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<div>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 53675 ***</div>
<h1>The Project Gutenberg eBook, The Story of the Gravelys, by Marshall
Saunders</h1>
<p>&nbsp;</p>
<p>&nbsp;</p>
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      Note:
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      Images of the original pages are available through
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      https://archive.org/details/storyofgravelyst00saunuoft</a>
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<p>&nbsp;</p>
<hr class="full" />
<p>&nbsp;</p>
<p>&nbsp;</p>
<p>&nbsp;</p>

<p class="center larger">THE STORY OF THE GRAVELYS</p>

<div class="figcenter" style="width: 450px;">
<img src="images/cover.jpg" width="450" height="700" alt="Book cover image" />
</div>

<hr />

<div class="bbox">

<p class="center">Works of<br />
Marshall Saunders</p>

<table summary="List of books and prices">
  <tr>
    <td>Beautiful Joe’s Paradise.</td>
    <td class="tdr">Net $1.20</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td></td>
    <td class="tdr">Postpaid $1.32</td>
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    <td>The Story of the Gravelys.</td>
    <td class="tdr">Net $1.20</td>
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    <td></td>
    <td class="tdr">Postpaid $1.35</td>
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  <tr>
    <td>’Tilda Jane.</td>
    <td class="tdr">$1.50</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td>Rose à Charlitte.</td>
    <td class="tdr">$1.50</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td>For His Country.</td>
    <td class="tdr">$&nbsp;.50</td>
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</table>

<p class="center">L. C. PAGE &amp; COMPANY<br />
New England Building, Boston, Mass.</p>

</div>

<hr />

<div class="figcenter" style="width: 460px;" id="illus1">
<img src="images/illus1.jpg" width="460" height="515" alt="" />
<p class="caption">“BENT THEIR HEADS OVER THE PAPER”</p>
<p class="smaller right">(<i>See <a href="#Page_40">page 40</a></i>)</p>
</div>

<hr />

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1" id="Page_1">[1]</a></span></p>

<div class="bbox-double">

<p class="center larger">THE STORY OF<br />
THE GRAVELYS</p>

<p class="center"><i>A Tale for Girls</i></p>

</div>

<div class="bbox-double">

<p class="center">By<br />
Marshall Saunders</p>

<p class="center">Author of<br />
“Beautiful Joe,” “Beautiful Joe’s Paradise,”<br />
“’Tilda Jane,” etc.</p>

</div>

<div class="bbox-double">

<p class="center smaller">“A child’s needless tear is a blood-blot upon this earth.”</p>

<p class="right smaller">&mdash;<span class="smcap">Cardinal Manning</span></p>

</div>

<div class="bbox-double">

<p class="center"><i>Illustrated</i></p>

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<img src="images/titlepage.jpg" width="100" height="100" alt="Publisher’s mark. Motto: SPE LABOR LEVIS" />
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<div class="bbox-double">

<p class="center">Boston<br />
L. C. Page &amp; Company<br />
1904</p>

</div>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_2" id="Page_2">[2]</a></span></p>

<p class="titlepage smaller"><i>Copyright, 1902, 1903</i><br />
<span class="smcap">By Perry Mason Company</span></p>

<p class="center smaller"><i>Copyright, 1903</i><br />
<span class="smcap">By L. C. Page &amp; Company</span><br />
(INCORPORATED)</p>

<p class="center smaller"><i>All rights reserved</i></p>

<p class="titlepage smaller">Published September, 1903</p>

<p class="titlepage smaller">Colonial Press<br />
Electrotyped and Printed by C. H. Simonds &amp; Co.<br />
Boston, Mass., U. S. A.</p>

<hr />

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[3]</a></span></p>

<p class="center">TO<br />
MY DEAR SISTER<br />
<span class="larger">Grace,</span><br />
MY FAITHFUL HELPER IN LITERARY WORK,<br />
THIS STORY IS AFFECTIONATELY DEDICATED<br />
BY HER APPRECIATIVE SISTER,<br />
<span class="smcap">Marshall Saunders</span></p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[4]</a></span></p>

<hr />

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[5]</a></span></p>

<h2>ACKNOWLEDGMENT</h2>

<p>Certain chapters of this story first appeared in
The <cite>Youth’s Companion</cite>. The author wishes to
acknowledge the courtesy of the editors in permitting
her to republish them in the present volume.</p>

<p>Messrs. L. C. Page and Company wish also to
acknowledge the courtesy of the editors in granting
them permission to use the original illustrations.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[6]</a></span></p>

<hr />

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[7]</a></span></p>

<h2>CONTENTS</h2>

<table summary="Contents">
  <tr>
    <th>CHAPTER</th>
    <th></th>
    <th>PAGE</th>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdr">I.</td>
    <td><span class="smcap">The Quarrel</span></td>
    <td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER_I">11</a></td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdr">II.</td>
    <td><span class="smcap">Grandma’s Watchword</span></td>
    <td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER_II">23</a></td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdr">III.</td>
    <td><span class="smcap">A Sudden Countermarch</span></td>
    <td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER_III">34</a></td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdr">IV.</td>
    <td><span class="smcap">A Lifted Burden</span></td>
    <td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER_IV">43</a></td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdr">V.</td>
    <td><span class="smcap">The Training of a Boy</span></td>
    <td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER_V">54</a></td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdr">VI.</td>
    <td><span class="smcap">Bonny’s Ordeal</span></td>
    <td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER_VI">68</a></td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdr">VII.</td>
    <td><span class="smcap">Berty Imparts Information</span></td>
    <td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER_VII">76</a></td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdr">VIII.</td>
    <td><span class="smcap">The Heart of the Mayor</span></td>
    <td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER_VIII">88</a></td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdr">IX.</td>
    <td><span class="smcap">The Mayor’s Dilemma</span></td>
    <td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER_IX">99</a></td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdr">X.</td>
    <td><span class="smcap">A Groundless Suspicion</span></td>
    <td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER_X">113</a></td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdr">XI.</td>
    <td><span class="smcap">A Proposed Supper-Party</span></td>
    <td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER_XI">130</a></td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdr">XII.</td>
    <td><span class="smcap">A Disturbed Hostess</span></td>
    <td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER_XII">139</a></td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdr">XIII.</td>
    <td><span class="smcap">An Anxious Mind</span></td>
    <td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER_XIII">150</a></td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdr">XIV.</td>
    <td><span class="smcap">The Opening of the Park</span></td>
    <td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER_XIV">162</a></td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdr">XV.</td>
    <td><span class="smcap">Up the River</span></td>
    <td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER_XV">175</a></td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdr">XVI.</td>
    <td><span class="smcap">Berty’s Tramp</span></td>
    <td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER_XVI">188</a></td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdr">XVII.</td>
    <td><span class="smcap">Tom’s Intervention</span></td>
    <td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER_XVII">195</a></td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdr">XVIII.</td>
    <td><span class="smcap">Tramp Philosophy</span></td>
    <td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER_XVIII">204</a></td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdr">XIX.</td>
    <td><span class="smcap">At the Board of Water-Works</span></td>
    <td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER_XIX">217</a></td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdr">XX.</td>
    <td><span class="smcap">Selina’s Wedding</span></td>
    <td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER_XX">229</a></td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdr">XXI.</td>
    <td><span class="smcap">To Strike or Not to Strike</span></td>
    <td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXI">244</a></td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdr">XXII.</td>
    <td><span class="smcap">Discouraged</span></td>
    <td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXII">257</a></td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdr">XXIII.</td>
    <td><span class="smcap">Grandma’s Request</span></td>
    <td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXIII">262</a></td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdr">XXIV.</td>
    <td><span class="smcap">Down the River</span></td>
    <td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXIV">270</a></td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdr">XXV.</td>
    <td><span class="smcap">Last Words</span></td>
    <td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXV">277</a></td>
  </tr>
</table>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[8]</a></span></p>

<hr />

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[9]</a></span></p>

<h2>LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS</h2>

<table summary="List of illustrations">
  <tr>
    <th></th>
    <th>PAGE</th>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td><span class="smcap">“Bent their heads over the paper”</span> (<i>see <a href="#Page_40">page 40</a></i>)</td>
    <td class="tdr"><a href="#illus1"><i>Frontispiece</i></a></td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td><span class="smcap">“Leaning over the stair railing”</span></td>
    <td class="tdr"><a href="#illus2">33</a></td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td><span class="smcap">“‘Why don’t some of you good people try to reform me?’”</span></td>
    <td class="tdr"><a href="#illus3">54</a></td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td><span class="smcap">“‘You have too much heart’”</span></td>
    <td class="tdr"><a href="#illus4">92</a></td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td><span class="smcap">“‘You’re dying to tease me’”</span></td>
    <td class="tdr"><a href="#illus5">177</a></td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td><span class="smcap">“‘A River Street delegation,’ said Tom”</span></td>
    <td class="tdr"><a href="#illus6">235</a></td>
  </tr>
</table>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[10]</a></span></p>

<hr />

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[11]</a></span></p>

<h1>THE STORY OF THE GRAVELYS</h1>

<h2 id="CHAPTER_I">CHAPTER I.<br />
<span class="smaller">THE QUARREL</span></h2>

<p>“I won’t live on my brother-in-law,” said the
slight, dark girl.</p>

<p>“Yes, you will,” said the fair-haired beauty, her
sister, who was standing over her in a somewhat
theatrical attitude.</p>

<p>“I will not,” said Berty again. “You think
because you have just been married you are going
to run the family. I tell you, I will not do it.
I will not live with you.”</p>

<p>“I don’t want to run the family, but I am a
year and a half older than you, and I know what
is for your good better than you do.”</p>

<p>“You do not&mdash;you butterfly!”</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[12]</a></span></p>

<p>“Alberta Mary Francesca Gravely&mdash;you ought
to be ashamed of yourself,” said the beauty, in
concentrated wrath.</p>

<p>“I’m not ashamed of myself,” replied her sister,
scornfully. “I’m ashamed of you. You’re just
as extravagant as you can be. You spend every
cent of your husband’s income, and now you want
to saddle him with a big boy, a girl, and an&mdash;”</p>

<p>“An old lady,” said Margaretta.</p>

<p>“Grandma isn’t old. She’s only sixty-five.”</p>

<p>“Sixty-five is old.”</p>

<p>“It is not.”</p>

<p>“Well, now, can you call her young?” said
Margaretta. “Can you say she is a girl?”</p>

<p>“Yes,” replied Berty, obstinately, “I can call
her a girl, or a duck, or anything I like, and I
can call you a goose.”</p>

<p>“A goose!” repeated Mrs. Stanisfield, chokingly;
“oh, this is too much. I wish my husband were
here.”</p>

<p>“I wish he were,” said Berty, wickedly, “so
he could be sorry he mar&mdash;”</p>

<p>“Children,” said a sudden voice, “what are you
quarrelling about?”</p>

<p>Both girls turned their flushed faces toward the
doorway. A little shrewd old lady stood there.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[13]</a></span>
This was Grandma, one of their bones of contention,
and this particular bone in deep amusement
wanted to laugh, but knew better than to do so.</p>

<p>“Won’t you sit down, Margaretta?” she said,
calmly coming into the room and taking a chair
near Berty, who was lounging provokingly on
the foot of the bed.</p>

<p>It was Grandma’s bed, and they were in Grandma’s
room. She had brought them up&mdash;her two dear
orphan granddaughters, together with their brother
Boniface.</p>

<p>“What are you quarrelling about?” repeated the
little old lady, taking a silk stocking from her
pocket, and beginning to knit in a leisurely way.</p>

<p>“We’re quarrelling about keeping the family together,”
said Margaretta, vehemently, “and I find
that family honour is nothing but a rag in Berty’s
estimation.”</p>

<p>“Well, I’d rather have it a nice clean rag put
out of sight,” said Berty, sharply, “than a great,
big, red flag shaken in everybody’s face.”</p>

<p>“Sit down, Margaretta,” said Grandma, soothingly.</p>

<p>“Oh, I am too angry to sit down,” said Margaretta,
shaking herself slightly. “I got your note<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[14]</a></span>
saying you had lost your money. I came to sympathize
and was met with insults. It’s dreadful!”</p>

<p>“Sit down, dear,” said Grandma, gently, pushing
a rocking-chair toward her.</p>

<p>Margaretta took the chair, and, wiping her white
forehead with a morsel of lace and muslin, glared
angrily at her sister.</p>

<p>“Roger says,” she went on, excitedly, “that
you are all&mdash;”</p>

<p>“All!” groaned Berty.</p>

<p>“All,” repeated Margaretta, furiously, “or one
or two, whichever you like, to come and live with
us. He insists.”</p>

<p>“No, <em>you</em> insist,” interrupted Berty. “He has
too much sense.”</p>

<p>Margaretta gave a low cry. “Isn’t this ingratitude
abominable&mdash;I hear of your misfortune, I
come flying to your relief&mdash;”</p>

<p>“Dear child,” said Grandma, “I knew you’d
come.”</p>

<p>“But what do you make of Berty, Grandma?
Do say something cutting. You could if you tried.
The trouble is, you don’t try.”</p>

<p>Grandma tried not to laugh. She, too, had a tiny
handkerchief that she pressed against her face,
but the merriment would break through.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[15]</a></span></p>

<p>“You laugh,” said Margaretta, in awe, “and
you have just lost every cent you own!”</p>

<p>Grandma recovered herself. “Thank fortune, I
never chained my affections to a house and furniture
and a bank-account.”</p>

<p>“Roger says you are the bravest woman he ever
saw,” murmured Margaretta.</p>

<p>“Did he say that?” replied Grandma, with
twinkling eyes.</p>

<p>“Yes, yes, dear Grandma,” said Margaretta,
fondly, “and he told me to offer you all a home
with us.”</p>

<p>The little old lady smiled again, and this time
there was a dimple in her cheek. “What a dear
grandson-in-law! What a good man!”</p>

<p>“He is just perfection,” said Margaretta, enthusiastically,
“but, Grandma, darling, tell me your
plans! I am just dying to know, and Berty has
been so provoking.”</p>

<p>“Berty is the mainstay of the family now,” said
Grandma, good-naturedly; “don’t abuse her.”</p>

<p>“The mainstay!” repeated Margaretta, with a
bewildered air; “oh, yes, I see. You mean that
the little annuity left her by our great-aunt, your
sister, is all that you have to depend on.”</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[16]</a></span></p>

<p>“Just those few hundred dollars,” said Grandma,
tranquilly, “and a little more.”</p>

<p>“That is why she is so toploftical,” said Margaretta.
“However, it is well that she was named
for great-aunt Alberta&mdash;but, Grandma, dear, don’t
knit.”</p>

<p>“Why not?”</p>

<p>“It is so prosaic, after all you have gone through,”
said Margaretta. “When I think of your trials,
it makes me sick.”</p>

<p>“My trials are nothing to what Job had,” remarked
her grandmother. “I read of his tribulations
and they make mine seem very insignificant.”</p>

<p>“Poor Grandma, you have had about as many
as Job.”</p>

<p>“What have I had?” asked the old lady, softly.</p>

<p>Margaretta made a gesture of despair. “Your
mother died at your birth.”</p>

<p>“The Lord took her,” said the old lady, gently,
“and when I needed a mother he sent me a good
stepmother.”</p>

<p>“Your father perished in a burning hotel,” said
the girl, in a low voice.</p>

<p>“And went to heaven in a chariot of fire,” replied
Grandma, firmly.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[17]</a></span></p>

<p>“You married and were happy with your husband.”</p>

<p>“Yes, bless the Lord!”</p>

<p>“But your daughter, our mother, kissed you good-bye
one day to go on a pleasure excursion with her
husband, and never came back&mdash;oh, it breaks my
heart to think of that day&mdash;my father and mother
lost, both at once!” and, dropping miserably on
her knees, Margaretta hid her face in her grandmother’s
lap.</p>

<p>The old lady’s lip trembled, but she said, steadily,
“The Lord giveth&mdash;He also taketh away.”</p>

<p>“And now,” said Margaretta, falteringly, “you
are not old, but you have come to an age when you
are beginning to think about getting old, and you
have lost everything&mdash;everything.”</p>

<p>“All save the greatest thing in the world,” said
Grandma, patting the bowed head.</p>

<p>“You always had that,” exclaimed Margaretta,
lifting her tear-stained face. “Everybody has loved
you since you were born&mdash;how could any one help
it?”</p>

<p>“If everybody loves me, why is it?” inquired
Grandma, guilelessly, as she again took up her knitting.</p>

<p>Margaretta wrinkled her fair brows. “I don’t<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[18]</a></span>
know&mdash;I guess it is because you don’t talk much,
and you seem to like every one, and you don’t
contradict. You’re exceedingly canny, Grandma.”</p>

<p>“Canny, child?”</p>

<p>“Yes, canny. I don’t know what the Scottish
people mean by it, but I mean clever, and shrewd,
and smart, and quiet, and you keep out of scrapes.
Now, when I’m with that provoking creature there,”
and she looked disdainfully at Berty, “I feel as
if I were a fifty-cornered sort of person. <em>You</em>
make me feel as if I were round, and smooth, and
easy to get on with.”</p>

<p>Grandma picked up a dropped stitch and said
nothing.</p>

<p>“If you’d talk more, I’d like it better,” said
Margaretta, dolefully, “but I dare say I should
not get on so well with you.”</p>

<p>“Women do talk too much,” said Grandma,
shortly; “we thresh everything out with our
tongues.”</p>

<p>“Grandma, dear, what are you going to do?”
asked Margaretta, coaxingly. “Do tell me.”</p>

<p>“Keep the family together,” said Grandma, serenely.</p>

<p>“The old cry,” exclaimed Margaretta. “I’ve<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[19]</a></span>
heard that ever since I was born. What makes
you say it so much?”</p>

<p>“Shall I tell you?”</p>

<p>“Yes, yes&mdash;it is a regular watchword with you.”</p>

<p>“When my father found himself trapped in that
burning building,” said Grandma, knitting a little
more rapidly than before, “he looked down from
his window into the street and saw a man that
he knew. ‘Jefferson,’ he called out, ‘will you
take a message to my wife?’</p>

<p>“‘I’ll take fifty, sir,’ answered the man, in an
agony.</p>

<p>“My father was quite calm. ‘Then, Jefferson,’
he went on, ‘tell my wife that I said “God bless
her,” with my last breath, and that I want her
to keep the family together. Mind, Jefferson, she
is to keep the family together.’</p>

<p>“‘I’ll tell her,’ said the man, and, groaning and
dazed with the heat, he turned away. Now, that
wife was my stepmother, but she did as her husband
bade her. She kept the family together, in sickness
and in health, in adversity and in prosperity.”</p>

<p>Margaretta was crying nervously.</p>

<p>“If you will compose yourself, I will go on,”
said Grandma.</p>

<p>Margaretta dried her tears.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[20]</a></span></p>

<p>“Those four dying, living words were branded
on my memory, and your mother was taught to
lisp them with her earliest breath, though she was
an only child. When she left me that sunny spring
day to go on her long, last journey, she may have
had a presentiment&mdash;I do not know&mdash;but I do
know that as she pressed her blooming face to mine,
she glanced at her three children playing on the
grass, and whispered, lovingly, ‘Keep the family
together.’”</p>

<p>“And you did it,” cried Margaretta, flinging up
her head, “you did it nobly. You have been father,
mother, grandfather and grandmother to us. You
are a darling.” And seizing the little, nimble hands
busy with the stocking, she kissed them fervently.</p>

<p>Grandma smiled at her, picked up her work, and
went on, briskly: “Keep the family together, and
you keep the clan together. Keep the clan together,
and you keep the nation together. Foster national
love and national pride, and you increase the brotherhood
of man.”</p>

<p>“Then the family is the rock on which the nation
is built,” said Margaretta, her beautiful face a flood
of colour.</p>

<p>“Certainly.”</p>

<p>“Then I am a helping stone in the building of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[21]</a></span>
a nation,” continued Margaretta. “I, only a young
woman in a small city of this great Union?”</p>

<p>“You are a wife,” said Grandma, composedly,
“a young and inexperienced one, but still the head
of a family.”</p>

<p>Margaretta shivered. “What a responsibility&mdash;what
kind of a wife am I?”</p>

<p>Grandma maintained a discreet silence.</p>

<p>“Berty says I am extravagant,” exclaimed Margaretta,
with a gesture toward the bed.</p>

<p>Again her grandmother said nothing.</p>

<p>“Am I, Grandma, darling, am I?” asked the
young woman, in a wheedling voice.</p>

<p>Grandma’s lips trembled, and her dimple displayed
itself again.</p>

<p>“I am,” cried Margaretta, springing up and
clasping her hands despairingly. “I spend all
Roger gives me. We have no fortune back of us,
only his excellent income from the iron works. If
that were to fail, we should be ruined. I am a
careless, poorly-turned stone in the foundation of
this mighty nation. I must shape and strengthen
myself, and, Grandma, dear, let me begin by helping
you and Berty and Bonny. You will have to
give up this house&mdash;oh, my darling Grandma,
how can you&mdash;this handsome house that grandfather<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[22]</a></span>
built for you? What will you do without
your velvet carpets, and lace curtains, and palms
and roses? Oh, you will come to me! I shall save
enough to keep you, and I shall lose my reason
if you don’t.”</p>

<hr />

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[23]</a></span></p>

<h2 id="CHAPTER_II">CHAPTER II.<br />
<span class="smaller">GRANDMA’S WATCHWORD</span></h2>

<p>“See here,” said Grandma, feeling in her pocket.
“Look at these telegrams.”</p>

<p>Margaretta hastily ran her eye over them. “I
don’t understand.”</p>

<p>“Let me explain,” said Grandma, softly.
“Brother John sends regrets for loss&mdash;will guarantee
so many hundreds a year. Brother Henry
sympathizes deeply to the extent of a tenth of his
income. Sister Mary and Sister Lucy will come
to see me as soon as possible. Substantial financial
aid to be reckoned on.”</p>

<p>“Oh, Grandma! Grandma!” said the girl, still
only half-enlightened. “What do they mean?”</p>

<p>Grandma smiled complacently. “You notice that
not one of them offers me a home, though, Heaven
knows, their homes are as wide as their hearts.
They are not rich, not one is exceedingly rich, yet
they all offer me a good part of their respective<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[24]</a></span>
incomes. That is the outcome of ‘Keep the family
together.’”</p>

<p>“Oh! oh! oh!” exclaimed Margaretta. “They
know how you love us. They want you to keep
up a home for us. They will support you.”</p>

<p>“Exactly,” said Grandma.</p>

<p>“And will you take all that money?”</p>

<p>“No, child, not all; some of it, though. I have
helped them. I will do it again, if I can.”</p>

<p>“Isn’t that lovely!” cried Margaretta. “It is
almost worth while being unfortunate to call out
such goodness as that. Now, Grandma, dear, let
us talk seriously. You will have to give up this
house.”</p>

<p>“It is given up. My lawyer was here this morning.”</p>

<p>“Roger is coming this evening to see you&mdash;will
you sell all the furniture?”</p>

<p>“I shall have to.”</p>

<p>“Oh, dear! Well, you won’t need it with us.”</p>

<p>“We cannot go to you, Margaretta,” said
Grandma, quietly.</p>

<p>“Oh, why not?”</p>

<p>“It would be too great a burden on Roger.”</p>

<p>“Only three persons, Grandma.”</p>

<p>“Roger is a young man. He has lately started<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[25]</a></span>
housekeeping and family life. Let him work out
his plans along his own lines. It will be better
not to join households unless necessary.”</p>

<p>“He just loves you, Grandma.”</p>

<p>“And I reciprocate, but I think it better not to
amalgamate my quicksilver Berty with another
stronger metal just now.”</p>

<p>“Where is she?” asked Margaretta, turning her
head.</p>

<p>“She slipped out some time ago.”</p>

<p>“Roger gets on well with her, Grandma.”</p>

<p>“I know he does. By stronger metal, I meant
you. Being the elder, you have rather absorbed
Berty. She will develop more quickly alone.”</p>

<p>“Do you want to board?”</p>

<p>“There are two kinds of life in America,” said
Grandma, “boarding-house life and home-life.
Boarding-house life vulgarizes, home life ennobles.
As long as God gives me breath, I’ll keep house,
if I have only three rooms to do it in.”</p>

<p>“But, Grandma, dear, you will have so little
to keep house on. Wouldn’t it be better to go to
some first-class boarding-house with just a few
nice people?”</p>

<p>“Who might be my dearest foes,” said Grandma,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[26]</a></span>
tranquilly. “I’ve rubbed shoulders with such people
in hotels before now.”</p>

<p>“Grandma, you haven’t any enemies.”</p>

<p>“Anybody that is worth anything has enemies.”</p>

<p>“Well,” said Margaretta, with a sigh, “what
are you going to do? You can’t afford to keep
house in such style as this. You won’t want to
go into a poor neighbourhood.”</p>

<p>“Give me a house and I’ll make the neighbourhood,”
said Grandma, decidedly.</p>

<p>“You have already decided on one?” said her
granddaughter, suspiciously.</p>

<p>Grandma smiled. “Not altogether decided.”</p>

<p>“I don’t like your tone,” exclaimed Margaretta.
“You have something dreadful to tell me.”</p>

<p>“Berty was out this morning and found a large,
old-fashioned house with big open fireplaces. From
it we would have a fine view of the river.”</p>

<p>“Tell me where it is,” said Margaretta, brokenly.</p>

<p>“It is where the first people of the town used to
live when I was a girl.”</p>

<p>“It isn’t down by the fish-market&mdash;oh, don’t
tell me that!”</p>

<p>“Just a block away from it, dear.”</p>

<p>Mrs. Roger Stanisfield gave a subdued shriek.
“This is Berty’s doing.”</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[27]</a></span></p>

<p>Her grandmother laid down her knitting. “Margaretta,
imagine Berty in a fashionable boarding-house&mdash;in
two rooms, for we could not afford to
take more. Imagine the boarding-house keeper
when Berty would come in trailing a lame dog
or sick cat? The Lord has given me grace to put
up with these things, and even to sympathize and
admire, but I have had a large house and several
servants.”</p>

<p>“But some boarding-house people are agreeable,”
moaned Margaretta.</p>

<p>“Agreeable!&mdash;they are martyrs, but I am not
going to help martyrize them.”</p>

<p>“I quarrel with Berty,” murmured Margaretta,
“but I always make up with her. She is my own
dear sister.”</p>

<p>“Keep the family together,” said Grandma,
shrewdly, “and in order to keep it together let it
sometimes drift apart.”</p>

<p>“Grandma, you speak in riddles.”</p>

<p>“Margaretta, you are too direct. I want Berty
to stand alone for awhile. She has as much character
as you.”</p>

<p>“She has more,” sighed Margaretta. “She won’t
mind a word I say&mdash;she looks just like you,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[28]</a></span>
Grandma, dear. You like her better than you do
me.”</p>

<p>“Perhaps I do,” said the old lady, calmly. “Perhaps
she needs it.”</p>

<p>“And you are going to let her drag you down
to that awful neighbourhood.”</p>

<p>“It isn’t awful&mdash;a dose of River Street will be
a fitting antidote to a somewhat enervating existence
here on Grand Avenue.”</p>

<p>“You want to make a philanthropist or a city
missionary of my poor sister.”</p>

<p>“She might do worse,” said Grandma, coolly.</p>

<p>“But she won’t be one,” said Margaretta, desperately.
“She is too self-centred. She is taken
with the large house and the good view. She will
be disgusted with the dirty people.”</p>

<p>“We shall see,” said Grandma, calmly.</p>

<p>“You will only take the house for a short time,
of course.”</p>

<p>“I shall probably stay there until eternity claims
me.”</p>

<p>“Grandma!”</p>

<p>“One little old woman in this big republic will
not encourage home faithlessness,” said Grandma,
firmly.</p>

<p>“Dearest of grandmothers, what do you mean?”</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[29]</a></span></p>

<p>“How the old homes must suffer,” said
Grandma, musingly. “Families are being reared
within their walls, then suddenly the mother takes
a caprice&mdash;we must move.”</p>

<p>“But all houses are not equally convenient.”</p>

<p>“Make them so,” said the little lady, emphatically.
“Have some affection for your roof-tree, your
hearthstone. Have one home, not a dozen. Let
your children pin their memories to one place.”</p>

<p>Margaretta fell into silence, and sat for a long
time watching in fascination the quick, active fingers
manipulating the silk stocking.</p>

<p>“You are a wonderful woman,” she said, at
last.</p>

<p>“Do you really think so?”</p>

<p>“Oh, yes, yes,” said Margaretta, enthusiastically.
“You let people find out things for themselves.
Now I don’t believe in your heart of hearts you
want to go to River Street.”</p>

<p>For the first time a shade of sadness came over
the face of the older woman. “Set not your affections
on earthly things,” she said, “and yet I love
my home&mdash;&mdash; However, it is all right, Margaretta.
If the Lord sends me to River Street, I can go.
If He tells me to love River Street, I shall make
a point of doing so. If I feel that River Street<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[30]</a></span>
discipline is not necessary for me at my time of life,
I shall console myself with the thought that it is
necessary for Berty.”</p>

<p>“Once,” said Margaretta, keenly, “there was a
young girl who teased her grandmother to take her
to Paris in the dead of winter. The grandmother
didn’t want to go, but she went, and when the girl
found herself shut up below on a plunging steamer
that was trying to weather a cyclonic gale, she said,
‘Grandma, I’ll never overpersuade you again.’”</p>

<p>“And did she keep her promise?” asked Grandma,
meaningly.</p>

<p>Margaretta sprang to her feet, laughing nervously.
“Dearest,” she said, “go to River Street,
take your house. I’ll help you to the best of my
ability. I see in advance what you are doing it for.
Not only Berty, but the whole family will be benefited.
You think we have been too prosperous, too
self-satisfied&mdash;now, don’t you?”</p>

<p>Grandma smiled mischievously. “Well, child,
since you ask me, I must say that since your marriage
I don’t see in you much passion for the good
of others. Roger spoils you,” she added, apologetically.</p>

<p>“I will be better,” said the beautiful girl, “and,
Grandma, why haven’t you talked more to me&mdash;preached<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[31]</a></span>
more. I don’t remember any sermons,
except ‘Keep the family together.’”</p>

<p>“It was all there, only the time hadn’t come
for you to see it. You know how it is in this
new invention of wireless telegraphy&mdash;a receiver
must be tuned to the same pitch as that of the transmitter,
or a message cannot pass between.”</p>

<p>A brilliant expression burst like a flood of sunlight
over the girl’s face. “I’m tuned,” she said,
gaily. “I’m getting older and have more sense.
I can take the message, and even pass it on. Good-bye,
best of Grandmas. I’m going to make my peace
with Berty.”</p>

<p>“Keep the family together,” said Grandma, demurely.</p>

<p>“Berty, Berty, where are you?” cried Margaretta,
whisking her draperies out into the hall and down-stairs.
“I am such a sinner. I was abominably
sharp with you.”</p>

<p>“Hush,” said Berty, suddenly.</p>

<p>She had come into the hall below and was standing
holding something in her hand.</p>

<p>“What is it?” asked Margaretta. “Oh!” and
she gave a little scream, “a mouse!”</p>

<p>“He is dead,” said Berty, quickly, “nothing<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[32]</a></span>
matters to him now. Poor little thing, how he
suffered. He was caught in a cruel trap.”</p>

<p>Margaretta gazed scrutinizingly at her. “You
have a good heart, Berty. I’m sorry I quarrelled
with you.”</p>

<p>“I forgot all about it,” said Berty, simply, “but
I don’t like to quarrel with you, Margaretta. It
usually gives me a bad feeling inside me.”</p>

<p>“You want to go to River Street?” said Margaretta,
abruptly.</p>

<p>“Oh, yes, we shall be so near the river. I am
going to keep my boat and canoe. The launch will
have to go.”</p>

<p>Margaretta suppressed a smile. “How about
the neighbourhood?”</p>

<p>“Don’t like it, but we shall keep to ourselves.”</p>

<p>“And keep the family together,” said Margaretta.</p>

<p>“Yes,” said Berty, soberly. “Trust Grandma
to do that. I wish you and Roger could live with
us.”</p>

<p>“Bless your heart,” said Margaretta, affectionately
throwing an arm around her.</p>

<div class="figcenter" style="width: 460px;" id="illus2">
<img src="images/illus2.jpg" width="460" height="650" alt="" />
<p class="caption">“LEANING OVER THE STAIR RAILING”</p>
</div>

<p>“But you’ll come to see us often?” said Berty,
anxiously.</p>

<p>“Every day; and, Berty, I prophesy peace and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[33]</a></span>
prosperity to you and Grandma&mdash;and now good-bye,
I’m going home to save.”</p>

<p>“To save?”</p>

<p>“Yes, to save money&mdash;to keep my family together,”
and holding her head well in the air, Margaretta
tripped through the long, cool hall out into
the sunlight.</p>

<p>“Thank God they have made up their quarrel,”
said Grandma, who was leaning over the stair railing.
“Nothing conquers a united family! And
now will Margaretta have the strength of mind to
keep to her new resolution?”</p>

<hr />

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[34]</a></span></p>

<h2 id="CHAPTER_III">CHAPTER III.<br />
<span class="smaller">A SUDDEN COUNTERMARCH</span></h2>

<p>Roger Stanisfield was plodding wearily along
the avenue. He was not aware what an exquisite
summer evening it was. He carried his own
troubled atmosphere with him.</p>

<p>Slowly going up the broad flight of steps leading
to his house, he drew out his latch-key. As
he unlocked the door, a bevy of girls came trooping
through the hall&mdash;some of his wife’s friends. His
face cleared as he took off his hat and stood aside
for them to pass.</p>

<p>For a minute the air was gay with merry parting,
then the girls were gone, and he went slowly up
to his room.</p>

<p>“Mrs. Stanisfield is in the dining-room, sir,”
said a servant, addressing him a few minutes later,
as he stood in the hall with an air of great abstraction.
“Dinner has just been served.”</p>

<p>“Oh, Roger,” said his wife, as he entered the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[35]</a></span>
room where she sat at the table, “I didn’t know
you’d come! You told me not to wait for you. I
shall be glad when you take up your old habit of
coming home in the middle of the afternoon.”</p>

<p>“I am very busy now,” he muttered, as he took
his place.</p>

<p>“Does your head ache?” inquired Margaretta,
when several courses had been passed through in
silence on his part.</p>

<p>“Yes, it is splitting.”</p>

<p>Young Mrs. Stanisfield bent her fair head over
her plate, and discreetly made only an occasional
remark until the pudding was removed, and the
table-maid had withdrawn from the room. Then
she surreptitiously examined her husband’s face.</p>

<p>He was thoughtfully surveying the fruit on the
table.</p>

<p>“Margaretta,” he said, boyishly, “I don’t care
much for puddings and pastry.”</p>

<p>“Neither do I,” she said, demurely.</p>

<p>“I was wondering,” he said, hesitatingly,
“whether we couldn’t do without puddings for
awhile and just have nuts and raisins, or fruit&mdash;What
are you laughing at?”</p>

<p>“At your new rôle of housekeeper. You usually
don’t seem to know what is on the table.”</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[36]</a></span></p>

<p>“I have a good appetite.”</p>

<p>“Yes, but you don’t criticize. You just eat what
is set before you. I am sure it has escaped
your masculine observation that for several weeks
past we have had only one dish in the pastry course.”</p>

<p>“Well, what of it?”</p>

<p>“Why, we always used to have two or three&mdash;pudding,
pie, and jelly or creams. Now we never
have pudding and pie at the same time.”</p>

<p>“What is that for?” he asked.</p>

<p>“Oh, for something,” she said, quietly. “Now
tell me what has gone wrong with you.”</p>

<p>“Nothing has gone wrong with me,” he said,
irritably.</p>

<p>“With your business then.”</p>

<p>He did not reply, and, rising, she said, “This
sitting at table is tiresome when one eats nothing.
Let us go to the drawing-room and have coffee.”</p>

<p>“I don’t want coffee,” he said, sauntering after
her.</p>

<p>“Neither do I,” she replied. “Shall we go out
in the garden? It was delightfully cool there before
dinner.”</p>

<p>“What a crowd of women you had here,” he
said, a little peevishly, as he followed her.</p>

<p>“Hadn’t I?” and she smiled. “They had all<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[37]</a></span>
been at a garden-party at the Everests, and as I
wasn’t there they came to find out the reason.”</p>

<p>“You don’t mean to say you missed a social
function?” said her husband, sarcastically.</p>

<p>“Yes, dear boy, I did, and I have before, and I
am going to again.”</p>

<p>Mr. Stanisfield laughed shortly. “You sound like
your sister Berty.”</p>

<p>“Well, I should love to be like her. She is a
dear little sister.”</p>

<p>“But not as dear as her sister.”</p>

<p>“Thank you,” said Margaretta, prettily, turning
and curtseying to him, as he followed her along the
garden paths. “Now, here we are among the roses.
Just drag out those two chairs from the arbour, or
will you get into the hammock?”</p>

<p>“I’ll take the hammock,” he said, wearily. “I
feel as if I were falling to pieces.”</p>

<p>“Let me arrange some cushions under your head
so&mdash;this cool breeze will soon drive the business
fog from your brain.”</p>

<p>“No, it won’t&mdash;the fog is too heavy.”</p>

<p>“What kind of a fog is it?” asked Margaretta,
cautiously.</p>

<p>Her husband sat up in the hammock, and stared
at her with feverish eyes. “Margaretta, I think<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[38]</a></span>
we had better give up this house and take a smaller
one.”</p>

<p>“I knew it,” said Margaretta, triumphantly. “I
knew you were worried about your affairs!”</p>

<p>“Then you won’t feel so surprised,” he said,
“when I tell you that we can’t stand this pace.
We’ve had some heavy losses down at the iron works
lately&mdash;mind you don’t say anything about it.”</p>

<p>“Indeed I won’t,” she replied, proudly.</p>

<p>“Father and I finished going over the books to-day
with Mackintosh. We’ve got to put on the
brakes. I&mdash;I hate to tell you,” and he averted
his face. “You are so young.”</p>

<p>Margaretta did not reply to him, and, eager to
see her face, he presently turned his own.</p>

<p>The sun had set, but she was radiant in a kind
of afterglow.</p>

<p>“Margaretta, you don’t understand,” he faltered.
“It will be a tremendous struggle for you to give
up luxuries to which you have been accustomed,
but we’ve either got to come down to bare poles
here, or move to a smaller house.”</p>

<p>“What a misfortune!” she said.</p>

<p>His face fell.</p>

<p>“For you to have a headache about this matter,”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[39]</a></span>
she went on, gleefully. “I don’t call it a small one,
for it isn’t, but if you knew everything!”</p>

<p>“I know enough to make me feel like a cheat,”
he blurted, wriggling about in the hammock.
“I took you from a good home. I never wanted
you to feel an anxiety, and now the first thing I’ve
got to put you down to rigid economy. You see,
father and I have to spend a certain amount on the
business, or we’d be out of it in the war of competition,
and we’ve both decided that expenses must
be curtailed in our homes rather than in the iron
works.”</p>

<p>“That shows you are good business men,” said
Margaretta, promptly. “You are as good business
men as husbands.”</p>

<p>“Margaretta,” said her husband, “you puzzle
me. I expected a scene, and upon my word you
look happy over it&mdash;but you don’t realize it, poor
child!”</p>

<p>Margaretta smiled silently at him for a few
seconds, then she said, roguishly, “I am going to
give you a little surprise. You didn’t see me snatch
this sheet of paper from my new cabinet when we
left the house?”</p>

<p>“No, I did not.”</p>

<p>“Oh, what a nice little paper! What a precious<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[40]</a></span>
little paper!” said Margaretta, gaily, clasping it.
“Can you see what is written on it, Roger? No,
you can’t very well in this light.”</p>

<p>“Yes, I can,” said the young man, with a weary,
amused smile. “Give it to me.”</p>

<p>She drew her seat closer to the hammock, and
both bent their heads over the paper.</p>

<p>“Animus saved by Mrs. Roger Stanisfield during
the month of July,” read Roger, stumblingly&mdash;“to
be poured on my head, I suppose.”</p>

<p>“No, no, not animus&mdash;amounts.”</p>

<p>“Oh, I see, you want to comfort me by showing
what an economist you are. I dare say you have
saved five whole dollars through the month. What
is the first item? Saved on new dress, one hundred
dollars. Good gracious&mdash;how much did the dress
cost?”</p>

<p>“I didn’t get it,” she replied, with immense satisfaction.
“I needed one, or thought I did, and
Madame Bouvard, that French dressmaker from
New York, who came here last year, said she would
make me one for one hundred dollars. Now some
time ago, just after dear Grandma lost her money,
she gave me a great shock.”</p>

<p>“Grandma did?” asked her husband, in surprise.</p>

<p>“No, she didn’t, she made me give it to myself.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[41]</a></span>
That is Grandma’s way, you know. She doesn’t
preach. Well, after this electric shock I was horrified
to find out that I was a frivolous, extravagant
person. I began to think hard, then I got this little
piece of paper&mdash;and, oh, Roger, won’t you get me
a regular business book, and make red lines down
the sides, and show me how to keep proper accounts?”</p>

<p>“I will, but what about the dress?”</p>

<p>“I had ordered it, but I went to Madame Bouvard.
I said, frankly, ‘I can’t pay as much as a hundred
dollars for a gown.’</p>

<p>“‘You shall have it for eighty,’ she said.</p>

<p>“I said, ‘Please let me off altogether. I want
to save a little on my outfit this summer, but I
promise to come to you the first time I want a
gown.’</p>

<p>“As soon as I said it I bit my lip. ‘Oh, Madame
Bouvard,’ I said, ‘you are the most satisfactory
dressmaker I have ever had, but I don’t know
whether I can afford to come to you again.’</p>

<p>“She is just a plain little woman, but when she
saw how badly I felt, her face lighted up like an
angel’s. ‘Madame,’ she said, ‘do not take your
custom from me. You have been the best lady I
have worked for in Riverport. Why, my girls say<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[42]</a></span>
when your fair head passes the glass door of the
workroom that it casts a ray of sunshine in upon
them’&mdash;just think of that, Roger,&mdash;a ray of sunshine.
I was quite pleased.”</p>

<hr />

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[43]</a></span></p>

<h2 id="CHAPTER_IV">CHAPTER IV.<br />
<span class="smaller">A LIFTED BURDEN</span></h2>

<p>He laid a hand on the fair head, then hastily bent
over the paper.</p>

<p>“I was pleased, Roger, because I didn’t know
that dressmakers or their sewing-girls ever cared
for the people they work for; and what do you
think she went on to say?&mdash;‘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’&mdash;wasn’t
that sweet in her, Roger? I just caught
her hand and squeezed it, and then she laid a finger
on her lips&mdash;‘Not a word of this to any one,
madame.’ I sent her a basket of flowers the next
day.”</p>

<p>“You are a good child,” said her husband, huskily.</p>

<p>“Now go on to the next item,” said Margaretta,
jubilantly.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[44]</a></span></p>

<p>“‘Butter, twenty dollars’&mdash;what in the name
of common sense does that mean?”</p>

<p>“Queer, isn’t it?” laughed Margaretta. “I’ll go
back to the beginning and explain. You know,
Roger, I am not such a terribly strong person, and
I do love to lie in bed in the morning. It is so
delicious when you know you ought to get up, to
roll yourself in the soft clothes and have another
nap! You remember that I had got into a great
way of having my breakfast in bed. Well, madam
in bed meant carelessness in the kitchen. We have
honest servants, Roger, but they are heedless. After
my shock from Grandma about economy, I said, ‘I
will reform. I will watch the cents, and the cents
will watch the dollars.’</p>

<p>“Now, to catch the first stray cent, it was necessary
to get up early. I just hated to do it, but I
made myself. I sprang out of bed in the morning,
had my cold plunge, and was down before you, and
it was far more interesting to have company for
breakfast than to have no one, wasn’t it?”</p>

<p>“Well, rather.”</p>

<p>“You good boy. You never complained. Well,
cook was immensely surprised to have a call from
me before breakfast. One morning I found her
making pastry, and putting the most delicious-looking<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[45]</a></span>
yellow butter in it. ‘Why, that’s our table
butter,’ I said, ‘isn’t it, that comes from Cloverdale,
and costs a ridiculous amount?’</p>

<p>“She said it was.</p>

<p>“‘Why don’t you use cooking-butter, Jane?’
I asked; ‘it’s just as good, isn’t it?’</p>

<p>“‘Well, ma’am, there’s nothing impure about it,’
she said, ‘but I know you like everything of the
best, so I put this in.’</p>

<p>“‘Jane,’ I said, ‘never do it again. I’m going
to economize, and I want you to help me. If you
can’t, I must send you away and get some one else.’</p>

<p>“She laughed&mdash;you know what a fat, good-natured
creature she is&mdash;and seemed to think it
a kind of joke that I should want to economize.</p>

<p>“‘Jane,’ I said, ‘I’m in earnest.’</p>

<p>“Then she sobered down. ‘Truth, and I’ll help
you, ma’am, if you really want me to. There’s lots
of ways I can save for you, but I thought you didn’t
care. You always seem so open-handed.’</p>

<p>“‘Well, Jane,’ I said, ‘I don’t want to be mean,
and I don’t want adulterated food, but my husband
and I are young, and we want to save something
for old age. Now you’ll help us, won’t you?’</p>

<p>“‘Honour bright, I will, ma’am,’ she said, and
I believed her. I can’t stay in the kitchen and watch<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[46]</a></span>
her, but she watches herself, and just read that
list of groceries and see what else she has saved.”</p>

<p>“How have you found out the exact list of your
economies?” asked Roger, curiously.</p>

<p>“By comparing my bills of this month with those
of the month before. For instance, sugar was so
many dollars in June; in July it is so many dollars
less. Of course, we must take into account that
we have been entertaining less. Have you noticed
it?”</p>

<p>“Yes, but I thought it only a passing whim.”</p>

<p>“Some whims don’t pass, they stay,” said Margaretta,
shaking her head. “Go on, Roger.”</p>

<p>“One hundred and fifty dollars saved in not
entertaining Miss Gregory&mdash;pray who is Miss
Gregory?”</p>

<p>“That society belle from Newport who has been
staying with the Darley-Jameses.”</p>

<p>“How does she come into your expenditures?”</p>

<p>“She doesn’t come in,” said Margaretta, with satisfaction.
“I haven’t done a thing for her beyond
being polite and talking to her whenever I get a
chance, and, oh, yes&mdash;I did give her a drive.”</p>

<p>“Well, but&mdash;”</p>

<p>“Let me explain. If I hadn’t been taken with a
fit of economy, I would, in the natural order of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[47]</a></span>
things, have made a dinner for Miss Gregory. I
would have had a picnic, and perhaps a big evening
party. Think what it would have cost&mdash;you remember
Mrs. Handfell?”</p>

<p>Her husband made a face.</p>

<p>“You never liked her, and I did wrong to have
her here so much. Well, Roger, do you know I
spent a large sum of money in entertaining that
woman? I am ashamed to tell you how much. I
had her here, morning, noon, and night. I took her
up the river&mdash;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&mdash;so glad to see you. Be sure to call
while you are here. My day is Friday.’ Then she
swept away. That was a society woman who had
graciously allowed me to amuse her during her
summer trip to Maine. I was so hurt about it that
I never told you.”</p>

<p>“What an empty head,” said Roger, picking up
the list.</p>

<p>“It taught me a lesson,” continued his wife.
“Now go on&mdash;do read the other things.”</p>

<p>His eyes had run down to the total. “Whew,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[48]</a></span>
Margaretta!&mdash;you don’t mean to say you have
saved all this in a month?”</p>

<p>“Yes, I do.”</p>

<p>“I haven’t felt any tightening in your household
arrangements. Why, at what a rate were we living?”</p>

<p>“At a careless rate,” said Margaretta, seriously,
“a careless, slipshod rate. I bought everything I
wanted. Flowers, in spite of our greenhouse, fruit
and vegetables out of season, in spite of our garden,
but now I look in the shop windows and say
with a person I was reading about the other day,
‘Why, how many things there are I can do without,’&mdash;and
with all my economy I have yet managed
to squeeze out something for Grandma. I
just made her take it.”</p>

<p>Roger’s face flushed. “Margaretta, if you will
keep this thing going, we won’t have to give up
this house.”</p>

<p>“I’ll keep it going,” said Margaretta, solemnly,
“you shall not leave this house. It would be a
blow to your honest pride.”</p>

<p>The young man was deeply moved, and, lifting
his face to the pale, rising young moon, he murmured,
“Thank God for a good wife.” Then he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[49]</a></span>
turned to her. “I wish some other men starting
out in life had such a helper as you.”</p>

<p>“Oh, wish them a better one,” said Margaretta,
humbly; “but I know what you mean, Roger. A
man cannot succeed unless his wife helps him.”</p>

<p>“Sometimes it makes me furious,” said Roger,
warmly. “I see fellows down-town, young fellows,
too, working early and late, straining every nerve
to keep up the extravagance of some thoughtless
young wife. Why don’t the women think? Men
hate to complain.”</p>

<p>Margaretta hung her head. Then she lifted it,
and said, apologetically, “Perhaps they haven’t had
wise grandmothers.”</p>

<p>Roger smiled. “Upon my word, a man in choosing
a wife ought to look first at the girl’s grandmother.”</p>

<div class="poetry-container">
<div class="poetry">
<div class="verse">“‘My grandma lives on yonder little green,</div>
<div class="verse">Fine old lady as ever was seen.’”</div>
</div>
</div>

<p class="noindent">chanted a gay voice.</p>

<p>“Bonny,” exclaimed Margaretta, flying out of
her seat.</p>

<p>They were a remarkable pair as they came up
the gravel walk together&mdash;the tall lad and the
tall girl, both light-haired, both blue of eyes, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[50]</a></span>
pink, and white, and smooth as to complexion like
a pair of babies.</p>

<p>The elder man stared at them admiringly. Bonny
was the baby of the orphan family that the sterling
old grandmother had brought up. Strange that
the grandson of such a woman had so little character,
and Roger sighed slightly. Bonny was a mere
boy, thoughtless, fond of fun, and too much of a
favourite with the gay lads about the town. However,
he might develop, and Roger’s face brightened.</p>

<p>“Oh, you dear Bonny,” said Margaretta, pressing
his arm, “it was so good in you to remember your
promise to come and tell me about your afternoon
on the river. You had a pleasant time, of course.”</p>

<p>“Glorious,” said the lad. “The water was like
glass, and we had a regular fleet of canoes. I say,
Margaretta, I like that chap from Boston. Do
something for him, won’t you?”</p>

<p>“Certainly, Bonny, what do you want me to do?”</p>

<p>“Make him some kind of a water-party.”</p>

<p>Margaretta became troubled. “How many people
do you want to invite?”</p>

<p>“Oh, about sixty.”</p>

<p>“Don’t you think if we had three or four of
your chosen friends he would enjoy it just as
much?”</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[51]</a></span></p>

<p>“No, I don’t; what do you think, Roger?”</p>

<p>“I don’t know about him. I hate crowds myself.”</p>

<p>“I like them,” said Bonny. “Come, Margaretta,
decide.”</p>

<p>“Oh, my dear, spoiled boy,” said the girl, in
perplexity, “I would give a party to all Riverport
if it would please you, but I am trying dreadfully
hard to economize. Those large things cost so
much.”</p>

<p>Bonny opened wide his big blue eyes. “You are
not getting mean, Margaretta?”</p>

<p>“No, no, my heart feels more generous than
ever, but I see that this eternal entertaining on a
big scale doesn’t amount to much. Once in awhile
a huge affair is nice, but to keep it up week after
week is a waste of time and energy, and you don’t
make real friends.”</p>

<p>“All right,” said Bonny, good-naturedly. “I’ll
take him for a swim. That won’t cost anything.”</p>

<p>“Now, Bonny,” said Margaretta, in an injured
voice, “don’t misunderstand me. We’ll have a
little excursion on the river, if you like, with half
a dozen of your friends, and I’ll give you a good
big party this summer&mdash;you would rather have it
later on, wouldn’t you, when there are more girls
visiting here?”</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[52]</a></span></p>

<p>“Yes, indeed, let us wait for the girls,” said
Bonny.</p>

<p>“And in the meantime,” continued Margaretta,
“bring the Boston boy here as often as you like,
to drop in to meals. I shall be delighted to see
him, and so will you, Roger, won’t you?”</p>

<p>“Don’t know what you’re talking about,” said
the young man, who had gone off into a reverie,
“but it’s all right if you say so.”</p>

<p>Bonny laughed at him, then, jumping up, said,
“I must be going.”</p>

<p>“Where’s the dog, Margaretta?” asked Roger.
“I’ll walk home with the boy.”</p>

<p>“But your headache,” said his wife.</p>

<p>“Is all gone&mdash;that prescription cured it,” said
the young man, with a meaning glance at the
sheet of note-paper clasped in his wife’s hand.</p>

<p>She smiled and waved it at him. “Wives’ cold
cash salve for the cure of husbands’ headaches.”</p>

<p>“What kind of a salve is that?” asked Bonny,
curiously.</p>

<p>“Wait till you have a house of your own, Bonny,”
said his sister, caressingly, “and I will tell you.”</p>

<p>Then, as the man and the boy walked slowly
away, she slipped into the hammock and turned her
face up to the lovely evening sky.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[53]</a></span></p>

<p>“Little moon, I call you to witness I have begun
a countermarch. I’m never more going to spend
all the money I get, even if I have to earn some of
it with my own hands!”</p>

<hr />

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[54]</a></span></p>

<h2 id="CHAPTER_V">CHAPTER V.<br />
<span class="smaller">THE TRAINING OF A BOY</span></h2>

<p>Roger, sitting in his office at the iron works, from
time to time raised his grave face to look at Bonny,
who was fidgeting restlessly about the room.</p>

<p>Next to his wife, Roger loved his young brother-in-law,&mdash;the
fair-haired, genial lad, everybody’s
favourite, no one’s enemy but his own.</p>

<p>He wondered why the boy had come to him.
Probably he was in some scrape and wanted help.</p>

<p>Presently the boy flung himself round upon him.
“Roger&mdash;why don’t some of you good people try
to reform me?”</p>

<p>Roger leaned back in his chair and stared at
the disturbed young face.</p>

<p>“Come, now, don’t say that you don’t think I
need reformation,” said the boy, mockingly.</p>

<p>“I guess we all need that,” replied his brother-in-law,
soberly, “but you come of pretty good stock,
Bonny.”</p>

<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;" id="illus3">
<img src="images/illus3.jpg" width="500" height="650" alt="" />
<p class="caption">“‘WHY DON’T SOME OF YOU GOOD PEOPLE TRY TO REFORM ME?’”</p>
</div>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[55]</a></span></p>

<p>“The stock’s all right. That’s why I’m afraid of
breaking loose and disgracing it.”</p>

<p>“What have you been doing?” asked Roger,
kindly.</p>

<p>“I haven’t been doing anything,” said the boy,
sullenly. “It’s what I may do that I’m afraid of.”</p>

<p>Roger said nothing. He was just casting about
in his mind for a suitable reply, when the boy went
on. “If you’ve been brought up just like a parson,
and had all kinds of sentiments and good thoughts
lived at you, and then don’t rise to the goodness
you’re bursting with, it’s bound to rebel and give
you a bad time.”</p>

<p>The man, having got a clue to the boy’s mental
trouble, hastened to say, “You act all right. I
shouldn’t say you were unhappy.”</p>

<p>“Act!” repeated the boy. “Act, acting, actors,
actresses,&mdash;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&mdash;she just makes
me rage. Such goings on!”</p>

<p>“What has your grandmother been doing?”</p>

<p>“She hasn’t done much, and she hasn’t said a
word, but, hang it! there’s more in what Grandma
doesn’t say than there is in what other women do
say.”</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[56]</a></span></p>

<p>“You’re right there, my boy.”</p>

<p>“Now, what did she want to go give me a latch-key
for?” asked the boy, in an aggrieved tone,
“just after I’d started coming in a little later than
usual? Why don’t she say, ‘My dear boy, you
are on the road to ruin. Staying out late is the
first step. May I not beg of you to do better, my
dear young grandson? Otherwise you will bring
down my gray hairs with sorrow to the grave.’”</p>

<p>“This is what she didn’t say?” asked Roger,
gravely.</p>

<p>“This is what she didn’t say,” repeated the boy,
crossly, “but this is what she felt. I know her!
The latch-key was a bit of tomfoolery. An extra
lump of sugar in my coffee is more tomfoolery.”</p>

<p>“Do you want her to preach to you?”</p>

<p>“No,” snarled the handsome lad. “I don’t want
her to preach, and I don’t want you to preach, and
I don’t want my sisters to preach, but I want some
one to do something for me.”</p>

<p>“State your case in a more businesslike way,”
said the elder man, gravely. “I don’t understand.”</p>

<p>“You know I’m in the National Bank,” said
Bonny, shortly.</p>

<p>“Certainly I know that.”</p>

<p>“Grandma put me there a year ago. I don’t<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[57]</a></span>
object to the bank, if I’ve got to work. It’s as
easy as anything I could get, and I hate study.”</p>

<p>Roger nodded.</p>

<p>“Being in the bank, I’d like to rise,” Bonny went
on, irritably, “but somehow or other there seems
a little prejudice in the air against me. Has any
one said anything to you?”</p>

<p>“Not a word.”</p>

<p>The boy drew a long breath. “Perhaps it’s partly
imagination. They’re very down on fun in our
bank. Now when hours are over, and I come
out, there’s a whole gang of nice fellows ready to
do anything that’s going. Sometimes we play
billiards. On fine days we’re always on the river.
There’s no harm in that, is there?”</p>

<p>“Not that I see,” observed Roger, cautiously.</p>

<p>“Then, when evening comes, and we want to
sit down somewhere, we have a quiet little game of
cards. There’s no harm in that, is there?”</p>

<p>“Do you play for money?”</p>

<p>“Sometimes&mdash;well, perhaps nearly always, but
there’s no harm in that, is there?”</p>

<p>“Let me hear the rest of your story.”</p>

<p>“Sometimes I’m late getting home. We get interested,
but that’s nothing. I’m almost a man. Five
hours’ sleep is enough for me.”</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[58]</a></span></p>

<p>A long pause followed, broken finally by Roger,
who said, calmly, “You have given an account of
your time. What is wrong with it?”</p>

<p>“It’s all wrong,” blurted the boy, “and you
know it.”</p>

<p>“I haven’t said so.”</p>

<p>“But you feel it. You’re just like Grandma&mdash;bother
it! Don’t I know she thinks I ought to
spend my evenings at home, reading about banking,
so as to work myself up to a president’s chair?”</p>

<p>“Don’t you get any time for reading through the
day?”</p>

<p>“How can I?” said the boy, eloquently, “when
I was almost brought up out-of-doors, and as soon
as the bank closes every square inch of flesh of
me is squealing to get on the river. Now what
do you think I ought to do?”</p>

<p>“It’s a puzzling case,” said Roger, with a slow
shake of his head. “According to your own account,
you are leading a blameless life. Yet, according
to the same account, you are not happy in it,
though no one is finding fault with you.”</p>

<p>“No one finding fault!” said the boy, sulkily.
“Why, the very stones in the street stare at me
and say, ‘Animal! Animal! you don’t care for<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[59]</a></span>
anything but fun. You’d skip the bank every day if
you dared.’”</p>

<p>“Why don’t you?”</p>

<p>Bonny gave himself a resounding thwack on
the chest. “Because,” he said, “Grandma has
planted something here that won’t be downed.
Something that won’t let me have a good time
when I know she isn’t pleased with me. Sometimes
I get so mad that I think I will run away, but that
wouldn’t do any good, for she’d run with me. She’d
haunt my dreams&mdash;I don’t know what I’m going
to do!”</p>

<p>Roger, carefully concealing all signs of compassion,
gazed steadily at the distressed face. “Do
you want to break away from your set?” he asked,
at last.</p>

<p>“No, I don’t. They’re good fellows.”</p>

<p>“Well, what are you going to do about that bad
feeling inside of you?”</p>

<p>“I don’t know,” said Bonny, bitterly. “I know
Grandma thinks I’m going to be like Walt Everest,
big and fat and jolly, and everybody’s chum, who
can sing a song, and dance a jig, and never does
any business, and never will amount to anything.”</p>

<p>“Did she ever say so?”</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[60]</a></span></p>

<p>“No,” growled the boy, “but don’t I tell you I
know what Grandma’s thinking about?”</p>

<p>“How does your sister Berty take you?” asked
Roger.</p>

<p>“Just like Grandma,” blazed the boy, in sudden
wrath, “never says a word but a pleasant one,
catches me in a corner and kisses me&mdash;kisses me!&mdash;just
think of it!”</p>

<p>Roger thought deeply for a few minutes, while
Bonny took up his miserable ramble about the room.</p>

<p>“Look here, boy,” he said, finally. “You do as
I tell you for a week. Begin from this minute.
Read that magazine, then go home with me to
dinner. After dinner come back here and help me.
I’m working on some accounts for a time. That
will be an excuse to the boys for not playing cards.”</p>

<p>Bonny’s face was clearing. “A good excuse,
too,” he muttered. “If I said I was going with
Grandma or the girls, they’d laugh at me.”</p>

<p>“You tell them you are working on my books,
and I am paying you. That will shut their mouths,
and you’ll not object to the extra money.”</p>

<p>“I guess I won’t. I’m hard pushed all the time.”</p>

<p>“Don’t you save anything from your salary for
Grandma?” asked Roger, keenly.</p>

<p>“How can I?” said the boy, indignantly. “She<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[61]</a></span>
has brought me up to be clean. It takes nearly
everything I get to pay my laundry bill&mdash;I dare
say you think I’m a brute to be so selfish.”</p>

<p>“I’ll send you home every night at ten, and
mind you go to bed,” said Roger, calmly. “Five
hours’ sleep is not enough for a boy of eighteen.
Get up in the morning and go to the bank. As
soon as it closes in the afternoon I’ll have business
in Cloverdale that will take you on a drive there.”</p>

<p>“You’re a daisy, Roger,” said Bonny, in a low
voice.</p>

<p>Roger cast down his eyes. That flushed, disturbed
face reminded him of his own beautiful Margaretta.
Pray Heaven, he would never see such
trouble and dissatisfaction in her blue eyes.</p>

<p>Bonny had already thrown himself into a deep
leather-covered armchair, and was apparently absorbed
in the magazine. Presently he looked up.
“Roger, don’t you tell the girls what I’ve been
saying.”</p>

<p>“No, I won’t.”</p>

<p>“Nor Grandma.”</p>

<p>“No, nor Grandma.”</p>

<p>But Grandma knew. There was no hoodwinking
that dear, shrewd old lady, and when next she met
Roger, which was the following morning, as he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[62]</a></span>
was on his way to his office, and she was on her
way to call on his wife, her deep-set eyes glistened
strangely, and instead of saying “Good morning,
dear grandson-in-law,” as she usually did, she said
“Good morning, dear son.” She considered him as
much one of the family as her three beloved orphan
grandchildren.</p>

<p>Yes, Grandma knew, and Grandma approved of
what he was doing for her poor, wilful, troubled
Bonny.</p>

<p>Every evening for five evenings the lad came to
the iron works, and steadfastly set his young face
to the sober, unexciting examination of dull rows
of figures, stretching indefinitely across white pages.</p>

<p>On the fifth night something went wrong with
him. In the first place, he was late in coming.
In the second place, his nerves seemed to be stretched
to their utmost tension.</p>

<p>“What’s up with you?” asked Roger, when, after
a few minutes’ work Bonny pushed aside the big
books, and said, “I’m going home.”</p>

<p>“I’m tired,” said Bonny. “I hate this bookkeeping.”</p>

<p>“All right,” said his brother-in-law, composedly.
“I’m tired myself. Let’s have a game of chess.”</p>

<p>“I hate chess,” said Bonny, sulkily.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[63]</a></span></p>

<p>“I wonder whether it’s too early for supper?”
asked Roger, good-humouredly getting up and going
to a closet.</p>

<p>He looked over his shoulder at Bonny as he spoke.
Every night at half-past nine he was in the habit
of producing cakes, candy, syrup, fruit, and nuts
for the boy’s supper. It was not very long since
he had been a boy himself, and he remembered his
chronic craving for sweet things.</p>

<p>“You’re always stuffing me,” replied Bonny, disagreeably.
“You think you’ll make me good-natured.”</p>

<p>“What’s the matter with you, Bonny?” asked
Roger, closing the door and returning to his seat.</p>

<p>“I don’t know what’s the matter with me,”
snarled Bonny, miserably, rolling his head about
on his folded arms resting on the table. “I hate
everything and everybody. I could kill you, Roger.”</p>

<p>“All right&mdash;there’s a pair of Indian clubs over
there in the corner,” said his brother-in-law, cheerfully.</p>

<p>“I thought I’d be an angel after a few nights’
association with you,” continued the lad, “and you
make me feel worse than ever.”</p>

<p>“Looks as if I were a bad sort of a fellow,
doesn’t it?” remarked Roger, philosophically.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[64]</a></span></p>

<p>“You’re not bad,” snapped Bonny. “You’re a
tremendous good sort. I’m the brute. Roger, why
don’t you preach to me?”</p>

<p>For some time Roger stared at him in silence;
then he said, “Seems to me you can preach better
to yourself. If I were going to set up for a preacher
I’d only hold forth to the impenitent.”</p>

<p>“The fellows are going to a dance at Hickey’s
to-night,” said Bonny, suddenly pounding on the
table with his fist, “and I’m not in it, and then at
midnight they’re going to see the circus arrive, and
I’m not in that.”</p>

<p>“At Hickey’s&mdash;where is that?”</p>

<p>“Up the road; don’t you know?”</p>

<p>“Oh, yes; rather gay people, aren’t they?”</p>

<p>“Well, they’re not in Margaretta’s set; but then
she is mighty particular.”</p>

<p>“Would you take her there if she cared to go?”</p>

<p>“No, I wouldn’t&mdash;well, go on, Roger.”</p>

<p>“Go on where?” asked the elder man, in slight
bewilderment.</p>

<p>“To embrace your opportunity&mdash;administer a
rebuke&mdash;cuff a sinner,” sneered Bonny.</p>

<p>Roger grinned at him.</p>

<p>“My dear boy,” began Bonny, in an exasperated
tone, “let me exhort, admonish, and counsel you<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[65]</a></span>
never to go to any place, or visit any resort, or indulge
in any society where you could not take your
venerable grandmother and your beloved sisters.”</p>

<p>“Not bad for a beginner,” said Roger, patronizingly.</p>

<p>“I’m going,” said the boy, abruptly jumping up.
“I feel as if I should fly in fifty pieces if I stayed
here any longer&mdash;till I see you again, Roger.”</p>

<p>He was already on the threshold, but Roger
sauntered after him. “Hold on a bit&mdash;four days
ago you came to me in something of a pickle.”</p>

<p>“You bet your iron works I did,” replied Bonny.</p>

<p>“I helped you out of it.”</p>

<p>“I guess you did.”</p>

<p>“For four evenings you have come here and
helped me, and I am going to pay you well for it.”</p>

<p>“Glory on your head, you are,” said Bonny,
wildly.</p>

<p>“In these four days,” continued Roger, “you
have been early at the bank&mdash;you have done your
work faithfully there. You have not shirked.”</p>

<p>“Not a hair’s breadth, and mighty tired I am of
it. I’m sick of reformation. I’m going to be just
as bad as I can be. Hurrah for Hickey’s,” and he
was just about darting off, when Roger caught him
by the arm.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[66]</a></span></p>

<p>“Listen to me for a minute. I ask you to give
me one day more. Stay here with me to-night.
Do your work as usual. Go home to bed. Fill in
to-morrow properly, then in the evening, at this
time, if you want to go back to your old silly tricks,
go. I wash my hands of you.”</p>

<p>Bonny turned his face longingly toward the city,
thought deeply for a few minutes, then retraced his
steps. “I’ll be good to-night,” he said, threateningly,
“but just you wait till to-morrow night
comes.”</p>

<p>“You’ve got a conscience,” said Roger, sternly;
“if you choose to choke it and play the fool, no one
is strong enough to hold you&mdash;pass me that ledger,
will you?”</p>

<p>“Oh, shut up,” blurted Bonny, under his
breath. However, he sat down quietly enough, and
did his work until the clock struck ten.</p>

<p>Then he stifled a yawn, jumped up, and said, “I’m
going now.”</p>

<p>“Mind, seven-thirty to-morrow evening,” said
Roger, stiffly.</p>

<p>“All right; seven-thirty for once more, and only
once,” said Bonny, with glistening eyes, “for once
more and only once! I’m tired of your stuffy old
office, and strait-laced ways.”</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[67]</a></span></p>

<p>“Good night,” said Roger, kindly, “and don’t
be a fool.”</p>

<p>Bonny ran like a fox down the long lane leading
to the city. “He’s making for his burrow,”
said Roger, with a weary smile. “He’s a scamp, but
you can trust him if he once gives his word. I
wish I were a better sort of a man,” and with
mingled reverence and humility he lifted his gaze
to the stars. “If that boy is going to be saved,
something has got to be done mighty quick!”</p>

<hr />

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[68]</a></span></p>

<h2 id="CHAPTER_VI">CHAPTER VI.<br />
<span class="smaller">BONNY’S ORDEAL</span></h2>

<p>“What’s the matter, Roger?” asked his wife,
when he went home.</p>

<p>“Nothing,” said the young man, wearily, but
he went to bed early, and, rising early the next
morning, strode off to the iron works without taking
his breakfast.</p>

<p>How he loved the handsome lad, his wife’s
double. What could he do, what could he say?
Until now he had considered the boy inferior in
character to his two sisters. But, as he had often
assured himself, the stock was good, and the strength
and energy latent in Bonny were now looming to
the fore. He was emerging from boyhood into
manhood, and his childish, happy-go-lucky disposition
of youth was warring with the growing forces
of more mature age.</p>

<p>The morning wore on, and his gloominess increased,
until his father shortly told him that he
didn’t look well, and he had better go home.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[69]</a></span></p>

<p>“I’m all right,” Roger was saying, almost harshly,
when there was a ring at his telephone. The
National Bank wanted to speak to him.</p>

<p>“Hello,” said Roger.</p>

<p>“Can you come up to the bank?” asked some one,
in a jerky voice. “Have had a robbery&mdash;young
Gravely hurt.”</p>

<p>Roger dashed from his seat, seized his hat, and
with a hurried word to his father, rushed outside.</p>

<p>A delivery-cart was standing before the door.
He did not stop to see whose it was, but seizing the
reins, urged the horse toward the centre of the city.</p>

<p>There was a crowd around the bank, but the
cordon of police let him through. Inside was a
group of bank officials, reporters, and detectives.</p>

<p>The president’s face was flushed and angry.
“Yes we have had a loss,” he said to Roger. “Oh,
young Gravely&mdash;his grandmother came for him.”</p>

<p>Roger elbowed his way out and took a cab to
River Street.</p>

<p>Here it was quiet. The noise of the bank robbery
had not reached this neighbourhood. He ran
up-stairs three steps at a time to Bonny’s large room
in the top of the house, and softly pushed open the
door.</p>

<p>Bonny was in bed. Grandma, Berty, a woman of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[70]</a></span>
the neighbourhood, and a doctor were bending over
him.</p>

<p>Roger could see that the boy’s face was pale and
bandaged.</p>

<p>“Bonny,” he said, involuntarily.</p>

<p>The boy heard him and opened his eyes.</p>

<p>“All right, Roger,” he murmured, feebly. “I
stood by the fort, but I&mdash;guess&mdash;you’ll&mdash;have&mdash;to&mdash;excuse&mdash;me&mdash;to-night,”
and his voice trailed
off into unconsciousness.</p>

<p>The doctor looked impatiently over his shoulder,
and Roger crept out into the hall.</p>

<p>Grandma sent Berty after him. “Oh, Roger,”
she whispered, “we had such a fright.”</p>

<p>“What is it&mdash;how was it?” asked Roger,
eagerly.</p>

<p>“Why, the circus-parade was passing the bank.
Every clerk but Bonny left his desk to go look
at it. They don’t seem to know why he stayed.
When the parade passed, and the clerks went back,
he was lying on the floor with his face and head
cut.”</p>

<p>“I know why he stayed,” muttered Roger. “He
was trying to do his duty. Thank God, he was
not killed. Is he much hurt?”</p>

<p>“Some bad flesh wounds. The doctor says he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[71]</a></span>
must be kept quiet, but he doesn’t think his brain
is injured. Oh, Roger, we are so thankful his life
was spared.”</p>

<p>“Probably the thieves didn’t try to kill him. If
I can do nothing, I’ll go find out something about
the affair. I must telephone Margaretta. She will
be upset if she hears from strangers.”</p>

<p>“Yes, go,” said Berty, “and ask her to come to
us.”</p>

<p>Late that evening, the doctor, to quiet his feverish
patient, permitted him to have five minutes’ conversation
with his brother-in-law.</p>

<p>Roger seized the hand lying on the coverlet, and
pressed it silently.</p>

<p>“Did they catch the thieves?” asked Bonny,
huskily.</p>

<p>“One of them, my boy&mdash;how do you think the
detectives made sure of him?”</p>

<p>“Don’t know.”</p>

<p>“He was hanging around the circus-crowd, trying
to mix up with it&mdash;he had some of your yellow
hairs on his coat-sleeve.”</p>

<p>Bonny smiled faintly.</p>

<p>“The police expect him to turn State’s evidence,”
continued Roger.</p>

<p>“How much did the bank lose?”</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[72]</a></span></p>

<p>“Fifteen thousand dollars.”</p>

<p>“But they’ll get it back, Roger?”</p>

<p>“Yes, if they catch the other fellow, and they’re
sure to do it. Bonny, you’re not to talk. Just tell
me if this is straight&mdash;I want it for the papers.
You stood at your desk, all the others ran to the
street door. Then&mdash;”</p>

<p>“Then,” said Bonny, “I was mad. I wanted to
look at the circus, but I had promised you not to
shirk. But I just gritted my teeth as I stood there.
I was staring after the others when I heard a little
noise in the president’s room. I turned round, and
saw a man peeping out. I had no revolver, and I
didn’t know where Danvers kept his, and like an
idiot I never thought to scream. I just grabbed
for Buckley’s camera. You know he is a photographic
fiend.”</p>

<p>“Yes,” smiled Roger, and he thought of what
the captured thief had asked one of the policemen
guarding him: “How’s that gritty little demon that
tried to snap us?”</p>

<p>“I was just pressing the button,” went on Bonny,
“when the man leaped like a cat, and, first thing I
knew, he was smashing me over the head with that
camera. There was such a row in the street that
the others didn’t hear it.”</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[73]</a></span></p>

<p>“Five minutes are up,” said the doctor, coming
into the room.</p>

<p>“One minute, Roger,” said the boy, feebly. “I
had a second before I got whacked, and in that
second I thought, ‘Here’s a specimen of the leisure
class toward which I am drifting. I’ll stay with
the workers,’ so, Roger, we’ll not call off that contract
of ours to-night.”</p>

<p>“All right,” said Roger, beaming on him, and
backing toward the door. “It’s to stand&mdash;for how
long?”</p>

<p>“For ever!” said the boy, with sudden force,
just as the doctor gently pushed him back on his
pillow, and, putting a teaspoonful of medicine to
his lips, said, “Now, young sir, you take this.”</p>

<p>Roger, with a smiling face, sought Grandma and
Berty on the veranda at the back of the house.
“He’ll be all right in a day or two.”</p>

<p>“Yes, it is the shock that has upset him more
than the wounds,” said Berty. “The burglars only
wanted to silence him.”</p>

<p>“Grandma, do you know the bank is going to
discharge every man-Jack but Bonny?” said Roger.</p>

<p>Grandma’s eyes sparkled, then she became
thoughtful.</p>

<p>“What, all those old fellows?” exclaimed Berty.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[74]</a></span></p>

<p>“Bonny won’t stay,” said Grandma, quietly.
“He would feel like a prig.”</p>

<p>“I am going to take him in the iron works with
me,” said Roger. “I won’t be denied. He will
make a first-class business man.”</p>

<p>“Under your tuition,” said Grandma, with a
proud look at him.</p>

<p>“Hush,” said Berty, “the newsboys are calling
an extra.”</p>

<p>They all listened. “Extry edeetion <cite>Evening
Noose</cite>&mdash;cap-tchure of the second burrgg-lar of the
great bank robbery.”</p>

<p>“Good,” cried Berty, “they’ve caught the second
man. Roger, dear, go get us a paper.”</p>

<p>The young man ran nimbly down-stairs.</p>

<p>“How he loves Bonny!” said Berty. “What a
good brother-in-law!”</p>

<p>Grandma said nothing, but her inscrutable gaze
went away down the river.</p>

<p>“And, Grandma,” went on Berty, “let me tell
you what Bonny whispered to me before I left the
room. He said, ‘I’ve sometimes got mad with
Grandma for always harping on keeping the family
together, but I see now that if you keep your own
family together, you keep your business family together.’”</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[75]</a></span></p>

<p>Grandma did not reply. Her gaze was still down
the river, but the girl, watching her lips, saw them
softly form the words, “Thank God!”</p>

<p>Bonny’s ordeal was past, and it had better fitted
him for other and perhaps more severe ordeals in
his life to come.</p>

<hr />

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[76]</a></span></p>

<h2 id="CHAPTER_VII">CHAPTER VII.<br />
<span class="smaller">BERTY IMPARTS INFORMATION</span></h2>

<p>Mrs. Stanisfield was making her way to her
roof-garden.</p>

<p>“If any callers come,” she said to her parlour-maid,
“bring them up here.”</p>

<p>Presently there was an exclamation, “What
cheer!”</p>

<p>Margaretta looked around. Her irrepressible sister
Berty stood in the French window, her dark
head thrust forward inquiringly.</p>

<p>“Come out, dear,” said Mrs. Stanisfield, “I am
alone.”</p>

<p>“I want to have a talk,” said Berty, coming forward,
“and have you anything to eat? I am hungry
as a guinea-pig.”</p>

<p>“There is a freezer of ice-cream over there behind
those azaleas&mdash;the cake is in a covered dish.”</p>

<p>Berty dipped out a saucerful of ice-cream, cut
herself a good-sized piece of cake, and then took a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[77]</a></span>
low seat near her sister, who was examining her
curiously.</p>

<p>“Berty,” said Margaretta, suddenly, “you have
something to tell me.”</p>

<p>Berty laughed. “How queer things are. Two
months ago we had plenty of money. Then
Grandma lost everything. We had to go and live
in that old gone-to-seed mansion on River Street&mdash;you
know what a dirty street it is?”</p>

<p>“Yes, I know&mdash;I wish I didn’t.”</p>

<p>“I’m not sorry we went. I’ve had such experiences.
I thought I wouldn’t tell you, Margaretta,
till all was over. You might worry.”</p>

<p>“What have you been doing?” asked Margaretta,
anxiously.</p>

<p>“You remember how the neighbours thought
we were missionaries when we first moved to the
street?”</p>

<p>“Yes, I do.”</p>

<p>“And when I spoke sharply to a slow workman,
an impudent boy called out that the missionary was
mad?”</p>

<p>“Yes, I recall it&mdash;what neighbours!”</p>

<p>“I shall never forget that first evening,” said
Berty, musingly. “Grandma and I were sitting by
the fire&mdash;so tired after the moving&mdash;when a dozen<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[78]</a></span>
of those half-washed women came edging in with
Bibles and hymn-books under their arms.”</p>

<p>“It was detestable,” said Margaretta, with a
shrug of her shoulders, “but does it not worry you
to repeat all this?”</p>

<p>“No, dearest, I am working up to something.
You remember the women informed us in a mousie
way that they had come to have a prayer-meeting,
and I cuttingly told them that we weren’t ready for
callers. Dear Grandma tried to smooth it over by
saying that while we had a great respect for religious
workers, we did not belong to them, but her salve
didn’t cover the wound my tongue had made.”</p>

<p>“What do you mean?” asked Margaretta.</p>

<p>“Here begins the part that is new to you,” said
Berty, jubilantly. “To snub one’s neighbours is
a dangerous thing. Every tin can and every decrepit
vegetable in our yard next morning eloquently proclaimed
this truth.”</p>

<p>“You don’t mean to say they had dared&mdash;”</p>

<p>“Had dared and done&mdash;and our yard had just
been so nicely cleaned. Well, I was pretty mad, but
I said nothing. Next morning there was more rubbish&mdash;I
went into the street. There was no policeman
in sight, so I went to the city hall. Underneath<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[79]</a></span>
is a place, you know, where policemen lounge
till they have to go on their beats.”</p>

<p>“No, I don’t know. I never was in the city
hall in my life. You didn’t go alone, Berty?”</p>

<p>“Yes, I did&mdash;why shouldn’t I? I’m a free-born
American citizen. Our grandfather was one
of the leading men of this city. His taxes helped
to build that hall. I’ve a right there, if I want to
go.”</p>

<p>“But without a chaperon, and you are so young,
and&mdash;and&mdash;”</p>

<p>“Beautiful.”</p>

<p>“I was going to say pretty,” remarked Margaretta,
severely.</p>

<p>“Beautiful is stronger,” said Berty, calmly.
“What a lovely view you have from this roof-garden,
Margaretta. How it must tranquillize you
to gaze at those trees and flower-beds when anything
worries you.”</p>

<p>“Do go on, Berty&mdash;what did you do at the city
hall?”</p>

<p>“A big policeman asked what I wanted. I
thought of one of dear grandfather’s sayings,
‘Never deal with subordinates if you can get at
principals,’ so I said, ‘I want to see your head
man.’”</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[80]</a></span></p>

<p>“That’s an African tribe expression, I think,”
murmured Margaretta.</p>

<p>“Evidently, for he grinned and said, ‘Oh, the
chief,’ and he opened the door of a private office”.</p>

<p>“Another big man sat like a mountain behind a
table. He didn’t get up when I went in&mdash;just
looked at me.”</p>

<p>“‘Are you over the police of this city?’” I asked.</p>

<p>“‘I am,’ he said.</p>

<p>“‘Well,’ I said, ‘I’ve come to apply to you for
protection. My neighbours throw tin cans in my
back yard every night, and I don’t like it.’</p>

<p>“He grinned from ear to ear, and asked me where
I lived.</p>

<p>“‘On River Street,’ I said.</p>

<p>“He gave a whistle and stared at me. I didn’t
have on anything remarkable&mdash;only a black cloth
walking-skirt with a round hat, and that plain-looking
white shirt-waist you gave me with the pretty
handwork.”</p>

<p>“Which cost forty dollars,” said Margaretta, under
her breath.</p>

<p>“Well, that man stared at me,” went on Berty,
“and then what do you think he said in an easy
tone of voice&mdash;‘And what have you been doing
to your neighbours, my dear?’</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[81]</a></span></p>

<p>“Margaretta, I was furious. ‘Get up out of
your seat,’ I said, in a choking voice. ‘Take that cap
off your head, and remember that you are in the
presence of a lady. My grandfather was the late
Judge Travers of this city, my brother-in-law is
Mr. Roger Stanisfield, of the Stanisfield Iron Works,
and my great-uncle is governor of the State. I’ll
have you put out of office if you say “my dear” to
me again.’”</p>

<p>Margaretta held her breath. Berty’s face was
flaming at the reminiscence, and her ice-cream was
slipping to the floor. “What did he say?” she
gasped.</p>

<p>“I wish you could have seen him, Margaretta.
He looked like a bumptious old turkey gobbler,
knocked all of a heap by a small-sized chicken.</p>

<p>“‘I beg your pardon,’ he said, scuttling out of
his seat, ‘I’m sure, Miss, I didn’t dream who you
were.’</p>

<p>“‘It isn’t your business to dream,’ I said, still
furious. ‘When a woman comes to you with a complaint,
treat her civilly. You’re nothing but the
paid servant of the city. You don’t own the citizens
of Riverport!’</p>

<p>“That finished him. ‘I’m going now,’ I said.
‘I don’t want to sit down. See that you attend to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[82]</a></span>
that matter without delay,’ and I stalked out, and
he followed me with his mouth open, and if I didn’t
know what had happened, I’d say he was standing
at that door yet gazing up the street after me.”</p>

<p>“What did happen?” asked Margaretta, eagerly.</p>

<p>“I got my back yard cleaned,” said Berty, drily.
“Grandma says two policemen came hurrying up
the street before I got home. They went into some
of the houses, then women came out, and boys
swarmed over our fence, and in an hour there wasn’t
the ghost of a tin can left.”</p>

<p>“Think of it,” said Margaretta, “what wretched
things for you to be exposed to&mdash;what degradation!”</p>

<p>“It isn’t any worse for me than for other women
and girls,” said Berty, doggedly, “and I’m going
to find out why River Street isn’t treated as well
as Grand Avenue.”</p>

<p>“But River Street people are poor, Berty.”</p>

<p>“Suppose they are poor, aren’t they the children
of the city?”</p>

<p>“But, Berty&mdash;workmen and that sort of people
can’t have fine houses, and horses and carriages.”</p>

<p>“Not for horses and carriages, not for fine houses
am I pleading, but for equal rights in comfort and
decency. Would you take your cold dip every morning<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[83]</a></span>
if you had to cross a frozen yard in winter,
and a filthy yard in summer for every drop of water
you use?”</p>

<p>Margaretta shuddered.</p>

<p>“Would you have your house kept clean if it
were so dark that you couldn’t see the dirty corners?”</p>

<p>“No, I wouldn’t,” said Margaretta, decidedly,
“but who owns those dreadful places?”</p>

<p>“You do,” said Berty, shortly.</p>

<p>“I do!” said Margaretta, aghast.</p>

<p>“Yes&mdash;some of them. Roger holds property
down there in your name. All the rich people in
the city like to invest in River Street tenements.
They’re always packed.”</p>

<p>“I won’t have it,” said Margaretta. “Roger
shall sell out.”</p>

<p>“Don’t sell&mdash;improve your property, and get
some of the stain off your soul. Women should
ask their husbands where they invest their money.
Good old Mrs. Darlway, the temperance worker,
owns a building with a saloon in it.”</p>

<p>“Oh, misery!” exclaimed Margaretta, “she
doesn’t know it, of course.”</p>

<p>“No&mdash;tell her.”</p>

<p>“How have you found all this out, Berty?”</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[84]</a></span></p>

<p>“I’ve talked to the women.”</p>

<p>“What&mdash;the women of the tin can episode?”</p>

<p>“Oh, they’re all over that now&mdash;they understand
Grandma and me&mdash;and what a lot of things
they’ve told me. Haven’t you always thought that
policemen were noble, kind creatures, like soldiers?”</p>

<p>“Yes,” said Margaretta, innocently, “aren’t
they?”</p>

<p>“They’re the most miserable of miserable sinners.”</p>

<p>“Oh, Berty, surely not all!”</p>

<p>“Well, I’ll be generous and leave out half a
dozen if it will please you. The others all take
bribes.”</p>

<p>“Bribes!”</p>

<p>“Yes, bribes. Did you ever see a lean policeman,
Margaretta?”</p>

<p>“I don’t know.”</p>

<p>“I never did&mdash;they’re all fat as butter, like the
sinners in the Psalms. Now, no one need ever tell
me that the police are honest, till I see them all get
lean with chasing after evil. Now they just stand
round corners like green bay-trees, and take bribes.”</p>

<p>Margaretta was silent for a long time, pondering
over this new department of thought opened up to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[85]</a></span>
her. Then she said, “Why don’t you get the women
to leave this hateful neighbourhood?”</p>

<p>“How can they?” said her sister, mournfully,
“their husbands work on the wharves. But I mustn’t
make you too gloomy. Let me tell you about the
heart of the Mayor.”</p>

<p>“You were dreadfully sad just after you went
to River Street,” said Margaretta; “was this the
trouble?”</p>

<p>“Yes,” said Berty, lowering her voice, “the woes
of the poor were sinking into my heart.”</p>

<p>“Poor child&mdash;but take your ice-cream. It is
melting and slipping down your gown, and the dog
has eaten your cake.”</p>

<p>“Has he?” said Berty, indifferently. “Well,
dog, take the ice-cream, too. I want to talk&mdash;I came
out of our house one morning, Margaretta; there
were three pitiful little children on the door-step.
‘Children, do get out of this,’ I said. ‘We may have
callers, and you look like imps.’”</p>

<p>“Have you had any more callers?” asked Margaretta,
eagerly.</p>

<p>“Yes, the Everests, and Brown-Gardners, and
Mrs. Darley-James.”</p>

<p>“Mrs. Darley-James!”</p>

<p>“Yes, Mrs. Darley-James, that fastidious dame.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[86]</a></span>
I’ve read that when you get poor, your friends
forsake you, but ours have overwhelmed us with
attentions.”</p>

<p>“Grandma is an exceptional woman,” said Margaretta,
proudly.</p>

<p>“And do you know every one of those women
noticed the children. Mrs. Darley-James nearly
fainted. I had to go to the door with her, as we
have no well-trained maid, but only that stupid
woman of the neighbourhood. ‘Why, the children
all look ill,’ Mrs. Darley-James said.</p>

<p>“‘A good many of them are,’ I replied. ‘Two
died in that yellow house last night.’</p>

<p>“She said, ‘Oh, horrible!’ and got into her
carriage. Well, to come back to this day that I
stood on the door-step talking to the children. They
looked up at me, the dear little impudent things, and
said, ‘We ain’t goin’ to move one step, missus,
’cause you gets the sun longer on your side of the
street than we does.’</p>

<p>“What they said wasn’t remarkable, but I choked
all up. To think of those pale-faced babies manœuvering
to sit where they could catch the sun as he
peeped shyly at them over the roofs of the tall
houses. I felt as if I should like to have the demon<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[87]</a></span>
of selfishness by the throat and shake him till I
choked him. Then I flew to the city hall&mdash;”</p>

<p>“The city hall again?” murmured Margaretta.</p>

<p>“Yes&mdash;what is the city hall but a place of refuge
for the children of the city? I asked to see the
Mayor. A young man in the other office said he
was busy.”</p>

<p>“‘Then I’ll wait,’ I said, and I sat down.</p>

<p>“He kept me sitting there for a solid hour. You
can imagine that I was pretty well annoyed. At the
end of that time three fat, prosperous-looking men
walked from the inner sanctum, and I was invited
to go in.”</p>

<hr />

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[88]</a></span></p>

<h2 id="CHAPTER_VIII">CHAPTER VIII.<br />
<span class="smaller">THE HEART OF THE MAYOR</span></h2>

<p>“Inside was a smaller, but still prosperous-looking
man sitting like a roly-poly behind a desk, and
blinking amiably at me with his small eyes.”</p>

<p>Margaretta smiled, and asked, “Young or old?”</p>

<p>“Oh, dear, I don’t know&mdash;couldn’t tell his age
any more than I could tell the age of a plum-pudding.
His face was fat and red, and he had so little
hair that it might be either gray or sandy. I’d give
him any age between fifteen and fifty.”</p>

<p>“Well, now, I don’t suppose he would be fifteen.”</p>

<p>“He acts like it sometimes,” said Berty, warmly.
“Years have not taught him grace and experience,
as they have Grandma.”</p>

<p>“What is his name?”</p>

<p>“Jimson&mdash;Peter Jimson.”</p>

<p>“Let me see,” murmured Margaretta, “there is
a Mrs. Jimson and there are two Misses Jimson who<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[89]</a></span>
are dying to get into our set. I heard the Everests
laughing about them.”</p>

<p>“Same ones, probably&mdash;well, he knew enough to
stand up when I went in. I said ‘Good morning’
and he looked so amiable that I thought he would
give me not only what I wanted, but the whole
city besides.</p>

<p>“When we had both sat down, I said, ‘I will
not take up your time, sir. I have merely come
to ask you to give the children of the East End a
park to play in.’</p>

<p>“He lowered his eyes, and began to play with
a paper-knife. Then he looked up, and said, ‘May
I ask your name?’</p>

<p>“‘My name is Miss Gravely,’ I told him, ‘and
I am Mrs. Travers’s granddaughter.’</p>

<p>“‘Oh, indeed,’ he replied, ‘and why are you interested
in the children of the East End?’</p>

<p>“‘Because I live there&mdash;on River Street. We
have lost our money.’</p>

<p>“He looked surprised at the first part of my
sentence. I think he knew about the last of it.
Then he said, ‘Have the children asked for a park?’</p>

<p>“‘No, sir,’ I said, ‘they haven’t.’</p>

<p>“‘Then why give it to them?’ he inquired, mildly.</p>

<p>“‘Does a good father always wait to have his<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[90]</a></span>
children demand a necessity before he offers it?’
I replied.</p>

<p>“He smiled, and began to play with the paper-knife
again.</p>

<p>“‘The children have nowhere to go, sir,’ I went
on. ‘The mothers drive them from the dirty houses,
the sailors drive them from the wharves, the truck-men
drive them from the streets.’</p>

<p>“‘A park might be a good thing,’ he said, cautiously,
‘but there is no money in the treasury.’</p>

<p>“I felt myself growing hot. ‘No money in the
treasury, sir, and you can put up a magnificent building
like this? Some of this money has been taken
from the children.’</p>

<p>“He said the city had its dignity to maintain.</p>

<p>“‘But there is charity, sir, as well as dignity.’</p>

<p>“He smiled sweetly&mdash;his whole attitude was one
of indulgent sympathy for a youthful crank, and
I began to get more and more stirred up.</p>

<p>“‘Sir,’ I said, ‘I think you must be a stepfather.’</p>

<p>“‘Sometimes step-parents display more wisdom
than real parents,’ he said, benevolently.</p>

<p>“I thought of the good stepmother Grandma had
when a girl. He was right this time, and I was
wrong, but this didn’t make me more comfortable<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[91]</a></span>
in my mind. ‘There is no need of new pavements
on Broadway, sir,’ I blurted out.</p>

<p>“‘We must make the business part of the city
attractive,’ he said, ‘or strangers won’t come here.’</p>

<p>“‘Strangers must come,’ I said, bitterly, ‘the
children can die.’</p>

<p>“‘There is no place for a park on River Street,’
he went on. ‘Property is held there at a high figure.
No one would sell.’</p>

<p>“‘There is Milligan’s Wharf, sir,’ I replied. ‘It
is said to be haunted, and no sailors will go there.
You could make a lovely fenced-in park.’</p>

<p>“‘But there is no money,’ he said, blandly.</p>

<p>“Something came over me. I wasn’t angry on
my own account. I have plenty of fresh air, for
I am boating half the time, but dead children’s faces
swam before me, and I felt like Isaiah and Jeremiah
rolled in one.</p>

<p>“‘Who made you, unkind man?’ I said, pointing
a finger at him.</p>

<p>“He wouldn’t tell me, so I told him, ‘God made
you, and me, and the little children on River Street.
Do you dare to say that you stand higher in His
sight than they do?’</p>

<p>“He said no, he wouldn’t, but he was in office
to save the city’s money, and he was going to do it.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[92]</a></span></p>

<p>“‘Let the city deny itself for the children. You
know there are things it could do without. If you
don’t, the blood of the children will be on your
head.’</p>

<p>“He twisted his shoulders, and said, ‘See here,
young lady, I’ve been all through this labour and
capital business. Labour is unthrifty and brainless.
You’re young and extreme, and don’t understand.
I’ve done good turns to many a man, and never had
a word of thanks.’</p>

<p>“‘Tell me what you like about grown people,’ I
said, wildly, ‘I’ll believe anything, but don’t say a
word against the children.’</p>

<p>“He twisted his shoulders again, and slyly looked
at his watch.</p>

<p>“I got up. ‘Sir,’ I said, ‘River Street is choked
with dust in summer, and buried in mud and snow
in winter. The people have neither decency nor
comfort in their houses. The citizens put you over
the city, and you are neglecting some of them.’</p>

<p>“He just beamed at me, he was so glad I was
going. ‘Young lady,’ he said, ‘you have too much
heart. I once had, but for years I’ve been trying
to educate it out of myself. I’ve nearly succeeded.’</p>

<div class="figcenter" style="width: 460px;" id="illus4">
<img src="images/illus4.jpg" width="460" height="650" alt="" />
<p class="caption">“‘YOU HAVE TOO MUCH HEART’”</p>
</div>

<p>“‘There must be a little left,’ I said, ‘just a little
bit. I’ll make it my business to find it. Good<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[93]</a></span>
morning,’ and with this threat I left him and ran,
ran for River Street.”</p>

<p>“Good for you,” said Margaretta.</p>

<p>“I swept along like a whirlwind. I gathered
up the children and took them down on Milligan’s
Wharf.”</p>

<p>“‘Children,’ I said, ‘do you know who the Mayor
is?’</p>

<p>“They said he was the big man down in the
city hall.</p>

<p>“‘And how did he get there?’</p>

<p>“‘They votes him in, and they votes him out,’ a
bootblack said.</p>

<p>“‘Who votes?’ I asked.</p>

<p>“‘All the men in the city.’</p>

<p>“‘Do your fathers vote?’”</p>

<p>“‘Course&mdash;ain’t they Riverporters?’</p>

<p>“‘Then,’ I said, ‘you belong to the city, and you
own a little bit of the Mayor, and I have just been
asking him to give you a park to play in, but he
won’t.’</p>

<p>“The children didn’t seem to care, so I became
demagoguish. ‘Boys and girls,’ I said, ‘the children
of the North End have a park, the children of the
South End have a park, the children of the West
End have a park, but the children of the East End<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[94]</a></span>
aren’t good enough to have a park! What do
you think ought to be done to the Mayor?’</p>

<p>“A little girl giggled, and said, ‘Duck him in the
river,’ and a boy said, ‘Tar and feather him.’</p>

<p>“‘No,’ I said, ‘that would not be right, but, come
now, children, don’t you want a park&mdash;a nice wide
place with trees, and benches, and swings, and a
big heap of sand to play in?’</p>

<p>“‘Oh, glorymaroo!’ said a little girl, ‘it would
be just like a Sunday-school picnic.’</p>

<p>“‘Yes, just like a picnic every day, and now,
children, you can have this park if you will do
as I tell you; will you?’</p>

<p>“‘Yes, yes,’ they all shouted, for they had begun
to get excited. ‘Now listen,’ I went on, and I indicated
two of the most ragged little creatures present,
‘go to the city hall, take each other’s hands, and
when you see the Mayor coming, go up to him
politely, and say, “Please, Mr. Mayor, will you
give the children of the East End a park to play
in?”’</p>

<p>“They ran off like foxes before I could say another
word, then they rushed back. ‘We don’t
know that gen’l’man.’</p>

<p>“Here was a dilemma, but a newsboy, with eyes
like gimlets, got me out of it. ‘See here,’ he said,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[95]</a></span>
‘I can’t wiggle in ’count of business, but I’ll give
signals. You, here, Biddy Malone, when you see
me hop on one leg, and kick a stone, you’ll know
the Mayor’s coming, see?’</p>

<p>“The girls nodded and ran off, and he ran after
them.</p>

<p>“I mustn’t forget to say I told them to go ask
their mothers, but, bless you, the street is so narrow
that the women all knew what I was doing, and
approved, I could tell by their grins.</p>

<p>“‘Now I want a boy for the Mayor’s house,’
I said.</p>

<p>“A shock-headed urchin volunteered, and I detailed
him to sit on the Mayor’s steps till that gentleman
betook himself home for luncheon, and then
to rise and say, ‘Please, Mr. Mayor, give the children
of the East End a park to play in.’</p>

<p>“Well, I sent out about ten couples and six singles.
They were to station themselves at intervals
along the unhappy man’s route, and by this time
the little monkeys had all got so much in the spirit
of it, that I had hard work to keep the whole crowd
from going.”</p>

<p>Margaretta leaned back in her chair and laughed
quietly. “Well, if you’re not developing.”</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[96]</a></span></p>

<p>“Put any creature in a tight place,” said Berty,
indignantly, “and see how it will squirm.”</p>

<p>“How did the Mayor take this persecution?”</p>

<p>“Like an angel, for the first few days. Then I
began to increase the number of my scouts. They
met him on his own sidewalk, on the corner as he
waited for the car, on the steps of his club, till at
last he began to dodge them.”</p>

<p>“Then they got their blood up. You can’t elude
the children of the streets. I told them not to beg
or whine, just to say their little formula, then vanish.</p>

<p>“At the end of a week he began to have a hunted
look. Then he began to peer around street corners,
then he took to a <i lang="fr">coupé</i>, and then he sprained his
ankle.”</p>

<p>“What did the children do?”</p>

<p>“Politely waited for him to get well, but he sent
me a note, saying he would do all he could to get
them their park, and with his influence that meant,
of course, that they should have it.”</p>

<p>“How lovely&mdash;weren’t you glad?”</p>

<p>“I danced for joy&mdash;but this puzzled me. I
hadn’t expected to get at his heart so soon. Who
had helped me? Grandma said it was the Lord.”</p>

<p>“Aided by Mrs. Jimson, I suspect,” added Margaretta,
shrewdly. “This explains a mystery. Some<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[97]</a></span>
time ago, I heard Roger and Tom Everest down
in the library nearly killing themselves laughing.
When I asked Roger what it was about, he said
only a Jimson joke. Then he said, ‘Can’t you keep
Berty out of the city hall?’”</p>

<p>“I said, ‘What do you mean?’ but he wouldn’t
tell me any more. I believe that Mr. Jimson’s men
friends teased him, and his mother and sisters
brought pressure to bear upon him.”</p>

<p>“They called yesterday,” said Berty, demurely.</p>

<p>“Well, well, and did they mention your park?”</p>

<p>“They were full of it. I went down to the
wharf with them. I am there half the time. You
must come, Margaretta, and see the work going on.”</p>

<p>“Where did the Mayor get the money?”</p>

<p>“Squeezed it out of something. He said his
councillors approved. He won’t see me, though&mdash;carries
on all the business by correspondence.”</p>

<p>Margaretta looked anxious, but Berty was unheeding,
and went on, eloquently. “Isn’t it queer how
Grandma’s teaching is in our very bones? I didn’t
know I had it in me to keep even our own family
together, but I have. I’d fight like a wolf for you
and Bonny, Margaretta, and now I’m getting so
I’ll fight like a wolf for our bigger human family.”</p>

<p>Margaretta’s anxiety passed away, and she smiled<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[98]</a></span>
indulgently. “Very well, sister. It’s noble to fight
for the right, but don’t get to be that thing that
men hate so. What is it they call that sort of
person&mdash;oh, yes, a new woman.”</p>

<p>Berty raised both hands. “I’ll be a new woman,
or an old woman, or a wild woman, or a tame
woman, or any kind of a woman, except a lazy
woman!”</p>

<hr />

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[99]</a></span></p>

<h2 id="CHAPTER_IX">CHAPTER IX.<br />
<span class="smaller">THE MAYOR’S DILEMMA</span></h2>

<p>Berty was rowing down the river in her pink
boat with its bands of white.</p>

<p>She was all pink and white, boat, cushions, oars,
dress, and complexion&mdash;except her hair and eyes,
which formed a striking and almost startling blue-black
contrast.</p>

<p>However, Berty was nothing if not original, and
just now in the late afternoon, when all the other
boats and canoes were speeding homeward, she was
hurrying down the river.</p>

<p>She gave a gay greeting to her friends and acquaintances,
and to many of the fishermen and river-hands
with whom she had become acquainted since
she came to live on River Street.</p>

<p>She scarcely knew why she was turning her back
on her home at this, the time of her evening meal,
unless it was that she was so full of life and strength
that she simply could not go into the house.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[100]</a></span></p>

<p>Grandma would not care. Grandma was too philosophical
to worry. She would take her knitting
to the veranda and sit tranquilly awaiting the return
of her granddaughter. If she got hungry, she
would take her supper.</p>

<div class="poetry-container">
<div class="poetry">
<div class="verse">“Grandma is a darling,</div>
<div class="verse">Grandma is a dear,”</div>
</div>
</div>

<p class="noindent">chanted Berty, then she stopped. “But I must
not be selfish. I will just row round Bobbetty’s
Island and then go home.”</p>

<p>Bobbetty’s Island was a haunted island about the
size of an extensive building lot. Poor old man
Bobbetty had lived here alone for so many years
that he had become crazy at last, and had hanged
himself to one of the spruce-trees.</p>

<p>Picnic-parties rarely landed here&mdash;the island was
too small, and the young people did not like its
reputation. They always went farther down to
some of the larger islands.</p>

<p>So this little thickly wooded piece of land stood
alone and solitary, dropped like a bit of driftwood
in the middle of the river.</p>

<p>Berty was not afraid of the ghost. She was rowing
gaily round the spruces singing softly to herself,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[101]</a></span>
when she saw something that made her mouth
close abruptly.</p>

<p>An annoyed-looking man sat on a big flat rock
close to the water’s edge. He stared at her without
speaking, and Berty stared at him. This was
no ghost. Poor old Bobbetty had not appeared in
the flesh. This was a very living and very irritated
man, judging from his countenance.</p>

<p>Berty smiled softly to herself, then, without a
word, she drew near the islet, took her hands from
the oars, and, pulling her note-book from her pocket,
coolly scribbled a few lines on a slip of paper:</p>

<div class="blockquote">

<p>“<span class="smcap">Dear Sir</span>:&mdash;If you have lost your boat, which
I judge from appearances you have done, I am
willing to give you a lift back to the city.</p>

<p class="center">“Yours truly,</p>

<p class="right">“<span class="smcap">Berty Gravely</span>.”</p>

</div>

<p>Having finished her note, she drew in an oar, put
the paper flat on the blade, stuck a pin through it
to make it firm, then extended it to the waiting and
watching man.</p>

<p>Without a word on his part, he got up from
his rock seat, and, stretching out a hand, took the
slip of paper. Then reseating himself with a slight<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[102]</a></span>
smile, he produced his own note-book, tore a leaf
from it, and took a stylographic pen from his pocket.</p>

<div class="blockquote">

<p>“<span class="smcap">Dear Madam</span>:&mdash;I have indeed lost my boat.
I accept your offer with gratitude.</p>

<p class="center">“Yours truly,</p>

<p class="right">“<span class="smcap">Peter Jimson</span>.”</p>

</div>

<p>The oar was still resting on the rocks. He pinned
his answer to it, saw Berty draw it in, read it, and
then she brought her boat round for him.</p>

<p>Still without speaking he stepped in, somewhat
clumsily, seated himself, and mopped his perspiring
face.</p>

<p>They were not moving, and he looked up. Berty
had dropped the oars, and had calmly seated herself
on the stern cushions. She had no intention of
rowing with a man in the boat.</p>

<p>The Mayor set to work, while Berty lounged on
her seat and studied the shell-like tints of the sky.
Suddenly she heard a slight sound, and brought
her gaze down to the river.</p>

<p>The Mayor was laughing&mdash;trying not to do so,
but slowly and gradually giving way and shaking
all over like a bowl of jelly.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[103]</a></span></p>

<p>She would not ask him what amused him, and
presently he said, “Excuse me.”</p>

<p>“Why?” asked Berty, with preternatural gravity.</p>

<p>“Well, well,” he stuttered, “I don’t know, but I
guess it isn’t good manners for one person to laugh
when the other isn’t.”</p>

<p>“Laugh on,” said Berty, benevolently, “the whole
river is before you.”</p>

<p>The Mayor did laugh on, and rowed at the same
time, until at last he was obliged to take his hands
from the oars, and get out his handkerchief to wipe
his eyes.</p>

<p>Berty’s face was hidden from him. She had
picked up a huge illustrated paper from the bottom
of the boat, and her whole head was concealed by
it. But the paper was shaking, and he had an idea
that she, too, was laughing.</p>

<p>His suspicion was correct, for presently the paper
dropped, and he saw that his companion was in a
convulsion of girlish laughter.</p>

<p>“Oh! oh! oh!” she cried, taking away the handkerchief
that she had been stuffing in her mouth,
“it is too funny. You hate the sight of me, and
write notes to avoid me, and then go lose your boat
on a desert island, and have to be rescued by me.
Oh! it is too delicious!”</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[104]</a></span></p>

<p>The Mayor thought he could laugh, but his laughter
was nothing to this ecstasy of youthful enjoyment,
and his harsh, thick tones gradually died
away, while he listened delightedly to this rippling
outflow from pretty lips.</p>

<p>“It is comical,” he said, after a time, when she
had somewhat calmed down. “I guess I ought to
apologize to you. I have treated you mean. But
you got a corner on me.”</p>

<p>“A corner in street urchins,” said Berty, gaspingly;
“well, I’m obliged to you for getting the
park, but I must say I wish you would give the
work some of your personal superintendence.”</p>

<p>“I’ve been down,” he said, unguardedly.</p>

<p>“When?” asked Berty, promptly.</p>

<p>“At night,” he said, with some confusion. “I
slip down after I know you’ve gone to bed.”</p>

<p>“How do you think the workmen are getting
on?” she asked, anxiously.</p>

<p>“Fairly well&mdash;what do you want that high fence
for?”</p>

<p>“For games&mdash;wall games. I wish we could have
baths at the end of the wharf&mdash;public baths. The
boys can go down to the river, but the women and
children have no chance. Poor souls, they suffer.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[105]</a></span>
You would not like to be cut off from your daily
bath, would you, sir?”</p>

<p>“Well, no,” replied the Mayor, cautiously, “I
don’t suppose I would.”</p>

<p>“The city ought to build baths,” said Berty,
warmly.</p>

<p>“There’s private charity,” said the Mayor.</p>

<p>“Private charity, my dear sir! You don’t know
those River Street people. They have as much pride
as you have. What the city does for them is all
right&mdash;what private citizens do for them publicly,
and with all sorts of ridiculous restrictions, angers
them.”</p>

<p>The Mayor looked longingly over his shoulder
toward the city.</p>

<p>“Oh, pardon me,” said Berty, hurriedly. “I
shouldn’t talk business to you in my own boat when
you can’t escape me. Pray tell me of your adventures
this afternoon. Was your boat stolen?”</p>

<p>“Stolen, no&mdash;it was my own carelessness. You
know I’m driven to death with business, and if I
take a friend out with me he’s got an axe to grind
for some one, so I steal off alone whenever I can.
Nobody goes to that island, and it’s a fine place to
read or snooze, but to-day I neglected to secure my
boat, and away it went.”</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[106]</a></span></p>

<p>“And nobody came by?”</p>

<p>“Lots of people, I suppose, but I was asleep until
just before you came.”</p>

<p>“Isn’t the river delicious?” said Berty, dreamily.</p>

<p>“I like it well enough,” said Mr. Jimson, letting
unappreciative eyes wander over the blue water and
the smiling landscape beyond. “It’s a great place
to plan your business.”</p>

<p>“Business, business, business,” murmured the
girl, “it seems sacrilege to mention that word here.”</p>

<p>“If it weren’t for business of various kinds, there
wouldn’t be any Riverport,” said the man, with a
backward nod of his head.</p>

<p>“Poor old Riverport!” said Berty; “poor,
sordid, material old Riverport!”</p>

<p>The Mayor braced his feet harder and stared at
her. Then he said, “If it weren’t for business,
most of us would go under.”</p>

<p>“Yes, but we needn’t be holding it up all the
time, and bowing down to it, and worshipping, and
prostrating our souls before it, till we haven’t any
spirit or beauty left.”</p>

<p>The Mayor stared at her again. Then he said,
“You don’t seem as silly as most girls.”</p>

<p>This to Berty was a challenge. Her eyes sparkled
wickedly, and from that instant till they reached the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[107]</a></span>
city she poured out a babble of girlish nonsense that
completely bewildered the plain man before her.</p>

<p>“Will you let me off at the city wharf?” he asked,
at last, when she had paused to take breath.</p>

<p>“Certainly,” said Berty, “after you row me
home.”</p>

<p>“Oh, excuse me,” he said, confusedly. “I am
so little in ladies’ society that I don’t know how to
act.”</p>

<p>“We’ve got a tiny wharf at the end of our back
yard,” said Berty. “You’ll know it because all
the wharves round are black and dingy, but ours
is painted pink and white. There it is&mdash;look ahead
and you’ll see.”</p>

<p>The Mayor looked, and soon the little boat was
gliding toward the gay flight of steps.</p>

<p>“Now will you tie her up and come in through
the house?” asked Berty, politely.</p>

<p>The Mayor did as he was requested, and, stepping
ashore, curiously followed his guide up through the
tidy back yard to the big old-fashioned house that
seemed to peer with its small eyes of windows far
out over the river.</p>

<p>On the ground floor were a kitchen and pantry
and several good-sized rooms that had been used for<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[108]</a></span>
servants’ quarters in the first, palmy days of the
old mansion.</p>

<p>“A pity this neighbourhood was given up to poor
people,” said the Mayor, as he tramped up a narrow,
dark stairway behind his guide.</p>

<p>“A blessing that they have something so lovely as
this river view,” said Berty, quickly. “I can’t tell
you how we appreciate it after our limited outlook
from Grand Avenue. Here is our dining-room,” and
she threw open the door of a large room at the
back of the house.</p>

<p>Mr. Jimson stepped in somewhat awkwardly. The
room was plainly furnished, but the small windows
were open, and also a glass door leading to a veranda,
where a table was prepared for the evening meal.
He could see a white cloth, and numerous dishes
covered and uncovered.</p>

<p>“Grandma,” said Berty, “here is Mr. Jimson&mdash;you
remember hearing me speak of him.”</p>

<p>Mr. Jimson, filled with curiosity, turned to the
composed little old lady who came in from the
veranda and shook hands with him. This was
Madam Travers. He had been familiar with her
face for years, but she never before had spoken to
him.</p>

<p>“Will you stay and have a cup of tea with my<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[109]</a></span>
granddaughter and me?” she asked him, when he
looked uncomfortably toward the door.</p>

<p>His gaze went again to the table. A rising breeze
had just brushed aside the napkin covering a pitcher.</p>

<p>“Is that a jug of buttermilk I see?” he asked,
wistfully.</p>

<p>“It is,” said the old lady, kindly.</p>

<p>“Then I’ll stay,” he said, and he dropped his hat
on a chair.</p>

<p>Grandma and Berty both smiled, and he smiled
himself, and, looking longingly toward the table,
said, “I can’t get it at home, and in the restaurants
it is poor stuff.”</p>

<p>“And do you like curds and cream?” asked
Grandma, leading the way to the table.</p>

<p>“Yes, ma’am!” he said, vigorously.</p>

<p>“And sage cheese, and corn-cake, and crullers?”</p>

<p>“Why, you take me back to my grandfather’s
farm in the country,” he replied, squeezing himself
into the seat indicated.</p>

<p>“My granddaughter and I are very fond of simple
dishes,” said Grandma. “Now I’ll ask a blessing
on this food, and then, Berty, you must give Mr.
Jimson some buttermilk. I see he is very thirsty.”</p>

<p>Mr. Jimson was an exceedingly happy man. He
had pumpkin pie, and cold ham, and chicken, in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[110]</a></span>
addition to the other dishes he liked, and to wind
up with, a cup of hot tea.</p>

<p>“This is first-class tea,” he said, abruptly.</p>

<p>“It came from China,” said Grandma, “a present
from a Chinese official to my late husband. I will
show you some of the stalks with the leaves on
them.”</p>

<p>“Well, you look pretty cozy here,” said the
Mayor, after he had finished his meal, and sat gazing
out on the river. “I wish I could stay, but
I’ve got a meeting.”</p>

<p>“Come some other time,” said Grandma, graciously.</p>

<p>“I’d like to,” he said, abruptly. “I rarely go
out, unless it’s to a big dinner which I hate, and
sometimes you get tired of your own house&mdash;though
I’ve got a good mother and sisters,” he
added, hastily.</p>

<p>“I have no doubt of that,” said Grandma. “They
were kind enough to call on us.”</p>

<p>“You have a good granddaughter,” he said, with
a curious expression, as he looked down into the
back yard where Berty had gone to feed some white
pigeons, “but,” he added, “she is a puzzler sometimes.
I expect she hates me.”</p>

<p>“She does not hate any one,” said Grandma,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[111]</a></span>
softly. “She is young and overzealous at times,
and will heartily scold the latest one to incur her
displeasure, but she has a loving heart.”</p>

<p>“It’s fine to be young,” said the Mayor, with a
sigh; “good-night, madam. I’ve enjoyed my visit.”</p>

<p>“Come again some other time,” said Grandma,
with quaint, old-fashioned courtesy, “we shall always
be glad to see you.”</p>

<p>“I will, madam,” said the Mayor, and he gripped
her hand till it ached. Then he took his hat, and
trotted nimbly away.</p>

<p>“Has he gone?” asked Berty, coming into the
room a few minutes later.</p>

<p>“Yes,” said Grandma.</p>

<p>The girl’s eyes were dancing. She was longing
to make fun of him, but her grandmother, she knew,
was inexorable. No one should ever ridicule in her
presence the guest who had broken her bread and
eaten her salt.</p>

<p>Yet Berty must say something. “Grandma,” she
remarked, softly, “it isn’t safe to cut any one, is
it?”</p>

<p>“To cut any one?” repeated the old lady.</p>

<p>“To cut the acquaintance of any one. For instance&mdash;you
hate a person, you stop speaking to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[112]</a></span>
that person. You get into a scrape, that person is
the only one who can help you out.”</p>

<p>Grandma said nothing.</p>

<p>“Surely,” said Berty, persuasively, “in the course
of your long life, you must have often noticed it is
not only mean, but it is bad policy to break abruptly
with any one without just cause?”</p>

<p>“Yes,” said Grandma, quietly, “I have.”</p>

<p>“Any further remarks to make?” inquired Berty,
after a long pause.</p>

<p>Grandma’s dimple slowly crept into view.</p>

<p>Berty laughed, kissed her, and ran off to bed,
saying, as she did so, “I wonder whether your new
admirer will ever call again?”</p>

<p>Grandma tranquilly rolled up her knitting and
followed her.</p>

<hr />

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[113]</a></span></p>

<h2 id="CHAPTER_X">CHAPTER X.<br />
<span class="smaller">A GROUNDLESS SUSPICION</span></h2>

<p>Grandma was on the veranda, knitting, knitting,
always knitting.</p>

<p>“What a bird’s perch this is,” said some one
suddenly, behind her.</p>

<p>She turned round. Grandson Roger was trying
to squeeze his tall frame between the equally tall
frame of an old-fashioned rocking-chair and the
veranda railing.</p>

<p>“How you must miss your big veranda on Grand
Avenue,” he said, coming to sit beside her.</p>

<p>“I don’t,” said Grandma, tranquilly. “It’s wonderful
how one gets used to things. Berty and I
used to enjoy our roomy veranda, but we have
adapted ourselves to this one, and never feel like
complaining.”</p>

<p>“It’s a wonderful thing&mdash;that power of adaptation,”
said the young man, soberly, “and I have a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[114]</a></span>
theory that the primitive in us likes to return to small
quarters and simplicity. For instance, I am never
so happy as when I leave my large house and go
to live in my hunting-camp.”</p>

<p>Grandma smiled, and took up her knitting again.</p>

<p>Roger, who had comfortably settled himself in
the corner beside her, frowned slightly. “Grandma,
the girls tell me that you are selling these stockings
you knit.”</p>

<p>“Yes, why not?” she asked, quietly.</p>

<p>“But there is no need of it.”</p>

<p>“They bring a good price. You cannot buy
home-knit silk stockings everywhere.”</p>

<p>“But it is drudgery for you.”</p>

<p>“I enjoy it.”</p>

<p>“Very well, if you enjoy it. But you won’t persist
if it tires you?”</p>

<p>“No, Roger.”</p>

<p>“Who buys the stockings?” he asked, curiously.</p>

<p>“I sell them among my friends. Mrs. Darley-James
buys the most of them.”</p>

<p>His face grew red. “You supply stockings to
her?”</p>

<p>“Why should I not?”</p>

<p>“I don’t know why, but it makes me ‘mad,’ as
Berty says.”</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[115]</a></span></p>

<p>“Didn’t you supply her husband with that new
iron railing for his garden?”</p>

<p>“Yes, ma’am, I did, and it’s a good one.”</p>

<p>“Well, if you sell the husband a garden railing,
why shouldn’t I sell the wife a pair of stockings?”</p>

<p>“I don’t know,” he said, with a laugh. “I suppose
it’s the nonsensical notion about one kind of
labour being degrading, and another ennobling.
We’re all simpletons, anyway&mdash;we human beings.
Where is Berty this evening?”</p>

<p>“Listen,” said Grandma, putting up a hand.</p>

<p>Down in the back yard was a sound of hammering.</p>

<p>Roger leaned over the railing. “What under the
sun is she doing?”</p>

<p>“Puttering over those pigeons&mdash;making new
boxes for them.”</p>

<p>“Who is with her? I see a man’s back.”</p>

<p>“The Mayor.”</p>

<p>“Jimson?”&mdash;and Roger fell back in his seat
with a disturbed air.</p>

<p>“The same,” said Grandma, calmly.</p>

<p>Roger wrinkled his forehead. “That reminds
me&mdash;came to see you partly about that. It seems
Berty and the Mayor go about a good deal together.”</p>

<p>“How do you know?” asked Grandma, shrewdly.</p>

<p>“Oh, I know, people notice them.”</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[116]</a></span></p>

<p>“Some one has been complaining to you,” said
Grandma. “Who was it?”</p>

<p>Roger smiled. “Well, to tell the truth, Tom
Everest was grumbling. You know he has been
just like a brother to Berty and Margaretta.”</p>

<p>“Yes, I know,” said Grandma, tranquilly. “I
just wanted to find out whether there was any public
gossip about Berty’s friendship for the Mayor.
Friendly inquiry on the part of an old playmate
is another matter.”</p>

<p>“I cannot imagine Berty giving any one any
occasion for gossip,” said Roger, proudly.</p>

<p>“Nor I&mdash;well, go on, what did Tom say?”</p>

<p>“He said, ‘What does this mean, Stanisfield?
Berty is for ever on the river with the Mayor, he
is for ever dangling about her house, and that park
she is getting in shape for the children. If I were
you I’d put a word in Mrs. Travers’s ear. Don’t
speak to Berty.’”</p>

<p>“Poor Tom!” said Grandma.</p>

<p>“He’s jealous, I suppose,” said Roger. “Still, if
he talks, some one else may talk. What does it
mean that Jimson comes here so much? You don’t
suppose he has taken a fancy to Berty?”</p>

<p>Grandma smiled. “Yes, I do, a strong and uncommon
fancy. He is perfectly fascinated by her.”</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[117]</a></span></p>

<p>Roger’s jaw fell, and he smote with his fist on
the arm of the rocking-chair. “Get rid of him,
Grandma. Don’t have him round.”</p>

<p>“Why not&mdash;he’s an honourable man.”</p>

<p>“But not for Berty&mdash;you don’t know, Grandma.
He’s all right morally, but he’s vulgar&mdash;none of
our set go with him.”</p>

<p>“I don’t find him unbearably vulgar. He seems
a kind-hearted man, but I am unintentionally deceiving
you. He is over forty years old, Roger.”</p>

<p>“Well, men of forty, and men of fifty, fancy girls
of half their age.”</p>

<p>“Fancy them, yes, but he has no intention of
falling in love with Berty. He is simply charmed
with her as a companion.”</p>

<p>“It’s a dangerous companionship,” grumbled
Roger.</p>

<p>“Not so&mdash;they quarrel horribly,” and Grandma
laughed enjoyably over some reminiscences.</p>

<p>“Quarrel, do they?”</p>

<p>“Yes, Roger&mdash;my theory is that that man is too
hard worked. Fagged out when he leaves his office,
he is beset by petitioners for this thing and that
thing. At home I fancy he has little peace, for
his mother and sisters are ambitious socially, and
urge him to attend various functions for which he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[118]</a></span>
has no heart. Unexpectedly he has found a place
of refuge here, and a congenial playfellow in Berty.
I think he really has to put a restraint upon himself
to keep from coming oftener.”</p>

<p>“This is Jimson in a new light,” said Roger,
listening attentively.</p>

<p>“In River Street,” continued Grandma, “he is
free. No one comes to find him here. He has
plenty of excitement and amusement if Berty is
about. If she is out, he sits and talks to me by
the hour.”</p>

<p>“To you&mdash;” said Roger. “I should not think
he would have anything in common with a lady
like you.”</p>

<p>“Ah, Roger, there is beauty in every human soul,”
said the little old lady, eloquently. “The trouble
is we are all too much taken up with externals. There
is something pathetic to me about this man. Hard-working,
ambitious, longing for congenial companionship,
not knowing just where to get it, he
keeps on at his daily treadmill. He has got to be
a kind of machine, and he has tried to stifle the
spirit within him. Berty, with her youth and freshness,
has, in some way or other, the knack of putting
her finger on some sensitive nerve that responds<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[119]</a></span>
easily to her touch. He is becoming quite interested
in what she is interested in.”</p>

<p>Roger was staring at her in great amusement.
“You talk well, Grandma, and at unusual length
for you, but a man convinced against his will, you
know&mdash;”</p>

<p>The old lady smiled sweetly at him, smiled with
the patience of one who is willing to wait a long
time in order to be understood. Then knitting steadily
without looking at her work, she gazed far out
over the beautiful river.</p>

<p>It was very wide just here, and, now that evening
was falling, they could barely distinguish the fields
and white farmhouses on the other side. The stars
were coming out one by one&mdash;those “beautiful
seeds sown in the field of the sky.” Roger could
see the old lady’s lips moving. She was probably
repeating some favourite passages of Scripture.
What a good woman she was. What a help to him,
and what a valuable supplement to his own mother,
who was a woman of another type.</p>

<p>His eyes grew moist, and for a long time he sat
gazing with her at the darkening yet increasingly
beautiful sky and river.</p>

<p>The hammering went on below, until Berty’s
voice suddenly rang out. “We’ll have to stop, Mr.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[120]</a></span>
Jimson. It’s getting too dark to see where to put
the nails.”</p>

<p>“I’ll come help you to-morrow evening,” replied
the Mayor, in his thick, good-natured voice.</p>

<p>“No, thank you. I won’t trouble you. I’ll get
a carpenter. You’ve been too good already.”</p>

<p>“I like to do it. You’ve no idea how much I enjoy
puttering round a house,” replied Mr. Jimson. “I
never get a chance at home.”</p>

<p>“Why&mdash;aren’t there things to do about your
house?”</p>

<p>“Yes; but if I get at a thing I’m sure to be
interrupted, and then my mother doesn’t like to
see me carpentering.”</p>

<p>“You ought to have a house of your own,” said
Berty, decidedly. “It is the duty of every man to
marry and bring up a family and to keep it together.
That helps the Union, but if you have no family
you can’t keep it together, and you are an unworthy
son of this great republic.”</p>

<p>“That’s a fact,” replied the Mayor. “I guess
we’ll have a little talk about it. I’ll just sit down
here on this bench a minute to rest. I’m quite
blown.”</p>

<p>Berty made no response, or, if she did, it was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[121]</a></span>
in such a low tone that the occupants of the veranda
could not hear, and presently the Mayor went on.</p>

<p>“Yes, I’ve often thought of getting married. A
man ought to, before he gets too old. How old
would you take me to be?”</p>

<p>“About fifty,” came promptly, in Berty’s clear
voice.</p>

<p>Her companion was evidently annoyed, for it
was some time before he spoke, and then he said,
briefly, “Fifty!”</p>

<p>“Well,” said Berty, kindly, “I said <em>about</em> fifty.
I dare say you’re not much more than forty.”</p>

<p>“I suppose forty seems like dead old age to you?”
queried the Mayor, curiously.</p>

<p>“Oh, yes&mdash;it seems far off like the other side
of the river,” replied the girl.</p>

<p>“Well, I’m forty-five,” said the Mayor.</p>

<p>“Forty-five,” repeated Berty, musingly, “just
think of it! You seem quite young in your ways.”</p>

<p>“Young&mdash;I dare say I feel as young as you,”
he replied. “I wish you were a bit older.”</p>

<p>“Why?” asked Berty, innocently.</p>

<p>“Oh, well, I don’t know why,” he replied, with
sudden sheepishness.</p>

<p>Roger glanced at Grandma. It was not like her
to play eavesdropper.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[122]</a></span></p>

<p>But dear Grandma was not hearing a word of
what was being said below. Her knitting had fallen
from her hand, her head had dropped forward, her
cheeks were gently puffing in and out. She was
quietly and unmistakably asleep.</p>

<p>Roger smiled, and kept on listening. He had
no scruples on his own account, and he wanted his
question answered. Why was the Mayor dangling
about Berty?</p>

<p>Mr. Jimson was still on the subject of matrimony.
The quiet evening, the, as he supposed, secluded
spot, Berty’s amiability, all tended to excite confidence
in him.</p>

<p>In response to something he had said, Berty was
remarking, with gentle severity, “I should think
you would talk this matter over with your mother
rather than with me.”</p>

<p>“Well,” Mr. Jimson said, thoughtfully, “it’s queer
how you can tell things to strangers, easier than
to your mother.”</p>

<p>“<em>I</em> couldn’t,” said Berty, promptly. “If I were
thinking of getting married, I’d ask Grandma to
advise me. She’s had <em>so</em> much experience. She
chose Roger of all Margaretta’s admirers.”</p>

<p>“Did she, now?” said the Mayor, in admiration.
“That was a first-class choice.” Then he asked,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[123]</a></span>
insinuatingly, “And have you ever consulted her
for yourself?”</p>

<p>“Of course not&mdash;not yet. It’s too soon.”</p>

<p>“I suppose it is,” said Mr. Jimson, in a disappointed
voice, “and, as I said before, I wish you
were ten years older.”</p>

<p>“You don’t mean to say that you would think of
me for yourself?” asked Berty, in a sudden, joyful
voice.</p>

<p>“Yes, I would,” he replied, boldly.</p>

<p>“Oh, thank you, thank you,” said the girl, gaily;
“that’s my first proposal, or, rather, I suppose it
isn’t a <i>bona fide</i> proposal. It’s just a hint. Still
it counts. I’ve really got out into life. Margaretta
has always kept me down where gentlemen were
concerned. Older sisters have to, you know. I’ll
be just dreadfully interested in you after this. Do
let me pick you out a wife.”</p>

<p>“Well, I don’t know about that,” said the Mayor,
guardedly.</p>

<p>“Just tell me what you want,” continued Berty.
“I know lots of girls, but I suppose you will want
a woman. I know some of them, too&mdash;must she
be light or dark?”</p>

<p>Mr. Jimson looked at Berty. “Black hair.”</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[124]</a></span></p>

<p>“Very well&mdash;black hair to start with. Not tall,
but short, I suppose.”</p>

<p>“Why short?” asked the Mayor, suspiciously.</p>

<p>“Well, you’re not dreadfully tall for a man, you
know.”</p>

<p>The Mayor seemed to be sulking for some time.
Then he said, “I like a good-sized woman.”</p>

<p>“Tall and black-haired,” said Berty, in a businesslike
way. “Now, do you want a quiet woman, or
a lively woman&mdash;a social woman, or a home
body?”</p>

<p>“None of your rattlers for me,” said the man,
hastily. “I want a quiet tongue, good manners,
and no wasteful habits.”</p>

<p>“Do you want to entertain much?”</p>

<p>“Oh, law, no!” said her companion, wearily.
“Upon my word, I think a deaf and dumb wife
would suit me best. Then she couldn’t go to parties
and drag me with her&mdash;Look here, there’s a woman
I’ve seen sometimes when I go to church with
my mother, that I’ve often thought was a nice-looking
kind of person. You’d be sure to know her,
for one of her brothers is a great friend of your
brother-in-law.”</p>

<p>“Who is she?” asked Berty, eagerly.</p>

<p>Her companion seemed to have some hesitation<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[125]</a></span>
about mentioning the name. At last he said,
“Mother says her first name is Selina.”</p>

<p>“Not Selina Everest&mdash;don’t tell me that,” said
Berty, quickly.</p>

<p>“Yes, that’s her name.”</p>

<p>Berty groaned. “And is she the only woman you
have in your mind?”</p>

<p>“She’s the only one I can think of now as cutting
any kind of a figure before me.”</p>

<p>“Selina Everest!” groaned Berty again. “Why
don’t you say the Queen of England and be done
with it? She’s the most exclusive of our ridiculously
exclusive set. She is an aristocrat to her finger-tips.
She wouldn’t look at you&mdash;that is, I don’t think&mdash;she
probably wouldn’t&mdash;”</p>

<p>“How old is she?” asked the Mayor, breaking
in upon her.</p>

<p>“Let me see&mdash;Tom, her brother, is six years
older than I am, Walter is twenty-seven, Jim is
thirty, Maude is older than he is, and Augustus is
older than that. Oh, Miss Everest must be nearly
forty.”</p>

<p>“Then she’ll jump at a chance to marry,” said
the Mayor, coolly. “Has she a good temper?”</p>

<p>“Yes,” said Berty, feebly, “but&mdash;”</p>

<p>“But what? Does she snap sometimes?”</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[126]</a></span></p>

<p>“No, no, she is always ladylike, but I am just sure
she wouldn’t marry you.”</p>

<p>“Why are you so sure,” asked the Mayor, sharply.</p>

<p>“Because&mdash;because&mdash;”</p>

<p>“Am I a red Indian or a cowboy?” asked Mr.
Jimson, indignantly.</p>

<p>“No, but&mdash;”</p>

<p>“Is she a strong girl?”</p>

<p>“No, she is often in bed&mdash;I don’t really think&mdash;”</p>

<p>“Airs, probably,” said her companion. “Has
been brought up soft. I’d break her of that.”</p>

<p>“She wouldn’t marry you,” said Berty, desperately.</p>

<p>“Don’t be too sure of that,” and Mr. Jimson’s
voice sounded angry to the man on the veranda
above.</p>

<p>“I tell you she wouldn’t. I’ve heard her just
rave against people who don’t do things just as
she does. If you ate with your knife, she’d think
you were dust beneath her feet.”</p>

<p>The Mayor was silent.</p>

<p>“Why, if you wore carpet slippers in the parlour,
or a dressing-gown, or went about the house in
your shirt-sleeves, she’d have a fit.”</p>

<p>“And who does all these things?” asked the
Mayor, sneeringly.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[127]</a></span></p>

<p>“You do!” replied Berty, stung into impertinence.
“They say you received a delegation of
clergymen in your slippers and dressing-gown.”</p>

<p>“That’s a lie,” he said, promptly, “got up by
enemies.”</p>

<p>“Well, you don’t talk elegantly,” said Berty,
wildly. “Miss Everest couldn’t stand that.”</p>

<p>“Who says I ain’t elegant?” asked the Mayor,
fiercely.</p>

<p>“I do,” replied his companion. “You say ‘dry’
for thirsty, and ‘I ain’t’ for I am not, and ‘git’
for get, and&mdash;and lots of other things, and you
don’t move gracefully. Miss Everest likes tall, thin
men. I once heard her say so.”</p>

<p>“Is it my fault that I’m short?” roared the
Mayor. “I didn’t make myself.”</p>

<p>Roger, convulsed with amusement on the veranda
above, saw with regret that Grandma was waking
up.</p>

<p>“Quarrelling again!” she murmured, moving her
head about restlessly. “Send him home, Berty.
Mr. Jimson, don’t mind her.”</p>

<p>Roger had missed something, for Berty was now
giving the Mayor a terrible scolding. “I think
you are a horrid, deceitful man. You come here
with your mind all made up about a certain woman.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[128]</a></span>
You pretend to like me, then draw me out about the
one you like. I’ll never speak to you again.”</p>

<p>Roger hung entranced over the railing. The back
gate had just slammed on Mr. Jimson, and Berty
was pouring out a flood of eloquent endearment
on the pigeons.</p>

<p>Roger ran down the stairs with a broad smile on
his face. There was no danger of sentimental nonsense
between these two people.</p>

<p>“Hello, Berty,” he said, “want some help with
your pidgie widgies?”</p>

<p>“No, Roger,” she replied, disconsolately, “I
can’t get the boxes up to-night. Still, you might
help me cover them some more. I’m dreadfully
afraid of rats getting at them. There are legions
of them down here.”</p>

<p>“You’ve had some one here, haven’t you?” said
Roger, hypocritically.</p>

<p>“Yes, that miserable Mayor, but he’s so disagreeable
that I shan’t let him help me finish. I’m never
going to speak to him again. He’s too mean to live.”</p>

<p>“I’ll come and help you,” said Roger, bending
over the pigeons to conceal his face. “Where are
these boxes going in the meantime?”</p>

<p>“Up on top of those barrels. Aren’t those fan-tails<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[129]</a></span>
sweet? Oh, you lubbie dubbies, Berty loves you
better than the hateful old Mayor.”</p>

<p>Roger laughed outright, helped his young sister-in-law
at the same time, and wondered whether the
breach between her and her new friend would be
final.</p>

<hr />

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[130]</a></span></p>

<h2 id="CHAPTER_XI">CHAPTER XI.<br />
<span class="smaller">A PROPOSED SUPPER-PARTY</span></h2>

<p>Two mornings later, Roger had come down to
River Street with a basket of green stuff for
Grandma.</p>

<p>One result of his wife’s new economy was that
he had turned errand-boy. He grumbled a little
about it, but Margaretta was inexorable.</p>

<p>“You want me to save,” she said. “I’m going
to do it. You can just as well run down to River
Street before you go to your office, as for me to give
a boy ten cents for doing it.”</p>

<p>“Ten cents is a paltry sum.”</p>

<p>“Yes, but ten tens are not paltry, and if you save
ten cents twenty times you have two dollars. Now
trot along!” and Roger always trotted, smiling as
he went.</p>

<p>On this particular morning, Grandma, after gratefully
receiving the basket, stood turning over the
crisp, green lettuce, the parsley, beets, and lovely<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[131]</a></span>
flowers with her slender fingers, when Berty appeared
fresh and rosy.</p>

<p>“Oh, Roger, dear,” she cried, flying to her writing-desk
when she saw him, “wait a moment and
take a note to the city hall, will you?”</p>

<p>“Yes, Miss Lobbyist,” said her brother-in-law,
good-naturedly.</p>

<p>“Why, this is to the Mayor,” he said, in pretended
surprise, when she handed him her note.</p>

<p>“Yes, why not?” asked Berty, opening her eyes
wide.</p>

<p>“I thought you had done with him.”</p>

<p>“Oh, that quarrel,” said Berty, carelessly, “that
was two whole days ago. I’ve had two bouquets,
and a bag of some new kind of feed for the pigeons
from him since then. I’m doing him a favour now.
There’s some one coming here to supper to-night that
he’d like to meet.”</p>

<p>“Who is it?” asked Roger, curiously.</p>

<p>“Selina Everest.”</p>

<p>“I shouldn’t think he’d be her style,” said the
young man, guilelessly.</p>

<p>“He isn’t,” sighed Berty, “but he likes her, and
I’m bound to give them a chance to meet. I hope
she won’t snub him.”</p>

<p>“She is too much of a lady to do that,” said Roger.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[132]</a></span></p>

<p>“You’re right,” replied Berty, but she sighed
again.</p>

<p>Roger’s eyes sparkled. “Grandma,” he said,
abruptly turning to her, “it is some time since Margaretta
and I have had a meal in your house. Can’t
you invite us, too? We both like Selina.”</p>

<p>“Certainly, come by all means,” said the little
old lady.</p>

<p>Berty looked doubtful and did not second the invitation.</p>

<p>“What time is supper?” asked Roger.</p>

<p>Grandma looked at Berty. “I let her have her
own way about the meals. Breakfast is at eight,
dinner at twelve&mdash;the universal hour on this street&mdash;high
tea at six, supper is a movable feast&mdash;what
time to-night, granddaughter?”</p>

<p>“Ten,” said Berty, promptly, “but we’ll sit on
the veranda first and talk. Some one must keep at
the piano all the time, playing dreamy music.”</p>

<p>“All right,” said Roger, promptly, “we’ll be
here.”</p>

<p>Berty followed him to the street door. “You’ll be
nice to the Mayor.”</p>

<p>“Nice!&mdash;I guess so.”</p>

<p>“But don’t be too nice&mdash;don’t make fun of
him.”</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[133]</a></span></p>

<p>“Berty!” he said, reproachfully.</p>

<p>“Oh, you wouldn’t make fun of him openly,” she
said, with sudden wrath, “but I know that look
in your eyes,” and with a decided tap on the back
she sent him out the front door.</p>

<p>Roger, chuckling with delight as he made his way
to the iron works, ran into Tom Everest.</p>

<p>“What are you laughing at?” asked Tom, with
his own eyes shining.</p>

<p>“Can’t tell,” said Roger.</p>

<p>“I’ll bet it was some joke about Berty,” remarked
Tom.</p>

<p>“Oh, Berty! Berty!” exclaimed his friend, “all
the world is thinking Berty, and dreaming Berty,
and seeing Berty. You’re a crank, Everest.”</p>

<p>“It was Berty,” said Tom, decidedly. “Come,
now, out with it.”</p>

<p>“She’s going to have a party to-night,” said
Roger, exploding with laughter; “your sister Selina
and the Mayor, my wife and I.”</p>

<p>“I’m going too,” said Tom, firmly.</p>

<p>Roger caught him by the shoulder. “Man, if
I find you there to-night, I’ll shoot you.”</p>

<p>“I’m going,” said Tom, and he backed into his
insurance office, leaving Roger wildly waving his
market-basket at him from the street.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[134]</a></span></p>

<p>A few hours later, Roger looked up at his wife
as he sat at the lunch-table, and said, “Don’t you
want to go to Grandma’s this evening?”</p>

<p>“Yes, dear, if you do,” she replied, holding out his
cup of bouillon for him.</p>

<p>At luncheon they were obliged to wait on themselves,
and Roger vowed that he liked it.</p>

<p>“All right, dear,” he said, as he carefully took
the hot bouillon from her, “we’ll go.”</p>

<p>“After dinner, I suppose?”</p>

<p>“Yes.”</p>

<p>“Any one else going?” asked Margaretta.</p>

<p>“She expects some others&mdash;Selina Everest for
one.”</p>

<p>“That’s nice,” said Margaretta, emphatically.</p>

<p>“And the Mayor,” added Roger.</p>

<p>“Oh!” and Margaretta drew a long breath. “I
have never met him.”</p>

<p>“Don’t you want to?”</p>

<p>“Oh, yes,” she said, lingeringly.</p>

<p>“Very well. I’ll come home a bit early.”</p>

<p>Margaretta, brimming over with satisfaction,
gazed affectionately at him. “Roger, you look ten
years younger than you did four weeks ago.”</p>

<p>“I’ve got the burden of foreboding off my shoulders,”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[135]</a></span>
he said, giving them a slight shake as he
spoke.</p>

<p>“A burden that will never be placed there again,
I hope.”</p>

<p>Roger smiled, and, looking at her happy face, said,
earnestly, “Margaretta, every day of my life I thank
God for the good fortune that made you my partner
for life.”</p>

<p>While Roger was talking to his wife, Berty was
having a somewhat excited interview with the
Mayor.</p>

<p>“Just grabbed ten minutes from lunch-hour,” he
said, “to run up and thank you for your invitation
for to-night&mdash;now what shall I wear? Dress
suit?”</p>

<p>Berty looked him over. No young girl going to
her first ball ever waited a reply with more anxiety
than he did.</p>

<p>“Let me see,” she said, thoughtfully. “We shall
be sitting out-of-doors. I think I would not wear
evening dress. Have you got a nice dark suit?”</p>

<p>“Yes, just got one from the tailor.”</p>

<p>“Good&mdash;put that on.”</p>

<p>“And what kind of a tie?” he asked, feverishly.</p>

<p>“Oh, I don’t know&mdash;white, I think. That is
cool and nice for summer.”</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[136]</a></span></p>

<p>“Can’t I wear red?” he asked, anxiously.</p>

<p>“Well, yes, a certain shade, but you’d have to
be very particular. Why do you wish red?”</p>

<p>“I&mdash;I&mdash;a woman once told me I looked well
in red,” he said, sheepishly.</p>

<p>Berty surveyed him as an indulgent mother might
survey a child.</p>

<p>“Very well, wear red. It is a great thing to have
something on that you feel at ease in. But, as I
say, you must be very particular about the shade.
I’ll run up-stairs and get a piece of silk, and do you
try to match it,” and she darted away.</p>

<p>Mr. Jimson occupied the time while she was gone
in walking about the room, nervously mopping his
face, and staring out the window at the carriage
waiting for him.</p>

<p>“Here it is,” exclaimed Berty, running back, “the
precise shade. Now <em>do</em> be particular.”</p>

<p>“You’re real good,” he replied, gratefully, and,
pocketing the scrap, he was hurrying away, when he
turned back. “What time shall I come? Can’t I
get here before the others?”</p>

<p>“Yes, do,” replied Berty, “come about half-past
seven.”</p>

<p>“All right&mdash;thank you,” and he rushed away.</p>

<p>Berty followed him to the front door. “Mr. Jimson,”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[137]</a></span>
she called, when his hand was on the door-knob.</p>

<p>“Hello!” and he turned back.</p>

<p>“You won’t be offended with me if I say something?”
she replied, hesitatingly.</p>

<p>“Not a bit of it.”</p>

<p>“Well, if I were you, I wouldn’t talk too much
to-night. Dignified reserve impresses women.”</p>

<p>“All right,” he said, good-naturedly. “I’m safe
enough, if I don’t get rattled. Then I’m apt to
make a fool of myself and gabble. Sometimes in
making a speech I can’t wind up, even if I see people
looking mad enough to kill me.”</p>

<p>“Don’t do that!” exclaimed Berty. “Oh, don’t
be long-winded. Just sit and watch Miss Everest.”</p>

<p>“All right,” said the Mayor, “till this evening!”
and he ran down the steps.</p>

<p>“Oh, dear,” murmured Berty, as she went up-stairs,
“I’m dreadfully in doubt about this party.
I wish Margaretta and Roger weren’t coming. The
Mayor has been working himself into a state over
Miss Everest. If he doesn’t please her he’ll blame
me. Oh, dear!”</p>

<p>“What’s the matter, granddaughter?” asked a
cheery voice.</p>

<p>“I’m in trouble, Grandma. The Mayor likes<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[138]</a></span>
Miss Everest. That’s why I’m asking him here
to meet her, but I’m afraid things won’t go right.”</p>

<p>“Poor little matchmaker,” said Grandma, soothingly.</p>

<p>“Did I do right, Grandma? I would have consulted
you before, but I didn’t like to give his secret
away.”</p>

<p>“You did what a kind heart would prompt you
to do. Don’t worry&mdash;I will help you with your
party.”</p>

<p>“Will you?&mdash;oh, that is lovely. Everything will
go right!” and she threw both arms round her
grandmother’s neck.</p>

<hr />

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[139]</a></span></p>

<h2 id="CHAPTER_XII">CHAPTER XII.<br />
<span class="smaller">A DISTURBED HOSTESS</span></h2>

<p>Unfortunately for Berty, a woman across the
street chose the hour of seven o’clock to have a
fit of hysterics. Nothing would satisfy her perturbed
relatives but a visit from “Madam,” as Grandma
was known to the street.</p>

<p>Half-past seven came, and no Mayor. Selina
Everest, tall, pale, and lilylike, in white and green,
arrived soon after, then came Margaretta and Roger,
and then, to Berty’s dismay, appeared Tom Everest,
dropping in as if he expected to find her alone.</p>

<p>Berty said nothing, but her face grew pinker.
Then she swept them all out to the semi-darkness
of the veranda. The Mayor should not step into
that brightly lighted room and find them all there.</p>

<p>Wedged comfortably on the veranda, and talking
over mutual friends, Margaretta, Selina, and Tom
were having a charming time. Roger, seated by the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[140]</a></span>
glass door, was restless, and kept moving in and out
the dining-room.</p>

<p>Berty was like a bird, perching here and there, and
running at intervals to the front windows, ostensibly
to watch for her grandmother, in reality to seize upon
the Mayor at the earliest moment of his arrival.</p>

<p>Margaretta and Selina were in a corner of the
veranda. Tom was nearest the dining-room, and
presently there was a whisper in his ear. “Jimson
has arrived&mdash;hot&mdash;mad&mdash;explanatory&mdash;detained&mdash;Berty
condoling.”</p>

<p>Not a muscle of Tom’s face moved, and Roger,
turning on his heel, departed.</p>

<p>Presently he came back. “Berty frantic&mdash;Jimson
has got on wrong kind of necktie. She has
corralled him behind piano.”</p>

<p>Poor Berty&mdash;she had indeed driven the unhappy
late-comer behind the upright piano in the parlour.
“Oh, Mr. Jimson, how could you? That necktie is a
bright green!”</p>

<p>“Gr&mdash;green!” stuttered the discomfited man.
“Why, I matched your sample.”</p>

<p>“You’re colour blind!” exclaimed the girl, in
despair. “Oh, what shall we do&mdash;but your suit
is lovely,” she added, as she saw the wilting effect
of her words upon him. “Come, quick, before any<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[141]</a></span>
one sees,” and she hurried him out into the hall.
“Here, go in that corner while I get one of my
shirt-waist ties.”</p>

<p>Mr. Jimson, hot and perspiring, tried to obliterate
himself against the wall until she came back.</p>

<p>“Here is a pale blue tie,” said Berty. “Now
stand before the glass in that hat-rack,&mdash;give me
that green thing. Selina Everest would have a fit
if she saw it.”</p>

<p>The Mayor hastily tore off the bit of brilliant
grass-green silk, and, seizing Berty’s blue satin, endeavoured
to fasten it round his creaking collar.</p>

<p>Roger peeped out through the dining-room door
and went back to Tom, and in a convulsion of wicked
delight reported. “He’s titivating in the hall&mdash;has
got on one of Berty’s ties. Just creep out to
see him.”</p>

<p>Tom could not resist, and seeing that Margaretta
and his sister were deep in the mysteries of coming
fashions in dress, he tiptoed into the dining-room.</p>

<p>Berty and the Mayor out in the hall were too
much engaged with each other to heed the peeping
eyes at the crack of the dining-room door.</p>

<p>Mr. Jimson was in a rage, and was sputtering
unintelligible words. Berty, too, was getting excited.
“If you say a naughty word,” she threatened,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[142]</a></span>
“I’ll take that tie away from you, and you’ll have to
go home!”</p>

<p>The Mayor, wrathfully beating one foot up and
down on the oilcloth, was trying to make the tie
tie itself.</p>

<p>“Hang it!” he said, at last, throwing it down,
“the thing won’t go at all. It was made for some
woman’s neck. Give me that green thing.”</p>

<p>“You sha’n’t have it,” Berty flared up. “You
will spoil yourself. Here, let me have the blue one.
I’ll fasten it for you, if you’ll never tell any one
I did it.”</p>

<p>Tom and Roger nearly exploded into unseemly
merriment. The sight of the unfortunate Jimson’s
face, the mingled patience and wrath of Berty, made
them clap their hands over their mouths.</p>

<p>“There!” cried Berty, at last, “it’s tied. You
men have no patience. Look round now. Come
softly into the dining-room and drink some lemonade
before I introduce you&mdash;no, stay here, I’ll bring
it to you. Smooth your hair on the left side.”</p>

<p>The unfortunate man, breathing heavily, stood
like a statue, while Tom and Roger tumbled over
each other out to the veranda.</p>

<p>“What are you two laughing at?” asked Margaretta,
suspiciously.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[143]</a></span></p>

<p>“At that black cloud there,” said Tom, pointing
to the sky. “See it dragging itself over the stars.
I say, Stanisfield, doesn’t that cloud strike you as
being of a comical shape?”</p>

<p>“Very,” exclaimed Roger, with sudden laughter,
“very comical. Trails out just like a four-in-hand
necktie.”</p>

<p>“Very like it,” echoed Tom; then they both
laughed again.</p>

<p>In the midst of their merriment, a quiet, patient
voice was heard saying, “Margaretta, let me introduce
Mr. Jimson to you,&mdash;and Miss Everest, Mr.
Jimson.”</p>

<p>Tom and Roger huddled aside like two naughty
boys, and Berty, with the Mayor behind her, stepped
to the other end of the veranda.</p>

<p>Margaretta stretched out a slim, pretty hand.
Miss Everest did likewise, and the Mayor, breathing
hard and fast, turned to the two men. “I don’t
need an introduction to you.”</p>

<p>“No,” they both said, shaking hands with a sudden
and overwhelming solemnity.</p>

<p>They all sat down, and an uninterrupted and uninteresting
chatter began. Every one but the Mayor
was good-naturedly trying to make Berty’s party
a success, and every one was unconsciously defeating<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[144]</a></span>
this object by engaging in trifling and stupid small
talk.</p>

<p>“We’re not having a bit of a good time,” said
Berty, at last, desperately. “Let’s go into the
house.”</p>

<p>They all smiled, and followed her into the parlour.
Here at least the Mayor would be able to
look at Miss Everest. Out on the veranda he could
not see her at all.</p>

<p>Quite unconscious of the others, he stared uninterruptedly
at her. She was apparently oblivious of
him, and was again talking fashions to Margaretta.</p>

<p>But Tom and Roger&mdash;Berty glared wrathfully at
them. They were examining one of Grandma’s
books of engravings taken from Italian paintings,
and if it had been the latest number of some comic
paper they would not have had more fun over it.</p>

<p>“Here is a framed one,” she said, taking a picture
from the mantel, “by Sandro Botticelli.” Then,
as she got close to them, she said, threateningly,
“If you two don’t stop giggling, I’ll shame you
before everybody!”</p>

<p>They tried to be good, they honestly did. They
did not want to tease the kind little sister, but something
had come over the two men&mdash;they were just
like two bad schoolboys. If Mr. Jimson had been<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[145]</a></span>
aware of their mirth, they would have ceased, but
just now he was so utterly unconscious&mdash;so
wrapped up in the contemplation of Miss Everest,
that they went on enjoying their secret pleasure with
the luxury of good men who seldom indulge in a
joke at the expense of others, but who rival the most
thoughtless and frivolous when once they set out
to amuse themselves.</p>

<p>Yes, Mr. Jimson was staring and silent, but after
a time his silence ceased, and he began to talk. To
talk for no apparent reason, and on no apparent
subject.</p>

<p>Margaretta and Selina, who had been paying very
little attention to him, courteously paused to listen,
and he went on. Went on, till Berty began to twitch
in dismay, and to wink&mdash;at first slyly and secretly,
then openly and undisguisedly at him.</p>

<p>It was of no use. He had got “rattled,” as he
had predicted, and was bound to have his say out.
He made her a slight sign with his head to assure
her that he understood her signals, and would if
he could pay attention to them, but he was too far
gone.</p>

<p>Berty was in despair. Tom and Roger, to keep
themselves from downright shouting, were also talking<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[146]</a></span>
very fast and very glibly about nothing in particular.</p>

<p>Berty, in utter dismay, turned her head to her
three groups of guests&mdash;Selina and Margaretta
gently and wonderingly polite, the Mayor seated by
a small table flooding the air with garrulity, and
Tom and Roger in the shade of the big piano lamp,
expounding all sorts of nonsensical theories and fancies.</p>

<p>Tom just now was on language. “Yes, my dear
fellow,” he was saying, rapidly and with outstretched
arm, “language is a wonderful thing. I may say
that to see a young child grappling with the problem
is an awe-inspiring and remarkable sight. Sometimes
when it fills the air with its incoherent longings
and strivings after oral utterance, after the sounds
which custom has made the representation of ideas,
the soul of the beholder is struck dumb with admiration,
and even I may say terror. If such is
the power of the infant brain, what will be the grasp
of the adult?”</p>

<p>At this instant Grandma entered the room. She
took in the situation at a glance, and her presence
afforded instant relief. The flood of “Jimsonese,”
as Roger and Tom styled the Mayor’s eloquence,
instantly ceased, the two bad boys shut their mouths.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[147]</a></span></p>

<p>Grandma shook hands with all her guests, then
quietly sat down.</p>

<p>“I hope you are not very tired,” said Margaretta,
gently. “How is your patient?”</p>

<p>“Better&mdash;she only wanted a little comfort.”</p>

<p>“What made her have hysterics?” asked Berty,
eagerly, and with a desire to make much of the
latest addition to their circle.</p>

<p>Grandma smiled. “She is a very nervous woman,
and has been up nights a great deal with a sick
baby. She lay down about two hours ago to take
a nap. The house has a great many mice in it, and
one got in her hair. It was entangled for a few
seconds, and she was terrified. It would be very
much more afraid of her than she would be of it.”</p>

<p>Tom and Roger laughed uproariously, so uproariously
and joyfully that Grandma’s black eyes
went to them, rested on them, and did not leave
them.</p>

<p>But they did not care. They had not enjoyed
themselves so much for years, and they were going
to continue doing so, although their punishment was
bound to come. Presently, when the conversation
between Grandma, Margaretta, Selina, and Berty
became really interrupted by their giggling, the old
lady left her seat and came over to them.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[148]</a></span></p>

<p>“Have you been acting like this all the evening?”
she asked, severely.</p>

<p>Tom looked at Roger, and Roger looked at Tom.</p>

<p>“And teasing poor Berty?”</p>

<p>Again they looked at each other.</p>

<p>“When I was a girl,” said Grandma, musingly,
“I remember getting into those gales of laughter.
How I revelled in that intoxication of the spirit! I
would even scream with delight, and if I were alone
with my girl companions would sometimes roll on
the ground in ecstasy. You are pretty old for such
pranks, but I see you are ready for one. You ought
to be alone for a time. Follow me,” and she left the
room.</p>

<p>She took them down-stairs. “Where are we
going?” asked Roger, humbly, and nudging Tom.</p>

<p>“Out with the pigeons,” she said. “There is
no room in my house for guests who make fun of
each other.”</p>

<p>“But the supper?” said Roger, anxiously.</p>

<p>“It would grieve Berty’s hospitable heart for you
to miss that,” said Grandma, “so when you have
quite finished your laughing, come up-stairs again,
and we will all have a nice time together.”</p>

<p>Tom gave Roger a thwack, then, as he found
himself in a latticed porch, and contemplated by a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[149]</a></span>
number of mild-faced, inquiring pigeons, he dropped
on a box and began to snicker again.</p>

<p>“What set you off?” asked the old lady,
curiously.</p>

<p>They both began to tell her of poor Berty’s trials
with the Mayor.</p>

<p>Grandma laughed too. “There is something
funny about that friendship,” she said, “but there
is no harm, but rather good in it, and I shall not
put a stop to it. Do you know that man would
make a good husband for your sister, Tom
Everest?”</p>

<p>Tom at this became so silly, and began to pound
Roger on the back in such an idiotic manner, that
Grandma gently closed the door and stole away.</p>

<p>Going up the steps, she could hear them laughing&mdash;now
in Homeric fashion. There were no women
about to be startled by their noise.</p>

<hr />

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[150]</a></span></p>

<h2 id="CHAPTER_XIII">CHAPTER XIII.<br />
<span class="smaller">AN ANXIOUS MIND</span></h2>

<p>“How did I act?” asked the Mayor, humbly. It
was eight o’clock the next morning, and he was
standing before Berty as she took her breakfast
alone, Grandma having gone across the street to
visit her hysterical patient.</p>

<p>Berty thoughtfully drank some coffee.</p>

<p>“I’d take a cup, too, if you’d offer it to me,”
he said, still more humbly, and sitting down opposite
her. “Somehow or other I hadn’t much appetite
this morning, and only took a bite of breakfast.”</p>

<p>Berty, still in silence, poured him out a cup of
strong coffee, and put in it a liberal supply of cream.
Then, pushing the sugar-bowl toward him, she again
devoted herself to her own breakfast.</p>

<p>“You’re ashamed of me,” said the Mayor, lifting
lumps of sugar into his cup with a downcast air.
“I gabbled.”</p>

<p>“Yes, you gabbled,” said Berty, quietly.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[151]</a></span></p>

<p>“But I’m going to make an impression,” said
the Mayor, slapping the table with one hand. “I’m
going to make that woman look at me, and size me
up, if she doesn’t do anything more.”</p>

<p>“She sized you up last night,” said Berty, mournfully.</p>

<p>“Did she say anything about me?” asked Mr.
Jimson, eagerly.</p>

<p>“Not a word&mdash;but she looked unutterable
things.”</p>

<p>“Do you think I’d better call on her?” he asked,
desperately.</p>

<p>“Oh, gracious, no!” cried Berty, “you’d spoil
everything. Leave matters to me in future.”</p>

<p>“I thought I might explain,” he said, with a
crestfallen air.</p>

<p>“What would you explain?” asked Berty, cuttingly.</p>

<p>“I’d tell her&mdash;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&mdash;”</p>

<p>“Well,” said Berty, severely, “what then?”</p>

<p>“I’d just inform her, in a passing way, that I’d
always been a steady man, and that if she would
kindly overlook the past&mdash;”</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[152]</a></span></p>

<p>“Oh! oh!” ejaculated Berty, “you wouldn’t
hint to a lady that she might have thought you were
under the influence of some stimulant?”</p>

<p>“N-n-no, not exactly,” blundered the Mayor, “but
I might quote a little poetry about the intoxication
of her presence&mdash;I cut a fine piece out of the
paper the other day. Perhaps I might read it to
her.”</p>

<p>Berty put her arm down on the table and laughed.
“Well, if you’re not the oddest man. You are just
lovely and original.”</p>

<p>The Mayor looked at her doubtfully, and drank
his coffee. Then he got up. “I don’t want you
to think I’m not in earnest about this business. I
never give up anything I’ve set my mind on, and
I like that woman, and I want her to be Mrs. Peter
Jimson.”</p>

<p>Berty shivered. “Oh, dear, dear! how badly you
will feel if she makes up her mind to be Mrs. Somebody
Else&mdash;but I’ll help you all I can. You have
a great ally in me.”</p>

<p>“I’m obliged to you,” said the Mayor, gruffly.</p>

<p>“I was ashamed of those other two men last
evening,” said Berty, getting up and walking out
toward the hall with him. “I wanted to shake
them.”</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[153]</a></span></p>

<p>“I didn’t take much stock in their actions,” said
the Mayor, indifferently. “They just felt funny,
and would have carried on whether I had been there
or not.”</p>

<p>“How forgiving in you&mdash;how noble,” said
Berty, warmly.</p>

<p>“Nothing noble about it&mdash;I know men, and
haven’t any curiosity about them. It’s you women
that bother the life out of me. I don’t know how
to take you.”</p>

<p>“It’s only a little past eight,” said Berty, suddenly.
“Can’t you come down to the wharf with
me? You don’t need to go to town yet.”</p>

<p>“Yes, I suppose so,” said the Mayor, reluctantly.</p>

<p>Berty caught up her sailor hat, and tripped beside
him down to the street, talking on any subject that
came uppermost.</p>

<p>The Mayor, however, returned to his first love.
“Now, if there was something I could do to astonish
her,” he said. “If her house got on fire,
and I could rescue her, or if she fell out of a boat
into the river, and I could pull her in.”</p>

<p>“She’s pretty tall,” said Berty, turning and surveying
the rather short man by her side. “I doubt
if you could pull her in.”</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[154]</a></span></p>

<p>“If I got a good grip I could,” he said, confidently.</p>

<p>“The worst of it is, those heroic things don’t
happen once in an age,” said Berty, in a matter-of-fact
voice, “and, anyway, a woman would rather
you would please her in a thousand little ways than
in one big one.”</p>

<p>“What do you call little ways?” asked the Mayor.</p>

<p>“Oh, being nice.”</p>

<p>“And what is niceness?” he went on, in an unsatisfied
voice.</p>

<p>“Niceness?&mdash;well, it is hard to tell. Pick up her
gloves if she drops them, never cross her, always
kiss her good-bye in the morning, and tell her she’s
the sweetest woman in the world when you come
home in the evening.”</p>

<p>“Well, now,” said the Mayor, in an aggrieved
voice, “as if I’m likely to have the chance. You
won’t even let me call on her.”</p>

<p>“No, don’t you go near her,” said Berty, “not
for awhile. Not till I sound her about you.”</p>

<p>“How do you think I stand now with her?”
asked Mr. Jimson, with a downcast air.</p>

<p>“Well, to tell the truth,” said Berty, frankly, “I
think it’s this way. She wasn’t inclined to pay
much attention to you at first, not any more than<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[155]</a></span>
if you were a table or a chair. When you began to
talk she observed you, and I think she was saying
to herself, ‘What kind of a man is this?’ Then
when Grandma drove Tom and Roger out of the
room, I think she wanted to laugh.”</p>

<p>“Then she must have been a little interested,”
said the man, breathlessly.</p>

<p>“No,” said Berty, gravely, “when a woman
laughs at a man, it’s all up with him.”</p>

<p>“Then you think I might as well give up?” said
the Mayor, bitterly.</p>

<p>“Not at all,” said his sympathizer, kindly.
“There may fall to you some lucky chance to reinstate
yourself.”</p>

<p>“Now what could it be?” asked Mr. Jimson,
eagerly. “What should I be looking out for?”</p>

<p>“Look out for everything,” said Berty, oracularly.
“She will forget about the other night.”</p>

<p>“I thought you told me the other day that women
never forget.”</p>

<p>“Neither they do,” said Berty, promptly, “never,
never.”</p>

<p>“According to all I can make out,” said the
Mayor, with a chagrined air, “you women have all
the airs and graces of a combine, and none of its
understandabilities. Your way of doing business<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[156]</a></span>
don’t suit me. When I spot a bargain I jump on it.
I close the affair before another fellow has a chance.
That’s how I’ve made what little money I have.”</p>

<p>“You mustn’t make love the way you do business,”
said Berty, shaking her head. “Oh, no, no.”</p>

<p>“Well, now, isn’t it business to want a good
wife?”</p>

<p>“Yes,” said Berty, promptly, “and I admire
your up-to-date spirit. There’s been a lot of nonsense
talked about roses, and cottages, and heavenly
eyes, and delicious noses and chins. I believe in
being practical. You want this kind of a wife&mdash;look
for her. Don’t fall in love with some silly
thing, and then get tired of her in a week.”</p>

<p>“What kind of a husband would you like?”
asked the Mayor, curiously.</p>

<p>“Well,” said Berty, drawing in a long breath
of the crisp morning air. “I want a tall, slight
man, with brown curly hair and gray eyes.”</p>

<p>“That’ll be a hard combination to find,” said her
companion, grimly.</p>

<p>“Yes, but I shall think all the more of him when
I find him, and he must be clever, very clever&mdash;ahead
of all the men in his State, whichever State
it happens to be&mdash;and he must have a perfect
temper, because I have a very faulty one, and he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[157]</a></span>
must be of a noble disposition, and looked up to
by every one he knows.”</p>

<p>“I never met that kind of a man,” said the Mayor,
drily.</p>

<p>“Nor I,” said Berty, “but there must be such
a man in the world.”</p>

<p>“How about Tom Everest?” asked Mr. Jimson.
“I saw him looking at you last night.”</p>

<p>“Tom Everest!” exclaimed Berty, indignantly.
“An insurance agent!”</p>

<p>The Mayor snickered enjoyably, then fell behind
a step, for they had just reached the entrance of
Milligan’s Wharf.</p>

<p>Berty was talking to some little girls who, even at
this early hour, were hanging about the gate of the
new park.</p>

<p>“Of course you may come in,” she said, producing
a key from her pocket. “The workmen have
about finished&mdash;there are a few loose boards about,
but I will take care that they don’t fall on you.”</p>

<p>With squeals of delight, the little girls dashed
ahead, then stood staring about them.</p>

<p>Milligan’s Wharf had indeed been transformed.
A high fence surrounded it on every side, one
end had been smoothed and levelled for games,
the other was grassy and planted with trees.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[158]</a></span></p>

<p>“Those elms will be kept trimmed,” said Berty,
“except in midsummer. I am determined that
these River Street children shall have enough sunlight
for once&mdash;just look at those little girls.”</p>

<p>The Mayor smiled broadly. Like discoverers who
have fallen on some rich store of treasure, the little
girls had espied a huge heap of sand, and had precipitated
themselves upon it.</p>

<p>“Isn’t it queer how crazy children get over
sand?” said Berty. Then she stepped into a small
gate-house. “Here, children, are pails and shovels.
Now have a good time.”</p>

<p>The little shovels were plied vigorously, but they
were not quick enough for the children, and presently
abandoning them, they rolled in delight over
the soft sandy mass.</p>

<p>“There is no doubt that our park will be a success,”
said Berty, with a smile.</p>

<p>“By the way,” asked the Mayor, shrewdly, “who
is to look after these children? If you turn all the
hoodlums of the neighbourhood in, there will be
scrapping.”</p>

<p>“I was thinking of that,” said Berty, wrinkling
her brows. “We ought to have some man or
woman here. But we have no money to pay any
one.”</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[159]</a></span></p>

<p>“I suppose you wouldn’t take such a position,”
said the Mayor.</p>

<p>“I!” exclaimed Berty, “why, I’d love it.”</p>

<p>“You wouldn’t need to stay all the time,” said
Mr. Jimson. “You could get a woman to help
you.”</p>

<p>“All the women about here are pretty busy.”</p>

<p>“You’d pay her, of course. There’d have to be
a salary&mdash;not a heavy one&mdash;but I could fix up
something with the city council. They’ve built
the park. They’re bound to provide for it.”</p>

<p>“I should love to earn some money,” said Berty,
eagerly, “but, Mr. Jimson, perhaps people would
talk and say I had just had the park made to create
a position for myself.”</p>

<p>“Suppose they did&mdash;what would you care?”</p>

<p>“Why, I’d care because I didn’t.”</p>

<p>“And no one would think you had. Don’t worry
about that. Now I must get back to town.”</p>

<p>“Mind you’re to make the first speech to-morrow
at the opening of this place,” said Berty.</p>

<p>“Yes, I remember.”</p>

<p>“And,” she went on, hesitatingly, “don’t you
think you’d better commit your speech to paper?
Then you’d know when to stop.”</p>

<p>“No, I wouldn’t,” he said, hopelessly. “Something<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[160]</a></span>
would prompt me to make a few oral remarks
after I’d laid down the paper.”</p>

<p>“I should like you to make a good speech, because
Miss Everest will be here.”</p>

<p>“Will she? Then I must try to fix myself. How
shall I do it?”</p>

<p>“I might have a pile of boards arranged at the
back of the park,” said Berty, “and as soon as
you laid down the paper, I’d give a signal to a
boy to topple them over. In the crash you could sit
down.”</p>

<p>“No, I wouldn’t,” he said, drearily. “I’d wait
till the fuss was over, then I’d go on.”</p>

<p>“And that wouldn’t be a good plan, either,” said
Berty, “because some one might get hurt. I’ll
tell you what I’ll do. You give me a sheet of paper
just the size of that on which you write your speech.
Mind, now, and write it. Don’t commit it. And
don’t look at this last sheet till you stand on the
platform and your speech is finished.”</p>

<p>“What will be on it?” asked Mr. Jimson,
eagerly.</p>

<p>“The most awful hobgoblin you ever saw. I
used to draw beauties at school. When you see this
hobgoblin you won’t be able to think of anything<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[161]</a></span>
else. Just fix your eyes on his terrible eyes, and
you will sit down in the most natural way possible.”</p>

<p>“Maybe I will,” he said, with a sigh, “but I
doubt it&mdash;you’re a good girl, anyway.”</p>

<p>“Oh, no. I’m not, Mr. Mayor, begging your
pardon. I’m only trying to be one.”</p>

<p>“Well, I’ve got to go,” said her companion, reluctantly.
“I wish I could skip that stived-up office
and go out on the river with you.”</p>

<p>“I wish you could,” said Berty, frankly. “But
I’ve got work to do, too. I want every clergyman
in the town to be present to-morrow. Have your
speech short, will you, for it will probably be a hot
day.”</p>

<p>“All right,” said the Mayor. “Good-bye,” and
he trotted away.</p>

<hr />

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[162]</a></span></p>

<h2 id="CHAPTER_XIV">CHAPTER XIV.<br />
<span class="smaller">THE OPENING OF THE PARK</span></h2>

<p>The next afternoon had come, and was nearly
gone. There had been a crowd of people at the
opening of the Milligan Wharf Park. Ragged
children, sailors, day-labourers, and poor women of
the neighbourhood had stood shoulder to shoulder
with some of the first citizens of the town&mdash;citizens
who in the whole course of their lives had never
been on this street before.</p>

<p>The well-dressed spectators had looked about
them with interest. This fad of Mrs. Travers’s
young granddaughter had excited much attention.
She had carried her scheme through, and many
curious glances had been sent in the direction of
the suddenly shy, smiling girl, trying to hide behind
the stately little grandmother, who sat looking as
if the opening of parks for poor children were a
daily occurrence in her life.</p>

<p>There had been room for some of the audience<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[163]</a></span>
in the long, low shed erected for a playroom for the
children on rainy days; however, many persons had
been obliged to sit on benches placed in the hot sunlight,
therefore the opening exercises had been arranged
to be exceedingly short.</p>

<p>The Mayor, unfortunately, had transgressed, as
he had prophesied he would do. However, in his
speech he had, to Berty’s delight, carefully abstained
from mentioning the part she had taken in procuring
the park for the children of River Street. But succeeding
speakers had so eulogized the self-sacrificing
and public-spirited girl, that finally she had
slipped away into one of the summer-houses, where,
now that all was over, she was talking with her
grandmother.</p>

<p>They had the park to themselves as far as grown
persons were concerned. The rich and well-to-do
people had filed away. The poor men and women
of the neighbourhood had gone to their homes for
their early evening meal.</p>

<p>“They say every rose has a thorn,” exclaimed
Berty. “Where is the thorn in this?” and she waved
her hand about the huge playground where scores
of children were disporting themselves.</p>

<p>“It is here,” said Grandma. “Don’t lose heart
when you see it.”</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[164]</a></span></p>

<p>“Do you see it?” asked Berty, pointedly.</p>

<p>“Yes, dear.”</p>

<p>“And what is it?”</p>

<p>“That there must be some one here every minute
of the time to see that the big children do not impose
on the little ones. There’s a big hulking boy
slapping a little one now. I’ll go settle him,” and
Grandma nimbly walked away.</p>

<p>“That is no thorn,” said Berty, when she came
back. “Mr. Jimson has arranged for it. He has
just told me that the city council voted me last
evening five hundred dollars as park supervisor.”</p>

<p>“My dear!” said Grandma, in surprise.</p>

<p>“Isn’t it lovely?” murmured Berty, with flushed
cheeks. “Now I can pay all the household expenses.
With my annuity we shall be quite prosperous.”</p>

<p>“The city appreciates what you are doing,” said
Grandma, softly, “and the Mayor has been a good
friend to you.”</p>

<p>“Hasn’t he?” said Berty. “I must not scold him
for that awful speech.”</p>

<p>“The opening was good,” said Grandma, mildly.</p>

<p>“Yes, but the middle and the ending,” replied
Berty, with a groan.</p>

<p>“Oh, how I suffered&mdash;not for myself. I could
endure to hear him speak for a year. But I do so<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[165]</a></span>
want him to make a good impression on others. His
tongue is just like a spool of silk. It unwinds and
unwinds and unwinds, and never breaks off. Talk
about women’s tongues!”</p>

<p>“He is new to public speaking. He will get over
it.”</p>

<p>“And I made him such a thrilling hobgoblin,”
continued Berty, in an aggrieved voice. “Why, I
had nightmare last night just in dreaming about
it.”</p>

<p>“A hobgoblin?” said Grandma, questioningly.</p>

<p>“Yes&mdash;to stop him. It was on the last page
of his manuscript. You remember when he came
to the end of his paper, he just stopped a minute,
smiled a sickly smile, and went on. Why, that hobgoblin
didn’t frighten him a bit. It inspired him.
What was he talking about? What do people talk
about when they ramble on and on? I can never
remember.”</p>

<p>“Berty,” said Mrs. Travers, shrewdly, “you are
tired and excited. You would better come home.
There is Mrs. Provis looking in the gate. She will
keep an eye on the children.”</p>

<p>“Oh, Mrs. Provis,” said Berty, hurrying to the
gate, “won’t you come in and sit awhile till I go<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[166]</a></span>
home and get something to eat? I’ll come back
presently and lock up.”</p>

<p>“Yes, miss,” said the woman, readily. “That’s
a little thing to do for you. I guess this street takes
store of what you’ve done for our young ones.”</p>

<p>“They’re my young ones, too,” said Berty,
proudly. “I live on the street&mdash;we’re all neighbours.
Now I’ll go. I won’t be long. Your eldest
girl can get the supper ready for your husband,
can’t she?”</p>

<p>“That she can, miss.”</p>

<p>Berty walked away with her grandmother, and
the woman, gazing after her, said, “Bless your black
head. I’d like to hear any one say anything agin
you in River Street.”</p>

<p>In an hour Berty was back again, part of her
supper in her pocket.</p>

<p>Contentedly eating her bread and butter, she sat
on a bench watching the children, most of whom
absolutely refused to go home, while others ran
merely for a few mouthfuls of something to eat.</p>

<p>This intoxication of play in a roomy place was
a new experience to them, and Berty, with an intensely
thankful face, watched them until a heavy
footstep made her turn her head.</p>

<p>The Mayor stood before her, two red spots on<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[167]</a></span>
his cheeks, and a strange light in his eye. “I’ve
just been to your house,” he said, “and your grandmother
sent me here.”</p>

<p>“Did she?” said Berty; then she added, promptly,
“What has happened?”</p>

<p>Mr. Jimson heaved a deep, contented sigh, and
seated himself beside her. “I’m a happy man, Miss
Berty.”</p>

<p>“What are you happy about?” she asked, briskly.
“It isn’t&mdash;it isn’t Miss Everest?”</p>

<p>“Yes, it is Miss Everest,” said Mr. Jimson.
“Something took place this afternoon.”</p>

<p>“Oh, what?&mdash;why don’t you tell me? You’re
terribly slow.”</p>

<p>“I’m as fast as I can be. I’m not a flash of
lightning.”</p>

<p>“No, indeed.”</p>

<p>“Well, I’ve met Miss Everest&mdash;she’s talked with
me!”</p>

<p>“She has!” cried Berty, joyfully.</p>

<p>“Yes, she has. You know, after the affair this
afternoon some of the people went to town. Miss
Everest was shopping.”</p>

<p>“She always does her shopping in the morning,”
interrupted Berty. “All the smart set do.”</p>

<p>“Well, I guess she found herself down-town,”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[168]</a></span>
said Mr. Jimson, good-naturedly, “and couldn’t
get by the shops. Anyway, she was coming out
of that fol-de-rol place where you women buy dolls
and ribbons.”</p>

<p>“Oh, you mean Smilax &amp; Wiley’s.”</p>

<p>“Yes, that’s the place. She came out of the door,
and, turning her head to speak to some one passing
her, she almost ran into me. I stopped short, you
may be sure, and I know you’ll be mad with me
when I tell you that I forgot to take my hat off.”</p>

<p>“Perhaps I won’t,” said Berty, guardedly. “It
depends on what follows.”</p>

<p>“I just stood rooted to the spot, and staring with
all my might. She grew kind of pink and bowed.
I said, ‘Miss Everest,’ then I stopped. I guess she
was sorry for my dumbness, for she said, in a kind
of confused way, ‘What a stupid place this is. I’ve
been all over it trying to match some silk, and I
can’t find a scrap.’ And still I never said a word.
For the life of me I couldn’t think of anything.
Then she said, ‘That was a very good speech of
yours this afternoon.’”</p>

<p>“Now surely you said something in response to
that,” interjected Berty, “such a gracious thing for
her to say.”</p>

<p>“Never a word,” replied the Mayor, seriously,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[169]</a></span>
“and, seeing that I couldn’t or wouldn’t speak, she
went away. After she left, words came to me, and
I babbled on to myself, till the people began to
look at me as if they thought I’d gone crazy, then
I moved on.”</p>

<p>“Well,” said Berty, with badly suppressed scorn,
“this is a great tale. Where have you distinguished
yourself, pray?”</p>

<p>“Wait a bit,” said Mr. Jimson, soberly. “I
haven’t finished. Before I left the spot I cast my
eyes to the pavement. What did I see but the bit
of silk she had dropped there.”</p>

<p>“Well,” observed Berty, in a mystified way, when
he paused.</p>

<p>“I thought of what you said,” continued the
Mayor. “I called up your hint about small things.
I picked up the bit of silk.”</p>

<p>“And, for goodness’ sake, what did you do with
it?” queried Berty, in distress. “Some fantastic
thing, I’ll be bound.”</p>

<p>“I took it away to my office,” Mr. Jimson went
on, solemnly, and with the air of keeping back some
item of information that when communicated would
cover him with glory. “I’ve got an office-boy as
sharp as a needle. I gave him the piece of silk. I
said, ‘You hold on to that as if it were a fifty-dollar<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[170]</a></span>
greenback. You take the seven-thirty train for
Boston. You match that silk, and get back here
as quick as you can.’”</p>

<p>“Oh! oh!” cried Berty, “how much did you
send for?”</p>

<p>“For a pound,” said the Mayor, tragically. “She
said she had a peóny to work, and they’re pretty
big flowers.”</p>

<p>“Péony, not pe-ó-ny,” said Berty, peevishly.
Then she thought awhile, and the Mayor, losing his
deeply satisfied air, sat regarding her in bewilderment.</p>

<p>At last she delivered her opinion sibyl-like. “I
don’t know whether you’ve done a good thing or
not. Only time can tell. But I think you have.”</p>

<p>“I’ve done just what you told me,” said the astonished
man. “You said to look out for little
things.”</p>

<p>“Yes, but the question is, have you the right yet
to look out for little things,” said Berty, with some
dissatisfaction in her tone. “When grandma was
married she forgot her wedding-bouquet, and her
newly made husband had a special train leave here
to take it to Bangor, but he had the right.”</p>

<p>“Look here,” said the Mayor, and the red spots
on his cheeks deepened, “you’re criticizing too<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[171]</a></span>
much. I guess you’d better not interfere between
Miss Everest and me.”</p>

<p>“You’ll want me to give her that silk when it
comes,” said Berty, defiantly.</p>

<p>“I did&mdash;that’s just what I came to speak to
you about, but now I’ll give it to her myself.”</p>

<p>“She may not like it.”</p>

<p>“She can like it, or lump it,” said Mr. Jimson,
inelegantly; “when that parcel comes, I am going
to take it to her.”</p>

<p>“Suppose the boy can’t match the silk?”</p>

<p>“He’s got to,” said Mr. Jimson, obstinately.</p>

<p>“But perhaps he can’t; then how will she ever
know you sent for it, if I don’t tell her. You would
like me to in that case, wouldn’t you?”</p>

<p>“I’m no violet,” said Mr. Jimson, disagreeably.
“I want to get in with Miss Everest, and how can
I if I blush unseen?”</p>

<p>“I’ll tell her of your blushes,” said Berty, generously.
“Come, now, let us be friends again.
From my standpoint, I think you have done nobly
and magnificently.”</p>

<p>“But you were just blaming me.”</p>

<p>“That was from Miss Everest’s standpoint.”</p>

<p>“I’m blessed if I know how to take you,” muttered<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[172]</a></span>
the confused man. “One minute you’re yourself,
and the next you’re another woman.”</p>

<p>“That’s feminine reversibility,” said Berty, graciously.
“You don’t understand us yet. That is
the punishment our Creator inflicts upon you, for
not having studied us more. A pity I hadn’t known
you five years ago&mdash;come, it’s time to lock up here.
Oh, Mr. Mayor, can’t we have electric lights for this
playground?”</p>

<p>With an effort he called back his wandering
thoughts which were on the way to Boston with his
office-boy, and looked round the darkening park.
“What do you want lights for?”</p>

<p>“Why, these children play till all hours. It’s
mean to keep them here till dark, then turn them on
the streets. A few lights would make the place as
light as day.”</p>

<p>The Mayor stared about him in silence.</p>

<p>“I’ve just been thinking about the electric light
people,” continued Berty. “They’re a big, rich
company, aren’t they?”</p>

<p>“So, so.”</p>

<p>“Well, would it be wrong for me to go to them
and ask to have a few lights put in?”</p>

<p>“Wrong, no&mdash;”</p>

<p>“But would they do it?”</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[173]</a></span></p>

<p>“Well, I guess if you went to them with your
mind made up that they ought to, they would do it
quick enough.”</p>

<p>“I’ll go,” said Berty, with satisfaction. “Thank
you so much. I’ll say you advised me.”</p>

<p>The Mayor sighed, but said nothing.</p>

<p>“Come, children,” called Berty, in her clear
voice, “it’s time to go home. Gates open at eight-thirty
to-morrow morning.”</p>

<p>She huddled them out into the street like a flock
of unwilling sheep, then walked home beside her
suddenly silent companion.</p>

<p>“Selina Everest sat beside Grandma to-day,” said
Berty, recurring to what she knew was now his
favourite topic of conversation.</p>

<p>“I saw her there,” said her companion, eagerly.
“Do you suppose your grandmother&mdash;”</p>

<p>“Yes, she did,” and Berty finished his sentence
for him. “Trust Grandma to slip a good word in
Miss Everest’s ear about you. I saw her blush, so
perhaps she is beginning to care.”</p>

<p>“Perhaps your grandmother had better take her
the silk,” said the Mayor, generously.</p>

<p>“No, I think I’ll attend to that myself,” said
Berty, “but come in and see Grandma,” and she
paused; “we’ll have a nice talk about the Everests.”</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[174]</a></span></p>

<p>“By the way,” she said, ushering him out to the
veranda, and lingering for a minute before she went
to find her grandmother, “I want to thank you
again for getting me that salary for looking after
the playground. I’m just delighted&mdash;but I think
I’ll have to get a helper, for Grandma doesn’t want
me to stay there all the time.”</p>

<p>“That’s square&mdash;just what I recommended,”
said Mr. Jimson. “Get any one you like, and give
him or her ten or twelve dollars a month to assist
you.”</p>

<p>“But suppose he or she does half my work?”</p>

<p>“That don’t count. Skilled labour, you know,
takes the cake.”</p>

<p>“But if any one does half my work, they must
have half my pay.”</p>

<p>“Nonsense,” said the Mayor, abruptly.</p>

<p>“I sha’n’t grind the face of any poor person,”
said Berty, doggedly.</p>

<p>“All right&mdash;have it your own way, but if you
won’t mind me, consult your grandmother before
you pledge yourself.”</p>

<hr />

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[175]</a></span></p>

<h2 id="CHAPTER_XV">CHAPTER XV.<br />
<span class="smaller">UP THE RIVER</span></h2>

<p>Berty and her grandmother were having a quiet
little picnic together. They had gone away up the
river to Cloverdale, and, landing among the green
meadows, had followed a path leading to a small
hill crowned by a grove of elm-trees.</p>

<p>Here Berty had established her grandmother on
a rug with cushions, magazines, and a new book, and
the ever-present knitting.</p>

<p>Thinking that the little old lady wished to have
a nap, Berty left her, and, accompanied by a mongrel
dog who had come from River Street with them,
roamed somewhat disconsolately along the river
bank.</p>

<p>This proceeding on her part just suited the occupant
of a second boat, who, unknown to Berty, had
watched her pink and white one all the way from
the city.</p>

<p>With strong, steady strokes he pulled near the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[176]</a></span>
bank where the girl stood knee-deep in the high
meadow-grass, then, with a hypocritical start, pretended
to recognize her for the first time, just as
he was rowing by.</p>

<p>“How de do, Berty&mdash;what are you doing here?”</p>

<p>“Grandma and I are having a picnic,” she said,
in a lugubrious voice.</p>

<p>“A picnic,” he repeated, incredulously, “you
mean a funeral.”</p>

<p>“I mean what I say,” she replied, crossly.</p>

<p>“Might a fellow land?” he asked, his eyes dancing
mischievously.</p>

<p>“A fellow can land, or move on, or swim, or
fly, for aught I care,” she responded, ungraciously.</p>

<p>He jumped up, sprang out of his boat, and fastened
it to the same stake where Berty’s was moored.</p>

<p>“You’ve been looking cross-eyed at the sun,” he
said, taking off his hat and fanning himself.</p>

<p>“Take care that you don’t do the same thing,”
said Berty.</p>

<p>He looked at her sharply. She was cross, pure
and simple, and with a satisfied smile he went on,
“Might a fellow sit down on this grass? It looks
uncommonly comfortable.”</p>

<p>“Oh, yes,” said Berty, seating herself near him.
“One might as well sit as stand.”</p>

<div class="figcenter" style="width: 460px;" id="illus5">
<img src="images/illus5.jpg" width="460" height="650" alt="" />
<p class="caption">“‘YOU’RE DYING TO TEASE ME’”</p>
</div>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[177]</a></span></p>

<p>“This is pleasant,” said Tom, happily, leaning
on one elbow with his hat over his eyes, and gazing
dreamily at the river.</p>

<p>“It is the prettiest river in the world,” remarked
Berty, decidedly.</p>

<p>“Come now&mdash;how many rivers have you seen?”
inquired Tom.</p>

<p>“Lots of them.”</p>

<p>“And you have never been out of your native
State.”</p>

<p>“I have been to Boston, and New York, and New
Orleans. How strange that you should forget it,”
replied Berty, wrathfully.</p>

<p>“What’s made you mad, Berty?” inquired Tom,
with a brotherly air.</p>

<p>“You know,” she said, sulkily, “you’re dying
to tease me.”</p>

<p>“Poor little girl,” murmured Tom, under his
breath. Then he said, aloud, “Peter Jimson is in
our house morning, noon, and night now.”</p>

<p>“Don’t I know it!” exclaimed Berty, indignantly,
“and you are encouraging him, and you can’t bear
him.”</p>

<p>“Come now, Berty,” said Tom, protestingly.
“‘Can’t bear’ is a strong expression. I never
thought much about him till he began sending business<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[178]</a></span>
my way. I tell you that makes a lot of difference.
It isn’t in human nature to look critically
at a man who gives you a helping hand in the
struggle for existence. Unless he’s a monster,
which Jimson isn’t.”</p>

<p>“And he has helped you?” asked Berty, curiously.</p>

<p>“Lots&mdash;he has a big influence in the city. Don’t
you know about it?”</p>

<p>“About his influence?”</p>

<p>“No&mdash;about his favouring me.”</p>

<p>“He tells me nothing now,” and her tone was
bitter.</p>

<p>“You’ve been a good friend to him, Berty. He
is never tired of singing your praises.”</p>

<p>“To whom does he sing? To Selina?”</p>

<p>“I don’t know. I’m not with them much.”</p>

<p>“Then he sings them to you?”</p>

<p>“Yes, just as soon as I pitch him the tune.”</p>

<p>“I should think you’d know enough of me,”
said Berty, peevishly. “I’m sure you’re one of the
earliest objects I remember seeing in life.”</p>

<p>“Come now, Berty,” he replied, good-naturedly,
“you needn’t be flinging my age up to me. I’m
only six years older than you, anyway.”</p>

<p>“Well, that is an age.”</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[179]</a></span></p>

<p>“How did you and Jimson fall out?” asked Tom,
curiously. “I’d give considerable to know.”</p>

<p>“You’ll never know, now that I see you want to,”
replied Berty, vigorously.</p>

<p>Tom meditatively chewed a piece of meadow-grass,
then said, easily, “I spoke in the language
of exaggeration. We all do it. Of course, I guess
that you had a quarrel. Jimson was dancing about
you morning, noon, and night, till he took a fancy
to Selina. Then you were jealous.”</p>

<p>“It wasn’t that at all,” said Berty, unguardedly.
“I wouldn’t be so silly. He broke his word about
a package of silk.”</p>

<p>“Oh,” replied Tom, coolly, “that was the silk
Selina was so delighted to get. He sent a boy to
Boston for it.”</p>

<p>“Yes, and the arrangement, the very last arrangement,
was for me to present it when it came. Several
days went by; and I thought it queer I didn’t hear
from him. Then I met him in the street. ‘Couldn’t
the boy match the silk?’ I asked.</p>

<p>“‘Oh, yes,’ he said, ‘he brought it fast enough.’</p>

<p>“‘And where is it?’ I asked.</p>

<p>“‘Miss Everest has it.’</p>

<p>“‘Miss Everest?’ I said. ‘How did she get it?’</p>

<p>“‘Well,’ he said, ‘when it came, I just couldn’t<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[180]</a></span>
resist. I caught it from the boy. I took a carriage
to her house&mdash;she was just at breakfast, but she
came out, and I gave it to her.’</p>

<p>“‘And what did she say?’ I asked. Now this is
where I blame him, Tom. Just think, after all my
kindness to him, and coaching him as to the ways
of women, he just said, coolly, ‘I can’t tell you.’</p>

<p>“‘Can’t tell me?’ I repeated. ‘You’ve got to.
I’m more interested in this affair than you are.’</p>

<p>“‘I&mdash;I can’t,’ he stammered. ‘I’ve seen Miss
Everest several times since, and she says you’re
only a child&mdash;not to tell everything to you.’</p>

<p>“‘Only a child!’ I said. ‘Very well!’ and I
stalked away. He sent me a bouquet of carnations
and maidenhair that evening, but of course flowers
had no effect on me.”</p>

<p>“Selina is jealous of you,” said Tom, promptly.</p>

<p>“I’m not jealous of her,” returned Berty, sweetly.
“I wish her every happiness, but I do think the
Mayor might have been more open.”</p>

<p>“If he’s got to dance after Selina, his work’s
cut out,” said Tom.</p>

<p>“Do you think she will marry him?” asked Berty,
eagerly.</p>

<p>“Marry him&mdash;of course she will. I never saw<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[181]</a></span>
her so pleased over anything as she was over that
silk affair. Jimson is a good-hearted fellow, Berty.”</p>

<p>“Good-hearted, yes, but he doesn’t keep his
promises. He hasn’t got those pigeon-boxes up
yet.”</p>

<p>“What pigeon-boxes?”</p>

<p>“He promised to have some nailed on the shed for
me. The boxes are all made, but not put up.”</p>

<p>“I’ll do it,” said Tom, generously. “I’ll come
to-morrow.”</p>

<p>“To-morrow will be Sunday.”</p>

<p>“Monday, then. Monday afternoon as soon as
the office closes.”</p>

<p>“Very well,” said Berty, with a sigh, “but you’ll
probably forget. My friends don’t seem to be standing
by me lately.”</p>

<p>“Your friends&mdash;why, you are the heroine of the
city&mdash;confound it, what is that dog doing?”</p>

<p>Berty’s mongrel friend, taking advantage of
Tom’s absorbing interest in his companion, had lain
down on the grass behind him and had chewed a
piece out of his coat.</p>

<p>“Look at it&mdash;the rascal,” exclaimed Tom, twisting
round his blue serge garment&mdash;“a clean bite.
What kind of a dog is this? Get out, you brute.”</p>

<p>“Don’t scold him,” said Berty, holding out a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[182]</a></span>
hand to the culprit. “He doesn’t know any better.
He is young and cutting teeth.”</p>

<p>“Well, I wish he’d cut them on some other man&mdash;look
at that coat. It’s ruined.”</p>

<p>“Can’t you get it mended?”</p>

<p>“Who would do it for me?”</p>

<p>“Send it to your tailor.”</p>

<p>“It’s too shabby&mdash;I just keep it for boating.”</p>

<p>“Ask your mother or Selina.”</p>

<p>“They’re too busy with fancy work. Selina is
working peonies all over the place. She’s got to
use up that pound of silk.”</p>

<p>“I don’t know what you’ll do, then,” observed
Berty, in an uninterested way, “unless,” with sudden
vivacity, “you give me the coat for a poor
person.”</p>

<p>“Not I&mdash;I can’t afford that. I’ll tell you, Berty,
I ought to get a wife.”</p>

<p>“Why, so you should,” said the young girl,
kindly. “It’s time you were getting settled. Have
you any one in mind?”</p>

<p>“I know the kind of a girl I want,” said Tom,
evasively. “I do wish you’d help me pick her
out.”</p>

<p>Berty shook her head with sudden wariness. “I
forgot, I’m not going to meddle with match-making<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[183]</a></span>
any more. You’re sure to get a snub from the
person you’re trying hardest to benefit.”</p>

<p>“I promise you that the girl I choose will never
snub you,” said Tom, solemnly.</p>

<p>“There was Selina,” replied Berty, bitterly, “I
just loved her, and thought her beautiful and stately
like a picture, and far above Mr. Jimson, and now
she says I’m a child&mdash;a child!”</p>

<p>“It’s too bad,” said Tom, sympathetically, “but
Selina was always a little bit wrapped up in herself.”</p>

<p>“I had even got as far as the engagement-ring,”
continued Berty. “I thought a red stone&mdash;a garnet
or a ruby&mdash;would be less common than the
diamond that everybody has.”</p>

<p>“Would you prefer a red stone for yourself?”
asked Tom, artlessly.</p>

<p>“Yes, I should think I would.”</p>

<p>“Well, you see Selina wants to choose for herself.
You women like to manage your own affairs.”</p>

<p>“But Mr. Jimson is just as bad. He’s as stubborn
as a mule when I want to advise him.”</p>

<p>“I guess we all like to run our own concerns,”
said Tom, good-humouredly, “but to come back
to my girl, Berty, I do wish you would help me.
You understand women so much better than I do.”</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">[184]</a></span></p>

<p>“Didn’t I just tell you that I wouldn’t meddle
with matrimonial affairs again&mdash;not for any one.
Not even if dear Grandma were to ask me.”</p>

<p>“Well, now, we all have a great respect for
Grandma,” said Tom, warmly, “but I scarcely think
she is likely to think of giving you another grandfather.”</p>

<p>“Oh, you wretch!” said Berty, irritably. “I
don’t mean for herself. I mean for Bonny, or you,
or some of her young friends.”</p>

<p>“Well, as your decision is irrevocable, I suppose
I mustn’t tease,” observed Tom, slowly getting up
and looking out over the river, “but I would really
like you to help me. Perhaps Margaretta will.
Good-bye, Berty.”</p>

<p>“Grandma and I are going to have a cup of tea
presently,” said Berty, staring out over the meadows
without looking at him. “We’ve brought a kettle
and some eatables. If you would like to stay, I
know Grandma would be glad to have you.”</p>

<p>“Thank you, but I don’t think I’d better accept
Grandma’s kind invitation. My mind is full of
this important business of choosing a wife, and I
want to find some one who will give me good advice.
Margaretta will just about be going to dinner by
the time I get back to the city. I’ll change my duds,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[185]</a></span>
and get over just about the minute that the third
course goes in.”</p>

<p>“What kind of a girl do you want?” said Berty,
staring up at him.</p>

<p>“A tall girl, much taller than you, or even Margaretta.
Tall and flaxen-haired like a doll.”</p>

<p>“And blue eyes, I suppose,” said Berty, sarcastically.</p>

<p>“Oh, yes, blue as the sky, and tapering fingers&mdash;white
fingers, not brown from boating and out-of-door
life.”</p>

<p>“You want a hothouse plant,” said Berty, disdainfully.</p>

<p>“You’ve put my very idea in words,” said Tom,
in an ecstasy, as he again sat down on the grass
near her. “I’d admire to wait on one of those
half-sick creatures. It seems to me if I could
wrap her in a white shawl in the morning, and come
back at night and find her in the same place, I’d be
perfectly happy. Now these healthy, athletic creatures
with strong opinions scurry all over the place.
You never know where to find them.”</p>

<p>“Suppose you advertise.”</p>

<p>“I dare say I’ll have to. I don’t know any one
of just the type I want here in Riverport, but I
thought perhaps you might know one. It doesn’t<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">[186]</a></span>
matter if she lives outside. I wouldn’t mind going
a little way.”</p>

<p>“There’s Matty DeLong,” replied Berty. “She
has neuralgia terribly, but then her hair isn’t light.”</p>

<p>“I don’t want a neuralgic victim. It’s just a kind
of general debility girl I want.”</p>

<p>“What about the doctor’s bills?”</p>

<p>“I’ll pay them,” said Tom, enthusiastically.
“Give me domestic peace even at the expense of
bills.”</p>

<p>“I expect I’d be a terrible termagant if I married,”
observed Berty, thoughtfully.</p>

<p>Her companion made no reply to this assertion.</p>

<p>“If I asked a man for money, and he wouldn’t
give it to me, I think I’d want to pound him to
a jelly,” continued Berty, warmly.</p>

<p>“I expect he’d let you,” observed Tom, meekly,
“but you’re not thinking of marriage for yourself,
are you, Berty?”</p>

<p>“No,” she said, snappishly, “only when the subject
is so much discussed, I can’t help having ideas
put into my head.”</p>

<p>“I suppose you’d like a Boston man, wouldn’t
you?” inquired Tom, demurely.</p>

<p>“I don’t know. Anybody that was a stranger
and celebrated would do.”</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">[187]</a></span></p>

<p>“You’re like me in one respect. You want a
brand-new article, not something you’ve been used
to seeing since infancy.”</p>

<p>“I should like a President,” said Berty, wistfully,
“but when men come to the presidential chair
they’re all too old for me.”</p>

<p>“But it must be ennobling for you to have such
an ambitious spirit,” observed Tom.</p>

<p>“It does make me feel nice&mdash;Hark! isn’t that
Grandma calling?”</p>

<p>“Yes,” replied Tom. “Let us go see what she
wants.”</p>

<p>“Berty, Berty,” the distant voice was saying,
“isn’t it time to put the kettle on? We must get
home before dark.”</p>

<p>“Yes, Grandma, dear,” called Berty. “Tom
Everest is here. He will help me find some sticks.
You please sit still and rest&mdash;come, Tom, and
speak to her first,” and smiling and playing with the
dancing mongrel pup, Berty ran up the slope.</p>

<hr />

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">[188]</a></span></p>

<h2 id="CHAPTER_XVI">CHAPTER XVI.<br />
<span class="smaller">BERTY’S TRAMP</span></h2>

<p>Berty was away out on the lonely road leading
from the iron works to the city.</p>

<p>Grandma had not been well all day, and Berty
had gone to ask Bonny to spend the night in the
River Street house. Since the boy’s admission into
Roger’s office he had virtually lived in Roger’s
house.</p>

<p>Not that he loved Margaretta and Roger more
than he loved his grandmother and Berty, but the
Grand Avenue style of living was more in accord
with his aristocratic tastes than the plain ways of
the house in River Street. So the boy really had
two homes.</p>

<p>Berty, who had been in the house with her grandmother
all through the morning, had enjoyed the
long walk out to the iron works, and was now enjoying
the long walk home.</p>

<p>It was a perfect afternoon. “How I love the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">[189]</a></span>
late summer,” murmured the girl, and she gazed
admiringly about her at the ripening grain fields,
the heavily foliaged trees, the tufts of goldenrod
flowering beside the dusty road.</p>

<p>Away off there in the distance was a moving
cloud of dust coming from the city. Nearer at
hand, it resolved itself into a man who was shuffling
along in a lazy way, and kicking up very much
more dust than there was any necessity of doing.</p>

<p>Berty stared at him. She knew most of the
citizens of Riverport by sight, and whether she knew
them by sight or not, she could tell by their general
appearance whether they belonged to the place.</p>

<p>This man was a stranger&mdash;a seedy, poor-looking
man with a brown face, and he was observing her as
intently as she was observing him.</p>

<p>Arrived opposite her, he stopped. “Lady,” he
said, in a whining voice, “please give a poor sick
man some money to buy medicine.”</p>

<p>“What’s the matter with you?” she asked,
promptly.</p>

<p>“An awful internal trouble, lady,” he said, laying
his hand on his side. “Intermittent pains come
on every evening at this time.”</p>

<p>“You don’t look ill,” replied Berty, suspiciously.
“Your face is as bronzed as a sailor’s.”</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">[190]</a></span></p>

<p>“The doctors prescribed outdoor air, lady,” he
went on, whiningly.</p>

<p>“I haven’t any money for you.”</p>

<p>The man, from his station in the road, looked
back toward the city, then forward in the direction
of the iron works. There was not a soul in
sight, and as quick as a flash an angry sentence
sprang to the girl’s lips, “Let me by.”</p>

<p>“But, lady, I want some money,” he said, persistently,
and he stood in her way.</p>

<p>She surveyed him contemptuously. “You want
to make me give you some, but I tell you you couldn’t
do it.”</p>

<p>“Couldn’t I, lady?” he replied, half-sneeringly,
half-admiringly.</p>

<p>“No,” said Berty, promptly, “because, in the
first place, I’d be so mad that you couldn’t get it
from me. You’re only a little man, and I guess
a gymnasium-trained girl like myself could knock
you about considerably. Then look here,” and,
stepping back, she suddenly flashed something long
and sharp and steely from her head. “Do you
see that hat-pin? It would sting you like a wasp,”
and she stabbed the air with it.</p>

<p>The man snickered. “You’ve plenty of sand,
but I guess I could get your purse if I tried.”</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">[191]</a></span></p>

<p>“Oh, how angry you make me,” returned the
girl, with a fiery glance. “Now I can understand
how one can let oneself be killed for an idea. You
might possibly overcome me, you might get my
purse, but you couldn’t kill the mad in me if you
chopped me in a thousand little pieces.”</p>

<p>“Lady,” said the man, teasingly, “I guess you’d
give in before then, though I’ve no doubt but what
your temper would carry you considerable far.”</p>

<p>“And suppose you got my purse,” said Berty,
haughtily, “what good would it do you? Wouldn’t
I scream? I’ve got a voice like a steam-whistle;
and the iron works close in five minutes, and this
road will be alive with good honest workmen.
They’d hunt you down like a rabbit.”</p>

<p>For the first time a shade of uneasiness passed
over his face. But he speedily became cool. “Good
evening, lady, excuse me for frightening you,” and,
pulling at his battered hat, he started to pass on.</p>

<p>“Stop!” said Berty, commandingly, “who are
you, and why did you come to Riverport?”</p>

<p>He lazily propped himself against a tree by the
roadside. “It was in my line of march.”</p>

<p>“Are you a tramp?”</p>

<p>“Well, yes, I suppose I am.”</p>

<p>“Where were you born?”</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">[192]</a></span></p>

<p>“In New Hampshire.”</p>

<p>“You weren’t born a tramp?”</p>

<p>“Great Harry!” muttered the man, taking off
his hat and pushing back from his forehead the dark
hair sprinkled with gray, “it seems a hundred years
since I was born. My father was a well-to-do
farmer, young lady, if you want to know, and he
gave me a good education.”</p>

<p>“A good education,” repeated Berty, “and now
you have sunk so low as to stop women and beg
for money.”</p>

<p>“Just that low,” he said, indifferently, “and from
a greater height than you think.”</p>

<p>“What was the height?” asked Berty, eagerly.</p>

<p>“I was once a physician in Boston,” he returned,
with a miserable remnant of pride.</p>

<p>“You a physician!” exclaimed Berty, “and now
a tramp!”</p>

<p>“A tramp pure and simple.”</p>

<p>“What made you give up your profession?”</p>

<p>“Well, I was born lazy, and then I drank, and
I drink, and I always shall drink.”</p>

<p>“A drunkard!” murmured Berty, pityingly.
“Poor fellow!”</p>

<p>The man looked at her curiously.</p>

<p>“How old are you?” she asked, suddenly.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">[193]</a></span></p>

<p>“Forty-five.”</p>

<p>“Have you tried to reform?”</p>

<p>“Formerly&mdash;not now.”</p>

<p>“Oh, how queer people are,” said the girl, musingly.
“How little I can understand you. How
little you can understand me. Now if I could only
get inside your mind, and know what you are thinking
about.”</p>

<p>“I’m thinking about my supper, lady,” he said,
flippantly; then, as she looked carefully at him, he
went on, carelessly, “Once I was young like you.
Now I don’t go in for sentiment. I feed and sleep.
That’s all I care about.”</p>

<p>“And do you do no work?”</p>

<p>“Not a stroke.”</p>

<p>“And you have no money?”</p>

<p>“Not a cent.”</p>

<p>“But how do you live?”</p>

<p>“Off good people like you,” he said, wheedlingly.
“You’re going to give me a hot supper, I guess.”</p>

<p>“Follow me,” said Berty, suddenly setting off
toward the city, and the man sauntered after her.</p>

<p>When they reached River Street, she opened the
gate leading into the yard and beckoned to him.</p>

<p>“I can’t take you in the house,” she said, in a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194">[194]</a></span>
low voice, as he followed her. “My grandmother is
ill, and then our house is very clean.”</p>

<p>“And I am very unclean,” he said, jocularly surveying
himself, “though I’m by no means as bad
as an ash-heap tramp.”</p>

<p>“But I’ll put you into the shed,” continued Berty.
“There are only a few guinea-pigs there. They are
quiet little things, and won’t hurt you.”</p>

<p>“I hope you won’t give me husks for supper,”
murmured the tramp.</p>

<p>Berty eyed him severely. His condition to her
was too serious for jesting, and she by no means
approved of his attempts at humour.</p>

<p>“I’ll bring you out something to eat,” she said,
“and if you want to stay all night, I’ll drag you
out a mattress.”</p>

<p>“I accept your offer with thankfulness, lady,” he
replied.</p>

<hr />

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">[195]</a></span></p>

<h2 id="CHAPTER_XVII">CHAPTER XVII.<br />
<span class="smaller">TOM’S INTERVENTION</span></h2>

<p>About eight o’clock that evening Tom Everest
ran in to bring Berty some rare wild flowers that
he had found in an excursion to the country.</p>

<p>“How is your grandmother?” he asked. “I
hear she is ill.”</p>

<p>“Better,” whispered Berty. “Bonny is with her,
but I’ve got another trouble.”</p>

<p>“What is it?” inquired Tom, tenderly.</p>

<p>They were standing in the front hall, and he bent
his head low to hear what she said.</p>

<p>“There’s a tramp out in the wood-shed,” she
went on, “and I don’t know what to do with him.”</p>

<p>“I’ll go put him out,” said Tom, promptly starting
toward the back hall.</p>

<p>“No, no, I don’t want him put out. Come back,
Tom. I want you to help me do something for
him. Just think, he was once a doctor. He cured<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196">[196]</a></span>
other people, and couldn’t cure himself. He drinks
like a fish.”</p>

<p>“Well, I’ll find a place for him to disport himself
other than this,” said Tom, decidedly. “He isn’t
going to spend the night in your back yard.”</p>

<p>“Oh, Tom, don’t be foolish. He is as quiet as
a lamb. He hasn’t been drinking to-day.”</p>

<p>“I tell you, Berty, he’s got to come out. If you
make a fuss, I’ll call Bonny down.”</p>

<p>“Why, Tom Everest, you ought to be ashamed
of yourself. Your face is as red as a beet. What
about the Golden Rule?”</p>

<p>“I beg your pardon, Berty,” said Tom, trying to
look calm, “but I know more about tramps than you
do. This fellow may be a thief.”</p>

<p>“Tom&mdash;suppose you were the thief, and the
thief were you? Would you like him to talk about
you that way?”</p>

<p>“Yes, I’d enjoy it. Come, Berty, lead the way.”</p>

<p>“What do you want to do with him?” asked the
girl, curiously.</p>

<p>“Put him in the street.”</p>

<p>“Well, suppose he is a thief. He may rob your
neighbour’s house.”</p>

<p>“My neighbour can look out for himself.”</p>

<p>“You don’t mean that,” said Berty, quickly.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">[197]</a></span>
“Please do find this man a good place for the night.
Keep him out of harm.”</p>

<p>“But, Berty, it won’t do any good. I know those
fellows. They are thoroughly demoralized. You
might just as well let this one go.”</p>

<p>“Go where?” asked the girl, quickly.</p>

<p>“To his appointed place.”</p>

<p>The two young people stood staring at each other
for a few minutes, then Berty said, seriously, “Tom
Everest, you are a moral, upright man.”</p>

<p>Tom modestly cast his eyes to the oilcloth on the
floor.</p>

<p>“How many other young men are there like
you in the republic?” pursued Berty.</p>

<p>“I don’t know,” he said, demurely.</p>

<p>“How many tramps are there?”</p>

<p>“I don’t know that&mdash;thousands and thousands,
I guess.”</p>

<p>“Well, suppose every honest young man took a
poor, miserable tramp under his protection. Suppose
he looked out for him, fed him, clothed him,
and kept him from being a prey on society?”</p>

<p>“I should say that would be a most undesirable
plan for the young men,” said Tom, dryly. “I’d be
afraid they’d get demoralized themselves, and all
turn tramps. It’s easier to loaf than to work.”</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">[198]</a></span></p>

<p>“Tom,” said Berty, firmly, “this is my tramp.
I found him, I brought him home, I have a duty
toward him. I can’t protect all the tramps in the
Union, but I can prevent this one from going on
and being a worry to society. Why, he might
meet some timid girl to-morrow and frighten her
to death.”</p>

<p>“Oho! he tried to scare you, did he?” asked
Tom, keenly.</p>

<p>“He asked me for money,” repeated Berty, “but
of course I didn’t let him have it.”</p>

<p>“Tell me all about it.”</p>

<p>When she finished, Tom laughed softly. “So
this is the gentleman you want me to befriend?”</p>

<p>“Do you feel revengeful toward him?” asked
Berty.</p>

<p>“I’d like to horsewhip him.”</p>

<p>“That’s the way I felt at first. Then I said to
myself, ‘Berty Gravely, you’ve got to get every
revengeful feeling out of your head before you
can benefit that man. What’s the use of being
angry with him? You only stultify yourself. Try
to find out how you can do him good.’”</p>

<p>“Oh, Berty,” interposed Tom, with a gesture of
despair, “don’t talk mawkish, sickly sentimentality<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">[199]</a></span>
to me. Don’t throw honey water over tin cans, and
expect them to blossom like the rose.”</p>

<p>“They will blossom, they can blossom,” said
Berty, persistently, “and even if they won’t blossom,
take your old tin cans, clean them, and set them
on end. Don’t kick them in the gutter.”</p>

<p>“What do you want me to do?” asked Tom,
helplessly. “I see you have some plan in your
mind.”</p>

<p>This was Berty’s chance, and for a few minutes
she so staggered him by her eloquence that he sank
on the staircase, and, feebly propping his head on
his hand, stared uninterruptedly at her.</p>

<p>“I’ve been thinking hard,” she said, in low,
dramatic tones, “very, very hard for two hours,
as I sat by Grandma’s bed. What can we do for
wrecks of humanity? Shall we pet them, coddle
them, spoil them, as you speak of doing? Not at
all. We’ve got to do something, but we mustn’t be
foolish. This tramp is like some wet, soggy piece
of wood floating down our river. It doesn’t know,
feel, nor care. You mustn’t give it a push and send
it further down the stream, but pull it ashore, and&mdash;and&mdash;”</p>

<p>“And dry it, and make a fire and burn it,” said
Tom, briskly. “I don’t like your simile, Berty.”</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">[200]</a></span></p>

<p>“It was unfortunate,” said the girl. “I will start
again. I approve of societies and churches and
clubs&mdash;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&mdash;you can do nothing for him.’ Now I’ve got
a plan for this tramp, and I want you to help me.”</p>

<p>“I know you have, and I wouldn’t mind hearing
it, but I don’t think I’ll help you, Berty. I don’t
favour the gentry of the road.”</p>

<p>“This is my plan,” said Berty, unheedingly;
“but first let me say that I will make a concession
to you. You may take the tramp with you, put him
in a comfortable room for the night, see that he
has a good bed, and a good breakfast in the morning.”</p>

<p>“Oh, thank you, thank you,” murmured the
young man. “You are so very kind.”</p>

<p>“Don’t give him any money,” continued Berty,
seriously, “and if you can keep him locked up without
hurting his feelings, I wish you would&mdash;but
don’t blight his self-respect.”</p>

<p>“His what?” asked Tom, mildly.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201">[201]</a></span></p>

<p>“His self-respect&mdash;even an animal must be protected
in that way. Don’t you know that a dog
gets well a great deal quicker, if you keep up his
good opinion of himself?”</p>

<p>“Does he?” murmured Tom. “I&mdash;I don’t
know. I fear I have sometimes helped to lessen
a dog’s good opinion of himself.”</p>

<p>“And, furthermore,” pursued Berty, “I want
that tramp to stay in Riverport. He’s going to be
my tramp, Tom, and yours, too, if you will be
good.”</p>

<p>“Oh, I will be good, Berty, extra good to deserve
a partnership like that.”</p>

<p>“And you and I will look out for him. Now I’ve
been wondering what employment we can find for
him, for of course you know it isn’t good for any
man to live in idleness.”</p>

<p>“Just so, Berty.”</p>

<p>“Well, we must be very cautious about what
work we find for him, for he hasn’t worked for
years.”</p>

<p>“Something light and genteel, Berty.”</p>

<p>“Light, but not so very genteel. He isn’t proud.
He’s only unaccustomed to work. He talked quite
frankly about himself.”</p>

<p>“Oh&mdash;did he?”</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202">[202]</a></span></p>

<p>“Yes, and do you know what I have decided?”</p>

<p>“No, I’m sure I don’t.”</p>

<p>“Well, I have just found the very thing for
him, and I dare say, if you have any money laid
aside, you may want to invest in it. First of all,
I want you to hire Bobbetty’s Island.”</p>

<p>“Bobbetty’s Island&mdash;out in the river&mdash;old man
Bobbetty’s?”</p>

<p>“The same, Tom.”</p>

<p>“Ghost thrown in?”</p>

<p>“I want you to hire it,” said Berty, severely,
“and get some of your friends to make up a party,
and go down there and put up a big, comfortable
camp for our tramp to live in.”</p>

<p>“Why the island, Berty?” inquired Tom, in a
suppressed voice. “Why not set him up in Grand
Avenue. There’s a first-class family mansion to let
there, three doors from us.”</p>

<p>“Tom Everest, will you stop your fooling. Our
tramp is to live on the island because if he were
in the town he would spend half his time in drinking-places.”</p>

<p>“But won’t the river be suggestive, Berty? It
would to me, and I’m not a drinking man.”</p>

<p>“No, of course not&mdash;he will have his work to
do, and twice a week I want you to row over yourself,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203">[203]</a></span>
or get some one to go and bring him to town,
for he would go crazy if he were left there alone
all the time.”</p>

<p>“I wonder you don’t get a companion for him.”</p>

<p>“I’m going to try. He has a wife, a nice woman
in New Hampshire, who left him on account of his
drinking habits. He says she will come back to
him if he gets a good situation and promises to
reform.”</p>

<p>“Has he promised?” asked Tom, acutely.</p>

<p>“He said he would think about it. I rather liked
him for the hesitation, for of course he is completely
out of the way of continuous application to anything.”</p>

<p>“And what business, may I ask, are you going
to establish him in? You seemed to be hinting at
something.”</p>

<p>“I am going to start a cat farm, and put him
in charge,” replied Berty, with the air of one making
a great revelation.</p>

<p>“A cat farm,” echoed Tom, weakly, then, entirely
collapsing, he rolled over on his side on the staircase
and burst into silent and convulsive laughter.</p>

<hr />

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204">[204]</a></span></p>

<h2 id="CHAPTER_XVIII">CHAPTER XVIII.<br />
<span class="smaller">TRAMP PHILOSOPHY</span></h2>

<p>“What are you two giggling about?” asked a
sudden voice, and Berty, looking up from the hall,
and Tom, from the staircase, saw Bonny standing
on the steps above them.</p>

<p>“Meow, meow,” murmured Tom, in a scarcely
audible voice.</p>

<p>“What’s up with him, Berty?” asked Bonny,
good-naturedly.</p>

<p>“I think his head must be growing weak,” said
the girl. “Everything lately seems to amuse him.
If you hold up a finger, he goes into fits of laughter.”</p>

<p>“Poor Tom,” said Bonny, “and once he was a
joy to his friends&mdash;I say, old man, uncurl yourself
and tell us the joke.”</p>

<p>“Go ’way, Berty,” ejaculated Tom, partly
straightening himself, “go ’way. You hate to see<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205">[205]</a></span>
me laugh. Just like all girls. They haven’t any
more sense of humour than sticks.”</p>

<p>“Bonny,” said Berty, turning to her brother,
“how is Grandma?”</p>

<p>“Asleep, and resting quietly.”</p>

<p>“I’ll go sit beside her,” said the girl; then, turning
to her visitor, “Tom Everest, are you going
to do that commission for me, or are you not?
I’ve stood a good deal from you to-night. Just
one word more, and I take it from you and give
it to Bonny.”</p>

<p>“I’m ready and willing if it’s anything good,”
said the light-haired boy.</p>

<p>“Sha’n’t have it, Bonny,” said Tom, staggering to
his feet. “That jewel is mine. I’ll love and cherish
him, Berty, until to-morrow afternoon, then I’ll
report to you.”</p>

<p>“Good night, then,” said Berty, “and don’t make
a noise, or you’ll wake Grandma.”</p>

<p>“Come on, Bonny, let’s interview Berty’s treasure,”
exclaimed Tom, seizing his hat.</p>

<p>“What is it?” inquired Bonny, curiously, following
him through the hall.</p>

<p>“A black pearl. Didn’t she tell you?”</p>

<p>“No, I haven’t been here long. We were busy
at the works.”</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_206" id="Page_206">[206]</a></span></p>

<p>Without speaking, Tom led the way down the
back staircase, through the lower hall, and out to
the wood-shed at the back of the house.</p>

<p>“Listen to it,” he said to Bonny, with his hand
on the door-knob.</p>

<p>“Who is snoring in there?” said the boy, quickly.</p>

<p>“One of your sister’s bits of driftwood. I’ve got
to haul this one into port.”</p>

<p>“I wish Berty would look out for number one, and
let number two, and three, and four, and five, take
care of themselves,” said the lad, irritably. Then
he suddenly recollected himself. “I suppose I am
a brute, but I do hate dirty people. Berty is an
angel compared with me.”</p>

<p>“Hello,” said Tom, opening the door and scratching
a match to light the candle in a lantern hanging
near him.</p>

<p>There was no response. Tom held the lantern
and pushed the sleeping man with his foot.</p>

<p>“Here, you&mdash;wake up.”</p>

<p>The man rolled over, blinking at them in the
light. “Hello, comrade, what you want?”</p>

<p>“Get up,” said Tom, commandingly.</p>

<p>“What for?” asked the sleeper, yawningly.</p>

<p>“To get out of this. I’ll find you another sleeping-place.”</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207">[207]</a></span></p>

<p>“Oh, come, comrade,” said the man, remonstratingly,
“this is cruelty to animals. I was having
the sleep of my life&mdash;like drugged sleep&mdash;takes me
back to my boyhood. Move on, and let me begin
again. Your diamonds are safe to-night. I’ve had
a first-class supper, and I’m having a first-class
sleep. I wouldn’t get up to finger the jewels of
the Emperor of Russia.”</p>

<p>“Get up,” said Tom, inexorably.</p>

<p>“Let him stay,” said Bonny. “I’m going to
be here all night. If he gets dangerous, I’ll take
the poker.”</p>

<p>“Oh, you’re going to stay all night,” remarked
Tom. “Very good, then. I’ll come early in the
morning and get him out of this.”</p>

<p>“Talking about me, gentlemen?” asked the man,
sleepily.</p>

<p>Tom and Bonny stared at him.</p>

<p>“I haven’t done anything bad yet,” said the
tramp, meekly, “unless I may have corrupted a
few of those guinea-pigs by using bad language.
They’re the most inquisitive creatures I ever saw.
Stuck their noses in my food, and most took it away
from me.”</p>

<p>“Who are you?” asked Bonny, abruptly.</p>

<p>“A poor, broken-down sailor, sir,” whined the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_208" id="Page_208">[208]</a></span>
man. “Turned out of his vessel the first day in
port, because he had a little weakness of the heart.”</p>

<p>“I heard you were a doctor,” interposed Tom.</p>

<p>“So I was this afternoon, sir. That nice young
lady said I looked like a sailor, so I thought I’d
be one to please her.”</p>

<p>“You’re a first-class liar, anyway,” said Tom.</p>

<p>The man rolled over on his back and sleepily
blinked at him. “That I am, sir. If you’d hear
the different stories I tell to charitable ladies, you’d
fall down in a fit. They’re too funny for words.”</p>

<p>Bonny was staring at him with wide-open eyes.
He had never spoken to a tramp before in his life.
If he saw one on the right side of the street, he
immediately crossed to the left.</p>

<p>“I say,” he began, with a fastidious curl of his
lip, “it must be mighty queer not to know in the
morning where you are going to lay your head at
night. Queer, and mighty uncomfortable.”</p>

<p>“So it is, young man, till you get used to it,”
responded the tramp, amiably.</p>

<p>Bonny’s countenance expressed the utmost disdain,
and suddenly the tramp raised himself on an
elbow. “Can you think of me, my fine lad, young
and clean and as good-looking as you are?”</p>

<p>“No, I can’t,” said Bonny, frankly.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209">[209]</a></span></p>

<p>“Fussy about my tailor,” continued the man.
“Good heavens, just think of it&mdash;I, bothering
about the cut of my coat. But I was, and I did,
and I’ve come down to be a trailer over the roads.”</p>

<p>“How can persons take a jump like that?” said
the boy, musingly.</p>

<p>“It isn’t a jump,” pursued the tramp, lazily, “it’s
a slide. You move a few inches each day. I’m
something of a philosopher, and I often look back
on my career. I’ve lots of time to think, as you
may imagine. Now, gentlemen, you wouldn’t
imagine where my slide into trampdom began.”</p>

<p>“You didn’t start from the gutter, anyway,”
remarked Bonny, “for you talk like a gentleman.”</p>

<p>“You’re right, young man. I can talk the slang
of the road. I’ve been broken to it, but I won’t
waste it on you, for you wouldn’t understand it&mdash;well,
my first push downward was given me by my
mother.”</p>

<p>“Your mother?” echoed Bonny, in disgust.</p>

<p>“Yes, young sir&mdash;one of the best women that
ever lived. She held me out to the devil, when she allowed
me to kick the cat because it had made me
fall.”</p>

<p>“Nonsense,” said Bonny, sharply.</p>

<p>“Not nonsense, but sound sense, sir. That was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210">[210]</a></span>
the beginning of the lack of self-restraint. Did I
want her best cap to tear to ribbons? I got it.”</p>

<p>“Oh, get out,” interposed Tom, crossly. “You
needn’t tell us that all spoiled children go to the
bad.”</p>

<p>“Good London, no,” said the man, with a laugh.
“Look at our millionaires. Could you find on the
face of the earth a more absolute autocrat, a more
heartless, up-to-date, determined-to-have-his-own-way,
let-the-rest-of-you-go-to-the-dogs kind of a
man, than the average American millionaire?”</p>

<p>The two young men eyed each other, and Bonny
murmured, “You are an extremist.”</p>

<p>“It began away back,” continued the tramp, now
thoroughly roused from his sleepy condition.
“When our forefathers came from England, they
brought that ugly, I’m-going-to-have-my-own-way
spirit with them. Talk about the severity of England
precipitating the Revolution. If they hadn’t
made a revolution for us, we’d made one to order.
Did you ever read about the levelling spirit of those
days? I tell you this American nation is queer&mdash;it’s
harder for a real, true blue son of the soil to
keep straight, than it is for the son of any other
nation under the heaven. We lack self-restraint.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211">[211]</a></span>
We’ll go to the bad if we want to, and none shall
hinder us.”</p>

<p>The tramp paused for a minute in his semi-lazy,
semi-animated discourse, and Tom, feeling that
some remark was expected from him, said feebly,
“You’re quite a moralizer.”</p>

<p>The tramp did not hear him. “I tell you,” he
said, extending a dirty hand, “we’re the biggest,
grandest, foolishest people on earth. We’re the
nation of the future. We’ll govern the earth, and
at the same time fail in governing ourselves. Look
at the lynchings we have. The United States has
the highest murder rate of any civilized country in
the world. The average American will be a decent,
moral, pay-his-bills sort of man, and yet he’ll have
more tolerance for personal violence than a Turk
has.”</p>

<p>“You’re a queer man,” said Bonny, musingly.</p>

<p>“We’ve got to have more law and order,” pursued
the tramp. “The mothers have got to make
their little ones eat their mush, or porridge, as they
say over the line in Canada&mdash;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&mdash;in
the cradle. The average mother has too much
respect for the squallings of her Young America.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_212" id="Page_212">[212]</a></span>
Let her spank him once in awhile, and keep him
out of sight of the eagle.”</p>

<p>“Do you suppose,” said Bonny, solemnly, “that
if you had been well spanked you would not be
lying here?”</p>

<p>“Suppose,” repeated the tramp, leaning back, “I
don’t suppose anything about it. I know it. If
my mother and father had made me mind them,
and kept me in nights, and trained me into decent,
self-respecting manhood, I’d be standing beside you
to-night, young sirs, beside you&mdash;beyond you&mdash;for
I guess from your bearing you are only young
men of average ability, and I tell you I was a power,
when I’d study and let the drink alone.”</p>

<p>“You must have had a strange mother,” remarked
Bonny.</p>

<p>The tramp suddenly raised himself again, and his
sunburnt face grew redder. “For the love of
Heaven,” he said, extending one ragged arm, “don’t
say a word against her. The thought of her is the
only thing that moves me. She loved me, and, unclean,
characterless wretch that I am, she would
love me yet if she were still alive.”</p>

<p>The man’s head sank on his arm, but not quickly
enough. Tom and Bonny had both seen glistening
in his eyes, not the one jewel they were jestingly<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213">[213]</a></span>
in search of, but two priceless jewels that were not
pearls, but diamonds.</p>

<p>“Come on, Bonny,” said Tom, roughly, as he
drew him from the shed.</p>

<p>“Tom,” remarked Bonny, softly, as they went
slowly up-stairs, “Berty wants you to do something
for that fellow, doesn’t she?”</p>

<p>“Yes.”</p>

<p>“Do you think it is of any use?”</p>

<p>“No.”</p>

<p>“Are you going to try?”</p>

<p>“Yes.”</p>

<p>Bonny made no further remarks until some time
later, when they were standing on the front door-step,
then he asked, thoughtfully, “What does
Berty want you to do, Tom?”</p>

<p>“Start a cat-farm.”</p>

<p>“A cat-farm! What kind of cats?”</p>

<p>“Gutter cats, back yard cats, disreputable cats,
I should guess from the character of the superintendent
she has chosen,” replied Tom, gruffly.</p>

<p>“The superintendent being the tramp,” said
Bonny, slyly.</p>

<p>“There’s no one else in question,” responded
Tom.</p>

<p>“I think you are wrong about the nature of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_214" id="Page_214">[214]</a></span>
beasts,” continued Bonny. “I believe Berty means
pet cats&mdash;Angoras, and so on.”</p>

<p>“What sort are they?”</p>

<p>“Do you mean to say you haven’t noticed them?
It’s the latest cry among the women&mdash;‘Give me a
long-haired cat!’ Mrs. Darley-James has a beauty&mdash;snow-white
with blue eyes.”</p>

<p>“All nonsense&mdash;these society women don’t know
what to do to kill time.”</p>

<p>“They’re not all society women that have them.
Old Mrs. McCarthy has a pair of dandies&mdash;and
I find that the women who take up cat-culture are
more kind to back yard tabbies.”</p>

<p>“Maybe you’re right, Bonny. I don’t call round
on these women as you do.”</p>

<p>“Well,” said Bonny, apologetically, “I don’t see
any harm in putting on your best coat and hat,
and doing a woman who has invited you to her house
the compliment of calling on her day.”</p>

<p>“Oh, dressing up,” said Tom, “is such a nuisance.”</p>

<p>“You can’t call on many that you’d be bothered
with calling on without it. Sydney Gray tried calling
on Margaretta on her day in a bicycle suit. He
had ridden fifty miles, and was hot and dusty and
perspiring. He had the impudence to go into Margaretta’s<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215">[215]</a></span>
spick and span rooms and ask for a cup
of tea. She was so sweet to him that he came
away hugging himself&mdash;but he never got asked
there again, and every once in awhile he says to
some one, ‘Queer, isn’t it, that Mrs. Stanisfield
gives me the go-by. I don’t know what I’ve done
to offend her.’”</p>

<p>“Suppose we come back to Berty,” observed
Tom. “If all the women here have cats, what
does she want to start a farm for?”</p>

<p>“The women aren’t all supplied. The demand
is increasing, and many would buy here that
wouldn’t send away for one. Berty is more shrewd
than you think. These cats sell for five and six
dollars apiece at the least, and some are as high
as twenty. I shouldn’t a bit wonder if it would
turn out to be a good business speculation.”</p>

<p>“Well, then, you just meet some of the fellows
in my office to-morrow evening and arrange for a
house and lot for this man who is to boss the cats,”
said Tom, dryly.</p>

<p>“All right, I’ll come&mdash;maybe Roger will, too.”</p>

<p>“Good night,” said Tom, “I’m off.”</p>

<p>“Good night,” returned Bonny, laconically, and,
standing with his hands thrust in his pockets, he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_216" id="Page_216">[216]</a></span>
was looking down the street, when Tom suddenly
turned back.</p>

<p>“I say, Bonny, your grandmother must have a
good history of the Revolution.”</p>

<p>“She has two or three.”</p>

<p>“Ask her to lend me one, will you? I half forget
what I learned in school.”</p>

<p>“Yes, sir; I’ll bring it to-morrow.”</p>

<p>Tom really went this time, and as he quickly
disappeared from sight, Bonny, from his station on
the door-step, kept muttering to himself, “Slipping
through life, slipping through life. How easy to
get on that greased path!”</p>

<p>“What are you saying to yourself?” asked a
brisk voice.</p>

<p>Bonny, turning sharply, found Berty beside him.</p>

<p>“Nothing much&mdash;only that I was hungry. Let’s
see what’s in the pantry.”</p>

<p>“Bonny, if I show you where there is a pie, the
most beautiful pumpkin pie you ever saw, will you
help me with my tramp?”</p>

<p>“I’ll do it for half a pie,” said Bonny, generously.
“Come on, you young monkey.”</p>

<hr />

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_217" id="Page_217">[217]</a></span></p>

<h2 id="CHAPTER_XIX">CHAPTER XIX.<br />
<span class="smaller">AT THE BOARD OF WATER-WORKS</span></h2>

<p>“There she comes,” murmured one of the clerks,
in the board of water-works offices.</p>

<p>“Who?” murmured the other clerk.</p>

<p>“The beggar-girl,” responded the first one.</p>

<p>The chairman of the board heard them, and
looked fearfully over his shoulder.</p>

<p>Roger, Tom, and Bonny knew that Berty’s frequent
visits to the city hall had gained for her a
nickname, occasioned by the character of her visits.
She was always urging the claims of the poor, hence
she was classed with them. They carefully shielded
from her the knowledge of this nickname, and supposed
she knew nothing of it.</p>

<p>However, she did know. Some whisper of the
“beggar-girl” had reached her ears, and was a
matter of chagrin to her.</p>

<p>The chairman of the board of water-works knew
all about her. He knew that if the clerks had seen<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_218" id="Page_218">[218]</a></span>
her passing along the glass corridor outside his
office she was probably coming to him; she probably
wanted something.</p>

<p>One clerk was his nephew, the other his second
cousin, so he was on terms of familiarity with them,
and at the present moment was in the outer office
discussing with them the chances that a certain bill
had of passing the city council.</p>

<p>The door of his own inner office stood open, but
of what use to take refuge there? If the beggar-girl
really wished to see a man on business, she
always waited for him.</p>

<p>He looked despairingly about him. A high, old-fashioned
desk stood near. Under it was a foot-stool.
As a knock came at the door, he ungracefully
folded his long, lank limbs, quickly sat down on
the foot-stool, and said, in a low voice, “I’ve gone
to Portland for a week!” Then he fearfully awaited
results.</p>

<p>Berty, followed by her friend, the mongrel pup,
walked into the room and asked if Mr. Morehall
were in.</p>

<p>“No,” said the second cousin, gravely, “he has
been called to Portland on important business&mdash;will
be gone a week.”</p>

<p>The girl’s face clouded; she stood leaning against<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_219" id="Page_219">[219]</a></span>
the railing that separated the room into two parts,
and, as she did so, her weight pushed open the gate
that the second cousin had just hastily swung together.</p>

<p>The pup ran in, and being of quick wits and an
inquiring disposition wondered what that man was
doing curled up in a corner, instead of being on
his feet like the other two.</p>

<p>He began to sniff round him. Perhaps there
was something peculiar about him. No&mdash;he
seemed to be like other men, a trifle anxious and
red-faced, perhaps, but still normal. He gave a
playful bark, as if to say, “I dare you to come out.”</p>

<p>Berty heard him, and turned swiftly. “Mugwump,
if you worry another rat, I’ll never give you
a walk again.”</p>

<p>The two young men were in a quandary. Whether
to go to the assistance of their chief, or whether to
affect indifference, was vexing their clerical souls.
Berty, more quick-witted than the pup, was prompt
to notice their peculiar expressions.</p>

<p>“Please don’t let him worry a rat,” she said,
beseechingly, “it makes him so cruel. Rats have
a dreadfully hard time! Oh, please call him off.
He’s got it in his mouth. I hear him.”</p>

<p>The chairman, in his perplexity, had thrown him<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_220" id="Page_220">[220]</a></span>
a glove from his pocket, and Mugwump was mouthing
and chewing it deliciously.</p>

<p>“He’ll kill it,” exclaimed Berty. “Oh! let me
in,” and before the confused clerks could prevent
her, she had pushed open the gate and had followed
the dog.</p>

<p>Her face was a study. Low down on the floor
sat the deceiving chairman, with Mugwump prancing
before him.</p>

<p>“Mr. Morehall!” she exclaimed; then she stopped.</p>

<p>The chairman, with a flaming face, unfolded his
long limbs, crawled out of his retreat, stumbled
over the dog, partly fell, recovered himself, and
finally got to his feet. After throwing an indignant
glance at the two clerks, who were in a pitiable state
of restrained merriment, he concentrated his attention
on Berty. She blushed, too, as she divined
what had been the case.</p>

<p>“You were trying to hide from me,” she said,
after a long pause.</p>

<p>He could not deny it, though he stammered something
about it being a warm day, and the lower part
of the desk being a cool retreat.</p>

<p>“Now you are telling me a story,” said Berty,
sternly, “you, the chairman of the board of water-works&mdash;a
city official, afraid of me!”</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_221" id="Page_221">[221]</a></span></p>

<p>He said nothing, and she went on, wistfully,
“Am I, then, so terrible? Do you men all hate the
beggar-girl?”</p>

<p>Her three hearers immediately fell into a state
of shamefacedness.</p>

<p>“What have I done?” she continued, sadly,
“what have I done to be so disliked?”</p>

<p>No one answered her, and she went on. “When
I lived on Grand Avenue and thought only of
amusing myself, everybody liked me. Why is it
that every one hates me since I went to River Street
and am trying to make myself useful?”</p>

<p>To Mr. Morehall’s dismay, her lip was quivering,
and big tears began to roll down her cheeks.</p>

<p>“Come in here,” he said, leading the way to
his own room.</p>

<p>Berty sat down in an armchair and quietly continued
to cry, while Mr. Morehall eyed her with
distress and increasing anxiety.</p>

<p>“Have a glass of water, do,” said the tall man,
seizing a pitcher near him, “and don’t feel bad.
Upon my word, I didn’t know what I was doing.”</p>

<p>“It&mdash;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&mdash;that’s what I came to see you about.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_222" id="Page_222">[222]</a></span>
The autumn is starting in so dry that we are almost
choked with dust. River Street hasn’t been watered
for a week.”</p>

<p>“Hasn’t it?” said Mr. Morehall, slowly.</p>

<p>“Grand Avenue was always watered,” continued
Berty, as she rested her head against the back of
the chair, “even soaked. I never thought about
dust in summer. Why is River Street neglected?”</p>

<p>“River Street citizens don’t pay such heavy
taxes,” suggested Mr. Morehall.</p>

<p>“But they pay all they can, sir.”</p>

<p>“Poor people are shiftless,” said the official, with
a shrug of his shoulders.</p>

<p>“That’s what everybody says,” exclaimed Berty,
despairingly. “All well-to-do people that I talk
to dismiss the poorer classes in that way. But poor
people aren’t all shiftless.”</p>

<p>“Not all, perhaps,” said Mr. Morehall, amiably,
and with inward rejoicing that Berty was wiping
away her tears.</p>

<p>“And there must be poor people,” continued
Berty. “We can’t all be rich. It’s impossible.
Who would work for the prosperous, if all were
independent?”</p>

<p>“What I meant,” replied Mr. Morehall, “was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_223" id="Page_223">[223]</a></span>
that poverty is very often the result of a lack of
personal exertion on the part of the poor.”</p>

<p>“Yes, sir, but I am not just now advocating the
cause of the helpless. It is rather the claims of the
respectable poor. I know heaps of people on River
Street who have only a pittance to live on. Their
parents had only the same. They are not dissipated.
They work hard and pay what they can to the city.
My argument is that these poorer children of the
city should be especially well looked after, just as
in a family the delicate or afflicted child is the most
petted.”</p>

<p>“Now you are aiming at the ideal,” said Mr.
Morehall, with an uneasy smile.</p>

<p>“No, sir, not the ideal, but the practical. Some
one was telling me what the city has to spend for
prisons, hospitals, and our asylums. Why, it would
pay us a thousandfold better to take care of these
people before they get to be a burden on us.”</p>

<p>“They are so abominably ungrateful,” muttered
Mr. Morehall.</p>

<p>“And so would I be,” exclaimed Berty, “if I
were always having charity flung in my face. Let
the city give the poor their rights. They ask no
more. It’s no disgrace to be born poor. But if I am
a working girl in River Street I must lodge in a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_224" id="Page_224">[224]</a></span>
worm-eaten, rat-haunted tenement-house. I must
rise from an unwholesome bed, and put on badly
made, uncomfortable clothing. I must eat a scanty
breakfast, and go to toil in a stuffy, unventilated
room. I must come home at night to my dusty, unwatered
street, and then I must, before I go to sleep,
kneel down and thank God that I live in a Christian
country&mdash;why, it’s enough to make one a pagan
just to think of it! I don’t see why the poor don’t
organize. They are meeker than I would be. It
makes me wild to see River Street neglected. If any
street is left unwatered, it ought to be Grand Avenue
rather than River Street, for the rich have gardens
and can go to the country, while the poor must live
on the street in summer.”</p>

<p>“Now you are oppressing the rich,” said Mr.
Morehall, promptly.</p>

<p>“Heaven forbid,” said the girl, wearily. “Equal
rights for all&mdash;”</p>

<p>“The poor have a good friend in you,” he said,
with reluctant admiration.</p>

<p>“Will you have our street watered, sir?” asked
Berty, rising.</p>

<p>“I’ll try to. I’ll have to ask for an appropriation.
We’ll want another cart and horse, and an extra
man.”</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_225" id="Page_225">[225]</a></span></p>

<p>“That means delay,” said Berty, despairingly,
“and in the meantime the dust blows about in
clouds. It enters the windows and settles on the
tables and chairs. It chokes the lungs of consumptives
struggling for breath, and little babies gasping
for air. Then the mothers put the windows down,
and they breathe over and over again the polluted
air. And this is stifling autumn weather&mdash;come
spend a day in River Street, sir.”</p>

<p>“Miss Gravely,” said the man, with a certain
frank bluntness and good-will, “excuse my plain
speaking, but you enthuse too much. Those poor
people aren’t made of the same stuff that you are.
They don’t suffer to the extent that you do under
the same conditions.”</p>

<p>Berty was about to leave the room, but she turned
round on him with flashing eyes. “Do you mean to
say that God has created two sets of creatures&mdash;one
set with fine nerves and sensitive bodies, the other
callous and unsensitive to comfort or discomfort?”</p>

<p>“That’s about the measure of it.”</p>

<p>“And where would you draw the line?” she
asked, with assumed calmness.</p>

<p>Mr. Morehall did not know Berty well. His
family, though one of the highest respectability,
moved in another circle. If he had had the pleasure<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_226" id="Page_226">[226]</a></span>
of an intimate acquaintance with the energetic young
person before him, he would have known that her
compressed lips, her half-closed eyes, and her tense
forehead betokened an overwhelming and suppressed
anger.</p>

<p>Therefore, unaware of the drawn sword suspended
over his head, he went on, unsuspiciously. “To tell
the truth, I think there’s a lot in heredity. Now
there are some families you never find scrabbling
round for something to eat. I never heard of a poor
Gravely, or a Travers, or a Stanisfield, or a Morehall.
It’s in the blood to get on. No one can down
you.”</p>

<p>He paused consequentially, and Berty, biting her
lip, waited for him to go on. However, happening
to look at the clock, he stopped short. This talk
was interesting, but he would like to get back to
business.</p>

<p>“Mr. Morehall,” said Berty, in a still voice, “do
you know that there are a legion of poor Traverses
up in the northern part of the State, that Grandma
used to send boxes to every month?”</p>

<p>“No,” he said, in surprise, “I never heard that.”</p>

<p>“And old Mr. Stanisfield took two of his own
cousins out of the poorhouse three years ago, and
supports them?”</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_227" id="Page_227">[227]</a></span></p>

<p>“You astonish me,” murmured the confused
man.</p>

<p>“And, moreover,” continued Berty, with a new
gleam in her eye, “since you have been frank with
me, I may be frank with you, and say that two of
the people for whom I want River Street made
sweet and wholesome are old Abner Morehall and
his wife, from Cloverdale.”</p>

<p>“Abner Morehall!” exclaimed the man, incredulously.</p>

<p>“Yes, Abner Morehall, your own uncle.”</p>

<p>“But&mdash;I didn’t know&mdash;why didn’t he tell?&mdash;”
stammered Mr. Morehall, confusedly.</p>

<p>“Yes&mdash;why do you suppose he didn’t tell you?”
said Berty. “That’s the blood&mdash;the better blood
than that of paupers. He was ashamed to have you
know of his misfortune.”</p>

<p>“He thought I wouldn’t help him,” burst out
her companion, and, with shame and chagrin in his
eyes, he sat down at the table and put his hand to
his head. “It’s those confounded notes,” he said,
at last. “I often told him he ought never to put
his name to paper.”</p>

<p>“It was his generosity and kindness&mdash;his implicit
faith in his fellow men,” continued Berty,
warmly; “and now, Mr. Morehall, can you say<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_228" id="Page_228">[228]</a></span>
that ‘blood,’ or shrewdness, or anything else, will
always keep misfortune from a certain family? Who
is to assure you that your great-great-grandchildren
will not be living on River Street?”</p>

<p>No one could assure the disturbed man that this
contingency might not arise, and, lifting his head,
he gazed at Berty as if she were some bird of ill-omen.</p>

<p>“You will come to see your relatives, I suppose?”
she murmured.</p>

<p>He made an assenting gesture with his hand.</p>

<p>“They are two dear old people. They give tone
to the street&mdash;and you will send a watering-cart
this afternoon?”</p>

<p>He made another assenting gesture. He did not
care to talk, and Berty slipped quietly from his
office.</p>

<hr />

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_229" id="Page_229">[229]</a></span></p>

<h2 id="CHAPTER_XX">CHAPTER XX.<br />
<span class="smaller">SELINA’S WEDDING</span></h2>

<p>Selina Everest and the Mayor were married.</p>

<p>On one of the loveliest of autumn mornings, the
somewhat mature bride had been united in the holy
bonds of matrimony to the somewhat mature bridegroom,
and now, in the old family mansion of the
Everests, they were receiving the congratulations
of their numerous friends. Selina had had a church
wedding. That she insisted on, greatly to the distress
and confusion of her modest husband. He
had walked up the aisle of the church as if to his
hanging. One minute he went from red to purple,
from purple to violent perspiration, the next he
became as if wrapped in an ice-cold sheet, and not
until then could he recover himself.</p>

<p>But now it was all over. This congratulatory
business was nothing compared to the agonizing
experience of being in a crowded church, the shrinking<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_230" id="Page_230">[230]</a></span>
target for hundreds of criticizing, shining, awful
eyes.</p>

<p>Yes, he was in an ecstasy to think the ordeal was
over. Selina never would have made him go through
it, if she had had the faintest conception of what
his sufferings would be.</p>

<p>She had enjoyed it. All women enjoy that sort
of thing. They are not awkward. How can they
be, with their sweeping veils and trailing robes?
He had felt like a fence-post, a rail&mdash;anything
stiff, and ugly, and uncomfortable, and in his heart
of hearts he wondered that all those well-dressed
men and women had not burst into shouts of laughter
at him.</p>

<p>Well, it was over&mdash;over, thank fortune. He
never had been so glad to escape from anything in
his life, as he had been to get out of the church and
away from the crowd of people. That alone made
him blissfully happy, and then, in addition, he had
Selina.</p>

<p>He looked at her, and mechanically stretched out
a hand to an advancing guest. Selina was his now.
He not only was out of that church and never would
have to go into it again for such a purpose as he
had gone this morning, but Selina Everest was Mrs.
Peter Jimson.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_231" id="Page_231">[231]</a></span></p>

<p>He smiled an alarming smile at her, a smile so
extraordinarily comprehensive, that she hurriedly
asked under her breath if he were ill.</p>

<p>“No,” he said, and, in so saying, clasped the hand
of the advancing friend with such vigour, that the
unhappy man retreated swiftly with his unspoken
congratulations on his lips.</p>

<p>“I’m not ill,” he muttered. “I’m only a little
flustered, Selina.”</p>

<p>“Here’s Mrs. Short,” she said, hastily, “be nice
to her. She’s a particular friend of mine.”</p>

<p>“A fine day, ma’am,” murmured the Mayor;
“yes, the crops seem good&mdash;ought to have rain,
though.”</p>

<p>Over by a French window opening on the lawn,
Berty and Tom were watching the people and making
comments.</p>

<p>“Always get mixed up about a bride and groom,”
volunteered Tom. “Always want to congratulate
her, and hope that he’ll be happy. It’s the other
way, isn’t it?”</p>

<p>“I suppose so,” murmured Berty. “Oh, isn’t it
a dream to think that they’re both happy?”</p>

<p>“Makes one feel like getting married oneself,”
said Tom.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_232" id="Page_232">[232]</a></span></p>

<p>“Yes, doesn’t it? A wedding unsettles me. All
the rest of the day I wish I were a bride.”</p>

<p>“Do you?” exclaimed Tom, eagerly.</p>

<p>“Yes, and then the next day I think what a goose
I am. Being married means slavery to some man.
You don’t have your own way at all.”</p>

<p>“Men never being slaves to their wives,” remarked
Tom.</p>

<p>“Men are by nature lordly, overbearing, proud-spirited,
self-willed, tyrannical and provoking,” said
Berty, sweepingly.</p>

<p>But Tom’s thoughts had been diverted. “Say,
Berty, where do those Tomkins girls get money
to dress that way? They’re visions in those shining
green things.”</p>

<p>“They spend too much of their father’s money
on dress,” replied Berty, severely. “Those satins
came from Paris. They are an exquisite new shade
of green. I forget what you call it.”</p>

<p>“I guess old Tomkins is the slave there,” said
Tom; then, to avoid controversy, he went on, hastily,
“You look stunning in that white gown.”</p>

<p>“I thought perhaps Selina would want me for a
bridesmaid,” said Berty, plaintively, “but she
didn’t.”</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_233" id="Page_233">[233]</a></span></p>

<p>“Too young and foolish,” said Tom, promptly;
“but, I say, Berty, where did you get the gown?”</p>

<p>“Margaretta gave it to me. I was going to wear
muslin, but she said I shouldn’t.”</p>

<p>“What is it anyway?” said Tom, putting out a
cautious finger to touch the soft folds.</p>

<p>“It’s silk, and if you knew how uncomfortable I
am in it, you would pity me.”</p>

<p>“Uncomfortable! You look as cool as a cucumber.”</p>

<p>“I’m not. I wish I had on a serge skirt and a
shirt-waist.”</p>

<p>“Let me get you something to eat,” he said,
consolingly. “That going to church and standing
about here are tiresome.”</p>

<p>“Yes, do,” said Berty. “I hadn’t any breakfast,
I was in such a hurry to get ready.”</p>

<p>“Here are sandwiches and coffee to start with,”
he said, presently coming back.</p>

<p>“Thank you&mdash;I am so glad Selina didn’t have
a sit-down luncheon. This is much nicer.”</p>

<p>“Isn’t it! You see, she didn’t want speeches.
On an occasion like this, the Mayor would be so apt
to get wound up that he would keep us here till
midnight.”</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_234" id="Page_234">[234]</a></span></p>

<p>Berty laughed. “And they would have lost their
train.”</p>

<p>“There isn’t going to be any train,” said Tom,
mysteriously.</p>

<p>“Aren’t they going to New York?”</p>

<p>“No.”</p>

<p>“To Canada?”</p>

<p>“No.”</p>

<p>“To Europe?”</p>

<p>“No&mdash;Jimson says he isn’t going to frizzle and
fry in big cities in this lovely weather, unless Selina
absolutely commands, and she doesn’t command, so
he’s going to row her up the river to the Cloverdale
Inn.”</p>

<p>Berty put down her cup and saucer and began to
laugh.</p>

<p>“Where are those sandwiches?” asked Tom, trying
to peer round the cup.</p>

<p>“Gone,” said Berty, meekly.</p>

<p>He brought her a new supply, then came cake,
jellies, sweets, and fruit in rapid succession.</p>

<p>Berty, standing partly behind a curtain by the
open window, kept her admirer so busy that at last
he partly rebelled.</p>

<div class="figcenter" style="width: 460px;" id="illus6">
<img src="images/illus6.jpg" width="460" height="650" alt="" />
<p class="caption">“‘A RIVER STREET DELEGATION,’ SAID TOM”</p>
</div>

<p>“Look here, Berty,” he remarked, firmly, “I
don’t want to be suspicious, but it’s utterly impossible<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_235" id="Page_235">[235]</a></span>
for a girl of your weight and education
to dispose of so much provender at a single standing.
You’re up to some tricks with it. Have you
got some River Street rats with you?”</p>

<p>“Yes,” she said, smilingly. “Hush, don’t tell,”
and, slightly pulling aside the curtain, she showed
him four little heads in a clump of syringa bushes
outside.</p>

<p>“Newsboy Jim, and Johnny-Boy, and the two
girls, Biddy Malone and Glorymaroo, as we call
her, from her favourite exclamation,” continued
Berty; “they wanted to see something of the
Mayor’s marriage, and I let them come. I’ve been
handing out ‘ruffreshments’ to them. Don’t scold
them, Tom.”</p>

<p>“Come right in, youngsters,” said the young
man, heartily. “I’m sure Mr. Jimson is your Mayor
as well as ours.”</p>

<p>Without the slightest hesitation, the four grinning
children stepped in, and, marshalled by Tom, trotted
across the long room to the alcove where Selina
and the Mayor stood.</p>

<p>“A River Street delegation,” said Tom, presenting
them, “come to offer congratulations to the
chief executive officer of the city.”</p>

<p>Selina shook hands with them. The Mayor<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_236" id="Page_236">[236]</a></span>
smiled broadly, patted their heads, and the other
guests, who had been bidden, without an exception
kindly surveyed the unbidden, yet welcome ones.</p>

<p>The introduction over, Tom examined them from
head to foot. The little rats were in their Sunday
clothes. Their heads were sleek and wet from
recent washing. There was a strong smell of cheap
soap about them.</p>

<p>“This way, gentlemen and ladies,” he said, and
he led them back to a sofa near Berty. “Sit down
there in a row. Here are some foot-stools for you.</p>

<p>“Waiter,” and he hailed a passing black-coated
man, “bring the best you have to these children,
and, children, you eat as you never ate before.”</p>

<p>Berty stood silently watching him. “Tom Everest,”
she remarked, slowly, “I have two words to
say to you.”</p>

<p>“I’d rather have one,” he muttered.</p>

<p>“Hush,” she said, severely, “and listen. The
two words are, ‘Thank you.’”</p>

<p>“You’re welcome,” returned Tom, “or, as the
French say, ‘There is nothing of what&mdash;’ Hello,
Bonny, what’s the joke?”</p>

<p>Bonny, in a gentlemanly convulsion of laughter,
was turning his face toward the wall in their direction.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_237" id="Page_237">[237]</a></span></p>

<p>The lad stopped, and while Berty and Tom stood
silently admiring his almost beautiful face, which
was just now as rosy as a girl’s, he grew composed.</p>

<p>“I call you to witness, friends,” he said, slightly
upraising one hand, “that I never in my life before
have laughed at dear Grandma.”</p>

<p>“You’ve been cross with her,” said Berty.</p>

<p>“Cross, yes, once or twice, but Grandma isn’t a
person to laugh at, is she?”</p>

<p>“Well, not exactly,” said Berty. “I never saw
anything funny about Grandma.”</p>

<p>“Well, she nearly finished me just now,” said
Bonny. “I was standing near Selina, when gradually
there came a break in the hand-shaking. The
guests’ thoughts began to run luncheon-ward.
Grandma was close to the bridal pair, and suddenly
Selina turned and said, impulsively, ‘Mrs. Travers,
you have had a great deal of experience. I want
you to give me a motto to start out with on my
wedding-day. Something that will be valuable to
me, and will make me think of you whenever I repeat
it.’ The joke of it was that Grandma didn’t want
to give her a motto. She didn’t seem to have anything
handy, but Selina insisted. At last Grandma
said, in a shot-gun way, ‘Don’t nag!’ then she
moved off.”</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_238" id="Page_238">[238]</a></span></p>

<p>“Selina stared at the Mayor, and the Mayor
stared over her shoulder at me. She didn’t see
anything funny in it. We did. At last she said,
meekly, ‘Peter, do you think I am inclined to nag?’</p>

<p>“He just rushed out a sentence at her&mdash;‘Upon
my life I don’t!’</p>

<p>“‘Do you, Bonny?’ she asked, turning suddenly
round on me.</p>

<p>“‘No, Selina, I don’t,’ I told her, but I couldn’t
help laughing.</p>

<p>“Jimson grinned from ear to ear, and I started
off, leaving Selina asking him what he was so
amused about.”</p>

<p>Tom began to chuckle, but Berty said, “Well&mdash;I
don’t see anything to laugh at.”</p>

<p>“She doesn’t see anything to laugh at,” repeated
Bonny, idiotically, then he drew Tom out on the
lawn where she could hear their bursts of laughter.</p>

<p>Presently the Mayor came strolling over to the
low chair where Berty sat watching her little River
Street friends.</p>

<p>“Is it all right for me to leave Selina for a few
minutes?” he asked, in an anxious voice. “I
can’t ask her, for she is talking to some one. I
never was married before, and don’t know how to
act.”</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_239" id="Page_239">[239]</a></span></p>

<p>“Oh, yes,” said Berty, carelessly. “It’s an exploded
fancy that a man must always stay close to
his wife in general society. At home you should
be tied to your wife’s apron-strings, but in society
she takes it off.”</p>

<p>“You don’t wear aprons in your set,” said the
Mayor, quickly. “I’ve found that out. You leave
them to the maids.”</p>

<p>“I don’t like aprons,” said Berty. “If I want
to protect my dress, I tuck a towel under my belt.”</p>

<p>“You’ve odd ways, and I feel queer in your set,”
pursued the Mayor, in a meditative voice. “Maybe
I’ll get used to you, but I don’t know. Now I used
to think that the upper crust of this city would be
mighty formal, but you don’t even say, ‘Yes,
ma’am,’ and ‘No, ma’am,’ to each other. You’re
as off-hand as street urchins, and downright saucy
sometimes I’d say.”</p>

<p>“We’re not as formal as our grandparents were,”
said Berty, musingly&mdash;“there’s everything in environment.
We’re nothing but a lot of monkeys,
anyway&mdash;see those children how nicely they are
eating. If they were on River Street, they would
drop those knives and forks, and have those chicken
bones in their fingers in a jiffy.”</p>

<p>“Do you ever feel inclined to eat with your fingers?”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_240" id="Page_240">[240]</a></span>
asked Mr. Jimson, in a low voice, and
looking fearfully about him.</p>

<p>“Often, and I do,” said Berty, promptly. “Always
at picnics.”</p>

<p>“My father hated fuss and feathers,” remarked
Mr. Jimson. “He always went round the house
with his hat on, and in his shirt-sleeves.”</p>

<p>“The men on River Street do that,” replied Berty.
“I can see some reason for the shirt-sleeves, but
not for the hat.”</p>

<p>“Mr. Jimson,” said Walter Everest, suddenly
coming up to him. “It’s time to go. Selina’s up-stairs
changing her gown, the two suit-cases are in
the hall.”</p>

<p>Ten minutes later, Mr. and Mrs. Everest, with
their children and their friends, stood on the front
steps calling parting good wishes after Selina and
the Mayor.</p>

<p>There were many speculations as to their destination,
the greater part of the guests imagining
a far-away trip, as Berty had done.</p>

<p>“You’re all wrong,” observed Tom. “My boat
is at Mrs. Travers’s wharf for them to go to Cloverdale,
and it’s cram jam full of flowers with bows
of white ribbon on each oar.”</p>

<p>Roger Stanisfield burst out laughing. “You’re<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_241" id="Page_241">[241]</a></span>
sold, Tom, my boy, do you suppose the Mayor
would trust a joker like you? He has my boat.”</p>

<p>Bonny was in an ecstasy. “Get out, you two
old fellows,” he exclaimed, slapping his brother-in-law
on the shoulder. “Mr. Jimson is going to row
his beloved up the river in my boat.”</p>

<p>“No, he isn’t,” said Walter Everest. “He’s got
mine.”</p>

<p>“I believe he’s fooled us all,” said Tom, ruefully.
“Did you have any flowers in your boat,
Stanisfield?”</p>

<p>“Margaretta put a little bit of rice in,” said
Roger, “just a handful, where no one would see it
but themselves.”</p>

<p>“Did you trim your boat, Bonny?” asked Roger.</p>

<p>“Yes,” said the boy, “with old shoes. I had
a dandy pair chained to the seat, so they couldn’t
be detached, unless Jimson had a hatchet along.”</p>

<p>“Whose boat has he got, for the land’s sake?”
inquired Walter Everest. “He’s asked us all, and
we’ve all pledged secrecy and good conduct, and
we’ve all broken our word and decorated.”</p>

<p>“He’s got nobody’s boat, my friends,” said old
Mr. Everest, who was shaking with silent laughter.
“Don’t you know Peter Jimson better than to imagine<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_242" id="Page_242">[242]</a></span>
that he would exert himself by rowing up
the river this warm day?”</p>

<p>“Well, what are his means of locomotion?”
asked Tom.</p>

<p>“My one-hoss shay, my son. It was waiting
round the corner of the road for him.”</p>

<p>“I say,” ejaculated Tom, “let’s make up a party
to call on them to-morrow. We can take the
flowers and other trifles.”</p>

<p>“Hurrah,” said Bonny. “I’ll go ask Margaretta
to get up a lunch.”</p>

<p>“Will you go to-morrow, Berty?” asked Tom,
seeking her out, and speaking in a low voice.</p>

<p>“Where?”</p>

<p>He explained to her.</p>

<p>“Yes, if you will tell me why you laughed so
much at what Grandma said to Selina.”</p>

<p>Tom looked puzzled. “It’s mighty hard to explain,
for there isn’t anything hidden in it. It just
sounded kind of apt.”</p>

<p>“You men think women talk too much.”</p>

<p>“Some women,” replied Tom, guardedly.</p>

<p>“You want them to do as the old philosopher
said, ‘Speak honey and look sunny,’ and, ‘The
woman that maketh a good pudding in silence is
better than one that maketh a tart reply.’”</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_243" id="Page_243">[243]</a></span></p>

<p>“That’s it exactly,” said Tom, with a beaming
face. “Now will you go to-morrow?”</p>

<p>“Probably,” said Berty, with an oracular frown.
“If I am not teased too much.”</p>

<p>“May I come in this evening and see how you
feel about it?”</p>

<p>“How long do you plan to stay?”</p>

<p>“Five minutes.”</p>

<p>“Then you may come,” she said, graciously.</p>

<hr />

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_244" id="Page_244">[244]</a></span></p>

<h2 id="CHAPTER_XXI">CHAPTER XXI.<br />
<span class="smaller">TO STRIKE OR NOT TO STRIKE</span></h2>

<p>When the picnic party reached Cloverdale the day
after the wedding, the Jimsons were not there.</p>

<p>Where Mr. Jimson concealed his bride and himself
during his brief honeymoon no one ever knew,
for he would not tell, and she could not, being
bound to secrecy.</p>

<p>No one, that is, no one except Mr. and Mrs.
Everest, and old Mrs. Jimson. To them Selina and
the Mayor confided the news that they had been
in a quiet New Hampshire village, where they could
enjoy delightful drives among hills resplendent in
autumn dress, and have no society forced on them
but that of their hostess&mdash;a farmer’s widow.</p>

<p>As a result of this reposeful life, Mr. Jimson
came home looking ten years younger, and Roger
Stanisfield, meeting him in the street, told him so.</p>

<p>“I’ve had a quiet time for once in my life,” said
Mr. Jimson. “I ought to have got married long<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_245" id="Page_245">[245]</a></span>
ago. I have some one to look after me, and me
only now. How is your wife?”</p>

<p>“Well, thank you.”</p>

<p>“And Tom and Berty and Bonny&mdash;gracious! I
feel as if I had been away a year instead of three
weeks.”</p>

<p>A shade passed over Roger’s face. “All well
but Grandma and Berty.”</p>

<p>“What’s the matter with Grandma?”</p>

<p>“I don’t know. I am afraid she is breaking up.”</p>

<p>The Mayor looked serious, then he asked,
abruptly, “And Berty?”</p>

<p>“Oh, River Street&mdash;it’s on her brain and conscience,
and it is wearing her body down.”</p>

<p>“She’s doing what the rest of us ought to do,”
said Mr. Jimson, shortly, “but, bless me&mdash;you
can’t make over a city in a day; and we’re no worse
than others.”</p>

<p>“I suppose the city council is pretty bad.”</p>

<p>Mr. Jimson shrugged his shoulders.</p>

<p>“Lots of boodle&mdash;I say, some of those aldermen
ought to be dumped in the river.”</p>

<p>“You ought to get Berty out of city politics,”
said Mr. Jimson, energetically. “That is no girl’s
work.”</p>

<p>“She’s going to get out, Margaretta thinks,”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_246" id="Page_246">[246]</a></span>
said Roger, turning round and slowly walking down
the main street of the city beside him. “But we’ve
got to let her work out the problem for herself.
You see, she’s no missionary. She is not actuated
by the passion of a life-work. She has come to
live in a new neighbourhood, and is mad with the
people that they don’t try to better themselves, and
that the city doesn’t enable them to do it.”</p>

<p>“She’ll probably marry Tom Everest, and settle
down to housekeeping.”</p>

<p>“That will be the upshot of it. I’d be doubtful
about it, though, if the River Street people had
given her a hand in her schemes of reform.”</p>

<p>“She’s just an ordinary girl,” said the Mayor,
briskly. “She’s no angel to let the River Streeters
walk all over her.”</p>

<p>“No, she’s no angel,” returned Roger, with a
smile, “but she’s a pretty good sort of a girl.”</p>

<p>“That she is,” replied Mr. Jimson, heartily.
“Now tell me to a dot just what she has been
doing since I went away. She seemed all right
then.”</p>

<p>Roger looked amused, then became grave. “Just
after you left, she got worked up on the subject
of child labour. It seems the law is broken here
in Riverport.”</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_247" id="Page_247">[247]</a></span></p>

<p>“How does our State law read?” inquired Mr.
Jimson. “Upon my word, I don’t know.”</p>

<p>“The statutes of Maine provide that no female
under eighteen years of age, no male under sixteen,
and no woman shall be employed in any manufactory
or mechanical establishment more than ten
hours each day. We also have a compulsory education
law which prohibits children under fifteen
years of either sex working, unless they can produce
certificates that during the year they have attended
school during its sessions.”</p>

<p>“Well?” said Mr. Jimson.</p>

<p>“Berty found that some old-clothes man here
had a night-class of children who came and sewed
for him, and did not attend school. She burst into
our house one evening when Margaretta was having
a party, and before we knew where we were she
had swept us all down to River Street. It was a
pitiful enough spectacle. A dozen sleepy youngsters
sitting on backless benches toiling at shirt-making,
round a table lighted by candles. If a child nodded,
the old man tapped her with a long stick. Some
of us broke up that den, but Berty was furious at
the attitude of the parents.”</p>

<p>“I’ll bet they were mad to have their children’s<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_248" id="Page_248">[248]</a></span>
earnings cut off,” observed Mr. Jimson. “Poor
people are so avaricious.”</p>

<p>“They were, and Berty was in a dancing rage.
She got up a paper called <cite>The Cry of the Children</cite>.
You can imagine what her editorials would be.
Then she had the children of River Street walk in
a procession through the city. Nobody laughed at
her, everybody was sympathetic but apathetic. Now
she is in a smouldering temper. Her paper is discontinued,
and I don’t know what she is going to
do.”</p>

<p>“This is mighty interesting,” said Mr. Jimson,
“but there’s Jones, the lumber merchant from
Greenport. I’ve got to speak to him&mdash;excuse me,”
and he crossed the street.</p>

<p>Roger continued on his way to the iron works,
and two minutes later encountered Berty herself
coming out of a fancy-work store.</p>

<p>“Good morning,” he said, planting himself directly
before her.</p>

<p>“Good morning,” she returned, composedly.</p>

<p>“What have you been buying?” he asked, looking
curiously at the parcel in her hand.</p>

<p>“Embroidery.”</p>

<p>“For some other person, I suppose.”</p>

<p>“No, for myself.”</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_249" id="Page_249">[249]</a></span></p>

<p>“Why, I never saw you with a needle in your
hand in my life.”</p>

<p>“You will now,” she said, calmly.</p>

<p>“How’s the park getting on, Berty?”</p>

<p>“Famously; we have electric lights, and the
children can stay till all hours.”</p>

<p>“Is your helper satisfactory?”</p>

<p>“She is magnificent&mdash;a host in herself. She
can shake a bad boy on one side of the park, and
slap another at the other side, at the same time.
I think I’ll resign my curatorship in favour of her.
She only gets half my pay now.”</p>

<p>“Why resign, Berty?”</p>

<p>“Well, I may have other things to do,” she said,
evasively.</p>

<p>“You’re going to get married.”</p>

<p>“Not that I know of,” she said, calmly.</p>

<p>“Good-bye,” replied Roger; “come oftener to
see us, and be sure to bring your embroidery.”</p>

<p>Berty gazed after him with a peculiar smile, as
he swung quickly away, then she made her way
to River Street.</p>

<p>At one of the many corners where lanes led down
to wharves, a group of men stood talking with
their hands in their pockets.</p>

<p>Berty stopped abruptly. Through the women in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_250" id="Page_250">[250]</a></span>
the street she knew what the chief topic of conversation
among the wharf labourers just now happened
to be.</p>

<p>“Are you talking of your projected strike?” she
asked, shortly.</p>

<p>Not one of them spoke, but she knew by their
assenting looks that they were.</p>

<p>“It’s a lovely time for a strike,” she said, dryly;
“winter just coming on, and your wives and children
needing extra supplies.”</p>

<p>The men surveyed her indulgently. Not one of
them would discuss their proposed course of action
with her, but not one resented her knowledge of
it, or interference with them.</p>

<p>“You men don’t suffer,” she said, and as she
spoke she pulled up the collar of her jacket, and
took a few steps down the lane to avoid the chilly
wind. “See, here you stand without overcoats,
and some of you with nothing but woollen shirts
on. It’s the women and children that feel the cold.”</p>

<p>One of the men thoughtfully turned a piece of
tobacco in his mouth, and said, “That’s true.”</p>

<p>“What do you strike for, anyway?” she asked.</p>

<p>One of the stevedores who trundled the drums of
codfish along the wharves for West Indian shipment,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_251" id="Page_251">[251]</a></span>
said, amiably, “A strike is usually for higher
wages and shorter hours, miss.”</p>

<p>“Oh, I have no patience with you,” exclaimed
Berty, bursting into sudden wrath. “You are so
unreasonable. You bear all things, suffer like martyrs,
then all at once you flare up and do some
idiotic thing that turns the sympathy of the public
against you. Now in this case, you ought to have
the public with you. I know your wages are small,
your hours too long, but you are not taking the
right way to improve your condition. Because the
Greenport wharf labourers have struck, you think
you must do the same. A strike among you will
mean lawlessness and violence, and you strikers
will blink at this same lawlessness and violence because
you say it is in a good cause. Then we, the
long-suffering public, hate you for your illegality.
There’s the strong arm of the law held equally
over employers and employed. Why don’t you appeal
to that? If you are right, that arm will strike
your oppressors. You can keep in the background.”</p>

<p>“There’s a machine back of that arm,” said a
red-haired man, gloomily, “and, anyway, there ain’t
a law standing to cover our case.”</p>

<p>“Then make one,” said Berty, irritably. “You
men all have votes, haven’t you?”</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_252" id="Page_252">[252]</a></span></p>

<p>“Yes, miss,” said a man in a blue shirt, “all
except this lad. He’s just out from Ireland. He’s
only been ashore two weeks.”</p>

<p>“That’s the way to settle things,” said Berty,
warmly. “I’ve found out that votes are the only
things that make anybody afraid of you&mdash;you all
know how I came to this street. I found living
conditions unbearable. In my feeble way I have
tried to rectify them. Nobody cares anything for
me. The only good I have accomplished is to get
a park for the children.”</p>

<p>“And that was a great thing,” said the man in
the blue shirt, “and I guess we all think of it when
we look at you.”</p>

<p>“I just wanted common necessities,” said Berty,
eloquently, “air, light, water, and space&mdash;wanted
them for myself and my neighbours on the street.
I have badgered the city council till I have got
to be a joke and a reproach. Nobody cares anything
about you down here, because you haven’t
any influence. I’ve found out that if I could say
to the city council, ‘Gentlemen, I have five hundred
votes to control,’ they would listen to me fast
enough.”</p>

<p>The men smiled, and one said, kindly, “I’m sure,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_253" id="Page_253">[253]</a></span>
miss, you’d get our votes in a bunch, if we could
give them.”</p>

<p>“I don’t want them,” said Berty, quickly. “It
isn’t a woman’s business to go into reforming city
politics. It’s the men’s place. You men fight for
your homes if a foreign enemy menaces us. Why
don’t you organize, and fight against the city council?
Drive it out, and put in a good one. Those
few men aren’t there to make the laws. They are
to administer them. You are the people. Make
what laws you please. If they are not workable,
make new ones. I’m disgusted with those aldermen.
The very idea of their arrogating to themselves
so much authority. You would think they
were emperors.”</p>

<p>The men smiled again. From him in the blue
shirt came the emphatic remark, “We couldn’t turn
out the present lot, miss. They’re too strong for
us.”</p>

<p>“Oh, you could,” replied Berty, impatiently.
“I’ve been going over our voting-list, and I find
that the city of Riverport consists of ‘poor people,’
as we call them, to the extent of two-thirds of the
population. You poor men have the votes. Now
don’t tell me you can’t get what you want.”</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_254" id="Page_254">[254]</a></span></p>

<p>“But there’s party politics, miss,” suggested a
quiet man in the background.</p>

<p>“Shame on you, Malone,” and Berty pointed a
finger at him, “shame on you, to put party politics
before family politics. Vote for the man who will
do the best for your wife and children. If you
haven’t got such a man, organize and put one in.
Let him give you equal privileges with the rich&mdash;or,
rather, not equal privileges&mdash;I am no socialist.
I believe that some men have more brains than
others, and are entitled by virtue of their brains
to more enjoyments and more power, but I mean
that the city owes to every citizen, however poor,
a comfortable house and a decently kept street.”</p>

<p>“That’s sound, miss,” said Malone, slipping still
further forward, “but we’d never get it from the
city.”</p>

<p>“Put in some of your number as aldermen. Why
shouldn’t you in democratic America, when even
in conservative England there can exist a city council
made up of men who work by the day&mdash;masons,
painters, bricklayers, and so on. Do that, and you
will have a chance to carry out all sorts of municipal
reforms. I think it is disgraceful that this ward
is represented by that oiled and perfumed old gentleman<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_255" id="Page_255">[255]</a></span>
Demarley, who never comes to this street
unless he wants a vote.”</p>

<p>Malone stared intently at Berty, while a man beside
him murmured something about the board of
aldermen having promised certain reforms.</p>

<p>“Don’t speak to me of reforms from those men
that we have now,” returned Berty, with flashing
eyes. “When I came to River Street, I used to
blame the policemen that they didn’t enforce the
law. Now I see that each policeman is a chained
dog for some alderman. He can only go the length
of his chain. A strapping great creature in uniform
comes along to your house, Mr. Malone, and says,
in a lordly way, ‘Mrs. Malone, you are obstructing
the sidewalk with those boxes; you must remove
them.’</p>

<p>“‘And you are obstructing my peace of mind,’
she says, ‘with that old drug-store over there open
all hours, and with our young lads slipping in and
out the back door, when they ought to be in bed.
Haven’t you eyes or a nose for anything but boxes?’</p>

<p>“And the policeman says, meekly, ‘I see nothing,
I hear nothing; there must be something wrong
with your own eyes and hearing, Mrs. Malone. It’s
getting old you are.’ Then he moves on to look<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_256" id="Page_256">[256]</a></span>
for more boxes and small boys. That’s the length
of his chain.”</p>

<p>They were silent, and Berty, with increasing heat
and irritation, went on. “This city is entirely corrupt.
I say it again and again, and you know it
better than I do&mdash;but I am going to stop talking
about it. I had a lovely scheme for setting up a
shop to sell pure milk to try to keep the breath
of life in your babies a little longer, and I was going
to get out plans for model dwellings, but I am going
to stop short right here, and mind my own business.”</p>

<p>The men stood looking sheepishly at her, and at
themselves, and, while they stood, Tom Everest, in a
short walking-coat, and with his hat on the back of
his head, came hurrying down the street.</p>

<p>He put his hat on straight when he saw Berty, and
stopped to glance at her. He had got into the way
of dodging down to River Street if he had any
business that brought him in the neighbourhood, or
if he could spare an hour from his office.</p>

<hr />

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_257" id="Page_257">[257]</a></span></p>

<h2 id="CHAPTER_XXII">CHAPTER XXII.<br />
<span class="smaller">DISCOURAGED</span></h2>

<p>When Berty’s eyes rested on Tom, he came forward
hat in hand.</p>

<p>“Is there anything I can do for you?” he inquired,
calmly, but with inward anxiety as he
noticed her flushed face.</p>

<p>“No, thank you,” she said, wearily, “I was just
talking to some of my friends here.”</p>

<p>Tom nodded to the men in a civil manner, then
said, “Are you going home?”</p>

<p>“Yes, presently,” she returned. “I will just
finish what I was saying. I was telling these men,
Mr. Everest, that when I came to River Street, and
saw how many things needed to be done in order
to make the place comfortable, my brain was on
fire. I wished to do everything to enable my neighbours
to have decent homes and a pure atmosphere
in which to bring up their children. But now I
have got discouraged with them. They don’t<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_258" id="Page_258">[258]</a></span>
second me. All the rich people say that poor people
are shiftless and ungrateful, and I am beginning
to think they are right. Here are these men standing
before us. They are just as sensible as you
are, or as any man in the city, but again and again
they will vote for aldermen who care no more for
their interests than they do for the interests of the
sparrows flying about the city. They can pick up
a living the best way they can. The city council
has not one bit of care of its children, except the
rich ones, and I say to these men here that there
is no use for me or anybody to try to help them.
They have got to help themselves.”</p>

<p>Tom looked concerned, but made no endeavour to
reply, and Berty went on:</p>

<p>“It is all very fine to talk of helping the poor,
and uplifting the poor. It just makes them more
pauper-like for you to settle down among them, and
bear all the burden of lifting them up. They have
got to help you, and because they won’t help me,
I am going to leave River Street just as soon as I
get money enough. I’m disgusted with these
people.”</p>

<p>Tom, to Berty’s surprise, gave no expression of
relief&mdash;and yet how many times he had begged
her to turn her back on this neighbourhood.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_259" id="Page_259">[259]</a></span></p>

<p>The wharf-men sank into a state of greater sheepishness
than before. One of them, who carried a
whip under his arm, shifted it, and, reaching forward,
pushed Malone with it.</p>

<p>Other of the men were nudging him, and at last
he remarked, regretfully, “I’m sorry to hear you
say that you want to quit the street, miss. I hope
you’ll change your mind.”</p>

<p>“Well, now, do you think it is a nice thing for
me to be constantly running about interviewing
aldermen who hate the sight of me, on the subject
of the rights of great strong men like you and these
others? Come, now, is it work for a girl?”</p>

<p>“Well, no, miss, it isn’t,” said Malone, uneasily.</p>

<p>“Then why don’t you do it yourselves? The
ideal thing is to trust people, to believe that your
neighbour loves you as well as he does himself,
but he doesn’t. He pretends he does, but you’ve
got to watch him to make a pretence a reality. For
the good of your alderman neighbour make him
love you. You don’t want plush sofas and lace
window curtains. Bah, I’m getting so I don’t care
a fig for the ‘rags’ of life&mdash;but you want well-made
furniture, and a clean pane of glass to look
out at God’s sky.”</p>

<p>“That’s so,” muttered Malone.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_260" id="Page_260">[260]</a></span></p>

<p>“Then for goodness’ sake get to work. Municipal
reform can start right here on River Street as well
as on Grand Avenue. I have all sorts of lovely
papers telling just how model municipal government
should be, and is conducted. It’s a living,
acting plan in several cities, but I sha’n’t tell any of
you one thing about it, unless you come and ask
me. I’m tired of cramming information down your
throats. Go on and strike, and do anything foolish
you can. Let your wives freeze, and your poor
children cry for food this winter. In the spring
there will be a fine lot of funerals.”</p>

<p>“Oh, I say, Berty,” remarked Tom, in an undertone.</p>

<p>Her eyes were full of tears, but she went plunging
on. “And I’ll tell you one thing that may be published
to the city any day. I was not told not to
tell it. Mr. Jimson wrote me a letter while he was
away, and I think he is going to resign the mayoralty.
He won’t tell why, of course, but I know it
is because the city council is so corrupt. Now if you
men had stood by him, and put in a decent set of
councillors, he might have stayed in. I haven’t said
a word of this before, because I felt so badly about
it.”</p>

<p>The men scarcely heard her last sentences. The<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_261" id="Page_261">[261]</a></span>
“River Streeters,” as they were called, took to a
man an extraordinary interest in civic affairs, and
they fell to discussing this bit of news among themselves.</p>

<p>“Come home, Berty,” said Tom.</p>

<p>“Yes, I will,” she said, meekly. “I’ve said all
I want to. Just steady me over that crossing. I’ve
got dust in my eyes.”</p>

<p>Poor Berty&mdash;she was crying, and good, honest
Tom choked back a sudden sympathetic lump in
his throat.</p>

<p>“Don’t worry, little girl,” he said, huskily.
“You’ve done a lot of good already, and we’re
all proud of you.”</p>

<p>“I have done nothing,” said Berty, passionately,
“nothing but get the park for the children. I just
love the children on this street. I want their fathers
to do something for them. It’s awful, Tom, to
bring up boys and girls in such an atmosphere.
What will their parents say when they stand before
the judgment seat&mdash;I can’t stand it, Tom&mdash;the
lost souls of the little ones just haunt me.”</p>

<p>“There, there,” murmured Tom, consolingly,
“we’re most home. Try to think of something else,
Berty&mdash;you’ll live to do lots of work for the children
yet.”</p>

<hr />

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_262" id="Page_262">[262]</a></span></p>

<h2 id="CHAPTER_XXIII">CHAPTER XXIII.<br />
<span class="smaller">GRANDMA’S REQUEST</span></h2>

<p>For three weeks the weather had been chilly and
disagreeable. “The winter will set in early,” the
oldest inhabitants were prophesying, when suddenly
the full glory of the Indian summer burst upon
the city.</p>

<p>Berty was delighted. “Dear Grandma will get
better now,” she kept saying, hopefully. “This is
what she wants&mdash;just a little warm sunshine before
the winter comes.”</p>

<p>Grandma’s health had for some time been a cause
of anxiety to her many friends. All through the
autumn she had been ailing, and strangely quiet,
even for her. And she had complained of feeling
cold, a thing she had never done before in her life.
Nothing seemed to warm her, not even the blazing
fires that Berty kept in some of the many open fireplaces
with which the old house was well supplied.</p>

<p>To-day there was a change. When the warm,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_263" id="Page_263">[263]</a></span>
lovely sunshine came streaming into her room,
Grandma had got out of bed. She had come down-stairs,
and, very quietly, but with a gentle smile
that sent Berty into an ecstasy of delight, she had
visited every room in the house.</p>

<p>The guinea-pigs and pigeons in the wood-shed,
the two women working in the kitchen, had been
made glad by a call from her, and now she was
resting on a sofa in the parlour.</p>

<p>“I feel twenty years younger to see you going
about!” exclaimed Berty, delightedly, as she tucked
a blanket round her.</p>

<p>“Twenty years!” murmured Grandma.</p>

<p>“Of course that’s exaggeration,” explained Berty,
apologetically. “I know that you know I’m not
twenty yet. I just wanted you to understand how
glad I feel.”</p>

<p>“Go out on the veranda,” said Grandma, “and
breathe the fresh air. You have been in the house
too much with me lately.”</p>

<p>Berty’s upper lip was covered with a dew of
perspiration. She was hot all the time, partly from
excitement and anxiety about Grandma, and partly
from her incessant activity in waiting on her in
the heated atmosphere of the house.</p>

<p>Berty reluctantly made her way to the veranda,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_264" id="Page_264">[264]</a></span>
where she promptly dislodged from a rocking-chair
the mongrel pup, who, after long hesitation, had
finally chosen to take up his abode with her.</p>

<p>The pup, however, crawled up beside her after
she sat down, and she gently swayed to and fro in
the rocking-chair, absently stroking his head and
gazing out at the stripped grain-fields across the
river.</p>

<div class="poetry-container">
<div class="poetry">
<div class="verse">“The ripened sheaves are garnered in,</div>
<div class="verse">Garnered in, garnered in,”</div>
</div>
</div>

<p class="noindent">she was singing softly to herself, when some one
remarked in an undertone, “Well, how goes it?”</p>

<p>“Oh,” she said, looking up, “it is you, is it, the
omnipresent Tom?”</p>

<p>“Yes, I just slipped up for a minute to see how
Grandma is. Won’t this sunshine set her up?”</p>

<p>“You saw her as you came through the room?”</p>

<p>“Yes, but she was asleep, so I did not speak.
How is she?”</p>

<p>“Better, much better, and I am so glad.”</p>

<p>“So am I,” responded Tom, heartily; “it makes
us all feel bad to have her ill, but, I say, Berty,
you must not take it so to heart. You’re looking
thin.”</p>

<p>“I can’t help worrying about Grandma, Tom.”</p>

<p>“How long since you’ve been out?”</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_265" id="Page_265">[265]</a></span></p>

<p>“Two weeks.”</p>

<p>“That’s too long for one of your active disposition
to stay in the house. Come, take your dog
and walk back to town with me. See, he is all ready
to come.”</p>

<p>Mugwump, indeed, was fawning round Tom in
a servile manner.</p>

<p>“He’s liked me ever since he had a taste of my
coat,” observed the young man.</p>

<p>“If you won’t take a walk with me, let me row
you over to Bobbetty’s Island this afternoon,” pursued
Tom.</p>

<p>Berty shook her head, but said, eagerly, “Do tell
me how Mafferty is getting on.”</p>

<p>“Finely&mdash;he says that’s a first-class shanty we
put up for him&mdash;the stove is a beauty, and, Berty,
another consignment of cats has arrived.”</p>

<p>“Oh, Tom, what are they like?”</p>

<p>The young man launched into a description of
the new arrivals. “There are four white kittens&mdash;one
pair yellow eyes, three pairs blue, for which
you should charge twenty dollars to intending purchasers;
three black Persian kings, worth thirty
dollars, and a few assorted kittens from five dollars
up.”</p>

<p>Berty listened in rapt attention. When he had<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_266" id="Page_266">[266]</a></span>
finished, she said, “You’ve been tremendously good
about my tramp, Tom.”</p>

<p>“I like partnerships,” he said, modestly; “in fact,
I&mdash;”</p>

<p>“That reminds me,” interrupted Berty, unceremoniously;
“has he had another letter from his
wife?”</p>

<p>“Yes, she is coming in ten days.”</p>

<p>The girl clasped her dog so energetically round
the neck that he squealed in protest. “Isn’t it just
lovely, that we have been able to do something for
that man? Oh, do you suppose he will be happy
there with his wife and the cats?”</p>

<p>“No, certainly not,” said Tom, coolly. “He’s
going to have his bursts, of course.”</p>

<p>“And what are we to do?” asked Berty, sorrowfully.</p>

<p>“Forgive him, and row him back to the island,”
said Tom, hopefully. “It’s as much our business
to look after him as anybody’s.”</p>

<p>Berty turned in her chair, and stared at him long
and intently. “Tom Everest, you are changing.”</p>

<p>“Pray Heaven, I am,” he said earnestly, and
something in the bright, steady gaze bent on her
made her eyes fill with tears.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_267" id="Page_267">[267]</a></span></p>

<p>“I have learned a lot from you,” he continued, in
a low voice. “When I heard you talking to those
men the other day, it stirred my heart. It seemed
pitiful Berty, that a girl like you, who might think
only of amusing herself, should be so touched by
her neighbours’ woes that she should give up her
own peace of mind in order to try to help them.
Then I heard that though you could not move the
men, the women of the street were much put
out at the thought of your leaving, and so exasperated
with the men, that they told them they had
got to do something to help their families. I said
to myself, ‘I’ve only been giving Berty a half assistance
up to this. She shall have my whole assistance
now.’”</p>

<p>Berty’s face was glowing. “Tom,” she said,
gently, “if we live, we shall see great reforms on
River Street.”</p>

<p>“I hope so,” he replied, heartily.</p>

<p>“We shall see,” and she upraised one slim brown
hand, “perhaps, oh, perhaps and possibly, but still,
I trust, truly, we shall see this our city one of the best
governed in America.”</p>

<p>“Oh, I hope so,” returned Tom, with a kind of
groan.</p>

<p>“Don’t doubt it,” continued the girl. “Who<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_268" id="Page_268">[268]</a></span>
lives will see. I tell you, Tom, the women are desperate.
The River Street houses are growing older
and older. What woman can endure seeing her
children die, and know that they are poisoned out
of existence? I tell you, Tom, the men have got
to do something or emigrate.”</p>

<p>“They’ll not emigrate,” said Tom, shortly, “and
upon my word,” and he looked round about him,
“I don’t know but what I’d be willing to live on
River Street myself, to help reform it.”</p>

<p>Berty was silent for a long time, then she said,
in a low voice, “You will not regret that speech,
Tom Everest.”</p>

<p>“All right, little girl,” he replied, cheerfully, and
jumping up from his low seat. “Now I must get
back to work. Come, Mugwump, I guess your
missis will let you have a walk, even if she won’t
go herself.”</p>

<p>The lawless dog, without glancing at Berty for
permission, bounded to his side and licked his
hand.</p>

<p>“You haven’t very good manners, dog,” said
Tom, lightly, “but I guess your mistress likes
you.”</p>

<p>“I always did like the bad ones best,” said Berty,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_269" id="Page_269">[269]</a></span>
wistfully. “It seems as if they had more need of
friends&mdash;good-bye, Tom.”</p>

<p>“Good-bye, little girl,” he returned, throwing
her a kiss from the tips of his fingers. “Maybe I’ll
run up this afternoon.”</p>

<hr />

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_270" id="Page_270">[270]</a></span></p>

<h2 id="CHAPTER_XXIV">CHAPTER XXIV.<br />
<span class="smaller">DOWN THE RIVER</span></h2>

<p>Tom did not get up in the afternoon. However,
he came in the evening, and the next morning, and
the next.</p>

<p>Margaretta and Roger, Bonny, Selina, and Mr.
Jimson also came. Grandma was decidedly better,
and in their joy they came even oftener than they
had in their sorrow at her illness.</p>

<p>Berty could hardly contain herself for very lightness
and extravagance of spirit. It had seemed to
her that she could not endure the mere thought of
a further and long-continued illness on the part of
her beloved grandmother. To think of that other
contingency&mdash;her possible death&mdash;sent her into
fits of shuddering and despondency in which it
seemed as if she, too, would die if her grandmother
did.</p>

<p>Now all was changed. Day by day the exquisite<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_271" id="Page_271">[271]</a></span>
sunshine continued, the air was balmy, there was
a yellow haze about the sun. It seemed to Berty
that she was living in an enchanted world. Grandma
was going about the house with a firm step&mdash;a
bright eye. She had gone over all her trunks and
closets. She had sorted letters, tidied her boxes
of clothes, and arranged all her belongings with a
neatness and expedition that seemed to betoken the
energy of returned youthfulness.</p>

<p>She was also knitting again. Nothing had pleased
Berty as much as this. Tears of delight fell on
the silk stocking as she handed it to Grandma the
first time she asked her for it.</p>

<p>“Dear Grandma,” said Berty, on this afternoon,
abruptly dropping on a foot-stool beside her, and
putting her head on her knee, “dear Grandma.”</p>

<p>Mrs. Travers, still steadily knitting, glanced at
her as if to say, “Why this sudden access of affection?”</p>

<p>“It doesn’t mean anything in particular,” said
Berty, pressing still closer, “only that you are so
dear.”</p>

<p>Grandma smiled, and went on with her work.</p>

<p>“You are just toeing that stocking off,” said
Berty.</p>

<p>“Yes, dear,” replied her grandmother. “This is<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_272" id="Page_272">[272]</a></span>
the last of the six pairs for Mrs. Darley-James. You
will remember, Berty, they are all for her.”</p>

<p>“Why should I remember?” asked the girl, anxiously.
“You always remember for yourself.”</p>

<p>“True,” said Mrs. Travers, composedly, and,
getting up, she went to her writing-desk. Taking
out a roll of exquisitely made stockings, she wrapped
them in a piece of paper, and with a firm hand wrote,
“Mrs. Darley-James, from her old friend, Margaret
Travers.”</p>

<p>Having directed the parcel, she left her desk and
went to the veranda.</p>

<p>Berty followed her. Grandma was looking
strangely up and down the river&mdash;strangely and
restlessly. At last she said, “It’s a glorious afternoon.
I should like to go out in a boat.”</p>

<p>“But, Grandma,” said Berty, uneasily, “do you
feel able for it?”</p>

<p>Her grandmother looked at her, and the brightness
of her face silenced the girl’s scruples.</p>

<p>“I will take you in my boat, dear,” she said,
gently, “if you wish to go.”</p>

<p>“I should like to have Margaretta come,” said
Mrs. Travers.</p>

<p>“Very well, we will send for her.”</p>

<p>“And Roger,” said Grandma.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_273" id="Page_273">[273]</a></span></p>

<p>“Roger is at an important business meeting this
afternoon, I happen to know,” said Berty, hesitatingly.</p>

<p>“He would leave it for me,” said Grandma.</p>

<p>“Do you wish me to ask him?” inquired Berty,
in some anxiety.</p>

<p>“Yes,” said Grandma, softly.</p>

<p>Berty got up and was about to leave the veranda,
when Mrs. Travers went on. “Will you send for
Bonny, too?”</p>

<p>“Oh, Grandma, don’t you feel well?” asked
Berty, in increasing anxiety.</p>

<p>“Just at present I do, dear,” and her voice was
so clear, her manner so calm, that Berty was reassured
until her next remark.</p>

<p>“Berty, where is Tom this afternoon?”</p>

<p>“Oh, Grandma, he was going to Bangor on business.
He is just about getting to the station now.”</p>

<p>“Will you send for him, too?”</p>

<p>“Send for him?” faltered Berty. “Oh, Grandma,
you are ill. You must be ill.”</p>

<p>“Do I look ill?”</p>

<p>“Oh, no, no,” said Berty, in despair. “You
don’t look ill, your face is like an angel’s, but you
frighten me.”</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_274" id="Page_274">[274]</a></span></p>

<p>“My child,” said Grandma, “I never felt better
in my life; but despatch your messengers.”</p>

<p>Berty left the room. She had a strange sensation
as if walking on air. “Bring your boat, Roger,”
she wrote, “your family boat. Mine isn’t large
enough.”</p>

<p>Her messengers were faithful, and in an hour
Margaretta, Bonny, Roger, and Tom were hastening
to the house.</p>

<p>Berty met them in the hall. “No, Grandma isn’t
ill,” she said, with a half-sob. “Don’t stare at
her, and don’t frighten her. She just took a fancy
to go out boating, and to have you all with her.”</p>

<p>“But it is so unlike Grandma to interfere or to
disarrange plans,” murmured Margaretta; “there
is something wrong.” However, she said nothing
aloud, and went quietly into the parlour with the
others and spoke to Grandma, who looked at them
all with a strange brightness in her eyes, but said
little.</p>

<p>Tom could not get the fright from his manner.
Old Mrs. Travers would not interrupt a railway
journey for a trifle. They might say what they
liked.</p>

<p>In somewhat breathless and foreboding silence<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_275" id="Page_275">[275]</a></span>
they got into Roger’s big boat moored at the landing,
and he and Tom took the oars.</p>

<p>Once out upon the bosom of the calmly flowing
river, their faces brightened. Sky and water were
resplendent, and they were softly enveloped in the
golden haze of approaching sunset.</p>

<p>Here where the river was broadest the shores
seemed dim in the yellow light. With the dying
glory of the sun behind them, they went down the
stream in the direction of Grandma’s pointing hand.</p>

<p>How well she looked, propped up on her cushions
in the stern. Her eyes were shining with a new
light, her very skin seemed transparent and luminous.
Was it possible that, instead of failing and
entering upon a weary old age, this new-found
energy betokened a renewed lease of life? Their
faces brightened still further. Tom at last lost the
fright from his eyes, and Berty’s vanished colour
began to come fitfully back.</p>

<p>As they sat enfolding her in loving glances,
Grandma occasionally spoke in low, short sentences,
mostly relating to the river.</p>

<p>“I was born by it&mdash;it has been a friend to me.
Children, you will all live by the river.”</p>

<p>Upon arriving opposite Bobbetty’s Island,
Grandma smiled. Berty’s tramp, Mafferty, in a decent<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_276" id="Page_276">[276]</a></span>
suit of clothes, stood on a rock, surrounded by a
number of handsome, dignified cats, who sat or stood
beside him like so many dogs. As they passed he
waved them a respectful greeting with one of Tom’s
discarded hats.</p>

<p>“You will not give him up,” said Grandma to
Tom. “You will not become discouraged.”</p>

<p>“I will not,” he said, solemnly.</p>

<hr />

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_277" id="Page_277">[277]</a></span></p>

<h2 id="CHAPTER_XXV">CHAPTER XXV.<br />
<span class="smaller">LAST WORDS</span></h2>

<p>“The sun has gone down,” said Margaretta, suddenly.</p>

<p>It had indeed. The huge golden ball had just
dropped behind the hills on the western side of the
river.</p>

<p>Grandma half-raised herself on her cushions, a
restrained eagerness took possession of her, as if
she were disappointed that she had not obtained
one more glimpse of the king of day, then she sank
back and smiled into the unwavering eyes of her
youngest granddaughter. The eyes of the others
might occasionally wander. Berty’s gaze had not
left her face since they came upon the river.</p>

<p>“You wished to see the sun again,” said Berty.
“I should have warned you that it was about to
disappear.”</p>

<p>“I wished to say good-bye to it,” said Grandma,
“a last good-bye.”</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_278" id="Page_278">[278]</a></span></p>

<p>“To say good-bye,” repeated Berty, in a stunned
voice, “a last good-bye,” and with a heart-broken
gesture she put her hand to her head, as if wondering
if she had heard aright.</p>

<p>Margaretta was trembling. Since the withdrawal
of the sun, the yellow, lovely glow had faded. There
was a gray shadow on everything, even on their
own bright faces&mdash;on all except Grandma’s. That
radiance about her was not a reflection of any light
in this world; it was unearthly; and she fearfully
touched Roger with a finger.</p>

<p>She knew now why they had been brought out
upon the river, and, endeavouring once, twice, and
finally a third time, she managed to utter, in a quivering
voice, “Grandma, shall we take you home?”</p>

<p>“No, Margaretta,” replied Grandma, clearly, and
she pointed down the river. “Take me toward the
sea. I shall soon be sent for.”</p>

<p>They all understood her now. Their scarcely
suppressed forebodings rushed back and enveloped
them in a dark, unhappy cloud.</p>

<p>Grandma was repeating in a low voice, “Thy
sun shall no more go down, neither shall thy moon
withdraw itself, for the Lord shall be thine everlasting
light, and the days of thy mourning shall
be ended.”</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_279" id="Page_279">[279]</a></span></p>

<p>Margaretta, leaning over, drew a flask from
Roger’s pocket. Then, slipping past the motionless
Berty, she knelt before her grandmother.</p>

<p>“Dearest, I brought a stimulant with me. Will
you have some?”</p>

<p>“But I have no need of it,” said Grandma, opening
wide her strangely beautiful eyes.</p>

<p>It seemed to Margaretta that she could not endure
their bliss, their radiance. She turned her head
quietly away, and, with a rain of tears falling down
her face, sat looking out over the river.</p>

<p>Presently controlling herself, she again turned to
her grandmother. Perhaps there was something she
could do for her. Her hands might be cold. They
were, and Margaretta, taking them in her own,
chafed them gently.</p>

<p>Grandma smiled quietly. “Always thoughtful&mdash;my
dear, you will be a mother to Bonny.”</p>

<p>“I will,” said the weeping girl.</p>

<p>“Do not be unhappy,” said Grandma, pleadingly.
“I am so happy to go. My earthly house is in
order. I long for my heavenly one.”</p>

<p>“But&mdash;but, Grandma, you have been happy with
us,” stammered Margaretta.</p>

<p>“Happy, so happy&mdash;always remember that.
My only trouble a separated family. One half in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_280" id="Page_280">[280]</a></span>
heaven, the other on earth. One day to be reunited.
You will cherish each other after I am gone&mdash;you
precious ones on earth&mdash;Roger?”</p>

<p>The young man nodded, and bent his head low
over the oars.</p>

<p>“And Tom,” said Grandma, with exquisite
sweetness, “my third grandson, you will take care
of Berty?” Tom tried to speak, failed, tried again,
but Grandma knew the significance of his hoarse,
inarticulate murmur. Then he averted his gaze
from the heart-breaking sight of Berty at her grandmother’s
feet. The despairing girl had clasped them
to her breast. Grandma was more to her than any
of them. How could he comfort her for such a
loss?</p>

<p>“Come, come,” said Grandma, cheerily, “our
parting is but for a little. See, my child, my spirit
is growing brighter and brighter. It has outgrown
this poor old worn-out body. Berty, lift your head,
and look your grandmother once more in the eyes.”</p>

<p>After some delay, Berty, in mute, anguished
silence did as she was bid.</p>

<p>“Some day,” said Grandma, firmly, “your own
sturdy limbs will fail you. You will fly from them
as from a discarded burden, and come to rejoin your<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_281" id="Page_281">[281]</a></span>
mother and grandmother in the sky. Let me hear
you speak. Will you be brave?”</p>

<p>Still in dumb, tearless sorrow, the girl shook her
head.</p>

<p>“Is this the child I have brought up?” asked
Grandma, with some faintness. “Have I been unsuccessful?
Where is your strength in the hour of
trial?”</p>

<p>Berty clasped her hands to her side. “Grandma,”
she said, slowly, and as if each word were wrung
from her. “I will be brave, I will not forget what
you have told me.”</p>

<p>“Keep your own family together, and keep the
welfare of the children of the city next your heart,”
said Grandma, with new strength, “so you will be
blessed in your own soul.”</p>

<p>“I promise,” said Berty, with quivering lips.</p>

<p>“Give my love to Selina and her husband,”
Grandma went on, after a short pause. “They are
happy together, and they know their duty. They
have no need of words from me. And now, Bonny,
my own and last grandchild&mdash;the baby of the
family.”</p>

<p>The boy stretched out his hands. He was younger
than the others, and he made no attempt to restrain
his sobs.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_282" id="Page_282">[282]</a></span></p>

<p>“Such a dear baby he was,” murmured Grandma,
patting his downcast head. “Such a lovely, beautiful
baby.”</p>

<p>Margaretta made an effort to control herself, and
resolutely wiped away the tears pouring down her
face. “Grandma,” she uttered, brokenly, “would
you like us to sing to you?”</p>

<p>Grandma slightly turned her head. She seemed
to be listening to something beyond them. Then she
said, slowly, “My dears, I never fancied going out
of this world to the sound of earthly music. There
are strange and exquisite harmonies from another
world floating in my ears. Hark, children&mdash;I hear
it now plainly. I am nearing the sea.”</p>

<p>“Grandma, darling,” said Margaretta, in distress,
“we are many miles from the sea.”</p>

<p>“It is the sea,” murmured the dying woman, and
a triumphant smile broke over her face, “the sea
of glass near the great white throne&mdash;and there
is a new sound now. Ah, children!” and, raising
herself on her cushions, a very flame of unearthly
and exquisite anticipation swept over her face, “the
new sound is from the harps of gold of them that
stand beside the sea. They have gotten the victory,
and they sing praises!”</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_283" id="Page_283">[283]</a></span></p>

<p>She sank back&mdash;with one joyful exclamation the
breath left her body.</p>

<p>Who could mourn for a death like that? Who
would dare to grieve over the little worn-out body?</p>

<p>Margaretta reverently stooped over, kissed the
face so soon to grow cold, then, lightly draping a
white wrap about it, she sat down and held out one
hand to Berty, the other to her brother.</p>

<p>Tom and Roger turned the boat’s head toward the
city. Their hearts were full of grief, and yet, looking
at the calm sky, the peaceful river, they knew
that time would pass, their grief would grow chastened,
in all probability there stretched before each
occupant of that boat a useful and happy life.</p>

<p>Grandma had not lived in vain. She had kept
her family together, and while her children’s children
lived, and their children, her memory would
not be suffered to grow cold, neither would her
good deeds be forgotten.</p>

<p class="titlepage">THE END.</p>

<hr />

<div class="further-reading">

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="books_1_p1" id="books_1_p1">[1]</a></span></p>

<h2>BOOKS FOR YOUNG PEOPLE</h2>

<p><span class="book">The Little Colonel Stories.</span> By <span class="smcap">Annie
Fellows Johnston</span>.</p>

<p>Being three “Little Colonel” stories in the Cosy
Corner Series, “The Little Colonel,” “Two Little
Knights of Kentucky,” and “The Giant Scissors,” put
into a single volume, owing to the popular demand for a
uniform series of the stories dealing with one of the
most popular of juvenile heroines.</p>

<p>1 vol., large 12mo, cloth decorative, fully illustrated <span class="price">$1.50</span></p>

<p><span class="book">The Little Colonel’s House Party.</span>
By <span class="smcap">Annie Fellows Johnston</span>. Illustrated by
Louis Meynell.</p>

<p>One vol., library 12mo, cloth, decorative cover <span class="price">$1.00</span></p>

<p><span class="book">The Little Colonel’s Holidays.</span> By
<span class="smcap">Annie Fellows Johnston</span>. Illustrated by L. J.
Bridgman.</p>

<p>One vol., large 12mo, cloth, decorative cover <span class="price">$1.50</span></p>

<p><span class="book">The Little Colonel’s Hero.</span> By <span class="smcap">Annie
Fellows Johnston</span>. Illustrated by E. B. Barry.</p>

<p>One vol., large 12mo, cloth decorative, <span class="price">$1.20 <i>net</i> (postage extra)</span></p>

<p><span class="book">The Little Colonel at Boarding School.</span>
By <span class="smcap">Annie Fellows Johnston</span>. Illustrated
by E. B. Barry.</p>

<p>1 vol., large 12mo, cloth <span class="price">$1.20 <i>net</i> (postage extra)</span></p>

<p>Since the time of “Little Women,” no juvenile heroine
has been better beloved of her child readers than Mrs.
Johnston’s “Little Colonel.” Each succeeding book has
been more popular than its predecessor, and now thousands
of little readers wait patiently each year for the
appearance of “the new Little Colonel Book.”</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="books_1_p2" id="books_1_p2">[2]</a></span></p>

<p><span class="book">Beautiful Joe’s Paradise;</span> or, <span class="smcap">The Island
of Brotherly Love</span>. A sequel to “Beautiful Joe.”
By <span class="smcap">Marshall Saunders</span>, author of “Beautiful Joe,”
“For His Country,” etc. With fifteen full-page plates
and many decorations from drawings by Charles Livingston
Bull.</p>

<p>One vol., library 12mo, cloth decorative, <span class="price">$1.20 <i>net</i>, postpaid, $1.32</span></p>

<p>“Will be immensely enjoyed by the boys and girls who
read it.”&mdash;<cite>Pittsburg Gazette.</cite></p>

<p>“Miss Saunders has put life, humor, action, and tenderness
into her story. The book deserves to be a favorite.”&mdash;<cite>Chicago
Record-Herald.</cite></p>

<p>“This book revives the spirit of ‘Beautiful Joe’ capitally.
It is fairly riotous with fun, and as a whole is about as unusual
as anything in the animal book line that has seen the
light. It is a book for juveniles&mdash;old and young.”&mdash;<cite>Philadelphia
Item.</cite></p>

<p><span class="book">’Tilda Jane.</span> By <span class="smcap">Marshall Saunders</span>, author
of “Beautiful Joe,” etc.</p>

<p>One vol., 12mo, fully illustrated, cloth, decorative cover <span class="price">$1.50</span></p>

<p>“No more amusing and attractive child’s story has appeared
for a long time than this quaint and curious recital of
the adventures of that pitiful and charming little runaway.”</p>

<p>“It is one of those exquisitely simple and truthful books
that win and charm the reader, and I did not put it down
until I had finished it&mdash;honest! And I am sure that every
one, young or old, who reads will be proud and happy to
make the acquaintance of the delicious waif.</p>

<p>“I cannot think of any better book for children than this.
I commend it unreservedly.”&mdash;<cite>Cyrus Townsend Brady.</cite></p>

<p><span class="book">The Story of the Graveleys.</span> By <span class="smcap">Marshall
Saunders</span>, author of “Beautiful Joe’s Paradise,”
“’Tilda Jane,” etc.</p>

<p>Library 12mo, cloth decorative, illustrated by E. B.
Barry <span class="price">$1.20 <i>net</i> (postage extra)</span></p>

<p>Here we have the haps and mishaps, the trials and
triumphs, of a delightful New England family, of whose
devotion and sturdiness it will do the reader good to
hear. From the kindly, serene-souled grandmother to
the buoyant madcap, Berty, these Graveleys are folk of
fibre and blood&mdash;genuine human beings.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="books_1_p3" id="books_1_p3">[3]</a></span></p>

<p><span class="book">Little Lady Marjorie.</span> By <span class="smcap">Frances Margaret
Fox</span>, author of “Farmer Brown and the
Birds,” etc.</p>

<p>12mo, cloth, illustrated <span class="price">$1.20 <i>net</i> (postage extra)</span></p>

<p>A charming story for children between the ages of
ten and fifteen years, with both heart and nature interest.</p>

<p><span class="book">The Sandman:</span> <span class="smcap">His Farm Stories</span>. By
<span class="smcap">William J. Hopkins</span>. With fifty illustrations by
Ada Clendenin Williamson.</p>

<p>One vol., large 12mo, decorative cover, <span class="price">$1.20 <i>net</i>, postpaid, $1.38</span></p>

<p>“An amusing, original book, written for the benefit of
children not more than six years old, is ‘The Sandman: His
Farm Stories.’ It should be one of the most popular of the
year’s books for reading to small children.”&mdash;<cite>Buffalo Express.</cite></p>

<p>“Mothers and fathers and kind elder sisters who take the
little ones to bed and rack their brains for stories will find this
book a treasure.”&mdash;<cite>Cleveland Leader.</cite></p>

<p><span class="book">The Sandman:</span> <span class="smcap">More Farm Stories</span>. By
<span class="smcap">William J. Hopkins</span>, author of “The Sandman:
His Farm Stories.”</p>

<p>Library 12mo, cloth decorative, fully illustrated, <span class="price">$1.20 <i>net</i> (postage extra)</span></p>

<p>Mr. Hopkins’s first essay at bedtime stories has met
with such approval that this second book of “Sandman”
tales has been issued for scores of eager children. Life
on the farm, and out-of-doors, will be portrayed in his
inimitable manner, and many a little one will hail the
bedtime season as one of delight.</p>

<p><span class="book">A Puritan Knight Errant.</span> By <span class="smcap">Edith
Robinson</span>, author of “A Little Puritan Pioneer,” “A
Little Puritan’s First Christmas,” “A Little Puritan
Rebel,” etc.</p>

<p>Library 12mo, cloth decorative, illustrated, <span class="price">$1.20 <i>net</i> (postage extra)</span></p>

<p>The charm of style and historical value of Miss
Robinson’s previous stories of child life in Puritan days
have brought them wide popularity. Her latest and
most important book appeals to a large juvenile public.
The “knight errant” of this story is a little Don Quixote,
whose trials and their ultimate outcome will prove
deeply interesting to their reader.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="books_1_p4" id="books_1_p4">[4]</a></span></p>

<p><span class="book">The Great Scoop.</span> By <span class="smcap">Molly Elliot Seawell</span>,
author of “Little Jarvis,” “Laurie Vane,” etc.</p>

<p>12mo, cloth, with illustrations <span class="price">$1.00</span></p>

<p>A capital tale of newspaper life in a big city, and of
a bright, enterprising, likable youngster employed therein.
Every boy with an ounce of true boyish blood in him
will have the time of his life in reading how Dick Henshaw
entered the newspaper business, and how he
secured “the great scoop.”</p>

<p><span class="book">Flip’s “Islands of Providence.”</span> By
<span class="smcap">Annie Fellows Johnston</span>, author of “Asa
Holmes,” “The Little Colonel,” etc.</p>

<p>12mo, cloth, with illustrations <span class="price">$1.00</span></p>

<p>In this book the author of “The Little Colonel” and
her girl friends and companions shows that she is
equally at home in telling a tale in which the leading
character is a boy, and in describing his troubles and
triumphs in a way that will enhance her reputation as a
skilled and sympathetic writer of stories for children.</p>

<p><span class="book">Songs and Rhymes for the Little
Ones.</span> Compiled by <span class="smcap">Mary Whitney Morrison</span>
(Jenny Wallis).</p>

<p>New edition, with an introduction by Mrs. A. D. T.
Whitney and eight illustrations.</p>

<p>One vol., large 12mo, cloth decorative <span class="price">$1.00</span></p>

<p>No better description of this admirable book can be
given than Mrs. Whitney’s happy introduction:</p>

<p>“One might almost as well offer June roses with the
assurance of their sweetness, as to present this lovely
little gathering of verse, which announces itself, like
them, by its deliciousness. Yet, as Mrs. Morrison’s
charming volume has long been a delight to me, I am
only too happy to link my name with its new and enriched
form in this slight way, and simply declare that it
is to me the most bewitching book of songs for little
people that I have ever known.”</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="books_1_p5" id="books_1_p5">[5]</a></span></p>

<p class="center larger">PHYLLIS’ FIELD FRIENDS SERIES</p>

<p class="center"><i>By LENORE E. MULETS</i></p>

<p>Four vols., cloth decorative, illustrated. Sold separately,
or as a set.</p>

<p>Per volume <span class="price">$0.80 <i>net</i></span></p>

<p>Per set <span class="price">$3.20 <i>net</i></span></p>

<ul>
<li class="book">1. Insect Stories.</li>
<li class="book">2. Stories of Little Animals.</li>
<li class="book">3. Flower Stories.</li>
<li class="book">4. Bird Stories.</li>
</ul>

<p>In this series of four little Nature books, it is the
author’s intention so to present to the child reader the
facts about each particular flower, insect, bird, or
animal, in story form, as to make delightful reading of
the facts of science, which the child is to verify through
his field lessons and experiences. Classical legends,
myths, poems and songs are so presented as to correlate
fully with these lessons, to which the excellent illustrations
are no little help.</p>

<p class="center larger">THE WOODRANGER TALES</p>

<p class="center"><i>By G. WALDO BROWNE</i></p>

<ul>
<li class="book">The Woodranger.</li>
<li class="book">The Young Gunbearer.</li>
<li class="book">The Hero of the Hills.</li>
</ul>

<p>Each 1 vol., large 12mo, cloth, decorative
cover, illustrated, per volume <span class="price">$1.00</span></p>

<p>Three vols., boxed, per set <span class="price">$3.00</span></p>

<p>“The Woodranger Tales,” like the “Pathfinder
Tales” of J. Fenimore Cooper, combine historical information
relating to early pioneer days in America with
interesting adventures in the backwoods. Although the
same characters are continued throughout the series,
each book is complete in itself, and while based strictly
on historical facts, is an interesting and exciting tale of
adventure which will delight all boys and be by no means
unwelcome to their elders.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="books_1_p6" id="books_1_p6">[6]</a></span></p>

<p><span class="book">The Rosamond Tales.</span> By <span class="smcap">Cuyler Reynolds</span>.
With 30 full-page illustrations from original
photographs, and with a frontispiece from a drawing
by Maud Humphreys.</p>

<p>One vol., large 12mo, cloth decorative <span class="price">$1.50</span></p>

<p>These are just the bedtime stories that children always
ask for, but do not always get. Rosamond and Rosalind
are the hero and heroine of many happy adventures
in town and on their grandfather’s farm; and the happy
listeners to their story will unconsciously absorb a vast
amount of interesting knowledge of birds, animals, and
flowers. The book will be a boon to tired mothers, and
a delight to wide-awake children.</p>

<p><span class="book">Larry Hudson’s Ambition.</span> By <span class="smcap">James
Otis</span>, author of “Toby Tyler,” etc. Illustrated by
Eliot Keen.</p>

<p>One vol., library 12mo, cloth, decorative cover, <span class="price">$1.25</span></p>

<p>James Otis, who has delighted the juvenile public
with so many popular stories, has written the story of
the rise of the bootblack Larry. Larry is not only
capable of holding his own and coming out with flying
colors in the amusing adventures wherein he befriends
the family of good Deacon Doak; he also has the
signal ability to know what he wants and to understand
that hard work is necessary to win.</p>

<p><span class="book">Black Beauty:</span> <span class="smcap">The Autobiography of a
Horse</span>. By <span class="smcap">Anna Sewell</span>. <i>New Illustrated
Edition.</i> With nineteen full-page drawings by Winifred
Austin.</p>

<p>One vol., large 12mo, cloth decorative, gilt top, <span class="price">$1.25</span></p>

<p>There have been many editions of this classic, but we
confidently offer this one as the most appropriate and
handsome yet produced. The illustrations are of special
value and beauty. Miss Austin is a lover of horses, and
has delighted in tracing with her pen the beauty and
grace of the noble animal.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="books_1_p7" id="books_1_p7">[7]</a></span></p>

<p><span class="book">The Story of Kate.</span> <span class="smcap">A Tale of California
Life for Girls.</span> By <span class="smcap">Pauline Bradford Mackie</span>.
Illustrations by L. J. Bridgman.</p>

<p>One vol., library 12mo, cloth, <span class="price">$1.20 <i>net</i>, postpaid, $1.32</span></p>

<p>“One of the most charming books of the season for girls,
is this, with its lovable characters and entertaining adventures.”&mdash;<cite>Albany
Times Union.</cite></p>

<p>“Pauline Bradford Mackie’s new story is one of genuine
delight, and scarcely a better volume could be purchased for
girls.”&mdash;<cite>Boston Journal.</cite></p>

<p><span class="book">Ye Lyttle Salem Maide:</span> <span class="smcap">A Story of
Witchcraft</span>. By <span class="smcap">Pauline Bradford Mackie</span>.
<i>New Illustrated Edition.</i></p>

<p>One vol., large 12mo, cloth, gilt top <span class="price">$1.50</span></p>

<p>“The beauty of the story lies in its simplicity and pathos
mingled with the lighter vein of humor.”&mdash;<cite>Toledo Blade.</cite></p>

<p>“No one can read the story without being profoundly
stirred.”&mdash;<cite>Baltimore Herald.</cite></p>

<p>“Full of color and fine feeling.”&mdash;<cite>Albany Argus.</cite></p>

<p><span class="book">In Kings’ Houses:</span> <span class="smcap">A Tale of the Days of
Queen Anne</span>. By <span class="smcap">Julia C. R. Dorr</span>. <i>New Illustrated
Edition.</i></p>

<p>One vol., large 12mo, cloth, gilt top <span class="price">$1.50</span></p>

<p>“We close the book with a wish that the author may write
more of the history of England, which she knows so well.”&mdash;<cite>Bookman,
New York.</cite></p>

<p>“A story with a charm that will hardly be withstood.”&mdash;<cite>Kansas
City Times.</cite></p>

<p>“A fine, strong story which it is a relief to come upon.
Related with charming simple art.”&mdash;<cite>Public Ledger, Philadelphia.</cite></p>

<p><span class="book">Gulliver’s Bird Book.</span> <span class="smcap">Being the Newly
Discovered Strange Adventures of Lemuel
Gulliver, Now for the First Time Described
and Illustrated.</span> By <span class="smcap">L. J. Bridgman</span>, author of
“Mother Goose and Her Wild Beast Show,” etc.</p>

<p>With upwards of 100 illustrations in color, large
quarto, cloth <span class="price">$1.50</span></p>

<p>This is a most amusing and original book, illustrated
with startlingly odd and clever drawings. “Gulliver’s
Bird Book” will prove a source of entertainment to
children of all ages, and should prove one of the leading
color juveniles of the season.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="books_1_p8" id="books_1_p8">[8]</a></span></p>

<p class="center larger">THE LITTLE COUSIN SERIES</p>

<p>The most delightful and interesting accounts possible
of child-life in other lands, filled with quaint sayings
doings, and adventures.</p>

<p>Each 1 vol., 12mo, decorative cover, cloth, with six
full-page illustrations in color by L. J. Bridgman.</p>

<p>Price per volume <span class="price">$0.50 <i>net</i>, postpaid $0.56</span></p>

<p>“Juveniles will get a whole world of pleasure and instruction
out of Mary Hazelton Wade’s Little Cousin Series. …
Pleasing narratives give pictures of the little folk in the far-away
lands in their duties and pleasures, showing their odd
ways of playing, studying, their queer homes, clothes, and
playthings. … The style of the stories is all that can be
desired for entertainment, the author describing things in a
very real and delightful fashion.”&mdash;<cite>Detroit News-Tribune.</cite></p>

<p class="center"><i>By MARY HAZELTON WADE</i></p>

<ul>
<li>Our Little Swiss Cousin.</li>
<li>Our Little Norwegian Cousin.</li>
<li>Our Little Italian Cousin.</li>
<li>Our Little Siamese Cousin.</li>
<li>Our Little Cuban Cousin.</li>
<li>Our Little Hawaiian Cousin.</li>
<li>Our Little Eskimo Cousin.</li>
<li>Our Little Philippine Cousin.</li>
<li>Our Little Porto Rican Cousin.</li>
<li>Our Little African Cousin.</li>
<li>Our Little Japanese Cousin.</li>
<li>Our Little Brown Cousin.</li>
<li>Our Little Indian Cousin.</li>
<li>Our Little Russian Cousin.</li>
</ul>

<p class="center"><i>By ISAAC HEADLAND TAYLOR</i></p>

<ul>
<li>Our Little Chinese Cousin.</li>
</ul>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="books_2_p1" id="books_2_p1">[1]</a></span></p>

<h2>COSY CORNER SERIES</h2>

<p>It is the intention of the publishers that this series shall
contain only the very highest and purest literature,&mdash;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,&mdash;stories that shall be
most particularly adapted for reading aloud in the
family circle.</p>

<p>The numerous illustrations in each book are by well-known
artists, and each volume has a separate attractive
cover design.</p>

<p>Each, 1 vol., 16mo, cloth <span class="price">$0.50</span></p>

<p><i>By ANNIE FELLOWS JOHNSTON</i></p>

<p><span class="book">The Little Colonel.</span></p>

<p>The scene of this story is laid in Kentucky. Its
heroine is a small girl, who is known as the Little
Colonel, on account of her fancied resemblance to an
old-school Southern gentleman, whose fine estate and
old family are famous in the region. This old Colonel
proves to be the grandfather of the child.</p>

<p><span class="book">The Giant Scissors.</span></p>

<p>This is the story of Joyce and of her adventures in
France,&mdash;the wonderful house with the gate of The
Giant Scissors, Jules, her little playmate, Sister Denisa,
the cruel Brossard, and her dear Aunt Kate. Joyce is
a great friend of the Little Colonel, and in later volumes
shares with her the delightful experiences of the “House
Party” and the “Holidays.”</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="books_2_p2" id="books_2_p2">[2]</a></span></p>

<p><span class="book">Two Little Knights of Kentucky,</span>
<span class="smcap">Who Were the Little Colonel’s Neighbors</span>.</p>

<p>In this volume the Little Colonel returns to us like an
old friend, but with added grace and charm. She is
not, however, the central figure of the story, that place
being taken by the “two little knights.”</p>

<p><span class="book">Cicely and Other Stories for Girls.</span></p>

<p>The readers of Mrs. Johnston’s charming juveniles
will be glad to learn of the issue of this volume for
young people, written in the author’s sympathetic and
entertaining manner.</p>

<p><span class="book">Aunt ’Liza’s Hero and Other Stories.</span></p>

<p>A collection of six bright little stories, which will
appeal to all boys and most girls.</p>

<p><span class="book">Big Brother.</span></p>

<p>A story of two boys. The devotion and care of
Steven, himself a small boy, for his baby brother, is the
theme of the simple tale, the pathos and beauty of which
has appealed to so many thousands.</p>

<p><span class="book">Ole Mammy’s Torment.</span></p>

<p>“Ole Mammy’s Torment” has been fitly called “a
classic of Southern life.” It relates the haps and mishaps
of a small negro lad, and tells how he was led by
love and kindness to a knowledge of the right.</p>

<p><span class="book">The Story of Dago.</span></p>

<p>In this story Mrs. Johnston relates the story of Dago,
a pet monkey, owned jointly by two brothers. Dago
tells his own story, and the account of his haps and mishaps
is both interesting and amusing.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="books_2_p3" id="books_2_p3">[3]</a></span></p>

<p><i>By EDITH ROBINSON</i></p>

<p><span class="book">A Little Puritan’s First Christmas.</span></p>

<p>A story of Colonial times in Boston, telling how
Christmas was invented by Betty Sewall, a typical child
of the Puritans, aided by her brother Sam.</p>

<p><span class="book">A Little Daughter of Liberty.</span></p>

<p>The author’s motive for this story is well indicated by
a quotation from her introduction, as follows:</p>

<p>“One ride is memorable in the early history of the
American Revolution, the well-known ride of Paul
Revere. Equally deserving of commendation is another
ride,&mdash;untold in verse or story, its records preserved
only in family papers or shadowy legend, the ride of
Anthony Severn was no less historic in its action or
memorable in its consequences.”</p>

<p><span class="book">A Loyal Little Maid.</span></p>

<p>A delightful and interesting story of Revolutionary
days, in which the child heroine, Betsey Schuyler,
renders important services to George Washington.</p>

<p><span class="book">A Little Puritan Rebel.</span></p>

<p>Like Miss Robinson’s successful story of “A Loyal
Little Maid,” this is another historical tale of a real girl,
during the time when the gallant Sir Harry Vane was
governor of Massachusetts.</p>

<p><span class="book">A Little Puritan Pioneer.</span></p>

<p>The scene of this story is laid in the Puritan settlement
at Charlestown. The little girl heroine adds
another to the list of favorites so well known to the
young people.</p>

<p><span class="book">A Little Puritan Bound Girl.</span></p>

<p>A story of Boston in Puritan days, which is of great
interest to youthful readers.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="books_2_p4" id="books_2_p4">[4]</a></span></p>

<p><i>By OUIDA (Louise de la Ramée)</i></p>

<p><span class="book">A Dog of Flanders:</span> <span class="smcap">A Christmas Story</span>.</p>

<p>Too well and favorably known to require description.</p>

<p><span class="book">The Nürnberg Stove.</span></p>

<p>This beautiful story has never before been published
at a popular price.</p>

<p><span class="book">A Provence Rose.</span></p>

<p>A story perfect in sweetness and in grace.</p>

<p><span class="book">Findelkind.</span></p>

<p>A charming story about a little Swiss herdsman.</p>

<p><i>By MISS MULOCK</i></p>

<p><span class="book">The Little Lame Prince.</span></p>

<p>A delightful story of a little boy who has many adventures
by means of the magic gifts of his fairy godmother.</p>

<p><span class="book">Adventures of a Brownie.</span></p>

<p>The story of a household elf who torments the cook
and gardener, but is a constant joy and delight to the
children who love and trust him.</p>

<p><span class="book">His Little Mother.</span></p>

<p>Miss Mulock’s short stories for children are a constant
source of delight to them, and “His Little Mother,” in
this new and attractive dress, will be welcomed by hosts
of youthful readers.</p>

<p><span class="book">Little Sunshine’s Holiday.</span></p>

<p>An attractive story of a summer outing. “Little Sunshine”
is another of those beautiful child-characters for
which Miss Mulock is so justly famous.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="books_2_p5" id="books_2_p5">[5]</a></span></p>

<p><i>By JULIANA HORATIA EWING</i></p>

<p><span class="book">Jackanapes.</span></p>

<p>A new edition, with new illustrations, of this exquisite
and touching story, dear alike to young and old.</p>

<p><span class="book">Story of a Short Life.</span></p>

<p>This beautiful and pathetic story will never grow old.
It is a part of the world’s literature, and will never die.</p>

<p><span class="book">A Great Emergency.</span></p>

<p>How a family of children prepared for a great emergency,
and how they acted when the emergency came.</p>

<p><span class="book">The Trinity Flower.</span></p>

<p>In this little volume are collected three of Mrs.
Ewing’s best short stories for the young people.</p>

<p><span class="book">Madam Liberality.</span></p>

<p>From her cradle up Madam Liberality found her
chief delight in giving.</p>

<p><i>By FRANCES MARGARET FOX</i></p>

<p><span class="book">The Little Giant’s Neighbours.</span></p>

<p>A charming nature story of a “little giant” whose
neighbours were the creatures of the field and garden.</p>

<p><span class="book">Farmer Brown and the Birds.</span></p>

<p>A little story which teaches children that the birds
are man’s best friends.</p>

<p><span class="book">Betty of Old Mackinaw.</span></p>

<p>A charming story of child-life, appealing especially to
the little readers who like stories of “real people.”</p>

<p><span class="book">Mother Nature’s Little Ones.</span></p>

<p>Curious little sketches describing the early lifetime, or
“childhood,” of the little creatures out-of-doors.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="books_2_p6" id="books_2_p6">[6]</a></span></p>

<p><i>By WILL ALLEN DROMGOOLE</i></p>

<p><span class="book">The Farrier’s Dog and His Fellow.</span></p>

<p>This story, written by the gifted young Southern
woman, will appeal to all that is best in the natures of
the many admirers of her graceful and piquant style.</p>

<p><span class="book">The Fortunes of the Fellow.</span></p>

<p>Those who read and enjoyed the pathos and charm
of “The Farrier’s Dog and His Fellow” will welcome
the further account of the “Adventures of Baydaw and
the Fellow” at the home of the kindly smith among the
Green Hills of Tennessee.</p>

<p><i>By FRANCES HODGES WHITE</i></p>

<p><span class="book">Helena’s Wonderworld.</span></p>

<p>A delightful tale of the adventures of a little girl in
the mysterious regions beneath the sea.</p>

<p><span class="book">Aunt Nabby’s Children.</span></p>

<p>This pretty little story, touched with the simple humor
of country life, tells of two children, who, adopted by
Aunt Nabby, have also won their way into the affections
of the village squire.</p>

<p><i>By CHARLES LEE SLEIGHT</i></p>

<p><span class="book">The Prince of the Pin Elves.</span></p>

<p>A fascinating story of the underground adventures of
a sturdy, reliant American boy among the elves and
gnomes.</p>

<p><span class="book">The Water People.</span></p>

<p>A companion volume and in a way a sequel to “The
Prince of the Pin Elves,” relating the adventures of
“Harry” among the “water people.” While it has the
same characters as the previous book, the story is complete
in itself.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="books_2_p7" id="books_2_p7">[7]</a></span></p>

<p><i>By OTHER AUTHORS</i></p>

<p><span class="book">The Flight of Rosy Dawn.</span> By <span class="smcap">Pauline
Bradford Mackie</span>.</p>

<p>The Christmas of little Wong Jan, or “Rosy Dawn,”
a young Celestial of San Francisco, is the theme of this
pleasant little story.</p>

<p><span class="book">Susanne.</span> By <span class="smcap">Frances J. Delano</span>.</p>

<p>This little story will recall in sweetness and appealing
charm the work of Kate Douglas Wiggin and Laura E.
Richards.</p>

<p><span class="book">Millicent in Dreamland.</span> By <span class="smcap">Edna S.
Brainerd</span>.</p>

<p>The quaintness and fantastic character of Millicent’s
adventures in Dreamland have much of the fascination
of “Alice in Wonderland,” and all small readers of
“Alice” will enjoy making Millicent’s acquaintance.</p>

<p><span class="book">Jerry’s Reward.</span> By <span class="smcap">Evelyn Snead
Barnett</span>.</p>

<p>This is an interesting and wholesome little story of
the change that came over the thoughtless imps on Jefferson
Square when they learned to know the stout-hearted
Jerry and his faithful Peggy.</p>

<p><span class="book">A Bad Penny.</span> By <span class="smcap">John T. Wheelwright</span>.</p>

<p>No boy should omit reading this vivid story of the
New England of 1812.</p>

<p><span class="book">Gatty and I.</span> By <span class="smcap">Frances E. Crompton</span>.</p>

<p>The small hero and heroine of this little story are
twins, “strictly brought up.” It is a sweet and wholesome
little story.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="books_2_p8" id="books_2_p8">[8]</a></span></p>

<p><span class="book">Prince Yellowtop.</span> By <span class="smcap">Kate Whiting Patch</span>.</p>

<p>A pretty little fairy tale.</p>

<p><span class="book">The Little Christmas Shoe.</span> By <span class="smcap">Jane P.
Scott-Woodruff</span>.</p>

<p>A touching story of Yule-tide.</p>

<p><span class="book">The Little Professor.</span> By <span class="smcap">Ida Horton
Cash</span>.</p>

<p>A quaint tale of a quaint little girl.</p>

<p><span class="book">The Seventh Daughter.</span> By <span class="smcap">Grace Wickham
Curran</span>.</p>

<p>One of the best stories for little girls that has been
published for a long time.</p>

<p><span class="book">The Making of Zimri Bunker:</span> <span class="smcap">A Tale
of Nantucket</span>. By <span class="smcap">W. J. Long</span>, Ph. D.</p>

<p>This is a charming story of Nantucket folk by a
young clergyman who is already well known through
his contributions to the <cite>Youth’s Companion</cite>, <cite>St. Nicholas</cite>,
and other well-known magazines. The story deals
with a sturdy American fisher lad, during the war of
1812.</p>

<p><span class="book">The King of the Golden River:</span> <span class="smcap">A
Legend of Stiria</span>. By <span class="smcap">John Ruskin</span>.</p>

<p>Written fifty years or more ago, and not originally
intended for publication, this little fairy tale soon
became known and made a place for itself.</p>

<p><span class="book">Little Peterkin Vandike.</span> By <span class="smcap">Charles
Stuart Pratt.</span></p>

<p>The author’s dedication furnishes a key to this charming
story:</p>

<p>“I dedicate this book, made for the amusement (and
perchance instruction) of the boys who may read it, to
the memory of one boy, who would have enjoyed as
much as Peterkin the plays of the Poetry Party, but
who has now marched out of the ranks of boyhood.”</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="books_2_p9" id="books_2_p9">[9]</a></span></p>

<p><span class="book">Rab and His Friends.</span> By Dr. <span class="smcap">John
Brown</span>.</p>

<p>Doctor Brown’s little masterpiece is too well known
to need description. The dog Rab is loved by all.</p>

<p><span class="book">The Adventures of Beatrice and
Jessie.</span> By <span class="smcap">Richard Mansfield</span>.</p>

<p>The story of two little girls who were suddenly transplanted
into the “realms of unreality,” where they met
with many curious and amusing adventures.</p>

<p><span class="book">A Child’s Garden of Verses.</span> By <span class="smcap">R.
L. Stevenson</span>.</p>

<p>Mr. Stevenson’s little volume is too well known to
need description. It will be heartily welcomed in this
new and attractive edition.</p>

<p><span class="book">Little King Davie.</span> By <span class="smcap">Nellie Hellis</span>.</p>

<p>The story of a little crossing-sweeper, that will make
many boys thankful they are not in the same position.
Davie’s accident, hospital experiences, conversion, and
subsequent life, are of thrilling interest.</p>

<p><span class="book">The Sleeping Beauty.</span> <span class="smcap">A Modern Version.</span>
By <span class="smcap">Martha B. Dunn</span>.</p>

<p>This charming story of a little fishermaid of Maine,
intellectually “asleep” until she meets the “Fairy
Prince,” reminds us of “Ouida” at her best.</p>

<p><span class="book">The Young Archer.</span> By <span class="smcap">Charles E. Brimblecom</span>.</p>

<p>A strong and wholesome story of a boy who accompanied
Columbus on his voyage to the New World.
His loyalty and services through vicissitudes and dangers
endeared him to the great discoverer, and the
account of his exploits will be interesting to all boys.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="books_2_p10" id="books_2_p10">[10]</a></span></p>

<p><span class="book">The Fairy of the Rhône.</span> By <span class="smcap">A. Comyns
Carr</span>.</p>

<p>Here is a fairy story indeed, one of old-fashioned pure
delight. It is most gracefully told, and accompanied by
charming illustrations.</p>

<p><span class="book">A Small Small Child.</span> By <span class="smcap">E. Livingston
Prescott</span>.</p>

<p>“A Small Small Child” is a moving little tale of
sweet influence, more powerful than threats or punishments,
upon a rowdy of the barracks.</p>

<p><span class="book">Peggy’s Trial.</span> By <span class="smcap">Mary Knight Potter</span>.</p>

<p>Peggy is an impulsive little woman of ten, whose
rebellion from a mistaken notion of loyalty, and her subsequent
reconciliation to the dreaded “new mother,” are
most interestingly told.</p>

<p><span class="book">For His Country.</span> By <span class="smcap">Marshall Saunders</span>,
author of “Beautiful Joe,” etc.</p>

<p>A sweet and graceful story of a little boy who loved
his country; written with that charm which has endeared
Miss Saunders to hosts of readers.</p>

<p><span class="book">La Belle Nivernaise.</span> <span class="smcap">The Story of an
Old Boat and Her Crew.</span> By <span class="smcap">Alphonse
Daudet</span>.</p>

<p>All who have read it will be glad to welcome an old
favorite, and new readers will be happy to have it
brought to their friendly attention.</p>

<p><span class="book">Wee Dorothy.</span> By <span class="smcap">Laura Updegraff</span>.</p>

<p>A story of two orphan children, the tender devotion
of the eldest, a boy, for his sister being its theme and
setting. With a bit of sadness at the beginning, the
story is otherwise bright and sunny, and altogether
wholesome in every way.</p>

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<p>&nbsp;</p>
<div>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 53675 ***</div>
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