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diff --git a/old/53675-0.txt b/old/53675-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 9027323..0000000 --- a/old/53675-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,8606 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg eBook, The Story of the Gravelys, by Marshall -Saunders - - -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 -www.gutenberg.org. 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. - - - - -Title: The Story of the Gravelys - A Tale for Girls - - -Author: Marshall Saunders - - - -Release Date: December 6, 2016 [eBook #53675] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - - -***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE STORY OF THE GRAVELYS*** - - -E-text prepared by David Edwards and the Online Distributed Proofreading -Team (http://www.pgdp.net) from page images generously made available by -Internet Archive (https://archive.org) - - - -Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this - file which includes the original illustrations. - See 53675-h.htm or 53675-h.zip: - (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/53675/53675-h/53675-h.htm) - or - (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/53675/53675-h.zip) - - - Images of the original pages are available through - Internet Archive. See - https://archive.org/details/storyofgravelyst00saunuoft - - - - - -THE STORY OF THE GRAVELYS - - - * * * * * * - - Works of Marshall Saunders - - Beautiful Joe’s Paradise. Net $1.20 - Postpaid $1.32 - The Story of the Gravelys. Net $1.20 - Postpaid $1.35 - ’Tilda Jane. $1.50 - Rose à Charlitte. $1.50 - For His Country. $ .50 - - L. C. PAGE & COMPANY - New England Building, Boston, Mass. - - * * * * * * - - -[Illustration: “BENT THEIR HEADS OVER THE PAPER” - -(_See page 40_)] - - -THE STORY OF THE GRAVELYS - -A Tale for Girls - -by - -MARSHALL SAUNDERS - -Author of -“Beautiful Joe,” “Beautiful Joe’s Paradise,” -“’Tilda Jane,” etc. - - - “A child’s needless tear is a blood-blot upon this earth.” - - --CARDINAL MANNING - - -Illustrated - - - - - - - -[Illustration] - -Boston -L. C. Page & Company -1904 - -Copyright, 1902, 1903 -By Perry Mason Company - -Copyright, 1903 -By L. C. Page & Company -(Incorporated) - -All rights reserved - -Published September, 1903 - -Colonial Press -Electrotyped and Printed by C. H. Simonds & Co. -Boston, Mass., U. S. A. - - - - - TO - MY DEAR SISTER - Grace, - MY FAITHFUL HELPER IN LITERARY WORK, - THIS STORY IS AFFECTIONATELY DEDICATED - BY HER APPRECIATIVE SISTER, - - MARSHALL SAUNDERS - - - - -ACKNOWLEDGMENT - - -Certain chapters of this story first appeared in The _Youth’s -Companion_. The author wishes to acknowledge the courtesy of the -editors in permitting her to republish them in the present volume. - -Messrs. L. C. Page and Company wish also to acknowledge the courtesy -of the editors in granting them permission to use the original -illustrations. - - - - -CONTENTS - - - CHAPTER PAGE - - I. THE QUARREL 11 - - II. GRANDMA’S WATCHWORD 23 - - III. A SUDDEN COUNTERMARCH 34 - - IV. A LIFTED BURDEN 43 - - V. THE TRAINING OF A BOY 54 - - VI. BONNY’S ORDEAL 68 - - VII. BERTY IMPARTS INFORMATION 76 - - VIII. THE HEART OF THE MAYOR 88 - - IX. THE MAYOR’S DILEMMA 99 - - X. A GROUNDLESS SUSPICION 113 - - XI. A PROPOSED SUPPER-PARTY 130 - - XII. A DISTURBED HOSTESS 139 - - XIII. AN ANXIOUS MIND 150 - - XIV. THE OPENING OF THE PARK 162 - - XV. UP THE RIVER 175 - - XVI. BERTY’S TRAMP 188 - - XVII. TOM’S INTERVENTION 195 - - XVIII. TRAMP PHILOSOPHY 204 - - XIX. AT THE BOARD OF WATER-WORKS 217 - - XX. SELINA’S WEDDING 229 - - XXI. TO STRIKE OR NOT TO STRIKE 244 - - XXII. DISCOURAGED 257 - - XXIII. GRANDMA’S REQUEST 262 - - XXIV. DOWN THE RIVER 270 - - XXV. LAST WORDS 277 - - - - -LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS - - - PAGE - - “BENT THEIR HEADS OVER THE PAPER” (_see page 40_) _Frontispiece_ - - “LEANING OVER THE STAIR RAILING” 33 - - “‘WHY DON’T SOME OF YOU GOOD PEOPLE TRY TO REFORM ME?’” 54 - - “‘YOU HAVE TOO MUCH HEART’” 92 - - “‘YOU’RE DYING TO TEASE ME’” 177 - - “‘A RIVER STREET DELEGATION,’ SAID TOM” 235 - - - - -THE STORY OF THE GRAVELYS - - - - -CHAPTER I. - -THE QUARREL - - -“I won’t live on my brother-in-law,” said the slight, dark girl. - -“Yes, you will,” said the fair-haired beauty, her sister, who was -standing over her in a somewhat theatrical attitude. - -“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.” - -“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.” - -“You do not--you butterfly!” - -“Alberta Mary Francesca Gravely--you ought to be ashamed of yourself,” -said the beauty, in concentrated wrath. - -“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--” - -“An old lady,” said Margaretta. - -“Grandma isn’t old. She’s only sixty-five.” - -“Sixty-five is old.” - -“It is not.” - -“Well, now, can you call her young?” said Margaretta. “Can you say she -is a girl?” - -“Yes,” replied Berty, obstinately, “I can call her a girl, or a duck, -or anything I like, and I can call you a goose.” - -“A goose!” repeated Mrs. Stanisfield, chokingly; “oh, this is too much. -I wish my husband were here.” - -“I wish he were,” said Berty, wickedly, “so he could be sorry he mar--” - -“Children,” said a sudden voice, “what are you quarrelling about?” - -Both girls turned their flushed faces toward the doorway. A little -shrewd old lady stood there. 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. - -“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. - -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. - -“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. - -“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.” - -“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.” - -“Sit down, Margaretta,” said Grandma, soothingly. - -“Oh, I am too angry to sit down,” said Margaretta, shaking herself -slightly. “I got your note saying you had lost your money. I came to -sympathize and was met with insults. It’s dreadful!” - -“Sit down, dear,” said Grandma, gently, pushing a rocking-chair toward -her. - -Margaretta took the chair, and, wiping her white forehead with a morsel -of lace and muslin, glared angrily at her sister. - -“Roger says,” she went on, excitedly, “that you are all--” - -“All!” groaned Berty. - -“All,” repeated Margaretta, furiously, “or one or two, whichever you -like, to come and live with us. He insists.” - -“No, _you_ insist,” interrupted Berty. “He has too much sense.” - -Margaretta gave a low cry. “Isn’t this ingratitude abominable--I hear -of your misfortune, I come flying to your relief--” - -“Dear child,” said Grandma, “I knew you’d come.” - -“But what do you make of Berty, Grandma? Do say something cutting. You -could if you tried. The trouble is, you don’t try.” - -Grandma tried not to laugh. She, too, had a tiny handkerchief that she -pressed against her face, but the merriment would break through. - -“You laugh,” said Margaretta, in awe, “and you have just lost every -cent you own!” - -Grandma recovered herself. “Thank fortune, I never chained my -affections to a house and furniture and a bank-account.” - -“Roger says you are the bravest woman he ever saw,” murmured Margaretta. - -“Did he say that?” replied Grandma, with twinkling eyes. - -“Yes, yes, dear Grandma,” said Margaretta, fondly, “and he told me to -offer you all a home with us.” - -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!” - -“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.” - -“Berty is the mainstay of the family now,” said Grandma, -good-naturedly; “don’t abuse her.” - -“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.” - -“Just those few hundred dollars,” said Grandma, tranquilly, “and a -little more.” - -“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.” - -“Why not?” - -“It is so prosaic, after all you have gone through,” said Margaretta. -“When I think of your trials, it makes me sick.” - -“My trials are nothing to what Job had,” remarked her grandmother. “I -read of his tribulations and they make mine seem very insignificant.” - -“Poor Grandma, you have had about as many as Job.” - -“What have I had?” asked the old lady, softly. - -Margaretta made a gesture of despair. “Your mother died at your birth.” - -“The Lord took her,” said the old lady, gently, “and when I needed a -mother he sent me a good stepmother.” - -“Your father perished in a burning hotel,” said the girl, in a low -voice. - -“And went to heaven in a chariot of fire,” replied Grandma, firmly. - -“You married and were happy with your husband.” - -“Yes, bless the Lord!” - -“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. - -The old lady’s lip trembled, but she said, steadily, “The Lord -giveth--He also taketh away.” - -“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.” - -“All save the greatest thing in the world,” said Grandma, patting the -bowed head. - -“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?” - -“If everybody loves me, why is it?” inquired Grandma, guilelessly, as -she again took up her knitting. - -Margaretta wrinkled her fair brows. “I don’t 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.” - -“Canny, child?” - -“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. _You_ make me feel as if I were round, and smooth, and -easy to get on with.” - -Grandma picked up a dropped stitch and said nothing. - -“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.” - -“Women do talk too much,” said Grandma, shortly; “we thresh everything -out with our tongues.” - -“Grandma, dear, what are you going to do?” asked Margaretta, coaxingly. -“Do tell me.” - -“Keep the family together,” said Grandma, serenely. - -“The old cry,” exclaimed Margaretta. “I’ve heard that ever since I was -born. What makes you say it so much?” - -“Shall I tell you?” - -“Yes, yes--it is a regular watchword with you.” - -“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?’ - -“‘I’ll take fifty, sir,’ answered the man, in an agony. - -“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.’ - -“‘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.” - -Margaretta was crying nervously. - -“If you will compose yourself, I will go on,” said Grandma. - -Margaretta dried her tears. - -“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.’” - -“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. - -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.” - -“Then the family is the rock on which the nation is built,” said -Margaretta, her beautiful face a flood of colour. - -“Certainly.” - -“Then I am a helping stone in the building of a nation,” continued -Margaretta. “I, only a young woman in a small city of this great Union?” - -“You are a wife,” said Grandma, composedly, “a young and inexperienced -one, but still the head of a family.” - -Margaretta shivered. “What a responsibility--what kind of a wife am I?” - -Grandma maintained a discreet silence. - -“Berty says I am extravagant,” exclaimed Margaretta, with a gesture -toward the bed. - -Again her grandmother said nothing. - -“Am I, Grandma, darling, am I?” asked the young woman, in a wheedling -voice. - -Grandma’s lips trembled, and her dimple displayed itself again. - -“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 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.” - - - - -CHAPTER II. - -GRANDMA’S WATCHWORD - - -“See here,” said Grandma, feeling in her pocket. “Look at these -telegrams.” - -Margaretta hastily ran her eye over them. “I don’t understand.” - -“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.” - -“Oh, Grandma! Grandma!” said the girl, still only half-enlightened. -“What do they mean?” - -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 incomes. That is the outcome of ‘Keep -the family together.’” - -“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.” - -“Exactly,” said Grandma. - -“And will you take all that money?” - -“No, child, not all; some of it, though. I have helped them. I will do -it again, if I can.” - -“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.” - -“It is given up. My lawyer was here this morning.” - -“Roger is coming this evening to see you--will you sell all the -furniture?” - -“I shall have to.” - -“Oh, dear! Well, you won’t need it with us.” - -“We cannot go to you, Margaretta,” said Grandma, quietly. - -“Oh, why not?” - -“It would be too great a burden on Roger.” - -“Only three persons, Grandma.” - -“Roger is a young man. He has lately started housekeeping and family -life. Let him work out his plans along his own lines. It will be better -not to join households unless necessary.” - -“He just loves you, Grandma.” - -“And I reciprocate, but I think it better not to amalgamate my -quicksilver Berty with another stronger metal just now.” - -“Where is she?” asked Margaretta, turning her head. - -“She slipped out some time ago.” - -“Roger gets on well with her, Grandma.” - -“I know he does. By stronger metal, I meant you. Being the elder, you -have rather absorbed Berty. She will develop more quickly alone.” - -“Do you want to board?” - -“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.” - -“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?” - -“Who might be my dearest foes,” said Grandma, tranquilly. “I’ve rubbed -shoulders with such people in hotels before now.” - -“Grandma, you haven’t any enemies.” - -“Anybody that is worth anything has enemies.” - -“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.” - -“Give me a house and I’ll make the neighbourhood,” said Grandma, -decidedly. - -“You have already decided on one?” said her granddaughter, suspiciously. - -Grandma smiled. “Not altogether decided.” - -“I don’t like your tone,” exclaimed Margaretta. “You have something -dreadful to tell me.” - -“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.” - -“Tell me where it is,” said Margaretta, brokenly. - -“It is where the first people of the town used to live when I was a -girl.” - -“It isn’t down by the fish-market--oh, don’t tell me that!” - -“Just a block away from it, dear.” - -Mrs. Roger Stanisfield gave a subdued shriek. “This is Berty’s doing.” - -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.” - -“But some boarding-house people are agreeable,” moaned Margaretta. - -“Agreeable!--they are martyrs, but I am not going to help martyrize -them.” - -“I quarrel with Berty,” murmured Margaretta, “but I always make up with -her. She is my own dear sister.” - -“Keep the family together,” said Grandma, shrewdly, “and in order to -keep it together let it sometimes drift apart.” - -“Grandma, you speak in riddles.” - -“Margaretta, you are too direct. I want Berty to stand alone for -awhile. She has as much character as you.” - -“She has more,” sighed Margaretta. “She won’t mind a word I say--she -looks just like you, Grandma, dear. You like her better than you do -me.” - -“Perhaps I do,” said the old lady, calmly. “Perhaps she needs it.” - -“And you are going to let her drag you down to that awful -neighbourhood.” - -“It isn’t awful--a dose of River Street will be a fitting antidote to a -somewhat enervating existence here on Grand Avenue.” - -“You want to make a philanthropist or a city missionary of my poor -sister.” - -“She might do worse,” said Grandma, coolly. - -“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.” - -“We shall see,” said Grandma, calmly. - -“You will only take the house for a short time, of course.” - -“I shall probably stay there until eternity claims me.” - -“Grandma!” - -“One little old woman in this big republic will not encourage home -faithlessness,” said Grandma, firmly. - -“Dearest of grandmothers, what do you mean?” - -“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.” - -“But all houses are not equally convenient.” - -“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.” - -Margaretta fell into silence, and sat for a long time watching in -fascination the quick, active fingers manipulating the silk stocking. - -“You are a wonderful woman,” she said, at last. - -“Do you really think so?” - -“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.” - -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 -discipline is not necessary for me at my time of life, I shall console -myself with the thought that it is necessary for Berty.” - -“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.’” - -“And did she keep her promise?” asked Grandma, meaningly. - -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?” - -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. - -“I will be better,” said the beautiful girl, “and, Grandma, why haven’t -you talked more to me--preached more. I don’t remember any sermons, -except ‘Keep the family together.’” - -“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.” - -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.” - -“Keep the family together,” said Grandma, demurely. - -“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.” - -“Hush,” said Berty, suddenly. - -She had come into the hall below and was standing holding something in -her hand. - -“What is it?” asked Margaretta. “Oh!” and she gave a little scream, “a -mouse!” - -“He is dead,” said Berty, quickly, “nothing matters to him now. Poor -little thing, how he suffered. He was caught in a cruel trap.” - -Margaretta gazed scrutinizingly at her. “You have a good heart, Berty. -I’m sorry I quarrelled with you.” - -“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.” - -“You want to go to River Street?” said Margaretta, abruptly. - -“Oh, yes, we shall be so near the river. I am going to keep my boat and -canoe. The launch will have to go.” - -Margaretta suppressed a smile. “How about the neighbourhood?” - -“Don’t like it, but we shall keep to ourselves.” - -“And keep the family together,” said Margaretta. - -“Yes,” said Berty, soberly. “Trust Grandma to do that. I wish you and -Roger could live with us.” - -“Bless your heart,” said Margaretta, affectionately throwing an arm -around her. - -[Illustration: “LEANING OVER THE STAIR RAILING”] - -“But you’ll come to see us often?” said Berty, anxiously. - -“Every day; and, Berty, I prophesy peace and prosperity to you and -Grandma--and now good-bye, I’m going home to save.” - -“To save?” - -“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. - -“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?” - - - - -CHAPTER III. - -A SUDDEN COUNTERMARCH - - -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. - -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. - -For a minute the air was gay with merry parting, then the girls were -gone, and he went slowly up to his room. - -“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.” - -“Oh, Roger,” said his wife, as he entered the 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.” - -“I am very busy now,” he muttered, as he took his place. - -“Does your head ache?” inquired Margaretta, when several courses had -been passed through in silence on his part. - -“Yes, it is splitting.” - -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. - -He was thoughtfully surveying the fruit on the table. - -“Margaretta,” he said, boyishly, “I don’t care much for puddings and -pastry.” - -“Neither do I,” she said, demurely. - -“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?” - -“At your new rôle of housekeeper. You usually don’t seem to know what -is on the table.” - -“I have a good appetite.” - -“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.” - -“Well, what of it?” - -“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.” - -“What is that for?” he asked. - -“Oh, for something,” she said, quietly. “Now tell me what has gone -wrong with you.” - -“Nothing has gone wrong with me,” he said, irritably. - -“With your business then.” - -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.” - -“I don’t want coffee,” he said, sauntering after her. - -“Neither do I,” she replied. “Shall we go out in the garden? It was -delightfully cool there before dinner.” - -“What a crowd of women you had here,” he said, a little peevishly, as -he followed her. - -“Hadn’t I?” and she smiled. “They had all been at a garden-party at -the Everests, and as I wasn’t there they came to find out the reason.” - -“You don’t mean to say you missed a social function?” said her husband, -sarcastically. - -“Yes, dear boy, I did, and I have before, and I am going to again.” - -Mr. Stanisfield laughed shortly. “You sound like your sister Berty.” - -“Well, I should love to be like her. She is a dear little sister.” - -“But not as dear as her sister.” - -“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?” - -“I’ll take the hammock,” he said, wearily. “I feel as if I were falling -to pieces.” - -“Let me arrange some cushions under your head so--this cool breeze will -soon drive the business fog from your brain.” - -“No, it won’t--the fog is too heavy.” - -“What kind of a fog is it?” asked Margaretta, cautiously. - -Her husband sat up in the hammock, and stared at her with feverish -eyes. “Margaretta, I think we had better give up this house and take a -smaller one.” - -“I knew it,” said Margaretta, triumphantly. “I knew you were worried -about your affairs!” - -“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.” - -“Indeed I won’t,” she replied, proudly. - -“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.” - -Margaretta did not reply to him, and, eager to see her face, he -presently turned his own. - -The sun had set, but she was radiant in a kind of afterglow. - -“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.” - -“What a misfortune!” she said. - -His face fell. - -“For you to have a headache about this matter,” she went on, -gleefully. “I don’t call it a small one, for it isn’t, but if you knew -everything!” - -“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.” - -“That shows you are good business men,” said Margaretta, promptly. “You -are as good business men as husbands.” - -“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!” - -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?” - -“No, I did not.” - -“Oh, what a nice little paper! What a precious 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.” - -“Yes, I can,” said the young man, with a weary, amused smile. “Give it -to me.” - -She drew her seat closer to the hammock, and both bent their heads over -the paper. - -“Animus saved by Mrs. Roger Stanisfield during the month of July,” read -Roger, stumblingly--“to be poured on my head, I suppose.” - -“No, no, not animus--amounts.” - -“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?” - -“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.” - -“Grandma did?” asked her husband, in surprise. - -“No, she didn’t, she made me give it to myself. 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?” - -“I will, but what about the dress?” - -“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.’ - -“‘You shall have it for eighty,’ she said. - -“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.’ - -“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.’ - -“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 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.” - - - - -CHAPTER IV. - -A LIFTED BURDEN - - -He laid a hand on the fair head, then hastily bent over the paper. - -“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.” - -“You are a good child,” said her husband, huskily. - -“Now go on to the next item,” said Margaretta, jubilantly. - -“‘Butter, twenty dollars’--what in the name of common sense does that -mean?” - -“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.’ - -“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?” - -“Well, rather.” - -“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 yellow butter in it. -‘Why, that’s our table butter,’ I said, ‘isn’t it, that comes from -Cloverdale, and costs a ridiculous amount?’ - -“She said it was. - -“‘Why don’t you use cooking-butter, Jane?’ I asked; ‘it’s just as good, -isn’t it?’ - -“‘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.’ - -“‘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.’ - -“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. - -“‘Jane,’ I said, ‘I’m in earnest.’ - -“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.’ - -“‘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?’ - -“‘Honour bright, I will, ma’am,’ she said, and I believed her. I can’t -stay in the kitchen and watch her, but she watches herself, and just -read that list of groceries and see what else she has saved.” - -“How have you found out the exact list of your economies?” asked Roger, -curiously. - -“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?” - -“Yes, but I thought it only a passing whim.” - -“Some whims don’t pass, they stay,” said Margaretta, shaking her head. -“Go on, Roger.” - -“One hundred and fifty dollars saved in not entertaining Miss -Gregory--pray who is Miss Gregory?” - -“That society belle from Newport who has been staying with the -Darley-Jameses.” - -“How does she come into your expenditures?” - -“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.” - -“Well, but--” - -“Let me explain. If I hadn’t been taken with a fit of economy, I would, -in the natural order of 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?” - -Her husband made a face. - -“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.” - -“What an empty head,” said Roger, picking up the list. - -“It taught me a lesson,” continued his wife. “Now go on--do read the -other things.” - -His eyes had run down to the total. “Whew, Margaretta!--you don’t mean -to say you have saved all this in a month?” - -“Yes, I do.” - -“I haven’t felt any tightening in your household arrangements. Why, at -what a rate were we living?” - -“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.” - -Roger’s face flushed. “Margaretta, if you will keep this thing going, -we won’t have to give up this house.” - -“I’ll keep it going,” said Margaretta, solemnly, “you shall not leave -this house. It would be a blow to your honest pride.” - -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 -turned to her. “I wish some other men starting out in life had such a -helper as you.” - -“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.” - -“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.” - -Margaretta hung her head. Then she lifted it, and said, apologetically, -“Perhaps they haven’t had wise grandmothers.” - -Roger smiled. “Upon my word, a man in choosing a wife ought to look -first at the girl’s grandmother.” - - “‘My grandma lives on yonder little green, - Fine old lady as ever was seen.’” - -chanted a gay voice. - -“Bonny,” exclaimed Margaretta, flying out of her seat. - -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 pink, and white, and smooth as to complexion like a pair -of babies. - -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. - -“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.” - -“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?” - -“Certainly, Bonny, what do you want me to do?” - -“Make him some kind of a water-party.” - -Margaretta became troubled. “How many people do you want to invite?” - -“Oh, about sixty.” - -“Don’t you think if we had three or four of your chosen friends he -would enjoy it just as much?” - -“No, I don’t; what do you think, Roger?” - -“I don’t know about him. I hate crowds myself.” - -“I like them,” said Bonny. “Come, Margaretta, decide.” - -“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.” - -Bonny opened wide his big blue eyes. “You are not getting mean, -Margaretta?” - -“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.” - -“All right,” said Bonny, good-naturedly. “I’ll take him for a swim. -That won’t cost anything.” - -“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?” - -“Yes, indeed, let us wait for the girls,” said Bonny. - -“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?” - -“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.” - -Bonny laughed at him, then, jumping up, said, “I must be going.” - -“Where’s the dog, Margaretta?” asked Roger. “I’ll walk home with the -boy.” - -“But your headache,” said his wife. - -“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. - -She smiled and waved it at him. “Wives’ cold cash salve for the cure of -husbands’ headaches.” - -“What kind of a salve is that?” asked Bonny, curiously. - -“Wait till you have a house of your own, Bonny,” said his sister, -caressingly, “and I will tell you.” - -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. - -“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!” - - - - -CHAPTER V. - -THE TRAINING OF A BOY - - -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. - -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. - -He wondered why the boy had come to him. Probably he was in some scrape -and wanted help. - -Presently the boy flung himself round upon him. “Roger--why don’t some -of you good people try to reform me?” - -Roger leaned back in his chair and stared at the disturbed young face. - -“Come, now, don’t say that you don’t think I need reformation,” said -the boy, mockingly. - -“I guess we all need that,” replied his brother-in-law, soberly, “but -you come of pretty good stock, Bonny.” - -[Illustration: “‘WHY DON’T SOME OF YOU GOOD PEOPLE TRY TO REFORM -ME?’”] - -“The stock’s all right. That’s why I’m afraid of breaking loose and -disgracing it.” - -“What have you been doing?” asked Roger, kindly. - -“I haven’t been doing anything,” said the boy, sullenly. “It’s what I -may do that I’m afraid of.” - -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.” - -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.” - -“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!” - -“What has your grandmother been doing?” - -“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.” - -“You’re right there, my boy.” - -“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.’” - -“This is what she didn’t say?” asked Roger, gravely. - -“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.” - -“Do you want her to preach to you?” - -“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.” - -“State your case in a more businesslike way,” said the elder man, -gravely. “I don’t understand.” - -“You know I’m in the National Bank,” said Bonny, shortly. - -“Certainly I know that.” - -“Grandma put me there a year ago. I don’t object to the bank, if I’ve -got to work. It’s as easy as anything I could get, and I hate study.” - -Roger nodded. - -“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?” - -“Not a word.” - -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?” - -“Not that I see,” observed Roger, cautiously. - -“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?” - -“Do you play for money?” - -“Sometimes--well, perhaps nearly always, but there’s no harm in that, -is there?” - -“Let me hear the rest of your story.” - -“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.” - -A long pause followed, broken finally by Roger, who said, calmly, “You -have given an account of your time. What is wrong with it?” - -“It’s all wrong,” blurted the boy, “and you know it.” - -“I haven’t said so.” - -“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?” - -“Don’t you get any time for reading through the day?” - -“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?” - -“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.” - -“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 -anything but fun. You’d skip the bank every day if you dared.’” - -“Why don’t you?” - -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!” - -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. - -“No, I don’t. They’re good fellows.” - -“Well, what are you going to do about that bad feeling inside of you?” - -“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.” - -“Did she ever say so?” - -“No,” growled the boy, “but don’t I tell you I know what Grandma’s -thinking about?” - -“How does your sister Berty take you?” asked Roger. - -“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!” - -Roger thought deeply for a few minutes, while Bonny took up his -miserable ramble about the room. - -“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.” - -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.” - -“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.” - -“I guess I won’t. I’m hard pushed all the time.” - -“Don’t you save anything from your salary for Grandma?” asked Roger, -keenly. - -“How can I?” said the boy, indignantly. “She 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.” - -“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.” - -“You’re a daisy, Roger,” said Bonny, in a low voice. - -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. - -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.” - -“No, I won’t.” - -“Nor Grandma.” - -“No, nor Grandma.” - -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 -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. - -Yes, Grandma knew, and Grandma approved of what he was doing for her -poor, wilful, troubled Bonny. - -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. - -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. - -“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.” - -“I’m tired,” said Bonny. “I hate this bookkeeping.” - -“All right,” said his brother-in-law, composedly. “I’m tired myself. -Let’s have a game of chess.” - -“I hate chess,” said Bonny, sulkily. - -“I wonder whether it’s too early for supper?” asked Roger, -good-humouredly getting up and going to a closet. - -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. - -“You’re always stuffing me,” replied Bonny, disagreeably. “You think -you’ll make me good-natured.” - -“What’s the matter with you, Bonny?” asked Roger, closing the door and -returning to his seat. - -“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.” - -“All right--there’s a pair of Indian clubs over there in the corner,” -said his brother-in-law, cheerfully. - -“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.” - -“Looks as if I were a bad sort of a fellow, doesn’t it?” remarked -Roger, philosophically. - -“You’re not bad,” snapped Bonny. “You’re a tremendous good sort. I’m -the brute. Roger, why don’t you preach to me?” - -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.” - -“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.” - -“At Hickey’s--where is that?” - -“Up the road; don’t you know?” - -“Oh, yes; rather gay people, aren’t they?” - -“Well, they’re not in Margaretta’s set; but then she is mighty -particular.” - -“Would you take her there if she cared to go?” - -“No, I wouldn’t--well, go on, Roger.” - -“Go on where?” asked the elder man, in slight bewilderment. - -“To embrace your opportunity--administer a rebuke--cuff a sinner,” -sneered Bonny. - -Roger grinned at him. - -“My dear boy,” began Bonny, in an exasperated tone, “let me exhort, -admonish, and counsel you 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.” - -“Not bad for a beginner,” said Roger, patronizingly. - -“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.” - -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.” - -“You bet your iron works I did,” replied Bonny. - -“I helped you out of it.” - -“I guess you did.” - -“For four evenings you have come here and helped me, and I am going to -pay you well for it.” - -“Glory on your head, you are,” said Bonny, wildly. - -“In these four days,” continued Roger, “you have been early at the -bank--you have done your work faithfully there. You have not shirked.” - -“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. - -“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.” - -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.” - -“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?” - -“Oh, shut up,” blurted Bonny, under his breath. However, he sat down -quietly enough, and did his work until the clock struck ten. - -Then he stifled a yawn, jumped up, and said, “I’m going now.” - -“Mind, seven-thirty to-morrow evening,” said Roger, stiffly. - -“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.” - -“Good night,” said Roger, kindly, “and don’t be a fool.” - -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!” - - - - -CHAPTER VI. - -BONNY’S ORDEAL - - -“What’s the matter, Roger?” asked his wife, when he went home. - -“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. - -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. - -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. - -“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. - -“Hello,” said Roger. - -“Can you come up to the bank?” asked some one, in a jerky voice. “Have -had a robbery--young Gravely hurt.” - -Roger dashed from his seat, seized his hat, and with a hurried word to -his father, rushed outside. - -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. - -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. - -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.” - -Roger elbowed his way out and took a cab to River Street. - -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. - -Bonny was in bed. Grandma, Berty, a woman of the neighbourhood, and a -doctor were bending over him. - -Roger could see that the boy’s face was pale and bandaged. - -“Bonny,” he said, involuntarily. - -The boy heard him and opened his eyes. - -“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. - -The doctor looked impatiently over his shoulder, and Roger crept out -into the hall. - -Grandma sent Berty after him. “Oh, Roger,” she whispered, “we had such -a fright.” - -“What is it--how was it?” asked Roger, eagerly. - -“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.” - -“I know why he stayed,” muttered Roger. “He was trying to do his duty. -Thank God, he was not killed. Is he much hurt?” - -“Some bad flesh wounds. The doctor says he must be kept quiet, but he -doesn’t think his brain is injured. Oh, Roger, we are so thankful his -life was spared.” - -“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.” - -“Yes, go,” said Berty, “and ask her to come to us.” - -Late that evening, the doctor, to quiet his feverish patient, permitted -him to have five minutes’ conversation with his brother-in-law. - -Roger seized the hand lying on the coverlet, and pressed it silently. - -“Did they catch the thieves?” asked Bonny, huskily. - -“One of them, my boy--how do you think the detectives made sure of him?” - -“Don’t know.” - -“He was hanging around the circus-crowd, trying to mix up with it--he -had some of your yellow hairs on his coat-sleeve.” - -Bonny smiled faintly. - -“The police expect him to turn State’s evidence,” continued Roger. - -“How much did the bank lose?” - -“Fifteen thousand dollars.” - -“But they’ll get it back, Roger?” - -“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--” - -“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.” - -“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?” - -“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.” - -“Five minutes are up,” said the doctor, coming into the room. - -“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.” - -“All right,” said Roger, beaming on him, and backing toward the door. -“It’s to stand--for how long?” - -“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.” - -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.” - -“Yes, it is the shock that has upset him more than the wounds,” said -Berty. “The burglars only wanted to silence him.” - -“Grandma, do you know the bank is going to discharge every man-Jack but -Bonny?” said Roger. - -Grandma’s eyes sparkled, then she became thoughtful. - -“What, all those old fellows?” exclaimed Berty. - -“Bonny won’t stay,” said Grandma, quietly. “He would feel like a prig.” - -“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.” - -“Under your tuition,” said Grandma, with a proud look at him. - -“Hush,” said Berty, “the newsboys are calling an extra.” - -They all listened. “Extry edeetion _Evening Noose_--cap-tchure of the -second burrgg-lar of the great bank robbery.” - -“Good,” cried Berty, “they’ve caught the second man. Roger, dear, go -get us a paper.” - -The young man ran nimbly down-stairs. - -“How he loves Bonny!” said Berty. “What a good brother-in-law!” - -Grandma said nothing, but her inscrutable gaze went away down the river. - -“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.’” - -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!” - -Bonny’s ordeal was past, and it had better fitted him for other and -perhaps more severe ordeals in his life to come. - - - - -CHAPTER VII. - -BERTY IMPARTS INFORMATION - - -Mrs. Stanisfield was making her way to her roof-garden. - -“If any callers come,” she said to her parlour-maid, “bring them up -here.” - -Presently there was an exclamation, “What cheer!” - -Margaretta looked around. Her irrepressible sister Berty stood in the -French window, her dark head thrust forward inquiringly. - -“Come out, dear,” said Mrs. Stanisfield, “I am alone.” - -“I want to have a talk,” said Berty, coming forward, “and have you -anything to eat? I am hungry as a guinea-pig.” - -“There is a freezer of ice-cream over there behind those azaleas--the -cake is in a covered dish.” - -Berty dipped out a saucerful of ice-cream, cut herself a good-sized -piece of cake, and then took a low seat near her sister, who was -examining her curiously. - -“Berty,” said Margaretta, suddenly, “you have something to tell me.” - -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?” - -“Yes, I know--I wish I didn’t.” - -“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.” - -“What have you been doing?” asked Margaretta, anxiously. - -“You remember how the neighbours thought we were missionaries when we -first moved to the street?” - -“Yes, I do.” - -“And when I spoke sharply to a slow workman, an impudent boy called out -that the missionary was mad?” - -“Yes, I recall it--what neighbours!” - -“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 of those half-washed women came edging in with -Bibles and hymn-books under their arms.” - -“It was detestable,” said Margaretta, with a shrug of her shoulders, -“but does it not worry you to repeat all this?” - -“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.” - -“What do you mean?” asked Margaretta. - -“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.” - -“You don’t mean to say they had dared--” - -“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 is a place, you know, where -policemen lounge till they have to go on their beats.” - -“No, I don’t know. I never was in the city hall in my life. You didn’t -go alone, Berty?” - -“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.” - -“But without a chaperon, and you are so young, and--and--” - -“Beautiful.” - -“I was going to say pretty,” remarked Margaretta, severely. - -“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.” - -“Do go on, Berty--what did you do at the city hall?” - -“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.’” - -“That’s an African tribe expression, I think,” murmured Margaretta. - -“Evidently, for he grinned and said, ‘Oh, the chief,’ and he opened the -door of a private office”. - -“Another big man sat like a mountain behind a table. He didn’t get up -when I went in--just looked at me.” - -“‘Are you over the police of this city?’” I asked. - -“‘I am,’ he said. - -“‘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.’ - -“He grinned from ear to ear, and asked me where I lived. - -“‘On River Street,’ I said. - -“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.” - -“Which cost forty dollars,” said Margaretta, under her breath. - -“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?’ - -“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.’” - -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. - -“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. - -“‘I beg your pardon,’ he said, scuttling out of his seat, ‘I’m sure, -Miss, I didn’t dream who you were.’ - -“‘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!’ - -“That finished him. ‘I’m going now,’ I said. ‘I don’t want to sit down. -See that you attend to 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.” - -“What did happen?” asked Margaretta, eagerly. - -“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.” - -“Think of it,” said Margaretta, “what wretched things for you to be -exposed to--what degradation!” - -“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.” - -“But River Street people are poor, Berty.” - -“Suppose they are poor, aren’t they the children of the city?” - -“But, Berty--workmen and that sort of people can’t have fine houses, -and horses and carriages.” - -“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 if you had to cross a frozen yard in winter, and a -filthy yard in summer for every drop of water you use?” - -Margaretta shuddered. - -“Would you have your house kept clean if it were so dark that you -couldn’t see the dirty corners?” - -“No, I wouldn’t,” said Margaretta, decidedly, “but who owns those -dreadful places?” - -“You do,” said Berty, shortly. - -“I do!” said Margaretta, aghast. - -“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.” - -“I won’t have it,” said Margaretta. “Roger shall sell out.” - -“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.” - -“Oh, misery!” exclaimed Margaretta, “she doesn’t know it, of course.” - -“No--tell her.” - -“How have you found all this out, Berty?” - -“I’ve talked to the women.” - -“What--the women of the tin can episode?” - -“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?” - -“Yes,” said Margaretta, innocently, “aren’t they?” - -“They’re the most miserable of miserable sinners.” - -“Oh, Berty, surely not all!” - -“Well, I’ll be generous and leave out half a dozen if it will please -you. The others all take bribes.” - -“Bribes!” - -“Yes, bribes. Did you ever see a lean policeman, Margaretta?” - -“I don’t know.” - -“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.” - -Margaretta was silent for a long time, pondering over this new -department of thought opened up to her. Then she said, “Why don’t you -get the women to leave this hateful neighbourhood?” - -“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.” - -“You were dreadfully sad just after you went to River Street,” said -Margaretta; “was this the trouble?” - -“Yes,” said Berty, lowering her voice, “the woes of the poor were -sinking into my heart.” - -“Poor child--but take your ice-cream. It is melting and slipping down -your gown, and the dog has eaten your cake.” - -“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.’” - -“Have you had any more callers?” asked Margaretta, eagerly. - -“Yes, the Everests, and Brown-Gardners, and Mrs. Darley-James.” - -“Mrs. Darley-James!” - -“Yes, Mrs. Darley-James, that fastidious dame. I’ve read that when you -get poor, your friends forsake you, but ours have overwhelmed us with -attentions.” - -“Grandma is an exceptional woman,” said Margaretta, proudly. - -“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. - -“‘A good many of them are,’ I replied. ‘Two died in that yellow house -last night.’ - -“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.’ - -“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 of selfishness by the -throat and shake him till I choked him. Then I flew to the city hall--” - -“The city hall again?” murmured Margaretta. - -“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.” - -“‘Then I’ll wait,’ I said, and I sat down. - -“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.” - - - - -CHAPTER VIII. - -THE HEART OF THE MAYOR - - -“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.” - -Margaretta smiled, and asked, “Young or old?” - -“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.” - -“Well, now, I don’t suppose he would be fifteen.” - -“He acts like it sometimes,” said Berty, warmly. “Years have not taught -him grace and experience, as they have Grandma.” - -“What is his name?” - -“Jimson--Peter Jimson.” - -“Let me see,” murmured Margaretta, “there is a Mrs. Jimson and there -are two Misses Jimson who are dying to get into our set. I heard the -Everests laughing about them.” - -“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. - -“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.’ - -“He lowered his eyes, and began to play with a paper-knife. Then he -looked up, and said, ‘May I ask your name?’ - -“‘My name is Miss Gravely,’ I told him, ‘and I am Mrs. Travers’s -granddaughter.’ - -“‘Oh, indeed,’ he replied, ‘and why are you interested in the children -of the East End?’ - -“‘Because I live there--on River Street. We have lost our money.’ - -“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?’ - -“‘No, sir,’ I said, ‘they haven’t.’ - -“‘Then why give it to them?’ he inquired, mildly. - -“‘Does a good father always wait to have his children demand a -necessity before he offers it?’ I replied. - -“He smiled, and began to play with the paper-knife again. - -“‘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.’ - -“‘A park might be a good thing,’ he said, cautiously, ‘but there is no -money in the treasury.’ - -“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.’ - -“He said the city had its dignity to maintain. - -“‘But there is charity, sir, as well as dignity.’ - -“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. - -“‘Sir,’ I said, ‘I think you must be a stepfather.’ - -“‘Sometimes step-parents display more wisdom than real parents,’ he -said, benevolently. - -“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 -in my mind. ‘There is no need of new pavements on Broadway, sir,’ I -blurted out. - -“‘We must make the business part of the city attractive,’ he said, ‘or -strangers won’t come here.’ - -“‘Strangers must come,’ I said, bitterly, ‘the children can die.’ - -“‘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.’ - -“‘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.’ - -“‘But there is no money,’ he said, blandly. - -“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. - -“‘Who made you, unkind man?’ I said, pointing a finger at him. - -“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?’ - -“He said no, he wouldn’t, but he was in office to save the city’s -money, and he was going to do it. - -“‘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.’ - -“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.’ - -“‘Tell me what you like about grown people,’ I said, wildly, ‘I’ll -believe anything, but don’t say a word against the children.’ - -“He twisted his shoulders again, and slyly looked at his watch. - -“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.’ - -“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.’ - -[Illustration: “‘YOU HAVE TOO MUCH HEART’”] - -“‘There must be a little left,’ I said, ‘just a little bit. I’ll make -it my business to find it. Good morning,’ and with this threat I left -him and ran, ran for River Street.” - -“Good for you,” said Margaretta. - -“I swept along like a whirlwind. I gathered up the children and took -them down on Milligan’s Wharf.” - -“‘Children,’ I said, ‘do you know who the Mayor is?’ - -“They said he was the big man down in the city hall. - -“‘And how did he get there?’ - -“‘They votes him in, and they votes him out,’ a bootblack said. - -“‘Who votes?’ I asked. - -“‘All the men in the city.’ - -“‘Do your fathers vote?’” - -“‘Course--ain’t they Riverporters?’ - -“‘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.’ - -“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 aren’t good enough to -have a park! What do you think ought to be done to the Mayor?’ - -“A little girl giggled, and said, ‘Duck him in the river,’ and a boy -said, ‘Tar and feather him.’ - -“‘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?’ - -“‘Oh, glorymaroo!’ said a little girl, ‘it would be just like a -Sunday-school picnic.’ - -“‘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?’ - -“‘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?”’ - -“They ran off like foxes before I could say another word, then they -rushed back. ‘We don’t know that gen’l’man.’ - -“Here was a dilemma, but a newsboy, with eyes like gimlets, got me out -of it. ‘See here,’ he said, ‘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?’ - -“The girls nodded and ran off, and he ran after them. - -“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. - -“‘Now I want a boy for the Mayor’s house,’ I said. - -“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.’ - -“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.” - -Margaretta leaned back in her chair and laughed quietly. “Well, if -you’re not developing.” - -“Put any creature in a tight place,” said Berty, indignantly, “and see -how it will squirm.” - -“How did the Mayor take this persecution?” - -“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.” - -“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. - -“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 _coupé_, and then he -sprained his ankle.” - -“What did the children do?” - -“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.” - -“How lovely--weren’t you glad?” - -“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.” - -“Aided by Mrs. Jimson, I suspect,” added Margaretta, shrewdly. “This -explains a mystery. Some 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?’” - -“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.” - -“They called yesterday,” said Berty, demurely. - -“Well, well, and did they mention your park?” - -“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.” - -“Where did the Mayor get the money?” - -“Squeezed it out of something. He said his councillors approved. He -won’t see me, though--carries on all the business by correspondence.” - -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.” - -Margaretta’s anxiety passed away, and she smiled 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.” - -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!” - - - - -CHAPTER IX. - -THE MAYOR’S DILEMMA - - -Berty was rowing down the river in her pink boat with its bands of -white. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - - “Grandma is a darling, - Grandma is a dear,” - -chanted Berty, then she stopped. “But I must not be selfish. I will -just row round Bobbetty’s Island and then go home.” - -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. - -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. - -So this little thickly wooded piece of land stood alone and solitary, -dropped like a bit of driftwood in the middle of the river. - -Berty was not afraid of the ghost. She was rowing gaily round the -spruces singing softly to herself, when she saw something that made -her mouth close abruptly. - -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. - -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: - - “DEAR SIR:--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. - - “Yours truly, - - “BERTY GRAVELY.” - -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. - -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 smile, he produced his own note-book, tore a leaf from -it, and took a stylographic pen from his pocket. - - “DEAR MADAM:--I have indeed lost my boat. I accept your offer - with gratitude. - - “Yours truly, - - “PETER JIMSON.” - -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. - -Still without speaking he stepped in, somewhat clumsily, seated -himself, and mopped his perspiring face. - -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. - -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. - -The Mayor was laughing--trying not to do so, but slowly and gradually -giving way and shaking all over like a bowl of jelly. - -She would not ask him what amused him, and presently he said, “Excuse -me.” - -“Why?” asked Berty, with preternatural gravity. - -“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.” - -“Laugh on,” said Berty, benevolently, “the whole river is before you.” - -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. - -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. - -His suspicion was correct, for presently the paper dropped, and he saw -that his companion was in a convulsion of girlish laughter. - -“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!” - -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. - -“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.” - -“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.” - -“I’ve been down,” he said, unguardedly. - -“When?” asked Berty, promptly. - -“At night,” he said, with some confusion. “I slip down after I know -you’ve gone to bed.” - -“How do you think the workmen are getting on?” she asked, anxiously. - -“Fairly well--what do you want that high fence for?” - -“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. You would not -like to be cut off from your daily bath, would you, sir?” - -“Well, no,” replied the Mayor, cautiously, “I don’t suppose I would.” - -“The city ought to build baths,” said Berty, warmly. - -“There’s private charity,” said the Mayor. - -“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.” - -The Mayor looked longingly over his shoulder toward the city. - -“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?” - -“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.” - -“And nobody came by?” - -“Lots of people, I suppose, but I was asleep until just before you -came.” - -“Isn’t the river delicious?” said Berty, dreamily. - -“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.” - -“Business, business, business,” murmured the girl, “it seems sacrilege -to mention that word here.” - -“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. - -“Poor old Riverport!” said Berty; “poor, sordid, material old -Riverport!” - -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.” - -“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.” - -The Mayor stared at her again. Then he said, “You don’t seem as silly -as most girls.” - -This to Berty was a challenge. Her eyes sparkled wickedly, and from -that instant till they reached the city she poured out a babble of -girlish nonsense that completely bewildered the plain man before her. - -“Will you let me off at the city wharf?” he asked, at last, when she -had paused to take breath. - -“Certainly,” said Berty, “after you row me home.” - -“Oh, excuse me,” he said, confusedly. “I am so little in ladies’ -society that I don’t know how to act.” - -“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.” - -The Mayor looked, and soon the little boat was gliding toward the gay -flight of steps. - -“Now will you tie her up and come in through the house?” asked Berty, -politely. - -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. - -On the ground floor were a kitchen and pantry and several good-sized -rooms that had been used for servants’ quarters in the first, palmy -days of the old mansion. - -“A pity this neighbourhood was given up to poor people,” said the -Mayor, as he tramped up a narrow, dark stairway behind his guide. - -“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. - -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. - -“Grandma,” said Berty, “here is Mr. Jimson--you remember hearing me -speak of him.” - -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. - -“Will you stay and have a cup of tea with my granddaughter and me?” -she asked him, when he looked uncomfortably toward the door. - -His gaze went again to the table. A rising breeze had just brushed -aside the napkin covering a pitcher. - -“Is that a jug of buttermilk I see?” he asked, wistfully. - -“It is,” said the old lady, kindly. - -“Then I’ll stay,” he said, and he dropped his hat on a chair. - -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.” - -“And do you like curds and cream?” asked Grandma, leading the way to -the table. - -“Yes, ma’am!” he said, vigorously. - -“And sage cheese, and corn-cake, and crullers?” - -“Why, you take me back to my grandfather’s farm in the country,” he -replied, squeezing himself into the seat indicated. - -“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.” - -Mr. Jimson was an exceedingly happy man. He had pumpkin pie, and cold -ham, and chicken, in addition to the other dishes he liked, and to -wind up with, a cup of hot tea. - -“This is first-class tea,” he said, abruptly. - -“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.” - -“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.” - -“Come some other time,” said Grandma, graciously. - -“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. - -“I have no doubt of that,” said Grandma. “They were kind enough to call -on us.” - -“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.” - -“She does not hate any one,” said Grandma, 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.” - -“It’s fine to be young,” said the Mayor, with a sigh; “good-night, -madam. I’ve enjoyed my visit.” - -“Come again some other time,” said Grandma, with quaint, old-fashioned -courtesy, “we shall always be glad to see you.” - -“I will, madam,” said the Mayor, and he gripped her hand till it ached. -Then he took his hat, and trotted nimbly away. - -“Has he gone?” asked Berty, coming into the room a few minutes later. - -“Yes,” said Grandma. - -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. - -Yet Berty must say something. “Grandma,” she remarked, softly, “it -isn’t safe to cut any one, is it?” - -“To cut any one?” repeated the old lady. - -“To cut the acquaintance of any one. For instance--you hate a person, -you stop speaking to that person. You get into a scrape, that person -is the only one who can help you out.” - -Grandma said nothing. - -“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?” - -“Yes,” said Grandma, quietly, “I have.” - -“Any further remarks to make?” inquired Berty, after a long pause. - -Grandma’s dimple slowly crept into view. - -Berty laughed, kissed her, and ran off to bed, saying, as she did so, -“I wonder whether your new admirer will ever call again?” - -Grandma tranquilly rolled up her knitting and followed her. - - - - -CHAPTER X. - -A GROUNDLESS SUSPICION - - -Grandma was on the veranda, knitting, knitting, always knitting. - -“What a bird’s perch this is,” said some one suddenly, behind her. - -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. - -“How you must miss your big veranda on Grand Avenue,” he said, coming -to sit beside her. - -“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.” - -“It’s a wonderful thing--that power of adaptation,” said the young man, -soberly, “and I have a 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.” - -Grandma smiled, and took up her knitting again. - -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.” - -“Yes, why not?” she asked, quietly. - -“But there is no need of it.” - -“They bring a good price. You cannot buy home-knit silk stockings -everywhere.” - -“But it is drudgery for you.” - -“I enjoy it.” - -“Very well, if you enjoy it. But you won’t persist if it tires you?” - -“No, Roger.” - -“Who buys the stockings?” he asked, curiously. - -“I sell them among my friends. Mrs. Darley-James buys the most of them.” - -His face grew red. “You supply stockings to her?” - -“Why should I not?” - -“I don’t know why, but it makes me ‘mad,’ as Berty says.” - -“Didn’t you supply her husband with that new iron railing for his -garden?” - -“Yes, ma’am, I did, and it’s a good one.” - -“Well, if you sell the husband a garden railing, why shouldn’t I sell -the wife a pair of stockings?” - -“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?” - -“Listen,” said Grandma, putting up a hand. - -Down in the back yard was a sound of hammering. - -Roger leaned over the railing. “What under the sun is she doing?” - -“Puttering over those pigeons--making new boxes for them.” - -“Who is with her? I see a man’s back.” - -“The Mayor.” - -“Jimson?”--and Roger fell back in his seat with a disturbed air. - -“The same,” said Grandma, calmly. - -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.” - -“How do you know?” asked Grandma, shrewdly. - -“Oh, I know, people notice them.” - -“Some one has been complaining to you,” said Grandma. “Who was it?” - -Roger smiled. “Well, to tell the truth, Tom Everest was grumbling. You -know he has been just like a brother to Berty and Margaretta.” - -“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.” - -“I cannot imagine Berty giving any one any occasion for gossip,” said -Roger, proudly. - -“Nor I--well, go on, what did Tom say?” - -“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.’” - -“Poor Tom!” said Grandma. - -“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?” - -Grandma smiled. “Yes, I do, a strong and uncommon fancy. He is -perfectly fascinated by her.” - -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.” - -“Why not--he’s an honourable man.” - -“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.” - -“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.” - -“Well, men of forty, and men of fifty, fancy girls of half their age.” - -“Fancy them, yes, but he has no intention of falling in love with -Berty. He is simply charmed with her as a companion.” - -“It’s a dangerous companionship,” grumbled Roger. - -“Not so--they quarrel horribly,” and Grandma laughed enjoyably over -some reminiscences. - -“Quarrel, do they?” - -“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 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.” - -“This is Jimson in a new light,” said Roger, listening attentively. - -“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.” - -“To you--” said Roger. “I should not think he would have anything in -common with a lady like you.” - -“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 easily to her touch. He is becoming quite interested in what -she is interested in.” - -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--” - -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. - -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. - -His eyes grew moist, and for a long time he sat gazing with her at the -darkening yet increasingly beautiful sky and river. - -The hammering went on below, until Berty’s voice suddenly rang out. -“We’ll have to stop, Mr. Jimson. It’s getting too dark to see where to -put the nails.” - -“I’ll come help you to-morrow evening,” replied the Mayor, in his -thick, good-natured voice. - -“No, thank you. I won’t trouble you. I’ll get a carpenter. You’ve been -too good already.” - -“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.” - -“Why--aren’t there things to do about your house?” - -“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.” - -“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.” - -“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.” - -Berty made no response, or, if she did, it was in such a low tone that -the occupants of the veranda could not hear, and presently the Mayor -went on. - -“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?” - -“About fifty,” came promptly, in Berty’s clear voice. - -Her companion was evidently annoyed, for it was some time before he -spoke, and then he said, briefly, “Fifty!” - -“Well,” said Berty, kindly, “I said _about_ fifty. I dare say you’re -not much more than forty.” - -“I suppose forty seems like dead old age to you?” queried the Mayor, -curiously. - -“Oh, yes--it seems far off like the other side of the river,” replied -the girl. - -“Well, I’m forty-five,” said the Mayor. - -“Forty-five,” repeated Berty, musingly, “just think of it! You seem -quite young in your ways.” - -“Young--I dare say I feel as young as you,” he replied. “I wish you -were a bit older.” - -“Why?” asked Berty, innocently. - -“Oh, well, I don’t know why,” he replied, with sudden sheepishness. - -Roger glanced at Grandma. It was not like her to play eavesdropper. - -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. - -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? - -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. - -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.” - -“Well,” Mr. Jimson said, thoughtfully, “it’s queer how you can tell -things to strangers, easier than to your mother.” - -“_I_ couldn’t,” said Berty, promptly. “If I were thinking of getting -married, I’d ask Grandma to advise me. She’s had _so_ much experience. -She chose Roger of all Margaretta’s admirers.” - -“Did she, now?” said the Mayor, in admiration. “That was a first-class -choice.” Then he asked, insinuatingly, “And have you ever consulted -her for yourself?” - -“Of course not--not yet. It’s too soon.” - -“I suppose it is,” said Mr. Jimson, in a disappointed voice, “and, as I -said before, I wish you were ten years older.” - -“You don’t mean to say that you would think of me for yourself?” asked -Berty, in a sudden, joyful voice. - -“Yes, I would,” he replied, boldly. - -“Oh, thank you, thank you,” said the girl, gaily; “that’s my first -proposal, or, rather, I suppose it isn’t a _bona fide_ 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.” - -“Well, I don’t know about that,” said the Mayor, guardedly. - -“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?” - -Mr. Jimson looked at Berty. “Black hair.” - -“Very well--black hair to start with. Not tall, but short, I suppose.” - -“Why short?” asked the Mayor, suspiciously. - -“Well, you’re not dreadfully tall for a man, you know.” - -The Mayor seemed to be sulking for some time. Then he said, “I like a -good-sized woman.” - -“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?” - -“None of your rattlers for me,” said the man, hastily. “I want a quiet -tongue, good manners, and no wasteful habits.” - -“Do you want to entertain much?” - -“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.” - -“Who is she?” asked Berty, eagerly. - -Her companion seemed to have some hesitation about mentioning the -name. At last he said, “Mother says her first name is Selina.” - -“Not Selina Everest--don’t tell me that,” said Berty, quickly. - -“Yes, that’s her name.” - -Berty groaned. “And is she the only woman you have in your mind?” - -“She’s the only one I can think of now as cutting any kind of a figure -before me.” - -“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--” - -“How old is she?” asked the Mayor, breaking in upon her. - -“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.” - -“Then she’ll jump at a chance to marry,” said the Mayor, coolly. “Has -she a good temper?” - -“Yes,” said Berty, feebly, “but--” - -“But what? Does she snap sometimes?” - -“No, no, she is always ladylike, but I am just sure she wouldn’t marry -you.” - -“Why are you so sure,” asked the Mayor, sharply. - -“Because--because--” - -“Am I a red Indian or a cowboy?” asked Mr. Jimson, indignantly. - -“No, but--” - -“Is she a strong girl?” - -“No, she is often in bed--I don’t really think--” - -“Airs, probably,” said her companion. “Has been brought up soft. I’d -break her of that.” - -“She wouldn’t marry you,” said Berty, desperately. - -“Don’t be too sure of that,” and Mr. Jimson’s voice sounded angry to -the man on the veranda above. - -“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.” - -The Mayor was silent. - -“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.” - -“And who does all these things?” asked the Mayor, sneeringly. - -“You do!” replied Berty, stung into impertinence. “They say you -received a delegation of clergymen in your slippers and dressing-gown.” - -“That’s a lie,” he said, promptly, “got up by enemies.” - -“Well, you don’t talk elegantly,” said Berty, wildly. “Miss Everest -couldn’t stand that.” - -“Who says I ain’t elegant?” asked the Mayor, fiercely. - -“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.” - -“Is it my fault that I’m short?” roared the Mayor. “I didn’t make -myself.” - -Roger, convulsed with amusement on the veranda above, saw with regret -that Grandma was waking up. - -“Quarrelling again!” she murmured, moving her head about restlessly. -“Send him home, Berty. Mr. Jimson, don’t mind her.” - -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. You pretend to -like me, then draw me out about the one you like. I’ll never speak to -you again.” - -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. - -Roger ran down the stairs with a broad smile on his face. There was no -danger of sentimental nonsense between these two people. - -“Hello, Berty,” he said, “want some help with your pidgie widgies?” - -“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.” - -“You’ve had some one here, haven’t you?” said Roger, hypocritically. - -“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.” - -“I’ll come and help you,” said Roger, bending over the pigeons to -conceal his face. “Where are these boxes going in the meantime?” - -“Up on top of those barrels. Aren’t those fan-tails sweet? Oh, you -lubbie dubbies, Berty loves you better than the hateful old Mayor.” - -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. - - - - -CHAPTER XI. - -A PROPOSED SUPPER-PARTY - - -Two mornings later, Roger had come down to River Street with a basket -of green stuff for Grandma. - -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. - -“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.” - -“Ten cents is a paltry sum.” - -“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. - -On this particular morning, Grandma, after gratefully receiving the -basket, stood turning over the crisp, green lettuce, the parsley, -beets, and lovely flowers with her slender fingers, when Berty -appeared fresh and rosy. - -“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?” - -“Yes, Miss Lobbyist,” said her brother-in-law, good-naturedly. - -“Why, this is to the Mayor,” he said, in pretended surprise, when she -handed him her note. - -“Yes, why not?” asked Berty, opening her eyes wide. - -“I thought you had done with him.” - -“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.” - -“Who is it?” asked Roger, curiously. - -“Selina Everest.” - -“I shouldn’t think he’d be her style,” said the young man, guilelessly. - -“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.” - -“She is too much of a lady to do that,” said Roger. - -“You’re right,” replied Berty, but she sighed again. - -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.” - -“Certainly, come by all means,” said the little old lady. - -Berty looked doubtful and did not second the invitation. - -“What time is supper?” asked Roger. - -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?” - -“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.” - -“All right,” said Roger, promptly, “we’ll be here.” - -Berty followed him to the street door. “You’ll be nice to the Mayor.” - -“Nice!--I guess so.” - -“But don’t be too nice--don’t make fun of him.” - -“Berty!” he said, reproachfully. - -“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. - -Roger, chuckling with delight as he made his way to the iron works, ran -into Tom Everest. - -“What are you laughing at?” asked Tom, with his own eyes shining. - -“Can’t tell,” said Roger. - -“I’ll bet it was some joke about Berty,” remarked Tom. - -“Oh, Berty! Berty!” exclaimed his friend, “all the world is thinking -Berty, and dreaming Berty, and seeing Berty. You’re a crank, Everest.” - -“It was Berty,” said Tom, decidedly. “Come, now, out with it.” - -“She’s going to have a party to-night,” said Roger, exploding with -laughter; “your sister Selina and the Mayor, my wife and I.” - -“I’m going too,” said Tom, firmly. - -Roger caught him by the shoulder. “Man, if I find you there to-night, -I’ll shoot you.” - -“I’m going,” said Tom, and he backed into his insurance office, leaving -Roger wildly waving his market-basket at him from the street. - -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?” - -“Yes, dear, if you do,” she replied, holding out his cup of bouillon -for him. - -At luncheon they were obliged to wait on themselves, and Roger vowed -that he liked it. - -“All right, dear,” he said, as he carefully took the hot bouillon from -her, “we’ll go.” - -“After dinner, I suppose?” - -“Yes.” - -“Any one else going?” asked Margaretta. - -“She expects some others--Selina Everest for one.” - -“That’s nice,” said Margaretta, emphatically. - -“And the Mayor,” added Roger. - -“Oh!” and Margaretta drew a long breath. “I have never met him.” - -“Don’t you want to?” - -“Oh, yes,” she said, lingeringly. - -“Very well. I’ll come home a bit early.” - -Margaretta, brimming over with satisfaction, gazed affectionately at -him. “Roger, you look ten years younger than you did four weeks ago.” - -“I’ve got the burden of foreboding off my shoulders,” he said, giving -them a slight shake as he spoke. - -“A burden that will never be placed there again, I hope.” - -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.” - -While Roger was talking to his wife, Berty was having a somewhat -excited interview with the Mayor. - -“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?” - -Berty looked him over. No young girl going to her first ball ever -waited a reply with more anxiety than he did. - -“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?” - -“Yes, just got one from the tailor.” - -“Good--put that on.” - -“And what kind of a tie?” he asked, feverishly. - -“Oh, I don’t know--white, I think. That is cool and nice for summer.” - -“Can’t I wear red?” he asked, anxiously. - -“Well, yes, a certain shade, but you’d have to be very particular. Why -do you wish red?” - -“I--I--a woman once told me I looked well in red,” he said, sheepishly. - -Berty surveyed him as an indulgent mother might survey a child. - -“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. - -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. - -“Here it is,” exclaimed Berty, running back, “the precise shade. Now -_do_ be particular.” - -“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?” - -“Yes, do,” replied Berty, “come about half-past seven.” - -“All right--thank you,” and he rushed away. - -Berty followed him to the front door. “Mr. Jimson,” she called, when -his hand was on the door-knob. - -“Hello!” and he turned back. - -“You won’t be offended with me if I say something?” she replied, -hesitatingly. - -“Not a bit of it.” - -“Well, if I were you, I wouldn’t talk too much to-night. Dignified -reserve impresses women.” - -“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.” - -“Don’t do that!” exclaimed Berty. “Oh, don’t be long-winded. Just sit -and watch Miss Everest.” - -“All right,” said the Mayor, “till this evening!” and he ran down the -steps. - -“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!” - -“What’s the matter, granddaughter?” asked a cheery voice. - -“I’m in trouble, Grandma. The Mayor likes Miss Everest. That’s why I’m -asking him here to meet her, but I’m afraid things won’t go right.” - -“Poor little matchmaker,” said Grandma, soothingly. - -“Did I do right, Grandma? I would have consulted you before, but I -didn’t like to give his secret away.” - -“You did what a kind heart would prompt you to do. Don’t worry--I will -help you with your party.” - -“Will you?--oh, that is lovely. Everything will go right!” and she -threw both arms round her grandmother’s neck. - - - - -CHAPTER XII. - -A DISTURBED HOSTESS - - -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. - -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. - -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. - -Wedged comfortably on the veranda, and talking over mutual friends, -Margaretta, Selina, and Tom were having a charming time. Roger, seated -by the glass door, was restless, and kept moving in and out the -dining-room. - -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. - -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.” - -Not a muscle of Tom’s face moved, and Roger, turning on his heel, -departed. - -Presently he came back. “Berty frantic--Jimson has got on wrong kind of -necktie. She has corralled him behind piano.” - -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!” - -“Gr--green!” stuttered the discomfited man. “Why, I matched your -sample.” - -“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 one sees,” and -she hurried him out into the hall. “Here, go in that corner while I get -one of my shirt-waist ties.” - -Mr. Jimson, hot and perspiring, tried to obliterate himself against the -wall until she came back. - -“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.” - -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. - -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.” - -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. - -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. - -Mr. Jimson was in a rage, and was sputtering unintelligible words. -Berty, too, was getting excited. “If you say a naughty word,” she -threatened, “I’ll take that tie away from you, and you’ll have to go -home!” - -The Mayor, wrathfully beating one foot up and down on the oilcloth, was -trying to make the tie tie itself. - -“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.” - -“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.” - -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. - -“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.” - -The unfortunate man, breathing heavily, stood like a statue, while Tom -and Roger tumbled over each other out to the veranda. - -“What are you two laughing at?” asked Margaretta, suspiciously. - -“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?” - -“Very,” exclaimed Roger, with sudden laughter, “very comical. Trails -out just like a four-in-hand necktie.” - -“Very like it,” echoed Tom; then they both laughed again. - -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.” - -Tom and Roger huddled aside like two naughty boys, and Berty, with the -Mayor behind her, stepped to the other end of the veranda. - -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.” - -“No,” they both said, shaking hands with a sudden and overwhelming -solemnity. - -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 -this object by engaging in trifling and stupid small talk. - -“We’re not having a bit of a good time,” said Berty, at last, -desperately. “Let’s go into the house.” - -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. - -Quite unconscious of the others, he stared uninterruptedly at her. She -was apparently oblivious of him, and was again talking fashions to -Margaretta. - -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. - -“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!” - -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 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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -Berty was in despair. Tom and Roger, to keep themselves from downright -shouting, were also talking very fast and very glibly about nothing in -particular. - -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. - -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?” - -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. - -Grandma shook hands with all her guests, then quietly sat down. - -“I hope you are not very tired,” said Margaretta, gently. “How is your -patient?” - -“Better--she only wanted a little comfort.” - -“What made her have hysterics?” asked Berty, eagerly, and with a desire -to make much of the latest addition to their circle. - -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.” - -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. - -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. - -“Have you been acting like this all the evening?” she asked, severely. - -Tom looked at Roger, and Roger looked at Tom. - -“And teasing poor Berty?” - -Again they looked at each other. - -“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. - -She took them down-stairs. “Where are we going?” asked Roger, humbly, -and nudging Tom. - -“Out with the pigeons,” she said. “There is no room in my house for -guests who make fun of each other.” - -“But the supper?” said Roger, anxiously. - -“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.” - -Tom gave Roger a thwack, then, as he found himself in a latticed porch, -and contemplated by a number of mild-faced, inquiring pigeons, he -dropped on a box and began to snicker again. - -“What set you off?” asked the old lady, curiously. - -They both began to tell her of poor Berty’s trials with the Mayor. - -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?” - -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. - -Going up the steps, she could hear them laughing--now in Homeric -fashion. There were no women about to be startled by their noise. - - - - -CHAPTER XIII. - -AN ANXIOUS MIND - - -“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. - -Berty thoughtfully drank some coffee. - -“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.” - -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. - -“You’re ashamed of me,” said the Mayor, lifting lumps of sugar into his -cup with a downcast air. “I gabbled.” - -“Yes, you gabbled,” said Berty, quietly. - -“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.” - -“She sized you up last night,” said Berty, mournfully. - -“Did she say anything about me?” asked Mr. Jimson, eagerly. - -“Not a word--but she looked unutterable things.” - -“Do you think I’d better call on her?” he asked, desperately. - -“Oh, gracious, no!” cried Berty, “you’d spoil everything. Leave matters -to me in future.” - -“I thought I might explain,” he said, with a crestfallen air. - -“What would you explain?” asked Berty, cuttingly. - -“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--” - -“Well,” said Berty, severely, “what then?” - -“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--” - -“Oh! oh!” ejaculated Berty, “you wouldn’t hint to a lady that she might -have thought you were under the influence of some stimulant?” - -“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.” - -Berty put her arm down on the table and laughed. “Well, if you’re not -the oddest man. You are just lovely and original.” - -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.” - -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.” - -“I’m obliged to you,” said the Mayor, gruffly. - -“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.” - -“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.” - -“How forgiving in you--how noble,” said Berty, warmly. - -“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.” - -“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.” - -“Yes, I suppose so,” said the Mayor, reluctantly. - -Berty caught up her sailor hat, and tripped beside him down to the -street, talking on any subject that came uppermost. - -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.” - -“She’s pretty tall,” said Berty, turning and surveying the rather short -man by her side. “I doubt if you could pull her in.” - -“If I got a good grip I could,” he said, confidently. - -“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.” - -“What do you call little ways?” asked the Mayor. - -“Oh, being nice.” - -“And what is niceness?” he went on, in an unsatisfied voice. - -“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.” - -“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.” - -“No, don’t you go near her,” said Berty, “not for awhile. Not till I -sound her about you.” - -“How do you think I stand now with her?” asked Mr. Jimson, with a -downcast air. - -“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 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.” - -“Then she must have been a little interested,” said the man, -breathlessly. - -“No,” said Berty, gravely, “when a woman laughs at a man, it’s all up -with him.” - -“Then you think I might as well give up?” said the Mayor, bitterly. - -“Not at all,” said his sympathizer, kindly. “There may fall to you some -lucky chance to reinstate yourself.” - -“Now what could it be?” asked Mr. Jimson, eagerly. “What should I be -looking out for?” - -“Look out for everything,” said Berty, oracularly. “She will forget -about the other night.” - -“I thought you told me the other day that women never forget.” - -“Neither they do,” said Berty, promptly, “never, never.” - -“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 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.” - -“You mustn’t make love the way you do business,” said Berty, shaking -her head. “Oh, no, no.” - -“Well, now, isn’t it business to want a good wife?” - -“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.” - -“What kind of a husband would you like?” asked the Mayor, curiously. - -“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.” - -“That’ll be a hard combination to find,” said her companion, grimly. - -“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 must be of a noble -disposition, and looked up to by every one he knows.” - -“I never met that kind of a man,” said the Mayor, drily. - -“Nor I,” said Berty, “but there must be such a man in the world.” - -“How about Tom Everest?” asked Mr. Jimson. “I saw him looking at you -last night.” - -“Tom Everest!” exclaimed Berty, indignantly. “An insurance agent!” - -The Mayor snickered enjoyably, then fell behind a step, for they had -just reached the entrance of Milligan’s Wharf. - -Berty was talking to some little girls who, even at this early hour, -were hanging about the gate of the new park. - -“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.” - -With squeals of delight, the little girls dashed ahead, then stood -staring about them. - -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. - -“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.” - -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. - -“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.” - -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. - -“There is no doubt that our park will be a success,” said Berty, with a -smile. - -“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.” - -“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.” - -“I suppose you wouldn’t take such a position,” said the Mayor. - -“I!” exclaimed Berty, “why, I’d love it.” - -“You wouldn’t need to stay all the time,” said Mr. Jimson. “You could -get a woman to help you.” - -“All the women about here are pretty busy.” - -“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.” - -“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.” - -“Suppose they did--what would you care?” - -“Why, I’d care because I didn’t.” - -“And no one would think you had. Don’t worry about that. Now I must get -back to town.” - -“Mind you’re to make the first speech to-morrow at the opening of this -place,” said Berty. - -“Yes, I remember.” - -“And,” she went on, hesitatingly, “don’t you think you’d better commit -your speech to paper? Then you’d know when to stop.” - -“No, I wouldn’t,” he said, hopelessly. “Something would prompt me to -make a few oral remarks after I’d laid down the paper.” - -“I should like you to make a good speech, because Miss Everest will be -here.” - -“Will she? Then I must try to fix myself. How shall I do it?” - -“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.” - -“No, I wouldn’t,” he said, drearily. “I’d wait till the fuss was over, -then I’d go on.” - -“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.” - -“What will be on it?” asked Mr. Jimson, eagerly. - -“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 else. Just fix your eyes on his terrible eyes, and you will -sit down in the most natural way possible.” - -“Maybe I will,” he said, with a sigh, “but I doubt it--you’re a good -girl, anyway.” - -“Oh, no. I’m not, Mr. Mayor, begging your pardon. I’m only trying to be -one.” - -“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.” - -“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.” - -“All right,” said the Mayor. “Good-bye,” and he trotted away. - - - - -CHAPTER XIV. - -THE OPENING OF THE PARK - - -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. - -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. - -There had been room for some of the audience 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. - -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. - -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. - -“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. - -“It is here,” said Grandma. “Don’t lose heart when you see it.” - -“Do you see it?” asked Berty, pointedly. - -“Yes, dear.” - -“And what is it?” - -“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. - -“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.” - -“My dear!” said Grandma, in surprise. - -“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.” - -“The city appreciates what you are doing,” said Grandma, softly, “and -the Mayor has been a good friend to you.” - -“Hasn’t he?” said Berty. “I must not scold him for that awful speech.” - -“The opening was good,” said Grandma, mildly. - -“Yes, but the middle and the ending,” replied Berty, with a groan. - -“Oh, how I suffered--not for myself. I could endure to hear him speak -for a year. But I do so 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!” - -“He is new to public speaking. He will get over it.” - -“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.” - -“A hobgoblin?” said Grandma, questioningly. - -“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.” - -“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.” - -“Oh, Mrs. Provis,” said Berty, hurrying to the gate, “won’t you come in -and sit awhile till I go home and get something to eat? I’ll come back -presently and lock up.” - -“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.” - -“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?” - -“That she can, miss.” - -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.” - -In an hour Berty was back again, part of her supper in her pocket. - -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. - -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. - -The Mayor stood before her, two red spots on his cheeks, and a strange -light in his eye. “I’ve just been to your house,” he said, “and your -grandmother sent me here.” - -“Did she?” said Berty; then she added, promptly, “What has happened?” - -Mr. Jimson heaved a deep, contented sigh, and seated himself beside -her. “I’m a happy man, Miss Berty.” - -“What are you happy about?” she asked, briskly. “It isn’t--it isn’t -Miss Everest?” - -“Yes, it is Miss Everest,” said Mr. Jimson. “Something took place this -afternoon.” - -“Oh, what?--why don’t you tell me? You’re terribly slow.” - -“I’m as fast as I can be. I’m not a flash of lightning.” - -“No, indeed.” - -“Well, I’ve met Miss Everest--she’s talked with me!” - -“She has!” cried Berty, joyfully. - -“Yes, she has. You know, after the affair this afternoon some of the -people went to town. Miss Everest was shopping.” - -“She always does her shopping in the morning,” interrupted Berty. “All -the smart set do.” - -“Well, I guess she found herself down-town,” 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.” - -“Oh, you mean Smilax & Wiley’s.” - -“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.” - -“Perhaps I won’t,” said Berty, guardedly. “It depends on what follows.” - -“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.’” - -“Now surely you said something in response to that,” interjected Berty, -“such a gracious thing for her to say.” - -“Never a word,” replied the Mayor, seriously, “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.” - -“Well,” said Berty, with badly suppressed scorn, “this is a great tale. -Where have you distinguished yourself, pray?” - -“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.” - -“Well,” observed Berty, in a mystified way, when he paused. - -“I thought of what you said,” continued the Mayor. “I called up your -hint about small things. I picked up the bit of silk.” - -“And, for goodness’ sake, what did you do with it?” queried Berty, in -distress. “Some fantastic thing, I’ll be bound.” - -“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 greenback. You take the seven-thirty train -for Boston. You match that silk, and get back here as quick as you -can.’” - -“Oh! oh!” cried Berty, “how much did you send for?” - -“For a pound,” said the Mayor, tragically. “She said she had a peóny to -work, and they’re pretty big flowers.” - -“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. - -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.” - -“I’ve done just what you told me,” said the astonished man. “You said -to look out for little things.” - -“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.” - -“Look here,” said the Mayor, and the red spots on his cheeks deepened, -“you’re criticizing too much. I guess you’d better not interfere -between Miss Everest and me.” - -“You’ll want me to give her that silk when it comes,” said Berty, -defiantly. - -“I did--that’s just what I came to speak to you about, but now I’ll -give it to her myself.” - -“She may not like it.” - -“She can like it, or lump it,” said Mr. Jimson, inelegantly; “when that -parcel comes, I am going to take it to her.” - -“Suppose the boy can’t match the silk?” - -“He’s got to,” said Mr. Jimson, obstinately. - -“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?” - -“I’m no violet,” said Mr. Jimson, disagreeably. “I want to get in with -Miss Everest, and how can I if I blush unseen?” - -“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.” - -“But you were just blaming me.” - -“That was from Miss Everest’s standpoint.” - -“I’m blessed if I know how to take you,” muttered the confused man. -“One minute you’re yourself, and the next you’re another woman.” - -“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?” - -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?” - -“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.” - -The Mayor stared about him in silence. - -“I’ve just been thinking about the electric light people,” continued -Berty. “They’re a big, rich company, aren’t they?” - -“So, so.” - -“Well, would it be wrong for me to go to them and ask to have a few -lights put in?” - -“Wrong, no--” - -“But would they do it?” - -“Well, I guess if you went to them with your mind made up that they -ought to, they would do it quick enough.” - -“I’ll go,” said Berty, with satisfaction. “Thank you so much. I’ll say -you advised me.” - -The Mayor sighed, but said nothing. - -“Come, children,” called Berty, in her clear voice, “it’s time to go -home. Gates open at eight-thirty to-morrow morning.” - -She huddled them out into the street like a flock of unwilling sheep, -then walked home beside her suddenly silent companion. - -“Selina Everest sat beside Grandma to-day,” said Berty, recurring to -what she knew was now his favourite topic of conversation. - -“I saw her there,” said her companion, eagerly. “Do you suppose your -grandmother--” - -“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.” - -“Perhaps your grandmother had better take her the silk,” said the -Mayor, generously. - -“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.” - -“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.” - -“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.” - -“But suppose he or she does half my work?” - -“That don’t count. Skilled labour, you know, takes the cake.” - -“But if any one does half my work, they must have half my pay.” - -“Nonsense,” said the Mayor, abruptly. - -“I sha’n’t grind the face of any poor person,” said Berty, doggedly. - -“All right--have it your own way, but if you won’t mind me, consult -your grandmother before you pledge yourself.” - - - - -CHAPTER XV. - -UP THE RIVER - - -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. - -Here Berty had established her grandmother on a rug with cushions, -magazines, and a new book, and the ever-present knitting. - -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. - -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. - -With strong, steady strokes he pulled near the 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. - -“How de do, Berty--what are you doing here?” - -“Grandma and I are having a picnic,” she said, in a lugubrious voice. - -“A picnic,” he repeated, incredulously, “you mean a funeral.” - -“I mean what I say,” she replied, crossly. - -“Might a fellow land?” he asked, his eyes dancing mischievously. - -“A fellow can land, or move on, or swim, or fly, for aught I care,” she -responded, ungraciously. - -He jumped up, sprang out of his boat, and fastened it to the same stake -where Berty’s was moored. - -“You’ve been looking cross-eyed at the sun,” he said, taking off his -hat and fanning himself. - -“Take care that you don’t do the same thing,” said Berty. - -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.” - -“Oh, yes,” said Berty, seating herself near him. “One might as well sit -as stand.” - -[Illustration: “‘YOU’RE DYING TO TEASE ME’”] - -“This is pleasant,” said Tom, happily, leaning on one elbow with his -hat over his eyes, and gazing dreamily at the river. - -“It is the prettiest river in the world,” remarked Berty, decidedly. - -“Come now--how many rivers have you seen?” inquired Tom. - -“Lots of them.” - -“And you have never been out of your native State.” - -“I have been to Boston, and New York, and New Orleans. How strange that -you should forget it,” replied Berty, wrathfully. - -“What’s made you mad, Berty?” inquired Tom, with a brotherly air. - -“You know,” she said, sulkily, “you’re dying to tease me.” - -“Poor little girl,” murmured Tom, under his breath. Then he said, -aloud, “Peter Jimson is in our house morning, noon, and night now.” - -“Don’t I know it!” exclaimed Berty, indignantly, “and you are -encouraging him, and you can’t bear him.” - -“Come now, Berty,” said Tom, protestingly. “‘Can’t bear’ is a strong -expression. I never thought much about him till he began sending -business 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.” - -“And he has helped you?” asked Berty, curiously. - -“Lots--he has a big influence in the city. Don’t you know about it?” - -“About his influence?” - -“No--about his favouring me.” - -“He tells me nothing now,” and her tone was bitter. - -“You’ve been a good friend to him, Berty. He is never tired of singing -your praises.” - -“To whom does he sing? To Selina?” - -“I don’t know. I’m not with them much.” - -“Then he sings them to you?” - -“Yes, just as soon as I pitch him the tune.” - -“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.” - -“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.” - -“Well, that is an age.” - -“How did you and Jimson fall out?” asked Tom, curiously. “I’d give -considerable to know.” - -“You’ll never know, now that I see you want to,” replied Berty, -vigorously. - -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.” - -“It wasn’t that at all,” said Berty, unguardedly. “I wouldn’t be so -silly. He broke his word about a package of silk.” - -“Oh,” replied Tom, coolly, “that was the silk Selina was so delighted -to get. He sent a boy to Boston for it.” - -“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. - -“‘Oh, yes,’ he said, ‘he brought it fast enough.’ - -“‘And where is it?’ I asked. - -“‘Miss Everest has it.’ - -“‘Miss Everest?’ I said. ‘How did she get it?’ - -“‘Well,’ he said, ‘when it came, I just couldn’t 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.’ - -“‘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.’ - -“‘Can’t tell me?’ I repeated. ‘You’ve got to. I’m more interested in -this affair than you are.’ - -“‘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.’ - -“‘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.” - -“Selina is jealous of you,” said Tom, promptly. - -“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.” - -“If he’s got to dance after Selina, his work’s cut out,” said Tom. - -“Do you think she will marry him?” asked Berty, eagerly. - -“Marry him--of course she will. I never saw her so pleased over -anything as she was over that silk affair. Jimson is a good-hearted -fellow, Berty.” - -“Good-hearted, yes, but he doesn’t keep his promises. He hasn’t got -those pigeon-boxes up yet.” - -“What pigeon-boxes?” - -“He promised to have some nailed on the shed for me. The boxes are all -made, but not put up.” - -“I’ll do it,” said Tom, generously. “I’ll come to-morrow.” - -“To-morrow will be Sunday.” - -“Monday, then. Monday afternoon as soon as the office closes.” - -“Very well,” said Berty, with a sigh, “but you’ll probably forget. My -friends don’t seem to be standing by me lately.” - -“Your friends--why, you are the heroine of the city--confound it, what -is that dog doing?” - -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. - -“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.” - -“Don’t scold him,” said Berty, holding out a hand to the culprit. “He -doesn’t know any better. He is young and cutting teeth.” - -“Well, I wish he’d cut them on some other man--look at that coat. It’s -ruined.” - -“Can’t you get it mended?” - -“Who would do it for me?” - -“Send it to your tailor.” - -“It’s too shabby--I just keep it for boating.” - -“Ask your mother or Selina.” - -“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.” - -“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.” - -“Not I--I can’t afford that. I’ll tell you, Berty, I ought to get a -wife.” - -“Why, so you should,” said the young girl, kindly. “It’s time you were -getting settled. Have you any one in mind?” - -“I know the kind of a girl I want,” said Tom, evasively. “I do wish -you’d help me pick her out.” - -Berty shook her head with sudden wariness. “I forgot, I’m not going to -meddle with match-making any more. You’re sure to get a snub from the -person you’re trying hardest to benefit.” - -“I promise you that the girl I choose will never snub you,” said Tom, -solemnly. - -“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!” - -“It’s too bad,” said Tom, sympathetically, “but Selina was always a -little bit wrapped up in herself.” - -“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.” - -“Would you prefer a red stone for yourself?” asked Tom, artlessly. - -“Yes, I should think I would.” - -“Well, you see Selina wants to choose for herself. You women like to -manage your own affairs.” - -“But Mr. Jimson is just as bad. He’s as stubborn as a mule when I want -to advise him.” - -“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.” - -“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.” - -“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.” - -“Oh, you wretch!” said Berty, irritably. “I don’t mean for herself. I -mean for Bonny, or you, or some of her young friends.” - -“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.” - -“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.” - -“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, and get over just about the minute that -the third course goes in.” - -“What kind of a girl do you want?” said Berty, staring up at him. - -“A tall girl, much taller than you, or even Margaretta. Tall and -flaxen-haired like a doll.” - -“And blue eyes, I suppose,” said Berty, sarcastically. - -“Oh, yes, blue as the sky, and tapering fingers--white fingers, not -brown from boating and out-of-door life.” - -“You want a hothouse plant,” said Berty, disdainfully. - -“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.” - -“Suppose you advertise.” - -“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 matter if she lives outside. I wouldn’t mind going a little -way.” - -“There’s Matty DeLong,” replied Berty. “She has neuralgia terribly, but -then her hair isn’t light.” - -“I don’t want a neuralgic victim. It’s just a kind of general debility -girl I want.” - -“What about the doctor’s bills?” - -“I’ll pay them,” said Tom, enthusiastically. “Give me domestic peace -even at the expense of bills.” - -“I expect I’d be a terrible termagant if I married,” observed Berty, -thoughtfully. - -Her companion made no reply to this assertion. - -“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. - -“I expect he’d let you,” observed Tom, meekly, “but you’re not thinking -of marriage for yourself, are you, Berty?” - -“No,” she said, snappishly, “only when the subject is so much -discussed, I can’t help having ideas put into my head.” - -“I suppose you’d like a Boston man, wouldn’t you?” inquired Tom, -demurely. - -“I don’t know. Anybody that was a stranger and celebrated would do.” - -“You’re like me in one respect. You want a brand-new article, not -something you’ve been used to seeing since infancy.” - -“I should like a President,” said Berty, wistfully, “but when men come -to the presidential chair they’re all too old for me.” - -“But it must be ennobling for you to have such an ambitious spirit,” -observed Tom. - -“It does make me feel nice--Hark! isn’t that Grandma calling?” - -“Yes,” replied Tom. “Let us go see what she wants.” - -“Berty, Berty,” the distant voice was saying, “isn’t it time to put the -kettle on? We must get home before dark.” - -“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. - - - - -CHAPTER XVI. - -BERTY’S TRAMP - - -Berty was away out on the lonely road leading from the iron works to -the city. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -It was a perfect afternoon. “How I love the 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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -Arrived opposite her, he stopped. “Lady,” he said, in a whining voice, -“please give a poor sick man some money to buy medicine.” - -“What’s the matter with you?” she asked, promptly. - -“An awful internal trouble, lady,” he said, laying his hand on his -side. “Intermittent pains come on every evening at this time.” - -“You don’t look ill,” replied Berty, suspiciously. “Your face is as -bronzed as a sailor’s.” - -“The doctors prescribed outdoor air, lady,” he went on, whiningly. - -“I haven’t any money for you.” - -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.” - -“But, lady, I want some money,” he said, persistently, and he stood in -her way. - -She surveyed him contemptuously. “You want to make me give you some, -but I tell you you couldn’t do it.” - -“Couldn’t I, lady?” he replied, half-sneeringly, half-admiringly. - -“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. - -The man snickered. “You’ve plenty of sand, but I guess I could get your -purse if I tried.” - -“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.” - -“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.” - -“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.” - -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. - -“Stop!” said Berty, commandingly, “who are you, and why did you come to -Riverport?” - -He lazily propped himself against a tree by the roadside. “It was in my -line of march.” - -“Are you a tramp?” - -“Well, yes, I suppose I am.” - -“Where were you born?” - -“In New Hampshire.” - -“You weren’t born a tramp?” - -“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.” - -“A good education,” repeated Berty, “and now you have sunk so low as to -stop women and beg for money.” - -“Just that low,” he said, indifferently, “and from a greater height -than you think.” - -“What was the height?” asked Berty, eagerly. - -“I was once a physician in Boston,” he returned, with a miserable -remnant of pride. - -“You a physician!” exclaimed Berty, “and now a tramp!” - -“A tramp pure and simple.” - -“What made you give up your profession?” - -“Well, I was born lazy, and then I drank, and I drink, and I always -shall drink.” - -“A drunkard!” murmured Berty, pityingly. “Poor fellow!” - -The man looked at her curiously. - -“How old are you?” she asked, suddenly. - -“Forty-five.” - -“Have you tried to reform?” - -“Formerly--not now.” - -“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.” - -“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.” - -“And do you do no work?” - -“Not a stroke.” - -“And you have no money?” - -“Not a cent.” - -“But how do you live?” - -“Off good people like you,” he said, wheedlingly. “You’re going to give -me a hot supper, I guess.” - -“Follow me,” said Berty, suddenly setting off toward the city, and the -man sauntered after her. - -When they reached River Street, she opened the gate leading into the -yard and beckoned to him. - -“I can’t take you in the house,” she said, in a low voice, as he -followed her. “My grandmother is ill, and then our house is very clean.” - -“And I am very unclean,” he said, jocularly surveying himself, “though -I’m by no means as bad as an ash-heap tramp.” - -“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.” - -“I hope you won’t give me husks for supper,” murmured the tramp. - -Berty eyed him severely. His condition to her was too serious for -jesting, and she by no means approved of his attempts at humour. - -“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.” - -“I accept your offer with thankfulness, lady,” he replied. - - - - -CHAPTER XVII. - -TOM’S INTERVENTION - - -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. - -“How is your grandmother?” he asked. “I hear she is ill.” - -“Better,” whispered Berty. “Bonny is with her, but I’ve got another -trouble.” - -“What is it?” inquired Tom, tenderly. - -They were standing in the front hall, and he bent his head low to hear -what she said. - -“There’s a tramp out in the wood-shed,” she went on, “and I don’t know -what to do with him.” - -“I’ll go put him out,” said Tom, promptly starting toward the back hall. - -“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 -other people, and couldn’t cure himself. He drinks like a fish.” - -“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.” - -“Oh, Tom, don’t be foolish. He is as quiet as a lamb. He hasn’t been -drinking to-day.” - -“I tell you, Berty, he’s got to come out. If you make a fuss, I’ll call -Bonny down.” - -“Why, Tom Everest, you ought to be ashamed of yourself. Your face is as -red as a beet. What about the Golden Rule?” - -“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.” - -“Tom--suppose you were the thief, and the thief were you? Would you -like him to talk about you that way?” - -“Yes, I’d enjoy it. Come, Berty, lead the way.” - -“What do you want to do with him?” asked the girl, curiously. - -“Put him in the street.” - -“Well, suppose he is a thief. He may rob your neighbour’s house.” - -“My neighbour can look out for himself.” - -“You don’t mean that,” said Berty, quickly. “Please do find this man a -good place for the night. Keep him out of harm.” - -“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.” - -“Go where?” asked the girl, quickly. - -“To his appointed place.” - -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.” - -Tom modestly cast his eyes to the oilcloth on the floor. - -“How many other young men are there like you in the republic?” pursued -Berty. - -“I don’t know,” he said, demurely. - -“How many tramps are there?” - -“I don’t know that--thousands and thousands, I guess.” - -“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?” - -“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.” - -“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.” - -“Oho! he tried to scare you, did he?” asked Tom, keenly. - -“He asked me for money,” repeated Berty, “but of course I didn’t let -him have it.” - -“Tell me all about it.” - -When she finished, Tom laughed softly. “So this is the gentleman you -want me to befriend?” - -“Do you feel revengeful toward him?” asked Berty. - -“I’d like to horsewhip him.” - -“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.’” - -“Oh, Berty,” interposed Tom, with a gesture of despair, “don’t talk -mawkish, sickly sentimentality to me. Don’t throw honey water over tin -cans, and expect them to blossom like the rose.” - -“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.” - -“What do you want me to do?” asked Tom, helplessly. “I see you have -some plan in your mind.” - -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. - -“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--” - -“And dry it, and make a fire and burn it,” said Tom, briskly. “I don’t -like your simile, Berty.” - -“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.” - -“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.” - -“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.” - -“Oh, thank you, thank you,” murmured the young man. “You are so very -kind.” - -“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.” - -“His what?” asked Tom, mildly. - -“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?” - -“Does he?” murmured Tom. “I--I don’t know. I fear I have sometimes -helped to lessen a dog’s good opinion of himself.” - -“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.” - -“Oh, I will be good, Berty, extra good to deserve a partnership like -that.” - -“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.” - -“Just so, Berty.” - -“Well, we must be very cautious about what work we find for him, for he -hasn’t worked for years.” - -“Something light and genteel, Berty.” - -“Light, but not so very genteel. He isn’t proud. He’s only unaccustomed -to work. He talked quite frankly about himself.” - -“Oh--did he?” - -“Yes, and do you know what I have decided?” - -“No, I’m sure I don’t.” - -“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.” - -“Bobbetty’s Island--out in the river--old man Bobbetty’s?” - -“The same, Tom.” - -“Ghost thrown in?” - -“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.” - -“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.” - -“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.” - -“But won’t the river be suggestive, Berty? It would to me, and I’m not -a drinking man.” - -“No, of course not--he will have his work to do, and twice a week I -want you to row over yourself, 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.” - -“I wonder you don’t get a companion for him.” - -“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.” - -“Has he promised?” asked Tom, acutely. - -“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.” - -“And what business, may I ask, are you going to establish him in? You -seemed to be hinting at something.” - -“I am going to start a cat farm, and put him in charge,” replied Berty, -with the air of one making a great revelation. - -“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. - - - - -CHAPTER XVIII. - -TRAMP PHILOSOPHY - - -“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. - -“Meow, meow,” murmured Tom, in a scarcely audible voice. - -“What’s up with him, Berty?” asked Bonny, good-naturedly. - -“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.” - -“Poor Tom,” said Bonny, “and once he was a joy to his friends--I say, -old man, uncurl yourself and tell us the joke.” - -“Go ’way, Berty,” ejaculated Tom, partly straightening himself, “go -’way. You hate to see me laugh. Just like all girls. They haven’t any -more sense of humour than sticks.” - -“Bonny,” said Berty, turning to her brother, “how is Grandma?” - -“Asleep, and resting quietly.” - -“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.” - -“I’m ready and willing if it’s anything good,” said the light-haired -boy. - -“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.” - -“Good night, then,” said Berty, “and don’t make a noise, or you’ll wake -Grandma.” - -“Come on, Bonny, let’s interview Berty’s treasure,” exclaimed Tom, -seizing his hat. - -“What is it?” inquired Bonny, curiously, following him through the hall. - -“A black pearl. Didn’t she tell you?” - -“No, I haven’t been here long. We were busy at the works.” - -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. - -“Listen to it,” he said to Bonny, with his hand on the door-knob. - -“Who is snoring in there?” said the boy, quickly. - -“One of your sister’s bits of driftwood. I’ve got to haul this one into -port.” - -“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.” - -“Hello,” said Tom, opening the door and scratching a match to light the -candle in a lantern hanging near him. - -There was no response. Tom held the lantern and pushed the sleeping man -with his foot. - -“Here, you--wake up.” - -The man rolled over, blinking at them in the light. “Hello, comrade, -what you want?” - -“Get up,” said Tom, commandingly. - -“What for?” asked the sleeper, yawningly. - -“To get out of this. I’ll find you another sleeping-place.” - -“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.” - -“Get up,” said Tom, inexorably. - -“Let him stay,” said Bonny. “I’m going to be here all night. If he gets -dangerous, I’ll take the poker.” - -“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.” - -“Talking about me, gentlemen?” asked the man, sleepily. - -Tom and Bonny stared at him. - -“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.” - -“Who are you?” asked Bonny, abruptly. - -“A poor, broken-down sailor, sir,” whined the man. “Turned out of his -vessel the first day in port, because he had a little weakness of the -heart.” - -“I heard you were a doctor,” interposed Tom. - -“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.” - -“You’re a first-class liar, anyway,” said Tom. - -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.” - -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. - -“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.” - -“So it is, young man, till you get used to it,” responded the tramp, -amiably. - -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?” - -“No, I can’t,” said Bonny, frankly. - -“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.” - -“How can persons take a jump like that?” said the boy, musingly. - -“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.” - -“You didn’t start from the gutter, anyway,” remarked Bonny, “for you -talk like a gentleman.” - -“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.” - -“Your mother?” echoed Bonny, in disgust. - -“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.” - -“Nonsense,” said Bonny, sharply. - -“Not nonsense, but sound sense, sir. That was the beginning of the -lack of self-restraint. Did I want her best cap to tear to ribbons? I -got it.” - -“Oh, get out,” interposed Tom, crossly. “You needn’t tell us that all -spoiled children go to the bad.” - -“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?” - -The two young men eyed each other, and Bonny murmured, “You are an -extremist.” - -“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. We’ll go to the bad if we want to, and -none shall hinder us.” - -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.” - -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.” - -“You’re a queer man,” said Bonny, musingly. - -“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. Let her spank him once in awhile, and -keep him out of sight of the eagle.” - -“Do you suppose,” said Bonny, solemnly, “that if you had been well -spanked you would not be lying here?” - -“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.” - -“You must have had a strange mother,” remarked Bonny. - -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.” - -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 in search of, but two priceless jewels that were not pearls, -but diamonds. - -“Come on, Bonny,” said Tom, roughly, as he drew him from the shed. - -“Tom,” remarked Bonny, softly, as they went slowly up-stairs, “Berty -wants you to do something for that fellow, doesn’t she?” - -“Yes.” - -“Do you think it is of any use?” - -“No.” - -“Are you going to try?” - -“Yes.” - -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?” - -“Start a cat-farm.” - -“A cat-farm! What kind of cats?” - -“Gutter cats, back yard cats, disreputable cats, I should guess from -the character of the superintendent she has chosen,” replied Tom, -gruffly. - -“The superintendent being the tramp,” said Bonny, slyly. - -“There’s no one else in question,” responded Tom. - -“I think you are wrong about the nature of the beasts,” continued -Bonny. “I believe Berty means pet cats--Angoras, and so on.” - -“What sort are they?” - -“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.” - -“All nonsense--these society women don’t know what to do to kill time.” - -“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.” - -“Maybe you’re right, Bonny. I don’t call round on these women as you -do.” - -“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.” - -“Oh, dressing up,” said Tom, “is such a nuisance.” - -“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 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.’” - -“Suppose we come back to Berty,” observed Tom. “If all the women here -have cats, what does she want to start a farm for?” - -“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.” - -“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. - -“All right, I’ll come--maybe Roger will, too.” - -“Good night,” said Tom, “I’m off.” - -“Good night,” returned Bonny, laconically, and, standing with his -hands thrust in his pockets, he was looking down the street, when Tom -suddenly turned back. - -“I say, Bonny, your grandmother must have a good history of the -Revolution.” - -“She has two or three.” - -“Ask her to lend me one, will you? I half forget what I learned in -school.” - -“Yes, sir; I’ll bring it to-morrow.” - -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!” - -“What are you saying to yourself?” asked a brisk voice. - -Bonny, turning sharply, found Berty beside him. - -“Nothing much--only that I was hungry. Let’s see what’s in the pantry.” - -“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?” - -“I’ll do it for half a pie,” said Bonny, generously. “Come on, you -young monkey.” - - - - -CHAPTER XIX. - -AT THE BOARD OF WATER-WORKS - - -“There she comes,” murmured one of the clerks, in the board of -water-works offices. - -“Who?” murmured the other clerk. - -“The beggar-girl,” responded the first one. - -The chairman of the board heard them, and looked fearfully over his -shoulder. - -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. - -However, she did know. Some whisper of the “beggar-girl” had reached -her ears, and was a matter of chagrin to her. - -The chairman of the board of water-works knew all about her. He knew -that if the clerks had seen her passing along the glass corridor -outside his office she was probably coming to him; she probably wanted -something. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -Berty, followed by her friend, the mongrel pup, walked into the room -and asked if Mr. Morehall were in. - -“No,” said the second cousin, gravely, “he has been called to Portland -on important business--will be gone a week.” - -The girl’s face clouded; she stood leaning against 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. - -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. - -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.” - -Berty heard him, and turned swiftly. “Mugwump, if you worry another -rat, I’ll never give you a walk again.” - -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. - -“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.” - -The chairman, in his perplexity, had thrown him a glove from his -pocket, and Mugwump was mouthing and chewing it deliciously. - -“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. - -Her face was a study. Low down on the floor sat the deceiving chairman, -with Mugwump prancing before him. - -“Mr. Morehall!” she exclaimed; then she stopped. - -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. - -“You were trying to hide from me,” she said, after a long pause. - -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. - -“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!” - -He said nothing, and she went on, wistfully, “Am I, then, so terrible? -Do you men all hate the beggar-girl?” - -Her three hearers immediately fell into a state of shamefacedness. - -“What have I done?” she continued, sadly, “what have I done to be so -disliked?” - -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?” - -To Mr. Morehall’s dismay, her lip was quivering, and big tears began to -roll down her cheeks. - -“Come in here,” he said, leading the way to his own room. - -Berty sat down in an armchair and quietly continued to cry, while Mr. -Morehall eyed her with distress and increasing anxiety. - -“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.” - -“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. The autumn is -starting in so dry that we are almost choked with dust. River Street -hasn’t been watered for a week.” - -“Hasn’t it?” said Mr. Morehall, slowly. - -“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?” - -“River Street citizens don’t pay such heavy taxes,” suggested Mr. -Morehall. - -“But they pay all they can, sir.” - -“Poor people are shiftless,” said the official, with a shrug of his -shoulders. - -“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.” - -“Not all, perhaps,” said Mr. Morehall, amiably, and with inward -rejoicing that Berty was wiping away her tears. - -“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?” - -“What I meant,” replied Mr. Morehall, “was that poverty is very often -the result of a lack of personal exertion on the part of the poor.” - -“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.” - -“Now you are aiming at the ideal,” said Mr. Morehall, with an uneasy -smile. - -“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.” - -“They are so abominably ungrateful,” muttered Mr. Morehall. - -“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 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.” - -“Now you are oppressing the rich,” said Mr. Morehall, promptly. - -“Heaven forbid,” said the girl, wearily. “Equal rights for all--” - -“The poor have a good friend in you,” he said, with reluctant -admiration. - -“Will you have our street watered, sir?” asked Berty, rising. - -“I’ll try to. I’ll have to ask for an appropriation. We’ll want another -cart and horse, and an extra man.” - -“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.” - -“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.” - -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?” - -“That’s about the measure of it.” - -“And where would you draw the line?” she asked, with assumed calmness. - -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 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. - -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.” - -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. - -“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?” - -“No,” he said, in surprise, “I never heard that.” - -“And old Mr. Stanisfield took two of his own cousins out of the -poorhouse three years ago, and supports them?” - -“You astonish me,” murmured the confused man. - -“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.” - -“Abner Morehall!” exclaimed the man, incredulously. - -“Yes, Abner Morehall, your own uncle.” - -“But--I didn’t know--why didn’t he tell?--” stammered Mr. Morehall, -confusedly. - -“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.” - -“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.” - -“It was his generosity and kindness--his implicit faith in his fellow -men,” continued Berty, warmly; “and now, Mr. Morehall, can you say -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?” - -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. - -“You will come to see your relatives, I suppose?” she murmured. - -He made an assenting gesture with his hand. - -“They are two dear old people. They give tone to the street--and you -will send a watering-cart this afternoon?” - -He made another assenting gesture. He did not care to talk, and Berty -slipped quietly from his office. - - - - -CHAPTER XX. - -SELINA’S WEDDING - - -Selina Everest and the Mayor were married. - -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. - -But now it was all over. This congratulatory business was nothing -compared to the agonizing experience of being in a crowded church, the -shrinking target for hundreds of criticizing, shining, awful eyes. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -He smiled an alarming smile at her, a smile so extraordinarily -comprehensive, that she hurriedly asked under her breath if he were ill. - -“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. - -“I’m not ill,” he muttered. “I’m only a little flustered, Selina.” - -“Here’s Mrs. Short,” she said, hastily, “be nice to her. She’s a -particular friend of mine.” - -“A fine day, ma’am,” murmured the Mayor; “yes, the crops seem -good--ought to have rain, though.” - -Over by a French window opening on the lawn, Berty and Tom were -watching the people and making comments. - -“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?” - -“I suppose so,” murmured Berty. “Oh, isn’t it a dream to think that -they’re both happy?” - -“Makes one feel like getting married oneself,” said Tom. - -“Yes, doesn’t it? A wedding unsettles me. All the rest of the day I -wish I were a bride.” - -“Do you?” exclaimed Tom, eagerly. - -“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.” - -“Men never being slaves to their wives,” remarked Tom. - -“Men are by nature lordly, overbearing, proud-spirited, self-willed, -tyrannical and provoking,” said Berty, sweepingly. - -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.” - -“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.” - -“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.” - -“I thought perhaps Selina would want me for a bridesmaid,” said Berty, -plaintively, “but she didn’t.” - -“Too young and foolish,” said Tom, promptly; “but, I say, Berty, where -did you get the gown?” - -“Margaretta gave it to me. I was going to wear muslin, but she said I -shouldn’t.” - -“What is it anyway?” said Tom, putting out a cautious finger to touch -the soft folds. - -“It’s silk, and if you knew how uncomfortable I am in it, you would -pity me.” - -“Uncomfortable! You look as cool as a cucumber.” - -“I’m not. I wish I had on a serge skirt and a shirt-waist.” - -“Let me get you something to eat,” he said, consolingly. “That going to -church and standing about here are tiresome.” - -“Yes, do,” said Berty. “I hadn’t any breakfast, I was in such a hurry -to get ready.” - -“Here are sandwiches and coffee to start with,” he said, presently -coming back. - -“Thank you--I am so glad Selina didn’t have a sit-down luncheon. This -is much nicer.” - -“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.” - -Berty laughed. “And they would have lost their train.” - -“There isn’t going to be any train,” said Tom, mysteriously. - -“Aren’t they going to New York?” - -“No.” - -“To Canada?” - -“No.” - -“To Europe?” - -“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.” - -Berty put down her cup and saucer and began to laugh. - -“Where are those sandwiches?” asked Tom, trying to peer round the cup. - -“Gone,” said Berty, meekly. - -He brought her a new supply, then came cake, jellies, sweets, and fruit -in rapid succession. - -Berty, standing partly behind a curtain by the open window, kept her -admirer so busy that at last he partly rebelled. - -[Illustration: “‘A RIVER STREET DELEGATION,’ SAID TOM”] - -“Look here, Berty,” he remarked, firmly, “I don’t want to be -suspicious, but it’s utterly impossible 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?” - -“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. - -“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.” - -“Come right in, youngsters,” said the young man, heartily. “I’m sure -Mr. Jimson is your Mayor as well as ours.” - -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. - -“A River Street delegation,” said Tom, presenting them, “come to offer -congratulations to the chief executive officer of the city.” - -Selina shook hands with them. The Mayor smiled broadly, patted their -heads, and the other guests, who had been bidden, without an exception -kindly surveyed the unbidden, yet welcome ones. - -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. - -“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. - -“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.” - -Berty stood silently watching him. “Tom Everest,” she remarked, slowly, -“I have two words to say to you.” - -“I’d rather have one,” he muttered. - -“Hush,” she said, severely, “and listen. The two words are, ‘Thank -you.’” - -“You’re welcome,” returned Tom, “or, as the French say, ‘There is -nothing of what--’ Hello, Bonny, what’s the joke?” - -Bonny, in a gentlemanly convulsion of laughter, was turning his face -toward the wall in their direction. - -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. - -“I call you to witness, friends,” he said, slightly upraising one hand, -“that I never in my life before have laughed at dear Grandma.” - -“You’ve been cross with her,” said Berty. - -“Cross, yes, once or twice, but Grandma isn’t a person to laugh at, is -she?” - -“Well, not exactly,” said Berty. “I never saw anything funny about -Grandma.” - -“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.” - -“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?’ - -“He just rushed out a sentence at her--‘Upon my life I don’t!’ - -“‘Do you, Bonny?’ she asked, turning suddenly round on me. - -“‘No, Selina, I don’t,’ I told her, but I couldn’t help laughing. - -“Jimson grinned from ear to ear, and I started off, leaving Selina -asking him what he was so amused about.” - -Tom began to chuckle, but Berty said, “Well--I don’t see anything to -laugh at.” - -“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. - -Presently the Mayor came strolling over to the low chair where Berty -sat watching her little River Street friends. - -“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.” - -“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.” - -“You don’t wear aprons in your set,” said the Mayor, quickly. “I’ve -found that out. You leave them to the maids.” - -“I don’t like aprons,” said Berty. “If I want to protect my dress, I -tuck a towel under my belt.” - -“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.” - -“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.” - -“Do you ever feel inclined to eat with your fingers?” asked Mr. -Jimson, in a low voice, and looking fearfully about him. - -“Often, and I do,” said Berty, promptly. “Always at picnics.” - -“My father hated fuss and feathers,” remarked Mr. Jimson. “He always -went round the house with his hat on, and in his shirt-sleeves.” - -“The men on River Street do that,” replied Berty. “I can see some -reason for the shirt-sleeves, but not for the hat.” - -“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.” - -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. - -There were many speculations as to their destination, the greater part -of the guests imagining a far-away trip, as Berty had done. - -“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.” - -Roger Stanisfield burst out laughing. “You’re sold, Tom, my boy, do -you suppose the Mayor would trust a joker like you? He has my boat.” - -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.” - -“No, he isn’t,” said Walter Everest. “He’s got mine.” - -“I believe he’s fooled us all,” said Tom, ruefully. “Did you have any -flowers in your boat, Stanisfield?” - -“Margaretta put a little bit of rice in,” said Roger, “just a handful, -where no one would see it but themselves.” - -“Did you trim your boat, Bonny?” asked Roger. - -“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.” - -“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.” - -“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 that he would exert himself by rowing up the river this -warm day?” - -“Well, what are his means of locomotion?” asked Tom. - -“My one-hoss shay, my son. It was waiting round the corner of the road -for him.” - -“I say,” ejaculated Tom, “let’s make up a party to call on them -to-morrow. We can take the flowers and other trifles.” - -“Hurrah,” said Bonny. “I’ll go ask Margaretta to get up a lunch.” - -“Will you go to-morrow, Berty?” asked Tom, seeking her out, and -speaking in a low voice. - -“Where?” - -He explained to her. - -“Yes, if you will tell me why you laughed so much at what Grandma said -to Selina.” - -Tom looked puzzled. “It’s mighty hard to explain, for there isn’t -anything hidden in it. It just sounded kind of apt.” - -“You men think women talk too much.” - -“Some women,” replied Tom, guardedly. - -“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.’” - -“That’s it exactly,” said Tom, with a beaming face. “Now will you go -to-morrow?” - -“Probably,” said Berty, with an oracular frown. “If I am not teased too -much.” - -“May I come in this evening and see how you feel about it?” - -“How long do you plan to stay?” - -“Five minutes.” - -“Then you may come,” she said, graciously. - - - - -CHAPTER XXI. - -TO STRIKE OR NOT TO STRIKE - - -When the picnic party reached Cloverdale the day after the wedding, the -Jimsons were not there. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -“I’ve had a quiet time for once in my life,” said Mr. Jimson. “I ought -to have got married long ago. I have some one to look after me, and me -only now. How is your wife?” - -“Well, thank you.” - -“And Tom and Berty and Bonny--gracious! I feel as if I had been away a -year instead of three weeks.” - -A shade passed over Roger’s face. “All well but Grandma and Berty.” - -“What’s the matter with Grandma?” - -“I don’t know. I am afraid she is breaking up.” - -The Mayor looked serious, then he asked, abruptly, “And Berty?” - -“Oh, River Street--it’s on her brain and conscience, and it is wearing -her body down.” - -“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.” - -“I suppose the city council is pretty bad.” - -Mr. Jimson shrugged his shoulders. - -“Lots of boodle--I say, some of those aldermen ought to be dumped in -the river.” - -“You ought to get Berty out of city politics,” said Mr. Jimson, -energetically. “That is no girl’s work.” - -“She’s going to get out, Margaretta thinks,” 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.” - -“She’ll probably marry Tom Everest, and settle down to housekeeping.” - -“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.” - -“She’s just an ordinary girl,” said the Mayor, briskly. “She’s no angel -to let the River Streeters walk all over her.” - -“No, she’s no angel,” returned Roger, with a smile, “but she’s a pretty -good sort of a girl.” - -“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.” - -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.” - -“How does our State law read?” inquired Mr. Jimson. “Upon my word, I -don’t know.” - -“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.” - -“Well?” said Mr. Jimson. - -“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.” - -“I’ll bet they were mad to have their children’s earnings cut off,” -observed Mr. Jimson. “Poor people are so avaricious.” - -“They were, and Berty was in a dancing rage. She got up a paper called -_The Cry of the Children_. 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.” - -“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. - -Roger continued on his way to the iron works, and two minutes later -encountered Berty herself coming out of a fancy-work store. - -“Good morning,” he said, planting himself directly before her. - -“Good morning,” she returned, composedly. - -“What have you been buying?” he asked, looking curiously at the parcel -in her hand. - -“Embroidery.” - -“For some other person, I suppose.” - -“No, for myself.” - -“Why, I never saw you with a needle in your hand in my life.” - -“You will now,” she said, calmly. - -“How’s the park getting on, Berty?” - -“Famously; we have electric lights, and the children can stay till all -hours.” - -“Is your helper satisfactory?” - -“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.” - -“Why resign, Berty?” - -“Well, I may have other things to do,” she said, evasively. - -“You’re going to get married.” - -“Not that I know of,” she said, calmly. - -“Good-bye,” replied Roger; “come oftener to see us, and be sure to -bring your embroidery.” - -Berty gazed after him with a peculiar smile, as he swung quickly away, -then she made her way to River Street. - -At one of the many corners where lanes led down to wharves, a group of -men stood talking with their hands in their pockets. - -Berty stopped abruptly. Through the women in the street she knew what -the chief topic of conversation among the wharf labourers just now -happened to be. - -“Are you talking of your projected strike?” she asked, shortly. - -Not one of them spoke, but she knew by their assenting looks that they -were. - -“It’s a lovely time for a strike,” she said, dryly; “winter just coming -on, and your wives and children needing extra supplies.” - -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. - -“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.” - -One of the men thoughtfully turned a piece of tobacco in his mouth, and -said, “That’s true.” - -“What do you strike for, anyway?” she asked. - -One of the stevedores who trundled the drums of codfish along the -wharves for West Indian shipment, said, amiably, “A strike is usually -for higher wages and shorter hours, miss.” - -“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.” - -“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.” - -“Then make one,” said Berty, irritably. “You men all have votes, -haven’t you?” - -“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.” - -“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.” - -“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.” - -“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.” - -The men smiled, and one said, kindly, “I’m sure, miss, you’d get our -votes in a bunch, if we could give them.” - -“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.” - -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.” - -“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.” - -“But there’s party politics, miss,” suggested a quiet man in the -background. - -“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.” - -“That’s sound, miss,” said Malone, slipping still further forward, “but -we’d never get it from the city.” - -“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 Demarley, -who never comes to this street unless he wants a vote.” - -Malone stared intently at Berty, while a man beside him murmured -something about the board of aldermen having promised certain reforms. - -“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.’ - -“‘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?’ - -“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 for more boxes and -small boys. That’s the length of his chain.” - -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.” - -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. - -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. - - - - -CHAPTER XXII. - -DISCOURAGED - - -When Berty’s eyes rested on Tom, he came forward hat in hand. - -“Is there anything I can do for you?” he inquired, calmly, but with -inward anxiety as he noticed her flushed face. - -“No, thank you,” she said, wearily, “I was just talking to some of my -friends here.” - -Tom nodded to the men in a civil manner, then said, “Are you going -home?” - -“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 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.” - -Tom looked concerned, but made no endeavour to reply, and Berty went on: - -“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.” - -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. - -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. - -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.” - -“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?” - -“Well, no, miss, it isn’t,” said Malone, uneasily. - -“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.” - -“That’s so,” muttered Malone. - -“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.” - -“Oh, I say, Berty,” remarked Tom, in an undertone. - -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.” - -The men scarcely heard her last sentences. The “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. - -“Come home, Berty,” said Tom. - -“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.” - -Poor Berty--she was crying, and good, honest Tom choked back a sudden -sympathetic lump in his throat. - -“Don’t worry, little girl,” he said, huskily. “You’ve done a lot of -good already, and we’re all proud of you.” - -“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.” - -“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.” - - - - -CHAPTER XXIII. - -GRANDMA’S REQUEST - - -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. - -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.” - -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. - -To-day there was a change. When the warm, 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. - -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. - -“I feel twenty years younger to see you going about!” exclaimed Berty, -delightedly, as she tucked a blanket round her. - -“Twenty years!” murmured Grandma. - -“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.” - -“Go out on the veranda,” said Grandma, “and breathe the fresh air. You -have been in the house too much with me lately.” - -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. - -Berty reluctantly made her way to the veranda, 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. - -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. - - “The ripened sheaves are garnered in, - Garnered in, garnered in,” - -she was singing softly to herself, when some one remarked in an -undertone, “Well, how goes it?” - -“Oh,” she said, looking up, “it is you, is it, the omnipresent Tom?” - -“Yes, I just slipped up for a minute to see how Grandma is. Won’t this -sunshine set her up?” - -“You saw her as you came through the room?” - -“Yes, but she was asleep, so I did not speak. How is she?” - -“Better, much better, and I am so glad.” - -“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.” - -“I can’t help worrying about Grandma, Tom.” - -“How long since you’ve been out?” - -“Two weeks.” - -“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.” - -Mugwump, indeed, was fawning round Tom in a servile manner. - -“He’s liked me ever since he had a taste of my coat,” observed the -young man. - -“If you won’t take a walk with me, let me row you over to Bobbetty’s -Island this afternoon,” pursued Tom. - -Berty shook her head, but said, eagerly, “Do tell me how Mafferty is -getting on.” - -“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.” - -“Oh, Tom, what are they like?” - -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.” - -Berty listened in rapt attention. When he had finished, she said, -“You’ve been tremendously good about my tramp, Tom.” - -“I like partnerships,” he said, modestly; “in fact, I--” - -“That reminds me,” interrupted Berty, unceremoniously; “has he had -another letter from his wife?” - -“Yes, she is coming in ten days.” - -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?” - -“No, certainly not,” said Tom, coolly. “He’s going to have his bursts, -of course.” - -“And what are we to do?” asked Berty, sorrowfully. - -“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.” - -Berty turned in her chair, and stared at him long and intently. “Tom -Everest, you are changing.” - -“Pray Heaven, I am,” he said earnestly, and something in the bright, -steady gaze bent on her made her eyes fill with tears. - -“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.’” - -Berty’s face was glowing. “Tom,” she said, gently, “if we live, we -shall see great reforms on River Street.” - -“I hope so,” he replied, heartily. - -“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.” - -“Oh, I hope so,” returned Tom, with a kind of groan. - -“Don’t doubt it,” continued the girl. “Who 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.” - -“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.” - -Berty was silent for a long time, then she said, in a low voice, “You -will not regret that speech, Tom Everest.” - -“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.” - -The lawless dog, without glancing at Berty for permission, bounded to -his side and licked his hand. - -“You haven’t very good manners, dog,” said Tom, lightly, “but I guess -your mistress likes you.” - -“I always did like the bad ones best,” said Berty, wistfully. “It -seems as if they had more need of friends--good-bye, Tom.” - -“Good-bye, little girl,” he returned, throwing her a kiss from the tips -of his fingers. “Maybe I’ll run up this afternoon.” - - - - -CHAPTER XXIV. - -DOWN THE RIVER - - -Tom did not get up in the afternoon. However, he came in the evening, -and the next morning, and the next. - -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. - -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. - -Now all was changed. Day by day the exquisite 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. - -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. - -“Dear Grandma,” said Berty, on this afternoon, abruptly dropping on a -foot-stool beside her, and putting her head on her knee, “dear Grandma.” - -Mrs. Travers, still steadily knitting, glanced at her as if to say, -“Why this sudden access of affection?” - -“It doesn’t mean anything in particular,” said Berty, pressing still -closer, “only that you are so dear.” - -Grandma smiled, and went on with her work. - -“You are just toeing that stocking off,” said Berty. - -“Yes, dear,” replied her grandmother. “This is the last of the six -pairs for Mrs. Darley-James. You will remember, Berty, they are all for -her.” - -“Why should I remember?” asked the girl, anxiously. “You always -remember for yourself.” - -“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.” - -Having directed the parcel, she left her desk and went to the veranda. - -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.” - -“But, Grandma,” said Berty, uneasily, “do you feel able for it?” - -Her grandmother looked at her, and the brightness of her face silenced -the girl’s scruples. - -“I will take you in my boat, dear,” she said, gently, “if you wish to -go.” - -“I should like to have Margaretta come,” said Mrs. Travers. - -“Very well, we will send for her.” - -“And Roger,” said Grandma. - -“Roger is at an important business meeting this afternoon, I happen to -know,” said Berty, hesitatingly. - -“He would leave it for me,” said Grandma. - -“Do you wish me to ask him?” inquired Berty, in some anxiety. - -“Yes,” said Grandma, softly. - -Berty got up and was about to leave the veranda, when Mrs. Travers went -on. “Will you send for Bonny, too?” - -“Oh, Grandma, don’t you feel well?” asked Berty, in increasing anxiety. - -“Just at present I do, dear,” and her voice was so clear, her manner so -calm, that Berty was reassured until her next remark. - -“Berty, where is Tom this afternoon?” - -“Oh, Grandma, he was going to Bangor on business. He is just about -getting to the station now.” - -“Will you send for him, too?” - -“Send for him?” faltered Berty. “Oh, Grandma, you are ill. You must be -ill.” - -“Do I look ill?” - -“Oh, no, no,” said Berty, in despair. “You don’t look ill, your face is -like an angel’s, but you frighten me.” - -“My child,” said Grandma, “I never felt better in my life; but despatch -your messengers.” - -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.” - -Her messengers were faithful, and in an hour Margaretta, Bonny, Roger, -and Tom were hastening to the house. - -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.” - -“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. - -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. - -In somewhat breathless and foreboding silence they got into Roger’s -big boat moored at the landing, and he and Tom took the oars. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -As they sat enfolding her in loving glances, Grandma occasionally spoke -in low, short sentences, mostly relating to the river. - -“I was born by it--it has been a friend to me. Children, you will all -live by the river.” - -Upon arriving opposite Bobbetty’s Island, Grandma smiled. Berty’s -tramp, Mafferty, in a decent 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. - -“You will not give him up,” said Grandma to Tom. “You will not become -discouraged.” - -“I will not,” he said, solemnly. - - - - -CHAPTER XXV. - -LAST WORDS - - -“The sun has gone down,” said Margaretta, suddenly. - -It had indeed. The huge golden ball had just dropped behind the hills -on the western side of the river. - -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. - -“You wished to see the sun again,” said Berty. “I should have warned -you that it was about to disappear.” - -“I wished to say good-bye to it,” said Grandma, “a last good-bye.” - -“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. - -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. - -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?” - -“No, Margaretta,” replied Grandma, clearly, and she pointed down the -river. “Take me toward the sea. I shall soon be sent for.” - -They all understood her now. Their scarcely suppressed forebodings -rushed back and enveloped them in a dark, unhappy cloud. - -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.” - -Margaretta, leaning over, drew a flask from Roger’s pocket. Then, -slipping past the motionless Berty, she knelt before her grandmother. - -“Dearest, I brought a stimulant with me. Will you have some?” - -“But I have no need of it,” said Grandma, opening wide her strangely -beautiful eyes. - -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. - -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. - -Grandma smiled quietly. “Always thoughtful--my dear, you will be a -mother to Bonny.” - -“I will,” said the weeping girl. - -“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.” - -“But--but, Grandma, you have been happy with us,” stammered Margaretta. - -“Happy, so happy--always remember that. My only trouble a separated -family. One half in 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?” - -The young man nodded, and bent his head low over the oars. - -“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? - -“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.” - -After some delay, Berty, in mute, anguished silence did as she was bid. - -“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 mother and grandmother in the sky. Let me hear you speak. Will -you be brave?” - -Still in dumb, tearless sorrow, the girl shook her head. - -“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?” - -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.” - -“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.” - -“I promise,” said Berty, with quivering lips. - -“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.” - -The boy stretched out his hands. He was younger than the others, and he -made no attempt to restrain his sobs. - -“Such a dear baby he was,” murmured Grandma, patting his downcast head. -“Such a lovely, beautiful baby.” - -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?” - -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.” - -“Grandma, darling,” said Margaretta, in distress, “we are many miles -from the sea.” - -“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!” - -She sank back--with one joyful exclamation the breath left her body. - -Who could mourn for a death like that? Who would dare to grieve over -the little worn-out body? - -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. - -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. - -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. - -THE END. - - - - -BOOKS FOR YOUNG PEOPLE - - -The Little Colonel Stories. By ANNIE FELLOWS JOHNSTON. - - 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. - - 1 vol., large 12mo, cloth decorative, fully illustrated $1.50 - -The Little Colonel’s House Party. By ANNIE FELLOWS JOHNSTON. -Illustrated by Louis Meynell. - - One vol., library 12mo, cloth, decorative cover $1.00 - -The Little Colonel’s Holidays. By ANNIE FELLOWS JOHNSTON. Illustrated -by L. J. Bridgman. - - One vol., large 12mo, cloth, decorative cover $1.50 - -The Little Colonel’s Hero. By ANNIE FELLOWS JOHNSTON. Illustrated by E. -B. Barry. - - One vol., large 12mo, cloth decorative, $1.20 _net_ (postage - extra) - -The Little Colonel at Boarding School. By ANNIE FELLOWS JOHNSTON. -Illustrated by E. B. Barry. - - 1 vol., large 12mo, cloth $1.20 _net_ (postage extra) - -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.” - - * * * * * - -Beautiful Joe’s Paradise; or, THE ISLAND OF BROTHERLY LOVE. A sequel to -“Beautiful Joe.” By MARSHALL SAUNDERS, author of “Beautiful Joe,” “For -His Country,” etc. With fifteen full-page plates and many decorations -from drawings by Charles Livingston Bull. - -One vol., library 12mo, cloth decorative, $1.20 _net_, postpaid, $1.32 - -“Will be immensely enjoyed by the boys and girls who read -it.”--_Pittsburg Gazette._ - -“Miss Saunders has put life, humor, action, and tenderness into her -story. The book deserves to be a favorite.”--_Chicago Record-Herald._ - -“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.”--_Philadelphia Item._ - - * * * * * - -’Tilda Jane. By MARSHALL SAUNDERS, author of “Beautiful Joe,” etc. - -One vol., 12mo, fully illustrated, cloth, decorative cover $1.50 - -“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.” - -“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. - -“I cannot think of any better book for children than this. I commend it -unreservedly.”--_Cyrus Townsend Brady._ - - * * * * * - -The Story of the Graveleys. By MARSHALL SAUNDERS, author of “Beautiful -Joe’s Paradise,” “’Tilda Jane,” etc. - -Library 12mo, cloth decorative, illustrated by E. B. Barry $1.20 _net_ -(postage extra) - -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. - - * * * * * - -Little Lady Marjorie. By FRANCES MARGARET FOX, author of “Farmer Brown -and the Birds,” etc. - -12mo, cloth, illustrated $1.20 _net_ (postage extra) - -A charming story for children between the ages of ten and fifteen -years, with both heart and nature interest. - - * * * * * - -The Sandman: HIS FARM STORIES. By WILLIAM J. HOPKINS. With fifty -illustrations by Ada Clendenin Williamson. - -One vol., large 12mo, decorative cover, $1.20 _net_, postpaid, $1.38 - - “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.”--_Buffalo Express._ - - “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.”--_Cleveland Leader._ - -The Sandman: MORE FARM STORIES. By WILLIAM J. HOPKINS, author of “The -Sandman: His Farm Stories.” - -Library 12mo, cloth decorative, fully illustrated, $1.20 _net_ (postage -extra) - - 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. - - * * * * * - -A Puritan Knight Errant. By EDITH ROBINSON, author of “A Little Puritan -Pioneer,” “A Little Puritan’s First Christmas,” “A Little Puritan -Rebel,” etc. - -Library 12mo, cloth decorative, illustrated, $1.20 _net_ (postage extra) - -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. - - * * * * * - -The Great Scoop. By MOLLY ELLIOT SEAWELL, author of “Little Jarvis,” -“Laurie Vane,” etc. - -12mo, cloth, with illustrations $1.00 - -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.” - - * * * * * - -Flip’s “Islands of Providence.” By ANNIE FELLOWS JOHNSTON, author of -“Asa Holmes,” “The Little Colonel,” etc. - -12mo, cloth, with illustrations $1.00 - -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. - - * * * * * - -Songs and Rhymes for the Little Ones. Compiled by MARY WHITNEY MORRISON -(Jenny Wallis). - -New edition, with an introduction by Mrs. A. D. T. Whitney and eight -illustrations. - -One vol., large 12mo, cloth decorative $1.00 - -No better description of this admirable book can be given than Mrs. -Whitney’s happy introduction: - -“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.” - - * * * * * - -PHYLLIS’ FIELD FRIENDS SERIES - -_By LENORE E. MULETS_ - -Four vols., cloth decorative, illustrated. Sold separately, or as a set. - - Per volume $0.80 _net_ - Per set $3.20 _net_ - - 1. Insect Stories. - 2. Stories of Little Animals. - 3. Flower Stories. - 4. Bird Stories. - -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. - - * * * * * - -THE WOODRANGER TALES - -_By G. WALDO BROWNE_ - - The Woodranger. - The Young Gunbearer. - The Hero of the Hills. - -Each 1 vol., large 12mo, cloth, decorative cover, illustrated, per -volume $1.00 - -Three vols., boxed, per set $3.00 - -“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. - - * * * * * - -The Rosamond Tales. By CUYLER REYNOLDS. With 30 full-page illustrations -from original photographs, and with a frontispiece from a drawing by -Maud Humphreys. - -One vol., large 12mo, cloth decorative $1.50 - -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. - - * * * * * - -Larry Hudson’s Ambition. By JAMES OTIS, author of “Toby Tyler,” etc. -Illustrated by Eliot Keen. - -One vol., library 12mo, cloth, decorative cover, $1.25 - -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. - - * * * * * - -Black Beauty: THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A HORSE. By ANNA SEWELL. _New -Illustrated Edition._ With nineteen full-page drawings by Winifred -Austin. - -One vol., large 12mo, cloth decorative, gilt top, $1.25 - -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. - - * * * * * - -The Story of Kate. A TALE OF CALIFORNIA LIFE FOR GIRLS. By PAULINE -BRADFORD MACKIE. Illustrations by L. J. Bridgman. - -One vol., library 12mo, cloth, $1.20 _net_, postpaid, $1.32 - -“One of the most charming books of the season for girls, is this, with -its lovable characters and entertaining adventures.”--_Albany Times -Union._ - -“Pauline Bradford Mackie’s new story is one of genuine delight, and -scarcely a better volume could be purchased for girls.”--_Boston -Journal._ - - * * * * * - -Ye Lyttle Salem Maide: A STORY OF WITCHCRAFT. By PAULINE BRADFORD -MACKIE. _New Illustrated Edition._ - -One vol., large 12mo, cloth, gilt top $1.50 - -“The beauty of the story lies in its simplicity and pathos mingled with -the lighter vein of humor.”--_Toledo Blade._ - -“No one can read the story without being profoundly -stirred.”--_Baltimore Herald._ - -“Full of color and fine feeling.”--_Albany Argus._ - - * * * * * - -In Kings’ Houses: A TALE OF THE DAYS OF QUEEN ANNE. By JULIA C. R. -DORR. _New Illustrated Edition._ - -One vol., large 12mo, cloth, gilt top $1.50 - -“We close the book with a wish that the author may write more of the -history of England, which she knows so well.”--_Bookman, New York._ - -“A story with a charm that will hardly be withstood.”--_Kansas City -Times._ - -“A fine, strong story which it is a relief to come upon. Related with -charming simple art.”--_Public Ledger, Philadelphia._ - - * * * * * - -Gulliver’s Bird Book. BEING THE NEWLY DISCOVERED STRANGE ADVENTURES OF -LEMUEL GULLIVER, NOW FOR THE FIRST TIME DESCRIBED AND ILLUSTRATED. By -L. J. BRIDGMAN, author of “Mother Goose and Her Wild Beast Show,” etc. - -With upwards of 100 illustrations in color, large quarto, cloth $1.50 - -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. - - * * * * * - -THE LITTLE COUSIN SERIES - -The most delightful and interesting accounts possible of child-life in -other lands, filled with quaint sayings doings, and adventures. - -Each 1 vol., 12mo, decorative cover, cloth, with six full-page -illustrations in color by L. J. Bridgman. - -Price per volume $0.50 _net_, postpaid $0.56 - -“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.”--_Detroit News-Tribune._ - -_By MARY HAZELTON WADE_ - - Our Little Swiss Cousin. - Our Little Norwegian Cousin. - Our Little Italian Cousin. - Our Little Siamese Cousin. - Our Little Cuban Cousin. - Our Little Hawaiian Cousin. - Our Little Eskimo Cousin. - Our Little Philippine Cousin. - Our Little Porto Rican Cousin. - Our Little African Cousin. - Our Little Japanese Cousin. - Our Little Brown Cousin. - Our Little Indian Cousin. - Our Little Russian Cousin. - -_By ISAAC HEADLAND TAYLOR_ - - Our Little Chinese Cousin. - - * * * * * - -COSY CORNER SERIES - -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. - -The numerous illustrations in each book are by well-known artists, and -each volume has a separate attractive cover design. - -Each, 1 vol., 16mo, cloth $0.50 - - * * * * * - -_By ANNIE FELLOWS JOHNSTON_ - -The Little Colonel. - - 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. - -The Giant Scissors. - - 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.” - -Two Little Knights of Kentucky, WHO WERE THE LITTLE COLONEL’S NEIGHBORS. - - 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.” - -Cicely and Other Stories for Girls. - - 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. - -Aunt ’Liza’s Hero and Other Stories. - - A collection of six bright little stories, which will appeal to - all boys and most girls. - -Big Brother. - - 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. - -Ole Mammy’s Torment. - - “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. - -The Story of Dago. - - 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. - - * * * * * - -_By EDITH ROBINSON_ - -A Little Puritan’s First Christmas. - - 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. - -A Little Daughter of Liberty. - - The author’s motive for this story is well indicated by a - quotation from her introduction, as follows: - - “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.” - -A Loyal Little Maid. - - A delightful and interesting story of Revolutionary days, in - which the child heroine, Betsey Schuyler, renders important - services to George Washington. - -A Little Puritan Rebel. - - 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. - -A Little Puritan Pioneer. - - 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. - -A Little Puritan Bound Girl. - - A story of Boston in Puritan days, which is of great interest - to youthful readers. - - * * * * * - -_By OUIDA (Louise de la Ramée)_ - -A Dog of Flanders: A CHRISTMAS STORY. - - Too well and favorably known to require description. - -The Nürnberg Stove. - - This beautiful story has never before been published at a - popular price. - -A Provence Rose. - - A story perfect in sweetness and in grace. - -Findelkind. - - A charming story about a little Swiss herdsman. - - * * * * * - -_By MISS MULOCK_ - -The Little Lame Prince. - - A delightful story of a little boy who has many adventures by - means of the magic gifts of his fairy godmother. - -Adventures of a Brownie. - - 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. - -His Little Mother. - - 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. - -Little Sunshine’s Holiday. - - An attractive story of a summer outing. “Little Sunshine” is - another of those beautiful child-characters for which Miss - Mulock is so justly famous. - - * * * * * - -_By JULIANA HORATIA EWING_ - -Jackanapes. - - A new edition, with new illustrations, of this exquisite and - touching story, dear alike to young and old. - -Story of a Short Life. - - This beautiful and pathetic story will never grow old. It is a - part of the world’s literature, and will never die. - -A Great Emergency. - - How a family of children prepared for a great emergency, and - how they acted when the emergency came. - -The Trinity Flower. - - In this little volume are collected three of Mrs. Ewing’s best - short stories for the young people. - -Madam Liberality. - - From her cradle up Madam Liberality found her chief delight in - giving. - - * * * * * - -_By FRANCES MARGARET FOX_ - -The Little Giant’s Neighbours. - - A charming nature story of a “little giant” whose neighbours - were the creatures of the field and garden. - -Farmer Brown and the Birds. - - A little story which teaches children that the birds are man’s - best friends. - -Betty of Old Mackinaw. - - A charming story of child-life, appealing especially to the - little readers who like stories of “real people.” - -Mother Nature’s Little Ones. - - Curious little sketches describing the early lifetime, or - “childhood,” of the little creatures out-of-doors. - - * * * * * - -_By WILL ALLEN DROMGOOLE_ - -The Farrier’s Dog and His Fellow. - - 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. - -The Fortunes of the Fellow. - - 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. - - * * * * * - -_By FRANCES HODGES WHITE_ - -Helena’s Wonderworld. - - A delightful tale of the adventures of a little girl in the - mysterious regions beneath the sea. - -Aunt Nabby’s Children. - - 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. - - * * * * * - -_By CHARLES LEE SLEIGHT_ - -The Prince of the Pin Elves. - - A fascinating story of the underground adventures of a sturdy, - reliant American boy among the elves and gnomes. - -The Water People. - - 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. - - * * * * * - -_By OTHER AUTHORS_ - -The Flight of Rosy Dawn. By PAULINE BRADFORD MACKIE. - - The Christmas of little Wong Jan, or “Rosy Dawn,” a young - Celestial of San Francisco, is the theme of this pleasant - little story. - -Susanne. By FRANCES J. DELANO. - - This little story will recall in sweetness and appealing charm - the work of Kate Douglas Wiggin and Laura E. Richards. - -Millicent in Dreamland. By EDNA S. BRAINERD. - - 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. - -Jerry’s Reward. By EVELYN SNEAD BARNETT. - - 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. - -A Bad Penny. By JOHN T. WHEELWRIGHT. - - No boy should omit reading this vivid story of the New England - of 1812. - -Gatty and I. By FRANCES E. CROMPTON. - - The small hero and heroine of this little story are twins, - “strictly brought up.” It is a sweet and wholesome little story. - -Prince Yellowtop. By KATE WHITING PATCH. - - A pretty little fairy tale. - -The Little Christmas Shoe. By JANE P. SCOTT-WOODRUFF. - - A touching story of Yule-tide. - -The Little Professor. By IDA HORTON CASH. - - A quaint tale of a quaint little girl. - -The Seventh Daughter. By GRACE WICKHAM CURRAN. - - One of the best stories for little girls that has been - published for a long time. - -The Making of Zimri Bunker: A TALE OF NANTUCKET. By W. J. LONG, Ph. D. - - This is a charming story of Nantucket folk by a young clergyman - who is already well known through his contributions to the - _Youth’s Companion_, _St. Nicholas_, and other well-known - magazines. The story deals with a sturdy American fisher lad, - during the war of 1812. - -The King of the Golden River: A LEGEND OF STIRIA. By JOHN RUSKIN. - - 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. - -Little Peterkin Vandike. By CHARLES STUART PRATT. - - The author’s dedication furnishes a key to this charming story: - - “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.” - -Rab and His Friends. By Dr. JOHN BROWN. - - Doctor Brown’s little masterpiece is too well known to need - description. The dog Rab is loved by all. - -The Adventures of Beatrice and Jessie. By RICHARD MANSFIELD. - - The story of two little girls who were suddenly transplanted - into the “realms of unreality,” where they met with many - curious and amusing adventures. - -A Child’s Garden of Verses. By R. L. STEVENSON. - - Mr. Stevenson’s little volume is too well known to need - description. It will be heartily welcomed in this new and - attractive edition. - -Little King Davie. By NELLIE HELLIS. - - 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. - -The Sleeping Beauty. A MODERN VERSION. By MARTHA B. DUNN. - - This charming story of a little fishermaid of Maine, - intellectually “asleep” until she meets the “Fairy Prince,” - reminds us of “Ouida” at her best. - -The Young Archer. By CHARLES E. BRIMBLECOM. - - 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. - -The Fairy of the Rhône. By A. COMYNS CARR. - - Here is a fairy story indeed, one of old-fashioned pure - delight. It is most gracefully told, and accompanied by - charming illustrations. - -A Small Small Child. By E. LIVINGSTON PRESCOTT. - - “A Small Small Child” is a moving little tale of sweet - influence, more powerful than threats or punishments, upon a - rowdy of the barracks. - -Peggy’s Trial. By MARY KNIGHT POTTER. - - 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. - -For His Country. By MARSHALL SAUNDERS, author of “Beautiful Joe,” etc. - - 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. - -La Belle Nivernaise. THE STORY OF AN OLD BOAT AND HER CREW. By ALPHONSE -DAUDET. - - 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. - -Wee Dorothy. By LAURA UPDEGRAFF. - - 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. - - - -***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE STORY OF THE GRAVELYS*** - - -******* This file should be named 53675-0.txt or 53675-0.zip ******* - - -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: -http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/5/3/6/7/53675 - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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