Mr. Fox kept out of the way, and quietly attended
to his routine as usual, but there was
a sardonic smile on his face, as if he were gloating
over some secret evil.

Tuesday, the long expected day that the Allens
believed would make one of the most brilliant
epochs in their history, dawned in appropriate
brightness. The sun dissipated the few opposing
clouds and declined in undimmed splendor, and
Edith, who alone had fears and forebodings, took
the day as an omen that the storm had passed, and
that better days than ever were coming.

Invitations by the hundred, with imposing
monogram and coat of arms, had gone out, and
acceptances had flowed back in full current. All
that lavish expenditure could secure in one of the
most luxurious social centres of the world, had
been obtained without stint to make the entertainment
perfect.

But one knew it might become like Belshazzar's
feast.

The avalanche often so hangs over the Alpine
passes that a loud word will bring it whirling down
upon the hapless traveller. The avalanche of ruin,
impending over Mr. Allen, was so delicately poised
that a whisper could precipitate its crushing
weight, and that whisper had been spoken.

All the morning of Tuesday his stock was rising,
and he resolved that on the morning after the
party he would commence selling rapidly, and so

[figure description] Page 082.[end figure description]

far from being broken, he would realize much of
the profit that he had expected.

But a rumor was floating through the afternoon
papers that a well-known merchant, eminent
in financial and social circles, had been detected in
violating the revenue laws, and that the losses
which such violation would involve to him, would
be immense. The stock market, more sensitive
than a belle's vanity, paused to see what it meant.
One of Mr. Allen's partners of the cloth house
brought a paper to him. He grew pale as he read
it, put his hand suddenly to his head, but after a
moment seemingly found his voice and said,—

“Could Fox have been so dastardly?”

His partner shrugged his shoulder as much
as to say, “Fox could do anything in that line.”

Mr. Allen sent for Fox, but he could not be
found. In the meantime the stock market closed
and the rise of his stock was evidently checked for
the moment.

By reason of the party, Mr. Allen had to return
up town, but he arranged with his partner to
remain and if anything new developed to send
word by special messenger.

By eight o'clock the Allen mansion on Fifth
Avenue was all aglow with light. By nine, carriages
began to roll up to the awning that stretched
from the heavy arched doorway across the sidewalk,
and ladies that would soon glide through the spacious
rooms in elegant drapery, now seemed misshapen
bundles in their wrapping, and gathered

[figure description] Page 083.[end figure description]

up dresses as they hurried out of the publicity of
the street. The dressing rooms where the spheroidal
bundles were undergoing metamorphose became
buzzing centres of life.

Before the long pier glasses there was a marshalling
of every charm, real or borrowed, (more correctly
bought) in view of the hoped-for conquests
of the evening, and it would seem that not a few
went on the military maxim that success is often
secured by putting on as bold a front, and making
as great and startling display, as possible. But as
fragrant, modest flowers usually bloom in the garden
with gaudy scentless ones, so those inclined to
be loud made an excellent foil for the refined and
elegant, and thus had their uses. There is little in
the world that is not of value, looking at it from
some point of view.

In another apartment the opposing forces, if we
may so style them, were almost as eagerly investing
themselves in—shall we say charms also? or rather
with the attributes of manhood? At any rate the
glass in both rooms seems quite as anxiously consulted.
One might almost imagine them the magic
mirrors of prophecy in which anxious eyes caught
a glimpse of coming fate. There were certain
youthful belles and beaux who turned away with
open complaisant smiles, vanity whispering plainly
to them of noble achievement in the parlors below.
There were others, perhaps not young, who turned
away with faces composed in the rigid and habitual
lines of pride. They were past learning

[figure description] Page 084.[end figure description]

anything from the mirror, or from any other source
that might reflect disparagingly upon them. Prejudice
in their own favor enveloped their minds as
with a Chinese wall. Conceit had become a disease
with them, and those faculties that might have
let in wholesome, though unwelcome truth, were
paralyzed.

But the majority turned away not quite satisfied—
with an inward foreboding that all was not as
well as it might be—that critical eyes would see
ground for criticism. Especially was this true of
those whom Time's interfering fingers had pulled
somewhat awry, even beyond the remedy of art,
and of those whose bank account, jewels, silks, etc.,
were not quite up to the standard of some others
who might jostle them in the crush. Realize, my
reader, the anguish of a lady compelled to stand
by another lady wearing larger diamonds than her
own, or more point lace, or a longer train? What
will the world think, as under the chandelier this
painful contrast comes out? Such moments of
deep humiliation cause sleepless nights, and the
next day result in bills that become as crushing as
criminal indictments to poor overworked men.
Under the impulse of such trying scenes as these,
many a matron has gone forth on Broadway with
firm lips and eyes in which glowed inexorable purpose,
and placed upon her fat arms or fingers, that
might have helped her husband forward, the gems
that would be mill-stones about his neck. There
are many phases of heroism, but if you want your

[figure description] Page 085.[end figure description]

breath quite taken away, go to Tiffany's and see
some large-souled women, who will not even count
the cost or realize the dire consequences, but like
some martyr of the past who will show to the
world the object of his faith though the heavens
fall, she marches to the counter, selects the costliest,
and says in tones of majesty,—

“Send the bill to my husband!”

O acme of faith! The martyrs knew that the
Almighty was equal to the occasion. She knows
that her husband is not; yet she trusts, or what is
the same thing here, gets trusted. Men allied to
such women are soon lifted up to—attics. It is
still true that great deeds bring humanity nearer
heaven!

Therefore, my reader, deem it not trivial that I
have paused so long over the Allens' party. It is
philosophical to trace great events and phenomenal
human action to their hidden causes.

There were also diffident men and maidens who
descended into the social arena of Mrs. Allen's
parlors, as awkward swimmers venture into deep
water, but this is fleeting experience in fashionable
life. And we sincerely hope that some believed
that the old divine parodox, “It is more blessed to
give than to receive,” was as true in the drawing-room
as when the contribution-box goes round,
and who meant to enjoy themselves by contributing
to the enjoyment of others, and see nothing
that would tempt to heroic conduct at Tiffany's the
next day.

[figure description] Page 086.[end figure description]

When the last finishing touches had been given,
and maids and hairdressers stood around in wrapt
politic breathlessness, and were beginning to pass
into that stage in which they might be regarded as
exclamation points, Mrs. Allen and her daughters
swept away to take their places at the head of the
parlors in order to receive. They liked the prelude
of applause upstairs well enough, but then it was
only like the tuning of the instruments before the
orchestra fairly opens.

Mrs. Allen, as she majestically took her position,
evidently belonged to that class whom pride marbleizes.
Her self-complacency on such an occasion
was habitual, her coolness and repose that of a
veteran. A nervous creature up stairs with her
family, excitement made her, under the eye of
society, so steady and self-controlled that she was
like one of the old French Marshals who could plan
a campaign under the hottest fire. Her blue eyes
grew quite brilliant and seemed to take in everything,
like your true generals. Some natural color
shone where the cosmetics permitted, and her form
seemed to dilate with something more than the
mysteries of French modistes. Her manner and
expression said,—

“I am Mrs. Allen. We are of an old New
York family. We are very, very rich. This entertainment
is immensely expensive and perfect in
kind. I defy criticism. I expect applause.”

Of course this was all veiled by society's completest
polish, but still by a close observer it could

[figure description] Page 087.[end figure description]

be seen, just as a skilful sculptor drapes a form but
leaves its outlines perfect.

Laura was the echo of her mother, modified by
the element of youth.

Zell fairly blazed. Between sparkling jewelry,
flaming cheeks, flashing eyes, and words thrown off
like scintillating sparks, she suggested an exquisite
July firework, burning longer than usual and surprising
every one. Admiration followed her like a
torrent, and her vanity dilated without measure as
attention and compliments were almost forced
upon her, and yet it was frank, good-natured vanity,
as naturally to be expected in her case as a throng
of gaudy poppies where a handful of seed had been
dropped. Zell's nature was a soil where good or
bad seed would grow vigorously.

Mr. Van Dam was never far off, watching with
intent gloating eyes, saying in self-congratulation,—

“What a delicious morsel she will make,” and
adding his mite to the general chorus of flattery,
by mild assertions like the following:

“Do you know that there is not a lady present
that for a moment can compare with you?”

“How delightfully frank he is,” thought Zell of
her distinguished admirer, who was open as a quicksand
that can swallow up anything and not leave
a trace on its placid surface.

Edith was quite as beautiful as Zell, but nothing
like so brilliant and pronounced. Though quiet
and graceful, she was not stately like Laura. Her

[figure description] Page 088.[end figure description]

full dark eyes were lustrous rather than sparkling,
and they dwelt shrewdly and comprehendingly on
all that was passing, and conveyed their intelligence
to a brain that was judging quite accurately at
times when so many people “lose their head” as it
is expressed.

Zell was intoxicated by the incense offered.
Laura offered herself so much incense that she was
enshrouded in a thick cloud of complacency all the
time. Edith was told by the eyes and manner of
those around her that she was beautiful and highly
favored by wealth and position generally. But she
knew this, as a matter of fact, before, and was not
going to make a fool of herself on account of it.
These points thoroughly settled and quietly realized,
she was in a condition to go out of herself and
enjoy all that was going on.

She was specially elated at this time also, as she
had gathered from her father's words that his danger
was nearly over and that before the week was
out they could defy Mr. Fox, look forward to Europe
and bright voyaging generally.

Mr. Allen did not tell her his terrible fear that
Mr. Fox had been a little too prompt, and that
crushing disaster might still be impending. He
had said to himself, “Let her and all of them make
the most of this evening. It may be the last of
the kind that they will enjoy.”

The spacious parlors filled rapidly. If lavish
expenditure and a large brilliant attendance could
secure their enjoyment, it was not wanting.

[figure description] Page 089.[end figure description]

Flowers in fanciful baskets on the tables and in great
banks on the mantels and in the fire-places, deservedly
attracted much attention and praise, though
the sum expended on their transient beauty was
appalling. Their delicious perfume mingling with
those of artificial origin, suggested a like intermingling
of the more delicate, subtile but, genuine manifestations
of character, and graces of mind and
manner borrowed for the occasion.

The scene was very brilliant. There were marvellous
toilets—dresses not beginning as promptly
as they should, perhaps, but seemingly seeking to
make up for this deficiency by elegance and costliness,
having once commenced. There was no
economy in the train, if there had been in the waist.
Therefore gleaming shoulders, glittering diamonds,
the soft radiance of pearls, the sheen of gold, and
lustrous eyes aglow with excitement, and later in
the evening, with wine, gave a general phosphorescent
effect to the parlors that Mrs. Allen recognized,
from long experience, as the sparkling crown of
success. So much elegance on the part of the
ladies present would make the party the gem of
the season, and the gentlemen in dark dress made
a good black enamel setting.

There was a confused rustle of silks and a hum
of voices, and now and then a silvery laugh would
ring out above these like the trill of a bird in a
breezy grove. Later, light airy music floated
through the rooms, followed by the rhythmic cadence
of feet. A thinly clad shivering little match

[figure description] Page 090.[end figure description]

girl stopped on her weary tramp to her cellar and
caught glimpses of the scene through the oft opening
door and between the curtains of the windows.
It seemed to her that those glancing forms were
in heaven. Alas for this earthly paradise!

Mr. Fox, with characteristic malice, had managed
that Mr. Allen and perhaps the family should have,
as his contribution to the entertainment, the sickening
dread which the news in the afternoon papers
would occasion. As the evening advanced he determined
to accept the invitation and watch the
effect. He avoided Mr. Allen, and soon gathered
that Edith and the rest knew nothing of the impending
blow. Edith smiled graciously on him;
she felt that like the sun, she could shine on all
that night. But as in his insolence, his attentions
grew marked, she soon shook him off by permitting
Gus Elliot to claim her for a waltz.

Mr. Fox glided around, Mephistopheles-like,
gloating on the sinister changes that he would soon
occasion. He was to succeed even better than he
dreamed.

The evening went forward with music and dancing,
discussing, disparaging, flirting and skirmishing,
culminating in numbers and brilliancy as some gorgeous
flower might expand, and seemingly it would
have ended like the flower, by the gay company's
rustling departure as the varied colored petals drop
away from the stem, had not an event occurred
which was like a rude hand plucking the flower in
its fullest bloom and tearing the petals away in mass.

[figure description] Page 091.[end figure description]

The magnificent supper had just been demolished.
Champagne had foamed without stint,
cause and symbol of the increasing but transient
excitement of the occasion; more potent wines and
liquors suggestive of the stronger and deeper passions
that were swaying the mingled throng, had
done their work, and all, save the utterly blasé and
run down, had secured that noble elevation which
it is the province of these grand social combinations
to create. Even Mr. Allen regained his habitual
confidence and elevation as his waistcoat expanded
under, or rather over, those means of cheer
and consolation which he had so long regarded as
the best panacea for earthly ills. The oppressive
sense of danger gave place to a consciousness of
the warm, rosy present. Mr. Fox and the custom-house
seemed but the ugly phantoms of a past
dream. Was he not the rich Mr. Allen, the owner
of this magnificent mansion, the corner-stone of
this superb entertainment? If by reason of wine
he saw a little double, he only saw double homage
on every side. He heard in men's tones, and saw
in women's glances, that any one who could pay
for his surroundings that night, was no ordinary
person. His wife looked majestic as she swept
through the parlors on the arm of one of his most
distinguished fellow-citizens. Through the library
door he could see Mr. Goulden leaning toward
Laura and saying something that made even her
pale face quite peony-like. Edith, exquisite as a
moss rose, was about to lead off in the German in

[figure description] Page 092.[end figure description]

the large front parlor. Zell was near him, the
sparkling centre of a breezy, merry little throng
that had gathered round her. It seemed that all
that he loved and valued most—all that he wished,
was grouped around him in the guise most attractive
to his worldly eyes. In this moment of unnatural
elation, hope whispered, “To-morrow
you can sell your stock, and instead of failing, increase
your vast fortune, and then away to new
scenes, new pleasures, free from the burden of care
and fear.” It was at that moment of false confidence
and pride, when in suggestive words descriptive
of the ancient tragedy of Belshazzar he “had
drank wine and praised the gods of gold and of
silver,” that he had so long worshipped, and which
had secured to him all that so dilates his soul with
exultation, that he saw the handwriting, not of
shadowy fingers “upon the wall,” but of his partner,
sent, as agreed, by a special messenger. With revulsion
and chill of fear he had torn open the envelope
and read,—

“Fox has done his worst. We are out for a
million—all will be in the morning papers.”

Even his florid, wine-inflamed cheeks grew pale,
and he raised his hand tremblingly to his head, and
slowly lifted his eyes like a man who dreads seeing
something, but is impelled to look. The first object
they rested on was the sardonic, mocking
face of Mr. Fox, who, ever on the alert, had seen
the messenger enter, and guessed his errand. The
moment Mr. Allen saw this hated visage, a sudden

[figure description] Page 093.[end figure description]

fury took possession of him. He crushed the missive
in his clenched fist, and took a hasty stride of
wrath toward his tormentor, stopped, put his hand
again to his head, a film came over his eyes, he reeled
a second, and then fell like a stone to the floor.
The heavy thud of the fall, the clash of the chandelier
overhead, could be heard throughout the rooms
above the music and hum of voices, and all were
startled. Edith in the very act of leading off in
the dance, stood a second like an exquisite statue
of awed expectancy, and then Zell's shriek of fear
and agony, “Father!” brought her to the spot,
and with wild, frightened eyes, and blanched faces,
the two girls knelt above the unconscious man,
while the startled guests gathered round in helpless
curiosity.

The usual paralysis following sudden accident
was brief on this occasion, for there were two skillful
physicians present, one of them having long
been the family attendant. Mrs. Allen and Laura
stood clinging to each other, supported by Mr.
Goulden, in a half hysterical state, as the medical
gentlemen made a slight examination and applied
restoratives. After a moment they lifted their
heads and looked gravely and significantly at each
other; then the family adviser said,—

“Mr. Allen had better be carried at once to his
room, and the house become quiet.”

An injudicious guest, asked in a loud whisper,
“Is it apoplexy?”

Mrs. Allen caught the word, and with a stifled

[figure description] Page 094.[end figure description]

cry fainted dead away, and was borne to her apartment
in an unconscious state. Laura, who had inherited
Mrs. Allen's nervous nature, was also conveyed
to her room, laughing and crying in turns
beyond all control. Zell still knelt over her father,
sobbing passionately, while Edith, with her large
eyes dilated with fear, and her cheeks in wan contrast
with the sunset glow they had worn all the
evening, maintained her presence of mind, and asked
Mr. Goulden, Mr. Van Dam, and Gus Elliot, to
carry her father to his room. They, much pleased
in thus being singled out as special friends of the
family, officiously obeyed.

Poor Mr. Allen was borne away from the pinnacle
of his imaginary triumph as if dead, Zell following,
wringing her hands, and with streaming eyes;
but Edith reminded you of some wild, timid creature
of the woods, which, though in an extremity
of danger and fear, is alert and watchful, as if looking
for some avenue of escape. Her searching
eyes turned almost constantly towards the family
physician, and he as persistently avoided meeting
hers.

p670-112 CHAPTER VII. AMONG THE BREAKERS.

[figure description] Page 095.[end figure description]

AFTER another brief but fuller examination of
Mr. Allen in the privacy of his own room,
Dr. Mark went down to the parlors. The guests
were gathered in little groups, talking in low, excited
whispers; those who had seen the reading of
the note and Mr. Allen's strange action, gaining
brief eminence by their repeated statements of
what they had witnessed, and their varied surmises.
The rôle of commentator, if mysterious
human action be the text, is always popular, and
as this explanatory class are proverbially gifted in
conjecture, there were many theories of explanation.
Some of the guests had already the good
taste to prepare for departure, and when Dr.
Mark appeared from the sick room, and said,—

“Mr. Allen and the family will be unable to
appear again this evening. I am under the painful
necessity of saying that this occasion, that
opened so brilliantly, must now come to sad and
sudden end. I will convey your adieux and expressions
of sympathy to the family”—there was
a general move to the dressing-rooms. The
Doctor was overwhelmed for a moment with

[figure description] Page 096.[end figure description]

expressions of sympathy, that in the main were felt,
and well questioned by eager and genuine curiosity,
for Fox had dropped some mysterious hints
during the evening, which had been quietly circulating.
But Dr. Mark was professionally non-committal,
and soon excused himself that he might
attend to his patient.

The house, that seemingly a moment before
was ablaze with light and resounding with fashionable
revelry, suddenly became still, and grew
darker and darker, as if the shadowing wings of the
dreaded angel were drawing very near. In the
large, elegant rooms, where so brief a time since
gems and eyes vied in brightness, old Hannibal
now walks alone with his silent tread, and a peculiarly
awed and solemn visage. One by one he extinguished
the lights, leaving but faint glimmers
here and there, that were like a few forlorn hopes
struggling against the increasing darkness of disaster.
Under his breath he kept repeating fervently,
“De Lord hab mercy,” and this, perhaps,
was the only intelligent prayer that went up from
that stricken household in this hour of sudden
danger and alarm. Though we believe the Divine
Father sees the dumb agony of his creatures, and
pities them, and often when they, like the drowning,
are grasping at straws of human help and
cheer, puts out His strong hand and holds them
up; still it is in accordance with His just law that
those who seek and value His friendship find it
and possess it in adversity. The height of the

[figure description] Page 097.[end figure description]

storm and the middle of the angry Atlantic is a
poor time and a poor place to provide life-boats.

The Allens had never looked to Heaven, save
as a matter of form. They had a pew in a fashionable
church, but were not very regular attendants,
and such attendance had done scarcely anything
to awaken or quicken their spiritual life.
They came home and gossiped about the appearance
of their “set,” and perhaps criticized the
music, but one would never have dreamed from
manner or conversation that they had gone to a
sacred place to worship God in humility. Indeed,
scarcely a thought of Him seemed to have dwelt
in their minds. Religious faith had never been of
any practical help, and now in their extremity it
seemed utterly intangible, and in no sense to be
depended on.

When Mrs. Allen recovered from her swoon,
and Laura had gained some self-control, they sent
for Dr. Mark, and eagerly suggested both their
hope and fear.

“It's only a fainting fit, doctor, is it not? Will
he not soon be better?”

“My dear madam, we will do all we can,”
said the doctor, with that professional solemnity
which is like reading a death warrant, “but it is my
painful duty to tell you to prepare for the worst.
Your husband has an attack of apoplexy.”

He had scarcely uttered the words before she
was again in a swoon, and Laura also lost her transient
quietness. Leaving his assistant and Mrs.

[figure description] Page 098.[end figure description]

Allen's maid to take care of them, he went back to
his graver charge.

Mr. Allen lay insensible on his bed, and one
could hardly realize that he was a dying man.
His face was as flushed and full as it often appeared
on his return from his club. To the girls'
unpracticed ears, his loud stertorous breathing only
indicated heavy sleep. But neither they nor the
doctor could arouse him, and at last the physician
met Edith's questioning eyes, and gravely and
significantly shook his head. Though she had
borne up so steadily and quietly, he felt more for
her than for any of the others.

“O, doctor, can't you save him?” she pleaded.

“You must save him,” cried Zell, her eyes
flashing through her tears, “I would be ashamed,
if I were a physician, to stand over a strong man,
and say helplessly, `I can do nothing.' Is this all
your boasted skill amounts to? Either do something
at once or let us get some one who will.”

“Your feelings to-night, Miss Zell,” said the
doctor quietly, “will excuse anything you say, however
wild and irrational. I am doing all—”

“I am not wild or unreasonable,” cried Zell.
“I only demand that my father's life be saved.”
Then starting up she threw off a shawl and stood
before Doctor Mark in the dress she had worn in
the evening, that seemed a sad mockery in that
room of death. Her neck and arms were bare,
and even the cool, experienced physician was
startled by her wonderful beauty and strange

[figure description] Page 099.[end figure description]

manner. Her white throat was convulsed, her bosom
heaved tumultuously, and on her face was the expression
that might have rested on the face of a
maiden like herself centuries before, when shown
the rack and dungeon, and told to choose between
her faith and her life.

But after a moment she extended her white
rounded arm toward him and said steadily,—

“I have read that if the blood of a young, vigorous
person is infused into another who is feeble
and old, it will give renewed strength and health.
Open a vein in my arm. Save his life if you take
mine.”

“You are a brave, noble girl,” said Doctor
Mark, with much emotion, taking the extended
hand and pressing it tenderly, “but you are asking
what is impossible in this case. Do you not remember
that I am an old friend of your father's?
It grieves me to the heart that his attack is so
severe that I fear all within the reach of human
skill is vain.”

Zell, who was a creature of impulse, and often
of noblest impulse, as we have seen, now reacted
into a passion of weeping, and sank helplessly on
the floor. She was capable of heroic action, but
she had no strength for woman's lot, which is so
often patient endurance.

Edith came and put her arms around her, and
with gentle, soothing words, as if speaking to a
child, half carried her to her room, where she at
last sobbed herself asleep.

[figure description] Page 100.[end figure description]

For another hour Edith and the doctor watched
alone, and the dying man sank rapidly, going down
into the darkness of death without word or sign.

“Oh, that he would speak once more,” moaned
Edith.

“I fear he will not, my dear,” said the doctor,
pitifully.

A little later Mr. Allen was motionless, like one
who has been touched in unquiet sleep and becomes
still. Death had touched him, and a deeper
sleep had fallen upon him.

One of the great daily bulletins will go to press
in an hour. A reporter jumps into a waiting hack
and is driven rapidly up town.

While the city sleeps preparations must go on
in the markets for breakfast, and in printing rooms
for that equal necessity in our day, the latest news.
Therefore all night long there are dusky figures
flitting hither and thither, seeing to it that when
we come down in gown and slippers, our steak and
the world's gossip may be ready.

The breakfast of the Gothamites was furnished
abundantly with “sauce piquante” on the morning
of the last day of February, for Hannibal had
shaken his head ominously, and wiped away a few
honest tears, before he could tremulously say to
the eager reporter:

“Mr. Allen—hab—just—died.”

Gathering what few particulars he could, and
imagining many more, the reporter was driven

[figure description] Page 101.[end figure description]

back even more rapidly, and with the elation of a
man who has found a good thing and means to
make the most of it. Mr. Allen himself was nothing
to him, but news about him was; and this fact
crowning the story of his violation of the revenue
law and prospective loss of a million, would make
a brisk breeze in the paper to which he was attached,
and might waft him a little farther on as
an enterprising news-gatherer.

It certainly would be the topic of the day on
all lips, and poor Mr. Allen might have plumed
himself on this if he had known it, for few people,
unless they commit a crime, are of sufficient importance
to be talked of all day in large, busy New
York. In the world's eyes Mr. Allen had committed
a crime. Not that they regarded his stock
gambling as such. Multitudes of church members
in good and regular standing were openly engaged
in this. Nor could the slight and unintentional
violation of the revenue law be regarded as such,
though so grave in its consequences. But he had
faltered and died when he ought not to have done
so. What the world demands is success; and
sometimes a devil may secure this where a true
man cannot. The world regarded Mr. Van Dam
and Mr. Goulden as very successful men.

Mr. Fox also had secured success by one adroit
wriggle (for we can describe his mode of achieving
greatness by no better phrase). He was destined
to receive half a million for his treachery to
his employers. During the war, when United

[figure description] Page 102.[end figure description]

States securities were at their worst; when men,
pledged to take them, forfeited money rather than
do so, Mr. Allen had lent the Government millions,
because he believed in it, loved it, and was resolved
to sustain it. That same government now rewards
him by putting it in the power of a dishonest clerk
to ruin him, and gave him $500,000 for doing so.
Thus it resulted; for we are compelled to pass
hastily over the events subsequent to Mr. Allen's
death. His partners made a good fight, showed
that there was no intention to violate the law, and
that it was often difficult to comply with it literally—
that the sum claimed to be lost to the government
was ridiculously disproportionate with the
amount confiscated. But it was all in vain.
There was the letter of the law, and there were
Mr. Fox and his associates in the Custom-house,
“all honorable men,” with hands itching to clutch
the plunder.

But before this question was settled, the fate of
the stock operation in Wall street was most effectually.
As soon as Mr. Goulden heard of Mr. Allen's
death, he sold all he had at a slight loss, but
his action awakened suspicion, and it was speedily
learned that the rise was due mainly to Mr. Allen's
strong pushing, and the inevitable results followed.
As poor Mr. Allen's remains were lowered into the
vault, his stock in Wall street was also going down
with a run.

In brief, the absence of the master's hand and
by reason of his complications, there was general

[figure description] Page 103.[end figure description]

wreck and ruin in his affairs, and Mrs. Allen was
soon compelled to face the even more awful fact,
to her, than her husband's death, that not a penny
remained of his colossal fortune, and that she had
yawningly sighed away all of her own means. But
she could only wring her hands in view of these
blighting truths, and indulge in half uttered complaints
against her husband's “folly,” as she termed
it. From the first her grief had been more emotional
than deep, and her mind recovering some
of its usual poise, had begun to be much occupied
with preparations for a grand funeral, which was
carried out to her taste. Then arose deeply interesting
questions as to various styles of mourning
costume, and an exciting vista of dressmaking
opened before her. She was growing into quite a
serene and hopeful frame when the miserable and
blighting facts all broke upon her. When there
was little of seeming necessity to do, and multitudes
to do for her, Mrs. Allen's nerves permitted
no small degree of activity. But now as it became
certain that she and her daughters must do all
themselves, her hands grew helpless. The idea of
being poor was like dying to her. It was entering
on an experience so utterly foreign and unknown
that it seemed like going to another world and
phase of existence, and she shrank in pitiable
dread from it.

Laura had all her mother's helpless shrinking
from poverty, but with another and even bitterer
ingredient added. Mr. Goulden was extremely

[figure description] Page 104.[end figure description]

polite, exquisitely sympathetic, and in terms as
vague as elegantly expressed, had offered to do
anything (but nothing in particular) in his power
to show his regard for the family, and his esteem
for his departed friend. He was very sorry that
business would compel him to leave town for some
little time—

Laura had the spirit to interrupt him saying,
“It matters little, sir. There are no further Wall
street operations to be carried on here. Invest
your time and friendship where it will pay.”

Mr. Goulden, who plumed himself that he would
slip out of this bad matrimonial speculation with
snch polished skill that he would leave only flattering
regret and sighs behind, suddenly saw under
the biting satire of Laura's words what a contemptible
creature is the man whom selfish policy governs,
rather than honor and principle. He had brains
enough to comprehend himself and lose his self-respect
then and there, as he went away tingling
with shame from the girl he wronged, but who had
detected his sordid meanness. Sigh after him!
She would ever despise him, and that hurt Mr.
Goulden's vanity severely. He had come very near
loving Laura Allen, about as near perhaps as he
ever would loving any one, and it had cost him a
little more to give her up than to choose between
a good and a bad venture on the street. With
compressed lips he had said to himself—“No gushing
sentiment. In carrying out your purpose to be
rich you must marry rich.” Therefore he had gone

[figure description] Page 105.[end figure description]

to make what he meant to be his final call, feeling
quite heroic in his steadfastness—his loyalty to
purpose, that is himself. But as he recalled during
his homeward walk, her glad welcome, her
wistful pleading looks, and then, as she realized the
truth, her pain, contempt, and her meaning words
of scorn, his miserable egotism was swept aside,
and for the first time the selfish man saw the question
from her standpoint, and as we have said he
was not so shallow but that he saw and loathed
himself. He lost his self-respect as he never had
before, and therefore to a certain extent, his power
ever to be happy again.

Small men, full of petty conceit, can recover
from any wounds upon their vanity, but proud and
large minded men have a self-respect, even though
based upon questionable foundation. It is essential
to them, and losing it, they are inwardly
wretched. As soldiers carry the painful scars of
some wounds through life, so Mr. Goulden would
find that Laura's words had left a sore place while
memory lasted.

Mr. Van Dam quite disarmed Edith's suspicions
and prejudices by being more friendly and intimate
with Zell than ever, and the latter was happy and
exultant in the fact, saying, with much elation,
that her friend was “not a mercenary wretch, like
Mr. Goulden, but remained just as true and kind as
ever.”

It was evident that this attention and show of
kindness to the warm-hearted girl, made a deep

[figure description] Page 106.[end figure description]

impression and greatly increased Mr. Van Dam's
power over her. But Edith's suspicion and dislike
began to return as she saw more of the manner
and spirit of the man. She instinctively felt that
he was bad and designing.

One day she quite incensed Zell, who was
chanting his praises, by saying:

“I haven't any faith in him. What has he
done to show real friendship for us? He only
comes here to amuse himself with you; Gus Elliot
is the only one who has been of any help.”

But Edith had her misgivings about Gus also.
Now, in her trouble and poverty, his weakness
began to reveal itself in a new and repulsive light.
In fact, that exquisitely fine young gentleman
loved Edith well enough to marry her, but not to
work for her. That was a sacrifice that he could
not make for any woman. Though out of his
natural kindness and good-nature he felt very
sorry for her, and wanted to help and pet her, he
had been shown his danger so clearly that he was
constrained and awkward when with her, for, on
one hand, his father had taken him aside and
said,—

“Look here, Gus. See to it that you don't
entangle yourself with Miss Allen, now her father
has failed. She couldn't support you now, and
you never can support even yourself. If you
would go to work like a man—but one has got to
be a man to do that. It seems true, as your
mother says, that you are of too fine clay for

[figure description] Page 107.[end figure description]

common uses. Therefore, don't make a fool of yourself.
You can't keep up your style on a pretty
face, and you must not wrong the girl by making
her think you can take care of her. I tell you
plainly, I can't bear another ounce added to my
burden, and how long I'll stand up under it as it
is, I can't tell.”

Gus listened with a sulky, injured air. He felt
that his father never appreciated him as did his
mother and sisters, and indeed society at large.
Society to Gus was the ultra-fashionable world of
which he was one of the shining lights.

The ladies of the family quite restored his
equanimity by saying,—

“Now see here, Gus, don't dream of throwing
yourself away on Edith Allen. You can marry
any girl you please in the city; so, for heaven's
sake (though what heaven had to do with their
advice it is hard to say), don't let her lead you on
to say what you would wish unsaid. Remember
they are no more now than any other poor people,
except that they are refined, etc., but this will only
make poverty harder for them. Of course we are
sorry for them, but in this world people have got
to take care of themselves. So we must be on the
lookout for some one who has money which can't
be sunk in a stock operation as if thrown into the
sea.”

After all this sound reason, poor, weak Gus,
vaguely conscious of his helplessness, as stated by
his father, and quite believing his mother's

[figure description] Page 108.[end figure description]

assurance that “he could marry any girl he pleased,” was
in no mood to urge the penniless Edith to give him
her empty hand, while before the party, when he
believed it full, he was doing his best to bring her
to this point, though in fact, she gave him little
opportunity.

Edith detected the change, and before very
long, surmised the cause. It made the young girl
curl her lip, and say, in a tone of scorn that would
have done Gus good to hear,—

“The idea of a man acting in this style.”

But she did not care enough about him to receive
a wound of any depth, and with a good-natured
tolerance, recognized his weakness, and
his genuine liking for her, and determined to make
him useful.

Edith was very practical, and possessed of a
brave, resolute nature. She was capable of strong
feelings, but Gus Elliot was not the man to awaken
such in any woman. She liked his company, and
proposed to use him in certain ways. Under her
easy manner, Gus also became at ease, and finding
that he was not expected to propose and be sentimental,
was all the more inclined to be friendly.

“I want you to find me books, and papers also,
if there are any, that tell how to raise fruit,” she
said to him one day.

“What a funny request! I would as soon expect
you would ask for instruction how to drive
four-in-hand.”

“Nothing of that style, henceforth. I must

[figure description] Page 109.[end figure description]

learn something useful now. Only the rich can
afford to be good-for-nothing, and we are not rich
now.”

“For which I am very sorry,” said Gus, with
some feeling.

“Thank you. Such disinterested sympathy is
beautiful,” said Edith dryly.

Gus looked a little red and awkward, but hastened
to say, “I will hunt up what you wish, and
bring it as soon as possible.”

“You are very good. That is all at present,”
said Edith, in a tone that made Gus feel that it
was indeed all that it was in his power to do for
her at that time, and he went away with a dim
perception that he was scarcely more than her
errand boy. It made him very uncomfortable.
Though he wished her to understand he could not
marry her now, he wished her to sigh a little after
him. Gus' vanity rather resented that, instead of
pining for him, she should set him to work with a
little quiet satire. He had never read a romance
that ended so queerly. He had expected that
they might have a little tender scene over the inexorable
fate that parted them, give and take a
memento, gasp, appeal to the moon, and see each
other's faces no more, she going to the work and
poverty that he could never stoop to from the innate
refinement and elegance of his being, and he
to hunt up the heiress to whom he would give the
honor of maintaining him in his true sphere.

But his little melodrama was entirely spoiled

[figure description] Page 110.[end figure description]

by her matter-of-fact way, and what was worse still
he felt in her presence as if he did not amount to
much, and that she knew it; and yet, like the
poor moth that singes its wings around the lamp,
he could not keep away.

The prominent trait of Gus' character, as of so
many others in our luxurious age of self-pleasing,
was weakness; and yet one must be insane with
vanity to be at ease, if he can do nothing resolutely,
and dare nothing great. He is a cripple,
and if not a fool, knows it.

During the eventful month that followed Mr.
Allen's death, Mrs. Allen and her daughters led,
what seemed to them, a very strange life. While
in one sense it was real and intensely painful, in
another the experiences were so new and strange,
it all seemed an unreal dream, a distressing nightmare
of trouble and danger, from which they might
awaken to their old life.

Mrs. Allen, from her large circle of acquaintances,
had numerous callers, many coming from mere
morbid curiosity, more from mingled motives, and
not a few from genuine tearful sympathy. To
these “her friends,” as she emphatically called
them, she found a melancholy pleasure in recounting
all the recent woes, in which she ever appeared
as chief sufferer, and chief mourner, though her
husband seemed among the minor losses, and thus
most of her time was spent during the last few
weeks at her old home. Her friends appeared to
find a melancholy pleasure in listening to these

[figure description] Page 111.[end figure description]

details and then in recounting them again to other
“friends” with a running commentary of their own,
until that little fraction of the feminine world acquainted
with the Allens, had sighed, surmised,
and perhaps gossiped over the “afflicted family”
so exhaustively that it was really time for something
new. The men and the papers down town
also had their say, and perhaps all tried as far as
human nature would permit, to say nothing but
good of the dead and unfortunate.

Laura, after the stinging pain of each successive
blow to her happiness, sank into a dreary apathy,
and did mechanically the few things Edith asked
of her.

Zell lived in varied moods and conditions, now
weeping bitterly for her father, again resenting with
impotent passion the change in their fortunes, but
ending usually by comforting herself with the
thought that Mr. Van Dam was true to her. He
was as true and faithful as an insidious, incurable
disease when once infused into the system. His
infernal policy now was to gradually alienate her
interest from her family and centre it in him.
Though promising nothing in an open, manly way,
he adroitly made her believe that only through
him could she now hope to reach brighter days
again, and to Zell he seemed the one means of escape
from a detested life of poverty and privation.
She became more infatuated with him than ever,
and cherished a secret resentment against Edith
because of her distrust and dislike of him.

[figure description] Page 112.[end figure description]

The Allens had but few near relatives in the
city at this time, and with these they were not on
very good terms, nor were they the people to be
helpful in adversity. Mr. Allen's partners were men
of the world like himself, and they were also incensed
that he should have been carrying on private
speculations in Wall street to the extent of
risking all his capital. His fatal stock operation,
together with the government confiscation, had involved
them in ruin also, and they had enough to
do to look after themselves. They were far more
eager to secure something out of the general wreck
than to see that anything remained for the family.
The Allens were left very much to themselves in
their struggle with disaster, securing help and
advice chiefly as they paid for it.

Mr. Allen was accustomed to say that women
were incapable of business, and yet here are the
ladies of his own household compelled to grapple
with the most perplexing forms of business or
suffer aggravated losses. Though all of his family
were of mature years, and thousands had been
spent on their education, they were as helpless as
four children in dealing with the practical questions
that daily came to them for decision. At first all
matters were naturally referred to the widow, but
she would only wring her hands and say,—

“I don't know anything about these horrid
things. Can't I be left alone with my sorrow in
peace a few days? Go to Edith.”

And to Edith at last all came till the poor girl

[figure description] Page 113.[end figure description]

was almost distracted. It was of no use to go to
Laura for advice, for she would only say in dreary
apathy,—

“Just as you think best. Anything you say.”

She was indulging in unrestrained wretchedness
to the utmost. Luxurious despair is so much easier
than painful perplexing action.

Zell was still “the child” and entirely occupied
with Mr. Van Dam. So Edith had to bear the
brunt of everything. She did not do this in uncomplaining
sweetness, like an angel, but scolded
the others soundly for leaving all to her. They
whined back that they “couldn't do anything, and
didn't know how to do anything.”

“You know as much as I do,” retorted Edith.

And this was true. Had not Edith possessed
a practical resolute nature, that preferred any kind
of action to apathetic inaction and futile grieving,
she would have been as helpless as the rest.

Do you say then that it was a mere matter of
chance that Edith should be superior to the others,
and that she deserved no credit, and they no
blame? Why should such all important conditions
of character be the mere result of chance and
circumstance? Would not christian education and
principle have vastly improved the Edith that existed?
Would they not have made the others
helpful, self-forgetting, and sympathetic? Why
should the world be full of people so deformed, or
feeble morally, or so ignorant, as to be helpless?
Why should the naturally strong work with only

[figure description] Page 114.[end figure description]

contempt and condemnation for the weak? While
many say, “stand aside, I am holier than thou,”
perhaps more say, “stand aside, I am wiser—
stronger than thou,” and the weak are made more
hopelessly discouraged. This helplessness on one
hand, and arrogant fault-finding strength on the
other, are not the result of chance, but of an
imperfect education. They come from the neglect
and wrong-doing of those whose province it
was to train and educate.

If we find among a family of children reaching
maturity, one helpless from deformity, and another
from feebleness, and are told that the parents, by
employing surgical skill, might have removed the
deformity, and overcome the weakness by tonic
treatment, but had neglected to do so, we would
not have much to say about chance. I know of a
poor man who spent nearly all that he had in the
world, to have his boy's leg straightened, and he
was called a “good father.” What are these physical
defects compared with the graver defects of
character?

Even though Mr. Allen is dead, we cannot say
that he was a good father, though he spent so
many thousands on his daughters. We certainly
cannot call Mrs. Allen a good mother, and the
proof of this is that Laura is feeble and selfish, Zell
deformed through lack of self-control, and Edith
hard and pitiless in her comparative strength.
They were unable to cope with the practical questions
of their situation. They had been launched

[figure description] Page 115.[end figure description]

upon the perilous uncertain voyage of life, without
the compass of a true faith, or the charts of principle
to guide them, and in case of disaster, they
had been provided with no life-boats of knowledge
to save them. They are now tossing among the
breakers of misfortune, almost utterly the sport of
the winds and waves of circumstances. If these
girls never reached the shore of happiness and
safety, could we wonder?

How would your daughter fare, my reader, if
you were gone and she were poor, with her hands
and brain to depend on for bread, and her heart
culture for happiness? In spite of all your providence
and foresight, such may be her situation.
Such becomes the condition of many men's daughters
every day.

But time and events swept the Allens forward,
as the shipwrecked are borne on the crest of a
wave, and we must follow their fortunes. Hungry
creditors, especially the petty ones up town, stripped
them of everything they could lay their hands
on, and they were soon compelled to leave their
Fifth Avenue mansion. The little place in the
country, given to Edith partly in jest by her father
as a birthday present, was now their only refuge,
and to this they prepared to go the first of April.
Edith, as usual, took the lead, and was to go in
advance of the others with such furniture as they
had been able to keep, and prepare for their coming.
Old Hannibal, who had grown grey in the
service of the family, and now declined to leave it,

[figure description] Page 116.[end figure description]

was to accompany her. On a dark, lowering day,
symbolic of their fortunes, some loaded drays took
down to the boat that with which they would
commence the meagre housekeeping of their poverty.
Edith went slowly down the broad steps
leading from her elegant home, and before she
entered the carriage turned for one lingering, tearful
look, such as Eve may have bent upon the gate
of Paradise closing behind her, then sprang into
the carriage, drew the curtains, and sobbed all the
way to the boat. Scarcely once before, during
that long, hard month, had she so given way to her
feelings. But she was alone now and none could
see her tears and call her weak. Hannibal took
his seat on the box with the driver, and looked
and felt very much as he did when following his
master to Greenwood.

p670-134 CHAPTER VIII. WARPED.

[figure description] Page 117.[end figure description]

IT is the early breakfast hour at a small frame
house, situated about a mile from the staid but
thriving village of Pushton. But the indications
around the house do not indicate thrift. Quite
the reverse. As the neighbors expressed it, “there
was a screw loose with Lacey,” the owner of this
place. It was going down hill like its master. A
general air of neglect and growing dilapidation impressed
the most casual observer. The front gate
hung on one hinge; boards were off the shackly
barn, and the house had grown dingy and weather-stained
from lack of paint. But as you entered
and passed from the province of the master to that
of the mistress, a new element was apparent, struggling
with, but unable to overcome, the predominant
tendency to untidiness and seediness. But
everything that Mrs. Lacey controlled was as neat
and cleanly as the poor overworked woman could
keep it.

At the time our story becomes interested in
her fortunes, Mrs. Lacey was a middle-aged woman,
but appeared older than her years warranted, from
the long-continued strain of incessant toil, and
from that which wears much faster still, the

[figure description] Page 118.[end figure description]

depression of an unhappy, ill-mated life. Her face wore
the pathetic expression of confirmed discouragement.
She reminded you of soldiers fighting when
they know it is of no use, and that defeat will be
the only result, but who fight on mechanically, in
obedience to orders.

She is now placing a very plain but wholesome
and well-prepared breakfast on the table, and it
would seem that both the eating and cooking were
carried on in the same large and general living
room. Her daughter, a rosy-cheeked, half-grown
girl of fourteen, was assisting her, and both mother
and daughter seemed in a nervous state of expectancy,
as if hoping and fearing the result of a near
event. A moment's glance showed that this event
related to a lad of about seventeen, who was walking
about the room, vainly trying to control the
agitation which is natural even to the cool and experienced
when feeling that they are at one of the
crisis periods of life.

It could not be expected of Arden Lacey at his
age to be cool and experienced while light curling
hair, blue eyes, and a mobile sensitive mouth, expressed
anything but a stolid self poise, or cheerful
endurance. Any one accustomed to observe character
could see that he was possessed of a nervous
fine-fibred nature capable of noble achievement
under right influences, but also easily warped and
susceptible to sad injury under brutal wrong. He
was like those delicate and somewhat complicated
musical instruments that produce the sweetest

[figure description] Page 119.[end figure description]

harmonies when in tune and well played upon, but
the most jangling discords when unstrung and in
rough ignorant hands. He had inherited his nervous
temperament, his tendency to irritation and excess,
from the diseased over-stimulated system of his
father, who was fast becoming a confirmed inebriate,
and who had been poisoning himself with bad
liquors all his life. From his mother he obtained
what balance he had in temperament, but owed
more to her daily influence and training. It was
the one struggle of the poor woman's life to shield her
children from the evil consequences of their father's
life. For her son she had special anxiety, knowing
his sensitive high-strung nature, and his tendency
to go headlong into evil if his self-respect and control
were once lost. His passionate love for her
had been the boy's best trait, and through this she
had controlled him thus far. But she had thought
that it might be best for him to be away from his
father's presence and influence if she could only
find something that accorded with his bent. And
this eventually proved to be a college education.
The boy was of a quick and studious mind. From
earliest years he had been fond of books, and as
time advanced, the passion for study and reading
grew upon him. He had a strong imagination,
and his favorite styles of reading were such as
appealed to this. In the scenes of history and
romance he escaped from the sordid life of toil and
shame to which his father condemned him, into a
large realm that seemed rich and glorified in

[figure description] Page 120.[end figure description]

contrast. When he was but fourteen the thought of
a liberal education fired his ambition and became
the dream of his life. He made the very most of
the district school to which he was sent in winter.
The teacher happened to be a well educated man,
and took pride in his apt, eager scholar. Between
the boy's and the mother's savings they had obtained
enough to secure private lessons in Latin
and Greek, and now at the age of seventeen, he
was tolerably well prepared for college.

But the father had no sympathy at all with
these tastes, and from the incessant labor he required
of his son, and the constant interruptions
he occasioned in his studies even in winter, he had
been a perpetual bar to all progress.

On the day previous to the scene described in
the opening of this chapter, the winter term had
closed, and Mr. Rule, the teacher, had declared that
Arden could enter college, and with natural pride
in his own work as instructor, intimated that he
would lead his class if he did.

Both mother and son were so elated at this
that they determined at once to state the fact to
the father, thinking that if he had any of the natural
feelings of a parent, he would take some pride
in his boy, and be willing to help him obtain the
education he longed for.

But there is little to be hoped from a man who
is completely under the influence of ignorance
and rum. Mr. Lacey was the son of a small farmer
like himself, and never had anything to recommend

[figure description] Page 121.[end figure description]

him but his fine looks, which had captivated poor
Mrs. Lacey to her cost. Unlike the majority of his
class, who are fast becoming a very intelligent part
of the community, and are glad to educate their
children, he boasted that he liked the “old ways,”
and by these he meant the worst ways of his father's
day, when books and schools were scarce, and few
newspapers found their way to rural homes. He
was, like his father before him, a graduate of the
village tavern, and had imbibed bad liquor and his
ideas of life from that questionable source at the
same time. With the narrow-mindedness of his
class, he had a prejudice against all learning
that went beyond the three R's, and had watched
with growing disapprobation his son's taste for
books, believing that it would spoil him as a farm
hand, and make him an idle dreamer. He was less
and less inclined to work himself as his frame became
diseased and enfeebled from intemperance, and
he determined now to get as much work as possible
out of that “great hulk of a boy,” as he called
Arden. He had picked up some hints of the college
hopes, and the very thought angered him.
He determined that when the boy broached the subject
he would give him such a “jawing” (to use his
own vernacular) “as would put an end to that nonsense.”
Therefore both Arden and his mother,
who are waiting as we have described in such perturbed
anxious state for his entrance, are doomed
to bitter disappointment. At last a heavy red-faced
man entered the kitchen, stalking in on the white

[figure description] Page 122.[end figure description]

floor out of the drizzling rain with his muddy boots
leaving tracks and blotches in keeping with his
character. But he had the grace to wash his grimy
hands before sitting down to the table. He was
always in a bad humor in the morning, and the
chilly rain had not improved it. A glance around
showed him that something was on hand, and he
surmised that it was the college business. He at
once thought within himself,

“I'll squelch the thing now, once for all.”

Turning to his son, he said, “Look here, youngster,
why haint you been out doing your chores?
D'ye expect me to do your work and mine too?”

“Father,” said the impulsive boy with a voice
of trembling eagerness, “if you will let me go to
college next fall, I'll do my work and yours too.
I'll work night and day—”

“What cussed nonsense is this?” demanded
the man harshly, clashing down his knife and fork
and turning frowningly toward his son.

“No, but father, listen to me before you refuse.
Mr. Rule says I'm fit to enter college and that I
can lead my class too. I've been studying for this
three years. I've set my heart upon it,” and in his
earnestness, tears gathered in his eyes.

“The more fool you, and old Rule is another,”
was the coarse answer.

The boy's eyes flashed angrily, but the mother
here spoke.

“You ought to be proud of your son, John; if
you were a true father you would be. If you'd

[figure description] Page 123.[end figure description]

encourage and help him now, he'd make a man
that—”

“Shut up! little you know about it. He'd
make one of your snivelling white fingered loafers
that's too proud to get a living by hard work. Perhaps
you'd like to make a parson out of him. Now
look here old woman, and you too, my young cock,
I've suspicioned that something of this kind was
up, but I tell you once for all it won't go. Just as
this hulk of a boy is gettin of some use to me, you
want to spoil him by sending him to college. I'll
see him hanged first,” and the man turned to his
breakfast as if he had settled it. But he was startled
by his son's exclaiming passionately,—

“I will go.”

“Look a here, what do you mean?” said the
father, rising with a black ugly look.

“I mean I've set my heart on going to college
and I will go. You and all the world shan't hinder
me. I won't stay here and be a farm drudge all
my life.”

The man's face was livid with anger, and in a
low hissing tone he said,—

“I guess you want taking down a peg, my college
gentleman. Perhaps you don't know I'm
master till you're twenty one,” and he reached down
a large leather strap.

“You strike me if you dare,” shouted the
boy.

“If I dare! haw! haw! If I don't cut the cussed
nonsense out of yer this morning, then I never

[figure description] Page 124.[end figure description]

did,” and he took an angry stride toward his son
who sprang behind the stove.

The wife and mother had stood by growing
whiter and whiter, and with lips pressed closely together.
At this critical moment she stepped before
her infuriated husband and seized his arm,
exclaiming,—

“John, take care. You have reached the end.”

“Stand aside,” snarled the man, raising the
strap, “or I'll give you a taste of it, too.”

The woman's grasp tightened on his arm, and
in a voice that made him pause and look fixedly at
her, she said,—

“If you strike me or that boy I'll take my children
and we will leave your roof this hateful day
never to return.”

“Haint I to be master in my own house?” said
the husband sullenly.

“You are not to be a brute in your own house.
I know you've struck me before, but I endured it
and said nothing about it because you were drunk,
but you are not drunk now, and if you lay a finger
on me or my son to-day, I will never darken your
doors again.”

The unnatural father saw that he had gone too
far. He had not expected such an issue. He had
long been accustomed to follow the lead of his
brutal passions, but had now reached a point
where he felt he must stop, as his wife said. Turning
on his heel, he sullenly took his place at the
table muttering,—

[figure description] Page 125.[end figure description]

“It's a pretty pass when there's mutiny in a
man's own house.” Then to his son, “You won't
get a d—n cent out of me for your college business,
mind that.”

Rose, the daughter, who had been crying and
wringing her hands on the door-step, now came
timidly in, and at a sign from her mother, she and
her brother went into another room.

The man ate for a while in dogged silence, but
at last in a tone that was meant to be somewhat
conciliatory, said,—

“What the devil did you mean by putting the
boy up to such foolishness?”

“Hush!” said his wife imperiously, “I'm in no
mood to talk with you now.”

“Oh, ah, indeed, a man can't even speak in his
own house, eh? I guess I'll take myself off to
where I can have a little more liberty,” and he
went out, harnessed his old white horse, and started
for his favorite groggery in the village.

His father had no sooner gone than Arden
came out and said passionately,—

“It's no use, mother, I can't stand it; I must
leave home to-day; I guess I can make a living,
at any rate I'd rather starve than pass through
such scenes.”

The poor, overwrought woman threw herself
down in a low chair and sobbed, rocking herself
back and forth.

“Wait till I die, Arden, wait till I die, I feel it
won't be long. What have I to live for but you

[figure description] Page 126.[end figure description]

and Rosy, and if you, my pride, and joy, go away
after what has happened, it will be worse than
death,” and a tempest of grief shook her gaunt
frame.

Arden was deeply moved. Boylike he had
been thinking only of himself, but now as never
before he realized her hard lot, and in his warm
impulsive heart there came a yearning tenderness
for her such as he had never felt before. He took
her in his arms and kissed and comforted her, till
even her sore heart felt the healing balm of love
and ceased its bitter aching. At last she dried her
eyes with a faint smile, and said,—

“With such a boy to pet me, the world isn't
all flint and thorns yet.”

And Rosy came and kissed her too, for she was
an affectionate child, though a little inclined to be
giddy and vain.

“Don't worry, mother,” said Arden. “I will
stay and take such good care of you, that you will
have many years yet, and happier ones, too, I
hope,” and he resolved to keep this promise, cost
what it might.

“I hardly think I ought to ask it of you, though
even the thought of your going away breaks my
heart.”

“I will stay,” said the boy, almost as passionately
as he had said, “I will go.” “I now see
how much you need a protector.”

That night the father came home so stupidly
drunk that they had to half carry him to bed,

[figure description] Page 127.[end figure description]

where he slept heavily till morning, and rose considerably
shaken and depressed from his debauch.
The breakfast was as silent as it had been stormy
on the previous day. After it was over, Arden followed
his father to the door and said,—

“I was a boy yesterday morning, but you made
me a man, and a rather ugly one too. I learned
then for the first time, that you occasionally strike
my mother. Don't you ever do it again, or it will
be worse for you, drunk or sober. I am not going
to college, but will stay home and take care of her.
Do we understand each other?”

The man was in such a low shattered condition
that his son's bearing cowed him, and he walked
off muttering,—

“Young cocks crow mighty loud,” but from
that time forward he never offered violence to his
wife or children.

Still his father's conduct and character had a
most disastrous effect upon the young man. He
was soured, because disappointed in his most cherished
purpose, at an age when most youths scarcely
have definite plans. Many have a strong natural
bent, and if turned aside from this, they are
more or less unhappy, and their duties instead of
being wings to help forward in life, become a galling
yoke.

This was the case of Arden. Farm work, as he
had learned it from his father, was coarse, heavy
drudgery, with small and uncertain returns, and
these were largely spent at the village rum shops

[figure description] Page 128.[end figure description]

in purchasing slow perdition for the husband, and
misery and shame for his wife and children.

In respectable Pushton, a drunkard's family, especially
if poor, had a very low social status. Mrs.
Lacey and her children would not accept of bad associations,
so they scarcely had any. This ostracism,
within certain limits is perhaps right. The
preventive penalties of vice can scarcely be too great,
and men and women must be made to feel that
wrong doing is certain to be followed by terrible
consequences. The fire is merciful in that it always
burns, and sin and suffering are inseparably linked.
But the consequences of one person's sin so often
blight the innocent. The necessity of this from
our various ties, should be a motive, a hostage
against sinning, and doubtless restrains many a one
who would go headlong under evil impulses. But
multitudes do slip off the paths of virtue, and helpless
wives, and often helpless husbands and children,
writhe from wounds made by those under sacred
obligations to shield them. Upon the families of
criminals, society visits a mildew of coldness and
scorn that blights nearly all chance of good fruit.
Only society is very unjust in its discriminations,
and some of the most heinous sins in God's sight
are treated as mere eccentricities, or condemned in
the poor, but winked at in the rich. Gentlemen
will admit to their parlors, men about whom they
know facts, which if true of a woman, would close
every respectable door against her, and God frowns
on the christian (?) society that makes such

[figure description] Page 129.[end figure description]

arbitrary and unjust distinctions. Cast both out, till
they bring forth fruits meet for repentance.

But we hope for little of a reformative tendency
from the selfish society of the world; changing human
fashion rules it, rather than the eternal truth
of the God of love. The saddest feature of all, is
that the shifting code of fashion is coming more
and more to govern the church. Doctrine may remain
the same, profession and intellectual belief
the same, while practical action drifts far astray.
There are multitudes of wealthy churches, that
will no more admit associations with that class
among which our Lord lived and worked, than
will select society. They seem designed to help
only respectable, well-connected sinners, toward
heaven.

This tendency has two phases. In the cities
the poor are practically excluded from worshipping
with the rich, and missions are established for them
as if they were heathen. I have no objection to
costly magnificent churches. Nothing is too good
to be the expression of our honor and love of God.
But they should be like the cathedrals of Europe,
where prince and peasant may bow together on the
same level, as they are in Divine presence. Christ
made no distinction between the rich and poor
regarding their spiritual value and need, nor should
the christianity named after him. To that degree
that it does, it is not christianity. The meek and
lowly Nazarene is not its inspiration. Perhaps
the personage he told to get behind him when

[figure description] Page 130.[end figure description]

promising the “kingdoms of the world and the
glory of them,” has more to do with it.

The second phase of this tendency as seen in
the country, is kindred but unlike. Poverty may
not be so great a bar, but moral fallings off are more
severely visited, and the family under a cloud,
through the wrong-doing of one or more of its
members, are treated very much as if they had a
perpetual pestilence. The highly respectable keep
aloof. Too often the quiet country church is not a
sanctuary and place of refuge to those whom either
their own or other's sin has wounded, a place where
the grasp of sympathy and words of encouragement
are spoken, but rather a place where they
meet the cold critical gaze of those who are
hedged about with virtues and good connections.
I hope I am wrong, but how is it where you live,
my reader? If a well-to-do thriving man of integrity
takes a fine place in your community, we all
know how church people will treat him. And
what they do is all right. But society—the world,
will do the same. Is christianity—are the followers
of the “Friend of publicans and sinners,” to do no
more?

If in contrast a drunken wretch like Lacey
with his wife and children come in town on top of
a wagon-load of shattered furniture, and all are
dumped down in a back alley to scramble into the
shelter of a tenement house as best they can, do
you call upon them? Do you invite them to your
pew? Do you ever urge and encourage them into

[figure description] Page 131.[end figure description]

your church and make even one of its corners home-like
and inviting?

I hope so; but alas, that was not the general
custom in Pushton, and poor Mrs. Lacey had acquired
the habit of staying at home, her neighbors
had formed the habit of calling her husband a
“dreadful man,” and the family “very irreligious,”
and as the years passed they seemed to be more
and more left to themselves. Mr. Lacey had
brought his wife from a distant town where he had
met and married her. She was a timid, retiring
woman, and time and kindness were needed to
draw her out. But no one had seemingly thought
it worth while, and at the time our story takes an
interest in their affairs, there was a growing isolation.

All this had a very bad effect upon Arden. As
he grew out of the democracy of boyhood he met
a certain social coldness and distance which he
learned to understand only too early, and soon returned
this treatment with increased coldness and
aversion. Had it not been for the influence of his
mother and the books he read, he would have inevitably
fallen into low company. But he had
promised his mother to shun it. He saw its result in
his father's conduct, and as he read, and his mind
matured, the narrow coarseness of such company
became repugnant. From time to time he was
sorely tempted to leave home which his father
made hateful in many respects, and try his fortunes
among strangers who would not associate him with

[figure description] Page 132.[end figure description]

a sot; but his love for his mother kept him at her
side, for he saw that her life was bound up in him,
and that he alone could protect her and his sister
and keep some sort of a shelter for them. In his
unselfish devotion to them his character was noble.
In his harsh cynicism toward the world and especially
the church people, for whom he made no allowance
whatever—in his utter hatred and detestation
of his father, it was faulty, though allowance
must be made for him. He was also peculiar in
other respects, for his unguided reading was of a
nature that fed his imagination at the expense of
his reasoning faculties. Though he drudged in a
narrow round, and his life was as hard and real as
poverty and his father's intemperance could make
it, he mentally lived and found his solace in a world
as large and unreal as an uncurbed fancy could create.
Therefore his work was hurried through mechanically
in the old slovenly methods to which he
had been educated, he caring little for the results,
his father squandering these; and when the necessary
toil was over, he would lose all sense of the
sordid present in the pages of some book obtained
from the village library. As he drove his milk cart
to and from town he would sit in the chill drizzling
rain, utterly oblivious of discomfort, with a half
smile upon his lips, as he pictured to himself some
scene of sunny aspect or gloomy castellated grandeur
of which his own imagination was the architect.
The famous in history, the heroes and heroines
of fiction, and especially the characters of

[figure description] Page 133.[end figure description]

Shakspeare were more familiar to him than the
people among whom he lived. From the latter he
stood more and more aloof, while with the former
he held constant intercourse. He had little in
common even with his sister, who was of a very different
temperament. But his tenderness toward
his mother never failed, and she loved him with
the passionate intensity of a nature to which
love was all, but which had found little to satisfy it
on earth, and was ignorant of the love of God.

And so the years dragged on to Arden, and his
twenty-first birthday made him free from his father's
control as he practically long had been, but it
also found him bound more strongly than ever by
his mother's love and need to his old home life.

p670-151 CHAPTER IX. A DESERT ISLAND.

[figure description] Page 134.[end figure description]

THE good cry that Edith indulged in on her
way to the boat was a relief to her heart which
had long been overburdened. But the necessity
of controlling her feelings, and the natural buoyancy
of youth enabled her by the time they reached
the wharf to see that the furniture and baggage
were properly taken care of. No one could detect
the traces of grief through her thick veil, or guess
from her firm, quiet tones, that she felt somewhat
as Columbus might when going in search of a new
world. And yet Edith had a hope and expectation
from her country life which the others did
not share at all.

When she was quite a child her feeble health
induced her father to let her spend an entire summer
in a farm house of the better class, whose
owner had some taste for flowers and fruit. These
she had enjoyed and luxuriated in as much as any
butterfly of the season, and as she romped with the
farmer's children, roamed the fields and woods
after berries, and tumbled in the fragrant hay,
health came tingling back with a fullness and vigor
that had never been lost. With all her subsequent
enjoyment, that summer still dwelt in her memory

[figure description] Page 135.[end figure description]

as the halcyon period of her life, and it was with
the country she associated it. Every year she had
longed for July, for then her father would break
away from business for a couple of months and
take them to a place of resort. But the fashionable
watering places were not at all to her taste as
compared with that old farm-house, and whenever
it was possible she would wander off and make
“disreputable acquaintances,” as Mrs. Allen termed
them, among the farmers and laborers' families
in the vicinity of the hotel. But by this means
she often obtained a basket of fruit or bunch of
flowers that the others were glad to share in.

In accordance with her practical nature she
asked questions as to the habits, growth and culture
of trees and fruits, so that few city girls situated
as she had been, knew as much about the products
of the garden. She had also haunted conservatories
and green-houses as much as her sisters
had the costly Broadway temples of fashion, where
counters are the altars to which the women of the
city bring their daily offerings; and as we have
seen, a fruit store was a place of delight to her.

The thought that she could now raise fruit,
flowers, and vegetables on her own place without
limit, was some compensation even for the trouble
they had passed through and the change in their
fortunes.

Moreover she knew that because of their poverty
she would have to secure from her ground
substantial returns, and that her gardening must

[figure description] Page 136.[end figure description]

be no amateur trifling, but earnest work. Therefore
having found a seat in the saloon of the boat,
she drew out of her leather bag one of her gardenbooks,
and some agricultural papers, and commenced
studying over for the twentieth time the
labors proper for April. After reading a while,
she leaned back and closed her eyes and tried to
form such crude plans as were possible in her
inexperience and lack of knowledge of a place that
she had not even seen.

Opening her eyes suddenly she saw old Hannibal
sitting near and regarding her wistfully.

“You are a foolish old fellow to stay with us,”
she said to him. “You could have obtained plenty
of nice places in the city. What made you do it?”

“Is'e couldn't gib any good reason to de world,
Miss Edie, but de one I hab kinder satisfies my
ole black heart.”

“Your heart isn't black, Hannibal.”

“How you know dat?” he asked quickly.

“Because I've seen it often and often. Sometimes
I think it is whiter than mine. I now and
then feel so desperate and wicked, that I am afraid
of myself.”

“There now, you'se worried and worn out and
you thinks dat's being wicked.”

“No, I'm satisfied it is something worse than
that. I wonder if God does care about people who
are in trouble, I mean practically, so as to help
them any?”

“Well, I specs he does,” said Hannibal vaguely.

[figure description] Page 137.[end figure description]

“But den dere's so many in trouble dat I'm afeard
some hab to kinder look arter thesselves.” Then
as if a bright thought struck him, he added, “I specs
he sorter lumps 'em jes as Massa Allen did when
he said he was sorry for de people burned up in
Chicago. He sent 'em a big lot ob money and den
seemed to forget all about 'em.”

Hannibal had never given much attention to
religion, and perhaps was not the best authority
that Edith could have consulted. But his conclusion
seemed to secure her consent, for she leaned
back wearily and again closed her eyes saying,—

“Yes, we are mere human atoms, lost sight of
in the multitude.”

Soon her deep regular breathing showed that
she was asleep, and Hannibal muttered softly,—

“Bress de child, dat will do her a heap more
good dan asking dem deep questions,” and he
watched beside her as a large faithful Newfoundland
might.

At last he touched her elbow and said, “We
get off at de next landing, and I guess we mus be
pretty nigh dare.”

Edith started up much refreshed and asked,
“What sort of an evening is it?”

“Well, I'se sorry to say it's rainin' hard and
berry dark.”

To her dismay she also found that it was nearly
nine o'clock. The boat had been late in starting,
and was so heavily laden as to make slow progress
against wind and tide. Edith's heart sank within

[figure description] Page 138.[end figure description]

her at-the thought of landing alone in a strange
place that dismal night. It was indeed new experience
to her. But she donned her waterproof,
and the moment the boat touched the wharf, hurried
ashore, and stood under her small umbrella,
while her household gods were being hustled out
into the drenching rain. She knew the injury that
must result to them unless they could speedily be
carried into the boat-house near. At first there
seemed no one to do this save Hannibal, who at
once set to work, but she soon observed a man with
a lantern gathering up some butter-tubs that the
boat was landing, and she immediately appealed to
him for help.

“I'm not the dock-master,” was the gruff reply.

“You are a man, are you not, and one that will
not turn away from a lady in distress. If my things
stand long in this rain they will be greatly injured.”

The man thus adjured turned his lantern on
the speaker, and while we recognize the features
of our acquaintance, Arden Lacey, he sees a
face on that old dock that quite startles him. If
Edith had dropped down with the rain, she could
not have been more unexpected, and with her
large dark eyes flashing suddenly on him, and her
appealing yet half indignant voice breaking in upon
the waking dream, with which he was beguiling the
outward misery of the night, it seemed as if one of
the characters of his fancy had suddenly become
real. He who would have passed Edith in surly
unnoting indifference on the open street in the

[figure description] Page 139.[end figure description]

garish light of day, now took the keenest interest
in her. He had actually been appealed to, as an
ancient knight might have been, by a damsel in
distress, and he turned and helped her with a will,
which, backed by his powerful strength, soon placed
her goods under shelter. The lagging dock-master
politicly kept out of the way till the work was
almost done and then bustled up and made some
show of assisting in time for any fees, if they were
offered, but Arden told him that since he had kept
out of sight so long, he might remain invisible,”
which was the unpopular way the young man had.

When the last article had been placed under
shelter Edith said,—

“I appreciate your help exceedingly. How
much am I to pay you for your trouble?”

“Nothing,” was the rather curt reply.

The appearance of a lady like Edith, with a
beauty that seemed weird and strange as he caught
glimpses of her face by the fitful rays of his lantern,
had made a sudden and strong impression on his
morbid fancy and fitted the wild imaginings with
which he had occupied the dreary hour of waiting
for the boat. The presence of her sable attendant
had increased these impressions. But when she
took out her purse to pay him his illusions vanished.
Therefore the abrupt tone in which he
said “Nothing,” and which was mainly caused by
vexation with the matter of fact world that continually
mocked his unreal one.

“I don't quite understand you,' said Edith.

[figure description] Page 140.[end figure description]

“I had no intention of employing your time and
strength without remuneration.”

“I told you I was not the dock-master,” said
Arden rather coldly. “He'll take all the fees you
will give him. You appealed to me as a man, and
said you were in distress. I helped you as a man.
Good evening.”

“Stay,” said Edith hastily. “You seem not
only a man, but a gentleman, and I am tempted,
in view of my situation, to trespass still further on
your kindness,” but she hesitated a moment.

It perhaps had never been intimated to Arden
before that he was a gentleman, certainly never in
the tone with which Edith spoke, and his fanciful
chivalric nature responded at once to the touch of
that chord. With the accent of voice he ever used
toward his mother, he said,—

“I am at your service.”

“We are strangers here,” continued Edith.
“Is there any place near the landing where we can
get safe comfortable lodging?”

“I am sorry to say there is not. The village is
a mile away.”

“How can we get there?”

“Isn't the stage down?” asked Arden of the
dock-master.

“No!” was the gruff response.

“The night is so bad I suppose they didn't
come. I would take you myself in a minute if I
had a suitable wagon.”

“Necessity knows no choice,” said Edith

[figure description] Page 141.[end figure description]

quickly. “I will go with you in any kind of a
wagon, and I surely hope you won't leave me on
this lonely dock in the rain.”

“Certainly not,” said Arden, reddening in the
darkness that he could be thought capable of such
an act. “But I thought I could drive to the village
and send a carriage for you.”

“I would rather go with you now, if you will let
me,” said Edith decidedly.

“The best I have is at your service, but I fear
you will be sorry for your choice. I've only a
board for a seat, and my wagon has no springs.
Perhaps I could get a low box for you to sit on.”

“Hannibal can sit on the box. With your permission
I will sit with you, for I wish to ask you
some questions.”

Arden hung his lantern on a hook in front of
his wagon, and helped or partly lifted Edith over
the wheel to the seat, which was simply a board
resting on the sides of the box. He turned a
butter-tub upside down for Hannibal, and then
they jogged out from behind the boat-house where
he had sheltered his horses.

This was all a new experience to Arden. He
had, from his surly misanthropy, little familiarity
with society of any kind, and since as a boy, he
had romped with the girls at school, he had been
almost a total stranger to all women save those in
his own home. Most young men would have been
awkward louts under the circumstances. But this
was not true of Arden, for he had daily been

[figure description] Page 142.[end figure description]

holding converse in the books he dreamed over
with women of finer clay than he could have found
at Pushton. He would have been excessively
awkward in a drawing-room or any place of conventional
resort, or rather he would have been
sullen and bearish, but the place and manner in
which he had met Edith, accorded with his romantic
fancy, and the darkness shielded his rough exterior
from observation.

Moreover, the presence of this flesh and blood
woman at his side gave him different sensations
from the stately dames, or even the most piquant
maidens that had smiled upon him in the shadowy
scenes of his imagination; and when at times, as
the wagon jolted heavily, she grasped his arm for
a second to steady herself, it seemed as if the
dusky little figure at his side was a sort of human
electric battery charged with that subtle fluid
which some believe the material life of the universe.
Every now and then as they bounced over
a stone, the lantern would bob up and throw a ray
on a face like those that had looked out upon
him from the plays of Shakespeare whose scenes
are laid in Italy.

Thus the dark, chilly, rainy night, was becoming
the most luminous period of his life. Reason
and judgment act slowly, but imagination takes
fire.

But to poor Edith, all was real and dismal
enough, and she often sighed heavily. To Arden
each sigh was an appeal for sympathy. He had

[figure description] Page 143.[end figure description]

driven as rapidly as he dared in the darkness to
get her out of the rain, but at last she said clinging
to his arm,—

“Won't you drive slowly, the jolting has given
me a pain in my side.”

He was conscious of a new and peculiar sensation
there also, though not from jolting. He had
been used to that in many ways all his life, but,
thereafter they jogged forward on a walk through
the drizzling rain, and Edith, recovering her
breath, and a sense of security, began to ask the
questions.

“Do you know where the cottage is that was
formerly owned by Mr. Jenks?”

“Oh yes, it's not far from our house—between
our house and the village.” Then as if a sudden
thought struck him he added quickly, “I heard it
was sold, are you the owner?”

“Yes,” said Edith a little coolly, she had expected
to question and not be questioned. And
yet she was very glad she had met one who knew
about her place. But she resolved to be non-committal
till she knew more about him.

“What sort of a house is it?” she asked after
a moment. “I have never seen it.”

“Well, it's not very large and I fear it is somewhat
out of repair—at least it looks so, and I
should think a new roof was needed.”

Edith could not help saying pathetically, “Oh,
dear, I'm so sorry.”

Arden then added hastily. “But it's a kind of

[figure description] Page 144.[end figure description]

a pretty place too—a great many fruit trees and
grape vines on it.”

“So I've been told,” said Edith. “And that
will be its chief attraction to me.”

“Then you are going to live there?”

“Yes.”

Arden's heart gave a sudden throb. Then he
would see this mysterious stranger often. But he
smiled half bitterly in the darkness as he queried,
“What will she appear like in the daylight?”

Her next question broke the spell he was under
utterly. They were passing through the village
and the little hotel was near, and she naturally
asked,—

“To whom am I indebted for all this kindness?
I am glad to know so much as that you are my
neighbor.”

Suddenly and painfully conscious of his outward
life and surroundings, he answered briefly,—

“My name is Arden Lacey. We have a small
farm a little beyond your cottage.”

Wondering at his change of tone and manner,
Edith still ventured to ask,—

“And do you know of any one who could bring
my furniture and things up to-morrow?”

As he sometimes did that kind of work, an
impulse to see more of her impelled him to say,—

“I suppose I can do it. I work for a living.”

“I am sure that is nothing against you,” said
Edith kindly.

“You will not live long in Pushton before

[figure description] Page 145.[end figure description]

learning that there is something against us,” was the
bitter reply. “But that need not prevent my
working for you, as I do for others. If you wish,
I will make a fire in your house early, to take off
the chill and dampness, and then go for your furniture.
The people here will send you out in a carriage.”

“I will be greatly obliged if you will do so and
let me pay you.”

“Oh certainly, I will charge the usual rates.”

“Well, then, how much for to-night?” said
Edith as she stood in the hotel door.

“To-night is another affair,” and he jumped
into his wagon and rattled away in the darkness,
his lantern looking like a “will-o'-the-wisp” that
might vanish altogether.

The landlord received Edith and her attendant
with a gruff civility, and gave her in charge of his
wife, who was a bustling red-faced woman with a
sort of motherly kindness about her.

“Why you poor child,” she said to Edith, turning
her round before the light, “you're half drowned.
You must have something hot right away, or you'll
take your death o' cold,” and with something of
her husband's faith in whiskey, she soon brought
Edith a hot punch that for a few moments seemed
to make the girl's head spin, but as it was followed
by strong tea and toast, she felt none the
worse, and danger from the chill and wet was
effectually disposed of.

As she sat sipping her tea before a red-hot

[figure description] Page 146.[end figure description]

stove, she told, in answer to the landlady's questions,
how she had got up from the boat.

“Who is this Lacey, and what is there against
them?” she asked suddenly.

The hostess went across the hall, opened the
bar-room door, and beckoned Edith to follow her.

In a chair by the stove sat a miserable bloated
wreck of a man, drivelling and mumbling in a
drunken lethargy.

“That's his father,” said the woman in a whisper,
“When he gets as bad as that he comes here
because he knows my husband is the only one as
won't turn him out of doors.”

An expression of intense disgust flitted across
Edith's face, and by the necessary law of association,
poor Arden sank in her estimation, through
the foulness of his father's vice.

“Is there anything against the son?” asked
Edith in some alarm. “I've engaged him to bring
up my furniture and trunks. I hope he's honest.”

“Oh, yes, he's honest enough, and he'd be
mighty mad if any body questioned that, but he's
kind o' soured and ugly, and don't notice nobody nor
nothing. The son and Mrs. Lacey keep to themselves,
the man does as you see, but the daughter,
who's a smart pretty girl, tries to rise above it all,
and make her way among the rest of the girls; but
she has a hard time of it, I guess, poor child.”

“I don't wonder,” said Edith, “with such a
father.”

But between the punch and fatigue, she was

[figure description] Page 147.[end figure description]

glad to take refuge from the landlady's garrulousness,
and all her troubles, in quiet sleep.

The next morning the storm was passing
away in broken masses of clouds, through which
the sun occasionally shone in April-like uncertainty.

After an early breakfast she and Hannibal were
driven in an open wagon to what was to be her future
home—the scene of unknown joys and sorrows.

The most memorable places, where the mightiest
events of the world have transpired, can never
have for us the interest of that humble spot, where
the little drama of our own life, will pass from act
to act till our exit.

Most eagerly did Edith note everything as revealed
by the broad light of day. The village,
though irregular, had a general air of thriftiness
and respectability. The street, through which
she was riding, gradually fringed off from stores and
offices, into neat homes, farm-houses, and here
and there the abodes of the poor, till at last threequarters
of a mile out, she saw a rather quaint little
cottage with a roof steeply sloping and a long
low porch.

“That's your place, Miss,” said the driver.

Edith's intent eyes took in the general effect
with something of the practiced rapidity with
which she mastered a lady's toilet on the Avenue.

In spite of her predisposition to be pleased, the
prospect was depressing. The season was late and
patches of discolored snow lay here and there, and
were piled up along the fences. The garden and

[figure description] Page 148.[end figure description]

trees had a neglected look. The vines that clambered
up the porch had been untrimmed of the
last year's growth, and sprawled in every direction.
The gate hung from one hinge, and many palings
were off the fence, and all had a sodden, dingy
appearance from the recent rains. The house itself
looked so dilapidated and small in contrast
with their stately mansion on Fifth Avenue, that
irrepressible tears came into her eyes, as she murmured,—

“It will kill mother just to see it.”

Old Hannibal said in a low, encouraging tone,
“It'll look a heap better next June, Miss Edie.”

But Edith dropped her veil to hide her feelings,
and shook her head.

They got down before the shackly gate, took
out the basket of provisions which Hannibal had
secured, paid the driver, who splashed away through
the mud as a boat might that had landed and left
two people on a desert island. They walked up
the oozy path with hearts about as chill and empty
as the unfurnished cottage before them.

But utter repulsiveness had been taken away
by a bright fire that Arden had kindled on the
hearth of the largest room; and when lighting it
he had been so romantic as to dream of the possibility
of kindling a more sacred fire in a heart that
he knew now to be as cold to him as the chilly
room in which he shivered.

Poor Arden! If he could have seen the expression
on Edith's face the night previous, as she

[figure description] Page 149.[end figure description]

looked on his besotted father, he would have
cursed what he termed the blight of his life, more
bitterly than ever.

p670-167 CHAPTER X. EDITH BECOMES A “DIVINITY. ”

[figure description] Page 150.[end figure description]

AS the wrecked would hasten up the strand
and explore eagerly in various directions in
order to gain some idea of the nature and resources
of the place where they might spend months and
even years, so Edith hurriedly passed from one
room to another, looking the house over first, as
their place of refuge and centre of life, and then
went out to a spot from whence she could obtain a
view of the garden, the little orchard, and pasture
field.

The house gave them three rooms on the first
floor, as many on the second, and a very small
attic. There was also a pretty good cellar, though
it looked to Edith a black dismal hole, full of rubbish
and old boxes.

The entrance of the house was at the commencement
of the porch, which ran along under the
windows of the large front room. Back of this
was one much smaller, and doors opened from both
the apartments named into a long and rather narrow
room running the full depth of the house, and
which had been designed as the kitchen. With
the families that would naturally occupy a house
of this character, it would have been the general

[figure description] Page 151.[end figure description]

living room. To Edith's eyes, accustomed to magnificent
spaces and lofty ceilings, they seemed
stifling digny cells. The walls were broken in
places and discolored by smoke, and with the exception
of the large room there were no places for
open fires, but only holes for stovepipes.

“How can such a place as this ever look home-like?”

The muddy garden, with its patches of snow,
its forlorn and neglected air; its spreading vines
and thickly standing stalks of last year's weeds,
was even less inviting. Edith had never seen the
country in winter, and the gardens of her experience
were full of green, beautiful life. The orchard
not only looked gaunt and bare, but very untidy.
The previous year had been most abundant in fruit,
and the trees were left to bear at will. Therefore
many of the limbs were wholly or partly broken off,
and lay scattered where they fell, or still hung by
a little of the woody fibre and bark.

Edith came back to the fire from the survey
of her future home, not only chilled in body by
the raw April winds, but more chilled in heart.
Though she had not expected summer greenness
and a sweet inviting home, yet the reality was so
dreary and forbidding from its necessary contrast
with the past, that she sank down on the floor, and
buried her head in her lap in an uncontrollable
passion of grief. Hannibal was out gathering
wood to replenish the fire, and it was a luxury to
be alone a few minutes with her sorrow.

[figure description] Page 152.[end figure description]

But soon she had the consciousness that she
was not alone, and looking up, saw Arden in the
door, with a grave troubled face. Hastily turning
from him, and wiping away her tears, she said
rather coldly:

“You should have knocked. The house is
my home, if it is empty.”

His face changed instantly to its usual hard
sullen aspect, and he said briefly:

“I did knock.”

“The landlady has told her all about us,” he
thought, “and she rejects sympathy and fellowship
from such as we are.”

But Edith's feeling had only been annoyance
that a stranger had seen her emotion, so she said
quickly, “I beg your pardon. We have had
trouble, but I don't give way in this manner often.
Have you brought a load?”

“Yes. If your servant will help me I will
bring the things in.”

As he and Hannibal carried in heavy rolls of
carpet and other articles, Edith removed as far as
possible the traces of her grief, and soon began to
scan by the light of day with some curiosity her
acquaintance of the previous evening. He was
the very opposite to herself in appearance. Her
eyes were large and dark. He had a rather small
but piercing blue eye. His locks were light and
curly, and his beard sandy. Her hair was brown
and straight. He was full six feet, while she was
only of medium height. And yet Edith was not a

[figure description] Page 153.[end figure description]

brunette, but possessed a complexion of transparent
delicacy which gave her the fragile appearance
characteristic of so many American girls. His
face was much tanned by exposure to March
winds, but his brow was as white as hers. In his
morbid tendency to shun every one, he usually
kept his eyes fixed on the ground so as to appear
not to see people, and this, with his habitual
frown, gave a rather heavy and repelling expression
to his face.

“He would make a very good representative
of the laboring classes,” she thought, “if he hadn't
so disagreeable an expression.”

It had only dimly dawned upon poor Edith as
yet, that she now belonged to the “laboring
classes.”

But her energetic nature soon reacted against
idle grieving, and her pale cheeks grew rosy, and her
face full of eager life as she assisted and directed.

“If I only had one or two women to help me
we could soon get things settled,” she said, “and
I have so little time before the rest come.”

Then she added suddenly to Arden, “Haven't
you sisters?”

“My sister does not go out to service,” said
Arden proudly.

“Neither do I,” said the shrewd Edith, “but I
would be willing to help any one in such an emergency
as I am in,” and she glanced keenly to see
the effect of this speech, while she thought, “What
airs these people put on.”

[figure description] Page 154.[end figure description]

Arden's face changed instantly. Her words
seemed like a ray of sunlight falling on a place
before shadowed, for the sullen frowning expression
passed into one of almost gentleness, as he
said,—

“That puts things in a different light. I am sure
Rose and mother both will be willing to help you
as neighbors,” and he started after another load,
going around by the way of his home and readily
obtaining from his mother and sister a promise to
assist Edith after dinner.

Edith smiled to herself and said, “I have found
the key to his surly nature already.” She had,
and to many other natures also. Kindness and
human fellowship will unbar and unbolt where all
other forces may clamor in vain.

Arden went away in a maze of new sensations.
This one woman of all the world beside his mother
and sister that he had come to know somewhat,
was to him a strange beautiful mystery. Edith
was in many respects conventional, as all society
girls are, but it was the conventionality of a sphere
of life that Arden knew only through books, and
she seemed to him utterly different from the ladies
of Pushton as he understood them from his slight
acquaintance. This difference was all in her favor,
for he cherished a bitter and unreasonable prejudice
against the young girls of his neighborhood
as vain shallow creatures who never read, and
thought of nothing save dress and beaux. His own
sister in fact had helped to confirm these impressions,

[figure description] Page 155.[end figure description]

for while he was fond of her and kind, he had no
great admiration for her, saying in his sweeping
cynicism, “She is like the rest of them.” If he
had met Edith only in the street and in conventional
ways, stylishly dressed, he would scarcely
have noticed her. But her half indignant, half pathetic
appeal to him on the dock, the lonely ride in
which she had clung to his arm for safety, her
tears, and the manner in which she had last spoken
to him, had all combined to thoroughly pierce his
shell of sullen reserve, and as we have said his
vivid imagination had taken fire.

Edith and Hannibal worked hard the rest of
the forenoon, and her experienced old attendant
was invaluable. Edith herself, though having little
practical knowledge of work of any kind, had vigor
and natural judgment, and her small white hands
accomplished more than one would suppose.

So Arden wonderingly thought on his return
with a second load, as he saw her lift and handle
things that he knew to be heavy. Her short close-fitting
working-dress outlined her fine figure to advantage,
and with complexion bright and dazzling
with exercise, she seemed to him some frail fairy-like
creature doomed by a cruel fate to unsuited
toil and sorrows. But Edith was very matter
of fact, and had never in all her life thought of
herself as a fairy.

Arden went home to dinner, and by one o'clock
Edith said to Hannibal,—

“There is one good thing about the place if no

[figure description] Page 156.[end figure description]

other. It gives one a savage appetite. What have
you got in the basket?”

“A scrumptious lunch, Miss Edie. I told de
landlady you'se used to having things mighty nice,
and den I found a hen's nest in de barn dis
mornin'.”

“I hope you didn't take the eggs, Hannibal,”
said Edith slyly.

“Sartin I did, Miss Edie, cause if I didn't de
rats would.”

“Perhaps the landlady would also if you had
shown them to her.”

“Miss Edie,” said Hannibal solemnly, “finding
a hen's nest is like finding a gold mine. It belongs
to de one dat finds it.”

“I'm afraid that wouldn't stand in law. Suppose
we were arrested for robbing hen's nests.
That wouldn't be a good introduction to our new
neighbors.”

“Now, Miss Edie,” said Hannibal, with an injured
air, “you don't spec I do a job like dat so
bungly as to get catched at it?”

“Oh, very well,” said Edith, laughing, “since
you have conformed to the morality of the age, it
must be all right, and a fresh egg would be a rich
treat now that it can be eaten with a clear conscience.
But Hannibal, I wish you would find a
gold mine out in the garden.”

“I guess you'se find dat with all your readin'
about strawberries and other yarbs.”

“I hope so,” said Edith with a sigh, “for I

[figure description] Page 157.[end figure description]

don't see how we are going to live here year after
year.”

“You'se be rich again. De men wid de long
pusses aint agoin' to look at your black eyes for
nothin',” and Hannibal chuckled knowingly.

The color faintly deepened in Edith's cheeks, but
she said with some scorn, “Men with long purses
want girls with the same. But who are these?”

Coming up the path they saw a tall middle aged
woman, and by her side, a young girl of about
eighteen who was a marked contrast in appearance.

“Dey's his mother and sister. You will drive
tings dis arternoon.”

Mrs. Lacey and her daughter entered with
some little hesitancy and embarrassment, but
Edith, with the poise of an accomplished lady, at
once put them at ease by saying,—

“It is exceedingly kind of you to come and
help, and I appreciate it very much.”

“No one should refuse to be neighborly,” said
Mrs. Lacey quietly.

“And to tell the truth I was delighted to come,”
said Rose, “the winter has been so long and dull.”

“Oh dear,” thought Edith, “if you find them
so, what will be our fate?”

Mrs. Lacey undid a bundle and took out a teapot
from which the steam yet oozed faintly, and
Rose undid another containing some warm buttered
biscuits, Mrs. Lacey saying, “I thought your lunch
might seem a little cold and cheerless, so I brought
these along.”

[figure description] Page 158.[end figure description]

“Now that is kind,” said Edith, so cordially
that their faces flushed with that natural pleasure
which we all feel when our little efforts for others
are appreciated. To them it was intensified, for
Edith was a grand city lady, and the inroads that
she made on the biscuits and the zest with which
she sipped her tea showed that her words had the
ring of truth.

“Do sit down and eat, while things are nice
and warm,” she said to Hannibal. “There's no use
of our putting on airs now,” but Hannibal insisted
on waiting upon her as when butler in the great
dining room on the Avenue, and when she was
through, carried the things off to the empty kitchen,
and took his “bite” on a packing box, prefacing
it as his nearest approach to grace by an indignant
grunt and profession of his faith.

“Dis ole niggah eat before her? Not much!
She's quality now as much as eber.”

But the world and Hannibal were at variance
on account of a sum of subtraction which had taken
away from Edith's name the dollar symbol.

Edith set to work, with her helpers now increased
to three, with renewed zest, and from time
to time stole glances at the mother and daughter
to see what the natives were like.

They were very different in appearance: the
mother looking prematurely old, and she also
seemed bent and stooping under the heavy burdens
of life. Her dark blue eyes had a weary
pathetic look, as if some sorrow was ever before

[figure description] Page 159.[end figure description]

them. Her cheek bones were prominent and
cheeks sunken, and the thin hair, brushed plainly
under her cap, was streaked with grey. Her quietness
and reserve seemed more the result of a
crushed, sad heart than from natural lack of feeling.

The daughter was in the freshest bloom of
youth, and was not unlike the flower she was
named after, when, as a dewy bud, it begins to develop
under the morning sun. Though not a
beautiful girl, there was a prettiness, a rural breeziness
about her, that would cause any one to look
twice as she passed. The wind ever seemed to be
in her light flaxen curls, and her full rounded
figure suggested superabundant vitality, an impression
increased by her quick, restless motions.
Her complexion reminded you of strawberries and
cream, and her blue eyes had a slightly bold and
defiant expression. She felt the blight of her
father's course also, but it acted differently on her
temperament. Instead of timidly shrinking from
the world like her mother, or sullenly ignoring it
like her brother, she was for going into society and
compelling it to recognize and respect her.

“I have done nothing wrong,” she said; “I
insist on people treating me in view of what I am
myself;” and in the sanguine spirit of youth she
hoped to carry her point. Therefore her manner
was a little self-asserting, which would not have
been the case had she not felt that she had prejudice
to overcome. Unlike her brother, she cared

[figure description] Page 160.[end figure description]

little for books, and had no ideal world, but lived
vividly in her immediate surroundings. The older
she grew, the duller and more monotonous did her
home life seem. She had little sympathy from her
brother; her mother was a sad, silent woman, and
her father a daily source of trouble and shame.
Her education was very imperfect, and she had no
resource in this, while her daily work seemed a
tiresome round that brought little return. Her
mother attended to the more important duties and
gave to her the lighter tasks, which left her considerable
leisure. She had no work that stimulated
her, no training that made her thorough in
any department of labor, however humble. From
a dressmaker friend in the village she obtained a
little fancy work and sewing, and the proceeds resulting,
and all her brother gave her, she spent in
dress. The sums were small enough in all truth,
and yet with the marvellous ingenuity that some
girls, fond of dress, acquire, she made a very little
go a great way, and she would often appear in toilets
that were quite effective. With those of her
own age and sex in her narrow little circle, she
was not a special favorite, but she was with the
young men, for she was bright, chatty, and had the
knack of putting awkward fellows at ease. She
kept her little parlor as pretty and inviting as her
limited materials permitted, and with a growing
imperiousness gave the rest of the family to understand,
and especially her father, that this parlor
was her domain, and that she would permit no

[figure description] Page 161.[end figure description]

intrusion. Clerks from the village and farmers' sons
would occasionally drop in of an evening, though
they preferred taking her out to ride where they
could see her away from her home. But the more
respectable young men, with anxious mothers and
sisters, were rather shy of poor Rose, and none
seemed to care to go beyond a mild flirtation with
a girl whose father was on a “rampage” most of
the time, as they expressed it. On one occasion,
when she had two young friends spending the
evening, her father came home reckless and wild
with drink, and his language toward the young
men was so shocking, and his manner in general
so outrageous, that they were glad to get away.
If Arden had not come home and collared his
father, carrying him off to his room by his almost
irresistible strength, Rose's parlor might have become
a sad wreck, literally as well as socially. As
it was it seemed deserted for a long time, and she
felt very bitter about it. In her fearless frankness,
her determination not to succumb to her sinister
surroundings, and perhaps from the lack of a sensitive
delicacy, she reproached the same young men
when she met them for staying away, saying, “It's
a shame to treat a girl as if she were to blame for
what she can't help.”

But Rose's ambition had put on a phase against
which circumstances were too strong, and she was
made to feel in her struggle to gain a social footing
that her father's leprosy had tainted her, and
her brother's “ugly, sullen disposition,” as it was

[figure description] Page 162.[end figure description]

termed, was a hindrance also. She had an increasing
desire to get away among strangers, where she
could make her own way on her own merits, and
the city of New York seemed to her a great Eldorado,
where she might find her true career. Some
very showily dressed, knowing-looking girls, that
she had met at a picnic, had increased this longing
for the city. Her mother and brother thought
her restless, vain, and giddy, but she was as good
and honest a girl at heart as breathed, only her
vigorous nature chafed at repression, wanted outlets,
and could not settle down for life to cook,
wash and sew for a drunken father, a taciturn
brother, or even a mother whose companionship
was depressing, much as she was loved.

Rose welcomed the request of her brother, as
helping Edith would cause a ripple in the current
of her dull life, and give her a chance of seeing one
of the grand city ladies, without the dimness and
vagueness of distance, and she scanned Edith with
a stronger curiosity than was bestowed upon herself.
The result was rather depressing to poor
Rose, for, having studied with her quick nice eye,
Edith's exquisite manner and movements, she sighed
to herself,—

“I'm not such a lady as this girl, and perhaps
never can be.”

While Edith was very kind and cordial to the
Laceys, she felt, and made them feel, that there
was a vast social distance between them. Even
practical Edith had not realized their poverty yet,

[figure description] Page 163.[end figure description]

and it would take her some time to doff the manner
of the condescending lady.

They accomplished a good deal that afternoon,
but it takes much time and labor to make even a
small empty house look home-like. Edith had taken
the smallest room up stairs, and by evening it was
quite in order for her occupation, she meaning to
take Zell in with her. Work had progressed in
the largest upper room, which she designed for
her mother and Laura. Mrs. Lacey and Hannibal
were in the kitchen getting that arranged, they
very rightly concluding that this was the main
spring in the mechanism of material living, and
should be put in readiness at once. Arden had
been instructed to purchase and bring from the
village a cooking stove, and Hannibal's face shone
with something like delight, as by five o'clock
he had a wood fire crackling underneath a pot of
water, feeling that the terra firma of comfort was
at last reached. He could now soak in his favorite
beverage of tea, and make Miss Edie quite “pertlike”
too when she was tired.

Mrs. Lacey worked silently. Rose was inclined
to be chatty and draw Edith out in regard to city
life, who responded good naturedly as long as Rose
confined herself to generalities, but was inclined to
be reticent on their own affairs.

Before dark the Laceys prepared to return, the
mother saying gravely,—

“You may feel it too lonely to stay by yourself.
Our house is not very inviting, and my husband's

[figure description] Page 164.[end figure description]

manner is not always what I could wish, but such as
it is, you will be welcome in it till the rest of your
family comes.”

“You are very kind to a stranger,” said Edith,
heartily, “but I am not a bit afraid to stay here
since I have Hannibal as protector,” and Hannibal,
elated by this compliment, looked as if he might be
a very dragon to all intruders. “Moreover,” continued
Edith, “you have helped me so splendidly
that I shall be very comfortable and they will be
here to-morrow night.”

Mrs. Lacey bowed silently, but Rose said in
her sprightly voice, from the doorway:

“I'll come and help you all day to-morrow.”

Arden was still to bring one more load. The
setting sun, with the consistency of an April
day, had passed into a dark cloud which soon came
driving on with wind and rain, and the thick drops
dashed against the windows as if thrown from a
vast syringe, while the gutter gurgled and groaned
with the sudden rush of water.

“Oh dear, how dismal!” sighed Edith looking
out in the gathering darkness. Then she saw that
the loaded wagon had just stopped at the gate, and
in dim outline, Arden sat in the storm as if he had
been a post. “It's too bad,” she said impatiently,
“my things will all get wet,” after a moment she
added: “Why don't he come in? Don't he know
enough to come in out of the rain?”

“Well, Miss Edie, he's kind o' quar,” said
Hannibal, “I'se jes done satisfied he's quar.”

[figure description] Page 165.[end figure description]

But the shower ceased suddenly, and Arden
dismounted, secured his horses, and soon appeared
at the door with a piece of furniture.

“Why it's not wet,” said Edith with surprise.

“I saw appearances of rain, and so borrowed a
piece of canvas at the dock.”

“But you didn't put the canvas over yourself,”
said Edith, looking at his dripping form, grateful
enough now to bestow a little kindness without
the idea of policy. “As soon as you have brought
in the load I insist on your staying and taking a
cup of tea.”

He gave his shoulders an indifferent shrug saying,
“a little cold water is the least of my troubles.”
Then he added, stealing a timid glance at
her, “but you are very kind. People seldom think
of their teamsters.”

“The more shame to them then,” said Edith.
“I at least can feel a kindness if I can't make
much return. It was very good of you to protect
my furniture and I appreciate your care. Besides
your mother and sister have been helping me all
the afternoon, and I am oppressed by my obligations
to you all.”

“I am sorry you feel that way,” he said briefly,
and vanished in the darkness after another load.

Soon all was safely housed, and he said, about
to depart, “There is one more load; I will bring
that to-morrow.”

From the fire she called, “Stay, your tea will
be ready in a moment.”

[figure description] Page 166.[end figure description]

“Do not put yourself to that trouble,” he
answered, at the same time longing to stay.
“Mother will have supper ready for me.” He was
so diffident that he needed much encouragement,
and moreover, he was morbidly sensitive.

But as she turned, she caught his wistful glance,
and thought to herself, “Poor fellow, he's cold
and hungry.” With feminine shrewdness she said,
“Now Mr. Lacey, I shall feel slighted if you don't
take a cup of my tea, for see, I have made it myself.
It's the one thing about housekeeping that
I understand. Your mother brought me a nice
cup at noon, and I enjoyed it very much. I am
going to pay that debt now to you.”

“Well—if you really wish it”—said Arden
hesitatingly, with another of his bright looks, and
color even deeper than the ruddy firelight warranted.

“My conscience!” thought Edith, “how suddenly
his face changes. He is `quar' as Hannibal
says.” But she settled matters by saying, “I
shall feel hurt if you don't. You must let there
be at least some show of kindness on my part, as
well as yours and your friends.”

There came in again a delicate touch of that
human fellowship which he had never found in the
world, and had seemingly repelled, but which his
soul was thirsting for with an intensity never so
realized before, and this faintest semblance of
human companionship and sympathy, seemed inexpressibly
sweet to his sore and lonely heart.

[figure description] Page 167.[end figure description]

He took the cup from her as if it had been a
sacrament, and was about to drink it standing, but
she placed a chair at the table and said,—

“No, sir, you must sit down there in comfort
by the fire.”

He did so as if in a dream. The whole scene
was taking a powerful hold on his imagination.

“Hannibal,” she cried, raising her voice in a
soft, birdlike call, and from the dim kitchen where
certain spluttering sounds had preceded him, Hannibal
appeared with a heaping plate of buttered
toast.

“With your permission,” she said, “I will sit
down and take a cup of tea with you, in a neighborly
way, for I wish to ask you some more questions,
and tea, you know, is a great incentive to
talk,” and she took a chair on the opposite side of
the table, while Hannibal stood a little in the back-ground
to wait on them with all the formality of
olden time.

The wood fire blazed and crackled, and threw
its flickering light over Edith's fair face, and intensified
her beauty, as her features gleamed out, or
faded, as the flames rose and fell. Hannibal stood
motionless behind her chair as if he might have
been an Ethiopian slave attendant on a young sultana.
To Arden's aroused imagination, it seemed
like one of the scenes of his fancy, and he was
almost afraid to move or speak, lest all should vanish,
and he find himself plodding along the dark
muddy road.

[figure description] Page 168.[end figure description]

“What is the matter?” she asked curiously.
“Why don't you drink your tea?”

“It all seems as strange and beautiful as a fairy
tale,” he said in a low tone, looking at her earnestly.

Her hearty laugh and matter-of-fact tone dispelled
his illusion, as she said,—

“It's all dreadfully real to me. I feel as if I had
done more work to-day than in all my life before,
and we have only made a beginning. I want to ask
you about the place and the garden, and how to
get things done,” and she plied him well with the
most practical questions.

Sometimes he answered a little incoherently for
through them all he saw a face full of strange weird
beauty, as the firelight flickered upon it, and gave a
star-like lustre to the large dark eyes.

Hannibal in the background, grinned and
chuckled to himself, as he saw Arden's dazed wondering
admiration, saying to himself, “Dey ain't
used to such young ladies as mine, up here—it kind
o' dazzles 'em.”

At last as if breaking away from the influence of
a spell, Arden suddenly rose, turning upon Edith
one of those warm bright looks, that he sometimes
gave his mother, and said, “You have been very
kind, good-night,” and was gone in a moment. But
the night was luminous about him. Along the
muddy road, in the old shackly barn as he cared
for his horses, in his poor little room at home, to
which he soon retired, he only saw the fair face of

[figure description] Page 169.[end figure description]

Edith, with the firelight playing upon it, with the
vividness of one looking directly upon an exquisite
cabinet picture, and before that picture his heart
was inclined to bow, in the most devoted homage.

Edith's only comment was, “He is `quar” Hannibal,
as you said.”

Wearied with the long day's work, she soon
found welcome and dreamless rest.

p670-187 CHAPTER XI. MRS. ALLEN'S POLICY.

[figure description] Page 170.[end figure description]

TRUE to her promise, Rose helped Edith all the
next day, and while she worked, the frank-hearted
girl poured out the story of her troubles,
and Edith came to have a greater respect and sympathy
for her “kind and humble neighbors” as she
characterized them in her own mind. Still with
her familiarity with the farming class, kept up
since her summer in the country as a child, she
made a broad distinction between them and the
mere laborer. Moreover the practical girl wished
to conciliate the Laceys and every one else she
could, for she had a presentiment that there were
many trials before them, and that they would need
friends. She said in answer to Rose,—

“I never before realized that the world was so
full of trouble. We have seen plenty of late.”

“One can bear any kind of trouble better than
a daily shame,” said Rose bitterly.

For some unexplained reason Edith thought
of Zell and Mr. Van Dam with a sudden pang.

Arden brought his last load and eagerly watched
for her appearance, fearing that there might be
some great falling off in the vision of the past
evening.

[figure description] Page 171.[end figure description]

But to his eyes the girl he was learning to glorify,
presented as fair an exterior in the garish day,
and the reality of her beauty became a fixed fact
in his consciousness, and his fancy had already begun
to endow her with angelic qualities. With
all her vanity, even sorrowful Edith would have
laughed heartily at his ideal of her. It was one of
the hardest ordeals of his life to take the money
she paid him, and she saw and wondered at his
repugnance.

“You will never get rich,” she said, “if you are
so prodigal in work, and spare in your charges.”

“I would rather not take anything,” he said
dubiously holding the money, as if it were a coal
of fire, between his thumb and finger.

“Then I must find some one who will do business
on business principles,” she said coldly. “If
the fellow has any sentimental nonsense about
him, I'll soon cure that,” she thought.

Arden colored, thrust his money carelessly into
his pocket as if it were of no account, and said
briefly, “Good morning.”

But when alone he put the money in the innermost
part of his pocketbook, and when his father
asked him for some of it, he sternly answered,—

“No sir, not a cent.” Nor did he spend it
himself; why he kept it, could scarcely have been
explained. He was simply acting according to the
impulses of a morbid romantic nature that had been
suddenly and deeply impressed. The mother's
quick eye detected a change in him and she asked,—

[figure description] Page 172.[end figure description]

“What do you think of our new neighbor?”

“Mother,” said he fervently, “she is an angel.”

“My poor boy,” said she anxiously, “take care.
Don't let your fancy run away with you.”

“Oh,” said he with assumed indifference, “one
can have a decided opinion of a good thing as well
as a bad thing, without making a fool of oneself.”

But the mother saw with a half jealous pang
that her son's heart was awaking to a new and
stronger love than her own.

Mrs. Allen with Zell and Laura were to come
by the boat that evening, and Edith's heart yearned
after them as her kindred. Now that she had had
a little experience of loneliness and isolation, she
deeply regretted her former harshness and impatience,
saying to herself, “It is harder for them
than for me. They don't like the country, and
don't care anything about a garden,” and she purposed
to be very gentle and long suffering.

If good resolutions were only accomplished certainties
as soon as made, how different life would be!

Arden had ordered a close carriage for her to
go down in and meet them, and had agreed to
bring up their trunks and boxes in his large wagon.

The boat fortunately landed under the clear
starlight on this occasion, and feeble Mrs. Allen
was soon seated comfortably in the carriage. But
her every breath was a sigh, and she regarded the
martyrs as a favored class in comparison with herself.
Laura still had her look of dreary apathy;
but Zell's face wore an expression of interest in the

[figure description] Page 173.[end figure description]

new scenes and experiences, and she plied Edith
with many questions as she rode homeward. Mrs.
Allen brought a servant up with her who was condemned
to ride with Arden, much to their mutual
disgust.

“Oh dear,” sighed Edith as they rode along.
“It's a dreadful come down for us all and I don't
know how you are going to stand it, mother.”

Mrs. Allen's answer was a long unspeakable sigh.

When she reached the house and entered the
room where supper was awaiting them, she glanced
around as a prisoner might on being thrust into a
cell in which years must be spent, and then she
dropped into a chair sobbing.

“How different—how different from all my
past!” and for a few moments they all cried together.
As with Edith at first, so now again the
new home was baptized with tears as if dedicated
to sorrow and trouble.

Edith then led them up stairs to take off their
things, and Mrs. Allen had a fresh outburst of
sorrow as she recognized the contrast between this
bare little chamber and her luxurious sleeping
apartment and dressing-room in the city. Laura
soon regained her air of weary indifference, but
Zell, hastily throwing off her wraps, came down to
explore, and question Hannibal.

“Bress you, chile, it does my eyes good to see
you all, ony you'se musn't take on as if we'se all
dyin' with slow 'sumption.”

Zell put her hand on the black's shoulder and

[figure description] Page 174.[end figure description]

looked up into his face with a wonderfully gentle
and grateful expression, saying,—

“You are as good as gold, Hannibal. I am so
glad you stayed with us, for you seem like one of
the best bits of our old home. Never mind, I'll
have a grander house again soon and you shall
have a stiffer necktie and higher collar than ever.”

“Bress you,” said Hannibal with moist eyes,
“it does my ole black heart good to hear you.
But Miss Zell, I say,” he added in a loud whisper,
“when is it gwine to be?”

“Oh,” said poor Zell, asked for definiteness,
“Some day,” and she passed into the large room
where Arden was just setting down a trunk.

“Don't leave it there in the middle of the
floor,” she said sharply. “Take it up stairs.”

Arden suddenly straightened himself as if he
had received a slight cut from a whip, and turned
his sullen face full on Zell, and it seemed very
repulsive to the imperious little lady.

“Don't you hear me?” she asked sharply.

“Perhaps it would be well for you not to ask
favors of your neighbors in that tone,” he replied
curtly.

Edith, coming down, saw the situation and said
with oil in her voice, “You must excuse my sister,
Mr. Lacey. She does not know who you are.
Hannibal will assist with the trunks if you will be
so kind as to take them up stairs.”

“She is different from the rest,” thought Arden,
readily complying with her request.

[figure description] Page 175.[end figure description]

But Zell said as she turned away, loud enough
for him to hear: “What airs these common country
people do put on!” Zell might have loaded
Arden's wagon with gold, and he would not have
lifted a finger for her after that. If he had known
that Edith's kindness had been half policy, his face
would have been more sullen and forbidding than
ever. But she dwelt glorified and apart in his
consciousness, and if she could only maintain that
ideal supremacy, he would be her slave. But in
his morbid sensitiveness she would have to be very
careful. The practical girl at this time did not
dream of his fanciful imagining about her, but she
was bent on securing friends and helpers, however
humble might be their station, and she had shrewdly
and quickly learned how to manage Arden.

The next day was spent by the family in getting
settled in their narrow quarters, and a dreary
time they had of it. It was a long rainy day, and
the roof leaked badly, and every element of discomfort
seemed let loose upon them.

Her mother had a nervous headache, and one
of her worst touches of dyspepsia, and Zell and
Laura were so weary and out of sorts that little
could be accomplished. Between the tears and
sighs within, and the dripping rain without, Edith
looked back on the first two days when the Laceys
were helping her, as bright in contrast. But Mrs.
Allen was already worrying over the Laceys, connection
with their settlement in the neighborhood.

“We will be associated with these low people,”

[figure description] Page 176.[end figure description]

said she to Edith querulously. “Your first acquaintances
in a new place, are of great importance.”

Edith was not ready for any such association,
and she felt that there was force in her mother's
words. She had thought of the Laceys chiefly in
the light of their usefulness.

She was glad when the long miserable day came
to a close, and welcomed the bright sunniness of
the following morning, hoping it would dispel some
of the gloom that seemed gathering round them
more thickly than ever.

After discussing a rather meagre breakfast, for
Hannibal's materials were running low, Edith pushed
back her chair, and said,—

“I move we hold a council of war, and look the
situation in the face. We are here, and we've got
to live here. Now what shall we do? I suppose
we must go to work at something that will bring in
money.”

“Go to work, and for money!” said Mrs. Allen
sharply from her cushioned arm-chair. “I hope
we haven't ceased to be ladies.”

“But, mother, we can't live forever on the title.
The `butchers, bakers, and candlestick-makers,
won't supply us long on that ground. What
did the lawyer, who settled father's estate, say before
you left?”

“Well, replied Mrs. Allen vaguely, he said he
had placed to our credit in — Bank, what there was
left, and he gave me a check-book and talked economy
as men always do. Your poor father, after

[figure description] Page 177.[end figure description]

losing hundreds at the club, would talk economy
the next morning, in the most edifying way. He
also said that there was some of that hateful stock
remaining that ruined your father, but that it was
of uncertain value, and he could not tell how much
it would realize, but he would sell it and place the
proceeds also to our credit. It will amount to considerable,
I think, and it may rise.”

“Now girls,” continued Mrs. Allen, settling herself
back among the cushions, and resting the forefinger
of her right hand impressively on the palm
of the left, “this is the proper line of policy for us
to pursue. I hope in all these strange changes, I
am still mistress of my own family. You certainly
don't think that I expect to stay in this miserable
hovel all my life. If you two girls, Laura and
Edith, had made the matches you might, we would
still be living on the Avenue. But I certainly cannot
now permit you to spoil every chance of getting
out of this slough. You may not be able to
do as well as you could have done, but if you are
once called working girls, what can you do?

In the first place we must go into the best society
of this town. Our position warrants it of course.
Therefore, for heaven's sake don't let it get abroad
that we are associating with these drunken Laceys.”
(Mrs. Allen in her rapid generalization
might give the impression that the entire family
were habitually “on the rampage,” and Edith remembered
with misgivings that she had drank tea
with Arden Lacey on that very spot.) “

[figure description] Page 178.[end figure description]

Moreover,” continued Mrs. Allen, “there is a large summer
hotel near here and `my friends' have promised
to come and see me this summer. We must
try to present an air of pretty rural elegance, and
your young gentlemen friends from the city will
soon be dropping in. Then Gus Elliot and Mr.
Van Dam continue very kind and cordial, I am sure.
Zell, though so young, may soon become engaged
to Mr. Van Dam, and it's said, he is very rich—”

“I can't get up much faith in these two men,”
interrupted Edith, “and as for Gus, he can't support
himself.”

“I hope you don't put Gus Elliot and my
friend on the same level,” said Zell indignantly.

“I don't know where to put `your friend,'”
said Edith curtly. “Why don't he speak out?
Why don't he do something open, manly, and decided?
It seems as if he can see nothing and
think of nothing but your pretty face. If he would
become engaged to you'and frankly take the place of
lover and brother, he might be of the greatest help
to us. But what has he done since father's death
but pet and flatter you like an infatuated old—.”

“Hush!” cried Zell, blazing with anger and
starting up, “no one shall speak so of him. What
more has Gus Elliot done?”

“He has been useful as my errand boy,” said
Edith contemptuously, “and that's all he amounts
to as far as I'm concerned; I am disgusted with
men. Who in all our trouble has been noble and
knightly toward us?—”

[figure description] Page 179.[end figure description]

“Be still, children, stop your quarreling,” broke
in Mrs. Allen. “You have got to take the world
as you find it. Men of our day don't act like
knights any more than they dress like them. The
point I wish you to understand is that we must
keep every hold we have on our old life and society.
Next winter some of my friends will invite you to
visit them in the city and then who knows what
may happen” — and she nodded significantly.
Then she added, with a regretful sigh, “What
chances you girls have had. There's Cheatem,
Argent, Livingston, Pamby, and last and best,
Goulden, who might have been secured if Laura
had been more prompt, and a host of others.
Edith had better have taken Mr. Fox even, than
have had all this happen.”

An expression of disgust came out on Edith's
face, and she said, “It seems to me that I would
rather go to work than take any of them.”

“You don't know anything about work,” said
Mrs. Allen. “It's a great deal easier to marry a
fortune than to make one, and a woman can't make
a fortune. Marrying well is now the only chance
you girls have, and it's my only chance to live
again as a lady ought, and I want to see to it that
nothing is done to spoil these chances.”

Laura listened with a dull assent, conscious
that she would marry any man now who would
give her an establishment and enable her to sweep
past Mr. Goulden in elegant scorn. Zell listened,
purposing to marry Mr. Van Dam though Edith's

[figure description] Page 180.[end figure description]

words raised a vague uneasiness in her mind, and
she longed to see him again, meaning to make him
more definite. Edith listened with a cooling adherence
to this familiar faith and doctrine of the
world in which the mother had brought up her
children. She had a glimmering perception that
the course indicated was not sound in general, nor
best for them in particular.

“And now,” continued Mrs. Allen, becoming
more definite, “we must have a new roof put on
the house right away, or we will all be drowned
out, and the house must be painted, a door-bell put
in, the fences and things generally put in order.
We must fit this room up as a parlor, and we can
use the little room there as a dining and sitting
room. Laura and I will take the chamber over
the kitchen, and the one over this can be kept as a
spare room, so that if any of our city friends come
out to see us, they can stay all night.”

“O mother, the proposed arrangements will
make us all uncomfortable, you especially,” remonstrated
Edith.

“No matter, I've set my heart on our getting
back to the old life, and we must not stop at
trifles.”

“But are you sure we have money to spare for
all these improvements,” continued Edith anxiously.

“Oh yes, I think so,” said Mrs. Allen indefinitely.
“And as your poor father used to say, to
spend money is often the best way to get money.”

[figure description] Page 181.[end figure description]

“Well mother,” said Edith dubiously, “I suppose
you know best, but it don't look very clear to
me. There seems nothing definite or certain that
we can depend on.”

“Perhaps not, to-day, but leave all to me.
Some one will turn up, who will fill your eye and
fill your hand, and what more could you ask in a
husband? But you must not be too fastidious.
These difficult girls are sure to take up with
`crooked sticks' at last.” (Mrs. Allen's views as to
straight ones were not original.) “Leave all to
me. I will tell you when the right ones turn up.”

p670-199 CHAPTER XII. WAITING FOR SOME ONE TO TURN UP.

[figure description] Page 182.[end figure description]

AND so the girls were condemned to idleness
and ennui, and they all came to suffer from
these as from a dull toothache, especially Laura and
Zell. Edith had great hopes from her garden, and
saw the snow finally disappear and the mud dry up,
as the imprisoned inmates of the ark might have
watched the abatement of the waters.

The afternoon of the council wherein Mrs. Allen
had marked out the family policy, Edith and
Zell walked to the village, and going to one of the
leading stores, made arrangements with the proprietor
to have his wagon stop daily at their house
for orders. They also asked him to send them a
carpenter. They made these requests with the
manner of olden time, when money seemed to flow
from a full fountain, and the man was very polite,
thinking he had gained profitable customers.

While they were absent, Rose stepped in to
see if she could be of any further help. Mrs. Allen
surmised who she was and resolved to snub
her effectually. To Rose's question as to their
need of assistance, she replied frigidly “that they
had two servants now, and did not wish to employ
any more help.”

[figure description] Page 183.[end figure description]

Rose colored, bit her lip, then said with an
open smile,—

“You are under mistake. I am Miss Lacey,
and helped your daughter the first two days after
she came.”

“Oh, ah, Miss Lacey. I beg your pardon,”
said Mrs. Allen, still more distantly, “my daughter
Edith is out. Did she not pay you?”

Rose's face became scarlet, and rising hastily
she said, “Either I misunderstand, or am greatly
misunderstood. Good afternoon.”

Mrs. Allen slightly inclined her head, while
Laura took no notice of her at all. When she was
gone, Mrs. Allen said complaisantly, “I think we
will see no more of that bold faced fly-away creature.
The idea of her thinking that we would live
on terms of social equality with them.”

Laura's only reply was a yawn, but at last she
got up, put on her hat and shawl and went out to
walk a little on the porch. Arden, who was returning
home with his team, stopped a moment
to inquire if there was anything further that he
could do. He hoped the lady he saw on the porch
was Edith, and the wish to see her again led him
to think of any excuse that would take him to the
house.

As Laura turned to come toward him, he surmised
that it was another sister, and was disappointed
and embarrassed, but it was too late to
turn back, though she scarcely appeared to heed
him.

[figure description] Page 184.[end figure description]

“I called to ask Miss Edith if I could do anything
more that would be of help to her,” he said
diffidently.

Giving him a cold careless glance, Laura said,
“I believe my sister wants some work done
around the house before long. I will tell her that
you were here looking for employment, and I have
no doubt she will send for you if she needs your services,”
and Laura turned her back on him and
continued her walk.

He whirled about on his heel as if she had
struck him, and when he got home his mother
noted that his face looked more black and sullen
than she had ever seen it before. Rose was open
and strong in her indignation, saying:

“Fine neighbors you have introduced us to!
Nice return they make for all our kindness; not
that I begrudge it. But I hate to see people get
all out of you they can, and then about the same
as slap your face and show you the door.”

“Did you see Miss Edith?” asked Arden
quickly.

“No, I saw the old lady and a proud pale-faced
girl who took no more notice of me than if I had
come for cold victuals.”

“I suppose they have heard,” said Arden
dejectedly.

“They have heard nothing against me, nor
you, nor mother,” said Rose hotly. “If I ever
see that Miss Edith again, I will give her a piece
of my mind.”

[figure description] Page 185.[end figure description]

“You will please do nothing of the kind,” said
her brother. “She has not turned her back on
you. Wait till she does. We are the last people
to condemn one for the sake of another.”

“I guess they are all alike; but as you say,
it's fair to give her a chance,” answered Rose
quietly.

With his habit of reticence he said nothing
about his own experience. But it was a cruel
shock that those connected with the one who was
becoming the inspiration of his dreams, should be
so contemptible as he regarded them, and as we
are all apt to regard those who treat us with contempt.
His faith in her was also shaken, and he
resolved that she must “send for him,” feeling
her need, before he would go near her again.
But after all, his ardent fancy began to paint her
more gentle and human on the back-ground of
narrow pride as shown by the others. He longed
for some absolute proof that she was what he believed
her, but was too proud to put himself in
the way of receiving it.

When Edith heard how the Lacey acquaintance
had been nipped in the bud, she said with
honest shame, “It's too bad, after all their kindness.”

“It was the only thing to be done,” said Mrs.
Allen. “It is better for such people to talk against
you, than to be claiming you as neighbors, and all
that. It would give us a very bad flavor with the
best people of the town.”

[figure description] Page 186.[end figure description]

“I only wish then,” said Edith, “that I had never
let them do anything for me. I shall hate to meet
them again,” and she sedulously avoided them.

The next day a carpenter appeared after breakfast,
and seemed the most affably suggestive man
in the world. “Of course he would carry out Mrs.
Allen's wishes immediately,” and he showed her
several other improvements that might be made at
the same time, and which would cost but little
more while they were about it.

“But how much will it cost?” asked Edith
directly.

“Oh well,” said the man vaguely, “it's hard to
estimate on this kind of jobbing work.” Then
turning to Mrs. Allen, he said with great deference,
“I assure you, madam, I will do it well, and be
just as reasonable as possible.”

“Certainly, certainly,” said Mrs. Allen majestically,
pleased with the deference, “I suppose that
is all we ought to ask.”

“I think there ought to be something more
definite as to price and time of completing the work,”
still urged Edith.

“My dear,” said Mrs. Allen with depressing
dignity, “pray leave these matters to me. It is not
expected that a young lady like yourself should
understand them.”

Mrs. Allen had become impressed with the idea
that if they ever reached the heaven of Fifth Avenue
again, she must take the helm and steer their stormtossed
bark. As we have seen before, she was

[figure description] Page 187.[end figure description]

capable of no small degree of exertion when the
motive was to attain position and supremacy in the
fashionable world. She was great in one direction
only—the one to which she had been educated, and
to which she devoted her energies.

The man chuckled as he went away. “Lucky
I had to deal with the old fool rather than that
sharp black-eyed girl. By jove! but they are a
handsome lot though; only they look like the
houses we build nowadays—more paint and finish
than solid timber.”

The next day there were three or four mechanics
at work and the job was secured. The day following
there were only two, and the next day none.
Edith sent word by the grocer, asking what was
the matter. The following day one man appeared,
and on being questioned, said “the boss was very
busy, lots of jobs on hand.”

“Why did he take our work then?” asked
Edith indignantly.

“Oh, as to that, the boss takes every job he
can get,” said the man with a grin.

“Well, tell the boss I want to see him,” she
replied sharply.

The man chuckled and went on with his work
in a snail-like manner, as if that were the only job
“the boss” had, or was like to have, and he must
make the most of it.

The house was hers, and Edith felt anxious
about it, and indeed it seemed that they were
going to great expense with no certain return in

[figure description] Page 188.[end figure description]

view. That night one corner of the roof was left
open and rain came in and did considerable damage.

Loud and bitter were the complaints of the
family, but Edith said little. She was too incensed
to talk about it. The next day it threatened rain
and no mechanics appeared. Donning her waterproof
and thick shoes, she was soon in the village,
and by inquiry, found the man's shop. He saw
her coming and dodged out.

“Very well, I will wait,” said Edith, sitting
down on a box.

The man finding she would not go away, soon
after bustled in, and was about to be very polite,
but Edith interrupted him with a question that
was like a blow between the eyes,—

“What do you mean, sir, by breaking your
word?”

“Great press of work just now, Miss Allen—”

“That is not the question,” interrupted Edith,
“you said you would do our work immediately,
you took it with that distinct understanding, and because
you have been false to your word, we have
suffered much loss. You knew the roof was not all
covered. You knew it, when it rained last night,
but the rain did not fall on you, so I suppose you
did not care. But is a person who breaks his word
in that style a gentleman? Is he even a man,
when he breaks it to a lady, who has no brother or
husband to protect her interests?”

The man became very red. He was

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accustomed, as his workman said, to secure every job he
could, then divide and scatter his men so as to
keep everything going, but at a slow aggravating
rate, that wore out every one's patience, save his
own. He was used to the annual faultfinding and
grumbling of the busy season, and bore it as he
would a northeast storm—a disagreeable necessity,
and quite prided himself on the good-natured equanimity
with which he could stand his customers'
scoldings; and the latter had become so accustomed
to being put off that they endured it also as they
would a northeaster, and went into improvements
and building, as they might visit a dentist.

But when Edith turned her scornful face, and
large indignant eyes full upon him, and asked practically,
what he meant by lying to her, and said
that to treat a woman so proved him less than a
man, he saw his habit of “putting off,” in a new
light. At first he was a little inclined to bluster,
but Edith interrupted him sharply,—

“I wish to know in a word what you will do.
If that roof is not completed and made tight to-day,
I will put the matter in a lawyer's hands and
make you pay damages.”

This would place the man in an unpleasant
business aspect, so he said gruffly,—

“I will send some men right up.”

“And I will take no action till I see whether
they come,” said Edith significantly.

They came, and in a few days the work was all
finished. But a bill double the amount they

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expected came promptly also. They paid no attention
to it.

In the meantime Edith had asked the village
merchant, who supplied them with provisions, and
who had also become a sort of agent for them, to
send a man to plough the garden. The next day an
old slouchy fellow with two melancholy shacks of
horses that might well tremble at the caw of a crow,
was scratching the garden with a worn out plough
when she came down to breakfast. He had already
made havoc in the flower borders, and Edith
was disgusted with the outward aspect of himself
and team to begin with. But when in her morning
slippers she had picked her way daintily to
where she could look in the shallow furrows, her
vexation knew no bounds. She had been reading
about gardening of late, and she had carefully noted
how all the writers insisted on deep ploughing
and the thorough loosening of the soil. This man's
furrows did not average six inches, and with a
frowning brow, and dress gathered up, she stood
perched on a little stone like a bird, that had just
alighted with ruffled plumage, while Zell was on
the porch laughing at her. The man with his
shackly team soon came round again opposite her,
with slow automatic motion as if the whole thing
was one crazy piece of mechanism. The man's
head was down and he paid no heed to Edith.
The rim of his old hat flapped over his face, the
horses jogged on with drooping head and ears, as
if unable to hold them up, and all seemed going

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down, save the plough. This light affair skimmed
and scratched along the ground like the sharpened
sticks of oriental tillage.

“Stop!” cried Edith sharply.

“Whoa!” shouted the man, and he turned toward
Edith a pair of watery eyes, and a face that
suggested nothing but snuff.

“Who sent you here?” asked Edith in the
same tone.

“Mr. Hard, mum.” (Mr. Hard was the merchant
who was acting as their agent.)

“Am I to pay you for this work, or Mr. Hard?”

“I guess you be, mum.”

“Who's to be suited with this work, you, Mr.
Hard or I?”

“I haint thought nothin' about that.”

“Do you mean to say that it makes no difference
whether I am suited or not?”

“What yer got agin the work?”

“I want my garden ploughed, not scratched
You don't plough half deep enough, and you are
injuring the shrubs, and flowers in the borders.”

“I guess I know more about ploughin' than you
do. Gee up thar!” to the horses, that seemed inclined
to be Edith's allies by not moving.

“Stop!” she cried, “I will not pay you a cent
for this work, and wish you to leave this garden
instantly.”

“Mr. Hard told me to plough this garding and
I'm agoin' to plough it. I never seed the day's work
I didn't git paid for yit, and you'll pay for this. Git

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up thar, you cussed old critters,” and the man struck
the horses sharply with a lump of dirt; away went
the crazy rattling old automation round and round
the garden in spite of all she could do.

She was half beside herself with vexation which
was increased by Zell's convulsed laughter on the
porch, but she stormed at the old ploughman as
vainly as a robin remonstrating with a windmill.

“Mr. Hard told me to plough it, and I'm
a-goin' to plough it,” said the human phase of the
mechanism as it passed again where Edith stood
without stopping.

Utterly baffled, Edith rushed into the house
and hastily swallowed a cup of coffee. She was too
angry to eat a mouthful.

Zell followed with her hand upon her side that
was aching from laughter, and as soon as she found
her voice said,—

“It was one of the most touchingly beautiful
rural scenes I ever looked upon. I never had so
close and inspiring a view of one of the “sons of
the soil” before.”

“Yes,” snapped Edith, “he is literally a clod.”

“I can readily see,” continued Zell, in a mock
sentimental tone, “how noble and refining a sphere
the “garding” (as your friend, out there, terms it)
must be, even for women. In the first place there
are your associates in labor—”

“Stop!” interrupted Edith sharply. “You
all leave everything for me to do, but I won't be
teased and tormented in the bargain.”

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