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| author | nfenwick <nfenwick@pglaf.org> | 2025-02-06 18:27:51 -0800 |
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| committer | nfenwick <nfenwick@pglaf.org> | 2025-02-06 18:27:51 -0800 |
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+<title>The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Story of the Gravelys, by Marshall Saunders</title>
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+</head>
+<body>
+<h1>The Project Gutenberg eBook, The Story of the Gravelys, by Marshall
+Saunders</h1>
+<p>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="http://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. If you are not
+located in the United States, you'll have to check the laws of the
+country where you are located before using this ebook.</p>
+<p>Title: The Story of the Gravelys</p>
+<p> A Tale for Girls</p>
+<p>Author: Marshall Saunders</p>
+<p>Release Date: December 6, 2016 [eBook #53675]</p>
+<p>Language: English</p>
+<p>Character set encoding: UTF-8</p>
+<p>***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE STORY OF THE GRAVELYS***</p>
+<p> </p>
+<h4>E-text prepared by David Edwards<br />
+ and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team<br />
+ (<a href="http://www.pgdp.net">http://www.pgdp.net</a>)<br />
+ from page images generously made available by<br />
+ Internet Archive<br />
+ (<a href="https://archive.org">https://archive.org</a>)</h4>
+<p> </p>
+<table border="0" style="background-color: #ccccff;margin: 0 auto; max-width: 100%;" cellpadding="10">
+ <tr>
+ <td valign="top">
+ Note:
+ </td>
+ <td>
+ Images of the original pages are available through
+ Internet Archive. See
+ <a href="https://archive.org/details/storyofgravelyst00saunuoft">
+ https://archive.org/details/storyofgravelyst00saunuoft</a>
+ </td>
+ </tr>
+</table>
+<p> </p>
+<hr class="full" />
+<p> </p>
+<p> </p>
+<p> </p>
+
+<p class="center larger">THE STORY OF THE GRAVELYS</p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 450px;">
+<img src="images/cover.jpg" width="450" height="700" alt="Book cover image" />
+</div>
+
+<hr />
+
+<div class="bbox">
+
+<p class="center">Works of<br />
+Marshall Saunders</p>
+
+<table summary="List of books and prices">
+ <tr>
+ <td>Beautiful Joe’s Paradise.</td>
+ <td class="tdr">Net $1.20</td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td></td>
+ <td class="tdr">Postpaid $1.32</td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td>The Story of the Gravelys.</td>
+ <td class="tdr">Net $1.20</td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td></td>
+ <td class="tdr">Postpaid $1.35</td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td>’Tilda Jane.</td>
+ <td class="tdr">$1.50</td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td>Rose à Charlitte.</td>
+ <td class="tdr">$1.50</td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td>For His Country.</td>
+ <td class="tdr">$ .50</td>
+ </tr>
+</table>
+
+<p class="center">L. C. PAGE & COMPANY<br />
+New England Building, Boston, Mass.</p>
+
+</div>
+
+<hr />
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 460px;" id="illus1">
+<img src="images/illus1.jpg" width="460" height="515" alt="" />
+<p class="caption">“BENT THEIR HEADS OVER THE PAPER”</p>
+<p class="smaller right">(<i>See <a href="#Page_40">page 40</a></i>)</p>
+</div>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1" id="Page_1">[1]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class="bbox-double">
+
+<p class="center larger">THE STORY OF<br />
+THE GRAVELYS</p>
+
+<p class="center"><i>A Tale for Girls</i></p>
+
+</div>
+
+<div class="bbox-double">
+
+<p class="center">By<br />
+Marshall Saunders</p>
+
+<p class="center">Author of<br />
+“Beautiful Joe,” “Beautiful Joe’s Paradise,”<br />
+“’Tilda Jane,” etc.</p>
+
+</div>
+
+<div class="bbox-double">
+
+<p class="center smaller">“A child’s needless tear is a blood-blot upon this earth.”</p>
+
+<p class="right smaller">—<span class="smcap">Cardinal Manning</span></p>
+
+</div>
+
+<div class="bbox-double">
+
+<p class="center"><i>Illustrated</i></p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 100px;">
+<img src="images/titlepage.jpg" width="100" height="100" alt="Publisher’s mark. Motto: SPE LABOR LEVIS" />
+</div>
+
+</div>
+
+<div class="bbox-double">
+
+<p class="center">Boston<br />
+L. C. Page & Company<br />
+1904</p>
+
+</div>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_2" id="Page_2">[2]</a></span></p>
+
+<p class="titlepage smaller"><i>Copyright, 1902, 1903</i><br />
+<span class="smcap">By Perry Mason Company</span></p>
+
+<p class="center smaller"><i>Copyright, 1903</i><br />
+<span class="smcap">By L. C. Page & Company</span><br />
+(INCORPORATED)</p>
+
+<p class="center smaller"><i>All rights reserved</i></p>
+
+<p class="titlepage smaller">Published September, 1903</p>
+
+<p class="titlepage smaller">Colonial Press<br />
+Electrotyped and Printed by C. H. Simonds & Co.<br />
+Boston, Mass., U. S. A.</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[3]</a></span></p>
+
+<p class="center">TO<br />
+MY DEAR SISTER<br />
+<span class="larger">Grace,</span><br />
+MY FAITHFUL HELPER IN LITERARY WORK,<br />
+THIS STORY IS AFFECTIONATELY DEDICATED<br />
+BY HER APPRECIATIVE SISTER,<br />
+<span class="smcap">Marshall Saunders</span></p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[4]</a></span></p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[5]</a></span></p>
+
+<h2>ACKNOWLEDGMENT</h2>
+
+<p>Certain chapters of this story first appeared in
+The <cite>Youth’s Companion</cite>. The author wishes to
+acknowledge the courtesy of the editors in permitting
+her to republish them in the present volume.</p>
+
+<p>Messrs. L. C. Page and Company wish also to
+acknowledge the courtesy of the editors in granting
+them permission to use the original illustrations.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[6]</a></span></p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[7]</a></span></p>
+
+<h2>CONTENTS</h2>
+
+<table summary="Contents">
+ <tr>
+ <th>CHAPTER</th>
+ <th></th>
+ <th>PAGE</th>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td class="tdr">I.</td>
+ <td><span class="smcap">The Quarrel</span></td>
+ <td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER_I">11</a></td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td class="tdr">II.</td>
+ <td><span class="smcap">Grandma’s Watchword</span></td>
+ <td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER_II">23</a></td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td class="tdr">III.</td>
+ <td><span class="smcap">A Sudden Countermarch</span></td>
+ <td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER_III">34</a></td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td class="tdr">IV.</td>
+ <td><span class="smcap">A Lifted Burden</span></td>
+ <td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER_IV">43</a></td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td class="tdr">V.</td>
+ <td><span class="smcap">The Training of a Boy</span></td>
+ <td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER_V">54</a></td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td class="tdr">VI.</td>
+ <td><span class="smcap">Bonny’s Ordeal</span></td>
+ <td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER_VI">68</a></td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td class="tdr">VII.</td>
+ <td><span class="smcap">Berty Imparts Information</span></td>
+ <td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER_VII">76</a></td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td class="tdr">VIII.</td>
+ <td><span class="smcap">The Heart of the Mayor</span></td>
+ <td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER_VIII">88</a></td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td class="tdr">IX.</td>
+ <td><span class="smcap">The Mayor’s Dilemma</span></td>
+ <td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER_IX">99</a></td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td class="tdr">X.</td>
+ <td><span class="smcap">A Groundless Suspicion</span></td>
+ <td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER_X">113</a></td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td class="tdr">XI.</td>
+ <td><span class="smcap">A Proposed Supper-Party</span></td>
+ <td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER_XI">130</a></td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td class="tdr">XII.</td>
+ <td><span class="smcap">A Disturbed Hostess</span></td>
+ <td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER_XII">139</a></td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td class="tdr">XIII.</td>
+ <td><span class="smcap">An Anxious Mind</span></td>
+ <td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER_XIII">150</a></td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td class="tdr">XIV.</td>
+ <td><span class="smcap">The Opening of the Park</span></td>
+ <td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER_XIV">162</a></td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td class="tdr">XV.</td>
+ <td><span class="smcap">Up the River</span></td>
+ <td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER_XV">175</a></td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td class="tdr">XVI.</td>
+ <td><span class="smcap">Berty’s Tramp</span></td>
+ <td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER_XVI">188</a></td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td class="tdr">XVII.</td>
+ <td><span class="smcap">Tom’s Intervention</span></td>
+ <td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER_XVII">195</a></td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td class="tdr">XVIII.</td>
+ <td><span class="smcap">Tramp Philosophy</span></td>
+ <td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER_XVIII">204</a></td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td class="tdr">XIX.</td>
+ <td><span class="smcap">At the Board of Water-Works</span></td>
+ <td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER_XIX">217</a></td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td class="tdr">XX.</td>
+ <td><span class="smcap">Selina’s Wedding</span></td>
+ <td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER_XX">229</a></td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td class="tdr">XXI.</td>
+ <td><span class="smcap">To Strike or Not to Strike</span></td>
+ <td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXI">244</a></td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td class="tdr">XXII.</td>
+ <td><span class="smcap">Discouraged</span></td>
+ <td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXII">257</a></td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td class="tdr">XXIII.</td>
+ <td><span class="smcap">Grandma’s Request</span></td>
+ <td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXIII">262</a></td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td class="tdr">XXIV.</td>
+ <td><span class="smcap">Down the River</span></td>
+ <td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXIV">270</a></td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td class="tdr">XXV.</td>
+ <td><span class="smcap">Last Words</span></td>
+ <td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXV">277</a></td>
+ </tr>
+</table>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[8]</a></span></p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[9]</a></span></p>
+
+<h2>LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS</h2>
+
+<table summary="List of illustrations">
+ <tr>
+ <th></th>
+ <th>PAGE</th>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td><span class="smcap">“Bent their heads over the paper”</span> (<i>see <a href="#Page_40">page 40</a></i>)</td>
+ <td class="tdr"><a href="#illus1"><i>Frontispiece</i></a></td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td><span class="smcap">“Leaning over the stair railing”</span></td>
+ <td class="tdr"><a href="#illus2">33</a></td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td><span class="smcap">“‘Why don’t some of you good people try to reform me?’”</span></td>
+ <td class="tdr"><a href="#illus3">54</a></td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td><span class="smcap">“‘You have too much heart’”</span></td>
+ <td class="tdr"><a href="#illus4">92</a></td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td><span class="smcap">“‘You’re dying to tease me’”</span></td>
+ <td class="tdr"><a href="#illus5">177</a></td>
+ </tr>
+ <tr>
+ <td><span class="smcap">“‘A River Street delegation,’ said Tom”</span></td>
+ <td class="tdr"><a href="#illus6">235</a></td>
+ </tr>
+</table>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[10]</a></span></p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[11]</a></span></p>
+
+<h1>THE STORY OF THE GRAVELYS</h1>
+
+<h2 id="CHAPTER_I">CHAPTER I.<br />
+<span class="smaller">THE QUARREL</span></h2>
+
+<p>“I won’t live on my brother-in-law,” said the
+slight, dark girl.</p>
+
+<p>“Yes, you will,” said the fair-haired beauty, her
+sister, who was standing over her in a somewhat
+theatrical attitude.</p>
+
+<p>“I will not,” said Berty again. “You think
+because you have just been married you are going
+to run the family. I tell you, I will not do it.
+I will not live with you.”</p>
+
+<p>“I don’t want to run the family, but I am a
+year and a half older than you, and I know what
+is for your good better than you do.”</p>
+
+<p>“You do not—you butterfly!”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[12]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>“Alberta Mary Francesca Gravely—you ought
+to be ashamed of yourself,” said the beauty, in
+concentrated wrath.</p>
+
+<p>“I’m not ashamed of myself,” replied her sister,
+scornfully. “I’m ashamed of you. You’re just
+as extravagant as you can be. You spend every
+cent of your husband’s income, and now you want
+to saddle him with a big boy, a girl, and an—”</p>
+
+<p>“An old lady,” said Margaretta.</p>
+
+<p>“Grandma isn’t old. She’s only sixty-five.”</p>
+
+<p>“Sixty-five is old.”</p>
+
+<p>“It is not.”</p>
+
+<p>“Well, now, can you call her young?” said
+Margaretta. “Can you say she is a girl?”</p>
+
+<p>“Yes,” replied Berty, obstinately, “I can call
+her a girl, or a duck, or anything I like, and I
+can call you a goose.”</p>
+
+<p>“A goose!” repeated Mrs. Stanisfield, chokingly;
+“oh, this is too much. I wish my husband were
+here.”</p>
+
+<p>“I wish he were,” said Berty, wickedly, “so
+he could be sorry he mar—”</p>
+
+<p>“Children,” said a sudden voice, “what are you
+quarrelling about?”</p>
+
+<p>Both girls turned their flushed faces toward the
+doorway. A little shrewd old lady stood there.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[13]</a></span>
+This was Grandma, one of their bones of contention,
+and this particular bone in deep amusement
+wanted to laugh, but knew better than to do so.</p>
+
+<p>“Won’t you sit down, Margaretta?” she said,
+calmly coming into the room and taking a chair
+near Berty, who was lounging provokingly on
+the foot of the bed.</p>
+
+<p>It was Grandma’s bed, and they were in Grandma’s
+room. She had brought them up—her two dear
+orphan granddaughters, together with their brother
+Boniface.</p>
+
+<p>“What are you quarrelling about?” repeated the
+little old lady, taking a silk stocking from her
+pocket, and beginning to knit in a leisurely way.</p>
+
+<p>“We’re quarrelling about keeping the family together,”
+said Margaretta, vehemently, “and I find
+that family honour is nothing but a rag in Berty’s
+estimation.”</p>
+
+<p>“Well, I’d rather have it a nice clean rag put
+out of sight,” said Berty, sharply, “than a great,
+big, red flag shaken in everybody’s face.”</p>
+
+<p>“Sit down, Margaretta,” said Grandma, soothingly.</p>
+
+<p>“Oh, I am too angry to sit down,” said Margaretta,
+shaking herself slightly. “I got your note<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[14]</a></span>
+saying you had lost your money. I came to sympathize
+and was met with insults. It’s dreadful!”</p>
+
+<p>“Sit down, dear,” said Grandma, gently, pushing
+a rocking-chair toward her.</p>
+
+<p>Margaretta took the chair, and, wiping her white
+forehead with a morsel of lace and muslin, glared
+angrily at her sister.</p>
+
+<p>“Roger says,” she went on, excitedly, “that
+you are all—”</p>
+
+<p>“All!” groaned Berty.</p>
+
+<p>“All,” repeated Margaretta, furiously, “or one
+or two, whichever you like, to come and live with
+us. He insists.”</p>
+
+<p>“No, <em>you</em> insist,” interrupted Berty. “He has
+too much sense.”</p>
+
+<p>Margaretta gave a low cry. “Isn’t this ingratitude
+abominable—I hear of your misfortune, I
+come flying to your relief—”</p>
+
+<p>“Dear child,” said Grandma, “I knew you’d
+come.”</p>
+
+<p>“But what do you make of Berty, Grandma?
+Do say something cutting. You could if you tried.
+The trouble is, you don’t try.”</p>
+
+<p>Grandma tried not to laugh. She, too, had a tiny
+handkerchief that she pressed against her face,
+but the merriment would break through.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[15]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>“You laugh,” said Margaretta, in awe, “and
+you have just lost every cent you own!”</p>
+
+<p>Grandma recovered herself. “Thank fortune, I
+never chained my affections to a house and furniture
+and a bank-account.”</p>
+
+<p>“Roger says you are the bravest woman he ever
+saw,” murmured Margaretta.</p>
+
+<p>“Did he say that?” replied Grandma, with
+twinkling eyes.</p>
+
+<p>“Yes, yes, dear Grandma,” said Margaretta,
+fondly, “and he told me to offer you all a home
+with us.”</p>
+
+<p>The little old lady smiled again, and this time
+there was a dimple in her cheek. “What a dear
+grandson-in-law! What a good man!”</p>
+
+<p>“He is just perfection,” said Margaretta, enthusiastically,
+“but, Grandma, darling, tell me your
+plans! I am just dying to know, and Berty has
+been so provoking.”</p>
+
+<p>“Berty is the mainstay of the family now,” said
+Grandma, good-naturedly; “don’t abuse her.”</p>
+
+<p>“The mainstay!” repeated Margaretta, with a
+bewildered air; “oh, yes, I see. You mean that
+the little annuity left her by our great-aunt, your
+sister, is all that you have to depend on.”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[16]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>“Just those few hundred dollars,” said Grandma,
+tranquilly, “and a little more.”</p>
+
+<p>“That is why she is so toploftical,” said Margaretta.
+“However, it is well that she was named
+for great-aunt Alberta—but, Grandma, dear, don’t
+knit.”</p>
+
+<p>“Why not?”</p>
+
+<p>“It is so prosaic, after all you have gone through,”
+said Margaretta. “When I think of your trials,
+it makes me sick.”</p>
+
+<p>“My trials are nothing to what Job had,” remarked
+her grandmother. “I read of his tribulations
+and they make mine seem very insignificant.”</p>
+
+<p>“Poor Grandma, you have had about as many
+as Job.”</p>
+
+<p>“What have I had?” asked the old lady, softly.</p>
+
+<p>Margaretta made a gesture of despair. “Your
+mother died at your birth.”</p>
+
+<p>“The Lord took her,” said the old lady, gently,
+“and when I needed a mother he sent me a good
+stepmother.”</p>
+
+<p>“Your father perished in a burning hotel,” said
+the girl, in a low voice.</p>
+
+<p>“And went to heaven in a chariot of fire,” replied
+Grandma, firmly.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[17]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>“You married and were happy with your husband.”</p>
+
+<p>“Yes, bless the Lord!”</p>
+
+<p>“But your daughter, our mother, kissed you good-bye
+one day to go on a pleasure excursion with her
+husband, and never came back—oh, it breaks my
+heart to think of that day—my father and mother
+lost, both at once!” and, dropping miserably on
+her knees, Margaretta hid her face in her grandmother’s
+lap.</p>
+
+<p>The old lady’s lip trembled, but she said, steadily,
+“The Lord giveth—He also taketh away.”</p>
+
+<p>“And now,” said Margaretta, falteringly, “you
+are not old, but you have come to an age when you
+are beginning to think about getting old, and you
+have lost everything—everything.”</p>
+
+<p>“All save the greatest thing in the world,” said
+Grandma, patting the bowed head.</p>
+
+<p>“You always had that,” exclaimed Margaretta,
+lifting her tear-stained face. “Everybody has loved
+you since you were born—how could any one help
+it?”</p>
+
+<p>“If everybody loves me, why is it?” inquired
+Grandma, guilelessly, as she again took up her knitting.</p>
+
+<p>Margaretta wrinkled her fair brows. “I don’t<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[18]</a></span>
+know—I guess it is because you don’t talk much,
+and you seem to like every one, and you don’t
+contradict. You’re exceedingly canny, Grandma.”</p>
+
+<p>“Canny, child?”</p>
+
+<p>“Yes, canny. I don’t know what the Scottish
+people mean by it, but I mean clever, and shrewd,
+and smart, and quiet, and you keep out of scrapes.
+Now, when I’m with that provoking creature there,”
+and she looked disdainfully at Berty, “I feel as
+if I were a fifty-cornered sort of person. <em>You</em>
+make me feel as if I were round, and smooth, and
+easy to get on with.”</p>
+
+<p>Grandma picked up a dropped stitch and said
+nothing.</p>
+
+<p>“If you’d talk more, I’d like it better,” said
+Margaretta, dolefully, “but I dare say I should
+not get on so well with you.”</p>
+
+<p>“Women do talk too much,” said Grandma,
+shortly; “we thresh everything out with our
+tongues.”</p>
+
+<p>“Grandma, dear, what are you going to do?”
+asked Margaretta, coaxingly. “Do tell me.”</p>
+
+<p>“Keep the family together,” said Grandma, serenely.</p>
+
+<p>“The old cry,” exclaimed Margaretta. “I’ve<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[19]</a></span>
+heard that ever since I was born. What makes
+you say it so much?”</p>
+
+<p>“Shall I tell you?”</p>
+
+<p>“Yes, yes—it is a regular watchword with you.”</p>
+
+<p>“When my father found himself trapped in that
+burning building,” said Grandma, knitting a little
+more rapidly than before, “he looked down from
+his window into the street and saw a man that
+he knew. ‘Jefferson,’ he called out, ‘will you
+take a message to my wife?’</p>
+
+<p>“‘I’ll take fifty, sir,’ answered the man, in an
+agony.</p>
+
+<p>“My father was quite calm. ‘Then, Jefferson,’
+he went on, ‘tell my wife that I said “God bless
+her,” with my last breath, and that I want her
+to keep the family together. Mind, Jefferson, she
+is to keep the family together.’</p>
+
+<p>“‘I’ll tell her,’ said the man, and, groaning and
+dazed with the heat, he turned away. Now, that
+wife was my stepmother, but she did as her husband
+bade her. She kept the family together, in sickness
+and in health, in adversity and in prosperity.”</p>
+
+<p>Margaretta was crying nervously.</p>
+
+<p>“If you will compose yourself, I will go on,”
+said Grandma.</p>
+
+<p>Margaretta dried her tears.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[20]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>“Those four dying, living words were branded
+on my memory, and your mother was taught to
+lisp them with her earliest breath, though she was
+an only child. When she left me that sunny spring
+day to go on her long, last journey, she may have
+had a presentiment—I do not know—but I do
+know that as she pressed her blooming face to mine,
+she glanced at her three children playing on the
+grass, and whispered, lovingly, ‘Keep the family
+together.’”</p>
+
+<p>“And you did it,” cried Margaretta, flinging up
+her head, “you did it nobly. You have been father,
+mother, grandfather and grandmother to us. You
+are a darling.” And seizing the little, nimble hands
+busy with the stocking, she kissed them fervently.</p>
+
+<p>Grandma smiled at her, picked up her work, and
+went on, briskly: “Keep the family together, and
+you keep the clan together. Keep the clan together,
+and you keep the nation together. Foster national
+love and national pride, and you increase the brotherhood
+of man.”</p>
+
+<p>“Then the family is the rock on which the nation
+is built,” said Margaretta, her beautiful face a flood
+of colour.</p>
+
+<p>“Certainly.”</p>
+
+<p>“Then I am a helping stone in the building of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[21]</a></span>
+a nation,” continued Margaretta. “I, only a young
+woman in a small city of this great Union?”</p>
+
+<p>“You are a wife,” said Grandma, composedly,
+“a young and inexperienced one, but still the head
+of a family.”</p>
+
+<p>Margaretta shivered. “What a responsibility—what
+kind of a wife am I?”</p>
+
+<p>Grandma maintained a discreet silence.</p>
+
+<p>“Berty says I am extravagant,” exclaimed Margaretta,
+with a gesture toward the bed.</p>
+
+<p>Again her grandmother said nothing.</p>
+
+<p>“Am I, Grandma, darling, am I?” asked the
+young woman, in a wheedling voice.</p>
+
+<p>Grandma’s lips trembled, and her dimple displayed
+itself again.</p>
+
+<p>“I am,” cried Margaretta, springing up and
+clasping her hands despairingly. “I spend all
+Roger gives me. We have no fortune back of us,
+only his excellent income from the iron works. If
+that were to fail, we should be ruined. I am a
+careless, poorly-turned stone in the foundation of
+this mighty nation. I must shape and strengthen
+myself, and, Grandma, dear, let me begin by helping
+you and Berty and Bonny. You will have to
+give up this house—oh, my darling Grandma,
+how can you—this handsome house that grandfather<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[22]</a></span>
+built for you? What will you do without
+your velvet carpets, and lace curtains, and palms
+and roses? Oh, you will come to me! I shall save
+enough to keep you, and I shall lose my reason
+if you don’t.”</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[23]</a></span></p>
+
+<h2 id="CHAPTER_II">CHAPTER II.<br />
+<span class="smaller">GRANDMA’S WATCHWORD</span></h2>
+
+<p>“See here,” said Grandma, feeling in her pocket.
+“Look at these telegrams.”</p>
+
+<p>Margaretta hastily ran her eye over them. “I
+don’t understand.”</p>
+
+<p>“Let me explain,” said Grandma, softly.
+“Brother John sends regrets for loss—will guarantee
+so many hundreds a year. Brother Henry
+sympathizes deeply to the extent of a tenth of his
+income. Sister Mary and Sister Lucy will come
+to see me as soon as possible. Substantial financial
+aid to be reckoned on.”</p>
+
+<p>“Oh, Grandma! Grandma!” said the girl, still
+only half-enlightened. “What do they mean?”</p>
+
+<p>Grandma smiled complacently. “You notice that
+not one of them offers me a home, though, Heaven
+knows, their homes are as wide as their hearts.
+They are not rich, not one is exceedingly rich, yet
+they all offer me a good part of their respective<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[24]</a></span>
+incomes. That is the outcome of ‘Keep the family
+together.’”</p>
+
+<p>“Oh! oh! oh!” exclaimed Margaretta. “They
+know how you love us. They want you to keep
+up a home for us. They will support you.”</p>
+
+<p>“Exactly,” said Grandma.</p>
+
+<p>“And will you take all that money?”</p>
+
+<p>“No, child, not all; some of it, though. I have
+helped them. I will do it again, if I can.”</p>
+
+<p>“Isn’t that lovely!” cried Margaretta. “It is
+almost worth while being unfortunate to call out
+such goodness as that. Now, Grandma, dear, let
+us talk seriously. You will have to give up this
+house.”</p>
+
+<p>“It is given up. My lawyer was here this morning.”</p>
+
+<p>“Roger is coming this evening to see you—will
+you sell all the furniture?”</p>
+
+<p>“I shall have to.”</p>
+
+<p>“Oh, dear! Well, you won’t need it with us.”</p>
+
+<p>“We cannot go to you, Margaretta,” said
+Grandma, quietly.</p>
+
+<p>“Oh, why not?”</p>
+
+<p>“It would be too great a burden on Roger.”</p>
+
+<p>“Only three persons, Grandma.”</p>
+
+<p>“Roger is a young man. He has lately started<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[25]</a></span>
+housekeeping and family life. Let him work out
+his plans along his own lines. It will be better
+not to join households unless necessary.”</p>
+
+<p>“He just loves you, Grandma.”</p>
+
+<p>“And I reciprocate, but I think it better not to
+amalgamate my quicksilver Berty with another
+stronger metal just now.”</p>
+
+<p>“Where is she?” asked Margaretta, turning her
+head.</p>
+
+<p>“She slipped out some time ago.”</p>
+
+<p>“Roger gets on well with her, Grandma.”</p>
+
+<p>“I know he does. By stronger metal, I meant
+you. Being the elder, you have rather absorbed
+Berty. She will develop more quickly alone.”</p>
+
+<p>“Do you want to board?”</p>
+
+<p>“There are two kinds of life in America,” said
+Grandma, “boarding-house life and home-life.
+Boarding-house life vulgarizes, home life ennobles.
+As long as God gives me breath, I’ll keep house,
+if I have only three rooms to do it in.”</p>
+
+<p>“But, Grandma, dear, you will have so little
+to keep house on. Wouldn’t it be better to go to
+some first-class boarding-house with just a few
+nice people?”</p>
+
+<p>“Who might be my dearest foes,” said Grandma,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[26]</a></span>
+tranquilly. “I’ve rubbed shoulders with such people
+in hotels before now.”</p>
+
+<p>“Grandma, you haven’t any enemies.”</p>
+
+<p>“Anybody that is worth anything has enemies.”</p>
+
+<p>“Well,” said Margaretta, with a sigh, “what
+are you going to do? You can’t afford to keep
+house in such style as this. You won’t want to
+go into a poor neighbourhood.”</p>
+
+<p>“Give me a house and I’ll make the neighbourhood,”
+said Grandma, decidedly.</p>
+
+<p>“You have already decided on one?” said her
+granddaughter, suspiciously.</p>
+
+<p>Grandma smiled. “Not altogether decided.”</p>
+
+<p>“I don’t like your tone,” exclaimed Margaretta.
+“You have something dreadful to tell me.”</p>
+
+<p>“Berty was out this morning and found a large,
+old-fashioned house with big open fireplaces. From
+it we would have a fine view of the river.”</p>
+
+<p>“Tell me where it is,” said Margaretta, brokenly.</p>
+
+<p>“It is where the first people of the town used to
+live when I was a girl.”</p>
+
+<p>“It isn’t down by the fish-market—oh, don’t
+tell me that!”</p>
+
+<p>“Just a block away from it, dear.”</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Roger Stanisfield gave a subdued shriek.
+“This is Berty’s doing.”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[27]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>Her grandmother laid down her knitting. “Margaretta,
+imagine Berty in a fashionable boarding-house—in
+two rooms, for we could not afford to
+take more. Imagine the boarding-house keeper
+when Berty would come in trailing a lame dog
+or sick cat? The Lord has given me grace to put
+up with these things, and even to sympathize and
+admire, but I have had a large house and several
+servants.”</p>
+
+<p>“But some boarding-house people are agreeable,”
+moaned Margaretta.</p>
+
+<p>“Agreeable!—they are martyrs, but I am not
+going to help martyrize them.”</p>
+
+<p>“I quarrel with Berty,” murmured Margaretta,
+“but I always make up with her. She is my own
+dear sister.”</p>
+
+<p>“Keep the family together,” said Grandma,
+shrewdly, “and in order to keep it together let it
+sometimes drift apart.”</p>
+
+<p>“Grandma, you speak in riddles.”</p>
+
+<p>“Margaretta, you are too direct. I want Berty
+to stand alone for awhile. She has as much character
+as you.”</p>
+
+<p>“She has more,” sighed Margaretta. “She won’t
+mind a word I say—she looks just like you,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[28]</a></span>
+Grandma, dear. You like her better than you do
+me.”</p>
+
+<p>“Perhaps I do,” said the old lady, calmly. “Perhaps
+she needs it.”</p>
+
+<p>“And you are going to let her drag you down
+to that awful neighbourhood.”</p>
+
+<p>“It isn’t awful—a dose of River Street will be
+a fitting antidote to a somewhat enervating existence
+here on Grand Avenue.”</p>
+
+<p>“You want to make a philanthropist or a city
+missionary of my poor sister.”</p>
+
+<p>“She might do worse,” said Grandma, coolly.</p>
+
+<p>“But she won’t be one,” said Margaretta, desperately.
+“She is too self-centred. She is taken
+with the large house and the good view. She will
+be disgusted with the dirty people.”</p>
+
+<p>“We shall see,” said Grandma, calmly.</p>
+
+<p>“You will only take the house for a short time,
+of course.”</p>
+
+<p>“I shall probably stay there until eternity claims
+me.”</p>
+
+<p>“Grandma!”</p>
+
+<p>“One little old woman in this big republic will
+not encourage home faithlessness,” said Grandma,
+firmly.</p>
+
+<p>“Dearest of grandmothers, what do you mean?”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[29]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>“How the old homes must suffer,” said
+Grandma, musingly. “Families are being reared
+within their walls, then suddenly the mother takes
+a caprice—we must move.”</p>
+
+<p>“But all houses are not equally convenient.”</p>
+
+<p>“Make them so,” said the little lady, emphatically.
+“Have some affection for your roof-tree, your
+hearthstone. Have one home, not a dozen. Let
+your children pin their memories to one place.”</p>
+
+<p>Margaretta fell into silence, and sat for a long
+time watching in fascination the quick, active fingers
+manipulating the silk stocking.</p>
+
+<p>“You are a wonderful woman,” she said, at
+last.</p>
+
+<p>“Do you really think so?”</p>
+
+<p>“Oh, yes, yes,” said Margaretta, enthusiastically.
+“You let people find out things for themselves.
+Now I don’t believe in your heart of hearts you
+want to go to River Street.”</p>
+
+<p>For the first time a shade of sadness came over
+the face of the older woman. “Set not your affections
+on earthly things,” she said, “and yet I love
+my home—— However, it is all right, Margaretta.
+If the Lord sends me to River Street, I can go.
+If He tells me to love River Street, I shall make
+a point of doing so. If I feel that River Street<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[30]</a></span>
+discipline is not necessary for me at my time of life,
+I shall console myself with the thought that it is
+necessary for Berty.”</p>
+
+<p>“Once,” said Margaretta, keenly, “there was a
+young girl who teased her grandmother to take her
+to Paris in the dead of winter. The grandmother
+didn’t want to go, but she went, and when the girl
+found herself shut up below on a plunging steamer
+that was trying to weather a cyclonic gale, she said,
+‘Grandma, I’ll never overpersuade you again.’”</p>
+
+<p>“And did she keep her promise?” asked Grandma,
+meaningly.</p>
+
+<p>Margaretta sprang to her feet, laughing nervously.
+“Dearest,” she said, “go to River Street,
+take your house. I’ll help you to the best of my
+ability. I see in advance what you are doing it for.
+Not only Berty, but the whole family will be benefited.
+You think we have been too prosperous, too
+self-satisfied—now, don’t you?”</p>
+
+<p>Grandma smiled mischievously. “Well, child,
+since you ask me, I must say that since your marriage
+I don’t see in you much passion for the good
+of others. Roger spoils you,” she added, apologetically.</p>
+
+<p>“I will be better,” said the beautiful girl, “and,
+Grandma, why haven’t you talked more to me—preached<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[31]</a></span>
+more. I don’t remember any sermons,
+except ‘Keep the family together.’”</p>
+
+<p>“It was all there, only the time hadn’t come
+for you to see it. You know how it is in this
+new invention of wireless telegraphy—a receiver
+must be tuned to the same pitch as that of the transmitter,
+or a message cannot pass between.”</p>
+
+<p>A brilliant expression burst like a flood of sunlight
+over the girl’s face. “I’m tuned,” she said,
+gaily. “I’m getting older and have more sense.
+I can take the message, and even pass it on. Good-bye,
+best of Grandmas. I’m going to make my peace
+with Berty.”</p>
+
+<p>“Keep the family together,” said Grandma, demurely.</p>
+
+<p>“Berty, Berty, where are you?” cried Margaretta,
+whisking her draperies out into the hall and down-stairs.
+“I am such a sinner. I was abominably
+sharp with you.”</p>
+
+<p>“Hush,” said Berty, suddenly.</p>
+
+<p>She had come into the hall below and was standing
+holding something in her hand.</p>
+
+<p>“What is it?” asked Margaretta. “Oh!” and
+she gave a little scream, “a mouse!”</p>
+
+<p>“He is dead,” said Berty, quickly, “nothing<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[32]</a></span>
+matters to him now. Poor little thing, how he
+suffered. He was caught in a cruel trap.”</p>
+
+<p>Margaretta gazed scrutinizingly at her. “You
+have a good heart, Berty. I’m sorry I quarrelled
+with you.”</p>
+
+<p>“I forgot all about it,” said Berty, simply, “but
+I don’t like to quarrel with you, Margaretta. It
+usually gives me a bad feeling inside me.”</p>
+
+<p>“You want to go to River Street?” said Margaretta,
+abruptly.</p>
+
+<p>“Oh, yes, we shall be so near the river. I am
+going to keep my boat and canoe. The launch will
+have to go.”</p>
+
+<p>Margaretta suppressed a smile. “How about
+the neighbourhood?”</p>
+
+<p>“Don’t like it, but we shall keep to ourselves.”</p>
+
+<p>“And keep the family together,” said Margaretta.</p>
+
+<p>“Yes,” said Berty, soberly. “Trust Grandma
+to do that. I wish you and Roger could live with
+us.”</p>
+
+<p>“Bless your heart,” said Margaretta, affectionately
+throwing an arm around her.</p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 460px;" id="illus2">
+<img src="images/illus2.jpg" width="460" height="650" alt="" />
+<p class="caption">“LEANING OVER THE STAIR RAILING”</p>
+</div>
+
+<p>“But you’ll come to see us often?” said Berty,
+anxiously.</p>
+
+<p>“Every day; and, Berty, I prophesy peace and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[33]</a></span>
+prosperity to you and Grandma—and now good-bye,
+I’m going home to save.”</p>
+
+<p>“To save?”</p>
+
+<p>“Yes, to save money—to keep my family together,”
+and holding her head well in the air, Margaretta
+tripped through the long, cool hall out into
+the sunlight.</p>
+
+<p>“Thank God they have made up their quarrel,”
+said Grandma, who was leaning over the stair railing.
+“Nothing conquers a united family! And
+now will Margaretta have the strength of mind to
+keep to her new resolution?”</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[34]</a></span></p>
+
+<h2 id="CHAPTER_III">CHAPTER III.<br />
+<span class="smaller">A SUDDEN COUNTERMARCH</span></h2>
+
+<p>Roger Stanisfield was plodding wearily along
+the avenue. He was not aware what an exquisite
+summer evening it was. He carried his own
+troubled atmosphere with him.</p>
+
+<p>Slowly going up the broad flight of steps leading
+to his house, he drew out his latch-key. As
+he unlocked the door, a bevy of girls came trooping
+through the hall—some of his wife’s friends. His
+face cleared as he took off his hat and stood aside
+for them to pass.</p>
+
+<p>For a minute the air was gay with merry parting,
+then the girls were gone, and he went slowly up
+to his room.</p>
+
+<p>“Mrs. Stanisfield is in the dining-room, sir,”
+said a servant, addressing him a few minutes later,
+as he stood in the hall with an air of great abstraction.
+“Dinner has just been served.”</p>
+
+<p>“Oh, Roger,” said his wife, as he entered the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[35]</a></span>
+room where she sat at the table, “I didn’t know
+you’d come! You told me not to wait for you. I
+shall be glad when you take up your old habit of
+coming home in the middle of the afternoon.”</p>
+
+<p>“I am very busy now,” he muttered, as he took
+his place.</p>
+
+<p>“Does your head ache?” inquired Margaretta,
+when several courses had been passed through in
+silence on his part.</p>
+
+<p>“Yes, it is splitting.”</p>
+
+<p>Young Mrs. Stanisfield bent her fair head over
+her plate, and discreetly made only an occasional
+remark until the pudding was removed, and the
+table-maid had withdrawn from the room. Then
+she surreptitiously examined her husband’s face.</p>
+
+<p>He was thoughtfully surveying the fruit on the
+table.</p>
+
+<p>“Margaretta,” he said, boyishly, “I don’t care
+much for puddings and pastry.”</p>
+
+<p>“Neither do I,” she said, demurely.</p>
+
+<p>“I was wondering,” he said, hesitatingly,
+“whether we couldn’t do without puddings for
+awhile and just have nuts and raisins, or fruit—What
+are you laughing at?”</p>
+
+<p>“At your new rôle of housekeeper. You usually
+don’t seem to know what is on the table.”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[36]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>“I have a good appetite.”</p>
+
+<p>“Yes, but you don’t criticize. You just eat what
+is set before you. I am sure it has escaped
+your masculine observation that for several weeks
+past we have had only one dish in the pastry course.”</p>
+
+<p>“Well, what of it?”</p>
+
+<p>“Why, we always used to have two or three—pudding,
+pie, and jelly or creams. Now we never
+have pudding and pie at the same time.”</p>
+
+<p>“What is that for?” he asked.</p>
+
+<p>“Oh, for something,” she said, quietly. “Now
+tell me what has gone wrong with you.”</p>
+
+<p>“Nothing has gone wrong with me,” he said,
+irritably.</p>
+
+<p>“With your business then.”</p>
+
+<p>He did not reply, and, rising, she said, “This
+sitting at table is tiresome when one eats nothing.
+Let us go to the drawing-room and have coffee.”</p>
+
+<p>“I don’t want coffee,” he said, sauntering after
+her.</p>
+
+<p>“Neither do I,” she replied. “Shall we go out
+in the garden? It was delightfully cool there before
+dinner.”</p>
+
+<p>“What a crowd of women you had here,” he
+said, a little peevishly, as he followed her.</p>
+
+<p>“Hadn’t I?” and she smiled. “They had all<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[37]</a></span>
+been at a garden-party at the Everests, and as I
+wasn’t there they came to find out the reason.”</p>
+
+<p>“You don’t mean to say you missed a social
+function?” said her husband, sarcastically.</p>
+
+<p>“Yes, dear boy, I did, and I have before, and I
+am going to again.”</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Stanisfield laughed shortly. “You sound like
+your sister Berty.”</p>
+
+<p>“Well, I should love to be like her. She is a
+dear little sister.”</p>
+
+<p>“But not as dear as her sister.”</p>
+
+<p>“Thank you,” said Margaretta, prettily, turning
+and curtseying to him, as he followed her along the
+garden paths. “Now, here we are among the roses.
+Just drag out those two chairs from the arbour, or
+will you get into the hammock?”</p>
+
+<p>“I’ll take the hammock,” he said, wearily. “I
+feel as if I were falling to pieces.”</p>
+
+<p>“Let me arrange some cushions under your head
+so—this cool breeze will soon drive the business
+fog from your brain.”</p>
+
+<p>“No, it won’t—the fog is too heavy.”</p>
+
+<p>“What kind of a fog is it?” asked Margaretta,
+cautiously.</p>
+
+<p>Her husband sat up in the hammock, and stared
+at her with feverish eyes. “Margaretta, I think<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[38]</a></span>
+we had better give up this house and take a smaller
+one.”</p>
+
+<p>“I knew it,” said Margaretta, triumphantly. “I
+knew you were worried about your affairs!”</p>
+
+<p>“Then you won’t feel so surprised,” he said,
+“when I tell you that we can’t stand this pace.
+We’ve had some heavy losses down at the iron works
+lately—mind you don’t say anything about it.”</p>
+
+<p>“Indeed I won’t,” she replied, proudly.</p>
+
+<p>“Father and I finished going over the books to-day
+with Mackintosh. We’ve got to put on the
+brakes. I—I hate to tell you,” and he averted
+his face. “You are so young.”</p>
+
+<p>Margaretta did not reply to him, and, eager to
+see her face, he presently turned his own.</p>
+
+<p>The sun had set, but she was radiant in a kind
+of afterglow.</p>
+
+<p>“Margaretta, you don’t understand,” he faltered.
+“It will be a tremendous struggle for you to give
+up luxuries to which you have been accustomed,
+but we’ve either got to come down to bare poles
+here, or move to a smaller house.”</p>
+
+<p>“What a misfortune!” she said.</p>
+
+<p>His face fell.</p>
+
+<p>“For you to have a headache about this matter,”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[39]</a></span>
+she went on, gleefully. “I don’t call it a small one,
+for it isn’t, but if you knew everything!”</p>
+
+<p>“I know enough to make me feel like a cheat,”
+he blurted, wriggling about in the hammock.
+“I took you from a good home. I never wanted
+you to feel an anxiety, and now the first thing I’ve
+got to put you down to rigid economy. You see,
+father and I have to spend a certain amount on the
+business, or we’d be out of it in the war of competition,
+and we’ve both decided that expenses must
+be curtailed in our homes rather than in the iron
+works.”</p>
+
+<p>“That shows you are good business men,” said
+Margaretta, promptly. “You are as good business
+men as husbands.”</p>
+
+<p>“Margaretta,” said her husband, “you puzzle
+me. I expected a scene, and upon my word you
+look happy over it—but you don’t realize it, poor
+child!”</p>
+
+<p>Margaretta smiled silently at him for a few
+seconds, then she said, roguishly, “I am going to
+give you a little surprise. You didn’t see me snatch
+this sheet of paper from my new cabinet when we
+left the house?”</p>
+
+<p>“No, I did not.”</p>
+
+<p>“Oh, what a nice little paper! What a precious<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[40]</a></span>
+little paper!” said Margaretta, gaily, clasping it.
+“Can you see what is written on it, Roger? No,
+you can’t very well in this light.”</p>
+
+<p>“Yes, I can,” said the young man, with a weary,
+amused smile. “Give it to me.”</p>
+
+<p>She drew her seat closer to the hammock, and
+both bent their heads over the paper.</p>
+
+<p>“Animus saved by Mrs. Roger Stanisfield during
+the month of July,” read Roger, stumblingly—“to
+be poured on my head, I suppose.”</p>
+
+<p>“No, no, not animus—amounts.”</p>
+
+<p>“Oh, I see, you want to comfort me by showing
+what an economist you are. I dare say you have
+saved five whole dollars through the month. What
+is the first item? Saved on new dress, one hundred
+dollars. Good gracious—how much did the dress
+cost?”</p>
+
+<p>“I didn’t get it,” she replied, with immense satisfaction.
+“I needed one, or thought I did, and
+Madame Bouvard, that French dressmaker from
+New York, who came here last year, said she would
+make me one for one hundred dollars. Now some
+time ago, just after dear Grandma lost her money,
+she gave me a great shock.”</p>
+
+<p>“Grandma did?” asked her husband, in surprise.</p>
+
+<p>“No, she didn’t, she made me give it to myself.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[41]</a></span>
+That is Grandma’s way, you know. She doesn’t
+preach. Well, after this electric shock I was horrified
+to find out that I was a frivolous, extravagant
+person. I began to think hard, then I got this little
+piece of paper—and, oh, Roger, won’t you get me
+a regular business book, and make red lines down
+the sides, and show me how to keep proper accounts?”</p>
+
+<p>“I will, but what about the dress?”</p>
+
+<p>“I had ordered it, but I went to Madame Bouvard.
+I said, frankly, ‘I can’t pay as much as a hundred
+dollars for a gown.’</p>
+
+<p>“‘You shall have it for eighty,’ she said.</p>
+
+<p>“I said, ‘Please let me off altogether. I want
+to save a little on my outfit this summer, but I
+promise to come to you the first time I want a
+gown.’</p>
+
+<p>“As soon as I said it I bit my lip. ‘Oh, Madame
+Bouvard,’ I said, ‘you are the most satisfactory
+dressmaker I have ever had, but I don’t know
+whether I can afford to come to you again.’</p>
+
+<p>“She is just a plain little woman, but when she
+saw how badly I felt, her face lighted up like an
+angel’s. ‘Madame,’ she said, ‘do not take your
+custom from me. You have been the best lady I
+have worked for in Riverport. Why, my girls say<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[42]</a></span>
+when your fair head passes the glass door of the
+workroom that it casts a ray of sunshine in upon
+them’—just think of that, Roger,—a ray of sunshine.
+I was quite pleased.”</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[43]</a></span></p>
+
+<h2 id="CHAPTER_IV">CHAPTER IV.<br />
+<span class="smaller">A LIFTED BURDEN</span></h2>
+
+<p>He laid a hand on the fair head, then hastily bent
+over the paper.</p>
+
+<p>“I was pleased, Roger, because I didn’t know
+that dressmakers or their sewing-girls ever cared
+for the people they work for; and what do you
+think she went on to say?—‘Madame, don’t go
+to a second-class establishment. I know you like
+first-class things. Come to me when you want a
+gown, and it shall be given to you at cost price,
+with just a trifle to satisfy you for my work’—wasn’t
+that sweet in her, Roger? I just caught
+her hand and squeezed it, and then she laid a finger
+on her lips—‘Not a word of this to any one,
+madame.’ I sent her a basket of flowers the next
+day.”</p>
+
+<p>“You are a good child,” said her husband, huskily.</p>
+
+<p>“Now go on to the next item,” said Margaretta,
+jubilantly.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[44]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>“‘Butter, twenty dollars’—what in the name
+of common sense does that mean?”</p>
+
+<p>“Queer, isn’t it?” laughed Margaretta. “I’ll go
+back to the beginning and explain. You know,
+Roger, I am not such a terribly strong person, and
+I do love to lie in bed in the morning. It is so
+delicious when you know you ought to get up, to
+roll yourself in the soft clothes and have another
+nap! You remember that I had got into a great
+way of having my breakfast in bed. Well, madam
+in bed meant carelessness in the kitchen. We have
+honest servants, Roger, but they are heedless. After
+my shock from Grandma about economy, I said, ‘I
+will reform. I will watch the cents, and the cents
+will watch the dollars.’</p>
+
+<p>“Now, to catch the first stray cent, it was necessary
+to get up early. I just hated to do it, but I
+made myself. I sprang out of bed in the morning,
+had my cold plunge, and was down before you, and
+it was far more interesting to have company for
+breakfast than to have no one, wasn’t it?”</p>
+
+<p>“Well, rather.”</p>
+
+<p>“You good boy. You never complained. Well,
+cook was immensely surprised to have a call from
+me before breakfast. One morning I found her
+making pastry, and putting the most delicious-looking<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[45]</a></span>
+yellow butter in it. ‘Why, that’s our table
+butter,’ I said, ‘isn’t it, that comes from Cloverdale,
+and costs a ridiculous amount?’</p>
+
+<p>“She said it was.</p>
+
+<p>“‘Why don’t you use cooking-butter, Jane?’
+I asked; ‘it’s just as good, isn’t it?’</p>
+
+<p>“‘Well, ma’am, there’s nothing impure about it,’
+she said, ‘but I know you like everything of the
+best, so I put this in.’</p>
+
+<p>“‘Jane,’ I said, ‘never do it again. I’m going
+to economize, and I want you to help me. If you
+can’t, I must send you away and get some one else.’</p>
+
+<p>“She laughed—you know what a fat, good-natured
+creature she is—and seemed to think it
+a kind of joke that I should want to economize.</p>
+
+<p>“‘Jane,’ I said, ‘I’m in earnest.’</p>
+
+<p>“Then she sobered down. ‘Truth, and I’ll help
+you, ma’am, if you really want me to. There’s lots
+of ways I can save for you, but I thought you didn’t
+care. You always seem so open-handed.’</p>
+
+<p>“‘Well, Jane,’ I said, ‘I don’t want to be mean,
+and I don’t want adulterated food, but my husband
+and I are young, and we want to save something
+for old age. Now you’ll help us, won’t you?’</p>
+
+<p>“‘Honour bright, I will, ma’am,’ she said, and
+I believed her. I can’t stay in the kitchen and watch<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[46]</a></span>
+her, but she watches herself, and just read that
+list of groceries and see what else she has saved.”</p>
+
+<p>“How have you found out the exact list of your
+economies?” asked Roger, curiously.</p>
+
+<p>“By comparing my bills of this month with those
+of the month before. For instance, sugar was so
+many dollars in June; in July it is so many dollars
+less. Of course, we must take into account that
+we have been entertaining less. Have you noticed
+it?”</p>
+
+<p>“Yes, but I thought it only a passing whim.”</p>
+
+<p>“Some whims don’t pass, they stay,” said Margaretta,
+shaking her head. “Go on, Roger.”</p>
+
+<p>“One hundred and fifty dollars saved in not
+entertaining Miss Gregory—pray who is Miss
+Gregory?”</p>
+
+<p>“That society belle from Newport who has been
+staying with the Darley-Jameses.”</p>
+
+<p>“How does she come into your expenditures?”</p>
+
+<p>“She doesn’t come in,” said Margaretta, with satisfaction.
+“I haven’t done a thing for her beyond
+being polite and talking to her whenever I get a
+chance, and, oh, yes—I did give her a drive.”</p>
+
+<p>“Well, but—”</p>
+
+<p>“Let me explain. If I hadn’t been taken with a
+fit of economy, I would, in the natural order of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[47]</a></span>
+things, have made a dinner for Miss Gregory. I
+would have had a picnic, and perhaps a big evening
+party. Think what it would have cost—you remember
+Mrs. Handfell?”</p>
+
+<p>Her husband made a face.</p>
+
+<p>“You never liked her, and I did wrong to have
+her here so much. Well, Roger, do you know I
+spent a large sum of money in entertaining that
+woman? I am ashamed to tell you how much. I
+had her here, morning, noon, and night. I took her
+up the river—you remember the decorated boats
+and the delightful music. It was charming, but we
+could not afford it, and when I went to New York
+she met me on Fifth Avenue, and said, ‘Oh, how
+do you do—so glad to see you. Be sure to call
+while you are here. My day is Friday.’ Then she
+swept away. That was a society woman who had
+graciously allowed me to amuse her during her
+summer trip to Maine. I was so hurt about it that
+I never told you.”</p>
+
+<p>“What an empty head,” said Roger, picking up
+the list.</p>
+
+<p>“It taught me a lesson,” continued his wife.
+“Now go on—do read the other things.”</p>
+
+<p>His eyes had run down to the total. “Whew,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[48]</a></span>
+Margaretta!—you don’t mean to say you have
+saved all this in a month?”</p>
+
+<p>“Yes, I do.”</p>
+
+<p>“I haven’t felt any tightening in your household
+arrangements. Why, at what a rate were we living?”</p>
+
+<p>“At a careless rate,” said Margaretta, seriously,
+“a careless, slipshod rate. I bought everything I
+wanted. Flowers, in spite of our greenhouse, fruit
+and vegetables out of season, in spite of our garden,
+but now I look in the shop windows and say
+with a person I was reading about the other day,
+‘Why, how many things there are I can do without,’—and
+with all my economy I have yet managed
+to squeeze out something for Grandma. I
+just made her take it.”</p>
+
+<p>Roger’s face flushed. “Margaretta, if you will
+keep this thing going, we won’t have to give up
+this house.”</p>
+
+<p>“I’ll keep it going,” said Margaretta, solemnly,
+“you shall not leave this house. It would be a
+blow to your honest pride.”</p>
+
+<p>The young man was deeply moved, and, lifting
+his face to the pale, rising young moon, he murmured,
+“Thank God for a good wife.” Then he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[49]</a></span>
+turned to her. “I wish some other men starting
+out in life had such a helper as you.”</p>
+
+<p>“Oh, wish them a better one,” said Margaretta,
+humbly; “but I know what you mean, Roger. A
+man cannot succeed unless his wife helps him.”</p>
+
+<p>“Sometimes it makes me furious,” said Roger,
+warmly. “I see fellows down-town, young fellows,
+too, working early and late, straining every nerve
+to keep up the extravagance of some thoughtless
+young wife. Why don’t the women think? Men
+hate to complain.”</p>
+
+<p>Margaretta hung her head. Then she lifted it,
+and said, apologetically, “Perhaps they haven’t had
+wise grandmothers.”</p>
+
+<p>Roger smiled. “Upon my word, a man in choosing
+a wife ought to look first at the girl’s grandmother.”</p>
+
+<div class="poetry-container">
+<div class="poetry">
+<div class="verse">“‘My grandma lives on yonder little green,</div>
+<div class="verse">Fine old lady as ever was seen.’”</div>
+</div>
+</div>
+
+<p class="noindent">chanted a gay voice.</p>
+
+<p>“Bonny,” exclaimed Margaretta, flying out of
+her seat.</p>
+
+<p>They were a remarkable pair as they came up
+the gravel walk together—the tall lad and the
+tall girl, both light-haired, both blue of eyes, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[50]</a></span>
+pink, and white, and smooth as to complexion like
+a pair of babies.</p>
+
+<p>The elder man stared at them admiringly. Bonny
+was the baby of the orphan family that the sterling
+old grandmother had brought up. Strange that
+the grandson of such a woman had so little character,
+and Roger sighed slightly. Bonny was a mere
+boy, thoughtless, fond of fun, and too much of a
+favourite with the gay lads about the town. However,
+he might develop, and Roger’s face brightened.</p>
+
+<p>“Oh, you dear Bonny,” said Margaretta, pressing
+his arm, “it was so good in you to remember your
+promise to come and tell me about your afternoon
+on the river. You had a pleasant time, of course.”</p>
+
+<p>“Glorious,” said the lad. “The water was like
+glass, and we had a regular fleet of canoes. I say,
+Margaretta, I like that chap from Boston. Do
+something for him, won’t you?”</p>
+
+<p>“Certainly, Bonny, what do you want me to do?”</p>
+
+<p>“Make him some kind of a water-party.”</p>
+
+<p>Margaretta became troubled. “How many people
+do you want to invite?”</p>
+
+<p>“Oh, about sixty.”</p>
+
+<p>“Don’t you think if we had three or four of
+your chosen friends he would enjoy it just as
+much?”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[51]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>“No, I don’t; what do you think, Roger?”</p>
+
+<p>“I don’t know about him. I hate crowds myself.”</p>
+
+<p>“I like them,” said Bonny. “Come, Margaretta,
+decide.”</p>
+
+<p>“Oh, my dear, spoiled boy,” said the girl, in
+perplexity, “I would give a party to all Riverport
+if it would please you, but I am trying dreadfully
+hard to economize. Those large things cost so
+much.”</p>
+
+<p>Bonny opened wide his big blue eyes. “You are
+not getting mean, Margaretta?”</p>
+
+<p>“No, no, my heart feels more generous than
+ever, but I see that this eternal entertaining on a
+big scale doesn’t amount to much. Once in awhile
+a huge affair is nice, but to keep it up week after
+week is a waste of time and energy, and you don’t
+make real friends.”</p>
+
+<p>“All right,” said Bonny, good-naturedly. “I’ll
+take him for a swim. That won’t cost anything.”</p>
+
+<p>“Now, Bonny,” said Margaretta, in an injured
+voice, “don’t misunderstand me. We’ll have a
+little excursion on the river, if you like, with half
+a dozen of your friends, and I’ll give you a good
+big party this summer—you would rather have it
+later on, wouldn’t you, when there are more girls
+visiting here?”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[52]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>“Yes, indeed, let us wait for the girls,” said
+Bonny.</p>
+
+<p>“And in the meantime,” continued Margaretta,
+“bring the Boston boy here as often as you like,
+to drop in to meals. I shall be delighted to see
+him, and so will you, Roger, won’t you?”</p>
+
+<p>“Don’t know what you’re talking about,” said
+the young man, who had gone off into a reverie,
+“but it’s all right if you say so.”</p>
+
+<p>Bonny laughed at him, then, jumping up, said,
+“I must be going.”</p>
+
+<p>“Where’s the dog, Margaretta?” asked Roger.
+“I’ll walk home with the boy.”</p>
+
+<p>“But your headache,” said his wife.</p>
+
+<p>“Is all gone—that prescription cured it,” said
+the young man, with a meaning glance at the
+sheet of note-paper clasped in his wife’s hand.</p>
+
+<p>She smiled and waved it at him. “Wives’ cold
+cash salve for the cure of husbands’ headaches.”</p>
+
+<p>“What kind of a salve is that?” asked Bonny,
+curiously.</p>
+
+<p>“Wait till you have a house of your own, Bonny,”
+said his sister, caressingly, “and I will tell you.”</p>
+
+<p>Then, as the man and the boy walked slowly
+away, she slipped into the hammock and turned her
+face up to the lovely evening sky.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[53]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>“Little moon, I call you to witness I have begun
+a countermarch. I’m never more going to spend
+all the money I get, even if I have to earn some of
+it with my own hands!”</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[54]</a></span></p>
+
+<h2 id="CHAPTER_V">CHAPTER V.<br />
+<span class="smaller">THE TRAINING OF A BOY</span></h2>
+
+<p>Roger, sitting in his office at the iron works, from
+time to time raised his grave face to look at Bonny,
+who was fidgeting restlessly about the room.</p>
+
+<p>Next to his wife, Roger loved his young brother-in-law,—the
+fair-haired, genial lad, everybody’s
+favourite, no one’s enemy but his own.</p>
+
+<p>He wondered why the boy had come to him.
+Probably he was in some scrape and wanted help.</p>
+
+<p>Presently the boy flung himself round upon him.
+“Roger—why don’t some of you good people try
+to reform me?”</p>
+
+<p>Roger leaned back in his chair and stared at
+the disturbed young face.</p>
+
+<p>“Come, now, don’t say that you don’t think I
+need reformation,” said the boy, mockingly.</p>
+
+<p>“I guess we all need that,” replied his brother-in-law,
+soberly, “but you come of pretty good stock,
+Bonny.”</p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;" id="illus3">
+<img src="images/illus3.jpg" width="500" height="650" alt="" />
+<p class="caption">“‘WHY DON’T SOME OF YOU GOOD PEOPLE TRY TO REFORM ME?’”</p>
+</div>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[55]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>“The stock’s all right. That’s why I’m afraid of
+breaking loose and disgracing it.”</p>
+
+<p>“What have you been doing?” asked Roger,
+kindly.</p>
+
+<p>“I haven’t been doing anything,” said the boy,
+sullenly. “It’s what I may do that I’m afraid of.”</p>
+
+<p>Roger said nothing. He was just casting about
+in his mind for a suitable reply, when the boy went
+on. “If you’ve been brought up just like a parson,
+and had all kinds of sentiments and good thoughts
+lived at you, and then don’t rise to the goodness
+you’re bursting with, it’s bound to rebel and give
+you a bad time.”</p>
+
+<p>The man, having got a clue to the boy’s mental
+trouble, hastened to say, “You act all right. I
+shouldn’t say you were unhappy.”</p>
+
+<p>“Act!” repeated the boy. “Act, acting, actors,
+actresses,—that’s what we all are. Now I’d like
+to have a good time. I don’t think I’m far out of
+the way; but there’s Grandma—she just makes
+me rage. Such goings on!”</p>
+
+<p>“What has your grandmother been doing?”</p>
+
+<p>“She hasn’t done much, and she hasn’t said a
+word, but, hang it! there’s more in what Grandma
+doesn’t say than there is in what other women do
+say.”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[56]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>“You’re right there, my boy.”</p>
+
+<p>“Now, what did she want to go give me a latch-key
+for?” asked the boy, in an aggrieved tone,
+“just after I’d started coming in a little later than
+usual? Why don’t she say, ‘My dear boy, you
+are on the road to ruin. Staying out late is the
+first step. May I not beg of you to do better, my
+dear young grandson? Otherwise you will bring
+down my gray hairs with sorrow to the grave.’”</p>
+
+<p>“This is what she didn’t say?” asked Roger,
+gravely.</p>
+
+<p>“This is what she didn’t say,” repeated the boy,
+crossly, “but this is what she felt. I know her!
+The latch-key was a bit of tomfoolery. An extra
+lump of sugar in my coffee is more tomfoolery.”</p>
+
+<p>“Do you want her to preach to you?”</p>
+
+<p>“No,” snarled the handsome lad. “I don’t want
+her to preach, and I don’t want you to preach, and
+I don’t want my sisters to preach, but I want some
+one to do something for me.”</p>
+
+<p>“State your case in a more businesslike way,”
+said the elder man, gravely. “I don’t understand.”</p>
+
+<p>“You know I’m in the National Bank,” said
+Bonny, shortly.</p>
+
+<p>“Certainly I know that.”</p>
+
+<p>“Grandma put me there a year ago. I don’t<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[57]</a></span>
+object to the bank, if I’ve got to work. It’s as
+easy as anything I could get, and I hate study.”</p>
+
+<p>Roger nodded.</p>
+
+<p>“Being in the bank, I’d like to rise,” Bonny went
+on, irritably, “but somehow or other there seems
+a little prejudice in the air against me. Has any
+one said anything to you?”</p>
+
+<p>“Not a word.”</p>
+
+<p>The boy drew a long breath. “Perhaps it’s partly
+imagination. They’re very down on fun in our
+bank. Now when hours are over, and I come
+out, there’s a whole gang of nice fellows ready to
+do anything that’s going. Sometimes we play
+billiards. On fine days we’re always on the river.
+There’s no harm in that, is there?”</p>
+
+<p>“Not that I see,” observed Roger, cautiously.</p>
+
+<p>“Then, when evening comes, and we want to
+sit down somewhere, we have a quiet little game of
+cards. There’s no harm in that, is there?”</p>
+
+<p>“Do you play for money?”</p>
+
+<p>“Sometimes—well, perhaps nearly always, but
+there’s no harm in that, is there?”</p>
+
+<p>“Let me hear the rest of your story.”</p>
+
+<p>“Sometimes I’m late getting home. We get interested,
+but that’s nothing. I’m almost a man. Five
+hours’ sleep is enough for me.”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[58]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>A long pause followed, broken finally by Roger,
+who said, calmly, “You have given an account of
+your time. What is wrong with it?”</p>
+
+<p>“It’s all wrong,” blurted the boy, “and you
+know it.”</p>
+
+<p>“I haven’t said so.”</p>
+
+<p>“But you feel it. You’re just like Grandma—bother
+it! Don’t I know she thinks I ought to
+spend my evenings at home, reading about banking,
+so as to work myself up to a president’s chair?”</p>
+
+<p>“Don’t you get any time for reading through the
+day?”</p>
+
+<p>“How can I?” said the boy, eloquently, “when
+I was almost brought up out-of-doors, and as soon
+as the bank closes every square inch of flesh of
+me is squealing to get on the river. Now what
+do you think I ought to do?”</p>
+
+<p>“It’s a puzzling case,” said Roger, with a slow
+shake of his head. “According to your own account,
+you are leading a blameless life. Yet, according
+to the same account, you are not happy in it,
+though no one is finding fault with you.”</p>
+
+<p>“No one finding fault!” said the boy, sulkily.
+“Why, the very stones in the street stare at me
+and say, ‘Animal! Animal! you don’t care for<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[59]</a></span>
+anything but fun. You’d skip the bank every day if
+you dared.’”</p>
+
+<p>“Why don’t you?”</p>
+
+<p>Bonny gave himself a resounding thwack on
+the chest. “Because,” he said, “Grandma has
+planted something here that won’t be downed.
+Something that won’t let me have a good time
+when I know she isn’t pleased with me. Sometimes
+I get so mad that I think I will run away, but that
+wouldn’t do any good, for she’d run with me. She’d
+haunt my dreams—I don’t know what I’m going
+to do!”</p>
+
+<p>Roger, carefully concealing all signs of compassion,
+gazed steadily at the distressed face. “Do
+you want to break away from your set?” he asked,
+at last.</p>
+
+<p>“No, I don’t. They’re good fellows.”</p>
+
+<p>“Well, what are you going to do about that bad
+feeling inside of you?”</p>
+
+<p>“I don’t know,” said Bonny, bitterly. “I know
+Grandma thinks I’m going to be like Walt Everest,
+big and fat and jolly, and everybody’s chum, who
+can sing a song, and dance a jig, and never does
+any business, and never will amount to anything.”</p>
+
+<p>“Did she ever say so?”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[60]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>“No,” growled the boy, “but don’t I tell you I
+know what Grandma’s thinking about?”</p>
+
+<p>“How does your sister Berty take you?” asked
+Roger.</p>
+
+<p>“Just like Grandma,” blazed the boy, in sudden
+wrath, “never says a word but a pleasant one,
+catches me in a corner and kisses me—kisses me!—just
+think of it!”</p>
+
+<p>Roger thought deeply for a few minutes, while
+Bonny took up his miserable ramble about the room.</p>
+
+<p>“Look here, boy,” he said, finally. “You do as
+I tell you for a week. Begin from this minute.
+Read that magazine, then go home with me to
+dinner. After dinner come back here and help me.
+I’m working on some accounts for a time. That
+will be an excuse to the boys for not playing cards.”</p>
+
+<p>Bonny’s face was clearing. “A good excuse,
+too,” he muttered. “If I said I was going with
+Grandma or the girls, they’d laugh at me.”</p>
+
+<p>“You tell them you are working on my books,
+and I am paying you. That will shut their mouths,
+and you’ll not object to the extra money.”</p>
+
+<p>“I guess I won’t. I’m hard pushed all the time.”</p>
+
+<p>“Don’t you save anything from your salary for
+Grandma?” asked Roger, keenly.</p>
+
+<p>“How can I?” said the boy, indignantly. “She<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[61]</a></span>
+has brought me up to be clean. It takes nearly
+everything I get to pay my laundry bill—I dare
+say you think I’m a brute to be so selfish.”</p>
+
+<p>“I’ll send you home every night at ten, and
+mind you go to bed,” said Roger, calmly. “Five
+hours’ sleep is not enough for a boy of eighteen.
+Get up in the morning and go to the bank. As
+soon as it closes in the afternoon I’ll have business
+in Cloverdale that will take you on a drive there.”</p>
+
+<p>“You’re a daisy, Roger,” said Bonny, in a low
+voice.</p>
+
+<p>Roger cast down his eyes. That flushed, disturbed
+face reminded him of his own beautiful Margaretta.
+Pray Heaven, he would never see such
+trouble and dissatisfaction in her blue eyes.</p>
+
+<p>Bonny had already thrown himself into a deep
+leather-covered armchair, and was apparently absorbed
+in the magazine. Presently he looked up.
+“Roger, don’t you tell the girls what I’ve been
+saying.”</p>
+
+<p>“No, I won’t.”</p>
+
+<p>“Nor Grandma.”</p>
+
+<p>“No, nor Grandma.”</p>
+
+<p>But Grandma knew. There was no hoodwinking
+that dear, shrewd old lady, and when next she met
+Roger, which was the following morning, as he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[62]</a></span>
+was on his way to his office, and she was on her
+way to call on his wife, her deep-set eyes glistened
+strangely, and instead of saying “Good morning,
+dear grandson-in-law,” as she usually did, she said
+“Good morning, dear son.” She considered him as
+much one of the family as her three beloved orphan
+grandchildren.</p>
+
+<p>Yes, Grandma knew, and Grandma approved of
+what he was doing for her poor, wilful, troubled
+Bonny.</p>
+
+<p>Every evening for five evenings the lad came to
+the iron works, and steadfastly set his young face
+to the sober, unexciting examination of dull rows
+of figures, stretching indefinitely across white pages.</p>
+
+<p>On the fifth night something went wrong with
+him. In the first place, he was late in coming.
+In the second place, his nerves seemed to be stretched
+to their utmost tension.</p>
+
+<p>“What’s up with you?” asked Roger, when, after
+a few minutes’ work Bonny pushed aside the big
+books, and said, “I’m going home.”</p>
+
+<p>“I’m tired,” said Bonny. “I hate this bookkeeping.”</p>
+
+<p>“All right,” said his brother-in-law, composedly.
+“I’m tired myself. Let’s have a game of chess.”</p>
+
+<p>“I hate chess,” said Bonny, sulkily.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[63]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>“I wonder whether it’s too early for supper?”
+asked Roger, good-humouredly getting up and going
+to a closet.</p>
+
+<p>He looked over his shoulder at Bonny as he spoke.
+Every night at half-past nine he was in the habit
+of producing cakes, candy, syrup, fruit, and nuts
+for the boy’s supper. It was not very long since
+he had been a boy himself, and he remembered his
+chronic craving for sweet things.</p>
+
+<p>“You’re always stuffing me,” replied Bonny, disagreeably.
+“You think you’ll make me good-natured.”</p>
+
+<p>“What’s the matter with you, Bonny?” asked
+Roger, closing the door and returning to his seat.</p>
+
+<p>“I don’t know what’s the matter with me,”
+snarled Bonny, miserably, rolling his head about
+on his folded arms resting on the table. “I hate
+everything and everybody. I could kill you, Roger.”</p>
+
+<p>“All right—there’s a pair of Indian clubs over
+there in the corner,” said his brother-in-law, cheerfully.</p>
+
+<p>“I thought I’d be an angel after a few nights’
+association with you,” continued the lad, “and you
+make me feel worse than ever.”</p>
+
+<p>“Looks as if I were a bad sort of a fellow,
+doesn’t it?” remarked Roger, philosophically.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[64]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>“You’re not bad,” snapped Bonny. “You’re a
+tremendous good sort. I’m the brute. Roger, why
+don’t you preach to me?”</p>
+
+<p>For some time Roger stared at him in silence;
+then he said, “Seems to me you can preach better
+to yourself. If I were going to set up for a preacher
+I’d only hold forth to the impenitent.”</p>
+
+<p>“The fellows are going to a dance at Hickey’s
+to-night,” said Bonny, suddenly pounding on the
+table with his fist, “and I’m not in it, and then at
+midnight they’re going to see the circus arrive, and
+I’m not in that.”</p>
+
+<p>“At Hickey’s—where is that?”</p>
+
+<p>“Up the road; don’t you know?”</p>
+
+<p>“Oh, yes; rather gay people, aren’t they?”</p>
+
+<p>“Well, they’re not in Margaretta’s set; but then
+she is mighty particular.”</p>
+
+<p>“Would you take her there if she cared to go?”</p>
+
+<p>“No, I wouldn’t—well, go on, Roger.”</p>
+
+<p>“Go on where?” asked the elder man, in slight
+bewilderment.</p>
+
+<p>“To embrace your opportunity—administer a
+rebuke—cuff a sinner,” sneered Bonny.</p>
+
+<p>Roger grinned at him.</p>
+
+<p>“My dear boy,” began Bonny, in an exasperated
+tone, “let me exhort, admonish, and counsel you<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[65]</a></span>
+never to go to any place, or visit any resort, or indulge
+in any society where you could not take your
+venerable grandmother and your beloved sisters.”</p>
+
+<p>“Not bad for a beginner,” said Roger, patronizingly.</p>
+
+<p>“I’m going,” said the boy, abruptly jumping up.
+“I feel as if I should fly in fifty pieces if I stayed
+here any longer—till I see you again, Roger.”</p>
+
+<p>He was already on the threshold, but Roger
+sauntered after him. “Hold on a bit—four days
+ago you came to me in something of a pickle.”</p>
+
+<p>“You bet your iron works I did,” replied Bonny.</p>
+
+<p>“I helped you out of it.”</p>
+
+<p>“I guess you did.”</p>
+
+<p>“For four evenings you have come here and
+helped me, and I am going to pay you well for it.”</p>
+
+<p>“Glory on your head, you are,” said Bonny,
+wildly.</p>
+
+<p>“In these four days,” continued Roger, “you
+have been early at the bank—you have done your
+work faithfully there. You have not shirked.”</p>
+
+<p>“Not a hair’s breadth, and mighty tired I am of
+it. I’m sick of reformation. I’m going to be just
+as bad as I can be. Hurrah for Hickey’s,” and he
+was just about darting off, when Roger caught him
+by the arm.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[66]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>“Listen to me for a minute. I ask you to give
+me one day more. Stay here with me to-night.
+Do your work as usual. Go home to bed. Fill in
+to-morrow properly, then in the evening, at this
+time, if you want to go back to your old silly tricks,
+go. I wash my hands of you.”</p>
+
+<p>Bonny turned his face longingly toward the city,
+thought deeply for a few minutes, then retraced his
+steps. “I’ll be good to-night,” he said, threateningly,
+“but just you wait till to-morrow night
+comes.”</p>
+
+<p>“You’ve got a conscience,” said Roger, sternly;
+“if you choose to choke it and play the fool, no one
+is strong enough to hold you—pass me that ledger,
+will you?”</p>
+
+<p>“Oh, shut up,” blurted Bonny, under his
+breath. However, he sat down quietly enough, and
+did his work until the clock struck ten.</p>
+
+<p>Then he stifled a yawn, jumped up, and said, “I’m
+going now.”</p>
+
+<p>“Mind, seven-thirty to-morrow evening,” said
+Roger, stiffly.</p>
+
+<p>“All right; seven-thirty for once more, and only
+once,” said Bonny, with glistening eyes, “for once
+more and only once! I’m tired of your stuffy old
+office, and strait-laced ways.”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[67]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>“Good night,” said Roger, kindly, “and don’t
+be a fool.”</p>
+
+<p>Bonny ran like a fox down the long lane leading
+to the city. “He’s making for his burrow,”
+said Roger, with a weary smile. “He’s a scamp, but
+you can trust him if he once gives his word. I
+wish I were a better sort of a man,” and with
+mingled reverence and humility he lifted his gaze
+to the stars. “If that boy is going to be saved,
+something has got to be done mighty quick!”</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[68]</a></span></p>
+
+<h2 id="CHAPTER_VI">CHAPTER VI.<br />
+<span class="smaller">BONNY’S ORDEAL</span></h2>
+
+<p>“What’s the matter, Roger?” asked his wife,
+when he went home.</p>
+
+<p>“Nothing,” said the young man, wearily, but
+he went to bed early, and, rising early the next
+morning, strode off to the iron works without taking
+his breakfast.</p>
+
+<p>How he loved the handsome lad, his wife’s
+double. What could he do, what could he say?
+Until now he had considered the boy inferior in
+character to his two sisters. But, as he had often
+assured himself, the stock was good, and the strength
+and energy latent in Bonny were now looming to
+the fore. He was emerging from boyhood into
+manhood, and his childish, happy-go-lucky disposition
+of youth was warring with the growing forces
+of more mature age.</p>
+
+<p>The morning wore on, and his gloominess increased,
+until his father shortly told him that he
+didn’t look well, and he had better go home.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[69]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>“I’m all right,” Roger was saying, almost harshly,
+when there was a ring at his telephone. The
+National Bank wanted to speak to him.</p>
+
+<p>“Hello,” said Roger.</p>
+
+<p>“Can you come up to the bank?” asked some one,
+in a jerky voice. “Have had a robbery—young
+Gravely hurt.”</p>
+
+<p>Roger dashed from his seat, seized his hat, and
+with a hurried word to his father, rushed outside.</p>
+
+<p>A delivery-cart was standing before the door.
+He did not stop to see whose it was, but seizing the
+reins, urged the horse toward the centre of the city.</p>
+
+<p>There was a crowd around the bank, but the
+cordon of police let him through. Inside was a
+group of bank officials, reporters, and detectives.</p>
+
+<p>The president’s face was flushed and angry.
+“Yes we have had a loss,” he said to Roger. “Oh,
+young Gravely—his grandmother came for him.”</p>
+
+<p>Roger elbowed his way out and took a cab to
+River Street.</p>
+
+<p>Here it was quiet. The noise of the bank robbery
+had not reached this neighbourhood. He ran
+up-stairs three steps at a time to Bonny’s large room
+in the top of the house, and softly pushed open the
+door.</p>
+
+<p>Bonny was in bed. Grandma, Berty, a woman of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[70]</a></span>
+the neighbourhood, and a doctor were bending over
+him.</p>
+
+<p>Roger could see that the boy’s face was pale and
+bandaged.</p>
+
+<p>“Bonny,” he said, involuntarily.</p>
+
+<p>The boy heard him and opened his eyes.</p>
+
+<p>“All right, Roger,” he murmured, feebly. “I
+stood by the fort, but I—guess—you’ll—have—to—excuse—me—to-night,”
+and his voice trailed
+off into unconsciousness.</p>
+
+<p>The doctor looked impatiently over his shoulder,
+and Roger crept out into the hall.</p>
+
+<p>Grandma sent Berty after him. “Oh, Roger,”
+she whispered, “we had such a fright.”</p>
+
+<p>“What is it—how was it?” asked Roger,
+eagerly.</p>
+
+<p>“Why, the circus-parade was passing the bank.
+Every clerk but Bonny left his desk to go look
+at it. They don’t seem to know why he stayed.
+When the parade passed, and the clerks went back,
+he was lying on the floor with his face and head
+cut.”</p>
+
+<p>“I know why he stayed,” muttered Roger. “He
+was trying to do his duty. Thank God, he was
+not killed. Is he much hurt?”</p>
+
+<p>“Some bad flesh wounds. The doctor says he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[71]</a></span>
+must be kept quiet, but he doesn’t think his brain
+is injured. Oh, Roger, we are so thankful his life
+was spared.”</p>
+
+<p>“Probably the thieves didn’t try to kill him. If
+I can do nothing, I’ll go find out something about
+the affair. I must telephone Margaretta. She will
+be upset if she hears from strangers.”</p>
+
+<p>“Yes, go,” said Berty, “and ask her to come to
+us.”</p>
+
+<p>Late that evening, the doctor, to quiet his feverish
+patient, permitted him to have five minutes’ conversation
+with his brother-in-law.</p>
+
+<p>Roger seized the hand lying on the coverlet, and
+pressed it silently.</p>
+
+<p>“Did they catch the thieves?” asked Bonny,
+huskily.</p>
+
+<p>“One of them, my boy—how do you think the
+detectives made sure of him?”</p>
+
+<p>“Don’t know.”</p>
+
+<p>“He was hanging around the circus-crowd, trying
+to mix up with it—he had some of your yellow
+hairs on his coat-sleeve.”</p>
+
+<p>Bonny smiled faintly.</p>
+
+<p>“The police expect him to turn State’s evidence,”
+continued Roger.</p>
+
+<p>“How much did the bank lose?”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[72]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>“Fifteen thousand dollars.”</p>
+
+<p>“But they’ll get it back, Roger?”</p>
+
+<p>“Yes, if they catch the other fellow, and they’re
+sure to do it. Bonny, you’re not to talk. Just tell
+me if this is straight—I want it for the papers.
+You stood at your desk, all the others ran to the
+street door. Then—”</p>
+
+<p>“Then,” said Bonny, “I was mad. I wanted to
+look at the circus, but I had promised you not to
+shirk. But I just gritted my teeth as I stood there.
+I was staring after the others when I heard a little
+noise in the president’s room. I turned round, and
+saw a man peeping out. I had no revolver, and I
+didn’t know where Danvers kept his, and like an
+idiot I never thought to scream. I just grabbed
+for Buckley’s camera. You know he is a photographic
+fiend.”</p>
+
+<p>“Yes,” smiled Roger, and he thought of what
+the captured thief had asked one of the policemen
+guarding him: “How’s that gritty little demon that
+tried to snap us?”</p>
+
+<p>“I was just pressing the button,” went on Bonny,
+“when the man leaped like a cat, and, first thing I
+knew, he was smashing me over the head with that
+camera. There was such a row in the street that
+the others didn’t hear it.”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[73]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>“Five minutes are up,” said the doctor, coming
+into the room.</p>
+
+<p>“One minute, Roger,” said the boy, feebly. “I
+had a second before I got whacked, and in that
+second I thought, ‘Here’s a specimen of the leisure
+class toward which I am drifting. I’ll stay with
+the workers,’ so, Roger, we’ll not call off that contract
+of ours to-night.”</p>
+
+<p>“All right,” said Roger, beaming on him, and
+backing toward the door. “It’s to stand—for how
+long?”</p>
+
+<p>“For ever!” said the boy, with sudden force,
+just as the doctor gently pushed him back on his
+pillow, and, putting a teaspoonful of medicine to
+his lips, said, “Now, young sir, you take this.”</p>
+
+<p>Roger, with a smiling face, sought Grandma and
+Berty on the veranda at the back of the house.
+“He’ll be all right in a day or two.”</p>
+
+<p>“Yes, it is the shock that has upset him more
+than the wounds,” said Berty. “The burglars only
+wanted to silence him.”</p>
+
+<p>“Grandma, do you know the bank is going to
+discharge every man-Jack but Bonny?” said Roger.</p>
+
+<p>Grandma’s eyes sparkled, then she became
+thoughtful.</p>
+
+<p>“What, all those old fellows?” exclaimed Berty.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[74]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>“Bonny won’t stay,” said Grandma, quietly.
+“He would feel like a prig.”</p>
+
+<p>“I am going to take him in the iron works with
+me,” said Roger. “I won’t be denied. He will
+make a first-class business man.”</p>
+
+<p>“Under your tuition,” said Grandma, with a
+proud look at him.</p>
+
+<p>“Hush,” said Berty, “the newsboys are calling
+an extra.”</p>
+
+<p>They all listened. “Extry edeetion <cite>Evening
+Noose</cite>—cap-tchure of the second burrgg-lar of the
+great bank robbery.”</p>
+
+<p>“Good,” cried Berty, “they’ve caught the second
+man. Roger, dear, go get us a paper.”</p>
+
+<p>The young man ran nimbly down-stairs.</p>
+
+<p>“How he loves Bonny!” said Berty. “What a
+good brother-in-law!”</p>
+
+<p>Grandma said nothing, but her inscrutable gaze
+went away down the river.</p>
+
+<p>“And, Grandma,” went on Berty, “let me tell
+you what Bonny whispered to me before I left the
+room. He said, ‘I’ve sometimes got mad with
+Grandma for always harping on keeping the family
+together, but I see now that if you keep your own
+family together, you keep your business family together.’”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[75]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>Grandma did not reply. Her gaze was still down
+the river, but the girl, watching her lips, saw them
+softly form the words, “Thank God!”</p>
+
+<p>Bonny’s ordeal was past, and it had better fitted
+him for other and perhaps more severe ordeals in
+his life to come.</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[76]</a></span></p>
+
+<h2 id="CHAPTER_VII">CHAPTER VII.<br />
+<span class="smaller">BERTY IMPARTS INFORMATION</span></h2>
+
+<p>Mrs. Stanisfield was making her way to her
+roof-garden.</p>
+
+<p>“If any callers come,” she said to her parlour-maid,
+“bring them up here.”</p>
+
+<p>Presently there was an exclamation, “What
+cheer!”</p>
+
+<p>Margaretta looked around. Her irrepressible sister
+Berty stood in the French window, her dark
+head thrust forward inquiringly.</p>
+
+<p>“Come out, dear,” said Mrs. Stanisfield, “I am
+alone.”</p>
+
+<p>“I want to have a talk,” said Berty, coming forward,
+“and have you anything to eat? I am hungry
+as a guinea-pig.”</p>
+
+<p>“There is a freezer of ice-cream over there behind
+those azaleas—the cake is in a covered dish.”</p>
+
+<p>Berty dipped out a saucerful of ice-cream, cut
+herself a good-sized piece of cake, and then took a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[77]</a></span>
+low seat near her sister, who was examining her
+curiously.</p>
+
+<p>“Berty,” said Margaretta, suddenly, “you have
+something to tell me.”</p>
+
+<p>Berty laughed. “How queer things are. Two
+months ago we had plenty of money. Then
+Grandma lost everything. We had to go and live
+in that old gone-to-seed mansion on River Street—you
+know what a dirty street it is?”</p>
+
+<p>“Yes, I know—I wish I didn’t.”</p>
+
+<p>“I’m not sorry we went. I’ve had such experiences.
+I thought I wouldn’t tell you, Margaretta,
+till all was over. You might worry.”</p>
+
+<p>“What have you been doing?” asked Margaretta,
+anxiously.</p>
+
+<p>“You remember how the neighbours thought
+we were missionaries when we first moved to the
+street?”</p>
+
+<p>“Yes, I do.”</p>
+
+<p>“And when I spoke sharply to a slow workman,
+an impudent boy called out that the missionary was
+mad?”</p>
+
+<p>“Yes, I recall it—what neighbours!”</p>
+
+<p>“I shall never forget that first evening,” said
+Berty, musingly. “Grandma and I were sitting by
+the fire—so tired after the moving—when a dozen<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[78]</a></span>
+of those half-washed women came edging in with
+Bibles and hymn-books under their arms.”</p>
+
+<p>“It was detestable,” said Margaretta, with a
+shrug of her shoulders, “but does it not worry you
+to repeat all this?”</p>
+
+<p>“No, dearest, I am working up to something.
+You remember the women informed us in a mousie
+way that they had come to have a prayer-meeting,
+and I cuttingly told them that we weren’t ready for
+callers. Dear Grandma tried to smooth it over by
+saying that while we had a great respect for religious
+workers, we did not belong to them, but her salve
+didn’t cover the wound my tongue had made.”</p>
+
+<p>“What do you mean?” asked Margaretta.</p>
+
+<p>“Here begins the part that is new to you,” said
+Berty, jubilantly. “To snub one’s neighbours is
+a dangerous thing. Every tin can and every decrepit
+vegetable in our yard next morning eloquently proclaimed
+this truth.”</p>
+
+<p>“You don’t mean to say they had dared—”</p>
+
+<p>“Had dared and done—and our yard had just
+been so nicely cleaned. Well, I was pretty mad, but
+I said nothing. Next morning there was more rubbish—I
+went into the street. There was no policeman
+in sight, so I went to the city hall. Underneath<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[79]</a></span>
+is a place, you know, where policemen lounge
+till they have to go on their beats.”</p>
+
+<p>“No, I don’t know. I never was in the city
+hall in my life. You didn’t go alone, Berty?”</p>
+
+<p>“Yes, I did—why shouldn’t I? I’m a free-born
+American citizen. Our grandfather was one
+of the leading men of this city. His taxes helped
+to build that hall. I’ve a right there, if I want to
+go.”</p>
+
+<p>“But without a chaperon, and you are so young,
+and—and—”</p>
+
+<p>“Beautiful.”</p>
+
+<p>“I was going to say pretty,” remarked Margaretta,
+severely.</p>
+
+<p>“Beautiful is stronger,” said Berty, calmly.
+“What a lovely view you have from this roof-garden,
+Margaretta. How it must tranquillize you
+to gaze at those trees and flower-beds when anything
+worries you.”</p>
+
+<p>“Do go on, Berty—what did you do at the city
+hall?”</p>
+
+<p>“A big policeman asked what I wanted. I
+thought of one of dear grandfather’s sayings,
+‘Never deal with subordinates if you can get at
+principals,’ so I said, ‘I want to see your head
+man.’”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[80]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>“That’s an African tribe expression, I think,”
+murmured Margaretta.</p>
+
+<p>“Evidently, for he grinned and said, ‘Oh, the
+chief,’ and he opened the door of a private office”.</p>
+
+<p>“Another big man sat like a mountain behind a
+table. He didn’t get up when I went in—just
+looked at me.”</p>
+
+<p>“‘Are you over the police of this city?’” I asked.</p>
+
+<p>“‘I am,’ he said.</p>
+
+<p>“‘Well,’ I said, ‘I’ve come to apply to you for
+protection. My neighbours throw tin cans in my
+back yard every night, and I don’t like it.’</p>
+
+<p>“He grinned from ear to ear, and asked me where
+I lived.</p>
+
+<p>“‘On River Street,’ I said.</p>
+
+<p>“He gave a whistle and stared at me. I didn’t
+have on anything remarkable—only a black cloth
+walking-skirt with a round hat, and that plain-looking
+white shirt-waist you gave me with the pretty
+handwork.”</p>
+
+<p>“Which cost forty dollars,” said Margaretta, under
+her breath.</p>
+
+<p>“Well, that man stared at me,” went on Berty,
+“and then what do you think he said in an easy
+tone of voice—‘And what have you been doing
+to your neighbours, my dear?’</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[81]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>“Margaretta, I was furious. ‘Get up out of
+your seat,’ I said, in a choking voice. ‘Take that cap
+off your head, and remember that you are in the
+presence of a lady. My grandfather was the late
+Judge Travers of this city, my brother-in-law is
+Mr. Roger Stanisfield, of the Stanisfield Iron Works,
+and my great-uncle is governor of the State. I’ll
+have you put out of office if you say “my dear” to
+me again.’”</p>
+
+<p>Margaretta held her breath. Berty’s face was
+flaming at the reminiscence, and her ice-cream was
+slipping to the floor. “What did he say?” she
+gasped.</p>
+
+<p>“I wish you could have seen him, Margaretta.
+He looked like a bumptious old turkey gobbler,
+knocked all of a heap by a small-sized chicken.</p>
+
+<p>“‘I beg your pardon,’ he said, scuttling out of
+his seat, ‘I’m sure, Miss, I didn’t dream who you
+were.’</p>
+
+<p>“‘It isn’t your business to dream,’ I said, still
+furious. ‘When a woman comes to you with a complaint,
+treat her civilly. You’re nothing but the
+paid servant of the city. You don’t own the citizens
+of Riverport!’</p>
+
+<p>“That finished him. ‘I’m going now,’ I said.
+‘I don’t want to sit down. See that you attend to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[82]</a></span>
+that matter without delay,’ and I stalked out, and
+he followed me with his mouth open, and if I didn’t
+know what had happened, I’d say he was standing
+at that door yet gazing up the street after me.”</p>
+
+<p>“What did happen?” asked Margaretta, eagerly.</p>
+
+<p>“I got my back yard cleaned,” said Berty, drily.
+“Grandma says two policemen came hurrying up
+the street before I got home. They went into some
+of the houses, then women came out, and boys
+swarmed over our fence, and in an hour there wasn’t
+the ghost of a tin can left.”</p>
+
+<p>“Think of it,” said Margaretta, “what wretched
+things for you to be exposed to—what degradation!”</p>
+
+<p>“It isn’t any worse for me than for other women
+and girls,” said Berty, doggedly, “and I’m going
+to find out why River Street isn’t treated as well
+as Grand Avenue.”</p>
+
+<p>“But River Street people are poor, Berty.”</p>
+
+<p>“Suppose they are poor, aren’t they the children
+of the city?”</p>
+
+<p>“But, Berty—workmen and that sort of people
+can’t have fine houses, and horses and carriages.”</p>
+
+<p>“Not for horses and carriages, not for fine houses
+am I pleading, but for equal rights in comfort and
+decency. Would you take your cold dip every morning<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[83]</a></span>
+if you had to cross a frozen yard in winter,
+and a filthy yard in summer for every drop of water
+you use?”</p>
+
+<p>Margaretta shuddered.</p>
+
+<p>“Would you have your house kept clean if it
+were so dark that you couldn’t see the dirty corners?”</p>
+
+<p>“No, I wouldn’t,” said Margaretta, decidedly,
+“but who owns those dreadful places?”</p>
+
+<p>“You do,” said Berty, shortly.</p>
+
+<p>“I do!” said Margaretta, aghast.</p>
+
+<p>“Yes—some of them. Roger holds property
+down there in your name. All the rich people in
+the city like to invest in River Street tenements.
+They’re always packed.”</p>
+
+<p>“I won’t have it,” said Margaretta. “Roger
+shall sell out.”</p>
+
+<p>“Don’t sell—improve your property, and get
+some of the stain off your soul. Women should
+ask their husbands where they invest their money.
+Good old Mrs. Darlway, the temperance worker,
+owns a building with a saloon in it.”</p>
+
+<p>“Oh, misery!” exclaimed Margaretta, “she
+doesn’t know it, of course.”</p>
+
+<p>“No—tell her.”</p>
+
+<p>“How have you found all this out, Berty?”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[84]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>“I’ve talked to the women.”</p>
+
+<p>“What—the women of the tin can episode?”</p>
+
+<p>“Oh, they’re all over that now—they understand
+Grandma and me—and what a lot of things
+they’ve told me. Haven’t you always thought that
+policemen were noble, kind creatures, like soldiers?”</p>
+
+<p>“Yes,” said Margaretta, innocently, “aren’t
+they?”</p>
+
+<p>“They’re the most miserable of miserable sinners.”</p>
+
+<p>“Oh, Berty, surely not all!”</p>
+
+<p>“Well, I’ll be generous and leave out half a
+dozen if it will please you. The others all take
+bribes.”</p>
+
+<p>“Bribes!”</p>
+
+<p>“Yes, bribes. Did you ever see a lean policeman,
+Margaretta?”</p>
+
+<p>“I don’t know.”</p>
+
+<p>“I never did—they’re all fat as butter, like the
+sinners in the Psalms. Now, no one need ever tell
+me that the police are honest, till I see them all get
+lean with chasing after evil. Now they just stand
+round corners like green bay-trees, and take bribes.”</p>
+
+<p>Margaretta was silent for a long time, pondering
+over this new department of thought opened up to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[85]</a></span>
+her. Then she said, “Why don’t you get the women
+to leave this hateful neighbourhood?”</p>
+
+<p>“How can they?” said her sister, mournfully,
+“their husbands work on the wharves. But I mustn’t
+make you too gloomy. Let me tell you about the
+heart of the Mayor.”</p>
+
+<p>“You were dreadfully sad just after you went
+to River Street,” said Margaretta; “was this the
+trouble?”</p>
+
+<p>“Yes,” said Berty, lowering her voice, “the woes
+of the poor were sinking into my heart.”</p>
+
+<p>“Poor child—but take your ice-cream. It is
+melting and slipping down your gown, and the dog
+has eaten your cake.”</p>
+
+<p>“Has he?” said Berty, indifferently. “Well,
+dog, take the ice-cream, too. I want to talk—I came
+out of our house one morning, Margaretta; there
+were three pitiful little children on the door-step.
+‘Children, do get out of this,’ I said. ‘We may have
+callers, and you look like imps.’”</p>
+
+<p>“Have you had any more callers?” asked Margaretta,
+eagerly.</p>
+
+<p>“Yes, the Everests, and Brown-Gardners, and
+Mrs. Darley-James.”</p>
+
+<p>“Mrs. Darley-James!”</p>
+
+<p>“Yes, Mrs. Darley-James, that fastidious dame.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[86]</a></span>
+I’ve read that when you get poor, your friends
+forsake you, but ours have overwhelmed us with
+attentions.”</p>
+
+<p>“Grandma is an exceptional woman,” said Margaretta,
+proudly.</p>
+
+<p>“And do you know every one of those women
+noticed the children. Mrs. Darley-James nearly
+fainted. I had to go to the door with her, as we
+have no well-trained maid, but only that stupid
+woman of the neighbourhood. ‘Why, the children
+all look ill,’ Mrs. Darley-James said.</p>
+
+<p>“‘A good many of them are,’ I replied. ‘Two
+died in that yellow house last night.’</p>
+
+<p>“She said, ‘Oh, horrible!’ and got into her
+carriage. Well, to come back to this day that I
+stood on the door-step talking to the children. They
+looked up at me, the dear little impudent things, and
+said, ‘We ain’t goin’ to move one step, missus,
+’cause you gets the sun longer on your side of the
+street than we does.’</p>
+
+<p>“What they said wasn’t remarkable, but I choked
+all up. To think of those pale-faced babies manœuvering
+to sit where they could catch the sun as he
+peeped shyly at them over the roofs of the tall
+houses. I felt as if I should like to have the demon<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[87]</a></span>
+of selfishness by the throat and shake him till I
+choked him. Then I flew to the city hall—”</p>
+
+<p>“The city hall again?” murmured Margaretta.</p>
+
+<p>“Yes—what is the city hall but a place of refuge
+for the children of the city? I asked to see the
+Mayor. A young man in the other office said he
+was busy.”</p>
+
+<p>“‘Then I’ll wait,’ I said, and I sat down.</p>
+
+<p>“He kept me sitting there for a solid hour. You
+can imagine that I was pretty well annoyed. At the
+end of that time three fat, prosperous-looking men
+walked from the inner sanctum, and I was invited
+to go in.”</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[88]</a></span></p>
+
+<h2 id="CHAPTER_VIII">CHAPTER VIII.<br />
+<span class="smaller">THE HEART OF THE MAYOR</span></h2>
+
+<p>“Inside was a smaller, but still prosperous-looking
+man sitting like a roly-poly behind a desk, and
+blinking amiably at me with his small eyes.”</p>
+
+<p>Margaretta smiled, and asked, “Young or old?”</p>
+
+<p>“Oh, dear, I don’t know—couldn’t tell his age
+any more than I could tell the age of a plum-pudding.
+His face was fat and red, and he had so little
+hair that it might be either gray or sandy. I’d give
+him any age between fifteen and fifty.”</p>
+
+<p>“Well, now, I don’t suppose he would be fifteen.”</p>
+
+<p>“He acts like it sometimes,” said Berty, warmly.
+“Years have not taught him grace and experience,
+as they have Grandma.”</p>
+
+<p>“What is his name?”</p>
+
+<p>“Jimson—Peter Jimson.”</p>
+
+<p>“Let me see,” murmured Margaretta, “there is
+a Mrs. Jimson and there are two Misses Jimson who<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[89]</a></span>
+are dying to get into our set. I heard the Everests
+laughing about them.”</p>
+
+<p>“Same ones, probably—well, he knew enough to
+stand up when I went in. I said ‘Good morning’
+and he looked so amiable that I thought he would
+give me not only what I wanted, but the whole
+city besides.</p>
+
+<p>“When we had both sat down, I said, ‘I will
+not take up your time, sir. I have merely come
+to ask you to give the children of the East End a
+park to play in.’</p>
+
+<p>“He lowered his eyes, and began to play with
+a paper-knife. Then he looked up, and said, ‘May
+I ask your name?’</p>
+
+<p>“‘My name is Miss Gravely,’ I told him, ‘and
+I am Mrs. Travers’s granddaughter.’</p>
+
+<p>“‘Oh, indeed,’ he replied, ‘and why are you interested
+in the children of the East End?’</p>
+
+<p>“‘Because I live there—on River Street. We
+have lost our money.’</p>
+
+<p>“He looked surprised at the first part of my
+sentence. I think he knew about the last of it.
+Then he said, ‘Have the children asked for a park?’</p>
+
+<p>“‘No, sir,’ I said, ‘they haven’t.’</p>
+
+<p>“‘Then why give it to them?’ he inquired, mildly.</p>
+
+<p>“‘Does a good father always wait to have his<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[90]</a></span>
+children demand a necessity before he offers it?’
+I replied.</p>
+
+<p>“He smiled, and began to play with the paper-knife
+again.</p>
+
+<p>“‘The children have nowhere to go, sir,’ I went
+on. ‘The mothers drive them from the dirty houses,
+the sailors drive them from the wharves, the truck-men
+drive them from the streets.’</p>
+
+<p>“‘A park might be a good thing,’ he said, cautiously,
+‘but there is no money in the treasury.’</p>
+
+<p>“I felt myself growing hot. ‘No money in the
+treasury, sir, and you can put up a magnificent building
+like this? Some of this money has been taken
+from the children.’</p>
+
+<p>“He said the city had its dignity to maintain.</p>
+
+<p>“‘But there is charity, sir, as well as dignity.’</p>
+
+<p>“He smiled sweetly—his whole attitude was one
+of indulgent sympathy for a youthful crank, and
+I began to get more and more stirred up.</p>
+
+<p>“‘Sir,’ I said, ‘I think you must be a stepfather.’</p>
+
+<p>“‘Sometimes step-parents display more wisdom
+than real parents,’ he said, benevolently.</p>
+
+<p>“I thought of the good stepmother Grandma had
+when a girl. He was right this time, and I was
+wrong, but this didn’t make me more comfortable<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[91]</a></span>
+in my mind. ‘There is no need of new pavements
+on Broadway, sir,’ I blurted out.</p>
+
+<p>“‘We must make the business part of the city
+attractive,’ he said, ‘or strangers won’t come here.’</p>
+
+<p>“‘Strangers must come,’ I said, bitterly, ‘the
+children can die.’</p>
+
+<p>“‘There is no place for a park on River Street,’
+he went on. ‘Property is held there at a high figure.
+No one would sell.’</p>
+
+<p>“‘There is Milligan’s Wharf, sir,’ I replied. ‘It
+is said to be haunted, and no sailors will go there.
+You could make a lovely fenced-in park.’</p>
+
+<p>“‘But there is no money,’ he said, blandly.</p>
+
+<p>“Something came over me. I wasn’t angry on
+my own account. I have plenty of fresh air, for
+I am boating half the time, but dead children’s faces
+swam before me, and I felt like Isaiah and Jeremiah
+rolled in one.</p>
+
+<p>“‘Who made you, unkind man?’ I said, pointing
+a finger at him.</p>
+
+<p>“He wouldn’t tell me, so I told him, ‘God made
+you, and me, and the little children on River Street.
+Do you dare to say that you stand higher in His
+sight than they do?’</p>
+
+<p>“He said no, he wouldn’t, but he was in office
+to save the city’s money, and he was going to do it.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[92]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>“‘Let the city deny itself for the children. You
+know there are things it could do without. If you
+don’t, the blood of the children will be on your
+head.’</p>
+
+<p>“He twisted his shoulders, and said, ‘See here,
+young lady, I’ve been all through this labour and
+capital business. Labour is unthrifty and brainless.
+You’re young and extreme, and don’t understand.
+I’ve done good turns to many a man, and never had
+a word of thanks.’</p>
+
+<p>“‘Tell me what you like about grown people,’ I
+said, wildly, ‘I’ll believe anything, but don’t say a
+word against the children.’</p>
+
+<p>“He twisted his shoulders again, and slyly looked
+at his watch.</p>
+
+<p>“I got up. ‘Sir,’ I said, ‘River Street is choked
+with dust in summer, and buried in mud and snow
+in winter. The people have neither decency nor
+comfort in their houses. The citizens put you over
+the city, and you are neglecting some of them.’</p>
+
+<p>“He just beamed at me, he was so glad I was
+going. ‘Young lady,’ he said, ‘you have too much
+heart. I once had, but for years I’ve been trying
+to educate it out of myself. I’ve nearly succeeded.’</p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 460px;" id="illus4">
+<img src="images/illus4.jpg" width="460" height="650" alt="" />
+<p class="caption">“‘YOU HAVE TOO MUCH HEART’”</p>
+</div>
+
+<p>“‘There must be a little left,’ I said, ‘just a little
+bit. I’ll make it my business to find it. Good<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[93]</a></span>
+morning,’ and with this threat I left him and ran,
+ran for River Street.”</p>
+
+<p>“Good for you,” said Margaretta.</p>
+
+<p>“I swept along like a whirlwind. I gathered
+up the children and took them down on Milligan’s
+Wharf.”</p>
+
+<p>“‘Children,’ I said, ‘do you know who the Mayor
+is?’</p>
+
+<p>“They said he was the big man down in the
+city hall.</p>
+
+<p>“‘And how did he get there?’</p>
+
+<p>“‘They votes him in, and they votes him out,’ a
+bootblack said.</p>
+
+<p>“‘Who votes?’ I asked.</p>
+
+<p>“‘All the men in the city.’</p>
+
+<p>“‘Do your fathers vote?’”</p>
+
+<p>“‘Course—ain’t they Riverporters?’</p>
+
+<p>“‘Then,’ I said, ‘you belong to the city, and you
+own a little bit of the Mayor, and I have just been
+asking him to give you a park to play in, but he
+won’t.’</p>
+
+<p>“The children didn’t seem to care, so I became
+demagoguish. ‘Boys and girls,’ I said, ‘the children
+of the North End have a park, the children of the
+South End have a park, the children of the West
+End have a park, but the children of the East End<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[94]</a></span>
+aren’t good enough to have a park! What do
+you think ought to be done to the Mayor?’</p>
+
+<p>“A little girl giggled, and said, ‘Duck him in the
+river,’ and a boy said, ‘Tar and feather him.’</p>
+
+<p>“‘No,’ I said, ‘that would not be right, but, come
+now, children, don’t you want a park—a nice wide
+place with trees, and benches, and swings, and a
+big heap of sand to play in?’</p>
+
+<p>“‘Oh, glorymaroo!’ said a little girl, ‘it would
+be just like a Sunday-school picnic.’</p>
+
+<p>“‘Yes, just like a picnic every day, and now,
+children, you can have this park if you will do
+as I tell you; will you?’</p>
+
+<p>“‘Yes, yes,’ they all shouted, for they had begun
+to get excited. ‘Now listen,’ I went on, and I indicated
+two of the most ragged little creatures present,
+‘go to the city hall, take each other’s hands, and
+when you see the Mayor coming, go up to him
+politely, and say, “Please, Mr. Mayor, will you
+give the children of the East End a park to play
+in?”’</p>
+
+<p>“They ran off like foxes before I could say another
+word, then they rushed back. ‘We don’t
+know that gen’l’man.’</p>
+
+<p>“Here was a dilemma, but a newsboy, with eyes
+like gimlets, got me out of it. ‘See here,’ he said,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[95]</a></span>
+‘I can’t wiggle in ’count of business, but I’ll give
+signals. You, here, Biddy Malone, when you see
+me hop on one leg, and kick a stone, you’ll know
+the Mayor’s coming, see?’</p>
+
+<p>“The girls nodded and ran off, and he ran after
+them.</p>
+
+<p>“I mustn’t forget to say I told them to go ask
+their mothers, but, bless you, the street is so narrow
+that the women all knew what I was doing, and
+approved, I could tell by their grins.</p>
+
+<p>“‘Now I want a boy for the Mayor’s house,’
+I said.</p>
+
+<p>“A shock-headed urchin volunteered, and I detailed
+him to sit on the Mayor’s steps till that gentleman
+betook himself home for luncheon, and then
+to rise and say, ‘Please, Mr. Mayor, give the children
+of the East End a park to play in.’</p>
+
+<p>“Well, I sent out about ten couples and six singles.
+They were to station themselves at intervals
+along the unhappy man’s route, and by this time
+the little monkeys had all got so much in the spirit
+of it, that I had hard work to keep the whole crowd
+from going.”</p>
+
+<p>Margaretta leaned back in her chair and laughed
+quietly. “Well, if you’re not developing.”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[96]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>“Put any creature in a tight place,” said Berty,
+indignantly, “and see how it will squirm.”</p>
+
+<p>“How did the Mayor take this persecution?”</p>
+
+<p>“Like an angel, for the first few days. Then I
+began to increase the number of my scouts. They
+met him on his own sidewalk, on the corner as he
+waited for the car, on the steps of his club, till at
+last he began to dodge them.”</p>
+
+<p>“Then they got their blood up. You can’t elude
+the children of the streets. I told them not to beg
+or whine, just to say their little formula, then vanish.</p>
+
+<p>“At the end of a week he began to have a hunted
+look. Then he began to peer around street corners,
+then he took to a <i lang="fr">coupé</i>, and then he sprained his
+ankle.”</p>
+
+<p>“What did the children do?”</p>
+
+<p>“Politely waited for him to get well, but he sent
+me a note, saying he would do all he could to get
+them their park, and with his influence that meant,
+of course, that they should have it.”</p>
+
+<p>“How lovely—weren’t you glad?”</p>
+
+<p>“I danced for joy—but this puzzled me. I
+hadn’t expected to get at his heart so soon. Who
+had helped me? Grandma said it was the Lord.”</p>
+
+<p>“Aided by Mrs. Jimson, I suspect,” added Margaretta,
+shrewdly. “This explains a mystery. Some<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[97]</a></span>
+time ago, I heard Roger and Tom Everest down
+in the library nearly killing themselves laughing.
+When I asked Roger what it was about, he said
+only a Jimson joke. Then he said, ‘Can’t you keep
+Berty out of the city hall?’”</p>
+
+<p>“I said, ‘What do you mean?’ but he wouldn’t
+tell me any more. I believe that Mr. Jimson’s men
+friends teased him, and his mother and sisters
+brought pressure to bear upon him.”</p>
+
+<p>“They called yesterday,” said Berty, demurely.</p>
+
+<p>“Well, well, and did they mention your park?”</p>
+
+<p>“They were full of it. I went down to the
+wharf with them. I am there half the time. You
+must come, Margaretta, and see the work going on.”</p>
+
+<p>“Where did the Mayor get the money?”</p>
+
+<p>“Squeezed it out of something. He said his
+councillors approved. He won’t see me, though—carries
+on all the business by correspondence.”</p>
+
+<p>Margaretta looked anxious, but Berty was unheeding,
+and went on, eloquently. “Isn’t it queer how
+Grandma’s teaching is in our very bones? I didn’t
+know I had it in me to keep even our own family
+together, but I have. I’d fight like a wolf for you
+and Bonny, Margaretta, and now I’m getting so
+I’ll fight like a wolf for our bigger human family.”</p>
+
+<p>Margaretta’s anxiety passed away, and she smiled<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[98]</a></span>
+indulgently. “Very well, sister. It’s noble to fight
+for the right, but don’t get to be that thing that
+men hate so. What is it they call that sort of
+person—oh, yes, a new woman.”</p>
+
+<p>Berty raised both hands. “I’ll be a new woman,
+or an old woman, or a wild woman, or a tame
+woman, or any kind of a woman, except a lazy
+woman!”</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[99]</a></span></p>
+
+<h2 id="CHAPTER_IX">CHAPTER IX.<br />
+<span class="smaller">THE MAYOR’S DILEMMA</span></h2>
+
+<p>Berty was rowing down the river in her pink
+boat with its bands of white.</p>
+
+<p>She was all pink and white, boat, cushions, oars,
+dress, and complexion—except her hair and eyes,
+which formed a striking and almost startling blue-black
+contrast.</p>
+
+<p>However, Berty was nothing if not original, and
+just now in the late afternoon, when all the other
+boats and canoes were speeding homeward, she was
+hurrying down the river.</p>
+
+<p>She gave a gay greeting to her friends and acquaintances,
+and to many of the fishermen and river-hands
+with whom she had become acquainted since
+she came to live on River Street.</p>
+
+<p>She scarcely knew why she was turning her back
+on her home at this, the time of her evening meal,
+unless it was that she was so full of life and strength
+that she simply could not go into the house.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[100]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>Grandma would not care. Grandma was too philosophical
+to worry. She would take her knitting
+to the veranda and sit tranquilly awaiting the return
+of her granddaughter. If she got hungry, she
+would take her supper.</p>
+
+<div class="poetry-container">
+<div class="poetry">
+<div class="verse">“Grandma is a darling,</div>
+<div class="verse">Grandma is a dear,”</div>
+</div>
+</div>
+
+<p class="noindent">chanted Berty, then she stopped. “But I must
+not be selfish. I will just row round Bobbetty’s
+Island and then go home.”</p>
+
+<p>Bobbetty’s Island was a haunted island about the
+size of an extensive building lot. Poor old man
+Bobbetty had lived here alone for so many years
+that he had become crazy at last, and had hanged
+himself to one of the spruce-trees.</p>
+
+<p>Picnic-parties rarely landed here—the island was
+too small, and the young people did not like its
+reputation. They always went farther down to
+some of the larger islands.</p>
+
+<p>So this little thickly wooded piece of land stood
+alone and solitary, dropped like a bit of driftwood
+in the middle of the river.</p>
+
+<p>Berty was not afraid of the ghost. She was rowing
+gaily round the spruces singing softly to herself,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[101]</a></span>
+when she saw something that made her mouth
+close abruptly.</p>
+
+<p>An annoyed-looking man sat on a big flat rock
+close to the water’s edge. He stared at her without
+speaking, and Berty stared at him. This was
+no ghost. Poor old Bobbetty had not appeared in
+the flesh. This was a very living and very irritated
+man, judging from his countenance.</p>
+
+<p>Berty smiled softly to herself, then, without a
+word, she drew near the islet, took her hands from
+the oars, and, pulling her note-book from her pocket,
+coolly scribbled a few lines on a slip of paper:</p>
+
+<div class="blockquote">
+
+<p>“<span class="smcap">Dear Sir</span>:—If you have lost your boat, which
+I judge from appearances you have done, I am
+willing to give you a lift back to the city.</p>
+
+<p class="center">“Yours truly,</p>
+
+<p class="right">“<span class="smcap">Berty Gravely</span>.”</p>
+
+</div>
+
+<p>Having finished her note, she drew in an oar, put
+the paper flat on the blade, stuck a pin through it
+to make it firm, then extended it to the waiting and
+watching man.</p>
+
+<p>Without a word on his part, he got up from
+his rock seat, and, stretching out a hand, took the
+slip of paper. Then reseating himself with a slight<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[102]</a></span>
+smile, he produced his own note-book, tore a leaf
+from it, and took a stylographic pen from his pocket.</p>
+
+<div class="blockquote">
+
+<p>“<span class="smcap">Dear Madam</span>:—I have indeed lost my boat.
+I accept your offer with gratitude.</p>
+
+<p class="center">“Yours truly,</p>
+
+<p class="right">“<span class="smcap">Peter Jimson</span>.”</p>
+
+</div>
+
+<p>The oar was still resting on the rocks. He pinned
+his answer to it, saw Berty draw it in, read it, and
+then she brought her boat round for him.</p>
+
+<p>Still without speaking he stepped in, somewhat
+clumsily, seated himself, and mopped his perspiring
+face.</p>
+
+<p>They were not moving, and he looked up. Berty
+had dropped the oars, and had calmly seated herself
+on the stern cushions. She had no intention of
+rowing with a man in the boat.</p>
+
+<p>The Mayor set to work, while Berty lounged on
+her seat and studied the shell-like tints of the sky.
+Suddenly she heard a slight sound, and brought
+her gaze down to the river.</p>
+
+<p>The Mayor was laughing—trying not to do so,
+but slowly and gradually giving way and shaking
+all over like a bowl of jelly.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[103]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>She would not ask him what amused him, and
+presently he said, “Excuse me.”</p>
+
+<p>“Why?” asked Berty, with preternatural gravity.</p>
+
+<p>“Well, well,” he stuttered, “I don’t know, but I
+guess it isn’t good manners for one person to laugh
+when the other isn’t.”</p>
+
+<p>“Laugh on,” said Berty, benevolently, “the whole
+river is before you.”</p>
+
+<p>The Mayor did laugh on, and rowed at the same
+time, until at last he was obliged to take his hands
+from the oars, and get out his handkerchief to wipe
+his eyes.</p>
+
+<p>Berty’s face was hidden from him. She had
+picked up a huge illustrated paper from the bottom
+of the boat, and her whole head was concealed by
+it. But the paper was shaking, and he had an idea
+that she, too, was laughing.</p>
+
+<p>His suspicion was correct, for presently the paper
+dropped, and he saw that his companion was in a
+convulsion of girlish laughter.</p>
+
+<p>“Oh! oh! oh!” she cried, taking away the handkerchief
+that she had been stuffing in her mouth,
+“it is too funny. You hate the sight of me, and
+write notes to avoid me, and then go lose your boat
+on a desert island, and have to be rescued by me.
+Oh! it is too delicious!”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[104]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>The Mayor thought he could laugh, but his laughter
+was nothing to this ecstasy of youthful enjoyment,
+and his harsh, thick tones gradually died
+away, while he listened delightedly to this rippling
+outflow from pretty lips.</p>
+
+<p>“It is comical,” he said, after a time, when she
+had somewhat calmed down. “I guess I ought to
+apologize to you. I have treated you mean. But
+you got a corner on me.”</p>
+
+<p>“A corner in street urchins,” said Berty, gaspingly;
+“well, I’m obliged to you for getting the
+park, but I must say I wish you would give the
+work some of your personal superintendence.”</p>
+
+<p>“I’ve been down,” he said, unguardedly.</p>
+
+<p>“When?” asked Berty, promptly.</p>
+
+<p>“At night,” he said, with some confusion. “I
+slip down after I know you’ve gone to bed.”</p>
+
+<p>“How do you think the workmen are getting
+on?” she asked, anxiously.</p>
+
+<p>“Fairly well—what do you want that high fence
+for?”</p>
+
+<p>“For games—wall games. I wish we could have
+baths at the end of the wharf—public baths. The
+boys can go down to the river, but the women and
+children have no chance. Poor souls, they suffer.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[105]</a></span>
+You would not like to be cut off from your daily
+bath, would you, sir?”</p>
+
+<p>“Well, no,” replied the Mayor, cautiously, “I
+don’t suppose I would.”</p>
+
+<p>“The city ought to build baths,” said Berty,
+warmly.</p>
+
+<p>“There’s private charity,” said the Mayor.</p>
+
+<p>“Private charity, my dear sir! You don’t know
+those River Street people. They have as much pride
+as you have. What the city does for them is all
+right—what private citizens do for them publicly,
+and with all sorts of ridiculous restrictions, angers
+them.”</p>
+
+<p>The Mayor looked longingly over his shoulder
+toward the city.</p>
+
+<p>“Oh, pardon me,” said Berty, hurriedly. “I
+shouldn’t talk business to you in my own boat when
+you can’t escape me. Pray tell me of your adventures
+this afternoon. Was your boat stolen?”</p>
+
+<p>“Stolen, no—it was my own carelessness. You
+know I’m driven to death with business, and if I
+take a friend out with me he’s got an axe to grind
+for some one, so I steal off alone whenever I can.
+Nobody goes to that island, and it’s a fine place to
+read or snooze, but to-day I neglected to secure my
+boat, and away it went.”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[106]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>“And nobody came by?”</p>
+
+<p>“Lots of people, I suppose, but I was asleep until
+just before you came.”</p>
+
+<p>“Isn’t the river delicious?” said Berty, dreamily.</p>
+
+<p>“I like it well enough,” said Mr. Jimson, letting
+unappreciative eyes wander over the blue water and
+the smiling landscape beyond. “It’s a great place
+to plan your business.”</p>
+
+<p>“Business, business, business,” murmured the
+girl, “it seems sacrilege to mention that word here.”</p>
+
+<p>“If it weren’t for business of various kinds, there
+wouldn’t be any Riverport,” said the man, with a
+backward nod of his head.</p>
+
+<p>“Poor old Riverport!” said Berty; “poor,
+sordid, material old Riverport!”</p>
+
+<p>The Mayor braced his feet harder and stared at
+her. Then he said, “If it weren’t for business,
+most of us would go under.”</p>
+
+<p>“Yes, but we needn’t be holding it up all the
+time, and bowing down to it, and worshipping, and
+prostrating our souls before it, till we haven’t any
+spirit or beauty left.”</p>
+
+<p>The Mayor stared at her again. Then he said,
+“You don’t seem as silly as most girls.”</p>
+
+<p>This to Berty was a challenge. Her eyes sparkled
+wickedly, and from that instant till they reached the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[107]</a></span>
+city she poured out a babble of girlish nonsense that
+completely bewildered the plain man before her.</p>
+
+<p>“Will you let me off at the city wharf?” he asked,
+at last, when she had paused to take breath.</p>
+
+<p>“Certainly,” said Berty, “after you row me
+home.”</p>
+
+<p>“Oh, excuse me,” he said, confusedly. “I am
+so little in ladies’ society that I don’t know how to
+act.”</p>
+
+<p>“We’ve got a tiny wharf at the end of our back
+yard,” said Berty. “You’ll know it because all
+the wharves round are black and dingy, but ours
+is painted pink and white. There it is—look ahead
+and you’ll see.”</p>
+
+<p>The Mayor looked, and soon the little boat was
+gliding toward the gay flight of steps.</p>
+
+<p>“Now will you tie her up and come in through
+the house?” asked Berty, politely.</p>
+
+<p>The Mayor did as he was requested, and, stepping
+ashore, curiously followed his guide up through the
+tidy back yard to the big old-fashioned house that
+seemed to peer with its small eyes of windows far
+out over the river.</p>
+
+<p>On the ground floor were a kitchen and pantry
+and several good-sized rooms that had been used for<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[108]</a></span>
+servants’ quarters in the first, palmy days of the
+old mansion.</p>
+
+<p>“A pity this neighbourhood was given up to poor
+people,” said the Mayor, as he tramped up a narrow,
+dark stairway behind his guide.</p>
+
+<p>“A blessing that they have something so lovely as
+this river view,” said Berty, quickly. “I can’t tell
+you how we appreciate it after our limited outlook
+from Grand Avenue. Here is our dining-room,” and
+she threw open the door of a large room at the
+back of the house.</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Jimson stepped in somewhat awkwardly. The
+room was plainly furnished, but the small windows
+were open, and also a glass door leading to a veranda,
+where a table was prepared for the evening meal.
+He could see a white cloth, and numerous dishes
+covered and uncovered.</p>
+
+<p>“Grandma,” said Berty, “here is Mr. Jimson—you
+remember hearing me speak of him.”</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Jimson, filled with curiosity, turned to the
+composed little old lady who came in from the
+veranda and shook hands with him. This was
+Madam Travers. He had been familiar with her
+face for years, but she never before had spoken to
+him.</p>
+
+<p>“Will you stay and have a cup of tea with my<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[109]</a></span>
+granddaughter and me?” she asked him, when he
+looked uncomfortably toward the door.</p>
+
+<p>His gaze went again to the table. A rising breeze
+had just brushed aside the napkin covering a pitcher.</p>
+
+<p>“Is that a jug of buttermilk I see?” he asked,
+wistfully.</p>
+
+<p>“It is,” said the old lady, kindly.</p>
+
+<p>“Then I’ll stay,” he said, and he dropped his hat
+on a chair.</p>
+
+<p>Grandma and Berty both smiled, and he smiled
+himself, and, looking longingly toward the table,
+said, “I can’t get it at home, and in the restaurants
+it is poor stuff.”</p>
+
+<p>“And do you like curds and cream?” asked
+Grandma, leading the way to the table.</p>
+
+<p>“Yes, ma’am!” he said, vigorously.</p>
+
+<p>“And sage cheese, and corn-cake, and crullers?”</p>
+
+<p>“Why, you take me back to my grandfather’s
+farm in the country,” he replied, squeezing himself
+into the seat indicated.</p>
+
+<p>“My granddaughter and I are very fond of simple
+dishes,” said Grandma. “Now I’ll ask a blessing
+on this food, and then, Berty, you must give Mr.
+Jimson some buttermilk. I see he is very thirsty.”</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Jimson was an exceedingly happy man. He
+had pumpkin pie, and cold ham, and chicken, in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[110]</a></span>
+addition to the other dishes he liked, and to wind
+up with, a cup of hot tea.</p>
+
+<p>“This is first-class tea,” he said, abruptly.</p>
+
+<p>“It came from China,” said Grandma, “a present
+from a Chinese official to my late husband. I will
+show you some of the stalks with the leaves on
+them.”</p>
+
+<p>“Well, you look pretty cozy here,” said the
+Mayor, after he had finished his meal, and sat gazing
+out on the river. “I wish I could stay, but
+I’ve got a meeting.”</p>
+
+<p>“Come some other time,” said Grandma, graciously.</p>
+
+<p>“I’d like to,” he said, abruptly. “I rarely go
+out, unless it’s to a big dinner which I hate, and
+sometimes you get tired of your own house—though
+I’ve got a good mother and sisters,” he
+added, hastily.</p>
+
+<p>“I have no doubt of that,” said Grandma. “They
+were kind enough to call on us.”</p>
+
+<p>“You have a good granddaughter,” he said, with
+a curious expression, as he looked down into the
+back yard where Berty had gone to feed some white
+pigeons, “but,” he added, “she is a puzzler sometimes.
+I expect she hates me.”</p>
+
+<p>“She does not hate any one,” said Grandma,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[111]</a></span>
+softly. “She is young and overzealous at times,
+and will heartily scold the latest one to incur her
+displeasure, but she has a loving heart.”</p>
+
+<p>“It’s fine to be young,” said the Mayor, with a
+sigh; “good-night, madam. I’ve enjoyed my visit.”</p>
+
+<p>“Come again some other time,” said Grandma,
+with quaint, old-fashioned courtesy, “we shall always
+be glad to see you.”</p>
+
+<p>“I will, madam,” said the Mayor, and he gripped
+her hand till it ached. Then he took his hat, and
+trotted nimbly away.</p>
+
+<p>“Has he gone?” asked Berty, coming into the
+room a few minutes later.</p>
+
+<p>“Yes,” said Grandma.</p>
+
+<p>The girl’s eyes were dancing. She was longing
+to make fun of him, but her grandmother, she knew,
+was inexorable. No one should ever ridicule in her
+presence the guest who had broken her bread and
+eaten her salt.</p>
+
+<p>Yet Berty must say something. “Grandma,” she
+remarked, softly, “it isn’t safe to cut any one, is
+it?”</p>
+
+<p>“To cut any one?” repeated the old lady.</p>
+
+<p>“To cut the acquaintance of any one. For instance—you
+hate a person, you stop speaking to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[112]</a></span>
+that person. You get into a scrape, that person is
+the only one who can help you out.”</p>
+
+<p>Grandma said nothing.</p>
+
+<p>“Surely,” said Berty, persuasively, “in the course
+of your long life, you must have often noticed it is
+not only mean, but it is bad policy to break abruptly
+with any one without just cause?”</p>
+
+<p>“Yes,” said Grandma, quietly, “I have.”</p>
+
+<p>“Any further remarks to make?” inquired Berty,
+after a long pause.</p>
+
+<p>Grandma’s dimple slowly crept into view.</p>
+
+<p>Berty laughed, kissed her, and ran off to bed,
+saying, as she did so, “I wonder whether your new
+admirer will ever call again?”</p>
+
+<p>Grandma tranquilly rolled up her knitting and
+followed her.</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[113]</a></span></p>
+
+<h2 id="CHAPTER_X">CHAPTER X.<br />
+<span class="smaller">A GROUNDLESS SUSPICION</span></h2>
+
+<p>Grandma was on the veranda, knitting, knitting,
+always knitting.</p>
+
+<p>“What a bird’s perch this is,” said some one
+suddenly, behind her.</p>
+
+<p>She turned round. Grandson Roger was trying
+to squeeze his tall frame between the equally tall
+frame of an old-fashioned rocking-chair and the
+veranda railing.</p>
+
+<p>“How you must miss your big veranda on Grand
+Avenue,” he said, coming to sit beside her.</p>
+
+<p>“I don’t,” said Grandma, tranquilly. “It’s wonderful
+how one gets used to things. Berty and I
+used to enjoy our roomy veranda, but we have
+adapted ourselves to this one, and never feel like
+complaining.”</p>
+
+<p>“It’s a wonderful thing—that power of adaptation,”
+said the young man, soberly, “and I have a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[114]</a></span>
+theory that the primitive in us likes to return to small
+quarters and simplicity. For instance, I am never
+so happy as when I leave my large house and go
+to live in my hunting-camp.”</p>
+
+<p>Grandma smiled, and took up her knitting again.</p>
+
+<p>Roger, who had comfortably settled himself in
+the corner beside her, frowned slightly. “Grandma,
+the girls tell me that you are selling these stockings
+you knit.”</p>
+
+<p>“Yes, why not?” she asked, quietly.</p>
+
+<p>“But there is no need of it.”</p>
+
+<p>“They bring a good price. You cannot buy
+home-knit silk stockings everywhere.”</p>
+
+<p>“But it is drudgery for you.”</p>
+
+<p>“I enjoy it.”</p>
+
+<p>“Very well, if you enjoy it. But you won’t persist
+if it tires you?”</p>
+
+<p>“No, Roger.”</p>
+
+<p>“Who buys the stockings?” he asked, curiously.</p>
+
+<p>“I sell them among my friends. Mrs. Darley-James
+buys the most of them.”</p>
+
+<p>His face grew red. “You supply stockings to
+her?”</p>
+
+<p>“Why should I not?”</p>
+
+<p>“I don’t know why, but it makes me ‘mad,’ as
+Berty says.”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[115]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>“Didn’t you supply her husband with that new
+iron railing for his garden?”</p>
+
+<p>“Yes, ma’am, I did, and it’s a good one.”</p>
+
+<p>“Well, if you sell the husband a garden railing,
+why shouldn’t I sell the wife a pair of stockings?”</p>
+
+<p>“I don’t know,” he said, with a laugh. “I suppose
+it’s the nonsensical notion about one kind of
+labour being degrading, and another ennobling.
+We’re all simpletons, anyway—we human beings.
+Where is Berty this evening?”</p>
+
+<p>“Listen,” said Grandma, putting up a hand.</p>
+
+<p>Down in the back yard was a sound of hammering.</p>
+
+<p>Roger leaned over the railing. “What under the
+sun is she doing?”</p>
+
+<p>“Puttering over those pigeons—making new
+boxes for them.”</p>
+
+<p>“Who is with her? I see a man’s back.”</p>
+
+<p>“The Mayor.”</p>
+
+<p>“Jimson?”—and Roger fell back in his seat
+with a disturbed air.</p>
+
+<p>“The same,” said Grandma, calmly.</p>
+
+<p>Roger wrinkled his forehead. “That reminds
+me—came to see you partly about that. It seems
+Berty and the Mayor go about a good deal together.”</p>
+
+<p>“How do you know?” asked Grandma, shrewdly.</p>
+
+<p>“Oh, I know, people notice them.”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[116]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>“Some one has been complaining to you,” said
+Grandma. “Who was it?”</p>
+
+<p>Roger smiled. “Well, to tell the truth, Tom
+Everest was grumbling. You know he has been
+just like a brother to Berty and Margaretta.”</p>
+
+<p>“Yes, I know,” said Grandma, tranquilly. “I
+just wanted to find out whether there was any public
+gossip about Berty’s friendship for the Mayor.
+Friendly inquiry on the part of an old playmate
+is another matter.”</p>
+
+<p>“I cannot imagine Berty giving any one any
+occasion for gossip,” said Roger, proudly.</p>
+
+<p>“Nor I—well, go on, what did Tom say?”</p>
+
+<p>“He said, ‘What does this mean, Stanisfield?
+Berty is for ever on the river with the Mayor, he
+is for ever dangling about her house, and that park
+she is getting in shape for the children. If I were
+you I’d put a word in Mrs. Travers’s ear. Don’t
+speak to Berty.’”</p>
+
+<p>“Poor Tom!” said Grandma.</p>
+
+<p>“He’s jealous, I suppose,” said Roger. “Still, if
+he talks, some one else may talk. What does it
+mean that Jimson comes here so much? You don’t
+suppose he has taken a fancy to Berty?”</p>
+
+<p>Grandma smiled. “Yes, I do, a strong and uncommon
+fancy. He is perfectly fascinated by her.”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[117]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>Roger’s jaw fell, and he smote with his fist on
+the arm of the rocking-chair. “Get rid of him,
+Grandma. Don’t have him round.”</p>
+
+<p>“Why not—he’s an honourable man.”</p>
+
+<p>“But not for Berty—you don’t know, Grandma.
+He’s all right morally, but he’s vulgar—none of
+our set go with him.”</p>
+
+<p>“I don’t find him unbearably vulgar. He seems
+a kind-hearted man, but I am unintentionally deceiving
+you. He is over forty years old, Roger.”</p>
+
+<p>“Well, men of forty, and men of fifty, fancy girls
+of half their age.”</p>
+
+<p>“Fancy them, yes, but he has no intention of
+falling in love with Berty. He is simply charmed
+with her as a companion.”</p>
+
+<p>“It’s a dangerous companionship,” grumbled
+Roger.</p>
+
+<p>“Not so—they quarrel horribly,” and Grandma
+laughed enjoyably over some reminiscences.</p>
+
+<p>“Quarrel, do they?”</p>
+
+<p>“Yes, Roger—my theory is that that man is too
+hard worked. Fagged out when he leaves his office,
+he is beset by petitioners for this thing and that
+thing. At home I fancy he has little peace, for
+his mother and sisters are ambitious socially, and
+urge him to attend various functions for which he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[118]</a></span>
+has no heart. Unexpectedly he has found a place
+of refuge here, and a congenial playfellow in Berty.
+I think he really has to put a restraint upon himself
+to keep from coming oftener.”</p>
+
+<p>“This is Jimson in a new light,” said Roger,
+listening attentively.</p>
+
+<p>“In River Street,” continued Grandma, “he is
+free. No one comes to find him here. He has
+plenty of excitement and amusement if Berty is
+about. If she is out, he sits and talks to me by
+the hour.”</p>
+
+<p>“To you—” said Roger. “I should not think
+he would have anything in common with a lady
+like you.”</p>
+
+<p>“Ah, Roger, there is beauty in every human soul,”
+said the little old lady, eloquently. “The trouble
+is we are all too much taken up with externals. There
+is something pathetic to me about this man. Hard-working,
+ambitious, longing for congenial companionship,
+not knowing just where to get it, he
+keeps on at his daily treadmill. He has got to be
+a kind of machine, and he has tried to stifle the
+spirit within him. Berty, with her youth and freshness,
+has, in some way or other, the knack of putting
+her finger on some sensitive nerve that responds<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[119]</a></span>
+easily to her touch. He is becoming quite interested
+in what she is interested in.”</p>
+
+<p>Roger was staring at her in great amusement.
+“You talk well, Grandma, and at unusual length
+for you, but a man convinced against his will, you
+know—”</p>
+
+<p>The old lady smiled sweetly at him, smiled with
+the patience of one who is willing to wait a long
+time in order to be understood. Then knitting steadily
+without looking at her work, she gazed far out
+over the beautiful river.</p>
+
+<p>It was very wide just here, and, now that evening
+was falling, they could barely distinguish the fields
+and white farmhouses on the other side. The stars
+were coming out one by one—those “beautiful
+seeds sown in the field of the sky.” Roger could
+see the old lady’s lips moving. She was probably
+repeating some favourite passages of Scripture.
+What a good woman she was. What a help to him,
+and what a valuable supplement to his own mother,
+who was a woman of another type.</p>
+
+<p>His eyes grew moist, and for a long time he sat
+gazing with her at the darkening yet increasingly
+beautiful sky and river.</p>
+
+<p>The hammering went on below, until Berty’s
+voice suddenly rang out. “We’ll have to stop, Mr.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[120]</a></span>
+Jimson. It’s getting too dark to see where to put
+the nails.”</p>
+
+<p>“I’ll come help you to-morrow evening,” replied
+the Mayor, in his thick, good-natured voice.</p>
+
+<p>“No, thank you. I won’t trouble you. I’ll get
+a carpenter. You’ve been too good already.”</p>
+
+<p>“I like to do it. You’ve no idea how much I enjoy
+puttering round a house,” replied Mr. Jimson. “I
+never get a chance at home.”</p>
+
+<p>“Why—aren’t there things to do about your
+house?”</p>
+
+<p>“Yes; but if I get at a thing I’m sure to be
+interrupted, and then my mother doesn’t like to
+see me carpentering.”</p>
+
+<p>“You ought to have a house of your own,” said
+Berty, decidedly. “It is the duty of every man to
+marry and bring up a family and to keep it together.
+That helps the Union, but if you have no family
+you can’t keep it together, and you are an unworthy
+son of this great republic.”</p>
+
+<p>“That’s a fact,” replied the Mayor. “I guess
+we’ll have a little talk about it. I’ll just sit down
+here on this bench a minute to rest. I’m quite
+blown.”</p>
+
+<p>Berty made no response, or, if she did, it was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[121]</a></span>
+in such a low tone that the occupants of the veranda
+could not hear, and presently the Mayor went on.</p>
+
+<p>“Yes, I’ve often thought of getting married. A
+man ought to, before he gets too old. How old
+would you take me to be?”</p>
+
+<p>“About fifty,” came promptly, in Berty’s clear
+voice.</p>
+
+<p>Her companion was evidently annoyed, for it
+was some time before he spoke, and then he said,
+briefly, “Fifty!”</p>
+
+<p>“Well,” said Berty, kindly, “I said <em>about</em> fifty.
+I dare say you’re not much more than forty.”</p>
+
+<p>“I suppose forty seems like dead old age to you?”
+queried the Mayor, curiously.</p>
+
+<p>“Oh, yes—it seems far off like the other side
+of the river,” replied the girl.</p>
+
+<p>“Well, I’m forty-five,” said the Mayor.</p>
+
+<p>“Forty-five,” repeated Berty, musingly, “just
+think of it! You seem quite young in your ways.”</p>
+
+<p>“Young—I dare say I feel as young as you,”
+he replied. “I wish you were a bit older.”</p>
+
+<p>“Why?” asked Berty, innocently.</p>
+
+<p>“Oh, well, I don’t know why,” he replied, with
+sudden sheepishness.</p>
+
+<p>Roger glanced at Grandma. It was not like her
+to play eavesdropper.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[122]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>But dear Grandma was not hearing a word of
+what was being said below. Her knitting had fallen
+from her hand, her head had dropped forward, her
+cheeks were gently puffing in and out. She was
+quietly and unmistakably asleep.</p>
+
+<p>Roger smiled, and kept on listening. He had
+no scruples on his own account, and he wanted his
+question answered. Why was the Mayor dangling
+about Berty?</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Jimson was still on the subject of matrimony.
+The quiet evening, the, as he supposed, secluded
+spot, Berty’s amiability, all tended to excite confidence
+in him.</p>
+
+<p>In response to something he had said, Berty was
+remarking, with gentle severity, “I should think
+you would talk this matter over with your mother
+rather than with me.”</p>
+
+<p>“Well,” Mr. Jimson said, thoughtfully, “it’s queer
+how you can tell things to strangers, easier than
+to your mother.”</p>
+
+<p>“<em>I</em> couldn’t,” said Berty, promptly. “If I were
+thinking of getting married, I’d ask Grandma to
+advise me. She’s had <em>so</em> much experience. She
+chose Roger of all Margaretta’s admirers.”</p>
+
+<p>“Did she, now?” said the Mayor, in admiration.
+“That was a first-class choice.” Then he asked,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[123]</a></span>
+insinuatingly, “And have you ever consulted her
+for yourself?”</p>
+
+<p>“Of course not—not yet. It’s too soon.”</p>
+
+<p>“I suppose it is,” said Mr. Jimson, in a disappointed
+voice, “and, as I said before, I wish you
+were ten years older.”</p>
+
+<p>“You don’t mean to say that you would think of
+me for yourself?” asked Berty, in a sudden, joyful
+voice.</p>
+
+<p>“Yes, I would,” he replied, boldly.</p>
+
+<p>“Oh, thank you, thank you,” said the girl, gaily;
+“that’s my first proposal, or, rather, I suppose it
+isn’t a <i>bona fide</i> proposal. It’s just a hint. Still
+it counts. I’ve really got out into life. Margaretta
+has always kept me down where gentlemen were
+concerned. Older sisters have to, you know. I’ll
+be just dreadfully interested in you after this. Do
+let me pick you out a wife.”</p>
+
+<p>“Well, I don’t know about that,” said the Mayor,
+guardedly.</p>
+
+<p>“Just tell me what you want,” continued Berty.
+“I know lots of girls, but I suppose you will want
+a woman. I know some of them, too—must she
+be light or dark?”</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Jimson looked at Berty. “Black hair.”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[124]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>“Very well—black hair to start with. Not tall,
+but short, I suppose.”</p>
+
+<p>“Why short?” asked the Mayor, suspiciously.</p>
+
+<p>“Well, you’re not dreadfully tall for a man, you
+know.”</p>
+
+<p>The Mayor seemed to be sulking for some time.
+Then he said, “I like a good-sized woman.”</p>
+
+<p>“Tall and black-haired,” said Berty, in a businesslike
+way. “Now, do you want a quiet woman, or
+a lively woman—a social woman, or a home
+body?”</p>
+
+<p>“None of your rattlers for me,” said the man,
+hastily. “I want a quiet tongue, good manners,
+and no wasteful habits.”</p>
+
+<p>“Do you want to entertain much?”</p>
+
+<p>“Oh, law, no!” said her companion, wearily.
+“Upon my word, I think a deaf and dumb wife
+would suit me best. Then she couldn’t go to parties
+and drag me with her—Look here, there’s a woman
+I’ve seen sometimes when I go to church with
+my mother, that I’ve often thought was a nice-looking
+kind of person. You’d be sure to know her,
+for one of her brothers is a great friend of your
+brother-in-law.”</p>
+
+<p>“Who is she?” asked Berty, eagerly.</p>
+
+<p>Her companion seemed to have some hesitation<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[125]</a></span>
+about mentioning the name. At last he said,
+“Mother says her first name is Selina.”</p>
+
+<p>“Not Selina Everest—don’t tell me that,” said
+Berty, quickly.</p>
+
+<p>“Yes, that’s her name.”</p>
+
+<p>Berty groaned. “And is she the only woman you
+have in your mind?”</p>
+
+<p>“She’s the only one I can think of now as cutting
+any kind of a figure before me.”</p>
+
+<p>“Selina Everest!” groaned Berty again. “Why
+don’t you say the Queen of England and be done
+with it? She’s the most exclusive of our ridiculously
+exclusive set. She is an aristocrat to her finger-tips.
+She wouldn’t look at you—that is, I don’t think—she
+probably wouldn’t—”</p>
+
+<p>“How old is she?” asked the Mayor, breaking
+in upon her.</p>
+
+<p>“Let me see—Tom, her brother, is six years
+older than I am, Walter is twenty-seven, Jim is
+thirty, Maude is older than he is, and Augustus is
+older than that. Oh, Miss Everest must be nearly
+forty.”</p>
+
+<p>“Then she’ll jump at a chance to marry,” said
+the Mayor, coolly. “Has she a good temper?”</p>
+
+<p>“Yes,” said Berty, feebly, “but—”</p>
+
+<p>“But what? Does she snap sometimes?”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[126]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>“No, no, she is always ladylike, but I am just sure
+she wouldn’t marry you.”</p>
+
+<p>“Why are you so sure,” asked the Mayor, sharply.</p>
+
+<p>“Because—because—”</p>
+
+<p>“Am I a red Indian or a cowboy?” asked Mr.
+Jimson, indignantly.</p>
+
+<p>“No, but—”</p>
+
+<p>“Is she a strong girl?”</p>
+
+<p>“No, she is often in bed—I don’t really think—”</p>
+
+<p>“Airs, probably,” said her companion. “Has
+been brought up soft. I’d break her of that.”</p>
+
+<p>“She wouldn’t marry you,” said Berty, desperately.</p>
+
+<p>“Don’t be too sure of that,” and Mr. Jimson’s
+voice sounded angry to the man on the veranda
+above.</p>
+
+<p>“I tell you she wouldn’t. I’ve heard her just
+rave against people who don’t do things just as
+she does. If you ate with your knife, she’d think
+you were dust beneath her feet.”</p>
+
+<p>The Mayor was silent.</p>
+
+<p>“Why, if you wore carpet slippers in the parlour,
+or a dressing-gown, or went about the house in
+your shirt-sleeves, she’d have a fit.”</p>
+
+<p>“And who does all these things?” asked the
+Mayor, sneeringly.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[127]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>“You do!” replied Berty, stung into impertinence.
+“They say you received a delegation of
+clergymen in your slippers and dressing-gown.”</p>
+
+<p>“That’s a lie,” he said, promptly, “got up by
+enemies.”</p>
+
+<p>“Well, you don’t talk elegantly,” said Berty,
+wildly. “Miss Everest couldn’t stand that.”</p>
+
+<p>“Who says I ain’t elegant?” asked the Mayor,
+fiercely.</p>
+
+<p>“I do,” replied his companion. “You say ‘dry’
+for thirsty, and ‘I ain’t’ for I am not, and ‘git’
+for get, and—and lots of other things, and you
+don’t move gracefully. Miss Everest likes tall, thin
+men. I once heard her say so.”</p>
+
+<p>“Is it my fault that I’m short?” roared the
+Mayor. “I didn’t make myself.”</p>
+
+<p>Roger, convulsed with amusement on the veranda
+above, saw with regret that Grandma was waking
+up.</p>
+
+<p>“Quarrelling again!” she murmured, moving her
+head about restlessly. “Send him home, Berty.
+Mr. Jimson, don’t mind her.”</p>
+
+<p>Roger had missed something, for Berty was now
+giving the Mayor a terrible scolding. “I think
+you are a horrid, deceitful man. You come here
+with your mind all made up about a certain woman.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[128]</a></span>
+You pretend to like me, then draw me out about the
+one you like. I’ll never speak to you again.”</p>
+
+<p>Roger hung entranced over the railing. The back
+gate had just slammed on Mr. Jimson, and Berty
+was pouring out a flood of eloquent endearment
+on the pigeons.</p>
+
+<p>Roger ran down the stairs with a broad smile on
+his face. There was no danger of sentimental nonsense
+between these two people.</p>
+
+<p>“Hello, Berty,” he said, “want some help with
+your pidgie widgies?”</p>
+
+<p>“No, Roger,” she replied, disconsolately, “I
+can’t get the boxes up to-night. Still, you might
+help me cover them some more. I’m dreadfully
+afraid of rats getting at them. There are legions
+of them down here.”</p>
+
+<p>“You’ve had some one here, haven’t you?” said
+Roger, hypocritically.</p>
+
+<p>“Yes, that miserable Mayor, but he’s so disagreeable
+that I shan’t let him help me finish. I’m never
+going to speak to him again. He’s too mean to live.”</p>
+
+<p>“I’ll come and help you,” said Roger, bending
+over the pigeons to conceal his face. “Where are
+these boxes going in the meantime?”</p>
+
+<p>“Up on top of those barrels. Aren’t those fan-tails<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[129]</a></span>
+sweet? Oh, you lubbie dubbies, Berty loves you
+better than the hateful old Mayor.”</p>
+
+<p>Roger laughed outright, helped his young sister-in-law
+at the same time, and wondered whether the
+breach between her and her new friend would be
+final.</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[130]</a></span></p>
+
+<h2 id="CHAPTER_XI">CHAPTER XI.<br />
+<span class="smaller">A PROPOSED SUPPER-PARTY</span></h2>
+
+<p>Two mornings later, Roger had come down to
+River Street with a basket of green stuff for
+Grandma.</p>
+
+<p>One result of his wife’s new economy was that
+he had turned errand-boy. He grumbled a little
+about it, but Margaretta was inexorable.</p>
+
+<p>“You want me to save,” she said. “I’m going
+to do it. You can just as well run down to River
+Street before you go to your office, as for me to give
+a boy ten cents for doing it.”</p>
+
+<p>“Ten cents is a paltry sum.”</p>
+
+<p>“Yes, but ten tens are not paltry, and if you save
+ten cents twenty times you have two dollars. Now
+trot along!” and Roger always trotted, smiling as
+he went.</p>
+
+<p>On this particular morning, Grandma, after gratefully
+receiving the basket, stood turning over the
+crisp, green lettuce, the parsley, beets, and lovely<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[131]</a></span>
+flowers with her slender fingers, when Berty appeared
+fresh and rosy.</p>
+
+<p>“Oh, Roger, dear,” she cried, flying to her writing-desk
+when she saw him, “wait a moment and
+take a note to the city hall, will you?”</p>
+
+<p>“Yes, Miss Lobbyist,” said her brother-in-law,
+good-naturedly.</p>
+
+<p>“Why, this is to the Mayor,” he said, in pretended
+surprise, when she handed him her note.</p>
+
+<p>“Yes, why not?” asked Berty, opening her eyes
+wide.</p>
+
+<p>“I thought you had done with him.”</p>
+
+<p>“Oh, that quarrel,” said Berty, carelessly, “that
+was two whole days ago. I’ve had two bouquets,
+and a bag of some new kind of feed for the pigeons
+from him since then. I’m doing him a favour now.
+There’s some one coming here to supper to-night that
+he’d like to meet.”</p>
+
+<p>“Who is it?” asked Roger, curiously.</p>
+
+<p>“Selina Everest.”</p>
+
+<p>“I shouldn’t think he’d be her style,” said the
+young man, guilelessly.</p>
+
+<p>“He isn’t,” sighed Berty, “but he likes her, and
+I’m bound to give them a chance to meet. I hope
+she won’t snub him.”</p>
+
+<p>“She is too much of a lady to do that,” said Roger.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[132]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>“You’re right,” replied Berty, but she sighed
+again.</p>
+
+<p>Roger’s eyes sparkled. “Grandma,” he said,
+abruptly turning to her, “it is some time since Margaretta
+and I have had a meal in your house. Can’t
+you invite us, too? We both like Selina.”</p>
+
+<p>“Certainly, come by all means,” said the little
+old lady.</p>
+
+<p>Berty looked doubtful and did not second the invitation.</p>
+
+<p>“What time is supper?” asked Roger.</p>
+
+<p>Grandma looked at Berty. “I let her have her
+own way about the meals. Breakfast is at eight,
+dinner at twelve—the universal hour on this street—high
+tea at six, supper is a movable feast—what
+time to-night, granddaughter?”</p>
+
+<p>“Ten,” said Berty, promptly, “but we’ll sit on
+the veranda first and talk. Some one must keep at
+the piano all the time, playing dreamy music.”</p>
+
+<p>“All right,” said Roger, promptly, “we’ll be
+here.”</p>
+
+<p>Berty followed him to the street door. “You’ll be
+nice to the Mayor.”</p>
+
+<p>“Nice!—I guess so.”</p>
+
+<p>“But don’t be too nice—don’t make fun of
+him.”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[133]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>“Berty!” he said, reproachfully.</p>
+
+<p>“Oh, you wouldn’t make fun of him openly,” she
+said, with sudden wrath, “but I know that look
+in your eyes,” and with a decided tap on the back
+she sent him out the front door.</p>
+
+<p>Roger, chuckling with delight as he made his way
+to the iron works, ran into Tom Everest.</p>
+
+<p>“What are you laughing at?” asked Tom, with
+his own eyes shining.</p>
+
+<p>“Can’t tell,” said Roger.</p>
+
+<p>“I’ll bet it was some joke about Berty,” remarked
+Tom.</p>
+
+<p>“Oh, Berty! Berty!” exclaimed his friend, “all
+the world is thinking Berty, and dreaming Berty,
+and seeing Berty. You’re a crank, Everest.”</p>
+
+<p>“It was Berty,” said Tom, decidedly. “Come,
+now, out with it.”</p>
+
+<p>“She’s going to have a party to-night,” said
+Roger, exploding with laughter; “your sister Selina
+and the Mayor, my wife and I.”</p>
+
+<p>“I’m going too,” said Tom, firmly.</p>
+
+<p>Roger caught him by the shoulder. “Man, if
+I find you there to-night, I’ll shoot you.”</p>
+
+<p>“I’m going,” said Tom, and he backed into his
+insurance office, leaving Roger wildly waving his
+market-basket at him from the street.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[134]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>A few hours later, Roger looked up at his wife
+as he sat at the lunch-table, and said, “Don’t you
+want to go to Grandma’s this evening?”</p>
+
+<p>“Yes, dear, if you do,” she replied, holding out his
+cup of bouillon for him.</p>
+
+<p>At luncheon they were obliged to wait on themselves,
+and Roger vowed that he liked it.</p>
+
+<p>“All right, dear,” he said, as he carefully took
+the hot bouillon from her, “we’ll go.”</p>
+
+<p>“After dinner, I suppose?”</p>
+
+<p>“Yes.”</p>
+
+<p>“Any one else going?” asked Margaretta.</p>
+
+<p>“She expects some others—Selina Everest for
+one.”</p>
+
+<p>“That’s nice,” said Margaretta, emphatically.</p>
+
+<p>“And the Mayor,” added Roger.</p>
+
+<p>“Oh!” and Margaretta drew a long breath. “I
+have never met him.”</p>
+
+<p>“Don’t you want to?”</p>
+
+<p>“Oh, yes,” she said, lingeringly.</p>
+
+<p>“Very well. I’ll come home a bit early.”</p>
+
+<p>Margaretta, brimming over with satisfaction,
+gazed affectionately at him. “Roger, you look ten
+years younger than you did four weeks ago.”</p>
+
+<p>“I’ve got the burden of foreboding off my shoulders,”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[135]</a></span>
+he said, giving them a slight shake as he
+spoke.</p>
+
+<p>“A burden that will never be placed there again,
+I hope.”</p>
+
+<p>Roger smiled, and, looking at her happy face, said,
+earnestly, “Margaretta, every day of my life I thank
+God for the good fortune that made you my partner
+for life.”</p>
+
+<p>While Roger was talking to his wife, Berty was
+having a somewhat excited interview with the
+Mayor.</p>
+
+<p>“Just grabbed ten minutes from lunch-hour,” he
+said, “to run up and thank you for your invitation
+for to-night—now what shall I wear? Dress
+suit?”</p>
+
+<p>Berty looked him over. No young girl going to
+her first ball ever waited a reply with more anxiety
+than he did.</p>
+
+<p>“Let me see,” she said, thoughtfully. “We shall
+be sitting out-of-doors. I think I would not wear
+evening dress. Have you got a nice dark suit?”</p>
+
+<p>“Yes, just got one from the tailor.”</p>
+
+<p>“Good—put that on.”</p>
+
+<p>“And what kind of a tie?” he asked, feverishly.</p>
+
+<p>“Oh, I don’t know—white, I think. That is
+cool and nice for summer.”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[136]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>“Can’t I wear red?” he asked, anxiously.</p>
+
+<p>“Well, yes, a certain shade, but you’d have to
+be very particular. Why do you wish red?”</p>
+
+<p>“I—I—a woman once told me I looked well
+in red,” he said, sheepishly.</p>
+
+<p>Berty surveyed him as an indulgent mother might
+survey a child.</p>
+
+<p>“Very well, wear red. It is a great thing to have
+something on that you feel at ease in. But, as I
+say, you must be very particular about the shade.
+I’ll run up-stairs and get a piece of silk, and do you
+try to match it,” and she darted away.</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Jimson occupied the time while she was gone
+in walking about the room, nervously mopping his
+face, and staring out the window at the carriage
+waiting for him.</p>
+
+<p>“Here it is,” exclaimed Berty, running back, “the
+precise shade. Now <em>do</em> be particular.”</p>
+
+<p>“You’re real good,” he replied, gratefully, and,
+pocketing the scrap, he was hurrying away, when he
+turned back. “What time shall I come? Can’t I
+get here before the others?”</p>
+
+<p>“Yes, do,” replied Berty, “come about half-past
+seven.”</p>
+
+<p>“All right—thank you,” and he rushed away.</p>
+
+<p>Berty followed him to the front door. “Mr. Jimson,”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[137]</a></span>
+she called, when his hand was on the door-knob.</p>
+
+<p>“Hello!” and he turned back.</p>
+
+<p>“You won’t be offended with me if I say something?”
+she replied, hesitatingly.</p>
+
+<p>“Not a bit of it.”</p>
+
+<p>“Well, if I were you, I wouldn’t talk too much
+to-night. Dignified reserve impresses women.”</p>
+
+<p>“All right,” he said, good-naturedly. “I’m safe
+enough, if I don’t get rattled. Then I’m apt to
+make a fool of myself and gabble. Sometimes in
+making a speech I can’t wind up, even if I see people
+looking mad enough to kill me.”</p>
+
+<p>“Don’t do that!” exclaimed Berty. “Oh, don’t
+be long-winded. Just sit and watch Miss Everest.”</p>
+
+<p>“All right,” said the Mayor, “till this evening!”
+and he ran down the steps.</p>
+
+<p>“Oh, dear,” murmured Berty, as she went up-stairs,
+“I’m dreadfully in doubt about this party.
+I wish Margaretta and Roger weren’t coming. The
+Mayor has been working himself into a state over
+Miss Everest. If he doesn’t please her he’ll blame
+me. Oh, dear!”</p>
+
+<p>“What’s the matter, granddaughter?” asked a
+cheery voice.</p>
+
+<p>“I’m in trouble, Grandma. The Mayor likes<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[138]</a></span>
+Miss Everest. That’s why I’m asking him here
+to meet her, but I’m afraid things won’t go right.”</p>
+
+<p>“Poor little matchmaker,” said Grandma, soothingly.</p>
+
+<p>“Did I do right, Grandma? I would have consulted
+you before, but I didn’t like to give his secret
+away.”</p>
+
+<p>“You did what a kind heart would prompt you
+to do. Don’t worry—I will help you with your
+party.”</p>
+
+<p>“Will you?—oh, that is lovely. Everything will
+go right!” and she threw both arms round her
+grandmother’s neck.</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[139]</a></span></p>
+
+<h2 id="CHAPTER_XII">CHAPTER XII.<br />
+<span class="smaller">A DISTURBED HOSTESS</span></h2>
+
+<p>Unfortunately for Berty, a woman across the
+street chose the hour of seven o’clock to have a
+fit of hysterics. Nothing would satisfy her perturbed
+relatives but a visit from “Madam,” as Grandma
+was known to the street.</p>
+
+<p>Half-past seven came, and no Mayor. Selina
+Everest, tall, pale, and lilylike, in white and green,
+arrived soon after, then came Margaretta and Roger,
+and then, to Berty’s dismay, appeared Tom Everest,
+dropping in as if he expected to find her alone.</p>
+
+<p>Berty said nothing, but her face grew pinker.
+Then she swept them all out to the semi-darkness
+of the veranda. The Mayor should not step into
+that brightly lighted room and find them all there.</p>
+
+<p>Wedged comfortably on the veranda, and talking
+over mutual friends, Margaretta, Selina, and Tom
+were having a charming time. Roger, seated by the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[140]</a></span>
+glass door, was restless, and kept moving in and out
+the dining-room.</p>
+
+<p>Berty was like a bird, perching here and there, and
+running at intervals to the front windows, ostensibly
+to watch for her grandmother, in reality to seize upon
+the Mayor at the earliest moment of his arrival.</p>
+
+<p>Margaretta and Selina were in a corner of the
+veranda. Tom was nearest the dining-room, and
+presently there was a whisper in his ear. “Jimson
+has arrived—hot—mad—explanatory—detained—Berty
+condoling.”</p>
+
+<p>Not a muscle of Tom’s face moved, and Roger,
+turning on his heel, departed.</p>
+
+<p>Presently he came back. “Berty frantic—Jimson
+has got on wrong kind of necktie. She has
+corralled him behind piano.”</p>
+
+<p>Poor Berty—she had indeed driven the unhappy
+late-comer behind the upright piano in the parlour.
+“Oh, Mr. Jimson, how could you? That necktie is a
+bright green!”</p>
+
+<p>“Gr—green!” stuttered the discomfited man.
+“Why, I matched your sample.”</p>
+
+<p>“You’re colour blind!” exclaimed the girl, in
+despair. “Oh, what shall we do—but your suit
+is lovely,” she added, as she saw the wilting effect
+of her words upon him. “Come, quick, before any<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[141]</a></span>
+one sees,” and she hurried him out into the hall.
+“Here, go in that corner while I get one of my
+shirt-waist ties.”</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Jimson, hot and perspiring, tried to obliterate
+himself against the wall until she came back.</p>
+
+<p>“Here is a pale blue tie,” said Berty. “Now
+stand before the glass in that hat-rack,—give me
+that green thing. Selina Everest would have a fit
+if she saw it.”</p>
+
+<p>The Mayor hastily tore off the bit of brilliant
+grass-green silk, and, seizing Berty’s blue satin, endeavoured
+to fasten it round his creaking collar.</p>
+
+<p>Roger peeped out through the dining-room door
+and went back to Tom, and in a convulsion of wicked
+delight reported. “He’s titivating in the hall—has
+got on one of Berty’s ties. Just creep out to
+see him.”</p>
+
+<p>Tom could not resist, and seeing that Margaretta
+and his sister were deep in the mysteries of coming
+fashions in dress, he tiptoed into the dining-room.</p>
+
+<p>Berty and the Mayor out in the hall were too
+much engaged with each other to heed the peeping
+eyes at the crack of the dining-room door.</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Jimson was in a rage, and was sputtering
+unintelligible words. Berty, too, was getting excited.
+“If you say a naughty word,” she threatened,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[142]</a></span>
+“I’ll take that tie away from you, and you’ll have to
+go home!”</p>
+
+<p>The Mayor, wrathfully beating one foot up and
+down on the oilcloth, was trying to make the tie
+tie itself.</p>
+
+<p>“Hang it!” he said, at last, throwing it down,
+“the thing won’t go at all. It was made for some
+woman’s neck. Give me that green thing.”</p>
+
+<p>“You sha’n’t have it,” Berty flared up. “You
+will spoil yourself. Here, let me have the blue one.
+I’ll fasten it for you, if you’ll never tell any one
+I did it.”</p>
+
+<p>Tom and Roger nearly exploded into unseemly
+merriment. The sight of the unfortunate Jimson’s
+face, the mingled patience and wrath of Berty, made
+them clap their hands over their mouths.</p>
+
+<p>“There!” cried Berty, at last, “it’s tied. You
+men have no patience. Look round now. Come
+softly into the dining-room and drink some lemonade
+before I introduce you—no, stay here, I’ll bring
+it to you. Smooth your hair on the left side.”</p>
+
+<p>The unfortunate man, breathing heavily, stood
+like a statue, while Tom and Roger tumbled over
+each other out to the veranda.</p>
+
+<p>“What are you two laughing at?” asked Margaretta,
+suspiciously.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[143]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>“At that black cloud there,” said Tom, pointing
+to the sky. “See it dragging itself over the stars.
+I say, Stanisfield, doesn’t that cloud strike you as
+being of a comical shape?”</p>
+
+<p>“Very,” exclaimed Roger, with sudden laughter,
+“very comical. Trails out just like a four-in-hand
+necktie.”</p>
+
+<p>“Very like it,” echoed Tom; then they both
+laughed again.</p>
+
+<p>In the midst of their merriment, a quiet, patient
+voice was heard saying, “Margaretta, let me introduce
+Mr. Jimson to you,—and Miss Everest, Mr.
+Jimson.”</p>
+
+<p>Tom and Roger huddled aside like two naughty
+boys, and Berty, with the Mayor behind her, stepped
+to the other end of the veranda.</p>
+
+<p>Margaretta stretched out a slim, pretty hand.
+Miss Everest did likewise, and the Mayor, breathing
+hard and fast, turned to the two men. “I don’t
+need an introduction to you.”</p>
+
+<p>“No,” they both said, shaking hands with a sudden
+and overwhelming solemnity.</p>
+
+<p>They all sat down, and an uninterrupted and uninteresting
+chatter began. Every one but the Mayor
+was good-naturedly trying to make Berty’s party
+a success, and every one was unconsciously defeating<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[144]</a></span>
+this object by engaging in trifling and stupid small
+talk.</p>
+
+<p>“We’re not having a bit of a good time,” said
+Berty, at last, desperately. “Let’s go into the
+house.”</p>
+
+<p>They all smiled, and followed her into the parlour.
+Here at least the Mayor would be able to
+look at Miss Everest. Out on the veranda he could
+not see her at all.</p>
+
+<p>Quite unconscious of the others, he stared uninterruptedly
+at her. She was apparently oblivious of
+him, and was again talking fashions to Margaretta.</p>
+
+<p>But Tom and Roger—Berty glared wrathfully at
+them. They were examining one of Grandma’s
+books of engravings taken from Italian paintings,
+and if it had been the latest number of some comic
+paper they would not have had more fun over it.</p>
+
+<p>“Here is a framed one,” she said, taking a picture
+from the mantel, “by Sandro Botticelli.” Then,
+as she got close to them, she said, threateningly,
+“If you two don’t stop giggling, I’ll shame you
+before everybody!”</p>
+
+<p>They tried to be good, they honestly did. They
+did not want to tease the kind little sister, but something
+had come over the two men—they were just
+like two bad schoolboys. If Mr. Jimson had been<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[145]</a></span>
+aware of their mirth, they would have ceased, but
+just now he was so utterly unconscious—so
+wrapped up in the contemplation of Miss Everest,
+that they went on enjoying their secret pleasure with
+the luxury of good men who seldom indulge in a
+joke at the expense of others, but who rival the most
+thoughtless and frivolous when once they set out
+to amuse themselves.</p>
+
+<p>Yes, Mr. Jimson was staring and silent, but after
+a time his silence ceased, and he began to talk. To
+talk for no apparent reason, and on no apparent
+subject.</p>
+
+<p>Margaretta and Selina, who had been paying very
+little attention to him, courteously paused to listen,
+and he went on. Went on, till Berty began to twitch
+in dismay, and to wink—at first slyly and secretly,
+then openly and undisguisedly at him.</p>
+
+<p>It was of no use. He had got “rattled,” as he
+had predicted, and was bound to have his say out.
+He made her a slight sign with his head to assure
+her that he understood her signals, and would if
+he could pay attention to them, but he was too far
+gone.</p>
+
+<p>Berty was in despair. Tom and Roger, to keep
+themselves from downright shouting, were also talking<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[146]</a></span>
+very fast and very glibly about nothing in particular.</p>
+
+<p>Berty, in utter dismay, turned her head to her
+three groups of guests—Selina and Margaretta
+gently and wonderingly polite, the Mayor seated by
+a small table flooding the air with garrulity, and
+Tom and Roger in the shade of the big piano lamp,
+expounding all sorts of nonsensical theories and fancies.</p>
+
+<p>Tom just now was on language. “Yes, my dear
+fellow,” he was saying, rapidly and with outstretched
+arm, “language is a wonderful thing. I may say
+that to see a young child grappling with the problem
+is an awe-inspiring and remarkable sight. Sometimes
+when it fills the air with its incoherent longings
+and strivings after oral utterance, after the sounds
+which custom has made the representation of ideas,
+the soul of the beholder is struck dumb with admiration,
+and even I may say terror. If such is
+the power of the infant brain, what will be the grasp
+of the adult?”</p>
+
+<p>At this instant Grandma entered the room. She
+took in the situation at a glance, and her presence
+afforded instant relief. The flood of “Jimsonese,”
+as Roger and Tom styled the Mayor’s eloquence,
+instantly ceased, the two bad boys shut their mouths.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[147]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>Grandma shook hands with all her guests, then
+quietly sat down.</p>
+
+<p>“I hope you are not very tired,” said Margaretta,
+gently. “How is your patient?”</p>
+
+<p>“Better—she only wanted a little comfort.”</p>
+
+<p>“What made her have hysterics?” asked Berty,
+eagerly, and with a desire to make much of the
+latest addition to their circle.</p>
+
+<p>Grandma smiled. “She is a very nervous woman,
+and has been up nights a great deal with a sick
+baby. She lay down about two hours ago to take
+a nap. The house has a great many mice in it, and
+one got in her hair. It was entangled for a few
+seconds, and she was terrified. It would be very
+much more afraid of her than she would be of it.”</p>
+
+<p>Tom and Roger laughed uproariously, so uproariously
+and joyfully that Grandma’s black eyes
+went to them, rested on them, and did not leave
+them.</p>
+
+<p>But they did not care. They had not enjoyed
+themselves so much for years, and they were going
+to continue doing so, although their punishment was
+bound to come. Presently, when the conversation
+between Grandma, Margaretta, Selina, and Berty
+became really interrupted by their giggling, the old
+lady left her seat and came over to them.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[148]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>“Have you been acting like this all the evening?”
+she asked, severely.</p>
+
+<p>Tom looked at Roger, and Roger looked at Tom.</p>
+
+<p>“And teasing poor Berty?”</p>
+
+<p>Again they looked at each other.</p>
+
+<p>“When I was a girl,” said Grandma, musingly,
+“I remember getting into those gales of laughter.
+How I revelled in that intoxication of the spirit! I
+would even scream with delight, and if I were alone
+with my girl companions would sometimes roll on
+the ground in ecstasy. You are pretty old for such
+pranks, but I see you are ready for one. You ought
+to be alone for a time. Follow me,” and she left the
+room.</p>
+
+<p>She took them down-stairs. “Where are we
+going?” asked Roger, humbly, and nudging Tom.</p>
+
+<p>“Out with the pigeons,” she said. “There is
+no room in my house for guests who make fun of
+each other.”</p>
+
+<p>“But the supper?” said Roger, anxiously.</p>
+
+<p>“It would grieve Berty’s hospitable heart for you
+to miss that,” said Grandma, “so when you have
+quite finished your laughing, come up-stairs again,
+and we will all have a nice time together.”</p>
+
+<p>Tom gave Roger a thwack, then, as he found
+himself in a latticed porch, and contemplated by a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[149]</a></span>
+number of mild-faced, inquiring pigeons, he dropped
+on a box and began to snicker again.</p>
+
+<p>“What set you off?” asked the old lady,
+curiously.</p>
+
+<p>They both began to tell her of poor Berty’s trials
+with the Mayor.</p>
+
+<p>Grandma laughed too. “There is something
+funny about that friendship,” she said, “but there
+is no harm, but rather good in it, and I shall not
+put a stop to it. Do you know that man would
+make a good husband for your sister, Tom
+Everest?”</p>
+
+<p>Tom at this became so silly, and began to pound
+Roger on the back in such an idiotic manner, that
+Grandma gently closed the door and stole away.</p>
+
+<p>Going up the steps, she could hear them laughing—now
+in Homeric fashion. There were no women
+about to be startled by their noise.</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[150]</a></span></p>
+
+<h2 id="CHAPTER_XIII">CHAPTER XIII.<br />
+<span class="smaller">AN ANXIOUS MIND</span></h2>
+
+<p>“How did I act?” asked the Mayor, humbly. It
+was eight o’clock the next morning, and he was
+standing before Berty as she took her breakfast
+alone, Grandma having gone across the street to
+visit her hysterical patient.</p>
+
+<p>Berty thoughtfully drank some coffee.</p>
+
+<p>“I’d take a cup, too, if you’d offer it to me,”
+he said, still more humbly, and sitting down opposite
+her. “Somehow or other I hadn’t much appetite
+this morning, and only took a bite of breakfast.”</p>
+
+<p>Berty, still in silence, poured him out a cup of
+strong coffee, and put in it a liberal supply of cream.
+Then, pushing the sugar-bowl toward him, she again
+devoted herself to her own breakfast.</p>
+
+<p>“You’re ashamed of me,” said the Mayor, lifting
+lumps of sugar into his cup with a downcast air.
+“I gabbled.”</p>
+
+<p>“Yes, you gabbled,” said Berty, quietly.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[151]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>“But I’m going to make an impression,” said
+the Mayor, slapping the table with one hand. “I’m
+going to make that woman look at me, and size me
+up, if she doesn’t do anything more.”</p>
+
+<p>“She sized you up last night,” said Berty, mournfully.</p>
+
+<p>“Did she say anything about me?” asked Mr.
+Jimson, eagerly.</p>
+
+<p>“Not a word—but she looked unutterable
+things.”</p>
+
+<p>“Do you think I’d better call on her?” he asked,
+desperately.</p>
+
+<p>“Oh, gracious, no!” cried Berty, “you’d spoil
+everything. Leave matters to me in future.”</p>
+
+<p>“I thought I might explain,” he said, with a
+crestfallen air.</p>
+
+<p>“What would you explain?” asked Berty, cuttingly.</p>
+
+<p>“I’d tell her—well, I’d just remark casually after
+we’d spoken about the weather that she might have
+noticed that there was something queer, or that I
+was a little out in some of my remarks—”</p>
+
+<p>“Well,” said Berty, severely, “what then?”</p>
+
+<p>“I’d just inform her, in a passing way, that I’d
+always been a steady man, and that if she would
+kindly overlook the past—”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[152]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>“Oh! oh!” ejaculated Berty, “you wouldn’t
+hint to a lady that she might have thought you were
+under the influence of some stimulant?”</p>
+
+<p>“N-n-no, not exactly,” blundered the Mayor, “but
+I might quote a little poetry about the intoxication
+of her presence—I cut a fine piece out of the
+paper the other day. Perhaps I might read it to
+her.”</p>
+
+<p>Berty put her arm down on the table and laughed.
+“Well, if you’re not the oddest man. You are just
+lovely and original.”</p>
+
+<p>The Mayor looked at her doubtfully, and drank
+his coffee. Then he got up. “I don’t want you
+to think I’m not in earnest about this business. I
+never give up anything I’ve set my mind on, and
+I like that woman, and I want her to be Mrs. Peter
+Jimson.”</p>
+
+<p>Berty shivered. “Oh, dear, dear! how badly you
+will feel if she makes up her mind to be Mrs. Somebody
+Else—but I’ll help you all I can. You have
+a great ally in me.”</p>
+
+<p>“I’m obliged to you,” said the Mayor, gruffly.</p>
+
+<p>“I was ashamed of those other two men last
+evening,” said Berty, getting up and walking out
+toward the hall with him. “I wanted to shake
+them.”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[153]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>“I didn’t take much stock in their actions,” said
+the Mayor, indifferently. “They just felt funny,
+and would have carried on whether I had been there
+or not.”</p>
+
+<p>“How forgiving in you—how noble,” said
+Berty, warmly.</p>
+
+<p>“Nothing noble about it—I know men, and
+haven’t any curiosity about them. It’s you women
+that bother the life out of me. I don’t know how
+to take you.”</p>
+
+<p>“It’s only a little past eight,” said Berty, suddenly.
+“Can’t you come down to the wharf with
+me? You don’t need to go to town yet.”</p>
+
+<p>“Yes, I suppose so,” said the Mayor, reluctantly.</p>
+
+<p>Berty caught up her sailor hat, and tripped beside
+him down to the street, talking on any subject that
+came uppermost.</p>
+
+<p>The Mayor, however, returned to his first love.
+“Now, if there was something I could do to astonish
+her,” he said. “If her house got on fire,
+and I could rescue her, or if she fell out of a boat
+into the river, and I could pull her in.”</p>
+
+<p>“She’s pretty tall,” said Berty, turning and surveying
+the rather short man by her side. “I doubt
+if you could pull her in.”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[154]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>“If I got a good grip I could,” he said, confidently.</p>
+
+<p>“The worst of it is, those heroic things don’t
+happen once in an age,” said Berty, in a matter-of-fact
+voice, “and, anyway, a woman would rather
+you would please her in a thousand little ways than
+in one big one.”</p>
+
+<p>“What do you call little ways?” asked the Mayor.</p>
+
+<p>“Oh, being nice.”</p>
+
+<p>“And what is niceness?” he went on, in an unsatisfied
+voice.</p>
+
+<p>“Niceness?—well, it is hard to tell. Pick up her
+gloves if she drops them, never cross her, always
+kiss her good-bye in the morning, and tell her she’s
+the sweetest woman in the world when you come
+home in the evening.”</p>
+
+<p>“Well, now,” said the Mayor, in an aggrieved
+voice, “as if I’m likely to have the chance. You
+won’t even let me call on her.”</p>
+
+<p>“No, don’t you go near her,” said Berty, “not
+for awhile. Not till I sound her about you.”</p>
+
+<p>“How do you think I stand now with her?”
+asked Mr. Jimson, with a downcast air.</p>
+
+<p>“Well, to tell the truth,” said Berty, frankly, “I
+think it’s this way. She wasn’t inclined to pay
+much attention to you at first, not any more than<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[155]</a></span>
+if you were a table or a chair. When you began to
+talk she observed you, and I think she was saying
+to herself, ‘What kind of a man is this?’ Then
+when Grandma drove Tom and Roger out of the
+room, I think she wanted to laugh.”</p>
+
+<p>“Then she must have been a little interested,”
+said the man, breathlessly.</p>
+
+<p>“No,” said Berty, gravely, “when a woman
+laughs at a man, it’s all up with him.”</p>
+
+<p>“Then you think I might as well give up?” said
+the Mayor, bitterly.</p>
+
+<p>“Not at all,” said his sympathizer, kindly.
+“There may fall to you some lucky chance to reinstate
+yourself.”</p>
+
+<p>“Now what could it be?” asked Mr. Jimson,
+eagerly. “What should I be looking out for?”</p>
+
+<p>“Look out for everything,” said Berty, oracularly.
+“She will forget about the other night.”</p>
+
+<p>“I thought you told me the other day that women
+never forget.”</p>
+
+<p>“Neither they do,” said Berty, promptly, “never,
+never.”</p>
+
+<p>“According to all I can make out,” said the
+Mayor, with a chagrined air, “you women have all
+the airs and graces of a combine, and none of its
+understandabilities. Your way of doing business<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[156]</a></span>
+don’t suit me. When I spot a bargain I jump on it.
+I close the affair before another fellow has a chance.
+That’s how I’ve made what little money I have.”</p>
+
+<p>“You mustn’t make love the way you do business,”
+said Berty, shaking her head. “Oh, no, no.”</p>
+
+<p>“Well, now, isn’t it business to want a good
+wife?”</p>
+
+<p>“Yes,” said Berty, promptly, “and I admire
+your up-to-date spirit. There’s been a lot of nonsense
+talked about roses, and cottages, and heavenly
+eyes, and delicious noses and chins. I believe in
+being practical. You want this kind of a wife—look
+for her. Don’t fall in love with some silly
+thing, and then get tired of her in a week.”</p>
+
+<p>“What kind of a husband would you like?”
+asked the Mayor, curiously.</p>
+
+<p>“Well,” said Berty, drawing in a long breath
+of the crisp morning air. “I want a tall, slight
+man, with brown curly hair and gray eyes.”</p>
+
+<p>“That’ll be a hard combination to find,” said her
+companion, grimly.</p>
+
+<p>“Yes, but I shall think all the more of him when
+I find him, and he must be clever, very clever—ahead
+of all the men in his State, whichever State
+it happens to be—and he must have a perfect
+temper, because I have a very faulty one, and he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[157]</a></span>
+must be of a noble disposition, and looked up to
+by every one he knows.”</p>
+
+<p>“I never met that kind of a man,” said the Mayor,
+drily.</p>
+
+<p>“Nor I,” said Berty, “but there must be such
+a man in the world.”</p>
+
+<p>“How about Tom Everest?” asked Mr. Jimson.
+“I saw him looking at you last night.”</p>
+
+<p>“Tom Everest!” exclaimed Berty, indignantly.
+“An insurance agent!”</p>
+
+<p>The Mayor snickered enjoyably, then fell behind
+a step, for they had just reached the entrance of
+Milligan’s Wharf.</p>
+
+<p>Berty was talking to some little girls who, even at
+this early hour, were hanging about the gate of the
+new park.</p>
+
+<p>“Of course you may come in,” she said, producing
+a key from her pocket. “The workmen have
+about finished—there are a few loose boards about,
+but I will take care that they don’t fall on you.”</p>
+
+<p>With squeals of delight, the little girls dashed
+ahead, then stood staring about them.</p>
+
+<p>Milligan’s Wharf had indeed been transformed.
+A high fence surrounded it on every side, one
+end had been smoothed and levelled for games,
+the other was grassy and planted with trees.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[158]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>“Those elms will be kept trimmed,” said Berty,
+“except in midsummer. I am determined that
+these River Street children shall have enough sunlight
+for once—just look at those little girls.”</p>
+
+<p>The Mayor smiled broadly. Like discoverers who
+have fallen on some rich store of treasure, the little
+girls had espied a huge heap of sand, and had precipitated
+themselves upon it.</p>
+
+<p>“Isn’t it queer how crazy children get over
+sand?” said Berty. Then she stepped into a small
+gate-house. “Here, children, are pails and shovels.
+Now have a good time.”</p>
+
+<p>The little shovels were plied vigorously, but they
+were not quick enough for the children, and presently
+abandoning them, they rolled in delight over
+the soft sandy mass.</p>
+
+<p>“There is no doubt that our park will be a success,”
+said Berty, with a smile.</p>
+
+<p>“By the way,” asked the Mayor, shrewdly, “who
+is to look after these children? If you turn all the
+hoodlums of the neighbourhood in, there will be
+scrapping.”</p>
+
+<p>“I was thinking of that,” said Berty, wrinkling
+her brows. “We ought to have some man or
+woman here. But we have no money to pay any
+one.”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[159]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>“I suppose you wouldn’t take such a position,”
+said the Mayor.</p>
+
+<p>“I!” exclaimed Berty, “why, I’d love it.”</p>
+
+<p>“You wouldn’t need to stay all the time,” said
+Mr. Jimson. “You could get a woman to help
+you.”</p>
+
+<p>“All the women about here are pretty busy.”</p>
+
+<p>“You’d pay her, of course. There’d have to be
+a salary—not a heavy one—but I could fix up
+something with the city council. They’ve built
+the park. They’re bound to provide for it.”</p>
+
+<p>“I should love to earn some money,” said Berty,
+eagerly, “but, Mr. Jimson, perhaps people would
+talk and say I had just had the park made to create
+a position for myself.”</p>
+
+<p>“Suppose they did—what would you care?”</p>
+
+<p>“Why, I’d care because I didn’t.”</p>
+
+<p>“And no one would think you had. Don’t worry
+about that. Now I must get back to town.”</p>
+
+<p>“Mind you’re to make the first speech to-morrow
+at the opening of this place,” said Berty.</p>
+
+<p>“Yes, I remember.”</p>
+
+<p>“And,” she went on, hesitatingly, “don’t you
+think you’d better commit your speech to paper?
+Then you’d know when to stop.”</p>
+
+<p>“No, I wouldn’t,” he said, hopelessly. “Something<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[160]</a></span>
+would prompt me to make a few oral remarks
+after I’d laid down the paper.”</p>
+
+<p>“I should like you to make a good speech, because
+Miss Everest will be here.”</p>
+
+<p>“Will she? Then I must try to fix myself. How
+shall I do it?”</p>
+
+<p>“I might have a pile of boards arranged at the
+back of the park,” said Berty, “and as soon as
+you laid down the paper, I’d give a signal to a
+boy to topple them over. In the crash you could sit
+down.”</p>
+
+<p>“No, I wouldn’t,” he said, drearily. “I’d wait
+till the fuss was over, then I’d go on.”</p>
+
+<p>“And that wouldn’t be a good plan, either,” said
+Berty, “because some one might get hurt. I’ll
+tell you what I’ll do. You give me a sheet of paper
+just the size of that on which you write your speech.
+Mind, now, and write it. Don’t commit it. And
+don’t look at this last sheet till you stand on the
+platform and your speech is finished.”</p>
+
+<p>“What will be on it?” asked Mr. Jimson,
+eagerly.</p>
+
+<p>“The most awful hobgoblin you ever saw. I
+used to draw beauties at school. When you see this
+hobgoblin you won’t be able to think of anything<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[161]</a></span>
+else. Just fix your eyes on his terrible eyes, and
+you will sit down in the most natural way possible.”</p>
+
+<p>“Maybe I will,” he said, with a sigh, “but I
+doubt it—you’re a good girl, anyway.”</p>
+
+<p>“Oh, no. I’m not, Mr. Mayor, begging your
+pardon. I’m only trying to be one.”</p>
+
+<p>“Well, I’ve got to go,” said her companion, reluctantly.
+“I wish I could skip that stived-up office
+and go out on the river with you.”</p>
+
+<p>“I wish you could,” said Berty, frankly. “But
+I’ve got work to do, too. I want every clergyman
+in the town to be present to-morrow. Have your
+speech short, will you, for it will probably be a hot
+day.”</p>
+
+<p>“All right,” said the Mayor. “Good-bye,” and
+he trotted away.</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[162]</a></span></p>
+
+<h2 id="CHAPTER_XIV">CHAPTER XIV.<br />
+<span class="smaller">THE OPENING OF THE PARK</span></h2>
+
+<p>The next afternoon had come, and was nearly
+gone. There had been a crowd of people at the
+opening of the Milligan Wharf Park. Ragged
+children, sailors, day-labourers, and poor women of
+the neighbourhood had stood shoulder to shoulder
+with some of the first citizens of the town—citizens
+who in the whole course of their lives had never
+been on this street before.</p>
+
+<p>The well-dressed spectators had looked about
+them with interest. This fad of Mrs. Travers’s
+young granddaughter had excited much attention.
+She had carried her scheme through, and many
+curious glances had been sent in the direction of
+the suddenly shy, smiling girl, trying to hide behind
+the stately little grandmother, who sat looking as
+if the opening of parks for poor children were a
+daily occurrence in her life.</p>
+
+<p>There had been room for some of the audience<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[163]</a></span>
+in the long, low shed erected for a playroom for the
+children on rainy days; however, many persons had
+been obliged to sit on benches placed in the hot sunlight,
+therefore the opening exercises had been arranged
+to be exceedingly short.</p>
+
+<p>The Mayor, unfortunately, had transgressed, as
+he had prophesied he would do. However, in his
+speech he had, to Berty’s delight, carefully abstained
+from mentioning the part she had taken in procuring
+the park for the children of River Street. But succeeding
+speakers had so eulogized the self-sacrificing
+and public-spirited girl, that finally she had
+slipped away into one of the summer-houses, where,
+now that all was over, she was talking with her
+grandmother.</p>
+
+<p>They had the park to themselves as far as grown
+persons were concerned. The rich and well-to-do
+people had filed away. The poor men and women
+of the neighbourhood had gone to their homes for
+their early evening meal.</p>
+
+<p>“They say every rose has a thorn,” exclaimed
+Berty. “Where is the thorn in this?” and she waved
+her hand about the huge playground where scores
+of children were disporting themselves.</p>
+
+<p>“It is here,” said Grandma. “Don’t lose heart
+when you see it.”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[164]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>“Do you see it?” asked Berty, pointedly.</p>
+
+<p>“Yes, dear.”</p>
+
+<p>“And what is it?”</p>
+
+<p>“That there must be some one here every minute
+of the time to see that the big children do not impose
+on the little ones. There’s a big hulking boy
+slapping a little one now. I’ll go settle him,” and
+Grandma nimbly walked away.</p>
+
+<p>“That is no thorn,” said Berty, when she came
+back. “Mr. Jimson has arranged for it. He has
+just told me that the city council voted me last
+evening five hundred dollars as park supervisor.”</p>
+
+<p>“My dear!” said Grandma, in surprise.</p>
+
+<p>“Isn’t it lovely?” murmured Berty, with flushed
+cheeks. “Now I can pay all the household expenses.
+With my annuity we shall be quite prosperous.”</p>
+
+<p>“The city appreciates what you are doing,” said
+Grandma, softly, “and the Mayor has been a good
+friend to you.”</p>
+
+<p>“Hasn’t he?” said Berty. “I must not scold him
+for that awful speech.”</p>
+
+<p>“The opening was good,” said Grandma, mildly.</p>
+
+<p>“Yes, but the middle and the ending,” replied
+Berty, with a groan.</p>
+
+<p>“Oh, how I suffered—not for myself. I could
+endure to hear him speak for a year. But I do so<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[165]</a></span>
+want him to make a good impression on others. His
+tongue is just like a spool of silk. It unwinds and
+unwinds and unwinds, and never breaks off. Talk
+about women’s tongues!”</p>
+
+<p>“He is new to public speaking. He will get over
+it.”</p>
+
+<p>“And I made him such a thrilling hobgoblin,”
+continued Berty, in an aggrieved voice. “Why, I
+had nightmare last night just in dreaming about
+it.”</p>
+
+<p>“A hobgoblin?” said Grandma, questioningly.</p>
+
+<p>“Yes—to stop him. It was on the last page
+of his manuscript. You remember when he came
+to the end of his paper, he just stopped a minute,
+smiled a sickly smile, and went on. Why, that hobgoblin
+didn’t frighten him a bit. It inspired him.
+What was he talking about? What do people talk
+about when they ramble on and on? I can never
+remember.”</p>
+
+<p>“Berty,” said Mrs. Travers, shrewdly, “you are
+tired and excited. You would better come home.
+There is Mrs. Provis looking in the gate. She will
+keep an eye on the children.”</p>
+
+<p>“Oh, Mrs. Provis,” said Berty, hurrying to the
+gate, “won’t you come in and sit awhile till I go<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[166]</a></span>
+home and get something to eat? I’ll come back
+presently and lock up.”</p>
+
+<p>“Yes, miss,” said the woman, readily. “That’s
+a little thing to do for you. I guess this street takes
+store of what you’ve done for our young ones.”</p>
+
+<p>“They’re my young ones, too,” said Berty,
+proudly. “I live on the street—we’re all neighbours.
+Now I’ll go. I won’t be long. Your eldest
+girl can get the supper ready for your husband,
+can’t she?”</p>
+
+<p>“That she can, miss.”</p>
+
+<p>Berty walked away with her grandmother, and
+the woman, gazing after her, said, “Bless your black
+head. I’d like to hear any one say anything agin
+you in River Street.”</p>
+
+<p>In an hour Berty was back again, part of her
+supper in her pocket.</p>
+
+<p>Contentedly eating her bread and butter, she sat
+on a bench watching the children, most of whom
+absolutely refused to go home, while others ran
+merely for a few mouthfuls of something to eat.</p>
+
+<p>This intoxication of play in a roomy place was
+a new experience to them, and Berty, with an intensely
+thankful face, watched them until a heavy
+footstep made her turn her head.</p>
+
+<p>The Mayor stood before her, two red spots on<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[167]</a></span>
+his cheeks, and a strange light in his eye. “I’ve
+just been to your house,” he said, “and your grandmother
+sent me here.”</p>
+
+<p>“Did she?” said Berty; then she added, promptly,
+“What has happened?”</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Jimson heaved a deep, contented sigh, and
+seated himself beside her. “I’m a happy man, Miss
+Berty.”</p>
+
+<p>“What are you happy about?” she asked, briskly.
+“It isn’t—it isn’t Miss Everest?”</p>
+
+<p>“Yes, it is Miss Everest,” said Mr. Jimson.
+“Something took place this afternoon.”</p>
+
+<p>“Oh, what?—why don’t you tell me? You’re
+terribly slow.”</p>
+
+<p>“I’m as fast as I can be. I’m not a flash of
+lightning.”</p>
+
+<p>“No, indeed.”</p>
+
+<p>“Well, I’ve met Miss Everest—she’s talked with
+me!”</p>
+
+<p>“She has!” cried Berty, joyfully.</p>
+
+<p>“Yes, she has. You know, after the affair this
+afternoon some of the people went to town. Miss
+Everest was shopping.”</p>
+
+<p>“She always does her shopping in the morning,”
+interrupted Berty. “All the smart set do.”</p>
+
+<p>“Well, I guess she found herself down-town,”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[168]</a></span>
+said Mr. Jimson, good-naturedly, “and couldn’t
+get by the shops. Anyway, she was coming out
+of that fol-de-rol place where you women buy dolls
+and ribbons.”</p>
+
+<p>“Oh, you mean Smilax & Wiley’s.”</p>
+
+<p>“Yes, that’s the place. She came out of the door,
+and, turning her head to speak to some one passing
+her, she almost ran into me. I stopped short, you
+may be sure, and I know you’ll be mad with me
+when I tell you that I forgot to take my hat off.”</p>
+
+<p>“Perhaps I won’t,” said Berty, guardedly. “It
+depends on what follows.”</p>
+
+<p>“I just stood rooted to the spot, and staring with
+all my might. She grew kind of pink and bowed.
+I said, ‘Miss Everest,’ then I stopped. I guess she
+was sorry for my dumbness, for she said, in a kind
+of confused way, ‘What a stupid place this is. I’ve
+been all over it trying to match some silk, and I
+can’t find a scrap.’ And still I never said a word.
+For the life of me I couldn’t think of anything.
+Then she said, ‘That was a very good speech of
+yours this afternoon.’”</p>
+
+<p>“Now surely you said something in response to
+that,” interjected Berty, “such a gracious thing for
+her to say.”</p>
+
+<p>“Never a word,” replied the Mayor, seriously,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[169]</a></span>
+“and, seeing that I couldn’t or wouldn’t speak, she
+went away. After she left, words came to me, and
+I babbled on to myself, till the people began to
+look at me as if they thought I’d gone crazy, then
+I moved on.”</p>
+
+<p>“Well,” said Berty, with badly suppressed scorn,
+“this is a great tale. Where have you distinguished
+yourself, pray?”</p>
+
+<p>“Wait a bit,” said Mr. Jimson, soberly. “I
+haven’t finished. Before I left the spot I cast my
+eyes to the pavement. What did I see but the bit
+of silk she had dropped there.”</p>
+
+<p>“Well,” observed Berty, in a mystified way, when
+he paused.</p>
+
+<p>“I thought of what you said,” continued the
+Mayor. “I called up your hint about small things.
+I picked up the bit of silk.”</p>
+
+<p>“And, for goodness’ sake, what did you do with
+it?” queried Berty, in distress. “Some fantastic
+thing, I’ll be bound.”</p>
+
+<p>“I took it away to my office,” Mr. Jimson went
+on, solemnly, and with the air of keeping back some
+item of information that when communicated would
+cover him with glory. “I’ve got an office-boy as
+sharp as a needle. I gave him the piece of silk. I
+said, ‘You hold on to that as if it were a fifty-dollar<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[170]</a></span>
+greenback. You take the seven-thirty train for
+Boston. You match that silk, and get back here
+as quick as you can.’”</p>
+
+<p>“Oh! oh!” cried Berty, “how much did you
+send for?”</p>
+
+<p>“For a pound,” said the Mayor, tragically. “She
+said she had a peóny to work, and they’re pretty
+big flowers.”</p>
+
+<p>“Péony, not pe-ó-ny,” said Berty, peevishly.
+Then she thought awhile, and the Mayor, losing his
+deeply satisfied air, sat regarding her in bewilderment.</p>
+
+<p>At last she delivered her opinion sibyl-like. “I
+don’t know whether you’ve done a good thing or
+not. Only time can tell. But I think you have.”</p>
+
+<p>“I’ve done just what you told me,” said the astonished
+man. “You said to look out for little
+things.”</p>
+
+<p>“Yes, but the question is, have you the right yet
+to look out for little things,” said Berty, with some
+dissatisfaction in her tone. “When grandma was
+married she forgot her wedding-bouquet, and her
+newly made husband had a special train leave here
+to take it to Bangor, but he had the right.”</p>
+
+<p>“Look here,” said the Mayor, and the red spots
+on his cheeks deepened, “you’re criticizing too<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[171]</a></span>
+much. I guess you’d better not interfere between
+Miss Everest and me.”</p>
+
+<p>“You’ll want me to give her that silk when it
+comes,” said Berty, defiantly.</p>
+
+<p>“I did—that’s just what I came to speak to
+you about, but now I’ll give it to her myself.”</p>
+
+<p>“She may not like it.”</p>
+
+<p>“She can like it, or lump it,” said Mr. Jimson,
+inelegantly; “when that parcel comes, I am going
+to take it to her.”</p>
+
+<p>“Suppose the boy can’t match the silk?”</p>
+
+<p>“He’s got to,” said Mr. Jimson, obstinately.</p>
+
+<p>“But perhaps he can’t; then how will she ever
+know you sent for it, if I don’t tell her. You would
+like me to in that case, wouldn’t you?”</p>
+
+<p>“I’m no violet,” said Mr. Jimson, disagreeably.
+“I want to get in with Miss Everest, and how can
+I if I blush unseen?”</p>
+
+<p>“I’ll tell her of your blushes,” said Berty, generously.
+“Come, now, let us be friends again.
+From my standpoint, I think you have done nobly
+and magnificently.”</p>
+
+<p>“But you were just blaming me.”</p>
+
+<p>“That was from Miss Everest’s standpoint.”</p>
+
+<p>“I’m blessed if I know how to take you,” muttered<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[172]</a></span>
+the confused man. “One minute you’re yourself,
+and the next you’re another woman.”</p>
+
+<p>“That’s feminine reversibility,” said Berty, graciously.
+“You don’t understand us yet. That is
+the punishment our Creator inflicts upon you, for
+not having studied us more. A pity I hadn’t known
+you five years ago—come, it’s time to lock up here.
+Oh, Mr. Mayor, can’t we have electric lights for this
+playground?”</p>
+
+<p>With an effort he called back his wandering
+thoughts which were on the way to Boston with his
+office-boy, and looked round the darkening park.
+“What do you want lights for?”</p>
+
+<p>“Why, these children play till all hours. It’s
+mean to keep them here till dark, then turn them on
+the streets. A few lights would make the place as
+light as day.”</p>
+
+<p>The Mayor stared about him in silence.</p>
+
+<p>“I’ve just been thinking about the electric light
+people,” continued Berty. “They’re a big, rich
+company, aren’t they?”</p>
+
+<p>“So, so.”</p>
+
+<p>“Well, would it be wrong for me to go to them
+and ask to have a few lights put in?”</p>
+
+<p>“Wrong, no—”</p>
+
+<p>“But would they do it?”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[173]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>“Well, I guess if you went to them with your
+mind made up that they ought to, they would do it
+quick enough.”</p>
+
+<p>“I’ll go,” said Berty, with satisfaction. “Thank
+you so much. I’ll say you advised me.”</p>
+
+<p>The Mayor sighed, but said nothing.</p>
+
+<p>“Come, children,” called Berty, in her clear
+voice, “it’s time to go home. Gates open at eight-thirty
+to-morrow morning.”</p>
+
+<p>She huddled them out into the street like a flock
+of unwilling sheep, then walked home beside her
+suddenly silent companion.</p>
+
+<p>“Selina Everest sat beside Grandma to-day,” said
+Berty, recurring to what she knew was now his
+favourite topic of conversation.</p>
+
+<p>“I saw her there,” said her companion, eagerly.
+“Do you suppose your grandmother—”</p>
+
+<p>“Yes, she did,” and Berty finished his sentence
+for him. “Trust Grandma to slip a good word in
+Miss Everest’s ear about you. I saw her blush, so
+perhaps she is beginning to care.”</p>
+
+<p>“Perhaps your grandmother had better take her
+the silk,” said the Mayor, generously.</p>
+
+<p>“No, I think I’ll attend to that myself,” said
+Berty, “but come in and see Grandma,” and she
+paused; “we’ll have a nice talk about the Everests.”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[174]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>“By the way,” she said, ushering him out to the
+veranda, and lingering for a minute before she went
+to find her grandmother, “I want to thank you
+again for getting me that salary for looking after
+the playground. I’m just delighted—but I think
+I’ll have to get a helper, for Grandma doesn’t want
+me to stay there all the time.”</p>
+
+<p>“That’s square—just what I recommended,”
+said Mr. Jimson. “Get any one you like, and give
+him or her ten or twelve dollars a month to assist
+you.”</p>
+
+<p>“But suppose he or she does half my work?”</p>
+
+<p>“That don’t count. Skilled labour, you know,
+takes the cake.”</p>
+
+<p>“But if any one does half my work, they must
+have half my pay.”</p>
+
+<p>“Nonsense,” said the Mayor, abruptly.</p>
+
+<p>“I sha’n’t grind the face of any poor person,”
+said Berty, doggedly.</p>
+
+<p>“All right—have it your own way, but if you
+won’t mind me, consult your grandmother before
+you pledge yourself.”</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[175]</a></span></p>
+
+<h2 id="CHAPTER_XV">CHAPTER XV.<br />
+<span class="smaller">UP THE RIVER</span></h2>
+
+<p>Berty and her grandmother were having a quiet
+little picnic together. They had gone away up the
+river to Cloverdale, and, landing among the green
+meadows, had followed a path leading to a small
+hill crowned by a grove of elm-trees.</p>
+
+<p>Here Berty had established her grandmother on
+a rug with cushions, magazines, and a new book, and
+the ever-present knitting.</p>
+
+<p>Thinking that the little old lady wished to have
+a nap, Berty left her, and, accompanied by a mongrel
+dog who had come from River Street with them,
+roamed somewhat disconsolately along the river
+bank.</p>
+
+<p>This proceeding on her part just suited the occupant
+of a second boat, who, unknown to Berty, had
+watched her pink and white one all the way from
+the city.</p>
+
+<p>With strong, steady strokes he pulled near the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[176]</a></span>
+bank where the girl stood knee-deep in the high
+meadow-grass, then, with a hypocritical start, pretended
+to recognize her for the first time, just as
+he was rowing by.</p>
+
+<p>“How de do, Berty—what are you doing here?”</p>
+
+<p>“Grandma and I are having a picnic,” she said,
+in a lugubrious voice.</p>
+
+<p>“A picnic,” he repeated, incredulously, “you
+mean a funeral.”</p>
+
+<p>“I mean what I say,” she replied, crossly.</p>
+
+<p>“Might a fellow land?” he asked, his eyes dancing
+mischievously.</p>
+
+<p>“A fellow can land, or move on, or swim, or
+fly, for aught I care,” she responded, ungraciously.</p>
+
+<p>He jumped up, sprang out of his boat, and fastened
+it to the same stake where Berty’s was moored.</p>
+
+<p>“You’ve been looking cross-eyed at the sun,” he
+said, taking off his hat and fanning himself.</p>
+
+<p>“Take care that you don’t do the same thing,”
+said Berty.</p>
+
+<p>He looked at her sharply. She was cross, pure
+and simple, and with a satisfied smile he went on,
+“Might a fellow sit down on this grass? It looks
+uncommonly comfortable.”</p>
+
+<p>“Oh, yes,” said Berty, seating herself near him.
+“One might as well sit as stand.”</p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 460px;" id="illus5">
+<img src="images/illus5.jpg" width="460" height="650" alt="" />
+<p class="caption">“‘YOU’RE DYING TO TEASE ME’”</p>
+</div>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[177]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>“This is pleasant,” said Tom, happily, leaning
+on one elbow with his hat over his eyes, and gazing
+dreamily at the river.</p>
+
+<p>“It is the prettiest river in the world,” remarked
+Berty, decidedly.</p>
+
+<p>“Come now—how many rivers have you seen?”
+inquired Tom.</p>
+
+<p>“Lots of them.”</p>
+
+<p>“And you have never been out of your native
+State.”</p>
+
+<p>“I have been to Boston, and New York, and New
+Orleans. How strange that you should forget it,”
+replied Berty, wrathfully.</p>
+
+<p>“What’s made you mad, Berty?” inquired Tom,
+with a brotherly air.</p>
+
+<p>“You know,” she said, sulkily, “you’re dying
+to tease me.”</p>
+
+<p>“Poor little girl,” murmured Tom, under his
+breath. Then he said, aloud, “Peter Jimson is in
+our house morning, noon, and night now.”</p>
+
+<p>“Don’t I know it!” exclaimed Berty, indignantly,
+“and you are encouraging him, and you can’t bear
+him.”</p>
+
+<p>“Come now, Berty,” said Tom, protestingly.
+“‘Can’t bear’ is a strong expression. I never
+thought much about him till he began sending business<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[178]</a></span>
+my way. I tell you that makes a lot of difference.
+It isn’t in human nature to look critically
+at a man who gives you a helping hand in the
+struggle for existence. Unless he’s a monster,
+which Jimson isn’t.”</p>
+
+<p>“And he has helped you?” asked Berty, curiously.</p>
+
+<p>“Lots—he has a big influence in the city. Don’t
+you know about it?”</p>
+
+<p>“About his influence?”</p>
+
+<p>“No—about his favouring me.”</p>
+
+<p>“He tells me nothing now,” and her tone was
+bitter.</p>
+
+<p>“You’ve been a good friend to him, Berty. He
+is never tired of singing your praises.”</p>
+
+<p>“To whom does he sing? To Selina?”</p>
+
+<p>“I don’t know. I’m not with them much.”</p>
+
+<p>“Then he sings them to you?”</p>
+
+<p>“Yes, just as soon as I pitch him the tune.”</p>
+
+<p>“I should think you’d know enough of me,”
+said Berty, peevishly. “I’m sure you’re one of the
+earliest objects I remember seeing in life.”</p>
+
+<p>“Come now, Berty,” he replied, good-naturedly,
+“you needn’t be flinging my age up to me. I’m
+only six years older than you, anyway.”</p>
+
+<p>“Well, that is an age.”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[179]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>“How did you and Jimson fall out?” asked Tom,
+curiously. “I’d give considerable to know.”</p>
+
+<p>“You’ll never know, now that I see you want to,”
+replied Berty, vigorously.</p>
+
+<p>Tom meditatively chewed a piece of meadow-grass,
+then said, easily, “I spoke in the language
+of exaggeration. We all do it. Of course, I guess
+that you had a quarrel. Jimson was dancing about
+you morning, noon, and night, till he took a fancy
+to Selina. Then you were jealous.”</p>
+
+<p>“It wasn’t that at all,” said Berty, unguardedly.
+“I wouldn’t be so silly. He broke his word about
+a package of silk.”</p>
+
+<p>“Oh,” replied Tom, coolly, “that was the silk
+Selina was so delighted to get. He sent a boy to
+Boston for it.”</p>
+
+<p>“Yes, and the arrangement, the very last arrangement,
+was for me to present it when it came. Several
+days went by; and I thought it queer I didn’t hear
+from him. Then I met him in the street. ‘Couldn’t
+the boy match the silk?’ I asked.</p>
+
+<p>“‘Oh, yes,’ he said, ‘he brought it fast enough.’</p>
+
+<p>“‘And where is it?’ I asked.</p>
+
+<p>“‘Miss Everest has it.’</p>
+
+<p>“‘Miss Everest?’ I said. ‘How did she get it?’</p>
+
+<p>“‘Well,’ he said, ‘when it came, I just couldn’t<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[180]</a></span>
+resist. I caught it from the boy. I took a carriage
+to her house—she was just at breakfast, but she
+came out, and I gave it to her.’</p>
+
+<p>“‘And what did she say?’ I asked. Now this is
+where I blame him, Tom. Just think, after all my
+kindness to him, and coaching him as to the ways
+of women, he just said, coolly, ‘I can’t tell you.’</p>
+
+<p>“‘Can’t tell me?’ I repeated. ‘You’ve got to.
+I’m more interested in this affair than you are.’</p>
+
+<p>“‘I—I can’t,’ he stammered. ‘I’ve seen Miss
+Everest several times since, and she says you’re
+only a child—not to tell everything to you.’</p>
+
+<p>“‘Only a child!’ I said. ‘Very well!’ and I
+stalked away. He sent me a bouquet of carnations
+and maidenhair that evening, but of course flowers
+had no effect on me.”</p>
+
+<p>“Selina is jealous of you,” said Tom, promptly.</p>
+
+<p>“I’m not jealous of her,” returned Berty, sweetly.
+“I wish her every happiness, but I do think the
+Mayor might have been more open.”</p>
+
+<p>“If he’s got to dance after Selina, his work’s
+cut out,” said Tom.</p>
+
+<p>“Do you think she will marry him?” asked Berty,
+eagerly.</p>
+
+<p>“Marry him—of course she will. I never saw<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[181]</a></span>
+her so pleased over anything as she was over that
+silk affair. Jimson is a good-hearted fellow, Berty.”</p>
+
+<p>“Good-hearted, yes, but he doesn’t keep his
+promises. He hasn’t got those pigeon-boxes up
+yet.”</p>
+
+<p>“What pigeon-boxes?”</p>
+
+<p>“He promised to have some nailed on the shed for
+me. The boxes are all made, but not put up.”</p>
+
+<p>“I’ll do it,” said Tom, generously. “I’ll come
+to-morrow.”</p>
+
+<p>“To-morrow will be Sunday.”</p>
+
+<p>“Monday, then. Monday afternoon as soon as
+the office closes.”</p>
+
+<p>“Very well,” said Berty, with a sigh, “but you’ll
+probably forget. My friends don’t seem to be standing
+by me lately.”</p>
+
+<p>“Your friends—why, you are the heroine of the
+city—confound it, what is that dog doing?”</p>
+
+<p>Berty’s mongrel friend, taking advantage of
+Tom’s absorbing interest in his companion, had lain
+down on the grass behind him and had chewed a
+piece out of his coat.</p>
+
+<p>“Look at it—the rascal,” exclaimed Tom, twisting
+round his blue serge garment—“a clean bite.
+What kind of a dog is this? Get out, you brute.”</p>
+
+<p>“Don’t scold him,” said Berty, holding out a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[182]</a></span>
+hand to the culprit. “He doesn’t know any better.
+He is young and cutting teeth.”</p>
+
+<p>“Well, I wish he’d cut them on some other man—look
+at that coat. It’s ruined.”</p>
+
+<p>“Can’t you get it mended?”</p>
+
+<p>“Who would do it for me?”</p>
+
+<p>“Send it to your tailor.”</p>
+
+<p>“It’s too shabby—I just keep it for boating.”</p>
+
+<p>“Ask your mother or Selina.”</p>
+
+<p>“They’re too busy with fancy work. Selina is
+working peonies all over the place. She’s got to
+use up that pound of silk.”</p>
+
+<p>“I don’t know what you’ll do, then,” observed
+Berty, in an uninterested way, “unless,” with sudden
+vivacity, “you give me the coat for a poor
+person.”</p>
+
+<p>“Not I—I can’t afford that. I’ll tell you, Berty,
+I ought to get a wife.”</p>
+
+<p>“Why, so you should,” said the young girl,
+kindly. “It’s time you were getting settled. Have
+you any one in mind?”</p>
+
+<p>“I know the kind of a girl I want,” said Tom,
+evasively. “I do wish you’d help me pick her
+out.”</p>
+
+<p>Berty shook her head with sudden wariness. “I
+forgot, I’m not going to meddle with match-making<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[183]</a></span>
+any more. You’re sure to get a snub from the
+person you’re trying hardest to benefit.”</p>
+
+<p>“I promise you that the girl I choose will never
+snub you,” said Tom, solemnly.</p>
+
+<p>“There was Selina,” replied Berty, bitterly, “I
+just loved her, and thought her beautiful and stately
+like a picture, and far above Mr. Jimson, and now
+she says I’m a child—a child!”</p>
+
+<p>“It’s too bad,” said Tom, sympathetically, “but
+Selina was always a little bit wrapped up in herself.”</p>
+
+<p>“I had even got as far as the engagement-ring,”
+continued Berty. “I thought a red stone—a garnet
+or a ruby—would be less common than the
+diamond that everybody has.”</p>
+
+<p>“Would you prefer a red stone for yourself?”
+asked Tom, artlessly.</p>
+
+<p>“Yes, I should think I would.”</p>
+
+<p>“Well, you see Selina wants to choose for herself.
+You women like to manage your own affairs.”</p>
+
+<p>“But Mr. Jimson is just as bad. He’s as stubborn
+as a mule when I want to advise him.”</p>
+
+<p>“I guess we all like to run our own concerns,”
+said Tom, good-humouredly, “but to come back
+to my girl, Berty, I do wish you would help me.
+You understand women so much better than I do.”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">[184]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>“Didn’t I just tell you that I wouldn’t meddle
+with matrimonial affairs again—not for any one.
+Not even if dear Grandma were to ask me.”</p>
+
+<p>“Well, now, we all have a great respect for
+Grandma,” said Tom, warmly, “but I scarcely think
+she is likely to think of giving you another grandfather.”</p>
+
+<p>“Oh, you wretch!” said Berty, irritably. “I
+don’t mean for herself. I mean for Bonny, or you,
+or some of her young friends.”</p>
+
+<p>“Well, as your decision is irrevocable, I suppose
+I mustn’t tease,” observed Tom, slowly getting up
+and looking out over the river, “but I would really
+like you to help me. Perhaps Margaretta will.
+Good-bye, Berty.”</p>
+
+<p>“Grandma and I are going to have a cup of tea
+presently,” said Berty, staring out over the meadows
+without looking at him. “We’ve brought a kettle
+and some eatables. If you would like to stay, I
+know Grandma would be glad to have you.”</p>
+
+<p>“Thank you, but I don’t think I’d better accept
+Grandma’s kind invitation. My mind is full of
+this important business of choosing a wife, and I
+want to find some one who will give me good advice.
+Margaretta will just about be going to dinner by
+the time I get back to the city. I’ll change my duds,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[185]</a></span>
+and get over just about the minute that the third
+course goes in.”</p>
+
+<p>“What kind of a girl do you want?” said Berty,
+staring up at him.</p>
+
+<p>“A tall girl, much taller than you, or even Margaretta.
+Tall and flaxen-haired like a doll.”</p>
+
+<p>“And blue eyes, I suppose,” said Berty, sarcastically.</p>
+
+<p>“Oh, yes, blue as the sky, and tapering fingers—white
+fingers, not brown from boating and out-of-door
+life.”</p>
+
+<p>“You want a hothouse plant,” said Berty, disdainfully.</p>
+
+<p>“You’ve put my very idea in words,” said Tom,
+in an ecstasy, as he again sat down on the grass
+near her. “I’d admire to wait on one of those
+half-sick creatures. It seems to me if I could
+wrap her in a white shawl in the morning, and come
+back at night and find her in the same place, I’d be
+perfectly happy. Now these healthy, athletic creatures
+with strong opinions scurry all over the place.
+You never know where to find them.”</p>
+
+<p>“Suppose you advertise.”</p>
+
+<p>“I dare say I’ll have to. I don’t know any one
+of just the type I want here in Riverport, but I
+thought perhaps you might know one. It doesn’t<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">[186]</a></span>
+matter if she lives outside. I wouldn’t mind going
+a little way.”</p>
+
+<p>“There’s Matty DeLong,” replied Berty. “She
+has neuralgia terribly, but then her hair isn’t light.”</p>
+
+<p>“I don’t want a neuralgic victim. It’s just a kind
+of general debility girl I want.”</p>
+
+<p>“What about the doctor’s bills?”</p>
+
+<p>“I’ll pay them,” said Tom, enthusiastically.
+“Give me domestic peace even at the expense of
+bills.”</p>
+
+<p>“I expect I’d be a terrible termagant if I married,”
+observed Berty, thoughtfully.</p>
+
+<p>Her companion made no reply to this assertion.</p>
+
+<p>“If I asked a man for money, and he wouldn’t
+give it to me, I think I’d want to pound him to
+a jelly,” continued Berty, warmly.</p>
+
+<p>“I expect he’d let you,” observed Tom, meekly,
+“but you’re not thinking of marriage for yourself,
+are you, Berty?”</p>
+
+<p>“No,” she said, snappishly, “only when the subject
+is so much discussed, I can’t help having ideas
+put into my head.”</p>
+
+<p>“I suppose you’d like a Boston man, wouldn’t
+you?” inquired Tom, demurely.</p>
+
+<p>“I don’t know. Anybody that was a stranger
+and celebrated would do.”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">[187]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>“You’re like me in one respect. You want a
+brand-new article, not something you’ve been used
+to seeing since infancy.”</p>
+
+<p>“I should like a President,” said Berty, wistfully,
+“but when men come to the presidential chair
+they’re all too old for me.”</p>
+
+<p>“But it must be ennobling for you to have such
+an ambitious spirit,” observed Tom.</p>
+
+<p>“It does make me feel nice—Hark! isn’t that
+Grandma calling?”</p>
+
+<p>“Yes,” replied Tom. “Let us go see what she
+wants.”</p>
+
+<p>“Berty, Berty,” the distant voice was saying,
+“isn’t it time to put the kettle on? We must get
+home before dark.”</p>
+
+<p>“Yes, Grandma, dear,” called Berty. “Tom
+Everest is here. He will help me find some sticks.
+You please sit still and rest—come, Tom, and
+speak to her first,” and smiling and playing with the
+dancing mongrel pup, Berty ran up the slope.</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">[188]</a></span></p>
+
+<h2 id="CHAPTER_XVI">CHAPTER XVI.<br />
+<span class="smaller">BERTY’S TRAMP</span></h2>
+
+<p>Berty was away out on the lonely road leading
+from the iron works to the city.</p>
+
+<p>Grandma had not been well all day, and Berty
+had gone to ask Bonny to spend the night in the
+River Street house. Since the boy’s admission into
+Roger’s office he had virtually lived in Roger’s
+house.</p>
+
+<p>Not that he loved Margaretta and Roger more
+than he loved his grandmother and Berty, but the
+Grand Avenue style of living was more in accord
+with his aristocratic tastes than the plain ways of
+the house in River Street. So the boy really had
+two homes.</p>
+
+<p>Berty, who had been in the house with her grandmother
+all through the morning, had enjoyed the
+long walk out to the iron works, and was now enjoying
+the long walk home.</p>
+
+<p>It was a perfect afternoon. “How I love the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">[189]</a></span>
+late summer,” murmured the girl, and she gazed
+admiringly about her at the ripening grain fields,
+the heavily foliaged trees, the tufts of goldenrod
+flowering beside the dusty road.</p>
+
+<p>Away off there in the distance was a moving
+cloud of dust coming from the city. Nearer at
+hand, it resolved itself into a man who was shuffling
+along in a lazy way, and kicking up very much
+more dust than there was any necessity of doing.</p>
+
+<p>Berty stared at him. She knew most of the
+citizens of Riverport by sight, and whether she knew
+them by sight or not, she could tell by their general
+appearance whether they belonged to the place.</p>
+
+<p>This man was a stranger—a seedy, poor-looking
+man with a brown face, and he was observing her as
+intently as she was observing him.</p>
+
+<p>Arrived opposite her, he stopped. “Lady,” he
+said, in a whining voice, “please give a poor sick
+man some money to buy medicine.”</p>
+
+<p>“What’s the matter with you?” she asked,
+promptly.</p>
+
+<p>“An awful internal trouble, lady,” he said, laying
+his hand on his side. “Intermittent pains come
+on every evening at this time.”</p>
+
+<p>“You don’t look ill,” replied Berty, suspiciously.
+“Your face is as bronzed as a sailor’s.”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">[190]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>“The doctors prescribed outdoor air, lady,” he
+went on, whiningly.</p>
+
+<p>“I haven’t any money for you.”</p>
+
+<p>The man, from his station in the road, looked
+back toward the city, then forward in the direction
+of the iron works. There was not a soul in
+sight, and as quick as a flash an angry sentence
+sprang to the girl’s lips, “Let me by.”</p>
+
+<p>“But, lady, I want some money,” he said, persistently,
+and he stood in her way.</p>
+
+<p>She surveyed him contemptuously. “You want
+to make me give you some, but I tell you you couldn’t
+do it.”</p>
+
+<p>“Couldn’t I, lady?” he replied, half-sneeringly,
+half-admiringly.</p>
+
+<p>“No,” said Berty, promptly, “because, in the
+first place, I’d be so mad that you couldn’t get it
+from me. You’re only a little man, and I guess
+a gymnasium-trained girl like myself could knock
+you about considerably. Then look here,” and,
+stepping back, she suddenly flashed something long
+and sharp and steely from her head. “Do you
+see that hat-pin? It would sting you like a wasp,”
+and she stabbed the air with it.</p>
+
+<p>The man snickered. “You’ve plenty of sand,
+but I guess I could get your purse if I tried.”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">[191]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>“Oh, how angry you make me,” returned the
+girl, with a fiery glance. “Now I can understand
+how one can let oneself be killed for an idea. You
+might possibly overcome me, you might get my
+purse, but you couldn’t kill the mad in me if you
+chopped me in a thousand little pieces.”</p>
+
+<p>“Lady,” said the man, teasingly, “I guess you’d
+give in before then, though I’ve no doubt but what
+your temper would carry you considerable far.”</p>
+
+<p>“And suppose you got my purse,” said Berty,
+haughtily, “what good would it do you? Wouldn’t
+I scream? I’ve got a voice like a steam-whistle;
+and the iron works close in five minutes, and this
+road will be alive with good honest workmen.
+They’d hunt you down like a rabbit.”</p>
+
+<p>For the first time a shade of uneasiness passed
+over his face. But he speedily became cool. “Good
+evening, lady, excuse me for frightening you,” and,
+pulling at his battered hat, he started to pass on.</p>
+
+<p>“Stop!” said Berty, commandingly, “who are
+you, and why did you come to Riverport?”</p>
+
+<p>He lazily propped himself against a tree by the
+roadside. “It was in my line of march.”</p>
+
+<p>“Are you a tramp?”</p>
+
+<p>“Well, yes, I suppose I am.”</p>
+
+<p>“Where were you born?”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">[192]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>“In New Hampshire.”</p>
+
+<p>“You weren’t born a tramp?”</p>
+
+<p>“Great Harry!” muttered the man, taking off
+his hat and pushing back from his forehead the dark
+hair sprinkled with gray, “it seems a hundred years
+since I was born. My father was a well-to-do
+farmer, young lady, if you want to know, and he
+gave me a good education.”</p>
+
+<p>“A good education,” repeated Berty, “and now
+you have sunk so low as to stop women and beg
+for money.”</p>
+
+<p>“Just that low,” he said, indifferently, “and from
+a greater height than you think.”</p>
+
+<p>“What was the height?” asked Berty, eagerly.</p>
+
+<p>“I was once a physician in Boston,” he returned,
+with a miserable remnant of pride.</p>
+
+<p>“You a physician!” exclaimed Berty, “and now
+a tramp!”</p>
+
+<p>“A tramp pure and simple.”</p>
+
+<p>“What made you give up your profession?”</p>
+
+<p>“Well, I was born lazy, and then I drank, and
+I drink, and I always shall drink.”</p>
+
+<p>“A drunkard!” murmured Berty, pityingly.
+“Poor fellow!”</p>
+
+<p>The man looked at her curiously.</p>
+
+<p>“How old are you?” she asked, suddenly.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">[193]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>“Forty-five.”</p>
+
+<p>“Have you tried to reform?”</p>
+
+<p>“Formerly—not now.”</p>
+
+<p>“Oh, how queer people are,” said the girl, musingly.
+“How little I can understand you. How
+little you can understand me. Now if I could only
+get inside your mind, and know what you are thinking
+about.”</p>
+
+<p>“I’m thinking about my supper, lady,” he said,
+flippantly; then, as she looked carefully at him, he
+went on, carelessly, “Once I was young like you.
+Now I don’t go in for sentiment. I feed and sleep.
+That’s all I care about.”</p>
+
+<p>“And do you do no work?”</p>
+
+<p>“Not a stroke.”</p>
+
+<p>“And you have no money?”</p>
+
+<p>“Not a cent.”</p>
+
+<p>“But how do you live?”</p>
+
+<p>“Off good people like you,” he said, wheedlingly.
+“You’re going to give me a hot supper, I guess.”</p>
+
+<p>“Follow me,” said Berty, suddenly setting off
+toward the city, and the man sauntered after her.</p>
+
+<p>When they reached River Street, she opened the
+gate leading into the yard and beckoned to him.</p>
+
+<p>“I can’t take you in the house,” she said, in a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194">[194]</a></span>
+low voice, as he followed her. “My grandmother is
+ill, and then our house is very clean.”</p>
+
+<p>“And I am very unclean,” he said, jocularly surveying
+himself, “though I’m by no means as bad
+as an ash-heap tramp.”</p>
+
+<p>“But I’ll put you into the shed,” continued Berty.
+“There are only a few guinea-pigs there. They are
+quiet little things, and won’t hurt you.”</p>
+
+<p>“I hope you won’t give me husks for supper,”
+murmured the tramp.</p>
+
+<p>Berty eyed him severely. His condition to her
+was too serious for jesting, and she by no means
+approved of his attempts at humour.</p>
+
+<p>“I’ll bring you out something to eat,” she said,
+“and if you want to stay all night, I’ll drag you
+out a mattress.”</p>
+
+<p>“I accept your offer with thankfulness, lady,” he
+replied.</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">[195]</a></span></p>
+
+<h2 id="CHAPTER_XVII">CHAPTER XVII.<br />
+<span class="smaller">TOM’S INTERVENTION</span></h2>
+
+<p>About eight o’clock that evening Tom Everest
+ran in to bring Berty some rare wild flowers that
+he had found in an excursion to the country.</p>
+
+<p>“How is your grandmother?” he asked. “I
+hear she is ill.”</p>
+
+<p>“Better,” whispered Berty. “Bonny is with her,
+but I’ve got another trouble.”</p>
+
+<p>“What is it?” inquired Tom, tenderly.</p>
+
+<p>They were standing in the front hall, and he bent
+his head low to hear what she said.</p>
+
+<p>“There’s a tramp out in the wood-shed,” she
+went on, “and I don’t know what to do with him.”</p>
+
+<p>“I’ll go put him out,” said Tom, promptly starting
+toward the back hall.</p>
+
+<p>“No, no, I don’t want him put out. Come back,
+Tom. I want you to help me do something for
+him. Just think, he was once a doctor. He cured<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196">[196]</a></span>
+other people, and couldn’t cure himself. He drinks
+like a fish.”</p>
+
+<p>“Well, I’ll find a place for him to disport himself
+other than this,” said Tom, decidedly. “He isn’t
+going to spend the night in your back yard.”</p>
+
+<p>“Oh, Tom, don’t be foolish. He is as quiet as
+a lamb. He hasn’t been drinking to-day.”</p>
+
+<p>“I tell you, Berty, he’s got to come out. If you
+make a fuss, I’ll call Bonny down.”</p>
+
+<p>“Why, Tom Everest, you ought to be ashamed
+of yourself. Your face is as red as a beet. What
+about the Golden Rule?”</p>
+
+<p>“I beg your pardon, Berty,” said Tom, trying to
+look calm, “but I know more about tramps than you
+do. This fellow may be a thief.”</p>
+
+<p>“Tom—suppose you were the thief, and the
+thief were you? Would you like him to talk about
+you that way?”</p>
+
+<p>“Yes, I’d enjoy it. Come, Berty, lead the way.”</p>
+
+<p>“What do you want to do with him?” asked the
+girl, curiously.</p>
+
+<p>“Put him in the street.”</p>
+
+<p>“Well, suppose he is a thief. He may rob your
+neighbour’s house.”</p>
+
+<p>“My neighbour can look out for himself.”</p>
+
+<p>“You don’t mean that,” said Berty, quickly.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">[197]</a></span>
+“Please do find this man a good place for the night.
+Keep him out of harm.”</p>
+
+<p>“But, Berty, it won’t do any good. I know those
+fellows. They are thoroughly demoralized. You
+might just as well let this one go.”</p>
+
+<p>“Go where?” asked the girl, quickly.</p>
+
+<p>“To his appointed place.”</p>
+
+<p>The two young people stood staring at each other
+for a few minutes, then Berty said, seriously, “Tom
+Everest, you are a moral, upright man.”</p>
+
+<p>Tom modestly cast his eyes to the oilcloth on the
+floor.</p>
+
+<p>“How many other young men are there like
+you in the republic?” pursued Berty.</p>
+
+<p>“I don’t know,” he said, demurely.</p>
+
+<p>“How many tramps are there?”</p>
+
+<p>“I don’t know that—thousands and thousands,
+I guess.”</p>
+
+<p>“Well, suppose every honest young man took a
+poor, miserable tramp under his protection. Suppose
+he looked out for him, fed him, clothed him,
+and kept him from being a prey on society?”</p>
+
+<p>“I should say that would be a most undesirable
+plan for the young men,” said Tom, dryly. “I’d be
+afraid they’d get demoralized themselves, and all
+turn tramps. It’s easier to loaf than to work.”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">[198]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>“Tom,” said Berty, firmly, “this is my tramp.
+I found him, I brought him home, I have a duty
+toward him. I can’t protect all the tramps in the
+Union, but I can prevent this one from going on
+and being a worry to society. Why, he might
+meet some timid girl to-morrow and frighten her
+to death.”</p>
+
+<p>“Oho! he tried to scare you, did he?” asked
+Tom, keenly.</p>
+
+<p>“He asked me for money,” repeated Berty, “but
+of course I didn’t let him have it.”</p>
+
+<p>“Tell me all about it.”</p>
+
+<p>When she finished, Tom laughed softly. “So
+this is the gentleman you want me to befriend?”</p>
+
+<p>“Do you feel revengeful toward him?” asked
+Berty.</p>
+
+<p>“I’d like to horsewhip him.”</p>
+
+<p>“That’s the way I felt at first. Then I said to
+myself, ‘Berty Gravely, you’ve got to get every
+revengeful feeling out of your head before you
+can benefit that man. What’s the use of being
+angry with him? You only stultify yourself. Try
+to find out how you can do him good.’”</p>
+
+<p>“Oh, Berty,” interposed Tom, with a gesture of
+despair, “don’t talk mawkish, sickly sentimentality<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">[199]</a></span>
+to me. Don’t throw honey water over tin cans, and
+expect them to blossom like the rose.”</p>
+
+<p>“They will blossom, they can blossom,” said
+Berty, persistently, “and even if they won’t blossom,
+take your old tin cans, clean them, and set them
+on end. Don’t kick them in the gutter.”</p>
+
+<p>“What do you want me to do?” asked Tom,
+helplessly. “I see you have some plan in your
+mind.”</p>
+
+<p>This was Berty’s chance, and for a few minutes
+she so staggered him by her eloquence that he sank
+on the staircase, and, feebly propping his head on
+his hand, stared uninterruptedly at her.</p>
+
+<p>“I’ve been thinking hard,” she said, in low,
+dramatic tones, “very, very hard for two hours,
+as I sat by Grandma’s bed. What can we do for
+wrecks of humanity? Shall we pet them, coddle
+them, spoil them, as you speak of doing? Not at
+all. We’ve got to do something, but we mustn’t be
+foolish. This tramp is like some wet, soggy piece
+of wood floating down our river. It doesn’t know,
+feel, nor care. You mustn’t give it a push and send
+it further down the stream, but pull it ashore, and—and—”</p>
+
+<p>“And dry it, and make a fire and burn it,” said
+Tom, briskly. “I don’t like your simile, Berty.”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">[200]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>“It was unfortunate,” said the girl. “I will start
+again. I approve of societies and churches and
+clubs—I think they do splendid work, and if, in
+addition to what they do, every one of us would
+just reach out a helping hand to one solitary person
+in the world, how different things would be. We
+would have a paradise here below. It’s wicked,
+Tom, to say, ‘That is a worthless person, let him
+go—you can do nothing for him.’ Now I’ve got
+a plan for this tramp, and I want you to help me.”</p>
+
+<p>“I know you have, and I wouldn’t mind hearing
+it, but I don’t think I’ll help you, Berty. I don’t
+favour the gentry of the road.”</p>
+
+<p>“This is my plan,” said Berty, unheedingly;
+“but first let me say that I will make a concession
+to you. You may take the tramp with you, put him
+in a comfortable room for the night, see that he
+has a good bed, and a good breakfast in the morning.”</p>
+
+<p>“Oh, thank you, thank you,” murmured the
+young man. “You are so very kind.”</p>
+
+<p>“Don’t give him any money,” continued Berty,
+seriously, “and if you can keep him locked up without
+hurting his feelings, I wish you would—but
+don’t blight his self-respect.”</p>
+
+<p>“His what?” asked Tom, mildly.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201">[201]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>“His self-respect—even an animal must be protected
+in that way. Don’t you know that a dog
+gets well a great deal quicker, if you keep up his
+good opinion of himself?”</p>
+
+<p>“Does he?” murmured Tom. “I—I don’t
+know. I fear I have sometimes helped to lessen
+a dog’s good opinion of himself.”</p>
+
+<p>“And, furthermore,” pursued Berty, “I want
+that tramp to stay in Riverport. He’s going to be
+my tramp, Tom, and yours, too, if you will be
+good.”</p>
+
+<p>“Oh, I will be good, Berty, extra good to deserve
+a partnership like that.”</p>
+
+<p>“And you and I will look out for him. Now I’ve
+been wondering what employment we can find for
+him, for of course you know it isn’t good for any
+man to live in idleness.”</p>
+
+<p>“Just so, Berty.”</p>
+
+<p>“Well, we must be very cautious about what
+work we find for him, for he hasn’t worked for
+years.”</p>
+
+<p>“Something light and genteel, Berty.”</p>
+
+<p>“Light, but not so very genteel. He isn’t proud.
+He’s only unaccustomed to work. He talked quite
+frankly about himself.”</p>
+
+<p>“Oh—did he?”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202">[202]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>“Yes, and do you know what I have decided?”</p>
+
+<p>“No, I’m sure I don’t.”</p>
+
+<p>“Well, I have just found the very thing for
+him, and I dare say, if you have any money laid
+aside, you may want to invest in it. First of all,
+I want you to hire Bobbetty’s Island.”</p>
+
+<p>“Bobbetty’s Island—out in the river—old man
+Bobbetty’s?”</p>
+
+<p>“The same, Tom.”</p>
+
+<p>“Ghost thrown in?”</p>
+
+<p>“I want you to hire it,” said Berty, severely,
+“and get some of your friends to make up a party,
+and go down there and put up a big, comfortable
+camp for our tramp to live in.”</p>
+
+<p>“Why the island, Berty?” inquired Tom, in a
+suppressed voice. “Why not set him up in Grand
+Avenue. There’s a first-class family mansion to let
+there, three doors from us.”</p>
+
+<p>“Tom Everest, will you stop your fooling. Our
+tramp is to live on the island because if he were
+in the town he would spend half his time in drinking-places.”</p>
+
+<p>“But won’t the river be suggestive, Berty? It
+would to me, and I’m not a drinking man.”</p>
+
+<p>“No, of course not—he will have his work to
+do, and twice a week I want you to row over yourself,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203">[203]</a></span>
+or get some one to go and bring him to town,
+for he would go crazy if he were left there alone
+all the time.”</p>
+
+<p>“I wonder you don’t get a companion for him.”</p>
+
+<p>“I’m going to try. He has a wife, a nice woman
+in New Hampshire, who left him on account of his
+drinking habits. He says she will come back to
+him if he gets a good situation and promises to
+reform.”</p>
+
+<p>“Has he promised?” asked Tom, acutely.</p>
+
+<p>“He said he would think about it. I rather liked
+him for the hesitation, for of course he is completely
+out of the way of continuous application to anything.”</p>
+
+<p>“And what business, may I ask, are you going
+to establish him in? You seemed to be hinting at
+something.”</p>
+
+<p>“I am going to start a cat farm, and put him
+in charge,” replied Berty, with the air of one making
+a great revelation.</p>
+
+<p>“A cat farm,” echoed Tom, weakly, then, entirely
+collapsing, he rolled over on his side on the staircase
+and burst into silent and convulsive laughter.</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204">[204]</a></span></p>
+
+<h2 id="CHAPTER_XVIII">CHAPTER XVIII.<br />
+<span class="smaller">TRAMP PHILOSOPHY</span></h2>
+
+<p>“What are you two giggling about?” asked a
+sudden voice, and Berty, looking up from the hall,
+and Tom, from the staircase, saw Bonny standing
+on the steps above them.</p>
+
+<p>“Meow, meow,” murmured Tom, in a scarcely
+audible voice.</p>
+
+<p>“What’s up with him, Berty?” asked Bonny,
+good-naturedly.</p>
+
+<p>“I think his head must be growing weak,” said
+the girl. “Everything lately seems to amuse him.
+If you hold up a finger, he goes into fits of laughter.”</p>
+
+<p>“Poor Tom,” said Bonny, “and once he was a
+joy to his friends—I say, old man, uncurl yourself
+and tell us the joke.”</p>
+
+<p>“Go ’way, Berty,” ejaculated Tom, partly
+straightening himself, “go ’way. You hate to see<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205">[205]</a></span>
+me laugh. Just like all girls. They haven’t any
+more sense of humour than sticks.”</p>
+
+<p>“Bonny,” said Berty, turning to her brother,
+“how is Grandma?”</p>
+
+<p>“Asleep, and resting quietly.”</p>
+
+<p>“I’ll go sit beside her,” said the girl; then, turning
+to her visitor, “Tom Everest, are you going
+to do that commission for me, or are you not?
+I’ve stood a good deal from you to-night. Just
+one word more, and I take it from you and give
+it to Bonny.”</p>
+
+<p>“I’m ready and willing if it’s anything good,”
+said the light-haired boy.</p>
+
+<p>“Sha’n’t have it, Bonny,” said Tom, staggering to
+his feet. “That jewel is mine. I’ll love and cherish
+him, Berty, until to-morrow afternoon, then I’ll
+report to you.”</p>
+
+<p>“Good night, then,” said Berty, “and don’t make
+a noise, or you’ll wake Grandma.”</p>
+
+<p>“Come on, Bonny, let’s interview Berty’s treasure,”
+exclaimed Tom, seizing his hat.</p>
+
+<p>“What is it?” inquired Bonny, curiously, following
+him through the hall.</p>
+
+<p>“A black pearl. Didn’t she tell you?”</p>
+
+<p>“No, I haven’t been here long. We were busy
+at the works.”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_206" id="Page_206">[206]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>Without speaking, Tom led the way down the
+back staircase, through the lower hall, and out to
+the wood-shed at the back of the house.</p>
+
+<p>“Listen to it,” he said to Bonny, with his hand
+on the door-knob.</p>
+
+<p>“Who is snoring in there?” said the boy, quickly.</p>
+
+<p>“One of your sister’s bits of driftwood. I’ve got
+to haul this one into port.”</p>
+
+<p>“I wish Berty would look out for number one, and
+let number two, and three, and four, and five, take
+care of themselves,” said the lad, irritably. Then
+he suddenly recollected himself. “I suppose I am
+a brute, but I do hate dirty people. Berty is an
+angel compared with me.”</p>
+
+<p>“Hello,” said Tom, opening the door and scratching
+a match to light the candle in a lantern hanging
+near him.</p>
+
+<p>There was no response. Tom held the lantern
+and pushed the sleeping man with his foot.</p>
+
+<p>“Here, you—wake up.”</p>
+
+<p>The man rolled over, blinking at them in the
+light. “Hello, comrade, what you want?”</p>
+
+<p>“Get up,” said Tom, commandingly.</p>
+
+<p>“What for?” asked the sleeper, yawningly.</p>
+
+<p>“To get out of this. I’ll find you another sleeping-place.”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207">[207]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>“Oh, come, comrade,” said the man, remonstratingly,
+“this is cruelty to animals. I was having
+the sleep of my life—like drugged sleep—takes me
+back to my boyhood. Move on, and let me begin
+again. Your diamonds are safe to-night. I’ve had
+a first-class supper, and I’m having a first-class
+sleep. I wouldn’t get up to finger the jewels of
+the Emperor of Russia.”</p>
+
+<p>“Get up,” said Tom, inexorably.</p>
+
+<p>“Let him stay,” said Bonny. “I’m going to
+be here all night. If he gets dangerous, I’ll take
+the poker.”</p>
+
+<p>“Oh, you’re going to stay all night,” remarked
+Tom. “Very good, then. I’ll come early in the
+morning and get him out of this.”</p>
+
+<p>“Talking about me, gentlemen?” asked the man,
+sleepily.</p>
+
+<p>Tom and Bonny stared at him.</p>
+
+<p>“I haven’t done anything bad yet,” said the
+tramp, meekly, “unless I may have corrupted a
+few of those guinea-pigs by using bad language.
+They’re the most inquisitive creatures I ever saw.
+Stuck their noses in my food, and most took it away
+from me.”</p>
+
+<p>“Who are you?” asked Bonny, abruptly.</p>
+
+<p>“A poor, broken-down sailor, sir,” whined the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_208" id="Page_208">[208]</a></span>
+man. “Turned out of his vessel the first day in
+port, because he had a little weakness of the heart.”</p>
+
+<p>“I heard you were a doctor,” interposed Tom.</p>
+
+<p>“So I was this afternoon, sir. That nice young
+lady said I looked like a sailor, so I thought I’d
+be one to please her.”</p>
+
+<p>“You’re a first-class liar, anyway,” said Tom.</p>
+
+<p>The man rolled over on his back and sleepily
+blinked at him. “That I am, sir. If you’d hear
+the different stories I tell to charitable ladies, you’d
+fall down in a fit. They’re too funny for words.”</p>
+
+<p>Bonny was staring at him with wide-open eyes.
+He had never spoken to a tramp before in his life.
+If he saw one on the right side of the street, he
+immediately crossed to the left.</p>
+
+<p>“I say,” he began, with a fastidious curl of his
+lip, “it must be mighty queer not to know in the
+morning where you are going to lay your head at
+night. Queer, and mighty uncomfortable.”</p>
+
+<p>“So it is, young man, till you get used to it,”
+responded the tramp, amiably.</p>
+
+<p>Bonny’s countenance expressed the utmost disdain,
+and suddenly the tramp raised himself on an
+elbow. “Can you think of me, my fine lad, young
+and clean and as good-looking as you are?”</p>
+
+<p>“No, I can’t,” said Bonny, frankly.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209">[209]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>“Fussy about my tailor,” continued the man.
+“Good heavens, just think of it—I, bothering
+about the cut of my coat. But I was, and I did,
+and I’ve come down to be a trailer over the roads.”</p>
+
+<p>“How can persons take a jump like that?” said
+the boy, musingly.</p>
+
+<p>“It isn’t a jump,” pursued the tramp, lazily, “it’s
+a slide. You move a few inches each day. I’m
+something of a philosopher, and I often look back
+on my career. I’ve lots of time to think, as you
+may imagine. Now, gentlemen, you wouldn’t
+imagine where my slide into trampdom began.”</p>
+
+<p>“You didn’t start from the gutter, anyway,”
+remarked Bonny, “for you talk like a gentleman.”</p>
+
+<p>“You’re right, young man. I can talk the slang
+of the road. I’ve been broken to it, but I won’t
+waste it on you, for you wouldn’t understand it—well,
+my first push downward was given me by my
+mother.”</p>
+
+<p>“Your mother?” echoed Bonny, in disgust.</p>
+
+<p>“Yes, young sir—one of the best women that
+ever lived. She held me out to the devil, when she allowed
+me to kick the cat because it had made me
+fall.”</p>
+
+<p>“Nonsense,” said Bonny, sharply.</p>
+
+<p>“Not nonsense, but sound sense, sir. That was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210">[210]</a></span>
+the beginning of the lack of self-restraint. Did I
+want her best cap to tear to ribbons? I got it.”</p>
+
+<p>“Oh, get out,” interposed Tom, crossly. “You
+needn’t tell us that all spoiled children go to the
+bad.”</p>
+
+<p>“Good London, no,” said the man, with a laugh.
+“Look at our millionaires. Could you find on the
+face of the earth a more absolute autocrat, a more
+heartless, up-to-date, determined-to-have-his-own-way,
+let-the-rest-of-you-go-to-the-dogs kind of a
+man, than the average American millionaire?”</p>
+
+<p>The two young men eyed each other, and Bonny
+murmured, “You are an extremist.”</p>
+
+<p>“It began away back,” continued the tramp, now
+thoroughly roused from his sleepy condition.
+“When our forefathers came from England, they
+brought that ugly, I’m-going-to-have-my-own-way
+spirit with them. Talk about the severity of England
+precipitating the Revolution. If they hadn’t
+made a revolution for us, we’d made one to order.
+Did you ever read about the levelling spirit of those
+days? I tell you this American nation is queer—it’s
+harder for a real, true blue son of the soil to
+keep straight, than it is for the son of any other
+nation under the heaven. We lack self-restraint.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211">[211]</a></span>
+We’ll go to the bad if we want to, and none shall
+hinder us.”</p>
+
+<p>The tramp paused for a minute in his semi-lazy,
+semi-animated discourse, and Tom, feeling that
+some remark was expected from him, said feebly,
+“You’re quite a moralizer.”</p>
+
+<p>The tramp did not hear him. “I tell you,” he
+said, extending a dirty hand, “we’re the biggest,
+grandest, foolishest people on earth. We’re the
+nation of the future. We’ll govern the earth, and
+at the same time fail in governing ourselves. Look
+at the lynchings we have. The United States has
+the highest murder rate of any civilized country in
+the world. The average American will be a decent,
+moral, pay-his-bills sort of man, and yet he’ll have
+more tolerance for personal violence than a Turk
+has.”</p>
+
+<p>“You’re a queer man,” said Bonny, musingly.</p>
+
+<p>“We’ve got to have more law and order,” pursued
+the tramp. “The mothers have got to make
+their little ones eat their mush, or porridge, as they
+say over the line in Canada—not fling it out the
+window to the dogs. I tell you that’s where it begins,
+just where every good and bad thing begins—in
+the cradle. The average mother has too much
+respect for the squallings of her Young America.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_212" id="Page_212">[212]</a></span>
+Let her spank him once in awhile, and keep him
+out of sight of the eagle.”</p>
+
+<p>“Do you suppose,” said Bonny, solemnly, “that
+if you had been well spanked you would not be
+lying here?”</p>
+
+<p>“Suppose,” repeated the tramp, leaning back, “I
+don’t suppose anything about it. I know it. If
+my mother and father had made me mind them,
+and kept me in nights, and trained me into decent,
+self-respecting manhood, I’d be standing beside you
+to-night, young sirs, beside you—beyond you—for
+I guess from your bearing you are only young
+men of average ability, and I tell you I was a power,
+when I’d study and let the drink alone.”</p>
+
+<p>“You must have had a strange mother,” remarked
+Bonny.</p>
+
+<p>The tramp suddenly raised himself again, and his
+sunburnt face grew redder. “For the love of
+Heaven,” he said, extending one ragged arm, “don’t
+say a word against her. The thought of her is the
+only thing that moves me. She loved me, and, unclean,
+characterless wretch that I am, she would
+love me yet if she were still alive.”</p>
+
+<p>The man’s head sank on his arm, but not quickly
+enough. Tom and Bonny had both seen glistening
+in his eyes, not the one jewel they were jestingly<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213">[213]</a></span>
+in search of, but two priceless jewels that were not
+pearls, but diamonds.</p>
+
+<p>“Come on, Bonny,” said Tom, roughly, as he
+drew him from the shed.</p>
+
+<p>“Tom,” remarked Bonny, softly, as they went
+slowly up-stairs, “Berty wants you to do something
+for that fellow, doesn’t she?”</p>
+
+<p>“Yes.”</p>
+
+<p>“Do you think it is of any use?”</p>
+
+<p>“No.”</p>
+
+<p>“Are you going to try?”</p>
+
+<p>“Yes.”</p>
+
+<p>Bonny made no further remarks until some time
+later, when they were standing on the front door-step,
+then he asked, thoughtfully, “What does
+Berty want you to do, Tom?”</p>
+
+<p>“Start a cat-farm.”</p>
+
+<p>“A cat-farm! What kind of cats?”</p>
+
+<p>“Gutter cats, back yard cats, disreputable cats,
+I should guess from the character of the superintendent
+she has chosen,” replied Tom, gruffly.</p>
+
+<p>“The superintendent being the tramp,” said
+Bonny, slyly.</p>
+
+<p>“There’s no one else in question,” responded
+Tom.</p>
+
+<p>“I think you are wrong about the nature of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_214" id="Page_214">[214]</a></span>
+beasts,” continued Bonny. “I believe Berty means
+pet cats—Angoras, and so on.”</p>
+
+<p>“What sort are they?”</p>
+
+<p>“Do you mean to say you haven’t noticed them?
+It’s the latest cry among the women—‘Give me a
+long-haired cat!’ Mrs. Darley-James has a beauty—snow-white
+with blue eyes.”</p>
+
+<p>“All nonsense—these society women don’t know
+what to do to kill time.”</p>
+
+<p>“They’re not all society women that have them.
+Old Mrs. McCarthy has a pair of dandies—and
+I find that the women who take up cat-culture are
+more kind to back yard tabbies.”</p>
+
+<p>“Maybe you’re right, Bonny. I don’t call round
+on these women as you do.”</p>
+
+<p>“Well,” said Bonny, apologetically, “I don’t see
+any harm in putting on your best coat and hat,
+and doing a woman who has invited you to her house
+the compliment of calling on her day.”</p>
+
+<p>“Oh, dressing up,” said Tom, “is such a nuisance.”</p>
+
+<p>“You can’t call on many that you’d be bothered
+with calling on without it. Sydney Gray tried calling
+on Margaretta on her day in a bicycle suit. He
+had ridden fifty miles, and was hot and dusty and
+perspiring. He had the impudence to go into Margaretta’s<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215">[215]</a></span>
+spick and span rooms and ask for a cup
+of tea. She was so sweet to him that he came
+away hugging himself—but he never got asked
+there again, and every once in awhile he says to
+some one, ‘Queer, isn’t it, that Mrs. Stanisfield
+gives me the go-by. I don’t know what I’ve done
+to offend her.’”</p>
+
+<p>“Suppose we come back to Berty,” observed
+Tom. “If all the women here have cats, what
+does she want to start a farm for?”</p>
+
+<p>“The women aren’t all supplied. The demand
+is increasing, and many would buy here that
+wouldn’t send away for one. Berty is more shrewd
+than you think. These cats sell for five and six
+dollars apiece at the least, and some are as high
+as twenty. I shouldn’t a bit wonder if it would
+turn out to be a good business speculation.”</p>
+
+<p>“Well, then, you just meet some of the fellows
+in my office to-morrow evening and arrange for a
+house and lot for this man who is to boss the cats,”
+said Tom, dryly.</p>
+
+<p>“All right, I’ll come—maybe Roger will, too.”</p>
+
+<p>“Good night,” said Tom, “I’m off.”</p>
+
+<p>“Good night,” returned Bonny, laconically, and,
+standing with his hands thrust in his pockets, he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_216" id="Page_216">[216]</a></span>
+was looking down the street, when Tom suddenly
+turned back.</p>
+
+<p>“I say, Bonny, your grandmother must have a
+good history of the Revolution.”</p>
+
+<p>“She has two or three.”</p>
+
+<p>“Ask her to lend me one, will you? I half forget
+what I learned in school.”</p>
+
+<p>“Yes, sir; I’ll bring it to-morrow.”</p>
+
+<p>Tom really went this time, and as he quickly
+disappeared from sight, Bonny, from his station on
+the door-step, kept muttering to himself, “Slipping
+through life, slipping through life. How easy to
+get on that greased path!”</p>
+
+<p>“What are you saying to yourself?” asked a
+brisk voice.</p>
+
+<p>Bonny, turning sharply, found Berty beside him.</p>
+
+<p>“Nothing much—only that I was hungry. Let’s
+see what’s in the pantry.”</p>
+
+<p>“Bonny, if I show you where there is a pie, the
+most beautiful pumpkin pie you ever saw, will you
+help me with my tramp?”</p>
+
+<p>“I’ll do it for half a pie,” said Bonny, generously.
+“Come on, you young monkey.”</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_217" id="Page_217">[217]</a></span></p>
+
+<h2 id="CHAPTER_XIX">CHAPTER XIX.<br />
+<span class="smaller">AT THE BOARD OF WATER-WORKS</span></h2>
+
+<p>“There she comes,” murmured one of the clerks,
+in the board of water-works offices.</p>
+
+<p>“Who?” murmured the other clerk.</p>
+
+<p>“The beggar-girl,” responded the first one.</p>
+
+<p>The chairman of the board heard them, and
+looked fearfully over his shoulder.</p>
+
+<p>Roger, Tom, and Bonny knew that Berty’s frequent
+visits to the city hall had gained for her a
+nickname, occasioned by the character of her visits.
+She was always urging the claims of the poor, hence
+she was classed with them. They carefully shielded
+from her the knowledge of this nickname, and supposed
+she knew nothing of it.</p>
+
+<p>However, she did know. Some whisper of the
+“beggar-girl” had reached her ears, and was a
+matter of chagrin to her.</p>
+
+<p>The chairman of the board of water-works knew
+all about her. He knew that if the clerks had seen<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_218" id="Page_218">[218]</a></span>
+her passing along the glass corridor outside his
+office she was probably coming to him; she probably
+wanted something.</p>
+
+<p>One clerk was his nephew, the other his second
+cousin, so he was on terms of familiarity with them,
+and at the present moment was in the outer office
+discussing with them the chances that a certain bill
+had of passing the city council.</p>
+
+<p>The door of his own inner office stood open, but
+of what use to take refuge there? If the beggar-girl
+really wished to see a man on business, she
+always waited for him.</p>
+
+<p>He looked despairingly about him. A high, old-fashioned
+desk stood near. Under it was a foot-stool.
+As a knock came at the door, he ungracefully
+folded his long, lank limbs, quickly sat down on
+the foot-stool, and said, in a low voice, “I’ve gone
+to Portland for a week!” Then he fearfully awaited
+results.</p>
+
+<p>Berty, followed by her friend, the mongrel pup,
+walked into the room and asked if Mr. Morehall
+were in.</p>
+
+<p>“No,” said the second cousin, gravely, “he has
+been called to Portland on important business—will
+be gone a week.”</p>
+
+<p>The girl’s face clouded; she stood leaning against<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_219" id="Page_219">[219]</a></span>
+the railing that separated the room into two parts,
+and, as she did so, her weight pushed open the gate
+that the second cousin had just hastily swung together.</p>
+
+<p>The pup ran in, and being of quick wits and an
+inquiring disposition wondered what that man was
+doing curled up in a corner, instead of being on
+his feet like the other two.</p>
+
+<p>He began to sniff round him. Perhaps there
+was something peculiar about him. No—he
+seemed to be like other men, a trifle anxious and
+red-faced, perhaps, but still normal. He gave a
+playful bark, as if to say, “I dare you to come out.”</p>
+
+<p>Berty heard him, and turned swiftly. “Mugwump,
+if you worry another rat, I’ll never give you
+a walk again.”</p>
+
+<p>The two young men were in a quandary. Whether
+to go to the assistance of their chief, or whether to
+affect indifference, was vexing their clerical souls.
+Berty, more quick-witted than the pup, was prompt
+to notice their peculiar expressions.</p>
+
+<p>“Please don’t let him worry a rat,” she said,
+beseechingly, “it makes him so cruel. Rats have
+a dreadfully hard time! Oh, please call him off.
+He’s got it in his mouth. I hear him.”</p>
+
+<p>The chairman, in his perplexity, had thrown him<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_220" id="Page_220">[220]</a></span>
+a glove from his pocket, and Mugwump was mouthing
+and chewing it deliciously.</p>
+
+<p>“He’ll kill it,” exclaimed Berty. “Oh! let me
+in,” and before the confused clerks could prevent
+her, she had pushed open the gate and had followed
+the dog.</p>
+
+<p>Her face was a study. Low down on the floor
+sat the deceiving chairman, with Mugwump prancing
+before him.</p>
+
+<p>“Mr. Morehall!” she exclaimed; then she stopped.</p>
+
+<p>The chairman, with a flaming face, unfolded his
+long limbs, crawled out of his retreat, stumbled
+over the dog, partly fell, recovered himself, and
+finally got to his feet. After throwing an indignant
+glance at the two clerks, who were in a pitiable state
+of restrained merriment, he concentrated his attention
+on Berty. She blushed, too, as she divined
+what had been the case.</p>
+
+<p>“You were trying to hide from me,” she said,
+after a long pause.</p>
+
+<p>He could not deny it, though he stammered something
+about it being a warm day, and the lower part
+of the desk being a cool retreat.</p>
+
+<p>“Now you are telling me a story,” said Berty,
+sternly, “you, the chairman of the board of water-works—a
+city official, afraid of me!”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_221" id="Page_221">[221]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>He said nothing, and she went on, wistfully,
+“Am I, then, so terrible? Do you men all hate the
+beggar-girl?”</p>
+
+<p>Her three hearers immediately fell into a state
+of shamefacedness.</p>
+
+<p>“What have I done?” she continued, sadly,
+“what have I done to be so disliked?”</p>
+
+<p>No one answered her, and she went on. “When
+I lived on Grand Avenue and thought only of
+amusing myself, everybody liked me. Why is it
+that every one hates me since I went to River Street
+and am trying to make myself useful?”</p>
+
+<p>To Mr. Morehall’s dismay, her lip was quivering,
+and big tears began to roll down her cheeks.</p>
+
+<p>“Come in here,” he said, leading the way to
+his own room.</p>
+
+<p>Berty sat down in an armchair and quietly continued
+to cry, while Mr. Morehall eyed her with
+distress and increasing anxiety.</p>
+
+<p>“Have a glass of water, do,” said the tall man,
+seizing a pitcher near him, “and don’t feel bad.
+Upon my word, I didn’t know what I was doing.”</p>
+
+<p>“It—it isn’t you only,” gasped Berty. “It is
+everybody. Please excuse me, but I am tired and
+worried this morning. I’ve had some sick friends
+on our street—that’s what I came to see you about.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_222" id="Page_222">[222]</a></span>
+The autumn is starting in so dry that we are almost
+choked with dust. River Street hasn’t been watered
+for a week.”</p>
+
+<p>“Hasn’t it?” said Mr. Morehall, slowly.</p>
+
+<p>“Grand Avenue was always watered,” continued
+Berty, as she rested her head against the back of
+the chair, “even soaked. I never thought about
+dust in summer. Why is River Street neglected?”</p>
+
+<p>“River Street citizens don’t pay such heavy
+taxes,” suggested Mr. Morehall.</p>
+
+<p>“But they pay all they can, sir.”</p>
+
+<p>“Poor people are shiftless,” said the official, with
+a shrug of his shoulders.</p>
+
+<p>“That’s what everybody says,” exclaimed Berty,
+despairingly. “All well-to-do people that I talk
+to dismiss the poorer classes in that way. But poor
+people aren’t all shiftless.”</p>
+
+<p>“Not all, perhaps,” said Mr. Morehall, amiably,
+and with inward rejoicing that Berty was wiping
+away her tears.</p>
+
+<p>“And there must be poor people,” continued
+Berty. “We can’t all be rich. It’s impossible.
+Who would work for the prosperous, if all were
+independent?”</p>
+
+<p>“What I meant,” replied Mr. Morehall, “was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_223" id="Page_223">[223]</a></span>
+that poverty is very often the result of a lack of
+personal exertion on the part of the poor.”</p>
+
+<p>“Yes, sir, but I am not just now advocating the
+cause of the helpless. It is rather the claims of the
+respectable poor. I know heaps of people on River
+Street who have only a pittance to live on. Their
+parents had only the same. They are not dissipated.
+They work hard and pay what they can to the city.
+My argument is that these poorer children of the
+city should be especially well looked after, just as
+in a family the delicate or afflicted child is the most
+petted.”</p>
+
+<p>“Now you are aiming at the ideal,” said Mr.
+Morehall, with an uneasy smile.</p>
+
+<p>“No, sir, not the ideal, but the practical. Some
+one was telling me what the city has to spend for
+prisons, hospitals, and our asylums. Why, it would
+pay us a thousandfold better to take care of these
+people before they get to be a burden on us.”</p>
+
+<p>“They are so abominably ungrateful,” muttered
+Mr. Morehall.</p>
+
+<p>“And so would I be,” exclaimed Berty, “if I
+were always having charity flung in my face. Let
+the city give the poor their rights. They ask no
+more. It’s no disgrace to be born poor. But if I am
+a working girl in River Street I must lodge in a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_224" id="Page_224">[224]</a></span>
+worm-eaten, rat-haunted tenement-house. I must
+rise from an unwholesome bed, and put on badly
+made, uncomfortable clothing. I must eat a scanty
+breakfast, and go to toil in a stuffy, unventilated
+room. I must come home at night to my dusty, unwatered
+street, and then I must, before I go to sleep,
+kneel down and thank God that I live in a Christian
+country—why, it’s enough to make one a pagan
+just to think of it! I don’t see why the poor don’t
+organize. They are meeker than I would be. It
+makes me wild to see River Street neglected. If any
+street is left unwatered, it ought to be Grand Avenue
+rather than River Street, for the rich have gardens
+and can go to the country, while the poor must live
+on the street in summer.”</p>
+
+<p>“Now you are oppressing the rich,” said Mr.
+Morehall, promptly.</p>
+
+<p>“Heaven forbid,” said the girl, wearily. “Equal
+rights for all—”</p>
+
+<p>“The poor have a good friend in you,” he said,
+with reluctant admiration.</p>
+
+<p>“Will you have our street watered, sir?” asked
+Berty, rising.</p>
+
+<p>“I’ll try to. I’ll have to ask for an appropriation.
+We’ll want another cart and horse, and an extra
+man.”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_225" id="Page_225">[225]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>“That means delay,” said Berty, despairingly,
+“and in the meantime the dust blows about in
+clouds. It enters the windows and settles on the
+tables and chairs. It chokes the lungs of consumptives
+struggling for breath, and little babies gasping
+for air. Then the mothers put the windows down,
+and they breathe over and over again the polluted
+air. And this is stifling autumn weather—come
+spend a day in River Street, sir.”</p>
+
+<p>“Miss Gravely,” said the man, with a certain
+frank bluntness and good-will, “excuse my plain
+speaking, but you enthuse too much. Those poor
+people aren’t made of the same stuff that you are.
+They don’t suffer to the extent that you do under
+the same conditions.”</p>
+
+<p>Berty was about to leave the room, but she turned
+round on him with flashing eyes. “Do you mean to
+say that God has created two sets of creatures—one
+set with fine nerves and sensitive bodies, the other
+callous and unsensitive to comfort or discomfort?”</p>
+
+<p>“That’s about the measure of it.”</p>
+
+<p>“And where would you draw the line?” she
+asked, with assumed calmness.</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Morehall did not know Berty well. His
+family, though one of the highest respectability,
+moved in another circle. If he had had the pleasure<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_226" id="Page_226">[226]</a></span>
+of an intimate acquaintance with the energetic young
+person before him, he would have known that her
+compressed lips, her half-closed eyes, and her tense
+forehead betokened an overwhelming and suppressed
+anger.</p>
+
+<p>Therefore, unaware of the drawn sword suspended
+over his head, he went on, unsuspiciously. “To tell
+the truth, I think there’s a lot in heredity. Now
+there are some families you never find scrabbling
+round for something to eat. I never heard of a poor
+Gravely, or a Travers, or a Stanisfield, or a Morehall.
+It’s in the blood to get on. No one can down
+you.”</p>
+
+<p>He paused consequentially, and Berty, biting her
+lip, waited for him to go on. However, happening
+to look at the clock, he stopped short. This talk
+was interesting, but he would like to get back to
+business.</p>
+
+<p>“Mr. Morehall,” said Berty, in a still voice, “do
+you know that there are a legion of poor Traverses
+up in the northern part of the State, that Grandma
+used to send boxes to every month?”</p>
+
+<p>“No,” he said, in surprise, “I never heard that.”</p>
+
+<p>“And old Mr. Stanisfield took two of his own
+cousins out of the poorhouse three years ago, and
+supports them?”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_227" id="Page_227">[227]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>“You astonish me,” murmured the confused
+man.</p>
+
+<p>“And, moreover,” continued Berty, with a new
+gleam in her eye, “since you have been frank with
+me, I may be frank with you, and say that two of
+the people for whom I want River Street made
+sweet and wholesome are old Abner Morehall and
+his wife, from Cloverdale.”</p>
+
+<p>“Abner Morehall!” exclaimed the man, incredulously.</p>
+
+<p>“Yes, Abner Morehall, your own uncle.”</p>
+
+<p>“But—I didn’t know—why didn’t he tell?—”
+stammered Mr. Morehall, confusedly.</p>
+
+<p>“Yes—why do you suppose he didn’t tell you?”
+said Berty. “That’s the blood—the better blood
+than that of paupers. He was ashamed to have you
+know of his misfortune.”</p>
+
+<p>“He thought I wouldn’t help him,” burst out
+her companion, and, with shame and chagrin in his
+eyes, he sat down at the table and put his hand to
+his head. “It’s those confounded notes,” he said,
+at last. “I often told him he ought never to put
+his name to paper.”</p>
+
+<p>“It was his generosity and kindness—his implicit
+faith in his fellow men,” continued Berty,
+warmly; “and now, Mr. Morehall, can you say<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_228" id="Page_228">[228]</a></span>
+that ‘blood,’ or shrewdness, or anything else, will
+always keep misfortune from a certain family? Who
+is to assure you that your great-great-grandchildren
+will not be living on River Street?”</p>
+
+<p>No one could assure the disturbed man that this
+contingency might not arise, and, lifting his head,
+he gazed at Berty as if she were some bird of ill-omen.</p>
+
+<p>“You will come to see your relatives, I suppose?”
+she murmured.</p>
+
+<p>He made an assenting gesture with his hand.</p>
+
+<p>“They are two dear old people. They give tone
+to the street—and you will send a watering-cart
+this afternoon?”</p>
+
+<p>He made another assenting gesture. He did not
+care to talk, and Berty slipped quietly from his
+office.</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_229" id="Page_229">[229]</a></span></p>
+
+<h2 id="CHAPTER_XX">CHAPTER XX.<br />
+<span class="smaller">SELINA’S WEDDING</span></h2>
+
+<p>Selina Everest and the Mayor were married.</p>
+
+<p>On one of the loveliest of autumn mornings, the
+somewhat mature bride had been united in the holy
+bonds of matrimony to the somewhat mature bridegroom,
+and now, in the old family mansion of the
+Everests, they were receiving the congratulations
+of their numerous friends. Selina had had a church
+wedding. That she insisted on, greatly to the distress
+and confusion of her modest husband. He
+had walked up the aisle of the church as if to his
+hanging. One minute he went from red to purple,
+from purple to violent perspiration, the next he
+became as if wrapped in an ice-cold sheet, and not
+until then could he recover himself.</p>
+
+<p>But now it was all over. This congratulatory
+business was nothing compared to the agonizing
+experience of being in a crowded church, the shrinking<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_230" id="Page_230">[230]</a></span>
+target for hundreds of criticizing, shining, awful
+eyes.</p>
+
+<p>Yes, he was in an ecstasy to think the ordeal was
+over. Selina never would have made him go through
+it, if she had had the faintest conception of what
+his sufferings would be.</p>
+
+<p>She had enjoyed it. All women enjoy that sort
+of thing. They are not awkward. How can they
+be, with their sweeping veils and trailing robes?
+He had felt like a fence-post, a rail—anything
+stiff, and ugly, and uncomfortable, and in his heart
+of hearts he wondered that all those well-dressed
+men and women had not burst into shouts of laughter
+at him.</p>
+
+<p>Well, it was over—over, thank fortune. He
+never had been so glad to escape from anything in
+his life, as he had been to get out of the church and
+away from the crowd of people. That alone made
+him blissfully happy, and then, in addition, he had
+Selina.</p>
+
+<p>He looked at her, and mechanically stretched out
+a hand to an advancing guest. Selina was his now.
+He not only was out of that church and never would
+have to go into it again for such a purpose as he
+had gone this morning, but Selina Everest was Mrs.
+Peter Jimson.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_231" id="Page_231">[231]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>He smiled an alarming smile at her, a smile so
+extraordinarily comprehensive, that she hurriedly
+asked under her breath if he were ill.</p>
+
+<p>“No,” he said, and, in so saying, clasped the hand
+of the advancing friend with such vigour, that the
+unhappy man retreated swiftly with his unspoken
+congratulations on his lips.</p>
+
+<p>“I’m not ill,” he muttered. “I’m only a little
+flustered, Selina.”</p>
+
+<p>“Here’s Mrs. Short,” she said, hastily, “be nice
+to her. She’s a particular friend of mine.”</p>
+
+<p>“A fine day, ma’am,” murmured the Mayor;
+“yes, the crops seem good—ought to have rain,
+though.”</p>
+
+<p>Over by a French window opening on the lawn,
+Berty and Tom were watching the people and making
+comments.</p>
+
+<p>“Always get mixed up about a bride and groom,”
+volunteered Tom. “Always want to congratulate
+her, and hope that he’ll be happy. It’s the other
+way, isn’t it?”</p>
+
+<p>“I suppose so,” murmured Berty. “Oh, isn’t it
+a dream to think that they’re both happy?”</p>
+
+<p>“Makes one feel like getting married oneself,”
+said Tom.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_232" id="Page_232">[232]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>“Yes, doesn’t it? A wedding unsettles me. All
+the rest of the day I wish I were a bride.”</p>
+
+<p>“Do you?” exclaimed Tom, eagerly.</p>
+
+<p>“Yes, and then the next day I think what a goose
+I am. Being married means slavery to some man.
+You don’t have your own way at all.”</p>
+
+<p>“Men never being slaves to their wives,” remarked
+Tom.</p>
+
+<p>“Men are by nature lordly, overbearing, proud-spirited,
+self-willed, tyrannical and provoking,” said
+Berty, sweepingly.</p>
+
+<p>But Tom’s thoughts had been diverted. “Say,
+Berty, where do those Tomkins girls get money
+to dress that way? They’re visions in those shining
+green things.”</p>
+
+<p>“They spend too much of their father’s money
+on dress,” replied Berty, severely. “Those satins
+came from Paris. They are an exquisite new shade
+of green. I forget what you call it.”</p>
+
+<p>“I guess old Tomkins is the slave there,” said
+Tom; then, to avoid controversy, he went on, hastily,
+“You look stunning in that white gown.”</p>
+
+<p>“I thought perhaps Selina would want me for a
+bridesmaid,” said Berty, plaintively, “but she
+didn’t.”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_233" id="Page_233">[233]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>“Too young and foolish,” said Tom, promptly;
+“but, I say, Berty, where did you get the gown?”</p>
+
+<p>“Margaretta gave it to me. I was going to wear
+muslin, but she said I shouldn’t.”</p>
+
+<p>“What is it anyway?” said Tom, putting out a
+cautious finger to touch the soft folds.</p>
+
+<p>“It’s silk, and if you knew how uncomfortable I
+am in it, you would pity me.”</p>
+
+<p>“Uncomfortable! You look as cool as a cucumber.”</p>
+
+<p>“I’m not. I wish I had on a serge skirt and a
+shirt-waist.”</p>
+
+<p>“Let me get you something to eat,” he said,
+consolingly. “That going to church and standing
+about here are tiresome.”</p>
+
+<p>“Yes, do,” said Berty. “I hadn’t any breakfast,
+I was in such a hurry to get ready.”</p>
+
+<p>“Here are sandwiches and coffee to start with,”
+he said, presently coming back.</p>
+
+<p>“Thank you—I am so glad Selina didn’t have
+a sit-down luncheon. This is much nicer.”</p>
+
+<p>“Isn’t it! You see, she didn’t want speeches.
+On an occasion like this, the Mayor would be so apt
+to get wound up that he would keep us here till
+midnight.”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_234" id="Page_234">[234]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>Berty laughed. “And they would have lost their
+train.”</p>
+
+<p>“There isn’t going to be any train,” said Tom,
+mysteriously.</p>
+
+<p>“Aren’t they going to New York?”</p>
+
+<p>“No.”</p>
+
+<p>“To Canada?”</p>
+
+<p>“No.”</p>
+
+<p>“To Europe?”</p>
+
+<p>“No—Jimson says he isn’t going to frizzle and
+fry in big cities in this lovely weather, unless Selina
+absolutely commands, and she doesn’t command, so
+he’s going to row her up the river to the Cloverdale
+Inn.”</p>
+
+<p>Berty put down her cup and saucer and began to
+laugh.</p>
+
+<p>“Where are those sandwiches?” asked Tom, trying
+to peer round the cup.</p>
+
+<p>“Gone,” said Berty, meekly.</p>
+
+<p>He brought her a new supply, then came cake,
+jellies, sweets, and fruit in rapid succession.</p>
+
+<p>Berty, standing partly behind a curtain by the
+open window, kept her admirer so busy that at last
+he partly rebelled.</p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 460px;" id="illus6">
+<img src="images/illus6.jpg" width="460" height="650" alt="" />
+<p class="caption">“‘A RIVER STREET DELEGATION,’ SAID TOM”</p>
+</div>
+
+<p>“Look here, Berty,” he remarked, firmly, “I
+don’t want to be suspicious, but it’s utterly impossible<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_235" id="Page_235">[235]</a></span>
+for a girl of your weight and education
+to dispose of so much provender at a single standing.
+You’re up to some tricks with it. Have you
+got some River Street rats with you?”</p>
+
+<p>“Yes,” she said, smilingly. “Hush, don’t tell,”
+and, slightly pulling aside the curtain, she showed
+him four little heads in a clump of syringa bushes
+outside.</p>
+
+<p>“Newsboy Jim, and Johnny-Boy, and the two
+girls, Biddy Malone and Glorymaroo, as we call
+her, from her favourite exclamation,” continued
+Berty; “they wanted to see something of the
+Mayor’s marriage, and I let them come. I’ve been
+handing out ‘ruffreshments’ to them. Don’t scold
+them, Tom.”</p>
+
+<p>“Come right in, youngsters,” said the young
+man, heartily. “I’m sure Mr. Jimson is your Mayor
+as well as ours.”</p>
+
+<p>Without the slightest hesitation, the four grinning
+children stepped in, and, marshalled by Tom, trotted
+across the long room to the alcove where Selina
+and the Mayor stood.</p>
+
+<p>“A River Street delegation,” said Tom, presenting
+them, “come to offer congratulations to the
+chief executive officer of the city.”</p>
+
+<p>Selina shook hands with them. The Mayor<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_236" id="Page_236">[236]</a></span>
+smiled broadly, patted their heads, and the other
+guests, who had been bidden, without an exception
+kindly surveyed the unbidden, yet welcome ones.</p>
+
+<p>The introduction over, Tom examined them from
+head to foot. The little rats were in their Sunday
+clothes. Their heads were sleek and wet from
+recent washing. There was a strong smell of cheap
+soap about them.</p>
+
+<p>“This way, gentlemen and ladies,” he said, and
+he led them back to a sofa near Berty. “Sit down
+there in a row. Here are some foot-stools for you.</p>
+
+<p>“Waiter,” and he hailed a passing black-coated
+man, “bring the best you have to these children,
+and, children, you eat as you never ate before.”</p>
+
+<p>Berty stood silently watching him. “Tom Everest,”
+she remarked, slowly, “I have two words to
+say to you.”</p>
+
+<p>“I’d rather have one,” he muttered.</p>
+
+<p>“Hush,” she said, severely, “and listen. The
+two words are, ‘Thank you.’”</p>
+
+<p>“You’re welcome,” returned Tom, “or, as the
+French say, ‘There is nothing of what—’ Hello,
+Bonny, what’s the joke?”</p>
+
+<p>Bonny, in a gentlemanly convulsion of laughter,
+was turning his face toward the wall in their direction.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_237" id="Page_237">[237]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>The lad stopped, and while Berty and Tom stood
+silently admiring his almost beautiful face, which
+was just now as rosy as a girl’s, he grew composed.</p>
+
+<p>“I call you to witness, friends,” he said, slightly
+upraising one hand, “that I never in my life before
+have laughed at dear Grandma.”</p>
+
+<p>“You’ve been cross with her,” said Berty.</p>
+
+<p>“Cross, yes, once or twice, but Grandma isn’t a
+person to laugh at, is she?”</p>
+
+<p>“Well, not exactly,” said Berty. “I never saw
+anything funny about Grandma.”</p>
+
+<p>“Well, she nearly finished me just now,” said
+Bonny. “I was standing near Selina, when gradually
+there came a break in the hand-shaking. The
+guests’ thoughts began to run luncheon-ward.
+Grandma was close to the bridal pair, and suddenly
+Selina turned and said, impulsively, ‘Mrs. Travers,
+you have had a great deal of experience. I want
+you to give me a motto to start out with on my
+wedding-day. Something that will be valuable to
+me, and will make me think of you whenever I repeat
+it.’ The joke of it was that Grandma didn’t want
+to give her a motto. She didn’t seem to have anything
+handy, but Selina insisted. At last Grandma
+said, in a shot-gun way, ‘Don’t nag!’ then she
+moved off.”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_238" id="Page_238">[238]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>“Selina stared at the Mayor, and the Mayor
+stared over her shoulder at me. She didn’t see
+anything funny in it. We did. At last she said,
+meekly, ‘Peter, do you think I am inclined to nag?’</p>
+
+<p>“He just rushed out a sentence at her—‘Upon
+my life I don’t!’</p>
+
+<p>“‘Do you, Bonny?’ she asked, turning suddenly
+round on me.</p>
+
+<p>“‘No, Selina, I don’t,’ I told her, but I couldn’t
+help laughing.</p>
+
+<p>“Jimson grinned from ear to ear, and I started
+off, leaving Selina asking him what he was so
+amused about.”</p>
+
+<p>Tom began to chuckle, but Berty said, “Well—I
+don’t see anything to laugh at.”</p>
+
+<p>“She doesn’t see anything to laugh at,” repeated
+Bonny, idiotically, then he drew Tom out on the
+lawn where she could hear their bursts of laughter.</p>
+
+<p>Presently the Mayor came strolling over to the
+low chair where Berty sat watching her little River
+Street friends.</p>
+
+<p>“Is it all right for me to leave Selina for a few
+minutes?” he asked, in an anxious voice. “I
+can’t ask her, for she is talking to some one. I
+never was married before, and don’t know how to
+act.”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_239" id="Page_239">[239]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>“Oh, yes,” said Berty, carelessly. “It’s an exploded
+fancy that a man must always stay close to
+his wife in general society. At home you should
+be tied to your wife’s apron-strings, but in society
+she takes it off.”</p>
+
+<p>“You don’t wear aprons in your set,” said the
+Mayor, quickly. “I’ve found that out. You leave
+them to the maids.”</p>
+
+<p>“I don’t like aprons,” said Berty. “If I want
+to protect my dress, I tuck a towel under my belt.”</p>
+
+<p>“You’ve odd ways, and I feel queer in your set,”
+pursued the Mayor, in a meditative voice. “Maybe
+I’ll get used to you, but I don’t know. Now I used
+to think that the upper crust of this city would be
+mighty formal, but you don’t even say, ‘Yes,
+ma’am,’ and ‘No, ma’am,’ to each other. You’re
+as off-hand as street urchins, and downright saucy
+sometimes I’d say.”</p>
+
+<p>“We’re not as formal as our grandparents were,”
+said Berty, musingly—“there’s everything in environment.
+We’re nothing but a lot of monkeys,
+anyway—see those children how nicely they are
+eating. If they were on River Street, they would
+drop those knives and forks, and have those chicken
+bones in their fingers in a jiffy.”</p>
+
+<p>“Do you ever feel inclined to eat with your fingers?”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_240" id="Page_240">[240]</a></span>
+asked Mr. Jimson, in a low voice, and
+looking fearfully about him.</p>
+
+<p>“Often, and I do,” said Berty, promptly. “Always
+at picnics.”</p>
+
+<p>“My father hated fuss and feathers,” remarked
+Mr. Jimson. “He always went round the house
+with his hat on, and in his shirt-sleeves.”</p>
+
+<p>“The men on River Street do that,” replied Berty.
+“I can see some reason for the shirt-sleeves, but
+not for the hat.”</p>
+
+<p>“Mr. Jimson,” said Walter Everest, suddenly
+coming up to him. “It’s time to go. Selina’s up-stairs
+changing her gown, the two suit-cases are in
+the hall.”</p>
+
+<p>Ten minutes later, Mr. and Mrs. Everest, with
+their children and their friends, stood on the front
+steps calling parting good wishes after Selina and
+the Mayor.</p>
+
+<p>There were many speculations as to their destination,
+the greater part of the guests imagining
+a far-away trip, as Berty had done.</p>
+
+<p>“You’re all wrong,” observed Tom. “My boat
+is at Mrs. Travers’s wharf for them to go to Cloverdale,
+and it’s cram jam full of flowers with bows
+of white ribbon on each oar.”</p>
+
+<p>Roger Stanisfield burst out laughing. “You’re<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_241" id="Page_241">[241]</a></span>
+sold, Tom, my boy, do you suppose the Mayor
+would trust a joker like you? He has my boat.”</p>
+
+<p>Bonny was in an ecstasy. “Get out, you two
+old fellows,” he exclaimed, slapping his brother-in-law
+on the shoulder. “Mr. Jimson is going to row
+his beloved up the river in my boat.”</p>
+
+<p>“No, he isn’t,” said Walter Everest. “He’s got
+mine.”</p>
+
+<p>“I believe he’s fooled us all,” said Tom, ruefully.
+“Did you have any flowers in your boat,
+Stanisfield?”</p>
+
+<p>“Margaretta put a little bit of rice in,” said
+Roger, “just a handful, where no one would see it
+but themselves.”</p>
+
+<p>“Did you trim your boat, Bonny?” asked Roger.</p>
+
+<p>“Yes,” said the boy, “with old shoes. I had
+a dandy pair chained to the seat, so they couldn’t
+be detached, unless Jimson had a hatchet along.”</p>
+
+<p>“Whose boat has he got, for the land’s sake?”
+inquired Walter Everest. “He’s asked us all, and
+we’ve all pledged secrecy and good conduct, and
+we’ve all broken our word and decorated.”</p>
+
+<p>“He’s got nobody’s boat, my friends,” said old
+Mr. Everest, who was shaking with silent laughter.
+“Don’t you know Peter Jimson better than to imagine<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_242" id="Page_242">[242]</a></span>
+that he would exert himself by rowing up
+the river this warm day?”</p>
+
+<p>“Well, what are his means of locomotion?”
+asked Tom.</p>
+
+<p>“My one-hoss shay, my son. It was waiting
+round the corner of the road for him.”</p>
+
+<p>“I say,” ejaculated Tom, “let’s make up a party
+to call on them to-morrow. We can take the
+flowers and other trifles.”</p>
+
+<p>“Hurrah,” said Bonny. “I’ll go ask Margaretta
+to get up a lunch.”</p>
+
+<p>“Will you go to-morrow, Berty?” asked Tom,
+seeking her out, and speaking in a low voice.</p>
+
+<p>“Where?”</p>
+
+<p>He explained to her.</p>
+
+<p>“Yes, if you will tell me why you laughed so
+much at what Grandma said to Selina.”</p>
+
+<p>Tom looked puzzled. “It’s mighty hard to explain,
+for there isn’t anything hidden in it. It just
+sounded kind of apt.”</p>
+
+<p>“You men think women talk too much.”</p>
+
+<p>“Some women,” replied Tom, guardedly.</p>
+
+<p>“You want them to do as the old philosopher
+said, ‘Speak honey and look sunny,’ and, ‘The
+woman that maketh a good pudding in silence is
+better than one that maketh a tart reply.’”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_243" id="Page_243">[243]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>“That’s it exactly,” said Tom, with a beaming
+face. “Now will you go to-morrow?”</p>
+
+<p>“Probably,” said Berty, with an oracular frown.
+“If I am not teased too much.”</p>
+
+<p>“May I come in this evening and see how you
+feel about it?”</p>
+
+<p>“How long do you plan to stay?”</p>
+
+<p>“Five minutes.”</p>
+
+<p>“Then you may come,” she said, graciously.</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_244" id="Page_244">[244]</a></span></p>
+
+<h2 id="CHAPTER_XXI">CHAPTER XXI.<br />
+<span class="smaller">TO STRIKE OR NOT TO STRIKE</span></h2>
+
+<p>When the picnic party reached Cloverdale the day
+after the wedding, the Jimsons were not there.</p>
+
+<p>Where Mr. Jimson concealed his bride and himself
+during his brief honeymoon no one ever knew,
+for he would not tell, and she could not, being
+bound to secrecy.</p>
+
+<p>No one, that is, no one except Mr. and Mrs.
+Everest, and old Mrs. Jimson. To them Selina and
+the Mayor confided the news that they had been
+in a quiet New Hampshire village, where they could
+enjoy delightful drives among hills resplendent in
+autumn dress, and have no society forced on them
+but that of their hostess—a farmer’s widow.</p>
+
+<p>As a result of this reposeful life, Mr. Jimson
+came home looking ten years younger, and Roger
+Stanisfield, meeting him in the street, told him so.</p>
+
+<p>“I’ve had a quiet time for once in my life,” said
+Mr. Jimson. “I ought to have got married long<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_245" id="Page_245">[245]</a></span>
+ago. I have some one to look after me, and me
+only now. How is your wife?”</p>
+
+<p>“Well, thank you.”</p>
+
+<p>“And Tom and Berty and Bonny—gracious! I
+feel as if I had been away a year instead of three
+weeks.”</p>
+
+<p>A shade passed over Roger’s face. “All well
+but Grandma and Berty.”</p>
+
+<p>“What’s the matter with Grandma?”</p>
+
+<p>“I don’t know. I am afraid she is breaking up.”</p>
+
+<p>The Mayor looked serious, then he asked,
+abruptly, “And Berty?”</p>
+
+<p>“Oh, River Street—it’s on her brain and conscience,
+and it is wearing her body down.”</p>
+
+<p>“She’s doing what the rest of us ought to do,”
+said Mr. Jimson, shortly, “but, bless me—you
+can’t make over a city in a day; and we’re no worse
+than others.”</p>
+
+<p>“I suppose the city council is pretty bad.”</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Jimson shrugged his shoulders.</p>
+
+<p>“Lots of boodle—I say, some of those aldermen
+ought to be dumped in the river.”</p>
+
+<p>“You ought to get Berty out of city politics,”
+said Mr. Jimson, energetically. “That is no girl’s
+work.”</p>
+
+<p>“She’s going to get out, Margaretta thinks,”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_246" id="Page_246">[246]</a></span>
+said Roger, turning round and slowly walking down
+the main street of the city beside him. “But we’ve
+got to let her work out the problem for herself.
+You see, she’s no missionary. She is not actuated
+by the passion of a life-work. She has come to
+live in a new neighbourhood, and is mad with the
+people that they don’t try to better themselves, and
+that the city doesn’t enable them to do it.”</p>
+
+<p>“She’ll probably marry Tom Everest, and settle
+down to housekeeping.”</p>
+
+<p>“That will be the upshot of it. I’d be doubtful
+about it, though, if the River Street people had
+given her a hand in her schemes of reform.”</p>
+
+<p>“She’s just an ordinary girl,” said the Mayor,
+briskly. “She’s no angel to let the River Streeters
+walk all over her.”</p>
+
+<p>“No, she’s no angel,” returned Roger, with a
+smile, “but she’s a pretty good sort of a girl.”</p>
+
+<p>“That she is,” replied Mr. Jimson, heartily.
+“Now tell me to a dot just what she has been
+doing since I went away. She seemed all right
+then.”</p>
+
+<p>Roger looked amused, then became grave. “Just
+after you left, she got worked up on the subject
+of child labour. It seems the law is broken here
+in Riverport.”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_247" id="Page_247">[247]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>“How does our State law read?” inquired Mr.
+Jimson. “Upon my word, I don’t know.”</p>
+
+<p>“The statutes of Maine provide that no female
+under eighteen years of age, no male under sixteen,
+and no woman shall be employed in any manufactory
+or mechanical establishment more than ten
+hours each day. We also have a compulsory education
+law which prohibits children under fifteen
+years of either sex working, unless they can produce
+certificates that during the year they have attended
+school during its sessions.”</p>
+
+<p>“Well?” said Mr. Jimson.</p>
+
+<p>“Berty found that some old-clothes man here
+had a night-class of children who came and sewed
+for him, and did not attend school. She burst into
+our house one evening when Margaretta was having
+a party, and before we knew where we were she
+had swept us all down to River Street. It was a
+pitiful enough spectacle. A dozen sleepy youngsters
+sitting on backless benches toiling at shirt-making,
+round a table lighted by candles. If a child nodded,
+the old man tapped her with a long stick. Some
+of us broke up that den, but Berty was furious at
+the attitude of the parents.”</p>
+
+<p>“I’ll bet they were mad to have their children’s<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_248" id="Page_248">[248]</a></span>
+earnings cut off,” observed Mr. Jimson. “Poor
+people are so avaricious.”</p>
+
+<p>“They were, and Berty was in a dancing rage.
+She got up a paper called <cite>The Cry of the Children</cite>.
+You can imagine what her editorials would be.
+Then she had the children of River Street walk in
+a procession through the city. Nobody laughed at
+her, everybody was sympathetic but apathetic. Now
+she is in a smouldering temper. Her paper is discontinued,
+and I don’t know what she is going to
+do.”</p>
+
+<p>“This is mighty interesting,” said Mr. Jimson,
+“but there’s Jones, the lumber merchant from
+Greenport. I’ve got to speak to him—excuse me,”
+and he crossed the street.</p>
+
+<p>Roger continued on his way to the iron works,
+and two minutes later encountered Berty herself
+coming out of a fancy-work store.</p>
+
+<p>“Good morning,” he said, planting himself directly
+before her.</p>
+
+<p>“Good morning,” she returned, composedly.</p>
+
+<p>“What have you been buying?” he asked, looking
+curiously at the parcel in her hand.</p>
+
+<p>“Embroidery.”</p>
+
+<p>“For some other person, I suppose.”</p>
+
+<p>“No, for myself.”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_249" id="Page_249">[249]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>“Why, I never saw you with a needle in your
+hand in my life.”</p>
+
+<p>“You will now,” she said, calmly.</p>
+
+<p>“How’s the park getting on, Berty?”</p>
+
+<p>“Famously; we have electric lights, and the
+children can stay till all hours.”</p>
+
+<p>“Is your helper satisfactory?”</p>
+
+<p>“She is magnificent—a host in herself. She
+can shake a bad boy on one side of the park, and
+slap another at the other side, at the same time.
+I think I’ll resign my curatorship in favour of her.
+She only gets half my pay now.”</p>
+
+<p>“Why resign, Berty?”</p>
+
+<p>“Well, I may have other things to do,” she said,
+evasively.</p>
+
+<p>“You’re going to get married.”</p>
+
+<p>“Not that I know of,” she said, calmly.</p>
+
+<p>“Good-bye,” replied Roger; “come oftener to
+see us, and be sure to bring your embroidery.”</p>
+
+<p>Berty gazed after him with a peculiar smile, as
+he swung quickly away, then she made her way
+to River Street.</p>
+
+<p>At one of the many corners where lanes led down
+to wharves, a group of men stood talking with
+their hands in their pockets.</p>
+
+<p>Berty stopped abruptly. Through the women in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_250" id="Page_250">[250]</a></span>
+the street she knew what the chief topic of conversation
+among the wharf labourers just now happened
+to be.</p>
+
+<p>“Are you talking of your projected strike?” she
+asked, shortly.</p>
+
+<p>Not one of them spoke, but she knew by their
+assenting looks that they were.</p>
+
+<p>“It’s a lovely time for a strike,” she said, dryly;
+“winter just coming on, and your wives and children
+needing extra supplies.”</p>
+
+<p>The men surveyed her indulgently. Not one of
+them would discuss their proposed course of action
+with her, but not one resented her knowledge of
+it, or interference with them.</p>
+
+<p>“You men don’t suffer,” she said, and as she
+spoke she pulled up the collar of her jacket, and
+took a few steps down the lane to avoid the chilly
+wind. “See, here you stand without overcoats,
+and some of you with nothing but woollen shirts
+on. It’s the women and children that feel the cold.”</p>
+
+<p>One of the men thoughtfully turned a piece of
+tobacco in his mouth, and said, “That’s true.”</p>
+
+<p>“What do you strike for, anyway?” she asked.</p>
+
+<p>One of the stevedores who trundled the drums of
+codfish along the wharves for West Indian shipment,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_251" id="Page_251">[251]</a></span>
+said, amiably, “A strike is usually for higher
+wages and shorter hours, miss.”</p>
+
+<p>“Oh, I have no patience with you,” exclaimed
+Berty, bursting into sudden wrath. “You are so
+unreasonable. You bear all things, suffer like martyrs,
+then all at once you flare up and do some
+idiotic thing that turns the sympathy of the public
+against you. Now in this case, you ought to have
+the public with you. I know your wages are small,
+your hours too long, but you are not taking the
+right way to improve your condition. Because the
+Greenport wharf labourers have struck, you think
+you must do the same. A strike among you will
+mean lawlessness and violence, and you strikers
+will blink at this same lawlessness and violence because
+you say it is in a good cause. Then we, the
+long-suffering public, hate you for your illegality.
+There’s the strong arm of the law held equally
+over employers and employed. Why don’t you appeal
+to that? If you are right, that arm will strike
+your oppressors. You can keep in the background.”</p>
+
+<p>“There’s a machine back of that arm,” said a
+red-haired man, gloomily, “and, anyway, there ain’t
+a law standing to cover our case.”</p>
+
+<p>“Then make one,” said Berty, irritably. “You
+men all have votes, haven’t you?”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_252" id="Page_252">[252]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>“Yes, miss,” said a man in a blue shirt, “all
+except this lad. He’s just out from Ireland. He’s
+only been ashore two weeks.”</p>
+
+<p>“That’s the way to settle things,” said Berty,
+warmly. “I’ve found out that votes are the only
+things that make anybody afraid of you—you all
+know how I came to this street. I found living
+conditions unbearable. In my feeble way I have
+tried to rectify them. Nobody cares anything for
+me. The only good I have accomplished is to get
+a park for the children.”</p>
+
+<p>“And that was a great thing,” said the man in
+the blue shirt, “and I guess we all think of it when
+we look at you.”</p>
+
+<p>“I just wanted common necessities,” said Berty,
+eloquently, “air, light, water, and space—wanted
+them for myself and my neighbours on the street.
+I have badgered the city council till I have got
+to be a joke and a reproach. Nobody cares anything
+about you down here, because you haven’t
+any influence. I’ve found out that if I could say
+to the city council, ‘Gentlemen, I have five hundred
+votes to control,’ they would listen to me fast
+enough.”</p>
+
+<p>The men smiled, and one said, kindly, “I’m sure,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_253" id="Page_253">[253]</a></span>
+miss, you’d get our votes in a bunch, if we could
+give them.”</p>
+
+<p>“I don’t want them,” said Berty, quickly. “It
+isn’t a woman’s business to go into reforming city
+politics. It’s the men’s place. You men fight for
+your homes if a foreign enemy menaces us. Why
+don’t you organize, and fight against the city council?
+Drive it out, and put in a good one. Those
+few men aren’t there to make the laws. They are
+to administer them. You are the people. Make
+what laws you please. If they are not workable,
+make new ones. I’m disgusted with those aldermen.
+The very idea of their arrogating to themselves
+so much authority. You would think they
+were emperors.”</p>
+
+<p>The men smiled again. From him in the blue
+shirt came the emphatic remark, “We couldn’t turn
+out the present lot, miss. They’re too strong for
+us.”</p>
+
+<p>“Oh, you could,” replied Berty, impatiently.
+“I’ve been going over our voting-list, and I find
+that the city of Riverport consists of ‘poor people,’
+as we call them, to the extent of two-thirds of the
+population. You poor men have the votes. Now
+don’t tell me you can’t get what you want.”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_254" id="Page_254">[254]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>“But there’s party politics, miss,” suggested a
+quiet man in the background.</p>
+
+<p>“Shame on you, Malone,” and Berty pointed a
+finger at him, “shame on you, to put party politics
+before family politics. Vote for the man who will
+do the best for your wife and children. If you
+haven’t got such a man, organize and put one in.
+Let him give you equal privileges with the rich—or,
+rather, not equal privileges—I am no socialist.
+I believe that some men have more brains than
+others, and are entitled by virtue of their brains
+to more enjoyments and more power, but I mean
+that the city owes to every citizen, however poor,
+a comfortable house and a decently kept street.”</p>
+
+<p>“That’s sound, miss,” said Malone, slipping still
+further forward, “but we’d never get it from the
+city.”</p>
+
+<p>“Put in some of your number as aldermen. Why
+shouldn’t you in democratic America, when even
+in conservative England there can exist a city council
+made up of men who work by the day—masons,
+painters, bricklayers, and so on. Do that, and you
+will have a chance to carry out all sorts of municipal
+reforms. I think it is disgraceful that this ward
+is represented by that oiled and perfumed old gentleman<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_255" id="Page_255">[255]</a></span>
+Demarley, who never comes to this street
+unless he wants a vote.”</p>
+
+<p>Malone stared intently at Berty, while a man beside
+him murmured something about the board of
+aldermen having promised certain reforms.</p>
+
+<p>“Don’t speak to me of reforms from those men
+that we have now,” returned Berty, with flashing
+eyes. “When I came to River Street, I used to
+blame the policemen that they didn’t enforce the
+law. Now I see that each policeman is a chained
+dog for some alderman. He can only go the length
+of his chain. A strapping great creature in uniform
+comes along to your house, Mr. Malone, and says,
+in a lordly way, ‘Mrs. Malone, you are obstructing
+the sidewalk with those boxes; you must remove
+them.’</p>
+
+<p>“‘And you are obstructing my peace of mind,’
+she says, ‘with that old drug-store over there open
+all hours, and with our young lads slipping in and
+out the back door, when they ought to be in bed.
+Haven’t you eyes or a nose for anything but boxes?’</p>
+
+<p>“And the policeman says, meekly, ‘I see nothing,
+I hear nothing; there must be something wrong
+with your own eyes and hearing, Mrs. Malone. It’s
+getting old you are.’ Then he moves on to look<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_256" id="Page_256">[256]</a></span>
+for more boxes and small boys. That’s the length
+of his chain.”</p>
+
+<p>They were silent, and Berty, with increasing heat
+and irritation, went on. “This city is entirely corrupt.
+I say it again and again, and you know it
+better than I do—but I am going to stop talking
+about it. I had a lovely scheme for setting up a
+shop to sell pure milk to try to keep the breath
+of life in your babies a little longer, and I was going
+to get out plans for model dwellings, but I am going
+to stop short right here, and mind my own business.”</p>
+
+<p>The men stood looking sheepishly at her, and at
+themselves, and, while they stood, Tom Everest, in a
+short walking-coat, and with his hat on the back of
+his head, came hurrying down the street.</p>
+
+<p>He put his hat on straight when he saw Berty, and
+stopped to glance at her. He had got into the way
+of dodging down to River Street if he had any
+business that brought him in the neighbourhood, or
+if he could spare an hour from his office.</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_257" id="Page_257">[257]</a></span></p>
+
+<h2 id="CHAPTER_XXII">CHAPTER XXII.<br />
+<span class="smaller">DISCOURAGED</span></h2>
+
+<p>When Berty’s eyes rested on Tom, he came forward
+hat in hand.</p>
+
+<p>“Is there anything I can do for you?” he inquired,
+calmly, but with inward anxiety as he
+noticed her flushed face.</p>
+
+<p>“No, thank you,” she said, wearily, “I was just
+talking to some of my friends here.”</p>
+
+<p>Tom nodded to the men in a civil manner, then
+said, “Are you going home?”</p>
+
+<p>“Yes, presently,” she returned. “I will just
+finish what I was saying. I was telling these men,
+Mr. Everest, that when I came to River Street, and
+saw how many things needed to be done in order
+to make the place comfortable, my brain was on
+fire. I wished to do everything to enable my neighbours
+to have decent homes and a pure atmosphere
+in which to bring up their children. But now I
+have got discouraged with them. They don’t<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_258" id="Page_258">[258]</a></span>
+second me. All the rich people say that poor people
+are shiftless and ungrateful, and I am beginning
+to think they are right. Here are these men standing
+before us. They are just as sensible as you
+are, or as any man in the city, but again and again
+they will vote for aldermen who care no more for
+their interests than they do for the interests of the
+sparrows flying about the city. They can pick up
+a living the best way they can. The city council
+has not one bit of care of its children, except the
+rich ones, and I say to these men here that there
+is no use for me or anybody to try to help them.
+They have got to help themselves.”</p>
+
+<p>Tom looked concerned, but made no endeavour to
+reply, and Berty went on:</p>
+
+<p>“It is all very fine to talk of helping the poor,
+and uplifting the poor. It just makes them more
+pauper-like for you to settle down among them, and
+bear all the burden of lifting them up. They have
+got to help you, and because they won’t help me,
+I am going to leave River Street just as soon as I
+get money enough. I’m disgusted with these
+people.”</p>
+
+<p>Tom, to Berty’s surprise, gave no expression of
+relief—and yet how many times he had begged
+her to turn her back on this neighbourhood.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_259" id="Page_259">[259]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>The wharf-men sank into a state of greater sheepishness
+than before. One of them, who carried a
+whip under his arm, shifted it, and, reaching forward,
+pushed Malone with it.</p>
+
+<p>Other of the men were nudging him, and at last
+he remarked, regretfully, “I’m sorry to hear you
+say that you want to quit the street, miss. I hope
+you’ll change your mind.”</p>
+
+<p>“Well, now, do you think it is a nice thing for
+me to be constantly running about interviewing
+aldermen who hate the sight of me, on the subject
+of the rights of great strong men like you and these
+others? Come, now, is it work for a girl?”</p>
+
+<p>“Well, no, miss, it isn’t,” said Malone, uneasily.</p>
+
+<p>“Then why don’t you do it yourselves? The
+ideal thing is to trust people, to believe that your
+neighbour loves you as well as he does himself,
+but he doesn’t. He pretends he does, but you’ve
+got to watch him to make a pretence a reality. For
+the good of your alderman neighbour make him
+love you. You don’t want plush sofas and lace
+window curtains. Bah, I’m getting so I don’t care
+a fig for the ‘rags’ of life—but you want well-made
+furniture, and a clean pane of glass to look
+out at God’s sky.”</p>
+
+<p>“That’s so,” muttered Malone.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_260" id="Page_260">[260]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>“Then for goodness’ sake get to work. Municipal
+reform can start right here on River Street as well
+as on Grand Avenue. I have all sorts of lovely
+papers telling just how model municipal government
+should be, and is conducted. It’s a living,
+acting plan in several cities, but I sha’n’t tell any of
+you one thing about it, unless you come and ask
+me. I’m tired of cramming information down your
+throats. Go on and strike, and do anything foolish
+you can. Let your wives freeze, and your poor
+children cry for food this winter. In the spring
+there will be a fine lot of funerals.”</p>
+
+<p>“Oh, I say, Berty,” remarked Tom, in an undertone.</p>
+
+<p>Her eyes were full of tears, but she went plunging
+on. “And I’ll tell you one thing that may be published
+to the city any day. I was not told not to
+tell it. Mr. Jimson wrote me a letter while he was
+away, and I think he is going to resign the mayoralty.
+He won’t tell why, of course, but I know it
+is because the city council is so corrupt. Now if you
+men had stood by him, and put in a decent set of
+councillors, he might have stayed in. I haven’t said
+a word of this before, because I felt so badly about
+it.”</p>
+
+<p>The men scarcely heard her last sentences. The<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_261" id="Page_261">[261]</a></span>
+“River Streeters,” as they were called, took to a
+man an extraordinary interest in civic affairs, and
+they fell to discussing this bit of news among themselves.</p>
+
+<p>“Come home, Berty,” said Tom.</p>
+
+<p>“Yes, I will,” she said, meekly. “I’ve said all
+I want to. Just steady me over that crossing. I’ve
+got dust in my eyes.”</p>
+
+<p>Poor Berty—she was crying, and good, honest
+Tom choked back a sudden sympathetic lump in
+his throat.</p>
+
+<p>“Don’t worry, little girl,” he said, huskily.
+“You’ve done a lot of good already, and we’re
+all proud of you.”</p>
+
+<p>“I have done nothing,” said Berty, passionately,
+“nothing but get the park for the children. I just
+love the children on this street. I want their fathers
+to do something for them. It’s awful, Tom, to
+bring up boys and girls in such an atmosphere.
+What will their parents say when they stand before
+the judgment seat—I can’t stand it, Tom—the
+lost souls of the little ones just haunt me.”</p>
+
+<p>“There, there,” murmured Tom, consolingly,
+“we’re most home. Try to think of something else,
+Berty—you’ll live to do lots of work for the children
+yet.”</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_262" id="Page_262">[262]</a></span></p>
+
+<h2 id="CHAPTER_XXIII">CHAPTER XXIII.<br />
+<span class="smaller">GRANDMA’S REQUEST</span></h2>
+
+<p>For three weeks the weather had been chilly and
+disagreeable. “The winter will set in early,” the
+oldest inhabitants were prophesying, when suddenly
+the full glory of the Indian summer burst upon
+the city.</p>
+
+<p>Berty was delighted. “Dear Grandma will get
+better now,” she kept saying, hopefully. “This is
+what she wants—just a little warm sunshine before
+the winter comes.”</p>
+
+<p>Grandma’s health had for some time been a cause
+of anxiety to her many friends. All through the
+autumn she had been ailing, and strangely quiet,
+even for her. And she had complained of feeling
+cold, a thing she had never done before in her life.
+Nothing seemed to warm her, not even the blazing
+fires that Berty kept in some of the many open fireplaces
+with which the old house was well supplied.</p>
+
+<p>To-day there was a change. When the warm,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_263" id="Page_263">[263]</a></span>
+lovely sunshine came streaming into her room,
+Grandma had got out of bed. She had come down-stairs,
+and, very quietly, but with a gentle smile
+that sent Berty into an ecstasy of delight, she had
+visited every room in the house.</p>
+
+<p>The guinea-pigs and pigeons in the wood-shed,
+the two women working in the kitchen, had been
+made glad by a call from her, and now she was
+resting on a sofa in the parlour.</p>
+
+<p>“I feel twenty years younger to see you going
+about!” exclaimed Berty, delightedly, as she tucked
+a blanket round her.</p>
+
+<p>“Twenty years!” murmured Grandma.</p>
+
+<p>“Of course that’s exaggeration,” explained Berty,
+apologetically. “I know that you know I’m not
+twenty yet. I just wanted you to understand how
+glad I feel.”</p>
+
+<p>“Go out on the veranda,” said Grandma, “and
+breathe the fresh air. You have been in the house
+too much with me lately.”</p>
+
+<p>Berty’s upper lip was covered with a dew of
+perspiration. She was hot all the time, partly from
+excitement and anxiety about Grandma, and partly
+from her incessant activity in waiting on her in
+the heated atmosphere of the house.</p>
+
+<p>Berty reluctantly made her way to the veranda,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_264" id="Page_264">[264]</a></span>
+where she promptly dislodged from a rocking-chair
+the mongrel pup, who, after long hesitation, had
+finally chosen to take up his abode with her.</p>
+
+<p>The pup, however, crawled up beside her after
+she sat down, and she gently swayed to and fro in
+the rocking-chair, absently stroking his head and
+gazing out at the stripped grain-fields across the
+river.</p>
+
+<div class="poetry-container">
+<div class="poetry">
+<div class="verse">“The ripened sheaves are garnered in,</div>
+<div class="verse">Garnered in, garnered in,”</div>
+</div>
+</div>
+
+<p class="noindent">she was singing softly to herself, when some one
+remarked in an undertone, “Well, how goes it?”</p>
+
+<p>“Oh,” she said, looking up, “it is you, is it, the
+omnipresent Tom?”</p>
+
+<p>“Yes, I just slipped up for a minute to see how
+Grandma is. Won’t this sunshine set her up?”</p>
+
+<p>“You saw her as you came through the room?”</p>
+
+<p>“Yes, but she was asleep, so I did not speak.
+How is she?”</p>
+
+<p>“Better, much better, and I am so glad.”</p>
+
+<p>“So am I,” responded Tom, heartily; “it makes
+us all feel bad to have her ill, but, I say, Berty,
+you must not take it so to heart. You’re looking
+thin.”</p>
+
+<p>“I can’t help worrying about Grandma, Tom.”</p>
+
+<p>“How long since you’ve been out?”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_265" id="Page_265">[265]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>“Two weeks.”</p>
+
+<p>“That’s too long for one of your active disposition
+to stay in the house. Come, take your dog
+and walk back to town with me. See, he is all ready
+to come.”</p>
+
+<p>Mugwump, indeed, was fawning round Tom in
+a servile manner.</p>
+
+<p>“He’s liked me ever since he had a taste of my
+coat,” observed the young man.</p>
+
+<p>“If you won’t take a walk with me, let me row
+you over to Bobbetty’s Island this afternoon,” pursued
+Tom.</p>
+
+<p>Berty shook her head, but said, eagerly, “Do tell
+me how Mafferty is getting on.”</p>
+
+<p>“Finely—he says that’s a first-class shanty we
+put up for him—the stove is a beauty, and, Berty,
+another consignment of cats has arrived.”</p>
+
+<p>“Oh, Tom, what are they like?”</p>
+
+<p>The young man launched into a description of
+the new arrivals. “There are four white kittens—one
+pair yellow eyes, three pairs blue, for which
+you should charge twenty dollars to intending purchasers;
+three black Persian kings, worth thirty
+dollars, and a few assorted kittens from five dollars
+up.”</p>
+
+<p>Berty listened in rapt attention. When he had<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_266" id="Page_266">[266]</a></span>
+finished, she said, “You’ve been tremendously good
+about my tramp, Tom.”</p>
+
+<p>“I like partnerships,” he said, modestly; “in fact,
+I—”</p>
+
+<p>“That reminds me,” interrupted Berty, unceremoniously;
+“has he had another letter from his
+wife?”</p>
+
+<p>“Yes, she is coming in ten days.”</p>
+
+<p>The girl clasped her dog so energetically round
+the neck that he squealed in protest. “Isn’t it just
+lovely, that we have been able to do something for
+that man? Oh, do you suppose he will be happy
+there with his wife and the cats?”</p>
+
+<p>“No, certainly not,” said Tom, coolly. “He’s
+going to have his bursts, of course.”</p>
+
+<p>“And what are we to do?” asked Berty, sorrowfully.</p>
+
+<p>“Forgive him, and row him back to the island,”
+said Tom, hopefully. “It’s as much our business
+to look after him as anybody’s.”</p>
+
+<p>Berty turned in her chair, and stared at him long
+and intently. “Tom Everest, you are changing.”</p>
+
+<p>“Pray Heaven, I am,” he said earnestly, and
+something in the bright, steady gaze bent on her
+made her eyes fill with tears.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_267" id="Page_267">[267]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>“I have learned a lot from you,” he continued, in
+a low voice. “When I heard you talking to those
+men the other day, it stirred my heart. It seemed
+pitiful Berty, that a girl like you, who might think
+only of amusing herself, should be so touched by
+her neighbours’ woes that she should give up her
+own peace of mind in order to try to help them.
+Then I heard that though you could not move the
+men, the women of the street were much put
+out at the thought of your leaving, and so exasperated
+with the men, that they told them they had
+got to do something to help their families. I said
+to myself, ‘I’ve only been giving Berty a half assistance
+up to this. She shall have my whole assistance
+now.’”</p>
+
+<p>Berty’s face was glowing. “Tom,” she said,
+gently, “if we live, we shall see great reforms on
+River Street.”</p>
+
+<p>“I hope so,” he replied, heartily.</p>
+
+<p>“We shall see,” and she upraised one slim brown
+hand, “perhaps, oh, perhaps and possibly, but still,
+I trust, truly, we shall see this our city one of the best
+governed in America.”</p>
+
+<p>“Oh, I hope so,” returned Tom, with a kind of
+groan.</p>
+
+<p>“Don’t doubt it,” continued the girl. “Who<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_268" id="Page_268">[268]</a></span>
+lives will see. I tell you, Tom, the women are desperate.
+The River Street houses are growing older
+and older. What woman can endure seeing her
+children die, and know that they are poisoned out
+of existence? I tell you, Tom, the men have got
+to do something or emigrate.”</p>
+
+<p>“They’ll not emigrate,” said Tom, shortly, “and
+upon my word,” and he looked round about him,
+“I don’t know but what I’d be willing to live on
+River Street myself, to help reform it.”</p>
+
+<p>Berty was silent for a long time, then she said,
+in a low voice, “You will not regret that speech,
+Tom Everest.”</p>
+
+<p>“All right, little girl,” he replied, cheerfully, and
+jumping up from his low seat. “Now I must get
+back to work. Come, Mugwump, I guess your
+missis will let you have a walk, even if she won’t
+go herself.”</p>
+
+<p>The lawless dog, without glancing at Berty for
+permission, bounded to his side and licked his
+hand.</p>
+
+<p>“You haven’t very good manners, dog,” said
+Tom, lightly, “but I guess your mistress likes
+you.”</p>
+
+<p>“I always did like the bad ones best,” said Berty,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_269" id="Page_269">[269]</a></span>
+wistfully. “It seems as if they had more need of
+friends—good-bye, Tom.”</p>
+
+<p>“Good-bye, little girl,” he returned, throwing
+her a kiss from the tips of his fingers. “Maybe I’ll
+run up this afternoon.”</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_270" id="Page_270">[270]</a></span></p>
+
+<h2 id="CHAPTER_XXIV">CHAPTER XXIV.<br />
+<span class="smaller">DOWN THE RIVER</span></h2>
+
+<p>Tom did not get up in the afternoon. However,
+he came in the evening, and the next morning, and
+the next.</p>
+
+<p>Margaretta and Roger, Bonny, Selina, and Mr.
+Jimson also came. Grandma was decidedly better,
+and in their joy they came even oftener than they
+had in their sorrow at her illness.</p>
+
+<p>Berty could hardly contain herself for very lightness
+and extravagance of spirit. It had seemed to
+her that she could not endure the mere thought of
+a further and long-continued illness on the part of
+her beloved grandmother. To think of that other
+contingency—her possible death—sent her into
+fits of shuddering and despondency in which it
+seemed as if she, too, would die if her grandmother
+did.</p>
+
+<p>Now all was changed. Day by day the exquisite<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_271" id="Page_271">[271]</a></span>
+sunshine continued, the air was balmy, there was
+a yellow haze about the sun. It seemed to Berty
+that she was living in an enchanted world. Grandma
+was going about the house with a firm step—a
+bright eye. She had gone over all her trunks and
+closets. She had sorted letters, tidied her boxes
+of clothes, and arranged all her belongings with a
+neatness and expedition that seemed to betoken the
+energy of returned youthfulness.</p>
+
+<p>She was also knitting again. Nothing had pleased
+Berty as much as this. Tears of delight fell on
+the silk stocking as she handed it to Grandma the
+first time she asked her for it.</p>
+
+<p>“Dear Grandma,” said Berty, on this afternoon,
+abruptly dropping on a foot-stool beside her, and
+putting her head on her knee, “dear Grandma.”</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Travers, still steadily knitting, glanced at
+her as if to say, “Why this sudden access of affection?”</p>
+
+<p>“It doesn’t mean anything in particular,” said
+Berty, pressing still closer, “only that you are so
+dear.”</p>
+
+<p>Grandma smiled, and went on with her work.</p>
+
+<p>“You are just toeing that stocking off,” said
+Berty.</p>
+
+<p>“Yes, dear,” replied her grandmother. “This is<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_272" id="Page_272">[272]</a></span>
+the last of the six pairs for Mrs. Darley-James. You
+will remember, Berty, they are all for her.”</p>
+
+<p>“Why should I remember?” asked the girl, anxiously.
+“You always remember for yourself.”</p>
+
+<p>“True,” said Mrs. Travers, composedly, and,
+getting up, she went to her writing-desk. Taking
+out a roll of exquisitely made stockings, she wrapped
+them in a piece of paper, and with a firm hand wrote,
+“Mrs. Darley-James, from her old friend, Margaret
+Travers.”</p>
+
+<p>Having directed the parcel, she left her desk and
+went to the veranda.</p>
+
+<p>Berty followed her. Grandma was looking
+strangely up and down the river—strangely and
+restlessly. At last she said, “It’s a glorious afternoon.
+I should like to go out in a boat.”</p>
+
+<p>“But, Grandma,” said Berty, uneasily, “do you
+feel able for it?”</p>
+
+<p>Her grandmother looked at her, and the brightness
+of her face silenced the girl’s scruples.</p>
+
+<p>“I will take you in my boat, dear,” she said,
+gently, “if you wish to go.”</p>
+
+<p>“I should like to have Margaretta come,” said
+Mrs. Travers.</p>
+
+<p>“Very well, we will send for her.”</p>
+
+<p>“And Roger,” said Grandma.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_273" id="Page_273">[273]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>“Roger is at an important business meeting this
+afternoon, I happen to know,” said Berty, hesitatingly.</p>
+
+<p>“He would leave it for me,” said Grandma.</p>
+
+<p>“Do you wish me to ask him?” inquired Berty,
+in some anxiety.</p>
+
+<p>“Yes,” said Grandma, softly.</p>
+
+<p>Berty got up and was about to leave the veranda,
+when Mrs. Travers went on. “Will you send for
+Bonny, too?”</p>
+
+<p>“Oh, Grandma, don’t you feel well?” asked
+Berty, in increasing anxiety.</p>
+
+<p>“Just at present I do, dear,” and her voice was
+so clear, her manner so calm, that Berty was reassured
+until her next remark.</p>
+
+<p>“Berty, where is Tom this afternoon?”</p>
+
+<p>“Oh, Grandma, he was going to Bangor on business.
+He is just about getting to the station now.”</p>
+
+<p>“Will you send for him, too?”</p>
+
+<p>“Send for him?” faltered Berty. “Oh, Grandma,
+you are ill. You must be ill.”</p>
+
+<p>“Do I look ill?”</p>
+
+<p>“Oh, no, no,” said Berty, in despair. “You
+don’t look ill, your face is like an angel’s, but you
+frighten me.”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_274" id="Page_274">[274]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>“My child,” said Grandma, “I never felt better
+in my life; but despatch your messengers.”</p>
+
+<p>Berty left the room. She had a strange sensation
+as if walking on air. “Bring your boat, Roger,”
+she wrote, “your family boat. Mine isn’t large
+enough.”</p>
+
+<p>Her messengers were faithful, and in an hour
+Margaretta, Bonny, Roger, and Tom were hastening
+to the house.</p>
+
+<p>Berty met them in the hall. “No, Grandma isn’t
+ill,” she said, with a half-sob. “Don’t stare at
+her, and don’t frighten her. She just took a fancy
+to go out boating, and to have you all with her.”</p>
+
+<p>“But it is so unlike Grandma to interfere or to
+disarrange plans,” murmured Margaretta; “there
+is something wrong.” However, she said nothing
+aloud, and went quietly into the parlour with the
+others and spoke to Grandma, who looked at them
+all with a strange brightness in her eyes, but said
+little.</p>
+
+<p>Tom could not get the fright from his manner.
+Old Mrs. Travers would not interrupt a railway
+journey for a trifle. They might say what they
+liked.</p>
+
+<p>In somewhat breathless and foreboding silence<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_275" id="Page_275">[275]</a></span>
+they got into Roger’s big boat moored at the landing,
+and he and Tom took the oars.</p>
+
+<p>Once out upon the bosom of the calmly flowing
+river, their faces brightened. Sky and water were
+resplendent, and they were softly enveloped in the
+golden haze of approaching sunset.</p>
+
+<p>Here where the river was broadest the shores
+seemed dim in the yellow light. With the dying
+glory of the sun behind them, they went down the
+stream in the direction of Grandma’s pointing hand.</p>
+
+<p>How well she looked, propped up on her cushions
+in the stern. Her eyes were shining with a new
+light, her very skin seemed transparent and luminous.
+Was it possible that, instead of failing and
+entering upon a weary old age, this new-found
+energy betokened a renewed lease of life? Their
+faces brightened still further. Tom at last lost the
+fright from his eyes, and Berty’s vanished colour
+began to come fitfully back.</p>
+
+<p>As they sat enfolding her in loving glances,
+Grandma occasionally spoke in low, short sentences,
+mostly relating to the river.</p>
+
+<p>“I was born by it—it has been a friend to me.
+Children, you will all live by the river.”</p>
+
+<p>Upon arriving opposite Bobbetty’s Island,
+Grandma smiled. Berty’s tramp, Mafferty, in a decent<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_276" id="Page_276">[276]</a></span>
+suit of clothes, stood on a rock, surrounded by a
+number of handsome, dignified cats, who sat or stood
+beside him like so many dogs. As they passed he
+waved them a respectful greeting with one of Tom’s
+discarded hats.</p>
+
+<p>“You will not give him up,” said Grandma to
+Tom. “You will not become discouraged.”</p>
+
+<p>“I will not,” he said, solemnly.</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_277" id="Page_277">[277]</a></span></p>
+
+<h2 id="CHAPTER_XXV">CHAPTER XXV.<br />
+<span class="smaller">LAST WORDS</span></h2>
+
+<p>“The sun has gone down,” said Margaretta, suddenly.</p>
+
+<p>It had indeed. The huge golden ball had just
+dropped behind the hills on the western side of the
+river.</p>
+
+<p>Grandma half-raised herself on her cushions, a
+restrained eagerness took possession of her, as if
+she were disappointed that she had not obtained
+one more glimpse of the king of day, then she sank
+back and smiled into the unwavering eyes of her
+youngest granddaughter. The eyes of the others
+might occasionally wander. Berty’s gaze had not
+left her face since they came upon the river.</p>
+
+<p>“You wished to see the sun again,” said Berty.
+“I should have warned you that it was about to
+disappear.”</p>
+
+<p>“I wished to say good-bye to it,” said Grandma,
+“a last good-bye.”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_278" id="Page_278">[278]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>“To say good-bye,” repeated Berty, in a stunned
+voice, “a last good-bye,” and with a heart-broken
+gesture she put her hand to her head, as if wondering
+if she had heard aright.</p>
+
+<p>Margaretta was trembling. Since the withdrawal
+of the sun, the yellow, lovely glow had faded. There
+was a gray shadow on everything, even on their
+own bright faces—on all except Grandma’s. That
+radiance about her was not a reflection of any light
+in this world; it was unearthly; and she fearfully
+touched Roger with a finger.</p>
+
+<p>She knew now why they had been brought out
+upon the river, and, endeavouring once, twice, and
+finally a third time, she managed to utter, in a quivering
+voice, “Grandma, shall we take you home?”</p>
+
+<p>“No, Margaretta,” replied Grandma, clearly, and
+she pointed down the river. “Take me toward the
+sea. I shall soon be sent for.”</p>
+
+<p>They all understood her now. Their scarcely
+suppressed forebodings rushed back and enveloped
+them in a dark, unhappy cloud.</p>
+
+<p>Grandma was repeating in a low voice, “Thy
+sun shall no more go down, neither shall thy moon
+withdraw itself, for the Lord shall be thine everlasting
+light, and the days of thy mourning shall
+be ended.”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_279" id="Page_279">[279]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>Margaretta, leaning over, drew a flask from
+Roger’s pocket. Then, slipping past the motionless
+Berty, she knelt before her grandmother.</p>
+
+<p>“Dearest, I brought a stimulant with me. Will
+you have some?”</p>
+
+<p>“But I have no need of it,” said Grandma, opening
+wide her strangely beautiful eyes.</p>
+
+<p>It seemed to Margaretta that she could not endure
+their bliss, their radiance. She turned her head
+quietly away, and, with a rain of tears falling down
+her face, sat looking out over the river.</p>
+
+<p>Presently controlling herself, she again turned to
+her grandmother. Perhaps there was something she
+could do for her. Her hands might be cold. They
+were, and Margaretta, taking them in her own,
+chafed them gently.</p>
+
+<p>Grandma smiled quietly. “Always thoughtful—my
+dear, you will be a mother to Bonny.”</p>
+
+<p>“I will,” said the weeping girl.</p>
+
+<p>“Do not be unhappy,” said Grandma, pleadingly.
+“I am so happy to go. My earthly house is in
+order. I long for my heavenly one.”</p>
+
+<p>“But—but, Grandma, you have been happy with
+us,” stammered Margaretta.</p>
+
+<p>“Happy, so happy—always remember that.
+My only trouble a separated family. One half in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_280" id="Page_280">[280]</a></span>
+heaven, the other on earth. One day to be reunited.
+You will cherish each other after I am gone—you
+precious ones on earth—Roger?”</p>
+
+<p>The young man nodded, and bent his head low
+over the oars.</p>
+
+<p>“And Tom,” said Grandma, with exquisite
+sweetness, “my third grandson, you will take care
+of Berty?” Tom tried to speak, failed, tried again,
+but Grandma knew the significance of his hoarse,
+inarticulate murmur. Then he averted his gaze
+from the heart-breaking sight of Berty at her grandmother’s
+feet. The despairing girl had clasped them
+to her breast. Grandma was more to her than any
+of them. How could he comfort her for such a
+loss?</p>
+
+<p>“Come, come,” said Grandma, cheerily, “our
+parting is but for a little. See, my child, my spirit
+is growing brighter and brighter. It has outgrown
+this poor old worn-out body. Berty, lift your head,
+and look your grandmother once more in the eyes.”</p>
+
+<p>After some delay, Berty, in mute, anguished
+silence did as she was bid.</p>
+
+<p>“Some day,” said Grandma, firmly, “your own
+sturdy limbs will fail you. You will fly from them
+as from a discarded burden, and come to rejoin your<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_281" id="Page_281">[281]</a></span>
+mother and grandmother in the sky. Let me hear
+you speak. Will you be brave?”</p>
+
+<p>Still in dumb, tearless sorrow, the girl shook her
+head.</p>
+
+<p>“Is this the child I have brought up?” asked
+Grandma, with some faintness. “Have I been unsuccessful?
+Where is your strength in the hour of
+trial?”</p>
+
+<p>Berty clasped her hands to her side. “Grandma,”
+she said, slowly, and as if each word were wrung
+from her. “I will be brave, I will not forget what
+you have told me.”</p>
+
+<p>“Keep your own family together, and keep the
+welfare of the children of the city next your heart,”
+said Grandma, with new strength, “so you will be
+blessed in your own soul.”</p>
+
+<p>“I promise,” said Berty, with quivering lips.</p>
+
+<p>“Give my love to Selina and her husband,”
+Grandma went on, after a short pause. “They are
+happy together, and they know their duty. They
+have no need of words from me. And now, Bonny,
+my own and last grandchild—the baby of the
+family.”</p>
+
+<p>The boy stretched out his hands. He was younger
+than the others, and he made no attempt to restrain
+his sobs.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_282" id="Page_282">[282]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>“Such a dear baby he was,” murmured Grandma,
+patting his downcast head. “Such a lovely, beautiful
+baby.”</p>
+
+<p>Margaretta made an effort to control herself, and
+resolutely wiped away the tears pouring down her
+face. “Grandma,” she uttered, brokenly, “would
+you like us to sing to you?”</p>
+
+<p>Grandma slightly turned her head. She seemed
+to be listening to something beyond them. Then she
+said, slowly, “My dears, I never fancied going out
+of this world to the sound of earthly music. There
+are strange and exquisite harmonies from another
+world floating in my ears. Hark, children—I hear
+it now plainly. I am nearing the sea.”</p>
+
+<p>“Grandma, darling,” said Margaretta, in distress,
+“we are many miles from the sea.”</p>
+
+<p>“It is the sea,” murmured the dying woman, and
+a triumphant smile broke over her face, “the sea
+of glass near the great white throne—and there
+is a new sound now. Ah, children!” and, raising
+herself on her cushions, a very flame of unearthly
+and exquisite anticipation swept over her face, “the
+new sound is from the harps of gold of them that
+stand beside the sea. They have gotten the victory,
+and they sing praises!”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_283" id="Page_283">[283]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>She sank back—with one joyful exclamation the
+breath left her body.</p>
+
+<p>Who could mourn for a death like that? Who
+would dare to grieve over the little worn-out body?</p>
+
+<p>Margaretta reverently stooped over, kissed the
+face so soon to grow cold, then, lightly draping a
+white wrap about it, she sat down and held out one
+hand to Berty, the other to her brother.</p>
+
+<p>Tom and Roger turned the boat’s head toward the
+city. Their hearts were full of grief, and yet, looking
+at the calm sky, the peaceful river, they knew
+that time would pass, their grief would grow chastened,
+in all probability there stretched before each
+occupant of that boat a useful and happy life.</p>
+
+<p>Grandma had not lived in vain. She had kept
+her family together, and while her children’s children
+lived, and their children, her memory would
+not be suffered to grow cold, neither would her
+good deeds be forgotten.</p>
+
+<p class="titlepage">THE END.</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<div class="further-reading">
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="books_1_p1" id="books_1_p1">[1]</a></span></p>
+
+<h2>BOOKS FOR YOUNG PEOPLE</h2>
+
+<p><span class="book">The Little Colonel Stories.</span> By <span class="smcap">Annie
+Fellows Johnston</span>.</p>
+
+<p>Being three “Little Colonel” stories in the Cosy
+Corner Series, “The Little Colonel,” “Two Little
+Knights of Kentucky,” and “The Giant Scissors,” put
+into a single volume, owing to the popular demand for a
+uniform series of the stories dealing with one of the
+most popular of juvenile heroines.</p>
+
+<p>1 vol., large 12mo, cloth decorative, fully illustrated <span class="price">$1.50</span></p>
+
+<p><span class="book">The Little Colonel’s House Party.</span>
+By <span class="smcap">Annie Fellows Johnston</span>. Illustrated by
+Louis Meynell.</p>
+
+<p>One vol., library 12mo, cloth, decorative cover <span class="price">$1.00</span></p>
+
+<p><span class="book">The Little Colonel’s Holidays.</span> By
+<span class="smcap">Annie Fellows Johnston</span>. Illustrated by L. J.
+Bridgman.</p>
+
+<p>One vol., large 12mo, cloth, decorative cover <span class="price">$1.50</span></p>
+
+<p><span class="book">The Little Colonel’s Hero.</span> By <span class="smcap">Annie
+Fellows Johnston</span>. Illustrated by E. B. Barry.</p>
+
+<p>One vol., large 12mo, cloth decorative, <span class="price">$1.20 <i>net</i> (postage extra)</span></p>
+
+<p><span class="book">The Little Colonel at Boarding School.</span>
+By <span class="smcap">Annie Fellows Johnston</span>. Illustrated
+by E. B. Barry.</p>
+
+<p>1 vol., large 12mo, cloth <span class="price">$1.20 <i>net</i> (postage extra)</span></p>
+
+<p>Since the time of “Little Women,” no juvenile heroine
+has been better beloved of her child readers than Mrs.
+Johnston’s “Little Colonel.” Each succeeding book has
+been more popular than its predecessor, and now thousands
+of little readers wait patiently each year for the
+appearance of “the new Little Colonel Book.”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="books_1_p2" id="books_1_p2">[2]</a></span></p>
+
+<p><span class="book">Beautiful Joe’s Paradise;</span> or, <span class="smcap">The Island
+of Brotherly Love</span>. A sequel to “Beautiful Joe.”
+By <span class="smcap">Marshall Saunders</span>, author of “Beautiful Joe,”
+“For His Country,” etc. With fifteen full-page plates
+and many decorations from drawings by Charles Livingston
+Bull.</p>
+
+<p>One vol., library 12mo, cloth decorative, <span class="price">$1.20 <i>net</i>, postpaid, $1.32</span></p>
+
+<p>“Will be immensely enjoyed by the boys and girls who
+read it.”—<cite>Pittsburg Gazette.</cite></p>
+
+<p>“Miss Saunders has put life, humor, action, and tenderness
+into her story. The book deserves to be a favorite.”—<cite>Chicago
+Record-Herald.</cite></p>
+
+<p>“This book revives the spirit of ‘Beautiful Joe’ capitally.
+It is fairly riotous with fun, and as a whole is about as unusual
+as anything in the animal book line that has seen the
+light. It is a book for juveniles—old and young.”—<cite>Philadelphia
+Item.</cite></p>
+
+<p><span class="book">’Tilda Jane.</span> By <span class="smcap">Marshall Saunders</span>, author
+of “Beautiful Joe,” etc.</p>
+
+<p>One vol., 12mo, fully illustrated, cloth, decorative cover <span class="price">$1.50</span></p>
+
+<p>“No more amusing and attractive child’s story has appeared
+for a long time than this quaint and curious recital of
+the adventures of that pitiful and charming little runaway.”</p>
+
+<p>“It is one of those exquisitely simple and truthful books
+that win and charm the reader, and I did not put it down
+until I had finished it—honest! And I am sure that every
+one, young or old, who reads will be proud and happy to
+make the acquaintance of the delicious waif.</p>
+
+<p>“I cannot think of any better book for children than this.
+I commend it unreservedly.”—<cite>Cyrus Townsend Brady.</cite></p>
+
+<p><span class="book">The Story of the Graveleys.</span> By <span class="smcap">Marshall
+Saunders</span>, author of “Beautiful Joe’s Paradise,”
+“’Tilda Jane,” etc.</p>
+
+<p>Library 12mo, cloth decorative, illustrated by E. B.
+Barry <span class="price">$1.20 <i>net</i> (postage extra)</span></p>
+
+<p>Here we have the haps and mishaps, the trials and
+triumphs, of a delightful New England family, of whose
+devotion and sturdiness it will do the reader good to
+hear. From the kindly, serene-souled grandmother to
+the buoyant madcap, Berty, these Graveleys are folk of
+fibre and blood—genuine human beings.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="books_1_p3" id="books_1_p3">[3]</a></span></p>
+
+<p><span class="book">Little Lady Marjorie.</span> By <span class="smcap">Frances Margaret
+Fox</span>, author of “Farmer Brown and the
+Birds,” etc.</p>
+
+<p>12mo, cloth, illustrated <span class="price">$1.20 <i>net</i> (postage extra)</span></p>
+
+<p>A charming story for children between the ages of
+ten and fifteen years, with both heart and nature interest.</p>
+
+<p><span class="book">The Sandman:</span> <span class="smcap">His Farm Stories</span>. By
+<span class="smcap">William J. Hopkins</span>. With fifty illustrations by
+Ada Clendenin Williamson.</p>
+
+<p>One vol., large 12mo, decorative cover, <span class="price">$1.20 <i>net</i>, postpaid, $1.38</span></p>
+
+<p>“An amusing, original book, written for the benefit of
+children not more than six years old, is ‘The Sandman: His
+Farm Stories.’ It should be one of the most popular of the
+year’s books for reading to small children.”—<cite>Buffalo Express.</cite></p>
+
+<p>“Mothers and fathers and kind elder sisters who take the
+little ones to bed and rack their brains for stories will find this
+book a treasure.”—<cite>Cleveland Leader.</cite></p>
+
+<p><span class="book">The Sandman:</span> <span class="smcap">More Farm Stories</span>. By
+<span class="smcap">William J. Hopkins</span>, author of “The Sandman:
+His Farm Stories.”</p>
+
+<p>Library 12mo, cloth decorative, fully illustrated, <span class="price">$1.20 <i>net</i> (postage extra)</span></p>
+
+<p>Mr. Hopkins’s first essay at bedtime stories has met
+with such approval that this second book of “Sandman”
+tales has been issued for scores of eager children. Life
+on the farm, and out-of-doors, will be portrayed in his
+inimitable manner, and many a little one will hail the
+bedtime season as one of delight.</p>
+
+<p><span class="book">A Puritan Knight Errant.</span> By <span class="smcap">Edith
+Robinson</span>, author of “A Little Puritan Pioneer,” “A
+Little Puritan’s First Christmas,” “A Little Puritan
+Rebel,” etc.</p>
+
+<p>Library 12mo, cloth decorative, illustrated, <span class="price">$1.20 <i>net</i> (postage extra)</span></p>
+
+<p>The charm of style and historical value of Miss
+Robinson’s previous stories of child life in Puritan days
+have brought them wide popularity. Her latest and
+most important book appeals to a large juvenile public.
+The “knight errant” of this story is a little Don Quixote,
+whose trials and their ultimate outcome will prove
+deeply interesting to their reader.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="books_1_p4" id="books_1_p4">[4]</a></span></p>
+
+<p><span class="book">The Great Scoop.</span> By <span class="smcap">Molly Elliot Seawell</span>,
+author of “Little Jarvis,” “Laurie Vane,” etc.</p>
+
+<p>12mo, cloth, with illustrations <span class="price">$1.00</span></p>
+
+<p>A capital tale of newspaper life in a big city, and of
+a bright, enterprising, likable youngster employed therein.
+Every boy with an ounce of true boyish blood in him
+will have the time of his life in reading how Dick Henshaw
+entered the newspaper business, and how he
+secured “the great scoop.”</p>
+
+<p><span class="book">Flip’s “Islands of Providence.”</span> By
+<span class="smcap">Annie Fellows Johnston</span>, author of “Asa
+Holmes,” “The Little Colonel,” etc.</p>
+
+<p>12mo, cloth, with illustrations <span class="price">$1.00</span></p>
+
+<p>In this book the author of “The Little Colonel” and
+her girl friends and companions shows that she is
+equally at home in telling a tale in which the leading
+character is a boy, and in describing his troubles and
+triumphs in a way that will enhance her reputation as a
+skilled and sympathetic writer of stories for children.</p>
+
+<p><span class="book">Songs and Rhymes for the Little
+Ones.</span> Compiled by <span class="smcap">Mary Whitney Morrison</span>
+(Jenny Wallis).</p>
+
+<p>New edition, with an introduction by Mrs. A. D. T.
+Whitney and eight illustrations.</p>
+
+<p>One vol., large 12mo, cloth decorative <span class="price">$1.00</span></p>
+
+<p>No better description of this admirable book can be
+given than Mrs. Whitney’s happy introduction:</p>
+
+<p>“One might almost as well offer June roses with the
+assurance of their sweetness, as to present this lovely
+little gathering of verse, which announces itself, like
+them, by its deliciousness. Yet, as Mrs. Morrison’s
+charming volume has long been a delight to me, I am
+only too happy to link my name with its new and enriched
+form in this slight way, and simply declare that it
+is to me the most bewitching book of songs for little
+people that I have ever known.”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="books_1_p5" id="books_1_p5">[5]</a></span></p>
+
+<p class="center larger">PHYLLIS’ FIELD FRIENDS SERIES</p>
+
+<p class="center"><i>By LENORE E. MULETS</i></p>
+
+<p>Four vols., cloth decorative, illustrated. Sold separately,
+or as a set.</p>
+
+<p>Per volume <span class="price">$0.80 <i>net</i></span></p>
+
+<p>Per set <span class="price">$3.20 <i>net</i></span></p>
+
+<ul>
+<li class="book">1. Insect Stories.</li>
+<li class="book">2. Stories of Little Animals.</li>
+<li class="book">3. Flower Stories.</li>
+<li class="book">4. Bird Stories.</li>
+</ul>
+
+<p>In this series of four little Nature books, it is the
+author’s intention so to present to the child reader the
+facts about each particular flower, insect, bird, or
+animal, in story form, as to make delightful reading of
+the facts of science, which the child is to verify through
+his field lessons and experiences. Classical legends,
+myths, poems and songs are so presented as to correlate
+fully with these lessons, to which the excellent illustrations
+are no little help.</p>
+
+<p class="center larger">THE WOODRANGER TALES</p>
+
+<p class="center"><i>By G. WALDO BROWNE</i></p>
+
+<ul>
+<li class="book">The Woodranger.</li>
+<li class="book">The Young Gunbearer.</li>
+<li class="book">The Hero of the Hills.</li>
+</ul>
+
+<p>Each 1 vol., large 12mo, cloth, decorative
+cover, illustrated, per volume <span class="price">$1.00</span></p>
+
+<p>Three vols., boxed, per set <span class="price">$3.00</span></p>
+
+<p>“The Woodranger Tales,” like the “Pathfinder
+Tales” of J. Fenimore Cooper, combine historical information
+relating to early pioneer days in America with
+interesting adventures in the backwoods. Although the
+same characters are continued throughout the series,
+each book is complete in itself, and while based strictly
+on historical facts, is an interesting and exciting tale of
+adventure which will delight all boys and be by no means
+unwelcome to their elders.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="books_1_p6" id="books_1_p6">[6]</a></span></p>
+
+<p><span class="book">The Rosamond Tales.</span> By <span class="smcap">Cuyler Reynolds</span>.
+With 30 full-page illustrations from original
+photographs, and with a frontispiece from a drawing
+by Maud Humphreys.</p>
+
+<p>One vol., large 12mo, cloth decorative <span class="price">$1.50</span></p>
+
+<p>These are just the bedtime stories that children always
+ask for, but do not always get. Rosamond and Rosalind
+are the hero and heroine of many happy adventures
+in town and on their grandfather’s farm; and the happy
+listeners to their story will unconsciously absorb a vast
+amount of interesting knowledge of birds, animals, and
+flowers. The book will be a boon to tired mothers, and
+a delight to wide-awake children.</p>
+
+<p><span class="book">Larry Hudson’s Ambition.</span> By <span class="smcap">James
+Otis</span>, author of “Toby Tyler,” etc. Illustrated by
+Eliot Keen.</p>
+
+<p>One vol., library 12mo, cloth, decorative cover, <span class="price">$1.25</span></p>
+
+<p>James Otis, who has delighted the juvenile public
+with so many popular stories, has written the story of
+the rise of the bootblack Larry. Larry is not only
+capable of holding his own and coming out with flying
+colors in the amusing adventures wherein he befriends
+the family of good Deacon Doak; he also has the
+signal ability to know what he wants and to understand
+that hard work is necessary to win.</p>
+
+<p><span class="book">Black Beauty:</span> <span class="smcap">The Autobiography of a
+Horse</span>. By <span class="smcap">Anna Sewell</span>. <i>New Illustrated
+Edition.</i> With nineteen full-page drawings by Winifred
+Austin.</p>
+
+<p>One vol., large 12mo, cloth decorative, gilt top, <span class="price">$1.25</span></p>
+
+<p>There have been many editions of this classic, but we
+confidently offer this one as the most appropriate and
+handsome yet produced. The illustrations are of special
+value and beauty. Miss Austin is a lover of horses, and
+has delighted in tracing with her pen the beauty and
+grace of the noble animal.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="books_1_p7" id="books_1_p7">[7]</a></span></p>
+
+<p><span class="book">The Story of Kate.</span> <span class="smcap">A Tale of California
+Life for Girls.</span> By <span class="smcap">Pauline Bradford Mackie</span>.
+Illustrations by L. J. Bridgman.</p>
+
+<p>One vol., library 12mo, cloth, <span class="price">$1.20 <i>net</i>, postpaid, $1.32</span></p>
+
+<p>“One of the most charming books of the season for girls,
+is this, with its lovable characters and entertaining adventures.”—<cite>Albany
+Times Union.</cite></p>
+
+<p>“Pauline Bradford Mackie’s new story is one of genuine
+delight, and scarcely a better volume could be purchased for
+girls.”—<cite>Boston Journal.</cite></p>
+
+<p><span class="book">Ye Lyttle Salem Maide:</span> <span class="smcap">A Story of
+Witchcraft</span>. By <span class="smcap">Pauline Bradford Mackie</span>.
+<i>New Illustrated Edition.</i></p>
+
+<p>One vol., large 12mo, cloth, gilt top <span class="price">$1.50</span></p>
+
+<p>“The beauty of the story lies in its simplicity and pathos
+mingled with the lighter vein of humor.”—<cite>Toledo Blade.</cite></p>
+
+<p>“No one can read the story without being profoundly
+stirred.”—<cite>Baltimore Herald.</cite></p>
+
+<p>“Full of color and fine feeling.”—<cite>Albany Argus.</cite></p>
+
+<p><span class="book">In Kings’ Houses:</span> <span class="smcap">A Tale of the Days of
+Queen Anne</span>. By <span class="smcap">Julia C. R. Dorr</span>. <i>New Illustrated
+Edition.</i></p>
+
+<p>One vol., large 12mo, cloth, gilt top <span class="price">$1.50</span></p>
+
+<p>“We close the book with a wish that the author may write
+more of the history of England, which she knows so well.”—<cite>Bookman,
+New York.</cite></p>
+
+<p>“A story with a charm that will hardly be withstood.”—<cite>Kansas
+City Times.</cite></p>
+
+<p>“A fine, strong story which it is a relief to come upon.
+Related with charming simple art.”—<cite>Public Ledger, Philadelphia.</cite></p>
+
+<p><span class="book">Gulliver’s Bird Book.</span> <span class="smcap">Being the Newly
+Discovered Strange Adventures of Lemuel
+Gulliver, Now for the First Time Described
+and Illustrated.</span> By <span class="smcap">L. J. Bridgman</span>, author of
+“Mother Goose and Her Wild Beast Show,” etc.</p>
+
+<p>With upwards of 100 illustrations in color, large
+quarto, cloth <span class="price">$1.50</span></p>
+
+<p>This is a most amusing and original book, illustrated
+with startlingly odd and clever drawings. “Gulliver’s
+Bird Book” will prove a source of entertainment to
+children of all ages, and should prove one of the leading
+color juveniles of the season.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="books_1_p8" id="books_1_p8">[8]</a></span></p>
+
+<p class="center larger">THE LITTLE COUSIN SERIES</p>
+
+<p>The most delightful and interesting accounts possible
+of child-life in other lands, filled with quaint sayings
+doings, and adventures.</p>
+
+<p>Each 1 vol., 12mo, decorative cover, cloth, with six
+full-page illustrations in color by L. J. Bridgman.</p>
+
+<p>Price per volume <span class="price">$0.50 <i>net</i>, postpaid $0.56</span></p>
+
+<p>“Juveniles will get a whole world of pleasure and instruction
+out of Mary Hazelton Wade’s Little Cousin Series. …
+Pleasing narratives give pictures of the little folk in the far-away
+lands in their duties and pleasures, showing their odd
+ways of playing, studying, their queer homes, clothes, and
+playthings. … The style of the stories is all that can be
+desired for entertainment, the author describing things in a
+very real and delightful fashion.”—<cite>Detroit News-Tribune.</cite></p>
+
+<p class="center"><i>By MARY HAZELTON WADE</i></p>
+
+<ul>
+<li>Our Little Swiss Cousin.</li>
+<li>Our Little Norwegian Cousin.</li>
+<li>Our Little Italian Cousin.</li>
+<li>Our Little Siamese Cousin.</li>
+<li>Our Little Cuban Cousin.</li>
+<li>Our Little Hawaiian Cousin.</li>
+<li>Our Little Eskimo Cousin.</li>
+<li>Our Little Philippine Cousin.</li>
+<li>Our Little Porto Rican Cousin.</li>
+<li>Our Little African Cousin.</li>
+<li>Our Little Japanese Cousin.</li>
+<li>Our Little Brown Cousin.</li>
+<li>Our Little Indian Cousin.</li>
+<li>Our Little Russian Cousin.</li>
+</ul>
+
+<p class="center"><i>By ISAAC HEADLAND TAYLOR</i></p>
+
+<ul>
+<li>Our Little Chinese Cousin.</li>
+</ul>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="books_2_p1" id="books_2_p1">[1]</a></span></p>
+
+<h2>COSY CORNER SERIES</h2>
+
+<p>It is the intention of the publishers that this series shall
+contain only the very highest and purest literature,—stories
+that shall not only appeal to the children themselves,
+but be appreciated by all those who feel with
+them in their joys and sorrows,—stories that shall be
+most particularly adapted for reading aloud in the
+family circle.</p>
+
+<p>The numerous illustrations in each book are by well-known
+artists, and each volume has a separate attractive
+cover design.</p>
+
+<p>Each, 1 vol., 16mo, cloth <span class="price">$0.50</span></p>
+
+<p><i>By ANNIE FELLOWS JOHNSTON</i></p>
+
+<p><span class="book">The Little Colonel.</span></p>
+
+<p>The scene of this story is laid in Kentucky. Its
+heroine is a small girl, who is known as the Little
+Colonel, on account of her fancied resemblance to an
+old-school Southern gentleman, whose fine estate and
+old family are famous in the region. This old Colonel
+proves to be the grandfather of the child.</p>
+
+<p><span class="book">The Giant Scissors.</span></p>
+
+<p>This is the story of Joyce and of her adventures in
+France,—the wonderful house with the gate of The
+Giant Scissors, Jules, her little playmate, Sister Denisa,
+the cruel Brossard, and her dear Aunt Kate. Joyce is
+a great friend of the Little Colonel, and in later volumes
+shares with her the delightful experiences of the “House
+Party” and the “Holidays.”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="books_2_p2" id="books_2_p2">[2]</a></span></p>
+
+<p><span class="book">Two Little Knights of Kentucky,</span>
+<span class="smcap">Who Were the Little Colonel’s Neighbors</span>.</p>
+
+<p>In this volume the Little Colonel returns to us like an
+old friend, but with added grace and charm. She is
+not, however, the central figure of the story, that place
+being taken by the “two little knights.”</p>
+
+<p><span class="book">Cicely and Other Stories for Girls.</span></p>
+
+<p>The readers of Mrs. Johnston’s charming juveniles
+will be glad to learn of the issue of this volume for
+young people, written in the author’s sympathetic and
+entertaining manner.</p>
+
+<p><span class="book">Aunt ’Liza’s Hero and Other Stories.</span></p>
+
+<p>A collection of six bright little stories, which will
+appeal to all boys and most girls.</p>
+
+<p><span class="book">Big Brother.</span></p>
+
+<p>A story of two boys. The devotion and care of
+Steven, himself a small boy, for his baby brother, is the
+theme of the simple tale, the pathos and beauty of which
+has appealed to so many thousands.</p>
+
+<p><span class="book">Ole Mammy’s Torment.</span></p>
+
+<p>“Ole Mammy’s Torment” has been fitly called “a
+classic of Southern life.” It relates the haps and mishaps
+of a small negro lad, and tells how he was led by
+love and kindness to a knowledge of the right.</p>
+
+<p><span class="book">The Story of Dago.</span></p>
+
+<p>In this story Mrs. Johnston relates the story of Dago,
+a pet monkey, owned jointly by two brothers. Dago
+tells his own story, and the account of his haps and mishaps
+is both interesting and amusing.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="books_2_p3" id="books_2_p3">[3]</a></span></p>
+
+<p><i>By EDITH ROBINSON</i></p>
+
+<p><span class="book">A Little Puritan’s First Christmas.</span></p>
+
+<p>A story of Colonial times in Boston, telling how
+Christmas was invented by Betty Sewall, a typical child
+of the Puritans, aided by her brother Sam.</p>
+
+<p><span class="book">A Little Daughter of Liberty.</span></p>
+
+<p>The author’s motive for this story is well indicated by
+a quotation from her introduction, as follows:</p>
+
+<p>“One ride is memorable in the early history of the
+American Revolution, the well-known ride of Paul
+Revere. Equally deserving of commendation is another
+ride,—untold in verse or story, its records preserved
+only in family papers or shadowy legend, the ride of
+Anthony Severn was no less historic in its action or
+memorable in its consequences.”</p>
+
+<p><span class="book">A Loyal Little Maid.</span></p>
+
+<p>A delightful and interesting story of Revolutionary
+days, in which the child heroine, Betsey Schuyler,
+renders important services to George Washington.</p>
+
+<p><span class="book">A Little Puritan Rebel.</span></p>
+
+<p>Like Miss Robinson’s successful story of “A Loyal
+Little Maid,” this is another historical tale of a real girl,
+during the time when the gallant Sir Harry Vane was
+governor of Massachusetts.</p>
+
+<p><span class="book">A Little Puritan Pioneer.</span></p>
+
+<p>The scene of this story is laid in the Puritan settlement
+at Charlestown. The little girl heroine adds
+another to the list of favorites so well known to the
+young people.</p>
+
+<p><span class="book">A Little Puritan Bound Girl.</span></p>
+
+<p>A story of Boston in Puritan days, which is of great
+interest to youthful readers.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="books_2_p4" id="books_2_p4">[4]</a></span></p>
+
+<p><i>By OUIDA (Louise de la Ramée)</i></p>
+
+<p><span class="book">A Dog of Flanders:</span> <span class="smcap">A Christmas Story</span>.</p>
+
+<p>Too well and favorably known to require description.</p>
+
+<p><span class="book">The Nürnberg Stove.</span></p>
+
+<p>This beautiful story has never before been published
+at a popular price.</p>
+
+<p><span class="book">A Provence Rose.</span></p>
+
+<p>A story perfect in sweetness and in grace.</p>
+
+<p><span class="book">Findelkind.</span></p>
+
+<p>A charming story about a little Swiss herdsman.</p>
+
+<p><i>By MISS MULOCK</i></p>
+
+<p><span class="book">The Little Lame Prince.</span></p>
+
+<p>A delightful story of a little boy who has many adventures
+by means of the magic gifts of his fairy godmother.</p>
+
+<p><span class="book">Adventures of a Brownie.</span></p>
+
+<p>The story of a household elf who torments the cook
+and gardener, but is a constant joy and delight to the
+children who love and trust him.</p>
+
+<p><span class="book">His Little Mother.</span></p>
+
+<p>Miss Mulock’s short stories for children are a constant
+source of delight to them, and “His Little Mother,” in
+this new and attractive dress, will be welcomed by hosts
+of youthful readers.</p>
+
+<p><span class="book">Little Sunshine’s Holiday.</span></p>
+
+<p>An attractive story of a summer outing. “Little Sunshine”
+is another of those beautiful child-characters for
+which Miss Mulock is so justly famous.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="books_2_p5" id="books_2_p5">[5]</a></span></p>
+
+<p><i>By JULIANA HORATIA EWING</i></p>
+
+<p><span class="book">Jackanapes.</span></p>
+
+<p>A new edition, with new illustrations, of this exquisite
+and touching story, dear alike to young and old.</p>
+
+<p><span class="book">Story of a Short Life.</span></p>
+
+<p>This beautiful and pathetic story will never grow old.
+It is a part of the world’s literature, and will never die.</p>
+
+<p><span class="book">A Great Emergency.</span></p>
+
+<p>How a family of children prepared for a great emergency,
+and how they acted when the emergency came.</p>
+
+<p><span class="book">The Trinity Flower.</span></p>
+
+<p>In this little volume are collected three of Mrs.
+Ewing’s best short stories for the young people.</p>
+
+<p><span class="book">Madam Liberality.</span></p>
+
+<p>From her cradle up Madam Liberality found her
+chief delight in giving.</p>
+
+<p><i>By FRANCES MARGARET FOX</i></p>
+
+<p><span class="book">The Little Giant’s Neighbours.</span></p>
+
+<p>A charming nature story of a “little giant” whose
+neighbours were the creatures of the field and garden.</p>
+
+<p><span class="book">Farmer Brown and the Birds.</span></p>
+
+<p>A little story which teaches children that the birds
+are man’s best friends.</p>
+
+<p><span class="book">Betty of Old Mackinaw.</span></p>
+
+<p>A charming story of child-life, appealing especially to
+the little readers who like stories of “real people.”</p>
+
+<p><span class="book">Mother Nature’s Little Ones.</span></p>
+
+<p>Curious little sketches describing the early lifetime, or
+“childhood,” of the little creatures out-of-doors.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="books_2_p6" id="books_2_p6">[6]</a></span></p>
+
+<p><i>By WILL ALLEN DROMGOOLE</i></p>
+
+<p><span class="book">The Farrier’s Dog and His Fellow.</span></p>
+
+<p>This story, written by the gifted young Southern
+woman, will appeal to all that is best in the natures of
+the many admirers of her graceful and piquant style.</p>
+
+<p><span class="book">The Fortunes of the Fellow.</span></p>
+
+<p>Those who read and enjoyed the pathos and charm
+of “The Farrier’s Dog and His Fellow” will welcome
+the further account of the “Adventures of Baydaw and
+the Fellow” at the home of the kindly smith among the
+Green Hills of Tennessee.</p>
+
+<p><i>By FRANCES HODGES WHITE</i></p>
+
+<p><span class="book">Helena’s Wonderworld.</span></p>
+
+<p>A delightful tale of the adventures of a little girl in
+the mysterious regions beneath the sea.</p>
+
+<p><span class="book">Aunt Nabby’s Children.</span></p>
+
+<p>This pretty little story, touched with the simple humor
+of country life, tells of two children, who, adopted by
+Aunt Nabby, have also won their way into the affections
+of the village squire.</p>
+
+<p><i>By CHARLES LEE SLEIGHT</i></p>
+
+<p><span class="book">The Prince of the Pin Elves.</span></p>
+
+<p>A fascinating story of the underground adventures of
+a sturdy, reliant American boy among the elves and
+gnomes.</p>
+
+<p><span class="book">The Water People.</span></p>
+
+<p>A companion volume and in a way a sequel to “The
+Prince of the Pin Elves,” relating the adventures of
+“Harry” among the “water people.” While it has the
+same characters as the previous book, the story is complete
+in itself.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="books_2_p7" id="books_2_p7">[7]</a></span></p>
+
+<p><i>By OTHER AUTHORS</i></p>
+
+<p><span class="book">The Flight of Rosy Dawn.</span> By <span class="smcap">Pauline
+Bradford Mackie</span>.</p>
+
+<p>The Christmas of little Wong Jan, or “Rosy Dawn,”
+a young Celestial of San Francisco, is the theme of this
+pleasant little story.</p>
+
+<p><span class="book">Susanne.</span> By <span class="smcap">Frances J. Delano</span>.</p>
+
+<p>This little story will recall in sweetness and appealing
+charm the work of Kate Douglas Wiggin and Laura E.
+Richards.</p>
+
+<p><span class="book">Millicent in Dreamland.</span> By <span class="smcap">Edna S.
+Brainerd</span>.</p>
+
+<p>The quaintness and fantastic character of Millicent’s
+adventures in Dreamland have much of the fascination
+of “Alice in Wonderland,” and all small readers of
+“Alice” will enjoy making Millicent’s acquaintance.</p>
+
+<p><span class="book">Jerry’s Reward.</span> By <span class="smcap">Evelyn Snead
+Barnett</span>.</p>
+
+<p>This is an interesting and wholesome little story of
+the change that came over the thoughtless imps on Jefferson
+Square when they learned to know the stout-hearted
+Jerry and his faithful Peggy.</p>
+
+<p><span class="book">A Bad Penny.</span> By <span class="smcap">John T. Wheelwright</span>.</p>
+
+<p>No boy should omit reading this vivid story of the
+New England of 1812.</p>
+
+<p><span class="book">Gatty and I.</span> By <span class="smcap">Frances E. Crompton</span>.</p>
+
+<p>The small hero and heroine of this little story are
+twins, “strictly brought up.” It is a sweet and wholesome
+little story.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="books_2_p8" id="books_2_p8">[8]</a></span></p>
+
+<p><span class="book">Prince Yellowtop.</span> By <span class="smcap">Kate Whiting Patch</span>.</p>
+
+<p>A pretty little fairy tale.</p>
+
+<p><span class="book">The Little Christmas Shoe.</span> By <span class="smcap">Jane P.
+Scott-Woodruff</span>.</p>
+
+<p>A touching story of Yule-tide.</p>
+
+<p><span class="book">The Little Professor.</span> By <span class="smcap">Ida Horton
+Cash</span>.</p>
+
+<p>A quaint tale of a quaint little girl.</p>
+
+<p><span class="book">The Seventh Daughter.</span> By <span class="smcap">Grace Wickham
+Curran</span>.</p>
+
+<p>One of the best stories for little girls that has been
+published for a long time.</p>
+
+<p><span class="book">The Making of Zimri Bunker:</span> <span class="smcap">A Tale
+of Nantucket</span>. By <span class="smcap">W. J. Long</span>, Ph. D.</p>
+
+<p>This is a charming story of Nantucket folk by a
+young clergyman who is already well known through
+his contributions to the <cite>Youth’s Companion</cite>, <cite>St. Nicholas</cite>,
+and other well-known magazines. The story deals
+with a sturdy American fisher lad, during the war of
+1812.</p>
+
+<p><span class="book">The King of the Golden River:</span> <span class="smcap">A
+Legend of Stiria</span>. By <span class="smcap">John Ruskin</span>.</p>
+
+<p>Written fifty years or more ago, and not originally
+intended for publication, this little fairy tale soon
+became known and made a place for itself.</p>
+
+<p><span class="book">Little Peterkin Vandike.</span> By <span class="smcap">Charles
+Stuart Pratt.</span></p>
+
+<p>The author’s dedication furnishes a key to this charming
+story:</p>
+
+<p>“I dedicate this book, made for the amusement (and
+perchance instruction) of the boys who may read it, to
+the memory of one boy, who would have enjoyed as
+much as Peterkin the plays of the Poetry Party, but
+who has now marched out of the ranks of boyhood.”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="books_2_p9" id="books_2_p9">[9]</a></span></p>
+
+<p><span class="book">Rab and His Friends.</span> By Dr. <span class="smcap">John
+Brown</span>.</p>
+
+<p>Doctor Brown’s little masterpiece is too well known
+to need description. The dog Rab is loved by all.</p>
+
+<p><span class="book">The Adventures of Beatrice and
+Jessie.</span> By <span class="smcap">Richard Mansfield</span>.</p>
+
+<p>The story of two little girls who were suddenly transplanted
+into the “realms of unreality,” where they met
+with many curious and amusing adventures.</p>
+
+<p><span class="book">A Child’s Garden of Verses.</span> By <span class="smcap">R.
+L. Stevenson</span>.</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Stevenson’s little volume is too well known to
+need description. It will be heartily welcomed in this
+new and attractive edition.</p>
+
+<p><span class="book">Little King Davie.</span> By <span class="smcap">Nellie Hellis</span>.</p>
+
+<p>The story of a little crossing-sweeper, that will make
+many boys thankful they are not in the same position.
+Davie’s accident, hospital experiences, conversion, and
+subsequent life, are of thrilling interest.</p>
+
+<p><span class="book">The Sleeping Beauty.</span> <span class="smcap">A Modern Version.</span>
+By <span class="smcap">Martha B. Dunn</span>.</p>
+
+<p>This charming story of a little fishermaid of Maine,
+intellectually “asleep” until she meets the “Fairy
+Prince,” reminds us of “Ouida” at her best.</p>
+
+<p><span class="book">The Young Archer.</span> By <span class="smcap">Charles E. Brimblecom</span>.</p>
+
+<p>A strong and wholesome story of a boy who accompanied
+Columbus on his voyage to the New World.
+His loyalty and services through vicissitudes and dangers
+endeared him to the great discoverer, and the
+account of his exploits will be interesting to all boys.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="books_2_p10" id="books_2_p10">[10]</a></span></p>
+
+<p><span class="book">The Fairy of the Rhône.</span> By <span class="smcap">A. Comyns
+Carr</span>.</p>
+
+<p>Here is a fairy story indeed, one of old-fashioned pure
+delight. It is most gracefully told, and accompanied by
+charming illustrations.</p>
+
+<p><span class="book">A Small Small Child.</span> By <span class="smcap">E. Livingston
+Prescott</span>.</p>
+
+<p>“A Small Small Child” is a moving little tale of
+sweet influence, more powerful than threats or punishments,
+upon a rowdy of the barracks.</p>
+
+<p><span class="book">Peggy’s Trial.</span> By <span class="smcap">Mary Knight Potter</span>.</p>
+
+<p>Peggy is an impulsive little woman of ten, whose
+rebellion from a mistaken notion of loyalty, and her subsequent
+reconciliation to the dreaded “new mother,” are
+most interestingly told.</p>
+
+<p><span class="book">For His Country.</span> By <span class="smcap">Marshall Saunders</span>,
+author of “Beautiful Joe,” etc.</p>
+
+<p>A sweet and graceful story of a little boy who loved
+his country; written with that charm which has endeared
+Miss Saunders to hosts of readers.</p>
+
+<p><span class="book">La Belle Nivernaise.</span> <span class="smcap">The Story of an
+Old Boat and Her Crew.</span> By <span class="smcap">Alphonse
+Daudet</span>.</p>
+
+<p>All who have read it will be glad to welcome an old
+favorite, and new readers will be happy to have it
+brought to their friendly attention.</p>
+
+<p><span class="book">Wee Dorothy.</span> By <span class="smcap">Laura Updegraff</span>.</p>
+
+<p>A story of two orphan children, the tender devotion
+of the eldest, a boy, for his sister being its theme and
+setting. With a bit of sadness at the beginning, the
+story is otherwise bright and sunny, and altogether
+wholesome in every way.</p>
+
+</div>
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