinks I to 
 myself, " what s this soul doin here ? 
 Where s it been sence the boy died ?" Well, 
 you see, I knowed tod much about heaven, 
 from Scripter au sermons an all, to think 
 that a soul that once got there would leave 
 it to traipse round here agin an speak 
 pieces. So I had to feel cert in it hadn t 
 ever gpt to heaven tall. An as for the 
 other place why, you never, never in the 
 world, could a made me b lieve that Norvle 
 had been there. He wa n t that kind, I 
 knowed. Twasn t jest because I d got so 
 fond o him, but I felt sure, sure, sure that 
 he d never been there, in that awful stiff rin 
 an sin. He d a showed it if he had. Now 
 you see I was orth dox, an my folks afore
 
 1C8 
 
 me, an I d never even heerd that any one 
 thought there might be another place be 
 sides them two local ties. Sence then I ve 
 read somewheres that there is sexes wlm 
 b lieve that, but I d never heerd a hint of it 
 then But seeiu that he hadn t been to arv 
 o them two places, then where had he been, 
 and why did he come to me? Wheu I got 
 to that p iut I had to stop short agin, an 
 bavin uothin better to do, I went to pray- 
 in . An jest s the mornin light shone into 
 my window there come a light shinin right 
 into my heart, an I see it all. Twas this 
 way. Norvle hadn t been fetched up by 
 religions folks. For, strange s it may seem, 
 there s people like that, even in a Christian 
 land. He d been a well-meanin boy, an if 
 he d ever been learnt he d a took right hold 
 o religion, an glad enough too. But ho 
 lived way off in the mountains, there wa n t, 
 no meetin -house within miles, an his folks 
 was like heathen. Even the deestrick school 
 was too fur off for him to go, or else his pa 
 wouldn t spare him to tend. So he d growed 
 up ign ruut of all he d oughter know, never 
 seein a Bible, hearin a sermon, or toucbin 
 a cat chism in all his life. He d learnt how 
 to read somehow, an up in the garret he d 
 come acrost a book o pieces sech as boys
 
 109 
 
 speak to school. Au he d took to em, 
 studied em, an got so lie could say em all. 
 But lie had to do it all by hisself. Nobody 
 ever heerd him say em. Nobody would 
 listen when he tried to show off. That s 
 terr ble hard on a boy. They like so to be 
 praised up an noticed when they ve done 
 anything. Why, Peleg, the youngest o my 
 three boys, you know, allers set so by my 
 lookiu at his whittling or hearin him sing, 
 or praisiu the pictur s he drawed oil his 
 slate. But bimeby Norvle died; I don t 
 know how. I never was able to find that 
 out ; whether twas o sickness or an acci 
 dent. But he died without ever haviu been 
 grounded in the right things. An oh, don t 
 you see it now ? Don t you know what 
 come to me that early moruin , as I laid cry- 
 iu and prayin in my bed there? He I 
 mean it, Norvle s poor little ign runt soul 
 had been let to come to me ; me that loved 
 boys and had lost em all. Au I was to be 
 the one to learn it what he hadn t never had 
 a chance to pick up afore he died. So I see 
 I needn t stop beiu fond o it, but go on 
 loviu it harder an harder, till I d loved it 
 right straight up into heaven, where it 
 would a been now but for lack o informa 
 tion.
 
 170 
 
 I tell you that was a solemn day to ine. I 
 was happy one way, sorry another, an I felt 
 snch a awful responsibility. I tell yon tain t 
 many that has sech a heft put on em as that. 
 Jest think of it! the hull religions trainin 
 of a ghost! I was busy all day preparin 
 for it. I looked up all my books, the ones I 
 used when I learnt the boys, an the Sab 
 bath-school ones. An I made a kind o plan 
 how I was to begin, an how long twould 
 take to go through all the doctrines an be 
 liefs. Our folks was Congregationals, an 
 though I wa n t as set in my ways about my 
 own Church as some be, still, as Norvle 
 didn t seem to have any partikler leanin 1 to 
 ary other belief, I meant to bring him up as 
 I d been brought. So o course I had to 
 begin with the fall, an I studied on that 
 most all day. As the time drawed nigh for 
 the visit I was drcffle worked up. Seemed 
 sif I couldn t scasly bear it, to see the boy 
 I d got so attached to an built so much on, an 
 know that he wa n t a boy at all, but a ghost. 
 I was settiu there, in my old seat by the 
 window, an for quite a spell arter the pepp- 
 miiit scent come into the room I wouldn t 
 turn my head. Fact is, I was cryin so t I 
 could hardly see out of my eyes. But b mic- 
 by I looked round, an , jest s I thought, there
 
 171 
 
 it stood. My eyes was pretty wet, but I 
 winked out the water s well s I could. An 
 s soon s I could see its face plain, I kuowed 
 that it knowed I knowed. It didn t have 
 that pleased, shiuin look in its eyes, but was 
 sort o doubtful an scary. It stepped slow 
 an softly, as if it was goin to stop every 
 step, an when twas in front o me, it said, 
 almost in a whisper, an so mournful, " Don t 
 you want to bear me speak my piece?" 
 
 I brushed the water out o my eyes an 
 says, real hearty an cordial, " Yes, deary, 
 course I do." 
 
 He begun in sech a low, shaky voice : 
 
 "Here rests his head upon the lap of airth, 
 A youth to fortiu an to fame unknown." 
 
 Poor little feller! I jest ached for him, 
 an my throat felt all swelled up s if Iliad 
 the quinsy. I made up my mind that minute 
 to give up the rest o my days, if it took that 
 long, to savin that little soul o Norvle s. 
 An he shouldn t never feel, if I could help 
 it, that I didn t exackly approve o ghosts, 
 or thought a mite less o him for beiu one. 
 Then I begun my religious teachin . As I 
 said afore, my startin -p int was the fall. 
 But o course I had to allude to the creation 
 fust. Adam an Eve, an all that. Then I
 
 172 
 
 learnt him the verse out o the New Eng 
 land Primer about " lu Adam s fall, 1 an 
 that led right up, you see, to riginal sin, 
 nat ral depravity, an all that relates to them 
 doctrines. I had to begin jest as you would 
 with a baby, you see, right at the el mentary 
 things. Then I took the Westminster Short 
 er, an learnt him from "man s chief end" 
 to the decrees. Tvvas a short lesson, but I 
 didn t want to tire him the fust time. He 
 seemed real iut rested, an I forgot for a min 
 ute he was a ghost, an I says, " Norvle, s pose 
 you take this cat chism home an I 
 stopped right off short, for I rec lectrd ho 
 hadn t got any home, but was jest a wand riif , 
 ramblin , uneasy ghost. An oh. wlifiv did 
 he sleep nights? Thinkin o that made the 
 tears come agin, an 1 turned away to sop 
 em up. Wheu I looked round, it was 
 gone. 
 
 You see I say "it" sometimes, an then 
 agin I say "him." I know I d oughtcr suv 
 " it " all the time ; but well, way down in 
 my old heart it s " him " an " he " allers, an 
 he s no diffVnt from my other three boys. 
 
 I was a mite nervous next time. I wasn t 
 quite cert in I d gone to work right with my 
 lessons. I d had some exper ence teacliin , 
 what with my own boys an a Sabbath-
 
 173 
 
 school class. But how did I know but a 
 ghost s mind was all difFent, an couldn t 
 take in the same things in the same way ? 
 Then lie didn t have no books, an couldn t 
 look over the lesson at home. So mebbo 
 I kep sayin to myself he don t remember 
 a single word about Adam, or his sin, an 
 the terr ble consequences. But I needn t a 
 worried ; for I hadn t hardly time to answer 
 that same old question, " Don t you want to 
 hear me speak my piece ?" afore he started 
 off: 
 
 "Oh, what a fall was there, my countrymen ! 
 Then me an you an all on us fell down." 
 
 Could a perfessor in the the logical sem- 
 nary a put it better? The real cat chism 
 doctrine, yon see, " all mankind by the fall," 
 an so on. So I begun to feel encouraged. 
 This time I took foreord nation an election, 
 an easy tilings like that. Eternal punish 
 ment goes along o that lesson by rights, but 
 twas sech a pers nal subjeck for that poor 
 soul that I skipped it that once. So it went 
 on day arter day. I didn t allers keep to 
 the doctrines. I made lowances for Nor- 
 vle s briugiu up, an had more iut restin 
 things now an agin, like who was the fust 
 man, the strongest man, the meekest man,
 
 174 
 
 an 1 them. An seeiu he was so fond o 
 pieces, I learnt him pretty verses out o the 
 New England Primer, like 
 
 " Vashti for pride 
 Was set aside," 
 
 or 
 
 "Elijah hid, 
 By ravens fed." 
 
 He was so tickled with that piece about 
 
 "Good children must 
 Fear God all day, 
 Parents obey, 
 No false thing gay," 
 
 an so on. An he liked about John Eog- 
 ers an Agur s prayer, an took right off to 
 that advice at the very eeud o the Primer, 
 by the late rev rent an ven rable Mr. Na- 
 thau el Clap, o Newport, on Rhode Island. 
 But the days was slippin by, an I begun 
 to worry. Twas September now, an my 
 time was up early in October, for the fam - 
 ly was comiu home then. An go a fast 
 I could I hadn t been able to git beyond 
 "the inis ry o that estate whereinto man 
 fell" in the cat chisra, an the buildiu o 
 the temple in the Bible. All about sin an 
 punishment an the old dispensation, you 
 see, an never a speck of light an hope for
 
 175 
 
 that poor sperrit. For o course I had to go 
 reg lar an take subjecks as they come, an 
 didn t dast skip over into the New Test - 
 ment comfort till its turn come. I was in a 
 heap o trouble about it, when all of a sud- 
 din another chance was given me. Old Mr. 
 Rice come to me with a letter iu his hand, 
 an asked me if I couldn t be induced to stay 
 on an take care o the house through the 
 winter. Seems that one o the children 
 Mis Davis s, I mean had took cold, an its 
 throat or lungs or something was weak. So 
 the doctor had ordered them to take her 
 crost the water, an they was goin right oif, 
 without comin home at all. Wasn t it won 
 derful ? A iut position o Providence, cer- 
 t in sure, an I thanked the Lord on my bend 
 ed knees. I kep on now in the reg lar way, 
 not havin to hurry, giviu all the time I 
 wanted to the doctrines. For there s notli- 
 in like bein well grounded in them. Nor- 
 vle never said much, but he showed plain 
 enough that he took em all in, by the ap- 
 proprit pieces he spoke arter each lesson. I 
 wish I conld rec lect cm all ; they was 
 wonderful. I know one time we bad free 
 will, an twas the most excitin occasion. I 
 got so worked up over it, showin how twas 
 consistent with election an foreord uation,
 
 17C 
 
 an argifyiu that we was jest as free to pick 
 an choose as as anybody. An next time 
 he up an speaks, " Hard, hard iudeetl was 
 the contest for freedom aii the struggle for 
 independence." 
 
 Oh, twas good as a sermon! An , agin, 
 arter a course o lessons on the power o the 
 devil an how to resist him, he spoke that 
 powerful piece, " They tell us, sir, that wo 
 are weak, unable to scope with so forni dable 
 a advers ry ; but when shall we be strong 
 er?" An how he did go on about "Shall 
 we quire the means o effectooal resistance 
 by lyin s pinely on our backs an huggin 
 the d lusive phantom o hope ?" an all that. 
 One day I talked very strong about the Cut h- 
 Jics, warned him ag iust the Pope o Rome, 
 an forbid him ever to go near popish folks. 
 Next time ho come he up au spoke a piece 
 about 
 
 "Banished from Rome? What s banished but set 
 
 free 
 From daily contracts?" 
 
 That showed his views about the Pope plain 
 enough, I think. 
 
 Oh, I never see a boy let alone a ghost 
 take in truths like him. An it done me 
 good too. I d got a little rusty on them
 
 177 
 
 doctrinal b liefs myself, au it rubbed up my 
 knowledge wonderful. I studied up days, 
 an could hardly wait for class-time to come ; 
 an jest s soon s I had the fust suift o pepp- 
 mint arternoons, I d be ready to start off. 
 But I d sillers give him his chance fust, an 
 I growed to love that one thing lie said every 
 time, the only thing I ever heerd him reely 
 say, " Don t you want to hear me speak my 
 piece ?" It seemed to mean more an more 
 each day, an bimeby was most like a whole 
 conversation. Jest from that one remark I 
 begun to know all about his past life an do- 
 in s, his folks, his home, an all. A poor, 
 empty, neglected, lonesome life twas, au my 
 heart ached over it as it come out day by 
 day in our talks. To think o his never hav- 
 iu had what my boys had so much on, all 
 their days; meetiu s, Sabbath-schools, cat - 
 chisms,preparat ry lectur s, monthly concerts, 
 pruyer-meetin s ; he never d had one o them 
 blessed privileges in his hull narrer little life. 
 Well, as I said, I enjoyed the doctrinal teach- 
 in , the Old Test meiit an all; but I was 
 awful glad when with a clear conscience I 
 could turn over the leaf an show him t oth 
 er side. He d been gettin rather low in his 
 mind lately, an no wonder. For I hadn t 
 felt to tell him anything yet but about our 
 12
 
 dreffle state o sin, the punishment we de 
 served, an the justice o Him who could give 
 it to us. To be sure, I got him to the p int 
 where he knowed twould be all perfectly 
 right, consid rin the circumstances, if he 
 should be sent right down to the place, as 
 the hymn says, 
 
 "Where crooked ways o sinners lend." 
 
 He was resigned to it, but he wa u t exackly 
 glad, an he looked rather solemn. So I was 
 pleased enough when I begun to let in a 
 mite o sunshiniu an told him the gospel 
 story. An I declare it never d meant so 
 much to me myself, church member as I d 
 been for more u a dozen years, as when I be 
 gun to tell it to that poor little ghost. I 
 begun way at the very begiimiu , an it was 
 quite a spell afore he see what was comin . 
 He thought I was jest givin an account of 
 a common, ord nary boy. I see that was the 
 way to int rest him, so I told about Him as 
 a little feller, with his mother, an in the 
 carpenter s shop, an rouud the water an 
 the shore with the fishermen an sailors. I 
 was thinkiu o my own boys on the salt 
 water at Portsmouth an Kitt ry when I 
 dwelt so on that part. But pretty soon I 
 rec lected how Norvle was fetched up on
 
 179 
 
 risin ground, so I told about His beiu so 
 foud o the hills, goiu up "into a monntin 
 apart," as the Bible says, to pray an to 
 preach, or to set there alone. An how Nor- 
 vle s face did light up then, an his whity- 
 blue eyes shine! I don t doubt ho was 
 thinkin o the New Hampshire hills. For 
 crainpiu s they be, folks that live among 
 em do learn to love em lots. So it went 
 on, till it come nigh the last part o the 
 narr tive. No need for me to remind you o 
 that. I d kuowed it allers, learnt it to my 
 Sabbath-school scholars, heerd it talked an 
 preached an sung all my born days, but 
 twas like a bran -uew thing s I told it to 
 Norvle, an the tears jest ran down my face 
 like rain. He didn t cry. I guess ghosts 
 never does. But oh, how mournful an sorry 
 he looked, with his eyes opened wide an 
 lookin straight into my face, an his lips 
 kind o tremblin ! For quite a spell now 
 he d been speakin diffent sort o pieces 
 hymns an sech. An now he begun to say 
 seen beautiful ones, hymns an psalms I 
 hadn t even thought on for years. Some o 
 em I learnt afore I could read, from hearin 
 mother say em over n over to me as I set 
 on the little cricket at her feet. How I felt 
 as he d say, soft an gentle like, " Don t you
 
 180 
 
 want to hear me speak my piece t" an then 
 fuller it right up with one o them sweet old 
 hymns I always rec lected in mother s voice ! 
 Oh, I loved him harder u harder every d;iy ! 
 He was jest s homely s ever, jest s freckled, 
 his hair jest s reddish-yeller an mnssy, hut 
 he looked diff ent, somehow. There was a 
 kind o rested, quiet, satisfied look come on 
 his face hy spells that made him prettier to 
 look at. An bimeby that look come to stay. 
 I couldn t make you understand f I tried 
 an I ain t goin to try how I see what was 
 happen in in that soul. But I did see. I 
 kuowed the very hour the minute most 
 when he see the hull truth an give up to it. 
 There didn t seem to be any powerful con 
 viction o siu. Mebbe ghosts dou t need to 
 go through that. P r aps it s their bodies 
 that makes that work so strong in folks, an 
 ghosts ain t got any bodies. So twas a 
 easy, smooth specie o conversion, an Nor vie 
 hisself didn t seem to know when it hap 
 pened. He kep comin jest the same, alters 
 askin his little question, an speakin his 
 piece. An allers there come with him that 
 pepp miuty scent. To this day that com 
 mon, ev ry-day, physicky smell brings more 
 things back to me than even cinnamon-roses 
 or day-lilies like them in the old garden on
 
 the Odiorne s P int road. I went on all the 
 time with iny teachin . I knowed Norvle 
 was all right iiow, an safe for ever n ever. 
 Bat there s plenty o things even perfessors 
 need to know, an I did so like to learn him. 
 Twas gettin past the middle o December 
 now. One day I walked a little ways down 
 street for exercise an fresh air, an all to 
 once there come over me sech a strong rec - 
 lection o Portsmouth woods. I didn t know 
 why twas for a minute, but then I begun to 
 smell a piny, woodsy smell, an I see right 
 on the sidewalk a lot o evergreens pine 
 an hemlock an spruce. Then I remembered 
 that Christmas was comiu . You see, pa an 
 ma had allers made a good deal o Christ 
 mas. Congregatiouals in old times never 
 done so. I know pa said that one time old 
 Parson Pickerin , o Greenland, sent back a 
 turkey that grau f ther Jenuess give him 
 Christmas, sayiu he d ruther have it some 
 other time than on a popish hollerday. But 
 we was fetched up to keep the day. Why, 
 up to the very last Christmas o their lives 
 my three boys hung their blue-yarn stockin s 
 up by the fireplace, though Amos was past 
 nineteen then, an Ezry goin on seventeen. 
 So twas a time full o rec lectin for me. 
 The year afore I d jest put it all out o my
 
 182 
 
 head an tried to forget what day twas. 
 But I couldn t forget it here. Twas in the 
 air; twas ev ry where you went. The stores 
 was full o playthings, folks was tniipMii 
 through the streets with their hands au 
 arms full o bundles, ev ry body that passed 
 you was talkiu about it, an twas no use 
 tryin to git red on it. It made me choky 
 an wat ry-eyed all the time, an I couldn t 
 see noMiin ary blessed minute but the old 
 wood fire at home, with the big yarn stock- 
 in s hangin there. But one day arter Nor- 
 vle had left, an the pepp mint scent hadn t 
 quite gone out o the room, I begun to think 
 why I couldn t make a Christmas for him. 
 Now don t laugh at me. I wa n t a fool. I 
 knowed s well s you do that ghosts don t 
 want presents or keep days. But I \v:is ><> 
 lonesome, an jest hungry for a stock in to 
 fill a boy s stockin . " So why," I says to 
 myself, "shouldn t I make b lieve play, 
 s the children says that Norvle wants a 
 real old-fashioned Christmas, an I can give 
 him one ?" The next time he come I led 
 up to the subject an found out, s I snspi- 
 cioned, that he d never heerd o Christ inns 
 or Santy Clans in all his born days. So I 
 told him all about it, an he was so in t "rest 
 ed. Fust I told him whose birthday twas,
 
 183 
 
 o course, an why folks kep it. Then I told 
 him about fam lies all gettin together at 
 that time, an comin home from every- 
 wheres, to be with their own folks. An I 
 went on about hangin up stockin s an fillin 
 em with presents. "An now, Norvle," I 
 says, " I m goin to make a real old-fashioned 
 Christmas for yon this year, sech as we used 
 to have in the old house ; seeh as we made 
 for Amos an Ezry an Peleg. For," I says, 
 " you ve been a real good boy this winter, 
 an I set as much by you most p r aps jest 
 as much as I done by my own boys." He 
 looked drcffle tickled, an so twas settled. 
 How I did enjoy gettin ready ! Twa n t so 
 easy as it seems. For I d set my heart on 
 havin the same kind o presents as we used 
 to give the boys, au they wa n t plenty 
 in New York City. The stockin was easy 
 enough, for I had one o Peleg s. You see, 
 I kind o liked to have some o the boys 
 tilings about, an I had some o the old blue 
 feetin layin on my stockin basket s if they 
 was waitiu to be darned. They looked nat - 
 ral an good, you see. Peleg was nigh about 
 Norvle s size. Then I wanted a partikler 
 specie o apple, big an red an shiny ; we 
 called em the Boardman reds. I found some 
 to the market at last. They didn t exackly
 
 184 
 
 look like the old kind; but the man said 
 they was, he d jest fetched eua from Ports 
 mouth hisself. The hick ry-nuts I got easy 
 enough, an the maple sugar. I was goiu 
 to get some pepp mint lozeugers, for my boys 
 all thought so much o them, but it seemed 
 too pers nal, an I give em up. I got a big 
 stick o ball lick rish, though boys allers 
 like that an some B gundy pitch to chew. 
 Then o course there must be a jack-knife. 
 I found jest the right kind, big, with a black 
 horn handle an two blades. I set up late 
 nights an riz early to knit a pair o red-yarn 
 mittens, like Peleg s ; they re so good for 
 suowballin , you know. An I wound a yarn 
 ball, an covered it with leather. I had a 
 difFcnlt time findin the fish-hooks an sink 
 ers, for I hadn t been round no great in New 
 York, an there ain t no general store there. 
 But I found em at last. Right on top I was 
 going to put Pely s little chunky, leather- 
 cover Bible. Mother give it to him the day 
 he jined the church, an writ his name in her 
 straight up an down prim handwritiu . I 
 knowed she an him both would be will in 
 it should go to this poor little soul the 
 Scripters meant so much to, an had done so 
 much for. 
 
 The New York greens didn t satisfy me.
 
 185 
 
 There was some stuff with sicky green leaves 
 aii white, tallery-lookiu berries, an some 
 all shinin an pricky, with red fruit. But 
 they didn t look nat ral. Bimeby I come 
 acrost some ground-pine, sech as growed all 
 through the wood lot behind the old house, 
 spranglin over the ground, an some juni 
 per, like what spread amongst the rocks 
 there, with its little black berries an sharp, 
 scratchy needles. I couldn t get any black 
 alder nor bittersweet berries, an had to do 
 without em. Oh, you don t know what it 
 was to me, an my poor empty heart that 
 had ached till twas most numb, to get that 
 stockin ready. Ev ry day I talked Christ 
 mas to Norvle, never lettin him know, o 
 course, what I was goin to give him, but 
 telliu all about diff rent Christmases I d 
 knowed. I went on about how the fam ly 
 was allers together, an father wore his best 
 clothes an set to the head o the table, an 
 mother t other end, an me an the boys all 
 there. Twas nat ral, I s pose. consid rin 
 that I dwelt on that part on it, folks all bein 1 
 together that day, lovin an doin for their 
 very own. Then I told him how Christ 
 mas Eve we all used to stand together, the 
 boys an me, afore we went to bed, an sing 
 pa s favrit piece, " Home, Sweet Home." I
 
 186 
 
 carried the toon, Peleg sung a real sweet sec 
 ond, Ezry Lad the high part, an Amos the 
 low. How it fetched it all back to tell it 
 over to him ! 
 
 The last night but, one come the twenty- 
 third twas. Norvle had looked real mourn 
 ful -like lately. Ev ry time I spoke o fa 
 ther s house, or fam lies gettin together or 
 goin home for Christmas, I see he looked 
 kind o sorry an s if lie wanted somethin . 
 But I wouldn t see what it meant. That 
 arternoon, though, when he d ast, in a shaky, 
 still voice, " Don t you want to hear me 
 speak my piece ?" he fullered it up with the 
 dear old hymn mother whispered part of 
 the very last day of her life 
 
 "Airth has engrossed my love too long, 
 Tis time to lift my eyes." 
 
 Ho went on with all the verses, an when he 
 come to 
 
 "O let me mount to join their son<;;, 
 
 he said it s if he was prayin to me, an sech 
 a longin sound come into his voice, an such 
 a longin look into his eyes, that I was all 
 goose-flesh, an so choky. When he d fin 
 ished, I turned away to get my handk chief, 
 an when I looked back agin he was gone.
 
 187 
 
 Well, I s pose you see now what I d got to 
 do, and what my plain duty was. I really 
 had knowed it all along, but I d shet my 
 eyes to it a purpose till now ; but I couldn t 
 no longer. That poor soul o Norvle s was 
 regeu rated, saved cert iu sure, an what 
 business had I got -to keep it down here any 
 longer? You see it plain enough, but no 
 one but me an One other knows how 
 much it meant to me that night. " Couldn t 
 I," says I to myself "couldn t I keep him 
 only one day longer, jest over that seas n o 
 Christmas, so hard, so terble hard to bear 
 without him? Anyway, couldn t I have him 
 till mornin , an let him have his stockiu 1 
 When he was goin to have sech a long, long 
 tima up there, would jest one day more down 
 here make any great diff renco ?" The an 
 swer come quick enough. " Yes, twould ! 
 He b longed somewher s else, an I must send 
 him there, an right straight off, too, even if 
 it broke my heart all to pieces doin it." 
 
 All the next day I went about my work 
 very softly. It seemed like the day o the 
 boy s fun ral. I d filled the stockin two 
 days afore I couldn t wait an there it 
 laid in my room, never, never, to be hung 
 up, all bulgy an onreg lar an knobby. I 
 knowed what ary bulge meant. That one
 
 188 
 
 by the ankle was the jack-knife, an that 
 queer place nigh, the knee was where the 
 stick o lick rish had got crosswise au poked 
 way out each side. There was one Board- 
 man red apple roundin out the toe like a 
 daruiii ball, an right in the top was Pely a 
 chunky little Bible jest showiu above the 
 ribbed part. I didn t empty it. Folks will 
 keep sech things, you know, an it s up in 
 my bedroom soiuewher s now, I b lieve. 
 
 Well, Christmas Eve come, an come quick 
 too quick for me that time. I d made up 
 my mind twouldn t never do to let Norvle 
 see how I felt. I had a good deal o Jeuness 
 grit, an I called it all up now. So, when he 
 come in, I was jest as usual, an smiled at 
 him real pleasant; but I felt twouldu t do 
 to wait a single minute, for fear I d break 
 down, so afore he could make his one little 
 remark, for the fust time since I kno\vcd 
 him, I begun fust, an ho stood still an 
 listened, 
 
 "Norvle," I says, speakin s I used to to 
 the boys playfellers that used to come an 
 see em an want to stay on an on " Norvle, 
 I ve had a real nice visit with you. I ve 
 enjoyed your comp ny lots, an I wish I could 
 ask you to stay longer. But it s Christmas 
 Eve, you know, an , s I ve often told you,
 
 189 
 
 people d ougbter be with tbeir own folks 
 to-uigbt. You know now wbere your folks 
 is, leastways your Fatber an your Elder 
 Brother. So, I m dreffle sorry to seem im- 
 perlite an send yon off, but wby, this bein 
 Christmas Eve, s I says afore, I really think 
 the best thing for you to do is to go 
 Home I" I got it out somehow ; I don t see 
 bow I done it. 
 
 Norvle looked right at me, kind o mouru- 
 fle. He stood stock-still, an I thought he 
 was goin to make his one little remark, 
 but he didn t. Jest s true s I live, that boy 
 opened his month an begun to sing. An 
 oh ! what do you suppose he sung ? " Home, 
 Sweet Home !" He d never sung afore : I 
 didn t know s he could; but his voice was 
 like a wood-robin now. An in a minute, 
 though there wa n t anybody but him au 
 me in the room, seemed s if I heerd some 
 other voices. Norvle carried the toon, but 
 I heerd a real sweet second, an then a high 
 part an a low. Twas jest like four boys 
 singin together. An while I looked at him 
 the music sounded further n further off, till 
 when he got to the last " sweet sweet 
 home," I had to lean way forward to ketch 
 a sound. An when it stopped why, he 
 stopped. He didn t go ; he jest wasn t there.
 
 Well, I ve got along somehow. Yon do 
 get along through most things, hardy s they 
 be. It s more n forty year now sence my 
 ghost story happened, an I m an old woman. 
 I m failin lately pretty fast, an it makes 
 me think a good deal ahout goin home my 
 self to jiue pa u ma n the boys. I might 
 s well tell yon that when I say the boys, I 
 mean four on em. For, b sides my three, 
 I m cert iu there s goin to be another one, a 
 little chap with rough, reddish-yeller hair, 
 an lots o freckles. Course I know it s all 
 diffeut up there, an things ain t a speck like 
 what they be here ; but somehow it won t 
 seem exackly nat ral if that little feller don t 
 somewher s in the course o conv satiou bring 
 in that favrit remark o his n, 
 
 " Don t you want to hear me speak my 
 piece F"
 
 MONSIEUR ALCIBIADE. 
 
 BY CONSTANCE CARY HARRISON. 
 
 A TRANSPARENTLY gentle despot, who 
 might have been led by the finger-tip of the 
 youngest member of his class, was M. Alci- 
 biade de St. Pierre, the Belhaven dancing- 
 master, who gave also lessons in his native 
 tongue. Nature had endowed Mm with a 
 stationary scowl, bis moustaches curled wild 
 ly, and he bore upon the brow a cicatrix 
 that caused bis pupils to liken him to the 
 swashbuckler heroes of Dumas, Scott, or 
 Cervantes. In outward appearance he was 
 Aramis, Athos, Porthos, and D Artagnan in 
 one, with a dash of Le Balafre" and Don 
 Quixote thrown in. 
 
 Although this picturesque personage was 
 a comparative new-comer in the town, the 
 forebear of M. Alcibiade had arrived in 
 America as pendant to an expedition sup 
 plying an interesting chapter of colonial
 
 192 
 
 history. Early in the spring of 1790 came 
 into port at Belhaven a party of French 
 immigrants engaged by Play fair, an English 
 agent, and De Soissous, a nimble-tongned 
 deceiver of bis compatriots, in behalf of an 
 enterprise organized in New England, and 
 styled the Ohio Land Company, to people 
 the wilderness near the month of the Ka- 
 nawba Eiver, beyond the western woods of 
 Virginia. Among the travellers, whose weary 
 hearts beat high with hope as they touched 
 the shore of a fancied El Dorado, were men 
 skilled in the exquisite handicrafts of a per 
 fected civilization. Carvers there were of 
 furniture like wooden lace-work ; beaters of 
 fine brass fashioned into rocaiUc decorations; 
 painters of shepherds piping to their fair, 
 of Cupids turning somersaults in chains of 
 roses ; harpsichord-tuners ; makers of gild 
 ed carnages; varnishers of panels that 
 shone like mirrors; disciples of Boule and 
 Martin; confectioners; perruqniers and 
 all, by a fine irony of fate, bound for & log- 
 hut settlement, where the cry of savage 
 beasts, or the war-whoop of the deadly Ind 
 ian, was to be their nightly lullaby. 
 
 What eloquence had prevailed upon these 
 hapless beings to believe they were to be 
 the founders of a brave new Paris in tho
 
 193 
 
 Western Hemisphere, their wily managers 
 alone could tell. The first instalment of 
 the five hundred Frenchmen said to have 
 been thus deluded, numbering with their 
 wives and children about sixty, after much 
 waiting at Belhaven, their souls within them 
 vexed by homesickness and hope deferred, 
 split up into variously minded factions. 
 Some pressed on, under charge of a long- 
 delayed messenger of the company, to the 
 frontier; others put their all into a return 
 passage to France ; and a few elected to 
 remain and try their fortunes in the little 
 town which in those days had no end of am 
 bitions projects for future greatness. 
 
 One of these prudent ones was a gay old 
 bachelor, Alcibiade St. Pierre, self-styled 
 " Hair-dresser to the Court of France." He 
 opened a snug little shop, where the gentry 
 of town and country dropped in to have 
 their perukes dressed and tied, to be shorn, 
 perfumed, and shampooed, after the latest 
 fashions in vogue before Alcibiade had set 
 sail for the New World. He was sometimes 
 sent for to bleed, or to apply leeches, and 
 his inille-fleurs graces impressed the towns 
 people mightily. As his trade increased, 
 Alcibiade was called on to lament the sad 
 fortunes of his fellow-immigrants. Most of 
 13
 
 194 
 
 those who became frontiersmen bad suc 
 cumbed to want and hardships, had met the 
 horrors of Indian massacre, or had gone 
 under iu the collapse of an international 
 speculation that carried down its promoters 
 in the crash. From those who returned to 
 France had come dolorous accounts of com 
 motion in their beloved capital. Decidedly, 
 thought M. Alcibiade, it were better to stag 
 nate in Belhaven than be forced by a mob 
 in Paris to dress the head of some former 
 patron upon a pike ! 
 
 Simple-minded, kindly, cheery as le peM 
 homme gris, the little hair-dresser became a 
 great favorite. A trig Scotch lassie, daughter 
 of a settler, having fallen in love with him, 
 the father consented to the match on con 
 dition that the intended son-in-law would 
 renounce his French patronymic and trans 
 late himself into plain "A.Peters" upon his 
 sign and in his official signature. And thus 
 it came to pass that, instead of the stylish 
 frontispiece so flattering to town pride, there 
 arose above the shop door an announcement 
 remaining there until its blue and gold Avon- 
 dimmed by time, 
 
 A. PETERS, 
 
 LADIES AND GENTS HAIR-DRESSEH 
 AND BARBER.
 
 195 
 
 And, farther down, 
 
 WIGS AND TOUPETS. 
 
 DISEASES OF THE SCALP. 
 
 ONGUENTS AND SCENTS. 
 
 HAIK-POWDER, ROUGE, AND PATCHES. 
 
 ATTENDANCE AT HOUSE FOU BALLS AND 
 
 ItOUTS. 
 
 Also, 
 
 TEETH PULLED, AND LIVELY LEECHES 
 CONSTANTLY IN STOCK. 
 
 By the smiles and blushes of his buxom 
 bride the gallant Alcibiade considered him 
 self well paid for his self-sacrifice. Con 
 tinuing to prosper, he gave hostages to hair- 
 dressing in the shape of several little lads 
 who spoke English with a broad Scotch burr, 
 French not at all, and, later in life, seized 
 with nostalgia, emigrated with his family to 
 end his days on the soil that gave him 
 birth. 
 
 Old Mr. Peters had become a figment of 
 tradition in the town when his grandson, the 
 present Alcibiade, appeared upon the scene. 
 To the ancestral St. Pierre the new repre 
 sentative had prefixed a patrician " de," 
 vaguely explained as having been resumed
 
 by the family on recovering possession of 
 estates lost in the French Revolution. To 
 plain people in Belhaveu this prefix was in 
 terpreted to be an initial letter D, doing 
 duty for a middle name not given. As for 
 the estates, they must have been limited ti> 
 the amount aptly if not elegantly designated 
 by the French Commandant Mann in tin- 
 conference with the Half-King of the Six Na 
 tions, recorded by Washington in 1753, when 
 he said, " Child, you talk foolish ; there is not 
 so much laud as the black of my nail yours." 
 
 When first arrived in Belhaven, the poor 
 Frenchman was indeed in a pitiable plight. 
 The attention of the town was called to him 
 by certain readings and recitations in his 
 own language, advertised to be given in 
 Lafayette Hall. 
 
 Gay Berkeley, who, with her maiden aunt 
 Penelope, had gone into Mrs. Dibble s shop 
 to purchase pens and writing-paper, picked 
 up from the counter a document in manu 
 script that excited her amused curiosity. It 
 was apparently a programme, written on 
 foolscap in a fine copperplate hand, and ex 
 pressed in a queer French -English that 
 would have been a credit to the manual 
 known to fame as the " Portuguese Gram 
 mar and Guide to Polite Conversation."
 
 197 
 
 "On my arrival from the France, me Alci- 
 biade de St. Pierre, Chevalier of the Legion 
 of Honor and ex-artist of the theaters of 
 Paris, do make hurry to throw myself at the 
 feet of illustrious citizens of Belhaveu, with 
 a presentment special of selections from the 
 immortal Bacine et Corueille, such present 
 ment to have place Hall Lafayette, the Mon 
 day evening to follow. Eeceive, ladies and 
 gentlemen, my distinguished hommages and 
 impressed salutations your very humble ser- 
 viteur." 
 
 " What in the world is this, Mrs. Dibble ?" 
 asked the young lady, with dimpling cheeks. 
 
 " Indeed, Miss Gay, I told the chevalier 
 that it wouldn t be long catchin the eye o 
 my best customers," responded Mrs. Dibble, 
 complacently. " I helped him out a bit with 
 the words he didn t know. Dear heart, if ifc 
 wasn t only but for the handwritin , as good 
 as Mr. Johnson s nephew that was put in 
 state s prison for forgery, pore fellow, he 
 that used to practise here with fine nibs an 
 broad nibs, writiu cards spread eagles with 
 your name in curlicues comin out o their 
 beaks an true-lovers knots an doves, if t 
 was a new-married pair. Miss Penelope, 
 I m ashamed to say I m clean out o quills ;
 
 198 
 
 but old Fanner Berry up at the cross-roads, 
 the only one I can trust to pick the geese 
 properly, 11 bring me a new lot to-morrow. 
 Miss Gay, now, she s uew school, u uses 
 steel sand, ma am ? Yes ; of course. The 
 usual quantity ? Here s sweet note-paper, 
 Miss Gay, just received from Baltimore, tho 
 tip o the mode, they say pale pink an 
 skim-milk blue. Plain white, did you say, 
 miss? Yes; I ve some cream -laid, like 
 you ve always used befo . If you ve uothin 
 better to do, ladies, twould be a charity 
 to that pore Monnseor to patronize his per 
 formance a Monday night. If twas only 
 for old times sake, Miss Penelope, ma am ; 
 many s the head he s dressed I mean his 
 grandfather s dressed for your faiu ly. Yes; 
 old Mr. Peters s grandson, as I m alive, 
 ma am, an the entertainment most genteel. 
 Selections from Corueel an Raycine ; fifty 
 cents for adults, twenty-five for children, 
 an a special reduction for ladies schools. 
 I thought there d be a chance to jjet the 
 young gentlemen from Mr. Penhallow s Acad 
 emy ; but the chevalier kinder shrivelled 
 up at the mention o boys, an said twas 
 too hard to keep up the true dignity o 
 the drama when they was present Lord 
 knows, since I took to keepin sweet stuff in
 
 199 
 
 t other winder, I m up to the ways o boys. 
 If it s ouly a penuy horse-cake comin back 
 as bold as brass, with the hiud-legs eat off, 
 declarin they s found a dead fly instead o 
 a currant for the eye, an wautin their 
 money or another cake " 
 
 "Do take some tickets, Aunt Pen," plead 
 ed Gay. 
 
 " Yon know my sister does not approve of 
 anything theatrical, my love," whispered 
 Aunt Penelope. " Most of our church-mem 
 bers think with her. To be sure dear mam 
 ma used often to tell us of the time when Gen 
 eral Washington and his lady, and Miss and 
 Master Custis, drove up to stop two nights 
 at grandpapa s, expressly to attend The 
 Tragedy of Douglas, by Mr. Homo, and a 
 play called The Inconstant ; or, The Way to 
 Win Him. Mamma saw all the entertain 
 ments of the kind, I believe. It was thought 
 of differently in those days." 
 
 " Doctor Falconer," ventured Gay, men 
 tioning an eminent divine, " quoted, when 
 he last drank tea with us, a passage from 
 Racine. And these are ouly recitations, 
 auntie, uo acting or costumes." 
 
 " Oh, in that case," said Aunt Penelope, 
 taking out her purse, "you may give me 
 four tickets, Mrs. Dibble, and you may in-
 
 200 
 
 vite two members of your French class, 
 child. Seats in the second row, if you 
 please, Mrs. Dibble. In a thing of this kind 
 it is well to be near enough to study the ex 
 pression of the performer s face; and oue 
 likes to forget the crowd when it s poetry. 
 I m sure sister Finetta will be pleased to hear 
 about old Mr. Peters s grandson." 
 
 Lafayette Hall was a dingy, ill -lighted 
 room over the second floor of the building 
 in which Mrs. Dibble kept her shop. To the 
 young people it was associated with the in 
 termittent delights of performances with 
 trained dogs and canaries ; by Blind Tom, 
 a negro pianist who could repeat every air 
 suggested to him by the audience, and play 
 better with his hands behind him than most 
 of his hearers in the natural attitude ; by 
 the tuueful Hutchinsou family, who stood in 
 a row and warbled; by jugglers always in 
 teresting, and returned missionaries less al 
 luring to the young; of May exhibitions of 
 female seminaries, whereat the pupils iu book- 
 muslin with arbor-vitai wreaths recited be 
 fore applauding parents poems iu honor of 
 their queen, and were afterwards regaled 
 with lemonade and cake. It was there that 
 Gay, as first lady-in-waiting, had once re 
 tired behind the queen s throne in tears.
 
 201 
 
 because her majesty had not scrupled to 
 twit her with wearing one of Aunt Pen s 
 muslins "made over" which was too true. 
 Even now Gay could not divest herself of 
 the exhilaration produced by the sight of 
 that green baize curtain and the oil-lamps 
 serving as footlights. When, on the evening 
 of the chevalier s de"but, she came into the 
 hall, she nodded on every side to her friends, 
 with a feeling that this was life. Mrs. Dib 
 ble, whose person was attired in grass-green 
 mousseline de laine, with a wide collar of 
 dotted net, trimmed with cotton lace, took 
 tickets at the door ; and in a conspicuously 
 good seat sat Viney Piper, the little day- 
 dressmaker, whose passion for the drama led 
 her to patronize every respectable show that 
 came to town. Viuey had arrived upon the 
 opening of the doors at six o clock, and the 
 performance was advertised to begin at 
 half-past seven. She was an odd-looking, 
 albino sort of creature, with pinkish eyes 
 and eyelids, pale flaxen hair, and a hook 
 nose much to one side of her face. The 
 chevalier, entering the hall, had canght 
 sight of her on his way to the rear of the 
 stage, and forthwith executed a sweeping 
 bow that Viuey thought the perfection of 
 foreign elegance.
 
 202 
 
 When the liall was fairly filled, anil the 
 shuffling of feet announced, the right degree 
 of impatience on the part of the audience, 
 the curtain, pulled up by the performer him 
 self, rose upon a stage empty save for a 
 small pine table displaying a white china 
 water-pitcher and a goblet. M. Alcibiade, 
 weaving a suit of rusty black, with a scarlet- 
 satin stock and white-kid gloves, an order 
 in his button-hole, his hair fiercely ruffled, 
 and his eyes gleaming at some foe unknown, 
 holding a dinner-knife in his clinched hand, 
 stalked on the scene. At this alarming ap 
 parition a little girl sitting by her mamma 
 burst into tears, and had to be consoled with 
 gum-drops from the parental pocket, inter 
 spersed with audible assurances that the 
 gentleman meant no harm. Opening his 
 lips, Alcibiade poured forth a cataract of 
 words, of which the most advanced French 
 scholars in Miss Meechin s senior class could 
 make neither head nor tail. He raved, he 
 roared, he ranted ; then seizing a goblet 
 from the table, half tilled it with water, 
 and, holding the dagger in his other hand, 
 advanced to the footlights cjilling on Heaven 
 to end his woes. At last, drinking the con 
 tents of the poisoned cup, he threw away 
 the dinner-knife, and fell with a gurgling
 
 203 
 
 groan and a crash that made the lamps rat 
 tle iu the chaudelier. This, by agreement 
 with Mrs. Dibble, was the signal for that 
 worthy lady to hurry behind the scenes and 
 let fall the curtain on the direful sight ; but 
 she, unfortunately, stood like a stock, aver 
 ring afterwards that her blood was " that 
 cruddled with awr she couldn t a budged 
 a mite !" Next, M. Alcibiade, coming slowly 
 back to life, sat up to confront the audience 
 with a snaile of absolute fatuity; then 
 scrambling to his feet, bowed, kissed his 
 hand, and, going off, let the green baize de 
 scend on act the first. 
 
 It was long since Belhaven had enjoyed 
 such a merry spectacle. The school-girls 
 leading off with infectious giggles, every 
 bench caught the contagion, and only Viney 
 Piper, mopping real tears from her eyes, an 
 nounced herself a connoisseur of true art. 
 
 The rest of the programme, although less 
 explosive, met with hysterically suppressed 
 mirth. Before its close, indeed, the audi 
 ence had filtered slowly from the hall, leav 
 ing only the faithful Viney and Mrs. Dibble, 
 the newspaper-carrier (who was stone-deaf), 
 a scrub-woman with her baby in arms, and 
 a few citizens who exacted their money s 
 worth.
 
 204 
 
 It was evident that provincial taste had 
 not been educated to the dramatic standard 
 of old Mr. Peters s grandson. Alcibiade, 
 failing in other occupations, sank from pov 
 erty to want. One day when Miss Viney 
 Piper, arriving at the Berkeleys house in 
 Princess Koyal Street, had established her 
 self in the sewing-room, the ladies in sub 
 missive attitudes before her, the little dress 
 maker could hardly wait to dispose of busi 
 ness before introducing the subject near 
 her heart. 
 
 "Just keep on running up them skirt- 
 widths, Miss Gay ; an Miss Penelope, ma am, 
 you could be gofterin that sleeve while I get 
 the body ready to try on," she said, marshal 
 ling her forces like a general in command. 
 "Did you hear the news that old Mr. IV- 
 ters s grandson ain t expected to live the day 
 out ? Fairly starved, I reckon, fore he d let 
 Mrs. Dibble know, an he sleepin in a hole 
 of an attic at the Drovers Hotel kinder low 
 fever, uothin catchin , the doctor says, but 
 nothin to bring him up again. Such a 
 beautiful genius he is, ma am, an a temper 
 like a child, for all ho looks so fierce." 
 
 " Starving ! What do you mean, Viney ?" 
 said Miss Penelope, excitedly. " Go, Gay, 
 fetch me my bonnet and mantilla, and help
 
 205 
 
 Susan to pack a basket with sonic things. 
 How conies it that nobody knew ?" 
 
 " It s all right for the present, Miss Penel 
 ope, ma am," said Viney, blushing. " That s 
 what s kep me a little late this mornin . I 
 took up a few trifles, an Mrs. Dibble she s 
 got somebody to mind the store, and is to 
 stay with him all day. But if you d let 
 Peggy put on a chicken to boil down for 
 jelly, it wouldn t be wasted if " here she 
 swallowed once or twice and stabbed her 
 pin-cushion "if the pore Mounseer can t 
 make no use of it." 
 
 The "pore Mouuseer," however, surviving 
 the day under Mrs. Dibble s kindly care, and 
 finding no lack of nourishment during the 
 days that followed, was, with the assistance 
 of a subscription among some charitable 
 people, transferred in the course of a week 
 to a spare room let to single gentlemen by 
 Mrs. Piper, Viuey s mother, which by happy 
 accident had been recently vacated. 
 
 The Pipers lived in one of the small frame- 
 houses bnilt to open directly upon the moss- 
 encircled bricks set diagonally in the ancient 
 sidewalk of a modest street. Their door- 
 stone of white marble was accounted in the 
 neighborhood a badge of distinguishing ele 
 gance, as was also a small brass oval serving
 
 206 
 
 as a bell-pull, when most people used knock 
 ers, or " knuckles," the gossips would aver. 
 The late Mr. Piper bad beeu a seafaring 
 man, and bad risen to be first mate of tbe 
 brig Polly and Nancy, when, on a return 
 voyage from Cadiz with a cargo of fruit, 
 salt, and wines, bound for Belbaven port, be 
 was swept overboard in a hurricane and lost. 
 Tbe best room of tbe little house, into 
 which one stepped out of tbe street direct, 
 was a sort of marine museum like a chill 
 grotto, suggesting a mermaid s clutch or tbe 
 grip of shark s teeth. Here Mrs. Piper did 
 not care to raise the shades, except at one 
 side window permanently darkened by a 
 trellis overgrown with a vine of the Isabella 
 grape. Tbe children of Miss Viney s custom 
 ers liked to be sent to make appointments 
 with that busy little body ; for Mrs. Piper, 
 too deaf to answer questions, and droning 
 her explanations in a sing-song voice, always 
 showed them around the museum with great 
 affability. The old woman usually sat in a 
 clean kitchen opening upon tbe back yard, 
 where, under the damson-trees and amid the 
 hundred-leaf rose-bnshes, were constructed 
 little winding walks, edged with shells, and 
 leading up to seats made of a whale s back 
 bone.
 
 207 
 
 After the Chevalier de St. Pierre had suc 
 ceeded in obtaining classes iu dancing and 
 deportment that enabled him to live, and 
 had settled down to become a fixture iu the 
 widow s house, his spare moments were 
 given to cultivating flowers iu the beds be 
 tween the shell-bordered walks. Everything 
 grows easily in soft Belhaveu air, and soon 
 the Pipers garden became a proverb iu the 
 place. Mrs. Piper s only complaint against 
 her lodger was couched in the expressive 
 phrase, <( The Lord knows how often he 
 empties his water-jug"; but even a distaste 
 for ablution yielded iu time to the insistent 
 cleanliness of his surroundings. Sometimes, 
 to cheer "Madame Pipere" in her solitude, 
 Alcibiadc would descend to the kitchen and 
 proffer to the old woman, knitting in her 
 suuuy window-seat, " a leetle divertissement 
 from ze classique drama of La France." He 
 had a vrai inspiration for the stage, St. 
 Pier.re confessed to Viney, and but for polit 
 ical intrigue would be now in bis rightful 
 place on the boards of the Th6atre Francais. 
 These exhibitions , repeating the celebrated 
 performance of his de"but at Lafayette Hall, 
 were as deeply and religiously admired by 
 the widow as by her daughter. 
 
 One day occurred a variant upon the
 
 usual exercise. Alcibiadehad always treat 
 ed poor lank Viuey as if she were one of the 
 great ladies of the court in bondage to bis 
 ancestor s curling-tongs ; but she was unpre 
 pared for the scene that greeted her return 
 when, having stepped down to Slater s for ;i 
 spool of " forty " cotton, she found the chev 
 alier, in his best black suit, wearing white 
 kid gloves, and holding a bouquet in oue 
 hand, kneeling at Mrs. Piper s feet and kiss 
 ing her finger-tips with reverence. 
 
 " I ask yon, madame, for the hand of your 
 beautiful and admirable child in marriage," 
 was what Viney and the whole neigborhood 
 within ear-shot heard him roar. 
 
 Viney, with all her good qualities, was a 
 bit of a virago. The absurdity of the pro 
 ceeding, and the sense that her adjacent ac 
 quaintances were laughing at her affairs, 
 flooded her thin skin with blushes and her 
 soul with anger. While Mrs. Piper, scared 
 out of her wits, was about to open her.lips 
 for a feeble screech, Viney whisked into the 
 kitchen, snatched Alcibiade s bouquet, threw 
 it away into a parsley-be d, and boxed the 
 professor s ears. 
 
 " You d better believe I give im a piece 
 of my mind," she narrated afterwards to Miss 
 Penelope and Gay. " But, bless you, he
 
 209 
 
 cried so pitiful, an begged our pardons so 
 kind o honorable, I bad not the heart to 
 turn him ont o the house like I threatened 
 to. Them white kids, Miss Gay ! An at 
 bis age, an mine! The notion s too cry in 
 ridic lous." And she snapped a seam into 
 the beak of her sewing-bird with vicious 
 emphasis, giving at the same time a sidelong 
 glance into the mirror, and a complacent 
 toss of the head. 
 
 No one could be long in the chevalier s 
 company without discovering that a very 
 dove of gentleness and affectionate gratitude 
 dwelt iu his gaunt envelope of flesh. So, re 
 straining his pretensions as a lover, he 
 meekly accepted Miss Viney s fiat, and went 
 about the town looking as warlike as ever, 
 but inwardly carrying a broken spirit. One 
 of his dancing-class encountered him cross 
 ing a windy common iu the suburbs of the 
 town pursued by a flock of geese, from whose 
 sibilant obloquy he was making nervous 
 efforts to escape ; and it was known to the 
 boys and girls that the chevalier was al 
 ways alarmed by the apparition of a spider 
 or a cow. No wonder the young people de 
 cided that Alcibiade had been reduced to 
 pulp by Miss Viney s vigorous rejection of 
 his suit. The little dress-maker s peppery 
 
 14
 
 temper was familiar to the offspring of her 
 customers, from whom she would stand no 
 trifling around her temporary throne in their 
 respective households. 
 
 When the war between the States broke 
 out, Viney seemed to have found her des 
 tined vocation as a red-hot secessionist. 
 Not very clear, fundamentally, as to what 
 she resented on the part of the national 
 authorities at the other end of the Long 
 Bridge, some eight miles away, she threw 
 out her rebel banner on the wall, sang 
 " Dixie" in her shrill treble, declaimed, pro 
 tested, and, in short, kept everybody in her 
 vicinity in a boiling state of excitement 
 about the condition of political affairs. 
 When the Belhaveu regiments went on to 
 Kichmond or Mauassas, Viney stitched her 
 fingers to the bone making shirts for them, 
 while Mrs. Piper knit socks of gray wool as 
 fast as her needles conld fly. They also 
 turned out a number of the white linni 
 havelocks and gaiters adopted by one of the 
 companies and afterward discarded as a too 
 shining mark for opposing riflemen. Viney 
 trotted to the train to see the boys go off, 
 and stood there in the crowd, cheering and 
 waving with the best. As she watched the 
 last car recede on two gleaming lines o f steel,
 
 211 
 
 its rear platform tbrouged with gesticulat 
 ing shapes in gray, she felt her heart inflate 
 and her stature grow with a yearning desire 
 to go out and fight or do something helpful in 
 their ranks. 
 
 When she turned to walk home that 
 afternoon of balmy spring, there, haunting 
 her footsteps, was the faithful Alcibiade. 
 He looked into her watery blue eyes as if 
 imploring to be allowed to speak his sym 
 pathy. 
 
 "Have it out, an be done with it, for 
 gracious sake," said Viney, pettishly. His 
 smooth-finished black coat, his waxed mous 
 tache, the bunch of jonquils in his button 
 hole, fretted her beyond endurance. 
 
 " Those tears for the brave, they are 
 a beuison," said Alcibiade, sen ti men tally. 
 " Who would not be inspired by them to 
 deeds of glory ?" 
 
 "It s not the boys I m cryin for," said 
 Viney. "It s us that are left behind and 
 have got to put our necks under the vandal s 
 heel." That "vandal" afforded a famous 
 outlet for secession wrath in those days ; it 
 may be doubted whether the war could have 
 been carried on without him. "Oh! if t 
 worn t for mother, d ye think I d stay ? I d 
 go to-movrow, an carry a water-pail to fill
 
 212 
 
 canteens; or I d nurse in hospitals or any 
 thing." 
 
 " It s a noble, a sacred cause," replied the 
 chevalier, looking down at the toe of his 
 varnished boot to avoid the needle-point of 
 her eye. "You will permit me, chere Mees 
 Viney, to mingle with yours my prayers for 
 its success ? When I think that this Vir 
 ginia that has sheltered two exiles of our 
 house my ancestor, who came here to find 
 a home, a bride, a thousand friends, a thou 
 sand tendernesses; and me, less fortunatf, 
 but ever grateful for the hour that brought 
 5*011, an angel of goodness, to my rescue in 
 distress 
 
 " That s neither here uor there," inter 
 rupted Viuey, cruelly. " Besides, it was as 
 much Mrs. Dibble as me, anyway." 
 
 " But you will not deny me the privilege 
 of sharing your patriotic anxiety for the 
 welfare of the troops f You will allow my 
 heart to beat in unison with yours ?" 
 
 " Nobody ain t a-preventiu your heart 
 doin what it pleases," said the uncompro 
 mising lady of his love, now fairly out of 
 patience with his phrasing. " But it s deeds, 
 not words, that show what a man s worth 
 nowadays. When I think what a fool I 
 used to be bout fine talkiif . an how I be-
 
 213 
 
 lieved if a feller spread himself in speechi- 
 fyin he was botm to be a hero, it makes me 
 fairly sick. I d rather have the little finger 
 o oiie o them privates that s in the train 
 we hear whistlin up yonder bless their 
 souls! than the whole body of a dandy 
 Jim that stays at home. But, law me. I m 
 foolish talkin such stuff to you" 
 
 Foolish and manifestly unjust, we will 
 agree with her. But Viney s seed was not 
 sown on barren soil, as we shall see. From 
 that date the chevalier s moustaches lost 
 their jaunty curl, his eye its martial fire. 
 The dancing -school declining with the 
 growth of military rule in town, his occupa 
 tion was chiefly to walk along the streets 
 picking up such rumors and crumbs of gossip 
 abont the movements of either army as might 
 bring aspark of interest into the orbs of Miss 
 Viney on his return to the widow s house. 
 
 The days of June wore on, and Viney s 
 temper, taxed by anxiety abont the issue of 
 the approaching battle, became more tart, 
 her taunts more frequent ; but the chevalier 
 suddenly seemed to take heart and to walk 
 with a firmer tread. One night he did not 
 return to sleep in his tidy bedroom, and 
 Viuey, going into it, found a letter addressed 
 to herself upon the table.
 
 214 
 
 "Adieu, my benefactress, beautiful inspira 
 tion of my unworthy life " (the chevalier had 
 written), " I fly to win the approval of your 
 noble tears or to sleep eternally upon the 
 soldier s bloody conch. To yon, in tliis .su 
 preme moment, I dare avow a truth for 
 which my manhood does not blush that I 
 have, until now, held back because of a 
 weakness of temperament that made my 
 Bonl blanch at thought of the soldier s bap 
 tism of fire. Now that the struggle is over, 
 I am resolved to ally myself with the ar 
 mies of the South, that has given me a 
 shelter, and given me yon, adored one, whose 
 hand I embrace in spirit, with that of your 
 respected mother; to whom, and to you, the 
 salutations the most distinguished of your 
 all-devoted. ALCIBIADE." 
 
 "The land o Dixie !" cried out Miss Vim-y. 
 " If that pore erector s in earnest I ll never 
 draw a free breath till he gets back." 
 
 M. Alcibiade was very much in earnest. 
 A few days later Miss Viney had a visit 
 from a lawyer who informed her that the 
 Frenchman, before going through the lines 
 to enlist in the Southern army, had caused 
 to be drawn up a will bequeathing to lu-r 
 some hundreds of dollars which by frugality
 
 215 
 
 and care he had saved during his residence 
 beneath their roof. Viney had an honest 
 crying-fit after the lawyer left, and, patting 
 on her bonnet, sped down to Princess Royal 
 Street to take counsel with the Misses Berke 
 ley as to the best way of tracing the absent 
 one and conveying to him some token of her 
 appreciation and regard. Those ladies could 
 give her little hope. They promised, how 
 ever, to write recommending Alcibitide to 
 the care and kind offices of their friends in 
 Belhaveu regiments, should the Frenchman 
 find his way among his old acquaintances 
 and pupils; and with this Viuey was forced 
 to be content. 
 
 After Bull Run, Manassas; and after Ma- 
 nassas, a breathing-space in which North and 
 South held themselves in check, dreading to 
 pierce the veil shadowing the future of the 
 conflict. In the dusk of a warm summer 
 evening, when Viney had carried out a 
 bucket of fresh water with which to drench 
 and cool the already clean bit of pavement 
 appertaining to their front door, a country 
 wagon with a hooded canopy of canvas, 
 drawn by mules and driven by a long-legged 
 rustic in a linen duster, wearing a broad 
 straw hat, pulled up beside the curb. Inside 
 could be heard the cackle of resentful fowls.
 
 216 
 
 The driver, carrying a basket of eggs, leaned 
 over and accosted her. 
 
 "No; I don t want anything to-day, I m 
 bliged to ye," began Viney and broke 
 down with a gasp. "Good Lord ! It s yon, 
 Monnseer 1" 
 
 "It is, charming Mees Viney," said the 
 pretended fanner, with a warm grasp of her 
 hand. "Hush! Not a word that the neigh 
 bors can overhear." 
 
 "But I don t understand; you are not in 
 the army, after all ?" 
 
 "There are ways and ways of being a sol 
 dier," he went on iu a low whisper. "Be 
 lieve me when I tell you I have kept my 
 word. Take a few of these eggs and count 
 them into a dish or basket yes ; your apron 
 will do that I may go on talking without 
 fear. Then I will find it troublesome to gif 
 you change." 
 
 " But where in the land did you come 
 from ?" she asked, burning with curiosity. 
 
 " Ma foi, from a Union camp, to-day. 
 where the soldiers have left me little to sell 
 to you, belle dame. To-morrow at daybreak 
 for I shall find fresh mules outside the 
 town I present myself to a general whom 
 a Frenchman is proud to serve ze peer 
 less Beauregard."
 
 "You are you are " she began, her 
 face blanched, her teeth chattering. 
 
 " Never mind what I am ; let me but look 
 once more upon that face of which I so ofteu 
 dream, and then I must hasten away." 
 
 " Oh, go, go ! " she pleaded. " It was per 
 fect madness for you to come here. Not 
 ten minutes ago a patrol of Yankee soldiers 
 walked down this street." 
 
 "Bah!" he said, with a shrug, ""have I 
 riot enjoyed the company of their compa 
 triots all day ? But for your sake I will go. 
 Have no fear belle Viuey; you will hear 
 from me again." 
 
 Was this the timid, the cringing Alcibi- 
 ade? Viuey asked herself all through a sleep 
 less night. Many and many a night there 
 after she was destined to toss and wonder 
 as to his fate. In the autumn she had aline 
 from him, left by a wood-seller from far up 
 in the interior of the county ; he was safe 
 and well, and still in the service of the em 
 ployer who retained him when he had seen 
 her last ; and he was always her devoted 
 and faithful A. de St. P. 
 
 After that a blank of long years extend 
 ing to the close of the dreadful war. 
 
 Viney had given him up for dead, of 
 course ; had put ou mourning and made
 
 218 
 
 lier mother do the same ; and everybody 
 said how strange it was that Viney Piper 
 should msike all that fuss about a man that 
 just walked out of her house one day and 
 gave her the "go-by" without a word. 
 She could never persuade herself to touch a 
 penny of his bequest, but had consulted her 
 confidante, Miss Penelope, about the propri 
 ety of using it for a fine monument to be 
 erected to his memory in the Belhaven 
 graveyard, when the correspondent of a 
 New York paper, mousing around the old 
 Virginia town for material, announced to 
 the public that he had discovered the iden 
 tity of the famous and daring rebel scout 
 Peters, who, after countless adventures, and 
 escaping the noose a dozen times by a mir 
 acle, had disappeared from sight. This 
 dashing character, it was confidently stated, 
 was none other than a so-called French 
 dancing-master, known at the time as St. 
 Pierre, who had lived in Belhaven pursuing 
 his harmless occupation for some years prior 
 to the war. 
 
 In the comments of the press upon this 
 announcement more than one reminiscence 
 of Peters was soon given currency ; and 
 presently the editor of a journal in an ob- 
 scuro Western town wrote to the New York
 
 219 
 
 paper that Peters, alias St. Pierre, alias no- 
 one-knew-what beside, was then actually re 
 siding in the family of a charitable French 
 man of his locality, having survived a wound 
 and an imprisonment that had left him help 
 less upon his benefactor s hands. 
 
 When this was .published Viney s friends 
 saw the little woman smile. Then she cried, 
 then she fell down on her knees and thanked 
 God for his mercy, and lastly she packed her 
 little trunk, and set off for Illinois. 
 
 "You have come to me, and I was too 
 proud to bring the remains of me to you, 
 belle Viiiey !" said Alcibiade, when she ar 
 rived. " It is enough for me to see yon, to 
 forget that prison where I laid so long." 
 
 Poor little, homely Viney was utterly over 
 come. She took his thin hand, with the 
 claw-like fingers, and, stooping down, kissed 
 it and cried over it. 
 
 " Lord, lay not this sin to my door !" she 
 said, gazing on the wreck before her with a 
 sudden, bitter self-reproach. " Oh, Mounseer, 
 tell me that you forgive me for what I drove 
 you to, for I ll never forgive myself." 
 
 "Listen to me, Mees Viney," the French 
 man said, looking about him anxiously to 
 see that no one overheard. "Yon have 
 done for me what a thousand times, in peril
 
 of my neck, in cold, in hunger, in a prison 
 cell, I have thanked yon for J T OU have 
 made of me a man ! Son Dieu, a man ! 
 
 Viney brought him back to the little 
 chamber beneath the roof of Mrs. Piper s 
 house, where the two women nursed him 
 into comparative comfort ; health he might 
 never fully know again. In summer-time, 
 his chair rolled out upon one of the shell- 
 bordered walks, he would remain gazing 
 in absolute content upon Viney sitting on 
 the door-step \vith her work. In his eyes 
 she was always beautiful ; and when, with 
 many misgivings, she one day consented to 
 let Dr. Falconer, with Miss Penelope and 
 Gay as witnesses, step into the grotto of 
 marine curiosities and make her Madame 
 Alcibiade, the ex-spy straightened up with 
 something of his old dancing-master s grace. 
 
 " Tit tis ! I have won the flower of woman 
 hood," he said. And so he thought to the 
 last. 
 
 THE END.
 
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