m 
 
 'iSBi 
 
 
 I 


 
 SKIS- frontispiece. 
 
 ' Read it out for us." 
 
 p. 10.
 
 PHIL DERRY: 
 
 AUTHOR OF "RUTH ALLEBTON," "CBRISTMAS WITH THE BOYS," "SANDY 
 
 CAMERON," "HALF A DOZEN BOYS," "HALF A DOZEN GIRLS," 
 
 "A PACKAGE OF SEEDS," "BARLEY LOAVES," ETC. 
 
 PHILADELPHIA : 
 
 AMERICAN SUNDAY-SCHOOL UNION, 
 No. 1122 CHESTNTJT STREET. 
 
 NEW YORK : Nos. 8 AND 10 BIBLE HOUSE, ASTOR PLACE.
 
 Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1875, by the 
 
 AMERICAN SUNDAY-SCHOOL UNION, 
 In the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington. 
 
 WESTCOTT & THOMSON, HENRY B. ASHMEAD, 
 
 Stereotypert and Klcclrotypcrs, Philada. Printer, Philada.
 
 CHAPTER PACE 
 
 I. -A STRANGER IN TOWN 7 
 
 II. SOMETHING NEW IN EAGLEVILLE 13 
 
 III. JAKE BERRY'S WIFE 19 
 
 IV. MAKING A START 28 
 
 V. MRS. STRIKER'S SUCCESS 38 
 
 VI. A CHEERLESS HOME 52 
 
 VII. LIZZIE, SALLIE, AND SAM 61 
 
 VIII. NATHAN BROWN'S ASSISTANT 72 
 
 IX. PHIL IN DISGRACE 81 
 
 X. UP, AND DOWN AGAIN 95 
 
 XL AN IMPORTANT CHANGE 105 
 
 XIL STOKES'S UNWELCOME LODGER 115 
 
 XIIL A FRIEND IN NEED 128 
 
 XIV. TRAVEL AND TALK 140 
 
 XV. A MORNING OUT OF DOORS 155 
 
 1*
 
 6 CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER PACK 
 
 XVI. How THEY BEGAN THE WORK AT SHU- 
 
 NEM 167 
 
 XVII. A HIDE, AND WHAT CAME OF IT 176 
 
 XVIII. EAGLEVILLE AGAIN 188 
 
 XIX. BRIGHTENING THE FIRE AND DARK- 
 ENING A LIFE 203 
 
 XX. "AMAZING GRACE" 221 
 
 XXI. A TALK IN CAPT. MARKS'S BACK KOOM 231 
 
 XXII. QUESTIONS OF TASTE 241 
 
 XXIII. THE BREAKING UP 255 
 
 XXIV. THE FRESHET 271 
 
 XXV. A SINGING-SCHOOL 284 
 
 XXVI. STEVE HOLMAN'S BARN 292 
 
 XXVII. UNEXPECTED HELPERS 306 
 
 XXVIII A CHANGE OF SCENE 326 
 
 XXIX. A DIFFERENCE OF OPINION 341 
 
 XXX. A BELATED TRAVELLER 352 
 
 XXXI THE SUMMING UP.... 364
 
 PHIL DERRY. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 A STEANGER IN TOWN. 
 
 , HERE was a group of men loung- 
 ing in the bar-room of the Eagle- 
 ville hotel. Bar-room is not just 
 the name for it perhaps, because 
 the little counter with shelves behind it 
 told plainly that it was a store as well, 
 while a tin letter-box in one corner sug- 
 gested that here was the post-office also ; 
 yet as one entered the door the smell of 
 whisky and the cloud of tobacco-smoke 
 so overpowered everything else that bar- 
 room appeared the only fitting name. 
 The men sat around the stove, each with 
 
 7
 
 8 PHIL DERBY. 
 
 his chair tilted back and a pipe in his 
 mouth, seeming to enjoy themselves 
 very much. Now and then a pipe was 
 removed just long enough to make a 
 remark, but for the most part they 
 puffed away in silence, finding amuse- 
 ment enough in watching the people 
 who passed in and out the door. The 
 landlord, postmaster and storekeeper of 
 Eagleville, Captain Marks by name, 
 stood behind the counter busy as a man 
 of three vocations certainly ought to be. 
 He turned readily from measuring off 
 six yards of brown calico for an old 
 woman, who had been haggling over the 
 price for half an hour, to the dirty-faced 
 child who had a penny to spend on 
 peppermint candy, and was over on the 
 post-office side sorting over the letters, 
 when lawyer Smithers came in for his 
 mail. The lazy smokers watched every 
 quick motion of Captain Marks as if 
 merely looking at work was exercise 
 enough for them.
 
 A STRANGER IN TOWN. 9 
 
 There had been perfect quiet in the 
 dingy room for a few moments, and the 
 men had puffed away undisturbed when 
 a click at the door-latch caused every 
 pipe to go down and every eye to turn in 
 that direction. A man entered. There 
 was nothing unusual in his appearance, 
 but these Eagleville loungers gazed as 
 if it were of the greatest importance to 
 them to know the exact cut of his coat 
 and his whiskers and the size of his 
 travelling-bag. The stranger, for such 
 he was, looked neither right nor left, 
 but stepped briskly toward the counter 
 and spoke a few words in a low tone to 
 Captain Marks, who only nodded his 
 head thoughtfully and then handed the 
 new-comer a hammer. The pipes all 
 returned to their owners' mouths, but all 
 eyes were turned toward that side of the 
 smoky wall where with tacks that he 
 drew from his pocket the traveller fast- 
 ened up a printed sheet. This done he 
 turned again to the landlord, spoke a
 
 10 PHIL DEREY. 
 
 few words which the rest could not hear, 
 and passed out. Two or three of the 
 chairs now came down on all four legs, 
 and everybody looked toward Captain 
 Marks. 
 
 " Circus coming, maybe !" said one. 
 
 The landlord shook his head. There 
 was a customer at the door, and no time 
 had he for idle talk. 
 
 "Circus!" repeated another of the 
 loungers. " No, he don't look like one 
 o' that sort." 
 
 " Look at that bill there," said a third. 
 "There ain't no picture o' lions and 
 tigers or men riding four horses at once, 
 is there now ? Read it out for us, Rich- 
 ards; let's hear what it is about, any- 
 how." 
 
 Richards accordingly pushed back his 
 chair and read aloud the contents of the 
 paper. 
 
 " American Sunday-school Union, eh?" 
 said the one who had first spoken. " Well, 
 that don't sound much like circus, to be
 
 A STRANGER IN TOWN. 11 
 
 sure ; but I don't just know what it does 
 mean ; do you, Cap'n ?" 
 
 The landlord being for the moment at 
 liberty, crossed the counter and joined 
 his guests at the stove. 
 
 "I can't tell you much more than 
 what's on that ere paper," said he. " The 
 man that put it up came in the train this 
 morning, and has been going about town 
 talking to the folks about religion, I 
 guess ; anyway, he has a parcel of Bibles 
 to sell or give, I don't know which. He 
 left a tract in the other room, and my 
 Martha has been spelling it out ever 
 since." 
 
 " A book agent likely ; there was one 
 of 'em came round last fall, you know ; 
 wanted to sell every family in Eagleville 
 a copy of the best and usefullest volume 
 ever was printed ; I forget what it was 
 called; my wife went and threw away 
 two or three dollars on it, and not one 
 of us has ever looked in it except to see 
 the pictur' in the front."
 
 12 PHIL DERRY. 
 
 "No, Jenks," replied the landlord, 
 "this is a very different sort of person. 
 He's for doing good and not for making 
 money, depend on it. Anyhow, he's to 
 hold a meeting in the school-house to- 
 night at seven o'clock, sharp Suppose 
 you all go and hear what he has to say. 
 That's the best way of finding out." 
 
 The man addressed as Jenks laughed 
 and said he didn't know as to that. There 
 wasn't any Sunday in Eagleville as he 
 knew of, certainly not any Sunday-school, 
 and he guessed the stranger had made a 
 mistake in calling together the people 
 to listen to something they didn't know 
 anything about. However, he was not 
 sure but he might look in at the school- 
 house just to hear what the fellow was 
 driving at. 
 
 The group dispersed, for it was near 
 dinner-time; and the landlord, left to 
 himself for the moment, stood with folded 
 arms before the printed paper on the yel- 
 low wall and read it carefully through.
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 SOMETHING NEW IN EAQLEV1LLE. 
 
 HAT evening as the clock struck 
 seven an earnest-faced man stepped 
 upon the platform of the rough 
 little school-house. It was the 
 stranger who had so perplexed *the 
 loungers around the hotel stove in the 
 morning. The benches were well filled, 
 for public entertainments were rare in 
 this far Western town, and people had 
 come together in the hope of being 
 amused, many still clinging to the idea 
 that there was to be a show of some 
 kind. Captain Marks was there with 
 his daughter Martha; Jenks, too, who 
 was by this time convinced that this was 
 not another book-agent to impose upon 
 his wife; and one or two more of the 
 smokers had come with their families 
 
 2 13
 
 14 PHIL DERBY. 
 
 to hear what was goiDg on. There was 
 considerable whispering among neigh- 
 bors, laughing and shuffling of feet up 
 to the moment when a strong, clear voice 
 repeated the opening lines of a familiar 
 hymn and struck the notes of a tune, 
 new to certain boys and girls who had 
 spent their whole lives in this godless 
 Western town, but to many of the older 
 ones full of memories of the prayer- 
 meeting and holy Sabbaths of early 
 days. Everybody sung, whether they 
 knew how or not ; indeed, those who 
 had not the least idea where the tune 
 would rise or fall to next, sang most 
 lustily. There was old Mrs. Bowen, who 
 devoted her life to scolding her grand- 
 children, actually with a tear rolling 
 down her cheek ; and Jerry Jones, the 
 blacksmith, who was seldom known to 
 open his lips without an oath rolling 
 from between them, now ringing forth 
 from his mighty lungs the praise of that 
 sacred name he daily took in vain.
 
 SOMETHING NEW IN EAGLEVILLE. 15 
 
 After the hymn there was a short por- 
 tion of Scripture read, and then followed 
 a prayer. It was not what people are in 
 the habit of calling " a beautiful prayer ;" 
 its words were as plain and homely as 
 the everyday words of the people who 
 said " Amen," but it led some souls from 
 that Eagleville school-house nearer to 
 God's mercy-seat than they had gone 
 for many, many a day. 
 
 When the stranger stood up to speak, 
 there was a general clearing of throats 
 and change of position, and certain half- 
 grown boys in the back seat, who did not 
 " see much fun " in singing and praying, 
 but had tried to keep each other quiet by 
 pinching and making faces, got up to go 
 out. 
 
 "Oh, boys, wait a little. I am just 
 going to say something that I want you 
 to hear. I am sent to speak to the boys 
 and girls, and about boys and girls, so if 
 anybody must leave the room I had rather 
 it were the grown folks."
 
 16 PHIL DERBY. 
 
 The gentleman said this with a cordial 
 tone in his voice and a kindly smile on 
 his face, but then everybody in the room 
 turned to see what boys they were, and a 
 buzz of amusement passed from bench to 
 bench. It was with very sheepish looks 
 the lads slunk back to their seats, and 
 after that I need hardly say they neither 
 pinched nor made faces. 
 
 The speaker announced that he had 
 come as a messenger from the American 
 Sunday-school Union ; that, as he had 
 mentioned to a good many of his hearers, 
 his object in coming to Eagleville was to 
 start a Sunday-school. He told them 
 simply the great object to be accom- 
 plished by a Sunday-school, the benefit 
 it would bring upon the children, the 
 parents, the place, for this world as well 
 as the next. When he had spoken of 
 these things fully, he asked who now was 
 willing to take hold with him of this 
 good work, "who in this room loved
 
 SOMETHING NEW IN EAGLEVIL.LE. 17 
 
 God and his own children enough to 
 undertake this ?" 
 
 There was a long pause ; some coughed, 
 some turned away their faces for fear the 
 speaker might address them by name, 
 and a good many would have gone out 
 had they dared, but maybe they would 
 have been called back as the boys had 
 been; nobody could tell. 
 
 At last, when the pause had made every 
 one present uncomfortable, a man stood 
 up, looked at the missionary, and said, 
 
 " I'll join you, sir ; I want to see a 
 Sunday-school in Eagleville. Now, let's 
 hear what you want me to do." 
 
 It was Captain Marks. 
 
 The ice was broken ; one or two other 
 men and half a dozen young women now 
 stood up and offered their services. The 
 missionary looked glad. " Now," said 
 he, " with God's blessing, friends, we'll 
 soon have a thriving Sunday-school in 
 Eagleville." 
 
 The congregation were dismissed, but 
 2* B
 
 18 PHIL, DERRY. 
 
 the few who had enlisted in the work 
 lingered behind to learn something of 
 the plans and duties to be carried out. 
 Captain Marks was to be superintendent, 
 and the other volunteers were charged to 
 find their classes and gather them to- 
 gether in the school-house on the follow- 
 ing Sunday. 
 
 " Now I call that tip-top," one of the 
 noisy boys had said, when fairly out of 
 the building. " It's almost better than a 
 circus; it lasts longer, you see, and then, 
 to have a Sunday-school reg'lar ! why, 
 it'll seem more like folks."
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 JAKE DERBY'S WIFE. 
 
 )T the further end of the main 
 street stood a row of very com- 
 mon dwellings. They were not 
 old, indeed, nothing in Eagle- 
 ville was old, but the unpainted fronts, 
 the unshuttered windows, the broken 
 door-steps, and level extent of mud be- 
 fore these houses, made them seem very 
 unattractive abodes. Several pigs wan- 
 dered about in this muddy waste, and 
 appeared to enjoy it vastly, and several 
 children, so like the pigs that it required 
 close scrutiny to tell which were children 
 and which pigs, made mud pies and 
 clapped their hands for joy. This de- 
 scription might serve with truth for any 
 day of the three hundred and sixty-five, 
 excepting those months in which snow 
 
 19
 
 20 PHIL DERRY. 
 
 answered in place of mud for the chil- 
 dren to play and the pigs to wallow in, 
 but it is given with special reference to a 
 morning in early spring the morning 
 which followed the meeting in the school- 
 house described in the last chapter. 
 
 A gentleman came along the road and 
 bent his steps toward the door of the first 
 house in the row. The pigs moved slowly 
 out of his way, and the children stood 
 still and looked at him with shy surprise ; 
 but when he patted the head of one, 
 smiled in the blue eyes of another, and 
 asked a third what her name was, they 
 all smiled in return, and knew they had 
 found a friend. 
 
 " Be you the man that's goin' to make 
 a Sunday-school ?" asked the boldest of 
 the group. 
 
 "Yes, my little man; I want you to 
 go next Sunday afternoon to the school- 
 house and help make it, will you ?" 
 
 The boy hung his head and did not 
 answer, and the missionary, hearing at
 
 JAKE DERBY'S WIFE. 21 
 
 last a response to his thrice repeated 
 knock, entered the house. 
 
 A woman sat in a creaky rocking- 
 chair in the middle of the room. She 
 was neither old nor ugly, but with her 
 dingy-brown calico wrapper and her un- 
 combed brown hair she looked as if she 
 might be just a part of the mud floor that 
 had bulged up from the centre. She rose 
 when the missionary entered, wiped off 
 the top of a big box, and motioned for 
 him to take a seat. 
 
 " This is Mrs. Derry, I believe)" said 
 the visitor. The woman nodded, and 
 without a word went on with the occu- 
 pation in which she had been interrupted, 
 namely, putting a patch in a very dingy 
 pair of pantaloons. 
 
 " You have some fine little children, 
 Mrs. Derry, if those are yours that I 
 found playing just outside the door." 
 
 "They'll do well enough," said the 
 woman. 
 
 "I hope you will let them join the
 
 22 PHIL DERRY. 
 
 Sunday-school which is about to be 
 formed in town." 
 
 "I don't know as I shall take that 
 trouble," was the not very encouraging 
 answer. 
 
 " I saw Mr. Derry this morning, and 
 he said he would do all he could to help 
 along the good work," said the mission- 
 ary. 
 
 " Oh, very well, then," said the mis- 
 tress of the house, who, having now 
 finished her patch, held up the garment 
 before* her with satisfaction. " If Mr. 
 Derry said that, what's the need of your 
 coming to me ?" 
 
 The visitor hesitated for an answer, 
 but was relieved from the need of mak- 
 ing any by a shout from one corner : 
 
 " I'll be there, you see if I don't. I 
 like what you said last night, sir, first 
 rate, and I am goin', no matter what ma 
 says." 
 
 The voice came from the top of a pile 
 of potatoes, which was the principal arti-
 
 JAKE BERRY'S WIPE. 23 
 
 tie of furniture in the room. The mis- 
 sionary looked toward it, and there dis- 
 covered one of the very boys whom he 
 had called back when they were trying 
 to slink out of the school-house the pre- 
 vious evening. Perched on the top of 
 this curious seat, the fellow had been 
 watching the stranger with keen eyes 
 ever since his entrance. 
 
 " Clear out, you Phil !" exclaimed the 
 mother, crossly ; and with one leap from 
 the pile of potatoes and another across 
 the room he was out of the door. 
 
 The visitor tried in vain to rouse Mrs. 
 Derry to some feeling of interest in the 
 object so dear to him, the starting of the 
 Sunday-school. Then he opened a pack- 
 age that he had brought with him and 
 displayed some Bibles, expressing a hope 
 that she would buy one. 
 
 " No," said the surly woman. " Do you 
 take me for a heathen ? I've got a Bible 
 somewhere around. I had it before my 
 Phil was born."
 
 24 PHIL DERBY. 
 
 With more energy than she had hith- 
 erto shown, she rose, took a bunch of 
 keys, and began a search for the object 
 that was to prove that she was not a 
 heathen. One box and then another was 
 opened without success ; then she passed 
 into a back room, and was gone some 
 time. At last she came back with an 
 air of triumph on her face and a very 
 tattered book in her hand. 
 
 " Here it is. It isn't a Bible exactly, 
 but it is about the same thing ; there's 
 as good readin' there as you'll find any- 
 where, mister, and I've had that book 
 for nigh twelve years." 
 
 The missionary could not help smiling 
 as he received into his hand the much 
 stained and torn copy of a collection of 
 hymns. He spoke then earnestly of the 
 untold value of the word of God, and 
 urged Mrs. Derry to purchase, for her 
 own sake and the sake of her husband 
 and children, one of the Bibles he had 
 with him.
 
 JAKE DERBY'S WIPE. 25 
 
 " Can't afford to throw away money 
 on books," was the answer. 
 
 " But some of these are very cheap ;" 
 and here the guest cast a look around 
 the room, taking in its pile of potatoes, 
 its other pile of dirt, and the faded dress 
 of its owner, and said, 
 
 " If you feel that you are indeed too 
 poor to buy one of these, I am author- 
 ized to give you a copy. May I hope 
 that you will read it diligently and with 
 prayer ?" 
 
 As he spoke Mrs. Derry's cheeks and 
 forehead flushed to a deep crimson as she 
 stood up and looked in the face of her 
 visitor : 
 
 "Too poor, eh? Who dared to tell 
 you that Jake Derry was too poor to buy 
 a Bible a hundred of 'em if he liked ? 
 Here, hand out the very best one of the 
 lot and tell me the price." 
 
 The missionary did so. 
 
 " Is that the best you have ? Come, 
 I mean what I say. You shall not go
 
 26 PHIL DEERY. 
 
 from this house and say that you made a 
 present of a Bible to Jake Derry's wife." 
 
 " This is indeed the handsomest one I 
 have, madam," was the reply as the sur- 
 prised visitor held out a well-bound copy 
 of the Book of books. 
 
 Mrs. Derry took it without a word ; 
 then she fumbled in her pocket, and 
 drawing out a tarnished but well- filled 
 purse counted the price and placed it in 
 the missionary's hand. 
 
 " Now go," she said, " and say, if you 
 dare, to anybody in Eagleville that you 
 offered a Bible in charity to Jake Berry's 
 wife." 
 
 The missionary's face was grave as he 
 turned from the door; and as the chil- 
 dren and pigs had moved farther on in 
 their mud-field, he had no interruption 
 to the sorrowful thoughts that found their 
 way to his heart. The precious book 
 had been purchased, not for its own 
 sake, but for pride. Would it be read ? 
 Would its promises ever comfort, its
 
 JAKE BERRY'S WIFE. 27 
 
 teachings guide, its threatenings warn, 
 any member of that household? 
 
 There was no answer to this anxious 
 question, unless in the remembrance of 
 those blessed words : 
 
 "As the rain cometh down, and the 
 snow from heaven, and returneth not 
 thither, but watereth the earth, and mak- 
 eth it bring forth and bud, that it may 
 give seed to the sower, and bread to the 
 eater : 
 
 " So shall my word be that goeth forth 
 out of my mouth : it shall not return unto 
 me void, but it shall accomplish that 
 which I please, and it shall prosper in the 
 thing whereto I sent it." Isa. Iv. 10, 11.
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 MAKING A START. 
 
 ^ 
 
 "INURING the remainder of the week 
 Captain Marks, more perplexed 
 by the new office thrust upon him 
 than ever he had been by the 
 manifold duties of landlord, merchant, 
 and postmaster, kept his spectacles, to- 
 gether with a bran new Bible, and Union 
 Bible dictionary, on a shelf behind the 
 counter to be handy for the odd minutes 
 he could catch now and then through the 
 day. A very serious business it was, this 
 being appointed superintendent of a Sun- 
 day-school, and Captain Marks scratched 
 his head, wiped his glasses, and turned 
 over the leaves of his books with in- 
 creasing dread of failure as Sunday ap- 
 proached. He wished more than once 
 that he had not stood up in meeting and 
 
 28
 
 MAKING A START. 29 
 
 offered his services ; he grumbled at him- 
 self for such soft-heartedness, and at the 
 missionary for having drawn him into 
 such a piece of work. It was too late to 
 " back out of it," as he said to his wife, 
 for there was not another man in the 
 place who would or could undertake it, 
 and the missionary himself had gone to 
 a town more than twelve miles distant. 
 To be sure there was Martha, who was 
 going to be one of the teachers, and who 
 had good strong lungs of her own to start 
 the singing. He'd have to try ; and if he 
 broke down, why, everybody in Eagle- 
 ville would laugh at him, that was all. 
 
 Sunday afternoon came, neither sooner 
 nor later because of the captain's fears. 
 The school-house was even better filled 
 than at the evening meeting. Not only 
 had each teacher been doing her best to 
 collect a larger class than anybody else, 
 but a good many grown-up idlers, both 
 men and women, who had nothing in 
 particular to do with themselves on Sun- 
 
 3*
 
 30 PHIL DEREY. 
 
 day afternoons, dropped in to find out 
 what these strange goings on might be. 
 
 The hymn was gone through remark- 
 ably well. The captain gave it out line 
 by line, and Martha raised the good old 
 tune of " Zion," one which affords unu- 
 sual scope for making melodious noise for 
 those who don't know one note from an- 
 other. Oh how they did sing! Then 
 the captain ordered all present to kneel 
 and repeat the Lord's Prayer. Now, it 
 happened that there were many in the 
 school-house that day that did not know 
 the Lord's prayer any better than they 
 knew the tune " Zion," and the effort to 
 lead so many unruly voices through its 
 petitions proved too much for the super- 
 intendent; he stopped short in the middle. 
 There was an instant's hush, and then 
 the resolute voice of Mrs. Mercy Striker 
 took up the prayer and carried it safely 
 through. Mrs. Striker was known in 
 Eagleville as an advocate of women's 
 rights, and she was heard to remark on
 
 MAKING A START. 31 
 
 more than one occasion after this that if 
 the Sunday-school missionary had had 
 the gumption to put the business in the 
 hands of a thorough-going, sensible wo- 
 man, it would have been sure of success. 
 The buzz in that rough school-room a 
 few minutes later was pleasant to hear, 
 and the little groups of clean, rosy faces, 
 gathered about the respective teachers, 
 was a sight to have gladdened the hearts 
 of those whose money and prayers had 
 sent the missionary to that remote West- 
 ern town. Phil Derry was there accord- 
 ing to promise, just about as brown and 
 dingy as when he tumbled off his moth- 
 er's potato pile to announce his approval 
 of the movement ; he had the fine new 
 Bible in his hand, however, and strutted 
 along with as much complacency as if its 
 clean bright binding had been a suit of 
 broadcloth on his back. Phil's younger 
 brothers and sisters were not there, for 
 the lazy mother thought it not worth the 
 trouble of dressing them clean "just for
 
 32 PHIL DEREY. 
 
 the notion of a stranger, who mightn't 
 be any better than other folks, for all his 
 grand talk." 
 
 Phil was placed with four other large 
 boys under the care of Miss Amanda 
 Millett, a meek woman, fair-haired and 
 small of stature, who never would have 
 dared so bold an undertaking, but that, 
 being the schoolmaster's sister, she felt it 
 due to her brother's dignity that she 
 should take part in this scheme for the 
 benefit of the Eagleville youth. Miss 
 Millett's boys had so much frolic in their 
 bones that the poor lady found it tiresome 
 work to get through the lesson, so she 
 brought it to a speedy close, and prom- 
 ised that if they would be very quiet she 
 would tell them a Bible story. They all 
 promised. 
 
 " Let's have it about the man that was 
 swallowed by a whale," suggested one 
 boy. 
 
 " No," said his next neighbor ; " I'd a 
 sight rather hear about little Samuel.
 
 MAKING A START. 33 
 
 We've got a picture of him at home ; he's 
 saying his prayers, and has got such a 
 beautiful red shirt on." 
 
 " Samuel !" exclaimed Phil Derry, in 
 a very slighting tone. " I say, Miss Mil- 
 lett, tell us about that feller that killed a 
 thousand people with the jaw-bone of 
 an ass. That's a first-rate story." 
 
 " It was Samson that did so, I believe," 
 suggested Miss Millett, in a very doubt- 
 ful tone. 
 
 " No, 'twa'nt Samson, nuther," said the 
 boy who had proposed the story of Jonah. 
 " 'Twas Goliath. Goliath was a giant, 
 and anybody might know it would take 
 a giant to kill a thousand men with an 
 ass's jaw-bone." 
 
 Meek little Miss Millett turned over 
 the leaves of her Bible in perplexity ; she 
 did not venture to be positive about Sam- 
 son, in opposition to big Tom Bryan's 
 rather surly declaration, and yet it was 
 not clear to her mind that Goliath ever 
 performed such a deed. While she hesi-
 
 34 PHIL DERRY. 
 
 tated, Phil opened his fine Bible, sure 
 that he could find a settlement of the 
 question there at once. The other boys 
 got into a loud and angry squabble of dis- 
 cussion, and the teacher took the opportu- 
 nity of stepping up to the platform to 
 lay the vexed question before the super- 
 intendent. 
 
 Captain Marks looked grave ; he took 
 off his glasses, carefully polished them 
 and returned them to their place, 
 cleared his throat, blew his nose, and fi- 
 nally repeated, 
 
 " Who was it that slew a thousand men 
 with the jaw-bone of an ass? Well, 
 Miss Millett, I should say my opinion 
 is that it was Samson, but the fact 
 is," and here the captain lowered his 
 voice, " it's going on ten years now since 
 I came to Eagleville, and our religious 
 privileges have been scarce." 
 
 "Very scarce," interposed Miss Mil- 
 lett, feelingly. 
 
 "And so," continued Captain Marks,
 
 MAKING A START. 35 
 
 " those Bible histories have got kind of 
 mixed up in my mind. However," re- 
 suming his usual tone, "I should say 
 that Samson is the man you have refer- 
 ence to." 
 
 Thus fortified, the mild little teacher 
 returned to her seat, and was presently 
 fairly launched on the story of Samson's 
 exploit. She had not reached the most 
 interesting part when the voice of the 
 superintendent called the school to order. 
 Another hymn was sung, and then the 
 captain made a few remarks. He was 
 glad, he said, to see such a goodly num- 
 ber of teachers and scholars turn out on 
 this interesting occasion. He hoped all 
 would be in their places on the follow- 
 ing Sabbath afternoon. " But," said he, 
 glancing round at the different teachers, 
 " I feel that this is a big work for us 
 to undertake bigger than any business 
 that's carried on in Eagleville; and I 
 feel, my friends, I feel," and here the 
 speaker was conscious of increasing hus-
 
 36 PHIL DERRY. 
 
 kiness in his voice, " that if we calculate 
 to pull through we'll have to look to God 
 almighty for help." 
 
 Here one or two fervent "Amens" 
 from among the hearers gave opportu- 
 nity for a pause. 
 
 "It's my opinion," continued the 
 superintendent, with growing courage, 
 " that we, the teachers and grown folks 
 generally, ought to have a meeting here, 
 say one evening every week, to study up 
 our Bibles and have a word of prayer. 
 Maybe others don't think as I do, but 
 The pause was at once filled up by a lit- 
 tle hum of approval, and Mrs. Mercy 
 Striker settled the matter by coming out 
 from her seat, taking a stand by the cap- 
 tain, and saying, 
 
 " That's the very thing ; that's just 
 what I should have proposed if I'd had 
 the management of this. So on Wed- 
 nesday evening I suppose that'll suit 
 you?" in an aside to Captain Marks 
 "we are to meet here. Be sure, all of
 
 MAKING A STAET. 37 
 
 you, to bring your Bibles along, as many 
 as have got 'em." 
 
 There was more than one giggle as 
 Mrs. Striker returned to her seat, and 
 the superintendent looked perplexed and 
 wiped his glasses. He made no further 
 remark, however, on the subject which 
 had been so briskly disposed of, but called 
 upon Martha to lead off in the doxology, 
 and then dismissed the children. 
 
 The Eagleville Sunday-school was 
 likely to live.
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 MBS. STRIKER'S SUCCESS. 
 
 'HE loungers at the hotel stove 
 found a good deal to interest them 
 during the ensuing week. They 
 puffed away at their pipes and 
 tilted their chairs back and watched the 
 busy landlord at his work as usual, and 
 meanwhile kept their ears open to catch 
 the remarks of the numerous customers, 
 which all somehow turned upon the 
 event of Sunday afternoon. The store 
 was the special place for gossip in Eagle- 
 ville. If a woman got hold of a bit of 
 news, she straightway found herself in 
 need of a bar of soap or a spool of thread, 
 and hurried to Captain Marks's counter 
 to repeat the story. If a man wanted to 
 learn the ins and outs of his neighbours' 
 
 38
 
 MRS. STRIKER'S SUCCESS. 39 
 
 political opinions, the pretext of a paper 
 of tobacco, or maybe a glance at the 
 latest Eastern paper, brought him to the 
 same spot to gain the desired informa- 
 tion. The boys and girls came there to 
 buy their chewing-gum and taffy, and to 
 grumble to those they met about the 
 schoolmaster or listen to the conversa- 
 tion of their elders ; and strangers stop- 
 ping in the hotel from one train to the 
 next could learn all they needed to know 
 of Eagleville matters by sitting for an 
 hour among the idlers around the stove. 
 
 "I say, captain," said Jenks as he 
 swallowed his regular glass of spirits on 
 Monday morning, " this 'ere new business 
 o' yourn don't agree very well with the 
 old one ;" and he nedded significantly at 
 certain bottles and kegs. 
 
 " I don't know what you mean by that, 
 Jenks." 
 
 " Why, you've set to work to teach 
 the youngsters the Bible, haven't you ?" 
 
 Captain Marks nodded.
 
 40 PHIL DEKRY. 
 
 " I can't say," continued Jenks, " that 
 I am a good hand to tell what's in the 
 Bible and what ain't, but I've heard 
 more than one of these temperance men 
 talk in my day ; they do come down on 
 liquor traffic pretty hard, and the worst 
 of it is that they clinch every hard word 
 of their own by a text from the Bible. 
 How do you get round that, Marks ?" 
 
 " It's no use getting into an argument," 
 said the captain. " I offered to help 
 along the school a bit, to be sure, but 
 that has nothing to do with my regular 
 business, Jenks nothing at all." 
 
 Jenks chuckled and turned his back 
 to the counter to give his undivided 
 attention to his pipe. The captain moved 
 about, arranging his goods, assorting the 
 letters, dusting the counter, and other- 
 wise getting ready for customers, but 
 with compressed lips and a cloud on his 
 usually good-natured face. 
 
 The door opened and a middle-aged 
 woman came in : " Where's that piece
 
 MRS. STRIKER'S SUCCESS. 41 
 
 of blue calico you showed me the other 
 day, captain ? I want to try a bit, and 
 see if the color runs ; if it stands wash- 
 ing, I suppose I shall have to buy a dress 
 of it for my Jane. That'll do, thank 
 you. By the way, captain, what about 
 this Sunday-school business ? My chil- 
 dren came home yesterday just full of 
 it. I suppose we'll be having a revival 
 of religion here in town shortly, eh ?" 
 
 Two or three men had come in while 
 the blue calico was undergoing examina- 
 tion. At this remark they all laughed, 
 and one said, 
 
 " Where in Eagleville would you find 
 enough religion to revive, Mrs. Callahan? 
 You might as well expect to see a moun- 
 tain rise up in the middle of the prairie, 
 according to my thinking." 
 
 " I don't believe we shall get so far as 
 having a revival," said the captain ; " but 
 if we can keep the children out of mis- 
 chief an hour or two on Sunday, and 
 teach them to be something better than 
 
 4*
 
 42 PHIL DERRY. 
 
 heathens, it will be a good thing for Ea- 
 gleville, won't it ?" 
 
 Mrs. Callahan nodded, took her scrap 
 of calico, and went out. 
 
 In the course of the day Mrs. Mercy 
 Striker appeared in the store. She gave 
 an energetic nod of greeting to the group 
 of men in the corner, then turned toward 
 Captain Marks. 
 
 " I hurried with the washing," she 
 said, " and here I am ready for business 
 the books, you know. I shall make it 
 a point to call at every house in town 
 before the week is out ; and if we don't 
 get up a library for that Sunday-school " 
 
 Mrs. Striker's unfinished sentence was 
 more impressive than the longest speech. 
 The hearers felt sure that that " if" meant 
 some terrible punishment to the com- 
 munity in case it failed to provide the 
 library 
 
 " There's the paper I made out," she 
 said, after pausing a moment to let her 
 unspoken threat take due effect. " Read
 
 MRS. STRIKER'S SUCCESS. 43 
 
 it, and then put your name down ; 
 you'll be liberal, of course, to give the 
 thing a fair start." 
 
 Captain Marks took the paper, ad- 
 justed his glasses, and then slowly wrote 
 his name and the amount of his offering, 
 Mrs. Striker standing with her keen eyes 
 steadily fixed on the hand that held the 
 pen. 
 
 " Not bad," she said, complacently, as 
 she received her - paper again. " You 
 may as well hand me the money at once, 
 so as to save the trouble of my coming 
 again." 
 
 The captain opened his drawer and 
 quietly counted it out. 
 
 " Now, gentlemen," said this woman of 
 business, turning toward the loungers, 
 " of course you all will contribute toward 
 this good cause. Here's a pencil, Jenks ; 
 it's for the good of your own children, 
 you understand. There ! pass the paper 
 along. You can afford something hand- 
 some, Carter."
 
 44 PHIL DERBY. 
 
 " No, Mrs. Striker," answered Carter, 
 sheepishly, pulling his soft hat down 
 over his face as he spoke. " Sunday- 
 school libraries are not at all in my line ; 
 you can't expect a man to give his money 
 to what he don't believe in." 
 
 " No matter ; I shall call on your wife, 
 Carter. It don't make the least difference 
 which of you I get it from," was the cool 
 reply. 
 
 There was a general burst of laughter 
 at Carter's expense, and the rest of the 
 men thought it best to allow Mrs. Striker 
 to put down their names for small 
 amounts rather than expose themselves 
 to ridicule. Everybody felt relieved when 
 she folded the paper, nodded her satisfac- 
 tion, and passed through the door to pro- 
 ceed on her round of calls. 
 
 " A thoroughgoing woman that," said 
 Jenks as soon as the green sunbonnet was 
 out of sight. The words came with a 
 sigh, for Jenks had his pocket-book open 
 and was considering how much tobacco
 
 MRS. STRIKER'S SUCCESS. 45 
 
 and whisky he had sacrificed to the 
 Sunday-school cause. 
 
 " Rather too much so," was Carter's 
 reply. Carter was thinking about his 
 meek little wife and the certainty that 
 Mrs. Striker would frighten her into 
 giving toward the library whatever 
 money she happened to have in the house. 
 
 Ah, well ! it is true that Mercy Striker 
 was not one of the Marys who are con- 
 tent to sit lovingly at the feet of Jesus 
 drinking in his words of blessing. Such 
 are far more attractive than their bustling 
 sisters, but then, in times like ours and 
 in places like Eagle ville, there is work to 
 be done for the Lord which requires the 
 talents of active Marthas, like this work, 
 wherein the Marys could achieve little 
 success. 
 
 From house to house went Mrs. Striker 
 with her subscription paper. It was 
 work that exactly suited her. It was not 
 the easiest thing in the world to collect 
 money for books from such people as she
 
 46 PHIL DERRY. 
 
 had to deal with, but she was a wise wo- 
 man in her way, and had just the right 
 word to use in each particular case. She 
 found old Jim Gardiner out behind his 
 house feebly striving to chop his wood. 
 She explained the object of her visit with- 
 out any waste of words : 
 
 " What will you give, Jim ? I'll put 
 your name down, seeing you're busy. 
 How much ?" 
 
 Jim paused, and leaning on his axe- 
 handle turned his nearly sightless eyes 
 in the direction of the voice. 
 
 " You've come to the wrong place," he 
 said, " to ask for money to buy books. I 
 can't see to read, and my old woman 
 never learned ; we haven't any children 
 to send to the school. What have we to 
 do with the books, I'd like to know ?" 
 
 " Why, Jim Gardiner ! I didn't think 
 you were the man to look at things in 
 that selfish way. You've made a good 
 deal of money here in Eagleville, and 
 you ought to do your part in an under-
 
 MRS. STRIKER'S SUCCESS. 47 
 
 taking for the public good like this. Be- 
 sides, I know you used to be a great 
 reader; and if you'll put down your name 
 for something handsome, I'll engage to 
 send one of my children regular to read 
 aloud to you and your wife." 
 
 The hands trembled that held the axe- 
 handle. The old man's pleasures were 
 few now, and, as his visitor had said, he 
 formerly had taken real pleasure in read- 
 ing. Might it not be a good way of in- 
 vesting a little money ? " You'll keep 
 your promise, I suppose, about sending 
 the children to read to me now and then?" 
 The old man fumbled in his pocket while 
 he spoke, and brought out a handful of 
 change. 
 
 " I have the name of being as good as 
 my word," said Mrs. Striker, sharply. 
 Her eyes twinkled as she received the 
 generous contribution, and she said, 
 " Thank you, Jim," in an unusually 
 mild tone as she turned away. 
 
 The next call was upon Mrs. Purdy.
 
 48 PHIL DERRY. 
 
 This person was found in her kitchen 
 bending over the wash-tub. 
 
 " I'll not disturb you," said the visitor, 
 picking her way across the sloppy floor 
 to a chair. " Go on with your work 
 while I talk." 
 
 "Oh, as to that, I'm just about through, 
 and I may as well rest myself with a lit- 
 tle smoke while I listen to you, neigh- 
 bour," was the civil reply. 
 
 Mrs. Purdy seized a soiled towel from 
 the pile of still unwashed articles, wiped 
 her arms, and then took a pipe from the 
 mantel-shelf, with which she sat down on 
 one end of her wash -bench, and looked 
 toward her visitor as if to invite her to 
 open the conversation. 
 
 " I'm out collecting money for a Sun- 
 day-school library, and I called to see 
 what you were willing to do." 
 
 " Sunday-school library, eh ?" was the 
 surprised response. " Well, I never !" 
 Mrs. Purdy smoked away for some min- 
 utes in silence, expecting Mrs. Striker to
 
 MRS. STRIKER'S SUCCESS. 49 
 
 explain the subject, and perhaps flatter 
 her by a little coaxing ; but Mrs. Striker 
 did no such thing. At last the hostess 
 removed the pipe and expressed her 
 mind: 
 
 " I ain't one to go in for new-fangled 
 notions. Our folks has lived here in 
 town these dozen years without a Sun- 
 day-school, a library, or any sich, and I 
 guess we can go on and live a dozen more 
 without them." 
 
 " But for the sake of your children ; 
 do you want them to grow up as heathen- 
 ish as " 
 
 "As I be?" said Mrs. Purdy, with 
 ready understanding of the implied com- 
 pliment. "Yes, so they make a good 
 living I'm satisfied. I don't see but 
 what folks who don't pretend to be better 
 than their neighbours gets along as well 
 as those who start to be religious all of a 
 sudden." 
 
 This speech was meant as an answering 
 hit to Mrs. Striker's unfinished sugges-
 
 50 PHIL DEERY. 
 
 tion, but it did not seem to disturb the 
 visitor one bit ; she only sat quiet for a 
 moment, considering what new argument 
 to use with this hard-headed woman. 
 The entrance of Mr. Purdy saved her 
 the trouble. 
 
 " You here I" exclaimed the master of 
 the house. " I know your business, then, 
 and it does you credit, Mrs. Striker; it 
 does indeed. If all the women-folks 
 took as much interest in the public good, 
 we'd soon have a better town." 
 
 Mr. Purdy asked to see the paper, and 
 in spite of his wife's frowns and gestures 
 put down his name for several dollars. 
 
 " I haven't the money by me," said he, 
 " but I'll hand it in next week, certain." 
 
 Mrs. Striker went away victorious, not- 
 withstanding the sullen looks that fol- 
 lowed her from the occupant of the wash- 
 bench. Other calls she made that day, 
 some in houses where the children clam- 
 orously pleaded the cause of a library 
 and saved her the trouble, one or two
 
 MRS. STRIKER'S SUCCESS. 51 
 
 where a churlish refusal was all she could 
 get. On the whole, it was a good after- 
 noon's work ; for not only had a goodly 
 sum been subscribed for the books, but 
 new thoughts had been suggested to more 
 than one hardened heart. The thought 
 came in some form or other to each per- 
 son of whom Mrs. Striker asked aid : 
 " This is the work of the Lord ; it has 
 begun ; it will go forward ; shall I help 
 it on and gain a blessing, or shall I 
 hinder it and shut myself out ?"
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 A CHEERLESS HOME. 
 
 [HEN Jake Deny went home the 
 following evening to supper, he 
 found his wife setting the dishes 
 on the table with a great deal 
 more clatter and risk of breakage than 
 was at all reasonable. The expression 
 of her face corresponded with the energy 
 of her motions. 
 
 " What's the matter now ?" asked Jake. 
 
 His wife threw down the plate she had 
 
 in her hand and turned sharply round to 
 
 where her eldest son sat whittling on top 
 
 the potato pile. 
 
 " I don't know which of 'em provokes 
 me most," she exclaimed, angrily, "her 
 or him." 
 
 Mr. Derry of course asked for an ex- 
 
 52
 
 A CHEERLESS HOME. 53 
 
 planation, but not until the family sat 
 down to their uncomfortable meal did he 
 get it. Then he learned that Mrs. Striker 
 had called on his wife with her subscrip- 
 tion paper, that Mrs. Derry had refused 
 to give anything, of course, and that, after 
 some pretty sharp talking on both sides, 
 the visitor had risen to go, when Phil had 
 walked straight up to Mrs. Striker and 
 handed her three dollars, telling her to 
 put it down in his mother's name. 
 
 Jake Derry looked at his son when the 
 angry story came to an end with surprise 
 rather than anger in his face. 
 
 " I earned it, every cent," said Phil, in 
 answer to the look. " I've 'tended store 
 for the captain a good many times when 
 he had to be away, and he paid me up 
 handsome." 
 
 "All right!" said Jake; "but why 
 didn't you give it in your own name, I 
 want to know ?" 
 
 " 'Cause I was ashamed of ma," cried 
 Phil, a flush of mortified feeling mount- 
 
 5*
 
 54 PHIL DEERY. 
 
 ing to his forehead. " Mrs. Striker is 
 doing this for the good of all of us, and 
 to have my ma talk back to her as im- 
 pudent as if as if she was going to put 
 the money in her own pocket was more'n 
 I could stand. I hope you won't turn 
 against me pa for doing it; but if you do, 
 I can't help it. It was right, and I'd do 
 it over again." 
 
 Phil pushed his chair back as he spoke, 
 although he had hardly tasted his sup- 
 per, and seizing his cap strode from the 
 room, banging the door after him. As 
 soon as he was gone Mr. Derry, regard- 
 less of the presence of the younger chil- 
 dren, struck the table with his fist and 
 said in an angry tone, 
 
 " Eliza, I won't put up with this any 
 longer. It ain't enough that you grum- 
 ble and scold at every stranger that comes 
 in the house, and have the name of being 
 the worst-tempered woman in town, but 
 you must spoil the comfort of your own 
 children."
 
 A CHEERLESS HOME. 55 
 
 Here the wife made a motion to speak, 
 but another thump on the table which 
 shook all the dishes checked her. 
 
 " There's Phil ; there's no mischief got 
 up but that he has a hand in it, great 
 lazy! idle dog that he is, and now that 
 the fellow has taken a fancy to something 
 good, you are trying your best to vex and 
 thwart him. A pretty mother you are! 
 Now, I don't care for Sabbath-schools 
 everybody knows that ; but when I saw 
 the boy take a notion to it, says I, 'Jake 
 Derry, you can't do a wiser thing than 
 to help along this new notion/ so, when 
 the missionary spoke to me, ' Come on/ 
 says I, ' and I'll do what I can to help.' 
 I heard how you abused him when he 
 came here with the Bibles, and that made 
 me all the more set to give the thing a 
 good start. You hear what I say, do 
 you ?" he said, raising his voice. " There ! 
 let me hear another word of fuss about 
 this Sunday-school business if you dare." 
 
 This speech was a long one and a
 
 56 PHIL, DERRY. 
 
 strong one for such an easy-going man 
 as Jake Derry, and from its being so un- 
 common it had its effect. He did not 
 wait for any reply, but left the house as 
 abruptly as Phil had done, to seek more 
 agreeable company. The children, too, 
 watching their chance, slipped out to 
 frolic in the mud, as usual, and Mrs. 
 Derry was left alone at the supper-table, 
 with the dirtv dishes scattered about and 
 
 / 
 
 fragments of unattractive food dropped 
 on floor and table-cloth. These things 
 did not disturb the dingy, faded-looking 
 woman, for no dainty housekeeper was 
 she. With her elbows on the table and 
 her eyes hidden in her brown, bony 
 hands, she sat, therefore, in the silence 
 and gathering darkness, too spiritless to 
 go to work. 
 
 To understand what this woman was 
 at the period of our story it is needful 
 to look back and see what she had been. 
 About fourteen years before, Jake Derry, 
 an adventurous young farmer in cne of
 
 A CHEERLESS HOME. 57 
 
 the New England States, grew tired of 
 the steady, plodding life his father and 
 grandfather had led before him, and 
 watched for an opportunity to sell his 
 farm. It came, and he turned his face 
 hopefully toward the great West, there 
 to make for himself a home and a for- 
 tune. Unwilling to enter upon this new 
 life alone, the young man sought as a 
 companion for the journey and for life 
 pretty Eliza Goodwin, a farmer's daugh- 
 ter in his own neighbourhood. A merry 
 girl she was then, whose brown hair was 
 always tied with bright ribbon, and who 
 would have scorned a brown dress, to say 
 nothing of a dirty one such as she wore 
 when we made her acquaintance. In 
 those early days Eliza's voice was heard 
 in singing-school and choir ; at the Sab- 
 bath-school and the prayer-meeting none 
 were more punctual than she ; and as for 
 owning a Bible, she would have thought 
 it an insult had any one doubted it. 
 Such was the girl who started westward
 
 58 PHIL DERRY. 
 
 as Jake Derry's wife, to brave the rough- 
 ness, hard work, and manifold trials of 
 life in the far West. Making a fortune 
 was not so speedy a work as the young 
 farmer had imagined. Two or three 
 years were passed in moving from place 
 to place in search of more profitable op- 
 portunities of business, and still the home 
 that was to be the coziest and neatest that 
 ever was seen remained a thing of the 
 future. Gradually the merry, hopeful 
 girl changed into the sour and discon- 
 tented woman ; all attempts to make her 
 dress or her dwelling pleasant to the eye 
 died out; and after Phil was born no- 
 body could have recognized in the slov- 
 enly, ill-tempered Mrs. Derry the Eliza 
 Goodwin of happier days. So things 
 went on, getting worse every year; and 
 at last, when Jake really found the suc- 
 cess to which he had aspired, and was 
 making money as fast as any man in 
 Eagleville, the pleasant vision of home 
 had dwindled to the common frame house
 
 A CHEERLESS HOME. 59 
 
 surrounded by mud and pigs outside and 
 made cheerless by dirt, discomfort, and 
 quarrelling within. 
 
 Every point in this brief history passed 
 before the mind of the wife and mother 
 sitting with her elbows on the disorderly 
 table. She sighed as she thought, but not 
 with sorrow for her neglected duties ; the 
 tears trickled through her fingers, but 
 they were not tears of repentance. She 
 cried because her husband was cross, her 
 son undutiful, her home wretched, but it 
 did not occur to her that she was chiefly 
 to blame for all these things. As to the 
 Sunday-school, if she had been indiffer- 
 ent about it before, she fairly hated it 
 now. If her husband supported it, she 
 would do all in her power against it. 
 Phil was beyond her control; he would 
 go if he chose, whether she liked or not, 
 but the three younger children should 
 not set foot inside the school-house door 
 of a Sunday afternoon that was one thing 
 certain. Comforted by this one poor plan
 
 60 PHIL DERBY. 
 
 of vengeance, she rose at length, wiped 
 her eyes on her sleeve, and went to work. 
 Alas that no tender memory of earlier 
 days had come with the tears to soften 
 the hard heart ! Alas that no loving 
 words from the lately-purchased Bible 
 had found their way among the angry 
 thoughts that ruled the hour ! 
 
 The dishes were washed and put away, 
 the children were called in and sent to 
 bed, and then Mrs. Derry, still gloomy 
 and cross, threw a shawl around her and 
 started toward Captain Marks's store to 
 replenish the family stock of molasses 
 and lard.
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 LIZZIE, SALLIE, AND SAM. 
 
 EFORE a month had passed away 
 the Sunday-school of Eagle ville 
 had grown to be an established 
 fact. The teachers, though few 
 and ignorant of their duties, were per- 
 severing and faithful. The Wednesday 
 evening meetings for Bible study were 
 pretty well attended, and through Mrs. 
 Striker's energy a very attractive collec- 
 tion of books filled the new shelves on 
 one side of the school-room. The chil- 
 dren began to talk about their lessons and 
 teachers, their reward cards and library 
 books, as if they had been used to these 
 things all their lives. Miss Amanda 
 Millett had taken pains to make herself 
 familiar with the histories of Goliath, 
 Samson, and other Bible heroes, so as to 
 
 6 61
 
 62 PHIL DEERY. 
 
 be ready to meet the demands of her class 
 of boys ; Captain Marks had made good 
 use of his Bible dictionary as well as of 
 the sacred volume itself, no longer needed 
 Mrs. Striker's help in getting through 
 the Lord's Prayer, and was in all respects 
 proving himself a very acceptable super- 
 intendent. The good missionary, when 
 at length he came back, almost afraid to 
 hope that the seed sown in such hard soil 
 could spring up and bear fruit, was over- 
 joyed to see how abundantly the Lord 
 had blessed the undertaking, and gath- 
 ered fresh courage for future labours from 
 the state of things in Eagleville. 
 
 What a pleasant conclusion to this 
 cheering account would it be to say that 
 Phil Deny became a true Christian ! 
 Alas that in real life things do not often 
 turn out exactly as we wish ! Alas that, 
 however smoothly God prepares the way 
 heavenward, perverse human hearts will 
 not follow therein! 
 
 It happened that the very boys with
 
 LIZZIE, SALLIE, AND SAM. 63 
 
 whom Phil was most intimate were those 
 who formed Miss Millett's class ; he liked 
 music also, and what could be pleasanter 
 than to join with a roomful of boys and 
 girls in singing the beautiful tunes from 
 the new hymn-books that had been pro- 
 vided ? The library too ! A bright boy 
 like Phil must have something to read, 
 and these charming stories published by 
 the Sunday-school Union were certainly 
 for beyond comparison with the stray 
 chapters of very poor novels which had 
 now and then come in his way in the 
 newspapers at Captain Marks's store. 
 His mother's fine Bible, his own, so far 
 as the use of it went, with its large type 
 and many pictures even to carry that 
 back and forth and learn lessons in it 
 formed not the least of his pleasures. 
 
 Before the visit of the missionary it 
 had been the custom of Phil- and his 
 friends to club together and hire a horse 
 and wagon and go driving about the 
 country on Sundays, or, for variety, to
 
 64 PHIL DERBY. 
 
 join the crowd of men in the bar-room, 
 and spend the holy hours in smoking and 
 listening to conversation which, to say 
 the least, was foolish and unprofitable. 
 As for staying at home, Phil never 
 thought of doing that unless he was tired 
 or there was nothing going on in town. 
 Now it was very different; the drives were 
 given up; and when the Sunday-school 
 was dismissed, Phil got in the habit of 
 going directly home with his books, and 
 would either climb the potato pile to look 
 over his new library book or sit on the 
 door-step and call little Sam, Lizzie, and 
 Sallie to come see the pictures in the fine 
 Bible or hear the story from it he had 
 just learned. Even Mrs. Derry could 
 not find it in her heart to do anything 
 worse than frown upon the group of eager 
 faces looking over the big brother's shoul- 
 der with thoughts all absorbed in the suf- 
 ferings of Joseph sold as a slave, the dan- 
 gerous plight of baby Moses in his ark 
 of bulrushes, the wonderful journey of
 
 LIZZIE, SALLIE, AND SAM. 65 
 
 the Israelites toward the land of promise, 
 and many others so familiar to us who, 
 growing up in the midst of Bible know- 
 ledge, cannot recall the time when we did 
 not know these histories so new and mar- 
 vellous to these wild Western children. 
 
 It was not long before Lizzie and Sal- 
 lie began to tease their mother to let them 
 go with Phil to Sunday-school; all the 
 other little girls went, they said, and Mar- 
 tha Marks had promised to give them 
 such pretty cards with pictures on them 
 if they would join her class. 
 
 " Martha Marks had better mind her 
 own business !" was all the answer they 
 got. 
 
 The children then coaxed Phil to plead 
 for them, but that made matters worse. 
 The mother only boxed his ears, big boy 
 that he was, and threatened, if he said 
 another word to her about Sunday-school, 
 to turn him out of the house. After 
 this Phil took care not to mention the 
 subject, but not many weeks later he did
 
 66 PHIL DERRY. 
 
 what, in Mrs. Berry's sight, was a great 
 deal worse. He had started one Sunday 
 afternoon toward the school-house, and 
 with the Bible open in his hand was care- 
 fully repeating the verses Miss Millett 
 had told her class to learn, when some 
 voices on the road just ahead made him 
 look up. There was little Sam highly 
 amused at the distressing cries of a poor 
 lean cat that he had caught and was tor- 
 menting with all the cruelty of which a 
 boy eight years old can be capable. What 
 was worse, the two girls Lizzie and Sallie 
 stood by clapping their hands and cheer- 
 ing Sam on in his unfeeling sport. Phil 
 gave one glance, and then shouted to Sam 
 in no very gentle voice to let the cat go. 
 Sam made some cross reply, and showed 
 no intention of minding. Now, Phil him- 
 self was not above the fun of teasing cats; 
 he had always been a hard-hearted fellow 
 when the sufferings of animals were con- 
 cerned ; but somehow, with the sacred words 
 before his eyes and the calm influence of
 
 LIZZIE, SALLIE, AND SAM. 67 
 
 the day upon his soul, the sight of 
 Sam's cruelty annoyed him. 
 
 " Let it run, I tell you," he shouted, 
 " and you, Sam, go right home to ma." 
 
 " I won't," said Sam, sulkily. " You 
 let me alone." 
 
 Phil felt all the dignity of his position 
 as big brother, and was about to repay 
 this saucy reply by a smart blow across 
 the little boy's shoulders, when a different 
 idea occurred to him. 
 
 " Let go the cat, Sam," said he, " and 
 come, all of you, with me to the school- 
 house." 
 
 There was a ready assent from . all 
 three, even Sam considering that this 
 proposal offered more fun than teasing 
 the cat. Lizzie put her hand in Phil's, 
 and the rest followed. It was a very 
 dirty hand that clasped his, as Phil pres- 
 ently noticed, and the face was just as bad. 
 The others were no cleaner, and a sec- 
 ond glance revealed the fact that Sam's 
 jacket was very much out of repair.
 
 68 PHIL DERRY. 
 
 " You don't look fit ; I can't take you, 
 after all," said the big brother. " Go 
 home ; and when I get back, I'll tell you 
 a first-rate story arid show you my library 
 book. I'll take you another time." 
 
 "No, you won't," cried Sallie; "you* 
 know you daren't, for ma'd tear your 
 eyes out before she'd let us go with you." 
 
 "I'm goin', sis, whether or no," was 
 obstinate Sam's remark. " Come on ; let 
 Phil catch us if he can ;" and with these 
 words from the boy all three started on 
 a run down the road. 
 
 Phil was perplexed. He had offered 
 to take them without considering conse- 
 quences, and it was not till he saw how 
 unfit they looked that the more import- 
 ant thought flashed upon him of " what 
 ma would say." Now that the young- 
 sters had taken the matter into their own 
 hands, any attempt of his to change their 
 plan seemed hopeless. All he could do 
 was to call to them to stop when they 
 came to the creek and wash their hands
 
 LIZZIE, SALLIE, AND SAM. 69 
 
 and faces. Even this the wild little things 
 did not heed ; and when he reached the 
 school-house, they were already inside 
 and being led to their proper classes by 
 Captain Marks. Phil was mortified in- 
 deed when he saw his sister Lizzie side 
 by side with little Mary Striker, whose 
 fresh gingham apron and neatly combed 
 hair made Lizzie's slovenliness appear 
 much worse than it had done on the road. 
 Soon, however, the opening hymn put 
 all uncomfortable thoughts out of his 
 head ; and when his class got fairly at 
 work over the lesson, he forgot everything 
 else. Miss Millett was proving a very 
 good teacher ; she attended the Wednes- 
 day evening meeting for prayer and study 
 faithfully, and studied each lesson at 
 home. By these means her own soul was 
 waking to a new understanding of the 
 word of God. Being taught of the 
 Spirit, this simple-minded woman was 
 exerting a stronger influence over her 
 class than the best-educated Sunday-
 
 70 PHIL DERRY. 
 
 school teacher can ever hope to gain 
 without the same aid. 
 
 Phil was lost to all outward things 
 while he looked out the references Miss 
 Millett gave him, but his attention was 
 brought back to what was going on 
 around him very suddenly. A shadow 
 fell across the doorway, an angry glance 
 hurried around the room, and to the 
 surprise of teachers, the amusement of 
 scholars, Mrs. Derry darted toward the 
 class where Sam's rags and dirt made 
 him conspicuous, jerked him from the 
 seat, and then, fiercely beckoning to 
 Lizzie and Sallie to follow, disappeared 
 as quickly as she had come. All eyes 
 were upon the little girls, and more than 
 one rude speech fell upon their ears as 
 they tremblingly passed out of the room. 
 Only a taste of pleasure they had had, 
 poor things! and a certainty of bitter 
 trouble to come; no reward cards, no 
 pretty books, but an expectation of a
 
 LIZZIE, SALLIE, AND SAM. 71 
 
 kind of discipline they were too familiar 
 with in their miserable home. 
 
 It may be imagined what a stormy 
 reception Phil had on his return. His 
 mother's anger was deep and cruel. He 
 had been used to hard words all his life, 
 but somehow a new sensitiveness had 
 arisen in his heart on the subject of the 
 Sunday-school which nothing had ever 
 aroused before. He knew he was to 
 blame for taking the children against 
 her wishes ; and had she been in a more 
 gentle mood, he would have told her so. 
 As it was, the breach that had long ex- 
 isted between mother and son was that 
 day so widened that there was longer 
 even a pretence of peace between them.
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 NATHAN BROWN'S ASSISTANT. 
 
 [HEN another spring came, bring- 
 ing freshness and beauty to the 
 great prairies of the West, a new 
 
 <&> stir of life was felt in the ugly 
 little town of Eagleville. The women 
 began scrubbing and whitewashing in 
 the effort to make their, mean dwellings 
 a less startling contrast to the brightness 
 provided by Nature all around. The 
 men went about their work with more 
 energy, the restless children grew frisky, 
 longing to be free like other young ani- 
 mals in the spring-time, and hard work 
 had the poor schoolmaster to keep order 
 in his dominions. 
 
 The owners of desks nearest the win- 
 dows looked out one morning and saw 
 a clumsy covered wagon coming slowly 
 
 72
 
 NATHAN BROWN'S ASSISTANT. 73 
 
 along the road. The driver was a 
 stranger, and the horse clearly did not 
 belong to that neighbourhood, for he 
 seemed not to know the way to the hotel 
 any more than his master. As soon as 
 the signal for recess was given a troop 
 of boys and girls started along the streets 
 in search of the queer-looking wagon. 
 They found it easily, and learned without 
 the trouble of asking that it belonged to 
 a travelling artist, and that by going 
 inside the strange vehicle and paying 
 twenty-five cents anybody could have 
 his likeness taken. A crowd of grown 
 people had been drawn to the spot, as 
 well as the children, and the artist had 
 already set about his work. 
 
 Three days did this novel establish- 
 ment remain in town, and a busy time 
 its owner had. Whole families came to 
 have their portraits taken, to be framed 
 and hung in the best room, and every 
 one nearly who had a quarter to spare 
 thought of an absent relative who would
 
 74 PHIL DERBY. 
 
 prize his or her likeness. When " Na- 
 than Brown, photographic artist," as the 
 big yellow letters on the wagon stated the 
 traveller to be, had made all the money 
 he could out of Eagleville people, he be- 
 gan his preparations for leaving. Most 
 important among these preparations was 
 his search for an assistant. Both in Mr. 
 Marks's store and on the wagon itself 
 he placed this announcement : " Wanted 
 a half-grown boy who knows how to 
 drive and is willing to learn the elegant 
 art of taking photographs as part pay for 
 his services. Apply this very day to 
 Mr. Nathan Brown on the premises." 
 
 Two or three youngsters shouted to 
 Mr. Brown their readiness to serve him 
 before the advertisement had been out 
 ten minutes, but for some reason or other 
 he was not satisfied with any of these. 
 At last Phil Derry came along. He 
 stopped, as every one else did, to read 
 the notice, but passed on his way without 
 saying a word. Pretty soon he came
 
 NATHAN BROWN'S ASSISTANT. 75 
 
 back, walked up to the wagon, and took 
 a good look at it ; then, as if his curiosity 
 was satisfied, he started on the road home, 
 but at a slow pace and without his usual 
 whistle. In half an hour there he was 
 again. This time he made his way to the 
 hotel stable, where the stranger's horse 
 stood. He looked carefully at the ani- 
 mals with the air of one who was a judge 
 of horses. When he turned to the sta- 
 ble door, there stood Mr. Nathan Brown ; 
 he had been watching the boy all the 
 time. 
 
 " Well, sir," said he, " what do you 
 think of my horse ?" 
 
 "Pretty fair," answered Phil. "I 
 wouldn't stake much money on her at a 
 race, though." 
 
 " No ; but that is not what I bought 
 her for. Racing is quite out of my line, 
 but a first-rate, steady-going beast is old 
 Betsy, and exactly suited for a business 
 like mine." 
 
 The man and the boy stood silent for
 
 76 PHIL DERRY. 
 
 a moment looking at the animal in ques- 
 tion. Mr. Brown broke the silence : 
 
 " Are you acquainted with the country 
 about here ? Much of a driver, eh ?" 
 
 Phil replied that he couldn't miss his 
 way for a circuit of twenty miles or so, 
 for he had gone about with his father a 
 good deal; and as for driving, he had 
 been at it more or less ever since he was 
 big enough to hold the reins. 
 
 " I like your looks, my lad," said Mr. 
 Brown, " and I think it's a pity for a 
 likely young fellow like you to let slip 
 such a chance as I offer to make a start 
 in life." 
 
 Phil's face brightened : " You haven't 
 engaged a boy yet, sir, have you ?" 
 
 The artist shook his head. 
 
 " I know there's Bill Callahan that 
 meant to speak to you, and Alf Jenks 
 too. I thought maybe " 
 
 " Wouldn't have one of 'em in my 
 employ ; a rough lot as I ever saw," 
 broke in Mr. Brown.
 
 NATHAN BROWN'S ASSISTANT. 77 
 
 "I don't suppose there's any chance 
 for me, then, sir?" 
 
 Phil put the question nervously, and 
 kept breaking bits off the torn straw hat 
 in his hand while he listened for the an- 
 swer. 
 
 " Chance !" said the other ; " you come 
 into Marks's store about four or five 
 o'clock business'll be pretty much over 
 then and we'll talk about it that is, 
 if you've made up your mind to my 
 terms," added the man, looking at Phil 
 keenly. " I've made a first-rate offer, 
 and I want it taken up fair and square, 
 you know." 
 
 The boy looked down and pulled an- 
 other braid off the old hat. " I've made 
 up my mind well enough," said he, " but 
 I haven't spoken to my father yet. I'll 
 do it, though, and let you know for cer- 
 tain before five o'clock." 
 
 Phil darted off as soon as the words 
 were out of his mouth, and this time he 
 strode toward home without so much as 
 
 7*
 
 78 PHIL DERRY. 
 
 a glance at the gayly-lettered wagon or 
 a word to any one he met. He did not 
 go into the house, but stood leaning on 
 the fence watching for his father, who 
 had been absent from town all the morn- 
 ing, but was sure to be home soon for his 
 dinner. When, presently, he made his 
 appearance on the road, Phil went to 
 meet him, anxious to have this import- 
 ant matter settled out of hearing of his 
 mother and the children. In few words 
 Phil presented the case. He couldn't 
 stand it any longer at home, he said ; 
 his mother treated him like a dog ; there 
 wasn't enough to do to keep a great fel- 
 low like him busy ; and since he had his 
 own way to make in the world, here was 
 as good a chance as any. 
 
 Jake Deny listened gravely. He 
 could not gainsay the boy's statements. 
 It was true that his mother treated him 
 badly, and also true that it was time for 
 Phil to be doing something better than 
 lounging about town only doing a day's
 
 NATHAN BROWN'S ASSISTANT. 79 
 
 work now and then for anybody that 
 wanted help. But he was ambitious of 
 something better for his elder son than 
 
 o 
 
 the career of a travelling photographer. 
 Still 
 
 " You hurry with your dinner and 
 then clear out for a little while," said he, 
 "so I can have a chance to talk with 
 your mother about this. Wait for me 
 somewhere along the road say at Jerry 
 Jones's and I'll join you there as soon 
 as I can." 
 
 Mrs. Derry was not in a good humour 
 that day, and scolded briskly about hav- 
 ing the dinner kept waiting. Neither 
 husband nor son paid much heed to this 
 not unusual occurrence, for a more im- 
 portant subject engaged their thoughts. 
 Phil soon finished his meal and started 
 off. It was with an anxious heart he 
 entered the blacksmith's shop, and even 
 the jokes of lively Jerry Jones failed of 
 their usual effect. In due time his father 
 joined him, and during their short walk
 
 80 PHIL DERRY. 
 
 Phil's future was decided upon that is, 
 so far as human planning goes, so far 
 and no farther. Mrs. Berry had made 
 no opposition to her son's leaving home- 
 indeed, she had declared it would be a 
 good riddance ; and the father, only half 
 satisfied though he was, gave his con- 
 sent to the step. 
 
 The next day old Betsy was harnessed 
 to the clumsy wagon, and the establish- 
 ment of Nathan Brown was on its way 
 to the next town. There was more ex- 
 citement in the school-house now than 
 even at its coming ; eager faces pressed 
 against the small panes of its window to 
 see it pass ; a crowd of people stood in the 
 road to give their young townsman a fare- 
 well shake of the hand and a parting 
 " Good luck to ye, Phil !" and so, in the 
 pleasant sunshine of the spring morning, 
 with the reins in his hands and boy- 
 hood's courage and hope in his heart, 
 Phil Derry started forth to begin life for 
 himself.
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 PHIL IN DISGRACE. 
 
 i HAT could be more to the taste of 
 an active boy like our liero than 
 the free out-of-door life, with its 
 constant change of scene and of 
 companions, which the business of trav- 
 elling-artist brought in its train ? There 
 was no home-longing to mar the pleasure, 
 for Phil's home was not one which it cost 
 him a pang to leave. There was one 
 strong link binding his heart to Eagle- 
 ville only one ; that was the Sunday- 
 school. Nobody knew, not even himself, 
 how great a change had been wrought in 
 Phil by the steady, quiet influence of those 
 Sunday afternoons in the school-house. 
 As to being a Christian, the thought of 
 such a thing had never, perhaps, entered 
 
 F 81
 
 82 PHIL DERRY. 
 
 his head, but more than one bad habit 
 had quietly dropped from him under the 
 influence of certain texts, and some old 
 opinions had entirely changed without 
 his being aware of it. Miss Millett and 
 Captain Marks had watched these changes 
 with joy, and had allowed themselves 
 hopes now suddenly checked by this un- 
 expected event. There was in the small 
 box of clothing containing all Phil's 
 worldly goods a neat little Testament 
 and a bundle of tracts, parting gifts from 
 these two good friends. But these things 
 have nothing to do with that first morn- 
 ing and the boy's glad feelings as he 
 drove old Betsy along the road toward 
 the next town. On the way Mr. Brown 
 gave him some bits of information about 
 the art of taking pictures, told him sev- 
 eral funny anecdotes of his travels, and, 
 on the whole, proved himself more agree- 
 able than one might have expected. 
 
 Phil was somewhat acquainted with the 
 first two or three towns at which they
 
 PHIL IN DISGRACE. 83 
 
 stopped, and felt a natural pride in ap- 
 pearing among his associates as a man of 
 business. His principal duty for some 
 time was the care of old Betsy ; on arriv- 
 ing at a place he had to attend to her 
 comfort as well as to arrange for the board 
 of himself and his employer. Indeed, 
 he soon got in the way of saving Mr. 
 Brown all anxiety about his affairs; he 
 had only to stay inside the wagon and 
 attend to customers, while his assistant 
 did everything else. Phil's pleasant man- 
 ners, too, did more to attract people than 
 even the big-lettered announcement on 
 the wagon. Certain it was that Mr. 
 Brown did not repent his bargain. 
 
 When the day's business was over and 
 everything put in order, it was Phil's 
 habit to take out his Testament and read 
 a chapter; this he had promised Miss Mil- 
 lett to do regularly. It was an easy mat- 
 ter, and with the memory of those happy 
 Sunday hours spent in the Eagleville 
 school-house fresh in his mind, the
 
 84 PHIL DERRY. 
 
 quiet hour spent in poring over the sa- 
 cred pages formed the pleasantest of the 
 twenty-four. 
 
 As old Betsy travelled on, the roads 
 became rougher, the distances greater 
 from one settlement to another, and the 
 people less civilized. Phil was used to 
 language and habits that would have 
 shocked a well-trained boy at the East; 
 the men that frequented Captain Marks's 
 store were an idle, loaferish set, and the 
 Eagleville women were not very refined, 
 we have seen. But Eagleville people 
 were a sober, industrious set compared to 
 the inhabitants of certain remote villages 
 to which Mr. Brown's photographic es- 
 tablishment went. 
 
 One night they drew up before a 
 large unpainted building whose broken 
 panes of glass and loosened planks, deco- 
 rated all over with fragments of red and 
 blue handbills of last year's shows, proved 
 it to be a public-house. 
 
 " You won't find much business here,
 
 PHIL, IN DISGRACE. 85 
 
 sir, or I'm mistaken," said Phil, glancing 
 around. 
 
 " Maybe not," said Mr. Brown, " but 
 you can't tell. If the weather is fine to- 
 morrow, we may do a good stroke of work. 
 I've made money in harder-looking places 
 than this." 
 
 The usual crowd of idlers, with their 
 ready jokes and questions, soon sur- 
 rounded the wagon, and Phil, after due 
 attention to Betsv and the rest of his 
 
 / 
 
 master's property, was led by two or three 
 boys of his own age into the house. 
 There, tired as he was, he had to undergo 
 a regular catechism from these new ac- 
 quaintances as to who he was, where he 
 came from, what sort of work he had to 
 do, how much money the concern made, 
 and many other things. In return the 
 boys told him all about Larky Flats for 
 so the place was named and offered to 
 show him about, but Phil said he cared 
 for nothing but to get his supper and go 
 to bed.
 
 86 PHIL DERRY. 
 
 The supper was soon provided not a 
 very tempting one to a dainty appetite, 
 to be sure, but Phil knew nothing about 
 dainty fare at his own home, so that, with 
 hunger for a sauce, the meal was very 
 satisfactory. After this he faiii would 
 have been let alone ; his Bible was in his 
 pocket, ready for the first chance he might 
 gain for reading; and when that was done, 
 he wanted to go to bed. A long day's 
 jolting over bad roads makes even a 
 healthy boy ready to rest. But his new 
 friends had other plans for spending the 
 evening. 
 
 " Come," said one of them as soon as 
 Phil's hunger was satisfied ; " let's all go 
 have a game at billiards." Phil begged 
 off from this, and owned that he was too 
 tired to enjoy such a thing. " Well, 
 then," said another, " suppose we sit down 
 here and smoke ?" To this proposal Phil 
 consented, for he was a sociable fellow 
 and did not like to appear uncivil. Alas ! 
 he had to learn by sore experience the
 
 PHIL, IN DISGRACE. 87 
 
 duty of being uncivil under such cir- 
 cumstances. 
 
 In the intervals of smoking the boys 
 got to telling stories ; every one had some- 
 thing funny to narrate, and in his turn 
 Phil called up more than one amusing 
 tale that he had heard from the men at 
 Captain Marks's store. He forgot that 
 he was tired and sleepy forgot, too, about 
 the unread Bible in his pocket. 
 
 By and by one of the company yawned 
 and stretched, said they had been quiet 
 long enough, and proposed getting some- 
 thing to drink. The others agreed read- 
 ily, but Phil's half-asleep conscience 
 resisted. He made a pretence of want- 
 ing to see Mr. Brown about something, 
 but the oldest of the boys only laughed, 
 pulled Phil's arm through his, and 
 marched him off to the bar-room. It 
 was at quite a late hour when Mr. Brown, 
 having waited until he was out of pa- 
 tience, came in search of his assistant. 
 He found him leaning against the wall
 
 88 PHIL DERBY. 
 
 in a corner of the bar-room, stupidly 
 drunk. His companions had lured him 
 on to this disgrace and left him to suffer 
 from it alone. 
 
 Mr. Brown called a man to his help, 
 and together they dragged the senseless 
 boy to bed. Whatever Phil's employer 
 thought or felt, he uttered not a word, 
 but the man who came at his call to assist 
 him shrugged his shoulders and said to 
 another that he wouldn't like to be the 
 fellow that was in for a quarrel with that 
 Brown. 
 
 The morning sun was high in the hea- 
 vens when Phil awoke. He rose from 
 the bed with a start. How his head 
 ached ! how heavy and dull he felt ! 
 Where was Mr. Brown ? What place 
 was this? and how long had they been 
 there ? The wonderings and questions 
 came fast one after another while he hur- 
 ried on his clothes. The answers came, 
 too, before he was ready to go down stairs ; 
 and oh what humiliation, what self-con-
 
 PHIL IN DISGRACE. 89 
 
 
 
 tempt, came with them ! He could hear 
 plainly through the thin floor the voices 
 in the bar-room, and among them he 
 recognized the tones of one of his last 
 night's companions : 
 
 " Not out of bed yet, eh ?" Then fol- 
 lowed a derisive laugh, and somebody 
 else said : 
 
 " Brown's put out the worst way. He's 
 had to go to work by himself, you see, 
 and his hands are a little too full for 
 comfort." 
 
 These remarks and many more on the 
 same subject Phil heard, and the more 
 he listened, so much the more he dreaded 
 to face the men below, who knew the 
 whole story of his disgrace. A year ago 
 the fact of being drunk and having it 
 known would have produced little effect 
 on him. Public opinion in Eagleville 
 was in nowise shocked by such an occur- 
 rence. But between him and the views 
 he had then held came the sacred influ- 
 ences of the Sunday-school. Only influ-
 
 90 PHIL DEREY. 
 
 
 
 ences, it is true ; they had not struck 
 root in principles yet ; the character had 
 undergone no change, but in all outward 
 things this Phil Derry was not the same 
 Phil Derry that we met in the opening 
 chapter. 
 
 At last Phil mustered courage and 
 went down stairs. There were half a 
 dozen men standing about the principal 
 room, and at sight of him a smile passed 
 from one to another. He turned to the 
 man whom he supposed to be the land- 
 lord and inquired where he could find 
 Mr. Brown. 
 
 " Out there, taking pictures as fast as 
 he can," was the answer ; " and if you'll 
 take my advice, youngster, you'll keep 
 clear of your boss till he's calmed down 
 a bit. It would not be good for you if 
 he saw you now." 
 
 There was a murmur of assent to this 
 among the interested bystanders. 
 
 " No, sir," said the boy, sturdily ; " two 
 wrongs don't make a right. I've done
 
 PHIL IN DISGRACE. 91 
 
 one wrong, and I'm not going to double 
 it by shirking my regular work." 
 
 A louder murmur of approval came 
 from the men than before. " He's a 
 trump !" said one voice ; " three cheers 
 for Brown's boy !" called another ; and 
 they were given lustily. A manly senti- 
 ment like Phil's is sure to find an echo 
 even in natures that have sunk too low 
 to utter it for themselves. 
 
 Phil stepped toward the door, but a 
 strong hand pulled him back. " You 
 haven't had your breakfast yet," said the 
 landlord. 
 
 " I don't want any," said Phil. 
 
 The man took no notice of these words, 
 but pulled him back, and pointing to an- 
 other door leading to the kitchen said, 
 
 " Go along in there ; the old woman'll 
 have a bite for you." 
 
 Phil glanced around sharply ; he did 
 not care to meet any of his last night's 
 companions. No one was there but a 
 stout woman with a good-humoured face,
 
 92 PHIL DEREY. 
 
 
 
 who nodded to him, and directly brought 
 him a plate of cold pork and a huge 
 piece of corn-bread. He ate these with 
 a relish that surprised him, for he had 
 felt only a few minutes before that he 
 could never swallow another mouthful. 
 When he had finished, he slipped out of 
 the back door and made his way to where 
 the wagon stood, surrounded by expect- 
 ant sitters. He entered quietly ; and see- 
 ing that Mr. Brown was engaged taking 
 a group, he set to work with a will to 
 make himself as useful as possible. After 
 that a rush of customers kept both of 
 them so constantly occupied that the 
 awkward moment of explanation was 
 deferred until dinner-time, but then it 
 came. As soon as they were alone to- 
 gether Mr. Brown turned toward Phil 
 with a stern expression and demanded 
 what he had to say for himself. The 
 boy's answer was humble enough, but it 
 only seemed to make Mr. Brown more 
 angry. He spoke with great contempt
 
 PHIL IN DISGRACE. 93 
 
 of the position in which he had found 
 him the night before, told him he had 
 done more in that one act to injure the 
 business than all his previous work had 
 profited it, and ended by announcing his 
 intention to discharge him on the spot. 
 This was an unlooked-for blow ; it hum- 
 bled Phil completely. To go home in 
 disgrace, to bear his mother's taunts and 
 his father's disappointment, to lose Miss 
 Millett's good opinion, to be laughed at 
 by the Eagleville boys and girls ! Oh, he 
 could not stand all that. He actually 
 fell on his knees before his indignant 
 employer and pleaded as if for his life. 
 
 " Try me once more, Mr. Brown," he 
 exclaimed ; " and if ever you find me the 
 worse for liquor a second time, send me 
 off. I won't say a word." 
 
 Mr. Brown softened at last under such 
 pleading. He did not really wish to part 
 with Phil, for he had become very useful 
 to him, and he had shown all the vexa- 
 tion he felt on purpose to produce an im-
 
 94 PHIL DERRY. 
 
 pression that would last. On Phil's own 
 offer of conditions, therefore, that he would 
 work more steadily and never go out of 
 Mr. Brown's sight without permission, the 
 shrewd man of business retained the pen- 
 itent lad in his service. 
 
 During the remaining days of their 
 stay in Larky Flats, Phil's greatest trou- 
 ble was to keep out of the way of those 
 boys whose friendship had been such a 
 snare to him. There was help, to be sure, 
 in the condition he had made never to 
 be away from Mr. Brown unless by ex- 
 press permission, but there were times, 
 when he was busy at the stable or going 
 back and forth with water for washing 
 the photographic plates, when one or the 
 other of his tempters would shout to him 
 some word of mockery or anger. This 
 was safer for him than the companion- 
 ship of such characters; and however 
 Phil suffered, he ran no risk of being 
 led astray a second time at Larky Flats.
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 UP, AND DOWN AGAIN. 
 
 HE summer months passed swiftly 
 1 and pleasantly away to our busy 
 
 travellers. No idle tourist going 
 from place to place in search of 
 recreation could enjoy the flitting days 
 more thoroughly than did hard-working 
 Phil. Long drives through the country 
 were varied by Mr. Brown's oral instruc- 
 tion in the science of photography, and 
 business kept them at the different settle- 
 ments too short a time for the novelty of 
 any of them to wear away. Phil was 
 gaining an experience of human nature 
 that was to be useful to him in future 
 years in ways that he did not suspect. 
 As the remembrance of his sad fall at 
 Larky Flats wore away from Mr. Brown's 
 
 95
 
 96 PHIL DERRY. 
 
 mind that is to say, the bitterness of the 
 remembrance he returned to his former 
 kind manner of treating his assistant. 
 Phil was, however, made to feel more than 
 once that he did not regard him with en- 
 tire confidence as before ; and sometimes 
 when he took out his Testament to read 
 an expression passed over Mr. Brown's 
 face that said as plainly as words that a 
 religion that went no farther than Bible 
 reading didn't amount to much; and Mr. 
 Brown was right. 
 
 About the middle of August old Betsy 
 drew the picture-gallery and its occu- 
 pants into the most uninviting settle- 
 ment of the whole route. Eagleville 
 had all the dignity of a New England 
 city by comparison with Clegg Hole. 
 The very air of heaven was heavy there 
 with the odours that came from the low 
 log tavern ; every sound of human speech 
 that fell upon the ear was such as to make 
 the sense of hearing a curse; and the 
 sight of so many evil and degraded faces
 
 UP, AND DOWN AGAIN. 97 
 
 was sorrowful indeed. This Western boy 
 of ours, familiar enough, one would think, 
 with a low grade of society, gazed with 
 disgust and foreboding upon each object 
 that met his eye as he drew rein within 
 the limits of Clegg Hole. 
 
 " We won't stop here long, I hope," 
 said he, gloomily. 
 
 " As long as it pays to stop no longer, 
 of course," answered the man of business. 
 Mr. Brown viewed every settlement as 
 if through his pocket-book, and had lit- 
 tle emotion beyond that. 
 
 " If all the folks are as homely as those 
 yonder, they won't want their pictures 
 taken." Phil laughed, and pointed to 
 two withered old crones who sat in a 
 doorway smoking. 
 
 " Why, boy, that shows how little you 
 know. That's the very sort to make the 
 money out of. You'll see." 
 
 Sure enough, one of Mr. Brown's first 
 sitters was the brownest and homeliest of 
 the two grandams.
 
 98 PHIL DERRY. 
 
 During the entire stay at Clegg Hole, 
 Mr. Brown and Phil slept in the wagon. 
 They had close quarters, to be sure, but 
 even such an arrangement was far pref- 
 erable to the foul air and dirty bed of the 
 garret, where they could have got lodging 
 in company with two or three other men. 
 They had to eat at the tavern, and that 
 was bad enough. Nathan Brown's proph- 
 ecy proved correct: business was brisk; 
 the wretched-looking people of Clegg 
 Hole were as eager to get their likenesses 
 as anybody else; and nowhere on the route 
 had orders for large pictures to be framed 
 been so numerous. Phil was able to ren- 
 der valuable help by this time, and now 
 and then Mr. Brown trusted him to take 
 a picture alone. The thought came into 
 the boy's head more than once that he 
 would make himself master of the art, 
 and one of these days start off with an 
 establishment of his own through the 
 country. That thought never grew into 
 a plan ; the events that followed fast upon
 
 UP, AND DOWN AGAIN. 99 
 
 each other in this visit to Clegg Hole 
 swept them entirely from his memory. 
 
 One drizzly afternoon, there being no 
 likelihood of sitters, Mr. Brown told Phil 
 that he did not need him, and that he 
 might amuse himself as he chose, " only," 
 was the wise limitation, " see that you 
 keep clear of the bar-room." 
 
 " Never fear but I will," was the answer. 
 Phil was depending on the severe lesson 
 he had lately -had, as if that were enough 
 to strengthen him against future tempta- 
 tion. Experience is a great teacher, tru- 
 ly, but unless the power of God's Spirit 
 works with it, its lessons generally fail 
 of any lasting effect. 
 
 The most attractive spot at that hour 
 of the day was the billiard-room ; a num- 
 ber of men and boys were standing 
 around the entrance, and Phil thought 
 he would just look in to see what was 
 going on. The game was an exciting 
 one, and a considerable sum of money 
 was at stake. All eyes were upon the
 
 100 PHIL DERRY. 
 
 players, and nobody took any notice of 
 the stranger boy standing silently behind 
 the rest. It was odd that he should feel 
 an interest in the contest, when the play- 
 ers were entirely unknown to him, but 
 his liking for billiards, first learned 
 among companions at Eagleville, came 
 back to Phil with redoubled force, and 
 he presently forgot Mr. Brown, the way 
 time was flying, and everything else. 
 When the game ended, a jug of whisky 
 was produced, and everybody was asked 
 to drink. A broken mug was passed 
 around ; and when it came to Phil, he too 
 swallowed its contents, never thinking 
 what he did until afterward the bitter, 
 bitter afterward ! 
 
 The afternoon waned ; several of the 
 men had left the billiard-room, and others 
 had come in ; the players had changed 
 more than once, but there was one there, 
 a young lad with flushed face and eager 
 eyes, who played on and on without wea- 
 riness, without thought of any interest
 
 UP, AND DOWN AGAIN. 101 
 
 outside the long dingy hall, with no warn- 
 ing remembrance of Bible words or the 
 holy influences of the Sunday-school at 
 home. 
 
 It was late in the evening when Phil 
 found his way once more to the fresh 
 air outside that dangerous billiard-hall. 
 How strong he had felt when he care- 
 lessly entered the door a few hours be- 
 fore ! how weak now ! His brain was 
 too confused by the liquor he had swal- 
 lowed from time to time, almost uncon- 
 sciously, for him to comprehend the 
 extent of his misery. Stupidly enough 
 he loitered along the street toward the 
 wagon. He tried the door in vain; it 
 was locked for the night. Mr. Brown 
 must be inside, but it was evident he did 
 not mean to allow his assistant to enter. 
 Phil rattled the latch for some moments, 
 and then gave up the attempt. He 
 turned toward the public-house; there 
 was room for him there, and a bed, such 
 as it was, but in his condition anything 
 
 9*
 
 102 PHIL DERRY. 
 
 satisfied him that gave a chance for sleep- 
 ing off the stupor of his brain. 
 
 The next morning, while Phil still 
 lay unconscious, a loaferish sort of man 
 appeared at the photograph-wagon and 
 demanded of Mr. Brown a considerable 
 sum of money. Mr. Brown laughed at 
 first and treated the matter as a joke, 
 whereupon the man got angry and went 
 off in search of certain companions. 
 These he brought with him as witnesses 
 to the fact that Phil had gambled the 
 night previous, and was in his debt to the 
 amount he had stated. Mr. Brown, in 
 great displeasure, refused to consider 
 himself responsible for any such debts 
 on the part of his assistant. High words 
 ensued ; and but for the photographer's 
 habitual coolness and caution, a fight 
 would have been the consequence. As 
 it was, a violent mob soon gathered about 
 the wagon, and everybody in Clegg Hole 
 had something to say on one side or the 
 other. The result was that the demand
 
 UP, AND DOWN AGAIN. 103 
 
 was finally paid, Mr. Brown comforting 
 himself with the hope of getting every 
 cent of the debt paid back by Jake 
 Derry, whom he knew to be a man of 
 some means, and also as a general thing 
 honourable in his business dealings. 
 This unpleasant affair put an end to any 
 further business in the picture line at 
 Clegg's Hole, and before the day ended 
 old Betsy drew the wagon and its much- 
 injured proprietor several miles away 
 from the scene of his vexation. 
 
 And what, meanwhile, of the miserable 
 boy, the cause of all this commotion ? 
 His heavy sleep lasted hour after hour, 
 through all the wrangling that went on 
 around him and the loud talk of men 
 passing in and out the room where he 
 was. Nobody noticed him ; the excite- 
 ment of the day gathered about the 
 wagon, where the principal characters in 
 the quarrel remained. After dinner one 
 of the women of the family came and 
 looked at the hot, disfigured face, laughed,
 
 104 PHIL DERBY. 
 
 and passed on. At night, when it be- 
 came known that Mr. Brown had gone 
 off and left the boy, inquiries began to 
 be made as to his state. Coarse jokes 
 were passed at first, but by and by these 
 gave place to expressions of sympathy 
 for the poor lad and some anxiety about 
 his prolonged sleep. 
 
 And here began Phil Perry's expe- 
 rience of that "bitter afterward" of sin.
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 AN IMPORTANT CHANGE. 
 
 T is wonderful how chance words 
 stick sometimes rather, I should 
 say, words that we call chance; 
 for often when uttered by careless 
 lips God guides them just as he did the 
 smooth stone which David slung at Go- 
 liath, and they fulfil exactly the work he 
 intends. When Jenks made the remark 
 in the Eagleville bar-room that the land- 
 lord's new business did not agree very 
 well with the old one, he had no thought 
 of making an impression on his hearer's 
 mind beyond the passing moment. It 
 was only Jenks smoking, drinking, loaf- 
 ing Jenks that spoke the words, it is 
 true ; it was God who aimed them 
 directly at Captain Marks's conscience, 
 and they lodged there sharply and surely 
 
 105
 
 106 PHIL DERRY. 
 
 as did the pebble in the Philistine's fore- 
 head. 
 
 Things went on in the store for several 
 months in exactly the same old way. 
 The captain performed his duties as su- 
 perintendent on Sunday, and on all the 
 other days of the week he looked after 
 the mail and the hotel business, sold tape 
 and tea at one end of the store, tobacco 
 and whisky at the other, as it had been 
 his habit to do. Everybody knew that 
 the latter articles brought the larger prof- 
 its ; the captain, being a shrewd man of 
 business, was supposed to know it too, and 
 to be well satisfied with the traffic that 
 swept so much money into his till. It 
 was therefore a greater than nine days' 
 wonder to the people of Eagle ville when 
 toward the close of summer a big placard 
 appeared outside the store door with " No 
 liquor of any kind and no tobacco sold 
 here on or after present date. William 
 Marks, proprietor." 
 
 The set of regular customers who daily
 
 AN IMPORTANT CHANGE. 107 
 
 sat around the stove in winter and lounged 
 about the door in summer, to a few of 
 whom we were introduced in the opening 
 chapter, treated this announcement as a 
 joke, and went in the store the morning 
 the placard was put out, expecting to get 
 their usual drink and smoke, and a good 
 laugh with the landlord in addition. They 
 were disappointed. There was no shadow 
 of a joke in the captain's friendly but reso- 
 lute face when he told them that not an- 
 other paper of tobacco nor glass of whis- 
 ky should be sold over that counter 
 " that is," said he, reverently, " so long 
 as the Lord gives me his help." The 
 men looked at him and at each other, 
 feeling half ashamed and wholly out of 
 temper. 
 
 " It's all along of that Sunday-school 
 business," muttered Richards. 
 
 " Yes, it's all along of that Sunday- 
 school business," repeated the captain. 
 
 " Come, now, Marks," said Jerry Jones, 
 the blacksmith ; " own up there's some
 
 108 PHIL DERRY. 
 
 hoax about this. What! do you want 
 the credit of being a blockhead, throw 
 away the chance of making more money 
 than anybody else in Eagleville, and all 
 for a whim like this ? I'll not believe it 
 of you, Marks. Here, hand us a drink 
 all round." 
 
 Jerry held out a handful of money, 
 and spoke the last words in a wheedling 
 sort of way intended to overcome the cap- 
 tain's scruples. Every one looked eager- 
 ly to see the effect of Jerry's action. The 
 only answer the captain made was a groan 
 as he stood upright behind his counter, 
 looking from one to another, then he took 
 off his glasses and wiped them leisurely, 
 and wiped away the perspiration that had 
 gathered in great beads on his forehead ; 
 next he took his Bible from the shelf 
 well thumbed and marked it was now- 
 opened it on the counter between him 
 and his friends, and after some turning 
 back and forth cleared his voice and read 
 aloud to his ill-pleased hearers:
 
 AN IMPORTANT CHANGE. 109 
 
 " Woe to him that giveth his neigh- 
 bour drink, that " 
 
 " Humph !" was the interruption of an 
 angry voice. " Nobody asks you to give 
 it ; I reckon you always gets your fair 
 profit." 
 
 Undisturbed, the captain finished the 
 verse, and turned carefully to another 
 place, marked by a slip of paper : 
 
 "It is good neither to eat flesh nor 
 drink wine, nor anything whereby thy 
 brother stumbleth, or is offended, or is 
 made weak." 
 
 The reader looked up when he had 
 read this, as if to see what effect the 
 words produced. 
 
 "Oh, we all see what you're driving 
 at," said one, shortly, " but just you keep 
 an eye to your own interests; and if your 
 brothers here stumble or fall, it's their 
 look out, not your'n. I thought better 
 of you, Marks, than to take up such 
 cant." 
 
 " Hsh-sh !" muttered another, jogging 
 10
 
 110 PHIL DERBY. 
 
 the last speaker. " They're Bible words; 
 better not grumble at 'em." 
 
 The captain paid no heed, but turned 
 to another marked passage and read : 
 
 " For what is a man profited, if he shall 
 gain the whole world and lose his own 
 soul?" 
 
 Then he closed the book; and looking 
 steadily in the faces of the men, he said 
 with gentle firmness, 
 
 " Friends, I have been studying over 
 them texts, and more like them, for many 
 a day. The missionary, when he was 
 here last, gave me some tracts that made 
 me uneasy in my mind about this liquor- 
 dealing; they're first-rate reading, and 
 I'll hand 'em over to any of you that'll 
 study 'em out as I did." 
 
 There was a murmur among the group 
 at this that intimated plainly that such 
 an offer was quite thrown away. 
 
 " But before that," continued the speak- 
 er, " a word was dropped in this very spot 
 by one of yourselves that set me think-
 
 AN IMPOETANT CHANGE. Ill 
 
 ing, and I've never poured out a glass of 
 liquor with an easy mind since." 
 
 The men looked at one another with 
 some curiosity, but Jenks, who stood a 
 little apart whittling a stick, gave no sign 
 of recollection of his speech about "the 
 old business and the new." 
 
 " I've said all I've got to say about my- 
 self," said Captain Marks, "and all I wish 
 now is that you, every one, may come to 
 think a,s I do. It would be a sight better 
 for yourselves and your families and the 
 town in general." 
 
 The captain did not stop ; he was get- 
 ting warmed with his subject, and would, 
 perhaps, have talked on until dinner- 
 time, but a boy came in to buy some 
 starch for his mother, and the men seized 
 the opportunity to slink out of the store, 
 so that when the matter of business was 
 attended to the proprietor found himself 
 alone. 
 
 As the day wore on customers came 
 in, and every one had something to say
 
 112 PHIL DERRY. 
 
 about the placard that hung outside. 
 Some laughed, others grumbled, a very 
 few, and they women, expressed approval 
 of the bold step. Mrs. Mercy Striker 
 was one of these last. She shook hands 
 with the captain, told him he had done 
 just what she had been expecting all 
 along, and assured him several times that 
 she would stand by him. Whether this 
 kind offer gave him as much comfort as 
 she seemed to suppose is doubtful, but 
 her sympathy did him good. The most 
 trying hour of the twenty-four on that 
 and several succeeding days was when the 
 train came in and the usual crowd of men 
 jumped off to get a drink. The oaths 
 with which some of these expressed their 
 disappointment were sad to hear. "It's 
 no use," said one and another ; " Marks'll 
 have to fall back to the old ways or else 
 sell out. We won't put up with it." 
 
 The captain had need to read his 
 strengthening texts over many times in 
 the course of the week to stablish his
 
 AN IMPORTANT CHANGE. 113 
 
 mind especially in regard to the question, 
 " What is a man profited if he shall 
 gain the whole world, and lose his own 
 soul ?" The store, that formerly was gay 
 with jokes and laughter from morning 
 till night, was a quiet place now; the 
 money that had dropped so plentifully 
 into the drawer was easily counted when 
 it came only from sales in dry goods and 
 groceries. The lodgers in the hotel were 
 the same in numbers, because there was 
 no other public-house in the town ; but 
 as Martha and her mother had the most 
 to do with their entertainment, the cap- 
 tain was not much cheered by that fact. 
 The Bible during these days got in a 
 habit of opening at a certain place in 
 Proverbs where it is said, " The blessing 
 of the Lord it maketh rich, and he ad- 
 deth no sorrow with it." The superin- 
 tendent now walked into Sunday-school 
 with an erect head and a clear conscience, 
 and his words of counsel were given 
 with a new power which all felt though 
 10* H
 
 114 PHIL DERRY. 
 
 few understood. His prayers, too, gath- 
 ered such strength and earnestness in the 
 weekly meetings that many wondered 
 what had come over their leader, and 
 several prophesied that there would be a 
 revival in Eagleville before long. 
 
 In the course of a few weeks a rough 
 shanty was erected nearly opposite the 
 hotel, and a brilliant signboard an- 
 nounced that drinks of every description 
 would be supplied to customers. Captain 
 Marks looked over at the rival establish- 
 ment with a sigh, for he was already 
 enjoying the blessing of those humble 
 but true martyrs who give up worldly 
 gain and the praise of men that they 
 may win a conscience void of offence 
 and rejoice in the favour of God.
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 STOKES'S UNWELCOME LODGER. 
 
 T last Phil Derry's eyes opened 
 with a gleam of consciousness, 
 and his ears took in the meaning 
 of the words spoken at his bed- 
 side. Between the night of his gam- 
 bling venture and the present lay weeks 
 of helpless suffering and a nearness to 
 death of which he was all unconscious. 
 How bewildering it was to look around 
 upon the bare walls and dingy, uncur- 
 tained window and try to recall how he 
 came to be there and what was the last 
 thing that happened ! It came gradually 
 like the remembrance of an ugly dream ; 
 first the scene in the billiard-saloon, then 
 his loss and the dread of meeting his 
 employer. He wondered if he had over- 
 slept himself and if Mr. Brown was out 
 
 115
 
 116 PHIL DERRY. 
 
 in the wagon at work alone. Yes, the 
 sun was high ; he must hurry and get on 
 his clothes and go look after old Betsy. 
 Perhaps he would yet be in time to make 
 his confession to Mr. Brown before that 
 gentleman could learn the disgraceful 
 story from others. As this resolve took 
 shape in the boy's mind he pushed back 
 the bed-clothes and tried to lift himself 
 in the bed. It was a vain effort; he fell 
 back exhausted, and for some moments 
 lay there unconscious. When he opened 
 his eyes again, there stood a woman with 
 her arms akimbo halfway between the 
 bed and the door, gazing at him with 
 something like pity expressed on her 
 coarse features. Phil returned the look 
 for a moment and then asked how late it 
 was. 
 
 " The folks has just set down to din- 
 ner," was the answer. 
 
 " Dinner ! Oh dear ! how I have over- 
 slept myself!" was Phil's exclamation as 
 again he tried to raise his head from the
 
 STOKES'S UNWELCOME LODGER. 117 
 
 pillow. " Has my boss been asking where 
 I was ? Tell him, do please, that I'll be 
 there directly." 
 
 The impatient movement with which 
 these words were uttered resulted just as 
 before. The boy fell back fainting, and 
 the woman with a little scream of alarm 
 darted toward a pail of water that stood 
 in the room, and dashed a double hand- 
 ful in his face. There was a footstep on 
 the creaky stair, and somebody entered 
 the room softly and stood at the foot of 
 the bed. 
 
 "What's the matter?" asked the new- 
 comer. 
 
 " He's come to himself, Mr. Williston, 
 all of a sudden like and begun askin' for 
 his boss and wantin' to get up and go to 
 work. I wouldn't like to be the one to 
 tell him how the other's run away and 
 left him, and all the rest of it." 
 
 The woman laughed as she said this, 
 but finished with a suspicious little cough, 
 and as she turned away to go to her
 
 118 PHIL, DERRY. 
 
 work she dabbed her eyes with the clean- 
 est corner of her dirty apron ; it might 
 have been to remove a cinder or fleck 
 of dust. 
 
 Phil recovered from his faintness, but 
 he lay quite still after this, in the half- 
 stupid state in which the fever had left 
 him, and did not attempt to rise again. 
 Mr. Williston seated himself at the foot 
 of the bed and there watched the poor 
 thin face for some moments with eyes 
 full of pity. After a while he drew from 
 his pocket a little Bible, and for more 
 than an hour there was no sound in the 
 room but the sick boy's heavy breathing 
 and the occasional turning of a leaf. 
 " Water !" at last came in an indistinct 
 murmur from the parched lips. Mr. 
 Williston laid down his book, raised 
 Phil's head very tenderly, and gave him 
 a drink from a broken tea-cup that had 
 been left in the room for that purpose. 
 The nurse quietly resumed his seat and 
 his reading, and the invalid lay back on
 
 STOKES'S UNWELCOME LODGER. 119 
 
 his pillow motionless as before. The eyes 
 did not close again, however; they fixed 
 their gaze full on the calm face at the 
 foot of the bed. The reader was con- 
 scious of the look, but he kept his eyes 
 still on the book and allowed the boy to 
 study his features as intently as he chose. 
 They were plain features enough, just 
 such as one may see on the street any 
 day and pass by without a thought. The 
 nose was a trifle large, the mouth firm, 
 the eyes a deep steady blue, and the light, 
 thick hair brushed back plainly from the 
 forehead. It was a face specially unlike 
 some that Mr. Brown had taken pictures 
 of on this very trip. But with faces, as with 
 goblets and cups, it is not so much the 
 pattern in which they are modelled that 
 we care about, as it is what they contain. 
 Some faces and some cups have nothing 
 in them stronger than water, some again 
 are full of bitterness that we turn from 
 in disgust, and others offer us tempting 
 cordial, the very sight of which means
 
 120 PHIL DERRY. 
 
 refreshment. To be sure, no such thoughts 
 passed through Phil's mind as he lay, 
 weak and still, watching the countenance 
 of his companion. He was conscious 
 only of being soothed and comforted by 
 it, of being restored for the time to his 
 better self, the self that had felt God's 
 presence in the dear school-house at 
 home, that had learned his will from 
 the lips of Miss Millett and the little 
 Testament that had travelled with him 
 all the way. Oh, why was he so changed ? 
 What terrible thing had happened since 
 he was that former self? And who was 
 this man, away here in Clegg Hole, that 
 he should bring back all such memories? 
 
 Phil started and sighed because of his 
 perplexity. Mr. Williston closed his 
 book and looked at his young charge 
 with a kind smile. The boy answered 
 it with, 
 
 " Who are you, sir ? How came you 
 here? What is the matter with me? 
 Where is Mr. Brown ? Oh, do tell me
 
 STOKES'S UNWELCOME LODGER. 121 
 
 all about it ! My head aches with try- 
 ing to think." 
 
 Mr. Williston gently placed a large 
 cooi hand on the hot forehead, and said 
 gravely, 
 
 " I cannot answer all your questions at 
 once, Philip. Try and be satisfied with 
 learning a little at a time. You have 
 been very sick for several weeks. They 
 thought at one time you would surely 
 die, but" 
 
 "They!" interrupted Phil; "who do 
 you mean by they ? Mr. Brown, I sup- 
 pose ; and who else ?" 
 
 " I mean the people in the house. Mr. 
 Brown has gone on. They have been 
 very good to you." 
 
 " Have I been so sick as all that ?" 
 moaned the invalid, as if taking in a new 
 idea. 
 
 " Yes ; so sick that when I came last 
 Thursday, Mr. Stokes, the man who lives 
 in this house, you know, told me he 
 
 hadn't any accommodation for me, as he 
 11
 
 122 PHIL DERRY. 
 
 had to give up this room to a boy who 
 was dying." 
 
 A thrill of dread passed through Phil's 
 weak frame at these words. The speaker 
 went on without seeming to notice it : 
 
 " But God has been very good to you, 
 Philip. He has spared your life and 
 given you another chance to turn away 
 from sin and prepare for eternity." 
 
 Phil covered his face and said not a 
 word, but Mr. Williston was aware of the 
 quick, troubled breathing by the rise and 
 fall of the coverlet, and said nothing more 
 until the boy's agitation seemed quieted. 
 Then he opened the Bible and read in a 
 clear but gentle voice the fifty-first Psalm ; 
 and when he had finished, he knelt and 
 offered in Phil's behalf a short but earn- 
 est prayer. Phil's eyes were closed, his 
 breathing regular, and Mr. Williston, sup- 
 posing that he was asleep, left the room. 
 
 After a while the woman of the house 
 came up with a bowl of gruel. Phil took 
 it in silence ; and though he looked at her
 
 STOKES'S UNWELCOME LODGER. 123 
 
 inquisitively, he did not ask any ques- 
 tions, but thanked her and turned his 
 face toward the wall. 
 
 The woman, who was the tavern-keep- 
 er's wife, and known in Clegg Hole as 
 Sukey Stokes, went down stairs and out 
 to the barn, where her husband was feed- 
 ing the horse. 
 
 "That young fellow's mending fast." 
 said she. 
 
 " He'd better," was the answer, given 
 in a rough voice. " I've lost more'n one 
 lodger by havin' him sick up there ; and 
 as to ever gettin' any pay for all the 
 trouble he's cost us, I may whistle for 
 that, I s'pose." 
 
 " You won't turn him out, Stokes ?" 
 asked the wife, with more entreaty in her 
 voice than the words showed. 
 
 " Won't I, though ? You wait till he 
 gets on his feet, and see what I'll do." 
 
 Through the night Phil was restless; 
 he was conscious of his pain now, and his 
 thirst was great. The pail of water and
 
 124 PHIL DERBY. 
 
 the broken tea-cup had been placed with- 
 in his reach, so that he could wait on him- 
 self. The room was dark and still, and 
 in the loneliness of the night the words 
 of the Psalm read to him a few hours be- 
 fore came back to him, though not dis- 
 tinctly. He began repeating some of the 
 verses aloud, so as to be sure of them : 
 
 " ' Hide thy face from my sins and blot 
 out all mine iniquities. 
 
 " ' Create in me a clean heart, O God, 
 and renew a right spirit within me. 
 
 " ' Cast me not away from thy presence, 
 and take not thy Holy Spirit from me.' 
 
 " And take not thy Holy Spirit from 
 me," repeated Phil. " I wonder what 
 comes next ?" 
 
 A voice quite near him took up the 
 Psalm where he had stopped : " ' Restore 
 unto me the joy of thy salvation, and up- 
 hold me with thy free Spirit. 
 
 " ' Then will I teach transgressors thy 
 ways, and sinners shall be converted unto 
 thee.'"
 
 STOKES'S UNWELCOME LODGER. 125 
 
 The boy was startled at first by this 
 unexpected response, for he had supposed 
 himself quite alone, but directly he rec- 
 ognized the voice of the stranger who 
 had sat beside him in the afternoon, and 
 smiled with a feeling of satisfaction 
 
 "Thank you, sir," said he, when the 
 Psalm ended. " I thought I was here 
 alone or I wouldn't have spoke out so. 
 I woke you up, didn't I ?" 
 
 " Yes," returned the other, " but that 
 does not matter. I heard you groan and 
 was afraid you were in a good deal of 
 pain. What can I do for you ?" 
 
 " Nothing at all ; I feel easier now and 
 shall go to sleep again. But tell me, 
 sir, what part of the room are you in ? 
 I did not know there was another bed 
 here." 
 
 " There is not ; I have a pillow and a 
 blanket by the wall exactly opposite you." 
 
 " Oh, sir, that is too bad. I guess I 
 can make room for you here. This bed 
 is hard enough, but it's better than none." 
 11*
 
 126 PHIL DERRY. 
 
 "No," said the other; "I shall do 
 very well. I have slept here each night 
 since I came. Mr. Stokes had no other 
 place to give me ; and as to that, I am too 
 used to travelling about this Western 
 country to be very particular about ac- 
 commodations." 
 
 It was on Phil's tongue to inquire again 
 who this unknown friend was, but the 
 question was checked by his companion's 
 advice : " Go to sleep, Philip ; we will talk 
 together in the morning, but rest is most 
 important for you now. Good-night." 
 
 Presently the regular breathing of his 
 fellow-lodger assured the boy that he had 
 taken his own advice. He too closed 
 his eyes and tried to go to sleep, but his 
 newly-awakened thoughts were too busy. 
 Who was this man? Where had he 
 seen the cheerful, earnest face before? 
 Where had he heard that voice? It 
 came to him in a flash ; how stupid of 
 him not to have known at once! This 
 was the missionary who had established
 
 STOKES'S UNWELCOME LODGER. 127 
 
 the Sunday-school in Eagleville. This 
 was the man who had spoken so kindly 
 to him as he sat that day on the potato 
 pile, the man from whom his mother had 
 bought the Bible. It was only the lack 
 of bodily strength that hindered Phil 
 from darting across the floor to embrace 
 the sleeper. He had to restrain his feel- 
 ings of gratitude and delight, however, 
 but he turned over with a sense of safety 
 and contentment that he had not felt for 
 a long time. He did not yet understand 
 his position and the change which had 
 come to him through his folly and Mr. 
 Brown's consequent departure, but he 
 was better able to bear the knowledge of 
 all this now that he had found so true 
 a friend to lean upon.
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 A FRIEND IN NEED. 
 
 [ACH day after this showed some 
 improvement in Phil's condition. 
 He sat up, he walked across the 
 room, his appetite came to him ; 
 before long, supported by his true friend, 
 Mr. Williston, on one side, and Mrs. 
 Stokes on the other, he went down stairs 
 and looked from the doorway upon the 
 sky and the far reaching prairie-land, 
 still brilliant with the glory of summer. 
 It was well that he had first heard the 
 story of his downfall and its consequences 
 from the kind lips of the missionary, for 
 as soon as he was again among the peo- 
 ple of the place he had to hear it over and 
 over. Some laughed at him, others pitied, 
 and not a few were loud in their expres- 
 
 128
 
 A FRIEND IN NEED. 129 
 
 sions of contempt for that " mean fellow, 
 Brown," who had played him such a 
 trick. Phil, however, had the honesty 
 to feel, and to say too, that all the mean- 
 ness was his own, and that he could not 
 blame Mr. Brown for parting company 
 with such a scapegrace as himself. His 
 pride was wounded at the idea of having 
 his father applied to for payment of his 
 gambling debt, and he resolved to go to 
 work and not spare himself until he had 
 earned enough to repay the amount. But 
 the necessity of work was soon brought 
 before him in another form. Stokes, the 
 landlord, watched him closely, and the 
 first time that he made the attempt to 
 walk out of doors alone he followed him 
 and addressed him in a very crusty tone : 
 
 " So you're on your legs again you 
 young rascal !" 
 
 " Yes ; I am thankful to say that I 
 am," was Phil's reply. 
 
 "Thankful? Humph!" retorted the 
 landlord. "Then see to it that the first
 
 130 PHIL DERRY. 
 
 use you put them to is to get yourself 
 out of my house. The victuals and medi- 
 cine and bother you've cost me count up 
 more than you're worth, enough sight. 
 So you'll be so good as to pack your box 
 and find other lodgings within the next 
 twenty-four hours." 
 
 The boy's face grew pale, and he had 
 to stop and lean against the fence for a 
 moment before he could steady his voice 
 for an answer. The landlord stopped too, 
 and looked at him sharply. 
 
 " Mr. Stokes," began Phil, with diffi- 
 culty, " I don't blame you for wanting to 
 get rid of such a lodger as I. All you 
 know about me isn't to my credit, and, as 
 you say, I've cost more than I'm worth." 
 Here he had to pause for breath, and 
 then, sinking on a log close by the fence, 
 he went on : " If you've got any work 
 you'll trust me to do, I would like to stay 
 and do it until I have paid you up ; or 
 maybe you know some one else in the 
 place who wants to hire a boy ?"
 
 A FRIEND IN NEED. 131 
 
 It was a very contemptuous glance that 
 Phil received as the only answer to this 
 proposal. 
 
 " I have worked, indeed I have," said 
 Phil, with a struggle to keep down his 
 pride and his temper. " If you only 
 knew the folks at Eagle ville, there's 
 more than one there that would speak a 
 good word for me. If you'll take the 
 trouble to write and ask, I'll give you the 
 names of men there that have known me 
 all my life." 
 
 " No need to take that trouble," said 
 Mr. Stokes, sharpening his words with a 
 hard laugh. " We all know you pretty 
 well around here a fellow that gets drunk 
 and throws away his master's money on 
 billiards. No, I want none of your 
 work. But stop !" 
 
 The landlord paused and looked hard 
 at Phil, meanwhile running his fingers 
 through his bushy beard, as he was apt 
 to do when thinking. His thought this 
 time was that if he kept the boy he
 
 132 PHIL DEREY. 
 
 might easily repay himself for what his 
 board had cost that was really but lit- 
 tle ; whereas if he let him go away there 
 was no likelihood of his getting back a 
 cent. 
 
 " Well," said he, at length, " you can 
 stay here for another day or so; and as to 
 the matter of work, I'll think it over 
 and talk to Sukey about it. Go in-doors 
 now ; I don't want you sick on our hands 
 again." 
 
 Mr. Stokes turned away, and Phil 
 walked slowly toward the house where 
 he was so unwelcome a guest. He dragged 
 himself up the stairs wearily, and felt 
 sick at heart as he thought how poorly 
 fitted he was just then to earn by his 
 labour the worth of a single meal. 
 
 Mr. Williston was in the room waiting 
 for him. He glanced at Phil's pale face, 
 and then without a word stepped forward, 
 grasped his arm, and placed him on the 
 bed. 
 
 " There, now ! lie still until you are
 
 A FRIEND IN NEED. 133 
 
 rested. You have been overdoing ; I see 
 I must not trust you out of sight so long 
 again." 
 
 " Oh, Mr. Williston," groaned Phil, " I 
 don't know but what it would have been 
 better for everybody if I had died; it 
 would have saved trouble enough." 
 
 " Tut, tut, tut ! no such talk as that !" 
 said the other. " Is that your gratitude 
 to God and your friends ?" 
 
 With a choking voice Phil repeated 
 the substance of his conversation with 
 Mr. Stokes, and added that even if the 
 landlord should relent and allow him to 
 pay his debt by work, he feared he should 
 not be able to do anything for some time. 
 
 Mr. Williston laughed, not mockingly, 
 as the landlord had done, for there was 
 more pity than mirth in his tone and face: 
 
 " Let him send his bill to your father ; 
 he is able to pay it, and no doubt will- 
 ing." 
 
 " Never, sir," said Phil, hoarse with ex- 
 cited feeling. "There's Mr. Brown on 
 12
 
 134 PHIL DERBY. 
 
 the way to him DOW with that shameful 
 debt to lay before him. Oh, I'm paying 
 dear for a few hours' fun." 
 
 " Indeed you are, my poor lad !" said 
 the missionary with a sigh. He did not 
 add, " The way of transgressors is hard," 
 nor " He that soweth the wind shall reap 
 the whirlwind," though these texts did 
 flash across his mind, for the thought 
 came also to him of One who would not 
 break the bruised reed, and Phil's accus- 
 ing conscience needed just now no such 
 aids. 
 
 " Do, Mr. Williston, give me some ad- 
 vice. You are the best friend I have in 
 the world." 
 
 The answer to this appeal came after 
 five minutes or so, during which Phil's 
 friend paced the floor to and fro in 
 thought. He came back then to his seat 
 beside the bed : 
 
 " What do you say to engaging your- 
 self to work for me instead of Mr. 
 Stokes?"
 
 A FRIEND IN NEED. 135 
 
 Phil started at once to a sitting posture, 
 and the smile on the missionary's face 
 was reflected on his own : 
 
 " Work for you, sir ? Oh how glad I 
 should be ! But I am not used to your 
 kind of work ; I don't see how I could 
 make myself useful to you at all." The 
 smile had quite faded away before he 
 stopped speaking. 
 
 " What kind of work do you suppose 
 I have to do, Philip?" was the next 
 question. 
 
 " Why, sir, all I know is that you go 
 from one place to another starting Sun- 
 day-schools, and trying to make Chris- 
 tians out of the heathenish people you 
 find." 
 
 " Well, that is about it," mused the 
 other. " I do what I can, and look to 
 the Lord for the result." 
 
 " But how can I help you ?" asked 
 Phil, anxious to keep his friend to the 
 point. 
 
 " You can go with me from place to
 
 136 PHIL DERRY. 
 
 place. You know a good deal about the 
 manner of starting a Sunday-school from 
 what you have seen at Eagleville. You 
 can help me in encouraging the people 
 to come together, in distributing tracts, in 
 teaching, perhaps, for a start. I cannot 
 tell you exactly what I may require of 
 you ; but if you agree to my proposal, I 
 will settle this man's bill at once, and 
 take as a return from you such services 
 as I have mentioned." 
 
 Mr. Williston said so much and no 
 more. He did not tell of the wakeful 
 hours at night in which he had pondered 
 over Phil's future and asked counsel of 
 his God as to how he should release the 
 lad from his present unsafe position, how 
 he might protect him from the evil in- 
 fluences arouncf him, and guide him by 
 God's blessing into the safe and narrow 
 way that leads to life eternal. In watch- 
 ing beside Phil's sick-bed he had formed 
 a strong attachment for the boy, and the 
 present crisis of affairs had quickly de-
 
 A FRIEND IN NEED. 137 
 
 cided him in a well-considered plan. He 
 would take him along in his journeys; 
 he would make him an assistant in his 
 work, so far as possible ; his salary should 
 be made to suffice for the needs of two 
 instead of one ; and as for this bill to the 
 tavern, a little extra self-denial would 
 easily accomplish that. 
 
 As to Phil's answer when the matter 
 was thus presented, it is quite needless to 
 give it. It seemed as if a new life had 
 opened before him. His anxiety was 
 removed like a great burden from his 
 heart ; even the humiliation caused by the 
 thought of his recent disgrace was lost 
 sight of in the prospect of usefulness. 
 His strength came back rapidly after this, 
 for the spirit helped the body. Much of 
 his time was spent in studying the Bible 
 and committing to memory the hymns 
 that his friend marked for him in the 
 well-worn book that had gone in his 
 pocket on many a missionary journey. 
 Oh, these were happy days happy as 
 
 12*
 
 138 PHIL DERRY. 
 
 they passed along, and happy to look 
 back upon from the distant future years. 
 Clegg Hole was no longer the forbidding 
 place which it had hitherto appeared. 
 Phil looked upon it through different 
 eyes henceforth. More than that, Clegg 
 Hole was in itself different from the 
 wretched place it had been when Na- 
 than Brown's wagon had first stopped 
 before its tavern door. Mr. Williston 
 had come there while Phil lay uncon- 
 scious, had held a meeting and visited 
 the people in their homes. He had tried 
 to establish a Sunday-school without 
 success, it is true ; but still the very effort 
 had made such an impression on the 
 minds of many that in due time fruit 
 was sure to come of it. So the good man 
 lingered there, working, waiting and 
 hoping, unwilling to give up the plan of 
 making a beginning at least of Sunday- 
 school organization. 
 
 Mr. Stokes became very civil when he 
 found that his sick lodger had a friend to
 
 A FRIEND IN NEED. 139 
 
 take his part ; and when, as soon as the 
 time was set for departure, Mr. Williston 
 asked for the amount of Philip Derry's 
 bill at the tavern as well as his own, and 
 made known his intentions concerning 
 the lad, the landlord was all smiles and 
 kindness. Sukey Stokes found it neces- 
 sary to use the corner of her apron a 
 good many times when she learned that 
 Phil was going, and comforted herself by 
 preparing a supply of eatables, the dain- 
 tiest she could, for the travellers to take 
 with them.
 
 CHAPTEE XIV. 
 
 TRAVEL AND TALK. 
 
 I GAIN upon the road was our Phil. 
 An unknown country lay around 
 him now as well as an unknown 
 work before him. Mr. Williston 
 was a very different companion from 
 Nathan Brown, and altogether our hero 
 felt as one who turns over several leaves 
 at once in a story-book and finds it hard 
 to see the connection between the new 
 page and what has gone before. 
 
 " Tell me, sir," said he, after they had 
 been riding for some time in silence : 
 " what do you do when you get to a regu- 
 lar hard place ?" 
 
 " Tell me first what you mean by a 
 ' regular hard place,' " answered Mr. Wil- 
 liston. 
 
 " Oh, one where they have never heard 
 
 140
 
 TRAVEL AND TALK. 141 
 
 about Sunday-schools, don't have any 
 meeting, and, more than that, don't want 
 any. Eagleville was bad enough before 
 you went there, but I know there's lots of 
 worse places all around. I should think 
 sometimes they'd swear at you and slam 
 the door in your face when they found 
 out what you wanted." 
 
 " So they do, again and again." 
 
 This answer was given as if such treat- 
 ment were quite a matter of course. 
 
 " Then what do you do ?" 
 
 " I generally find one man at least in 
 a village who is willing to help me in my 
 missionary work." 
 
 " Well, suppose there was not even 
 one," persisted Phil. 
 
 "I should still try to find a place 
 where I could gather the people and tell 
 them the object for which I had come." 
 
 " Suppose they would not come to your 
 meeting." 
 
 " Then I would go from house to house 
 and talk to all who would listen. I would
 
 142 PHIL DERRY. 
 
 leave tracts and Sunday-school papers, 
 and sell Bibles and religious books." 
 
 " What if they would not read the 
 tracts nor buy the Bibles ?" Phil smiled, 
 for he was sure he had driven Mr. 
 Williston into a corner at last. " I 
 know," he went on, " that there are just 
 such bad places about the country, and 
 I don't see anything you could do but 
 just get away from them as fast as you 
 could." 
 
 " You are right, Philip ; there are a 
 few just such hard places. I have found 
 one or two." 
 
 " And what did you do, sir ?" 
 
 " When the people would not hear me, 
 God would. When they shut their doors 
 against me, I have found a quiet spot 
 where I could lay the matter before him 
 in prayer. Then I have tried again to 
 interest the people, and sometimes I have 
 found it best to go away altogether and 
 after a time make another visit and try 
 again. There's Clegg Hole. This is the
 
 TRAVEL AND TALK. 143 
 
 third time I've been there, and it don't 
 seem as if I had done much toward a 
 Sunday-school, after all." 
 
 " I should think you'd get tired out 
 with trying, sir ; don't you ever feel like 
 giving up ?" 
 
 " Giving up ! I should if it all de- 
 pended on me yes, indeed ; but it does 
 not, Philip. I must work, but whether 
 with success or failure it is for God to 
 decide. I leave it all with him, and know 
 things will come out right. 
 
 ' 'Tis he that works to will ; 
 
 'Tis he that works to do ; 
 His is the power by which we act; 
 His be the glory too.' " 
 
 Such tenderness came into Mr. Willis- 
 ton's voice as he repeated these lines, 
 more as if communing with his own heart 
 than addressing another, that his young 
 companion turned to look at him. The 
 blue eyes were full of joyful light, and 
 the firm lips seemed pressed together to 
 give emphasis to the words they had just
 
 144 PHIL DERRY. 
 
 uttered. Phil wondered, but he did not 
 ask any more questions. 
 
 Mr. Williston took his little Bible from 
 his pocket and began reading. Phil could 
 not interrupt him with any more conver- 
 sation, so he sat quiet and tried to find 
 something interesting in the level country 
 through which they passed at a slow rate. 
 They were in a stage-coach, and the miles 
 seemed very long and tiresome much 
 longer than when Phil had held the 
 reins over old Betsy's back on his last 
 journey. Left thus to himself, there 
 came back to his mind more than one 
 conversation with Mr. Williston held in 
 the shabby garret at Clegg Hole, the 
 scene of so much shame and suffering. 
 
 The stage stopped at length to change 
 horses, and the travellers were ushered 
 into a solitary-looking farm-house to get 
 dinner. A good-natured Irishman came 
 to the door at the sound of the wheels, 
 and a troop of chubby children followed 
 him to have a good stare at the new com-
 
 TRAVEL AND TALK. 145 
 
 ers. A good rest and a hearty meal 
 proved very refreshing. 
 
 " I've got another passenger for yez, 
 Parkins," said the host to the driver. 
 
 "Ay, ay!" said Parkins; "and who's 
 that?" 
 
 Before there was time for an answer 
 an elderly woman entered the room, 
 bringing a bag and two or three parcels. 
 The Irishman introduced her to the 
 driver and the rest as " Mrs. Carpenter, a 
 foine woman, intirely,"who had been stay- 
 ing with his wife a while to help her along 
 with her sewing, and now was going home 
 again " to her folks at Shunem." This 
 was the destination which Mr. Williston 
 had proposed for himself and Phil. This 
 region was new to the missionary ; and 
 when they had fairly started again on the 
 road, he began making some inquiries 
 about things and people at Shunem. 
 
 " It's a small place, sir, and a poor one," 
 was Mrs. Carpenter's report, " but for all 
 that I like it ; perhaps that's because I 
 
 13 K
 
 146 PHIL DERRY. 
 
 have got those nearest to me there, 
 which I did not have while I stayed East." 
 
 " What do you think will be the like- 
 lihood of our being able to start a Sun- 
 day-school at Shunem ?" 
 
 " Oh, sir, is that your business ?" asked 
 the woman, with a sudden brightness in 
 her plain face. " Are you the man that 
 did such a great work at Corley Creek 
 last year ?" She leaned forward and look- 
 ed eagerly in the missionary's face as she 
 asked the question. 
 
 " I was there yes ; and the Lord was 
 there too, working with me. I always 
 like to recall that time at Corley Creek 
 when tempted to be discouraged. You 
 seem to know something about the place, 
 ma'am ; can you tell me any news from 
 there?" 
 
 " No ; all I ever heard about it was 
 through my nephew there, Joel Bardon, 
 sir ; perhaps you may remember him ? A 
 young man he is; but what with his wild 
 ways and bad company, to say nothing
 
 TRAVEL AND TALK. 147 
 
 of his ague fits, he was fast growing old. 
 It was a joyful day for his wife, sir, when 
 you preached that sermon, ' Believe on 
 the Lord Jesus Christ, and thou shalt be 
 saved.' It was the Lord himself that 
 put the words in your mouth that day, 
 to be sure. What it did for other folks 
 I can't tell, though I've heard there was 
 a great stirring among the dry bones, and 
 that they have held prayer-meetings from 
 house to house ever since." 
 
 Phil listened attentively, and found his 
 own heart catching something of the glow 
 that lighted up the two faces before him. 
 He was glad that Joel Bardon had re- 
 formed, and that they had prayer-meet- 
 ings at Corley Creek. But why ? " It's 
 none of my business," said one half of 
 Phil's self to the other half; for indeed 
 it did appear to the perplexed boy as if 
 there were two distinct characters com- 
 bined to make up the one Philip Derry, 
 and as if these two were always fighting 
 within him. " I wish I was a Christian;
 
 148 PHIL DERRY. 
 
 I wish things would happen with me just 
 as they did with that Joel Bardon." The 
 wish was a silent one, but the sigh it 
 brought to his lips made the other two 
 pause in their talk and look at him. 
 
 " Poor fellow !" said Mr. Williston ; 
 "you're tired out with this jolting;" and 
 then he began explaining to Mrs. Car- 
 penter how ill his young friend had been, 
 and that he was hardly strong enough to 
 bear the journey. 
 
 Mrs. Carpenter nodded at Phil, as 
 much as to say she knew all about it, 
 though of course she did not ; she would 
 not have smiled so cheerily if she had, 
 perhaps. 
 
 " The Lord had some more work for 
 you to do, I reckon. It's a blessed thing 
 to see one so young as you taking up the 
 work of a missionary." 
 
 The boy moved uneasily on his seat. 
 How little did that good woman know the 
 sting that was in her kind words! Mr. 
 Williston evidently read the boy's feel-
 
 TRAVEL AND TAL.K. 
 
 ings from the troubled expression of his 
 face, and he hastened to turn the conver- 
 sation by inquiring of Mrs. Carpenter 
 some particulars in regard to Shunem, 
 and what likelihood there was of his be- 
 ing able to do any good there. 
 
 " Ah, sir," was the answer, " if you'd 
 asked those questions six months ago, I'd 
 have told you not to waste your precious 
 time in going to Shunem, for then there 
 wasn't one in the place, man, woman, or 
 child, that would have listened to a word 
 about religion that is," said Mrs. Car- 
 penter, reverently and interrupting her- 
 self, " if the Lord in his goodness had 
 not prepared the way for you. But 
 shame on me to speak so, after the way 
 he's been blessing that dear child, Hallie 
 Hope !" 
 
 " Hallie Hope !" echoed the mission- 
 ary. " Who is she, Mrs. Carpenter ? I 
 see you have something pleasant to tell 
 me by the look of your face." 
 
 " Well, you must know " and here 
 
 13 *
 
 150 PHIL DERRY. 
 
 Mrs. Carpenter leaned forward with her 
 elbows on her knees, her eyes peering up 
 into those of her fellow-traveller, and 
 the air of one who has pleasant news to 
 tell "you must know that Hallie Hope 
 Well, all I can say of her is that the Lord 
 cast her into the midst of us much as 
 Elisha threw the salt into the water at 
 Jericho and turned them from bitter to 
 sweet." 
 
 A smile brightened Mr. Williston's 
 face, not only on account of the pleasant 
 information, but at the discovery so rare, 
 alas ! of one who was familiar enough 
 with the Bible to bring forward such a 
 comparison. 
 
 "Andrew Hope came to Shunem," 
 continued the narrator, " with his family, 
 not for the sake of making money, like 
 the rest of 'em, but on account of his 
 health. The doctor had told him that 
 his only chance for life was to get into 
 one of these Western towns and rough 
 it. All the roughing in the world '11
 
 TRAVEL AND TALK. 151 
 
 never make a well man of him, it's my 
 opinion ; still, he may hold out a little 
 longer, maybe, by the change. The doc- 
 tor, whoever he was, failed in his design 
 in sending the Hope family here, but the 
 Lord had another design ; and we know, 
 sir," with a nod of mutual understand- 
 ing toward the missionary, " that his de- 
 signs never fail." 
 
 " Ay, we know that the Lord's designs 
 never fail," echoed he, reverently, and 
 addressing himself rather than his trav- 
 elling companion. 
 
 " Well, the Hopes hadn't been among 
 us more than a week or so before Hallie 
 she's their only daughter, and she don't 
 look a day older than my Mary Ann 
 that's just turned sixteen she went 
 round among the youngsters and made 
 friends with 'em right off. She coaxed 
 'em by her sweet ways to come to her 
 every day for an hour or two to be 
 taught. The parents were willing enough, 
 and so Hallie is doing her best with the
 
 152 PHIL DERRY. 
 
 wild things at reading and spelling. It 
 wasn't for that, though, you may be sure, 
 that she gathered them together. Every 
 day she prays with the children and 
 teaches them sweet little hymns; and, 
 sir, the way that girl talks to them about 
 the Lord Jesus and the love he showed 
 in dying on the cross for them oh, it's 
 enough to melt the heart of any old sin- 
 ner in the place." 
 
 Here Mrs. Carpenter stopped to get out 
 her handkerchief, for her own heart was 
 melting, it seemed, and was sending the 
 moisture to her eyes. 
 
 " You may be sure, sir," she continued, 
 presently, " that Hallie's the one out of 
 all Shunem to help you start a Sunday- 
 school. She's been preparing the way 
 for it right along." 
 
 They rode on in silence for a mile or 
 so, each one thinking in his or her own 
 way about the young girl who was doing 
 such a Christian work among the chil- 
 dren of Shunem. Phil groaned inwardly
 
 TRAVEL AND TALK. 153 
 
 with shame as the contrast rose to mind 
 between himself and this Hallie Hope 
 a girl not far, it seemed, from his own 
 age he having disgraced himself and 
 given so much trouble to his employer 
 and friends, she labouring in this poor 
 Western town like a true soldier of 
 Christ to win others to his service. It 
 was a very humiliating contrast indeed, 
 and Phil would have driven it from his 
 mind and substituted some pleasanter 
 thought if he could, but this one stuck 
 there like a burr. 
 
 At last the travellers arrived at their 
 destination. Mr. Williston inquired about 
 the tavern with a view to getting accom- 
 modations there for himself and Phil, 
 but their new friend would not hear of 
 such a thing. 
 
 " My son and his wife'll give you a 
 hearty welcome," said good Mrs. Carpen- 
 ter. " Our ways are those of plain folks, 
 to be sure, but you'll be treated as well 
 at Jim's as at any other house in Shunem,
 
 154 PHIL DEKRY. 
 
 if I do say it," was the satisfied remark 
 of the mother ; " and if, sir," she con- 
 tinued, an anxious shade coming over her 
 kind face " if you could only give my 
 boy a helping hand toward the door of 
 the kingdom, if you could " 
 
 Mrs. Carpenter turned her face away 
 and left the sentence unfinished. 
 
 The invitation was readily accepted, 
 and Parkins set down his three passen- 
 gers at the door of James Carpenter's 
 house.
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 A MORNING OUT OF DOOES. 
 
 CORDIAL welcome was given 
 to Mr. Williston and Phil by the 
 young couple whose home they 
 so unexpectedly invaded. " Mo- 
 ther's friends are ours," said James Car- 
 penter, " and we are glad to see you." 
 The hearty handshaking which accom- 
 panied the welcoming words left no doubt 
 of their sincerity. The buzz of family 
 talk was kept up until late in the day. 
 "Mother" had to relate every detail of 
 her visit and to hear all the small events 
 that had occurred during her absence, to 
 hold the baby, feel its gums to see if a 
 tooth was coming, and give her opinion 
 as to how many pounds heavier it was 
 than when she left. All the recent Shu- 
 nem gossip had to be repeated, too. So 
 
 155
 
 156 PHIL DERRY. 
 
 it happened that our two travellers had 
 no opportunity of making the needed 
 inquiries about the religious state of the 
 town, and had to content themselves with 
 resting and planning for the morrow's 
 work. 
 
 The next morning's sun rose bright 
 and fair, and after an early breakfast 
 the good missionary started forth to see 
 how far the Lord had prepared the way 
 for him in Shunem. He would not con- 
 sent that Phil should accompany him, 
 for the pale face of the recent invalid 
 showed that he had need of rest. When 
 left to himself, Phil took his Bible and 
 a few tracts that Mr. Williston had left 
 lying on the table, and slowly sauntered 
 out in the direction of a shady little 
 brook in view from the window of the 
 room in which he had slept. He car- 
 ried the tracts .and Bible with him, 
 hardly with an intention of reading 
 them, but with a vague longing that his 
 eyes might fall upon some word of God
 
 A MORNING OUT OF DOORS. 157 
 
 that might prove to be a direct message 
 to him. He wanted to be a Christian, 
 but he knew not how to begin ; he de- 
 sired to draw near to God, but how should 
 he, with so many sins upon his conscience? 
 He found a retired seat under a great 
 tree that spread its branches far out over 
 the water, and taking up his Bible turned 
 over its leaves as " a certain man drew 
 his bow " at a venture. The book opened 
 at the 51st Psalm. He read each verse 
 over and over again, thinking of the day 
 when Mr. Wil listen had sat beside his 
 bed in Clegg Hole and read those words 
 of penitence that then seemed as if writ- 
 ten for his very case. He closed the book 
 and sat there a long time, trying to turn 
 the Psalm into a prayer. All at once he 
 heard a rustling in the branches above 
 his head ; he started and looked up. 
 Among the leaves he discovered two 
 roguish faces not so clean as they might 
 be, but brimful of fun. 
 
 " Hal loo!" shouted a child's voice. 
 
 14
 
 158 PHIL BERRY. 
 
 "We've been here a-watchin' you ever 
 so long, hain't we, Dan ?" 
 
 " Yes," answered the other urchin, 
 " to be sure we have. 'Spose you're one 
 o' them strangers that come to Jim Car- 
 penter's house yesterday ?" 
 
 Phil nodded his head and smiled at 
 the little fellows, who were near the size 
 of his own brother. Sam. 
 
 "Come down and see me," said he, 
 kindly. 
 
 In another moment both children were 
 at his side. 
 
 "What book's that?" asked one. 
 " Got any pictures in it ?" 
 
 " No," answered Phil, " no pictures, 
 but it's full of pretty stories. Shall I 
 tell you one ?" 
 
 " Oh yes, do," was the answer ; " not a 
 long one, though, for it's pretty near 
 school-time." 
 
 "Why, it's a Bible," said the other 
 boy. " We know lots o' them stories, 
 don't we, Bob?"
 
 A MORNING OUT OF DOORS. 159 
 
 " Do you really ?" asked Phil, in a 
 tone of surprise. 
 
 " Course we do. Miss Hallie tells us 
 one most every day. She knows 'em, 
 she does ; there's nothing Miss Hallie 
 don't know." 
 
 " You've heard about Adam and Eve, 
 then?" said their new friend. 
 
 " Adam and Eve ! I should think so," 
 returned the boy who had first spoken. 
 
 "Cain and Abel? Samson? David?" 
 questioned Phil as he turned the leaves. 
 
 " Yes, yes," said the little boys ; " we 
 know them by heart." 
 
 " And Goliath," continued one. 
 
 " And Joseph and his brothers," added 
 the other. 
 
 " And Solomon ;" but this was uttered 
 in a doubtful tone. 
 
 " No, Dan, that's the one Miss Hallie's 
 to tell us to-day, if we say our spellin' 
 without a miss." 
 
 " You have heard about Jesus Christ, 
 then, and all the great things he did ?"
 
 160 PHIL DERRY. 
 
 The children nodded. 
 
 " We'd like to hear 'era over, though. 
 Let's have that one about the prodigal 
 son. Teacher told us that yesterday, but 
 I'd like to hear it again." 
 
 Soon all three, narrator as well as 
 hearers, were interested in the beautiful 
 parable, and they might have sat there 
 under the tree the whole morning but 
 for the faint tinkle of a bell that started 
 both children to their feet. 
 
 " We've got to go now/' said the one 
 who had talked most freely, " but we'll 
 come again to-morrow, and you can tell 
 
 us more." 
 
 " I will," promised Philip. 
 
 " Come on with us to our school, won't 
 you ? We'll show you our teacher, and 
 you can hear us say our lessons. Come !" 
 and the speaker emphasized his invita- 
 tion by pulling Phil's sleeve. 
 
 " Not now, boys, not now ; some other 
 time I will;" and so saying, Phil freed 
 himself from the child's grasp and stood
 
 jil gerrn. 
 
 "We'd like to hear 'em over.' 
 
 p. 160.
 
 A MORNING OUT OF DOORS. 161 
 
 watching while the four nimble bare feet 
 flew down the road. 
 
 " How much good this girl is doing !" 
 was his thought ; and then he wished that 
 his neglected brother Sam and his sisters 
 Sallie and Lizzie might have such a faith- 
 ful teacher. Presently he gathered up 
 his book and papers and walked along in 
 the direction the boys had taken, with a 
 view to seeing something of the town. 
 There was not anything interesting to be 
 seen. Shunem might be taken for a twin 
 of two or three other towns through 
 which he had passed. As he was about 
 turning with the intention of going back 
 to the house to rest, he caught sight of a 
 small log building a little back from the 
 road. There was a hum of children's 
 voices, and by this Phil knew it to be 
 the school to which his little friends had 
 hurried. All at once it seemed very 
 still, and then the tones of a single voice 
 reached him where he stood. It must be 
 Miss Hallie's, and she must be opening 
 
 14* L
 
 162 PHIL DERRY. 
 
 her school-day with prayer. Phil drew 
 near the door, hardly conscious of what 
 he did, and listened. It was a very sim- 
 ple prayer indeed that the young girl 
 offered ; Phil had heard better ones, as 
 people judge degrees of goodness, in some 
 of the Eagleville meetings. There was 
 something strange about this one, some- 
 thing that woke Phil's heart to a new 
 idea of praying, and he felt like saying 
 " Amen, amen !" all the way through, and 
 what was it? Only that Hallie Hope 
 was one of God's dear children, and that 
 being so, she spoke to him as the Father 
 whom she wished to please that day, who 
 was going to take care of her and the 
 children and make them happy. There 
 was not a phrase such as people use who 
 only know how to pray from books or 
 who have learned a set of expressions at 
 prayer-meeting. Hallie asked for what 
 she wanted and believed that it would 
 be given her, and that was all about it. 
 When she ended, and while the children 

 
 A MORNING OUT OP DOORS. 163 
 
 were rising from their knees, Phil slipped 
 softly away, and Hallie Hope began her 
 day of loving work. She never knew 
 that is, not till years after that her 
 morning prayer had reached other ears 
 than those of her little scholars and of 
 the Father in heaven to whom it was 
 addressed. She did not know that on 
 the words of trust her lips had just 
 uttered another soul was finding its way 
 into the full freedom and love of Christ's 
 redeemed ones. 
 
 Phil, still weak from his illness, was 
 tired with even the short walk he had 
 taken, and sat down to rest on a big stone 
 quite near the house. Mr. Carpenter's 
 voice presently hailed him. Mr. Carpenter, 
 as I may as well state here, was an enter- 
 prising young farmer who already owned 
 acres enough to afford him a good living, 
 and whose ambition it was to be a rich 
 man by the time his hair should begin 
 turning gray. 
 
 " Halloo, Phil !" he shouted, and then,
 
 164 PHIL DERRY. 
 
 coming nearer, said, " That's all of your 
 name I've heard yet ; what's the rest ?" 
 
 " Philip Derry is my name, sir," was 
 the reply. 
 
 " Well, Jim Carpenter is mine, without 
 either Mr. or ' sir ' fastened to it ; please 
 remember that when you speak to me ;" 
 and the young man's voice was full of 
 friendliness and good-humour as he spoke. 
 He seated himself on the grass beside his 
 guest, and held out his hand for the tracts 
 which Phil held. Phil gave them to him. 
 
 " Pshaw ! is that all ?" said he, glan- 
 cing at the various titles. " ' The Swear- 
 er's Prayer.' Well, I never swear. 
 There's one for drunkards. I don't 
 drink that is, not enough to hurt. 
 When a fellow has his way to make in 
 the world and a family to support, it's 
 folly to get drunk ; that's what I say. 
 Humph !" he continued ; " there's noth- 
 ing here for me." 
 
 "Then you must be a Christian al- 
 ready," said Phil, looking full in his
 
 A MORNING OUT OF DOORS. 165 
 
 companion's face. The other turned his 
 eye away, and said after a moment's 
 pause, 
 
 " A Christian ? No, I don't claim to 
 be any better than the general run. I've 
 never been converted, as folks call it; hope 
 I shall be one of these days, if it's only 
 to satisfy mother. My hands are too full 
 just now to spend time on religion. The 
 fact is such things suit a great deal bet- 
 ter in the East. They can take time there 
 for prayer-meetings, preaching, and all 
 the rest of it, but we have too much to 
 do here in the West." 
 
 Phil, not knowing what to answer, se- 
 lected one from among the pile of tracts 
 and offered it silently to his companion. 
 
 Mr. Carpenter laughed good-naturedly, 
 and thrust the paper in his pocket with- 
 out even looking at it. 
 
 " You'll read it, won't you ?" asked 
 Phil. 
 
 " Don't look so anxious, boy," said the 
 other. " Yes, I'll read it, if it will give
 
 166 PHIL DERBY. 
 
 you any satisfaction. I can't wait now, 
 though ; it's time I was at my work 
 again." 
 
 Phil watched the active form till it had 
 crossed the field and disappeared, and 
 then, with a new and wondering sense of 
 the power of prayer, he covered his face 
 with both hands and asked God to be 
 with James Carpenter when he should 
 read that tract, and cause it to be a word 
 in season to his soul. The tract he had 
 selected was called " Why longer delay ?" 
 It seemed to meet the state of the young 
 man, who was, by his own confession, 
 putting off the work of salvation until 
 he had gained all that he desired of this 
 world's goods. This was Phil's first de- 
 liberate act in the service of Christ. 
 Would God prosper it?
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 HOW THEY BEGAN THE WORK AT 
 SHUNEM. 
 
 <? idjjjlHEN at noon the Carpenter fam- 
 ily met around a well-filled din- 
 ner-table, all were anxious to hear 
 
 <&* the result of the missionary's calls. 
 Mr. Williston looked tired, but there was 
 a tranquil light in the deep blue eyes that 
 said plainly that the morning's work had 
 not been a disappointment. 
 
 When the business of eating was fairly 
 commenced, the elder Mrs. Carpenter in- 
 quired, 
 
 " Well, sir, what's the prospect of our 
 having a Sunday-school in Shunem ?" 
 
 " That depends in some measure upon 
 yourself, ma'am," was the reply ; " there 
 are a few of God's people here who are 
 willing to help, but the prayers, work, 
 
 167
 
 168 PHIL DERRY. 
 
 and money of every Christian here are 
 needed for the work." 
 
 " That's true," said the good old lady. 
 "I'll do what I can." 
 
 " And you ?" said the missionary, turn- 
 ing to his young host. " May I depend 
 on you for one of the teachers ?" 
 
 Jim Carpenter's face flushed, and he 
 answered a little crossly : 
 
 " No, sir ; a man can't teach what he 
 doesn't know. Such work is quite out 
 of my line." 
 
 " We must have a meeting to-night to 
 decide on what is to be done, and I have 
 taken the liberty of appointing it at your 
 house, sir, as I could hear of no other 
 place so convenient. Was I right ?" 
 
 " Quite right," said the young man. 
 " I believe our front room is the biggest 
 in the neighbourhood ; anyways, folks al- 
 ways meet here when there's anything to 
 be talked over. You're quite welcome, 
 I'm sure, to the use of my house, and 
 anything else by which I can help you
 
 HOW THEY BEGAN THE WORK. 169 
 
 in your business;" and with the last word 
 the speaker caught up his hat and left 
 the house. 
 
 " Yes, welcome to everything but him- 
 self, my poor Jim !" was the mother's 
 exclamation. 
 
 " I don't know where you'll find a bet- 
 ter than Jim, even if he don't profess to 
 be pious," said the younger Mrs. Car- 
 penter, with a toss of her head and a 
 bright flush coming to her cheeks. 
 
 " Don't be vexed, child," said the 
 mother, mildly. " I can never rest until 
 I see both Jim and you with your faces 
 turned Zionward." 
 
 They all rose from the table without 
 another word, for Mr. Williston had too 
 much wisdom to speak for his Master at 
 a moment when silence would avail more 
 than speech. 
 
 That evening quite a number of men 
 and women came together in Mr. Carpen- 
 ter's front room to discuss the question 
 of a Sunday-school. Every time the 
 
 15
 
 170 PHIL DERBY. 
 
 door opened all eyes were turned toward 
 it, as if expecting some one in particular. 
 Mr. Williston stood up to begin the meet- 
 ing, but a man behind him touched his 
 arm and said in a loud whisper, " Wait 
 a little, if you please. Miss Hallie Hope 
 isn't here yet ; we can't do nothing with- 
 out her." 
 
 The missionary smiled, and would 
 have taken his seat again but that at 
 the instant the young girl entered in 
 company with a tall, pale-faced man 
 whom he judged at once to be her in- 
 valid father. The meeting proved a very 
 encouraging one. There were a few real 
 Christians in that small gathering whose 
 earnestness was worth far more to the 
 project than mere numbers could have 
 been. 
 
 " Yes, we must have a Sunday-school," 
 was the united decision. 
 
 "Then we've got to build a school- 
 house," said a gruff voice from one corner. 
 
 " What for?" asked a sharp-nosed wo-
 
 HOW THEY BEGAN THE WOEK. 171 
 
 man who had the name of being the 
 stingiest body in Shunem. " What for? 
 If that building Mr. Hope had patched 
 up for his daughter will do for the chil- 
 dren all the rest of the week, why won't 
 it do for Sundays ?" 
 
 " It leaks like a sieve," said one. 
 
 " It ain't half big enough," said an- 
 other. " We calculate to have more chil- 
 dren than that handful that Hallie 
 teaches some o' the grown folks too 
 mebbe; and we ain't figs, to be packed in 
 in a box." 
 
 "The seats too," chimed in another 
 voice ; " they're too rickety." 
 
 " Too narrow," was the next comment. 
 " Think of Mr. and Mrs. Bunner sitting 
 on them 'ere benches." 
 
 There was a general laugh, for Mr. and 
 Mrs. Bunner were an enormously fat 
 couple about whom all Shunem felt 
 privileged to joke. The question was 
 put to vote, and the decision was to build 
 a school-house at once, to be held as com-
 
 172 PHIL DERBY. 
 
 mon property for meetings of various 
 sorts, and to be used by Miss Hallie 
 Hope and her scholars upon the week- 
 days. 
 
 But how was it to be done ? Something 
 more than a vote was needed. 
 
 Jacob Johnson the carpenter rose, and 
 offered the work of himself and his two 
 sons as his share of the enterprise. His 
 example stirred up others, as good ex- 
 amples always do. Auntie Clark, an old 
 woman who had a little store where she 
 sold thread, pins, candies, and one hardly 
 knows what, promised her entire profits 
 for the coming week toward the good 
 work. A farmer present agreed to give 
 a tenth of his wheat crop. A dashing 
 young woman sitting near Mr. Williston 
 surprised him by taking a showy pair of 
 ear-rings off and placing them in his 
 hand, and a big boy came up behind him 
 and shyly whispered that "he'd been 
 saving up for a new pair of boots against 
 cold weather, but guessed the old ones
 
 HOW THEY BEGAN THE WORK. 173 
 
 would do a while longer, so there was the 
 money toward the Sunday-school." 
 
 The missionary's eyes moistened as 
 these and other sacrifices, so small to 
 hear of, so great to those who made them, 
 opened the way toward the building of a 
 house for the holy use proposed. When 
 every one else had spoken, Mr. Hope rose 
 and pledged himself to meet all expenses 
 that should remain after the others had 
 fulfilled their promises. Some hearty 
 cheering followed his speech, for every 
 one knew that his heart and purse were 
 alike to be relied upon. 
 
 " Bress de good Lord For dis day !" ex- 
 claimed a voice among the crowd. 
 
 " Oh, there's Uncle Julius !" said sev- 
 eral at once. " Uncle Julius will help us 
 along." 
 
 It was an old coloured man who had 
 spoken. His gray hair and wrinkled 
 face showed him to be a patriarch in that 
 Western settlement, made up, as such 
 places usually are, of young and robust 
 
 15*
 
 174 PHIL DERRY. 
 
 men who are able to brave any hardship 
 in the pursuit of wealth. 
 
 Every man, woman, and child in the 
 place liked Uncle Julius; and now that 
 he had grown too infirm for any but the 
 lightest work, no housewife's loaf was too 
 small to spare him a slice, no fellow- 
 townsman's wardrobe too scanty to spare 
 him a warm shirt or pair of socks when 
 he was in need. Nobody thought of him 
 as a beggar ; he was Shunem's " Uncle 
 Julius." 
 
 " And what will you do, my friend, in 
 this good cause," inquired the missionary. 
 
 " I'll give de best I's got, massa, and 
 dat's my prayers," said the old man, fer- 
 vently. " I'll teach some of de leastest 
 chil'n on Sundays if de folks'll trus' me. 
 I can't manage all de hard words in de 
 Bible, but, massa, I knows a lot about de 
 lub o' Christ Jesus, and dat's what I'll 
 teach de little chil'n." 
 
 "Ah, Uncle Julius!" exclaimed Mr. 
 Williston, " none of us can do more than
 
 HOW THEY BEGAN THE WORK. 175 
 
 that. To teach the children about the 
 love of Jesus is exactly what Sunday- 
 schools are meant for." 
 
 The example of Uncle Julius was fol- 
 lowed by others. Hallie Hope would 
 teach a class, of course ; old Mrs. Car- 
 penter promised to do the best she could ; 
 Mr. Hope would come as often as his 
 cough would let him ; and two or three 
 plain working-men, who would not have 
 thought of teaching but for the readiness 
 of the ignorant old coloured man by 
 whom they did not wish to be outdone, 
 promised their help. 
 
 God's blessing was upon the Shunem 
 Sunday-school at the outset. Few and 
 poor and unlearned the human instru- 
 ments might be ; what of that ? " Not by 
 might nor by power, but by my Spirit, 
 saith the Lord of hosts," is a prophecy 
 of success as true and faithful of every 
 good work in our day as when Zechariah 
 was inspired to write it hundreds and 
 hundreds of years ago.
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 A EIDE, AND WHAT CAME OF IT. 
 
 EFOKE it was light next morning 
 Phil was roused from sleep by a 
 loud whistle in the yard below. 
 He sprang from the bed, threw 
 open the window, and looked out. 
 
 " Hallo, there !" cried a voice that he 
 knew at once as Mr. Carpenter's. " I'm 
 just starting off to Thomastown on some 
 business. It's a kind o' lonesome ride, 
 and I thought maybe you'd come along 
 to keep a fellow company. What do you 
 say?" 
 
 " How far is it?" asked Phil. 
 " About twenty miles or so. The road's 
 rather rough, but the day will be fine 
 and old Charley will take us there at a 
 pretty fair pace. What d'ye say ?" 
 " I'll see. Wait a minute." 
 
 176
 
 A RIDE, AND WHAT CAME OF IT. 177 
 
 Phil put his head back to ask Mr. 
 Williston if there was anything to be 
 done that day in which his help was 
 needed. He was bound, and felt him- 
 self so, to be the missionary's assistant as 
 faithfully as he had been that of the 
 photographer. 
 
 " No, I do not especially need you 
 here," was the answer. "Go, and the 
 Lord grant it may be the old story of 
 Philip and the eunuch over again." 
 
 The boy hastily put on his clothes and 
 ran down stairs. Mrs. Carpenter was 
 waiting to pour out a cup of hot coffee 
 for him, for she would not consent that 
 either he or her husband should start 
 off without their usual hearty morning 
 meal. She next put up a basket of lunch 
 for them, insisting they should take it, 
 for the ride would be tiresome and they 
 would not get back until late in the day. 
 
 By the time other people in Shunem 
 were beginning to rise from the night's 
 rest these two were fairly on their way. 
 
 M
 
 178 PHIL DERBY. 
 
 Before they passed the outskirts of the 
 village they saw coming toward them the 
 figure of a young girl whose features 
 were hidden by a deep sun-bonnet. 
 When they drove quite near her, Jim 
 Carpenter exclaimed, 
 
 " Why, if it isn't Hallie Hope ! Why , 
 Hallie, what brings you out so early as 
 this?" 
 
 Jim checked his horse, and Hallie ex- 
 plained that poor little Sadie Mill was 
 having one of her bad turns, and that 
 she had been called up in the middle of 
 the night to go and assist Mrs. Mill in 
 the care of the child. 
 
 "Oh, Hallie," exclaimed Jim, with 
 something like a sigh, although a smile 
 was on his face, " you're always doing 
 good to somebody. I wish the rest of 
 us could be like you." 
 
 " You can ; you can do, oh so much 
 more good than I, Mr. Carpenter, because 
 you are a man. If " and Hallie paused, 
 hesitating.
 
 A RIDE, AND WHAT CAME OF IT. 179 
 
 "If? Goon; if what?" 
 
 " If you will be a Christian." 
 
 The bright flush that overspread the 
 girl's face as she spoke these words could 
 be seen plainly in spite of the deep sun- 
 bonnet. It was reflected on the farmer's 
 countenance, but he made no direct reply. 
 
 " Good-morning to you both," said 
 Hallie, returning to her usual cheerful 
 tone. u I must hurry and be home before 
 papa misses me ;" and smiling, she passed 
 on her way. 
 
 The flush on Jim Carpenter's face lin- 
 gered there for some time. He gave his 
 entire attention to driving, and said not a 
 word to his companion while they trav- 
 elled three or four miles of the way. 
 Phil was wisely silent also, thinking that 
 Jim had taken offence at Hallie's plain 
 speech. 
 
 "Ah!" said he to himself, "I shall 
 never dare speak to him about religion 
 again." 
 
 By and by the silence was broken by
 
 180 PHIL DERRY. 
 
 some casual remark about the state of 
 the roads, and from that the two got to 
 talking about the crops and other things. 
 It was not until Thomastown had been 
 reached, the business transacted, the 
 lunch eaten, and old Charlie's head 
 turned toward Shunem that the one 
 subject uppermost in Phil's thoughts was 
 referred to. Mr. Carpenter, after what 
 seemed a long fit of silence, fumbled in 
 his pocket and drew out the tract which 
 his companion had given him. This he 
 unfolded and spread upon his knee. 
 
 " Phil," said he, in a tone more earn- 
 est than was customary with the light- 
 hearted young man, "do you really be- 
 lieve all it says here ?" 
 
 " I do, indeed," was the reply, given 
 in sincere tones. 
 
 " There must be something in it, after 
 all," mused the questioner, speaking to 
 himself rather than his companion. Phil, 
 however, answered quickly : 
 
 " Oh, Mr. Carpenter, there's just every-
 
 A HIDE, AND WHAT CAME OF IT. 181 
 
 thing in it that is, if it's religion you 
 are talking about." 
 
 " Well, it beats me. Now there's my 
 mother ; it's natural a woman of her age 
 should take to reading the Bible and 
 praying ; there's nothing else to take up 
 her thoughts. There's Williston, too; 
 it's his business to be religious ; he makes 
 his living by it just as I do by farming." 
 
 " Oh no, no !" interrupted Phil. " You 
 don't know Mr. Williston ; he is a mis- 
 sionary because he knows that God has 
 called him to be one. A man like him 
 could make a good deal more money 
 some other way, if that was all. You 
 know that, Mr. Carpenter, as well as I." 
 
 " Well, well, no offence meant, and 
 don't you say ' Mr.' Carpenter again. I 
 feel as if I must put on my best behav- 
 iour when anybody tacks on the 'Mr.' 
 I've got nothing to say against the mis- 
 sionary ; he's a good man. What I mean 
 is that for folks like him and mother 
 religion's all natural enough ; but when 
 
 16
 
 182 PHIL DERBY. 
 
 it comes to yon, Phil, and Hallie Hope, 
 I must say it beats me." 
 
 As if that was the conclusion of the 
 matter, the speaker whipped up old Char- 
 lie and lapsed into silence. Phil sat in 
 perplexed thought by his side. How he 
 longed to make his companion see what 
 he had so lately learned, that the service 
 of God was the one thing in all the world 
 to be desired to make one happy, whether 
 old or young ! 
 
 " What shall I say to make him be- 
 lieve?" he asked of God in that silent 
 moment ; and God answered him by the 
 next words that fell from Jim Carpen- 
 ter's lips : 
 
 " Tell me, Phil that is, if you don't 
 mind how it was you came to be pious, 
 and how it happens that a fellow like 
 you is going about to get up Sunday- 
 schools and convert people." 
 
 It was the first time any one had 
 asked Phil about his past life. His first 
 thought was that he could not and would
 
 A RIDE, AND WHAT CAME OF IT. 183 
 
 not go over the story of his own disgrace, 
 but the second thought, that it might be 
 a help to another soul, enabled him to 
 put aside the feeling of shame ; and be- 
 fore they reached Shunem, Mr. Carpen- 
 ter was acquainted witli all Phil's his- 
 tory, from the time of his wild, reckless 
 doings in Eagleville, that now seemed 
 years ago, to the present. Phil dwelt 
 feelingly on the description of the Eagle- 
 ville school, the teachings of kind Miss 
 Millett, but passed over as briefly as he 
 could the shameful history of his appren- 
 ticeship to Mr. Brown. Then, as he told 
 in self-humiliation the story of his ill- 
 ness at Clegg Hole, he quite forgot his 
 own disgrace in his earnest praise of Mr. 
 Williston and his thankfulness to God 
 for saving him, body and soul, by his 
 means. 
 
 " Well, I never I" was Mr. Carpenter's 
 astonished comment at the conclusion. 
 "To think of your going through all 
 that and turning out what you are !"
 
 184 PHIL DERBY. 
 
 " You can't help having a poor opin- 
 ion of me after this," said poor Phil, 
 very humbly, " but I ought not to be 
 sorry for having told you the truth." 
 
 For answer the young farmer took the 
 boy's hand and shook it most heartily. 
 
 " Do you think," he asked, persistently, 
 " that any sermon ever was preached 
 could do me the good that this story 
 of yours has? The fact is I've been 
 a pretty wild chap in my day. I've 
 sobered down a good bit since I got 
 married ; still, it never seemed as if I 
 was the sort to make a Christian of. I've 
 thought more than once, though, and 
 especially since I read your tract, Phil, 
 that, God helping me, I would turn over 
 a new leaf." 
 
 "He will help you, Mr. Carpenter 
 Jim, I mean. Think how he's helped 
 me! I hope to do some good in the 
 world yet in spite of all the bad begin- 
 nings." 
 
 "Do you believe in prayer?" asked
 
 A RIDE, AND WHAT CAME OF IT. 185 
 
 Jim, with a very grave expression on his 
 usually lively features. 
 
 " I do, indeed ; what a strange ques- 
 tion !" 
 
 Mr. Carpenter quietly led Charlie un- 
 der the shade of a large tree and stopped. 
 
 " Then," said he, " let us get out here, 
 and do you kneel down and pray that God 
 will change my heart; I think that is 
 what you call it. Anyway, you know 
 what I mean. I want to be a better man, 
 Phil, and I want the Lord's help." 
 
 Phil was surprised and flurried, but he 
 did as he was asked, and a sudden thrill 
 of grateful joy came over him that his 
 own prayer had been so soon answered. 
 
 When they were again in the wagon 
 and almost in sight of home, Jim said, 
 
 " D'ye suppose Mr. Williston would 
 lead us in family prayers after this ?" 
 
 " He would have been glad to do it 
 from the first if you'd asked him. I 
 know he would." 
 
 " Well, I did not want it before. Phil, 
 
 16*
 
 186 PHIL, DERBY. 
 
 I'm one that don't believe in doing things 
 halfway. I've resolved to be a Christian 
 man by God's help, and I want to act 
 like a Christian man. It's right to pray 
 with my family, and so I mean to do 
 It will make it easier, though, if Mr. 
 Williston will take it in hand so long as 
 you stay with us." 
 
 At the social meal that the travellers 
 found ready for them, a sort of dinner 
 and tea combined, a great surprise was 
 given the little family circle by these 
 words from the master of the house : 
 
 " Wife, mother, friends, I am going to 
 turn over a new leaf, and you all must 
 help me to keep it turned. I am deter- 
 mined, by God's goodness, to lead a new 
 life ; I mean to be a Christian. Phil 
 Derry here can answer for the truth of 
 what I say. If it hadn't been for him, 
 I" 
 
 But Jim had no time to finish the sen- 
 tence. Mr. Williston had risen from the 
 table and was shaking hands with him
 
 A RIDE, AND WHAT CAME OF IT. 187 
 
 to express the congratulations he had not 
 yet found voice for. Old Mrs. Carpen- 
 ter was beside him, her trembling hands 
 clasped in his, while happy tears flowed 
 down her cheeks. The young wife stood 
 gazing at her husband with more per- 
 plexity than gladness, and said not a 
 word. It was a scene over which friends, 
 and angels too, rejoiced one never to be 
 forgotten in that little household. 
 
 " This my son was dead, and is alive 
 again ; he was lost, and is found," said 
 the mother, in faltering tones; and then 
 for the first time the family knelt to- 
 gether, while the missionary thanked 
 God on their behalf for the great bless- 
 ing he had bestowed.
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 EAGLEVILLE AGAIN. 
 
 FEW days after the important ride 
 to Thomastown, our friends said fare- 
 well to Shunem, to continue their 
 &) - blessed work elsewhere. "Their 
 work," I say, because Philip Derry had 
 begun to feel that he had a share in Mr. 
 Williston's labours, and to regard it as 
 his personal duty and privilege to watch 
 for opportunities of teaching God's truth 
 to ignorant, wandering souls. 
 
 The Carpenter family were unwilling 
 to part with them. No wonder; their 
 short visit had been God's means of 
 bringing new light into their dwelling 
 a light that should never go out. Jim. 
 Carpenter was a man of his word ; and 
 having once fairly resolved " to turn over 
 a new leaf" in his book of life, there was 
 
 188
 
 EAGLEVIL.LE AGAIN. 189 
 
 no looking backward. The Sunday- 
 school gained an earnest worker in him, 
 the whole town a strong influence for 
 good. Years afterward, when Shunem 
 had grown into one of the most thriving 
 of Western towns, with a substantial 
 church and well-built school-house, the 
 name of James Carpenter was always spo- 
 ken with gratitude, as chief among those 
 to whom credit was due for these benefits. 
 
 Hallie Hope, dear young Christian 
 that she was, kept faithfully at her work 
 among the children. Her father died a 
 few months after Mr. Williston's visit to 
 Shunem, but the family, attached to their 
 Western home for his sake, remained 
 there permanently. 
 
 Our two travellers went on their way, 
 visiting every town and village where 
 there was a prospect of starting a school. 
 Their visits were not all such pleasant 
 ones as that at Shunem. Now and then 
 they met with scorn and abuse, very often 
 with perfect indifference; again, they would
 
 190 PHIL DERRY. 
 
 fall in with a few Christian people will- 
 ing to do all in their power to aid in the 
 good cause. As for Phil, his whole heart 
 became absorbed in the desire to win souls 
 to Christ. Mr. Williston had no cause 
 to regret the step he had undertaken in 
 such faith and love the risk he had run, 
 one might say, had it been anything but 
 a direct work for his Master, in taking 
 charge of the unfortunate lad sunk in 
 shame and misery at Clegg Hole. The 
 events of that summer and fall had a 
 lasting influence on Phil ; and when at 
 last he and his good friend parted com- 
 pany a few miles beyond Eagleville, his 
 resolution was formed, that, following in 
 Mr. Williston's footsteps, he would make 
 the establishment of Sunday-schools in 
 that far Western country the work of his 
 life. He was but a boy yet; he must 
 needs wait until he came of age before 
 daring to go forth by himself in such an 
 undertaking. The first duty before him 
 was, he felt, to set to work and earn money
 
 EAGLEVILLE AGAIN. 191 
 
 to pay the shameful debt to his father 
 which beyond doubt Nathan Brown had 
 long ago collected. 
 
 All this time matters had not been at 
 a standstill in Eagleville. New houses 
 had been put up, new business enterprises 
 undertaken. A few months in a growing 
 Western settlement often bring about 
 great changes. Captain Marks had im- 
 proved his hotel and was doing more 
 business in his store than he had dared 
 expect when he had resolved, for con- 
 science's sake, to give up selling liquor. 
 The text on which he had leaned with 
 hope in that trying time had proved a 
 true prophecy in the worthy man's ex- 
 perience : " The blessing of the Lord it 
 maketh rich, and he addeth no sorrow 
 with it." He could now stand in his 
 doorway and look at the opposite build- 
 ing, where drinking and smoking were 
 carried on at a fearful rate ; he could 
 think of the money being made by his 
 rivals in their ungodly traffic money
 
 192 PHIL DERBY. 
 
 that might have been swej)t into his own 
 till without one regret. Prosperity and 
 a clear conscience were his portion even 
 in this world, and added to these were 
 treasures laid up in heaven. 
 
 The Sunday-school had by this time 
 become a firmly-established fact in the 
 town, and, people who cared nothing 
 about religious teaching for their chil- 
 dren sent them regularly because it was 
 the custom and considered quite the 
 proper thing to do. Mrs. Mercy Striker 
 took great credit to herself for this change 
 of public opinion, and was often heard to 
 remark that " the whole thing would have 
 fallen through and been nowheres if she 
 hadn't been there to back up the captain. 
 It only needed an energetic woman to set 
 a thing like that going." People smiled 
 at Mrs. Striker's self-approval, but no one 
 denied that she had been a wise and faith- 
 ful worker in the cause. 
 
 The weekly meetings for prayer and 
 study had been greatly blest. Many
 
 EAGLEVILLE AGAIN. 193 
 
 attended them who had never thought 
 of studying their Bibles before, and sev- 
 eral, chiefly women, had by these means 
 been brought to hope in Christ as their 
 Saviour and to turn to newness of life. 
 Yes, Eagleville had changed not only 
 in houses and wealth and outward signs 
 of improvement, but in things of far 
 more importance. 
 
 There was, alas ! one dwelling in the 
 town where no improvement of any kind 
 had come, and this was Phil Derry's 
 home. Hardly stopping to notice the 
 cheery look of things in the business 
 part of Eagleville, the lad on his return 
 hastened toward his father's house. There 
 it stood, just as on the morning when the 
 missionary had made his uncomfortable 
 call on its mistress. The pigs, the mud, 
 the broken doorstep, the dirty children, 
 were there all the same, and inside was 
 the potato pile and the dingy woman sit- 
 ting idle in the cheerless room. Yet a 
 change had come here too so sad a change 
 
 17 N
 
 194 PHIL DERRY. 
 
 that, as people said, things were going 
 from bad to worse as fast as they could ; 
 and pretty soon it was hinted the whole 
 Derry family would be cast on the char- 
 ity of the town. 
 
 A crowd of old friends were at hand 
 to welcome Phil the morning that he 
 stepped off the train at the Eagleville 
 station. At once the lad noticed a cloud 
 behind the smile of welcome on one face 
 and another, a suggestion of trouble even 
 in the words with which his old friends 
 greeted him. It puzzled him. 
 
 " Back again, eh, like a bad penny ?" 
 said Jerry Jones ; " but a bad penny in 
 the purse is maybe better than none at 
 all, eh?" 
 
 The nod of the head toward Phil's 
 home as Jerrv said the words seemed to 
 
 */ 
 
 mean something. 
 
 "Welcome home to ye, Philip," said 
 old Jim Gardiner. " You haven't come 
 a minute too soon ; and I hope that mother
 
 EAGLEVILLE AGAIN. 195 
 
 o' yourn '11 have the sense now to treat 
 you as she'd ought to/' 
 
 Captain Marks stood on the platform, 
 and as Phil approached held out his 
 hand, but turned away his head, and final- 
 ly said in a husky voice, 
 
 " You'll want a friend, poor fellow ! 
 When you do, Marks's good word and 
 Marks's pocket-book are always at your 
 service." 
 
 Phil said, " Thank you, sir," and 
 passed on. What did people mean ? He 
 could not make up his mind to ask the 
 question outright. It seemed as if some- 
 thing sad had happened and everybody 
 took it for granted that he already knew. 
 Had his father met with losses in busi- 
 ness ? Had his mother run away, from 
 home in one of her angry fits? Were 
 some of the children sick? The boy 
 walked on more briskly as one possibility 
 after another thus presented itself to him. 
 As he drew near the house his two little 
 sisters saw and recognized him and ran
 
 196 PHIL DFRRY. 
 
 into the house screaming, " Oh, ma, Phil's 
 come back ! Phil's come back !" 
 
 A moment more, and Phil entered the 
 dull room. Mrs. Derry moved her chair 
 as the door opened, and looked up with 
 the same old, irritable expression. 
 
 " You've come, have you ?" she said. 
 " Well, one would think it was about 
 time. But it's none of your business, I 
 suppose, even if your mother and sisters 
 and brother do starve. You always knew 
 how to look out for number one. You've 
 come back to see how much of the prop- 
 erty'll fall into your hands, most likely," 
 continued the scornful woman ; " more 
 gambling debts to pay, perhaps. But 
 you'll find yourself mistaken. Every- 
 thing had to be sold ; even the roof over 
 our heads does not belong to us. Oh 
 dear ! oh dear ! I wish we were all 
 dead ! There's no end to my trouble." 
 
 Phil's face grew very pale; he stag- 
 gered and sank upon a broken chair near 
 the door.
 
 EAGLEVILLE AGAIN. 197 
 
 " Mother," he cried out. " do tell me 
 at once what dreadful thing has hap- 
 pened. Is my father dead ?" 
 
 Mrs. Derry turned her chair round 
 and looked at her son's emotion in aston- 
 ishment. 
 
 " Your father dead !" she echoed. 
 " Why, of course ; he's been dead nigh 
 a month now. You're just putting on 
 airs now. That's what brought you home, 
 ain't it? If not, what in the world did 
 you come for ?" 
 
 Phil had to put aside his own feelings 
 of anxiety and distress and give a com- 
 plete account of his own experience be- 
 fore his mother would relieve his mind 
 by explaining to him the blow which had 
 so recently fallen upon the family. 
 
 Jake Derry had, as has been already 
 hinted, accumulated a competent fortune 
 during his stay in Eagleville. If his 
 family had lived in discomfort all these 
 years, it had not been for want of means. 
 The children had worn ragged clothing 
 
 17*
 
 198 PHIL DERBY. 
 
 and eaten poor food for the same reason 
 that their faces were dirty and their hair 
 uncombed namely, that their mother was 
 too lazy and indifferent to order it other- 
 wise. About the time of Phil's departure 
 with Nathan Brown, Mr. Deny had in- 
 vested his whole property in a mining 
 venture. This turned out unsuccessful, 
 and he had the misery of finding him- 
 self, after years of toil, a ruined man. The 
 blow proved too heavy to be borne by one 
 whose sole ambition was to secure wealth 
 and gain the reputation of being a mon- 
 eyed man. Some disease, trifling in itself, 
 had attacked him, and being aggravated 
 by this mental distress had resulted in 
 brain fever, and that in death. 
 
 " And now," said Mrs. Derry, in con- 
 clusion, "here we are. What's to be- 
 come of me and the children nobody 
 knows." 
 
 There was as much anger as sorrow in 
 the sobs which accompanied these words, 
 and the two or three tears wiped on the
 
 EAGLEVILLE AGAIN. 199 
 
 corner of a ragged apron did not seem to 
 bear any of the softness of grief. 
 
 " God does not forget the widow and 
 the fatherless, mother," whispered Phil, 
 so engrossed, poor fellow ! with his own 
 sad thoughts that he must for the mo- 
 ment have forgotten how little such a 
 reminder was likely to comfort one like 
 Mrs. Derry. 
 
 " Be done with your cant, Phil," she 
 exclaimed. " Bible verses sound very 
 pretty when you've got nothing else to 
 think about, but just now some victuals 
 to eat and clothes for the children would 
 be enough sight more useful than all the 
 Scripture you can remember." 
 
 There was a moment's uncomfortable 
 pause, and then the sharp voice continued: 
 
 " If that's all you've come home for, 
 Phil, just to see how bad off we are and 
 give us some of your pious talk, why the 
 sooner you take yourself off again, the 
 better. You're old enough to earn a liv- 
 ing for yourself. If you think to lounge
 
 200 PHIL DERBY. 
 
 about here and live on what I can pick 
 up, you're very much mistaken, that's 
 all." 
 
 Mrs. Derry turned her back on her 
 eldest son and set her lips firmly together, 
 as if she had made up her mind on that 
 subject and meant to abide by it. 
 
 Phil rose slowly from his seat, gave a 
 long look at his mother, as if in hopes 
 she would turn toward him with one 
 kind word at least, then opened the door 
 that door through which he had passed 
 heavy-hearted so many times before and 
 went out. Sam was swinging on the 
 gate. He turned toward his brother with 
 a broad grin that meant welcome, and 
 gave a shrill whistle which brought Liz- 
 zie and Sallie to the spot in a moment. 
 The children, at any rate, were glad to 
 see Phil. They crowded around him, 
 examined his clothes, felt in his pockets 
 for a possible present, asked any number 
 of questions without pausing for answers, 
 and unconsciously gave the long-absent
 
 EAGLEVILLE AGAIN. 201 
 
 boy a great deal of comfort. These 
 rough, ragged children loved him, were 
 glad to see him. 
 
 " You've come back to stay ?" ques- 
 tioned Sallie. 
 
 " Why, of course he has," interrupted 
 the other sister. " He's all the dad we've 
 got now." 
 
 " You'll tell us more o' them nice 
 Bible stories like you used to, won't you, 
 Phil?" asked Sallie, putting her arm 
 around Phil's neck coaxingly. 
 
 " Do you remember all those I used to 
 tell you ?" 
 
 " Better believe !" answered the child, 
 with a wise shake of her head. 
 
 " How about Sunday-school now?" 
 was Phil's next question. " Does ma let 
 you go?" 
 
 Sam answered by a short, expressive 
 whistle, and the little girls answered 
 under breath : 
 
 " Oh, Phil, we daresn't say ' Sunday- 
 school' before ma since you went away."
 
 202 PHIL DERRY. 
 
 Phil was more sorry than surprised. 
 " How about day-school, then ?" he in- 
 quired. 
 
 " Don't go there, nuther," said Sam ; 
 " don't do nuthin' now but loaf 'round." 
 
 Phil sighed and loosed the grasp of 
 the several dirty little hands, saying that 
 he must go to the village. 
 
 " You're coming back to stay ?" shouted 
 the voices of all three after him. 
 
 " We'll see, we'll see !" he called back, 
 cheerily, and was quickly out of sight 
 of the eager eyes.
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 BRIGHTENING THE FIRE AND DARKENING 
 A LIFE. 
 
 \ E will not follow Phil as he walked 
 thoughtfully to the village that 
 sorrowful morning. We will not 
 attempt to go with him step by 
 step as heretofore through the successive 
 events of his life. There come in his- 
 tory as often there comes in the scenery 
 through which we travel a long stretch 
 of quiet, uneventful experience, with no 
 deep valleys of sorrow, no high moun- 
 tains of happiness, nothing that to a 
 stranger would seem interesting any more 
 than the unvaried wastes of those West- 
 ern prairies, so familiar to our hero. Yet 
 as those level prairies have their serene 
 beauty and common uses, such as more 
 striking scenery lacks, so had these few 
 
 203
 
 204 PHIL DEERY. 
 
 coming years of Phil's experience a 
 worth and meaning which outsiders 
 failed to see. God gave them to him, 
 as he did the forty years in Midian to 
 Moses, as a time of preparation, as, in- 
 deed, in some way or other he gives to 
 each of his children whom he elects to 
 a special work for him. It would be well 
 for all who murmur at the monotony of 
 their lives as a hindrance to the great 
 things they long to do in this world to 
 accept it and wait with patience for God's 
 right time. 
 
 Very different from the exciting 
 changes of scene and society which cha- 
 racterized the months spent with Mr. 
 Williston in missionary work were the 
 daily duties of a clerk in Captain Marks's 
 store. "When it became clear to the good 
 superintendent that his young friend 
 needed to be put in^the way of earning 
 a living for his family, he all at once dis- 
 covered that he, Captain Marks, was get- 
 ting too infirm to attend to the increasing
 
 BRIGHTENING AND DARKENING. 205 
 
 duties of postmaster and merchant, and 
 must of necessity have a clerk, so Phil 
 was duly installed behind the counter, 
 with a salary quite sufficient to keep his 
 mother and the children in comfort. 
 
 Mrs. Derry was a good deal surprised 
 as week by week her eldest son put his 
 earnings in her hand, but she was too 
 proud or too sulky to ask questions, and 
 he made no explanation. After a while 
 things began to look brighter in the dingy 
 house. Sallie and Lizzie were smart 
 little girls; and when they saw that it 
 pleased Phil to have things neat and 
 orderly, they took pleasure in dusting 
 and arranging the worn, broken furni- 
 ture to the best advantage. A bunch of 
 flowers might now and then be seen on 
 the mantel, the dishes on the dinner- 
 table had a more orderly appearance, the 
 old potato pile was banished from the 
 family room. Indeed, many improve- 
 ments came about, so gradually, however, 
 as not to disturb Mrs. Derry by a sense 
 
 18
 
 206 PHIL DERRY. 
 
 
 
 of change. It was the delight of the 
 children to climb on Phil's knee when 
 he came home from the store and listen 
 to his accounts of people and things he 
 had seen in his travels. Over and over 
 again he told them of the pleasant home 
 of the Carpenters at Shunem, and just 
 as often something about Hallie Hope 
 would slip into the narrative. If, as was 
 often the case, Sallie's rough mat of hair 
 showed the need 'of a comb, Phil would 
 tell of Hallie's glossy curls, so neat and 
 beautiful; and if careless Lizzie tore her' 
 dress in climbing trees or ran to meet 
 him with a dirty face, it seemed quite 
 natural to mention to her Hallie Hope's 
 lady-like appearance. Thus, unknown 
 to their brother, the ambition of the lit- 
 tle Derry girls came to be to have their 
 house look like that of the Carpenters 
 and themselves like Hallie Hope. 
 
 When some months had passed in the 
 new order of things, Phil made bold to 
 ask his mother if she had any objection
 
 BRIGHTENING AND DARKENING. 207 
 
 to his reading a chapter and saying a 
 prayer with the children each morning 
 before he went to the store. He expected 
 a rebuff indeed, he half feared being 
 driven out of the house for such a sug- 
 gestion but he felt it his duty to make 
 it. Mrs. Derry's answer was a happy 
 surprise. 
 
 " You are now master of the house," 
 said she ; " you support the family : you 
 have a right to do as you please. Have 
 all the praying you want ; it's none of my 
 business. I shall keep out of the way 
 when it's going on." 
 
 Phil was overjoyed. It had been one 
 of his dearest hopes since he entered 
 upon Christ's service to have his home 
 sanctified by family prayer. The children 
 submitted to the arrangement simply 
 because it was " Phil's notion." Their 
 mother, true to her word, kept out of the 
 way or else sat in gloomy indifference to 
 both reading and prayer. She never 
 knelt, she never said " Amen ;" if she
 
 208 PHIL DERBY. 
 
 even heard the earnest petitions offered 
 for each member of the household, she 
 gave no sign. Phil thought of her with 
 many a sigh. He prayed for her conver- 
 sion as a matter of course, but somehow 
 he never expected it. She was such a 
 very queer woman, so hardened, too, that 
 he never dared expect to see her become 
 a Christian. Faithless Phil ! as if He 
 who made the heart could not change it ! 
 Saturday evenings were always busy 
 times at Captain Marks's store. Phil 
 would sometimes run home at tea-time 
 and take a bite of something standing 
 and hurry back to his work. Often he 
 did not find time to go home at all until 
 late bed-time. Eagleville, like some 
 other places, prepared for its day of rest 
 by pressing an extra amount of work into 
 the late hours of Saturday, and the week's 
 purchases were usually made at that time. 
 On one such evening, when the store was 
 full, the busy clerk stood behind the 
 counter showing the stock of flannels to
 
 BRIGHTENING AND DARKENING. 209 
 
 one customer, while lie weighed out sugar 
 for another and tried to answer the ques- 
 tions of one or two more. Suddenly the 
 door was opened and shut with a violence 
 that made everybody turn and look, and 
 then move aside to let the new-comer 
 get near the counter. It was Lizzie 
 Derry, out of breath and very pale. She 
 took no notice of the friendly nods of the 
 neighbours, but made her way at once to 
 her brother and clutched his arm. It 
 was done so quickly and strongly that 
 several pieces of dry goods which he held 
 fell to the floor. She took no notice of 
 this, but cried in a terrified voice, 
 
 " Come home, Phil, this minute. Mo- 
 ther is dying ;" and then, without a word 
 more, the girl darted out again, leaving 
 salesman and purchasers alike stunned. 
 Captain Marks stepped up and whispered 
 to Phil, then quietly thrust him aside 
 and proceeded to tie up the sugar and 
 name the prices of the different pieces 
 of flannel in his stead. Phil took his 
 
 18*
 
 210 PHIL DERRY. 
 
 hat and left the store hurriedly, Mrs. 
 Striker and Mrs. Jenks following him. 
 
 PhiPs rapid pace brought him to the 
 house some moments before the two 
 women reached it. There on the floor 
 lay Mrs. Derry, uttering piercing screams 
 of agony, while Lizzie and Sallie stood 
 wringing their hands in dismay, but 
 utterly unable to do anything for the 
 relief of the sufferer. Phil took in the 
 scene at one glance, and lifted, or rather 
 dragged, his mother to her bed. As soon 
 as Mrs. Striker and Mrs. Jenks came in 
 he left her in their charge and rushed 
 off for the doctor. 
 
 The accident proved to be one as 
 serious as, alas ! it is common. Indeed, 
 it is hardly right to apply the word " ac- 
 cident" to what was inexcusable careless- 
 ness. The method of Mrs. Derry's house- 
 keeping was always to do things with the 
 least possible trouble. Acting upon this 
 principle, she had attempted to brighten 
 the dull fire by pouring in the contents
 
 BRIGHTENING AND DARKENING. 211 
 
 of her can of kerosene oil. She bent 
 over the stove to watch the effect, and 
 instantly the wild flame darted like light- 
 ning into her eyes and she saw nothing 
 more. With unusual presence of mind, 
 she felt about for the piece of rag carpet 
 that served as a mat before the door and 
 wrapped it about her head ; then, over- 
 come with terror and pain, she fell faint- 
 ing upon the floor. Lizzie and Sallie 
 had been spending the evening at the 
 next neighbour's. They heard the unu- 
 sual sounds and ran home at once, but 
 were, as we have seen, too bewildered 
 with fright to render any service to their 
 poor mother. 
 
 Mrs. Striker and Mrs. Jenks lost not 
 a moment, but loosed the sufferer's cloth- 
 ing and applied such remedies as were 
 within reach. It was providential tha.t 
 they had been in the store when the 
 news was brought, for in all Eagleville 
 no two could have been selected so well 
 fitted to act in the present emergency.
 
 212 PHIL DERRY. 
 
 Mrs. Jenks was a quiet, timid person, who 
 seldom ventured to express an opinion, 
 but her fame as a nurse was so great that 
 whenever the measles or the mumps 
 entered the place, Mrs. Jenks was sent 
 for from house to house, and the mothers 
 put more faith in her simple doses than 
 in all the doctor's prescriptions. Mrs. 
 Striker, who did not know much about 
 caring for the sick, was nevertheless such 
 an energetic person that Mrs. Jenks had 
 only to say do thus and so and it was 
 done. 
 
 " I wonder where we could find some 
 old soft rags?" said Mrs. Jenks as they 
 stood together at the bedside. "Lizzie, 
 do you happen to know of any old thing 
 in the house that could be used to dress 
 your ma's burns ?" 
 
 All this was said in a slow, meditative 
 manner. Lizzie only answered by a 
 blank stare, until she collected her wits 
 sufficiently to remember that there was 
 a worn-out jacket of Sam's somewhere in
 
 BRIGHTENING AND DARKENING. 213 
 
 the garret. She was not sure whether 
 she could find it or not. Mrs. Striker 
 gave an impatient sniff, and without a 
 word took off her own clean apron, which 
 she had donned to go to the store, reveal- 
 ing a large faded one underneath. This 
 in another moment was untied, torn into 
 strips, and thrust into Mrs. Jenks's hands. 
 
 "The very thing," said Mrs. Jenks, 
 and proceeded at once to dress the suf- 
 ferer's burns. " I don't know how 'tis, 
 Neighbour Striker, but you always seem 
 able to supply whatever is most wanted." 
 
 " That's generally gumption" remarked 
 the other, with a grim smile and an un- 
 complimentary stress on the last word. 
 
 By and by the doctor arrived. 
 
 " Mrs. Derry's injuries were serious," 
 he said ; " her life depended now on faith- 
 ful, patient nursing." 
 
 "She'll live, then, Doctor Tom?" said 
 a sharp voice. 
 
 " Oh yes, of course. I'll stay here to- 
 night and look in when I can, but you
 
 214 PHIL DERRY. 
 
 couldn't expect I have my own family 
 to look after, and Mrs. Derry and I are 
 not Well, I'll do what I can, certainly." 
 
 This hesitating speech was uttered by 
 Mrs. Jenks, who took it for granted that 
 Mrs. Striker's ready assurance of good 
 nursing involved her. 
 
 "Don't worry, now," said the other. 
 " When I make a promise, Mrs. Jenks, 
 I don't depend on other folks to keep it. 
 I suppose you'll be willing to give a word 
 of advice now and then. Nursing sick 
 folks ain't just in my line, and I might 
 make mistakes without somebody of ex- 
 perience to look to." 
 
 The doctor took his leave and the two 
 women began their night's work. It was 
 no easy one. Mrs. Derry was not, as we 
 have seen, any too patient in health, and 
 now that severe bodily suffering came 
 upon her she shrieked and moaned and 
 grumbled incessantly. Phil took his 
 station in a part of the room where he 
 would not be in the way of those passing
 
 HEIGHTENING AND DARKENING. 215 
 
 about the bed. His eyes were fixed anx- 
 iously on Mrs. Jenks's face, and at every 
 sign that something was wanted he sprang 
 forward to help. He sent his two sisters 
 off to bed, for they, poor girls ! were so 
 nervous and excited as to be quite inca- 
 pable of helping and were only in the 
 way. He attended to the fire, he searched 
 the house for this thing and that, he made 
 tea for the watchers in short, he proved 
 so kind in thought and prompt in action 
 as to win from Mrs. Striker the emphatic 
 praise that " that Phil Derry was a'most 
 as smart as a woman." 
 
 After the night of the accident the 
 dull house became full of bustle and ex- 
 citement. People came to inquire after 
 the sick woman and to offer their services. 
 The door, which seldom opened to admit 
 visitors at other times, swung on its hinges 
 many times a day. Mrs. Mercy Striker 
 reigned supreme. Lizzie and Sallie did 
 the housework, and never had it been 
 done so well. Not a speck of dust ap-
 
 216 PHIL DEREY. 
 
 pearcd on the scanty furniture, not a 
 hole in any garment, but the keen eyes 
 of Mrs. Striker observed it and her 
 tongue gave due reproof. Phil wondered 
 how things became all at once so coirifort- 
 able at home. Not only was his break- 
 fast ready every morning as punctual as 
 the clock itself, but it was more carefully 
 cooked than ever before. His clothes 
 were mended, and that they never had 
 been, except with the big needle and 
 coarse thread which he always carried in 
 his pocket, having learned their use from 
 Mr. Williston. There was always a kind 
 word for him, too, when he came in from 
 the store, there was a vigorous "Amen" 
 at the close of the morning and evening 
 prayer. Altogether, home was decidedly 
 more homelike now that his mother was 
 sick. 
 
 Mrs. Derry gradually got better under 
 Mrs. Striker's business-like nursing. The 
 burns about her neck and face healed, 
 one bandage after another was removed,
 
 BRIGHTENING AND DARKENING. 217 
 
 and finally the last one, across her fore- 
 head and eyes, where the fire had done 
 its worst, was taken off Then the sad 
 truth became known : her sight was en- 
 tirely gone. 
 
 The doctor had come in one morning, 
 as usual, and receiving satisfactory replies 
 to his questions told Mrs. Striker that 
 her neighbourly duties were about done, 
 and that by the close of another day at 
 farthest she might return to her own 
 home. 
 
 " I'm glad to hear that," said she, " for 
 it's my opinion I won't find a whole cup 
 and saucer in the house, my Hannah is 
 such a giddy thing, and I haven't a 
 doubt the children have all along been 
 making dirt pies with their best clothes 
 on. Yes, it's high time I was there to 
 see after things." 
 
 " Yes," said the sick woman ; and she 
 seized Mrs. Striker's hand as she spoke ; 
 " you've been a good, good friend to me 
 better than I deserved. You must not 
 
 19
 
 218 PHIL DERBY. 
 
 stay here any longer. The doctor says 
 this bandage can come off. Undo it now, 
 and let me go into the other room." 
 
 "Not so fast, Mrs. Derry," said the 
 doctor. There was a tone of anxiety in 
 his voice, but that the sick woman did 
 not detect. " Perhaps it would be as well 
 to leave it on one day more." 
 
 " No, that I won't ; I've had my eyes 
 tied up long enough. I want to surprise 
 Phil when he comes in. He's been a 
 good boy, that Phil, and deserves a bet- 
 ter mother than he's got. He'll be glad 
 to see me look like myself again." 
 
 The nurse and the doctor exchanged 
 glances. "Look like herself !" That she 
 did not, never could. The deep, ill- 
 shaped scars gave her face an unnatural 
 expression, and they were imprinted there 
 for the rest of her life. 
 
 "Shall I?" asked Mrs. Striker. 
 
 The doctor nodded, arid the bandage 
 was removed. A strange, troubled look 
 overspread the poor face as it fell, and
 
 BRIGHTENING AND DARKENING. 219 
 
 then one shriek of distress came from 
 the patient's lips. 
 
 " Well ?" questioned the doctor, while 
 Mrs. Striker looked searchingly into the 
 newly uncovered eyes. 
 
 "D'ye see me?" she asked. "D'ye 
 see that bunch of flowers on the table 
 that Marthy Marks brought ye ? No," 
 she said, almost fiercely, turning to 
 the doctor, " she don't see a thing. She's 
 blind, stone blind, I tell you." 
 
 Mrs. Deny spoke not a word. After 
 that one piercing scream, not a sound 
 came from her lips. She bore the doc- 
 tor's examination of her eyes, then hid 
 her face in the shawl which was thrown 
 around her. 
 
 " You are right, Mrs. Striker," the 
 doctor said at last. " She is blind. Per- 
 haps, if the case were put in the hands 
 of an experienced oculist at the East, 
 something might be done; it is beyond 
 my power. 
 
 That noon, as Phil was walking home-
 
 220 PHIL DEERY. 
 
 ward with light step and hopeful heart, 
 Mrs. Striker met him about halfway, and 
 turned back with him to tell him the 
 news less abruptly than Sallie and Lizzie 
 would be apt to do. 
 
 " You've borne more than one burden 
 already, Phil; the Lord has helped you 
 with it. Trust him about this, and keep 
 up a brave heart." 
 
 They parted at the house door, Phil 
 entering to speak to his poor mother, and 
 his companion going on "a piece far- 
 ther," to see if Mrs. Dunn would give 
 her the recipe for that salve of hers 
 that cured everything that could be 
 named. 
 
 "A son worth having," said Mrs. 
 Striker to herself. " Almost as good as 
 a woman, that Phil Deny."
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 "AMAZING GRACE." 
 
 Derry girls led busy lives now. 
 The housework, the sewing, the 
 care of their helpless mother, all 
 came upon them. There were no 
 idle hours now to lean on the gate and 
 chat with passers by. Lizzie, who in- 
 herited Mrs. Derry's talent for grumbling, 
 complained pretty often of the hardship 
 of spending the whole time in darning 
 and scrubbing and washing dishes. She 
 took good care, however, that none of her 
 lamentations should reach Phil's ear. 
 Indeed, it was the love of the two girls 
 for their brother, and his for them, that 
 kept the domestic machinery in order. 
 " For Phil's sake " were the magic words 
 causing the accomplishment of many un- 
 pleasant tasks. The family misfortune 
 
 19 * 221
 
 222 PHIL DERRY. 
 
 proved a family blessing in thus rousing 
 these two careless, thoughtless girls to the 
 faithful performance of womanly duties. 
 It taught them patience and self-denial, 
 it softened their voices and their natures. 
 Nevertheless, the kind people of Eagle- 
 ville got in the habit of calling them 
 " those poor Derry girls." 
 
 From morning till night a quiet figure 
 sat by the fireside, sometimes knitting a 
 few rounds on a sock, but oftener with 
 folded hands gently rocking back and 
 forth. The shrill, scolding voice was no 
 longer heard about the house, nor the 
 impatient slamming and clattering that 
 were wont to express more forcibly than 
 words a mind unsatisfied and ill at ease. 
 Sallie and Lizzie often spoke to each other 
 of the change in their mother. They 
 could not understand this new freedom 
 from faultfinding. Sam one day let an 
 armful of wood fall upon the hearth. It 
 came down with a crash, and one piece 
 knocked Mrs. Derry's foot. The careless
 
 AMAZING GRACE. 223 
 
 boy looked at her in anticipation of a 
 sharp reproof; all his mother said was, 
 " Try to do things more carefully, my 
 son." Sam gazed at his mother in as- 
 tonishment and made no reply, but went 
 directly to the yard, where his sisters were 
 hanging the newly-washed clothes on the 
 line, and drew their attention by a pro- 
 longed " Whew !" 
 
 "Well, Sam, what is it?" inquired 
 Sallie. 
 
 " I tell you what it is, girls," said he, 
 solemnly. " Mother is going to die, for 
 sure." 
 
 " Why, Sam, what do you mean ?" 
 asked both in a breath. 
 
 " Just that when a body's disposition 
 changes so, all of a sudden, it's a very 
 bad sign. I've heard folks say so, and 
 it's true. Did you ever know anybody 
 to let a stick fall on mother's foot and 
 she not say a cross word ? No ? Well, 
 she did just now ; and I know she'll die 
 before long."
 
 224 PHIL DERRY. 
 
 At this speech Lizzie and Sallie 
 laughed and bade Sam "hush talking 
 such nonsense;" but for all that, they 
 too felt impressed with the unwonted 
 gentleness of the invalid, and were more 
 anxious concerning her than they cared 
 to own. 
 
 Phil came home from the store one 
 night and found the room dark and silent. 
 He struck a light, and then discovered 
 Mrs. Derry sitting in her usual place, her 
 hands folded in her lap. 
 
 "What, mother? You up yet! all 
 alone too ! Where are the girls ? I don't 
 like to have you left alone since that 
 dreadful night." 
 
 "The girls went to bed early they 
 were tired out, poor things ! but as for me, 
 my son, do not be uneasy. I am really 
 safer now than before I lost my sight. I 
 don't move about the house as I used to, 
 and I never go nearer the fire than I am 
 this minute," 
 
 " And vou don't meddle with the oil-
 
 "Sing it for me." 
 
 p. 235.
 
 AMAZING GRACE. 225 
 
 can any more, do you ?" said Phil, smil- 
 ing. As he spoke he drew a chair close 
 beside his mother and sat down, so that 
 she might assure herself of his presence 
 by laying her hand on his shoulder, as 
 was her habit nowadays. Could any 
 one have seen the mother and son sitting 
 thus together that evening, surely he 
 never would have recognized in them 
 the defiant boy and shrill-voiced woman 
 who years before had received the mis- 
 sionary's call in that very room. 
 
 Phil tenderly patted the thin brown 
 hand that lay idle in the blind woman's 
 lap, and quite unconsciously began whist- 
 ling the tune of a familiar hymn. 
 
 " Sing it for me," whispered Mrs. Der- 
 ry. " Sing it all the way through. That 
 was one of my favourites in old times. 
 Often and often have I led off with that 
 in the prayer-meetings at Milltown. It 
 begins this way, don't it ?" and in a thin, 
 tremulous voice she began singing the 
 familiar words that have expressed the
 
 226 PHIL DERRY. 
 
 gratitude of thousands of Christians now 
 gone to their rest : 
 
 " Amazing grace ! how sweet the sound 
 
 That saved a wretch like me ! 
 I once was lost, but now am found, 
 Was blind, but now I see." 
 
 What a pathetic earnestness came into 
 the poor weak voice as over and over the 
 tune called for the repetition of the clos- 
 ing words, 
 
 " Was blind, but now I see." 
 
 " Ah !" sighed Mrs. Derry, pausing for 
 breath, "I can't make it sound like it did 
 when I was a girl and had, folks said, 
 the finest voic6 in the choir. But it 
 means more to me now than ever it did. 
 Do you go on with it, Phil. Begin the 
 second verse, ' 'Twas grace ' You know 
 how it goes, don't you ?" 
 
 All this time the young man had sat 
 leaning forward, his eyes fixed on his 
 mother's face, lost in wonder at the new 
 expression he saw there, as well as at the
 
 AMAZING GRACE. 227 
 
 words she had sung. A thought darted 
 across his mind similar to that of Sam's 
 when he dropped the stick on her toes 
 and got no scolding for it. He could not 
 obey the request for a moment or two for 
 very amazement. What had changed 
 that face? There were the same plain 
 features and dull complexion, and, added 
 to other defects, there was the peculiar 
 vacant stare of blindness. Nevertheless, 
 at that instant Mrs. Derry's face was al- 
 most beautiful. It was the prophecy of 
 that heavenly mark by which hereafter 
 all the followers of the Lamb shall be 
 known the seal in the forehead. 
 
 Then Phil's strong, manly voice took 
 up the hymn where the weak, trembling 
 one of his mother had left it, and Sallie, 
 startled from her sleep in the room above 
 by the unusual sound, lay still and 
 listened : 
 
 " 'Twos grace that taught my heart to fear, 
 
 And grace my fears relieved ; 
 How precious did that grace appear 
 The hour I first believed !
 
 228 PHIL DERIT 
 
 "Through many dangers, toils, and snares 
 
 I have already come : 
 'Tis grace has brought me safe thus far, 
 And grace will lead me home." 
 
 When the exulting words of the last 
 line, thrice repeated in the glorious old 
 tune, were sung, and there followed a 
 moment of silence, Sallie shook her 
 sleeping sister, and whispered nervously, 
 " Lizzie, do wake up ! I'm sure Sam 
 was right and mother must be going to 
 die, for there's Phil singing hymns to 
 her." 
 
 " Nonsense !" answered drowsy Lizzie. 
 " You're as bad as Sam, every bit. If ma 
 felt worse, she'd be calling us up to do 
 something for her. Hymns don't kill 
 people. Turn over, do, and go to sleep 
 again." 
 
 Almost as soon as the words were out 
 of her mouth Lizzie was snoring, but her 
 sister, really alarmed, sat up in bed and 
 listened for what should come next. 
 There was a slight movement below, and 
 then Phil's voice in low and continuous
 
 AMAZING GRACE. 229 
 
 speaking reached her ears through the 
 cracks in the floor. Softly slipping out 
 of the bed, she went to the widest open- 
 ing between the boards and put her head 
 down. She could both see and hear. 
 The mother and son were kneeling to- 
 gether; the one was sobbing, the other 
 praying. Oh what a joyful, grateful 
 prayer was that! Certainly the angels 
 in heaven must have listened with happy 
 sympathy. In that dingy, dull room on 
 the outskirts of a small Western town 
 had been enacted that miracle of grace 
 over which it is said there is "joy in 
 heaven," the repentance of a sinner, the 
 restoration of a soul to God. 
 
 Sallie crept back to bed and lay there 
 quite motionless, so as not to wake her 
 sister. She did not want to talk to some- 
 body, as before, but to think. Surely 
 nothing had ever happened in the family 
 so strange as this. Her father's death, 
 her mother's accident, had been startling 
 events, to be sure, but neither of these 
 20
 
 230 PHIL DERBY. 
 
 had struck the young girl's heart with 
 such a feeling of wonder and solemnity 
 as the sight of her mother kneeling in 
 prayer. She understood at once what it 
 meant and knew the secret of that change 
 of disposition which had so alarmed Sam. 
 It was not the sign of approaching death, 
 but of a new life. 
 
 Sallie's amazement would not let her 
 sleep. When all was quiet down stairs, 
 she still lay thinking of that which had 
 happened, while the hymn, familiar to 
 her as one often used in prayer-meeting 
 and Sunday-school, kept singing itself 
 over and over in her mind : 
 
 " Amazing grace ! how sweet the sound !" 
 
 Just what those words meant the young 
 girl did not know, for as yet they formed 
 no part of her experience, but surely they 
 were powerful ones in their effect upon 
 her mother. She resolved to find them 
 in her hymn-book next day and commit 
 them to memory.
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 A TALK IN CAPTAIN MARKS' 'S BACK BOOM. 
 
 S the months went on, Phil, hav- 
 ing learned whatever he did to 
 do " heartily as unto the Lord," 
 became more and more useful to 
 his employer. Captain Marks was get- 
 ting old, and it tired him more than 
 formerly to stand behind the counter 
 while one of those sharp women known 
 in every community as first-rate shoppers 
 tried to "beat him down" on the price 
 of goods, or a youngster lingered for ten 
 or fifteen minutes deliberating between 
 taffy and peppermint candy. He grad- 
 ually slipped the entire work from his 
 own to his clerk's shoulders, until at last 
 it was only in name that he was at the 
 head of the business. The good old man 
 loved Phil as his own son, and Phil re- 
 
 2.-J1
 
 232 PHIL DERBY. 
 
 paid that love with an obedience and 
 respect beyond that which in former 
 years he had given his own father. One 
 day the captain, in waiting upon a custo- 
 mer, had occasion to reach for some arti- 
 cles on an upper shelf. In stepping down 
 from the stool on which he had mounted 
 he overturned a large box of clothes- 
 pins and sent them rolling about the 
 floor. This little accident annoyed the 
 old man, and he several times through 
 the day alluded to it, blaming his rheum- 
 atism and his poor sight for what he 
 called such stupid clumsiness. When, 
 at the usual hour for closing the store, 
 Phil took his overcoat from the peg and 
 was putting it on, Captain Marks came 
 up and playfully took it from his hand 
 and hung it up again. 
 
 " Don't go yet," said he. " Come into 
 the back room a few minutes ; I want to 
 have a little talk with you." 
 
 The young man followed him into the 
 family sitting-room, wondering what this
 
 A TALK. 233 
 
 unexpected formality could mean and 
 what the captain could have to say to 
 him that demanded more privacy than 
 was afforded by the now vacant store. 
 
 " My boy," began Captain Marks as 
 soon as they were seated, " I'm getting 
 old." 
 
 " Oh, not so very old, sir ; I hope you 
 have a good many years before you yet," 
 said Phil, cordially. 
 
 The captain shook his head. 
 
 " Just think what a clumsy piece of 
 work I made with those clothes-pins," 
 said he. 
 
 Phil laughed. 
 
 " I do things much worse than that," 
 he said. " Don't you know the mistake 
 I made last week about Mrs. Callahan's 
 sugar? No, you were not in the store 
 that afternoon. She sent her little girl 
 for a pound of white sugar ; she wanted 
 it for a cake. I don't know where my 
 wits were wandering, but I sent her a 
 pound of salt. It seems she put it in the 
 
 20*
 
 234 PHIL DEERY. 
 
 cake without tasting, and spoiled it, of 
 course. I doubt if Mrs. Callahan will 
 ever forgive me for that piece of careless- 
 ness. How much worse that was, now, 
 than upsetting a few clothes-pins !" 
 
 The captain laughed heartily, but grew 
 sober again instantly. 
 
 " I'm getting old," he repeated, " and I 
 want to put my worldly affairs into such 
 a shape that if the Lord should call me 
 suddenly I may not be worried at the 
 very last minute about the store. It's 
 not the thing to go to meeting with your 
 head full of week-day affairs till you get 
 to the very door, and it's worse still to 
 get almost up to the door of eternity with 
 your mind choke full of thoughts about 
 bills to be made out and goods to be 
 ordered. I've had a good long week of 
 it, my lad, toiling and moiling for a living 
 since I was twelve years old, and I want 
 to stop off now and get ready for my 
 Sabbath up above." 
 
 The tears had come into the listener's
 
 A TALK. 235 
 
 eyes; and when the captain paused, he 
 had no answer ready but a silent nod. 
 
 " I have no one belonging to me, you 
 see," continued the captain "no one 
 but the old woman and Martha, no son 
 or nephew to step into the business." 
 
 " I see, sir." 
 
 "But, Phil, I've got you. You've 
 been as faithful to me as son or nephew 
 could have been. I've studied the mat- 
 ter all out. Let the women-folks, if they 
 outlive me, keep up the hotel business. 
 They're used to it, and the work'll keep 
 them from grieving so much. I want you, 
 Phil Deny, to keep up the store. No ; 
 hear me out," said he, for Phil was about 
 to interrupt him. " You are to succeed me 
 in the business. You know all the ins 
 and outs of it by this time ; and if you keep 
 on as you've begun, you'll be a rich man 
 some day. I shall expect you to pay a 
 certain percentage of the profits to the 
 old woman and Martha. We'll settle 
 about that by and by. But what I want
 
 236 PHIL DEKRY. 
 
 to-night, my boy, is to let you know my 
 wish and to hear your answer." 
 
 "Captain Marks," began Phil, "you 
 have been a kind, generous friend to 
 me. I can't begin at this late day to 
 thank you for all you've done and all 
 you mean to do, but " 
 
 "But!" echoed the captain, rather 
 sharply; "there isn't any 'but' about it. 
 I tell you plainly I want you to go on in 
 the store as you have done as long as I 
 live, and when I die to go right on with 
 the business. I hope you don't object 
 to paying the small percentage I spoke 
 of?" 
 
 " No, no, no !" exclaimed Phil. " You 
 do not understand me. It is not that. 
 It is that I have set my heart on a dif- 
 ferent kind of work. I have been pray- 
 ing, planning, and studying for it ever 
 since I came home, all the time I have 
 been working for you." 
 
 " Is that so ?" asked the captain, speak- 
 ing slowly and with evident disappoint-
 
 A TALK. 237 
 
 merit. "Is it anything here in Eagle- 
 ville ? Let me hear about it." 
 
 In answer to this request Phil unbur- 
 dened his heart. He narrated the story 
 of his disgrace at Clegg Hole, his meet- 
 ing with Mr. Williston and its result, 
 and the call which he felt had come from 
 God to his own soul to follow that good 
 man's example and go forth to establish 
 Sunday-schools in the needy places of 
 the West. 
 
 During this recital Captain Marks had 
 occasion to clear his throat and wipe his 
 spectacles several times. At its close he 
 grasped Phil's hand in both of his and 
 said: 
 
 "What am I that I should fight 
 against God ? Go, and may his blessing 
 follow you ! I'll try and not mind about 
 the store. To-morrow I'll feel all right 
 about it. We Eagleville folks have had 
 a great favour from the Almighty in 
 having that Sunday-school started ; we 
 ought to rejoice in sending out one of
 
 238 PHIL DERBY. 
 
 our own boys to carry that same bless- 
 ing elsewhere. We ought to rejoice, I 
 say, and we do. I do leastways, Phil, 
 I'll try my best to," continued Captain 
 Marks, careful to keep to the truth even 
 in the warmth of his enthusiasm. 
 
 " But look here, boy," said he, after 
 the pause of a moment or two : " if you 
 go off to your missionary work, what's 
 going to become of that poor blind moth- 
 er of yours, and the girls too ? There's 
 a text somewheres I can't be sure of 
 chapter and verse where it speaks about 
 tending to other folks' vineyards and 
 neglecting your own. You wouldn't be 
 the fellow, now, would you, to go off 
 working for strangers and leave them 
 that are your own flesh and blood to be 
 cared for by others ?" A little cloud of 
 anxiety passed over the kind old face at 
 the thought from which these questions 
 sprang. 
 
 " Why, of course I wouldn't," was 
 Phil's very emphatic answer. "You
 
 A TALK. 239 
 
 don't think so meanly of me as that, do 
 you, captain ?" 
 
 The cloud on the other's face disap- 
 peared at once, and he grasped his clerk's 
 hand with a cordiality that meant more 
 than words. 
 
 " I have no idea of leaving home yet," 
 said Phil ; " indeed, I am not ready for 
 such a great work. I want to keep on 
 studying and improving myself until I 
 see the way open. It may be years yet, 
 but I am certain that when God wants 
 me to go he will make the way plain. It 
 is pretty clear that for the present he 
 means to have me keep just where I am." 
 
 " Well said, my boy ! I didn't believe 
 you'd run away from your poor mother." 
 
 " No, sir, indeed I will not. I mean 
 to work for her until Sam is able to take 
 my place, or till one of the girls marries 
 and provides a home for mother. I don't 
 know how it'll be, but you may be sure 
 I shall not stir from home so long as my 
 mother needs me."
 
 240 PHIL, DERBY. 
 
 The captain stood up and opened the 
 door leading into the store. " You must 
 go home now," said he. " I've kept you 
 later than I meant to. It's a great blow 
 to me, Phil Derry, this matter about the 
 business. You're a good, brave fellow, 
 and I like you even better than I did 
 before. Still, I'm disappointed I'm 
 greatly disappointed." 
 
 The captain held out his hand. Phil 
 shook it, and bidding him good-night 
 started on his way homeward. As he 
 paused outside the store door to button 
 up his overcoat he heard his dear old 
 friend within still repeating to himself, 
 " I'm disappointed greatly disappointed."
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 QUESTIONS OF TASTE. 
 
 FEW weeks after the conversation 
 just related a letter came, ad- 
 dressed to Mrs. Derry. The en- 
 velope was edged with black, the 
 writing was cramped and crooked, and 
 the postmark bore the name of Millville. 
 Of all this Phil took note as he walked 
 toward home with the letter in his hand. 
 Not more than twice within his memory 
 had his mother received a letter. She 
 had kept up no communication with 
 friends at the East since the earliest 
 years of her married life, and the two 
 epistles which had broken the silence 
 were, one to tell her of her father's death, 
 the other to announce her only brother's 
 marriage. It was therefore with some 
 
 21 Q 241
 
 242 PHIL DERBY. 
 
 curiosity that he put this one in his moth- 
 er's hand for her to "see with her fin- 
 gers," and then, at her request, opened 
 and read it to her. It was short, poorly 
 written, incorrectly spelled, but its con- 
 tents had an important influence on the 
 future of the Derry family. Phil ex- 
 pressed his opinion about the letter before 
 his return to the store, and during the 
 afternoon Lizzie, Sallie, and Sam were 
 each called upon to read it aloud and 
 say what they also thought. 
 
 Mrs. Derry 's only brother, from whom 
 she had not heard since his marriage, had 
 lately died, and the " Hannah Goodwin " 
 who had written to announce the fact was 
 his widow. Mr. Goodwin had been a 
 prosperous farmer, and the land which 
 he had worked faithfully to improve was 
 left an unencumbered property for his 
 widow. There were no children to share 
 with her the money or the home. In 
 plain, homely language she told her un- 
 known sister-in-law this fact, and that
 
 QUESTIONS OP TASTE. 243 
 
 she felt very desolate in her big, empty 
 house. She had heard, she did not say 
 how, of Mrs. Derry's twofold sorrow, her 
 widowhood and blindness ; also that she 
 was poor. It was her wish, wrote this 
 good woman, quite as much as it was her 
 duty, to invite her husband's sister and 
 her children to accept a home with her. 
 She wanted to provide for them, and 
 would feel amply rewarded by the com- 
 fort of their society. She asked that a 
 reply should be given at once, and prom- 
 ised that on Mrs. Derry's agreeing to her 
 proposal she would send means to pay 
 the travelling expenses. 
 
 What did Phil think about the mat- 
 ter ? Mrs. Derry must have the counsel 
 of her elder son before she even ex- 
 pressed her own wish. Did he think it 
 wise to fall in with the plan of Henry's 
 widow, break up their home, and all of 
 them start eastward ? 
 
 Phil's heart beat tumultuously. Was 
 God already making the way plain for
 
 244 PHIL DERBY. 
 
 him to enter upon his chosen work ? He 
 had told Captain Marks that he would 
 not leave home so long as his mother 
 needed him. If she should decide to 
 take the others and go to Millville, he 
 would be left a free man. These thoughts 
 darted through his mind with such a sud- 
 denness of hope that when his mother 
 asked him for his advice he felt unable to 
 give it for fear of being influenced by his 
 own desire. 
 
 "I don't know what to say, mother; 
 it is something for you only to decide. 
 Go, if it will make you happy to live 
 once more in your old home. Stay, if 
 you are satisfied to go on as we are living 
 now. I am sure that Sam and I and the 
 girls will do our best to make you happy. 
 I have only one bit of counsel to give 
 that is to make this question the subject 
 of prayer before you decide one way or 
 the other." 
 
 When Lizzie was asked for an opinion, 
 she said, " Oh, do go, ma ! Aunt Han-
 
 QUESTIONS OF TASTE. 245 
 
 nah has a big house and plenty of money. 
 Sallie and I can dress like other girls and 
 go into company ; and of course you'll 
 have things a deal more comfortable than 
 you ever can in this miserable place." 
 
 Sallie took the same view of the sub- 
 ject that her sister did, with the addi- 
 tional idea that if Aunt Hannah was as 
 good as she seemed perhaps she could 
 coax her into giving* them a year's 
 schooling. 
 
 " As for me," said Sam, " it's all the 
 same what you women-folks do. I've 
 made up my mind to try my luck at the 
 mines. There's two or three fellows go- 
 ing to start in a month or two. They 
 want me to go with them. I shall make 
 a fortune in no time, and one of these 
 days, if you go to Millville, you'll look 
 out of the window and say, * Why, who 
 can this be driving up to the door with 
 such a fine carriage, and such splendid 
 horses?' and then you will cry out, 
 ' Why, it's our own brother Sam with 
 21 *
 
 PHIL DERRY. 
 
 bran-new clothes and boots so bright you 
 could see your face in 'em.' ' 
 
 The girls laughed aloud as Sam uttered 
 this boast and marched up and down the 
 room to show how important he would 
 look on that imaginary occasion. Mrs. 
 Derry gave a quiet sigh which nobody 
 heeded in the excitement of looking 
 ahead to the possible realization of so 
 many wishes. The sigh came from the 
 thought that each of the young folks was 
 bent upon finding his or her own plea- 
 sure, and nobody but Phil cared to de- 
 cide what was best for her, their mother. 
 Then conscience asked a question within 
 her which brought another sigh. Had 
 she been such a mother as to deserve the 
 love and gratitude of her children ? Had 
 she set them an example of unselfish- 
 ness ? Was it not rather a cause of won- 
 der that they had turned out as good as 
 they were? 
 
 The day following, a letter was mailed 
 in Eagleville, addressed to Mrs. Hannah
 
 QUESTIONS OF TASTE. 247 
 
 Goodwin. Phil had written it, and the 
 whole family had dictated its contents. 
 The aunt's kind offer was accepted. Mrs. 
 Derry and her two daughters would be 
 ready to go to Millville as soon as the 
 money for the journey could be sent. As 
 for the two sons, Mrs. Derry wrote, or it 
 was written in her name, they were of an 
 age to take care of themselves, and they 
 preferred remaining in the West. The 
 letter contained a warm expression of 
 gratitude to the unknown aunt and sister- 
 in-law for remembering even in the midst 
 of her affliction her needy relatives. A 
 year before, such thankfulness would 
 have been impossible to Mrs. Derry. She 
 would either have refused Mrs. Good- 
 win's offer or accepted it grumblingly. 
 Ah, what wondrous changes the grace 
 of God can make ! 
 
 There was great stir and commotion in 
 the dull house after this. Miss Pinkham, 
 the fashionable dressmaker of Eagleville, 
 was called in and consulted about the
 
 PHIL DERBY. 
 
 making over and retrimming of old 
 dresses. " It would never do," said Liz- 
 zie, " to let Aunt Hannah think that we 
 wore our clothes until they fell to pieces, 
 whether they were in style or not." 
 
 " But that would be the truth, Lizzie," 
 said honest Phil. " It seems to me no 
 disgrace for poor people to wear clothes 
 that are out of style, provided they are 
 clean and neat. There was Miss Hallie 
 Hope. I do not believe she kept so 
 closely to the fashion as you girls try to 
 do, yet her dresses always looked nice." 
 
 " Bah !" exclaimed Sallie ; " boys and 
 men don't understand such things. I 
 don't believe but that Miss Hallie studied 
 the fashions quite as much as we do; and 
 if she was always so prettily dressed, it 
 was because she had more money to 
 spend and did not have to plan and con- 
 trive to make old things answer for new, 
 as we do." 
 
 This was said sharply, and an ugly 
 frown disfigured the young girl's pretty
 
 QUESTIONS OF TASTE. 249 
 
 face as she spoke. The sisters were sit- 
 ting together, busily ripping up a bright 
 blue dress of Lizzie's that was destined 
 by a little alteration to make a travelling- 
 suit for Sallie, who was shorter and not 
 so stout, and could therefore often make 
 use of what the other had cast aside. 
 Phil's eye rested on the garment. He 
 remembered how. often he had seen his 
 sister wear it with a green ribbon on her 
 neck and a red plaid shawl, and said, 
 
 " It is quite true, Sallie, that boys and 
 men don't understand these things as 
 women do, but it seems to me that good 
 taste is no more expensive than bad. 
 I can't believe that quiet, lady-like colours 
 cost any more than bright, vulgar ones. 
 Perhaps I am wrong, but I think our 
 aunt would be much better pleased to see 
 you in plain, modest dresses than decked 
 out in the cheap, coarse finery you girls 
 wear. That pair of earrings, now, and 
 that brassy-looking chain on your neck ! 
 Why, Sallie, I shouldn't wonder if they
 
 250 PHIL DERRY. 
 
 cost enough to have bought each of you 
 a decent calico dress." 
 
 " A calico dress !" exclaimed both girls; 
 and Sallie, too angry at the remark about 
 her ornaments to say another word, seized 
 the part of the dress she was at work on 
 and flounced out of the room. Lizzie 
 kept her seat, but bent her head and 
 ripped away vigorously. 
 
 Phil saw from where he stood that her 
 eyes filled with tears, and he crossed the 
 room and laid his hand caressingly on 
 her head. " I did not think it would vex 
 you so," said he, kindly. 
 
 " Oh, we know very well that you 
 think we waste your money. You are 
 too stingy to like to see Sallie and me 
 have pretty things like other girls. Cal- 
 ico dresses are quite good enough for us, 
 when you have to pay for them. I'm 
 real glad we're going to live with Aunt 
 Hannah. You'll soon be able to save up 
 your money for yourself, or to buy tracts 
 and primers for the missionary work you
 
 QUESTIONS OF TASTE. 251 
 
 have set your heart on. Try and put up 
 with us a little longer, do !" 
 
 Lizzie's voice was by this time so 
 choked with sobs that she could hardly 
 speak. She had never spoken so disre- 
 spectfully to her older brother before; 
 but the remark about the " cheap, coarse 
 finery" and " bright, vulgar colours" had 
 hurt her very much. Whether she and 
 her sister had good taste or not, they were 
 quite as sensitive as other girls, and could 
 not bear to have their dresses criticised. 
 Lizzie pushed away Phil's hand, which 
 again rested affectionately on her head, 
 threw down her work, and rushed out of 
 the room as her sister had done. Phil 
 sighed, took up the gay, soiled material 
 from the floor, and carefully folded it. 
 
 " Mother," said he to the quiet woman 
 rocking to and fro beside the stove, " I'm 
 real sorry I have hurt the girls' feelings 
 so. I do wish they did not look so com- 
 mon, so I don't know how to say what 
 I mean : but now I'm off to the store.
 
 252 PHIL DERBY. 
 
 Do, mother, try and make the peace for 
 me before I come in to-night;" and with 
 these words he was off. 
 
 Sallie was in the kitchen that evening 
 frying pork for supper when she heard 
 her brother's footstep. She turned her 
 face resolutely toward the stove and began 
 humming the tune of a lively little song, 
 "just to prove to Phil," was her hasty 
 thought, " that she did not care a straw 
 for what had been said." Foolish Sal- 
 lie ! it was the very way to show that 
 she did care. Phil came behind her 
 with a quiet smile and laid a parcel on 
 her arm. She made a sudden motion to 
 hinder it from going into the frying-pan ; 
 it fell instead on the floor, and both 
 brother and sister stooped at the same 
 instant to pick it up. Their hands met, 
 and then their eyes. PhiPs loving smile 
 brought a flush of shame to Sallie's cheeks 
 as they rose with the bundle between 
 them. 
 
 " Let's kiss and be friends," said he.
 
 QUESTIONS OF TASTE. 253 
 
 At the moment that the peace was thus 
 concluded, Lizzie appeared at the door 
 with a pitcher of milk for which she had 
 been to a neighbour's house. One glance 
 showed her that a reconciliation had 
 taken place, and that was not at all to 
 the mind of the still indignant Lizzie. 
 
 " Humph !" said she, in a sneering 
 tone, as she placed her pitcher on the 
 table. 
 
 " Come," called Phil, who had in his 
 hand the yet unopened bundle " come ! 
 I want you and Sallie both to look at 
 your new dresses and tell me how you 
 like them." 
 
 "Our new dresses!" both exclaimed; 
 and Sallie, dropping the fork she had 
 held, flung her arms around her brother's 
 neck. " Oh, Phil, I am so sorry !" was 
 all she could say. Lizzie eagerly untied 
 the string and revealed two dress pat- 
 terns of some soft gray material. 
 
 "Do you like it, girls?" Phil asked, 
 with some anxiety. " If you do not, I 
 
 22
 
 254 PHIL DERRY. 
 
 can change it for some fine plaid there 
 is at the store." 
 
 " Oh, it is beautiful I" cried Sallie. 
 " How good you are !" 
 
 Lizzie said to herself that the bright 
 plaid would have been far more becom- 
 ing to her complexion than such a sober, 
 old-womanish colour, but her spoken 
 comment was : 
 
 " You are really very good, Phil, and 
 I am sorry for the saucy things we said." 
 
 So peace was restored, and for some 
 days Miss Pinkham was more in demand 
 than ever.
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 THE BREAKING UP. 
 
 N due time another letter came 
 from Millville. It gave a hearty 
 repetition of the invitation pre- 
 viously extended, expressed a cor- 
 dial desire that Mrs. Derry and her 
 daughters should start eastward without 
 delay, and, which was most important, 
 contained a cheque for an amount amply 
 sufficient to cover the expenses of the 
 long journey. Sam had already gone 
 with his companions to the mines, from 
 whence he expected to dig the fortune 
 he desired. The miserable house for so 
 many years their home was sold, the fur- 
 niture had been put up at auction, and 
 only a few necessary articles, kindly left 
 by the new owners for the use of the 
 
 255
 
 256 PHIL DERRY. 
 
 family until they set out, remained in 
 the desolate rooms. It was a sad break- 
 ing up for Phil. Even though he had 
 never had much happiness there, and 
 until the great change took place in his 
 mother no sympathy, yet it was home, 
 and he had no other on the face of the 
 earth. 
 
 At last the important day arrived. 
 Sallie and Lizzie, neatly dressed, went 
 early to the station, where several young 
 friends had agreed to meet them. Phil 
 had borrowed a wagon in which to take 
 his mother, and was glad to have her to 
 himself for a little while for a last talk 
 on the subject now so dear to them both, 
 the hope and joy of the Christian. 
 
 " You'll be sure and write as often as 
 you can, my son ?" questioned Mrs. Derry 
 as they stood on the platform waiting for 
 the train. 
 
 " I will indeed," was the prompt assur- 
 ance, given with a warm pressure of the 
 hand. " I hope soon to tell you that my
 
 THE BREAKING UP. 257 
 
 real work is begun and that the Lord is 
 prospering my labours." 
 
 " Take good care of mother, girls, and 
 may God bless you all !" were his hur- 
 ried words as the train began to move. 
 The merry girls waved their handker- 
 chiefs from the window. Phil stood and 
 watched until the last car was only a 
 speck in the distance, then turned on his 
 heel with a sigh for the close of another 
 chapter of life's history, and went about 
 his day's work. Weighing, measuring, 
 answering questions, pulling down and 
 putting up dry goods what trivial busi- 
 ness it seemed with one's heart full of 
 yearning for nobler labour ! Ah ! but was 
 not all this part of that great lesson of 
 patient waiting which comes in God's 
 primer and must be learned thoroughly 
 by all who are taught of him ? 
 
 The platform had been full of people 
 who came to see the Derrys off. They 
 were old residents, according to the reck- 
 oning of that Western town. They had 
 22* R
 
 258 PHIL DERRY. 
 
 come to Eagle ville in its infancy, and the 
 young folks had grown with the growth 
 of the place. They had of late years 
 had no important part to play in public 
 affairs, and yet all agreed, as they stood 
 in knots of twos and threes discussing 
 matters, that the Derrys would be greatly 
 missed in the community. The young 
 girls envied Sallie and Lizzie. It was a 
 fine thing, they said, to have a parcel of 
 new clothes to start on a long journey, 
 and to go to an aunt who would give 
 them everything they wanted. Never 
 before had anything come in the lot of 
 the Derry girls to make them objects of 
 admiration and envy. They were con- 
 scious of it to-day, and enjoyed it. 
 
 " Did you notice," asked Sallie of her 
 sister as they whirled along, " how Abby 
 Carter kept her eyes on my hat ? She'll 
 go right home and try to trim up her 
 old one like it ; you'll see if she don't." 
 
 " No, it isn't .likely I shall see that or 
 any other hat that Abby Carter wears
 
 THE BREAKING UP. 259 
 
 after this. Oh, but isn't it fun to be 
 going away for ever from old Eagle ville ?" 
 
 " I'm glad," answered Sallie, " and yet 
 I can't help feeling a little bit sorry. 
 We've had some good times, I'm sure, 
 and they're a real pleasant set, those 
 Eagleville girls. They say Eastern folks 
 are so prim and particular. Maybe the 
 Mill ville girls will be too proud to have 
 anything to do with us." 
 
 " Yes, maybe," said her sister, absently. 
 She was still thinking with pleasure of 
 the admiring looks given their nice 
 clothes that morning, and of the differ- 
 ent ones who had said they wished they 
 were going too. 
 
 " Ah, girls !" was Mrs. Derry's quiet 
 comment, " you are too ready to rejoice 
 over leaving your old home. Do not 
 despise it now, for you may one of these 
 days wish to be back in it again, dull as 
 it seems." 
 
 Perhaps Mrs. Derry was thinking of 
 her own girlhood, the eagerness with
 
 260 PHIL DERRY. 
 
 which she h#d cast aside the old quiet 
 life on her father's farm to go with her 
 young husband in search of a gilded for- 
 tune in the far West, which, alas ! she 
 had never found. Like Naomi, she 
 might now say that she had gone out 
 full and she returned empty. No won- 
 der that she did not wish her daughters 
 to pass through an experience like her 
 own. 
 
 " Oh my !" exclaimed a woman occu- 
 pying the seat directly in front of Mrs. 
 Derry. " There goes my veil ! Would 
 you please pick it up for me, ma'am? 
 It's right down there by you." 
 
 " I am sorry," was the grave answer. 
 " I cannot see your veil, for I am blind." 
 
 "Blind! Why, you don't say so?" 
 exclaimed the lively fellow-passenger, in 
 a cheery voice. " Oh, well, there's won- 
 derful cures in these days for all sorts 
 of ailments. There's doctors on East, 
 plenty of 'em, that spend all their time 
 on eye diseases oculists they are called.
 
 THE BEEAKING UP. 261 
 
 How far are you going ? Right through 
 to New York, maybe ?" 
 
 " Yes," answered Mrs. Derry, " we are 
 going to Millville, and we have to stop a 
 a few hours in New York, I believe." 
 
 " Well, then," continued the kind- 
 hearted woman, "I'll tell you what. I 
 am going to my nephew's that's Mr. 
 Isaac Smith's ; he is a tailor and has a 
 splendid clothing store that is, his boss 
 has, and it's all the same thing. I sup- 
 pose Isaac is making money by the 
 handful; all those New York folks do, 
 I expect. Now, if you will go with me 
 to his house, I'm pretty sure Isaac can 
 tell us where to find one of them 'ere ocu- 
 lists ; maybe he can take time to go with 
 you himself, and we'll have your eyes as 
 good as new." 
 
 The speaker nodded her head and 
 winked at the girls, as if quite sure of 
 their sympathy in her plan, then, lean- 
 ing over the back of the seat, caught Mrs. 
 Derry 's hand and gave it a hearty squeeze,
 
 262 PHIL DERBY. 
 
 shouting in her ear as if she were deaf as 
 well as blind, 
 
 " Yes, you just come along with me to 
 Isaac's, and we'll soon have your eyes as 
 good as new." 
 
 Mrs. Derry gave a sigh and a smile 
 for answer, and paused to consider wheth- 
 er or not it was worth while to tell her 
 new friend how hopeless she really felt, 
 about any improvement of her condition, 
 when Lizzie interrupted with : 
 
 " We're much obliged to you, ma'am, 
 of course, but we are going directly on to 
 Millville, and can't spare time to go to 
 your nephew's. Our aunt in Millville is 
 very rich ; we are going to live with her ; 
 and if she thinks it will do any good, she 
 will send for one of the New York doc- 
 tors to come on and examine ma's eyes." 
 
 This speech was made in a loud voice 
 which caused nearly everybody in the car 
 to turn and look at the group. This was 
 exactly what Lizzie, full of her new glory, 
 desired. Good clothes, a journey, a rich
 
 THE BREAKING UP. 263 
 
 aunt, these were all so important in the 
 girl's eyes that she could not let pass an 
 opportunity of making herself known as 
 the fortunate possessor. 
 
 "Hs-s-sh," whispered Sallie, pinching 
 her sister's arm to enforce silence, while 
 the friendly adviser in the next seat 
 turned away, feeling not a little hurt at 
 the manner in which her kind offers were 
 rejected. Quiet Mrs. Derry said nothing 
 at the moment, but she sought an oppor- 
 tunity before the day closed of thanking 
 the good woman, and at the same time 
 telling her the cause of her misfortune 
 and how little prospect there was of her 
 recovering her sight. 
 
 The two girls did not look with much 
 favour upon their mother's acquaintance 
 with a person so commonplace; they 
 were sure Aunt Hannah would not ap- 
 prove. It was a very different matter 
 when they lived in Eagleville ; now they 
 must be more particular about the com- 
 pany they kept. It was a relief to them
 
 264 PHIL DEEBY. 
 
 both when, amid the confusion at the 
 New York de*p6t, they got separated 
 from their fellow-traveller. The last 
 glimpse they had of her was as she stood 
 at the edge of a crowded crossing, mak- 
 ing signals to different omnibus-drivers, 
 and calling out hoarsely her question of 
 which of them passed nearest the cloth- 
 ing store where Isaac Smith worked. 
 
 At last the wearisome railroad journey 
 was accomplished, and late one rainy 
 evening the travellers heard the conduc- 
 tor call out the welcome word " Mill- 
 ville." Into the dull little waiting-room 
 they went, and sat there, Mrs. Derry 
 quiet and patient as usual, and the two 
 girls cross and disappointed. It takes 
 very cheerful hearts or very bright hopes 
 to make endurable the railroad station 
 of a small town, especially on a rainy 
 evening. Half an hour passed, and no 
 Aunt Hannah appeared to claim her 
 guests. Lizzie said her head ached, and 
 began to cry ; Sallie drew out a very dry
 
 THE BREAKING UP. 265 
 
 sandwich from the luncheon-basket, and 
 set herself to eat and to grumble. Things 
 appeared sadly different now from the 
 pictures fancy had drawn over and over 
 again of this very hour. All things, 
 however disagreeable, come to an end ; 
 so did the period of waiting at the Mill- 
 ville station. The door swung open at 
 last, and a respectable middle-aged man 
 entered. This proved to be Jacob, Mrs. 
 Goodwin's hired man. He begged par- 
 don for keeping the travellers waiting so 
 long, but said, by way of apology, that 
 the roads were so bad that he had been 
 obliged to walk the horses most of the 
 way. Mrs. Goodwin had intended com- 
 ing in to meet her friends in person, but 
 was so troubled with rheumatism that she 
 did not dare ride in the rain. 
 
 " How far from town is the house ?" 
 asked Sallie, with restored animation. 
 
 " Only a mile or thereabouts. We'd 
 get there in less'n no time, miss, if 
 'twarn't for the state of the roads." 
 
 23
 
 266 PHIL DERRY. 
 
 Jacob busied himself with the -baggage, 
 and in a few moments the whole party 
 were seated in Mrs. Goodwin's comfort- 
 able carriage, slowly moving along in the 
 darkness and rain toward their new home. 
 Sallie leaned her head back among the 
 cushions with a smiling face. For the 
 first time in her life she had been called 
 " Miss." Jacob, as he sat there in front, 
 wholly intent on guiding his horses safely 
 through the bad places, little knew what 
 real delight he had given to one of his 
 mistress's guests by a single word. Nor 
 can any reader understand the pleasure 
 this Western girl felt in the common title, 
 unless it be one who, like Sallie herself, 
 has always lived in one neighbourhood 
 with people who were on too friendly a 
 footing for such formality. 
 
 Sallie's meditations were checked by 
 a sudden halt as Jacob jumped down to 
 open a gate, and in a moment more the 
 carriage stood before a large white-paint- 
 ed house with broad piazza and an open
 
 THE BREAKING UP 267 
 
 door, through which her eager eyes 
 caught a gleam of a glowing fire and 
 lamplight. Jacob helped his passengers 
 to alight, taking Mrs. Derry first and 
 gently leading her up the steps to the 
 door, where now a plump little woman 
 stood with outstretched arms to welcome 
 the strange sister-in-law. 
 
 Two hours later the sisters were alone 
 together in the room which Aunt Han- 
 nah told them was to be their own for the 
 future. They prepared for bed, but were 
 too full of wonder and excitement to 
 close their eyes until they had talked 
 over their first impressions. Lizzie, who 
 had forgotten her headache entirely, 
 frisked around the room examining 
 everything. " All these bureau drawers 
 are empty," said she ; " that means that 
 we are to put our things in them. You 
 can take the top one, Sal, and I'll have 
 the two under ones. No, we'll divide the 
 top one, and each have one of the lower 
 ones ; that will be fair. See what a big
 
 268 PHIL DEERY. 
 
 closet !" she exclaimed, a moment after. 
 " We haven't got near clothes enough to 
 hang on all those hooks, eh, Sallie?" 
 
 Sallie sat dreamily at the foot of the 
 bed imbraiding her long hair, but started 
 up at her sister's remark. " No, we have 
 not many clothes now, to be sure, but 
 Aunt Hannah will get us some right off, 
 I guess. But " she added, and then 
 paused. " Did you notice what an old- 
 fashioned collar she wore, and the plain 
 way her dress was made ? Why, Lizzie, 
 I begin to be afraid Aunt Hannah's real 
 mean. To think of anybody with plenty 
 of money wearing such a dress as that !" 
 
 " Yes, I know," replied Lizzie, " but I 
 don't believe she is mean. Everything 
 is so comfortable here; and just think 
 what a supper we had ! How kind she is 
 to ma, too!" 
 
 " Humph !" drawled Sallie, in a tone 
 of discontent; "that's good, so far as it 
 goes. Hurry into bed, Lizzie Derry; I'm 
 as sleepy as can be."
 
 THE BREAKING UP. 269 
 
 Good, sensible Aunt Hannah ! Little 
 dreamed she as she went to rest that 
 night, thanking Him who "setteth the 
 solitary in families " that he had brought 
 to her lonely home a sister and children, 
 of the foolish anticipations and unreason- 
 able demands of those young girls. Hers 
 was a busy life. She was looking forward 
 with pleasure to their help in the dairy, 
 their interest in the garden and in all the 
 manifold details of life on a large farm. 
 To read and sew, to ride to church on 
 Sundays and to visit the neighbours 
 through the week, to make jellies and 
 broth for the sick folks and do fancy- 
 work for the yearly fair, was the routine 
 of pleasures she had considered on be- 
 half of her nieces without a doubt of 
 their satisfaction with such a programme. 
 Alas for Aunt Hannah! and alas for 
 Sallie and Lizzie ! All were disappointed. 
 From the poverty and gloom of their 
 Western life these girls had looked for- 
 ward, as we know, to the East in general, 
 
 23
 
 270 PHIL, DERRY. 
 
 and Aunt Hannah's home in particular, 
 very much as the spectators in a dark- 
 ened hall view a brilliant panorama; 
 they look only at the light and colour in 
 front, heedless of the gloom in which 
 they stand. 
 
 Years, added experience, and, above all, 
 the grace of God, brought to Sallie and 
 Lizzie both wisdom and contentment, so 
 that, after all, they became industrious, 
 kind, helpful Christian women, and Mrs. 
 Berry's declining years were cheered by 
 such dutiful attentions and loving care as 
 she had never dared hope for from the 
 daughters she had scolded and neglected 
 during their childhood.
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 THE FRESHET. 
 
 LEGG HOLE was in trouble. All 
 day and all night the men had 
 watched the steady rise of the 
 river, swollen as it was by the 
 spring rains and the water pouring down 
 from the hills beyond. Every possible 
 precaution had been taken, but to no pur- 
 pose. Toward the dawn of the second 
 day of this suspense, men who were wont 
 to be at that hour sleeping off the effects 
 of the night's carousal stood in little 
 groups at the water's edge gloomily dis- 
 cussing the probabilities. Women and 
 children were in the houses, either drow- 
 sily awaiting the warning which was sure 
 to come before long, or else busily mov- 
 ing their possessions to the upper rooms. 
 When the first ruddy streaks of morning 
 
 271
 
 272 PHIL DERRY. 
 
 appeared on the horizon, the dreaded 
 words were shouted, "The flood has 
 come !" All sorts of cries filled the air ; 
 men swore, women screamed, all hurried 
 to the scene of calamity. There were a 
 few shanties on the very edge of the 
 river; these were carried away by the 
 swift current as if they had been chil- 
 dren's toys. Nobody thought much of 
 the loss, except, indeed, the poor owners, 
 to whom the shanties had been homes 
 Higher and higher rose the pitiless stream, 
 and now Squire Buck's garden was sub- 
 merged, now John Larkin's pigs were 
 floating rapidly down. The excitement 
 and terror increased every moment. Here 
 was trouble indeed ; human power could 
 do nothing, and divine power who in 
 Clegg Hole thought about that ? Stead- 
 ily rose the water. In a few hours the 
 cellars in the lower part of the town were 
 filled ; as the afternoon waned there was 
 a general rush of people toward the few 
 dwellings that stood high enough to
 
 THE FRESHET. 273 
 
 promise a chance of safety for the night. 
 Men and boys worked courageously ; the 
 need of one was the need of all. Those 
 who two days before had thought no 
 words hard enough to speak to one an- 
 other, those who had struck each other 
 in more than one drunken brawl, now 
 worked with sober energy side by side, 
 and in each other's behalf. A common 
 trouble was bringing to light all the good 
 that was latent in the hearts of the men 
 of Clegg Holer The following day 
 dawned on a scene of desolation. On the 
 great waste of water not only portions 
 of buildings, but horses, cows, and other 
 animals, were rapidly floating down, and 
 people whispered in awestruck tones 
 about Ned Ferrar's two little girls, 
 who were yesterday noon seen hand in 
 hand struggling from amid the remains 
 of their lost home, and then had sud- 
 denly vanished, no one could tell where. 
 Sukey Stokes, the landlord's wife, who had 
 been ill in bed for some weeks, was roused 
 
 3
 
 274 PHIL DERBY. 
 
 to flee from imminent danger, and through 
 fright and exposure had become suddenly 
 worse was dying it was said. There were 
 other sad tales nearly every family had 
 one to tell ; and sorrows which changed 
 black hair to white and young hearts to 
 old made memorable "that one terrible 
 night at Clegg Hole. 
 
 In the midst of such confusion and 
 excitement few took notice as to who did 
 this or that ; indeed, through the dark- 
 ness of night it was impossible to distin- 
 guish friend from stranger. There was, 
 however, in more than one scene of trou- 
 ble a consciousness of a pair of strong 
 arms helping to save the weak, the recog- 
 nition of a brave heart and a clear head 
 where a moment's hesitation would have 
 lost all. Nobody took time to ask, or 
 even to wonder, from whom the assist- 
 ance came. Human eyes never saw, 
 human ears never heard, how a six 
 months' old baby was saved from drown- 
 ing by the only one who saw and heeded
 
 THE FRESHET. 275 
 
 its danger; nobody ever suspected how 
 poor old Mrs. Green's furniture was 
 moved in safety from her shattered dwell- 
 ing and restored to her without even a 
 scratch on the wood. 
 
 At last the water subsided ; the terror 
 was past. People began collecting the 
 remnants of their property and repair- 
 ing damages. Some there were, indeed, 
 whose damages could not be repaired in 
 this life. Ned Ferrar and his wife, car- 
 ing little for the destruction of their 
 house, wept bitterly for their lost chil- 
 dren, and Stokes, the landlord, stood by 
 the bedside of his dying wife. 
 
 A funeral in Clegg Hole was always a 
 simple and hurried affair. The body 
 was placed in a rude coffin, then the 
 friends were called together to take a 
 last look and assist in placing it in the 
 grave ; that was all. The ceremonies of 
 hearse and carriages, of mourning clothes, 
 closed windows, and black draperies, were 
 certainly unknown in that half-civilized
 
 276 PHIL DERRY. 
 
 settlement. No funeral service had ever 
 been held, no funeral sermon had ever 
 been preached, in Clegg Hole. 
 
 One morning a crowd of people filled 
 the large room of the tavern. There all 
 that was mortal of Sukey Stokes lay de- 
 cently prepared for burial ; the landlord 
 had called together his friends to assist 
 him in the last sad service to be per- 
 formed for his faithful wife. There were 
 a good many groans, a good deal of loud 
 talking, and some crying ; then Stokes 
 beckoned to two or three men to help him 
 in fastening the coffin-lid, after which 
 they were to move to the graveyard. 
 Some one in the crowd behind him 
 touched the bereaved husband on the 
 shoulder and whispered in his ear. 
 Stokes nodded assent, but the look of 
 bewilderment on his face would have 
 been amusing under other circumstances. 
 People were silent for a moment with 
 curiosity ; amid that moment's hush rose 
 a strong, earnest voice unrecognized by
 
 THE FRESHET. 277 
 
 any in the crowd. " Let us pray." The 
 speaker fell on his knees. Stokes knelt 
 also, and then, moved by an impulse they 
 did not understand, the entire company 
 silently followed that strange example. 
 A simple prayer was spoken ; it was not 
 composed of hard words, it was only the 
 crying out of a trusting child of God to 
 his heavenly Father for wisdom and 
 comfort according to the need of the 
 hour. When the voice ceased, two or 
 three muffled " Amens" were heard, and 
 one man in the midst of the crowd called 
 out, " Go on, stranger !" Perhaps the 
 stranger did not hear ; at any rate, he did 
 not "go on." People rose from their 
 knees, and the procession was quietly 
 formed to accompany the body of Sukey 
 Stokes to its last resting-place. 
 
 The landlord stood alone next morn- 
 in his barroom. People had too much 
 work to do in repairing the damage 
 caused by the freshet to spare time for 
 drinking, and even the idle loungers who 
 
 24
 
 278 PHIL DERRY. 
 
 cannot by any calamity be driven to work 
 had enough respect for his grief to make 
 them absent themselves from his house 
 for this one day at least. Stokes stood 
 alone, therefore, and was idly drumming 
 on the counter, his thoughts meanwhile 
 reaching far back into the past and bring- 
 ing up one memory after another of his 
 lost wife, whom in his own rough way 
 he had really loved. He was startled 
 from his reverie by the click of the door- 
 latch. He ceased drumming on the 
 counter, turned around, and before he 
 had fairly brought his mind back to the 
 present his hand was seized in the cor- 
 dial grasp of the tall young man who 
 had yesterday taken Clegg Hole by sur- 
 prise with the words. " Let us pray." 
 
 " You don't remember me, Mr. Stokes?" 
 asked the stranger, still holding his hand. 
 
 The landlord looked steadily in the 
 face before him. 
 
 "Remember you? No," said he, 
 slowly ; then, with a glance of doubt and
 
 
 " You don't remember me, Mr. Stokes?" p. 278.
 
 THE FEESHET. 279 
 
 inquiry, he added, "If it wasn't for 
 But no ; it can't be so, of course." The 
 dawn of recognition passed from his 
 countenance as he spoke. 
 
 " If it wasn't for what ? What then ?" 
 persisted the young man. 
 
 " Well, sir, if you will have it, there's 
 a something about you that puts me in 
 mind of a lodger I once had. It was a 
 youngster that came along with a picture 
 concern. He gambled and lost I don't 
 know how much money, and his boss 
 had to pay up. That made the fellow 
 so mad that he run off and left the good- 
 for-nothing boy .sick on my hands. If 
 it hadn't been for my wife that's dead 
 and gone now, I'd have turned him out 
 of the house in no time." 
 
 " So I look like your ' good-for-noth- 
 ing' lodger, do I?" the stranger asked, 
 with a queer smile twitching the corners 
 of his mouth. 
 
 " Don't be offended, sir. I know it's 
 no compliment to a gentleman a par-
 
 280 PHIL DEERY. 
 
 son or something of that sort I take you 
 to be, eh ? but there actually is a look 
 about you that reminds me of that scape- 
 grace. Of course it's just my fancy, and 
 you won't take offence where none is 
 meant." 
 
 " Certainly not. Do you happen to 
 remember the name of the poor fellow 
 you speak of?" 
 
 " It was Hem-m-m ! my memory 
 ain't so good as it used to be, and I 
 always depended so on Sukey that's my 
 poor wife to keep me straight on names 
 and such. It was ' Derby,' ' Darby,' or 
 some such name. 'Jim Darby,' we'll 
 say, for convenience. I take it you 
 wouldn't be any the wiser even if I hit 
 it just right. It is not likely such a 
 one as he ever crossed your path." 
 
 " Suppose I give a guess at the boy's 
 name, Mr. Stokes. Does ' Philip Derry ' 
 come anywhere near it ?" 
 
 The stranger spoke with a serious 
 smile, and Stokes, all at once aware of
 
 THE FRESHET. 281 
 
 the secret of the resemblance he had fan- 
 cied, started as if he had been shot. 
 
 " You don't mean it ?" he exclaimed. 
 "Now, don't be angry at what I said, 
 you know yourself things did look kind 
 of bad ; and if I was a bit sharp with 
 you, 'twas only a natural lookout for my 
 own interest. Sukey, poor soul ! she did 
 take to you wonderful. ' Philip Derry !' 
 Yes, it was ' Phil Derry,' sure enough. 
 How on earth, I want to know, was a 
 man to know a gentleman like you was 
 one and the same as that little scoundrel 
 ' Phil Derry ' ? There ! I've gone and 
 done it again !" said poor Stokes, in de- 
 spair. 
 
 " You need not be so afraid of hurting 
 my feelings," was the quiet reply. " Your 
 description of me is a very true one. 
 I was a young scapegrace indeed ; I am 
 not nearly as good as I ought to be yet." 
 
 " Ah ! I remember now how it was," 
 said Stokes as he gradually recalled the 
 facts associated with his unwelcome guest 
 
 24*
 
 282 PHIL DERBY. 
 
 of several years before. " You got well 
 and went off with that Mr. Williston, the 
 Sunday-school man. I thought he was 
 a great fool to burden himself with a 
 sickly good-for Ahem !" coughed poor 
 Stokes, who gave up in despair of keep- 
 ing on the conversation any longer, so 
 repeatedly did he have occasion to check 
 himself. 
 
 " If you'll let me go in the other room 
 and sit down with you a while, Mr. Stokes, 
 I will tell you my story." 
 
 Phil had all this time been standing 
 between the door and the counter, and the 
 landlord had not once thought of offer- 
 ing him a seat. Poor man ! what with 
 his great trouble fresh on his mind and 
 his extreme surprise at discovering his 
 stranger guest's identity with the unfor- 
 tunate "Phil Derry," he was hardly 
 accountable for his failure in hospitality. 
 
 " Well, well, well !" exclaimed he, when 
 the narrator had finished his simple ac- 
 count of the ways in which God had led
 
 THE FRESHET. 283 
 
 him ; " it is queer how things do turn out. 
 My poor Sukey always had a good word 
 for you, spite of your bad ways. A real 
 sensible woman my Sukey was, and she 
 was right, after all. Well, well, well!" 
 he repeated, after a pause, in which Phil 
 took his hat and rose to go; "only to 
 think of that young scoun ahem ! turn- 
 ing out a missionary !"
 
 CHAPTEE XXV. 
 
 A SINGING-SCHOOL. 
 
 f O much work was going on in Clegg 
 Hole during the days succeeding 
 the freshet that our young mission- 
 ary felt that to appoint a meet- 
 ing would be worse than useless. When 
 the multitude suffered with hunger, the 
 Lord Jesus did not keep on preaching, 
 but provided a hearty meal for them. 
 Phil, being himself a Western lad, knew 
 that this blessed example of care for men's 
 natural wants was the very best method to 
 take with common Western people. He 
 was busy as the busiest, now helping to 
 clear away heaps of rubbish, now lend- 
 ing a hand at repairing a roof, and ready 
 at any moment to speak a word of cheer 
 to the poor creatures who had lost their 
 
 284
 
 A SINGING-SCHOOL. 285 
 
 all. He did not speak of religion yet. 
 There is always a way to be prepared for 
 the coming of Jesus, and the John Bap- 
 tists of the present day have need of 
 much loving wisdom. The stranger began 
 to be talked about as a " regular brick," 
 "a chap of the right sort," while more 
 than one female voice echoed the com- 
 pliment given Phil years before by Mrs. 
 Mercy Striker, "A'most as good as a 
 woman." 
 
 One noon, leaving the house where he 
 had been invited to take dinner, Phil 
 lingered at the gate, undecided as to what 
 direction to take and to whom to offer his 
 services for the afternoon. Busy with his 
 thoughts, he began unconsciously to sing 
 the first verse of the old hymn : 
 
 " How happy are they 
 
 Who the Saviour obey, 
 And have laid up their treasures above !" 
 
 Now, a good hymn tune, as everybody 
 knows, is to children's ears very much 
 what a lump of sugar is to a swarm of
 
 286 PHIL DERRY. 
 
 flies, and draws them to a certain point 
 about as quickly. The strong, full voice 
 rung out those joyous words with a bold 
 assurance which told plainly that they 
 expressed the singer's own experience. 
 As he began the third verse he became 
 aware of a rather shrill voice not far off 
 trying to follow the tune. At the back 
 door of the next house stood a little girl, 
 barefoot and dressed in a much soiled, 
 much patched pink calico frock, with her 
 hands clasped above her head, evidently 
 unconscious of everything but the music. 
 She started like a frightened animal when 
 Phil paused in his hymn and called out : 
 
 " If you'll come here, Molly, I'll teach 
 you the words." 
 
 No answer was given, but before Phil 
 reached the end of the verse, he heard a 
 faint rustle behind him, and looking 
 around saw shy Molly hand in hand 
 with her elder sister, while another girl 
 in a big brown sunbonnet was running: 
 
 o o 
 
 across the yard to join them.
 
 A SINGING-SCHOOL. 287 
 
 " Well," said the young man, in a 
 pleasant tone, " you girls are fond of sing- 
 ing, it seems." 
 
 " I reckon so," responded the older 
 sister. 
 
 " I'll teach you that hymn, then, words 
 and tune both, if you like." 
 
 " Come on then," said the big girl. 
 " There's a good place to sit down over on 
 the edge of the woods there. Let's go." 
 
 Phil obeyed his ready scholar, and in 
 a few minutes the four were seated in a 
 pleasant spot repeating line by line the 
 familiar words. Then came the tune. 
 The monotonous drawl of these three 
 uncultivated voices might have annoyed 
 a fastidious ear ; but as their teacher cared 
 less for the music they were to learn than 
 the blessed truth expressed in it, their 
 mistakes troubled him not a bit. 
 
 " Humph ! can't do no better than 
 that, eh ?" 
 
 The girls gave a faint scream of sur- 
 prise at the interruption, and looking
 
 288 PHIL DEKRY. 
 
 backward among the bare branches of 
 the trees found themselves in possession 
 of an audience of some half dozen boys, 
 who now came out of their hiding-place. 
 
 " Well, sir," said the young missionary, 
 addressing the boy who had spoken so 
 disparagingly of the singing, "so you 
 don't like our music ?" 
 
 " I believe I could hit the tune better 
 than that myself," was the confident re- 
 
 P 1 !- 
 
 " Then suppose we all try. I'll repeat 
 
 the words first, then we'll sing." 
 
 The boys agreed, and their teacher was 
 almost deafened by the lusty manner in 
 which the tune was rendered. 
 
 "First-rate!" said he; "let's have it 
 again." So again the woods rang with 
 the vigorous notes from so many young 
 throats. 
 
 "It's a good old tune," exclaimed 
 Phil. The boys nodded. 
 
 " The words are good too," continued 
 the teacher.
 
 A SINGING-SCHOOL. 289 
 
 "Oh, the words ain't no account one 
 way nor another," said one boy. 
 
 " I don't know what they mean, any- 
 how," admitted another. 
 
 " Ah ? Then suppose we all repeat 
 them, and I will try and explain," said 
 Phil, while a feeling of thankfulness rose 
 in his heart for this opportunity of drop- 
 ping a word in season. He asked a ques- 
 tion or two : " Who are the happy ones?" 
 
 " Who the Saviour obey," quoted one, 
 with a shout. 
 
 " And who is the Saviour, children ?" 
 was the next question. 
 
 There was utter silence, and Phil asked 
 again, " Can you tell me who the Saviour 
 is that we are to obey if we want to be 
 happy?" 
 
 Some shook their heads, and the boy 
 who had said that words were of no ac- 
 count spoke again to the effect that he 
 liked a good tune, no matter whether 
 there were any words to it or not. 
 
 " You all have sleds, boys ?"
 
 290 PHIL DERRY. 
 
 " I reckon," was the answer. 
 
 " Last winter did you find them much 
 use to you without snow ?" 
 
 There was a look of surprise in the 
 various faces : " Oh, we had snow, though, 
 lots of it." 
 
 " I know," said Phil, " but suppose 
 there had not been any. Would the sleds 
 have done much good then ?" 
 
 " No, indeed." 
 
 " Well, it's my opinion that tunes 
 without words are about like sleds with- 
 out snow of very little use. Now let 
 me tell you what these words mean. I 
 think you will like the tune all the bet- 
 ter for understanding them." So Phil 
 began, taking for his text the simple 
 language of the old hymn, and talked to 
 his hearers of the love of Christ and the 
 exceeding great happiness of being num- 
 bered among his disciples. The little 
 group listened attentively, but whether 
 or not his words had reached their hearts 
 the young missionary could not tell. It
 
 A SINGING-SCHOOL. 291 
 
 was encouraging, however, to be asked 
 by one of the boys if he wouldn't come 
 again to-morrow and teach them some 
 more. " I know three or four other fel- 
 lows that'll come along with us," added 
 the speaker. 
 
 Phil promised. A singing-school was 
 the way the Lord had provided for him, 
 it seemed, and who could tell how great 
 a blessing might grow therefrom ?
 
 CHAPTER XXVI. 
 
 STEVE HOLM 'AN' 'S BARN. 
 
 HIL walked next day to the same 
 spot, wondering whether or not 
 the youngsters would remember 
 their promise to meet him there, 
 and feeling not a little amused at the new 
 character he had assumed, that of sing- 
 ing-master. There they were waiting for 
 him, both boys and girls, and the num- 
 ber was more than doubled. Phil smiled 
 and nodded as he came in sight of the 
 group, and by way of answer the schol- 
 ars of yesterday struck up with hearty 
 good will, 
 
 " How happy are they 
 Who the Saviour obey !" 
 
 " Hurrah !" shouted the teacher ; " that's 
 well done, boys. But see, there is not 
 
 292
 
 STEVE HOLMAN'S BARN. 293 
 
 room enough for us all here, and it is 
 damp, too ; what shall we do ?" 
 
 " Our barn is a real good place," said 
 a little girl, " and pop'd let us go there, I 
 know." 
 
 "Good for you, Viney. Let's go!" 
 shouted one of the boys ; and with com- 
 mon consent the whole party crossed the 
 road and made their way to the barn in- 
 dicated. This proved very comfortable, 
 and the afternoon's work begun. There 
 was more than one present who thought, 
 as a member of the company had said, 
 that "words ain't no account," but the 
 teacher insisted that each verse should be 
 correctly repeated after him before the 
 singing, and every now and then he 
 stopped and asked questions, as before, 
 about the meaning. The old barn fairly 
 echoed the voices as an animated chorus 
 pealed through it, getting louder and 
 louder as it became more familiar to the 
 singers. Then outsiders, drawn by the 
 strange sounds, began to peep in and lis- 
 
 25*
 
 294 PHIL DERRY. 
 
 ten, and some of these remained to learn. 
 Phil had met with marked success in a 
 wholly unintended direction. When 
 more than an hour had passed and the 
 voices of the most ambitious singers 
 were growing husky, the leader knocked 
 against the side of the barn to enforce 
 attention. 
 
 " All those," said he, " who want to go 
 on with the singing- school, hold up their 
 hands." 
 
 Every hand was raised. 
 
 " To-morrow will be Sunday," con- 
 tinued Phil. 
 
 "What's the difference?" called out 
 one boy, rather gruffly. "We'll come 
 all the same, Sunday or not," said an- 
 other. 
 
 " Suppose, then," suggested the teacher, 
 "that you get as many more to come, 
 boys and girls, and fathers and mothers 
 too, right after dinner to-morrow that 
 is, if Viney's father will let us have the 
 use of his barn."
 
 STEVE HOLMAN'S BARN. 295 
 
 " Certainly, sir," came the unexpected 
 reply from a tall man with bushy hair 
 and whiskers standing just outside the 
 door. " Singing don't hurt the barn 
 none; and if you've a mind to waste 
 your time foolin' with the young 'uns, 
 I've got no objection to offer." 
 
 "Thank you, sir. Then," continued 
 Phil, turning to his scholars, " we'll come 
 and have a good sing to-morrow, and, as 
 I said, I want you to bring your friends 
 along. I have something to talk to you 
 about after the singing." 
 
 A hearty assent was given, and the 
 scholars dispersed, shouting, whistling, 
 leaping and hallooing at a great rate. 
 
 Such a congregation as filled the barn 
 next day ! Clegg Hole was a surprise 
 to itself. At each new entrance those 
 already within turned to look with a 
 smile or grimace, as much as to say to 
 the last comer, " What ! you don't mean 
 to say you've come to the meeting?" 
 Not even a travelling show could have
 
 296 PHIL DEEEY. 
 
 drawn a larger crowd than the simple 
 invitation of the young missionary. 
 
 After a hymn and prayer and the 
 reading of the parable of the prodigal son, 
 Phil rose to speak. He said a few words 
 about the singing-school and asked how 
 many were in favour of keeping it up. 
 Hands were raised all over the barn, 
 and some of the more enthusiastic an- 
 swered with shouts of, " Hurrah for sing- 
 ing school !" and " Go ahead, Derry I" 
 " Don't give it up, Derry," and the like. 
 
 "Young man," said Viney's father 
 when there came a lull, " it seems as ef 
 you and the young 'uns has kind o' set 
 this thing a-goin', and it keeps you all 
 out o' mischief for the time bein', so I'll 
 make you welcome to the use of the barn 
 whenever you like." 
 
 The tall man with the bushy hair 
 turned very red in the face and gave a 
 hoarse cough in conclusion, for he was 
 bashful, and even this little speech was a 
 great effort. The clapping of hands and
 
 STEVE HOLMAN'S BARN. 297 
 
 " Hurrah for Steve Holman !" which fol- 
 lowed were quite too much for Viney's 
 father, and he elbowed his way to the 
 door and took a short cut across the field 
 without waiting for the excitement to 
 subside. 
 
 " 'Pears to me," said a man standing 
 near Phil, " you ain't goin' to work the 
 right way about this 'ere matter. I know 
 something about singin'-schools. I went 
 to one reg'lar when I was a youngster. 
 They had a lot o' books to sing out of, 
 and a blackboard, too, to write the notes 
 on. Now, I say, stranger, if you under- 
 take this thing, I want you to do it in 
 proper style for the credit of the place." 
 
 " Very well, sir," replied Phil ; " what 
 do you advise ?" 
 
 " Advise ? Why, I advise you, as the 
 teacher, to say what you want and then 
 pass round your hat. We're pretty lib- 
 eral folks here in Clegg Hole, for all 
 we're so rough." 
 
 Sounds of assent came from every
 
 298 PHIL DERRY. 
 
 direction, and then a pause, as if to hear 
 the mind of the leader. 
 
 " My friends," began the young man, 
 " before we go any further I want to tell 
 you a story." 
 
 A hum of satisfaction passed through 
 the barn. Everybody was ready for a 
 story. The speaker cleared his throat, 
 glanced around, and then, with a great 
 effort at calmness, began : " A few years 
 ago a photographer stopped here for seve- 
 ral days taking pictures. He had with 
 him a boy to help in the work and take 
 care of his horse." 
 
 More than one significant glance flashed 
 from eye to eye at these words, but the 
 speaker went on without taking notice 
 of this : 
 
 "That boy fell into temptation and 
 acted shamefully. He gambled one night, 
 and lost. He had no money of his own, 
 so the miserable debt fell upon his em- 
 ployer." 
 
 Still more significant glances were ex-
 
 STEVE HOLMAN'S BARN. 299 
 
 changed among the audience, and the 
 speaker's cheeks grew hot and red, but 
 still he went on : 
 
 " Mr. Brown went away with his pic- 
 ture-wagon, but the wretched young gam- 
 bler and drunkard was left behind, pen- 
 niless and sick." 
 
 " Served the feller right !" shouted 
 somebody whose sense of justice was too 
 strong for silence. 
 
 " S-s-sh !" whispered somebody else 
 who had begun to suspect the identity 
 of Brown's assistant and the singing- 
 master. 
 
 The speaker went on, his cheeks grow- 
 ing redder and his voice huskier : " The 
 boy lay at the point of death at Mr. 
 Stokes's house. It served him right, as 
 you say; and if it had been worse, it would 
 have been the due reward of his sin and 
 folly. But God in mercy raised him up 
 and found friends for him. Mrs. Stokes 
 was one." 
 
 " That she was, and so I'll be for her
 
 300 PHIL DERRY. 
 
 
 
 sake," interrupted the landlord. Phil 
 gave him a grateful look in reply : 
 
 " There was a good man here at that 
 time, a missionary, who took care of the 
 sick boy as if he had been his own son. 
 He paid off his debt and took him with 
 him as a helper in his missionary work. 
 Think of it, my friends !" 
 
 " Nobody but a preacher would have 
 been such a muff," was the whispered 
 comment, which the speaker fortunately 
 did not hear. 
 
 "That excellent man was the means 
 of converting the young sinner to the love 
 of Christ that is, his counsel and exam- 
 ple following up the lessons the boy had 
 learned at home in Sunday-schools ; and 
 now in his turn that boy, sent out by 
 the ' American Sunday-school Union,' is 
 trying to bring others to the knowledge 
 of Jesus Christ the Saviour. Friends, 
 some of you have already guessed who it 
 is that addresses you. Some in this room, 
 like my old landlord Mr. Stokes, see in
 
 STEVE HOLMAN'S BARN. 301 
 
 the stranger who proposes to lead a sing- 
 ing-school among you that wicked and 
 unfortunate boy Phil Derry." 
 
 At these words several men pressed 
 forward to shake hands with their old 
 acquaintance, and it was some time before 
 Phil could go on speaking. 
 
 " I have told you," said he, " that it was 
 through Mr. Williston's teaching that I 
 became a Christian. That teaching be- 
 gan, however, when I was at home in 
 Eagleville, a wild, careless lad who cared 
 for nothing but fun and frolic. Mr. Wil- 
 liston began a Sunday-school in the town 
 and brought me into it. I learned there 
 about Christ and how he died to save 
 sinners. I learned hymns and Bible 
 verses, but it was not until I had fallen 
 into sin here at Clegg Hole that all these 
 things touched my heart. Then I felt 
 myself to be lost indeed if Jesus did not 
 save me, and I found out that there is no 
 life worth living but that of a Christian. 
 My friends, we Western folks don't take 
 
 26
 
 302 PHIL, DERRY. 
 
 naturally to religion, and it is harder 
 work to be a Christian, seems to me, in 
 our rough way of life, than on East, where 
 it's all churches and Sunday-schools and 
 good books." 
 
 Several murmured assent to this as- 
 sertion. 
 
 " But the Bible was sent to us all, and 
 Jesus Christ died for us all ; and surely 
 we ought to try and live as though we 
 believed it." 
 
 Again there were voices heard agreeing 
 with the speaker. 
 
 " Now," said he, with growing earnest- 
 ness, " why not make use of the plan that 
 was proposed a while ago, and take up a 
 contribution for books and other things ? 
 Only, instead of a singing-school, I ask 
 you, fathers, mothers, and children, why 
 not make it a Sunday-school ?" 
 
 Phil stopped. His question was a start- 
 ling one to such an audience; he must 
 give his hearers a chance to think about 
 the proposal. The thinking had to be
 
 STEVE HOLMAN'S BARN. 303 
 
 done in a loud way, too, for Clegg Hole 
 liked to speak its mind. The young folks 
 who had formed the singing-class had 
 taken a fancy to their leader, and were 
 ready to believe that whatever he said 
 was right. Those who knew Phil as the 
 energetic worker during the recent ca- 
 lamity were disposed to regard his pro- 
 posal favourably out of gratitude, and a 
 few, like Stokes the landlord, who saw for 
 themselves the great change wrought by 
 the hand of God in Phil Derry, once the 
 young gambler and drunkard, now the 
 Christian missionary, were moved with a 
 deeper feeling. 
 
 The meeting in Steve Holman's barn 
 lasted late that afternoon. So strange a 
 plan as that of a Sunday-school could 
 not be accepted or rejected without every- 
 body having a " say " in the matter. One 
 or two youngsters demurred, because, as 
 they said, " Singin' was fun, but Sunday- 
 school must be a slow affair." These 
 were assured that in Sunday-school they
 
 304 PHIL DERUY. 
 
 should have singing to their hearts' con- 
 tent, and they were quite reconciled. The 
 final decision of Clegg Hole was ex- 
 pressed by Stokes the landlord. " None 
 of us knows," said he, "how the thing 
 may turn out. The most of us, neigh- 
 bours, has one time or another risked 
 our money in lotteries. Now, says I, 
 this Sunday-school business can't be 
 more uncertain than a lottery. The 
 prize offered is, as I take it, the saving 
 of our children's souls. If it's only one 
 out of the whole lot that wins, and he 
 gets that prize, my judgment is that it's 
 a good speculation." 
 
 With these words Stokes pulled off 
 his dirty slouched hat and held it in one 
 hand, while with the other he dived into 
 the depths of his pocket and brought 
 forth a handful of money, which he 
 threw into the hat without counting, 
 nudging and nodding to the bystanders 
 right and left to follow his example. 
 
 Philip Derry stood silent now, gazing
 
 STEVE HOLMAN'S BARN. 305 
 
 with wonder at the effect of his words, 
 or rather at the answer God was giving 
 to his prayers. Could this indeed be 
 Clegg Hole the spot from which at first 
 sight he had shrunk back years ago in 
 dread and foreboding ? Could this man 
 at this moment making the first contri- 
 bution to the cause of religion ever made 
 in the town be the very same Stokes who 
 had treated him so gruffly at his former 
 visit ? He looked at the hat passing from 
 hand to hand, receiving in its greasy in- 
 terior a collection that would have done 
 credit to a more promising-looking crowd; 
 he looked and marvelled, and in the si- 
 lence of his heart gave thanks to God. 
 
 26* U
 
 CHAPTER XXVII. 
 
 UNEXPECTED HELPERS. 
 
 [VERY one knows that it takes 
 more than money to build up a 
 Sunday-school. The meeting in 
 the barn over and the crowd dis- 
 persed, the missionary wandered to the 
 edge of the river, the scene only a few 
 days previous of so much suffering and 
 loss, and pondered as to the course to be 
 pursued. The liberal gifts which had 
 been poured into his hands from Stokes's 
 slouch hat were to be spent in the pur- 
 chase of library and singing books, chil- 
 dren's papers, etc. There must be a place 
 provided for the school, there must be 
 teachers. 
 
 " Very well," said Phil as he paced 
 the river bank, speaking, as he thought, 
 
 306
 
 UNEXPECTED HELPERS. 307 
 
 very softly and to nobody but himself; 
 "'Thus far the Lord hath led me on/ 
 and 'How firm a foundation, ye saints 
 of the Lord !' " 
 
 It was a way Phil had of mixing up 
 hymns and comforting himself by a line 
 here and a line there, just as they hap- 
 pened to fit in with his reflections. He 
 was certainly pondering that moment on 
 the difficulties of the work before him, 
 and taking courage from the remem- 
 brance of what God had already brought 
 him through while he tried to establish 
 his faith for Clegg Hole on that " firm 
 foundation." 
 
 " Hallo there !" shouted a rough voice. 
 "What an absent-minded young feller 
 you are, to be sure !" 
 
 Phil started and looked around him in 
 every direction to discover the owner of 
 the voice. It proved to be a man with a 
 big red nose and an ugly scar on one 
 cheek who stood leaning against a tree 
 near by idly chewing a quid of tobacco
 
 308 PHIL, DERRY. 
 
 and pausing at every two or three words 
 to spit. 
 
 "Don't remember me, eh? 'Tain't 
 likely you do. I don't appear to be just 
 the sort of chap for a preacher to asso- 
 ciate with." 
 
 The man spit and chuckled, then 
 looked steadily in Phil's face to discover 
 from its expression whether he was 
 recognized or not. The young man 
 returned the gaze with the unconcern 
 which is natural on seeing a countenance 
 which has no connection with one's past 
 or present, probably none with one's 
 future. Just for one instant Phil looked 
 at his companion thus, and then a sud- 
 den paleness overspread his face and the 
 hopeful, trusting look of a soul strength- 
 ening itself on God's promises gave place 
 to one of mingled shame and disgust. 
 The scar on the cheek, the big red nose, 
 were painfully familiar as being associated 
 with a day never to be recalled without 
 pain. The man saw that he was known,
 
 UNEXPECTED HELPERS. 309 
 
 saw, too, the repugnance caused by the 
 recognition, and had half a mind to be 
 angry. 
 
 " 'Tain't always agreeable, I suppose, to 
 fall in with old acquaintances, 'specially 
 when you've took a turn in a very differ- 
 ent direction. Don't feel disposed for a 
 game of billiards this afternoon, eh, Mr. 
 Deny?" 
 
 Phil made no answer, he was so over- 
 taken by surprise, so sick at heart, with 
 sorrowful remembrance. The man saw 
 and understood what his honest features 
 expressed so forcibly, and presently said 
 with a spit and a good-humoured chuckle, 
 
 " I see just how 'tis, but I don't blame 
 you. I have felt sorry ever since that 
 I was so hard on you, but maybe you 
 don't know yet what a little fool you 
 was for tryin' your luck agin an old 
 hand like me. I never would have said 
 a word about the money, though you was 
 such a fool, only I knew, you see, that it 
 wouldn't come out o' your pocket, but
 
 310 PHIL DERRY. 
 
 out o' your boss's. Never liked that man 
 Brown ; a reg'lar old skinflint." 
 
 The man paused to take breath and a 
 fresh quid of tobacco. Phil stood mo- 
 tionless, still pale and anxious, as -if in 
 fear that some new evil lay right before 
 him from the mere presence of this un- 
 welcome intruder. 
 
 " I've been sorry, Derry, as I was 
 sayin', that I had been so hard on you 
 that time, and it just come across me, 
 when I got wind of who it was and what 
 you was up to, that I might help on this 
 Sunday-school business o' yourn a little, 
 and so wipe out old scores." 
 
 The man's eyes twinkled and the scar 
 on his cheek grew red and ugly as he 
 laughed his rough, coarse laugh, which 
 was really in harmless amusement at his 
 companion's perplexity, but which Phil 
 imagined a prophecy of some trouble, he 
 could not guess what, about to befall him. 
 With his customary chuckle and spit, 
 Joel Pratt for that was the name so
 
 UNEXPECTED HELPERS. 311 
 
 memorable in Phil's Clegg Hole expe- 
 rience said : 
 
 " 'Pears to me, youngster, you're 
 mighty afraid of me yet. Well, no 
 wonder. But we're not going to play 
 billiards again, you know. Now, what 
 I had to say was this. The old billiard- 
 saloon is still standing ; you know that, 
 maybe, though you haven't been in to 
 give us a call this time. Too pious now, 
 eh? I hear you want a place to hold 
 meetin's in. How will the old place do 
 for a Sunday-school room ?" 
 
 The man laughed, as well he might, 
 at Phil's wondering look. 
 
 " Do you mean But of course I 
 don't quite understand you. Tell me 
 again what you said." 
 
 " I said, or meant to say," continued 
 Joel, "that if my place there it's my 
 property still will answer your purpose 
 to preach and pray in, or whatever you 
 like, you're quite welcome to the use of 
 it every Sunday as long as it stands.
 
 312 PHIL DERBY. 
 
 Moreover, I'll see that it's swept out 
 clean for you each time, so that the chil- 
 dren shall not have so much as the smell 
 o' tobacco and whisky. If you like my 
 offer, take it ; if not, enough said." 
 
 Phil did like the offer, and said so with 
 a very hearty shake of the hand. The 
 strangely paired couple parted, and Phil 
 went back to his lodgings that Sunday 
 evening singing with a new sense of its 
 truth the hymn : 
 
 " God moves in a mysterious way 
 His wonders to perform." 
 
 The day following our earnest young 
 missionary busied himself in going on 
 a round of calls from house to house, 
 with intent to follow up the public meet- 
 ing of Sunday with private conversa- 
 tions with fathers and mothers about the 
 great duty of bringing up their children 
 in the fear of the Lord. Everywhere 
 he went he found the special work God 
 had ready for him to do that day. Here 
 was a man cast down by his losses in
 
 UNEXPECTED HELPERS. 313 
 
 the flood needing words of comfort ; there 
 a father wasting his money in drink and 
 setting a bad example to his sons to whom 
 a solemn admonition must be given. At 
 one place there was a worldly mother 
 who spent all she could on her daughter's 
 dress, but had not a cent for her soul's 
 welfare, for whom Phil had just the right 
 tract in his pocket ; at another, a soul just 
 hovering between time and eternity to 
 whom the young man's prayer and softly- 
 spoken Bible words gave strength and 
 consolation. The special work in hand, 
 that of arousing an interest in the Sun- 
 day-school, seemed to prosper even be- 
 <yond the expectations of Phil, who knew 
 Clegg Hole too well to be very sanguine. 
 Scholars were ready to come, a place had 
 been provided by Joel Pratt, books and 
 other requisites were already sent for. 
 The only thing lacking now was teach- 
 ers, and a serious lack it was. Here no 
 Captain Marks could be found to super- 
 intend, no faithful Miss Millet to study 
 
 27
 
 314 PHIL DERRY. 
 
 diligently herself in order to instruct 
 others. Phil thought of Hallie Hope 
 and her school at Shunem with a vague 
 wish that duplicates of her might be 
 given to Clegg Hole and every other 
 town to which his missionary work should 
 lead him. That wish could not be grant- 
 ed, of course ; and even if it had been, it 
 is more than doubtful if a young lady 
 like Miss Hope would have succeeded in 
 managing just such a set of people as 
 made up this community. Phil's faith 
 would have been not a little strength- 
 ened that Monday morning could he 
 have foreseen the aid God had in store 
 for Clegg Hole. 
 
 After spending the whole day visiting 
 the townspeople, he turned toward his 
 lodging, tired, but hopeful of brighter 
 days for this ungodly little place, for had 
 he not often prayerfully committed it to 
 God ? and if the Almighty saved Nine- 
 veh of old, out of his great compassion 
 would he not also save Clegg Hole?
 
 UNEXPECTED HELPEES. 315 
 
 Phil was stepping briskly past the door 
 of Stokes's tavern, when his attention was 
 caught by a face at an upper window. 
 It was that of a man rather beyond mid- 
 dle age, with no very expressive feature 
 about it, but which, taken as a whole, 
 suggested to the charitable looker on the 
 hope that the owner of the face had a 
 rich father, a go-ahead son, or some other 
 family connection able to shelter him 
 from the serious responsibilities of life. 
 
 Phil glanced up, then went on a step 
 or two and turned his head to get an- 
 other look at the face in the window, and 
 then, a quick smile coming over his own 
 face, he came briskly back to the tavern, 
 skipped up the dingy stairs, taking three 
 at a time, and was presently inside the 
 room at whose window he had discovered 
 an old friend : 
 
 " Why, Mr. Striker, can this be really 
 you ? When did you arrive? and are you 
 going to stop long? and where's your wife 
 and Hannah and the children ?" The
 
 316 PHIL DERBY. 
 
 questions came thick and fast, and all 
 the while the big, strong hand of the 
 speaker was shaking the nerveless brown 
 one that lay in its palm with a mighty 
 grasp. 
 
 " Yes, it's me ; got here this morning ; 
 goin' to stop altogether if Mercy thinks 
 best; and there she is," replied Tom 
 Striker, taking each inquiry in its turn 
 with the drawling exactness of a child 
 reciting a rule in arithmetic. He looked 
 toward a door which communicated with 
 a smaller inner room, at whose knob some- 
 body on the other side was fumbling as 
 if with wet hands. Phil's eyes took the 
 same direction, and presently the door 
 opened and revealed Mrs. Mercy Striker 
 herself, a towel in her hand which had 
 evidently been doing double duty in both 
 washing and wiping the hands of several 
 young Strikers still grimy from their 
 journey. She nodded in a cool way to 
 Phil, evidently taking him for some per-
 
 UNEXPECTED HELPERS. 317 
 
 son connected with the tavern, and said, 
 shortly, 
 
 " If you've got any business, young 
 man, come to me about it at once. Don't 
 waste time talking to him," nodding to- 
 ward her husband. " Have you brought 
 that box along that I spoke about? I 
 want it up here as quick as it can be got, 
 and so I told that sleepy landlord down 
 stairs. Come, are you goin' to answer 
 me now or next month?" 
 
 Energetic Mrs. Striker paused and 
 surveyed the supposed delinquent with 
 a searching severity in the look which 
 matched her words. 
 
 " Why, Mrs. Striker, don't you" 
 
 But Phil got no further. Dashing the 
 towel on the floor and her arms about 
 the visitor's neck, the good woman burst 
 out crying and talking in very discon- 
 nected sentences, all of which might be 
 interpreted to mean that she was very 
 glad, very much surprised, and entirely 
 overcome at the appearance of her old 
 
 27*
 
 318 PHIL DERRY. 
 
 favourite. The excitement -waa helped 
 on by the laughing and screwming of the 
 young Strikers, who came forth from the 
 other room to echo their mother's wel- 
 come as soon as it was known that this 
 was not a porter or clerk of the tavern, 
 but their old friend Phil Derry. After 
 a while all the company got their breath 
 again and proceeded to explain matters 
 to one another. 
 
 " That Tom of mine," said Mrs. Striker, 
 confidentially, "has lost the little luck 
 he ever had. I manage to keep things 
 goin' somehow ; but when a man's out o' 
 work and just lyin' round in your way, it 
 comes hard to keep everything up to the 
 mark." 
 
 " I know," interposed her hearer, by 
 way of sympathy ; " it was just about so 
 at our house after father was taken away." 
 
 Mrs. Striker drew herself up very 
 straight : 
 
 . " I don't mean you to suppose no, not 
 for one moment, Phil Derry that my
 
 UNEXPECTED HELPERS. 319 
 
 house ever looked like yours. I'd work 
 my fingers to the bone before I'd let my 
 children live in dirt and rags the way your 
 mother did. But there, now ! I didn't go 
 to hurt your feelings ; 'twarn't your fault." 
 
 " But how came you all this way from 
 Eagleville?" asked Phil, desirous of 
 changing the subject. " There isn't 
 much business going on here. What 
 does your husband think of doing ?" 
 
 " Why, lawsy me, Phil ! didn't you 
 know that Tom's half brother lives here ? 
 John Larkin's his name. He wrote on 
 to us very encouraging, and so I con- 
 cluded to pack up and come on. He has 
 lost nearly everything by the freshet, 
 John has. That's the reason we put up 
 here instead of at his house, because his 
 house was carried away by the flood. We 
 didn't hear the bad news until we was all 
 ready to start, and then says I, ' What's 
 the difference? It would take a pretty 
 big flood to wash away my ambition, and 
 as for Tom, he never had any, so we
 
 320 PHIL DERRY. 
 
 might as well begin afresh in Clegg Hole 
 as in Eagleville ;' and the long and the 
 short of it is, here we are, bag and bag- 
 gage." 
 
 Phil did not get away from the tavern 
 till a late hour. There was so much to 
 be told on both sides ; there was all the 
 Eagleville news to be learned, all that 
 Phil knew of his mother's present affairs 
 to be talked over, his own experience of 
 missionary life to be given, and the pros- 
 pects of the Striker family to be dis- 
 cussed. As may well be imagined, poor 
 Tom Striker sat in the background, while 
 his wife kept up the conversation, the 
 children putting in a word, or rather a 
 shout, now and then. 
 
 "So you've actually got a Sunday- 
 school started in this outlandish little 
 place ?" remarked Mrs. Striker. 
 
 "Started? Well, no, I can hardly 
 call it started yet, but we're working to- 
 wards a start." 
 
 "I'm glad to hear that very glad,"
 
 UNEXPECTED HELPERS. 321 
 
 was the emphatic comment. " You hear 
 that, children, do you ? Better be look- 
 ing over your last lessons against next 
 Sunday, so's not to make your mother 
 ashamed of you after all the privileges 
 you've enjoyed." 
 
 " I tell you what, Phil Derry," ex- 
 claimed Mrs. Striker, turning again to 
 the young man : " that Sunday-school has 
 been the very saving of Eagleville. You 
 know what a rowdy sort of place it was 
 when you were a little boy well, I may 
 say, when you came away. Now it's not 
 thought respectable to get drunk or to 
 gamble; and did you know they have 
 preaching there once a month reg'lar? 
 Yes, indeed ; there's a man comes over 
 
 from R the second Sunday of every 
 
 month ; he puts up with the captain. He 
 gives 'em powerful preaching, I tell you 
 what. Why, there's ever so many been 
 converted. There's Jenks and Carter and 
 Carter's wife," mused Mrs. Striker, count- 
 ing them off on her fingers. "There's 
 v
 
 322 PHIL DERRY. 
 
 the Purdys ; you know what a thriftless 
 sort of body she was. Jerry Jones, too, 
 he joined lately " 
 
 " What ! Jerry Jones a church mem- 
 ber?" interrupted her attentive listener. 
 " Well, I never would have dared hope 
 for his conversion." 
 
 "What's that you say?" and Mrs. 
 Striker fixed her eyes sharply on the 
 young man's face. " You a missionary 
 and not dare hope for any man's conver- 
 sion ? Humph ! I thought better of you." 
 
 " I ought not to have said that," was 
 the mild reply. " I, of all people, ought 
 not to set a limit to the Lord's mercy." 
 
 " Of course you ought not," chimed in 
 Mrs. Striker. " But now I want to 
 know all about this Clegg Hole affair. 
 When John Larkin wrote to us about 
 coming on, he said it was a pretty hard 
 place, and that if we made any account 
 of meetings and such like we'd better 
 make up our minds to do without all re- 
 ligious privileges. Let's hear how it is."
 
 UNEXPECTED HELPERS. 323 
 
 As soon as the well-meaning talker 
 gave Phil a chance he did let her hear 
 all there was to be heard about the Sun- 
 day-school scheme in Clegg Hole, and 
 ended by saying, 
 
 ." Everything else seemed promising, 
 but up to this time I have been greatly 
 perplexed as to what we were to do for 
 teachers." 
 
 "Up to this time?" questioned Mrs. 
 Striker. 
 
 " Yes ; it's all right now," was Phil's 
 smiling answer. " I take that to be one 
 reason of your coming to Clegg Hole. 
 God sent you in answer to my prayers 
 for teachers." 
 
 This was said with great reverence and 
 sincerity, for our young missionary had 
 learned in his own Christian experience 
 that Christ's word is to be trusted when 
 he says, " Ask, and ye shall receive," and 
 that "whatsoever ye shall ask of the 
 Father in my name he may give it to 
 you." He had earnestly asked that the
 
 324 PHIL DERRY. 
 
 salvation of God might come to this 
 wicked little town. He had prayed that 
 his efforts for a Sunday-school might be 
 used as God's means of bringing true 
 religion to the knowledge of its people.. 
 To this end he had fervently entreated 
 that good teachers might be provided. 
 
 Mrs. Striker smiled approvingly. " You 
 always were a sensible boy, Phil," she 
 said. " Well, if you really want me to 
 take hold and work in this Sunday- 
 school, I'm ready. Who's to superin- 
 tend ? You do while you stay, of course, 
 but you missionaries never do any more 
 than see the thing going, and then you're 
 off somewhere else. Who's to be super- 
 intendent right along ?" 
 
 " You," replied Phil, simply. 
 
 " All right. You may count on me. 
 There's Hannah ; she'll take a class of 
 girls. Hannah's been a teacher in the 
 Eagleville school these six months." 
 
 Phil looked toward Hannah, who was 
 sitting mutely in the corner reading. A
 
 UNEXPECTED HELPERS. 325 
 
 tall, angular girl she was, with a de- 
 termined look that proved her to be of 
 much the same character as her mother. 
 She glanced up when her name was 
 spoken, and nodded her head. 
 
 "There's Jane, too," continued the 
 mother. " She's rather young yet, to be 
 sure, but Jane is a real good girl ; she 
 and Hannah, both of 'em, have been truly 
 converted." She gave this last assurance 
 in a softer tone and with more apparent 
 feeling than one would have expected 
 from such a woman. " I'll trust Jane to 
 take a class of little ones and do her duty 
 by 'em." 
 
 " Then I shall depend on you all next 
 Sunday," said Phil as he rose to take 
 leave. " I knew that when a place and 
 money were so freely offered for the 
 school the teachers would surely be pro- 
 vided too, but I never guessed that even 
 when I was praying for them they were 
 on their way here from dear old Eagle- 
 ville." 
 
 28
 
 CHAPTER XXVIII. 
 
 A CHANGE OF SCENE. 
 
 ? is hardly necessary to say that 
 !i C ^pi when our missionary said good- 
 bye to his friends at Clegg Hole 
 the new Sunday-school was in a 
 fair way to succeed. Hannah Striker's 
 powerful voice and familiarity with most 
 of the popular hymns won for her the 
 immediate good will of the children, and 
 comforted them somewhat for the loss of 
 Phil. A good-sized library shone in 
 bindings of gay red and blue on the 
 shelves which Joel Pratt had neatly fitted 
 up in a corner of the saloon, and a gen- 
 eral interest among young and old alike 
 was beginning to be felt in the enterprise. 
 How different were the feelings of the 
 young man as he took his seat in the 
 
 326
 
 A CHANGE OF SCENE. 327 
 
 stage amid numberless hand-shakings 
 and good wishes of so many friends from 
 that former starting off in disgrace, with 
 no one to give him an encouraging word 
 but his true benefactor Mr. Williston and 
 poor Sukey Stokes ! When the door of 
 the stage was closed and he was again 
 whirling past the dwellings and fields 
 now so familiar to him, a fervent thanks- 
 giving filled his heart that God had al- 
 lowed him to do some good for souls in 
 the very place where his own soul had 
 been so endangered. 
 
 Riding through the beautiful Western 
 country had always a charm for Phil, 
 even though in his life of almost constant 
 travel it had become, as one might say, 
 "an old story." He had acquired the 
 habit of showing himself friendly to 
 travelling companions that he might 
 through such small courtesies as came in 
 his way find means of speaking a word 
 in season for his Master and theirs. If 
 left to himself, as on this particular occa-
 
 328 PHIL DEERY. 
 
 sion he was, a long ride brought no weari- 
 ness of spirit with it, for his pocket al- 
 ways held the little Testament with which 
 he had left Eagleville as Nathan Brown's 
 assistant, and a bundle of tracts; his well- 
 worn hymn-book, too, was always within 
 reach, and many a joyful melody was 
 wafted over hills and plains where per- 
 haps no such sounds had ever before 
 been heard. 
 
 For the most part, the work to which 
 our hero had devoted his life lay among 
 ignorant people living in rude settle- 
 ments that were just struggling for ex- 
 istence. Sometimes, however, the expe- 
 rience was varied, and he found himself 
 sent with a message to people blest with 
 abundance of this world's goods, and even 
 blest in spiritual things to some extent, 
 but without that religious vitality which 
 is suggested by such Bible phrases as 
 "Fight the good fight of faith;" "Strive 
 to enter in at the strait gate;" "Fer- 
 vent in spirit, serving the Lord." The
 
 A CHANGE OF SCENE. 329 
 
 city of E, was an example of this. 
 
 When Phil arrived there one fine spring 
 morning, and moved behind the crowd 
 of well-dressed people through the sub- 
 stantial railroad station, he felt at a loss 
 what to do, wondering for the moment if 
 he had not made some mistake as to his 
 instructions ; " For," said simple-minded 
 Phil to himself, "surely in so fine a place 
 as this there can't be any work for a poor 
 missionary to do." This impression be- 
 came fixed in his mind as, with valise in 
 hand, he made his way along one of the 
 principal streets. There were handsome 
 dwellings, stores with enormous windows 
 of plate-glass, the like of which our Eagle- 
 vine boy had never seen before. There 
 were hotels that certainly would disown 
 relationship to the very plain taverns of 
 Clegg Hole and similar places he had 
 visited. Best of all, there were churches, 
 fine large ones, built of brick and stone. 
 " Ah, yes !" thought Phil ; " there can't 
 be any work for me in R . I might 
 
 28 *
 
 330 PHIL DEKRY. 
 
 as well start off by the next train and 
 write to our excellent secretary at Phil- 
 adelphia that there was nothing to do 
 here." But a moment's reflection served 
 to show that this would be a very unwise 
 course. Having reached the place, he 
 ought certainly to find out something 
 about it, and try to receive good if he 
 failed to impart it. Having inquired the 
 names of two or three pastors, Phil made 
 it his first business to call upon them. 
 The first one with whom he sought an 
 interview was out of town ; the second 
 had an engagement at that very hour; 
 and wearied and disheartened, Phil rang 
 the door-bell of the Rev. Paul Cathcart. 
 He was admitted and shown at once to 
 the minister's study. A little man with 
 iron-gray hair and keen but pleasant 
 blue eyes rose to meet the stranger. Phil 
 introduced himself in as few words as 
 possible as an agent of " The American 
 Sunday-school Union," and stated that 
 he had taken the liberty of calling in
 
 A CHANGE OF SCENE. 331 
 
 order to learn the condition of Sunday- 
 schools in R . 
 
 " Be seated, my friend, be seated," said 
 Mr. Cathcart, cordially, wheeling a cush- 
 ioned arm-chair toward the study-table. 
 " Sunday-school agent, eh ? An excellent 
 work you have undertaken, sir an excel- 
 lent work. I understand that the Ameri- 
 can Sunday-school Union has accom- 
 plished an amazing amount of good in the 
 needy places of the West. An excellent 
 institution, I am sure." * 
 
 * " HALF A CENTURY'S WORK, 1824-1874. 
 Schools organized, over ... 60,000 
 Containing teachers, " ... 400,000 
 
 Containing scholars, " ... 2,500,000 
 
 In addition to the Sunday-schools actually organized, 
 there has been another and equally important work, to 
 wit: to nurture and sustain these and other schools. The 
 records show that by visits and words of counsel and en- 
 couragement and gifts of books and papers, assistance 
 has been extended in 87,291 cases, with a membership of 
 teachers 674,959, and of scholars 4,842,768. Amount 
 expended in missionary operations (1824-1874), $2,133,- 
 264.13, of which about $517,000 were for books, papers, 
 etc., furnished to needy Sunday-schools." 
 
 From "The Origin and Work of the American Sun- 
 day-school Union, Semi-Centennial, 1874," p. 10.
 
 332 PHIL DERBY. 
 
 The Rev. Paul Cathcart said all this 
 in a meditative way, and might have gone 
 on in the same strain for a couple of hours 
 had not his visitor brought him to some- 
 thing more definite by a direct question 
 as to the state of the Sunday-school con- 
 nected with his own church. At this 
 Mr. Cathcart ran his fingers through his 
 gray hair several times, and then softly 
 rubbed his hands : 
 
 " Our Sunday-school ? Hm-m-m! Well, 
 I presume the superintendent could give 
 you more exact information about it than 
 I. In fact, I am sorry to say that my 
 congregation do not take as much inter- 
 est in the matter as they ought. They 
 want a little stirring up on the subject 
 now and then. There are so many ex- 
 penses connected with a church like ours 
 that really, when it comes to the Sunday- 
 school, they are not able to do much for 
 it." 
 
 " I understand you, then, sir, to say
 
 A CHANGE OF SCENE. 333 
 
 that your people are poor ?" said simple- 
 minded Phil. 
 
 " Poor ! Oh, not exactly that," an- 
 swered the pastor, with a quiet smile. 
 " But we have lately got a new organ, 
 and the choir costs considerable. There 
 have been several improvements made in 
 the church-building during the past year, 
 and various other matters have come up 
 bringing expense upon the parish, so we 
 can't blame them altogether for falling 
 short somewhere." 
 
 Mr. Cathcart looked toward his guest 
 as if expecting an answer, and so Phil 
 nodded, and said, 
 
 " Of course not," at the same time 
 making answer in his heart that there 
 was blame in letting that " somewhere " 
 be at the door of the Sunday-school. 
 
 " By the way, sir," said Mr. Cathcart, 
 " to-morrow will be Sunday, and perhaps 
 you will be kind enough to step in and 
 give the children a talk ; the teachers too. 
 Stir them up if you can, sir."
 
 334 PHIL DERBY. 
 
 " At what hour, Mr. Cathcart ?" 
 " The school is held in the basement of 
 the church directly after morning service. 
 I should be pleased to have you call here, 
 say about ten o'clock, and go with my 
 family to church, and after that I will 
 introduce you to Mr. Jay, our superin- 
 tendent. He will give you all the infor- 
 mation you desire, and be pleased to have 
 your aid in interesting the school, I have 
 no doubt." 
 
 Phil accepted the invitation and took 
 his leave. Next morning, when the first 
 bells were ringing, he again presented 
 himself at Mr. Cathcart's residence, was 
 introduced to his wife and daughters, and 
 with them entered by far the most beau- 
 tiful church he had ever seen. He sat 
 spellbound while the skilful organist 
 drew forth from the instrument a soft 
 and dreamy voluntary. He looked with 
 wonder at -the richly-stained windows, 
 and passed through the service in a sort 
 of dream. When the minister rose and
 
 A CHANGE OP SCENE. 335 
 
 gave out his text, he listened intently, 
 for he expected a rare feast for his soul 
 from the word of God when expounded 
 by such a learned man as the Rev. Paul 
 Cathcart must needs be. How disap- 
 pointed he was ! One of dear Mr. Wil- 
 liston's plain talks in some rough old 
 school-house during those pleasant mis- 
 sionary journeys they had taken together 
 had more of heaven and Christ in one 
 sentence than could be found in that 
 whole sermon. Phil leaned back against 
 the cushions, and cared no more for 
 stained windows, grand organ, or well- 
 trained singers. He had never borne his 
 part in the public worship of God with 
 so little earnestness. For this he blamed 
 himself severely, and was grieved at his 
 own lack of zeal. At the close of the 
 meeting Mr. Cathcart joined him and 
 introduced him to Mr. Jay, as he had 
 promised. This gentleman conducted 
 him to the basement, where he in turn 
 introduced the missionary to several ladies
 
 336 PHIL DERBY. 
 
 and gentlemen who were teachers. The 
 children were coming in, and Phil's heart 
 grew lighter; he was in his element now, 
 and ready to join with all his soul in the 
 exercises. 
 
 The superintendent touched his bell, 
 and then gave out a hymn. A lady took 
 her seat in front of a small instrument 
 and played the tune. It was one of 
 Phil's favourites, and he opened his 
 mouth to sing. Before the first verse 
 was ended he came to a sudden stop, 
 finding himself alone. A few little voices 
 were feebly drawling out the words a 
 whole line behind him, and everybody, 
 teachers as well as scholars, was looking 
 at him with astonishment. Phil let them 
 finish the hymn without his help, all the 
 while filled with a sorrowful memory of 
 the hearty praises that had rung again 
 and again through the old barn in Clegg 
 Hole. 
 
 The prayers and the lessons matched 
 the singing. There was no heart about
 
 A CHANGE OF SCENE. 337 
 
 any of them. The only time when there 
 did seem a flutter of interest was when 
 the library books were distributed. Even 
 that was very faint, for the books were 
 old, and the larger scholars pushed them 
 aside, having read them all once and 
 again. 
 
 Phil rose to speak. The children 
 looked tired and the teachers indifferent. 
 They were used to little formal speeches 
 from the superintendent, and now and 
 then from the pastor, who felt it his duty 
 to address them occasionally. Perhaps 
 the like of the missionary's hearty, strong 
 voice had never been heard in that room. 
 At any rate, hardly had Phil begun 
 speaking before a look of interest began 
 to dawn in several small faces, and before 
 he had finished every pair of eyes was 
 fixed full upon his face, and eveiy pair 
 of ears was taking in with pleasure his 
 account of other Sunday-schools where 
 they did not have an organ to lead the 
 singing, nor such a nice room to meet in. 
 
 29 W
 
 338 PHIL DEREY. 
 
 The children were dismissed. At the 
 superintendent's request the teachers re- 
 mained to hear, as he said, " any sugges- 
 tions that our missionary friend may 
 make for the benefit of the school." 
 
 " Suggestions !" echoed Phil, his face 
 and heart both aglow with enthusiasm; 
 " I can only suggest that you ask the 
 Lord to grant you another day of Pen- 
 tecost. What this school needs, in my 
 judgment, is the coming of the Holy 
 Ghost. Let us pray." 
 
 The ladies and gentlemen all knelt as 
 a matter of course, each one thinking, 
 " What a queer, excitable fellow this is, to 
 be sure !" Phil's prayer was, as usual, a 
 very simple one. He was not gifted with 
 eloquence and had not many words of 
 more than two syllables at his command. 
 He had a way, however, of knowing ex- 
 actly what he wanted and of asking God 
 to give him just that thing. Any one 
 who said " Amen " to Phil's prayer was 
 in no danger of setting his seal to a peti-
 
 A CHANGE OF SCENE. 339 
 
 tion ignorantly. After a short talk, in 
 which the visitor spoke very plainly 
 about the lack he had felt in the exer- 
 cises, the little group separated. Mr. 
 Jay shook Phil's hand cordially at part- 
 ing, inviting him to look in upon them 
 again. Not a word said he, however, of 
 the sharp sword, of truth which Phil's 
 homely words had driven into his con- 
 science. He was an honest man, this 
 superintendent ; and when that sword had 
 once fairly cut through the crust of for- 
 mality, it did a mighty work. For many 
 Sundays after that the teachers and schol- 
 ars of the school marvelled at the change 
 that had come over Mr. Jay. By and 
 by they ceased to marvel, for the leaven, 
 hidden first in his heart, soon had an 
 influence on the whole school, and in due 
 time upon the church itself, in the form 
 of a great revival. Mr. Cathcart con- 
 gratulated himself that his sermon on 
 the " valley of dry bones," which he was 
 wont to improve and repeat once a year,
 
 340 PHIL DEERY. 
 
 had at last had its effect. Mr. Jay and 
 one or two others traced the beginning 
 of this outpouring of the Spirit to a sim- 
 ple prayer uttered in the basement in the 
 presence of a group of teachers. No 
 matter ; the gift was direct from God, and 
 thereby many lips were opened to ask for 
 a continuance of it.
 
 CHAPTER XXIX. 
 
 A DIFFERENCE OF OPINION. 
 
 the afternoon, at the first sound 
 of church-bells, Phil started forth, 
 not knowing in which direction to 
 turn his steps, but intent on find- 
 ing a meeting of some sort in which he 
 might join as a worshipper. He came in 
 sight of a large stone church where many 
 people were ascending the steps, among 
 them a large proportion of children. 
 " This is the place for me," thought our 
 missionary, so he too mounted the steps, 
 and at the door was met by the sexton 
 and shown to one of the pews reserved 
 for strangers. Phil was conscious at 
 once that this church was of a different 
 sort from Mr. Cathcart's. It was a hand- 
 some edifice, and the people were equally 
 
 29 * 34k
 
 342 PHIL, DERBY. 
 
 well dressed with those he had seen in 
 the morning, but there was a stir and 
 energy in the very air. 
 
 It turned out that this was an anni- 
 versary of the Sunday-school. The 
 church was filled, the organ pealed 
 forth, and then the congregation rose 
 while the children sang an anthem of 
 praise. Phil's heart beat joyfully. Here 
 at last he was to see a Sunday-school in 
 perfection. He was to witness a model 
 which in all his future wanderings he 
 could present to new-formed schools as a 
 pattern for imitation. It must be for this 
 that he had been led to spend the day in 
 
 R . But he could not take time for 
 
 thinking just then. All eyes were turned 
 toward the platform, where a fashionably- 
 dressed girl stood reciting a poem. After 
 this there was a dialogue, then came a 
 hymn. Portions of Scripture were re- 
 peated in concert by different classes, and 
 the meeting closed by a brief address 
 from the minister. Phil lingered behind
 
 A DIFFERENCE OF OPINION. 343 
 
 the rest of the congregation, and then 
 made his way to the platform, where 
 stood the minister and one or two other 
 gentlemen. He introduced himself by 
 naming the well-known society for which 
 he laboured. 
 
 " Ah, indeed !" exclaimed one of the 
 gentlemen. " If Mr. Noble here had 
 known of your presence, he would have 
 had you up to make a speech." 
 
 " Certainly," said Mr. Noble, who was 
 the superintendent ; " it would have been 
 the very thing for the anniversary. A 
 little dull, don't you think so, doctor?" 
 turning to the minister. 
 
 " Perhaps so," was the reply ; " yet I 
 am glad to have had Mr. Derry present. 
 We pride ourselves on the success of our 
 Sunday-school, sir," he said, now address- 
 ing the visitor. "People say it goes 
 ahead of any other in town, and I be- 
 lieve it. If you would like to glance 
 over our statistics, I am sure Mr. Noble 
 will be pleased to show you his books
 
 344 PHIL DERBY. 
 
 and give you any information about the 
 working of the school." 
 
 "Most happy, I am sure," was Mr. 
 Noble's prompt assurance. " Mr. Derry, 
 if you have no other engagement, sup- 
 pose you come and take tea at my house. 
 We will come again to the evening ser- 
 vice, and " 
 
 "And then," interposed Doctor Lee, 
 " we should be pleased to hear from you 
 in regard to your admirable work. In 
 fact, we may as well devote the evening 
 collection to the cause you have in hand 
 if the official brethren don't object." 
 
 Phil thanked both his new friends 
 with much warmth, and together the 
 three gentlemen walked toward the resi- 
 dence of Mr. Noble, the parsonage being 
 in the same direction. 
 
 " You seem to have a good deal of life 
 in your school, sir," said Phil to Mr. 
 Noble. 
 
 " You are quite right there, sir, and 
 that is, no doubt, the secret of our sue-
 
 A DIFFERENCE OF OPINION. 345 
 
 cess. We have something going on all 
 the time to keep up an interest. It's a 
 good deal of expense to us, but it pays, 
 sir, it pays." 
 
 " And what is it you do ?" asked Phil. 
 " I am still but a raw recruit at my work, 
 and I want to learn all that I can from 
 those who have had greater experience." 
 
 " A very correct idea, Mr. Derry," said 
 Mr. Noble, approvingly. "The great 
 thing is, you see, to keep up an interest. 
 Now, we have all sorts of things. Last 
 Christinas we got up a tree ; such a tree 
 had never been seen in town before. It 
 cost us a good deal of money, but then 
 it paid. Why, sir, it drew the children 
 in from every quarter. Every one either 
 saw it or heard of it, and the little folks 
 came flocking in to make sure and have 
 their share in the tree next Christmas." 
 
 " Ah !" exclaimed Phil, rather doubt- 
 fully. 
 
 " We have a picnic every summer, too. 
 That goes a good way with most of
 
 346 PHIL DERBY. 
 
 the children. Every now and then we 
 offer a prize for the one who brings in 
 most scholars or who learns the greatest 
 number of texts. Sometimes it's one 
 thing, sometimes another. It keeps me 
 busy, though in fact, as I've often told 
 the doctor, I never worked so hard in 
 my life as since I undertook the super- 
 intendency of that school." 
 
 " We all know that, Mr. Noble," re- 
 plied the doctor, "and we appreciate 
 your work. If you were to give up, as 
 you threatened once, that school would 
 go down as rapidly as it has grown up." 
 
 A thought of Jonah's gourd came to 
 the missionary's mind, but he held his 
 peace and was full of self-reproach for 
 allowing it a moment's entrance. 
 
 " I suppose, then," said he, " that as it 
 costs so much to keep the school going, 
 you do not have much to spare for be- 
 nevolent objects outside." 
 
 " You would think so, now, wouldn't 
 you?" said Mr. Noble, well pleased at
 
 A DIFFERENCE OF OPINION. 347 
 
 this remark. " Let me tell you, sir, 
 there's not one school in a hundred that 
 spends at the rate ours does and yet is 
 as liberal. We give considerable to the 
 poor. Only a few months ago the ladies 
 got up an exhibition, had a wonderful 
 success, had it repeated by request, and 
 raised a hundred and odd dollars for the 
 relief of the needy here in town." 
 
 "That was a good work indeed," was 
 Phil's hearty comment. " What sort of 
 exhibition was it ?" 
 
 " It was Mr. Noble's own idea," said 
 the doctor. " He suggested it and inter- 
 ested the most efficient of our ladies in 
 it. They drilled the children and man- 
 aged things generally. They sold more 
 tickets than we dared expect." Then, in 
 answer to Phil's look of inquiry, he 
 explained, " Oh, it was a simple affair 
 enough several tableaux and a short 
 play ; a very moral sort of thing. It- 
 took amazingly." 
 
 " A play !" exclaimed Phil ; " surely
 
 348 PHIL DERBY. 
 
 you don't mean a theatrical perform- 
 ance?" 
 
 "Well, if you choose to call it so," 
 replied Mr. Noble, rather uneasily, "I 
 suppose it was. I see that you have the 
 old-fashioned prejudice against things of 
 that kind. People have got beyond that 
 now, for the most part." 
 
 Phil had to own that he did hold the 
 old-fashioned belief that all such enter- 
 tainments were out of place as connected 
 with Sunday-schools or churches. He 
 had in the wild days of his boyhood 
 seen several theatrical performances 
 given by travelling companies. He pre- 
 sumed that it must be a very different 
 sort which Mr. Noble had introduced 
 into his Sunday-school, yet he could not 
 help expressing his horror at allowing 
 the children to couple their ideas of 
 religion and charity with mimic theatri- 
 cals. 
 
 The three gentlemen had reached Mr. 
 Noble's house, and lingered on the steps
 
 A DIFFERENCE OF OPINION. 349 
 
 to finish their conversation. Phil per- 
 ceived that both minister and superin- 
 tendent were annoyed at his objection to 
 the exhibition. 
 
 " Certainly we all have a right to our 
 private opinions. The only way to prove 
 opinions, as I take it, is to put them in 
 practice and find whether they succeed 
 or not," said Doctor Lee. 
 
 " Just so, doctor," agreed Mr. Noble ; 
 " and I am sure our Sunday-school oper- 
 ations have met with remarkable suc- 
 cess ; therefore " and he smilingly 
 nodded to Phil as if inviting him to 
 finish the sentence with a compliment. 
 
 There was a good chance for a flatter- 
 ing speech, but Phil could not make one. 
 
 " My idea of a Sunday-school," said 
 he, gravely, " is simply as a place where 
 the children are led to love God and keep 
 his commandments. If they are able to 
 give to the poor, it is well ; but to have 
 them taught by the very ones who in- 
 struct them in the word of God to take 
 
 30
 
 350 PHIL DERRY. 
 
 part in theatrical plays for the amuse- 
 ment of the public Oh, gentlemen, I 
 cannot agree with you that it is right. 
 Better assist the poor in some other way. 
 I am a plain man my religion is plain, 
 and so are my words and I may be 
 giving offence. I do not wish to do so, 
 but I must say that if such is Sunday- 
 school success I had much rather be 
 counted unsuccessful in my labours. I 
 want my work to stand the test of the 
 day of judgment; do you think yours 
 will?" 
 
 Phil stopped, conscious of having said 
 more than was prudent. He was still 
 more conscious of it when Doctor Lee, 
 with a cool bow, stepped back to the side- 
 walk, saying that he believed he must 
 hasten home to prepare for the evening, 
 and went off. 
 
 "Will you go in, Mr. Deny?" Mr. 
 Noble took the door-key from his pocket 
 and looked doubtfully at Phil. 
 
 " Perhaps I had better not, after all,"
 
 A DIFFERENCE OF OPINION. 351 
 
 he answered. " I believe I have hurt 
 your feelings by the expression of my 
 own ; I am very sorry." 
 
 " It is of no consequence," said the 
 other; " it is not worth while speaking of 
 it. Perhaps, though, as you have your- 
 self perceived the doctor's sensitiveness 
 to such remarks, it would be as well to 
 say nothing further about your address- 
 ing his congregation this evening. You 
 might happen to express very different 
 ideas from his, which would hardly be the 
 courteous thing, you will admit." Mr. 
 Noble turned the door-knob and looked 
 toward Phil, as if inviting him to enter, 
 but the young man declined and took his 
 leave. 
 
 " Such nonsense !" muttered the super- 
 intendent as he closed the door between 
 him and his intended guest.
 
 CHAPTER XXX. 
 
 A BELATED TRAVELLER. 
 
 , HE little village of Westwater lay 
 in a nook of the mountains so far 
 from any great centre of business 
 or travel that very few besides its 
 own inhabitants knew what a charming 
 place it was. I use the past tense in 
 speaking of it, because, since the date of 
 my story, great changes have occurred, 
 and the far West is no longer an un- 
 known country to tourists and pleasure- 
 seekers. There were waterfalls beau- 
 tiful enough to write poems about, bits of 
 scenery worthy the canvas of the greatest 
 painter, and woods through which any 
 school-boy would delight to wander on a 
 holiday, but Westwater itself was a poor 
 little village, with nothing to recom- 
 
 352
 
 A BELATED TEAVELLEE. 353 
 
 mend it to any but those who loved it as 
 their home. 
 
 At the fireside of one of its rude cot- 
 tages one autumn evening sat a middle- 
 aged man and his wife, she making her 
 knitting-needles fly in and out the meshes 
 of gray yarn soon to take the complete 
 shape of a sock, he, with elbows on his 
 knees and his chin resting on his palms, 
 steadily gazing into the pleasant blaze. 
 They sat silent thus a good while. At last 
 the man glanced up and said, 
 
 " I'm clear discouraged, Mary. Noth- 
 ing prospers with us this year. We've 
 lost the cow, your rheumatiz keeps get- 
 ting worse and worse. There's the garden 
 too ; I've spent more on it than we'll get 
 from it, by a good deal." 
 
 " I know," said the wife, cheerily. " It 
 does look pretty dull just now, but 'every 
 cloud has its silver lining,' John." 
 
 " So they say, but somehow I can't turn 
 our clouds wrong side out, so as to show 
 the lining." 
 
 30* X
 
 354 PHIL, DERRY. 
 
 They sat silent again for a few min- 
 utes, and not a sound was heard but the 
 whistling wind outside and the clicking 
 of the busy needles within. Then John 
 roused up, moved his chair a little back 
 from the fire, and said, 
 
 " If 'twarn't for the cost of travelling 
 and the unlikelihoods of selling the place 
 here to advantage, I'd say right off let's 
 break up and go on to Susan's and live 
 out the rest of our days." 
 
 " Oh, John, you wouldn't give up your 
 home, would you? Susan'd be glad to 
 have her old father and mother to live 
 with her, I know, and so would her hus- 
 band, for Joe is a kind-hearted man ; but 
 for all that, I want to end my days here 
 in Westwater, and in my own home." 
 
 The needles gave some very energetic 
 clicks as Mary said these words. " Be- 
 sides, old man, you are forgetting all 
 about the Sunday-school. That would be 
 completely broke up if you was to go 
 away."
 
 A BELATED TRAVELLER. 355 
 
 " Why, Mary," and the answer came 
 with a sigh, " that Sunday-school is one 
 of the principal things I'm discouraged 
 over. See how I've worked at it year in 
 and year out, try in' my very best and hop- 
 in' that some one would come along to give 
 a helpin' hand. There's not a person here, 
 as you know, that cares enough for religion 
 to give a couple of hours every Sunday 
 to teachin' the children. The little books 
 Susan's husband s"ent us when they was 
 first married are pretty nigh worn out, 
 they have been read through so much. 
 I can't blame the children if they do get 
 tired listening to an old fellow like me 
 week after week." 
 
 John drew his coat sleeve across his 
 eyes, and at that signal Mary put down 
 her work, and springing up as nimbly as 
 if she had never had a touch of rheum- 
 atism in her bones took a corner of 
 her apron to wipe away the tears, and 
 with the other hand patted her husband's
 
 356 PHIL, DEREY. 
 
 cheek gently, as one might do to a little 
 child. 
 
 " What's become of your faith to-night, 
 John ?" said she. " You've worked and 
 you've studied and you've prayed for that 
 Sunday-school, and here at the last you 
 act as if you thought the Lord wasn't to 
 be depended on as much as you was 
 yourself." 
 
 " Tut, tut, wife ! what's that you're 
 saying?" 
 
 " Only this," she replied, laughing 
 " that you as good as declare that John 
 Murray has done his part of the work 
 the very best he could, and it ain't any 
 use for him to keep on doing any longer, 
 for God won't bless it." 
 
 "No," said the man, reverently, "it 
 don't become me to say any such thing, 
 for the Lord's promises never fail ; but I 
 had set my heart on that school. When 
 I begun it with half a dozen youngsters, 
 you know well, Mary, it was with a hope 
 that others'd join me and help along. I
 
 A BELATED TKAVELLER. 
 
 never was able to do all myself, but some- 
 how one and another give me the slip, 
 and I don't see one sign that my work is 
 accepted. Yes, I've about made up my 
 mind to sell off the first chance and go 
 live with our daughter Susan." 
 
 " Oh, you've got the blues to-night, 
 husband. Just you keep on praying, and 
 the way '11 be opened for us yet. Other 
 folks loses their cows and has the rheum- 
 atiz as well as us." 
 
 " Yes, yes, but other folks don't un- 
 dertake to train up the children in the 
 fear of the Lord and get neither blessing 
 from heaven nor help upon earth, do 
 they ?" 
 
 Before Mary could put in words the 
 cheering thoughts that rose in her heart 
 wherewith to comfort John, there was a 
 knock at the door. Both gave a start. 
 It was not usual to be disturbed of an 
 evening in quiet Westwater. 
 
 " It must be that little Huldah Mason 
 is took worse and they've sent for me,"
 
 358 PHIL DERRY. 
 
 said John as he rose and opened the 
 door. 
 
 It was an unknown voice that saluted 
 him from the darkness without. 
 
 " Could you give a stranger a lodging 
 for the night ?" said the voice. 
 
 " Who are you, and how came you 
 here at this hour of night ?" 
 
 " Better let him in, at any rate, John," 
 called the kind-hearted Mary, " and let 
 him warm himself while he tells his 
 story." 
 
 " Yes, come in, do ; one can't refuse a 
 seat by the fire to any man this chilly 
 night." 
 
 Upon this invitation Philip Derry en- 
 tered the cottage and gladly took the 
 offered seat before the blazing fire. 
 
 "I don't wonder you are surprised 
 at seeing a stranger at this late hour," 
 said he. 
 
 " There don't many strangers come to 
 Westwater by day, to say nothing of a 
 dark night," said John, looking doubt-
 
 A BELATED TRAVELLER. 359 
 
 fully at the tall young fellow rubbing 
 his hands and spreading them out to 
 catch all the heat he could from the 
 glowing fire. 
 
 " The way of it was this : I came by 
 
 stage to H ; got there early in the 
 
 afternoon. I made some inquiry about 
 the neighbouring country, and learned 
 that a village called Westwater lay a few 
 miles distant ; so as I was pretty well tired 
 out with a long ride, I concluded to walk 
 in this direction and see what there was 
 to be seen." 
 
 " You didn't walk here from H , 
 
 did you ?" asked both the old people at 
 once. " It's nigh fifteen miles." 
 
 " I did, indeed," said Phil, laughing. 
 " The man that directed me said it was a 
 few miles and a good road ; so with that 
 I started off", making sure of a pleasant 
 stroll and getting back to the tavern in 
 time for supper." 
 
 " That was too bad, now," said John, 
 kindly, for his suspicions had passed
 
 360 PHIL DERBY. 
 
 away with the first sound of Phil's pleas- 
 ant voice. " Wife, I s'pose we can make 
 the gentleman comfortable for the night, 
 eh?" 
 
 But Mary was already bustling about 
 to prepare a meal for the tired traveller, 
 and did not hear. When the simple 
 fare was placed on the table, she bade 
 the stranger sit down and partake ; and 
 motioning to her husband to come aside 
 a moment, she said, 
 
 " John, you'll not let him go away to- 
 night ? He's an honest man, I'm sure." 
 
 Getting acquainted is a business of 
 years or of moments, as people choose 
 to make it. In this case it came about 
 quite naturally, as the three sat around 
 the fire chatting away, that John should 
 make known his heart-burden to his sym- 
 pathizing guest. 
 
 " You have a pleasant home here," , 
 remarked Phil as he gazed around the 
 neat room. 
 
 "Ay, you may well say that," was
 
 A BELATED TRAVELLER. 361 
 
 Mary's answer, but John only heaved a 
 sigh. 
 
 " I had not a chance to see the village. 
 Have you good neighbours here ?" 
 
 " Oh yes," said John, slowly ; " the 
 home is good, the village is good, the 
 neighbours is good, but for all that I 
 want to sell out and go make a home 
 with our daughter that's married." 
 
 " Oh, sir, don't mind what he says," 
 interposed Mary. " He's got the blues 
 to-night, as I was tellin' him just before 
 you came. Things hasn't been prosper- 
 ous with us lately. We've lost our cow, 
 and I've been laid up a good bit with the 
 rheumatiz, and things have gone wrong. 
 No, I shouldn't say that, either, for the 
 Lord has given us many blessings." 
 
 There was a glad look in the visitor's 
 eyes as he turned them toward the 
 wrinkled old face so truly beautiful in 
 its expression of Christian faith. 
 
 " I am very glad that I came to your 
 house," he replied. " I did feel a trifle 
 
 31
 
 o62 PHIL DERRY. 
 
 put out when I found myself belated on 
 the road and did not know whether to 
 go back or forward, and I grumbled a 
 good deal to myself about the stupidity 
 of the fellow who said Westwater was 
 but a few miles off. But gladly would I 
 have come double the distance had I 
 known I should find fellow- Christians at 
 the end of my journey. It is a rare 
 treat." 
 
 The two old people heard him in as- 
 tonishment and pleasure. Then Phil 
 told them that he was going about as a 
 Sunday-school missionary, that his work 
 was to open the way for schools where 
 there were none, to assist any that he 
 found struggling along, and to do what- 
 ever came in his way toward building- 
 up the kingdom of the Lord in that 
 region. 
 
 Before he ceased speaking Mary's 
 knitting lay untouched in her lap and 
 John had taken one of Phil's hands in 
 both of his with an affectionate clasp.
 
 A BELATlJD TRAVELLER. 363 
 
 Then the whole story came out about his 
 efforts to get the children together on 
 Sundays, his prayers and his Bible study 
 for their sake, his great disappointment 
 as one after another dropped off and no- 
 body came forward to help him. 
 
 " Cheer up, my friend," said the mis- 
 sionary. " God has surely sent me here 
 to strengthen your hands. I'll spend to- 
 morrow with you, and we'll go about 
 among the people and see what can be 
 done." 
 
 It was a thoughtful prayer that went 
 up from the three hearts as the old cou- 
 ple and their guest knelt together before 
 retiring. 
 
 " Ah," said Mary to John when they 
 were alone, " what have you to say 
 about 'the silver lining of our clouds' 
 now?" 
 
 " I begin to see it shining," was the 
 answer. " What's that verse, wife, about 
 ' entertaining angels unawares' ? I reckon 
 we've done it this time."
 
 CHAPTER XXXI. 
 
 THE SUMMING UP. 
 
 T would be but the repetition of an 
 old story to go over the incidents 
 of Phil's visit to Westwater. Al- 
 ready we have seen that he was 
 sent there for the express purpose of en- 
 couraging the heart of faithful John 
 Murray in his work. It was not in vain 
 that Phil visited the people in their 
 homes, gave them tracts, and set forth in 
 glowing colours the advantages of a well- 
 sustained Sunday-school. The parents 
 as a general thing agreed to send their 
 children more regularly, and a plan was 
 set on foot for a Sunday morning meet- 
 ing among the grown folks for the sake 
 of studying the Bible together and for 
 prayer. The missionary left them with 
 
 364
 
 THE SUMMING UP. 365 
 
 a promise of reporting their case in his 
 letters with the hope that some more 
 highly blessed Sunday-school would be 
 moved to provide them with a small 
 library. 
 
 The people listened and promised, as I 
 have said, because, although old John 
 Murray had often used the very same 
 arguments, there is some power the world 
 over in a new face and strange voice to 
 influence hearts. This seasonable visit 
 so cheered the old man that he said no 
 more about " selling off and going to live 
 with Susan," and there is no doubt that 
 Mary will, if she is still alive, realize 
 her wish to end her days in her West- 
 water home. 
 
 Philip Derry went on with his work 
 from place to place year after year. It 
 may be that this very day he is singing 
 his favourite hymns along some lonely 
 Western road. It is not unlikely that 
 the readers of this story may have seen 
 now and then quotations in the papers 
 
 31*
 
 366 PHIL DERRY. 
 
 from the reports he sends home regularly 
 about his labours. 
 
 I wish that in this closing chapter it 
 were possible to bring all the characters 
 together and wind up the unfinished 
 threads of their histories, as is common 
 in story-books. That cannot well be 
 done, for many of them live quietly on 
 in the same routine as when they were 
 introduced to the reader. Of such, good 
 Captain Marks is an example. Though 
 growing daily more infirm, he still keeps 
 the oversight of his increasing business. 
 The real work of it falls to his two clerks. 
 The care of the Sunday-school he will 
 not relinquish to any one. It has grown 
 and prospered as the years have gone on, 
 and has been, as Mrs. Striker told Phil, 
 " the very saving of Eagleville." Sun- 
 day after Sunday the captain stands up 
 like a patriarch in the midst of those 
 whom he has trained in the knowledge 
 of the Scriptures with many of their 
 children around them. With the school
 
 THE SUMMING UP. 367 
 
 and the monthly preaching, Eagleville has 
 become a very different place from that 
 described in our early chapters ; and these 
 changes have quietly grown, one by one, 
 as we have seen, from the good seed sown 
 there so long ago by Mr. Williston. 
 
 Mrs. Derry, after a few peaceful years 
 in her sister-in law's home, went to rest, 
 leaving many sincere mourners among 
 the friends she had won in Millville by 
 her gentle, kindly ways. Great indeed 
 was the contrast between the tranquil 
 blind woman seated with folded hands in 
 Mrs. Goodwin's house and the angry- 
 voiced " Jake Berry's wife " to whom 
 the reader was first introduced. 
 
 Lizzie was married to a young farmer 
 a few miles from Millville. Sallie lived 
 on with her aunt Hannah, and has be- 
 come the old lady's entire dependence 
 for comfort and help. Sam, who looked 
 forward to driving up to his aunt's door 
 some day with a grancl carriage and 
 clothes, never realized his dream, poor
 
 368 PHIL DERRY. 
 
 fellow ! About two years after the re- 
 moval of the family to Millville a let- 
 ter reached Mrs. Derry, written by one 
 of Sam's comrades at the mines, in which 
 were given the details of a sad accident 
 in which several young men had lost their 
 lives ; one of them was Sam Derry. 
 
 Good Mr. Williston still lives and 
 labours in his chosen work of planting 
 Sunday-schools wherever there are chil- 
 dren to be taught and souls to be led to 
 the Saviour. Many a "solitary place" 
 has been made "glad" by him, many a 
 "wilderness" of ignorance and crime 
 has been made to " blossom as the rose." 
 Phil still hopes to meet his benefactor 
 again in this world, if only to let him 
 see that by God's grace the kindness he 
 showed to "Stokes's lodger" has not 
 been thrown away. 
 
 And now for Phil himself. We have 
 had a few examples only of his life-work. 
 His whole time* is devoted to travelling 
 about, planting schools where there are
 
 THE SUMMING UP. 369 
 
 none, encouraging feeble workers, dis- 
 tributing tracts and Bibles, preaching in 
 public, counselling in private. It is a 
 noble life, one that blesses every other 
 with which it comes in contact, one to 
 which we dare to point and say to other 
 young men who may read his history, 
 " Go and do likewise." 
 
 Phil has a companion in his travels 
 now in the person of our old acquaint- 
 ance Hallie Hope of Shunem, now 
 known as " Mrs. Derry." Hallie and 
 Phil are of one mind and heart about the 
 great aim of their being, the winning of 
 souls to Christ. In many a community 
 they are beloved, and in many a home 
 their names are remembered in the daily 
 thanksgiving to God for his mercies. 
 
 To them, in conclusion, we may grate- 
 fully apply the beautiful promise : 
 
 " They that be wise teachers shall shine 
 as the brightness of the firmament, and 
 they that turn many to righteousness as 
 the stars for ever and ever."