In some instances, also, those of the existing government act immediately on individuals.


"I know, you want one of her smoke Persian kittens as a prospective wife for Wumples  or a husband, is it?"


"I suffered in that way just now," said Reginald plaintively, "from a woman whose word I had to take that she had met me last summer in Brittany." "I hope you were not too brutal?" "I merely told her with engaging simplicity that the art of life was the avoidance of the unattainable."


REGINALD ON THE ACADEMY "One goes to the Academy in self defence," said Reginald. "It is the one topic one has in common with the Country Cousins."


"Exactly. Which presupposes that something else is fed upon." "Oh, you're simply exasperating. You've been reading Nietzsche till you haven't got any sense of moral proportion left. May I ask if you are governed by _any_ laws of conduct whatever?"


"So, for the matter of that," replied Reginald, "has the Russian Empire. The trouble is that the limits are not always in the same place."


Reginald entered on the strenuous life alone, as far as Amabel was concerned. The most virtuous women are not proof against damp grass, and Amabel kept her bed with a cold.


Reginald, in his way, was a pioneer. None of the rest of his family had anything approaching Titian hair or a sense of humour, and they used primroses as a table decoration.


Therefore the family was relieved when the vicar's daughter undertook the reformation of Reginald. Her name was Amabel; it was the vicar's one extravagance.


REGINALD ON WORRIES I have (said Reginald) an aunt who worries.


I gathered afterwards that the meal was tinged with a very unchristian spirit. I suppose it's unlucky to bring peacock's feathers into a house; anyway, there was a blue pencilly look in my hostess's eye when I took my departure.


His wife was really to be pitied, because he had been the only person in the house who understood how to manage the cook's temper, and now she has to put "D.V." on her dinner invitations. Still, that's better than a domestic scandal; a woman who leaves her cook never wholly recovers her position in Society.


They said afterwards that it was a tame bird; that's simply _silly_, because it was awfully wild at the first few shots.


Scandal is merely the compassionate allowance which the gay make to the humdrum. Think how many blameless lives are brightened by the blazing indiscretions of other people.


Quite a charming woman; separated from her husband"   "Incompatibility of income?" "Oh, nothing of that sort. By miles of frozen ocean, I was going to say. He explores ice floes and studies the movements of herrings, and has written a most interesting book on the home life of the Esquimaux; but naturally he has very little home life of his own."


To tell the story of an old city is like cutting down through the various layers of a fruity layer cake.


Those white domes and pillars gleaming like Greek temples across the blue Charles, are the new buildings of the Massachusetts Institute of Technology, and surely Greek temples were never lovelier, nor dedicated to more earnest pursuit of things not mundane.


At 55 Beacon Street, down near the foot of the hill and facing the Common, still stands the handsome, swell front, buff brick house where Prescott, the historian, lived.


It would be impossible to enumerate the notable speakers and meetings which have rendered this hall famous, from General Gage down to Daniel Webster, Theodore Roosevelt, and Marshal Joffre.


And perhaps this is as typical a thing as we could have done.


The North End of Boston has not fared as well as the South End. The sons of Abraham and immigrants from Italy have appropriated the streets, dwellings, churches, and shops of the entire region, and even Christ Church (the famous Old North Church) has a Chiesa Italiana on its grounds.


But in this bird's eye flight across the historical and geographical map of a city that tempts one to many pleasant delays, we must hover for a brief moment over the South and the North Ends.


Do we, casually accepting the fruit of three hundred years of toil on this continent  do we, accustomed to smooth highways and swift and easy transportation, realize the significance of such a road?


The main passageway from the shore of the Yellow Sea to the capital of Korea, although it has been pressed for centuries immemorial by myriads of human feet, has never been more than a bridle path. On the other hand, wherever the great Roman Empire stepped, it engineered mighty thoroughfares which are a marvel to this day.


This section of the city, endowed with extraordinary natural beauty and advantage of both land and water, and irrevocably and brilliantly graven upon the annals of American history, has been allowed to lose its ancient prestige and to sink low indeed in the social scale.


The occupation of the heights was a magnificent _coup_. The moment the British saw what had been done, they realized that they had lost the fight.


By some curious oversight  which seems incredible to us as we actually stand upon the top of this conspicuous hill  they forgot this spot.


Before we start down the Old Coast Road it may be enlightening to get a bird's eye glimpse of it actually as we have historically, and for such a glimpse there is no better place than on the topmost balcony of the Soldier's Monument on Dorchester Heights.


The fact that this couple possesses a horse presages great changes in New England. Ferries will be established; tolls levied, bridges thrown across the streams which now the horses swim, or cross by having their front feet in one canoe ferry and their hind feet in another  the canoes being lashed together.


But even with fair roads and regular coaching service, New England, separated by her fixed topographical outlines, remains provincial.


Therefore, he and Howe made an agreement by which Howe was to evacuate and Washington was to refrain from using his guns.


Neither will we follow the original road too closely, for we seek the beautiful pleasure drive of to day more than the historic highway of long ago. Boston was made the capital of the Massachusetts Bay Colony in 1632. Plymouth was a capital a decade before. It is to Plymouth that we now set out.


We shall not call them ghosts, for they are not phantoms severed from earth, but, rather, the permanent possessors of the highway which they helped create. We shall meet the Indian first, running lightly on straight, moccasined feet, along the trail from which he has burned, from time to time, the underbrush.


Only when you reach the top and emerge into the blue upper air you will meet those friendly winged visitors who frequent all spires  Saint Mark's in Venice or the Soldier's Monument in South Boston  the pigeons!


Israel Stoughton was the name of the man who established this first mill  a name perpetuated in the near by town of Stoughton.


So let us come down, for, after all, "Love is of the valley." Down again to the old town of Milton. We have not half begun to wander over it: not half begun to hear the pleasant stories it has to tell.


Nothing is left of this quaint structure but a small bronze bas relief, set against a stone wall, near its original site.


The granite quarry man  far more interested in the value of the stone that underlay the wooded slopes than in Ruskin's theory of its purifying effect upon the inhabitants  had already obtained a footing here, when, under the able leadership of Charles Francis Adams, the whole region was taken over by the State in 1894.


First and foremost, of course, will come President John Adams, he who, both before and after his term of high office, toiled terrifically in the public cause, being at the time of his election to Congress a member of ninety committees and a chairman of twenty five!


It is difficult to grasp the meaning of these figures. Difficult, even after one has obtained entrance into this city within a city, and seen with his own eyes twenty thousand men toiling like Trojans.


One must read the autobiography of Charles Francis Adams and "The Education of Henry Adams" to appreciate the charm of the succeeding mistresses of the noble homestead, and to enjoy in retrospect its many illustrious visitors.


The Quincy family, for which the town was named, and which at an early date intermarried with the Adamses, presents an almost parallel distinction.


Fearing that prayers or sermons would encourage the "superstitions" of the Roman Catholic Church, they shunned any ritual over the dead or beautifying of their last resting place.


On reading the ancient petition for the incorporation of the town one is struck by the fact that practically every single name of the one hundred and fifty signers is English in origin, the few which were not having been anglicized.


There is another Quincy man whom it is pleasant to recall, and that is Henry Flynt, a whimsical and scholarly old bachelor, who was a tutor at Harvard for no less than fifty three years, the one fixed element in the flow of fourteen college generations.


Big ships and little ships swarmed into existence, and every South Shore town made shipbuilding history. The ketch, a two masted vessel carrying from fifteen to twenty tons, carried on most of the coasting traffic, and occasionally ventured on a foreign voyage.


We see him as the portraits have taught us to see him, with strong, serious face,  austere, but not harsh,  velvet coat, white ruffles, and white curls. He stands before us as the undisputed founder of what is now recognized as American diplomacy.


It would be extremely interesting to study the reasons for Quincy's peculiar productiveness of noble public characters. The town was settled (as Braintree) exclusively by people from Devonshire and Lincolnshire and Essex.


This and the similar transportation of the Bowditch house from Beacon Street in Boston to Quincy a couple of years later would have fascinated the red man, as the recital of the feat fascinates us to day.


Still another Adams follows, Charles Francis Adams.


This absurd notion of vicarious atonement, spun purely from Morton's imagination, appealed to Samuel Butler as worthy of further elaboration.


Just as Weymouth's scenery is unlike that of her neighbors, so her history projects itself from an entirely different angle from theirs. While they were conceived by zealous, God fearing men and women honestly seeking to establish homes in a new country, Weymouth was inadvertently born through the misconduct of a set of adventurers.


The records of the town are painfully dull. They are taken up by small domestic matters: the regulations for cattle; running boundary lines, locating highways, improving the town common, fixing fines for roving swine or agreeing to the division of a whale found on the shore.


It was not until the Reverend Joseph Hull received permission from the General Court to settle here with twenty one families, from Weymouth, England, that the town was at last shepherded into the Puritan fold.


But the New England soil was not prepared at that time to support any such exotic, and Myles Standish was sent to disperse the frivolous band, and to order Morton back to England, which he did, after a scrimmage which Morton relates with great vivacity and doubtful veracity in his "New English Canaan."


Not that all of Weymouth's homes are of this order. The Asa Webb Cowing house, which terminates Commercial Street within a stone's throw of the square of the town of Weymouth, is one of the very finest examples of the Colonial architecture in this country.


A third attempt, while hardly more successful, furnishes one of the gayest and prettiest episodes in the whole history of New England.


Although it is, alas, falling somewhat into disrepair, perfect proportion and gemlike workmanship still stamp the venerable mansion as one of patrician heritage.


These settlers, of good English stock and with the earnest ideals of pioneers, soon brought the community into good repute, and its subsequent life was as respectable and uneventful as that of a reformed _roué_. In fact there is practically no more history for Weymouth.


When he left, Morton took possession of the place and dubbed it "Ma re mount." And then began the pranks which shook the Colony to its foundations.


But it was not until the arrival of Thomas Weston in 1622 that Weymouth's history really begins.


"Here is the church, and here are the people," as the old rhyme has it. What then of the services?


Different implements and differently directed force are needed to extract the diamond from the earth, from the implements and force needed to polish and cut the same diamond. So different phases of religious development are called forth by progressive phases of development.


Hell, damnation, eternal tortures, painful theological hair splittings, harrowing self examinations, and humiliating public confessions  this is what they gather on the narrow wooden benches to listen to hour after hour, searching their souls for sin with an almost frenzied eagerness.


For fifty years (between 1811 and 1860) the Rapid sailed as a packet between this town and Boston, making the trip on one memorable occasion in sixty seven minutes.


"Now, my lads, trim ship. You are all over on the starboard side," said Uncle Ben, as he pushed the boat away from the rock. The boys, in their eagerness to render prompt obedience, all passed over to the opposite ends of the thwarts, and the boat instantly careened upon the other side.


He had been in the United States Navy, and was familiar with its discipline. The boys were all seated; and finding that their hurry and impatience only retarded their progress, they learned to keep still, and wait till the old sailor told them what to do. They had all seated themselves on one side of the boat, and the consequence was it nearly tipped her over.


"But, Uncle Ben, we don't know the meaning of those words," added Frank. "No more you don't," answered Uncle Ben, hitching up his trousers and laughing good naturedly. "You can larn, though, if you pay 'tention." "We will try."


"It won't do any harm;" and Charles stepped into the boat. Half a dozen other boys, carried away by the excitement of the moment, followed his example, and jumped in after him.


Charles led the way to the stern of the boat, walking over the seats, or, to speak technically, the "thwarts."


"Good, my hearties; and larboard and port mean the same thing. 'Port' is more used now nor larboard." "We all understand it," said Charles Hardy. "You'll forget it, ten to one, before to morrow."


Those who were not informed before their arrival of the nature of the "time" in store for them were in ecstasies when they beheld the beautiful boat reposing so lightly and gracefully on the tranquil bosom of the clear lake.


"Planking may mean boards or thinner stuff. The planks are jointed at the edges so as to fit close, and the spaces between are stuffed with oakum, which is called calking.


"Drop the end of the oar into the water till the blade is just covered, no deeper. Then pause a bit, and pull the handle towards you to your breasts, or very nearly there."


"The rail along the top of the boat in which the rowlocks are set. You mustn't let an oar touch that.


Directing the coxswain to head the Zephyr up the lake, Ben gave his attention to individuals, pointing out their faults, and correcting them. The boat seemed to be as light as a feather; and even with the indifferent rowing, she made tremendous headway, as the boys thought. She was soon at the head of the lake.


They were told precisely how to turn the hands so as to bring the oar up flatwise as it came out of the water, and how to reverse the motion when it was dipped for the stroke. They had become somewhat accustomed to handling the oars, and Uncle Ben warmly commended the proficiency they made.


Then, boys, you will level your oars, all in a straight line, not one above or below the others; and you will turn, or feather them, as it is called, so that they would lie flat on the water if dropped down; but they must not be dropped down, not one of them.


He went forward, and repeated the movement. Then he made several of them do it alone.


"Two;" and Ned Graham took his seat. All the numbers were called, and all the crew were then in their places.


"There are the Bunkers on their raft," said Tony Weston, pointing down the lake. All eyes were turned in the direction indicated by the speaker. "You can pull down by them, if you like," added Uncle Ben.


At the second you will throw the loom of the oar out of the rowlock, and let it drag in the water; but you mustn't let go, or you will lose it. Now go ahead, Frank, and when the boat is making five knots give the commands to trail."


"Right here comes in another command," said Uncle Ben. "You hain't heard it before; but it is often needed to keep you from runnin' into a boat, a wharf, a rock, or anything else. The command is, 'Starn all!'


Ben had a card in his hand on which Fred Harper had written the name of every boy against his number, so that the old sailor could learn whom he had in the boat.


The club boat shot by the raft, on which the wondering Bunkers stood like so many statues. "Way enough!" said Frank. "Now for three cheers."


"We will join the chorus." The song was sung, and the old sailor shed a tear over "Sweet Alice, so young and so fair." "Here comes father in the sailboat," cried Frank, as he discovered Captain Sedley approaching in his pleasure yacht.


Returning to his house, he harnessed his horse, and drove down to Squire Murdock's, the magistrate, to procure a warrant for the arrest of Tony. This he obtained; and after getting a constable to serve it, he drove to the widow Weston's.


"Twig!" said he in his peculiar style. "That must be Farmer Whipple's," replied Tony. "Probably the farmer laid it down when he was paying somebody some money," added Frank. "I will carry it to him," said Charles. "He is out in the garden." "Don't meddle with it," answered Tony. "We will see him, and tell him it is here."


But more especially did he envy Tony Weston his good luck in getting into the club; for Tony's admission was abundant evidence that the social standing of the boys had not been taken into consideration.


Tim's story seemed plausible, but the master could not harbor a suspicion that Tony was guilty of theft. "Which pocket was it, Tim?" asked Farmer Whipple. "The side pocket of his linen sack." "Which side?" "The left hand side."


"I say, Tony, what were you doing out to the barn? Hooking eggs, eh?" "I was not," answered Tony indignantly. "Honor bright?" "_I_ am not a thief."


"_I_ am not a thief." "I'll bet you ain't," drawled Tim, placing his thumb against his nose, and wagging his four fingers back and forth. Tony heard the school bell ring, and waiting for no more, ran off with all his speed.


The widow Weston was called, and a statement of the case made to her. Poor, loving, devoted mother! her heart was wrung with agony. But there was a consolation for her. Tony could not be a thief.


"I did not know it was there; I did not put it there!" protested the poor boy, whose face was as white as a sheet. [Illustration: I did not know It was There. _P._ 150.] "You must come with me, Tony; I never would have believed it," said the constable. The widow Weston was called, and a statement of the case made to her. Poor, loving, devoted mother!


"Thank you, sir; you are very good. If I could only see him, and tell him that I feel sure he is innocent, the cold walls would seem less dreary to him. I know what the poor fellow is thinking about."


On his arrival at Rippleton village, he went to Doolittle's store, and ascertained that he had marked no more bills; that he was sure he had marked no other twenty dollar bill than the one he paid to Farmer Whipple. Requesting him not to mark any more, he went over to the jail.


But there was a prospect that it would eventually come to light. On his arrival at his house, Captain Sedley found the widow Weston waiting his return.


She was sure of finding assistance there. She was so confident of Tony's innocence, that the thought of proving it for the satisfaction of the public seemed superfluous.


After all, there was a remote possibility that poor Tony had been led to take the wallet; and if such should finally prove to be the fact, it was better for the widow to be prepared for the worst. "I do not think Tony is guilty, Mrs. Weston; but you must consider that appearances are very strong against him," said he.


He pulled himself together and went on, afraid now in a new way. It was not the fear that he should die passively from lack of food, but that he should be destroyed violently before starvation had exhausted the last particle of the endeavor in him that made toward surviving.


Came frightful days of snow and rain. He did not know when he made camp, when he broke camp. He travelled in the night as much as in the day.


But his heart began its warning thump, thump, thump. Then followed the wild upward leap and tattoo of flutters, the pressing as of an iron band about his forehead, the creeping of the dizziness into his brain.


Perhaps, in his previous days' wanderings, he had edged away too far to the left. He now bore off to the right to counteract the possible deviation from his true course.


The chase led him across swampy ground in the bottom of the valley, and he came upon footprints in the soggy moss. They were not his own  he could see that. They must be Bill's. But he could not stop, for the mother ptarmigan was running on. He would catch her first, then he would return and investigate.


He slept like a dead man. The brief darkness around midnight came and went. The sun arose in the northeast  at least the day dawned in that quarter, for the sun was hidden by gray clouds.


Somehow he had succeeded in retaining the tin bucket. He would have some hot water before he began what he foresaw was to be a terrible journey to the ship.


He awoke chilled and sick. There was no sun. The gray of earth and sky had become deeper, more profound.


He had never been there, but he had seen it, once, on a Hudson Bay Company chart.


At times his mind wandered farther afield, and he plodded on, a mere automaton, strange conceits and whimsicalities gnawing at his brain like worms. But these excursions out of the real were of brief duration, for ever the pangs of the hunger bite called him back.


But at the crest he saw a shallow valley, empty of life. He fought with his fear again, overcame it, hitched the pack still farther over on his left shoulder, and lurched on down the slope.


He would have the laugh on Bill. He would survive and carry it to the ship in the shining sea. His mirth was hoarse and ghastly, like a raven's croak, and the sick wolf joined him, howling lugubriously.


He had not covered more than ten miles that day; and the next day, travelling whenever his heart permitted him, he covered no more than five miles.


And yet he wanted to live. It was unreasonable that he should die after all he had undergone. Fate asked too much of him. And, dying, he declined to die. It was stark madness, perhaps, but in the very grip of Death he defied Death and refused to die.


Below him flowed a wide and sluggish river. Its unfamiliarity puzzled him. Slowly he followed it with his eyes, winding in wide sweeps among the bleak, bare hills, bleaker and barer and lower lying than any hills he had yet encountered.


He had no idea of north, and he had forgotten the way he had come to this spot the night before.


He would fling himself upon the bear and kill it. But his heart began its warning thump, thump, thump.


There were four newly hatched chicks, a day old  little specks of pulsating life no more than a mouthful; and he ate them ravenously, thrusting them alive into his mouth and crunching them like egg shells between his teeth. The mother ptarmigan beat about him with great outcry.


There was rush grass on that stream  this he remembered well  but no timber, and he would follow it till its first trickle ceased at a divide.


I had long since learned this. He visualized everything. He saw life in pictures, felt life in pictures, generalized life in pictures; and yet he did not understand pictures when seen through other men's eyes and expressed by those men with color and line upon canvas.


Why does Sitka Charley work hard, and go hungry, and have all this pain? For seven hundred and fifty dollars a month, I make the answer, and I know it is a foolish answer.


But I think he was greatly paid by the man and the woman, like me, to do their work for them.


Confronting him, with a face that was a composite of destroying angel and Adonis, was a man holding a smoking revolver.


Three times she shoot, quick, just like that. The hungry face of the stranger man is still snarling as he falls forward into the snow.


"They do not look at the dead man. 'Let us go on,' they say. And we go on.


"We make Circle City. That for which they look is not there. I think now that we will rest, and rest the dogs. But we do not rest, not for one day do we rest.


Also does he rock to and fro, his shoulders drooping, his knees bent, and his legs wide apart so that he does not fall down. The man and the woman stop maybe fifty feet away. Their legs, too, are wide apart so that they do not fall down, and their bodies rock to and fro.


Our harness is good, for I have hung it in trees each night. At eleven o'clock the man is half a mile away. At one o'clock he is a quarter of a mile away. He is very weak. We see him fall down many times in the snow.


The woman has true sorrow for them, and often, because of them, the tears are in her eyes. But the devil in her that drives her on will not let her stop and rest the dogs. "And then we come upon the man with the one eye. He is in the snow by the trail, and his leg is broken.


They are like dead people they are so tired, but they say, 'Let us go on.'


'Let us go on,' says the man. But the woman coughs and falls in the snow. It is the dry cough where the frost has bitten the lungs.


The wind was fair. I put up small sail. The canoe went very fast, it flew like a bird over the high waves. The woman was much afraid. 'What for you come Klondike much afraid?' I ask. She laugh at me, a hard laugh, but she is still much afraid. Also is she very tired.


It was more than twenty five years ago, and some of those boys have passed away from earth; but the others are now, as men of middle age, engaged in the active duties of life.


Thus you see I have especial reason for gratitude that you should ever have written stories for boys. Not that I believe myself to be the only one, but one of the many who have been benefited in the same way.


Such was the father of Frank Sedley, and it was such a father that made so good a son.


He bought the land, built him a fine house, and was as happy as a mortal could desire to be.


The richest men are often the most miserable; a bed of down may be a bed of thorns; and a magnificent mansion will not banish the gnawings of remorse. Captain Sedley was a good man.


"Right, Frank!" exclaimed Captain Sedley, who at this moment stepped down from the grove adjoining the beach, where he had overheard a part of the conversation.


Two of us jumped in to assist him; but he sank to the bottom like a lump of lead, and we never saw him again."


"But we fellows that have to mind what our fathers and mothers tell us are the losers by our obedience." Frank smiled; he could not help doing so at the thought of one who had just been counselling him to disobedience making such a remark.


She mourned him as dead, and all the earthly hopes of the poor mother were concentrated in her remaining children. Anthony, the next son, whom everybody called Tony, was now thirteen years old.


When I was a sailor before the mast, one of my shipmates, a very expert swimmer ordinarily, fell from the mainyard arm into the sea. Two of us jumped in to assist him; but he sank to the bottom like a lump of lead, and we never saw him again."


They always played together, went to and came from school together, planned and executed their mischief together, so that they came to be regarded as a unit of roguery, and people never saw one of them without wondering where the rest were. The foremost of these unruly fellows was Tim Bunker.


"We do not know what they could do. Boys at play are very different from boys in the hour of peril.


"No, sir." Captain Sedley was not a little perplexed by what he had heard.


"To whom?" "Frank proposed last night to give our money to the widow Weston instead of spending it; and like a great fool as I was, I agreed to it." "Poor fellow! It is too bad!" added Mrs. Hardy. "What did he do it for, then?" said Mr. Hardy. "Of course he didn't want to be behind Frank in doing a good action."


Therefore he said nothing about it, and went to the city alone. Charles waited impatiently till ten o'clock; but no one came for him, and he left the house in search of such enjoyment as Rippleton could afford him.


"Go it!" cried Tony. "Hurrah! Fourth of July comes but once a year." "Don't fire them all at once, Charley," interposed Frank. "That is all the fun of it." "But the fun won't last long at that rate." "We must fire them all before the Bunkers get here, or they will take them away from us."


"Has your father gone to the city, Frank?" "Yes." "What did he say?" "Nothing." "Didn't he look surprised?" "Not much. He only asked me the reason, and I said I would tell him to morrow. He didn't say any more about it. Got off nicely, didn't I?"


"Hello, Tony," said Tim, as he leaped ashore; "what are you doing here?" "Been firing crackers," replied Tony. "Got any more?" "I haven't." "Who has?" "None of us," replied Frank. "We have fired them all."


The old sailor hoisted the sails, and the boat stood out towards the middle of the lake. "Steady, there," said Uncle Ben; "keep the sails full."


"What are you about, boys?" said Uncle Ben sternly, as he landed. "We could not help it, Uncle Ben; indeed we could not," replied Frank, wiping his bleeding lip, and proceeding to tell the particulars of the whole affair. "It was my fault; I ought not to have left you here alone.


Though Captain Sedley considered Uncle Ben a necessary appendage to his estate, he did not impose upon him the performance of any very arduous duties.


If I had my way, I'd tie 'em up to the grating, and give 'em a dozen apiece. 'Twould sarve 'em right, the meddlesome rascals! I like good boys, but such boys as them is worse nor marines."


A child of six was telling himself stories as he lay in bed. It was a new power, and he kept it a secret.


Therefore the "grown up" was "just saying things" after the distressing custom of "grown ups," and Georgie cast about for amusement between scenes.


The housekeeper waited till the sobs changed to the regular breathing of sleep before she stole out.


When the performance was ended she nodded to Georgie, and Georgie nodded in return.


"The idea! You change places with me." She moved him over, and shut out the little girl from his view, while the grown up behind renewed the futile explanations.


"She only wanted to know the facts of the case," he explained. "I just told her, and she saw at once."


"How did you do it, young un?" the adjutant asked. "Oh, I sweated the beef off 'em, and then I sweated some muscle on to 'em. It was rather a lark."


"What disgraceful folly!" he thought. "Now she could do nothing whatever if Its head came off."


He learned to look forward to the place; for, once there, he was sure of a good night's rest, and Indian hot weather can be rather trying.


Cottar endured their rioting as long as he could, and then sent down country for a dozen pairs of boxing gloves. "I wouldn't blame you for fightin'," said he, "if you only knew how to use your hands; but you don't. Take these things, and I'll show you."


Then they turned to made roads, most often under fire, and dismantled some inconvenient mud redoubts.


It was surrounded with gardens, all moist and dripping; and in one room, reached through leagues of whitewashed passages, a Sick Thing lay in bed.


Above all, he was responsible for that thing called the tone of the school, and few realise with what passionate devotion a certain type of boy throws himself into this work.


His reward was another string of athletic cups, a good conduct sword, and, at last, Her Majesty's commission as a subaltern in a first class line regiment.


For instance, he found a small clockwork steamer (he had noticed it many nights before) lying by the sea road, and stepped into it, whereupon it moved with surpassing swiftness over an absolutely level sea.


There he met the _mahseer_ of the Poonch, beside whom the tarpon is as a herring, and he who lands him can say that he is a fisherman.


Here he had sense enough to see that he was in the Lower Third once more, and behaved with respect toward his seniors, till they in turn respected him, and he was promoted to the rank of corporal, and sat in authority over mixed peoples with all the vices of men and boys combined.


"This!" said Georgie. The horses quickened their pace. They thought they had heard an order. "Perhaps when we die we may find out more, but it means this now."


They went out on the terrace to smoke among the roses, and the shadow of the old house lay long across the wonderful English foliage, which is the only living green in the world.


"I was right. How do I know what you've done when you were awake—and I thought it was only _you!


"True! Am I mad?" "Not unless I'm mad as well. _Do_ try to think a minute quietly. How could any one conceivably know anything about the Thirty Mile Ride having anything to do with you, unless he had been there?"


We've been together all this while; and I've got to say good bye to you till dinner. _Sure_ I'll see you at dinner time?


"You told me it was when I was lost in the continent. That was you that showed me the way through the mountains?" "When the islands slid?


Do you remember the first time you rode it—the Thirty Mile Ride, I mean? You must." "It was all dreams—all dreams!" "Yes, but tell, please; because I know."


"But you must have met hundreds in society—at balls, and so on?" "I'm like the Tenth, mummy: I don't dance." "Don't dance! What have you been doing with yourself, then—backing other men's bills?" said the father.


I passed my brother and cousin:They read in their books of prayer;I read in my book of songsI bought at the Sligo fair.


For the tutor never let a day pass without trying to find out whether Dickie had shared in any way that guilty knowledge of Elfrida's which had, so Mr. Parados insisted, overthrown the fell plot of the Papists and preserved to a loyal people His Most Gracious Majesty James the First.


"I never heard this tale from my tutor," said Dickie. And without knowing why he felt uneasy, and because he felt uneasy he laughed. Then he said, "Proceed, cousin."


"Well, that's because we're _not_ them. We don't belong here. We belong three hundred years later in history. Only we've got a charm  because in our time Edred is Lord Arden, and there's a white mole who helps us, and we can go anywhere in history we like."


Dickie's brain felt fat  swollen  as though it would burst, and he was glad to go to bed  even in that cupboardy place with the panels. But he begged the nurse to leave the panel open.


Haven't we seemed odd to you at all? Different, I mean, from the Edred and Elfrida you've been used to?" The remembrance of the stopped clock feeling came strongly on Dickie and he nodded.


If you want to know how it was done, ask some grown up to tell you how Lady Nithsdale got her husband out of the Tower when he was a prisoner there, and in danger of having his head cut off, and you will readily understand the kind of scheme it was.


"I shall choose to go straight to the treasure, of course," said practical Dickie, swinging his feet in their rosetted shoes.


"Oh, tell him and have done," said the voice that had begun all the magic, and it seemed to him that something small and white slid along the wainscot of the corridor and vanished quite suddenly, just as a candle flame does when you blow the candle out.


Hands dragged him in. The old nurse's hands. The swan glided away between snow and stars, and on the landing inside the open window the nurse held him fast in her arms.


There was whispering going on. He heard her words, "Here. So! Jump." And then a little figure  Edred it must be; no, Elfrida  climbed up on to the window ledge. And jumped out.


He felt that strange things were happening in the house and that he must know what they were. Presently there were voices below, voices coming up the stairs  the nurse's voice, his cousins', and another voice.


"Thou'rt Richard Arden there as here," she said; "thy grandfather's name got changed, by breathing hard on it, from Arden to Harden, and that again to Harding. Thus names are changed ever and again.


And as the swan laid its long neck low in downward flight he saw his cousins in a carriage like his own rise into the sky and sail away towards the south.


"You mean the Mouldiestwarp?" said the Mouldier, as I will now call him for short; "you will not see him till the end of the magic. He is very great.


They want the treasure to restore the splendor of the old Castle, which in your time is fallen into ruin and decay, and to mend the houses of the tenants, and to do good to the poor and needy.


30 Up goes my Boat among [6] the stars Through many a breathless field of light, Through many a long blue field of ether, Leaving ten thousand stars beneath her: Up goes my little Boat so bright!


Repentance is a tender Sprite; If aught on earth have heavenly might, 'Tis lodged within her silent tear. 150 "But grant my wishes,  let us now Descend from this ethereal height; Then take thy way, adventurous Skiff, More daring far than Hippogriff, And be thy own delight!


5 And now I _have_ a little Boat, In shape a very crescent moon: Fast through the clouds my boat can sail; But if perchance your faith should fail, Look up  and you shall see me soon!


700 But whence this faintly rustling sound By which the journeying pair are chased?   A withered leaf is close behind, [77] Light plaything for the sportive wind Upon that solitary waste.


675 And there, along the [74] narrow dell, A fair smooth pathway you discern, A length of green and open road   As if it from a fountain flowed   Winding away between the fern.


670 So with his freight the Creature turns Into a gloomy grove of beech, Along the shade with footsteps [73] true Descending slowly, till the two The open moonlight reach. 675 And there, along the [74] narrow dell, A fair smooth pathway you discern, A length of green and open road   As if it from a fountain flowed   Winding away between the fern.


1120   Here ends my Tale: for in a trice Arrived a neighbour with his horse; Peter went forth with him straightway; And, with due care, ere break of day, Together they brought back the Corse.


1115 This Peter sees, while in the shade He stood beside the cottage door; And Peter Bell, the ruffian wild, Sobs loud, he sobs even like a child, "Oh! God, I can endure no more!"


Let good men feel the soul of nature, And see things as they are. 765 Yet, potent Spirits! well I know, How ye, that play with soul and sense, Are not unused to trouble friends Of goodness, for most gracious ends  [86] And this I speak in reverence!


745 The chamber walls were dark all round,   And to his book he turned again;   The light had left the lonely taper, [83] And formed itself upon the paper Into large letters  bright and plain!


900 And, when she followed Peter Bell, It was to lead an honest life; For he, with tongue not used to falter, Had pledged his troth before the altar To love her as his wedded wife.


865 The unheeding Ass moves slowly on, And now is passing by an inn Brim full of a carousing crew, That make, [96] with curses not a few, An uproar and a drunken din.


But the sage Muse the revel heeds No farther than her story needs; Nor will she servilely attend 595 The loitering journey to its end.


Forgive me, then; for I had been On friendly terms with this Machine: [M] In him, while he was wont to trace Our roads, through many a long year's space, 805 A living almanack had we; We had a speaking diary, That in this uneventful place, Gave to the days a mark and name By which we knew them when they came.


Erect his port, and firm his going; So struts yon cock that now is crowing; 735 And the morning light in grace Strikes upon his lifted face, Hurrying the pallid hue away That might his trespasses betray.


Nor is it I who play the part, 795 But a shy spirit in my heart, That comes and goes  will sometimes leap From hiding places ten years deep; Or haunts me with familiar face, [67] Returning, like a ghost unlaid, 800 Until the debt I owe be paid.


But most of all, thou lordly Wain! 830 I wish to have thee here again, When windows flap and chimney roars, And all is dismal out of doors; And, sitting by my fire, I see Eight sorry carts, no less a train!


a Ship of lusty size; A gallant stately Man of war, Fixed on a smoothly sliding car.


155 But soon large rain drops on his head [23] Fell with the weight of drops of lead;   He starts  and takes, at the admonition, A sage survey of his condition.


_Here_ is no danger,  none at all!


Said Benjamin, "This whip shall lay A thousand, if they cross our way.


Upon a hill At a short distance from my cottage, stands A stately Fir grove, whither I was wont To hasten, for I found, beneath the roof 10 Of that perennial shade, a cloistral place Of refuge, with an unincumbered floor.


Yet, as if in a half dreamy, half unconscious mood, she accepted his offered hand to lead her through the graves, and allowed him to walk beside her, till, reaching the corner of a narrow street, she suddenly bade him good night and vanished. He thought it better not to follow her, so he returned her good night and went home.


In the clear morning light of a day in autumn, when the leaves were beginning to fall seared from the hand of that Death which has his dance in the chapels of nature as well as in the cathedral aisles of men  he walked up and knocked at the dingy door. The spider painter opened it himself.


"Who are you?" she rejoined. "Karl Wolkenlicht." "I have heard of you. Thank you. I can go home alone."


But, stranger yet to tell, there was no picture, whatever its subject, into which he did not introduce one form of placid and harmonious loveliness.


"Adam's first wife?" asked Lottchen, with an attempt at carelessness, while his face flushed like a maiden's.


Wolkenlicht had, of course, not the least suspicion of the treatment to which he was subjected.


Strange theories of something else supplying its place were rife among the anatomical students.


When Wolkenlicht had explained his errand, he smiled a smile in which hypocrisy could not hide the cunning, and, after many difficulties, consented to receive him as a pupil, on condition that he would become an inmate of his house.


Sometimes she floated above, as a still, unobservant angel, her gaze turned upward, dreaming along, careless as a white summer cloud, across the blue.


"None of your chaff!" said Richter. "Your face is honester than your tongue, and confesses what you cannot deny, that you would give your chance of salvation  a small one to be sure, but all you've got  for one peep at Lilith. Wouldn't you now, Lottchen?"


Above all, how was it that Karl Wolkenlicht had, in fact, fallen in love with her before ever he saw her? It was thus   Her father was a painter.


Sometimes she would stand in the crowd, as if she had been copied there from another picture, and had nothing to do with this one, nor any right to be in it at all.


Nor if she had wished it, would it have been safe; for as often as he glanced towards her, instead of hers, he met the blue eyes of the painter gleaming upon him like winter lightning.


And lest Karl should be strong enough to prevent those expressions of pain for which he lay on the watch, he would make use of further means, known to himself, and known to few besides.


In all games depending upon the combination of muscle and skill, he had scarce rivalry enough to keep him in practice.


For in no case did this form manifest any relation either to the actors or the endurers in the picture. Hence its very loveliness became almost hateful to those who beheld it. Not a shade crossed the still sky of that brow, not a ripple disturbed the still sea of that cheek.


Two hours passed ere she could again show herself to her father, from whom she seemed in some new way divided by the new feeling in which he did not, and could not share. But at last, lest he should seek her, and finding her, should suspect her thoughts, she descended and sought him.


Lilith and Karl were quite familiar with the popular ideas on the subject. It did not require to be explained to them, that a vampire was a body retaining a kind of animal life after the soul had departed.


Such, at least, was the story which had reached the painter's household, and was believed by many; and if all this did not compel the perturbed corpse to rest, what more could be done?


But the lightning would soon have revealed a more terrible sight still, had there been any eyes to behold it.


She started at seeing no one in Karl's place and said   "Where is your pupil, father?" "Gone home," he answered, with a kind of convulsive grin.


Lilith was not in the study when this took place. In justice to Teufelsbürst, it must be confessed that he employed all the skill he was master of, which for beneficent purposes was not very great, to restore the youth; but without avail.


Lilith did not faint, but it was the very force of her fear that seemed to keep her alive. It became for the moment the atmosphere of her life.


Would not that revive the withered memory, fix the fleeting ghost, give a new habitation, a body even, to the poor, unhoused wanderers, frozen by the eternal frosts, no longer thinking beings, but thoughts wandering through the brain of the "Melancholy Mass?"


How much of this may have been owing to the effect of the drugs on poor Lottchen's brain, I leave my readers to determine.


"If you are a vampire, and I am a ghost," she said  but a low happy laugh alone concluded the sentence. Karl sprang to his feet. Lilith's laugh changed into a burst of sobbing and weeping, and in another moment the ghost was in the arms of the vampire.


There was no time to restore to its former condition the one Karl had first altered; for in it the changes were all that they seemed; nor indeed was he capable of restoring it in the master's style; but they put it quite out of the way, and hoped that sufficient time might elapse before the painter thought of it again.


I will represent to my landlady that you are in hiding from enemies, and her heart will rule her tongue. She can let you have a garret room, I know; and I will do as well as I can to bear you company. We shall have time then to invent some plan of operation."


Heinrich was quite sure that his suspicions were correct. And now the question was, what was to be done next?


Knowing his studious habits, he had hoped to see his light still burning, nor was he disappointed. He contrived to bring him to his window, and a moment after, the door was cautiously opened.


He went to her room, roused her, and told her the whole story. Devoted to her master for many years, and not quite so sensitive to fearful influences as when less experienced in horrors, she showed immediate readiness to render him assistance.


Proceeding to remove it, his consternation as greatly increased when he discovered how the body had grown in weight since he had thus disposed of it, leaving on his mind scarcely a hope that it could turn out not to be a vampire after all.


He rushed past her, able only to articulate: "The vampire! The vampire! Painting!" Far more courageous than he, because her conscience was more peaceful, Lilith passed on to the studio.


My eyes dilated with horror; my fingers released their hold on the picture. I don't know how I was able to articulate: "You  the portrait  is you?"


The contact of the dear miniature gave me delicious dreams. The lady of the portrait, not in effigy, but in her natural size and proportions, alive, graceful, affable, beautiful, would come towards me to conduct me to her palace by a rapid and flying train.


I often happened to meet in the street other boys of my age, very proud of their slip of a sweetheart, who would exultingly show me love letters, photographs, and flowers, and who asked me if I hadn't a sweetheart with whom to correspond.


It was the most lovely creature, such as I had never seen except in the dreams of my adolescence.


At last romantic reminiscences overflowed in my brain, and sometimes I was a page, and sometimes a troubadour.


Pin cushions of satin now faded; knitted mittens, carefully wrapped in tissue paper; prints of saints; sewing materials; a reticule of blue velvet embroidered with bugles, an amber and silver rosary would appear from the corners: I used to ponder over them, and return them to their place.


If you know a great man in Philadelphia and you should meet him to morrow, you would say, "How are you, Sam?" or "Good morning, Jim." Of course you would. That is just what you would do.


When they had the second funeral, I was invited among others, and went out to see that same coffin put back in the tomb at Springfield. Around the tomb stood Lincoln's old neighbors, to whom he was just "Old Abe." Of course that is all they would say.


But there are two other young men here to night, and that is all I will venture to say, because it is too late. One over there gets up and says, "There is going to be a great man in Philadelphia, but never was one."


No, you won't. You think you are going to be made great by an office, but remember that if you are not great before you get the office, you won't be great when you secure it. It will only be a burlesque in that shape.


Did the nation owe him anything? No, nothing then and nothing now. Why was he the hero? Simply because that man fell into that same human error  that this boy was great because he was an officer and these were only private soldiers.


But, friends, you should have seen the surprise which ran over the audience when they discovered that the old fellow was going to deliver that speech himself.


You have gathered in this house your most intelligent people, and yet, perhaps, not one here can name the other seven men.


A poor man in Massachusetts who had worked in the nail works was injured at thirty eight, and he could earn but little money. He was employed in the office to rub out the marks on the bills made by pencil memorandums, and he used a rubber until his hand grew tired.


I shut my eyes now and look back to my native town in Massachusetts, and I see the cattle show ground on the mountain top; I can see the horse sheds there.


That is the only great wrong that I can lay at the feet of the magnificent Philadelphia that has been so universally kind to me.


If he had known anything about war at all he ought to have known what any of my G. A. R. comrades here to night will tell you is true, that it is next to a crime for an officer of infantry ever in time of danger to go ahead of his men.


The Bible says, "He that is sent cannot be greater than Him who sent Him."


No man ought to wish to be President of the United States, and I will be glad when I get through; then Tad and I are going out to Springfield, Illinois. I have bought a farm out there and I don't care if I again earn only twenty five cents a day.


We are very happy to welcome back to their native town these soldiers who have fought and bled  and come back again to their native town. We are especially  we are especially  we are especially.


I can see the Congregational church; see the town hall and mountaineers' cottages; see a great assembly of people turning out, dressed resplendently, and I can see flags flying and handkerchiefs waving and hear bands playing.


"Nancy is ten to day," mused the Admiral. "Bless my soul, how time flies! You were a young Ensign, Carey, and I well remember the letter you wrote me when this little lass came into harbor! Just wait a minute; I believe the scrap of newspaper verse you enclosed has been in my wallet ever since. I always liked it."


Then there was a long period when she was still too young to be called Nancy, and though, so far as age was concerned, she might properly have held on to her name of baby, she couldn't with propriety, because there was Gilbert then, and he was baby.


Mother Carey sends them to warn seafarers of approaching storms and bids them go out all over the seas to show the good birds the way home.


Kathleen could be safely left unwatched for an hour or so without fear of change; her moods were less variable, her temper evener; her interest in the passing moment less keen, her absorption in the particular subject less intense.


Nancy's eyes had to be continually searched for news, both of herself and of the immediate world about her.


All colors became her; all hats suited her hair. She was the Carey beauty so long as Nancy remained out of sight, but the moment that young person appeared Kathleen left something to be desired. Nancy piqued; Nancy sparkled; Nancy glowed; Nancy occasionally pouted and not infrequently blazed.


"Yet, by these presents, witness all, She's welcome fifty times, And comes consigned to Hope and Love And common metre rhymes. "She has no manifest but this; No flag floats o'er the water; She's rather new for British Lloyd's   My daughter, O my daughter!


"It seemed so curious that she Should cross the unknown water, And moor herself within my room   My daughter, O my daughter!


"It seemed so curious that she Should cross the unknown water, And moor herself within my room   My daughter, O my daughter! "Yet, by these presents, witness all, She's welcome fifty times, And comes consigned to Hope and Love And common metre rhymes.


Some one got out and handed out Mrs. Carey whose step used to be lighter than Nancy's. A strange gentleman, oh!


Peter, by his mother's orders (she had thought of everything) was at a neighbor's house, the centre of all interest, the focus of all gayety.


He was thinking that Margaret Gilbert was a fortunate and happy woman to have become Mother Carey; such a mother, too, that all about her was a wide, wide space, and next the space, the rest of the world, nearer or farther according to their merits. He wondered if motherhood ought not to be like that, and he thought if it were it would be a great help to God.


She awoke refreshed and strong and brave, not the same woman who took Nancy's idea to bed with her; for this woman's heart and hope had somehow flown from the brick house in Charlestown and had built itself a new nest in Beulah's green trees, the elms and willows that overhung the shining river.


"How does she do that?" asks Tom. "That's her concern, not mine!" the whale remarks discreetly.


She also had a fine, handsome, strong hand admirable for spanking, but she had so many invisible methods of discipline at her command that she never needed a visible spanker for Peter. "Spanking is all very well in its poor way," she used to say, "but a woman who has to fall back on it very often is sadly lacking in ingenuity."


"It must have been written about Cousin Ann in the first place," said Nancy, joining Kathleen in the kitchen.


"I've done everything to the bedstead I can think of," Gilbert said, on coming downstairs. "You can see how it works to night, Cousin Ann!" As a matter of fact it _did_ work, instead of remaining in perfect quiet as a well bred bedstead should.


Nancy flushed. "He's shy and unhappy and pale, and no wonder; but he's as nice and interesting as he can be." "I can't see it," Julia said, "but he never looks at anybody, or talks to anybody but you, so it's well you like him; though you like all boys, for that matter!"


"I shall 'come out' here," Nancy announced, as the three girls stood in the centre of the floor, surrounded by bedsteads, tables, bureaus, and stoves.


"We are talking of next summer, my child! Who can say how rich we shall be next summer? A party could be given in this barn with mother to play the piano and Mr. Popham the fiddle. The refreshments would be incredibly weak lemonade, and I think we might 'solicit' the cake, as they do for church sociables!"


It had six doors, opening into two entries, one small bedroom, one sitting room, one cellar, and one china closet; a passion for entrances and exits having been the whim of that generation.


My boy Digby says to me this mornin', when I asked him if he was goin' to the County Fair 'No, Pop, I ain't goin',' he says, 'it's the same old fair every year.'


Digby, a lad of eighteen and master of only one trade instead of a dozen, like his father, had been deputed to paper Mother Carey's bedroom while she moved for a few days into the newly fitted guest room, which was almost too beautiful to sleep in, with its white satiny walls, its yellow and green garlands hanging from the ceiling, its yellow floor, and its old white chamber set repainted by the faithful and clever Popham.


We have discoursed in another place of family circles, but it cannot be truthfully said that at any moment the Lemuel Hamiltons had ever assumed that symmetrical and harmonious shape.


He drew a sheet of paper towards him, and having filled it, another, and yet another. Having folded and slipped it into an envelope and addressed it to Thomas Hamilton, Esq., Hong Kong, China, he was about to seal it when he stopped a moment.


This done and the letters stamped, he put the photographs of his wife and children here and there on his desk and left the office.


This was the time when the laughing wrinkles began to fade away from Mr. Hamilton's eyes, just for lack of daily use; and it was then that the corners of his mouth began to turn down; and his shoulders to stoop, and his eye to grow less keen and brave, and his step less vigorous.


But Mr. Hamilton did not get the coveted appointment, and Mrs. Hamilton did not specially care for Mr. Hamilton when he failed in securing the things she wanted.


Now that everything is in train I'll take a little vacation myself, and go down to Beulah to make the acquaintance of those Careys. If I had ever contemplated returning to America I suppose I shouldn't have allowed them to settle down in the old house, still, Eleanor would never have been content to pass her summers there, so perhaps it is just as well."


She lifted the oldest into her ample lap and soon had them all around her, laughing and contented.


That woman's children look as if they hadn't enjoyed a square meal since they were born; and if that girl across from me has a mother, I'd like to know what the woman means, letting her daughter go from home in this weather in clothes like that."


"Now, let me see," said Aunt Cyrilla reflectively, tapping the snowy kitchen table with the point of her plump, dimpled forefinger, "what shall I take? That big fruit cake for one thing  Edward does like my fruit cake; and that cold boiled tongue for another.


Everybody declared they had never enjoyed a meal more in their lives. Certainly it was a merry one, and Aunt Cyrilla's cooking was never more appreciated; indeed, the bones of the chicken and the pot of preserves were all that was left. They could not eat the preserves because they had no spoons, so Aunt Cyrilla gave them to the little mother.


That would have been to admit a weakness, and Emily Fair, like Amelia, despised weakness.


She gathered some of the more perfect ones here and there. She loved flowers, but to night the asters seemed to hurt her, for she presently dropped those she had gathered and deliberately set her foot on them.


Stephen  her husband  dying! In the burning anguish of that moment her own soul was as an open book before her. The love she had buried rose from the deeps of her being in an awful, accusing resurrection.


With numbed fingers she fumbled at the key of the hall door, turned it and slipped out into the night.


Somewhat to her surprise  for even her thoughts were generally well under the control of her unbending will  she could not help thinking of Stephen  thinking of him not tenderly or remorsefully, but impersonally, as of a man who counted for nothing in her life.


Stephen Fair turned his languid, unshorn head on the pillow. His dull, fevered eyes met Emily's. He had not recognized anyone all day, but he knew his wife.


Emily Fair had buried her love deeply.


I'd rather have walked. It's going to be a storm, I think. Where is John?" "He went to the village after supper," answered Amelia, lighting a lamp.


"This has been the jolliest Christmas I ever spent," said Frank, emphatically. "I thought we were just going to give the others a good time, but it was they who gave it to us," said Ida. "Weren't the French Joes jolly?" giggled the twins. "Such cute speeches as they would make!"


This was a new idea. "How could we do it?" asked Ida. Whereupon they had a consultation. Cousin Myra explained her plan, and the Osbornes grew enthusiastic over it. Even Frank forgot that he was supposed to be wearing a cynical sneer.


For the next week the Osbornes were agog with excitement and interest. At first Cousin Myra made the suggestions, but their enthusiasm soon outstripped her, and they thought out things for themselves. Never did a week pass so quickly. And the Osbornes had never had such fun, either.


What a merry dinner it was! What peals of laughter went up, reaching to the big dining room across the hall, where the grown ups sat in rather solemn state. And how those guests did eat and frankly enjoy the good things before them! How nicely they all behaved, even to the French Joes!


Just at first the guests were a little stiff and unsocial; but they soon got acquainted, and so jolly was Cousin Myra  who had her dinner with the children in preference to the grown ups  and so friendly the junior Osbornes, that all stiffness vanished.


First, all the little Rolands from the Hollow arrived  seven in all, with very red, shining faces and not a word to say for themselves, so shy were they.


Alighting, I inquire if there is any conveyance for Beulah, and there is, a wagon and a white horse.


"Then I would go down the platform and take the common car for Greentown. Soon we would be off and I would ask the conductor if Greentown was the station where one could change and drive to Beulah, darling little Beulah, shiny rivered Beulah; not breathing a word about the yellow house for fear he would jump off the train and rent it first.


When I have reduced these to nothingness I ask if the yellow house on the outskirts of the village is still vacant, and the Colonel replies that it is, at which unexpected but hoped for answer I fall into a deep swoon.


Nancy, stifling her laughter, goes on rapidly: "And so the Knight summons Younger Brother Peter to come, and he flies in a great air ship from Charlestown to Beulah. And when he arrives the Knight asks him to dig for the buried treasure." (Peter here turns up his sleeves to his dimpled elbows and seizes an imaginary implement.)


You can well imagine that by this time Mother Carey has taken out her darning, and Kathleen her oversewing, to which she pays little attention because she so adores Nancy's tales. Peter has sat like a small statue ever since his quick ear caught the sound of a story.


"'I will enter him on my waiting list as number Three Hundred and Seventeen,' responds the Crown Princess Kitty, than whom no violet could be more shy. ''Tis all he can expect and more than I should promise.'


"Then I present a few peanuts or peppermints to a small boy, and hold an infant for a tired mother, because this is what good children do in the Sunday school books, but I do not mingle much with the passengers because my brow is furrowed with thought and I am travelling on important business."


He looked back, took off his cap, threw a kiss to them, and was out of sight! "Oh!


"The Young Knight's eyes took on a far away look and he put his hand to his forehead. "'It comes back to me now!'


Then he locked the doors carefully with a fine sense of ownership and strolled away with many a backward look and thought at the yellow house.


"Can I walk back, Colonel?" asked Gilbert, trying to preserve some dignity under the storekeeper's attacks. "I'd like to take some measurements and make some sketches of the rooms for my mother." "All right," the Colonel responded. "Your train doesn't go till two o'clock. I'll give you a bite of lunch and take you to the station."


He "paced off" all the rooms and set down their proportions in his note book; he even decided as to who should occupy each room, and for what purposes they should be used, his judgment in every case being thought ridiculous by the feminine portion of his family when they looked at his plans.


They were carefully dressed, even to details of hats and gloves, and they had an unmistakable air of wedding journey about them that interested the curious boy.


On the other hand, if he can get a tenant that'll put on a few shingles and clapboards now and then, or a coat o' paint 'n' a roll o' wall paper, his premises won't go to rack 'n' ruin same's they're in danger o' doin' at the present time.


"On the wrong train, Miss!" said the conductor. "On the wrong train?" She spoke in a tone of anguish, getting up and catching her valise frantically. "It _can't_ be the wrong train! Isn't it the White Mountain train?"


"But Greenville will _not_ 'do' for me," exclaimed Gilbert. "I want to go to _Greentown_." "Well, get off at Lowell, the first stop,  you'll know when you come to it because this gentleman that wanted to go to Lawrence will get off there, and this young lady that was intendin' to go to North Conway. There'll be four of you; jest a nice party."


"My father has died within a year; there are four of us beside my mother, and there's a cousin, too, who is dependent on us. We have nothing but a small pension and the interest on five thousand dollars life insurance.


"I simply hate cock crow, and you know it," said Kathleen testily. "Why not now? Ellen and Gilbert are out and mother is rocking Peter to sleep."


Ellen the cook labored loyally, for it was her last week's work with the family. She would be left behind, like Charlestown and all the old life, when Mother Carey and the stormy petrels flitted across unknown waters from one haven to another.


The night was not as other nights. The girls kept waking up to laugh a little, then they went to sleep, and waked again, and laughed again, and so on.


James Perkins went home in the middle of the afternoon and left his son to finish the work, and the son tagged and labelled and painted with all his might.


Even mother longed for something to lift her thought out of the past and give it wings, so that it might fly into the future and find some hope and comfort there. There was a continual bustle from morning till night, and a spirit of merriment that had long been absent.


"This is for your ears alone, Kitty!" "Oh! that's different. Tell me quickly." "It's an idea to get rid of the Curse of the House of Carey!" "It can't be done, Nancy; you know it can't! Even if you could think out a way, mother couldn't be made to agree."


These give an idea of the quality of Peter's effects, but not of the quantity.


The dazzling smile with which Peter greeted this supposed tribute converted Bill Harmon at once into a victim and slave. Little did he know, as he carelessly stood there at the wagon wheel, that he was destined to bestow upon that small boy offerings from his stock for years to come.


Bill Harmon stood in the front doorway, smiling. He hoped for trade, and he was a good sort anyway.


Nancy approached You Dirty Boy with a bloodthirsty glare in her eye. "Come along, you evil, uncanny thing!" she said.


Suddenly they heard their names called in a tragic whisper! "_Gilbert! Nancy! Quick! Cousin Ann's at the front gate_!" There was a crash!


Gilbert, open the box of eatables, please; and, Nancy, unlock the trunk that has the bed linen in it. We little thought we should find such friends here, did we?"


Colonel Wheeler and Bill Harmon at the gate never even suspected that there had been a little service on the threshold, when they came up the pathway to see if there was anything more needed. "I set up all the bedsteads and got the mattresses on 'em," said Bill Harmon, "thinkin' the sandman would come early to night."


Mother Carey, her heart in her throat, felt anew the solemn nature of the undertaking. It broke over her in waves, fresher, stronger, now that the actual moment had arrived, than it ever had done in prospect.


"Never mind, she's only ten, and there's hope for her yet," Captain Carey had replied cheerfully; though if he had known her a little later, in her first Beulah days, he might not have been so sanguine.


At four or five years old Julia was always spoken of as "such a good little girl." Many a time had Nancy in early youth stamped her foot and cried: "Don't talk about Julia! I will not hear about Julia!" for she was always held up as a pattern of excellence.


"My present object is to be as good as gold in mother's eyes, but there I stop!" retorted Nancy cheerfully.


Household tasks till 9.


[Mother Carey pricked up her ears at this point, and Gilbert raised himself on one elbow, but Nancy went on gravely.] Tell Kathleen to keep out of the sun, or wear a hat, as her complexion is not at all what it used to be. Without color and with freckles she will be an unusually plain child.


"Now take your pencil, Nancy, and see where we are in point of income, at the present moment," her mother suggested, with an approving smile. "Put down the pension of thirty dollars a month." "Down.  Three hundred and sixty dollars." "Now the hundred dollars over and above the rent of the Charlestown house."


[Kathleen flushed angrily and laid down her work.] Give my love to darling Nancy.


You will never get back a penny you spend on it, and probably when you get it in good order Mr. Hamilton will come back from Europe and live in it himself, or take it away from you and sell it to some one else. Gilbert will be home by now, but I should not allow him to touch the woodwork, as he is too careless and unreliable.


He asked me my age, and when I naturally made no reply, he inquired after a few minutes' silence whether I was unmarried from choice or necessity. When I refused to carry on any conversation with him he sang jovial songs so audibly that persons going along the street smiled and waved their hands to him.


I had intended to give each of you a check for thirty five dollars at Christmas to spend as you liked, but I must say I have not entire confidence in your judgment.


I tell you this because you appear to have false ideas of the people in Beulah, most of whom seemed to me either eccentric or absolutely insane.


"I wish her bed hadn't come down with her," said Gilbert. "We could never have afforded to get that water into the house, or had the little furnace, and I suppose, though no one of us ever thought of it, that you would have had a hard time doing the work in the winter in a cold house, and it would have been dreadful going to the pump." "Dreadful for you too, Gilly," replied Kathleen pointedly.


] This is true, no doubt, but there are other ways of making yourself remembered, and I am willing that you should think kindly of Cousin Ann whenever you use the new pump.


If there is any money left, I should suggest new sills to the back doors and those in the shed. I noticed that the present ones are very rotten, and I dare say by this time you have processions of red and black ants coming into your house.


"About gone, but it has been a great help, and our dear little old fashioned square is just as much of a comfort.  Of course there's the tapestry and the Van Twiller landscape Uncle gave me; they may yet be sold."


Moths, caterpillars, brown tails, slugs, spiders, June bugs, horseflies, and mosquitoes were among the pests I specially noted.


Did you notice how Julia _withered_ when mother said we were not to look upon Beulah as a place of hiding?" "She didn't stay withered long," Kathleen remarked. "And she said just the right thing to dear old Gilly, for Fred Bascom is filling his head with foolish notions. He needs father to set him right."


Other mothers say: 'If you don't, I shall tell your father!' 'Do as I tell you, and ask no questions.' 'I never heard of such behavior in my life!' 'Haven't you any sense of propriety?' 'If this happens again I shall have to do something desperate.'


One real home always makes others, I am sure of that! We will ask Mr. Harmon to write Mr. Hamilton and see if he will promise to leave us undisturbed. We cannot be happy, or prosperous, or useful, or successful, unless we can contrive to make the Yellow House a home.


"Oh! mother, but you're splendid!" cried Nancy, the quick tears in her eyes.


"So you shall, precious!" cried Kathleen. "I was measured on Muddy this morning, wasn't I, Muddy, and I was half way to her belt; and in Charlestown I was only a little farder up than her knees.


Father would certainly be well long before then, and Kathleen and I could debut together!"


XV BELONGING TO BEULAH The Person without a Fault had been quietly working at her embroidery, raising her head now and then to look at some extraordinary Carey, when he or she made some unusually silly or fantastic remark.


Then when father died last year we had to find a cheap and quiet place to live, and I remembered the Yellow House in Beulah and told mother my idea.


If you come to America please don't forget Beulah, because if you once saw mother you could never bear to disturb her, seeing how brave she is, living without father.


P.S. It is June, and Beulah is so beautiful you feel like eating it with sugar and cream! We do hope that you and your children are living in as sweet a place, so that you will not miss this one so much.


Father (he was a Captain in the Navy and there was never anybody like him in the world!)


He was an orphan and had no money to spend on luxuries, because all his earnings went to pay the inevitable debts incurred when a fellow is working his way through college. Mrs. Carey, with the help of the other two women, had seized upon this stormy Friday, when the teacher always took his luncheon with him to the academy, to convert Ralph's room into something comfortable and cheerful.


"Another winter I fear we must close the Yellow House and  " The rest of Mother Carey's remark was never heard, for at Nancy's given signal the four younger Careys all swooned on the floor.


"Not at all," she replied promptly. "You don't?" he asked incredulously.


"If we must economize on cats," cried Nancy passionately, "don't let's begin on this one! She doesn't look it, but she is a heroine. When the Rideout's house burned down, her kittens were in a basket by the kitchen stove.


"And so ladylike!" added Julia triumphantly. "How much?" asked Gilbert succinctly.


"Mrs. Harmon, Mrs. Popham, and I simply tried to show our gratitude to Mr. Thurston for teaching our troublesome children."


The young teacher came back to the fireplace, where Mother Carey was standing in a momentary brown study.


"Of course you know, darlings, I would never leave Beulah save for the coldest months; or only to earn a little money," said Mrs. Carey, smoothing her dress, flattening her collar, and pinning up the braids that Nancy's hugs had loosened.


He was bright and hopeful and happy, so said Mr. Manson;  forever sounding the praises of the labor saving device in which he had sunk his last thousands. "We can manufacture it at ten cents and sell it for ten dollars," he would say, rubbing his hands excitedly.


"What has mother been doing, now?" asked Nancy. "Her right hand is forever busy, and she never tells her left hand a thing, so we children are always in the dark." "It was nothing much," said Mrs. Carey, pushing the young man gently into the high backed rocker.


"You have helped me in my problems more than I can possibly have aided you," Mrs. Carey replied quietly.


What shall we do?" Nancy leaped to her feet, scattering cats in every direction. "Mother Carey!"


Of course Kitty found a small vacant space on which she could festoon herself, and Peter promptly climbed on his mother's lap, so that she was covered with  fairly submerged in  children! A year ago Julia used to creep away and look at such exhibitions of family affection, with a curling lip, but to night, at Mother Carey's outstretched hand and smothered cry of "Help, Judy!"


The name of this character is Judge Krink, but generally he is more casually referred to as "the Judge." He lives, so we are informed, at some remote place called Fourace Hill.


Dried fish is then brought in, and the baby, having drunk thrice, passes the cup to its sponsor, who drinks thrice.


(Up to this time the whole head has been shaven: now three patches are allowed to grow, one on each side and one at the back of the head.)


Thus memory draws from delight, ere it dies, An essence that breathes of it awfully hard; As thus good to my taste as 'twas then to my eyes, Is that bower of bean vines in Benjamin's yard.


Seffy descended at that moment with his hat poised in his left hand. His father dropped his watch and picked it up.


After the applause he said: "I guess I'd better wake 'em up! What you sink?" They one and all thought he had. They knew he would do it, no matter what they thought.


For, whether Sally were beautiful or not  about which we might contend a bit  her hair was, and perhaps that is the reason why it was nearly always uncovered  or, possibly, again, because it was so much uncovered was the reason it was beautiful. It seemed to catch some of the glory of the sun.


No one answered and he let several impressive minutes intervene. "You don't know! Hang you, none of yous knows! Well  because he ain't there when anysing occurs  always a little late!"


Though, of course, in the final disposition of the matter, he was sure that no girl so nice as Sally would marry such a person as Sam Pritz, with no extremely visible means of support  a salary of four dollars a week, and an odious reputation for liquor.


"I'm going to wear my high hat!" he announced, with his nose quite in the air. "No, Sef!" said the old man with a wonderful inflection, facing him about that he might look into his determined face.


"Yes!" declared Seffy again. "Bring forth the stovepipe, The stovepipe, the stovepipe  " chanted Seffy's frivolous father in the way of the Anvil Chorus.


"And better," said Seffy, with a lump in his throat. "I know I ain't no good with girls  and I don't care!" "Yes!" she assented wickedly. "There _are_ better ones." "Sam Pritz  " Sally looked away, smiled, and was silent. "Sulky Seffy!" she finally said.


Chust about a quarter of an inch too late for the prize wiss flour on its hair and arms and its frock pinned up to show its new petticoat! Uhu! If I had such a nice petticoat  " he imitated the lady in question, to the tremendous delight of the gentle loafers. Seffy stared a little and rubbed some dust out of his eyes.


Yere, take the watch and git along  so's you haf some time wiss you  now git along! You late a'ready. Goshens! You wass behind time when you wass born! Yas, your mammy wass disapp'inted in you right at first.


I'll take keer the fence!" III It took Seffy a long time to array himself as he had threatened. And when it was all done you wouldn't have known him  you wouldn't have cared to know him. For his fine yellow hair was changed to an ugly brown by the patent hair oil with which he had dressed it  and you would not have liked its fragrance, I trust.


We have seen the gigantic golden worms In the garden of paradise: We have seen the great and the wise make terms With the peace of snakes and the pride of worms, and them that plant make covenant With the locust and the lice.


For you came out on the dome of the earth Like a vision of victory, Out on the great green dome of the earth As the great blue dome of the sky for girth, And under your feet the shires could meet And your eyes went out to sea.


Up through an empty house of stars, Being what heart you are, Up the inhuman steeps of space As on a staircase go in grace, Carrying the firelight on your face Beyond the loneliest star.


In cloud of clay so cast to heaven What shape shall man discern? These lords may light the mystery Of mastery or victory, And these ride high in history, But these shall not return.


But who shall look from Alfred's hood Or breathe his breath alive? His century like a small dark cloud Drifts far; it is an eyeless crowd, Where the tortured trumpets scream aloud And the dense arrows drive.


Yet Alfred is no fairy tale; His days as our days ran, He also looked forth for an hour On peopled plains and skies that lower, From those few windows in the tower That is the head of a man.


"The men of the East may spell the stars, And times and triumphs mark, But the men signed of the cross of Christ Go gaily in the dark. "The men of the East may search the scrolls For sure fates and fame, But the men that drink the blood of God Go singing to their shame.


For the end of the world was long ago, When the ends of the world waxed free, When Rome was sunk in a waste of slaves, And the sun drowned in the sea. When Caesar's sun fell out of the sky And whoso hearkened right Could only hear the plunging Of the nations in the night.


"And any little maid that walks In good thoughts apart, May break the guard of the Three Kings And see the dear and dreadful things I hid within my heart.


In the old wars of Wessex His sword had sunken deep, But all his friends, he signed and said, Were broken about Ethelred; And between the deep drink and the dead He had fallen upon sleep.


Lifting the great green ivy And the great spear lowering, One said, "I am Alfred of Wessex, And I am a conquered king." And the man of the cave made answer, And his eyes were stars of scorn, "And better kings were conquered Or ever your sires were born.


Then Alfred of the lonely spear Lifted his lion head; And fronted with the Italian's eye, Asking him of his whence and why, King Alfred stood and said: "I am that oft defeated King Whose failure fills the land, Who fled before the Danes of old, Who chaffered with the Danes with gold, Who now upon the Wessex wold Hardly has feet to stand.


And Alfred, King of Wessex, Looked on his conqueror   And his hands hardened; but he played, And leaving all later hates unsaid, He sang of some old British raid On the wild west march of yore.


"For our God hath blessed creation, Calling it good. I know What spirit with whom you blindly band Hath blessed destruction with his hand; Yet by God's death the stars shall stand And the small apples grow."


"What have the strong gods given? Where have the glad gods led? When Guthrum sits on a hero's throne And asks if he is dead?


"Great wine like blood from Burgundy, Cloaks like the clouds from Tyre, And marble like solid moonlight, And gold like frozen fire. "Smells that a man might swill in a cup, Stones that a man might eat, And the great smooth women like ivory That the Turks sell in the street."


"Did not a great grey servant Of all my sires and me, Build this pavilion of the pines, And herd the fowls and fill the vines, And labour and pass and leave no signs Save mercy and mystery?


King Alfred stood up wordless, A man dead with surprise, And torture stood and the evil things That are in the childish hearts of kings An instant in his eyes.


He marked the wood and the cloven ways With an old captain's eyes, And he thought how many a time had he Sought to see Doom he could not see; How ruin had come and victory, And both were a surprise.


"A dancing sparkle, a doubtful star, On the waste wind whirled and driven; But it seems to sing of a wilder worth, A time discrowned of doom and birth, And the kingdom of the poor on earth Come, as it is in heaven.


"This blow that I return not Ten times will I return On kings and earls of all degree, And armies wide as empires be Shall slide like landslips to the sea If the red star burn.


And grey cattle and silver lowed Against the unlifted morn, And straw clung to the spear shafts tall. And a boy went before them all Blowing a ram's horn.


And though the King had called them forth And knew them for his own, So still each eye stood like a gem, So spectral hung each broidered hem, Grey carven men he fancied them, Hewn in an age of stone.


Sheer o'er the great chalk uplands And the hill of the Horse went he, Till high on Hampshire beacons He saw the southern sea.


"The kings go up and the kings go down, And who knows who shall rule; Next night a king may starve or sleep, But men and birds and beasts shall weep At the burial of a fool.


And the King said, "Do thou take my sword Who have done this deed of fire, For this is the manner of Christian men, Whether of steel or priestly pen, That they cast their hearts out of their ken To get their heart's desire.


ETHANDUNE: THE FIRST STROKE King Guthrum was a dread king, Like death out of the north; Shrines without name or number He rent and rolled as lumber, From Chester to the Humber He drove his foemen forth.


For thunder of the captain, Not less the Wessex line, Leaned back and reeled a space to rear As Elf charged with the Rhine maids' spear, And roaring like the Rhine.


His face like a sanguine sunset, His shoulder a Wessex down, His hand like a windy hammer stroke; Men could not count the crests he broke, So fast the crests went down.


"It is not Alfred's dwarfish sword, Nor Egbert's pigmy crown, Shall stay us now that descend in thunder, Rending the realms and the realms thereunder, Down through the world and down."


"Down from the dome of the world we come, Rivers on rivers down, Under us swirl the sects and hordes And the high dooms we drown.


Short time had shaggy Ogier To pull his lance in line   He knew King Alfred's axe on high, He heard it rushing through the sky, He cowered beneath it with a cry   It split him to the spine: And Alfred sprang over him dead, And blew the battle sign.


On the lean, green edge for ever, Where the blank chalk touched the turf, The child played on, alone, divine, As a child plays on the last line That sunders sand and surf.


And as a child whose bricks fall down Re piles them o'er and o'er, Came ruin and the rain that burns, Returning as a wheel returns, And crouching in the furze and ferns He began his life once more.


For dire was Alfred in his hour The pale scribe witnesseth, More mighty in defeat was he Than all men else in victory, And behind, his men came murderously, Dry throated, drinking death.


And the King held up the horn and said, "See ye my father's horn, That Egbert blew in his empery, Once, when he rode out commonly, Twice when he rode for venery, And thrice on the battle morn.


"Danes drive the white East Angles In six fights on the plains, Danes waste the world about the Thames, Danes to the eastward  Danes!" And as he stumbled on one knee, The thanes broke out in ire, Crying: "Ill the watchmen watch, and ill The sheriffs keep the shire."


"Not with the humour of hunters Or savage skill in war, But ordering all things with dead words, Strings shall they make of beasts and birds, And wheels of wind and star.


And he gathered the songs of simple men That swing with helm and hod, And the alms he gave as a Christian Like a river alive with fishes ran; And he made gifts to a beggar man As to a wandering god.


"In what wise men shall smite him, Or the Cross stand up again, Or charity or chivalry, My vision saith not; and I see No more; but now ride doubtfully To the battle of the plain."


"Haply it had been better When I built my fortress there, Out in the reedy waters wide, I had stood on my mud wall and cried: 'Take England all, from tide to tide   Be Athelney my share.'


What a world of merriment their melody foretells! How they tinkle, tinkle, tinkle, In their icy air of night!


Your love in a cottage is hungry, Your vine is a nest for flies   Your milkmaid shocks the Graces, And simplicity talks of pies!


His wing is the fan of a lady, His foot's an invisible thing, And his arrow is tipped with a jewel, And shot from a silver string.


(O who will kill the great Time Moth that eats holes in my soul and that burrows in and through my secretest veils!)


04:006:007 He shall not make himself unclean for his father, or for his mother, for his brother, or for his sister, when they die: because the consecration of his God is upon his head.


04:008:021 And the Levites were purified, and they washed their clothes; and Aaron offered them as an offering before the LORD; and Aaron made an atonement for them to cleanse them.


"Grace was going to treat," said Amy slowly; "she is so good about that  only  " "Oh, girls! This is on me!" exclaimed Percy. "I shall be delighted. May I have the honor?" and again he took off his hat with an elaborate bow.


"Oh, I misunderstood you. You said twenty miles was too much." "I meant for girls." "Oh, then you carry the cane for dogs."


"It's a very pretty boot," remarked Betty. "But hardly practical, my dear." "I suppose not," sighed Grace. "But I just simply could not resist the temptation to take them when the sales girl tried them on me. I saw them in Robertson's window, and they were such a bargain  a sample shoe she said  that's why they're so narrow."


"Oh, we really mean to _walk_!" exclaimed Grace, with a glance at the too small patent leather shoes the overdressed youth thrust out ostentatiously.


asked Grace. "I'm afraid I shan't be able to keep up to you girls in that case," and she swung about on the sidewalk in a few steps of a mazy waltz with Amy. "Of course we won't walk all the while," explained Betty. "I haven't all the details arranged yet, but we can set a certain number of miles to cover each day. At night we'll stop somewhere and rest."


I thought we'd never get out of school," and the four who had just been released from the Deepdale High School continued their stroll down the main street of the town, talking over the new plan that had been proposed that morning by Betty Nelson  the "Little Captain," as she was often called by her chums, for she always assumed the leadership in their fun and frolics.


"Will we just walk  walk all the while?"


Betty was about sixteen years old. She was not exactly what one would call "pretty"  that is, at first glance. More likely she would have been spoken of as "good looking." At least by the boys. And certainly Betty was good to look upon.


And yet she could not understand why she was not more like them in type, nor why, of late, she had often come upon them talking earnestly together, which talk ceased as soon as she entered the room. In consequence of which Amy was not very happy these days.


"Wouldn't you ask for a reward?" came from Mollie. "The idea  of course not!" "But he might _give_ us one," suggested Amy, "without being asked." Then talking excitedly about the find, and speculating on how it could have come in the road, the girls accompanied Betty to her house.


"Why, yes, that's not much. We can take three weeks to it, and that's only a little over ten miles a day  not counting Sundays, of course. If we can't walk ten miles a day  " "Oh, that's not so bad," admitted Amy.


But this was some years ago. But now, with the newer styles that seem to forbid the existence of hips, and with skirts that so circumscribe the steps that fast walking is impossible, Grace fitted in perfectly. She was artistically tall and slender, which fact none knew better than she herself.


The other girls rather envied Grace her hair  especially Mollie, who was a decided brunette. And, as I have said, Grace dressed to advantage. There had been a time when she bemoaned the fact that she was tall  "regular bean pole" her brother had taunted her with being  and Grace  well, she had slapped him.


And certainly it was a town of much natural beauty, to which a certain amount of civic pride added, had made for local enjoyment in parks, memorials and statues. Though there were only about fifteen thousand residents, there was a spirit about Deepdale that many a fair sized city might have envied  a spirit of progress.


"I am  yes." There was hesitation in the tones. "Why, what is the matter?" asked Grace, quickly. "Are you ill, Amy?" for the girl looked pale, and there were dark circles under her eyes.


"Why should they have to, unless something happens?" asked Amy. "Oh, that five hundred dollar bill might be claimed," said Betty. "We'd want to know about that." "And you haven't heard a word yet?" asked Grace. "Not a word! I telephoned to the paper, and they said no replies had come in there.


It was the final period of the day, and soon school was over. Most of the girls remained, however, for few had brought rain coats or umbrellas, there being no hint that morning of the deluge that was to come. Then the rain gradually slackened, and the pupils departed.


"Oh, I beg your pardon," and the French girl showed her contrition. "I forgot you can think of something beside candy." "I was going to ask her if she wanted my smelling salts," Grace went on, and Amy accepted the little bottle.


"It was that horrid Alice Jallow giggling at her!" declared Mollie, who had come softly into the room. "I could  " she clenched her hands, and her dark eyes gleamed. "Mollie," said Betty softly, and the threatened fit of anger passed over.


Let's see now, Betty, how many stopping places do you count on?" "About eight. Of course there may be more, and we may have to stay in one place longer than I figure on, and we might skip some places altogether."


Who is it from, I wonder?" "As if you didn't know!" laughed Amy, coming up behind her friend.


"Won't it be glorious!" cried Mollie, taking Amy in a waltzing hold and whirling about the room with her, while she hummed a dreamy song. They were at Betty's house discussing their coming trip, and it was nearly supper time when they dispersed.


W. aren't on that note, Betty  " "Of course they're not! The idea! Allen Washburn needn't think  " "Oh, I know he needn't send notes to you this way, but perhaps Will forgot to deliver it, and Grace just slipped it into your book, intending to tell you of it. Ah, Betty!"


"Silly. It isn't that at all. See, I'll let you read the note." Hastily Betty unfolded it.


inquired Kittie, and it was evident that she had a reason for asking. "Pretty much," answered Betty, wondering what was to follow. "It's your serve," she added to Grace.


Betty heard the sound of Amy's sigh, and then the catch in her breath. She turned quickly. "Amy!" cried Betty. "Did you see it? Oh, my dear! The meanness of it! The awful meanness! Oh, Amy, my dear!" and she put her arms around her trembling companion. "Oh, if I only knew who sent it!"


It was thinking of that, I guess, that unnerved me." "Why, Amy! A mystery about you?"


My uncle and aunt formally adopted me after they found that there was no hope of locating my parents. And so I've lived in ignorance of the mystery about me until just the other day."


"So did I, until lately. Then I began to notice that papa and mamma  as I thought them  were frequently consulting together. They always stopped talking when I came near, but I supposed it might be about some plans they had for sending me away to be educated in music. So I pretended not to notice. Though I did not want to go away from dear Deepdale.


And so that is all I know of my past." "But your aunt must know something of your mother if they were relatives."


Only it did startle me when I read that note over your shoulder." "I should think it would. When I see Alice  " "Please don't say anything to her!" pleaded Amy. "Please don't! Let her see that  that it hasn't made a bit of difference."


"Amy Stonington!" cried Betty. "Do you mean to tell me  look here, let's get to some quiet place. Some one will be coming in here. We can go to Miss Greene's room. She has gone for the day. But perhaps you don't want to tell me, Amy." "Oh, yes I do. I want to tell all you girls. And then maybe  " "Amy Stonington!" exclaimed Betty.


It was evident from her rather mumbled words  which mumbling I have been unable to reproduce in cold type  that Grace was eating candy. "Have some chocolate?" she went on, holding out a bag. "Oh, Grace! Chocolate at such a time as this!" rebuked Betty, her mind filled with the story she had just heard. "Why, what's the matter with the time?"


"So you are really determined to go off on that walking trip?" asked Will, who had floated back to join Mollie. "We certainly are. Why, don't you think we can do it?" "Perhaps. But I think you'll run at the sight of the first tramp  or cow; and as for a storm  good night!"


and she threw herself into a tragic gesture, in imitation of the imported French maid, at which her chums laughed. "Have you a kiss for me, Paul?" demanded Grace, of the little fellow, when she had replaced his sister on the walk.


Betty saw and murmured: "You are hopeless." "What's up?" asked Mollie, gliding into the room, her dark hair straying rather rebelliously from beneath her hat. "Come in," invited Betty, and soon the four were sitting together, while in a sort of dialogue Betty and Amy told the pathetic little story.


insisted the owner of the boat. "It couldn't get out. Look for it! Find it! Or, if you can't, we'll stuff a handkerchief in the hole!"


I thought  " "What are you doing here?"


"All right!" and then the following words were lost as the wind carried them aside. The youth on shore  the girls could now see that he was a youth  began shoving out a boat. He did not seem very adept in the knowledge of rowing, and took quite a little time to get under way.


"But  in our clothes!" protested Amy. "Oh, I guess we can do it if we try," went on Betty. "There, I have the handkerchiefs in the hole!" she exclaimed, as she forced the wadded up linens into the aperture.


"Look  there comes someone else!" suddenly cried Amy. "Oh, Grace, it's your brother Will!" "Thank goodness for that," murmured Betty. "Now we have some chance. If he can only make Percy listen to reason, and put back for him."


CHAPTER VII TO THE RESCUE Rapidly the water rose in the boat.


But she said nothing, perhaps being too proud to admit her fault. "We'll just treat her as if nothing had happened," said Betty, and this advice was followed. Alice was not generally liked, but the three chums were so pleasant to her, in contrast with the conduct of the other girls, that it must have been as coals of fire on her head.


"No, we fell out," said her daughter, laughing. "It's all right, momsey, but we must get dry. Girls, give Will and Percy your orders."