[figure description] Page 383.[end figure description]

Mr. Parmenter's “evening,” after Mrs. Wadham,
was handsome and costly. Except the boys, he had
most of her guests, and some others. The weather had
grown still colder; but there was to be a full moon;
and, as snow already covered the ground, the night
would be a fine one, and everybody was in good spirits.
Mrs. Osborn was not there, and there were those who
said that “that giving of the mitten was a genuine
thing;” others “didn't believe it: it was only fun
before people.” But she was not there.

Mrs. Wadham was at Mr. Parmenter's, and gave a
good deal of tone to things, in whatever part of the
house she was. The rumor of Blake's transformation,
and changing-back, had found its way up; and the city-gentlemen,
having got an inkling of the supposed relationship
to Brade, laughed heartily, and said a good
many funny things about “the other boy's Cossack
uncle,” and called him “a first-rate actor.”

Mrs. Wadham, when the intelligence first reached
her, treated it as a deliberative body treats a report from
a committee, and “accepted” it, as it were, for her
own consideration, by saying “Yes.” She changed
color a little, to be sure; and then was silent over it,
until she had disposed of it within herself, and, as it

[figure description] Page 384.[end figure description]

were, “adopted” it. This all took place at Mr. Parmenter's;
and Mr. Greenwood had been so occupied
with different gentlemen as not to have been able to
exchange any conversation with her, further than a
hurried exclamation, in passing: “How that chap did
impose upon us!”

Mrs. Wadham made her answer, in the hearing of
those who were near: “I'm sure I gave 'em chance
enough to find him out. I introduced Dr. Farwell to
him; and I introduced Mr. Parmenter, and Mr. Merritt,
and Mr. Don. They had chance enough.”

The buzzing of animated conversation; the admiring
exclamations; the compliments paid to the host; the
moral reflections and sagacious observations made
about him and his fortunes; the arrangement of
lights, so as to “bring out” the pictures; the glances
of eyes and of speech, — all this would make a very
good subject for the pen; but we pass it, and even the
talk about Benefactors' Day, and the boys' coming match
on the ice, as not necessary to our story. One happening
we describe, as connected with Brade and with
what is coming.

It had become known throughout the company that
Mr. Parmenter was looking for a very distinguished
guest; the wiser ones said, “for an eminent musician.”
An hour or two late, there was a stir outside, and a
busy-looking movement on the part of the host, and
little eagernesses among the guests; and a man with a
military cloak thrown over his cap, and high boots,
with fur tops, meeting the cloak, was brought through
the rooms, with much ceremony on Mr. Parmenter's
part and very little on his own, and taken into a room
beyond, where, as some of the gentlemen remarked,

[figure description] Page 385.[end figure description]

“that foreign fellow was getting some grub, after his
sleigh-ride.” “He ain't another Cossack Count, is
he?”

After a while he came out, having his cloak now
hanging from his shoulders (his boots still on), and
was wiping his chops and beard with his fingers. Mr.
Parmenter made it to be understood that this was
“The Maestro!” (with much accent: it was repeated
as “the Maelstrom!” by one of the ready wits)
“Volkov, the great composer!” In that character,
he was looked at and commented upon, as he stood
with his back to the piano, uttering occasional very
“basso” words and laughs. “Queer-looking `company
'-rig,” some said. “Becoming, though,” others
thought. “Genius does so,” was a third opinion. A
crashing sound, from the heavy cords of the piano
behind him, brought a sudden stillness, during which
Mr. Volkov, without heeding either sound or stillness,
kept on, at intervals, uttering his deep-toned speech
and laughter. A tinkling, as of fairy sheep-bells, but
rhythmical and melodious, came from the piano (so Mr.
Manson enthusiastically described it): all ears were
strained to catch it. A sound, as of a fairy people
dancing to the pipe and tabor, followed; then a march;
then a dirge; and while all ears, except of the artist,
were strained to hear, he stood with his back to the
piano, asking questions about the snow in different
winters, — how deep, how early, how late.

“Why don't Parmenter show him his fiddle?” some
asked; and in a moment were answered. There was a
sudden blaze of light thrown on the Stradivarius. The
host had been standing near the artist, and listening,
with bowed head. He now ceremoniously spoke: —

[figure description] Page 386.[end figure description]

“I'm very sorry to interrupt you, sir, and to deprive
us of the treat we're enjoying; but many of my friends
are a little impatient to have you see a very precious
relic in my possession, — a genuine Stradivarius!”

“Stradivarius!” said the Maestro, leaving the piano,
and following. (Of course the golden thread of music
broke, when he walked away.)

The Stradivarius of Mr. T. Parmenter, as Mr. T.
“Parmenter's fiddle,” was as well known, almost, as
the regalia in Edinburgh Castle, or elsewhere, and the
company flocked over to its stand.

Here, having allowed a little time for things to settle,
Mr. Parmenter drew from his pocket a package of worn
and yellow papers; and, holding them in his hand,
smiling, made a little speech: —

“You know, better than I can tell you, sir, that the
violin of Cremona is very famous and very rare. I
think there were three houses most eminent for making
them. They are so scarce as to command a fabulous
price. — I suppose I ought to be ashamed,” he added,
bashfully, “to confess what I paid for this; but the
evidence” —

The great artist looked glum at the sight of the
papers, as if he feared the having to read them all
through, and proceeded to his own line of evidence.
Taking the “Cremona” from its cushion, he tightened
up the old strings, whose fibre had been toughened by
the goat's milk and mutton of Padan fields, and first
attuned to music in the open night-air of Cathedralleads
or humbler roofs, or in the little-frequented and
much-resounding halls of the University. The Maestro
ran his fingers up and down and across the tightened
strings, faster than common ears could follow; then

[figure description] Page 387.[end figure description]

rapped hard on the back of the instrument with his
knuckles; then squeezed with his two thumbs the
front, as if he would break it in, like the breast of a
chicken; then, with a nail of one of his many-ringed
fingers, scraped at the dark crust; and then loosened
the strings, and laid down the Stradivarius, saying that
“he was yoost so goot als how he ever was. He never
was goot for nodsing, 't all. — They had sheeted the goot
friend, Parmenter.”

At this candid announcement, the sudden expressions
in the many faces gathered about were worth a painter's
study. Many glances were interchanged; some mouths
were pursed up, and eyelids rounded; some tongues
were thrust into cheeks; a back was significantly
scratched; shoulders were shrugged to the ears. One
face, staring with all its eyes, hearing with all its ears,
was particularly amusing: it was that of Mrs. Wadham's
man, Eldridge, who, somehow, happened to be
among the foremost by-standers. The lady herself had
not observed him. She had received the artist's words
with silent, open mouth, and had closed upon it with a
deep “Um!”

Mr. Parmenter took the event gallantly: —

“I suppose, sir,” he said, smiling, though very red,
“you would hardly care to read these vouchers,” and
he put them back in his pocket. “We must accept the
verdict — unless” (looking round at his guests) “we
can get it amended.” Then, spying Eldridge, now
engaged in searching the faces of the on-lookers, he
said: “You were looking for Mrs. Wadham, I suppose;”
and having recalled that intelligent observer
to himself and his business, he said, pointing to the
Cremona, “This needs a taste for antiquity to appreciate

[figure description] Page 388.[end figure description]

it. Perhaps, sir, you'll favor us with a little music from
an instrument of to-day, which, you have shown us, can
`discourse' very sweet sounds.”

So, with this pretty speech, Mr. Parmenter turned
off his disappointment. Mr. Don said, “I think he
didn't make allowance for the age of the fiddle, sir. I
think you told me it was three hundred years old.”
Mrs. Wadham asked, “You've kept your vouchers, I
suppose?” much as she might ask if his securities had
escaped a fire.

Mr. Parmenter devoted himself to his guests. The
Maestro, after bestowing an hour or more on this social
gathering, out of his way, was whirled off again to a
railroad station, and in due time the guests were scattered.

The public, in its informal assemblings at the store
and the post-office, did its duty by all parties, — the
host, the great musician, and the fiddle. We have seen
that one of its channels of information lay through
Eldridge; and Eldridge had had special advantages.
Several intelligent persons had also questioned Mr.
Parmenter, before twenty-four hours had gone by,
whether “it was true that that musical man had
knocked the old fiddle all to smash?” and whether
“that foreigner hadn't ben ruther aggravatin'?” and
Mr. Parmenter had taken every thing very quietly, saying
that “the fiddle was safe in its place, where he
should be glad to have any of his neighbors come and
see it;” and that “Volkov was considered the greatest
living authority in music.”

Now, the public, taking the whole thing in hand,
sifting and weighing, came to the conclusion that “Parmenter
was awful cut up, when the Dutchman spoke

[figure description] Page 389.[end figure description]

up, as pert as could be, and said `his fiddle wa'n't wuth
a snap, then, nor wouldn't be, if he kep' it a thousand
year.'”

All now was looking forward to the new “Benefactors'
Day,” and working for it: the great doings of the
forenoon and the great match on the ice. “An arch was
to be made by Mr. Chambers, the carpenter, and decorated
by the boys, and then set up on one of the
school-roads or paths, and somewhere where it would
be sheltered, because it would have to be all covered
up till it was unveiled, and, if the winds should get at
it, they'd make short work of it.” So ran the talk
of the School; and accordingly Mr. Chambers built it
on the large barn-floor, and Lawrence and Lamson and
Mason were busy for all the spare time of three days,
in illuminating the front with the words “Hail, Benefactors!”
in beautiful Church-text.

A steady, soaking rain set in during this time, threatening
a thaw; but it cleared off, and cold came steadily
on again.

The arch, as decorated, and covered three or four feet
down by canvas which was to be drawn away at “The
Unveiling,” was set where no wind could reach it, and
neatly held up at the back by shores let into the icecovered
ground. The monitors undertook the charge
of it, in high hope; for all was ready, and the evening
promised a fair morrow. It was dark when the
last cluster of boys broke up; and Brade, in a sudden
freak of liveliness and nimbleness, as soon as the rest
were gone, set out to climb the arch, and climbed it
safely, in spite of Peters's earnest remonstrances, urging
what a risk and how needless a risk he was taking,
“with that canvas on it,” and that he himself “could
not bear to see it.”

[figure description] Page 390.[end figure description]

As Brade sat astride at the top, and waved his hat in
the faint light of the rising moon, with one hurrah, Mr.
Parmenter, unseen, wished him “Good evening!” and
complimented him as “an aspiring genius;” advising,
however, his speedy coming down, for his own sake
and that of the arch. So Brade made his harmless
boy-brag that he was not afraid, and came down;
receiving the benefactor's very courteous expression of
“hope to see him to-morrow in an honorable position.”
Then, with Peters, who “was glad to see him on dry
land again,” at which blunder both laughed, he went
into the house.

The next dawn rose over the earth as if all things
above and around were ready to make a fine winter's
day for the new holiday.

The younger boys were astir early, their blood all
bustling; and the elders were full also of the great
match and the doings at the arch beforehand, and
talked them over. Gaston and Brade, as we know,
were to come out in Latin; and each had contrived a
little joke to give point to his short speech. One was
going to wish that “it might hail benefactors,” and the
other that “the benefactors might be hale and hearty.”
This latter, being hard to make telling in Latin, was to
be clapped till hands were sore. Some of the Trustees
were to speak, — not too many, the boys hoped.

At ten of the clock in the forenoon, Rector Warren
was at the arch, with his boys: Gaston and Brade wearing
badges of red and blue ribbon. At ten of the
clock, a handsome open sleigh, bearing Mr. Parmenter,
handsomely furred, and Dr. Farwell in a skull-cap and
muffled thoroughly, and Mr. Merritt, and Mr. Don,
drew up. Sleighs full of neighbors, and a small crowd
of neighbors on foot, had gathered, and were gathering.

[figure description] Page 391.[end figure description]

Mr. Parmenter sat combining a look of dignified indifference
with a look of modest consciousness.

Dr. Farwell rose, and, on a hint from Mr. Merritt,
stood upon the seat.

“I am called upon,” he said, his eyes twinkling from
beside his nose, and from among his mufflings, “to
make a speech. It seems to be thought that I know
how to do that thing which is called a speech.” (His
hands being in his coat-pockets, the gestures were
chiefly made with the shoulders, and by a flapping of
the arms against the sides; and in this way, considering
his greatness of manner, he was stately and
emphatic.) “Have any of the boys who hear me thought
what an occasion is? An `occasion' is a time. If I
act at the proper time, I act on the proper occasion.
Now an occasion may be a great occasion; and men
are said to rise” (here the gesture was easy, — a going
up upon the toes, and down again) “to the greatness
of the occasion. — This is a great occasion! —
Perhaps benefactors need institutions: institutions also
need benefactors. This occasion brings the two together:
the institution welcomes its benefactors with
a simple and significant display” (Mr. Parmenter was
moved, and lifted his hat). “The taste and judgment
of teachers, the zeal and skill of pupils.” — Here,
bowing his head, he gave the signal for withdrawing
the canvas. Russell and Lamson ran it off; and the
arch, with its illuminated inscription, was left bare.
The orator started: everybody was astonished: there
was the illumination; but there was, moreover, dangling
below by a bit of tarred cord, the wreck of a junk
bottle, to which was fastened a great sprawling inscription,
“MELLO TRICK;” and, furthermore, there was a

[figure description] Page 392.[end figure description]

strange-looking black fiddle, with “Stradle various”
upon it, hanging by another bit of tarred string.

The orator paused; but the intelligent neighbors
began to question: “What d'ye s'pose that's for?” “'S
he goin' to read his dokyments 'n public?” — “You'd
better get a little nearer, Eldridge,” said a resolute
female voice in one of the sleighs.

The reader knows that boys are boys, but will
believe that the St. Bart's boys kept pretty steady.

Meantime, the combined expression of Mr. Parmenter's
face had become simplified and more intense. He
was standing, now, in his sleigh, handsomely furred,
as he was, and spoke with a hastiness unwonted in
him: —

“Any thing like good discipline in the School,” he
said, “would have prevented” —

The orator spoke again: —

“It is hardly to be supposed that boys of Saint Bartholomew's
School” —

Mr. Don also opened his mouth: —

“I can hardly conceive” —

“I saw one young gentleman on top of the arch
after it was set up last night,” said Mr. Parmenter,
still not using his self-control.

“Of course you don't think I did that,” said Brade, as
hastily.

Peters stood forth like a born champion: —

“Brade only climbed up for fun,” he said: “I was
there.”

Mr. Parmenter was either too angry or too much
occupied to answer; and Brade walked straight over
to Rector Warren, who was just coming forward, and
said, “I hope you'll excuse me, sir: I can't speak this!”

[figure description] Page 393.[end figure description]

Rector Warren, also, seemed too much occupied to
give him much heed, and came forward in a hasty
mood, like the rest, and said: —

“This is some mischievous prank. Of course no boy
in School”—

The orator, who had kept his stand on the seat, here
began again: —

“I can hardly suppose that any one of those” (from
the rhyme he seemed unconsciously to take strength)
“imbued with the spirit of St. Bartholomew's School
would insult this solemnity — I speak advisedly —
this solemnity” —

“If he did, he ought to smoke for it! that's all I've
got to say,” said Mr. Merritt.

By this time Russell, with help from Blake and
others, had rid the arch of its incongruous hangings.
The fiddle (a very rough thing) was handed about
among the boys with some laughter, — Will Hirsett,
with a grin, trying to play upon it like a banjo. Mr.
Parmenter had recovered himself.

“We've had our little interruption,” he said, smiling.
“One of the poets assures us that `the wisest plans of
mice and men often go wrong.' Our young orators
won't be in the mood for speaking. I've just got from
town a quantity of West India fruit. With the consent
of the Trustees and the Rector of the School, I will
ask the Rector's acceptance of it, for the boys, and
propose to adjourn till the great match on the ice,
with three cheers for St. Bartholomew's School.”

“I'd sooner break up the fiddle than break up the
meeting,” said Mrs. Wadham.

Mr. Parmenter's proposition was at once adopted by
everybody, and, after three huzzas, in which the

[figure description] Page 394.[end figure description]

bottleneck and the fiddle bore a conspicuous part, the gathering
broke up.

“How strangely we are made!” said Dr. Farwell
comfortably, having sunk down in a corner of the
sleigh and drawn up the robes. “Sometimes it seems
as if we had the wrong parts: my heart was meant for
a soldier, — a Cæsar or a Bonaparte. If there'd been a
concealed rebellion under that bottle and that violin, I
felt when I was speaking as if I wanted to face it, to
put it down!” His hands being still in his coat-pockets,
he emphasized by setting his lips firmly together, and
flapping his elbows against his sides.

“It won't do to let that stop here,” said Mr. Merritt.

p637-408 CHAPTER XXXV. THE MATCH ON THE ICE.

[figure description] Page 395.[end figure description]

“The Great Middle Class,” the self-confident Third
Form, had got the Fourth to join them, and had challenged
the rest of the School, at hockey, on Lake Thrash;
and the school was eager to “stop the bragging of those
everlasting Thirds.” Stores of hockey-sticks had been
laid in; Blake making much fun with his queer-looking
set, and Towne much show of his, while Gaston bragged
of one favorite that it was “tough as the oak on Alpine
heights, that wrestles with the winds, this way and that,
at ipsa hœret scopulis.”

The boys had not been to the lake since the beginning
of the rain; but there had been a day or two of
steady freezing.

The day, as we have seen, was splendid; and nothing
that had happened, or “might, could, would, or
should” happen, was to hinder or hamper the sport of
that afternoon. All day the flags were flying on the
boat-houses at the lake. All day the whole landscape—
beautiful as it was, with ups and downs, and sweeping,
wooded dales — was sending back to the sun, from
its smooth, icy crust, a dazzling splendor. No wind
was blowing, and the steady cold seemed breaking
again.

The match was to come off at two o'clock, precisely.

[figure description] Page 396.[end figure description]

Russell was to call the game at that hour; and, after
that, “whoever was not on the spot, it was his own
loss.” Dinner was hurried, as we may suppose, and but
half eaten, and then, in troops, the boys went down,
the smallest ones, of course, leading the rest. All were
merry as kids and kittens.

One company, in which are Will Hirsett, Wilkins,
Dover, Ransom, and Wadham, Second, are rehearsing
the more eminent attractions.

“Ned Prouty is to be there with his French horn;”
and “there's to be the biggest bonfire that was ever
seen, — Mr. Stout has carried down ever so much cordwood;”
and “there's to be coffee, and chocolate, and
lemonade, just as people like.” “Do you hear that?
There's Prouty! There ain't a man in the United
States can beat him!”

Our readers, to have the scene well before them, must
remember that one of the chief beauties of this lake
abounding in beauties (may ruthless and tasteless roadmakers
never spoil it!) is St. Bart's Bay. To make this,
the western shore, at less than half a mile's distance
from the northern, trends away, rounding Crystal Point;
and then the bay, or cove, sets in for three-quarters of
a mile to the westward. The southern or further shore
of this bay is winding and wooded, with granite cliffs
half-way toward the west, and then a beach. The northern
shore winds less. On this, and about as far from
the west as Crystal Point, stand the boys' boat-houses.

The scene now lies before us. Yonder up the bay, and
over, near the southern shore, are people gathering. On
the road, along the western end, can be descried horses
and sleigh-loads of people; and there are janglings and
tinklings of sleigh-bells on the way. From the lake

[figure description] Page 397.[end figure description]

a blue smoke is beginning to curl upward in the still
air; and there are boys, we may be sure, busy as ants,
feeding and fanning the flames.

A line of flags, on short staves, stretches across from
inside of Boat-house-pier to the shore inside of Crystal
Point.

From the far gathering comes, now and then, a single
living note or two of Prouty's French horn, as if
thrown out to stir and waken, as they do, the merriment
and happiness of every thing about.

“What flag is that?” asked Russell, as soon as the
turn on the lake-path brought the boat-houses into
sight. “There's the Caput, already!”

“Why, that's the old Admiral's bunting!” said Blake.
“Don't you see the S. B. and the dagger?”

“No, no,” said Russell. “I don't mean that: what's
that one over the `eight-oar'? I never saw it before.
It wasn't there this morning.”

“That's Peters's,” said Meadows, who was within
hearing. “His mother made it for the Rosicrucian
Nine; and they're going to wear their red-cross shirts
to-day. It's all silk.”

Russell spoke again: —

“Now, see here, fellows! just at this turn, where
nobody can help seeing, we've got a sign up, `WARNING!
Look out and don't go east of the flags, for
your life!' Mr. Folsom made us ten of 'em, and
we've got some on the flag-staffs, and some all round.
There's been notice given twice in school, and we've
got to do it again down here. Has Brade come down
yet? He's got the ball.”

“Maybe he feels badly about this morning, and won't
come,” said Hutchins.

[figure description] Page 398.[end figure description]

“Poh! That isn't the stuff he's made of, let me tell
you,” answered Blake. “Mr. Parmenter don't get over
it so easy, I bet you! Wa'n't the Caput wrathy?”

“Brade was mad: who wouldn't be?” said Russell.
“But when he found everybody knew he was right, he
didn't care. Now, fellows, the sun lies too much on our
side of the bay; we've got to work over toward the other
shore, so we've had the floats* from the boat-houses,
and any thing else we could get, carried over that way
for seats and standing. Look at the spectators! All
Eastham 'll be down, you see if they don't. Call all
the fellows up here, will you? Where's Prouty?”

Straightway began all manner of calls and cries, for
Prouty was over near the other side; but the boys
gathered as dutifully as bees to kindred music.

“There's a squad of fellows coasting down that bank!
call 'em, Walters, will you?” said Russell, whose eye
was, as it ought to be, over the whole field of sight.
“The Caput's there, and Mr. Bruce and Mr. Hamersley;
and there's Mr. Manson; and there are the Wadhams,
and Mr. Parmenter, and Dr. Farwell, and lots of 'em.
Now, fellows, look here!” he said, as the boys on this
side of the lake gathered, “there isn't any safety outside
of the line from here to Crystal Point, because
they've been cutting ice. The place is all up in our
bay; and then we've got to go away over to the other
side to get out of the sun. (Wilkins! don't make such
a noise, please, we're laying down the rules again, and
the lives of some fellows may depend upon it. Everybody's
got to listen.) Now, we've got four base-ball

[figure description] Page 399.[end figure description]

flags set right across, clear of all danger. (You see
where Lamson's looking at 'em.) Nobody's to go outside
of that line to the eastward; inside there's no danger.
If you see anybody undertaking to pass that line,
knock him down! Now we've got seven minutes to
get over there and begin.”

A shout followed Russell's laying down of the law,
showing the School's acquiescence in the requirements
of recognized authority. The sound of Ned Prouty's
horn came, smooth, and clear, and inspiring, across the
ice. A Scots tune, — “Come through the heather!
Around him gather! Ye're a' the welcomer early,” and
so on, Prouty was playing; and away the boys went, large
and small, Russell, and Blake, and Walters, no less than
Hirsett, and Wilkins, and Meadows, and lesser ones, to
the edge of the ice, and put on their skates, and were
off to see which would come first to the ground. Prouty
was beginning Yankee Doodle.

“There's Brade, now!” cried some of the hindmost,
who began beckoning with hands, and arms, and hats,
and caps, to hurry the loiterers, — two or three boys
who were now doing their best to make up for lost
time.

Yankee Doodle, well played, is enough, almost, to
set the very trees off their standing. The boys from
the edge of the lake were all scampering over the ice
toward the further side, after giving their last shout to
Brade and his friends to hurry; and, hurry-scurry down
the hill, come the three laggards.

They near the bend in the boat-house path, by which
the warning-board is set, in full sight; and Peters cries
out, in triumph, —

“There she is! Look at her! Isn't the red cross a
beauty!”

[figure description] Page 400.[end figure description]

They all look over at the flags.

Peters was strongly inclined to linger and admire;
but there was no time. Panting, they all agreed, as
they ran, that the red cross was the handsomest flag in
the School.

“There's the Caput, and everybody!” cried Brade,
panting. “Down with us!”

Ned Prouty's music came as fresh and clear across
the lake as if on its way it had gathered sparkle and
tinkle from the frozen water; and it seemed to be
joined by accordant notes from hill and dale.

The three late-comers are at the bank. An inarticulate
noise of voices from the further side comes to their
ears, and they can understand it, without distinguishing
a word, to be a call, from fifty tongues, to hurry.
One or two boys set off from the crowd to meet them.

“If it hadn't been for this ball!” said Brade; and he
held up to be seen, if it might, at the other side, the
ball which he had in charge.

“Plaguy thing!” said Peters. “Long enough we
looked for it!”

“Play's called! They're at it now! Those fellows
are going back!” cried Remsen; and, in an instant, the
three were on the lake.

The French horn had ceased to play.

“There it goes!” said Brade, who tripped at the
edge of the ice, and lost the ball from his hand. The
ball skimmed over the smooth surface, and the loser
started after it. Remsen, as he put on his skates, called
out, —

“Look out for thin ice!”

Peters started up. “Where's the line?” he cried,
frightened, and set off, without his skates, as Brade was,

[figure description] Page 401.[end figure description]

to follow. Already Brade had come so near the ball
as to have touched it with his hockey-stick, but, failing
to catch it, he had, of course, given it a new start.

Now, from the other side, came one far shout, whose
words were indistinguishable. Then arose an inarticulate
din, and a rush. Peters called to Brade to stop,
but followed on himself as fast as he could run on the
glossy level, still shouting. The din from the crowd
became an uproar.

“I've got it!” cried Brade; and at the very instant
there was a sound of rending of the ice in all directions,
and a dreadful plunge, and the boy was in the lake,
where the water was deep enough to float a ship of
the line like a leaf.

The din, which had been continually drawing nearer,
suddenly became an utter stillness, as if the splash in the
deadly water had swallowed up every living soul, except
one figure not far away from the frightful scene,
and one among the on-lookers afar.

Peters uttered a shriek, and for an instant faltered.
A terrible cry of agony, in a girl's voice, clear as the
track of lightning through the air, and leaving a stillness
as utter as is the blackness after the flash, came from
the bay.

“Stop, Peters!” shouted the Caput's voice; “and
everybody that can't help, do keep away! Keep back!
Keep back! Where are the floats?”

Mr. Parmenter appeared at his best here, and was
quick and business-like. He sent for medical men; he
sent for ropes. Everybody was eager to help, — to go
or stay. Horses and sleighs were ready; lives, — every
thing.

Peters half turned his head; but all along now he

[figure description] Page 402.[end figure description]

guided himself by some rule of his own. He did not
rush headlong a single heedless step, and yet he hurried
forward, bending over, steadied by his hockey-stick,
and peering at the ice as he went, and never
taking off his eyes from the faithless and dangerous
ground on which he was setting his feet.

Shouts that he could not have failed to hear called
him by name. He never turned; he never gave the
least heed. Every thought, and all his life, seemed
to be given to the one thing that he was doing.

A gasping, choking cry came from the drowning
boy; and the noise of ice breaking again and again, as
Brade, in his struggle to save himself out of death, in
which he was already, clutched again and again the
treacherous water's crust. Peters groaned.

“Keep up! keep up!” he shouted. “I'll help” (the
word he was so fond of), and, never lifting his eyes
from the ice, he went on.

Now, suddenly, he changes his way; and, never stopping,
goes down, full length, upon the ice, and pushing
his hockey-stick before him, works himself forward
with his left hand, slowly perhaps, but he has not far
to go.

“Catch hold of me! Remsen! some one!” he cried,
working himself forward.

By this time the noise from all sides had gathered,
till it had become like the roar of the sea. Some sounds
might be distinguished; but there was one that made
itself felt, as if it were from the very soul of the scene,—
a pleading cry from that girl's voice, which had been
heard before.

Meantime, and all the while, the mass of human life
that was near this struggle with sudden death was

[figure description] Page 403.[end figure description]

hurriedly bringing all it had, of strength and wisdom,
to the rescue. Dr. Evans and Dr. Mott, of Weston,
had been sent for by Mr. Parmenter. It seemed long,
long; but it was only two or three minutes since the
boy had broken through. There had been a half mile
to come over; but the rush to the rescue had begun
the moment that Brade started the wrong way from the
shore.

“Catch hold!” cried one of the foremost of those
who were running upon the ice, but still a little way
off. He seemed to be repeating Peters's call.

It was the new tutor, Mr. Hamersley, deathly pale.
He stripped himself of his outer coat, as he ran, and
let it fall.

“Make a line of men, right here, at these flags!”
said Rector Warren, assisted by Mr. Parmenter and
others, who all were near enough now to help.

“The ropes are coming,” said Mr. Parmenter, beckoning
to bring them.

There was a hurried sound of trampling and of sleigh-bells
close at hand, and a confused shout, and the line
opened. A horse came through, and behind him, on a
large boat-house-float, to which he was harnessed, was
Mr. Stout, with three or four boys. Others of the
Tutors, too, were close by to give their help.

Mr. Hamersley, following Peters's plan, had already
gone down flat upon the ice, and was working himself
forward, as Peters had done; but the leader was still
many yards ahead, and working on.

Oh, what a sight it was! Amid the broken floes of
ice, Brade's head could be descried, and his arms, laying
themselves on one support after another, which
gave way as he tried it. A sort of drowning moan
came from him.

[figure description] Page 404.[end figure description]

“Here! Here!” cried Peters; and Brade struck out
for him. The hooked stick, thrust out ahead, was nearing
the water; but the ice broke, as Brade put up his
arms upon it. The haggard boy already looked like
one belonging to The Dead.

“I'm coming, Peters, — brave boy!” said Mr. Hamersley.

Without a single word, but with his lips set fast
together, Mr. Stout had unhitched his horse, as soon as
he got a little way clear of the throng, and had given
him in charge to Lamson, to lead back. Between the
silent man and the three silent boys who stayed with
him (Remsen was one, and Blake was one, and Towne
was one), there seemed a perfect understanding. All
four worked together as instantly as if they had a single
will, and had done this same work many a time
before. The Rector of the School came up. He saw
that all was going well, and, saying nothing, joined himself
to the party, looking agonizingly towards the fatal
struggle, and laying hold, with the foremost, of one of
the fasts of the float, to urge it forward.

“One o' them ropes! from Prouty!” said Mr. Stout,
briefly, to Blake; “and follow right up!” The kindly
French-horn-player was already near.

Before the words could have been understood, the
Rector had rushed toward the advancing messengers,
and in another moment was back again, close upon the
light raft of boards now sliding fast over the glossy ice
to the danger, and had flung a coil of rope upon the
middle of it.

There was a great noise of men's and women's voices,
and yet there were those who marked the frightful,
haggard face of Kate Ryan, as, yielding and trusting to

[figure description] Page 405.[end figure description]

Mr. Manson, she was led and half borne away by
him.

But a cry suddenly goes up, — “He's got him!” and a
sort of unthinking start forward was made by the
crowd, but instantly checked.

Peters's hook seemed to have caught Brade's clothing,
or to have been grappled by the drowning boy.
Some sound was made by Peters, as if he would speak;
but no words were heard. Mr. Hamersley pushed himself
forward.

“Hold on! hold on, Peters!” he said, — “hold on!”

“That other boy ought to be stopped!” the crowd
shouted; but Peters heeded nothing but his purpose.

Mr. Stout, with his crew, had never halted or hesitated
for the twinkling of an eye.

“Now, Blake, there's new ice,” he said. “You and
I stay back” (all the while he was fastening a rope with
a long free end to the front part of the float, then going
to the back and making a running noose there).
“Towne!” — he began.

Another of the fatal crackings of the ice was heard,
and Peters was in the ice-cold water! A shout of
horror went up from those who were looking on and
could not help. Again a start was made by the crowd;
but it was checked.

Mr. Stout cast one glance. “Be we all going in?”
he said; but his hands kept about their business all
the time.

“Stop that man! Don't let anybody else be drowned!”
shouted the crowd.

“Bring on your raft!” called Mr. Hamersley, now
rising to hands and knees, and so still making his way
forward, almost as if he were running.

[figure description] Page 406.[end figure description]

“O great and loving God! Help! help! for Jesus's
sake!” cried Rector Warren, baring his head, and flinging
his arms forth.

“Amen! Lord! Lord!” cried many a voice.

“Where's that other float?” Mr. Stout called, as he
finished with the first. “Towne, you and Remsen
must do it now. Down on your bellies!” (it was done
before it was said) “I won't tie you; trust to your grip,
if the world goes, and look to God!” said Mr. Stout.

The boys were off, shoving the raft from behind,
while Mr. Stout and Blake “paid out” the rope, flinging
the end back to be grasped by those behind, — the
first of whom, of course, was the most interested, Rector
Warren. “Wait, Hamersley!” he shouted.

A crash, and Tutor Hamersley was in the icy water,
as if of his own will. He did not sink, and, to the horror
of the lookers-on, his was the only head to be seen
among the floes.

“Keep your fast grip!” said Mr. Stout, in a clear,
low voice. “Cling to your raft!” and so the boys
pushed forward, and the rope slid through his hand.

Already Mr. Wilson and others had brought a second
float, and made it ready. The Rector seized and helped
it forward. Mr. Parmenter expostulated against his
running needless risks; but, with his hired men, helped.

The Tutor struck out among the floating ice, and
grappled something.

“Now, now!” he cried.

“Now!” said the crowd, “on with your raft!”

Remsen and Towne pushed forward bravely. Mr.
Hamersley seized their raft, and got one elbow up upon
it. Instantly Mr. Stout called to his boys to back
away, and they came safely out.

[figure description] Page 407.[end figure description]

Meanwhile, with both hands and his one free arm,
Mr. Hamersley strove to heave a senseless, heavy mass
out of the water. The second raft went forward, a
little way off.

“Here, boys!” said Mr. Stout, shoving with his foot
a piece of scantling. “Tilt your float up with this, and
while you're doing it keep tight hold to your raft!”

Even while he was speaking to them, he flung a rope
to Mr. Hamersley. Then to the boys, again: “Now
prize it up, further along; but look out and hold tight!”
he added.

The work went on as fast as speech almost, and yet
the time seemed to be wasting.

“Quick! quick! can't anybody help him?” said
the crowd.

Beloved and esteemed as Brade was, the persevering
heroism of the boy who had fearlessly, and not at all
unwisely, but thoughtfully, bestowed his life to save the
other, had so impressed all witnesses that a cry went
up, “Have you got Peters? Is it Peters?”

The lifting and sloping of the raft was not all that
was wanted; but yet it helped the faithful worker in
that chilling water.

“Haul! haul!” he cried out, huskily.

There seemed a great throb in the air from the crowd,
and a low sobbing, as from one man, while the soaked,
heavy, lifeless mass was dragged over the cracking
ice.

“Brade! Brade!” said the crowd.

“Now one tremendous shove! with all your might!”
cried Rector Warren, whose movements had been little
noticed, but who was working in a sort of frenzy. As
the new float darted forward, he flung himself at full

[figure description] Page 408.[end figure description]

length on it, and went out. The ice cracked, but did
not give way.

“Who's saving that man?” cried the crowd. “He
can't live there.”

“Get Hamersley out!” said Dr. Evans, who had just
come, “or you'll have another patient for me. Take
this boy carefully, and carry him gently. Don't jolt
him. As fast as you can go, and go gently. The
School's the nearest place.”

Ned Prouty took the heavy, dripping mass like a
baby, and bore it tenderly. Remsen and others followed.

Mr. Stout kept steadily at his work, without a word;
and, before the poor boy's body had been taken off, its
rescuer had been dragged to solid ice, sinking, and
shivering, and shaking, livid and nearly dead, but
mindful enough to gasp a single word, “Peters!”

Two of his brother-tutors bore him off.

Now all thoughts were turned to Peters.

The Rector of the School, on hands and knees,
peered for an instant from the float, which had been
checked just as it reached the edge, and then threw
himself in among the floating cakes of ice and struck
out definitely.

“He sees the other!” was the cry of strangers. Many
said, “He's after Peters!”

He had got something, and among cakes of ice made
his way back and got the rope in some way fastened
round his burden, then helped it up.

“Remember bones and flesh, men! pull easy!” said
Mr. Stout; and the neighbors were gentle and tender
enough. It was drawn out as fast as a heavy and
jointed body could be drawn out of the water, and

[figure description] Page 409.[end figure description]

over the breaking, thin ice. Once on the float, and it
was in their hands in a moment.

There was no crowding or rudeness. There was no
cry, as there had been before. The crowd of neighbors
held themselves back; the boys kept a little aloof.

“There's a hero, if ever anybody was!” said Mr.
Stout, still working. No one else spoke; but there was
a reverent and tender way about all, which showed that
they all thought one thing.

“It isn't the first brave thing he's done,” said Blake,
with tears in his eyes.

Mr. Stout's float was shoved out to the Rector without
an instant's delay.

As the Red Cross came to sight, on Peters's bosom,
Towne said, kindly, “Those flags ought to be half-mast!”
but Blake said, “I wouldn't fuss with 'em; I
believe that's death!” Russell approved.

As they bore off the body, tenderly and reverently,
the Rector, with help, followed. Mr. Parmenter's sleigh
was ready for him; but it seemed best that he should
walk; and so, with help, he followed the bearers up
the hill.

The crowd broke up. Many followed; many lingered;
many went sadly from the gloomy spot, in
different directions across the ice.

Mr. Stout steadily gathered up the ropes; gave to
some of the men, who offered themselves freely, a few
directions about gathering the property together and
putting it back; then glanced at the fire, blazing alone
upon the ice, and the flags flying for the holiday, and
turned to go.

“It's my opinion,” said he, “if there'd ben another

[figure description] Page 410.[end figure description]

boy to follow Peters and hang on to him, they'd all
have been here alive.”

“You mean Remsen?” asked Towne, who had
waited, silently.

“I don't say that, but if there'd been somebody to
follow up. But — 'tis so, and I suppose 'twas meant
to be so.”

p637-424 CHAPTER XXXVI. OUR STORY IS ENDED.

[figure description] Page 411.[end figure description]

This great happening will bring the end to our
story.

A telegraphic message was at once sent to a friend
of Mrs. Peters, to be conveyed to the widow.

Almost as soon as Prouty had borne Brade's body in,
came Mrs. Ryan, agonized with grief and fear, and insisted
upon being “let go in to the child.” Mrs. Wadham,
who during that dreadful time had planted herself
in the house, and was anywhere at any moment, to be
of use, was at that moment within sight and hearing,
and tried to take charge of her and prevent her intrusion
upon Dr. Evans and his helpers.

“Bring me to the Rector! — Mr. Warren!” cried
the other, almost frenzied.

“But Mr. Warren's in the water himself, or drowned,
by this time,” answered Mrs. Wadham, solemnly.

The sad procession with Peters's body struck all
dumb; but Rector Warren, who followed, weak and
shivering, called Mrs. Wadham, and begged her to tell
the doctor that “Mrs. Ryan had a right to be in the
room, if any one.”

Mr. Parmenter, who had come up with him, asked
“whether that would be entirely wise,” but did not
press his objection; and Mrs. Wadham undertook the

[figure description] Page 412.[end figure description]

charge, following close upon the bearers. Philip Rainor,
who, with a strange pertinacity, tried to force himself
in, Mr. Parmenter effectually kept out.

“Nobody has any right here but my helpers,” said Dr.
Evans when the message was delivered to him: “we
cannot be hindered.”

“Try me, only! Try me!” Mrs. Ryan said, with
hands clasped, and was let in.

There was one short outburst; but she only threw
herself on her knees against the wall, without hindering
the work which, under quick orders of Dr. Evans,
went on. Then she found herself a place among the
workers, and was most ready.

How skill and hopefulness and untiring effort were
used to set in motion again in these young bodies the
many-working powers of life before they should be
once for ever set fast in stillness, we need not tell.
Before fairly recovering himself, Mr. Hamersley sent an
urgent request to be allowed to help, but was enjoined
to keep his bed. Mr. Bruce was there at work.

Slowly and painfully, but like true life, the life came
back to Brade, and instantly Mrs. Ryan, who had
already not failed to give tender help to those who
were working upon the other body, left him entirely
for the other. But here all warm chafing, all gentle
forcing in and out of the life-feeding air, all scourging
of the water-soaked soles and palms of feet and hands,
showed only that the life which Peters had without
fear risked was lost out of this world for ever.

Brade was taken away in warm blankets to a bed
elsewhere; and the faithful, loving work upon the body
of his true-hearted friend went on untired far into the
night through six or seven long, slow hours. The last

[figure description] Page 413.[end figure description]

who left it were Mrs. Ryan and the Tutor. But all had
long been done: life was not to come back, and it was
left for dead. As these two were folding carefully
the clothes which had been stripped off Peters, there
fell out a small plate of silver, on which was rude,
boyish engraving. Mr. Bruce read it aloud: —

“`B. R. C. — Rosicrucians. — Inst. Oct. 8, 18—, by
me, A. P.'”

“Poor fellow! So he was the whole of that `secret
society'!” he said.

“The poor, dear child, indeed!” said Mrs. Ryan,
kissing his forehead.

Meantime the hours and bells went on, and the
Rector made a point of having all in their places at
tea; but the house was still, as if no boys were in it but
two, — the half-living and the dead, — save for the noise
of doors, as many neighbors came and went, or of
voices, as when Mrs. Wadham asked, and perhaps asked
again, a question of some one passing the room in
which she sat. She had sent often to her own house
for whatever she thought might be of service, and kept
Eldridge waiting at call. She explained that “she had
scarcely seen Mrs. Warren; but that wasn't strange.—
That Mrs. Ryan's the mother of him, — that's plain
enough!” she said.

“I hope it's something as creditable as that,” said
Mr. Parmenter.

The boys were cheered by knowing that Brade was
saved, and some of them reasoned that Peters had
been less time in the water. Among the guests in the
sitting-room more was known, and the evening as
gloomy. Mrs. Wadham meant to spend the night;
Mr. Parmenter, and Dr. Farwell and Mr. Don, who

[figure description] Page 414.[end figure description]

were his guests, stayed late. All talked in lowered
voices of the sad things which had made the afternoon
so long as seemingly to sunder them by many a day
from its own forenoon. Late in the evening Mr. Manson
came, having made an arrangement with the Rector
of the School to watch with Antony Brade.

“The mystery about him seems to be clearing off,”
said Mr. Parmenter.

“What's a mystery for, if it ain't to be cleared up?”
asked Mrs. Wadham.

“I take it,” said Dr. Farwell, his elbows resting on his
chair, and his hands spread open, “that mysteries may
sometimes baffle investigation or elude investigation.
On the other hand, there are times” —

“This seems to have been a very harmless mystery,”
said Mr. Manson.

“If it proves altogether harmless to the character of
the School,” said Mr. Parmenter, gravely.

“Exactly, sir! I hope it'll prove so,” said Mr. Don.

“I don't see how the character of the School is concerned.
He's an orphan, and Mrs. Ryan's his aunt.
That's all. She's an Irishwoman, and made a secret
of it.”

“It may not be quite so harmless,” said Mr. Parmenter.

“Possibly not, sir,” said Mr. Don.

“People sometimes have reasons,” said Mrs. Wadham,
with quiet authority.

“You shall judge for yourselves. Mr. Warren has
known her for years, and knows all about her. Brade,
her brother, looked high for his ancestors, among
`Macs' or `O's.' But then he made his living and a good
deal of money, with job-wagons or some such business.

[figure description] Page 415.[end figure description]

Just then the family, every one, died off by fever,
except this boy; and his aunt brought him up, and, in
due time, put him here under Mr. Warren, and kept
the relationship to herself.”

There was a silence, which Mrs. Wadham broke by
saying, —

“I should think that was a very likely explanation:
yes.”

“It might explain some things about the boy,” said
Mr. Parmenter. “Well, I suppose when arrangements
are made, we'd better go.”

“Mr. Stout will sit up with poor Peters; but he's
willing to let Rainor stay with him,” said Mr. Manson.

“Why, I've told that Rainor we didn't want him
round here,” Mr. Parmenter said hastily.

“Now,” said Mr. Manson, “he's not so bad: you
didn't give yourself a chance to hear what he came
for. He came to say he put those things on the
arch.”

“That shows some degree of grace, now,” said Dr.
Farwell.

p637-429 CHAPTER XXXVII. A PURPOSE FOR LIFE.

[figure description] Page 416.[end figure description]

Brade gained; but he gained slowly. He had not
asked about Peters since the first day that he spoke,
although he constantly talked of him. At length Mr.
Manson sat down, and tenderly and freely told him
all: that “Peters had ended his life well, and entered
into his rest in Him who gave His life a ransom for
many.” Mrs. Peters was in the room, — looking like her
son. She heard the ords and said, “Yes: he had
ended his life well. She had often feared for him in
the world: now she should be at peace. But she must
look to the boy for whom” —

“I can't stay here, after Peters,” said Brade, trying
to lift himself; “but, if I live, I'll never forget Peters,
and I'll try to do as he said, and help.”

“God give you grace to do it, dear Antony!” said
his aunt.

Mrs. Peters took the boy's hand, and kneeled, with
her face bowed upon the bed, as if she prayed the same
thing in secret.

Mr. Manson, standing, said, —

“Amen!”