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THE

Pf^Pf^mP mh PAf^PJF^

A CANADIAN LOVE STORY.

JAMES THOMAS JONES.

" The theme is old, even as the flowers are old

That sweetly showed
Their silver bosses and bright budding gold

From Eden's sod,
And still peep forth through grass and garden mould

As fresh from God.

Worldling, deride it not, for it is well

Even for thee
That in this world some heavenly things do dwell.

All may not see

Day's regal beams, but even the blind can tell

How sweet they be."

—Merrick.

GUELPH :
JOS. H. HACKING, PRINTER, St. GEORGE'S SQUARE.

1878.

14U9(

«*!*

j.iL >i.jw " I'.' "f '-j^j?5»" « if^iw^^^-"^

•REFACE.

In accordance with the desire of the author, the control
of tlie sale of this book and of the publication of any further
editions of it, is vested in the printer, J. H. Hackinc, Guelph,
Ontario, to whom all orders and communications respecting it
may be addressed.

les, thrown
reader may
1 in mould-
1 not have
1 by other

If my readers take an interest in " The Cromaboo Mail Car-
rier," they shall renew his acquaintance in a new occupation— as
"The Gibbeline Flower Seller." j. t. J.

Guelph, Ontario, Sept., 1878.

*f.

PREFACE.

In presenting to the public a few pen and ink sketches, thrown
'together in the form of a story, I can only hope that the reader may
have as much pleasure in perusing them as the writer had in mould-
ing them into shape. If this wish is realized, they will not have
been published in vain, and will speedily be followed by other
sketches, as a sequel to those now before the public.

If my readers take an interest in " The Cromaboo Mail Car-
rier," they shall renew his acquaintance in a new occupati' n — as
"The Gibbeline Flower Seller." J. T. J.

GuELPH, Ontario, Sept., 1878.

THE CROMABOO MAIL CARRIER

CHAPTER THE FIRST.

"This boy is forest -born."

—As You Like It.

" Firm his step as one who knows
He is free where'ere he goes ;
And withal as light of spring
As the arrow from its string.

—Lord Haughton.

lI'ROMABOO is the most blackguard village in Canada, and is
settled by the lowest class of Irish, Highland Scotch and Dutch.
It consists of seven taverns, six churches, and about one hundred
shabby frame houses built on little gravelly mounds. Fights are
frequent, drunkenness flourishes, vice abounds; more tobacco is
smoked tliere than in any village of the same size in the Dominion ;
swearing is so common that it passes unnoticed, and there is an
illegitimate child in nearly every house — in some two, in others three,
in one six, — and the people think it no sin.

Yet, even in this Sodom, there was at the time of which I write, a
Lot. He was a Welshman by birth, a gentleman by station, an
honest man, a learned man, a Christian ; his name was Owen
Llewellyn. He was the village postmaster and the proprietor of the
Cromaboo mail-stage. A man of long pedigree, and great class-
prejudice, yet a kindly man, large-hearted, clear-headed, fearless as a
lion and obstinate as a jackass. He had lived in Cromaboo for six
years before he became the proprietor of the mail-stage ; he came as
engineer for the new Government Gravel Road, and had not served
the contractors a month before they quarrelled with him. The
Board met in Toronto and their engineer met them by appointment,
and they told him his sins. He took too much pains, they said ; he
did his work too well ; they feared to lose by the contract ; they only

THE CROMABOO MAIL CARRIER.

wanted a road that would last twenty years or so, he was making
one that would last a hundred ; they could not legally break their
contract with him, but if he persisted in going on as he had begun
they would never employ him again.

" If you were so foolish," said he, " as to take the contract too
low, and are so dishonest as to wish me to slight my work that you
may gain by it, that is your affair ; I, at least, am an honest man,
and to my own Master I stand or fall; I shall do my duty whether
you employ me again or not."

He kept his word, and they kept theirs ; the main line through the
Township of Cromaboo is the best gravel road in Canada, and the
engineer was never employed again ; but a friend in the Government
bestowed the Cromaboo post office upon him, and he bought a piece
of ground on the outskirts of the village, and built a house and
lived in it in spite of the wishes of the inhabitants. Finding the
profits of the post office too small to live upon, he started a small
general store and throve in it a little to his own astonishment, for
the people of Cromaboo disliked him and he disliked them, but with
this difference, they respected him, whereas he despised them utter-
ly. There was no quarter between them, they annoyed him contin-
ually and he annoyed them ; he told them their sins when they came
for their newspapers and tobacco, and they in return gave him im-
pudencft and oaths ; he hated their ways and they hated his ; they
threatened to destroy his property, but feared to carry out the threat ;
he threatened them with the law and the judgment of God if they
didn't mend their ways.

Mr. Llewellyn was a married man, and his wife was insane ; she
hadn't one bee in her bonnet, but a whole swarm ; a hundred vague
suspicions and foolish fancies haunted her daily, and though not
dangerous, she was very troublesome. Many a man would have
placed her in a lunatic asylum, but Mr. Llewellyn never shirked a
duty ; he had taken her for better or worse till death parted them,
and though it was a bitter bargain, he stood to it like an honest
man, and never once ever thought of getting rid of her.

He had a niece who kept house for him and helped take care of
his wife — a dark, bright, plain little girl, brown as a Brazilian nut,
quick as a flash of lightning. As obstinate and fearless as her uncle,
she was more courteous, and therefore more popular, especially with

THE CkOMABOU MAIL CARRIER 6

the men. (iood temper is infectious, and innate refinement will tell
upon the most uncouth nature. A woman can lay down the law
with less offence than a man, and make harsh truths more palat-
able ; her smiles soften her words, and occasionally contradict them.
Mr. Llewellyn's custom was partly due to his niece, partly to the fact
that he gave tweh'e months' credit.

Ah ! times are changed. Now the great Credit Valley Railway
passes through Cromaboo, but at the jHiriod of which I write such
a thing was not dreamt of ; a rough uncovered waggon ran be-
tween that village and the great town of Gibbeline, and was called
the Cromaboo Royal Mail Stage. Even that was an improvement
upon the old way of carrying the mail on horseback ; a poor post
boy had to be frozen to death on a bitter winter day before the
waggon was instituted, so slow is progress even in Canada. The
first contract had just ended at the time when my story commences
and a new contract was offered by (government to the lowest tender.
Two Cromaboo tavern keepers competed for the honor of carrying
the mail, but Mr. Llewellyn put in a lower tender and the office was
bestowed upon him. Great was the anger of his rivals, bitter the
discontent of Cromaboo at his appointment, many the threats and
ill wishes expressed.

He bought a large open three-seated spring carriage that would
accommodate nine passengers comfortably, with a good rack behind
for baggage. A large, light, comfortable sleigh, good bufialo-robes,
good oil skins, two strong piebald ponies, a double reflecting lamp,
and a musical tin horn, completed the new arrangements.

The first driver hired by Mr. Llewellyn was in the interest of the
enemy ; he fed the horses on peas to injure them, and pocketed his
master's money ; he was dismissed at the end of a month. The
second also in the pay of the enemy, was dismissed at the end of a
fortnight, having lamed one of the ponies, kissed all the female pass-
engers, and smoked in their faces to disgust them from riding in the
new coach ; and finally asked Miss Llewellyn to marry him. Driver
the third ran away on the third day, after overturning the Royal
Mail and breaking the pole and the lamp. The fourth mail carrier
was Robert Hardacre Smith, the hero of my story.

There were two honest men in Cromaboo, Mr. Llewellyn was one,
and his neighbour John Smith was the other. John Smith was the

THE CROMABOO MAIL CARRIER.

&ther of my hero. He was an Irishman, and could neither read nor
write ; he did not know the first rule of arithmetic ; he had never
heard of grammar or seen a map ; he sometimes drank more than
was good for him, and could swear as well or ill as any man in the
village ; but he never told a lie, and was thoroughly reliable ; he did
a good day's work for his wages, and always kept his word. He
admired his aristocratic neighbor for his pluck, he respected him for
his learning, he admired him for his honesty ; and Mr. Llewellyn in
return had a kinder feeling for John Smith than any of his neigh-
bours. So when he strolled into the shop, pipe in mouth, on the
evening of the disaster to the Cromaboo mail coach, and said —

" Sure ye might take Robbie on thrial for a month ; he's honest
anyway, the crather, and won't injure your horses and pocket the
fares," — Mr. Llewellyn promptly accepted the offer, and closed the
bargain by saying, " Send him in, that I may see him."

" Why havn't ye seen him a thousand times ?" said John Smith.
" Every day in the year ye see him when he's at home."

" I have never seen him in my life," returned Mr. Llewellyn, with
perfect truth, " for I have never looked at him. I never do look at
man, woman or child in Cromaboo, if I can avoid it."

" Well, it's you that's the quare man entirely, Misther Llewellyn,
never to look at Robbie," said John Smith ; ** it's your loss, I'll make
boold to say, as ye'U think when ye see him.' And away he went to
fetch his son, and in a few minutes they entered together.

A greater contrast could hardly be ; the father tall, raw-boned,
coarse featured, wiry, dark ; the son a small slight lad of nineteen,
light of foot and graceful. He was encased in a very shabby old
military great-coat, once grey, now nearly white, one scarlet shoulder-
knot gone and a red woolen comforter tied round the waist by way
of sash ; very bright, bonnie and picturesque he looked — the pleas-
ure of his new appointment shining in his face. A very intelligent
face J I wish I could bring it before you, my reader, as it came be-
fore Mr. Llewellyn. I will try. Brown eyes, fair closely-cut hair,
inclined to curl, short but regular features, white even teeth, a smile
that is very sunshine ; all surmounted by a ragged hat with half the
rim t,one. His new master looked at him keenly, critically.

" Can you read and write ?" he asked.

" Yes, sir," said the lad, in a remarkably clear, pleasant voice.

THE CROMABOO MAIL CARRIER 7

" Sure it's he that's the scholar," chimed in his father, proudly, in
a rough, coarse bass, that was like the hoarse croak of a crow after
the s'veet pipe of a canary.

" Write your name," said Mr. Llewellyn, putting a sheet of piper
on the counter.

He wrote in a bold clear hand, *' Robert Hardacre Smith."

" I dislike double names," said the old gentleman, " but it's sensi-
ble in this case, as Smith is so common, to distinguish you froQi
other Smiths."

" I never saw a Smith like him" said the father.

" How far have you got in arithmetic ?" went on Mr. Llewellyn.
Robert coloured ; it cost him a great effort to say " no furder than
long division, sir."

" Can you speak the truth ? "

" Yes, sir." The colour deepened.

" Is the world round, square or oblong ? "

" I wouldn't presume to say," with a gleam of white teeth and a
slight laugh. " I lave that to the decision of scholars like yourself,
sir."

Mr. Llewellyn returned the smile, and at that moment his niece
entered the shop with a bright " good evening " to both the Smiths.
Each returned it civilly, and the father said, " Where's your man-
ners. Bob? Sure ye might doff ye're hat to the young leedy."

For the first time in his life, Robert uncovered his head in token
of respect. He removed the ragged hat quietly and without embar-
rassment, and stood with it in his hand. The smile died on Mr.
Llewellyn's lips ; he looked at the lad again and again, with less of
liking at each glance ; it was not the kind of pate he expected to
find under that ragged beaver. It was a peculiarly shaped head, not
unlike that of Sir Walter Scott, and when uncovered it made the
boy's face look graver, more manly, less pleasing ; there was power
in it of some kind, that struck Mr. Llewellyn unpleasantly, and gave
him a new feeliiig ; and Robert's absolute calmness, under his new
master's gaze, was an offence to the aristocrat. He resumed his
catechism.

" I know your father is an honest man," he said, " but you — ."
He paused. The lad flushed, and lifting his eyes, looked steadily
and gravely into his face. ,

nniwaiiH

THE CROMABOO MAIL CARRIER.

"If you doubt me," he said, "you had better not employ "me."

The tone was not impudent, but quiet and resolute, and Mr.
Llewellyn did not dream of the eflfort it cost poor Robert to renounce
the occupation he looked forward to with pride and pleasure.

" You are not like your father," he said, doubtfully, " not in the
least."

" Faith, sir, he's a dale bether looking," said John Smith, " it's
like his mother he is, and ye needn't be quarreling with the crather
for that, not that I blame ye for being suspicious, seeing how ye've
been trated, but ye may take my word he's honest, and I wouldn't
lie to ye. And for ye, Bob," laying a heavy hand on his son's shoul-
der, " don't be throwing away a good chance for a bit o' pride ; if
the masther doubts ye, just live it down, and prove ye're bether than
he thinks."

Robert looked up in his father's face with a smile, half fond, half
humorous ; " Better than I look !" he said.

CHAPTER THE SECOND.

•I I

;' ►

"Courage ! — there is none so poor,
None of all who wrongs endure,
None so humble, none so weak, •

, But may flush his father's cheek

And his maiden's, dear and true,
With the deids that he may do.
Be his days as dark as night
He may make himself a light."

— Barry Cornwall.

^O Robert was engaged, and no Chancellor ever mounted the
woolsack with a greater feeling of pride and power than Robert
Hardacre Smith felt in rnounting the front seat of the Cromaboo
mail stage, the day after his promotion. Never did Prime Minister
assume his new position with a stronger sense of the responsibility
and importance of it ; never did nun or priest take solemn vows or
holy order with a firmer or more honest intention of doing their
duty.

The lau was a quick observer, and especially quick where women
were concerned, for they were interesting to him, and he was indif-

THE CROMABOO MAIL CARRIER.

ferent to nothing regarding them. He was a great admirer of beauty,
and a better judge of it than he himself knew ; no little grace, no
point of attraction was lost on him> no trifling charm ever made in
vain. All women were ladies to Robert ; he studied them, came to
quick and correct conclusions about them, and was civil or saucy as
he thought it pleased them best. Sometimes he affected to sympa-
thise with them, sometimes he did it sincerely, sometimes he laughed
at them, but always in his sleeve ; — whatever he did or left undone,
they liked him, one and all. •

He soon saw that swearing was displeasing to some of his fair pas-
sengers ; he had heard so many oaths himself that no curse however
dreadful shocked him, or gave him the least offence ; but if it of-
fended the women it would injure the stage and detract from its re-
spectability, therefore he would have no swearing in his coach. Hav-
ing made this resolution, he proceeded at once to put it into execu-
tion.

" I am not a-going to have no swearing in this yer coach, Joe
Shenker," said this newly-fledged despot to an old Dutchman, who,
because he had no match to light his pipe, had relieved himself by a
royal blast of oaths. The outraged Dutchman replied by a still more
ofiensive volley. He was seated beside the driver, who by a sudden
and dexterous shove, threw him off his balance and out of the sleigh.
Touching his horses with the whip, he called out " Good day to ye,
then ; I charge nothing* for the mile's ride," and left him sprawling
in the snow. By a kind of retribution, called poetical justice, Joe
Shenker had to walk four miles facing an east wind before he got a
chance ride.

" You have lost seventy cents by that, Bob," said a gentleman oc-
cupying the back seat.

" And a deal o' bad company, Mr. Meldrum," was the reply.

" So bad that I don't mind paying you half the money for dispos-
ing of him," pursued the gentleman.

" No sir, thank you all the same," replied our Cromaboo hero,
strengthened in his resolution to have no more swearing.

The next case was a more difficult one ; the offender being a well-
to-do Cromaboo farmer who made use of an expletive that brought a
flush of shame to the cheeks of a stout young girl who sat between
himself and the driver. He was a giant in comparison to Robert,

THE CROMABOO MAIL CARRIER.

who suddenly drew up, and asked him civilly to get out and raise the
check rein. The man saw through the manoeuvre,

'• You think to serve me as you did Joe Shenker, Master Bob,"
said he, " but — ." Here followed language too offensive to repeat.

" Am I the master of this yer coach or you, Mr. Bonnycastle ? "
asked Robert, with dignity.

** You think you are, I suppose. Bob Smith," with another offensive
expression.

" I am and will be," said the despised Bob, quietly and sturdily.

More abuse on the part of Mr. Bonnycastle, which so frightened
the girl between them that she exclaimed, " Oh ! do let me out."

Robert dismounted at once and helped her down, calling out as he
did so to the driver of a load of hay behind them, " Will ye kindly
give this lady a lift ? " The sleigh stopping, he ran back to carry her
bag and help her mount the new conveyance ; in the meantime Mr.
Bonnycastle drove on, and our hero had half a mile of hard running
before he could overtake the stage. The rest of the passengers jerred
at him — they were all men — and enjoyed the fun of conquering " lit-
tle Bob." He resumed the reins and said not a word, but as soon
as they reached (iibbeline he hailed the first policeman he saw, and
gave Mr. Bonnycastle in charge, summoning his fellow-passengers as
most unwilling witnesses against him. Poor Mr. Bonnycastle was
like a great blue bottle fly caught by a tiny little spider ; he made
a great deal of noise, he swore great oaths, but alas ! they only told
against him, he was fined five dollars and costs. When Robert re-
turned to the stage office, he found the girl waiting to pay her fare.

" Not a cent, Miss," said Robert *' I'll pay your fare to the master
out of my own wages, and I'm very sorry it's been so unpleasant for
you. She was only a servant maid, but his knight-errantry was not
lost upon her — he had made a friend for life.

He was never again troubled with swearers, but now came a battle
with the cord-wood carriers. A load of cord-wood is an awkward
thit^ to turn out on a narrow road, and in vain Robert blew his
horn, and called out civilly for half the track ; they never budged
an inch ; they were insolent or wilfully deaf. Three times was the
Royal Mail upret in the soft snow without any damage to anything
but the tempers of the passengers. Robert took his resolution. On
his next journey to Gibbeline he overtook seven teams of wood, all

THE CROMABOO MAIL CARRIER

in a row ; he blew his horn and called out for half the road. No
notice was taken ; he attempted to pass the first team and upset.
He had but one passenger, a stout burly man who helped him right
the sleigh ; they crept on perilously near the ditch till they came to
the last team, here they upset again. They picked themselves up
as before and drove on. Three of the men ware known to Robert —
one was his own elder brother, John James William Smith ; he noted
the faces of the others.

" I should like to thrash every wood fellow between this and
Cromaboo, and if I was as big as you I wou/d do it," said the indig-
nant mail carrier to his passenger.

" No you wouldn't, Robbie," returned the other, good naturedly,
" you wouldn't have the wi// then ; it's the little fellows that are so
hot."

As soon as Robert reached the town he went to the market with a
couple of policemen and waited for the offending wood carriers. He
gave them all in charge, and all were fined and cautioned against a
second offense.

" What do ye mane, ye unbrotherly little divole, ye ? " asked John
James William Smith, angrily, as he paid his portion of the fine.

" I mane to have half the road as long as I'm driver of the Crom-
aboo mail," was the reply.

On his return trip, with the same passenger and two women, he
overtook the seven empty wood-racks on their way home ; in vain
he blew his horn ; they kept him behind them for an hour walking
their horses on purpose to irritate him. At last after a war of words,
one of the wood-carriers sprang off his sleigh, and pulling Robert
from his seat, struck him with his whip. The blow «as returned, but
our hero was by far the weakest of the two, and would have got the
worst of it had not John James William joined in the dance, forget-
ting his recent injuries and proving the truth of the old proverb
" blood is thicker than water."

The Smiths came off victorious and shook hands on the victory^
but the mail was behind time that night and the driver had a black
eye ; however, when Mr. Llewellyn heard of his adventures he com-
mended him, and his young mistress treated him like a hero as he
was, and dressed his wounds with her own dumpy aristocratic little
fingers.

THE CROMABOO MAIL CARRIER.

I :»

The next day he overtook seventeen wood teams in a string ; one
only turned out for him — his brother, who happened to be tail of
the party. The rest kept on their way, and he was forced to dawdle
behind them for three hours, as the roads were far too bad to risk
passing without half the track, especially as his passengers were all
women. The Cromaboo mail was too late for the train, and the
Gibbeline postmaster — who was a bit of a martinet — threatened to
report Mr. Llewellyn. Robert took the sixteen offending wood-men
before the Police Magistrate. They were fined two dollars each and
solemnly warned not to offend again. Robert asked if he might be
allowed to say a word to them before they were dismissed, and per-
mission being given, thus spoke Robert Hardacre Smith :

" I am heart-sorry, my men, to take money out of your pockets,
and I know some of you need it bad enough ; but I'm not strong
enough to thrash ye all round, and so subdue ye, so I'm forced to
thry the law. I have a right to half the road as ye all know, and
understand me once for all, / will have it."

No one who heard him could doubt that he meant what he said ;
there is power and dignity in truth, even though he who speaks it
happens to have a ragged coat and a black eye ; the wood carriers
having had a taste of the law, tacitly admitted they were conquered,
for ever after they sulkily gave way for the Royal Mail.

Time would fail me to tell of all the victories achieved in the
first month by our Cromaboo hero, how he charmed the women by
singing hymns or comic songs, as best suited their feielings, and put
out the pipes of the men, his own included — and I am sorry to say
he loved tobacco — as .soon as a petticoat took possession of the
stage. At first lie had everything his own way, but as time passed,
a reverse of fortune came that nearly ended fatally. Robert went to
the blacksmith's one Saturday night at e'en to get a shoe re-set ; op-
posite the blacksmith's stood the most roaring disorderly tavern in
Cromaboo, and as usual a crowd of half tipsey fellows had gathered
about the door, and they called out to Robert to come and have a
drink. He had had several squabbles with more than half of them
during the last thirty days, and he thought one glass with them
might mend the breach, and place them on good terms again ; he
did not wish to make enemies for his coach and it's master, and as
yet he knew not the evil of half measures ; he crossed to the Royal

THE CROMABOO MAIL CARRIER.

Anglo-American and went in to be treated. He stayed no longer
than fifteen minutes, and drank only one glass, but it made him feel
deadly sick, and when out in the air again he feit worse instead of
better. He thought he should be all right when once in the sleigh
and on his way home, but as soon as he mounted his seat he lost
consciousness, and the horses took him home without his knowledge,
and stopping suddenly he fell out face downwards before the shop
door.

Mr. Llewellyn, who was looking out for him, pronounced hira
drunk, and said he would dismiss him, touching the prostrate figure
slightly with a scornful foot ; but his niece knelt down and turned
up the boy's face.

" Not drunk," she said, " but dying ! " and springing up, she ran
for his father and dispatched him for the doctor, and returning quick-
ly with his mother, helped carry the lad into the house. The doctor
came, applied the stomach pump, and pronounced it a serious case
of poisoning. He stayed with Robert till the daylight dawned, and
so did the lad's mother and Miss Llewellyn ; it was a sad and
anxious night.

As for John Smith and his son John James William, they went
together to the Ro/al Anglo-Am'?rican and sobered the jolly inmates
by telling them that if Robert died they should all be hanged. All
denied having done anything to injure the lad, though some of thera
looked guilty enough, and they separated and sneaked away when
the Smiths were gone, and two or three of r.hem were not seen in
Cromaboo for many days after.

In a fortnight Robert was in his seat again, very pale indeed, but
more determined than ever to do his duty, and neither take or give
quarter ; prouder of his post than ever, and happier in it, for had
not his master shaken hands with him, and said, ** I have perfect
confidence in you, Robert ? " had not his young mistress made gruel
and sago for him with her own hands, and shed tears when she
thought he was dying ? had not Dr. Meldrum thought it worth his
while to sit up with him ? had he not fresh proof that his father and
mother loved him ?

Mr. Llewellyn had driven his own coach during the lad's illness,
and had received good evidence of his servant's honesty, as well as
his tact and popularity with the women, and an obstinate belief in

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him took possession of his prejudiced Welsh head, a kindly warmth
for the boy kindled up in his old Welsh heart.

It leaked out in time that the dose Robert had swallowed had
been mixed for him by a disreputable veterinary surgeon, who had
unintentionally made it too strong, being more accustomed to com-
pounding doses for horses than men. His object was to make Rob-
ert appear drunk and have him dismissed.

So ends the chapter. Do not be discouraged, my reader, and
give up the story. I promise you a ion bouche for desert, though
you have begun your repast with simple bacon and beans. I prom-
ise to introduce you to the most fashionable people. I promise you
romance, adventures, love-making, in galore, and finally orange blos-
soms and wedding favours ; kisses — blessings — only have patience.

li
r

CHAPTER THE THIRD.

" The sweetest lady that ever I looked upon."

— Shakspkake.

NEW influence was brought to bear upon Robert, the strongest
and most subtle that ever touched his life. This is how it hap-
pened. I have said Robert was fond of the ladies, but most of all
did he love them between the ages of five and seven. He was in-
timate with many little girls between Gibbeline and Cromaboo ; they
felt at home with him, and told him most important secrets about pet
cats, puppies and dolls ; they gave him their confidence and their
kisses, and he gave them sweetmeats and kisses in return, and occa-
sionally free rides for half a mile or so, on condition they should sit
on his knee. The tavern-keeper in Gibberline, where the stage put
up, had a little daughter who watched eagerly for Robert, and never
let him leave without a flirtation and a romp. One stormy March
day, as he was donning his great coat for a start, this little lassie
came running in, and challenged him to a game of romps, by ex-
claiming, " You don't dare to take me to Cromaboo, you don't ! "

" Don't I, though ? " retorted Robert, " I'll button ye into my
coat this very minute," and he chased her with the skirts extended in
each hand and a great deal of noise, of course.

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i'.im

" I want the Cromaboo stage," said a clear, sweet voice, near him
as with flushed face and coat-tails spread wide he pretended to try
and corner the little runaway.

" I'm not the stage, but I'm the driver," said Robert, rather flip,
pantly, before he saw the speaker. A well-dressed lady stood before
him ; two soft, grave eyes met his and regarded him doubtfully ; he
was not shy by nature, but he dropped his coat-tails and blushed
violently.

** Beg pardon, ma'am," he said, "are you going by the coach ?"

" Yes. Will you call at the Royal for me, if you please ? You
will ask for Miss Paxton."

" Yes, ma'am."

" You won't forget ?" looking as if she thought he would. Indeed
he was not likely to forget what he thought the prettiest face he had
ever seen, but he only said '* no ma'am."

He called for her, ensconced her in the best seat, and took furtive
glances at her as he went along. Her face was shaded, not con-
cealed, by a large grey cloud ; he thought it good to look at ; he had
never seen a face that interested him as this did. She only rode four
miles, and then got out at a large plaster house that stood on a high
bank above the road. She had a great many parcels, and Robert
carried them in for her. She thanked him, and no expression of
courtesy ever touched him so much, though it meant absolutely no-
thing, for courtesy was a habit with her, and in this case she thought
it his duty and felt no gratitude. He charged her twenty cents, and
she paid without haggling, to his surprise, for his fair customers
generally badgered him to take off a cent or two.

She asked if it would be too much trouble for him to blow his
horn when he passed, as she might often take advantage of the stage.
He promised to do it, with pleasure, and he did blow most faithfully
the next time and many times, before the lady came again. He
wished she would come out, and never passed the place without
thinking of her, but this interest was all on one side, for our hero
had left no distinct impression on the mind of Miss Paxton.

Her sister asked her during the evening what sort of a person the
new driver was, and she answered wearily, " a civil lad enough, and
I think nice looking, but really I hardly know. He was playing very
noisily with a child when I first saw him, and I thought for a moment

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i :

that he was a tipJty fellow, like the last, but that was a mistake."

At la8t Miss Paxton gladdened Robert's eyes by appearing, and
made three trips in succession to the town, going and returning with
a very anxious face, he had but a vague idea of the driver, and
took more interest in ihe spotted ponies than she did in him. He
observed her keenly and thought about her constantly ; he though t
her face looked almost hopeless sometimes, but would brighten up
and become smiling and gracious when any one spoke to her ; he
felt sure she was good and kind, but he soon found out that her
civility, so far as he was concerned, was nothing but civility ; she did
not know his name or care to know it, she scarcely saw him, never
looked at him when she put the money into his little rough fist with
her slender white fingers; she was not as other women to him, and
he felt her indifference with a little pain. Once he mentioned her to
Miss Llewellyn — he had described her at full length to his mother
the first time he saw her, and mother-like she had taken a great in-
terest in her.

" Has she been on the stage ? " said Miss Llewellyn ; " I wonder
they don't keep horses. Do you know, uncle, I should so much
like to visit Miss Paxton, only I couldn't call without being asked ;
it would seem like intrusion."

" I dare say she would be glad to see you, my dear," remarked
the old gentleman.

" She is always very polite when I meet her, but they are so rich,
an4 we — ."

" We" said her uncle, taking up the unfinished sentence, " are
people of good education, descended from a line of princes ; I
should think Miss Paxton might be proud of your acquaintance ; for
her father, though a man of good birth, was only a London trades-
man. When I meet her again, my dear, I will see if I cannot bring
about an intimacy ; she is a very pretty, well-informed girl, and I
often have a chat with her."

This conversation took place at supper, and Robert, who was
seated at the foot of the table, took in every word, and wondered in
his heart if Miss Paxton would be glad of his little mistress' ac-
quaintance ; hoped she would, as then perhaps she might come to
Cromaboo.

The mail was crowded the next morning, and Miss Paxton came

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running out as it passed ; there was only one place available, the
front seat, between Robert and another man. Her face expressed
both hesitation and repugnance as she got in, a fact not lost upon
our hero, who stepped over the dash-board and sat upon it with his
legs outside.

•♦ That is a very uncomfortable seat, I am afraid," said the lady,
in a faint protest against a proceeding that made her much more
comfortable.

" Yes, ma'am, but the day is mild and four miles isn't far."

The response struck her with its novelty, and though she said no
more at the time, she felt the lad's gallantry and thanked him when
she got out.

Mr. Llewellyn was with them, and sat beside her when they re-
turned, and had a long chat with her. He got upon his favourite
hobby, the siege of Babylon, and the lady felt very much bored, but
kept up an appearance of interest with a power of endurance that
belongs to no living thing under heaven but a polite woman. Rob-
ert thought she looked '* tired like," and guessed truly that in spite
of her civility she was glad to say good bye and get away.

She was his sole passenger on his next trip, and, in his opinion,
looked upon this occasion as beautiful as an angel, and when he put
her down, by her own request, at a private house in a side street,
his pride in her was such that he proclaimed her arrival by a royal
blast of his horn that brought all the people in the neighborhood to
their windows. Miss Paxton felt annoyed at being announced like a
mail-bag.

" It's a very good thing, no doubt, to be able to blow one's own
trumpet," she said, " but there is a time for all things ; you have
made every one look at us."

'* Let 'em look," replied Robert, " it's a beautiful sight and costs
'em nothing."

She did not understand him in the least ; she thought he meant
that his coach was " a beautiful sight," and was glad to shut the
house door between herself and the staring faces.

Miss Paxton was far from being a happy woman ; few people had
more petty cares and small harrassing troubles than she; yet she ought
to have been happier, for she hated nothing that God had made ;
she was not wicked at heart or in life : she tried to do her duty.

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I -i

That afternoon she was crossing the railroad, wearily, with a large
paper parcel which looked heavier than it was ; she was far more
tired in jr//W/ than body, for to-day had been a day of failures ; her
face looked almost hopeless as she turned into the railway track and
met Robert face to face. She did not see him, but he saw her, and
like Sir Walter Raleigh, he felt there was nothing to fear in a " pret-
ty-faced lady ; " so he called out cheerily, *' You're a long way from
where I set you down. Miss Paxton."

She started ; the familiarity of this address annoyed her exceed-
ingly, even though she had very little of what Mr. Thackeray calls
" the snob " in her composition ; she wouldn't take a liberty herself,
and she didn't like others to presume with her. She stopped per-
force, for the way was narrow, and looking the Cromaboo mail car-
rier steadily in the face, really saw him for the hrst time. He had
thrown off his ra|\{ged, but picturesque fop coat, and was arrayed in
dirty mole-skin ; he had a large bag on his back ; his brimless hat
was set on the back of his head ; his brown eyes met hers depreca-
tingly, modestly, the scarlet lips parted, the white teeth gleamed in
half a smile; he guessed her thought, as well as if she had spoken it.

" Won't you let me carry your parcel ? " he said ; " it's more for
the like o' me to carry than you." Her heart smote her with a
sense of shame ; she felt much as she would if she had tried to drive
away a poor dog, and it had suddenly wagged its tail and nibbed
against her.

" No, thank you," she said ; " I think you are burdened enough."

" Oh ! but do, now," urged Robert, " I am used to burdens."
His voice had a plaintive sound ; he held out his hand for the par-
cel, and in a minute was marching off with it under his arm.

" Poor boy," she thought, with a sigh, " you are not the only one
used to burdens."

He had gained a great victory and was not entirely unconscious
of it, he had killed her indifference forever. She took an interest
in him from that time, and observed him as keenly as he did her,
but being more conventional and polished, and withal a woman,
this watching did not appear palpably, and Robert was quite uncon-
scious of it, though he felt that her indifference had vanished, that
she greeted him with a bright smile of recognition, and soon learned
his name ; never before had it sounded so sweetly in his ears ; it

P i.Y

THE CROMABOO MAIL CARRIER.

gave him an odd kind of thrill whenever she uttered it

There was a little up-stairs parlour in the (ireat Western Hotel
where she took up her abode sometimes, and from the window
watched the unconscious Robert bring out his horses and fasten them
to the sleigh. A desire took possession of her to see how he be-
haved at table, and accordingly she condescended to dine at the
Western. She sat near him, though at another table, and observed
him and he i -ver saw her, never thought of seeing her in that place ;
it was much ai> if Queen Victoria had slipped in and taken a snack
at some obscure London chop-house, where her faithful subjects
would never look for her. She lay perdu within three feet of the
unsuspicious stage driver, who was quite "at his ease in his inn,"
ana ate his dinner heartily. Scrawling in his little account book
while he waited for the pudding, and smiling over it well pleased for
ic was what he called " a big day," much luggage and many pas-
sengers. When he rose, the waiting maid said, rather pertly, as she
took his money, " You owe me a cent, master Bob."

" There it is, my dear," said he, " and a kiss for interest," suiting
the action to the word, and slipping away swiftly, having dexterously
avoided a box on the ear.

From the little parlour above, Miss Paxton watched them settle
their matters, as he brought out his horses. The damsel attacked
him with a broom, but he dodged with great agility, keeping the
horses between himself and his fair enemy, running under their bel-
lies, and peeping over their backs, his white teeth gleaming, his curls
blowing, for she had knocked off his hat in the first sally. The lady
was too far off to hear a word, but she saw that he succeeded in
mollifying the offended maiden, for the affair ended in the transfer of
a flower from his button-hole to the bosom of his fair adversary, and
she actually let him pin it in.

It was quite a different Robert whom Miss Paxton addressed ten
minutes later in the high street, and asked if he had room for her.
Of course he had, and very respectful he was as he helped her in.

'* I hope you didn't walk, Miss Paxton," he said, courteously ; " I
blowed and blowed, as I passed your house this morning."

On his next trip. Miss Llewellyn and Miss Paxton were both in the
stage, and had a thousand civil things to say to each other, greatly to
the edification of the driver ; and the next time he passed, Miss

THE CROMABOO MAIL CARRIER.

Paxton ran out with a basket of beautiful spring flowers to be taken
to Miss Llewellyn, with her compliments ; and after that, Robert
was the bearer of several little three-cornered notes, and finally a fat
kitten in a commodious basket ; and when things had got thus far.
Miss Llewellyn called on Miss Paxton, and spent a couple of hours,
while the stage was in Gibbeline, and the ladies kissed when they
parted. o

But it is time that I described Miss Paxton — " Miss Mary," as she
was called in the neighbourhood. We have nothing to do with her
at her best in her rosy brilliant youth, but we wish the reader to see
her as Robert saw her, on a sweet May morning ; her two-and-thir-
tieth birthday, though he knew it not. The gate swings open, and
the lady slightly stooping to avoid the acacia boughs, appears before
us, smiling brightly and walking with a light firm step towards the
Cromaboo mail carrier. She wears a crisp muslin, dotted with tiny,
delicate lilac roses, a black lace tippet, pointed before and behind,
reaching to the waist and fastened to the bosom by a knot of fresh
dewey brilliant pansies ; white lace ruffles about her throat and wrists,
a lilac ribbon, bu* no jewelry ; a black stringless bonnet, with a
wreath of May across the forehead, and a silver grey veil floating far
behind and around her, forming a soft cloud-like background to her
face. A very fair face though a little sunburnt, bearing a certain re-
semblance in its soft thoroughly feminine beauty to Gainsbourough's
portriait of the ill-fated Perdita, but more intelligent and therefore
more charming. Smooth, abundant fair hair, arranged in a large
loose knot at the back of her head, large deep-set eyes with certain
changeful lights in them, looking now blue, now grey, now almost
black ; long dark lashes, a perfect mouth and chin, a sharply cut,
handsome profile, a self-possessed easy manner. See her and you
will pronounce her a little too thin for a beauty, a little too old also,
for there is a crow's foot at the corner of the sweet mouth, yet a love-
ly woman, a dainty little lady, immaculately clean, sweet, fair and at-
tractive, in spite of rude old Time with his scythe and hour-glass.

Does my coarse pen and ink sketch give you a true idea of her ?
I fear not, for Bacon says, with reason, " that is the best par; of
beaoty that a picture cannot express." She holds a bunch of cow-
slips and violets in one hand, and the scent of them gives Robert
an odd feeling ; it is with a little reluctance that he takes the grey-

THE CROMABOO MAIL CARRIER.

gloved hand in his little rough fist to help her in ; and he thinks the
red cheeked lasses in the stage look coarse and common beside her ;
he has the dust of twenty miles upon him, and fears in his heart she
will think him coarse and common too ; he wishes she could see him
in his Sunday clothes, yet is not without a consciousness that " a
man's a man for a' that," and even a mere mail carrier may be worthy
of all respect.

They had been singing songs before they took Miss Mary up,
songs comic and sentimental, and one of the girls urged Robert to
begin again, " Come, go a-head, Bob," said she, " Give us another
song."

" Oh ! yes," chimed in Miss Paxton, " sing again, please."

That which is called instinct in a dog is genius in a man, it is an
unerring innate knowledge untaught and not to be learned. Rob-
ert's genius taught him that comic songs would be unattractive, per-
haps offensive, to Miss Paxton ; he therefore started a hymn, " Rock
of Ages," and the girls, though they wondered at him, joined in.
They sang several hymns, and finally a temperance song, " There's
nothing like cold water," which made Miss Mary ask, " Are you a
total abstainer, Robert ? "

" No, ma'am, I am better than that," he replied, " I can take it or
leave it alone."

" I am afraid," said Miss Paxton, " you will think it impudent of
me to ask so many questions ; but are you a member of the Church
of England?" »

" No, ma'am."

" Better than that ? " asked the lady, with a smile.

"I am a Methodist."

He had just lifted her out and she stood upon the pavement " A
Methodist ! " she repeated, as she took the boquet from his hand,
" I never knew a Methodist before. I hope your method is a good
one," and making him a little bend, half saucy, 'half patronizing, and
wholly graceful, she walked away.

H 'i

1i '

22 THE CROMABOO MAIL CARRIER

CHAPTER THE FOURTH.

•' When toils and troubles have been borne,

And disappointment stings ;
When we have learnt to doubt and mourn,

And Hope has tired her wings ;
When we look backward with a sigh.

And memory brings a smart —
It may be summer in the sky,

'Tis winter in the heart !
When lonely homes and hearts are ours,

Though we be in our prime.
And spring embroiders earth with flowers —

Oh ! this is winter-time !"

— H. E. Hunter.

HE house in which the Paxtons lived was a cheerful and charm-
ing house to look upon, as the summer advanced, and to Robert
the sight of it was like an oasis in the desert. The verandah in front
was covered with climbing roses of three colors, Virginia creeper matted
the back to the very roof, trumpet honeysuckle was trained up one
side and sweet-briar up the other, making the house a very bower of
sweetness, delightful to the eye and grateful to the nose of the
passer-by.

The garden in the rear was large and nearly square ; a purple lilac
hedge divided it from the orchard on one side, a white lilac hedge
protected it on the other, a thorn hedge closed it in at the back, and
the house, a large and commodious one, sheltered the front and
formed the fourth square. This garden was one long succession of
beauty, from early spring till late in autumn — from the coming of the
first snow-drop till the November blast nipped down the last aster
and pansy. There did thousands of lilies-of-the-valley rear their
graceful heads ; there did great peonies flourish and expand in jolly
glory, as large as cannon balls ; there did oriental poppies display
their fiery magnificence ; there did periwinkles open myriads of blue
eyes under the hedges, and creep into the orchard grass.

And that orchard of three acres,' planted as it was on a gentle
slope, with a brook babbling at the foot of it, a closely-cut sweet-
briar hedge all around it, clumps of balsam and tamerack at the
four corners, mountain ashes drooping by the water — no wonder peo-
ple checked their horses as they drove down the hill beside it, no
wonder they crawled slowly up, inhaling the sweet scents and re-
joicing in the shadowy, dewey, emerald hill side; no wonder the

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school children helped themselves plentifully to sweet briar, and
looked longingly at the snowy blossoms, or the red and yellow ap-
ples, as the case might be, and occasionally risked the thorns and en-
tered on forbidden grounds.

The house was built on a high bank, and only a slieht strip of
ground divided it from the Queen's highway, clumps of snow-ball
grew beside the gate, Scotch roses peeped through the pickets and
bloomed on the outside, a gigantic locust drooped its graceful
branches and waved its pea-like, trailing blossoms above the fence,
dog-roses crept down the paths and blossomed close to the dusty
wagon track.

But though a blooming paradise without, it was very different
within ; it was like a lovely flower with an ugly grub in the heart of
it, destroying its very life ; for bitter discontent, envy, disappoint-
ment and avarice flourished and grew rank inside as the roses did
without The owner was that most unlovely thing in the whole
world — a grossly selfish old woman. Like her home, she was pic-
turesque and pretty ; a delicately fair, somewhat bent old woman, a
wearer of pretty caps and gowns and muslin handkerchiefs ; tyran-
nical by nature, dictatorial in speech, always delivering herself ex-
catfudra. With her resided two daughters, all that remained to her
of six children. Her eldest daughter was a clergyman's widow, who
had returned to her father's house without a penny. She was a good
looking, haughty woman, with a fine figure, a large Roman nose,
dark hair, and like her mother — a talent for ruling and laying down
the law. Two people of this disposition are not likely to agree in
one house, especially when one is wholly dependent on the other, as
in this case, for Mr. Paxton had left his widow sole proprietor of
everything as long as she lived, at her death to be equally divided
between the two daughters. He did not consider them of age, as
long as their mother remained, or entitled to power in anything.
This might have answered very well had Mrs. Paxton been an
amiable old lady, but she was quite the reverse, and bitter and con-
tinual were the squabbles between her and her eldest daughter, Mar-
garet Hurst, who considered she had a perfect right in her father's
house ; who would rule and did in the sense of having her own way
in a negative fashion, for if she couldn't gain her point and manage
the household, she was like a naughty boy who wouldn't play, or a

■BB

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'I '

gibbe horse who would lie down in the harness and do nothing. She.
occupied her time in reading, eating and sleeping ; she did not even
darn her own stockings or crimp the frill that she wore about her neck.

Mrs. Paxton's reign was a paradox, for it combined the opposite
qualities of dullness and confusion. She was avaricious, and there-
fore kept but one little maid, who being dull and slow, was cheaper
than a quick, efficient girl would have been.

She thought her daughters ought to do the work of the house,
and would have made them do it if she could ; she gave them as
little money as possible, and that grudgingly ; too feeble to work her-
self, she could find fault with those who did not do it to her liking ;
she could not sweep down a cobweb, but she could scold if she
saw one ; she could not collect the rents or look after her own busi-
ness, but she could express her anger and discontent if it was not
done properly.

Mary, with the assistance of the little maid I have mentioned,
did everything ; she was private secretary — for Mrs. Paxton would
not write her own letters — and woman of business, and house-keeper,
and dressmaker and cook ; she did all the ironing of the establish-
ment and might have done the washing if she had not rebelled.
This standing up for one's own rights is always a hard task for an
amiable woman, and to oppose Mrs. Paxton was to incur her dis-
like, for she regarded a person who differed from her in opinion as
either a fool or a knave. She would have liked to make her daugh-
ters obedient drudges, and was always holding forth on the duties of
children to their parents, laying especial stress upon obedience, but
she did not consider that parents had any duties towards their grown-
up children ; it was quite right that they should take care of them
in inf ■ cy, but as soon as they grew up they should work for their
parents and strictly obey them all the rest of their lives.

Mrs. Hurst was very like her mother in one particular, though
she wouldn't work herself she was a keen and excellent critic up-
on the performances of others. Like her mother, she would not
wear a gown unless it fitted her perfectly, but they differed in
some of their peculiarities. Mrs. Hurst would not eat any-
thing unless it was perfectly to her taste, whereas Mrs. Paxton
would eat what she professed to dislike and grumble all the
time. Breakfast vtas, always a stormy meal ; Mary took hers with

THE CROMABOO MAIL CARRIER.

house,
lem as
rk her-
Uking ;
if she
m busi-
yras not

ntioned,
1 would
i-keeper,
istablish-
rebelled.
k for an

her dis-
union as

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uce, but

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of them
for their

[r, though
critic up-
/ould not
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eat any-
|rs. Paxton
lie all the
hers with

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Dolly at seven, Mrs. Paxton and her daughter had theirs together at
half-past nine or ten. Toast, oatmeal porridge and fried potatoes
were always served for these two ladies. Mrs. Paxton liked her por-
ridge thin, Mrs. Hurst thick, so two jorams had to be prepared in
separate pots ; Mrs. Paxton liked her potatoes cut in large pieces
and warmed through, Mrs. Hurst liked hers cut very small and fried
very brown ; again, Mrs. Paxton took buttered toast and the fair
Margaret dry ; Mrs. Hurst took sugar with her porridge, which Mrs.
Paxton considered great extravagance as she took nothing but salt.

The old lady was always jibing at her daughter for rising so late.
She regarded it as disgraceful in a young person, though she herself
had never got up earlier at any time of her life except upon one oc-
casion, when she had been known to rise at six to see the morning
glories, but then it was only in a dressing jacket and petticoat, and
she went to bed again for her morning nap. She had seen the sun
rise once when she was travelling, and Margaret had once seen the
morning star, when as the parson's wife she had sat up with a sick
person of note in her husband's parish ; and they sometimes boasted
of these things among their kinsfolk and acquaintances. Both
mother and daughter nursed their injuries and fostered them and
would not let them die, but Mrs. Paxton, though always in a chronic
state of bad temper, was never in low spirits, whereas Margaret con-
stantly bemoaned the death of her two boys, v/hom she had lost
when they were infants, and would weep about them for days at a
time.

Mrs. Paxton looked back upon the deaths of these children with
great satisfaction. " I have enough to keep without them," she
would say, complacently, a remark which her eldest daughter never
forgave.

Five years had passed since the death of Mr. Paxton, and his
widow had been queen bee of the establishment ever since, and Mrs.
Hurst the drone. Mary had grown rapidly older in those five years ;
she was not at all well and not at all happy ; she had the whole re-
sponsibility of the household upon her shoulders, and was in a con-
stant state of anxiety, not from want of faith in her mother and
sister, but from a too perfect faith in them, built upon long experi-
ence ; she knew if it was possible to do or say a disagreeable thing,
they would do and say it.

THE CROMABOO MAIL CARRIER.

f : t

We have it on divine authority that it in not possible to serve
'* two masters," but Mary Paxton served two mistresses, whose wishes
were directly in opposition to each other, and both ladies were alike
in considering it " their duty " to speak their minds to their relatives ;
Mrs. Paxton called it telling the truth, Mrs. Hurst called it '• deal-
ing faithfully" with them. They were polite and kind to the outer
world, though they kept it rather at the staff end, and did not in-
dulge in much society. Both had hobbies. Mrs. Paxton's was a love
of flowers and a love of her carpets — she would not admit a ray of
light to the two best rooms, except upon the most state occasions —
and above all a love of money, that " root of all evil." Mrs. Hurst
had a love of theology, she called it a " love of God and zeal for the
truth as it is in Jesus." Woe to the person who moved her Bible,
her concordance, her hymn book, her sermons, her tracts ; and equal
woe to the unlucky urchin who was caught stealing Mrs. Paxton's
roses ; she would bear malice forever, though he took but one poor
bud. I should have liked to introduce these two ladies to the Rev-
erend Laurence Sterne, it would have cured him of the foolish idea
that a hobby is a mark of amiability in man or woman.

Miss Mary did her best to enter into the tastes of her mother and
sister, she worked for them unremittingly; they were on her mind morn-
ing, noon and night ; yet she did not please them, and she felt she was
ifnposed upon, but saw no way out of it all. She disliked the life,
but no honorable mode of escape presented itself ; her mother was
so old and feeble and her sister as helpless in a different way, that it
seemed to her like a shabby little treason to desert them ; to reform
them was impossible, as well try and change a cockroach and a mis-
quito into a lion and a dove ; their strenghts lay in their weakness ;
so she lived on wearily with them from day to day. A new discom-
fort had been recently added to her life, that of extreme nervousness.
Mrs. Paxton was exceedingly fond of her newspaper, and always read
all the horrors at full length ; Margaret would not listen ; so Mary
stayed perforce, and not to make her mother too angry by seeming
neglect, while the old lady enlarged and dwelt upon all the little dis-
gusting details with the greatest gusto. The poor girl stood the mur-
ders and suicides mth tolerable equanimity, but the fashionable
crimes for the last. six months had been housebreaking and indecent
assaults upon women ; these she could not forget or cast off; she

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serve
wishes
e alike
atives ;
'* deal-
j outer
not in-
s a love
1 ray of
isions —
s. Hurst
\ for the
er Bible,
nd equal
Paxton's
one poor
the Rev-
olish idea

other and
ind morn-
;lt she was
the life,
lother was
ray, that it
to reform
and a mis-
weakness ;
;w discom-
ervousness.
ilways read
I ; so Mary
by seeming
le little dis-
od the mur-
fashionable
nd indecent
ast off; she

tried not to dwell on them, but every night came back the thought of
how helpless they were if attacked — only three women and a child in
the house. Sometimes she would not sleep at all ; sometimes she had
worse dreams than ever Richard the Third had.

*• When the tale of bricks is doubled. Moses comes," and a deliv-
erer was on the way to Mary Pa.xton, though she knew it not.

One night she stood at her bed-room window watching the rising
moon, now nearly at the full ; she was weary in body and hopeless in
mind ; her grief was not stormy but it was deep ; tears stole down
her checks in a dull, slow way ; the dreariness of her loveless life was
breaking her spirits and injuring her health. She sat full three hours
without moving, except to wipe the tears away ; then she closed the
curtains and slowly undressed, first fastening the window securely,
afraid to leave it open, though the night was sultry. She opened her
Bible at random : " Thou hidest thy face, they are troubled ; thou
takest away their breath, they die and return to their dust.' She
turned the leaves hastily : " The waters wear the stones ; thou wash-
est away the things that grow out of the earth, and thou destroyest
the hope of man ; thou prevailest forever against him and he passeth;
thou changest his countenance and sendest him away." Again she
turned the leaves : " When He giveth tjuietness, who can make trou-
ble? and when He hideth His face, who then can behold Him,
whether it be done against a nation or a man only ?"

She shut the book with a sigh that was almost a groan, and knelt
down and prayed, and rose again uncomforted ; but let us hope the
petition was not unheard and unheeded. We shall see.

Being utterly worn out, she was asleep almost as soon as her head
touched the pillow, and for a long time her sleep was sound and
undisturbed, but towards the morning it was broken by a vivid
dream. She was with Robert in the stage, his sole passenger and
sitting beside him, and he looked at her as she h.rd never seen him
look, sullenly and reproachfully. Words were added to looks ; he
said " You should not despise me, for but for me you would have
been hke that," and he showed her a picture — a photograph. The
subject was a dead, half-naked woman, all exposed that is usually '
concealed, her face ghastly and distorted with fear, the glazed eyes
starting from the head — and this woman was herself.

She woke with a cry of horror. It was a lovely, still summer

■HH

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morning, the sun had not yet risen, the pipe of an early bird alone
broke the silence. She raised the window and let in the sweet morn-
ing air ; she thanked God it was only a dream ; then bathed her face
and began to dress ; she would not lie down again, though it was so
early, and risk another dream.

At that very moment, twenty miles away, the Cromaboo mail car-
rier was dreaming too. He saw a lovely dove with a standing ruff
of feathers round its beautiful neck, like one he had seen in a travel-
ling menagerie as a little boy, and it was frightened and fascinated
by a rattlesnake that was just going to spring at it. With a sudden
blow he killed the snake, and the bird flew to him and nestled in his
bosom. He felt it warm and soft ; his carressing hand touched it,
when the ruthless voice of his master awoke him to the duties of the
day, and, as Bunyan says, " it was a dream."

CHAPTER THE FIFTH.

" When the tale of bricks is doubled, Moses comes."

— Old Jewish Proverb.

" I am a man of war and might,

And know this much' that I can fight, •

Whether I'm in the wrong or right,

Devoutly."
— Sir John Suckling;

J HE bustle of the day began, and Mary forgot her dream till
the stage horn recalled it to her mind, and Robert appeared
on the balcony with a bright tin pail in his hand, and a note from
Miss Llewellyn. The pail contained wild strawberries, and was sent
to Mrs. Paxton with Miss Llewellyn's compliments ; the note was for
Mary, inviting her to Cromaboo for a day or two, and saying Rob-
ert would call for her as he returned from Gibbeline. She showed
the note to her mother and sister, saying, " I should like it, very
much ; I do not feel well, and I long for a holiday."

" Really I see no necessity for such a visit," replied her mother j
" if you go there, you must invite the girl back, and I'm sure we
have acquaintances enough already. If you are not well, you should

THE CROMABOO MAIL CARRIER.

take a camomile pill — as for a holiday, young women never re-
quired a holiday when I was young."

Margaret saw no necessity for the visit either, but she would not
side with her mother, so she said nothing.

♦' I think I will go," said Mary gently, after a pause. " I can stay
till Wednesday."

Mrs. Hurst could hold her peace no longer. " Oh ! you had bet-
ter stay longer when you are away," she said, satirically, *' and what
good fairy do you suppose will cook the dinner and finish the iron-
ing?"

" And who is to wash my feet ? " asked Mrs. Paxton in a crushing

tone.

** Dolly will cook and do the plain ironing, if you will act good
fairy and kindly superintend her, Margaret, — the starched things can
wait till I return — and I will wash your feet right away, if you like,
mother."

" I do not like, it's not a proper time to do it ; it must be done
just before I go to bed," returned the old lady, sharply.

"Then Dolly will do it for you, mother; I must go now and pack
up a few things," and she quietly left the room. As she opened the
door, she encountered Doily herself.

'* You're never a-going away, Miss Mary," she said, " and leaving
me all to do, and the old missis and Mrs. Hurst so cross — what shall
I ever do ? I call it real mean ; don't stay long, will you ? "

" I shall stay till Wednesday," replied her mistress as she went up
stairs ; " and whatever you do, you will never do well so long as
you listen at doors, Dolly ? "

Both Mrs. Paxton and her daughter were seriously displeased
with Mary, but they chose rather to quarrel than agree about the of-
fender, and kept up a war of words till the stage arrived. Robert
came to carry out Mary's travelling bag, and observed the parting
between the ladies with a good deal of interest.

His fair passenger wore a neatly-fitting silver-grey dress, made of
some shining, lustrous material, with a standing ruff of lace at the
neck, and a black hat shaped like the Scottish Queen Mary's cap,
and worn back upon the head in the same fashion ; it was orna-
mented with a scarlet ribbon and a few rose buds. As she turned
on the steps to kiss her haughty sister, a graceful movement of the

■m

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I.ii

ill

head, a look in the face half proud, half fond, half shrinking, a gleam
of sunshine on her dres-s that made it shimmer, brought suddenly
to Robert's mind the beautiful dove of his dream, and it tickled the
lad's vanity, and was a happy remembrance to think it had nestled
in his bosom for protection.

They were soon seated and off, and the rapid motion, the fresh
air and the courtesy of her fellow-travellers did Mary good before
she had gone a mile; her spirits rose — "sweet is pleasure after
pain.' She felt free, and began to enjoy herself and everything with
the simplicity and heartiness of a child. She chatted gaily to the
doctor at her side, and the priest who sat opposite, till one forgot his
debts which were just then pressmg rather henvily, and the other
his hard vows and antipathy to heretics ; both dropped convention-
alities for the time, and were natural men and gentlemen, conversing
with a sweet, intelligent woman : and the driver — nobody thought
of him, but he listened with keen pleasure, and now and then took
furtive glances at the speakers.

They paused for a few minutes at various post offices on the road,
but did not stop till they reached Ostrander, a village within six miles
of Cromaboo ; here they stayed an hour to rest the horses. The
sun was just setting as the drove up to the inn door. The priest, a
strong, active young man, was the first out of the coach, and extend-
ed his hands to help Miss Paxton,

" I wonder at you, good father,"' said she, rather mischievously ;
" you will have to do penance if you touch the hand of a woman and
a heretic ; all the village is looking at you — what w\\\ it think ?"

^'' Honi soit qui mai y pense" returned his reverence, gallantly, as he
set her on the ground.

Robert forgot his prudence and his place. " What did he mane
by that Frinch ?" he asked of the other gentleman.

" He meant," said the doctor, laughing, " In for a penny in for a
pound." The priest and the lady joined in the laugh, as if they
thought it a funny translation ; but Robert felt humiliated, and thought
bitterly of his own ignorance, as he marched away with his mail-bag.
He was sure it was not a true translation, and a sudden fit of anger
and jealousy raged in his heart, against both gentlemen.

The priest remained in Ostrander, and as it happened the doctor
went no further, having received information that two bailiffs waited

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in Cromaboo to pay their respects to him ; so Robert and Miss Mary
sat off alone. She sat beside the driver by her own desire, and put
on her water-proof cloak at the request of" Dr. .Meldrum, and with
h is assistance, before starting.

It was dark when they left the inn, but the moon soon rose. Mary,
who h^ seen Robert's vexation at the foreign (|Uotation, tried to be
conversational, and made a pleasant remark or two ; but though he
answered respectfully, he did not seem inclined to talk : so she soon
relapsed into silence. After a mile or two they entered a wood and
lost the light of the moon ; the road was excellent, thanks to Mr.
Llewellyn, an inclined grade for two miles running through a pine
.swamp. Robert urged the ponies to a very rapid trot, and as the
cool air met them, and the fresh sweet scent of the forest, Mary en-
joyed a greater sense of freedom and happiness than she had experi-
enced for many a day. It seemed almost like a flight, and brought
to her mind a picture she had seen of the retreat from Waterloo :
she did not mention this, however, thinking perhaps her companion
had never heard of the great battle ; but she said, " I feel as if I were
running away, Robert," and she felt indeed as though she were leav-
ing her troubles far behind her.

" You are not afraid. Miss Paxton," asked Robert.

" Afraid I No — what should I fear ? I am enjoying myself very
much ; I am happy."

" What would you do if robbers set upon us ? You wouldn't seize
me and hold down my arms, I hope," said Robert.

" What a mere boy he is," she thought, with a little disdain. *' You
want to frighten me," was all she said.

'* Oh ! no, ma'am," replied Robert, touching the horses with the
whip, and urging them on faster, twisting the reins as he spoke round
the hook on the splash board. " You have faith in my driving, I
hope."

" I suppose you know what you are about,"' replied Miss Mary,
" but you have no mercy on the ponies ; you are worse than a
woman. Shall I take the lines ?" she added, seeing that he had
abandoned them and was sitting with one hand in the breast of his
coat and his whip in the other.

" No do not toueh them, please ; they are all right," he replied.

On the ponies went faster and faster, but never breaking out of a

D'!

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trot ; they were nearly through the swamp, the trees were further
apart, the foliage less dense ; the moon began to glimmer through
the boughs and shone bright on the road before them ; they were
rapidly approaching a little ascent at the end of the swamp, when
tall figures sprang out of the woods on either side, and two of them
seized the horses' heads and tried to stop them, while a third sprang
on to the step of the carriage at Robert's side, and called out, " Now,
Bob, hand out the woman, and you shall have your turn with her."

He was answered by a stinging blow across the eyes from the mail
carrier's whip, and at the same instant another man climbed into the
carriage behind, and seizing Mary round the waist tried to
drag her back over the seat. She screamed and struggled, and Rob-
ert pulling a revolver from his breast, turned and shot the man al-
most as soon as he had touched her ; she felt his grasp loosen, he
reeled and fell into the road. As quick as a flash, Robert fired again
at the man he had struck with his whip, who though blinded with
the blow he had received, still stood on the step and clung to the
coach, with fearful oaths at the driver. He fell, too, and the ponies,
now furious with fear, freed themselves from those who held them,
and breaking into a gallop, dashed up the hill before them. All
seemed to pass in an instant ; Robert replaced his pistol, seized the
reins, and with some difficulty pulled in the horses, and reduced
their pace to a trot again ; their blood was up and they were not
easily quieted. They had gone a mile before they were pacified
enough to let him attend to his passenger. At first she had turned
cold and trembled violently, but hysterical sobs and a burst of tears
relieved her. " Oh ! do not stop," she panted, as the pace of the
ponies raoder ed ; "they will pursue us."

"Not they, ' said her escort, soothingly, " we are quite safe now;
you needn't be afraid. I settled two o' them and Bonnie another,
and the other fellow won't feel like following us, I think. Hush !
hush ! don't cry, dear Miss Paxton — Miss Mary — I may call you
Miss Mary ? " He touched her slightly with his left hand and her
fingers closed on it with a nervous clasp and held it tremblingly.

'* You brave, good boy," she said, " but for you where should I
have been ? How can I ever thank you enough ? You have saved
life and honor." Her hair had fallen down and a soft mass blew
across his shoulder and touched his cheek. .

THE CROMABOO MAIL CARRIER.

further
hrough
y were
), when
af them
I sprang
•* Now,
her."
the mail
into the
tried to
ind Rob-
; man al-
oosen, he
ired again
ided with
ng to the
he ponies,
leld them,
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were not
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lad turned
rst'of tears
)ace of the

safe now;
lie another,
nk. Hush 1
ay call you
ind and her

iblingly.
;re should 1

have saved
mass blew

" It was only my duty ; I should ha' been a blackguard if I hadn't
defended you. Don't cry any more," Haid he, coaxingly ; *' <U try
and quiet down ; I'll walk the ponies and give ye time. See, there's
houses on each side, and we're quite safe ; them lights away off to
the left is Cromaboo."

She tried to command herself and presently succeeded ; the hand
that held his trembled less, and she gently withdrew it

" Robert," she said at length, " You expected those rufhans — you
knew they would attack us f "

•' I thought it likely. Miss Paxton, but was not quite sure. They
have been hiding in the woods for more nor a fortnight, and twice,
when I went through alone, they spoke to me, and said the next
time a woman pa.ssed on the stage they would have her. I have
had several with me since, but men, too, always. I noticed one o'
them lurking around and watching whenever I passed. When Miss
Llewellyn spoke this morning of having you to see her for a day or
two, I thought it a pity to disappoint two ladies for fear o' them
dirty blackguards. I was sure Mr. Meldrum would be on the stage
to-night, and two honest men in a good cause, and one o' them a
gentleman, would, God helping them, be more nor a match for four
o' the like o' them."

" But when the doctor said he was not coming, why did you not
speak — why did you run the risk ? Robert, it was very rash ; you
might have been murdered and I — " she shuddered and did not
finish the sentence.

" I borrowed a revolver and loaded it myself, and counted the odds
and thought I could do without him," returned her defender, coolly.

Mary thought of the fearful odds, and shuddered again. There
was a long pause.

" You will have to tell some magistrate," said the lady, at last, as
the horses walked slowly on.

" Miss Mary," replied Robert, •* I've pulled ye through so far,
though I am but a boy, as you say — will ye trust me still furder ?
Will you let me judge what is best ?

" Perhaps," she replied, doubtfully. " Well, Robert ?"

" I want you not to tell a single soul about it, and neither will I."

" Why !" she asked, quickly turning a startled face upon him, in
the moonlight

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I" ir

1 i

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1 *

*• •

" For your sake. Just think o' meeting them nasty rascals in a
court o' justice ; a lady like you can't think o' the things they might
say, dirty vermin as they are ; and to have it put in the papers, and
all just think."

Mary thought of her mother and the delight such an account
would give the old lady ; she would say it was a punishment from
Providence because she had disobeyed her mother in coming to
Cromaboo. " It is very kind of you, Robert, to think for me, and I
shrink from it, but that is cowardly; these men ought to be punished ;
they will bear malice, and if we let them go free, they will murder
you, my poor boy."

" More like I have murdered some o' them," he said, " and if that's
so, it must come out, and it will be better to own up at once ; but I
hope it's not so bad as that I wasn't particular' about my aim with
the first fellow when you cried out ; but I shot the second in the arm
only. I'll send my father and brother to-morrow to see the extent o'
the damage. They will not speak when I bid them be silent, and
Chip can go with me on Wednesday."

" Who is Chip, and why do you call him that ?" with a touch of
impatience.

" My bother John James William, because he's a chip o' the old
block. I'll take them fellows to the hospital on Wednesday, if they
need it, and you must wait till Friday, Miss Paxton."

Another pause.

" Well, Robert," she said, at last, *' I do not know what to think
about it, or how to act ; I will let you guide me in this matter. I will
do as you think best."

" Thank you, said the lad, softly. " If you say you are not well,
and very tired, Miss Llewellyn will let you go to bed at once, for she's
kind to sick people, and used to nervous folks all her life. I'm very
sorry you've been frightened, and prouder than a king to have fought
for you ; I wouldn't change places with the Prince o' Wales, this
flight," and he lifted her hand to his lips and kissed it. " If I say
a// right, at breakfast to-morrow, you may make sure there's no danger
o* them scoundrels losing their lives."

Another pause, broken by a brisk chirrup from Robert, and " come
pets, come bonnie." Thus urged, the ponies broke into a trot again
that soon brought them to Mr. Llewellyn's door, where the old gen-

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tleman himself stood, in seedy black frock coat and red skull-cap,
waiting to receive his guest.

" I am very glad to see you, my dear Miss Paxton," he said, shak-
ing hands with her, warmly, as soon as Robert had lifted her out,
'' My house is as rough as a bam, and hardly fit to ask a lady into,
but you are heartily welcome, and I hope it is not the last time, ray
dear, that you will do us the honour," and he gave her his arm, and
conducted her through the shop to the room beyond.

CHAPT'ER THE SIXTH.

" Whatever passes as a cloud between
The mental eye of faith and things unseen,
Causing that brighter world to disappear,
And seem less lovely and its hope less dear ;
This is our world, our idol, though it bear
Affection's impress or devotion's air."

— COWPER.

[T was as Robert predicted ; Miss Llewellyn saw that her friend
was very tired and nervous, and soon conducted her to her
room, and bade her good night. She fastened the door, and after
more tears and thanks to God for her deliverance, lay down and fell
asleep. This time no ill-dreams haunted her; she slept soundly,
sweetly, till the cock crew, a cow bell began to clang, and the sun
peep in at the little window. She lay still for a few minutes, look-
ing round at her room ; it had a sloping roof and was almost as
small as a ship's cabin ; it was a spotless little room, well scrubbed,
well white-washed. The washing-stand was a small wooden fixture
fastened to the wall, with a roller beside it for a towel ; the basin
and jug were tin — silver coirid hardly have been brighter — and a
cocoanut shell contained the soap. The dressing-table was a large
wooden bracket ; a noble looking-glass hung above it, the only costly
piece of furniture in the room. There was a corner cupboard, and
a chair made out of a barrel ; the bedstead was a common stub
covered with bleached calico sheets, and a gay patchwork quilt that
was quite a work of art, so complicated and beautiful was the pat-
tern; a white muslin curtain covered the tiny window. All these

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things were noted approvingly by the great bright eyes in the bed,
till they presently grew drowsy again and closed in another nap.

By and bye they opened, brought back to life by voices under the
window.

" Now look here, Robert," said the sharp tongue of Miss Llewel-
lyn, " if this is the way you keep promises, I'll never trust you
again. You said if I invited Miss Paxton for a day or two, you
would help me in every way, and give me time to entertain her ; and
this is a fine beginning. Where have you been for the last hour and
a half?"

" Hush ! " said the other voice, so softly that it was like the coo-
ing of a dove after the cackling of barn-door fowls, " you will wake
?ier, and she was very tired. I have been fishingT— look."

Mary slipped softly from the bed and cautiously peeped behind
the curtain. Miss Llewellyn was concealed in the doorway, but
Robert stood full in the bright sunlight with a bjsHe < ^ trout in his
hand ; his bare feet thrust into old shoes, his trowsers rolled to the
knee, a ragged old swallow-tailed coat upon his back, and a coarse
straw hat, very much on the back of his head.

" What beauties ! " said his little mistress, somewhat mollified at
the sight of them, "but who is to cook them, I should like to
know ? "

" I will," replied the offending Robert, promptly, " and get the
breakfast and all, and then I'll mind the shop while you are at it ;
maybe Miss Paxton wouldn't like to sit down with a servant."

Miss Llewellyn was entirely pacified. " Well, you are a good
boy," she said, " only you shouldn't go away and not tell • where
you are going, for then I don't know what to think." ?«r

" How could I tell you then, and you ni bed ? " said her >' /Jttit
with a half-saucy, half deferential expression of face that enacJ the
argument.

Half an hour later Miss Paxton was summoned to her breakfast,
and appeared in a delicate lilac dress and white muslin apron, a cap
of light lace upon her head. She said she felt much refreshed and
looked herself again.

The dining-room — used as a kitchen during the winter — was very
large and clean ; there were comer cupboards and shelves innumer-
able, ornamented with bright tin and clean crockery ; there was a

THE CROMABOO MAIL CARRIER,

; bed,

ap.
ler the

Llewel-
ist you
vo, you
er ; and
OUT and

the coo-

iU wake ^

\ behind
way, but
out in his
ed to the
a coarse

oUified at
Id like to

id get the
are at it ;
ant."

ire a good
c where

j^^. ^e' ant
enata the

er breakfast,
apron, a cap
efreshed and

Bt— was very
Ives innumer-
there was a

large fire-place filled with ft-esh evergreen from the forest, and a long
tabic stood in the centre of the room, covered with a snowy cloth,
and a breakfast to tempt the appetite. Steaming coffee, sweetened
with maple sugar, and surmounted by a thick foam of cream, white
bread and brown, fresh pots of butter, noble new potatoes, served in
their jackets, Robert's trout fried to a light crisp brown, and a deep
dish of strawberries and Devonshire cream " to top up with," as a
school-boy would say.

Mr. Llewellyn was seated, but rose to receive his guest, and in-
troduced her to his wife, and he did not sit down again till he had
said grace. The garden door stood open, and a bird outside amen-
ed his benediction with a loud carol, and the breakfast began.

While they are thus pleasantly occupied, I will try and give you
an idea of Mr. Llewellyn and his wife. The old gentleman was
about the middle height, but stooped in the shoulders, which made
him appear shorter. He was very thin, and his hair and beard were
iron grey ; he had a noble forehead and broad crown to the head,
deep sunken grey eyes and high cheek bones ; and he spoke in a
clear, sonorous, somewhat dictatorial voice. His wife was a tiny,
well formed little woman, a stealthy little woman, quick and cat-like
in all her movements, with a pair of bright eyes that never met yours
by any chance, and the deep voice of a man. She ate rapidly, in-
deed rather savagely, as if very hungry, occasionally uttering deep
sighs ; she spoke but little, and made her remarks abruptly and
apropos of nothing. The husband's face looked honest ; the wife's
as double and deceitful as it was restless.

" What has become of Robert ? " asked Mr. Llewellyn, when he
had helped the ladies to fish.

" He thought Miss Paxton might object to sit at table with a ser-
vant," replied his niece, "he is minding the shop."

*' What nonsense," said her uncle, " there will be no customers
for a couple of hours, and the fish will be cold for the boy. Do you
consider it m_fr-a dig to sit at the same table with Robert, Miss Pax-
ton ? "

" Not with Robert," replied his guest, " he is not vulgar or even
common-place ; he would never take a liberty ; but I would not sit
at the same table with every servant, Mr Llewellyn."

The old gentleman looked much pleased. " That is just my feel-

rraWB

THE CROMABOO MAIL CARRIER.

i i

ing," he said, "as a general rule I like to keep these people beneath
the salt, and in their proper places; but Robert is Robert, and
quite another thing — call him in, Lavy."

*' It is the man after all, not his class or occupation, that makes
the difference," said Miss Paxton.

"I hate them all — low creatures," exclaimed Mrs. Llewellyn, ab-
ruptly.

Robert came at the summons of his little mistress, and took the
vacant place between the two young ladies, with a modest good
morning to Miss Paxton. Clad in a clean linen suit, he did not
look unfit to sit there.

" How are the ponies this morning — have you groomed them yet ? "
asked the master.

" Yes, sir, they are all ri^ht" replied the lad with a hearty empha-
sis that disgusted his old mistress, and made his young one think
" he must be nervous."

Miss Paxton's heart gave a bound of relief; the fish were sweeter
after that ; the very sight of Robert, looking quite at his ease and
as fresh as the morning, re-assured her as much as that hearty '' all
right," for he could not be like that, she thought, if the men were
dead or in danger. She was glad she had taken his advice. She
felt free and happy.

Breakfast over, Lavinia asked her guest to excuse her for a couple
of hours, and having seated her in a rustic chair under a large apple
tree in the garden, with a cushion at her back and books and papers,
to pass the time, she left her. Mary did not take up a newspaper
or open a book, but leaning back against the great trunk of the tree,
enjoyed a quiet reverie. Thought succeeded thought, and scenes
glad and sad came back without an effort ; old pleasures made her
smile ; old sorrows brought tears brimming to her eyes, and presently
one bright bead rolled down her cheek and fell on her dainty little
apron.

It happened that Mr. Llewellyn, who had been to feed his chick-
ens, issued from a side gate at that very instant and stood before
her. Though a little deaf, he was far from blind ; he saw the sad
expression efface, he saw the tear, and he acted 'according to his
nature. Being a kindly, honest man, with little tact, much learning,
and not much knowledge of human nature, the spirit within him

iLi

THE CROMABOO MAIL CARRIER.

leneath
rt, and

makes
lyn, ab-

took the
est good
did not

em yet?"

;y empha-
ane think

re sweeter
i ease and
learty "all
men were
ivice. She

or a couple
large apple
and papers,
newspaper
of the tree,
and scenes
;s made her
nd presently
dainty little

-d his chick-
stood before
saw the sad
ording to his
mch learning,
it within him

led him to say, " What is the matter, my dear ? " and to lay his
hand on hers as he spoke, " Is it some little pensive imaginary grief,
or a real trouble ? Do you know the one infallible remedy for all
sorrows, great and small ; the only true source of happiness in this
life and the one to come ? "

" I am not always happy. I have many troubles." Her large
eyes met his, gravely, as she spoke. " I know no remedy for the
evil there is in the world — I should like to know what you think of
it."

" The words of this speech were true, but it was partly dictated
by politeness, partly by a desire to guage the old man and see what
was in him.

" Are you in harmony with God ? " he asked.

" I do not understand you, Mr. Lewellyn ; what do you mean ? "

"Have you no will but God's will? Have you brought every
thought into captivity to the obedience of Christ?"

" No, indeed," said Miss Mary.

" Then, that is the trouble ; that is the difficulty, my dear ; that,
and that alone. Your will must be honest, uncompromising, entire.
You must believe with your whole heart, not acknowledge the divinity
of our Saviour with your head merely. Outward circumstances have
nothing to do with our happiness, absolutely nothing \ if we are in
harmony with God, we are happy. You must mortify every corrupt
affection, and all are corrupted by the fall — and God tells you how
to do it Walk in the spirit, and ye shall not fulfil the lusts of the
flesh, for blessed are they that keep His commandments and seek
Him with the whole heart ; they also do no iniquity, they walk in
His ways. Seek and ye shall find," said the old gentleman, with
great emphasis ; " all power and salvation is of God, and the being
whom He calls is free, the will He appeals to is free ; when the
sheep hears His voice and recognizes it, that is the day of His pow-
er. I counsel you, my dear, to make no delay, but to buy gold tried
in the fire, that you may be rich, and white raiment that you may be
clothed."

" Buy ! " said Mary, rather tremulously, *' how can I buy that for
which God will accept neither money nor price ? Purity, peace,
holiness, righteousness, with what are these to be bought ? "

" What are God's conditions ? " returned Mr. Llewellyn, promptly.

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ilh

" We cannot pay in that which is valuable, for we have nothing of
worth to offer ; but we can tender our corruptions, and that is what
God will accept as a full equivalent for eternal life. Wash you, make
you clean, put away the evil of your doings from before mine eyes,
He says, but with the whole will, absolute and unflinching, it must
be, as with the prodigal son, or we shall remain impure forever, and
therefore separated from God — the only source of every blessing.
Let the wicked forsake his way and the unrighteous man his thoughts,
and like the prodigal he is at once harmonized with God, he has
come to himself, to a right state of mind, and this is all God ever
did or will require. The prodigal was not even permitted to utter
his repentance to the full ; the Father knew it, and that was suf-
ficient. Having once got right thoughts of God, Miss Mary, — God
is love, and love guides us well — once believing that, I do not see
how you could be unhappy. I can understand a man of strong pas-
sions, whose will is in harmony with God, but whose appetites and
propensities are all at variance, having to agonize to enter in at the
straight gate, when the seed of God's spirit having taken root is push-
ing out the weeds of the fall, when the refiner's fire is burning out,
and the fuller's soap washing off the filth of sin ; but you, my dear — ."
He paused.

" I am no better than the worst," said Mary, " I am often very
discontented, very wicked, and I can't help thinking my circum-
stances have something to do with it."

" They haven't the least thing in the world to do with it," said the
old gentleman, earnestly. " The kingdom of God is within you ;
once in harmony with God, you will be happy anywhere, no matter
what the circumstances. God's ways are ways of pleasantness. All
power is of God, our sufficiency is of God ; but remember, the branch
cannot bear fruit of itself, except it abide in the vine ; no more can ye,
except ye abide in me, says God. Behold I stand at the door and
knock, if any man hear my voice, and open the door, I will come
in to him. But you must have done with idols. The creatures of
God are good and to be received with thanksgiving when they help
instead of hindering us in the way of holiness ; but when they ab-
sorb our thoughts and affections so as in any degree to shut out
higher and holier things, they are idols. We may make an idol of
our severest cross — a very ugly idol, too — and worship it by refusing

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hing of
is what
lU, make
le eyes,

it must
vex, and
blessing.
thoughts,
I, he has
God ever
i to utter

was suf-
iry,— God
io not see
trong pas-
)etites and
r in at the
)0t is push-
lurning out,
ny dear — •"

often very
my cijcum-

it," said the
within you;
e, no matter
intness. All
r, the branch

more can ye,
le door and
^ / tt/ill come
e creatures of
len they help

hen they ab-
to shut out
Lke an idol of

it by refusing

to think of anything else. To blame circumstances for our own
failures, is to upbraid God, who never makes mistakes, and who loves
us and knows what is best for us. Where God reigns, /Arr^ is His
kingdom ; he giveth power to the faint and to those who are with-
out strength ; those that wait upoi« the Lord shall r^mw their strength.
Think upon these glorious promises, dear Miss Paxton, and take
courage ; think of God and his perfection, not of your own little
peccadillos, and you will be happier — nay, happy altogether. And
now, if you will excuse me for leaving you, I will take my wife for
her daily stroll. Lavy will be here by and bye." So saying, the old
gentleman turned to depart.

" I am grateful for the trouble you have tn^<en with me," said Mary,
*'and I will try and do better. I will think of what you have said."

" No trouble," replied the old gentleman, with a wave of his hand,
" it is a pleasure to set people right when they are wrong," and so he
left her.

During this lecture, Mr. Llewellyn and his guest had been under
the eye of a watchful observer, even Robert, who from a little win-
dow at the end of the shop, had seen Mary Paxton take her seat
under the tree, had seen the absorbed gravity of her face, had seen
that she did not move to take up book or paper, had seen the bright
tear roll down her cheek, had seen his master's lecture though he
could not hear a word, had watched her lips quiver and her eyes
brim over, and felt so very much annoyed with Mr. Llewellyn as the
cause of the tears, that his indignation took the form of words, though
he had no one to hear and sympathise but a big brown dog.

" It's like eating a peck o' sawdust to listen to him," he muttered,
" for all he's a scholar," and when he saw the lady was alone again,
he put a favourite book of his own into the mouth of his dog, and
sent him across the garden to her. Trip marched away with great
dignity and laid the book in her lap. It was an old volume of bal-
lads, bearing on the title page the name " Robert Hardacre ; " a
silken thread marked the song, " O ! tell me how to woo."

" Who sent you ? " asked Mary, patting the dog's great brown
head, and looking about her. Not a sign of life appeared in all the
large garden, or at the windows of the house. Trip wagged his tail,
but revealed nothing. She turned the book about and opened it
with some curiosity, and glanced from one ballad to another, not

ifT'^^^

THE CROMABOO MAIL CARRIER.

without pleasure, till Miss I^vinia joined her; then »he shoired her
the l)ook and asked from whence it came.

" Oh I from Robert, I suppose," replied the young lady, rather
coldly, as if the fact did not please her ; so Mary changed the sub-
ject, and the respective merits of tatted and crochet lace were dis-
cussed with energy, if not with sincerity.

The atmosphere grew more and more sultry as the day advanced;
the ladies talked languidly at intervals ; the evening closed in at last,
and nothing more worthy of note occurred.

ii!

Iftlli"

CHAPTER THK SEVENTH.

" And like the dying swan, it ends in music."

jORNING came, and with it the jolly sound of the stage horn.
Miss Lavinia had the previous evening pressed her guest to
stay a day or two longer, and she had accepted the invitation, though
she heard Mrs. Llewellyn groan loudly when it was given. She
could not from her window see the coach depart, but she asked Miss
Llewellyn, at breakfast, if there were many passengers.

" Only Chip, Robert's brother," replied Lavinia, " it's quite a new
freak for him to go to Gibbeline by stage."

We will leave the young ladies to the enjoyment of each other's
society, and follow the coach. At Ostrander, it picked up Dr. Mel-
drum, who was rather surprised at the sight of four ill-looking fellows
whom he did not know, three of whom were badly wounded. One
who had his collar-bone broken by Bonnie's foot, asked the doctor to
look at his wound and relieve him if possible, and if he couldn't to
blow his brains out. Dr. Meldrum examined the hurt and told him
the bone could not be set till the swelling was reduced, and de-
clined to commit murder. By the time they reached Mrs. Paxton's,
all three were in great pain from the jolting of the carriage. The
doctor went in, instead of Robert, and Mrs. Hurst, who opened the
door, saw he was a gentleman, and asked him into the parlour,
where her mother was seated. The old lady knew him, having once
consulted him about her rheumatism ; she received him civilly, and

THE CROMABOO MAIL CARRIER.

jvanced ;
,n at last.

each other's
up Dr. Mel-
oking feUows
unded. One
the doctor to
e couldn't to
and told him
jced, and de-
jvirs. paxton's,
:arriage. The
ho opened the
the parlour,
m, having once
im civilly, and

he asked after her health with great courtesy, and begged to be in-
troduced to her daughter. This ceremony over, he told them he had
a message from Miss Faxton, who desired her love, and was enjoy-
ing herself so much that she would not return till Friday.

" I only gave her leave to stay till to day," said the old lady, cross-
ly, which caused Mrs. Hurst to say, with great sweetness, that she
was glad dear Mary was enjoying herself, and hoped the change would
do her good.

Dr. Meldrum turned to the old lady and said, with great gallantry,
*' if you are so sorry to lose your charming daughters for a day or two,
Mrs. Faxton, what would you do if you lost them altogether ? "

" I should be very glad," she answered sourly, " but that is quite
another thing, there is no such good fortune in store for me."

Dr. Meldrum now changed the subject, and told the ladies he had
a very sick man in the stage, and he would be much obliged to them
for a little whisky for him — if he was not asking too much — as there
was a danger of the fellow fainting before he reached the hospital.
Mrs. Faxton grudgingly ordered her daughter to give him a glass of
whisky, and Mrs. Hurst was much concerned for the poor man's soul,
and hoped he was in a proper fram^ of mind, and gave the doctor a
tract for him along with the whisky. When the gentleman returned
with the empty glass, Mrs Paxton said she would li e to consult him
about her own iiealth, as she had heard of his skill, and was feeling
far from well ; she asked him if he could dine with her that day week.
He of course said he should be most happy, so with mutual civilities
they parted.

Through the doctor's influence — to whom Robert confided the

whole matter — the sick men were admitted to the hospital without

question, and the other man was shipped to the States by the Great

Western Railway, Robert and Chip clubbing to pay his fare. Our

J hero gave a word of parting advice.

" You've got a free ticket to the other side, my man," said he,
\ " and I've told the officials to keep an eye upon you, seeing you are
if a person o' consequence. When you get across the border, you'd
better stay there, and never return to this y'er country, or it '11 be the
worse for you. We could sleep in safety in our beds before such
gentry as you came about."

I'hat evening, Robert was the bearer of a three-cornered note from

I i

THE CROMABOO MAIL CARRIER.

Mrs, Paxton to her daughter, which we w^ill take the h'berty of read-
ing over the young lady's shoulder,

Dkar Maky : —

You are laying yourself under an obligation to tho<te people by fttaying so long.
You had better ask N5i*s IJewellyn t'- come for a day or two, as soon as Possi-
BI-K, and then vre shall have done with the thing, ani> tomk homk on Kkii>AY,

Your aflfectionate mother,

Pricilla Pa-XTon.

The last command was under.scored as showing the imperative
mood in which it was written.

Mary had been a good deal alone that day, ns Miss Uewellyn
had to attend to the shop ; but the next day Robert, l>eing at home.
Lavinia was more at liberty to entertain her guest, and made herself
very agreeable and amusing. In the aftenoon, they climbed the
highest hill in the neighbourhood to make a joint skttch of Crom-
aboo, Lavina drawing the houses, and Mary, who had a taste for
foliage, dotting in the trees. Mary noticed that if she inade any
allusion to Robert her new friend instantly became reserved, and
that frank and open as she was on other subjects, she would not
sp>eak of him. This was rather a disappointment to Mary, who
would have liked to know more of his family and limself, but she
could not with politeness ask questions on a subject that was clearly
unpleasant to Miss Lavinia.

Both had enough of the spirit of the artist in them to take pleas-
ure in what they were doing, and to those who love it, sketching is a
refreshing, soul-reviving work, that sets thought in motion and pleas-
antly, too ; the most innocent and happy work that ever mortal chose
as a trade to earn bread by, the most pleasing occupation for the man
or woman of leisure. I love to see children sketching, if it is only
a tiny fellow with a slate, provided his heart is in the business, and
he is quite absorbed : I know he is happy, that the little creating
brain is at work, and the small hand trying to e.xecute its commands.

Lavinia had finished her part of the sketch, and was n^^w occupied
in turning the heel of a white cotton stocking, and Mary was re-
marking the repose and dignity of the large elm she was drawing,
when the top of it suddenly swayed in the wind, and the Uiaples
under which they sat shivered — though a minute before there had
not been a breath of air to stir a leaf — and a low growl of thunder
succeeded, followed by a rushing wind. A minute later great splats
of rain fell on the sketch book. The ladies scrambled up books.

THE CROMABOO MAIl. CARRIER.

camp stools and knitting, and ran down the hill with more haste
than dignity, a furious wind facing, impeding them, and driving the
rain in their faces. In a few minutes they were wet to the skin, and
were forced to proceed more slowly by the weight of their garments ;
peal followed peal, the lightning almost blinded them ; the windows
of heaven were open, and the rain descended in torrents ; however
they got home safely at last, but the sketch of Croinaboo was ruin-
ed, the knitting lost on the road, and the fair artists themselves, as
the phrase goes, " as wet as drowned rats."

The commotion within doors was scarcely less than that without ;
Mrs. Llewellyn was screaming, wringing her hands, and declaring a
second flood had come and that the earth would again be destroyed
by water. In vain her husband assured her that the next time it
was destroyed it would be by fire ; she refused to be comforted and
screamed louder than ever, " I would rather be drowned than burn-
ed." This she repeated again and again till the storm subsided. '

The builder of the house had arranged the chimney so beautifully
that the rain poured down in torrents and flooded the dining-room
floor ; the brown dog howled in fear and consternation at every peal
of thunder, and the cat brought her kitten in her mouth and placed
it in Miss Llewellyn's wet lap, as if she would say " let us all die
together." The storm lasted an hour, then rolled away in the dis-
tance ; the sun shone out brightly, and behold ! a magnificent rain-
bow, perfect in itself and its reflexion, two lovely arches of soft,
bright colour that spanned and glorified Cromaboo. Then the sn.n
disappeared, the black clouds became grey, the rain softened to a
gentle drizzle, and the air grew chilly. The disturbance within doors
subsided as the storm ceased, Mrs. Llewellyn was persuaded to go
to her little parlour and have her shoes and stockings changed ; her
husband sat with her to keep her company ; the young ladies went
to their bed-rooms to change their dripping muslins for warmer gar-
ments ; and Robert, Trip and the cat were left in undisputed pos-
session of the dining-room.

Robert, when left alone, exerted himself nobly to make the room
habitable again. He turned Trip out of his kennel with small cere-
mony, carried Puss and her baby back to their box in the kitchen,
and mopped up the floor with a vigor and skill that soon made it
tidy, removed the evergreens from the chimney, except one small

THE CROMABOO MAIL CARRIER.

tree which he piled round with chips and lighted to <lry the floor.
Very pleasant the fire looked on tlie chili ending of a day that had
begun with almost tropical heat.

I'hen he put a fire in the back kitchen stove and the kettle over
it, and set out the cups for tea, when, considering his duties over for
the present, he retreated to the shop, to be called back presently by
his little mistress to make toast ami boil eggs while she prepared a
junket under the superintendance of Miss Paxton, who had made
many a one, and volunteered to teacii her young friend. While thus
engaged, the ladies compared notes about cooking, Miss Lavinia
assening with great energy that the Brizillian mode of preparing fruit
for the table was superior to all others, and the only proper method on
the face of the earth. She was born in Brazil, and had lived there as
a child ; that to stew it in copper, tin, or any kind of metal, was to
spoil it, and make it unfit for human food.

" it should be covered close in an earthen dish," she concluded,
"and never touch metal, and so should any preparation with milk.
1 love cookini(," added the little lady with a gentle sigh.

" And I detest it," said Mary ; " I would be cr ent never to taste
poultry again rather than prepare it for the tabl« I have done for

the last five years. Ah I if ever I have a cook, I'll not quarrel with
her if the toast is a bit burnt, or the porridge too thick or too thin.

" I would not quarrel with her, but I would dismiss her," said
Lavinia ; " badly cooked food is simply disgusting. I have taught
Robert to cook since he came here ; he could not boil a potato even,
or cook an egg ; but now he knows his duty pretty well."

" It is not my duty," said the lad, in his gentle distinct voice ; " I
was not hired to cook, I do it of grace to save you. "

The eyes of the ladies met, both smiled and Lavinia flushed scar-
let ; but Miss Mary only lifted her eye-brows and said " Ah ! Robert,
I see we must use words with discretion when in your company, weigh
them well, and give them their exact meaning."

" It is better always to do that," he replied gravely.

" True, O ! Robert," said Miss Paxton, "but who can always be
wise ? Not I for one."

" Well, I always try to say what I mean, " remarked Lavinia,
sharply, and I mean what I say."

" So do I," said her servant, " but then somehow one changes, and

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e over
ver foT
ntly by
jared a
I made
We thus

Lavinia
ing fruit
jthod on

there as
I, was lo

er to taste
P done for
lanel with
oo thin,
her," said
lave taught
otato even,

may rtrA. mean to-morrow the same as to-day. I remember when I
thought a briar rose the most i)erfect rose in the world, but then I had
never seen any other."

" You are a sage," said his young mistress, rather scornfully," but
your philosophy is too deep for me ; it goes beyond cooking "

After this, conversation flagged until they were all seated at the
table, and even then it took the form of a dialogue between Mr.
Llewellyn and Miss Paxton, and Lavinia was unusually (juict and
taciturn. Robert said but little, and Mrs. Llewellyn not one word
during the meal, though she ate greedily.

Miss Paxton asked if there was a Sunday School in Cromaboo, and
if Mr. Llewellyn was a teacher.

" There are Sunday Schools here," he replied, " and I was once a
teacher. I had a class of young men and women, but failed to in-
terest them, and gave it up. They came to seek amusement, not to
seek light and truth, and to flirt in a coarse way and enjoy each
other's society. The power of God was so strong in Goldsmith's
pastor that those who came to scoff remained to pray, but there was
no such power in me ; ^ could not melt nor purify them ; not one
chord of sympathy vibrated to my touch ; I felt God did not bless me
in my work, and gave it up, leaving them to go their own gate ; leaving
them as I found them, dense in ignorance and gross as to morality.

" But the little children — could you do nothing with them ? They
surely are capable of improvement."

" Undoubtedly they are, my dear, but I have unfortunately no
talent for instructing little ones. I believe if ever Cromaboo is a
better place, it will be brought about by the children, and I wish I
had a talent for bringing down my ideas to their comprehension ; but
others may come who have what I lack, and children are quick to
learn and imbibe ideas imperceptibly, and reason at a very early age.
Robert has a Httle brother who could reason in a way that astonished
me, when he was scarcely three years old. His father indulges in
the habit of swearing — which is one of the minor vices of Cromaboo
— and though fond of children, he is not kind to animals ; indeed it
by no means follows that the love of children includes the love of
pets ; a fact which ought to make phrenologists blush for their ignor-
ance, when they class all these little amiable peculiarities into one
bump. But to come back to my story. — John Smith invariably calls

THE CROMABOO MAIL CARRIER.

cats devils. Little Tommy was brought into the shop by his mother,
one day, and I showed the child two kittens to amuse him. ' Baby
devils/ he cried, in great delight. 1 thought my deaf ears had de-
ceived me, so I put my head close to the little fellow and made a
sounding-board of ray hand. ' What did you call them, Tommy ? '
I said. ' Baby devils,' he responded, tenderly stroking them and
laying his head against them. Some instinct, not inherited from his
father, made him love the little things."

" The dear little creature," said Mary, " what a pity he should not
have a good example."

" Oh 1 you mustn't be prejudiced against Robert's father, he is a
white lily in comparison with some of his neighbours. Tommy is
better off than any little man in Cromaboo, for he has a good mother
as well, to say nothing of Bob here."

The mail carrier's face flushed with pleasure. " Oh ! Tommy
don't consider me much of a blessing," he said, " he is often very
jealous of me. One day when mother said, * I'm very proud of my
son,' meaning me, he got ofif his little stool and stood before her for
full a minute, and then he said, ' I thought you had two sons, moth-
er.' "

" Tommy and his mother seem to have forgotten Chip," said
Mary.

" Chip is my father's son, not my mother's, Miss Paxton."

" I believe cliaracter is formed in the first twelve years," resumed
Mr. Llewellyn, " and there is great truth in the old Scotch proverb,
* thraw the woodie while it's green, between three and thirteen,' but
the purest Sunday-school teaching is often counteracted by the bad
example of home, when the home is a mere sink of corruption. I
often think nothing would ever reform Cromaboo but a great fire
that would burn the old birds and their nests of bugs and fleas to-
gether, and leave the little children to begin a new town."

" I am sorry Cromaboo is such a bad place," said Mary, thought-
fully ; " it seemed to me such a pretty pastoral little village, as I
sketched it from the hill ; each little white dwelling looked like a
home, an abode of peace and innocence. I thought of * Sweet Au-
burn,' and mentally quoted :

' Sweet was the sound when oft at evening's close
Up yonder hill the village murmur rose.'

THE CROMABOO MAIL CARRIER.

Ah ! who can judge from appearances ? " an<l she sighed.

Mr. Llewellyn laughed outright and Mary fancied she detected a
subtle, observant half amused look on Robert's face, that led her to
think he was taking the length of her foot.

" If you could hear * the village murmur ' on a fair day, from that
very hill as I have," said Mr. Llewellyn, " you would think it any-
thing but sweet ; it's a chorus of oaths, screams and drunken songs,
rising higher and louder as the night advances ; you would slop your
ears and run down faster than you did from the storm to-day, and
be glad to shut the door between yourself and the foul world outside.
But Robert will give us some music and make us forget our bad
neighbours, now we have done with the tea-tackle."

Mrs. Llewellyn started up at this, and ran about the room with a
sudden restlessness that made Mary think she took especial interest in
the music, and Robert opened the melodeon, not without the demur
that perhaps Miss Paxton did not care for music.

" I love music," said Mary, and mentally added ^^ good music" for
she expected but a poor performance, and settled herself in her chair
with a determination not to /ook bored whatever her feelings might be.

The rough fingers touched the keys, and Mrs. Llewellyn's restleness
ceased as by magic ; she sat down, leaned her face on her hands and
listened. His touch was good ; he played a soft minor, and sweet
and plaintive harmony filled the room, not discord.

Truly music is a wonderful thing, and the power of it is inexpli-
cable when we consider that after all it is but regulated noise. It can
unlock hearts and bring the dead to life, and restore in all their fresh-
ness half-forgotten faces and events which had grown dim with time.
Does its power lie in its truth, or is it but a sweet and potent false-
hood, a gracious answer to the longing within us, promising much but
never paying ; a sympathizing unseen presence that twines about the
heart and insinuates love and joy, never to be realized ? It is cer-
tainly something — this blending and dividing of sounds — that wins our
confidence, touches our conscience, melts our hearts, throws us off
our guard, and turns us inside out. I have sometimes thought that
beautiful music is perfect truth, and therein lies its power to make us
honest for the time ; it unmasks our motives to ourselves without say-
ing " by your leave," it is a ray of light direct from God himself,
showing us the innermost thoughts of our hearts.

THE CROMABOO MAIL CARRIER,

Mary's first thought as she heard Robert play was, ** he is not
offensive," but as the melody swelled and sank and died almost away,
only to revive in sweeter and more thrilling harmony, it begun to tell
upon 1 r ; her heart was stirred, her large eyes brightened, her hands
trembled, though she sat very still, and by and bye great tears came
rolling down her cheeks.

Robert thought of but one hearer, and performed but for one per-
son ; so after playing for twenty minutes, he turned to see the effect
of his music He was startled — shocked.

" I have made you unhappy," he said, on an impulse of com-
punction, " I have given you pain." He was sorry as soon as the
words had left his tongue, and felt he should not have spoken.

" No ! pleasure, Robert, pure unalloyed pleasure. People some-
times cry from joy as well as sorrow, you foolish boy. Is Robert
your pupil in music as well as in cooking. Miss Llewellyn ?"

" Oh ! no, he could play when he came, as well as he does now ;
but by ear ; he does not know a note."

" Is it possible ?" said Mary.

" I know G and D," said Robert, li^tly touching the keys in ques-
tion.

" That is not even the alphabet of music," rem^ked Mr. Llewellyn,

He understands the whole language of music, alphabet or not," said
Mary, decidedly. " Play again, Robert, play again, — Mrs. Llewellyn
longs to hear you and so do I ; play, and ease our hearts."

He did play again ; he played back happy memories, old scenes,
sweet words, dear faces ; he played till nine o'clock, when he struck
into * God Save the Queen,' and having scattered Her Majesty's
enemies with voice as well as fingers, — a loyal outburst in which the
young ladies assisted, — he rose and closed the instrument.

" It isn't late, my lad ; it's only nine," said the master.

" To-morrow is stage-day, sir, and Miss Paxton is going ; she will
be tired if we keep her up late."

Mrs. Llewellyn groaned loudly ; but her husband said "to be
sure, I had forgotten, — you are a thoughtful boy. Bob," and Miss
Lavinia offering no opposition, they all separated for the night.

e keys in ques-

THE CROMABOO MAIL CARRIER. 91

CHAPTER THE EIGHTH.

" Leave a kiss within the cup and I'll not ask for wine."
- — Ben Jonson.

^gt OFT was the air and bright the sunrise, fresh and clean and
^§[ without dust the dry baked roads of yesterday, aa Robert and
Miss Paxton turned their backs on Oomaboo. For once his mas-
ter's interest was not paramount with Robert ; he was glad he had
no other passenger than the one beside him. They had scarcely left
the village when Mary began to question him eagerly.

" Now about those horrid men, Robert — are they much hurt, and
what have you done with them? I have longed to ask you."

"Three in hospital and one gone to the States," he replied.
" The one Bonnie trod on is pretty badly hurt ; his collar bone
broken and some ribs — he may die yet, but I hope not — and the one
I shot in the arm has a slight wound. The third fellow isn't much
hurt either, 'twas fright made him let you go ; the bullet lodged in
his neck and one of the others got it out with his pen-knife. I must
see them off to the other side as soon as they are out of the hos-
pital."

" Did you know that man was suffering all the first day ? Did
your father or brother do anything for him ? "

" Took them all some food," replied Robert, " and as for his suf-
fering, serve him right, I say ; a deal too much is made of such like
rascals. If every honest man set his face against them, instead o'
petting them up for their sins and signing petitions for them when
they are condemned to be hanged, Canada would be more like it
used to be. Why I've heard mother say, when she was young a
woman might sleep with the doors and windows open and be safe,
or walk in the dead o' the night for miles, and never a hand raised
but to help her on her way, nor a heart wish her evil, nor a tongue
say worse nor 'God be wid you,' — that's as it should be."

" I hope we have done right," said Mary, thoughtfully, " it seems
scarcely fair to the Yankees to send such men among them."

** Oh ! Ma/'j nothing," returned her companion, lightly ; " they are
always sending us rubbish in the way o' pedlars and showmen and
the like ; let 'em look out for theirselves — they're well able — and
maybe them fellows will behave better after this lesson. I v,ouldn't

THE CROMABOO MAIL CARRIER.

' (

trouble about it, Miss Paxton, they are not worth a thought of yours
— they are not worth a hair of your head — nor the whole nation o'
Yankees either."

" You are a thick and thin youngster, Robert, to be so bright and
careless when you knew that man you had wounded was suffering
and in want of help ; I felt sure by your face and manner that they
were very little hurt."

" I meant you to think so," said Robert, quietly, " it wasn't fit
them nasty vermin should spoil the whole o' your visit ; 'twas bad
enough that they frightened you."

" Had you any difficulty in getting them into the hospital ? ** ask-
ed the lady, after a pause.

'* No, ma'am ; the authorities are bound to take in them that ap-
ply. The men know they committed a crime in attacking the mail,
and can't understand why I don't prosecute ; they know they are
quite in my hands and will be quiet for their own sakes, or tell some
lie to satisfy the curiosity of the surgeons."

" He did not mention the help and influence of Dr. Meldrum,
partly because he thought she might feel annoyed that he knew of
the adventure, and partly because he was secretly jealous of him, and
did not wish her to take an interest in him.

They trotted on, in silence, till they reached the swamp.

" This is the place," said Miss Paxton, looking about in a startled
way, " I can't help feeling nervous."

" You needn't fear," said Robert, soothingly, " there's nothing in
the whole length and breadth of the wood to harm you, this morning.
I cannot trot faster because it's up-grade. Look at that squirrel —
he's running a race with us — and hearken to the birds. "

" I know it's foolish to feel nervous," she said, " I'll try and think
of something else. Tell me about your music, — how did you come to
play so well ? I will try and bend my attention to what you may say
and catch courage from you ; you look calm enough, but you would
if you were going to have your head cut off."

Robert laughed. " I don't know about that," he said, " I'd put a
good face on it if my mind was made up to go through with it. I
didn't feel calm the other night, only determined to do my duty, come
what would, and get the better o' them, — but about the music. Miss
Paxton "—

THE CROMABOO MAIL CARRIER.

yours
ition o'

rht and
uffering
idX they

asn't fit
was bad

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f they are
tell some

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is morning,
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y and think
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it you would

" I'd put a

with it. I

ly duty, come

I music, Miss

" About the music, presently Robert, — you talk of duty — was it
your duty to deceive me deliberately about that wounded man, who
may vet die, you say, by saying " all right ?"

" Yes ; Scripture plain, its every man's 'duty to bear his own bur-
den," said the lad, promptly, " and not to put it on the shoulders of
a delicate little lady. You trusted the whole thing to me, and you
shall have no more trouble in the matter, if I can help it. I wouldn't
have told you about the rascal's danger now, but I'm afeared he may
die out o' spite like, and 'twould startle you more to hear it on a sud-
den. I have but one care in the thing, and that's you, and I don't
wish the man to die and make you unhappy ; for himself I don't care,
he's not as respectable as Bonnie."

" He is not fit to die," said Miss Paxton," he's a poor ignorant
wretch, I suppose."

" He can read and write well, he knows more nor I do, and the
learning's been wasted on the like o' Aim, while I — I am ignorant."

There was an intense bitterness in the last words that startled his
hearer, and moved her heart to a sudden thrill of pity for the boy
beside her. She touched his brown hand kindly.

" You ignorant — no, Robin Adair, you can play — come tell me
about the music."

The touch of her fingers, the name she had given him — for he
knew the old song well enough — brought a blush of pleasure to his
face, a smile to his expressive mouth, and a quick warmth and ten-
derness to the brown eyes, as they turned upon her gratefully, that
startled and touched her in a different way.

" There's not much to tell," he said. I can never remember the
time when I couldn't sing and whistle, but I never tried to play on an
instrument till I went to live at Mack's tavern at Bezar. I just had
to set the tables, cut wood, and keep the fires up, so I had plenty
of time to myself They had a melodeon. I tried to play and the
landlady liked to hear me, and encouraged me. I lived there a year
and played every day ; twas the only pleasure I had ; my heart was
in it. My next place was the church parson's, in Cromaboo. Mrs.
Johnson, his wife, had a small organ, and let me play when my work
was done ; she said it soothed her to hear me. She took great pains
to teach me part singing, and she taught me several hymns and tem-
perance songs. She used to knit warp stockings for her children.

THE CROMABOO MAIL CARRIER.

! i|

and it's a nasty job to wind warp. She said she would give me a
lesson in singing for every ball I wound. I generally got one every
day. I stayed there nigh upon two years, till they left Cromaboo ;
the wages wasn't much, but learning is better than money. Mrs.
Johnson lent me books, and I had to read th*; Bible twice a day, in
turns with the children, and she was good at accounts and taught me
to cipher in the winter evenings. When I left, Mr. Llewellyn took
me to drive the stage, and that's all, Miss Paxton."

" Multum in parvo," said Mary, *' you took to playing as the birds
take to singing, I see." After a long pause — " have you a Bible ?"

" Not of my own, ma'am, but I can have the loan of one, any
time ; they are as thick as peas at Mr. Llewellyn's, and at the par-
sonage we read the Bible every day, and at the tavern there was a
Bible in every room, according to law, and my mother has two, one
for show and one for use."

" Robert, I want to give you something ; not as pay — your bravery
is above reward — but to mark my sense of gratitude for a great
deliverance. I think I will give you a Bible."

" I should prize anything you gave me," he replied simply, " but
if I might choose a gift it would not be that."

" It is the best of books, Robert."

"It is ; but I would not choose a book. You see my bravery is
not above reward," with a smile.

" Well, name what you would like, if it is anything within my
means you shall have it."

" I hardly like to. Miss Paxton ; I would not offend you for the
world ; in one sense it would not cost as much as a Bible, and yet
it might cost you more."

*' Don't be mysterious," she said, " I am not a touchy person, or
prone to take offense where none is meant. I have no idea what
you would like, but I will not refuse, if I can help it."

" Will you," he said, '* because I am your friend, though only a
poor fellow — because I fought for you, and because I would die for
you cheerfully — will you give me one kiss ? "

They emerged from the swamp as he spoke, and the sun shone full
upon his face as she looked at him ; his shy, deprecating, coaxing,
smiling bonnie face. She was half vexed, half amused, and wholly
astonished at the request.

THE CROMABOO MAIL CARRIER.

" No, you silly boy," she said, " what good would that do you ?
You must have the Bible."

" I will not have the Bible, if I may not have the kiss," he said.

His under lip protruded obstinately, his face took a sullen expres-
sion ; the horses walked slowly on.

" Now, Robert, don't be unreasonable," said the lady.

" I am not unreasonable," replied the quiet, persistent voice at her
side. I know the reason of the thing quite well, it's because I'm an
ignorant fellow and a servant, that you refuse me. If the Prince of
Wales had done half as much for you, and asked you to honour him
with a kiss as payment, and he would feel more than rewarded — as
well he might. Prince though he is — you know you would not say no
to him ; you wouldn't call him silly, or think him impudent ; you
would not despise Aim."

The truth of the words struck home, and the reproach in the lad's
eyes brought her dream to her mind with the suddenness of a flash
of lightning.

" I do not despise you," she said, " but you are a very silly boy,
and a very sentimental boy, and a very saucy boy, too ; to tell me
so plainly what you think of me ; but you shall have the kiss if you
like," and she turned her pretty pale face towards him and offered
her cheek. His sullenness flashed into sunshine in a moment; he
gave her no time to reconsider the matter, but removing his ragged
straw hat reverently, he pressed his lips, not to the offered cheek, but
to the smiling rosy mouth that had just given him permission. There
was a passion in the lad's kiss, with all its tenderness, that made her
blush like a rose, and look really beautiful for the moment ; and a
feeling of embarrassment and shyness was succeeded as instantly by
a sense of keen annoyance, as a man got over the fence near them
and shouted out " stop stage."

Robert drew in his horses, whispering earnestly at the same time,
" Don't be vexed, he did not see us ; he was looking the other way
— I was watching him."

" What's your fare to Gibbeline ? " asked the new comer.

Robert stated it, and the man climbed in. After what had passed,
conversation was impossible ; they could not chat on general sub-
jects, so they were silent j Robert, intoxicated with that taste of jJer-
fect bliss, yet fearful that he had offended past pardon, was restlessly

I.i

THE CROMABOO MAIL CARRIER.

quiet ; Mary, annoyed with herself, that she had been so weak as to
permit such a liberty, and more constrained than she would have
thought possible a day ago. So they sped along silently, in the
fresh bright morning, passing green corn-fields, patches of wood and
meadow land, log houses, frome houses, and as they advanced, brick,
and stone houses, surrounded by orchards and gardens, till they came
to the old home embowered in roses and honeysuckle.

Robert lifted Miss Paxton down, threw the reins to his passenger
and ran up the steps with her valise.

" I asked too much," he said in a low voice, as he held the gate
open for her to pass through ; what gave me such pleasure, gave you
pain ; I took too great a liberty — forgive me — it was not manly in
me."

" No," she replied, " it was very boyish ; if you were a man I
could not forgive you or myself either ; but you are only a naughty
presuming boy, and I'll try and forget it as soon as I can. The
Bible will be a far better gift for you."

She tried to be dignified, but blushed in spite of herself, as she
met the bright brown eyes, a fact that brought a beaming smile to
the rogue's face. "The Bible would never equal that kiss," he
thought, but he did not say so. She did not offer to shake hands,
so Robert could only remove his hat and bow as he said good morn-
ing. He had a delighted feeling that he had not been bom in vain,
as he ran down the steps and mounted his seat again.

Once within doors, Mary was surprised to find things better than
she expected ; Mrs. Hurst was quite elert and good-tempered, tell-
ing her sister they were going to have quite a little dinner party on
Wednesday next, Miss Llewellyn and Dr. Meldrum were to come.
"It is all arranged," she said, "and it will make quite a break
in our dull life. I feel sure Mr. Meldrum is a gaudy man, by the
way he received the tract I gave him."

He had not impressed Mary in that way, but she was glad her
sister was pleased. As for Mrs. Paxton she received her daughter
sulkily enough ; she did not know her motive for staying two days
longer than she had given her permission, and regarded it as flat
rebellion. It surprised her, for she did not think Mary had so much
spirit left, and she considered it better to pass it over this time
without comment, though she was angry at heart.

aik as to
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were to come,
quite a break
y man, by the

TKE CROMABOO MAIL CARRIER, 57

CHAPTKR THE NINTH,

** Thou kaowest no less but ail ; I have «ncIas[H:d
To thee the book even o/ nay secret soul "

—Twelfth Night.

^ffEDNKSDAY came and with it Mrs, Paxton's guests. Spin-
ach was a speciality with Mrs. Paxton ; a dish of spinach
with poached egjrs and toast she would say was "food for a queen."
She would plant spinach tn the fall to have it early in the spring,
and in tlie spring, and again in July, to indulge in it as late as
October. She was also fond of asparagus, and had it every second
day as lung as the season lasted, and woe to the unlucky household
if the drawn butter happened to be too thick or too thin, it would
anger her for twenty-four hours. To-day it was just right, however,
and she remarked graciously to Dr. Meldrum that she considered
these vegetables " particularly wholesome," a sentiment in which he
politely acquiesced, thinking in his heart, no doubt, they were for
the consumer, but how about the cook when the thermometer stood
at ninety in the shade ? And then to be expected to sit down to
dinner and do the amiable and make conversation, — he thought it
too bad, and would rather have had a salad or a sandwich to eat in
his hand, and the pretty provider as cool and comfortable as himself;
but nothing of this mental commentary appeared in his clear, hand-
some face.

The third course was apple pudding, another favourite dish with
Mrs. Paxton ; every day all the year round it was served at her table ;
the russets lasted till the early summer apples were ripe in July.
Never by any chance was a cold dinner served in that house, for
though Mrs. Paxton and her eldest daughter were fond of a salad,
they differed unhappily about the dressing, and a salad was the sig-
nal for a dispute that generally ended in a quarrel ; so Mary avoided
it as she would the apple of discord.

Mrs. Paxton was never a great talker at meal-times ; a dinner she
considered was made to be eaten, not talked over, and the little
Brazilian was rather shy among so many strangers, so she said little,
but thought of her uncle, who if his tea was hot, never inquired
whether it was strong or sweet, who could eat very queer butter with-
out grumbling, who always gave the tit-bits to his wife, and thanked
[God heartily for lettuce and cold bacon, reverently removing his

THE CROMABOO MAIL CARRIER,

skull-cap, and standing to his grace ; here there was no pretense o(
asking a blessing, neither God nor the cook were thanked for the
good things provided, for Mrs. Paxton pronounced such ceremonies
"all gammon," chiefly it must be confessed to annoy the parson's
widow.

Mis, Hurst and the doctor had neaiiy all the conversation to
themselves — for Mary was too tired to talk much — and said very
civil things to one another which neither quite meant, and had a
walk in the garden afterwards, while Mary suiierintended the dish-
washing lest Polly should break the best china, and Mrs. Paxton
gave her little guest a long dissertation upon the cultivation of bul-
bous roots. By and bye the ramblers returned, and Mrs. Paxton
expressed a wish to consult the doctor on the subject of her health,
so Margaret left them and went up stairs, and the younger ladies
strolled off into the orchard to watch for the stage and have a chat.

Mrs. Paxton explained her various ailments at great length to the
doctor, who listened with patience, felt her pulse, gently pumped her
as to her age, and the age of her |>arents when they died, her general
habits and other matters of no importance to the reader, and he came
to the conclusion that she would hardly last two years longer, perhaps
not one ; that the flowers she so much admired would soon be grow-
ing above her ; but of this he gave no hint ; he said soothing things
and promised a little stimulating medicine and pronounced her " a
wonderful old lady," an opinion which entirely fell in with her own.
In the meantime Mary and her new friend had strolled to the bottom
of the orchard, and were seated under the shade of a large apple-tree,
leaning their backs against its trunk, and lazily watching the brook.

" How tired you look," said Lavinia. " Do you always do the
cooking ?"

" Yes, since my father died. We have had seven hand-maidens in
the last five years, left-handed, inefficient bodies every one of them,
who couldn't do the commonest thing without teaching. They had to
be taught how to pick peas, to dig potatoes, to clean vegetables and
knives ; things that would come by nature to a smart girl ; they could
not even wash dishes or sweep the back kitchen in a tidy way." And
she sighed.

" You do not keep a cow ?" said Lavinia.

" No, if we did I should have to milk it half the time myself.

THE CROMABOO MAIL CARRIER.

** Yoo have a feeling face," remarked I^vinia, presently, " and now
I know some of your troubles. I feel more courage to confide in
you ; I think you might help me by advice, or at least by sympathy.
I have never had a young iady for a friend, — of course uncle loves
me, and auntie too, sometimes, but mamma died when I was a child,
and there's no one amongst those Croraaboo people with whom I can
associate. '

** PourqMi pas 1 If one may imiuire."

*' 'I'hey are all of a lower class, and they are so dreadfully immoral ;
nearly everybody."

" What of the Smiths ?" asked Mary.

" Mrs. Smith is a good woman .^nd above her class in many ways,
but she cannot write her name, and her husband is still more ignor-
ant, and their eldest son is a dreadful fellow, ' with great emphasis.

"In what way ?" inquired Mary.

" He is a farmer in partnership with a German named Root, and
people say they have the house-keeper in partnership too. She has
never been married, but she has four children, some like Chip, and
some like the other man. Is it not too disgusting ? I am sure
Robert believes it, for he will never take money from Chip, or
money's worth, although he likes him ; and Mrs. Smith feels as I do
about it, and though the childrei) come to her house sometimes, she
will not have the woman. The Cromaboo people in general don't
feel the immorality oi these things ; ihey call it * a misfortune' if a
girl has a baby and no husband, or say she has been very unfortun-
ate, as if it was entirely an accident."

" Poor things, they couldn't express it better," said Mary, " it is a
misfortune that may lead to the loss of their souls, for when evil is
begun who can tell where it will end. We cannot say how great a
misfortune is a life brought into the world sinfully. But Robert —
what of him ? He is good, I hope."

" He is good but he is a wilful, strange boy ; what do you think
of him, Miss Paxton ? "

" I like him, and think him no ordinary lad," she replied, simply

and frankly. " I take an interest in him ) I should like you to tell

me all you know of him. He seems very complying in manner,"

said this foxey, fair lady ; is he determined, do you think — has he

I any decision of character?"

THE CROMABOO MAIL CARRfER.

*' He will lay a plan and carry it through with the pertinacity of a
bull-dog,' replied I ovinia. " Even when taken by surprise, and pat
upon his mettle^ he will have his own way in spite of obstacles that
to others would be insuperable. I will give you an exanople. The
first clergyman we had in Croroaboo was a A^rr/V/ drinking man/' —
the little lady held up her hands nK>»t expressively,— -" and the next
wasn't there long before he was suspended for seducing a woman of
thirty, or she did him — she ought to have been suspended, too, from
a rope — but the third was really 2^'good religious man, but harsh and
with no tact ; he would tell people their sins right up to their faces
in their own houues in the plainest language. He used to call it
* speaking the truth in love.' They hated him for it, he was very
unpopular, just detested. At last some of them laid logs across the
road, one dark night, to trap him. His buggy upset, and he broke
his thigh in two places, and dislocated his shoulder. He lay there
all night, and John Smith found him in the morning when going to
his work, and carried the poor little man in his arms to the parson-
age, and sent Dr. Meldrum to set the leg, and Robert to take care of
the horse and help Mrs. Johnson. They hired him for a month, but
he stayed till they left Cromaboo. The house is on an island, and
the only way to get at it was by a strong narrow bridge the drunken
parson had built. It was in the spring, and there was a great freshet,
and the first Sunday after the accident — only it was design, not ac-
cident — the whole population of Cromaboo, men and women, as-
sembled on the er bank, tore up the bridge and cut off all com-
munication with the main land. Robert hnd gone home for the
afternoon, and had on his Sunday clothes — he is very proud of his
best clothes — "

" Does he look well in them ? " asked Mary, interrupting her,
"best clothes are a severe test for a working man."

"He looks like a gentleman, as much at ease as in his rags."

Mary inclined her head approvingly. " Go on with the story," she
said.

" Well, when he got to the bank he was met by shouts and sneers
of derision, and advice to swim. ' I had better go home,' he said,
quietly, and turned back. There is a little cone-shaped hill further
down the river, covered with scrub on one side, but perfectly bare at
the top and bare towards Cromaboo, where a steep, straight path de-

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•1

ity of »
and p«t

cles that
le. The
man/' —
the next
roman of
too, from
rtarsh and
heir face*
to call it

was very
across the
i he broke
; lay there
in going to
the parson-
;ake care of
month, but

island, and
the drunken
;reat freshet,
ign, not ac-

women, as-

off all com-
ome for the
proud of his

rrupting her,

lis rags."

he story," she

Its and sneers
)me,' he said,
ed hill further
jrfectly bare at
raight path de-

scends to the edge of the stream. Twenty minutes after, Robert was
seen on the top of this cone, deHberately taking off his clothes and
making them into a parcel. He held them on his head with his
hand, and holding his hat aloft in the oilier in salutation to the peo-
ple of Cromaboo and to keep it from the water, he ran down the
steep path dressed as Adam was before the fall, waded into the river
and through it, in the eyes of his fellow-citizens and in spite of their
teeth, for he was too far off to pelt, though near enough to be seen
very plainly. He retired among the tamaiacks, donned his garments
again and i)resenttd himself at Mrs. Johnson's back door, calmly
apologizing to the frightened little woman for being ten minutes too
late."

Mary laughed, a ringing, musical laugh that startled a cat-bird in
the tree above them and set him scolding.

•• If I had not known Robert was an Irish boy before, T should
have guessed it now," said she.

" How do you know he is Irish, — did he tell you ?"

" I know from the way he speaks, and the way he wears his hat, it
is quite national, he only wants a shelalah to make him complete.
Tell me more of his battles ?"

Thus encouraged. Miss Lavinia related Robert's exploits with the
wood-carriers, the smokers, the swearers, and finally the attempt to
poison him, at which her companion looked grave and startled.

" There is one thing I wished par ftcu/ar/y to tell you about Rob-
ert," she said in conclusion, with a blush and a sigh, " though I am
afraid you will dispise me for it, — I — I am engaged to him."

The large eyes that were looking into hers, widened with surprise
at this statement. " Uo you mean that you are engaged to be mar-
ried to him ?"

" Yes, though it may never come to that, and I am more than half
ashamed of it ; but it's so dull where we live, and we never see a
gentleman, — really there is no chance of getting a beau in Cromaboo,
and we have been so much thrown together, Robert and I. Of
course I know it is a great condescension on my part, and I wouldn't
have it known for the world."

Mary regarded her keenly, but was silent.

" I believe uncle would turn me out of doors if he knew," she
went on, " and I see you disapprove of me for loving Robert."

\r~

THE CROMABOO MAIL CARRIER.

" If you loved him would you feel it a condescension to be en-
gaged to him ?" said her companion, breaking into a smile.

" Why of course it is a condescension," replied the little Brazillian,
with energy, " he is a very ignorant lad of mean origin, and I am de-
scended from Prince Llewellyn ; he is quite uneducated, but for all
that he knows things from intuition, that some men would never
learn in a thousand years ; he has nice feelings, and little courteous
ways."

" I am sure of that," assented the other lady. "Tell me — that is
if you don't mind — how it all happened. I am trustworthy."

'f I feel sure you are, " said Lavinia. " It was when he was ill it
began. I helped his mother nurse him, and at first we thought he
would die, and I took to petting him, and got to have an interest in
him I hardly know iiow. I used to watch him when he was asleep,
and he had such an innocent weary look when his eyes were closed,
and it seemed so cruel to have him suffering because of those
wretches. His face was quite close to mine one day when I was put-
ting a pillow under his head, and he kissed me and said he loved me,
and I couldn't be angry, he looked so pinched and pallid, but I told
him he had forgotten his place, and he said he had at once and for-
ever, for he should always love me, and tlien he kissed me again. It
is so hard to deal with ignorant people, Miss Mary ; you see he didn't
know any better, poor fellow ; he doesn't know enough to understand
making love as a gentleman would."

" Upon my word," said Mary, " I think he does understand it
pretty well. He's an impudent young rascal." The memory of that
extorted kiss smote her with a sense of anger against Robert.

" It's nice to be loved even by an ignorant boy, " proceeded La-
vinia, *' but pleasure always brings paiii. Robert is so cold to me
lately and changed, and doesn't kiss my hand and pay me compli-
ments as he used to. It is too humiliating to think he is getting tired
of me, after I have lowered myself to accept his attentions. If I
thought there was any chance of getting cousin Harry for a husband
I would break with him at once."

" So that is the extent of your love," said Miss Paxton. " And
who is cousin Harry ? "

" He is the most perfect gentleman I know — he lives in Hamil-
ton — but I am so plain I am afraid I have no chance with him, and

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was ill it
bought he
interest in
(vas asleepT
ere closed,
e of those
n I was put-
e loved me,
I, but 1 told
ince and for-
le again. It
see he didn't
o understand

mderstand it
emory of that
lobert.

proceeded La-
ro cold to me
^ me compli-
is getting tired
;entions. If 1
for a husband

I wouldn't be an old maid for the world, and Bob really is a dear
dainty little fellow — how I wish you could see him in his Sunday
clothes."

Miss Paxion shrugged her shoulders. '• He is better than noth-
ing for a husband, aye ? Poor Robert."

*• You needn'c pity him," said Lavinia, rather tartly, *' I would
make him an excellent wife, and it isn't every person in his station
gets such a chance. Do you know, Miss Mary, I am half afraid of
you, and jealous of you, and that made me tell you what I have.
Robert thinks so much of you that— I may be a fool to tell you —
but I am jealous of you."

" Of me" said Miss Paxton, rather proudly ,• " setting aside < the.
differences, I am nearly old enough to be his mother ; I thought yta
spoke to me because I had a feeling face."

" But you Aav£ influence with him, and he likes and admires you,"
persisted Lavinia, " and as for the difference in age, Queen Elizabeih
had her Essex even at seventy, and you know how Mary loved Phil-
lip of Spain."

Miss Paxton laughed till the tears rolled down her cheeks and the
cat-bird began to screech with alarm and vexation.

" You have drawn more than one nail out of my coflSn," she said,
as she wiped her eyes. " I feel the full force of the compliment, but
really you do me too much honor. Those women were queens, you
foolish child, and Essex did not love Elizabeth, nor Phillip Mary.
The love was all on one side in both cases ; and Elizabeth conde-
scended, as you do, to receive the addresses of her servant, who was
just an ambitious young hypocrite as I hope your Cromaboo Adonis
is not, ray little friend, for your sake."

At that moment they buth caught a glimpse of the stage crawling
slowly up the hill. The sight of it seemed to sober the speaker.

" Let us go and speak to him," said Lavinia, and they walked
slowly across to the sweet briar hedge and waited,

Robert sprang out of the coach when he saw them and came in-
to the shade of the orchard, and said the green hill side looked just
like paradise ; and so it did to him — hot, dusty and tired as he was.
He thought Mary looked better, cooler and more beautiful than he
had ever seen her. Never before had he seen her in a plain print
dress, or felt so keenly the distance between them, for she only

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bowed witli quiet gravity and said " good afternoon," and not anoth-
er word during the interview. Lavinia contrasted unfavourably with
the pale beauty by her side ; she seemed to the eyes of the faithless
Robert smaller, darker and plainer than usual. She sympathized
with him for looking so weary, and sent a message to her uncle.

He left them with a dissatisfied feeling ; the distance of Mary's
manner was not lost upon him, and he half suspected that the young
ladies had been comparing notes about him.

CHAPTER THE TENTH.

"He either fears his fate too much, or his deserts are small,
Who dares not put it to the touch, and win or lose it all."

— Montrose.

R. MELDRUM was one of those lookers on who are supposed
to see most of the game. He was a man of leisure without
family ties. Like Mary Paxton, he hated nothing that God had
made, and so far had in him the elements of a happy man ; but
unlike her, he loved nothing. He had his predilections for certain
things and people as others have, but they never amounted to a
stronger feeling than liking. He liked the lower animals well enough,
they amused him ; but he would not get up in the dead o' the night
to attend a sick dog or cat, as Mary would. He liked men and
women well enough to be greatly interested in them, but put his lik-
ing for them in the balance with his self-interest, and you would see.
He really loved to study human nature, and had a great knowledge
of the world, but often failed in his object and missed his point from
want of sympathy with his subject.

A man must have the element of conceit in him before he can un-
derstand a vain nature ; he must love before he knows the meaning
of the word ; he cannot fathom the mystery of hatred till he hates ;
he must be ill before he knows how to feel with the sick. Mr. Mel-
drum had once been very ill, and that made him a much better
doctor than he otherwise would have been ; but he had never loved,
never hated, and therefore failed to comprehend a thoroughly pas-

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:e supposed
lire without
t God had
r man ; but
for certain
ounted to a
well enough,
o' the night
jd men and
t put his lik-
ou would see.
at knowledge
lis point from

,re he can un-
the meaning
till he hates ;
Mr. Mel-
tnuch better
d never loved,
loroughly pas-

sionate nature, or a very warm hearted one ; half the people lie knew
were terra incognita to him from a want of sympathy.

Looking for a word in the dictionary will never help to convey
a meaning to the mind ; either you know intuitively, or experience
teaches, or you never know it at all. Dr. Meldrum had never been
jealous, had never coveted his neighbor's wife, or his ox, or his ass,
or anything that was his,— what need had he to covet ? Was he not
a fine-looking man in the prime of life, with a good profession, when
he was not too lazy to practice, perfect health, and a certain annuity ?
Let me remark by the way, my reader, that a certain annuity, however
small, adds much to man's peace and lengthens his days. Let the
world wag as it would, he got his dividend quarterly. The only care
he ever had was debt, and as the years passed it scarcely weighed
upon him ; he got used to it, he avoided duns, slipped out of the
way of bailiffs, lighted his cigar with the bills sent in, and slept none
the less soundly. His oldest acquaintance had never seen him in a
bad temper, and no story however touching, no thought however ex-
quisite could bring tears to his fine hazel eyes. He had buried a
sweet wife and two little children, but these events never impaired
his appetite, c. destroyed his rest, or moved him to more than a sigh,
though he liked wife and children too, in his way.

He was a pleasant man to meet, gentle in voice, courteous in man-
ners, a man whom you could not pass with indifference, a man with a
presence. Nearly six feet high, active, strong, graceful, with a well-
shaped head, gooci features, a slight black mustache. He was the
son of a church of England clergyman, and had a liking for the
established church as a highly respectable institution, and he often
wen*; to church and was fully aware of the good effect this practice
had upon his re^atation; but he had no greater knowledge of true
religion, no stronger love for Christ our Saviour, than the horse he
rodt o gracefully.

Hl 'dmired beauty in a cool way, and liked women better than
men ; ould be unselfish in small matters to please them, and pre-
ferred a married life to a single one ; indeed, as soon as his wife died
he had determined to marry again if he could only find a suitable
match, but five y^ars had passed since that sad event and he was
still a widower.

His opinion as a professional man had weight with his fellow prac-

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" V

tioners, and not without reason, for he was a clever surgeon. The
sight of suffering, the sound of groans never discomposed him ; his
pulse never quickened, his heart never failed at the responsibility of
his position as an operator ; on all occasions he had his wits about
him. If he undertook a case he was never careless, and carried it
through if possible, but there were few cases he would undertake, and
his rival practioners liked him none the less for thnt ; then he
never disparaged another doctor or criticized his mode of treatment ;
this gave the finishing touch to his popularity.

When sent for to prescribe for an old toper suffering from delirium
tremens — " Dying, is he ?" said Mr. Meldrum, " Bah ! 'tis the best
thing he can do. Send for another doctor, I'll have nothing to do
with him."

" Mrs. Higgs is very ill, sir," said another applicant, looking into
the surgery door one morning.

" Then she must just get well the best way she can," said Mr.
Meldrum, calmh.

Sometimes a person was answered plainly, '* I won't come ; get
Gregror," his rival practioner in Cromaboo.

Thomas Meldrum was a noble-looking, intelligent mortal, as he
sat on the verandah of the Royal Hotel, Gibbeline, the evening of
Mrs. Paxton's little dinner party. He was puffing a cigar, and read-
ing a copy of the last will and testament of the late John Paxton,
which he had procured from the Register office, for the sum of fifty
cents. He read it twice over carefully, guessing rightly that the
testator was imbecile from illness or old age, when he left such un-
limited power in the hands of his wife.

He had made up his mind some time ago that he would either
marry Miss Paxton or her sister, and he wished to know the exact
amount of their property — hence his present proceeding. Margaret
had four thousand pounds left to her, and Mary three thousand
and the place where they lived, which was justly considered by her
father as equivalent to a thousand pounds.

The doctor folded the document, and turned the thing over in
his mind, and balanced it this way and that. He thought the money
preferable to the house and land, charming as the place was, but
then Miss Mary was decidedly more attractive than her sister, though
that lady was undoubtedly good-looking and affable ; but it was just

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•7

possible that Miss Mary might refuse him, whereas he felt pretty cer-
tain tliat Mrs. Hurst would accept him. He decided after some
thought to ask Mary first, — ^judging rightly that she was too honour-
able to tell tales of him — and to offer himself to Margaret if she re-
fused him. The old lady, he reasoned, could not last long, so the
sooner he married the better ; her death might put of! the wedding
if he delayed too long, and then who could tell what might happen ?
Having mentally arranged his plan, and settled all in his mind, he
went to bed and slept soundly.

The next evening he hired a comfortable buggy and swift horse
and drove up to the Paxton's. Fortune favoured the brave, Mary
was alone mending a large basketful of the family stockings ; her
mother was taking a nap and Mrs. Hurst and Lavinia had gone for
a walk. After a few remarks he asked her if she would take a drive
with him. She was tired as usual from overwork and the proposal
was tempting ; she thought it kind of him and said so.

" Kind to myself," he replied, with a smile.

She hesitated, and said if she went it must not be far ; he prom-
ised to turn back when she pleased, so she threw a light shawl over
her shoulders, and put on her hat, having first tripped into the back
kitchen to charge Dolly to take care of the house while she was
away.

They drove rapidly down a side road which was skirted by trees
on either hand. The doctor soon slackened his horse's pace, and
Mary was inhaling the sweet evening breeze with a feeling of thank-
fulness for this little respite after the day's toil, when her companion
began his operation as coolly as he would his amputation of a leg or
an arm.

" Miss Paxton," said he, " you must know, I think, that I have a
great respect and admiration for you ? " He did not say love, be-
cause he had decided not to exceed the truth lest she should see
through him and disdain him.

Her bright eyes looked into his rather vacantly, her face flushed
a little.

" I beg your pardon — it's very rude of me — but I was not attend-
ing," she said. " Will you kindly repeat your remark ? "

He did repeat it as calmly as he had said it at first. Her eyes
widened with surprise, the flush on her cheek deepened.

'■■%

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'* I never thought about it," she said.

"Will yoa think about it now?" asked Mr. Meldrum with a
smile. " 1 have been married, as you know, and cannot profess a
passionate love for you, but if you will honour me with your hand,
it shall not be my fault if you are unhappy. I really like you vety
much ; I would help you, take care of you and cherish you all my
life."

" Liking and respect are not enough in that relation," she replied,
with a sharpness that startled the calm doctor. '' If you do not love
me, you have no right to ask me to marry you."

" Pardon me," said her admirer, " I thought you were a lover of
truth."

" So I am," she replied, " but truth in this case is the reverse of
complimentary ; if I married you, respect for me would soon die,
and liking turn to aversion, even if I loved you, and I don'/, doctor.
I like you just well enough as a friendly acquaintance, and till this
evening I respected you."

" That is very bitter," said the doctor gently, and not quite un-
moved by the reproach ; " is it not enough to say no, without saying
it harshly ? "

She was polite by nature, and the reproof touched her.

" Pardon me," she .said, "lam afraid I am very rude, and I am
sure you meant it kindly, but it's just horrible to marry without love,
and leads to more evils than unthinking people can dream of; only
all do not think as I do on this subject — more's the pity."

" If a man has been unhappy enough to lose his wife, is he to live
alone forever ?" asked Mr. Meldrum, pathetically.

" Yes," said the lady in all earnestness, unless he loves some one
as well as the first wife ; but let us talk of something else and forget
all about it, I shall never mention it to anybody, for I am altogether
ashamed of it, and— and you ought to be."

" I do not think that," he said, " but I will try and forget it."

'■'■ And forgive" said the lady looking up in his face with a little
tremour about the mouth. He was mollified, her words had stung
him a little and he had felt more hurt than he would have thought
possible a day ago.

" Oh ! I don't bear malice," he said truly, " never did in my life,
—don't agitate yourself, pray. Shall we turn back? Let us be

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some one

friends, and as you say forget all about it. I didn't mean to vex you,
so don't be vexed. The flower is beautiful and I may admire it, I
suppose, though it isn't to be mine, and I had no idea it could be
anything but sweet till I unintentionally drew out the vinegar."

" Now you feel relieved by that, don't you ?" said Mary, laughing,
and feeling relieved herself ; " drive faster, please, it so pleasant to
meet the fresh air."

He did drive faster, the horse seemed to fly over the smooth
gravel road, and they were at home in a few minutes. He handed
her out at the gate ; he shook hands with her ; he left his kindest
compliments for Mrs. Paxton and Mrs. Hurst, not forgetting our
little Cromaboo friend Miss Lavinia ; he lifted his hat gracefully as
he drove away ; returned to his hotel at a rapid pace, read the papers
for an hour or two, indulged in a light supper and a cigar to aid
digestion, and Anally went to bed and slept as soundly as he had on
the previous night.

The next day he took the field again. Having come to a tem-
porary arrangement with his creditors he thought it time to return to
Cromaboo, anti on his way called at Mrs. Paxton's. When Dolly
opened the door, he declined to come in, but hoped the ladies were
well, and left a very bc-autiful boquet with his compliments for Mrs.
H urst.

" Them flowers is for Mrs. Hurst with Mr. Meldrum's compli-
ments," said Dolly, putting her head inio the parlour where the three
younger ladies were seated. This struck Miss Paxton as so irresistibly
funny that she broke into her ringing musical laugh. The windows
were open, and the sound reached the doctor as he mounted his
horse ; it moved him to a smile and a muttered " deuce take the girl,"
but created no feeling of anger.

" Really, Mary, I must say I think your mirth's very ill-timed,"
said Margaret, who had flushed with pleasure as she took the boquet
from Dolly's hand.

'* Pardon me, Maggie, it is very rude of me, — what beautiful flow-
ers," and Mary slipped from the room as she spoke and ran up stairs,
concealing a second merry bubble of laughter till she was out of
hearing. She cou/d laugh now ; the exciting events of the last week
had coloured and warmed her life, and set her up like a tonic. Mrs.
Paxton's sharp, ill-humour did not tell as of old, nor did Margaret's

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complaining spirit weigh so heavily upon her ; the expression of
her face had changed, her cheek had a colour, her eyes were
brighter ; she thought of Mr. Llewellyn's words and took comfort
from them : she determined not to make idols of her crosses, and
prayed for the recovery of the sick wretch in the hospital, and had
fiith that he would be healed, and prayed to be guidvid out of all
her perplexities, and felt less perplexed as she rose from her knees
each day.

Her step had a spring in it, her voice a new tone, the cobweb tyr-
rany of home was broken forever.

CHAPTER THE ELEVENTH.

•* O ! woman, in our hours of ease,
' Uncertain, coy and hard to please.

And variable as the shade
By the light quivering aspen made. •

When pain and sickness wring the brow
A ministering angel thou."

— Scott.

;HREE weeks passed, and Robert saw nothing of the Paxtons,
though he blew his horn lustily whenever he passed the house.
The fact was that Mary had thought over Lavinia's story and avoided
him on principle, though it cost her some trouble to find a neigh-
bour willing to carry herself and her parcels, for the township of
Gibbeline is as civilized as old England, and the kindly savage cus-
tom of giving rides and picking up passengers has long passed away ;
now to carry a neighbour, or a neighbour's basket, is to place him
under an obligation to you, and in return if you ask for a ride, you
may meet with a refusal, though there is plenty of room in the con-
veyance, and your legs are weary.

It was a long three weeks to Robert, and when at the end of that
time he caught a glimpse of a muslin dress at a window, as the stage
crawled slowly by on a sultry afternoon, he blew his horn at a ven-
ture on a sudden impulse, and stopping the horses sprang out.
Shall I call it chance, or was he favoured by Providence? Mrs.
Paxton and Mrs. Hurst were both taking a siesta, and Dolly crimp-

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ing her hair, Robert, as he ran up the steps, heard the beloved
voice calling softly to Dolly to come dovrn and open the door, and
the heartier response of the hand-maiden :

" Oh I law, I couldn't, Miss Mary ; I hain't got no frock on."

There was no help for it, Mary had to confront the mail carrier
herself.

" I have been wishing to see you. Miss Paxton," said he, removing
his ragged straw hat, " to tell you about that fellow in the hospital — ■
he is out of danger."

" Indeed ! — I am very glad," said Mary, thougn she knew it al-
ready through Dr. Meldrum, who had satisfied all Margaret's civil
inquiries about his hospital patients as calmly as if he knew nothing
of Mary's particular interest in that one ; he was too generous a man
to annoy her by seeming to know anything of that painful business,
and he gave all requisite information in her presence without rousing
her suspicions.

" Has he any money ? " asked Miss Paxton, after a pause, " will
it be any expense to get him out of the country ? "

** I think he has a little," returned Robert, " but anyhow it shall
be no expense to you. I think you suffered enough in the fright."

" If you advance what is necessary I will pay you again," said
Mary, who knew in her heart she must ask her mother for the money,
who would certainly grudge, perhaps refuse her, and want to know
the why and the wherefore of such an extraordinary proceeding.
Yet she could not stoop to take money from this lad, it was humili-
ating enough to borrow it for a time, after the kiss and Lavinia's
revelations.

" You have taken a great deal of trouble for me," she added a lit-
tle stiffly, feeling anything but at her ease under the boy's brown
eyes.

PvObert saw the embarrassment in her face, the effort at dignity,
and partly guessed her feeling, uuc rIso partly misunderstood it, and
felt more flattered by the little nervous flush of her cheek than he
would if he had known what she really thought of him at that mo-
ment. -./;;>*

" It's a pleasure, not a trouble, to do anything for you," he said,
his eyes adding too plainly because I love you — " may I have a
rose ?" There were hundreds of beautiful blossoms about them.

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B tl

" Oh f certainly, .is many as you like."

" Would you pull outt for mt- i* " in a slightly hesitating voice.

'• Oh ! you are welcome to any — to all — ^a handful if you care for
them," said the lady.

*' I do not care for one unless you pull it," in a very low voice and
without looking at htr,

" 1 should prick my fingers," replied the lady, without a smile and
without moving an inch.

A slight sigh from the mail carrier, followed by a reproachful
glance, and "(iood aft«'rnoon, Miss Paxton."

" (]ood afternoon, Robert, and many thanks for your kindness in
this matter," still very stiffly. ' j »' n ; : ..

So he left her standinj^ amid lier roses. Ten minutes later he
met .Mr. Mfldrum on horse-back, and the sight of him roused a
fierce pang of jealousy in the boy's heart ; she would not refuse
to pull a rose for Aim, he thought.

Three more weeks and Robert saw nothing of Mi>s Paxton. but
it by no means follows that she saw nothing of him. Not once had
the stage passed unohsc'-ved by her since her adventure in the
Cromaboo swamp. Bel- J her muslin curtain she notci the driver
and his passengers. She noted the bright young face looking up at
the house e.igerly d.iy by day, and then turn away dis.Tppointed when
nobody came out. And Robert, too, made his remarks, .ind had his
own thoughts, very troubled and jealous ones, about Miss Paxton.
Four times had he seen Mr. Meldrum's horse tied at Mrs. Paxton's
gate when he passed, and three times had he rm. t the doctor not far
from the place ; yet no one was ill in the house to form a pretext for
such visits. He began to hate th.Tt ^ aim gentleman.

One morning Mary Paxton thouj^ht the horn had a different
twang — it was feebly blown — and from behind her curtain she saw
the stage and Mr. Llewellyn driving, but no Robert ; the next day
there w.is a new driver. She felt troubled and conscience-stricken,
she hardly knew why Was he ill, or had he left fVomaboo, and
without his Bible ? After all he had behaved nobly to her, had she
been right to snub and avoid him.^ She thought of him that day,
and dreamt of him that night. Two more stage days and no Rob-
ert; Monday in the following week and no Robert. She felt very
anxious, and even wrote a note to Miss Llewell) i, but on considera-

THE CROMAttOO MAIL CARRILH

tion thoui^ht it undignified and burnt it. On vV'ednesday she watched
eagerly for th« stage, and \ )oked out Iwldly in the hope of seeing
the bright young face ; but no, he was not there. ,

She went down stairs with a heavy heart, and as she passed the
front door saw Mr. Meldrum tying up 1 is horse at ^he gate. She
went on to the verandah and waited for him.

" I am going to appeal to Miss Paxton's kindness," he said, grace-
fully uncovering his head— ''dear Mrs. Murst, you look as fresh as
your roses, is that lady appeaf«"f) at the (>i>en door, "and 1 am de
lighted lo see you, because you always lake a rtgkt view of things.
My time is limited, and you will pardon me for ciiftiing on my
business at once, liob Smith, the mail carrier, is ill of a fever, and
I am attending him ; he is not delirious, but seems troubled in mind
and talks in his sleep, and last niglit he mentioned Mi^- Paxton's
name in a way which led me to think — that — "' he hesitated.

'' That he is troubled about his soul," suggested Mrs. Hurst, in a
gushing tone.

"Precisely," replied Mr. Meldrum, suavely; "you ladies are so
(juick that you see our thoughts before we express them — and MibS
Lavy is anxious for her servant, and 1 for my patient — his mind once
at rest I should not despair of his recovery — and we are going to
ask Miss Mary to spend two days in Cromaboo, and see Bob and
soothe him about his little religious difficulties, for you know the
poor fellow is u Methodist, Mrs. Hui st,"

'' Sad indeed," said Mrs. Hurst, *' 1 fear he has very little light.
The fever if. not infectious, I hope ? "

" Oh ! no, or I would not allow your sister to go, and so risk "^he
precious lives of you two ladies. He is at his tatlicr's, and Miss
Paxton would stay with Miss Llewellyn — by the bye I have a note
from her I would be glad if you could go by the stage to-day. Miss
Mary — business detains me in Gibbeline till the evening, but 1 will
return to-morro\v^."

Mrs. Hurst had the temerity to say, without consulting her mother,
that there would be a bed at his service, and a stable for his horse,
if it would be any convenience to him ; and he replied that it would
be the greatest pleasure in the world to l.ave ladies' soriety instead
of spending the evening alone at the hotel, so with mutual courte-
sies they parted for the present, r ..^ r:*. - -^

l»i»;j:

THE CROM ABOO \fArL CARRIER.

til

Miss I^vinia wrote :

" Oh ! do, do come at once. I believe Rol)ert » dying ; he talk.i of yoa ia
his Meep, and Mr. Meldrnm says yoa are the only thing that will do him good.
I am so troubled and worried. Ever yours, 1* L.

Thus urged Miss Paxton made ready and departed, notwitnstond-
ing her mother's opposition ; and that evenin^ she might have been
seen tripping over John Smith's threshf)ld, in all the glories of a light
print dress, her head covered with a pretty large structure in the form
of a cap, composed of lace and pale )lue ribbon, and designed to
make her look antiquated, and impress Robert with the great differ-
ence in their ages. In that day l^dy Dufferins and Dolly Vardens
were unlieard of, and only old ladies wore caps. It was so light that
she didn't feel it on her head, and a slight puif of wind had disar-
ranged it, and made it the most coquettish head-gear in the world
before she peeped in at John Smith's door, with a soft "excuse me
for not knocking, — you are Mrs. Smith, I suppose, — how is Robert ?"

" No better, thank you ma'am," said a tall woman coming forward,
'' will you come in please, you are Miss Paxton, I know, Mr. Mel-
drum said you would come, but I haven't told Robbie. I thought
it would excite hinL"

The first thing that impressed Mary about Robert's mother was
that she was bolt upright ; she was rather tall, and she looked very
tall from being as inflexible and unbending as the kitchen poker ; the
next thing that struck her was her likeness in unlikeness to her son,
and the strange length and blackness of her eye lashes, — Horace
Walpole would certainly have called them " half a yard long." She
spoke with propriety, making few grammatical errors, and using no
vulgarisms ; her hair was thick and black and wavy, with a sprinkling
of grey in it ; her forehead low ; her features sharp and handsome,
but haggard, anxious, sunburnt ; her eyes habitually half-closed, and
more than half concealed by their long lashes, but opening unexpect-
edly now and then, with a sparkling blackness that astonished the
beholder.

"She is like Jeal or Judith," thought Mary, as she softly sympath-
ised about Robert's illness in an undertone, " and her voice is sweet
like her son's."

John Smith's house is a fair sample of all the houses in Cromaboo,
and is therefore worthy of a description. John Jibb, the village
builder, erected them all on the same plan ; the front door opened

THE CROMABOO MAIL CARRIER,

into the room ol the house. There was a bed-room on one side with
three windows in it, and on the other a room with no window at all ;
at the back a shed which contained the stove in summer, and above
all a liurge room with a sloping roof, whicli Mrs. Smith had convert-
ed into a best parlour by covering the flour with a rag carpet, and
decorating it with cheap pictures, half a dozen chairs, and a melo-
deon. I have been told that this style of architecture is not peculiar
to Cromaboo, but that in Mt. Forest and even Listowcl there
are m.iny houses built on the same \)\an. The outside was
clap board, well white waslied to the roof. The dark room was
shared by John Smith, his wife, and little Tommy, the one with the
thti e windows was at present occupied by Robert. Everything was
clean, but it was clearly the house of very poor people. Mrs. Smith
was dressed in u derry gown and her hands were distorted with labor.

'* I am very sorry Robert cares so much for me," said Mary, after
they had discussed his illness, " but love never lasts long with a boy
of his age, that is one comfort."

" Faith, that depends upon who the boy is," answered the sick
lad's mother, — it was wonderful how like her son she was when she
smiled, in spite of the difference in age and complexion, — " but I
don't wonder he likes you. He's asleep now, but it never lasts long
with him ; would you like to see him and he not see you ? Then
come softly," — and she led the way to Robert's room. There was
only the bed on which he lay, and a rough little table with a glass of
lemonade on it, a chair and no other furniture. Two of the windows
were darkened with green paper blinds, the other partly darkened,
but there was light enough to see the sick lad's face which was turn-
ed towards them. Mary was struck with its pinched, altered appear-
ance, the eyes were sunken, the cheeks flushed, the hand which lay
outside the cover very thin. Though the women made no sound,
their presence disturbed the restless sleeper, and his eyes opened up-
on the face he loved best in the world, regarding him half tearfully,
and altogether compassionately. He gave a little cry, and extended
his hands, but in an instant covered his face with them and burst in-
to tears. Mary left the foot of the bed and moved round to the side.
Mrs. Smith quietly left the room.

** I am sorry to see you so ill, Robert," said Mary, ^'dtar Robert."

After a few hard sobs, he lay quiet ; he moved his hands from his

T«

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face and looked at her. She took his wasted hand in hers, and his
weak fingers closed on it as if he would never let it go.

" I have longed to see you — I kriow )ou are vexed with me — 1
have so much to say," his voice shook and he broke down again.

" Well, take your time, do not over-exert yourself," said Mary,
gently {)atting the harui she held ; " I am not going away in a hurry,
and I am not vexed with you, my poor, dear boy — see 1 have brought
the rose you v;oveted." i

He took it in his trembling fingers and pressed it to his lips.

" I shall never part with it," he said, ''and i»ow I have seen you,.
I am content to die if it's God's v/ill." r* „■;<'; ,i;jijan-i» j^a^

" You have youth on your side — you must try and bear up for
your mother's sake, dear Robert ; she would be heart-broken if ^hc
lost y^u,"

" Her love isn't enough, it doesn't satisfy ; if I thought you didn't
, Hke me I would rather die tl^n live — even your pity is very sweet,
and I know you do not love, you only pity me." His voice died to
a whisper at the last words. "" » ' '

" Pity is akin to love," said Mary, with a smile and a sigh, i f^tn^i

"■ Aye, and akin to contempt as well," replied the invalid, u^w.i.;

" Not mine, Rol)ert," said the lady with spirit, " I wouldn't travel

twenty miles to see a i>erHon for whom I had a contempt. I like

, you very much, much more than you deserve, considering the way

you have acted to Miss Llewellyn. You are a very, v( ry naughty

boy, and I want you to get well that I may give you a good scolding. '^

" I didn't know that there was such a woman in the world as you,
when 1 spoke to Miss Llewellyn — I didn't know what love meant, 1
didn't think I should ever care more for another than for her. I
love you so that I think of nothing else. I shut my eyes to dream
of you ; I wake to think of you all day long. I told Miss Llewellyn
so last night, I was very sorry to pain her — I like and respect her
very much, but I never could care for another as I do for you. Miss
Mary. You are my one thought." He ceased, exhausted, i

" You may see some one yet you love better," she said, with a lit-
tle comic shrug of the shoulder, " may God grant it. And now
• Robert, I forbid you to say another word ; you have talked too much
for your strength already. You may look at me, and I shall hold
your hand till you go to sleep." ^.^.-,..,, ..,,„....„..,,.,.._,,,., _^._

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*• Sleep 1 I scarcely sleep at all," with a weary shake of the head.

" My poor boy," in a tone of the greatest compassion; " how parch-
ed your lips are — would >ou like a drink?"

" I would from your hand — I would take it if it was poison."

*' Mrs. Smith I " raising her clear, bell-like voice. His mother was
there ip a minute. " Just lift Robert, please, while I give him a
drink, and shake up his pillows and make him comfortable, and then
he must go to sleep,"

" My faith, it's that he needs," said the mother, as she lifted him
tenderly. ^

" Yes, you must^ sir, if you love me," in a bright, im[)crative way
that made him smile. " I shall sit and hold your hand and croon
to you softly, and you must go to sleep, your life depends on it. Do
you think your mother wants to lose her bad boy, and I the last beau
I .shall ever have, now I have come to wrinkles and a cap ? "

" I thought it was a beautiful new bonnet," said Robert, looking
at her head-dress with great interest.

*' Go to sleep this minute," and taking his wasted hand in both
hers, now that his mother had shaken his pillows into order, she
began softly crooning Rosseau's dream. Already his spirit was quiet-
ed, his cure had begun ; he had spoken his mind, and she did not
wholly despise his love ; she admitted she liked him ver^ much ; she
did not disdain to hold his hand and sing for him ; he felt her
fingers, he heard her voice, and it sootlied him, exhausted as he was
with the excitement of the last twenty uiinutes. He closed his eyes
to please her and the hymn grew fainter in his ears, though he was
still conscious of the hand that held his, but presently that conscious-
ness ceased ; he slept, and soundly. Not till he had slept an hour
did she attempt to withdraw her fingers, and then very cautiously.
Presently she crept out on tip-toe to the kitchen, with her finger on
her lip. Mrs. Smith went out into the still night — for it was night
now — to speak to her. *

"Sure you must be stiff and tired," she said, " sitting there so
long." • ■ V ■ '

" Well, a little — but I do think he has taken a turn for the better ;
his face is not so flushed, and his hands are a little damp. How
anxious you must be for your boy." ^^.T i ,7^?;^:; 7^7 T;:*. ,., ^

"She has another boy," said a childish voice at her elbow, and

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looking down Mary saw a ragged dark-eyed urchin beside her. She
gently pulled his nose, and again addressed his mother.

•• How many nights have you sat with him, Mrs. Smith ?"

" Faiili, every one since he's so ill — could I trust what I love
better than life, to another ? Smith, and Miss Llewellyn and Chip
have watched him sometimes in the day,"

*' Would you trust me to sit with him to-night, Mrs. Smith, and
take a good rest ?"

" No, my dear, thank you," with great decision, " pray for us both,
if I may make so bold as to ask you ; and then go to sleep like a
lamb and come back refreshed in the morning. (lood night to you,
miss, and God bless you."

She turned and stalked into the house. Some women walk and
some women waddle ; Miss Paxton tripped or glided as the case
might be ; to-night she glided the .softest bit of light in the darkness ;
but Mrs. Smith always stalked swiftly and steadily, like a woman with
a purpose.

■!■

",! 0» )

V'U w

• • '\-i -. "

?^'K '.tii]' %<-£il 'W<Ml ■..■li':}s^

CHAPTER THE TWELFTH.

-.•«. :.i-

itj^fv

^ijy

■i-;:i/t,>?'i'. i*itri-

Vfiv'i-

" Oli. — What kind o' man is he ? What manner of man ?"
*' Mal. — Of very ill-manner ; not yet old enough for a man
nor young enough for a boy."

—Twelfth Night.

DO not know what an author could do without a wife ; a sail-
or, a soldier, a lawyer, a tradesman, might get on very wel^
without one — pardon me, fair ladies, for saying so — but not a parson,
for who would make soup for the old women, and read to them,
and help with the Sunday-school, and manage the sewing society,
and tell the parson his faults, and play the church organ without
pay ? Not a doctor, for ladies object to consult unmarried doctors ;
and above all not an author, for how could he describe the bed-
room chats, the twilight confidences, between young ladies, were it
not for the wife of his bosom ? ' '"^^'' ' • v - i

On this best authority I know that Laviniaand Mary took off their
dresses, and put on loose jackets and brushed each other's hair, and

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cried a little over their pet sick boy, and agreed that he was a very
perverse, naughty boy, but a very dear boy for all that, and if he
died — " But he won't die," said Lavinia, " I feel sure he will get bet-
ter, I feel as if I really couldn't live if he died ; I have ao much to
bear already ; but you are tired, dear, and would like a little sup-
per, and I will tell you my troubles afterwards ; " and she kissed
Miss Paxton and then they had a little supper, and — tell it not to the
Dunkinites — a little wine and water, with a little nutmeg and sugar
in it, but weak, my dear temperance people, very weak, and home-
made wine at that ; so do not think evil. This li ey took with some
thin ham sandwiches, and they sat upon the bed-room floor and
chatted as they ate and drank.

" I think there never, nn^er was a person so troubled as I am,"
said Lavinia, emphatically. " You know this place of uncle's is
mortgaged to cousin Frank for four hundred dollars, and uncle has
always paid the interest punctually till this year, but now times are
so bad, and it is so very hard to get money, that uncle sent me to
Hamilton, just to make a friendly visit to cousin Frank and his wife,
and tell them all about it, and ask them to wait a little ; and do you
know when I knocked at the door, and asked for Mrs. Llewellyn,
she was not at home to me, though I saw her face at the window.
I didn't know what to do ; I went to the Royal Hotel and stayed
there, and wrote a pathetic letter to cousin Frank telling him all
about it, and begging him to call on me ; he made no reply for two
days, and then he wrote a cold, brief note enclosing five dollars, and
sent it by the Hamilton stage driver, telling me I had better go by
stage instead of rail, as it was cheaper, and to go at once^ and he
would pass over the interest for this year.

" Too bad," said Mary — " and cousin Harry — what of him ?"

I saw him pass the hotel twice, but he never looked up, or came.
Uncle was so much hurt, at their conduct, only he is a christain or he
could not forgive it. Do you know I couldn't stand taking money
from them. I told Robert the whole thing, and borrowed the in-
terest, and the five dollars from him and sent it to cousin Frank, and
we have never heard a word from any of them since."

" That Frank Llewellyn is a selfish little puppy," said Miss Paxton,
indignantly.

" Oh ! do not say that, it hurts me to hear you say that, he is my

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cousin, you know, and he is so handsome and a perfect gentleman m
manners ; I'm sure you would think so if you knew him."

" I do know him," said Miss Faxton, "no one better. I stayed in
Hamilton after a severe illness ten years ago, and he condescended
to orter me his hand, his little jewelled hand, and his heart, which is
as hard as a stone and no bigger than a marrowfat pea. You look
astonished — doubtful — I will describe liim, I will convince you. He
has dark, sleek hair, parted in the middle, and curling at the ends.
! dare say he puts it in curl papers, tongs could never make that
kind of ringlet— and great eyes like a girl ; indeed he is altogether
rather like a girl dressed in man's clothes for a lark. He often wears
prunella boots, because he has a corn, and carries a cane ; he had a
very little mustache when I knew him, twelve hairs on one side and
thirteen on the other, for 1 counted them once when I sat beside him
in a sleigh ; he talks about ' our profession ' and ' the legal profes-
sion,' and ' the bar,' and says ' I give you my word of honor,' in every
sentence ; he dresses in the height of fashion and wears little kids
that just fit his little hands, — I wonder he doesn't wear a flower in
his hat, it would become him, or a little scarlet wing, — but he doesn't ;
he wears glossy stove-pipe hat with a littlj looking glass in the crown
of it that he may see himself in church when he casts down his eyes
devoutly, and covers his face at the opening prayer ; he worships but
one god, and that is himself; he has a single eye to his own perfec-
tions ; he is insufferably insolent and patronizing to his inferiors in
station, and stares into the eyes of pretty women till they long to
knock his head off — at least he did in my day,^ — ^he dances divinely,
he strums a little on the piano, and professes to be a connoiseur in
music, wine and tobacco, and above all in women. ' I hope God
will forgive me,' he says ' but I never could endure an ugly woman,
I give you my word of honour,' " and here she imitated the absent

Frank with such success that Lavinia laughed in spite of herself, and
said, --.--■•. ■■•.■..•.•,. . ,..,,....., ,.;,, ...-'■::!•■

" That's just cousin Frank, and it's a great shame of you to
make me laugh at my own flesh and blood, but I really cannot be
angry with you. How I wish you could see his wife."

" I hope she's a tartar ; I hope she henpecks him well," said Mary,
laughing too, " and pulls his hair when she curls it, and stamps upon
his little embroidered slipper till he squeaks again. He should be

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embalmed when he dies in his velveteen coat, and his little shining
pointed hoots that turn up at the ends, and his most touching neck-
tie. What a wonderful little figure he would be to turn out of a stone
coffin and astonish our descendants."

" What a shame," said Lavinia, but she laughed too. " I shall
never be able to look at him again without thinking of it."

" Ah ! " said Mary, " if I had taken this little sprig of fashion to
my heart, and worshipped this little idol as he worships himself,
Mrs. Frank Llewellyn would never have turned you from her door,"
and she held out her hand to Lavinia, " to think what we have
both lost!"

They were quiet for a little while, and the night grew darker.

" I wonder if Robert is still asleep," said Lavinia at last. " Ah !
if he only loved me as he loves you, — will you ever marry him f "
in a very low tone.

"Marry him! do you think I am cracked outright? No, never.
I am quite sane, my dear, I assure you ; but I like him very
much. I should be very sorry if he died."

" I should be just heart-broken," said Lavinia, " I wouldn't care
so much about his loving you if I had a chance with cousin Harry,
but I am sure 1 have not. I am sure if it was anybody but you I
should hate you ; I couldn't — I really couldn't stand his marrying one
of those horrid, coarse Cromaboo minxes ; I think I should do
something to her if he did." --

•' Cousin Harry, as you call him, was at school when I was in
Hamilton," said Mary, " and 1 never saw him ; is he like his brother,
a little pocket Adonis ? ''

" No, he is not at all like Frank, not so han — " she hesitated.

" Pretty is the word," suggested her friend,

"Well, pretty, then; but more manly and simple in manner."
Another long pause.

" I wonder," said Lavinia, presently, ** if Robert gets better "nd
knows you will never marry him, if — if I could win back liis heart ?
Would you be vexed if I tried ? " ■ ' ' "

"No, indeed," said Mary, with a smile. '- ' ' • ^ ■ -'^ ■

" He gave me this tiny locket with his hair in it ; he should not
have tried to make me love him and then changed his mind." —

" No, indeed," said Mary again, this time very gravely and thought-

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fully, and presently she added, " let us say our prayers and go to bed,
my dear." And they did.

CHAPTER THE THIRTEENTH.

*• There is no earthly pleasare here below

Which by experience does not folly proTe,
But among all the follies which I know

The s^reetest folly in the world is love."

— Sir Robert Aytouk.

OBERT had indeed taken a turn for the better. He slept
soundly till the second cock crow, and though as weak as a
baby on waking, the (ever had left him. Lavinia cooked his break-
fast herself, his mother propped him up, and he ate with an appe-
tite, fed bit by bit by Miss Paxton's slight fingers.

Mr. Meldrum came in about ten in the morning, found his patient
in a light sleep, and complimented Miss Mary upon being a better
doctor than himself; he came again in the evening, found Robert
awake and thought him greatly improved. Miss Paxton staid with
him till nearly ten, and promised to look in in the morning before
the stage left and say good bye. Peep of day found her at Johu
Smith's door, where Robert's mother met her with an anxious face.

" My faith ! I think he's worse again," she said in answer to Mary's
inquiries, " he's had a restless night, and is low and doesn't want to
lose you." , , , ,, ,^_ ,,,_,, ,,.,,.

" Did you sit up with him ? "

" No, I wish I had. I lay down for awhile, and being tired I
never woke till an hour ago."

Miss Paxton paused for a minute in the kitchen, and then entered
the sick room with a cheerful face.
-, "Well, Robin Adair, how are you this morning ? "
<• " Are you going to leave me ? " he said, taking her hand beseech-
ingly.
, "I must go to-day, dear Robert, but I will come and see you

^8^^^- A "I ii^,: rill du.^ ■;-■:.,; ..i.!..:. ... ...J. Jvj"

" When I am dead," he said, and his lips quivered. ^^ ,

j " My poor, dear boy, I am very sorry to leave you. I am not go-

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I am not go-

ing of my own will, I mnst go, for I promised, you know. You are
low-spirited from want of sleep, you must cheer up, we cannot do
without you, Robin."

Here the stage horn sounded a clear, loud blast, as if it would say,
" hurry up there. "

'*\da care very much for you, dear Robert," she said with great
tenderness, really frightened at the sudden pallor in the lad's face as
he raised his head from the pillow.

•' I shall never see your face again if you go," he said ; " will you
give me one kiss, the first and the last ? Do you care enough for
me?"

The stage horn blew again louder than before. She stooped and
kissed him hastily, and turned to go, but Robert suddenly sat up and
.stretched out his arms towards her, and the same instant fell back in
a dead faint.

"The stage is just going, Miss Paxton," cried Mrs. Smith.

" Oh 1 do, for heaven's sake, come here, I believe he is dead," cried
Miss Paxton.

" The Lord preserve us all," said the mother, rushing in and
plucking the pillow from beneath her son's head, ** go for water this
minute."

She did go and encountered Lavinia at the doorway. Water was
brought, vinegar was brought, feathers were burnt, smelling bottles
produced, and Tommy Smith pulled out of bed and buttoned into
his breeches before he knew he was awake, and dispatched for the
doctor, — and through all the stage-horn tooted unremittingly.

" Oh ! do, for goodness' sake, send that horrid man away with his
horn it's like the last trump," said Mary, impatiently, as the light be-
gun to come back into Robert's eyes, and Lavinia ran out and said
" drive on." Thus released, the man took the horn from his mouth,

whipped up his horses and trotted gaily away and Miss Paxton was
left behind. ■; - rrr _ . . ^ :>.^ vp^ -,, ., ._■,., -,,.,

Tommy found Mr. Meldrum from home, he had gone to assist a
little body into this weary world on this pleasant summer morning,
and the hubbub had subsided, the sun was high in the heavens, and
Robert in a sound sleep, before he entered John Smith's door. He
found Mrs. Smith watching her son, with a haggard face, and the
young ladies whispering together in the outer room. He felt his

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patient's pulse, watch in hand, and then beckoned Mrs. Smith away
from the bed-side.

" Come up stairs all of you," he said when they reached the
kitchen, " we can speak there without disturbing him."

With that they all adjourned to the l)est room and sat upon four
of the state chairs in solemn conclave.

" What's all this fuss about Bob ?" asked Mr. Meldrum, when they
were seated, " his pulse is equal, and there is no return of the fever,
— he is weak of course, but that we must expect."

At this they all began at once and told him their morning's ex-
perience, and then at his request told him separately.

" Well, I'll tell you what I tliink about it all," said the doctor when
they had finished. " He kept himself awake all night thinking that
Miss Paxton was going, and making up his mind that she should not
go if he could help it, and when the tug of war came and he saw she
was determined, he made himself faint, as a dernier ressort, and got
his own way at last."

" Heartless !" exclaimed Livinia, indignantly, ** I don't believe it."

** You are talking sheer nonsense," said Miss Paxton sharply, and
with sparkling eyes. " How could he make himself faint, poor
boy ?"

" By sitting bolt upright suddenly," replied the doctor, calmly, " I
told him yesterday that he would faint if he did, that in his weak
state he must change his position gradually. Oh 1 he is a fox"

The young ladies exchanged glances, and Mrs. Smith opened her
black eyes with a sudden flash of intelligence, j. . ;

" Faith, I'm glad you think him no worse," she said, " but you
judge him hardly, sir, sure he forgot what you told him, and every-
thing when he saw the young lady going."

" I don't believe it, ma'am," said the gentleman, with great im-
perturbability.

" I judge Bob in this by myself I sliot myself by accident when
I was about his age, and was carried into a house, — the nearest of
course, — and there happened to be nobody at home, but one most
compassionate young lady, afterwards my wife. I was weak from
loss of blood, and she w is naturally shocked and concerned at the
sight of a gory man, whom she, in her ignorance, thought dying. My
friends left me in her care while they went for a doctor, six railei

THE CROMABOO MAIL CARRIli R.

away, and it was a new and delicious experienre to have her abovit
me. I thought it a lucky shot, and revived wonderfully under her
care, but as soon as I grew better she left me, and went to a distant
part of the room with her sewing. Then I closed my eyes as if it was
all over with me, and groaned. Back she flew like a little white-
winged bird, she dabbled me with vinegar and water, she wetted my
lips with wine, she unbuttoned my collar and loosened my necktie,
and chafed my hands with her little plump white fingers; she gently
raised my head, and then fearing she had done wrong, tenderly low-
ered it again ; she felt my pulse, she even laid her hand upon my
heart, and was frightened at the rapid way in which it thumped under
her touch. No, no, Mrs. Smith, I do not judge Bob hardly, but
correctly) I excuse him, but I call him a fox, and I think Miss Pax-
ton would do well to rebuke him for his selfishness ; her word would
have weight, where yours or mine would fail."

The doctor's little narrative inspired both ye ing ladies with a de-
sire to fly at him and box his ears, but their mdignation took the
form of silence and Mrs. Smith of speech.

" Sure, men are selfish, one and all," said she ; " I never knew one
to better another, when they come to fall in love, as it's called, and
I suppose Robbie will be like the rest. Happy the mother that can
lay her son in a child's coffin before guile and deceit enters his
heart." ,,

She spoke with a bitterness that reminded Mary of Robert when
he said, " I am ignorant."

" You take it too seriously, dear Mrs. Smith," said Mr. Meldrum ;
" he must fall in love some time or other, you know, and I'm sure
his good angel led hiin to Miss Faxtoii."

He was quite unconscious that he gave Lavinia pain by this re-
mark, but Mary knew it, and guessed that his words, for some reason
she could not understand, pained Mrs. Smith also.

"You really talk too much, Mr. Meldrum," she said ; " much you
know about love, indeed, — and you forget the last word is a woman's
prerogative ; it is for women to talk and men to act. Now don't say
another word, but go home and get your dinner, and then mount
your horse and ride to Gibbeline, and make the best excuse you can
for me to Maggie and mamma — I know they will be very angry with
me for staying. Say we feared a relapse and death; that will be

THE CROMABOO .\fAIL CARRIER.

ti'H. .i^Ml JB

quire true, for I really thought for a moment the boy was dead, —
they don't know as we do what a perfect humbug you are — pardon
the word — and they will believe all you say. Be off, if you are a.
man, and not a word more, hut if you are an old woman, doctor, you
will not do as I bid you, I know, but stay and talk for the next
hour."

Mr. Meldrum laughed, rose, laid his hand upon his heart, bowed
and departed without another word.

Saturday came, and Robert was decidedly better, and on Sunday
he was so much stronger that he was dressed and removed to a rude
couch in the outer room, and his father came home from his week's
work and his brother to spend the day with him. Not till Chip had
gone for the night, and Robert was in bed again, and John Smith in
his dark room snoring lustily, did Miss Paxton and her friend peep
in to see the invalid. He had been watching for them eagerly, and
gave a hand to each with a smile.

" I am better," he said. ''

" V/ell enough to take that good scolding I promised you ? " said
Miss Paxton.

" Perhaps," he replied, with such love in his eyes that it drove
Lavinia into the next room to talk to Mrs. Smith.

" Robert," said Mary, seating herself lightly on the side of the bed,
" did you really think you were dying, the other morning, or did you
bounce up in bed on purpose to faint, and so frighten me and de-
tain me whether I would or no ? That is the doctor's view of the
matter."

Robert's jealousy blazed up at once ; " he is no friend of mine,"
he said. ' ' ' '' " '

*' Come, tell me the truth, now," laying her hand on his as she
spoke.

" I couldn't part with you," he said, putting her fingers to his lips,
" I felt very ill, and I was desperate ; I thought if I must die, let it
come when you were with me ; it is death when you are away."

The lady rose and took a turn or two about the little room, and
then came back and touched his cheek with her fan, and earnestly
addressed him :

" Robert, the love that is exacting, selfish, unreasonable, would tire
out the patience of even a saint, much more a poor sinner like me.

THE CKOMABOO MAIL CARRIIR.

b'i

dead, — %

-pardon J^

ou are a p

ctor, you
the next

t, bowed

1 Sunday

to a rude
his week's

Chip had
n Smith in
riend peep
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^ou?" said

at it drove

of the bed,
or did you
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view of the

id of mine,"

> i

n his as she

Ts to his lips,
usi die, let it
e away."
;le room, and
and earnestly

ble, would tire
i^ner like me.

If you deceive me for your owa selfish ends, you will kill my love for
you even in it's bir'h." Then seeing his face grow pale under her
words, she added more softly, "God alone is never tired of us, how-
ever foolish we may be we cannot win His love by our importunity ;
you should think more of your Creator, aiul then you would think
less of His creature ; you should pray not to be selfish, my poor boy,
and not to make an idol of me. Your iceling for me half frightens
me," — and here she touched his head with a carressing hand, — " you
must not make an idol of me, or deceive me again. You 7V^< very
ill, or I couldn't excuse you ; but know all sick people are selfish.
Dear as you are to me, I would rather see you dead than f>elfish and
hard." She had begun the lecture in sharp earnest, but now tears
trembled in her eyes, and the tend, ^ness of her tone half contradicted
her words. '* f will send you so.ne good books, — you will read
them, will you not, to please me ? — and the 1? ')le."

With her soft hand smoothing his hair, I fear he w. >uld have pro-
mised to read it in the original Greek, if she had , ^ed him. She
read him a chapter there and then, and promised to mark verses for
him, that she hoped would comfort him, and then she shook hands
with him warmly and kindly, but gave him no kiss, and told him
positively she would not come in to say good bye in the morning.
He kissed her hand with a sigh, but did not remonstrate, and he
knew when he heard the horn in the morning that she was gone.

She did send him the promised Hihle and certain good papers
called the British Workman, and a pu !ication, then in its infancy,
called Good Words, and he read them all faithfully, and really enjoy-
ed some things in them, though I fear if Mr. Llewell>n had sent them
he would have pronounced them " as dry as saw dust,'' and never
looked into them twice.

And he grew stronger, day by day, he thought more and more of
that last interview with Miss Paxton and her words ; she had said
he was "dear" to her, her eyes looked lovingly at him even when
her words were the sharpest, and when she touched his head, surely
it was love, not pity that prompted the action. " Yes," he thought,
" without vanity, this is love, but I am younger than her, and mean
in station, and she will not allow the feeling even to herself, and in
this thought he misunderstood her and did her injustice ; it was love
indeed she felt for the sick boy, bu: the love of an old bird for a cal-

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23 WEST MAIN STREET

WEBSTER, N.Y. 14580

(716) 872-4503

THE CROMABOO MAIL CARRIER.

low young one, the love of a mother for her grown up son, the love
of a big sister for her younger brotlier, and she was not at all ashamed
of the feeling, warm and strong as it was, for it was not the love of a
woman for the man she would marry, or anything like it.

CHAPTER THE FOURTEENTH.

" Marriage is the foulishest act a wise man commits in all his life."

— Sir Thomas Browne.

" Conjugal love seems never old or stale, but ever sweet ; it multiplieth
joy, it divideth sorrow, and here in this sorry world is the thing
likest heaven." — Charles Reade.

S ROBERT grew better he began to feel keenly that it is im-
possible to escape the consequences of one's actions, that as a
man sows, so indeed must he reap. His love-making to Miss La-
vinia, sweet in the bud, was bitter in the fruit, and perplexed him
much and made him very uncomfortable, nay even retarded his pro-
gress towards health. That young lady, as we have seen, was quite
unwilling to give up her quondam lover, until at least she could se-
cure a better; and she began ihe process of winning back his heart,
by writing little notes while he was still in bed, and sending them
by Tommy ; because on paper she could express feelings she had
not the courage to speak of to his face. Tommy was charged to tell
nobody about these billet doux, but give them to Robert when no one
was present, and Tommy was loyal, but with the best intentions he
occasionally let the cat out of the bag. Once his brother Chip
seized him, as he was speeding along like a lap-wing, with a note
squeezed tightly in his little fist.

" What have ye there ?" he asked.

Tommy bit and scratched like a little wild cat, — " You're not to
know, I won't let you see it, — it's a love letter for Bob," he said,
struggling and screaming to get away.

Chip gave a great roar of laughter, and let him go, but didn't fail
to tell the joke to his acquaintances, and ask his brother where his
love letters came from.

The next evjsning Tommy stole through the kitchen in such a very

THE CROMABOO MAIL CARRIER,

in such a very

sly and mysterious way, that he attracted the attention of the whole
family, and a spirit of mischief impelled Chip — who had come in to
ask after his brother — to seize him again. Tommy fought as before.

'* You're not to see it — I won't let you see what I've got, Chip."

" Will you let me see it, Tommy ?' said Mr. Mcldrum, who hap-
pened to be present.

*' No I won't, — it isn't for you, it's for Bob, all by himself.

Then Chip related yesterday's experience, and the doctor's face still
wore an amused look, when he went in to feel his patient's pulse.
Robert was greatly annoyed, yet knew not what to do, but Tommy
helped his brother unconsciously. When Miss Lavinia gave him
another note with a warning not to let anybody but Robert know
where it came from, " No I won't," said Tommy, very earnestly,
" for then everybody would laugh at you."

" Why do you say that, you urchin ?" asked Miss Lavinia, sharply.

" Because they laugh at me for taking them, and Bob for getting
tliem."

" IV/io laughs ? Have you ^arrr/ to show them to anybody but
Bob ?" said Lavinia, in a tragic tone.

" Chip and father and Mr. Meldrum did last night," and Tommy
told his adventures.

She did not send the note, but took it herself, and finding Robert
asleep, placed it in his unconscious hand. His mother saw it there,
and a kind womanly feeling for Miss Lavinia prompted her to take it
away, till he woke, least others should see it too. She gave it to him
herself, and noted that he received it with an impatient sigh ; in truth
he was half minded to tell his mother all about it, but a sense of
honor held liim tongue tied. His love for Miss Paxton was no secret
to her, and never did another sympathise with a son as this one did
with hers ; she was nearly as much in love with Mary as Bob him-
self, and her sympathy comforted him greatly.

As soon as he was strong enough, he spent an hour or two at the
Paxton's, while the stage went to Gibbeline. Miss Lavinia went
with him, and also Dr. Meldrum, and greatly marred the pleasure of
the visit, yet did not wholly spoil it either, for he saw the inside of
the quaint old house, the beautiful garden, the verdant grass, and
had his dinner under the orchard trees, and Miss Mary served him
with her own hands, and gave him a white rose for his button hole.

'■A

THE CROMABOO MAIL CARRIER.

Mrs. Hurst gave him a tract, and greatly puzzled and confused him,
and brought the blood to his pale cheeks by saying she was glad her
sister had shown him what a sinner he was, and the way to life eter-
nal ; even Mrs. Paxton's stony old heart was touched by the sight of
his wan face, and she advised him to wear flannel drawers, and
graciously gave him a rosey-cheeked apple with a worm in it, and
pronounced him "a pretty boy."

He took back a little bisket of cherries which Mrs. Paxton sore-
ly grudged, and a great boquet of flowers for his mother. Poor
boy, he was glad at heart, though still a little weak in body when
he resumed his <luties, and it was with a thrill of joy that he saw the
old house loom in sight, and a hope that Miss Paxton would run
out to speak to him, a hope as instantly succeeded by consternation,
dismay, despair, for there stood two cabs in the yard, pnd another at
the gate, with bunches of white ribbon at the horses' ears, wedding
favours. For a moment his heart stood still, then anger and jeal-
ousy made him hot all over ; he took his horn mechanically and blew
a loud and piercing blast, but it did not relieve his feelings, and no
more unhappy creature existed on the face of the globe than Rob-
ert as he drove into Gibbeline. But if he had received a blow, he
had given one back, for never had stage horn tooted at a more un-
fortunate moment than his tin trumpet on this particular occasion.
Thomas Meldrum and Margaret Hurst were just plighting their troth
to each other in the presence of a Rural Dean and a select com-
pany of guests, and the sound of Robert's horn made Margaret angry
on her wedding day.

Poor miserable Robert could not keep away from the railway sta-
tion, he must see Mary's face once more, and there he felt sure he
would see it, for did not all newly married couples go to the Falls ?
He felt sure she had married Mr. Meldrum ; in his heart he called
her cruel, yet loved her none the less. Mr. Meldrum had looked
elated lately, and Lavinia had spoken mysteriously of some particu-
lar event when she went the day before yesterday to stay at Mrs.
Paxton's. How glad he had been to get rid of her worrying atten-
tions, little dreaming the cruel truth.

When at length the cab with the wedding favours arrived, and he
saw Mr. Meldrum get out, though he had expected to see him, he
turned sick and faint, and with difficulty staggered to a seat, " be-

THE CROMABOO MAIL CARRIER.

i^l

cause things seen are mightier than things heard," as Tennyson says
truly. He kept his eyes fixed on the cab with a kind of faucination ;
a lady in dark grey stepped out, whose strongly marked features and
dark rosy cheeks were quite unlike Miss Mary's. Her gait was firm
and proud. She saw nothing so insignificant as Bob Smith, the
Cromaboo mail carrier, but her husband was not so oblivious of pass-
ing things ; he saw his patient and smiled, and when he had dis-
posed of his bride for the present, by leaving her in the waiting-room,
he came back and laid his hand on Robert's shoulder.

" It's kind of you to come and see me off, Bob," he said, " but
you are a foolish fellow to try your strength so much ; you are not
strong yet arid you look quite ill. Why did you waste your breath
in that tremendous blast this morning ? Mrs. Meldrum is quite out
of temper with you. You must have known they wouldn't want to
send for butcher's meat and groceries on a wedding day. I left ?
message for you at the Western from Miss Paxton ; you are to call
as you return for Miss Lavy, and a piece of brides' cake to dream on
— we all know who you will dream about," he said, with a good
humoured smile.

Robert poured out congratulations and good wishes, his heart
smote him for his past ill-will to the doctor, who patted him on the
shoulder, and said, " I wish I could leave you looking more robust
Bob," and immediately after hailed the wedding cab, as it turned to
depart, and sent him back to the Western in it royally.

This marriage was considered by all parties concerned a particularly
happy event ; Margaret was pleased because she was tired of a sub-
ordinate position, and wished to lord it over a house of her own once
more ; her husband was pleased because he had a handsome wife in
possession, and four thousand pounds in prospect ; Mrs. Paxton
because she had one the less to board and clothe ; and Mary saw her
sister depart with a sigh of relief, and felt secretely grateful to the
doctor for removing one of her burdens ; she knew far better than he
what he had undertaken. Lavinia was pleased to be bride's maid,
and Robert was pleased that the doctor was married, and so out
of his way ; the Rev. Paul Moorhouse, of Cromaboo, being a bach-
elor was pleased to let his parsonage to Mr. Meldrum and remove
into lodgings ; Dolly was pleased to get rid of one of her mis-
tresses, and above all Mr. Meldrum's creditors were pleased to hear

niK CROMABCX) MAIL CARRIER.

had married a lady with money, not knowing as he did that (he
money was only in prospective ; and Mr. Uewellyn said it would in-
crease the respectability ot the place, and was glad for his niece's
sake. All Cromal)oo was on the tip-toe of expectation, when, after
a week's al)sence, the newly married c«uplc returned, and took pos-
session of the parsonage.

In the meantime Robert went on improving in health and getting
more and more troubled in conscience, and peqMexed in mind with
regard to his little mistress, who paid unremitting attention to his
comfort, prepared little choice di.shes to tempt his appetite, and left
nosegays and notes upon his pillow daily, now she had him in the
house again.

Towards the end of October, Mary Paxton went to Cromaboo to
spend a few days with her sister. It was singularly fine warm weather
in spite of the prophets who predicted an early fall and a hard winter ;
and when warm in Cromaboo, it is sultry in Gibbeline, and insuffer-
ably, unendurably hot in Hamilton. To Hamilton we must now
remove the scene of our story.

CHAPTER THK FIFTEENTH.

*' She may be handsorme, but a handsome proud face is but a handsome
ugly one to my thinking." — Leigh Hunt,

•• He that high growth on cedars did bc»>tow.
Gave also lowly mushrooms leave to grow.
We trample grass and prize the flowers of May ; -"
Yet grass is green when flowers do fade away."

— Robert Southwem,.

|,RS. FRANK LLEWELLYN was a person of very handsome
exterior, a very strong will, and very little common sense.
She had a passion for domineering and ruling all who came into
contact with her. She had few relatives of her own since her father's
death, and those she entirely ignored, and devoted her energies
to her husband's family, who all acknowledged her sway, except
the Cromaboo Llewellyns. Those near yet distant relatives were a
continual trouble to Mrs. Frank.

THE CROMABOO MAIL CARUIKK.

that the
vould in-
s niece's
len, after
took pos-

^d getting
tnind with
ion to his
;, and left
ixm in the

omaboo to
irm weather
ard winter ;
nd insuffer-
must now

landsome
Hunt.

WEI.I"

;ry handsome
inmon sense.
\o came into
ce her father's
her energies
sway, except
latives were a

" The girl," she would say, " is not fit to be seen in decent socie-
ty, and the old man is shabby looking and peculiar in his ways."

His wife she had never seen, but when she heard that her mind
was affected, she said she ought to be placed in a lunatic asylum,
and offered to pay for her there.

Mrs. Frank's money was strictly settled on herself, and her hus-
band was the highest paid servant in her establishment, and censori-
ous people .said the most ill-used; yet to do him justice, he would
not have served her for money alone, he was proud of her beauty,
and liked to hear it said that he had married " the belle of three
cities," the finest woman who ever entered Hamilton as a bride ;
and it was not entirely the love of money that made iiim her slave,
though no doubt the lucre had a little to do with it, and had ^ car-
ried the purse he would have made a fight for the ascendancy, but it
would have come to the same thing in the end, and she would have
conquered.

Mrs. Frank had no wish to be cruel or despotic, she thought she
ruled her relatives for their own good, she wished them to Le fash-
ionable in exterior and highly respectable in conduct ; she loved pro-
priety and objected to eccentricities in dress or manner. Before I
had the honor of an introduction to this lady, her brother-in-law
Harry gave me a description of her beauty and qualities.

" By George, you know," said he, " Eleanor will have everybody
about her crack and tip-top, you know, or else she won't tolerate
them ; and don't you know nobody feels inclined to stand at bay
and face her, they just feel somehow they must give in, and they do,
you know. She doesn't walk, she sweeps and sails about slowly,
looking like Juno, and if she doesn't like people, she looks through
them and over them, somehow. Excellence of some kind she ex-
pects from all her acquaintances, no mediocrity for Eleanor. ' I
can't put up with ugly, stupid peop'e,' she says, with a toss of her
head, ' unless they are very rich.' "

" How is she afiected towards you ? " I asked.

" Oh ! she endures me because I'm Frank's brother, but she's glad
he hasn't another brother like me ; * om of that sort is enough,' she
says. She takes me under her wing, or rather under her thumb, like
the rest of his relatives, all but the Cromaboo people, you know, and
they're more than she can stand," said this frank, young gentleman.

THE CROMABOO MAIL CARRIER.

One sultry afternoon, towards the end of October, Mr. Frank
Llewellyn steamed across Burlington Bay to th^- Ocean House, where
his wife was staying for fresh air ; he expected to enjoy a good din-
ner in the company of a handsome, languid woman in muslin and
lace, who would be too much overpowered by the heat to say much
more than " how very warm it is ; " and he was thinking of a trip
to Portland, late as it was, and reckoning the probable expense in
his mind as he entered the hotel. Blessed is he who expecteth noth-
ing. He found the wife of his bosom transformed to an energetic
fury, arrayed in a linen travelling dress and hat, who, valise and um-
brella in hand, confronted him at the door of his apartments, with
the sharp question, " When does the boat return ? "

" In half an hour, but what of that ? " said Mr, Frank, " I want
my dinner."

" You will get it in two hours, in Gibbeline," said the tall lady,
with stern decision ; "we are going to Cromaboo."

"Going to the devil," blustered Mr. Frank, "you are mad, Eleanor."

"Don't be insolent, Frank," returned the lady, "/ am going to
Cromaboo ; if you don't choose to escort me, I go alone. I have
heard that that hateful Lavinia is going to make a horrid low mar-
riage with a creature of the meanest origin, a fellow who drives the
stage, and I wotit stand it. I will make uncle stop it."

" But are you sure ? " said the husband, quailing a little before her
vehemence.

"5«rtf/" with great scorn; '•'■ will you go with me, or will you
not ? "

" I am sorry about Lavy," remonstrated Mr. Frank, "but really — "

" Sorry, she ought to be put in the penitentiary," said his wife,
stamping her foot emphatically, " that girl was born to be a disgrace
to the family."

Mr. Frank said much, very much ; he talked till they heard the
sound of the whistle, which indicated that the little vessel was get-
ting up her steam.

" I am going, do as you like, Mr. Frank Llewellyn," said the lady,
taking up her valise, " it's your relatives I wish to benefit, not mine,"
and she sailed out at the open door. Her husband followed, not
meekly indeed, but still he followed ; they got on board and steamed
back to Hamilton \ they took a cab and drove to the station ; they

THE CROMABOO MAIL CARRIER.

were soon in the train and off. In vain Mr. Frank urged his wife to
tell him her reasons for thinking so ill of Lavinia. She w.is for a long
tjiite sulky and silent ; not till they had retired to her apartment for
the night did she open her heart to him, and then not fully. Siie
told him indeed what she was going to do, but she gave him no
reason for her conduct, that she said he would hear in time. She
would give her reasons to Mr. Llewellyn in his presence.

" I will break up the establishment," said Mrs. Frank, '* and make
your uncle send his wife to the lunatic asylum, and I'll pay for her
there as I offered to when I first married you, and he refused, — now
he shall not refuse, and he shall live with us ; I'll get him new
clothes and make him look respectable, and as far that girl, I'll give
her two hundred dollars a year if she will live in the States, and give
up this hateful match, and never see the fellow again, or come to
disgrace us in Hamilton with her little vulgar plebeian presence ; and
if she refuses we'll cut and disown her foreve - '"

She stopped to take breath, and pull out sundry hair pins, and
loosen her dark hair with a toss, and throw it over her shoulders.
Her husband doubted her power to do all this ; he knew his uncle
was an obstinate man, notwithstanding his courtesy to women ; he
knew that he loved Lavy, and loved his wife, but he quailed before
the handsome termagant, who sat on the bed-side in her white
drapery, scowling upon him as he paced the room in his shirt-sleeves,
and tapping her bare foot as he turned to look at her, with an im-
perious " well ?" He did not dare to tell his mind to her.

"You are excited, my dear," he said, nervously, " you had better
go to bed, I think."

He would tell her what he thought of her scheme in the morning,
he said to himself, and stop the visit to Cromaboo ; but Mrs. Frank
Llewellyn did not sleep well, and her temper was as bad in the morn-
ing as it had been on the previous night ; he had not the pluck to
try and dissuade her from the journey, and went meekly at her bid-
ding to tell the obnoxious Robert to call for them before he left Gib-
beline. He carried it with a high hand in speaking to the mail car-
rier — who had no idea he was related to the master — it was a relief
to him to bully somebody, and he detested Robert as the cause of
his present annoyance. Robert did not like the little gentleman, but
was disposed to be civil to Mrs. Frank when he saw her in con-

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sideration of her great beauty. He gave them the back seat to
themselves for the i)reseni ; three passengers were sitting opposite to
them, and two in front with the driver. On the bridge they came
upon a young girl with a large basket on her arm, and she hailed
the stage. It was Mrs. Paxton's hand-maiden Dolly, not in her
ordinary working garments of blue or brown derry, but in holiday
attire ; her gown of three different colors, her hat adorned with both
flowers and feathers, her hair frizzed, scratched and puffed in a dread-
ful way. Bad taste in dress was an unpardonable sin in the eyes of
Mrs. Frank Llewellyn, and slie determined not to have " such a crea-
ture " sitting beside her if she could help it, as she calmly surveyed
poor Dolly through her double-eye glass.

" The old misses told me to go home by stage," said Dolly, blush-
ing and much flustered by the sight of so many people looking at her.

".All right," replied our hero, "plenty of room in the back seat ;
make room lor this lady, please," turning as he spoke, and addressing
the aristocratic occupants of the host seat in the coach. Eleanor
looked at her husband as if she would say "speak."

" I will have no one in this seat," blustered Mr. Frank, " there's
no room."

" There's plenty of room," said the cool, sweet voice of the driver.

" I object to being crowded," said Mr. Frank, " I would rather
take a cab and drive to Cromaboo."

" All right, sir," replied Robert, " then out with you, please, the
lady waits on you."

Mr. Frank did not expect to be taken at his word so promptly,
especially as Eleanor carried the purse.

" What would the cab fare be ? " he asked, still in a blustering
tone, but a little crest-fallen.

" Seventeen dollars, and one by stage," was the answer ; " this lady
musf go, but she is not going far."

Eleanor did not care to spend so much, so " the lady" got, in with
an uncomfortable sense of putting everybody about, and Mr. Frank
squeezed himself into a corner, and Eleanor gathered up her draperies
and sat almost on top of her lord, hs if poor Dolly had been suffering
from itch, small-pox or other contagious disorder ; so they rolled
along till they came to Mrs. Paxton's, when Mr. Frank and his wife
had the seat to themselves once more.

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In due time they arrived in Cromaboo, and Robert stopped at his
master's door to throw in the mail ba^ before taking his passengers
to their several destinations.

Mr. Frank dismounted and helped his lady out, feeling in his heart
that now came the tug of war.

" Your fare, sir, please," said Robert, who felt not the slightest
curiosity as to wher»; they were going. Mrs. Frank turned haughtily
to the driver, and without a word placed in his hand four American
fifty cent pieces. " Thank you ma'am, but this is Yankee money, —
eight cents more, if you please."

She had always passed it at par in Hamilton, where the tradesmen
knew her and honoured her, and got it out of her in some other way ;
she looked upon Robert's demand as another insult from this pre-
sumptious low creature, so she glared at him disdainfully with her
dark eyes, but offered no more. Had she not honoured his poor
conveyance by riding in it, — was she not his ma.ster's kins-woman ?
— a fact not dreamt of by the offender, — and therefore she ought
never ':o have paid her fare at all.

Robert tossed the coins in his palm, and turning to the other pas-
sengers with an impudence worthy of a London cabman, said, " well,
I didn't think such a very good-looking woman could ha' been so
mean like," and he mounted his perch without further haggling and
drove on.

Shall I describe how this tall magnificent lady and her timid
little lord came suddenly upon their uncle in his shabbiest coat, and
oldest skull-cap, how they caught Miss I^vinia dyeing woolen yarn
for her uncle's stockings, and startled Mrs. Llewellyn out of a sound
sleep, causing her to tare about the house like a frightened cat ?
No, I will draw a veil, and leave all this to the reader's imagination ;
suffice it to say that half an hour later a flying post in the form of
little Tommy Smith came pelting across the green in front of Dr.
Meldrum's house, with a note for Mary Paxton, begging, imploring,
entreating that lady and Mrs. Meldrum and the doctor to dine at Mr.
Llewellyn's at eight that evening, as cousin Frank and his wife had
arrived unexpectedly, " and I am sure," wrote Lavinia, " that Eleanor
is angry with me, as she would not let me kiss her, and she used to
turn her cheek so graciously, and she says I am 'a dirty creature'
for dyeing yarn. Oh ! do, do come at once."

JP*»^

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The note was read aloud and Mrs. Meldrum remarked that it show-
ed how very little respect Lavinia had for Arr judgment, to have
written to Mary instea<l of herself.

" You may go if you like," she said in a crushing tone to her sis-
ter, *' and Thomas may escort you if he pleases ; / will go when 1
am properly invited, not before."

Mary did like to go, and Thomas was pleased to escort her, and
consequently they were soon strolling through the village in the light
of the setting sun, — a misty Indian Summer sun, — to the place of
rendezvous ; little bare-footed Tommy trotting far in front of them to
herald their approach, his teeth occupied, and his heart gladdened
with a large apple turnover.

CHAFFER THE SIXTEENTH.

*• I could a talc anfold, whose lightest word
Would harrow up thy soul — ."

— Shakspeare.

" A man can scarce allege his own merits with modesty, much less
extol them ; * ' * but all these things are graceful in a friend's
mouth which are blushing in a man's own. I have given a rale
where a man cannot fitly play his own part ; if he have not a
friend he may quit the stage.

—Lord Bacon,

;LEANOR was pleased to see Mr. Meldrum notwithstanding her
ill-temper, for she had always admired him for his good looks
and good manners, and the sight of his gentle sister-in-law was most
welcome, too, after the first glance, for she was pretty, she was dressed
in the most exquisite taste ; the softest and most spotless white mus-
lin floated about her, only relieved by a bright ribbon at the throat,
and a moss rose-bud in the bosom. She bad a gentleness of voice
and softness of feature that, in Mr. Frank's opinion, betokened weak-
ness of nature. She looked like a person who would be shocked at
any impropriety and easily managed. The fact was that when Miss
Mary's voice was the gentlest, her heart was at its hardest, her mind
in its most determined mood, as those most intimate with her well
knew. She was not by any means deficient in thoral courage, though
cowardly enough in a fire, or a scene like that in the Cromaboo

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swamp. She was not at all afraid to face an angry or unreasonable
fellow-creature, her mind once made up ; she could do it in cold
blood, so to s|)eak, with(jut flurry or nervousness, and had from a
child fought other people's battles better than her own.

Eleanor thought that being highly respectable people, Mr. Mel-
drum and Miss Faxton must feel with her, and the first compliments
over, and the new arrivals seated, she opened fire at once, with the
full conviction that they would both be on her side, and think entire-
ly as she did.

*' Uncle," she said " we have come to see you on very unpleasant
business, we hear that I^vinia is about to form a low marriage, and
we come to remonstrate, and beg you to put a stop to it. I speak
the more freely before Miss I'axton and Mr. Meldrum, delicate as the
subject is, Ix'cause I am sure they will sympathise with me entirely."

The old gentleman heard, but he could not believe his ears, he
thought they had deceived him, as in the case of the '* baby-devil."

" I beg your pardon, my dear," he said meekly, *' but I have grown
very deaf on the right ear ; will you be so kind as to sit on this side
of me and say it again."

She changed her position and si>oke with such clearness and sharp-
ness that there could be no mistake this time. " I hear," said he,
" but I fail to comprehend, — what do you mean ? Explain, if you
please."

" I hear," said Mrs. Frank, raising her voice to a high pitch, " that
Lavy is engaged to the mail carrier, Bob Smith, and I call it a dis-
grace to the family. Everybody talks of it — it is all over Hamilton."

" You have heard, Eleanor, what is not true," said Mr. Llewellyn,
with dignity.

" But it is true," persisted Mrs. Frank, " she let him kiss her as he
lay sick in bed, and the girl who was helping his mother heard the
word love ever so many times, and / believe it, uncle ; and she sits
beside him in the stage whenever she can, and people actually call
her ' the conductor.' The boy is nice enough, I dare say, for his
station, but he is dangerous for all that. It is dreadful presumption
to make love to Lavy, and as for her, I've no patience with her ;
that girl was born to be a disgrace to the family."

"If I thought it possible — but it's not possible," said Mr. Llewel-
lyn ; " I'll call Lavinia."

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" Oh ! don't, please," pleaded Miss Paxton, laying her hand on his
arm, " you'll only hurt her feelings very much and spoil the dinner.
She isn't in love with the boy, and he isn't in love with her I know ;
it's all a mistake, I assure you."

Mr. Llewellyn felt a little comforted, and sat down again'

" Pardon me, Miss Paxton," said Mrs. Frank, with dignit}', and
"looking through her and over her," as Harry would have expressed
it, with her great black eyes, " but she is in love with him, and he
said he was in love with her in the presence of a person I believe."

Miss Paxton laughed. " It is not possible for even an Irishman
to love two ladies at once," she said, " and Robert loves me at pre-
sent, he told me so ever so many times quite lately. He did love
Miss Lavy in the spring, and he loves me now, and may love some-
body else before the winter."

" The impudent little low dandy," broke in Mr. Frank, with great
indignation.

" I can't quarrel with you, sir, for calling him little," said Miss
Mary, turning to him, " and he is a bit of a dandy on Sundays, and
he is lowly, but only as the lillies of the valley and the violets are,
and we never reproach them for their origin, or enjoy their sweetness
the less because they grow near the earth ; but I set down my foot
against that word impudent. Robert is not impudent, he is modest,
and he has tact and gentleness, and a sense of honour, and those are
qualities that go far to make a gentleman. I have known many
" gentlemen," so-called, witli only a decent education — no merit of
their own — and a little conventional outside polish, and not half the
worth of Robert Smith. I don't despise his love, poor boy, though
it be fleeting as a spring blossom. I have been loved by worse men,
and coarser men, though in a better station ; I don't blame Miss
Lavinia for valuing him, it may be a little too highly, but I deny
that she loves him. She loves herself as yet better than any man in
the world except her uncle. It is natural she should like Robert,
the young like the young, and there is no one here in her own sta-
tion to compare with him. It would do her a great deal of good,
Mr. Llewellyn, to see a little pleasant society, and make her happier,
too," here she turned to Mrs. Frank and looked her steadily in the
face, with eyes that, soft in the beginning, were now as bright and
keen as a hawk's, " I wonder that you, who take such an interest in

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101

her welfare, do not ask her to Hamilton, and uitroduce her to the
bon-tOH of that great little city ; you who treated her so kindly the
last time she was there on her uncle's business. And Mr. Frank,
too, was extremely considerate upon that occasion to his young kins-
woman, his own flesh anid blood ; your conduct leads one to look
for special favours for Lavinia from both of you."

Mr. Llewellyn could have taken Mary in his arms and kissed her,
Mr. Meldrum opened his brown eyes in the twilight, and was greatly
amused and interested, but Mr. Frank was extremely nervous, not
to say frightened, not knowing how his Eleanor would take it, and
dreading a scene ; but that lady h id less oi the lion in her than the-
cal, and declined to give battle, when confronted by a person who
did not fear her. Her paws became velvet at once, and she said
suavely, " 1 shall be happy to entertain Lavinia for a week or two, if
you will give me the pleasure of your company too."

Miss Paxton was a novelty to her, she admired her for her beauty,
and forgave her for her plainness of speech. She was surprised at her
spirit, and unwilling to do battle with such an opponent. " It will
help you to forget this troublesome Robert," she added with a graci-
ous smile.

" Oh ! I have no wish to forget him," said his defender, returning
the smile, " and I seldom leave home, thank you all the same for
your kind invitation ; it would be base ingratitude even to try and
forget him, for he saved my life once, and I should like to tell you
all the story, because I fciir Mr. Llewellyn will be prejudiced against
his good servant after what you have said, Mrs. Llewellyn."

All expressed thcirselves very willing to hear, and listened with
different thoughts to her account of Robert's prowess.

" Very rash," commented Mr. Frank, when she had ended, " he
should have given information to the police at Gibbeline, and not
have passed through the woods without a sufficient force. You
might both have been murdered ; and he was still more culpable in
not bringing the rogues to justice."

" No, Frank,' said his uncle, " you're wrong there, no gentleman
could have acted v/ith greater delicacy or finer feeling wlien the ad-
venture was over ; it would never have done to bring a lady into a
Police Court ; but he was wrong, entirely wrong to lead her into such
danger. Still, to do him justice, I l>elieve I should have acted as he

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r r

y^i??-''-'''

dfd ut his age. Young fellows are so rash and hopeful."

Mr. Meldrum had never quite approved of Robert's conduct in the
matter, but he would not lose the opportunity of propitiating his sis-
ter-in-law, so he said, " I suppose we must judge Bob by his success,
as we do Napoleon when he crossed the Alps ; forgive him for risk-
ing so much, since he came off victorious ; but if any harm had come
to his charge, I must say I should have a different feeling ; I should
vote for hanging him up along with the rascals who attacked him."

*' Oh ! dear, I wonder you didn't die of fright," exclaimed Mrs.
Frank, " and as for keeping it secret, I'm sure I should have told
everybody, and roused the whole country, and I never could have
forgiven that boy for leading me into such a pickle."

" Miss Llewellyn desired me to tell you that dinner is ready," said
the gentle voice of Robert at the open door. There was a pause
broken by Mr. Llewellyn when the lad's retreating footsteps had died
away.

" Robert has always taken his meals with us," he said nervously,
•* but I hesitate about asking so many guests to sit down with a ser-
vant, even though he isn't an ordinary servant."

" I think if the person with the longest pedigree doesn't object
that nobody else has a right to," said Miss Paxton. '* My father was
descended from Dame Sprott, who won the King's Knowe by kilt-
ing up her coats and running like a deer, while Robert Bruce ate the
boiling butter brose she had set before him."

Courage is infectious; Mr. Llewellyn returned the smile, but shook
his head at her as he replied, " Frank and I can trace our origin to
more noble people than Dame Sprott, I think."

" Oh ! but you haven't heard half I have to say," returned Mary,
quite gravely ; " here is Mr. Meldrum ; well, his great uncle's moth-
er's second cousin is the half sister of The O'Callaghan, Lord of
Sismore, and she told my sister that Mr. Meldrum is descended from
King Brian Barroo, and she has his pedigree on parchment right
away back to the time when it was the fashion for great Irish gentle-
men to bite each other's noses off. I think King Brian died before
Prince Llewellyn was born, so if Mr. Meldnun doesn't object to sit
at the same table ' ith Robert, it is not for us to put on airs. She
has the parchmer at home," she added, seeing Mr. Frank was
about to make a ^rotest.

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103

" We will take your word for it, my dear, and not wait for it," said
Mr. Llewellyn, patting her on the shoulder. "Take my arm, Eleanor,
and forgive me for placing you at the same board with this naughty
Robert, whom I forgive for his presumptuous gallantry to these two
young ladies, because he is the happy occasion of bringing you un-
der my roof Come, Mr. Meldrum, — Frank, give your arm to Miss
Mary, and believe me, fair ladies, both, it is only when I have such
guests as you that I sigh to think that the ancient power and grandeur
of my family are gone forever."

They proceeded in great state to the dining-room, to find a deli-
cate repast awaiting them, and Miss Lavinia and Mrs. Llewellyn in
their best clothes, and to learn that Robert had gone to take tea
with his mother, and so lost the honour of dining with so many peo-
ple of gentle blood.

CHAPTER THE SEVENTEENTH.

" Those many had not dared to do that evil,
If the first man that did the edict infringe
Had answered for his deed. "

— Measure for Measure.

"Cor. — I partly guess, for I have loved ere now."
" SiL. — No, Corin, being old, thou cans't not guess.

Though in thy youth thou wast as true a lover
As ever sighed upon a midnight pillow."

— As Vou Like It.

stTLL it be believed that three hours after Mrs. Frank's ar-
^ rival in Cromaboo, that hostile lady was seated peaceably in
her uncle's garden, watching the great hazy full moon rising in all its
fiery glory, and conversing quite good temperedly with Lavinia and
Mary about appropriate costumes for St. Andrew's ball in Gibbeline ?
Will it be believed that she had promised — nay proposed — to come
to Gibbeline and chaperon these ladies to the ball in question ; and
had invited them most afiably to spend the following fortnight in
her house in Hamilton ?

She had eaten a good dinner, and felt pleasantly weary after it, and
her ill-temper 4iad spent itself for the time ; Mary Paxton was a
novelty, and she was willing to put up with Lavinia for her sake ; she

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'ill

f ■

would take the girl up for a little time, she thought, and see if any-
thing could be made of her ; there must after all be something in her,
or Sue could not have attracted such a woman as Miss Paxton ; so
she was insufferably condescending and patronizing to her dark little
kins-woman, and really very polite and pleasant to Lavinia's friend.

The three gentlemen who were smoking their cigars together on
the veranda in front of the shop, fell to talking over Robert and Miss
Paxton's adventure in the Cromaboo Swamp. Mr. Frank was so
delighted that his Eleanor was in a good temper again, that he was
quite jocose and satirical in his way.

" If he had laid an information against those fellows," he said. '* I
don't suppose they would have had a very severe punishment, after
all, even if they had succeeded in their purpose ; it requires a great
deal of influence to get hanged now, you know ; in fact if a fellow
wishes to get hanged he may commit manslaughter, and indecent
assaults without number, and rape, and all that sort of thing, and yet
not succeed after all ; the feeling of the public is against it ; they are
so tender-hearted, you see, they won't have severe punishment for
anything, so if a man wants to have his neck stretched he must just
do it himself"

" It is too true, Frank, and God knows it is not a subject for mirth,"
said the elder Llewellyn, sadly. " It is a shame and disgrace to the
country we live in that indecent assaults on tender women and little
children arc not visited with a more severe punishment, Mercy is
misplaced in such cases, for what is the law for but to protect those
who are without a protector."

" Oh ! you know they make quite heroes of the fellows who do such
things, they do really," said the lawyer, " they tell about their
families in the papers, and their pious bringing up, and their poor
old mothers, and all that sort of thing."

The calm voice of Mr. Meldrum broke the stillness that succeed-
ed this remark. " You remember the case last year in Gibbeline —
the — well I suppose I must call him a man — who committed a rape
upon a little child of five ? He was condemned to be hanged, and
four hundred people signed a petition to get the sentence commuted,
and succeeded in their purpose.* As this is the age of presentations,
I almost wonder they bad not presented the fellow with an address."

• A fact.

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105

" And a tea-pot, or butter-couler, or something of that sort, *
chimed in Mr. Frank, " and congratulated him upon his presence of
mind in trying circumj^ances — it will come to that soon."

" I liave sometimes thought tliut if a special jury of married men
was chosen, men with daughters of tiieir own, it might make a dif-
ference," said Mr. Meldrum. '• I once had a little daughter of my
<nvn, and can partly understand how a man would feel whose child
had been so injured. Very young men should not be jurymen in
such a case."

"Juries may condemn," said Mr. Frank, "but the public feeling
is against hanging."

" I don't know that it would make much difference," said Mr.
Llewellyn, answering the doctor, and ignoring the last remark ; " I
have had neither son nor daughter, and there's Hob, a mere boy,
would be a very severe judge of a villain of that calibre. You know
Dr. Johnson says that 'young men are tiie most virtuous,' Mr. MeK
drum."

Mr. Frank drew himself up and looked very irate and virtuous at
this. " By Greorgc, you know," he said, '• if any fellow should in-
sult my Eleanor, I should think as little of shooting him as 1 would
a crow."

It iiappened that the other gentlemen lifted their eyes at the .same
time, and being very near together their glances met through the s<;ft
moonlight and the tobacco smoke ; the remark struck them both in
the same way, and they smiled.

" I am greatly puzzled about that boy Bob," said Mr. Llewellyn,
after a pause ; " one would almost think the fellow had gentle blood
in him, and yet his father is a coarse Connaught peasant, and the
mother a straight-backed, good kind of common-place woman
enough, but nothing more. Now in this affair with Miss Paxton,
Bob has acted like the Chevalier Bayard even to the love-making,
which is certainly presumptuous in the highest degree, considering
his station. I remember an occurrence that took place last winter
in Gibbeline on a Fair day that struck me at the time as most gen-
tlemanly in Bob. Some roughs jostled a poor old woman, and pin-
ned a large piece of dirty paper to the back of her shawl, and he re-
moved it in a minute deftly and quietly, so that she never knew of
that insult, and helped the feeble old creature safely across the slip-

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pery street and beyond the reach of her tormentors ; and then he re-
turned and made a speech to those gentlemen, which contained a
j^reat deal of right feeling, and bad English enough to set one's teeth
on edge. Where can he have got his little niceties of feeling, his
delicacy of thought ? "

Perhaps Mr. Meldrum could have told, but he only calmly puffed
his cigar and listened.

" You make too much of the puppy," said Mr. Frank, " he's re-
markable for nothing but self-will and forwardness."

" I must speak to him about his conduct to these ladies," said the
uncle, '* and tell him it's entirely reprehensible."

" Talk of the angels," said Mr. Meldrum, as a light firm step
approached, and in a moment Robert appeared, and would have
passed them but that his master stopped him. '* I wish to speak to
you Bob, before you go to bed."

" All right, sir," — ^very respectfully it was spoken.

" Why not now ?" said Mr. Meldrum, " and Frank and I will join
the ladies." They were old college chums, and it was Frank and
Tom between them.

•* I shall be happy to join the ladies," said Mr. Frank, " but I tell
this young man before I go that I consider his conduct to me to-day
highly insolent and offensive."

" I ask your pardon, sir," in a very clear distinct voice, " if I had
known you were related to the master, I would have behaved quite
different.''

" You at least knew I was a gentleman," said Mr. Frank, with
great dignity.

" I didn't know it, sir," in too low a voice to reach the old master's
ears, and looking Mr. Frank in the face with the greatest simplicity.

" I am a gentleman, fellow," said Mr. Frank, in a thundering tone.

" Come, come Frank," said Mr. Llewellyn, " an apology should be
accepted whether from peasant or peer."

** It's kind in you to tell me," the boy went on in the same low key,
♦* you see when a gentleman doesn't show as he's a gentlemen in face
or dress, or manners or the like, he ought to be ticketed * gentle-
man' for the benefit of such ignorant fellows as me ; 'twould save a
deal of misunderstanding. "

" You are an insolent low rascal," said Mr. Frank, shaking with

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107

anger, '* and I have a great mind to chastise you."

*' I like a great mind," said Robert, in the same gentle monotone,
which implied as plainly as anything could " come on and try."

*' No, no Frank," said Mr. Lletjrcllyn, who could hear his nephew's
sharp tongue well enough, " he has been much to blame about the
young ladies, but leave him to me ; I am his master."

" Really, I can't defend you. Bob," said Mr. Meldrum, drawing the
lawyer's arm through his own, and leading the trembling excited hero
away, and wondering in his heart what Miss Paxton would think of
her " modest" boy now. " Consider, ray dear Frank," he said, " it
would never do for a person in your station — a Llewellyn — to fight
with your uncle's servant. I would not do him the honour."

" True," said the irate little hero, who was not sorry of a hole to
slip out of, *' he is quite beneath me."

" Entirely, entirely," said Mr. Meldrum, soothingly, " let us talk of
something else," and they strolled towards tiie ladies, who were at
the extremity of the garden, and too far removed from Mr. Llewellyn
and his servant to hear a word that passed.

" I have heard an account of you to-day, ray boy, that greatly sur-
prises me," begun the master, " and I consider your conduct in many
particulars highly improper, though I commend you for your conduct
in defending Miss Paxton, and especially in not letting her appear in
a Police Court, which must have been very painful to her feelings.
But, Robert, what excuse can you make for offering yourself to these
two young ladies ? It is inexcusable, for they are entirely removed
from you in rank and station."

Robert changed colour as his master spoke, and forgot all about
Mr. Frank in a minute, but he answered at once.

" I love Miss Paxton, — 1 told her so, — I did not ask her to marry
me ; and about Miss Lavinia, — I — " he hesitated.

" Not to confuse you " said the master, with a smile, " let us deal
with one young lady at a time ; go on about Miss Paxton."

" Well, sir, I know I am much her inferior in every way, but I
cannot help admiring what is beautiful, and loving what was made to
be loved. I never dreamt there could be such a woman in the world
till I saw her. She is like a fairy."

" A what ? " said the master.

" A fairy, sir," raising his voice a little.

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tKi.^:mdnl

^IH

^■S

■■:::i

1 l

" A fairy, you foolish boy ; much you know about fairies. She is
no more like one than I am. Why, she is as tall as yourself," with a
kindly, tolerent smile, " and fairies are not a span long. She » not
even beautiful, her features are by no means perfect."

'* Her imperfections are lovelier than other people's perfection —
tb-^t is if you call perfection a straight nose and regular features — her
v.!iaracter shines through her face and would make an ugly one pret-
ty," said the boy, with a great flush in his own ; " and she is fairy-
like," returning the master's smile as bespoke; "look at her now,"
pointing to the distant white-robed figure, " see her as she raises her
arm to pluck a leaf, and turns up her face to speak to the tall lady
from Hamilton. She has a cloud about her ; them ' clouds,' as they
are called, are just coarse wraps on some women, ugly dabs and
patches that they wisp and drag around them to keep them warm ;
but look at the cloud on her, how it floats about her face, half con-
cealing, half revealing, as a soft white cloud covers yet scarcely hides
the moon ; how it softly coils about her waist as if it loved her, not
sticking to her as weeds cling to a wet log. She is fairy-like ; much
you know about fairies, sir — them little things you speak of is imps,''

" She is not so much like Queen Titania as you are like Bottom
the weaver, Bob."

"Whw is he? " asked Robert, in all simplicity, " and where does
he live, sir? I never heard of the man."

" Miss Mary has heard of him, ask her some day. There is a
glamour upon you, my poor boy, you see what I do not see. I see
a sprightly, attractive, good-looking lady, who is quite thirty, I am
sure ; you glorify her into an angel. This is love. Bob, I admit ; but
love is a dream of youth, and unlike other dreams its eff"ects do not
pass with the night ; the vision indeed is gone, but the consequences
remain. Try to realize it and you will find it impossible, but it ma^'
curse your life and the lady's till you drop into the grave at three-
score years and ten. You should pray against all unholy desires,
and foolish desires are unholy, and wrong. You should, for Miss
Paxton's sake, fight against this feeling in your heart. You should
strive against it as unmanly ; for if people knew of it, and knew that
the lady forgave you, and regarded your impudence leniently, good-
naturedly, as she does, they would say that old fools were the worst
of fools, and perhaps give her a great deal of annoyance and pain.

THE CROMABOO >f AIL CARRIER.

lOD

She is as much l)cyond your reach as yonder moon, my lad, as much
above you as the Queen — don't look at her, but look at me and at-
tend to what I am saying. Tell me what you would see if you looked
at Queen Victoria ? '

Robert regarded his master with a puzzled expression, but answer-
ed truthfully: '• I shouldsee a dumpy, little, old lady that I'm bound
to take cfff my hat to, because she's a good woman and our Queen."

" V'ou would see the highest lady in the land, Robert, the des-
cendant of kings and heroes, through whose veins runs the noblest
and purest blood in England, whose pedigree can be traced for a
thousand years ; now if 1 should full in love with this lady, and ask
her to marry me, what would you think o( me'" asked the old gen-
tleman, with energy, and cjuite unconscious of saying anything ridicu-
lous, as he waved his cigar with one hand, and rubbed up his red
skull-cap with the other.

" 1 should think you an old fool," was on the tip of Robert's
tongue, but the remark did not pass his lips ; he merely looked at
his master in silence.

"Miss Paxton is as far removed from you in station as the Queen
is from me ; her ancestors were wealthy and influential people three
hundred years ago, when yours were mere hewers of wood and
drawers of water, unnoted and unknown."

" It is nothing to her credit that she is well-born," said Robert,
speaking slowly, as if he were weighing each word, and regarding his
master steadily, " and it is no disgrace to me that I come of a low
family ; these things are ordered of God, we have nothing to do with
them."

" I admit it, my lad, and I do not speak to pain you, but for her
sake and yours. You should regaid her with veneration, as some-
thing out of your sphere, and beyond you ; if you indulge in unholy
desires — if you wish to take her in your arms and kiss her — in a
word to have her for a wife — your love is no better than the love of
a cat for a lark ; it can never soar up to heaven and sing with the
lark, but if the foolish bird stoops within its reach, it can pull it to
the earth and destroy it. Love that is worth the name is unselfish,
and I see nothing unselfish in your love for these young ladies ; you
have done positive harm to my niece, for it has reached Hamilton
that you kissed her when you were ill, and her relatives believe it and

THE CRONfABOO MAIL CARRIEk.

think less of her. They came on purpose to speak to me about it to-
day. Is it true that you kissed her ? "

" Yes," said the guilty lad, and it was not without a great effort
that he told the truth. So do the ugly effects of our pleasant pecca-
dillos rise up when we least expect them.

" It was very wrong, Bob, very unmanly ; a gentleman would never
have done it, especially as things were then ; it was taking an unfair
advantage of my niece's generosity, for she could not box your ears,
or have you dismissed when you were too weak to lift your hand to
youi head ; it was a very mean action."

" I am very sorry I did it, sir," said Robert, truly, " and doubly
sorry that Miss Lavy has been annoyed about it ; it was entirely my
fault, not hers."

" I fully believe /Az/," replied the old gentleuian, with dignity ;
•* my niece would be above encouraging such attentions from a ser-
vant ; " — Robert looked down at his boots, and it is greatly to his
credit that he did not even smile at this juncture — " if I thought
otherwise I would dismiss you at once, though it would put me to
great inconvenience to part with you."

" Mr. Llewellyn, I never meant to annoy Miss I^vinia, never
thought to do her harm ; it was only a kiss after all, and your folks
are very uncharitable to make so much of it ; I did W. from gratitude,
because she had been kind to me," — the gentle simplicity with which
he told this fib nettled the master — " I always kiss my mother when
she pleases me very much, as a warm kind of thank you."

" It is one thing to kiss your mother, and quite another thing to
kiss my niece ; in the last case it is an unwarrantable liberty, in the
first a mere meaningless habit. I never kissed my mother but when
I parted with her for a long time — a number of years. I think your
mother a sensible woman in the main. Bob, but she is very foolish to
encourage you in so much kissing and slobbering ; it is a habit like
smoking or drinking and will grow upon you. I can understand kiss-
ing a baby every day, but a lump of a lad in his teens," said this
severe old gentlemen, " is quite another thing."

" I am as much my mother's son now as I was when I was first
bom," replied Robert with some heat.

" True, Bob, but you couldn't wear baby clothes now, and you
should put away childish things ; all things are good in their season ;

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Ill

a little child may call his mother ma, and commit no offense against
good taste, but it is a ridiculous expression in the mouth of a fellow
six feet high."

Robert thought a kiss never out of season, but he bit his lips and
refrained from saying so.»*

" It is natural you and I should regard things and people diflfer-
ently," said Mr. Llewellyn more quietly after a pause, " we are differ-
ent in age, in station, in education. You have told me how you
regard Miss Paxton, and I see in her a lady whom you have it in
your power to injure very much by your selfish love. I do not know
in what light you see my niece, but /see a girl of my own flesh and
blood, very dear to me, — whom you have injured in the eyes of her
relatives by your presumption and ill-manners. You start — it was
only my wife fleeting by like a hunted hare to hide herself in the
darkness. You see in her a weak, shabby, crazy old woman ; I see
Christ suffering in one of his members, a dear immortal soul who will
one day sing the praises of God in perfect happiness. You see and
despise the poor maimed grub, I see in perspective, and with cer-
tainty, — for she is a believer, — the glorious butterfly."

" You think too hardly of me, sir," said Robert, *' I have never
despised Mrs. Llewellyn, (jod forbid that I should. A slight crack
in the skull, or a sunstroke might make me as queer any day. And
about the young ladies, I know I have been to blame, but I will
think of what you say, and try and command myself. I never saw
it in the light you do."

" Pray, Robert, pray," said the old man, earnestly, laying his hand
on his servant's shoulder, " no man can withstand temptation in iiis
own strength, he can do it only with the help of Clod. If you can-
not get over your fancy for Miss Paxton without, you must leave this
part of the country for her sake ; and I would willingly part with you
Bob, though I should miss you sorely."

" You are very kind I am sure, sir," said Robert, rather ruefully,
and there is no telling what expression of penitance he would have
added, but at that instant Miss Lavinia burst in upon them with more
haste than dignity. " Oh ! Robert, run at once, that horrid old pig
is in the kitchen," she exclaimed, " and upset the pot of water the
beef was boiled in ; I meant it for soup to-morrow ;" so Robert
escaped, nothing loathe, and a soft musical laugh broke from his lips.

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THE CROMAHOO MAIL ( ARRIKR.

as he whacktfd poor piggy with a great <:orn broom, and nimbly avoid-
ed the greasy water that flooded the kitchen floor.

" How do you account for little Bob's fine feelings?" asked Mr.
Llewellyn, as he shook hands with Miss Faxton at parting. "Can
you solve what to me is a great puzzle ? "

" Why, he is an Irishman," replied the lady, gaily. " Did you
ever know an Irishman who was not of ' a hoigh ' family ? 1 never
did. There is a gentleman in every Irish family, and Bob is the
one in this."

*' My dear, you speak too lightly of that word i^entlemanP

" Not at all, sir ; I could prove my words in this case, only Mrs.
Llewellyn is yawning and longing to be rid of us. Good night, and
many thanks for a very pleasant evening."

As they were going home, .Mr. Meldrum told hin sister-in-law of
the squabble between Mr. Frank and Robert, just to see what siie
would say. She was delighted. " The dear boy," she exclaimed,
*' he deserves a medal. That Frank Lle^Vellyn was alwayij a horrid
little puppy."

" I fancy Bob is improving in grammar," remarked Mr. Meldrum,
pre.sently. " Have you been instructing him ? "

" I told him I would cut his acquaintance if he did not give up
' this yer ' and ' that there,' and I have not heard him use those ex-
pressions since."

" He has given up smoking, too; by your advice, I suppose? "

" Well, I spoke to him about it," she admitted, " I detest smokers.'

*' Do you detest me ?" he asked.

" No, indeed, what an idea ! But you are not offensive, you never
intrude your tobacco. I like you very much, for a brother^' with
emphasis on the last words.

" Thank you ; and Bob likes you very much, you have great influ-
ence with him; but do you look forward to the end of all this? Hi
evidently hopes that you will one day be his wife."

" Others have had the same hope," said the lady coolly, as she
tripped across the little bridge before him. Mr. Meldrum consider-
ed this remark a little, and thinking rightly that it meant " mind your |
own business," he said no more.

,r i

THE CROMABOO MAIL CARRIER.
CHAFI'KR THE KICIHIKKNTH.

"GioricniA Apollo from on high Iwhold av"

— Ol.D SONC.

113

" By the holjr crou of St. Andrew."

-Old Scottish Oath.

f HE band wab in full force, a screaming tenor followed by a

^ chorus of twenty voi<es, sang "(ilorious Apollo, from on high
l>ehold us," as Mr. .Vteldruin entered ' le town hall, at Gibbeline, on
the night of St. Andrew's ball. The concert was nearly at an end,
and after a few Scottish ballads and " Auld Lang Syne," the band
proceeded to scatter the Queen's enemies, and the benches were
removed for the ball. Mr. Meldrum strolled about with his hands
behind him, glancing at the mottos on the walls, till his eyes were
suddenly arrested by a young man in a kilt ; a bright intelligent,
rather stout, and not very good looking young man, who was evidently
not a Scotchman, and very clearly felt ill at ease and uncomfortable
in his gala dress.

Mr. .Meldrum's face wore a smile of amusement, as he crossed the
room, and passed his arm through that of the new comer.

'* Good evening to you, Harry," he said, " I hoped you would be
here to-night ; I must compliment you upon your taste. Which clan
do you honour with your countenance ?"

" Oh ! it's a fancy tartan," returned the young gentleman, " and by
George, you know I am glad of your countenance, Meldrum, for I
feel like an ass in this petticoat; but Eleanor would have it, you know,
and threatened a passion if I didn't give in, said it was national, and
all that, and Frank is so afraid of her that he begged me to humour
her, and hang it, you know," he concluded, with a good deal of com-
placency, " I don't mind showing my legs for once if the girls don't
mind it."

" And Frank, — has he turned Highlandman ?" asked his friend.

" Oh ! he couldn't, you know, by George, with his spindle-shanks,
but Eleanor made him try it on. He's like the Queen of Spain, he's
got no legs."

" I wished to see you very much," said Mr. Meldrum, leading his
young friend to a quiet comer," to tell you of a chance of making
your fortune. There is an heiress coming here to-night, and if you '

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^fli:

■Ml

lU'

are the clever fellow I take you to be you wiil improve the oppor-
tunity."

" Who is it ?" inquired his young companion, eagerly, " I want
money in the worst way, — is she young and good-looking ?"

" Pretty fair as to looks," said the doctor, " with as much sense as
the generality of women, and not more wilfulness ; you can manage
her, I make no doubt if you try, and it's not too much trouble, give
her her way in small things and you have your own in great."

" But who is she ?" said Harry, " I'll marry her if she isn't too
horrid, and the money is enough. What is her dot, as the French
say, and what is her name ?"

" Lavinia Llewellyn is her name, and her dot is about thirty thous-
and pounds sterling."

" Do you mean my cousin, the little brownie ofCromaboo ? You
are chaffing me, — where is tiie money to come from ?"

'* From the Brazils, where she was born ; her maternal aunt is just
dead j I had a letter from my brother Jack about it, — you shall have
it presently to read, — asking me if I knew of such a person as Lavinia
Llewellyn, and begging me to try and find her out. Ah ! we are
short-sighted mortals, — if I had not married four thousand pounds
in the summer, I would have married thirty thousand in the winter,
and you would not have had this chance ; but I am no dog in the
manger, and it is really a great fortune for Canada. I answered Jack
at once, giving him full particulars, and referring him to your brother
Frank. I have not spoken to anyone about it, and I will not to a
single soul. You are the only person in the secret, and if you play
your cards skillfully you may carry off the prize ; but let me tell you,
master Harry, your family have treated her vilely, — in fiv.ct every
Llewellyn of you all, except your uncle Owen, — and if you don't
make sure of her before her good fortune is publicly known, in fact
marry her, — your chance is gone forever. A much more stupid
woman would see through your motives, if your attentions began after."

" I don't know much about the Uttle thing," pondered Harry,
thoughtfully ; " but she is very plain, and my sisters say she is a
mischief-maker, and Eleanor can't bear her."

*' They will sing another tune in a month or two," returned Mr.

Meldrum, " and she is not very plain, my young friend ; her face is

• intelligent, and she has a pretty little figure ; she will no doubt have

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115

many brilliant opportunities even if slie loses Mr. Harry Llewellyn."

" Her taste in dress is simply awful," said Harry, quite seriously,
" I saw her in this town, last summer, in a bright scarlet scarf, and a
green gown, and blue flowers in her hat, — I give you ray word of
honour."

" I shouldn't wonder if all the ladies wear them next summer,"
said Mr. Meldrum, with a placid smile ; " it will be called the Llew-
ellyn costume, or the Cromaboo toilet, and if that comes to pass,
even you, Harry, will not think it so very awful."

" Are you sure Frank doesn't know of her fortune ? " asked Harry.

" Quite sure."

" Then what the dickens made them take her up and invite her to
Hamilton, and bring her here to-night ? " exclaimed Harry, much
puzzled, "they can't bear her; 1 could hardly believe it when I heard
it." '

" My fair sister-in-law, Mary Paxton, made them," said Mr. Mel-
drum ; " she has a way of managing people when she is not too lazy
to exert her authority. She is one of those * gracious women ' who
retain honour as strong men do riches. If she had Miss Lavy's
money, with her beauty and good qualities, she might marry a
bishop."

" That's a hard hit at the clergy," said Harry. ** I have heard
Eleanor rave about her \ why didn't you marry her yourself, Mel-
drum, since you admire her so much ? "

" For the very good reason that she would not marry me," but
this is entre nous^ and not to be repeated."

" I understand," nodded his friend ; " is Mrs. Meldrum coming to-
night as well as her sister ? "

" No, she is pious, and doesn't approve of St. Andrew's balls, and
sic like vanities. Look to the door; here — if you are a sensible fel-
low — comes Mrs. Harry Llewellyn."

Sure enough, there entered Miss Lavinia, leaning upon Mr. Frank's
arm, and arrayed in a sweeping robe of soft, white muslin, with a sash
and shoulder knots of Marie Stuart tartan ; her hair curled and tied
in a queue with a bit of plaid ribbon. Pretty she was not, but very
bright, animated, pleased and happy.

" I never saw her look so nice," said cousin Harry.

" Many a plainer girl has been thought passable, especially with

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It! ;'• --

thirty thousand pounds," commented Mr. Meldrum ; " you must get
Miss Mary to choose her gowns and petticoats."

Mrs. Frank came behind, looking queenly, but rather cross, in vel-
vet and lace, and by her side Mary Paxton, in a plain white silk,
without any ornament but a tartan sash across the shoulder.

" She's a beauty," said Harry, decidedly, " is your wife as hand-
some ? "

" Neither so nice nor so nice-looking," was the reply.

" You missed it that time, Meldrum — I shall ask her to dance."

•* Only i?/w,f," said his mentor, "if you are wise, and every other
dance with Lavy. If you make her jealous, or doubtful of your good
faith, it's all up with you. Of course I know you would prefer Miss
Mary with three thousand pounds, but it's hardly likely she would
take you after refusing mg, you see."

" No, I suppose not," said Harry, rather ruefully ; " do you know
a beauty like that makes a fellow regret being so common-place and
all that sort of thing ; and by George, you know, I hardly know how
to set about love-making in the other quarter, either, I've laughed at
her so, almost to her face; but hang it, it's only trying, after all, and
if I lose her I shall be no worse off," so saying, he crossed the room
and shook hands with his cousin, and told her he was very glad to
see her, and asked her how many dances she was engaged for. His
manner was rather theatrical, but Lavinia was too happy to be critical.

" I can't'dance anything but a polka," she said, " and there is only
one on the programme."

" Put me down for that, please," said cousin Harry. " Would you
like to see the national emblems, and all that ? If you will do me
the honour," and he offered his arm and carried Miss Lavy off, to the
amusement of Mrs. Frank, who thought he was going to make fun of
her.

" It's really very good natured of Harry," she said, complacently,
to take her off our hands. How nice his legs look."

Mr. Harry obeyed his adviser to the letter, and made the best use
of his time ; he had no rivals, and monopolized his cousin without
opposition, sticking to her like a burr the whole evening, taking her
into supper, and seeing that she got her favourite dishes,— she was a
connoiseur, and not one of those ladies to whom one dish is the same
as another, — and finally helping her on with her wraps and escorting

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117

her to the carriage when she left. Then he joined his friend and
they walked to the Royal Hotel together, through the falling snow.

" By George, I'm tired though," said Mr. Harry, confidentially,
"but she's not a bad kind of girl either, Meldrum, only you know one
may have too much of even a good thing. Hang it, you know, no-
body asked her to dance but me. I thought fou might, you know."

"I," sai^ Mr. Meldrum, laughing, " I am not a dancing man, and
besides Miss Lavy is not a dancing woman either. I did ask he""
when you left her for a minute to look for the kind of ice she liked,
and she said she would rather talk to cousin Harry. Go to bed and
rest, my boy, your fortune's made ; every night of your life may be
like to-night, you lucky dog you, henceforth and forever."

" I don't know that the money is worth the sacrifice," said Harry,
with a yawn.

" Oh ! you'll feel differently when the tailor sends in his bill," re-
plied his friend ; " are your legs cold ?"

" I*et my legs alone, and tell me about that Bob Smith, Meldrum •
Is there any truth in it, or was it only spite in Eleanor to say Lavy
cared for him."

" I think there was something sentimental between them, and
thirty thousand pounds would no doubt quicken the fellow's affec-
tions," said the doctor, judging Robert by himself. " He would be
a formidable rival if he entered the lists, for though he doesn't under-
stand English, he understands love-making, and has a way with him
that women like. He's a pretty litile fellow for his inches, and there's
worth in him, he has a will of his own. I think he has only been
playing at love-making with Miss Lavy, but if he was once thoroughly
in earnest you would find yourself nowhere, my young friend ; so
make hay while the sun shines, and if you succeed Harry, take my
advice, and never admit to a soul that you knew of Lavy's good for-
tune before anyone else. Don't, for the sake of justifying yourself,
tell Frank or any living creature, or your domestic peace will be at
an end. Stick to it that pure love and nothing else was the motive ;
they may guess that you're lying, but they can't prove it, except my-
self, and I will never tell tales."

" By George, you are a cool fellow, Meldrum," said the doctor's
pupil, " and an awful hypocrite."

" You had better give up George, and swear by St Andrew in

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future," replied his friend, as they turned into the Royal. " Good
night to you, Harry, or rather good morning, and my benison upon
you."

ill:

CHAPTER THK NINETEENTH.

•'The proof of the pudding is in the eating."

—Vulgar Old Provkrb.

T had dimly dawned upon Mr. Meldrum, during the first three
days of his second honey-moon, that he had made a mistake in
his marriage, and as days rolled into weeks, and weeks into months,
the unmistakable fact stared him in the face that his choice had been
a very unhappy one. He had put himself to school again under a
stern mistress, and was learning things daily hitherto not dreamt of
in his philosophy. He had always lied occasionally when it suited
his purpose, and now he was obliged to lie habitually to avoid daily
domestic fracas. Never when he lied voluntarily, had he felt humili-
ated, but now that necessity forced him, he began to despise that
useful weapon called falsehood, as a hateful and mean one.

A prophet could not have convinced him, three months ago, that
he would invent stories, and tell falsehoods, blacks as well as whites,
to escape from sleeping with a handsome woman, his wife ; that he
would absolutely prefer the kitchen floor with the crickets and black
beetles for bed-fellows, to the soft couch of that very good-looking
woman. A white-robed angel descending straight from heaven could
not have made him believe it. If anybody had told him three months
ago that he would ever desire to lay violent hands on his wife, box
her ears, shake her out of her clothes, or throw her out of the win-
dow, he would have consii. red it the wildest dream, an accusation
beneath contempt. Then he did not think it possible that those in-
ferior pretty creatures could put him out of temper, or occasion a
deep feeling of anger, or even annoyance, by anything they could
say or do. Now all that had changed, he felt he was as other men
are. He was surprised at himself, he had such difficulty in com-
manding his temper when conversing privately with his wife, and
this new phase of his nature rather shocked him by its novelty ; it

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119

was as if the peaceful domestic pussy on his hearth had suddenly
risen in his face a large and fierce tiger. Mrs. Meldrum did not
care to please her lord and master, she did not scruple to be rude to
him, she openly despised his tastes, and above all she was determin-
ed to rule, change and convert him into what he was not by nature,
and never could be. She was on unknown ground with her hus-
band's character as much as he was with her's. In the first month
she hinted at his faults, — and who so immaculate as to be without
them? In the second she told him of them plainly; in the third
she advanced further, and if they did not quarrel every time they
met, it was only because it takes two to make a quarrel. During the
honeymoon she had made a great effort to rise and breakfast with
him, but she soon gave it up and went back to her old habits, and
her lord found her absence a relief, though he professed to regret it
She began to realize fully that he was related to her and for life, and
she discovered that it was her duty to be faithful with him, as she
had always been with her mother and sister and first husband. In
the first month of their union she would answer if he spoke, she
would look at a book or a picture if he would ask her ; now she
said peevishly or snappishly, " I won't be bothered, Thomas, I can't
look at the thing."

She never doubted the affection of those she snubbed, but con-
sidered it only a natural tribute to her many virtues and good quali-
ties, and good looks ; it never occurred to her that affection may be
wounded, nay killed outright, by cruel stabs of the tongue, or starva-
tion. Her husband had told her he loved her : she felt sure he
would love her forever, when the fact was he had only profaned the
word in using it, and admired her person in a cool way, and Jier cash
with rather more warmth of feeling.

A thousand disagreements had occurred in that quarter of a year,
negative on the husband's part, for he said little or nothing, positive
on the wife's, who expressed herself very freely. She would have
bed-curtains, and draw them close about her, she would sleep in a
soft smothering down bed in the hottest weather ; curtains looked
*' respectable," she said, and she had never been accustomed to sleep
on a board ; in vain the doctor pleaded the unhealthiness of the
practice. She had her own way. The husband liked the broad sun-
light streaming across the house from room to room ; the wife liked

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I if

darkened rooms, and would have blinds down and curtains drawn,
and the merest dim gleam to guide people on their way. Mrs. Mel-
drum loved a warm room, her husband liked a somewhat chill apart-
ment and plenty of fresh air ; these things were only a difference o f
taste, but alas ! Margaret judged her neighbours, scandalized and
found fault with them in no measured terms ; in fact said what
she thought of them, and she thought very ill of everybody, while
Thomas, her husband, seldom thought of liis neighbours, and never
spoke harshly of them, and so this practice of his wife's annoyed him
greatly. The doctor put on his religion with his Sunday co'a,t ; the
doctor's lady wore her's all the week, it entered into every thought and
action of her life ; everybody was wrong and she would set them
right ; she was sent to do a great work and she must do it, and as
charity begins at home, her husband was the first to be attended to.
His shirts, stockings and puddings were matters of indifference to
her, but his character and behaviour was what she had at heart

Mr. Meldrum's creditors had been extremely lenient as yet, having
heard that he had married a rich lady, but all patience has its limits,
and as Christmas drew near they wanted their money, and bills
flowed in. The doctor, according to his custom, lighted his cigar
with them, and when hardy duns made personal visits he always hap-
pened to be out of the way ; but though he could escape his creditors
he could not escape his wife, who as yet dreamt not of his liabilities.
At last her eyes were opened. A bold grocer from Gibbeline — the
small Cromaboo traders had given up trusting him long ago, know-
ing how impossible it was to get money from him — asked to see Mrs.
Meldrum and presented his bill of one hundred and fifty dollars to
that lady personally, telling her if it was not paid within a week he
should be obliged to take legal proceedings. If Margaret had pos-
sessed as much money she would have paid him, but she had only
ten cents left in her purse, so she promised to pay him in two days,
and dismissed him with a feeling of anger and humiliation. At din-
ner she told her husband in a solemn and awful tone about the visit
of the tradesman and his threat.

"Take legal proceedings, aye?" said Mr. Meldrum, calmly. " You
take the liver wing I think, my dear, with plenty of stuffing ? "

" Thomas, I have promised to pay that man in two days," said
his wife.

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121

" Glad to hear you have so much money, Maggie, but I think you
might spend it to better advantage. Shall I give you tomato ? "

" Is that your only debt?" asking Mrs. Meldrum, ignoring the
(juestion of tomato.

" By no means," replied her husband.

*' How much do you owe ? " was the next ({uestion.

"Can't say, I'm sure," replied the doctor, truly; "never trouble
my.self about such things, and if you are sensible you will not trouble
yourself either."

" I am an honest woman," said his wife.

" Never doubted it," with a half smile, and a slight shrug of the
shoulder. A pause.

" What will that man do if he is not paid ? " asked Margaret, at
last.

" Sue me, I suppose," said her husband, as he poured out a foam-
ing glass of ale, " and I must pay the bill, with costs, when I get
my quarterly dividend."

" I have never broken my word, and I'm not going to begin now,
you must borrow the money and pay the man in two days, as I
promised," said the lady.

" Bah ! to what purpose ?" replied Mr, Meldrum, " it will only
make more expense."

" I am an honest woman,"' with great emphasis.

" I think you made thai remark before, my dear," said her hus-
band, going on quietly with his dinner.

" I say that debt must be paid, and every debt we owe must be
paid. I will not eat food that isn't paid for, or wear clothes that are
not paid for. I would rather starve," said Margaret, in a high dic-
tatorial tone, and with an emphasis. " I have passed my word and
I will keep it."

" It will be better not to pass your word in future, Margaret, un-
less you have tiie money in your hand," said her husband, with pro-
voking coolness.

" What is your income ? I ask that ? What is your income and
I will live within it, — you shall never have reason to complain of my
extravagance."

" I shall never have the inclination, my dear. My income is two
iiundred a year, besides what I gain in my profession, which isn't

iSi

;j !

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much, for those who owe me light their pipes with my bills, I dare
say, as I do with theirs, — at least they seldom pay, and I never sue."

"Then you ought to sue," replied Margaret, " it's your duty to sue,
and pay your debts as an honest man, and a man of honour. I
thought I had married a man of honour, and a man of means," with
great bitterness. Her husband made no reply, and there was a long
pause. " Tell me the people who owe you, and / will collect for
you," she presently went on. " I will not live in this loose dishon-
ourable way."

Mr. Meldrum, who had made but half a dinner, and that with bit-
ter sauce, as we have seen, rose from the table, and stood upon the
hearth ; his tone had changed from coolness to icy coldness as he
answered, " thank you, I prefer to do my own business, Margaret, and
I would advise you for the future to mind your own, if you have any,
and not to meddle with my afl'airs. I wish you good afternoon," and
he left the room and the house.

It was a natural speech, but impolitic and foolish, considering the
person to whom it was addressed ; it roused all the combativeness
and obstinacy in Mrs. Meldrum's nature. Shall I fear a man whose
breath is in his nostrils, she thought ; does he dare to threaten me ?
I will know what is owing to him, and make the people pay. I am
his wife and have a right to know, and a right to see that his creditors
are paid, it is my duty. Having once arrived at that point, she never
receded, but proceeded at once to put her intention into execution.
Chance, — or shall we call it mischance, — led her past the parson's
lodgings, and she decided in her perplexity to call and lay the matter
before him. " I will consult him," she thought, " he is a man of
Gaud," for so she pronounced God, to her husband's great annoy-
ance. In his heart he felt more like a critic than a husband towards
Margaret, but he was willing to live peaceably with her, and did not
positively dislike her, though he possessed not that love which is blind
to little faults and failings. She had chosen unluckily a very bad
adviser, for Mr. Moorhouse was the only man in Cromaboo who
really disliked Mr. Meldrum, and owed him a grudge.

Mr. Moorehouse was by nature, a very grave man, and took all the
duties of life most seriously, and though a well-meaning man he was
narrow minded, and particular about trifles, thinking more of his
cloth, and dignity of the pulpit, than the weightier matters of the law.

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123

He did not regard his parishioners as a shepherd regards his sheep,
l)ut looked upon them rather as a harsh school teacher might look
upon his naughty troublesome boys and girls. He took a very severe
view of his fellow-creatures, and was disposed to keep them up to the
mark with the rod of wholesome correction ; he talked about takiug
the low place, but he carried it with a iiigh hand in all dealings with
them. This being the case, the fact of Mr. Meldrum being so much
in debt was nearly as offensive to the parson as to Margaret herself,
because the medical gentleman was a communicant, and his debts
gave an occasion of scandal to the dissenters. Once Mr. Moore-
house had the, — shall we say the moral courage or the hardihood, —
to advise Mr. Meldrum to pay his debts for the sake of his moral
character, and the church to which he belonged.

" Are you prepared to advance the money and discharge them all?"
asked Mr. Meldrum, eyeing his adviser with some curiosity.

•' Certainly not," was the reply, " you ought to pay your own debts;
I have no private mean^, nothing but my salary, and if I had I
should consider it a sinful waste of money to lend to you."

" Tl)en go to Jericho with you, Mr. Parson," said his parishioner,
with cool, good humoured insolence, " and keep your impracticable
advice for the pulpit; it's your privilege to talk nonsense there, and
we who go to churc!i are bound to listen to you ; but advising me to
pay my debts without giving me the means of doing it, is as silly as
advising me to grow a foot taller, or change the colour of my eyes."

Mr. Moorhouse remembered every word of this speech, and I
grieve to say bore malice, though he never omitted the doctor in his
private prayers ; but when Mr. Meldrum offered to rent the parson-
age he wisely insisted upon having the money in advance, and said
it was against his conscience to help him further into debt, at which
remark the doctor laughed, and though it was a good-tempered laugh,
it had a sting in it for the clergyman, and it was not without a little
envy that he heard of Mr. Meldrum's marriage with a rich lady, ag-
gravated, no doubt, by the fact that the Rev. Paul Moorhouse had
not been asked to perform the ceremony ; but when he heard the
lady was pious and a great supporter of the church, he gave a sigh of
satisfaction, and said he trusted the Lord was dealing witu Meldrum
for his good. He took an early opportunity of calling on them, and
had a long conversation witii Mrs. Meldrum, her husband excusing

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himself for leaving him, on the plea of urgent professional business.
When Mrs. Meldrum, in her perplexity, called on him, she found a
most sympathising listener and a very bad adviser. He counseled
her to look over her husband's accounts, and l)e resolute in collect-
ing his debts and paying his creditors ; he addressed her aa if she
were a martyr, and in shaking hands with her at parting, he said,
fervently :

•' Blessed are they that are persecuted for righteousness sake ; if
your husband is angry, Mrs. Meldrum, you must just be patient, and
pray God to change his heart."

Mrs. Meldrum felt much encouraged and cheered by the clergy-
man's approval, and the next day, her husband being away, she ex-
amined his accounts ; an easy matter, as he kept nothing locked but
one small drawer, containing old letters, his first wife's portrait and
a lock of her hair. This little private sanctum raised Margaret's
curiosity, but she made she best use of her time notwithstanding,
and made out several bills, and the next day presented them in per-
son, telling the people plainly they must pay at once to save expense.
Then she called upon her husband's creditors in Cromaboo, ten in
number, and told them they should be paid as soon as she could get
the money, and that she knew nothing of these debts when she mar-
ried Mr. Meldrum, and speaking of him with anything but respect
The last person upon whom she called was Mr. Llewellyn, to whom
the doctor owed twenty dollars. She sat very near to the old gen-
tleman at his request, and shrilly poured her remarks into his best
ear. Robert, who was at work in the next room, had the benefit of
them also.

" Is that all you have to say, Mrs. Meldrum ? " asked Mr. Llew-
ellyn, at last.

" That was all, and Mrs. Meldrum professed herself very sorry to
have to say it

" You ought to be sorry," said Mr. Llewellyn, emphatically, " and
I hope for your own sake, as well as your husband's, you will never
say such things again to man or woman. If you do, you will be like
the foolish woman spoken of by Solomon, who plucketh down her
house with her own hands. Mr. Meldrum is careless in money mat-
ters ; but I see in him no other fault, and I have known him for ten
years ; you might by gentleness win him to a sense of his error, r»ever

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125

by the course you are pursuing ; you will only lose the respect of all
sensible people, and bring your husband into contempt. If you had
the money in your hand, I would not take it from you, because it
would humiliate him. I hope you will pardon me for speaking so
plainly, and if you have disagreed with your husband, my dear, go
home and make it up with him, and tell him what you have done,
and be guided by him in future. Think of what I have said, and
forgive me for saying it ; you know I am old enough to be your
father."

" I hope I am Christian enou;^h to forgive all my enemies," said
Margaret, with sparkling eyes. " I will pray for you, Mr. Llewellyn ;
I thought till now you were a friend."

" Flatterers are the worst friends," replied the old man, sturdily,
" and a woman cannot injure her husband without injuring herself.
You injure him by acting without him, and making a cipher of him ;
it is reversing the word of (iod, which says a wife should obey her
husband. He may not be willing to be set wholly on one side, and
in that case you will make a great deal of domestic trouble for your-
self."

This was the only rebuff Margaret ever received, and it had no ef-
fect in changing her purpose. She was bent on victory, even with
Mr. Llewellyn. Half the money was owed for stage fare, and the
first time she saw Robert she offered it to him. She never dreamt
that he had been an ear witness of the scene with his master, and
there was so much simplicity in his bright, young face that even when
he declined to take it, she did not suspect him.

" Thank you, ma'am," he said, taking out his purse, but suddenly
he paused, as if a new thought had struck him, — " I guess you had
better settle it with the master, any time when you are passing, as
Mr. Meldrum said there was another claim, and I couldn't give you
a receipt, and it might make confusion. There's no hurry ; it's as
safe as if 'twas in the bank, with Mr. Meldrum, — I wish you good
day, ma'am," and he lifted his hat and drove on.

The very evening Margaret had visited Mr. Llewellyn, she had
called on John Smith and presented a bill for ten dollars, which he
owed her husband. She told him with scant ceremony to pay the
money speedily. He was very respectful, but it was an unexpected
summons, and he scratched his head in much perplexity.

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TH£ CKOMABOO MAIL CARRIER.

ii I

*' Faith then," said he, " I'm heart sorry to kape his honour wait-
ing, but I'll bring it up to-morrow, ma'am, widout fail — I'll borrow
it of Chip and Robbie — the divole a word can I read, ma'am, and
it's no use laving the scrap o' paper. If you'd be plazcd to come in
and sit down, ma'am — it's a poor place, but you're welcome — I would
go to Robbie at once, maybe he could lend me the whole sum."

But Mrs. Meldrum said to-morrow would do, and walked home,
having set a sharp thorn in John Smith's nest for that night.

The next day was a hard one for Margaret; she visited nearly a
score of houses, and left bills, and some people, far from being
grateful for the attention, were rather uncivil ; only one paid, an old
woman, who said she would have Dr. Ciregor the next time, as she
thought it was sharp practice to ask for the money before the year
was up.

As Margaret reached the little bridge that connected the house
with the mainland, she met her husband. He was walking, and had
been, she knew, to see a man. who had been injured in sinking a
well. " How is that man ?" she asked, as they met.

" He is dead," was the calm reply, as Mr. Meldrum held the gate
open for his wife to pass through before him. Margaret stepped on-
to the bridge and looked back over her shoulder at her husband, as
she asked " was he a believer ?"

" Can't say, I'm sure," he replied, with the greatest indifference,
'• he was a Scotchman and a Presbyterian."

At that instant they both caught sight of John Smith striding
rapidly towards them. Margaret knew his errand, but Mr. Meldrum
thought somebody was ill, and cried out, " what's the matter. Smith ?
Nothing wrong with the wife or Tommy, I hope ?'

" Sure it only this bit of a bill," replied John Smith, as he pulled
his fore-lock to Mrs. Meldrum. i* ,e was almost tlie only woman in
Canada to whom he would have shown such a mark of respect, and
it was not for her own sake that he did it, but because she was Mr.
Meldrum's wife and her father's daughter, for he had known Mr.
Paxton, and remembered him kindly. John Smith handed Mr. Mel-
drum the account his wife had made out, and a dirty ten dollar bill
along with it, saying, " faith, it's I that am sorry that it wasn't paid
before, and that your leedy had the trouble of asking for it." He
spoke very civilly, but with a certain constraint.

THE CROMAROO MAIL CARRIER.

Now it was that Mr. Meldrum was seized with a desire to push his
wife into the brook, and give her a sousing. He had as great a res-
pect for Smith as he had for the Archbishop of Canterbury, and his
feeling for him was far nearer akin to love, than the feeling he had
for his Margaret. Had he not known him for twenty years,— had
they not roamed the woods together in search of game, when they
were both younger? Many an old memory had they in common, and
many a jolly tramp they had taken together. Had not Smith nursed
his dead children, and made his wife laugh even in her last illness by
his queer Irish bulls } He kn»?w the history of Smith's courtship and
marriage, and had brought seven children into the world for him
without charging a penny ; he had stood beside him when some of
those junior Smiths were nipped in the bud by King Death, and laid
in their last resting place. He had lent him money, and had borrow-
ed money from him at a pinch ; there were a hundred kindly mem-
ories between them. He turned his back upon his wife to avoid
temptation, and laid his hand upon the shoulder of his old acquaint-
ance.

" You are hurt, Smith," he said ; " you think I have forgotten old
limes ?"

" Well, sir, if you had asked me yourself 'twould be different, but
I take it a little hard that you sent the leedy."

" I never sent her, man ; she went of her own accord ; she's a — a
very troublesome and meddling lady. I would never dun you, Smith
— I would rather put money in your fob than take it out ; put it back
as a present for my godson Tommy, and 1*11 scratch the account out
of my book. Mrs. Meldrum doesn't know what a very old friend you
are, — 1 will tell her," and he put his white hand in John Smith's with
a hearty kindly pressure.

John Smith had a big heart, and he was an Irishman, and there-
fore his fellings were quick ; he had been much hurt, and now came
a reaction ; he felt the hand shake a great honour, and fairly blub-
bered, as he thanked and blessed the doctor. But we must leave
what followed for another chapter.

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CHAPTER THE TWENTIETH.

" You never know a man till you have been on shipboard with him,
Nor a woman till you have married her."

— Lord Byron.

til;

I':-

It;! I

K. MELDRUM and his wife did not exchange a sentence till
'a*'^) tliey were in the house. Margaret sat down wearily, and loosen-
ed her shawl and took off her bonnet. Her husband stood on the
hearth, leaning easily against the mantle-piece ; the room had a cosy,
home look, the wood fire blazed brightly, but neither of them thought
of it.

" What is your connection with that man," asked Margaret, " and
why should you forgive him his debt when you owe so much ? You
said you would tell me."

Mr. Meldrum felt it a difficult thing to tell ; before his marriage
he would not have hesitated a moment, but now he did. He thought,
perhaps justly, that he could not make her understand him ; she
would regard his reasons as sentimental, perhaps foolish ; he felt
they were foreigners by nature, and he was trying to command him-
self and curb his temper ; he was so chafed that she had the temerity
to dun Smith. This difficulty in keeping down his anger, made his
face as immobile as if it had been cut in marble, and his tone of the
iciest, as he answered his wife.

" I have known him intimately for twenty years, — he is strictly
honest, and would have paid without dunning, as soon as he got the
money," — he paused, and Margaret looked at him as if she expected
more, — " He worked as a day labourer for me for three years," —
another pause, — his son Bob is the first child I ever helped into this
world," — another pause, a very long one, broken at last by the same
cold, measured voice, but this time with a touch of sarcasm in it.

" When you go dunning again, Peggy, you will please to omit Mrs.
Scott, whose husband is just dead, as I have told her I will charge
nothing for my services."

" And you will please not to call me Peggy," returned his wife,
tartly, I detest the name, and think it an insult. It is easy to see
that you care more for widow Scott than you do for your wife or your
creditors."

" My creditors are all men, and it appears, Peggy, that my wife is

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ISO

pretty competent to look after her own interests. Widow Scott, —
poor woman, she did not dream of being a widow three days ago, —
has no property, but s|^n small children, and she mourns for her
husband, but my Pegg^would be a happy woman if she could claim
the title of widow once more ; she would bear her loss with christian
resignation."

" I would never have married you, if I had known you would in-
sult me with nick names," said Margaret, with angry tears in her eyes.
Mr. Meldrum turned suddenly and looked her keenly in the face.

" Have you been examining my account book," he asked, " or is
Smith the only person you have dunned ?"

" Yes. I felt is was my duty" said Margaret, " I have presented
bills to all the people that owe you in Cromaboo, and visited all your
creditors here, and told them I would pay as soon as possible."

Now it was that Mr. Meldrum was seized with a desire to take his
wife by the collar, and shake her out of the dove coloured silk gown
that became her so well. A flush came into his face, and he had to
walk to the window to regain self-command. His long silence half
frightened Margaret, and made her feel nervous. At last he turned
and spoke.

" When you cease to meddle with my afl'airs, and mind your own
business, I shall cease to call you Peggy, not before." He left the
room as he spoke, and went to his surgery and walked about there ;
he was so angry at his' wife's conduct and so angry with himself for
being angry, that he felt he must get away from her, at least for a
time ; if he stayed in the house he might say things he would regret,
perhaps be tempted to lay his hand upon her. So when tea was
announced he entered the parlour in riding dress, whip and hat in
hand.

" I am going to Hamilton," he said," and you need not expect me
back for a week, — or till you see me."

" On horseback ?" exclaimed his wife, in surprise. " Is it a con-
sultation ?"

" No," said Mr. Meldrum," it is not. I wish you good night,
Peggy," and he left her without a kiss or a shake of the hand.

He did stay a week, and having speedily recovered his temper,
enjoyed himself very much. The day before he left Hamilton he
found by accident a memorandum in his pocket book, that told him

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THE CROMABOO MAIL CARRIER.

ri
u

ii ■

«H!

.■liii'
iliiii

^ 'nil,

that to-morrow would be Margaret's birthday, and he weiil intcj
Murray's and purchased a dress piece — a shepherd's plaid silk, —
Margaret being very fond of shepherd's plaid. " It is great folly,"
he argued " to quarrel with one's wife, though she is a fool ; I will
make it up." He thought of the only quarrel he had ever had with
his first wife, — it could scarcely be called a quarrel, only a a little
squabble, — and how he had taken her a pretty shawl as a peace-
offering, and asked her to forget and forgive, and how she had cried
and kissed him more times than he could count, and said it was all
her fault, and she would never be so naughty again. He was too apt
to judge all women by that one he had known so intimately, and
being away from Margaret for a week he had half forgotten what she
was like, yet remembered enough to regret with a half sigh that it
was not Mrs. Meldrum number one, instead of number two, that
awaited him at the end of his journey.

Perhaps if he had returned the day after he left, Margaret might
have made it up; for she felt lonely and thought of Mr. Llewellyn's
advice, and indulged in a long fit of weeping ; but as the days passed,
her heart hardened, and she took to dunning again, and visited all
her husband's country debtors who were within walking distance, and
gave them their bills. The day before her birthday Mary arrived
by coach, and Margaret [)oured her troubles into her sister's ears,
stating in conclusion that her husband was an unprincipled wretch,
and " Mr. Moorhouse thought so too, and he is a Christian, a dear,
Gaudly man, Mary."

" He may be," said her sister, " but I can't bear. the look of him ;
he is like a weasel — perhaps he has some private grudge at Mr.
Meldrum." She was not at all surprised at Margaret's statements,
remembering many a fierce battle between her sister and the rever-
end Francis Hurst, deceased ; but she made no remark on her con-
duct, fearing it would harden her in the course she had taken.

Late in the evening of the following day, Mr. Meldrum arrived,
having put his handsome horse to its mettle, and ridden sixty miles
since the morning — the dress piece safe in his saddle-bag — to be at
home on his wife's birthday. He was flushed with exercise and
looked very handsome as he entered the room ; he was very glad to
see Mary, and said so, which was a false step at the very beginning
of his overtures for peace. Then he advanced to Margaret — it cost

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131

him an effort, ^ut this did not appear on the surface, and he did it
gracefully — and stooping, kissed her on the cheek, and wished her
many happy returns of the day, putting the parcel in her hand with a
hope that it would please her, and adding in a whisper " forgive and
forget, Maggie." Mrs. Meldrum liked the nick-name of " Maggie "
as much as she hated Peggy. Mary, who was near the door, slipped
away.

Margaret would not have been a woman if she had not been
pleased with the present and the handsome face of the giver, but
she was a foolish one, and therefore not content with gaining so
much of a victory ; she was determined to conquer him at all points,
and justify herself.

" Thank you, Thomas," she said, with a flush of surprise and
pleasure, as she opened the parcel ; " it is very pretty, and it is kind
of you to think of my birthday ; of course it's only right that you
should, but I did not think that you would do it."

" Will you have it made up for Christmas to please mcy" said the
doctor, " and kiss me — and forgive and forget ? "

She did not refuse the kiss, and said she hoped, as a Christian,
she knew how to forgive, and she was glad he was sorry for his past
conduct ; " but, Thomas," she said, " there is one question I feel it
my duty to ask — is it paid for ? "

Of course it was not paid for, but what cou/d have been the doc-
tor's reason for telling the truth ? He had often lied to his wife be-
fore to avoid a squabble ; why could he not lie now, when his object
was peace ? Because he had been a week away from her, and it
had partly restored the freedom of his unmarried days ; he did not
feel afraid of her tongue to-night, and he answered, " not yet."

''Then, Thomas, I shall never wear it, I could not wear it," said
V s Meldrum, decisively. " I have been thinking lately that till
yo - ire out of debt I ought to wear my shabbiest dresses ; it would
be more in keeping with our position, and I like consistency in all
things, there is something inconsistent and improper in flaunting
about in rich silks and merinos, when you are over head and ears in
debt."

" I wonder how long you would keep to that resolution ? " said her
husband, with a satirical curl of the lip. Again he judged her by his
first wife, who loved i)retty costumes, and would not have been

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thought a dowdy for the world. Mary returned at this point, and
the tete a Me was at an end. Soon Mr. Meldrum had supper, and
begged the ladies to join him, and they all sat down together. They
were scarcely seated before a timid tap came to the door.

" Come in," said the doctor, and the door was pushed slowly open,
and a thin old woman with a shawl over her head hobbled a step or
two forward, and then paused, dazzled and awed by that pretty home
picture ; the bright fire, the richly dressed ladies, the neat supper, yet
a little encouraged by seeing the doctor.

" Well, Biddy, what is it ?" asked the gentleman.

" Sure, it's the bit o' money, sir. I'm very sorry, ma'am," turning
to Mrs, Meldrum in a deprecating way, " but I've only fifty cents for
ye to-night, — next week I hope I'll save more."

Mr. Meldrum's good resolutions took flight ; he could have thrown
his wife out of the window, in the presence of her sister. He rose
and took the old body by the shoulders and put her into a chair.

" What's all this, Biddy ?" he asked. The old woman's hand
trembled, she tried to command herself, but the tears rolled down her
cheeks, — or perhaps she didn't try very hard, being an Irish woman,
and knowing she had a friend in the camp.

" It's so hard to get money, sir," she said, " I ought to have paid
ye long ago."

" Put the money back in your pocket, Biddy, and I give you a full
receipt in honor of Mrs. Meldrum's birthday ; and you must have a
glass of wine and drink her health."

So he took his revenge, and Mrs. Meldrum felt it as such ; she
could hardly keep her tongue still till the old woman's back was
turned, then she opened fire at once.

" What have you had from that old woman as an equivalent for
the five dollars you have given her? Is that the way you are
paid for your services ?" she asked, almost fiercely. I know you went
to see her nearly every day for two months, last winter. She told me
so, so it's useless to deny it."

" He is well paid that is well satisfied," quoted Mr. Meldrum, with
provoking calmness.

Not much was said after this, and soon the gentleman pleaded
weariness after his long ride, and retired for the night. He was up
early in the morning, having promised Mary to see her off by the

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Stage. " I am sony I cannot drive you myself," he said, ** but the
horse is too tired."

" It's just as well," she replied, " it might have vexed Maggie."

" I am sure to do that in any case," returned her brother-in-law.
*' I am like that unfortunate Irish gentleman who never opened his
mouth without putting his foot in it. I do not understand your sister
at all, or know how to please her, — perhaps you could advise me."

Mary felt very uncomfortable ; she had just taken leave of her
sister in bed, and Maggie had told her with a burst of tears, that she
and her husband had quarrelled half the night, and then he had left
her and slept on the dining room sofa. She had never been able to
get on with M^igart t herself, except by submitting in everything.

" Love never faileth," she said uneasily, and without looking at
Mr. Meldrum, " if you care for each other, that is everything ; you
will come to be happier in time, I hope," and she was delighted to
catch a glimpse of Robert coming to meet them and carry her bag ;
it was impossible to pursue the subject with him there.

The next day Mr. Meldrum had a vi«it from the bailiff, and Mrs.
Meldrum took to her ugliest and shabbiest gown, her oldest break-
fast shawl, her worst slippers ; she laid aside her watch, — the doctor's
gift, — she wore no jewellery, and her husband called her Peggy again,
and said she was dressing in character.

Mr. Meldrum used rather to enjoy these visits from these living
instruments of the law, in his first wife's time ; she would be so
indignant with those " greedy, heartless creatures," as she called
them, and sympathise so entirely with her husband, that it quite
amused him ; and he would sometimes feign a headache to have her
cool little white hands about his face, patting and petting him ; now
he often had a real headache from want of sleep and ceaseless do-
mestic bother, and Mrs. Meldrum number two said, " serve you
right."

i \

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CHAPTER THE TWENTY-FIRST.

*' I cho<ise her for myself ; if she and I be pleased, what's that to you ?"

— Taming of thk Shrkw.

'* Gone to be married ! Gone to swear a peace !"

— King John.

'E MUST go back a little in our story. Mary Paxton and
her friend Lavinia had gone to Hamilton, after St. Andrew's
ball, as the guests of Mrs. Frank Llewellyn. Mary could only stay
two days, but Lavinia remained for a fortnight. While Mary was
there, Mrs. Frank was sweet and gracious to her little kinswoman,
but as soon as she had turned her back, she began to snub Lavinia
and clearly intimated that her absence would be more acceptable
than her company. But Harry paid her unremitting attention, and
this made up for Eleanor's rudeness ; and at first Eleanor was as
pleased as Miss Lavy herself, and praised Harry privately for his
" good nature " in taking his cousin for walks and drives, and frank-
ly told him it was a great relief to her to be rid of " the little blackie,"
but at last she grew suspicious and her manner changed towards him.
She imperatively beckoned him into her little boudoir one afternoon,
and said she hoped he was not " such a fool " as to think of falling
in love with that " little darkie. Let me tell you," she went on,
" she is a very artful little creature, as artful as she is ugly ; she may
hook you into a promise of marriage, so you had better be careful
with your hand-kissing and nonsense."

" I might do worse," said Harry ; " she's a nice little thing, and
my own flesh and blood, and all that sort of thing, you know."

Mrs. Frank flashed' her dark eyes at him to see if he was in earn-
est. " If you dared to do such a thing," she said, " I would dis-
own you forever, and you need not think you would be long in part-
nership with Frank, if you married that ugly, little black thing. No-
body with taste would look at her twice after seeing Miss Paxton —
now if you could get her for a wife, that would be quite different,
that would be a match that would please me."

" Suppose I prefer Lavy," said Harry ; " every one to his taste,
you know."

" The hateful little thing ; but she's going to-morrow, thank heaven,
and you're only talking nonsense to tease me; even you are not quite

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135

such a fool, I should think, as to think of such a match seriously."

" Well, 1 haven't asked her yet," said Harry, laughing, " but we're
just going up the James street steps to see the view, so that will be a
chance of popping the question ; and you can get a telescope and
watch us if you like, when it comes to embracing, and all that sort
of thing, you know," and so he departed.

Eleanor went to sleep after he had gone, but when she wakened
after an hour's nap, and found the cousins still absent, she fell to
wondering what could possibly keep them, and thought of Harry
and the James street steps. It wanted but twenty minutes to five,
and at that hour they dined ; she felt better tempered than when she
lay down, and was glad it was Lavy's last evening. She daudled
from room to room in pure idleness, glancing at herself complacently
in various mirrors, till she came to the apartment which Frank dig-
nified by the name of study, and there she saw his telescope lying
on the table. She thought of Harry's last words, drew it out, fixed
it to her eye, and turned it towards the James street steps. She had
hit the right focus ; there they were, Harry and Lavy, seated side by
side, and very near together. She could see their faces quite dis-
tinctly, both were smiling, presently they drew together in a long
kiss, and Harry's fat white hand closed over his cousin's. Eleanor's
hand shook, she dropped the telescope in a tumult of passion ; pre-
sently she took it up again, and this time she could not get the right
focus, and when she succeeded after many efforts, nothing human re-
mained on the James street steps; only a solitary bird and dark
shadows covered the mountain side. If Eleanor could have heard
what the guilty pair were saying, this is what she would have heard :

" By George, you know, Lavy, dear, I'm your kinsman, and all
that sort of thing, and I'm very fond of you, I am really, and mar-
riages between cousins are generally the happiest, because their heads
are the same shape, you know, and they have the same tastes ; and
its all fudge about such marriages being unhappy ; just let you and I
try, that's all. Uncle and aunt can come and live with us, and it
will be like the garden of Eden, now really, with you for our little
house-keeper — love in a cottage, and all that sort of thing. You
won't refuse me, now really, will you ? " he said, in conclusion.

Lavinia was greatly touched ; tears came to her eyes, and a sense
of humility to her heart.

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•' It's very generous and kind of you, cousin Harry," she said,
•* and I'm not half good enough for you."

" Oh ! that's nonsense, now," said Harry, and truly it was, and
here he kissed her, and after that they chatted about their plans, and
tears gave way to smiles on Lavinia's face, and then came another
kiss to seal the compact — which salute Eleanor saw — and as they
descended the steps they arranged that the wedding should take place
before Christmas, if possible. Neither of them saw the view, the
beautiful blending of light and shadow, other views were before them
and shut it out ; Harry saw a vision of wealth and power, and life-
long prosperity ; Lavinia a vision of perfect conjugal happiness, her
wildest dream was realized, the hero she had longed for was her own ;
not once did she think of Bob Smith, the Cromaboo mail carrier.
Eleanor scarcely spoke at dinner and watched the young people dur-
ing the evening with jealous eyes and an angry heart ; their little oc-
casional billing and cooing gave her great offense, and she was steadi-
ly working herself into a tremendous passion. When Lavinia had
gone to bed, she commanded Frank into her boudoir, and relieved
her feelings to him, and then waylaid Harry — when, candle in hand,
he was retiring for the night — and said that she must speak to him.
He tried to excuse himself and escape.

*' Really, Eleanor," he said, " I'm very tired, rather overdid it to-
day rowing on the Bay, — won't to-morrow do ?"

But Eleanor told him sternly that to-morrow would not do, and
he entered her little gem of a room reluctantly, indeed, but resolved
to put a bold face on it. Eleanor closed the door.

" I saw you kiss that girl," she said, looking down on him with
blazing eyes and flushed cheeks. " I saw you through the telescope"

" Did you though, by George ?" said Harry, laughing, " said I
would do it, and I thought you would be disappointed if I didn't."

Mrs. Frank stamped her foot. " Don't you dare to kiss her when
you part with her," she said. " Frank shall go with her to the sta-
tion."

" That he won't, by George, though, for I mean to do it myself, and
kiss her too if I please. Frank is your lawful prey, Eleanor, and you
may dictate to him if you like, but not to «^," said Harry, with spirit.

" You idiot," retorted Mrs. Frank, with great scorn, " you will
compromise yourself with the girl, if you haven't done it already."

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137

** I have," said Harry, " I've been and gone and done it ; I've
popped, you know, and l)een accepted, and you ought to be pleased,
Eleanor, with Lavy's choice, it's not a disgraceful connection like
Bob Smith, anyhow." 1|K»

Eleanor took up a china vase and dashed it to the ground in the
vehemence of her passion.

*' My dear, dear Eleanor," expostulated her husband, in great
alarm.

Slie heeded him not, but turned savagely upon the offending
Harry, who opened his round eyes with surprise indeed, but stood
his ground witii a calmness that did him credit.

" You leave this house this very night, sir, you and that infamous
girl, and never dare to enter it again, nn>er" she .said, with great
vehemence.

'• If you insist on that," said Harry, coolly, " I must look up a
parson and be married right away, for the sake of Lavy's character,
and all chat sort of thing, you know ; though we didn't mean to do
it till Christmas."

" Do you stand there, Frank, and see me insulted ? " said Eleanor,
shaking with passion, " turn that fellow out."

" Oh ! you needn't trouble, Franky," said Harry, in an ofT-hand
way, " sorry to have made a row, old fellow, good night to you both,"
and he went at once ; not into tlie street, however, but up to his own
bed-room, turning the key in Lavinia's door as he passed it, and put-
ting it in his pocket. In a few minutes Lavinia heard a stormy
rustling of silks, and her door was shaken violently.

" I cannot open it, Eleanor," she said piteously, " it's locked on
the outside."

Eleanor shook it again and cried, " open it instantly, you shall
leave the house this very nig'it, you wicked, bad girl."

The door opposite was wide open, and Mr. Harry called out, *' I
locked her in, and have the key under my pillow, and we're not go-
ing till the morning, 'twill be more respectable, and all that sort of
thing, you know — if you make such a row you'll wake the servants.
Oh ! it's no use coming here, I've got my pants off," added this
practical young gentleman, as the silks came towards his door with
a swishing kind of rush. She contented herself with closing the door
upon him with a violent bang, and descended the stairs defeated.

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f ,

Lavinia left Hamilton by the earliest train, having fir?«t breakfasted
with her cousin at the Royal, and Harry went to look up a lodging
house.

Three days later Mr. Meldruin came to Hamilton, and at Frank's
request did his best to make up matters between Mrs. Frank and
Harry. He called on that lady, who received him very coldly at
first, for was he not Mary Paxton's brother-in-law, and Mary was, in
her opinion, the author of all this mischief, by inveigling Lavinia
into her house. He gently sympathised with this magnificent fine
lady, who did not even rise to receive him when he entered her
presence, but lay back in her large cushioned chair like a sultana,
and played with a screen in her hand with a haughty affectation of
langour. He said it really was a very singular choice Mr. Harr)*
had made, and enough to surprise anybody, but perhaps it was con-
tradiction because he had been advised against it ; " and, my dear
Mrs. Llewellyn, I hope you will pardon me for speaking so plainly —
but I think you are very injudicious in opposing him so strongly ; if
he was let alone this fancy might die a natural death — now, if you
dissembled a little — "

" I dissemble !" exclaimed Eleanor, with scorn, " it is not my
way ; I dissembled when I asked that girl to my house, it was a false
step, and I will never take another. How could I guess he would
prefer that little blackamore to a pretty, fair woman like Miss Pax-
ton ?"

"It seems incredible," said Mr. Meldrum, with a sympathising
shrug of the shoulder, ♦' but love's blind."

''Love! I have no patience with him — he's the greatest fool in
Canada. What has she to recommend her to any man ; can you tell
me one virtue, one grace in her to love ?" asked the lady, extend-
ing her white jewelled hands in appeal to heaven and earth.

" Well, the little lady is of excellent birth," said Mr. Meldrum,
" and very fair education, her accounts are most beautifully kept, and
she is a skillful house-keeper and good cook."

" A good cook," echoed Eleanor, with supreme scorn ; " that is
just a man's reasoning all the world over. She is all the cook he is
ever likely to have, if he marries her, the ugly, presuming, vulgar
little creature ; for I will make Frank turn him out of the firm — and
he has neither sense nor perseverance to make a living for himself

.It

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139

— I will disown them both if they don't give up this wretched idea
n{ marriage; I will never look upon that hateful girl again, mvgr.'*

" Do not make rash vows, dear Mrs. Llewellyn, remember Jeptha,**
said Mr. Meldrum, in his most suave, courteous voice. " Mr. Harry
may change his mind, or Miss Lavy may pick up another beau, the
marriage may never t)e consummated, and a betrothal does not stand
in law — who can tell what may happen— young men and maidens
are so fickle ? "

" I shall never respect him again whether he marries her or not, I
shall always think him a fool, a creature of no spirit, to want to mar-
ry a girl that a low boy like Bob Smith had kissed — actually kissed
— yes, it's a fact, and I have told Harry so again and again. If she
had been as beautiful as Mary, Queen of Scots, would any man of
spirit have married her after that, I ask ? "

" Ahem ! " said Mr. Meldrum, " you ladies are so severe in virtue.
Bob is a great pet of mine ; I believe I have kissed him myself when
he was younger, and foreigners — Miss Lavy is half a foreigner — are
more lenient in their construction of these little gallantries than we
who are descended from the English, a — a very proper nation. I
am sure Miss Lavy is a very virtuous, exemplary young lady, not-
withstanding little Bob's kiss."

" Bah ! I am tired of the subject," said Eleanor, with disgust,
" talk of something else, or go away, — do ; " but notwithstanding her
words, her face had a look of softening.

" I will go away, Mrs. Llewellyn, but not till you have promised
that you will be lenient to Harry ; though the stupid fellow has
such bad taste. Give him a chance, — I ask it as a personal favour,
— do not turn him out of the firm till he is married."

" Well, I don't mind promising that much, I will give him another
chance, though he is a fool, — if you tell me something that I wish
very much to know, — you know women are all inquisitive and I have
a passion for knowing secrets."

" I will tell you anything and everything that I know," said Mr.
Meldrumj with great gallantry.

"Well then, why did you marry Mrs. Hurst instead of Mary Paxton?
Now, the truth and nothing but the truth ? " said Eleanor, tapping his
hand playfully with her screen. N.B. — She had seen Mrs. Meldrum
before leaving Cromaboo, and the ladies had measured lances.

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" Ah I if my friend Frank had died oi>portunely, I would never have
thought of either," said the doctor.

" That is not answering my question," persisted Kleanor.

" Because, — us I said just now, love's blind, you know, — I prefer-
red Mrs. Hurst to Miss I'a.\ton, and — "

" I don't believe it," said Eleanor, " so spare yourself the trouble
of telling stories, and I will not spare Harry."

" Well, then, in v^ry truth," said the doctor, '* it. was because Miss
Paxton preferred little Bob Smith to me."

" Really ?" but, after a little pondering, she added, *' I believe you ;
how her face glowed when she was defending him. The little wretch,
he ought to be shot, — you would never allow her to marry him, now
tell me ?"

" I only promi.sed to answer one question," said the genUeman,
smiling, and pressing her fingers gently, as he bowed himself out of
the room. " Adieu, for the present, dear Mrs. Llewellyn."

" Come back to dinner," said Eleanor, " we shall be so glad, —
but do not bring Harry."

" Thank you very much, but I did not anticipate such a pleasure,
and I have promised to dine with that naughty prodigal at the
Royal."

" Well, then, to-morrow," said Mrs. Frank, graciously, and so
departed, and when he left Hamilton he was the bearer of another
silk dress, besides that unlucky shepherd's plaid, that failed so signally
in its mission ; a rich white watered silk, to be made up immedi-
ately, a note accompanying it, to tell Lavy to be ready any day.

" Got it on tick, you know, at Murray's," explained Harry to his
friend, " to be paid for out of the fortune."

But as the weeks passed and no word came from the Brazils to
Frank, Harry grew nervous and restless. He received daily little
loving notes from Cromaboo, which made him uncomfortable ; he
wrote more and more seldom ; he had put off the wedding till after
Christmas, then he deferred it till after New Years, when he received
a letter from Mr. Meldrum telling him in plain English he was a fool,
and would lose the lady and her fortune, and deserve his fate for his
tardiness.

He answered this note by a telegram, asking Mr. Meldrum to meet
him in Gibbeline, and say " nothing to nobody," so he expressed it.

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141

Mr. Meldrum did meet him on a stormy winter's day, and did
his best to persuade him to return with him to Cromaboo, and be
married before he went back to Hamilton. Harry refused.

" Hang it, you know, ' he said, " I am beginning to doubt if we
bhall ever hear of the money at all ; you expected we should hear
before Christmas, and^ou can't account for our not hearing, can you?"

" No, except on the principle that fortune favors fools — if Frank
had heard, my young friend, your chance would have been over for-
ever. I cannot account for the silence, but 1 believe in the fortune."

" Meldrum," said Harry, walking the room and much disturbed,
•• I'll tell you the truth if I never tell it again -I don't half believe
in the money — sometimes I do and sometimes I dont, you know —
and by George, you know, / ivouldn't marry Lavy without it, I'd
rather turn monk."

" A very jolly little monk you would make, Harry — but why do
you dislike your cousin?"

'• I don't dislike her, but hang it, you know, she's so qiuer ; I would
never have chosen her without the money. By George, you know,
when we were driving in Waterdown she asked me to let her drive,
and I did to plea.se her, and she cocked up lt little fat leg, and put
her foot on the brake like a man ; she did really, and said she would
like to drive four-in-hand. And when I asked if she objected to
tobacco, she said not at all, she could smoke a cigarette, the ladies
all did it in Brazil, and last year I saw her cross the High street in
Gibbeline at a run, and tap Bob Smith on the back with her fan as
if he had been an equal. By George, you know, anything will go
down when people have money, and it doesn't matter if they are a
little queer, and I do like her ; but when it comes to working hard
for a woman, and straining every nerve, and all that sort of thing,
for a living, you need love as an incentive, and if you don't love a
woman you are a fool to marry her, by — "

" By St. Andrew," said Mr. Meldrum. " Well, Harry, I will per-
suade you no further, but if you lose Lavy, you will regret it."

" She's good-natured, and all that sort of thing, and with plenty
of money I know we should get on," said Harry, " but without it,
hang me, you know, I'd rather be hanged."

"And what of Miss Lavy 's feelings," said Mr. Meldrum, "have
you thought of that ? "

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" Let her marry little Bob Smith, he's better looking than I am,
and it would be a step up the social ladder for him with the money
or without ; they could run a big hotel, or a little wayside inn at
first ; she'd make a splendid landlady, and he wouldn't be a bad
landlord, if he didn't take to drinking."

" Perhaps Bob wouldn't care for her without the fortune any more
than yourself"

" Hang his impudence if he didn't, he might feel honoured," said
Harry, all the Llewellyn alive in him in a moment.

" He might, dui he mightn't" said Mr. Meldrum, dubiously.

A tap at the door, and Robert's bright young face peeped in.
" Beg pardon, gentlemen, but I must be up to time with the mail, I
cannot wait a minute longer."

" I am ready. Bob," said Mr. Meldnim, rising. " Will you come
with me, Harry i* " looking at him keenly.

" Not this time," he replied, " but I may turn up in a day or two.'

" Then you will turn up like the deuce of spades instead of the
ace of hearts, you will be too late. There is a tide in the affairs of
men — "

" Oh ! confound it, Meldrum, go away with you ; you know I'm in
a deuce of a pickle, and don't know how to decide," said Harry,
really impatient in his perplexity.

So Mr. Meldrum returned to Cromaboo, and Harry returned to
Hamilton in a great state of indecision and doubt. Stej^ping out of
the cars at the station, he fell almost into the arms of a slight, dark
very singular looking little gentleman, evidently a foreigner. He had
a little wizened brown face, and Harry was grasped by a thin, naked
hand with half a dozen rings on it, which the gentleman stretched
out to save himself from falling. The rest of his person was covered
by an immense fur coat.

" Beg pardon," said Harry, " nearly had you down."

" I am but just arrived," said the person he addressed, smiling, and
bowing. " I speak your Ingliesh not well, will you show me to pro-
nounce this name, if you please ? " and he handed Harry a card on
which was written Mr. Frank Llewellyn's name and address. Harry
instinctively drew his cap over his eyes, his heart was in his mouth.
It flashed upon him that the gentleman was a Brazilian or Portuguese,
and had come about Lavy's fortune. He told him how to pronounce

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143

the name, said he was in a great hurry, sprang in a cab, and gave the
driver double fare to take him like the wind to his lodgings, having
made up his mind to make, in the name of an old play, " a bold
stroke for a wife/' He left Hamilton by the midnight train for (iib-
beline, never went to bed at all, but as soon as it was daylight hired
a horse and cutter, and started for Cromaboo.

It had been the most severe Christmas known for many a year,
and more than four feet of snow had fallen since New Year's day,
then the wind had risen, and blown it into drifts, so that the sleigh-
ing was anything but good. Not a breath of air stirred the day Mr.
Meldrum met Harry, but the snow fell heavily and steadily, from
morning till night ; so bad were the roads that the mail did not reach
Cromaboo till ten at night, and when Harry started the next morning
the snow was still falling. His horse was not a very good one, and
the roads grew worse as he advanced ; at noon he had only made
ten miles, and had ten still before him ; he tried to hire another
horse but failed, and was obliged to push on with the one he had.

He stopped to take tea at Ostrander and rest his weary beast ; it
was dark when he left, and the wind had risen and faced him, the
air was piercingly cold, the drift nearly blinded him, and the poor
horse plodded on through soft snow that was breast deep in some
places. Harry had to get out once or twice, to try and see where he
was going, and to keep his cutter from upsetting, and he soon be-
came very cold ; his most comforting thought was that the mail
could not get through to-morrow, and all communication with Ham-
ilton would be cut off for some days. He began to get drowsy, and
walked in front of his horse — or rather waded — with his hand on the
bridle to keep himself awake ; and in spite of himself his thoughts
reverted to the poor boy frozen to death in carrying the mail on this
very road not so many years before. He saw a light glimmering
ahead and made up his mind to turn in there and go no further to-
night — suddenly he made a false step and rolled down a bank in the
soft snow head first ; he laughed a little, but felt so weary that it cost
him a great effort of will not to lie there for a minute or two to rest,
but, a Canadian by birth and education, he knew that such a weak-
ness would be fatal to him ; a Welshman by descent, he had that in-
domitable pugnacity and pluck that will fight to the last. He rose,
and forsaking horse and cutter, stumbled forward towards the light ;

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determined to die on his legs if he must die. He felt a violent pain
in the lorehead, and had the greatest difficulty in keeping awake.
There were no fences to impede his progress to the house, he walked
over them without knowing tht were there, though he waded through
three feet of soft snow that had fallen to-day and yesterday. The
house was on a hill, but he walked to it to-night as over level ground,
for the snow had filled up all the valleys and made an even field.
The light wps near at last, and he stumbled against a door and
knocked loudly.

The door was opened by a tall man, atid a stream of welcome
light poured out upon poor, half-frozen Harry, who tried to speak
and explain his case, but found his mouth too stiff to utter a word.
For some minutes his lips were too swoolen even to take a drink ;
he was sick and giddy from the sudden warmth, but he had a vision
of two men, a woman and children all busy about him, helping him
off with his overcoat, chafing his hands, pulling off his boots, and
wrapping a warm blanket round him. They would not let him near
the fire, but it was good to see it ; after a cup of hot coffee, the
aching was easier to bear, and he could tell them of his horse and
cutter. The two men sallied forth with a lantern to look after it, and
Harry raised his Te Deuni in his own fashion.

" I'm thankful to you, ma'am," he said, addressing the little red-
haired woman, who ministered to him, " and I'm thankful to God ;
1 am, you know, by George. It was a squeak for life, a narrow
squeak, and hang it, I know I don't deserve it, and I'm thankful, by
George, I am."

" We deserve nothing but hell," replied the little woman, with a
clearness and sharpness of tone that made Harry start and look at
her in astonishment. " I mean it," she added, with a quick nod, as
she rapidly buttered a piece of toast for him. " I don't know your
sins, and you don't know mine, but God sees both our hearts, and
knows what we deserve."

" Hell's a warm place, by George, you know, a trifle too warm, and
it's not the thing, you know, to talk about ; it's strong language, you
know," said Harry, who was shocked in his propriety by her remark,
'■ and a woman shouldn't talk about it, you know, it's not proper, and
all that sort of thing, and people won't respect you if you talk in that
wa)'."

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145

She glanced at him quickly, and something in his appearance soft-
ened and touched her. " Poor boy." she said, compassionately, " the
cold bed in the snow might have been the best thing for you ; you
would never have sinned i^iore, or caused others to sin ; now you will
forget the escape and go on in the old track."

" You are an uncomTortable kind of little woman, you are, though,
by George," said Harry, " and make me feel as though I was up to
something wrong, you know." And troubled by the sight of her, for
she said no more, and heartened by her coffee, eggs and toast, he
determined to push on to Cromaboo to-night, if the men would
help him, so when they returned with his valise, and the informa-
tion that his horse was stabled and rubbed down, and wrapped in
blankets, he asked the taller one what he would take to drive him
on to Cromaboo to-night, adding, " I'll give you five dollars cheer-
fully."

" Faith, then, you're in a divole of a hurry to get to Cromaboo,"
he replied, looking down on him good humouredly, "I thought
ye'd be plazed to have a roof to cover ye, and stay undther it till
daylight."

" Important business, you know, — anxious to get on," said Harry.

"Is it love or revenge, that pushes you?' asked the shorter man,
speaking for the first time. There was something in the question,
in the tone of the speaker, and his incisive, well-featured face that
nettled Harry.

"You go to the dickens with you," ho rep'ied, with great spirit,
" and don't be impertinent ; it isn't generous, by George, when you
see the fix I'm in, or manly either, and I won't stand it. If it's your
own roof, by George, you don't know much about hospitality, and if
it's the other fellow's and you are his servant, you deserve a lick-
ing."

The little man smiled ; the big one laughed a jolly sounding laugh
at this speech.

" No oflfence," said the little man," we are farmers on shares, and
you are welcome to a bed, but / won't help you to Cromaboo to-
night. I might turn out for love, but never for money."

" Faith, that's just what I'm thinking," said the big man. " The
divol a foot will I stir to-night, though it is but three miles."

" Well then, will you lend me a pair of horses and a sleigh ?" said

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Harry, '* and 111 drive myself and pay you anything you ask. You
may trust me, my name is Llewellyn, my uncle lives in the village."

The tall man gave a long whistle. " Is it the ould masther's
nephew, Misther Harry, that is to marry the young lady ?" he ex-
claimed. " Faith, I'll drive ye myself, wid all the pleasure in life,
and ye musf go, but if ye stay ye'U be as welcome as the flowers in
May. Sure, I'm Robbie's brother, and my name is Smith, and this
is my partner Root, and I hope ye'll forgive him for hitting the mark,
for it's love, sure enough, that's driving ye."

Harry would go on, and soon all was bustle at the farm-house ;
the two elder boys clamoured to go with their father, but the mother
opposed this and so did Root ; Chip, however, overruled them both,
and took the boys.

" Bundle them up, Fanny, and let them come along — bring them
up hardy, I say, and not like slips of girls or ould women," quoth
John James William Smith.

A great farm sleigh, with a heavy box on it, was brought out, and
great heavy farm horses were harnessed to it ; hot bricks were put in
for the children's feet, and plenty of clean straw and four warm buf-
falo robes completed the arrangements.

" I may not come back to-morrow, or the next day ayther," said
Chip, as he departed, " so don't be onaisy, Fanny."

Harry shook hands warmly with Fanny, and thanked her again
for her kindness, and he offered a bill to Root, who brought out the
horses,

" Not a stiver," said the German, sententiously, " pay in the same
coin when I need it — good night."

Again they faced the drifting snow, the driving wind ; the little
boys cuddled down to their hot bricks and played beneath the buf-
faloes, the horses plodded on at a foot pace, breaking the track at
each step, and Harry and his brawny companion were very cold
before they saw the lights of Cromaboo. The horses were covered
with frozen sweat and fairly exhausted by the time they arrived at
Mr. Llewellyn's door, but Canada against all the world for a warm
welcome on a cold night ; men, children and horses were soon well
cared for, and forgetting their troubles in a sound sleep. Lavinia
cried when she saw her cousin, and said she felt heart-broken when
she heard he had been in Gibbeline and had not even sent her a line

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or his love, " but I see the reason now," she said. " Ah ! if I had
known you were on the road I should have been so anxious."

" Let me go to bed, there's a dear girl," said Harry, kissing her,
" I am drunk with weariness, I never closed my eyes last night."

But the next morning he was abroad by eight o'clock, on his snow-
shoes — or rather Robert's — in search of Mr. Meldrum, and delight-
ed to find Miss Paxton at the doctor's house.

" By George, you know, fortune seems to favour me," he said ;
"you'll be bridesmaid, of course."

" Of course," said Mary, " I expected to Le bridesmaid before
Christmas ; why did you defer the wedding, sir, without assigning a
reason for it ? "

** Pressing business, you know, and all that sort of thing," said
Harry, but he looked rather out of countenance at the questioning
bright eyes that regarded him so keenly. " I was awfully sorry, you
know, by George," he added with a scarlet face.

Miss Mary nodded gravely. " I am glad to hear it," she said.

Harry and the doctor went to procure a license and engage the
parson, and Robert drove Mary Paxton to Mr. Llewellyn's in Chip's
big sleigh to help her little friend. That day was a busy day in doors
and out, for scores of men were ordered abroad by the path-masters
to dig snow and make tracks, and Chip employed his horses in get-
ting an enormous back-log from the woods for the wedding fire.
Lavinia wanted to defer the marriage till the following week, but
Harry coaxed her to let the next day be the happy day, and pre-
vailed.

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CHAPTER THE TWENTY-SECOND.

** Wooed and tnarrieci and a'
Wooed and carried awa'."

—Joanna Baily.

•' There was a charm I did not know, —

The simplest pipe a clown can blow,

The rudest harp is touched, and lo I

It was in vain I willed ! I see

The cabinets of memory

Are all unlocked by harmony !"

— W. B, R.

. 'I.

STORMY morning, a furious north-east wind driving the snow
in blinding drifts, and blowing great masses of clouds across
the cold, blue sky, now obscuring, now partially revealing the stormy
winter sun ; a piercingly cold morning, a morning to freeze your nose
and ears, and make your toes and fingers ache ; a morning when
only the strongest and healthiest have any pleasure in battling with
the elements, and the timid and ailing and lazy cling to the fireside :
the wedding morning of Lavinia Llewellyn and her cousin Harry.

Mr. Meldrum and Mary Paxton — who was sole bridesmaid — were
early astir at the doctor's house, and by their joint efforts, and not
without great difficulty, induced Margaret to don the cream-coloured
satin gown in which she had been married. It was extremely unbe-
coming, she said, for her to dress in satin and her husband in debt,
she would rather wear her old print, that^ at least, was paid for — and
more to the same effect. She made a stand against the diamond
broach her father had given her, when she became Mrs. Hurst ;
ought she, as an honest woman, to wear it ; ought she not rather to
sell it and pay her husband's debts ? It belonged to her poor old
grandmother, who little thought her son's daughter would ever come
to this. Her husband stood waiting, with his great coat on, out-
wardly calm enough, coiling and uncoiling his whip lash, the wild
cat within him suggesting a wish to lay it across his wife's shoulders,
but he only shrugged his own as Mary entered with her wrap-
pings on.

"Oh! the broach is it, Maggie? If you have scruples of con-
science about wearing it, lend it to me ; it's just the thing I want to
complete my toilet."

" Diamonds are more becoming to a married lady than a single

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149

one. Everything that I possess which is valuable you covet," and
she pinned it into her own bosom.

" I covet that great fur cloak the good man has bought you ; shall
I help you on with it ? "

" Mary Paxton, d« you know that it is bought on credit ? It is the
next think to stealing, for he never means to pay for it."

" I wish he had stolen two while he had been at it," said her sis-
ter, '* the next time you rob a fur shop remember me ! ray brother.
How lovely and warm ! If you don't mean to wear it, Maggie, I
will, and you can have the shawls. Come, hurry, don't let us delay
the wedding."

" If you say much, I shall not go at all," said Margaret, sitting
down obstinately.

'* Much — now do as you like, Maggie, I must go, you know, as I
am bridesmaid, so I might have both the broach and the fur cloak,
and // will be a great deal pUasanttr without you" said Mary, with
great gravity.

"I shall go, my young lady," said Margaret, angrily, "if only to
disappoint you," and she proceeded slowly to put on the fur cloak ;
they got her into the sleigh finally, but it was a ticklish busines.s
even to the last, like driving a pig to market.

Mr. Meldrum relieved his chafed feelings by passing the parson on
ihe road, in a narrow place, and upsetting him. So he arrived at
Mr. Llewellyn's first. The bridegroom helped the ladies out himself.

" By George, you know, Meldrum," he said, " I was afraid you
wouldn't come, I was afraid Mrs, Meldrum wouldn't let you, you
know, for fear you'd take cold. Such a morning for a fellow's wed-
ding."

" You thought me an old woman, aye, Harry ? It was Mrs. Mel-
drum's toilet that delayed me, but I'm before Mr. Moorhouse, as it
is ; we left the reverend gentleman in a large snow drift. You must
really forgive me, Harry, for I forgot when I upset him that he was
necessary to the ceremony.

It was half an hour after the time appointed for the nuptials, and
the bride was in all her bravery — the white silk dress and a rich veil
purchased by Harry, in a desperate hurry, the evening he left Ham-
ilton. Miss Lavinia's dress was made by Miss Paxton and Mrs.
Smith, assisted by the Cromaboo dress maker ; she looked almost

ri'

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pretty in her elation and happiness, and not the famous man-milh'ner
of Paris could have fasljioned her costume with greater taste. Mrs.
Llewellyn was dressed in her best, too, a faded purple satin gown,
and snowy cap ; Mr. Llewellyn in his handsomest skull-cap and dress
coat, to give away the bride ; Mrs. Smith in her best gown and clean
white apron, to wait upon the guests, and Tommy in his Sunday tar-
tan, to see the ceremony. Robert, too, was in his Sunday clothes,
which being black scarcely looked like a wedding, and made him
seem much smaller than he did in his every day garments, but not
less at his ease, — all were ready, and waiting for the parson.

There was no single gentleman in Cromaboo but Mr. Moorhouse,
so Robert was Mr. Harry's groomsman, because he could get no
other.

*' By George, you know, I wish he wore anything but black, it
looks like mourning," said Harry, in an aside to his friend, Mr. Mel-
drum.

" He will mourn when he hears of Miss Lavy's good fortune, and
see what he's lost," was the reply. "Coming events cast their shadows
before."

A huge log fire blazed in the wide chimney, the long table was
covered with a snowy cloth, an an ample feast was spread ; the bride's
cake was home made, the pumpkin pie and cheese cakes were a sight
to see, and Prince Llewellyn himself would not have disdained the
chickens and ham ; that is if that royal personage was gifted with a
grain of common sense. The rafter's were decked with everygreen,
and so were the pictures in the little parlour, where the ceremony was
to take place. Rich coffee and strong green tea took the place of
wine at the entertainment, and the whole house had a festive look
and odour. Before the parson arrived. Miss Paxton had decorated
everybody with a wedding favour of orange blossom and mountain
ash berries. They were all growing nervous, — especially Harry, and
the ladies, — when that indispensible gentleman turned up; he was
very cold and somewhat sulky, and apologised for being late ; he had
been upset and broken a shaft, he said, and looked straight at Mr.
Meldrum as he spoke, and bowed very coldly. Mr. Meldrum re-
turned the salute, with his usual grace, but without speaking ; Mrs.
Meldrum was " so sorry," and Miss Paxton decorated him with a
wedding favour. Mrs. Llewellyn treated the disaster very lightly.

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151

** Upset, aye !" she said, "we have all had our tumbles; if you had
delayed much longer, wg should all have been upset, sir."

The bride and bridegroom stood up, and the ceremony began.
Mr. Moorhouse read it wiA great emphasis, laying particular stress
on the most trying passages. ** I require and charge you both," he
said, in a grating, stern, awful voice, " as you shall answer at the
dreadful day of judgment^ when the secrets of all hearts are disclos-
ed," — here he fixed poor Harry with his eye, and cold as the day was
the happy bridegroom burst into a profuse perspiration, and the wind
suddenly blew a mighty blast, as if to give additional emphasis to the
parson's words, and shook the old frame house to the foundation.
When he came to question the bride — " Will you obey him, and serve
him ?" he said in a voice that gave Lavinia a desire to box his ears.
*' I will," she retorted, shortly and snappishly before he had well fin-
ished the sentence. It was quite a marvel the expression he threw
into the sentence " Lord have mercy upon us," as if they were crimi-
nals, and he the jail chaplain, interceding for them at the last pinch,
and ne pronounced the final benediction as though they were just
going to be hanged, and he begging God to have mercy on their souls.
" Amen !" said Mr. Meldrum, sweetly, in echo to the clergyman's

stem " amen."

So nervous had Harry become at this juncture that he required a
pinch from his friend, and a whispered reminder, before it occurred
to him to kiss the bride.

" Permit me to present my congratulations — may I be allowed the
privilege of an old friend ? " said Mr. Meldrum, stooping gracefully
and saluting the cheek of the dark little lady ; and then her uncle
kissed her, and then her aunt, and then Mrs. Meldrum, who delight-
ed the parson by saying " I hope you may never repent it, my dear ;"
and then came Miss Paxton, and the little bride kissed Mrs. Smith
and Tommy, and shook hands with the best man, and the register
was produced and signed \ and they all went into the great kitchen
to partake of the wedding feast, Robert made happy in that short
transit because Mary Paxton's hand rested on his arm. Mr. Mel-
drum offered his arm to Mrs. Llewellyn, but the old lady said " go
along with you," and nimbly dodging her guests, ran into the din-
ing-room first, and placed herself at the table in her usual seat, eye-
ing the feast with great satisfaction. Mrs. Smith waited on them,

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hut her son sat as a guest at his master's table, and that fact glad-
dened her heart as much as the sight of Tommy seated in his own
little chair hy the great fire-side, quietly munching his part of the
feast, and complacently admiring his [)laid stockings.

There was a good deal of pleasant chat, but no attempt at
speeches ; and the meal at an end, the ladies did a great deal of
talking, as ladies generally do everywhere, and it was decided that
Miss Paxton should stay at Mr. Llewellyn's that night, instead of re-
turning with the Meldrums, as it would save her an additional cold
mile when she left by stage in the morning, and that Mrs. Smith
should send Tommy home, and stay all night and sleep with her
and get the breakfast. Mr. Harry talked very affably to his best
man about dogs and horses, and Mr. Llewellyn entertained the doc-
tor and the parson with an account of the seige of Babylon until it
was time for the bride to change her finery for a travelling dress,
when Mr. Moorhouse took his leave. Harry followed him to give
his fee, and Robert to open the door, — John Smith brought out the
horses to-day to spare " Robbie." Harry, in his nervousness, slip-
ped a fifty-cent piece into the parson's hand, in mistake for a twenty
dollar American eagle.

" Sir ? " said the clergyman, sternly regarding the happy bride-
groom, as he held the coin in his palm. The best man — who I am
afraid was laughing in his sleeve at them both — gently pointed out
the error, but not before poor, blundering Harry had said, apolo-
getically, '* I am sure you deserve twice as much — such a cold day —
made me the happiest of men, and all that."

Then Mr. Llewellyn had a private interview with his nephew, in
which he told him his duties as a husband —which I spare the read-
er, feeling sure his mother-in-law will instruct him fully on those
points, without any assistance of mine — and Robert and Mr. Mel-
drum were left alone, the ladies having all accompanied the bride to
her chamber. After a reasonable time had elapsed, Robert, who
was to drive them to the station, put on his great coat and grew im-
patient.

" You need not expect them yet. Bob," said Mr. Meldrum, " they
won't be here for half an hour or so ; suppose you play something ;
you can play, I hear."

Mr. Meldrum had never heard him. Robert opened the instru-

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153

ment at his recjuest and began one of those strange melodies, wail-
ing voluntaries, in which he delighted. As the wind howled with-
out, and Bob's fingers touched the ebony and ivory keys within,
memory struck strange chords in Mr. Meldruin's bosom. He had
never heard the tune before, and could not account for the feeling
within him, or why' the melody brought old scenes to his mind with
bitter pain and regret.

it brought back the birth of his first child ; he remembered pacing
the dining-rodin floor, while one dear to him indeed, but who should
have been far dearer, was lying in pain and danger in the room above.
He was not nervous, but he was greatly interested ; he listened
attentively for sounds. Presently he heard the cry of a child, with a
sense of relief, soon followed by a footstep, and a brother practi-
tioner, an old school-fellow entered the room, and congratulated him
upon being the father of a fine boy, and told him, in answer to his
(juestion " was it an easy birth, — did she suffer much ? ' that she had
suffered greatly, and when the nurse advised her to cry out, as it
would relieve her, she had asked where her husband was. In the
room below, they told her. " Then I'll die before I cry and distress
him," she said, and fainted. He felt a little flattered at the time, and
it amused him greatly, and his fellow practitioner still more, for he
had known Tom Meldrum as a liard boy at school, who always took
his palmies without a tear ; and he doubted very mucii whether any
woman's cries had power to distress iiim. But, as Robert played, the
memory of that scene smote his hearer with remorse and pain.

Mother and son were gone for many a day; the grave had shut them
away forever, but oh ! if he had them back how he would love and
value them. He felt the worth of his lost jewels, and the reality
that they would never return to his possession. Who cared to spare
him now, who cared whether he was vexed or pleased, who in all the
world would suffer a pang for his s ike ? His wife's dying fice came
back to him vividly ; the wistful look in her eyes, when she could no
longer speak, the pitiful quiver of the silent lips, as she put her weak
wasted arms about his neck for the last time. He could bear it no
longer ; he laid a hand on the player's shoulder, he did not know
how roughly. •' Stop that, and be damned to you," he said, in a
voice that astonished Robert as much as if he had discharged a pis-
tol at him. The music ceased suddenly, and the lad turned and

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looked at the doctor's usually calm face, disturlied enough now, the
eyebrows drawn together, with a frown of i>ain.

" What is the matter ?" asked Robert, in alarm, " are you ill, sir ?"

" No," returned the gentleman, " but why do you play like that ?
You will make the bride weep on her wedding day, — what the — the
dicker^s do you play like that for?"

" Robert's face flushed, he was greatly hurt and annoyed at the
effect of his music. There was a short silence, then the doctor's face
relaxed, he touched the lad agam, but this time kindly.

" Come, Bob," he said, *' don't be offended ; not an oath has
passed my lips since my student days till now, and it's a greater com-
phment to you than Miss Paxton's tears, which flow easily, because
she's a woman, but I am a thick-skinned fellow, with self-command
enough, I have thought, till lately, and you have probed and ruffled
me, and — and made me swear. You have brought the dear lost dead
to life, but only as the Witch of Endor raised Samuel to shock and
frighten Saul. You will make Miss Lavy remember and regret some
half forgotten lover, instead of rejoicing in her wedded lord."

The lad laughed his soft musical laugh. " It is hard to be for-
gotten quite," he said, — " I — I wanted Miss Lavy to remember if only
for a little while, a minute or two. "

" You did, you young dog in the manger," said Mr. Meldrum, eye-
ing him keenly. " If she had possessed ten thousand pounds, let us
say, — would you have let her go ?"

" Yes, if she had all the money there is on the outside of this
round world, and if Miss Mary had not ig but her own pretty self,
I would be content to work all my life as her servant, without pay,
only to be near her."

He touched the keys again, and sang the sweet words of another
Robert, who loved fair women so well, that he ought to have treated
them better :

*' Oh ! were I on the wild waste,

Sae bleak and bare, sae bleak and bare,
The desert were a paradise

If thou wert there, if thou wert there.

Oh ! were I monarch of the globe,

Wi' thee to reign, wi' thee to reign.
The brightest jewel in my crown *

Wad be my queen, wad be my queen. "

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15ft

The sweet Scottish music penetrated not only the ears, but to the
heart of the little bride, as she received the finishing touch to her
travelling toilet above stairs, and she led Mary into another room
and earnestly addressed her :

'• Do keep an eye upon Robert," she said ; ** those dreadful Crom-
aboo minxes have too much influence on him, and he is a weak boy.
1 could not bear him to marry one of those creatures. Do you
know I saw him playing in a yard the other day — yes, auntie dear,
I'll be back in a minute."

" Playing upon what," said Mary, " the bag-pipes ? "

" No, but an impudent girl liad snow-balled him and knocked his
hat off, and he threw the reins to me and jumped off the sleigh,
and chased her into a yard and kissed her — it was what she wanted,
no doubt, the bold minx — yes, auntie, I am coming, how you do
tease — and all this actually before my face."

" I'll do my best to take care of him — I'll be faithful," promised
Mary, laughing, as the music ceased below.

A smile of calm amusement played on the doctor's face as the
lad warbled this ballad, he was himself again, and stepped forward
with his usual quiet gracefulness to hold the door open as the ladies
entered.

There were kisses, good byes, last words, good wishes ; there
were tears on Lavy's cheeks, and her uncle's, as he held her in his
arms and blessed her fervently.

" My dear child, my brave little helper," he said at last, gently re-
leasing himself from her embrace ; " take care of her, Harry, and
God bless you both."

" I will, uncle, by — George," said Harry, greatly touched by this
scene, and very much in earnest.

Then they were packed in warm buffalo robes, old slippers were
thrown after them, the sleigh bells jingled, and they were off.

««ft!«

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CHAPTER THE TWENTY-THIRD.

'If I

■iti!

" If of herself she will not love, nothing will make her,
The devil take her ! "

—Sir John Sucklino.

%f OHN SMITH and his son Chip stood at their door to see the
%ff bride depart, and to wave their hats and shout " good luck go
wid ye wherever ye go," and when the sound of the sleigh-bells bad
died away, it entered into the heart of Chip to step into Mr. Llew-
ellyn's house and see Robert's divinity, or as he expressed it, " Bob's
girl."

He had never even caught a glimpse of her, though he had been
walking about the house all the day before, because the lady had
avoided him ; but he had formed an idea of her beauty based on
his experience of the Cromaboo lasses, who, to borrow Sidney Smith's
comparison, were " made like milestones," and were for the most
part strapping, red-cheeked, and loud voiced. Among these he had
made many conquests, and though he fancied the unknown beauty,
straighter, bigger, better dressed and haughtier, or as he would have
said, " with more of the devil in her," he had no fear of winning
her if he made up his mind to it. His father, who was more than
half drunk, encouraged him in the idea, for John Smith drunk and
John Smith sober were quite different men.

" Sure," said he, " she might fancy ye for a husband, since she
doesn't mane to take Robbie, and she has a dacent bit o' money
that ye'd find handy."

" Faith she might," returned Chip, complacently, '* any way I'll
have a look at her." jji,;« . t!,:, m i

John James William Smith was a comely giant, standing six feet
in his stockings ; like his father in figure, but with straight features,
eyes large and black as midnight, and curling hair inherited from a
handsome mother ; and he had cultivated a magnificent beard that
reached nearly to his waist. His step-mother was the only woman
in the world for whom he had a respect, and her he did not like.
He had no belief in the virtue of women, yet he was not without
virtue himself, with all his faults. He was generous, good tempered,
and honest. He loved his father, brother, and his partner Root bet-
ter than either ; indeed if put to it Chip would have laid down his

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life for Root. He was clean in person and civil in manner, and he
scorned a lie as much as his father did.

He knew it would be useless to try and put his plan into execution
while Mr. and Mrs. Llewellyn were up, so he lingered about the house
for a couple of hours, after Harry and his bride had departed; lin-
gered till his father went to bed, till after his step-mother had come
in with Tommy and put him to bed.

" Are you going home to-night, Chip ?" asked Mrs. Smith, sharply,
*'if you mean to stay, these boys should go to be J."

" They may go to bed," said Chip, " it's a rough night, I'll stay
till morning."

But the boys utterly refused to go to bed, and after a sharp con-
test with them, Mrs. Smith returned to Mr. Llewellyn's, and left them
up. She had longed for an hour or two alone with Miss Paxton.
Our heroine's pretty face had a great charm in it for the mother as
well as the son, and Mrs. Smith had made up her mind to tell Mary
her history. Who is without a history ? Uneventful as many lives
are, every man and woman bom into the world has a tale to tell, and
it is only a very few who go io the graves and leave it untold. Do
we not all, at times, bore our friends with the story of our past joys
and sorrows, and are we not bored by them in return, •' many's the
time and oft ?" Mrs. Smith had fully made up her mind to tell Mary
her history.

Chip waited for ten minutes after his step-mother had gone, and
then banged the door behind him, and strode off through the falling
snow. " When the god's plot our ruin they answer our prayers." He
lifted the latch of Mr. Llewellyn's kitchen door, and his wish was
gratified. He found Miss Mary alone, seated quietly in the bright
fire light, arrayed in her bridesmaid's dr^ss of white lustre, ornament-
ed with swan's down, and covered, out not concealed by a long tulle
veil, fastened above the forehead by a coronet of blue and white for-
get-me-nots. There was a brilliant colour in her cheeks, left there
by the recent excitement, and, as she turned to look at the new
comer, he thought it the most lovely face he had ever seen, and
scarcely earthly. She was not in the least what he expected her to
be, and her calmness under the scrutiny of his conquering black eyes,
flustered and abashed him.

" Good evening," she said, in return to his salutation of " God

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save all here," and he, half from policy, half by the instinct of rever-
ence, removed his hat, for the first time in his life in civility to a
woman. Miss Mary knew who he was at a glance, and recognized
his great bass voice, which had been sounding through the house,
half the day before.

" You wish, I suppose," she said, " to see Mrs. Smith ?"

Now Chip had not, in reality, the least desire in the world to see
his step-mother, but he said, in describing the scene to his partner,
Root, '* I was that bothered wid her beauty, for she's like an angel
drissed in white moonshine, thrimmed up wid new fallen snow, that I
said ' if you plaze ma'am,' "

Immediately the lady tripped across the kitchen and disappeared,
and Chip, to his dismay, heard her clear voice calling up the narrow
stair, " Mrs. Smith, your eldest son wishes to see you," and when she
returned to the kitchen, she was not alone.

Mrs. Smith knew John James William of old, and guessed the
object of his visit far better than Miss Mary did, and felt very angry
at the intrusion ; Mary preceded her, and seating herself calmly in
the low rocking chair as before, began turning over the leaves of a
large illustrated Bible she had brought back with her, having picked
it up on the parlour table as she passed. Mrs. Smith said not a
word, but looking her big step-son straight in the eyes, she made an
imperative sign to the door, as if she would say, " march out of it,"
a sign which roused all the latent obstinacy in the character of John
James William.

Some minutes passed, and Miss Paxton hearing no sound, looked
up. *' I fear I am intruding," she said gently, addressing Chip,
"you wished to see your mother alone? " '• »

" Faith then I didn't, ma'am," sdd he, plucking up courage, " 1
would rather see yourself alone."

The lady looked at him with a calm kind of surprise that brought
the blood to his face, and Mrs. Smith, who stood behind her, frowned
at him with another imperative sign to the door. As if in answer
to that sign it suddenly burst open, and two boys came in, with a
rush of cold air, and banged it after them.

" What do you want, boys ? " asked Mrs. Smith, sharply.
" We want to see the lady," said the eldest, a handsome, dark-
haired lad of eight, in a long great coat and big boots, who was un-

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mistakably the son of John James William, bearing the stamp of
his paternity in his face. The younger lad was better dressed, in
Knickerbocker trowsers, and a blouse with a sailor's collar, turned
up with purple. He had bright red hair, and a little coaxing, cherub
face, half shy, half saucy.

" To see me, is it ? " said Mary, extending her hand, *' come here
and let me look at you."

I have said that she hated nothing that God had made, but she
lin>ed little children and animals, and the boys knew it without being
told, just as the cats and dogs did ; they came shyly, yet with con-
fidence, and shook hands with her. She looked at them keenly,
kindly, with interest, and noted that both were clean and well-kept.

•' What are your names? " she asked.

" Johnnie Smith, and he's Joey," replied the dark-haired lad.

•' What made you wish to see me ? " was the next question.

" Because daddy said he was going to marry you."

" He has a wife already," said the lady, calmly and distinctly —
both boys nodded — " and that is all he has a right to." A pause.
*' Would you like to see some pictures ? " They nodded again,
eagerly. Laying one hand on Johnnie's shoulder as she sat, and
passing the other round Joey's waist, she told them to open the
book, and turn the leaves nicely. They opened at the picture of
Christ blessing little children. *' Oh ! " exclaimed both boys, and
looked long and evidently with great pleasure.

" That is our Saviour, do you know who he is ? " she asked.

" God," said Joey, reverently, the first word he had spoken.

" Who told you thai, my dear ? "

"Mother."

" And you say yo'ir prayers to him ? " Both boys nodded. Mrs.
Smith felt her anger i apourating, and Chip, to use his own expres-
sion, " mighty uncom, rtable." Twenty minutes passed, the leaves
softly rustled, and the ds asked questions and returned answers
with growing confidence ; meanwhile their father twirled his hat,
and looked very sheepish indeed at this unexpected interruption to
his love-making, and Mrs. Smith stood erect by the chimney-piece.
The group with the Bible were perfectly at their ease, the little fel-
lows quite happy and unconscious that they disturbed their father's
arrangements ; they not knowing and Miss Paxton not caring, or

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glad to confound his politics. The boys exclaimed with delight at
the miraculous draught of fishes, they admired Ruth ; they paused
a long time at Jonah issuing from the mouth of the whale, they
lingered lovingly over Hannah presenting Samuel with his little coal.

" She made it for love, Joey, as your mother made this for you,"
said Miss Mary.

" How do you know she made it ? " said Joey.

" Because it is so pretty, and has such nice work on it. I do not
know, but I think she did, Joey."

" Yes, she did," said Johnnie, with a nod, " he's the pet."

" Have you any more brothers ? "

" One, and a sister, she's going three, and her name is Frances
Elizabeth Anne," said Johnnie, with great gravity.

" And your brother — what is his name ? " asked their new friend.

" James Thomas, and the baby was Robert, but he's dead."

" Happy Robert," said the lady, with a sigh; "how old was he
when he died?"

"Just six weeks and three days," replied Joey, promptly.

Again they turned the leaves ; they found Samson, and criticized
him, they found Queen Esther in Royal apparel, and approved of
her, — " but she isn't as nice as you," said Johnnie, sturdily, — at last
they came to father Adam and mother Eve, and closed the book.

" Well, boys, you came to see me, what do you think of me?" said
Miss Paxton, taking Johnnie gently by the ear, and smoothing back
one of Joey's red curls,

" I think you are nice," said Joey, " and so pretty," added Johnnie,
with a blush. -

" I have a great mind to come and see your mother. '

" Oh ! do," said both boys, in a breath, and Joey added, *' I'll
show you my puppies."

" And I have a lamb,— a pet lamb," said Johnnie, as an additional
inducement, " he drinks out of a tea-pot like anything, — I'll give him
to you. '
. " And I'll give you my cat, though I love it," said Joey.

" You are generous little fellows to promise me so much," said
Miss Mary, with a smile. " You have reason to be proud of your
sons," turning to the father and addressing him.

" They're well enough," he replied, clearing his throat.

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*' They are," pursued the lady, " a credit to your wife."

** I have no wife, ma'am, and never had," returned John James
William, determined not to damage his position by the admission of
an encumbrance ; " faith.«i'm as much a bachelor as ever I was," and
he slapped his thigh as he concluded.

" Poor little boys," said the lady, and her eyes softened, and grew
humid as she looked at them, while Mrs. Smith's darkened, and
flashed fire at the offending Chip. Two great tears gathered and fell
on the cover of the bible.

" Oh ! don't cry," said Johnnie, in a half whisper, standing very
close to his new friend, and Joey drew down his lip, and looked as if
he would cry for sympatliy. Chip felt ^ was the cause of the tears,
but was puzzled and annoyed at the sight of them ; his step-mother
he could understand, but this lady was a mystery to him. An awk-
ward pause ensued, broken at last by Miss Paxton saying gently, " I
think you had better go now, little boys. If I do not come to see
you, my dears, I shall send you some picture papers by Robert."

She rose, she kissed the red-haixed lad, and shook hands with
Johnnie, she opened the door and told them to " take hands, and
run fast to John Smith's," and go to bed at once, and bade them say
their prayers to-night, as they sped away. They obeyed implicitly.
She stood for a moment looking out at the stormy night, then closing
the door and returning stood before Chip as he sat. Her features
had sharpened and hardened, her face had a grave kind of scorn in
it ; her eyes flashed. She stood looking at him steadily for full a
minute before she spoke.

" 1 don't know whether I scorn or pity you most," she said, " I
despise you for despising the mother of those children, for making
use of her, and then disowning her, and putting shame upon her sons,
your own flesh and blood ; I pity you for your blindness that you do
not see that those dear boys are a blessing sent from God ; you do
not feel their worth, you are not proud of them, yet God has given
them to you — you," with unmeasurable scorn, " like pearls before
swine. You, with your good looks, and your bone and muscle, and
your six feet of strength and impudence, are a very poor creature
after all, and I am sorry from my heart that Robert has such a bro-
ther, and those poor little boys such a father, — heaven help and pity
them all."

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She turned and walked swiftly from the room.

" I think you had better go, John James William/ said Mrs. Smith
sternly.

" Faith, I think so, too," he replied, and he did without even the
ceremony of good night, and so ended the wooing of John James
William Smith.

CHAPTER THE TWENTY-FOURTH.

** You came beneath my tent with friendly greeting.

Of all my joys you had the better part,
Then when our eyes and hands were oftenest meeting

You struck me to the heart.
No less a murderer that your victim living

Can face the passing world, and chat and smile,
No less a traitor for your show of giving

Your friendship all the while."

— Anonymous.

[HOUGH excited, elated and happy beyond compare, Lavinia
had, as we have seen, an eye to Robert. He had behaved so
nicely, so unselfishly, she thought, that he deserved a reward, and she
would give him a word, if possible, before she left. An opportunity
occurr^ at the station ; Mr. Harry wanted a smoke to quiet his
nerves, and asked if he might leave her for twenty minutes.

" Oh ! certainly," said his bride, " I want to have a chat with
Robert."

The happy bridegroom did not feel jealous, he was grateful to Bob
for not acting as his rival, and giving him trouble, and for the way
he had behaved to-day, so he said " all right," and left them the
sole occupants of the waiting-room.

" Mr. Harry is out in his time," said Robert, looking at his watch
— who so poor as to be without his watch in Canada? — " but I sup-
pose as he's just married, it's not to be wondered at ; your train's
due in five minutes."

'• Just a word, Robert," said Lavinia, " and then you must go and
see after the luggage, and look up Harry. You don't feel hurt, I
hope, because I left you — ^you know you were fickle first, so you
ought to forgive me — we are friends, I hope," she concluded in a

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Mrs. Smith

sentimental tone, with her head on one side and her lashes drooping.

" I am proud to be called your friend," replied our hero, heartily ;
" I wish you every happiness, and I shall never forget how you saved
ray life. I got this for you," producing a little gold broach, " if
you will do me the honoSr to take it — and I want you to give me
something at parting, just for the sake of auld lang syne like, if you
will," here he became very sentimental, too, lowering his voice and
speaking very softly.

" Oh ! thank you, it's a little beauty," said his little mistress ; ** I
did feel hurt that you hadn't given me anything, but what can I give
you?"

" Will you give me one kiss ? " in the softest and most persuasive
tone.

She blushed, she lifted her face half shyly, half slyly, this bride
of half a day, and looked in his face, and then condescended to
offer her cheek. He had taken the first kiss unasked, but he received
the last as a great favour. Uncovering his head, and putting a fore-^
finger lightly on either shoulder, he stooped and kissed, not the
offered cheek, but the pouting, red lips that were to be Mr. Harry's
henceforth and forever. The coming train shrieked as if shocked
at such an Impropriety, and Robert, with a hasty good bye, went off
in search of the absent bridegroom. There was a bustle with the
luggage, and he only returned in time to place the checks in Harry's
hand as the train was moving, to wish them all happiness, and wave
his hat as it steamed away. Then he turned the ponies' heads
towards Cromaboo, a bitter north wind blowing in his very teeth as
he started on his solitary journey ; but he was used to dreary drives
and more hardened to wind and weather than Harry Llewellyn ;
happiness in the form of Mary Paxton waited for him at the end,
and he didn't mind it.

The road was more sheltered by woods than that from Gibbeline,
and had been dug out in the last two days, the snow forming a wall
on each side of the track ; he just made fast the reins to the dash-
board, wrapped himself in the buffaloes, and lay down in the bottom
of the sleigh, turning his back to the wind and the ponies, and
guessing rightly that he would meet no one on so stormy a night.
He used neither whip nor rein, only chirrupped to the cattle to keep
them on the trot, yet his hands and feet were aching, and his face

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was numb, as he drove into Cromaboo, and dimly discerned through
the drifting snow, a tall figure striding away from Mr. Llewellyn's.
He recognized his brother, and shouted out " Chip, old boy, put up
the horses for me, I'm half frozen. You'd l)etter not go home to-
night ; groom the ponies for me and bed them down, there's a good
fellow."

Chip assented with a growl. It took him some time to do his
allotted task, and as he rubbed the weary beasts, and turned over
the straw for their beds, he turned over the night's adventures in his
mind. He was used to success and no novice in love-making, and
therefore not so much discouraged as another man might have been
in his place. *' Sure, if she hadn't an intherest in me," he argued,
" she would never be that angry," and it occurred to him, as he
banged the stable door, that he might peep in at Mr. Llewellyn's
uncurtained kitchen window, before he put away the lantern, and see
what sort of a reception Robbie met with. They had helped the
lad off with his overcoat, brushed the snow from him, rubbed his
hands and made much of him, and now, as Chip peeped in. Miss
Paxton kneeled beside his brother before the fire, making a piece of
toast for him, while his mother stood at the table pouring out a cup
of steaming hot coffee. As she turned to bring it to Robert, who
sat before the blaze in the rocking chair, she caught a glimpse of the
lurking, handsome face of her step-son. She said nothing, but she
regarded that good-looking visage with secret anger, and thought it
fraught with all evil, and the sight of it strengthened her in her reso-
lution to tell her history to Miss Paxton and Robert.

" It's worth a longer drive on a colder night to have such a wel-
come," said the lad, as he basked before the fire, sipping his coffee
and crunching his toast with a relish, and listening to the howling of
the wind. " What are we to do to make this evening forever re-
markable to you two as it is to me ? It's only half past nine ; I vote
we don't go to bed yet."

" Let us tell stories," said his mother, " I have one to tell that I
think Miss Paxton ought to know."

" I hope it's a pleasant story, mother."

" It's the story of my early life, and it will be more new to you,
my boy, than to Miss Paxton."

" Dear Mrs. Smith," said Mary, cordially, " I never heard a word

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of your life in my life, so it will be new to me, too, and a great
pleasure to hear it."

" I doubt of its being much of a pleasure to either of you," she
replied ; "but you shall hear it when Robbie has finished his supper."

So accordingly when the crockery was cleared away, she began her
tale by asking Miss Paxton " did you never see my face till you
came to see Robbie in his sick bed ? Take a look at me and think."

" 1 am sure I never saw you till last summer," replied Mary, with
surprise at the question, " I know no face like your's except Rob-
ert's ; he is like you in expression sometimes, and about the mouth."

" You see nothing familiar in my face — nothing that you ever
saw before ? "

" I see that you are agitated and stirred by some strong impulse,
that is new to me in your face ; but it touches no chord, it awakens
no memory," returned Mary.

" Miss Mary, when I was fourteen years old, I lived with my
parents on a wild, uncultivated farm twenty miles back o' this place ;
our nearest neighbour lived six miles away, and there was no road ;
the only way of travelling was by a blazed track. I was born in
Ireland, and hjve a dim memory of the sea and the ship we crossed
in. I was six when they brought me to the backwoods. My parents
were Roman Catholics, but we never saw a priest all the time I
lived there, and the church was forty miles away. They could not
read a letter, and there was no school ; so at fourteen I knew very
little ; I could only sew in a rough way, plait straw, knit open-work
stockings, milk, and do a bit o' coarse housework."

" Pardon me for interrupting you Mrs. Smith, but that was a good
deal to know," said Mary, " and many a middle-class English woman
is more ignorant of useful things at forty, though she can read and
write, — but go on."

'* Our house was a large shanty, with only two rooms in it ; the
floor hewn timber, the roof bark. I had seven brothers and sisters
younger than me. When I was thirteen my father hired Smith to
help him clear the land, and he brought Chip with him, a little slip
of ten. They were just out from Ireland and Smith's wife died com-
ing up the country. He was a Roman Catholic.

" I like him none the worse for that," said Mary, " I am no Orange

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woman.

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"fft

" Better md more respectable than a Methodist, isn't it, Miss
Mary ?" said Robert.

" Hush ! hush ! Robin Adair, boys should be seen and not heard,''
replied the lady, tapping him with the screen she held, " now we
won't interrupt you any more, Mrs. Smith."

"Smith had been with us a year," she resumed, " when two gentle"
men came up the country shooting and fishing. Mr. Meldrum was
one, and the other was named Robert Hardacre. They stayed about
a month, and Mr. Hardacre came back the next spring to see the
sugar making ; and when he left he said he would come again, at the
end of the summer, and he did in July. He came on horse-back the
last time with a large knapsack full of books and clothes, and he
.•*tayed six months, or more. He was ten years older than me, and
seemed to me, in my ignorance, to know everything. He danced
beautifully, and taught us children to dance ; he played the flute and
sang as sweet as any bird, and he would work too, and help my father
and Smith, when the fit was on him, and he paid his board liberally,
and as money was scarce it was a great help to us. His voice was
sweet, and he never said anything harsh oi de to one of us, but I
was his favorite. He taught me how to read and sing, he corrected
me in speaking, and showed me how to speak nicely, but so gently
that he never offended or hurt my feelings. All days were alike to
us till he came, but he would do nothing on Sunday but read and
play the flute and sing hymns. He used to sing the evening hymn
as the sun was setting, but he made no pretence of religion, and I
never heard him name the name of Jesus. He often read to me,
and told me Robinson Crusoe, and other tales. He would milk for
nie on rough nights and help me with the cooking ; he tried to please
me and make me love him, and I did with my whole heart ; I was
completely under his influence, like a poor bird under the eye of a
cat, only I felt no fear of him beyond a pleasant shyness, which was
not fear. I believed in him, I worshipf)ed, everything he did was
right in my eyes ; I had no conscience but his will. He used to call
me his 'little wife,' and I never doubted but he would be my husband."

She paused. Robert had been looking attentively at his mother,
but at this point he turned away from her, and leaning his face on his
hand, gazed at the fire. Both women noticed a bright ring sparklinL'
on his little finger. Mrs. Smith resumed her story.

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16'

" He did not leave when the fall came, but stayed on through tl>e
winter. He wa.s still very kind to me, very civil to all, but I began
to be a little afraid of him, I did not understand him ; he wa-s
quieter, and sang and talked les.^ as the months passed. 1 feel sure,
since, that his conscience .troublcii him, and he was on the wing.
One stormy afternoon, towards the end of March, he and my father
quarrelled, and he left us suddenly. I did not hear what pa.ssed, I
was uut milking at the time, he did not help ur' so often now, —
and when I came in he was gone. They were talking very loud when
I lifted the latch, but stopped when they saw me. I saw something
had happened, and asked what, and .said 'where is Kcbert?' My
mother said ' he is gone, and sorrow go wid him.'
, " I ran out, and saw him with gun on shoulder, and knapsack on
back, disappearing in the wood. I ran after him, and called his
name, and he waited for me. I asked how long he would be away.

* Not long,' he said lightly, ' a day or two perhaps, it's quite uncer-
tain, — it may be a week or a fortnight, at the furthest'

" Tears rushed to my eyes, I couldn't bear to lo.se him for so
long. He rested his gun on one arm, and put the other round my
waist and kissed me, and told me to go back at once and not take
cold. His manner, though kind, was commanding, and I did as he
bid me, only begging him to come back soon, and putting up my
mouth for another kiss. 'You silly, little Nelly,' ' e said, and
smiled as he kissed me. When I turned away, he cali.'d me back,
and gave me a paper. * What is this ? ' I asked. * Money,' he said,

* to buy clothes for your baby — now run away home.' He did not
say my baby, or ours, I thought of that bitterly afterwards. I kept
the note in my bosom and told no one, I have it yet unchanged."

" Burn it," said her son, with a sharpness that startled them both,
but he did not change his position or look up.

" Four weeks passed and he did not come ; they were all very un-
kind to me, it seemed as though their hearts had changed and gone
from me; all but Smith, who was kind in a gruff way. Robert had
left his horse, and one night my father said he had given it to him
because he had no money left to pay his board, and he wjnt on to
say * that Hardacre is a scoundrel.' I spoke up hotly for Robert —
for I knew he had given my father gold the very day he left — then
he strucl mc and put me outside the door, and told me never to

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romc back. I never crossed his threshold again. Twas a fine
spring evening and I stayed all night in the wo<jd.s, and started next
morning l>y the blazed track for (libbeline, where I knew Robert had
stayed the year before. It wns forty miles, and it tcxjk me four
days to get there. I stayed one night in Cromaboo ; there were six
liouses in it, no more. I thought it a large place. I passed your
house, Miss Paxton, on a warm spring day at noon; I wore a navy
blue frock, and had a coarse straw hat on my head ; I was bare-
foot — I see yuu remember me now."

'* Yes," said Mary, with gathering tears in her eyes, " I remember
you."

" ' Tvvas four in the afternoon when I reached (Ji!)beline, for I was
very tired and sat long to rest on the road. It was not a large town
then, and I soon found out the best inn and asked for Mr. Hardacre.
The waiter said lie was staying there, and was in the house at that
minute, and touk me upstairs to his rooms. He was : itling at a
tabic writing. I'll never forget how shocked and annoyed he looked
to see me, he who had never received me before but with smiles and
<}pen arm.s. Yet he was gentle, he closed the door on the waiter, and
seated me in an arm chair, and listened to my story. The room we
were in opened into another, where a table was set out with glasses
and silver, and a snowy cloth. He went through, and got a glass of
wine and water for me, telling me imperatively to ' drink it at once.'
I could not drink it. I remember his hand shook as he placed the
glass in mine. ' It's very perplexing,' he said, ' I am expecting some
guests to supper, — you must go to the kitchen, Nelly, and get some-
thing to eat,' putting some silver in my hand, — ' to-morrow I will
see about you. I hear their voices, and you must go at once.' He
put his hand on my shoulder, and spoke the last words impatiently.
I felt my heart breaking. I set down the glass, I rose and the silver
dropped on the floor.

" ' Don't you love me any more, Robert,' I said, 'even a little?'

" ' Nonsense, Nelly,' he replied sternly, '^v at once, I will see you
in the morning.'

" I did go at once, but he did not see me in the morning ; he will
see me no more till we meet before the Great White Throne. I went
down stairs and out of the house ; I scarce knew what I was doing,
yei by a kind of instinct I turned back the road I came. I longed

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to die, for I knew now that he lovod me no more. When I reached
your house the sun was ^ttmg, I wished it would rise on me
no more. I sat down 'un a stone, and heard sweet young voices
singing the evening 'hymn that Robert loved, ' Glory to Thee
my Ctod, this night.' I shed no tears ; I was past that ; I had
nu knowledge of God ; I was bitter and dispairing. I listened to
the hymn till I could b'car it no longer, it hurt me so. Then I
rose and went down a side road, slowly, for I was nearly spent.
I had no object but to get away from the hymn. I had tasted
nothing since the morning, i went down a hill, and came to a log
bridge that crossed i rapid stream ; I sat down on it and looked
into the water ; it was nearly dark now. Soon a hand was laid on
my shoulder and a sharp voice asked what I was doing there. I saw
a man and a young girl standing beside him ; it was your father and
your sister. Miss Maggie. An ox team was coming on to the bridge.
I think your father told mc to stand up ; then I lost all consciousness
and fainted. When I came to myself I was in a large room, and
your mother was calling sharply to a servant to come and wash my
feet, saying 1 was not fit for a decent bed with feet like that. The
girl refused, she said she was not hired to wash the feet of such ' a
dirty drab.' ' I'll do it, mamma,' said a clear voice near me, and you
knelt before me. Miss Mary, and did it. I can feel your soft hands
about me yet, and see your large eyes looking at me compassionately.
Then you grew dim to my eyes, and I fainted again. When I came
back to life I was in bed. I laid there till the next evening, and, as
I grew stronger, my misery grew sharper. I got up and your sister
helped me to dress, and your mother took me down to a large clean
room, and questioned me alone. I felt very weak and ill ; I told her
the whole bitter truth ; I concealed nothing. I ended by saying I
longed to die. She did not express much sympathy ; she said I
ought to have known better, and my mother was much to blame,
when Mr. Paxton, (who was close to me, though I didn't know
it when I was telling my tale, for he came in in his slippers,) burst
out with ' No, no, Prissy, how cou/d she know better, woman ? She's
only a child, and not to blame, and Hardacre is a damned young
scoundrel, and ought to be shot, and I'll go to Gibbeline before the
week's out and tell him so. And her father and mother deserve a
bullet, too, for turning her out o' doors, — why, she's a year younger

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than Maggie, hardly older than Polly and Emmy, — it^s a shame al-
together, mother, a shame, and you must look up some clothes for
her baby.'

" Your father did see Robert, but I never knew what passed between
them. He was very angry when he came home, and the next day he
rode up to my father and moth r, but they wouldn't have me back,
they disoivned me forever. I waited at your house till Mr. Paxton
came home again ; he was four days away, having lost the blazed
track ; he was obliged to camp out one night ; and Mrs. Paxton en-
dured me all that time, though sore against her will, and did give
me things for the baby ; but you, young ladies, I shall never forget
your kindness. Miss Maggie read Scripture to me, — I had never
heard a line from the bible before, — about God being love, and cut
out little things for the baby, and you brought me flowers and ginger
bread nuts, and Miss Emmy, your dear little fairy of a sister, sang for
me, and danced before me, and tried to make me smile ; and you
made a little pudding between you just for me, and I sat like a stone,
hard and cold, and scarcely thanked you, and could not shed a tear,
or give a smile ; but often since I have thought of it, and blessed you
all. At last Mr. Paxton returned, and Johr Smith with him. (

" * If ye'll marry me, Nelly,' he said, * I'll be a thrue and kind hus-
band to ye, and if ever I desert you, may God desert me, and if ever
I cast up this trouble to you may God remember my sins forever.'

" I consented to marry him, for I didn't care what I did ; I hoped
to die. Mr. Hurst came from Gibbeline that evening and married
us."

" And Emmy and I were your bridesmaids," said Mary, " and wore
our white frocks, and curled our hair ; mamma didn't wish it at all,
but we battled for it and papa upheld us, — how proud we were ! Ah 1
how near the old time seems, and yet it is so long ago. Did Smith
keep his word, — was he good to you ?"

" He never reproached me ; he was always kind when sober, and
never struck me, or spoke of my past shame, even in drink. You
kind happy little g.irls kissed me, and wished me joy, — wretched me,
— and that broke me down, and made me cry, and I cried till the
next day when Robbie was born. Mr. Paxton would have kept us
all night, but your mother would not listen to it ; your brother drove
us six miles on our way to a little inn, and wc stayed there a month."

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" And we came to see you when the baby was three weeks old, —
papa and Emmy and I," said Mary, " it was a lovely drive."

"You looked like an angel to me," said Mrs. Smith, "with your
plump white shoulders and bright eyes, and cool, clean muslin
frock ; and your little sister — how she danced at the sight of the
baby, and she told "me of another baby born at an inn, in a manger,
and she would have this one in her arms all the time she was there,
and took it out for your father to see, as he stood outside talking
to Smith, and made him fed how heavy it was, and he kissed Rob-
bie's hand. I think it's litde things make people dear to us. Mr.
Paxton lent Smith a hundred dollars, to begin the world with, but
it touched me more than anything to see him kiss my child, and I'm
sure it was the way Smith behaved to Robbie the first week of his
li5e that made him dear to me, and not because he protected me and
covered my shame. He used to sit with Robbie in his arms, by the
bedside, day after day, and say he was the prettiest little fellow he
ever saw, and the Queen herself might be proud of him, and he
didn't believe Albert Edward, Prince of Wales, was half such a
beauty when he was born. When Robbie was two years old. Smith
paid back part of the money to your father ; he met him in Gibbe-
line by appointment, because Mr. Paxton feared his wife would know
about it if he went to the house." ''''*■ -'■''-"'^'* ^•

" Poor papa," said Mary, with a littlft laugh, " that's just like him."

" I thought you like him to-night, when you broke out upon Chip
and told him your mind," said Mrs. Smith, with a smile.

" Perhaps I am a little, but I don't swear, and I'm not so much
afiaid of mamma as he was."

" He wouldn't take interest for the money, and that was kind, but
what touched my heart most of all was his giving back two dollars
to buy Robbie a frock, and when Smith said he had no taste in
such things, being in truth afraid he would drink the money if 'twas
left to him, Mr. Paxton bought it himself, scarlet French merino, and
black braid to trim it, and a lovely little frock it made ; I wish he
could ha' seen him in it, with a little white bib over it. I'm sure
if the Queen herself had seen him, she couldn't but ha' kissed him,
for though the highest lady in the world, she is but a woman after
all, and never a woman saw him at that age, but picked him up and
hugged him. He had no shoes, it his little bare feet looked as

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pretty without, and to see him running to meet Smith at night, with
his teeth gleaming, and his little rings of hair flying, every inch of
him alive with joy, 'twcnld have moved anyone with a heart in their
body. Do you mind this r" " and she took from her jxjcket a worn
and ragged baby's sock,

"The very shoe — the first I ever made," said Mary, "he has
worked his toe through the end of it. What a pleasure it was to
make it, and Emmy made him a bib, and Maggie read Queechey to
us while we worked. We sat in the orchard under the trees ; it
seems like a vivid pleasant dream of another life — ah ! it was another
life indeed," and she sighed and rubbed the little ragged sock against
her cheek.

" Where is your little sister ? " asked Mrs. Smith, in a low voice.

" Dead, and my brother, too ; and Maggie is not the Maggie of
old, she is changed and soured ; she formed such exalted ideas of
people, and expected too much of them, more than it's in human
nature to give, and then was disappointed when her idols fell ; but as
soon as one is down she sets up another, and will to the end, I sup-
pose." She held the little sock to the light and straightened it out
" How proud we were of our work, Emmy and I, and she held him
in her arms while I put them on, and he slept, the little warm bundle,
unconscious of his honours, and we kissed the rosy, perfect toes be-
fore we covered them."

" And you kissed me, too," said Mrs. Smith, in a tremulous voice.
" and so did your sister ; you didn't despise the like o' me. And
you brought me flowers, early roses and lillies o' the valley. Them
flowers were the sweetest I ever saw, I couldn't bear to throw them
away when they withered, and I dried them and laid them in my
box; I have them yet." ... •: - , ■ ... = ,^.: .

" Ah ! you are right, Mrs. Smith, there are no such roses now ;
they belong to by-gone, happy days, days of youth and hope for me,
and not wholly miserable days for you, either ; for that dear little
baby was your first born, your very own, and though it brought you
pain, it brought pleasure too ; it seems incredible, impossible, that that
tiny, pink, mouse-like creature cou//i be this fellow here," laying her
hand on his shoulder, " that I have held him in my arms, and kissed
his toes, and speculated about the colour of his eyes."

Robert turned his head and kissed the hand that touched him.

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He was strangely stirred and moved, the tears had been very near
his eyes for a long time, and now they fell. He rose and put his
arm about his mother, and pressed his lips to her cheek.

" I am glad you told me, mother," he said, " I couldnt love you
more than I did before, «that's.impossible, you couldn't be dearer to
me than you always have been, but if my birth disgraced you, mother
dear, my life shall not \ though I was born with shame, I will live
with honour, God helping me ; I will try and be worthy of you two
good women ; I wonder you didn't hate me, mother, because I'm the
son of that man who deserted you — may evil haunt him all his days."

His mother shivered. y • : f

" Hush ! Robert," said Mary. " I have been thinking of him for
the last half hour, and I feel very sorry for him. Half the tears I
have shed have been for him, poor hard-hearted, worldly, short-
sighted man, who turned his back upon his blessings ; who gave up
his babe, his own flesh and blood, at once and forever, and despised
the love of a woman. True love is so rare, Robert, and children
such a source of pride and pleasure, that, seeing all he lost, I pity
your father from the bottom of my heart, and so should you."

Mrs. Smith broke into sobs and sat down, and her son kneeling
beside her, begged her to forgive him. " I will never speak ill of
him again, mother ; it was because he was so cruel to you, and not
on my own account, and now I have been cruel too." < , ,

" I have sometimes wished he could see his son," said the mother,
stroking his hair with her rough hand.

"God forbid, mother."

•' You are so like him," she murmured.

" God forbid," said her son again, from his heart.

" It's only the shell, Robert," said Mary, soothingly, " and not the
inner man, and even outwardly you are not altogether like him, for
you have your mother's mouth," — he took her hand and kissed it
gratefully — " but you do not use it with discretion, as she does," the
lady went on. " I think that habit of kissing must be a trick of
your father's ; just think of that when you are tempted, Robin Adair."

" You hoped my son would be a blessing to me," said Mrs. Smith,
wiping her eyes, "when you kissed him so long ago."

" And I am sure he has been," answered Mary, quickly.

"Yes he has, but once I wished him dead. He was just five, and

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that year Smith was hardly ever sober, and he used to take Robbie
out of his bed and wrap him in a bit o' blanket, and take him into
the tavern next door to sing to the men m the bar-room, and he
would stagger in at three or four in the morning, with Robbie in his
arms, and the little mite would be flushed with excitement, and too
tired to sleep — excitement, not drink, for he promised me not to
drink, and he kept his word, my poor, little, half-starved boy ; and
he would have his little fists full o' coppers the tipsy fellows had
given him for singing, and would say 'dot money for you, mother.'
(iod knows it was needed bad enough, for I had a babe scarce a
week old, and little of anything in the house, but it went nigh to
break my heart to lake it, for I hated the way it was earned ; I
hated the life for him, and I prayed to God that he might die.
Smith heard me one night, and it sobered him ; he's never been on
the spree for so long a time together since — it's not him that's bad,
but the drink ; that whisky is the curse of Canada, and there's no
way of curing the evil till they give up making it."

" You had another child, Mrs. Smith ?— I thought Tommy was the
only one except Robert."

" I had four others. Three were carried out o' the house in one
day with scarlet fever, and after two weeks of suffering Nelly died
too — my only girl — and Robbie was as weak as a baby, but Smith
and I cried to God for him, and it was like as if our prayer was
answered, for that very day the trains were blocked A'ith snow at
Bezar, where we lived then, and couldn't go on, and Mr. Meldrum
was one of the passengers, and Smith fetched him to see Robbie,
and he stayed three weeks at Bezar, and lent us money for comforts
Robbie needed more than physic — may God reward him for it — and
John James William was kind too, I never forget it. I lay it against
his sins when I feel hard to him. He spent his wages for us, and
stayed till I could get about after Tommy was bom.

'* Oh ! Chip is a good fellow in many ways," chimed in her son,
"though he's rough like." ' -' *^ '' "= - / ''^' «-'^ ^^•'

" What kind of a person is Chip's wife?" asked Mary, " tell me."

Robert's face flushed with shame and annoyance. " He has no
wife. Miss Mary." ••" - • - -■,;■•(■

" Well, the mother of his children, then,'^ she said, a little im-
patiently, " do you know her ? I am thinking of going to sp? her,

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se in one

tell m&"

I has

little

im-

SP?

her,

and I will tell you why. Your brother has been here to-night with
his boys; they are nice little fellows, — I like them. I think them
well cared for, and not ill-taught. I think the mother of such child-
ren cannot be a// bad, — what think you, Robert ? Have you seen
her?"

" More times than I can count." He paused for full a minute,
and then looked up in Miss Paxton's face. " Miss Mary, you trust-
ed me once, you took my advice, wasn't it for the best ? Will you
trust me once again, in this matter ?"

His voice had a coaxing pathetic sound. . .

" I don't kno'v, Robin, you are prejudiced against this womar, and
think ill of her with reason, I doubt not, — and (iod forbid that you
should ever think lightly of sin, — but I fear you would consider my
feelings rather than her good. She has a soul to be saved as well as
you and I, and she is not the only sinner in the case ; your brother is
much to blame, and the children, heaven help the poor little crea-
tures, my heart bleeds for the children. I promised them some
books, poor Httle things."

" I'll take them anything you like to send," said Robert. .:

*' You hard boy, you don't want me to go."

" I'm not hard, Miss Mary, but I know them all better than you
do, and I'm heart sorry that Chip forced his company upon you."

" Nothing happens by accident, Robert ; it may be that God direct-
ed him here to get a rubbing up, and have things pui before him in
a new light. Perhaps I could do her good, poor, lonely, sinful
woman. Why do you wish me to stay away, — is it for my sake
only ?"

" Yes," replied Robert, in a low voice," just for your sake. I'm u
poor ignorant fellow, as you know, but I love you, you cannot guess
how much ; you are as far above me as heaven is above the earth, I
know, but I love you. I live for you ; I could, if need be, die for
you. If you had been married to-day, instead of Miss Llewellyn, I
sho Jd lie down to-night with a broken heart. The highest castle I
ever built, the sweetest dream I ever had was the hope of calling you
my wife ; but not to have you for my wife to-morrow would I con-
sent to let you go to Chip's house ; I am that set against it. I love
you too well to think of it with patience. Don't go, dear Miss Mary.
I don't ask anything but that, except that you'll forgive me for speak -

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ing so plainly, and not cut me out and out for loving you, for indeed
I can't help it."

" Well, Robin, I won't go, since you are so much in eai ^st, and
as for your love you'll get over that soon enough, and I hardly know
whether to be glad or sad at the thought of it. Where did you get
that ring on your little finger?"

" It's out o' place, Miss Mary^ and you don't like to see me in it,
do you ? A brown rough fist and a ring don't look well together."

" It's the hand of a friend, it has fought for me, and helped me
many a time. I do not despise it for being brown and rough with
honest labour, but I am a daughter of Eve, Robin, I want to know
the history of the ring; it looks like a handsome one."

He held out his hand, and she slipped off the ring with her slender
white fingers, and took it to the light to examine it. It was of mas-
sive gold, beautifully chased with a large ruby for a knob, and in-
scribed within the circle were the words, " Her price is far above
rubies."

" Is it your mother's ring ?" she asked, with a startled look, " did
it belong to your father?" ' "'"' "'" ^ ■'■"'J'

'• It belongs to you, if you will accept it, and it never belonged
to anyone else but me. I had it made on purpose for you. It is
not a lying inscription ; I mean it every word. You are worth more
than rubies to me."

She put the ring on the middle finger and held it up to the light,
then took it off and laid it in her open palm.

" How much did it cost you, extravagant boy ? "

" Never mind," said Robert, " It's money well spent if it pleases
you."

" Robert," she said, leaning against the mantle-piece and looking
at him as he sat beside his mother, " a ring is a kind of fetter that
implies much, and I can make no promise to love you better than I
do now, for I do love you as a brother, a dear younger brother that
I have held in my arms as a baby. I am but two years younger than
your mother ; I am fourteen years older than you, and that is too
great a difference in age on the wrong side, setting rside other differ-
ences." .

" (MAer differences^^' repeated our hero, with a keen glance of his
brown eyes; ''Such as V inquiringly.

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"You told me your story, Mrs. Smith," said Mary, suddenly
turning to his mother, as if moved by a new impulse, and I will
tell you mine, and afterwards we will talk about the ring."

But we will leave \Jiss Paxton's story for another chapter.

CHAPTER THE TWENTY-FIFTH.

" Dreams of my youthful days! I'd freely give.

Ere my life's close,
All the dull day's I'm destined yet to live

For one of those."
— Father Prout's Tra.nslation ok Berknoer's "Garret."

|[RS. SMITH, when Robert here was six years old, a gentle-
man loved me and asked me to marry him, and I loved him
—aye, and do still. This ring of opals that I always wear he gave to
me, it has an inscription too, ' Ralph's love.' You shall see the
extent of * Ralph's love,' and mine. He was six years older tlian
you are now, Robert, when I first knew him, and just as unlike you
as it's possible to be. He wa*s tall, with a quiet manner, a gentle
voice, and an eagle face, very dark eyes that flashed and sparkled
when he was angry, while yours, Robin, turn red and glow like a
coal. His face was of that kind that expresses much without speech,
and he used to say little satirical, saucy things in dispraise of me,
that were after all very complimentary. He had a noble face, and
the man himself was • oble though proud and obstinate. I was very
sad and lonely ^hen I first made his acquaintance, my little sister
Emily had just died — she married unhappily and died the first year
of her marriage — j ohn was dead too, and Maggie away with her hus-
band.

" My father had imbibed a prejudice against matrimony, he was
very cautious and careful about his last ewe lamb, and did not wish
me to marry, and mamma did not wish to lose my services. She
thought if I married I ought to live with ray parents all the same,
and do their bidding. I was their last child, and she could keep my
husband in order and rule me as of old. They had no reasonable
reasons for objecting to Ralph as a suitor, but they sanctioned the

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engagement reluctantly, and they wished it to be a long engagement :
whereas Ralph wished to be married at once, having more than a
competency at his command. He was always urging the old Scotch
proverb ' happy is the wooing that's not long a-doing ; ' but papa
would shake his head in reply, and answer with the wise English
saw, 'marry in haste and repent at leisure.'

'* I was not the Mary Paxton of to-day, or the Mary Paxton you
knew so long ago, either, Mrs. Smith, but a very reserved young lady,
shy with all gentlemen, but especially with Ralph. I never tried to
converse with him in the daylight, only when I could not see his
face could I talk to, or before him freely. Our habit of chatting by
twilight, and singing duets by moonlight, annoyed both papa and
mamma ; they had very little patience with my shyness, their youth
was so far away that they had forgotten the feeling, and made no al-
lowance for it. The bloom is oft the plum now, and really I had
forgotten what it was to feel shy myself, till this young rogue of yours
kissed me in the summer, and renewed the old, half painful sensa-
tion. In my heart I did not like the thought of living at home
after marriage, but both parents decided that it should be so.

" Ralph was the engineer of the first railway that passed through
Oibbeline, his work lay near us at the time, and if we were married,
he might come and see me once or twice a week as before ; so they
arranged that if he would marry me on those terms he should have
me at once, if not he must wait till after their death. Ralph, when
mamma first spoke to him about it, would not agree to either pro-
posal, but he differed from her respectfully, and did not lose his
temper. We had been engaged six months; he had given me many
a present and many a long drive and ride, but never alone. Which-
ever way we went, papa always found his business lay in that diftr
tion, and cantered along beside us, or took a seat in the same con-
veyance, if we were driving, or else mamma thought a drive would
make her sleep better. We were never alone for more than ten
minutes at a time, till one sunny autumn afternoon, when Ralph
came unexpectedly to take me for a drive, and papa was out, and
mamma had a needle-woman to look after, and could not get away.
She let me go reluctantly, and made Ralph promise to bring me back
before dark.

"At first I was so shy that the pleasuie of being alone with him

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was almost pain ; but his gentleness and delicacy soon set me at my
ease ; he avoided trying subjects, talked of the horse we drove, the
scenery we passed, and told me of pretty places he had seen. Never
shall I have such an afternoon again till I reach Hades, and have
great strong wings to bear me through the sweet air of paradise, with
the dear spirits gone before. Our horse was a good traveller, but we
did not hurry ; we drove fast or slow, as it pleased us ; once we stop-
ped outright, a bird sang so deliciously, and we sat at our ease and
drunk in the sweet melody, while the horse champed his bit, and
j)awed the ground, and a brook near by gurgled a soft accompani-
ment. We had started on a side line, but at last we turned into the
main road to Cromaboo ; then Ralph told me he had bought a farm
over-looking the railway track, and built a house upon it, that we
were going to see it, and that it was to be my home for the next three
years, while he superintended the railway. I timidly mentione< the
wish of my parents that I should live with them.

" ' Do you wish that ?' he asked very gently. ' Would you rather
be with them than with me alone ?'

" ' I would rather be alone with you,' I said simply and truly, but
looking up at him, and catching the sparkle of the laughing dark
eyes, I was instantly afraid of my own temerity, and ashamed of my
avowal.

" You remember a very high hill before w^e reach Ostrander, crown-
ed at the summit with a clump of maple trees ? Not a vestige of a
human habitation is there ; but when I first saw it a large log house
stood in the centre of the maple group ; a little garden was fenced
off at the back, and a spring in the hill side, forced through a wooden
tube, played in the garden as a little fountain ; aster and candy-tuft
and mignonette bloomed thick about it. From that house you could
see the then new line of railway winding away for miles to the left,
and the men at work upon it, now plainly seen, now hidden
by the trees. All the hill in front is bare and smooth now, but then
there were many stumps, and we had to wind our way slowly among
them to reach the house. Not a soul was there but ourselves, the
door stood hospitably open, and we went in. The house was furnish-
ed ; every little wish of mine had been attended to, as if I had known
about it and ordered it all ; every whim in furniture or decoration was
gratified. It was fairy-land to me. I ran from room to room, peep-

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ed into cupboards and closets, examined pots and pans with an in-
terest I had never felt before.

" I had always thought I should like to live in a log house ; here
it was. I had always wished for a house without blinds, or carpets,
where the sun might shine in freely, and yet so far away from other
houses as to be quite private ; — my dream was realized. I had long-
ed, in a childish way, for an Indian basket rocking-chair ; here it was.
I thought I should like a tiny French clock under a glass globe, and
a great Dutch clock to hang on the kitchen wall ; and there they
w re, ticking away. I had wished for a little round table with a claw,
a writing desk that stood on four legs, a great open fire-place, where
you could burn whole cordwood logs without cutting ; and now my
wish was gratified. In my vanity, I had often wished for a looking-
glass that would show me myself from head to foot, and a hand glass
to see the back of my head ; and when I went up stairs, and peeped
into the bed-room, there they were. I was startled at my own image,
with Ralph behind me, but he took me by the shoulders and made
me walk forward, and said it was not a true glass, — the reflexion did
did not equal the reality. I found a rustic book-case, with all my
favourite authors, my pet stories and ballads, and others I had never
read, which promised pleasure. I pried into cupboards, with ex-
clamations of delight, finding a spice-box, and tins of rice and coffee,
and sugar, and at last I came to pink egg-shell china. Such china
as I had dreamed of, but never hoped to see ; I carressed the cups
like a baby with a new toy ; they made my cup of happiness ilmost
too full. I crit ' a little, and laughed a great deal ; I lost all fear of
Ralph, and felt at ease with him.

" ' How good of you to think of me in everything,' I said, * how
did you comt to know me so well ? It is like a castle in the air,
brought down to the earth.'

" He exacted a kiss as payment, — the only one I ever gave him.
— and drew me gently within his arms, and begged me to come and
be lady of the castle before the bloom wore off my new possessions ;
we talked about it till the setting sun shone red on our faces, and I
promised to marry him that day fortnight, — * and I don't want to go
anywhere for a wedding tour,' 1 said, ' I just want to come home
here, I love this place so much.' I sighed as the sun disappeared
that this sweet day was over.

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" * You are tired, my pet,' he said turning the face of his watch for
me 10 see, ' it is tea-time.'

•• ' Lei us light the fire and have tea,' I exclaimed. I had forgot'
fen the promise to return home beiore dark ; he remembered and
should have reminded tne, but who cm love and be wise ? He knelt
before the fire and put a match to the dry wood, and in an instant it
was crackling up the wide chunney. He fetched water from the
fountain and fille( the keltl •, and hung it on a hovjk ab)ve the
blaze ; while I set forth cups and saucers, plates and knives ind in-
quired for the caddy, anH exclaimed with delight when I found the
caddy spoon vvas just a scallop shell Ralph had sto' n from my work
box, only now it had a silver handle and my name engraved on it.
and the tea spoons were tiny scallop .'ihells to n atch, taken fr< m the
s.ime place by the same thief, and I had never missed them, i gave
him a bite for punishment. The bread was dry, so we made toast
cream we had none, or butter either, hut we opened a pot of ma-
malade, and in searching for it came upon an owl that was a pepper
box, and a cupid whose quiver contained salt instead of arrows. We
were hungry, we were happy, but above all we vrtrc young everything
was coleur-de-rose to our eyes. The world was a dear old world, not-
withstandmg its thorns and thistles ; the people in it were well mean-
ing creatures on the .vhole, and, happily, far away fron^ us just then ;
care and sin and sorrow were unknown, or forgotten for 'he time, and
the log house was an Eden, the fabled happy valley perched on the
top of a hill, with all trouble shut out and all happiness within it for-
ever. We lingered till the moon rose, and brought a sudden remem-
brance of home before me.

" ' Oh ! Ralph,' I said, ' we promised mamma, — she will be angry ;
do get the horse at once.'

" He did not delay, and I was soon wrapped up and seated in the
buggy. He led the horse down the hill, through the stumps, and not
till he was seated by my side did I look back at the house, now far
above us. The light of the fire shone bright through the windows as
we drove swiftly away.

" A chill fear came over me, the tears rose to my eyes. I felt I
had seen it for the last time and said so.

"'You dear superstitious little goosey,' said Ralph, 'you will
spend many a happy day there, and you shall not be scolded to-

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Hiotographic

Sciences

Corporation

23 WEST MAIN STREET

WEBSTER, N.Y. 14580

(716) 872-4503

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THE CRONfABOO MAIL CARRIER.

''I

night either, I will explain everything to them ; they shall not say a
harsh word to my pet,' and he put his arm about me, and drew my
shawl closer to keep me from the chill night air. I wished the drive
would last forever, but it came to an end all too soon. Papa and
mamma were very angry because we were so late, and spoke harshly
and rudely to Ralph, and he lost his temper and returned their re-
marks in kind. He went away at last, unable to convince them that
we were not very much to blame. He called two days later, in the
evening ; we were all in the parlour when he came ; he enclosed my
hand in both of his for a minute, and was polite to papa and
mamma, but cool and grave ; he did not offer to shake hands, nor
did they. He declined to sit down when asked, but leant against
the chimney-piece, and throughout the interview commanded his
temper, and so did my father, but mamma said very bitter things.
Ralph began by saying he had come with an object ; I had promised
to become his wife in a fortnight, and he was most anxious that the
marriage should take place ; he was willing to make a very liberal
settlement on me, but entirely unwilling to live with papa and mamma,
and he said plainly, but courteously, that he would never consent to
such an arrangement. I had told mamma about the house on the
hill, and she scorned it ; she would not let papa speak, but answered
sharply :

" ' You would take her to that log cabin on the hill, I suppose, to
be left by herself and neglected, and frozen to death in the winter,
and half starved — for where would you get provisions ? Never, with
my consent.'

" ' Never, madam,' said Ralph, coolly, * with your consent, or
without it, for the house was burned to the ground the night Mary
and I were there, and everything in it destroyed. I suppose a spark
from the hearth kindled it'

" I could not help crying for the loss of my castle in the air ; both
papa and Ralph were sorry for me, and I think my tears quenched
the fire of their tempers ; but mamma, who loves property better
than people, was angry at Ralph's loss and the calm way in which
he took it ; she said it was clearly a stroke from Providence, and a
plain warning to him not to teach children to disobey their parents.
My father spoke then in a measured civil way, and said he was sorry
for Ralph's loss, and that he had no objection to the marriage taking

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183

place at once if Ralph would consent to live with them and not take
me away; he did not consider the condition a hard one. Ralph
replied quietly and firmly that he would not consent to that, and he
would not consent to an indefinite engagement, when there was n**
urgent reason to prevent an immediate marriage, nothing, indeed,
but ' the whim of an unreasonable old lady,' — so he expressed it —
and unless he could be married at once and take me away qvite to
himself^ he would break off the engagement. I looked at him in an
agony. He came and stood beside my chair and softly stroked my
hair.

" ' I should be unjust, unfair to you, Mary, if I married you on the
condition your father and mother propose, you would have three
people to obey. I want my wife to be my wife, and in taking up
new duties to leave the old as the Scripture commands ; I want you
all to myself. If you love me as I love you, only death can separate
us. You will marry me ? '

" I pleaded for a longer engagement, and asked time to think of
what he had said. He replied that he would come again to-mor-
row, or give me a week to consider it if I liked, but he refused to
consent to a longer engagement, ' and though I love you dearly,' he
added, * better than I shall ever love another woman, I cannot
promise to live single for your sake, if you decline to marry me
now.'

" He said no more, but mamma said a great deal that I scarcely
heard, so confused and stunned was I. He came the next week at
my request, and I s^w him alone. Youth had left me forever in
the interval, I had become a woman all at once and had made up
my mind. I told him the truth quite calmly, that I loved him so
well I would never marry another man, but I would not take him on
his terms, though I would live single for his sake all my life. He
stayed an hour and urged me to marry him in defiance of papa and
mamma, and said in that case he would wait till I was twenty-one
years of age ; but when he saw my mind was made up, he said
* then our engagement is at an end,' not angrily, but sadly. He
would not take back his gifts, or give me mine. I took the ring
from my finger, but he put it on again with a kiss ; he held my
hands in his at the last, and as the old sweet ballad says, * looked
in my face till my heart was like to break,' then he went without a

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word. He turned at the g&te and lifted his hat with a grace peculiar
to himself. I watched his figure as far as I could see it ; he walked
rather slowly, but steadily ; he never looked back.

''Three months later he married a lady of fashion, a Roman Cath-
olic. She lived in Toronto, and his work still lay in our neighbour-
hood. In taking a long walk, one gloomy spring day I met him
face to face. He was riding, he uncovered his head and checked
his horse, and I — I could not meet him as an ordinary acquaintance,
he had put an insuperable barrier between us — I bowed and walked
on. I have never seen him since. After that walk I was very ill,
and I was sent to England and France for my health, they had to
part with me to save my life ; I was away three years, and when I
returned Ralph and his wife had left the country.

" When I told papa that I had rejected Ralph, he said ' you will
never regret this, Polly, I shall always roraember that you stood by
your old father and mother,' but when he died he made no special
provision for me, but left me to the tender mercies of mamma. And
that, Mrs. Smith, is all my story."

" I have no patience with that man," said Robert, '* he was not
worth a hair of your head, he had no faith in him and no pity; he
was worse than old Jacob, who, for all he was a cowardly two-faced
chap, was yet man enough to serve fourteen years for his Rachel."

" Do not think lightly of Jacob, Robert. God met him by the
way ; he wrestled in prayer with his Maker and prevailed ; he saw
the ladder that reached from earth to heaven. And as for Ralph,
poor fellow, I have heard his marriage is not a happy one ; he has
sown and must reap like the rest of us."

" I can't comprehend him ; how cou/d he leave you knowing that
you loved him ? Hs is a monster, and deserves the worst that can
happen to him," said Robert, but turning his eyes as he spoke on the
tired sad face of Miss Paxton, he was stricken with compunction, and
added, •' I didn't ought to have said that to pain you, but it is hard
that you should care for him yet, and despise my love. I that would
be content to work as your servant all my life, rather than marry an-
other woman."

" I do not despise your love, dear Robert, or any love, God forbid
that I should ; there's little enough in the world. You are very dear
to me, you jealous, naughty boy ; you have brightened my life and

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made it happier, and I do not like to refuse your ring, but 1 can
make no promise, you understand, if I take it, no promise but to be
your friend always — your elder sister — and / claim no promise, Robin
Adair ; you may, and I hope will, love somci;ody better than me
and make her a happy woman."

" Oh ! do take it," said Robert, eagerly, " let me put it on your
linger," and she did, with a smile and a sigh.

c:hapter the twenty-sixth.

" A man's a man for a' that."

— Robert Burns.

'Turn Fortune, turn thy wheel, and lower the proud."

— Tennyson.

fET any man who thinks the age of chivalry is past, come to
Canada and see the gallant offices, and the pretty duties assign,
ed to any cavalic^ who has charge of a lady, young or old, on a
stormy winter day. First, he leads the lady forth, who — whatever the
the beauty of her figure upon ordinary occasions, — is now an un-
wieldy bundle of shawls and furs. He must lead her carefully, for
her face is covered with several layers of silk and worsted in the form
of veils and clouds, and she is, therefore, nearly blind. If the lady
be young and active, like our heroine, she will, probably, scramble
into the sleigh without much help, but if otherwise, he must hoist her
deftly and cannily into her seat, and this requires some bodily
strength, and great skill and delicacy of touch. This feat accom-
plished, he must arrange the hot bricks beneath her feet, and swaddle
her up carefully and tightly in buffalo and bear skins, and if such are
not to be had, a large patchwork quilt will answer the purpose, — and
the first of his duties are at an end. I do not say that it is necessary
to do all this with uncovered head; on the contrary, the gentleman in
attendance may have his fur cap fastened firmly beneath his chin, and
surmounted by an extinguisher hood, without any imputation on his
gallantry, or good manners. Conversation is next to impossible till you
arrive at the first halting place, some wayside inn, which even a temp-

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THE CROMABOO MAIL CARRIER.

erance man will hardly disdain on a winter day, when the thermometer
stands at twenty degrees below freezing point. Having conveyed his
Otir burden to the sitting room, and stirred the fire, and ordered some-
thing for her refreshment, and assisted her in undoing her volumin-
ous clouds and veils, and hung them on chairs to dry, — for they will
be frozen stiff with the fair one's breath, — having helped her off with
her outer wraps, and removed her snow-stockings, — I know a lady
who wears three pairs, — and placed them beneath the stove, or be-
fore the blazing fire, he must proceed to the kitchen, or bar-room,
and see that the bricks are carefully re-heated. If the lady is pru-
dish, and refuses to have her foot coverings removed, he must borrow
a corn broom, and brush every particle of snow from them, or she
will have cold feet for the rest of the journey, and that may affect
her health, and will certainly affect her temper. All this accomplish-
ed, he may remove his capote and cap, and entertain his fair charge
to the best of his ability, till the horses are refreshed and ready for
the road again.

The lady in this case was Miss Paxton, and her cavalier the Crom-
aboo mail carrier, and as he was removing her over-socks, on bended
knee, — Mary holding firmly by the chair in which she was sitting,
for it required a smart tug to pull them off, — he said, " why don't
you wear cloth overshoes, Miss Mary, — they are very warm ?"

" I detest them," she replied, " they make one's feet look like a
Methodist parson's."

" I think you detest the Methodists too," said Robert, good tera-
peredly.

" No, no, I am only acquainted with one, and that is )'ourself ;
how did you become a Methodist, by the bye ?"

" To please mother. She likes the parson in Cromaboo, and he
is a nice old gentleman. I go with her, but I guess they wouldn't
call me a Methodist now ; I have been turned out, or suspended, or
something, for bad conduct."

" Tell me about it please," said Mary, and don't say guess, Robin,
it's a Yankee vulgarism, and I detest it as much as I do cloth over-
shoes."

" It was a bit of a row I had with a Methodist fellow, a painter.
I lent him two dollars, and he didn't want to pay me back, and
when I went to dun him, one night, he painted my best hat one

Jill

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187

side red and the other blue. I never knew, till I picked it up and
stu^^ my fingers in the fresh paint. That put my Irish up. and I
pitched into him, and they had me up about it at the next class-
raeeting, and when I said I wasn't sorry, they all agreed I was in a
bad frame of mind. The other fellow said he was sorry, so I told
him he had better pay the two dollars and give me a new hat, but
he didn't, of course ; he said he would pray for me. So they sus-
pended me, or something of the kind, but I go to the Sunday-school
yet, and Mr. Crutch, the parson, is very good to me, though he says
I should have turned the other cheek."

" A new way of paying ola debts," said Mary, laughing, " I ap-
prove of your conduct, Robin Adair."

They did not delay beyond what was absolutely necessary, as the
mail had to pusii through in a given time if possible, and they were
soon on the road again, a part of which was not yet dug out, though
a gang of men were busy at work on it. At last they came to a
part still impassable, but where two gangs of workers would soon
meet. Robert stopped, seeing that it would not take more than ten
minutes to make a passage for them, but a gentleman in a cutter on
the other side was more adventurous; he assayed to push through,
getting half way with great difficulty, and there he stuck. It occured
to him to get out of the cutter, for what purpose it is hard to say,
and in doing so he upset, and was buried in buffalo robes and soft
snow, amid a roar of laughter from the two gangs of workmen, who
however went to his assistance. He was rescued and placed for the
present in the Cromaboo stage to recover breath, while the men re-
turned for the horses and cutter. Miss Paxton, seeing the poor gen-
tleman in such a sad case, struggled to get her nose and eyes out
of their many wrappings, and addressed him in a strain of polite
condolence, hoping that he was not hurt, and saying that travelling
was at present very unpleasant

The stranger — who was encased in an immense fur coat — replied
in very bad English with many bows and gesticulations, that he was
not hurt, that he was on his way to Cromaboo in search of " Mees
Lolwon, a lady he should see on beezness."

" Miss Llewellyn ? " said Mary, inquiringly.

" Ah ! yees, that is the name," he replied, with more bows.

" Then I am afraid you will have your journey for nothing, for

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she was married yesterday to her cousin Mr. Harry Llewellyn, and
is gone to the States for the honeymoon."

The gentleman threw up his hands in great dismay and hoped she
had been misinformed.

" Oh I no, I was bridesmaid," .said Miss Paxton, smiling, " but
you will fnd her uncle if you go on."

Senor Pedro Diaz was sorely disappointed, for he had brought the
news of Miss Lavinia's fortune in person, because he was a bachelor,
and intended proposing for the heiress himself, and carrying her
back to her native Brazil, if possible. It was vain to keep the
secret any longer, so he told the bright-eyed, sympatlietic lady that
he had come to give Miss Llewellyn joy of a great fortune, and
had hoped to make his compliments in person, and condole with
her on the death of her aunt.

Miss Paxton regretted that he had not arrived in time for the
wedding festivities, and advised him to go on, as the track was now
clear, and see Mr. Llewellyn ; which he decided to do

When they reached the next stopping place, and were warming
themselves by the parlour fire, Robert said " I am glad Miss Lavy
is to be so rich, but I wonder if Mr. Harry could have had a hint
of the fortune ? "

'* Robert, I am almost ashamed to admit it, but I had the same
thought. It seems so strange that he delayed the wedding so many
times without assigning a reason for it, and came in such a hurry at
the last. Is that your reason for thinking — for being suspicious?"

" No, it was something Mr. Meldrum said yesterday. If Mr.
Harry knows, Mr. Meldrum knows too."

** For the honour of manhood, I hope they don't know," said
Mary, " it would be dreadful to be married for money — the very
thought of it troubles me — I hope she may be happy — I know Frank
Llewellyn can act meanly, but I thought better of Harry ; perhaps
it's only the wickedness of our own hearts, after all, to think so."

" It may be," said Robert, doubtfully, " I hope so. It's done,
anyway, and can't be undone ; I think women have a poor time of
it in this world and are often very badly used."

Mary, who was standing near him, turned and looked in his face
at this remark ; the lad seemed weary, and had dark circles beneath
the eyes.

THE CROMABOO MAIL CAKRir.K.

180

** You didn't sleep last night, " she said quickly, ** your mother's
story kept you awake."

" Her story and yours did, Miss Mary."

" Well, dear Robin, don't be unha[)py about it, no man can help
his birth or change his j)arenls, but he can make his lite what he
will, he can live a noble life and be a gentleman in spite of the bar-
sini.ster."

" I am so ignorant that I do not know wha' a bar-sinister means,
and for being a gentleman, that takes education, .Miss Paxton, and a
different life from mine."

"There are some kinds of wood that will not take a j)()lisl». Rob-
ert, and there are men in the world that no kind of education or
example could turn into gentlemen ; but I am sure there is the right
material in you, and even though the history of your birth is a sad
one, and I cannot respect your father, yet I think your position
hnppy after all — let us look at the bright side. You are young and
healthy, and you have a nol)le motlier. and you live in a country
where if a man is ignorant, it is just his own fault and he has nobody
else to blame, for there are good schools, and cheap books, and
good wages. You have a great talent for music, and a fair ability, I
do not doubt, for other things as well, you have refined tastes and a'
warm heart, and friends who love y<^)U dearly — what more would you
have, Robin Adair ? " kindly patting him on the shoulder, " many a
nobleman would gladly change places witli you, I doubt not, to
have your fresh unsoiled youth ; many an old weary, worthless man
would be glad to take your young life and prospects, even though
a patched coat went with it. Now for the bar-sinister — you were
telling me about the Free Masons, the other day, and their symbols,
their compasses, death's heads, and other rubbish — well, a gentle-
man's coat of arms, or shield, is simply a symbol or sign telling those
who understand heraldry the noble families into which he has mar-
ried, or the deeds he has done ; oftener the deeds his ancestors did
long before he was born. Very likely your father had a shield ;
many a craven and many a scamp is entitled to bear arms, as well
as many noble and good men. Well, the baton sinister is a line, or
band, running through the middle of the shield, and marking the
gentleman who bears the coat of arms as illegitimate, or some an-
cestor before him. Many a noble coat of arms is marred by that

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THE CROMABOO MAIL CARKlEk.

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line of shame, the baton sinister. Did you ever hear of William
the Conqueror ? "

" Yes, the first king of all England together, that's about all I
know of him."

•' Our Queen is descended from him. He was illegitimate, yet a
very successful man in a worldly point of view, though a merciless
and evil one ; and, Robert, to come nearer to our own day, the
natural son of that worthless bigot, King James the Second, was as
noble a soldier as ever buckled on a sword — you must read about
him. And there is another case that always touched me greatly ; a
wee, sickly child was born to a worthless French woman of noble
birth ; its father was a nobleman, and it was a child of shame, and
they, cruel, heartless wretches, deserted it and left it on a church
door step to perish, yet it lived, though grudged its life, and became
a celebrated scholar. When this despised child was a man, colleges
bestowed honours, and foreign sovereigns invited him to their courts,
and pensions and favours were heaped upon him, and D'Alembert
was worthy of it all, for he was more than a scholar, he was a grate-
ful and honest man. Then there is Jeptha, I read his story in the
Old Testament, and see that God himself did not disdain to use him
for his service, and answered his prayers. Take courage, dear Robert,
and believe me, though men are wilful and wicked, God never makes
mistakes, and being here, you have just as much right to enjoy life
and improve it as the Governor General. Only the hopelessly wicked
are born in vain, and only a very narrow-minded and foolish person
would think worse of you because of your birth, or your mother,
either. See how John Smith and my father and Mr. Meldrum re-
garded your mother ; the good opinion of such people is worth hav-
ing ; and for the rest of the world, let them go. Besides I don't
suppose many people know the history of your birth."

" More than you would think, Miss Paxton, I have been taunted
with it more than once. One time Chip licked a man well for mak-
ing me angry ; he said " — Robert stopped in time, — he was going to
say, " he said I was bom on the wrong side o' the blanket."

" Well, never mind what he said, Robin Adair, / say you are to be
an honest man, and a gentleman, and make your foster father a proud
man, and comfort and bless your mother, and help to educate Tom-
my, and be happy and useful^ and manage my money matters when

THE CROMABOO MAIL CARRILR.

191

I am old, and be my best and dearest friend always, you won't dis-
appoint me, will you ?" nd she took his brown hand in both her
own. Tears welled up to his eyes.

" Ah ! y ou know how I love you," he said, " if it rested with mc
you should never be disappointed again."

" Well, then you must sleep well to-night, and be cheerful to-mor-
row, and not let your mother see how this thing has pained yuu, and
be true to her, because your father was false ; and be yourself again,
and do your best for the sake of a better Father, who permitted your
birth, and died for you in love. It doesn't matter how a man comes
into the world ; how he lives in it, and goes out of it, is the test.
Every roan is made in the image of God, and there is a spark of
Deity in him. God has ' a desire to the work of His hands,' and
will help those who ask him."

Robert was dumb for a time, from excess of feeling, but he kissed
the thin fingers that held his many times, and when he spoke at last,
it was only a muttered " God bless you," as he went out to his
horses.

A week later the news of Mrs. Harry Llewellyn's fortune appeared
in the Hamilton Spectator^ and was read by hundreds of families in
" that great little city," as Mary Paxton termed it. Mr. Frank Llew-
ellyn read the paragraph to his wife at breakfast, and she screamed
as if the house had been on fire. A week later, and Mrs. Harry re-
turned from her wedding tour, and after a flying visit to Cromaboo,
took up her abode in Hamilton, and made a great sensation there.
She called on Mrs. Paxton as she passed her house, and the old lady
kissed her on both cheeks, and gave her a glass of wine, out of her
best cut-glass decanter, never brought out but upon the most state
occasions, and said she had always seen something very remarkable
in the girl ; and when the train stopped at the Hamilton station,
there stood Mr. Frank Llewellyn, with uncovered head, ready to
assist her from the car ; and before she had recovered breath, from
this surprise, Eleanor clasped her in both arms, exclaiming, " you
dear, dear little creature, can you ever forgive me for my wicked
conduct, when I last saw you ? Believe me, dear Lavy, it was
nothing but neuralgia that niade me so cross, and I have been heart-
broken about it ever since, and ashamed to write and ask your par-
don." And after this Eleanor would have carried bride and bride-

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THE CROMAHOO MAIL CAKKIKk.

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}<ro()m hfjine to dinner, but that l^ivinia was determined to go to hcr
own house ; and only a few days succeeding this public reconcilia
tion. Kleanor called on the bride, who kept hev half an hour waiting
before she would see her. Harry described the scene to Mr. Mel-
drum in great delight.

'* By Cleorge, you know," he said, " I began to grow nervous, least
Kleanor should get mad and smash something, but, do you know, she
was as sweet and civil, and begged dear Lavy not to rise, — she had
stretched herself on the sofa, through pure insolence,- -and treated
me with the greatest respect, not patronizing; me a bit."

Then he went on to tell al)out the visit of the Portuguese gentle-
man. '* I couldti't see him, you see," he said, " lest he should recog-
nise ine, and, by Oeorge, he c^me so unexpectedly, that I was
obliged to pop into a closet in the drawing room, to avoid him, and
Lavy thought I was out, and asked him to dinner, and delayed it for
me, hoping I would return ; but 1 didn't, and precious liungry I was,
I can tell you. 1 heard all thty said, but couldn't understand a word,
for they spoke Portuguese all the time, and Lavy laughed and cried
too, and she told me it did her lieart good to hear ' the dear old
music,' meaning his jal)ber. You were right, Meldrum, if that
wizened little beggar had turned up earlier, I should have been just no
where ; she'd have married him and gone off to Brazil. By George,
you know, it made me feel awfully queer to hear them. I real-
ized the whole thing, and how nearly I missed it, and I felt like the
fellow in the story, who fainted, you know, who passed over a pre-
cipice, or something of that sort, in the night, you know, without
knowing it ; I'll be hanged, if I didn't," said Harry, quite earnestly.

Mr. Meldrum laughed till the tears rolled down his cheeks. "You'll
pever be hanged now, Harry," he said, " I shouldn't wonder if they
make a judge of you yet, and then you will hang others, my boy."

Four hundred people left their cards for Mrs. Harry Llewellyn,
and desired the honour and pleasure of her acquaintance ; the little
body was radiant with joy and pride, every step was one of triumph.
Week by week Mary Paxton received letters asking her advice about
silks, laces and ribbons, and begging her to come to Hamilton and
spend a month with her loving Lavinia ; but Mary steadily declined,
mamma was ailing, she said, and didn't wish it ; in the summer she
would come.

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CHAPTKR THE TWENTY-SEVENTH.

•* Life is a frost of cold felicity

And death the thaw of all our vanity."

— Ol.D Al'THOR.

C% FEBRUARY thaw, a soft, south wind blowing, every tree and
Pslj branch and twig covered with rime, and the bright sun shining
and converting the cold hoar frost to thousands of sparkling dia-
monds and opals.

As Robert drew near Mrs. Paxton's and blew his horn, the glitter
ing frost work made the ccjuntry before him look like fairy land.
•' What a day it would be for a wedding," he said, as he took the horn
from his mouth, "all the world in white aiid every bush in bridal
attire."

" You have marriage on the l)rain, Bob," said Mr. Meldrum, who
was his sole passenger, " but the reality will take the romance out
of you."

Mrs. Paxton's door opened, and Mary ran down the steps with an
anxious face ; the sun was shining in her eyes, and she did not for
the moment see her brother in-law.

" Good morning, Robert ; mainma is not well, and I want you to
send Mr. Meldrum to see her, just as if he came by accident."

" Here he is by accident," said the doctor, lifting his hat, " how
is my pretty sister this morning ? "

" Well enough, thank you ; could you come in and see mamma
now, or have you pressing business in GibLeline ? "

The doctor's only business was to get away from the tongue of his
Margaret, but after a thoughtful pause, he said " I will set aside all
my business for to-day and come in."

" That is very kind," said Mary, gratefully, and Mr. Meldrum went
in and chatted with his mother-in-law, and felt her pulse, and profess-
ed to regret that he had not brought Margaret, as the day was so fine.
He was rather a favourite with the old lady, though she abused him
behind his back, and disapproved of his debts as much as Mrs. Mel-
drum herself. His healthy manly beauty pleased her, the very calves
of his legs were in his favour, and a kind of letter of recommendation
to Mrs. Paxton, who hated sickly people, and pale people ; in whose
opinion there was only one invalid who had any business in the

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world, and that was herself. Mr. Meldrum's visit cheered her, but it
excited her, and the arrival of Dolly's mother to borrow a flat iron
annoyed her greatly. She kept her temper until the stage arrived,
and Mr. Meldrum had gone, then she proceeded to scold Mary in no
measured terms.

•' This place might as well be a tavern at once," she exclaimed,
" it is a tavern without the profit, if one person comes another comesj
we might as well put up a sign and call it the Blue Boar, or the Red
Lion, and be paid for our pains."

" But you were glad to see Mr. Meldrum, mamma." said Mary.

" Glad ! what good did he do me ? He ate half a bottle of Gover-
nor's sauce, and more beef than we would consume in a week, and
these things cost money ; you will know that when you are without
both money and food, and let me tell you that will be pretty soon
when I ara gone. It is nothing but wicked extravagance, and sel-
fishness to burn the large coal in the parlour ; there will be nothing
but small coal to burn, when I am well enough to sit there again ;
and there is wood enough used in this house in one week to last a
poor family the whole winter. I don't know where the money is to
come from, I am sure, for the people don't pay their interest as they
used to, and that dandling wench, Dolly, is another nuisance, and
a great expense. If you were a proper woman instead of being the
poor, miserable, sickly thing you are, you could do all the work of
this house, and find it a pleasure ; I should, when I was your age.
Accomplishments ! what's the good of them ? If I had to bring up
children again they should neither read nor write, they should not
know so much that they know nothing. You may amuse yourselt
once too often, with your fires late at night, to warm you while
you draw and write, and be burnt in your bed when I am
gone. Are you sure that you didn't put out hot ashes to day ? Noth.
ing is so dangerous as hot ashes ; many a house has been burnt
to the ground through hot ashes. It would be a good thing for you
if you were carried out feet foremost before I died, and you may be,
for you are a miserable looking wretch ; no wonder you never mar-
ried, a man must have a taste for a bag of bones, who looked twice
at you. No wonder Ralph Oliver changed his mind."

Mary made no answer, and there was a long pause.

" What is that noise ?" said Mrs. Paxton, sharply, at last, " oh !

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195

Dolly turning out the cats, I suppose ; one of them ought to be shot,
they eat as much as a child, and never catch anything. Go and send
that daudling girl to bed, and give her a snuff, and not a whole can-
dle to burn, — I can tell you that if either you or Dolly Trimble lived
in an English house you. would be dismissed in three days, — yes, in
three days, — for extravagance, — and when you have got rid of her,
come back and help me off with my clothes, for I'm very tired of
them."

Mary obeyed, and when she returned found her motiier scolding
about her gown. " I will rip it out, every stitch to-morrow," she
said, " and have it made over again, you and that fiend of a needle-
woman laid your heads together to make me lock ridiculous, and
she professes to be religious too ; all I can say is if such people as
tliat go to Heaven, 1 don't want to go, — a woman who doesn't know
how to make a gown. Heaven would be no heaven to me, with such
creatures."

" In my Father's house are many mansions," quoted Mary, with a
sigh.

" I'm glad of it," the old lady retorted sharply," for I am sick of
these hateful people, and God would not be a just God to put me
with them. I couldrit do the things they do. I couldn't rob and
cheat and take money I had never earned for work that has to be
done over ; and you conspire with these people to waste my sub-
stance ; you were lending that woman the flat iron to-day, without
consulting me, you would never have told me if I had not caught
you."

Mary began to brush her hair, which had fallen down when she
took off her cap, and this diverted her a little.

" Nobody would pronounce me a coarse old woman, who saw my
hair," she said, " see how fine it is ; it is like a hank of floss silk,
although it's white."

" I think white hair very pretty," said the daughter.

" Yes, it's only fools who wear wigs — there, that will do — go to
bed at once, and don't sit up and waste the coal oil ; and give me
toast for my breakfast to-morrow, toast and coffee, with very Utile
sugar mind, I grudge the sugar for I don't know where the money is
to come from to buy it. Have you locked the doors ? "

" No, but I will at once," replied her daughter.

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" Do, I don't want to be knocked on the head ; and throw down
the mat at the door, for I feel a draught. Don't wake me before
nine — good night."

As Mary re-entered the parlour she encountered Mr. Meldrum,
and could scarcely refrain from uttering a cry of astonishment.

" What has brought you back ? " she asked in alarm.

" I did not like Mrs. Paxton's symptoms to-day, and I thought I
would return and stay all night," he replied. " If she sleeps well I
will go away in the morning without seeing her, not to alarm her.
I had tea at Thompson's Inn and walked back."

" If you think her life in danger she ought to be told," replied
Mary, '* it's a dreadful thing to go into eternity unprepared."

" If you told her suddenly it might bring on a paralytic attack,"
replied the doctor ; " the least ill it could do would be to keep her
awake all night."

" But to-morrow ? " said Mary. •

"We will see about it," he returned, " I do not think it advisable."

" As the tree falls so it must lie through all the days of eternity,"
said Mary, with .solemn eyes.

The doctor shrugged his shoulders. " A gloomy thought, quite
unfit for the ears of an invalid ; only cheerful things should be talked
of in a sick room."

*' Cheerful things," she echoed. " Do you know, Mr. Meldrum,
you shock me ? You are like the woman who nursed Sir John Fal-
staff, and told him he should not think of God fo comfort him^ no
need to trouble himself with any such thoughts yet."

*• I feel the full force of the compliment," said Mr. Meldrum, with
a smile.

" If she had a fit, could you do anything for her ? " asked Mary,
presently.

" Not much at her age ; it was for your sake I returned that you
might not be alone. You had better go to bed, if I hear the least
sound I will waken you. I have locked the doors."

" You cannot lock out the King of Terrors — poor mother. I will
not go to bed, I couldn't sleep after what you have said ; but we
mustn't talk," she added.

This dial gue had been carried on in the lowest possible tone.
Mr. Meldr m took a volume of Scott's poems from the book case.

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197

Mary opened the Bible, having first opened the door wide oppo-
site to her mother's room. The hours passed slowly; the clock
struck nine, ten, eleven — absolute stillness reigned. Mary took a
rag she had got for the purpose, and softly fed the fire with more
coal ; the outer air grew warmer, the eaves began to drip— the clock
struck twelve. As it ceased striking they both heard a slight, gurg-
ling sound. Mary took the hand-lamp, opened the door, and passed
swiftly and silently into the bed-room. Mrs. Paxton's head had
fallen over the side of the bed, her face had a strange, unnatural
look. Mary set down the lamp, and lifted her head tenderly back to
the pillow,

" Mamma ! dear mamma," she said. There was a pitiful, startled
look in the old woman's face as her eyes turned on her daughter's,
as suddenly followed by blankness and vacancy. She never spoke
again, and by six in the morning all was over.

CHAPTER THE TWENTY-EIGHTH.

" I am going that way to temptation where prayers cross."

— Measure for Measure.

FTER Robert had set down Mr. Meldrum at Mrs. Paxton's
door, on that soft, February day, which was to be her last in
this world, he trotted gaily into Gibbeline, blowing his horn as usual
in the high street, and unconscious of any good or evil that might
await him on this day, more than any other that had gone before it.
He knew indeed that his period of service would soon be at an end,
as his inaster, on the strength of Mrs. Harry's good fortune, was
going to give up the mail and retire to Hamilton, but this made him
none the less zealous in the discharge of his duty, and when he saw
two gentlemen regarding him curiously as he came out of the post
office after delivering the mail, he took a second glance at them
and advanced to meet vhem. One, who was short and stout, he
knew to be Mr. Jackson, the most skillful and successful lawyer in
Gibbeline ; the other, whom he regarded as a probable passenger,
was taller, and a stranger.

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"Good morning, gentlemen," said Robert, with hisljrightest smile,
displaying his white, even teeth, and a dimple, as he spoke.

" Are you Robert Hardacre Smith, the regular Cromaboo mail
carrier ? " asked Mr. Jackson, and the other gentleman touched his
hat, rather to our hero's surprise, who felt it a point of politeness to
return the compliment, and removed his cap and replaced it again
with that quick, easy grace which was as much a part of him as his
shining hair and bright eyes.

" Yes, sir," he said, in answer to Mr. Jackson, " the stage leaves
at two."

" Ah ! does it ? " said the lawyer. " Will you call at my office
before two, then ? "

" Certainly, sir — one passenger or two — any luggage ? "

The gentlemen exchanged glances, and Mr. Jackson was about to
reply, when Robert's horses, thinking it was time for their stable and
oats, trotted briskly away. In vain he called '* whoa " after them, it
was a new illustration of the old proverb " none so deaf as those
who won't hear," they only quickened their pace, and trotted faster.
So Robert, with a hasty " I will call without fail," ran after them.
Swiftly, freely, gracefully the lad ran, notwithstanding the impediment
of the old military great coat, now embellished with sundry patches
of a brighter colour ; and as he sprang to his perch, rewarded his
ponies with a flick or two of the whip for their impudence.

Both gentleman watched him till he disappeared round a corner,
then Mr. Jackson said, " well, I suppose he will come — would you
like me to send a clerk to remind him ? "

" No," replied the other, " he will come, I am sure," and they
walked slowly on, Mr. Jackson looking like what he was, a well
dressed, intelligent man, as dissimilar as possible from his companion,
who was unmistakably a gentleman, yet remarkable for nothing at a
first glance but grace of movement and ease of manner.

Dr. Johnson pronounces a gentleman " a man of birth," and the
definition is well enough as far as it goes, but a man must be more
than well-bom to be a gentleman, and I have known men who were
not men of birth, and yet gentle and noble men. But when a man
is well-born and well-bred, when he is well educated, and polished in
manner, as much above meanness of conduct as he is above rude-
ness of speech, then he is certainly a gentleman ; and if you add to

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this that kindness of heart and thoroughness of principle which
spring from a knowledge and love of (Jod, you have a gentility that
will last when the earth " is removed like a cottage," and " the hea-
vens are no more." Such a gentleman was Mr. Llewellyn, but the
one to whom I am about to introduce you was quite a different kind
of gentleman. A difficult person to describe, because entirely free
from point or angle of any kind, not even remarkable for being re-
markably common place. Neither tall nor short, stout nor thin was
he, neither plain nor handsome, neither young nor old. A fair man,
with rather grey hairs, and slight side whiskers, a natural unaffected
manner that you could not call either cool or warm, that claimed
nothing from you and yet had a kind of command in it, from the
fact that the gentleman seemed to expect courtesy as his due ; a man
you would no more think of taking a liberty with, than you would of
pulling the Queen's nose ; a man who, with all his careless courtesy
of manner, impressed even obtuse and conceited people with a feel-
ing that it wouldn't do to go too far with him ; a man who expected
obedience to his wishes as a thing of course, and exacted it without
a word or an effort. Thus, when he intimated to Mr. Jackson's
clerk, in his master's absence, that the fire needed more coal, and the
young man replied, " I'll send Tom to put some on when he comes
in, sir," he did not repeat his request, but simply placed his double
eye-glass on his nose, and looked at the speaker, and John Anderson,
without knowing why, immediately left the deed he was copying and
put on more coal himself.

" Ah ! thank you," said the gentleman, carelessly, as the clerk took
another glance at him, rather wondering at himself for what he was
doing. It was real, not studied carelessness, his mind being occupied
with other things ; presently he removed his outer coat, feeling the
fire he had desired too warm, and at that moment Mr. Jackson en-
tered.

" You are a little before the time, Sir Robert," he said with great
respect.

" I suppose I am impatient," replied the other, with a smile, and
they retired to the inner office, with a command to John Anderson
to show in the Cromaboo mail carrier when he came. It was ten
minutes to two before his arrival was announced by a great jingling
of bells, and a blast of the stage horn. Then he appeared in the

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outer ofSce with a quick, bright glance round the room, and the
question, " Gentleman here for the Cromaboo mail ? "

" Yes, go inside," said the clerk.

He tapped at the door, a business-like, imperative tap, and entered
immediately. Seeing both gentlemen without great-coats or hats, he
felt a little annoyed at their tardiness, thinking in his heart " it's
nothing but pride and impidence in them." He said aloud, civilly,
but imperatively, " Sorry to hurry you, gentlemen, but I must be up
to time with the mail — any luggage? I leave at two sharp."

" Could you not wait a little longer ? " said the stranger, with a
smile.

'' Not for the Queen herself," replied the lad promptly. '* Mr.
Jackson knows it's against the law to delay the mail."

" Well, it wants ten minutes to two yet," replied the gentleman,
looking at his watch. " I am not going by the mail, but I had a
word or two to say to you."

'• An order," thought our hero.

" Shall I leave the room. Sir Robert ? " asked the attorney.

" Oh ! certainly not," returned Sir Robert, with easy civility, and
yet he seemed to hesitate about the word he had to say, and pon-
dered instead of speaking; and Mr. Jackson, stepping noiselessly
behind Robert, turned the key, and removing it from the door hung
it on its nail.

Our hero stood and waited, half blind with the sudden transition
from the dazzling snow and sunshine to the dim office, and wishing
the gentleman would hurry up. Presently his bright eyes grew ac-
customed to the light, and he caught the expression of Sir Robert's
face. f

" Well sir," he said, rather impatiently, " time's passing."

*' I hope you will pardon me for what I am about to say," began
Sir Robert, " I do not put the question from a spirit of impertinence,
but I would like to know how you came by the name of Hardacre —
I understand your name is Robert Hardacre Smith."

The lad's face flushed crimson with surprise and annoyance, but he
answered at once, from a sudden angry impulse he could not have
explained, " I was christened Robert Hardacre after a very worthless
man who was once dear to my mother."

For a minute there was a silence that could be felt in its still in-

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ts still in-

tensity, then Sir Robert, who had been standing with his back to ;he
window, came a step nearer to the stage driver, and leant with his
arm against the mantle-piece.

" He is your father," he said.

"Well," retorted Robert, with sparkling eyes, and a fierceness
that had something threatening in it, " I cannot help that, God
knows ! Who are you, and what do you mean by speaking in that
way; I am not a-going to take insult from any man living."

Another instant of silence that seemed much longer, then Sir
Robert said, " / am your father."

The lad recoiled a step, and turned so pale that he alarmed both
Sir Robert and the lawyer, who hastened forward with a chair.

" Sit down, my boy," said the baronet, in his gentle tone of com-
mand, " and tell me how is your mother ? "

This speech brought the blood back to Robert's face, he grasped
the chair by the back and leant against it trembling. " I will neither
sit nor stand at your command," he said. " How do you dare to ask
for my mother, if you are the man who injured her, who basely de-
serted her and left me to be born on the road side, as I should ha'
been but for the charity of a stranger — you " — he took a hard breath
and then went on. "If you are my father, why do you seek me
now ? You never cared to look at my face when I was a helpless
child, and I never thought — I hoped I should never see yours. Do
you come to disturb my mother after all these years, and make her
miserable again, you that destroyed her innocence when she was only
a child, and nearly took her Hfe ? What is your object in coming
back — tell me that, if you are Robert Hardacre ? "

Sir Robert was a good deal disturbed by this attack, and his colour
went and came almost as much as his son's ; he answered with an'
effort to speak calmly, which was not quite successful, and his words
sounded truthful.

" I came with no evil intent — I came to see you, and to see if I
could help you."

" Help me ! " echoed Robert, scornfully, " It's rather late to begin,
I think. I can get my own living now, and need nobod)r's help ;
and if I did — if I was a helpless cripple — I would not take a penny
of yours — I would not have your blood in my veins if I could help it."

His voice shook, his anger came from eyes as well as tongue, for

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it now took the form of two great tears, which he brushed from his
cheeks scornfully. This culmination was so very bo]rish, that Mr.
Jackson, an indifferent spectator, was tempted to smile at it, and it
certainly gave Sir Robert an advantage he would not otherwise have
had, for while the lump in the boy's throat choked him too much to
let him bring forth more than a hard sob or two, his father spoke
slowly, yet with a kind of eagerness that showed his earnestness.
Well might David pray not to have the sins of his youth remembered
against him ; Robert, in his youth and his pain, did not know — could
not guess, how bitter, how terrible were the words he hurled at his
father, or the pain it cost the elder man to reply to him.

*' I see you are much prejudiced against me," he said, " and I
suppose it is natural. I do not wish to defend my conduct to your
mother ; it was very bad, but there are two sides to every question.
I did not desert her. She came to me and I would have taken care
of her in her illness, but she deserted me. She left me and I did
not know about her for four and twenty hours. I was very anxious
and troubled about her. When I heard of her again it was through
an old gentleman, a Mr. Paxton, at whose house she was ; he told
me harsh truths, much as you have now. I was young and hot head-
ed; he made me very angry. When I heard of her again, a few
days later, she had married Smith, whose name you bear." He
paused and took a long breath. " I was so jealous that it is a mat-
ter of wonder to me since, that I did not put a bullet in him. I saw
the man, and offered him money ; I had little enough then, and he
refused to take it, — you may ask him if I do not speak the truth.
We quarrelled and fought. Your mother was very ill at that time, —
it was the day after your birth, — the doctor, a lad named Meldrum,
said it would cost her life if I saw her. I did not think much about
you, though I saw you. I deserted you, — I admit that, but remem-
ber I had no claim over you in the law after your mother had mar-
ried Smith, and the doctor said she was so ill that her love for you
was her sole chance of life. When I left the country I meant to
return some day and look after you, — hell is paved with good inten-
tions, they say, — I did not, till now."

Somethfng of the bitterness and pain of this retrospection came
from the man's heart to his face, as he concluded, and was seen by
his son through his angry tearful eyes; it smote him with a compunc-

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ticn he could not account for, and softened him towards his father.
There was another pause and the town clock struck two.

" Do you mean," asked Robert, " that you would have married my
mother, if Smith had not ?"

Another pause, an4 then Sir Robert said, " No, I had no such in-
tention, but I would have taken care of her and you."

Robert turned to the door and gave it a slight shake. "Open
that door, Mr. Jackson," he said in a low voice.

" If Sir Robert Hardacre wishes it," replied the lawyer.

" / wish it," said the lad," and if you don't open it instantly, HI
crack your skull with your own ruler," and he seized that weapon as
he spoke. The lawyer retreated behind his desk in alarm, and the
baronet stepping forward took me key from its nail and unlocked the
door.

" I think you had better come to me at two to-morrow," he said}
" if you do not, I shall be obliged to see your mother."

" Is that a threat ?" asked Robert, facing him fiercely.

" No, no, no, my boy, I would rather not see her if it could be
avoided ; I want to help, not to injure you, — I'm very sorry to pain
you. I have no power to compel you to come, but I wish it, — it may
be I have no right to ask it, — but I do wish it very much."

Robert looked at him with eyes full of anger and trouble, and left
him without a word."

When the seed is in the heart I do believe that love will spring up
as suddenly as a mushroom does from the earth. Sir Robert went
to the window in an eager kind of way, and saw his son spring to his
seat and drive off rapidly, and then he made a speech which aston-
ished Mr. Jackson, who thought the young cub had offended past
pardon.

" Poor boy," he said, with a sigh, " how happy he was this morn-
ing and now he is angry and sad at heart, — he is a lad of great
spirit."

" He is a young devil," said the lawyer, with whom the scene of
the ruler still rankled, and who was a crusty litde man at the best,
and no sycophant Sir Robert laughed as if it had been a compli*
ment

" Very true, Mr. Jackson," he said, " your discernment does you
great credit."

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Piff

This was spoken with so much sincerity that Mr. Jackson was not
sure whether it was satire or not, and he made no answer, not know-
ing in truth what to say ; and presently Sir Robert donned his top
coat and took leave.

** Do you think he will come to-morrow ? " asked the lawyer, as
the baronet took up his hat and stick to depart

" I will walk down in case he should, and I think if he does I
will see him alone. Good afternoon, Mr. Jackson — pray do not
come out," and Sir Robert bowed himself out at the door, and closed
it. Mr. Jackson went to the window, and watched him walk slowly
up the street.

Robert's thoughts were in such a tumult, that for the first time
since he knew her, he did not look out for Mary Paxton as he passed
the house, and he scarcely understood Mr. Meldrum, when he drop-
ped him at Thompson's Inn, and that gentleman charged him to
call on Mrs. Meldrum as soon as he reached Cromaboo, and tell her
that her mother was very poorly : he had to make him repeat the
message before he could get it into his head. When his evening's
work was done and he had called on Mrs. Meldrum, he went to his
mother's, intending to see John Smith alone, and question him about
Sir Robert Hardacre and take counsel with him. His mother met
him at the door with an anxious face.

" Sure your father's been at the drink again," she said, "and Chip's
brought him home."

And sure enough there lay John Smith before the kitchen stove,
too drunk to know one thing from another ; not asleep, indeed, but
quite imbecile and stupid. Robert put his arm about his mother,
and kissed her with great tenderness, but he did not say much to her,
or stay long. He went back to Mr. Llewellyn's and to bed, but not
to sleep; he heard the clock strike every hour till the daylight
dawned. All night long he thought the matter over, and came at
last to this conclusion : he would ask for a holiday, and trust to a
chance ride to Gibbeline ; he would call on Miss Paxton and tell her
all about it, and ask her advice ; then he would go to his father and
try to listen to what he had to say calmly. He dreaded the meet-
ing, because he detested Sir Robert's character, and yet, though he
hated to admit the thought even to himself, he liked the man, and it
seemed a sort of treachery to his mother to have even a kindly

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thought for him. Come what would, he would prevent him from
seeing his mother ; this ghost of the old too well remembered shame
and pain should never rise before her to torment her.

Mr. Llewellyn made no objection to the holiday, and asked no
questions, and a team overtook Robert before he had gotie a mile,
and picked liim up. He ran up the steps at Mrs, Paxton's and raised
his hand to the knocker before he saw the streamer of crape attached
to it ; he recoiled at this new shock, but guessed the truth in a
minute at the sight of the black love ribbon. He went round to the
back door and gently knocked. Dolly opened it, and told him, with
tears, the particulars of the old mistress' death, and that Miss Mary
had gone to lie down, having been up all night. He had not been
alone in suffering, sht had suffered, too, and counted the hours, he
thought, as he turned away ; for he could not disturb her, that would
be too selfish ; he felt he must stand alone, he must face Sir Robert
again without advice or help, since this door, too, was shut in his
face. Then the memory came to him of " the friend who sticketh
closer than a brother," whose door is never closed against us, and
whose ears are ever open to our cries for help, and he leant against
the fence and prayed. If John Smith had been sober and in his
right mind the night before, or if he had seen Miss Paxton in the
morning, this prayer would never have been made ; he would have
leant upon the human reed, and not have gone to the strong foi
strength.

He was fortunate in getting a ride the rest of the way to Gibbeline,
and he went to the Western Hotel at once, and took a strong cup of
green tea and some biscuits to steady him for the interview, before
he repaired to Mr. Jackson's office. As he reached the door, he met
Sir Robert Hardacre, who had come up another street.

" So you came," said the baronet, with a smile, and regarding the
lad with a keen, yet kindly scrutiny.

" Yes," was Robert's brief reply. He looked weary, but calm and
pale, quite unlike the excited lad of yesterday, who had threatened
to crack Mr. Jackson's skull. Perhaps the elder Robert had not
slept either, — I have no means of knowing, — but our hero thought
he looked older than on the previous day.

" Shall we go back to the Royal," he asked, " or make use of Mr.
Jackson's office ?"

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Robert was tired and wanted to get it over, so he said '* We will go
in here, if you please."

" Did you walk from Cromaboo ^ asked Sir Robert

" No sir, 1 had a chance ride."

By this time they had reached the office door and tapped Mr.
Jackson opened it with a polite good day to Sir Robert.

'' Good afternoon, Mr. Jackson," said Robert, " I'm glad I didn't
break your head yesterday, and I'm sorry I was rude to you ; but why
did you lock me in like a thief ?"

*' I feared some one might intrude, and see your tears," was the
reply. " You quite misunderstood me."

" We shall not have any misunderstanding to-day, 1 hope," said
Sir Robert, politely. " Will you kindly allow me the use of your
room for half an hour, Mr. Jackson ?"

Mr. Jackson of course retired at once, and left them alone. Sir
Robert placed a chair for his son, and sat down opposite to him, re-
moving his hat, and resting his elbow on the table. Our hero took
off his fur cap and sat in a waiting attitude, determined not to speak
first ; his eyes bent to the floor, his long lashes concealing them. A
very boyish and rather injured individual he seemed to the father,
who yet hesitated to address him. At last he began in a very gentle
voice. " I hope you will not be offended at what I am about to say.
I don't speak with the intention of offending, and I wish, I beg that
you will consider what I say quietly by yourself, and not make up
your mind hastily, or decide finally to-day, but think about it for a
day or two, and then come and tell me, when you have made up
your mind."

Robert looked up, on the alert, and attentive in a moment. " I
hoped this would be the last meeting," he said bluntly, but the flush
of pain in his father's face, made him sorry as soon as the words were
out of his mouth, and he added " I beg pardon, I don't wish to
offend either, and I won't get angry if I can help it, — go on please."

" I must begin by a question," said Sir Robert, " have you spoken
to any one, taken counsel with any one since I saw you last ?"

" About you ? No, with no one but God," was the reply.

There was no doubting his sincerity, and Sir Robert felt secretly
relieveH Me took a turn about the room, before he began again.

" I have no right to dictate to you," he said, " and I suppose you

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have friends whose opinion, whose counsel you value far more than
mine ?"

" No mistake about that," said the son.

" Then why, may I ask, did you speak to none of these ?"

" I don't think you've any right to ask that," replied Robert, •' but
I don't mind answering you. I couldn't consult my mother, of course
about you, and the two dearest friends I have in the world except her,
one was in trouble and <~,)uldn't see me, and the other was drunk, so
I was driven to seek t' e best Helper."

The baronet smileii and took another turn about the room ; he
had dreaded some meddling third person between himself and his
son.

" Robert," — the lad started to hear his name spoken by those alien
lips, — " I hope you will believe me when I say I am sorry, heartily
sorry for deserting and neglecting you all these years. I have no
right to you, I know, except the right of blood. I am your father,
and I hope you will listen patiently to what I propose, and seek
alone that best Helper ot whom you spoke, to help you to a decision."

" I cannot promise that," said the lad, sturdily.

" No ? Well I cannot exact it, I must take what comes, that is
my punishment ; I can ask no more than a patient hearing. I am
a wealthy man and have no near relatives ; I have been married
twice and am now a widower, but, except you, I have neither son
nor daughter.

*' You would never have .ooked me up if you had," said Robert,
in a little spurt of indignation he could not repress.

" Never, God forgive me, it is too true. I seldom thought of you,
never with pleasure, you were a mere shadow to me, rather a dream
than a reality. I did not know if you were living or dead, or care,
but I thought of your mother oftener than I wished ; I would, when
h was too late, have given my right hand and half my fortune to
undo the injury I had done to her."

"But you wouldn't ha' married her," said Robert, with an im-
patient movement of the head.

" I couldn't when repentance came, for she was another man's
wife. Virtue that has never tripped is a hard judge of error, my
boy, and you cannot — it is impossible for you, though you have
suffered for my sin, to know the strength of my temptation. I had

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locked away a little sketch I made of your mother when I first
knew her, and I came upon it some time since by accident ; it was
that impelled me to come to Canada and see you. I had made no
plan with regard to you, except the determination to see and help
you, if you were alive — till yesterday."

" I don't need it, as you see," replied his son, " and if I had been
an ugly, awkward lout, or a cripple, I believe you would ha' gone
back to England without looking twice at me."

" I hope not," said the father, gently, " if you wish to drain my
blood from your veins, as you said yesterday, I cannot echo the
wish, Robert, now I haVe seen you, even though you dislike me. I
would not put you back into chaos if I could, and though I deeply
regret the pain it cost your mother, I cannot regret your birth m«</,"
and he laid his hand lightly and kindly on his son's shoulder. Rob-
ert shrank under the touch with a mixture of feelings that made him
tremble like an aspen leaf.

" Oh ! don't," he said imploringly. Sir Robert instantly removed
his hand and moved away, bitterly hurt by this rebuff.

" I do not dislike you as much as I wish to," the boy went on,
" it seems like treachery to my mother to be here listening to you at
all, but I do it pai Uy for her sake, and partly — " he stopped abruptly.

" And partly for w/w," thought the father, with a sudden warm
thrill of pleasure at his heart, as he truly read the lad's real thought
in his sensitive, speaking face.

" Now, I have seen you, I don't wonder she cared so much for
you, I never did blame her, — poor mother, — but now I understand
how she would feel for you, and I don't want to feel in the same
way," — the baronet turned to the window to conceal the smile that
rippled over his face in spite of his self command, — " and I will not
have her hurt any more, understand that ; I will not have her feel-
ings played with ; I will not have you see her or speak to her, for you
are not to be trusted."

Sir Robert returned to his seat

" I will do just as you wish, about that," he said. His object was
to win the boy's confidence, and gain his affection, and he was far too
good a diplomatist not to know the reconciling power of judicio' v
concession. " I will not see her without your knowledge ot consent,
I promise you that, on my honour as a gentleman."

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*• Thank you," said the boy, "that is all I ask of you, or want of
you."

" Ask more," replied the father, with a smile that expressed more
tenderness than he was aware of, — " ask more and see if I refuse."

Robert had not the heart to ask him to go away and never come
back ; he thought of it but couldn't bring out the words, and against
his will a half smile curled his lip in answer to his father's, making
his mouth so like Sir Robert's memory of Nelly's half repelling, half
pouting, and altogether charming mouth, that, near as he was, it
cost the father an effort not to kiss him, for he was by nature a
kisser and a very affectionate man, with all his faults ; fond of young
things, whether animals, birds or children ; but especially fond of
half-grown lads and lassies. A great admirer of beauty uf any kind,
and prone to express his affection, without any restraint, by free
caresses with his plump white fingers, or tender pressures of his full
red lips, the very man to spoil a son or dear daughter by over much
petting. A hearty rebuff, a sound box on the ear, would have been
the greatest benefit to him in his youth, but unfortunately for himself
and others, he was too charming to receive any such check, and his
attentions were all tjo acceptable. So many of the sweets of life
had fallen to his share, that only his bright, keen intellect and real
warmth of heart had prevented him from being an unprincipled de-
ceiver and wholesale seducer of youth. As it was his foot had slip-
ped more than once, bringing him complicated troubles and bitter
repentance.

"I do not want anything but to protect and take care of my mother,"
said Robert, " that was my object in coming to-day, but if you have
anything else to say, sir, I am willing to listen."

" I have a great deal more to say," replied the baronet, " but you
have interrupted me so often, you rogue, that I am long in coming
to the point."

" Well, I won't say another word if I can help it," and Robert
locked his lips firmly.

" My property is entirely my own, my estate is unencumbered and
unentailed, and I can leave it to whom I please, and I mean to
leave it to you, the only living child ever bom to me, my dear son ;
you cannot have the title, but you shall have the estate. You can-
not alter my purpose in this, even if you refuse to let me help you

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while I live, but I wish very much that you would let me help you
now, for one thing to a better education than you have. I could
give you a sum of money at once for that."

Sir Robert made rather a long pause. The poor boy's colour
came and went, his lips parted, but he did not speak ; the offer was
very tempting, it would enable him to be more worthy of Miss Pax-
ton, and finally to lay a fortune at her feet ; would it be right to
refuse? As these thoughts passed rapidly through his mind, his
father resumed.

" You might complete your education here in Canada, or you
might travel with me ; if you told your mother that you had a good
situation, and wrote and sent her remittances constantly, she would
be satisfied, and it would be a great pleasure to me to be your
teacher."

Robert started up as if he had been stung.

" You would rob my mother of what is dearer to her than life,
and you think to pay her in money," he exclaimed indignantly. " I
would not desert her for any man living, you last of all ; nay more,
if she was in her grave I would not leave her husband," he added,
determined to stand up for John Smith, none the less — perhaps all
the more — because last night he had felt inclined to kick him.

" Do you care so much for that half-savage man-beast ? " said Sir
Robert, a little disgusted at the last part of this speech.

" If he is a beast, I am his cub," replied Robert, " and it would
be base to desert him for you of all others, for he has been a true
father to me. He has denied himself and worked hard to give me
schooling. He carried me in his arms night by night, walking the
room for hours when I had the fever, to rest me and get me to
sleep ; he protected my mother and covered her shame, and never
cast it up to her or me. It isn't many men would have such a
cuckoo's egg in their nest, and never regret it."

Skilful as Sir Robert was in the art of winding people round his
finger, he sometimes lost his point by losing his temper, and some-
times gained it by the very same weakness, and that was the case
now. If there was a man in the world he thoroughly detested it
was John Smith, and to hear him praised by Robert was more than
he could bear patiently.

** He is an old villian," he said, speaking with great heat, " he

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"he

robbed me of Nelly, pretty wild flower that she was, he an Irish ruf-
fian, past middle age, a grossly ignorant, coarse peasant ; and he
has robbed me of you. Do you think I couldn't have walked the
room with my little son, and nursed him tenderly for the pure selfish
pleasure of cooling his hot cheek against my own and soothing him
to rest Do you think the baton sinister could ever have been a bar
between us^ Robert, or the marriage ceremony with your mother have
made you dearer to me, — or made her dearer either, for that matter?"

He spoke bitterly, not caring to conceal the pain he felt, as he
would if Mr. Jackson had been present. His son did not reply, and
for a long time there was a painful silence.

" Well, well, Robert," said the father, at last, *' I have sown and I
must reap ; if you cannot give me love and confidence, at least give
me credit for an honest meaning, and let me help you in your own
way, — in any way you please. There is money at your command, at
any time you like ; there is property you must have, you and no other
when I am in my grave ; this is what I had to say, think about it,
and let me know your decision to-morrow."

" I cannot come to-morrow, because it is mail day, but I will come
on Saturday," said Robert. " I am sorry to hurt you, and I don't
doubt you mean kindly, but — but — I am afraid of myself, because I
— I do like you."

" You've an odd way of showing it," said the baronet, secretely
pleased in spite of his ill-humour, by this unwilling confession, " will
you come to the Royal on Saturday, and dine with me ?"

" No, sir, thank you, — I must go now."

" Do you think I would poison you, or perhaps you won't take salt
with me on principle, — is that it ? You might, at least, shake hands,
it needn't prevent you from doubling your fist the next time we
meet."

Robert, after a minute's hesitation extended his brown paw.
" Won't you forgive me," he said rather tremulously ; he was worn
out with excitement and want of rest, and could scarcely keep from
tears. Sir Robert was greatly touched by the apology, and the lad's
wan face ; he could have taken him in his arms, and kissed him, but
resisted the impulse within him lest he should scare him away like a
frightened bird.

" My son," he said in a tone that went to the lad's heart, it ex-

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pressed so much love and tenderness, " it is / that want forgiveness,
and you find it hard to forgive."

.Robert did not reply, for the simple reason that he could not with-
out a burst of tears, so with a long hand shake, they parted.

CHAPTER THE TWENTY-NINTH.

•• We'll talk it over by the bed-room fire
And come to our conclusions."

— Old Play.

^ARY would like to see you," said Mrs. Meldrum to her hus-
band, on the day following Robert's interview with his father.
" She thinks of sitting up for a time, but I do not think her fit to be
up," added Margaret, who would have liked to keep Mary prisoner,
till she had arranged the funeral and mourning in her own way.

" Well, I will go up, if you like," he replied.

*' I think you had better go at once, then, and hear what she has
to say, and persuade her to go to bed again, if you can."

The doctor made no promise, but ran lightly upstairs and tapped
at the bed-room door. Dolly opened it and placed a chair for him
beside Mary's, and then left the room. Miss Paxton, who was wrap-
ped in a dressing-gown of Turkey red cotton, and leaning back in a
large rocking chair, looked haggard and hollow eyed, and older than
her age. Blinds were down, and curtains drawn ; a small wood fire
burned sleepiiy on the hearth, enough for the day, which was warm
and thawing.

" Well ?" said Mr. Meldrum, kindly, " how are you to-day, — did
you sleep ?"

" A little, and I feel better, I mean to go down stairs to-morrow ;
it was not myself 1 wished to speak of, but other things ; Maggie will
tell me nothing, she says I am not strong enough to bear it. When
will the funeral be ?"

" To-morrow afternoon. I had a telegram from your uncle to say
he could not come till after the funeral, so I must be chief mourner."

'* I will go too," said Mary, " mamma shall have one of her own
blood to follow her to the grave."

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** Well, I see no objection to that if you feel strong enough," replied
Mr. Meldrum. " Is there anything else you wish to ask about ?"

He felt h'lce a hooded hawk in the darkened room, and was
anxious to get out of it as soon as possible.

" Yes, you might put up that blind towards the garden while you
stay, it is unpleasant to be so much in the dark, and it doesn't do
poor mamma any good, but Maggie says it's respectable, and we
mustn't vex her."

" I suppose I can bear it if you can," he returned, " but it's not
good for you."

" I have had a letter from Robert this morning," said Mary, turn-
ing her large grave eyes on Mr. Meldrum's face, and I wanted to
consult you about it. It is full of kindly thoughts and — " she paused.

" Bad spelling," suggested her brother-in-law.

" Well, yes, but I won't have you make fun of Robin Adair."

" I promise to be very discreet if you show rae the letter," he re-
plied, with a smile.

" I cannot do that, it would not be honourable, but you can help
me greatly, if you will, by telling rae all you know about Robert's
father," — Mr. Meldrum opened his brown eyes with surprise, — '* Mrs.
Smith told me about his birth in the winter the night of Miss Llew-
ellyn's wedding," the lady went on, " and Robert too. If you will
tell me all you remember of Mr. Hardacre, and what you really
thought of him, it would be a great help to me in giving advice to
Robert His father is in Gibbeline now, and he saw him to-day and
yesterday. I want you to tell me all you remember of him."

" I will, my dear child, with pleasure," said Mr. Meldrum, and he
added thoughtfully, '* it is a great responsibility to advise in such a
case."

"What kind of a man was he when you knew him ?" she asked,
" Was he handsome, — do you think he had any principle at all — any
worth ?"

" He was well looking enough as to the outside, not unlike Rob-
ert, but taller, and not so bonnie, and he was certainly one of the
pleasantest fellows I ever met, charming company at all times and
never out of temper at trifles. He was some years older than me ;
I was only a boy when I met him, had just passed my first exam-
ination at college, and had come to Gibbeline for a holiday after my

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Studies, and we were fellow-travellers in the coach together. We
stayed at the same inn, and arranged a hunting expedition to the
backwoods — Cromaboo was the backwoods then, but the place we
went to was twenty miles beyond it. We camped out many a night
together, and told stories and sang songs by the watch hre. I, as a
youngster, felt flattered by Mr. Hardacre's gay, good •humour and
friendliness. Hw: had those accomplishments which tell with every
kind of person. He was an excellent shot, a good singer, and a
clever, amusing talker, who seemed to say just the right thing al-
ways, and knew how to take people. He never gave offence except
when he meant to — little Bob is like him in that — and then no man
knew how to do it better. I remember the first night he ever saw
Nelly Connel, Bob's mother. We did not know there was a human
habitation near, when she suddenly peeped round a tree at us ; I
never saw a prettier creature, quite a child, a young unformed thing
as graceful as a deer, and erect as a ramrod ; with wonderful eyes
and teeth, and very little clothing.

" * A wood nymph, by St. George and the dragon,' Mr. Hardacre
exclaimed, as she ran away. A minute after we came upon her
father and Smith sitting on a log smoking. They gave us a warm
welcome, invited us to the shanty, gave us their best, and asked us
to come back every night while we stayed in the woods ; and we
did. There was game in plenty and we stayed a good while. Mr.
Hardacre made a great pet of Nelly from the first, and did not dis-
guise his fondness for her ; but I never thought harm of it, nor did
anybody. I don't believe he meant evil himself at first, but there
was no excuse for him, it was a heartless business, she was such a
young, helpless thing in his hands. I remember he taught her the
alphabet, and gave her a little seal from his watch guard as a reward
for learning so quickly, and coaxed her to give him a kiss for teach-
ing her. And he used to coax her to sit on his knee, and bribe her
by the offer to show her his watch and the contents ot his purse —
she had never seen gold or a watch before — and she would perch her-
self there with shy confidence, though I could never persuade her to
come near me ; whereas the younger imps were free enough with me.
One night we came in late after a very successful hunting expedi-
tion, and found little tired Nelly stretched in front of the fire in a
sound sleep. Connel and Smith were with us, but Hardacre stopped

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all our noise with an imperative " Hush ! " saying he wanted to make
a picture of the sleeper, and he did, a very life-like little Crayon
sketch, and took it away with him, ' the prettiest spoil of our expedi-
tion,' as he truly said.

" Another afternoon Hardacre and Smith shot two fine bucks, and
the wolves pursued us, and pressed us so severely that it was precious
hard work to get our spoil into the shanty safely ; I brained a wolf
at the very door, and they stayed about all night, howling most
drearily. Mrs. Connel — prudent woman — hearing them afar off, had
taken the cow and the pig into the family mansion, lest the wolves
should break into their little shanties and devour them, so that with
these animals, and Hardacre's deer hounds, and my beagles, we
were thickly packed that night. The younger brood of Connels had
literally gone to bed with the chickens, but Nelly was up when we
arrived, and very much frightened. Mrs. Connel finding her lord
safe, said ' Glory be to God and the blessed Virgin,' and tlien gave
us our supper of poached eggs and new potatoes, which Hardacre
insisted upon saying grace over, and pronounced ' food for a king.'
The meal over, she slipped behind the curtain which divided the
room, and went to bed, and Connel soon followed, and in a minute
or two they were snoring loudly in spite of the howls of the wolves.

"Smith, — who had given up his bed to us, on our first arrival,
which we shared with little Chip and a black hen that roosted over
our heads, and used to slip into the bed every day when we vacated
it, and lay an egg there, — Smith, I say, lay down before the fire
with his head on a bag of feathers, promising to stay awake and
keep little Nelly company ; but he was asleep as soon as his head
touched the pillow, and added his snores to the general discord. At
last, at a dismal and prolonged howl, answered within by the dogs,
in spite of our efforts to keep them still, Nelly put her trembling
hand into Hardacre's and begged him not to go to bed and leave her
alone. He wrapped her in his plaid from head to foot, and took her
in his arms without a word, and presently began to sing softly, ' Hush
my dear, lie still and slumber,' and she nestled close to him, com-
forted by his protection, not knowing that he was more dangerous
than any wolf. We felt it would be useless to go to bed, so sat by the
fire all night, and a cold night it was, though in September. At last
Nelly went to sieep with her head on his shoulder, and towards morn-

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ing I went to sleep too. When I woke, the wolves had gone and
Hardacre was sitting in the same attitude, with the sleeping girl in
his arms ; he was still wide awake, and gazing into the remains of the
great wood fire, now one mass of glowing coals. I said if the old
mother bird caught them in that attitude, she would be angry with
Nelly, and he took the hint at once, and woke little Nelly with a
tender whispered word and a kiss, and she slipped from his knee, and
ran behind the curtain blushing.

" All the next day, we were busy patching the cow's house, and
building a new pig-stye, to make those valuable animals safe against
another inrode of the wolves, and Hardacre worked as hard and sang
as gaily as if he had slept the night before instead of watching. He
proposed that the Connels should have another room to their shanty,
and we h;jlped them so effectually that they actually got it up and
roofed in before we left. If he had never gone back 'twould have
been all right, we should have done them nothing but good. Hard-
acre asked Nelly for a kiss at parting, and she gave him one, and
then burst into tears and ran away.

*' We returned to Gibbeline together, and I parted with him there.
I knew nothing of his return to the backwoods till I saw him in the
spring nearly two years later. I thought he was not very glad to
renew the acquaintance, though we had parted on the most friendly
terms, but he invited me to sup with him at the tavern where we
boarded, and I went. At the foot of the stairs I met Nelly Connel ;
I could scarcely believe my eyes when I saw her. She did not recog-
nize me, she never even saw me, and I never saw such despair in
a human face as in hers that evening. I was nearly stopping her,
but I didn't from the feeling that she had seen Hardacre and was
going somewhere by his direction. As soon as I met him all my
suspicions were confirmed, I saw the whole thing ; a duller man
might have guessed the truth from his face, for he was never an
adept at the art of concealing. He was silent, almost morose, at
first, till the wine warmed him, then he was uproariously gay and
jolly. There were two other guests, and we did not separate till
midnight.

" I called the next morning early to see if I could find out any-
thing about Nelly. Hardacre was up and in a most disturbed state
of mind. He opened his heart to me just from the necessity of

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speaking to soinel)ody, I think. He could find no trace of Nelly,
and the people at tlie inn had not seen her go out. I have
no doubt they had quarreled, but he did not tell me so. I tuld
him I met her the night before, and that I saw the print of her
naked feet in the dust as I caqjc'up the street, and we went out
to follow the footprints. We lost the trail once and found it again,
and then traced the little naked feet to the river bank ; we tried in
vain to find another footmark ; she had gone oflf on the grass, I
suppose. Hardacre was in a frantic state, and I felt very much
alarmed, remembering the expression of the poor child's face. I
had great difficulty in perHuading him to go back to the inn. We
vandered about all day looking for further footmarks, and he abused
himself so bitterly that I felt it unsafe to leave him.

" * If little Nelly has been driven to take her life through my un-
kindness,' he said, ' I'll shoot myself and go down quick into hell.'

" When at last we got back to Murphy's Inn, we found your papa
waiting for Hardacre, and with every respect for him, in a general
way, I must say he was much too fiery and combustibh to be a skill-
ful diplomatist. He burst upon Hardacre like — " he was going to
say " like a turkey cock," but in consideration to his hearer, checked
himself, and though he regretted it, changed tiie apt comparison into
another simile — " like an avalunce, and with much strong language,
asked him if he meant to marry the girl, or not, after telling him that
he ought to be shot for a heartless young scoundrel. It seemed un-
reasonable in Hardacie to be angry, for Mr. Paxton said no worse
than he had been saying of himself all day, but he was very angry;
I really didn't think it was in him to lose all self command, and get
into such a rage. He would have struck your father, in spite of his
grey hairs, if I had not stepped in between them, and to do the old
gentleman justice, he would have liked nothing better. I shared the
fate of all people who get into bad company, and came in for a share
of abuse from Mr. Paxton, who would gladly have fought us both.
At last he went away, after forbidding Mr. Hardacre to set foot in his
house, and telling us he meant to let the Connels know that Nelly
was there. We never dreamt that he would go and see Connel in
person, for we knew he came from London, and was altogether a city
man in habits, and quite unaccustomed to backwoods travelling and
blazed tracks. If Hardpcre had known he was away I am sure

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nothing would have kept him from seeing Nelly, and if your mamma
had been willing to give h»-r up, it might have changed her fate. Me
wanted me to go and get Nelly away, but I would not, because 1
knew that if she was once in his possession, he would never either
marry her, or part with her again, I'hat was my feeling at the time ;
I hope 1 didn't do him injustice. I did not absolutely refuse to go,
but I said 1 would think about it. After four days Hardacre told me
plainly that if I didn't go and see what had become of Nelly, he
himself would go to Connel and ' make some arrangement,' he said,
and take her out of Mr. Paxton's house, whether he liked it or not.

" ' Do you mean to marrv her?* I asked, but he made no reply,
and I thought silence meant no, so I said I would ride up to Mr.
Paxton's at once, and make inquiries about her. I tapped three
times at the front door, but nobody heard me, so I marched straight
into the dining-room, where I found little Nelly weeping bitterly, and
John Smith looking at her with great compassion, and your papa
much softened, and trying his hand is a comforter. 1 also had a
glimpse of Mrs. Faxton driving you little girls out of the room before
her, and the parson and Maggie billing and cooing in the garden
beyond. Mr. Paxton flew at me like a bull at a red rag ; he called
me ' a colleague of that young blackguard Hardacre,' and asked me
what the devil / wanted ?'

" Poor papa," said Mary, " we often bluslied for his violence," and
a little tinge of colour, and a half smile came to her pale face as she
spoke.

" Poor Nelly saw me through her tears and sobbed afresh, but
Smith's respect for me made your father more respectful, and we
went out into the chip-yard and talked it over ; Smith and I — your
father was present, but made no remark. Smith told me he had
married Nelly, and that he would take care of her and her child,
* poor crather,' and ' never even ask a kiss,' he said, if she did not
give it voluntarily, and I believe he kept his word ; he behaved very
wisely and kindly.

" Kindness is wisdom," said Mary gently, and added with a little
hesitation, " if you would only believe that about Maggie, and not be
so satirical with her, I think you would be happier."

" Do you ?" said Mr. Meldrum. " Well, I will try and command my
tongue. I never found it a difficult matter till I married your sister."

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And pay your debts now, when the properly is divided, it would
be much easier to live with her if you did — and there is something
else I would like to say l)efure you finisit the story, only I am afraid
you will think it impudence in me."

" Not at all," replied Mr. Meldrum, " it is kind, very kind to give
your advice, and I thank '^ou. You know I once asked you to ad-
vise me about Maggie."

" Well, then, if you are patient with her, and put up with her
peevishness now she is ailing, when the baby is born she will be
quite satisfied and happy if it lives ; she is so fond of little babies
that she will be wholly absorbed, and (juite forget there is such a
person as Mr. Meldrum in the world. Maggie is a good mother to
little things, it is only when they grow older she expects too much of
them."

•' I will do my very best — will you not help me by becoming a
member of my household ? "

" I will come when Maggie is ill, certainly," said Mary, " but I
can make no further promise — now go on with the story, please."

" Well I went back to Hardacre and told him, and I could judge
how much he cared for Nelly by his violent jealousy of Smith. If
hatred and the wish for his death could have killed him, Smith would
have died that night. He had told me the inn where they were to
stay for a day or two, and I went up, by Hardacre's wish, to see
Nelly, as he was afraid to trust himself. I arrived just in time to be
of use. It was a dangerous case, she had a fever and was delirious
for some days ; more than once she attempted to take her life. 1
tried the effect of Hardacre's name to see if it would soothe her, but
it made her quite frantic. I could not leave her, so I sent a mes-
senger to Hardacre to tell him he had a son and that Nelly was
very ill ; but I did not tell him the full extent of the danger for I
feared if she lived she would become a lunatic. I thought if I
alarmed him too much lie would come ; and sure enough the next
day he dui come. I would not let him see Nelly, for that day she
had again attempted to take her life ; I tried to persuade him that
now it would be best for him to see her no more, as the excitement
of such a meeting might kill her.

" * I would rather she died than lived to be that man's wife,' he
said, and I believe meant it.

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! .

" I showed him the child, but he scarcely looked at it ; the sight
of it seemed to annoy him ' Poor little devil,' he said, * take it
away, take it away.'

"Cioing out of the inn he met Nelly s husband ; he had no weapons
but his fists, luckily for Smith, but being a good boxer he knew how
to use them, and put in his blows straight. Not a word did he say,
but the double fist went out with such steadiness and force that it
made Smith stagger. The Irishman, though the strongest man, was
not Hardacre's etjual in a fight o( that kind ; after a few blows, I got
between them, and begged them to hear reason, then they took to
their tongues, those wicked weapons, and used them most unspar-
ingly, Hardacre took out his purse before leaving, and offered
Smith money to pay the expenses of Nelly's illness, but the Irish-
man's blood was up, he would not take a penny, though he had not
a coin in his pocket, or in the world.

" Hardacre stayed in Gibbeline for more than a month, and I sent
him daily accounts, or took them myself, till Nelly was out of danger.
One day when I was away, your father and two of you young ladies
went to see her ; that visit did her a great deal of good, did much
to calm her mind and give her hope ; and Smith was very kind and
judicious, for when Nelly said the baby must be called Robert Hard-
acre, he made no objection, and when he went up to Connel's for
his clothes and his son, and she asked him to bring her the books
Mr. Hardacre had given her, he replied very kindly, 'That I will,
Nelly, vvid pleasure,' and he seemed really fond of her brat, from the
first day of his birth.

" The last time I saw Mr. Hardacre was in Toronto, the fall of the
same year, just before he went to England, two years after our happy
hunting expedition. He looked thin, and more than two years older,
he was grave in manner, all his old spirit gone ; he told me his elder
brother was dead, and his Lther had written for him to return home.
He asked after Nelly. I told him she was well, except her eyes,
which were incurably weak from over much crying.

" ' You might have spared me that,' he said coldly.

" I told him the name of the child ; he sighed and said ' Poor
little devil' He said he had only enough money for his expenses
home, but when he was richer he would send me my fees for attend-
ing to Nelly. I told him, of course, that I required no fees, and he

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retorted sharply that he would have nothing at my hand, I had con-
nived with ^ those wretched who robbed him of Nelly. He did not
offer to shake hands at parting, but simply bowed. Four years later
I received a brief letter from him enclosing two hundred pounds
sterling as a fee for me. He did not ask me to write, but enclosed
his address. I wrote at once, telling him that Nelly was well, and
liad another son, and that as I wanted no fee, I would apply the
money, as no doubt he had intended I should, for the benefit of
Nelly and his boy. I helped Smith in every whv I could, without
telling him or his wife that the money was not my own. The lot
they live on in Cromaboo was bought with Mr. Hardacre's money.
I have no doubt he received my letter, but he never wrote again, and
soon after I saw his father's death in the Times, and his own marriage
with a lady of title. Smith is not a hard man to deceive in money
matters, as he scarcely knows a shilling from a sixpence, and he has
no pride where I am concerned ; he has had more than that two
hundred pounds from me." •

"Thank you very much for telling me," said Mary, "and that is all
you know about Mr. Hardacre ?"

" Absolutely a/l, I know nothing more."

" Robert is to see his father to-morrow evening, but as I am ver>'
tired, I will not attempt to write to him, but send a message by you
instead. Give my kindest regards to him, and tell him to come in
after the funeral to-morrow, and I will see him for a little while. I
am really grateful for what you have told me."

'* I should like to be a rat in the wall," said Mr. Meldrum," and
hear what passes between little Bob and his father."

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CHAPi'ER THK THIRTIETH.

" Aye, sooth, we feel t<K> strong in weal to need Thee on that road.
But woe being come, ihe soul is dumb, that crieth not on (iod."

— Elizabeth Bakket Brownin'g.

^ HOUCiH Robert had asked Miss Paxton's advice, and promised
i'C^ to follow it implicitly, he had fought his battle alone, and made
up his mind how to act, before ever he saw hei face. The fact that
Sir Rbbcrt had promised to make him his heir, was to the son by no
means a proof of his sincerity, but the varying tones of his voice, the
expression of his face, carried conviction to the lad's heart. Mr.
Meldrum had said truly that Sir Robert was not an adept in the art
of concealing whatever he felt, good or bad appeared plainly enough
in his face, in spite of his self-command, and that polished bypocracy
which good breeding teaches, and his real love for his son, and long-
ing for the lad's affection and confidence ; had come out far more
clearly in look and accent than he himself knew. Thinking of his
last look, Robert's heart softened towards the lonely father, now bear-
ing the burden of his old sins, none the easier to carry after all, be-
cause he deserved it.

" And I'm not the one that ought to cast them up to him, for all
he's been wicked," thought our hero, " and though I'll have none of
his help I'll speak kindly and fairly to him, and tell him I do forgive
him, and tell him the truth that 1 love him better than any person i
ever saw, except mother and Miss Paxton, far better than John Smith
that has done so much for me, — and I ivotCt be angry and impudent
again."

To strengthen himself in this good resolution, he knelt by the bed-
side and asked (iod's iielp to make him kind and respectful to this
newly found parent, who was quite unlike the hard cold father he had
imagined. As distrust and doubt took wing, happiness and peace
came back into the boy's heart once more, and when he laid his head
on the pillow, it was to sleep soundly and quietly till the morning.

The next day Sir Robert could not resist the temptation of going
into the high street, with the hope that he might meet his son, or at
least catch a glimpse of the active free young figure. In turning a
corner he met him face to face. He lifted his hat and smiled, and
as Robert returned the salute, a bright, shy answering smile of xq-

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cognition, diat was certainly expressive of anything but dislike or
fear, came into his face. To him the meeting was unexpected.

" You will not forget to-morrow ?" said Sir Robert in passing.

" Oh ! no sir," was the reply.

Having seen him, the father returned to his hotel satisfied, but
when the time came for the mail to start, he grew restless, and went
into the high street and watched it off at a distance, and heard the
departing toot, as it drove away.

There were more than one hundred people gathered at Mrs. Pax-
ton's grave on the following afternoon, for though, not a popular
woman, she was an old settler, and well known ; but there was not
one happier or more peaceful than Mr. Llewellyn's servant, who stood
beside his master and listened to the service feelingly, and with great
attention, understanding, as others there did not, that " man walketh
in a vain shadow, and disquieteth himself in vain," that " he heapeth
up riches, and knoweth not who shall gather them." He secretly
joined in the prayers with his whole heart.

As they were returning from the burying ground, he asked his
master if he might go back to Gibbeline and stay All night, and drive
home on Sunday morning with Mr. Meldrum.

" Two holidays in one week, Robert," said Mr. Llewellyn, in som e
surprise, " what are you after — a concert or a ball ? "

" No sir, a friend that is going to leave for another country asked
me to meet him ; father will put away the ponies for you, if you don't
mind driving home from Mrs. Paxton's alone."

*' Well, Robert, this is the last holiday I shall give you while you
are with me ; a lad of your age should be in his bed by ten, and
large towns are bad places at night — but you may go."

'* Thank you, sir," said the servant, I'm not up to anything bad.
Miss Paxton knows where I am going and who I am to meet. I
would tell you, but 'twouldn't be honourable."

" Oh ! it's all right if Miss Paxton knows," said the old gentleman,
much relieved, " and you are right in not breaking a confidence of
hers. I am very willing to do without your services to oblige her."

And thus it was that Robert got his leave of absence, his master
rather misunderstanding the tenor of his last speech.

Miss Paxton had just reached home before Robert arrived ; she
was still in her crape bonnet and heavy veil and cloak when he was

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conducted into her presence. Never had he seen her so unnerved,
so unlike herself, her hands trembled, her lips quivered, she could
not speak at first. Mr. Meldrum, who met the lad at the door, gave
him a chair and left them alone, but they had not exchanged a sen-
tence, when Dolly burst into the room with small ceremony, for she
was concerned for her mistress, and regarded the mail carrier as a
a mere servant like herself.

How tired and sick you (/o look. Miss Mary," she said, " and no-
body to take care of you. I've got a hot cup o' tea ready, will you
drink it if I bring it in ?"

Miss Paxton was touched with the girl's kindness, and the tears
rolled down her cheeks.

*' My, if you cry, I shall cry too," said Dolly, instantly putting the
threat into execution ; " let me take your bonnet off"

" It seems there is somebody to take care of me," said Mary,
smiling through her tears, "you are very kind, Dolly. You can
bring two cups of tea, and some biscuits for Robert."

Dolly was gone and back again in a minute with a liulj ':u.y.
Never had the daiidling little girl been so expeditious, and her mis-
tress wao pleased with her efforts to comfort even though she spilt the
biscuits on the floor and dropped a tear into Robert's saucer. VVhea
she had made up the fire, with a good deal of noise, she began to
talk.

" Mrs. Meldrum's gone to bed to have a good cry, and just after
she went, a tall old lady came from Gibbeline, in a cab, a Mrs. Mar-
shall. She said she had travelled from Montreal, and was tired, so
I made her some strong tea, and lots o' toast," said the little maid
boldly, though she would have shaken in her shoes to take so much
upon herself in Mrs. Paxton's time ; " and if she didn't eat it every
bit, and then she said she was very sleepy, and I made up the old
missises bed with clean sheets, and the best quilt, and put her in
there, and she's asleep."

" You are a very good girl, Dolly," said her young mistress, " and
you did quite right ; and now go and prepare tea for Mr. Meldrum,
and then get something for yourself, and leave me alone for half an
hour, as I wish to speak to Robert on business."

But Dolly, having tasted the sweetness of a brief authority, felt the
spirit of power within her, and was disposed to exert it.

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225

" I'm sure you ain't fit for business to night," she said, "couldn't
he eonie to morrow ?"

" No, no, Doliy, run away, there's a good girl."

Dolly, however, instead of obeying, lingered till Robert, who knew
how to use his lips for punisl|inent as well as reward, rose and opened

the door wide for her. •

" Come,' said he, " if you don't be off out o' this when your
mistress tells you, I'll give you a kiss," which had the effect of ex-
pelling her, exclaiming as she went against "the impidence o' them
boys."

He closed the door and sal down and stirred his tea.

" Won't you try and lake a mouthful, Miss Mary ? " he said, per-
suasively ; " it will do you good."

She lifted the cup to her lips and sat it down again. " Dear Rob-
ert," she began tremulously, *' I have been so troubled and shaken
by mamma's sudden death that I hardly know how to advise you,
but I feel for you," and she e.xtended her hand to him, which the boy
hfted to his lips as the best mode of expressing his feelings. " I think
your father's offer to make you his heir is a mark of penitence, and —
he cannot be young now, — 1 feel sorry for him.''

" So do I," said Robert, heariily.

" But yet Smith has been a kind father to you, and a good father,
so far as he knew how to be ; and, dear Robert, the basest of all sins
is in<<ratitude. Then there is your mother to think of."

" She must never know," said Robert, " and she would know if I
let him help me now. I think I must just say good bye to him from
to-night, for Iier sake ; that's what I've made up my mind to."

" Do — do you like him, Robert ?"

" Very much, I never loved anyone as much except you and my
mother. There's something so frank and sincere in his way o' saying
things, that I couldn't help believing him even when I fought against
it. He looks honest and kind, and i don't wonder mother loved
him, and I am sure he is sorry he was so cruel. If I lived with him
long 'twould be hard to do without him, but I mean to say good bye,
and stick to duty, God helping me."

" He never forsakes those who prefer duty to their own worldly
interest," said Mary. " I have formed no plan yet, with regard to
my future life, except that when Mr. Llewellyn had done with you, I

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want you to become one of my household, — at least you shall if you
like."

" If I like !" said the boy, with sparkling eyes, " why, 'fvould be
happiness to serve you any way I could."

" My poor dear boy," she said, smiling through her tears, " what a
boy you are ; and your father at last sees what he has lost, — do you
think he is proud of you ?"

" I don't think he could be proud of such a patched chap as I was
in my working duds, but he wasn't ashamed o' me, and that says a
good deal for him ; and I know he is fond o' me, I could see it in
his eyes."

" Poor man, he has done what he cannot undo, by neglecting you
so long ; there are some paths we cannot go back upon," she said
with a sigh, then added, after a pause, " I spoke to Mr. Meldrum
about your father, Robert, and he told me what he remembered of
him. I told him nothing of the contents of your letter, or your
father's promise to make you his heir, only that he was in Gibbeline,
and that you had seen him, and would see him again. I thought it
would help me in coming to a conclusion about him."

" Well, and has it. Miss Mary ?"

" I should think him a man of more feeling than principle. You
and your mother, and Mr. Meldrum all concur in one thing, that he
is a very pleasing man. I think your resolution a right one if you
ran carry it out, about seeing the last of him, — better for your
mother's peace of mind. But be kind, do not be hard to him, dear
Robert, as he was to her in that last interview. When you come to
your death bed, — as we all must, — it is not your kind acts you will
regret."

This was the substance of their conference, and presently Robert
took his leave, but looking back after he had opened the door, he
was moved to a sudden impulse of compassion by the sight of Miss
Paxton's face, which looked older than he had ever seen it, and very
weary. He turned back ; he had come to be counseled and com-
forted, but it was sA^ who needed help, and his warm boy's heart was
stirred to the core at the sight of her unhappiness. He stooped and
kissed her on the forehead, saying, " it just goes to my heart to see
you looking so tired and ill. Miss Mary ; do lie down and try and
rest and be comforted about the old lady. The great and good God

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is not a man to bear hardly upon the peevishness of a poor old lady,
that was childish from old age, and not rightly able to command her
words and thoughts. Don't you mind when you told me that ' God
is love,' just think o' that now, and cheer up."

She murmured a '' thank you, " as he went away, though the tears
came again to her eyes at his words and caress.

Mr. Meldrum, who was standing at the front door to conduct our
hero out, saw the leave taking and strongly disapproved of it He
closed the door gently behind them, and as he walked to the gate,
opened his mind on the subject in these words.

" You are an impudent young dog Bob, to take advantage of Miss
Paxton's present weakness and grief, as you did just now. You took
a liberty that I could not and would not take, though I am nearly re-
lated to her."

" If you don't take such a liberty," replied the offender promptly,
•' it's because you know if you did you'd put your foot in it past par-
don. Don't be a humbug, Mr. Meldrum, I believe you'd ha' mar-
ried her if you could, let alune kissing iier."

" Indeed,"' said the doctor, with his usual calmness, " who's your
authority for that statement ?"

'* Oh ! nobody told me so, it's just my own thought, and I'm pretty
sure it's a right one. I have a feeling that you put the question and
got no for an answer, and then you turned to Mrs. Hurst. Miss
Mary may marry some day, you know, and she's free to choose who
she pleases, I suppose."

" I suppose so. Bob," said Mr. Meldrum, quite unmoved by the
question, " and you think she will choose you, but you may find
yourself mistaken, my young man, for she regards you as a mere boy
or she would never permit you to take such liberties. However, there
is another subject I wish to speak about. Miss Paxton told me that
you were going to see your father to-night, and I must tell you in
justice to him, that I heard from him when you were four years old,
and he sent two hundred pounds as a fee for me, he said, for attend-
ing to your mother when you were born, but 1 thought he meant it
to be spent on you, and I have spent it all at different times in help-
ing Smith, and all of you in helping to buy the lot, and building the
house your mother is in ; but I never told them who the money came
from, lest they should refuse it I let them think it came from me."

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• II

"That was very delicate and kind in you sir," said Robert, repent-
ing his late impudence.

•* I hope you are not going to-night with hostile intent, Bob," the
doctor went on, " for your father must be an old boy now, and you
are his own son, or you would never have kissed Miss Pa.xton to-day ;
you ought to have charity for him, for in the same position you would
have acted just in the same way.

Robert flushed angrily. He was outside the gate, and the doctor
leaning on it ; he moved a step or two away.

" Never," he said. " It isn't in me to cruelly seduce an ignorant
young creature, no better than a child. You must think me a devil,
if you think that of me."

" Oh ! no. Bob, a mortal man, or rather boy. It's difficult to make
you understand, you are such a young one," said Mr. Meldrum, not
unwilling to pay him off for his impudence by patronizing him a little ;
" but it was a real passion on your father's part ; he did love little
Nelly ; only when he had injured her, it was a natural consequence
that he should be a little harsh and unkind ; his conscience troubling
him would make him worse, of course. You have only had senti-
mental fancies, and don't know what a real passion is."

" And never shall," said Robert, hotly, " for what you call a real
passion is just sin and selfishness."

" Ah I of course, I knew you would answer in that way," retorted
Mr. Meldrum, coolly, "you are like the young Jewish ruler who said
' Is thy servant a dog that he should do these things ? ' and yet after
all he did them just as the prophet said he would."

"That prophet was inspired by Ciod," said the lad, "but you are
inspired by old Hob, to put me in a bad temper with my father just
when I wished to think the best of him. I won't hear another word
— I wish you good night, sir," and he walked rapidly away.

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229

CHAPTKR THE THIRTY-FIRST.

"The child of love, though bom in bitterness."

—Byron.

JR ROBERT had waited till long after his appointed dinner
hour, hoping his son would change his mind and come. Dis-
appointment succeeded hope. He had set tiie door ajar to hear the
sound of the boy's footsteps when he came, and now, as he moved
towards it with a sigh, to ring the bell for the long deferred meal, he
heard a woman's voice exclaim, *' Is tliat little Bob Smith ? Well, I
never."

" Yes, it's me," replied the clear tones he loved to hear ; •' how
are you, Molly? You look charming, anyway." Then presently
followed the question " Where is Sir Robert Hardacre's room ? — show
me, please — I have an appointment with him."

" Then I guess you're too late or too early, for he's expecting a
gentleman to dinner, and that'll be right away. I'm listening for
his bell every minute ; so I guess you'd better come and have a cup
o' tea with rrie, instead of intruding upon that big swell before he
wants you. Ill get .\lvira to wait on him."

" No, Molly, thank you all the same ; show me the room, please,"
and then came the quick, advancing footsteps.

Sir Robert opened the door and extended his hand with a smile
of welcijme.

" I am very glad to see you, Robert," he said. " I hope you have
not dined ? "

" No, sir. but I've had a cup o' tea. I had to go to Mrs. Paxton's
funeral with Mr. Llewellyn, and that delayed me. I hope you have
not waited dinner for me ? "

"Yes I did," said the baronet, ringing the bell, "you will not re-
fuse to dine with me, I hope."

" You are very kind, sir — I'm rather hungr>'." He had come for
peace to-night, and his three miles walk had given him an appetite.

The maid who waited at table was the very Molly who had shaken
hands with Robert not ten minutes before, but though surprised
at Sir Robert's guest, she was too much awed at the presence of a
live baronet to take liberties ; and Robert made no blunders, he had

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bt-en too thoroughly drilled by Miss Llewellyn in table etiquette for
that ; and his father's real kindness set him at his ease. He enjoyed
his dinner, but declined wine.

'' Perhaps you would like a glass of ale," said the father.

** No, thank you, I never take it, or anything intoxicating ; I
haven't the head for it."

"I ;im disappointed, 1 hoped to drink a cup of kindness with you
to-niKht."

*' I will take wine with you, sir, if you wish it, by and bye," said
Robert ; " I think I could stand half a glass of sherry without being
tipsy."

Then the conversation turned to general topics ; Sir Robert asked
Mrs. Paxton's age, if her husband was still living, and other things
about the family ; then it melted off in a natural easy way to other
matters ; he talked of hunting, .shooting, .skating and snow shoes,
and was pleased with his son's ready answers and bright interest in
what he said. When Molly had disappeared with the cloth, and
they were left alone over their wine, their eyes met with another
meaning in them.

" Are you pressed for time to-night ? " asked the father.

*' No, sir, I am at liberty for the evening."

" 1 am very glad. You will stay and bear me company, will you
uot ? " " If you wish it, sir," said Robert.

" You know I wish it, you rogue," replied the father, with a fond,
bright smile, *' are you going to shut me out of your heart alto-
gether ? "

" No, sir, I can't if I would," the boy spoke sturdily, but with a
deep blush, " for I love you a deal better than John Smith, though
he's done fifty times as much for me, and I owe him duty and
respect." — Sir Robert put his white hand upon Robert's brown paw,
which lay upon the table, and the lad did not resist the kindly pres-
sure, or remove it. — " I don't see that there's harm in caring for you,
seeing you're my father ; and I can't help it, anyway, and I'm not
going to try ; I've given up fighting against the feeling. I have con-
fidence in you, and don't fear you as I did at first."

" You need not fear me, God knows. What did you fear in me,
Robert ? "

" That you would trouble my mother. Her comfort is my first

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thought, my pleasure as well as duty, but I think I did you some in-
justice. Mr. Meldrum told me to^iay that you sent two hundred
pounds out, he thought for me ; anyway he spent it that way, getting
a town lot and house for mother, not telling her you sent it, which
was delicate in him; and fri^ trees, and other things he bought.'

" Why did you speak to Mr. Meldrum ? " asked Sir Robert, by
no means pleased by this revelation.

" I didn't, he spoke to me. 1 wrote to Miss Paxton and told her
you were in Gibbeline (she is my dear friend and 1 love her), and
she spoke to him ; he married her sister, you know, and she knew
he was acquainted with you. I asked her advice, but I had made
made up my mind how to act before I saw her, and it was well I
had, for she was so shaken by her mother's death that she was
quite broken down and ill ; she couldn't say much to me."

" To what had you made up your mind, my son ?"

" To tell you I loved you before I said good bye, and though I
cannot take your money, that you are dear to xa&,— father.'^

The last word was added to heal the pain given by the first part of
the sentence, and in some measure it did.

" Then you mean to leave me, Robert, — you mean to give me up,
I am to lose my newly found treasure ?"

" I hate to speak and pain you, but the truth is best ; you cannot
give up and keep, you know, and you gave nu up long ago hen you
left me. Smith, and more especially mother, have had their dreams
about me ; they have worked hard for me, and brought me up, and
have a right to me ; if I left them for you, the truth would leak out
somehow, and cause them bitter pain and disappointment. Why,
mother cannot bear me out of her sight for a week. She must see
me every day, and comes to Mr. Llewellyn's if I do not go to her ;
and not a day passes without her kiss and fond touch, I am that dear
to her. You are not jealous of her, — father ?"

" No, my dear boy, no, — but do you mean that I am to go away,
— that I am to part with you forever ?"

" I don't mean any such thing ; you might write through Mr. Jack-
son, and it would be a pleasure to get your letters, and a profit, for I 'd
know how a gentleman ought to write, and when you got mine it
would reconcile you to part with me when you saw the bad spelling

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" Every misspelt word, every ill-constructed sentence woufd be a
keen reproach to nie, Robert ; it would tell me of my own neglect."

" Then I'll look in the dictionary for ever)' word, and study gram-
mar, wc w(;n't have any more reproach. I cannot bear to give you
pain, I hurt myself as much as you the other day when I ^vas angry.
It would be a better help to me than money if you would write to
me sometimes, and your love for me is a better help too,'" giving
emphasis to his words by a pressure of the brown fist. The half
glass of sherry had brightened his eyes, loosened his tongue and
given him a brilliant spot in one cheek ; he spoke freely and with-
out fear. The father was pleased with the lad's confidence and en-
couraged it.

" But surely, Robert, you do not wish to be a servant all your
life?" he said.

" No, sir, I hope not, but I have heard that some of old Honey's
best generals fought in the ranks and rose from them, and why
shouldn't I ? You wouldn't love your son the less for fighting his
way up, would you ? "

*' Nothing could make me love my son either less or more, Rob-
ert ; last week I was a lonely man, and now I have an interest in
life. Tell me your plans, if you have any. Do you think of going
into trade — do you like trade ?"

" That depends — I doa't think I would make a good salesman, I
couldn't crack up a thing and sell it for more than it was worth — as I
have seen some of those fellows do. I think it shabby, even dishonest;
but if there was such a thing as /air trade, I would like it well
enough, if nothing better offered ; but I like the fresh air, I like
horses and animals of all kinds, and I like out-door exercise, and
don't like to be shut up."

" Would you like a farm," said the father, " do you know any-
thing of farming ?"

" Not much. I have lived at a tavern, and with the Cromaboo par-
son, and worked as a day labourer, and for a little while in a saw-mill,
and I .was cook for the volunteers, but I never liked anything so well
as driving the mail. It suits me. I used to wait in the shop the
other day at Mr. Llewellyn's, but since his niece's marriage its closed;
I never liked the job much. I often went to fish for the family ;
Mr. Llewellyn called it work, but I thought it fun to fish, and so it

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was to gather raspberries. If I finish that glass of wine I shall be
tipsy. I'm talking too much, as it is."

" Not too much to please tuc ; I take an interest in all you say,
but we will go into the other room, if you are afraid to finish the
glass," said Sir Robert, and he rose and opened the door. It was a
large, well-furnished cheerful parlour, with a bright glowing fire in
the grate, and an open piano facing them.

•• I love music," said Robert, '• do you play, sir ?"

** Yes, I will play for you presently, but it's music to me to hear
you talk." Sir Robert leant against llie mantle-piece as he spoke,
and his son stood opposite to him. " You are like your mother, and
yet so unlike, — what a boy you are, not the shadow of a whisker, not
the least down on the upper lip."

" And yet I've tried everything to make 'em grow," .said Robert the
younger, with a blush and a grin.

" Have you tried the cat ? " said Robert the elder, laughing, " why
don't you get pussy to lick you ? "

" Oh ! she often does of her own accord, but that's a fallacy,*
there's nothing in it," and he shook his head, " but I don't mind,"
he added, " Miss Paxton says she likes me better without whiskers."

" How did you become acquainted with Miss Paxton ? She must
be many years older than you, if she is the lady I remember as a
child. But do not answer if you would rather not," he added quickly.
" 1 take an interest in all that concerns you, that is why I asked.'

** I will tell you anything about myself or mother that you like to
hear," the son answered, frankly. " She was very kind to mother
when I was born and held me in her arms as a baby, but we passed
out of her life, till 1 met her on the stage about a year ago, and fell
in love with her. And tiien I had a fever in the summer, and she
came to see me, and mother was so glad to see her again, and she
lent me books, and took me in hand about my grammar, and made
me give up smoking ; and then the night of Miss Llewellyn's wed-
ding, when all the guests were gone, mother told us both about my
birth. It hurt me, of course, but Miss Paxton comforted me, and
spoke so kindly and wisely, and — and I love her. I hope one day
to make her my wife."

" She must be years older than you," said the father.

" Onlv fourteen years, but when you love a sweet, dear woman

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like that, you never think about her age," was the reply, " and what
does it matter ?"

Sir Robert h.ul great diffirtilty in repressing a smile. " I remem-
ber two pretty little girls at Mr. I'axton's," he said, "and I remem-
ber them (juite distinctly, though I never heard their names. I was
at the house only once, I went with Dr. (.'atternach, when young
Paxton got .some sand in his eye, and was turned into the garden to
amuse myself while the doctor saw his |)atient. I found two little
girls playing with a kitten ; I wonder which is your Miss Paxton.
One had long, fair curls, and a slight c;ist in the eye that was not a
blemish, but a l)eauty. I asked her fo' a kiss, and she kissed her
hand at me and ran away laughing. She was dressed in a white
frock and blue tipf)ct, and looked like a little blue butterfly as she
ran. The other was a very grave little person, and eyed me sus-
piciously at a safe distance ; she had beautiful eyes, like the German
fairy's 'a barley corn bigger ' than other people's eyes. She did not
smile, and said discreetly that she never kissed men, and when I
tried to get near her she was gone like a lap wing."

"That is Miss Mary," said Robert, "I have her photograph ; would
you like to see it ? The other one married and died," anr^ e took
the picture from his pocket.

Sir Robert looked at it critically, and pronounced it " A sweet,
gentle face ; but she is like her father," he said, " and I do not like
that in her, for I did not like him, though prejudice apart, he was a
handsome old man. And so this is your first love, Robert ? "

*' Oh ! no, sir. Miss Llewellyn was my first, or I thought so. I
didn't really know what love meant till I saw Miss Paxton. I was
engaged to Miss Llewellyn, and it worried me no end, but she went
and married her cousin, Mr. Harry, and never asked my leave."

'* Perhaps Miss Paxton may do the same," said Sir Robert, smiling.

" Oh ! she won't promise to be anything but my friend," said the lad,
with a big sigh, " that's the worst of it; we're not engaged, you know."

Sir Robert was secretly glad to hear it, but he didn't say so, he
only smiled. His son catching the expression, said " You think its
nonsense about Miss Paxton, but I'm quite in earnest, my happiness
depends upon her."

" How long is it since the engagement with Miss Llewellyn ? "
asked the father.

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" It was last winter," Robert admitted, rather unwillingly, "but it
(luesn't take ten years to fall in love, you know ; a sun picture like
this photo only t ikcs a few minutes to make, and lasts a long time.
You didn't love me last week," he added, with a half saucy smile.

*' And tie you tell your mother all your little affairs of the heart,
my hoy ? "

"Yes, and she loves Miss Paxtou as well as I do."

" And John Smitli — is ///your confidante, too? " asked the l>aronet,
with a comic elevation of the eyebrows.

" 1 should think not," said Robert, laughing. " I'd as soon think
o' telling a slump fence.''

'I'he father laid a hand on each of his son's shoulders, and gave
him a little loving shake, and looking into his face, said " You are
about as tall as your mother."

" Not near so tall, she grew six inches after I was l)orn."

*' That would make a dirterence indeed. Robert, do you know
I've been resisting a stron;^ impulse within me ever since I saw you ? "

" What is that, sir ? "

" I have wanted to give you n kiss."

'• Well, I don't see why you shouldn't ; I like kissing myself,
though Mr. Llewellyn calls it 'a meaningless habit.' I kissed his
niece last winter, and some busy body told him, and if I didn't catch
it. And this afternoon Miss I'axton looked so sad and broken down,
that it went to my heart to see her, and I couldn't help kissing her.
Mr. Meldrum saw me, and he said I had taken a liberty, he said I
was my father's own son.'"

" Meaning mine," said Sir Robert, delighted, " and not John
Smith's ? Do you like Mr. Meldrum ? "

" I do, but he often rubs me up the wrong way, and I don't know
whether it's intentional or not,"

" That's just my feeling about him," assented the father, " he
seemed to delight in making me wretched when you were born ; he
toFd me every pang poor Nelly suffered ; he extenuated nothing."

'♦ He would," said Robert.

" Do I tire you, my son — do you wish my hands away ? "

" No, I like you to touch me, though if it was any other man I
should be ready to knock his head off," replied Robert.

His father stooped and lightly kissed his forehead. "John Smith

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never kisses you, does he ? " he asked.

'* I don't rememl)er that he ever did, but I've kissed him many a
time when I was a little chap."

" Devilish bad taste," said Sir Robert, with a grimace.

" You didn't ought to swear," said Robert junior, looking his father
straight in the eyes, and forgetting his grammar in his earnestness.
*' It's lucky you're not in my coach."

" What would you do with me ? "

" Have you out of it for bad language, if you didn't give in to
moral suasion."

" The dickens you would. You speak like a Methodist."

"I am a Methodist," said Robert.

" Really ? What kind of a one — a Wesleyan ? "
' *' I believe we are the sort called ranters ; I don't know the right
nrme. The reverend Peter Crutch is our minister. I went at first
to please mother, she finds great comfort there. But now I'm on
probation," he added, with a grin, and related his fight with the
painter, at which his father laughed heartily.

" Won't you play for me," pleaded Robert, presently, " I should
like so much to hear you play," and Sir Robert at this sat down to
the piano, saying as he did so, " I am such a selfish old fellow that
I would rather hear you talk than jjlay to please you." He was
master of the instrument, and played in a sparkling, brilliant way,
and seeing the pleasure in his son's face, he played longer than he
would have done ; at last with a long, sweet, shivering trill of har-
mony, he ceased.

" Oh ! do play that bit again," pleaded Robert, " it's like the wild
note of a robin in the spring, a cry of joy."

He played it again, and gently glided off to a softer and more
liquid melody, before he ceased, with the question, "Is that enough ?"

'* No, it isn't," said the son, '* I could listen forever ; that last piece
was as sweet as falling water — oh ! do play again."

And Sir Robert did, for a long time ; at last he rose.

" Thank you," said his son, " I won't be selfish and ask for more
but that is music. I wish I could play like that," and he softly
touched a key with his brown fore-finger.

" Can you play at all, my boy ? " asked Sir Robert.

" A little on the melodeon, not on the piano."

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" Here is one in the comer," said the father, and he went across
and opened the instrument, " let me hear you — what music would
you like?"

" Any piece will do, sir," replied the lad, with a bright glance over
his shoulder, "for I don't know one note from another."

He sat down and touched the keys, and his father stood aloof at
a little distance, listening critically. Remembering the effect of his
music upon Miss Paxton and Mr. Meldrum, Robert struck into oue
of his pet voluntaries, a sighing, plaintive, mournful melody ; he felt
no nervousness in playing before a skilled musician, only a strong
curiosity as co what effect his music would have upon him ; would he
approve, or disapprove ? Would lie shed tears, or would he swear f
After a ten minuted performance, he turned to his father, who leant
against the mantle shelf, looking grave enough and listening at-
tentively. " That will do, Robert, thank you," he said. •

*' You don't like my music as I did yours," said the boy, rising.

" You have the inspiration of a true musician, you make the thing
wail like a lost spirit ; does it hurt and grieve you to draw out such
sounds ? "

" No, sir, it's a pleasure to me."

" The deuce it is ! It only hurts the hearer, aye — and why should
it, I wonder ? There were no false notes, no uncertain sounds, no
discord, but the combined effect is painful ; I would as soon listen
to a dying groan, my boy, as your music, if it's all like that. Can
you play away the effect of the last pi£ce? If you are at all uncer-
tain don't attempt it, try the music of your tongue instead."

*' I'm afraid to try," said Robert, secretly delighted with his own
power, " so I'll talk till you're tired o' hearing me, and then maybe
you'll play again, and I'll never be tired o' hearing you."

Whether it was the effect of Robert's music or not, his father was
graver after this ; he moved a chair close to his son's, and sitting
down, took the lad's brown hand in his own.

" Tell me about your mother," he said, she has other children ;
does she love them as well as you, or is the first born the favourite of
all ? "

'* I think I am ; she has only one other now, he's six years old."

" But she had a son a year or two younger than you," said Sir
Robert.

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'* Four years younger, he died of scxirlet fever, and so did two
more brothers in one day, and my little sister Nelly died a few days
later. I'hey were mv playmates, and it half broke my heart to lose
them. I would h;i j died, too, but for Mr. Meldrum's skill and
mother's love, 'rommy was born just after ; I'm very fond o'
Tommy ; he's the wisest, prettiest little thing you ever saw ; his
mouth is like a red rose bud, and his eyes are mother's over again."

" Nelly is less desolate than I," said Sir Robert, with a sigh. " I
never had a living child but you, my son," — this with a liquid ten-
derness of tone and a s.id softening of the eyes that met Robert's.

" Perhaps it was because you married in a worldly way and didn't
love your wives," suggested the Cromaboo mail carrier.

" No, Robert, it isn't in me to make a worldly marriage. I
couldn't take a woman into my bo.som, if I did not admire and like
her ; they were both very dear to me. My first wife only lived two
years after our marriage, and never had a child ; the last had seven,
hut only one ever breathed, and that but for a few minutes, and he
cost his mother's life. I never saw those still little bodies without
thinking of the squalling bundle I had left in the backwoods that
was so unmistakably alive. Ah ! Robert, you do not know what it is
to wander about a great lonely house as I did last year, when the
death of the mistress has made it desolate, and it is empty of all
fellow creatures but servants, and the spirit of home gone out of it
forever. 1 suppose your Methodist parson would say I deserved all
my troubles for the sins of my youth."

Robert looked straight into the eyes so near his own and answered
gravely, " And if he did, wouldn't he say the truth, father ? '"

Sir Robert would not have taken such a reproof good temperedly
from any other human being, and it was a great proof of his love
for his newly found son, that though his face flushed, he laughed too,
and gave the lad a little fond shake of the shoulder as he said, " You
rascal, 1 thought you promised not to reproach me any more."

" I don't mean to, father, but I don't want to lose you again, I
want you to take a right view o' things that I may meet you in
heaven."

" My dear boy, I am glad — I am more thankful than you can think
that you take a right view of things ; you are like my youthful self
come back, but without my bad breeding and lax morality ; you have

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Nelly's sense of justice, your ideas are like hers. She would not
let me rob the squirrel's hoard of nuts, and when I found a bird's
nest and placed the warm, speckled eggs in her hand, she put them
back reverently, saying ' Sure if we broke up the little home, how
could we ask the Virgin to bless the nest we'll build ourselves when
1 am your little wife?' And yet after that I harried dame Connel's
nest cruelly and by stealth, and took her callow fledgling from her
forever. I don't think Connel cared, he would rather have the money
1 gave him than his daughter's honour ; for after taking one hundred
pounds in gold from me, to pay the expenses of Nelly's illness, he
turned her from his door to sleep with the wild beasts in the woods.
But the mother felt it, she cursed me as only an Irish woman could,
and I have sometimes felt that the curse clave to me. Tell me,
Robert, did she not come to see your mother ? Connel would pre-
vent her if he could, but I feel sure she would do it by stealth."

" I know she did, more than once, but I do not remember it, and
she sent her presents of tea many times. She is dead now."

" The noble, ragged creature ! " exclaimed Sir Robert, " she was a
fit wife for an ancient Roman rather than a sordid creature like Con-
nel. Did you ever see any of the Connels, Robert ? "

" Yes, one called Pat ; he taunted me with my birth, and Chip
gave him a licking for it. That was the first time I ever suspected
that I was not Smith's son. I asked Chip if what he said was true,
when the row was over, and he growled out ' Whether it's truth or
not, Robbie, it's spite, and he deserved his sore bones.' "

" He did, the little devil," said Sir Robert, " 1 would have wrung
his neck in his youth, and nipped him in the bud, if I could have
dreamt of that taunt. How old were you, Robert — did it hurt you
much — did it make you think less of your mother ? "

" I was seventeen — it vexed me, of course, but nothing could make
me love mother less, and she just living to please me."

" And you must not love her less, my son," said Sir Robert, with
energy ; " there is no woman in the world I have a greater respect
for, and I should know her if anybody does. She was just a dear,
innocent, ignorant child when I led her astray, feeling no fear of me,
and not knowing why she blushed when I kissed her ; rubbing her
cheek against mine like a stupid, little harmless lamb, never dream-
ing of the effect her sweet caresses had on me, or the temptation she

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was to me. Those dear, wild slips of Irish lasses are more really
innocent and ignorant of evil than the children of any other nation
under heaven ; and it is because their nmothers are pure, and do not
delight to dabble in dirty water, or rub the bloom from their sweet
fruit before it is ripe. Nelly knew no more of the origin of babies,
or where her little brothers and sisters came from, than she knew
how the little birds got into the eggs ; she was as pure as any snow
drop, and therefore the most dangerous, the most tempting little
charmer I ever saw. A modest, refined instinct she had, that made
her shrink from coarseness and detest it, but no knowledge of evil.
Little deceptions that would have been seen through in a minute by
a coarser creature, were received as simple truths by her, and the
sweet mysteries of nature were chaste mysteries in her pure child's
eyes."

" Father," said Robert, with a shaking voice and tears in his eyes,
" I cannot help saying it, if it was the last word I had to speak — it
was worse than a murder serving her so ; many a man has been
hanged for a smaller sin." A great tear fell on the white hand that
held his own, as he spoke.

" My boy, I admit it — I know it, and though I have suffered,
though my punishment is hard, now that I have seen you, and know
what I have lost, I acknowledge God's mercy to me ; 1 feel that it
mifijht have been far worse for me. If I had a daughter and any
man served her as I did Nelly, I would not be content with curs-
ing, and leaving the vengeance to God, as dame Connel did, I must
have his hfe if I forfeited my soul for it. But I make you unhappy,
and you must not be unhappy, my dear, long neglected boy" —
fondly stroking his hair as he spoke — "and I must and w/// help
you ; time may unfold a way, and you must let me know ; 1 long to
have yours a happy and pure life, far happier because better than
mine ; my dear son, my flesh and blood, my new and better self,
my youth come back to me in the flesh without my sins and stains ;
the pride and glory of my old age — for the bar sinister is .v/y dis-
grace, not yours, Robert, or your mother's."

Sir Robert spoke honestly, earnestly and from his very soul, but if
he had been the most artful schemer in the world, he could not have
found a better way of winning his son's confidence, and creeping
into his warm young heart ; for when a man frankly confesses his

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any

faults, it breaks our self-righteous judgment and cuts away the ground
of our anger. God had punished, vengeance was His, and He had
opened the eyes of the sinner, and Robert forgave him with his
whole heart, he more than forgave him, and he expressed his feeling
by suddenly putting his brown paw on the penitent's shoulder and
kissing him right upon the mouth as he might have kissed his
mother. Sir Robert was greatly touched by this mark of love, and
it drew a further confession from him.

" Ah ! my son," he said, " I did not yield to sin without a struggle,
and when you are tempted to do wrong you must not parley, you
must fly, it is the only way of escape, for when it is in your heart to
do evil, the devil will make an opportunity for you. I had gone to
the backwoods for the third time before I really knew how strong my
feeling was for Nelly, though I knew well enough it was her sweet
face that drew me back, and not the wish to see sugar making, or the
love of hunting. When the truth became clear to me, I went away
for a week's solitary hunt to face the thoughts of my heart and con-
quer them. Dame Connel, who had grown suspicious of my love
for Nelly, for I could not conceal it, asked me if I was sure I would
be gone for a week. I answered her truly that I would. If she
had confided her plans to me, I would not have returned before, I
should have been armed against myself and conquered evil, my
honour would have been touched had she told me, and I would
have been forearmed. As soon as I left, she and her husband and
Smith went to an Indian encampment ten miles away, to trade for
baskets. They were away for two days and niglits, and left Nelly to
keep house by herself and take care of the children. She was left
against her will, being very much afraid to stay, nor was it kind or
altogether safe to leave her alone in the heart of a great wilderness,
for there were Indians and wild beasts in plenty in those days to
frighten, if they did not harm her. I knew nothing of this, and
when I had gone a few miles my favourite dog staked himself against
a snag in running, and was badly liurt. I took the creature in my
arms and turned back, intending to leave him for dame Connel and
Nelly to nurse, and start again, but as soon as we reached the friendly
shelter of the shanty he died, and Nelly wept to see it, though she
was delighted to have me back, and begged me not to go again till
her father and mother returned. I stood face to face with my tempta-

It"*

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tion, and was too much startled by it to care much for the death of
the dog, I leant against the door post in the soft Indian summer
sunlight, and tried to steady myself and think ; when Nelly, who was
surprised to see me so quiet, and thought 1 was grieving for my four-
footed friend, came to my side and whispered sweet words of con-
solation, and for the first time gave me without asking a timid little
kiss. Never did the devil present such a tempting bait to turn a
wavering sinner into a down-right villain. I made a last faint fight
with temptation. I took up my gun and turned to go, but the little
creature followed me, and laid her hand upon my arm, and begged
me not to leave her ; and she asked if she had vexed me, with sud-
den tears in those wonderful dark eyes ; and the brats seeing me go-
ing, added their entreaties and tears to hers ; Mickey and Peter, and
Judy and Mary, and Chip, and that little devil Pat, who was next to
the baby. The baby was away, or that, from its very helplessness,
might have been a protection to Nelly. Ah ! if mother Connel had
trusted me, and told me her intention, I would never have harried
her nest — but the temptation came suddenly, I turned back with no
ill-intent. You are not the result of lust alone, Robert, for cruelly,
inexcusably as I behaved, I did love Nelly dearly, my little flower of
the wilderness, and when she followed and begged me to stay, all
power of resistance went out of me, I could but take her in my arms
and kiss her. I was the devil's property for the time, and for many
a day after, and the bitterness of parting with her, my pricks of con-
science, my jealousy when she married Smith, gave me my first grey
hairs. If Meldrum had got her away from Mr. Paxton's, as I wished,
I could not have resisted her entreaties, her tears, I must have mar-
ried her."

" If it had depended on that alone, you would never have married
her," said Robert. " My mother is a very proud woman, she would
not have entreated, much as she loved you. There is a kind of hard-
ness in her, and she does not forgive easily, though she never forgets a
kindness. She loves Miss Paxton because she washed her feet for her,
and kissed her, and did not despise her in her grief and shame."

" I could find it in my heart to love her for that myself," said Sir
Robert.

•* Oh ! I know you would love her if you knew her," replied the
lad, in his bright, eager way.

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*'Then I had better not know her," said the father, with a mo-
mentary return to playfulness, as he gently pulled his son's ear ; " for
it would never do for you and I to be rivals. Robert," he said pre-
sently, " I would like so much to see your mother once more, not to
renew the old suffering, not to pain her by ray presence — but could
I not see her, and she not see me ? "

" I think that could be managed," replied the son after a thought-
ful pause, *' and I see no harm in it. Are you equal to a twenty
miles ride ? "

" Yes, to sixty miles, if I had a horse to carry me, and it was
necessary."

" Well, if you rode to Cromaboo, and got there after dark, and
went to the Methodist chapel — mother always goes there to the even-
ing service, — and if you sat back by the door, we would be some dis-
tance in front of you. Her sight is not good* at night, and she never
looks about her any way, she goes to worship God. You could leave
before the service is quite over and ride back through the night."

" That will be forty miles. I will do it. Robert, do you think
your mother a happy woman ? "

" I think she is very happy sometimes, but she is a very quiet,
grave woman, you hardly ever hear her laugh, though she has the
sweetest smile in the world."

" She must think the worst of me if ever she thinks of me at all,"
said Sir Robert. " She is a woman now, and cannot regard me with
her child's eyes ; she has had a daughter of her own, and knows the
full extent of my villainy to her old self, simple little virgin-hearted
rose of the wilderness that she was, making the forest an Eden to
me, and I rewarded her by being a very serpent in her path."

" She is a christian," said Robert, " and knows we can't get into
heaven by our own merits. I believe — indeed I know she prays for
you night and morning, and she would have a clearer notion at her
age, perhaps, of what she was to you in the way of temptation. She
told me she always thought of you when 1 sang ' Sun of my Soul '
— this is the verse : —

■ !ji-:*

" If some poor, wandering child of thine,
Has spurned to-day the voice divine ;
Lord, now the gracious work begin
Let him no more lie down in sin. "

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Sir Robert walked to the window to hide his emotion from his son,
and stayed there for what seemed to Robert a long time. When he
returned he stood behind the boy as he sat, and put a hand on either
shoulder.

" Is Smith still a Roman Catholic ?" he asked.

" Yes, but be never interferes with mother, he'll walk to the chapel
on stormy nights, and hold the umbrella over her head, and go to
meet her when the meeting's over."

" If I detest a roan in the whole world it's Ma/ man," said Sir
Robert, bitterly, *' and yet I should hate him more if he was unkind
to Nelly."

" Do you know, father, it's ten o'clock," said Robert, and they will
be shutting up at the Western ?"

" It's Saturday night, and they will not close till twelve. Stay with
me till twelve, my boy, and I will walk with you to your hotel, and
not only bless, but kiss you at parting. It's not English, but it's
oriental and sensible. Now I know how old Abraham loved his
Isaac."

" Mother would say, * Not as well as Hagar loved her Ishmael.' "

" You are Ishmael and Isaac in one, my first bom and my only
one ; you will never have a rival now. Do you like coffee ? Then
I will ring for some, I love coffee like a Turk. Ah ! Robert, when
ghall we have another evening together again ?"

" To-morrow night," said the son, " we'll worship in the same tem-
ple. It's a little log building, with a cow-bell to ring the folks in,
and you will hear me prayed for by name, alongside o' the Queen, for
Mr. Crutch always asks a blessing for all in power, and he approves
o' me for putting down swearing, for all I fought the painter. Won't
you play to me, father, while they make the coffee, and let us part in
harmony ?"

" I will, my dear boy ; it makes me young again to see you while
I play ; you have a very happy face."

" I am happy to-night," said Robert.

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CHAPTER THK THIRTY-SECOND.

For a cap Mi bells our souls we par,

and ti
It is only Heaven that is given away,

We wear out our lives in toiling and tasking ;

It is only G<k) may be had for the ukiag."

— Lowell.

i!H

^t LARGE room, low in the ceiling, and dimly lighted by tallow
^S candles in tin sconces, that hung along the walls ; a room filled
with rough benches without backs, and divided by a narrow passage
that served as aisle ; and twice every Sunday crowded with men and
women as thickly packed as herrings in a barrel. Such was the
chapel where the Rev. Peter Crutch officiated. He was a very
popular preacher, and the Rev. Paul Moorhouse attributed his
popularity to a rowdy love of vulgarity and noise on the part of the
inhabitants of Cromaboo, for did Ag not preach the most classical, the
most faultless sermons to a handful of yawning people, whose ortho-
doxy could scarcely keep them awake, whereas, there was hardly
standing room in the little log conventicle, and sleepers were quite
unknown ? Indeed, it would have been impossible for a grown man
or woman to sleep under the nose of Mr. Crutch, as they did under
that of Mr. Moorhouse, who, it must be said, was harsh, and by no
means correct in hiH judgment of his dissenting brother. Peter
Crutch was, undoubtedly, sometimes coarse in speech, and he now
and then exercised his lungs by roaring out his sentiments as if
every member of his congregation were deaf, and he had a bad habit
of banging down his great Bible with such force and energy as to
make the reading lamps beside him dance again ; these were his
defects, but his virtues were legion. He was honest, and thoroughly
in earnest, and meant every word that he said, which is a great charm
in a preacher ; for a clever actor can never touch the heart like a
sincere man.

The Rev. Peter was a bold man, and did not scruple to be per-
sonal in his remarks ; and ignorant people like personalities much
better than the more refined ; he had a thorough knowledge of every
day human nature, large sympathies, a warm heart ; he was willing
to take the whole world to his bosom, and anxious that every sinner
in it should feel the love of God as he felt it He was a healthy,

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temperate man, who could peel a potatoe with his fingers, and dip ft
in salt and eat it with a relish in the dirtiest house in Cromaboo ; a
man who knew nothing of dyspepsia, who had his teeth to extreme
old age, when they dropped out of his head in a perfectly sound con-
dition ; a man whose laugh could be heard half a mile away on a
clear day, and whose sneeze, as his wife said, " was enough to break
a horse's leg." A white-haired, rosy, clear-headed old man, who
could ride ten miles a day, in his seventieth year, and did not give
up preaching till past eighty ; a good tempered man who could enjoy
a joke to the end of his days, a man who knew how to take people
of his own class, and had great influence with them for good ; a man
who knew no foreign tongue, dead or living, but who understood
the Bible thoroughly, according to the best translations, having the
letter of it in his head, and the spirit of it in his heart. A self sacri-
ficing man, who, if he promised, would not disappoint, though it
were to his own injury ; the happy husband of a handsome, large
hearted, broad shouldered old woman, much above him in birth and
education, though not in natural ability ; a wife who had brought
him a comfortable income and fourteen children ; and who thought
him superior as a preacher to the Apostle Paul. A man who gave
sound practical advice in language that 'the most ignorant could un-
derstand, who knew a great deal about common subjects, and com-
mon people, and was never afraid to tackle the greatest reprobate in
his congregation, or out of it, and take the wildest bull by the horns, ^
so to speak ; the happy head of one of the noisest, jolliest households
in Canada.

Such was the reverend Peter Crutch, a man who was rather too
loud for my taste on ordinary occasions; but on a winter night when
he was- very weary with battling the elements, I have found it a
pleasure and profit to listen to him. His voice was good and he
read beautifully ; his wife had taught him how to pronounce, and his
right-thinking head and warm, throbbing heart, that pumped away in
love to all humanity, made him throw feeling into every word and
sentence, and it was a treat to hear him read when a hard day's toil
had worked otf his energy and fined him down. To-night he was
very weary ; he had ridden sixteen miles, he had preached twice with
all his voice and heart and soul, and as his youngest son pertinently
expressed it, " prayed no end ; " his body was pretty well exhausted,

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247

and he was glad of a quiet moment to rest and think before the ar-
rival of the congregation.

Sir Robert Hardacre came in early, and seated himself as directed
in a quiet corner near the door. If it had been an English church
he would have stood for a moment lo(iking into the crown of his hat,
but he did not know whether it was "the thing" in a Methodist
chapel, and had no desire to attract attention by his eccentricities,
so he omitted this ceremony. He sat back in the shadow, and
though calm enough in exterior, watched with a good deal of eager-
ness for the arrival of his long lost Nelly, the well remembered pearl
which he had rejected as if it had been a common pebble.

Mr. Crutch was quite unconscious that he had one of the upper
ten thousand to hear him, but it would have male no difference if he
had known, for he possessed a good deal of the spirit of another
Methodist preacher, who told Cieneral Jackson that if he did not
repent "God would damn him as quick as he would a Guinea negro."
A good many people had poured in before Mrs. Smith arrived with
Tommy by the hand, and as she was a little in advance of her eld-
est son, Sir Robert did not at first recognize her, though he remarked
her as a distingue woman. Her pew — so called — was nearly full, and
as Robert stooped to give her her hymn book and Bible, before turn-
ing back to look for another seat, she slightly turned her head, and
the old lover knew it was Nelly ; not from any likeness to her
former self, but from her striking resemblance to dame Judy Con-
nel, who had cursed him so bitterly, nearly twenty years before. It
was only the profile he saw, surmounted by a black velvet bonnet,
bought by Robert out oi his wages ; she wore a black dress and
plaid shawl, and her shoulders were of that kind that look well in
a shawl.

Sir Robert thought the little innocent face of Tommy more like
the Nelly of old thn Mrs. John Smith. Robert had hidden away
her spectacles lest she should turn by accident and recognize his
father, and being half blind without them, she did not even attempt
to look for the hymns, but gave herself up to listening. She had
taken Tommy on her knee as the seat was crowded, and towards the
middle of the service he grew sleepy, and in putting her arm about
him and soothing him, she turned half round, and Sir Robert saw
fully for the first time the worn, yet peaceful face of the old love.

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Her long lashes swept her cheeks, and a half sm'<e played about her
mouth, as she looked down at her little boy and patted hit shoulder
in a (gentle monotonous way to soothe him off to the land of nod.
Robert took the seat in front of his father, and gave him his hymn
book, seeing that he had none. It was taken with a fond, bright
smile, the last glance exchanged by them for many a month and year.

The service commenced, as Robert had predicted, by a fervent
and loyal prayer for the Queen and all in authority under her, not
forgetting the Cromaboo mail carrier, whom Mr. Crutch alluded to
by name as "a stray lamb of God's flock," one day he heartily prayed
to be gathered into the fold as a faithful and honoured servant of his
Saviour. At this there were a few deep groans from the center of the
building, whether of sympathy or derision it is impossible to say.
Then the pastor went on to cry with heartfelt fervour to that God
who, when He saw '' a great multitude, had compassion on them," a
cry for " the poor sinners enclosed in these four walls, unhappy, hard
hearted, evil-minded, but not wholly God-forsaken sinners. Have
mercy on them, oh ! my God ! " he exclaimed, " and upon me, the
poor crutch upon which they lean, help me to show them this night
that I am but a broken reed, and that Thou alone art worthy of all
trust and confidence. Every heart here is naked in Thy sight, Thou
knowest their wants and the motives that led them to this house.
Oh I grant that those who came empty and hungry for Thee may
go away full, and that those who came full of pride and the lusts
of the devil may go away empty, or filled with something better."
He concluded with the Lord's -ayer, which was responded to by
loud amens from the congregation. Then followed the hymn, " All
hail the power of Jesus' name," roared out by the united strength
of the whole multitude, who sang with more vigour than harmony,
and filled the building with a deafening volume of sound.

After a few minutes of silence, the clear, melodious voice of Peter
Crutch poured out the parable of the lost sheep, with the com-
mentary " Do you believe it ? Whether you do or you don't, it is
simply and entirely true, and we all, like sheep, have gone astray,
we have turned every one to his ou>n way — which is far from b^^ing
God's way — and the Lord hath laid on Him the iniquity of us all."

Then he turned to the fifty-third chapter of Isaiah, and read from
the third verse to the end of the chapter. Perfect silence reigned

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249

in the densely packed house, not a sound was heard but the voice of
the reader.

'•Was it the Jews alone who despised and rejected Him?" he
asked. " Uo none among you all hide your faces from Him daily?
Yes, you people of Cromaboo esteem Him not, though you say
amen when I pray for the coming of His kingdom. You drink and
smoke, and sweiarf and gratify every lust, you sec no beauty in 'yesus
that you should desire Him, my poor fellow-sinners, who should be
saints in heart and life and practice. I pity — how I pity you all from
my soul — and if I, a weak and feeble creature, can feel in this way,
what is the sorrow of (iod, your P'ather, for the loss of so many of
His children, who wilfully reject His mercy day by day? I am tired
to-night, and I cannot say much to you, but I do say, turn while it is
time. iVt;w is the accepted time. I have forgotten my spectacles,
and I cannot see a face in this room, they are just so many blurred
patches to me, but I know it is crowded with immortal souls, and I
beg and beseech every one of you to turn while it is time. Notv is
the accepted time. Do not reject the message because you despise
the messenger, do not say within yourselves * It is only the voice of
old Peter Crutch, the Methodist, who tells us the same thing over
and over again every Sunday.' It is the voice of God's messenger to
every one in this room, and it may be the last time that some of you
will have the opportunity of hearing His message. He hath borne
our griefs, and carried our sorrows. He — God — was wounded for
our transgressions — I quote Scripture now — He was bruised for our
iniquities, the chastisement of our peace was upon Him, and with His
stripes we are healed, if we will only beliet>e it. Not going to be
healed, but * we are healed.' Believe and your faith shall make you
whole, believe what ? Believe that God loves you, that He lived for
you, and suffered and died for you, believe that He is most willing to
help you, for He is. Only believe it.

Prisoners of hope, be strong, be bold,

Cast off your doubts, disdain to fear,
Dare to believe, on Christ lay hold,

Wrestle with Christ in mighty prayer.
Tell Him ' we will not let Thee go
Till we Thy name and nature know.

Hast Thou not died to purge our sin
And risen Thy death for us to plead ?

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To write Thy law of love within

Our hearts, and make us free indeed ?
Thou wilt perform Thy faithful word,
The servant shall be as his Lord.'

" Oh ! reject Him no more, arise and go to your Father, how joy-
ful He will be to welcome His dead to life, to find His lost. He is
satisfied to bear your sins, He is most willing and anxious to write
His laws in your hearts and make you happy. The great ones of the
earth care nothing for you, poor, lost, insignificant backwoods sin-
ners — insignificant means low, little, mean — but you are dear to ( iod
if you will only believe it ; you will shine as the stars forever and
not a hair of your heads shall perish, if you will only take His mes-
sage and turn in time. Weary, lonely, desolate sinners, turn while it
is time ; for lonely you are, though you be packed as closely as pigs
in a drum ; alone you came into the world, and alone you must go
out of it, unless God be with you, and takes you in His everlasting
arms. God-rejecting sinners, reject Him no more, take Him to your
hearts this night and forever ; go to Him yourselves every one of you ;
and let no man who has heard me to-night dare to say he has never
had the way of life pointed out to him, for if he makes that an excuse
for his wickedness I will be a swift witness against him at the day
of judgment."

During this address, there had been a few groans from the congre-
gation and an occasional cry of " Glory, halleluia ! " but when it
was over there was a dead silence. After a few minutes rest, Mr.
Crutch rose again.

" Let us now sing to the praise of God, our Maker, our dear elder
Brother, our Saviour, if we will let Him save us by believing His
word, our Lord and Master, who for our sakes became poor and took
upon Himself the form of a servant, to Him will we sing part of
the 138th and 139th hymns. Lift up your hearts as you raise your
voices, and be sura he hears and answers prayer.

" Is there a thing too hard for Thee, Almighty Lord of all ?

Whose threatening looks dry up the sea, and make the mountains fall ?

Who, who shall in Thy presence stand, and match omnipotence ?

Ungrasp the hold of Thy right hand, or pluck the sinner thence ?

Sworn to destroy ; let earth assail, near to save Thou art ;

Stronger than all the powers of hell, and greater than my heart.

Bound down with twice ten thousand ties, yet let me hear Thy call,

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251

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My soul in confidence shall rise, shall rise and break through all.

Descend and let Thy lightning burn the stubble of Thy foe.

My sins o'er turn, o'er turn, o'er turn, and make the mountains flow."

To hear Peter Crutch give out this glorious old Methodist hymn was
a privilege and a pleasure, that atoned in some measure for the ear-split-
ting screaming, roaring manner in which the congregation sang it. Mr.
Outch objected to their mode of singing, and often proved a check
upon them by freely telling them their faults. To-night he would let
them go no further than the fourtii verse. " That will do my
friends," he said, " I will read the rest, and God give you an under-
standing heart to take it in. U that is singing, then no more singing
for me to-night, it may be the melody of the heart, but it's giving me
a racking headache. Noise is not music, how often have I told you
so, and y*^t you will not practice up and learn to do better. If I
heard you sing every day it would soon break my constitution, and
make an old man of me."

So he read the conclusion of the hymn, and then came to the last
prayer; every head bowed but one, and that was Sir Robert Hard-
acre's ; when Mr. Crutch was well off in his prayer, he softly rose and
left the building. He could not forbear laying his hand fondly for a
moment on the fair bent head of his boy, with a mental blessing up-
on him, ere he passed out into the darkness. He took the hymn
book with him, and crossing the street, stood within the safe shadow
of a dirty driving shed, — where the smell was rather strong than
fragrant, — and waited till the service was at at end. It was a frosty
starlight night, but the moon had not yet risen. " Lord dismiss us
with Thy blessing," sounded mdch better where he stood than it did
within the building, sweet and faint it was to the ears of the waiting
man.

Presently the people poured out, and the tall stately figure of Mrs.
Smith marched straight across the road towards the place of his con-
cealment, followed by Robert with the sleeping Tommy in his arms.
As they came near him she glanced over her shoulder, and said, •' Is
that your father, Robbie ?"

It was not without a queer thrill that Sir Robert heard the question
put by a sweet familiar voice, that he, at one time, thought never to
hear again. " Yes, if he's going to the Harp of Erin to get drunk,
we'll stop him, that's all," replied Robert.

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A minute later they met Smith, and his wife addressed him in
a tone that reminded Sir Robert of the Dame Connel, who had
cursed him in the days of his youth.

" And where are you going, John Smith?" she said, "you that
promised me not to leave the house alone."

" Chip's there to take care of it. I am going to the Harp of Erin
to get a dhrop o' whiskey," growled the person addressed.

" Then I think its very little to your credit," replied Mrs. Smith,
with exceeding sharpness.

'* Tommy wants you to carry him home, father," said Robert holding
out the child, and placing himself so directly in John Smith's way
that he nearly touched the lurking figure of his real father.

*' How do you know what he wants when he's asleep ?" retorted
John Smith, wavering between the good influence brought to bear
upon him, and his desire for a glass of whiskey.

" People talk in their sleep, sometimes," said Robert, good hu-
mouredly, " and Tommy says he's worth more than a glass of whis-
key, he's worth more than a hogshead of it ; if you come to that he's
worth more than all the distilleries in Canada."

" That's thrue for ye, Robbie," Smith admitted, taking the child in
his arms, " may the divole fly away wid 'em all," and he wheeled
about as he spoke.

Mrs. Smith had not waited to hear the end of the parley, but hav-
ing spoken, marched on her way, with a steady unwavering stalk that
delighted Sir Robert, it expressed so much of stately scorn.

" I should have had my own time if I had married her," he
thought, " but after all the petticoat government of a noble creature
like that is not to be despised. How magnificent she would have
looked in diamonds and velvet,'* as John Smith and his foster son
walked off" side by side — " poor Nelly ! "

He would not have said " poor Nelly," if he had seen the joy in
her face when John Smith came in with the child in his arms ; if he
could have known the joy in her heart to think the rough man had
overcome his temptation. Tears came into her dark eyes as she
looked at him.

" Don't be crying, Nelly," he said kindly, " sure Robbie and
Tommy turned me back, the crathers."

** Then it was God himself turned you back," she replied, " from

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253

playing the devil this Sunday night, when you ought to be praising
Him for your blessings."

" Faith, then, I ought for the wife and childer," growled Smith,
humbly ; " where would I be this day but for ye and Robbie, that's
the best son ever father had ? "

" Well, I think I ought to be good to you, father," said Robert,
putting his hand on Smith's broad shoulder, " so don't be cracking
me up ; and if you'll give up the drink at once and forever, I'll be
better than good, I promise you ; I'll work hard and educate Tommy,
and he shall be Governor General yet."

" Sure it's you that always had the silver tongue, Robbie," said
Smith, with a gruff, admiring laugh, " sit ye down, and stay a bit
now, it seems fifty years since I saw you."

And Robert did sit down, following duty, not inclination, which
would have led him to the Anglo-American to that other father, who
was taking a solitary supper, under the name of Mr. Brown. Not
till Smith was safe in bed did Robert return to Mr. Llewellyn's, and
he sat at the bed-room window in the moonlight, instead of un-
dressing, listening for the sound of horses' hoofs, which he presently
heard. Sir Robert paused for full two minutes before the door,
hoping to get another word from his son, but Robert's heart was so
full that he could not trust himself to take a second farewell, he
stood behind the curtain with a beating heart and the tears rolling
down his face. The father could see nothing but the closed blinds,
but some instinct told him that his son watched him, he removed his
hat and sat for a minute with uncovered head, before he replaced it ;
and if ever he prayed in his life, he prayed then. A minute more,
and he rode slowly a\ ly in the light of the rising moon, turning his
back u]>on his son with pain and reluctance, and leaving him for
how long who shall say ? Perhaps forever.

Robert irew himself on the bed and wept bitterly, for the loss of
that father, hose very name he had detested but a week ago.

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CHAPTER THE THIRTY-THIRD.

ill

H»

" Let us be friends — life is not long enough for quarrels."

—Douglas Jerroi-d's last words to Charles Dickf.ns.

^RS. MARSHALL had a headache that Sunday night and went
early to bed, and Margaret had not risen that day, being de-
termined that if Mary insisted upon getting up the house should not
want an invalid. Mary sat up late, the clock struck eleven before
she left the parlour, and Dolly sat up in the kitchen from a kind-
hearted feeling that her young mistress would be lonely. They went
out together, and removed the crape from the knocker before going
up stairs ; and Mary parted with her little maid, at the bed-room
door, with a kindly hand shake. Dolly went down stairs again to
put out the hall lamp, whose friendly light shone into the road, but
feeling hungry, and thinking that "a little something," as she termed
it, would be nice before going to sleep, she left the lamp burning
and proceeded to the pantry, and selected a large wedge of Lent
cake as her supper. This she was quietly and slowly finishing as the
clock struck twelve, and it had scarcely ceased striking when a gentle
double knock was heard at the front door by both Dolly and her
mistre ss.

The little maiden was so startled that she gave a slight scream,
but she jumped up without hesitation and ran to the door, and hav-
ing across the chain and bolt as a precaution, opened it about an
inch, and said in a voice that expressed a mixture of bravado and
timidity " Who are you, and what do you want at this time o' night ? '

" Is Miss Paxton up ? " asked a clear, pleasant voice.

" I think she is," said Dolly, " I don't know."

" Give her that card, if you please, if she is up, and ask her if she
will kindly see me for a few minutes, and a card was slipped through
into her hand. " Shut me out if you are afraid," he added.

Dolly did shut him out, while she ran up stairs and with very
round, wide open eyes, gave the card to her mistress. It bore the
inscription " Sir Robert Hardacre."

" Is it any one you know ? " asked Dolly, in a mysterious whisper
" I wouldn't let him in if you don't — his voice is something like
Bob Smith's," and she gave his message.

** I will see the gentleman," said Mary, who was partly undressed,

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255

" ask him into the parlour, and light the lamp, and stir the fire, and
ask him to excuse me for a few minutes."

** He might steal the silver spoons," said Dolly, doubtfully, " and
the two great silver candle sticks is in that cupboard."

" He is a thief who steals hearts, not spoons, go Dolly, at once,
and don't keep him waiting ; and then come back to me," she added,
fearing the suspicious little maid might think it her duty to stay in
the parlour and keep an eye upon the stranger.

So strong was Miss Paxton's curiosity about Sir Robert, that had
she been in bed she would have risen and dressed to see him ; and
the baronet's motive for calling was curiosity, too, but mingled with
a more ignoble feeling, even jealousy ; for his son had told him be-
fore they parted, his intention of becoming a member of Miss Pax-
ton's household ; and the further he left Cromaboo behind him, the
stronger became his distrust to this unknown lady, the more sus-
picious did he grow of her influence on his son. He had promised
Robert to leave Gibbeline on Monday morning, and had just decided
to break his word, stay a day longer, and see this dangerous woman,
when he arrived at Paxton's corner, and saw the bright gleam of the
fan light above the front door, and the fainter fire light through the
carelessly drawn parlour curtains. In an instant he decided to call.

Dolly, having lighted the great lamp and taken a good look at the
visitor, felt no further fear of him, but went up stairs to her mistress.
She was no great observer of faces, and did not remark his likeness
to Robert ; indeed a mere resemblance of features never strikes any
beholder, as does the likeness of expression, voice, or manner.

Left alone Sir Robert glanced about the room with a quick obser-
vation and keen interest that would have done honour to a detective
officer. He noted the well-stocked book case, the crayon sketches
on the walls, the pretty paper, the rudely carved coat of arms above
the chimney piece ; the supporters were two griffins rampant, not
fiercer in aspect than Mr. Paxton had been the last time he saw his
face. He noted a bright soft oil painting of the Bay of Naples, and
the heads of two children in water colours, which he recognized at a
glance as the little girls he had seen in the garden long ago ; he noted
the faded chintz curtains, the hand screens of peacock's feathers, the
pretty card rack of pasteboard and bright wool ; but above all, his
attention was attracted by a spirited pen and ink sketch of a sleeping

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child. He took up the lamp and inspected it closely ; two verses of
Bishop Heber's sweet hymn were inscribed beneath, the first verse in
beautiful German text, the second in a large flourishing hand, ex-
pressive not only of bravado, but irresolution. He knew Mr. Pax-
ton's hand writing and as he read the verses his lip curled. He read
them more than once.

" Ah ! soon, too soon the wintry hour

Of man's maturer age
Will shake the soul with sorrow's power,

Or stormy passions rage.
Oh ! Thou who givest life and breath

We seek Thy grace alone,
In childhood, manhood, age and death.
To keep us still Thine own."

'* Bah !" he said, as he set down the lamp, and the monosyllable
expressed much, yet his disgust was not for the author or the senti-
ments, but the man whose hand inscribed them there. '* He could
moralize about his own brat," he thought, " though he found no
charity for me."

He picked up a book, " The Lady of the Lake," the very volume
Mr. Meldrum had been studying the night of Mrs. Paxton's death ;
but laid it down again, and took up the lamp to have another look
at the picture, when his attention was attracted by a large photo-
graph of the very man about whom he had been thinking, and he
paused, lamp in hand, and inspected it closely. There was nothing
fierce or implacable in the face before him, a mild looking, handsome
old man was Mr. Paxton in his photograph, who might have dis-
armed dislike by the gentleness and weakness of his appearance ; but
Sir Robert's face hardened as he looked at the picture, for this was
the very man — older indeed, but still the very man who had called
him a scoundrel and villain, and told him his conduct to Nelly was
•' worse than seething the kid in his mother's milk." That com-
parison had touched a nerve in his conscience, and even though the
offender was in his grave, the remembered expression hurt him, the
sting of it had never been extracted yet.

A soft step coming down the carpeted stairs made him set down
the lamp, and stand expectant, and he regarded the lady who entered
the room with as keen a curiosity and sharp a criticism as he had her
goods and chattels. Mary, though very weary, looked no longer

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haggard, but calm and peaceful ; she had put up her hair hastily in a
great loose knot, and donned the Turkey red dressing gown, turned
up with white canton flannel. There was not a mark of mourning
in her dress, though she wore no ornament but Ralph Oliver's opal
ring, and Robert's ruby. She had considered hastily in dressing,
that Sir Robert's visit was kind and friendly, and probably at his
son's request. She knew where he came from for the lad had told
her that morning, in passing, his father's intention of visiting the
Methodist chapel in Cromaboo ; and she was glad, though surprised
that he had come.

She met him calmly, but very kindly ; extending her hand with
great courtesy, she said " You must pardon me, Sir Robert Hardacre,
for keeping you waiting so long, I was partly undressed when you
came."

The baronet's answering politeness was very gentle and impres-
sive. " It is I that ought to apologize," he said, " for disturbing you
at such an hour, but I leave Gibbeline to-morrow ; and as I saw a
light I could not pass the house ; I thought 1 would call for the mere
chance of seeing one who is so very dear to my son."

" I am very glad to see you, " said Mary, with truth, " will you
not sit down ? "

" Thank you," said her guest, and he wheeled forward the easy
chair for her, and seated himself opposite to her. He was not at all
flurried by her calmness, as Chip had been, nor was he like Robert
and Mrs. Smith, greatly impressed with her beauty ; he had all his
wits about him, and noted her resemblance to her father with no
pleasant feeling. John Smith would have been extra respectful be-
cause she was her father's daughter, and Sir Robert Hardacre had a
secret feeling of repugnance to her for the same reasonable reason.
Mary, on her part, thought the baronet like his son, but as Mr. Mel-
drum said " not so bonnie," for as yet he had not smiled, nor had
Miss Paxton ; their courtesy was of the gravest. Some sorrowful ex-
pression about the lady's mouth recalled her mother's recent death
to Sir Robert's mind ; an event he had entirely forgotten when he
knocked at her door.

" A living grief is as hard to bear as a dead one. Miss Paxton," he
said very gently, " and that is my only excuse for intruding upon
your fresh sorrow : I am very anxious about my son. He told me

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last night, before we separated, tlwt he was about to become a mem-
ber of your household, and I would like to know on what footing, for
he did not tell me. I did not tell him that I would see you, not
knowing it at that time, but of course you are at liberty to do so,
and I shall if you do not. In what capacity do you think of having
Robert here — as a servant ? "

" As a dear, younger brother, for as such I regard him ; he would
take his meals with me, of course, and I could teach him in the
evenings. His education has been so much neglected that it would
be very unpleasant for him, at his age, to go to school, and learn
with others more advanced than himself; and love is not only a good
teacher, but an apt scholar ; he would learn better from me than
from anybody else. I would pay him for his services, of course. I
had formed this plan before I received Robert's letter telling mc that
you were in Gibbeline."

'* What would your friends say to such an arrangement ? " asked
Sir Robert.

" I have not thought about that, and I do not care in the least
what they say or think," was the reply ; " I am a middle-aged woman
and entirely my own mistress, and if I like to adopt Robert it is my
own affair."

She began to feel by intuition Sir Robert's suspicion of her, which
peeped out in spite of his grave courtesy.

" But Robert does not regard you as a dear, elder sister," he said,
" on the contrary, he wishes to make you his wife, and says his hap-
piness depends on you."

" Poor, dear boy, of course that is his present feeling, but he will
get over all that ; he may fall in love with some one else before the
summer's over."

" Do you wish his present feeling for you to change ? " asked the
baronet.

" Yes," replied Miss Paxton, regarding him steadily with her grave,
bright eyes ; " I hope he may always respect and like me, of course,
but I should be sorry to think that he would always wish to many
me."

"You take an odd way of converting him," said Sir Robert.
" How can you hope that he will change, or forget you, if you take
him into your family ? "

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This question was put with the greatest gravity, and contained no
compliment, as the words would seem to imply. A bright smile
broke over her face, and she slightly shrugged her shoulder.

" Oh ! domestic life is very disenchanting," she said, " it is gold
alone that can bear such a touchstone, and not lose it value ; he will
find out all my faults."

" No man ever loved his mistress the less for her faults," said Sir
Robert, with a little bend of the head, " I think '«; a dangerous ex-
periment, if you really wish him to change his mind."

" That speech would be very flattering," said Miss Paxton, " if it
did not imply that I am a dangerous old maid, and not to be trusted."

" I love your sex far too dearly, Miss Paxton, to speak a harsh
truth to any lady without pain to myself, but I have — pardon me—
no reason to trust any one of your name or family. Not that I think
you deceitful or hypocritical, — far from it, — I am sure you feel most
kindly with regard to my son, but your father was hostile and im-
placable to me, in fact my enemy, and I am by no means sure his
daughter is not equally my enemy."

Miss Paxton's pale cheek flushed. " And if I were," she said, *' I
would tell you as readily as ever my father did. Is it possible that
you bear malice for the hard things he said to you so long ago, now
that he is in his grave ?"

" He told me nothing but the truth, and though it is not in human
nature to feel grateful for such truths. Miss Paxton, I do not bear
malice for his words ; but his acts injured me. He was my implaca-
ble and most bitter enemy, and helped the devil in my heart more
than any man I ever knew. When my father died, and I came into
my inheritance, I thought of my son, not with affection, I admit, but
I had a sense of duty towards the child, and I wrote to your father,
having faith in him as an honest man, and enclosed a check for eight
hundred pounds, on the Gibbeline Bank, to be spent as he should
think best for the benefit of Nelly and her son, without letting her
know from whom it came, to grieve her with old unhappy memories.
I wrote to him in preference to Mr. Meldrum, from whom I parted
in anger. That is his answer." He took a thin sheet of foreign note
paper from his pocket-book and placed it in Miss Paxton's hand.
" I deeply regret to say I acted on advice so harshly given ; I never
sought to help my son again till now, and he has worked as a servant,

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— a day labourer, — my dear son, the only child (iod ever gave me.
Will you read that note, if you please, and nee if I have reason to
trust you ? "

Mary unfolded it and read : —

Sir, — I decline to be your emissary, yoor almoner, — 1 return the money.
The kindest thing you can do fur your son and his noijther, in my o>pinion, is to
leave them alone. It is better for the boy to Y)e known as the son of an honest
peasant, than as the illegitimate slip of a blackguard OENTLk>:AN, so-callku

1 am, &c.,

Yours sincerely,

John Pa.xtow.

The opal ring changed to many different colors, as Mar/s trem-
bling hands re-folded the letter.

" It was very bad advice," she said, " we ought not to disclaim the
ties of kinship, we cannot wipe out blood even if we wished it, we
have no right to separate a father and his child ; but we are all ])oor
blunderers. He acted harshly, unjustly, but us he thought for the best.
He had daughters of his own, and your conduct seemed very bad in
his eyes ; but I cannot defend him in this. I see the evil of his
conduct, as well as the good, and im so'.ry. I can see that it in-
jured you as well as Robert. The fact that you left the p)oor baby,
and never inquired for him, or made an effort to take care of him,
made me think more hardly of you, and perhaps others too, and — I
am sorry. But, Sir Robert Hardacre, you do me injustice to feel
distrust of me, and to blame me for what happened when I was a
child, and for which I am in no way accountable ; and yo i do your-
self injustice to bear malice against a man who is in his i^rave,
whose unrighteousness in this is, I trust, cove-^ed, whose sin is for-
given. Forgive my father, and think better of his daughter than to
suppose she wishes to place a barrier between you and your son."

This was spoken with a tremulous kind of earnestness, and two or
three great tears overflowed their channel and rolled down her c leeks
as she concluded, and returned the slip of paper with her tremMing
fingers. He rose and dropped it into the glowing coals, and the
thought flashed into his mind that it would be a painful kind of poet-
ical justice, if Robert were reproiched for his father's sins, when the
family vault had shut that father in forever. He could kill a score
of partridges without compunction ; he had landed many a s ruggling
fish with a hook in its gills without any regret ; he could cut the

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throat of a wounded stag, or hear the scream of a hare, in coursing,
without the slightest sense of pity, and had really enjoyed many a
battue, but, like Achilles, he had his vulnernhle point ; he did not
like to see a woman in distress, and was c'spc'.ially touche<1 when the
tearful troubled eyes werfe of a beautiful colour, and as he had ex-
pressed it, " a barley corn bigger than other people's." He was
stricken with compunction, and began to feel keenly that he had
made a mistake, that it was not anuilior addition of his old enemy,
John Paxton, in petticoats, with whom he was contending, but a
gentle delicate woman, with a very pretty personality of her own, and
more than that she was dear to Robert and Nelly ; and he had hurt
her feelings and made her unhappy. If he had dared he would have
expressed his contrition by taking her in his arms, like a child, and
soothing her with gentle words and kisses, — father and son were no
far alike, — but such behaviour was out of the question, -so after a
minute's pause, he just touched her hand with his white fore-finger
to bring her eyes back to his face, and said, " Indeed 1 can forgive
your father if his daughter will forgive me. I did you injustice,
as you say, and it is more cruel in me to hurt you, now that your
heart is sore. Forgive me, if you can."

This speech from some men would have been very offensive, but
the baronet really meant what he said, and his words were borne out
by his conntenance, which wore its most tender softened look, all
the Hardacre had gone, and left nothing bat Robert there ; he look-
ed like an older addition of little Bob in a pcnitant mood His face
for the moment looked ridiculously like his son's, and Mary smiled
involuntarily, turning a very April face upon Sir Robert, who smiled
back, and said in a playful winning way, that made him quite unlike
Robert, as by magic, " Well, are we to be friends, — will you forgive
me ?" and he extended his hand.

"Yes," she said simply, "and we will begin again."

" A fresh account," said Sir Robert, " on a clean white page, with
the old ugly debts cancelled forever." ;;;,;

" Yes," said Mary, again, " and you must believe that I do not
for a moment wish to .stand between between you and your son ;
but if he went with you just now it would l)e a heart-break to his
mother, and I think she ought to be the first consideration with you
as well as him."

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" She is the first consideration with both," replied Sir Robert, " but
the next with ine is my son, and I still think y(jii take the wrong way
to make him love you less, though I am sure your society would be
very beneficial to him, and he could not but improve under your
tuition. It might become on his part a |)ermanent attachment, and
if you are sure you can never change your mind, it is scarcely fair to
my boy."

" If I thought it possible that I could change my mind so far as to
wish to marry him, it would be more unfair to vour boy, and I would
not have him in the house. But it is not po.ssible, and he will change
his, for he is only a boy ; he will fall in love with some good girl
who is worthy of him, and have a happier fate, I hope, than either
yours or mine. I am not a very clever woman — not a blue stock-
ing — but I know more than he does and can teach him many things ;
and I shall have an uncle staying with me shortly who is a good
organist, he might give him lessons in music and Latin, if they like
each other. I shall live a very quiet life, and we might read history
together daily, I could teach him the elements of botany and practical
gardening, and he could put up my brother's target and practice at
that if he wishes to be a good shot."

" And you will," thought Sir Robert, '' improve his manners as
only a graceful, charming woman can, and keep him from mingling
with low people, and making undesirable connections." That was
his thought, but this is what he said :

" I am sure you will do him nothing but good, and I trust you en-
tirely with what is dearer to me than life, or anything that life now
offers. Having seen you, my dear Miss Paxton, I trust you without
a doubt, I trust you entirely."

"You may," said Mary, " I would not injure you if I could, and
I could not if I would, for Robert loves you so well already, that it
is not in the power of any but yourself to turn his heart from you.
If you are true to him, he will be true to you."

Sir Robert's face flushed with pleasure — they were both standing
now — and as the readiest way of expressing his feelings, he lifted her
hand to his lips.

If I wanted u convincing proof that the dead are dead to us in-
deed and return no more, this very fact would be one j for if any-
thing could have brought John Paxton's body back from its grave,

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and hfs soul from Hades, it would have been that kiss ; but no such
shocking apparition appeared, and the photograph on the wall looked
as mildly at them as if it meant a blessing, when Sir Robert said in
his playful, pleasant way, ** Well, I must not keep you longer from
your rest, or rur the risk of losing my own forever, after the example
of Robert, by seeing too much of you ; I must go. And if you
s ho u/d chdin^t your mind (for if he is ^ oniy a boy,' you are only a
woman, he thought), there will be nothing left for me to do but to
give you my blessing. Good bye, my dear Miss Paxton, and forget
the pain I caused, since you forgive me."

" I wi'u remember nothing but good of you, and I will be faithful
to your son ; I will not change my mind, Sir Robert Hardacre — good
night"

Dolly had waited up to see him off the premises, and now came
forward officiously to open the door.

" Thank you, little girl," said Sir Robert, in his gracious com-
manding way, as he placed a coin in her palm.

"What's this for?" asked the Canadian damsel, in amazement.

" For seeing me out," said the baronet, with a pleasant smile at
her simplicity.

*' Law sake, you needn't go to give me money for that" said Dolly,
frankly, " I'm only too precious glad to get rid o' you — keeping us
up to all hours — here, take it back."

But she was only answered by a not unmusical laugh as the gen-
tleman disappeared like a ghost behind the bushes.

" Well, I never ! " said Dolly.

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CHAPTER THE THIRTY-FOURTH.

*• Who would pursue the smoky glory of the town.

That may go till his native earth,
And by the shining fire sit down

Of his own hearth."

— Sir Richard Fanshaw.

" I will collect some rare, some cheerful friends
And we shall spend together glorious hours,
That gods might envy. '

— ^Joanna Baillik.

Ham. — *' Look here upon this picture ; and on this."

— Hamlet.

jHREE v.eeks after Mrs. Paxton's death, a family group were
seated round her parlour grate, where such a jolly fire glowed
and crackled that it was enough to make the old lady turn in her
grave. Mary was the centre of the group, and her friends were dis-
cussing her future prospects and advising her. She had not asked
counsel nor did she intend to follow it, but she leant back in her
chair and listened patiently. Mr. and Mrs. Meldrum were there, and
there were three other persons, all vorth a description — we give the
ladies precedence.

The first was Mrs. Marshall, a tall, dark -eyed old lady of seventy,
a widow for fifty years. She did not look more than sixty, her hair
rvas scarcely grey, she had a healthy dark complexion, her cheeks
were rosey, her teeth were her own. She wore a black lace cap, a
white collar and bright crimson ribbon at the throat of a grey gown,
from the skirt of which peeped forth a well shaped foot and ankle,
encased in a snowy stocking and black slipper. Mrs. Meldrum had
remonstrated with her aunt for not wearing mourning, but with no
effect.

" I do not mourn Margaret," she replied calmly, " I never liked
your mother, and she never liked me. It is for the sake of my bro-
ther's daughters that I am here now."

Margaret said it was *' respectable " to wear black, and the bright
ribbon was *' indecent," under the ciicumstances, but the old lady
went on calmly with her knitting, and was not to be moved from grey
to black, and the neck ribbon remained unchanged. Mrs. Marshall
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'to Mary; she invited her to became a permanent inmate of her
house, if she chose, and said it would greatly brighten her life to
have her with her, but she did not urge the matter, but left her to
accept or reject the invitation as slie pleased. She was not a med-
dler by nature, nor would she be meddled with, but was thoroughly
mistress of herself and her household, and had lived so long alone
that she had grown in her isolation a little indifferent to the feel-
ings of others, bhe was liberal, and her heart and purse were al-
ways open to distress. She was kindness personified in a case of
sickness or poverty, but siie had no mercy for self tormenters, —
and of that class there are indeed too many in the world, — no
tolerance for ordinary, common place, twaddling saints and sinners,
and would not be bothered with them. She was a clever, intelligent,
spirited old lady who could find no charity in her heart for either
mediocrity or conceit.

Opposite to Mrs. Marshall sat a very different person, Mrs. Francis
Paxton, the widow of her youngest brother, " my dear aunt Emma,"
as Mary often fondly called her. She was an American lady, and
too entirely national ever to be mistaken for anything else. She was
a small, slight, graceful woman about sixty-five years of age ; her hair
was dyed of the loveliest dark brown, and surmounted by a charm-
ing widow's cap with long streamers beiiind, her teeth were her own
not quite in the sense that Mrs. Marshall's were, for she had bought
them of the most skilful New York dentist ; she had regular, delicate
features, brilliant dark eyes, and not a shade of colour in h^r cheeks,
but it was a natural healthy palour, and did not betoken disease.
Gold- rimmed spectacles adorned her nose, and innumerable mourn-
ing rings her beautifully shaped, plump little fingers. Her voice was
not unpleasant, though slightly nasal and drawling. She had been a
beauty in her day, and would never be an ugly, because her heart
was kind, her head was clear and her nature sound and wholesome.
She had no greater love for the late Mrs. Paxton than Mrs. Marshall
herself, but she would not for the world have hurt her niece's feel-
ings, therefore she came in a perfect mountain of the handsomest
crape, as much in fact as could be crowded on to the sable garment
that covered her little person ; her silk stockings were of the black-
est, her quilted satin sliopers adorned with such monstrous rosettes
of crape and jet, that nc le but an American lady would have sported

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them. The very screen with which she toyed was as black as a crow,
and ghttering with jet beads.

Aunt Emma was liked by all her circle of acquaintance, she was
dear to her servants, she was a favourite with every relative she had
in the world, and loved for her own sake and not for her money ;
even Mrs. Paxton had not absolutely disliked her, but always spoke
of her as " a good-natured fool," and she was right as to the good
nature, but wrong as to the folly ; at least if she was a fool, she was
a very contented one, and commend me to the fool who can be
happy anywhere, who wears his cap gracefully and never makes dis-
cord with his bells, but always jingles them kindly. Minerva herself
could not have acted more wisely than Mrs. Francis Paxton did when
the hearts of her relatives were sore, and their nerves ajar with the
troubles and cares of this weary world. If she could not divert them,
she would let them alone, which is surely the height of wisdom, and
never by any chance caught their gloom.

The third figure in the group was Mr. James Paxton, the last man
of his name and family. He was of medium height, but looked
short from being so stout, he had a broad forehead and fair, compact,
nobly-shaped head, the hair so closely cut and neatly brushed as to
resemble a natural scratch ; a fat face, reddish all over, light eyes,
half closed from some weakness in the lids, very slight reddish grey
whiskers, and a small, thick-lipped mouth that turned down at one
corner and up at the other. All this does not sound attractive, yet
James Paxton was attractive, and the longer people knew him the
better they liked him, for though a man of strong prejudices, he was
a genial, kind-hearted man, and a thorough gentleman. His move-
ments were easy and graceful, his manner quiet, his step noiseless
and stealthy ; there was no self-assertion in the man, but he won upon
the heart. In dress he was rather old fashioned, he wore a black
stock, and dark clothes, and a watch without chain or guard. He
was Scotch in appearance, and Scottish in the not amiable quality of
remembering an injury forever, but to do him justice, he remembered
kindness, too, and where he loved could see no faults, but was as
blind as any bat that ever flapped his leathery wings in the twilight.
He was about sixty years of age, being nearly the youngest of a very
large family, as his brother John had been next to the eldest. He
had perfectly detested the late Mrs. Paxton, as she had caused him

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to quarrel with his brother and kept them apart when her husband
was dying. The photograph of the old white-haired brother, the coat
of arms, the sketches drawn by the dead hand, were fraught with
painful memories for James Paxton, as they had been for Sir Robert
Hardacre. His brother's daughters were dearer to him than any
relative he had in the world, they had always loved him, and when
he and his brother quarreled they still continued to write to him, and
had-never forgotten his birthday. Margaret corresponded with him
openly and in defiance of her parents, Mary by stealth and unknown
to them, but both loved him ; indeed, he was the only person in the
world who could check Margaret's wilfulness, or change her purpose,
the only person who had the least power over her.

Such was the group collected round the parlour fire on a stormy
March evening. Mrs. Meldrum, who had spread her ample robes in
the most comfortable easy chair the room contained, introduced the
subject they all had in their minds, by asking Mary whether she meant
to rent the house they were in, or sell it.

" You will live with me, of course," she said, " but it's time you
came to some decision about this property."

There was a pause. Some hope on the part of the elder ladies
that their niece would choose to live with them, a better knowledge
of her character on the part of uncle James kept these three silent ;
as for Mr. Meldrum, he knew there was no chance of Mary as a
permanent resident in his house, but he felt interested and curious
as to what her plans might be, and he spoke, as nobody else seemed
inclined to speak, and said, •' Of course you know I feel entirely
with Maggie, and should be glad to have you as one of ray
household."

Then Mrs. Marshall spoke simply and plainly, as I have said, and
told Mary what she herself wished, but offered no advice, and then
aunt Emma.

" My dear Mary," she said, " if they monopolise you, and don't
give me a little bit of you, I shall be jealous, ever so jealous, and in-
vite myself to the house you delight to honour, so take warning,
Maggie and aunt Marshall. I must have my share of Mary, I want
her altogether, but I suppose that is impossible, but I will have my
share. I want to take her to Saratoga, and Newport and a dozen
places, and make her fat and rosy. Think of all the years she has

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been shut up here, because poor, dear Pricilla disliked company so
much ; I am sure a little foreign travel would be delightful for her,
but I won't dictate, I want her to do just as she thinks best," laying
a fond hand on Mary's shoulder, "only I take the liberty of advising
dear, and I advise you to be g.iy and happy, and not take life too
seriously."

"And /advise her to do her duty," said Margaret, sternly.

" Oh ! duty before all things," assented the American lady, amica-
bly.

" I quite agree with you, Maggie, and our most serious and urgent
duty is to make the best of everything, and be very happy, and so
make everybody happy. Ah ! what a very nice world it would be if
everybody did their duty ; remember, dear, it's your duty to shine on
all your relatives a little, not forgetting aunt Emma," and she patted
Mary with her screen.

" It's yonr first duty, in my opinion, to arrange about this property,''
said Margaret, dictatorially. " Of course no one would grudge you
a holiday, but life is not all holidays as aunt Emma would seem to
imply, life is a very sad, serious thing. Gaud sees fit to send us sor-
row and disappointment as pu.nishment, and we need not think to
escape it by seeking pleasure and ease. The nearest relatives have
the highest claim, let aunt Emma say what she will."

Mary made an effort. " It's very kind of you all to wish to have
me with you," she said, " and I thank you gratefully ; but I have
formed my plan, if it can be called one — it's rather vague yet, though
two or three things are quite distinct and settled in my own mind —
like you, aunt Emma, I know what I want. For one thing — the most
important thing in my plan — I want uncle James to give up his pro-
fession and bachelor's hall, and come and keep house with me. I
don't want to part with uncle James any more," extending her hand
to that gentleman, who stood near her.

He received it with a hearty pressure, and a smile, and said " That's
good — I'm an important thing — well?"

" Whether you come or not — but I hope you will — I do not mean
either to sell this place or let it ; I mean to liv in it and make it
my home, and a home for more than uie ; for all of you, whenever
you like to come and stay with me — for weeks — for mont'.is — for as
long as you like — all of you. I mean to enjoy good fir ;;i3u p-.^d

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dinners, and say grace at my meals, and eat the plums and pears in-
stead of selling them, and give pennies to the beggars, and go to
church every Sunday when it doesn't rain, and never trouble about
trifles again, God helping me, no not if the pigs get into the garden,
and Dolly boils the eggs as hard as a stone."

Mr. Meldrum approved of this speech, and a year ago would have
applauded it, but time had tauglit him the wisdom of silence, so he
said nothing, but uncle James said " That's good," and patted Mary
on the shoulder, " good, all but the beggars, Polly, don't give them
pennies, give them a piece of bread and a tract."

" I will try and do my duty \unt Emma in making every body
happy,'" the lady went on; " uncle will you come and live with me ? "

" I must learn to play the fiddle or the Jewsharp, if I do," said
uncle James, '* for I can't exist without music, and tliere's not a room
in the house large enough to hold my organ — and what are we to live
upon, Polly, if I give up the law — /ovg ? "

" I have thought of that, and I have a plan. The barn is never
used, now the farm is sold, and is no good to anybody. We might
wainscot it and fill it with sawdust between the boards — there's
plenty of sawdust in the old mill beneath the hill — in a word, make
it into a house, and build your organ in there, and you would always
have a retreat when you wished to be solitary."

" Ah ! and how much would that cost, think you ?" asked Mr.
Paxton.

" I do not know, that is to be proved."

" It would cost more than you think, Mary ; it would take a slice
out of your principle, and that would make your income much less,
and you would be taking another in to keep, for I have laid by but
little, — a solitary man, I had no one to save for. I think unless you
had a larger capital you could not carry out that plan. I see difii-
cnlties." ,';*, - ^ \. ■-:■■■■

*' It is like all Mary's plans, poetical and impracticable," said Mar-
garet, with a sneer. - i, yy .v^,^

" When did I ever form a plan before, Maggie ? "

" Do you think we have forgotten that log house on the hill, that
castle in the air, that you and Mr. Oliver were to live in ? "

Mr. Meldrum was the only person present who did not understand
this allusion, and not one of those who did approved of it. Aunt

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Emma looked at Margaret in an imploring way, and held up her
slight forefinger to stop her. Mr. Paxton spoke :

" Come, I do not call that fair or kind, Maggie, 'le said. " Mary-
was under authority, perhaps not the best authority, or the wisest
counsel ; but we cannot judge the wisdom of a plan never carried
out — marriage is a lottery in every case — and there is no merit in
giving pain."

Mrs. Marshall knitted rapidly but was silent, and Mary, who had
flushed deeply, was silent, too ; as for Mr. Meldrum, he, with his
usual thirst for information, made a secret resolution to have this love
story out of the wife of his bosom as soon as he could accomplish it.
There was rather an awkward pause, broken at last by Mrs. Marshall.

" You criticise before you hear the whole," she said; "perhaps
Mary had some plan for making up the deficiency in the income. I
never found you unpractical, my dear ; have you thought of meeting
the additional expenses you propose to indulge m ? "

The kind old voice touched Mary. She had a plan, but was re-
luctant to enter upon it after what 'lad passed. Her hands trembled
nervously, and Mr. Meldrum observing this, suggested that they
should wait for further information till to morrow.

" And do you think I am going to wait all night in suspense, wor-
rying myself and not knowing what she is going to do ? " said Mar-
garet. " Do, for goodness sake, tell us, and have done with it,
Mary."

Mrs. Marshall's speech had softened her, but this hardened and
set her up like a tonic. *' Very well, Maggie, as well now as not. I
have thought of turning this place into a market garden — not for
vegetables, but flowers. 1 have not finally decided Uj do so, but I
have thought of it. There is no flower market in Gibbeline, and a
good many wealthy people live there now, and there are flowers here
from May till November. It would be a trifling expense to get a
horse and light lilted wagon, and try — one can but fail. I would not,
of course, sell them myself, but I would make up the boquets, and
Robert Smith is to live with me when Mr. Llewellyn has done with
him, and he would be my salesman."

This project surprised everybody, and to tell the truth it seemed
very foolish to all. Aunt Emma said, " Well, my </-«r-ar, if that isn't
poetry and romance," aud Mr. Paxton laughed heartily.

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271

** And so I am to live upon blossoms and clover blobs like the
bees?" he said. " In all my life I never heard anything so funny,
a substantial old fellow like me. You mean to rival Midas, and turn
all your buds to gold. You should sell them yourself, Polly ; with a
Tyrolese hat, and high-heeled slippers and a little lace apron, you
would make a charming market woman."

** Robert will be more charming, especially with the ladies," said
Mary, outwardly unmoved by this ridicule.

" You would never get on with Bob Smith," said Margaret, " you
would have to have him at the same table or he would be offended,
they spoiled him so at the Llewellyn's ; and for selling the flowers,
it's as mean as it is ridiculous; it's enough to make papa turn in his
grave. All respectable people will cut you if you persist in such
wicked conduct, — yes, I call it wicked, — and resist the advice of your
friends."

" I hope not, Maggie, but if they do cut me I'll try and live with-
out them. Of course I'll have Robert at my table, and treat him in
all respects as an equal ; he will be my man of business rather than
servant. I shall not decide about the flower market till I have con-
sulted him."

*.* Who is this Robert Smith ? " asked Mr. Paxton.

" You may well ask. uncle," exclaimed Mrs. Meldrum, indignantly.
A vulgar, low boy, who till a week ago drove the Cromaboo mail ;
it's just an infatuation of Mary's because the boy is good-looking, and
I Jcnow what the end of it will be. She will show him such favour
that people will talk, and he will make the most of what they say for
his owr idvantage, and work upon her feelings, and to stop their
niouths she will marry him- the crooked stick at last after all these
years of waiting. And then she will not have the face to live in this
neighbourhood with him — //<f will persuade her to sell — and he will
take her somewhere to his wigwam — she loves the backwoods — and
she will be the squaw of that coarse little savage. I see it all plainly,"
she concluded bitterly.

" And mix his fire water and nurse his papooses," said uncle James,
" this is prophecy indeed, Maggie."

" Well, Bob was certainly the prettiest papoose I ever saw," said
Mr. Meldrum, much amused at his wife's prediction.

"Ah! you know hmi !" cried aunt Emma, "and what do jou

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think of him, Mr. Meldrum — do tell now? " ''Yes, let us hear your
opinion," chimed in Mr. Paxion.

Mr. Meldrum, who wished to propitiate Margaret, and get that
love story out of her, and wlio thought Mary was going rather too
far in her liking for little Bob, choose to " damn him with faint
praise," calling him " a nice little fellow enough," •■ a pretty boy," as
if his face was his fortune, and the only thing to recommend him.

*' I think you are coming to harsh and unkind conclusions con-
cerning Mary," said Mrs. Marshall, " she may have excellent reasons
for taking the boy into her household, and may wish to favour him,
without a desire to put him out of his place, or marry him."

" I like him very much, aunt Marshall," said Mary, with exceeding
calmness, " I regard him as a dear younger brother, and I mean to
teach him and help him in any way 1 can, but you only do me jus-
tice in thinking I have no wish to marry him,"

" You hear her," cried Mrs. Meldrum, " she's going to adopt this
low boy as a brotlier. I tell you, Mary, it's madness, it's neither safe
nor right that you should live alone and keep house, even if uncle
came. You will get yourself talked about with your silly fancies, it
isn't as though you were a widow, or a married woman, but a young
unmarried person, it is neither right or proper."

Mrs, Marshall rose and laid her knitting in its basket. " Mary,"
said she, " has a perfect right to do as she pleases ; I regret her deci-
sion because I shall lose so much of her company ; but I cannot op-
pose it. As for impropriety, that's nonsense, Margaret ; I was twen-
ty years of age when I was left a widow, and I have lived alone ever
since, except for my servants ; Mary is more than thirty. With re-
gard to the gardening scheme, it seems to me romantic and imprac-
tical, but I may be wrong, and Mary has a perfect right fo try it if
she pleases ; and for this young man, Robert Smith, I have never
seen him, and therefore cannot judge, but I think as a general rule,
it is foolish to put people out of the station in which they were born,
unless in a case of great genius."

" Bob Smith a genius," said Mrs. Meldrum, " the little upstart, I
should like you to see him, with his coat patched of three colours,
and a hat without a rim."

" I should like to see him," said aunt Emma, " and I'm sure I
should never think less of him for a patched coat ; its a pity to think

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273

SO much of the casket and so little of the precious jewel it contains."

" A jewel indeed," cried Mrs. Meldrum, with a toss of her head.

" I'm dying to see him," persisted aunt Emma, " how his ears
must burn to-night — I don't care about his birth so long as he's nice,
I believe in equality."

** A myth, my dear Emma, there's no such thing as equality in
the world," said Mrs. Marshall, " but I am weary, and will say good
night," and having kissed the ladies and shaken hands with her
brother, she made a stately bend to Mr. Meldrum, and departed.

" How grave you look, Polly," said Mr. Paxton, when he had
closed the door after his sister.

" A penny for your thoughts, dear," drawled Mrs. Paxton, kindly.

" You can't say it's not a wise thought this time," replied Mary, with
a smile, "for it's one of Solomon's — * He that cot jdereth the wind
shall not sow, and he that regardeth the clouds shall not reap.' "

" We will talk about all this to-morrow. Puss," said uncle James,
" and you shall have the very best advice without paying a fee for it."

" And without asking for it," retorted his niece, as she kissed him
and said good night.

CHAPTER THE THIRTY-FIFTH.

" Like crowded forest trees we stand
And some are marked to fall."

— Cowi'ER.

IT WAS not long before aunt Emma's desire was gratified, for
the very next afternoon, as the little lady reclined luxuriously in
a large rocking chair, and Mrs. Marshall was stepping up to the gate
after her daily constitutional, hooded, cloaked and furred to the chin ;
a pair of pie-bald ponies, with a light cutter behind them, dashed up
with a great jingling of bells, and a slight active figure sprang out,
and opened the gate for the old lady, and the sweetest, most joyous
young voice she had heard for many a day made a common-place re-
mark about the weather, which did not sound common-place in her
ears, because of the tone in which it was uttered and the smile that
accompanied it. Mrs. Marshall was conquered at the very first at-

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tack and struck her colours at once. She sailed into the parlour,
bringing with her a blast of cold air, and innocently asking, '* Who
is that young gentleman that opened the gate for me so courteously,
and is tying up his horst s in the yard?" not dreaming that it was
the obnoxious Robert Smith.

' Gentleman ! " echoed Mrs, Meldrum, as Mary broke into a
merry laugh, " it's that little upstart, Bob Smith, and I don't thank
Mr. Llewellyn for bringing him here. Understand me, Mary, 1 do
not choose to see Mr. Llewellyn unless he asks especially for me,"
and she departed to her own room forthwith, greatly to the relief of
her husband.

"Why, what has he done with his patched coat?" asked aunt
Emma, who had been almost asleep a minute ago, but was now on
the alert and wide awake enough, regarding Robert attentively through
the double window, and her gold-rimmed spectacles.

The question was natural, for Robert \' as dressed in a top-coat of
fine broadcloth, which his father had i)Ut upon him the night they
parted at Gibbeline. Having only the old military garment, he had
gone without a great-coat to see his father, who noticed the omission
and guessed the truth, that he had no other.

•* There is no mark on it, and your mother will never know it be-
longed to me, you will not pain me by refusing it, my son," said Sir
Robert, with such pleading affection that Robert the younger could
not say no, and allowed his father to help him on with it. He took
it to a cunning Gibbeline tailor to make it fit, not, however, before he
had examined the pockets, and found therein a tweiuy pound note
and a [ )tograph of papa ; the note he would have returned had not
Miss Paxton. persuaded him to keep it, and the picture was locked
into her work-box for safe keeping.

While we were making this digression, Miss Mary had run out in
the snow to welcome Mr. Llewellyn ; he had been brought in and
divested of his wraps, had alarmed them all by a violent fit of cough-
ing, had been introduced to Mrs. Francis Paxton, and renewed his
acquaintance with Mrs. Marshall, whom he had met forty years be-
fore, and was now ensconsed by the fire in a comfortable easy-chair,
having a chat with that lady. Robert, who put the ponies in the
stable, was ten minutes behind his master, and entered the room
with Mr. Meldrura.

THE CROMABOo .»1AIL CARKIER.

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Mary rose and shook hands with him, saying *' I am glad to see
you, Robert, as I wished very much to ask your advice."

" I am sure you are welcome to it if it's worth having," he said, a
I)leased sm'le and fonu brightening of the eyes showing his joy at
seeing her.

8he introduced him to Mrs. Paxton, saying "This is Robert Smith,
aunt Emma."

Th< little lady graciously extendi her jewelled hand and said,
" It is a very cold day," and Mr. Paxton made the same statement
to him, further offering some remarks about the distani he had come
and the depth of the snow, and Mr'^^ Mnrshall, who was not intro-
duced, acknowledged his presence by a )end of the head.

Mary !*at down beside him and told him at >nce quite frankly
about her flower S' heme, saying "They have thrown S(. much cold
water upon it, that I had ahnost decided to give it up, >' n I wished
first to sec what you thought of it."

Robert listened with a t^rave business face, quite different from his
usual expression, and when she had finished Mr. Meldrum s:aid "Now
advise her to give it up, Bob, and make us all your friends for life."

" Since Miss Paxton has honoured me with her confidence, I shall
advise her honestly, even if 1 make you all my enemies," replied
Robert This answer pleased Mrs. Mar-hall, who though she ap-
peared to be exclusively occupied witli M . Llewellyn, could hear
very well what every body in the room w..- saying.

" A week ago. Miss Mary," he went on, " I should have said give
it up, but 1 don't say th u now, for I hear there is to be a regiment
of regulars quartered in Gibbeline, and I noticed when I was with the
volunteers that regular military gentlemen didn't mind expense where
the ladies were concerned ; they didn't mind a dollar for a good
boquet, and ten cents for a button-hole bud. Of course the military
make a place gay, there will be balls and picnics, and parties, and
flowers will be wanted for all. I can't say how it will succeed till it
is tried, but if you like to try I will do all I can to make it a success.
It shall not be my fault if you fail, and I think it's worth trying."

"Oh ! buy, oh! buy, oh ! buy, oh ! buy my flowers ! " warbled Mrs.
Paxton just as the tea was announced, and the little lady paid
Robert a good deal of flattering attention during the meal, and his
modest pleasant replies pleased her greatly.

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Mr. Llewellyn had come with an object, as he presently announced ;
he came to ask Miss Paxton to buy his ponies. " Lavinia has pur-
chased a pair of silver tailed ponies, and doesn't want them," he said,
"and I wish to provide a good home for my old friends, and I thought
if you intended to keep horses they would suit you." .

" I will take them, sir," said Mary, promptly, " and many thanks
for giving me the first chance." ,

" Then, my dear, that is one matter settled, but I should like be-
fore I leave to see you alone, and speak about another subject I have
at heart."

" You have bought and sold and never mentioned the price of the
articles purchased," cried Mrs. Paxton, gaily.

** A bargain is an easy matter between honest people," said Mary.
" It will give me great pleasure to have a private chat with you, sir,"
to Mr. Llewellyn.

*• The last private interview we shall ever have in this weary world,
this beautiful world which God himself pronounced * very good,' be-
fore man marred its loveliness by sin and rebellion."

" Why the last, Mr. Llewellyn ? "

" Because I am dying rapidly. Lavy thinks I shall go and live
with her in Hamilton, but I shall never go ; it is she who must come
back to me for a little while. I intend writing her to-morrow."

" Oh ! I hope you may be mistaken," said Mary, tears welling up
suddenly to her eyes.

"Why, you ought to rejoice and be glad at my release, it will be
like a bright, glorious morning after a long and dreary night, a night
of troubled dreams and sore distress. You should rejoice, my dear,
to think of my happy waking after this troubled passage of experi-
ment and trial ; I shall wake hale and well, refreshed and peaceful
and at home."

Why is it that remarks of this kind always tend to chill and sad-
den good christian people, who believe in God Almighty, maker of
heaven. and earth, and in Jesus Christ, his only Son and Our Saviour?
I cannot tell the reason, but so it is, mention death and eternity,
mention those glorious truths which we all profess to believe, and a
sense of discomfort descends like a wet blanket, and everybody is ill
at ease as by magic. I do not wonder at this when the speaker is a
bit of a hypocrite, a worshipper of false gods, but when he is honest

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and earnest it is quite a different thing, and I am surprised that the
result should be the same. I think the secret cause of this disquiet
is a want of belief in the heart when the lip, and perhaps the under-
standing, says " I believe." A quietness and chill fell at Miss Pax-
ton's tea table, and a short silence succeeded Mr. Llewellyn's re-
mark, broken by the doctor, who said :

** I think you overrate your weakness, Mr. Llewellyn, you may live
for many a year yet."

" I may, but I hope not, Meldrum, for I have had enough of it,
and if God wills, I shall be glad to lay down my arms. I do not see
that my life is of any use now ; Lavy is happy and provided for, and
my poor wife is growing so much worse mentally, that of necessity
she must be placed under closer restraint ; and I am no longer equal
to the charge of her, as I am growing weaker every day, and more
and more deaf I wait the will of God, and I feel I ihall not have
long to wait ere he removes me."

" I shall miss you if you do die," said Mary, " I shall feel the
world poorer."

" So much the better," he replied with a smile, " the poorer this
world, the richer the one beyond to our eager longing," — and when
Mary took him into her private sanctum after tea, he told her it was
about Robert he wished to speak.

" I think I did him some injustice," he said, " I did not know the
worth of the lad till I was left alone with him ; he is everything to
me, everything. Lately I have become so weak and infirm in body
that I cannot dress without his help ; he has been house-keeper and
cook — for the Irish girl we have is a very bad one — and groom and
stage driver, and valet de chambre; he has taken care of my wife as
well as he could, and she has required constant watching, and is, I
fear, becoming dangerous to herself and others."

" What a fearful affliction is insanity," said Mary, " it is like liv-
ing death."

" It is worse," replied Mr. Llewellyn, " it is distorted and horrible
life ; God defend you and yours from such a calamity. But to re-
turn to Robert, I fear I underrated him because of his low birth j he
is a gentleman. Miss Paxton ; now, for the first time in my life, do I
fully understand our Saviour's words — * He that is highest among you
let him be your servant.' In my prejudice of class I forgot that God,

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who makes all good and noble things, makes gentlemen ; that a man
without a pedigree may have the highest character, the greatest
worth. I feared his love for you might injure you ; now ^ have no
such fear, you took a juster view of him than I did. I can say with
Waller :—

* Stronger by weakness, wiser men become

As they draw near to their eternal home.'

" I am ashamed to say I used to have a prejudice against dis-
senters ; all that is swept away forever ; I feel that we cannot truly
call any denomination the church of God, His faithful people are
scattered through all denominations; He has not left Himself with-
out witnesses even in the corrupt churches of Greece and Rome ;
there are spiritual christians in all. I acknowledge that even those
greatly in error may not be without their use, even a narrow-minded
bigot like Moerhouse may do some good, as well as a clear-headed,
kind-hearted, half ignorant fellow like Crutch. What a prejudice I
had against Crutch last year, when he first came, because he was
peasant born ; I thought such as he should learn, and not presume
to teach ; and now I love the man as a brother, though he was never
at s( hool in his life ; and I believe he has touched the hearts of some
of the worst ruffians in Cromaboo, and may change their lives. I
am a broader churchman than I was when you saw me last, and it is
all owing to little Bob, the Methodist. No son could have done
more for a loved and honoured father than Robert has done for me,
no bishop could have preached Christ better than he has by his
daily acts, though he seldom named Him."

Mary felt more than glad at this eulogy, and told Mr. Llewellyn so,
with moistened eyes and a faltering tongue.

In the meantime Robert had been making himself friends in the
parlour ; seeing an open melodeon he asked Mrs. Paxton if she would
play for him, and that lady, always good-natured and glad to give
pleasure, sat down at once. She had been the favourite pupil of the
celebrated Signor Twankipanni, who made such a sensation in New
York when she was a maiden, and to whom her papa paid fifty dol-
lars for every lesson she received. This foreign celebrity was, as all
musical people know, a pianist remarkable for brilliant and rapid
execution, and Mrs. Paxton — who imitated him as well as she coula
— had never before touched a melodeon, and was surprised herself

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270

at the extraordinary jerking, squeaking sounds she elicited. Robeit
stood by her and turned the music for her, guessing with his usual
apt instinct the right time. She did not play long, but begged Rob-
ert to take her place on the music stool, " And take the taste out
of our mouths," she said, "and show us what music is," for the cun-
ning little woman had been told he could play, and was determined
to hear him.

Robert was by no means shy, as we know, but he held back for a
time from the feeling that he played so much better than Mrs. Pax-
ton that she might be vexed at his superiority ; but seeing that she
was resolved to hear him, and would take no excuse, he yielded.

He had never plcyed before so keen a critic, for Mr. Paxton was
a doctor of music, but Robert was quite unconscious of the genius
of this listener, and thought rather of the ladies and Mr. Meldrum.
As usual, he chose a sweet, plaintive voluntary, and its mournful
beauty had double the effect from Mrs. Paxton's late spirited per-
formance, which had greatly jarred the nerves of her brother-in-law.
He stood at a little distance with folded arms, and head on one side,
as he listened.

" Good," was his comment when Robert ceased, " do you practice
much^ and who is your teacher ?"

" I practice a good deal, sir ; I have no teacher," replied Robert,
as his master and Miss Paxton retiiriiJ' from their private confer •
ence.

Mr. Paxton made no further remark, but turned away, and soon
the ponies were ordered, and Mr. Llewellyn, as he took leave, re-
membered Mrs. Meldrum for the first time and expressed a hope that
she was well.

" A little indisposed," replied her husband, complacently, as he
gave the old gentleman his arm to assist him to his cutter.

Robert took a warm leave of Miss Paxton and aunt Emma, and
was turning to Mrs. Marshall, of whom he stood a little in awe, when
the old lady rose, and extending her hand cordially, addressed him
for the first time.

" You have given me great pleasure with your music," she said,
" and I thank you."

Robert blushed, and smiled his brightest smile, and said, " I am
sure I am fortunate, I almost feared I was annoying you."

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Fy;

But when he was gone it seemed the effect of his music remained,
for Mrs. Marshall's dark eyes wore their softest expression as she sat
gazing dreamily at the fire, and she said at last abruptly " I like that
boy's playing, James, it is the music of memory, a sort of sweet
dirge for past joys ; it has brought back old scenes to my mind,
things I have not thought of for years. What do you think of him
— has he genius ? "

" I cannot tell. The little beggar has music in him, and taste and
feeling, but those fellows who play so well by ear are often too lazy
* to practice by note and make themselves perfect. He has one talent
without doubt."

*' And what is that ? " asked his sister.

" A talent for creeping into old women's hearts," said Mr. Paxton.

" And young women's, too," added Mr. Meldrum.

" That sounds a little like envy," said the old lady ; *• I like your
Robert, Mary," to her niece, who at that moment came into the room
with Margaret and aunt Emma.

" Say my Robert, Bella," exclaimed Mrs. Paxton. " I have a great
mind to adopt him for a son ; he's a real nice boy ; how can you say
he is vulgar, Maggie ? If he is vulgar, what are we ? "

In the meantime Robert was rapidly nearing Cromaboo, qiyte un-
conscious that everybody was willing to take him up and make the
best of him.

CHAPTER THE THIRTY-SIXTH.

" Not heaven itself upon the past has power,

For what has been has been, and I have had my hour."

— Dryden's translation of the 29th Ode of the ist Book of Horace.

^■)S

Bl]

If!

FTER turning it over in his mind for three weeks, Mr. Paxton
consented to keep house with Mary, and left Gibbeline to make
his arrangements, and Mrs. Marshall and Mrs. Paxton decided to
make a long v"sit to their nieces, and stay — one in Gibbeline, the
other in Cromaboo, till Mrs. Meldrum's confinement was over. As
the spring advanced Mrs. Marshall and Mary took long walks to-
gether and though never out of temper and very fond of her niece,

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the old lady was a somewhat still and taciturn companion. On re-
turning from a stroll one fine spring evening, towards the enJ of
April, they found Robert waiting to see Miss Paxion. He came with
a note from Mrs. Harry Llewellyn to sa^' that ^ler uncle was worse,
and her aunt almost unmanageable, and she begged Mary to come
and stay with her for a week. Robert had come on one of Chip's
horses, as the ponies had gone to the stattpn to meet Mr. Harry, so
Mary had to wait for to-morrow's mail. He gave a sad account of
" the master,'' whom he thought sinking fast. " Indeed, I think he's
been sinking," he said, "ever since Miss Lavy got ihe fortune ; he
seemed to ha'.\; no further motive for exertion, and the old lady is a
dreadful charge. Biddy and I don't dare to sleep at the same time,
but have to watch her, turn about, for Mrs. Harry is quite worn out."

He looked very weary, and Mary ordered tea at once, and Mrs.
Marshall asked, in her stately way, if he would play lor her while
the tea was making. He had been playing a great deal lately to
soothe Mrs. Llewellyn and keep her quiet, and his practiced fingers
made sweet music till Mary called him away. After he had gone,
aunt Marshall and her niece went out into the orchard to enjoy the
sweet spring air, and listen to the frogs, and speculate as to when the
swallows would come. They sat down, side by side, on a large, flat
stone, and the elder lady said, with a sigh, " It is singular the effect
that boy's music has upon me ; it brings back my youth, my happy
marriage and its sad ending ; it is a sweet, yet sorrowful pleasure to
listen to him."

"Auntie, dear," said Mary, "will you tell me your story? I have
heard it by bits, of course, but I would like to hear it from your
own lips, if it is not too painful to tell it."

"The pain has died out of it many a year ago," replied Mrs. Mar-
shall, " I am no longer a rebel to the will of God. I will tell you,
my dear, with pleasure, it will be like living the old life over again
to relate it to so intelligent a listener. You know my parents died
while I was yet at school, and when my education was completed I
had no choice but to live with my eldest brother, who was married
and didn't want me, or a maiden aunt who didn't want me either,
though she had no nearer relative than myself My father had set-
tled fifty pounds a year on me, and for four years I lived alternately
with my brother George and his wife in London, and my aunt

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Robina at Richmond. John had been in Canada some years, we
heard from him twice a year, and his letters cost, I am afraid to say
how many shillings each, but a great deal, they were diaries, rather
than letters, and full of interest. He was married before he left
England, but I had never seen his wife. She wr-.te, asking me to
make her house my heme ; this invitation was warmly seconded by
John, and was at once accepted by me, for I was young and romantic
and tired of my humdrum life. There were no steamers in those
days, and a voyage across the Atlantic was a great undertaking.
What piles of linen under-clothing was bought for me, and two dozen
pairs of shoes, no less, and twenty flannel petticoats. Aun Robina
opened her heart, feeling it was a life-long parting, and had her old
silks made over for me, and gave me rich laces and a beautiful shawl,
and many ribbons, and hoped I should get a good husband, and
George gave me a handsome black silk gown, and a five pound
note unknown to his wife, who was a very mean woman. I went to
see my maternal grandmother, whom I had never seen before, by her
own desire. She was a pensioner at Hampden Court, and quite
childish. She gave me a beautiful piece of India muslin, which was
afterwards made into my wedding dress, and a lucky guinea with two
holes in it. She had been to India in her youth, and told me a
strange, rambling story about her voyage, and blessed me because
my eyes were like her mother's- Your father sent me the money
for my passage. There were but two other cabin passengers, a
clergyman's wife going out to her husband and Richard Marshall.
We sailed from Portsmouth to New York; I was the last to reach
the ship, going with the captain in his boat ; I was swung up on
board in an arm chair ; how well I remember Richard's face looking
over the side of the vessel.

" The captain, who was an Irishman, introduced us, and said when
all other amusements failed we might fall in love to pass the time.
The voyage was long, and a part of it very rough ; it lasted nine
weeks, it was the happiest part of my life, I was full of hope, joyous
and free from care, and Richard and I did fall in love, but not merely
to pass the time ; we were alike in tastes, in principles, in youth
and health. What a strange, dreamy idea we both had of Canada;
quite unlike the reality. Richard brought with him two fowling
pieces, a double-barrelled gun, a case of pistols, four sword canes,

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and fishing tackle enough to furnish half a dozen disciples of Wal-
ton. Not that he was at all blood-thirsty or a mighty hunter, but
these equipments were considered the proper thing for Canada in
those days. He also had the whole of Scott's novels and poems at
that lime published — for Scott was still alive and writing — which he
unpacked and we read many of them together.

<« We ^v^re friends the very first day, for it does not take long at
sea to become acquainted, people may live in an English house for
a year and not know each other as well as in one week at sea. At
the end of four weeks we were plighted lovers, in the fifth we planned
our wedding tour to Niagara. It seems strange sometimes that a
man I only knew six months of all my life should have had so strong
and strange an influence upon me ; yet now, in old age, I approve of
my choice, I feel sure we should never have tired of each other, even
if we had lived together all these years.

" He was a tall, manly fellow — my Richard — over six feet in
height, fair-haired, blue-eyed, sandy-whiskered. He was imaginative
and romantic, and seemed fur the time to live in the book he was
reading. How happy we were, we did not feel the voyage long or
desire it to end. We would stand together, side by side, watching
the long, silvery track the vessel made, and chatting in low, happy
whispers, we would pace the deck, arm in arm, or sit on our camp
chairs for hours, Richard reading and Mrs. Budd and I listening.
Happy dreamers, living in the bright, imaginary scenes of Scott, or
in sweet thoughts of the future, building castles in the air as the
sailors sang, and mended their sails or drew them in ; moving on
slowly, yet gaily, to meet our fate without a doubt or fear. We did
not separate in New York, but he travelled up the country with me,
and brought me to this very house, then but newly built ; and he
told John, before we had been in it five minutes, that he meant to
come back two months from that day and marry me Your father
was anything but pleased, and your mother still more angry. She
said it was a cheat, she had just dismissed her servant and counted
upon me to fill her place, * And my husband paid your passage,' she
said, ' what do you mean ? *

" * I mean to repay the money,' I replied, feeling greatly hurt at
this reception.

" * Of course, ma belief chimed in Richard, in his jolly, hearty

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voice, * and I'll give it to you at once,' and he took out his great
pocket-book filled with notes and Knglish gold.

"I assure you, all this occutivd before I had been asked to take
off my bonnet. Then John said Richard was a perfect stianger and
he would n(jt consent to the mairiage without references, but Richard
had some letters of introduction in his pocket wliich satisfied him
as to his respectability, and he stayed four days, though he was ret
a very welcome guest. It was the month of May, I never remem-
ber such a spring as that, I have never seen such wild flowers sine?.
That level, green field that you call ' the flat' was standing in woods,
beech and maple, and the earth beneath the trees was catpeted w'lh
sweet scjuirrel corn and snowy blood-root, every rotten log and pow-
dery stump had its decay covered and glorified by masses of fragrant
l</veliness. What velvety, living green mosses we found in our first
stroll, and little, scarlet fungi-like cups, some as large as a tea-cup,
others as tiny as a pin's head ; and never have I seen such moccasin
plants and cardinal flowers as we gathered later in the season when
Richard came again. I suppose there are beauties in the weeds
still, but I never go in search of them ; there is no Richard to cany
my treasures and troll merry staves with his jolly young voice. There
were stumps in your garden, with lovely flowers trailing over them ;
there was a pig stye over yonder entirely concealed by a lovely climb-
ing plant with little prickly gourds on it, and delicate tendrils, and
light green foliage ; that pig stye was a mass of loveliness. Richard
found it out the first night. ' Hold your nose, Bell,' he cried out,
* and come this way, I have something to show you.'

" I stayed six weeks with your mother — who had great taste with
her flowers, I will say that for her — and it was the longest six weeks
I ever spent, though I was very busy all the time. I just lived on
Richard's letters. He had gone to Montreal to see his brother, and
wrote once a week. I made all the baby linen for your brother
John, who was expected in a little while, but your mother had to
get her servant back, and was reconciled to part with me because
I could neither cook, nor wash, nor make butter, or candlf^s, or soft
soap.

" There was no church in Gibbeline then, so we were married in
the house, and your father gave me back my passage money, and
begged me to accept it, saying * Upon my soul, I am ashamed, Bell,

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285

it's damned mean of Prissy, but don't tell her I gave it back, for
God's suice — and may He bless you.'

"I told Richard about it that ght, and he laughed heartily, and
made a corkscrew of the bill and threatened to light his pipe with
it. A pair of happy young fools we were ; we sat up till midnight,
and built castles and laid plans for the futii'^e by the light of the
moon. He hud bought a farm near Montreal, and there we were to
live when our wedding tour was over. We went from Gibbeline to
Niagara on horseback, it was the most comfortable mode of travel-
ling over the bad roads ; we rode by slow stages ; we passed through
the old Beverly swamp ; it took us ten days to reach Niagara. I
shall never forget when, faint and far away, we first heard the sound
of the Falls. We slept that night at Chippewa, and tiie Falls roared
in our ears, Richard said, ' Like the mighty voice of a giant fiend,'
till we fell asleep. We woke very early, and decided to walk over
and see that wonder of the world before breakfast, we would see the
first glimmer of the rising sun upon it; but we lay quiet, listening
to the sound of the mighty water in the happy, still night, for some
minutes before we rose. An early bird made a faint, little twittering
trill in the darkness.

" * I have such a strange, happy feeling, Bell,' said Richard, • it

seems like the beginning of a new life, in a new world,' and it was

to him, poor fellow. He uncovered his head when he first saw the

Falls, and I shed tears, I could not help it. He put an arm about

me, but was still for so long that I said at last, * Well, Richard, are

you satisfied ?' * No,' he replied, solemnly, * nor shall I be till I see

the Maker of it all ; this is His work, but what will it be to sea the

Author !' Then he carrolled out with his clear healthy young voice

' We praise Thee, oh ! God, we acknowledge Thee to be the Lord ;
All the earth doth worship Thee, the Father everlasting !'

" ' You sigh. Bell,' he said, at last ; * you are tired and hungry, and
I am a selfish fellow to promise to cherish, and yet to starve you.'

'* We looked up an inn and ate our breakfast with a relish. Day
by day we explored, enjoyed, tramped, and rode about ; we saw the
Falls in rain and shine ; we saw it by moonlight, by sunset ; we saw
it in the faint light of dawn and in the broad glare of day ; we went
under ; we saw it from the American side, and from the Canadian ;
we saw it not as you see :t now, but girdled by mighty forests ; more

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than once we saw it with lightning flashing over it, and heaven's
thunder mingling with its roar.

" I was a very strong, healthy girl, ?nd never tired, and yet I found
it harder to wake in the morning than Richard did. Once he took a
long walk before breakfast without me, and wakened me by brushing
my cheek with a handful of flowers he had gathered four miles away.
I never missed him from my side.

" That last night ! — how well I remember every minutiae of it. We
sat up planning a row for the next day, far up on a safe part of the
river. I leaned my head against his shoulder, and we talked for
hours. * No more honey after to-morrow,' he said, gaily ; ' it's the
last day of our moon, ma belU, come and see it shining on Niagara,'
and we looked out before lying down and saw it shimmering on the
mighty restless water.

'* I slept very sounly, but towards the morning I had a troubled
dream : I thought I saw Richard nearing the Falls in the boat ; he
had no oars ; he waved his hand to me, and was swept rapidly on to
the cataract — many a night since I have dreamt of the dread enemy
— I wakened with a start. I had thrown off part of the clothes and
felt chilly. Richard was asleep, but was conscious of some move-
ment, for he put his arm round me and drew me closer to him ; my
momentary fear was gone as I felt the brooding warmth at my back,
the protecting arm ; I was like a little chicken covered by its mother's
wing. I felt safe and satisfied, and was asleep again in a moment.
When I woke, the early sun shone in at the window, and I was alone.
I rose and dressed quickly, the nervous terror of my dream had
come back ; I could not wait to take a good bath, but just washed
my face and hands. I felt better when I got out into the air, and
walked rapidly along by the river, but was still too anxious to meet
Richard to admire the beauties of nature. I took but a casual
glance at the Falls, hoping to meet him every minute. I saw an old
man coming towards me, walking rapidly, with a wan and frightened
face. He waved his hand to me before we met and pointed to the
river. I looked, but at first saw nothing ; then he took me by the
arm and directed my eyes towards the Rapids. ' Look ! ' he said,
* he 's your htisiand I '

" There was Richard sweeping towards the Rapids in a tiny boat I
He had lost an oar, and tried in vain with the only one he had to

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keep from the rocks ; it snapped in his hand, and he was swept
swiftly on. He saw me, poor fellow ; he stood up and waved his
hat, and sprang into the river, to try and swim, I suppose, but ah !
the cruel water swept him away in an instant, and we never saw him
after he sprang from the boat.

" I did not cry or faint, I stood watching eagerly, not entirely
without hope, the cruel monster that had taken my husband forever.
A crowd collected, and stood with me staring at the rapids, but after
a couple of hours certainty took the place of hope ; I returned to
the inn. I have no vivid memory of the day, I sat in a stunned way
unable to realize the blow. In the evening, a doctor, to whom I had
been introduced, came to me and asked me if I had any friends
to whom he could write. I said I would write myself; he brought
me pen, ink and paper, but when I tried to frame a sentence, the
hopeless truth came upon me in its desperate reality. I broke into
a tempest of weeping. He wrote for me. Your father came, and
was very kind in his way ; Richard's brother came from Montreal,
looking haggard and stricken, for Richard was dear to him ; and
Francis, who was yet a boy, came from the States with his wife, a
very young bride, scarcely sixteen years old. She was very kind to
me, she went to Montreal with me to Richard's farm, and stayed for
four months.

" I left Niagara unwillingly, though now I hated it ; like Naomi,
I had gone full and I came away empty of all joy. I think but for
Emma, I should have died of loneliness ; she took me back to New
York with her, and I stayed for a couple of months, but I was more
lonely there than on Richard's farm, where he had planned and ar-
ranged everything. His books, his clothes, his guns, were like old
friends to me. He had made a will, it was signed the morning of
our marriage ; everything he died possessed of he left to me abso-
lutely. It was against the advice of all my relatives that I kept
house alone, but I think if I had been obliged to submit to other
people's dictation in that first year of ray grief, I should have gone
mad. After the first few months the sense of utter loneliness left
me and I was better alone. The servants Tom Marshall procured
for me were very steady and unobtrusive, they never interfered with
me. I would sit up all night when it was still and starlight, and I
was restless, gazing out at the bright heavens, and having no light

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within but the wood fire. Tom Marshall came to see me sometimes,
and does still ; the sight of him pains me even now, though I have
a great respec| for him, he bears a kind of mocking bird resemblance
to his brother, there is likeness enough to renew my loss every time
I see him.

" At the end of two years I went to England, but I only stayed a
month ; I could not bear it, iihe clouds were so near to the earth that
they seemed to shut out heaven ; in Canada I felt nearer to Richard.
After six years I came to this place once more, ' the flat ' was cut,
denuded of all its beauty, and scarred with ugly stumps and weeds ;
the plough had passed through it, and not a wild flower remained.
I felt an affinity to the rough field ; like me, a ruthless hand had
been laid upon it, and its glory had departed.

" Ten years after my bereavement, I went back to Niagara, I went
alone, telling no one of my intention. The first sound of the Falls
shook me like the roar of an enemy, a merciless enemy who had
taken my all. That night I slept in the same inn, in the same bed
I had occupied with Richard, and I dreamt of him, but he was not
alone ; he came to me and with him that One who died that we might
be saved. That dream comforted and soothed me, 'I recognized the
Father's hand in all my woe. I began to work for others ; I became
a Sunday-school teacher, I dispersed tracts, I sought out distress and
relieved it, I invited sick people to my house, and cheered and made
them well again ; I grew happy. I have been a happy woman for
forty years, Mary, I am contented to wait till it's God's pleasure to
take me home to Himself and Richard. I feel now that ic was in
kindness and love to me that God took Richard away. If he had
been mine all these years, if we had been blessed with ehildren, I
should have been so tied and wedded to this world that I should
have wanted to live on forever, and now I have nothing to leave that
I greatly regret to leave, my ties are all on the other side. Some
day when I feel the end is not far off, I shall once again visit the
Falls.

"And now you have heard my story, Mary, from my own lips, and
you are the only person to whom I ever told it. It was a fitting
place to tell it, for I sat on this flat stone with Richard years before
you were bom, and listened to the far away frogs, and pronounced
them musical."

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The stately old lady rose as she concluded, and drawing her shawl
round her, with a slight sign to Mary not to follow, she walked slowly
back to the house.

CHAPTER THE THIRTY-SEVENTH.

"Jesus, I cast my soul on Thee,

Mighty and merciful to save ;
Thou wilt to death go down with me.

And gently lay me in the grave."

— Charles Weslkv.

" There is a calm for those who weep,
A rest for weary pilgrims found ;
They softly lie, and sweetly sleep

Low IN THE GROUND.

" The storm that wrecks the winter sky.
No more disturbs their deep reposej
Than summer evening's latest sigh

That shuts the rose."

—James Montgomery.

STILL, small room, through which the early dawn is peeping,
a narrow bed on w!iich Owen Llewellyn has laid down to rise
no more. Two are with him, the doctor and his nephew ; his fingers
have closed upon Harry's in a weak clasp, and he is speaking feebly
and with an effort.

" My dear Harry, you are a comfort to me on my death bed ; I
am heartily glad that you are Lavy's husband ; I know, my dear
boy, that you married her from a sense of honour rather than love,
because she was your poor, unprotected kinswoman, despised by
many of her relatives, and only sheltered from the world by the
feeble, failing arm of her old uncle ; but it was a noble thing to do,
and I felt in time that your virtue would be rewarded. You are like
the Llewellyn's of old, you are worthy of the name, for you live for
duty. Now you have ample wealth, and you and Lavy have no
care but to make each other happy, and as the years pass your wife
will become more dear to you, for she is kind and generous and has

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many virtues. May God bless you with children, as in mercy he
denied me this wish of my heart, may they comfort your old age,
as you have comforted mine. God send you a son to do by you as
you have done by me — and Lavy." He paused exhausted. " You
will take care of my poor wife, I know," — here his voice failed.

" I will, sir," said Harry, tears rolling down his cheeks, " I will,
by George."

" God bless you with every blessing," replied the weakened voice
of the sick man.

The doctor, who had a feeling finger on the feeble, fluttering pulse,
gently suggested that he should rest now, and tell Harry the rest in
the morning.

** Ah ! Mr. Meldrum," he replied, with a smile, " we may not wake
to the same morning," but he did not try to say more, and soon he
he was asleep, not the light, refreshing sleep of every day nature,
but the last sleep of earthly insensibility before a glorious waking.
So he lay for forty-eight hours ; only once in all that time his lips
moved, and he muttered the word " Jesus/' to his hearers almost a
word withouc meaning. Neither Mr. Meldrum nor Harry left the
house, they shared the long, last watch together, yet they scarcely
spoke. Harry was quiet, yet restless ; his uncle's words had struck
deep, and a sense of unworthiness and sin haunted him. ** Unde-
served praise is the most severe satire," and Harry felt the old man's
last wish rather an awful one, that he might have a son to do by
him as he had done by Lavy, a son to deceive him and value his
money more than himself.

Towards the dawn of the second morning, Robert crept in and
looked at the still face of his master. " Will he last long?" he asked,
in a whisper.

" Not long now," returned the doctor, " the pulse in the wrist is
gone, the feet are cold, only the heart pumps on. Are the ladies
asleep ? "

" Miss Mary is awake, the others are asleep at last." He glided
away again. Half an hour later and all was over ; the two gentle-
men opened the door and went out into the chill dawn for a breath

of air.

Something in the rising sun smote the conscience of Harry, as
M' ses smote the rock ; he burst into tears, and leaning his head

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against the door-post, sobbed audibly. In a few minutes he recovered
himself a little and could speak.

" Oh ! we are blackguards, Meldrum, blackguards both," he said,
sadly and bitterly.

" You should know yourself best, Harry," replied the other gentle-
man^ with a calm smile and slight shrug of the shoulder," and you
may call me hard names if it's a relief to you ; but if you mean that
you are sorry for marrying Miss Lavy, all I can say is that I share
your regret. If I had known of her fortune a little earlier you should
not have had that to reproach yourself with."

" You don't know what blackguards we are, Meldrum, and I do,
that is all the difference between us. I would change places with my
uncle, how gladly, to be as good a man, as free from sin as he ; I
would, by George."

" So would not I," said the doctor. " He was a noble old man,
certainly, — a little visionary and unreal in his ideas, though, — but he
is dead, and I'm alive ; there I have the advantage of him. I can
see the sunrise, I can see the dandelions in the grass, I can feel the
air — which is a little chilly — and hear the birds. I am hungry and
shall enjoy my breakfast, weary and shall sleep sweetly ; and all these
things are over with him forever. You are over-tired and nervous,
Harry, that gives you a wrong view of things ; your bed is the best
place for you."

" Ah ! doctor, so you judge in your arrogance," said the low voice
of his sister-in-law, at his elbow. " I heard the last part of your
speech. But * eye hath not seen, nor ear heard, neither hath it en-
tered into the heart of man to imagine the glories prepared for them
that love Him.' Mr. Llewellyn did love God and try to do His will.
What glorious sight may now meet the eyes of the faithful servant ;
what music he may hear, such as mortal bird never made, though
that in the tree carols his morning hymn very sweetly. You are tired
and hungry, but he will never be weary again, he will hunger and
thirst no more, he will eat the food of God's angels. You feel the
air chill, but who can tell what warm delicious breezes fan his cheek?
He is at home, as he never was on earth."

" I see there are two sides to every question," said Mr. Meldrum,
with a kindly smile, — he liked Mary as he would a kitten or bird, or
other pretty, inferior creature, and if she had married him would

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certainly have liked his second wife as well as his first ; she amused
him. "You look as though you needed some of that heavenly
manna to refresh you, but I must set you to work, tired as you are.
Will you try and persuade this young gentleman to go to bed, and
rouse up Bridget to see about some coffee and something substantial
— and in the meantime send Robert to roe — and on no account wake
the ladies."

" To wake Bridget would be to wake the whole house, — breakfast
is ready ; Robert prepared it when you told him your watch would
soon be over. Come, Mr. Harry, and try and eat sometljing before
you lie down. We shall go to him, though he shall not return to us ;
be comforted, he is past all suffering and safe with his Maker and
Father ; in his case, death is swallowed up in victory. God never
makes mistakes, as we poor mortals do continually, or gathers the
unripe fruit; He never comes out of season to take back His
treasures."

Poor Harry's tears broke forth afresh at this address, but when she
laid her hand on his arm, he suffered her to lead him away.

THE CROMABOO MAIL CARRIER.

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CHAPTER THE THIRTY-EIGHTH.

" Does it matter who comes to a man's funeral ? "

— Bew Jonson.

" Britons never, never, never will be slaves ! "

—Thomson.

" The sun parts faintly from the wave,

The moon and stars are beaming,
The corpse is covered in the grave,

And infants now are dreaming ;
For Time conveys with rapid power
Alike the sweetest, saddest hour ! "

— Prior.

'R. LLEWELLYN was buried without ostentation in a quiet
little cemetery in Cromaboo, belonging to the Primitive Meth-
odists. This was according to a wish expressed in his will. " It is
a lovely spot," he wrote, '* for the body to rest in, and though the
people buried there were entirely wrong in the head with regard to
church government, their hearts were in the right place ; they fixed
their faith on the Rock of Ages, and I would as soon rise with them
as with a bench of bishops." He also desired that no mourning
should be used at his burial.

His unpopularity followed him to the grave, and the funeral was
a very small one ; a few Irish attended it uninvited, but not a Scotch-
man or a Dutchman was there, as a willingness to forgive and forget
is not a national peculiarity with either Scotch or Dutch. The
younger Llewellyns were there, and some friends from Hamilton,
and Mr. Meldrum and the Smiths, of course, and also Chip's part-
ner Root, whom Mr. Llewellyn had lectured for his ill-living not a
fortnight before his death. The German had listened so patiently
that the old gentleman hoped his heart was touched, as perhaps it
was, for when he concluded emphatically " It is for your good I
speak so plainly," Root answered " Aye, master, you mean well,"
and he certainly put on his best clothes and came to the funeral,
not a little to the disgust of Mr. Moorhouse, who disliked him greatly.
Only one person was offended at this quiet funeral, and that was
Robert, the Irish half of him longing for a " big berrin ;" he would
have liked nodding plumes, sweeping cloaks, sable horses, in honour
of the dear old master ; it seemed to him a want of respect to have

294

THE CROMABOO MAIL CARRIER.

a walking funeral, with never a hat band or mark of moumfng, and
he expressed something of this feeling to Miss Paxton, as they were
driving home together the day following the interment.

" You foolish Robert," she said, " didn't he tell us to rejoice
and not mourn, to thank God that he is free. Mourning is very well
for an unrepentant sinner — ^and the undertakers must live, poor fel-
lows — no black is too deep for the loss of a soul, but for a suffering
saint, who has escaped from his mortal prison, ihere is nothing to
mourn about ; our sorrow is just selfish."

" I know I am selfish, but I do miss him so much. I have such a
respect for him, the dear old master, that it would have comforted
me to have a black band. "

'* Then you shall have one, Robert," said Mary, with a smile,
" and — " but at that moment they encountered Mr. Crutch, on his
bay poney, and the sentence was never finished.

Robert drew in his horses and asked him. if he thought they would
find Mr. Jibb at home.

'• Yes," replied the Reverend Peter, with a sly twinkle of his bright
hawk-like eye, " I have just left him, and you will find him under his
his own vine and fig-tree what he planted," and he cantered on, and
they turned up to Mr. Jibb's house, Robert explaining that he was
"a first class hand at paneling but an ugly old beggar to deal with."

They found him standing at his door, with his arms a-kimbo ; a
short and burly man, clothed in a blue shirt, the sleeves rolled to the
shoulders, displaying his hairy arms, which were as sturdy and mus-
cular as a crocodile's fore legs. Brown derry trowsers, and a striped
bed-tick apron, completed his dress. He had a short neck, and a
large head covered with a thatch of thick iron-gray hair, a large,
coarse face with a week's growth of stubbly beard upon it, the most
remarkable feature being a very long upper lip. There he stood,
John Jibb, the richest and most successful man in CromSboo, look-
ing at the new comers with more curiosity than courtesy.

" Good evening, Mr. Jibb," said Robert ; " do you want a job ?"

" I don't know as I do," returned the person addressed.

Mary now spoke, and courteously told him the nature of her busi-
ness, her intention of turning the bam into a house, and what she
would want him to do, asking what wages he would require, and if
she should pay him by the day or by the job.

THE CROMABOO MAIL CARRIER.

295

(«

Let me reckon," he replied, thoughtfully counting his stubby
lingers — " four threepunces is two sixpunces, twice two's four, and
ought's ought, — you boards me of course,— now, how about the
vittles ?"

" Oh 1 I promise to feed you well," said Mary, with a smile.

" It ain't that," Mr. Jibb condescended to explain, " you knows
I'm a Hinglishman, and I'm proud o' being a Hinglishman, I think
Hingland beats all the countries in this yer world. I likes liberty ;
one man's as good as another, / say, but a Hinglishman is a deal
better ; I allays stick to that. Muster Crutch he says to me, says
he ' It's your dooty to give to your poor neighbours ; ' says I ' If I
likes to give I'll give, and if I don't I won't' Them's my senti-
ments, and I'm a Hinglishman, none o' your dirty Irish," — here he
looked at Robert — " and I must be sarved as sich. What I wants to
know is thiSf do you keep two tables or one^ that's what I asks ? "

" I keep two tables,'' replied Miss Paxton, " you would not have
your meals with me."

" Then there's a hend," said Mr. Jibb, with a wave of his brown
arm, " I works for no fine lady as wun't sit to her wittlei; wi' me. "

"Then I'll wish you good evening/' said Mary, with a broad
smile and a slight bend of the head ; a courtesy which he in no way
returned, and as they turned away, leaving him to enjoy his liberty,
a shrill, female voice called from within "Supper's ready, old man,
come and hev the pudden while it's 'ot"

" He's a rude, rough gem, deny it who can," said Robert, laugh-
ing merrily, and they soon forgot Iiim, much sooner than he
forgot them, for he thought of them all the evening and congratu-
lated himself with many a chuckle upon telling " that fine lady what
he thought on her."

" You are grave and still, Robert," said Mary, after a long silence,
" what are you thinking of — may I know ? "

" I was thinking of the old master, how we had parted for a long
time, and were each beginning a happy, new life. His death gives
me a solemn feeling, it stills my joy in being under your roof; I am
glad past telling to be with you, yet sad that the old life is over and
gone by forever. I can't but pity the old master, lying there in his fresh
grave, while I have so much that I longed for before me, and my
heart is too full between joy and sorrow."

296

THE CROMABOO MAIL CARRIER.

*' Dear Robert, it is only the shell we have buried in the little
green churchyard, and his new life is certain joy and endless happi-
ness ; he has gone, in the words of our catechism, ' to glorify God
and to enjoy him forever.' I think it is you that are to be pitied,
Robin, because the new life is earthly and the new mistress full of
faults, as you will soon find out ; you are like the young bears, you
have all your troubles before you."

" I have faults, too," said Robert, " but tell me of them by my-
self if ever I vex you. I don't mean to vex you, I mean to make
you happy if I can, and I am happy in being here by your side to-
night, but I realize that one day we must part, and God grant that I
may go first, and never live after you ; and God grant we may never
be separate again till cruel death divides us."

" Time is as great a divider as death," said Mary, " only he does
it more gently, but separate or together, we will always be fast
friends."

" I am more than your friend," he replied, " you will always be
dearer to me than any other woman in the world."

THE END.

THINK IT WAS ERIN THAT
NOVELIST UBELLED

little
happi-

God
)itied,
"ull of
s, you

y my-
make
de to-
that I
never

: does
; fast

\ys be

M«ntlon haa been made on thli paice of]
what Is probably the first novel -written It
and about Wellington county. It haa

strange title. "The Cromaboo Mail Carrier"
and the book is ra^U ARiNiffngi A'^£^\)rice
— much more than a modern novel would.
But the most amazing thing about this old
book is the terrible picture it paints of the
"Village of Cromaboo."

The location of Cromaboo ha% puzzled all
who have been studying the boolc lately.
Our own opinion was that the village was
Erin and Che Cromaboo stage was driven
from Guelph to Erin. Otbera have reached
the same concbision. r'rank Day of Rock-
wood, who knows Eramosa township and
its history as well as anyoner Snds many
references to confirm this opinion. Some
of these have been already mentioned on
this page. He adds otliers. He says "the
big hill on the 3rd and the inns In Eramosa
all seem to be described. The swamp at-
tack tallies in time and distance with the
6th line swamp in Erin." Even the location
of the farm of a German family in Erin Is
fairly accurate and only one letter in the
family name was changed in the novel,
which was withdrawn from circulation be-
cause it was considered libellous.

Mr. Day has the following to say about
the suppression of the book:

It would be interesting to know
which families were responsible for
suppressing the book, for there appears
to be no reason for shame in being a
descendent of any of the characters.
Most argels have a black feather in
one wing and many of us would find in
our family trees that some ancestor
was hanged for sheep stealing.

AN OLD NOVEL

One of the pleasures of the Christmas
season was the •pportunlty to read a
novel, written seventy years ago about
people and places In Wellington county by
a writer who spent her later years in Fer-
gus. The name of the novel Is a rather
strange one, "The Cromaboo i>lall Carrier,"
and we never knew that such a book eoc-
Isted. This page has often dealt with books
about Wellington county, and we thought
we had heard of most of them. There are
few novels in the lot. Fred Jacob wrote two
novels, based on life in Flora in his youth.
"Yon Toon o' Mine," written about Fergus
by James Black Perry, was almost a novel
but could more truly be classed as a series
of sketches of his native town. The other
works were mostly poetry, or history, or
sketches, or short stories, or even bookg of
sermons and family trees.

This book was brought to our attention
by the King's Printer in Toronto, Baptist
Johnston, who loaned us a copy of the book
and sent the following explanation:
I am forwarding to you, under sep
arate cover, a copy of "The CJroma-
boo Mail Carrier," written by my great-
aunt, Mary Leslie, in the TO's. under
the nom de plume of James Thomas
Jones. It relates chiefly to the Guelph
district and Hamilton. Some of the
I characters were so thinly disguised
j that my Aunt was threatened with a
( law-suit for damages, ^and on that
account the book was withdrawn from
circulation. Her old house, I believe,
still stands. It is on the Eramosa Road,
three miles north-east of Quelph. She
died at our house on Russell Hill Road,
Toronto, about 1921.
i That sounded intereetlng and the book

h '

lived up to adTance noticei. MUg LMlle
lived in Fergus in our youtti, we thinlc on
Tower street, near tlie bridga We knew
her aa the autlior of two books, one about
the Kings and Queens of Scotland, the
other on English history, with prose and
Terse and illustrations, and nicely bound.
Miss Leslie used to sell these herself and
nowadays they are considered of some
value, because the^r are scarce. We did not
suspect that Miss Leslie had once written
a novel that was libellous and to which she
would not attach her own name.

Mr. Johnston says that Miss Leslie dis-
guised her characters rather thinly. We
can quite believe it. (Mary Paxton, heroine
of the story, is probably Mary Leslie her-
self. If so, she must have had some angry
relatives, including the doctor and a min-
ister or two. The hero is the driver of the
mail stage from Oibbeline to Cromaboo.
We would not know about the characters,
for the book was printed in Guelph in
1878, which was 70 years ago, but the names
of the places are easy to guess. Gibbeline
is Ouelph, of course. (The Quelphs and the
Oibbelines were warring families in Italy
long ago.) The Gibbeline Stage Road is un-
doubtedly the EIramosa Road from Guelph
to Erin. Overton would be EJverton. But
Cromaboo eluded us for a while. The name
itself meant nothing but the evidence soon
piles up. It was on the Eramosa road, 20
miles from Guelph, on the Credit Valley
Railway. Its chief tavern was "The Vftrp
of Erin." The doctor lived on an island in
the river. A high gravel hill rose beside
the village— and so on. It must be Erin.
aF> it was 80 years ago. But listen to the
opening paragraph of the first chapter of
the book:

Cromaboo is the most blackguard
village in Canada, and is settled by the
lowest class of Irish. Highland Scotch
and Dutch. It consists of seven tav-
erns, six churches, and about one hun-
dred shabby frame houses built on
little gravelly mounds. Fights are trtf
quent, drunkenness flourishes, vice
abounds • more tobacco is smoked there
than in any village of the same size
in the Dominion; swearing is so com-
mon that it passes unnoticed, and there
is an Illegitimate child in nearly every
house — in some two, in others threev tn
one six — and the people think it no
sin. Yet. even in this Sodom, there
was at the time of which I write, a Lot
That's pretty hot stuff. We couldn't he*-
lieve that Erin was ever like that Later,
the writer changes the picture a bit. The
number of taverns is cut to two; churches
to two or three and a few, very few, de-
cent characters emerge.

The -novel interested us greatly. It fol-
lows the old pattern of the time, when a
great deal of class distinction survived in
Canada. In those novels, at least, the fllc^
gitimate son of a titled man wa» superfor
to an honest workman. The servant could
not sit at the same table as his master.
Children of ten or twelve became servant
girls. No decent young lady went out with
a man unless she was chaperoned — and so
on.

The old novel is not expertly done, by
modem standards. It contradicts Itself in
spots. It hag extra characters that dntter
it up with their stories. The story does not
end, either happily or unhappily, and is
not complete. Obviously Miss Leslie plan-
ned a sequel, and she sayg that in the In-
troduction. Perhaps the hot reception her
first novel received discouraged her, and
made her turn to history afterwards, or
perhaps she wrote it and never had it
printed. Anyway, this adds an interest-
ing chapter to the literary history of W%1-
lington county.