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diff --git a/1633-h/1633-h.htm b/1633-h/1633-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..8435267 --- /dev/null +++ b/1633-h/1633-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,9408 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html> +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" lang="en" xml:lang="en"> + <head> <link rel="icon" href="images/cover.jpg" type="image/x-cover" /> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=UTF-8" /> +<title> + The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Brick moon and other stories, by Edward Everett Hale. +</title> +<style> + +a:link {background-color:#ffffff;color:blue;text-decoration:none;} + + link {background-color:#ffffff;color:blue;text-decoration:none;} + +a:visited {background-color:#ffffff;color:purple;text-decoration:none;} + +a:hover {background-color:#ffffff;color:#FF0000;text-decoration:underline;} + +body{margin-left:4%;margin-right:6%;background:#ffffff;color:black;font-family:"Times New Roman", serif;font-size:medium;} + +.blockquot {margin-top:2%;margin-bottom:2%;} +.blockquot1 {margin-top:2%;margin-bottom:2%;} +.blockquot1 p{font-size:85%;} + +.c {text-align:center;text-indent:0%;} + +.cb {text-align:center;text-indent:0%;font-weight:bold;} + +.dtts {text-align:center;text-indent:0%;font-weight:bold; +letter-spacing:1em;} + +.footnotes {border:dotted 3px gray;margin-top:5%;clear:both;} + +.footnote {width:95%;margin:auto 3% 1% auto;font-size:0.9em;position:relative;} + +.label {position:relative;left:-.5em;top:0;text-align:left;font-size:.8em;} + +.fnanchor {vertical-align:30%;font-size:.8em;} + + h1 {margin-top:5%;text-align:center;clear:both; +font-weight:normal;} + + h2 {margin-top:4%;margin-bottom:2%;text-align:center;clear:both; + font-size:100%;font-weight:normal;} + + h3,h4 {margin:4% auto 2% auto;text-align:center;clear:both; + font-size:100%;font-weight:normal;} + + hr {width:15%;margin:1em auto 1em auto;clear:both;color:black;} + + hr.full {width: 60%;margin:2% auto 2% auto;border-top:1px solid black; +padding:.1em;border-bottom:1px solid black;border-left:none;border-right:none;} + + img {border:none;} + +.lftspc {margin-left:.25em;} + +.letra {font-size:250%;float:left;margin-top:-1%;} + +.nind {text-indent:0%;} + +.sans {font-family:sans-serif;} + + p {margin-top:.2em;text-align:justify;margin-bottom:.2em;text-indent:4%;} + +.pdd {padding-left:1em;text-indent:-1em;} + +.r {text-align:right;margin-right: 5%;} + +.rt {text-align:right;} + +.rtb {text-align:right;vertical-align:bottom;} + +small {font-size: 85%;} + + sup {font-size:75%;vertical-align:top;} + +.smcap {font-variant:small-caps;font-size:100%;} + +table {margin:2% auto;border:none;} + +table.sml {font-size:85%;} + +td {padding-top:.15em;} + +tr {vertical-align:top;} + +th {padding-top:.5em;padding-bottom:.25em;} + +div.poetry {text-align:center;} +div.poem {font-size:90%;margin:auto auto;text-indent:0%; +display: inline-block; text-align: left;} +.poem .stanza {margin-top: 1em;margin-bottom:1em;} +.poem span.i0 {display: block; margin-left: 0em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} +.poem span.i4 {display: block; margin-left: 3em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} +.poem span.i6 {display: block; margin-left: 4em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} +</style> + </head> +<body> +<p style='text-align:center; font-size:1.2em; font-weight:bold'>The Project Gutenberg eBook of The brick moon and other stories, by Edward Everett Hale</p> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and +most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions +whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms +of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online +at <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. If you +are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the +country where you are located before using this eBook. +</div> + +<p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Title: The brick moon and other stories</p> +<p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:0; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Author: Edward Everett Hale</p> +<p style='display:block; text-indent:0; margin:1em 0'>Release Date: +February, 1999 [Etext #1633]<br /> +[Last updated; July 28, 2022]</p> +<p style='display:block; text-indent:0; margin:1em 0'>Language: English</p> +<div style='margin-top:2em; margin-bottom:4em'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE BRICK MOON AND OTHER STORIES ***</div> +<hr class="full" /> + +<div class="c"> +<img src="images/cover.jpg" height="500" alt="" /> +</div> + +<h1>The Brick Moon<br /> and<br /> Other Stories</h1> + +<p class="c">by EDWARD EVERETT HALE<br /> Short Story Index Reprint Series</p> + +<h2><a id="Preface"></a>Preface</h2> + +<p class="nind"><span class="letra">T</span>O read these stories again, thirty and more years after they were +written, is to recall many memories, sad or glad, with which this reader +need not be interrupted. But I have to make sure that they are +intelligible to readers of a generation later than that for which they +were written.</p> + +<p>The story of The Brick Moon was begun in my dear brother Nathan’s +working-room in Union College, Schenectady, in the year 1870, when he +was professor of the English language there. The account of the first +plan of the moon is a sketch, as accurate as was needed, of the old chat +and dreams, plans and jokes, of our college days, before he left +Cambridge in 1838. As I learned almost everything I know through his +care and love and help, directly or indirectly, it is a pleasure to say +this here. The story was published in the “Atlantic Monthly,” in 1870 +and 1871. It was the last story I wrote for that magazine, before +assuming the charge of “Old and New,” a magazine which I edited from +1870 to 1876, and for which I wrote “Ten Times One is Ten,” which has +been printed in the third volume of this series.</p> + +<p>Among the kind references to “The Brick Moon” which I have received from +sympathetic friends, I now recall with the greatest pleasure one sent me +by Mr. Asaph Hall, the distinguished astronomer of the National +Observatory. In sending me the ephemeris of the two moons of Mars, which +he revealed to this world of ours, he wrote, “The smaller of these moons +is the veritable Brick Moon.” That, in the moment of triumph for the +greatest astronomical discovery of a generation, Dr. Hall should have +time or thought to give to my little parable,—this was praise indeed.</p> + +<p>Writing in 1870, I said, as the reader will see on page 66, that George +Orcutt did not tell how he used a magnifying power of 700. Nor did I +choose to tell then, hoping that in some fortunate winter I might be +able myself to repeat his process, greatly to the convenience of +astronomers who have not Alvan Clark’s resources at hand, or who have to +satisfy themselves with glass lenses of fifteen inches, or even thirty, +in diameter. But no such winter has come round to me, and I will now +give Orcutt’s invention to the world. He had unlimited freezing power. +So have we now, as we had not then. With this power he made an ice lens, +ten feet in diameter, which was easily rubbed, by the delicate hands of +the careful women around him, to precisely the surface which he needed. +Let me hope that before next winter passes some countryman or +countrywoman of mine will have equalled his success, and with an ice +lens will surpass all the successes of the glasses of our time.</p> + +<p>The plan of “Crusoe in New York” was made when I was enjoying the +princely hospitality of Henry Whitney Bellows in New York. The parsonage +in that city commanded a view of a “lot” not built on, which would have +given for many years a happy home to any disciple of Mayor Pingree, if a +somewhat complicated social order had permitted. The story was first +published in Frank Leslie’s illustrated paper. In reading it in 1899, I +am afraid that the readers of a hard, money generation may not know that +“scrip” was in the sixties the name for small change.</p> + +<p>I regard a knowledge of every detail of the original Robinson Crusoe as +well-nigh a necessity in education. Girls may occasionally be excused, +but never boys. It ought to be unnecessary, therefore, to say that some +of the narrative passages of Crusoe in New York are taken, word for +word, from the text of Defoe. If I do state this for the benefit of a +few unfortunate ladies who are not familiar with that text, it is +because I think no one among many courteous critics has observed it.</p> + +<p>“The Survivor’s Story” is one of eight short stories which were +published in the first Christmas number of “Old and New.”</p> + +<p>Of the other stories I think no explanation is needed, but such as was +given at the time of their publication and is reprinted with each of +them here.</p> + +<p class="rt">EDWARD E. HALE. ROXBURY,</p> +<p class="nind">July 6, 1899.</p> + +<h2>CONTENTS</h2> + +<p class="nind"> +<a href="#THE_BRICK_MOON"><b>THE BRICK MOON</b></a><br /> +<a href="#CRUSOE_IN_NEW_YORK"><b>CRUSOE IN NEW YORK</b></a><br /> +<a href="#BREAD_ON_THE_WATERS"><b>BREAD ON THE WATERS</b></a><br /> +<a href="#THE_LOST_PALACE"><b>THE LOST PALACE</b></a><br /> +<a href="#99_LINWOOD_STREET"><b>99 LINWOOD STREET</b></a><br /> +<a href="#IDEALS"><b>IDEALS</b></a><br /> +<a href="#ONE_CENT"><b>ONE CENT</b></a><br /> +<a href="#THANKSGIVING_AT_THE_POLLS"><b>THANKSGIVING AT THE POLLS</b></a><br /> +<a href="#THE_SURVIVORS_STORY"><b>THE SURVIVOR’S STORY</b></a><br /> +<a href="#THE_INSPECTOR_OF_GAS-METERS_STORY"><b>THE INSPECTOR OF GAS-METERS’ STORY</b></a><br /> +</p> + +<h2><a id="THE_BRICK_MOON"></a>THE BRICK MOON<br /><br /> +[From the papers of Captain FREDERIC INGHAM.]</h2> + +<h3>I<br /><br /> +PREPARATION</h3> + +<p class="nind"><span class="letra">I</span> HAVE no sort of objection now to telling the whole story. The +subscribers, of course, have a right to know what became of their money. +The astronomers may as well know all about it, before they announce any +more asteroids with an enormous movement in declination. And +experimenters on the longitude may as well know, so that they may act +advisedly in attempting another brick moon or in refusing to do so.</p> + +<p>It all began more than thirty years ago, when we were in college; as +most good things begin. We were studying in the book which has gray +sides and a green back, and is called “Cambridge Astronomy” because it +is translated from the French. We came across this business of the +longitude, and, as we talked, in the gloom and glamour of the old South +Middle dining-hall, we had going the usual number of students’ stories +about rewards offered by the Board of Longitude for discoveries in that +matter,—stories, all of which, so far as I know, are lies. Like all +boys, we had tried our hands at perpetual motion. For me, I was sure I +could square the circle, if they would give me chalk enough. But as to +this business of the longitude, it was reserved for Q.<a id="FNanchor_1_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_1_1" class="fnanchor">[1]</a> to make the +happy hit and to explain it to the rest of us.</p> + +<p>I wonder if I can explain it to an unlearned world, which has not +studied the book with gray sides and a green cambric back. Let us try.</p> + +<p>You know then, dear world, that when you look at the North Star, it +always appears to you at just the same height above the horizon or what +is between you and the horizon: say the Dwight School-house, or the +houses in Concord Street; or to me, just now, North College. You know +also that, if you were to travel to the North Pole, the North Star would +be just over your head. And, if you were to travel to the equator, it +would be just on your horizon, if you could see it at all through the +red, dusty, hazy mist in the north, as you could not. If you were just +half-way between pole and equator, on the line between us and Canada, +the North Star would be half-way up, or 45° from the horizon. So you +would know there that you were 45° from the equator. Then in Boston, you +would find it was 42° 20’ from the horizon. So you know there that you +are 42° 20’ from the equator. At Seattle again you would find it was 47° +40’ high, so our friends at Seattle know that they are at 47° 40’ from +the equator. The latitude of a place, in other words, is found very +easily by any observation which shows how high the North Star is; if you +do not want to measure the North Star, you may take any star when it is +just to north of you, and measure its height; wait twelve hours, and if +you can find it, measure its height again. Split the difference, and +that is the altitude of the pole, or the latitude of you, the observer.</p> + +<p>“Of course we know this,” says the graduating world. “Do you suppose +that is what we borrow your book for, to have you spell out your +miserable elementary astronomy?” At which rebuff I should shrink +distressed, but that a chorus of voices an octave higher comes up with, +“Dear Mr. Ingham, we are ever so much obliged to you; we did not know it +at all before, and you make it perfectly clear.”</p> + +<p>Thank you, my dear, and you, and you. We will not care what the others +say. If you do understand it, or do know it, it is more than Mr. Charles +Reade knew, or he would not have made his two lovers on the island guess +at their latitude, as they did. If they had either of them been educated +at a respectable academy for the Middle Classes, they would have fared +better.</p> + +<p>Now about the longitude.</p> + +<p>The latitude, which you have found, measures your distance north or +south from the equator or the pole. To find your longitude, you want to +find your distance east or west from the meridian of Greenwich. Now, if +any one would build a good tall tower at Greenwich, straight into the +sky,—say a hundred miles into the sky,—of course if you and I were +east or west of it, and could see it, we could tell how far east or west +we were by measuring the apparent height of the tower above our horizon. +If we could see so far, when the lantern with a Drummond’s light, “ever +so bright,” on the very top of the tower, appeared to be on our horizon, +we should know we were eight hundred and seventy-three miles away from +it. The top of the tower would answer for us as the North Star does when +we are measuring the latitude. If we were nearer, our horizon would make +a longer angle with the line from the top to our place of vision. If we +were farther away, we should need a higher tower.</p> + +<p>But nobody will build any such tower at Greenwich, or elsewhere on that +meridian, or on any meridian. You see that to be of use to the half the +world nearest to it, it would have to be so high that the diameter of +the world would seem nothing in proportion. And then, for the other half +of the world you would have to erect another tower as high on the other +side. It was this difficulty that made Q. suggest the expedient of the +Brick Moon.</p> + +<p>For you see that if, by good luck, there were a ring like Saturn’s which +stretched round the world, above Greenwich and the meridian of +Greenwich, and if it would stay above Greenwich, turning with the world, +any one who wanted to measure his longitude or distance from Greenwich +would look out of window and see how high this ring was above his +horizon. At Greenwich it would be over his head exactly. At New Orleans, +which is quarter round the world from Greenwich, it would be just in his +horizon. A little west of New Orleans you would begin to look for the +other half of the ring on the west instead of the east; and if you went +a little west of the Feejee Islands the ring would be over your head +again. So if we only had a ring like that, not round the equator of the +world,—as Saturn’s ring is around Saturn,—but vertical to the plane of +the equator, as the brass ring of an artificial globe goes, only far +higher in proportion,—“from that ring,” said Q., pensively, “we could +calculate the longitude.”</p> + +<p>Failing that, after various propositions, he suggested the Brick Moon. +The plan was this: If from the surface of the earth, by a gigantic +peashooter, you could shoot a pea upward from Greenwich, aimed northward +as well as upward; if you drove it so fast and far that when its power +of ascent was exhausted, and it began to fall, it should clear the +earth, and pass outside the North Pole; if you had given it sufficient +power to get it half round the earth without touching, that pea would +clear the earth forever. It would continue to rotate above the North +Pole, above the Feejee Island place, above the South Pole and Greenwich, +forever, with the impulse with which it had first cleared our atmosphere +and attraction. If only we could see that pea as it revolved in that +convenient orbit, then we could measure the longitude from that, as soon +as we knew how high the orbit was, as well as if it were the ring of +Saturn.</p> + +<p>“But a pea is so small!”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” said Q., “but we must make a large pea.” Then we fell to work on +plans for making the pea very large and very light. Large,—that it +might be seen far away by storm-tossed navigators: light,—that it might +be the easier blown four thousand and odd miles into the air; lest it +should fall on the heads of the Greenlanders or the Patagonians; lest +they should be injured and the world lose its new moon. But, of course, +all this lath-and-plaster had to be given up. For the motion through the +air would set fire to this moon just as it does to other aerolites, and +all your lath-and-plaster would gather into a few white drops, which no +Rosse telescope even could discern. “No,” said Q. bravely, “at the least +it must be very substantial. It must stand fire well, very well. Iron +will not answer. It must be brick; we must have a Brick Moon.”</p> + +<p>Then we had to calculate its size. You can see, on the old moon, an +edifice two hundred feet long with any of the fine refractors of our +day. But no such refractors as those can be carried by the poor little +fishermen whom we wanted to befriend, the bones of whose ships lie white +on so many cliffs, their names unreported at any Lloyd’s or by any Ross,</p> + +<div class="poetry"><div class="poem">Themselves the owners and their sons the crew.</div></div> + +<p class="nind">On the other hand, we did not want our moon two hundred and fifty +thousand miles away, as the old moon is, which I will call the Thornbush +moon, for distinction. We did not care how near it was, indeed, if it +were only far enough away to be seen, in practice, from almost the whole +world. There must be a little strip where they could not see it from the +surface, unless we threw it infinitely high. “But they need not look +from the surface,” said Q.; “they might climb to the mast-head. And if +they did not see it at all, they would know that they were ninety +degrees from the meridian.”</p> + +<p>This difficulty about what we call “the strip,” however, led to an +improvement in the plan, which made it better in every way. It was clear +that even if “the strip” were quite wide, the moon would have to be a +good way off, and, in proportion, hard to see. If, however, we would +satisfy ourselves with a moon four thousand miles away, THAT could be +seen on the earth’s surface for three or four thousand miles on each +side; and twice three thousand, or six thousand, is one fourth of the +largest circumference of the earth. We did not dare have it nearer than +four thousand miles, since even at that distance it would be eclipsed +three hours out of every night; and we wanted it bright and distinct, +and not of that lurid, copper, eclipse color. But at four thousand +miles’ distance the moon could be seen by a belt of observers six or +eight thousand miles in diameter. “Start, then, two moons,”—this was my +contribution to the plan. “Suppose one over the meridian of Greenwich, +and the other over that of New Orleans. Take care that there is a little +difference in the radii of their orbits, lest they ‘collide’ some foul +day. Then, in most places, one or other, perhaps two will come in sight. +So much the less risk of clouds: and everywhere there may be one, except +when it is cloudy. Neither need be more than four thousand miles off; so +much the larger and more beautiful will they be. If on the old Thornbush +moon old Herschel with his reflector could see a town-house two hundred +feet long, on the Brick Moon young Herschel will be able to see a dab of +mortar a foot and a half long, if he wants to. And people without the +reflector, with their opera-glasses, will be able to see sufficiently +well.” And to this they agreed: that eventually there must be two Brick +Moons. Indeed, it were better that there should be four, as each must be +below the horizon half the time. That is only as many as Jupiter has. +But it was also agreed that we might begin with one.</p> + +<p>Why we settled on two hundred feet of diameter I hardly know. I think it +was from the statement of dear John Farrar’s about the impossibility of +there being a state house two hundred feet long not yet discovered, on +the sunny side of old Thornbush. That, somehow, made two hundred our +fixed point. Besides, a moon of two hundred feet diameter did not seem +quite unmanageable. Yet it was evident that a smaller moon would be of +no use, unless we meant to have them near the world, when there would be +so many that they would be confusing, and eclipsed most of the time. And +four thousand miles is a good way off to see a moon even two hundred +feet in diameter.</p> + +<p>Small though we made them on paper, these two-hundred-foot moons were +still too much for us. Of course we meant to build them hollow. But even +if hollow there must be some thickness, and the quantity of brick would +at best be enormous. Then, to get them up! The pea-shooter, of course, +was only an illustration. It was long after that time that Rodman and +other guns sent iron balls five or six miles in distance,—say two +miles, more or less, in height.</p> + +<p>Iron is much heavier than hollow brick, but you can build no gun with a +bore of two hundred feet now,—far less could you then. No.</p> + +<p>Q. again suggested the method of shooting oft the moon. It was not to be +by any of your sudden explosions. It was to be done as all great things +are done,—by the gradual and silent accumulation of power. You all know +that a flywheel—heavy, very heavy on the circumference, light, very +light within it—was made to save up power, from the time when it was +produced to the time when it was wanted. Yes? Then, before we began even +to build the moon, before we even began to make the brick, we would +build two gigantic fly-wheels, the diameter of each should be “ever so +great,” the circumference heavy beyond all precedent, and thundering +strong, so that no temptation might burst it. They should revolve, their +edges nearly touching, in opposite directions, for years, if it were +necessary, to accumulate power, driven by some waterfall now wasted to +the world. One should be a little heavier than the other. When the Brick +Moon was finished, and all was ready, IT should be gently rolled down a +gigantic groove provided for it, till it lighted on the edge of both +wheels at the same instant. Of course it would not rest there, not the +ten-thousandth part of a second. It would be snapped upward, as a drop +of water from a grindstone. Upward and upward; but the heavier wheel +would have deflected it a little from the vertical. Upward and northward +it would rise, therefore, till it had passed the axis of the world. It +would, of course, feel the world’s attraction all the time, which would +bend its flight gently, but still it would leave the world more and more +behind. Upward still, but now southward, till it had traversed more than +one hundred and eighty degrees of a circle. Little resistance, indeed, +after it had cleared the forty or fifty miles of visible atmosphere. +“Now let it fall,” said Q., inspired with the vision. “Let it fall, and +the sooner the better! The curve it is now on will forever clear the +world; and over the meridian of that lonely waterfall,—if only we have +rightly adjusted the gigantic flies,—will forever revolve, in its +obedient orbit, the—</p> + +<p class="c"> +BRICK MOON,<br /> +</p> + +<p class="nind">the blessing of all seamen,—as constant in all change as its older +sister has been fickle, and the second cynosure of all lovers upon the +waves, and of all girls left behind them.” “Amen,” we cried, and then we +sat in silence till the clock struck ten; then shook each other gravely +by the hand, and left the South Middle dining-hall.</p> + +<p>Of waterfalls there were plenty that we knew.</p> + +<p>Fly-wheels could be built of oak and pine, and hooped with iron. +Fly-wheels did not discourage us.</p> + +<p>But brick? One brick is, say, sixty-four cubic inches only. This +moon,—though we made it hollow,—see,—it must take twelve million +brick.</p> + +<p>The brick alone will cost sixty thousand dollars!</p> + +<p>  </p> + +<p>The brick alone would cost sixty thousand dollars. There the scheme of +the Brick Moon hung, an airy vision, for seventeen years,—the years +that changed us from young men into men. The brick alone, sixty thousand +dollars! For, to boys who have still left a few of their college bills +unpaid, who cannot think of buying that lovely little Elzevir which +Smith has for sale at auction, of which Smith does not dream of the +value, sixty thousand dollars seems as intangible as sixty million +sestertia. Clarke, second, how much are sixty million sestertia stated +in cowries? How much in currency, gold being at 1.37¼? Right; go up. +Stop, I forget myself!</p> + +<p>So, to resume, the project of the Brick Moon hung in the ideal, an airy +vision, a vision as lovely and as distant as the Brick Moon itself, at +this calm moment of midnight when I write, as it poises itself over the +shoulder of Orion, in my southern horizon. Stop! I anticipate. Let me +keep—as we say in Beadle’s Dime Series—to the even current of my +story.</p> + +<p>Seventeen years passed by, we were no longer boys, though we felt so. +For myself, to this hour, I never enter board meeting, committee +meeting, or synod, without the queer question, what would happen should +any one discover that this bearded man was only a big boy disguised? +that the frockcoat and the round hat are none of mine, and that, if I +should be spurned from the assembly, as an interloper, a judicious +public, learning all the facts, would give a verdict, “Served him +right.” This consideration helps me through many bored meetings which +would be else so dismal. What did my old copy say?—</p> + +<div class="poetry"><div class="poem">“Boards are made of wood, they are long and narrow.”</div></div> + +<p class="nind">But we do not get on!</p> + +<p>Seventeen years after, I say, or should have said, dear Orcutt entered +my room at Naguadavick again. I had not seen him since the Commencement +day when we parted at Cambridge. He looked the same, and yet not the +same. His smile was the same, his voice, his tender look of sympathy +when I spoke to him of a great sorrow, his childlike love of fun. His +waistband was different, his pantaloons were different, his smooth chin +was buried in a full beard, and he weighed two hundred pounds if he +weighed a gramme. O, the good time we had, so like the times of old! +Those were happy days for me in Naguadavick. At that moment my double +was at work for me at a meeting of the publishing committee of the +Sandemanian Review, so I called Orcutt up to my own snuggery, and we +talked over old times; talked till tea was ready. Polly came up through +the orchard and made tea for us herself there. We talked on and on, till +nine, ten at night, and then it was that dear Orcutt asked me if I +remembered the Brick Moon. Remember it? of course I did. And without +leaving my chair I opened the drawer of my writing-desk, and handed him +a portfolio full of working-drawings on which I had engaged myself for +my “third”<a id="FNanchor_2_2"></a><a href="#Footnote_2_2" class="fnanchor">[2]</a> all that winter. Orcutt was delighted. He turned them over +hastily but intelligently, and said: “I am so glad. I could not think +you had forgotten. And I have seen Brannan, and Brannan has not +forgotten.” “Now do you know,” said he, “in all this railroading of +mine, I have not forgotten. When I built the great tunnel for the +Cattawissa and Opelousas, by which we got rid of the old inclined +planes, there was never a stone bigger than a peach-stone within two +hundred miles of us. I baked the brick of that tunnel on the line with +my own kilns. Ingham, I have made more brick, I believe, than any man +living in the world!”</p> + +<p>“You are the providential man,” said I.</p> + +<p>“Am I not, Fred? More than that,” said he; “I have succeeded in things +the world counts worth more than brick. I have made brick, and I have +made money!”</p> + +<p>“One of us make money?” asked I, amazed.</p> + +<p>“Even so,” said dear Orcutt; “one of us has, made money.” And he +proceeded to tell me how. It was not in building tunnels, nor in making +brick. No! It was by buying up the original stock of the Cattawissa and +Opelousas, at a moment when that stock had hardly a nominal price in the +market. There were the first mortgage bonds, and the second mortgage +bonds, and the third, and I know not how much floating debt; and worse +than all, the reputation of the road lost, and deservedly lost. Every +locomotive it had was asthmatic. Every car it had bore the marks of +unprecedented accidents, for which no one was to blame. Rival lines, I +know not how many, were cutting each other’s throats for its legitimate +business. At this juncture dear George invested all his earnings as a +contractor, in the despised original stock,—he actually bought it for +3¼ per cent,—good shares that had cost a round hundred to every wretch +who had subscribed. Six thousand eight hundred dollars—every cent he +had—did George thus invest. Then he went himself to the trustees of the +first mortgage, to the trustees of the second, and to the trustees of +the third, and told them what he had done.</p> + +<p>Now it is personal presence that moves the world. Dear Orcutt has found +that out since, if he did not know it before. The trustees who would +have sniffed had George written to them, turned round from their desks, +and begged him to take a chair, when he came to talk with them. Had he +put every penny he was worth into that stock? Then it was worth +something which they did not know of, for George Orcutt was no fool +about railroads. The man who bridged the Lower Rapidan when a freshet +was running was no fool.</p> + +<p>“What were his plans?”</p> + +<p>George did not tell—no, not to lordly trustees—what his plans were. He +had plans, but he kept them to himself. All he told them was that he had +plans. On those plans he had staked his all. Now, would they or would +they not agree to put him in charge of the running of that road, for +twelve months, on a nominal salary? The superintendent they had had was +a rascal. He had proved that by running away. They knew that George was +not a rascal. He knew that he could make this road pay expenses, pay +bond-holders, and pay a dividend,—a thing no one else had dreamed of +for twenty years. Could they do better than try him?</p> + +<p>Of course they could not, and they knew they could not. Of course they +sniffed and talked, and waited, and pretended they did not know, and +that they must consult, and so forth and so on. But of course they all +did try him, on his own terms. He was put in charge of the running of +that road.</p> + +<p>In one week he showed he should redeem it. In three months he did redeem +it!</p> + +<p>He advertised boldly the first day: “Infant children at treble price.”</p> + +<p>The novelty attracted instant remark. And it showed many things. First, +it showed he was a humane man, who wished to save human life. He would +leave these innocents in their cradles, where they belonged.</p> + +<p>Second, and chiefly, the world of travellers saw that the Crichton, the +Amadis, the perfect chevalier of the future, had arisen,—a railroad +manager caring for the comfort of his passengers!</p> + +<p>The first week the number of the C. and O.’s passengers was doubled: in +a week or two more freight began to come in, in driblets, on the line +which its owners had gone over. As soon as the shops could turn them +out, some cars were put on, with arms on which travellers could rest +their elbows, with head-rests where they could take naps if they were +weary. These excited so much curiosity that one was exhibited in the +museum at Cattawissa and another at Opelousas. It may not be generally +known that the received car of the American roads was devised to secure +a premium offered by the Pawtucket and Podunk Company. Their receipts +were growing so large that they feared they should forfeit their +charter. They advertised, therefore, for a car in which no man could +sleep at night or rest by day,—in which the backs should be straight, +the heads of passengers unsupported, the feet entangled in a vice, the +elbows always knocked by the passing conductor. The pattern was produced +which immediately came into use on all the American roads. But on the +Cattawissa and Opelousas this time-honored pattern was set aside.</p> + +<p>Of course you see the result. Men went hundreds of miles out of their +way to ride on the C. and O. The third mortgage was paid off; a reserve +fund was piled up for the second; the trustees of the first lived in +dread of being paid; and George’s stock, which he bought at 3¼, rose to +147 before two years had gone by! So was it that, as we sat together in +the snuggery, George was worth well-nigh three hundred thousand dollars. +Some of his eggs were in the basket where they were laid; some he had +taken out and placed in other baskets; some in nests where various hens +were brooding over them. Sound eggs they were, wherever placed; and such +was the victory of which George had come to tell.</p> + +<p>One of us had made money!</p> + +<p>On his way he had seen Brannan. Brannan, the pure-minded, right-minded, +shifty man of tact, man of brain, man of heart, and man of word, who +held New Altona in the hollow of his hand. Brannan had made no money. +Not he, nor ever will. But Brannan could do much what he pleased in this +world, without money. For whenever Brannan studied the rights and the +wrongs of any enterprise, all men knew that what Brannan decided about +it was well-nigh the eternal truth; and therefore all men of sense were +accustomed to place great confidence in his prophecies. But, more than +this, and better, Brannan was an unconscious dog, who believed in the +people. So, when he knew what was the right and what was the wrong, he +could stand up before two or three thousand people and tell them what +was right and what was wrong, and tell them with the same simplicity and +freshness with which he would talk to little Horace on his knee. Of the +thousands who heard him there would not be one in a hundred who knew +that this was eloquence. They were fain to say, as they sat in their +shops, talking, that Brannan was not eloquent. Nay, they went so far as +to regret that Brannan was not eloquent! If he were only as eloquent as +Carker was or as Barker was, how excellent he would be! But when, a +month after, it was necessary for them to do anything about the thing he +had been speaking of, they did what Brannan had told them to do; +forgetting, most likely, that he had ever told them, and fancying that +these were their own ideas, which, in fact, had, from his liquid, +ponderous, transparent, and invisible common sense, distilled +unconsciously into their being. I wonder whether Brannan ever knew that +he was eloquent. What I knew, and what dear George knew, was, that he +was one of the leaders of men!</p> + +<p>Courage, my friends, we are steadily advancing to the Brick Moon!</p> + +<p>For George had stopped, and seen Brannan; and Brannan had not forgotten. +Seventeen years Brannan had remembered, and not a ship had been lost on +a lee-shore because her longitude was wrong,—not a baby had wailed its +last as it was ground between wrecked spar and cruel rock,—not a +swollen corpse unknown had been flung up upon the sand and been buried +with a nameless epitaph,—but Brannan had recollected the Brick Moon, +and had, in the memory-chamber which rejected nothing, stored away the +story of the horror. And now George was ready to consecrate a round +hundred thousand to the building of the Moon; and Brannan was ready, in +the thousand ways in which wise men move the people to and fro, to +persuade them to give to us a hundred thousand more; and George had come +to ask me if I were not ready to undertake with them the final great +effort, of which our old calculations were the embryo. For this I was +now to contribute the mathematical certainty and the lore borrowed from +naval science, which should blossom and bear fruit when the Brick Moon +was snapped like a cherry from the ways on which it was built, was +launched into the air by power gathered from a thousand freshets, and, +poised at last in its own pre-calculated region of the ether, should +begin its course of eternal blessings in one unchanging meridian!</p> + +<p>Vision of Beneficence and Wonder! Of course I consented.</p> + +<p>Oh that you were not so eager for the end! Oh that I might tell you, +what now you will never know,—of the great campaign which we then and +there inaugurated! How the horrible loss of the Royal Martyr, whose +longitude was three degrees awry, startled the whole world, and gave us +a point to start from. How I explained to George that he must not +subscribe the one hundred thousand dollars in a moment. It must come in +bits, when “the cause” needed a stimulus, or the public needed +encouragement. How we caught neophyte editors, and explained to them +enough to make them think the Moon was well-nigh their own invention and +their own thunder. How, beginning in Boston, we sent round to all the +men of science, all those of philanthropy, and all those of commerce, +three thousand circulars, inviting them to a private meeting at George’s +parlors at the Revere. How, besides ourselves, and some nice, +respectable-looking old gentlemen Brannan had brought over from Podunk +with him, paying their fares both ways, there were present only three +men,—all adventurers whose projects had failed,—besides the +representatives of the press. How, of these representatives, some +understood the whole, and some understood nothing. How, the next day, +all gave us “first-rate notices.” How, a few days after, in the lower +Horticultural Hall, we had our first public meeting. How Haliburton +brought us fifty people who loved him,—his Bible class, most of +them,—to help fill up; how, besides these, there were not three persons +whom we had not asked personally, or one who could invent an excuse to +stay away. How we had hung the walls with intelligible and +unintelligible diagrams. How I opened the meeting. Of that meeting, +indeed, I must tell something.</p> + +<p>First, I spoke. I did not pretend to unfold the scheme. I did not +attempt any rhetoric. But I did not make any apologies. I told them +simply of the dangers of lee-shores. I told them when they were most +dangerous,—when seamen came upon them unawares. I explained to them +that, though the costly chronometer, frequently adjusted, made a +delusive guide to the voyager who often made a harbor, still the +adjustment was treacherous, the instrument beyond the use of the poor, +and that, once astray, its error increased forever. I said that we +believed we had a method which, if the means were supplied for the +experiment, would give the humblest fisherman the very certainty of +sunrise and of sunset in his calculations of his place upon the world. +And I said that whenever a man knew his place in this world, it was +always likely all would go well. Then I sat down.</p> + +<p>Then dear George spoke,—simply, but very briefly. He said he was a +stranger to the Boston people, and that those who knew him at all knew +he was not a talking man. He was a civil engineer, and his business was +to calculate and to build, and not to talk. But he had come here to say +that he had studied this new plan for the longitude from the Top to the +Bottom, and that he believed in it through and through. There was his +opinion, if that was worth anything to anybody. If that meeting resolved +to go forward with the enterprise, or if anybody proposed to, he should +offer his services in any capacity, and without any pay, for its +success. If he might only work as a bricklayer, he would work as a +bricklayer. For he believed, on his soul, that the success of this +enterprise promised more for mankind than any enterprise which was ever +likely to call for the devotion of his life. “And to the good of +mankind,” he said, very simply, “my life is devoted.” Then he sat down.</p> + +<p>Then Brannan got up. Up to this time, excepting that George had dropped +this hint about bricklaying, nobody had said a word about the Moon, far +less hinted what it was to be made of. So Ben had the whole to open. He +did it as if he had been talking to a bright boy of ten years old. He +made those people think that he respected them as his equals. But, in +fact, he chose every word, as if not one of them knew anything. He +explained, as if it were rather more simple to explain than to take for +granted. But he explained as if, were they talking, they might be +explaining to him. He led them from point to point,—oh! so much more +clearly than I have been leading you,—till, as their mouths dropped a +little open in their eager interest, and their lids forgot to wink in +their gaze upon his face, and so their eyebrows seemed a little lifted +in curiosity,—till, I say, each man felt as if he were himself the +inventor, who had bridged difficulty after difficulty; as if, indeed, +the whole were too simple to be called difficult or complicated. The +only wonder was that the Board of Longitude, or the Emperor Napoleon, or +the Smithsonian, or somebody, had not sent this little planet on its +voyage of blessing long before. Not a syllable that you would have +called rhetoric, not a word that you would have thought prepared; and +then Brannan sat down.</p> + +<p>That was Ben Brannan’s way. For my part, I like it better than +eloquence.</p> + +<p>Then I got up again. We would answer any questions, I said. We +represented people who were eager to go forward with this work. (Alas! +except Q., all of those represented were on the stage.) We could not go +forward without the general assistance of the community. It was not an +enterprise which the government could be asked to favor. It was not an +enterprise which would yield one penny of profit to any human being. We +had therefore, purely on the ground of its benefit to mankind, brought +it before an assembly of Boston men and women.</p> + +<p>Then there was a pause, and we could hear our watches tick, and our +hearts beat. Dear George asked me in a whisper if he should say anything +more, but I thought not. The pause became painful, and then Tom Coram, +prince of merchants, rose. Had any calculation been made of the probable +cost of the experiment of one moon?</p> + +<p>I said the calculations were on the table. The brick alone would cost +$60,000. Mr. Orcutt had computed that $214,729 would complete two +fly-wheels and one moon. This made no allowance for whitewashing the +moon, which was not strictly necessary. The fly-wheels and water-power +would be equally valuable for the succeeding moons, it any were +attempted, and therefore the second moon could be turned off, it was +hoped, for $159,732.</p> + +<p>Thomas Coram had been standing all the time I spoke, and in an instant +he said: “I am no mathematician. But I have had a ship ground to pieces +under me on the Laccadives because our chronometer was wrong. You need +$250,000 to build your first moon. I will be one of twenty men to +furnish the money; or I will pay $10,000 to-morrow for this purpose, to +any person who may be named as treasurer, to be repaid to me if the moon +is not finished this day twenty years.”</p> + +<p>That was as long a speech as Tom Coram ever made. But it was pointed. +The small audience tapped applause.</p> + +<p>Orcutt looked at me, and I nodded. “I will be another, of the twenty +men,” cried he. “And I another,” said an old bluff Englishman, whom +nobody had invited; who proved to be a Mr. Robert Boll, a Sheffield man, +who came in from curiosity. He stopped after the meeting; said he should +leave the country the next week, and I have never seen him since. But +his bill of exchange came all the same.</p> + +<p>That was all the public subscribing. Enough more than we had hoped for. +We tried to make Coram treasurer, but he refused. We had to make +Haliburton treasurer, though we should have liked a man better known +than he then was. Then we adjourned. Some nice ladies then came up, and +gave, one a dollar, and one five dollars, and one fifty, and so on,—and +some men who have stuck by ever since. I always, in my own mind, call +each of those women Damaris, and each of those men Dionysius. But those +are not their real names.</p> + +<p>How I am wasting time on an old story! Then some of these ladies came +the next day and proposed a fair; and out of that, six months after, +grew the great Longitude Fair, that you will all remember, if you went +to it, I am sure. And the papers the next day gave us first-rate +reports; and then, two by two, with our subscription-books, we went at +it. But I must not tell the details of that subscription. There were two +or three men who subscribed $5,000 each, because they were perfectly +certain the amount would never be raised. They wanted, for once, to get +the credit of liberality for nothing. There were many men and many women +who subscribed from one dollar up to one thousand, not because they +cared a straw for the longitude, nor because they believed in the least +in the project; but because they believed in Brannan, in Orcutt, in Q., +or in me. Love goes far in this world of ours. Some few men subscribed +because others had done it: it was the thing to do, and they must not be +out of fashion. And three or four, at least, subscribed because each +hour of their lives there came up the memory of the day when the news +came that the —— was lost, George, or Harry, or John, in the ——, and +they knew that George, or Harry, or John might have been at home, had it +been easier than it is to read the courses of the stars!</p> + +<p>Fair, subscriptions, and Orcutt’s reserve,—we counted up $162,000, or +nearly so. There would be a little more when all was paid in.</p> + +<p>But we could not use a cent, except Orcutt’s and our own little +subscriptions, till we had got the whole. And at this point it seemed as +if the whole world was sick of us, and that we had gathered every penny +that was in store for us. The orange was squeezed dry!</p> + +<h3>II<br /><br />HOW WE BUILT IT</h3> + +<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">The</span> orange was squeezed dry! And how little any of us knew,—skilful +George Orcutt, thoughtful Ben Brannan, loyal Haliburton, ingenious Q., +or poor painstaking I,—how little we knew, or any of us, where was +another orange, or how we could mix malic acid and tartaric acid, and +citric acid and auric acid and sugar and water so as to imitate +orange-juice, and fill up the bank-account enough to draw in the +conditioned subscriptions, and so begin to build the MOON. How often, as +I lay awake at night, have I added up the different subscriptions in +some new order, as if that would help the matter: and how steadily they +have come out one hundred and sixty-two thousand dollars, or even less, +when I must needs, in my sleepiness, forget somebody’s name! So +Haliburton put into railroad stocks all the money he collected, and the +rest of us ground on at our mills, or flew up on our own wings towards +Heaven. Thus Orcutt built more tunnels, Q. prepared for more +commencements, Haliburton calculated more policies, Ben Brannan created +more civilization, and I, as I could, healed the hurt of my people of +Naguadavick for the months there were left to me of my stay in that +thriving town.</p> + +<p>None of us had the wit to see how the problem was to be wrought out +further. No. The best things come to us when we have faithfully and well +made all the preparation and done our best; but they come in some way +that is none of ours. So was it now, that to build the BRICK MOON it was +necessary that I should be turned out of Naguadavick ignominiously, and +that Jeff. Davis and some seven or eight other bad men should create the +Great Rebellion. Hear how it happened.</p> + +<p>Dennis Shea, my Double,—otherwise, indeed, called by my name and +legally so,—undid me, as my friends supposed, one evening at a public +meeting called by poor Isaacs in Naguadavick. Of that transaction I have +no occasion here to tell the story. But of that transaction one +consequence is that the BRICK MOON now moves in ether. I stop writing, +to rest my eye upon it, through a little telescope of Alvan Clark’s +here, which is always trained near it. It is moving on as placidly as +ever.</p> + +<p>It came about thus. The morning after poor Dennis, whom I have long +since forgiven, made his extraordinary speeches, without any authority +from me, in the Town Hall at Naguadavick, I thought, and my wife agreed +with me, that we had better both leave town with the children. Auchmuty, +our dear friend, thought so too. We left in the seven o’clock +Accommodation for Skowhegan, and so came to Township No. 9 in the 3d +Range, and there for years we resided. That whole range of townships was +set off under a provision admirable in its character, that the first +settled minister in each town should receive one hundred acres of land +as the “minister’s grant,” and the first settled schoolmaster eighty. To +No. 9, therefore, I came. I constituted a little Sandemanian church. +Auchmuty and Delafield came up and installed me, and with these hands I +built the cabin in which, with Polly and the little ones, I have since +spent many happy nights and days. This is not the place for me to +publish a map, which I have by me, of No. 9, nor an account of its many +advantages for settlers. Should I ever print my papers called +“Stay-at-home Robinsons,” it will be easy with them to explain its +topography and geography. Suffice it now to say, that, with Alice and +Bertha and Polly, I took tramps up and down through the lumbermen’s +roads, and soon knew the general features of the lay of the land. Nor +was it long, of course, before we came out one day upon the curious +land-slides, which have more than once averted the flow of the Little +Carrotook River, where it has washed the rocks away so far as to let +down one section more of the overlying yielding yellow clay.</p> + +<p>Think how my eyes flashed, and my wife’s, as, struggling though a +wilderness of moosewood, we came out one afternoon on this front of +yellow clay! Yellow clay of course, when properly treated by fire, is +brick! Here we were surrounded by forests, only waiting to be burned; +yonder was clay, only waiting to be baked. Polly looked at me, and I +looked at her, and with one voice, we cried out, “The MOON!”</p> + +<p>For here was this shouting river at our feet, whose power had been +running to waste since the day when the Laurentian hills first heaved +themselves above the hot Atlantic; and that day, I am informed by Mr. +Agassiz, was the first day in the history of this solid world. Here was +water-power enough for forty fly-wheels, were it necessary to send +heavenward twenty moons. Here was solid timber enough for a hundred +dams, yet only one was necessary to give motion to the fly-wheels. Here +was retirement,—freedom from criticism, an escape from the journalists, +who would not embarrass us by telling of every cracked brick which had +to be rejected from the structure. We had lived in No. 9 now for six +weeks, and not an “own correspondent” of them all had yet told what Rev. +Mr. Ingham had for dinner.</p> + +<p>Of course I wrote to George Orcutt at once of our great discovery, and +he came up at once to examine the situation. On the whole, it pleased +him. He could not take the site I proposed for the dam, because this +very clay there made the channel treacherous, and there was danger that +the stream would work out a new career. But lower down we found a stony +gorge with which George was satisfied; he traced out a line for a +railway by which, of their own weight, the brick-cars could run to the +centrings; he showed us where, with some excavations, the fly-wheels +could be placed exactly above the great mill-wheels, that no power might +be wasted, and explained to us how, when the gigantic structure was +finished, the BRICK MOON would gently roll down its ways upon the rapid +wheels, to be launched instant into the sky!</p> + +<p>Shall I ever forget that happy October day of anticipation?</p> + +<p>We spent many of those October days in tentative surveys. Alice and +Bertha were our chain-men, intelligent and obedient. I drove for George +his stakes, or I cut away his brush, or I raised and lowered the shield +at which he sighted and at noon Polly appeared with her baskets, and we +would dine al fresco, on a pretty point which, not many months after, +was wholly covered by the eastern end of the dam. When the field-work +was finished we retired to the cabin for days, and calculated and drew, +and drew and calculated. Estimates for feeding Irishmen, estimates of +hay for mules,—George was sure he could work mules better than +oxen,—estimates for cement, estimates for the preliminary saw-mills, +estimates for rail for the little brick-road, for wheels, for spikes, +and for cutting ties; what did we not estimate for—on a basis almost +wholly new, you will observe. For here the brick would cost us less than +our old conceptions,—our water-power cost us almost nothing,—but our +stores and our wages would cost us much more.</p> + +<p>These estimates are now to me very curious,—a monument, indeed, to dear +George’s memory, that in the result they proved so accurate. I would +gladly print them here at length, with some illustrative cuts, but that +I know the impatience of the public, and its indifference to detail. If +we are ever able to print a proper memorial of George, that, perhaps, +will be the fitter place for them. Suffice it to say that with the +subtractions thus made from the original estimates,—even with the +additions forced upon us by working in a wilderness,—George was +satisfied that a money charge of $197,327 would build and start THE +MOON. As soon as we had determined the site, we marked off eighty acres, +which contained all the essential localities, up and down the little +Carrotook River,—I engaged George for the first schoolmaster in No. 9, +and he took these eighty acres for the schoolmaster’s reservation. Alice +and Bertha went to school to him the next day, taking lessons in civil +engineering; and I wrote to the Bingham trustees to notify them that I +had engaged a teacher, and that he had selected his land.</p> + +<p>Of course we remembered, still, that we were near forty thousand dollars +short of the new estimates, and also that much of our money would not be +paid us but on condition that two hundred and fifty thousand were +raised. But George said that his own subscription was wholly unhampered: +with that we would go to work on the preliminary work of the dam, and on +the flies. Then, if the flies would hold together,—and they should hold +if mortise and iron could hold them,—they might be at work summers and +winters, days and nights, storing up Power for us. This would encourage +the subscribers, it would encourage us; and all this preliminary work +would be out of the way when we were really ready to begin upon the +MOON.</p> + +<p>Brannan, Haliburton, and Q. readily agreed to this when they were +consulted. They were the other trustees under an instrument which we had +got St. Leger<a id="FNanchor_3_3"></a><a href="#Footnote_3_3" class="fnanchor">[3]</a> to draw up. George gave up, as soon as he might, his +other appointments; and taught me, meanwhile, where and how I was to rig +a little saw-mill, to cut some necessary lumber. I engaged a gang of men +to cut the timber for the dam, and to have it ready; and, with the next +spring, we were well at work on the dam and on the flies! These needed, +of course, the most solid foundation. The least irregularity of their +movement might send the MOON awry.</p> + +<p>Ah me! would I not gladly tell the history of every bar of iron which +was bent into the tires of those flies, and of every log which was +mortised into its place in the dam, nay, of every curling mass of foam +which played in the eddies beneath, when the dam was finished, and the +waste water ran so smoothly over? Alas! that one drop should be wasted +of water that might move a world, although a small one! I almost dare +say that I remember each and all these,—with such hope and happiness +did I lend myself, as I could, each day to the great enterprise; lending +to dear George, who was here and there and everywhere, and was this and +that and everybody,—lending to him, I say, such poor help as I could +lend, in whatever way. We waked, in the two cabins in those happy days, +just before the sun came up, when the birds were in their loudest clamor +of morning joy. Wrapped each in a blanket, George and I stepped out from +our doors, each trying to call the other, and often meeting on the grass +between. We ran to the river and plunged in,—oh, how cold it +was!—laughed and screamed like boys, rubbed ourselves aglow, and ran +home to build Polly’s fire beneath the open chimney which stood beside +my cabin. The bread had risen in the night. The water soon boiled above +the logs. The children came laughing out upon the grass, barefoot, and +fearless of the dew. Then Polly appeared with her gridiron and +bear-steak, or with her griddle and eggs, and, in fewer minutes than +this page has cost me, the breakfast was ready for Alice to carry, dish +by dish, to the white-clad table on the piazza. Not Raphael and Adam +more enjoyed their watermelons, fox-grapes, and late blueberries! And, +in the long croon of the breakfast, we revenged ourselves for the haste +with which it had been prepared.</p> + +<p>When we were well at table, a horn from the cabins below sounded the +reveille for the drowsier workmen. Soon above the larches rose the blue +of their smokes; and when we were at last nodding to the children, to +say that they might leave the table, and Polly was folding her napkin as +to say she wished we were gone, we would see tall Asaph Langdon, then +foreman of the carpenters, sauntering up the valley with a roll of +paper, or an adze, or a shingle with some calculations on it,—with +something on which he wanted Mr. Orcutt’s directions for the day.</p> + +<p>An hour of nothings set the carnal machinery of the day agoing. We fed +the horses, the cows, the pigs, and the hens. We collected the eggs and +cleaned the hen-houses and the barns. We brought in wood enough for the +day’s fire, and water enough for the day’s cooking and cleanliness. +These heads describe what I and the children did. Polly’s life during +that hour was more mysterious. That great first hour of the day is +devoted with women to the deepest arcana of the Eleusinian mysteries of +the divine science of housekeeping. She who can meet the requisitions of +that hour wisely and bravely conquers in the Day’s Battle. But what she +does in it, let no man try to say! It can be named, but not described, +in the comprehensive formula, “Just stepping round.”</p> + +<p>That hour well given to chores and to digestion, the children went to +Mr. Orcutt’s open-air school, and I to my rustic study,—a separate +cabin, with a rough square table in it, and some book-boxes equally +rude. No man entered it, excepting George and me. Here for two hours I +worked undisturbed,—how happy the world, had it neither postman nor +door-bell!—worked upon my Traces of Sandemanianism in the Sixth and +Seventh Centuries, and then was ready to render such service to The +Cause and to George as the day might demand. Thus I rode to Lincoln or +to Foxcroft to order supplies; I took my gun and lay in wait on +Chairback for a bear; I transferred to the hewn lumber the angles or +bevels from the careful drawings: as best I could, I filled an apostle’s +part, and became all things to all these men around me. Happy those +days!—and thus the dam was built; in such Arcadian simplicity was +reared the mighty wheel; thus grew on each side the towers which were to +support the flies; and thus, to our delight not unmixed with wonder, at +last we saw those mighty flies begin to turn. Not in one day, nor in +ten; but in a year or two of happy life,—full of the joy of joys,—the +“joy of eventful living.”</p> + +<p>Yet, for all this, $162,000 was not $197,000, far less was it $250,000; +and but for Jeff. Davis and his crew the BRICK MOON would not have been +born.</p> + +<p>But at last Jeff. Davis was ready. “My preparations being completed,” +wrote General Beauregard, “I opened fire on Fort Sumter.” Little did he +know it,—but in that explosion the BRICK MOON also was lifted into the +sky!</p> + +<p>Little did we know it, when, four weeks after, George came up from the +settlements, all excited with the news! The wheels had been turning now +for four days, faster of course and faster. George had gone down for +money to pay off the men, and he brought us up the news that the +Rebellion had begun.</p> + +<p>“The last of this happy life,” he said; “the last, alas, of our dear +MOON.” How little he knew and we!</p> + +<p>But he paid off the men, and they packed their traps and disappeared, +and, before two months were over, were in the lines before the enemy. +George packed up, bade us sadly good-by, and before a week had offered +his service to Governor Fenton in Albany. For us, it took rather longer; +but we were soon packed; Polly took the children to her sister’s, and I +went on to the Department to offer my service there. No sign of life +left in No. 9, but the two gigantic Fly-Wheels, moving faster and faster +by day and by night, and accumulating Power till it was needed. If only +they would hold together till the moment came!</p> + +<p>So we all ground through the first slow year of the war. George in his +place, I in mine, Brannan in his,—we lifted as we could. But how heavy +the weight seemed! It was in the second year, when the second large loan +was placed, that Haliburton wrote to me,—I got the letter, I think, at +Hilton Head,—that he had sold out every penny of our railroad stocks, +at the high prices which railroad stocks then bore, and had invested the +whole fifty-nine thousand in the new Governments. “I could not call a +board meeting,” said Haliburton, “for I am here only on leave of +absence, and the rest are all away. But the case is clear enough. If the +government goes up, the MOON will never go up; and, for one, I do not +look beyond the veil.” So he wrote to us all, and of course we all +approved.</p> + +<p>So it was that Jeff. Davis also served. Deep must that man go into the +Pit who does not serve, though unconscious. For thus it was that, in the +fourth year of the war, when gold was at 290, Haliburton was receiving +on his fifty-nine thousand dollars seventeen per cent interest in +currency; thus was it that, before the war was over, he had piled up, +compounding his interest, more than fifty per cent addition to his +capital; thus was it that, as soon as peace came, all his stocks were at +a handsome percentage; thus was it that, before I returned from South +America, he reported to all the subscribers that the full +quarter-million was secured: thus was it that, when I returned after +that long cruise of mine in the Florida, I found Polly and the children +again at No. 9, George there also, directing a working party of nearly +eighty bricklayers and hodmen, the lower centrings well-nigh filled to +their diameter, and the BRICK MOON, to the eye, seeming almost half +completed.</p> + +<p>Here it is that I regret most of all that I cannot print the +working-drawings with this paper. If you will cut open the seed-vessel +of Spergularia Rubra, or any other carpel that has a free central +placenta, and observe how the circular seeds cling around the circular +centre, you will have some idea of the arrangement of a transverse +horizontal section of the completed MOON. Lay three croquet-balls on the +piazza, and call one or two of the children to help you poise seven in +one plane above the three; then let another child place three more above +the seven, and you have the CORE of the MOON completely. If you want a +more poetical illustration, it was what Mr. Wordsworth calls a mass</p> + +<div class="poetry"><div class="poem">“Of conglobated bubbles undissolved.”</div></div> + +<p>Any section through any diameter looked like an immense rose-window, of +six circles grouped round a seventh. In truth, each of these sections +would reveal the existence of seven chambers in the moon,—each a sphere +itself,—whose arches gave solidity to the whole; while yet, of the +whole moon, the greater part was air. In all there were thirteen of +these moonlets, if I am so to call them; though no one section, of +course, would reveal so many. Sustained on each side by their groined +arches, the surface of the whole moon was built over them and under +them,—simply two domes connected at the bases. The chambers themselves +were made lighter by leaving large, round windows or open circles in the +parts of their vaults farthest from their points of contact, so that +each of them looked not unlike the outer sphere of a Japanese ivory nest +of concentric balls. You see the object was to make a moon, which, when +left to its own gravity, should be fitly supported or braced within. +Dear George was sure that, by this constant repetition of arches, we +should with the least weight unite the greatest strength. I believe it +still, and experience has proved that there is strength enough.</p> + +<p>When I went up to No. 9, on my return from South America, I found the +lower centring up, and half full of the working-bees,—who were really +Keltic laborers,—all busy in bringing up the lower half-dome of the +shell. This lower centring was of wood, in form exactly like a Roman +amphitheatre if the seats of it be circular; on this the lower or +inverted brick dome was laid. The whole fabric was on one of the +terraces which were heaved up in some old geological cataclysm, when +some lake gave way, and the Carrotook River was born. The level was +higher than that of the top of the fly-wheels, which, with an awful +velocity now, were circling in their wild career in the ravine below. +Three of the lowest moonlets, as I have called them,—separate +croquet-balls, if you take my other illustration,—had been completed; +their centrings had been taken to pieces and drawn out through the +holes, and were now set up again with other new centrings for the second +story of cells.</p> + +<p>I was received with wonder and delight. I had telegraphed my arrival, +but the despatches had never been forwarded from Skowhegan. Of course, +we all had a deal to tell; and, for me, there was no end to inquiries +which I had to make in turn. I was never tired of exploring the various +spheres, and the nameless spaces between them. I was never tired of +talking with the laborers. All of us, indeed, became skilful +bricklayers; and on a pleasant afternoon you might see Alice and Bertha, +and George and me, all laying brick together,—Polly sitting in the +shade of some wall which had been built high enough, and reading to us +from Jean Ingelow or Monte-Cristo or Jane Austen, while little Clara +brought to us our mortar. Happily and lightly went by that summer. +Haliburton and his wife made us a visit; Ben Brannan brought up his wife +and children; Mrs. Haliburton herself put in the keystone to the central +chamber, which had always been named G on the plans; and at her +suggestion, it was named Grace now, because her mother’s name was +Hannah. Before winter we had passed the diameter of I, J, and K, the +three uppermost cells of all; and the surrounding shell was closing in +upon them. On the whole, the funds had held out amazingly well. The +wages had been rather higher than we meant; but the men had no chances +at liquor or dissipation, and had worked faster than we expected; and, +with our new brick-machines, we made brick inconceivably fast, while +their quality was so good that dear George said there was never so +little waste. We celebrated Thanksgiving of that year together,—my +family and his family. We had paid off all the laborers; and there were +left, of that busy village, only Asaph Langdon and his family, Levi +Jordan and Levi Ross, Horace Leonard and Seth Whitman with theirs. +“Theirs,” I say, but Ross had no family. He was a nice young fellow who +was there as Haliburton’s representative, to take care of the accounts +and the pay-roll; Jordan was the head of the brick-kilns; Leonard, of +the carpenters; and Whitman, of the commissariat,—and a good commissary +Whitman was.</p> + +<p>We celebrated Thanksgiving together! Ah me! what a cheerful, pleasant +time we had; how happy the children were together! Polly and I and our +bairns were to go to Boston the next day. I was to spend the winter in +one final effort to get twenty-five thousand dollars more if I could, +with which we might paint the MOON, or put on some ground felspathic +granite dust, in a sort of paste, which in its hot flight through the +air might fuse into a white enamel. All of us who saw the MOON were so +delighted with its success that we felt sure “the friends” would not +pause about this trifle. The rest of them were to stay there to watch +the winter, and to be ready to begin work the moment the snow had gone. +Thanksgiving afternoon, how well I remember it,—that good fellow, +Whitman, came and asked Polly and me to visit his family in their new +quarters. They had moved for the winter into cells B and E, so lofty, +spacious, and warm, and so much drier than their log cabins. Mrs. +Whitman, I remember, was very cheerful and jolly; made my children eat +another piece of pie, and stuffed their pockets with raisins; and then +with great ceremony and fun we christened room B by the name of Bertha, +and E, Ellen, which was Mrs. Whitman’s name. And the next day we bade +them all good-by, little thinking what we said, and with endless +promises of what we would send and bring them in the spring.</p> + +<p>Here are the scraps of letters from Orcutt, dear fellow, which tell what +more there is left to tell:—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p class="rt">“December 10th.</p> + +<p>“ ... After you left we were a little blue, and hung round loose +for a day or two. Sunday we missed you especially, but Asaph made a +good substitute, and Mrs. Leonard led the singing. The next day we +moved the Leonards into L and M, which we christened Leonard and +Mary (Mary is for your wife). They are pretty dark, but very dry. +Leonard has swung hammocks, as Whitman did.</p> + +<p>“Asaph came to me Tuesday and said he thought they had better turn +to and put a shed over the unfinished circle, and so take occasion +of warm days for dry work there. This we have done, and the +occupation is good for us....”</p></div> + +<div class="blockquot"><p class="rt">“December 25th.</p> + +<p>I have had no chance to write for a fortnight. The truth is, that +the weather has been so open that I let Asaph go down to No. 7 and +to Wilder’s, and engage five-and-twenty of the best of the men, +who, we knew, were hanging round there. We have all been at work +most of the time since, with very good success. H is now wholly +covered in, and the centring is out. The men have named it +Haliburton. I is well advanced. J is as you left it. The work has +been good for us all, morally.”</p></div> + +<div class="blockquot"><p class="rt">“February 11th.</p> + +<p>“ ... We got your mail unexpectedly by some lumbermen on their way +to the 9th Range. One of them has cut himself, and takes this down.</p> + +<p>“You will be amazed to hear that I and K are both done. We have had +splendid weather, and have worked half the time. We had a great +jollification when K was closed in,—called it Kilpatrick, for +Seth’s old general. I wish you could just run up and see us. You +must be quick, if you want to put in any of the last licks.</p></div> + +<div class="blockquot"><p class="rt">“March 12th.</p> + +<p>“DEAR FRED,—I have but an instant. By all means make your +preparations to be here by the end of the month or early in next +month. The weather has been faultless, you know. Asaph got in a +dozen more men, and we have brought up the surface farther than you +could dream. The ways are well forward, and I cannot see why, if +the freshet hold off a little, we should not launch her by the 10th +or 12th. I do not think it worth while to wait for paint or enamel. +Telegraph Brannan that he must be here. You will be amused by our +quarters. We, who were the last outsiders, move into A and D +to-morrow, for a few weeks. It is much warmer there. “Ever yours,</p> + +<p class="r"> +G. O.”<br /> +</p></div> + +<p>I telegraphed Brannan, and in reply he came with his wife and his +children to Boston. I told him that he could not possibly get up there, +as the roads then were; but Ben said he would go to Skowhegan, and take +his chance there. He would, of course, communicate with me as soon as he +got there. Accordingly I got a note from him at Skowhegan, saying he had +hired a sleigh to go over to No. 9; and in four days more I got this +letter:—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p class="rt">March 27th.</p> + +<p>DEAR FRED,—I am most glad I came, and I beg you to bring your wife +as soon as possible. The river is very full, the wheels, to which +Leonard has added two auxiliaries, are moving as if they could not +hold out long, the ways are all but ready, and we think we must not +wait. Start with all hands as soon as you can. I had no difficulty +in coming over from Skowhegan. We did it in two days.</p> + +<p>This note I sent at once to Haliburton; and we got all the children +ready for a winter journey, as the spectacle of the launch of the +MOON was one to be remembered their life long. But it was clearly +impossible to attempt, at that season, to get the subscribers +together. Just as we started, this despatch from Skowhegan was +brought me,—the last word I got from them:—</p> + +<p>Stop for nothing. There is a jam below us in the stream, and we +fear back-water.</p> + +<p class="r"> +ORCUTT.<br /> +</p></div> + +<p>Of course we could not go faster than we could. We missed no connection. +At Skowhegan, Haliburton and I took a cutter, leaving the ladies and +children to follow at once in larger sleighs. We drove all night, +changed horses at Prospect, and kept on all the next day. At No. 7 we +had to wait over night. We started early in the morning, and came down +the Spoonwood Hill at four in the afternoon, in full sight of our little +village.</p> + +<p>It was quiet as the grave! Not a smoke, not a man, not an adze-blow, nor +the tick of a trowel. Only the gigantic fly-wheels were whirling as I +saw them last.</p> + +<p>There was the lower Coliseum-like centring, somewhat as I first saw it.</p> + +<p>But where was the Brick Dome of the MOON?</p> + +<p>“Good Heavens! has it fallen on them all?” cried I.</p> + +<p>Haliburton lashed the beast till he fairly ran down that steep hill. We +turned a little point, and came out in front of the centring. There was +no MOON there! An empty amphitheatre, with not a brick nor a splinter +within!</p> + +<p>We were speechless. We left the cutter. We ran up the stairways to the +terrace. We ran by the familiar paths into the centring. We came out +upon the ways, which we had never seen before. These told the story too +well! The ground and crushed surface of the timbers, scorched by the +rapidity with which the MOON had slid down, told that they had done the +duty for which they were built.</p> + +<p>It was too clear that in some wild rush of the waters the ground had +yielded a trifle. We could not find that the foundations had sunk more +than six inches, but that was enough. In that fatal six inches’ decline +of the centring, the MOON had been launched upon the ways just as George +had intended that it should be when he was ready. But it had slid, not +rolled, down upon these angry fly-wheels, and in an instant, with all +our friends, it had been hurled into the sky!</p> + +<p>“They have gone up!” said Haliburton; “She has gone up!” said I;—both +in one breath. And with a common instinct, we looked up into the blue.</p> + +<p>But of course she was not there.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class="smcap">Not</span> a shred of letter or any other tidings could we find in any of the +shanties. It was indeed six weeks since George and Fanny and their +children had moved into Annie and Diamond,—two unoccupied cells of the +MOON,—so much more comfortable had the cells proved than the cabins, +for winter life. Returning to No. 7, we found there many of the +laborers, who were astonished at what we told them. They had been paid +off on the 30th, and told to come up again on the 15th of April, to see +the launch. One of them, a man named Rob Shea, told me that George kept +his cousin Peter to help him move back into his house the beginning of +the next week.</p> + +<p>And that was the last I knew of any of them for more than a year. At +first I expected, each hour, to hear that they had fallen somewhere. But +time passed by, and of such a fall, where man knows the world’s surface, +there was no tale. I answered, as best I could, the letters of their +friends; by saying I did not know where they were, and had not heard +from them. My real thought was, that if this fatal MOON did indeed pass +our atmosphere, all in it must have been burned to death in the transit. +But this I whispered to no one save to Polly and Annie and Haliburton. +In this terrible doubt I remained, till I noticed one day in the +“Astronomical Record” the memorandum, which you perhaps remember, of the +observation, by Dr. Zitta, of a new asteroid, with an enormous movement +in declination.</p> + +<h3>III<br /><br />FULFILMENT</h3> + +<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">Looking</span> back upon it now, it seems inconceivable that we said as little +to each other as we did, of this horrible catastrophe. That night we did +not pretend to sleep. We sat in one of the deserted cabins, now talking +fast, now sitting and brooding, without speaking, perhaps, for hours. +Riding back the next day to meet the women and children, we still +brooded, or we discussed this “if,” that “if,” and yet others. But after +we had once opened it all to them,—and when we had once answered the +children’s horribly naive questions as best we could,—we very seldom +spoke to each other of it again. It was too hateful, all of it, to talk +about. I went round to Tom Coram’s office one day, and told him all I +knew. He saw it was dreadful to me, and, with his eyes full, just +squeezed my hand, and never said one word more. We lay awake nights, +pondering and wondering, but hardly ever did I to Haliburton or he to me +explain our respective notions as they came and went. I believe my +general impression was that of which I have spoken, that they were all +burned to death on the instant, as the little aerolite fused in its +passage through our atmosphere. I believe Haliburton’s thought more +often was that they were conscious of what had happened, and gasped out +their lives in one or two breathless minutes,—so horribly long!—as +they shot outside of our atmosphere. But it was all too terrible for +words. And that which we could not but think upon, in those dreadful +waking nights, we scarcely whispered even to our wives.</p> + +<p>Of course I looked and he looked for the miserable thing. But we looked +in vain. I returned to the few subscribers the money which I had scraped +together towards whitewashing the moon,—“shrouding its guilty face with +innocent white” indeed! But we agreed to spend the wretched trifle of +the other money, left in the treasury after paying the last bills, for +the largest Alvan Clark telescope that we could buy; and we were +fortunate in obtaining cheap a second-hand one which came to the hammer +when the property of the Shubael Academy was sold by the mortgagees. But +we had, of course, scarce a hint whatever as to where the miserable +object was to be found. All we could do was to carry the glass to No. 9, +to train it there on the meridian of No. 9, and take turns every night +in watching the field, in the hope that this child of sorrow might drift +across it in its path of ruin. But, though everything else seemed to +drift by, from east to west, nothing came from south to north, as we +expected. For a whole month of spring, another of autumn, another of +summer, and another of winter, did Haliburton and his wife and Polly and +I glue our eyes to that eye-glass, from the twilight of evening to the +twilight of morning, and the dead hulk never hove in sight. Wherever +else it was, it seemed not to be on that meridian, which was where it +ought to be and was made to be! Had ever any dead mass of matter wrought +such ruin to its makers, and, of its own stupid inertia, so falsified +all the prophecies of its birth! Oh, the total depravity of things!</p> + +<p>It was more than a year after the fatal night,—if it all happened in +the night, as I suppose,—that, as I dreamily read through the +“Astronomical Record” in the new reading-room of the College Library at +Cambridge, I lighted on this scrap:—</p> + +<p>“Professor Karl Zitta of Breslau writes to the <i>Astronomische +Nachrichten</i> to claim the discovery of a new asteroid observed by him +on the night of March 31st.</p> + +<table style="font-size:85%;"> +<tr class="c"><td colspan="2">  </td><td colspan="1">App. A. R. +</td><td colspan="1">App. Decl.</td><td> </td></tr> + +<tr><td>Bresl. M. T. </td> +<td class="c"> h. m. s.</td> +<td class="c"> h. m. s. </td> +<td class="c"> °    ′    ″ </td> +<td> Size.</td></tr> + +<tr><td>March 31 </td> +<td class="rt"> 12 53 51.9 </td> +<td> 15 39 52.32 </td> +<td> -23 50 26.1 </td> +<td> 12.9</td></tr> +<tr><td>April 1 </td> +<td> 1   3   2.1 </td> +<td> 15 39 52.32 </td> +<td> -23   9  1.9 </td> +<td> 12.9</td></tr> +</table> + +<p class="nind">He proposes for the asteroid the name of Phoebe. Dr. Zitta states that +in the short period which he had for observing Phoebe, for an hour after +midnight, her motion in R. A. seemed slight and her motion in +declination very rapid.”</p> + +<p>After this, however, for months, nay even to this moment, nothing more +was heard of Dr. Zitta of Breslau.</p> + +<p>But, one morning, before I was up, Haliburton came banging at my door on +D Street. The mood had taken him, as he returned from some private +theatricals at Cambridge, to take the comfort of the new reading-room at +night, and thus express in practice his gratitude to the overseers of +the college for keeping it open through all the twenty-four hours. Poor +Haliburton, he did not sleep well in those times! Well, as he read away +on the <i>Astronomische Nachrichten</i> itself, what should he find but this in +German, which he copied for me, and then, all on foot in the rain and +darkness, tramped over with, to South Boston:—</p> + +<p>“The most enlightened head professor Dr. Gmelin writes to the director +of the Porpol Astronomik at St. Petersburg, to claim the discovery of an +asteroid in a very high southern latitude, of a wider inclination of the +orbit, as will be noticed, than any asteroid yet observed.</p> + +<p>“Planet’s apparent α 21<sup>h.</sup> 20<sup>m.</sup> 51<sup>s.</sup>40. Planet’s apparent δ—39° 31′ +11″.9. Comparison star α.</p> + +<p>“Dr. Gmelin publishes no separate second observation, but is confident +that the declination is diminishing. Dr. Gmelin suggests for the name of +this extra-zodiacal planet ‘Io,’ as appropriate to its wanderings from +the accustomed ways of planetary life, and trusts that the very +distinguished Herr Peters, the godfather of so many planets, will +relinquish this name, already claimed for the asteroid (85) observed by +him, September 15, 1865.”</p> + +<p>I had run down stairs almost as I was, slippers and dressing-gown being +the only claims I had on society. But to me, as to Haliburton, this +stuff about “extra-zodiacal wandering” blazed out upon the page, and +though there was no evidence that the “most enlightened” Gmelin found +anything the next night, yet, if his “diminishing” meant anything, there +was, with Zitta’s observation,—whoever Zitta might be,—something to +start upon. We rushed upon some old bound volumes of the Record and +spotted the “enlightened Gmelin.” He was chief of a college at Taganrog, +where perhaps they had a spyglass. This gave us the parallax of his +observation. Breslau, of course, we knew, and so we could place Zitta’s, +and with these poor data I went to work to construct, if I could, an +orbit for this Io-Phoebe mass of brick and mortar. Haliburton, not +strong in spherical trigonometry, looked out logarithms for me till +breakfast, and, as soon as it would do, went over to Mrs. Bowdoin, to +borrow her telescope, ours being left at No. 9.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Bowdoin was kind, as she always was, and at noon Haliburton +appeared in triumph with the boxes on P. Nolan’s job-wagon. We always +employ P., in memory of dear old Phil. We got the telescope rigged, and +waited for night, only, alas! to be disappointed again. Io had wandered +somewhere else, and, with all our sweeping back and forth on the +tentative curve I had laid out, Io would not appear. We spent that night +in vain.</p> + +<p>But we were not going to give it up so. Phoebe might have gone round the +world twice before she became Io; might have gone three times, four, +five, six,—nay, six hundred,—who knew? Nay, who knew how far off +Phoebe-Io was or Io-Phoebe? We sent over for Annie, and she and Polly +and George and I went to work again. We calculated in the next week +sixty-seven orbits on the supposition of so many different distances +from our surface. I laid out on a paper, which we stuck up on the wall +opposite, the formula, and then one woman and one man attacked each set +of elements, each having the Logarithmic Tables, and so in a week’s +working-time the sixty-seven orbits were completed. Seventy-seven +possible places for Io-Phoebe to be in on the forthcoming Friday +evening. Of these sixty-seven, forty-one were observable above our +horizon that night.</p> + +<p>She was not in one of the forty-one, nor near it.</p> + +<p>But Despair, if Giotto be correct, is the chief of sins. So has he +depicted her in the fresco of the Arena in Padua. No sin, that, of ours! +After searching all that Friday night, we slept all Saturday (sleeping +after sweeping). We all came to the Chapel, Sunday, kept awake there, +and taught our Sunday classes special lessons on Perseverance. On Monday +we began again, and that week we calculated sixty-seven more orbits. I +am sure I do not know why we stopped at sixty-seven. All of these were +on the supposition that the revolution of the Brick Moon, or Io-Phoebe, +was so fast that it would require either fifteen days to complete its +orbit, or sixteen days, or seventeen days, and so on up to eighty-one +days. And, with these orbits, on the next Friday we waited for the +darkness. As we sat at tea, I asked if I should begin observing at the +smallest or at the largest orbit. And there was a great clamor of +diverse opinions. But little Bertha said, “Begin in the middle.”</p> + +<p>“And what is the middle?” said George, chaffing the little girl.</p> + +<p>But she was not to be dismayed. She had been in and out all the week, +and knew that the first orbit was of fifteen days and the last of +eighty-one; and, with true Lincoln School precision, she said, “The mean +of the smallest orbit and the largest orbit is forty-eight days.”</p> + +<p>“Amen!” said I, as we all laughed. “On forty-eight days we will begin.”</p> + +<p>Alice ran to the sheets, turned up that number, and read, “R. A. 27° +11’. South declination 34° 49’.”</p> + +<p>“Convenient place,” said George; “good omen, Bertha, my darling! If we +find her there, Alice and Bertha and Clara shall all have new dolls.”</p> + +<p>It was the first word of pleasantry that had been spoken about the +horrid thing since Spoonwood Hill!</p> + +<p>Night came at last. We trained the glass on the fated spot. I bade Polly +take the eye-glass. She did so, shook her head uneasily, screwed the +tube northward herself a moment, and then screamed, “It is there! it is +there,—a clear disk,—gibbous shape,—and very sharp on the upper edge. +Look! look! as big again as Jupiter!”</p> + +<p>Polly was right! The Brick Moon was found!</p> + +<p>Now we had found it, we never lost it. Zitta and Gmelin, I suppose, had +had foggy nights and stormy weather often. But we had some one at the +eye-glass all that night, and before morning had very respectable +elements, good measurements of angular distance when we got one, from +another star in the field of our lowest power. For we could see her even +with a good French opera-glass I had, and with a night-glass which I +used to carry on the South Atlantic Station. It certainly was an +extraordinary illustration of Orcutt’s engineering ability, that, flying +off as she did, without leave or license, she should have gained so +nearly the orbit of our original plan,—nine thousand miles from the +earth’s centre, five thousand from the surface. He had always stuck to +the hope of this, and on his very last tests of the Flies he had said +they, were almost up to it. But for this accuracy of his, I can hardly +suppose we should have found her to this hour, since she had failed, by +what cause I then did not know, to take her intended place on the +meridian of No. 9. At five thousand miles the MOON appeared as large as +the largest satellite of Jupiter appears. And Polly was right in that +first observation, when she said she got a good disk with that admirable +glass of Mrs. Bowdoin.</p> + +<p>The orbit was not on the meridian of No. 9, nor did it remain on any +meridian. But it was very nearly South and North,—an enormous motion in +declination with a very slight RETROGRADE motion in Right Ascension. At +five thousand miles the MOON showed as large as a circle two miles and a +third in diameter would have shown on old Thornbush, as we always called +her older sister. We longed for an eclipse of Thornbush by B. M., but no +such lucky chance is on the cards in any place accessible to us for many +years. Of course, with a MOON so near us the terrestrial parallax is +enormous.</p> + +<p>Now, you know, dear reader, that the gigantic reflector of Lord Rosse, +and the exquisite fifteen-inch refractors of the modern observatories, +eliminate from the chaotic rubbish-heap of the surface of old Thornbush +much smaller objects than such a circle as I have named. If you have +read Mr. Locke’s amusing Moon Hoax as often as I have, you have those +details fresh in your memory. As John Farrar taught us when all this +began,—and as I have said already,—if there were a State House in +Thornbush two hundred feet long, the first Herschel would have seen it. +His magnifying power was 6450; that would have brought this deaf and +dumb State House within some forty miles. Go up on Mt. Washington and +see white sails eighty miles away, beyond Portland, with your naked eye, +and you will find how well he would have seen that State House with his +reflector. Lord Rosse’s statement is, that with his reflector he can see +objects on old Thornbush two hundred and fifty-two feet long. If he can +do that he can see on our B. M. objects which are five feet long; and, +of course, we were beside ourselves to get control of some instrument +which had some approach to such power. Haliburton was for at once +building a reflector at No. 9; and perhaps he will do it yet, for +Haliburton has been successful in his paper-making and lumbering. But I +went to work more promptly.</p> + +<p>I remembered, not an apothecary, but an observatory, which had been +dormant, as we say of volcanoes, now for ten or a dozen years,—no +matter why! The trustees had quarrelled with the director, or the funds +had given out, or the director had been shot at the head of his +division,—one of those accidents had happened which will happen even in +observatories which have fifteen-inch equatorials; and so the equatorial +here had been left as useless as a cannon whose metal has been strained +or its reputation stained in an experiment. The observatory at Tamworth, +dedicated with such enthusiasm,—“another light-house in the skies,” had +been, so long as I have said, worthless to the world. To Tamworth, +therefore, I travelled. In the neighborhood of the observatory I took +lodgings. To the church where worshipped the family which lived in the +observatory buildings I repaired; after two Sundays I established +acquaintance with John Donald, the head of this family. On the evening +of the third, I made acquaintance with his wife in a visit to them. +Before three Sundays more he had recommended me to the surviving +trustees as his successor as janitor to the buildings. He himself had +accepted promotion, and gone, with his household, to keep a store for +Haliburton in North Ovid. I sent for Polly and the children, to +establish them in the janitor’s rooms; and, after writing to her, with +trembling eye I waited for the Brick Moon to pass over the field of the +fifteen-inch equatorial.</p> + +<p>Night came. I was “sole alone”! B. M. came, more than filled the field +of vision, of course! but for that I was ready. Heavens! how changed. +Red no longer, but green as a meadow in the spring. Still I could +see—black on the green—the large twenty-foot circles which I +remembered so well, which broke the concave of the dome; and, on the +upper edge—were these palm-trees? They were. No, they were hemlocks, by +their shape, and among them were moving to and fro — — — — — flies? Of +course, I cannot see flies! But something is moving,—coming, going. +One, two, three, ten; there are more than thirty in all! They are men +and women and their children!</p> + +<p>Could it be possible? It was possible! Orcutt and Brannan and the rest +of them had survived that giddy flight through the ether, and were going +and coming on the surface of their own little world, bound to it by its +own attraction and living by its own laws!</p> + +<p>As I watched, I saw one of them leap from that surface. He passed wholly +out of my field of vision, but in a minute, more or less, returned. Why +not! Of course the attraction of his world must be very small, while he +retained the same power of muscle he had when he was here. They must be +horribly crowded, I thought. No. They had three acres of surface, and +there were but thirty-seven of them. Not so much crowded as people are +in Roxbury, not nearly so much as in Boston; and, besides, these people +are living underground, and have the whole of their surface for their +exercise.</p> + +<p>I watched their every movement as they approached the edge and as they +left it. Often they passed beyond it, so that I could see them no more. +Often they sheltered themselves from that tropical sun beneath the +trees. Think of living on a world where from the vertical heat of the +hottest noon of the equator to the twilight of the poles is a walk of +only fifty paces! What atmosphere they had, to temper and diffuse those +rays, I could not then conjecture.</p> + +<p>I knew that at half-past ten they would pass into the inevitable eclipse +which struck them every night at this period of their orbit, and must, I +thought, be a luxury to them, as recalling old memories of night when +they were on this world. As they approached the line of shadow, some +fifteen minutes before it was due, I counted on the edge thirty-seven +specks arranged evidently in order; and, at one moment, as by one +signal, all thirty-seven jumped into the air,—high jumps. Again they +did it, and again. Then a low jump; then a high one. I caught the idea +in a moment. They were telegraphing to our world, in the hope of an +observer. Long leaps and short leaps,—the long and short of Morse’s +Telegraph Alphabet,—were communicating ideas. My paper and pencil had +been of course before me. I jotted down the despatch, whose language I +knew perfectly:—</p> + +<p>“Show ‘I understand’ on the Saw-Mill Flat.”</p> +<p>“Show ‘I understand’ on the +Saw-Mill Flat.”</p> +<p>“Show ‘I understand’ on the Saw-Mill Flat.”</p> + +<p>By “I understand” they meant the responsive signal given, in all +telegraphy, by an operator who has received and understood a message.</p> + +<p>As soon as this exercise had been three times repeated, they proceeded +in a solid body—much the most apparent object I had had until now—to +Circle No. 3, and then evidently descended into the MOON.</p> + +<p>The eclipse soon began, but I knew the MOON’S path now, and followed the +dusky, coppery spot without difficulty. At 1.33 it emerged, and in a +very few moments I saw the solid column pass from Circle No. 3 again, +deploy on the edge again, and repeat three times the signal:—</p> + +<p>“Show ‘I understand’ on the Saw-Mill Flat.”</p> + +<p>“Show ‘I understand’ on the +Saw-Mill Flat.”</p><p> “Show ‘I understand’ on the Saw-Mill Flat.”</p> + +<p>It was clear that Orcutt had known that the edge of his little world +would be most easy of observation, and that he had guessed that the +moments of obscuration and of emersion were the moments when observers +would be most careful. After this signal they broke up again, and I +could not follow them. With daylight I sent off a despatch to +Haliburton, and, grateful and happy in comparison, sank into the first +sleep not haunted by horrid dreams, which I had known for years.</p> + +<p>  </p> +<p>Haliburton knew that George Orcutt had taken with him a good Dolland’s +refractor, which he had bought in London, of a two-inch glass. He knew +that this would give Orcutt a very considerable power, if he could only +adjust it accurately enough to find No. 9 in the 3d Range. Orcutt had +chosen well in selecting the “Saw-Mill Flat,” a large meadow, easily +distinguished by the peculiar shape of the mill-pond which we had made. +Eager though Haliburton was to join me, he loyally took moneys, caught +the first train to Skowhegan, and, travelling thence, in thirty-six +hours more was again descending Spoonwood Hill, for the first time since +our futile observations. The snow lay white upon the Flat. With Rob. +Shea’s help, he rapidly unrolled a piece of black cambric twenty yards +long, and pinned it to the crust upon the snow; another by its side, and +another. Much cambric had he left. They had carried down with them +enough for the funerals of two Presidents. Haliburton showed the symbols +for “I understand,” but he could not resist also displaying..—.—, +which are the dots and lines to represent O. K., which, he says, is the +shortest message of comfort. And not having exhausted the space on the +Flat, he and Robert, before night closed in, made a gigantic O. K., +fifteen yards from top to bottom, and in marks that were fifteen feet +through. I had telegraphed my great news to Haliburton on Monday night. +Tuesday night he was at Skowhegan. Thursday night he was at No. 9. +Friday he and Rob. stretched their cambric. Meanwhile, every day I +slept. Every night I was glued to the eye-piece. Fifteen minutes before +the eclipse every night this weird dance of leaps two hundred feet high, +followed by hops of twenty feet high, mingled always in the steady order +I have described, spelt out the ghastly message: “Show ‘I understand’ on +the Saw-Mill Flat.”</p> + +<p>And every morning, as the eclipse ended, I saw the column creep along to +the horizon, and again, as the duty of opening day, spell out the +same:—</p> + +<p>“Show ‘I understand’ on the Saw-Mill Flat.”</p> + +<p>They had done this twice in every twenty-four hours for nearly two +years. For three nights steadily I read these signals twice each night; +only these, and nothing more.</p> + +<p>But Friday night all was changed. After “Attention,” that dreadful +“Show” did not come, but this cheerful signal:—</p> + +<p>“Hurrah. All well. Air, food, and friends! what more can man require? +Hurrah.”</p> + +<p>How like George! How like Ben Brannan! How like George’s wife! How like +them all! And they were all well! Yet poor _I_ could not answer. Nay, I +could only guess what Haliburton had done. But I have never, I believe, +been so grateful since I was born.</p> + +<p>After a pause, the united line of leapers resumed their jumps and hops. +Long and short spelled out:—</p> + +<p>“Your O. K. is twice as large as it need be.”</p> + +<p>Of the meaning of this, lonely _I_ had, of course, no idea.</p> + +<p>“I have a power of seven hundred,” continued George. How did he get +that? He has never told us. But this I can see, that all our analogies +deceive us,—of views of the sea from Mt. Washington, or of the Boston +State House from Wachusett. For in these views we look through forty or +eighty miles of dense terrestrial atmosphere. But Orcutt was looking +nearly vertically through an atmosphere which was, most of it, rare +indeed, and pure indeed, compared with its lowest stratum.</p> + +<p>In the record-book of my observations these despatches are entered as 12 +and 13. Of course it was impossible for me to reply. All I could do was +to telegraph these in the morning to Skowhegan, sending them to the care +of the Moores, that they might forward them. But the next night showed +that this had not been necessary.</p> + +<p>Friday night George and the others went on for a quarter of an hour. +Then they would rest, saying, “two,” “three,” or whatever their next +signal time would be. Before morning I had these despatches:—</p> + +<p>14. “Write to all hands that we are doing well. Langdon’s baby is named +Io, and Leonard’s is named Phoebe.”</p> + +<p>How queer that was! What a coincidence! And they had some humor there.</p> + +<p>15 was: “Our atmosphere stuck to us. It weighs three tenths of an +inch—our weight.”</p> + +<p>16. “Our rain-fall is regular as the clock. We have made a cistern of +Kilpatrick.”</p> + +<p>This meant the spherical chamber of that name.</p> + +<p>17. “Write to Darwin that he is all right. We began with lichens and +have come as far as palms and hemlocks.”</p> + +<p>These were the first night’s messages. I had scarcely covered the +eye-glasses and adjusted the equatorial for the day, when the bell +announced the carriage in which Polly and the children came from the +station to relieve me in my solitary service as janitor. I had the joy +of showing her the good news. This night’s work seemed to fill our cup. +For all the day before, when I was awake, I had been haunted by the fear +of famine for them. True, I knew that they had stored away in chambers +H, I, and J the pork and flour which we had sent up for the workmen +through the summer, and the corn and oats for the horses. But this could +not last forever.</p> + +<p>Now, however, that it proved that in a tropical climate they were +forming their own soil, developing their own palms, and eventually even +their bread-fruit and bananas, planting their own oats and maize, and +developing rice, wheat, and all other cereals, harvesting these six, +eight, or ten times—for aught I could see—in one of our years,—why, +then, there was no danger of famine for them. If, as I thought, they +carried up with them heavy drifts of ice and snow in the two chambers +which were not covered in when they started, why, they had waters in +their firmament quite sufficient for all purposes of thirst and of +ablution. And what I had seen of their exercise showed that they were in +strength sufficient for the proper development of their little world.</p> + +<p>Polly had the messages by heart before an hour was over, and the little +girls, of course, knew them sooner than she.</p> + +<p>  </p> + +<p>Haliburton, meanwhile, had brought out the Shubael refractor (Alvan +Clark), and by night of Friday was in readiness to see what he could +see. Shubael of course gave him no such luxury of detail as did my +fifteen-inch equatorial. But still he had no difficulty in making out +groves of hemlock, and the circular openings. And although he could not +make out my thirty-seven flies, still when 10.15 came he saw distinctly +the black square crossing from hole Mary to the edge, and beginning its +Dervish dances. They were on his edge more precisely than on mine. For +Orcutt knew nothing of Tamworth, and had thought his best chance was to +display for No. 9. So was it that, at the same moment with me, +Haliburton also was spelling out Orcutt & Co.’s joyous “Hurrah!”</p> + +<p>“Thtephen,” lisps Celia, “promith that you will look at yon moon [old +Thombush] at the inthtant I do.” So was it with me and Haliburton.</p> + +<p>He was of course informed long before the Moores’ messenger came, that, +in Orcutt’s judgment, twenty feet of length were sufficient for his +signals. Orcutt’s atmosphere, of course, must be exquisitely clear.</p> + +<p>So, on Saturday, Rob. and Haliburton pulled up all their cambric and +arranged it on the Flat again, in letters of twenty feet, in this +legend:—</p> + +<div class="poetry"><div class="poem"><small><b>RAH. AL WEL.</b></small></div></div> + +<p class="nind">Haliburton said he could not waste flat or cambric on spelling.</p> + +<p>He had had all night since half-past ten to consider what next was most +important for them to know; and a very difficult question it was, you +will observe. They had been gone nearly two years, and much had +happened. Which thing was, on the whole, the most interesting and +important? He had said we were all well. What then?</p> + +<p>Did you never find yourself in the same difficulty? When your husband +had come home from sea, and kissed you and the children, and wondered at +their size, did you never sit silent and have to think what you should +say? Were you never fairly relieved when little Phil said, blustering, +“I got three eggs to-day.” The truth is, that silence is very +satisfactory intercourse, if we only know all is well. When De Sauty got +his original cable going, he had not much to tell after all; only that +consols were a quarter per cent higher than they were the day before. +“Send me news,” lisped he—poor lonely myth!—from Bull’s Bay to +Valentia,—“send me news; they are mad for news.” But how if there be no +news worth sending? What do I read in my cable despatch to-day? Only +that the Harvard crew pulled at Putney yesterday, which I knew before I +opened the paper, and that there had been a riot in Spain, which I also +knew. Here is a letter just brought me by the mail from Moreau, Tazewell +County, Iowa. It is written by Follansbee, in a good cheerful hand. How +glad I am to hear from Follansbee! Yes; but do I care one straw whether +Follansbee planted spring wheat or winter wheat? Not I. All I care for +is Follansbee’s way of telling it. All these are the remarks by which +Haliburton explains the character of the messages he sent in reply to +George Orcutt’s autographs, which were so thoroughly satisfactory.</p> + +<p>Should he say Mr. Borie had left the Navy Department and Mr. Robeson +come in? Should he say the Lords had backed down on the Disendowment +Bill? Should he say the telegraph had been landed at Duxbury? Should he +say Ingham had removed to Tamworth? What did they care for this? What +does anybody ever care for facts? Should he say that the State Constable +was enforcing the liquor law on whiskey, but was winking at lager? All +this would take him a week, in the most severe condensation,—and for +what good? as Haliburton asked. Yet these were the things that the +newspapers told, and they told nothing else. There was a nice little +poem of Jean Ingelow’s in a Transcript Haliburton had with him. He said +he was really tempted to spell that out. It was better worth it than all +the rest of the newspaper stuff, and would be remembered a thousand +years after that was forgotten. “What they wanted,” says Haliburton, +“was sentiment. That is all that survives and is eternal.” So he and +Rob. laid out their cambric thus:—</p> + +<div class="poetry"><div class="poem"><small><b>RAW. AL WEL. SO GLAD.</b></small></div></div> + +<p>Haliburton hesitated whether he would not add, “Power 5000,” to indicate +the full power I was using at Tamworth. But he determined not to, and, I +think, wisely. The convenience was so great, of receiving the signal at +the spot where it could be answered, that for the present he thought it +best that they should go on as they did. That night, however, to his +dismay, clouds gathered and a grim snow-storm began. He got no +observations; and the next day it stormed so heavily that he could not +lay his signals out. For me at Tamworth, I had a heavy storm all day, +but at midnight it was clear; and as soon as the regular eclipse was +past, George began with what we saw was an account of the great anaclysm +which sent them there. You observe that Orcutt had far greater power of +communicating with us than we had with him. He knew this. And it was +fortunate he had. For he had, on his little world, much more of interest +to tell than we had on our large one.</p> + +<p>18. “It stormed hard. We were all asleep, and knew nothing till morning; +the hammocks turned so slowly.”</p> + +<p>Here was another revelation and relief. I had always supposed that if +they knew anything before they were roasted to death, they had had one +wild moment of horror. Instead of this, the gentle slide of the MOON had +not wakened them, the flight upward had been as easy as it was rapid, +the change from one centre of gravity to another had of course been +slow,—and they had actually slept through the whole. After the dancers +had rested once, Orcutt continued:—</p> + +<p>19. “We cleared E. A. in two seconds, I think. Our outer surface fused +and cracked somewhat. So much the better for us.”</p> + +<p>They moved so fast that the heat of their friction through the air could +not propagate itself through the whole brick surface. Indeed, there +could have been but little friction after the first five or ten miles. +By E. A. he means earth’s atmosphere.</p> + +<p>His 20th despatch is: “I have no observations of ascent. But by theory +our positive ascent ceased in two minutes five seconds, when we fell +into our proper orbit, which, as I calculate, is 5,109 miles from your +mean surface.”</p> + +<p>In all this, observe, George dropped no word of regret through these +five thousand miles.</p> + +<p>His 21st despatch is: “Our rotation on our axis is made once in seven +hours, our axis being exactly vertical to the plane of our own orbit. +But in each of your daily rotations we get sunned all round.”</p> + +<p>Of course, they never had lost their identity with us, so far as our +rotation and revolution went: our inertia was theirs; all the fatal, +Fly-Wheels had given them was an additional motion in space of their +own.</p> + +<p>This was the last despatch before daylight of Sunday morning; and the +terrible snow-storm of March, sweeping our hemisphere, cut off our +communication with them, both at Tamworth and No. 9, for several days.</p> + +<p>But here was ample food for reflection. Our friends were in a world of +their own, all thirty-seven of them well, and it seemed they had two +more little girls added to their number since they started. They had +plenty of vegetables to eat, with prospect of new tropical varieties +according to Dr. Darwin. Rob. Shea was sure that they carried up hens; +he said he knew Mrs. Whitman had several Middlesexes and Mrs. Leonard +two or three Black Spanish fowls, which had been given her by some +friends in Foxcroft. Even if they had not yet had time enough for these +to develop into Alderneys and venison, they would not be without animal +food.</p> + +<p>When at last it cleared off, Haliburton had to telegraph: “Repeat from +21”; and this took all his cambric, though he had doubled his stock. +Orcutt replied the next night:</p> + +<p>22. “I can see your storms. We have none. When we want to change climate +we can walk in less than a minute from midsummer to the depth of winter. +But in the inside we have eleven different temperatures, which do not +change.”</p> + +<p>On the whole there is a certain convenience in such an arrangement. With +No. 23 he went back to his story:—</p> + +<p>It took us many days, one or two of our months, to adjust ourselves to +our new condition. Our greatest grief is that we are not on the +meridian. Do you know why?”</p> + +<p>Loyal George! He was willing to exile himself and his race from the most +of mankind, if only the great purpose of his life could be fulfilled. +But his great regret was that it was not fulfilled. He was not on the +meridian. I did not know why. But Haliburton, with infinite labor, spelt +out on the Flat,</p> + +<div class="poetry"><div class="poem"><small><b>CYC. PROJECT. AD FIN.,</b></small></div></div> + +<p class="nind">by which he meant, “See article Projectiles in the Cyclopaedia at the +end”; and there indeed is the only explanation to be given. When you +fire a shot, why does it ever go to the right or left of the plane in +which it is projected? Dr. Hutton ascribes it to a whirling motion +acquired by the bullet by friction with the gun. Euler thinks it due +chiefly to the irregularity of the shape of the ball. In our case the B. +M. was regular enough. But on one side, being wholly unprepared for +flight, she was heavily stored with pork and corn, while her other +chambers had in some of them heavy drifts of snow, and some only a few +men and women and hens.</p> + +<p>Before Orcutt saw Haliburton’s advice, he had sent us 24 and 25.</p> + +<p>24. “We have established a Sandemanian church, and Brannan preaches. My +son Edward and Alice Whitman are to be married this evening.”</p> + +<p>This despatch unfortunately did not reach Haliburton, though I got it. +So, all the happy pair received for our wedding-present was the advice +to look in the Cyclopaedia at article Projectiles near the end.</p> + +<p>25 was:—</p> + +<p>“We shall act ‘As You Like It’ after the wedding. Dead-head tickets for +all of the old set who will come.”</p> + +<p>Actually, in one week’s reunion we had come to joking.</p> + +<p>The next night we got 26:</p> + +<p>“Alice says she will not read the Cyclopaedia in the honeymoon, but is +much obliged to Mr. Haliburton for his advice.”</p> + +<p>“How did she ever know it was I?” wrote the matter-of-fact Haliburton to +me.</p> + +<p>27. “Alice wants to know if Mr. Haliburton will not send here for some +rags; says we have plenty, with little need for clothes.”</p> + +<p>And then despatches began to be more serious again. Brannan and Orcutt +had failed in the great scheme for the longitude, to which they had +sacrificed their lives,—if, indeed, it were a sacrifice to retire with +those they love best to a world of their own. But none the less did they +devote themselves, with the rare power of observation they had, to the +benefit of our world. Thus, in 28:</p> + +<p>“Your North Pole is an open ocean. It was black, which we think means +water, from August 1st to September 29th. Your South Pole is on an +island bigger than New Holland. Your Antarctic Continent is a great +cluster of islands.”</p> + +<p>29. “Your Nyanzas are only two of a large group of African lakes. The +green of Africa, where there is no water, is wonderful at our distance.”</p> + +<p>30. “We have not the last numbers of ‘Foul Play.’ Tell us, in a word or +two, how they got home. We can see what we suppose their island was.”</p> + +<p>31. “We should like to know who proved Right in ‘He Knew He was Right.’<span class="lftspc">”</span></p> + +<p>This was a good night’s work, as they were then telegraphing. As soon as +it cleared, Haliburton displayed,—</p> + +<div class="poetry"><div class="poem"><small><b>BEST HOPES. CARRIER DUCKS.</b></small></div></div> + +<p>This was Haliburton’s masterpiece. He had no room for more, however, and +was obliged to reserve for the next day his answer to No. 31, which was +simply,</p> + +<div class="poetry"><div class="poem"><small><b>SHE.</b></small></div></div> + +<p>A real equinoctial now parted us for nearly a week, and at the end of +that time they were so low in our northern horizon that we could not +make out their signals; we and they were obliged to wait till they had +passed through two-thirds of their month before we could communicate +again. I used the time in speeding to No. 9. We got a few carpenters +together, and arranged on the Flat two long movable black platforms, +which ran in and out on railroad-wheels on tracks, from under green +platforms; so that we could display one or both as we chose, and then +withdraw them. With this apparatus we could give forty-five signals in a +minute, corresponding to the line and dot of the telegraph; and thus +could compass some twenty letters in that time, and make out perhaps two +hundred and fifty words in an hour. Haliburton thought that, with some +improvements, he could send one of Mr. Buchanan’s messages up in +thirty-seven working-nights.</p> + +<h3>IV<br /><br />INDEPENDENCE</h3> + +<p class="nind">I <span class="smcap">own</span> to a certain mortification in confessing that after this +interregnum, forced upon us by so long a period of non-intercourse, we +never resumed precisely the same constancy of communication as that +which I have tried to describe at the beginning. The apology for this +benumbment, if I may so call it, will suggest itself to the thoughtful +reader.</p> + +<p>It is indeed astonishing to think that we so readily accept a position +when we once understand it. You buy a new house. You are fool enough to +take out a staircase that you may put in a bathing-room. This will be +done in a fortnight, everybody tells you, and then everybody begins. +Plumbers, masons, carpenters, plasterers, skimmers, bell-hangers, +speaking-tube men, men who make furnace-pipe, paper-hangers, men who +scrape off the old paper, and other men who take off the old paint with +alkali, gas men, city-water men, and painters begin. To them are joined +a considerable number of furnace-men’s assistants, stovepipe-men’s +assistants, mason’s assistants, and hodmen who assist the assistants of +the masons, the furnace-men, and the pipe-men. For a day or two these +all take possession of the house and reduce it to chaos. In the language +of Scripture, they enter in and dwell there. Compare, for the details, +Matt. xii. 45. Then you revisit it at the end of the fortnight, and find +it in chaos, with the woman whom you employed to wash the attics the +only person on the scene. You ask her where the paper-hanger is; and she +says he can do nothing because the plaster is not dry. You ask why the +plaster is not dry, and are told it is because the furnace-man has not +come. You send for him, and he says he did come, but the stove-pipe man +was away. You send for him, and he says he lost a day in coming, but +that the mason had not cut the right hole in the chimney. You go and +find the mason, and he says they are all fools, and that there is +nothing in the house that need take two days to finish.</p> + +<p>Then you curse, not the day in which you were born, but the day in which +bath-rooms were invented. You say, truly, that your father and mother, +from whom you inherit every moral and physical faculty you prize, never +had a bath-room till they were past sixty, yet they thrived, and their +children. You sneak through back streets, fearful lest your friends +shall ask you when your house will be finished. You are sunk in +wretchedness, unable even to read your proofs accurately, far less able +to attend the primary meetings of the party with which you vote, or to +discharge any of the duties of a good citizen. Life is wholly embittered +to you.</p> + +<p>Yet, six weeks after, you sit before a soft-coal fire in your new house, +with the feeling that you have always lived there. You are not even +grateful that you are there. You have forgotten the plumber’s name; and +if you met in the street that nice carpenter that drove things through, +you would just nod to him, and would not think of kissing him or +embracing him.</p> + +<p>Thus completely have you accepted the situation.</p> + +<p>Let me confess that the same experience is that with which, at this +writing, I regard the BRICK MOON. It is there in ether. I cannot keep +it. I cannot get it down. I cannot well go to it,—though possibly that +might be done, as you will see. They are all very happy there,—much +happier, as far as I can see, than if they lived in sixth floors in +Paris, in lodgings in London, or even in tenement-houses in Phoenix +Place, Boston. There are disadvantages attached to their position; but +there are also advantages. And what most of all tends to our accepting +the situation is, that there is “nothing that we can do about it,” as Q. +says, but to keep up our correspondence with them, and to express our +sympathies.</p> + +<p>For them, their responsibilities are reduced in somewhat the same +proportion as the gravitation which binds them down,—I had almost said +to earth,—which binds them down to brick, I mean. This decrease of +responsibility must make them as light-hearted as the loss of +gravitation makes them light-bodied.</p> + +<p>On which point I ask for a moment’s attention. And as these sheets leave +my hand, an illustration turns up which well serves me. It is the 23d of +October. Yesterday morning all wakeful women in New England were sure +there was some one under the bed. This is a certain sign of an +earthquake. And when we read the evening newspapers, we were made sure +there had been an earthquake. What blessings the newspapers are,—and +how much information they give us! Well, they said it was not very +severe, here, but perhaps it was more severe elsewhere; hopes really +arising in the editorial mind that in some Caraccas or Lisbon all +churches and the cathedral might have fallen. I did not hope for that. +But I did have just the faintest feeling that IF—if if—it should prove +that the world had blown up into six or eight pieces, and they had gone +off into separate orbits, life would be vastly easier for all of us, on +whichever bit we happened to be.</p> + +<p>That thing has happened, they say, once. Whenever the big planet between +Mars and Jupiter blew up, and divided himself into one hundred and two +or more asteroids, the people on each one only knew there had been an +earthquake when and after they read their morning journals. And then, +all that they knew at first was that telegraphic communication had +ceased beyond—say two hundred miles. Gradually people and despatches +came in, who said that they had parted company with some of the other +islands and continents. But, as I say, on each piece the people not only +weighed much less, but were much lighter-hearted, had less +responsibility.</p> + +<p>Now will you imagine the enthusiasm here, at Miss Hale’s school, when it +should be announced that geography, in future, would be confined to the +study of the region east of the Mississippi and west of the +Atlantic,—the earth having parted at the seams so named. No more study +of Italian, German, French, or Sclavonic,—the people speaking those +languages being now in different orbits or other worlds. Imagine also +the superior ease of the office-work of the A. B. C. F. M. and kindred +societies, the duties of instruction and civilizing, of evangelizing in +general, being reduced within so much narrower bounds. For you and me +also, who cannot decide what Mr. Gladstone ought to do with the land +tenure in Ireland, and who distress ourselves so much about it in +conversation, what a satisfaction to know that Great Britain is flung +off with one rate of movement, Ireland with another, and the Isle of Man +with another, into space, with no more chance of meeting again than +there is that you shall have the same hand at whist to-night that you +had last night! Even Victoria would sleep easier, and I am sure Mr. +Gladstone would.</p> + +<p>Thus, I say, were Orcutt’s and Brannan’s responsibilities so diminished, +that after the first I began to see that their contracted position had +its decided compensating ameliorations.</p> + +<p>In these views, I need not say, the women of our little circle never +shared. After we got the new telegraph arrangement in good +running-order, I observed that Polly and Annie Haliburton had many +private conversations, and the secret came out one morning, when, rising +early in the cabins, we men found they had deserted us; and then, going +in search of them, found them running the signal boards in and out as +rapidly as they could, to tell Mrs. Brannan and the bride, Alice Orcutt, +that flounces were worn an inch and a half deeper, and that people +trimmed now with harmonizing colors and not with contrasts. I did not +say that I believed they wore fig-leaves in B. M., but that was my +private impression.</p> + +<p>After all, it was hard to laugh at the girls, as these ladies will be +called, should they live to be as old as Helen was when she charmed the +Trojan senate (that was ninety-three, if Heyne be right in his +calculations). It was hard to laugh at them because this was simple +benevolence, and the same benevolence led to a much more practical +suggestion when Polly came to me and told me she had been putting up +some baby things for little Io and Phoebe, and some playthings for the +older children, and she thought we might “send up a bundle.”</p> + +<p>Of course we could. There were the Flies still moving! or we might go +ourselves!</p> + +<div class="blockquot1"> +<p>[And here the reader must indulge me in a long parenthesis. I beg him to +bear me witness that I never made one before. This parenthesis is on the +tense that I am obliged to use in sending to the press these minutes. +The reader observes that the last transactions mentioned happen in April +and May, 1871. Those to be narrated are the sequence of those already +told. Speaking of them in 1870 with the coarse tenses of the English +language is very difficult. One needs, for accuracy, a sure future, a +second future, a paulo-post future, and a paulum-ante future, none of +which does this language have. Failing this, one would be glad of an +a-orist,—tense without time,—if the grammarians will not swoon at +hearing such language. But the English tongue hath not that, either. +Doth the learned reader remember that the Hebrew—language of history +and prophecy—hath only a past and a future tense, but hath no present? +Yet that language succeeded tolerably in expressing the present griefs +or joys of David and of Solomon. Bear with me, then, O critic! if even +in 1870 I use the so-called past tenses in narrating what remaineth of +this history up to the summer of 1872. End of the parenthesis.]</p> +</div> + +<p>On careful consideration, however, no one volunteers to go. To go, if +you observe, would require that a man envelop himself thickly in +asbestos or some similar non-conducting substance, leap boldly on the +rapid Flies, and so be shot through the earth’s atmosphere in two +seconds and a fraction, carrying with him all the time in a +non-conducting receiver the condensed air he needed, and landing quietly +on B. M. by a pre-calculated orbit. At the bottom of our hearts I think +we were all afraid. Some of us confessed to fear; others said, and said +truly, that the population of the Moon was already dense, and that it +did not seem reasonable or worth while, on any account, to make it +denser. Nor has any movement been renewed for going. But the plan of the +bundle of “things” seemed more feasible, as the things would not require +oxygen. The only precaution seemed to be that which was necessary for +protecting the parcel against combustion as it shot through the earth’s +atmosphere. We had not asbestos enough. It was at first proposed to pack +them all in one of Professor Horsford’s safes. But when I telegraphed +this plan to Orcutt, he demurred. Their atmosphere was but shallow, and +with a little too much force the corner of the safe might knock a very +bad hole in the surface of his world. He said if we would send up first +a collection of things of no great weight, but of considerable bulk, he +would risk that, but he would rather have no compact metals.</p> + +<p>I satisfied myself, therefore, with a plan which I still think good. +Making the parcel up in heavy old woollen carpets, and cording it with +worsted cords, we would case it in a carpet-bag larger than itself and +fill in the interstice with dry sand, as our best non-conductor; cording +this tightly again, we would renew the same casing with more sand; and +so continually offer surfaces of sand and woollen, till we had five +separate layers between the parcel and the air. Our calculation was that +a perceptible time would be necessary for the burning and disintegrating +of each sand-bag. If each one, on the average, would stand two-fifths of +a second, the inner parcel would get through the earth’s atmosphere +unconsumed. If, on the other hand, they lasted a little longer, the bag, +as it fell on B. M., would not be unduly heavy. Of course we could take +their night for the experiment, so that we might be sure they should all +be in bed and out of the way.</p> + +<p>We had very funny and very merry times in selecting things important +enough and at the same time bulky and light enough to be safe. Alice and +Bertha at once insisted that there must be room for the children’s +playthings. They wanted to send the most approved of the old ones, and +to add some new presents. There was a woolly sheep in particular, and a +watering-pot that Rose had given Fanny, about which there was some +sentiment; boxes of dominos, packs of cards, magnetic fishes, bows and +arrows, checker-boards and croquet sets. Polly and Annie were more +considerate. Down to Coleman and Company they sent an order for pins, +needles, hooks and eyes, buttons, tapes, and I know not what essentials. +India-rubber shoes for the children Mrs. Haliburton insisted on sending. +Haliburton himself bought open-eye-shut-eye dolls, though I felt that +wax had been, since Icarus’s days, the worst article in such an +adventure. For the babies he had india-rubber rings: he had tin cows and +carved wooden lions for the bigger children, drawing-tools for those +older yet, and a box of crochet tools for the ladies. For my part I +piled in literature,—a set of my own works, the Legislative Reports of +the State of Maine, Jean Ingelow, as I said or intimated, and both +volumes of the “Earthly Paradise.” All these were packed in sand, bagged +and corded,—bagged, sanded and corded again,—yet again and +again,—five times. Then the whole awaited Orcutt’s orders and our +calculations.</p> + +<p>At last the moment came. We had, at Orcutt’s order, reduced the +revolutions of the Flies to 7230, which was, as nearly as he knew, the +speed on the fatal night. We had soaked the bag for near twelve hours, +and, at the moment agreed upon, rolled it on the Flies and saw it shot +into the air. It was so small that it went out of sight too soon for us +to see it take fire.</p> + +<p>Of course we watched eagerly for signal time. They were all in bed on B. +M. when we let fly. But the despatch was a sad disappointment.</p> + +<p>107. “Nothing has come through but two croquet balls and a china horse. +But we shall send the boys hunting in the bushes, and we may find more.”</p> + +<p>108. “Two Harpers and an Atlantic, badly singed. But we can read all but +the parts which were most dry.”</p> + +<p>109. “We see many small articles revolving round us which may perhaps +fall in.”</p> + +<p>They never did fall in, however. The truth was that all the bags had +burned through. The sand, I suppose, went to its place, wherever that +was. And all the other things in our bundle became little asteroids or +aerolites in orbits of their own, except a well-disposed score or two, +which persevered far enough to get within the attraction of Brick Moon +and to take to revolving there, not having hit quite square, as the +croquet balls did. They had five volumes of the “Congressional Globe” +whirling round like bats within a hundred feet of their heads. Another +body, which I am afraid was “The Ingham Papers,” flew a little higher, +not quite so heavy. Then there was an absurd procession of the woolly +sheep, a china cow, a pair of india-rubbers, a lobster Haliburton had +chosen to send, a wooden lion, the wax doll, a Salter’s balance, the +“New York Observer,” the bow and arrows, a Nuremberg nanny-goat, Rose’s +watering-pot, and the magnetic fishes, which gravely circled round and +round them slowly and made the petty zodiac of their petty world.</p> + +<p>We have never sent another parcel since, but we probably shall at +Christmas, gauging the Flies perhaps to one revolution more. The truth +is, that although we have never stated to each other in words our +difference of opinion or feeling, there is a difference of habit of +thought in our little circle as to the position which the B. M. holds. +Somewhat similar is the difference of habit of thought in which +different statesmen of England regard their colonies.</p> + +<p>Is B. M. a part of our world, or is it not? Should its inhabitants be +encouraged to maintain their connections with us, or is it better for +them to “accept the situation” and gradually wean themselves from us and +from our affairs? It would be idle to determine this question in the +abstract: it is perhaps idle to decide any question of casuistry in the +abstract. But, in practice, there are constantly arising questions which +really require some decision of this abstract problem for their +solution.</p> + +<p>For instance, when that terrible breach occurred in the Sandemanian +church, which parted it into the Old School and New School parties, +Haliburton thought it very important that Brannan and Orcutt and the +church in B. M. under Brannan’s ministry should give in their adhesion +to our side. Their church would count one more in our registry, and the +weight of its influence would not be lost. He therefore spent eight or +nine days in telegraphing, from the early proofs, a copy of the address +of the Chautauqua Synod to Brannan, and asked Brannan if he were not +willing to have his name signed to it when it was printed. And the only +thing which Haliburton takes sorely in the whole experience of the Brick +Moon, from the beginning, is that neither Orcutt nor Brannan has ever +sent one word of acknowledgment of the despatch. Once, when Haliburton +was very low-spirited, I heard him even say that he believed they had +never read a word of it, and that he thought he and Rob. Shea had had +their labor for their pains in running the signals out and in.</p> + +<p>Then he felt quite sure that they would have to establish civil +government there. So he made up an excellent collection of books,—De +Lolme on the British Constitution; Montesquieu on Laws; Story, Kent, +John Adams, and all the authorities here; with ten copies of his own +address delivered before the Young Men’s Mutual Improvement Society of +Podunk, on the “Abnormal Truths of Social Order.” He telegraphed to know +what night he should send them, and Orcutt replied:—</p> + +<p>129. “Go to thunder with your old law-books. We have not had a primary +meeting nor a justice court since we have been here, and, D. V., we +never will have.”</p> + +<p>Haliburton says this is as bad as the state of things in Kansas, when, +because Frank Pierce would not give them any judges or laws to their +mind, they lived a year or so without any. Orcutt added in his next +despatch:—</p> + +<p>130. “Have not you any new novels? Send up Scribe and the ‘Arabian +Nights’ and ‘Robinson Crusoe’ and the ‘Three Guardsmen,’ and Mrs. +Whitney’s books. We have Thackeray and Miss Austen.”</p> + +<p>When he read this, Haliburton felt as if they were not only light-footed +but light-headed. And he consulted me quite seriously as to telegraphing +to them “Pycroft’s Course of Reading.” I coaxed him out of that, and he +satisfied himself with a serious expostulation with George as to the way +in which their young folks would grow up. George replied by telegraphing +Brannan’s last sermon, I Thessalonians iv. II. The sermon had four +heads, must have occupied an hour and a half in delivery, and took five +nights to telegraph. I had another engagement, so that Haliburton had to +sit it all out with his eye to Shubael, and he has never entered on that +line of discussion again. It was as well, perhaps, that he got enough of +it.</p> + +<p>The women have never had any misunderstandings. When we had received two +or three hundred despatches from B. M., Annie Haliburton came to me and +said, in that pretty way of hers, that she thought they had a right to +their turn again. She said this lore about the Albert Nyanza and the +North Pole was all very well, but, for her part, she wanted to know how +they lived, what they did, and what they talked about, whether they took +summer journeys, and how and what was the form of society where +thirty-seven people lived in such close quarters. This about “the form +of society” was merely wool pulled over my eyes. So she said she thought +her husband and I had better go off to the Biennial Convention at +Assampink, as she knew we wanted to do, and she and Bridget and Polly +and Cordelia would watch for the signals, and would make the replies. +She thought they would get on better if we were out of the way.</p> + +<p>So we went to the convention, as she called it, which was really not +properly a convention, but the Forty-fifth Biennial General Synod, and +we left the girls to their own sweet way.</p> + +<p>Shall I confess that they kept no record of their own signals, and did +not remember very accurately what they were? “I was not going to keep a +string of ‘says I’s’ and ‘says she’s,’<span class="lftspc">”</span> said Polly, boldly. “it shall +not be written on my tomb that I have left more annals for people to +file or study or bind or dust or catalogue.” But they told us that they +had begun by asking the “bricks” if they remembered what Maria Theresa +said to her ladies-in-waiting.<a id="FNanchor_4_4"></a><a href="#Footnote_4_4" class="fnanchor">[4]</a> Quicker than any signal had ever been +answered, George Orcutt’s party replied from the Moon, “We hear, and we +obey.” Then the women-kind had it all to themselves. The brick-women +explained at once to our girls that they had sent their men round to the +other side to cut ice, and that they were manning the telescope, and +running the signals for themselves, and that they could have a nice talk +without any bother about the law-books or the magnetic pole. As I say, I +do not know what questions Polly and Annie put; but—to give them their +due—they had put on paper a coherent record of the results arrived at +in the answers; though, what were the numbers of the despatches, or in +what order they came, I do not know; for the session of the synod kept +us at Assampink for two or three weeks</p> + +<p>Mrs. Brannan was the spokesman. “We tried a good many experiments about +day and night. It was very funny at first not to know when it would be +light and when dark, for really the names day and night do not express a +great deal for us. Of course the pendulum clocks all went wrong till the +men got them overhauled, and I think watches and clocks both will soon +go out of fashion. But we have settled down on much the old hours, +getting up, without reference to daylight, by our great gong, at your +eight o’clock. But when the eclipse season comes, we vary from that for +signalling.</p> + +<p>“We still make separate families, and Alice’s is the seventh. We tried +hotel life and we liked it, for there has never been the first quarrel +here. You can’t quarrel here, where you are never sick, never tired, and +need not be ever hungry. But we were satisfied that it was nicer for the +children and for all round to live separately and come together at +parties, to church, at signal time, and so on. We had something to say +then, something to teach, and something to learn.</p> + +<p>“Since the carices developed so nicely into flax, we have had one great +comfort, which we had lost before, in being able to make and use paper. +We have had great fun, and we think the children have made great +improvement in writing novels for the Union. The Union is the old Union +for Christian work that we had in dear old No. 9. We have two serial +novels going on, one called ‘Diana of Carrotook,’ and the other called +‘Ups and Downs’; the first by Levi Ross, and the other by my Blanche. +They are really very good, and I wish we could send them to you. But +they would not be worth despatching.</p> + +<p>“We get up at eight; dress, and fix up at home; a sniff of air, as +people choose; breakfast; and then we meet for prayers outside. Where we +meet depends on the temperature; for we can choose any temperature we +want, from boiling water down, which is convenient. After prayers an +hour’s talk, lounging, walking, and so on; no flirting, but a favorite +time with the young folks.</p> + +<p>“Then comes work. Three hours’ head-work is the maximum in that line. Of +women’s work, as in all worlds, there are twenty-four in one of your +days, but for my part I like it. Farmers and carpenters have their own +laws, as the light serves and the seasons. Dinner is seven hours after +breakfast began; always an hour long, as breakfast was. Then every human +being sleeps for an hour. Big gong again, and we ride, walk, swim, +telegraph, or what not, as the case may be. We have no horses yet, but +the Shanghaes are coming up into very good dodos and ostriches, quite +big enough for a trot for the children.</p> + +<p>“Only two persons of a family take tea at home. The rest always go out +to tea without invitation. At 8 P. M. big gong again, and we meet in +‘Grace,’ which is the prettiest hall, church, concert-room, that you +ever saw. We have singing, lectures, theatre, dancing, talk, or what the +mistress of the night determines, till the curfew sounds at ten, and +then we all go home. Evening prayers are in the separate households, and +every one is in bed by midnight. The only law on the statute-book is +that every one shall sleep nine hours out of every twenty-four.</p> + +<p>“Only one thing interrupts this general order. Three taps on the gong +means ‘telegraph,’ and then, I tell you, we are all on hand.</p> + +<p>“You cannot think how quickly the days and years go by!”</p> + +<p>Of course, however, as I said, this could not last. We could not subdue +our world and be spending all our time in telegraphing our dear B. M. +Could it be possible—perhaps it was possible—that they there had +something else to think of and to do besides attending to our affairs? +Certainly their indifference to Grant’s fourth Proclamation, and to Mr. +Fish’s celebrated protocol in the Tahiti business, looked that way. +Could it be that that little witch of a Belle Brannan really cared more +for their performance of “Midsummer Night’s Dream,” or her father’s +birthday, than she cared for that pleasant little account I telegraphed +up to all the children, of the way we went to muster when we were boys +together? Ah well! I ought not to have supposed that all worlds were +like this old world. Indeed, I often say this is the queerest world I +ever knew. Perhaps theirs is not so queer, and it is I who am the +oddity.</p> + +<p>Of course it could not last. We just arranged correspondence days, when +we would send to them, and they to us. I was meanwhile turned out from +my place at Tamworth Observatory. Not but I did my work well, and Polly +hers. The observer’s room was a miracle of neatness. The children were +kept in the basement. Visitors were received with great courtesy; and +all the fees were sent to the treasurer; he got three dollars and eleven +cents one summer,—that was the year General Grant came there; and that +was the largest amount that they ever received from any source but +begging. I was not unfaithful to my trust. Nor was it for such +infidelity that I was removed. No! But it was discovered that I was a +Sandemanian; a Glassite, as in derision I was called. The annual meeting +of the trustees came round. There was a large Mechanics’ Fair in +Tamworth at the time, and an Agricultural Convention. There was no +horse-race at the convention, but there were two competitive +examinations in which running horses competed with each other, and +trotting horses competed with each other, and five thousand dollars was +given to the best runner and the best trotter. These causes drew all the +trustees together. The Rev. Cephas Philpotts presided. His doctrines +with regard to free agency were considered much more sound than mine. He +took the chair,—in that pretty observatory parlor, which Polly had made +so bright with smilax and ivy. Of course I took no chair; I waited, as a +janitor should, at the door. Then a brief address. Dr. Philpotts trusted +that the observatory might always be administered in the interests of +science, of true science; of that science which rightly distinguishes +between unlicensed liberty and true freedom; between the unrestrained +volition and the freedom of the will. He became eloquent, he became +noisy. He sat down. Then three other men spoke, on similar subjects. +Then the executive committee which had appointed me was dismissed with +thanks. Then a new executive committee was chosen, with Dr. Philpotts at +the head. The next day I was discharged. And the next week the Philpotts +family moved into the observatory, and their second girl now takes care +of the instruments.</p> + +<p>I returned to the cure of souls and to healing the hurt of my people. On +observation days somebody runs down to No. 9, and by means of Shubael +communicates with B. M. We love them, and they love us all the same.</p> + +<p>Nor do we grieve for them as we did. Coming home from Pigeon Cove in +October with those nice Wadsworth people, we fell to talking as to the +why and wherefore of the summer life we had led. How was it that it was +so charming? And why were we a little loath to come back to more +comfortable surroundings? “I hate the school,” said George Wadsworth. “I +hate the making calls,” said his mother. “I hate the office hour,” said +her poor husband; “if there were only a dozen I would not mind, but +seventeen hundred thousand in sixty minutes is too many.” So that led to +asking how many of us there had been at Pigeon Cove. The children +counted up all the six families,—the Haliburtons, the Wadsworths, the +Pontefracts, the Midges, the Hayeses, and the Inghams, and the two +good-natured girls, thirty-seven in all,—and the two babies born this +summer. “Really,” said Mrs. Wadsworth, “I have not spoken to a human +being besides these since June; and what is more, Mrs. Ingham, I have +not wanted to. We have really lived in a little world of our own.”</p> + +<p>“World of our own!” Polly fairly jumped from her seat, to Mrs. +Wadsworth’s wonder. So we had—lived in a world of our own. Polly reads +no newspaper since the “Sandemanian” was merged. She has a letter or two +tumble in sometimes, but not many; and the truth was that she had been +more secluded from General Grant and Mr. Gladstone and the Khedive, and +the rest of the important people, than had Brannan or Ross or any of +them!</p> + +<p>And it had been the happiest summer she had ever known.</p> + +<p>Can it be possible that all human sympathies can thrive, and all human +powers be exercised, and all human joys increase, if we live with all +our might with the thirty or forty people next to us, telegraphing +kindly to all other people, to be sure? Can it be possible that our +passion for large cities, and large parties, and large theatres, and +large churches, develops no faith nor hope nor love which would not find +aliment and exercise in a little “world of our own”?</p> + +<h2><a id="CRUSOE_IN_NEW_YORK"></a>CRUSOE IN NEW YORK</h2> + +<h3>PART I</h3> + +<p class="nind"><span class="letra">I</span> WAS born in the year 1842, in the city of New York, of a good family, +though not of that country, my father being a foreigner of Bremen, who +settled first in England. He got a good estate by merchandise, and +afterward lived at New York. But first he had married my mother, whose +relations were named Robinson, a very good family in her country—and +from them I was named.</p> + +<p>My father died before I can remember—at least, I believe so. For, +although I sometimes figure to myself a grave, elderly man, thickset and +wearing a broad-brimmed hat, holding me between his knees and advising +me seriously, I cannot say really whether this were my father or no; or, +rather, whether this is really some one I remember or no. For my mother, +with whom I have lived alone much of my life, as the reader will see, +has talked to me of my father so much, and has described him to me so +faithfully, that I cannot tell but it is her description of him that I +recollect so easily. And so, as I say, I cannot tell whether I remember +him or no.</p> + +<p>He never lost his German notions, and perhaps they gained in England +some new force as to the way in which boys should be bred. At least, for +myself, I know that he left to my mother strict charge that I should be +bound ’prentice to a carpenter as soon as I was turned of fourteen. I +have often heard her say that this was the last thing he spoke to her of +when he was dying; and with the tears in her eyes, she promised him it +should be so. And though it cost her a world of trouble—so changed were +times and customs—to find an old-fashioned master who would take me for +an apprentice, she was as good as her word.</p> + +<p>I should like to tell the story of my apprenticeship, if I supposed the +reader cared as much about it as I do; but I must rather come to that +part of my life which is remarkable, than hold to that which is more +like the life of many other boys. My father’s property was lost or was +wasted, I know not how, so that my poor mother had but a hard time of +it; and when I was just turned of twenty-one and was free of my +apprenticeship, she had but little to live upon but what I could bring +home, and what she could earn by her needle. This was no grief to me, +for I was fond of my trade, and I had learned it well. My old master was +fond of me, and would trust me with work of a good deal of +responsibility. I neither drank nor smoked, nor was I over-fond of the +amusements which took up a good deal of the time of my fellow-workmen. I +was most pleased when, on payday, I could carry home to my mother ten, +fifteen, or even twenty dollars—could throw it into her lap, and kiss +her and make her kiss me.</p> + +<p>“Here is the oil for the lamp, my darling,” I would say; or, “Here is +the grease for the wheels”; or, “Now you must give me white sugar twice +a day.” She was a good manager, and she made both ends meet very well.</p> + +<p>I had no thought of leaving my master when my apprenticeship was over, +nor had he any thought of letting me go. We understood each other well, +he liked me and I liked him. He knew that he had in me one man who was +not afraid of work, as he would say, and who would not shirk it. And so, +indeed, he would often put me in charge of parties of workmen who were +much older than I was.</p> + +<p>So it was that it happened, perhaps some months after I had become a +journeyman, that he told me to take a gang of men, whom he named, and to +go quite up-town in the city, to put a close wooden fence around a +vacant lot of land there. One of his regular employers had come to him, +to say that this lot of land was to be enclosed, and the work was to be +done by him. He had sent round the lumber, and he told me that I would +find it on the ground. He gave me, in writing, the general directions by +which the fence was ordered, and told me to use my best judgment in +carrying them out. “Only take care,” said he, “that you do it as well as +if I was there myself. Do not be in a hurry, and be sure your work +stands.”</p> + +<p>I was well pleased to be left thus to my own judgment. I had no fear of +failing to do the job well, or of displeasing my old master or his +employer. If I had any doubts, they were about the men who were to work +under my lead, whom I did not rate at all equally; and, if I could have +had my pick, I should have thrown out some of the more sulky and lazy of +them, and should have chosen from the other hands. But youngsters must +not be choosers when they are on their first commissions.</p> + +<p>I had my party well at work, with some laborers whom we had hired to dig +our post-holes, when a white-haired old man, with gold spectacles and a +broad-brimmed hat, alighted from a cab upon the sidewalk, watched the +men for a minute at their work, and then accosted me. I knew him +perfectly, though of course he did not remember me. He was, in fact, my +employer in this very job, for he was old Mark Henry, a Quaker gentleman +of Philadelphia, who was guardian of the infant heirs who owned this +block of land which we were enclosing. My master did all the carpenter’s +work in the New York houses which Mark Henry or any of his wards owned, +and I had often seen him at the shop in consultation. I turned to him +and explained to him the plans for the work. We had already some of the +joists cut, which were to make the posts to our fence. The old man +measured them with his cane, and said he thought they would not be long +enough.</p> + +<p>I explained to him that the fence was to be eight feet high, and that +these were quite long enough for that.</p> + +<p>“I know,” he said, “I know, my young friend, that my order was for a +fence eight feet high, but I do not think that will do.”</p> + +<p>With some surprise I showed him, by a “ten-foot pole,” how high the +fence would come.</p> + +<p>“Yes, my young friend, I see, I see. But I tell thee, every beggar’s +brat in the ward will be over thy fence before it has been built a week, +and there will be I know not what devices of Satan carried on in the +inside. All the junk from the North River will be hidden there, and I +shall be in luck if some stolen trunk, nay, some dead man’s body, is not +stowed away there. Ah, my young friend, if thee is ever unhappy enough +to own a vacant lot in the city, thee will know much that thee does not +know now of the exceeding sinfulness of sin. Thee will know of trials of +the spirit and of the temper that thee has never yet experienced.”</p> + +<p>I said I thought this was probable, but I thought inwardly that I would +gladly be tried that way. The old man went on:—</p> + +<p>“I said eight feet to friend Silas, but thee may say to him that I have +thought better of it, and that I have ordered thee to make the fence ten +feet high. Thee may say that I am now going to Philadelphia, but that I +will write to him my order when I arrive. Meanwhile thee will go on with +the fence as I bid thee.”</p> + +<p>And so the old man entered his cab again and rode away.</p> + +<p>I amused myself at his notion, for I knew very well that the street-boys +and other loafers would storm his ten-foot wall as readily as they would +have stormed the Malakoff or the Redan, had they supposed there was +anything to gain by doing it. I had, of course, to condemn some of my +posts, which were already cut, or to work them in to other parts of the +fence. My order for spruce boards was to be enlarged by twenty per cent +by the old man’s direction, and this, as it happened, led to a new +arrangement of my piles of lumber on my vacant land.</p> + +<p>And all this it was which set me to thinking that night, as I looked on +the work, that I might attempt another enterprise, which, as it proved, +lasted me for years, and which I am now going to describe.</p> + +<p>I had worked diligently with the men to set up some fifty feet of the +fence where it parted us from an alley-way, for I wanted a chance to dry +some of the boards, which had just been hauled from a raft in the North +River. The truckmen had delivered them helter-skelter, and they lay, +still soaking, above each other on our vacant lot.</p> + +<p>We turned all our force on this first piece of fence, and had so much of +it done that, by calling off the men just before sundown, I was able to +set up all the wet boards, each with one end resting on the fence and +the other on the ground, so that they took the air on both sides, and +would dry more quickly. Of course this left a long, dark tunnel +underneath.</p> + +<p>As the other hands gathered up their tools and made ready to go, a +fellow named McLoughlin, who had gone out with one of the three months’ +regiments not long before, said:—</p> + +<p>“I would not be sorry to sleep there. I have slept in many a worse place +than that in Dixie”; and on that he went away, leaving me to make some +measurements which I needed the next day. But what he said rested in my +mind, and, as it happened, directed the next twelve years of my life.</p> + +<p>Why should not I live here? How often my mother had said that if she had +only a house of her own she should be perfectly happy! Why should not we +have a house of our own here, just as comfortable as if we had gone a +thousand miles out on the prairie to build it, and a great deal nearer +to the book-stores, to the good music, to her old friends, and to my +good wages? We had talked a thousand times of moving together to Kansas, +where I was to build a little hut for her, and we were to be very happy +together. But why not do as the minister had bidden us only the last +Sunday—seize on to-day, and take what Providence offered now?</p> + +<p>I must acknowledge that the thought of paying any ground rent to old Mr. +Henry did not occur to me then—no, nor for years afterward. On the +other hand, all that I thought of was this,—that here was as good a +chance as there was in Kansas to live without rent, and that rent had +been, was still, and was likely to be my bugbear, unless I hit on some +such scheme as this for abating it.</p> + +<p>The plan, to be short, filled my mind. There was nothing in the way of +house-building which I shrank from now, for, in learning my trade, I had +won my Aladdin’s lamp, and I could build my mother a palace, if she had +needed one. Pleased with my fancy, before it was dark I had explored my +principality from every corner, and learned all its capabilities.</p> + +<p>The lot was an oblong, nearly three times as long as it was wide. On the +west side, which was one of the short sides, it faced what I will call +the Ninety-ninth Avenue, and on the south side, what I will call +Fernando Street, though really it was one of the cross-streets with +numbers. Running to the east it came to a narrow passage-way which had +been reserved for the accommodation of the rear of a church which +fronted on the street just north of us. Our back line was also the back +line of the yards of the houses on the same street, but on our northeast +corner the church ran back as far as the back line of both houses and +yards, and its high brick wall—nearly fifty feet high—took the place +there of the ten-foot brick wall, surmounted by bottle-glass, which made +their rear defence.</p> + +<p>The moment my mind was turned to the matter, I saw that in the rear of +the church there was a corner which lay warmly and pleasantly to the +southern and western sun, which was still out of eye-shot from the +street, pleasantly removed from the avenue passing, and only liable to +inspection, indeed, from the dwelling-houses on the opposite side of our +street,—houses which, at this moment, were not quite finished, though +they would be occupied soon.</p> + +<p>If, therefore, I could hit on some way of screening my mother’s castle +from them—for a castle I called it from the first moment, though it was +to be much more like a cottage—I need fear no observation from other +quarters; for the avenue was broad, and on the other side from us there +was a range of low, rambling buildings—an engine-house and a long +liquor-saloon were two—which had but one story. Most of them had been +built, I suppose, only to earn something for the land while it was +growing valuable. The church had no windows in the rear, and that +protected my castle—which was, indeed, still in the air—from all +observation on that side.</p> + +<p>I told my mother nothing of all this when I went home. But I did tell +her that I had some calculations to make for my work, and that was +enough. She went on, sweet soul! without speaking a word, with her +knitting and her sewing at her end of the table, only getting up to +throw a cloth over her parrot’s cage when he was noisy; and I sat at my +end of the table, at work over my figures, as silent as if I had been on +a desert island.</p> + +<p>Before bedtime I had quite satisfied myself with the plan of a very +pretty little house which would come quite within our space, our means, +and our shelter. There was a little passage which ran quite across from +east to west. On the church side of this there was my mother’s kitchen, +which was to be what I fondly marked the “common-room.” This was quite +long from east to west, and not more than half as long the other way. +But on the east side, where I could have no windows, I cut off, on its +whole width, a deep closet; and this proved a very fortunate thing +afterward, as you shall see. On the west side I made one large square +window, and there was, of course, a door into the passage.</p> + +<p>On the south side of the passage I made three rooms, each narrow and +long. The two outside rooms I meant to light from the top. Whether I +would put any sky-light into the room between them, I was not quite so +certain; I did not expect visitors in my new house, so I did not mark it +a “guest-room “ in the plan. But I thought of it as a store-room, and as +such, indeed, for many years we used it; though at last I found it more +convenient to cut a sky-light in the roof there also. But I am getting +before my story.</p> + +<p>Before I had gone to bed that night I had made a careful estimate as to +how much lumber I should need, of different kinds, for my little house; +for I had, of course, no right to use my master’s lumber nor Mr. +Henry’s; nor had I any thought of doing so. I made out an estimate that +would be quite full, for shingles, for clapboards, white pine for my +floors and finish,—for I meant to make a good job of it if I made +any,—and for laths for the inside work. I made another list of the +locks, hinges, window furniture and other hardware I should need; but +for this I cared less, as I need not order them so soon. I could +scarcely refrain from showing my plan to my mother, so snug and +comfortable did it look already; but I had already determined that the +“city house” should be a present to her on her next birthday, and that +till then I would keep it a secret from her, as from all the world; so I +refrained.</p> + +<p>The next morning I told my master what the old Quaker had directed about +the fence, and I took his order for the new lumber we should need to +raise the height as was proposed. At the same time I told him that we +were all annoyed at the need of carrying our tools back and forth, and +because we could only take the nails for one day’s use; and that, if he +were willing, I had a mind to risk an old chest I had with the nails in +it and a few tools, which I thought I could so hide that the wharf-rats +and other loafers should not discover it. He told me to do as I pleased, +that he would risk the nails if I would risk my tools; and so, by +borrowing what we call a hand-cart for a few days, I was able to take up +my own little things to the lot without his asking any other questions, +or without exciting the curiosity of McLoughlin or any other of the men. +Of course, he would have sent up in the shop-wagon anything we needed; +but it was far out of the way, and nobody wanted to drive the team back +at night if we could do without. And so, as night came on, I left the +men at their work, and having loaded my hand-cart with a small chest I +had, I took that into the alley-way of which I told you before, carried +my box of tools into the corner between the church and our fence, under +the boards which we had set up that day, and covered it heavily, with +McLoughlin’s help, with joists and boards, so that no light work would +remove them, if, indeed, any wanderer of the night suspected that the +box was there. I took the hand-cart out into the alley-way and chained +it, first by the wheel and then by the handle, in two staples which I +drove there. I had another purpose in this, as you shall see; but most +of all, I wanted to test both the police and the knavishness of the +neighborhood by seeing if the hand-cart were there in the morning.</p> + +<p>To my great joy it was, and to my greater joy it remained there +unmolested all the rest of the week in which we worked there. For my +master, who never came near us himself, increased our force for us on +the third day, so that at the end of the week, or Saturday night, the +job was nearly done, and well done, too.</p> + +<p>On the third day I had taken the precaution to throw out in the inside +of our enclosure a sort of open fence, on which I could put the wet +boards to dry, which at first I had placed on our side fence. I told +McLoughlin, what was true enough, that the south sun was better for them +than the sun from the west. So I ran out what I may call a screen +thirty-five feet from the church, and parallel with it, on which I set +up these boards to dry, and to my great joy I saw that they would wholly +protect the roof of my little house from any observation from the houses +the other side of the way while the workmen were at work, or even after +they were inhabited.</p> + +<p>There was not one of the workmen with me who had forethought enough or +care for our master’s interest to ask whose boards those were which we +left there, or why we left them there. Indeed, they knew the next Monday +that I went up with the Swede, to bring back such lumber was we did not +use, and none of them knew or cared how much we left there.</p> + +<p>For me, I was only eager to get to work, and that day seemed very long +to me. But that Monday afternoon I asked my master if I might have the +team again for my own use for an hour or so, to move some stuff of mine +and my mother’s, and he gave it to me readily.</p> + +<p>I had then only to drive up-town to a friendly lumberman’s, where my own +stuff was already lying waiting for me to load up, with the assistance +of the workmen there, and to drive as quickly as I could into the church +alley. Here I looked around, and seeing a German who looked as if he +were only a day from Bremen, I made signs to him that if he would help +me I would give him a piece of scrip which I showed him. The man had +been long enough in the country to know that the scrip was good for +lager. He took hold manfully with me, and carried my timbers and boards +into the enclosure through a gap I made in the fence for the purpose. I +gave him his money and he went away. As he went to Minnesota the next +day, he never mentioned to anybody the business he had been engaged in.</p> + +<p>Meanwhile, I had bought my hand-cart of the man who owned it. I left a +little pile of heavy cedar logs on the outside, spiking them to each +other indeed, that they should not be easily moved. And to them and to +my posts I padlocked the hand-cart; nor was it ever disturbed during my +reign in those regions. So I had easy method enough when I wanted a +bundle or two of laths, or a bunch of shingles, or anything else for my +castle, to bring them up in the cool of the evening, and to discharge my +load without special observation. My pile of logs, indeed, grew +eventually into a blind or screen, which quite protected that corner of +the church alley from the view of any passer-by in Fernando Street.</p> + +<p>Of that whole summer, happy and bright as it all was, I look back most +often on the first morning when I got fairly to work on my new home. I +told my mother that for some weeks I should have to start early, and +that she must not think of getting up for my breakfast. I told her that +there was extra work on a job up-town, and that I had promised to be +there at five every day while the summer lasted. She left for me a pot +of coffee, which I promised her I would warm when the time for breakfast +and dinner came; and for the rest, she always had my dinner ready in my +tin dinner-pail. Little did she know then, sweet saint! that I was often +at Fernando Street by half-past three in the first sweet gray of those +summer days.</p> + +<p>On that particular day, it was really scarcely light enough for me to +find the nail I drew from the plank which I left for my entrance. When I +was fairly within and the plank was replaced, I felt that I was indeed +“monarch of all I surveyed.” What did I survey? The church wall on the +north; on the south, my own screen of spruce boards, now well dry; on +the east and west, the ten-foot fences which I had built myself; and +over that on the west, God’s deep, transparent sky, in which I could +still see a planet whose name I did not know. It was a heaven, indeed, +which He had said was as much mine as his!</p> + +<p>The first thing, of course, was to get out my frame. This was a work of +weeks. The next thing was to raise it. And here the first step was the +only hard one, nor was this so hard as it would seem. The highest wall +of my house was no higher than the ten-foot fence we had already built +on the church alley. The western wall, if, indeed, a frame house has any +walls, was only eight feet high. For foundations and sills, I dug deep +post-holes, in which I set substantial cedar posts which I knew would +outlast my day, and I framed my sills into these. I made the frame of +the western wall lie out upon the ground in one piece; and I only needed +a purchase high enough, and a block with repeating pulleys strong +enough, to be able to haul up the whole frame by my own strength, +unassisted. The high purchase I got readily enough by making what we +called a “three-leg,” near twenty feet high, just where my castle was to +stand. I had no difficulty in hauling this into its place by a solid +staple and ring, which for this purpose I drove high in the church wall. +My multiplying pulley did the rest; and after it was done, I took out +the staple and mended the hole it had made, so the wall was as good as +ever.</p> + +<p>You see it was nobody’s business what shanty or what tower old Mark +Henry or the Fordyce heirs might or might not put on the vacant corner +lot. The Fordyce heirs were all in nurseries and kindergartens in +Geneva, and indeed would have known nothing of corner lots had they been +living in their palace in Fourteenth Street. As for Mark Henry, that one +great achievement by which he rode up to Fernando Street was one of the +rare victories of his life, of which ninety-nine hundredths were spent +in counting-houses. Indeed, if he had gone there, all he would have seen +was his ten-foot fence, and he would have taken pride to himself that he +had it built so high.</p> + +<p>When the day of the first raising came, and the frame slipped into the +mortises so nicely, as I had foreordained that it should do, I was so +happy that I could scarcely keep my secret from my mother. Indeed, that +day I did run back to dinner. And when she asked me what pleased me so, +I longed to let her know; but I only smoothed her cheeks with my hands +and kissed her on both of them, and told her it was because she was so +handsome that I was so pleased. She said she knew I had a secret from +her, and I owned that I had, but she said she would not try to guess, +but would wait for the time for me to tell her.</p> + +<p>And so the summer sped by. Of course I saw my sweetheart, as I then +called my mother, less and less. For I worked till it was pitch-dark at +the castle; and after it was closed in, so I could work inside, I often +worked till ten o’clock by candlelight. I do not know how I lived with +so little sleep; I am afraid I slept pretty late on Sundays. But the +castle grew and grew, and the common-room, which I was most eager to +finish wholly before cold weather, was in complete order three full +weeks before my mother’s birthday came.</p> + +<p>Then came the joy of furnishing it. To this I had looked forward all the +summer, and I had measured with my eye many a bit of furniture, and +priced, in an unaffected way, many an impossible second-hand finery, so +that I knew just what I could do and what I could not do.</p> + +<p>My mother had always wanted a Banner stove. I knew this, and it was a +great grief to me that she had none, though she would never say anything +about it.</p> + +<p>To my great joy, I found a second-hand Banner stove, No. 2, at a sort of +old junk-shop, which was, in fact, an old curiosity shop not three +blocks away from Ninety-ninth Avenue. Some one had sold this to them +while it was really as good as new, and yet the keeper offered it to me +at half-price.</p> + +<p>I hung round the place a good deal, and when the man found I really had +money and meant something, he took me into all sorts of alleys and +hiding-places, where he stored his old things away. I made fabulous +bargains there, for either the old Jew liked me particularly, or I liked +things that nobody else wanted. In the days when his principal customers +were wharf-rats, and his principal business the traffic in old cordage +and copper, he had hung out as a sign an old tavern-sign of a ship that +had come to him. His place still went by the name of “The Ship,” though +it was really, as I say, a mere wreck, a rambling, third-rate old +furniture shop of the old-curiosity kind.</p> + +<p>But after I had safely carried the Banner to my new house, and was sure +the funnel drew well, and that the escape of smoke and sparks was +carefully guarded, many a visit did I make to The Ship at early morning +or late in the evening, to bring away one or another treasure which I +had discovered there. Under the pretence of new-varnishing some of my +mother’s most precious tables and her bureau, I got them away from her +also. I knocked up, with my own hatchet and saw, a sitting-table which I +meant to have permanent in the middle of the room, which was much more +convenient than anything I could buy or carry.</p> + +<p>And so, on the 12th of October, the eve of my mother’s birthday, the +common-room was all ready for her. In her own room I had a new carpet +and a new set of painted chamber furniture, which I had bought at the +maker’s, and brought up piece by piece. It cost me nineteen dollars and +a half, for which I paid him in cash, which indeed he wanted sadly.</p> + +<p>So, on the morning of the 13th of October, I kissed my mother forty +times, because that day she was forty years old. I told her that before +midnight she should know what the great surprise was, and I asked her if +she could hold out till then.</p> + +<p>She let me poke as much fun at her as I chose, because she said she was +so glad to have me at breakfast; and I stayed long after breakfast, for +I had told my mother that it was her birthday, and that I should be +late. And such a thing as my asking for an hour or two was so rare that +I took it quite of course when I did ask. I came home early at night, +too. Then I said,—</p> + +<p>“Now, sweetheart, the surprise requires that you spend the night away +from home with me. Perhaps, if you like the place, we will spend +to-morrow there. So I will take Poll in her cage, and you must put up +your night-things and take them in your hand.”</p> + +<p>She was surprised now, for such a thing as an outing over night had +never been spoken of before by either of us.</p> + +<p>“Why, Rob,” she said, “you are taking too much pains for your old +sweetheart, and spending too much money for her birthday. Now, don’t you +think that you should really have as good a time, say, if we went +visiting together, and then came back here?”</p> + +<p>For, you see, she never thought of herself at all; it was only what I +should like most.</p> + +<p>“No, sweetheart dear,” said I. “It is not for me, this 13th of October, +it is all for you. And to-night’s outing is not for me, it is for you; +and I think you will like it and I think Poll will like it, and I have +leave for to-morrow, and we will stay away all to-morrow.”</p> + +<p>As for Tom-puss, I said, we would leave some milk where he could find +it, and I would leave a bone or two for him. But I whistled Rip, my dog, +after me. I took Poll’s cage, my mother took her bag, and locked and +left her door, unconscious that she was never to enter it again.</p> + +<p>A Ninety-ninth Avenue car took us up to Fernando Street. It was just the +close of twilight when we came there. I took my mother to Church Alley, +muttered something about some friends, which she did not understand more +than I did, and led her up the alley in her confused surprise. Then I +pushed aside my movable board, and, while she was still surprised, led +her in after me and slid it back again.</p> + +<p>“What is it, dear Rob? Tell me—tell me!”</p> + +<p>“This way, sweetheart, this way!” This was all I would say.</p> + +<p>I drew her after me through the long passage, led her into the +common-room, which was just lighted up by the late evening twilight +coming in between the curtains of the great square window. Then I fairly +pushed her to the great, roomy easy-chair which I had brought from The +Ship, and placed it where she could look out on the evening glow, and I +said,—</p> + +<p>“Mother, dear, this is the surprise; this is your new home; and, mother +dear, your own boy has made it with his own hands, all for you.”</p> + +<p>“But, Rob, I do not understand—I do not understand at all. I am so +stupid. I know I am awake. But it is as sudden as a dream!”</p> + +<p>So I had to begin and to explain it all,—how here was a vacant lot that +Mark Henry had the care of, and how I had built this house for her upon +it. And long before I had explained it all, it was quite dark. And I +lighted up the pretty student’s-lamp, and I made the fire in the new +Banner with my own hands.</p> + +<p>And that night I would not let her lift a kettle, nor so much as cut a +loaf of bread. It was my feast, I said, and I had everything ready, +round to a loaf of birthday-cake, which I had ordered at Taylor’s, which +I had myself frosted and dressed, and decorated with the initials of my +mother’s name.</p> + +<p>And when the feast was over, I had the best surprise of all. Unknown to +my mother, I had begged from my Aunt Betsy my own father’s portrait, and +I had hung that opposite the window, and now I drew the curtain that hid +it, and told my sweetheart that this and the house were her birthday +presents for this year!</p> + +<p class="dtts">. . . . . . . . . .</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">And</span> this was the beginning of a happy life, which lasted nearly twelve +years. I could make a long story of it, for there was an adventure in +everything,—in the way we bought our milk, and the way we took in our +coals. But there is no room for me to tell all that, and it might not +interest other people as it does me. I am sure my mother was never sorry +for the bold step she took when we moved there from our tenement. True, +she saw little or no society, but she had not seen much before. The +conditions of our life were such that she did not like to be seen coming +out of Church Alley, lest people should ask how she got in, and +excepting in the evening, I did not care to have her go. In the evening +I could go with her. She did not make many calls, because she could not +ask people to return them. But she would go with me to concerts, and to +the church parlor meetings, and sometimes to exhibitions; and at such +places, and on Sundays, she would meet, perhaps, one or another of the +few friends she had in New York. But we cared for them less and less, I +will own, and we cared more and more for each other.</p> + +<p>As soon as the first spring came, I made an immense effort, and spaded +over nearly half of the lot. It was ninety feet wide and over two +hundred and sixty long—more than half an acre. So I knew we could have +our own fresh vegetables, even if we never went to market. My mother was +a good gardener, and she was not afraid even to hoe the corn when I was +out of the way. I dare say that the people whom the summer left in the +street above us often saw her from their back windows, but they did not +know—as how should they?—who had the charge of this lot, and there was +no reason why they should be surprised to see a cornfield there. We only +raised green corn. I am fond of Indian cake, but I did not care to grind +my own corn, and I could buy sweet meal without trouble. I settled the +milk question, after the first winter, by keeping our own goats. I +fenced in, with a wire fence, the northwest corner of our little empire, +and put there a milch goat and her two kids. The kids were pretty little +things, and would come and feed from my mother’s hand. We soon weaned +them, so that we could milk their mother; and after that our flock grew +and multiplied, and we were never again troubled for such little milk as +we used.</p> + +<p>Some old proprietor, in the old Dutch days, must have had an orchard in +these parts. There were still left two venerable wrecks of ancient +pear-trees; and although they bore little fruit, and what they bore was +good for nothing, they still gave a compact and grateful shade. I sodded +the ground around them and made a seat beneath, where my mother would +sit with her knitting all the afternoon. Indeed, after the sods grew +firm, I planted hoops there, and many a good game of croquet have she +and I had together there, playing so late that we longed for the chance +they have in Sybaris, where, in the evening, they use balls of colored +glass, with fireflies shut up inside.</p> + +<p>On the 11th of February, in the year 1867, my old master died, to my +great regret, and I truly believe to that of his widow and her children. +His death broke up the establishment, and I, who was always more of a +cabinet-maker or joiner than carpenter or builder, opened a little shop +of my own, where I took orders for cupboards, drawers, stairs, and other +finishing work, and where I employed two or three German journeymen, and +was thus much more master of my own time. In particular, I had two +faithful fellows, natives of my own father’s town of Bremen. While they +were with me I could leave them a whole afternoon at a time, while I +took any little job there might be, and worked at it at my own house at +home. Where my house was, except that it was far up-town, they never +asked, nor ever, so far as I know, cared. This gave me the chance for +many a pleasant afternoon with my mother, such as we had dreamed of in +the old days when we talked of Kansas. I would work at the lathe or the +bench and she would read to me. Or we would put off the bench till the +evening, and we would both go out into the cornfield together.</p> + +<p>And so we lived year after year. I am afraid that we worshipped each +other too much. We were in the heart of a crowded city, but there was +that in our lives which tended a little to habits of loneliness, and I +suppose a moralist would say that our dangers lay in that direction.</p> + +<p>On the other hand, I am almost ashamed to say that, as I sat in a seat I +had made for myself in old Van der Tromp’s pear-tree, I would look upon +my corn and peas and squashes and tomatoes with a satisfaction which I +believe many a nobleman in England does not enjoy.</p> + +<p>Till the youngest of the Fordyce heirs was of age, and that would not be +till 1880, this was all my own. I was, by right of possession and my own +labors, lord of all this region. How else did the writers on political +economy teach me that any property existed!</p> + +<p>I surveyed it with a secret kind of pleasure. I had not abundance of +pears; what I had were poor and few. But I had abundance of sweet corn, +of tomatoes, of peas, and of beans. The tomatoes were as wholesome as +they were plentiful, and as I sat I could see the long shelves of them +which my mother had spread in the sun to ripen, that we might have +enough of them canned when winter should close in upon us. I knew I +should have potatoes enough of my own raising also to begin the winter +with. I should have been glad of more. But as by any good day’s work I +could buy two barrels of potatoes, I did not fret myself that my stock +was but small.</p> + +<p>Meanwhile my stock in bank grew fast. Neither my mother nor I had much +occasion to buy new clothes. We were at no charge for house-rent, +insurance, or taxes. I remember that a Spanish gentleman, who was fond +of me, for whom I had made a cabinet with secret drawers, paid me in +moidores and pieces-of-eight, which in those times of paper were a sight +to behold.</p> + +<p>I carried home the little bag and told my mother that this was a +birthday present for her; indeed, that she was to put it all in her bed +that night, that she might say she had rolled in gold and silver. She +played with the pieces, and we used them to count with as we played our +game of cribbage.</p> + +<p>“But really, Robin, boy,” said she, “it is as the dirt under our feet. I +would give it all for three or four pairs of shoes and stockings, such +as we used to buy in York, but such as these Lynn-built shoes and +steam-knit stockings have driven out of the market.”</p> + +<p>Indeed, we wanted very little in our desert home.</p> + +<p>And so for many years we led a happy life, and we found more in life +than would have been possible had we been all tangled up with the cords +of artificial society. I say “we,” for I am sure I did, and I think my +dear mother did.</p> + +<p>But it was in the seventh year of our residence in the hut that of a +sudden I had a terrible shock or fright, and this I must now describe to +you. It comes in about the middle of this history, and it may end this +chapter.</p> + +<p>It was one Sunday afternoon, when I had taken the fancy, as I often did +of Sundays, to inspect my empire. Of course, in a certain way, I did +this every time I climbed old Van der Tromp’s pear-tree, and sat in my +hawk’s-nest there. But a tour of inspection was a different thing. I +walked close round the path which I had made next the fence of the +enclosure. I went in among my goats,—even entered the goat-house and +played with my kids. I tried the boards of the fence and the +timber-stays, to be sure they all were sound. I had paths enough between +the rows of corn and potatoes to make a journey of three miles and half +a furlong, with two rods more, if I went through the whole of them. So +at half-past four on this fatal afternoon I bade my mother good-by, and +kissed her. I told her I should not be back for two hours, because I was +going to inspect my empire, and I set out happily.</p> + +<p>But in less than an hour—I can see the face of the clock now: it was +twenty-two minutes after five—I flung myself in my chair, panting for +breath, and, as my mother said, as pale as if I had seen a ghost. But I +told her it was worse than that.</p> + +<p>I had come out from between two high rows of corn, which wholly covered +me, upon a little patch which lay warm to the south and west, where I +had some melons a-ripening, and was just lifting one of the melons, to +be sure that the under surface did not rot, when close behind it I saw +the print of a man’s foot, which was very plain to be seen in the soft +soil.</p> + +<p>I stood like one thunderstruck, or as if I had seen an apparition. I +listened; I looked round me. I could hear nothing but the roar of the +omnibuses, nor could I see anything. I went up and down the path, but it +was all one. I could see no other impression but that one. I went to it +again, to see if there were any more, and to observe if it might not be +my fancy. But there was no room for that, for there was exactly the +print of an Englishman’s hobnailed shoe,—the heavy heel, the prints of +the heads of the nails. There was even a piece of patch which had been +put on it, though it had never been half-soled.</p> + +<p>How it came there I knew not; neither could I in the least imagine. But, +as I say, like a man perfectly confused and out of myself, I rushed home +into my hut, not feeling the ground I went upon. I fled into it like one +pursued, and, as my mother said, when I fell into my chair, panting, I +looked as if I had seen a ghost.</p> + +<p>It was worse than that, as I said to her.</p> + +<h3>PART II</h3> + +<p class="nind">I <span class="smcap">cannot</span> well tell you how much dismay this sight of a footprint in the +ground gave me, nor how many sleepless nights it cost me. All the time I +was trying to make my mother think that there was no ground for anxiety, +and yet all the time I was showing her that I was very anxious. The more +I pretended that I was not troubled, the more absent-minded, and so the +more troubled, I appeared to her. And yet, if I made no pretence, and +told her what I really feared, I should have driven her almost wild by +the story of my terrors. To have our pretty home broken up, perhaps to +be put in the newspapers—which was a lot that, so far, we had always +escaped in our quiet and modest life—all this was more than she or I +could bear to think of.</p> + +<p>In the midst of these cogitations, apprehensions, and reflections, it +came into my thoughts one day, as I was working at my shop down-town +with my men, that all this might be a chimera of my own, and that the +foot might be the print of my own boot as I had left it in the soil some +days before when I was looking at my melons. This cheered me up a +little, too. I considered that I could by no means tell for certain +where I had trod and where I had not, and that if at last this was the +print of my own boot, I had played the part of those fools who strive to +make stories of spectres, and then are themselves frightened at them +more than anybody else.</p> + +<p>So I returned home that day in very good spirits. I carried to my mother +a copy of Frank Leslie’s Illustrated Newspaper, which had in it some +pictures that I knew would please her, and I talked with her in as +light-hearted a way as I could, to try to make her think that I had +forgotten my alarm. And afterward we played two or three games of +Egyptian solitaire at the table, and I went to bed unusually early. But, +at the first break of day, when I fancied or hoped that she was still +asleep, I rose quickly, and half-dressing myself, crept out to the +melon-patch to examine again the imprint of the foot and to make sure +that it was mine.</p> + +<p>Alas! it was no more mine than it was Queen Victoria’s. If it had only +been cloven, I could easily have persuaded myself whose it was, so much +grief and trouble had it cost me. When I came to measure the mark with +my own boot, I found, just as I had seen before, that mine was not +nearly so large as this mark was. Also, this was, as I have said, the +mark of a heavy brogan—such as I never wore—and there was the mark of +a strange patch near the toe, such as I had never seen, nor, indeed, +have seen since, from that hour to this hour. All these things renewed +my terrors. I went home like a whipped dog, wholly certain now that some +one had found the secret of our home: we might be surprised in it before +I was aware; and what course to take for my security I knew not.</p> + +<p>As we breakfasted, I opened my whole heart to my mother. If she said so, +I would carry all our little property, piece by piece, back to old +Thunberg, the junk-dealer, and with her parrot and my umbrella we would +go out to Kansas, as we used to propose. We would give up the game. Or, +if she thought best, we would stand on the defensive. I would put +bottle-glass on the upper edges of the fences all the way round.</p> + +<p>There were four or five odd revolvers at The Ship, and I would buy them +all, with powder and buck-shot enough for a long siege. I would teach +her how to load, and while she loaded I would fire, till they had quite +enough of attacking us in our home. Now it has all gone by, I should be +ashamed to set down in writing the frightful contrivances I hatched for +destroying these “creatures,” as I called them, or, at least, +frightening them, so as to prevent their coming thither any more.</p> + +<p>“Robin, my boy,” said my mother to me, when I gave her a chance at last, +“if they came in here to-night—whoever ‘they’ may be—very little is +the harm that they could do us. But if Mr. Kennedy and twenty of his +police should come in here over the bodies of—five times five are +twenty-five, twenty-five times eleven are—two hundred and seventy-five +people whom you will have killed by that time, if I load as fast as thee +tells me I can, why, Robin, my boy, it will go hard for thee and me when +the day of the assizes comes. They will put handcuffs on thy poor old +mother and on thee, and if they do not send thee to Jack Ketch, they +will send thee to Bloomingdale.”</p> + +<p>I could not but see that there was sense in what she said. Anyway, it +cooled me down for the time, and I kissed her and went to my work less +eager, and, indeed, less anxious, than I had been the night before. As I +went down-town in the car, I had a chance to ask myself what right I had +to take away the lives of these poor savages of the neighborhood merely +because they entered on my possessions. Was it their fault that they had +not been apprenticed to carpenters? Could they help themselves in the +arrangements which had left them savages? Had any one ever given them a +chance to fence in an up-town lot? Was it, in a word, I said to +myself—was it my merit or my good luck which made me as good as a +landed proprietor, while the Fordyce heirs had their education? Such +thoughts, before I came to my shop, had quite tamed me down, and when I +arrived there I was quite off my design, and I concluded that I had +taken a wrong measure in my resolution to attack the savages, as I had +begun to call men who might be merely harmless loafers.</p> + +<p>It was clearly not my business to meddle with them unless they first +attacked me. This it was my business to prevent; if I were discovered +and attacked, then I knew my duty.</p> + +<p>With these thoughts I went into my shop that day, and with such thoughts +as these, and with my mother’s good sense in keeping me employed in +pleasanter things than hunting for traces of savages, I got into a +healthier way of thinking.</p> + +<p>The crop of melons came in well, and many a good feast we had from them. +Once and again I was able to carry a nice fresh melon to an old lady my +mother was fond of, who now lay sick with a tertian ague.</p> + +<p>Then we had the best sweet corn for dinner every day that any man had in +New York. For at Delmonico’s itself, the corn the grandees had had been +picked the night before, and had started at two o’clock in the morning +on its long journey to town. But my mother picked my corn just at the +minute when she knew I was leaving my shop. She husked it and put it in +the pot, and by the time I had come home, had slipped up the board in +the fence that served me for a door, and had washed my face and hands in +my own room, she would have dished her dinner, would have put her fresh +corn upon the table, covered with a pretty napkin; and so, as I say, I +had a feast which no nabob in New York had. No indeed, nor any king that +I know of, unless it were the King of the Sandwich Islands, and I doubt +if he were as well served as I.</p> + +<p>So I became more calm and less careworn, though I will not say but +sometimes I did look carefully to see if I could find the traces of a +man’s foot; but I never saw another.</p> + +<p>Unless we went out somewhere during the evening, we went to bed early. +We rose early as well, for I never lost the habits of my apprenticeship. +And so we were both sound asleep in bed one night when a strange thing +happened, and a sudden fright came to us, of which I must tell quite at +length, for it made, indeed, a very sudden change in the current of our +lives.</p> + +<p>I was sound asleep, as I said, and so, I found, was my mother also. But +I must have been partly waked by some sudden noise in the street, for I +knew I was sitting up in my bed in the darkness when I heard a woman +scream,—a terrible cry,—and while I was yet startled, I heard her +scream again, as if she were in deadly fear. My window was shaded by a +heavy green curtain, but in an instant I had pulled it up, and by the +light of the moon I seized my trousers and put them on.</p> + +<p>I was well awake by this time, and when I flung open the door of my +house, so as to run into my garden, I could hear many wild voices, some +in English, some in German, some in Irish, and some with terrible cries, +which I will not pretend I could understand.</p> + +<p>There was no cry of a woman now, but only the howling of angry or +drunken men, when they are in a rage with some one or with each other. +What startled me was that, whereas the woman’s cry came from the street +south of me, which I have called Fernando Street, the whole crowd of +men, as they howled and swore, were passing along that street rapidly, +and then stopped for an instant, as if they were coming up what I called +Church Alley. There must have been seven or eight of them.</p> + +<p>Now, it was by Church Alley that my mother and I always came into our +house, and so into our garden. In the eight years, or nearly so, that I +had lived there, I had by degrees accumulated more and more rubbish near +the furthest end of the alley as a screen, so to speak, that when my +mother or I came in or out, no one in the street might notice us. I had +even made a little wing-fence out from my own, to which my hand-cart was +chained. Next this I had piled broken brickbats and paving-stones, and +other heavy things, that would not be stolen. There was the stump and +the root of an old pear-tree there, too heavy to steal, and too crooked +and hard to clean or saw. There was a bit of curbstone from the street, +and other such trash, which quite masked the fence and the hand-cart.</p> + +<p>On the other side—that is, the church side, or the side furthest from +the street—was the sliding-board in the fence, where my mother and I +came in. So soon as it was slid back, no man could see that the fence +was not solid.</p> + +<p>At this moment in the night, however, when I found that this riotous, +drunken crew were pausing at the entrance of Church Alley, as doubting +if they would not come down, I ran back through the passage, knocking +loudly for my mother as I passed, and coming to my coal-bin, put my eye +at the little hole through which I always reconnoitred before I slid the +door. I could see nothing, nor at night ought I to have expected to do +so.</p> + +<p>But I could hear, and I heard what I did not expect. I could hear the +heavy panting of one who had been running, and as I listened I heard a +gentle, low voice sob out, “Ach, ach, mein Gott! Ach, mein Gott!” or +words that I thought were these, and I was conscious, when I tried to +move the door, that some one was resting close upon it.</p> + +<p>All the same, I put my shoulder stoutly to the cross-bar, to which the +boards of the door were nailed; I slid it quickly in its grooves, and as +it slid, a woman fell into the passage.</p> + +<p>She was wholly surprised by the motion, so that she could not but fall. +I seized her and dragged her in, saying, “Hush, hush, hush!” as I did +so. But not so quick was I but that she screamed once more as I drew to +the sliding-door and thrust in the heavy bolt which held it.</p> + +<p>In an instant my mother was in the passage with a light in her hand. In +another instant I had seized the light and put it out. But that instant +was enough for her and me to see that here was a lovely girl, with no +hat or bonnet on, with her hair floating wildly, both her arms bleeding, +and her clothes all stained with blood. She could see my mother’s face +of amazement, and she could see my finger on my mouth, as with the other +I dashed out the candle. We all thought quickly, and we all knew that we +must keep still.</p> + +<p>But that unfortunate scream of hers was enough. Though no one of us all +uttered another sound, this was like a “view-halloo,” to bring all those +dogs down upon us. The passage was dark, and, to my delight, I heard +some of them breaking their shins over the curbstone and old pear-tree +of my defences. But they were not such hounds as were easily thrown off +the scent, and there were enough to persevere while the leaders picked +themselves up again.</p> + +<p>Then how they swore and cursed and asked questions! And we three stood +as still as so many frightened rabbits. In an instant more one of them, +who spoke in English, said he would be hanged if he thought she had gone +into the church, that he believed she had got through the fence; and +then, with his fist, or something harder, he began trying the boards on +our side, and others of them we could hear striking those on the other +side of the alley-way.</p> + +<p>When it came to this, I whispered to my mother that she must never fear, +only keep perfectly still. She dragged the frightened girl into our +kitchen, which was our sitting-room, and they both fell, I know not how, +into the great easy-chair.</p> + +<p>For my part, I seized the light ladder, which always hung ready at the +door, and ran with it at my full speed to the corner of Fernando Street +and the alley. I planted the ladder, and was on the top of the fence in +an instant</p> + +<p>Then I sprang my watchman’s rattle, which had hung by the ladder, and I +whirled it round well. It wholly silenced the sound of the swearing +fellows up the passage, and their pounding. When I found they were +still, I cried out:—</p> + +<p>“This way, 24! this way, 47! I have them all penned up here! Signal the +office, 42, and bid them send us a sergeant. This way, fellows—up +Church Alley!”</p> + +<p>With this I was down my ladder again. But my gang of savages needed no +more. I could hear them rushing out of the alley as fast as they might, +not one of them waiting for 24 or 47. This was lucky for me, for as it +happened I was ten minutes older before I heard two patrolmen on the +outside, wondering what frightened old cove had been at the pains to +spring a rattle.</p> + +<p>The moonlight shone in at the western window of the kitchen, so that as +I came in I could just make out the figure of my mother and of the girl, +lying, rather than sitting, in her lap and her arms. I was not afraid to +speak now, and I told my mother we were quite safe again, and she told +the poor girl so. I struck a match and lighted the lamp as soon as I +could. The poor, frightened creature started as I did so, and then fell +on her knees at my mother’s feet, took both her hands in her own, and +seemed like one who begs for mercy, or, indeed, for life.</p> + +<p>My poor, dear mother was all amazed, and her eyes were running with +tears at the sight of the poor thing’s terror. She kissed her again and +again; she stroked her beautiful golden hair with her soft hands; she +said in every word that she could think of that she was quite safe now, +and must not think of being frightened any more.</p> + +<p>But it was clear in a moment that the girl could not understand any +language that we could speak. My mother tried her with a few words of +German, and she smiled then; but she shook her head prettily, as if to +say that she thanked her, but could not speak to her in that way either. +Then she spoke eagerly in some language that we could not understand. +But had it been the language of Hottentots, we should have known that +she was begging my mother not to forsake her, so full of entreaty was +every word and every gesture.</p> + +<p>My dear, sweet mother lifted her at last into the easy-chair and made +her lie there while she dipped some hot water from her boiler and filled +a large basin in her sink. Then she led the pretty creature to it, and +washed from her arms, hands, and face the blood that had hardened upon +them, and looked carefully to find what her wounds were. None of them +were deep, though there were ugly scratches on her beautiful arms; they +were cut by glass, as I guessed then, and as we learned from her +afterward. My mother was wholly prepared for all such surgery as was +needed here; she put on two bandages where she thought they were needed, +she plastered up the other scratches with court-plaster, and then, as if +the girl understood her, she said to her, “And now, my dear child, you +must come to bed; there is no danger for you more.”</p> + +<p>The poor girl had grown somewhat reassured in the comfortable little +kitchen, but her terror seemed to come back at any sign of removal; she +started to her feet, almost as if she were a wild creature. But I would +defy any one to be afraid of my dear mother, or indeed to refuse to do +what she bade, when she smiled so in her inviting way and put out her +hand; and so the girl went with her, bowing to me, or dropping a sort of +courtesy in her foreign fashion, as she went out of the door, and I was +left to see what damage had been done to my castle by the savages, as I +called them.</p> + +<p>I had sprung the rattle none too soon; for one of these rascals, as it +proved—I suppose it was the same who swore that she had not gone into +the church—with some tool or other he had in his hand, had split out a +bit of the fence and had pried out a part of a plank. I had done my work +too well for any large piece to give way. But the moment I looked into +my coal-bin I saw that something was amiss. I did not like very well to +go to the outside, but I must risk something; so I took out a dark +lantern which I always kept ready. Sure enough, as I say, the fellow had +struck so hard and so well that he had split out a piece of board, and a +little coal even had fallen upon the passage-way. I was not much +displeased at this, for if he thought no nearer the truth than that he +had broken into a coal-bin of the church, why, he was far enough from +his mark for me. After finding this, however, I was anxious enough, lest +any of them should return, not to go to bed again that night; but all +was still as death, and, to tell the truth, I fell asleep in my chair. I +doubt whether my mother slept, or her frightened charge.</p> + +<p>I was at work in the passage early the next morning with some +weather-stained boards I had, and before nine o’clock I had doubled all +that piece of fence, from my wing where my hand-cart was to the church, +and I had spiked the new boards on, which looked like old boards, as I +said, with tenpenny nails; so that he would be a stout burglar who would +cut through them unless he had tools for his purpose and daylight to +work by. As I was gathering up my tools to go in, a coarse, +brutal-looking Irishman came walking up the alley and looked round. My +work was so well done, and I had been so careful to leave no chips, that +even then he could not have guessed that I had been building the fence +anew, though I fancied he looked at it. He seemed to want to excuse +himself for being there at all, and asked me, with an oath and in a +broad Irish brogue, if there were no other passage through. I had the +presence of mind to say in German, “<i>Wollen sie sprechen Deutsch</i>?” and so +made as if I could not understand him; and then, kneeling on the +cellar-door of the church, pretended to put a key into the lock, as if I +were making sure that I had made it firm.</p> + +<p>And with that, he turned round with another oath, as if he had come out +of his way, and went out of the alley, closely followed by me. I watched +him as long as I dared, but as he showed no sign of going back to the +alley, I at last walked round a square with my tools, and so came back +to my mother and the pretty stranger.</p> + +<p>My mother had been trying to get at her story. She made her understand a +few words of German, but they talked by signs and smiles and tears and +kisses much more than by words; and by this time they understood each +other so well that my mother had persuaded her not to go away that day.</p> + +<p>Nor did she go out for many days after; I will go before my story far +enough to say that. She had, indeed, been horribly frightened that +night, and she was as loath to go out again into the streets of New York +as I should be to plunge from a safe shore into some terrible, howling +ocean; or, indeed, as one who found himself safe at home would be to +trust himself to the tender mercies of a tribe of cannibals.</p> + +<p>Two such loving women as they were were not long in building up a +language, especially as my mother had learned from my father and his +friends, in her early life, some of the common words of German—what she +called a bread-and-butter German. For our new inmate was a Swedish girl. +Her story, in short, was this:—</p> + +<p>She had been in New York but two days. On the voyage over, they had had +some terrible sickness on the vessel, and the poor child’s mother had +died very suddenly and had been buried in the sea. Her father had died +long before.</p> + +<p>This was, as you may think, a terrible shock to her. But she had hoped +and hoped for the voyage to come to an end, because there was a certain +brother of hers in America whom they were to meet at their landing, and +though she was very lonely on the packet-ship, in which she and her +mother and a certain family of the name of Hantsen—of whom she had much +to say—were the only Swedes, still she expected to find the brother +almost as soon, as I may say, as they saw the land.</p> + +<p>She felt badly enough that he did not come on board with the quarantine +officer. When the passengers were brought to Castle Garden, and no +brother came, she felt worse. However, with the help of the clerks +there, she got off a letter to him, somewhere in Jersey, and proposed to +wait as long as they would let her, till he should come.</p> + +<p>The second day there came a man to the Garden, who said he was a Dane, +but he spoke Swedish well enough. He said her brother was sick, and had +sent him to find her. She was to come with her trunks, and her mother’s, +and all their affairs, to his house, and the same afternoon they should +go to where the brother was.</p> + +<p>Without doubt or fear she went with this man, and spent the day at a +forlorn sort of hotel which she described, but which I never could find +again. Toward night the man came again and bade her take a bag, with her +one change of dress, and come with him to her brother.</p> + +<p>After a long ride through the city, they got out at a house which, thank +God! was only one block from Fernando Street. And there this simple, +innocent creature, as she went in, asked where her brother was, to meet +only a burst of laughter from one or two coarse-looking men, and from +half-a-dozen brazen-faced girls whom she hated, she said, the minute she +saw them.</p> + +<p>Except that an old woman took off her shawl and cloak and bonnet, and +took away from her the travelling things she had in her hand, nobody +took any care of her but to laugh at her, and mock her if she dared say +anything.</p> + +<p>She tried to go out to the door to find even the Dane who had brought +her there, but she was given to understand that he was coming again for +her, and that she must wait till he came. As for her brother, there was +no brother there, nor had been any. The poor girl had been trapped, and +saw that she had been trapped; she had been spirited away from everybody +who ever heard of her mother, and was in the clutches, as she said to my +mother afterward, of a crew of devils who knew nothing of love or of +mercy.</p> + +<p>They did try to make her eat and drink,—tried to make her drink +champagne, or any other wine; but they had no fool to deal with. The +girl did not, I think, let her captors know how desperate were her +resolutions. But her eyes were wide open, and she was not going to lose +any chance. She was all on the alert for her escape when, at eleven +o’clock, the Dane came at last whom she had been expecting so anxiously.</p> + +<p>The girl asked him for her brother, only to be put off by one excuse or +another, and then to hear from him the most loathsome talk of his +admiration, not to say his passion, for her.</p> + +<p>They were nearly alone by this time, and he led her unresisting, as he +thought, into another smaller room, brilliantly lighted, and, as she saw +in a glance, gaudily furnished, with wine and fruit and cake on a +side-table,—a room where they would be quite alone.</p> + +<p>She walked simply across and looked at herself in the great mirror. Then +she made some foolish little speech about her hair, and how pale she +looked. Then she crossed to the sofa, and sat upon it with as tired an +air as he might have expected of one who had lived through such a day. +Then she looked up at him and even smiled upon him, she said, and asked +him if he would not ask them for some cold water.</p> + +<p>The fellow turned into the passage-way, well pleased with her +submission, and in the same instant the girl was at the window as if she +had flown across the room.</p> + +<p>Fool! The window was made fast, not by any moving bolt, either. It was +nailed down, and it did not give a hairs-breadth to her hand.</p> + +<p>Little cared she for that. She sat on the window-seat, which was broad +enough to hold her; she braced her feet against the foot of the +bedstead, which stood just near enough to her; she turned enough to +bring her shoulder against the window-sash, and then with her whole +force she heaved herself against the sash, and the entire window, of +course, gave way.</p> + +<p>The girl caught herself upon the blind, which swung open before her. She +pulled herself free from the sill and window-seat, and dropped fearless +into the street.</p> + +<p>The fall was not long. She lighted on her feet and ran as only fear +could teach her to run. Where to, she knew not; but she thought she +turned a corner before she heard any voices from behind.</p> + +<p>Still she ran. And it was when she came to the corner of the next street +that she heard for the first time the screams of pursuers.</p> + +<p>She turned again, like a poor hunted hare as she was. But what was her +running to theirs? She was passing our long fence in Fernando Street, +and then for the first time she screamed for help.</p> + +<p>It was that scream which waked me.</p> + +<p>She saw the steeple of the church. She had a dim feeling that a church +would be an asylum. So was it that she ran up our alley, to find that +she was in a trap there.</p> + +<p>And then it was that she fell against my door, that she cried twice, +“Oh, my God! Oh, my God!” and that the good God, who had heard her, sent +me to draw her in.</p> + +<p>We had to learn her language, in a fashion, and she to learn ours, +before we understood her story in this way. But at the very first my +mother made out that the girl had fled from savages who meant worse than +death for her. So she understood why she was so frightened at every +sound, and why at first she was afraid to stay with us, yet more afraid +to go.</p> + +<p>But this passed off in a day or two. She took to my mother with a sort +of eager way which showed how she must have loved her own mother, and +how much she lost when she lost her. And that was one of the parts of +her sad story that we understood.</p> + +<p>No one, I think, could help loving my mother; but here was a poor, +storm-tossed creature who, I might say, had nothing else to love, seeing +she had lost all trace of this brother, and here was my mother, soothing +her, comforting her, dressing her wounds for her, trying to make her +feel that God’s world was not all wickedness; and the girl in return +poured out her whole heart.</p> + +<p>When my mother explained to her that she should not let her go away till +her brother was found, then for the first time she seemed perfectly +happy. She was indeed the loveliest creature I ever put my eyes on.</p> + +<p>She was then about nineteen years old, of a delicate complexion +naturally, which was now a little browned by the sea-air. She was rather +tall than otherwise, but her figure was so graceful that I think you +never thought her tall. Her eyes were perhaps deep-set, and of that +strange gray which I have heard it said the goddesses in the Greek +poetry had. Still, when she was sad, one saw the less of all this. It +was not till she forgot her grief for the instant in the certainty that +she might rest with my mother, so that her whole face blazed with joy, +that I first knew what the perfect beauty of a perfect woman was.</p> + +<p>Her name, it seemed, was Frida,—a name made from the name of one of the +old goddesses among the Northmen, the same from whom our day Friday is +named. She is the half-sister of Thor, from whom Thursday is named, and +the daughter of Wodin, from whom Wednesday is named.</p> + +<p>I knew little of all this then, but I did not wonder when I read +afterward that this northern goddess was the Goddess of Love, the friend +of song, the most beautiful of all their divinities,—queen of spring +and light and everything lovely.</p> + +<p>But surely never any one took fewer of the airs of a goddess than our +Frida did while she was with us. She would watch my mother, as if afraid +that she should put her hand to a gridiron or a tin dipper. She gave her +to understand, in a thousand pretty ways, that she should be her +faithful, loving, and sincere. servant. If she would only show her what +to do, she would work for her as a child that loved her. And so indeed +she did. My dear mother would laugh and say she was quite a fine lady +now, for Frida would not let her touch broom nor mop, skimmer nor +dusting-cloth.</p> + +<p>The girl would do anything but go out upon an errand. She could not bear +to see the other side of the fence. What she thought of it all I do not +know. Whether she thought it was the custom in America for young men to +live shut up with their mothers in enclosures of half an acre square, or +whether she thought we two made some peculiar religious order, whose +rules provided that one woman and one man should live together in a +convent or monastery of their own, or whether she supposed half New York +was made up, as Marco Polo found Pekin, of cottages or of gardens, I did +not know, nor did I much care. I could see that here was provided a +companion for my mother, who was else so lonely, and I very soon found +that she was as much a companion for me.</p> + +<p>So soon as we could understand her at all, I took the name of her +brother and his address. When he wrote last he was tending a saw-mill at +a place about seven miles away from Tuckahoe, in Jersey. But he said he +was going to leave there at once, so that they need not write there. He +sent the money for their passage, and promised, as I said, to meet them +at New York.</p> + +<p>This was a poor clew at the best. But I put a good face on it, and +promised her I would find him if he could be found. And I spared no +pains. I wrote to the postmaster at Tuckahoe, and to a minister I heard +of there. I inquired of the Swedish consuls in New York and +Philadelphia. Indeed, in the end, I went to Tuckahoe myself, with her, +to inquire. But this was long after. However, I may say here, once for +all, to use an old phrase of my mother’s, we never found “hide nor hair” +of him. And although this grieved Frida, of course, yet it came on her +gradually, and as she had never seen him to remember him, it was not the +same loss as if they had grown up together.</p> + +<p>Meanwhile that first winter was, I thought, the pleasantest I had ever +known in my life. I did not have to work very hard now, for my business +was rather the laying out work for my men, and sometimes a nice job +which needed my hand on my lathe at home, or in some other delicate +affair that I could bring home with me.</p> + +<p>We were teaching Frida English, my mother and I, and she and I made a +great frolic of her teaching me Swedish. I would bring home Swedish +newspapers and stories for her, and we would puzzle them out +together,—she as much troubled to find the English word as I to find +out the Swedish. Then she sang like a bird when she was about her +household work, or when she sat sewing for my mother, and she had not +lived with us a fortnight before she began to join us on Sunday evenings +in the choruses of the Methodist hymns which my mother and I sang +together. So then we made her sing Swedish hymns to us. And before she +knew it, the great tears would brim over her deep eyes and would run +down in pearls upon her cheek. Nothing set her to thinking of her old +home as those Sunday evenings did. Of a Sunday evening we could make her +go out with us to church sometimes. Not but then she would half cover +her face with a veil, so afraid was she that we might meet the Dane. But +I told her that the last place we should find him at would be at church +on Sunday evening.</p> + +<p>I have come far in advance of my story, that I might make any one who +reads this life of mine to understand how naturally and simply this poor +lost bird nestled down into our quiet life, and how the house that was +built for two proved big enough for three. For I made some new purchases +now, and fitted up the little middle chamber for Frida’s own use. We had +called it the “spare chamber” before, in joke. But now my mother fitted +pretty curtains to it, and other hangings, without Frida’s knowledge. I +had a square of carpet made up at the warehouse for the middle of the +floor, and by making her do one errand and another in the corner of the +garden one pleasant afternoon in November, we had it all prettily fitted +up for her room before she knew it. And a great gala we made of it when +she came in from gathering the seeds of the calystegia, which she had +been sent for.</p> + +<p>She looked like a northern Flora as she came in, with her arms all +festooned by the vines she had been pulling down. And when my mother +made her come out to the door she had never seen opened before, and led +her in, and told her that this pretty chamber was all her own, the +pretty creature flushed crimson red at first, and then her quick tears +ran over, and she fell on my mother’s neck and kissed her as if she +would never be done. And then she timidly held her hand out to me, too, +as I stood in the doorway, and said, in her slow, careful English,—</p> + +<p>“And you, too—and you, too. I must tank you both, also, especially. You +are so good—so good to de poor lost girl!” That was a very happy +evening.</p> + +<p>But, as I say, I have gone ahead of my story. For before we had these +quiet evenings we were fated to have many anxious ones and one stormy +one.</p> + +<p>The very first day that Frida was with us, I felt sure that the savages +would make another descent upon us. They had heard her scream, that was +certain. They knew she had not passed them, that was certain. They knew +there was a coal-bin on the other side of our fence, that was certain. +They would have reason enough for being afraid to have her at large, if, +indeed, there were no worse passion than fear driving some of them in +pursuit of her. I could not keep out of my mind the beastly look of the +Irishman who asked me, with such an ugly leer on his face, if there were +no passage through. Not that I told either of the two women of my fears. +But, all the same, I did not undress myself for a week, and sat in the +great easy-chair in our kitchen through the whole of every night, +waiting for the least sound of alarm.</p> + +<p>Next to the savages, I had always lived in fear of being discovered in +my retreat by the police, who would certainly think it strange to find a +man and his mother living in a shed, without any practicable outside +door, in what they called a vacant lot.</p> + +<p>But I have read of weak nations in history which were fain to call upon +one neighbor whom they did not like to protect them against another whom +they liked less. I made up my mind, in like wise, to go round to the +police-station nearest me.</p> + +<p>And so, having dressed myself in my black coat, and put on a round hat +and gloves, I bought me a Malacca walking-stick, such as was then in +fashion, and called upon the captain in style. I told him I lived next +the church, and that on such and such a night there was a regular row +among roughs, and that several of them went storming up the alley in a +crowd. I said, “Although your men were there as quick as they could +come, these fellows had all gone before they came.” But then I explained +that I had seen a fellow hanging about the alley in the daytime, who +seemed to be there for no good; that there was a hand-cart kept there by +a workman, who seemed to be an honest fellow, and, perhaps, all they +wanted was to steal that; that, if I could, I would warn him. But +meanwhile, I said, I had come round to the station to give the warning +of my suspicions, that if my rattle was heard again, the patrolmen might +know what was in the wind.</p> + +<p>The captain was a good deal impressed by my make-up and by the ease of +my manner. He affected to be perfectly well acquainted with me, although +we had never happened to meet at the Century Club or at the Union +League. I confirmed the favorable impression I had made by leaving my +card, which I had had handsomely engraved: “MR. ROBINSON CRUSOE.” With +my pencil I added my down-town address, where, I said, a note or +telegram would find me.</p> + +<p>I was not a day too soon with my visit to this gentleman. That very +night, after my mother and Frida had gone to bed, as I sat in my +easy-chair, there came over me one of those strange intimations which I +have never found it safe to disregard. Sometimes it is of good, and +sometimes of bad. This time it made me certain that all was not well. To +relieve my fears I lifted my ladder over the wall and dropped it in the +alley. I swung myself down and carried it to the very end of the alley, +to the place where I had dragged poor Frida in. The moon fell on the +fence opposite ours. My wing-fence and hand-cart were all in shade. But +everything was safe there.</p> + +<p>Again I chided myself for my fears, when, as I looked up the alley to +the street, I saw a group of four men come in stealthily. They said not +a word, but I could make out their forms distinctly against the houses +opposite.</p> + +<p>I was caught in my own trap!</p> + +<p>Not quite! They had not seen me, for I was wholly in shadow. I stepped +quickly in at my own slide. I pushed it back and bolted it securely, and +with my heart in my mouth, I waited at my hole of observation. In a +minute more they were close around me, though they did not suspect I was +so near.</p> + +<p>They also had a dark-lantern, and, I thought, more than one. They spoke +in low tones; but as they had no thought they had a hearer quite so +near, I could hear all they said.</p> + +<p>“I tell you it was this side, and this is the side I heard their deuced +psalm-singing day before yesterday.”</p> + +<p>“What if he did hear psalm-singing? Are you going to break into a man’s +garden because he sings psalms? I came here to find out where the girl +went to; and now you talk of psalm-singing and coal-bins.” This from +another, whose English was poor, and in whom I fancied I heard the Dane. +It was clear enough that he spoke sense, and a sort of doubt fell on the +whole crew; but speaker No. 1, with a heavy crowbar he had, smashed into +my pine wall, as I have a right to call it now, with a force which made +the splinters fly.</p> + +<p>“I should think we were all at Niblo’s,” said a man of slighter build, +“and that we were playing Humpty Dumpty. Because a girl flew out of a +window, you think a fence opened to take her in. Why should she not go +through a door? and he kicked with his foot upon the heavy sloping +cellar-door of the church, which just rose a little from the pavement. +It was the doorway which they used there when they took in their supply +of coal. The moon fell full on one side of it. To my surprise it was +loose and gave way.</p> + +<p>“Here is where the girl flew to, and here is where Bully Bigg, the +donkey, let her slip out of his fingers. I knew he was a fool, but I did +not know he was such a fool,” said the Dane (if he were the Dane).</p> + +<p>I will not pretend to write down the oaths and foul words which came in +between every two of the words I have repeated.</p> + +<p>“Fool yourself!” replied the Bully; “and what sort of a fool is the man +who comes up a blind alley looking after a girl that will not kiss him +when he bids her?”</p> + +<p>“Anyway,” put in another of the crew, who had just now lifted the heavy +cellar-door, “other people may find it handy to hop down here when the +‘beaks’ are too near them. It’s a handy place to know of in a dark +night, if the dear deacons do choose to keep it open for a poor +psalm-singing tramp, who has no chance at the station-house. Here, Lopp, +you are the tallest,—jump in and tell us what is there;” and at this +moment the Dane caught sight of my unfortunate ladder, lying full in the +moonlight. I could see him seize it and run to the doorway with it with +a deep laugh and some phrase of his own country talk, which I did not +understand.</p> + +<p>“The deacons are very good,” said the savage who had lifted the +cellar-door. “They make everything handy for us poor fellows.”</p> + +<p>And though he had not planted the ladder, he was the first to run down, +and called for the rest to follow. The Dane was second, Lopp was third, +and “The Bully,” as the big rascal seemed to be called by distinction, +was the fourth.</p> + +<p>I saw him disappear from my view with a mixture of wonder and terror +which I will not describe. I seized my light overcoat, which always hung +in the passage. I flung open my sliding-door and shut it again behind +me. I looked into the black of the cellar to see the reflections from +their distant lanterns, and without a sound I drew up my ladder. Then I +ran to the head of the alley and sounded my rattle as I would have +sounded the trumpet for a charge in battle. The officers joined me in +one moment.</p> + +<p>“I am the man who spoke to the captain about these rowdies. Four of them +are in the cellar of the church yonder now.”</p> + +<p>“Do you know who?”</p> + +<p>“One they called Lopp, and one they called Bully Bigg,” said I. “I do +not know the others’ names.”</p> + +<p>The officers were enraptured.</p> + +<p>I led them, and two other patrolmen who joined us, to the shelter of my +wing-wall. In a few minutes the head of the Dane appeared, as he was +lifted from below. With an effort and three or four oaths, he struggled +out upon the ground, to be seized and gagged the moment he stepped back. +With varying fortunes, Bigg and Lopp emerged, and were seized and +handcuffed in turn. The fourth surrendered on being summoned.</p> + +<p>What followed comes into the line of daily life and the morning +newspaper so regularly that I need not describe it. Against the Dane it +proved that endless warrants could be brought immediately. His lair of +stolen baggage and other property was unearthed, and countless sufferers +claimed their own. I was able to recover Frida’s and her mother’s +possessions—the locks on the trunks still unbroken. The Dane himself +would have been sent to the Island on I know not how many charges, but +that the Danish minister asked for him that he might be hanged in +Denmark, and he was sent and hanged accordingly.</p> + +<p>Lopp was sent to Sing-Sing for ten years, and has not yet been pardoned.</p> + +<p>Bigg and Cordon were sent to Blackwell’s Island for three years each. +And so the land had peace for that time.</p> +<p> </p> +<p>That winter, as there came on one and another idle alarm that Frida’s +brother might be heard from, my heart sank with the lowest terror lest +she should go away. And in the spring I told her that if she went away I +was sure I should die. And the dear girl looked down, and looked up, and +said she thought—she thought she should, too. And we told my mother +that we had determined that Frida should never go away while we stayed +there. And she approved.</p> + +<p>So I wrote a note to the minister of the church which had protected us +so long, and one night we slid the board carefully, and all three walked +round, fearless of the Dane, and Frida and I were married.</p> +<p> </p> +<p>It was more than three years after, when I received by one post three +letters, which gave us great ground for consultation. The first was from +my old friend and patron, the Spaniard. He wrote to me from Chicago, +where he, in his turn, had fallen in with a crew of savages, who had +stripped him of all he had, under the pretext of a land-enterprise they +engaged him in, and had left him without a real, as he said. He wanted +to know if I could not find him some clerkship, or even some place as +janitor, in New York.</p> + +<p>The second letter was from old Mr. Henry in Philadelphia, who had always +employed me after my old master’s death. He said that the fence around +the lot in Ninety-ninth Avenue might need some repairs, and he wished I +would look at it. He was growing old, he said, and he did not care to +come to New York. But the Fordyce heirs would spend ten years in Europe.</p> + +<p>The third letter was from Tom Grinnell.</p> + +<p>I wrote to Mr. Henry that I thought he had better let me knock up a +little office, where a keeper might sleep, if necessary; that there was +some stuff with which I could put up such an office, and that I had an +old friend, a Spaniard, who was an honest fellow, and if he might have +his bed in the office, would take gratefully whatever his services to +the estate proved worth. He wrote me by the next day’s mail that I might +engage the Spaniard and finish the office. So I wrote to the Spaniard +and got a letter from him, accepting the post provided for him. Then I +wrote to Tom Grinnell.</p> + +<p>The last day we spent at our dear old home, I occupied myself in +finishing the office as Friend Henry bade me. I made a “practicable +door,” which opened from the passage on Church Alley. Then I loaded my +hand-cart with my own chest and took it myself, in my working clothes, +to the Vanderbilt Station, where I took a brass check for it.</p> + +<p>I could not wait for the Spaniard, but I left a letter for him, giving +him a description of the way I managed the goats, and directions to milk +and fatten them, and to make both butter and cheese.</p> + +<p>At half-past ten a “crystal,” as those cabs were then called, came to +the corner of Fernando Street and Church Alley, and so we drove to the +station. I left the key of the office, directed to the Spaniard, in the +hands of the baggage-master.</p> + +<p>When I took leave of my castle, as I called it, I carried with me for +relics the great straw hat I had made, my umbrella, and one of my +parrots; also I forgot not to take the money I formerly mentioned, which +had lain by me so long useless that it was grown rusty and tarnished, +and could scarcely pass for money till it had been a little rubbed and +handled. With these relics and with my wife’s and mother’s baggage and +my own chest, we arrived at our new home.</p> + +<h2><a id="BREAD_ON_THE_WATERS"></a>BREAD ON THE WATERS<br /><br /> +<small>A WASHINGTON CHRISTMAS</small></h2> + +<div class="blockquot1"> +<p>[No. This story also is “Invented Example.” But it is founded on facts. +It is a pleasure to me, writing fifty-four years after the commission +intrusted to me by the late Mrs. Fales, to say that that is a real name, +and that her benevolence at a distance is precisely represented here.</p> + +<p>Perhaps the large history of the world would be differently written but +for that kindness of hers.</p> + +<p>I was a very young clergyman, and the remittance she made to me was the +first trust of the same kind which had ever been confided to me.]</p> +</div> + +<h3>CHAPTER I<br /><br />MAKE READY</h3> + +<p class="nind"><span class="letra">“O</span>NLY think, Matty, papa passed right by me when I was sitting with my +back to the fire and stitching away on his book-mark without my once +seeing him! But he was so busy talking to mamma that he never saw what I +was doing, and I huddled it under a newspaper before he came back again. +Well, I have got papa’s present done, but I cannot keep out of mamma’s +way. Matty, dear, if I will sit in the sun and keep a shawl on, may I +not sit in your room and work? It is not one bit cold there. Really, +Matty, it is a great deal warmer than it was yesterday.”</p> + +<p>“Dear child,” said Matty, to whom everybody came so readily for advice +and help, “I can do better for you than that. You shall come into the +study; papa will be away all the morning, and I will have the fire kept +up there,—and mamma shall never come near you.”</p> + +<p>All this, and a thousand times more of plotting and counterplotting, was +going on among four children and their elders in a comfortable, +free-and-easy seeming household in Washington, as the boys and girls, +young men and young women were in the last agonies of making ready for +Christmas. Matty is fully entitled to be called a young woman, when we +see her. She has just passed her twenty-first birthday. But she looks as +fresh and pretty as when she was seventeen, and certainly she is a great +deal pleasanter though she be wiser. She is the oldest of the troop. +Tom, the next, is expected from Annapolis this afternoon, and Beverly +from Charlotte. Then come four boys and girls whose ages and places the +reader must guess at as we go on.</p> + +<p>The youngest of the family were still young enough to write the names of +the presents which they would be glad to receive, or to denote them by +rude hieroglyphs, on large sheets of paper. They were wont to pin up +these sheets on certain doors, which, by long usage in this +free-and-easy family, had come to be regarded as the bulletin-boards of +the establishment. Well-nigh every range of created things had some +representation on these bulletins,—from an ambling pony round to a +“boot-buttenner,” thus spelled out by poor Laura, who was constantly in +disgrace, because she always appeared latest at the door when the +children started for church, to ride, or for school. The youngsters +still held to the theory of announcing thus their wants in advance. +Horace doubted whether he were not too old. But there was so much danger +that nobody would know how much he needed a jig-saw, that he finally +compromised with his dignity, wrote on a virgin sheet of paper, +“gig-saw,” signed his name, “Horace Molyneux, Dec. 21,” and left his +other presents to conjecture.</p> + +<p>And of course at the very end, as Santa Claus and his revels were close +upon them, while the work done had been wonderful, that which we ought +to have done but which we had left undone, was simply terrible. Here +were pictures that must be brought home from the frame-man, who had +never pretended he would send them; there were ferns and lycopodiums in +pots which must be brought home from the greenhouse; here were presents +for other homes, which must not only be finished, but must be put up in +paper and sent before night, so as to appear on other trees. Every one +of these must be shown to mamma, an approved by her and praised; and +every one must be shown to dear Matty, and praised and approved by her. +And yet by no accident must Matty see her own presents or dream that any +child has remembered her, or mamma see HERS or think herself remembered.</p> + +<p>And Matty has all her own little list to see to, while she keeps a heart +at leisure from itself to soothe and sympathize. She has to correct the +mistakes, to repair the failures, to respect the wonder, to refresh the +discouragement, of each and all the youngsters. Her own Sunday scholars +are to be provided with their presents. The last orders are to be given +for the Christmas dinners of half-a-dozen families of vassals, mostly +black or of some shade of black, who never forgot their vassalage as +Christmas came round. Turkey, cranberry, apples, tea, cheese, and butter +must be sent to each household of these vassals, as if every member were +paralyzed except in the muscles of the jaw. But, all the same, Matty or +her mother must be in readiness all the morning and afternoon to receive +the visits of all the vassals,—who, so far as this form of homage went, +did not seem to be paralyzed at all.</p> + +<p>For herself, Matty took possession of the dining-room, as soon as she +could clear it of the breakfast equipage, of the children and of the +servants, and here, with pen and ink, with wrapping-paper and twine, +with telegraph blanks and with the directory, and with Venty as her +Ariel messenger—not so airy and quick as Ariel, but quite as +willing—Matty worked her wonders, and gave her audiences, whether to +vassals from without or puzzled children from within.</p> + +<p>Venty was short for Ventidius. But this name, given in baptism, was one +which Venty seldom heard.</p> + +<p>Matty corded up this parcel, and made Venty cord up that; wrote this +note of compliment, that of inquiry, that of congratulation, and sent +Venty on this, that, and another errand with them; relieved Flossy’s +anxieties and poor Laura’s in ways which have been described; made sure +that the wagon should be at the station in ample time for Beverly’s +arrival; and at last, at nearly one o’clock, called Aunty Chloe (who was +in waiting on everybody as a superserviceable person, on the pretence +that she was needed), bade Aunty pick up the scraps, sweep the floor, +and bring the room to rights. And so, having attended to everybody +beside herself, to all their wishes and hopes and fears, poor Matty—or +shall I say, dear Matty—ran off to her own room, to finish her own +presents and make her own last preparations.</p> + +<p>She had kept up her spirits as best she could all the morning, but, at +any moment when she was alone, her spirits had fallen again. She knew +it, and she knew why. And now she could not hold out any longer. She and +her mother, thank God, never had any secrets. And as she ran by her +mother’s door she could not help tapping, to be sure if she had come +home.</p> + +<p>Yes, she had come home. “Come in!” and Matty ran in.</p> + +<p>Her mother had not even taken off her hat or her gloves. She had flung +herself on the sofa, as if her walk had been quite too much for her; her +salts and her handkerchief were in her hands, and when she saw it was +Matty, as she had hoped when she spoke, she would not even pretend she +had not been in tears.</p> + +<p>In a moment Matty was on her knees on the floor by the sofa, and somehow +had her left arm round about her mother’s neck.</p> + +<p>“Dear, dear mamma! What is it, what is the matter?”</p> + +<p>“My dear, dear Matty,” replied her mother, just succeeding in speaking +without sobs, and speaking the more easily because she stroked the +girl’s hair and caressed her as she spoke, “do not ask, do not try to +know. You will know, if you do not guess, only too soon. And now the +children will be better, and papa will get through Christmas better, if +you do not know, my darling.”</p> + +<p>“No, dear mamma,” said Matty, crossing her mother’s purpose almost for +the first time that she remembered, but wholly sure that she was right +in doing so,—“No, dear mamma, it is not best so. Indeed, it is not, +mamma! I feel in my bones that it is not!” This she said with a wretched +attempt to smile, which was the more ghastly because the tears were +running down from both their faces.</p> + +<p>“You see I have tried, mamma. I knew all day yesterday that something +was wrong, and at breakfast this morning I knew it. And I have had to +hold up—with the children and all these people—with the feeling that +any minute the hair might break and the sword fall. And I know I shall +do better if you tell me. You see the boys will be here before dark, and +of course they will see, and what in the world shall I say to them?”</p> + +<p>“What, indeed?” said her poor mother. “Terrible it is, dear child, +because your father is so wretched. I have just come from him. He would +not let me stay, and yet for the minute I was there, I saw that no one +else could come in to goad him. Dear, dear papa, he is so resolute and +brave, and yet any minute I was afraid that he would break a +blood-vessel and fall dead before me. Oh, Matty, Matty, my darling, it +is terrible!”</p> + +<p>And this time the poor woman could not control herself longer, but gave +way to her sobs, and her voice fairly broke, so that she was +inarticulate, as she laid her cheek against her daughter’s on the sofa.</p> + +<p>“What is terrible? Dear mamma, you must tell me!”</p> + +<p>“I think I must tell you, Matty, my darling. I believe if I cannot tell +some one, I shall die.”</p> + +<p>Then Mrs. Molyneux told the whole horror to Matty. Here was her husband +charged with the grossest plunder of the treasury, and now charged even +in the House of Representatives. It had been whispered about before, and +had been hinted at in some of the lower newspapers, but now even a +committee of Congress had noticed it, and had “given him an opportunity +to clear himself.” There was no less a sum than forty-seven thousand +dollars, in three separate payments, charged to him at the Navy +Department as long ago as the second and third years of the Civil War. +At the Navy they had his receipts for it. Not that he had been in that +department then any more than he was now. He was then chief clerk in the +Bureau of Internal Improvement, as he was now Commissioner there. But +this was when the second Rio Grande expedition was fitted out; and from +Mr. Molyneux’s knowledge of Spanish, and his old connection with the +Santa Fe trade, this particular matter had been intrusted to him.</p> + +<p>“Yes, dear mamma!”</p> + +<p>“Well, papa has it all down on his own cash-book; that book he carries +in his breast-pocket. There are the three payments, and then all the +transfers he made to the different people. One, was that old +white-haired Spaniard with the harelip, who used to come here at the +back door, so that he should not be seen at the Department. But it was +before you remember. The others were in smaller sums. But the whole +thing was done in three weeks, and then the expedition sailed, and papa +had enough else to think of, and has never thought of it since, till ten +or fifteen days ago, when somebody in the Eleventh Auditor’s office +discovered this charge, and his receipt for this money.”</p> + +<p>“Well, dear mamma?”</p> + +<p>“Well, dear child, that is all, but that now the newspapers have got +hold of it, and the Committee on Retrenchment, who are all new men, with +their reputations to make, have got hold of it, and some of them really +think, you know, that papa has stolen the money!” And she broke down +crying again.</p> + +<p>“But he can show his accounts, mamma!” What are his accounts worth? He +must show the vouchers, as they are called. He must show these people’s +receipts, and what has become of these people; what they did with the +money. He must show everything. Well, when the ‘Copperhead’ first spoke +of it—that was a fortnight ago—papa was really pleased. For he said it +would be a good chance to bring out a piece of war history. He said that +in our Bureau we had never had any credit for the Rio Grande successes, +that they were all our thunder; because THEN he could laugh about this +horrid thing. He said the Navy had taken all the boners, while we +deserved them all. And he said if these horrid ‘Copperhead’ and ‘Argus’ +and ‘Scorpion’ people would only publish the vouchers half as freely as +they published the charges, we should get a little of the credit that +was our due.”</p> + +<p>“Well, mamma, and what is the trouble now?”</p> + +<p>“Why, papa was so sure that he would do nothing until an official call +came. But on Monday it got into Congress. That hairy man from the +Yellowstone brought in a resolution or something, and the Committee was +ordered to inquire. And when the order came down, papa told Mr. +Waltsingham to bring him the papers, and, Matty, the papers were not +there!”</p> + +<p>“Stolen!” cried Matty, understanding the crisis for the first time.</p> + +<p>“Yes—perhaps—or lost—hidden somewhere. You have no idea of the work +of those days night work and all that. Many a time your father did not +undress for a week.”</p> + +<p>“And now he must remember where he put a horrid pile of papers, eleven, +twelve years ago. Mamma, that pile is stolen. That odious Greenhithe +stole it. He lives in Philadelphia now, and he has put up these +newspapers to this lie.”</p> + +<p>Mr. Greenhithe was an underclerk in the Internal Improvement Bureau, who +had shown an amount of attention to Miss Matty, which she had disliked +and had refused to receive. She had always said he was bad and would +come to a bad end, and when he was detected in a low trick, selling +stationery which he had stolen from the supply room, and was discharged +in disgrace, Matty had said it was good enough for him.</p> + +<p>These were her reasons for pronouncing at once that he had stolen the +vouchers and had started the rumors.</p> + +<p>“I do not know. Papa does not know. He hardly tries to guess. He says +either way it is bad. If the vouchers are stolen, he is in fault, for he +is responsible for the archives; if he cannot produce the vouchers, then +all the country is down on him for stealing. I only hope,” said poor +Mrs. Molyneux, “that they won’t say our poor old wagon is a coach and +six;” and this time she tried to smile.</p> + +<p>And now she had told her story. All last night, while the children were +asleep, Mr. Molyneux had been at the office, even till four o’clock in +the morning, taking old dusty piles from their lairs and searching for +those wretched vouchers. And mamma had been waiting—shall one not say, +had been weeping?—here at home. That was the reason poor papa had +looked so haggard at breakfast this morning.</p> + +<p>This was all mamma had to tell. She had been to the office this morning, +but papa would not let her stay. He must see all comers, just as if +nothing had happened, was happening, or was going to happen.</p> + +<p>Well! Matty did make her mother take off her jacket and her hat and her +gloves. She even made her drink a glass of wine and lie down. And then +the poor girl retired to her own room, with such appetite as she might +for taking the last stitches in worsted work, for stippling in the +lights into drawings, for writing the presentation lines in books, and +for doing the thousand little niceties in the way of finishing touches +which she had promised the children to do for them.</p> + +<p>Her dominant feeling—yes, it was a dominant passion, as she knew—was +simply rage against this miserable Greenhithe, this cowardly sneak who +was thus taking his revenge upon her, because she had been so cold to +him. Or was it that he made up to her because he was already in trouble +at the Office and hoped she would clear him with her father? Either way +he was a snake and a scorpion, but he had worked out for himself a +terrible revenge. Poor Matty! She tried to think what she could do, how +she could help, for that was the habit of her life. But this was now +hard indeed. Her mind would not now take that turn. All that it would +turn to was to the wretched and worse than worthless question, what +punishment might fall on him for such utter baseness and wickedness.</p> + +<p>All the same the children must have their lunch, and they must not know +that anything was the matter. Oh dear! this concealment was the worst of +all!</p> + +<p>So they had their lunch. And poor Matty counselled again, and helped +again, and took the last stitches, and mended the last breaks, and +waited and wondered, and tried to hope, till at five o’clock an office +messenger came up with this message.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>4.45 P.M. DEAR MATTY,—I shall not come up to dinner. There is +pressing work here. Tell mamma not to sit up for me. I have my key. +I have no chance to get my things for the children. Will you see to +it? Here is twenty dollars, and if you need more let them send in +the bill. I had only thought of that jig-saw—was it?—that Horace +wants. See that the dear fellow has a good one.</p> + +<p class="c">Love to all and ever yours,</p> + +<p class="rt"><span class="smcap">Papa</span>.</p></div> + +<p>“Poor, dear papa,” said Matty aloud, shedding tears in spite of herself. +“To be thinking of jig-saws and children in all this horrid hunt! As if +hunting for anything was not the worst trial of all, always.” And at +once the brave girl took down her wraps and put on her walking-shoes, +that her father’s commissions might be met before their six-o’clock +dinner. And she determined that first of all she would meet Tom at the +station.</p> + +<p>At the station she met Tom; that was well. Matty had not been charged to +secrecy; that was well. She told him all the story, not without adding +her suspicions, and giving him some notion of her rage.</p> + +<p>And Tom was angry enough,—there was a crumb of comfort there. But Tom +went off on another track. Tom distrusted the Navy Department. He had +been long enough at Annapolis to doubt the red tape of the bureaus with +which his chiefs had to do. “If the navy had the money, the navy had the +vouchers,” that was Tom’s theory. He knew a chief clerk in the navy, and +Tom was going at once round there.</p> + +<p>But Matty held him in check at least for the moment. Whatever else he +did, he must come home first; he must see mamma and he must see the +children, and he must have dinner. She had not told him yet how well he +looked, and how handsome he was.</p> + +<p>But after Tom had seen them he slipped off, pretended he had unfinished +preparations to make, and went right to the Department, forced his way +in because he was Mr. Molyneux’s son, and found his poor father with +Zeigler, the chief clerk, still on this wretched and fruitless overhaul +of the old files. Tom stated frankly, in his off-hand, business-like +way, what his theory was. Neither Zeigler nor Tom’s father believed in +it in the least. Tom knew nothing, they said; the Navy paid the money, +but the Navy was satisfied with our receipt, and should be.</p> + +<p>Tom continued to say, “If the Navy paid the money the Navy must have the +vouchers;” and at last, more to be rid of him than with any hope of the +result, Mr. Molyneux let the eager fellow go round to his friend, Eben +Ricketts, and see if Eben would not give an hour or two of his Christmas +to looking up the thing. Mr. Molyneux even went so far as to write a +frank line to Mr. Ricketts, and enclosed a letter which he had had that +day from the chairman of the House Committee,—a letter which was smooth +enough in the language, but horrible enough in the thing.</p> + +<p>Ah me! Had not Ricketts read it all already in the evening “Argus”? He +was willing, if he could, to serve. So he with Tom went round and found +the Navy Department messenger, and opened and lighted up the necessary +rooms, and they spent three hours of their Christmas there. Meanwhile +Beverly had arrived from Norfolk. He had a frolic with the children, and +then called his mother and Matty away from them.</p> + +<p>“What in thunder is the matter?” said the poor boy.</p> + +<p>And they told him. How could they help telling him? And so soon as the +story was finished, the boy had his coat on and was putting on his +boots. He went right down to his father’s office, he made old Stratton +admit him, and told his father he too had reported for duty.</p> + +<h3>CHAPTER II<br /><br />CHRISTMAS MORNING</h3> + +<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">And</span> at last Christmas morning dawned,—gray enough and grim enough.</p> + +<p>In that house the general presenting was reserved for evening after +dinner,—when in olden days there had always been a large Christmas-tree +lighted and dressed for the children and their little friends. As the +children had grown older, and the trees at the Sunday-school and +elsewhere had grown larger, the family tree had grown smaller, and on +this day was to be simply atypical tree, a little suggestion of a tree, +between the front windows; while most of the presents of every sort and +kind were to be dispersed—where room could be made for them—in any +part of the front parlors. All the grand ceremonial of present-giving +was thus reserved to the afternoon of Christmas, because then it was +certain papa would be at home, Tom and Beverly would both be ready, and, +indeed, as the little people confessed, they themselves would have more +chance to be quite prepared.</p> + +<p>But none the less was the myth of Santa Claus and the stockings kept up, +although that was a business of less account, and one in which the +children themselves had no share, except to wonder, to enjoy, and to +receive. You will observe that there is a duality in most of the +enjoyments of life,—that if you have a long-expected letter from your +brother who is in Yokohama, by the same mail or the next mail there +comes a letter from your sister who is in Cawnpore. And so it was of +Christmas at this Molyneux house. Besides the great wonders, like those +wrought out by Aladdin’s slave of the lamp, there were the wonders, less +gigantic but not less exquisite, of the morning hours, wrought out by +the slave of the ring. How this series of wonders came about, the +youngest of the children did not know, and were still imaginative enough +and truly wise enough not to inquire.</p> + +<p>While, then, the two young men and their father were at one or the other +Department, now on step-ladders, handing down dusty old pasteboard +boxes, now under gaslights, running down long indexes with inquiring +fingers and unwinking eyes, Matty and her mother watched and waited till +eleven o’clock came, not saying much of what was on the hearts of both, +but sometimes just recurring to it, as by some invisible influence,—an +influence which would overcome both of them at the same moment. For the +mother and daughter were as two sisters, not parted far, even in age, +and not parted at all in sympathy. For occupation, they were wrapping up +in thin paper a hundred barley dogs, cats, eagles, locomotives, suns, +moons, and stars,—with little parcels of nuts, raisins, and figs, large +red apples, and bright Florida oranges,—all of which were destined to +be dragged out of different stockings at daybreak.</p> + +<p>“And now, dear, dear mamma,” said Matty, “you will go to bed,—please +do, dear mamma.” This was said as she compelled the last obstinate eagle +to accept his fate and stay in his wrapping-paper, from which he had +more than once struggled out, with the instincts of freedom.</p> + +<p>“Please do, dear mamma; I will sort these all out, and will be quite +sure that each has his own. At least, let us come upstairs together. I +will comb your hair for you; that is one of the little comforts. And you +shall get into bed and see me arrange them, and if I do it wrong you can +tell me.”</p> + +<p>Poor mamma, she yielded to her—as who does not yield, and because it +was easier to go upstairs than to stay. And the girl led her up and made +herself a toilet woman indeed, and did put her worn-out mamma into bed, +and then hurried to the laundry, where she was sure she could find what +Diana had been bidden to reserve there—a pair of clean stockings +belonging to each member of the family. The youngest children, alas, who +would need the most room for their spread-eagles and sugar locomotives, +had the smallest feet and legs. But nature compensates for all things, +and Matty did not fail to provide an extra pair of her mother’s longest +stockings for each of “the three,” as the youngest were called in the +councils of their elders. So a name was printed by Santa Claus on a +large red card and pinned upon each receptacle, FLOSSY or LAURA, while +all were willing to accept of his bounties contained within, even if +they did not recognize yarn or knitting as familiar. Matty hurried back +with their treasures. She brought from her own room the large red +tickets, already prepared, and then, on the floor by her mother’s +bedside, assorted the innumerable parcels, and filled each stocking +full.</p> + +<p>Dear girl! she had not wrongly guessed. There was just occupation +enough, and just little enough, for the poor mother’s anxious, tired +thought. Matty was wise. She asked fewer and fewer questions; fewer and +fewer she made her journeys to the great high fender, where she pinned +all these stiff models of gouty legs. And when the last hung there +quietly, the girl had the exquisite satisfaction of seeing that her +mother was fast asleep. She would not leave the room. She turned the +gaslight down to a tiny bead. She slipped off her own frock, put on her +mother’s heavy dressing-gown, lay down quietly by her side without +rousing her, and in a little while—for with those so young this +resource is well-nigh sure—she slept too.</p> + +<p>It was five o’clock when she was wakened by her father’s hand. He led +her out into his own dressing-room, and before she spoke she kissed him!</p> + +<p>She knew what his answer would be. She knew that from his heavy face. +But all the same she tried to smile, and she said,</p> + +<p>“Found?”</p> + +<p>“Found? No, no, dear child, nor ever will be. How is mamma?”</p> + +<p>And Matty told him, and begged him to come and sleep in her own little +room, because the children would come in in a rout at daybreak. But no! +he would not hear to that. “Whatever else is left, dear Matty, we have +each other. And we will not begin—on what will be a new life to all of +us—we will not begin by ’bating a jot of the dear children’s joys. +Matty, that is what I have been thinking of all the way as I walked +home. But maybe I should not have said it, but that Beverly said it just +now to me. Dear fellow! I cannot tell you the comfort it was to me to +see him come in! I told him he should not have come, but he knew that he +made me almost happy. He is a fine fellow, Matty, and all night long he +has shown the temper and the sense of a man.”</p> + +<p>For a moment Matty could not say a word. Her eyes were all running over +with tears. She kissed her father again, and then found out how to say, +“I shall tell him what you say, papa, and there will be two happy +children in this house, after all.”</p> + +<p>So she ran to Beverly’s room, found him before he was undressed, and +told him. And the boy who was just becoming a man, and the girl who, +without knowing it, had become a woman, kissed each other; held each +other for a minute, each by both hands, looked each other so lovingly in +the eyes, comforted each other by the infinite comfort of love, and then +said good-night and were asleep. Tom had stolen to bed without waking +his mother or his sister, some hours before.</p> + +<p>Yes! They all slept. The little ones slept, though they had been so +certain that they should not sleep one wink from anxiety. This poor +jaded man slept because he must sleep. His poor wife slept because she +had not slept now for two nights before. And Matty and Tom and Beverly +slept because they were young and brave and certain and pure, and +because they were between seventeen and twenty-two years of age. This is +all to say that they could seek God’s help and find it. This is to say +that they were well-nigh omnipotent over earthly ills,—so far, at the +least, that sleep came when sleep was needed.</p> + +<p>But not after seven o’clock! Venty and Diana had been retained by Flossy +and Laura to call them at five minutes of seven, and Laura and Flossy +had called the others. And at seven o’clock, precisely, a bugle-horn +sounded in the children’s quarters, and then four grotesque riders, each +with a soldier hat made of newspaper, each with a bright sash girt round +a dressing-gown, each with bare feet stuck into stout shoes, came +storming down the stairs, and as soon as the lower floor was reached, +each mounted on a hobby-horse or stick, and with riot not to be told +came knocking at Matty’s door, at Beverly’s, and at Tom’s. And these all +appeared, also with paper soldier hats upon their heads, and girt in +some very spontaneous costume, and so the whole troop proceeded with +loud fanfaron and drum-beat to mamma’s door and knocked for admission, +and heard her cheery “Come in.” And papa and mamma had heard the +bugle-calls, and had wrapped some sort of shawls around their shoulders, +and were sitting up in bed, they also with paper soldier hats upon them; +and one scream of “Merry Christmas” resounded as the doors flew +open,—and then a wild rampage of kissing and of hugging as the little +ones rushed for the best places they could find on the bed—not to say +in it. This was the Christmas custom.</p> + +<p>And Tom rolled up a lounge on one side of the bed, which after a fashion +widened it, and Beverly brought up his mother’s easy-chair, which had +earned the name of “Moses’ seat,” on the other side, and thus, in a +minute, the great broad bed was peopled with the whole family, as jolly, +if as absurd, a sight as the rising sun looked upon. And then! Flossy +and Beverly were deputed to go to the fender, and to bring the crowded, +stiff stockings, whose crackle was so delicate and exquisite; and so, +youngest by youngest, they brought forth their treasures, not indeed +gold, frankincense, and myrrh, but what answered the immediate purposes +better, barley cats, dogs, elephants and locomotives, figs, raisins, +walnuts, and pecans.</p> + +<p>Yes, and for one noisy half-hour not one person thought of the cloud +which hung over the house only the night before!</p> +<p>  </p> +<p>But such happy forgetfulness cannot last forever. There was the +Christmas breakfast. And Tom tried to tell of Academy times, and Beverly +tried to tell stories of the University. But it was a hard pull. The +lines under papa’s eyes were only too dark. And all of a sudden he would +start, and ask some question which showed that he did not know what they +were talking of. Matty had taken care to have the newspapers out of the +way; but everybody knew why they were out of the way,—and perhaps this +made things worse. Poor blundering Laura must needs say, “That is the +good of Christmas, that there are no horrid newspapers for people to +bother with,” when everybody above Horace’s age knew that there were +papers somewhere, and soon Horace was bright enough to see what he had +not been told in words,—that something was going wrong.</p> + +<p>And as soon as breakfast was done, Flossy cried out, “And now papa will +tell us the story of the bear! Papa always tells us that on Christmas +morning. Laura, you shall come; and, Horace, you shall sit there.” And +then her poor papa had to take her up and kiss her, and say that this +morning he could not stop to tell stories, that he had to go to the +Department. And then Flossy and Laura fairly cried. It was too bad. They +hated the Department. There never could be any fun but what that horrid +old Department came in. And when Horace found that Tom was going to the +Department too, and that Bev meant to go with him, he was mad, and said +he did not see what was the use of having Christmas. Here he had +tin-foil and plaster upstairs, and little Watrous had lent him a set of +government medals, and they should have such a real good time if Bev +would only stay. He wished the Department was at the bottom of the +Potomac. Matty fairly had to take the scolding boy out of the room.</p> + +<p>Mr. Molyneux, poor fellow, undertook the soothing of Flossy. “Anyway, +old girl, you shall meet me as you go to church, and we will go through +the avenue together, and I will show you the new Topsy girl selling +cigars at Pierre’s tobacco shop. She is as big as Flossy. She has not +got quite such golden hair, but she never says one word to her papa, +because she is never cross to him.”</p> + +<p>“That’s because he is never kind to her,” said the quick child, speaking +wiser than she knew.</p> + +<p>For Matty, she got a word with Tom, and he too promised that they would +be away from the Department in time to meet the home party, and that all +of them should go to church together.</p> + +<h3>CHAPTER III<br /><br />CHURCH AND SERMON</h3> + +<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">And</span>, accordingly, as Mrs. Molyneux with her little troop crossed F +Street, they met the gentlemen all coming toward them. They broke up +into groups, and Tom and Matty got their first real chance for talk +since they had parted the night before. No! Tom had found no clue at the +Navy Department. And although Eben Ricketts had been good as gold, and +had stayed and worked with Tom till long after midnight, Eben had only +worked to show good-will, for Eben had not the least faith that there +was any clue there. Eben had said that if old Mr. Whilthaugh, who knew +the archive rooms through and through, had not been turned out, they +could do in fifteen minutes what had cost them six hours, and that old +Mr. Whilthaugh, without looking, could tell whether it was worth while +to look. But old Mr. Whilthaugh had been turned out, and Eben, even, did +not know precisely what had become of him. He thought he had gone back +into Pennsylvania, where his wife came from, but he did not know.</p> + +<p>“But, Matty, if nothing turns up to-day, I go to Pennsylvania to-morrow +to find this old Mr. Whilthaugh. For I shall die if I stay here; and all +the Eben Rickettses in the world will never persuade me that the +vouchers are not in that archive-room. If the Navy did the work, the +Navy must have the vouchers.”</p> + +<p>Then Matty ventured to ask what she and her mother had wondered about +once and again,—why these particular bits of paper were so necessary. +Surely other vouchers, or certified copies, or books of account could be +found somewhere!</p> + +<p>“Yes! I know; you would say so. And if it were all yesterday, and was +all in these lazy times of peace, you would say true. But you see, in +the first place, this is ever so long ago. Then, in the second place, it +was in the heat of war, when everything was on a gigantic scale, and +things had to be done in unheard-of ways. Then, chiefly, this particular +business involved the buying up of I do not know who among the Rebels +there in Texas, and among their allies on the other side the Rio Grande. +This old Spaniard, whom mamma remembers, and whom I just remember, he +was the chief captain among the turncoats, and there were two or three +others, F. F. men in their places,—“First Family men,” that means, you +know; but after they did this work they did not stay in their places +long. No! papa says he was mighty careful; that he had three of the +scoundrels sworn before notaries, or rather before one notary, and had +their receipts and acknowledgments stamped with his notary’s seal. +Still, it did not do to have a word said in public then. And after +everything succeeded so perfectly, after the troops landed without a +shot, and found all the base ready for them, corn and pork just where +they wanted it,—why, then everybody was too gratified to think of +imagining, as they do now, that papa had stolen that money that bought +the pork and the corn.”</p> + +<p>“I wish they were only half as grateful now,” he said, after a pause.</p> + +<p>“Tom,” said Matty, eagerly, “who was that notary?”</p> + +<p>“I thought of that, too,” said Tom. “There is no doubt who it was. It +was old Gilbert; you must remember his sign, just below Faulkner’s on +the avenue. But in the first place, Gilbert died just after our taking +Richmond. In the second place, he never knew what the papers were—and +he executed twenty such sets of papers every day, very likely. All he +could say, at the very best, would be that at such a time father brought +in an old Spaniard and two or three other greasers, and that he took +their acknowledgments of something.”</p> + +<p>“I do not know that, Tom,” said the girl, without flinching at his +mannish information. “If notaries in Washington are anything like +notaries in novels, that man kept a record or register of his work. If +he was not very unlike everybody else who lives and works here, he left +a very destitute widow when he died. Tom, I shall go after church and +hunt up the Widow Gilbert. I shall ask her for her husband’s books, and +shall tell her why I want them.”</p> + +<p>The girl dropped her voice and said: “Tom, I shall ask her IN HIS NAME.”</p> + +<p>“God grant it does any good, dear girl,” said he. “Far be it from me to +say that you shall not try—”</p> + +<p>But here he stopped speaking, for he felt Matty’s arm shake in his, and +her whole frame trembled. Tom had only to keep his eyes before him to +see why.</p> + +<p>Mr. Greenhithe, Matty’s old admirer, the clerk who had been dismissed +for stealing, was just entering the church, and even touched his hat to +her as she went by.</p> + +<p>Tom resisted his temptation to thrash him then and there. He said,—</p> + +<p>“Matty, I believe I will tackle that man!”</p> + +<p>“Oh, Tom!”</p> + +<p>“Yes, Matty, I can keep my temper, and he cannot keep his. He has one +advantage over most knaves, that he is not only a knave of the first +water, but he is sometimes a fool, too. If it were only decent and right +to take him into Downing’s saloon, and give him just one more glass of +whiskey than the blackguard would care to pay for, I could get at his +whole story.”</p> + +<p>“But, Tom, I thought you were so sure the Navy had the papers!”</p> + +<p>“Well! well!” said Tom, a little annoyed, as eager people are when other +eager people remember their words against them. “I was sure—I was +wholly sure—till I left Eben Ricketts. But after that—well, of course, +we ought to pull every string.”</p> + +<p>“Tom!” This with a terrible gulp.</p> + +<p>“Tom, you don’t think I ought to speak with him!”</p> + +<p>“Matty!”</p> + +<p>“Why, Tom, yes; if he does know—if he is holding this up in terror, +Tom, I could make him do what I chose once, Tom. You don’t think I ought +to try?”</p> + +<p>“Matty, if you ever speak to that snake again, I will thrash him within +an inch of his life, and I will never say a word to you as long as you +live.”</p> + +<p>“That’s my dear Tom!” And, hidden as they were, and crying as she was +under her veil, she flung her arms around him and kissed him.</p> + +<p>“All the same,” said Tom, after he had kissed her again and again,—“all +the same, I shall find out, after church, where the snake is staying. I +shall go to the hotel and take a cigar. I shall offer him one, and he is +so mean and stingy that he will take it. Perhaps this may be one of his +fool days. Perhaps somebody else will treat him to the whiskey. No, +Matty! honor bright, _I_ will not, though that ten cents might give us +all a Merry Christmas. Honor bright, I will not treat. But I am not a +saint, Matty! If anybody else treats, I must not be expected to be far +away.”</p> + +<p>Then he wiped her eyes with his own handkerchief and led her in to the +service. Their own pew was already full. He had to take her back into +Dr. Metcalf’s pew.</p> + +<p>So Matty was spared one annoyance which was prepared for her.</p> + +<p>Directly in front of her father’s pew, sitting in the most conspicuous +seat on the other side of the aisle, was the hateful Mr. Greenhithe.</p> + +<p>Had he put himself there to watch Matty’s face?</p> + +<p>If he did, he was disappointed. If he had persuaded himself he was to +see a pale cheek or tearful eyes, or that he was going to compel her to +drop her veil, he had reckoned quite without his host. Whenever he did +look that way, all he saw was the face of Master Horace. Horace was +engaged in counting the large tassels on his side of the pulpit +curtains; in counting, also, the number of small tassels between them, +and from the data thus obtained, in calculating how many tassels there +must be on all the curtains to the pulpit, and how many on the curtains +behind the rail to the chancel. Mr. Greenhithe, therefore, had but +little comfort in studying Horace’s face.</p> + +<p>Just as the Creed was finished, when the rest of the church was still, +the sexton led up the aisle a grim-looking man, with a shaggy coat and a +very dirty face, and brought him close to the door of Mr. Molyneux’s +pew—as if he would fain bring him in. Mr. Molyneux was at the end of +the pew, but happened to be turning away from the aisle, and the sexton +actually touched him. He turned round and looked at the +stranger,—evidently did not know him,—but with the instinct of +hospitality, stepped into the aisle and offered him his seat. The +stranger was embarrassed; hesitated as if he would speak, then shook his +head in refusal of the attention, and crossing the aisle, took a seat +offered him there, in full sight of Mr. Molyneux, and, indeed, of Matty.</p> + +<p>Poor girl! The trifle—of course it was a trifle—upset her sadly.</p> + +<p>Was the man a marshal or a sheriff? Would they really arrest her father +on Christmas Day, in church?</p> + +<h3>CHAPTER IV<br /><br />IS THIS CHRISTMAS?</h3> + +<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">Yes</span>; it was, as you have said, a very curious Christmas service for all +those people.</p> + +<p>What Horace turned his mind to, at intervals, has been told.</p> + +<p>Of the elder members of our little company who sat there near the head +of the side aisle, it may be said, in general, that they did their best +to keep their hearts and minds engaged in the service, and that +sometimes they succeeded. They succeeded better while they could really +join in the hymns and the prayers than they did when it came to the +sermon. Good Dr. Gill, overruled by one of those lesser demons, whose +work is so apparent though so inexplicable in this finite world, had +selected for the text of his sermon of gladness the words, “Search and +look.” And so it happened—it was what did not often happen with him—he +must needs repeat those words often, at the beginning and end, indeed, +of every leading paragraph of the sermon. Now this duty of searching and +looking had been just what all the elder members of the Molyneux family +had been solidly doing—each in his way or hers, directly or by +sympathy—in the last forty-eight hours. To get such relief as they +might from it, they had come to church, to look rather higher if they +could. So that it was to them more a misfortune than a matter of +immediate spiritual relief that their dear old friend, who loved each +one of them with an intimate and peculiar love, happened to enlarge on +his text just as he did.</p> + +<p>If poor Mr. Molyneux, by dint of severe self-command, had succeeded in +abstracting his thoughts from disgrace almost certain,—from thinking +over, in horrible variety, the several threads of inquiry and answer by +which that disgrace was to be avoided or precipitated,—how was it +possible to maintain such abstraction, while the worthy preacher, wholly +unconscious of the blood he drew with every word, ground out his +sentences in such words as these:—</p> + +<p>“Search and look, my brethren. Time passes faster than we think. Our +gray hairs gather apace above our foreheads. And the treasure which we +prized beyond price in years bygone has perhaps, amid the cares of this +world, or in the deceitfulness of riches, been thrust on one side, +neglected, at last forgotten. How is it with you, dear friends? Are you +the man? Are you the woman? Have you put on one side the very treasure +of your life,—as some careless housewife might lay aside on a forgotten +shelf this parcel or that, once so precious to her? Dear friends, as the +year draws to a close, awaken from such neglect! Brush away the dust +from these forgotten caskets! Lift them from their hiding-places and set +them forth, even in your Christmas festivities. Search and look!”</p> + +<p>Poor Mrs. Molyneux had never wished before so earnestly that a sermon +might be done. She dared not look round to see her husband for a while, +but after one of these invocations—not quite so terrible as the rest, +perhaps—she stole a glance that way, to find—that she might have +spared her anxiety. Two nights of “searching and looking” had done their +duty by the poor man, and though his head was firm braced against the +column which rose from the side of their pew, his eyes were closed, and +his wife was relieved by the certainty that he was listening, as those +happy members of the human family listen who assure me that they hear +when their lids are tight pressed over their eyeballs. As for Beverly, +he was assuming the resolute aspect of a sailor under fire, and was +imagining himself taking the whole storm of Fort Constantine as he led +an American squadron into the Bay of Sevastopol. Tom did not know what +the preacher said, but was devising the method of his interview with +Greenhithe. Matty did know. Dear girl! she knew very well. And with +every well-rounded sentence of the sermon she was more determined as to +the method of her appeal to Mrs. Gilbert, the widow of the notary. She +would search and look there.</p> + +<p>Yes! and it was well for every one of them that they went to that +service. The sermon at the worst was but twenty minutes. “Twenty minutes +in length,” said Beverly, wickedly, “and no depth at all.” But that was +not true nor fair; nor was that, either way, the thing that was +essential. By the time they had all sung</p> + +<div class="poetry"><div class="poem">“Praise God from whom all blessings flow,”</div></div> + +<p class="nind">even before the good old Doctor had asked for Heaven’s blessing upon +them, it had come. To Mr. Molyneux it had come in an hour’s rest of +mind, body, and soul. To Matty it had come in an hour’s calm +determination. To Mrs. Molyneux it had come in the certainty that there +is One Eye which sees through all hiding-places and behind all +disguises. To the children it had come, because the hour had called up +to them a hundred memories of Galilee and Nazareth, of Mary Mother, and +of children made happy, to supplement and help out their legends of +Santa Claus. Yes, and even Beverly the brave, and Tom the outraged, as +they stood to receive the benediction of the preacher, were more of men +and less of firebrands than they were. They all stood with reverence; +they paused a moment, and then slowly walked down the aisle.</p> + +<p>“Where is your father, Horace?” said Mrs. Molyneux, a little anxiously, +as she came where she could speak aloud. Horace was waiting for her.</p> + +<p>“Papa? He went away with the gentleman who came in after service began; +they crossed the street and took a carriage together.”</p> + +<p>“And did papa leave no message?”</p> + +<p>“Why, no; he did not turn round. The strange man—the man in the rough +coat—just touched him and spoke to him half-way down the aisle. Then +papa whispered to him and he whispered back. Then, as soon as they came +into the vestibule here, papa led him out at that side door, and did not +seem to remember me. They almost ran across the street, and took George +Gibb’s hack. I knew the horses.”</p> + +<p>“That’s too bad,” said Laura; “I thought papa would walk home with us +and tell us the story of the bears.”</p> + +<p>Poor Mrs. Molyneux thought it was too bad, too; but she said nothing.</p> + +<p>And Matty, when she joined her mother, said,—</p> + +<p>“I shall feel a thousand times happier, mamma, if I go and see Mrs. +Gilbert now.” And she explained who Mrs. Gilbert was. “Perhaps it may do +some good. Anyway, I shall feel as if I were doing something. I will be +home in time to finish the tree and things, for Horace will like to help +me.”</p> + +<p>And the poor girl looked her entreaties so eagerly that her mother could +not but assent to her plan. So she made Beverly go up the avenue with +her,—Beverly, who would have swum the Potomac and back for her, had she +asked him,—as he was on his way to join his father at the Bureau.</p> + +<p>As they came out upon the broad sidewalk, that odious Greenhithe, with +some one whom Beverly called a blackguard of his crew, pushed by them, +and he had the impudence to turn and touch his hat to Matty again.</p> + +<p>Matty’s hand trembled on Beverly’s arm, but she would not speak for a +minute, only she walked slower and slower.</p> + +<p>Then she said: “I am so afraid, Bev, that Tom and he will get into a +quarrel. Tom declares he will go into Willard’s and find out whether he +does know anything.”</p> + +<p>But Beverly, very mannish, tried to reassure her and make her believe +that Tom would be very self-restrained and perfectly careful.</p> + +<p>On Christmas Day the Jew’s dry-goods store, which had taken the place of +old Mr. Gilbert’s notary’s office, was closed—not perhaps so much from +the Israelite’s enthusiasm about Christmas as in deference to what in +New England is called “the sense of the street.” Matty, however, acting +from a precise knowledge of Washington life, rang boldly at the green +door adjacent, Beverly still waiting to see what might turn up; and when +a brisk “colored girl” appeared, Matty inquired if Mrs. Munroe was at +home.</p> + +<p>Now all that Matty knew of Mrs. Munroe was that her name was on a +well-scoured brass plate on the door.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Munroe was in. Beverly said he would wait in the passage. Mrs. +Munroe proved to be a nice, motherly sort of a person, who, as it need +hardly be said, was stone-deaf. It required some time for Matty to +adjust her speaking apparatus to the exigency, but when this was done, +Mrs. Munroe explained that Mr. Gilbert was dead,—that an effort had +been made to continue the business with the old sign and the old good +will, under the direction of a certain Mr. Bundy, who had sometimes been +called in as an assistant. But Mr. Bundy, after some years, paid more +attention to whiskey than he did to notarying, and the law business had +suffered. Finally, Mr. Bundy was brought home by the police one night +with a broken head, and then Mrs. Gilbert had withdrawn the signs, +cancelled the lease, turned Mr. Bundy out-of-doors, and retired to live +with a step-sister of her brother’s wife’s father near the Arsenal; good +Mrs. Munroe was not certain whether on Delaware Avenue, or whether on T +Street, U Street, or V Street. And, indeed, whether the lady’s name were +Butman before she married her second husband, and Lichtenfels +afterward—or whether his name were Butman and hers Lichtenfels, Mrs. +Munroe was not quite sure. Nor could she say whether Mr. Gilbert took +the account books and registers—there were heaps on heaps of them, for +Mr. Gilbert had been a notary ever since General Jackson’s day—or +whether Bundy did not take them, or whether they were not sold for old +paper, Mrs. Munroe was not sure. For all this happened—all the break-up +and removal—while Mrs. Munroe was on a visit to her sister not far from +Brick Church above Little Falls, on your way to Frederic. And Mrs. +Munroe offered this visit as a constant apology for her not knowing more +precisely every detail of her old friend’s business.</p> + +<p>This explanation took a good deal of time, through all of which poor +Beverly was fretting and fuming and stamping his cold feet in the +passage, hearing the occasional questions of his sister, uttered with +thunder tone in the “setting-room” above, but hearing no word of the +placid widow’s replies.</p> + +<p>When Matty returned and held a consultation with him, the question was, +whether to follow the books of account to Georgetown, where Mr. Bundy +was understood to be still residing, or to the neighborhood of the +Arsenal, in the hope of finding Mrs. Gilbert, Mrs. Lichtenfels, or Mrs. +Butman, as the case might be. Readers should understand that these two +points, both unknown to the young people, are some six miles asunder, +the original notary’s office being about half-way between them. Beverly +was more disposed to advise following the man. He was of a mind to +attack some one of his own sex. But the enterprise was, in truth, +Matty’s enterprise. Beverly had but little faith in it from the +beginning, and Matty was minded to follow such clue as they had to Mrs. +Gilbert, quite sure that, woman with woman, she should succeed better +with her than, man with man, Beverly with Bundy. Beverly assented to +this view the more willingly, because Matty was quite willing to +undertake the quest alone. She was very brave about it indeed. “Plenty +of nice people at the Arsenal,” or near it, whom she could fall back +upon for counsel or information. So they parted. Matty took a street car +for the east and south, and Beverly went his ways to the Bureau of +Internal Improvement to report for duty to his father.</p> + +<p>This story must not follow the details of Matty’s quest for the firm of +“Gilbert, Lichtenfels, or Butman.” Certain it is that she would never +have succeeded had she rested simply on the directory or on such crude +information as Mrs. Munroe had so freely given. But Matty had an English +tongue in her head,—a courteous, which is to say a confiding, address +with strangers; she seemed almost to be conferring a favor at the moment +when she asked one, and she knew, in this business, that there was no +such word as fail. After one or two false starts—some very stupid +answers, and some very blunt refusals—she found her quarry at last, by +as simple a process as walking into a Sunday-school of colored children, +where she heard singing in the basement of a little chapel.</p> + +<p>In a few words Matty explained her errand to the Superintendent, and +that it was necessary that she should find Mrs. Gilbert before dark.</p> + +<p>“Ting!” one stroke of the bell called hundreds of eager voices to +silence.</p> + +<p>“Who knows where Mrs. Gilbert lives? Is it at Mrs. Butman’s house or +Mrs. Lichtenfels’?”</p> + +<p>Twenty eager hands contended with each other for the honor of giving the +information, and in three minutes more, Matty, all encouraged by her +success, was on her way.</p> + +<p>And Mrs. Gilbert was at home. Good fortune number two! Matty’s star was +surely in the ascendant! Matty sent in her card, and the nice old lady +presented herself at once, remembered who Matty was, remembered how much +business Mr. Molyneux used to bring to the office, and how grateful Mr. +Gilbert always was. She was so glad to see Matty, and she hoped Mr. +Molyneux was well, and Mrs. Molyneux and all those little ones! She used +to see them every Sunday as they went to church, if they went on the +avenue.</p> + +<p>Thus encouraged, Matty opened on her sad story, and was fairly helped +from stage to stage by the wonder, indignation, and exclamations of the +kind old lady. When Matty came to the end, and made her understand how +much depended on the day-book, register, and ledger of her husband, it +was a fair minute before she spoke.</p> + +<p>“We will see, my dear, we will see. I wish it may be so, but I’m all +afeard. It would not be like him, my dear. It would not be like any of +them. But come with me, my dear, we will see—we will see.”</p> + +<p>Then, as Matty followed her, through devious ways, out through the +kitchen, across a queer bricked yard, into a half stable, half woodshed, +which the good woman unlocked, she went on talking:—</p> + +<p>“You see, my dear child, that though notaries are called notaries, as if +it were their business to give notice, the most important part of their +business is keeping secrets. Now, when a man’s note goes to protest, the +notary tells him what has happened, which he knew very well before; and +then he comes to the notary and begs him not to tell anybody else, and +of course he does not. And the business of a notary’s account books, as +my husband used to say, is to tell just enough, and not to tell any +more.</p> + +<p>“Why, my dear child, he would not use blotting-paper in the office,—he +would always use sand. ‘Blotting-paper! Never!’ he would say; +‘Blotting-paper tells secrets!’<span class="lftspc">”</span></p> + +<p>With such chatter they came to the little chilly room, which was shelved +all around, and to Matty’s glad eyes presented rows of green and blue +and blue and red boxes,—and folio and quarto books of every date, from +1829 to 1869, forty years in which the late Mr. Gilbert had been +confirming history, keeping secret what he knew, but making sure what, +but for him, might have been doubted by a sceptic world.</p> + +<p>Things were in good order. Mrs. Gilbert was proud to show that they were +in good order. The day-book for 1863 was at hand. Matty knew the fatal +dates only too well. And the fatal entries were here!</p> + +<p>How her heart beat as she began to read!</p> + +<table class="sml"> +<tr><td colspan="2">    Cr.</td></tr> +<tr><td class="pdd">To Thomas Molyneux Esq., (B. I. I.) official + authentication of signature of Felipe Gazza</td><td class="rtb"> $1.25</td></tr> +<tr><td class="pdd">Same, authentication of signature of Jose B. Du + Camara</td><td class="rtb"> 1.25</td></tr> +<tr><td class="pdd">Same, authentication of signature of Jacob H. + Cole</td><td class="rtb"> 1.25</td></tr> +</table> + +<p class="nind">And this was all! Poor Matty copied it all, but all the time she begged +Mrs. Gilbert to tell her if there was not some note-book or journal that +would tell more. And kind Mrs. Gilbert looked eagerly for what she +called the “Diry.” At the proper dates on the cash-book, at intervals of +a week or two, Matty found similar entries—the names of the two +Spaniards appearing in all these—but other names in place of Cole’s +just as Tom had told her already. By the time she had copied all of +these, Mrs. Gilbert had found the “Diry.” Eager, and yet heart-sick, +Matty turned it over with her old friend.</p> + +<p>This was all:—</p> + +<p>“Mr. Molyneux here. Very private. Papers in R. G. E.” And then followed +a little burst of unintelligible short-hand.</p> + +<p>Poor Matty! She could not but feel that here would not be evidence good +for anything, even in a novel. But she copied every word carefully, as a +chief clerk’s daughter should do. She thanked the kind old lady, and +even kissed her. She looked at her watch. Heavens! how fast time had +gone! and the afternoons were so short!</p> + +<p>“Yes, my dear Miss Molyneux; but they have turned, my dear, the day is a +little longer and a little lighter.”</p> + +<p>Did the old lady mean it for an omen, or was it only one of those +chattering remarks on meteors and weather change of which old age is so +fond? Matty wondered, but did not know. Fast as she could, she tripped +bravely on to the avenue for her street car.</p> + +<p>“The day is longer and lighter.”</p> + +<p> </p> + +<p>Meanwhile Tom was following his clue in the public rooms at Willard’s, +to which, as he prophesied, Mr. Greenhithe had returned after the +unusual variation in his life of a morning spent in the sanctuary. Tom +bought a copy of the Baltimore “The Sun,” and went into one of the +larger rooms resorted to by travellers and loafers, and sat down. But +Mr. Greenhithe did not appear there. Tom walked up and down through the +passages a little uneasily, for he was sure the ex-clerk had come into +the hotel. He went up and looked in at the ladies’ sitting-rooms, to see +if perhaps some Duchess of Devonshire, of high political circles, had +found it worth while to drag Mr. Greenhithe up there by a single hair. +No Mr. Greenhithe! Tom was forced to go down and drink a glass of beer +to see if Mr. Greenhithe was not thirsty. But at that moment, though Mr. +Greenhithe was generally thirsty in the middle of the day, and although +many men were thirsty at the time Tom hung over his glass of lager, Mr. +Greenhithe was not thirsty there. It was only as Tom passed the +billiard-room that he saw Mr. Greenhithe was playing a game of +billiards, by way of celebrating the new birth of a regenerated world.</p> + +<p>What to do now! Tom could not, in common decency, go in to look on at +the game of a man he wanted to choke. Yet Tom would have given all his +chances for rank in the Academy to know what Greenhithe was talking +about. Tom slowly withdrew.</p> + +<p>As he withdrew, whom should he meet but one of his kindest friends, +Commodore Benbow? When the boys made their “experimental cruise” the +year before, they had found Commodore Benbow’s ship at Lisbon. The +Commodore had taken a particular fancy to Tom, because he had known his +mother when they were boy and girl. Tom had even been invited personally +to the flag-ship, and was to have been presented at Court, but that they +sailed too soon.</p> + +<p>To tell the whole truth, the Commodore was not overpleased to see his +protege hanging about the bar and billiard-room on Christmas Day. For +himself, his whole family were living at Willard’s, but he knew Tom’s +father was not living there, and he thought Tom might be better +employed.</p> + +<p>Perhaps Tom guessed this. Perhaps he was in despair. Anyway he knew “Old +Benbow,” as the boys called him, would be a good counsellor. In point of +statistics “Old Benbow” was just turned forty, had not a gray hair in +his head, could have beaten any one of Tom’s class, whether in gunning +or at billiards, could have demonstrated every problem in Euclid while +they were fiddling over the forty-seventh proposition. He was at the +very prime of well-preserved power, but young nineteen called him “Old +Benbow,” as young nineteen will, in such cases.</p> + +<p>Bold with despair, or with love for his father, Tom stopped “Old Benbow” +and asked him if he would come into one of the sitting-rooms with him. +Then he made this venerable man his confidant. The Commodore had seen +the slurs in the “Scorpion” and the “Argus” and the “Evening Journal.” +“A pity,” said he, “that Newspaper Row, that can do so much good, should +do so much harm. What is Newspaper Row? Three or four men of honor, +three or four dreamers, three or four schoolboys, three or four fools, +and three or four scamps. And the public, Molyneux,—which is to say you +and I,—accept the trumpet blast of one of these heralds precisely as we +do that of another. Practically,” said he, pensively, “when we were +detached to serve with the 33d Corps in Mobile Bay, I found I liked the +talk of those light-infantry men who had been in every scrimmage of the +war, quite as much as I did that of the bandmen who played the trumpets +on parade. But this is neither here nor there. I thought of coming round +to see your father, but I knew I should bother him. What can I do, my +boy?”</p> + +<p>Then Tom told him, rather doubtfully, that he had reason to fear that +Mr. Greenhithe was at the bottom of the whole scandal. He said he wished +he did not think that Mr. Greenhithe had himself stolen the papers. “If +I am wrong, I want to know it,” said he; “if I am right, I want to know +it. I do not want to be doing any man injustice. But I do not want to +keep old Eben Ricketts down at the department hunting for a file of +papers which Greenhithe has hidden in his trunk or put into the fire.”</p> + +<p>“No!—no!—no, indeed,” said “old Benbow,” musing. “No!—No!—No!—”</p> + +<p>Then after a pause, “Tom,” said he, “come round here in an hour. I know +that young fellow your friend is playing with, and I wish he were in +better company than he is. I think I know enough of the usages of modern +society to ‘interview’ him and his companion, though times have changed +since I was of your age in that regard. Come here in an hour, or give me +rather more, come here at half-past two, and we will see what we will +see.”</p> + +<p>So Tom went round to the Navy Department, and here he found the faithful +Eben—faithful to him, though utterly faithless as to any success in the +special quest which was making the entertainment of the Christmas +holiday. Vainly did Tom repeat to him his formula,—</p> + +<p>“If the Navy did the work, the Navy has the vouchers.”</p> + +<p>“My dear boy,” Eben Ricketts repeated a hundred times, “though the Navy +did the work, the Navy did not provide the pork and beans; it did not +arrange in advance for the landing, least of all did it buy the +greasers. I will look where you like, for love of your father and you; +but that file of vouchers is not here, never was here, and never will be +found here.”</p> + +<p>An assistant like this is not an encouraging companion or adviser.</p> + +<p>And, in short, the vouchers were not found in the Navy Department, in +that particular midday search. At twenty-five minutes past two Tom gave +it up unwillingly, bade Eben Ricketts good-by, washed from his hands the +accretions of coal-dust, which will gather even on letter-boxes in Navy +Departments, and ran across in front of the President’s House, to +Willard’s. He looked up at the White House, and wondered how the people +there were spending their Christmas Day.</p> + +<p>Commodore Benbow was waiting for him. He took him up into his own +parlor.</p> + +<p>“Molyneux, your Mr. Greenhithe is either the most ingenious liar and the +best actor on God’s earth, or he knows no more of your lost papers than +a child in heaven.</p> + +<p>“I went back to the billiard-room, after you left me. I walked up to +Millet—that was Lieutenant Millet playing with Greenhithe—and I shook +hands. He had to introduce me to your friend. Then I asked them both to +come here, told Millet I had some papers from Montevideo that he would +be glad to see, and that I should be glad of a call when they had done +their game. Well, they came. I am sorry to say your friend—”</p> + +<p>“Oh, don’t, my dear Commodore Benbow, don’t call him my friend, even in +a joke; it makes me feel awfully.”</p> + +<p>“I am glad it does,” said the Commodore, laughing. “Well, I am very +sorry to say that the black sheep had been drinking more of the whisky +downstairs than was good for him; and, no fault of mine, he drank more +of my Madeira than he should have done, and, Tom, I do not believe he +was in any condition to keep secrets. Well, first of all, it appeared +that he had been in Bremen and Vienna for six months. He only arrived in +New York yesterday morning.”</p> + +<p>Tom’s face fell.</p> + +<p>“And, next—you may take this for what it is worth—but I believe he +spoke the truth for once; he certainly did if there is any truth in +liquor or in swearing. For when I asked Millet what all this stuff about +your father meant, Greenhithe interrupted, very unnecessarily and very +rudely, and said, with more oaths than I will trouble you with, that the +whole was a damned lie of the newspaper men; that they had lied about +him (Greenhithe) and now were lying about old Molyneux; that Molyneux +had been very hard on him and very unjust to him, but he would say that +he was honest as the clock—honest enough to be mean. And that he would +say that to the committee, if they would call on him, and so on and so +on.”</p> + +<p>“Much good would he do before the committee,” said poor Tom.</p> + +<p>And thus ended Tom’s branch of the investigation. “Come to me, if I can +help you, my boy,” said Old Benbow. “It is always the darkest, old +fellow, the hour before day.”</p> + +<p>Tom was astronomer enough to know that this old saw was as false as most +old saws. But with this for his only comfort, he returned to the bureau +to seek Beverly and his father.</p> + +<p>Neither Beverly nor his father was there! Tom went directly home. His +mother was eager to see him.</p> + +<p>She had come home alone, and, save Horace and Laura and Flossy and +Brick, she had seen nobody but a messenger from the bureau.</p> + +<p>Brick was the family name for Robert, one of the youngest of this +household.</p> + +<p>Of Beverly’s movements the story must be more briefly told. They took +more time than Tom’s; as much indeed as his sister’s, after they parted. +But they were conducted by means of that marvel of marvels, the +telegraph,—the chief of whose marvels is that it compels even a +long-winded generation like ours to speak in very short metre.</p> + +<p>Beverly began with Mr. Bundy at Georgetown. Georgetown is but a quiet +place on the most active of days. On Christmas Day Beverly found but +little stirring out of doors.</p> + +<p>Still, with the directory, with the advice of a saloon-keeper and the +information of a police officer, Beverly tracked Mr. Bundy to his lair.</p> + +<p>It was not a notary’s office, it was a liquor shop of the lowest grade, +with many badly painted signs, which explained that this was “Our +House,” and that here Mr. Bundy made and sold with proper license—let +us be grateful—Tom and Jerry, Smashes, Cocktails, and did other “deeds +without a name.” On this occasion, however, even the door of “Our House” +was closed. Mr. Bundy had gone to a turkey-shooting match at Fairfax +Court House. The period of his return was very doubtful. He had never +done anything but keep this drinking-room since old Mrs. Gilbert turned +him out of doors.</p> + +<p>With this information Master Beverly returned to town. He then began on +his own line of search. Relying on Tom’s news, he went to the office of +the Western Union Telegraph and concocted this despatch, which he +thought a masterpiece.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p class="rt"><span class="smcap">Greensburg</span>, Westmoreland Co., Pa.</p> + +<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">To Robert John Whilthaugh</span>:</p> + +<p>When and where can I see you on important business? Answer.</p> + +<p class="rt"><span class="smcap">Beverly Molyneux</span>, for <span class="smcap">Thomas Molyneux</span>.</p> +</div> + +<p>Then he took a walk, and after half an hour called at the office again. +The office was still engaged in calling Greensburg. Greensburg was +eating its Christmas dinner. But at last Greensburg was called. Then +Beverly received this answer:—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p>Whilthaugh has been dead more than a year.</p> + +<p class="rt"> <span class="smcap">Greensburg</span>.</p> +</div> + +<p>To which Beverly replied:—</p> +<div class="blockquot"> +<p>Where does his wife live, or his administrator?</p> +</div> +<p>To which Greensburg, having been called a second time with difficulty, +replied:—</p> +<div class="blockquot"> +<p>His wife is crazy, and we never heard of any property.</p> + +<p class="rt"><span class="smcap">Greensburg</span>.</p> +</div> + +<p>With this result of his investment as a non-dividend member of the great +Western Union Mutual Information Club, Beverly returned home, chewing +the cud of sweet and bitter fancies.</p> + +<p>“There is no speech nor language,” sang the choir in St. Matthews as he +passed, “where their voice is not heard. Their line is gone out through +all the earth—” And Tom heard no more, as he passed on.</p> + +<p>As he walked, almost unwillingly, up the street to the high steps of his +father’s house, Matty, out of breath, overtook him.</p> + +<p>“What have you found, Bev?”</p> + +<p>“Nothing,” said the boy, moodily. And poor Matty had to confess that she +had hardly more to tell.</p> + +<p>They came into the house by the lower entrance, that they need not +attract their mother’s attention. But she was on the alert. Even Horace +and the younger children knew by this time that something was wrong.</p> + +<p>Horace’s story about the strange man and papa was the last news of papa. +Papa had not been at the bureau. The bureau people waited for him till +two, and he did not come. Then Stratton had come round to see if he was +to keep open any longer. Stratton had told Mrs. Molyneux that her +husband had not been there since church.</p> + +<p>Where in the world was he?</p> + +<p>Poor Mrs. Molyneux had not known where to send or to go. She had just +looked in at the Doctor’s, but he was not there.</p> + +<p>Tom had appeared first to her tedious waiting. Tom would not tell her, +but he even went and looked in on Newspaper Row, which he had been +abusing so. For Tom’s first thought was that a formal information had +been lodged somewhere, and that his father was arrested.</p> + +<p>But Newspaper Row evidently was unsuspicious of any arrest.</p> + +<p>Tom even walked down to the old jail, and made an absurd errand to see +the Deputy-Marshal. But the Deputy-Marshal was at his Christmas dinner.</p> + +<p>Tom told all this in the hall to Beverly and to Matty.</p> + +<p>Everything had failed, and papa was gone. Who could the man in the +shaggy coat be?</p> + +<p>The three went together into the parlor.</p> + +<p>For a little, Matty and Horace and Tom and Beverly then made a pretence +of arranging the tree. But, in truth, Mrs. Molyneux, in the midst of all +her care, had done that, while they were all away.</p> + +<p>Dinner was postponed half an hour, and they gathered, all in the +darkness, looking at the sickliest blaze that ever rambled over +half-burned Cumberland coal.</p> + +<p>The Brick came climbing up on Tom’s knees and bade him tell a story; but +even Laura saw that something was wrong, and hushed the child, and said +she and Flossy would sing one of their carols. And they sang it, and +were praised; and they sang another, and were praised. But then it was +quite dark, and nobody had any heart to say one word.</p> + +<p>“Where is papa?” said the Brick.</p> + +<p>“Where indeed?” everybody wanted to say, and no one did.</p> + +<p>But then the door-bell rang, and Chloe brought in a note.</p> + +<p>“He’s waiting for an answer, mum.”</p> + +<p>And Tom lighted the gas. It popped up so bright that little Flossy +said,—</p> + +<p>“The people that sat in darkness saw a great light—”</p> + +<p>This was just as Mrs. Molyneux tore open the note. For the instant she +could not speak. She handed it to the three.</p> + +<div class="poetry"><div class="poem">“<i>Found</i><br /> +“Home in half an hour!<br /> +“All right! thank God!</div></div> + +<p class="rt"> T. M.”</p> + +<p>“Saw a great light, indeed!” said Horace, who, for once, felt awed.</p> + +<h3>CHAPTER V<br /><br />THIS IS CHRISTMAS</h3> + +<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">For</span> half a minute, as it seemed afterwards, no one spoke. Then Matty +flew to her mother, and flung her arms around her neck, and kissed her +again and again.</p> + +<p>Tom hardly knew what he was doing; but he recovered self-command enough +to know that he must try to be manly and business-like,—and so he +rushed downstairs to find the man who brought the note. It proved to be +a man he did not know. Not a messenger from the bureau, not one from the +Navy Department, least of all, an aid of the Assistant Marshal’s. He was +an innocent waiter from the Seaton House, who said a gentleman called +him and gave him the note, told him to lose no time, and gave him half a +dollar for coming. He had asked for an answer, though the gentleman had +not told him to do so.</p> + +<p>Tom wrote: “Hurrah! All’s well! All at home.—T.” and gave this note to +the man.</p> + +<p>They all talked at once, and then they sat still without talking. The +children—must it be confessed?—asked all sorts of inopportune +questions. At last Tom was even fain to tell the story of the bear +himself, by way of silencing the Brick and Laura; and with much +correction from Horace, had got the bear well advanced in smelling at +the almond-candy and the figs, when a carriage was heard on the street, +evidently coming rapidly towards them. It stopped at the door. The bear +was forgotten, as all the elders in this free-and-easy family rushed out +of the parlor into the hall.</p> + +<p>Papa was there, and was as happy as they. With papa, or just behind him, +came in the man with the rough coat, whose face at church had been so +dirty, whose face now was clean. To think that papa should have brought +the Deputy-Marshal with him! For by the name of “the Deputy-Marshal” had +this mysterious stranger been spoken of in private by the two young men +since the fatal theory had been advanced that he had come into the +church to arrest Mr. Molyneux.</p> + +<p>The unknown, with great tact, managed to keep in the background, while +Mrs. Molyneux kissed her husband, and while Matty kissed him, and while +among them they pulled off his coat. But Mr. Molyneux did not forget. He +made a chance in a moment for saying, “You must speak to our friend who +has brought me here; no one was ever so welcome at a Christmas dinner. +Mr. Kuypers, my dear, Mr. Kuypers, Matty dear; these are my boys, Mr. +Kuypers.”</p> + +<p>Then the ladies welcomed the stranger, and the boys shook hands with +him. Mr. Molyneux added, what hardly any one understood: “It is not +every friend that travels two thousand miles to jog a friend’s memory.”</p> + +<p>And they all huddled into the parlor. But in a moment more, Mrs. +Molyneux had invited Mr. Kuypers to go upstairs to wash himself, and he, +with good feeling, which he showed all the evening, gladly took himself +out of the way, and so, as Tom returned from showing him to his room, +the parlor was filled with “those God made there,” as the little boy +used to say, and with none beside.</p> + +<p>“Now tell us all about it, dear papa,” cried Tom.</p> + +<p>“I was trying to tell your mother. But there is not much to tell. Poor +Mr. Kuypers had travelled all the way from Colorado, the minute he heard +I was in trouble. Yesterday he bought the ‘Scorpion’ in the train, and +found the Committee was down on us. He drove here from the station as +soon as the train came in. He missed you here, and drove by mistake to +Trinity. That made him late with us, and so, as the service had begun, +he waited till it was done.”</p> + +<p>“Well!” said Bev, perhaps a little impatiently.</p> + +<p>“But so soon as we were going out he touched me, and said he had come to +find me, in the matter of the Rio Grande vouchers. Do you know, Eliza, I +can afford to laugh at it now, but at the moment I thought he was a +deputy of the Sergeant-at-Arms?”</p> + +<p>“There!” screamed Tom, “I said he was a deputy-marshal!”</p> + +<p>“I said, ‘Certainly;’ and I laughed, and said they seemed to interest +all my friends. Then he said, ‘Then you have them? If I had known that, +I would have spared my journey.’ This threw me off guard, and I said I +supposed I had them, but I could not find them. And he said +eagerly—this was just on the church steps—‘But I can.’</p> + +<p>“Then he said he had a carriage waiting, and he bade me jump in.</p> + +<p>“So soon as we were in the carriage he explained, what I ought to have +remembered, but could not then recollect for the life of me, that after +General Trebou returned from Texas, there was a Court of Inquiry, and +that there was some question about these very supplies, the beans and +the coffee particularly; they had nothing to do with the landing nor +with the Mexicans. And the Court of Inquiry sent over one day from the +War Department, where they were sitting, to our office for an account, +because we were said to have it. Mr. Kuypers was their messenger to us, +and because we had bound them all together, the whole file was sent as +it was. He took them, and as it happened, he looked them over, and what +was better, he remembered them. Where our receipt is, Heaven knows!</p> + +<p>“Well, that Court of Inquiry was endless, as those army inquiries always +are. Mr. Kuypers was in attendance all the time. He says he never shall +forget it, if other people do.</p> + +<p>“So, as soon as he saw that we were in trouble at the bureau—that I was +in trouble, I mean,” said Mr. Molyneux, stoutly, “he knew that he knew +what nobody else knew,—that the vouchers were in the papers of that +Court of Inquiry.”</p> + +<p>“And he came all the way to tell? What a good fellow!”</p> + +<p>“Yes, he came on purpose. He says he could not help coming. He says he +made two or three telegrams; but every time he tried to telegraph, he +felt as if he were shirking. And I believe he was right. I believe we +should never have pulled through without him. ‘Personal presence moves +the world,’ as Eli Thayer used to say.”</p> + +<p>“And you found them?” asked Mrs. Molyneux, faintly essaying to get back +to the story.</p> + +<p>“Oh Yes, we found them; but not in one minute. You see, first of all, I +had to go to the chief clerk at the War Department and get the +department opened on a holiday. Then we had no end of clerks to disturb +at their Christmas dinners, and at last we found a good fellow named +Breen who was willing to take hold with Mr. Kuypers. And Mr. Kuypers +himself,” here he dropped his voice, “why, we have not three men in all +the departments who know the history of this government or the system of +its records as he does.</p> + +<p>“Once in the office, he went to work like a master. Breen was amazed. +Why! We found those documents in less than half an hour!</p> + +<p>“Then I sent Breen with a note to the Secretary. He was good as gold; +came down in his own carriage, congratulated me as heartily—well almost +as heartily as you do, Tom—and took us both round, with the files, to +Mr. McDermot, the Chairman of the House Committee. He was dining with +his mess, at the Seaton House, but we called him out, and I declare, I +believe he was as much pleased as we were.</p> + +<p>“I only stopped to make him give me a receipt for the papers, because +they all said it was idle to take copies, and here we are!”</p> + +<p>On the hush that followed, the Brick made his way up on his father’s +knee and said,—</p> + +<p>“And now, papa, will you tell us the story of the bear? Tom does not +tell it very well.”</p> + +<p>They all laughed,—they could afford to laugh now; and Mr. Molyneux was +just beginning upon the story of the bear, when Mr. Kuypers reappeared. +He had in this short time revised his toilet, and looked, Mr. Molyneux +said in an aside, like the angel of light that he was. “Bears!” said he, +“are there any bears in Washington? Why, it was only last Monday that I +killed a bear, and I ate him on Tuesday.”</p> + +<p>“Did you eat him all?” asked the Brick, whose reverence for Mr. Kuypers +was much more increased by this story than by any of the unintelligible +conversation which had gone before. But just as Mr. Kuypers began on the +story of the bear, Chloe appeared with beaming face, and announced that +dinner was ready.</p> + +<p>That dinner, which this morning every one who had any sense had so +dreaded, and which now seemed a festival indeed!</p> + +<p>Well! there was great pretence in fun and form in marshalling. And Mr. +Kuypers gave his arm to Matty, and Horace his to Laura, and Beverly his +to Flossy, and Tom brought up the rear with the Brick on his shoulders. +And Mr. Molyneux returned thanks and asked a blessing all together. And +then they fell to, on the turkey and on the chicken pie. And they tried +to talk about Colorado and mining; about Gold Hill and +Hale-and-Norcross, and Uncle Sam and Overman and Yellow Jacket. But in +spite of them all, the talk would drift back to Bundy and his various +signs, “Our House” and Tom and Jerry; to the wife of Mr. Whilthaugh; to +Commodore Benbow; to old Mrs. Gilbert and Delaware Avenue. And this was +really quite as much the fault of Mr. Kuypers as it was of any of the +Molyneux family. He seemed as much one of them as did Tom himself. This +anecdote of failure and that of success kept cropping out. Walsingham’s +high-bred and dignified enthusiasm for the triumph of the office, and +the satisfaction that Eben Ricketts would feel when he was told that the +Navy never had the vouchers,—all were commented on. Then Mr. Molyneux +would start and say, “We are talking shop again. You say the autumn has +been mild in the mountains;” and then in two minutes they would be on +the trail of “Search and Look” again.</p> + +<p>It was in one of these false starts that Mr. Kuypers explained why he +came, which in Horace’s mind and perhaps in the minds of the others had +been the question most puzzling of all.</p> + +<p>“Why,” said Horace, bluntly, “had you ever heard of papa before!”</p> + +<p>“Had I heard of him? “ said Mr. Kuypers. “I think so. Why, my dear boy, +your father is my oldest and kindest friend!” At this exclamation even +Mrs. Molyneux showed amazement. Tom laid down his fork and looked to see +if the man was crazy, and Mr. Molyneux himself was thrown off his +balance.</p> + +<p>Mr. Kuypers was a well-bred man, but this time he could not conceal his +amazement. He laid down knife and fork both, looked up and almost +laughed, as he said with wonder,—</p> + +<p>“Don’t you know who I am?”</p> + +<p>“We know you are our good angel to-day,” said Mrs. Molyneux, bravely; +“and that is enough to know.”</p> + +<p>“But don’t you know why I am here, or what sent me?”</p> + +<p>Mr. Molyneux said that he understood very well that his friend wanted to +see justice done, and that he had preferred to see to this in person.</p> + +<p>“I thought you looked queer,” said Mr. Kuypers, frankly; “but still, I +did not know I was changed. Why, don’t you remember Bruce? You remember +Mrs. Chappell, surely.”</p> + +<p>“Are you Bruce?” cried Mr. Molyneux; and he fairly left his chair and +went round the table to the young man. “Why, I can see it now. But +then—why, you were a boy, you know, and this black beard—”</p> + +<p>“But pray explain, pray explain,” cried Tom. “The mysteries increase on +us. Who is Mrs. Chappell, and, for that matter, who is Bruce, if his +real name be not Kuypers?”</p> + +<p>And they all laughed heartily. People got back their self-possession a +little, and Mr. Kuypers explained.</p> + +<p>“I am Bruce Kuypers,” said he, “though your father does not seem to +remember the Kuypers part.”</p> + +<p>“No,” said Mr. Molyneux, “I cannot remember the Kuypers part, but the +Bruce part I remember very well.”</p> + +<p>“My mother was Mrs. Kuypers before she married Mr. Chappell, and Mr. +Chappell died when my brother Ben was six years old, and little Lizzy +was a baby.”</p> + +<p>“Lizzy was my godchild,” said Mrs. Molyneux, who now remembered +everything.</p> + +<p>“Certainly she was, Mrs. Molyneux, and last month Lizzy was married to +as good a fellow as ever presided over the melting of ingots. We marry +them earlier at the West than you do here.”</p> + +<p>“Where Lizzie would have been,” he said more gravely, addressing Tom +again, “where my mother would have been, or where I should have been but +for your father and mother here, it would be hard to tell. And all +to-day I have taken it for granted that to him, as to me, this has been +one part of that old Christmas! Surely you remember?” he turned to Mrs. +Molyneux.</p> + +<p>Yes, Mrs. Molyneux did remember, but her eyes were all running over with +tears and she did not say so.</p> + +<p>“Mr. Molyneux,” said Bruce Kuypers, again addressing Tom, “seventeen +years ago this blessed day, there was a Christmas morning in the poor +old tenement above Massachusetts Avenue such as you never saw, and such +as I hope you never may see.</p> + +<p>“There was fire in the stove because your father had sent the coal. +There was oatmeal mush on the table because your father paid my mother’s +scot at your father’s grocer.</p> + +<p>“But there was not much jollity in that house, and there were no +Christmas presents, but what your mother had sent to Bruce and Ben and +Flora, and even to the baby. Still we kept up such courage as we could. +It was a terribly cold day, and there was a wet storm.</p> + +<p>“All of a sudden a carriage stopped at the door, and in came your father +here. He came to say that that day’s mail had brought a letter from Dr. +Wilder of the navy, conveying the full certificate that William +Chappell’s death was caused by exposure in the service. That certificate +was what my mother needed for her pension. She never could get it, but +your father here had sifted and worried and worked. The ‘Macedonian’ +arrived Thursday at New York, and had Dr. Wilder on board, and Friday +afternoon your father had Wilder’s letter, and he left his own Christmas +dinner to make light my mother’s and mine. That was not all. Your +father, as he came, had stopped to see Mr. Birdsall, who was the Speaker +of the House. He had seen the Speaker before, and had said kind things +about me. And that day the Speaker told him to tell me to come and see +him at his room at the Capitol next day. Oh! how my mother dressed me +up! Was there ever such a page seen before! What with your father’s kind +words and my dear mother’s extra buttons, the Speaker made me his own +page the next day, and there I served for four years. It was then that I +was big enough to go into the War Department, and Mr. Goodsell—he was +the next Speaker, if you remember—recommended me there.</p> + +<p>“After that,” said Bruce Kuypers, modestly, if I did not see you so +often, but I used to see you sometimes, and I did not think”—this with +a roguish twinkling of the eye—“that you forgot your young friends so +soon.”</p> + +<p>“I remember you,” said Tom. “I used to think you were the grandest man +in Washington. You gave me the first ride on a sled I ever had, when +there was some exceptional fall of snow.”</p> + +<p>“I think we all remember Mr. Kuypers now,” said Matty, and she laughed +while she blushed; “he always bought things for our stockings. I have a +Noah’s Ark upstairs now, that he gave me. In my youngest days I had a +queer mixture of the name Bruce and the name Santa Claus. I believe I +thought Santa Claus’ name was Nicholas Bruce. I am sure I did not know +that Mr. Bruce had any other name.”</p> + +<p>“If you had said you were Mr. Chappell,” said Mr. Molyneux, “I should +have known you in a minute.”</p> + +<p>“But I was not,” said the young man, laughing.</p> + +<p>“Well, if you had said you were ‘Bruce,’ I should have known.”</p> + +<p>“Dear me, yes; but I have been a man so long, and at Gem City nobody +calls me Bruce, but my mother and Lizzy. So I said ‘Mr. Kuypers,’ +forgetting that I had ever been a boy. But now I am in Washington again, +I shall remember that things change here very fast in ten years. And yet +not so fast as they change at the mines.”</p> + +<p>And now everybody was at ease. How well Mrs. Molyneux recalled to +herself what she would not speak of that Christmas Day of which Mr. +Kuypers told his story! It was in their young married life. She had her +father and mother to dine with her, and the event was really a trial in +her young experience. And then, just as the old folks were expected, her +husband came dashing in and had asked her to put dinner a little later +because he had had this good news for the poor Widow Chappell, and she +had to tell her father and mother, when they came, that they must all +wait for his return.</p> + +<p>The Widow Chappell was one of those waifs who seem attracted to +Washington by some fatal law. It had been two or three months before +that Mr. Molyneux had been asked to hunt her up and help her. A letter +had come, asking him to do this, from Mrs. Fales, in Roxbury, and Mrs. +Fales had sent money for the Chappells. But the money had gone in back +rent, and shoes, and the rest, and the wolf was very near the Chappells’ +door, when the telegraph announced the “Macedonian.” Mr. Molyneux had +telegraphed instanter to this Dr. Wilder. Dr. Wilder had some sense of +Christmas promptness. He remembered poor Chappell perfectly, and mailed +that night a thorough certificate. This certificate it was which Mr. +Molyneux had carried to the poor old tenement of Massachusetts Avenue, +and this had made happy that Christmas Day—and this.</p> + +<p>“Why,” said Mr. Bruce Kuypers, almost as if he were speaking aloud, “it +seems so queer that Christmas comes and goes with you, and you have +forgotten all about that stormy day, and your ride to Mrs. Chappell’s!</p> + +<p>“Why, at our place, we drink Mr. Molyneux’s health every Christmas Day, +and I am afraid the little ones used to think that you had a red nose, a +gray beard, and came down the chimney!”</p> + +<p>“As, at another place,” said Matty, “they thought of Mr. Bruce—of +Noah’s Ark memory.”</p> + +<p>“Anyway,” said Mr. Molyneux, “any crumbs of comfort we scattered that +day were <span class="smcap">Bread upon the Waters</span>.”</p> + +<p>Of Mr. Kuypers’s quick journey the main points have been told. Six days +before, by some good luck, which could hardly have been expected, the +“Gem City Medium’s” despatch from Washington was full enough to be +intelligible. It was headed, “<span class="smcap">Another Swindler Nailed</span>.” It said that Mr. +Molyneux, of the Internal Improvement office, had feathered his nest +with $500,000 during the war, in a pretended expedition to the Rio +Grande. It had now been discovered that there never was any such +expedition, and the correspondent of the Associated Press hoped that +justice would be done.</p> + +<p>The moment Bruce Kuypers read this he was anxious. Before an hour passed +he had determined to cross to the Pacific train eastward. Before night +he was in a sleeping-car. Day by day as he met Eastern papers, he +searched for news of the investigation. Day by day he met it, but thanks +to his promptness he had arrived in time. It was pathetic to hear him +describe his anxiety from point to point, and they were all hushed to +silence when he told how glad he was when he found he should certainly +appear on Christmas Day.</p> + +<p>After the dinner, another procession, not wholly unlike the rabble rout +of the morning, moved from the dining-room to the great front parlor, +where the tree was lighted, and parcels of gray and white and brown lay +round on mantel, on piano, on chairs, on tables, and on the floor.</p> + +<p>No; this tale is too long already. We will not tell what all the +presents were to all the ten,—to Venty, Chloe, Diana, and all of their +color. Only let it tell that all the ten had presents. To Mr. Kuypers’s +surprise, and to every one’s surprise, indeed, there were careful +presents for him as for the rest, but it must be confessed that Horace +and Laura had spelled Chipah a little wildly. The truth was that each +separate person had feared that he would feel a little left on one +side,—he to whom so much was due on that day. And each person, +severally, down to the Brick himself, had gone secretly, without +consulting the others, to select from his own possessions something very +dear, and had wrapped it up and marked it for the stranger. When Mr. +Kuypers opened a pretty paper, to find Matty’s own illustrated Browning, +he was touched indeed. When in a rough brown paper he found the Brick’s +jack-knife labelled “<small>FOR THE MAN</small>,” the tears stood in his eyes.</p> + +<p> </p> +<p>The next day the “Evening Lantern” contained this editorial article:—</p> + +<div class="blockquot1"> +<p>“The absurd fiasco regarding the accounts of Mr. Molyneux, which has +occupied the correspondents of the periodical press for some days, and +has even been adverted to in New York journals claiming the title of +metropolitan, came to a fit end at the Capitol yesterday. The wiseacre +owls who started it did not see fit to put in an appearance before the +committee. Mr. Molyneux himself sent to the Chairman a most interesting +volume of manuscript, which is, indeed, a valuable historical memorial +of times that tried men’s souls. The committee and other gentlemen +present examined this curious record with great interest. Not to speak +of the minor details, an autograph letter of the lamented Gen. Trebou +gives full credit to the Bureau of Internal Improvement for the skill +with which they executed the commission given them in a department quite +out of their line. Our brethren of the ‘Argus’ will be pleased to know +that every grain of oats and every spear of straw paid for by, the now +famous $47,000, are accounted for in detail. The authenticated +signatures of the somewhat celebrated Camara and Gazza and the mythical +Captain Cole appear. Very valuable letters, throwing interesting light +on our relations with the Government of Mexico, from the pens of the +lamented Adams and Prigg, show what were the services of those Spanish +turncoats and their allies.</p> + +<p>“We cannot say that we regret the attention which has thus been given to +a very important piece of history, too long neglected in the rush of +more petty affairs. We take the occasion, however, to enter our protest +once more against this preposterous system of ‘Resolutions,’ in which, +as it were in echo to every niaiserie of every hired pen in the country, +the House degrades itself to the work of the common scavenger, orders at +immense expense an investigation into some subject where all well +informed persons are fully advised, and at a cost of the national +treasure, etc., etc., etc. to the end of that chapter.’<span class="lftspc">”</span></p> +</div> +<p>But I fear no one at the Molyneux mansion had “the lantern.” They had +“found a man,” and did not need a lantern to look farther.</p> + +<p>It was as Mr. Molyneux had said: he had cast his Bread upon the Waters, +and he had found it after many days.</p> + +<h2><a id="THE_LOST_PALACE"></a>THE LOST PALACE<br /><br /> +<small>[From the Ingham Papers.]</small></h2> + +<p class="nind"><span class="letra">“P</span>ASSENGERS for Philadelphia and New York will change cars.”</p> + +<p>This annoying and astonishing cry was loudly made in the palace-car +“City of Thebes,” at Pittsburg, just as the babies were well asleep, and +all the passengers adapting themselves to a quiet evening.</p> + +<p>“Impossible!” said I, mildly, to the “gentlemanly conductor,” who beamed +before me in the majesty of gilt lace on his cap, and the embroidered +letters P. P. C. These letters do not mean, as in French, “to take +leave,” for the peculiarity of this man is, that he does not leave you +till your journey’s end: they mean, in American, “Pullman’s Palace Car.” +“Impossible!” said I; “I bought my ticket at Chicago through to +Philadelphia, with the assurance that the palace-car would go through. +This lady has done the same for herself and her children. Nay, if you +remember, you told me yourself that the ‘City of Thebes’ was built for +the Philadelphia service, and that I need not move my hat, unless I +wished, till we were there.”</p> + +<p>The man did not blush, but answered, in the well-mannered tone of a +subordinate used to obey,</p> + +<p>Here are my orders, sir; telegram just received here from headquarters: +‘<span class="lftspc">“</span>City of Thebes” is to go to Baltimore.’ Another palace here, sir, +waiting for you.” And so we were trans-shipped into such chairs and +berths as might have been left in this other palace, as not wanted by +anybody in the great law of natural selection; and the “City of Thebes” +went to Baltimore, I suppose. The promises which had been made to us +when we bought our tickets went to their place, and the people who made +them went to theirs.</p> + +<p>Except for this little incident, of which all my readers have probably +experienced the like in these days of travel, the story I am now to tell +would have seemed to me essentially improbable. But so soon as I +reflected, that, in truth, these palaces go hither, go thither, +controlled or not, as it may be, by some distant bureau, the story +recurred to me as having elements of vraisemblance which I had not +noticed before. Having occasion, nearly at the same time, to inquire at +the Metropolitan station in Boston for a lost shawl which had been left +in a certain Brookline car, the gentlemanly official told me that he did +not know where that car was; he had not heard of it for several days. +This again reminded me of “The Lost Palace.” Why should not one palace, +more or less, go astray, when there are thousands to care for? Indeed +had not Mr. Firth told me, at the Albany, that the worst difficulty in +the administration of a strong railway is, that they cannot call their +freight-cars home? They go astray on the line of some weaker sister, +which finds it convenient to use them till they begin to show a need for +paint or repairs. If freight-cars disappear, why not palaces? So the +story seems to me of more worth, and I put it upon paper.</p> + +<p>It was on my second visit to Melbourne that I heard it. It was late at +night, in the coffee-room of the Auckland Arms, rather an indifferent +third-class house, in a by-street in that city, to which, in truth, I +should not have gone had my finances been on a better scale than they +were. I laid down, at last, an old New York “Herald,” which the captain +of the “Osprey” had given me that morning, and which, in the hope of +home-news, I had read and read again to the last syllable of the +“Personals.” I put down the paper as one always puts down an American +paper in a foreign land, saying to myself, “Happy is that nation whose +history is unwritten.” At that moment Sir Roger Tichborne, who had been +talking with an intelligent-looking American on the other side of the +table, stretched his giant form, and said he believed he would play a +game of billiards before he went to bed. He left us alone; and the +American crossed the room, and addressed me.</p> + +<p>“You are from Massachusetts, are you not?” said he. I said I had lived +in that State.</p> + +<p>“Good State to come from,” said he. “I was there myself for three or +four months,—four months and ten days precisely. Did not like it very +well; did not like it. At least I liked it well enough: my wife did not +like it; she could not get acquainted.”</p> + +<p>“Does she get acquainted here?” said I, acting on a principle which I +learned from Scipio Africanus at the Latin School, and so carrying the +war into the enemy’s regions promptly. That is to say, I saw I must talk +with this man, and I preferred to have him talk of his own concerns +rather than of mine.</p> + +<p>“O sir, I lost her,—I lost her ten years ago! Lived in New Altoona +then. I married this woman the next autumn, in Vandalia. Yes, Mrs. +Joslyn is very well satisfied here. She sees a good deal of society, and +enjoys very good health.”</p> + +<p>I said that most people did who were fortunate enough to have it to +enjoy. But Mr. Joslyn did not understand this bitter sarcasm, far less +resent it. He went on, with sufficient volubility, to give to me his +impressions of the colony,—of the advantages it would derive from +declaring its independence, and then from annexing itself to the United +States. At the end of one of his periods, goaded again to say something, +I asked why he left his own country for a “colony,” if he so greatly +preferred the independent order of government.</p> + +<p>Mr. Joslyn looked round somewhat carefully, shut the door of the room in +which we were now alone,—and were likely, at that hour of the night, to +be alone,—and answered my question at length, as the reader will see.</p> + +<p>“Did you ever hear of the lost palace?” said he a little anxiously.</p> + +<p>I said, no; that, with every year or two, I heard that Mr. Layard had +found a palace at Nineveh, but that I had never heard of one’s being +lost.</p> + +<p>“They don’t tell of it, sir. Sometimes I think they do not know +themselves. Does not that seem possible?” And the poor man repeated this +question with such eagerness, that, in spite of my anger at being bored +by him, my heart really warmed toward him. “I really think they do not +know. I have never seen one word in the papers about it. Now, they would +have put something in the papers,—do you not think they would? If they +knew it themselves, they would.”</p> + +<p>“Knew what?” said I, really startled out of my determination to snub +him.</p> + +<p>“Knew where the palace is,—knew how it was lost.”</p> + +<p>By this time, of course, I supposed he was crazy. But a minute more +dispelled that notion; and I beg the reader to relieve his mind from it. +This man knew perfectly well what he was talking about, and never, in +the whole narration, showed any symptom of mania,—a matter on which I +affect to speak with the intelligence of the “experts” indeed.</p> + +<p>After a little of this fencing with each other, in which he satisfied +himself that my ignorance was not affected, he took a sudden resolution, +as if it were a relief to him to tell me the whole story.</p> + +<p>“It was years on years ago,” said he. “It was when they first had +palaces.”</p> + +<p>Still thinking of Nimrod’s palace and Priam’s, I said that must have +been a great while ago.</p> + +<p>“Yes, indeed,” said he. “You would not call them palaces now, since you +have seen Pullman’s and Wagner’s. But we called them palaces then. So +many looking-glasses, you know, and tapestry carpets and gold +spit-boxes. Ours was the first line that run palaces.”</p> + +<p>I asked myself, mentally, of what metal were the spit-boxes in +Semiramis’s palace; but I said nothing.</p> + +<p>“Our line was the first line that had them. We were running our +lightning express on the ‘Great Alleghanian.’ We were in opposition to +everybody, made close connections, served supper on board, and our +passengers only were sure of the night-boat at St. Louis. Those were the +days of river-boats, you know. We introduced the palace feature on the +railroad; and very successful it was. I was an engineer. I had a +first-rate character, and the best wages of any man on the line. Never +put me on a dirt-dragger or a lazy freight loafer, I tell you. No, sir! +I ran the expresses, and nothing else, and lay off two days in the week, +besides. I don’t think I should have thought of it but for Todhunter, +who was my palace conductor.”</p> + +<p>Again this IT, which had appeared so mysteriously in what the man said +before. I asked no question, but listened, really interested now, in the +hope I should find out what IT was; and this the reader will learn. He +went on, in a hurried way:—</p> + +<p>“Todhunter was my palace conductor. One night he was full, and his +palace was hot, and smelled bad of whale-oil. We did not burn petroleum +then. Well, it was a splendid full moon in August; and we were coming +down grade, making up the time we had lost at the Brentford junction. +Seventy miles an hour she ran if she ran one. Todhunter had brought his +cigar out on the tender, and was sitting by me. Good Lord! it seems like +last week.</p> + +<p>“Todhunter says to me, ‘Joslyn,’ says he, ‘what’s the use of crooking +all round these valleys, when it would be so easy to go across?’ You +see, we were just beginning to crook round, so as to make that long bend +there is at Chamoguin; but right across the valley we could see the +stern lights of Fisher’s train: it was not more than half a mile away, +but we should run eleven miles before we came there.”</p> + +<p>I knew what Mr. Joslyn meant. To cross the mountain ranges by rail, the +engineers are obliged to wind up one side of a valley, and then, boldly +crossing the head of the ravine on a high arch, to wind up the other +side still, so that perhaps half an hour’s journey is consumed, while +not a mile of real distance is made. Joslyn took out his pencil, and on +the back of an envelope drew a little sketch of the country; which, as +it happened, I still preserve, and which, with his comments,</p> + +<p class="c"><img src="images/img1.png" +width="450" +alt="[Image unavailable.]" /></p> + +<p class="nind">explains +his whole story completely. “Here we are,” said he. “This black line is +the Great Alleghanian,—double track, seventy pounds to the yard; no +figuring off there, I tell you. This was a good straight run, down grade +a hundred and seventy-two feet on the mile. There, where I make this <span class="sans">X</span>, +we came on the Chamoguin Valley, and turned short, nearly north. So we +ran wriggling about till Drums here, where we stopped if they showed +lanterns,—what we call a flag-station. But there we got across the +valley, and worked south again to this other <span class="sans">X</span>, which was, as I say, not +five-eighths of a mile from this <span class="sans">X</span> above, though it had taken us eleven +miles to get there.”</p> + +<p>He had said it was not more than half a mile; but this half-mile grew to +five-eighths as he became more accurate and serious.</p> + +<p>“Well,” said he, now resuming the thread of his story, “it was Todhunter +put it into my head. He owns he did. Todhunter says, says he, ‘Joslyn, +what’s the use of crooking round all these valleys, when it would be so +easy to go across?’</p> + +<p>“Well, sir, I saw it then, as clear as I see it now. When that trip was +done, I had two days to myself,—one was Sunday,—and Todhunter had the +same; and he came round to my house. His wife knew mine, and we liked +them. Well, we fell talking about it; and I got down the Cyclopaedia, +and we found out there about the speed of cannon-balls, and the +direction they had to give them. You know this was only talk then; we +never thought what would come of it; but very curious it all was.”</p> + +<p>And here Mr. Joslyn went into a long mathematical talk, with which I +will not harass the reader, perfectly sure, from other experiments which +I have tried with other readers, that this reader would skip it all if +it were written down. Stated very briefly, it amounted to this: In the +old-fashioned experiments of those days, a cannon-ball travelled four +thousand and one hundred feet in nine seconds. Now, Joslyn was +convinced, like every other engineman I ever talked to, that on a steep +down-grade he could drive a train at the rate of a hundred miles an +hour. This is thirteen hundred and fourteen feet in nine +seconds,—almost exactly one-third of the cannon-ball’s velocity. At +those rates, if the valley at Chamoguin were really but five-eighths of +a mile wide, the cannon-ball would cross it in seven or eight seconds, +and the train in about twenty-three seconds. Both Todhunter and Joslyn +were good enough mechanics and machinists to know that the rate for +thirty-three hundred feet, the width of the valley, was not quite the +same as that for four thousand feet; for which, in their book, they had +the calculations and formulas; but they also knew that the difference +was to their advantage, or the advantage of the bold experiment which +had occurred to both of them when Todhunter had made on the tender his +very critical suggestion.</p> + +<p>The reader has already conceived the idea of this experiment. These rash +men were wondering already whether it were not possible to leap an +engine flying over the Chamoguin ravine, as Eclipse or Flying Childers +might have leaped the brook at the bottom of it. Joslyn believed +implicitly, as I found in talk with him, the received statement of +conversation, that Eclipse, at a single bound, sprang forty feet. “If +Eclipse, who weighed perhaps one thousand two hundred, would spring +forty feet, could not my train, weighing two hundred tons, spring a +hundred times as far?” asked he triumphantly. At least, he said that he +said this to Todhunter. They went into more careful studies of +projectiles, to see if it could or could not.</p> + +<p>The article on “Gunnery” gave them just one of those convenient tables +which are the blessing of wise men and learned men, and which lead +half-trained men to their ruin. They found that for their “range,” which +was, as they supposed, eleven hundred yards, the elevation of a +forty-two pounder was one degree and a third; of a nine-pounder, three +degrees. The elevation for a railway train, alas! no man had calculated. +But this had occurred to both of them from the beginning. In descending +the grade, at the spot where, on his little map, Joslyn made the more +westerly X, they were more than eleven hundred feet above the spot where +he had made his second, or easterly X. All this descent was to the +advantage of the experiment. A gunner would have said that the first X +“commanded” the second X, and that a battery there would inevitably +silence a battery at the point below.</p> + +<p>“We need not figure on it,” said Todhunter, as Mrs. Joslyn called them +in to supper. “If we did, we should make a mistake. Give me your papers. +When I go up, Monday night, I’ll give them to my brother Bill. I shall +pass him at Faber’s Mills. He has studied all these things, of course; +and he will like the fun of making it out for us.” So they sat down to +Mrs. Joslyn’s waffles; and, but for Bill Todhunter, this story would +never have been told to me, nor would John Joslyn and “this woman” ever +have gone to Australia.</p> + +<p>But Bill Todhunter was one of those acute men of whom the new +civilization of this country is raising thousands with every year; who, +in the midst of hard hand-work, and a daily duty which to collegians and +to the ignorant men among their professors seems repulsive, carry on +careful scientific study, read the best results of the latest inquiry, +manage to bring together a first-rate library of reference, never spend +a cent for liquor or tobacco, never waste an hour at a circus or a ball, +but make their wives happy by sitting all the evening, “figuring,” one +side of the table, while the wife is hemming napkins on the other. All +of a sudden, when such a man is wanted, he steps out, and bridges the +Gulf of Bothnia; and people wonder, who forget that for two centuries +and a half the foresighted men and women of this country have been +building up, in the face of the Devil of Selfishness on the one hand, +and of the Pope of Rome on the other, a system of popular education, +improving every hour.</p> + +<p>At this moment Bill Todhunter was foreman of Repair Section No. II on +the “Great Alleghanian,”—a position which needed a man of first-rate +promptness, of great resource, of good education in engineering. Such a +man had the “Great Alleghanian” found in him, by good luck; and they had +promoted him to their hardest-worked and best-paid section,—the section +on which, as it happened, was this Chamoguin run, and the long bend +which I have described, by which the road “headed” that stream.</p> + +<p>The younger Todhunter did meet his brother at Faber’s Mills, where the +repair-train had hauled out of the way of the express, and where the +express took wood. The brothers always looked for each other on such +occasions; and Bill promised to examine the paper which Joslyn had +carefully written out, and which his brother brought to him.</p> +<p>  </p> +<p>I have never repeated in detail the mass of calculations which Bill +Todhunter made on the suggestion thus given to him. If I had, I would +not repeat them here, for a reason which has been suggested already. He +became fascinated with the problem presented to him. Stated in the +language of the craft, it was this:</p> + +<p>Given a moving body, with a velocity eight thousand eight hundred feet +in a minute, what should be its elevation that it may fall eleven +hundred feet in the transit of five-eighths of a mile?” He had not only +to work up the parabola, comparatively simple, but he had to allow for +the resistance of the air, on the supposition of a calm, according to +the really admirable formulas of Robins and Coulomb, which were the best +he had access to. Joslyn brought me, one day, a letter from Bill +Todhunter, which shows how carefully he went into this intricate +inquiry.</p> + +<p>Unfortunately for them all, it took possession of this spirited and +accomplished young man. You see, he not only had the mathematical +ability for the calculation of the fatal curve, but, as had been ordered +without any effort of his, he was in precisely the situation of the +whole world for trying in practice his own great experiment. At each of +the two X X of Joslyn’s map, the company had, as it happened, switches +for repair-trains or wood-trains. Had it not, Bill Todhunter had ample +power to make them.</p> + +<p>For the “experiment,” all that was necessary was, that under the pretext +of re-adjusting these switches, he should lay out that at the upper X so +that it should run, on the exact grade which he required, to the western +edge of the ravine, in a line which should be the direct continuation of +the long, straight run with which the little map begins.</p> + +<p>An engine, then, running down that grade at the immense rapidity +practicable there, would take the switch with its full speed, would fly +the ravine at precisely the proper slopes, and, if the switch had been +rightly aligned, would land on the similar switch at the lower X. It +would come down exactly right on the track, as you sit precisely on a +chair when you know exactly how high it is.</p> + +<p>“If.” And why should it not be rightly aligned, if Bill Todhunter +himself aligned it? This he was well disposed to do. He also would align +the lower switch, that at the lower X, that it might receive into its +willing embrace the engine on its arrival.</p> + +<p>When the bold engineer had conceived this plan, it was he who pushed the +others on to it, not they who urged him. They were at work on their +daily duty, sometimes did not meet each other for a day or two. Bill +Todhunter did not see them more than once in a fortnight. But whenever +they did meet, the thing seemed to be taken more and more for granted. +At last Joslyn observed one day, as he ran down, that there was a large +working-party at the switch above Drums, and he could see Bill +Todhunter, in his broad sombrero, directing them all. Joslyn was not +surprised, somehow, when he came to the lower switch, to find another +working-party there. The next time they all three met, Bill Todhunter +told them that all was ready if they were. He said that he had left a +few birches to screen the line of the upper switch, for fear some +nervous bungler, driving an engine down, might be frightened, and “blow” +about the switch. But he said that any night when the others were ready +to make the fly, he was; that there would be a full moon the next +Wednesday, and, if there was no wind, he hoped they would do it then.</p> + +<p>“You know,” said poor Joslyn, describing it to me, “I should never have +done it alone; August would never have done it alone; no, I do not think +that Bill Todhunter himself would have done it alone. But our heads were +full of it. We had thought of it and thought of it till we did not think +of much else; and here was everything ready, and neither of us was +afraid, and neither of us chose to have the others think he was afraid. +I did say, what was the truth, that I had never meant to try it with a +train. I had only thought that we should apply to the supe, and that he +would get up a little excursion party of gentlemen,—editors, you know, +and stockholders,—who would like to do it together, and that I should +have the pleasure and honor of taking them over. But Todhunter poohed at +that. He said all the calculations were made for the inertia of a full +train, that that was what the switch was graded for, and that everything +would have to be altered if any part of the plan were altered. Besides, +he said the superintendent would never agree, that he would insist on +consulting the board and the chief engineer, and that they would fiddle +over it till Christmas.</p> + +<p>“<span class="lftspc">‘</span>No,’ said Bill, ‘next Wednesday, or never! If you will not do it then, +I will put the tracks back again.’ August Todhunter said nothing; but I +knew he would do what we agreed to, and he did.</p> + +<p>“So at last I said I would jump it on Wednesday night, if the night was +fine. But I had just as lief own to you that I hoped it would not be +fine. Todhunter—Bill Todhunter, I mean—was to leave the switch open +after the freight had passed, and to drive up to the Widow Jones’s Cross +Road. There he would have a lantern, and I would stop and take him up. +He had a right to stop us, as chief of repairs. Then we should have +seven miles down-grade to get up our speed, and then—we should see!</p> +<p> </p> +<p>“Mr. Ingham, I might have spared myself the hoping for foul weather. It +was the finest moonlight night that you ever knew in October. And if +Bill Todhunter had weighed that train himself, he could not have been +better pleased,—one baggage-car, one smoking-car, two regular +first-class, and two palaces: she run just as steady as an old cow! We +came to the Widow Jones’s, square on time; and there was Bill’s lantern +waving. I slowed the train: he jumped on the tender without stopping it. +I ‘up brakes’ again, and then I told Flanagan, my fireman, to go back to +the baggage-car, and see if they would lend me some tobacco. You see, we +wanted to talk, and we didn’t want him to see. ‘Mr. Todhunter and I will +feed her till you come back,’ says I to Flanagan. In a minute after he +had gone, August Todhunter came forward on the engine; and, I tell you, +she did fly!</p> + +<p>“<span class="lftspc">‘</span>Not too fast,’ said Bill, ‘not too fast: too fast is as bad as too +slow.’</p> + +<p>“<span class="lftspc">‘</span>Never you fear me,’ says I. ‘I guess I know this road and this engine. +Take out your watch, and time the mile-posts,’ says I; and he timed +them. ‘Thirty-eight seconds,’ says he; ‘thirty-seven and a half, +thirty-six, thirty-six, thirty-six,’—three times thirty-six, as we +passed the posts, just as regular as an old clock! And then we came +right on the mile-post you know at Old Flander’s. ‘Thirty-six,’ says +Bill again. And then she took the switch,—I can hear that switch-rod +ring under us now Mr. Ingham,—and then—we were clear!</p> + +<p>“Wasn’t it grand? The range was a little bit up, you see, at first; but +it seemed as if we were flying just straight across. All the rattle of +the rail stopped, you know, though the pistons worked just as true as +ever; neither of us said one word, you know; and she just flew—well, as +you see a hawk fly sometimes, when he pounces, you know, only she flew +so straight and true! I think you may have dreamed of such things. I +have; and now,—now I dream it very often. It was not half a minute, you +know, but it seemed a good long time. I said nothing and they said +nothing; only Bill just squeezed my hand. And just as I knew we must be +half over,—for I could see by the star I was watching ahead that we +were not going up, but were falling again,—do you think the rope by my +side tightened quick, and the old bell on the engine gave one savage +bang, turned right over as far as the catch would let it, and stuck +where it turned! Just that one sound, everything else was still; and +then she landed on the rails, perhaps seventy feet inside the ravine, +took the rails as true and sweet as you ever saw a ship take the water, +hardly touched them, you know, skimmed—well, as I have seen a swallow +skim on the sea; the prettiest, well, the tenderest touch, Mr. Ingham, +that ever I did see! And I could just hear the connecting rods tighten +the least bit in the world behind me, and we went right on.</p> + +<p>“We just looked at each other in the faces, and we could not speak; no, +I do not believe we spoke for three quarters of a minute. Then August +said, ‘Was not that grand? Will they let us do it always, Bill?’ But we +could not talk then. Flanagan came back with the tobacco, and I had just +the wit to ask him why he had been gone so long. Poor fellow! he was +frightened enough when we pulled up at Clayville, and he thought it was +Drums. Drums, you see, was way up the bend, a dozen miles above +Clayville. Poor Flanagan thought we must have passed there while he was +skylarking in the baggage-car, and that he had not minded it. We never +stopped at Drums unless we had passengers, or they. It was what we call +a flag-station. So I blew Flanagan up, and told him he was gone too +long.</p> + +<p>“Well, sir, at Clayville we did stop,—always stopped there for wood. +August Todhunter, he was the palace conductor; he went back to look to +his passengers. Bill stayed with me. But in a minute August came running +back, and called me off the engine. He led me forward, where it was +dark; but I could see, as we went, that something was to pay. The minute +we were alone he says,—</p> + +<p>“<span class="lftspc">‘</span>John, we’ve lost the rear palace.’</p> + +<p>“<span class="lftspc">‘</span>Don’t fool me, August,’ says I.</p> + +<p>“<span class="lftspc">‘</span>No fooling, John,’ says he. ‘The shackle parted. The cord parted, and +is flying loose behind now. If you want to see, come and count the cars. +The “General Fremont” is here all right; but I tell you the “James +Buchanan” is at the bottom of the Chamoguin Creek.’</p> + +<p>“I walked back to the other end of the platform, as fast as I could go +and not be minded. Todhunter was there before me, tying up the loose end +of the bell-cord. There was a bit of the broken end of the shackle +twisted in with the bolt. I pulled the bolt and threw the iron into the +swamp far as I could fling her. Then I nodded to Todhunter and walked +forward just as that old goose at Clayville had got his trousers on, so +he could come out, and ask me if we were not ahead of time. I tell you, +sir, I did not stop to talk with him. I just rang ‘All aboard!’ and +started her again; and this time I run slow enough to save the time +before we came down to Steuben. We were on time, all right, there.”</p> + +<p>Here poor Joslyn stopped a while in his story; and I could see that he +was so wrought up with excitement that I had better not interrupt, +either with questions or with sympathy. He rallied in a minute or two, +and said,—</p> + +<p>“I thought—we all thought—that there would be a despatch somewhere +waiting us. But no; all was as regular as the clock. One palace more or +less,—what did they know, and what did they care? So daylight came. We +could not say a word, you know, with Flanagan there; and we only +stopped, you know, a minute or two every hour; and just then was when +August Todhunter had to be with his passengers, you know. Was not I glad +when we came into Pemaquid,—our road ran from Pemaquid across the +mountains to Eden, you know,—when we came into Pemaquid, and nobody had +asked any questions?</p> + +<p>“I reported my time at the office of the master of trains, and I went +home. I tell you, Mr. Ingham, I have never seen Pemaquid Station since +that day.</p> + +<p>“I had done nothing wrong, of course. I had obeyed every order, and +minded every signal. But still I knew public opinion might be against me +when they heard of the loss of the palace. I did not feel very well +about it, and I wrote a note to say I was not well enough to take my +train the next night; and I and Mrs. Joslyn went to New York, and I went +aboard a Collins steamer as fireman; and Mrs. Joslyn, she went as +stewardess; and I wrote to Pemaquid, and gave up my place. It was a good +place, too; but I gave it up, and I left America.</p> + +<p>Bill Todhunter, he resigned his place too, that same day, though that +was a good place. He is in the Russian service now. He is running their +line from Archangel to Astrachan; good pay, he says, but lonely. August +would not stay in America after his brother left; and he is now +captain’s clerk on the Harkaway steamers between Bangkok and Cochbang; +good place he says, but hot. So we are all parted.</p> + +<p>“And do you know, sir, never one of us ever heard of the lost palace!”</p> + +<p>Sure enough, under that very curious system of responsibility, by which +one corporation owns the carriages which another corporation uses, +nobody in the world has to this moment ever missed “The Lost Palace.” On +each connecting line, everybody knew that “she” was not there; but no +one knew or asked where she was. The descent into the rocky bottom of +the Chamouin, more than fifteen hundred feet below the line of flight, +had of course been rapid,—slow at first, but in the end rapid. In the +first second, the lost palace had fallen sixteen feet; in the second, +sixty-four; in the third, one hundred and forty-four; in the fourth, two +hundred and fifty-six; in the fifth, four hundred feet; so that it must +have been near the end of the sixth second of its fall, that, with a +velocity now of more than six hundred feet in a second, the falling +palace, with its unconscious passengers, fell upon the rocks at the +bottom of the Chamoguin ravine. In the dead of night, wholly without jar +or parting, those passengers must have been sleeping soundly; and it is +impossible, therefore, on any calculation of human probability, that any +one of them can have been waked an instant before the complete +destruction of the palace, by the sudden shock of its fall upon the bed +of the stream. To them the accident, if it is fair to call it so, must +have been wholly free from pain.</p> + +<p>The tangles of that ravine, and the swamp below it, are such that I +suppose that even the most adventurous huntsman never finds his way +there. On the only occasion when I ever met Mr. Jules Verne he expressed +a desire to descend there from one of his balloons, to learn whether the +inhabitants of “The Lost Palace” might not still survive, and be living +in a happy republican colony there,—a place without railroads, without +telegrams, without mails, and certainly without palaces. But at the +moment when these sheets go to press, no account of such an adventure +has appeared from his rapid pen.</p> + +<h2><a id="99_LINWOOD_STREET"></a>99 LINWOOD STREET<br /><br /> +<small>A CHRISTMAS STORY</small></h2> + +<p class="nind"><span class="letra">A</span> GRAY morning, the deck wet, the iron all beaded with frost, all the +longshoremen in heavy pea-jackets or cardigans, the whole ship in a +bustle, and the favored first-class passengers just leaving.</p> + +<p>One sad-looking Irish girl stands with her knit hood already spotted +with the rime, and you cannot tell whether those are tears which hang +from her black eyelashes or whether the fog is beginning to freeze +there. What you see is that the poor thing looks right and left and up +the pier and down the pier, and that in the whole crowd—they all seem +so selfish—she sees nobody. Hundreds of people going and coming, +pushing and hauling, and Nora’s big brother is not there, as he promised +to be and should be.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Ohstrom, the motherly Swedish woman, who has four children and ten +tin cups and a great bed and five trunks and a fatuous, feckless husband +makes time, between cousins and uncles and custom-house men and +sharpers, to run up every now and then to say that Nora must not cry, +that she must be easy, that she has spoken to the master and the master +has said they are three hours earlier than they were expected. And all +this was so kindly meant and so kindly said that poor Nora brushed the +tears away, if they were tears, and thanked her, though she did not +understand one word that dear Mrs. Ohstrom said to her. What is +language, or what are words, after all?</p> + +<p>And the bright-buttoned, daintily dressed little ship’s doctor, whom +poor Nora hardly knew in his shore finery,—he made time to stop and +tell her that the ship was too early, and that she must not worry. +Father, was it, she was waiting for? “Oh, brother! Oh, he will be sure +to be here! Better sit down. Here is a chair. Don’t cry. I am afraid you +had no breakfast. Take this orange. It will cheer you up. I shall see +you again.”</p> + +<p>Alas! the little doctor was swept away and forgot Nora for a week, and +she “was left lamenting.”</p> + +<p>For one hour went by, and two, and three. The Swedish woman went, and +the doctor went, and the girl could see the captain go, and the mate +that gave them their orders every morning. The custom-house people began +to go. The cabs and other carriages for the gentry had gone long before.</p> + +<p>And poor Nora was left lamenting.</p> + +<p>Then was it that that queer Salvation Army girl, with a coal-scuttle for +a bonnet, came up again. She had smiled pleasantly two or three times +before, and had asked Nora to eat a bun. Poor Nora broke down and cried +heartily this time. But the other was patient and kind, and said just +what the others had said. Only she did not go away. And she had the +sense to ask if Nora knew where the brother lived.</p> + +<p>“Why, of course I do, miss. See, here is the paper.”</p> + +<p>And the little soldier lass read it: “99 Linwood Street, Boston.”</p> + +<p>“My poor child, what a pity you did not let us see it before!”</p> + +<p>Alas and alas! Nora’s box was of the biggest. But the army lass flinched +at nothing.</p> + +<p>An immense wagon, with two giant horses, loaded with the most +extraordinary chests which have been seen since the days of the Vikings. +Piled on the top were many feather-beds, and on the top of the +feather-beds a Scandinavian matron. With Mike, the good-natured +teamster, who was at once captain and pilot of this craft, the army lass +had easily made her treaty, when he was told the story. He was to carry +Nora and her outfit to the Linwood Street house after he had taken these +Swedes to theirs. “And indade it will not be farr, miss. There’s a +shorrt cut behind Egan’s, if indade he did not put up a tinimint house +since I was that way.” And with new explanations to Nora that all was +right, that indeed it was better this way than it would have been had +her brother been called from his work, she was lifted, without much +consent of her own, to the driver’s seat, and her precious “box” was so +placed that she could rest her little feet upon it.</p> + +<p>Nora had proudly confided to the friendly lass the assurance that she +had money, had even shown a crisp $2 bill which had been sent to her for +exigencies.</p> + +<p>But when the lass made the contract with Mike Dermott, the good fellow +said he should take Nora and her box for the love of County Cork. +“Indade, indade, I don’t take money from the like of her.”</p> + +<p>And so they started, with the Swedish men walking on one side of the +cart with their rifles, keeping a good lookout for buffaloes and red +Indians and grizzly bears, as men landing in a new country which they +were to civilize. More sailing for there was the ferry to cross to old +Boston. Much waiting, for there was a broken-down coal-wagon in +Salutation Alley. Long conference between Nora and Mike, in which he did +all the talking and she all the listening, as to home rule and Mr. +McCarthy, and what O’Brien thought of this, and what Cunniff thought of +that. Then an occasional question came in Swedish from the matron above +their heads, and was followed by a reply in Celtic English from Mike, +each wholly ignorant of the views or wishes of the others. And +occasionally the escort of riflemen, after some particular attack of +chaff, in words which they fortunately did not understand, looked up to +their matron, controller, and director, exchanged words with her, and +then studied the pavement again for tracks of buffalo. A long hour of +all this, the stone and brick of the city giving way to green trees +between the houses as they come to Dorchester.</p> + +<p>Poor Nora looks right and looks left, hoping to meet her big brother. +She begins to think she shall remember him. Everybody else looks so +different from Fermoy that he must look like home.</p> + +<p>But there is no brother.</p> + +<p>There is at last a joyful cry as the Swedish matron and the riflemen +recognize familiar faces. And Mike smiles gladly, and brings round the +stout bays with a twitch, so that the end of the cart comes square to +the sidewalk. Somebody produces a step-ladder, and the Swedish matron, +with her bird-cage in her hand, descends in triumph. Much kissing, much +shaking of hands, much thanking of God, more or less reverent. Then the +cords are cut, beds flung down, the giant boxes lifted, the sons of Anak +only know how. The money covenanted for is produced and paid, and Mike +mounts lightly to Nora’s side.</p> + +<p>“And now, Nora, my child, wherr is the paper? For in two minutes we’ll +soon be therr, now that this rubbish is landed.”</p> + +<p>And he read on the precious paper, “John McLaughlin, 99 Linwood Street.”</p> + +<p>Strange to say, the paper said just what it had said two hours before.</p> + +<p>“And now, my dear child, we will be therr in ten minutes, if only we can +cross back of Egan’s.”</p> + +<p>And although they could not cross back of Egan’s, for Egan had put up a +“tinimint” house since Mike had passed that way, yet in ten minutes +Linwood Street had been found. No. 99 at last revealed itself, between +Nos. 7 and 2,—a great six-story wooden tinder-box, with clothes-lines +mysterious behind, open doors in front, long passages running through, +three doors on each side of a passage, and the wondering heads of eleven +women who belonged to five different races and spoke in six different +languages appearing from their eleven windows, as Mike and Nora and the +two bays all stopped at one and the same moment at the door.</p> + +<p>Mike was already anxious about his time, for he was to be at the +custom-house an hour away or more at eleven sharp. But he selected a +certain Widow Flynn from the eleven white-capped women; he explained to +her briefly that John McLaughlin was to be found; he told Nora for the +thirty-seventh time that all was right and that she must not cry; he +looked at his watch again, rather anxiously, mounted his box, and drove +swiftly away.</p> + +<p>He was the one thread which bound Nora to this world. And this thread +broke before her eyes.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Flynn affected to be cheerful. But she was not cheerful. Mrs. Flynn +was a prominent person in her sodality. And well she knew that if any +John McLaughlin in those parts were expecting any sister from home, she +should know him and where he lived. Well she knew, also, that John +McLaughlin, the mason, was born in Glasgow; that John McLaughlin, who is +on the city work, had all his family around him, and, most distinct of +all, she knew that no McLaughlin, sisterless or many-sistered, lived in +this beehive which she lived in, though it were 99 Linwood Street. Into +her own cell of that beehive, however, she took poor, sad, desolate +Nora. Into the hallway she bade the loafing neighbor boys bring Nora’s +trunk; in a language Nora could hardly understand she explained to her +that all would be well as soon as the policeman passed by. She sent Mary +Murphy, who happened to be at home from school, for a pint of milk, and +so compelled Nora to drink a cup of tea and to eat a biscuit and a +dropped egg, while they waited for the policeman.</p> + +<p>Of course he knew of seven John McLaughlins. He even went to the +drug-store and looked in the Boston Directory to find that there were +there the names of sixty-one more. But not one of them lived in Linwood +Street, as they all knew already. All the same Nora was charged not to +cry, to drink more tea and eat more bread and butter. The “cop” said he +would look in on three of the Johns whom he knew, and intelligent boys +now returning from school were sent to the homes of the other four to +interrogate them as to any expected sister. Within an hour, now nearly +one o’clock, answers were received from all the seven. No one of them +expected chick or child from Fermoy.</p> + +<p>But the “cop” had a suggestion to make. His pocket list of names of +streets revealed another Linwood Street—in Roxbury; not this one in +Dorchester. Be it known to unlearned readers, who in snug shelter in +Montana follow along this little tale, that Roxbury and Dorchester are +both parts of that large municipality called Boston. Though no John +McLaughlin was in the directory for 99 Linwood Street, Roxbury, was not +that the objective? Poor Nora was questioned as to Roxbury. She was sure +she never heard of it.</p> + +<p>But the clue was too good to be lost, and the authority of the friendly +“cop” was too great to be resisted. He telephoned to the central office +that Nora McLaughlin, just from Ireland, had been found, in a fashion, +but that no one knew where to put her. Then he stopped a milkman from +Braintree, who delivered afternoon milk for invalids.</p> + +<p>Was he not going through Roxbury?</p> + +<p>Of course he was.</p> + +<p>Would he not take this lost child to 99 Linwood Street?</p> + +<p>Of course he would. Milkmen, from their profession, have hearts warm +toward children.</p> + +<p>Well, if he were to take her, he had better take her trunk too.</p> + +<p>To which illogical proposal the milkman acceded—on the afternoon route +there is so much less milk to take than there is in the morning.</p> + +<p>So Nora was lifted into the milk-wagon. In tears she kissed good Mrs. +Flynn. The boys and girls assembled to bid her good-by, and even she had +a hope for a few moments that her troubles were at an end.</p> + +<p>At 99 Linwood Street, Roxbury, they were preparing for the Review Club.</p> + +<p>The Review Club met once a fortnight at half-past two o’clock at the +house of one or another of the members. They first arranged the little +details of the business. Then the hostess read, or made some one read, +the scraps which seemed most worthy in the reviews and magazines of the +last issues, and at four the husbands and brothers and neighbors +generally dropped in, and there was afternoon tea.</p> + +<p>“You are sure you have cream enough, Ellen?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, yes, mum.”</p> + +<p>“All kinds of tea, you know, that which the Chinese gentlemen sent, and +be sure of the chocolate for Mrs. Bunce.”</p> + +<p>“Indeed yes, mum.”</p> + +<p>“And let me know just before you bring up the hot water.” Doorbell +rings. “There is Mrs. Walter now!”</p> + +<p>No, it wasn’t Mrs. Walter. She came three minutes after. But before she +came, Howells, the milkman, had lifted Nora from her seat. As the snow +fell fast on the doorsteps, he carried her carefully up to the door, and +even by the time Ellen answered the bell he had the heavy chest, +dragging it over the snow by the stout rope at one end.</p> + +<p>Ellen was amazed to find this group instead of Mrs. Walter. She called +her mistress, who heard Howells’s realistic story with amazement, not to +say amusement.</p> + +<p>“You poor dear child!” she cried at once. “Come in where it is dry! John +McLaughlin? No, indeed! Who can John McLaughlin be? Ellen, what is +Mike’s last name?”</p> + +<p>Mike was the choreman, who made the furnace fire and kept the sidewalk.</p> + +<p>“Mike’s name, mum? I don’t know, mum. Mary will know, mum.”</p> + +<p>And for the moment Ellen disappeared to find Mary.</p> + +<p>“Never mind, never mind. Come in, you poor child. You are very good to +bring her, Mr. Howells, very good indeed. We will take care of her. Is +it going to storm?”</p> + +<p>Mr. Howells thought it was going to storm, and turned to go away. At +that moment Mrs. Walter arrived, the first comer of the Review Club. And +Nora’s new hostess had to turn to her guests, while Ellen in the last +cares for the afternoon table had to comfort Nora by spasms. It was left +for Margaret the chambermaid to pump out—or to screw out, as you +choose—the details of the story from the poor frightened waif, who +seemed more astray than ever.</p> + +<p>John McLaughlin? No. Nobody knew anything about him. The last choreman +was named McManus, but he went to Ottawa three years ago!</p> + +<p>And while the different facts and doubts were canvassed in the kitchen, +upstairs they settled the Bulgarian question, the origin of the natives +of Tasmania, and the last questions about realism.</p> + +<p>Only the mind of the lady of the house returned again and again to +questions as to the present residence of John McLaughlin.</p> + +<p>For in spite of the gathering snow and the prospect of more, the members +of the Review Club had followed fast on Mrs. Walters and gathered in +full force.</p> + +<p>The hostess, though somewhat preoccupied, was courteous and ready.</p> + +<p>Only the functions of the club, as they went forward, would be +occasionally interrupted. Thus she would read aloud “as in her private +duty bound”—</p> + +<p>“<span class="lftspc">‘</span>The peasantry were excited, but were held in check by promises from +Stambuloff. The emissaries of the Czar—’</p> + +<p>“Mrs. Goodspeed, would you mind reading on? Here is the place. I see my +postman pass the window.”</p> + +<p>And so, moving quickly to the front door, she interviewed the faithful +Harrington, dressed, heaven knows why, in Confederate uniform of gray. +For Harrington had served his four years on the loyal side. Four times a +day did Harrington with his letter-bag renew the connection of this +household with the world and other worlds.</p> + +<p>“Dear Mr. Harrington, I thought you could tell us. Here is a girl named +Nora McLaughlin, and here is her trunk, both left at the door by the +milkman, and we do not know anything about where she belongs.”</p> + +<p>“Insufficient address?” asked Harrington, professionally.</p> + +<p>“Exactly. All she knows is that her brother is named John.”</p> + +<p>“A great many of them are,” said Harrington, already writing on his +memorandum book, and in his memory fixing the fact that a large, +two-legged living parcel, insufficiently addressed, had been left at the +wrong door for John McLaughlin; also a trunk, too large for delivery by +the penny post.</p> + +<p>“I will tell the other men, and if I was you I would send to the +police.”</p> + +<p>“Would you mind telling the first officer you meet? I hate to send my +girls out.” And so she returned to Bulgaria.</p> + +<p>But Bulgaria was ended, and Mrs. Conover handed her an article on +“Antarctic Discovery.” She was again reading:—</p> + +<p>“Under these circumstances Captain Wilkes, who had collected a boatload +of stones from the front of the glacier,” when she gave back the “Forum” +to Mrs. Conover. “Would you mind going on just a minute? “ she said, and +ran out to meet the icecream man. So soon as he had left his tins she +said,—</p> + +<p>“Mr. Fridge, would you mind stopping at the Dudley School as you go home +and telling Miss Lougee that there is a lost girl here?” etc.</p> + +<p>Good Mr. Fridge was most eager to help, and the hostess returned, took +the book again and read on with “the temperature, as they observed it, +was 99 degrees C.; but, as the alcohol in their tins was frozen at the +moment, there seemed reason to suspect the correctness of this +observation.”</p> + +<p>And a shiver passed over the Review Club.</p> + +<p>Thus far the powers of confusion and error seemed to have been +triumphant over poor Nora, or such was the success of that power who +uses these agencies, if the reader prefer to personify him.</p> + +<p>But the time had come to turn his left flank and to attack his forces in +the rear, for the postman now took the field,—that is to say, +Harrington, good fellow, finished his third delivery, four good miles +and nine-tenths of a furlong, snow two inches deep, three, four, six, +before he was done, and then returned to his branch office to report.</p> + +<p>“Two-legged parcel; insufficient address; 99 Linwood Street! Jim, what +ever come to that letter that went to 99 Linwood Street with +insufficient address six weeks ago?”</p> + +<p>“Linwood Street? Insufficient address? Foreign letter? Why, of course, +you know, went back to the central office.”</p> + +<p>“I guess it did,” said Harrington, grimly; “so I must go there too.”</p> + +<p>This meant that after Harrington had gone his rounds again on delivery +route No. 6, four more miles and nine-tenths more of a furlong, 313 +doorbells and only 73 slit boxes, snow now ranging from 6 inches to 12 +on the sidewalks, and breast-deep where there was a chance for drifting, +when all this was well done, so that Harrington had no more duties to +Uncle Sam, he could take Nora McLaughlin’s work in hand, and thus defeat +the prince of evil.</p> + +<p>To the central office by a horse-car. Blocked once or twice, but well at +the office at 7.30 in the evening.</p> + +<p>Christmas work heavy, so the whole home staff is on duty. That is well. +Enemy of souls loses one point there.</p> + +<p>Blind-letter clerks all here. Insufficient-delivery men both here. Chief +of returned bureau here. All summoned to the foreign office as +Harrington tells his story. Indexes produced, ledgers, journals, +day-books, and private passbooks. John McLaughlin’s biography followed +out on 67 of the different avatars in which his personality has been +manifested under that name. False trail here—clue breaks there—scent +fails here, but at last—a joyful cry from Will Search:—</p> + +<p>“Here you are! Insufficient address. November 1. Queenstown +letter—‘Linwood, to John McLaughlin. Try Dorchester. Try Roxbury. Try +East Boston. Try Somerville’—and there it stops, and was not returned.”</p> + +<p>“Try Somerville!”</p> + +<p>In these words great light fell over the eager circle. Not because +Somerville is the seat of an insane hospital. No! But because it is not +in the Boston Directory.</p> + +<p>If you please, Somerville is an independent city, and so, unless John +McLaughlin worked in Boston, if he lived in Somerville, he would not be +in the Boston Directory.</p> + +<p>Not much! Somerville has its own seven John McLaughlins besides those +Boston ones.</p> + +<p>“I say, Harry, Tom, Dick—somebody fetch Somerville Directory!”</p> + +<p>Dick flew and returned with the book.</p> + +<p>“Here you be! ‘John McLaughlin, laborer, 99 Linwood Street!’<span class="lftspc">”</span></p> + +<p>“Victory!”</p> + +<p>Satan’s forces tremble, and as the different officers return to their +desks “even the ranks of Tuscany” in that well-bred office “can scarce +forbear to cheer.”</p> + +<p>As for Harrington, he bids good-by, wraps his tartan around him, and is +out in the snow again. Where Linwood Street is he “knows no more than +the dead.” But somebody will know.</p> + +<p>Somerville car. Draw of bridge open. Man falls into the river and has to +be rescued. Draw closes. Snow-drift at Margin Street. Shovels. Drift +open. Centre of Somerville. Apothecary’s shop open. “Please, where is +Linwood Street?”</p> + +<p>“Take your second left, cross three or four streets, turn to the right +by the water-pipe, take the third right, go down hill by the schoolhouse +and take second left, and you come out at 11 Linwood Street.”</p> + +<p>All which Harrington does. He experiences one continual burst of joy +that his route does not take him through these detours daily. But his +professional experience is good for him. We have no need to describe his +false turns. Even aniseed would have been useless in that snow. At last, +just as the Somerville bells ring for nine o’clock, Harrington also +rings triumphant at the door of the little five-roomed cottage, where +his lantern has already revealed the magic number 99.</p> + +<p>Ring! as for a gilt-edged special delivery! Door thrown open by a solid +man with curly red hair, unshaven since Sunday, in his shirtsleeves and +with kerosene lamp in his hand.</p> + +<p>“Are you John McLaughlin?”</p> + +<p>“Indade I am; the same.”</p> + +<p>“And where’s your sister Nora?”</p> + +<p>The good fellow, who had been stern before, broke down. “And indade I +was saying to Ellen it’s an awful night for ’em all in the gale off the +coast in the ship. The holy Virgin and the good God take care of ’em!”</p> + +<p>“They have taken care of them,” said Harrington, reverently. “The ship +is safe in dock, and your sister Nora is in Roxbury, at 99 Linwood +Street!”</p> + +<p>And a broad grin lighted his face as he spoke the words.</p> + +<p>There was joy in every bed and at every door of the five rooms. Then +John hastily donned coat, cardigan, and ulster. He persuaded Harrington +to drink a cup of red-hot tea which was brewing on the stove. While the +good fellow did so, and ate a St. Anne’s bun, which Mrs. McLaughlin +produced in triumph, John was persuading Hermann Gross, the expressman +next door, to put the gray into a light pung he had for special +delivery. By the time Harrington went to the door two lanterns were +flitting about in the snow-piled yard behind the two houses.</p> + +<p>Harrington assisted in yoking the gray. In five minutes he and John were +defying the gale as they sped across the silent bridge, bound south to +Roxbury. Poor little Nora was asleep in the parlor on the sofa. She had +begged and begged that she need not be put to bed, and by her side her +protector sat reading about the antarctic. But of a sudden Harrington +reappeared.</p> + +<p>Is it Santa Claus?</p> + +<p>Indeed it is! Beard, hat, coat, all white with snow!</p> + +<p>And Santa Claus has come for the best present he will deliver that +evening!</p> + +<p>Dear little Nora is wrapped in sealskins and other skins, mauds and +astrakhan rugs. She has a hot brick at her feet, and Pompey, the dog, is +made to lie over them, so John McLaughlin No. 68 takes her in triumph to +99 Linwood Street.</p> + +<p>That was a Christmas to be remembered! And Christmas morning, after +church, the Brothers of St. Patrick, which was the men’s society, and +the Sodality of St. Anne’s, which was the women’s, determined on a great +Twelfth-night feast to celebrate Nora’s return.</p> + +<p>It was to show “how these brethren love one another.”</p> + +<p>They proposed to take the rink. People didn’t use it for skating in +winter as much as in summer.</p> + +<p>Nora was to receive, with John McLaughlin and his wife to assist. The +other 74 John McLaughlins were to act as ushers.</p> + +<p>The Salvation Army came first, led by the lass who found Michael.</p> + +<p>Procession No. 2 was Mike and the teamsters who “don’t take nothing for +such as she.”</p> + +<p>Third, in special horse-cars, which went through from Dorchester to +Somerville by a vermilion edict from the West End Company, the eleven +families of that No. 99. They stopped in Roxbury to pick up Ellen and +the hostess of the Review Club.</p> + +<p>Fourth, all the patrolmen who had helped and all who tried to help, led +by “cop” No. 47.</p> + +<p>Fifth, all the school children who had told the story and had made +inquiries.</p> + +<p>Sixth, the man who made the Somerville Directory.</p> + +<p>Seventh and last, in two barouches, Harrington and the chiefs of staff +at the general post-office. And the boys asked Father McElroy to make a +speech to all just before the dancing began.</p> + +<p>And he said: “The lost sheep was never lost. She thought she was lost in +the wilderness, but she was at home, for she was met by the Christmas +greeting of the world into which the dear Lord was born!”</p> + +<div class="blockquot1"> +<p>NOTE.—It may interest the reader to know that the important part of +this story is true.</p> +</div> + +<h2><a id="IDEALS"></a>IDEALS</h2> + +<h3>CHAPTER I<br /><br />IN ACCOUNT</h3> + +<p class="nind"><span class="letra">I</span> HAVE a little circle of friends, among all my other friends quite +distinct, though of them. They are four men and four women; the husbands +more in love with their wives than on the days when they married them, +and the wives with their husbands. These people live for the good of the +world, to a fair extent, but much, very much, of their lives is passed +together. Perhaps the happiest period they ever knew was when, in +different subordinate capacities, they were all on the staff of the same +magazine. Then they met daily at the office, lunched together perforce, +and could make arrangements for the evening. But, to say true, things +differ little with them now, though that magazine long since took wings +and went to a better world.</p> + +<p>Their names are Felix and Fausta Carter, Frederic and Mary Ingham, +George and Anna Haliburton, George and Julia Hackmatack.</p> + +<p>I get the children’s names wrong to their faces—except that in general +their name is Legion, for they are many—so I will not attempt them +here.</p> + +<p>These people live in very different houses, with very different +“advantages,” as the world says. Haliburton has grown very rich in the +rag and paper business, rich enough to discard rag money and believe in +gold. He even spits at silver, which I am glad to get when I can. +Frederic Ingham will never be rich. His regular income consists in his +half-pay as a retired brevet officer in the patriot service of Garibaldi +of the year 1859. For the rest, he invested his money in the Brick Moon, +and, as I need hardly add, insured his life in the late Continental +Insurance Company. But the Inghams find just as much in life as the +Haliburtons, and Anna Haliburton consults Polly Ingham about the shade +of a flounce just as readily and as eagerly as Polly consults her about +the children’s dentistry. They are all very fond of each other.</p> + +<p>They get a great deal out of life, these eight, partly because they are +so closely allied together. Just two whist-parties, you see; or, if they +go to ride, they just fill two carriages. Eight is such a good +number—makes such a nice dinner-party. Perhaps they see a little too +much of each other. That we shall never know.</p> + +<p>They got a great deal of life, and yet they were not satisfied. They +found that out very queerly. They have not many standards. Ingham does +take the “Spectator;” Hackmatack condescends to read the “Evening Post;” +Haliburton, who used to be in the insurance business, and keeps his old +extravagant habits, reads the “Advertiser” and the “Transcript;” all of +them have the “Christian Union,” and all of them buy “Harper’s Weekly.” +Every separate week of their lives they buy of the boys, instead of +subscribing; they think they may not want the next number, but they +always do. Not one of them has read the “Nation” for five years, for +they like to keep good-natured. In fact, they do not take much stock in +the general organs of opinion, and the standard books you find about are +scandalously few. The Bible, Shakespeare, John Milton; Polly has Dante; +Julia has “Barclay’s Apology,” with ever so many marks in it; one George +has “Owen Felltham,” and the other is strong on Marcus Aurelius. Well, +no matter about these separate things; the uniform books besides those I +named, in different editions but in every house, are the “Arabian +Nights” and “Robinson Crusoe.” Hackmatack has the priceless first +edition. Haliburton has Grandville’s (the English Grandville). Ingham +has a proof copy of the Stothard. Carter has a good copy of the +Cruikshank.</p> + +<p>If you ask me which of these four I should like best, I should say as +the Laureate did when they gave him his choice of two kinds of cake, +“Both’s as good as one.”</p> + +<p>Well, “Robinson Crusoe” being their lay gospel and creed, not to say +epistle and psalter, it was not queer that one night, when the election +had gone awfully, and the men were as blue as that little porcelain +Osiris of mine yonder, who is so blue that he cannot stand on his +feet—it was not queer, I say, that they turned instinctively to +“Robinson Crusoe” for relief.</p> + +<p>Now, Robinson Crusoe was once in a very bad box indeed, and to comfort +himself as well as he could, and to set the good against the evil, that +he might have something to distinguish his case from worse, he stated +impartially, like debtor and creditor, the comforts and miseries, +thus:—</p> + +<table class="sml"> +<tr><td class="c">EVIL.</td><td class="c">GOOD.</td></tr> +<tr><td><p> +I am cast upon a horrible +desolate island, void of all +recovery.</p></td> +<td><p>But I am alive, and not +drowned as all my hope of +ship’s company were.</p></td></tr> + +<tr><td><p>I am singled out and separated, +as it were, from all the world, to +be miserable.</p></td><td> +<p>But I am singled out, +too, from the ship’s crew +to be spared from death.</p></td></tr> +</table> + +<p>And so the debtor and creditor account goes on.</p> + +<p>Julia Hackmatack read this aloud to them—the whole of it—and they +agreed, as Robinson says, not so much for their posterity as to keep +their thoughts from daily poring on their trials, that for each family +they would make such a balance. What might not come of it? Perhaps a +partial nay, perhaps a perfect cure!</p> + +<p>So they determined that on the instant they would go to work, and two in +the smoking-room, two in the dining-room, two in George’s study, and two +in the parlor, they should in the next half-hour make up their lists of +good and evil. Here are the results:—</p> + +<table class="sml"> +<tr><td class="c" colspan="2">FREDERIC AND MARY INGHAM.</td></tr> + +<tr><td class="c">GOOD.</td><td class="c">EVIL.</td></tr> + +<tr><td><p>We have three nice boys<br /> +and three nice girls.</p></td> +<td><p> +But the door-bell rings all<br /> +the time.</p></td></tr> + +<tr><td><p>We have enough to eat, +drink, and wear.</p></td><td><p>But the coal bill is awful,<br /> +and the Larrabee furnace has<br /> +given out. The firm that made<br /> +it has gone up, and no castings<br /> +can be got to mend it.</p></td></tr> + +<tr><td> +<p>We have more books than<br /> +we can read, and do not care<br /> +to read many newspapers. </p> +</td><td> +<p>But our friends borrow our<br /> +books, and only return odd<br /> +volumes.</p></td></tr> + +<tr><td><p>We have many very dear<br /> +friends—enough.</p> +</td><td><p>But we are behindhand 143<br /> +names on our lists of calls.</p></td></tr> + +<tr><td><p>We have health in our<br /> +family.</p></td> +<td><p>But the children may be<br /> +sick. The Lowndes children are</p>.</td></tr> + +<tr><td><p> +We seem to be of some<br /> +use in the world.</p> +</td><td><p>But Mrs. Hogarth has left<br /> +Fred $200 for the poor, and he<br /> +is afraid he shall spend it wrong.</p></td></tr> + +<tr><td>  </td><td><p>The country has gone to the dogs.</p></td></tr> +</table> + +<table class="sml"> +<tr><td class="c" colspan="2">GEORGE AND ANNA HALIBURTON.</td></tr> + +<tr><td class="c">GOOD.</td><td class="c">EVIL.</td></tr> + +<tr><td><p>We have a nice home in<br /> +town, and one in Sharon, and<br /> +a sea-shore place at Little<br /> +Gau, and we have friends<br /> +enough to fill them.</p></td><td> + <p> You cannot give a cup of<br /> +coffee to a beggar but he sends<br /> +five hundred million tramps to<br /> +the door.</p></td></tr> + +<tr><td><p>We have some of the nicest <br /> +children in the world.</p></td><td> +<p> A great many people call<br /></p> + whose names we have forgotten.</td></tr> + +<tr><td><p>We have enough to do, and <br /> +not too much.</p></td><td><p> + We have to give a party to<br /> + all our acquaintance every year,<br /> + which is horrid.</p></td></tr> + +<tr><td><p>Business is good enough,<br /> +though complaining.</p></td><td><p> + We do not do anything we<br /> + want to do, and we do a great<br /> + deal that we do not want to do.<br /> + George had added, “And there<br /> + is no health in us.” But Anna<br /> +marked that out as wicked.</p></td></tr> + +<tr><td><p>The children are all well.</p></td><td><p> +People vote as if they were<br /> possessed.</p></td></tr> +</table> + +<table class="sml"> +<tr><td class="c" colspan="2">GEORGE AND JULIA HACKMATACK</td></tr> + +<tr><td class="c">GOOD.</td><td class="c">EVIL.</td></tr> + +<tr><td><p>We have eight splendid <br /> +children.</p></td><td><p> + + The plumbers’ work always <br /> +gives way at the wrong time, <br /> +and the plumbers’ bills are awful.</p></td></tr> + +<tr><td><p>We have money enough, <br /> +though we know what to do <br /> +with more. </p></td><td><p> + The furnace will not heat the <br /> +house unless the wind is at the <br /> +southwest. None of the chimneys <br /> +draw well.</p></td></tr> + +<tr><td><p>George will not have to go <br /> +to Bahia next year. </p></td><td><p> + We hate the Kydd School. <br /> + The master drinks and the first <br /> + assistant lies. But we live in <br /> + that district; so the boys have <br /> + to go there.</p></td></tr> + +<tr><td><p>Tom got through with scarlet<br /> +fever without being deaf.</p></td> +<td><p>Lucy said “commence” yesterday, <br /> +Jane said “gent,” Walter said <br /> +“Bully for you,” and Alice said <br /> +“nobby.” And what is coming we <br /> +do not know.</p></td></tr> + +<tr><td><p>Dr. Witherspoon has accepted <br /> +the presidency of Tiberias <br /> +College in Alaska.</p></td><td><p> +How long any man can live <br /> +under this government I do <br /> +not know.</p></td></tr> +</table> + +<table class="sml"> +<tr><td class="c" colspan="2">FELIX AND FAUSTA CARTER</td></tr> + +<tr><td class="c">GOOD.</td><td class="c">EVIL.</td></tr> + +<tr><td><p>Governments are stronger<br /> +every year. Money goes farther<br /> +than it did. + +</td><td><p>But as the children grow<br /> +bigger, their clothes cost<br /> +more.</p></td></tr> + +<tr><td><p>All the boys are good and<br /> +well. So are the girls.<br /> +They are splendid children.<br /> +</td><td><p>But the children get no<br /> +good at school, except<br /> +measles, whooping-cough, and<br /> +scarlet fever.</p></td></tr> + +<tr><td><p>Old Mr. Porter died last<br /> +week, and Felix gets promotion<br /> +in the office.<br /> +</td><td><p>But the gas-meter lies;<br /> +and the gas company wants to<br /> +have it lie.</p></td></tr> + +<tr><td><p>The lost volume of Fichte<br /> +was left on the door-step last<br /> +night by some one who rang the<br /> +bell and ran away. It is rather<br /> +wet, but when it is bound will<br /> +look nicely. +</td><td><p>But the Athenaeum is always<br /> +calling in its books to examine<br /> +them, and making us say where<br /> + Mr. Fred Curtis’s books are.<br /> + As if we cared.</p></td></tr> + +<tr><td><p>The mistress of the Arbella<br /> +School is dead. +</td><td><p> +But our drains smell<br /> +awfully, though the Board of<br /> +Health says they do not.</p></td></tr> + +<tr><td><p>  +</td><td><p> +We have to go to evening<br /> +parties among our friends, or<br /> +seem stuck up. We hate to go,<br /> +and wish there were none. We<br /> +had rather come here.</p></td></tr> + +<tr><td><p>  +</td><td><p> + The increasing<br /> +worthlessness of the franchise.</p></td></tr> +</table> + +<p>With these papers they gathered all in the study just as the clock +struck nine, and, in good old Boston fashion, Silas was bringing in some +hot oysters. They ate the oysters, which were good—trust Anna for +that—and then the women read the papers, while the smoking men smoked +and pondered.</p> + +<p>They all recognized the gravity of the situation. Still, as Julia said, +they felt better already. It was like having the doctor come: you knew +the worst, and could make ready for it.</p> + +<p>They did not discuss the statements much. They had discussed them too +much in severalty. They did agree that they should be left to Felix to +report upon the next evening. He was, so to speak, to post them, to +strike out from each side the quantities which could be eliminated, and +leave the equations so simplified that the eight might determine what +they should do about it—indeed, what they could do about it.</p> + +<p>The visitors put on their “things”—how strange that that word should +once have meant “parliaments!”—kissed good-by so far as they were +womanly, and went home. George Haliburton screwed down the gas, and they +went to bed.</p> + +<h3>CHAPTER II<br /><br />STRIKING THE BALANCE</h3> + +<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">The</span> next night they went to see Warren at the Museum. That probably +helped them. After the play they met by appointment at the Carters’. +Felix read his</p> + +<h4>REPORT.</h4> + +<div class="blockquot1"> + +<p>1. <span class="smcap">Number</span>.—There are twenty-one reasons for congratulation, twenty-four +for regret. But of the twenty-four, four are the same; namely, the +cursed political prospect of the country. Counting that as one only, +there are twenty-one on each side.</p> + +<p>2. <span class="smcap">Evil</span>.—The twenty-one evils may be classified thus: political, 1; +social, 12; physical, 5; terrors, 3.</p> + +<p>All the physical evils would be relieved by living in a temperate +climate, instead of this abomination, which is not a climate, to which +our ancestors were sold by the cupidity of the Dutch.</p> + +<p>The political evil would be ended by leaving the jurisdiction of the +United States.</p> + +<p>The social evils, which are a majority of all, would be reduced by +residence in any place where there were not so many people.</p> + +<p>The terrors properly belong to all the classes. In a decent climate, in +a country not governed by its vices, and a community not crowded, the +three terrors would be materially abated, if not put to an end.</p> + +<p class="c">Respectfully submitted,</p> + +<p class="rt"><span class="smcap">Felix Carter</span>.</p> +</div> + +<p>How they discussed it now! Talk? I think so! They all talked awhile, and +no one listened. But they had to stop when Phenice brought in the Welsh +rare-bit (good before bed, but a little indigestible, unless your +conscience is stainless), and Felix then put in a word.</p> + +<p>“Now I tell you, this is not nonsense. Why not do what Winslow and +Standish and those fellows thought they were doing when they sailed? Why +not go to a climate like France, with milder winters and cooler summers +than here? You want some winter, you want some summer.”</p> + +<p>“I hate centipedes and scorpions,” said Anna.</p> + +<p>“There’s no need of them. There’s a place in Mexico, not a hundred miles +from the sea, where you can have your temperature just as you like.”</p> + +<p>“Stuff!”</p> + +<p>“No, it is not stuff at all,” said poor Felix, eagerly. “I do not mean +just one spot. But you live in this valley, you know. If you find it is +growing hot, you move about a quarter of a mile to another place higher +up. If you find that hot, why you have another house a little higher. +Don’t you see? Then, when winter comes, you move down.”</p> + +<p>“Are there many people there?” asked Haliburton; “and do they make many +calls?”</p> + +<p>“There are a good many people, but they are a gentle set. They never +quarrel. They are a little too high up for the revolutions, and there is +something tranquillizing about the place; they seldom die, none are +sick, need no aguardiente, do what the head of the village tells them to +do—only he never has any occasion to tell them. They never make calls.”</p> + +<p>“I like that,” said Ingham. That patriarchal system is the true system +of government.”</p> + +<p>“Where is this place?” said Anna, incredulously.</p> + +<p>“I have been trying to remember all day, but I can’t. It is in Mexico, I +know. It is on this side of Mexico. It tells all about it in an old +‘Harper’—oh, a good many years ago—but I never bound mine; there are +always one or two missing every year. I asked Fausta to look for it, but +she was busy. I thought,” continued poor Felix, a little crestfallen, +“one of you might remember.”</p> + +<p>No, nobody remembered; and nobody felt much like going to the public +library to look, on Carter’s rather vague indications. In fact, it was a +suggestion of Haliburton’s that proved more popular.</p> + +<p>Haliburton said he had not laid in his coal. They all said the same. +“Now,” said he, “the coal of this crowd for this winter will cost a +thousand dollars, if you add in the kindling and the matches, and +patching the furnace pots and sweeping the chimneys.”</p> + +<p>To this they agreed.</p> + +<p>“It is now Wednesday. Let us start Saturday for Memphis, take a cheap +boat to New Orleans, go thence to Vera Cruz by steamer, explore the +ground, buy the houses if we like, and return by the time we can do +without fires next spring. Our board will cost less than it would here, +for it is there the beef comes from. And the thousand dollars will pay +the fares both ways.”</p> + +<p>The women, with one voice, cried, “And the children?”</p> + +<p>“Oh yes,” cried the eager adventurer. “I had forgotten the children. +Well, they are all well, are they not?”</p> + +<p>Yes; all were well.</p> + +<p>“Then we will take them with us as far as Yellow Springs, in Ohio, and +leave them for the fall and winter terms at Antioch College. They will +be enough better taught than they are at the Kydd School, and they will +get no scarlet fever. Nobody is ever sick there. They will be better +cared for than my children are when they are left to me, and they will +be seven hundred miles nearer to us than if they were here. The little +ones can go to the Model School, the middling ones to the Academy, and +the oldest can go to college. How many are there, Felix?”</p> + +<p>Felix said there were twenty-nine.</p> + +<p>“Well,” said the arithmetical George, “it is the cheapest place I ever +knew. Why, their Seniors get along for three hundred dollars a year, and +squeeze more out of life than I do out of twenty thousand. The little +ones won’t cost at that rate. A hundred and fifty dollars for +twenty-nine children; how much is that, Polly?”</p> + +<p>“Forty-three hundred and fifty dollars, of course,” said she.</p> + +<p>“I thought so. Well, don’t you see, we shall save that in wages to these +servants we are boarding here, of whom there are eleven, who cost us, +say, six dollars a week; that is, sixty-six dollars for twenty weeks is +thirteen hundred and twenty dollars. We won’t buy any clothes, but live +on the old ones, and make the children wear their big brothers’ and +sisters’. There’s a saving of thirty-seven hundred dollars for +thirty-seven of us. Why, we shall make money! I tell you what, if you’ll +do it, I’ll pay all the bills till we come home. If you like, you shall +then each pay me three-quarters of your last winter’s accounts, and I’ll +charge any difference to profit and loss. But I shall make by the +bargain.”</p> + +<p>The women doubted if they could be ready. But it proved they could. +Still they did not start Saturday; they started Monday, in two +palace-cars. They left the children, all delighted with the change, at +Antioch on Wednesday—a little tempted to spend the winter there +themselves; but, this temptation well resisted, they sped on to Mexico.</p> + +<h3>CHAPTER III<br /><br />FULFILMENT</h3> + +<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">Such</span> a tranquil three days on the Mississippi, which was as an autumn +flood, and revealed himself as indeed King of Waters! Such delightful +three days in hospitable New Orleans! Might it not be possible to tarry +even here? “No,” cried the inexorable George. “We have put our hand to +the plough. Who will turn back?” Two days of abject wretchedness on the +Gulf of Mexico. “Why were we born? Why did we not die before we left +solid land?” And then the light-house at Vera Cruz.</p> + +<div class="poetry"><div class="poem"> +“Lo, land! and all was well.”</div></div> + +<p>What a splendid city! Why had nobody told them of this queen on the +sea-shore? Red and white towers, cupolas, battlements! It was all like a +story-book. When they landed, to be sure, it was not quite so big a +place as they had fancied from all this show; but for this they did not +care. To land—that was enough. Had they landed on a sand-spit, they +would have been in heaven. No more swaying to and fro as they lay in +bed, no more stumbling to and fro as they walked. They refused the +amazed Mexicans who wanted them to ride to the hotel. To walk steadily +was in itself a luxury.</p> + +<p>And then it was not long before the men had selected the little caravan +of horses and mules which were to carry them on their expedition of +discovery. Some valley of paradise, where a man could change his climate +from midwinter to midsummer by a journey of a mile. Did the consul +happen to have heard of any such valley?</p> + +<p>Had he heard of them? He had heard of fifty. He had not, indeed, heard +of much else. How could he help hearing of them?</p> + +<p>Could the consul, then, recommend one or two valleys which might be for +sale? Or was it, perhaps, impossible to buy a foothold in such an Eden?</p> + +<p>For sale! There was nothing in the country, so far as the friend knew to +whom the consul presented them, which was not for sale. Anywhere in +Queretaro; or why should they not go to the Baxio? No; that was too flat +and too far off. There were pretty places round Xalapa. Oh, plenty of +plantations for sale. But they need not go so far. Anywhere on the rise +of Chiquihiti.</p> + +<p>Was the friend quite sure that there were no plumbers in the regions he +named?</p> + +<p>“Never a plumber in Mexico.”</p> + +<p>Any life-insurance men?</p> + +<p>“Not one.” The prudent friend did not add, “Risk too high.”</p> + +<p>Were the public schools graded schools or district schools?</p> + +<p>“Not a public school in six provinces.”</p> + +<p>Would the neighbors be offended if we do not call?</p> + +<p>“Cut your throats if you did.”</p> + +<p>Did the friend think there would be many tramps?</p> + +<p>The friend seemed more doubtful here, but suggested that the occasional +use of a six-shooter reduced the number, and gave a certain reputation +to the premises where it was employed which diminished much tramping +afterward, and said that the law did not object to this method.</p> + +<p>They returned to a dinner of fish, for which Vera Cruz is celebrated. +“If what the man says be true,” said Ingham, “we must be very near +heaven.”</p> + +<p>It was now in November. Oh, the glory of that ride, as they left Vera +Cruz and through a wilderness of color jogged slowly on to their new +paradise!</p> + +<div class="poetry"><div class="poem">“Through Eden four glad couples took their way.”</div></div> + +<p class="nind">Higher and higher. This wonder and that. Not a blade of grass such as +they ever saw before, not a chirping cricket such as they ever heard +before; a hundred bright-winged birds, and not one that they had ever +seen before. Higher and higher. Trees, skies, clouds, flowers, beasts, +birds, insects, all new and all lovely.</p> + +<p>The final purchase was of one small plantation, with a house large +enough for a little army, yet without a stair. Oranges, lemons, +pomegranates, mangoes, bananas, pine-apples, coffee, sugar—what did not +ripen in those perennial gardens? Half a mile above there were two +smaller houses belonging to the same estate; half a mile above, another +was purchased easily. This was too cold to stay in in November, but in +June and July and August the temperature would be sixty-six, without +change.</p> + +<p>They sent back the mules. A telegram from Vera Cruz brought from Boston, +in fifteen days, the best books in the world, the best piano in the +world, a few boxes of colors for the artists, a few reams of paper, and +a few dozen of pencils for the men. And then began four months of +blessed life. Never a gas-bill nor a water-leak, never a crack in the +furnace nor a man to put in coal, never a request to speak for the +benefit of the Fenians, never the necessity of attending at a primary +meeting. The ladies found in their walks these gentle Mexican children, +simple, happy, civil, and with the strange idea that the object for +which life is given is that men may live. They came home with new wealth +untold every day—of ipomoea, convolvulus, passion-flowers, and orchids. +The gentlemen brought back every day a new species, even a new genus,—a +new illustration of evolution, or a new mystery to be accounted for by +the law of natural selection. Night was all sleep; day was all life. +Digestion waited upon appetite; appetite waited upon exercise; exercise +waited upon study; study waited upon conversation; conversation waited +upon love. Could it be that November was over? Can life run by so fast? +Can it be that Christmas has come? Can we let life go by so fast? Is it +possible that it is the end of January? We cannot let life go so fast. +Really, is this St. Valentine’s Day! When ever did life go so fast?</p> + +<p>And with the 1st of March the mules were ordered, and they moved to the +next higher level. The men and women walked. And there, on the grade of +a new climate, they began on a new botany, on new discoveries, and happy +life found new forms as they began again.</p> + +<p>So sped April and so sped May. Life had its battles,—oh yes, because it +was life. But they were not the pettiest of battles. They were not the +battles of prisoners shut up, to keep out the weather, in cells fifteen +feet square. They fought, if they fought, with God’s air in their veins, +and God’s warm sunshine around them, and God’s blue sky above them. So +they did what they could, as they wrote and read and drew and painted, +as they walked and ran and swam and rode and drove, as they encouraged +this peon boy and taught that peon girl, smoothed this old woman’s +pillow and listened to that old man’s story, as they analyzed these +wonderful flowers, as they tasted these wonderful fruits, as they +climbed these wonderful mountains, or, at night, as they pointed the +telescope through this cloudless and stainless sky.</p> + +<p>With all their might they lived. And they were so many, and there were +so many round them to whom their coming was a new life, that they lived +in love, and every day drank in of the infinite elixir.</p> + +<p>But June came. The mules are sent for again. Again they walked a quarter +of a mile. And here in the little whitewashed cottage, with only a +selection from the books below, with two guitars and a flute in place of +the piano,—here they made ready for three weeks of June. Only three +weeks; for on the 29th was the Commencement at Antioch, and Jane and +Walter and Florence were to take their degrees. There would need five +days from Vera Cruz to reach them. And so this summer was to be spent in +the North with them, before October should bring all the children and +the parents to the land of the open sky. Three busy weeks between the +1st and the 22d, in which all the pictures must be finished, Ingham’s +novel must be revised, Haliburton’s articles completed, the new +invention for measuring power must be gauged and tested, the dried +flowers must be mounted and packed, the preserved fruits must be divided +for the Northern friends. Three happy weeks of life eventful, but life +without crowding, and, above all, without interruption. “Think of it,” +cried Felix, as they took their last walk among the lava crags, the +door-bell has not rung all this last winter.’<span class="lftspc">”</span></p> + +<div class="poetry"> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i4">“<span class="lftspc">‘</span>This happy old king<br /></span> +<span class="i6">On his gate he did swing,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Because there was never a door-bell to ring.’<span class="lftspc">”</span><br /></span> +</div></div> +</div> + +<p class="nind">This was Julia’s impromptu reply.</p> + +<h3>CHAPTER IV<br /><br />HOME AGAIN</h3> + +<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">So</span> came one more journey. Why can we not go and come without this musty +steamer, these odious smells, this food for dogs, and this surge—ah, +how remorseless!—of the cruel sea?</p> + +<p>But even this will end. Once more the Stars and Stripes! A land of +furnaces and of waterpipes, a land of beggars and of caucuses, a land of +gas-meters and of liars, a land of pasteboard and of cards, a land of +etiquettes and of bad spelling, but still their country! A land of +telegraphs, which told in an instant, as they landed on the levee, that +all the twenty-nine were well, and begged them to be at the college on +Tuesday evening, so as to see “Much Ado about Nothing.” For at Antioch +they act a play the night before Commencement. A land of Pullman’s +palace-cars. And lo! they secured sections 5 and 6, 7 and 8, in the +“Mayflower.” Just time to kiss the baby of one friend, and to give a +basket of guavas to another, and then whir for Cincinnati and Xenia and +Yellow Springs!</p> + +<p>How beautiful were the live-oaks and the magnolias! How fresh the green +of the cotton! How black the faces of the little negroes, and how beyond +dispute the perfume of the baked peanuts at the stations where sometimes +they had to stop for wood and water! Even the heavy pile of smoke above +Cincinnati was golden with the hopes of a new-born day as they rushed up +to the Ohio River, and as they crossed it. And then, the land of happy +homes! It was Kapnist who said to me that the most favored places in the +world were the larger villages in Ohio. He had gone everywhere, too. +Xenia, and a perfect breakfast at the station, then the towers of +Antioch, then the twenty-nine children waving their handkerchiefs as the +train rushes in!</p> + +<p>How much there was to tell, to show, to ask for, and to see! How much +pleasure they gave with their cochineal, their mangoes, their bananas, +their hat-bands for the boys, and their fans for the girls! Yes; and how +much more they took from nutbrown faces, from smiles beaming from ear to +ear, from the boy so tall that he looked down upon his father, from the +girl so womanly that you asked if her mother were not masquerading. “You +rascal Ozro, you do not pretend that those trousers were made for you? +Why, my boy, you disgrace the family.” “I hope not, papa; I had +ninety-eight in the botany examination, passed with honors in Greek, and +we beat the Buckeye Club to nothing in the return match yesterday.” “You +did, you little beggar?” the proud papa replied. “You ran all the +better, I suppose, because you had nothing to trip you.” And so on, and +so on. The children did not live in paradise, perhaps, but this seems +very like the kingdom come!</p> + +<p>And after commencements and the president’s party, up to the Yellow +Springs platform came two unusual palaces, specially engaged. And one +was named the “Valparaiso,” and the other, as it happened, the +“Bethlehem.” And they took all the children, and by good luck Mrs. +Tucker was going also, and three or four of the college girls, and they +took them. So there were forty-two in all. And they sped and sped, +without change of cars, save as Bethlehem visited Paradise and Paradise +visited Bethlehem, till they came to New Salem, which is the station men +buy tickets for when they would go to the beach below Quonochontaug, +where the eight and the twenty-nine were to make their summer home +before the final emigration.</p> + +<p>They do not live at Quonochontaug, but to that post-office are their +letters sent. They live in a hamlet of their own, known to the neighbors +as the Little Gau. Four large houses, whitewashed without and within, +with deep piazzas all around, the roofs of which join the roofs of the +houses themselves, and run up on all sides to one point above the +centre. In each house a hall some twenty feet by fifty, and in the +hall,—what is not in the hall?—maybe a piano, maybe a fish-rod, maybe +a rifle or a telescope, a volume of sermons or a volume of songs, a +spinning-wheel, or a guitar, or a battledore. You might ask widely for +what you needed, for study or for play, and you would find it, though it +were a deep divan of Osiat or a chibouque from Stamboul—you would find +it in one of these simple whitewashed halls.</p> + +<p>Little Gau is so near the sea-shore that every day they go down to the +beach to bathe, and the beach is so near the Gulf Stream that the swim +is—well, perfection. Still, the first day the ladies would not swim. +They had the trunks to open, they said, and the closets to arrange. And +the four men and the fourteen boys went to that bath of baths alone. And +as Felix, the cynic grumbler, ran races naked on the beach with his boy +and the boy beat him, even Felix was heard to say, “How little man needs +here below to be perfectly happy!”</p> + +<p>And at the Little Gau they spent the months from the Fourth of July to +the 13th of October—two great days in history—getting ready for +Mexico. New sewing-machines were bought, and the fall of the stream from +the lake was taught to run the treadles. No end of clothing was got +ready for a country which needs none; no end of memoranda made for the +last purchases; no end of lists of books prepared, which they could read +in that land of leisure. And on the 14th of October, with a passing +sigh, they bade good-by to boats and dogs and cows and horses and +neighbors and beaches—almost to sun and moon, which had smiled on so +much happiness, and went back to Boston to make the last bargains, to +pay the last bills, and to say the last good-byes.</p> + +<p>After one day of bill-paying and house-advertising and farewelling, they +met at Ingham’s to “tell their times.” And Julia told of her farewell +call on dear Mrs. Blake.</p> + +<p>“The saint!” said she; “she does not see as well as she did. But it was +just lovely there. There was the great bronze Japanese stork, which +seemed so friendly, and the great vases, and her flowers as fresh as +ever, and her books everywhere. She found something for Tom and Maud to +play with, just as she used to for Ben and Horace. And we sat and talked +of Mexico and Antioch and everything. I asked her if her eyes troubled +her, and I was delighted because it seems they do not trouble her at +all. She told all about Swampscott and her grandchildren. I asked her if +the dust never troubled them on Gladstone Street, but she says it does +not at all; and she told all about her son’s family in Hong-Kong. I +asked her if the failure of Rupee & Lac annoyed them, and she said not +at all, and I was so glad, for I had been so afraid for them; and then +she told about how much they were enjoying Macaulay. Then I asked her if +the new anvil factory on the other side of the street did not trouble +her, and she said not at all. And when I said, ‘How can that be?’ she +said, ‘Why, Julia dear, we do not let these things trouble us, don’t you +see. If I were you, I would not let such things trouble me.’<span class="lftspc">”</span></p> + +<p>George Haliburton laid down his knife as Julia told the story. +“Do you remember Rabia at Mecca?” + +<p>Yes, they all remembered Rabia at Mecca:—</p> + +<div class="poetry"><div class="poem">“Oh heart, weak follower of the weak,<br /> +    That thou shouldst traverse land +and sea;<br /> +  In this far place that God to seek<br /> +    Who long ago had come to thee!”</div></div> + +<p>“Why should we not stay here, and not let these things trouble us?”</p> + +<p>Why not, indeed?</p> + +<p>And they stayed.</p> + +<h2><a id="ONE_CENT"></a>ONE CENT<br /><br /> +<small>A CHRISTMAS STORY</small></h2> + +<h3>SCENE I<br /><br /><small>DOWN</small></h3> + +<p class="nind"><span class="letra">M</span>R. STARR rose very early that day. The sun was not up. Yet, certainly, +it was too light to strike a match. Ah, Mr. Starr, a match may be an +economy!</p> + +<p>So it was that when, as always, the keys jingled out from his trousers +pockets upon the floor, and the money as well, one cent rolled under the +bureau unseen by Mr. Starr. He went down to his work now, after he had +gathered up the rest of the money and the keys, and answered yesterday’s +letters.</p> + +<p>Then, of course, he could loiter over his breakfast.</p> + +<p>But not too long. Clara, his wife, was in good spirits, and the boys +were very jolly, but Mr. Starr, all the same, did the duty next his +hand. He “kissed her good-by,” and started down-town. Edgar stopped, him +to ask for fifty cents for his lunch; the postman wanted fifteen for an +underpaid parcel; Susan, the maid, asked for ten for some extra milk; +and then he kissed his hand to the parlor window, and was off.</p> + +<p>No! He was not off.</p> + +<p>For Clara threw up the window and waved her lily hand. Mr. Starr ran +back to the door. She flung it open.</p> + +<p>“My dear John, here is your best coat. That coat you have on has a +frayed button. I saw it yesterday, and I cannot bear to have you wear it +at the Board.”</p> + +<p>“Dear Clara, what a saint you are!” One more kiss, and Mr. Starr +departed.</p> + +<p>And loyally he did the duty next his hand. He stopped and signed the +sewerage petition; he looked in on poor Colt and said a cheerful word to +him; he bade Woolley, the fruit man, send a barrel of Nonesuches to old +Mrs. Cowen; he was on time at the Board meeting, took the chair, and +they changed the constitution. He looked in at the office and told Mr. +Freemantle he should be late, but that he would look at the letters when +he came back, and then, ho! for East Boston!</p> + +<p>If only you knew, dear readers, that to East Boston you must go by a +ferry-boat, as if it were named Greenbush, or Brooklyn, or Camden.</p> + +<p>As Mr. Starr took the street car after he had crossed the ferry, to go +into the unknown parts of East Boston, he did notice that he gave the +conductor his last ticket. But what of that? “End of the route” came, +and he girded his loins, trudged over to the pottery he was in search +of, found it at last, found the foreman and gave his orders, and then, +through mud unspeakable, waded back to the street car. He was the only +passenger. No wonder! The only wonder was that there was a car.</p> + +<p>“Ticket, sir,” said the conductor, after half a mile.</p> + +<p><i>Mr. Starr</i> (<i>smiling</i>). I have no ticket, but you may sell me a dollar’s +worth. (<i>feels for pocketbook</i>.) Hello! I have not my pocketbook; changed +my coat.</p> + +<p><i>Conductor</i> (<i>savagely</i>). They generally has changed their coats.</p> + +<p><i>Mr. Starr</i> (<i>with dignity, offering a five-cent nickel</i>). There’s your +fare, man.</p> + +<p><i>Conductor</i>. That won’t do, mud-hopper. Fare’s six cents.</p> + +<p><i>Mr. Starr</i> (<i>well remembering the cent, which is, alas under the bureau, +and grovelling for it in both pockets</i>). I have a cent somewhere.</p> + +<p><i>Conductor</i> (<i>stopping car and returning five-cent piece</i>). We’ve had enough +of you tramps who change your coats and cannot find your pennies. You +step off—and step off mighty quick.</p> + +<p>Mr. Starr declines; when they come to Maverick Square he will report the +man to the superintendent, who knows him well. Slight scuffle. Mr. Starr +resists. Conductor calls driver. Mr. Starr is ejected. Coat torn badly +and hat thrown into mud. Car departs.</p> + +<p class="c"><span class="smcap">Tableau</span>.</p> + +<h3>SCENE II<br /><br />UP</h3> + +<p class="c">(<i>Muddy street in East Boston.</i> +<span class="smcap">Mr. Starr</span>, <i>wiping his hat with his +handkerchief, solus.</i>)</p> + +<p><i>Mr. Starr</i>. If only Clara had not been so anxious about the Board +meeting! (<i>Eyes five-cent piece.</i>) Where can that penny be? +(<i>Searches in +pockets, is searching when</i>—)</p> + +<p>(Enter <span class="smcap">r. h. u. e.</span> <i>span of wild horses, +swiftly dragging a carryall. In +the carryall two children screaming. speed of horses,</i> 2.41.)</p> + +<p><i>Mr. Starr</i>. Under the present circumstances life is worthless, or nearly +so. Let me bravely throw it away!</p> + +<p>(<i>Rushes upon the span. catches each horse by the bit, and by sheer +weight controls them. horses on their mettle;</i> +<span class="smcap">Mr. Starr</span> <i>on his. enter, +running</i>, <span class="smcap">John Cradock</span>.)</p> + +<p><i>John Cradock</i>. Whoa, whoa! Ha! they stop. How can I thank you, my man? +You have saved my children’s lives.</p> + +<p><i>Mr. Starr</i> (<i>still holding bits</i>). You had better take the reins.</p> + +<p>John Cradock mounts the seat, seizes reins, but is eager to reward the +poor, tattered wretch at their heads. Passes reins to right hand, and +with left feels for a half eagle, which he throws, with grateful words, +to Mr. Starr. Mr. Starr leaves the plunging horses, and they rush toward +Prescott Street. (<i>Exeunt</i> <span class="smcap">John Cradock</span>, +<i>horses and children.</i>)</p> + +<p>Half amused, half ashamed, Mr. Starr picks up the coin, which he also +supposes to be half an eagle.</p> + +<p>It proves to be a bright penny, just from the mint.</p> + +<p>Mr. Starr lays it with delight upon the five-cent nickel.</p> + +<p>(<i>Enter a street car</i>, <span class="smcap">l. h. l. e. Mr. Starr</span> +<i>waves his hand with dignity, +and enters car. Pays his fare, six cents, as he passes conductor.</i>)</p> + +<p>In fifteen minutes they are at Maverick Square. Mr. Starr stops the car +at the office of Siemens & Bessemer, and enters. Meets his friend +Fothergill.</p> + +<p><i>Fothergill</i>. Bless me, Starr, you are covered with mud! Pottery, eh? +Runaway horse, eh? No matter; we are just in time to see Wendell off. +William, take Mr. Starr’s hat to be pressed. Put on this light overcoat, +Starr. Here is my tweed cap. Now, jump in, and we will go to the +“Samaria” to bid Wendell good-by.</p> + +<p>And indeed they both found Wendell. Mr. Starr bade him good-by, and +advised him a little about the man he was to see in Dresden. He met Herr +Birnebaum, and talked with him a little about the chemistry of enamels. +Oddly enough, Fonseca was there, the attache, the same whom Clara had +taken to drive at Bethlehem. Mr. Starr talked a little Spanish with him. +Then they were all rung onshore.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Tableau</span>: <i>departing steamer. crowd waves handkerchiefs.</i></p> + +<h3>SCENE III CHRISTMAS—THE END</h3> + +<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">At</span> Mr. Starr’s Christmas dinner, beside their cousins from Harvard +College and their second cousins from Wellesley College and their third +cousins from Bradford Academy, they had young Clifford, the head +book-keeper. As he came in, joining the party on their way home from +church, he showed Mr. Starr a large parcel.</p> + +<p>“It’s the ‘Alaska’s’ mail, and I thought you might like to see it.”</p> + +<p>“Ah, well!” said Mr. Starr, “it is Christmas, and I think the letters +can wait, at least till after dinner.”</p> + +<p>And a jolly dinner it was. Turkey for those who wished, and goose for +those who chose goose. And when the Washington pie and the Marlborough +pudding came, the squash, the mince, the cranberry-tart, and the blazing +plum-pudding, then the children were put through their genealogical +catechism.</p> + +<p>“Will, who is your mother’s father’s mother’s father?”</p> + +<p>“Lucy Pico, sir!” and then great shouting. Then was it that Mr. Starr +told the story which the reader has read in scene one,—of the perils +which may come when a man has not a penny. He did not speak hastily, nor +cast reproach on Clara for her care of the button. Over that part of the +story he threw a cautious veil. But to boys and girls he pointed a +terrible lesson of the value of one penny.</p> + +<p>“How dangerous, papa, to drop it into a box for the heathen!”</p> + +<p>But little Tom found this talk tiresome, and asked leave to slip away, +teasing Clifford as he went about some postage-stamps Clifford had +promised him.</p> + +<p>“Go bring the parcel I left on the hall table, and your papa will give +you some Spanish stamps.”</p> + +<p>So the boy brought the mail.</p> + +<p>“What in the world is this?” cried Mr. Starr, as he cut open the great +envelope; and more and more amazed he was as he ran down the lines:—</p> + +<div class="blockquot1"> +<p>“<span class="lftspc">‘</span>Much Esteemed and Respected Señor, +<span class="smcap">Don John Starr</span>, Knight of the Order +of the Golden Fleece:</p> + +<p>“<span class="lftspc">‘</span><span class="smcap">Señor</span>,—It is with true yet inexpressible satisfaction that I write +this private note, that I may be the first of your friends in Madrid to +say to you that the order for your creation as a Knight Companion of the +much esteemed and truly venerable Order of the Golden Fleece passed the +seals of the Chancellerie yesterday. His Majesty is pleased to say that +your views on the pacification of Porto Rico coincide precisely with his +own; that the hands of the government will be strengthened as with the +force of giants when he communicates them to the very excellent and much +honored governor of the island, and that, as a mark of his confidence, +he has the pleasure of sending to you the cordon of the order, and of +asking your acceptance.’</p> +</div> +<p>“My dear Lady Dulcinea del Toboso, that is what came to you when that +Cradock man threw a cent into the mud for me.”</p> + +<p>“But, papa, what are the other letters?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, yes, what are they? Here is English; it’s from Wendell. +H’m—h’m—h’m. Shortpassage. +Worcestershire—h’m—Wedgewood—h’m—Staffordshire—h’m. Why, Clara, +George, listen:</p> + +<div class="blockquot1"> +<p>“<span class="lftspc">‘</span>I suppose you will not be surprised when I say that your suggestion +made on the deck of the ‘Samaria,’ as to oxalate of strontium, was +received with surprise by Herr Fernow and Herr Klee. But such is the +respect in which suggestions from America are now held, that they +ordered a trial at once in the Royal kilns, the result of which are +memoranda A and B, enclosed. They are so much delighted with these +results that they have formed a syndicate with the Winkels, of Potsdam, +and the Schonhoffs, of Berlin, to undertake the manufacture in Germany; +and I am instructed to ask you whether you will accept a round sum, say +150,000 marks, for the German patent, or join them, say as a partner, +with twenty per cent of stock in their adventure.’</p> +</div> +<p>“I think so,” said Mr. Starr. “That is what the bright penny comes to at +compound interest. Let us try Birnebaum’s letter.”</p> + +<div class="blockquot1"> +<p>“<span class="lftspc">‘</span><span class="smcap">Gottfrieed Birnebaum</span> to <span class="smcap">John Starr</span>:</p> + +<p>“<span class="lftspc">‘</span><span class="smcap">My Honored Sir</span>,—I am at a loss to express to you the satisfaction +with which I write. The eminently practical suggestions which you made +to me so kindly and freely, as we parted, have, indeed, also proved +themselves undoubtedly to be of even the first import. It has to me been +also, indeed, of the very first pleasure to communicate them, as I said +indeed, to the first director in charge at the works at Sevres, as I +passed through Paris, and now yet again, with equal precision also and +readiness, to the Herr first fabricant at Dresden. Your statement +regarding the action of the oxides of gold, in combination with the +tungstate of bdellium, has more than in practice verified itself. I am +requested by the authorities at Dresden to ask the acceptance, by your +accomplished and highly respected lady, of a dinner-set of their recent +manufacture, in token small of their appreciation, renewed daily, of +your contribution so valuable to the resources of tint and color in +their rooms of design; and M. Foudroyant, of Sevres, tells me also, by +telegraph of to-day, that to the same much esteemed and highly +distinguished lady he has shipped by the ‘San Laurent’ a tea-service, +made to the order of the Empress of China, and delayed only by the +untoward state of hostilities, greatly to be regretted, on the Annamite +frontier.’<span class="lftspc">”</span></p> +</div> +<p>Mr. Starr read this long-winded letter with astonishment.</p> + +<p>“Well, Dulcinea, you will be able to give a dinner-party to the King of +Spain when he comes to visit you at Toboso.</p> + +<p>“So much for Brother Cradock’s penny.”</p> + +<p>“Dear John, till I die I will never be afraid to call you back when your +buttons are tattered.”</p> + +<p>“And for me,” said little Jack, “I will go now and look under the bureau +for the lost cent, and will have it for my own.”</p> + +<p>(<i>Enter servants</i>, <span class="smcap">r. h. l. e.</span>, +<i>with the Dresden china.</i><br /> + +<i>They meet other servants</i>, +<span class="smcap"><span class="smcap">l. h. l. e.</span></span>, +<i>with the Sevres china</i>.)</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Tableau</span>.</p> + +<p class="c"><small>CURTAIN</small>.</p> + +<hr /> + +<h2><a id="THANKSGIVING_AT_THE_POLLS"></a>THANKSGIVING AT THE POLLS<br /><br /> +<small>A THANKSGIVING STORY</small></h2> + +<h3>I</h3> + +<p class="nind"><span class="letra">F</span>REDERICK DANE was on his way towards what he called his home. His home, +alas, was but an indifferent attic in one of the southern suburbs of +Boston. He had been walking; but he was now standing still, at the +well-known corner of Massachusetts and Columbus Avenues.</p> + +<p>As often happens, Frederick Dane had an opportunity to wait at this +corner a quarter of an hour. As he looked around him on the silent +houses, he could not but observe the polling-booth, which a watchful +city government had placed in the street, a few days before, in +preparation for the election which was to take place three weeks +afterward. Dane is of an inquiring temper, and seeing that the +polling-booth had a door and the door had a keyhole, he tried in the +keyhole a steel key which he had picked up in Dock Square the day +before. Almost to his surprise, the key governed the lock at once, and +he found himself able to walk in.</p> + +<p>He left the door wide open, and the gaslight streaming in revealed to +him the aspect of the cells arranged for Australian voting. The rails +were all in their places, and the election might take place the very +next day. It instantly occurred to Dane that he might save the five +cents which otherwise he would have given to his masters of the street +railway, and be the next morning three miles nearer his work, if he +spent the night in the polling-cabin. He looked around for a minute or +two, and found some large rolls of street posters, which had been left +there by some disappointed canvasser the year before, and which had +accompanied one cell of the cabin in its travels. Dane is a prompt man, +and, in a minute more, he had locked the door behind him, had struck a +wax taper which he had in his cigar-box, had rolled the paper roll out +on the floor, to serve as a pillow. In five minutes more, covered with +his heavy coat, he lay on the floor, sleeping as soundly as he had slept +the year before, when he found himself on the lee side of an iceberg +under Peary’s command.</p> + +<p>This is perhaps unnecessary detail, by way of saying that this is the +beginning of the arrangement which a city, not very intelligent, will +make in the next century for unsettled people, whose own houses are not +agreeable to them. There exist in Boston at this moment three or four +hundred of the polling-booths,—nice little houses, enough better than +most of the peasantry of most of Europe ever lived in. They are, alas, +generally packed up in lavender and laid away for ten months of the +year. But in the twentieth century we shall send them down to the shores +of islands and other places where people like to spend the summer, and +we shall utilize them, not for the few hours of an election only, but +all the year round. This will not then be called “Nationalism,” it will +be called “Democracy;” and that is a very good name when it is applied +to a very good thing.</p> + +<p>Dane was an old soldier and an old seaman. He was not troubled by +disagreeable dreams, and in the morning, when the street-cars began to +travel, he was awaked a little after sunrise, by their clatter on the +corner. He felt well satisfied with the success of his experiment, and +began on a forecast, which the reader shall follow for a few weeks, +which he thought, and thought rightly, would tend to his own +convenience, possibly to that of his friends.</p> + +<p>Dane telegraphed down to the office that he should be detained an hour +that morning, went out to his home of the day before at Ashmont, paid +his landlady her scot, brought in with him his little possessions in a +valise to the office, and did not appear at his new home until after +nightfall.</p> + +<p>He was then able to establish himself on the basis which proved +convenient afterwards, and which it is worth while to explain to a world +which is not too well housed. The city had provided three or four chairs +there, a stove, and two tables. Dane had little literature, but, as he +was in the literary line himself, he did not care for this so much; men +who write books are not commonly eager to read books which are worse +than their own. At a nine-cent window of a neighboring tinman’s he was +able to buy himself the few little necessities which he wanted for +housekeeping. And not to detain the reader too long upon merely fleshly +arrangements, in the course of a couple of hours of Tuesday evening and +Wednesday evening, he had fitted up his convenient if not pretty bower +with all that man requires. It was easy to buy a mince pie or a cream +cake, or a bit of boiled ham or roast chicken, according as payday was +near or distant. One is glad to have a tablecloth. But if one have a +large poster warning people, a year before, that they should vote the +Prohibition ticket, one’s conscience is not wounded if this poster, ink +down, takes the place which a tablecloth would have taken under other +circumstances. If there is not much crockery to use, there is but little +to wash. And, in short, as well trained a man of the world as Dane had +made himself thoroughly comfortable in his new quarters before the week +was over.</p> + +<h3>II</h3> + +<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">At</span> the beginning Frederick’s views were purely personal, or, as the +preachers say, selfish. Here was an empty house, three miles nearer his +work than his hired attic was, and he had taken possession. But +conscience always asserts itself, and it was not long before he felt +that he ought to extend the benefits of this new discovery of his +somewhat further. It really was a satisfaction to what the pulpits call +a “felt want” when as he came through Massachusetts Avenue on Thursday +evening, he met a boy and a girl, neither of them more than ten years +old, crying on the sidewalk. Dane is sympathetic and fond of children. +He stopped the little brats, and satisfied himself that neither had had +any supper. He could not understand a word of the language in which they +spoke, nor could they understand him. But kindness needs little spoken +language; and accordingly Frederick led them along to his cabin, and +after waiting, as he always did, a minute or two, to be sure that no one +was in sight, he unlocked the door, and brought in his little +companions.</p> + +<p>It was clear enough that the children were such waifs and strays that +nothing surprised them, and they readily accepted the modest +hospitalities of the position. Like all masculine housekeepers, +Frederick had provided three times as much food as he needed for his own +physical wants, so that it was not difficult to make these children +happy with the pieces of mince pie and lemon pie and cream cake and +eclairs which were left from his unknown festivals of the day before. +Poor little things, they were both cold and tired, and, before half an +hour was over, they were snugly asleep on and under a pile of +Prohibition posters.</p> + +<h3>III</h3> + +<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">Fortunately</span> for Frederick Dane, for the nine years before he joined +Peary, he had lived in the city of Bagdad. He had there served as the +English interpreter for the Caliph of that city. The Caliph did most of +his business at night, and was in the habit of taking Mr. Dane with him +on his evening excursions. In this way Mr. Dane had made the somewhat +intimate acquaintance of Mr. Jaffrey, the private secretary of the +Caliph; and he had indeed in his own employment for some time, a +wide-awake black man, of the name of Mezrour, who, for his “other +place,” was engaged as a servant in the Caliph’s household. Dane was +thus not unfamiliar with the methods of unexpected evening visits; and +it was fortunate for him that he was so. The little children whom he had +picked up, explained to him, by pantomime which would have made the +fortune of a ballet-girl, that they were much more comfortable in their +new home than they had been in any other, and that they had no wish to +leave it. But by various temptations addressed to them, in the form of +barley horses and dogs, and sticks of barber’s candy, Dane, who was of a +romantic and enterprising disposition, persuaded them to take him to +some of their former haunts.</p> + +<p>These were mostly at the North End of Boston, and he soon found that he +needed all his recollections of Bagdad for the purpose of conducting any +conversation with any of the people they knew best. In a way, however, +with a little broken Arabic, a little broken Hebrew, a great deal of +broken China, and many gesticulations, he made acquaintance with two of +their compatriots, who had, as it seemed, crossed the ocean with them in +the same steerage. That is to say, they either had or had not; but for +many months Mr. Dane was unable to discover which. Such as they were, +however, they had been sleeping on the outside of the upper attic of the +house in Salutation Alley where these children had lodged, or not +lodged, as the case might be, during the last few days. When Mr. Dane +saw what were called their lodgings, he did not wonder that they had +accepted pot-luck with him.</p> + +<p>It is necessary to explain all this, that the reader may understand why, +on the first night after the arrival of these two children, the +population of the polling-booth was enlarged by the presence of these +two Hebrew compatriots. And, without further mystery, it may be as well +to state that all four were from a village about nine hundred and +twenty-three miles north of Odessa, in the southern part of Russia. They +had emigrated in a compulsory manner from that province, first on +account of the utter failure of anything to eat there; second, on +account of a prejudice which the natives of that country had contracted +against the Hebrew race.</p> + +<p>The two North End friends of little Ezra and Sarah readily accepted the +invitation of the two children to join in the College Settlement at the +corner of the two avenues. The rules of the institution proved +attractive, and before a second week was well advanced ten light +excelsior mattresses were regularly rolled up every morning as the +different inmates went to their duties; while, as evening closed in, +eight cheerful companions told stories around the hospitable board.</p> + +<h3>IV</h3> + +<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">It</span> is no part of this little tale to follow, with Mr. Stevenson’s magic, +or with that of the Arabian Nights, the fortunes from day to day of the +little circle. Enough that men of Hebrew race do not prove lazy +anywhere. Dane, certainly, gave them no bad example. The children were +at once entered in a neighboring school, where they showed the quickness +of their race. They had the advantage, when the week closed and began, +that they could attend the Sabbath school provided for them by the +Hebrews on Saturday and the several Sunday-schools of the Parker +Memorial, the Berkeley Temple, and the other churches of the +neighborhood. The day before the election, Frederick Dane asked Oleg and +Vladimir to help him in bringing up some short boards, which they laid +on the trusses in the roof above them. On the little attic thus +prepared, they stored their mattresses and other personal effects before +the great election of that year began. They had no intention of +interfering, even by a cup of cold coffee, with the great wave of +righteous indignation which, on that particular day of that particular +year, “swept away, as by a great cosmic tidal flood, the pretences and +ambitions, etc., etc., etc.” These words are cited from Frederick Dane’s +editorial of the next morning, and were in fact used by him or by some +of his friends, without variations, in all the cosmic changes of the +elections of the next six years.</p> + +<h3>V</h3> + +<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">But</span> so soon as this election was well over, the country and the city +settled down, with what Ransom used to call “amazin’<span class="lftspc">”</span> readiness to the +new order, such as it was. Only the people who “take up the streets” +detached more men than ever to spoil the pavement. For now a city +election was approaching. And it might be that the pavers and ditchers +and shovellers and curbstone men and asphalt makers should vote wrong. +Dane and his settlement were well aware that after this election they +would all have to move out from their comfortable quarters. But, while +they were in, they determined to prepare for a fit Thanksgiving to God, +and the country which makes provision so generous for those in need. It +is not every country, indeed, which provides four hundred empty houses, +every autumn, for the convenience of any unlodged night-editor with a +skeleton key, who comes along.</p> + +<p>He explained to his companions that a great festival was near. They +heard this with joy. He explained that no work would be done that +day,—not in any cigar-shop or sweating-room. This also pleased them. He +then, at some length, explained the necessity of the sacrifice of +turkeys on the occasion. He told briefly how Josselyn and the fathers +shot them as they passed through the sky. But he explained that now we +shoot them, as one makes money, not directly but indirectly. We shoot +our turkeys, say, at shooting-galleries. All this proved intelligible, +and Frederick had no fear for turkeys.</p> + +<p>As for Sarah and Ezra, he found that at Ezra’s boys’ club and at Sarah’s +girls’ club, and each of her Sabbath-school classes and Sunday-school +classes, and at each of his, it had been explained that on the day +before Thanksgiving they must come with baskets to places named, and +carry home a Thanksgiving dinner.</p> + +<p>These announcements were hailed with satisfaction by all to whom Dane +addressed them. Everything in the country was as strange to them as it +would have been to an old friend of mine, an inhabitant of the planet +Mars. And they accepted the custom of this holiday among the rest. Oddly +enough, it proved that one or two of them were first-rate shots, and, by +attendance at different shooting-galleries, they brought in more than a +turkey apiece, as Governor Bradford’s men did in 1621. Many of them were +at work in large factories, where it was the custom of the house to give +a roasted turkey and a pan of cranberry sauce to each person who had +been on the pay-list for three months. One or two of them were errand +men in the market, and it was the practice of the wholesale dealers +there, who at this season become to a certain extent retailers, to +encourage these errand men by presenting to each of them a turkey, which +was promised in advance. As for Dane himself, the proprietors of his +journal always presented a turkey to each man on their staff. And in +looking forward to his Thanksgiving at the polls, he had expected to +provide a twenty-two pound gobbler which a friend in Vermont was keeping +for him. It may readily be imagined, then, that, when the day before +Thanksgiving came, he was more oppressed by an embarrassment of riches +than by any difficulty on the debtor side of his account. He had twelve +people to feed, himself included. There were the two children, their +eight friends, and a young Frenchman from Paris who, like all persons of +that nationality who are six months in this country, had found many +enemies here. Dane had invited him to dinner. He had arranged that there +should be plates or saucers enough for each person to have two. And now +there was to be a chicken-pie from Obed Shalom, some mince pies and +Marlborough pies from the Union for Christian Work, a turkey at each end +of the board; and he found he should have left over, after the largest +computation for the appetites of the visitors, twenty-three pies of +different structure, five dishes of cranberry sauce, three or four boxes +of raisins, two or three drums of figs, two roasted geese and eleven +turkeys. He counted all the turkeys as roasted, because he had the +promise of the keeper of the Montgomery House that he would roast for +him all the birds that were brought in to him before nine o’clock on +Thanksgiving morning.</p> + +<h3>VI</h3> + +<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">Having</span> stated all this on a list carefully written, first in the English +language and second in the language of the Hebrews, Frederick called his +fellow-lodgers together earlier than usual on the evening before +Thanksgiving Day. He explained to them, in the patois which they used +together, that it would be indecent for them to carry this supply of +food farther than next Monday for their own purposes. He told them that +the occasion was one of exuberant thanksgiving to the God of heaven. He +showed them that they all had great reason for thanksgiving. And, in +short, he made three heads of a discourse which might have been expanded +by the most eloquent preacher in Boston the next day, and would have +well covered the twenty-five minutes which the regulation would have +required for a sermon. He then said that, as they had been favored with +much more than they could use for their own appetites, they must look up +those who were not so well off as themselves.</p> + +<p>He was well pleased by finding that he was understood, and what he said +was received with applause in the various forms in which Southern Russia +applauds on such occasions. As for the two children, their eyes were +wide open, and their mouths, and they looked their wonder.</p> + +<p>Frederick then proposed that two of their number should volunteer to +open a rival establishment at the polling-booth at the corner of Gates +Street and Burgoyne Street, and that the company should on the next day +invite guests enough to make another table of twelve. He proposed that +the same course should be taken at the corner of Shapleigh and Bowditch +Streets, and yet again at the booth which is at the corner of Curtis +Avenue and Quincy Street. And he said that, as time would press upon +them, they had better arrange to carry a part at least of the stores to +these places that evening. To this there was a general assent. The +company sat down to a hasty tea, administered much as the Israelites +took their last meal in Egypt; for every man had on his long frieze coat +and his heavy boots, and they were eager for the active work of +Thanksgiving. For each the stewards packed two turkeys in a basket, +filled in as far as they could with other stores, and Frederick headed +his procession.</p> + +<p>It was then that he was to learn, for the first time, that he was not +the only person in Boston.</p> + +<p>It was then that he found out that the revelation made to one man is +frequently made to many.</p> + +<p>He found out that he was as wise as the next fellow, but was no wiser; +was as good as the next fellow, but was no better; and that, in short, +he had no special patent upon his own undertaking,</p> + +<p>The little procession soon arrived at the corner of Shapleigh and +Bowditch Streets. Whoever had made the locks on the doors of the houses +had been content to use the same pattern for all. It proved, therefore, +that the key of No. 237 answered for No. 238, and it was not necessary +to open the door with the “Jimmy” which Simeon had under his ulster.</p> + +<p>But on the other hand, to Frederick’s amazement, as he threw the door +open, he found a lighted room and a long table around which sat twelve +men, guised or disguised in much the same way as those whom he had +brought with him. A few moments showed that another leader of the people +had discovered this vacant home a few weeks before, and had established +there another settlement of the un-homed. As it proved, this gentleman +was a Mashpee Indian. He was, in fact, the member of the House of +Representatives from the town of Mashpee for the next winter. Arriving +in Boston to look for lodgings, he, not unnaturally, met with a Mohawk, +two Dacotahs, and a Cherokee, who, for various errands, had come north +and east. A similarity of color, not to say of racial relations, had +established a warm friendship among the five, and they had brought +together gradually twelve gentlemen of copper color, who had been +residing in this polling-booth since the second day after the general +election. Their fortune had not been unlike that of Frederick and his +friends, and at this moment they were discussing the methods by which +they might distribute several brace of ducks which had been sent up from +Mashpee, a haunch of venison which had come down from above Machias, and +some wild turkeys which had arrived by express from the St. Regis +Indians of Northern New York. At the moment of the arrival of our +friends, they were sending out two of their number to find how they +might best distribute thus their extra provender.</p> + +<p>These two gladly joined in the little procession, and all went together +to the corner of Quincy Street and Curtis Avenue. There a similar +revelation was made, only there was some difficulty at first in any real +mutual understanding. For here they met a dozen, more or less, of French +Canadians. These gentlemen had left their wives and their children in +the province of Quebec, and, finding themselves in Boston, had taken +possession of the polling-booth, where they were living much more +comfortably than they would have lived at home. They too had been well +provided for Thanksgiving, both by their friends at home and by their +employers, and had been questioning as to the distribution which they +could make of their supplies. Reinforced by four of their number, the +delegation in search of hungry people was increased to fourteen in +number, and with a certain curiosity, it must be confessed, they went +together to try their respective keys on No. 311.</p> + +<p>Opening this without so much as knocking at the door to know if here +they might not provide the “annex” or “tender” which they wished to +establish, they found, it must be confessed without any amazement or +amusement, a company of Italians under the charge of one Antonio Fero, +who had also worked out the problem of cheap lodgings, and had +established themselves for some weeks here. These men also had been +touched, either by some priest’s voice or other divine word, with a +sense of the duties of the occasion, and were just looking round to know +where they might spread their second table. Five of them joined the +fourteen, and the whole company, after a rapid conversation, agreed that +they would try No. 277 on the other side of the Avenue. And here their +fortunes changed.</p> + +<p>For here it proved that the “cops” on that beat, finding nights growing +somewhat cold, and that there was no provision made by the police +commissioners for a club-room for gentlemen of their profession, had +themselves arranged in the polling-booth a convenient place for the +reading of the evening newspapers and for conference on their mutual +affairs. These “cops” were unmarried men, and did not much know where +was the home in which the governor requested them to spend their +Thanksgiving. They had therefore determined to spread their own table in +their club-room, and this evening had been making preparations for a +picnic feast there at midnight on Thanksgiving Day, when they should be +relieved from their more pressing duties. They also had found the +liberality of each member of the force had brought in more than would be +requisite, and were considering the same subject which had oppressed the +consciences of the leaders of the other bands.</p> + +<p>No one ever knew who made the great suggestion, but it is probable that +it was one of these officials, well acquainted with the charter of the +city of Boston and with its constitution and by-laws, who offered the +proposal which was adopted. In the jealousy of the fierce democracy of +Boston in the year 1820, when the present city charter was made, it +reserved for itself permission to open Faneuil Hall at any time for a +public meeting. It proves now that whenever fifty citizens unite to ask +for the use of the hall for such a meeting, it must be given to them. At +the time of which we are reading the mayor had to preside at every such +meeting. At the “Cops’<span class="lftspc">”</span> club it was highly determined that the names of +fifty citizens should at once be obtained, and that the Cradle of +Liberty should be secured for the general Thanksgiving.</p> + +<p>It was wisely resolved that no public notice should be given of this in +the journals. It was well known that that many-eyed Argus called the +press is very apt not to interfere with that which is none of its +business.</p> + +<h3>VII</h3> + +<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">And</span> thus it happened that, when Thanksgiving Day came, the worthy +janitor of Faneuil Hall sent down his assistant to open it, and that the +assistant, who meant to dine at home, found a good-natured friend from +the country who took the keys and lighted the gas in his place. Before +the sun had set, Frederick Dane and Antonio Fero and Michael Chevalier +and the Honorable Mr. Walk-in-the-Water and Eben Kartschoff arrived with +an express-wagon driven by a stepson of P. Nolan. There is no difficulty +at Faneuil Hall in bringing out a few trestles and as many boards as one +wants for tables, for Faneuil Hall is a place given to hospitality. And +so, before six o’clock, the hour assigned for the extemporized dinner, +the tables were set with turkeys, with geese, with venison, with +mallards and plover, with quail and partridges, with cranberry and +squash, and with dishes of Russia and Italy and Greece and Bohemia, such +as have no names. The Greeks brought fruits, the Indians brought +venison, the Italians brought red wine, the French brought walnuts and +chestnuts, and the good God sent a blessing. Almost every man found up +either a wife or a sweetheart or a daughter or a niece to come with him, +and the feast went on to the small hours of Friday. The Mayor came down +on time, and being an accomplished man, addressed them in English, in +Latin, in Greek, in Hebrew, and in Tuscan. And it is to be hoped that +they understood him.</p> +<p> </p> +<p>But no record has ever been made of the feast in any account-book on +this side the line. Yet there are those who have seen it, or something +like it, with the eye of faith. And when, a hundred years hence, some +antiquary reads this story in a number of the “Omaha Intelligencer,” +which has escaped the detrition of the thirty-six thousand days and +nights, he will say,—</p> + +<p>“Why, this was the beginning of what we do now! Only these people seem +to have taken care of strangers only one month in the twelve. Why did +they not welcome all strangers in like manner, until they had made them +feel at home? These people, once a year, seem to have fed the hungry. +Would it not have been simpler for them to provide that no man should +ever be hungry? These people certainly thanked God to some purpose once +a year; how happy is the nation which has learned to thank Him always!”</p> + +<h2><a id="THE_SURVIVORS_STORY"></a>THE SURVIVOR’S STORY</h2> + +<p class="nind"><span class="letra">F</span>ORTUNATELY we were with our wives.</p> + +<p>It is in general an excellent custom, as I will explain if opportunity +is given.</p> + +<p>First, you are thus sure of good company.</p> + +<p>For four mortal hours we had ground along, and stopped and waited and +started again, in the drifts between Westfield and Springfield. We had +shrieked out our woes by the voices of five engines. Brave men had dug. +Patient men had sat inside and waited for the results of the digging. At +last, in triumph, at eleven and three quarters, as they say in +“Cinderella,” we entered the Springfield station.</p> + +<p>It was Christmas Eve!</p> + +<p>Leaving the train to its devices, Blatchford and his wife (her name was +Sarah), and I with mine (her name was Phebe), walked quickly with our +little sacks out of the station, ploughed and waded along the white +street, not to the Massasoit—no, but to the old Eagle and Star, which +was still standing, and was a favorite with us youngsters. Good waffles, +maple syrup ad lib., such fixings of other sorts as we preferred, and +some liberty. The amount of liberty in absolutely first-class hotels is +but small. A drowsy boy waked, and turned up the gas. Blatchford entered +our names on the register, and cried at once, “By George, Wolfgang is +here, and Dick! What luck!” for Dick and Wolfgang also travel with their +wives. The boy explained that they had come up the river in the New +Haven train, were only nine hours behind time, had arrived at ten, and +had just finished supper and gone to bed. We ordered rare beefsteak, +waffles, dip-toast, omelettes with kidneys, and omelettes without; we +toasted our feet at the open fire in the parlor; we ate the supper when +it was ready; and we also went to bed; rejoicing that we had home with +us, having travelled with our wives; and that we could keep our Merry +Christmas here. If only Wolfgang and Dick and their wives would join us, +all would be well. (Wolfgang’s wife was named Bertha, and Dick’s was +named Hosanna,—a name I have never met with elsewhere.)</p> + +<p>Bed followed; and I am a graceless dog that I do not write a sonnet here +on the unbroken slumber that followed. Breakfast, by arrangement of us +four, at nine. At 9.30, to us enter Bertha, Dick, Hosanna, and Wolfgang, +to name them in alphabetical order. Four chairs had been turned down for +them. Four chops, four omelettes, and four small oval dishes of fried +potatoes had been ordered, and now appeared. Immense shouting, immense +kissing among those who had that privilege, general wondering, and great +congratulating that our wives were there. Solid resolution that we would +advance no farther. Here, and here only, in Springfield itself, would we +celebrate our Christmas Day.</p> + +<p>It may be remarked in parenthesis that we had learned already that no +train had entered the town since eleven and a quarter; and it was known +by telegraph that none was within thirty-four miles and a half of the +spot, at the moment the vow was made.</p> + +<p>We waded and ploughed our way through the snow to church. I think Mr. +Rumfry, if that is the gentleman’s name who preached an admirable +Christmas sermon in a beautiful church there, will remember the platoon +of four men and four women who made perhaps a fifth of his congregation +in that storm,—a storm which shut off most church-going. Home again: a +jolly fire in the parlor, dry stockings, and dry slippers. Turkeys, and +all things fitting for the dinner; and then a general assembly, not in a +caravansary, not in a coffee-room, but in the regular guests’ parlor of +a New England second-class hotel, where, as it was ordered, there were +no “transients” but ourselves that day; and whence all the “boarders” +had gone either to their own rooms or to other homes.</p> + +<p>For people who have their wives with them, it is not difficult to +provide entertainment on such an occasion.</p> + +<p>“Bertha,” said Wolfgang, “could you not entertain us with one of your +native dances?”</p> + +<p>“Ho! slave,” said Dick to Hosanna, “play upon the virginals.” And +Hosanna played a lively Arab air on the tavern piano, while the fair +Bertha danced with a spirit unusual. Was it indeed in memory of the +Christmas of her own dear home in Circassia?</p> +<p> </p> +<p>All that, from “Bertha” to “Circassia,” is not so. We did not do this at +all. That was all a slip of the pen. What we did was this. John +Blatchford pulled the bell-cord till it broke (they always break in +novels, and sometimes they do in taverns). This bell-cord broke. The +sleepy boy came; and John said, “Caitiff, is there never a barber in the +house?” The frightened boy said there was; and John bade him send him. +In a minute the barber appeared—black, as was expected—with a shining +face, and white teeth, and in shirtsleeves, and broad inquiry.</p> + +<p>“Do you tell me, Caesar,” said John, “that in your country they do not +wear their coats on Christmas Day?”</p> + +<p>“Sartin, they do, sah, when they go outdoors.”</p> + +<p>“Do you tell me, Caesar,” said Dick, “that they have doors in your +country?”</p> + +<p>“Sartin, they do,” said poor Caesar, flurried.</p> + +<p>“Boy,” said I, “the gentlemen are making fun of you. They want to know +if you ever keep Christmas in your country without a dance.”</p> + +<p>“Never, sah,” said poor Caesar.</p> + +<p>“Do they dance without music?”</p> + +<p>“No, sah; never.”</p> + +<p>“Go, then,” I said, in my sternest accents,—“go fetch a zithern, or a +banjo, or a kit, or a hurdy-gurdy, or a fiddle.”</p> + +<p>The black boy went, and returned with his violin. And as the light grew +gray, and crept into the darkness, and as the darkness gathered more +thick and more, he played for us, and he played for us, tune after tune; +and we danced—first with precision, then in sport, then in wild holiday +frenzy. We began with waltzes—so great is the convenience of travelling +with your wives—where should we have been, had we been all sole alone, +four men? Probably playing whist or euchre. And now we began with +waltzes, which passed into polkas, which subsided into other round +dances; and then in very exhaustion we fell back in a grave quadrille. I +danced with Hosanna; Wolfgang and Sarah were our vis-a-vis. We went +through the same set that Noah and his three boys danced in the ark with +their four wives, and which has been danced ever since, in every moment, +on one or another spot of the dry earth, going round it with the sun, +like the drum-beat of England—right and left, first two forward, right +hand across, pastorale—the whole series of them; we did them with as +much spirit as if it had been on a flat on the side of Ararat, ground +yet too muddy for croquet. Then Blatchford called for “Virginia Reel,” +and we raced and chased through that. Poor Caesar began to get +exhausted, but a little flip from downstairs helped him amazingly. And +after the flip Dick cried, “Can you not dance ‘Money-Musk’?” And in one +wild frenzy of delight we danced “Money-Musk” and “Hull’s Victory” and +“Dusty Miller” and “Youth’s Companion,” and “Irish jigs” on the +closet-door lifted off for the occasion, till the men lay on the floor +screaming with the fun, and the women fell back on the sofas, fairly +faint with laughing.</p> + +<p>  </p> + +<p>All this last, since the sentence after “Circassia,” is a mistake. There +was not any bell, nor any barber, and we did not dance at all. This was +all a slip of my memory.</p> + +<p>What we really did was this:</p> + +<p>John Blatchford said, “Let us all tell stories.” It was growing dark and +he put more logs on the fire.</p> + +<p>Bertha said,—</p> + +<div class="poetry"><div class="poem">“Heap on more wood, the wind is chill;<br /> +  But let it whistle as it will,<br /> +  We’ll keep our merry Christmas still.”</div></div> + +<p>She said that because it was in “Bertha’s Visit,”—a very stupid book, +which she remembered.</p> + +<p>Then Wolfgang told</p> + +<h4>THE PENNY-A-LINER’S STORY</h4> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p>[Wolfgang is a reporter, or was then, on the staff of the “Star.”]</p> +</div> + +<p>When I was on the “Tribune” [he never was on the “Tribune” an hour, +unless he calls selling the “Tribune” at Fort Plains being on the +“Tribune.” But I tell the story as he told it. He said:] When I was on +the “Tribune,” I was despatched to report Mr. Webster’s great reply to +Hayne. This was in the days of stages. We had to ride from Baltimore to +Washington early in the morning to get there in time. I found my boots +were gone from my room when the stage-man called me, and I reported that +speech in worsted slippers my wife had given me the week before. As we +came into Bladensburg, it grew light, and I recognized my boots on the +feet of my fellow-passenger,—there was but one other man in the stage. +I turned to claim them, but stopped in a moment, for it was Webster +himself. How serene his face looked as he slept there! He woke soon, +passed the time of day, offered me a part of a sandwich, for we were old +friends,—I was counsel against him in the Ogden case. Said Webster to +me, “Steele, I am bothered about this speech; I have a paragraph in it +which I cannot word up to my mind;” and he repeated it to me. “How would +this do?” said he. “<span class="lftspc">‘</span>Let us hope that the sense of unrestricted freedom +may be so intertwined with the desire to preserve a connection of the +several parts of the body politic, that some arrangement, more or less +lasting, may prove in a measure satisfactory.’ How would that do?”</p> + +<p>I said I liked the idea, but the expression seemed involved.</p> + +<p>“And it is involved,” said Webster; “but I can’t improve it.”</p> + +<p>“How would this do?” said I.</p> + +<p>“<span class="lftspc">‘</span><span class="smcap">Liberty and Union, +now and forever, one and inseparable</span>!’<span class="lftspc">”</span></p> + +<p>“Capital!” he said, “capital! write that down for me.” At that moment we +arrived at the Capitol steps. I wrote down the words for him, and from +my notes he read them, when that place in the speech came along.</p> + +<p>All of us applauded the story.</p> + +<p>Phebe then told</p> + +<h4>THE SCHOOLMISTRESS’S STORY</h4> + +<p>You remind me of the impression that very speech made on me, as I heard +Henry Chapin deliver it at an exhibition at Leicester Academy. I +resolved then that I would free the slave, or perish in the attempt. But +how? I, a woman—disfranchised by the law? Ha! I saw!</p> + +<p>I went to Arkansas. I opened a “Normal College, or Academy for +Teachers.” We had balls every second night, to make it popular. Immense +numbers came. Half the teachers of the Southern States were trained +there. I had admirable instructors in oil painting and music—the most +essential studies. The arithmetic I taught myself. I taught it well. I +achieved fame. I achieved wealth; invested in Arkansas five per cents. +Only one secret device I persevered in. To all—old and young, innocent +girls and sturdy men—I so taught the multiplication table that one +fatal error was hidden in its array of facts. The nine line is the +difficult one. I buried the error there. “Nine times six,” I taught +them, “is fifty-six.” The rhyme made it easy. The gilded falsehood +passed from lip to lip, from State to State,—one little speck in a +chain of golden verity. I retired from teaching. Slowly I watched the +growth of the rebellion. At last the aloe blossom shot up—after its +hundred years of waiting. The Southern heart was fired. I brooded over +my revenge. I repaired to Richmond. I opened a first-class +boarding-house, where all the Cabinet and most of the Senate came for +their meals; and I had eight permanents. Soon their brows clouded. The +first flush of victory passed away. Night after night they sat over +their calculations, which all came wrong. I smiled—and was a villain! +None of their sums would prove. None of their estimates matched the +performance! Never a muster-roll that fitted as it should do! And I—the +despised boarding-mistress—I alone knew why! Often and often, when +Memminger has said to me, with an oath, “Why this discordancy in our +totals?” have my lips burned to tell the secret! But no! I hid it in my +bosom. And when at last I saw a black regiment march into Richmond, +singing “John Brown,” I cried, for the first time in twenty years, “Six +times nine is fifty-four,” and gloated in my sweet revenge.</p> + +<p>Then was hushed the harp of Phebe, and Dick told his story.</p> + +<h4><a id="THE_INSPECTOR_OF_GAS-METERS_STORY"></a> +THE INSPECTOR OF GAS-METERS’ STORY</h4> + +<p>Mine is a tale of the ingratitude of republics. It is well-nigh thirty +years since I was walking by the Owego and Ithaca Railroad,—a crooked +road, not then adapted to high speed. Of a sudden I saw that a long +cross timber, on a trestle, high above a swamp, had sprung up from its +ties. I looked for a spike with which to secure it. I found a stone with +which to hammer the spike. But at this moment a train approached, down +hill. I screamed. They heard! But the engine had no power to stop the +heavy train. With the presence of mind of a poet, and the courage of a +hero, I flung my own weight on the fatal timber. I would hold it down, +or perish. The engine came. The elasticity of the pine timber whirled me +in the air! But I held on. The tender crossed. Again I was flung in wild +gyrations. But I held on. “It is no bed of roses,” I said; “but what act +of Parliament was there that I should be happy?” Three passenger cars +and ten freight cars, as was then the vicious custom of that road, +passed me. But I held on, repeating to myself texts of Scripture to give +me courage. As the last car passed, I was whirled into the air by the +rebound of the rafter. “Heavens!” I said, “if my orbit is a hyperbola, I +shall never return to earth.” Hastily I estimated its ordinates, and +calculated the curve. What bliss! It was a parabola! After a flight of a +hundred and seventeen cubits, I landed, head down, in a soft mud-hole!</p> + +<p>In that train was the young U. S. Grant, on his way to West Point for +examination. But for me the armies of the Republic would have had no +leader.</p> + +<p>I pressed my claim, when I asked to be appointed Minister to England. +Although no one else wished to go, I alone was forgotten. Such is +gratitude with republics!</p> +<p> </p> +<p>He ceased. Then Sarah Blatchford told</p> + +<h4>THE WHEELER AND WILSON’S OPERATIVE’S STORY</h4> + +<p>My father had left the anchorage of Sorrento for a short voyage, if +voyage it may be called. Life was young, and this world seemed heaven. +The yacht bowled on under tight-reefed staysails, and all was happy. +Suddenly the corsairs seized us; all were slain in my defence; but +I—this fatal gift of beauty bade them spare my life!</p> + +<p>Why linger on my tale? In the Zenana of the Shah of Persia I found my +home. “How escape his eye?” I said; and, fortunately, I remembered that +in my reticule I carried one box of F. Kidder’s indelible ink. Instantly +I applied the liquid in the large bottle to one cheek. Soon as it was +dry, I applied that in the small bottle, and sat in the sun one hour. My +head ached with the sunlight, but what of that? I was a fright, and I +knew all would be well.</p> + +<p>I was consigned, so soon as my hideous deficiencies were known, to the +sewing-room. Then how I sighed for my machine! Alas! it was not there; +but I constructed an imitation from a cannon-wheel, a coffee-mill, and +two nut-crackers. And with this I made the underclothing for the palace +and the Zenana.</p> + +<p>I also vowed revenge. Nor did I doubt one instant how; for in my youth I +had read Lucretia Borgia’s memoirs, and I had a certain rule for slowly +slaying a tyrant at a distance. I was in charge of the Shah’s own linen. +Every week I set back the buttons on his shirt collars by the width of +one thread; or, by arts known to me, I shrunk the binding of the collar +by a like proportion. Tighter and tighter with each week did the vice +close around his larynx. Week by week, at the high religious festivals, +I could see his face was blacker and blacker. At length the hated tyrant +died. The leeches called it apoplexy. I did not undeceive them. His +guards sacked the palace. I bagged the diamonds, fled with them to +Trebizond, and sailed thence in a caique to South Boston. No more! such +memories oppress me.</p> +<p> </p> +<p>Her voice was hushed. I told my tale in turn.</p> + +<h4>THE CONDUCTOR’S STORY</h4> + +<p>I was poor. Let this be my excuse, or rather my apology. I entered a +Third Avenue car at Thirty-sixth Street, and saw the conductor sleeping. +Satan tempted me, and I took from him his badge, 213. I see the hated +figures now. When he woke, he knew not he had lost it. The car started, +and he walked to the rear. With the badge on my coat I collected eight +fares within, stepped forward, and sprang into the street. Poverty is my +only apology for the crime. I concealed myself in a cellar where men +were playing with props. Fear is my only excuse. Lest they should +suspect me, I joined their game, and my forty cents were soon three +dollars and seventy. With these ill-gotten gains I visited the gold +exchange, then open evenings. My superior intelligence enabled me to +place well my modest means, and at midnight I had a competence. Let me +be a warning to all young men. Since that night I have never gambled +more.</p> + +<p>I threw the hated badge into the river. I bought a palace on Murray +Hill, and led an upright and honorable life. But since that night of +terror the sound of the horse-cars oppresses me. Always since, to go up +town or down, I order my own coupe, with George to drive me; and never +have I entered the cleanly, sweet, and airy carriage provided for the +public. I cannot; conscience is too much for me. You see in me a +monument of crime.</p> +<p> </p> +<p>I said no more. A moment’s pause, a few natural tears, and a single sigh +hushed the assembly; then Bertha, with her siren voice, told</p> + +<h4>THE WIFE OF BIDDEFORD’S STORY</h4> + +<p>At the time you speak of I was the private governess of two lovely boys, +Julius and Pompey—Pompey the senior of the two. The black-eyed darling! +I see him now. I also see, hanging to his neck, his blue-eyed brother, +who had given Pompey his black eye the day before. Pompey was generous +to a fault; Julius parsimonious beyond virtue. I, therefore, instructed +them in two different rooms. To Pompey I read the story of “Waste not, +want not.” To Julius, on the other hand, I spoke of the All-love of his +great Mother Nature, and her profuse gifts to her children. Leaving him +with grapes and oranges, I stepped back to Pompey, and taught him how to +untie parcels so as to save the string. Leaving him winding the string +neatly, I went back to Julius, and gave him ginger-cakes. The dear boys +grew from year to year. They outgrew their knickerbockers, and had +trousers. They outgrew their jackets, and became men; and I felt that I +had not lived in vain. I had conquered nature. Pompey, the little +spendthrift, was the honored cashier of a savings-bank, till he ran away +with the capital. Julius, the miser, became the chief croupier at the +New Crockford’s. One of those boys is now in Botany Bay, and the other +is in Sierra Leone!</p> +<p> </p> +<p>“I thought you were going to say in a hotter place,” said John +Blatchford; and he told his story.</p> + +<h4>THE STOKER’S STORY</h4> + +<p>We were crossing the Atlantic in a Cunarder. I was second stoker on the +starboard watch. In that horrible gale we spoke of before dinner, the +coal was exhausted, and I, as the best-dressed man, was sent up to the +captain to ask him what we should do. I found him himself at the wheel. +He almost cursed me, and bade me say nothing of coal, at a moment when +he must keep her head to the wind with her full power, or we were lost. +He bade me slide my hand into his pocket, and take out the key of the +after freight-room, open that, and use the contents for fuel. I returned +hastily to the engine-room, and we did as we were bid. The room +contained nothing but old account books, which made a hot and effective +fire.</p> + +<p>On the third day the captain came down himself into the engine-room, +where I had never seen him before, called me aside, and told me that by +mistake he had given me the wrong key; asking me if I had used it. I +pointed to him the empty room; not a leaf was left. He turned pale with +fright. As I saw his emotion, he confided to me the truth. The books +were the evidences or accounts of the British national debt; of what is +familiarly known as the Consolidated Fund, or the “Consols.” They had +been secretly sent to New York for the examination of James Fiske, who +had been asked to advance a few millions on this security to the English +Exchequer, and now all evidence of indebtedness was gone!</p> + +<p>The captain was about to leap into the sea. But I dissuaded him. I told +him to say nothing; I would keep his secret; no man else knew it. The +government would never utter it. It was safe in our hands. He +reconsidered his purpose. We came safe to port and did—nothing.</p> + +<p>Only on the first quarter-day which followed, I obtained leave of +absence, and visited the Bank of England, to see what happened. At the +door was this placard, “Applicants for dividends will file a written +application, with name and amount, at desk A, and proceed in turn to the +Paying Teller’s Office.” I saw their ingenuity. They were making out new +books, certain that none would apply but those who were accustomed to. +So skilfully do men of government study human nature.</p> + +<p>I stepped lightly to one of the public desks. I took one of the blanks. +I filled it out, “John Blatchford, £1747 6s. 8d.” and handed it in at +the open trap. I took my place in the queue in the teller’s room. After +an agreeable hour, a pile, not thick, of Bank of England notes was given +to me; and since that day I have quarterly drawn that amount from the +maternal government of that country. As I left the teller’s room, I +observed the captain in the queue. He was the seventh man from the +window, and I have never seen him more.</p> +<p> </p> +<p>We then asked Hosanna for her story.</p> + +<h4>THE N. E. HISTORICAL GENEALOGIST’S STORY</h4> + +<p>“My story,” said she, “will take us far back into the past. It will be +necessary for me to dwell on some incidents in the first settlement of +this country, and I propose that we first prepare and enjoy the +Christmas tree. After this, if your courage holds, you shall hear an +over-true tale.” Pretty creature, how little she knew what was before +us!</p> + +<p>As we had sat listening to the stories, we had been preparing for the +tree. Shopping being out of the question, we were fain from our own +stores to make up our presents, while the women were arranging nuts, and +blown egg-shells, and popcorn strings from the stores of the Eagle and +Star. The popping of corn in two corn-poppers had gone on through the +whole of the story-telling. All being so nearly ready, I called the +drowsy boy again, and, showing him a very large stick in the wood-box, +asked him to bring me a hatchet. To my great joy he brought the axe of +the establishment, and I bade him farewell. How little did he think what +was before him! So soon as he had gone I went stealthily down the +stairs, and stepping out into the deep snow, in front of the hotel, +looked up into the lovely night. The storm had ceased, and I could see +far back into the heavens. In the still evening my strokes might have +been heard far and wide, as I cut down one of the two pretty Norways +that shaded Mr. Pynchon’s front walk, next the hotel. I dragged it over +the snow. Blatchford and Steele lowered sheets to me from the large +parlor window, which I attached to the larger end of the tree. With +infinite difficulty they hauled it in. I joined them in the parlor, and +soon we had as stately a tree growing there as was in any home of joy +that night in the river counties.</p> + +<p>With swift fingers did our wives adorn it. I should have said above, +that we travelled with our wives, and that I would recommend that custom +to others. It was impossible, under the circumstances, to maintain much +secrecy; but it had been agreed that all who wished to turn their backs +to the circle, in the preparation of presents, might do so without +offence to the others. As the presents were wrapped, one by one, in +paper of different colors, they were marked with the names of giver and +receiver, and placed in a large clothes-basket. At last all was done. I +had wrapped up my knife, my pencil-case, my letter-case, for Steele, +Blatchford, and Dick. To my wife I gave my gold watch-key, which +fortunately fits her watch; to Hosanna, a mere trifle, a seal ring I +wore; to Bertha, my gold chain; and to Sarah Blatchford, the watch which +generally hung from it. For a few moments we retired to our rooms while +the pretty Hosanna arranged the forty-nine presents on the tree. Then +she clapped her hands, and we rushed in. What a wondrous sight! What a +shout of infantine laughter and charming prattle! for in that happy +moment were we not all children again?</p> + +<p>I see my story hurries to its close. Dick, who is the tallest, mounted a +step-ladder, and called us by name to receive our presents. I had a nice +gold watch-key from Hosanna, a knife from Steele, a letter-case from +Phebe, and a pretty pencil-case from Bertha. Dick had given me his +watch-chain, which he knew I fancied; Sarah Blatchford, a little toy of +a Geneva watch she wore; and her husband, a handsome seal ring,—a +present to him from the Czar, I believe; Phebe, that is my wife,—for we +were travelling with our wives,—had a pencil-case from Steele, a pretty +little letter-case from Dick, a watch-key from me, and a French repeater +from Blatchford; Sarah Blatchford gave her the knife she carried, with +some bright verses, saying that it was not to cut love; Bertha, a +watch-chain; and Hosanna, a ring of turquoise and amethysts. The other +presents were similar articles, and were received, as they were given, +with much tender feeling. But at this moment, as Dick was on the top of +the flight of steps, handing down a red apple from the tree, a slight +catastrophe occurred.</p> + +<p>The first thing I was conscious of was the angry hiss of steam. In a +moment I perceived that the steam-boiler, from which the tavern was +warmed, had exploded. The floor beneath us rose, and we were driven with +it through the ceiling and the rooms above,—through an opening in the +roof into the still night. Around us in the air were flying all the +other contents and occupants of the Star and Eagle. How bitterly was I +reminded of Dick’s flight from the railroad track of the Ithaca and +Owego Railroad! But I could not hope such an escape as his. Still my +flight was in a parabola; and, in a period not longer than it has taken +to describe it, I was thrown senseless, at last, into a deep snow-bank +near the United States Arsenal.</p> + +<p>Tender hands lifted me and assuaged me. Tender teams carried me to the +City Hospital. Tender eyes brooded over me. Tender science cared for me. +It proved necessary, before I recovered, to amputate my two legs at the +hips. My right arm was wholly removed, by a delicate and curious +operation, from the socket. We saved the stump of my left arm, which was +amputated just below the shoulder. I am still in the hospital to recruit +my strength. The doctor does not like to have me occupy my mind at all; +but he says there is no harm in my compiling my memoirs, or writing +magazine stories. My faithful nurse has laid me on my breast on a +pillow, has put a camel’s-hair pencil in my mouth, and, feeling almost +personally acquainted with John Carter, the artist, I have written out +for you, in his method, the story of my last Christmas.</p> + +<p>I am sorry to say that the others have never been found.</p> + +<div class="footnotes"><p class="cb">FOOTNOTES:</p> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_1_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_1_1"><span class="label">[1]</span></a> Wherever Q. is referred to in these pages my brother Nathan is +meant. One of his <i>noms de plume</i> was Gnat Q. Hale, because G and Q may be +silent letters.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_2_2"></a><a href="#FNanchor_2_2"><span class="label">[2]</span></a> “Every man,” says Dr. Peabody, “should have a vocation and an +avocation.” To which I add, “A third.”</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_3_3"></a><a href="#FNanchor_3_3"><span class="label">[3]</span></a> The St. Leger of these stories was Francis Brown Hayes, H. C. 1839.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_4_4"></a><a href="#FNanchor_4_4"><span class="label">[4]</span></a> Maria Theresa’s husband, Francis, Duke of Tuscany, was hanging about +loose one day, and the Empress, who had got a little tired, said to the +maids of honor, “Girls, whenever you marry, take care and choose a +husband who has something to do outside of the house.”</p></div> + +</div> + +<hr class="full" /> +<div style='display:block; margin-top:4em'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE BRICK MOON AND OTHER STORIES ***</div> +<div style='text-align:left'> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will +be renamed. +</div> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright +law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, +so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United +States without permission and without paying copyright +royalties. 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