THE LIBRARY 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES
 
 9M>9 The Baby Presented to Mrs. Neuralgia. 
 
 "Take away the ugly, dirty thing," Mrs. Neuralgia exclaimed with a 
 gesture of disgust.
 
 Series. 
 
 STORIES FOE LEISURE HOURS. 
 
 BY AUGUSTA LARNED. 
 
 THREE ILLUSTRATIONS. 
 
 NEW YORK: 
 NELSON & PHILLIPS. 
 
 CINCINNATI: HITCHCOCK & WALDEN. 
 
 SUNDAY-SCHOOL DEPARTMENT.
 
 Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1873., by 
 
 NELSON & PHILLIPS, 
 in the Ollice of the Librarian of Congress at Washington.
 
 T5 
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 PACK 
 
 THE PROFESSIONAL BABY 7 
 
 MERCY DAVITS AT THE ANCHOR 38 
 
 AUNT THORBURN'S BLANKET SHAWL ^ . . 89 
 
 AMOS STANHOPE'S PRACTICAL JOKE 117 
 
 THE OLD SQUIRE'S WRATH 137 
 
 WIDOW HENDERSON'S HAPPENINGS 158 
 
 HANNAH'S QUILTING 178 
 
 THE GOOD-BYE Kiss 201 
 
 LETTY'S RIGHTS 216 
 
 THE RED EAR . . . 238 
 
 THE BABY PRESENTED TO MRS. NEURALGIA 2 
 
 HANNAH'S QUILTING PARTY 1 89 
 
 LUCY'S RIDE WITH BROWN BETTY 253 
 
 973337
 
 STOEIES FOR LEISURE HOURS. 
 
 THE PROFESSIONAL BABY. 
 
 MARY MALONY had hung out a sign 
 from the fourth story front window of the 
 tenement house in Cork Alley, where she lived, 
 saying, " Baby to let or lend," the fact that she 
 had such a convenient piece of property on 
 hand could not have been better understood 
 throughout the neighborhood than it already 
 was. 
 
 The baby, God bless its dear, bright eyes ! 
 was not one of Mary Malony's own brood. None 
 of her frowzy, freckled young tatterdemalions 
 would have answered the purpose for which 
 babies are made professional. 
 
 This particular mite of humanity was the ne 
 plus ultra of good children. It early developed a 
 remarkable genius for being " turned off," lying 
 in clothes baskets, and reposing contentedly 
 upon dresser shelves. Altogether, it was a.
 
 8 Stories for Leisure Hours. 
 
 winsome, dimpled, happy creature, that every 
 body loved. I do believe this baby would have 
 flourished all the same hanging on a peg, it 
 made such unseemly sport, considering its size, 
 of the trials and troubles of this great, big 
 world. 
 
 Its mother had been a char-woman in a vast 
 down-town building, all honeycombed with 
 offices. Once she slipped and fell on the main 
 stairway with a bucket of boiling suds, and 
 between the scalds and bruises and some inter 
 nal hurt that day received she never did a stroke 
 of work afterward. 
 
 When she died Mary Malony took her baby, 
 because "them two" Mary and the mother 
 that was gone, " rest her sowl ! " had scrubbed 
 together a deal in their time ; and, being the 
 " owldest and bist friends of each other's, had 
 quarreled and fit a deal too. God forgive her! 
 he knew how quick teched she was." Besides 
 this, it was pure charity. The purest article of 
 that kind hides in just such dingy, ill-smelling 
 rooms as Mary Malony's. 
 
 The baby's father proved excellent food for 
 powder and ball. He was shot in the war one 
 pf those dumb, nameless ones that make so
 
 The Professional Baby. 9 
 
 many pathetic little hummocks on Southern 
 battle-fields. As for Dennis Malony, Mary's 
 male incumbrance, he was substantially what 
 Mary called him, a "poor coot," and guzzled 
 his soul away in dram-shops never seeking to 
 interfere with the divinity that drudged and 
 toiled, scolded and stormed, up in that fourth- 
 story room, and yet at heart was as mellow and 
 sweet-flavored as an October pippin. 
 
 There was the baby, Sophy by name. The 
 dusty old cobbler who hammered all day in the 
 basement, looking as if every part of him had 
 been cut out of the same rusty piece of stuff 
 clothes not excepted named her little All- 
 bright ; and Mother Spoon, the rag-picker, 
 named her Happy-go-lucky ; and Mr. Sprat, the 
 sentimental young man in the Pharmaceutical 
 and Chemical Hall, otherwise a two-shelf apoth 
 ecary shop, called her Twinkle, because he said 
 her eyes danced just like stars. And in some 
 way Mr. Sprat's poetical name came into favor, 
 and quite put out all the others. 
 
 It would take too much time to tell just how 
 Twinkle became a professional baby. Mary 
 Malony, standing over the washtub, a sort of 
 Hibernian Venus, in a cloud of soapy stearn..
 
 io Stories for Leisure Hours. 
 
 often tried to excuse away the very best action 
 of her life. But folks might say she was unjust 
 to her own flesh and blood when she took an 
 other mouth to fill. Truth to tell, there was 
 always an unoccupied, aching corner in each 
 one of those little Malony stomachs ; but 
 they never begrudged any thing shared with 
 Twinkle. 
 
 Mary always ended her harangue by a fond 
 glance toward the little fair, sunny creature, 
 looking like a dove strayed off accidentally into 
 a flock of long-legged goslings. " She must 
 scratch for herself as soon as iver she can," 
 would come next, with a half-suppressed sigh, 
 and then rub-a-dub-dub back to the wash-board. 
 The tender age at which the young fry of Cork 
 \lley began " to scratch for themselves " was 
 marvelous. 
 
 Polly French (misnamed, because she was 
 really English) observed once that Twinkle 
 would be a treasure to the " profession." Polly 
 was a little in that line herself, she ought to 
 know. They wanted " hinfants " that could 
 stop the public ; and folks might as well try to 
 get past that baby's face as past a bunch of 
 violets.
 
 The Professional Baby. 1 1 
 
 That was the beginning of it. The profes 
 sion at which Polly hinted appertained to what 
 she naively termed the " haskers." There they 
 go asking all day long, through the streets and 
 lanes ; but not always, as the Scripture prom 
 ises, receiving. There go askers on one leg, 
 and askers on no legs, hopping like toads 
 along the ground ; askers exhibiting every 
 kind of repulsive deformity and pitiable mis 
 fortune ; askers that lie and thieve : and 
 others, with pale, pinched faces, who are dying 
 for succor, because their profession is in such 
 evil odor. 
 
 Cork Alley was not nearly as professional as 
 Dublin-street, and Dublin-street in that respect 
 could not compare with Backslum Corner. There 
 were, however, plenty of people in Cork Alley 
 ready to strip off the decent clothes given them 
 at some mission school, and send their children 
 out in rags to beg through the streets. God 
 knows they were poor enough ; but nothing 
 can excuse the wicked deception. 
 
 Honest Mary Malony, who would scorn to 
 beg as long as she could earn sixpence with her 
 ten ringers, refused the " loan " of Twinkle to 
 all her neighbors but those in actual want of
 
 12 Stories for Leisure Hours. 
 
 food and fire. So, when a shock-headed, smeary- 
 faced child put her head into Mary's door, with 
 a "Plaze, could I be afther borry'n Twinkle 
 to-day ? " Mary sighed, and said, " She's an 
 orphin, as poor as God's birds that hop on the 
 bough. It's no lie you'll be afther tellin'. But 
 mind and see no har-rum comes to the darlint 
 or I'll wallop ye, shure!" 
 
 It was always stipulated that a part of the 
 profit should belong to Twinkle ; and the hoard 
 of dirty pennies, so gathered, at the bottom of 
 Mary's cracked china vase, were as sacred in 
 her sight as if they had been blessed by the 
 Pope. 
 
 So Twinkle was carried out, day after day, to 
 knock with her tiny, unconscious hand at the 
 heart of the great, hard world. 
 
 It was the morning that Tom Malony's "hin " 
 laid her first egg. I should like to tell you all 
 about this remarkable fowl if I only had time. 
 How many story germs lie wrapped up in every 
 little story-bud ! This event was of the greatest 
 possible importance to the Malonys, great and 
 small ; for sinee the hen first entered the family 
 various anticipated blessings had been referred 
 to it.
 
 The Professional Baby. 1 3 
 
 " Gosh ! " said Tom, trying to use a manly 
 native American word, "wont we smell custard 
 when the ole hin begins to lay ? " 
 
 " Bedad ! " exclaimed Kate Malony, turning 
 round, with a knife sticking in a half-peeled 
 potato, "that would be a wicked extravagance. 
 We'll sell the eggs and buy mother a breastpin 
 like Miss Mangel's, shure ! " 
 
 " Hooray ! hooray for mother's breastpin ! " 
 shouted all the small fry at the top of their 
 good, strong lungs. There was one promising 
 thing about those ragged young Malonys 
 they were always prepared to " hooray " for 
 mother. 
 
 The counting of the eggs before they were 
 laid went on vigorously. Various nests, in old 
 baskets and boxes, were arranged to make lay 
 ing both easy and pleasant. The happiest 
 results were anticipated ; but it would seem 
 that Tommy and his little brothers and sisters 
 had squeezed all the laying genius out of this 
 unfortunate chicken. As for Twinkle, bless 
 her dear innocence ! she only drooled energet 
 ically, and laughed as loud as she could when 
 the hen was on exhibition, and that happened 
 to be about all the time, as she was a very
 
 14 Stories for Leisure Hours. 
 
 accomplished bird, and could do any thing but 
 lay. Speckle's grand one-leg act round a chalk 
 circle, gently urged to what Tommy called 
 " coming up to the scratch " by a thread tied to 
 her foot, the promiscuous rabble of Cork Alley 
 voted almost as exciting as " Dad Macervin's " 
 performing monkey. 
 
 A good appetite is considered a great bless 
 ing. But did you ever think that it is only a 
 blessing to lucky people, like you and me, who 
 don't have to bother their heads about where 
 the next meal is coming from ? The huge, 
 overgrown appetites of those little Malonys 
 so much out of proportion to the size of their 
 bodies almost worried Mary's life out, and 
 made her days and nights one round of dull, 
 drudging toil. Speckle, the hen, shared this 
 peculiarity with the others, and ate her head off 
 regularly at least three times a day. 
 
 When those brilliant hopes of a fortune, based 
 on that obstinate fowl's eggs, began to fade a 
 little from the minds of the less sanguine, Mary, 
 with a dark look, would glance from the uncon 
 scious Speckle on her favorite perch, Tommy's 
 shoulder, to a little black pot that stood in the 
 corner, and then back to Speckle, as much as to
 
 The Professional Baby. 1 5 
 
 say, " Great gormandizing hens, that can lay 
 and wont lay, must at last come to pot." 
 
 Tommy understood the look, and his peace 
 of mind was gone. He made the most touch 
 ing appeals to his hen's moral sensibilities by 
 quoting the noble example of old Grimes's 
 chicken : 
 
 " And every day she laid two eggs, 
 And Sundays she laid three." 
 
 But it failed to move Speckle's stony crop. In 
 desperation, he thought of offering her to Bar- 
 num as a highly-trained fowl of immense 
 genius ; although down deep in his brave heart 
 he still believed in her, and held a little glim 
 mering hope that in spite of all Speckle would 
 some day make his fortune. Nights he would 
 often wake up out of some dream of a little 
 Irish boy's paradise, and, nudging his brother 
 Sandy, whisper, 
 
 "Sandy, didn't ye hear the old hin a cack- 
 lin' ? " 
 
 But Sandy never heard the ghost of a cackle, 
 or any body else. The great deed was done in 
 secrecy and silence, when least expected. 
 
 Speckle chose a very queer place to lay her 
 egg. She dropped it on top of a refuse-barrel
 
 1 6 Stories fot Leisure Hours. 
 
 full of worthless traps, that belonged to the 
 Crow's mother. The Crow herself found it, 
 and ran with it, while it was yet warm, up to 
 Tommy. 
 
 " O, mother ! " cried the boy, half beside him 
 self, as he hopped round like a parched pea, 
 with one foot in a very holey stocking and 
 the other bare, and one ragged jacket-sleeve 
 off and the other on, " the old bid has done 
 it at last ! " 
 
 Mary Malony stopped spanking little Pat ; 
 and little Pat, he stopped crying, and began to 
 shout ; and all the others, Twinkle not excepted, 
 hooted and hooted at such a rate you would 
 have thought nothing less than a shower of 
 fairy gold had fallen down the chimney. 
 
 Now, I am going to tell you how that very 
 first egg that Speckle ever laid did bring great 
 good luck to the Malonys. Many fine, grand for 
 tunes have turned on a pivot no larger than the 
 little end of a hen's egg. 
 
 Quite close to the door, with a meeching, 
 apologetic air, as if all the stiffening had been 
 cuffed out of her, stood the Crow. I suppose 
 the boys had given her that name because she 
 was such a thin, slinky creature. Her hair
 
 The Professional Baby. 1 7 
 
 was too limp to snarl, and her old tea-colored 
 dress clung to her legs like the tail of a whipped 
 dog. 
 
 " Shure, was you afther findin' it, Lindy ? " 
 Mary asked, as pleased as could be, while she 
 patted the pearly shell, holding it affectionately 
 in the hollow of her great red hand. 
 
 The girl nodded with a sort of shy, wrinkly 
 smile on her yellow visage. " I found it atop 
 of our old bar'I. I know'd it was yourn, and 
 thought it would plaze ye." 
 
 Mary looked surprised and softened. The 
 Crow had a bad name for thieving, and she 
 wondered at this sign of honesty. I am glad 
 to say, right here, that the Crow had a far 
 worse name than she deserved. I am also glad 
 to say that Tom colored under his freckles, and 
 looked as if he wanted to hide behind a cab 
 bage leaf; for he remembered more than one 
 occasion on which he had mocked and jeered 
 at the Crow, along with the rest of the rabble 
 of Cork Alley. 
 
 " Hooray for the Crow ! " cried Tom, trying to 
 pluck up spirit. " You shall have an egg when the 
 old hen lays three eggs a day." He kicked Sandy 
 slyly on the shin. Sandy was busy releasing
 
 1 8 Stories for Leisure Hours. 
 
 a flap from one of the numerous air-holes that 
 ventilated Tom's trowsers. 
 
 " I don't ax none of your eggs, Tom Malony." 
 And a little jet of fire danced out of the Crow's 
 dull eyes. " But, ma'am," and her tone changed 
 to one of almost tearful supplication, " if I could 
 take out Twinkle to-day ! Sha'n't a mite o' 
 harm come to her ; 'deed, there sha'n't ! " 
 
 Mary had always heretofore refused this girl's 
 applications for Twinkle because she knew no 
 good of her. But the influence of old Speckle's 
 happy effort was like a hot sun on a snow-bank, 
 and she yielded to the Crow's request, partly, I 
 am sure, because she knew the poor creature's 
 mother was sick from whisky drinking, be it 
 sadly whispered, but nevertheless sick while 
 the cupboard was empty, and last month's rent 
 overdue. 
 
 Now we behold Twinkle wrapped in what 
 Mary called the " flirt " of an old shawl warmly, 
 securely wrapped by her loving hands ; and, 
 after receiving two smothering kisses all round 
 from the little Malonys, carried out in the Crow's 
 bony arms. It seemed as though they were 
 hardly strong enough to support the baby's con 
 tented weight ; but they clasped the little creat-
 
 The Professional Baby. 19 
 
 ure in a hungry way, as if she was the burden 
 for which they had long been aching. 
 
 There was no need of the Crow's trying to 
 look worse than common when she went out 
 begging. On the other hand, with a curious 
 touch of womanly instinct, she always attempted 
 to fix up a little. This time she had strapped 
 back her lank hair with a piece of list, and 
 pinned a man's cast-off paper collar around 
 her scrawny neck. There were five hooks gone 
 from the back of her tea-colored dress, and 
 three others were straining to get loose, and 
 give freer vent to the bulge of undergarment 
 once white, perhaps, but now of no particular 
 hue beneath. Her legs were bare half way 
 down from her knees ; and her big splay 
 feet, in miserable shoes, that served no other 
 purpose than to relieve her bony shanks, seemed 
 to ally her with the waders and web-footed 
 species. 
 
 Twinkle's little starry face shone out of her 
 old wrap as peaceful as the blue March sky 
 overhead. It was preposterous to try and make 
 her look miserable. She left that sort of thing 
 to luxurious infants, who are cppressed with 
 their embroidered dresses and satin-lined era-
 
 2O Stories for Leisure Hours. 
 
 dies. She never appeared to think of what an 
 absurd little baby she was, pushing about, in a 
 child's weak arms, through the bustling streets. 
 She cogitated mainly on the jolly good noises 
 that every thing made. The horse-cars, the 
 soap-fat man, the rag-gatherer's cart, fish-horns, 
 and fruit-venders, all seemed to be tooting, pip 
 ing, and jingling for her especial benefit. 
 
 The poor little Crow had never been so happy 
 before in her life. There was a great deal of 
 evil in the girl, I dare say ; but it had been 
 coaxed and petted, while every good trait that 
 attempted to peep out to the light got instantly 
 knocked on the head. The heart that devoted 
 ly loves a little child cannot be wholly bad, and 
 the Crow's love for Twinkle amounted almost 
 to adoration. She had a sweet, maternal in 
 stinct in her bosom, that made her long for a 
 baby to pet and fondle. Nobody would ever 
 trust their baby to her care, because she was 
 ill-favored and had a hard name. That is the 
 world's way, you know ; when people are sup 
 posed to be bad they get fenced off from the 
 good, and left to grow worse and worse. But 
 I do not believe that is the way our heavenly 
 Father deals with his misguided little ones.
 
 The Professional Baby. 2 1 
 
 The Crow, or Lindy, her true name, was 
 the only lean bird belonging to her miserable 
 mother's brood. There was no little brother 
 or sister to mind. How often her hungry heart 
 longed for one. Little Twinkle became a kind 
 of lodestone to the poor creature. Nights, when 
 she would lie down on her bunch of foul straw, 
 supperless and cold aching, perhaps, from the 
 blows her tipsy mother had inflicted an imagi 
 nary Twinkle would seem to come and creep 
 into her miserable bosom, and her skinny arms 
 would clasp the precious thought, forgetting 
 that they closed on emptiness alone. God sends 
 real or fancied comfort to the most wretched of 
 his children ; and the Crow slept the sweet sleep 
 of early life, believing that a pair of baby hands 
 were cuddling in her neck, and a baby's sweet 
 breath was warming her cheek. 
 
 Twinkle was never frightened, else I am sure 
 she would have put up her lip when the Crow 
 took her ; but to her dear, blessed eyes every 
 thing looked beautiful and good. Accordingly 
 they trotted out of Cork Alley together, quite 
 unmindful of their professional duties, and 
 bent on what Tom Malony called a " private 
 bender."
 
 22 Stories for Leisure Hours. 
 
 There is a quiet corner even in this great 
 rattling Gotham Tobit Place, by name a sort 
 of acute angle, into which the whirling currents 
 of life cannot conveniently run, although they 
 do spill over there sometimes. Every thing in 
 Tobit Place is just as it was twenty-five years 
 ago. The Crow knew the spot, and liked it 
 because it was warm and sheltered. Thither 
 now she carried Twinkle. Then, sitting down 
 on a door-step, she did a very curious thing for 
 a Crow to do. 
 
 It was a pleasant March day. Can you be 
 lieve it ? There are some such days as pleasant 
 as the pauses of a shrew's tongue. Every thing 
 overhead was blue and sunny. Every thing in 
 the vegetable kingdom was brown and bare, 
 except the grass ; but the very bareness and 
 brownness of the tree-stems in Tobit Place had 
 a softened look, as much as to say, " We are 
 now ready for buds and birds." 
 
 The Crow was thinking of the little human 
 bud in her lap, and thankful she had got where 
 the wind could not nip her thin shoulders. 
 The Crow had never had a real live baby in her 
 arms before, and the woman germ in her led 
 her to examine Twinkle's little body, and see
 
 The Professional Baby. 23 
 
 how it differed from the very rudimentary forms 
 she had given to her wretched rag infants, so she 
 proceeded to unpin some of Twinkle's wraps 
 and feel of her arms and legs. How that 
 blessed child was turned and twisted and 
 smothered face downward ! But she did not 
 as much as whimper. All the time her little 
 rosy bud of a mouth was sucking away at her 
 tiny flattened thumb with the utmost content 
 ment. 
 
 When the Crow had come to the conclusion 
 that the Lord could make a better baby than 
 she was capable of manufacturing she began to 
 talk baby talk, and to kiss Twinkle's lips and 
 cheeks and the little plump hands, punctuated 
 all over with good little dots. Her kisses were 
 wild, hungry, starved kisses, that never could get 
 enougrl. 
 
 But at last this saintly infant rebelled, and 
 the Crow did the most curious thing of all ; 
 she fell to crying, and rocked back and forth on 
 the doorstep, with Twinkle pressed close up to 
 her sharp ribs. Then and there she told the 
 baby all about it, because she was " too blessed 
 little " to know of herself, how she, the poor 
 old Crow, got beaten and kicked around ; how
 
 24 Stories for Leisure Hours. 
 
 every body hated her, and she hated every body 
 except Twinkle, and meant to drown herself to 
 spite folks and make 'em bury her, only Twinkle 
 wouldn't let her. She was too blessed little to 
 know how ugly and hateful the old Crow was. 
 "O! O! O!" 
 
 Twinkle did not relish these melo-dramatic 
 weavings to and fro, and the hot tears that 
 came plashing down on her cheek ; so she set 
 up a series of squeals, and began to kick with 
 her feet through the old shawl. 
 
 " Hush, now, my oney-oney huney-puney." 
 The Crow sat Twinkle upon her knee as straight 
 as a cob. " Stop crying, and I'll unscrew my 
 head and take out my eyes for yez to play with. 
 'Deed I will ! We'll go to a swanny good 
 place, like the outside of the cuccuses, and 
 there we'll see the ladies a-jumpin' through 
 hoops and the gentlemens a-hangin' by one foot." 
 
 " Ugh ! ugh ! ugh ! " said Twinkle, looking 
 excited, as if her infant mind was highly tickled 
 with the picture. And I don't know but the 
 pair might have moved away from Tobit Place 
 in search of this rapturous spot if something 
 had not happened. 
 
 The Crow was too busy to notice any body,
 
 The Professional Baby. 25 
 
 but every body was not too busy to notice her. 
 There was a doctor's wagon before the opposite 
 house. It was an old-fashioned concern, popu 
 larly known as a chaise. The house, too, was 
 old-fashioned, with high iron posts bulging in 
 to something like a flower-basket on top, white 
 marble steps, scrupulously clean, and ancient 
 red brick walls. 
 
 The old lady who sat in the third-story front 
 window, her neat muslin cap-border framing a 
 fresh face, looked too busy and comfortable to 
 be new-fashioned ; and the man who had drawn 
 up the shade of the front parlor window as high 
 as it would run, with his legs astride, and hands 
 deep buried in his trowsers pockets, could hardly 
 be called new-fashioned either. His hair had 
 the peculiarity of always looking rumpled, and 
 the corners of his mouth had a queer downward 
 pull, that might indicate ill-humor or the love 
 of dry fun ; but the upper part of his face the 
 brow and eyes looked shrewd and observing. 
 
 " Massy sakes alive ! " exclaimd the old lady 
 up in the third-story window as she happened 
 to glance through her gold-bowed specs out in 
 to the street. " What witch- work is that girl 
 about ! She looks crazy and acts more so ; but
 
 26 Stories for Leisure Hours. 
 
 that baby in her lap is as pretty as the fust 
 crocus." 
 
 Now the man in the front parlor window 
 happened to be the Doctor to whom the wagon 
 belonged ; and, oddly enough, he was looking 
 for a baby. You wonder, perhaps, that he had 
 to look far in a great city like this, that is just 
 one vast nursery ; but the Doctor thought that 
 he was a judge of babies, and it was not every 
 specimen that would have suited him. 
 
 " What on earth is that girl up to ? " said the 
 Doctor to himself as he watched the uncon 
 scious Crow. " She looks like an animated 
 stable-broom, brush-end up. Whew ! that's a 
 neat baby, though. Bet a copper it's been kid 
 napped." 
 
 He took his hat and strode across the street. 
 Between the curtains at the back of the buggy 
 peeped the eye of a young ebony, the Doctor's 
 hold-boy. 
 
 " As I live, there goes John to speak to that 
 girl ! " exclaimed the old lady in something of 
 a flutter; " If I had on my hair front and my 
 thicker boots, I'd go too and hear the confab." 
 
 However, she opened the window, and in 
 clined her good ear to catch what she could
 
 The Professional Baby. 27 
 
 from a distance. Gum, the hold-boy, was also 
 taking notes. 
 
 As soon as the Doctor approached, Crow 
 remembered her professional air, and held out 
 her hand in a low-spirited manner. 
 
 " Please, sir, wont you help me and my little 
 sister. We're poor orphins. Mother's sick at 
 home ; father broke his leg last week, and had 
 to go to the hospitable." 
 
 " O, you're orphans, are you ? Mother's sick 
 and father's in the hospital, hey ? " 
 
 " Yes, sir ; that's the livin' truth." 
 
 The Doctor's face twitched, making it plain 
 that the downward pull of his mouth was hu 
 morous, instead of ill-natured. 
 
 Twinkle was blowing great big blubbers with 
 her bud of a mouth at the horsey-orsy and 
 buggy-uggy over the way. Now she looked up 
 into the Doctor's face and laughed a bewitch 
 ing baby accomplishment, that showed her pink 
 gums, studded with three or four pearly teeth. 
 This large, loose-jointed man had a strange fas 
 cination for babies, so he put one foot on the 
 step, and his blunt-ended finger found its way 
 to Twinkle's cheek, bringing happy gurgles and 
 dimples in plenty, like a swarm of golden but-
 
 28 Stories for Leisure Hours. 
 
 terflies hovering about a rose. All this time 
 the Crow's professional snuffle went on, and her 
 grimy hand was held out for alms. 
 
 Suddenly the Doctor looked at her with his 
 shrewd, bright eye. " Where did you get this 
 baby ? " 
 
 " She's my sister." The girl clasped Twinkle 
 fiercely. 
 
 " You lie." That was cool ; but the Doctor 
 was a cool person. " Do you see. that little 
 building down there," he continued. " Now 
 tell me all about it, or I'll whistle for some 
 body, and we'll have an examination." 
 
 The Crow knew this little building well. A 
 police officer was pacing back and forth before 
 the door. She shook with fear until her bones 
 almost rattled audibly ; but she told the truth 
 about herself and about Twinkle, and the Doc 
 tor believed her. He took his finger away from 
 the baby, who was tugging at it with both her 
 puffy little hands, and called out, " Hullo ! Gum, 
 wake up ! " 
 
 Gum was any thing but asleep. He removed 
 his eye from the crack with a respectful " Yes, 
 sah ; " and the next thing the astonished old 
 lady saw, from her perch in the third-story
 
 The Professional Baby. 29 
 
 window, was the Doctor putting that fright of a 
 girl and the little fair-faced baby into his buggy. 
 She threw up the sash higher, and screamed 
 after him, " John ! John ! John ! " with her cap- 
 strings flying and her gold-bowed specs in great 
 danger of tumbling off into the area. But he 
 did not hear her, else I am sure he would have 
 stopped and eased his mother's mind, who firmly 
 believed he had gone crazy, for the Doctor was 
 a good and dutiful son. 
 
 The wheels spun round on the noisy pave 
 ment, and away went that queer buggy load as 
 fast as ever it could toward Mrs. Neuralgia's. 
 Twinkle cried, " Goo ! goo ! goo ! " and flapped 
 her arms at the horse, believing she was in 
 clover this time if never before. 
 
 Let us speed on ahead of them, and peer in 
 to Mrs. Neuralgia's sick chamber. Her house 
 stands in a solemn corner, that always looks as if 
 it were trying to repent of something ; partly, I 
 suppose, because Mrs. Neuralgia, being a rich 
 lady, bribes the milkman to dispense with his 
 unearthly hoot at her door, and pays the organ- 
 grinders so much a month for skipping her 
 neighborhood. She firmly believes a good 
 healthy noise would kill her. In that house a
 
 30 Stories for Leisure Hours. 
 
 creaking door is a high crime and misdemeanor, 
 and any thing like a song, a whistle, or a baby's 
 crow, would be worthy of capital punishment. 
 
 We creep up the carved staircase, along the 
 padded hall, and enter her room through the 
 keyhole, in true spirit fashion. The apartment 
 is artificially close and shady. Every thing 
 about it seems sick, even to the handsome pic 
 tures and the rich carpet. There on the great 
 bed lies a pale, languid woman. Another silent, 
 watchful person moves like a ghost about the 
 chamber. 
 
 " Lewis," says a feeble voice, " have you got 
 on your lasting slippers ? " 
 
 " No, ma'am. I made a mistake, and put on 
 my carpet-shoes." 
 
 " You know, Lewis " there was a slight 
 touch of impatience in the sweet voice " noth 
 ing but lasting suits my sensitive condition. 
 I thought I perceived a slight squeak about the 
 heels. It was torture to me." 
 
 " I'll change 'em directly, ma'am." 
 
 " That's right. Now take away these violets. 
 Their odor is too oppressive. I think, Lewis, 
 there must be the least little draught from that 
 window. Are you sure you caulked it perfectly
 
 The Professional Baby. 3 1 
 
 tight ? Do light a taper and pass it before the 
 cracks. A draught, Lewis, in my condition, 
 would be my death-warrant." 
 
 Just then the front door banged with a pro 
 digious report, and a pair of heavy stamping 
 boots were heard coming up the stairs. Lewis 
 uttered a suppressed scream and ran to the 
 door. As for Mrs. Neuralgia, she gave a feeble 
 shriek and went off into hysterics. 
 
 " O, Doctor, you've killed my mistress ! " 
 cried the maid, wringing her hands. 
 
 " Nonsense ! Stand back ! She needs air. 
 She shall have air. That is all that ails her." 
 He strode to the window, and with his great 
 hand tore away all the swathings and caulkings, 
 threw open the sash, and let a smart March 
 breeze blow through the stale room. 
 
 The invalid hid her head under the blankets, 
 and in a smothered voice cried out, "Doctor, 
 you are a heartless assassin ! " 
 
 " Monster ! " exclaimed Lewis, striking a 
 tragic attitude before him, and flourishing her 
 arms almost too near his nose for her own 
 personal safety. 
 
 " Wretch ! " gasped Mrs. Neuralgia, more and 
 more smothered under the clothes.
 
 32 Stories for Leisure Hours. 
 
 The Doctor sat down and laughed until the 
 tears ran down his brown cheeks. Now there 
 is nothing so exasperating as the laugh of a 
 person that has wronged us, if we happen at 
 the same time to be upbraiding "him. Mrs. 
 Neuralgia was dying to know why the Doctor 
 laughed, so she made an excuse to breathe 
 and looked out, her pretty, soft hair a good 
 deal tumbled, and her face wearing an angry 
 flush. 
 
 Instantly he checked himself, and arose as 
 grave as a deacon. " My dear madam, com 
 pose yourself." 
 
 " Ugh ! Sir, you may leave my house in 
 stantly, and never come back again." 
 
 " Now, my dear madam," (the Doctor could 
 be very coaxing when he tried,) " do not jeopard 
 ize your health and happiness by a fit of pique. 
 I have brought you a new remedy to-day, one 
 I have long sought in vain to find. It has 
 never been known to fail of curing such a case 
 as yours." 
 
 Mrs. Neuralgia looked very cold, but she 
 did not repeat her command ; so the Doctor 
 coaxed more and more, and expatiated on the 
 virtues of his wonderful new remedy. At last
 
 The Professional Baby. 33 
 
 female curiosity prevailed, as he expected it 
 would. 
 
 " And what may this extraordinary medicine 
 be, sir ? " asked the invalid, very stiffly. 
 
 " A baby, madam." 
 
 " O ! O ! " Mrs. Neuralgia screamed faintly ; 
 but she blushed more, and tried to look as if 
 she meant to eat that horrible Doctor up, but 
 failed badly. 
 
 " Lewis," said the Doctor to the maid, who 
 was particularly savage, " go down to my buggy 
 and bring up a baby you will find there." 
 
 Lewis knew when she must obey, as we all 
 do when we find a master, so she went down. 
 And Mrs. Neuralgia, I am sure, never before 
 passed such a flustered minute and a half as 
 the minute and a half that Lewis was absent. 
 
 When she came back, with the long end of 
 Twinkle's old shawl hanging over her arm, and 
 the Crow (such a picture she had burst the 
 last three hooks of her dress) following on be 
 hind, Mrs. Neuralgia exclaimed, with a gesture 
 of disgust : 
 
 " Take away the ugly, dirty thing ! "* 
 
 " Hold ! " cried the persevering Doctor ; 
 
 * See Frontispiece.
 
 34 Stories for Leisure Hours. 
 
 " flowers grow in the dirt. This is one of God's 
 human flowers, raised in a gutter, but just as 
 sweet and innocent as if it had budded in your 
 conservatory." He slipped Twinkle, with these 
 words, out of a sheath of old rags, (her dress un 
 derneath was clean, though homely,) and laid 
 the little creature in Mrs. Neuralgia's bosom. 
 That bosom was loving and womanly in spite 
 of the imaginary aches and pains it had so long 
 petted. 
 
 In one minute's time Twinkle's cunning 
 little hand was patting and smoothing her 
 pretty white nest we all know the power of a 
 baby's touch ; in two the hand had crept up and 
 made acquaintance with the sick lady's cheek ; 
 in three she was crowing, with all her dimples 
 on exhibition ; and before the expiration of five 
 minutes, as I live, Mrs. Neuralgia was sitting up 
 in bed, just as if she owned such a thing as a 
 backbone, holding Twinkle in her arms ! 
 
 The upshot of it was, Twinkle cured Mrs. 
 Neuralgia, just as our wise Doctor said she 
 would. She had got an interest, now, outside 
 of herself something to love and care for. 
 Accordingly, in a month's time she was a well 
 woman, going about her great, silent house, to
 
 The Professional Baby. 35 
 
 bang the doors and set every thing into brisk, 
 merry motion. 
 
 Twinkle has got a nursery now, and plenty 
 of fine toys, lace caps, and worked dresses, but 
 she is the same even-tempered, winsome dar 
 ling as before. 
 
 The Crow, whom people have learned to call 
 by her right name, Lindy, has been washed, 
 brushed, combed, dressed up in good clothes, 
 and fed. O, it took a prodigious amount to 
 " plumpen " her ! as Tom Malony called the proc 
 ess ; but the thing has been done, and she is 
 now Twinkle's devoted nursery-maid. The 
 sight of her earnest, happy little face is enough 
 to make a chronic growler tear his hair. 
 
 Mrs. Neuralgia has extended her acquaintance 
 down in Cork Alley, and about Thanksgiving 
 time gets as far as Dublin-street and Backslum 
 Corner, dropping her nice cards along, in the 
 form of fat turkeys and chickens. It would 
 seem as though she had adopted the whole Ma 
 lony family. They have moved into nice sun 
 ny rooms, where it is easy to keep clean and be 
 respectable. Mary has got a sewing-machine 
 now, and she laughs a great deal more and 
 
 scolds a great deal less than she used to. There 
 3
 
 36 Stories for Leisure Hours. 
 
 is plenty of good food on the table, and warm 
 clothing on the children's backs. As for 
 Dennis Malony, he is dead and gone. Mary 
 sighs as she looks at the black ribbon on her 
 bonnet ; but her heart is easy, for Dennis was 
 only a stumbling-stone in this world, and we can 
 safely leave him in our heavenly Father's 
 keeping. 
 
 Tom and Sandy go to school now as regularly 
 as clock-work. Every morning, when they 
 pass Mrs. Neuralgia's with bright, rosy faces, 
 they stop to kiss their hands to Twinkle, who 
 is laughing in the window. Tom is at the 
 head of his class, and, I think, rather expects 
 some day to be President of the United States. 
 If such a thing ever should happen, it is pretty 
 clear in my mind that his old hen Speckle 
 would receive the appointment of Secretary of 
 State, and would grace the station, too, better 
 than some of her predecessors. She has punc 
 tually performed her duty ever since that mem 
 orable beginning made on the old refuse-barrel 
 of the Crow's mother. Had that important 
 event never occurred, it is plain to see the Crow 
 would still be the same starved, unkempt creat 
 ure she once was ; the Doctor might at this
 
 The Professional Baby. 37 
 
 moment be looking for an infant ; Mrs. Neural 
 gia, in all probability, would lie nursing her self 
 ish ailments in that close, shady room ; and our 
 dear sunshiny little Twinkle continue to play 
 the part of a professional baby.
 
 38 Stones for Leisure Hours. 
 
 MERCY DAVITS AT THE ANCHOR. 
 
 )HEE had better cut down the sign to 
 day, Jacob." 
 
 " So you aren't a-going to keep up the old 
 tavern in no shape, Miss ? " 
 
 " No ! and thee can do as I bid thee," was 
 the soft-voiced answer without amplification. 
 
 "Wai, now, how quare that seems for a 
 Davits," responded the old man, in a drawling 
 tone. " I've lived here at the Anchor, kept by 
 a Davits, from the time I was a boy jest big 
 enough to hold a gen'leman's horse, and now 
 I'm gwine on seventy, and stiff in the jints. 
 'Taint likely the country folks are going to see the 
 old tavern shet without opposition. I'm sorry 
 to be obleeged to say it, Miss, but you'll make 
 yourself onpoperler and you be dead set, too, 
 agin leasin' or sellin'. Dunk Ferguson was 
 mightily put out because you wouldn't take up 
 with his bid, and Dunk is an ugly customer
 
 Mercy Davits at the Anchor. 39 
 
 when he gets riled. In course, if you say so, I 
 must cut down the old sign, but it seems like 
 hangin' my best friend. I shall be kind o' lost 
 nights not to hear it creakin' and groanin' in 
 the wind." 
 
 " Thee wont hear it any more," responded 
 the new mistress, cutting short Jacob's long- 
 windedness with admirable brevity and her 
 own habit of coming to the point ; and then 
 the little Quakeress, with quiet energy printed 
 all over her small person, stepped again from 
 the tavern porch within doors. 
 
 It was fifty years or more ago, before the days 
 of railroads ; in fact, shortly after the last war with 
 England, known as the war of 1 8 1 2. The homely, 
 low-browed tavern, with wide-spreading button- 
 balls about the porch, had an inviting look to 
 tired travelers, who journeyed mainly on horse 
 back, or in their own conveyances. Its small 
 paned windows sparkled with cleanliness ; and 
 the numerous chimneys, some, wen-like, plastered 
 on the outside, and others rising from unexpect 
 ed places, were always smoking with a kind of 
 savory invitation to a good meal. The Anchor 
 was no low and slip-shod country inn. It had 
 won a wide reputation for comfort and good
 
 40 Stories for Leisure Hours. 
 
 cheer, and its prosperity and success were 
 handed down as a heritage from father to 
 son. 
 
 Many who had heard the fame of this old- 
 fashioned public diverged some miles from the 
 turnpike, and main traveled line, to share the 
 comfort of its excellent beds and low-ceiled 
 rooms, with their sanded floors, and heavy 
 carved furniture shining from much hand 
 polish. 
 
 A great change had come over the Anchor, 
 and greater changes still were likely to follow. 
 It had been regularly closed for three months, 
 owing to the death of the old publican, Silas 
 Davits, and for the first time in all its history 
 had fallen to a woman ; and the community, 
 who had a stake in the old Anchor, were anx 
 iously waiting to see what would follow. 
 
 Mercy Davits stepped out of the clear Sep 
 tember sunshine into the best room of the public, 
 the place which had always been reserved for 
 fine company the " quality " ladies and mili 
 tia captains, and circuit judges, and traveling 
 parsons. It was wainscoted and ceiled with 
 old oak darkened and mellowed by time ; with 
 deep window seats, great presses, and cupboards
 
 Mercy Davits at the Anchor. 41 
 
 for the best glass and china ; straight, high-back 
 ed chairs of stiff and formal patterns, and curious 
 spider-legged tables. One side was taken up 
 with a vast chimney-piece and fire-place capable 
 of receiving the largest size back-log and fore- 
 stick, and making a glowing red cheer in a 
 winter day. 
 
 Back of this extended the inn kitchen, where 
 Lois Gibbs, the one hand-maiden that Mercy 
 had retained in her service, held sway ; and far 
 ther on was the stable-yard, with its huge barns 
 and sheds, and the horse-trough in the center 
 flowing over from a perpetual spring. 
 
 Above, in the second story, a ball-room ex 
 tended the length of the house. It was the 
 best in the coifnty, with a spring floor on which 
 old Silas Davits had specially prided himself. 
 There were also ranges of bed-rooms, furnished 
 with mighty high-posters, valanced and cur 
 tained with dimity, and spread with gay patch 
 work, that displayed the endless patience of 
 Mercy's grandmothers and great aunts, and 
 women of a later date belonging to the tribe of 
 Davits. 
 
 But, curiously enough, the apartment most 
 fascinating to the new mistress was the old bar-
 
 42 Stories for Leisure Hours. 
 
 room. It was strange that she should have 
 fallen heir to such a place. A room solely 
 devoted, through long years, to men dedicated 
 to their grosser appetites had now become the 
 property of one small woman. 
 
 A smell of stale spirits lingered about the 
 place which slightly nauseated the new mistress 
 of the Anchor, for she had a natural aversion to 
 all intoxicating drinks. Still, she peered into 
 corners and cubbies, as if trying to discern the 
 charm which had drawn the old habitues to 
 this spot, which had misled and ruined so many 
 for whom her heart ached. The place should 
 be whitewashed and cleansed, the bar itself and 
 the shelves and bottle-racks taken down, and 
 split up into kindling wood. * 
 
 Further than this Mercy did not go. She 
 was waiting for that deep inward manifestation 
 of the Spirit, on which she had been taught to 
 depend for guidance. 
 
 Wherever Mercy went about the house she 
 could hear the blows of Jacob's ax as it ate its 
 way into the heart of the old sign-post. 
 
 She had stepped out on the porch again to 
 bid him split up the sign and kindle a fire 
 with it on the best room hearth, as the day had
 
 Mercy Davits at the Anchor. 43 
 
 grown suddenly cold, but stopped as she saw a 
 traveler ride up on horseback and begin to par 
 ley with the old man. In another moment he 
 was reining in his high-spirited, mettlesome 
 horse by the inn porch. 
 
 He was a good-looking man, in the prime of 
 life, with bright brown hair curling up under 
 the brim of his hat, a straight nose, a forehead 
 like ivory, a soft silk-brown beard, worn at a 
 period when beards were not so common as 
 they now are, and an eye that glowed at times 
 with peculiar splendor. There was a certain 
 vascillating, shifting expression about the lines 
 of his face hard to define, and a shadow of weari 
 ness and languor would now and then cross it 
 like a little film of cloud dropped over a bright 
 sky. He was dressed in the fashion of the day, 
 top boots and cape coat, and was powerfully 
 and gracefully built. 
 
 "The new mistress, I presume," he said. 
 slightly lifting his hat. "I am sorry to see 
 yonder old sign come down," he added, in the 
 tone of an impatient man who is easily moved 
 to a certain depth. " It seems needless to incom 
 mode the public by shutting a place that has 
 become a sort of land-mark to the whole country
 
 44 Stories for Leisure Hours. 
 
 side. And now I suppose neither love nor 
 money will purchase accommodation here for 
 man and beast." 
 
 " Not if thee expects to be entertained as at 
 an inn," said Mercy, firmly but mildly. " This 
 place will no longer be kept open to the pub 
 lic, but I scarce shall deny any weary person 
 the privilege of rest." 
 
 " Cold comfort that," returned the stranger, 
 " for one who has been in the habit of taking 
 his ease at his inn, as I have here at the old 
 Anchor for the last dozen years, and my nag is 
 so well used to stopping at this door whip 
 and spur would not suffice to get him past. To 
 speak the truth, I am myself as dry as a 
 contribution box. I've lost my reckoning, the 
 world seems turned topsy-turvy. I knew the 
 old Anchor had changed hands, and there was 
 a rumor of its falling to a woman, a granddaugh 
 ter of old Silas Davits. The old man's sons all 
 drank themselves to death, and more's the pity. 
 They were the freest, best-hearted fellows to 
 be met, but all a little weak in the head. Not 
 one of them could keep his legs after the third 
 bottle. I've made many a night of it with poor 
 Will and Jerry and Stephen ; but they are all
 
 Mercy Davits at the Anchor. 45 
 
 gone, and the old man went off in the tremens 
 at last, tough as he was." 
 
 These last sentences he had uttered more to 
 himself than to his listener, and looking up now 
 with a softened expression, he added, " Pardon 
 me ; this may be painful to you." 
 
 " I felt great concern for the state of my kin 
 dred," said Mercy, " though I saw them not in 
 my youth, and gained all I knew from hearsay. 
 My honored father was Hosea Davits, son of 
 Silas, who separated himself from his people, 
 and went out from among them." 
 
 " I well remember," said the Stranger ; " he 
 was the only pious Davits ever heard of. This 
 tavern has been kept by a Davits for many gen- 
 rations, and they have all been more famous for 
 deep drinking than for much praying." 
 
 " Out of thy own mouth I find a reason for 
 shutting this place," returned Mercy. " I am 
 sorry to balk honest travelers, and where there 
 is pressing need I will not deny them food and 
 shelter ; but it is borne in upon my mind that 
 I must not permit the sale of liquor here, where 
 it has wrought much misery to many of my 
 own name." 
 
 " A woman's crotchet," responded the other.
 
 46 Stories for Leisure Hours. 
 
 " Thee forgets," returned Mercy gravely, " not 
 my will, but God's will." 
 
 " Well," said the stranger, " I think the whole 
 country-side will rise and mutiny against your 
 resolve to shut the Anchor, for where will the 
 Circuit Courts be held, where will the coroner 
 and his twelve men sit, where will the young 
 folks come for junkets, and the old folks to hear 
 the news and spin yarns ? " 
 
 " I cannot tell thee, friend. I only know I 
 must bear my testimony against the traffic of 
 spirits, that much sin and crime may be done 
 away." 
 
 " Don't speak so spitefully against good, honest 
 drink," cried the other. " Many a glorious bout I 
 have had in yonder room. You never have heard 
 of me, I dare say ; but I am Miles Corry, of the 
 Pines; and it would indeed be a great accom 
 modation to me and my beast if you would 
 allow us to remain for the night." 
 
 "Thee is welcome to stay," returned Mercy, 
 " if thee can content thyself with plain fare. If 
 thee wishes thee can sit in the bar-room where 
 those aforesaid glorious bouts were held." 
 
 " Come, come," said the other gayly as he 
 swung himself off his horse, " you would bring
 
 Mercy Davits at the Anchor.. 47 
 
 me to repentance by leaving me alone to think 
 over my sins. You would like to make a con 
 vert of such a reckless fellow as I am I'll be 
 bound. Perhaps you yet hope to see me in 
 a broad brim and a long-tailed drab." 
 
 " Thee may not be as reckless as thee would 
 have it appear. There are those who put on an 
 air of impiety to cover an aching heart. I do 
 not think thee a blasphemer, or naturally a wine- 
 bibber ; but thee might use a round oath, or 
 drink much too deep to seem as bad as thy 
 company." 
 
 Miles colored and began to laugh, then 
 checked himself and gave the little, quirt, drab 
 figure before him a sharp look. " Shrewd, and 
 wonderfully observing," he thought to himself. 
 
 Old Jacob had taken his horse away, and the 
 guest, with his hands in his pockets, was stroll 
 ing about the empty bar-room and whistling to 
 keep his courage up. A restless, fidgety man 
 like Miles Corry was not likely to stay long in 
 such a place content with the companionship 
 of his own thoughts. Before many minutes had 
 passed he crossed the entry, and tapped lightly 
 at the best room door. 
 
 " Come in," was the answer, and, opening the
 
 48 Stones for Leisure Hours. 
 
 door, he found Mercy on her knees blowing 
 away at some kindling sticks in the deep fire 
 place. 
 
 " I thought, Miss Davits, you could not deny 
 me a little of your company. I am but the worst 
 possible comrade for myself at any time, and 
 that other room is as dreary as a burying-ground 
 on a dark night, full of ghosts and grave 
 stones." 
 
 " Thee may enter," was the reply, " but I 
 would choose that thee call me Mercy, and I 
 will call thee Miles, after the custom of my 
 own people." 
 
 " I don't object in the least," said Miles, ad 
 vancing into the room in his frank, easy, famil 
 iar way, and seating himself in a cushioned 
 chair. " Mercy is a pretty name, but I fear it's 
 small mercy you would show me if you had me 
 in your power. You would cut off my bitters, 
 and take away my toddy, and abolish all the 
 beverages in between, that a dry and thirsty- 
 soul craves. You would frown upon my pet 
 follies and foibles, and clip, and shear, and prune 
 me until I should not know my own face in the 
 glass." 
 
 " Godliness is great gain," said Mercy, with-
 
 Mercy Davits at the Anchor. 49 
 
 out any intimation of a smile in her eyes ; in 
 fact, she was deficient in the sense of humor, 
 "but I would not have thee put on the outward 
 semblance without the inward and renewing 
 spirit, and that thee cannot get without loving 
 something far better than thyself without put 
 ting thyself under the guidance of duty." 
 
 " Duty go hang," laughed Miles. " I have 
 always chosen to do what was agreeable to my 
 self. My fond, doting mother gave me my way 
 when I was a boy, and I have managed to get 
 it ever since. There," he added, "is the old 
 sign crackling in the flames. I can partly make 
 out the faded anchor. They dance about as if 
 they had a sinner in their clutches. I dare 
 say that is the fate to which you would consign 
 us poor worldlings." 
 
 " Thee should not misjudge me," said Mercy 
 gravely. " I am in no way eager to thrust any 
 human creature into the fire. And, perchance, 
 it means only the undying heat and stress of 
 remorse, that burns forever without consuming ; 
 neither am I so strait-laced by my creed as thee 
 may suppose. Though I love the Friends' 
 garb and plain language, still do I feel there 
 may be those who attend steeple-houses, and
 
 50 Stones for Leisure Hours. 
 
 dress in the guise of world's people, who strive 
 after the higher life through a meek and quiet 
 spirit. I will own unto thee that I cannot re 
 gard psalmody as some of my brethren do. 
 There are times when I feel I must break forth 
 into singing to give vent to the praise that 
 rises in my soul like a fountain of living 
 waters." 
 
 Miles, as he stirred the fire with a pair of 
 tongs, looked furtively at Mercy, as if he had at 
 last found what he had long been seeking, a 
 new type of woman. 
 
 " I do not doubt your sincerity," he said, with 
 involuntary respect, "but it's confoundedly in 
 convenient to have the old Anchor closed just 
 now. I meant to make it my head-quarters in 
 the coming canvass, and on election day to 
 broach a cask of liquor on the green, and invite 
 my friends and constituents to make themselves 
 gloriously happy at my expense. You must 
 know I am up for member of the next Congress. 
 I bear a name much honored about here, for my 
 father was a staunch man in Revolutionary days. 
 For myself, I have not done any thing as yet 
 but enjoy life. It has seemed so easy to do fine 
 things I have hardly thought it worth while to
 
 Mercy Davits at the Anchor. 5 1 
 
 try. But now my friends are bent on my making 
 a figure in public life. The women compli 
 ment me specially with their patronage, but I 
 never need look for flattery from you, Mistress 
 Mercy." 
 
 "I should say," returned Mercy, studying 
 him a moment, with her calm, steady eyes, 
 "that thee is comely, with many gifts to win 
 favors, but thee knows these things too well." 
 
 " And you are very plain of speech," returned 
 Miles, slightly flushing. 
 
 " I could not tell thee a lie," returned Mercy, 
 "and perhaps thee has not heard the truth 
 spoken often enough for thy good. I would 
 caution thee against supposing that obstinacy 
 and a perverse will have caused me to close this 
 place. Before I was brought to testify against 
 the use of strong drink my heart was drawn to 
 an inward stillness. Intoxication is the curse 
 of this neighborhood. Every-where it is an 
 open practice. The preacher, whose duty it is 
 to warn and guide his flock, has liquors set out 
 upon his sideboard, and offers them freely to all 
 comers. So does Squire Wentworth, who lives 
 in yonder stone mansion, and is counted a lamp 
 and light in Israel. I would they might be
 
 52 Stories for Leisure Hours. 
 
 pricked in the conscience, and made to see the 
 error of their ways." 
 
 " I do not bother my head about the parson's 
 shortcomings or the Squire's backslidings," 
 said Miles carelessly ; " but if you were to speak 
 of the Squire's youngest daughter, Leah, that 
 would be a different matter." 
 
 " Neighbor Leah Wentworth is known to 
 me," returned Mercy. 
 
 " She is not a bad wench," Miles resumed. 
 " She has a well-turned ancle, and a bright eye ; 
 and, even at the risk of strengthening your 
 opinion of my conceit, I will tell you what 
 every body knows already, that Leah is fond of 
 me. I do not say but what I have given the 
 girl some cause, but it's a perplexing business 
 to know how to manage the women when you 
 are so unfortunate as to be a general favorite. 
 A good-natured man is apt to say more than he 
 means, and to raise false hopes. There are 
 times when little Leah wearies me, and I do not 
 care a copper ha'penny for her, and other times 
 she amuses me well enough. They say a de 
 termined woman can always marry the one she 
 lays herself out to get, and perhaps Leah will 
 be my fate after all. There is something posi-
 
 Mercy Davits at the Anchor. 53 
 
 tively frightful in the way an easy man like 
 myself is subject to the other sex." 
 
 There was much in Mercy's face that remained 
 unuttered, for just then a hand tapped the door. 
 It was Lois Gibbs bringing in tea. Lois was 
 a substantial, springless woman, who set her 
 foot down very flat and toed in. She had the 
 mouth and chin of a great talker, a persistent 
 habit of putting in her oar, which Mercy was 
 trying to curb, and an expression which denoted 
 general and entire satisfaction with herself, and 
 great immovableness of opinion. 
 
 " O, Mr. Cony," said she, setting down the 
 tray, and dropping two or three " kerchies " in 
 succession, " it's good for sore eyes to see you 
 here once more. But times is changed, sir, sad 
 ly since the old boss died, and you used to be 
 coming here to see Master Will and Master 
 Steve, calling for your bottle free and hearty, 
 like any gentleman should, and chucking the 
 maids under the chin. And there was the old 
 master always a bawling to the stable-boys, 
 and coming to the kitchen to hurry up meals. 
 There was plenty of noise and confusement then, 
 sir, and a deal of fine company. You've got a 
 beautiful stiddy head, sir. It's something to be
 
 54 Stories for Leisure Hours. 
 
 proud on. I've seen you walk as straight as an 
 arrer when most of the others was lying under 
 the table. Them were glorious times, sir ; but 
 then things began to change. Master Will he 
 went first, and his poor little foolish wife, she 
 that was Abby Sprague, mourned herself to death 
 up in the north-east chamber. Many a time, 
 when I'd cook her a dainty to coax her poor 
 appertite, she'd say, 'I couldn't eat a crumb, 
 Lois, to save my life ; there's a great load on my 
 heart.' " 
 
 Lois came to a period for want of breath. 
 
 " Yes," said Miles, " the old days are past 
 and gone, but I'll be bound your new mistress 
 will treat you well." 
 
 " I've no fault to find, sir, but I've been used 
 to excitement and having things lively, and it's 
 hard to put up with a dull life, and nobody but 
 old Jacob snoring in the chimney-corner of 
 an evening." 
 
 Mercy gave her handmaiden a look which 
 she must have understood, for the stream of 
 loquacity suddenly dried up, and Miss Gibbs 
 went out of the room. 
 
 The still fire was eating its way into the 
 heart of the well-seasoned wood, and casting
 
 Mercy Davits at the Anchor. 55 
 
 long inquisitive beams into deep corners ; there 
 were wax candles burning on the mantle-piece, 
 and a little polished table stood between Miles 
 and Mercy that reflected the steamy, fragrant 
 silver tea-pot, and the best company china, set 
 out with a very nice and dainty array of Lois's 
 cookery. As she poured the tea Miles bethought 
 him to make a close and critical study of his 
 companion's face. There was a very pretty 
 light thrown upon it. It was comely and well 
 colored, with a pure skin, finely penciled eye 
 brows, a forehead squared a little by decision 
 and character, a gray eye, soft, yet penetrating, 
 a firm chin, a mouth red and well curved, and 
 by no means unkissable. The thick wavy tresses 
 of hair were drawn under a muslin cap of the 
 plainest pattern, and kerchief of the same was 
 folded across her bosom. 
 
 " You are younger than I thought," said 
 Miles, who had at last separated Mercy from 
 her demure costume and strange language. 
 
 " I am twenty six, if thee wishes to know," 
 replied Mercy. 
 
 "And here I have been talking as if you 
 were the age of my grandmother." 
 
 " It is best thee should always think qf mg as
 
 56 Stories for Leisure Hours. 
 
 an elderly woman, for I have no taste for vain 
 and idle converse." 
 
 " I shall always be obliged to tell you the 
 truth," said Miles, " however much it may 
 damage me in your eyes." And then Miles be 
 thought himself that it would be very interest 
 ing to probe a little way beneath the Quaker 
 drab and set speech and find out what live emo 
 tions of womanhood inhabited his companion's 
 breast. He was prepared to begin the investiga 
 tion when the light from a lantern flashed past 
 the pane. 
 
 " There now is my neighbor, Leah, come 
 with her father's old black serving man to pass 
 the evening." 
 
 " I though I caught a glimpse of Leah's face 
 at the window as I rode by the Squire's," said 
 Miles, with a shade of annoyance in his tone. 
 
 In another moment the visitor was in the 
 room. She was too demonstrative perhaps to 
 please Mercy, who freed herself as soon as she 
 could from the girl's embrace. Then there was 
 a little feigned surprise at finding Miles there, 
 which Mercy in her straightforwardness and 
 simplicity did not approve. 
 
 Leah had a pretty, round form, of whose
 
 Mercy Davits at the Anchor. 57 
 
 charms her scant, short-waisted brocade gown, 
 in the fashion of the day, was perhaps some 
 what too liberal. Her light hair had a trick of 
 slipping out of the comb just at the right mo 
 ment, and adding to the picturesqueness of her 
 appearance by its billowy, wave-like masses. 
 Her complexion was by no means perfect, nor 
 were her teeth altogether regular. Her nose 
 elevated itself slightly ; but she had a pair of 
 fine eyes, which she rolled up and used with ad 
 mirable effect while making her sentimental lit 
 tle speeches. 
 
 " I came over to sit with you an hour, Mercy," 
 said Leah, seating herself on a cricket by the 
 fire, and pulling from her pocket a little scarlet 
 purse which she was knitting. " I thought you 
 might be lonely in this great, empty place, and 
 would welcome even such poor company as 
 mine, and here I find an old friend already be 
 fore me." 
 
 " She was loth enough to take me in," said 
 Miles, extending his feet lazily toward the heat, 
 " but now I have gained a foothold I shall be 
 apt to pester her pretty often." 
 
 " No wonder this old haunt has such charms 
 for you still," responded Leah, with a slight
 
 58 Stories for Leisure Hours. 
 
 lisp. "I always knew your attachments were 
 ardent." 
 
 " Nonsense ! " returned Miles, who loved to 
 tease her. "I am as fickle as the wind, or a 
 bee among clover. A pretty face never pleases 
 me long. I am always ready to sip the dew 
 from a fresh flower." 
 
 " Don't believe a word he says ! " cried Leah, 
 in a little characteristic outburst. " He has a 
 good heart, take my word for it." 
 
 The deep red glow from the fire was shining 
 on Mercy's quiet face and demure drab. The 
 contrast could hardly have been greater than it 
 was between her and Leah in her flowered bro 
 cade her hair already down, and all the color 
 about her coming to a focus in the bit of scarlet 
 in her lap. Mercy was knitting a gray stock 
 ing, and as she turned the needle she said : " I 
 dare believe Miles Corry is better and worse 
 than he would make himself out." 
 
 " You need not expect her to flatter me," said 
 Miles, who dearly loved to hear himself talked 
 about, and to play off one woman against 
 another. " She will tell me more plain home 
 truths in an hour than I should hear in forty 
 sermons ; and I do believe if I should get down
 
 Mercy Davits at the Anchor. 59 
 
 on my knees to her, and beg for a glass of hot 
 toddy, she would not feel even a twinge of pity 
 for the infirmities of the flesh." 
 
 "Thee knows I have made a rule," was all 
 Mercy said as she turned a needle. 
 
 " But you will break your rule this time ? " 
 coaxed Leah, getting hold of one of Mercy's 
 hands. " What can there be so bad in a glass 
 of bitters ? My father takes his night and 
 morning, and he is held in much estimation for 
 piety." 
 
 " Thy father orders his house to suit himself," 
 returned Mercy gently, "and so do I mine. 
 There is One only to whom I must give an ac 
 count of my stewardship. But were I ever so 
 much disposed to give Miles the liquor, it is out 
 of my power. There is not a drop of spirits in 
 the house." 
 
 " Not a drop ? " Miles repeated in astonish 
 ment. "To my certain knowledge there are, 
 in the cellar, shelves filled with dusty, cob- 
 webbed bottles worth their weight in gold, and 
 great casks of wine that have never been 
 broached." 
 
 " I have emptied every drop of their con 
 tents," replied Mercy, without a shade of emo-
 
 60 Stories for Leisure Hours. 
 
 tion ; " and thee must know that the poison 
 spilled upon the ground will never burn the 
 stomach or craze the brain of any human 
 being." 
 
 " O, sacrilege ! " groaned Miles. " To think 
 of all that noble liquor wasted ! That priceless 
 stuff that has been ripening and mellowing, 
 gathering tone and color for years, thrown 
 away ! I wonder old Silas Davits, who stored 
 it and prized it as the apple of his eye, did not 
 groan in his coffin ! But, speaking seriously, 
 I fear this rash act will give you trouble. Dunk 
 Ferguson, I understand, is very angry because 
 you refused to lease him the place. He is a 
 kind of leader among the desperate, rough 
 characters, of whom there are many in this 
 neighborhood, and if he should bring them 
 here some day in a half-intoxicated state, there 
 is no telling what the devil might tempt him 
 to do." 
 
 " But what harm could he devise ? " inquired 
 Mercy, looking up. 
 
 " He could burn the old tavern over your head, 
 and he would not scruple if his blood was up." 
 
 " I shall go forward in the way the Lord has 
 appointed," was Mercy's answer.
 
 Mercy Davits at the Anchor. 61 
 
 "And do you think a miracle will be per 
 formed on purpose to aid you ? " 
 
 "I know not," the reply came, after a mo 
 ment's pause. "I see the path of duty plain 
 before me. What the consequences to myself 
 may be I cannot stop to consider." 
 
 They all sat silent for a time, and then Leah 
 rose to go home, and Miles offered to accom 
 pany her. Mercy stepped into the kitchen to 
 light her lantern. 
 
 " She's a stiff old maid, isn't she ? " whispered 
 Leah. 
 
 "Not so much older than yourself; and were 
 it not for her Quaker cut she would be a hand 
 some little woman." 
 
 Leah turned her back and began to pout, but 
 Miles managed to dispel the jealous fit by steal 
 ing a kiss. The way to Squire Wentworth's 
 was not long. Miles was absent an hour or 
 more, and before he returned Mercy had disap 
 peared. The next morning Lois gave him an 
 early breakfast, and he rode away without see 
 ing the mistress of the Anchor. 
 
 A fortnight passed away peacefully enough. 
 The first hard frost had come to sear the fields ; 
 the October tang was in the air, and the woods
 
 62 Stories for Leisure Hours. 
 
 flushed with many colors. Old Jacob came 
 haltingly into the presence of Mercy. The 
 cold snap had given a tightening screw to all 
 his joints. 
 
 " I thought I ought to let you know this is 
 muster day," whined he. " The train-bands 
 will be out with flying colors, and all the rag, 
 tag, and bobtail at their heels. The old master 
 always expected a big carouse on trainin' day. 
 Dunk Ferguson may come here and threaten 
 wiolence unless liquor is brought out. Now, 
 hadn't I better get down the old shot-gun from 
 the garret, overhaul it, and put in a primin' ? 
 It's the same trusty arm that one of the fight 
 ing Davits, long ago, tuk intu the Revolution. 
 It kicks pretty bad, and misses fire nine times 
 out of ten ; but it might scare some o' them 
 scalliwags to see it pinted out of the window." 
 
 "God forbid," said Mercy, "that I should 
 meet violence with violence. Does not the 
 good Book bid thee bless them that curse thee, 
 and do good to them that despitefully use thee, 
 and if any man smite thee on the right cheek 
 to turn to him the left also ? " 
 
 " Dunno," said Jacob, scratching his head, 
 " I'm no great Bible scollard. I could tell you
 
 Mercy Davits at the Anchor. 63 
 
 more about the pints of a horse. But I favor 
 old Leviathan law, an eye for an eye and a tooth 
 for a tooth. If any man should whack me on 
 the cheek, I'd be pretty apt to whack him on 
 the jowl." 
 
 The morning hours slipped quietly by, and 
 the short autumn day was drawing to a close, 
 when Lois and Jacob rushed in with frightened 
 faces to announce that the roysters were com 
 ing down the road as tipsy as loons. 
 
 " They've half fuddled themselves at Poole's 
 on the Pike," explained old Jacob, in a nervous 
 tremor, " and now they're calling for drink here, 
 like so many dry devils." 
 
 " Go and tell them," Mercy's low voice was 
 scarcely raised at all, though her face was a 
 shade paler, " to get quietly away from here or 
 they will suffer the penalty of the law." . 
 
 " There aint no law they're afeard of," whined 
 the old man. " Dunk rides rough-shod over 
 the Justice when he's in liquor, and he likes a 
 drop too well himself to fine him over a few shil 
 lings. They hate a Quaker like pison. Nothing 
 but the old shootin' iron would do a mite o' 
 good." 
 
 " I bid thee go and command them in my
 
 64 Stories for Leisure Hours. 
 
 name to leave this place, and not to break the 
 peace." 
 
 Jacob must needs obey, though he quaked in 
 every limb ; and the mistress of the Anchor, by 
 a supreme effort of will, stayed where she was, 
 within doors. It seemed as though her heart 
 stopped beating as she strained her sense of 
 hearing to catch the sounds from without. 
 
 Then came the tramping of feet, a burst of 
 wild singing, and afterward jeers, and hoots, and 
 drunken curses, as Jacob attempted to speak. 
 The clamor grew into an uproar, above it were 
 shrieks of the old serving-man. In an instant 
 Mercy had darted through the hall, up the stairs, 
 and out upon a balcony that projected from the 
 second story window. Below her was a rabble 
 of lewd fellows in every stage of intoxication. 
 Some of the lads, mere boys, were decked in 
 cock's feathers and paper epaulets. Dunk 
 Ferguson carried a cudgel, and was flourishing 
 it about old Jacob's ears, choking the old man, 
 who hung down white and limp by his neck- 
 handkerchief. 
 
 Dunk was powerfully built, with a fiery face, 
 heavy jaw, straight black hair, and a very rest 
 less evil eye.
 
 Mercy Davits at the Anchor. 65 
 
 The moment Mercy stepped forward on the 
 balcony, and lifted her hand to speak, a yell 
 went up from the reeling crowd that effectually 
 drowned her voice. 
 
 "We'll stop your mouth, you canting Quaker," 
 cried Dunk with an oath and the action of a 
 fiend, and instantly sticks, stones, brick-bats, 
 old bottles, any thing and every thing the gang 
 had armed themselves with or could pick up 
 from the road, began to fly through the air. 
 The glass of some of the windows was shivered 
 to atoms. 
 
 In the midst of this demoniac din, all aimed 
 and directed at herself, stood Mercy, with her 
 hand uplifted as if turned to stone. The mis 
 siles flew mostly wide of the mark, owing to 
 the extreme tipsiness of the assailants, else her 
 danger would have been imminent. 
 
 Dunk Ferguson had just proposed to batter 
 down the door and open the cellars in search 
 of liquor, and to see whether the Quaker woman 
 had lied, when Mercy, as in a nightmare, saw a 
 figure spurring along the road, plunging his 
 rowels deep in the sides of his foaming beast. 
 Instantly, like a flash of light, Miles Corry was 
 in the midst of the rabble. She saw the butt
 
 66 Stories for Leistire Hours. 
 
 end of his heavy riding whip descend with light 
 ning speed about the head and face of Dunk 
 Ferguson. Once, twice, three times it came 
 down, and then there was a great, ugly gash, 
 and the man's dark cheek was streaming with 
 blood. 
 
 Mercy was sick with horror, but she saw and 
 heard all. Dunk, down on his knees, was shak 
 ing his fist in the air. 
 
 " I'll take my revenge out of your flesh and 
 blood, Miles Corry. I'll take i.t out of your 
 heart." 
 
 " You whelp, you cur, you mean, dastardly 
 sneak," cried Miles, pale to the very lips, " to 
 dare come here and attack a defenseless woman. 
 I'll see you grinning through the bars of a cage 
 before many days are over." 
 
 Dunk, faint from loss of blood, fell over upon 
 his side, and some of his companions, who could 
 walk with a degree of steadiness, hurried him 
 away down the road. The place was cleared 
 of the rioters in less than five minutes. One 
 straggler, a ragged, hatiess fellow, had fallen 
 down under a tree, and was left behind. 
 
 Mercy had gone down into the road, and 
 Miles, who had followed the retreating rabble
 
 Mercy Davits at the Anchor. 67 
 
 but a few paces, turned eagerly back to inquire 
 if she had escaped without hurt. 
 
 " I have not a scratch upon me," she replied 
 in a faltering voice, reaching him her hand, and 
 pressing his gratefully. " In the good providence 
 of God I owe my safety to thee. This day's 
 work has wrought a bond between us I shall 
 never forget. It has made me thy friend 
 through evil report and through good report. 
 Though I deplore the shedding of blood, I can 
 but deem it noble in thee to so venture for my 
 sake." 
 
 " Pooh," said Miles lightly, more affected by 
 her look and tone than he was willing to show. 
 " It was nothing. I thought no more of it than 
 scattering a herd of swine." 
 
 " Now thee sees the evils of strong drink, as 
 I do, thee has, perchance, come over to the help 
 of the Lord against the mighty." 
 
 "No, nothing so fine and grand as that," 
 returned Miles, smiling languidly. " I would 
 strike a hard blow to defend a woman when I 
 would not lift my finger from what you term 
 principle, or even to serve myself. But you will 
 let me rest an hour with you here at the Anchor, 
 
 and give me a cup of tea and a bite of some- 
 5
 
 68 Stories for Leisure Hours, 
 
 thing to eat, for, to tell you the truth, I am dog 
 tired and half famished." 
 
 Lois Gibbs, during the assault, had stationed 
 herself in a window and uttered a succession 
 of screeches, as if a pin were being driven into 
 her side at regular intervals. She was now 
 back among her pots and pans, and old Jacob 
 had crept out of the stable, where he had hidden 
 himself, with his hair full of straw. 
 
 " I thought I was dead as a nit," he sniffled 
 in a piteious tone. 
 
 " Dead man !" said Miles, " you haven't a 
 scratch about you." 
 
 " The breath was all choked out of me, and 
 I sha'n't get my wind again for many a day." 
 
 " You retained the use of your legs wonder 
 fully well, and your old back should smart for 
 running away and leaving your mistress to face 
 those fiends alone." 
 
 " It was my head," returned Jacob ; " I was 
 quite dazed, and when I come to I found my 
 self in the barn under old Dobbin's heels." 
 
 " Well, bestir thee now," said Mercy ; " I want 
 thee to fetch me in that man by the road side 
 yonder and put him to bed." 
 
 Jacob stared at her with open mouth.
 
 Mercy Davits at the Anchor. 69 
 
 " What, that coot, Tim Sackett, the greatest 
 sneak-thief and vagabones in all the country ? 
 Put him into one of the beds at the Anchor ? 
 Why he deserted, and come near dangling from 
 the end of a rope in the war. He's never sober 
 three days together, and many a time I've seen 
 the old master thrust him out in the cold when 
 he had no money to pay his score, and his wife, 
 too, for that matter. She used to come, crying 
 and complaining that the children starved at 
 home, because Tim spent all his wages and her 
 own here at the Anchor." 
 
 " Then am I more bound to give him shelter," 
 said Mercy, " if he was tempted here, and led 
 into evil habits that stole away his manhood." 
 
 " I didn't think of it in that there light," 
 returned Jacob, scratching his head. " I can 
 remember when Tim Sackett was a likely young 
 man, with as fair chances as any body, till he 
 took to carousing round the tavern here. But 
 he's a bad egg now, not decent to sight or smell, 
 and if I was you I'd let him lie in the stable." 
 
 "Do as I bid thee, and bring him in," was 
 Mercy's reply. 
 
 Miles Corry had still some distance to ride 
 that night before he slept. As he was mount-
 
 70 Stories for J eisure Hours. 
 
 ing by the light of a candle which Mercy, stand 
 ing on the porch, held and screened from the 
 wind with her hand, she said to him in an anx 
 ious tone. 
 
 " I tremble, Miles, at the risk thee runs from 
 that bad man." 
 
 Miles's face was in shadow. Stooping over 
 the saddle-bow, he took Mercy's hand and 
 pressed it tenderly. 
 
 " Never fear for me. I have given the scamp 
 a quietus for the present, and before he gets 
 lively again about Satan's business I mean to 
 bestir myself to have him imprisoned for a term 
 of years." 
 
 Mercy stopped a moment to listen to the 
 clatter of Miles Corry's horse's hoofs down the 
 dark road. As she was turning in again, where 
 the fire-light shone through the bedroom win 
 dows, she caught sight of a figure crouching in 
 the deep shade of the porch, and partly screened 
 by the trunk of a large tree. 
 
 " Who is lurking there ? " she called, startled 
 by the remembrance of the possibility that 
 some of Dunk's men might come back to fire 
 the house, or work other mischief. She was 
 answered by the .feeble wail of a sick child, and
 
 Mercy Davits at the Anchor. 71 
 
 a woman's form crept nearer the little dim circle 
 of light made by his candle a crouching, dead- 
 white looking woman, with a tattered shawl 
 about her shoulders in which a baby was 
 wrapped, while a wild-eyed, bare-footed little 
 boy clung to her skirts. 
 
 "O, marm," moaned the woman, crouching 
 still lower, " I'm not hiding round here to do 
 you any mischief. I was forced to come out 
 with these little ones, leaving the two oldest at 
 home to look for my man, Tim Sackett. May 
 be you've seen him hereabouts. He's quite 
 lost when in drink, and might wander here un 
 beknown, for his feet would take the way to 
 the tavern of themselves. This little one in my 
 arms is bad in the head, and the boy is croupy. 
 I couldn't leave them behind, and I couldn't 
 stay at home. If Tim is off on a spree I'm like 
 a crazy creeter in a cage. I've been druv out 
 to look for him in the snow and in the rain, in 
 the heat and in the cold. I've been afeard I 
 should come across his dead face starin' up at 
 me from the ditch, and I couldn't be held with 
 an iron chain. He never spoke a harsh word 
 when he wern't in liquor, marm. He feels so 
 sorry for what he's done, he takes to drink agin
 
 72 Stories for Leisure Hours. 
 
 to drown the thoughts of where he's brought 
 me and the children down to. There's the old 
 est boy and girl home now without a morsel to 
 eat, or a bit of fire or candle-light, and they 
 too little to sense much. They sob themselves 
 to sleep in the dark. O you feel as if your 
 heart was cut in two with a sharp knife when 
 your man is lost, and you must go seek him, 
 leaving the children to cry at home." f 
 
 "Thee has, indeed, told a piteous story," 
 said Mercy, wiping a little trickling tear from 
 her cheek ; " I am glad to tell thee thy husband 
 is here, I have had him cared for, and thee need 
 go no further to-night. Take thy children to 
 the kitchen and dry thee by the fire, and get a 
 taste of hot supper and what thee needs for the 
 little ones." 
 
 " Are you an angel ? " asked the woman, 
 looking up wonderingly into Mercy's face as 
 the light of the candle flickered over her white 
 cap and pure cheek. 
 
 " Nay," said Mercy, " a poor, weak, erring 
 mortal like thyself, and doubtless far less than 
 thee ; for, like the woman of Scripture, thee 
 has loved much." 
 
 Tim Sackett's wife, looking more cowed and
 
 Mercy Davits at the Anchor. 73 
 
 dead-white than before, was seated before the 
 generous blaze of the kitchen hearth drying her 
 garments, soaked with the night dew. Mercy 
 had taken the rickety baby from its mother's 
 arms, and the little spindling boy, with his bare, 
 brown feet, and great hungry eyes, was watch 
 ing and smelling the processes of frying and 
 short-cake baking with infinite satisfaction. 
 
 Lois went about banging the kitchen utensils, 
 and violently opening and shutting doors her 
 favorite mode of showing disapproval of the 
 higher powers. 
 
 " I can't and wont stand it," she exploded, 
 raiding out on the shed whither Jacob had re 
 tired to smoke his clay pipe in peace. " It was 
 too much for flesh and blood to bear \i hen Tim 
 Sackett was put between clean sheets, them I 
 bleached in June grass with my own hands, 
 and now the rest of these lousy, vagrom Sacketts 
 is brought in for me to cook for. I'll clear the 
 coop agin' morning comes." 
 
 " No, you wont," returned Jacob calmly. 
 " The new mistress is a quare un', that's cer 
 tain, and you will have to bile over like the tea- 
 kittle about once in so often ; but you aint go 
 ing to quit this place on that account any more
 
 74 Stories for Leisure Hours. 
 
 than the tea-kittle is going to quit the fire. 
 The place is too easy, and the pay is too reg'lar 
 and, as I've often justly remarked, there's too 
 many requisites." 
 
 Before many days it was pretty well known, 
 much to the astonishment of the neighbors, 
 that Mercy Davits had taken in the whole 
 Sackett family had not only fed and clothed 
 the wretched wife and half-starved children, 
 but had actually undertaken to give Tim, who 
 was very contrite and penitent, a chance to re 
 form. The rear part of the old tavern stand 
 was made into a habitation for the family. 
 Mercy had inherited along with the house a 
 farm of some extent ; she proposed to furnish 
 Tim employment, in cutting wood and tending 
 cattle, sufficient to keep those dependent on him 
 and save him from temptation. 
 
 The scheme seemed so wild and impractica 
 ble that Miles Corry, who was spurring about 
 the country these bright autumn days on 
 electioneering business, and in efforts to bring 
 Dunk Ferguson to justice, called to expostulate. 
 
 " I tell you," said he, striding about the best 
 room and switching his top boots with his rid 
 ing whip, " Tim Sackett's stomach is burnt to
 
 Mercy Davits at the Anchor. 75 
 
 a cinder ; he will rob and cheat you, no doubt, 
 and then return to wallow in the mire." 
 
 " I will have patience," returned Mercy. 
 " Thee knows that faith can move mountains. 
 But it moves them, I take it, an inch at a time. 
 I will be content with small results. Would it 
 not be enough to save one child from a life of 
 misery, and here are four little ones gathered 
 under my wing." 
 
 " A woman like you," said Miles, glancing at 
 her furtively, " must waste herself in some di 
 rection or other. If she does not throw herself 
 away on a worthless man, she will do it on 
 beggars and lazy good-for-naughts. It appears 
 to me she is wiser to offer the sweet sacrifice 
 of her devotion to some cleaner and more re 
 spectable member of my own sex than Tim 
 Sackett" 
 
 A slight blush rose to Mercy's cheek as she 
 said in a low voice, 
 
 " Thee should remember I strive to follow the 
 leadings of the Spirit." 
 
 Though Miles exerted himself in the matter, 
 Dunk Ferguson was not brought to trial before 
 election day. Ruling by rum, he made himself 
 felt and feared ; and at that time the machinery
 
 76 Stories for Leisure Hours. 
 
 of justice was slow in getting into operation. 
 Although Dunk was still at large he was under 
 a cloud, and dared not present himself at the 
 polls, held three miles away at Poole's, on the 
 Pike. The result was Miles Corry triumphed. 
 There was no actual breaking of heads on the 
 occasion, but much rough roystering and horse 
 play, and a deal of hard drinking, in which the 
 successful candidate freely participated. 
 
 It was late on the same afternoon. The sun 
 had set, and a still glow pulsed up the sky, 
 and gleamed like an inlet to Paradise between 
 the spectral tree stems of the little wood where 
 Mercy Davits was walking. She had gone on 
 a visit to a sick neighbor, and, belated, was 
 hurrying home the nearest way across the fields. 
 Her light step and scant skirt scarce rustled the 
 fallen leaves. She had almost reached the road, 
 which was itself solitary and deeply shaded, 
 when the sound of familiar voices struck her ear. 
 It was easy to peer through one of many open 
 ings in the bare boughs at the path beneath. 
 Miles Corry had dismounted, and was leading his 
 horse with the bridle thrown over one arm, 
 while the other encircled Leah Wentworth's 
 waist. His rich dress was slightly disordered.
 
 Mercy Davits at the Anchor. 77 
 
 His handsome face was flushed with wine, the 
 breath came hot through his lips, and his eyes 
 glittered with excitement. Leah's scarlet hood 
 had slipped back from her bright hair, and she 
 was gazing up into his face. 
 
 "O stay with us to-night, Miles !" Mercy heard 
 her say, " my heart misgives me at the thought 
 of your long ride through the woods." 
 
 " What a timid little puss you are," returned 
 Miles lightly. " There is nothing to fear from 
 that whipped dog, Dunk Ferguson. He did not 
 even dare to show his ugly face at the polls to 
 day. It was a glorious victory, and I must 
 ride home to carry the good news to my old 
 bed-ridden mother, who will be ready to die of 
 joy now that her lazy son has turned out at 
 last good for something. The men at Poole's 
 were bent on my staying to make a night of it, 
 but I slipped away quietly, and left them to 
 drink my share for me." 
 
 " And is it true what you just now said, that 
 you do indeed love me ? You have told me so 
 many times before, but have forgotten the 
 words when some fairer face came between 
 us." 
 
 " Of course I love you," returned Miles ; "and
 
 78 Stories for Leisure Hours 
 
 do you know you look bewitching in this 
 light, Leah lovely enough to drive any man 
 out of his sober senses." He clasped her waist 
 more closely, and pressed hot, impassioned 
 kisses on her lips. 
 
 " And will you keep your promise, and make 
 me your wife," asked Leah in a low voice. 
 
 " Yes, yes ; if I ever marry at all, until I am 
 a gray-beard. How can I now, just entering on 
 my career in life, pluck out my brightest feathers, 
 and become a tame fowl to mate even with such 
 a little singing bird as you are ? " 
 
 "There," cried Leah, catching at a straw, 
 "you have promised me, and we are betrothed." 
 
 " Well, have it so," said Miles, laughing, and 
 he kissed her again ; " but go home now to your 
 father. Don't trust any man too far, or believe 
 too implicitly in his promises," and he leaped 
 on his horse and was off down the dusky road 
 like a whirlwind. 
 
 The stars had not yet began to shine, and 
 only a few scattered gleams of daylight* re 
 mained. Something touched the girl's arm 
 lightly, and she turned with a slight scream. 
 
 " Thee need not fear, it's me, Mercy DaviFs." 
 
 " And so you have been watching and spying
 
 Mercy Davits at the Anchor. 79 
 
 on us," cried Leah, with a sudden irrational 
 burst of anger. 
 
 " Hush ! " responded Mercy in a low voice, " I 
 chanced upon thee and thy companion, and 
 unwittingly played the eaves-dropper." 
 
 "Then you heard what he said," the girl 
 eagerly exclaimed. " You heard his vows and 
 promises. You must have seen him embrace 
 and kiss me." 
 
 "But he was heated with drink," replied 
 Mercy sadly, " and it is said that vows made in 
 wine are writ in water." 
 
 " Perhaps you love him yourself," cried Leah, 
 taking told of Mercy's arm, somewhat rudely. 
 " I never more than half trusted your soft ways. 
 But he is mine ; promise me you will not be so 
 wicked as to come between us." 
 
 Mercy stood quite still for a moment with 
 her eyes bent upon the ground. Perhaps her 
 face blanched a little, it was difficult to tell in 
 the deepening dusk. " I promise thee," she 
 whispered at last, " and may the Searcher of 
 hearts keep mine steadfast." 
 
 In that long, dark prelude to a November 
 morning, which dawned at last chill and gray, 
 Mercy was awakened by a knocking upon the
 
 8o Stones for Leisure Hours, 
 
 outer door, violent at first, then interrupted, and 
 mingled with what seemed a broken moan. She 
 threw on a few garments with her heart in a 
 tremor of apprehension, and went down hastily 
 to undo the door. As it opened, a person sit 
 ting on the step fell back against her knees. It 
 was Leah Wentworth, her face wild, white, and 
 scared, and drawn with agony. 
 
 " Father in heaven, what ails thee ? " 
 " Miles," groaned the girl, " is murdered he's 
 dying. The assassin met him there in the dark 
 wood, and as he was riding home, so happy and 
 gay, full of hope, with my kisses on his lips, think 
 ing of me, perhaps ; and he was shot three times 
 and left for dead, lying on the damp leaves and 
 moss, with his life-blood oozing away. Dunk 
 Ferguson did it, they say, and he has escaped. 
 The riderless horse went home with blood on 
 his flank, and the search began. I could not 
 stay there in that house. I don't know where 
 I have been stumbling about in the dark. I 
 don't know why I came here, for I never loved 
 you, and sometimes I've almost hated you." 
 
 The words came between gasps and sobs 
 The girl's little flimsy affectations were all torn 
 away. She was lying at Mercy's feet with her
 
 Mercy Davits at the Anchor. 81 
 
 long damp hair about her. The mistress of the 
 Anchor must have uttered a cry that woke old 
 Jacob and Lois. But she quickly gathered 
 Leah up in her arms, and half carried her into 
 the best room, and sitting down held her with 
 her head pressed close against her bosom. The 
 thick hard sobs, each one coming painfully, as 
 if it drew a certain portion of her life with it, 
 shook Leah's whole body. What was passing 
 in Mercy's breast is difficult to say. 
 
 " Hush, child ! " she whispered hoarsely, 
 " God's will be done. Thee must not rebel." 
 
 " God has no right to take him away from 
 me," Leah cried passionately. " He is cruel, 
 cruel, and relentless, and not a God of love. 
 You, Mercy Davits, have never loved, or you 
 would not speak such words to me ; they are 
 hard and cold as icicles." 
 
 The poor girl's words died away in disjointed 
 sentences and broken moans. Mercy felt of 
 her head. It was burning like fire, while her 
 hands were ice. The lethargy of brain fever 
 was approaching. Just as dawn broke over the 
 frosty fields, with the help of Lois she carried 
 Leah into her own room, undressed, and put 
 her to bed. Old Jacob had been dispatched to
 
 82 Stories for Leisure Hours. 
 
 gather tidings of Miles Corry's fate, and send 
 over to the Anchor Leah's eldest sister, a spin 
 ster, who kept house for the old Squire. She 
 came by sunrise, and then began a long vigil 
 beside the sick girl's bed. 
 
 Leah was in the grasp of a dull stupor, with 
 a dark and sinister flush on her face. She 
 moaned, and tossed her arms out of the clothes, 
 and the breath came painfully through her baked 
 lips. Mercy had not taken off her gown, or laid 
 down, and it was the afternoon of the second 
 day. There were ashen rings about her weary 
 eyes, and her face was so colorless it seemed 
 as though a tinge of red could never visit it 
 again. 
 
 On the afternoon of the second day Leah 
 opened her eyes with a sane look in them, and 
 Mercy bent over and whispered, " Miles will 
 live. The doctors are sure of it. Comfort thy 
 self with the thought." 
 
 And Miles did live, though his recovery was 
 so slow as to be almost hopeless. Dunk Fer 
 guson had been caught, tried, and sentenced to 
 imprisonment for life before Miles could leave his 
 bed. The winter had come on, stern and piti 
 less, with whirling storms and vast snow-drifts.
 
 Mercy Davits at the Anchor. 83 
 
 Scarcity of money and a short harvest the 
 previous summer were causing wide-spread dis 
 tress. Rye and Indian bread was eaten, even 
 on the Squire's table. The white loaf had quite 
 gone out of fashion. Mercy had kept Tim 
 Sackett, and taken in three other families, all 
 of them with intemperate husbands and fathers, 
 destitute, and out of work. The finger of the 
 Lord seemed plain to her now, pointing out the 
 road she ought to travel. 
 
 Mercy had used every available room which 
 she could spare in the old tavern stand for her 
 strange community. The great ball-room was 
 partitioned off into living apartments. There 
 were more than a dozen children in all. The 
 fuel her own woods supplied. By dint of utmost 
 economy, and good management, she was able 
 to furnish her little colony with food. The 
 other women were even more discouraging than 
 Tim Sackett's flabby, broken-spirited wife. 
 They were slatternly and unneat, with the 
 bad habits which poverty, misery, and the cus 
 tom of living from hand to mouth had ground 
 into them. Mercy undertook to teach them 
 how to keep their rooms, to cook, to sew, to 
 care for and instruct their children. Now and
 
 84 Stories for Leisure Hours. 
 
 again, one or other of the men went on a 
 " spree," but not so often, perhaps, as might 
 have been expected. There were trials and 
 drawbacks all along the path ; but still Mercy, 
 with her calm, clear eyes, could look up, and 
 bless God for his mercies. The power of rum 
 was gradually dying out of that neighborhood. 
 
 One day in early spring, when the fields were 
 bare, the sky blue, and roads heavy with mire, 
 Miles Corry reined his horse in by the tavern 
 porch, and slowly dismounted. He was pale, 
 shrunken within his clothes, bent in the shoul 
 ders, and very tremulous and weak. He stopped 
 awhile outside in a long coughing fit. It was 
 after Mercy had helped him in, and removing 
 his wraps, had seated him in a great chair by 
 the fire, that he attempted to speak. 
 
 " Why do you suppose I came here to-day, 
 Mercy ? " he asked, looking at his bloodless 
 hand. 
 
 " To give me the joyful assurance that thee 
 still lives in the flesh," she answered, with a 
 tender suffusion of the eyes. 
 
 " No, no, no," said Miles impatiently. " I am 
 not handsome enough to wish to show myself. 
 I came expressly to ask you to be my wife. It
 
 Mercy Davits at the Anchor. 85 
 
 is what I have been thinking of all these terri 
 ble months, when the pain would let me think 
 at all." 
 
 Mercy was perhaps violently startled, but she 
 did not show it, save by a slight tremor in the 
 hands and a delicate blush which overspread 
 her face. 
 
 " I cannot marry thee, Miles Corry," she began 
 in her usual plain, pointed manner of speech. 
 " I am no yoke-mate for thee ; besides, the 
 Friends meeting forbids its members joining 
 themselves unto world's people. This is only 
 a sick fancy which will pass away when thy 
 vigor returns." 
 
 " I tell you it is not," replied Miles, almost 
 angrily, the hectic of weakness coming into his 
 face. " I don't pretend to be a much better 
 fellow than I was before this happened. My 
 faults have not been all burned out of me. I 
 am not religious, and I am selfish, perhaps, in 
 asking you to take up with a poor broken wreck. 
 But my youth is over, Mercy. It died that day 
 my enemy met me in the wood, when I was so 
 lusty, so full of life, so confident of myself. I 
 am only feeling out blindly now for a support 
 and shelter, for something to believe in, to
 
 86 Stories for Leisure Hours. 
 
 cling to, to rest upon, and I reach my arms 
 toward you." 
 
 " There is one you have kissed and promised. 
 I saw you that day when you did not see me," 
 said Mercy in a low voice. 
 
 "O, yes, Leah Wentworth," he answered 
 carelessly. " All that belongs to the dead past. 
 It is over and done with. I have trifled with 
 many women in my time ; I never thought there 
 was much harm in it. You were the first one 
 I was forced to respect thoroughly, and now I 
 have learned to reverence you. You will save 
 me from myself. You are my only hope, my 
 only salvation," and he bent toward her with 
 his wan, pleading face, and outstretched hands. 
 
 " Nay," said Mercy, growing pale, " thee can 
 not put behind thee the consequences of the 
 past, thee cannot get away from them. The sin 
 of breaking a young heart and crushing a life 
 must not rest on thy conscience." 
 
 " I know Leah loves me," returned Miles im 
 patiently, "but she always makes her love 
 plain. She wore her heart on her sleeve, and 
 that day coaxed a promise from me when I 
 hardly knew what I was saying." 
 
 " But thee had promised before, thee had
 
 Mercy Davits at the Anchor. 87 
 
 promised often," said Mercy relentlessly, "and 
 now the girl will die unless she gets comfort 
 and hope from thee. She has long been sick, 
 and is greatly changed, chastened, and softened ; 
 a wiser mind has come. She is only the same 
 same in loving thee still too fondly." 
 
 " Poor Leah ! is it indeed so ? " returned 
 Miles. " The pleasures I once thought so fine, 
 come now and scowl at me with the faces of 
 ugly old sins. I will do what I can for Leah, 
 but you must take back those hard words. 
 You said you would never marry me." 
 
 A gleam of the old fire returned, the deter 
 mination to have his way and ride over all opposi 
 tion. He sprang up, seized Mercy's hands, held 
 them hard, and probed her eyes with his own. 
 
 " Tell me if indeed you do not love me, O tell 
 me the truth ? " 
 
 Mercy, by a great effort, seemed to force all 
 the blood in her body back upon her heart. 
 
 " No, not as Leah loves thee. I could not give 
 my soul to pleasure thee." 
 
 Miles dropped her hands and walked away 
 coldly toward the window, and moodily rubbed 
 his chin as he looked out at the blue sky cum 
 bered with masses of white clouds. Mercy came
 
 88 Stories for Leisure Hours. 
 
 softly behind him with his hat and furred great 
 coat. 
 
 "It is time for thee to go to Leah," she 
 began. " The poor child must have seen thee 
 ride past, and is doubtless waiting and watching 
 at the window, heart sick with hope deferred." 
 
 " You talk as if I were mortgaged, and about 
 to be sold," returned Miles in a savage tone. 
 
 " Nay," she faltered, " act well thy part, do 
 thy duty, learn obedience " and then her voice 
 died. 
 
 " You are cruel, cruel ; but I will obey you," 
 he cried ; and he turned and clasped her in his 
 arms and kissed her. It was the first and last 
 kiss. 
 
 Long after he was gone Mercy moaned in her 
 pain. She alone knew how great had been the 
 temptation. She alone knew that afterward 
 angels came and ministered unto her.
 
 Aunt Thorium's Blanket Shawl. 89 
 
 AUNT THORBURN'S BLANKET SHAWL. 
 
 go yet, Henry; I must have a 
 check this morning." 
 
 Mr. Preston had his hand on the 
 door-knob, prepared to quit his handsome up 
 town residence for his down-town place of 
 business. 
 
 " A check, Clara ? Didn't I give you one on 
 Brewster's for three hundred dollars less than 
 a fortnight ago ? " 
 
 " Yes, I know you did ; but I was obliged to 
 use most of it to pay back debts. Madame 
 Pulsifer is very pressing, and says she must 
 have the money for my moire and poplin suit 
 this week." 
 
 " Confound the old turk ! You have paid 
 her thousands of dollars. She isn't decent in 
 her charges ; you know she isn't. You ought 
 not to put up with such swindling. It's enough 
 to ruin a millionaire."
 
 90 Stories for Leisure Hours. 
 
 " I know, Henry, her bills are enormous ; but 
 nobody gives me such splendid fits as she 
 does." 
 
 " I'd like to give her fits, the old leach ! " 
 muttered Mr. Preston petulantly as he opened 
 the door and stepped into the vestibule. " I 
 can't attend to it this morning, Clara ; you 
 must wait until I come up to-night." He 
 slammed the door in a way to make the plate 
 glass shiver unpleasantly and was gone. 
 
 " O dear ! " sighed Mrs. Preston, knitting her 
 pretty brows. " I do wish Henry would be rea 
 sonable. , I am sure no one in my position can 
 do with less than I have, although he some 
 times accuses me of extravagance. He would be 
 the very first one to complain if I did not dress 
 and quite as well, too, as anybody in our set." 
 
 The elegant little lady turned her head to 
 note the hang of her white morning dress, where 
 the rich festoons of her train lay coiled upon 
 the velvet carpet. Then she glided into the 
 drawing-room frescoed and garlanded, uphol 
 stered and adorned with pictures and glanced 
 up at the mirror, that looked like a crystal cave 
 in a fringe-work of ferns and dainty woodland 
 things, carved from black walnut.
 
 Aunt Thorburn's Blanket Shawl. 91 
 
 The pretty face which the polished surface 
 reflected still had a cloud upon it that hinted 
 at the absence of perfect bliss even in such a 
 little paradise as that drawing-room was. How 
 ever, Mrs. Preston set straight her dainty little 
 point-lace cap, and smoothed out her rose- 
 colored ribbons, and twisted the bracelet on her 
 delicate wrist, until the consciousness that she 
 was very pretty and stylish, and that her morn 
 ing costume became her to a charm, dissolved 
 the cloud to a very thin mist indeed. 
 
 " Robert," said Mrs. Preston, turning toward 
 the man waiter, who stood in the dining-room, 
 near the blaze of a soft-coal fire, that flickered 
 upon the glass and silver of the yet uncleared 
 breakfast table in dozens of crimson gleams. 
 
 Robert, a very clerical-looking character, in 
 a white choker, turned like a grenadier and 
 bowed. 
 
 "Robert, if Madame Pulsifer's young man 
 calls this morning say I am out." 
 
 Robert bowed again. 
 
 "And, Robert, order the carriage for three 
 this afternoon." 
 
 Again that functionary inclined his per 
 son.
 
 92 Stories for Leisure Hours, 
 
 "And tell Fanny not to bring the children 
 down until lunch-time." 
 
 A third time the process was repeated 
 silently. 
 
 Mrs. Preston sank back in a stuffed easy- 
 chair a veritable Sleepy Hollow of padding 
 and brocatelle and put out her daintily-slip 
 pered feet toward the fender. She sighed once 
 or twice without noticing Robert, who was 
 stealthily removing the cloth in a manner that 
 showed something more than the mere butterfly 
 burden of a fashionable woman's existence was 
 weighing upon her thoughts ; nevertheless, she 
 shifted the cluster diamond ring on her slender 
 forefinger, and watched to see it throw off 
 sparkles of iridescent color in the blaze of the 
 firelight. 
 
 Perhaps, if the little woman's thoughts had 
 found utterance, they would have run some 
 what "in this wise: " O dear, how I wish I had 
 an independent fortune of my own ! It is hor 
 rid to be always short for money ! How I hate 
 to ask Henry for what is actually necessary to 
 meet expenses. And, then, it is so humiliating 
 to have him look cross, and talk as he did this 
 morning. I degrade myself in the eyes of trades-
 
 Aunt Thorburn 's Blanket ShawL 93 
 
 people when I put them off with trumped-up 
 excuses, and feel as though my own servants 
 look down upon me. But what can I do ? 
 Henry would scold worse than ever if I did not 
 dress to his taste ; but I sometimes think I 
 would gladly sell my diamonds, and go about 
 clad in fustian, for the sake of being independent 
 in money matters." 
 
 She petted and caressed the beautiful cluster 
 on her finger with a heroic, high-toned feeling, 
 as if she were entitled to an immense amount 
 of credit for merely thinking of such a sacrifice. 
 
 Just then the door-bell ting-a-linged, as door 
 bells are apt to ting-a-ling in aristocratic man 
 sions. 
 
 " Stop, Robert," she said as that functionary 
 was about to obey the summons. " Dear, dear ! " 
 she went on to herself ; " there is Mrs. Brace, 
 with those tickets for the charity concert, and 
 I have scarcely a dollar in my purse. Robert, 
 if Mrs. Brace has called say that I am out." 
 
 Robert bowed, and a blush of .shame tinged 
 the fair cheek of Mrs. Preston. The lackey 
 moved off to the door with great deliberation, 
 as he always did when he had, so to speak, the 
 credit of his master or mistress buttoned up in
 
 94 Stories for Leisure Hours. 
 
 his pocket. It took from the menial and added 
 to the dignity of the man when he was con 
 scious, as he often was, of being a pillar for the 
 support of the respectability of the family. His 
 air was more clerical than usual when he opened 
 the street-door, prepared to encounter Mrs. 
 Brace, who was well known to him. 
 
 Instead of that lady there stood upon the 
 highest of the brown-stone steps a burly ex 
 pressman, with a shabby little trunk upon his 
 shoulder, tied together with a cord. 
 
 "This is for here, my cove," said the man, 
 bluntly; "and there's forty cents due." 
 
 This low familiarity of address was offensive 
 to Robert's nostrils. " You've made a mistake," 
 said he, loftily. "There's no such trunk ex 
 pected at this house." 
 
 " I haint made no mistake, nuther, now, you 
 popinjay. I guess I've got the company's credit 
 to take care of; and here's the number in my 
 
 check book 92 West street, as plain as 
 
 black and white can make it." 
 
 Then it goes to the servants' door," replied 
 Robert, trying hard to keep up a show of dig 
 nity, as he saw the expressman was an ugly 
 customer when roused, and had a formidable
 
 Aunt Thorburn 's Blanket Shawl. 95 
 
 pair of fists. " It may possibly belong to the 
 new cook." 
 
 " I don't care a flip who it belongs to. If it 
 goes down to the servants' door it goes down 
 on a pair of shoulders about the size of your'n. 
 Here I stays until I gets my pay." 
 
 He pushed into the vestibule, and set the 
 trunk down on the marble tiling with a bang. 
 
 Mrs. Preston had heard loud voices in the 
 hall, and felt a rush of cold air from the 
 open door with certain inward quakings. She 
 thought she recognized the tones of Madame 
 Pulsifer's young man, who was very obstinate, 
 as she well knew from sad experience. To-day 
 Robert must fight her battle for her. She got 
 up and moved round the elegant drawing-room 
 guiltily, waiting to hear the front door close and 
 the disagreeable sounds die away. Her rest 
 lessness chanced to lead her to the window ; 
 and, as she glanced through the heavy draperies 
 of lace and satin, her eye happened to light 
 upon the express wagon standing there in front 
 of the house loaded with trunks. Immediately 
 came the thought that she had made a mistake, 
 and with it an immense sense of relief. She 
 stepped at once into the hall.
 
 96 Stot ies for Leisure Hours. 
 
 " What is all this noise about, Robert ? " 
 
 " Indeed, ma'am, here's a fellow determined 
 to leave a trunk that don't belong to the 
 house." 
 
 " How, pray, do you know it don't belong to 
 the house ? " 
 
 Robert had only judged from the lights he 
 possessed. " I've never seen the likes of it 
 coming to the house before." 
 
 " Here's the number, mum, on the company's 
 check, and I'll be blowed if I'll budge an inch 
 till I gets my pay." 
 
 " I dare say it's all right," said Mrs. Preston 
 pleasantly, with an inward conviction that soft 
 words do sometimes butter parsnips. " I am 
 not looking for any one from a distance, but an 
 unexpected visitor might arrive. Just do me 
 the favor to look at the name on the trunk, if 
 there is one, and I think I can tell if it is to 
 come to this house." 
 
 The man, who had coolly sat down on the 
 offending trunk, got on his pegs and jerked up 
 the shabby little affair on end, and looked at 
 the name, written in a cramped, old-fashioned 
 hand on a business card : 
 
 " Mrs. Hannah Thorburn, Plastow."
 
 Aunt Thorium's Blanket Shawl. 97 
 
 " Mrs. Thorburn, of course ; my husband's 
 great aunt. Robert, you should not be so forth- 
 putting. It would have been more becoming in 
 you to have made inquiries." 
 
 " Indeed, ma'am, I thought I had warrant." 
 
 *' You had no warrant to take any such mat 
 ter upon yourself." 
 
 Mrs. Preston satisfied the expressman, and 
 ordered Robert, who was huffy, to carry the 
 shabby little black trunk, much frayed at the 
 corners, up to the third-story back room. 
 
 As Robert bent his aristocratic shoulders to 
 the obnoxious burden, he determined to give 
 warning before the end of the month. The 
 Prestons did not come up to his idea of a gen 
 teel family. 
 
 The elegant little mistress herself, who was 
 not quite as fastidious as Robert, felt half 
 ashamed at not having assigned Aunt Thor 
 burn to the best guest-chamber. She knew her 
 husband honored and loved this aunt ; she had 
 often heard him speak of her goodness to him 
 when he was a poor boy up in Plastow. Still, 
 she reflected that Aunt Thorburn was not used 
 to any thing half so fine as the third-story back 
 room ; and, perhaps, she would be more at her
 
 98 Stories for Leisure Hours. 
 
 ease there than in the grander apartment down 
 stairs. 
 
 While these thoughts were running through 
 her head the relative from Plastow was ushered 
 in. She was a tall, almost gaunt, woman, with 
 rather an unyielding countenance, bordered by 
 gray hair quite guiltless of dye. Her bonnet 
 was at least five seasons behind the fashion, 
 and she wore over her black alpaca dress a 
 black-and-white shawl of the species known as 
 Bay State. 
 
 Mrs. Preston's greeting was very gracious in 
 deed. She had a little innocent design upon 
 Aunt Thorburn, and meant to dazzle her a 
 good deal, and perhaps to awe her the least bit 
 in the world. But the country aunt was a quiet, 
 unmoved sort of body ; and, whatever she may 
 have felt underneath, she did not appear to be 
 overcome by the magnificence of her nephew's 
 residence or the stylishness of his little wife. 
 But there are one or two facts that prove to my 
 mind that Aunt Thorburn was really cowed ; 
 she called Robert sir ; and when she got to her 
 own room, and was left to adjust herself as best 
 she could to its new-fangled knickknackeries, 
 she spread her handkerchief over the seat of
 
 Atmt T/wrburns Blanket Shawl. 99 
 
 the crimson satin sofa before she ventured to 
 sit down and rest. 
 
 The lunch-bell tingled, and she made her 
 way down stairs again, feeling very much like 
 a cat in a strange garret, after opening several 
 wrong doors and walking surreptitiously into 
 two or three pantries. Mrs. Preston was in the 
 parlor with the children three little girls, the 
 youngest a mere toddler with faces clustering 
 like dewy rose-buds against mamma's skirts, 
 their white frocks set off by bright sashes and 
 shoulder-knots. Aunt Thorburn's visage looked 
 much less unyielding than it had done as she 
 stooped down to kiss them, and lay her large, 
 bony hand on their tender little heads. She 
 really was gaunter and plainer than she had ap 
 peared in her wraps. Her rather skimpy black 
 dress fell round her in' stiff lines. There was 
 no hint of a waterfall in the arrangement of her 
 hair. Scant and gray as it was, it was wadded 
 in a small knot under her half-cap of cheap lace, 
 trimmed with lappets of rusty black velvet. 
 Her linen collar was fastened with an antiquated 
 mourning pin, and her cuffs, of the same ma 
 terial, did not seem to be on the best of terms 
 
 with her large red wrists. 
 
 7
 
 TOO Stories for Leisiire Hours. 
 
 Miss Lu Edgecombe, Mrs. Preston's sister, 
 dropped in to lunch. She was a lively girl, 
 arrayed in a medley of garnet and black silk, 
 that broke out all over her in puffs and coils 
 and tags and fringes. Her bonnet was com 
 posed of five green leaves, with nothing visible 
 to hold it on to a sea of blonde hair, that raged 
 down her back in waves and over her forehead 
 in ripples. She wore lavender gloves, three 
 buttons, and carried a dainty white parasol 
 covered with point. 
 
 Aunt Thorburn had probably heard of this 
 extraordinary species of young creature ; but, 
 having never come across a good specimen be 
 fore, she was excusable for staring a little 
 through her specs. 
 
 "Who under the sun have you got now, 
 Clara ? " whispered Lu, dragging her sister into 
 the hall. 
 
 " Henry's Aunt Thorburn. You must have 
 heard of her. He is always boasting about her 
 mince-pies and cider-apple sauce." 
 
 "That's just like Frank." (Frank was at 
 present Lu's slave soon to become her lord.) 
 " You know he was a country boy, too. Noth 
 ing ever tastes to him as the dishes his mother
 
 Aunt Thorburn 's Blanket Sliawl. 101 
 
 used to cook. I expect to have the old lady 
 held up daily as a warning and admonition after 
 I get to housekeeping. 
 
 " Henry thinks the world of this old aunt." 
 
 " She isn't a fascinator, is she, Clara ? " 
 
 " No ; of course not. Every body can't be 
 fascinators." 
 
 "But she might get herself up to look a 
 little less as if she had just stepped out of the 
 ark." 
 
 " That's a fact. She must have means ; for 
 I remember Henry said her husband, the 
 Deacon, left her a farm and some money in the 
 bank." 
 
 " I'm rather sorry she has turned up just 
 now. There's Beth's wedding coming off next 
 week, and I thought of bringing the Greshams 
 over to-night, to pass a social evening." 
 
 " You had better not. Henry will want to 
 talk over old times with his aunt. We must be 
 polite to her whatever happens." 
 
 "You will have to do New York for her 
 benefit, I suppose. Imagine yourself mounting 
 up to the top of Trinity steeple, and pointing 
 out the beauties of the Battery and the City 
 Hall."
 
 IO2 Stories for Leisure Hours. 
 
 "Barnum's is burnt up, at any rate," said 
 Mrs. Preston, laughingly. " That is so much 
 in my favor." 
 
 " Well, then," after a little pause, " I suppose 
 I can't have the carriage to-morrow to pay calls 
 with." 
 
 " No, I am afraid not." 
 
 Miss Lu was just taking her leave, when 
 Aunt Thorburn entered with the little girls. 
 She had coaxed them to get acquainted by 
 some freemasonry of her own, and now they 
 were all jabbering at once. Lu had her hand 
 on the knob when the bell rang. Mrs. Preston, 
 who was still in bondage to the dread of Madame 
 Pulsifer's young man, had no time to adopt a 
 line of policy before the door opened, and ex 
 posed to view a boy a tall, weak-looking lad 
 dressed in poor clothes much too small for him, 
 with hollow, bloodless cheeks, that certainly 
 gave no sign of gormandizing. 
 
 " O, it's Johnny Spencer. Come in, Johnny. 
 How is your mother to-day ? " 
 
 Johnny came in and pulled off his cap. 
 
 " Thank you, ma'am, I'm sorry to say she's 
 poorly again. Last week she had one of her 
 bad turns. The doctor said she took cold hold-
 
 Aunt T/wrburn's Blanket Shawl. 103 
 
 ing her arms out of bed ; but you see, ma'am, 
 she had these yokes to finish, and she could not 
 afford to lie idle." 
 
 "I am sorry she hurried on my account," 
 said Mrs. Preston kindly, taking the little 
 newspaper parcel from the lad's hand. " There 
 are two more up stairs she shall have ; but tell 
 her to take her own time, and not to worry 
 over them a bit." 
 
 " Indeed, ma'am, I wish she could take her 
 time. I'm afraid it will kill her to keep on so." 
 
 " And why can't she, Johnny ? " 
 
 " O, ma'am, there's bread and medicine and 
 coal to buy, and the rent coming due regular 
 every month, and I not big enough to help her 
 much." 
 
 " O, yes, of course ; I know all that. You 
 are a good boy to your mother, if there ever 
 was one. Now go down stairs, and I will tell 
 the cook to put you up some tea and sugar." 
 
 " Thank you kindly, ma'am." The lad hesi 
 tated and twisted his cap, and a tinge of color 
 came into his hollow cheek. " But, if you 
 please, ma'am, mother said she would like to 
 get her pay." 
 
 " Wont to-morrow morning do as well,
 
 IO4 Stories for Leisure Hours. 
 
 Johnny ? I really haven't the sum about me. 
 It don't often happen so ; but Mr. Preston 
 could not give me any money this morning. He 
 said he would bring it up to-night." 
 
 Johnny twisted his cap more persistently than 
 ever, and the color rose in the hollow of his 
 cheek ; but he stood his ground. " I'm afraid 
 it wouldn't do, ma'am. You see the money was 
 borrowed, and we promised to have it ready 
 this evening." 
 
 " Dear, dear ! I am very sorry. Lu," (to her 
 sister, who had turned back to examine the 
 yokes,) " couldn't you lend me five dollars ? " 
 
 " No ; really, Clara, I am a little short myself 
 to-day. But you don't pretend to say that you 
 got this work done for five dollars a pair ? I 
 never knew any thing so cheap in my life." 
 
 Mrs. Preston did not heed her sister's re 
 mark. She was casting about in her thoughts 
 to see what could be done for Johnny. 
 
 " I can let you have five dollars as well as 
 not," said Aunt Thorburn, coming in like a 
 good Providence at the right moment. 
 
 " O, could you ? It would oblige me im 
 mensely." 
 
 Aunt Thorburn pulled her long, old-fash-
 
 Aunt Thorburn' s Blanket Shawl. 105 
 
 ioned bead purse from the depths of her 
 pocket 
 
 " What did you say ailed your ma, bub ? " 
 she asked Johnny as she was extricating the 
 bills. 
 
 " She has retching, ma'am, and a holler pain 
 in her side, and an all-goneness, and hot flashes 
 like." 
 
 " I know what that hollow pain is ; I've had it 
 myself often. You tell her to soak her feet be 
 fore she goes to bed, and lay on a bag of warm 
 hops." 
 
 Johnny said he would be sure and remember. 
 
 " I'm coming to see your ma," whispered Aunt 
 Thorburn as she slipped an extra fifty cents into 
 the lad's hand, and sent him off as happy as a 
 king. 
 
 Mrs. Preston's handsome turnout stood aa the 
 door, ready to take her to the Park. Of course, 
 Aunt Thorburn was asked to go along ; although 
 Mrs. Preston almost hoped she would plead a 
 headache, or the fatigue of her journey, as an 
 excuse for staying quietly at home. She did 
 not appreciate the fact that a four hours' ride 
 in the rail-cars, on a bright autumn morning, 
 was mere child's play compared with what Aunt
 
 io6 Stories for Leisure Hours. 
 
 Thorburn did every day of her life at home, up 
 in Plastow. 
 
 The old lady came down arrayed in the same 
 antiquated bonnet and blanket shawl that had 
 served her for a traveling costume. Mrs. Pres 
 ton had her own pet prejudices, and one of 
 them happened to be a strong dislike for a 
 shawl of this particular description. However, 
 the obnoxious garment lay pressed against her 
 own rich velvet and lace on the back seat of 
 the open barouche, while the little girls sat in 
 front, and made the air musical with their 
 pretty prattle. 
 
 It was one of the perfect afternoons at the 
 Park. The foliage of the Ramble was just 
 tinged with autumnal hues, the near city looked 
 transfigured through a violet haze, the pretty 
 bridges were crowded with pleasure-seekers, 
 the swans swam off proudly through the lucent 
 water of the lake, and the bright green Com 
 mon was dotted over with the sheep. Terrace 
 Bridge, with its floating banners and gay boat 
 loads, looked like a glimpse from some fair Vene 
 tian picture. 
 
 Aunt Thorburn knew it " beat " any thing 
 up at Plastow " all hollow ; " but she was a little
 
 Aunt Thorburn's Blanket Shawl. 107 
 
 afraid of appearing country fied and admiring the 
 wrong things, so she did not give expression 
 to quite all she felt. However, on driving home 
 through Fifth Avenue, with a crowd of fine 
 carriages and prancing steeds, while the blue 
 haze of early dusk filled the beautiful street, 
 and the clear, sweet sunset just rosed the tops 
 of the highest houses, and the gas-lamps began 
 to flicker down Murray Hill, like golden blos 
 soms on invisible stems, Aunt Thorburn's face 
 did relax to an expression of unmixed enjoy 
 ment. 
 
 I am afraid Mrs. Preston was not perfectly 
 satisfied with her drive. She had met a num 
 ber of fashionable acquaintances, and every nod 
 or smile of recognition from a passing carriage 
 awoke a disagreeable consciousness of that 
 horrid old blanket shawl by her side. Mrs. 
 Preston was right, nevertheless, in thinking her 
 husband would be glad to see his old relative. 
 He was right glad, to see her, much to his 
 credit, be it said. He took her two old bony 
 hands in his, and kissed her rather hard-looking 
 cheek in the heartiest fashion. 
 
 " Where have you put Aunt ? " he asked 
 after a while of his wife.
 
 io8 Stories for Leisure Hours. 
 
 " Up in the third story, Henry. I thought 
 she would be more quiet and retired up there." 
 
 Mr. Preston knit his brow. " You ought 
 to remember, Clara," said he, coldly, " that 
 Aunt is not as young as we are, and how un 
 accustomed she is to climbing the stairs of a 
 city house. You had better tell Robert to 
 bring her things down into the room on the 
 second floor, and kindle a little fire in the grate 
 to take off the chill." 
 
 The entire evening was spent in talking over 
 old times. Mrs. Preston thought this species 
 of entertainment slow and stupid ; but her 
 husband enjoyed it hugely. His early days 
 were certainly not very distinguished, as he had 
 begun life a poor boy and worked his own way 
 up to wealth and an enviable position on 
 'Change. Still he dearly loved to go back to 
 them, and live over the " scrapes " and madcap 
 adventures of those humble times. 
 
 He was in high good humor when he got to 
 his room that night, after saying all the cheery 
 last things he could think of to his old relative. 
 He had made a snug little sum of money during 
 the day on the rise of his favorite stock. 
 
 " I ran into Ball & Black's, Clara," said he,
 
 Aunt Thorburn's Blanket Shawl. 109 
 
 " as I was passing to-night, and these trinkets 
 took my eye. Pretty, now, aint they ? " 
 
 " O lovely ! " cried Mrs. Preston, holding up 
 a pair of exquisite pearl ear-rings. " And for 
 me, of course ? " 
 
 " Certainly. Who else should a fellow like 
 me buy ear-rings for but his wife ? " 
 
 u You are the best husband I ever had ! " 
 And Mrs. Preston, in her gratitude, got very 
 close to him, and hid her rosy little mouth in 
 his mustache. "But, dear," she changed her 
 tone slightly, " did you bring that cheek you 
 promised ? " 
 
 " O bother the check ! What a beggar you 
 are, Clara." 
 
 "I know it, but what can I do ? Here, to 
 night, has come in a large bill for children's 
 shoes." 
 
 "Bills, bills! Confound bills! I hate the 
 word." 
 
 " We can't dispense with the thing, though. 
 To-day I was actually penniless, and found my 
 self reduced to the necessity of borrowing from 
 your aunt." 
 
 " Borrowing from my aunt ! " 
 
 " She happened to be in the hall when Johnny
 
 I io Stories for Leisure Hours. 
 
 Spencer came. His mother has been doing 
 some needlework for me. She is sick, and in 
 want of the money ; so your aunt offered to 
 pay." 
 
 " That was awkward deuced awkward ! 
 How much do you want ? " The question was 
 put in a very icy tone. 
 
 " I must have at least a hundred, Henry. I 
 owe Madame Pulsifer alone almost that sum." 
 
 Mr. Preston sniffed at the name. " It does 
 appear to me, Clara, that you will have to 
 retrench in your personal expenses." 
 
 Mrs. Preston had heard the same thing before. 
 If there were any two words in the English 
 language she hated, they were " retrench " and 
 " curtail." The pair went to rest that night, in 
 their splendid home, with a cloud between them. 
 But next morning's brilliant sun scattered it 
 into nothingness, and shrewd little Mrs. Clara 
 prepared to put into execution a plan she had 
 formed over night. 
 
 " I suppose you would like to do some shop 
 ping, wouldn't you, Aunt ? The horses are at 
 the door, and I can drive you to Stewart's as 
 well as not." 
 
 Aunt Thorburn had two of the little girls in
 
 Aunt Thorburn 's Blanket Shawl. 1 1 1 
 
 her lap. She was telling them the absorbing 
 history of her calf, Spot ; but she broke off im 
 mediately, and looked up through her specs at 
 Mrs. Preston. 
 
 " Shopping ! That's what we call trading, I 
 'spose. I don't know as I'm in want of any 
 thing in particular for myself. I did calculate 
 on buying some things for Elviry. She's my 
 niece that used to live with me. Her husband 
 hain't no faculty for getting along. There isn't 
 much to live on, and a big family of children to 
 feed and clothe. I don't allow you'll feel much 
 interested in her, though. I should like to take 
 a squint at Stewart's gret store, but there's no 
 hurry at all." 
 
 "Wouldn't you like to get a nice winter 
 cloak for yourself, Aunt ? I saw some at 
 Stewart's the other day that I am sure would 
 suit you exactly, and they struck me as 
 very cheap." 
 
 " How much be they ? " 
 
 " Eighty dollars." 
 
 " Eighty dollars ! " repeated Aunt Thorburn 
 slowly. " I can't begin to afford it." 
 
 Of course, nothing more was said about the 
 cloak ; but Mrs. Preston se.t it down in her
 
 112 Stories for Leisure Hours. 
 
 own mind that Aunt Thorburn was close and 
 penurious. She had no very near relative 
 to save her money for, and it did seem strange 
 she could not afford to dress respectably. The 
 old blanket shawl seemed more of a grievance 
 than ever, and Mrs. Preston felt inwardly irri 
 tated every time it came in contact with her 
 own rich raiment. 
 
 " Didn't you tell me, Henry," she said to her 
 husband, when opportunity offered, " that your 
 Aunt Thorburn was well off?" 
 
 " Well off, certainly, for the country. The 
 term means something quite different up in 
 Plastow from what it does here in New York." 
 
 " I do wish she would get some new clothes, 
 and fix up a little while she is here in the 
 city." 
 
 " I haven't noticed any thing amiss with her. 
 She always looks good to me whatever she has 
 on." Mr. Preston spoke with a slight degree 
 of acerbity. He never encouraged criticism 
 on his own side of the house. 
 
 Mrs. Preston dropped the subject for the 
 present, but she was more and more convinced 
 that Aunt Thorburn was niggardly. When 
 Sunday came, the little lady had hoped her
 
 Aunt Thorburn 's Blanket Shawl. 1 1 3 
 
 husband would propose to take his relative over 
 to Brooklyn, to hear a certain celebrated 
 preacher who does not hold forth strictly to 
 an upper-ten audience. Now Mrs. Preston's 
 church was an upper-ten church, and all the 
 worshipers round about her pew knew the cost 
 of her camel's hair shawl and the exact value of 
 her diamonds. 
 
 However, with a contrariness not uncommon 
 to men, Mr. Preston said, although he had no 
 warrant for saying it, that his aunt was going 
 to stay a number of weeks, and there would be 
 plenty of time for Brooklyn ; he wanted her to 
 hear his own minister first. Accordingly, the 
 camel's hair shawl went into the house of God 
 alongside the old black-and-white plaid ; and I 
 am afraid Mrs. Preston thought more about 
 that and about Aunt Thorburn's stinginess than 
 she did of the sermon, which was on the danger 
 of growing worldly. 
 
 " I will take you this afternoon anywhere 
 you would like to go," said Mrs. Preston to 
 Aunt Thorburn after dinner was over, and 
 Mr. Preston had stretched himself out on the 
 sofa for a Sunday nap. 
 
 " Well, now," returned the old lady, " I
 
 1 14 Stories for Leisure Hours. 
 
 should like to visit the Five Points (she pro 
 nounced it Pints) House of Industry ; but I 
 dare say you've been there so often it wouldn't 
 be any treat to you." 
 
 Mrs. Preston was feign to confess, with a 
 degree of shame, that she had never visited that 
 excellent institution, but she declared herself 
 quite ready to go. She put on her plainest 
 walking-suit and her shabbiest bonnet, and they 
 set off in the horse-car. 
 
 I will not attempt to describe that most 
 touching sight a congregation of poor, de 
 graded little beings, picked up and gathered in 
 from the streets to listen to good words and 
 feel the touch of a blessed human charity. 
 
 Mrs. Preston had a mother's heart in her 
 bosom, and she sat and cried softly behind her 
 thread-lace vail all through the exercises. 
 
 When they were over, Aunt Thorburn made 
 her way to the superintendent and slipped a 
 little roll of bills into his hand. He looked at it 
 in surprise. 
 
 " A hundred dollars ! What name did you 
 say?"' 
 
 " Hannah Thorburn, from Plastow." 
 
 " Mrs. Thorburn, I do not know how to
 
 Aunt Thorburn' s Blanket Shawl. 115 
 
 express my thanks for so generous a gift. It 
 comes just when it is most needed." 
 
 Aunt Thorburn made her escape. A hun 
 dred dollars ! Had Mrs. Preston heard aright ? 
 She had given a dollar herself; it was all she 
 thought she could afford. When they got into 
 the street, while the tears were still wet upon 
 her cheeks, she asked the question. 
 
 " Well, yes," said Aunt Thorburn. " You 
 see there aint many chances of doing good up 
 in Plastow. The farmers are all pretty fore 
 handed in our community." 
 
 Not many chances of doing good ! Mrs. 
 Preston did not speak again for some time. 
 She was feeling sorry for her harsh judgment 
 of Aunt Thorburn for calling her stingy 
 and mean in her thoughts. She was feeling, 
 too, as if she would like to take up a corner of 
 the old black-and-white shawl and kiss it. 
 
 Aunt Thorburn did stay in New York several 
 weeks. She saw Johnny and his mother, and 
 comforted them. She filled all the spare cor 
 ners of her shabby little trunk with things for 
 Elvira and the children. She saw more of the 
 charitable institutions of New York and didmore 
 for them in one month than Henry Preston and
 
 1 1 6 Stories for Leisure Hours. 
 
 his wife had done in twelve years. If there is 
 a saint's niche in the Preston family, I think 
 Aunt Thorburn is destined to stand there with 
 her old black-and-white plaid blanket shawl 
 wrapped round her gaunt shoulders ; and per 
 haps her nephew and his wife will look up to 
 the old lady's height, and be helped out of the 
 slough of selfish indulgence, in which they were 
 in great danger of getting mired.
 
 Amos Stanhope's Practical Joke. 117 
 
 AMOS STANHOPE'S PRACTICAL JOKE. 
 
 "OW,boys, don't hector Lyddy," said Mrs. 
 Stanhope as she untied the tapestrings 
 of her checked apron, and with a little sigh of 
 relief settled into the wicker-backed rocking- 
 chair. 
 
 " Of course not," returned Amos, as grave 
 as a judge, while at the same time he gave his 
 brother Sam a private nudge. "But why 
 couldn't she bring her beau right in here, and 
 let us get a squint at him ? If father was at 
 home he wouldn't like her to be having an extra 
 fire and light in the keeping-room." 
 
 " O it's no great matter," said Mrs. Stanhope, 
 taking up her basket of mending, which always 
 appeared to be in a chronic state of overflow. 
 "We can bring the coals out as soon as Mr. 
 Hardy goes. And you had better not speak 
 about it to father," she added, with a twinge 
 of remorse at the small lessons of deceit she
 
 1 1 8 Stories for Leisure Hours. 
 
 was obliged to instill; "for poor Lyddy don't 
 have many pleasures." 
 
 " I guess I know how to hold my tongue," 
 replied Amos, a little sharply, as he smeared 
 out a sum upon his slate with the elbow of his 
 jacket ; " but it would be fun to tease Lyddy 
 about the sparking. I should think a fellow 
 would feel awful streaked running after a girl, 
 and sitting up and twirling his thumbs before 
 her. You'll never catch me at that business, 
 see if you do." 
 
 " There's no telling what foolishness you may 
 go into one of these days," said Mrs. Stanhope, 
 with a faint smile circling her sad lips. " But 
 come, now, you had better make haste to bed. 
 There is Sam nodding over his book, and I 
 shall have no end of trouble to get you up in 
 the morning in time to do the chores." 
 
 Amos lighted his candle rather reluctantly, 
 and began to climb the chamber-stair, with little 
 Sam behind, yawning and carrying his shoes 
 in his hand. 
 
 " Suppose we go and listen at the stove-pipe 
 hole," whispered Amos in Sam's ear, with a sup 
 pressed chuckle. " It would be such prime fun 
 to hear that spooney's soft speeches."
 
 Amos Stanhope's Practical yoke. 119 
 
 Sam woke up bright at the prospect of a 
 "lark." And Amos blew out the candle, and 
 in their stocking-feet the boys stole to the spare 
 chamber, and applied their ears to the stove 
 pipe-hole, pinching each other to keep from 
 " snorting," as Amos expressed it. There was 
 a peculiarly sonorous quality to the voice of 
 Lyddy's beau that brought sound without sense 
 to the roguish listeners ; or else he spoke in a 
 low, confidential tone, which seemed to go on 
 most of the time, except when it was interrupted 
 by Lyddy's pleased, shy little laugh. 
 
 Just as Amos had creaked the loose board 
 overhead, and was holding his breath for fear 
 he should be discovered, the outside door closed 
 and Lyddy's beau was gone. The young girl 
 stood a moment in the keeping-room, and heard 
 the runners of his cutter creak as he turned out 
 into the hard-packed road. Mr. Hardy's mare 
 was restive from standing so long in the cold ; 
 and now he let her go as straight as an arrow, 
 shaking off a spray of music from the sleigh- 
 bells. Lyddy's cheeks were burning over some 
 thing Ben Hardy had done at parting. It was 
 certainly very impertinent in the young man, 
 and she ought to be very angry with him for
 
 1 20 Stones for Leistire Hours. 
 
 taking her so completely by surprise. It should 
 never happen again no, never ; and she would 
 keep it a dead secret, locked in her own bosom. 
 
 So, still flustered, Lyddy ran out into the 
 kitchen, where her mother sat by the dying 
 embers of the hearth, putting the last patch on 
 Sam's trousers. Lyddy was scarcely a pretty 
 girl, but there was something very soft and 
 feminine about her. The old blue de laine, 
 which had been turned twice in the skirt, and 
 would have looked like a fright on any body else, 
 seemed to make a perfect toilet for Lyddy as 
 she settled down in its folds at her mother's 
 feet, with the red, uncertain light from the 
 coals on the hearth playing over her fleecy 
 hair and reddening her delicate cheek, which 
 was not plump enough to give evidence of 
 buxom health. 
 
 Mrs. Stanhope was tall, gaunt, and bony, with 
 marks of toil and anxiety upon her bent shoul 
 ders and gray, joyless face, where the blanching 
 locks were smoothed back in perfect plainness. 
 It was easy to see that she had never had, even 
 in her youth, the soft, round outlines of Lyddy 's 
 form ; but there was an exceeding tenderness in 
 her face as it beamed on her young daughter,
 
 Amos Stanhope's Practical Joke. 121 
 
 which seemed to glorify the rugged features. 
 You saw that Lyddy was the apple of her eye 
 the white dove that folded its wings in her 
 careworn bosom the ewe lamb she would wish 
 to bear in her arms over all the rough places of 
 the world. 
 
 The old kitchen, with its low walls and heavy 
 beams, was very much in shadow now, except 
 the red core of the fire, and Lyddy sitting by it, 
 against the background made by her mother's 
 chair. 
 
 " Wasn't it odd Mr. Hardy should have come 
 all the way over from Millford just to call ? " 
 said Lyddy, pulling down Mrs. Stanhope's hand 
 from the coarse mending, and patting the big 
 steel thimble on the middle finger, and the hard 
 joints, enlarged by hard work. " His father is 
 the rich man up at Millford, a merchant and 
 mill-owner ; and all the girls are crazy after 
 Ben." 
 
 Mrs. Stanhope smiled a sad, wistful sort of 
 smile, and it seemed to her that she was about 
 to get a glimpse into the depths of Lyddy's 
 simple, unsullied heart. 
 
 "I hope Mr. Hardy is a young man of good 
 habits and principles," said she. " Jiicl} men's
 
 122 Stories for Leisure Hours. 
 
 sons are too apt to depend on their father's 
 money. I don't want any body to come after 
 you, Lyddy, who can't make his own way in 
 the world." 
 
 . " Of course, mother, he don't mean any thing. 
 That is I don't believe Ben has got a bad habit 
 in the world, unless he is fond of tobacco. The 
 young men of Millford are a hard set, and go 
 on sprees sometimes ; but Ben has always kept 
 clear of them. He says a man must respect 
 himself first, if he is going to come to anything 
 in life. You ought to hear him talk, mother. 
 He is going out West for a year to get estab 
 lished in business." 
 
 Lyddy's cheeks were burning again, and her 
 little warm hands were nervously fumbling 
 Mrs. Stanhope's. The grave, sad-eyed woman 
 smiled again with a feeling half sweet, half pa 
 thetic, and seemed to glance far back to a day in 
 her own life when there was a faintly-budding 
 romance, which had soon withered and died. 
 
 " You must be very careful, Lyddy. It's a 
 serious thing to get to thinking too much about 
 a person. Folks marry sometimes when they 
 are quite ignorant of their own hearts, and 
 wake up to find they have made a mistake."
 
 Amos Stanhope's Practical Joke. 128 
 
 " O, mother, don't be so doleful ! " cried 
 Lyddy. " There isn't any thing between Ben 
 and me. I don't believe he means much ! " and 
 her voice died out faintly, and her heart gave a 
 dull thud, with the consciousness that it would 
 be very dreary if Ben didn't mean much. " I 
 thought it would be so nice," she went on, " if 
 we could have the girls in some evening before 
 Ben goes way. Father wont be home until 
 next week, and he need not know a word about 
 it. You know, mother, I never do have com 
 pany at home, and I feel ashamed to go any 
 where on that account." 
 
 " I don't know what your father would say, 
 Lyddy, if he should hear we had been getting 
 up a party in his absence. The girls might 
 seem to happen in, though, might they not ? I 
 could send a pail of butter over to the store by 
 Amos to buy loaf sugar for a cake, and we have 
 got apples and hickory-nuts and cider enough 
 in the house to help along ; and I think just this 
 once I might squeeze out a cup of coffee." 
 
 Mrs. Stanhope hated the small deceptions 
 she was obliged to practice in her family ; and, 
 with a serious and reflective turn of mind, she 
 dreaded the consequences upon her children.
 
 124 Stories for Leisure Hours. 
 
 The next morning, when she gave the pail of 
 butter to Amos, and charged him with a secret 
 mission to the store-keeper, the boy flared up. 
 
 " Mother," said he, " in a year or two I'm 
 going to quit the old shanty, and then I guess 
 I can earn money enough to keep you above 
 board, so that you wont have to pinch and screw. 
 I do hate this underhand business like poison." 
 
 " Amos, don't speak of your home in that 
 way." 
 
 " I can't help it, when, to tell the truth, 
 father is so tight he wont let us have things 
 like other folks. How can he expect us to be 
 fond of home, I should like to know ? " 
 
 " Hush, child ! Your father is an industrious, 
 sober, hard-working man, and does what he 
 thinks is right. Remember what the Bible 
 says about honoring your parents, and how 
 much worse it would be if he was a drunkard." 
 
 The faults which people happen to be free 
 from do not excuse those they have. Amos 
 trudged away quite unconvinced by this logic, 
 and thinking what a change he would make in 
 his life when he should acquire the rights of a 
 man. 
 
 There was happiness enough for Mrs. Stan-
 
 Amos Stanhope's Practical Joke. 125 
 
 hope in watching Lyddy as she tripped about 
 the old dilapidated farm-house, inventing little 
 feminine contrivances to make the dingy rooms 
 look a thought more cheery. The faded chintz 
 lounge-cover was washed and starched fresh, 
 and the holes in the carpet mended with patches 
 of the same. Lyddy placed the furniture about 
 so as skillfully to hide the worn spots. Good, 
 neighborly Mrs. Shaw lent her plated candle 
 sticks and high preserve dishes ; and Lyddy, 
 while she rubbed the knives and got little smears 
 of brickdust on her pretty round arms, was all 
 the time whispering to herself that she wasn't 
 the least bit in love with Ben Hardy. 
 
 She was a good deal puzzled to know just 
 how to WQrd her note of invitation ; and at last 
 opened it in a very prim, school-ma' amish way, 
 which Ben did not imitate in his reply. He 
 began, " Dearest Lyddy," as natural as you 
 please ; and the foolish, fond little girl kissed 
 the words in a flutter of delight, and hid the 
 billet in her bosom. 
 
 It is not probable that Mrs. Stanhope would 
 have ventured into the room at all that evening 
 if her curiosity concerning " Lyddy's beau " had 
 not been excessive. She thought her place was
 
 126 Stories for Leisttre Hours. 
 
 in the kitchen, making the coffee and setting 
 out the best blue dishes ; but Lyddy would 
 have her put on her Sunday gown, and hide her 
 scant gray hair under a cappy head-dress, which 
 she had made out of the trimmings of her last 
 summer's bonnet and an old lace vail, come 
 down, as Lyddy remarked, from the year one. 
 
 "It's so long since I've been in company," 
 said Mrs. Stanhope, in a good deal of a fluster, 
 " I'm afraid I sha'n't know how to appear." 
 
 " Never mind, mother," said Lyddy, capering 
 about her, and adding the last touches to her 
 dress. "We'll have you as lively as a cricket 
 before the evening is over." 
 
 Lyddy's soft cheeks were blooming, and her 
 eyes were bright and moist with pleasant excite 
 ment. She wore her old dove-colored para- 
 metta, with three darns on the back breadth ; 
 but the blue neck-ribbon and the smiling face 
 of the little maiden seemed to glorify it. 
 
 " We must be careful of the loaf sugar, and 
 not cut any more cake than will be needed. 
 For my part I don't care for cake," said Mrs. 
 Stanhope, with the wrinkles of the careful Mar 
 tha forming between her eyebrows. 
 
 " Whew ! I guess I do ! " put in Amos, who
 
 Amos Stanhope's Practical yoke. 127 
 
 was dressing in one corner of the room. " I'll 
 have as much as I can eat for once in my life. 
 Hang it ! these collars never will set anyhow," 
 and he gave his cravat an angry jerk. "Do, 
 Lyddy, come and see if you can't tie a decent 
 bow." 
 
 " You will behave yourself like a gentleman 
 to-night, wont you, Amos, and not be up to any 
 pranks ? " coaxed Lyddy as she fussed about 
 the boy's neck with her slender fingers, and 
 clipped the ragged part from his collar, and tied 
 his bow to a charm. 
 
 " I guess I shall keep a little shady," returned 
 Amos ; " for my shoes have got two great 
 cracks in them, and I hate the girls like poison. 
 They are always making fun of a fellow. What 
 I go in for is the good eating." 
 
 Three large sleigh-loads of merry-makers 
 drove up to the door in the sparkling winter 
 starlight, and stout Miss Brewer had to be 
 helped upon her feet by two young men, and, in 
 a weakening fit of laughter, she fell into the 
 arms of a third. This one proved to be Ben 
 Hardy. He freed himself from the armful as 
 soon as he conveniently could, and went to find 
 Lyddy, and to whisper something in her ear
 
 128 Stories for Leisure Hours. 
 
 which made the lids droop over her eyes and 
 her cheeks flush into sensitive beauty. After 
 that she owned to herself, with a thrill of ex 
 quisite joy, that Ben did like her a little ; and, 
 moreover, he was not in the least ashamed to 
 show his partiality. 
 
 Amos watched proceedings with the eye of a 
 cynic. 
 
 " Pugh ! " He wondered how a fellow could 
 make himself so " soft." 
 
 Mrs. Stanhope watched too, with tender and 
 anxious solicitude, and her heart instinctively 
 warmed toward the frank, manly young fellow 
 who could carry on his wooing so bravely. There 
 was Patty Frisbee, a little maiden with snap 
 ping black eyes and an active spirit of mischief. 
 Somebody had let her hair down and put 
 a boy's cap on her head, and she was going 
 through the contortions of " Queen Dido." 
 
 " Let's have forfeits, or pillows and keys," 
 suggested Bruce Hoyt. Forfeits carried the 
 day, and the very first time Amos was caught 
 tripping, and was judged to " go to Rome," a 
 doom he escaped by making a rush for the door, 
 and slipping through the hands of half a dozen 
 laughing maidens.
 
 Amos Stanhope 1 s Practical Joke. 129 
 
 " Whew ! " thought he as he got outside in 
 the cold air. " I'd sooner take an emetic than 
 go through that job." 
 
 After that Ben Hardy was condemned to 
 measure a yard of tape with every girl in the 
 room, and he went about the business with 
 commendable alacrity. Miss Brewer took ref 
 uge behind a rocking-chair, and rashly declared 
 that nobody should reach her lips ; but the 
 young man boldly scaled the barrier, and the 
 business of tape-measuring went on amid a 
 series of little hysterical screams and much dis 
 arrangement of the lady's back hair. When he 
 came to Lyddy's place, she had vanished ; and 
 Ben, who was keen on the scent, having done 
 so much lip-service to reach her, was obliged to 
 pursue into unknown regions the kitchen, and 
 even the wood-shed where, it is to be supposed, 
 he took ample revenge for his pains. 
 
 Then there followed a round game; and 
 Ben Hardy actually pulled Mrs. Stanhope 
 into the play, and made her spin about like a 
 top. 
 
 " Do let me ketch a breath," gasped the good 
 woman, sinking down into a chair, weak and 
 exhausted with laughter. " I'm clean beat out,
 
 1 30 Stories for Leisure Hours. 
 
 and any body would think I was fit for an 
 asylum." 
 
 When it came to the guessing plays, Amos 
 and Patty Frisbee were sent out into the entry. 
 By this time they had about come to the con 
 clusion that they were affinities. Patty had a 
 boy's tastes, and liked fun ; and there was 
 no stuff and nonsense about her. The two 
 were just ripe for mischief. Mr. Hardy's coat 
 a very nice new one, with velvet collar and 
 frogged buttons was hanging on a nail in the 
 entry. 
 
 " What a swell that chap is ! " said Amos, 
 pulling out one end of a white handkerchief 
 from the pocket. " Pugh ! it smells like a 
 drug-shop." 
 
 " There's something heavy in the tail-pocket," 
 returned Patty. " Would you mind putting in 
 your hand to feel it ? " 
 
 Amos followed the roguish girl's suggestion, 
 and pulled out a handsome tobacco-box, lined 
 with tortoise-shell. 
 
 " Wouldn't it be fun to fill it with pepper ? " 
 whispered Patty. 
 
 " No. Soft-soap would do better," returned 
 Amos, who was apt to carry things too far.
 
 Amos Stanhope's Practical Joke. 131 
 
 " I could make him think Lyddy did it," 
 added Patty, "and that would be a splendid 
 joke." 
 
 Before the call came from the keeping-room 
 the boy had filled Mr. Hardy's box with a very 
 dark, soft substance, and slipped it back into 
 its place. During the remainder of the evening 
 Amos and Patty exploded in a burst of merri 
 ment whenever they chanced to meet. 
 
 "What's the joke?" inquired Mr. Hardy as 
 he chased the madcap round the room in a 
 game of fox and geese. 
 
 " Ask Lyddy," replied Patty, her eyes dancing 
 with mischief. " She knows all about it." And 
 poor Lyddy, to keep the fun going, pretended 
 she did know, when, in truth, she was as uncon 
 scious as an infant. 
 
 That night Lyddy went to bed wondering if 
 she should ever pass another evening so full of 
 happiness as this had been. She hid her face 
 in the pillow with delicious and confusing mem 
 ories of Mr. Hardy, and then a fit of humility 
 came upon her, and she wondered how he could 
 care for a simple, plain little girl like her. She 
 could not think of the future, so content was 
 
 she with the blissful, inexplicable present. 
 9
 
 132 Stories for Leisure Hours. 
 
 Amos, when opportunity allowed him to re 
 flect on his practical joke, grew half ashamed of 
 himself and apprehensive of consequences. He 
 longed to make a clean breast of it to Lyddy, 
 for there was nothing ungenerous or sneaking 
 in the lad's nature ; but he was hurried with 
 his chores in the morning, and after that was 
 obliged to make haste to school, so that poor 
 Lyddy was left in utter ignorance of the evil 
 impending. At noon there came a note from 
 Millford. Lyddy knew Ben's handwriting, and 
 she ran with it to her chamber and kissed 
 it foolishly and fondly over and over again. 
 It seemed as though every thing must have 
 stood still for a moment when Lyddy opened 
 the little billet and her eyes fell upon the first 
 words. It began : 
 
 " Miss Stanhope, I feel that I was grossly in 
 sulted in your house last night, and it gives 
 me the greatest pain to believe that you were 
 aware of the circumstances. The pockets of 
 my great-coat were meddled with, and my to 
 bacco-box was maliciously filled with soft-soap, 
 which, when the box was carelessly opened, ran 
 down upon my clothes and utterly ruined them.
 
 Amos Stanhope's Practical Joke. 133 
 
 The loss is of small consequence, but the in 
 dignity I deeply feel. I had heretofore flattered 
 myself that you were my friend, but this occur 
 rence puts things in a new light. 
 
 (Signed) "B. HARDY." 
 
 The note was written by an ^ngry man, who 
 would certainly one day repent of his anger ; 
 but no consideration of this kind softened the 
 heavy blow which Lyddy was called upon to 
 sustain. When Amos got home at night he 
 found her face pale, and her eyes red and swollen 
 from weeping. In shame and sorrow of heart 
 the boy confessed his sin. Mrs. Stanhope would 
 not rest until Amos had written a humble, 
 repentant letter to Mr. Hardy, clearing poor 
 Lyddy from every shade of blame. 
 
 Spring had come, and it seemed to Lyddy 
 that the thread of her pretty romance had been 
 snapped asunder, never again to be mended. 
 Her face grew shadowy, wan, and wistful ; but 
 she did not complain. Ben Hardy had not 
 come back. She knew that he had left Mill- 
 ford, and probably long before this time he had 
 forgotten the little, loving, confiding girl whose 
 heart he had so surely won, for Lyddy did
 
 134 Stories for Leisure Hours. 
 
 not deceive herself any longer. She sighed, 
 and went about her work, and tried to forget 
 a task she never could accomplish. 
 
 Mrs. Stanhope had been sick with a low fever 
 for many weeks, and a hired girl was not to be 
 thought of in Mrs. Stanhope's economy, so the 
 brunt of the work fell upon Lyddy's shoulders. 
 She did not mind it much. She was glad to have 
 something to fill her hands full. But every day 
 the little face grew more spiritual, sweet, and pa 
 tient ; and the sick mother, following her child's 
 motions with large, bright eyes, seemed to be 
 always praying. A great change had come over 
 Amos. He seemed to have outgrown the boor 
 ish, unmanly pranks of a bo^, and, with the 
 thoughtful kindness of a man, to try and make 
 Lyddy forget the wrong he had done her. 
 
 One spring day, when the orchards were like 
 soft, rosy clouds resting upon the earth, Lyddy 
 went out to breathe the fresh air, and walked 
 along the perfumed roads, and pressed the ten 
 der young grass, and thought it would not be 
 very hard to die, even when every thing was 
 in its first budding beauty. Just as she had 
 reached Bright's Corner, and was turning back 
 toward home, a horseman came spurring round
 
 Amos Stanhope's Practical Joke. 13$ 
 
 the turn. Instantly he sprang to the ground, and 
 seized both of Lyddy's little trembling hands in 
 his. It was Ben Hardy, looking browner and 
 handsomer and more irresistible than ever. 
 Lyddy afterward could not remember just what 
 happened ; but there seemed to be a happy 
 mist about her, and Ben was saying something 
 over and over again in a very tender and thrill 
 ing tone. 
 
 " Can you forgive me, Lyddy, for that cruel, 
 savage note? Patty Frisbee made me believe 
 you had a hand in the joke, and Amos's letter 
 miscarried, amd followed me all over the West. 
 But before I knew the truth my heart was so 
 sick with longing to see you, and make it up, I 
 was heartily ashamed of myself, and only wanted 
 an excuse to come back." 
 
 '* I hope you have forgiven poor Amos," said 
 Lyddy, hardly knowing what words were shap 
 ing themselves upon her lips. " He has been 
 so miserable and low-spirited about it." 
 
 " Forgiven him ! " cried Ben. " He is a capital 
 fellow, and has done me a real service. His prank 
 so disgusted me with tobacco in all its forms I 
 have never been able to touch it since, and within 
 the last six months I have more than saved the
 
 136 Stories fot Leisure Hours. 
 
 price of a new suit of clothes, better than those 
 that were spoiled." 
 
 Within two years after Lyddy's marriage 
 Amos wrote a love-letter to Patty Frisbee, which 
 she showed to all the girls and made no end of 
 fun of. He is still unmarried. The firm of 
 Hardy & Stanhope now does a flourishing 
 business out West, and old Mrs. Stanhope 
 looks younger and happier than she did ten 
 years ago. Her children have made her life 
 soft and easy ; and the old farm-house wears a 
 look of comfort and plenty, which it never wore 
 in the days when Lyddy was a girl.
 
 The Old Squire's Wrath. 137 
 
 THE OLD SQUIRE'S WRATH. 
 
 r Hf,oHE gates of the old Northrup place stood 
 
 1-%F\ 
 
 (^> wide open which was their usual attitude 
 
 and the house wore a warm, comfortable, low 
 browed look, in spite of the gaunt trees behind 
 it, and the bleak November sky, betokening 
 snow. It was a sort of eye-brightener to the 
 chilled farmers driving past with loads of cheese- 
 boxes or starkly-frozen pork. Sometimes one 
 or another would point out the old place with 
 his whip to some chance companion on the seat 
 beside him, and then would come the question : 
 
 " Is the old Squire alive yet ? " 
 
 " Bless you, yes ; and as brisk as he was 
 at forty, and as straight as an elum-sapling. 
 The Squire is reg'lar old style, brass-mounted. 
 You heard, didn't you, how he turned his girl out 
 of doors long ago for marrying against his wishes? 
 He's never given in a hair. Folks in these 
 parts call him a pretty hard old customer."
 
 1 3 8 Stories for Leisure Hours. 
 
 And sometimes, in the rattle of wagon-wheels 
 over the frozen ruts, the two last syllables of the 
 epithet appeared to be dispensed with. 
 
 Jerry, the clock-mender and licensed stroller 
 of the country side, was coming out of Squire 
 Northrup's door into the nipping cold. His 
 thin old coat, much whitened across the shoul 
 der-blades, and bravely fastened over the chest 
 by two stout pins for buttons it had none 
 and his bony, red wrists, and lean shanks, cased 
 though they were in blue yarn socks and a pair 
 of shabby high-lows, promised ill for a long pull 
 in the teeth of the bitter wind. However, Jer 
 ry's blue eyes twinkled merrily in his rheumy 
 old face, above many folds of a plaid gingham 
 muffler, for he was conscious of a thanksgiving 
 spare-rib in his kit-bag, and a bottle of Dame 
 Northrup's best cherry bounce, warming, com 
 fortable stuff to a stomach habitually as cold 
 and pinched as was the clock-mender's. 
 
 The Squire's wife came trotting out behind, 
 with her cap-strings dabbled in flour and specks 
 of the same powdering her nose. A spicy, 
 mince-meaty fragrance appeared to cling to her 
 big motherly apron ; and her expression, which 
 was habitually " flustercated," as Betsy Bingle,
 
 The Old Squire's Wrath, 139 
 
 " the help," expressed it, seemed aggravated by 
 the exigences of the season. There she stood, 
 peering up through her glasses at Jerry, while 
 he raised his hand and hemmed mysteriously. 
 
 " It's all right, mum," said he in a loud 
 whisper. " The tin bucket is at the usual 
 roundivoos in the hay-loft, and the things come 
 good to Lindy, I can tell you they did." 
 
 " Would it be much out of your way to go 
 home by Batesville ? " 
 
 " Not a mite, Miss Northrup. What does a 
 mile or two extra signify to a man when his 
 legs are as sound as the day he was born ! " 
 And Jerry patted his lean nether limbs, as if he 
 considered them a particularly fine pair. 
 
 " Then you may stop and tell her the Squire's 
 away from home. I have reckoned it over and 
 over again, and he can't get back till Saturday. 
 It's all along of that jury business, you see ; 
 and, if Lindy chooses to come over with the 
 children on Thanksgiving day, who's to hen- 
 der ? " inquired the dame, with the anxious 
 wrinkles deepening in her forehead. 
 
 There came the sound of a pair of pegged 
 shoes hobbling over the hard path, and Jerry 
 darted off through the shed, and loped away
 
 140 Stories for Leisure Hours. 
 
 across country as the bee flies. The dame 
 gave a guilty little start, and turned around, to 
 find herself face to face with an old crone, much 
 bent in body, with bright black eyes peering 
 out from a scoop bonnet, and the bulge of a 
 basket showing under a camlet cloak. 
 
 " Sakes alive ! it's Goody Hinman," said she 
 briskly, feigning a welcome she scarcely felt ; 
 " and the cold darting Jike pins and needles. I 
 didn't look for you to-day, Goody," she added, 
 opening the house-door, " but your thanksgiv 
 ing turkey is ready all the same." 
 
 "' Don't talk as if I had come a begging, Bar 
 berry Ford," responded the old woman sharply, 
 setting her cane down upon the floor with an 
 emphatic little thump, "for I mind when you 
 was nobody but Barberry Ford, a poor sempstress 
 girl ; and folks thought you was doing mighty 
 well to ketch the Squire with your purty face. 
 I've come to see the old man," she piped out in 
 a cracked treble. " He has hardened his heart 
 and stiffened his neck, as Scriptur' says ; but 
 Goody Hinman aint afeard of him. They didn't 
 tell me that Lindy's husband was dead. They 
 never do tell the deef old creatur' any thing. 
 But I found it out ; and she left poor, with a
 
 The Old Squire 's Wrath. 141 
 
 pack of children to keep. Now at Thanksgiving 
 the sons and daughters are coming home to 
 feast and be merry ; but there's nobody to think 
 of poor Lindy but old Goody Hinman. You 
 wouldn't have it so, Barberry Ford, if you had 
 a grain of sperit ; but the Fords never had the 
 spunk of a louse. I know them all, from Tavern 
 Billy down." 
 
 " The Squire has gone from home ! " screamed 
 Dame Northrup, coloring violently and biting 
 her thin lips. 
 
 " That's just what I did say," retorted old 
 Goody snappishly, nodding her head as she 
 settled into an easy-chair by the blazing hearth, 
 and let the black scoop fall away from her wide- 
 bordered cap. "The Fords never had the 
 spunk of a louse ; and, if you hadn't knuckled 
 to the old Squire, it might have been better for 
 poor Lindy." 
 
 " None so deaf as them that wont hear," mur 
 mured the dame, in no pleasant humor, as she 
 stepped back to the table, covered with a maze 
 of butter, and eggs, and spices, and preserve- 
 pots, and flaky pies just rescued from the oven, 
 and others, rarely jiggled and ornamented, 
 standing ready to take their places.
 
 142 Stories for Leisure Hours. 
 
 At that moment Betsy Bingle issued from 
 the cellar-way. She was a lean lass, with pro 
 truding " shovel " teeth, and a propensity to hold 
 her mouth wide open and listen to every word 
 that was said, to the great detriment of her 
 work, at the same time that she grew singularly 
 limp when she was " beat " or " struck " in her 
 mind, or fell, as she said, into a " quanderary." 
 
 Betsy bore in her hand the old lady's thanks 
 giving turkey, which Goody's sharp eyes no 
 sooner spied than she let fall a live coal she had 
 drawn out from the fire with a pair of tongs to 
 light her short pipe, and seized upon it with 
 avidity. 
 
 " It don't heft as much as last year's, not by 
 two pounds," muttered she, ducking and raising 
 the fowl by its long, stiff legs ; " and there don't 
 look to be a mossle of fat on the breast-bone." 
 
 However, the bird went into Goody's basket, 
 and was carefully covered up with a series of 
 chocolate-tinted cloths ; and, scenting pot-pie 
 for dinner with a nose as sharp as her tongue, 
 she settled herself comfortably in her great, 
 roomy, splint-bottomed chair, and let the blue 
 smoke curl in little thin wreaths about her 
 head.
 
 The Old Squire's Wrath. 143 
 
 It was the morning of Thanksgiving Day as 
 Novemberish a morning as you would wish to 
 see, with a bitter wind blowing, and the pale 
 sun wading, as it were, through drifts of snow. 
 The Squire's wife looked out over frost-bitten 
 fields to the edging of timber land, where a few 
 warm colors still burnt like dying embers 
 against a background of evergreens, and then 
 went back from the rating panes to stir the 
 fire into brighter sparkles. 
 
 Betsy Bingle was " struck " with the idea that 
 she had never before seen her mistress in such 
 a " twitter," and so long as the handmaid re 
 mained in suspense concerning the cause of the 
 flurry she was totally incapable of exertion. 
 Truth to tell, the dame had brisked up wonder 
 fully since the old Squire's departure, from the 
 meeching, timorous, submissive creature she 
 was in his presence. A soft, fluttering rose- 
 color had come into her cheeks, and her eyes 
 looked bright and moist. 
 
 Two great turkeys were roasting before the 
 fire, and their unctuous drippings fizzed and 
 sputtered down into the pan. There were 
 loads of good things on the buttery shelves, 
 and the dame was ornamenting the biggest
 
 144 Stones for Leisure Hours. 
 
 plum-cake with frosting, krissing it, crossing 
 it, dabbing it, and patting it, and quirking 
 her old head this way and that, like an aged 
 robin. 
 
 " It's almost time they were here," said she, 
 skipping to the window again, as if she had no 
 more than turned sixteen. 
 
 " Do you expect many of 'em ? " inquired 
 Betsy, putting in a question at random, and let 
 ting some of the egg she was beating slip off into 
 her lap in a little white pool. 
 
 " Let me see," said the dame, with her cap 
 turned awry in a very rakish manner, and the 
 specs just ready to fall from the tip of her nose, 
 while she counted upon her knobby old fingers, 
 " One, two, three. .Yes, Betsy, there's eight of 
 them." 
 
 " My suds ! " exclaimed Betsy, " what a raft ! 
 You never had more than the parson and his 
 wife, or Deacon Hill's folks." 
 
 " Some of them are little teenty-tots," she 
 went on, speaking gleefully, almost as if she 
 had lost Betsy's words ; " and to think that I, 
 their grandmother " 
 
 " Stars and garters ! " cried Betsy, with a jerk, 
 letting the remaining contents of the platter
 
 The Old Squire's Wrath. 145 
 
 stream down her dress. " You don't mean to 
 say, Miss Northrup, you've gone and asked 
 your daughter Lindy over to eat thanksgiving 
 dinner ? " 
 
 " Mind what you are about," said the dame 
 sharply. 
 
 " O, luddy ! them sillybobs has gone to pot ! 
 But I was so beat with the news that I couldn't 
 hold nothing I never can when I'm scart. 
 Now, Miss Northrup, I wouldn't have thought 
 you'd dast to do it, the old Squire is such a 
 tearer. And who knows but he might pop in 
 unexpected ? " 
 
 " You let your tongue run too free, Betsy 
 Bingle," said the old lady, bridling a good deal 
 for her ; " and you pay too little heed to your 
 work. There, you have spoiled my custards ! 
 all for gabbling about something that don't con 
 cern you." 
 
 " Mebbe I do gabble," returned Betsy, who 
 was not above answering back. " But I always 
 heard before I come here to live that the old 
 Square's folks was mortal 'fraid of him, and I 
 guess when he hears Lindy's been home he'll 
 make the house hot." 
 
 " Go up garret, Betsy," said the dame, quickly
 
 1 46 Stories for Leisure Hours. 
 
 losing sight of her anger in a mingled throng 
 of memories, poignantly sweet and sad, " and 
 bring down the two high chairs that belonged 
 to the twins I lost. I never could bear to see 
 them around after that. And you may fetch 
 Lindy's little rocker. The Square brought it 
 home to her one day from the village, and I 
 never did see a little creeter so tickled. We 
 must have a heap of nuts from the store-cham 
 ber, Betsy ; and the best apples in the cellar 
 pearmains and pippins I recollect Lindy liked 
 them. And put down a great pitcher of cider 
 to warm on the hearth, for they'll be chilled to 
 the marrer in this raw wind." 
 
 Betsy clattered off to do her bidding, and the 
 Squire's wife had just slipped into an old-fash 
 ioned, stand-alone silk, and perched a wonder 
 ful cap on top of her head, with little gauzy bows 
 that looked like distracted butterflies, when a 
 prodigious clatter arose at the door, the cheer 
 ing of little voices, the thumping of little sturdy 
 hands and feet. And amid all the din could be 
 distinguished the cry of " Grandma's house ! " 
 
 The dame ran to open it, with an indescrib 
 able pucker in her old face, something between 
 laughing and crying ; and there tumbled in a
 
 The Old Squire 's Wrath. 147 
 
 heap of little sturdy, chubby boys, who had out 
 run mother, and the girl-baby, and Jakey, who 
 had had the rickets and was weak and uncer 
 tain in his legs. Grandma made her arms as 
 wide as she possibly could to take them all in ; 
 and yet they seemed to spill out and run over, 
 like rosy-cheeked apples tumbling from an 
 apron. 
 
 In a moment more a worn woman was stand 
 ing on the threshold, looking at the first glance 
 even older than the dame. She wore a shabby 
 bonnet and thin old shawl, under which peeped 
 the blue eyes of a very placid baby. No wonder, 
 remembering how she had gone out from the 
 old home years before, that Linda should have 
 broken down and sobbed on her mother's neck. 
 It seemed to impart a singular and unwonted 
 degree of courage and strength to the old woman 
 to see Linda give up Linda, who had always 
 been as high-strung and obstinate as the old 
 Squire himself. 
 
 She led her forward to a seat by the warm 
 fire, and put her feet to toast, and untied the 
 crumpled bonnet, and let her old hand stray 
 over the thin hair, turning gray now, and 
 
 touched the lined and faded cheek, murmuring 
 10
 
 148 Stories for Leisure Hours. 
 
 soothing words, just as if she had consoled and 
 comforted people all her life long. 
 
 Linda's little boys, in spite of their old shoes, 
 that seemed to snicker with funny holes, and 
 the knees of their trowsers patched three deep, 
 and their little taily jackets, made out of old, 
 did not allow any such trifles to damp their 
 spirits. They knew all about grandma's house 
 from their mother's stories, and the awe and 
 mystery surrounding grandpa did not diminish 
 its fascinations. Now it seemed as though a 
 gleesome army of elves had broken into the 
 still old dwelling, and were capering over the 
 wall and cutting didoes on the brown rafters. 
 There was a glorious hubbub, and the bright 
 faces of the geraniums in the sitting-room win 
 dows seemed to nod out approvingly at the bleak 
 weather, as much as to say, " This is jolly ; we 
 like it hugely." The little boy who had had the 
 rickets, and couldn't romp with the others 
 because his legs were weak, sat in a small chair 
 on the hearth ; and when some extra piece of 
 fun was up he would clap his little transparent 
 hands, held on by nothing but " pipe-stems," 
 as grandma said, and shrill out " Hurray ! " 
 at the top of his feeble lungs.
 
 The Old Squire 's Wrath. 149 
 
 The placid baby lay toasting on a quilt in 
 front of the fire, with one ear growing as pink 
 as a shell, while Linda went about touching the 
 old familiar things softly with her hand. At last, 
 when she came to the Squire's desk, with his 
 well-worn leather-covered chair before it, and his 
 plucky-looking old work-day hat and coat hang 
 ing above, she knelt down and hid her face in 
 the cushions of the seat. 
 
 " Don't, Lindy," whispered the dame, bend 
 ing over her. " Try to forget it to-day, deary." 
 
 " I can't, mother," was the broken reply. 
 " He was always good to me before that hap 
 pened, and I love him just the same." 
 
 " Yes, yes," was the answer ; " he set great 
 store by you, Lindy, for he said you had the 
 spirit of the Northrups. There wasn't much 
 mother in you," and the dame sighed and 
 whisked away a tear. 
 
 Betsy Bingle, arrayed in her Sunday gown, 
 with an astonishing yellow bow, which gave her 
 the appearance of being pinned to a ticket, had 
 as much as she could do to attend to what she 
 called the boy's " shindys." 
 
 "Why don't you shut your fly-trap, Miss 
 Bingle?" said Seth, the biggest boy whom
 
 150 Stories for L eisure Hours. 
 
 she considered head " skezecks " as the open 
 ness of her countenance became more and more 
 apparent. 
 
 "You're a sassy boy, and don't mind your 
 manners," returned Betsy, with a snap ; but, 
 for all that, she laughed until the great brown 
 turkey nearly slipped off the platter she was 
 carrying. 
 
 O, I wonder if a dinner before or since ever 
 looked, smelt, or tasted as gloriously as that 
 dinner did to the sharp senses of Linda's little 
 boys ? It overflowed the big claw-footed din- 
 ing-table, and went meandering away on side 
 board and ancient half-round, in pies, and pud 
 dings, and shaking jellies. 
 
 " Hadn't I better keep on the watch, marm, for 
 fear the old Squire should pop in ? " whispered 
 Betsy, coming to the back of the old lady's 
 chair, where she sat with her eyes blurring 
 at sight of the row of little expectant faces 
 opposite, and Linda in her old place. 
 
 " Go along, Betsy Bingle, and take the baby," 
 said the dame. " Don't be pestering, to spoil 
 the comfort of this one day," she added in a 
 lower tone. And after that I think they all 
 forgot the existence of the Squire, even though
 
 The Old Squire 's Wrath. 1 5 1 
 
 his coat and stick seemed to menace them from 
 the wall. 
 
 How I wish I could tell you of the way that 
 dinner was eaten, of the fun and the frolic. 
 How, when each of the little lads had a big 
 plateful of turkey before him, a snicker ran 
 along the line ; and, being reproved for it, how 
 they declared it had snickered itself. How 
 they stood themselves up, and shook themselves 
 down, and began bravely all over again, until, 
 when the great plum-cake was brought on, the 
 weakly one got up on his shaky little pins, and 
 cheered out sweet and shrill until the others 
 all joined in, and grandma made a time of wiping 
 her old eyes. 
 
 At last they were down on the hearth, crack 
 ing nuts and toasting apples, and Seth had 
 pulled the old Squire's hat and coat off the hook 
 to play wolf in, and was chasing Ben down a 
 long side passage, when the breathless lad ran 
 into a remarkably sturdy pair of old legs. 
 
 " Get along with your apple-cart," cried he, 
 just as independent as a top wood-sawyer ; 
 and the next moment something big and gruff 
 collared him, and shook him smartly, and he 
 looked up into a stern old face, fringed with
 
 152 Stories for Leisure Hours. 
 
 white hair, surmounting a shaggy top-coat and 
 muffler. 
 
 " Who be you, sauce-box ? " growled a voice 
 from the depths of the muffler. 
 
 " Ben Mason," said the boy promptly, look 
 ing up with his frank eyes, as if proud of the 
 name. 
 
 The next moment he was whirled into a cor 
 ner, and a terrible footstep went clumping down 
 the passage. 
 
 " Massyful Peter ! the old Squire has 
 popped," screamed Betsy ; and she let the baby 
 fall just as the door burst in, revealing a white 
 face quivering with passion. The blessed little 
 thing set up an opportune squall, and the 
 mother snatched it to her bosom and hid her 
 face on its downy head, and the sturdy, manly 
 little lads gathered about her, as if they meant 
 to make a wall between mother and harm. 
 
 " So you came sneaking back, did you," 
 cried the Squire, half-choked with rage, and 
 at the same time pointing to her with his long, 
 tremulous ringer, "as soon as my face was 
 turned ? I didn't think you'd do it," he added, 
 with bitter irony. " I had more respect for you." 
 " Don't blame her," cried the old wife, run-
 
 The Old Squire's Wrath. 153 
 
 ning and putting her hand on his arm. " I 
 begged, and besought, and plead with her to 
 come, because it has all been kept from the 
 children, and I wanted them to feel there was 
 a welcome for them in the old place on Thanks 
 giving day once before I died." 
 
 " You dared to do it ! " he exclaimed, in a 
 tone of unmitigated astonishment. 
 
 " Yes, Henry," and the old woman straight 
 ened up and met his eye without any break in 
 her voice. " I was always afraid of you. You 
 made me so the first day we were married ; but 
 mother-love, they say, is as strong as death. It 
 makes even such a poor creature as me brave. 
 I couldn't have seen Lindy and her innocent 
 children suffer if I'd died for helping them ; for 
 aint they bone of my bone and flesh of my 
 flesh ? " she cried, breaking into homely, touch 
 ing pathos. 
 
 As the old woman gained in courage, with 
 her face warming and glowing, the old man 
 seemed to lose strength almost as if he had re 
 ceived a shock. The conflict of emotions, sur 
 prise, and bitter anger appeared to age him 
 suddenly. He looked haggard and feeble, and 
 groped about for a chair ; and then he sat
 
 154 Stories for Leisure Hours. 
 
 down, and let his white head fall upon his 
 hand. 
 
 " We must go away ," sobbed Linda , as soon 
 as she could speak. "After these long, hard 
 years he hasn't a kind word to offer me, any 
 more than if I was a stone." 
 
 The dazed children huddled closer together, 
 and Seth put his arm around her waist. 
 " Nobody shall touch my mother," said he, 
 hotly ; " let 'em try, if they darst to do it." 
 
 It was the clear Northrup ring ; and the old 
 Squire must have thought so, for he looked 
 up. , 
 
 " You can't let 'em go out into the cold and 
 storm," (for it was snowing now in angry spits, 
 and the sour day had grown sourer toward 
 evening,) pleaded the dame. " You haven't the 
 heart to see your own born child go out of the 
 old door in bitter weather, with a baby in her 
 arms and a sick boy ahold of her skirts. I 
 know you too well, Henry Northrup. You 
 can't hold such a grudge now that Ben is dead 
 and buried ; and on this day, when the Lord's 
 mercies bid us forget and forgive." 
 
 The old man backed round away from the 
 light.
 
 The Old Squire's Wrath. 155 
 
 " I 'spose she is ready now to say she's sorry 
 for marrying that vagabones," he muttered, as 
 if to the wall. 
 
 " No, never ! " cried Linda, starting up. " I 
 should shame the old Northrup spirit if I did 
 injustice to poor Ben, lying in his cold grave. 
 There was bad luck all along, but he never 
 spoke a cross word ; and when trouble came he 
 took the half of every burden. Love helped us 
 to bear it all." 
 
 She broke down worse than ever ; but by and 
 by, as the Squire kept silence, with that bowed 
 look upon him, she crept nearer to his chair, 
 and somehow got into the circle of his arm, 
 and laid her wet cheek and faded hair against 
 his breast. 
 
 " Say you forgive me," she whispered. " I 
 can go away and work for my little ones. I 
 don't dread any thing that can happen ; only a 
 father's wrath has weighed so heavy these many 
 years." 
 
 The old man's head went lower and lower, 
 and at last, when there was a sweet, solemn 
 hush over the room, and Betsy Bingle was cry 
 ing softly in the fireplace, he looked up with 
 that altered face, that had aged and softened so
 
 156 Stories for Leisure Hours. 
 
 in a single hour of deep experience, and said in 
 that new way of referring to his wife, in a tone 
 almost querulous and childish : 
 
 " Barbara, why don't you ask- Lindy and the 
 children to come and live with us here in the 
 old place ? Aint there room enough, I'd like to 
 know ? You have taken it all upon yourself, 
 and you must fix things. You ought to have 
 done it before, Barbara ; I should have been a 
 better man. And now, is there time for God 
 Almighty to have mercy on a hardened sinner ? " 
 
 " The Lord bless you, Henry," sobbed the 
 old woman ; and then she got hold of his hand, 
 and numbled it, and kissed it, and wet it all 
 over with her happy tears. But presently the 
 lumps cleared out of her throat, and she cried 
 with almost girlish glee, " We have got the 
 children home again in our old age, and it 
 minds me to bless God for the sons and daugh 
 ters that have gone back to old homes every 
 where on this Thanksgiving Day." 
 
 " And may God remember those that are left 
 in the cold away from mother's love and father's 
 pity," murmured Linda. 
 
 " Hurray ! " cheered the little weakly boy, 
 not knowing exactly what he was cheering
 
 The Old Squire's Wrath. 157 
 
 about; but it had the force of Amen. And 
 there was the white-haired sire, with the worn 
 daughter on his breast, and the blissful grand- 
 dame, and the little rosy children, held in the 
 sacred bond of our dear old Puritan festival, 
 where the spirit of peace and love had turned 
 the wrath of man to praise.
 
 158 Stories for Leisure Hours. 
 
 WIDOW HENDERSON'S HAPPENINGS. 
 
 NOCK, knock, knock, three times, and 
 sharp too, upon the deal door which 
 opened from the shady porch. 
 
 " I'm coming in just one minute." The 
 voice that called out was pleasant and musical, 
 and it made Aleck Gay's heart beat as no other 
 could. 
 
 There was a little scramble within, and the 
 noise of a whimpering child ; then the door 
 opened, and Mrs. Hetty Henderson stood hold 
 ing the knob. She was snug and tidy, round 
 and plump, though a little under size. Her 
 hair was a rich auburn, of that smooth and 
 tractable kind which never gets out of order. 
 Her face was deliciously fair and rosy, or 
 would have been but for a trace of weariness 
 about the temples ; and her eyes, of a warm hazel, 
 would have brimmed over with smiles had not 
 the white lids drooped a little from want of
 
 Widow Henderson's Happenings. 159 
 
 sleep. As she stood there, so unconsciously 
 good and lovely, Aleck gave her a look of 
 adoration. 
 
 " O, it's you, Aleck ! " she said, simply. 
 
 " Yes, Hetty. I was going past on my way 
 to Buxton, and I thought I'd let my horse bait 
 long enough to inquire how you all are, and 
 what has happened last ; for you know, Hetty, 
 something is always happening to you." 
 
 Mrs. Henderson let go the door and gave a 
 laugh that sounded like the gurgle of a brook 
 or the warble of a bobolink, or whatever is 
 sweetest, only there was an under-tone of 
 pathos in it, like a half sob, that went straight 
 to Aleck's heart. 
 
 " Well, it beats all," said she. " I'm getting 
 my name up ; but something has happened, 
 sure enough, this time. You know I was say 
 ing, just after that insurance company failed 
 and refused to pay the money on poor Willie's 
 life, the next thing to come along would be 
 sickness. It was about time one of the children 
 got down with something, and, sure enough, last 
 Wednesday Ben was taken with the measles. 
 He is as cross as two sticks, and I was up all 
 last night giving him drink, and every hour I
 
 160 Stories for Leisure Hours. 
 
 expect Hetty and Jane will come down, and my 
 employer over in Buxton is hurrying me about 
 those vests ; but I've been wonderfully helped 
 through it all ; " and the blithe laugh came 
 again, so gay and glad it almost brought the 
 tears into Aleck's eyes. 
 
 " What a woman you are for looking on the 
 bright side ! " said he. " A body would think, 
 to hear you talk, every time a trouble comes 
 along that you had fallen heir to a first-class 
 fortune." 
 
 " I should be pretty rich if that was so," re 
 sponded Mrs. Henderson, " for something or 
 other is always happening. I'm one of the sort 
 the Bible speaks of prone to trouble as the 
 sparks are to fly upward. And yet I ought not 
 to say that either, for I am wonderfully helped 
 along." 
 
 " There's more practical religion in your little 
 finger," said Aleck, admiringly, " than in the 
 rest of the folks put together. But I guess I'll 
 step in and take a chair, Hetty. It's as cheap 
 sitting as standing any time." 
 
 The visitor walked into Mrs. Henderson's 
 small sitting-room. 
 
 Overhead her little girls were playing at old
 
 Widow Henderson's Happenings. 16 1 
 
 folks' tea-party, with broken dishes, and were 
 having a very prim, formal, grown-up sort of 
 time. The door was open into the bedroom, 
 where the sick boy lay, and he now raised a 
 half-disconsolate moan, for his mother to come 
 and cool the hot pillow, and give him a drink of 
 the slippery-elm tea which stood on the little 
 stand by his side. 
 
 Aleck took off his hat, and wiped his fore 
 head with a generous red silk handkerchief. He 
 had a compact, well-shaped head, covered with 
 crisp and curling-locks, a mottled, good-humored 
 face, and when he smiled his mouth seemed full 
 of white teeth. He was a little inclined to 
 stoutness, and his neck-tie and waistcoat were 
 not quite to Hetty's taste, and his trowsers 
 showed rather too large and pronounced a plaid. 
 Aleck was rather found of country balls and 
 junketings. He liked a horse that held its 
 head up and stepped out, and, on the other 
 hand, he was not partial to long sermons. In 
 the country neighborhood where he lived Aleck 
 was considered a worldly man, clinging to the 
 typical rags of self-righteousness. The parson 
 made him a subject of prayer, and preached 
 directly at him from the pulpit ; but still Aleck
 
 1 62 Stories for Leisure Horns. 
 
 believed in the good things of this life, and 
 never made professions of religion, much to the 
 sorrow of Hetty Henderson, who was a strict 
 Church-member, and, in spite of a conscience 
 morbidly tender, was filled with true, sweet 
 heart piety. 
 
 The little sitting-room was quite homely, but 
 some of the charm of Hetty's personality seemed 
 to cling about it, making it a veritable paradise 
 in Aleck's eyes. The windows were draped 
 with morning-glories and scarlet runners. 
 There was a chintz-covered lounge, and a 
 variety of splint-bottomed chairs with gay 
 patchwork cushions. In the pleasantest corner, 
 by the south window, where there came wafts 
 of the fragrance that is always floating about 
 in summer-time, and the speckled shade of 
 boughs and hum of bees and song of birds, 
 stood Hetty's sewing-machine. It was bright 
 and polished, and looked almost alive as if it 
 could go alone. Aleck went over where it was 
 and sat down in the big rocking-chair, and laid 
 his hand on the case. He touched it with rev 
 erence, as if he would have liked to get down 
 on his knees and kiss the very treadle. There 
 was a kind of poetry about the mechanism in
 
 Widow Henderson's Happenings. 163 
 
 his eye, for he knew all the brave, patient work 
 it had performed, and the thought was too much 
 for him. 
 
 "Confound it, Hetty!" he broke forth as 
 Mrs. Henderson stepped from the bed-room, 
 "I don't know how I'm going to stand it to have 
 you work as you do. You understand how it 
 has been with me ever since we were children 
 together. I wouldn't speak until a year after 
 poor Will's death." 
 
 Hetty turned and gave him a pleading look. 
 
 " Forgive me," said he, penitent to the very 
 toes of his big boots. " I'm an awkward, clumsy 
 fellow, Hetty, and it's just like me to tread on 
 a flower when I would give my right hand to 
 save it. But you know how I have always felt 
 since we went to school together and ate out of 
 the same luncheon-basket, and I gathered nuts 
 and wild cherries for you in summer, and 
 dragged you up hill on my sled in winter. 
 There came a time, Hetty, when you told me you 
 could not love me, and I never blamed you for 
 taking Will. He was worthier, far worthier, 
 than I. I tried hard not to envy him, even when 
 it was the worst with me, and I don't say but 
 
 what I did enjoy life some. I'm no hypocrite, 
 11
 
 164 Stories for Leisure Hours. 
 
 Hetty," he went on, humbly, "and a wrong 
 word will slip out now and then when I am 
 angry. I am sorry for it, Hetty. I wish I was 
 a better man, and I know you could make me 
 one. I don't make professions, and I never 
 have signed a temperance pledge, because I 
 think a man's character is pledge enough 
 against his making a beast of himself. The 
 pharisees call me hard names, for a man's repu 
 tation is blasted in this community if he uses a 
 check-rein and occasionally takes a glass of 
 hard cider. If I don't make any pretense to 
 piety, I'm straighter in my business dealings 
 than some round here that do." 
 
 Hetty did not like this kind of talk, and her 
 face showed it. The softness departed, and a 
 look of decision and character came in its 
 stead. 
 
 " Your can't clear your own skirts," said she, 
 with a little asperity, " by throwning blame on 
 professors of religion. If you do see a mote in 
 your neighbor's eye, that isn't going to pluck 
 the beam out of your own eye." 
 
 Aleck saw he had upset his own dish, and in 
 wardly groaned. " I didn't mean that, Hetty," 
 he broke out. " I know I'm a miserable sinner.
 
 Widow Henderson's Happenings. 165 
 
 There was a time when I thought I should be 
 lost. It was after poor Will was shot in the 
 battle of the Wilderness, and you were left to 
 struggle on alone, and I saw your white face 
 before me, and I was almost crazy. But after 
 a year or two it seemed to me I might begin 
 to hope. I thought how I could take you and 
 the children home, and keep trouble and want 
 away, and just live and breathe to make you 
 happy, until I felt sure you could save me from 
 selfishness and make me a new creature." 
 
 Aleck saw a little flicker in Hetty's face, and 
 it induced him to go on in a more impassioned 
 strain of pleading. 
 
 " I sometimes have thought, Hetty," said he, 
 " that my love for you is kind of religious. I 
 can't see God, but I can see his goodness shin 
 ing in your eyes. There's many a man around 
 her who expects to get to heaven on the 
 strength of his wife's prayers. If I was hard 
 pushed to say what there is in me that deserves 
 heaven, I should have to confess there's noth 
 ing but my constant love for the best woman 
 in the world. If my heart was laid open to your 
 pure eyes, you would see how all that is good 
 and honest in me goes out toward you, O,
 
 1 66 Stories for Leisure Hours. 
 
 some folks can steer right along toward heaven 
 of themselves ; they are strong and full of 
 faith. Other folks must have something to 
 catch hold of it may be a little child's hand, 
 or a woman's heart, but it is a very real thing ; 
 and I tell you what it is, Hetty, I do believe you 
 could tow me right along into glory." 
 
 Aleck was not quite a gentleman, not very 
 refined ; but the yearning, the passion, the faith 
 of the man wrought upon his face and made it 
 noble. Hetty would have been less than woman 
 had she remained unmoved. 
 
 "You do wrong, Aleck," said she, gently, 
 "to put a poor, erring, weak creature in the 
 place of the Creator. Be careful that you do 
 not grieve away the Spirit of God. Your heart 
 is set on the things of this world, I fear, and it 
 ' is your duty to wait more faithfully on the 
 means of grace." 
 
 " I will do any thing on earth you want me 
 to, Hetty," Aleck responded with alacrity. " I'll 
 go to meeting every Sunday if you'll let me sit 
 beside you and look over the same hymn-book. 
 Ding it all, I'll turn missionary to the canni 
 bals, if you will, and go off to Injy, or any other 
 place where they eat human beefsteaks. I
 
 Widow Henderson's Happenings. 167 
 
 could go to jail with you, Hetty, and think my 
 self a happy man." 
 
 "You make light of serious things," said 
 Hetty, very gravely, taking up the hem of her 
 apron and putting it together in little folds. 
 Then she happened to glance out of the win 
 dow at the yellow-wheeled sulky, which was 
 abominable in her eyes. Aleck's sorrel horse 
 was backing in the thills, impatient for the ap 
 pearance of his master. " We don't think alike, 
 Aleck," she continued, looking down at a red 
 stripe in the carpet, "and I fear we shall 
 never agree on the most important things. I 
 know how large and generous your heart is, 
 and prize its worth ; but I cannot feel it is right 
 for us to marry. The Bible says, 'Be ye not 
 unequally yoked with unbelievers.' I shall pray 
 for your conversion, as I have been doing for a 
 long time." 
 
 Hetty's voice faltered, and Aleck got up and 
 broke abruptly into the middle of her sentence. 
 " Don't think I'm going to take this for your 
 final answer, Hetty. There's hope as long as 
 there's life. I do believe you love me a little, 
 way down deep in your heart ; and if I was a 
 miserable wretch just fit for the hospital or poor-
 
 1 68 Stories for Leisure Hours. 
 
 house, you would think it your duty to marry me, 
 and take up your cross and earn my support, 
 for your soul's good. But here I am, a great, 
 strong man with enough and to spare, ready to 
 lift you out of a life of drudgery, and give you 
 every comfort, and educate the children, and 
 love you with my whole heart and soul and 
 strength, and you will persist in turning me off 
 because you are afraid of offending the Lord. 
 I don't believe the Lord is offended by such 
 things, and you ought to follow the dictates of 
 your heart." 
 
 He strode to the door, and slammed it as he 
 went out ; and Hetty, whose nerves were a lit 
 tle shaky from watching the previous night, sat 
 down in the rocking-chair and buried her burn 
 ing face in her hands. Aleck had treated her 
 outrageously. He was positively brutal. How 
 dared he say he believed she loved him a little 
 down deep in her heart ? The thought of the 
 insult she had received made the tears flow and 
 trickle through her fingers. Aleck had widened 
 the breach between them, and as she was sure 
 she didn't love him, there was no apparent need 
 of grieving over it. She knew she should be 
 wonderfully helped, for she always was, and yet
 
 Widow Henderson's Happenings. 169 
 
 somehow she felt very low-spirited and miser 
 able. There was a great pile of vests to stitch 
 for her employer at Buxton, and the work must 
 be done in time, even though her head did ache 
 and her eyes blur with weariness. 
 
 Aleck, for his part, threw himself into the 
 yellow sulky, and gave the sorrel horse his 
 head. As he turned away from the little red 
 farm-house, where such a patient, sweet life was 
 being lived, he felt heartily ashamed of himself 
 because he was so prosperous'and well off, with 
 a great stock-farm clear from debt, the best 
 stone house in the township, and money in 
 bank. He was disgusted with his stout limbs 
 and excellent digestion. If he had been born 
 halt or blind, Hetty might have taken him home 
 to her heart. She had married Will Hender 
 son, he felt sure, because he was the best and 
 unluckiest fellow in the world. 
 
 The hay harvest was over, and the fields were 
 smoothly shorn. Elms by the wayside seemed 
 to drip with golden light. The cardinal-flower 
 looked at its splendid image in the lazy little 
 brook that flowed along coquetting with alders 
 and reeds. There were good farms on either 
 side the way. Aleck crossed the covered bridge
 
 170 Stories for Leistire Hours. 
 
 over a wide, shallow stream, and came out on a 
 bit of smooth road and an old brown barn with 
 doors wide open abutting almost upon the track. 
 Two or three farmers had gathered to inspect a 
 horse which the owner of the place a tall, 
 black-whiskered man in his shirt sleeves, had 
 brought out from the stable. A passer-by in a 
 light democrat wagon slued his vehicle round 
 out of the road, and stopped to observe what was 
 going on. Aleck did the same with his yellow- 
 wheeled sulky, for his instinct scented a trade. 
 The animal on exhibition was a tall chestnut, 
 clean-limbed, with a shiny satin coat, and a pecul 
 iarly wicked eye, 
 
 " What will you take for that horse, Bates ? " 
 inquired Aleck, after he had exchanged nods 
 with the neighbors. 
 
 "Wa'al, I don't know just what I would 
 take. I vally him purty high. He's a nice 
 horse, but he aint just the beast to work on a 
 farm. Now if you want to swap off that there 
 sorrel of yours, I wouldn't mind giving a little 
 boot." 
 
 " Come, now, out with it, Bates ; let's know 
 what ails him ! Is he spavined, or broken- 
 winded?"
 
 Widow Henderson's Happenings. 171 
 
 " No," said one of the old farmers, whose face 
 looked like a carved walnut, at the same time 
 ejecting a liberal shower of tobacco juice, " he's 
 as sound as a nut, not five years old, but you 
 see he's got a leetle touch of the devil in him. 
 Mebbe for a week he'll go along as steady as an 
 old cow, and then he'll take a notion to, kick 
 and stiffen his hind legs like steel crow-bars, 
 and, you'd better believe, any thing that's be 
 hind him is pretty likely to be sent to kingdom 
 come. When he takes it into his head to run, 
 a chain of lightnin' wouldn't hold him ; and 
 every now and then he breaks his headstall all 
 to flinders, and chaws up his grain-bin." 
 
 " You needn't make it out worse than it is," 
 said Bates in a grieved tone. " I don't kalker- 
 late to deceive any body about this here animal. 
 I never said he was a likely animal, and I aint 
 a-going to have a neighbor, after he's got his 
 neck broke, and been sot on by a crowner and 
 twelve men, come and prosecute me for damages; 
 but if he's willing to trade, knowing all the 
 facts, why, that's his own look-out." 
 
 " How much boot will you give ? " inquired 
 Aleck, laconically. 
 
 " Why, for that there sorrel of yours," said
 
 1 72 Stories for Leisure Hours. 
 
 Mr. Bates, " I wouldn't mind a cool hundred 
 and fifty down, or, what's the same thing, a check 
 for that amount on Buxton Bank." 
 
 " Agreed ! " returned Aleck, and he threw 
 down the lines and sprang out of the sulky. 
 " Here, untackle my horse and put in yours, 
 and then we will go over to the house and 
 square up the money matters." 
 
 Two weeks slipped away, and the Widow 
 Henderson saw nothing of Aleck Gay. Things 
 had happened all along not the brightest and 
 happiest things, but smiles still shone in Hetty's 
 eyes, though more and more tremulous with 
 tears. The two little girls had fallen sick of 
 measles, and the disease seemed to go very hard 
 with Jenny, the youngest, the baby and pet. 
 Anxiety and constant watching had worn upon 
 Hetty's nerves, and some of the work for her 
 Buxton employer was done when she was ready 
 to drop to sleep over the machine. One parcel 
 of vests had already found their way back, with a 
 sharp note, saying the stitching did not give satis 
 faction, and must be done over ; and, worse than 
 all, the post had brought her an official document 
 from Washington, with the information that, on 
 account of some irregularity in his papers, poor
 
 Widow Henderson 's Happenings. 1 73 
 
 Will's pension, which had been continued to his 
 widow, was about to be withdrawn. It might 
 cost more time and money than she had to spare 
 to get the claim re-established. The old farm 
 house where she lived had only a few rather 
 productive acres attached to it, and was heav 
 ily mortgaged. Hetty had depended upon the 
 pension to keep down the interest, and now 
 there was a bleak, homeless prospect staring 
 her and her little brood in the face. But all the 
 time she knew she should be wonderfully helped 
 through her troubles. The thought of Aleck 
 Gay great, generous-hearted fellow who had 
 loved her so faithfully long years, came like a 
 warm, sweet suffusion, and burnt upon her cheek 
 in a hidden blush. Hetty suspected this feel 
 ing was a temptation in disguise, for she knew 
 the devil has a very ungentlemanly way of 
 taking advantage of a woman's weak back and 
 tired feet. 
 
 Near Hetty's house was an ugly, steep hill, 
 with more pitches and shelving banks than any 
 other in half a day's j ourney. That same after 
 noon, which was lowering and overcast, an old 
 man in a tow frock was guiding a pair of oxen 
 down Long Hill. When about half-way to the
 
 1 74 Stories for Leisure Hours. 
 
 bottom his bleary old eyes took note of some 
 thing ahead which looked like the detached 
 wheels and body of a yellow sulky. His slow 
 senses had scarcely made this observation when 
 he came upon a man, hatless, and with torn 
 coat, lying among some loose stones a little 
 under the bank. 
 
 "Why, du tell, if it aint Aleck Gay ! " 
 
 "It's me, sure enough," groaned Aleck. 
 " That beast of mine ran away and smashed 
 the sulky to shivers. I hope he has broken 
 his confounded neck. My ankle is sprained, 
 and I have hurt my arm, and there are some 
 scratches on my face, but I hope my bones are 
 all right. Come, daddy, give me a lift as far as 
 the Widow Henderson's, and on your way home 
 you may stop at the doctor's." 
 
 Hetty had just put down little Jane, after a 
 bad coughing fit, when there came a confused 
 and ominous sound from the front porch. She 
 ran to the door, and, throwing it open, called 
 out, in a tone of despair, " What has happened 
 now?" 
 
 " It's me, Hetty," Aleck answered as he was 
 being helped in. " I met with an accident near 
 here, and am pretty well knocked to pieces, and
 
 Widow Henderson's Happenings. 175 
 
 I thought, seeing how it is, you would not refuse 
 to take me in." 
 
 Hetty reeled back against the side of the 
 passage-way without speaking, and turned very 
 pale. Aleck saw the look, and it made his 
 heart leap up in his throat, although he was 
 suffering considerable pain. Soon the patient 
 was sitting bolstered up in a rocking-chair, 
 wrapped in a blanket, with his hurt foot on a 
 cushion and pillows about him. Arnica, cam 
 phor, lint, and bandages were quickly brought ; 
 Hetty washed the blood from his forehead with 
 a very tender touch. 
 
 " Aleck," inquired she sympathetically, " don't 
 you think it would do you good to have a 
 plaster on these cuts ? " 
 
 "No," said Aleck, giving a prodigious groan, 
 " it aint worth while. Only if you would stand 
 there and hold your hand on my head a few 
 minutes, it would draw better than any plaster 
 in the world." 
 
 "You need some thing warming to take in 
 wardly, Aleck. I am afraid you will get ex 
 hausted and faint away." 
 
 " No " and he gave another profound sigh 
 " but if you'll sit down there, where I can look
 
 1 76 Stories for Leisure Hours, 
 
 at you handy, it will do me more good than 
 doctor's stuff." 
 
 Hetty sat down accordingly, and as the pity 
 grew in her face, -hope rose in the breast of 
 Aleck. 
 
 " Do you think your leg is broken, Aleck ? I 
 am so sorry for your sufferings. The pain must 
 be intense." 
 
 " It is pretty bad," answered Aleck, evasively, 
 "and I can't tell just what has happened until 
 the doctor comes. I've a notion it's mostly in 
 ternal. There is something wrong here," and 
 he put his hand conspicuously over his heart. 
 " I don't know but I'm going to pieces. One 
 thing is certain ; I never shall ride in that 
 yellow sulky again. It may be all day. with 
 me;" and then came another dreadful groan. 
 "Hetty" after a little pause "don't you 
 think you could reconcile it with your sense 
 of duty to take pity on me ? You accept mis 
 fortunes so beautifully, Hetty ; now I have be 
 come a a kind of misfortune, couldn't you 
 accept me ? " 
 
 " If I can do you good," said Hetty timidly. 
 " It would seem almost providential. Who knows 
 but this may prove a means of grace ? "
 
 Widow Henderson 's Happenings. 1 77 
 
 " It will ! " cried Aleck in ecstasy. He quite 
 forgot to groan, and with his sound arm he 
 clasped her waist. " Hetty, God helping me, 
 this shall prove the best thing that ever hap 
 pened to you."
 
 178 Stones for Leisure Hours. 
 
 HANNAH'S QUILTING. 
 
 ANN AH thought she knew the state of 
 Fred Freeman's heart. She had trifled 
 with him a little, and her own mind was not 
 quite made up. 
 
 She was sitting now in her chamber, sweet 
 and clean with whitewash and new buff paper, 
 and bowery with green light which fell from the 
 pear-tree boughs through freshly-starched mus 
 lin curtains. Hannah was a nice-looking 
 blonde maiden, dressed in a tidy chocolate print, 
 with a blue bow nestling in her thick, wavy 
 hair. She had been writing a note by the 
 stand, and was sealing it with one of the motto 
 seals then in fashion. This one said, " Come ; " 
 and it was easy to see that it indorsed a note 
 of invitation. 
 
 She ran down stairs into the fresh morning 
 air, where her father, Deacon Ashley, was just 
 ready to head old Charley toward the village.
 
 Hannah 's Quilting. 179 
 
 Her mother, a buxom matron, was standing 
 bare-headed beside the democrat wagon, hand 
 ing up the molasses jug, and charging the 
 Deacon not to forget that pound of Castile 
 soap and the lamp-wicks. Hannah tucked up 
 her trim skirts, and ran out through the dewy 
 grass. 
 
 " See here, father," she called, in her pleasant 
 voice, "you must stop at the school-house and 
 give this note to Andy Freeman. It's for Jane, 
 you know, asking her and Miss Lang to come 
 to the quilting." 
 
 " Aint there one for Fred Freeman, too ? " 
 inquired the good-natured old Deacon, with a 
 wink. 
 
 " I told Jane he could come in the evening 
 if he chose," returned Hannah, with slightly 
 heightened color. " Doctor Bingham will be 
 here," she added, "and some other young 
 men." 
 
 " Fred Freeman is worth the whole kit," re 
 sponded the Deacon ; "and that young pill-box, 
 according to my way of thinking, runs too much 
 to hair-ile and watch-chains ; but Fred has got 
 good hard sense and first-rate learning. He 
 
 can appear with any of 'em. If you don't look 
 12
 
 1 80 Stories for Leistire Hours. 
 
 out, Han, he'll be shining round that pretty 
 girl from Hillsdale." 
 
 " It makes no difference to me who he 
 shines round," returned Hannah, with a slight' 
 shade of offense ; but, nevertheless, there was 
 a little pang at her heart as she turned back 
 toward the house. Hannah's mind was not quite 
 easy about Jane Freeman's visitor, the pretty 
 girl from Hillsdale, but she thought if she 
 could see Fred and Mary Lang together, she 
 would know in just what quarter the wind was 
 setting. 
 
 The Deacon tucked the note into his breast 
 pocket, took the molasses jug between his feet, 
 and gave old Charley a cut with the lines pre 
 paratory to making him begin to move, an op 
 eration of some length, as Charley believed the 
 Deacon to be under his orders. At last, how 
 ever, the two were trotting and rattling past the 
 goose-pond, and the big barns, and the tall elms 
 that cast some very cool shadows across the 
 brown dust of the road, until, with a kind of 
 mutual understanding and sympathy, they came 
 out against a stretch of post and rider fence, 
 inclosing a field of the biggest kind of clover. 
 
 It looked like good farming to the Deacon's
 
 Hannah's Quilting. 181 
 
 eyes. He could calculate pretty closely the 
 number of tons of sweet, juicy feed there would 
 be to the acre ; and yet this morning the fra 
 grance, and the rosy bloom and the hum of in 
 sects among the thick heads, brought him a dif 
 ferent kind of pleasure. 
 
 With the long sight of age he could see the 
 cows grazing in the back pasture, and he 
 thought of the " cattle on a thousand hills," and 
 whose they are. His gaze wandered back lov 
 ingly even to the old stone walls with mulleins 
 growing beside them, and the shadows of birds 
 flitting over them, and every thing seemed 
 good, even the May-weed, and daisies, and 
 Canada thistles that farmers hate by instinct. 
 He felt a gush of childlike thankfulness, be 
 cause " the earth is the Lord's, and the fullness 
 thereof." 
 
 Presently the Deacon and Charley came 
 across a group of school-children brown, 
 freckle-faced little urchins, in calico shirts, tow 
 trowsers, and shilling hats much the worse for 
 wear. Then there was a tall red-headed girl 
 who had out-grown all the tucks in her dress, 
 and had torn her apron in following the boys 
 over the wall after a chipmunk ; and one or
 
 1 82 Stories for Leisttre Hours. 
 
 two little tots, with very flappy sun-bonnets, 
 whose short legs would not allow them to 
 keep up. They all carried dinner-pails and 
 dog's-eared spelling-books, and at the very end 
 of the string there was a low-spirited yellow 
 dog. 
 
 " Whoa ! " cried the Deacon, setting his two 
 boots-soles, which resembled weather-beaten 
 scows, against the dash-board, and pulling in 
 hard an operation Charley did not at all relish, 
 although he at last yielded, with a shake of his 
 homely head, which intimated it was done by 
 special favor, and could not be repeated. 
 
 " Jump in, children ! " cried the good-natured 
 old man ; " I'll give ye a lift as far as the school- 
 house. Beats all how much little shavers think 
 of ketchin' a ride. There, don't crowd, boys. 
 Let the girls in first, and mind your manners ; " 
 and he lifted in a little roly-poly maid, with pin 
 cushion hands and a very suggestive stain 
 of wild cherries around her dimpled mouth, and 
 seated her on the buffalo beside him. The oth 
 ers all tumbled in in a trice. 
 
 " Tears to me I wouldn't eat them puckery 
 things," said the Deacon in his grandfatherly 
 fashion, pointing to some suggestive smears on
 
 Hannah's Quilting. 183 
 
 the little maid's high gingham apron. " They'll 
 give you the colic." 
 
 "Yes, sir," answered the child, folding her 
 funny little hands contentedly in her lap. 
 " Sissy had the measles and I didn't, and my 
 mother said I might have the colic if I wanted 
 to." 
 
 The Deacon leaned back and laughed, and 
 Charley shook his ears and turned up at him an 
 eye of mild reproach. 
 
 " What a little goose you are ! " said a bright- 
 faced boy, who had been very much squeezed in 
 the legs, and had just administered several sharp 
 punches in the side of the squeezer as he leaned 
 over the back of the seat to pinch the little 
 girl's ear. 
 
 " Bless me ! there's Andy Freeman, and I 
 had like to have forgot the what-d'ye-call-it 
 billy-do my Hannah sent to the girls up at 
 your house." 
 
 The Deacon veered half round and checked 
 Charley, who by this time began to consider 
 the whole thing disgusting, especially as the 
 low-spirited dog had mixed himself up with his 
 feet. 
 
 " This must be it," he went on, fumbling in
 
 184 Stories for Leisure Hours. 
 
 his pocket. " You see I've left my best eyes at 
 home ; the old pair I carry in my head don't 
 amount to much." 
 
 Andy took the folded paper, and promised to 
 be careful of it ; and by the time Charley and 
 his load had arrived at the stone school-house, 
 which looked very much like a juvenile peniten 
 tiary, the schoolmistress was standing in the 
 door ringing the bell ; and the children scram 
 bled down the side of the wagon and scampered 
 off, to save their marks for punctuality. 
 
 Jane Freeman had been busy all day with her 
 friend Mary Lang, the pretty girl from Hills- 
 dale. There is nothing at first so engrossing 
 to the mind of a country girl as the stylish 
 clothes of her city visitor. Mary had a number 
 of fashionably-made dresses, and, as old Mrs. 
 Freeman remarked, she had got the "very 
 latest quirk" in her pretty hair. She was a 
 good-natured girl, and had let Jane cut the 
 pattern of her visite and her tabbed muslin cape, 
 and had shown her just how to do the captivat 
 ing twist. Now the two girls were bending out 
 of the sitting-room window, which looked upon 
 the orchard, with its gnarled boughs, and cool 
 green lights, and white clover-heads dropped
 
 Hannah's Quilting. 185 
 
 upon the grass like unstrung pearls. Fred had 
 come up from the garden, and was leaning on 
 his hoe-handle, talking to them. He was a 
 muscular, well-made young fellow ; and the fact 
 that he had once passed three years in a city, 
 and had rubbed off his rustic b^shfulness, told 
 upon him well. Now there was a half-quizzical, 
 half-pleased look peeping out from under 
 his drooped eyelids ; and old Mrs. Freeman, 
 sitting on the back porch, with her glasses in 
 the fold of a magazine story, and the toe of one 
 of her husband's socks covering her knobby fin 
 ger-ends, glanced at the group, and thought to 
 herself that Mary Lang, with all her finery, 
 wouldn't be sorry to catch Fred. Then at the 
 memory of Hannah Ashley there came a little 
 twinge of anxiety ; for Hannah was her prime 
 favorite ; and, after the manner of substantial 
 matrons, she desired her boy to marry a practi 
 cal wife, who knew how to cook his dinner and 
 make him comfortable. The sight of Mary 
 Lang's white nerveless hands, with their pretty 
 rings, caused the old lady to shake her head, 
 and mutter something about " dolls and pop 
 pets." 
 
 Andy had come home from school, and had.
 
 1 86 Stories for Leisure Hours. 
 
 let the low-spirited dog out into the back lot to 
 bark at the hens a little while by way of whole 
 some recreation. He was preparing to go 
 down to his squirrel-trap in the woods ; and as 
 he sat fussing away and whistling on the porch 
 step, suddenly he pulled a paper out of his 
 jacket pocket, and scampered off with it to the 
 window. 
 
 " Here's something Deacon Ashley told me 
 to give you, Sis. He called it a billy." 
 
 " You mean a William," put in Mary, chuck 
 ing him under the chin. 
 
 " Why it's nothing but that advertisement of 
 Puffer's Pills the Deacon promised father! I 
 thought Hannah would be sure to invite us to 
 her quilting," said Jane in a disappointed tone 
 " Say, Fred, have you and Han been quarrel 
 ing ? " and she gave him a provoking little 
 thrust, such as sisters are wont to administer. 
 
 Fred turned round and set his elbows square 
 ly against the window-sill, and began to whistle 
 low to himself. 
 
 " Let's take that ride over to Saddleback Hill 
 I promised to give you to-morrow afternoon, 
 Mary," said he, veering back again and chew 
 ing a stalk of grass."
 
 Hannah's Quilting. 187 
 
 Miss Lang expressed herself delighted to 
 take the ride ; and every body appeared satis 
 fied but Jane, who now would have no oppor 
 tunity to display the new twist to the girls 
 before Sunday. 
 
 Hannah's quilt had been put on the frames 
 the day before, up in the spare chamber a large 
 apartment with a carpet in Venetian stripe, a 
 high-post bedstead draped in the whitest dimity, 
 a heavy mahogany bureau with respectable brass 
 knobs, and an old-fashioned glass adorned with 
 festoons of pink and white paper. There were 
 faded foot-stools, worked by Mrs. Ashley, when 
 a girl, in chain-stitch embroidery ; and framed 
 samplers and silhouette portraits upon the wall 
 of a cappy old lady and a spare old gentleman ; 
 and matronly bunches of life-everlasting and 
 crystallized grasses filling the plethoric vases 
 upon the mantel-piece. Every thing was in 
 apple-pie order from kitchen to parlor. A 
 pleasant, moist odor of Hannah's sponge-cake 
 clung to the walls ; and if you don't know what 
 Hannah's sponge-cake was like, it is useless for 
 me to describe it. 
 
 Hannah had put on her prettiest lawn dress 
 a pale green that became her blonde beauty,
 
 1 88 Stories for Leisure Hours. 
 
 and touched it up here and there with a bit of 
 pink ribbon. Mrs. Ashley was pinning on her 
 false puffs before the glass, and fastening her 
 collar with a brooch adorned with a daguerreo 
 type likeness of the Deacon^ which looked as if 
 it had been taken in a particularly bad fit of 
 dyspepsia. She dearly loved young company ; 
 and there was a bright twinkle in her eye, 
 and a pucker about her mouth, provocative of 
 jokes. 
 
 When the girls had assembled, and the kiss 
 ing and taking off of things was well through 
 with, the grand business of the afternoon began. 
 Every body praised Hannah's pretty quilt 
 pink stars dropped on to a white ground. Miss 
 Treadwell was champion quilter. She under 
 stood all the mysteries of herrin'-bone and 
 feather patterns ; and, with a chalk-line in her 
 hand, as the Deacon's wife expressed it, " ruled 
 the roost." Miss Treadwell was a thin-faced- 
 precise old maid, with a kind of withered bloom 
 on her cheek-bones, and a laudable desire to 
 make the most of her few skimpy locks. 
 
 " Beats all how young Salina Treadwell 
 appears," whispered the Deacon's wife to her 
 next neighbor. " She's as old as I be if she's
 
 ggiH Hannah's Quilting Party. 
 
 When the kissing was well through with, the grand business of the 
 afternoon began.
 
 Hannah's Quilting. 191 
 
 a day, and here she goes diddling round with 
 the girls." 
 
 " Hannah, you ought to give this quilt to the 
 one that gets married first," put in Susan Drake, 
 threading her needle. 
 
 " I know who that will be," said Mrs. Ashley, 
 winking hard toward Hetty Sprague, a pretty, 
 soft-headed little maiden, with cheeks of the 
 damask-rose and dewy, dark eyes. 
 
 " O, Miss Ashley ! " cried Hetty, simpering 
 sweetly, " how can you talk so ? You know I 
 never mean to get married all my born days. 
 Men are such deceitful creatures ! " 
 
 Miss Treadwell heaved a deep sigh, and 
 snapped the chalk-line sentimentally, as if she 
 too could a tale unfold that would tell of the 
 perfidy of the male sex. 
 
 " I don't, for my part, see why every thing 
 should be given to the married folks," returned 
 Hannah, tapping lightly on the frame with her 
 thimble, and feeling annoyed because Jane 
 Freeman and her friend had not yet put in 
 an appearance. "When I get to be an old 
 maid I'll stuff every thing soft with feathers 
 and wool, and keep sixteen cats, like Aunt 
 Biceps."
 
 192 Stories for Leisure Hours. 
 
 " You an old maid ! " cried merry little Nancy 
 Duffy. " That's a likely story. I guess Fred 
 will have a word or two to say about it." 
 
 "It looks as if Fred had got a new string to 
 his bow," remarked Miss Treadwell, who knew 
 how to give a sharp little thrust of her own. 
 " He appears to be mighty thick with that girl 
 from Hillsdale." 
 
 " Why, there goes Fred now ! " cried Hetty 
 Sprague ; and the girls ran to the window, up 
 setting one end of the quilt, just in time to see 
 Fred's sleek chestnut mare trot past, with Fred 
 himself so absorbed in the companion by his 
 side that he did not appear to remark the 
 battery of bright eyes under which he was 
 passing. 
 
 Hannah colored and bit her lips, but she 
 recovered herself with a light laugh. 
 
 " Never mind, girls," said she ; " there are as 
 good fish in the sea as ever have been caught. 
 I'll show you Doctor Bingham to-night, and 
 you'll all say he is perfectly splendid." 
 
 Then began a little mild gossip over the 
 Doctor, as to who he was, and what had brought 
 him to out-of-the-way Drastic for the young 
 man was only a visitor in the neighborhood
 
 Hannah *s Quilting. 193 
 
 and in the clatter of tongues, before the second 
 rolling, Hannah had slipped out to get tea. At 
 first she did a very curious thing for a sensible 
 young woman to do. She got behind the but 
 tery-door and hid her face in the roller-towel, 
 and something very like a genuine sob shook 
 her bosom, while some bitter tears were ab 
 sorbed into the crash. The truth is, Hannah 
 was jealous. The sight of Fred devoting him 
 self to that girl from Hillsdale, whom she had 
 begun to detest, woke her up to the state of her 
 own feelings, and perhaps nothing but that 
 would ever have done the work. 
 
 Nevertheless, there was the sponge-cake to 
 cut, and the best doyleys to be got out, and the 
 ivory-handled knives to be taken down from 
 the top shelf of the closet. She had to calcu 
 late how much of the strawberry preserves it 
 would take to go round and not look skimpy, 
 and who should sit by the glass dish, and how 
 many custard cups would be required to fill the 
 middle of the table. All these things Hannah 
 performed with as much accuracy as if her heart 
 had not been smarting with disappointment and 
 vexation. 
 
 Mrs. Ashley was never more in her element
 
 1 94 Stories for Leisure Hours. 
 
 than when she presided at a feminine tea- 
 party. 
 
 " We wont have any of the men folks round 
 to bother, girls," said she as they settled like 
 a flock of doves about the table, which Hannah 
 had so temptingly spread. " It's busy times on 
 the farm now, and the Deacon likes a bite of 
 something hearty for his tea, so I told him he 
 and the boys might wait. Ahem, Salina, do 
 you take sugar in your tea ? " as she poured out 
 a cup of the delicate green flavored beverage 
 that diffused an appetizing fragrance through 
 the room. 
 
 " O, Miss Ashley," cried Nancy Duffy, " you'll 
 tell our fortunes, wont you ? There isn't a 
 soul here to know about it, and we'll keep as 
 whist as mice." 
 
 " Now, girls, don't make me appear simple," 
 said Mrs. Ashley, leaning back and wiping 
 her red and smiling face free from the steam 
 of the tea-pot. "If Miss Whitcomb should get 
 hold of it she'd say it didn't become a deacon's 
 wife." 
 
 " Never mind Miss Whitcomb," broke in 
 Susan Drake. " She thinks she's arrived at 
 perfection, and such folks are always disagree-
 
 Hannah's Quilting. 195 
 
 ?ble. Here, do look at Salina Treadwell's 
 cup. If I'm not mistaken there's an offer 
 in it." 
 
 " Of course there is," said Mrs. Ashley, 
 taking up the cup with professional interest. 
 " Don't you see that ring, almost closed, with 
 a heart inside ? And she's going to accept 
 it. It's coming from a light-complected man. 
 Looks a little like Sile Winthrop, down at the 
 the Corners." 
 
 " O, Miss Ashley, how you do talk!" cried 
 Salina, mincing her biscuit and blushing up on 
 her cheek-bones. 
 
 " He aint a-going to live long, whoever it is," 
 the Deacon's wife went on, twirling the cup with 
 the girls hanging over her shoulder, and her eyes 
 dancing with fun. "Yes, Salina, you will be 
 left a widder." 
 
 " What a sad thing it must be to lose a com 
 panion," put in sentimental Ann Davis. " I 
 should hate to be left a relic." 
 
 " Never you mind, Salina," the Deacon's wife 
 continued, with a wink. " If I'm not mistaken 
 you'll console yourself with number two. Look 
 there, girls, at the true-lovers' knot and the bow 
 and arrers."
 
 196 Stories for Leisure Hours. 
 
 Miss Treadwell held up her hands in mock 
 horror, and affirmed that she didn't believe a 
 word of it ; but it was noticeable, as Mrs. Ash 
 ley said, that she was " chipperer " all the rest 
 of the evening. 
 
 " Come, now tell Hannah's," cried Hetty 
 Sprague. So Hannah passed along her cup. 
 
 " Why, child, you're going to shed tears, and 
 there's a little cloud of trouble round you ; but 
 it will clear away, and you'll get your wish in 
 spite of every thing." 
 
 " Don't you see saddle-bags and pill-boxes 
 there ? " inquired Nancy Duffy. 
 
 " Go along with your stuff and nonsense, 
 girls ! " exclaimed the Deacon's wife, waving 
 away the cup. " If husband should get hold 
 of it he'd say I was trifling." 
 
 That evening, after Doctor Bingham had 
 fooled a good deal with Hannah had pressed 
 her hand at parting, and whispered he should 
 hope to see her next evening at the singing-class 
 she remembered her fortune, and did let some 
 bitter tears soak into her pillow. She was not 
 wise enough in worldly ways to suspect that 
 the Doctor, a town-bred man, had set Hetty 
 Sprague's silly little heart a-fluttering while he
 
 Hannah's Quilting. 197 
 
 walked home with her under the warm star 
 light, although, in very truth, he did not care a 
 np for either of them. Hannah was content to 
 play him off against Fred, let the consequences 
 be what they might ; and more and more as she 
 thought the matter over, she blamed that design 
 ing girl from Hillsdale. 
 
 The next night set in with a mild drizzle; 
 and, in spite of Mrs. Ashley's protestations, 
 Hannah was off to the singing-class. This 
 class had been established to improve the church 
 music, which, as the Deacon said, sadly needed 
 " tinkering ; " and gradually it became a resort 
 for the young people of the village, while its 
 functions were stretched to include a good deal 
 of mild flirtation. Hannah, on entering, looked 
 anxiously round to discover the Doctor ; but, 
 strange to say, he was absent. Fred; who be 
 longed to the choir, sat in his usual place alone. 
 Neither Jane nor her young lady visitor had 
 accompanied him. These facts Hannah ascer 
 tained before she let her eyes drop on her note 
 book. She watched the door keenly all through 
 the hour of practice ; but the Doctor did not 
 make his appearance, and her indignation grew 
 
 apace. She hoped to slip away, a little in ad- 
 13
 
 198 Stories for Leisure Hours. 
 
 vance of the crowd, before the exercises were 
 quite over, and the cordon of young men had 
 formed about the entrance. But just as she was 
 stepping off into the darkness, with the warm 
 rain falling steadily, a hand touched her arm. 
 
 " Let me walk home with you, Hannah. I 
 have an umbrella, and you are unprovided." 
 It was Fred's voice ; and Hannah was nettled 
 to remark not even a touch of penitence in its 
 tone. 
 
 " No, I thank you," she returned, stiffly. " I 
 prefer to go alone." 
 
 " But you cannot refuse my company for a 
 few steps, at least," said he, pushing up his um 
 brella and shielding her whether or no, "for I 
 have brought an apology from Bingham. I am 
 going to tell you, as a great secret," Fred went 
 on, confidentially, while Hannah kept still from 
 sheer astonishment, " that the Doctor and that 
 forty-'leventh cousin of ours, from Hillsdale, 
 were engaged once. The Doctor's a capital fel 
 low, but there's a jealous streak in him. He 
 wanted to keep a loose foot, and wasn't willing 
 Mary should do the same. She's an uncom 
 monly pretty, lively girl" a sharp twinge in 
 Hannah's left side " and, of course, she wasn't
 
 Hannah's Quilting. 199 
 
 going to be cooped up, and the result was they 
 quarreled. But they did really care for each 
 other, and now the thing is made up, and I 
 guess they have found out what a sneaking, 
 unrighteous thing jealousy is." 
 
 "There might be cause for it," returned 
 Hannah, faintly, as she felt her spirit oozing 
 away. 
 
 " Come now, Hannah, you mean to hit me, 
 and I might hit back again, but I wont, for I 
 haven't loved any body but you just as much 
 as you would let me ever since I was a boy. 
 I am one of the constant kind. Don't you 
 know I am, Hannah ? " very softly spoken for 
 such a big fellow. " My heart has learned one 
 trick of loving, and it can't unlearn it." 
 
 " Why, sir, didn't you and Jane come to my 
 quilting party ? " spoken in a shaky voice, and 
 showing the white feather badly " and why did 
 you go gallivanting off with that girl ? " 
 
 " You did not ask us, in the first place, and 
 that girl was a visitor, and I liked her." 
 
 " Don't be saucy. I sent a note to Jane, and 
 told father to give it to Andy." 
 
 " Ha, ha ! " laughed Fred, " it is all explained 
 now. The old gentleman sent us an advertise-
 
 2OO Stories for Leisure Hours. 
 
 ment of Puffer's Pills by mistake, and you will 
 find the note quietly reposing in his pocket." 
 
 I am afraid Fred was saucy, for when Han 
 nah got into the house there was something 
 very sweet and delicious tingling upon her lips. 
 She crept into the sitting-room, where she could 
 hear the good old Deacon calmly snoring, and 
 slipped the little note out of the breast pocket 
 of his coat. 
 
 Long afterward, when she had been Fred's 
 wife many a year, and the colors of the pretty 
 star-quilt had faded upon her bed, Hannah 
 would take the little billet, grown yellow now, 
 from an inner drawer, where she kept it along 
 with a silky tress cut from the head of the baby 
 she had lost, and kiss it tenderly, as if new faith 
 and trust could emanate from its folds.
 
 The Good-bye Kiss. 201 
 
 THE GOOD-BYE KISS. 
 
 through night-train on the " Great 
 Northern " was within ten minutes of start 
 ing time. 
 
 The steam-whistle had given its first premoni 
 tory shriek, passengers were hurrying in with 
 bags and shawls, and the demand for seats was 
 becoming lively. 
 
 Among those who entered the sleeping-car 
 just at this moment was a young man, and a 
 girl evidently his sister some two or three 
 years younger than himself. 
 
 They were neither of them handsome, or in 
 any way noticeable, except as possessing earnest 
 faces, marked with intelligence and the lines of 
 early care. 
 
 " Here is your berth, Milly. I secured a 
 whole one, because I knew you would not like 
 being put with a stranger. And I bought you 
 a picture paper and some oranges to beguile the 
 way." 
 
 " Thank you, Ralph. You are very thought-
 
 2O2 Stories for Leisure Hours. 
 
 ful of my little comforts. I do not dread this 
 journey a bit ; and you know, generally, I am 
 rather timid about traveling." 
 
 Ralph was busy arranging Milly's things on 
 the opposite seat. " Of course you'll write im 
 mediately, and let me know how you get 
 through to Fulham, and how you find things." 
 
 " O, certainly ; be assured of that. I shall 
 have Saturday and Sunday to look about, and 
 get acquainted, before I begin my school Mon 
 day morning. You shall have a faithful report 
 of all I see and hear." 
 
 " Well " and the young man stood with his 
 hand on the back of the seat, looking rather 
 nervously at the door, as if afraid of being car 
 ried off " take care of yourself, and keep up 
 good courage." 
 
 " Never fear about that, Ralph ; and I beg of 
 you to take care of yourself and not overwork." 
 Milly's voice trembled the least bit, in spite of 
 her show of bravery. 
 
 " O, don't fret on my account," returned the 
 brother. " A man can always get along." This 
 was said with a touch of superiority, as if his 
 male condition ought to put him beyond the 
 reach of a woman's solicitude.
 
 The Good-bye Kiss. 203 
 
 The girl's eyes grew a little misty and wist 
 ful. Perhaps Ralph did not see it. " There ! " 
 said he, as a long shiver ran through the train, 
 " I must be off. Good-bye ! " 
 
 " Good-bye ! " They shook hands ; the car 
 door banged ; Ralph was gone. 
 
 " O dear ! " sighed Milly, and she hastily got 
 up and went over to the opposite window. The 
 train was jerking now like a victim of St. Vitus' 
 dance. There Ralph stood among hackmen, 
 porters, and baggage trucks. How preoccupied 
 and tired he looked ! Milly sighed more deeply 
 than ever as she tried in vain to catch his eye. 
 There comes a long defiant shriek from the en 
 gine, with a crescendo which says " Positively 
 the last." They are moving off. He sees her 
 now and waves his hand, his face lit up with 
 something like real interest and affection. 
 
 Now the train crawls, like a long, many-jointed 
 worm, out of the smoky depot. Milly has lost 
 sight of her brother, so she sinks back into her 
 own particular corner, and begins to feel very 
 miserable and desolate. 
 
 " I wish Ralph had kissed me good-bye." That 
 was the thought uppermost in Milly's mind, and 
 it brought a few very real, positive tears to her
 
 2O4 Stories for Leisure Hours. 
 
 eyes. The sleeping-car was but comfortably 
 filled, and this circumstance, with the arrange 
 ment of the berths, secured to the young trav 
 eler a very grateful sense of privacy. Life was 
 all before her all to win. A few weeks before, 
 the position in the Fulham high-school she had 
 since secured had seemed the one thing needful 
 to her happiness. Now it had lost a little of its 
 rose hue, and the dreary struggle for self-sup 
 port, which orphanage and poverty forced upon 
 her, stretched out a bleak perspective. She be 
 gan to realize that it meant separation from her 
 brother, the only near relative now remaining 
 to her on earth. Their life-ways had begun di 
 verging, and who could say if they would ever 
 again become one, as in years gone by ? 
 
 Some very old sources of pain, some very 
 secret pangs, awoke in Milly's mind as she sat 
 with her head resting against the window, and 
 a thick blue vail drawn over her face. They all 
 resolved themselves into that but half-acknowl 
 edged regret " I am so sorry Ralph didn't kiss 
 me good-bye ! " 
 
 There was much mutual respect and esteem 
 between this brother and sister, but not that 
 frank and free intimacy which perhaps more
 
 The Good-bye Kiss. 205 
 
 frequently exists between those unallied by 
 blood than between the members of one house 
 hold. Milly always felt conscious of the fact 
 that she did not quite come up to Ralph's 
 standard of young ladyhood, and it made her 
 plainer and quieter to him than to other people. 
 He knew she was the best girl in the world, with 
 five times as much sense in her head as all the 
 gay butterflies of his native town put together ; 
 but his eyes informed him that she was neither 
 pretty nor exactly graceful, and that she did not 
 possess the art of dressing with elegance on a 
 very insufficient sum of pocket-money. 
 
 Ralph possessed a keen love of beauty, and 
 an intense desire to rise in the world. He 
 knew that some day he should push his way to 
 fortune ; and his sister, he felt, ought to be able 
 to grace any position in life. It chafed him bit 
 terly that he could not at once furnish her an 
 ample support, which would take away the 
 necessity for daily drudging in the school-room. 
 
 Often, when he came home at night dissatis 
 fied, moody, and silent, there, in the shabby 
 little sitting-room, sat Milly, with her tired, 
 patient face bent over her work, perhaps a new 
 shirt for himself or some garment for her own
 
 206 Stories for Leisure Hours. 
 
 wearing, which ten busy fingers made haste to 
 construct in the few hours allotted for such 
 tasks. 
 
 A tired man likes to be amused, and too often 
 forgets that a tired woman has the same need 
 of diversion as himself. If Milly had been 
 more positively cheerful and light-hearted, per 
 haps Ralph would have loved her more ; but 
 early care and the wearing anxieties of life had 
 brought her spirits down to low-water mark. 
 So sweetly uncomplaining, so watchful for 
 Ralph's comfort, so kind and unselfish, Milly 
 still seldom rose to the exuberance of mirth. 
 Ralph might have doted on a gay, hoydenish, 
 spoiled sister ; but how could he be expected 
 to know that poor Milly's back was aching, that 
 her head grew dizzy, and her eyes weak, from 
 too much night-work and too little sleep, when 
 she never in the remotest way hinted at these 
 facts ? 
 
 So their evenings were generally spent in si 
 lence, the sister plying her busy needle, the 
 brother reading, rarely aloud, as the works he 
 perused on engineering, mechanics, and the like, 
 full of dry terms and technicalities, were unsuited 
 to such a purpose. It was seldom that he could
 
 The Good-bye Kiss. 207 
 
 spare half an hour from his studies to take up a 
 volume of the poets or a magazine story, and 
 weave a transient spell of romance around his 
 sister's barren existence. With him " time was 
 money, knowledge was power." These princi 
 ples ruled and curbed all his impulses. 
 
 At ten o'clock Ralph would light his lamp, 
 and with a curt good-night, often without a 
 word, stalk away to his little mean bedroom. 
 How late Milly stayed and toiled he never knew. 
 No good-night kiss passed between them. 
 The brother and sister were wholly undemon 
 strative. One never asked affection, the other 
 never dared to offer it for fear of a repulse. 
 
 How often, when she saw that brooding, dis 
 contented look upon his face, did Milly long to 
 go and throw her arms around his neck, to 
 caress his cheek, to charm away the frown from 
 his forehead, to tell him of the ardent, pure, 
 unselfish love that filled her heart, like the 
 waters of a never-failing spring ! 
 
 O, if she only had done it, poor little Milly ! 
 who can tell but Ralph's really fine nature 
 would have broken through its artificial crust in 
 response to such a generous appeal ? But she 
 never did do it. Shy and sensitive, dreading a
 
 208 Stories for Leisure Hours. 
 
 rebuff more than a physical hurt, Milly shrank 
 farther and farther into her own shadow ; and 
 now the humble home was broken up, the old 
 anxious life was ended, and Ralph had parted 
 from her without one good-bye kiss one sign 
 of all they had lived through and suffered in 
 common ! 
 
 Milly cried very softly behind her blue vail 
 for twenty miles or more. The long train in its 
 swift flight across country seemed to clank and 
 beat out a kind of refrain to her thoughts, and 
 the burden was ever, " I am so sorry Ralph did 
 not kiss me good-bye." 
 
 They had startled a good many quiet country 
 places, and rushed tumultuously over trestle- 
 work and through tunnels, before Milly was re 
 called to the present by a sudden gleam of sun 
 set that shot its splendors through the car win 
 dow. She awoke out of a fit of sad musing, to 
 find that they had neared the banks of a pictur 
 esque river, and were shooting along under 
 the shadow of some fine purple hills. The 
 water repeated the color of these hills in a 
 modified tone, and gently undulated through a 
 mist of the purest violet. The sky glowed in 
 orange tints behind ; and as it deepened, the
 
 The Good-bye Kiss. 209 
 
 hills and the river changed to a more unreal 
 loveliness. 
 
 Sweeping away, like a curtain that some in 
 visible hand had parted, rose a dark cloud, 
 fold upon fold. Against, it floated a bit of 
 white vapor, relieved on the dark back-ground 
 like a stone cameo. 
 
 The thick mask of cloud and mist had parted 
 just when the richest glow filled the heavens, 
 and suddenly, without warning, the cone of 
 this brightness seemed to fall apart, and scatter 
 its dying embers along the hills, with a tran 
 sient, hectic beauty that dropped down to ashes. 
 Trees and rocks, waves and clouds, turned 
 pallid in an instant. It was the cold, still 
 change of death that succeeds a vision of the 
 ineffable glories of the hereafter. There was 
 the long-trailing cloud still, and against it that 
 floating bit of white vapor. It appeared now 
 to Milly's fancy, that loved to trace pictures 
 in the clouds, like a death's head and cross- 
 bones. 
 
 The idea brought a kind of shiver to her 
 nerves, a half-defined, superstitious feeling of 
 some evil to come ; but still she was fascinated, 
 and impelled to watch the shape that seemed
 
 2io Stories for Leisure Hours. 
 
 for many miles persistently to follow the 
 train. 
 
 The influence of this fancy still vaguely clung 
 about her after night had come, and she was 
 trying to court sleep in her comfortable little 
 berth, with the curtains drawn, and her bag and 
 cloak stopping out the draughts. 
 
 The rumble and roar of the car seemed to re 
 tire beneath her, and sounded like innumerable 
 trip-hammers reverberating along the rocky 
 walls of a cavern. She could hear two men 
 talking low in the berth next her own. One 
 said the train shook a good deal, and it was 
 the opinion of the other that they were run 
 ning all-fired fast. 
 
 These remarks gave Milly a momentary 
 twinge of uneasiness ; but it soon passed away. 
 She lay quite still, listening to the low, half-sup 
 pressed singing of a mother not far off, who was 
 hushing her baby to sleep. The sound had a 
 sort of sadness in it to the young girl's ear, and 
 made her feel all the more the emptiness of her 
 life and of her heart. 
 
 Now and then the car door opened, and a 
 light gleamed for a moment along her curtain 
 and was gone. Presently Milly fell into one of
 
 The Good-bye Kiss. 2 1 1 
 
 those strange states, neither sleeping nor wak 
 ing. She heard distinctly the heavy breathing 
 of the sleepers around her. She heard the 
 stealthy tread of the conductor as he passed to 
 and fro. But still that vision of river and sky 
 seemed to hang before her eyes with a death's- 
 head and cross-bones fleeting after the train. 
 Still the rush of the engine, the clanking of 
 the wheels, seemed to repeat in endless varia 
 tions that sad, regretful under-tone of her 
 thoughts, " I am so sorry Ralph did not kiss 
 me good-bye ! " 
 
 The scene changed as she glided more and 
 more out toward the deep waters of oblivion. 
 She was at home now with Ralph under the 
 great old elms of the door-yard. They were 
 children again ; and Ralph, to tease her, was 
 trying to climb the house. She stood below, 
 remonstrating and pleading with clasped hands ; 
 but the rash boy had got upon the shed roof, 
 and answered her entreaties with contemptuous 
 words. Breathlessly she saw him cling to the 
 angle of the main building, and then creep 
 ' along the drain -pipe up, up to the ridge-pole. 
 There he stood at last, waving down to her, 
 until the house appeared to rise and grow so
 
 212 Stories for Leisure Hours. 
 
 tall it touched the sky. Ralph rose with it, 
 throwing kisses below in mockery, when his 
 foot seemed to slip ; he tottered upon the dizzy 
 brink, wavered, strove to right himself in vain, 
 then fell. 
 
 " My God ! " A crash. Blow after blow, re 
 peated quickly. A whirring, clashing, grind 
 ing motion ; shriek upon shriek ; the sharp 
 splintering up of wood ; the jagged, harsh, 
 grating sounds from bolts and bars wrenched 
 out of their places ; the hurling down of broken, 
 unformed masses, and there Milly lay, crushed, 
 at the bottom of the embankment, with an inde 
 scribable weight upon her chest, that forced 
 the blood up to her eyes and mouth still alive, 
 and sensible that a frightful accident had oc 
 curred. 
 
 She thought so much in the few minutes that 
 unspeakable anguish lasted ! What pen could 
 describe those thoughts ? What calm, unmoved 
 brain could picture them ? Strange to say, she 
 thought with a kind of compassion, greater 
 than the pity she felt for her own broken body, 
 of that mother she had heard crooning to her 
 baby a few hours before. Something yielding 
 and round lay pressed against her feet. There
 
 The Good-bye Kiss. 213 
 
 was just sensation enough left in her toes to 
 make that out. Could it be the little, soft 
 baby ? Yes, it was. 
 
 She tried to speak. Only one articulate word 
 came to her lips. It was " Ralph ! " and then 
 that old emotion that had vibrated on her heart 
 strings so painfully ever since they parted woke 
 even in the pit of death, with but the merest 
 fragment of a torn and shattered mortality re 
 maining, " O, I wish Ralph had kissed me 
 good-bye ! " Too late for good-bye kisses ; too 
 late for atoning love ; too late for reparation ! 
 The agonized dew of death was standing on 
 Milly's forehead. She would not have lasted 
 long, except for a little fresh air that sifted down 
 through a crevice of the car roof that pressed 
 upon her bosom, and was crushed down by a 
 mountain weight of debris. 
 
 Her right hand still retained some slight de 
 gree of feeling and motion. She managed, with 
 great effort, to raise it and put it through this 
 opening. Then she felt, so to speak, for the 
 fingers of her left hand, but they were gone, and 
 the whole arm with them ; nothing remained in 
 its place but a dull ache. 
 
 Presently a ray of light flashed into this 
 14
 
 2 1 4 Stones for Leisure Hours. 
 
 crevice from a lantern, and a pair of kind eyes 
 looked down into her filmy ones. " God ! " said 
 the owner of the eyes, a great, stalwart man, 
 covered with smoke, grime, and blood, (one end 
 of the demolished train had taken fire, and he 
 had performed prodigies with his naked hands,) 
 as he touched Milly's little broken hand, " here 
 is a child. No, a young girl. Poor lamb ! 
 poor lamb ! It's the very hardest place to get 
 at." He stooped a little nearer, and kept the 
 little hand in his, chafing it softly. 
 
 " Are you a brave girl ? " 
 
 The filmy eyes looked up to his with almost 
 a bright, answering glance ; the little hand al 
 most closed ; and the violet lips, with exceeding 
 great effort, replied, " Yes, sir." Never had 
 the small, plain face looked so divinely brave 
 and patient as it looked now. 
 
 " Glad to hear it," said the man with inspir 
 ing heartiness, though his strong voice quivered 
 too. " Could you hold on, think, an hour, till 
 we pry you out ? " 
 
 " No, thank you," in a whisper. " Don't try." 
 The bright look changed now to a wondrous 
 smile. 
 
 The man bent nearer to catch the words
 
 The Good-bye Kiss. 215 
 
 her lips were forming. " Would you write for 
 me ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 ' Can you hear what I say ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " If you don't hear, press my hand. Ralph 
 Fairbanks, Rexford. Dear Ralph, good-bye. 
 God bless you ! I never told you how much I 
 loved you. It was my fault'* her mind seemed 
 to flicker. " Don't fret, dear ; I was to blame 
 only only I'm so sorry you didn't kiss 
 me good-bye ! " 
 
 The voice came as if every word was depend 
 ent on a feebler and still feebler pulsation of the 
 heart At last it stopped. There was no sound 
 to the listener's ear, only that brave, enduring 
 look lingered upon her face. The little hand 
 grew limp in his. He laid it reverently upon 
 the young girl's breast, and wrenching off a 
 piece of planking from the car roof with pro 
 digious strength, knelt down and pressed a holy 
 kiss on the yet warm lips.
 
 216 Stories for Leisure Hours. 
 
 LETTY'S RIGHTS. 
 
 RDINARILY, little Mrs. Bennett was 
 hopefulness itself ; but she took rather a 
 melancholy view of Letty's case, because her 
 mind was not adapted to understand it. 
 
 " Well, mother, how goes things ? " It was 
 Ethan Bennett's question, and he used the 
 good old-fashioned mode of address in speak 
 ing to his wife. 
 
 Ethan was a tall, stoop-shouldered farmer, 
 well browned and seasoned by New England 
 sun and wind, and powdered over now by the 
 dust of travel ; but Mrs. Ethan, for whom the 
 words were meant, was rounded to just that de 
 gree of plumpness which befits a matron of her 
 years : with the stuff dress fitting accurately 
 over the broad, motherly bosom ; with her face 
 filling the comeliest curves ; with a chin slightly 
 double, where dimples hovered ; with a nose all 
 the better for turning up a little, and a mouth
 
 Letty' s Rights. 217 
 
 very pleasant in spite of false teeth ; and a 
 kindly pair of brown eyes. Now, as she stood 
 there on the stoop, with her dress hitching up 
 slightly in front, showing a neat prunella gaiter. 
 her face was overclouded, and she shook her 
 head rather dismally. 
 
 " What's to pay now, mother ? " inquired 
 Ethan, putting down his lean carpet-satchel on 
 the settee. 
 
 " O, it's only Letty," groaned Mrs. Bennett. 
 "She's been having a fuss with the trustees, and 
 she says she shall leave school if they don't toe 
 the mark. There never was so strange a child 
 as Letty is. I can't make out where she gets 
 her sotness and her queer notions." 
 
 " It's only Letty, then," echoed Mr. Bennett, 
 as if Letty were a chronic difficulty in the fam 
 ily. "Wai, I thought for sure one of the horses 
 had foundered, or old Wooley been choked with 
 a corn-cob. I guess Letty will keep, mother, 
 till you get me something to eat, for I'm as 
 holler as a drum." 
 
 Ethan Bennett was one of those men who, 
 while in a state of hollowness, are utterly bereft 
 of ideas or inventions ; so he stepped into his 
 own door with that infinite sense of rest which
 
 2 1 8 Stories for Leisure Hours. 
 
 multitudes of people never feel away from home. 
 His very hat, with something of the slouchy air 
 natural to its master, looked as if it felt better 
 for being hung back on the old peg. With a 
 half sigh of satisfaction Ethan settled into his 
 favorite chair, in that corner of the sitting-room 
 which was handy to the file of the county paper, 
 and the old clock, and mother's work-table, and 
 afforded a glimpse of the roadway through the 
 parted boughs of the maple, by the gate, with 
 the sound of cackling hens coming from the 
 barn-yard. 
 
 " Mother," said Ethan, just as a chanticleer set 
 up a jubilant note, "there aint no roosters that 
 crow like ourn." 
 
 Mrs. Bennett laughed an unctuous little 
 laugh. She was glad to have Ethan say such 
 things. It showed that he prized his home. 
 She knew he was tired, though his face never 
 changed much ; for hadn't she, as she said, been 
 taking the latitude and longitude of that man 
 for the last twenty-five years ? It was comfort 
 ing now to look at her cheery, buxom figure as 
 she drew in front of him a small table, that he 
 might have every thing ready at a turn of his 
 hand, and placed thereon what, in New England
 
 Letty's Rights. 219 
 
 parlance, is known as a platter of cold victuals 
 corned beef and cabbage, potatoes, nicely 
 pared, and rosy beets, all resting cheek by jowl 
 on the same dish. Then she brought forth the 
 cruet-stand, and some snowy bread, with a pat of 
 the last churning of butter, as yellow as gold, 
 and half a dozen long dough-nuts, twisted and 
 twirled, and browned to perfection, crispy to 
 the tooth and fragrant to the nostrils. 
 
 We will leave Ethan to partake of what he 
 called his " snack," as he intended to reserve 
 the larger portion of his appetite for the stated 
 evening meal. It is not always an alluring 
 sight to see a hungry man eat ; but Mrs. Ethan 
 beamed on him delightedly. She loved, as she 
 expressed it, " to have folks take hold hearty," 
 especially her own husband, when he had been 
 away on a journey. It was a substantial tribute 
 to the comforts of home and the excellence of 
 her cooking. 
 
 The cold victuals rapidly disappeared, and at 
 the end of a good half hour Ethan leaned back 
 in his chair and put his hand somewhere in the 
 region of his stomach. 
 
 " Now, mother," said he, " what about Letty ? " 
 
 "Wait till I've done this little chore," re-
 
 220 Stories for Leisure Hours. 
 
 turned Mrs. Bennett, " and can take my work 
 and sit down." 
 
 There was a basket of golden pippins on the 
 table near at hand. Ethan took one and peeled 
 it with his jack-knife, and let the long peel 
 dangle lazily down. Pretty soon the wife was 
 ready to take her place beside him, in her low 
 chair, with the bright pieces of the patch- work 
 she was putting together spotting the rag-car 
 pet, and the sunshine coming in fitfully through 
 the branches of her window geraniums and flick 
 ering about her neat, homely grown. Farmers' 
 wives are apt to grow angular and harsh of 
 feature comparatively early ; but all the juices 
 were preserved in good little Mrs. Bennett's 
 composition. Ethan looked at her as if she 
 were handsomer in his eyes now than the day 
 they got married. Ethan was not impatient by 
 nature. He was a slow man, and willing to 
 bide his wife's time ; and so Letty's story was 
 told. 
 
 " You see," she began, " that Austin has had 
 to leave the school ; the boys hooted him out. 
 He was a poor shack any way, if he had been 
 to college. You can't make a whistle out 
 of a pig's tail if you try ever so hard.
 
 Lefty's Rights. 221 
 
 Now, the trustees have come coaxing round 
 Letty to get her to take Austin's place for fifty 
 dollars a quarter less than he got. But Letty 
 says no ; and you ought to see her eyes snap. 
 She says if she does Austin's work she must 
 have his pay ; she wont take the place for a cent 
 less. Her head is full of them new-fangled 
 notions about woman's rights. She says women 
 aint a-going to be put upon as they always have 
 been. Dear, I don't know nothing how to 
 answer her, for she can speak five words to my 
 one ; but if school breaks up and she comes 
 home, she'll be as oneasy as a fish out of water. 
 I shouldn't wonder if she begun to talk, just 
 as she did last fall, about going down South 
 to teach the colored folks. I hain't got noth 
 ing against the blacks, and I guess they're 
 smart to learn, from all accounts ; but I can't 
 bear to have Letty streak off nobody knows 
 where. Dear, I sometimes most wish she'd 
 marry Sol Spinner. He's been like hejj shad- 
 der for a year or two. It would take the notions 
 out of her, and I guess she'd settle down and 
 make a stiddy woman." 
 
 " Now, mother," replied Ethan, preparing to 
 peel his third pippin, "don't take on over Letty ;
 
 222 Stories f of Leisure Hours. 
 
 you know you're generally the one to look out 
 pretty sharp on the bright side. Just let Letty 
 alone. Give her rope. There's some women 
 that are like young calves they have to have a 
 monstrous long tether. Letty's one o' that 
 kind, and this time the girl is right. I hope 
 she'll give old Squire Proudfut a dressing down, 
 for he's the ringleader among the trustees. It's 
 a shame to him to sit in meeting every Sunday, 
 under the droppings of the sanctuary, with his 
 face like a flint, and then go away and brow 
 beat a woman. There aint a grain of justice in 
 Letty's not getting the same wages as a man 
 if she does the same work and does it as 
 well, and I'm glad she's going to stick to her 
 pint." 
 
 " Wai, maybe the child's right," said Mrs. Ben 
 nett, with a sigh that seemed ludicrous in her, 
 jolly and comfortable as she was something, 
 in fact, like a laugh turned topsy-turvey ; " but, 
 for my part, I can't see where she gets her no 
 tions. I always thought the world that was 
 good enough for father and mother was good 
 enough for me. Father was a close man and 
 very particular. Mother had to skinch a good 
 deal ; so I said to myself, if I ever get married
 
 Letty's Rights. 223 
 
 I'll marry an easy man. And there's one thing 
 about it, father, you are an easy man." 
 
 Ethan nodded, as if he enjoyed his reputation. 
 " I don't know as I've got much to say against 
 men," Mrs. Bennett went on. " I guess I've 
 got all the rights I want. Letty says we're 
 slaves, and she wants to vote ; but I can't see 
 much sense in it " Ethan nodded again " and 
 I wish she hadn't got such notions in her head. 
 If she'd marry Sol, she could twist him right 
 round her little finger and he'd never know it. 
 It's always best to let a man think he's driving 
 even when you've got the lines in your own 
 hands. Then there's that farm of Sol's, without 
 a cent of incumbrance on it, and that nice stone 
 house, that Letty could have all to herself ; and 
 such a cellar why, there aint another like it in 
 Huntsville." 
 
 " There's Letty, now," said Ethan, shoving up 
 the window and letting in the mild, spicy Octo 
 ber air, " and some of the boys are with her. 
 School's out, sure enough." 
 
 Letty was as roundly and compactly built as 
 her mother : but there was an energy in her 
 little frame, and a power of command in her 
 bonny blue eye, that held rude spirits in check.
 
 224 Stories for Leisure Hours. 
 
 No boy and the Huntsville boys were a hard 
 lot had ever been known to ride rough-shod 
 over Letty. Still, a gleam of fun twinkled at 
 the corner of her mouth. She knew when and 
 how to unbend, and play the companion with 
 her scholars. Big and little stood by her to a 
 boy. For a long time she had ruled the school 
 over Mr. Austin's head, otherwise that weakling 
 would have been hooted out at an earlier period. 
 
 As Letty opened the little gate into the front 
 yard, the boys, with their books and slates, 
 swarmed up on the fence. 
 
 " Let's give Miss Bennett three cheers good, 
 rousing fellows ! " said Nate Owens, the biggest 
 boy of all, with a flat nose, and puffy cheeks, 
 and little twinkling black eyes. Hats and caps 
 flew up into the air, and the cheers were given 
 with a will. 
 
 " Boys," said Letty, facing round with digni 
 ty, " you have always behaved well toward me. 
 Now I hope you are going to treat your new 
 teacher, Miss Hildreth, with equal respect." 
 
 " Sho ! " broke out Bob Sprowl, " Miss Hil 
 dreth ! She's skim-milk watered. She haint 
 got the spunk of a louse. We wont have any 
 other teacher but you."
 
 Lefty's Rights. 225 
 
 " No, no," shouted the other boys. " We'll 
 bring old Granny Proudfoot to his oats. He 
 needn't think he's going to put any teacher 
 over us he pleases. Yes, sir ; we are afraid 
 of you, and we like you, too. We aint the 
 kind of boys to get along with any teacher 
 we aint afraid of. If we don't toe the mark, 
 you're down on us like lightnin' ; but that 
 Miss Hildreth is mush and molasses. I guess 
 the old school-house will be het up pretty brisk 
 while she stays." 
 
 " You'll come back to teach us again, wont 
 you?" piped out Billy Crofts. " Mother says I 
 never should have got out of my abs if it hadn't 
 been for you, for I aint quick at my spellin'." 
 
 " Go home, and be good boys," responded 
 Letty, with a magnificent wave of the hand, 
 though her eyes were a little damp. 
 
 The ex-school-ma'am entered the house and 
 took off her things after kissing her father and 
 mother. 
 
 " So you got your dander up, little gal," said 
 Ethan, with a chuckle. " I hope you pestered 
 old Squire Proudfut, for he's clost enough to 
 take the hair off of a dog." 
 
 " Seems to me I'd have given in," remarked
 
 226 Stories for Leisure Hours. 
 
 Mrs. Bennett, " the boys all set such store by 
 you." 
 
 " Given in ! " repeated Letty, with a little 
 melodramatic flourish. " I wouldn't take the 
 place for any less if the whole school committee 
 should get down on their knees to me. I don't 
 do it for myself; I do it for my sex. Women 
 teachers have been ground down and imposed 
 upon long enough, and I want to show the 
 world that there's one who wont stand it. 
 Mother, do you understand the value of a 
 protest." 
 
 " Lor', Letty, don't go on in that way, I don't 
 know nothing what you mean." 
 
 " Let her talk," said Ethan. " I like to hear 
 her. It's most as good as preachin'. She's got 
 the hang of using big words, and I know she's 
 in earnest when I can't understand her. Some 
 folks think," and Ethan shook his head gravely, 
 " that the women want to get us men folks 
 down under foot, and keep us there, they've 
 set up such a tarnal clatter about their rights. 
 Let 'em, if they can. That's what I say. It's 
 the best feller that always comes out ahead. 
 The Lord knows I don't want to oppress women. 
 I was always the chicken-heartedest creatur'
 
 Letty 's Rights. 227 
 
 living about 'tother sex. Mother there knows 
 it seemed as if I should die before I could ask 
 her to have me. I kinder blundered into it any 
 how. If I get my meals regular, and things 
 are kept snug at home, then let the women 
 vote, if they want to ; but I'll be blessed if I 
 can see why they should want to. You're right 
 this time, Letty, and I'm glad you've stood out 
 agin old Proudfut." 
 
 Letty, who was a singular mixture of dignity 
 and childishness, jumped up, and put her arms 
 round her father's neck, and gave him two 
 hearty kisses and a hug. That evening she 
 helped get tea and wash the dishes, although Let 
 ty disliked dish-washing. She didn't believe it 
 was her mission in life ; but she was so good and 
 docile the little mother began to think it would 
 be a comfort .to have Letty at home after all. 
 A day or two passed, and Letty submitted to 
 the discipline of housework with admirable 
 meekness. At the end of that time she packed 
 a bag, and asked her father to take her over to 
 Lanesburgh, on a visit to a friend. 
 
 The farm-work was slack, and Ethan had just 
 as soon take what he called a " skoot " as not. 
 Nothing did he like better than to jog along the
 
 223 Stories for Leisure Hours. 
 
 country roads behind his old roan horse, Jake, 
 with Letty by his side. Letty had an observ 
 ing eye and a quick tongue, and to a slow man 
 like Ethan supplied all his mental processes 
 ready-made. 
 
 The school-house of Huntsville was a hand 
 some one for a country neighborhood. It had 
 a belfry, with a bell hung in it, and two fine 
 class-rooms. Miss Hildreth was that morning 
 to begin her reign ; and there was Bobby 
 Dish, who had come a good hour before school- 
 time, sliding down a board put through the 
 fence, and wearing the seat of his trowsers in a 
 manner to wring his mother's heart. As he 
 spied Letty the lad rolled off the board, and 
 applied a dirty little thumb to the tip of his 
 rudimentary nose in a style which meant con 
 fusion to Miss Hildreth. 
 
 The ride to Lanesburgh was very pleasant ; 
 for old Jake took Letty and her father through 
 winding wood-roads, where the trees, bright 
 with autumn tints, made sunshine in the shade, 
 and the spiced air came softly to their senses, 
 and the sound of dropping nuts was heard, and 
 red squirrels were seen whisking their bushy 
 tails over the snake-fences.
 
 Letty' s Rights. 229 
 
 When Ethan set Letty down at her friend's 
 (Miss Hollowell's) door she told him he need not 
 mind about coming over after her. At the end 
 of her visit she would take the stage as far as 
 the Corners, which was within a mile of home. 
 So, one afternoon, when the sun was setting in 
 a sea of glory that seemed to fuse all things ex 
 cept the tree-trunks, that stood out black and 
 bare, Letty got out of the stage and walked 
 along the highway, with her feet making a 
 pleasant rustle in the fallen leaves. Bob Sprowl 
 came suddenly out of the woods, where he had 
 been snaring birds. 
 
 " Evenin', Miss Bennett. School's all broke 
 up in a big row. That Hildreth woman, she 
 couldn't do nothing with the boys. We warn't 
 agoing to let her come it over us. She had to 
 absquatulate. And now I guess we'll have a 
 good play-spell, unless you come back to teach 
 us, for us boys have made a vow we wont let 
 any body else stay." 
 
 Letty did not reprove Bob so gravely as, per 
 haps, she ought to have done ; but she went 
 home with a presentiment that a crisis was at 
 hand, and that Squire Proudfoot might be obliged 
 
 to eat more humble pie than he was likely to 
 15
 
 230 Stories for Leisure Hours. 
 
 relish. Her mother was glad to find that she 
 still remained subdued and cheerful. Letty had 
 what that good woman called moods and tenses ; 
 but on this particular afternoon she came in as 
 cool and gentle as a zephyr. Mrs. Bennett had 
 been all day at work over the stove, putting up 
 quinces ; and she looked flushed and tired, so 
 Letty took hold and helped get tea. After tea 
 there was bread to mix for next morning's 
 baking ; so she put her mother into her favorite 
 arm-chair, and went into the buttery to sift 
 flour, with her neat stuff dress pinned up behind 
 over a starched petticoat, and her sleeves 
 rolled above her dimpled elbows, and her nice 
 little lace collar fastened with a bow of blue 
 velvet. 
 
 She had powdered the bosom of her dress a 
 little in dipping down into the flour-barrel, when 
 there came a positive hard knock upon the door 
 such a knock as a man gives when he has a 
 disagreeable piece of work on his hands and 
 feels surly and out of sorts. 
 
 " Come in," called Letty ; and then, as the 
 door opened, admitting a thick-set man, muffled 
 in a great-coat, she added, with a sparkle of 
 malice in her bright eyes, " Good-evening, Squire
 
 Letty 's Rights. 23 1 
 
 Proudfoot. Please to walk right through into 
 the sitting-room ; you'll find father there." 
 
 The Squire stood irresolutely in the back 
 ground, hemming and hawing, and thrusting 
 out his thick knobby stick in front of him. 
 
 " Don't know as I care pertickerly about see 
 ing your father. Thought I'd happen in and 
 have a little chat with you." 
 
 " O, indeed ! " returned Letty, in the most in 
 genuous manner. " Then take a seat ; I'll be 
 out in a minute." 
 
 She went back into the buttery and finished 
 sifting the flour at her leisure. Letty knew the 
 value of deliberation. When she came out her 
 cheeks were rosy, and her little mouth looked 
 positive and determined. 
 
 " Ahem ! Letitia," began the Squire, " what 
 do you kalkerlate to do with yourself now you've 
 give up school-keepin' ? " 
 
 " Farmer Lothrop offers seventy-five cents a 
 day to any body that wants to hire out to pick 
 up cider-apples," returned Letty, "and I think 
 of engaging with him. It will pay better than 
 doing a man's work and getting half his wages. 
 Besides, it will bring up my muscle." 
 
 " 'Pears to me, Letty, you want to make your-
 
 232 Stories for Leisure Hours. 
 
 self over into a man, don't you, though ? " This 
 was said in a peculiarly rasping tone. 
 
 " Not particularly," returned Letty, quietly. 
 
 " Now you don't say so ? I've always mis 
 trusted that you'd like to put on the trowsers." 
 
 " I should put them on if I wanted to," re 
 turned Letty, in the same manner. 
 
 " O ! " ejaculated the Squire, pushing his 
 stick out in front of him. The moment for the 
 eating of humble pie had come, and Letty 
 relished it keenly. There was a little awkward 
 pause, and then the Squire said : " Wai, Letty, 
 you've got some cur'us notions in your head ; 
 but there's one thing I will say for you you're 
 the best teacher we ever had in this deestrict. 
 That Miss Hildreth dasn't say 'boo.' They 
 kicked up an awful row. It's enough to dis 
 grace us all over the county. The school will 
 have to break up unless we can get you back. 
 You see we gave Austin (here the Squire 
 lowered his voice to a confidential point) more 
 than we could afford, because he was one of 
 them college-bred chaps, and there's a good 
 deal in a name. It's enough to ruin us ; but 
 we've concluded you must have the same pay 
 Austin had if you wont come for less. We
 
 Letty 's Rights. 233 
 
 want you to keep it hushed up, for it's setting 
 an awful bad example ; and you see all the 
 wimmen teachers in the neighborhood would 
 strike for higher wages if they should find it 
 out." 
 
 " I don't know as I want the place now," re 
 plied Letty, giving a vindictive screw to her 
 rosy mouth, and kneading away industriously 
 at the bread-making. 
 
 " O, do take it ! " urged the Squire, getting 
 thoroughly on the anxious seat. " We sha'n't 
 have a school worth a snap all winter unless you 
 come back. I'd rather pay the difference out 
 of my own pocket, if it did come pretty tough." 
 
 " Well, then," said Letty, beaming graciously 
 upon him from her high coigne of vantage, " to 
 oblige you, I will." 
 
 The Squire went away feeling that she had 
 been marvelously condescending. There was 
 somebody outside who had seen the Squire 
 enter, and had blessed him, in a certain sense, 
 for interfering with his own cherished plans. 
 This young person had skulked about the yard 
 until he caught a glimpse of Letty through the 
 window her dark hair and rosy face framed in 
 a wreath of the pretty bitter-sweet vine that
 
 234 Stories for Leisure Hours. 
 
 hung carelessly over it. He noted the snowy 
 apron she wore, and the trim body of her dress, 
 and the deft way she kneaded handfuls of flour 
 into the plump mass of dough before her. 
 Sol's heart went pit-a-pat as he opened the 
 door ; but there was no outward and visible 
 sign that Letty's went pitty-Sol. He was a 
 good-looking young fellow, with the fresh color 
 an honest country life gives. There were 
 marks of sense about his well-molded head, 
 best expressed by the word sound ; but the state 
 of his affections at this juncture rendered him 
 somewhat sheepish of mien. He came in and 
 sat on the edge of the chair, holding his hat 
 between his knees, very much as if it had con 
 tained eggs. 
 
 " Pretty warm to-night, isn't it ? " said Sol, 
 mopping his flushed face with his bandanna. 
 
 " O no ! " replied Letty, keeping her back 
 turned, provokingly enough. " I thought it was 
 cool for the season." 
 
 " Thought I'd drop in and ask if your folks 
 wouldn't like some of my pumpkins," quoth 
 Sol. 
 
 " No, indeed," returned Letty. " Our barn's 
 half full of pumpkins already."
 
 Letty' s Rights. 235 
 
 " I wish there was something of mine you'd 
 like to have," broke out Sol spasmodically after 
 a painful little pause. 
 
 " I don't believe there is," returned Letty. 
 " We raise about the same things that you do. 
 I mean sauce." 
 
 This was too exasperating, and Sol could not 
 endure it longer. " You know," he broke out, 
 " that I worship the very ground you tread 
 on." 
 
 " That's the way men talk before they get 
 women into their power," returned Letty, knead 
 ing away at that bread as if she never intended 
 to have done. 
 
 " Taint talk at all," asserted Sol ; " it's the 
 living truth. Come, now, Letty, you ought to 
 tell me whether you mean to have me or not. 
 I can't be kept in such suspense." 
 
 " I don't mean to marry any man," returned 
 Letty, " until I've earned some money of my 
 own." 
 
 " You shall have all you want," cried Sol 
 eagerly ; " I'll make it over to you in black and 
 white." 
 
 " I should only want what I earned honestly. 
 I love independence if I am a woman," replied
 
 236 Stories for Leisure Hours. 
 
 Letty in a little softer tone. " Men are stingy 
 to their wives." 
 
 " I wouldn't be stingy to you, Letty. I'd re 
 spect all your rights. Come, say out square 
 you'll have me, and I shall be the happiest 
 fellow alive." 
 
 Sol had crept nearer and nearer in his eager 
 ness. Letty's hands were still engaged. Yes, 
 I shall have to tell it. He was the man who 
 dared ; he stooped and kissed Letty's cheek. 
 
 At that moment the sitting-room door opened, 
 and Ethan surprised a situation. " I thought 
 I smelt fire," said he, " but I see it was only a 
 spark." Then he went back, and there was an 
 explosion of laughter. 
 
 " So you and Sol have made it up between 
 you?" said Mrs. Bennett when, a little later, 
 Letty walked in. 
 
 " Sol was impudent," returned Letty coolly. 
 
 " He never would have been if you didn't 
 mean to marry him," put in Ethan. 
 
 " Squire Proudfoot has come to my terms," 
 remarked Letty, to change the subject, " and I 
 am going back to school." 
 
 Letty taught school two years, and then she 
 married Sol. She kept the secret of her wages
 
 Letty 's Rights. 237 
 
 so well that at this present time there isn't a 
 woman teacher in the vicinity whose pay doesn't 
 equal that of a man in the same place ; and 
 accordingly Huntsville is like a city set on a 
 hill.
 
 238 Stories for Leisure Hours. 
 
 THE RED EAR. 
 
 'VERY THING must be put off until 
 Lucy Malcom gets here. The boys 
 are ready to break their necks for her. We 
 mustn't let her know how much this visit has 
 been lotted on. It will make her feel too im 
 portant." 
 
 " They say there's lots of musie in Lucy," re 
 turned Uncle Dorset. Every body called him 
 Uncle Dorset. " She's just that trim-built, light- 
 steppin' creeter her mother was before her. 
 What grand, good times we boys and girls used 
 to have together when she was young ! You 
 can't have forgotten them." 
 
 " Yes," said his wife, with a slight air of in 
 jury. " You and Horace was both of you smit 
 ten with Lucy Parkes. Every body knows that 
 well enough." 
 
 " No," replied Uncle Dorset, wagging his 
 good-natured old head, " it was Horace's sister
 
 The Red Ear. 239 
 
 I was after ; but I was always willing to crack a 
 joke with Lucy Parkes." 
 
 " Wai," remarked Aunt Dorset, the aggrieved 
 tone shading off a little, " it always looked 
 as if it was nip and tuck between you and 
 Horace." 
 
 The old lady did not really mean it ; but the 
 truth was she had always been a little jealous 
 of her brother's wife, and now, almost uncon 
 sciously, the feeling was transferred to Lucy 
 Malcom. She did not relish the idea of her 
 coming to Stockburn and turning people's 
 heads, as her mother had done. She had 
 not seen the girl for five or six years ; but 
 report said Lucy had grown to be a pretty, arch, 
 dark-eyed little witch, with a spice of mischief 
 in her composition that made her quite irresist 
 ible. In the mild haze of the autumn day the 
 Dorset boys were getting in the corn, drawing 
 with an ox-team the rustling shocks to the 
 barn 
 
 " The old swallow-haunted barn, 
 Brown-gabled, long, and full of seams, 
 Through which the moated sunlight streams." 
 
 " We will have a husking-bee when Cousin 
 Lucy gets here," said Enoch Dorset as he
 
 240 Stories for Leisure Hours. 
 
 stood up on the load, pitchfork in hand, his tall, 
 well-knit form swaying a little and showing to 
 advantage, clad as it was in a comfortable flan 
 nel shirt and trowsers of Jersey blue. 
 
 "Golly! so we will," said his brother Job 
 from the thrashing-floor. " If Cousin Lu is as 
 lively as they say she is, it will be general train 
 ing most of the time while she stays." 
 
 Job was not as good-looking as Enoch. His 
 hair was lank and his face was sallow ; but there 
 were funny lines round his mouth, and he had a 
 dry way of saying things, and a taste for droll 
 ery of all sorts, that made him a favorite. He 
 kept his wit sharpened at Enoch's expense ; 
 and Enoch was rather open to ridicule, for he 
 had a sneaking fondness for hair-oil, and fancy 
 neckties, and scented pocket-handkerchiefs, and 
 secretly believed himself to be the best-looking 
 fellow in Stockburn. 
 
 " Hullo ! " said Enoch, standing still on the 
 load, with that easy sway of the hips, and shading 
 his handsome brown face with his hand as he 
 looked up the road where it rose a little until 
 the spiral Lombardy poplars in front of Elka- 
 nah Raynor's house showed gaps of sky between, 
 like parted fingers, and the old chimneys nestled
 
 The Red Ear. 241 
 
 in a bower of fruit-trees, yellow and russet now. 
 The road down which Enoch was gazing was 
 by no means a common country road. The 
 fences were all of the best, and the foot-paths 
 were shaded by fine stocky maples, that were 
 carpeting the wagon-track with flecks of flame 
 color. Every house in Stockburn neighbor 
 hood was snug and neat, with a well-to-do air. 
 It had the best school-house and church in the 
 township, and was what people called a " crack " 
 street. 
 
 "There's the stage coming round the turn 
 pike corner ! " exclaimed Enoch as his eyes 
 followed a cloud of dust. 
 
 " Cousin Lucy ! " shouted Job. And he threw 
 down his fork and dashed away to the house ; 
 and in a minute more Uncle Dorset, bare-headed, 
 with his broad, good-natured old face smiling 
 all over, and little bustling Aunt Dorset, with 
 her cap-strings flying, hurried out into the front 
 yard. 
 
 There was a face at one of the windows of the 
 Raynor farm-house as the top-heavy stage, with 
 its six horses, and flapping leather curtains, and 
 piles of trunks strapped on behind, went creak 
 ing past. The house was too much shaded for
 
 242 Stories for Leisure Hours. 
 
 health, and the face was in shadow. It was a 
 young face, with an abundance of soft hair, 
 regular features, and large blue eyes, that ought 
 to have been patient and loving ; but there 
 was an unnatural compression about the lines 
 of the mouth that made it look a little stern. 
 Now, as the stage passed quickly by, affording 
 to the watching eyes at the window a glimpse 
 of a fascinating, girlish countenance, lovely in 
 its bloom, with a little blue vail fluttering from 
 a jockey hat, Nancy Raynor's head bent down 
 on her work, and it seemed as though some 
 thing said in her ear, " He will love her ; I know 
 he will love her." 
 
 So it appeared that Lucy Malcom's arrival 
 was causing some heart-burning in Stockburn 
 neighborhood. All unconscious of this, Lucy 
 the roundest, plumpest, merriest little maiden 
 ever seen tripped out of the stage when the 
 driver had brought his horses to. There was a 
 pair of sparkling black eyes adorning her rosy 
 face, and her laugh rang out as clear as a silver 
 bell. Lucy had various parcels, bags, and books, 
 which she shed about as such a little minx will ; 
 and a young man, who had got down from the 
 stage to assist her in alighting, gathered them
 
 The Red Ear. 243 
 
 up and handed them back. He was evidently 
 a town-bred man, with white hands, and a down 
 ward look, and too little chin, and a carefully- 
 kept mustache. Lucy took her things from 
 him in a pretty, petulant sort of a way, giving 
 him a curt little bow ; and the next moment 
 they were all on the ground, and she had her 
 arms hugged tightly round Uncle Dorset's 
 neck. 
 
 " Don't you mean to give me one of them, 
 Cousin Lucy ? " inquired Enoch, leaning, in one 
 of his naturally graceful postures, against the 
 gate as the kisses went flying about. " I think 
 I ought to come in for my share." 
 
 The saucy little maiden shook her black 
 tresses very decidedly, making eyes at Enoch, 
 Aunt Dorset thought, just as Lucy Parkes used 
 to do ; and the next moment, in one of her 
 capricious fits, she embraced old Job with her 
 chubby little arms and gave him a sounding 
 smack. From that time her flirtation with 
 Enoch may be said to have begun. 
 
 "Who is that spruce-looking young fellow 
 who helped you out of the stage, Lucy ? " in 
 quired Aunt Dorset, gazing through her honest 
 old specs. " Is he an acquaintance of yours ? "
 
 244 Stories for Leisure Hours. 
 
 The young man had mounted to the driver's 
 seat while the operation of getting the trunk 
 off was in progress, and appeared to be watch 
 ing the group in the door-yard under the locust- 
 trees with considerable interest. 
 
 " O, I believe he has got business somewhere 
 around here," returned Lucy, with an indiffer 
 ent toss of her head. " He was very civil to 
 me on the journey." 
 
 " I am afraid you are a bit of a flirt, child," 
 said Aunt Dorset. And then she thought to 
 herself, " Her mother was before her ; pity if 
 she shouldn't be." 
 
 " Me a flirt ! O, auntie ! " and Lucy's black 
 eyes rolled up, and her mouth puckered itself 
 into a dewy, rosy exclamation point. 
 
 They were in the house now, and Aunt Dor 
 set had shown her niece up to the best room, 
 shut up as best rooms are apt to be in the coun 
 try, and rather heavy with old mahogany furni 
 ture, and a high-post bedstead, with its dimity- 
 teaster and mountain of feathers. The moment 
 
 the little dumpling of an old lady had trotted 
 
 ^ 
 out of the room to fetch something that had 
 
 been forgotten, Lucy skipped to the window, 
 pushed back the blinds, and let her handker-
 
 The Red Ear. 245 
 
 chief flutter out in the breeze. Strange to say, 
 there was an answering signal from the top of 
 the stage. Enoch, who was lingering below in 
 the yard, saw the maneuver, and said to him 
 self, " She's a regular little case. I believe 
 she knows more about that fellow than she 
 pretends." 
 
 Lucy had been brought up in a town of con 
 siderable size, where French fashions prevailed ; 
 and she had brought all her little gauds and fur 
 belows to Stockburn, with the hope of electrify 
 ing the natives, for her soul was by no means 
 above such feminine triumphs. She opened 
 her trunk, and hung some trinkets about her 
 plump little person, and nestled some bows of 
 cherry ribbon among her glossy black curls. 
 She went down stairs just before tea. 
 
 " How nice it is here ! " said Lucy, looking 
 out through the sitting-room window at the 
 sunny old garden. " I have always been cooped 
 up in a town, Uncle Dorset, and now you 
 must teach me to be a country girl." 
 
 " I s'pose you think, don't you," inquired the 
 old gentleman, ' that some cows give butter 
 milk, just as Dr. Hillyer's niece did when she 
 
 came up here on a visit from York ? " 
 16
 
 246 Stories for Leisure Hours, 
 
 " Perhaps I do," returned Lucy, archly, 
 bursting into a merry laugh ; " and then, you 
 know, I solemnly believe that potatoes grow 
 on bushes." 
 
 "Do see Lucy snuggled up to your father, 
 and he looks as pleased as cuffy," said Aunt 
 Dorset to Job as she put a drawing of tea in 
 the pot. " There's a good deal of the cat about 
 that girl. The Parkeses have all got it, every 
 one of them." 
 
 " I wouldn't mind having her purr round me," 
 responded Job in his dry way. 
 
 They were seated at the pleasant tea-table 
 now. Enoch had come in, and Lucy was the 
 center of every body's attentions. In spite 
 of Lord. Byron's churlish opinion, she was 
 perfectly charming while engaged with her 
 knife and fork. 
 
 " Tell me, Enoch," inquired she, " are there 
 any nice girls in this neighborhood ? I don't 
 care a fig for young men, (there was a sly twinkle 
 in her eye,) they are horrid, conceited creatures ; 
 but I should like to get acquainted with a nice 
 girl." 
 
 ''Nancy Raynor is our next neighbor's 
 daughter," said Uncle Dorset, "and she is
 
 The Red Ear. 247 
 
 as likely a girl as ever was raised here in 
 Stockburn." 
 
 " She has got what I call pretty manners," 
 put in Aunt Dorset, dishing out the stewed 
 quinces. " Most of the girls nowadays are 
 too brazen to suit my old-fashioned notions." 
 
 " Ask Enoch about her," said Job, with a 
 droll wink. 
 
 " O, yes," struck in Uncle Dorset, " Enoch 
 and Nancy used to be very thick ; and I can't 
 say whether it's her fault or his'n that they don't 
 hitch horses any more." 
 
 Enoch colored as he bent over his plate, and 
 Lucy cast a mischievous little glance at him. 
 
 " Nancy don't come here near as often as she 
 used to," said Aunt Dorset, pouring out the old 
 gentleman's second cup of tea, and putting in 
 what he called a "long sweetening." "She 
 aint the kind of girl to let any young man think 
 she's going to break her heart about him. She's 
 an independent little piece, if she does look as 
 if butter wouldn't melt in her mouth. All the 
 Raynors are hard-bitted." 
 
 Enoch looked really annoyed now, and kept 
 his eyes fixed on his plate, to avoid Lucy's 
 wicked little glances.
 
 248 Stories for Leisure Hours. 
 
 Suddenly he looked up, and said to her: 
 " If you get acquainted with Nancy you can 
 wave your pocket-handkerchief out of the 
 window. I believe you like that sort of thing." 
 Now it was Lucy's turn to cast down her 
 eyes. 
 
 The house was full of fun and music, just as 
 Uncle Dorset had predicted. Lucy kept things 
 pretty well stirred up, and plotted against Aunt 
 Dorset's steady, jog-trot, old-fashioned ideas. 
 She wanted to have her finger in every body's 
 pie. She meddled with the cooking, and made 
 little mortified-looking cakes, that nobody could 
 eat. 
 
 "'Pears to me these biscuits have got the 
 measles," said Uncle Dorset one morning as 
 he broke one open, decorated with a number of 
 yellow eyes. 
 
 " I made them, dear," said Lucy, looking so 
 penitent. " You know I've been brought up in 
 dreadful ignorance ; but now I am learning to 
 cook, for I expect to marry a poor man per 
 haps a farmer." And she cast such -a glance 
 at Enoch that Aunt Dorset took the alarm. 
 That same afternoon, while Enoch was down 
 in the Evans lot, mending a piece of fence, to
 
 The Red Ear. 249 
 
 keep Squire Bridgam's cattle out, his anxious 
 mother appeared, with her apron over her 
 head. 
 
 " Look here, Enoch," said she, " the neigh 
 bors have got it round that you are going to 
 make a match with Lucy Malcom. I wouldn't 
 be quite so pertickerler toward her if I was 
 you. It never turns out well for first cousins 
 to marry." 
 
 " The neighbors may just mind their own 
 business," said Enoch, angrily, as he hammered 
 away at a board. 
 
 "Tut, tut," returned his mother, who had a 
 temper of her own. " It takes a flirt to catch a 
 flirt, and I shouldn't wonder if you and Lucy 
 were well matched. To speak plain, I don't 
 think you have treated Nancy Raynor right ; 
 and the day may come when you will find out 
 what a true heart is worth." 
 
 In spite of all this Aunt Dorset liked the 
 creature. Lucy compelled liking from those 
 who did not wholly approve of her. She was 
 disorderly and upsetting, and shocked the old 
 lady's ideas of method and regularity ; but still 
 she would bear more from her than from any 
 body else. Job liked Lucy's spirit of fun. She
 
 250 Stories for Leisure Hours. 
 
 was not too big to play torn-boy, and to follow 
 the boys into the field and ride home on a load 
 of pumpkins, looking like a little queen amid 
 her golden treasures. She had seen Nancy 
 Raynor in the singers' seat at church of a Sun 
 day morning, but that was as near as the two 
 girls had approached each other. In response 
 to Lucy's teasing, Aunt Dorset had invited the 
 neighbor's daughter to tea ; but on the after 
 noon of the day appointed Nancy had sent to 
 say that she must be excused on account of a 
 bad headache. Job comforted Lucy by saying 
 that Nancy would surely come to the husking- 
 bee ; but Nancy, as she lay awake nights, with 
 the tears wetting her cheeks, thought to her 
 self that she would not go and witness that 
 girl's triumph. From her place of vantage 
 by the window, with her face looking pale 
 and her breath coming fast, she had watched 
 Enoch pass by in the moonlight, with Lucy 
 clasping his arm and gazing up in his face, 
 and she almost despised herself because she 
 could not see it unmoved. 
 
 Enoch was bewitched by Lucy, but the be 
 witching did not go very far. He was a young 
 man who had a very good opinion of himself,
 
 The Red Ear. 25 1 
 
 and his constancy had not been developed. 
 He liked to have a number of girls fond of him, 
 and he thought it was rather a fine thing to 
 cool off toward a flame, as he had done toward 
 Nancy Raynor. Still, with all her innocent, 
 pussy-like ways, Enoch distrusted Lucy. He 
 had caught her sending billets privately to 
 Middletown by the farm-hand, Zeke, and he 
 had not forgotten her adventure in the stage 
 coach. 
 
 The preparations for the husking-bee were 
 almost complete, and Lucy was quite wild with 
 delight. The big barn was to be nicely illu 
 minated, and the supper of pumpkin-pie, dough 
 nuts, and cider to be spread in the kitchen in 
 the good old orthodox fashion. Afterward the 
 great barn-floor was to be cleared, and black 
 fiddlers, engaged at Middletown, were to play 
 for dancing. 
 
 Two days before the husking-bee was to come 
 off, Lucy made Job an apple-pie bed. Job 
 meant to be even with her, and the next after 
 noon he called up the stairway : 
 
 " Cousin Lucy, don't you want to take a ride 
 behind Brown Betty ? " 
 
 Lucy was, of course, delighted with the propo-
 
 252 Stones for Leisure Hours. 
 
 sition, so she stepped to the window and 
 peeped through the blinds, and there was 
 Brown Betty hitched to the sulky a light, airy 
 thing, that looked as if made of cobwebs, with 
 the tiniest of backless seats hung in the middle. 
 Lucy appreciated the joke, and, while Job ran 
 back to the carriage-house to get his coat, she 
 slipped down stairs, unhitched Brown Betty, 
 and was off down the road like a flash. 
 
 " O, massy to us ! " screeched Aunt Dorset, 
 running to the door. " That child will surely 
 get killed. She don't know nothing about driv 
 ing, and the mare is as skittish as a colt." 
 
 Job dashed out of the carriage-house, look 
 ing crestfallen enough. " She's a plucky little 
 piece of baggage," said he, "and there's no 
 use trying to get ahead of her. Don't worry, 
 mother ; Lucy is able to take care of her 
 self." 
 
 There certainly was a sweet little cherub 
 somewhere up aloft, who looked out for auda 
 cious Lucy. In an hour's time she came back, 
 with a demurely wicked gleam in her eye. 
 Brown Betty had evidently been put through 
 her paces. Lucy threw down the lines with a 
 professional air, and ordered Job to give her nag
 
 9MO Lucy's Ride with Brown Betty. 
 
 "O m'nssy to us," screeched Aunt Dorset, "that child will surely 
 f*et killed."
 
 The Red Ear. 255 
 
 some water, " for she is as dry as a contribu 
 tion-box," she added ; " and I would like to 
 know who is a little sulky now." 
 
 Lucy explained, later, that accidentally she 
 had met Mr. Allen, the young man who was 
 polite to her in the stage. In return for turn 
 ing her horse around, she had asked him to 
 come over to the husking-bee. 
 
 The night of the husking-bee had come, and 
 Milton Raynor was blacking his boots at the 
 back-doop of the farm-house. 
 
 " Aren't you going over to Dorset's to-night ?" 
 he inquired of his sister. 
 
 " No, I am not." 
 
 " Now I would, if I was you, Nancy. It 
 don't look well for you to stay cooped up here 
 at home. Folks will begin to say you are love 
 sick." 
 
 " I don't care what they say," returned 
 Nancy, and her voice sounded harsh and 
 metallic in her own ears. She went up to her 
 room, and sat down by the little window, that 
 was festooned by the Virginia creeper, burning 
 with a deep autumnal crimson. The moonlight 
 was falling still and white on the stubble-fields 
 and belts of woods. It blanched Nancy's
 
 256 Stories for Leistire Hours. 
 
 face not a patient or submissive face. Her 
 eyes might have read a poem in that lovely 
 evening, but they were full of trouble. She 
 wanted to crush out the core of, constancy and 
 devotion in her heart, but she knew not how 
 to do it. She was too restless to stay within 
 doors, so she wrapped her head and shoulders 
 in a shawl, and glided out into the shadow of 
 the trees along the roadside, until she came 
 nearly opposite to Uncle Dorset's house, where 
 she could see the lights from the barn and catch 
 the sounds of fun and frolic from the buskers. 
 She was haunted by an irrational desire to spy 
 upon Enoch and Lucy, and to confirm what she 
 so much dreaded to find true. 
 
 Mr. Allen arrived early, and with his white 
 hands, his want of chin, black mustache, and 
 city-made clothes, quite captivated the rustic 
 beauties of Stockburn. But Nelly Blake, a 
 blue-eyed little blonde, received a much larger 
 share of his attention than Lucy Malcom did ; 
 although Lucy, in her scarlet spencer and black 
 skirt, below which peeped the trimmest of 
 ankles and tidiest of buskin shoes, was certainly 
 very charming. She was always with Enoch, 
 laughing and sparring and flinging about her
 
 The Red Ear. 257 
 
 bright, saucy wit. Enoch had just whispered 
 to her that if he found the red ear she would 
 have to suffer, when some one screamed that 
 Mr. Allen had found it. The dove-cote was 
 ruffled, and the girls scampered over the piles 
 of corn and hid in the horse-stalls, trying to 
 avoid the penalty of a kiss. At last the young 
 man took after Lucy, and the light-footed little 
 minx gave him a chase round the barn, and then 
 dashed away through the door into the moon 
 light, he after her, and the ring of her silver 
 laugh was the last that was heard of little 
 Lucy. 
 
 In the confusion nobody missed them. 
 The whole company went to supper pretty 
 soon, and more than half an hour had passed 
 when Enoch came and took hold of Job's coat- 
 sleeve. They stepped outside the kitchen-door 
 together, and then Enoch said, in an agitated 
 whisper : 
 
 " For Heaven's sake, where is Cousin Lucy ? 
 That fellow Allen has disappeared too. Can 
 it be she is playing one of her pranks ? Fa 
 ther has gone to bed. Don't speak to mother 
 yet. Get a light and come up to her room with 
 me."
 
 258 Stories for Leisure Hours. 
 
 The two brothers slipped noiselessly up the 
 staircase into Lucy's chamber, where the moon 
 light was lying quietly upon the carpet Every 
 thing seemed just as usual, only a note lay on 
 the bureau, addressed to Uncle Dorset, in Lucy's 
 pretty girlish handwriting. Enoch snatched 
 it and tore it open. It ran as follows : 
 
 " Don't be cross and scold me, that's a dear. 
 I am going to marry Charley Farnsworth. He 
 isn't Mr. Allen at all. I think pa has been very 
 cruel toward Charley. He wouldn't let him 
 come to the house, because he was a little wild 
 once. But now Charley has reformed, and don't 
 drink a drop ; and if he couldn't get into busi 
 ness, I am sure it wasn't his fault, poor fellow. 
 The only business he had in Middletown was 
 seeing me. Maybe you will think I am to 
 blame ; but I do love Charley to distraction, 
 and we mean to get married this very night. 
 Nobody need follow us, for it will be too late." 
 
 Perhaps Enoch uttered an oath ; at any rate, 
 he crushed the note in his hand. " Go down 
 stairs, Job," said he, "and try and keep the 
 folks agoing. Get up a game if you can. Don't 
 tell mother quite yet. I will put Zeke on one of 
 the farm-horses and mount Brown Betty my-
 
 The Red Ear. 259 
 
 self ; and perhaps we can bring the crazy girl 
 to her senses. The fellow looked to me like 
 a sneak, and I dare say he is after Uncle 
 Horace's money. Wont the old gentleman 
 fume, though." 
 
 Enoch ten minutes later was spurring along 
 the moon-lit road, when he caught sight of a 
 fluttering garment among the trees by the 
 way. 
 
 " Who is there," he called out sharply. As 
 no answer came, he alighted, took the bridle 
 over his arm, and pushed into the shadows. 
 
 " It's me, Nancy Raynor," said a faint voice. 
 
 " You, Nancy, out alone this time of night ! 
 Did you see any body pass here half an hour 
 back?" he asked, hurriedly. "I am afraid my 
 cousin, Lucy Malcom, has made a fool of her 
 self, and gone off with a scamp who has been 
 hanging round here ever since she came." 
 
 Nancy had often thought in just what scorn 
 ful tones she would speak to Enoch Dorset if 
 he ever chanced to be humiliated in her pres 
 ence ; but now the opportunity had come, and 
 all her vindictiveness had vanished. 
 
 " And do you care so very much about her ? " 
 she asked in a faltering voice.
 
 260 Stories for Leisure Hours. 
 
 " I don't care in the way you think I do' 
 Nancy," and Enoch's better nature suddenly 
 asserted itself. " The only girl I ever really 
 cared for was you, and I was a fool and a cox 
 comb. I thought I could play with you ; and 
 when I wanted to come back, you were like ice 
 toward me. Of course, I deserved it. I de 
 serve that you should punish me, perhaps 
 should never speak to me again." 
 
 " O, Enoch ! How miserable I have been," 
 sobbed Nancy as her head went down. Enoch 
 found a moment in which to comfort her before 
 he leaped again on his horse and darted away 
 after the fugitives. But they were not found 
 that night. The next day Lucy came, with her 
 graceless husband, and threw herself at Uncle 
 Dorset's feet, and begged him to intercede with 
 her father. He could not help promising any , 
 thing while Lucy had her arms around his neck, 
 and so he did intercede, and the old man re 
 lented in a few months, and Lucy was taken 
 back into favor. The little cherub that sits up 
 aloft has never deserted her, and Charley has 
 turned out better than could have been ex 
 pected. He takes care of the babies, and is 
 good to his flyaway wife, and makes jokes of
 
 The Red Ear. 261 
 
 how he won her with the red ear in that old 
 husking-bee. 
 
 When Nancy married Enoch folks said she 
 was too good for him. And so she was ; but 
 she has helped to make a man of him, and 
 Enoch would be ready to chastise any body 
 who should even hint that he does not love his 
 wife dearly. 
 
 THE END.
 
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