■5|P»t7 
 
 LIBRARY OF THE 
 
 University of California. 
 
 (• / A' C UL A riSG B R A NC // . __ 
 
 / 9^-^^ 
 
 Eeturn :a,>«kweebf ; or a week before the end of th/term. . 
 
 i 
 
JOSHUA MARVEL. 
 
 BY 
 
 B. L. FARJEON, 
 
 AUTHOR OF "GRIF." 
 
 NEW YORK: 
 
 HARPER & BROTHERS, PUBLISHERS, 
 
 FRANKLIN SQUARE. 
 1872. 
 
By B. L. FARJEON. 
 
 LONDON'S HEART. Illustrated. Now in course of pub- 
 lication in Harpers Bazar. (Commenced in the No. for 
 Feb. 24, 1872.) 3 J"^ <5ry 
 
 GRIP: a Story of Australian Life. 8vo, Paper, 40 cents. 
 
 yOSHUA MARVEL. 8vo, Paper, 40 cents. 
 
 BLADE-O'^GRASS. Illustrated. 8vo, Paper, 35 cents. 
 
 Published by HARPER d- BROTHERS, New York. 
 
 Either of the above luorks ivill be sent by mail, postage prepaid, to any part of the United 
 States, on receipt of the price. 
 
I.UIRARY OF THK 
 
 " University of California. 
 
 I A TING BRAN 
 
 Eatnrii in i#fTr -weelj^i or a wees '-'cnr,:- tr.c- i:na o: uie term. 
 
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 U U O 11 u 
 
 -JLTXilll V li^U. 
 
 CHAPTER 
 
 '-^^ 0!'' Tfl!'] 'v^ 
 
 :U1 TI7I3H5I TY 
 
 maTfied for love. 
 
 COXCERXIXG CERTAIN FAMILY CONVER- 
 SATIONS AND THEIR RESULT. 
 
 In the parish of Stepney, in the county 
 of Middlesex, there lived, amidst the hun- 
 "dreds of thousands of human bees who 
 throng that overcrowded locality, a family 
 composed of four persons — mother, father, 
 and two children, boy and girl — who 
 owned the surprising name of Marvel. 
 They had lived in their hive for goodness 
 knows how many years. The father's fa- 
 ther had lived there and died there ; the 
 father had been married ii'om there ; and 
 the children had been born there. The 
 bees in the locality, who elbowed each 
 other and trod upon each other's toes, were 
 poor and common bees, and did not make 
 much honey. Some of them made just 
 enough to live upon ; and a good many of 
 them, now and then, ran a little short. The 
 consequence was, that they could not store 
 any honey for a rainy day, and were com- 
 pelled to labor and toil right through the 
 year, in cold weather and in warm weather, 
 in sunshine and in rain. In which respect 
 they were worse, off than other bees we 
 know of that work in the summer and make 
 themselves cosey in the winter. 
 
 The bees in the neighborhood being 
 common and poor, it was natural that the 
 neighborhood itself should partake of the 
 character of its inhabitants. But, common 
 and poor as it was, it was not too common 
 nor too poor for love to dwell in it. Love 
 did reside there ; not only in the hive of 
 the Marvels, but in hundreds of other hives, 
 tenanted by the humblest of humble bees. 
 
 George Marvel had married for love ; 
 and, lest the reader should suppose that the 
 contract was one-sided, it may be as well to 
 mention that George Marvel's wife had also 
 
 They fell in love in the 
 u'Siial way, and they married in the usual 
 way ; and, happy and satisfied with each 
 other, they did not mar their enjoyment 
 of the then present by thinking of the 
 sharp stones which, from the very circum- 
 stances of their position, were pretty sure 
 to dot the road of their future lives. There 
 are many such simple couples in the world 
 who believe that the future is carpeted with 
 velvet grass, with the sun always shining 
 upon it, and who find themselves all too 
 soon stumbling over a dark and rocky 
 thoroughfare. 
 
 It was not long before the Marvels came 
 to the end of their little bit of carpet sun- 
 shine ; yet, when they got upon the sharp 
 stones, they contrived by industry and 
 management to keep their feet. George 
 Marvel was a wood-turner by trade, and 
 earned on an average about thirty-two 
 shillings a week. What with a little new 
 furniture now and then, and a little harm- 
 less enjoyment now and then, and a few 
 articles of necessary clothing now and then, 
 and the usual breakfasts, dinners, and teas, 
 with a little bit of supper now and then, the 
 thirty-two shillings a week were pretty well 
 and pretty fully employed. So well and 
 so fully were those weekly shillings em- 
 ployed, that it was often a very puzzling 
 matter to solve that problem which mil- 
 lions of human atoms are studying at this 
 present moment, and which consists in en- 
 deavoring to make both ends meet. That 
 they did contrive, however, to make both 
 ends meet (not, of course, without the tug- 
 ging and stretching always employed in the 
 process), was satisfactorily demonstrated 
 by the fact that the fomily were respected 
 and esteemed by their neighbors, and that 
 they owed no man a shilling. Not even the 
 baker ; for they sent for their loaves, and 
 paid for them across the counter. By that 
 
JOSHUA MARVEL. 
 
 tliey almost always received an extra piece 
 to make up weight ; and such extra pieces 
 are of importance in a family. Not even 
 the butcher ; for Mrs. Marvel did her own 
 marketing, and found it far cheaper to se- 
 lect her own joints, which you may be sure 
 never had too much bone in them. Not 
 even the cat's-meat man ; for the farthing 
 a day laid out with that tradesman was 
 faithfully paid in presence of the carroty- 
 haired cat (who ever heard of a cat with 
 auburn hair '?) who sat the while with 
 eager appetite, looking with hungry eyes 
 at the skewer upon which hung her modi- 
 cum of the flesh of horse. 
 
 Mrs. Marvel was a pale but not sad wo- 
 man, who had no ambition in life worthy 
 of being called one, save the ambition of 
 making both ends meet, and of being able, 
 although Stepney was not liable to floods, 
 to keep the heads of her family above 
 water. But, because Mrs. Marvel had no 
 ambition, that was no reason why Mr. Mar- 
 vel should not have any. Not that he 
 could have defined precisely what it was 
 if he had been asked ; but that the con- 
 stant difficulties which cropped up in the 
 constant attempt to solve the problem 
 (which has something perpetual in its na- 
 ture) of making both ends meet, made him 
 fretful. This fretfulness had found vent in 
 speech day after day for many years ; so 
 that Joshua Marvel, the wood-turner's heir, 
 had from his infancy upwards been in the 
 habit of hearing what a miserable thing it 
 was to be poor, and what a miserable thing 
 it was to be cooped up, as George Marvel 
 expressed it, and what a miserable thing it 
 was to live until one's hair turned gray 
 ■without ever having had a start in the 
 •world. It is not to be wondered at, there- 
 fore, that Joshua Marvel had gathered 
 slowly in his mind the determination not 
 to be a wood-turner all his life, but to start 
 in the world for himself, and try to be some- 
 thing better ; never for one moment think- 
 ing there was the most remote possibility 
 of his ever being any thing worse. When, 
 in the course of certain family discussions 
 and conversations, this determination be- 
 came known, it did not receive discourage- 
 ment from the head of the family, although 
 the tender-hearted mother cried by the 
 hour together, and could not for the life of 
 her see why Joshua should not be satisfied 
 to do as his father Iftid done before him. 
 
 "And what is that, mother V " Mr. ]\larvel 
 would ask. " What have I done before liim ? 
 I've been wood-turning all my life before 
 him — that's what I've been doing ; and I 
 shall go on wood-turning, I suppose, till my 
 dying day, Avhen I can't wood-turn any 
 more. Why, it might be yesterday that I 
 
 first day I used the lathe I dreamed that I 
 had cut my thumb off; and I woke up with 
 a curious sensation in my jaw which has 
 haunted me ever since like a ghost. That 
 was before I knew you, mother. And now 
 it is to-day, and I'm wood-turning still ; 
 and — How many white hairs did you 
 pull out of my head last night, Sarah ?" 
 
 " Fourteen," replied Sarah ; " and you 
 owe me a farthing." 
 
 " Fourteen," said Mr. Marvel, quietly re- 
 pudiating the liability, which arose from an 
 existing aiTangement that Sarah should 
 have a farthing for every dozen white hairs 
 she pulled out of his head ; " and next week 
 it will be forty, perhaps ; and the week 
 after four hundred." 
 
 " White hairs will come, father," said Mrs. 
 Marvel ; " we must all get 'em when we're 
 old enough." 
 
 " I'm not old enough," grumbled Mr. 
 Marvel. 
 
 " And I don't see, father," continued Mrs. 
 Marvel, " what the fourteen white hairs 
 Sarah pulled out of your head has to do 
 with Joshua." 
 
 " Of course you don't see, mother," said ^ 
 Mr. Marvel, who had a contempt for a wo- 
 man's argument ; " you're not supposed to 
 see, being a woman ; but I do see ; and 
 what I say is, wood-turning brings on white 
 hairs quicker than any thing else." 
 
 "Grandfather was a wood-turner," remark- 
 ed Mrs. Marvel, " and he didn't have white 
 hairs tmtil he was quite old." 
 
 " Well, he was lucky — that's all I can 
 say ; but, for all that, Josh isn't going to 
 be a wood-turner, unless he's set his mind 
 upon it." 
 
 " I won't be a wood-turner, father," said 
 Joshua. 
 
 " All right, Josh," said Mr. Marvel ; " you 
 sha'n't." 
 
 From this it will be seen that the voice 
 maternal was weak and impotent when op- 
 posed to the voice paternal. But Mrs. 
 Marvel, although by no means a strong- 
 minded woman, had a will of her own, and 
 a quiet unobtrusive way of working which 
 often achieved a victory without inflicting 
 humiliation. She did not like the idea of 
 her boy leading an idle life ; she had an 
 intuitive conviction that Joshua would come 
 to no good if he had nothing to do. She 
 argued the matter with her good man, and 
 never introduced the subject at an im- 
 proper time. The consequence was, that 
 her first moves were crowned with success. 
 
 " If Joshua won't be a wood-turner, far 
 ther " — she said. 
 
 " Which he won't," asserted her husband. 
 
 " Which he won't, as you say," Mrs. Mar- 
 vel replied, like a sensible woman. " If he 
 
 started as a boy to learn wood-turning. The I won't be a wood-turner, he must be som6« 
 
FAMILY CONVERSATIONS, 
 
 thing. Now he must be something, fathei' 
 
 — mustn't he ? " 
 
 This being spoken in the form of a ques- 
 tion, left the decision with Mr. Marvel ; and 
 he said, as if the remark originated with 
 himself, — 
 
 " Yes ; he must be something." 
 
 And with that admission Mrs. Marvel 
 rested content for a little while ; but not for 
 long. She soon returned to the attack ; 
 and asked her husband what Joshua should 
 be. Now this puzzled Mr. Marvel ; and he 
 could not see any way out of the difficulty, 
 except by remarking that the boy would 
 make up his mind one of these fine days. 
 But "these fine days " — in which people, 
 especially boys, make up their minds — are 
 remarkably like angels' visits ; and the cal- 
 endar of our lives often comes to an end 
 without one of them being marked upon the 
 record. To all outward appearance, this 
 was likely to be the case with Joshua ; and 
 the task of making up his mind seemed to 
 be so tardy in its accomplishment, that 
 George Marvel himself began to grow per- 
 plexed as to the future groove of his son and 
 heir ; for Joshua kept himself mentally 
 very much to himself Vague wishes and 
 desires he had ; but they had not yet shaped 
 themselves in his mind — which was most 
 likely the reason why they had not found 
 expression. 
 
 Meanwhile Mrs. Marvel was not idle. 
 She saw her husband's perplexity, and re- 
 joiced at it. Her great desire was to see 
 Joshua settled down to a trade, whether it 
 were wood-turning or any other. Wood- 
 turning she would have preferred ; but, fail- 
 ing that, some other trade which would fix 
 him at home ; for with that keen perception 
 which mothers only possess with regard to 
 their children — a perception which springs 
 from the maternal intellect alone, and which 
 is born of a mother's watchful anxious love 
 
 — she felt that her son's desires, unknown 
 even to himself, might possibly lead him to 
 be a wanderer from her world, the parish of 
 Stepney, in which she was content to live 
 and die. In that beehive she had been 
 born ; in that beehive she had experi- 
 enced calm happiness and wholesome trou- 
 ble ; and in that beehive she wished to close 
 her eyes ; and to see her children's faces 
 smiling upon her, when her time came to 
 say good-by to the world of which she 
 knew so little. With all a woman's cun- 
 ning, with all a woman's love, she devoted 
 herself to the task of weaning the mind of 
 her favorite child from the restless aspi- 
 rations which might drive him from her 
 side. 
 
 " Until Joshua makes up his mind what 
 he is going to be, father," she said one 
 night at candle-time, " it's a pity he should 
 
 remain idle. Idleness isn't a good thing for 
 a boy." 
 
 " Idleness isn't a good thing for boy or 
 man," said Mr. Marvel, converting his wife's 
 remark into an original expression of opin- 
 ion by the addition of the last two words. 
 " But I don't see what we are to do, 
 mother." 
 
 " Suppose I get him a situation — as an 
 errand-boy, perhaps — until he makes up 
 his mind." 
 
 " I'm agreeable," said Mr. Marvel, " if 
 Josh is." 
 
 But Josh was not agreeable. Many a 
 fruitless journey did Mrs. Marvel make, 
 trudging here and trudging there ; and 
 many an application did she answer in per- 
 son to written announcements in shop-win- 
 dows of " Errand-boy wanted." Joshua 
 would not accept any of the situations she 
 obtained for him. She got him one at a 
 watchmaker's ; no, he would not go to a 
 watchmaker's : at a saddler's ; no, he would 
 not go to a saddler's : at a bootmaker's, at 
 a tailor's ; no, nor that, nor that. Still she 
 persevered, appearing to gain fresh courage 
 from every rebuff. As for Joshua, he was 
 beginning to grow wearied of her assiduity. 
 He was resolved not to go to any trade, but 
 being of a very affectionate nature he de- / 
 sired to please his mother, and at the same 
 time to convince her that it was of no use 
 for her to worry him any longer. So he set 
 her, what he considered to be an impossible 
 task ; he told her that he was determined 
 not to go anywhere except to a printing- 
 office. He felt assured that she would 
 never be able to get him within the sacred 
 precincts of such an establishment. And 
 even if she did, there was something more 
 noble, something more distinguished and 
 grander, in printing than in bootraaking, 
 or tailoring, or watchmaking, or wood-turn- 
 ing. There was a fascinating mystery about 
 it ; he had seen watchmakers, and tailora, 
 and cobblers working, but he had never 
 seen the inside of a printing-office. Neither 
 had any of his boy-friends. He had been 
 told, too, that there was an act of parlia- 
 ment which allowed printers to wear swords 
 in the streets. That was a fine thing. How 
 all the neighbors would stare when they 
 saw him walking through the narrow streets 
 of Stepney with a sword at his side ! Joshua 
 had some sense of humor ; and he chuckled 
 to himself at the impossible task he had set 
 his mother. 
 
 He was therefore considerably astonished 
 one day, when Mrs. Marvel told him she 
 had obtained a situation for him as errand- 
 boy in a newspaper-office. Did ever a wo- 
 man fail, except from physical or mental 
 prostration, in the accomplishment of a cer- 
 tain thing upon which she has set her mind ? 
 
8 
 
 JOSHUA MARVEL. 
 
 And if, in working for the accomplishment 
 of the desired result, she brings to her aid 
 an unselfish, unwearying love, then did 
 ever a woman fail ? At all events Mrs. 
 Marvel did not. After much labor, fortune 
 befriended her ; and she heard that an 
 errand-boy was wanted at a certain print- 
 ing-office where a weekly newspaper was 
 printed. Thither she hurried, and soon 
 found herself in a small dark office, in which 
 the master sat. 
 
 He treated her in the most off-hand man- 
 ner. Yes, he wanted an errand-boy. Was 
 he sharp, intelligent, willing ? Oh, her son ! 
 Very well. Let him come to-morrow. 
 Wages, four shillings a week. Time, from 
 eight to eight. An hour to dinner, half an 
 hour to tea. Good-morning. 
 
 Thus the matter was settled, and Joshua 
 engaged. Mrs. Marvel went home rejoi- 
 cing. 
 
 With fear and trembling, a little pleased 
 and a good deal dismayed, Joshua made his 
 way the next morning to the printing-office. 
 Groping along adark passage he came to 
 a door on which the word " Office " was 
 dimly discernible. The freshness of youth- 
 ful paint had departed from the word ; the 
 letters were faded, and they appeared to 
 be waiting to be quite rubbed out with a 
 kind of jaded resignation. In response to 
 the sharply-uttered " Come in 1 " Joshua 
 opened the door, and entered the room. 
 The person he saw before him had such a 
 dissipated appearance, that any stranger 
 would have been warranted in coming to the 
 conclusion that he had not been in bed for 
 a fortnight. The room was full of papers, 
 very dusty and very dirty ; and looked as if, 
 from the day it was built, it had not found 
 time to wash itself. Scarcely raising his 
 eyes from a long slip of paper, upon which 
 he was making a number of complicated 
 marks, the occupant of the room said, — 
 
 " It's of no use bothering me. I sha'n't 
 have any copy ready tor half an hour. 
 Hallo 1 Who are you ? " 
 
 " The new errand-boy, sir," said Joshua, 
 humbly. 
 
 " Oh, very well I Take this proof up stairs 
 and sweep the composing-room ; then come 
 down and clean the street-door plate. Cut 
 along ! Look sharp 1 " 
 
 Looking as sharp as he could, Joshua 
 walked up stairs, and found himself in the 
 composing-room of the establishment. A 
 number of men and boys, decorated with 
 aprons with large bibs, were playing a mys- 
 terious game with hundreds and thousands 
 of small pieces of lead, which they clicked 
 with marvellous rapidity, but without any 
 apparent meaning, against an instrument 
 they held in their hands. He looked in 
 vaia for the swords which he had heard 
 
 printers were allowed to wear, and he was 
 covered with confusion at finding himself in 
 the midst of so large an assemblage, who 
 one and all appeared as if they were playing 
 on a number of pianos without any tune in 
 them. Going up to a youth whose head, 
 covered with a profusion of red hair, looked 
 as if it were in a blaze, Joshua asked to 
 whom he should give the proof. " To 
 Snooks," was the prompt reply. For which 
 piece of information he received a slap on 
 the side of his head from some person in 
 authority ; who, taking the proof from 
 Joshua, directed him to sweep up the room. 
 While performing this task he surveyed the 
 scene before him. There were sixteen men 
 and four boys at work. All the men had the 
 same dissipated look that he had observed 
 upon the countenance of the master. Their 
 faces, otherwise, were very clean : but the 
 tips of the right-hand fore-finger and thumb 
 of each were black with dirt, caused by the 
 types which they pi(;ked up with those ex- 
 tremities from the boxes before them. Not 
 a word was spoken, except what appeared 
 to have reference to the business, and the 
 conversation proceeded somewhat in this 
 wise. One of the workmen, walking to a 
 slab of iron placed in the middle of the 
 room, took therefrom a sheet of manuscript, 
 and looking at it negligently, shouted, — 
 
 " Number three I " 
 
 Another voice at the end of the room 
 cried out, — 
 
 " Awful Collision ! " 
 
 Joshua stopped in the midst of his sweep- 
 ing, and waited for the shock. But as none 
 came, he proceeded with his work, and 
 thought that the second speaker was crazy. 
 In the mean time the dialogue continued. 
 
 Speaker number one : " End a break." 
 
 Speaker number two : " All right," with 
 a growl. 
 
 Speaker number one : " What type ? " 
 
 Speaker number two, with another growl: 
 " Llinion." 
 
 At the word " minion, " which Joshua 
 considered was a term expressive of any 
 thing but respect, he expected speaker 
 number one would walk up to speaker num- 
 ber two, and punch his head. Instead of 
 which the insulted individual went into his 
 corner again, and re-commenced playing 
 his tuneless piano in the meekest possible 
 manner. The overseer then going to a 
 part of the room where long rows of type 
 were placed in detached pieces, asked, — 
 
 " How long will this Dreadful Suicide be 
 before it's finished?" 
 
 '• Done in five minutes, sir," was the re- 
 ply, in a cheerful voice. 
 
 " Who's on the Inquest ? " asked the over- 
 seer. 
 
 " I am, sir." 
 
paper was 
 hour was 
 and as the 
 
 " Be quick and get it finished ; you've 
 been long enou'^h over it. Now, then, 
 how long is this Chancery Court to remain 
 open ? " 
 
 " Close it up in two minutes, sir." 
 
 And Joshua gazed with a kind of won- 
 der at the individual who spoke, as if it 
 were as easy to close the Court of Chan- 
 cery as to close his hand. 
 
 It was the day on which the 
 sent to press ; the publishing 
 three o'clock in the afternoon ; 
 work was behindhand, everybody was very 
 bus}'. In the centre of the room was a 
 large iron slab, and at one time the ham- 
 mering and beating on this slab were ter- 
 rific. Two . or three excited individuals, 
 with mallets and iron sticks in their hands, 
 advanced towards the type, which was laid 
 upon the slab, with the apparent intention 
 of smashing it to pieces. They commenced 
 to do this with such extraordinary earnest- 
 ness, that Joshua was on the point of rush- 
 ing down stairs to the master to inform him 
 that his property was being wantonly de- 
 stroyed ; but as the other workmen ap- 
 peared to regard the proceeding as quite a 
 matter of course, Joshua checked himself 
 and thought it would perhaps be as well for 
 him to say nothing about it. The overseer 
 also continued to issue his strange orders ; 
 and during a slight cessation in the hammer- 
 ing, he peremptorily ordered the workman to 
 "lock up that Escaped Lunatic, and be quick 
 about it." At another time he gave direc- 
 tions to lay the Female in Disguise on the 
 stone (meaning the iron slab), to unlock 
 the Old Bailey, and to correct the Chancel- 
 lor's Budget. Joshua grew perfectly bewil- 
 dered. The information that there was an 
 Escaped Lunatic in the room did not so 
 much astonish as alarm him ; but as to the 
 Female in Disguise he could not identify 
 her, and he waited in amazement to see 
 what disguise she wore and where she 
 would be brought from ; at the same time 
 entertaining the idea that to lay any female 
 upon a stone was a decidedly improper pro- 
 ceeding. While in this state of mental per- 
 plexit}', the overseer cried out, — 
 
 " Now, then, who has the Female in Dis- 
 guise in hand ? " 
 
 " I have, sir," a voice replied. 
 
 " Bring it here, then," ordered the over- 
 seer, "and finish the corrections on the 
 stone." 
 
 " All right, sir." 
 
 Joshua started and looked round to catch 
 a sight of the female ; in his agitation he 
 stumbled against a workman who held a 
 column of type in his arms. The type fell 
 to the ground, and was smashed into thou- 
 sands of pieces. In an instant the whole 
 office was in confusion. 
 
 FAMILY CONVERSATIONSkV ' ^ " 9 
 
 You've done*H<KrKie time, youngster," 
 the workman saitl in dismay, looking at the 
 scattered type on the floor. 
 
 Joshua did not exactly know what it 
 was he had doac, but felt that it must be 
 something very bad. He soon received 
 practical proof of the extent of the mis- 
 chief, for the master, rushing into the room, 
 kicked him down stairs, and told him to go 
 about his business. Which Joshua did in 
 a state of much bewilderment. 
 
 Thus all the good intentions of Mrs. 
 Marvel were frustrated. Joshua declared 
 he would not take another situation, and 
 his father sided with him and encouraged 
 him. It must be confessed that Mr. IMar- 
 vel continued to have his perplexities about 
 Joshua's career, but to have openly admit- 
 ted them would have been handing the vic- 
 tory to his wife. So he kept them to him- 
 self, and thus maintained his supremacy as 
 master of the house. Many of his neigh- 
 bors were henpecked, and he used to laugh 
 at them. It would not have done to have 
 given them the chance to laugh at him. 
 Therefore, as time progressed, Mrs. Mar- 
 vel's protests were less and less frequently 
 made, and Joshua's determination not to be 
 a wood-turner gathering strength month 
 after month, it soon came to be recognized 
 as quite a settled thing that he was to 
 start in life for himself, and was not to do 
 as his father had done before him. Pend- 
 ing his decision, Joshua continued to lead 
 an idle life. But he was by no means vi- 
 ciously inclined ; and much of his time was 
 spent in the cultivation of two innocent 
 amusements, both of which served him in 
 good stead in the singular future which was 
 in store for him. One of these amusements 
 Avas a passion for music. He knew nothing 
 of musical notation, and played entirely by 
 ear ; yet he managed to extract sweet mel- 
 ody fi'om a second-hand accordion, of which, 
 after long and patient saving of half pence 
 and pence, he had become the happy pur- 
 chaser. The other of his tastes grew out 
 of a boyish love. How he acquired it will 
 be recouuted in the following chapters. 
 
 CHAPTER n. 
 
 SHOAVIXG HOW A PASSION FOR PUNCH 
 AND JCDY MAY LEAD TO DISASTROUS 
 CONSEQUENCES. 
 
 There are few boys in the world who are 
 without their boy-friends whom they wor- 
 ship, or by whom they are worshipped, 
 with a love far surpassing in its uuselfisL- 
 
10 
 
 JOSHUA MARVEL. 
 
 ness the love of maturer years. The mem- 
 ory of times that are gone is too often 
 blurred by waves of sorrowful circumstance. 
 Our lives are like old pictures ; the canvas 
 grows wrinkled, and the accumulated dust 
 of years lies heavy upon figures that once 
 were bright and fair. But neither dust 
 nor wrinkles can obliterate the memory of 
 the love we bore to the boy-friend with 
 whom we used to wander in fields that 
 were greener, beneath skies that were bluer, 
 than fields and skies are now. 
 
 Cannot you and I remember the time 
 when we used to stroll into the country 
 ■with our boy-friend, and, with arms thrown 
 lovingly around each other's neck, indulge 
 in day-dreams not the less sweet because 
 they were never to be realized ? And how, 
 when we had built our castles, and were 
 looking at them in the clouds, with our 
 hearts filled with joyful fancies, we wan- 
 dered in silence down the shady lane, 
 sweet with the scent of the flowering May 
 that shut us out from view on either side ; 
 and across the field with its luxuriant grass 
 up to our ankles with everywhere the daisy 
 peeping out to watch us as we passed ; 
 and over the heath where the golden gorse 
 was blushing with joy; and down the 
 narrow path to the well which shrunk from 
 public observation at the bottom of a flight 
 of cool stone steps, hewn out by the monks 
 of a cloister which should have been hai*d 
 by, but wasn't, having been destroyed in a 
 bloody battle which took place once upon 
 a time ? 
 
 Not many such experiences as these did 
 Joshua and his boy-friend enjoy ; for our 
 Damon's Pythias, whose proper name was 
 f Daniel Taylor, was lame, with both his legs 
 so badly broken that, had he lived unto 
 the ago of Methuselah and been fed upon 
 the fat of the land, those props of his body 
 would have been as useless to him all 
 through his long life as if they had been 
 blades of the tenderest grass. 
 
 The Taylors had three children : Susan, 
 Ellen, and Daniel. Ellen and Daniel were 
 twins, and when they were born Susan was 
 ten years old. The worldly circumstances 
 of the Taj'lors were no better than those of 
 their neighbors ; indeed, if any thing, they 
 were a httle worse than those of many 
 around them. The parents, therefore, 
 could not aiFord to keep a nurse-girl, and it 
 was fortunate for them that they had pro- 
 vided one in the person of their elder 
 daughter, and had allowed her to grow to 
 a suitable age before they ventured to bring 
 other children into the world. Fortunate 
 as it was ibr the parents, it was most un- 
 fortunate for Daniel ; for before he and his 
 other half were born, Susan Taylor had 
 contracted a passion almost insane in its 
 
 intensity, to which her only brother was 
 doomed to be a victim. That passion was 
 a love for the British drama, as represented 
 in Punch and Judy. All Susan's ambitions 
 and yearnings were centred in the show ; 
 and it was not to be supposed that she 
 would allow so small a matter as twins to 
 interfere with her absorbing passion. How 
 the liking for Punch and Judy had grown 
 with her years and strengthened with her 
 strength, it is not necessary here to trace. 
 The fact remains, and is sufficient for the 
 tragedy of poor Daniel's life. Squeezed to 
 their sister's breast, Daniel and Ellen were 
 condemned to take long journeys afler 
 Punch and Judy, and to be nursed at street- 
 corners by a girl who had eyes and mind 
 for nothing but the dramatis personce of 
 that time-honored play. In her scrambles 
 after the show she oflen wandered a long 
 way from home, and tore her dress, and 
 jammed her bonnet, and mudded her 
 stockings, and knocked her boots out at 
 the toes, and got herself generally into a 
 disreputable condition. But in presence of 
 the glories of Punch and Judy, which were 
 to her ever fresh and ever bright, such dis- 
 comforts sank into absolute insignificance. 
 All paltry considerations were forgotten in 
 the absorbing interest with which she 
 watched the extraordinary career of the 
 hero of the drama. She was insensible to 
 the cuffs and remarks of the acting-mana- 
 ger who went round for contributions, 
 which the on-lookers were solicited to drop 
 into a tin plate or a greasy cap. He natu- 
 rally resented Susan's presence at the exhi- 
 bition, for she had never been known to 
 contribute the smallest piece of copper 
 towards the expenses. But neither his 
 cuffs nor his resentful language had any 
 effect upon Susan, who, in her utter disre- 
 gai'd of all adverse circumstances, proved 
 herself to be an ardent and conscientious 
 admirer of the British drama. As a conse- 
 quence of her peregrinations, she often 
 found herself in strange neighborhoods, and 
 did not know her way home. The anxiety 
 she caused her mother, who was naturally 
 proud of her twins, almost maddened that 
 poor woman. She used to run about the 
 neighborhood of Stepney, wringing her 
 hands and declaring that her twins were 
 kidnapped. At first the neighbors were in 
 the habit of sympathizing with her, and of 
 making anxious inquii-ies of one another 
 concerning' the children; but when, after 
 some months of such uneventful excitement, 
 they found that Susan and her twins were 
 always brought home in good condition as 
 regarded their limbs — although in a very 
 disgraceful condition as regarded their per- 
 sonal appearance : but dirt counted for noth- 
 ing in such a case of excited expectation — 
 
PUNCH AND JUDY, 
 
 11 
 
 tlieir ardor cooled, and they withheld their 
 sympathy from the distressed mother. In- 
 deed, they looked upon themselves in tin; 
 liijht of injured individuals, because some- 
 thing really calamitous had not happened 
 to the children. At length Susan became 
 such a nuisance — not only at home, but 
 at many police-stations, where she was 
 popularly known as " that dirty girl again, 
 with the twins" — that the mother was 
 recommended to lock her up. Despairing 
 of being able to cure her daughter of 
 her Punch-and-Judy mania by any other 
 means, the mother locked her up with 
 her infant charges in a room on the first 
 floor. 
 
 That was a sad thing for poor Daniel. 
 Susan very naturally sulked at being 
 locked up, and at being deprived of her 
 favorite amusement. Life had no joy for 
 her without Punch and Judy. _ With 
 Punch and Judy, existence was blissful ; 
 without Punch and Judy, existence was a 
 blank. Regarding the twins as the cause 
 of her imprisonment, she vented her spleen 
 upon the unfortunate couple, and was 
 spiteful enough to leave traces of yellow 
 soap in their eyes when she washed them ; 
 and when they cried because of the smart, 
 and rubbed their eyelids with their little 
 fists to get rid of the unwelcome particles, 
 she smacked them on the tenderest parts 
 of their persons, and made them cry the 
 more. * But they were not destined to en- 
 dure this kind of torture for more than a 
 couple of days. 
 
 On the third day of their imprisonment, 
 Susan was sitting moodily on the floor, 
 sulking as usual, and biting her lips and 
 fretting, when suddenly the well-beloved 
 " too-to-too-a-too " of the Punch-and-Judy 
 showman came floating through the win- 
 dow. Wild with delight, she snatched up 
 the twins, and, rushing to the window, 
 bent her body forward, and looked out. 
 Yes ; there it was — there was the show ! 
 Preparations were being made for the 
 drama; the green curtain Avas down, the 
 crowd was collecting, and the acting man- 
 ager was already taking a critical survey 
 of the persons who loitered, and was men- 
 tallv marking down those who would not 
 be allowed to stroll or slink away without 
 being solicited for a fee. The front of 
 the stage was not turned towards the win- 
 dow out of which Susan was looking ; and 
 she could only see part of the show. That 
 was a terrible disappointment to her ; and 
 her suffering was really very great when 
 she found that the gallows upon which 
 Punch was to be hanged was erected just 
 in that corner of the stage of which she 
 could not obtain a glimpse. She stamped 
 her foot upon the floor excitedly ; and, 
 
 bending her body still more forward in lier 
 eagerness, poor Daniel slipped out of her 
 arms on to the pavement. For a uKjment 
 Susan was so bewildered that she could 
 not realize what had occurred : but, when 
 she heard the sharp cry of agony to which 
 Daniel gave utterance, and when she saw 
 the crowd of people rushing with frightened 
 faces towards the spot where the little fel- 
 low was lying, she ran into a corner of the 
 room with the other child in her arms, and 
 throwing her frock over her head, cowered 
 down with her face to the wall, :uid began 
 to cry. But little notice was taken of her. 
 Daniel was picked up and carried into the 
 house. He was not killed ; but his two 
 le<Ts were badly broken, and were destined 
 never to be of any use to him. So, as he 
 had to depend upon artificial legs tor sup- 
 port, Daniel began to learn the use of 
 crutches almost before he had begun to 
 learn to toddle. 
 
 The love that existed between Joshua 
 and Daniel sprang out of an iiuiocent flir- 
 tation which was indulged in by Joshua 
 Marvel and Ellen Taylor. The amatory 
 youngsters exchanged vows when they 
 were quite little things, and pledged them- 
 selves not to marry any one else : " no, not 
 for the wide, wide world 1 " Innocent 
 kisses, broken pieces of crockery with 
 which they played at dinners and shops 
 on back-window sills, and the building of 
 grottoes when the oyster-season came 
 round, were the material bonds which 
 united the vouthfiil loves of Joshua and 
 Ellen. 
 
 In due time Joshua was introduced to 
 the family; not exactly as the accepted 
 suitor of the little damsel, but in a surrep- 
 titious sneaking manner, which older suit- 
 ors would have considered undignified. 
 Such a mean position did he for some- 
 time occupy in the house of his affianced, 
 that on several occasions when Mr. Taylor 
 came home drunk, Joshua was locked up 
 in the coal-cellar, lest he should meet the 
 eye of the tipsy parent, who, when he was 
 in his cups, did not possess the most amia- 
 ble disposition in the world. From that 
 coal-cellar Joshua would emerge low- 
 spirited and grimy, and in a despondent 
 mood ; but sundry marks of affection from 
 Ellen, the effects of which were afterwards 
 visible in black patches on her nose and 
 cheeks and cherry lips, invariably restored 
 him to cheerfulness. Such a courtship 
 was not dignified ; but Joshua and Ellen 
 were perfectly satisfied ; and so was Dan, 
 who thoroughly approved of his twin-sis- 
 ter's choice of a sweetheart. 
 
 As the children grew in years, the ties 
 that united Ellen and Joshua were weak- 
 ened ; while those that united the boys 
 
12 
 
 JOSHUA MAEVEL. 
 
 were strengthened, until a very perfect 
 and unselfish love was established between 
 thorn. Both the lads were in the same 
 condition as regarded their time. Joshua 
 had his on his hands because he had not 
 made up his mind what he was going to 
 be ; and Daniel had his on his hands be- 
 cause he had broken his legs. Each had 
 his particular fancy. Joshua's was music ; 
 Dan's was birds. 
 
 Condemned to a sedentary life from the 
 nature of his affliction, and notable to run 
 about as other boys did — for when his sis- 
 ter had let him fall ti'om her arms out of 
 the window the breaking of his legs was 
 not the only injury he had received — Dan 
 turned his attention to a couple of 
 canaries which were part of his parents' 
 household gods. In course of time the 
 birds grew to be very fond of him ; and he 
 trained them to do such pretty tricks, and 
 was himself of so gentle and amiable a 
 disposition, that good-natured neighbors 
 made him occasional presents of birds — 
 such as a linnet, or a lark, or a pair of 
 bullfinches — until he had gathered around 
 him a small collection of feathered young- 
 lings. With these companions his life was 
 as happy as life could be. He did not 
 mope or fret because his legs were useless, 
 and because he was compelled to use 
 crutches ; on the contrary, he absolutely 
 loved his wooden props, as if they were 
 bone of his bone and flesh of his flesh. 
 
 " You are right not to be a wood-turner 
 Jo," said Dan, when his friend related to 
 him the substance of the family discus- 
 sions. " If my legs were like yours, I 
 wouldn't be." 
 
 Dan~called his friend " Jo." It was not 
 quite right for Joshua, he said, but it 
 sounded pretty. And so it did, especially 
 from his lips. 
 
 " I wish your legs were like mine, Dan," 
 said Joshua. 
 
 " It's of no use wishing," replied Dan. 
 " You know what mother says ; it takes all 
 sorts to make a world." 
 
 '• Sound legs and broken legs — eh, 
 Dan ? " 
 
 " Yes," answered Dan merrily ; " and 
 long ones and short ones, and thick ones 
 and thin ones. Besides, if I had the 
 strongest and biggest legs in the world, I 
 don't think I should be happier than I 
 am." 
 
 " But wouldn't you like to be a hero — 
 the same as I am going to be Y " asked 
 Joshua. 
 
 '■ We can't all be heroes. You go and 
 fight with lions ; I will stop and play with 
 birds. I couldn't tame lions ; but I can 
 tame birds." Which he could, and did. 
 
 Dan was fond of speaking about lions 
 
 because his name was Daniel ; and many 
 and many a time had he and Joshua read 
 the wonderful story of Daniel in the lions' 
 den. Joshua did not know much of the 
 Bible until Dan introduced it to him, and 
 read to him in his thin sweet voice the 
 marvellous romances in that Book of 
 books. 
 
 " There was a hero for you 1 " exclaimed 
 Joshua admiringly, referring to the biblical 
 Daniel. " I wonder what made him so 
 brave." 
 
 '' Because he was doing what he knew 
 to be right," replied Dan. 
 
 " I dare say," was the acquiescent re- 
 joinder. 
 
 " And because he was not afraid to 
 speak the truth even to Belshazzar; and 
 because, above all, he believed in God. 
 So God delivered him." 
 
 " All because he was doing right," said 
 Joshua. 
 
 " All because he was doing right," re- 
 peated Dan. " I'm not a bit brave ; that 
 is because I am lame, perhaps. If I was 
 thrown into a lions' den I should die of 
 fear — I am sure I should ; but if I was 
 thrown into a birds' cage, full of strange 
 birds, I would soon make friends with 
 them ; they would come and eat out of my 
 hand in no time." 
 
 Dan, indeed, was wonderfully learned 
 about birds and their habits, and possessed 
 a singular power over them. He could 
 train them to any thing almost. And bear 
 this in mind ; he used no cruel means in 
 his training of them. What he taught 
 them he taught them by kindness ; and 
 they were subservient to him from love, 
 and not from fear. The nature of the af- 
 fliction which condemned him to a seden- 
 tary life, sharpened and concentrated his 
 mental faculties, and endued him with a 
 surprising patience. If it had been other- 
 wise, he could never have trained the 
 birds so thoroughly. Never mind what 
 they were — blackbirds, linnets, larks, 
 bullfinches, canaries — they were one and 
 all his willing slaves, and, in the course of 
 time, performed the tasks he set them 
 with their best ability. Give Dan any one 
 of these birds, and in a few weeks it would 
 hop upon his finger, dance at his whistle, 
 come at his call, flill dead upon the table, 
 and jump up again at a given signal as 
 lively as a cricket. He made little carts 
 for them to draw, little swords for them to 
 carry, little ladders for them to climb up, 
 little guns for them to fire off, little houses 
 for them to go in at the doors of and come 
 out of the chimneys of. It was a sight 
 worth seeing to watch them go through 
 their performances ; to see the dead bird 
 lie on its back on the table, and watch 
 
LIFE AND DEATH OP GOLDEN CLOUD. 
 
 13 
 
 cunningly out of a corner of its left eye for 
 the signal which allowed it to come to life 
 again; to see the family birds, after in- 
 dulo-ing in a little sensible conversation on 
 the doorstep, go into the house, the door 
 of which closed with a spring directly they 
 got on the inside of it, and then presently 
 to see their heads pop out of the chimneys, 
 as if their owners were wondering what 
 sort of weather it was ; to see the first vil- 
 lain of the company hop upon the cart in 
 which the pop-gun was fixed, and hop upon 
 a slip of wood which in some mysterious 
 manner acted upon the gun, and caused it 
 to go off — and then to see the desperado 
 watch for dreadful consequences which 
 never followed; to see that cold-blooded 
 and desperate bird jump briskly down, as 
 if it were not disappointed, and place its 
 neck in a ring in the shafts, and hop away 
 to another battle-field ; to see the two mili- 
 tary birds march up and down in front of 
 the house, holding little wooden swords in 
 their beaks, as who should say to an ad- 
 vancing foe, " Approach if you dare, and 
 meet your doom ! " to see the climbing-bird 
 hop up the steps of the ladder, and then 
 hop down again triumphantly, as if it had 
 performed a feat of which bird-kind might 
 be proud ; and to know that the birds en- 
 joyed the fun and delighted in it; were 
 pleasant things to see and know, and could 
 do no one any harm. Of course there were 
 hitches in the performances ; occasionally 
 the birds were dull or obstinate ; but, as a 
 rule, they were tractable and obedient ; 
 and if they did sometimes bungle their 
 tricks they might very well be excused, 
 for they were but feeble creatures after 
 all. 
 
 So Dan passed his time innocently, and 
 loved his pets, and his pets loved him. 
 Joshua grew to love them too. He learned 
 all their pretty little vocal tricks, and could 
 imitate the different languages of the birds 
 in such a wonderful manner that they 
 would stop and listen to his warbling, and 
 would answer it with similar joyful notes 
 of their own. And when Dan and he were 
 in a merry mood — which was not seldom 
 — they and the birds would join in a con- 
 cert which was almost as good, and quite 
 as enjoyal)le, as the scraping of fiddles and 
 the playing of flutes. Sometimes, in the 
 evening, Joshua would play soft music 
 upon his second-hand accordion ; and di- 
 rectly he sounded the first note the birds 
 would hop upon the table and stand in a 
 line, with" their heads inclined on one side, 
 listening to Joshua's simple melodies with 
 the gravity of connoisseurs, and would not 
 flutter a feather of their little wings for 
 fear they should disturb the harmony of 
 sound. 
 
 CHAPTER HI. 
 
 LIFE AND DEATU OF GOLDEN CLOUD. 
 
 There was one canary which they had 
 christened Golden Cloud. It was one of 
 the two canaries that Dan had first trained ; 
 and for this and other reasons Golden Cloud 
 was a special favorite with the lads. Dan 
 used to declare that Golden Cloud literally 
 understood every word he spoke to it. 
 And it really appeared as if Dan were 
 right in so declaring and so believing; it 
 was certainly a fact that Golden Cloud was 
 a bird of superior intelligence. The other 
 birds were of that opinion, or they would 
 not have accepted its leadership. When 
 they marched. Golden Cloud was at the 
 head of them — and very proud it appeared 
 to be of its position ; when the perform- 
 ances took place, Golden Cloud was the 
 first to commence; if any thing very re- 
 sponsible and very particular were to be 
 done, Golden Cloud was intrusted with it; 
 and if any new bird was refractory, it de- 
 volved upon Golden Cloud to assist Dan 
 to bring that bird to its senses. The birds 
 did not entertain a particle of envy towards 
 Golden Cloud because it had attained an 
 eminence more distinguished than their 
 own ; and this fact was as apparent, as it 
 must have been astonishing, to any reflec- 
 tive human being who enjoyed the happy 
 privilege of being present now and then at 
 the performances of Dan's clever troupe. 
 Even when old age crept upon it — it was 
 in the prime of life when Dan first took it 
 in hand — the same respect was paid to the 
 sagamore of the company. Its sight grew 
 filmed, its legs grew scaly, its feathers grew 
 ragged. What matter ? Had it not been 
 kind and gentle to them when in its prime ? 
 Should they not be kind and gentle to it 
 now that Time was striking it down? 
 And was it not, even in its decrepitude, the 
 wise bird of them all ? 
 
 Notwithstanding that it grew more and 
 more shaky every hour almost, the old 
 sense of duty was strong in the heart of 
 Golden Cloud ; and it strove to take part 
 in the performances to the last. Golden 
 Cloud had evidently learned the lesson, 
 that to try always to do one's duty is the 
 sweetest thing in life. In that respect it 
 was wiser than many human beings, 
 who should have been wiser than it. It 
 was a melancholy sight, yet a comical 
 one, withal, to see Golden Cloud lift a 
 sword with its beak, and try to hold it 
 there, and hop with it at the head of the 
 company. It staggered here _ and there, 
 and, being almost blind, sometimes hit an 
 inoffensive bird across the beak, which 
 caused a momentary confusion; but every 
 
14 
 
 JOSHUA MAKVEL. 
 
 thing was set riglit as quickly as could be. 
 The'otlier birds bore with Golden Cloud's 
 infirmities, and made its labors light for it. 
 Even the tomtit — that saucy, beautiful ras- 
 cal, with its crown of Cambridge blue, who 
 had been the most refractory bird that 
 Golden Cloud ever had to deal with, who 
 would turn heels over head in the midst 
 of a serious lesson, and who would hop and 
 twist about and agitate its staid companions 
 with its restless tricks — even the tomtit, 
 whose greatest delight was to steal things 
 and break things, but whose spirit had 
 been subdued and tamed by Golden Cloud's 
 firmness, assisted the veteran in its old age, 
 and did not make game of it. 
 
 One evening Joshua came round to Dan's 
 room rather later than usual, and found 
 Dan in tears. 
 
 " What is the matter, Dan ? " asked 
 Joshua. 
 
 Dan did not reply. 
 
 " Do your legs hurt you, Dan ? " asked 
 Joshua tenderly. 
 
 Dan formed a " No " with his lips, but 
 uttered no sound. 
 
 Joshua thought it best not to tease his 
 friend with any more questions. He saw 
 that Dan was suffering from a grief which 
 he would presently unbosom. He took his 
 accordion on his knee, and began to play 
 very solely. As he played, a canary in a 
 mourning-cloak came out of the toy-house ; 
 another canary in a mourning-cloak fol- 
 lowed ; then a bullfinch, and another bull- 
 finch ; then the tomtit and the linnets ; and 
 then the blackbirds; all in little black 
 cloaks which Ellen Taylor's nimble fingers 
 had made lor them that day out of a piece 
 of the lining of an old frock. At the sight 
 of the first canary, with its black cloak on, 
 Joshua was filled with astonishment ; but 
 when bird after bird followed, and ranged 
 themselves solemnly in a line before him, 
 and when he missed the presence of one 
 lamiliar friend, he solved the riddle of their 
 strange appearance; the birds were in 
 mourning for the death of Golden Cloud. 
 
 They seemed to know it, too ; they 
 seemed to know that they had lost a friend, 
 and that they were about to pay the last 
 tribute of respect to their once guide and 
 master. The bullfinches, their crimson 
 breasts hidden by their cloaks, looked, with 
 their black masks of laces, like negro birds 
 in mourning; the amiable linnets, unob- 
 trusive and shy as they generally were, 
 were still more quiet and sad than usual ; 
 even the daring blackbirds were subdued — 
 with the exception of one who, in the midst 
 of a silent interval, struck up " Polly, put 
 the kettle on," in its shrill whistle, but, ob- 
 serving the eyes of the tomtit fixed upon it 
 with an au: of reproach, stopped in sudden 
 
 remorse, with the " kettle " sticking in its 
 throat. 
 
 Dan had made a white shroud for Golden 
 Cloud ; and it was both quaint and mourn- 
 ful to see it as it lay in its coffin — Dan's 
 money-box — surrounded by the mourners 
 in their black cloaks. They stood quite 
 still, with their cunning little heads all in- 
 clined one way, as if they were waiting for 
 news concerning their dead leader from the 
 world beyond the present. 
 
 Joshua, with a glance of sorrow at the 
 coffin, said, — 
 
 " Your money-box, Dan I " 
 
 " I wish I could have buried it in a 
 flower-pot, Jo," replied Dan, suppressing 
 a sob. 
 
 " Wliy didn't you ? " 
 
 " Mother said father would be angry," — 
 
 Here the blackbird — perceiving that the 
 tomtit was no longer observing it, and 
 inwardly fretting that it should have 
 been pulled up short in the midst of its 
 favorite song ; also feeling awkward, doubt- 
 less, with a kettle in its throat — piped 
 out, with amazing rapidity and shrillness, 
 "Polly, put the kettle on; we'll all have 
 tea." 
 
 The blue feathers in the tomtit's tail 
 quivered with indignation, and its white- 
 tipped wings fluttered reprovingly. Moral 
 force was evidently quite thrown away upon 
 such a blackbird as that ; so the tomtit be- 
 stowed upon the recreant a sharp dig with 
 its iron beak, and the blackbird bore the 
 punishment with meekness ; merely giving 
 vent, in response, to a wonderful imitation 
 of the crowing of an extremely weak cock, 
 who led a discontented life in a neighbor- 
 ing back-yard. After which it relapsed 
 into silence. 
 
 Dan, who had stopped his speech to ob- 
 serve this passage between the birds, re- 
 peated, — 
 
 " Mother said father would be angry ; he 
 knows how many flower-pots we have. So 
 I used my money-box." 
 
 "But you would rather have a flower- 
 pot, Dan ? " 
 
 " I should have liked a flower-pot above 
 all things ; it seems more natural for a bird. 
 Something might grow out of it ; something 
 that Golden Cloud would hke to know is 
 above it, if it was only a blade of grass." 
 
 Joshua ran out of Dan's room, and re- 
 turned in a very few minutes with a flower- 
 pot with mignonette growing in it. He was 
 almost breathless with excitement. 
 
 " It is mine, Dan," he said, " and it is 
 
 yours. I bought it with my own money ; 
 
 and it shall be Golden Cloud's coffin." 
 
 " Kiss me, Jo," said Dan. 
 
 Joshua kissed him, and then carefully 
 
 lifted the flower-roots from the pot, and 
 
LIFE AND DEATH OF GOLDEN CLOUD. 
 
 15 
 
 placed Golden Cloud in the soft mould be- 
 neath. A few tears full from Dan's eyes 
 into the flower-pot coffin, as he looked for 
 the last time upon the form of his pet ca- 
 nary. Then Joshua replaced the ilower- 
 roots, and arranged the earth, and Golden 
 Cloud was ready fur binial. 
 
 " Play something, Jo," said Dan. 
 
 Joshua took his accordion in his hands, 
 and played a slow solemn march ; and the 
 birds, directed by Dan, hopped gravely 
 round the llower-pot, the tomtit keeping its 
 eye sternly fixed upon the rebellious black- 
 bird, expressing in the look an unmistaka- 
 ble determination to put an instant stop to 
 the slightest exhibition of indecency. 
 
 " I don't know where to bury it," said 
 Dan, when the ceremony was completed. 
 " Ellen has been trying to pick out a flag- 
 stone in the yard, but she made her fingers 
 bleed, and then couldn't move it. And if 
 it was buried there, the stone would have to 
 be trodden down, and the flowers in the 
 coffin couldn't grow." 
 
 " There's that Kttle bit of garden in our 
 yard," said Joshua. " I can bury it there, 
 if you don't mind. I can put the flower- 
 pot in so that the mignonette will grow out 
 of it quite nicely. It isn't very far, Dan," 
 continued Joshua, divining Dan's wish that 
 Golden Cloud should be buried near him ; 
 " only five yards off, and it is the best place 
 we know of." 
 
 Dan assenting, Joshua took the flower- 
 pot, and buried it in what he called his gar- 
 den ; which was an estate of such magnifi- 
 cent proportions that he could have covered 
 it with his jacket. He was proud of it not- 
 withstanding, and considered it a grand 
 property. A boundary of oyster-shells de- 
 fined the limits of the estate, and served as 
 a warning to trespassing feet. In the cen- 
 tre of this garden Golden Cloud was buried. 
 When Joshua returned to Dan's room, the 
 mourning-cloaks were taken off the birds — 
 who seemed very glad to get rid of them — 
 and they were sent to bed. 
 
 Dan was allowed to sit up an hour long- 
 er than usual that night, and he and Joshua 
 occupied those precious minutes in confiden- 
 tial conversation. First they spoke of 
 Golden Cloud, and then of Joshua's pros- 
 pects. 
 
 "You haven't made up your mind yet 
 what you are going to be, Jo," said Dan. 
 
 " I "haven't made up my mind," replied 
 Joshua, " but I have an idea. I don't want 
 you to ask me what it is. I will tell you 
 soon — in a few weeks perhaps." 
 
 " Where have you been to-day ? You 
 were late." 
 
 " I went to the waterside." 
 
 " To the river ? " 
 
 " To the river." 
 
 " To the river that runs to the sea," said 
 Dan musinnjly, with a dash of regret in his 
 voice. " What a wonderful sight it must 
 be to see the sea, as we read of it 1 Would 
 you like to see it, Jo ? " 
 " Dearly, Dan I " 
 " And to be on it ? " 
 " Dearly, Dan ! " 
 
 Dan looked at Joshua sadly. There was 
 an eager longing in Joshua's eyes, and an 
 eager longing in the parting of his lips, as 
 he sat with hands clasped upon his knee. 
 
 " I can see a great many things that I 
 have never seen," said Dan ; " see them 
 with my mind, I mean. I can see gardens 
 and fields and trees, almost as they are. I 
 can fancy myself lying in fields with the 
 grass waving about me. I can fancy my- 
 self in a forest with the great trees spread- 
 ing out their great limbs, and I can see the 
 branches bowing to each other as the wind 
 sweeps by them. I can see a little stream 
 running down a hill, and hiding itself in a 
 valley. I can even see a river — but all 
 rivers must be muddy, I think ; not bright, 
 like the streams. But I can't see the sea, 
 Jo. It is too big — too wonderful ! " 
 
 Rapt iu the contemplation of the sub- 
 ject, Dan and Joshua were silent for a lit- 
 tle while. 
 
 " Ships on the top of water-mountains," 
 resumed Dan presently, " then down in a 
 valley like, vnth curling waves above them. 
 That is what I have read ; but I can't see 
 it. ' Robinson Crusoe ' is behind you, Jo." 
 Joshua opened the book — it was a favor- 
 ite one with the lads, as with what lads is 
 it not ? — and skimmed down the pages as 
 he turned them over. 
 
 " ' A raging wave, mountain-like, came 
 rolling astern of us,' " he said. 
 
 " Tiaat is the shipwreck," said Dan, look- 
 ing over Joshua's shoulder. " Then here, 
 fiirther down : ' I saw t!ie sea come after 
 me as high as a great hill, and as furious as 
 an enemy.' Think of that ! Here 
 picture." 
 
 The lads looked for the thousandth time 
 at the rough wood-cut, in which Robinson 
 was depicted casting a look of terror over 
 his shoulder at the curling waves, ten times 
 as tall as himself; his arms were extended, 
 and he was supposed to be running away 
 from the waves ; although, according to the 
 picture, nothing shoi-t of a miracle could 
 save him. 
 
 " Look 1 " said Joshua, turning a few 
 pages back and reading, ' yonder lies a 
 dreadful monster on the side of that hiUock, 
 fast asleep.' " 
 
 '* ' I looked where he pointed,' " read Dan 
 — it was a favorite custom with them to 
 read each a few lines at a time — " ' and saw 
 a dreadful monster indeed, for it was a ter- 
 
16 
 
 JOSHUA MARVEL. 
 
 rible great lion that lay on the side of the 
 shore, under the shade of a piece of the hill 
 that hung as it were a little over him. Xury, 
 says I, you shall go on shore, and kill him.' " 
 
 " Could you kill a lion, Jo ? " asked Dan, 
 breaking off in his reading. 
 
 " I don't know," said Joshua, considering 
 and feeling very doubtful of his capability. 
 
 Dan resumed the reading : — 
 
 " ' I took our biggest gun, which was al- 
 most musket-bore, and loaded it with a good 
 charge of powder and with two slugs, and 
 laid it down; then I loaded another gun 
 with two bullets ; and the third (for we had 
 three pieces), I loaded with five smaller 
 bullets.' " 
 
 " No, I couldn't kill a lion," said Joshua, 
 in a tone of disappointed conviction ; " for 
 I can't fire off a gun. But that occurred 
 nearly two hundred years ago, Dan. I don't 
 suppose there are as many lions now as 
 there used to be." 
 
 " And ships are different, too, to what 
 they were then, Jo," said Dan, closing the 
 book. " Stronger and better built. I dare 
 say if it had been a very strong ship that 
 Robinson Crusoe went out in, he wouldn't 
 have been wrecked." 
 
 " I am glad he was, though ; if he hadn't 
 been, we shouldn't have been able to read 
 about him. It is beautiful, isn't it? " 
 
 " Beautiful to read, " replied Dan. " But 
 he was dreadfully miserable sometimes ; for 
 twenty-four years and more he had no one 
 to speak to. It appears strange to me that 
 he didn't forget how to speak the English 
 language, and that he didn't go mad. Now, 
 Jo, supposing it was you ! Do you think, if 
 you had no one to speak to for twenty years, 
 that you would be able to speak as well 
 as you do now ? Don't you think you would 
 stammer over a word sometimes, and lose 
 the sense of it ? " 
 
 Dan asked these questions so earnestly, 
 that Joshua laughed, and said, — 
 
 " Upon my word, I don't know, Dan. " 
 
 But the time was to come when the mem- 
 ory of Dan's questions came to Joshua's 
 mind with a deep and solemn significance. 
 
 " He had his parrot certainly, " continued 
 Dan ; " but what used he to say to it ? 
 * Robin, Robin, Robin Crusoe ! Poor Robin 
 Crusoe 1 IIow came you here ? Where have 
 you been, Robin ? ' That wasn't much to 
 say, and to be always saying ; and I am sure 
 that if he kept on saying it for so many 
 years, he must have entirely forgotten what 
 the meaning of it was. You try it, — say a 
 word, or two or three words, for a hundred 
 times. You will begin to wonder what it 
 means before you come to the end." 
 
 " But he had his Bible ; and you know 
 •what a comfort that was to him." 
 
 " Perhaps that was the reason he didn't 
 
 go mad. I dare say, too, that some qualities 
 in him were strengthened and came to his 
 aid because he was so strangely situated. 
 What quaUties now, Jo ? " 
 
 " I don't understand you, Dan." 
 
 " I do say things sometimes you don't un- 
 derstand at first, don't I, Jo ? " 
 
 Joshua nodded good-humoredly. 
 
 " I am often puzzled myself to know what 
 I mean. Leaving Robinson Crusoe alone, 
 and speaking of qualities, Jo, take me for an 
 instance. I am a cripple, and shall never be 
 able to go about. And do you know, Jo, that 
 my mind is stronger than it would have been 
 if I were not helpless ? I can see things." 
 
 " Can you see any thing now, Dan ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 "What?" 
 
 '' I can see something that will separate 
 you and me, Jo." 
 
 "Forever, Dan?" 
 
 "No, not forever; we shall be together 
 sometimes, and then you can tell me all 
 sorts of things that I shall never be able 
 to see myself." 
 
 " Don't you think your legs will ever get 
 strong?" asked Joshua. 
 
 "Never, Jo; they get worse and worse. 
 And I feel, too, so weak, that I am afraid I 
 shall not have strength to use my crutches 
 much longer. Every thing about me — my 
 limbs, and joints, and every thing — gets 
 weaker and weaker every day. If it wasn't 
 for my body, I should be all right. My mind 
 is right. I can talk and think as well as if 
 my body were strong. Stupid bits of fle^h 
 and bone 1 " he exclaimed, looking at his 
 limbs, and good-humoredly scolding them. 
 " Why don't you fly away and leave me ? " 
 
 At this point of the conversation Mrs. 
 Taylor called out that it was time for Dan 
 to go to bed, so the lads parfeed. That 
 night Joshua dreamed that he killed a lion ; 
 and Dan dreamed that Golden Cloud came 
 out of the flower-pot, and it wasn't dead, 
 but only pretending. 
 
 Dan had good reason for speaking in the 
 way he did of his body, for it distressed him 
 very much. Soon after the death of Gold- 
 en Cloud, he grew so weak and ill that he 
 was confined to his bed. But his mind 
 scarcely seemed to be affected by his bodily 
 ills, and his cheerfulness never deserted him. 
 He had his dear winged companions brought 
 to his bedroom, and they hopped about his 
 bed as contentedly as could be. And 
 there he played with them and took delight 
 in them ; and, as he hearkened to their chir- 
 ruppings, and looked at their pretty forms, 
 a sweet pleasure was in his eyes, a sweet 
 pleasure was in his heart. And this pleas- 
 ure was enhanced by the presence of Josh- 
 ua, who spent a great deal of time with 
 his sick friend. 
 
LIFE AND DEATH OP GOLDEN CL 
 
 17 
 
 The tender love that existed between 
 the kids was uiidefiled by a single selfish 
 act or thought. They were one in sympa- 
 thy and sentiment. Joshua was Dan's al- 
 most only companion during his illness. 
 Dan's mother tendtui him and gave him his 
 physic, which could not do him any good, 
 the doctor said; but Mrs. Taylor's house- 
 hold duties and responsibilities occupied 
 nearly the Avhole of her time ; she could 
 not artbrd to keep a servant, and she had 
 all the kitchen-work to do. Ellen — Dan's 
 twin-sister and Joshua's quondam sweet- 
 heart — was often in the room; but, young 
 as she was, she was already being employed 
 about the house assisting her mother. 
 She scrubbed the floors and washed the 
 clothes ; and, although she was so little 
 that she had to stand on a chair in the tiny 
 yard to hang the clothes on the line, she 
 was as proud of her work, and took as much 
 pleasure in it, as if she were a grown wo- 
 man, who had been properly brought up. 
 Notwithstanding the onerous nature of her 
 duties, she managed to spend half an hour 
 now and again with Josh and Dan, and 
 would sit quite still listening to the conver- 
 sation. Her presence in the room was 
 pleasing to the boy-friends, for Ellen was 
 as modest and tidy a little girl as could be 
 met with in a day's walk. 
 
 Susan, Dan's unfortunate nursemaid, 
 was a young woman now. But she had a 
 horror of the sick-room. She entertained 
 a secret conviction that she was a murder- 
 «_s, and really had some sort of an idea 
 that if Daniel died she would be taken up 
 and hanged. She was as fascinated as 
 ever with Punch and Judy ; but the fesci- 
 nation had something hon'ible in it. Often 
 when she was standing looking at the show 
 — and she was more welcome to the show- 
 man than she used to be, for now she some- 
 times gave him a penny — she would be- 
 gin to tremble when the hangman came on 
 the scene with his gallows, and Avould then 
 fairly run away in a fright. Ever since 
 she had let Daniel slip from her arms out 
 of the window, there had been growing in 
 her mind a fear that something dreadful 
 was following her ; and a dozen times a 
 day she would throw a startled look behind 
 her, as if to assure herself that there was 
 nothing horrible there. She had been 
 sufliciently punished for her carelessness. 
 For a good many weeks after it occurred, 
 bad little boys and girls in the neighbor- 
 hood used to call after her, " Ah-h-h ! Who 
 killed her little brother? Ah-h-h!" If 
 she ran, they ran after her, and hooted her 
 with the dreadful accusation. It took 
 different forms. Now it was, " Ah-h-h-h ! 
 Who killed her little brother ? Ah-h-h 1 " 
 And now it was, " Ah-h-h I Who'll be 
 
 hung for killing her little^rother'? Ah-h*-" 
 h-h ! " Such an effect did this cruel punish- 
 ment have upon her, that she would 
 wake up in terror in the middle of the 
 night with all her fevered pulses quivering 
 to the cry, " Ah-h-h-h ! Who'll be hung 
 for killing her little brother? Ah-h-h-h 1" 
 But time, which cures all things, relieved 
 her. The bad boys and girls grew tired of 
 savinac the same thing over and over 
 again. A new excitement claimed their 
 attention, and poor Susan was allowed to 
 walk unmolested through the streets. But 
 the effect remained in the terror-flashes 
 that would spring in her eyes, and in the 
 agonized looks of fear that she would 
 throw behind her every now and again, 
 without any apparent cause. These feel- 
 ings had such a powerful effect upon her, 
 that she never entered Dan's room unless 
 she were compelled to do so ; and once, 
 when Dan sent for her and asked her to 
 forgive him for being naughty when he 
 was a baby, she was so affected that she 
 did nothing but shed remorseful tears for a 
 week afterwards. 
 
 One day, when Dan was playing with the 
 birds, and no other person but he and 
 Joshua was in the room, he said, — 
 
 " Do you think the birds know that I 
 am so weak and ill, Jo, dear ? " 
 
 " Sometimes I think they do, Dan," an- 
 swered Joshua. 
 
 " Dear little things ! You haven't any 
 idea how weak I really am. But I am 
 strong enough for something." 
 
 " What, Dan ? " 
 
 " If you don't ask any questions, I sha'n't 
 tell you any stories," replied Dan gayly. 
 " Lend me your penknife." 
 
 Joshua gave Dan his penknife, and when 
 he came the next day Dan was" cutting 
 strips of wood from one of his crutches. 
 
 " O Dan ! " exclaimed Joshua, bursting 
 into tears. 
 
 Dan looked at Joshua, and smiled. 
 
 " O you cry-baby ! " he said. But he 
 said it in a voice of exquisite tenderness ; 
 and he drew Joshua's head on to the pillow, 
 and he laid his own beside it, and he 
 kissed Joshua's lips. 
 
 " I shall not want my crutches any more," 
 he whispered in Joshua's ear as thus they 
 lay ; " that is all. It isn't as bad as you 
 think." 
 
 " You are not going to die, Dan ? " 
 asked Joshua in a trembling voice. 
 
 "I don't think I am — yet. It is only 
 because I am almost certain — I feel it, Jo 
 — that I shall be a helpless cripple all my 
 life, and that I shall not be able to move 
 about, even with the help of crutches." 
 
 " Poor dear Dan ! " said Joshua, check- 
 in"- his sobs with difficulty. 
 
18 
 
 JOSHUA MARVEL. 
 
 " Poor Dan I Not at all ! I can read, 
 I can think, and I can love you, Jo, all the 
 same. I have made up my mind what I 
 am goiui^ to do. I shall live in you. You 
 are my tnend, and strong as you are, you 
 can't iove me more than I love you. And 
 even if I was to die, dear " — 
 
 " Don't say that, Dan ; I can't bear to 
 think of it." 
 
 " Why ? It isn't dreadful. If I was to 
 die, we should still be friends —. we should 
 still love each other. Don't you love 
 Golden Cloud ? " 
 
 Joshua whispered " Yes." 
 
 " But Golden Cloud is not here. Yet 
 you love him. And so do I, more than I 
 did when pet was alive. I don't quite 
 know how it is with birds, but I do know 
 how it is with us. If you was here, Jo, 
 and I was there, we should meet again." 
 
 " Amen, Dan ! " 
 
 " And ic is nice to believe and know — 
 as you and I believe and know — that if 
 we were parted, we should come together 
 again by and by ; and that perhaps the dear 
 little birds would be with us there as they 
 are here, and that we should love them as 
 we love them now. They are so pretty and 
 harmless that I think God will let them 
 come. Besides, what would the trees do 
 without them ? " 
 
 " What do you mean, Dan, by saying 
 that you are going to live in me ? " 
 
 " It is a curious fency, Jo, but I have 
 thought of it a good deal, and I want you 
 to thmk of it too. I want to be with you, 
 although I shall not be able to move.^ You 
 are going to be a hero, and are going to 
 see strange sights perhaps. I can see far- 
 ther than' you can ; and I know the mean- 
 ino- of your going down to the riverside, as 
 you have done a good many times lately. 
 I know what you will make up your mimi 
 to be, although I sha'n't say until you tell 
 me yourself. Well, Jo, I want you to 
 fancy, if I don't know what is happening to 
 you — if you are in any strange place, and 
 are seeing wonderful things — I want you to 
 fancy, ' Dan is here with me, although I can- 
 not see him.' Will you do that, Jo, dear ? " 
 
 " Yes ; wherever I am, and whatever I 
 shall see, I will think, ' Dan is here with 
 me, although I cannot see him.' " 
 
 " Tliat is friendship. This isn't," said 
 Dan, holding up a finger; "this is only a 
 little bit of tlesh. If it is anywhere about 
 us, it is here ; " and he took Joshua's fin- 
 gers, and pressed them to his heart. Then, 
 after a pause of a few moments, he said, 
 « So don't cry any more because I am 
 cutting up my crutches ; I am making some 
 new things tor the birds." 
 
 Thev had a concert after that ; and the 
 blackbird whistled " Polly, put the kettle 
 
 on," to its heart's content ; and the tomtit 
 performed certain difficult acrobatic tricks 
 in token of approval. 
 
 Dan recovered so far from his sickness 
 as to be able to leave his bed. But it al- 
 most appeared as if he was right in saying 
 that he should not want his crutches. He 
 had not sufficient strength in his shoulders 
 to use them. He had to be lifted in and 
 out of bed, and sometimes could not even 
 wash and dress himself. Ellen Taylor was 
 his nurse, and a dear good nurse she proved 
 herself to be. A cross word never passed 
 her lijis. She devoted herself to the ser- 
 vice of her helpless brother with a very 
 perfect love ; and her nature was so beauti- 
 ful in its gentleness and tenderness that 
 those qualities found expression in her face, 
 and made that beautiful also. Dan had 
 yielded to Joshua's entreaties not to de- 
 stroy his crutches. " You might be able to 
 use them some day," Joshua would say. 
 To which Dan would reply by asking gayly 
 if Joshua had ever heard of a miracle in 
 Stepney. However, he kept his crutches, 
 and Joshua was satisfied. In course of 
 time Joshua began to train a few birds at 
 his own house, and now and then Dan's 
 parents would allow Dan to be carried to 
 Joshua's house, and to stop there for a few 
 days. When that occurred, Dan and Jo- 
 shua slept together, and would tell stories to 
 each other long after the candle had been 
 blown out — stories of which Joshua was 
 almost always the hero. Joshua had one 
 great difficulty to overcome when he first 
 introduced the birds into his house ; that 
 difficulty was the yellow-haired cat, of 
 which mention has already been made. 
 With the usual amiability of her species, 
 the domestic tigress, directly she set eyes 
 upon the birds, determined to make a meal 
 of them, and it required all Joshua's vigi- 
 lance to prevent the slaughter of the inno- 
 cents. But he was patient, and firm, and 
 kind, and he so conquered the tigerish pro- 
 pensities of the cat towards the birds, that 
 in a few weeks she began to tolerate them, 
 and in a few weeks more to play with them 
 and to allow them to play with her, and 
 gradually grew so cordial with them that it 
 might have been supposed she had kittened 
 them by mistake. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 IN WHICH DAN GETS WILD NOTIONS INTO 
 HIS HEAD, AND MAKES SOME VERT 
 BOYISH EXPERIMENTS. 
 
 If every farthing of the allowance of 
 pocket-money which Joshua and Dan re- 
 
DAN'S EXPERIMENTS. 
 
 19 
 
 ceived from their respective parents had 
 been carefully saved up, it would nut have 
 amounted to a very lari^e sum in the course 
 of the year. Insignificant, however, as 
 was the allowance, it sufficed for their small 
 wants, and was made to yield good interest 
 in the way of social enjoyment. The lads 
 did not keep separate accounts. Wliat 
 was Josliua's was Dan's, and what was 
 Dan's was Joslma's. As there were no 
 secret clasps in their minds concealing 
 something which tlie other was not to 
 share and enjoy, so there was no secret 
 clasp in their money-box which debarred 
 either ii'ora spending that which, strictly 
 speaking, belonged to his friend. Dan was 
 the treasurer ; the ti'casury Avas the money- 
 box whicii was to have been Golden Cloud's 
 coffin. Dan's allowance was two pence a 
 week, which was often in arrears in con- 
 sequence of ills father being too fond of 
 public-houses ; Joshua's allowance was lour 
 pence a week, which he received very reg- 
 ularly. But each of their allowances was 
 supplemented by contributions from inde- 
 pendent sources. The motives which 
 prompted these contributions were of a, 
 very diiferent nature ; as the following will 
 explain : — 
 
 '* Something more for the money-box, 
 Dan," said Joshua, producing a four-penny 
 piece, and dropping it into the box. 
 
 " From tlie same partj^, Jo ? " asked Dan. 
 
 " From the same jolly old party, Dan. 
 From the Old Sailor." 
 
 " Is he nice ? " 
 
 " The Old Sailor ? You should see him, 
 that's all." 
 
 " You have been down to the waterside 
 again, then V " 
 
 " Yes. Tuck-tuck-joey 1 " This latter 
 to the linnet, who came out to have a peep 
 at Joshua, and who, directly it heard the 
 greeting, responded with the sweetest peal 
 of music that mortal ever listened to. 
 When the linnet had finished its song the 
 obtrusive and greedy blackbird, deter- 
 mined not to be outdone, and quite ignor- 
 ing the fact that it had had a very good 
 supper, ordered Polly to put the kettle on, 
 in its most piercing notes. 
 
 " Did you go on tlie river, Jo?" asked 
 Dan. 
 
 " Yes. In a boat. Rowing. The Old 
 Sailor says I am getting along famously." 
 
 " I should like to see the Old Sailor." 
 
 " I wish you could ; but he is such a 
 strange old fellow ! He doesn't care for 
 the land. When I tell mother what I am 
 making up my mind to be — wliat I shall 
 have made up mind then to be — I will 
 coax him to come to our house. I want him 
 to talk to mother about the sea, for she is 
 sure to cry and fret, and although the Old 
 
 Sailor doesn't think that women are as good 
 as men, he thinks mothers are better." 
 
 Dan laughed a pleasant little laugh. 
 
 " That is queer," he said. 
 
 " He knows all about you, and he asks 
 me every day, ' How is Dan V ' " 
 
 " I am glad of that — very glad." 
 
 " So am I. I have told him all about the 
 birds, and how they love you. You would 
 never guess what lie said to-day about you." 
 
 " Something very bad, I dare say," said 
 Dan, knowing very well, all the time, that 
 it was something good, or Joshua would 
 not tell him. 
 
 " Something very bad. He said, ' He 
 must be a fine little chap' — meaning you, 
 Dan — ' or the birds wouldn't love him.' " 
 
 " Has he been all over the world, Jo? " 
 
 " All over the world ; and O Dan, he 
 has seen such places ! " 
 
 '• I tell you what we will do," said Dan. 
 " To-morrow you shall buy a couple of 
 young bullfinches, and you shall find out 
 some tune the Old Sailor is fond of, and I 
 will teach the bullfinches to whistle it. 
 Then you shall give the birds to the Old 
 Sailor, and say they are a present from me 
 and you." 
 
 " That will be prime I He will be so 
 pleased ! " 
 
 " Have you ever heard him sing, Jo? " 
 
 " Yes," answered Joshua, laughing ; " I 
 have heard him sing, — 
 
 ' Which is the properest day to drink, 
 
 Saturday, Sunday, Monday ? 
 Each is the properest day, I think — 
 
 Why should 1 name but one day ? 
 Tell me but j'ours, I'll mention my day, 
 
 Let us but fix on some day — 
 Tuesday, Wednesday. Thursday. Friday, 
 
 Saturday, Sunday, or Monday.' " 
 
 " I don't think that would do," said Dan, 
 echoing Joshua's laugh. 
 
 " Here's another," said Joshua, and he 
 played a prelude to " Poor Tom Bowling," 
 antl sang the first verse, — 
 
 ' Here a sheer hulk lies poor Tom Bowling, 
 
 The darling of our crew ; 
 No more he'll hear the tempest howling, 
 
 For death has broached him too. 
 His form was of the manliest beauty, 
 
 His heart was kind and soft, 
 Faithful below Tom did his duty, 
 
 But now he's gone aloft, 
 
 But now he's gone aloft.' " 
 
 Joshua sang the words with much tender 
 feeling, but Dan shook his head. 
 
 " The birds would never be able to get 
 the spirit of the song into them," he said, 
 "and the tune is nothing without that. 
 Never mind — we'll teach tliem something, 
 and then the Old Sailor shall have them." 
 
 " And I shall tell him they are a present 
 from you alone." 
 
 " No," said Dan energetically ; " that 
 
20 
 
 JOSHUA MARVEL. 
 
 would spoil it all. They are from you and 
 me together. Can't you guess the reason 
 why ? " 
 
 " I believe I can," replied Joshua, after 
 a little consideration. " The Old Sailor 
 likes me, and you want him to like you 
 because of me, not because of yourself 
 alone ; you want him to like me more be- 
 cause of you — as I am sure he will when 
 he knows you." 
 
 " That's it. I want him to know that 
 we love each other, and that we shall al- 
 ways love each other, whether we are to- 
 gether or separated. I want everybody 
 who likes you, Jo, to like me." 
 
 Joshua laid his hand upon Dan's, which 
 rested on the table, and Dun placed his 
 other hand upon Joshua's playfully. Their 
 hands were growing to be very unlike. 
 Dan's hand, as it grew, became more deli- 
 cate, while Joshua's grew stronger and 
 more muscular. Dan laughed another 
 pleasant laugh as he remarked the differ- 
 ence between them. " That is a proper 
 kind of hand for a hero," he said. And 
 then, in a more serious voice, " Joshua, do 
 you know I think we can see each other's 
 thoughts." And so, indeed, it appeared 
 as if they could. 
 
 The next day the bullfinches were bought, 
 and Dan began to train them. They were 
 a pair of very young birds, not a dozen 
 days old, and the air Dan fixed upon to 
 teach them fii-st was " Rule, Britannia." 
 
 So much tor Joshua's supplemental con- 
 tributions to the general fund. Now for 
 Dan's. 
 
 " Another sixpence in a piece of paper, 
 Jo! " 
 
 " That makes eighteen pence tliis month, 
 Dan. Poor Susan ! " 
 
 " Poor Susan ! " echoed Dan. 
 
 Susan was very much to be pitied. Look- 
 ing upon herself as her brother's destroyer, 
 she endeavored, by ofil'rings of sLxpences 
 as often as she could afford them, to atone 
 for the crime — for so she now regarded 
 it — by which she had made him a help- 
 less cripple. Tliese sixpences were not 
 given openly; they were laid, as it were, 
 upon the sacrificial altar in secret. Some- 
 times the altar was one of Ellen's shoes, 
 and Ellen, when she dressed herself, would 
 feel something sticking in her heel, and 
 discover it to be a sixpence tightly screwed 
 up in a piece of paper, with the words, 
 " For Dan ; from Susan," written on it ; 
 sometimes the altar was one of Dan's pock- 
 et-handkerchiefs, and the sixpence was tied 
 up in a knot ; sometimes it was a bag of 
 bird-seed; sometimes Dan's cap. She "was 
 8o imbued with a sense of guilt, that she 
 trembled when she met Dan's eye. He 
 was as kind and gentle to her, when he 
 
 had the opportunity, as he was to all 
 around him ; and divining her secret re- 
 morse, he tried by every means in his 
 power to lessen it. But the feeling, that, 
 if Dan died, she was a murderess, was too 
 deeply implanted in her to be ever removed. 
 She lived in constant fear. She was afraid 
 of the dark, and could not sleep M'itliout a 
 rush-light near her bedside. Often in the 
 night, on occasions when Dan was weaker 
 than usual, she would creep down stairs, and 
 listen at his bedroom-door to catch the 
 sound of his breathing. If she did not 
 hear it at first, the ghostly echo of the old 
 terrible cry, " Ah-h-h-h ! who killed her lit- 
 tle brother? Ah-h-h-h!" filled the stair- 
 case and the passage with dreadful shad- 
 ows ; shadows that seemed to thicken and 
 gather about her as if possessed with a de- 
 sire to stifle her — and she would press her 
 hands tightly upon her eyes so that she 
 should not see them. Then perhaps she 
 would open Dan's door quietly, and hearing 
 him breathe, ever so softly, would creep up 
 stairs again, a little more composed ; al- 
 ways closing her door quickly, to prevent 
 the shadows on the stairs from coming into 
 her room. 
 
 The supplemental contributions from Su- 
 san and the Old Sailor were very accept- 
 able to Dan and Joshua, who were both fond 
 of reading. What was not spent in birds' 
 food was spent in books. They subscribed to 
 two magazines, the " Penny Magazine " and 
 the " Mirror," which came out weekly ; the 
 subscription was a serious one for them, and 
 made a great hole in their pocket-money : 
 it swallowed up three pence per week. The 
 addition of a new book to their modest 
 library was one of the proudest events in 
 their quiet lives. " I^ew " books is not a 
 strictly correct phrase, for the collection 
 consisted of second-hand volumes, picked 
 up almost at random at old-book stalls. 
 Although their library was a small one, 
 not uunibering in its palmiest days more 
 than fifty volumes, it was wonderfully mis- 
 cellaneous. Now it was a book of travels 
 that Joshua bought ; now a book of poems ; 
 now an odd volume of a magazine ; now a 
 book on natural history ; now a speculative 
 book which neither of the boys could under- 
 stand — not at all a weak reason in favor of 
 its being purchased. Over these books the 
 boys would pore night after night, and ex- 
 tract such marrow from them as best suited 
 their humor. The conversations which arose 
 out of their readings were worth listening 
 to ; Dan's observations, especially, were 
 very quaint and original, and gave evi- 
 dence, not only of good taste, but of the 
 possession of reflective powers of a high 
 order. 
 
 An old book on dreams which Joshua 
 
DAN'S EXPERIMENTS. 
 
 21 
 
 bought for a song, a& the saying is, proved 
 especially attractive to Dan. The proper 
 title of tlie book was the " Philosophy oi" 
 Dreams," an ambitious sub-title — the 
 "Triumph of Mind over Matter" — being 
 aflixed. Dan read and re-read this book 
 with avidity. In it the writer contended 
 that a person coukl so command and con- 
 trol his mental forces, as to train himself 
 to dream of events which were actually 
 takiuf place at a distance from him, at the 
 precise moment they occurred. Space, 
 said the author, was of the smallest conse- 
 quence. There was one thing, however, 
 that was absolutely necessary — that a 
 perfect sympathy should exist between the 
 dreamer and the person or persons of whom 
 he was dreaming. It was a wildly-specula- 
 tive book taken at its best, and contained 
 much irrelevant and ridiculous matter ; 
 but it was just the kind of book to attract 
 such a lad as Dan, and it set him thinking. 
 " Perfect sympathy ! Such a sympathy," 
 he thought, " as exists between me and 
 Jo; " and he proceeded to read with 
 greater eagerness. The author, in support 
 of his theory, dragged in nearly all the 
 sciences; and drew largely upon that of 
 phrenology. He explained whei-e certain 
 organs lay, such as wonder, veneration, be- 
 nevolence, destructiveness, and proceeded 
 somewhat in the following fashion : Say 
 that a person is sleeping, and that he is 
 not disturbed by any special powerful emo- 
 tion, arising probably from strong anxiety 
 connected with his worldly circumstances. 
 His mind must be at rest, and his sleep be 
 calm and peaceful. Under these circum- 
 stances, if a certain organ, say the organ 
 of veneration, be gently pressed, the sleeper 
 will presently dream a dream, in which the 
 sentiment of veneration will be the quality 
 most prominently brought into play. And 
 so with wonder, and benevolence, and com- 
 bativeness, and other qualities. Having 
 stated this very distinctly, the writer pro- 
 ceeded, as if the mere statement were suf- 
 ficient proof of its incontestability : say 
 that between the sleeper and the operator 
 a strong and earnest sympathy existed ; 
 the operator, selecting in his mind some 
 person with whom they ai-e both acquainted, 
 brings his power of will to bear upon the 
 sleeper. (Here the. writer interpolated 
 that the experiment would fail if the or- 
 gans of concentrativeness and firmness 
 were not more than ordinarily large in the 
 operator.) With his mind firmly fixed 
 upon the one object, he wills that the sleep- 
 er shall dream of their mutual acquaint- 
 ance ; and as he wills it, with all the in- 
 tensity he can exercise, he gently manipu- 
 lates the sleeper's organ of tune — which, 
 by the way, the author stated he believed 
 
 was the only one of the purely intellectual 
 faculties which could be [)rcssed into ser- 
 vice. The sleeper will then (h'caiu oi' liie 
 sc;lected person, and his sense of melody 
 and tiie harmony of sound will be gralified. 
 Then, in a decidedly vague manner, as if 
 he had got himself in a tangle from which 
 he did not know how to extricate himself, 
 the author argued that what one person 
 could do to another, he could do also to 
 himself, and that the effect produced upon 
 another person by physical m:inipulation 
 may be produced upon one's self l)y a strong 
 concentration of will. During our waking 
 moments he said, the aflective faculties of 
 our mind are brought into play. Thus, we 
 see and wonder ; thus, we see and vene- 
 rate ; thus, we sec and pity. These facul- 
 ties or sentiments are excited and make 
 themselves felt without any effort on our 
 part. If, then, circumstances, which previ- 
 ously did not affect us, can thus act upon 
 us without the exercise of voluntary effort 
 to produce sensation ; if circumstances, 
 in which we had no reason to feel the 
 slightest active interest, can cause us to 
 venerate, to pity, to wonder — broadly, to 
 rejoice and to suffer — why should we not 
 be able, by the aid of a jjowerful sympathy 
 and an earnest desire, to bring into reason- 
 ing action the fixculties which are thus ex- 
 cited by uninteresting and independent 
 circumstances ? 
 
 Thus far the author : unconscious that 
 he had fallen into the serious error of con- 
 founding the affective with the intellectual 
 faculties, and not appearing to understand 
 that, whereas an affective faculty can be 
 brought into conscious action by independ- 
 ent circumstances, an intellectual faculty 
 requires a direct mental effort before it is 
 excited. His essay was not convincing. 
 He wandered off at tangents ; laid down a 
 theory, and, proceeding to establish it, so 
 entangled himself that he lost its connect- 
 ing threads ; and had evidently been un- 
 able to properly think out a subject which 
 is not entirely unworthy of consideration. 
 However, he had written his book, and it 
 got into Dan's hands and into Dan's head. 
 Joshua did not understand it a bit, and 
 said so ; and when he asked Dan to explain 
 it, Dan could scarcely fit words to what 
 was in his mind. 
 
 " Ahhough I cannot explain it very 
 clearly, I can understand it," said Dan. 
 " He means to say that a person can see 
 with his mental sight " — 
 
 "That is, with his eyes shut," inter- 
 rupted Joshua jocularly. 
 
 " Certainly, with his eyes shut," said Dan 
 very decidedly. " Our eyes are shut when 
 we dream, yet we see things." Joshua 
 became serious immediately ; the answer 
 
22 
 
 JOSHUA MAKVEL. 
 
 was a convincing one. " And that proves 
 that we have two senses of siglit — one in 
 the eyes, the other in the mind. Haven't 
 you seen rings, and circles, and clouds when 
 you are in bed at night, and before you go 
 to sleep ? I can press my face on the pil- 
 low and say — not out loud, and yet 1 say 
 it and can hear it — which shows that all 
 our senses are double." (In his eagerness 
 to expliifin what he could scarcely compre- 
 hend, Dan was in danger of falling into the 
 same error as the author of the " Triumph of 
 Mind over Matter" had fallen into, that of 
 flying oft' at tangents : it was with diffi- 
 culty he could keep to his subject.) " Well, 
 Jo, I press my head into the pillow, and 
 say, ' I will see rings,' and presently I see 
 a little ball, black, perhaps, and it grows 
 and grows into rings — like what you see 
 when }'ou throw a stone in the water — 
 larger and larger, all the different colors of 
 the rainbow ; and then, when they have 
 grown so lai'ge as to appear to have lost 
 themselves in space — just like the rings 
 in the water, Jo — another little ball shapes 
 itself in the dark, and gradually becomes 
 visible, and then the rings come and grow 
 and disappear as the others did. When I 
 have seen enough, I say — not out loud 
 again, Jo, but silently as I did before — ' I 
 don't want to see any more,' and they 
 don't come again. What I can do with 
 rings, I can doAvith clouds. I say, ' I will 
 see clouds,' and they come, all colors of 
 blue, from white-blue to black-blue ; some- 
 times I see sunsets." 
 
 " I have seen them too, Dan," said 
 Joshua ; " I have seen skies with stars in 
 them, just as I have seen them with my 
 eyes wide open." 
 
 " Now, if we can do this," continued Dan, 
 " why cannot we do more ? " 
 
 " We can't do what he says in this 
 book," said Joshua, drumming with his 
 fingers on the " Philosophy of Dreams." 
 
 " I don't know. Why should he write 
 all that unless he knew something ? There 
 is no harm in trying, at all events. Let 
 me see. Here is a chart of a head, 
 Jo turning to a diagram in the book. 
 •' Where is combativeness ? Oh ! here, at 
 the back of the head, behind the ear. Can 
 you feel it, Jo ? Is it a large bump ? No ; 
 you are going too high up, I am sure. 
 Now you are too much in the middle. Ah ! 
 that's the place, I think." 
 
 These last sentences referred to Joshua's 
 attempt to find Dan's organ of combative- 
 ness. 
 
 " I don't feel anything particular, Dan," 
 he said. 
 
 " But you feel something, don't you, Jo ? " 
 asked Dan anxiously. " There is a bump 
 there, isn't there ? " 
 
 " A very little one," answered Joshua, 
 earnestly manipulating Dan's head, and 
 pressing the bump. " Do you feel spite- 
 ful ? " 
 
 " No," said Dan, laughing. 
 
 " There's a bump twice as large just 
 above your fighting one." 
 
 " What is that bump ? " said Dan, ex- 
 amining the diagram again. " Ah I that 
 must be adhesiveness." 
 
 " I don't know what that means." 
 
 " Give me the dictionary ; " and Dan 
 with eager fingers turned over the pages of 
 an old Walker's Dictionary. " ' Adhesive 
 — sticking, tenacious,' " he read. " That 
 is, that I stick to a thing, as I mean to do 
 to this. Now I'll tell you what we'll do, Jo. 
 I shall sleep at your house to-morrow night, 
 and when I am asleep, you shall press my 
 organ of combativeness — put your fingers 
 on it — yes, there ; and when I wake I will 
 tell you what I have dreamed of." 
 
 " All right," said Joshua, removing his 
 fingers. 
 
 " You will be able to find the place 
 again ? " 
 
 " Yes, Dan." 
 
 " And you will be sure to keep awake ? " 
 
 " Sure, Dan." 
 
 The following night, Joshua waited very 
 patiently until Dan was asleep. He had 
 to wait a long time ; for Dan, in consequence 
 of his anxiety, was longer than usual get- 
 ting to sleep. Once or twice Joshua 
 thought that his friend was in the Land of 
 Nod, and he commenced operations, but he 
 was interrupted by Dan saying drowsily, 
 " I am not asleep yet, Jo." At length Dan 
 really went off, and then Joshua, very 
 quietly and with great care, felt for Dan's 
 organ of combativeness, and pressed it. 
 Joshua looked at his sleeping friend with 
 anxiety. " Pei'haps he will hit out at me," 
 he thought. But Dan lay perfectly still, 
 and Joshua, after waiting and watching in 
 vain for some indication of the nature of 
 Dan's sleeping fancies, began to feel very 
 sleepy himself, and went to bed. In the 
 morning, when they were both awake, 
 Joshua asked what Dan had dreamed of. 
 
 " 1 can't remember," said Dan, rubbing 
 his eyes. 
 
 " I pressed your combativeness for a long 
 time, Dan," said Joshua; "and I pressed 
 it so hard that I was almost afraid you 
 would hit out." 
 
 " I didn't, did I ? " 
 
 " No ; you were as still as a mouse." 
 
 " I dreamed of something, though," said 
 Dan, considering. " Oh, I remember I I 
 dreamed of you, Jo ; you were standing on a 
 big ship, with a big telescope in your hand. 
 You had no cap on, and your hair was all 
 flying about." 
 
DAN'S EXPERIMENTS. 
 
 23 
 
 " "Were there any sailors on the ship ? " 
 
 " A jzood many." 
 
 " Did you quarrel with any of them ? " 
 
 " I didn't dream of myself at all." 
 
 " Did any of the sailors quarrel with 
 me?" 
 
 " There wasn't any quarrelling, Jo, that 
 I can remember." 
 
 " So you see," said Joshua, " that it is all 
 fud;ie." 
 
 "I don't see that at all. Now I think of 
 it, it isn't likely that I should dream of 
 quarrelling with any one or fighting with 
 any one when I was dreaming of you, Jo." 
 
 " Or perhaps you haven't any combative- 
 ness, Dan." 
 
 " Perhaps I haven't. It wouldn't be of 
 much use to me if I had, for I shouldn't 
 know how to fight." 
 
 " Or perhaps your combativeness is so 
 small that it won't act," said Joshua sport- 
 ively. 
 
 " Don't joke about it, Jo," said Dan. 
 " You don't know how serious I am, and 
 how disappointed I feel at its being a fail- 
 ure. Will you try it again to-night ? " 
 
 Joshua, seeing that Dan was very much 
 in earnest, readily promised ; and the ex- 
 periment was repeated that night, with 
 the same result. After that the subject 
 dropped for a time. 
 
 But if Dan's organ of adhesiveness — 
 which, phrenologically, means affection, 
 friendship, attachment — was large, it was 
 scarcely more powerful than his organ of 
 concentrativeness. His love for Joshua 
 was perfect. He knew that Joshua's choice 
 of a pursuit would separate him from his 
 friend. "\Mien he said to Joshua, '• I shall 
 live in you, Jo," the words conveyed the 
 expression of no light feeling, but of a deep 
 earnest longing and desire to be always 
 with his friend — to be always with him, 
 although oceans divided them. If no mis- 
 fortune had befallen him, if his limbs had 
 been sound and his body strong, Dan would 
 have been intellectually superior to boys in 
 the same station of life as himself. De- 
 barred as he was from their amusements, 
 their anxieties, and their general ways of 
 life, he was thrown, as it were, upon his in- 
 tellect for consolation. It brought him, by 
 the blessing of God, such consolation that 
 his mislbrtune might have been construed 
 into a thing to be coveted. There is good 
 in every thing. 
 
 All Dan's sympathies were with Joshua. 
 Dan admired him for his determination, for 
 bis desire to be better than his fellows. It 
 was Dan who first declared that Joshua was 
 to be a hero ; and Joshua accepted Dan's 
 dictum with complacency. It threw a halo 
 of romance around his determination not 
 to be a wood-turner, and not to do as his 
 
 father had done before him. The reader, 
 from these remarks, or the incidents that 
 follow, may now or presently understand 
 why the wildly-vague essay on the " Phi- 
 loso[)hy of Dreams ; or the Triumph of 
 Mind over INIatter," took Dan's mind pris- 
 oner and so infatuated him. 
 
 Referring to the book again, after the 
 failure of the experiments upon his organ 
 of combativeness, Dan found a few simple 
 directions by which the reader could test, 
 in a minor degree, the power of the min(l 
 over the sleeping body. One of the most 
 simple was this : A person, before he goes 
 to sleep, must resolutely make up his mind 
 to wake at a certain hour in the morninjr. 
 lie must say to himself, " I want to wake 
 at five o'clock — at five o'clock — at five 
 o'clock ; I ivill awake at five o'clock — I 
 will — I -will — I will ! " and continue to re- 
 peat the words and the determination over 
 and over again until he fell asleep, with 
 the resolve firmly fixed in his mind. If 
 you do this, said the writer, you will awake 
 at five o'clock. Dan tried this experiment 
 the same night — and failed. He repeated 
 it the following night, and the night follow- 
 ing that, with the same i-esult. His sleep 
 was disturbed, but that was all. But on 
 the fourth night matters were difierent. 
 Five o'clock was the hour Dan fixed upon, 
 and nothing was more certain than that on 
 the fourth night Dan woke up at the pre- 
 cise moment. There were two churches in 
 the immediate neighborhood, and, as he 
 woke, Dan heard the first church-bell toll 
 the hour. One, two, three, four, five. 
 Each stroke of the bell was followed by a 
 dismal hum of woful tribulation. Then 
 the other church-bell struck the hour, and 
 each stroke of that was followed by a cheer- 
 ful ring, bright and crisp and clear. Dan 
 smiled and hugged himself, and went to 
 sleep again, cherishing wild hopes which he 
 dared not confess even to himself. He 
 tried the experiment on the following 
 night, fixing on a difierent time, half-past 
 three. Undaunted by that and many other 
 failures, he tned again and again, until one 
 night he awoke when it was dark. He 
 waited anxiously to hear the clocks strike. 
 It seemed to be a very long half-hour, but 
 the church-bell struck at last. One, two, 
 three, four. With a droning sound at 
 the end of each stroke, as if a myriad bees, 
 imprisoned in a cell, were giving vent to a 
 long-sustained and simultaneous groan of 
 entreaty to be set free; or as if the bell 
 were wailing for the hour that was dead. 
 Then the joyous church-bell struck One, 
 two, three, four. A wedding-peal in 
 each stroke ; sparkling, although invisible, 
 like stars in a clear sky on a frosty 
 night. 
 
24 
 
 JOSHUA MARVEL. 
 
 Dan went to sleep, almost perfectly 
 happy. 
 
 He repeated his experiment every night, 
 until he had a very nearly perfect com- 
 mand over sleep as far as regarded time, 
 and could wake almost at any hour he de- 
 sired. Then he took a forward step. 
 While playing with his birds he said, " To- 
 night I will dream of you." But the 
 thought intervened that he had often 
 dreamed of the birds, and that to dream of 
 them that night would not be very remark- 
 able. So he said, "No, I will not dream 
 of the birds that are living ; I will dream 
 of Golden Cloud." It was a long time now 
 since Golden Cloud had been buried, but 
 Dan had never forgotten his pet. When he 
 went to bed he said, " I will dreaiii of 
 Golden Cloud — a pleasant dream." And 
 he dwelt upon his wish, and expressed it in 
 words, again and again. That night he 
 dreamed of Golden Cloud, and of its pretty 
 tricks ; of its growing old and shaky ; of its 
 death and burial. Then he saw something 
 that he had never seen before. He saw it 
 lying quite contented and happy at the 
 bottom of its flower-pot coffin, and when he 
 chu'ruped to it, it chiiTuped in return. 
 
 He told his dream to Joshua. 
 
 " I have dreamed of Golden Cloud a good 
 many times," said Joshua. 
 
 " But I made up my mind especially to 
 dream of Golden Cloud," said Dan, " and I 
 dreamed of it the same night. At other 
 times, my dreaming of it was not premedi- 
 tated. It came in the usual way of dreams." 
 
 " ^Vhat do you want me to believe from 
 all this, Dan V " 
 
 " That, as the author of that book says, 
 you can dream of any thing you wish. I 
 scarcely dare believe that I shall be able to 
 dream of what I shall most desire, by and 
 by. By and by, Jo," he repeatedly sadly, 
 "when you and me are parted." 
 
 Joshua threw his arms around Dan's 
 neck. 
 
 " And you are doing all this, dear Dan, 
 because you want to dream of me ? " 
 
 " And because I want to be with you, Jo, 
 and to see things that you see, and never, 
 never to be parted fi-om you." The wist- 
 ful tears ran down Dan's cheek as he said 
 these words. 
 
 " It would be very wonderful," said 
 Joshua ; " almost too wonderful. And I 
 shall think, ' Dan is here with me, although 
 I cannot see him.' " 
 
 " Listen again to what he says, Jo," said 
 Dan, opening the " Triumph of Mind over 
 Matter." " A person can so command and 
 control his mental forces as to train him- 
 self to dream of events that are actually tak- 
 ing place at a distance from him, at the 
 precise moment they occur." 
 
 " And that is what you want to do 
 when I am away, Dan." 
 
 " That is what I want to do when yxju 
 are away, dear Jo." 
 
 " I am positive you can't do it." 
 
 "Why? I dreamed of Golden Cloud 
 when I wanted to." 
 
 "I can understand that. But how did 
 you dream of Golden Cloud, Dan ? You 
 dreamed of him as if he was alive " — 
 
 "At first I did; but afterwards I saw 
 him in the flower-pot, dead." 
 
 " And Golden Cloud chirruped to you ? " 
 
 " Yes, Jo." 
 
 " Think again, Dan. Golden Cloud 
 was dead, and Golden Cloud chirruped to 
 you ! " 
 
 " Yes, Jo," faltered Dan, beginning to 
 understand the drift of Joshua's remarks. 
 
 " That is not dreaming of things as they 
 are, Dan," said Joshua gently, taking Dan's 
 hand and patting it. " If you could dream 
 of Golden Cloud as he is now, you would 
 see nothing of him but a few bones — feath- 
 ers and flesh all turned to clay. Not a 
 chirrup in him, Dan dear, not a chirrup ! " 
 
 Dan covered his eyes with his hand, 
 and the tears came through his fingers. 
 But he soon recovered himself. 
 
 " You are right, Jo," he said : " yet 
 I'm not quite wrong. The man who wrote 
 that book knew things, depend upon it. 
 He was not a fool. / was, to think I could 
 do such wonders in so short a time." 
 
 Dan showed, in the last sentence, that he 
 did not intend to relinquish his desire. He 
 said nothing more about it, however, and 
 in a few minutes the pair of bullfinches 
 were on the table in a little cage, whistling, 
 " Rule, Britannia," the high notes of which 
 one of the birds took with con-summate ease. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 JOSHUA MAKES UP HIS MIND TO GO TO 
 SEA. 
 
 Who was the Old Sailor ? 
 
 Simply an old sailor. Having been a 
 very young sailor indeed once upon a time, 
 a great many years ago now, when, quite a 
 little boy, he ran away from home and went 
 to sea out of sheer love for blue water. In 
 those times many boys did just the same 
 thinji, but that kind of boyish romance has 
 been gradually dying away, and is now al- 
 most dead. Steam has washed off a great 
 deal of its bright coloring. The taste of the 
 salt spray grew so sweet to the young sail- 
 or's mouth, and the sight of the ocean — 
 
JOSHUA RESOLVES TO GO TO SEA. 
 
 25 
 
 the waters of which were not always blue, 
 as he had imagined — grew so dear to his 
 eyes, that every thing else became as naught 
 to him. And so, faithful to his first love, 
 he had grown from a young sailor to an 
 old sailor. At the present tiuie he was liv- 
 ing in a rusty coal-barge, mooretl near the 
 Tower stairs; and, all hough he could see 
 land and houses on the other side of the 
 water, there was a curl in his great nos- 
 trils as if he were smelling the sweet salt 
 spray of the sea, and a staring look in his 
 great blue eyes, as if the grand ocean were 
 before liim instead of a dirty river. He 
 was a short fliick-set man, and his face was 
 deeply indented with small-pox; indeed, 
 so marked were the impressions which that 
 disease had left upon him, that his face 
 looked for all the world like a conglomera- 
 tion of miniature salt-cellars. His name 
 was Praiseworthy Meddler. The sea was 
 liis world — the land was of no importance 
 whatever. Not only was the land of no im- 
 portance in his eyes, but it was a place to 
 be despised, and the people who inhabited 
 it were an inferior race. From him did 
 Joshua Marvel learn of the glories and the 
 wonders of the ocean, and from him came 
 Joshua's inspiration to be a sailor. 
 
 For Joshua had settled upon the road 
 which was to lead him to fame and fortune. 
 By the time that he had made up his mind 
 what was to be his future walk in life, most 
 I other lads in the parish of Stepney of the 
 same age and condition as himself were al- 
 ready at work at different businesses, and 
 had already commenced mounting that lad- 
 der which led almost always to an average 
 of something less than thirty-two shillings a 
 week for the natural term of their lives. 
 Although, up to this period of his life, 
 Joshua's career had been a profitless one, 
 as far as earning money was concerned, his 
 time had not been thrown away. The 
 tastes he had acquired were innocent and 
 good, and were destined to bear good fruit 
 in the future. The boyish friendship he 
 had formed was of incalculable value to 
 him ; for it was undoubtedly due, in a 
 great measure, to that association that 
 Joshua was kept from contact with bad 
 companions. He had not yet given evi- 
 dence of the {jossession of decided char- 
 acter, exce])t what might be gathered from 
 a certain quiet determination of will inher- 
 ited from his mother, but stronger in him 
 than in her because of his sex, and from 
 a certain unswerving atl'ection for any 
 thing he loved. A phrenologist, examining 
 his head, would probably have found that 
 the organs of firmness and adhesiveness 
 predonunated over all his other tixculties ; 
 and for the rest, something very much as 
 follows. (Let it be understood that no 
 
 attempt is here being made to give a per- 
 fect analysis of Joshua's faculties, but that 
 mention is only being made of those organs 
 which may help to explain, if they be re- 
 membered by the reader, and if tliere be 
 any truth in phrenology, certain circum- 
 stances connected witli Joshua's career, 
 the consequences of which may have been 
 varied in another man.) Well, then, ad- 
 hesiveness and firmness very large ; the 
 first of which will account for his strong 
 attachment for Uan, and the second fin- his 
 determination, notwithstanding his mother's 
 efforts, not to take to wood-turning nor any 
 other trade, but to start in life for him- 
 self, luhabitiveness very small ; and us 
 inhabitiveness means a tendency to dwell 
 in one place, the want of that faculty will 
 account for his desire to roam. All his 
 moral and religious faculties — such as 
 benevolence, wonder, veneration, and con- 
 scientiousness — were large ; what are un- 
 derstood as the semi-Intellectual sentiments 
 — constructiveness, imitation and mirth- 
 fulness — he possessed only in a modei'ate 
 degree ; but one, ideality, was largely de- 
 veloped. Four of his intellectual faculties — 
 individuality, language, eventuality, and 
 time — call for especial notice : they were 
 all very small, the smallest of them being 
 eventuality, the especial function of which 
 is a memory of events. Mention being 
 made that his organs of color and tune were 
 large, this brief analysis of Joshua's phreno- 
 logical development is completed. 
 
 For the purpose of fitting himself for his 
 future career, Joshua hail lately spent a 
 great deal of his time at the waterside, and 
 in the course of a few months' experience 
 in boats and barges on the River Tiiames, 
 had made himself perfectly familiar 
 with all the dangers of the sea. Praise- 
 worthy Meddler had a great deal to do 
 with Joshua's resolve. His attention had 
 been directed to the quiet well-behaved 
 lad, who came down so often to the water- 
 side, and who sat gazing, with unformed 
 thoughts, upon the river. Not upon the 
 other side of it, where tumble-down wharves 
 and melancholy walls were, but along the 
 course of it, as far as its winding form would 
 allow him to do so. Then his imagination 
 followed the river, and gave it pleasanter 
 banks and broader, until he could scarcely 
 see any banks at all, so wide had the river 
 "•rown ; then he followed it farther still, 
 until it merged into an ocean of waters, in 
 which were crowded all the wonders he 
 had read of in books of travel and adven- 
 ture : wastes of sea, calm and grand in sun- 
 light and in moonlight ; fire following the 
 shi{) at night, fire in the waters, as if mil- 
 lions of fire-fish had rushed up from the 
 depths to oppose the wooden monster which 
 
26 
 
 JOSHUA MARVEL. 
 
 ploughed them through ; shoals of por- 
 poises, sharks, whales, and all the wondrous 
 breathing life in the mighty waters ; curl- 
 ing waves lifting up the ship, which after- 
 wards glides down into the valleys : blood 
 moons, and such a wealth of stars in the 
 heavens, and such feather-fringed azure 
 clouds as made the heart beat to think of 
 them ; storms, too — dark waters seething 
 and hissing, thunder awfully pealing, light- 
 ning Hashes cutting the heavens open, and 
 darting into the sea and cutting that with 
 keen blades of light, then all dai-ker than 
 it was before : all these pictures came to 
 Joshua's mind as, with eager eyes and 
 clasped hands, he sat gazing at the dirty 
 river. He held his breath as the storm- 
 pictures came, but there was no terror in 
 them ; bright or dark, every thing he saw 
 was tinged with the romance of youthful ima- 
 gining. Praiseworthy Meddler spoke first 
 to Joshua, divined his wish, encouraged it, 
 told the lad stories of his own experience, 
 and told them with such heartiness and en- 
 thusiasm, and made such a light matter of 
 shipwreck and such like despondencies, that 
 Joshua's aspirations grew and grew until 
 he could no longer keep them to himself 
 And, of course, to whom should he first 
 unbosom himself in plain terms but to his 
 more than brother, Dan ? 
 
 He disclosed his intentions in this man- 
 ner : he was playing and singing ' Tom Bow- 
 ling,' the words of which he had learned 
 from old Praiseworthy. He sang the song 
 through to the end, and Dan relocated the 
 last two lines, — 
 
 " For though his body's under hatches, 
 His soul is gone aloft." 
 
 " My body has been under hatches to- 
 day, Dan," said Joshua, " althouixh I wasn't 
 in the same condition as poor Tom Bow- 
 ling. I dare say," with a furtive look at 
 Dan, " that I shall often be under hatches." 
 
 " Ah ! " said Dan. He knew what was 
 coming. 
 
 " The Old Sailor has been telling me 
 such stories, Dan ! What do you think V 
 He was taken by a pirate-ship once, and 
 served with them lor three months." 
 
 " As a pirate ? " 
 
 " Yes ; he has been a pirate. Isn't that 
 glorious ? It was an awtul thing, though ; 
 the ship he was in — a merchantman — 
 saw the ^^irate-sliip giving chase. They 
 tried to get away, but the pirates had a 
 ship twice as good as theirs, and soon over- 
 hauled them. Then the grappling-irons 
 were thrown, and the pirates swarmed into 
 the merchantman, and there was a terrible 
 fight. Those who were not killed were 
 taken on board the pirate-ship, the Old 
 Sailor among the rest. There were three 
 
 women with them, and O Dan 1 would you 
 believe it? — those devils, the pirates, 
 killed them every one, men and women 
 too, and threw them overboard — killed 
 every one of them but the Old Sailor." 
 
 " How was it that he was saved, Jo ? " 
 
 " That is a thing he never could make 
 out, he says. It turned him sick to see the 
 pirates slashing away with their cutlasses, 
 but when they came to the women he was 
 almost mad. He was bound to a mast by 
 a strong rope, and when he saw a woman's 
 face turned to him and looking at him 
 imploringly, although her eyes were almost 
 blinded by blood " — 
 
 " Oh ! " cried Dan with a shudder, as if 
 he could see the dreadful picture. 
 
 " It was a woman who had had a kind 
 word for every one on the merchant-ship — 
 a lady she was, and everybody loved her," 
 continued Joshua, with kindling eyes and 
 clinched fists. "When the Old Sailor 
 saw her looking at him, he gave a yell, and 
 actually broke the rope that bound him. 
 But a dozen pirates had him down on the 
 deck the next moment. He fought with 
 them, and called out to them, ' Kill me, you 
 devils ! ' You should hear the Old Sailor tell 
 the story, Dan ! ' Kill me, you devils ! ' he 
 cried out, and he grajjpled with them, and 
 hurt some of them. You may guess that 
 they were too many for him. They bound 
 him in such a zig-zag of ropes — round 
 his neck and legs and back and arms — ■ 
 that he couldn't move, and they kicked 
 him into a corner. There he lay, with his 
 eyes shut, and heard the shrieks of his 
 poor companions, and the splashes in the 
 water as their bodies were thrown over- 
 board. After that there was a great si- 
 lence. ' Now it is my turn,' he said to 
 himself, and he bit his tongue, so that he 
 should not scream out. But it wasn't his 
 turn ; some of the pirates came about him, 
 and talked in a lingo he couldn't under- 
 stand, and when he thought they were go- 
 ing to slash at him, they Avent away, and 
 leit him lying on the deck alive ! He lay 
 there all night, dozing now and then, and, 
 waking up in awful fright; for every time 
 he dozed, he fancied that he heard the 
 screams of the poor people who had been 
 killed, and that he saw the bloody face of 
 the poor lady he had tried to save. They 
 didn't give him any thing to eat or drink 
 all night ; all they gave him was kicks. 
 ' Then,' said the Old Sailor, ' they're go- 
 ing to starve me ! ' If he could have 
 moved, he would have thrown himself into 
 the sea, but he was too securely tied. 
 Well, in the morning, the captain, who 
 could speak a little English, came and or- 
 dered that the ropes should be loosened. 
 ' Now's my time,' said the Old Sailor, and 
 
JOSHUA RESOLVES TO GO TO 
 
 he felt quite glad, Dan, lie says ; and he 
 says, too, that he felt as if he could have 
 died happy if they had given him a chew 
 of tobacco. ' Open your eyes, pig of an 
 Englishman 1 ' cried the captain, for the 
 Old Sailor kept his eyes shut all the time. 
 ' I sha'n't, pig of the devil ! ' roai'cd the 
 Old Sailor ; but, without meaning it, he 
 did open his eyes. ' Look here, pig,' said 
 tlie captain, ' you are a strong man, and 
 you ouglit to be a good sailor.' ' I'd show 
 you what sort of a sailor I am, if you 
 would cut these infernal ' " — 
 
 " O Jo ! " said Dan, with a warning 
 finger to his lips. 
 
 " Tliat is what the Old Sailor said, Dan," 
 continued Jo?hua. " ' I'd show you what 
 sort of a sailor I am, if you would cut 
 these — you know what — ropes, and give 
 me a cutlass or a marlin-spike ! ' But the 
 captain only Laughed at him ; and said, 
 ' Now, pig, listen. You will either do one 
 of two things. You Avill either be one of 
 us' — 'Turn pirate I' cried the Old 
 Sailor ; ' no, I'll be — you know what, Dan 
 — if I do ! ' ' Very well, pig,' said the 
 captain ; ' refuse, and you shall be cut to 
 pieces, finger by finger, and every limb of 
 you. I give you an hour, pig, to think of 
 it.' The Old Sailor says that, if he had 
 had a bit of tobacco, he would have chosen 
 to be killed, even in that dreadful manner, 
 rather than consent to join them. He 
 never in all his life longed so tor a thing 
 as he longed then for a quid, as he calls it. 
 It made Iiim mad to see the dark devils 
 chewing their tobacco as they worked. 
 ' Anyhow,' he thought, ' I may as well live 
 as be killed. I shall get a chance of escape 
 one day.' So when the hour was up, and 
 the captain came, the Old Sailor told him 
 that he would oblige them by not being 
 chopped into mince-meat, if they would 
 give him a chew of tobacco. They gave 
 it to him, and unbound him ; and that is 
 the way he became a pirate." 
 
 " And how did he get away, Jo ? " asked 
 Dan. 
 
 " That is wonderful, too," continfied 
 Joshua. " He was with them for three 
 months, and saw stran-^e things and bad 
 things, but never took part. in them. They 
 tried to tbrce him to do as they did, but he 
 wouldn't. And he made himself so useful 
 to them, and worked so hard, that it wasn't 
 to their interest to get rid of him." 
 
 " I think the Old Sailor must be a little 
 bit of a hero, Jo," interrupted Dan. 
 
 Joshua laughed heartily at this. " You 
 ■will not say so when you see him." 
 
 " AVhy ? I suppose he is uglj'." 
 
 Joshua raised his hand expressively. 
 
 " And weather-beaten, and all that " — 
 
 " And knows," said Joshua, still laugh- 
 
 V 
 
 lich is ttVR 
 
 •'tf " 
 
 27 
 
 ing, " ' Which is t^, jfr^pcrest day to drink, 
 Saturday, Sundav. ^^)nll,^y ? ' " 
 
 '' Still he may \n; .i h«io — not like you,^' 
 Jo, because you will Ije handsome." 
 
 " Do you think so? " 
 
 If by some strange chance a picture of 
 Joshua, as he Avas to be one day, had pre- 
 sented itself to the lads, how they would 
 have wondered and marvelled as to what 
 could have been the youth of such a man 
 as they saw before them 1 Look at Joshua 
 now, as he is sitting by Dan's side. A 
 handsome open-faced lad, full of kindly- 
 feeling, and with the retlex of a generous 
 loving nature beaming in his eyes. Honest 
 face, bright eyes, laughing mouth that could 
 be serious, strong limbs, head covered with 
 curls — a beautiful picture of happy boy- 
 hood. But no more surprising miracle could 
 have occurred to Dan than to see Joshua, 
 as he saw him then, sitting by his side, and 
 then to see the shadow of what was to come. 
 
 " Do you think so? " and Joshua laugh- 
 ingly re]:)eated the question. 
 
 " Do I think so " said Dan, gazing with 
 pride at his friend. " O Mr. Vanity ! as 
 it" you didn't know I " 
 
 Joshua, laughing more than ever, pro- 
 tested that he had never given it a thought, 
 and promised that he woukl take a good 
 long look at himself in the glass that very 
 night. At the rate the lads were going on, 
 it appeared as if the Old Sailor's story 
 would never be completed, and so Daniel 
 said, to put a stop to Joshua's nonsense. 
 
 " It is all your fault, Dan," said Joshua, 
 " because you icill interrupt. Well, when 
 the Old Sailor had been in the ship for 
 three months, it was attacked by a cruiser 
 which had been hunting it down for a long 
 time. All the pirates were taken — the Old 
 Sailor and all — and sold asslaves at Algiers. 
 They wouldn't believe his story about his 
 not being a pirate, and he was sold for a 
 slave Avith the rest of them. He worked in 
 chains in the fields for a good many weeks 
 — he doesn't remember how many — until 
 Lord Exmouth bombarded the forts, and 
 put a stop to Christian slavery. And that 
 is the Old Sailor's pirate-story." 
 
 " And now to return to what we were 
 saying before you commenced," said Dan. 
 Joshua placed his hands at the back of his 
 head, and interlacing his fingers, looked 
 seriously at Dan, and drew a long breath : 
 " You have something to tell me, Jo." 
 
 " I have," said Joshua. '• I have made 
 up my mind what I am going to be. You 
 can guess if you like." 
 
 " 1 have no need to guess, Jo, dear ; I 
 know, I have seen it all along." 
 
 " What is it, then ? " 
 
 " You are going to sea," said Dan, striv- 
 ing to speak in a cheerful voice, but failing. 
 
28 
 
 JOSHUA MARVEL. 
 
 " Yes, I shall go to sea ; " and Joshua 
 drew another long breath. " How did you 
 find it out, Dan the Wise ? " 
 
 " How did I find it out, Jo the Simple ? 
 Haven't I seen it in your eyes for ever so 
 long? Haven't you been telling me so 
 every day ? It might escape others' notice, 
 but not mine." 
 
 " I told the Old Sailor to-day, and he 
 clapped me on the back, and said I was a 
 brave fellow. But he knew it all along, 
 too, he said. And he took me into his cabin 
 — such a cabin, Dan — and poured out a 
 tiny glass of rum, and made me drink it. 
 My throat was on fire for an hour after- 
 wards." 
 
 " Have vou told mother and father ? " 
 
 " No. " ' 
 
 " Tell them at once, Jo. Go home now, 
 and tell them. I want to be left alone to 
 think of it. O Jo 1 and I am going to lose 
 you ! " 
 
 Dan had tried hard to control himself, but 
 he now burst into a passion of weeping ; 
 and it is a fact, notwithstanding that they 
 wei-e both big boys, that their heads the 
 next moment were so close together that 
 Dan's tears rolled down both their faces. 
 Joshua's heart was as full as Dan's, and lie 
 ran out of the room more to lessen Dan's 
 grief than his own. 
 
 Thus it fell out that in the evening, when 
 the members of the Marvel family, variously 
 occupied, were sitting at the kitchen fire, 
 Joshua said suddenly to his relatives, — 
 
 " I should like to go to sea. " 
 
 Geoi'ge Marvel was smoking a long clay- 
 pipe ; Mrs. Marvel was darning a pair of 
 worsted stockings, in which scarcely a ves- 
 tige of their original structure was left ; 
 and Sarah Marvel was busily engaged in a 
 writing-lesson, in the execution of which 
 she was materially assisted by her tongue, 
 Avhicli, hanging its full length out of her 
 mouth, was making occasional excursions 
 to the corners of her lips. George Marvel 
 took the pipe from his lips and looked at 
 the fire meditatively ; Mrs. JNIarvel burst 
 into tears, and let the worsted stocking, with 
 the needle sticking in it, drop into her laj) ; 
 and Sarah Marvel, casting a doubtful look 
 at her writing-lesson, every letter in which 
 appeared to be possessed with a peculiar 
 species of drunkenness, removed her eyes 
 to her brother's fiice, upon which she gazed 
 with wonder and admiration. So engrossed 
 was she in the contemplation, that she put 
 the inky part of the pen into her month, 
 and sucked at it in sheer absence of mind. 
 
 " Don't cry, mother," said George Mar- 
 vel. " What was that you said, Josh ? " 
 
 " I should like to go to sea, father." 
 
 " Ah ! " ejaculated Mr. Marvel thought- 
 fully, looking steadily into the fire. 
 
 Joshua was also looking into the fire, and 
 he saw in it, as plain as plain could be, a 
 fiery ship, full-rigged, with fiery ropes and 
 fiery sails, and saw himself, Joshua Marvel, 
 standing on the poop, dressed in gold-laced 
 coat and gold-laced cocked-hat, with a tel- 
 escope in his hand. For Joshua, without 
 the slightest idea as to how it was all to 
 come about, had made up his mind that he 
 was to be a captain, dressed as Nelson was 
 in a picture which was one of Praiseworthy 
 Meddler's prize possessions, and which oc- 
 cupied the place of honor in the Old Sailor's 
 cabin. While this vision was before Joshua 
 Mrs. Marvel continued to cry, but in a more 
 subdued manner. 
 
 " And so you want to be sailor, Josh ? " 
 queried Mr. Marvel. 
 
 " Yes. A sailor first, and then a cap- 
 tain." 
 
 The intermediate grades were of too 
 small importance to be considered. 
 
 " I am sure. Josh," said Mrs. Marvel, 
 crying all the while, " I don't see Avhat 
 you want to go away for. Why don't 
 you make up your mind even now to aj> 
 prentice yourself to father's trade and be 
 contented ? You might get a little shop of 
 your own in time, if you worked very hard, 
 and it would be pleasant for all of us." 
 
 " You be quiet, mother," said Mr. Mar- 
 vel. " What do women know about these 
 things ? I'm Joshua's father, I believe " — 
 
 " Yes, George, I believe you are," sobbed 
 Mrs. Marvel. 
 
 "And, as Joshua's father, I tell you again, 
 once and for all, that he's not going to be 
 a wood-turner. Here's the old subject come 
 up again with a veusjeance ! I wish a wo- 
 man's clothes were like a woman's ideas; 
 then they would never wear out. A wood- 
 turner ! A pretty thing a wood-turner is ! 
 I've been a wood-turner all my life, and what 
 better off am I for it ? " 
 
 " I am sure, father, we have been very 
 happy,' said Mrs. Marvel. 
 
 " I am not saying any thing about that," 
 observed Mr. Marvel, expressing in his 
 voice a very small regard for domestic hap- 
 piness, although, in reality, no man bet- 
 ter appreciated it. " What I say is, I've 
 been a wood-turner all my life ; and what 
 I ask is, what better off am I, or you, or 
 any of us, for it ? If Josh likes to be a 
 wood-turner, he can ; I have nothing to say 
 against it, except that he's been a precious 
 long time making up his mind. And 
 if he likes to be a sailor, he can ; I have 
 nothing to say against that. I'm Joshua's 
 father, and, as Joshua's tiather, I say if 
 Josh likes to make a start in life for him- 
 self as a sailor, let him. If I was Josh, I 
 would do the same myself." 
 
 " Thank you, father," said Joshua. 
 
JOSHUA RESOLVES TO GO TO SEA. 
 
 29 
 
 " And, mother, if you only heard what Mr. 
 Praiseworthy Meddler says of the sea, you 
 would think very ditlereutly ; I know you 
 would." 
 
 But JNIrs. INIarvel shook her head and 
 would not be comibrted. 
 
 " My father was a wood-turner," said Mr. 
 JMarvel, " and he made uie a wood-turner. 
 He never asked me whether I would or 
 I woukln't, and I didn't have a choiee. 
 If he had have asked me, perhaps we 
 shouldn't have gone on pinclun;^ and pinch- 
 in^f all our lives. Now Joshua's ditierent ; 
 he's got his choice : never forget, Josh, that 
 it was your father who gave you the world 
 to pick li'om — and I think he's acting 
 sensibly, as I should have done if 7»y father 
 had given me the chance. But he didn't, 
 and it's too late for a man with his head 
 full of white hairs to commence life all 
 over again." 
 
 And Mr. Marvel fell to smoking his pipe 
 again, and studying the fire. 
 
 " I've never seen the sea myself," he 
 presently resumed; "but I've read of it, 
 and heard talk of it. There are better 
 lands across the seas than Stepney, for a 
 youngster like Josh. There are lots of 
 chances, too; and who knows what may 
 happen ? " 
 
 " That's where it is, father," whimpered 
 Mrs. Marvel ; '' we don't know what might 
 happen. Suppose Josh is shipwrecked ; 
 what would you say then ? You'd lie 
 awake night after night, father — you know 
 you would — and wish he had been a wood- 
 turner. I'oe never seen the sea, and I 
 never want to ; I've been happy enough 
 without it. It's like flying in the lace of 
 Providence. And what's to become of us 
 when we are old, if Josh can't take care 
 of us ? " 
 
 " Just so, mother. Listen to me, and be 
 sensible. Suppose Josh becomes a wood- 
 turner ; he can't expect to do better than 
 his father has done. I am not a bad work- 
 man myself; and though Josh might make 
 as good, I don't think he'd make a better. 
 Now what I say again is — and it's won- 
 derful what a many times a man has to say 
 a thing before he can drive it into a wo- 
 man's head, if she ain't willing — although 
 I'm a good workman, what better oft" am I 
 for it? And what better off" would Josh 
 be for it, when he gets to be as old as I 
 am V We've commenced to lay by a good 
 many times — haven't we, Maggie? — but 
 we never could keep on with it. First a 
 bit of sickness took it ; then a bit of furniture 
 that we couldn't do without took it ; then 
 a rise in bread and meat took it ; and then 
 a bit of something else took it. You've 
 been a good woman to me, Maggie, and 
 you've pinched all you could for twenty 
 
 years; and what has come of all your 
 pinching? There's that old teapot you 
 used to lay by in. It's at tiie back of the 
 cupboard now, and it hasn't iiad a shilling 
 in it lor I don't know when's the time. 
 It would be full of dust, mother, only you 
 don't like dust ; and a good job too. But 
 it ain't your fault that it isn't full of some- 
 thing better; and it ain't my fault. It's 
 all because I've been a wood-turner all my 
 days. And the ujishot of it is, that we're 
 not a bit better off now than we were 
 twenty years ago. We're worse off; for 
 we've spent twenty good years and got 
 nothing for them." 
 
 " We've got Josh and Sarah," Mrs. Mar- 
 vel ventured to say. The simple woman 
 actually regarded those possessions as of 
 inestimable value — but that is the way of 
 a great many foolish mothers. 
 
 Her husband did not heed the remark. 
 He took another pull at his pipe, but drew 
 no smoke from it. His pipe was out ; but 
 in his earnestness he puS'ed away at nothing, 
 and continued, — 
 
 " Who is to take care of us, you want to 
 know, when we grow old, if Josh don't. 
 When Josh grows up, Josh will get mar- 
 ried, naturally." 
 
 " So shall I, father," interrupted Sarah, 
 who was listening with the deepest interest 
 to the conversation. 
 
 " Perhaps, Sarah," said Mr. Marvel a 
 little dubiously. " Girls ain't like boys ; 
 they can't pick and choose. Josh will get 
 married, naturally ; and Josh will have 
 children, naturally. Perhaps he'll have 
 two ; perhaps he'll have six." 
 
 " Mrs. Pigeon's got thirteen," remarked 
 Sarah vivaciously. 
 
 " Be quiet, Sarah. "Wliere did you learn 
 manners ? Now if Josh has six children, 
 and, being a wood-turner, doesn't do any 
 better as a wood-turner than his father has 
 done — and he's a presumptuous young 
 beggar if he thinks he's going to do better 
 than me " — 
 
 " I don't think so, father," said Joshua. 
 
 " Never mind. And he's a presumptuous 
 young beggar if he thinks he's going to do 
 better than me," Mr. Marvel repeated ; he 
 relished the roll of the words — " what's to 
 become of us then ? Josh, if he's a wood- 
 turner with six children, can't be expected 
 to keep his old father and mother. He 
 will have enough to do as it is. But if 
 Josh strikes out for himself, who knows 
 what may happen ? He may do this, or he 
 may do that ; and then we shall be all 
 right." 
 
 There was not the shadow of a doubt 
 that in that house the gray mare was the 
 worse horse, in defiance of the old adage. 
 
 " And as to Joshua's being shipwrecked," 
 
30 
 
 JOSHUA MAEVEL. 
 
 continued Mr. Marvel, " you know as well 
 as I do, mother, that it would be enough to 
 break my heart. But I don't believe there's 
 more danger on the sea than on the land. 
 There was Bill Brackett run over yester- 
 day by a brewer's dray, and three of his 
 ribs broken. You don't get run over by a 
 brewer's dray at sea. And what occurred 
 to William Small a month ago ? He was 
 walking along as quiet and inoffensive as 
 could be, when a brick from a scaffold fell 
 upon his head, and knocked every bit of 
 sense clean out of hira. They don't build 
 brick houses on the sea. Why, it might 
 have happened to me, or you, or Josh ! " 
 
 " Or me, father," cried Sarah, not at all 
 pleased at being deprived of the chance of 
 being knocked on the head by a brick. 
 
 " Or you, Sarah. So, mother, don't let 
 us have any more talk about shipwrecks." 
 
 " But if Josh does get shipwrecked, 
 father," persisted Mrs. Marvel, " remember 
 that I warned you beforehand." 
 
 " But Josh is not going to get ship- 
 wrecked," exclaimed Mr. Marvel, slightly 
 raising his voice, determined not to tolerate 
 domestic insubordination ; " therefore, hold 
 your tongue, and say nothing more about 
 it." 
 
 There was one privilege for the possession 
 of which Mr. Marvel, had fought many a 
 hard battle in the early days of his married 
 life, and which he now believed he possessed 
 by right of conquest ; that was the privilege 
 of having the last word. To all outward 
 appearance Mrs. Marvel respected this 
 privilege; but in reality she set it at de- 
 fiance. It was a deceptive victory that he 
 had gained ; for if he had the last audible 
 word, Mrs. Marvel had the last inaudible 
 one. Woman is a long-suffering creature ; 
 she endures much with patience and resigna- 
 tion ; but to yield the last word to a man is 
 a sacrifice too great for her to make. There 
 are, no doubt, instances of such sacrifice ; 
 but they are very rare. Many precious 
 oblations had Mrs. Marvel made in the 
 course of her maiTied life ; but she had not 
 sacrificed the last word upon the domestic 
 altar. True, it was always whispered inly, 
 under her breath; but it was hers never- 
 theless,; and she exulted in it. When a 
 woman cannot get what she wants by hook, 
 she gets it by crook, depend upon it. For 
 twenty years had the Marvels lived to- 
 gether man and wife ; and during all that 
 time Mr. Marvel had never known, that in 
 every tamily conversation and discussion 
 his wife had invariably obtained the victory 
 of the last word ; although sometimes a 
 half-triumphant look in her eyes had caused 
 him to doubt. 
 
 So, upon this occasion, notwithstanding 
 the decided tone in which her husband had 
 
 closed the conversation, Mrs. Marvel bent 
 her head over her worsted stocking, and 
 whispered to herself, half tearfully and half 
 triumphantly, — 
 
 " But if Josh does get shipwrecked, father, 
 don't forget that I warned you beforehand." 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 THE ACTOR AND HIS DAUGHTER. 
 
 That night, as Joshua was lying half- 
 awake and half-asleep, his mind being filled 
 with pleasant sea-pictures, he was siur- 
 prised to hear his bedroom-door creak. 
 Without moving in his bed, he turn(^d his 
 eyes towards the door, and, in the indistinct 
 light, he saw his mother enter the room. 
 She opened the door very softly, as if fear- 
 ful of disturbing him, and she jiaused for a 
 moment or two in the open space, with her 
 hand raised in a listening attitude. Joshua 
 saw that she beUeved him to be asleep, 
 and he closed his eyes as she approached 
 the bed. Her movements were so quiet, 
 that he did not know she was close to him, 
 until she gently took his hand and placed 
 it to her lips. Then he knew that she was 
 kneeling by his bedside, and knew also, by 
 a moisture on his hand, that she was crying. 
 His heart j^earned to her, but he did not 
 move. He heard her whisper, " God pro- 
 tect you, my son ! " Then his hand, wet 
 with his mother's tears, was released, and 
 when he re-opened his eyes, she was gone. 
 
 " Poor mother ! " he thought. " She is 
 unhappy because I am going to sea. I will 
 ask the Old Sailor to come and tell her 
 what a glorious thing the sea is. Perhaps 
 that will make her more comfortable in her 
 mind." 
 
 He acted upon his resolution the very 
 next day, and his efforts were successful. 
 In the evening, he wended his way home- 
 wards li-oin the waterside, in a state of 
 ineffable satisfaction because the Old 
 Sailor had promised to come to Stepney, 
 for the express purpose of proving to Mrs. 
 Marvel how superior in every respect the 
 sea was to the land, and what a wise thing 
 Joshua had done in making up his mind to 
 be a sailor. 
 
 The lad was in an idle happy humor as 
 he walked down a narrow street, at no 
 great distance from his home. It differed 
 in no respect from the other commo" streets 
 in the common neighborhood. All iti 
 characteristics were familiar to him. The 
 sad-looking one-story brick houses ; tlie 
 slatternly girls nursing babies, whose name 
 
THE ACTOR AND HIS DAUGHTER 
 
 31 
 
 was legion ; the troops of children of vari- 
 ous ages and in various stages of dirtiness, 
 one of their most distingui^hing insignia 
 being the ^-awning condition of their boots, 
 tliere not being a sound boot-lace among 
 the lot of them ; and here and there tiie 
 melancholy and desponding shops wliere 
 sweet stuff and cheap provisions were sold. 
 Joshua walked down this poor woe-begone 
 street, making it bright with his bright 
 flmcies, when his attention was suddenly 
 aroused by the occurrence of something 
 unusual near the bottom of the street. 
 
 A large crowd of boys and girls and 
 women was gathered around a person, 
 who was gesticulating and declaiming with 
 startling earnestness. Pushing his way 
 thi'ough the throng, Joshua saw before him 
 a tall, spare man, with light hair hanging 
 down to his shoulders. So long and wav- 
 ing was his hair, that it might have be- 
 longed to a woman. His gaunt and fur- 
 rowed face was as sniooth as a woman's, 
 and his mouth was large, as were also his 
 teeth, which were peculiarly white and 
 strong. But what most arrested attention 
 were his eyes ; they were of a light-gray 
 color, large even for his large fice, and 
 they had a wandering look in them strange- 
 ly at variance with the sense of power and 
 firmness that dwelt in every other feature. 
 He was acting the Ghost scenes in " Ham- 
 let ; " in his hand was a wooden sword, which 
 he sheathed in his ragged coat, and drew and 
 flourished when occasion needed. His fine 
 voice, now deep as a man's, now tender as 
 a woman's, expressed all the passions, and 
 expressed them well. In the library which 
 Dan and Joshua possessed there was an 
 odd volume of Shakspeare's works, and 
 when the street-actor said, in a melancholy 
 dreamy tone, — 
 
 " It waves me still : — go on, I'll follow thee," 
 
 Joshua remembered (as much from the in- 
 telligent action of the actor as Irom the 
 words themselves) that it was a Ghost 
 whom Hamlet was addressing. The words 
 were so impressively spoken, that Joshua 
 almost fancied he saw a Shade before the 
 man's uplitted hand. Then, when Hamlet 
 cried, — 
 
 " My fate cries out. 
 And makes each petty artery in this body 
 A^ hardy as the Xcraean lion's nerve. 
 Still am I called. Unhand me, gentlemen I " 
 
 (strugeling with his visionary opponents 
 and breaking from them, and drawing his 
 wooden sword) 
 
 " By heaven, I'll make a ghost of him that lets me I 
 I say, away ! Go on, I'll follow thee ; '' 
 
 Joshua experienced a thrill of emotion that 
 
 only the representation of true passion could 
 have excited. As the man uttered the last 
 words, Joshua heard a shuddeiing sigh close 
 to him. Turning his head, he saw Susan, 
 whose face was a perfect encyclopedia of 
 wondering and terrified admiration. 
 
 " Who is he ibllowing, Joshua ? " she 
 asked in a whisper, clutching him by the 
 
 " The Ghost ! Hush ! " 
 
 " The Ghost ! " (with a violent shudder.) 
 " Where ? " 
 
 Joshua pressed her hand, and warned 
 her to be silent, so as not to disturb the 
 man. Susan held his hand tightly in hers, 
 and obeyed. 
 
 The Ghost that the actor saw in his 
 mind's eye was standing behind Susan. 
 The man advanced a step in that direction, 
 and stood with outstretched sword, gazinc' 
 at the airy nothing. Susan trembled in 
 every limb as the man glared over her 
 shoulder, and she was frightened to move 
 her head, lest she should see the awful 
 vision whose presence was palpable to her 
 senses. The man had commenced the plat- 
 form-scene, where Hamlet says. " Speak ; 
 I'll go no further ; " and the Ghost says, 
 " Mark me I " when a tumult took place. 
 At the words, " Mark me 1 " a vicious boy 
 picked up a piece of mud, and threw it at 
 the man's face, with the words, " Now you're 
 marked ; " at which several of the boys and 
 gu-ls laughed and clapped their hands. The 
 actor made no answer, but, seizing the boy 
 by the shoulder held him fast and proceeded 
 with the scene. The boy tried to wriggle 
 himself away, but at every fresh attempt 
 the man's grasp tightened, until, thoroughly 
 desperate, the boy broke into open rebellion. 
 
 Actor. Thus was I, sleeping, by a brother's hand 
 Of life, of crown, of queen, at once despatched. 
 
 Boy (struggling violently). Just you let 
 me go, will you ? 
 
 Actor. Cut off even m the blossoms of my sin, 
 Unhousel'd, disappointed, unaneal'd. 
 
 Boy (beginning to cry). Come now, let 
 me go will you ? You're a htu-ting of me ! 
 Let me go you — (bad words). 
 
 Actor {calm and indifferent). Xo reckoning made, 
 but sent to my account 
 With all my imperfections on my head. 
 
 A girl's voice. Pinch him, Billy ! 
 
 A boy's voice. Kick him, Billy ! 
 
 Billy did both, but the actor continued. 
 
 Actor. Oh, horrible I Oh, horrible I Most horrible 
 
 Billy. Throw a stone at him, some one I 
 
 Actor {sublimely unconscious). If thou haat 
 nature in tho«, bear it not. 
 
32 
 
 JOSHUA MARVEL. 
 
 A stone was thrown ; and as if this were 
 a signal for a general attack, a shower of 
 stones was hurled at the actor. One of 
 them hit him on the forehead ; hit him so 
 badly that he staggered, and, releasing his 
 hold of Billy, raised his hand to his head, 
 while an expression of pain passed into his 
 face. Hooting and yelling, " Look at the 
 mad actor ! " " Hoo, hoo ! look at the 
 crazy fool ! " — the crowd of boys and girls 
 scampered away, and left the man standing 
 in the road, with only Susan and Joshua 
 for an audience. Joshua was hot with in- 
 dignation, and Susan, spell-bound by awe 
 and fear, stood motionless by Joshua's side, 
 while large tears trickled from her eyes Into 
 her open mouth. 
 
 The blood was oozing from the wound in 
 the man's forehead, and liis long fair hair 
 was crimson-stained. His eyes wandered 
 around distressfully, and a sighing moan 
 died upon his lips. The fire of enthusiasm 
 had tied from his countenance, and in the 
 place of the inspired actor, Joshua saw a man 
 whose face was of a deathly hue, and from 
 whose eyes the light seemed to have de- 
 parted. With his hand pressed to his fore- 
 head, he staggered a dozen yards, and then 
 leaned against the wall for support. 
 
 " He is badly hurt, I am afraid," said 
 Joshua. 
 
 Susan walked swiftly up to the man. 
 
 " Shall we assist you home ? " she said. 
 
 " Home ! " he muttered. " No, no ! 
 Money ! I want money ! " 
 
 As he spoke he drooped, and would have 
 fallen to the ground but for Josh.ua, who 
 caught the man on his shoulder, and let 
 him glide gently on to a door-step. Susan 
 wiped the blood from his fiice with her 
 apron. He looked at her vacantly, closed 
 his eyes, and fainted. 
 
 " He is dying, Joshua ! " cried Susan, her 
 trembling lingers wandering about the 
 man's face. " Oh, the wicked boys ! Oh, 
 the wicked boys ! " 
 
 A woman here came out of a house with 
 a cup of cold water^ which she sprinkled 
 upon his face. Presently the man sighed, 
 and struggled to his feet, murmuring, " Yes, 
 yes ; I must go home." 
 
 '' Where do you live ? " asked Joshua. 
 " We will assist you." 
 
 He did nut answer, but walked slowly on 
 like one in a dream. Assisting but not 
 guiding his steps, Joshua and Susan walked 
 on either side of him, and supported him. 
 Although he scarcely seemed to be awake, 
 he knew his way, and turning down a 
 street even commoner than its follows, he 
 stopped at the entrance to a miserable 
 court. Waving his hand as if dismissing 
 them, he walked a few steps down the 
 court, and entered a house, the door of 
 
 which was open. Impelled partly by curi- 
 osity, but chiefly by compassion, Joshua and 
 Susan followed the man into a dark pas- 
 sage, and up a rheumatic flight of stairs, 
 into a room where want and wretchedness 
 made grim holiday. 
 
 " Minnie ! " he muttered hoarsely, and 
 all his strength seemed to desert him as he 
 spoke — " Minnie, child ! where are you ? " 
 
 He sank upon the ground with a wild 
 shudder, and lay as if death had overtaken 
 him. At the same moment there issued 
 from the corner of the room where the 
 deepest shadows gathered, a child-girl, 
 so marvellously like him, with her fair wav- 
 ing hair, her large beautifull\'-shaped mouth, 
 her white teeth, and her great restless gray 
 eyes, that Joshua knew at once that they 
 were father and daughter. 
 
 Minnie crept to the man, and sat beside 
 him. She spoke to him, but he did not re- 
 ply. And then she looked at Joshua and 
 Susan, whose forms were dimly discernible 
 in the gathering gloom. 
 
 " What is the matter with father ? " she 
 asked of them in a faint moaning voice. 
 
 '■ Some bad boys threw a stone at him, 
 and hit him on the forehead," Joshua an- 
 swered. " He will be better presently, I 
 hope." 
 
 Minnie did not heed what he said, but 
 felt eagerly in her father's pockets, and, not 
 finding what she searched for, began to 
 cry. 
 
 " No, no," she said, beating her hands to- 
 gether ; " it is not that. He is weak and 
 ill because he has had nothing to eat. I 
 thought he would have brought home 
 enough to buy some bread, but he hasn't a 
 penny." 
 
 Joshua remembered the man's words, 
 " Money ! I want money ! " and he imme- 
 diately realized that the poor creatures 
 were in want. 
 
 " Are you hungry, Minnie ? " he asked. 
 
 " I have not had any breakfast," she an- 
 swered wearily. " No more has fiither. 
 Nor any dinner. We had some bread last 
 night. We ate it all up. Father went out 
 to-day, hoping to earn a little money, and 
 he has come home without any. \Ve shall 
 die, I suppose. But I should like some- 
 thing to eat first." 
 
 " How do you know he has had nothing 
 to eat ? " asked Joshua ; the words almost 
 choked him. 
 
 Minnie looked up with a plaintive smile. 
 
 " If he had had only a hard piece of 
 bread given him," she said in a tender 
 voice, " he would have put it into his pocket 
 for me." 
 
 " Stop here, Susan," said Joshua, a great 
 sob rising in his throat. " I will be back in 
 ten minutes." 
 
PRAISEWORTHY MEDDLER A BACHELOR. 
 
 33 
 
 He ran out of the room and out of the 
 house. Never in his life had he run so fast 
 as he ran now. He ruslied into Dan's 
 room, and said, ahnost breathlessly, — 
 
 " Where is the money-box, Dan ? How 
 much is there in it V " 
 
 " Fourteen pence," said the fxithful treas- 
 urer, producing the box. " What a heat 
 you are in, Jo ! " 
 
 " Never mind that. I want every farth- 
 ing of the money, Dan. Don't ask me any 
 questions. 1 will tell you all by and by." 
 
 Dan emptied the money-box upon the 
 table, and Joshua seized the money, and 
 tore out of the house as if for dear lite. Soon 
 he was in the actor's room again, with 
 bread and tea. Susan had not been idle 
 during his absence. She had bathed the 
 man's wound, and had wiped the blood and 
 mud from his face and hair. He had re- 
 covered from his swoon, and was looking at 
 her gratefully. 
 
 Joshua placed the bread before him, and 
 he broke a piece from the loaf and gave it 
 to Minnie, who ate it greedily. 
 
 " ' So fair and foul a day I have not 
 seen,' " the man muttered ; and both Joshua 
 and Susan thought, " How strangely yet 
 how beautifully he speaks 1 " 
 
 Susan made the tea down stairs, and she 
 and Joshua sat quietly by, while the man 
 and his daughter ate like starved wolves. 
 It was a bitterly-painful sight to see. 
 
 " I think we had better go now, Susan," 
 whispered Joshua. 
 
 They would have left the room without a 
 word ; but the man said, — 
 
 " What is your name, and what are 
 you ? " 
 
 " My name is Joshua Marvel, and I'm 
 going to be a sailor." 
 
 " ' There's a sweet little cherub that sits 
 up aloft,' " said the actor, ' " to keep watch 
 for the life of poor Jack.' " 
 
 " That's what Praiseworthy Meddler 
 says," said Joshua, laughing. " I shall 
 come and see you again, if you will let me." 
 
 " Come and welcome." 
 
 " Good-night, sir." 
 
 " Good-night, and God bless you, Joshua 
 Marvel ! " 
 
 Minnie went to the door with Joshua 
 and Susan, and looking at Joshua, with 
 the tears in her strangely-beautiful eyes, said, 
 
 " Good-niglit, and God bless you, Joshua 
 Marvel ! " 
 
 She raised herself on tiptoe, and Joshua 
 stooped and kissed her. After that, Susan 
 gave her a hug, and she returned to her 
 father, and lay down beside him. 
 
 When he arrived home, Joshua told Dan 
 of the adventure, and how he had spent the 
 fourteen pence. Dan nodded his head ap- 
 provingly. 
 
 " You did right," he said, — " you always 
 do. I should have done just the same." 
 
 Then they took the odd volume of Sliak- 
 speare from tlu; shelf, and read the Ghost 
 scenes in " Hamlet " before they said good- 
 niLrht. 
 
 CHAPTER VH. 
 
 EXPLAINS WHY PRAISEWOUTHY MED- 
 DLER REMAINED A BACHELOR. 
 
 Here is Praiseworthy Meddler, sitting 
 in the best chair in a corner of the fireplace 
 in the little kitchen in Stepney. In his low 
 shoes and loose trousers, and blue shirt 
 open at the throat, he looks every inch a 
 sailor ; and his great red pock-marked face 
 is in keeping with his calling. On the 
 other side of the fireplace, facing Praise- 
 worthy Meddler, is Mr. George Marvel ; 
 next to Praiseworthy Meddler is Mrs. Mar- 
 vel ; on a stool at her father's feet sits 
 Sarah ; and Joshua sits at the table, watch- 
 ing every shade of expression that passes 
 over his mother's face. The subject-matter 
 of the conversation is the sea ; and Praise- 
 worthy ]Meddler has been " holding forth," 
 as is evidenced by his drawing from the 
 bosom of his shirt a blue-cotton pocket- 
 handkerchief, upon which is imprinted a 
 ship of twelve hundred tons burden, A 1 at 
 Lloyd's for an indefinite number of years. 
 The ship is in full sail, and all its canvas is 
 set to a favorable breeze. Upon this blue 
 vessel Praiseworthy Meddler dabs his red 
 face in a manner curiously suggestive of his 
 face being a deck, and the handkerchief a 
 mop. When he has mopped his deck, 
 which appears to be a perpetually-perspir- 
 ing one, he spreads his handkerchief over 
 his knee to dry, and says, as being an 
 appropriate tag to what has gone be- 
 fore, — 
 
 " There is no place on earth like the 
 sea." 
 
 The Old Sailor was not aware that any 
 thing of a paradoxical nature was involved 
 in the statement, or he might not have re- 
 j^eated it. 
 
 " There is no place on earth like the sea. 
 Show me the man who says there is, and 
 I'll despise him ; if I don't, I'm a Dutch- 
 man ; " adding, to strengthen his decla- 
 ration, " or a double Dutchman." 
 
 The man not being forthcoming — prob- 
 ably he was not in the neighborhood, or, 
 being there, did not wish to be openly 
 despised — Praiseworthy Meddler looked 
 around with the air of one who has the best 
 
34 
 
 JOSHUA MARVEL. 
 
 of the argument, and then produced a piece 
 of pigtail from a mysterious recess, and bit 
 into it as if he were a savage boar biting 
 into the heart of a foe. 
 
 " But the danger, Mr. Meddler," sug- 
 gested Mrs. Marvel, in a trembling voice. 
 
 " There is more danger upon land, lady." 
 
 " There, mother," said Mr. Marvel ; 
 " didn't I tell you so, the other night ? " 
 
 " You told her right," said Praiseworthy, 
 with emphasis. " Danger on the sea, lady 1 
 "What is it to danger on the land ? A sliip 
 can ride over a wave, let it be ever so 
 high ; but a man can't step over a wagon. 
 Are carts and drays and horses safe? 
 Are gas-pipes safe ? And if there is 
 danger on the sea, lady — which I don't 
 deny, mind you, altogether — what does it 
 do ? Why, it makes a man of a boy, and 
 it makes a man more of a man." 
 
 " Hear, hear, hear ! " exclaimed Mr. 
 Marvel, rapping on the table. 
 
 " Look at me 1 " said the enthusiastic 
 sailor. " Here am I — I don't know how 
 many years old, and that's a fact — I've 
 lived on the sea from when I was a boy ; 
 and I've been blown by rough winds, and 
 I've been blinded by storms, and I've been 
 wrecked on rocky coasts, and I've been as 
 near death, ay, a score of times, as most 
 men have been. Lord love you, my dear 1 
 All we've got to do is to do our duty ; and 
 when we're called aloft, we can say, ' Ay, 
 ay, sir ! ' with a brave heart. What bet- 
 ter life than a life on sea is there for boy 
 or man? And doesn't Saturday night 
 come round ? 
 
 " For all the world's just like the ropes aboard a 
 ship. 
 
 Each man's rigged out, 
 
 A vessel stout. 
 To take for life a trip. 
 The shrouds, the stays, the braces, 
 
 Are joys, and hopes, and fears; 
 The halliards, sheets, and traces, 
 
 Still as cacli passion veers, 
 
 And whim prevails, 
 
 Direct the sails. 
 As on the sea of life he steers. 
 
 Then let the storm 
 
 Heaven's face deform, 
 And danger press ; 
 
 Of these in spite, there are some joys 
 Us jolly tars to bless; 
 
 For .Saturday night still comes, my boys. 
 To drink to Tolland Bess.'" 
 
 Praiseworthy Meddler roared out the 
 seng at the top of his voice, as if it were 
 the most natural and appropriate thing for 
 him to do just there and then. The effect 
 of his sudden inspiration was, that every 
 member of the Marvel family, without 
 being previously acquainted with the 
 young ladies referred to, repeated in 
 their honor the refrain of the last two 
 lines, — 
 
 " For Saturday night still comes, my boys. 
 To drink to foil and Beas," 
 
 with such extraordinary enthusiasm, that 
 the carroty-haired cat rose to her feet in 
 alarm, debating within herself the possibil- 
 ity of the Marvel family having suddenly 
 caught a contagious madness from the Old 
 Sailor. Convinced that the matter re- 
 quired looking into, puss walked softly to 
 the door, with the intention of arousing 
 the neighbors ; but, silence ensuing at the 
 conclusion of the refrain, she became re- 
 assured, and stole back to her warm space 
 on the floor, and curled herself up again, 
 and bUnked at the fire. 
 
 After this exertion, Praiseworthy Med- 
 dler took the twelve-hundred-ton ship off 
 his knee, and dabbed his face with it en- 
 ergetically. 
 
 " What does it amount to," he continued, 
 " if the heart's brave ? What does it 
 amount to when it is all over, and when 
 one gets to be as old as I am ? I'm tough 
 and firm ; " and he gave his leg a great 
 slap. " I'm as young as a younger man ; 
 and I know that there's no place on earth 
 like the sea." 
 
 "And you can get promotion, cant 
 you ? " asked Joshua, eagerly. " A man 
 needn't be a common sailor all his life ? " 
 
 " No, Josh ; he needn't stick at that, if 
 he's willing and able, and does his duty. I 
 know many a skipper who once on a time 
 was only an able-bodied seaman." 
 
 " Do you hear that, mother ? " cried 
 Joshua. " Now are you satisfied ? " and 
 he jumped up and gave her a kiss. 
 
 " What is a skipper, Mr. Meddler ? " 
 asked Mrs. Marvel, with her arm round 
 Joshua's waist. She had a dim notion 
 that a skipper was connected with a skip- 
 ping-rope, and that she might have been a 
 skipper in her girlhood's days. If that 
 were the case, she could not see what ad- 
 vantage it would be to Joshua to become 
 one. 
 
 " A skipper's a captain, mother," whis- 
 pered Joshua. 
 
 " Oh 1 " said ^Irs. Marvel, but not quite 
 clear in her mind on the point. " Then, 
 if I might be so bold, Mr. Meddler " — 
 
 But iiere Mrs. Marvel stopped suddenly, 
 and blushed like a girl. 
 
 " Ay, ay, lady, go on," said the Old 
 Sailor, encouragingly. 
 
 "If I might make so bold," continued 
 Mrs. Marvel, with an effort, "how is it 
 that you never rose to be a skipper ? " 
 " O mother I " cried Joshua. 
 " The question is a sensible one, Joshua," 
 said Praiseworthy Meddler slowly, " and a 
 right one too ; though, if all able-bodied 
 seamen rose to be skippers, there wouldn't 
 be ships enough in the world for them. I 
 should have been promoted, I have no 
 doubt ; but I was born with something un- 
 
PRAISEWORTHY MEDDLER A BACHELOR. 
 
 35 
 
 fortunate, which has stuck to me all my 
 life, and which I have never been able to 
 get rid of." 
 
 " Is it any thing painful ? " asked Mrs. 
 Marvel with womanly solicitude. 
 
 Praiseworthy Meddler looked at her with 
 a droll expression on his face, and folded 
 his twelve-iiundred-ton ship into very small 
 squares, and laid it in the palm of his left 
 hand, and llattened it with the palm of his 
 right, before he. spoke aj^^ain. 
 
 " It wasn't my fault, it was my misfor- 
 tune. 1 couldn't help my father's name 
 bein'j: Meddler, and I couldn't help being a 
 ^Meddler myself, being his son, you see. 
 JNIy fothor didn't like his name any more 
 than I did, but he didn't know how to 
 change it ; he was born a Meddler, and he 
 died a Meddler. My being a Meddler is 
 the only reason, I do believe, why I am not 
 a skipper this present day of our Lord ; 
 and I don't think I am sorry that, when 1 
 die, I sba'n't leave any Meddlers behind 
 me." 
 
 "You have never been married, Mr. 
 Meddler?" 
 
 '' No, lady ; but I was very near it once, 
 as you shall hear. It was all because of 
 my name that I wasn't. My father didn't 
 like his name, as I have told you. His 
 Christian name was Andrew ; he was a 
 eaddler. He got along well enough to set 
 up shop for himself, and one morning he 
 took the shutters down for the first time, 
 and commenced business. Over his win- 
 dow was the sign, ' A. Meddler, saddler.' 
 There was a rival saddler in the same 
 town, whose name was Straight, and who 
 didn't like my father setting up in opposi- 
 tion to him ; and he put in his window a 
 bill, with this on it: 'Have your saddles 
 made and repaired by a Straifrhtforward 
 man, and not by A. Meddler.' That ruined 
 my father : people laughed at him, instead 
 of dealing with him ; he soon had to shut 
 up shop, and go to work again as a jour- 
 neyman. He had two children ; the first 
 was a girl, the next was me. I heard that 
 he was very pleased when my sister was 
 born, because she was a girl. ' She can 
 marry when she grows up,' he said, ' and 
 then she Avill have her husband's name.' 
 When I was born, my father wasn't pleased : 
 he cUdu't want any more Meddlers, he said. 
 But he couldn't help it ; no more could I. 
 He did what he thought was the very best 
 thing for me — he gave me a fine Christian 
 name to balance my surname : he had me 
 christened Praiseworthy. Now that made 
 it worse. If I was laughed at for being a 
 Meddler, I was laughed at more for being 
 a, Praiseworthy Meddler. Once, when I 
 was a young fellow, I did good service in a 
 chip I was serving in. When we came into | 
 
 port, the skipper reported well of me, and 
 the owners sent for me. I went to the 
 office, thinking that I should be promoted 
 for my good services. The firm owned at 
 least a dozen merchant-ships ; and I should 
 have been promoted, if it hadn't been for 
 my name. The owners spoke kindly to me^ 
 and after I had satisfied them that I was fit 
 for promotion, the youngest partner asked 
 my name. I told him IMeddler. He smiled, 
 and the other partners smiled. ' What 
 other name ? ' he asked. ' Praiseworthy,' 
 I answered ; ' Praiseworthy Meddler.' He 
 laughed at that, and said that I was the 
 only Praiseworthy Meddler he had ever 
 met. They seemed so tickled at it, that 
 the serious part of the affair slipped clean 
 out of their heads ; they called me an 
 honest fellow, and said that they would not 
 forget me. They didn't forget me ; they 
 gave me five pounds over and above my 
 pay. If it hadn't been for my name, they 
 might have appointed me mate of one of 
 their ships. I was so mad with thinkinof 
 about it, that I began to hate myself be- 
 cause I was a Meddler. If the name had 
 been something I could have got hold of, I 
 would have strangled it. At last I made 
 up my mind that I would get sjiliced, and 
 that I would take my lass's name the day 
 I was married. Being on leave, and stop- 
 ping at my father's house, I told him what 
 I had made up my mind to do. He was a 
 melancholy man — it was his name that 
 made him so, I do believe — and he told 
 me, in his melancholy voice, that it was 
 the best thing I could do, and that he 
 wished he had thou;rht of doing so before 
 he married. ' Wipe it out, my boy,' he said, 
 ' wipe out the unlucky name ; sweep all 
 the Meddlers out of the world. It would 
 have been better you had been born with a 
 hump than been born a Meddler.' He 
 talked a little wild sometimes, but we were 
 used to it. I began to look about me ; and 
 one day I caught sight of a lass who took 
 my fancy. My leave was nearly expired, 
 and I had to join my ship in a few days. I 
 wanted to learn all about the girl, and I 
 was too bashful to do it myselfi which is 
 not the usual way of sailors, my dear. So 
 I pointed out the lass to a shipmate, and 
 told him I had taken a fancy to her, and 
 would he get me all the information he 
 could about her. That very night, as I was 
 bolting the street-door, just before going to 
 bed, I heard my shipmate's voice outside in 
 the street. ' Is that you. Meddler ? ' he 
 asked. ' Yes, Jack,' I answered. ' I thoufrht 
 I'd come to tell you at once,' he cried ; ' I've 
 found out all about her. Her father's dead, 
 and her mother's married again, and the 
 lass isn't happy at home.' ' That makes it 
 all the better for me,' I said. ' Has she cret 
 
36 
 
 JOSHUA MAEVEL. 
 
 a sweetlieart ? ' 'None tliat she cares a 
 button for, or that a sailor couldn't cut out,' 
 he answei-ed. ' Hurrah ! ' I cried ; ' I will 
 o-o and see her to-morrow. Thank you, 
 5ack ; orood-nio-ht.' ' Good-nio;ht,' he said, 
 and I heard him walking away. Just then 
 I remembered that I had forgotten the 
 most important thing of all — her name. I 
 unbolted the door, and called after him, 
 ' What is her name, Jack ? ' ' Mary Goto- 
 bed ! ' he cried from a distance. ' Mary 
 what ? ' I shouted. ' Gotobed ! ' he cried 
 again. I bolted the door, and went." 
 
 Praiseworthy Meddler, pausing to take 
 breath, cast another droll look upon his at- 
 tentive auditors. 
 
 " Gotobed ! " he then resumed. " Why, 
 it was worse than Meddler I I couldn't 
 marry a lass named Gotobed, and take her 
 name ; I didn't want to marry and keep 
 my own name; I couldn't put them to- 
 gether and make one sensible name out of 
 the two. Gotobed Meddler was as bad as 
 Meddler Gotobed. And the worst of it 
 all was, that I liked the lass. She was as 
 pretty a lass as ever I set eyes on. She 
 looked prettier than ever when I saw her 
 the next day ; and forgetting all about the 
 names, I spoke to her and lost myself." 
 
 " Lost yourself ! " exclaimed Mrs. Mar- 
 vel. 
 
 " Yes, my dear," said the Old Sailor, 
 with a bashfulness that did not set ill upon 
 him. " I fell in love." 
 
 He said this in a confidential hoarse 
 whisper to Mrs. Marvel, as if the young- 
 sters ought not to hear it. 
 
 " Oh, that ! " said Mrs. Marvel with a 
 smile. 
 
 " But directly she heard what my name 
 was," continued the Old Sailor, " she burst 
 out laughing, and ran away. I had to go 
 to my ship soon after that ; and when I 
 came back again, she was married to some 
 one else. So I gave up the idea of marry- 
 ing ; and the name I was born to has stuck 
 to"me all my life. And that is the reason 
 why I never married, and why I never be- 
 came a skipper." 
 
 They made merry over the Old Sailor's 
 story, and over other stories that he told 
 of the sea, and of the chances it afforded a 
 youngster like Joshua of getting on in the 
 worhf. And towards the close of the even- 
 ing Mrs. Marvel fairly gave in, and prom- 
 ised that she would not say another word 
 against Joshua's deternunation to be a 
 sailor. In token of which submission a, 
 large jug of grog was compounded, in 
 honor of 'the Old Sailor ; and when that 
 was drunk, another was compounded in 
 honor of Joshua. Of both of which 
 Praiseworthy Meddler drank so freely, 
 that he staggered home to his barge in a 
 
 state of semi-inebriation, singing snatches 
 of sea-songs without intermission, until he 
 tumbled into his hammock and fell asleep. 
 
 CHAPTER VHT. 
 
 A HAPPY HOLIDAY. 
 
 In after years, when Joshua was many 
 thousands of miles away from Stepney, 
 Dan loved to linger over the memory of 
 one especially happy day which he, and 
 Joshua, and Ellen, and the Old Sailor 
 spent together. Upon that day the sun 
 was rising now; and Dan, lying in bed, 
 was waiting impatiently for the solemn 
 and merry church-bells to strike the hour 
 of seven. His Sunday clothes were 
 smoothly laid out upon a chair, close to his 
 bed. Had the day not been an eventful 
 one, he would not have been allowed to 
 wear his best suit in the middle of the 
 week. When Joshua makes his appear- 
 ance in Dan's bedroom, it will be seen that 
 he will also be dressed in his best clothes. 
 The secret of all this is, that the lads had 
 received permission from their parents to 
 spend the day with the Old Sailor at the 
 waterside, and were to be taken in a cart 
 to the Old Sailor's castle — the barge near 
 the Tower Stairs. Twenty times at the 
 least had Dan said to Joshua, " I should so 
 like to see the Old Sailor, Jo ! " And 
 Joshua, in the most artful manner, had 
 fished for the invitation, which would have 
 been very readily given had the Old Sailor 
 been awai-e of Joshua's desire. But Joshua, 
 like a great many other diplomatists who 
 think themselves wise in their generation,] 
 went to work in a subtle roundabout way, 
 and so gave himself a vast deal of trouble, 
 which would have been saved had he come 
 straight to the point at once. At length,- 
 one day, when the Old Sailor had said, 
 " And how is Dan, Josh ? " and Joshua had 
 answered that he thought Dan was begin- 
 ning to grow strong, he ventui-ed to add, 
 with inward fear and trembling : " And he 
 would so much like to see you, sir, and 
 hear some of your sea-stories ! When I 
 tell them they don't sound the same as 
 when you tell them. There's no salt in 
 them." Artful Joshua ! " Well, my lad," 
 the Old Sailor had said with a chuckle 
 (he was not insensible to flattery, the old 
 do"- !), " why not bring him here to spend 
 the day ? " 
 
 " When shall it be, sir ? " asked Joshua 
 secretly delighted. 
 
 " Next Wednesday, Josh," said the Old 
 
A HAPPY HOLIDAY. 
 
 37 
 
 Sailor. So next "Wednesday it was. And 
 Joshua ran to Dan's house wild with 
 delight, and coaxed Dan's parents in to 
 giving their permission. 
 
 It was on this very Wednesday morning 
 that Dan was lying awake, waiting for 
 seven o'clock to strike. He awoke at least 
 two hours before the proper time to rise ; 
 and those hours appeared to him to be lono;- 
 er than hours ever were before. The ride 
 itself would be an event in Dan's lite ; but 
 it was not to be compared with what was 
 to come afterwards — the spending of a 
 whole day and night in a house on the 
 water. During the past week Dan had 
 been in a fever of pleasurable anticipation, 
 and in a fever of fright also, lest it should 
 rain upon this particular day. The pre- 
 vious night it had rained ; and Dan, lying 
 awake for a longer time than usual, had 
 prayed for the rain to go away. Ellen — 
 standing at the window in his bedroom, 
 after she had got out his clean shirt and 
 Sunday clothes, and brushed and smoothed 
 them, and taken up a stitch in them here 
 and there, as women (and girls after them) 
 say — had seen the spots of rain falling, 
 and, joining her prayer to his, had begged 
 very earnestly to the rain to go away and 
 come again another day. 
 
 And now the day was dawning ; and 
 Dan, opening his eyes, clapped his hands 
 in delight to see the sun shining so brightly 
 upon the broken jug which stood upon the 
 window-sill, and in which was a handful of 
 the sweet-smelling humble wall-tlower. 
 The pair of bullfinches which Joshua had 
 bought for the Old Sailor were busily at 
 work in their cage, which was hanging at 
 the window, and were as conscious of the 
 beauty of the morning as the most sensible 
 human being could possibly be. Dan was 
 so delighted that he whistled '• Rule, Bri- 
 tannia ! Britannia rules the waves 1 " - And 
 one of the bullfinches, after abstracting the 
 last hemp-seed from the glass containing 
 their morning meal, immediately piped out 
 with fervid patriotism, " For Britons never, 
 never, ^E-ver shall be slaves ! " From this 
 episode the reader will learn that the edu- 
 cation of the bullfinches was completed. 
 " Rule, Britannia," was not their sole 
 vocal accomplishment. They could whistle 
 " And did you not hear of a jolly young 
 waterman ? " in a very superior manner. 
 On that day the bullfinches were to be 
 presented to their new master — to whom 
 not a hint had been given of the pleasant 
 surprise in store for him ; Avhich made it 
 all tlie more delightful. 
 
 While, the patriotic bullfinch was assert- 
 ing in the most melodiously-persuasive 
 notes that " Britons never, never, "SE-ver 
 shall be slaves," its mate was engaged 
 
 drawing up water in the tiniest little bucket 
 in the world — another of the accomplish- 
 ments (coming, presumably, under the head 
 of " extras ") which {)aticnt Dan had taught 
 the birds in order to win the heart of the 
 Old Sailor. The industrious bullfinch had 
 a remarkatily rakish eye, which flashed 
 saucily and impatiently as the music fell 
 upon its ears. The slender roi)e which 
 held the bucket being in its beak, it could 
 not join in the harmony; but directly the 
 bucket was hauled up and secured, it 
 whetted its whistle, and piped out in 
 opposition, — 
 
 " And did you not hear of a jolly yoiina: waterman, 
 
 Who at Blackfriars-bridge used for to ply ? 
 
 He feathered liis oars with such skill and dexterity, 
 
 Winning each heart and delighting each eye ; " 
 
 repeating, as was its wont, the last line, 
 '• Winning each heart and delighting; each 
 eye," so as to produce a greater effect. I 
 do not assert that the bullfinch actually 
 uttered the words, but I cfo assert positively 
 that it sang the music of them with the 
 most beautitiil trills that mortal ever heard. 
 
 But there was the solemn church-bell 
 striking seven o'clock in tones less solemn 
 than usual, and there was the joyous church- 
 bell following suit. And as if the sound 
 had conjured him up, there was Joshua, 
 dressed in his best, and looking so fresh 
 and handsome with his holiday-face on, 
 that Dan might well be proud of him. He 
 had his accordion under his arm. and in 
 one hand was a bunch of flowers which 
 Dan was to give to the Old Sailor, and in 
 the other a glass containing some rape-seed 
 soaked in canary-wine for the birds. They 
 knew as well as possible — knowing little 
 bullfinches! — that Joshua had something 
 nice for them ; and as he approached the 
 cage they came as close to him as they 
 could, and, to show their appreciation of 
 his kindness, greeted him with a gush of 
 the sweetest melody. What better begin- 
 ning could there be for a happy holiday ! 
 
 When Dan was dressed the lads went 
 into the kitchen to have breakfast. And 
 there was Ellen, as fresh as a daisy. The 
 breakfast things were laid ; and there was 
 a clean cloth (not damask, mind 1) on the 
 deal table, and there, absolutely, were two 
 new-laid e<igs, one for Joshua and one for 
 Dan, which Ellen had bought and paid for 
 with her own money the day before, with- 
 out saying a word about it. Ellen stooped 
 and kissed Dan, and as she raised her head 
 Joshua looked at her, and felt a huge long- 
 ing to take her face between his two hands 
 and kiss her, as he used to do in the time 
 when they played sweethearts together. 
 But he hadn't the courage. Yet he could 
 not help looking at Ellen again and think- 
 
38 
 
 JOSHUA MARVEL. 
 
 ins, ^Vhat a pretty girl Ellen is 1 and then, 
 seein'jj Ellen's eyes fixed upon his, he 
 turned away his head and blushed. And 
 Ellen smiled at that, and, if she had been 
 asked, really could not have told the rea- 
 son why. Surely never was such a happy 
 commencement to a holiday, and never 
 was such a happy couple as Dan and Josh- 
 ua ! After all, are not simple pleasures 
 the best? Are not those the sweetest 
 pleasures that cost the least ? 
 
 What put it into Joshua's head ? Was 
 it the sentiment of perfect happiness that 
 actuated the wish ? Or was it a passing 
 shadow, lighter than the lightest cloud, 
 that passed over Ellen's face, as the lads 
 were talking of the coming delights of the 
 day ? It was there but a moment, but Joshua 
 saw it, or thought he did, and thought also 
 that there was regret in it. Or was it 
 Ellen's pretty face, or the little piece of 
 blue ribbon that she had put round her 
 neck, the puss ? For Ellen was fair, and 
 knew what colors best suited her complex- 
 ion. 'Whatever it was that actuated it, 
 there was Joshua saying, just as they had 
 sat down to breakfast and Ellen was pour- 
 ing out the milk-and-water — you may 
 imagine that there was not a great deal of 
 tea drank in Stepney — there was Joshua 
 saying, — 
 
 " Ellen, I wish you were coming with 
 us." 
 
 Ellen's hand shook so that she spilt 
 some of the milk-and-water, and a spasm 
 rose in her throat, for she had wished the 
 same thing fervently, but had never spoken 
 of it. She checked the spasm, hoping 
 that her emotion would not be noticed, and 
 answereJ not a word. But she looked. 
 Such a look 1 
 
 Dan was biting into a slice of bread-and- 
 butter, but directly he heard Joshua's wish, 
 and saw the yearning, look that sprang 
 into Ellen's eyes, he ceased eating, and 
 leaned his head upon his hand. 
 
 " I think I am very selfish," he said, and 
 hot tears gushed into his eyes. 
 
 In an instant Ellen was by his side, and 
 Ellen's face was close to his. Any one 
 who saw that action, any one who could 
 understand the quick sympathy that caused 
 her to put her face so close to Dan's, to 
 show that she knew what he was reproach- 
 ing himself lor, might have been able to 
 comprehend the depth of unselfish tender- 
 ness that dwelt in the soul of that little 
 maid. Ah ! it was only in a kitchen, 
 but how beautiful it was to see ! 
 
 " Don't bother about me, my dear," she 
 said almost in a whisper. " If you are 
 happy, I am happy." And then she add- 
 ed, pretending to be comically indignant, 
 "You stupid Dan! I've a good mind 
 
 to rumple your hair 1 You selfish, in- 
 deed 1 " 
 
 " I am selfish ! " exclaimed Dan, looking 
 up and thinking — just as Joshua had 
 thought — that he had never seen her look 
 so pretty. " I am selfish, Joshua ! " he 
 cried, so energetically that Joshua was 
 (|uite startled. " ^Vllat would the Old 
 Sailor say ? " 
 
 " But, Dan " — said Ellen. 
 
 " Seriously, Jo " said Dan, putting his 
 hand over Ellen's mouth, " what would the 
 Old Sailor say V " 
 
 " The Old Sailor would be delighted." 
 
 " Now, look here," said Dan, with a de- 
 termination almost comical in its intensity 
 when one considered what inspired it: as 
 if it were a question of tremendous national 
 consequence, or something in which mighty 
 interests were involved ; "are you sure? " 
 
 " I am sure he would be deliLihted, Dan," 
 replied Joshua without the slightest hesi- 
 tation. 
 
 " It's of no use, Dan and Josh dear," said 
 Ellen, shaking her head. " You musn't 
 think of it. I can't go. Mother wouldn't 
 be able to spare me. Why, don't you 
 know " — 
 
 " Don't I know what, Ellen ? " asked 
 Dan. 
 
 " Don't you know that it's washing- 
 day ? " said Ellen with a sharp nod, as if 
 that settled the question. 
 
 Dan's head was still resting upon his 
 hand. He pondered for a few moments, 
 and then raising his head, said, " Good 
 little Ellen ; " and kissed her. " Now let 
 us have breakfast." 
 
 Breakfast being over, Dan said he want- 
 ed to see Susan. 
 
 " Tell her I want to speak to her most 
 particularly," he said to Ellen. " And, 
 Ellen 1 when Susan comes, you go out of 
 the room, and Joshua as well. I want to 
 speak to her quite privately." 
 
 Ellen and Joshua left Susan with Dan, 
 and went into the passage; which gave 
 Joshua opportunity to ask Ellen if she re- 
 membered when he used to be pushed into 
 the coal-cellar. Yes, Ellen remembered it 
 very well indeed ; and they both laughed 
 over the reminiscence. 
 
 " How black your face used to be 1 " ex- 
 claimed Ellen. 
 
 " And yours too, Ellen ! " retorted Josh- 
 ua saucily. 
 
 Whereat Ellen blushed, and did not 
 reply. 
 
 What passed between Susan and Dan 
 was never divulged. It was nothing very 
 dreadful, you may be sure ; for when Dan 
 called to Joshua and Ellen to come in, 
 they found him smiling. Susan was gone, 
 but presently she entered again with a 
 
A HAPPY HOLIDAY. 
 
 39 
 
 radiant face and nodded to Dan, who nodded 
 to Susan in return, and said gayly, — 
 " Thanlc you, Susey I " 
 When Susan went into the passage, she 
 wiped her eyes, and did not once look 
 round to see if any thin;; was behind her. 
 Tliat day, over the washing-tub, Susan 
 was happier than she had been for a long 
 time. 
 
 Then Dan rubbed his hands, and said, 
 " I really think this is going to be the hap- 
 piest day of my life." 
 
 The happiest day of my life! How 
 often, and with what various meanings, are 
 those words uttered 1 At dinner-parties 
 when the invited guest rises to respond to 
 the toast of his health, and commences by 
 saying in tones which falter from emotion, 
 " This is the happiest day of my life 1 " 
 At wedding-feasts, if healths are being 
 proposed, when the bridegroom, the bride- 
 groom's father, and the bride's father, each 
 in his turn declares, " This is the happiest 
 day of ray life ! " At the presentation of 
 testimonials, whether to humbug, worthy 
 man, or fool, it is *' Tlie happiest day of my 
 lii'e ! " with one and all of them. With 
 copious use of pocket-handkerchief, and 
 with face more suitable for a funeral than 
 for a joyful occasion. But a fig lor moral- 
 izing on such a day as this ! 
 
 Dan's countenance was suffused with a 
 flush of genuine delight, as he repeated, — 
 
 " Yes, Ellen, this is going to be the hap- 
 piest day of my life." 
 
 She gave him a questioning, imploring 
 look, which asked the reason why as 
 plainly as any words could put the ques- 
 tion. 
 
 " Come here, and I'll whisper," said Dan. 
 
 Ellen put her ear close to his mouth, but 
 Dan, instead of whispering, blew into her 
 ear, which caused her to start away with a 
 pleasant shiver, and to cry out that he tickled 
 her. Nothing daunted, however, she placed 
 her ear a second time to his lips ; and then lie 
 whispered something, which made Ellen 
 jump for joy, and hug him round the neck, 
 and tear out of the room as if she were 
 mad. And almost before you could say 
 " Jack Robinson ! " there she was back 
 again, her eyes all aglow with excitement, 
 in her modest Sunday dress and pretty 
 Sunday bonnet. 
 
 Susan's voice was heard calling out, — 
 
 " Here's the cart at the door ! " 
 
 '• She means our carriage, Jo," said Dan 
 merrily, as Joshua carried him out. 
 
 And there they were, the three of them in 
 the cart ; Dan lying his full length on some 
 straw between Joshua and Ellen, who sat 
 upon a kind of bench in a state of perfect 
 happiness. And there were the bullfinches 
 in Uieir cage, wondering what on earth it 
 
 all meant, but very blithe and merry not- 
 withstanding. And there was the cart mov- 
 ing along slowly, so that Dan should not 
 be'jolted. And there they were, presently, 
 looking at each other, and laughing and 
 nodding pleasantly without any apparent 
 cause. 
 
 Not among all the stars that gem the 
 heavens (which some wise men assert are 
 really worlds in which forms that have life 
 fulfil the task ordained by the Master of 
 all the worlds) could there be found a 
 more beautiful world than this was to our 
 young holiday-folk on that bright summer 
 morning. Whitechapel the Dingy was as a 
 flower-garden in their eyes ; and as they rode 
 through the busy neighborhood a great 
 many persons turned to look at the crazy 
 cart — the springs in which were the only- 
 uneasy part of the whole affair — and at 
 the three joyful faces that peered about, en- 
 joying every tiling, and thankfUl for every 
 thing, from the flying clouds to the lazy 
 gutters. 
 
 Soon they were at the waterside ; and 
 soon they were on the barge, with the Old 
 Sailor welcoming them in downright sailor 
 fashion. Directly Dan put out his little 
 hand, and felt it imprisoned in the Old Sail- 
 or's immense palm, and directly he looked 
 at the great open face, pock-marked as it 
 was, and into the staring pleasant eyes, 
 which returned his look honestly and pleas- 
 antly, he nodded to himself in satisfaction. 
 His delight was unbounded when the Old 
 Sailor lifted him tenderly, and placed him in 
 a hammock specially prepared for him. He 
 was deeply impressed by the Old Sailor's 
 thoughtful kindness. The mere fact of his 
 lying in a hammock was entrancing. And 
 there Dan swung, and, gazing in wonder 
 upon the busy life of the flowing river, fan- 
 cied himself in dreandand. 
 
 Before he gave himself up to that trance, 
 however, there was much to be done and 
 much to be observed. When the Old Sailor 
 lifted him into the hammock and arranged 
 him comfortably — Dan was surprised that 
 those great strong hands could be so light 
 and tender — he said to the Old Sailor, 
 " Thank you, sir ; " and the Olil Sailor re- 
 plied, " Ay, ay, my lad," just as he had read 
 of, and in'just the kind of tone he imagined 
 a sailor would use. 
 
 The next thing the Old Sailor did was to 
 rest his hand upon Ellen's head. There- 
 upon Joshua said, " You don't mind, Mr. 
 Praiseworthy, do you ? " referring to the lib- 
 erty they had taken in bringing Ellen with- 
 out an invitation. " Mind ! " the Old Sailor 
 exclaimed. " A pretty little lass like this ! " 
 and he stooped and kissed her. And Ellen 
 did not even blush, but seemed to like it. 
 The Old Sailor seemed to like it too. There 
 
40 
 
 JOSHUA MAEVEL. 
 
 •was something wonderfully charming in his 
 manner of saying " Pretty little lass ; " none 
 but a downright thoroughbred old tar could 
 have said it in such a way. And there was 
 something wonderfully charming in the 
 rough grace with which he accepted the 
 bunch of flowers from Ellen. His first in- 
 tention was to stick them in the bosom of his 
 shirt ; but second consideration led him to 
 reflect that their circumference rendered 
 such a resting-place inappropriate. So he 
 placed them in a large tin mug, and sprin- 
 kled them with water, which glistened on 
 their leaves as freshly as the dew-kisses 
 which glisten in the early morning wherever 
 Nature makes holiday. Then Dan took 
 the cage containing the bullfinches, and 
 asked the Old Sailor to accept the birds as a 
 present from him and Joshua ; and the Old 
 Sailor thanked him in such cordial terms, 
 that his heart was s<irred with a fresh de- 
 light. Truth to tell, the Old Sailor was 
 mightily gratified with the birds ; but, at 
 the same time, he was mightily puzzled as 
 to what he was to do with them. Prettier 
 little things he had never seen ; but, small 
 and beautiful as they were, they were a re- 
 sponsibility for which he was not prepared. 
 He stood with his legs wide apart, regard- 
 hig the birds with a perplexed expression 
 on his face ; and Dan divining what was in 
 his mind, opened the door of the cage and 
 out hopped the bullfinches, looking about 
 them with an air of having been accustomed 
 to the water all their lives. As if impelled 
 by a sudden desire to fly away and join their 
 mates in distant woodlands, they took wing 
 aiid fluttered around the hammock in which 
 Dan lay ; now coming tantalizingly near, 
 and now sailing away with an independent 
 air, as much as to say, '• We're off! " But 
 when Dan held out his forefinger, they came 
 and perched upon it contentedly. The Old 
 Sailor gazed on the little comedy in admira- 
 tion. His admiration was increased a hun- 
 dred fold when Dan, taking his hand, trans- 
 ferred the birds on to his forefinger. He 
 looked at the birds timorously ; the birds 
 looked at him confidently. He was afraid 
 to move lest some mischief should happen to 
 the delicate creatures. 
 
 '• Put them in the cage, sir,'' said Dan. 
 The Old Sailor did so. " Now," continued 
 Dan, " I will send you food for them regular- 
 ly ; and it will not be too much trouble for you 
 to fill this well with fresh water every morn- 
 ing, will it, sir ? " 
 
 " No," said the Old Sailor. " But how will 
 the birds get at the water, my lad ? It is 
 out of their reach." 
 
 " Ah ! you think so, sir. But have you 
 ever been in want of water ? " 
 
 " Of fresh water, I have, my lad ; not of 
 gait. Was for three days on a raft, with not 
 
 a drop of fresh water among thirty-seven of 
 us. Two drank salt water, and went raving 
 mad ; one threw himself into the sea." 
 
 " And the others, sir ? " inquired Dan, im- 
 mensely interested. 
 
 " The others, my lad, waited and suffered, 
 and prayed for rain. And it came, my lad, 
 and we were saved, by the mercy of God. 
 It was awful suffering ; our very eyeballs 
 were blazing with thirst. It would have 
 been a relief to us if we could have cried." 
 
 " But the heavens cried for you, sir," said 
 Dan tenderly. 
 
 " Ay, ay, my lad," said the Old Sailor ; 
 " that's well said. The heavens cried for 
 us; and we lay on our backs with our 
 mouths open to catch the blessed drops. 
 The salt water that was death to us dashed 
 up from below ; and the fresh water that 
 was life to us came down from above. In 
 five minutes we were soaked with the rain ; 
 and we sucked at our clothes. We caught 
 enough rain-water to last us until we were 
 picked up by a merchantman, homeward 
 bound from the Indies." 
 
 " That was good," said Dan, feeling as if 
 he had known the Old Sailor all his life. 
 " Now, supposing you were wrecked, sir, 
 on a high rock. Here is the rock," point- 
 ing to the perch on which the bullfinches 
 were standing. 
 
 " Here is the rock," repeated the Old 
 Sailor, chiming in readily with Dan's fancy. 
 
 " And here you are, sir, with another 
 sailor," identifying Praiseworthy Meddler 
 and the other sailor with the two bull- 
 finches. 
 
 " And here am I, with another sailor," 
 said the Old Sailor attentively, nodding 
 familiarly at his new shipmate in the cage, 
 who, making much too light of the calamity 
 which had befallen them, winked saucily 
 in return. 
 
 " And you are very thirsty." 
 
 " And I am very thirsty," said the Old 
 Sailor, smacking his parched lips. 
 
 " And here, out of your reaxih, is the 
 water," indicating the well, " you want to 
 drink." 
 
 " And here, out of my reach, is the water 
 I want to drink," said the Old Sailor, grow- 
 ing more parched. 
 
 " Now, then," said Dan, " you can't get 
 at the water with' your beak — I mean 
 your mouth — '^nd you can't reach it with 
 your claws — I mean your hands. Now 
 what do you do ? " 
 
 " Ah ! what do I do ? " repeated the Old 
 Sailor, not seeing his way out of the diffi- 
 culty. 
 
 " Why," exclaimed Dan enthusiastically, 
 " you get a rope — or, if you haven't got 
 one, you make one out of some strong grass, 
 or out of strips of your clothes ; and you 
 
A HAPPY HOLIDAY 
 
 41 
 
 get a bucket — or you make one out of a 
 cocoanut," in his cntliusiasui Dan took the 
 cocoanut for granted ; and tlie Old Sailor 
 accepted its existence on the rock with 
 most implicit faith — "and you attach the 
 cocoanut to the rope, and you lowiu- it into 
 the water, and draw it up full. Here you 
 are, doing it." 
 
 And, obedient to Dan's signal, the bull- 
 finches lowered their tiny bucket into the 
 well, and drew it up full, and dipped their 
 beaks into the water, as if they wei-e ship- 
 wrecked bullfinches, and were nearly dead 
 with raging thirst. 
 
 A thoughtful expression stole into the 
 Old Sailor's face. 
 
 " They are wise little creatures," he said. 
 " I have seen a might of strange things and 
 pretty things ; but this is as pretty as any 
 thing I have seen." 
 
 " You can learn them any thing almost, 
 su'," said Dan, who was bent upon making 
 the Old Sailor love the birds. 
 
 " To climb ropes like a sailor ? " 
 
 "In a week they could. If I had a little 
 ship, with two or three sails and a rope- 
 ladder, I could teach them to climb the lad- 
 der and set the sails." 
 
 " I dare say, my lad, I dare say." 
 
 " Did you ever see a mermaid, sir ? " 
 
 This was one of the questions Dan had 
 made up his mind to ask the Old Sailor 
 directly they grew familiar. 
 
 " Yes," answered the Old Sailor. " I 
 wasn't very near her ; and I was laughed 
 at lor saying I had seen her. But I saw 
 her, for all that." 
 
 " Where was it that you saw her, sir? " 
 
 " In the South Pacific, where there ai'e 
 the ugliest images of men and women, and 
 the most wonderful birds and flowers and 
 trees, in the world. I have walked for 
 miles through forests of wild flowers and 
 strange trees, while thousands of parrots 
 were flying about, with their feathers all 
 blue and gold and scarlet and silver." 
 
 " Oh, how beautiful ! " exclaimed Dan, 
 twining his fingers together. " And they're 
 there now, sir ? " 
 
 " Surely. Your land-lubbers don't know 
 any thing of the world." 
 
 " Those men and women, sir — are they 
 very ugly ? " 
 
 " As ugly as sin can make 'em — brown 
 and copper-colored and nearl}^lack ; can- 
 nibals, they are." 
 
 " That's very dreadful 1 " said Dan with a 
 sliiver. " AVhat else have you seen, sir V " 
 
 " What would you say to gardens in the 
 sea ? " asked the Old Sailor enthusiasti- 
 cally. " What would you say to fields in 
 the sky ? " 
 
 " No I " said Dan in wonder. 
 
 " Yes, my lad. Gardens in the sea, with 
 
 ((17H 
 
 the flowers growiiJc'Snd blooming. I only 
 saw land in the sKy;,"«fit;e ; but it was 9,/ 
 sight that can't be fo'i*w(Jt.>r' We were thou- 
 sands of miles away fi'oni land ; hut there in 
 the sky was the country, with fields and for- 
 ests and mountains. We saw it lor near 
 an hour ; then it melted away. AVhat would 
 you say to flying fish — showers of 'em. I 
 heard of a talking fish ; but I never saw it. 
 I shouldn't wonder, now, if these i)retty 
 little birds could talk." 
 
 " No, sir," said Dan ; " they can't talk, 
 but they can sing." 
 
 With that he whistled the first stave of 
 "Rule, Britannia;" and the bullfinches 
 piped the patriotic song so spiritedly, that 
 the Old Sailor roared out in a hoarse voice, 
 " Rule, Britannia ! Britannia rules the 
 waves ! " and then stopped, and wiped the 
 perspiration from his forehead, and ex- 
 claimed, " Lord, Lord 1 " with rapturous be- 
 wilderment. But when Dan whistled " And 
 have you not heard of a jolly young water- 
 man?" and the birds answered, " Oh, yes! 
 we have heard of a jolly young waterman," 
 and proceeded to narrate where that jolly 
 young waterman plied, and how dexterous- 
 ly that jolly young waterman feathered his 
 oars, the Old Sailor was fairly duml'ound- 
 ered, and sat down in silence, and watched 
 and listened, while Dan put the birds 
 through the whole of their performances. 
 
 Ah, what a happy day was that — never, 
 never to be forgotten 1 As he lay in his ham- 
 mock, with a delicious sense of rest upon 
 him, he saw pleasure-boats and barges float- 
 ing down with the tide, with a happy indo- 
 lence in keeping with every thing about 
 him. What else ? Bright visions in the 
 clouds ; not for himself, but for his friend, 
 his brother Joshua; bright visions of beau- 
 tiful lands and beautiful seas. What did 
 the Old Sailor say? Gardens in the sea, 
 with the flowers growing and blooming ! 
 He saw them in the clouds ; and each flower 
 was bright with beauty, and each petal was 
 rimmed with light. Fields in the skies 1 
 There they were, stretching far, far away ; 
 and some one was walking through forests 
 of wild flowers and strange trees. W^ho 
 was it ? Joshua ! And there were the par- 
 rots that the Old Sailor had spoken of, with 
 their feathers of blue and gold and scarlet 
 and silver. But Dan happiuied to turn his 
 eyes fi-om the clouds to the water, and 
 dreamland faded. Joshua was rowing on 
 the river. 
 
 Bravo, Joshua! How strong he looked, 
 with his shirt-sleeves tucked up to his 
 shoulders ; and how well he managed his 
 oars ! Not that Dan was much of a judge ; 
 but he knew what grace was, and surely he 
 saw that before him when he saw Joshua 
 rowing. Joshua looked at Dan, and smiled 
 
42 
 
 JOSHUA MARVEL. 
 
 and nodded ; and Dan clapped his hands. 
 And Joshua, to show how clever he was, 
 made a great sweep with the oars, and fell 
 backwards in the boat, in a most ridiculous 
 position, with his heels in the air. But he 
 was up again like lightning, and recovered 
 his oars, and made so light of it, that Dan, 
 who had caught his breath for an instant, 
 laughed merrily at the mishap, and thought 
 it was good fun. His laugh was echoed by 
 Ellen, who was sitting by his side, and who 
 had also been a little alarmed at first. The 
 industrious maid was making holiday in her 
 own peculiar way. She was not accustomed 
 to sit idly down with her hands in her 
 lap. By some mysterious means she had 
 obtained possession of two of the Old Sail- 
 or's shirts which required mending ; and 
 there she was stitching away at them, as if 
 it were the most natural thing in the world 
 for her to do when she came out for a holi- 
 day. Did she have a design upon the Old 
 Sailor ? It really looked suspiciously like 
 it, if one might judge from the demure 
 glances she cast upon him every now and 
 then, and from the admiring manner in 
 which he returned her artful glances. One 
 thing was certain : she had fairly captivated 
 him ; and there is no telling what might 
 have occurred, if he had been thirty years 
 younger. 
 
 What more beautiful phase of liuman 
 nature can be seen than that of an old man 
 with a young heart ? Place, side by side, 
 two pictures of old manhood : one, with 
 crafty face ; with cautious eyes that never 
 rove ; with compressed lips that keep guard 
 on every word ; with puckered forehead 
 and eyebrows, from every ugly crevice in 
 which the spirit of " You can't take me in " 
 peeps out, as if the essence of a fox were in 
 hiding there ; — the other, with open face, 
 which says, " Read me ; I am not ati-aid ; " 
 with eyes that, be they large or small, en- 
 joy what they see; with full-fleshed 
 wrinkles on Ibrehead and eyebrows ; with 
 lips that smile when others smile. 
 
 No younger heart ever beat in the breast 
 of an old man than that which beat in the 
 breast of Praiseworthy Meddler. He had 
 never mingled with children ; yet here he 
 was, at nearly seventy years of age, a hale 
 and hearty old man, with a nature as simple 
 as a child's. What was it that made him 
 so ? Was it because he had lived his youth 
 and manhood away from cities, where the 
 tricky webs of trade teach men to trick as 
 their" brethren do, or where the anxiety how 
 to live, and with many, alas, how to get to- 
 morrow's bread, stops the generous flow of 
 a generous nature, and robs litie's summer 
 of its brightness ? Or did he inherit it ? 
 If so, how deserving of pity are those chil- 
 di-en who are boru of crafty parents ! 
 
 There are human mysteries which science 
 has not dared to probe, and there are in- 
 herited ills and calamities which philan- 
 thropists, up to the present time, have not 
 tried to get to the root of. 
 
 Anyhow, here was Praiseworthy Meddler 
 sitting upon the deck of his barge by the 
 side of Ellen, showing her, in the intervals 
 of stitching, how to splice a broken rope, 
 and initiating her into the mysteries of 
 short-splice, long-splice, and eye-splice. 
 Dan, looking on, begged some rope, and 
 proved himself a womlerfully-apt scholar, 
 which caused the Old Sailor to remark, — 
 
 " You ought to be a sailor, my lad ; " for- 
 getting for the moment that Dan's legs were 
 useless. 
 
 " I should have to work in a hammock, 
 sir," said Dan cheerfully. 
 
 The Old Sailor blushed. 
 
 " I forgot," he said in a gentle voice. 
 
 " There's the sailor for you, if you like," 
 said Dan, pointing to Joshua, who, a couple 
 of hundred yards away, was pulling lazily 
 towards the barge. 
 
 " Ay, a}', my lad ; Joshua has the right 
 stuff in him. He will be a fine strong 
 man." 
 
 " He is better than strong, sir," said Dan ; 
 " he is noble and tender-hearted. If you 
 knew, sir, how good he has been to me, you 
 would admire and love him more. If 
 you knew how gentle he has been to me — 
 how tender, and how self-sacrificing — you 
 would think even better of him than you do. 
 We have been together all our lives ; every 
 day he has come to me as regularly as the 
 sun, and has been to me what the sun is to 
 the day. I look back now that he is going 
 away, and I cannot remember that he la;is 
 ever given me a cross word or a cross look. 
 And I have been very troublesome some- 
 times, and very peevish ; but he has borne 
 with it all. Look, sir," and Dan drew the Old 
 Sailor's attention to two pieces of rope, one 
 thin and one thick, the strands of which ha 
 had been interweaving, " this thin rope is 
 me ; this thick rope is Joshua. Now we 
 are spliced, and you can't pull us apart. 
 Joshua and me are friends for ever and 
 ever ! " 
 
 The Old Sailor listened attentively, and 
 nodded his head occasionally, to show that 
 he was following Dan's words, and under- 
 stood them. Ellen, having mended the Old 
 Sailor's shirts, sat with her hands folded in 
 her lap, indorsing every word that Dan ut- 
 tered. 
 
 Just then Joshua reached the barge, and 
 having secureil the boat, climbed on to the 
 deck. As he did so, eight bells struck. 
 
 " Eight bells," said the Old Sailor. 
 " Dinner." 
 
 With that, he lifled Dan out of the ham- 
 
A HAPPY HOLIDAY. 
 
 43 
 
 mock, and earned him to where dinner was 
 laid on a table which extended lore and aft 
 down the centre of what it would be the 
 wildest extravagance of courtesy to call a 
 saloon, and where every thing was prepared 
 in expectation of a storm. Joshua and 
 Ellen tbllowed, and the four of them made 
 a very merry party. Lobscouse and sea-pie 
 were the only dishes, and they were brought 
 in by a Lascar with rings in his ears, whom 
 the Old Sailor called a " lubberly swab," 
 because he was unmistakably drunk ; and 
 who in return, notwithstanding his drunken 
 condition, cast upon the Old Sailor an evil 
 look, which flashed from his eyes like a 
 dagger-stroke. This Lascar was the man 
 who had struck eight bells, and who cooked 
 for the Old Sailor, and did odd work about 
 the barge, in return for which he got his 
 victuals and a bunk to sleep in. A lazy, 
 indolent rogue, who would do any thing, 
 never miud what, for rum and tobacco ; a 
 cringing, submissive, treacherous rogue, 
 ripe for the execution of any villany on 
 the promise of rum and tobacco; a rogue 
 who would fawn, and lie, and stab, and 
 humble himself and play Bombastes for 
 rum and tobacco. They were all he seemed 
 to live for ; they were his Thirty-nine Arti- 
 cles, and he was ready to sell himself for 
 them any day. Of what quality might be 
 the work proposed to him to do, so as to 
 earn the reward, was of the very smallest 
 consequence to him. He gave Ellen such 
 an ugly look of wicked admiration that she 
 was glad when he was gone. 
 
 Dinner over, they returned to the deck, 
 and the Old Sailor told them stories of the 
 sea — stories so enthralling, that the after- 
 noon glided by like a dream ; and the set- 
 ting sun was tinged with the glories of the 
 distant lands whither it was wending. 
 They had tea on deck — a delicious tea, of 
 shrimps, water-cresses, and bread-and-but- 
 ter. The task of preparing the tea was 
 performed by Ellen and the Old Sailor ; 
 and during the performance of this task, it 
 may be confidently stated that the conquest 
 of the Old Sailor was completed, and that 
 he was from that moment, and ever after- 
 wards, her devoted slave. Then they went 
 down, and sat two and two on each side of 
 the tabic, Joshua and Dan being on one 
 side, and Ellen and the Old Sailor on the 
 other ; and they had more sea-stories, and 
 were altogether in a state of supreme hap- 
 piness. 
 
 During the latter part of the evening the 
 conversation turned upon Joshua's ap- 
 proaching voyage. 
 
 " Always bear in mind the sailor's watch- 
 word, my lad," said the Old Sailor. 
 " ' Along the line the signal ran : England 
 expects that every man this day will do his 
 
 duty.' That's meant not for this day 
 alone, but tor always. What a sailor's got 
 to do is to obey. Many a voyage has had 
 a bad ending because of a saihjr's forget- 
 ting his watchwoi'd. Don't you forget it, 
 Josh." 
 
 " I won't, sir." 
 
 " The ' Merry Andrew,' that you're going 
 to make your first voyage in, is a line ship ; 
 the skipper is a fine skipper — a man he is, 
 and that's what a ship wants — a man, and 
 not an image." The Ohl Sailor said this 
 in a tone of exasperation, inspired, possi- 
 bly, by some tantalizing remembrance of a 
 ship commanded by an image instead of a 
 man. " So stick to your watchword, my 
 lad. It wouldn't be a bad thing now if we 
 were to drink to it." 
 
 The cunning old rascal was only too glad 
 of a chance to get at his grog. 
 
 " Bravo ! " exclaimed Dan, clapping his 
 hands. 
 
 No sooner said than done. Hot water, 
 lemon, sugar, rum, compounded with the 
 skill of an artist. A glass for Joshua, a 
 glass for Dan, a glass for the Old Sailor, 
 and a small glass for Ellen. Not one of 
 them seemed afraid of it — not even Ellen. 
 
 "Now then," said the Old Sailor, smil- 
 ing as the steam rose to his nostrils. '' Now, 
 then ; the sailor's watchword — Duty, and 
 may Jushua never forget it ! " 
 
 " Duty, Jo," said Dan, nodding over his 
 glass to Joshua. 
 
 " Duty, Dan," said Joshua, nodding to 
 Dan. 
 
 Ellen said nothing aloud, but whispered 
 something into her glass. Then they drank 
 and sipped their grog, and resumed the 
 conversation. 
 
 " Have you been to New Holland, sir ? '* 
 asked Dan. The " Merry Andrew " was 
 bound for New Holland. 
 
 " I was there when I was a youngster," 
 replied the Old Sailor, mixing a second 
 glass of grog for himself. "It was a wild 
 country tlaen ; I am told it is growing into 
 a wonderful country now. We were six 
 months going out. AVe had nearly four 
 hundred convicts aboard, most of them in 
 irons. A miserable lot of desperate 
 wretches they were ! They were not well 
 treated, and they knew it. AVe had to 
 keep close watch over them ; if they could 
 have set themselves free by any means — 
 they talked of it many a time among them- 
 selves — they would have captured the ship, 
 and flung us overboard, or something 
 worse. AVe landed them at Port Phillip, 
 where the British Government wanted to 
 form a settlement." 
 
 " Why New Holland, sir?" asked Dan, 
 always eager for information. 
 
 "Discovered by the Dutch in about 
 
44 
 
 JOSHUA MAEVEL, 
 
 1600," replied the Old Sailor oratorically. 
 " Victoria was discovered by Capt. Cook ; 
 let us drink to him." They took a sip — 
 all but the Old Sailor, who scorned sips. 
 " Discovered by Capt. Cook in 1 7 70, after 
 he had discovered New Zealand." 
 
 " Any savages, sir ? " 
 
 " Swarms. We were out in a boat ex- 
 ploring, and when we were close in shore, 
 two or three hundred savages came whoop- 
 ing down upon us. We weren't afraid of 
 them ; we pulled in to shore, and they 
 stopped short about twenty yards from us, 
 jabbering like a lot of black monkeys. 
 They soon got courage enough to come 
 closer to us, and we gave them some grog ; 
 but the ignorant lubbers spit it out of their 
 mouths at first. Then they began to steal 
 things from the boat ; and when we gave 
 them to understand that what was ours 
 wasn't theirs, they grew saucy. A black 
 fellow caught up the master's-mate, and 
 ran away with him." 
 
 " AVhat did they want with him, sir ? " 
 
 " To eat him, of course. We fired over 
 their heads, and they dropped the master's- 
 mate, who ran back to us, glad enough to 
 get free, for he didn't relish the idea of being 
 made a meal of. But when the savages 
 found that the guns didn't hurt them, they 
 came whooping up to us again, flourishing 
 their spears. Their faces were painted, and 
 they had swans' feathers sticking out of 
 their heads. Some of them had skin cloaks 
 on, painted all over with figures of naked 
 men, and some of them had bones stuck 
 through their nostrils. On they came, yell- 
 ing and leaping like so many devils, think- 
 ing what a tine roast the fattest of us would 
 make. Then we fired and killed one of 
 them. Directly they saw him fall, they 
 scampered off like madmen." 
 
 When the conversation flagged, they 
 had music and singing. Joshua jDlayecl, 
 and Dan sang a song, and the Old Sailor 
 sang a good many. The best of the Old 
 Sailor's songs was, that they were all about 
 the sea, and that every one of them had a 
 chorus in which the company could join. 
 Of course he sang " Heave the Lead," and 
 " Yeo, heave, ho ! To the windlass let us 
 go, with yo, heave ho ! " and " Saturday 
 Night at Sea ; " and when " Saturday niglit 
 did come, my boys, to drink to Poll and 
 Bess," he flourished his glass, and drank to 
 those young ladies with a will. The num- 
 ber of lovely ladies with whom the Old 
 Sailor made them acquainted was some- 
 thing astonishing. Poor Jack had his 
 Poll, whom he addressed in a not very dig- 
 nified manner, when he said to her, — 
 
 " What argufies sniv'ling and piping your eye ? 
 Why what a — {hem! ) fool you must be I " 
 
 Out of respect for Ellen, the Old Sailor 
 coughed over a good many words in the 
 songs he sang ; for it must be confessed 
 that there was more swearing in them than 
 was absolutely necessary. Poor Jack, how- 
 ever, who called his Poll a something fool, 
 made up for it in the end by declaring that 
 " his heart was his Poll's " (a very pretty 
 though somewhat trite sentiment), and "his 
 rhino's his friend's " (a very unwise and 
 foolish sentiment, as the world goes). Then 
 there was a Polly whom the lads called so 
 pretty, and who entreated her sweetheart, 
 before he sailed in the good ship the 
 " Kitty " to be constant to her ; and who, 
 when he returned Avithout any rhino, turned 
 up her nose at him, as young women do now 
 and then. Then there were Poll in '' My 
 Poll and my partner Joe " (it was wonderful 
 how faithless the Polls were), and Poll in 
 " Every inch a Sailor," who, when poor 
 Haulyard came home in tatters, swore 
 (very unfeminine of her) that she had never 
 seen his face. But honest Ned Haulyard 
 was a philosophical sailor, for he some- 
 thing'd her for a faithless she, and singing 
 went again to sea. The Nancies were a 
 better class of female : — 
 
 " I love my duty, love my friend, 
 Love truth and merit to defend, 
 
 To moan their Joss who hazard ran; 
 I love to take an honest part. 
 Love beauty with a spotless heart, 
 
 By manners love to show tlie man; 
 To sail through life by honor's breeze — 
 'Tvvas all along of loving these 
 
 Fii'st made me dote on lovely Xan." 
 
 And so on, and so on, with gentle Anna 
 and buxom Nan ; and poor Fanny, who 
 drowned herself in the waves near to the 
 place where hung the trembling pines ; 
 and poor Pege;y, who loved a soldier lad (a 
 marine, without doubt) ; and bonny Kate, 
 who lived happily afterwards with Tom 
 Clueline. Ellen joined in the choruses 
 with her sweet voice ; but, strange to say, 
 she had not been asked to sing until the 
 Old Sailor, struck perhaps by a sudden re- 
 morse at monopolizing the harmony, called 
 upon her for a song. Ellen, nothing loth, 
 asked what song ; and Joshua said, — 
 
 " Sing the song you learned of mother, 
 Ellen." 
 
 " ' Bread-and-Cheese and Kisses ? ' " in- 
 quired Ellen. 
 
 " Yes, ' Bread-and-Cheese and Kisses.' 
 Tisn't quite a girl's song, sir " (to the Old 
 Sailor) ; " but it is a good song, and Ellen 
 sings it nicely." 
 
 " Hooray, then, for ' Bread-and-Cheese 
 and Kisses ! ' " cried the Old Sailor, cast- 
 ing a glance of intense admiration at 
 Ellen, who, without more ado, sang as 
 follows : — 
 
MINNIE AND HEP. SHELL. 
 
 45 
 
 BKEAD-AND-CHEESE AND KISSES. 
 
 One clay, when I came home fatigued, 
 
 And felt inclined to grumble. 
 Because my life was one of toil, 
 
 Because my lot was humble, 
 I said to Kate, my darling wife, 
 
 In wliom my whole litWa bliss is, 
 " What have you got for dinner. Kate ?" 
 
 " Why, brcad-iiud-cheese and kisses I " 
 
 Thougli worn and tired, my heart leaped up 
 
 As tliosc plain words slie uttered. 
 Why should I envy those whose bread 
 
 Thau mine's more thickly buttered? 
 I said, " We'll have dessert at once." 
 
 " What's that ? " she a.-ked. •' Why, this is." 
 I kissed her. Ah, what sweeter meal 
 
 Than bread-and-cheese and kisses I 
 
 [ gazed at her with pure delight ; 
 
 tilie nodded and smiled gayly; 
 I said. •' My love, on such anieal 
 
 I'd dine with pleasure, daily. 
 Wlien I buttliink of you, dear girl, 
 
 I pity those line misses 
 Who turn tlieir noses up and pout 
 
 At brtad-and-cheese and kisses. 
 
 And when I look on your dear form, 
 
 And on your face so homely; 
 And when I look in your dear eyes, ' 
 
 And on your dress so comely: 
 And when I hokl you in my arms, 
 
 I laugh at Fortune's mis.^es. 
 I'm blessed in you. content Avith you, 
 
 And bread-and-cheese and kisses." 
 
 Thus ended the happy day. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 MINNIE AND HER SHELL. 
 
 So the simple ways of Joshua's simple 
 life were drawing to a close. He had 
 chosen his career, and to-morrow he would 
 be at the end of the quiet groove in which 
 he had hitherto moved, and would step 
 upon rougher roads, to commence the bat- 
 tle which dooms many a fair-promising life 
 to a despairing death, and out of which no 
 one comes without scars and wounds which 
 art and time are jjowerless to heal. To- 
 morrow he was to leave a father almost too 
 indulgent ; a mother whose heart was as 
 true in its motherly affection for hinf as the 
 needle is to the pole ; a friend who gave 
 him a love as tender and as pure as that 
 which angels could feel. 
 
 During the past week he had been busily 
 engaged in leave-taking, and he had been 
 stu'prised to find what a number of friends 
 he had. There was not one of the 
 poor neighbors, in the poor locality in 
 which he had passed his boyhood's days, 
 who had not kind words and good wishes 
 for him, and who did not give them hearti- 
 ly and without stint. Many a hearty 
 hand-shake from men whose hands he had 
 never touched before, and many a motherly 
 
 kiss from women he had been in the habit 
 of saying only "Good-morning" to, did 
 Joshua receive. There is a stronger knit- 
 ting of aifection between poor people in 
 ])oor ncighborhocjds than there is among 
 the rich in their wider thoroughfares. Per- 
 haps it is the narrow streets that draw 
 them closer to each other; perhaps it is 
 the common struggle to keej) body and 
 soul together in which tluy are all en- 
 gaged ; perhaps it is the unconscious rec- 
 ognition of a higher la'v of humanity than • 
 prevails elsewhere ; perhaps it is the absence 
 of the wider barriers of exclu.'^iveness, amonw 
 which the smaller and more beautiful flow- 
 ers of feeling — being so humble and 
 unassuming — are in danger of being lost 
 or overlooked. Anyhow the ties of affec- 
 tion are stronger among the poor. Putting 
 necessity and sickness aside, more mothers 
 nurse their babes from love among the 
 poor than among the rich. 
 
 The secret of this unanimity of good- 
 will towards Joshua lay in his uniformly 
 quiet demeanor and affectionate disposi- 
 tion. The wonderful friendship that e:> 
 isted between Dan and Joshua was a 
 household word in the jjoor homes round 
 about ; there was something so beautiful in 
 it, that they felt a pride in the circum- 
 stance of its having been cemented in 
 their midst; and many tender-hearted 
 women said that night to their husbands, 
 that they wondered what Dan would do 
 now that Joshua was going away. " And 
 Josh, too," the husband would reply; "do 
 you think he won't miss Dan ? " But the 
 women thought mostly of Dan in that re- 
 lationship. The romance of the thing had 
 something to do with this general interest 
 in his welfare. Here was a young man, 
 one of their own order, born and bred 
 among them, who, from no contempt of 
 their humble ways of life, but from a dis- 
 tinct desire to do better than they (not to 
 be better; that they would have resented), 
 had resolved to go out into the world to 
 carve a way for liimself. It was brave 
 and manly ; it was daring and heroic. 
 For the world was so wide I Cooped-up 
 as tJiei/ were, what did they know of it ? 
 What did they see of it ? Those of them 
 — the few — wdio worked at home in their 
 once-a-week shirt-sleeves, could raise their 
 eyes from their work, and see the dull 
 prospect of over the way ; or, resting 
 wearily from their monotonous labor, could 
 stroll to their street-doors, and look up and 
 down the street in a meaningless, purpose- 
 less manner : like automatons in aprons, 
 with dirty faces and very black finger-nails, 
 coming out of a box and performing a 
 task in which there was necessarily no 
 sense of enjoyment. 
 
46 
 
 JOSHUA MAEVEL. 
 
 Those of tbem — the many — who toiled 
 in workshops other than their homes, saw 
 with the rising and the setting of every sun 
 a tew narrow streets within the circumfer- 
 ence of a mile, mayhap. Moving always 
 in the same groove, trudging to their work- 
 shops every morning, trudging home every 
 night — it was the same thing for them day 
 after day. The humdrum course of time 
 was only marked by the encroachment 
 of gray hairs and white; or by the patch- 
 iu'^f-uj) of the poor furniture, which grew 
 more rheumatic, and groaned more dismally 
 evei'y succeeding season; or by the crack- 
 inc and dismemberment of cups and saucers 
 and plates ; or by the slow death of the im- 
 possible figures on the tea-trays — figures 
 which were bright and gay once upon a 
 time, as their owners wei'e upon a certain 
 happy wedding-day. Here, as a type, are 
 three small mugs, the letters upon which 
 are either quite fadeil away, or are denoted 
 by a very mockery of shrivelled lines, as 
 if their lives were being drawn out to the 
 last stage of miserable attenuation. Once 
 they pi'oclaimed themselves proudly, and 
 in golden letters, " For George, a Birth- 
 day Present;" "For Mary Ann, with 
 Mother's Love ; " " Charley, for a Good 
 Boy." George and Mary, Ann and Charley 
 used to clap their little hands, and swing 
 their little legs delightedly, when they and 
 the mugs kept company at breakfast and 
 tea-time ; but now flesh and crockery liave 
 grown old, and are fading away in common. 
 The hair on George's head is very thin, al- 
 though he is not yet forty years of age ; 
 Mary Ann is an anxious-looking mother, 
 with six dirty children, who, as she de- 
 clares twenty times a day, are enough to 
 wony the lite out of her ; and Charley has 
 turned out any thing but " a Good Boy," 
 being much too fond of public-houses. 
 With such like uninteresting variations, the 
 lives of George and Mary Ann and Charley 
 were typical of the lives of all the poor 
 people amongst whom the Marvels lived. 
 From the cradle to the grave, every thing 
 the same ; the same streets, the same break- 
 fasts, the same dinners, the same unevent- 
 ful routine of existence, the only visil)le 
 signs upon the record beiiig the deepening 
 of wrinkles and the whitening of hairs. 
 But they were happy enough, notwithstand- 
 ing ; and it their pulses were stirred into 
 quicker motion when tliey shook Joshua's 
 hand and wished him good luck, there was 
 no envy towards liim in their minds, and 
 no feeling of discontent marred the genu- 
 ineness of their God-speed. When at can- 
 dle-time they spoke of Joshua and of the 
 worUl which he was going to see, some of 
 the women said that it would have been 
 better if " you, John," or " you, William," 
 
 "had struck out for yourself when you 
 were young ; " and John and William as- 
 senting, sighed to think that it was too 
 late for them to make a new start. AVell, 
 their time was past; the tide which they 
 might have taken at the flood, but did not, 
 would never come again to their life's 
 shore. Joshua had taken it at the flood, 
 and would be afloat to-morrow ; good luck 
 be with him ! In the heartiness of their 
 good wishes there was no expressed con- 
 sciousness that there was as much heroism 
 in their quiet lives as in the lives of great 
 heroes and daring adventurers ; which very 
 unconsciousness and unexpressed abnega- 
 tion made that heroism (begging Mv. Rus- 
 kin's pardon for calling it so) all the 
 grander. 
 
 Joshua had bidden the Old Sailor good- 
 by. The dear, sirapl e old fellow had 
 given Joshua some golden rules to go by ; 
 had enjoined him to be respectful and sub- 
 missive ; to learn all he could ; to be cheer- 
 ful always, and to do his work willingly, 
 however hard it seemed ; not to mix him- 
 self up in the men's quarrels or grumblings; 
 had told him how that some officers were 
 querulous, and some were tyrannical, but 
 that he could always keep himself out of 
 mischief by obeying orders ; and had im- 
 pressed upon him, more particularly than 
 all, the value of the golden motto — Duty. 
 " Keep that for your watchword, my lad," 
 said the Old Sailor, " and you will do." 
 
 "I am glad it is nearly all over," said 
 Joshua to ban. " I have only two or three 
 more to say good-by to, with the excep- 
 tion of mother and father, and Ellen and 
 you, dear Dan." 
 
 " There's Susan, Jo," said Dan afler a 
 pause. " I wish you could see her before 
 yon go." 
 
 " 1 wish so, too. I am going now to say 
 orood-by to Minnie and her father." 
 " Is he better, Jo ? " 
 
 " I haven't seen him for a week ; but I 
 don't think he is ever quite right here;** 
 touching his forehead. 
 
 They were speaking of the street actor, 
 whose name was Basil Kindred. 
 
 " And Minnie is very pretty, you say." 
 " Very pretty, but with such strange 
 ways, Dan, as I have told you before." 
 
 " Yes," said Dan, looking earnestly at 
 Joshua. 
 
 " Sometimes like a woman, which she ii 
 not; sometimes like a little child, which 
 she is not. Yet for all she is so strange, 
 one can't help loving her, and pitying 
 her." 
 
 " Is she at all like Ellen, Jo ? " 
 "Minnie is not like Ellen," said Joshua, 
 considering. " Ellen's face is calm and 
 peaceful; Minnie's is grander, larger. 
 
MINNIE AND HER SHELL. 
 
 47 
 
 Minnie is the kind of Jiirl for a heroine, 
 and Ellen is not, I think. She is too 
 peaceful. Say that Ellen is like a hike, 
 Minnie is like the sea. 
 
 A (juiet smile passed over Dan's lips, yet 
 a regreti'ul one, too. 
 
 " You don't know Ellen, Jo," he said 
 simply. " (jive uie the lake." 
 
 " And me the sea," said Joshua, not. 
 meaning it at all with reference to the girls, 
 but literally, with reference to his choice 
 of a })rofessi()n. 
 
 From the first part of this conversation 
 it will be gathered that Susan Taylor had 
 left her home, and had chosen to keep her 
 residence a secret from her family. She 
 was not to blame for it ; for she had been 
 most unhappy in the tamily mansion of the 
 Taylors. Although she earned her own 
 living, and paid for her board and lodging, 
 her father, a drunken, lazy mechanic, 
 had lately been pestering her for small 
 loans, to be spent, of course, at the public- 
 house. These she could not aflford to give 
 him; and when he found that she would 
 not assist him, he quarrelled with her. He 
 twitted her about her ungainly person, 
 jeered at her strange mannerisms, pricked 
 her with domestic pins and needles, and 
 made her life so miserable, that she was 
 glad when the culminating quarrel gave 
 her the opportunity to run away. 
 
 She had never had a friend. Nearly 
 every girl has a girl-companion with whom 
 she exchanges little confidences, and whom 
 she consults as to the fashion of the new 
 bonnet, and how it is to be trimmed, the 
 pattern of the new dress, and how many 
 llounces it is to have, the color of the new 
 piiece of ribbon, and how it should be worn, 
 the personal appearance and intentions of 
 the last new admirer, and how he is to 
 be treated. Susan never had such a com- 
 panion ; worse than that, she never had a 
 sweetheart. She had grown to woman's 
 estate without ever having experienced the 
 pleasures of courtship, either as a child or 
 as a woman. No little boy had taken a 
 liking to her when she was a little girl ; 
 and when she grew to be a young woman, 
 no young man had cast a favorable eye 
 upon her. Sooth to say, there was nothing 
 singular in the circumstance ; for she was 
 as little attractive externally, as a young 
 woman well could be. 
 
 If it were necessary to define and de- 
 scribe her with brevity, a happy definition 
 and description might be given in two sim- 
 ple words — Joints and Knobs. Susan 
 Taylor was all Joints and Knobs, from the 
 crown of her head to the soles of her feet. 
 Tliere was not a straight line about her ; 
 every square inch of her frame was broken 
 by a joint or intersected by a knob. Her 
 
 face did not contain one perfect feature. 
 Bones, with sharp rugged outlines, asserted 
 themselves in her cheeks, in her chin, in her 
 nose (most aggressively there), and in the 
 arches of her eyes. Her shoulders were 
 suggestive of nothing but salt-cellars ; her 
 fingers were covered with knuckles ; her 
 arms were all elbows ; and her knees, as 
 she walked, forced themselves into notice 
 with offensive demonstrativeness. There 
 was nothing round and soft about her. 
 Every part of her was suggestive of Bone; 
 she was so replete with mysterious and com- 
 plicated angles that she might be said to 
 resemble a mathematical torture. Her an- 
 gular proportions, broken here by a joint, or 
 intersected there by a knob, did not agree 
 with one another. As not one of them 
 would accept a subordinate position, they 
 were necessarily on the very worst of terms : 
 like a regiment in which every soldier in- 
 sisted on being colonel, and struggled for 
 the position. The result was Anatomical 
 Confusion. 
 
 Cupid is popularly represented to be a 
 mischievous young imp, who delights in ty- 
 ing persons together who are not in the 
 least suited to each other, and as being so 
 reckless and indiscriminate in the use of the 
 metaphorical arrow, which he is everlast- 
 ingly fixing to that metaphorical bow with 
 such malicious nicety, that the right man 
 seldom finds himself in the right place, and 
 the right woman is similarly unfortunate. 
 As a consequence of this eccentric and in- 
 human conduct, long men and short women 
 and long women and short men, get ab- 
 surdly matched, and the mental disparity 
 is often found to be no less than the dispar- 
 ity in limb and bulk. But never, surely, 
 did that tricksy youngster (who is so conve- 
 nient to writers as a reference, and in vari- 
 ous other ways, that they cannot be sufficient- 
 ly grateful for his mythological existence) 
 play a stranger prank than when he made 
 Susan Taylor and Basil Kindred acquainted 
 with each other. The evening on which 
 Susan, for the first time, saw Basil Kindred 
 act the Ghost scenes in " Hamlet," marked 
 an era in her life not less important than that 
 sad era which was commenced by her letting 
 her brother Daniel fall from her arms out 
 of the window on to the cruel stones. For 
 if ever woman fell in love (which is so vio- 
 lently suggestive that it may well be doubted) 
 with man, Susan Taylor, on that evening, 
 fell in love with Basil Kindred. 
 
 But Susan was not the woman to exhibit 
 her passion in words. In another fashion 
 she did exhibit it : in the best fashion that 
 devotion can show itself — in deeds. She 
 was not a cunning woman, nor a wise one 
 either. Being from the very infirmities of 
 her nature a kind of social outcast, she was 
 
48 
 
 JOSHUA MARVEL. 
 
 not likely to consider what the world would 
 say of any action of hers. And here was 
 an anomaly ; she was neither foolish enough 
 nor wise enough to consider what the world 
 would say ; yet had she considered that 
 her conduct was open to censure, she would 
 not have swerved a hair's breadth because 
 of the world's opinion ; and this very inde- 
 pendence proceeded not from a hardened 
 nature, but from a nature utterly simple. 
 So she did what a very considerable major- 
 ity of the busy bees in this busy world would 
 consider either a very foolish thing or some 
 thincj worse. When she left her home she 
 rented a room in the miserable house in which 
 Basil Kindred and his daughter resided. She 
 did this because she loved him ; and yet 
 looking for no return of her passion, she 
 did it so that she might make herself useful 
 to him and to Minnie. The Uving she 
 earned as a dressmaker was a poor and 
 a scanty one enough ; but she managed, out 
 of her small earnings, to contribute some 
 little towards the comfort of the couple 
 whose ac(iuaintance she had so strangely 
 made. 
 
 Joshua was always certain of a warm 
 welcome from Basil and Minnie ; an affec- 
 tionate intimacy had sprung up between 
 theoi, and he had spent many a pleasant 
 hour in their company. But in the first 
 flush of their intimacy he had been sorely 
 puzzled by Basil Kindred's strange ways 
 and oft-times stranger remarks ; the wan- 
 dering restlessness of his eyes, and the no 
 less wandering nature of his speech, engen- 
 dered grave doubts whether he was quite 
 right in his mind. And as Joshua looked 
 fi-om Basil's fine mobile face to that of his 
 daughter, so like her father's in all its grand 
 and'beautiful outlines, it distressed him to 
 think that her intellect also might be tainted 
 with her father's disease. It might not be ; 
 it might be merely the want of proper moral 
 training that induced her to be so strangely 
 incoherent, so reckless and defiant, and yet 
 at the same time so singulaidy tender in her 
 conduct. With Minnie every thing was 
 right or Avi'ong according to the way in 
 which it affected herself. She recognized 
 no general law as guiding such and such a 
 principle or sentiment. There was this 
 similai-ity and this difference between Min- 
 nie and Susan : they both ignored the 
 world's opinion and the world's judgment 
 of their actions. But where Susan would 
 be meek, Minnie would be defiant ; where 
 Susan would oft^end through ignorance, 
 Minnie would offend consciously, and be at 
 the same time ready to justify herself and 
 argue the point; which latter she would do, 
 of course, only from her point of view. 
 Supposing that it could be reduced to 
 weights and measures, Llinuie would have 
 
 been content to place herself and her affec- 
 tions on one side of the scale, and all the 
 world on the other, with the positive con- 
 viction that she would tip the scale. 
 
 She was very affectionate and docile to 
 Joshua ; she looked up to him with a kind 
 of adoration, and this tacit acknowledgment 
 of his superiority was pleasing to his vanity. 
 He was her hero, and she worshipped him, 
 and showed that she did so ; and he, too, 
 dano-erously regarding her as a child, re- 
 ceived her worship, and was gratified by it. 
 And so she drifted. 
 
 Now as he entered the room, Minnie 
 sprang towards him with a joyous exclama- 
 tion, and taking his hand, held it tightly 
 clasped in hers as she led him to a seat. 
 The room was not so bare of furniture aa 
 it was when he first saw it. He looked 
 round for Basil Kindred. 
 
 " Father is not at home, Joshua," said 
 Minnie. " He will be in soon, I dare say." 
 She pushed him softly into a chair, and sat 
 on the ground at his feet. " I am so glad 
 you have come 1 " 
 
 " But I don't think I have time to stay." 
 
 " You mustn't go ; you mustn't go," said 
 Minnie, drawing his arm round her neck. 
 " I shall be so lonely if you do." 
 
 " But you were alone before I came in, 
 Minnie." 
 
 " Yes," returned Minnie ; " but I did not 
 feel lonely then. I shall now, if you go 
 away." 
 
 " Then I will stop for a little while," said 
 Joshua, humoring her. 
 
 " Always good! " said Minnie gratefully, 
 resting her lips upon her hand, "always 
 good ! " 
 
 " Why did you not feel lonely before I 
 came, Minnie ? " 
 
 " I was thinking." 
 
 " Of what ? " 
 
 " Of long, long ago, when father was 
 different to what he is now." 
 
 " It could not have been so long, long 
 ago, little Minnie," — here came a little 
 caressing action from the child, — " you are 
 only — how old ? " 
 
 " Fourteen." 
 
 " And fourteen years ago is not so long, 
 long ago, little Minnie." 
 
 Minnie repeated her caressing action. 
 
 " To you it isn't perhaps, but it is to me. 
 It seems almost," she said, placing Joshua's 
 hand upon her eyes, and closing them, " as 
 if I had nothing to do with it. Yet I must 
 have had ; for mother was mixed up with 
 what I was thinking. 
 
 '• But I shall think of something else now 
 that you are here," she said pi-esently. "I 
 am going to listen." 
 
 With the hand that was free she took 
 something trom her pocket, and placing it 
 
MINNIE AND HER SHELL. 
 
 49 
 
 to her ear, bent her head closer to the 
 ground. She was so loni; in that attitude 
 of watcliful siienc-e, that Joshua cried " Min- 
 nie 1 " to arouse her. 
 
 " IIusli 1 " she said ; " you must not inter- 
 rupt me. I am Ustening. I can almost 
 hear it speak." 
 
 " Hear what speak V " asked Joshua, 
 wondering. 
 
 INIinnie directed his fingers to her ear, 
 and he i'elt something smooth and cold. 
 
 " It is a shell," she said sottly, " and I 
 am listening to the sea." 
 
 " Ah," said Joshua in a voice as soft as 
 hers, " that is because I am going to be a 
 sailor." 
 
 " For that reason. Yes. Call me little 
 Minnie." 
 
 " Little Minnie I " said Joshua tenderly ; 
 for Minnie's voice and manner were very 
 winsome, and he could not help thinking 
 how quaintly pretty her fancy was. 
 
 " Little Minnie, little Minnie ! "whispered 
 Mnnie in so soft a tone that Joshua could 
 scarcely hear it, — '' little Minnie, little 
 Minnie ! The sea is singing it. How kind 
 the sea is ! and how soft and gentle ! I 
 should like to go to sleep like this." 
 
 " Does the shell sing any thing else, lit- 
 tle Minnie ? " 
 
 " Listen ! All, but you cannot hear 1 It 
 is singing, ' Little Minnie, little Minnie, 
 Joshua is going to be a sailor. Little Min- 
 nie, little Minnie, would you like to go with 
 him V ' " 
 
 " And you answer ? " 
 
 " Yes, yes, yes ! I should like to go 
 with him, and hear the sea always singing 
 like this. I should like to go with him be- 
 cause " — But here Minnie stopped. 
 
 " Because what V " 
 
 " Because nothing," said Minnie, taking 
 the shell from her ear. " Now the sea is 
 gone, and the singing is gone, and we are 
 waiting at home for father." 
 
 " What for, Minnie ? What am I wait- 
 ing at home for father for ? " 
 
 " To see him of course," answered Min- 
 nie. 
 
 " And to wish him and you good-by," 
 said Joshua. 
 
 " Good-by ! " echoed the child, with a 
 sudden look of distress in her large gray 
 eyes. " So soon 1 " 
 
 " Yes. My ship sails to-morrow." 
 
 " And this is the last day we shall see 
 you," she said, her tears falling upon his 
 hand. 
 
 " The last day for a little while, little 
 Minnie," he said, striving to speak cheer- 
 fully. 
 
 " For how long ? " asked the child, bend- 
 ing her head, so that her fair hair fell over 
 her face. 
 
 " For a year, perhaps, Minnie," he an- 
 swered. 
 
 " For a long, long year," she said sor- 
 rowfully. " You will not do as mother did, 
 will you ? " 
 
 " How was that ? " 
 
 " She went away from us one afternoon, 
 and was to come back at night. And it 
 rained — oh, so dreadfully I — that night. 
 We were lodging under some trees, father, 
 mother, and I. Father was ill — very ill, 
 but not with the same kind of illness that 
 he has now sometimes. He had a fever. 
 And mother went into the town to get 
 something for us to eat — as you did that 
 night when the bad boys threw a stone at 
 father, and you brought him home. When 
 father woke we went in search of her. But 
 I never remember seeing mother again. 
 And you are going away, and perhaps 
 I shall never see you again." 
 
 " What does the shell say, Minnie ? " 
 
 ISlinnie placed the shell to her ear. 
 
 " I cannot make out any thing," she said 
 in a voice of pain. " It isn't singing now ; 
 it is moaning and sighing." 
 
 He took the shell and listened. 
 
 " It will speak to me, because I am a 
 sailor." 
 
 " And it says ? " asked Minnie anxious- 
 ly- 
 
 " And it says — no, it sings — " Little 
 Minnie, little IMinnie, Joshua is going to sea, 
 and Joshua will come back, please God, in 
 a year, Avith beautiful shells and wonderful 
 stories for you and all his friends. So, little 
 Minnie, little Minnie, look happy ; for there 
 is nothing to be sorrowful at." 
 
 " Ah ! " said Minnie in less sorrowful 
 tones, '• if I was a woman, and loved any- 
 body very much, I would not let him go 
 away by himself." 
 
 " Why, what would you do ? " 
 
 " I would follow him." And she pulled 
 Joshua's head down to hers, and whispered, 
 " I should like to go to sea with you." 
 
 " Would you indeed, miss ! " 
 
 " Yes ; for I love you, oh, so much 1 " 
 whispered the child innocently in the same 
 low tones. " But you wouldn't let me go, 
 would you ? " 
 
 " I should think not. A nice sailor you 
 would make ; a weak little thing like 
 you ! " 
 
 The girl sprang from her crouching atti- 
 tude, and stood upright. As she did so, 
 expressing in her action what her meaning 
 was, Joshua noticed for the first time that 
 she was growing to be large-limbed and 
 strong. She tossed her hair from her face, 
 and said, — 
 
 " Father says I shall be a tall woman." 
 
 " Well ? " 
 
 " Well," she repeated half-proudly and 
 
50 
 
 JOSHUA MARVEL, 
 
 half-bashfuUy, " I should not make such a 
 bad sailor, after all." And then, with a 
 motion thoroughly childlike, she knelt on 
 the gi-ound before bim ; and placing her 
 elbows on his knees, rested her chin in her 
 upturned palms, and looked steadily into 
 his face. " If I was a woman," she said 
 slowly and earnestly, " I would go with you, 
 even if you would not let me." 
 
 " How would you manage that ? " 
 
 " I would follow you secretly." 
 
 " You must not say so," said Joshua re- 
 provingly ; '• it would be very, very wrong." 
 
 " To follow any one you loved ? " ques- 
 tioned the child, shaking her head at the 
 same time to denote that she had no doubt 
 whether it would be right or wrong. 
 ♦' Wrong to wish to be with any one you 
 loved V It would be wrong not to wish it. 
 But " — and she looked round, as if fearful, 
 although they were alone, lest her resolu- 
 tion sliould become known — " nobody 
 should know ; I would not tell a living 
 soul." 
 
 Joshua was silent, puzzled at Minnie's 
 earnestness. Minnie, with the shell at her 
 ear, soon broke the silence, however. 
 
 " Has your friend — the boy you have 
 told me about " — 
 
 " Dan V " 
 
 » Yes, Dan. Has Dan got a shell ? " 
 
 " No. I don't suppose he ever thought 
 of it." 
 
 •' And yet he loves you very much, and a 
 shell is the only thing that can bring the 
 sea to him." 
 
 " Who gave you the shell, Minnie ? " 
 
 " No one. " 
 
 " How did you get it, then ? " 
 
 " I took it from a stall." 
 
 " O iSIinnie 1 " exclaimed Joshua, 
 grieved and shocked; "that was very 
 wicked." 
 
 " I know it was," said IVIinnie simply ; 
 " but I did it for you. Two days afterwards, 
 when father had money given to him, I 
 asked him for some, and he gave it me. I 
 went to the stall where the shells were, 
 and asked the man how much each they 
 were. ' A penny,' he said. I gave him 
 two pence and ran away. That was good, 
 wasn't it Y " 
 
 Joshua shook his head. 
 
 " It was very wicked to steal the shell ; 
 and I don't think you made up for it by 
 paying double when you got the money." 
 
 But Minnie set her teeth close, and said 
 between them, " It was wicked at first, but 
 it wasn't wicked afterwards, was it, shell ?" 
 — She listened with a coaxing air to the 
 shell's reply. — " The shell says it wasn't'. 
 Jesides, I 'did it for you; Dan wouldn't 
 
 ive done it." 
 
 V'JNo, that he wouldn't." 
 
 " Shows he doesn't love you as much as I 
 do," muttered Minnie with jealous intona- 
 tion. " If he did, he would have thought 
 of a shell, and would have got it somehow. 
 If he did, he would go with you, and would 
 never, never leave you ! " 
 
 "Now, Minnie, listen to me." 
 
 " I am listening, Joshua." She would 
 have taken his hand ; but he put it behind 
 his back, and motioned her to be still. 
 She knew by his voice that something un- 
 pleasant was coming, and she set her teeth 
 close. 
 
 " You know that it is wrong to steal, and 
 you stole the shell." 
 
 " I did it for you," she said doggedly. 
 
 " That does not make it right, Minnie. I 
 want you to give me a promise." 
 
 " I will promise you any thing but one 
 thing," she said. 
 
 " What is that." 
 
 " Never mind. You would never guess, 
 so you will never ask me. What am I to 
 promise ? " 
 
 " That you will never steal any thing 
 again." 
 
 " Do you think I ever stole any thing but 
 the shell, then ? " she asked, with an air 
 that would have been stern in its pride if 
 she had not been a child. 
 
 It was on the tip of Joshua's tongue to 
 say, " I don't know what to think ; " but her 
 manner of putting the question gave the 
 answer to it. " No," he said instead, " I 
 don't think you ever did, Minnie." 
 
 Her head was stubbornly bent ; and she 
 had enough to do to keep back her tears. 
 She woukl not have succeeded had his an- 
 swer been different. 
 
 " No, I never stole any thing else. Stole 
 is the proper word, I know ; but it is a 
 nasty one, and makes me ashamed." 
 
 " That is your punishment, Minnie," said 
 Joshua, wondering at himself for his tena- 
 ciousness. 
 
 " That is my punishment, then," said 
 Minnie not less doggedly than before ; " but 
 I did it for you " — nothing would drive her 
 f i-om that stand-point — " and I promise you, 
 Joshua, that I will never steal any thing 
 again — never, never ! " 
 
 He gave her his hand, and she took it 
 and caressed it. 
 
 " And now, Minnie, about Dan," he said. 
 " You must not say or think any thing ill of 
 him. He is the best^hearted and the dear- 
 est friend in the world ; and I cannot tell 
 you how much I love him, or how much he 
 loves me." 
 
 " Why doesn't he go to sea with you, 
 then ? " 
 
 Joshua looked at her reproachfully. 
 
 " Your memory is not good, Minnie. He 
 is lame, as I told you." 
 
GOOD-BY. 
 
 51 
 
 " I forjrot. He can't go because ho is 
 lame. Would he go if his legs were 
 sound ? " 
 
 " I think he would." 
 
 " Uon't think," Minnie said, with a ply 
 look at him ; " be sure." 
 
 " I am sure he would then." 
 
 "Caught!" cried Minnie, clapping her 
 hands, the sly look, in which there was 
 simplicity, changing to a cunning one, in 
 which there was craft. " Caught, caught, 
 caught ! " 
 
 " I should like to know how," said Joshua. 
 " How ridiculous of you, Minnie, to cry 
 ' Caught ! ' as if I was a fox ! " 
 
 " No, I am the fox," she cried, shaking 
 her hair over her flice with enchanting grace. 
 " I am in hiding — just peeping round the 
 corner." She made an opening in her thick 
 hair, and flai^hed a look at him ; a look 
 that was saucy, and cunning, and charming, 
 and wih'ul, all at once. " Am I a good 
 fox V " 
 
 " You are a goose. Tell me how I am 
 caught." 
 
 " Listen, then," throwing her hair back, 
 and becoming logical. " Dan loves you as 
 well as any man or woman could love 
 another, you said." 
 
 " Did I say as well ? I thought I said 
 better. I meant better." 
 
 " That's no matter. Dan loves you," — 
 she held up her left hand, and checked off 
 the items on her fingers — " that is one fin- 
 ger. And Dan would go to sea with you ; 
 and it would be right, because he loves you 
 — that is two fingers. But Dan can't go^ 
 because he is lame — that is three fingers. 
 Now I love you, and I am not lame — that 
 is four fingers. And it would not be wrong 
 in me to follow you — and that is my thumb, 
 the largest reason of all. So you are caught, 
 caught, caught, you see." 
 
 " I do not see," said Joshua in a very de- 
 cided voice. " Dan is a boy, and you are 
 a girl ; and what is right for a boy to do is 
 often wrong for a girl. I do not see that I 
 am caught." 
 
 But Minnie had relinquished the argu- 
 ment. She was satisfied that she was 
 right. 
 
 •' And you would really be very angry 
 with me if I did it ? " she asked. 
 
 " I should be very angry with you now, 
 Minnie, if it were not that you were a stu- 
 pid little girl, just a trifle too fond of talk- 
 ing nonsense. Such nonsense, too ! Why, 
 there's Ellen, Dan's sister, she wouldn't 
 talk so." 
 
 All the brightness went out of Minnie's 
 face, and a dark cloud was there instead. 
 
 Joshua noticed it with surprise. He 
 took her hand gently ; but she snatched it 
 away. 
 
 " Ellen would not behave like that," he 
 said ; '• she is too mild and gentle." There 
 came into his mind what he had said to 
 Dan of the two girls — that Ellen was like 
 a lake, and Minnie like the sea ; aud he 
 thought how true it was. " It would do 
 you good to know her." 
 
 " I don't want to know her," said Minnie 
 sullenly, " and 1 don't want to be done good 
 to." 
 
 "I didn't think you would be cross-tem- 
 pered on my last day at home," said Joshua 
 in a grave and gentle voice. He paused, 
 as if expecting her to speak ; but she re- 
 mained silent. " Ah, well," he said, rising, 
 " I shall go and see if I can find your fa- 
 ther." 
 
 She jumped up and walked with him to 
 the door. 
 
 " Say that you are not angry with me," 
 she said in a voice of the softest pleading, 
 raising her face to his. 
 
 He would have made a different reply, 
 but he saw that her face was covered with 
 tears. 
 
 " Angry with you ! " he said kindly. 
 " WTio could be angry with you for long, 
 little Minnie ? " 
 
 • She smiled gratefully and thoughtfully 
 as he kissed her ; and when he had gone, 
 and she had heard his last footstep, she re- 
 turned to her old place upon the floor, and 
 crouching down, placed the shell to her ear, 
 and listened to the singing of the sea. 
 
 CHAPTER 
 
 GpO»-lBY. 
 
 Minnie's obliviousness of what was right 
 had never before been presented so clearly 
 to Joshua. He knew well enough that 
 Minnie, although she was aware that it was 
 wrong to steal, could not understand that 
 she did wrong in stealing the shell. At the 
 same time he could not help feeling ten- 
 derly towards her because of that wrong 
 action. After all, how much she was to be 
 pitied ! Could it be wondered at that slke 
 was hard to teach, and that she was way- 
 ward and wilful, living such a lonely life as 
 she lived, with no friend to counsel, no 
 mother to guide her ? How quaint was 
 her fancy, and what a pretty thing it was 
 to see her as he saw her in his imaginings 
 — sitting alone in her room, with the shell 
 at her ear, listening to the singing of the 
 sea 1 With what a daintily-caressing mo- 
 tion she nestled to him when he called h r 
 " Little Minnie ! " He repeated the r' 
 
52 
 
 JOSHUA MARVEL, 
 
 words to himself, "Little Minnie, little 
 Minnie ! " as he walked alon<r, and smiled. 
 As for her tellins; him that she would like 
 to go to sea with him, what Avas it but a 
 childish whnn?:ey ? If he had not contra- 
 dieted her, and made a matter of impor- 
 tance of it, she would have said it, and 
 there an end. She would like to go to sea 
 with him, and would follow him if she were 
 a woman : Well ! she was but a child, and 
 the wish was as innocent as her declaration 
 that she loved him. 
 
 When he had thought out all this, he 
 thought of to-morrow, and looked round up- 
 on the fomiliar streets and the familiar 
 houses with a pang of regret. To-morrow 
 he would be far away from them, and every 
 succeeding day would take him farther and 
 farther away from them and all that he 
 loved. From mother, lather, the Old Sailor, 
 his pet birds, and from Dan — ah ! dear, 
 dear Dan ! Did ever boy or man have 
 such a friend V Then there was Ellen, his 
 dear little sweetheart in the days when they 
 were children together. Was there ever 
 such another unselfish little maid as that ? 
 So devoted, so tender, so loving ! How 
 quickly she had won the heart of the Old 
 Sailor! He remembered that old salt say- 
 ing, pointing his great finger at Ellen as he 
 said it, "Joshua, my lad, that little lass 
 there is the prettiest, the best, the truest 
 and the kindest-hearted in these dominions." 
 And he remembei'ed himself looking at El- 
 len's mild face — peaceful as a lake — and 
 saying, " So she is, sir," and meaning it 
 heartily ; and he remembered the Old 
 Sailor saying, " That's right, my lad ; all 
 you've got to do is to mind your bearings." 
 Although he had answered, " Yes, sir, I 
 will," he wondered afterwards, and he 
 found himself wondering now, what on 
 earth the Old Sailor meant by saying, 
 " Mind your bearings." But what matter ? 
 Ellen was the prettiest, the best, the truest, 
 and the kindest-hearted lass in these or any 
 other dominions. God bless her ! 
 
 As he thought of these things, he felt 
 himself growing so soft-hearted, that he 
 stopped and stamped his feet upon the 
 pavement, and thumped himself upon the 
 chest, saying; as he did so, between laugh- 
 ing and crying, " This won't do, Josh ; this 
 won't do." 
 
 He had given himself a score of thumps, 
 and had said, " This won't do. Josh," half- 
 a^score of times, when loud cries for help 
 fell upon his ears. He had been walking 
 in the direction of the river, through some 
 of the streets where he would be most likely 
 to find Basil Kindred ; and he was in a lo- 
 cality where there was a number of low 
 public-houses, patronized by the worst class 
 of seamen. Turning in the direction of the 
 
 cry, Joshua saw a woman run swiftly out 
 of a narrow thoroughfare. Pursuing her 
 was a man, a dark-looking fellow, with glit- 
 tering eyes, and rings in his ears, and a 
 knife in his hand, and with all his copper- 
 colored fingers and black-serpent locks of 
 hair flashing in the air with evil intent. 
 Impelk'd by the unmistakable air of terror 
 in the form of the flying girl, and the un- 
 mistakable air of mischief in the form of the 
 pursuing man — partly, also, by the impul- 
 sion born of the hunting spirit implanted in 
 man and beast, Joshua started off' at a great 
 pace, and flew after the flying couple. 
 
 It was that part of the day when the 
 neighborhood was most quiet. All the 
 men were at work in the dockyards, and the 
 few women about (having a wholesome 
 horror probably of a man with an open 
 knife in his hand, and being perhaps accus- 
 tomed to such diversions) seemed disin- 
 clined to take part in the chase. With the 
 exception of one drunken creature, with a 
 blotched and bloated face, who made a 
 frantic motion to follow, but being tripped 
 up by her draggling petticoats, stumbled, 
 more like a heap of rags than a woman, 
 into the gutter, where she lay growling in- 
 distinctly. 
 
 The flying woman and the pursuing man 
 were fleet of foot, but Joshua was younger 
 and more nimble than they. As he gained 
 upon them, a dim consciousness stole upon 
 him that he knew them ; and, as he ap- 
 proached nearer, the doubt grew into con- 
 viction. The almost breathless woman, 
 throwing affrighted looks behind her, as if 
 a dozen men were pursuing her instead of 
 one, was Susan ; and the evil-lo®king man 
 who was bent on running her down was the 
 Lascar who served the Old Sailor, and who 
 cooked for him, and would have poisoned 
 him for rum and tobacco. Some other than 
 those, the ruling cravings of his existence, 
 influenced him now. AH the passions of 
 love and hate, and the desire to achieve his 
 purpose by striking terror, were expressed 
 in every motion of every limb : they were 
 so eloquent and earnest in the savage pur- 
 suit that they seemed to proclaim their 
 owner's intention, as he raced after the 
 panting girl. 
 
 He was almost upon her, and she felt his 
 ugly lips reeking their detestable flavor 
 of rum and tobacco upon her neck, when 
 Joshua, coming up to him, seized him by the 
 throat. He had been so savagely vindic- 
 tive in the pursuit, that Joshua's hand upon 
 his throat was the flrst indication he re- 
 ceived that he was being himself pursued ; 
 but, wasting no look upon his pursuer, he 
 slipped from Joshua like an eel — his neck 
 was redolent of grease — and with an inar- 
 'ticidate cry of rage and baffled lust, he 
 
GOOD-BY, 
 
 63 
 
 sprang after Susan again, who had gahicd 
 a few steps by Joshua's inedeetual interpo- 
 sition. But Susan, thoroughly bewildered 
 and terrified, turned into a blintl alley, and 
 perceiving that there was no thoroughfiire, 
 and tliat she was trapped, I'ell upon the 
 rou'di stones, pi'ostrate troni fear and ex- 
 haustion. 
 
 On one side of the blind alley were four 
 or five houses, in which no signs of life were 
 visible. They seemed stricken to death by 
 disease. On the other side was a black 
 dead wall, which shut out the sky. Before 
 the Lascar could reach Susan — what the 
 man's intention was, or what he would have 
 done in his wild fury, he, being more beast 
 than man, might probably not have l)een able 
 to explain — Joshua had knocked the knife 
 out of his hand, and had knocked him down 
 with a blow, tlie force of which astonished 
 Joshua himself, even in the midst of his ex- 
 citement. Almost before Joshua could 
 reaUze what had occurred, the cowardly 
 Lascar Avas crouching by the side of the 
 dead wall, as if his lair were there, and 
 Joshua was on his knee assisting Susan to 
 recover herself; keeping a wary look, how- 
 ever, upon the knite, which was lying in 
 the i-oad at an equal distance from him and 
 the Lascar. The Lascar saw it too — saw 
 it without looking at it, and without seem- 
 ing to see it. A surprising change had 
 taken place in him. A minute since a vol- 
 cano of delii'ious lust was raging in his 
 breast, and every nerve in his body was 
 quivering with dangerous passion; now, as 
 if by magic, he was coiled up like a snake, 
 •with no motion of life in him but the quiet 
 glitter of his eyes, which watched every 
 thing, but seemed to watch nothing. 
 
 " What is it all about, Susan ? " asked 
 Joshua in wonderment, after a pause. But, 
 before Susan could reply, a crawling motion 
 on the part of the Lascar towards the knife 
 caused Joshua to spring into the road. The 
 snake liad no chance with the panther. 
 The Lascar was knocked back to his posi- 
 tion by the dead wall, and Joshua stood 
 over him grasping the knii'e. This was the 
 most eventful transaction that had ever oc- 
 curred to Joshua ; and, as he stood over his 
 antagonist palming the knite, a strange sen- 
 sation of ])ride in his own strength tingled 
 through his veins. There was blood upon 
 the Lascar's face ; Joshua had struck him 
 60 fiercely as to loosen one of his teeth — so 
 decidedly to loosen it, that the Lascar put 
 his finger into his mouth and drew it out. 
 He said nothing, however, but kept the 
 tooth clasped in his hand. 
 
 " You black devil ! " exclaimed Joshua, 
 gazing upon the crouching figure with a 
 kind of loathing amazement. " What do 
 you mean by all this ? " 
 
 The Lascar wiped the blood from his 
 mouth with his sleeve, and shaking the 
 hair ti-om his eyes, threw upon Joshua a 
 covert look of deadly malice — a look ex- 
 ])rcssive of a bloody-minded craving to 
 liave Joshua helpless on the stones beneath 
 him, that he niiglit press the life out of his 
 enemy. His eye spoke, but his tongue ut- 
 tered no word. Raging inwardly as he was 
 with bad passion, he had sullicient control 
 over himself to suppress any spoken mani- 
 festation of it. I3ut his attitude and de- 
 meanor were not less dangerous for all 
 that. 
 
 " He follows me everywhere," said Susan, 
 still gasping and panting for breath. " He 
 dogs me by day and by night. He waylays 
 me in the dark, and I can hardly get away 
 from him." 
 
 " What for ? " demanded Joshua, Avith 
 his eve upon the Lascar, who was sitting 
 cunningly quiet, nursing his W()unded mouth. 
 
 " I don't know," replied Susan, with an 
 appalled look over her shoulder, as if she 
 were haunted by a fear that the spirit of 
 the Lascar was there, notwithstanding that 
 he was crouching before her in the ugly 
 flesh. " I am afraid to think." 
 
 '■ Afraid 1 in broad daylight ! " 
 
 " Day or night it is all the same," moaned 
 Susan. "Whenever he sees me, he dogs 
 me till I am ready to die. You don't know 
 his power — you don't know his power 1 " 
 
 " What were you doing before I saw 
 you ? " 
 
 " I was looking for some one." 
 
 " For whom ? " 
 
 " For ]Vlr. liindred," with a curious hesi- 
 tation. 
 
 " For Mr. Kindred ! " exclaimed Joshua, 
 more amazed than ever ; " why for him ? " 
 
 " He is ill. I will tell you about it by 
 and by," replied Susan nervously. " I 
 thought I should find him in this neighbor- 
 hood, and while I was looking for him, he " 
 
 — pointing to the Lascar with a shudder 
 
 — " he saw me and spoke to me, and would 
 not leave me — wanted me to go with him 
 and drink with him, and when 1 refused, lie 
 seized me, and then — then — I scratched 
 liiui — ancl — I don't remember any thing 
 more, except that I was afraid he wanted 
 to kill me." 
 
 Joshua looked up at the Lascar's face, 
 and observed the scratch for the first time. 
 It was a long scratch dowuAvards from the 
 eye to the wounded mouth. The Lascar 
 made no attempt to hide it, but sat still, 
 with his hand on his mouth. 
 
 " Serve you right, you black dog ! " ex- 
 claimed Joshua. " What do you mean by 
 dosrging her? What do you mean by fol- 
 lowmg her with a knife? -Why, you Lascar 
 do"-, for two pins " — he raised his hand 
 
54 
 
 JOSHUA MARVEL. 
 
 indignantly, and advanced a step towards 
 the Lascar, who made a sliriuklng move- 
 ment backwards, although in truth he could 
 not get nearer to the dead wall than he 
 was already. 
 
 " Don't, Joshua, don't 1 " cried Susan, 
 seizing his arm, and clinging to him im- 
 ploringly. " Don't touch him, for God's 
 sake, or " — with another scared look behind 
 her — '"he'll haunt you as he haunts me." 
 
 A taunting wicked smile crossed the 
 Lascar's lips, but it was gone a moment 
 afterwards. It might have been the shadow 
 of an evil thought finding expression there. 
 
 " How does he haunt you more than you 
 have already told me he does '? " demanded 
 Joshua in a great heat. " You don't think 
 he can frighten me as he frightens you, 
 Susan, do you ? The black dog 1 Look 
 at him ! He's frightened of a white man's 
 httle finger ! " 
 
 " Husii 1 " implored Susan. " He haunts 
 me when he is not near me." 
 
 " How can he do that, you foolish girl ? " 
 
 " He does it — he can do it — with his 
 double ! " 
 
 " His double ? '* 
 
 " He has a double — a spirit, a wicked 
 spirit " — she turned her head slowly and 
 trembled in every limb ; " and he told me it 
 should haunt me, and follow me wherever 
 I go. And it does ! I feel it behind me 
 when I don't see him. It is there now ! It 
 is there now ! " And wrought to the high- 
 est pitch of mental terror and excitement, 
 Susan threw up her hands, and would have 
 fallen to the ground but for Joshua's pro- 
 tecting arm. 
 
 The taunting smile came again upon the 
 Lascar's lips, as he secretly watched Susan's 
 terror. With a special maliciousness he 
 flashed his fingers towards her, as if he 
 were issuing a command to his double not 
 to leave her. It was evidence of the power 
 he possessed over her weak mind that, not- 
 withstanding her almost fainting condition, 
 a stronger shuddering came upon her when 
 he made even that slight motion. 
 
 Feeling that, for Susan's sake, it was ne- 
 cessary to put an end to the scene, Joshua, 
 with an indignant motion, commanded the 
 Lascar to leave them. The Lascar rose 
 submissively, like a whipped dog, and so 
 stood with bent head before Joshua. 
 
 " Now then, what are you waiting for ? " 
 asked Joshua. 
 
 " My knife," answered the Lascar dog- 
 gedly. 
 
 '• Not likely," said Joshua ; " I know you 
 too well to let you have it." 
 
 " What do you know of me ? " asked the 
 Lascar in a low guttural voice. 
 
 " I have heard enough of you from Mr. 
 Meddler" — the Lascar grated his teeth 
 
 with tigerish ferocity — " you and the likes 
 of you. I know how free you are with 
 your knives, you Lascars, on land and on 
 sea. Be off I " 
 
 " My knife 1 " again demanded the 
 Lascai", with his eyes directed to Joshua's 
 feet ; but he saw Joshua's face and every 
 motion of Joshua's body. " My knife 1 It 
 is mine. I bought it and paid for it." 
 
 " Stole it more likely," said Joshua with 
 a sneer. 
 
 " It is a lie. I bought it. Even if I did 
 steal it, you have no right to it. Give me 
 my knife, and let me go." 
 
 " Joshua reflected. Clearly he had no 
 just claim to the man's knife, and had no 
 right to retain it. His mind was soon made 
 up. Releasing his hold of Susan, he placed 
 the blade beneath his foot, and broke it off 
 close to the handle. Then he threw the 
 handle and the blade over the Lascar's 
 head. A dangerous fire gleamed in the 
 man's downcast eyes, and a cold-blooded 
 grating of teeth came from his mouth. He 
 stood silent for a few moments, with Ms 
 hands tightly pressed, striving to master 
 the devil that was raging within him. But 
 he could not restrain his passion. 
 
 " Curse you ! " he hissed ; " I owe you 
 something ; I will pay it you, by hell ! " 
 
 He crouched to receive the blow which he 
 expected Joshua would give him, in return 
 for his curse. But no blow was given nor 
 intended ; yet he quivered as if he had 
 been struck before he spoke again. 
 
 " See you ! " he cried ; " I never forget 
 — never — never ! My turn will come. 
 You called me black devil " — 
 
 " So you are," said Joshua scornfully. 
 
 " And black dog — dog of a Lascar ! " 
 
 " So you are." 
 
 " l''ou shall pay for it ! If it is years be- 
 fore I can pay you, you shall be paid for it I 
 See you — remember!" With all his fin- 
 gers menacingly, as if each was possessed 
 with a distinct will, and was swearing ven- 
 geance against Joshua. " Y'^our life shall 
 pay for it — more than your life shall pay 
 for it ! " He spat upon the ground and trod 
 savagely upon the spittle. " I mark you — 
 see ! " With his forefinger he marked a 
 cross in the air. " I put this cross against 
 you — curse you ! " 
 
 Susan, gazing on with sight terror-fixed, 
 saw the infuriated man stamp upon the 
 stones, as if he had Joshua's life-blood be- 
 neath his foot, and then saw the cross 
 marked in the air. The fire of her fevered 
 imagination gave red color to the shadowy 
 lines; and when the Lascar lowered liis 
 forefinger, she saw the recorded cross stand- 
 ing unsupported in the air — a cross of 
 bright red blood. Fascinated, she gazed 
 until the bright color faded into two dusky 
 
GOOD-BY. 
 
 55 
 
 lines, and so remained. Joshua laughed 
 lightly at the vindictive action and the 
 curse ; yet he did not teel quite at his ease. 
 
 " Come, Susan," he said, " let us be 
 going." 
 
 But Susan did not move. Every sense 
 was absorbed in watching the dreadful 
 cross and the Lascar's passion-ilistorted 
 face. lie. stooping to pick up the handle 
 of the kiiit'e ami the broken blade, turned 
 again upon Joshua, and remained faithl'ul 
 to his theme. 
 
 " Don't forget," he said in his low, bad 
 voice, the words coming slowly from a 
 throat almost choked with passion. " By 
 this " — plachig his hand upon his wounded 
 mouth — " and these " — holding up the 
 pieces of the knife — "I will keep you in 
 mind. If it is to-morrow, or next week, 
 or next month, you shall be paid ! The 
 dog of a Lascar never forgets! See you 
 — remember ! " 
 
 " Storm away," said Joshua, drawing 
 Susan aside to allow the Lascar to pass. 
 " You will have to be very quick about it, 
 for to-morrow I go to sea." 
 
 " You do, eh ! " exclaimed the Lascar, 
 with another harsh grating of his teeth, 
 and stopping suddenly in his course. " See 
 you now — take this with you for my good- 
 by ! " With a swift motion, he cut his fin- 
 ger with the broken blade, and shook tlie 
 blood at Joshua. It fell in a sprinkle over 
 his clothes, and a drop plashed into his face. 
 The Lascar saw it, and laughed. " Take 
 that with you for luck ! " he cried. " By 
 that mark I shall live to pay you, and you 
 will live to be paid 1 " 
 
 So saying, he turned and fled. Joshua 
 sprang after him, but the man was out of 
 sight in a minute. Returning to Susan, 
 Joshua fjund her sitting upon the pave- 
 ment, nursing her knees and sobbing dis- 
 tressfully. 
 
 " O Josh ! " she cried, " it is a bad 
 omen." 
 
 " Not at all," said Joshua, cooling down 
 a little, and wiping the spot of blood from 
 his face. " What does the old proverb say ? 
 ' Curses always come home to roost.' Do 
 you hear me ? " 
 
 It was evident that she did not; her 
 fright was still strong upon her. With a 
 shrinking movement of her head, she looked 
 slowly round, and clutching Joshua's hand, 
 whispered, '• For pity's sake, don't let him 
 come near me ! Hold me tight ! Keep 
 close to me ! He is not gone ! " 
 
 With a firm and gentle force, Joshua 
 compelled her to stand upright. 
 
 " There is no one here but you and I," 
 he said, in a firm voice. " You are letting 
 your fancies make a baby of you. There is 
 no one here but you and I. If you will not 
 
 believe what I say — I can see, I suppose, 
 and I am calm, while you are in a regular 
 fever — if you will not believe what I say, 
 I shall leave you." 
 
 " No, no ! " she cried, clinging to him. 
 
 He compelled her to walk two or three 
 times up and down the court. His decided 
 action calmed her. She gave vent to a 
 sigh of relief, and wiped her eyes. 
 
 '• That's right," said Joshua as they 
 walked out of the court. " Now I can tell 
 you that I am glad I have met you. I join 
 my ship to-morrow." 
 
 " I had no idea you were going away so 
 soon." 
 
 " I am going now to see if ]Mr. Kindred 
 is at home." 
 
 " I live in the same house as he does," 
 she said, looking timidly at Joshua. 
 
 " That is strange. Are you and he in- 
 timate ? " 
 
 " Yes. They are poor, you know, 
 Joshua." 
 
 " So are you, Susey." 
 
 "But I can help them a little. He's 
 often ill, and ilinnie isn't strong enough to 
 take care of him, and so I ntu-se him some- 
 times. jVIinnie and I are great friends." 
 
 ^Vhen they arrived at Basil Kindred's 
 poor lodiiing, Minnie met them at the 
 door. With her finger to her lips, she 
 motioned them to be quiet. 
 
 " Tread sol\ly," she whispered ; " father 
 has come home, and is lying down." 
 
 They walked to the bed, and saw Basil 
 Kindred lying on the bed in unquiet sleep. 
 Susan placed her hand ou his hot tbrehead, 
 and said, — 
 
 " I have been afraid of this for a long 
 time. Josh. He has got a fever. What 
 would he do without me now ? " 
 
 There was a touch of pride in her voice 
 as she asked the question. The pride 
 arose from the conviction that the man 
 she loved really needed her help, and fi'om 
 the knowledge that she could make some 
 little sacrifice for him. 
 
 '• He is very, very ill, I think," whispered 
 Minnie. 
 
 " We will make him well between us, 
 Minnie," said Susan. 
 
 All the fears by which she was assailed 
 but a few minutes since were gone. Joshua 
 was glad to see that, at all events. 
 
 Minnie took Susan's hand gratefully, and 
 kissed it. 
 
 " She has been so good to us, Joshua," 
 she said. 
 
 Susan's eyes kindled, and she directed to 
 Joshua a look which saiil, ■' Have I not 
 done right in coming to live here ? See 
 how useful I can be, and how happy I am ! " 
 
 " I shall tell them at home where you 
 live, Susey," said Joshua. 
 
56 
 
 JOSHUA MARVEL. 
 
 " Very well. Give my love to Dan." 
 Joshua nodded, and bent over Basil Kin- 
 dred. The action disturbed the sleeping 
 man. He seized Joshua's wrist in his burn- 
 ing hand, and said, in a trembling voice, 
 •' She died in my arras, and the earth was 
 her bed. The stars were ashamed to look 
 upon her. AVell they might be I Well 
 they might be ! " 
 
 " He is speaking of his wife," said Susan 
 softly to Joshua. " He loved her very 
 dearly, and would have died for her. When 
 she died, his heart almost broke." 
 
 Sympathy and devotion made her voice 
 like sweet music. Joshua looked at her 
 with a feeling of wonder, and was amazed 
 at the change that had come over her. 
 An hour ago, she was crouching in drivel- 
 ling terror, overpowered by absurd fancies ; 
 now she moved about cheerfully, strong in 
 her purpose of love. But he had never in 
 all his lite seen her as he saw her now. He 
 bade her good-by, and she wished him God- 
 speed, and kissed him. Minnie accom- 
 panied him to the door. 
 
 " Good-by, dear little Minnie," he said. 
 , " Good-by," she said, with tears in her 
 voice. '• You forgive me, don't you, for 
 what I said this afternoon ? " ^ 
 
 " Yes, my dear." 
 
 " Ah ! 1 like to hear you speak like that ; 
 it sounds sweet and good. Say, ' I forgive 
 you, little Minnie.' " 
 
 " But I haven't any thing to forgive, now 
 I come to think of it." 
 
 " Yes, you have. You say that out of 
 your good nature. You mustn't go away 
 and leave me to think that you are angi-y 
 with me." 
 
 " I am not angry with you, Minnie. After 
 all, what you did, you did through love, 
 and there could not be much wrong in 
 it." 
 
 The brightest of bright expressions stole 
 into her face, and she clasped her hands 
 with joy. 
 
 " Say that again, Joshua, word for word, 
 as you said it just now." 
 
 " What you did, you did through love," 
 repeated Joshua to please her, " and there 
 could not be much wrong in it." 
 
 " O Joshua ! " she cried, pressing her 
 hands to her face, "you have made me 
 almost quite happy. I laave heard father 
 say the same thing, but in different words. 
 Now I shall follow you to sea. Yes, I 
 shall, with this" holding up her shell. 
 " To-morrow night, and every night that 
 you are at sea, I shall listen to my shell 
 and think of you." 
 
 " Stupid little Minnie," he said affection- 
 ately. 
 
 " And you will come back in a year ? " 
 " I hope so, please God." 
 
 " Then I shall be growing quite a wo- 
 man," she said thoughtfully. 
 
 The next moment she raised her face 
 quickly to his. The tears were streaming 
 down it. As he bent to her, she caught 
 him round the neck, and kissed him once, 
 twice, thrice, with more than the passion- 
 ate affection, but with all the innocence, of 
 a child. Then she ran into the house ; 
 and Joshua, taking that as a farewell, 
 walked slowly homewards, to go through 
 the hardest trial of all. 
 
 That hardest trial through which he had 
 to go awaited him at home. All the mem- 
 bers of the Marvel family, and Dan and 
 Ellen Taylor, were assembled together in 
 the old familiar kitchen. They were all of 
 them sad at heart, and made themselves 
 sadder by vain little attempts to be cheer- 
 ful. The tea was a very silent affair, and 
 the two or three extra delicacies provided 
 by Mrs. Marvel — as if it were a feast they 
 were sitting down to — were failures. The 
 most remarkable feature about the tea was 
 the preteuLie they all made to eat and 
 drink a great deal, and the miserableness 
 of the result. They pretended to accom- 
 plish prodigies, and handed about the bread- 
 and-butter and the cake very industriously, 
 as if it were each person's duty to be 
 mightily anxious about every other person's 
 appetite, and to utterly ignore his own. 
 But every thing in the Avay of eating and 
 drinking was a mistake. The bread-and- 
 butter was disregarded, and was taken 
 away in disgrace ; the cake was slighted, 
 and retireil in dudgeon. It was a relief 
 when the tea-things were cleared. Mrs. 
 Marvel was the bravest of the party ; she 
 who had so strongly ])rotested against 
 Joshua's going to sea, did all she could to 
 administer little crumbs of comfort to 
 every one of them, and especially to her 
 husband, who had so heartily encouraged 
 Joshua not to do as his lather liad done 
 before him, but who was now the most 
 outwardly miserable person in the kitchen. 
 Thus, Mrs. Marvel sang snatches of songs, 
 and bustled about as if she really enjoyed 
 Joshua's going, and was glad to gt-t rid of 
 him. When she had accomplished a good 
 deal of nothing, she rose and did nothing 
 else ; and when that was done, she sat 
 down and remonstrated with her good 
 man, and would even have rejoiced if she 
 could have worried him into blowing her up. 
 " Don't take on so, George," she said ; 
 " you ought to be cheerful to-night of all 
 nights. What is the use of fretting? 
 Joshua's going to make a man of himself, 
 and to do good for all of us — ain't you, my 
 dear ? " 
 I " I intend it, mother, you may be sure." 
 
GOOD-BY. 
 
 67 
 
 " Of course yon do ; and here is father 
 in the dumps when he ought to be up in 
 the skies." 
 
 " Some day, T hope," said George Marvel, 
 musterin'j; up spirit to liave his joke in the 
 midst of his sadness ; " not just now, thou^jjh. 
 I want to see wliat sort of a figure Josli 
 will cut in the world first. Give me my 
 pipe, Maggie." 
 
 Mrs. Marvel made a great fuss in getting 
 the pipe, knocking down a chair, and cUxt- 
 tering things about, and humming a verse 
 of her favorite song, " Breud-aml-Cheese 
 and Kisses ; " and really made matters a lit- 
 tle less sad by her bustle. Then, instead of 
 handing her liusband the pipe without 
 moving from lier seat, as she might have 
 done, she maile a sweep round the table, 
 and pinched Ellen's clieek, and patted Dan 
 on the head, and wiped Iier eyes on the sly, 
 and kissed Joshua, and so worked her way 
 to George Marvel, and put the pipe be- 
 tween his lips. 
 
 " You are as active as a girl, Maggie," 
 said George Marvel, putting his arm round 
 her waist, and gently detaining her by his 
 side. 
 
 She looked down into his eyes, and for 
 the life of her could not help the tears 
 gathering in her own. She made no 
 further attempts to be cheerful ; and what 
 little conversation was indulged in occurred 
 between long intervals of silence. They 
 had an early supper ; for Joshua was to rise 
 at daybreak. Wlien supper was over, 
 George Marvel took out the Bible, and in 
 an impressive voice read from it the one 
 hundred and seventh Psalm. They all 
 stood round the table with bent heads, 
 Joshua standing between his mother and 
 Dan, cliisping a hand of each. Very 
 solemn was George Marvel's voice when 
 he came to the twenty-third verse : — 
 
 " They that go down to the sea in ships, that do 
 business in great waters; 
 
 These see the works of the Lord, and His wonders 
 in the deep. 
 
 For lie commandeth and raiseth the stormy wind, 
 which lifteth up the waves thereof. 
 
 They mount up to the heaven, they go down 
 again to the depths; their soul is melted because of 
 trouble. 
 
 They reel to and fro, and stagger like a drunken 
 man, and are at llieir wits' end. 
 
 Then thoy cry unto the Lord in their trouble, 
 and He bringeth them out of their distresses. 
 
 He maketh the storm a calm, so that the waves 
 thereof are still. 
 
 Then are they glad because they be quiet; so He 
 bringeth them unto their desired haven." 
 
 When the reading of the Psalm was 
 over, and they had stood silent for a little 
 while, they raised their heads, but could 
 Fcarcely see each other for tiie tears in 
 their eyes. Then they kissed, and said 
 good-night ; and Joshua, casting a wistful 
 glance round the kitchen, every piece of 
 
 furniture and crockery in which appeared 
 to share in the general regret, assisted Dan 
 up to his I)edroom for the last time. 
 
 They had scarcely time to sit down before 
 the handle was gently turned, and George 
 Marvel entered. In the room were all 
 Joshua's little household gods — his ac- 
 cordion, his favorite books, and his dear lit- 
 tle feathered friends. 
 
 George Marvi-l threw his arm round 
 Joshua's waist, and drew him close. 
 
 " What are you going to do with the 
 birds. Josh ? " he asked. 
 
 " Dan will take care of them, father." 
 
 "Don't fret at leaving them — or us. 
 Be a man. Josh — be a man," he said, with 
 the tears running down his face. 
 
 " Yes, dear father, I will," said Joshua 
 with a great sob. 
 
 " And don't forget father and mother, 
 my boy." 
 
 " No, father, never ! " 
 
 " It's better than being a wood-turner, 
 Josh. Don't you think so V " doubting at 
 the last moment the wisdom of his having 
 encouraged Joshua in the step he was 
 about to take. 
 
 " A great deal better, father. You'll 
 see ! " 
 
 " That's right. Josh — that's right ! I'm 
 glad to hear you say so. Good-night, my 
 boy. God bless you 1 " And pressing 
 Joshua in his arms, and kissing him, George 
 Marvel went away to bed. 
 
 He had not been gone two minutes be- 
 fore the handle of the door was turned 
 again, and Mrs. Marvel's pale face appear- 
 ed. She did not enter the room ; and 
 Joshua ran to her. She drew him on to 
 the narrow landing, and shut the door, so 
 that they were in darkness. She pressed 
 him to her bosom, and kissed him many 
 times, and cried over him quietly. 
 
 " O mother I " whispered Joshua, " shall 
 I go? Shall I go?" 
 
 " Plush, dear child," Mrs. Marvel said. 
 " It is the \ery best thing ; and you must 
 not doubt now. Bless you, my dear, dear 
 child ! You will come home a man ; and 
 we shall all be so proud of you — so proud 
 — and happy ! " She pressed him closer, 
 and tried to sjjeak cheerfully ; but it was a 
 poor attempt. " And write whenever you 
 can, and tell us every thing." 
 
 " Yes ; I will be sure." 
 
 " Be a good boy, Joshua." 
 
 " Yes, mother." 
 
 " And you will say your prayers every 
 night ? " 
 
 '• I will, mother." 
 
 " Deiir child, God will protect you. I 
 shall think of you of a night saying your 
 prayers, my dear, and it will comtbrt me 
 so ! And here I am, keeping my boy out 
 
58 
 
 JOSHUA MAEVEL. 
 
 of bed, like a selfish, selfish, selfish mother ! 
 Now, my dear, one more kiss, and say 
 good-night." 
 
 He kissed her again, and she left his 
 arms, and crept softly to her room. These 
 heart-shocks were hard to bear, and he 
 paused to recover himself before he re- 
 entered the room. Dan did not look at 
 him, nor ask him any questions. But 
 Joshua sat down beside Dan, and said, — 
 " It was mother kept me, Dan." 
 " Yes, I know, Jo dear. There's some- 
 body else at the door." 
 
 It was Sarah, who asked if she might 
 come in. Of course she might. And 
 might Ellen come in ? Of course. So 
 Elieu came in, and she and Sarah sat with 
 their brothers for a few minutes. They 
 talked quietly together, and Joshua drew 
 close to Ellen, and grew calmer as he look- 
 ed at her sweet peaceful face. She raised 
 her eyes shyly to his, and told him she 
 had a little present for him, and would he 
 accept it? There was a question to ask 
 him ! Joshua answered almost gayly. She 
 produced her present — a poor little purse, 
 ■which she had herself worked for him — 
 and Joshua kissed it, and kissed her after- 
 wards, and she nestled to his side very 
 tenderly and very prettily, and cast down 
 her eyes, and was perfectly happy. The 
 girls did not stay long, (iood-night was 
 said again and again, and Joshua asked 
 Ellen to kiss him, and she did so without 
 hesitation. When they were gone, Joshua 
 sat down, and rested his head upon his 
 hands. He was weary after the day's ex- 
 citement, but although he was tired, he was 
 wakeful, and did not feel inclined tor sleep. 
 So he and Dan had a long chat together, 
 recalling the many tender memories that 
 enriched their friendship. 
 
 " / have a present for you, too, Jo," said 
 Dan, producing a Bible. 
 
 Joshua opened it, and read on the first 
 page, " From Dan, to his dearest friend 
 and brother, Joshua. With undying love 
 and confidence." 
 
 " With undying love and confidence," 
 mused Joshua. " Nothing could ever 
 change our friendship, Dan, could it ? " 
 " Nothing, Jo." 
 
 " Come, now," said Joshua, " suppose, 
 for the sake of argument, that I was to 
 turn out bad." 
 
 Dan smiled. " That couldn't happen, 
 Jo." 
 
 Thereupon Joshua told Dan the adven- 
 ture he had had that day with Susan and 
 the Lascar. " And, do you know, Dan, that 
 when I knocked liim down, and saw his 
 mouth bleeding. I was glad — savagely 
 glad, I am sorry to say. Yet afterwai-ds 
 when 1 thought of it, and when I think of 
 
 it now, it seems as if it was a bad feeling 
 that possessed me." 
 
 " It doesn't seem so to me, Jo ; it gives 
 me greater confidence in you. If you had 
 not acted so, what would have become of 
 poor Susan ? " 
 
 " That's true," said Joshua. 
 
 " I knew all along, Jo dear, that you 
 were loving and tender and good, but I 
 did not know until now that you were so 
 bold and brave. And so strong too I I 
 am proud of you. You can't tell what may 
 happen. Think of this strange new world 
 you are going to now, Jo, and of the strange 
 things the Old Sailor has told us of it. 
 You have no more idea of the wonders you 
 will see than I have. But you will see 
 them, and I shall see them through you. 
 Listen now to me, Jo. I love you, my 
 deai'est I'riend and brother, and you have 
 my undying love and confidence. I, a 
 poor helpless cripple, had no future of my 
 own ; and you have given me one. I live 
 in you. I shall follow you in my thoughts, 
 in ni}' dreams. Somehow, Jo, our minds 
 have grown together, and I smile at your 
 words that you might turn out bad. Could 
 you believe it of me, if I was strong like 
 vou even ? " 
 
 "No." 
 
 " Y'^ou answer for me, Jo. You have al- 
 ways been noble and good to me, and you 
 will always be the same. I would not think 
 of thanking you, Jo, for what you 'have 
 done for me — I would not think of thank- 
 ing you for making my poor crippled legs 
 a blessing to me instead of a burden. Not 
 with words do I or can I repay you — but 
 with undying love and confidence. Kiss 
 me now, Jo, and say that you fully under- 
 stand my friendship and truth." 
 
 '• Fully, Dan ; " kissing him. " And I 
 have never forgotten what I promised you 
 a long time ago, Dan. Wherever I am, 
 and whatever I shall see, I will think, 
 ' Dan is here with me, although I cannot 
 see him.' Although we are parted, we 
 shall be together." 
 
 " Yes, in spirit, Jo dear," said Dan, with 
 a beautiful light of happiness upon his face. 
 " And now, good-night." 
 
 " Good night, Dan." 
 
 " If I am asleep in the morning, Jo, do 
 not wake me. I am content to part from 
 you now with this good-night." 
 
 " Very well, Dan. Good-night." 
 
 " Good-night, MY friend." 
 
 With that Dan turned to the wall, and 
 Joshua, going to the bird-cages hanging in 
 the room, said good-night to the birds. 
 They were asleep on their perches, and lie 
 did not disturb them. " They will give me 
 a chirrup in the morning," he thought, and, 
 blowing out the candle, he said his prayers 
 
AFTER JOSHUA'S DEPARTURE. 
 
 59 
 
 and went to bed. But he could not sleep ; I 
 the events of the day presented themselves 
 to his mind in the strangest forms. Min- 
 nie and her shell came and laded away, and 
 her place was filled by Susan nursing Basil 
 Kindred ; then came "the ugly figure of the 
 Lascar crouching down, and afterwards 
 making a cross against him, and cursing 
 him ; his father reailiug the Psalm, while 
 they all stood round ; he and his mother 
 standing in the dark passage, and his 
 mother sobbing over him ; Ellen kissing 
 him and nestling close to him, oh so pret- 
 tily and innocently! All these pictures 
 presented themselves to him consecutively 
 at first ; but ]iresently they grew disturbed, 
 and the Lascar, the evil genius of the 
 group, was mischievously and triumphantly 
 at work, now in one shajie, now in another. 
 Joshua and Ellen were sitting together 
 when the! Lascar came between them, and 
 struck Ellen out of the picture. Then the 
 two were locked in a deadly struggle on 
 the ground, and the Lascar, overpowering 
 him, knelt upon his chest and hissed, "I 
 oould take your life, but that won't satisfy 
 me. More tlian your life shall pay for what 
 you have done." Other phases of his fan- 
 cies were, that Dan believed him to be 
 false. " INIy doing ! " hissed the Lascar. 
 That Ellen believed him to be wicked. 
 " My doing ! " hissed the Lascar. That 
 they all believed him to be bad. " My do- 
 ing ! " hissed the Lascar. That they were 
 all grouped together, and were turning from 
 him, and that the Lascar, holding him fast, 
 whispered that that was his revenge. At 
 length the combinations became so dis- 
 tressing, that Joshua, to shake off the flin- 
 cies, rose in his bed and opened his eyes. 
 The moonliglit was streaming in through 
 the window, and Joshua crept quietly to the 
 water-jug and sprinkletl some water over his 
 face. Then, his mind being calmer, he knelt 
 down by the side of the bed ; and Dan, who 
 had not slept, raised himself upon his elbow. 
 and, seeing his friend in prayerful attitude, 
 smiled softly to himself and was glad. 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 WHAT OCCUUIIED AFTER .JOSHUA'S 
 DEPAKTUKE. 
 
 The nicest mathematical calculations of 
 the probability of events are not uncommonly 
 subjected to shocks which, to those dull and 
 unreflective persons who cannot distinguish 
 between rule and exceptions, seem to give 
 the lie to si;ience. ' Yesterday the world 
 was at peace, and rulers and politicians 
 
 were clofjuent in phrases of friendship and 
 good-will to the inhabitants of every nation 
 on the face of the earth. To-day the world 
 is at war, and rulers and j)oliticians, hot 
 with wrath at a cunningly-provoked insult, 
 are eager to avenge traditional wrongs at 
 any expense of blood and human suffering, 
 and to resent what they choose to call na- 
 tional humiliation. Yesterday two nations 
 clasped hands, and smiled upon one an- 
 other. Suddenly, as thus they stood, a fir« 
 
 — kindled by the worst of secret passions 
 and by the lust of self-aggrandizement — 
 Hashed into their palms, and they threw 
 each other off, and drew the sword. A 
 more serious shock was never given to the 
 cahmlation of the probable course of events. 
 
 Yesterday peace was certain, and men 
 were preparing to gather the harvests ; to- 
 day war is raging, and the cornfields are 
 steeped in blood. 
 
 So have I seen in a f^xr-ofF country — ■ 
 now almost in its infancy, l)ut whose growth 
 is swift, and whose manhood will be grand 
 
 — a sluggish river rolling lazily to the sea. 
 Walking inland along its banks, now broad- 
 ened by fair plains, now narrowed by tower- 
 ing ranges, I have come suddenly upon the 
 confluence of it and another river, whose 
 waters, springing from clouil-tipped moun- 
 tains of snow, rush laughingly down the 
 grand old rocks. Here, in the narrow pass 
 where the rivers meet, the gray sluggish 
 stream of a sleeper opposes itself to the 
 marvellously blue waters of a passionate life. 
 One, dull and inert, rolls like a soulless 
 slugfjcard sullenly to the sea; the other, 
 with its snow-fi-inged lines reflected in its 
 restless depths of l)lue, leaps and laughs as 
 it flashes onwards, like a sodlike hero, to the 
 mightier waters of the Pacific. But a few 
 hundred yards away from the confluence of 
 the streams, no stranger, walking thither- 
 ward, could imagine the singular and grand 
 contest that is eternally waging in that 
 wonderful pass; and when he comes upon 
 it suddenly, admiration impels him to stand 
 in silent worship. 
 
 One of the commonest of common similes 
 is the simile of life and a river. But as it 
 is not because a thing is rare that it must 
 needs be sweet, so it is not because a thing 
 is common that it must needs be true. 
 Every river fulfils its mission : does every 
 life V More like a stream than a river is 
 life. Trace the stream, from the incon- 
 siderable bubbling of a mountain spring, 
 down the hillsides, over rocks, through 
 glades lighted by sunlight and moonlight, 
 through tortuous defiles and rocky chasms, 
 into a sparkling current, which swells and 
 swells and grows into a lovely channel, or 
 into a sullen rill, which drips and drips 
 aud loses itself in a puddle. 
 
60 
 
 JOSHUA MAEVEL. 
 
 When Joshua's ship had sailed, gloom 
 fell upon the house of the Marvels : the 
 sunshine that used to warm it no longer 
 shone on it. George Marvel showed his 
 grief more plainly than did his good wo- 
 man. He was more gentle towards her, and 
 sometimes his gentleness of manner took 
 the form of submission. Singularly enough 
 she was seriously distressed at the change. 
 She wished him to be positive and contra- 
 dictory, as he used to be ; to scold her and 
 put her down, as he used to do ; to be more 
 masterful and less gentle. She strove in 
 all sorts of ways to bring back his ol<l hu- 
 mor ; she tried his temper by opposing him in 
 trivial matters ; she contradicted him when 
 he spoke ; and she even ventured, on two 
 or three occasions, to tell him that he would 
 have to wait tor his meals — which waiting 
 for one's meals, as is well known, is one of 
 the leading causes of domestic differences. 
 But all her well-meant efforts were thrown 
 away ; and when she saw him sit down pa- 
 tiently on being told, with assumed snap- 
 pishness, that tea wouldn't be ready tor 
 half an hour, she gave it up as a bad 
 job, and, acting wisely, left time to cure 
 him. It did cure him, as it cures greater 
 griefs ; but in the mean time he suffered 
 greatly. 
 
 The trict of it was, George Marvel was 
 troubled in his mind at the prominent part 
 he had taken in iniluencing Joshua's choice 
 of a profession. Having driven his son to 
 sea, he felt as if he had a hand in every 
 Btorm, and as if he were in some measure 
 responsible for every gust of wind, inas- 
 much as it expressed danger to Joshua. 
 Then the thought of Joshua's being ship- 
 wrecked haunted him. " Suppose Josh is 
 shipwrecked, lather," his wife l\ad said, 
 '• what would you say then ? You'd lie 
 awake night after night, father — you 
 know you would — and wish he had been 
 a wood-turner." 
 
 " Maofo-ie was right," he admitted to him- 
 self; " it would have been better for Josh, 
 and happier for all us, if he had remained 
 at home and been a wood-turner." 
 
 Being in pursuit of misery, he showed 
 the doggedness of his nature by hunting 
 for it assiduously. He read with remorse- 
 ful eagerness every sci-ap of print relating 
 to shipwreck that he could lay hands upon. 
 He would go out of his way to borrow a 
 paper which he had heard contained an 
 account of disasters at sen, and when he ob- 
 tained it, he would shut himself up, and 
 read it and re-read it in secrecy, until he ex- 
 tracted as much misery from it as it could 
 possibly yield him. The second Saturday 
 night after Joshua's departure he saw a 
 nmuber of persons assembled round a sailor 
 who was begging. The sailor had a patch 
 
 over his eye and a wooden leg, and he was 
 singing, in a voice of dismal enjoyment, a 
 woful narration of his sufferings on a raft. 
 George Marvel stopped until the song was 
 finished, and then gave the man a penny. 
 The following Saturday night he went in 
 search of the sailor, and listened to his 
 song, and gave him another penny. And 
 so, for many successive Saturday nights, he 
 went and enjoj'ed his penny-worth of misery, 
 getting, it must be admitted, full value 
 tor his money. 
 
 On other evenings he smoked his pipe in 
 the kitchen as usu.d. If the weather was 
 boisterous, he would go restlessly to the 
 street-door, and come back more low-spirit- 
 ed than ever. 
 
 " It's dreadfully windy to-night, Mag- 
 gie," he would say. 
 
 ° " Do you think so, George ? " Mrs. Mar- 
 vel would ask, making light of the wind for 
 his sake, although she too was thinking of 
 Joshua. 
 
 " Not a star to be seen," he would add 
 despondently. 
 
 Then would come a stronger gust, per- 
 haps, and George Marvel would shiver 
 and ask his wife if she thought it was 
 stormy out at sea. She, becoming on the 
 instant wonderfully weatherwise, would an- 
 swer. No, she was sure it wasn't stormy at 
 sea, for the sea was such a long way off, 
 and it wasn't likely that a storm would be 
 all over the world at once. 
 
 One night when a great storm was ra- 
 o-ing through London, and when the thun- 
 der^was breaking loudly over the chimney- 
 tops in Stepney, Mrs. Marvel lay awake, 
 with all a mother's fears tugging at her 
 heart-strings, praying silently for Joshua's 
 safety, and clasping her hands more tightly 
 in agony of love at every lightning-flash 
 that darted past the window. _ She hoped 
 that her husband was asleep, oblivious of the 
 storm ; but he was as wide awake as she was, 
 and was following Joshua's ship through 
 the fearful storm. At one time, the house 
 shook in the wild blustering of the wind, and 
 they heard a crash as of the blowing down 
 of some chimneys. 
 
 "Masgie," whispered Mr. Marvel, won- 
 dering if his wife were awake. 
 
 "Yes, father," answered Mrs. Marvel, 
 under her breath. 
 
 " It is an awful storm." Then, after a 
 pause, " Have you been awake long, moth- 
 er ? " 
 
 " I have been listening to it for ever so 
 long, dear," said Mrs. Marvel;^ adding, 
 with a cunning attempt to comfort him, 
 '• And praying that it might spend out all 
 its force over our heads, and not travel 
 away to Joshua's ship. We ought to be 
 thankful that Joshua is on the open sea. 
 
AFTER JOSHUA'S DEPARTUR 
 
 >^ or T»Ti.;^>N 
 IT ■ C 
 
 Mr. IModdler says there's no danger for a 
 ship ill a storm when it isn't near hind." 
 
 " And he knows hetter than us, moth- 
 er." 
 
 " Yes, (k^ar. All we can do is to pray 
 for Joshua. God will bring him back to 
 us, father." 
 
 " I hope so ; I pray so. Good-night, 
 Maggie. Go to sleep." 
 
 " Yes, George. Good-night." 
 
 But they lay awake for a long time after 
 that, until the storm, sobbing like a child 
 worn out with passion, sighed and moaned 
 itself away. 
 
 As for Dan, for many days after Joshua 
 was gone he felt as if a dear friend had 
 died ; not Joshua, but some unknown friend 
 almost as dear. He had reason enough for 
 feeling lonely and miserable. His dear 
 friend's companionship had been inesti- 
 mably precious to him ; Joshua's very foot- 
 fall had made his heart glad. The hours 
 they had spent together were the summer 
 of his life, and now that he and Joshua 
 were parted he recognized that a great void 
 had been made in his life, and that it be- 
 hoved him to fill it up. That void was 
 want of occupation. What was he to do 
 now that Joshua was gone ? When Joshua 
 was at home, there had been every day 
 something to do, something to talk about, 
 something to argue upon. Then, time did 
 not hang heavily upon his hands ; now, 
 when there was no Joshua to look forward 
 to, he found himself falling into a state of 
 listlessness which he knew was not good 
 for him. He wanted something for his 
 hands to do. What ? He thought a great 
 deal about it, and had not settled the diffi- 
 culty when a domestic calamity occurred. 
 
 The drinking proclivities of Mr. Taylor 
 have been incidentally referred to. These 
 proclivities had unfortunately grown upon 
 him to such an extent, that he was now an 
 ardent and faithful slave of that demon to 
 so many English homes among the poor — 
 Gin. It has been spoken of often enou'jch 
 and trutlifuUy enough, God knows! But 
 it cannot, until it lie vanquished in the dust, 
 be too often struck at. If there is a curse 
 in this our mighty England which degrades 
 it to a level so low that it is shame to think 
 of, that curse is Gin ! If vice, domestic 
 misery, and prostitution have an English 
 teacher, that teacher is Gin ! And in this 
 England, which we so glorify, so sing about 
 and mouth about, no direct attempt has 
 ever yet been made by statesmen who work 
 as Jobbers to root this teacher out of our 
 wretched courts and alleys, and replace it 
 by something better. Perhaps one day, 
 when a lull takes place in the jangle of 
 PoUtics — amid the din of which so many 
 strange sounds are heard; such as the 
 
 ■\vTangle of reli 
 exjioncnts split 
 and-State bills for lieu 
 
 -y 
 
 lose various 
 in Church- '' 
 Jia*TJur- 
 
 pose, unless it be for the triumph of their 
 particular creeds ; such as the wrangle of 
 private members whose hearts and souls 
 (literally) are wrapt up in private bills for 
 the good (jf the people — perhaps one day 
 amid the lull, a wise and beneficent states- 
 man may turn his attention to the abomi- 
 nable curse, and earn for himself a statue, 
 the design of which shall be — after the 
 manner of St. George and the Dragon — 
 Gin writhing on the ground in all its true 
 deformity, pierced through by the spear of 
 a wise legislation, which in this instance at 
 least shall have legislated for the good of 
 the many. 
 
 Mr. Taylor, one of the Gin Patriots, 
 having enrolled himself as a soldier in the 
 cause, was necessitated by the magnanimity 
 of his nature to become a soldier leal anil 
 true. So he bowed himself down before 
 Gin, and worshipped it morning, noon, and 
 night. Even in his dreams he was faithful 
 to the cause, mumbling out entreaties to 
 his god. His devotion causing him to neg- 
 lect all lesser worldly matters, he fell into 
 a bad state of poverty, and his family fell 
 with him. The worst form of INlr. Taylor's 
 devotion did not appear until Joshua letV 
 home ; hitherto he had been working up to 
 his ambition's height. Having reached it, 
 he rested on his oars, which, being com- 
 posed of the frailest of timber, gave way 
 and sent him rolling into the mud. As he 
 declined to provide for his family, that duty 
 devolved upon Llrs. Taylor, and she pa- 
 tiently and unmurmuringly performed her 
 duty, and worked her fingers to the bone, 
 until her strength gave way. She was one 
 of those quiet souls who always do their 
 best, and never complain ; and having done 
 her best, she closed her eyes upon the 
 world, and passed without a murmur out 
 of the hive of busy bees. 
 
 There was much sadness in the house 
 when the event occurred, and there was 
 much helpful sympathy among the neigh- 
 bors. Not for Mr. Taylor — although they 
 remembered the time when he was a re- 
 spectable member of society, before he had 
 fallen under the fatal influence of Gin — 
 but for the children. During Mrs. Taylor's 
 illness, which lasted but a very short time, 
 Susan came to the house and helped Ellen 
 in her household work and in nursing their 
 mother. It was an anxious time for the 
 poor little maid ; but she did her work 
 willingly, and with the patient sj)irit her 
 mother had exhi'nted. Susan was a great 
 help to her, and there was more sisterly 
 love between them during that time than 
 had ever before shown itself. At the 
 
62 
 
 JOSHUA MARVEL. 
 
 funeral, Mr. Taylor presented himself in as 
 decent a state of Gin as he could muster 
 up for the occasion ; drivelled a little, 
 trembled a great deal, and proclaimed him- 
 self a most unfortunate man. Finding that 
 he obtained no sympathy for his miserable 
 position from his children or from the 
 neighbors, he, when the funeral was over, 
 pawned bis waistcoat, and dissolving the 
 proceeds, wept tears of Gin over the death 
 of his wife. While he was employed in 
 that process of drowning- his grief, the 
 three children were sitting together in 
 Dan's room talking in hushed tones over 
 their loss and over their prospects. After the 
 funeral, Mrs. Marvel — who had helped to 
 nurse Mrs. Taylor — quietly prepared tea 
 in Dan's room, and with her usual sympa- 
 thetic instinct of what was best, kept her- 
 self out of sight as much as possible. But 
 at the last moment, when tea was ready 
 and she was about to leave the children un- 
 disturbed, she placed her arm round Dan's 
 neck, and whispered that Joshua's home 
 was Dan's, and that he might come and 
 occupy Joshua's room whenever he pleased. 
 " And be another son to us, my dear," said 
 good ]\Irs. Marvel ; " so that we shall have 
 two." Dan thanked her, and looked at 
 Ellen thoughtfully, and then Mrs. Marvel 
 left the childi'en to their meal. 
 
 Said Dan, " Mrs. Marvel has asked me 
 to live in her house, and sleep in Joshua's 
 room." 
 
 " It would be a good thing," observed 
 Susan. 
 
 Dan stole his hand into Ellen's, who had 
 been looking down sadly ; she felt the warm 
 pressure, and her fingers tightened upon 
 his. That little action was as good as 
 words ; they understood each other per- 
 fectly. 
 
 " No," he said, " it would not be a good 
 thing. It was a good thing for IMrs. Mar- 
 vel to offer, but then she is Jo's mother, 
 and as kind and good as Jo is ; but it 
 would not be a good thing for me to accept. 
 For there's Ellen here ; she is half of me, 
 Susey, and we mustn't be parted. But 
 indeed there will be no reason for it. I 
 have a wonderful scheme in my head, but 
 it wants thinking over before I tell it." 
 
 Dan spoke bravely, as if he were a strong 
 man, with all the world to choose from. 
 
 " O Dan ! " exclaimed Susan, tears com- 
 ing to her eyes at his bi*ave confident 
 manner, " if it hadn't been for me you 
 wouldn't have been a cripple, and your 
 poor legs might have been of some use to 
 you." 
 
 " They will be of more use to me per- 
 haps than if they were sound, Susey," said 
 Dan cheerfully, " if I can make something 
 out of the scheme I have got in my head 
 
 — and I think I can. Let us talk sensibly. 
 Now that poor dear mother's gone, we 
 must all do something. I intend to com- 
 mence doing something to-morrow." 
 " What, dear Dan ? " asked Susan. 
 " You will see. What I should like is 
 that we should all live together. Perhapa 
 not just now, Susey, but by and by. What 
 do you say to that, Susey ? " 
 
 Susan thought of Basil and Minnie 
 Kindred, and felt that it would be impossible 
 for her to leave them. " It would be very 
 good," she said, " but we can talk of that 
 by and by, as you say." 
 
 " Very well. The first thing, then, we 
 have to consider is bread-and-butter. 
 Bread-and-butter," he repeated, in reply to 
 their (juestioning looks. " We must have 
 it, and we must earn it." 
 
 Susan nodded gravely, and said, " Ellen 
 had better learn to be a dressmaker." 
 Ellen looked up with joyful gratitude. 
 " Oh, how good of you, Susey 1 " she ex- 
 claimed. " Then I could earn money. I 
 wouldn't mind how hard I should have to 
 work." 
 
 " It is a capital idea," said Dan, taking 
 Susan's hand. " The best thing you can 
 do, Susey, is to bring some of your work 
 here every day for a couple of hours, and 
 let Ellen help you — she will soon learn." 
 
 " That I will," said Ellen in a voice of 
 quiet gladness. 
 
 These young people, you see, were not 
 entirely unhappy. 
 
 " I wonder where Joshua is," remarked 
 Ellen during the evening. 
 
 "Ah, where?" sighed Dan. "But 
 wherever he is, he is doing his duty, and 
 we will do ours. How happy we all were 
 that night at Mr. Meddler's ! What a beau- 
 tiful day that was ! Like a dream ! Hark I 
 There is the church-bell striking nine 
 o'clock." They listened in silence. " That 
 is like a wedding-bell. Now the other 
 church is striking — how solemn it sounds ! 
 — like a funeral-bell." 
 
 The tears came to their eyes when Dan 
 inadvertently made the last remark. 
 
 They did not speak for a long time after 
 that, and then Dan said, — 
 
 "I feel now just as I felt the day after 
 Jo went away." 
 
 They sat up talking until eleven o'clock. 
 They spoke in low tones, and they sat in 
 the dark. 
 
 " Don't you miss mother's step, Dan ? " 
 asked Susan. 
 
 " How strange it is to know that she is 
 not in the house 1 " said Dan. " Hush 1 " 
 
 There was a step outside the door ; it 
 was the drunken step of their father, who 
 stumbled through the passage and up the 
 stairs, shedding tears of Gin as he stag- 
 
DAN ENTERS INTO BUSINESS. 
 
 63 
 
 gored to bed, bemoaning the death of his 
 wife. 'J'hey listened with feelings of griisf 
 and I'ear until they heard his bedroom-door 
 phut, and then turned to eaeh other with 
 deeper tiighs. Shame for the living was 
 more grievous to bear than sorrow for the 
 dead. 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 DAN ENTERS INTO BUSINESS. 
 
 Theik plans were commenced the very 
 next day. Susan came round with her 
 work, and gave Ellen her first lesson in 
 dressmaking. Ellen was as skilful with 
 the needle as Susan was, and made famous 
 progress. A cheerful worker is sure to 
 turn out a skilful one. 
 
 " I have been thinking in the night, El- 
 len," said Susan, " that we might go into 
 partnership." 
 
 " AVait," said Dan the Just, looking up 
 from the table, on which the birds were go- 
 ing through their performances ; " there is 
 time enough to talk of that. I don't in- 
 tend that you shall sacrifice every thing for 
 us." 
 
 '* No sacrifice could be too great for me 
 to make for you, Dan," replied Susan. 
 " But I think that I should have all the ad- 
 vantage, if we were partners. Ellen has 
 such a beautiful figure, that slie would be 
 sure to get customers. Stand up, dear — 
 look at her, Dan 1 " And Susan turned 
 Ellen about, and looked at her pretty sis- 
 ter's pretty figure without a tittle of envy. 
 " If you are a judge of any thing but birds, 
 Dan, you must confess that Ellen is a 
 model." 
 
 Dan smiled and said, " If Ellen wasn't 
 good, 30U would make her vain. Let the 
 partnership question rest for a little while. 
 Go on with your work, and don't talk. I've 
 got somethinij very particular to do." 
 
 Dan, with his birds before him, appeared 
 to be perplexed with some more than usu- 
 ally difficult problem concerning them. 
 There was a curious indecision also in his 
 treatment of them. Now he issued a com- 
 mand, now he countermanded it ; now he 
 ordered a movement, and before it was exe- 
 cuted threw the birds into confusion by 
 giving the signal for something entirely 
 different. Until at length the birds, espe- 
 cially the old stagers, stood looking irreso- 
 lutely at each other, wi'.h the possible 
 thought in their minds (if they have any) 
 that tlieir master had taken a drop too 
 much to drink ; and one young recruit — 
 
 none but a young one and a tomtit, who is 
 notoriously the sauciest of birds, would 
 have dared to do it — advanceil, alone and 
 unsupported, to the edge of the talkie, and 
 looking up in Dan's face, asked what he 
 meant by it. Ilt'called to himself by this 
 act of insurbordination, I>an recovered his 
 usual self-])ossession, and selected two bull- 
 finches, somewhat similar to those which he 
 had given to the Old Sailor. They were 
 young untrained birds, and Dan at once 
 commenced their education. But Pollen re- 
 marked with surprise that he was less ten- 
 der in his manner towards them than 
 towards the other birds. He spoke to 
 them more sternly, and as if the business 
 in which they were engaged was a serious 
 business, with not a particle of nonsense in 
 it. 
 
 " See, Ellen," he said afler some days had 
 passed — " see how clever they are ! They 
 draw up their own food and their own 
 water ; and directly I sound this whistle, 
 they sing ' God save the King.' " 
 
 He blew through the tin whistle, and the 
 birds sang the air through. 
 
 " Now you sound the whistle, Ellen." 
 
 Ellen blew through the whistle, and the 
 birds repeated the air. 
 
 " So you see, Ellen, it doesn't matter who 
 blows the wListle ; the birds begin to sing 
 directly they hear it. Here is another whis- 
 tle — a wooden one, with a different note. 
 Blow that softly." 
 
 Ellen blew, and the bullfinches immedi- 
 ate!}' set to work hauling up water from the 
 well. 
 
 " That is good, isn't it ? " said Dan. 
 "They will obey anybody." 
 
 " But tell me, Dan, why you don't speak 
 to them as kindly as you do to the others ? " 
 
 " Ah, you have noticed it, miss, have you ? 
 I thought you did. Well, then, in the first 
 place, I wanted to teach them by a new sys- 
 tem. I wanted to teach them so that any- 
 body can make them do what I do, if he 
 gives the proper signal ; and I have suc- 
 ceeded, as you see. If I had taught them by 
 my voice, as I have taught the others, they 
 wouldn't have been of use to any one but 
 me. They are such cunning little things, 
 and they have such delicate little ears 1 In 
 the second place, Ellen, I did not want to 
 grow fond of them." 
 
 " Why, Dan dear ? " 
 
 " Because, if I had grown fond of them, it 
 would almost break my heart to part with 
 them. AVho could help loving them, I won- 
 der ? They have been my world, you see, 
 and they are such innocent little "pets. I 
 have grown to love them so, you can't tell. 
 And we know each other's voices, and have 
 made a language of our own, which no one 
 else can understand." 
 
64 
 
 JOSHUA MARVEL. 
 
 He chirruped to them, and called to them 
 in endearing tones ; and all the birds, with 
 the exception of the pair of bullfinches, flut- 
 tered to him, and perched about his shoul- 
 ders and nestled in his breast. The two 
 little bullfinches, standing alone in the 
 centre of the table, looked more surprised 
 than Ibrlorn at the desertion. 
 
 Then Dan said : " This is part of my 
 scheme. I commence business to-day as a 
 bird-merchant. I have trained these two 
 bullfinches to sell. You are'Carning money 
 alread)-, Ellen dear, and yon are a girl. I 
 am not quite a man in years, although I think 
 I am here " — touching his forehead — " and 
 I am not going to let you beat me at money- 
 making." 
 
 He pulled out a paper, on which was writ- 
 ten, iu Roman letters, and neat round hand, 
 
 THIS PAIR OF BULLFINCHES 
 
 FOR SALE. 
 
 They draw up their oicn food and water ; and 
 
 they sing 
 
 " GOD SAVE THE KING," 
 
 And other Tunes, to the Sound of a Whktle. 
 Inquire within o/Dan Taylor. 
 
 " What I propose to do, Ellen, is to put 
 the cage with the bullfinches iu the parlor- 
 window, with this announcement over the 
 cage. Perhaps it will attract the attention 
 of bome one or other, and he will be cu- 
 rious about it, and will come in and make 
 inquiries." 
 
 So the birds were exhibited in the parlor- 
 window, and above their cage was hung the 
 announcement that they were lor sale. The 
 neighbors saw the birds, and there was not 
 a woman for a quarter of a mile around who 
 did not make a pilgrimage to the parlor-win- 
 dow of the Taylors. " Dan is selling his 
 birds," they said, "because of his brute of a 
 father ; " and they shook their heads sorrow- 
 fully, and admired Dan's writing, and said 
 he was quite a scholar. Ellen, working in 
 the parlor, would pause in the midst of her 
 hemming, or stitching, or basting, as the 
 shadow of a passer-by darkened the window, 
 and pray that he would come in and buy the 
 birds. 
 
 The exhibition was a great boon to the 
 dirty little boys and girls in the neighbor- 
 hood, who at first stood in open-mouthed 
 admiration, and would have stood so lor 
 hours, neglectfid of the gutters, if an occa- 
 sional raid against their forces by anxious 
 mothers had not scattered them now and 
 then. Those of the children who could get 
 near enough, would flatten their noses and 
 mouths against the window-panes in the fer- 
 vor of their enthusiasm. The bullfinches, 
 
 looking down from their perch upon the 
 qucerly-distorted features, had the advan- 
 tage of studying htunan nature from an en- 
 tirely novel point of view, and were doubtless 
 interested in the study. For the purpose of 
 attracting the passers-by, Dan, at certain 
 intervals during the day, caused the birds 
 to draw up their water and food ; and those 
 exhibitions were the admiration of the entire 
 neighborhood. 
 
 " I wish some one would come in and 
 ask the price of them," sighed Ellen, wish- 
 ing that she had a f;iiry-wand to turn the 
 sight-gazers into customers. 
 
 Dan only smiled, and bade Ellen have 
 patience. 
 
 In the mean time Mr. Taylor, becom- 
 ing every day more devoted in his wor- 
 ship to his god, fell every day into a worse 
 and worse condition. One evening, Ellen, 
 being tired, went to bed soon after tea, and 
 on that evening Mi-. Taylor happened to 
 come home earlier than usual. There was 
 a reason for it : he had spent all his money, 
 had quite exhausted his credit, and had 
 been turned out of the public-houses. Be- 
 ing less drunk than usual, he was more ill- 
 tempered than usual, and he stumbled into 
 the parlor with the intention of venting his 
 ill-humor upon Ellen. But Ellen was not 
 there. Dan was the only occupant of the 
 room, and he was reading. He raised his 
 eyes, and seeing his father half-drunk, he 
 lowered them to his book again. He was 
 ashamed and grieved. 
 
 " Where is Ellen ? " demanded Mr. Tay- 
 lor. 
 
 " Gone to bed," replied Dan shortly. 
 
 " Why isn't she here to get my supper ? " 
 asked the gin-worshipper irritably. Dan 
 made no reply ; but, although he appeared 
 to be continuing his reading, a quivering of 
 his lips denoted that his attention was not 
 wholly given to his book. " Do you hear 
 me ? " continued Mr. Taylor after a pause, 
 thumping his fist upon the table. " Why 
 isn't she" here to get my supper ? What 
 business has she to go to bed without get- 
 ting my supper ? " 
 
 " She was up at five this morning to do 
 the washing, and has been working all day." 
 
 Dan spoke very c[uietly, and did not look 
 at his lather. 
 
 " Her mother wouldn't have done it," 
 whimpered Mr. Taylor. " Here am I with- 
 out two pence in my pocket, and my very 
 children rebel against me. Is there any 
 thing in the house for supper ? — tell me 
 that." 
 
 " I don't know. I don't think there is." 
 
 " You don't know ! You don't think 
 there is ! " sneered JNIr. Taylor. " You've 
 had yours, I suppose V " 
 
 " No, sir, I have not had any." 
 
DAN ENTEKS INTO BUSINESS. 
 
 65 
 
 " Wliat do you mean by ' sir ' ? " cried 
 Mr. Taylor. furiously. "How dare you 
 call your father ' sir' ? Is that what you 
 learned from your friend Joshua V " 
 
 Dan clasped his hands nervously to- 
 gether ; he was a;^itated and indit;nant, 
 and he did not dare to give expression to 
 his thoughts. 
 
 " Why don't you speak ? " demanded 
 Mr. Taylor with unreasoning anger. 
 " What do you mean by sitting there mock- 
 ing your father ? " 
 
 "" I am not mocking you," said Dan. 
 " And as for speaking, I am too much 
 ashamed to say what I think ; so I had 
 better remain silent." 
 
 " How dare you speak to me in that way ? 
 Haven't I kept you tor years in idleness and 
 luxury V Haven't I provided for you ? 
 And now when I am in bad luck, and 
 haven't sixpence to get a quartern loaf " 
 
 — he meant a quatern of gin, but the loaf 
 was the more dignified way of putting it 
 
 — " my children turn against me." 
 
 " It isn't my fault that you have had to 
 keep me," Dan said quietly. " If I had 
 been like other boys, I should have been 
 glad to work and earn money ; but I am 
 crippled, and never felt that I was unfor- 
 tunate until now. I don't think mother 
 would liave thrown my misfortune in my 
 teeth as you have done." 
 
 Mr. Taylor was too much steeped in gin 
 to feel the reproachful words. He con- 
 tinued to bemoan his hard fate and the in- 
 gratitude of his children. In the midst of 
 his bemoaning he caught sight of an empty 
 cage. An inspii-ation fell upon him. That 
 bird-cage could probably be exchanged for 
 a pint of gin. Present bliss was before 
 him, and the prospect of it made him cun- 
 ning. 
 
 He ordered Dan to bed, and Dan, who 
 could crawl with the aid of his crutches, 
 went, thankful to escape from so painful an 
 interview. When Dan came down the 
 next morning he discovered his loss. He 
 was much grieved ; not so much at the loss 
 of the bird-cage, but at the thought that his 
 other cages and the birds might be appro- 
 priated in like manner. He said notliing 
 of what had occurred, but that night when 
 he went to bed he had all his birds and 
 cages removed to his bedroom, and he 
 locked his door. 
 
 It was midnight when Mr. Taylor came 
 home. Although he was drunk, he crept 
 like a thief into the house. The proceeds 
 of the cage had supplied hira with drink for 
 the day ; and having conscientiously spent 
 every penny, he was in the same impover- 
 ished condition as he had been the previous 
 night. As he could not live without gin, 
 he determined to appropriate another bird- 
 
 cage. What right had Dan to them ? They 
 were his, the father's, who had kept his son 
 in idleness, and who had clothed and shel- 
 tered him. Yet in the midst of his drunk- 
 en muttering he was oppressed with a 
 shamefaced consciousness of the villany of 
 his logic, and it was with difficulty he ob- 
 tained a light from the tinder-box. The 
 poor little rush-light flickered when it was 
 lighted, as if it also were oppressed with 
 shame. 
 
 Unsteadily, and with much stumbling, 
 ]\Ir. Taylor groped his way to Dan's room. 
 Looking around on the walls he discovered, 
 to his dismay and astonishment, that the 
 birds and the cages were gone. His 
 first surprise over, he gave way to pas- 
 sion. The boy had no doubt taken the 
 ca<Tes to his bedroom for fear his father 
 should steal them. How dared Dan sus- 
 pect him ? He would teach Dan a lesson — 
 a lesson that he would not forget. Work- 
 ing himself into a state of maudlin in- 
 dignation, he stumbled up the stairs to 
 Dan's bedroom, and tried the door. It was 
 locked. Here was another proof of his 
 son's ingratitude and want of confidence. 
 What was he to do for gin the next day ? 
 He must have gin ; he could not Uve 
 without it. Ellen's laedroom was next to 
 Dan's. The drunken father turned the 
 handle of the door, and looked in. On the 
 floor were Ellen's boots. He saw gin 
 marked on them, and catching them up, he 
 clutched them to his breast, and slunk 
 guiltily to bed. 
 
 Ellen, rising the next morning, looked 
 about in vain for her boots. She searched 
 for them up stairs and down stairs, wonder- 
 ing what had become of them. The door 
 of her father's room was open, and she en- 
 tered it; but Mr. Taylor, knowing that 
 Ellen was an early riser, had taken care to 
 get out of the house before she was about. 
 When Ellen saw the empty bed, some 
 glimmering of the truth flashed upon her. 
 At first tiie poor girl sat down upon the 
 bed and began to cry ; the loss of her boots 
 was a grievous loss indeed to her. She had 
 no money to buy another pair with ; they 
 were such beautiful boots, too, and fitted 
 her so nicely ! What was she to do ? How 
 it would grieve Dan to know? That 
 thought calmed her. Dan must not know 
 — it°would hurt him too much. She might 
 be able to get an old pair from somebody 
 during the day ; perhaps Susan had an old 
 pair to lend her. Siie dried her eyes and 
 washed them well with cold water, and al- 
 together managed so successfully, that 
 breakfast was over, and she and Dan and 
 the birds were alltogether in the parlor, 
 without Dan ever 'suspecting what had 
 occurred. 
 
66 
 
 JOSHUA MARVEL. 
 
 Those two ctildren sitting there were 
 fully aware that a grave crisis was ap- 
 proaching. Young as they were to bear 
 the weight of serious trouble, they bore it 
 «heerfully, and strove in their humble way 
 to fight with the world and with the hard 
 circumstances of their lives. Dan, cripple 
 as he was, had much hope ; and often when 
 he was thinking over certain schemes which 
 had been suggested by the stern necessity 
 of his condition, a quaint smile would play 
 upon his lips, and a humorous light would 
 shine in his eyes. Ellen, looking up from 
 her work, would sometimes see that smile, 
 which, for all its quaintness, had a shade 
 of thoughtfulness in it ; and on her lips, 
 too, a pleasant smile would wreathe in 
 sympathy. They were very tender towards 
 each other; and their love made them 
 strong. 
 
 Ellen, busy with her needle, sat close to 
 the table, so that Dan should not catch a 
 glimpse of her shoeless feet. Dan was 
 industriously at work training two birds, 
 Avhich were to replace those in the window 
 when they were sold. 
 
 The education of this second pair of 
 birds was almost completed, and Dan said 
 as much to Ellen. He had taught them 
 diiferent tricks, and had fitted two ladders 
 in the cage, up and down which they 
 hopped, keeping time, step for step. 
 
 " But will they ever be sold ? " exclaimed 
 Ellen almost despairingly. 
 
 " It is a long time before we make a 
 commencement," said Dan. " There's 
 Susan." 
 
 When Susan entered, she examined the 
 dress which Ellen was making, and sud- 
 denly exclaimed, — 
 
 " ^Vlly, Ellen, where are your boots ? " 
 
 Dan looked up quickly, and then direct- 
 ed his eyes to Ellen's feet. Poor Ellen 
 stammered a good deal, and striving to 
 hide the truth from Dan, got into a sad 
 bewilderment of words. 
 
 "Nay, but, Ellen," interposed Dan in a 
 grave voice, " you don't mean to say that 
 you have been sitting all the morning 
 without your boots ? " 
 
 " Yes, I have," said Ellen, compelled to 
 confess. 
 
 I " But why, my dear? " 
 i " When 1 got up this morning, I looked 
 for them, and could not find them. Perhaps 
 J can find them now." And Ellen ran 
 out of the room ; but she soon returned, 
 shaking her head, and saying, "No, 
 tliey're gone. Never mind; it can't be 
 helped." 
 
 " You really don't know what has become 
 of them? " 
 
 " No, Dan." 
 
 ■ "JDid you see father last night ? " 
 
 Ellen shook her head. 
 
 " Nor this morning ? " 
 
 Ellen shook her head again. 
 
 " I can't quite see what is to be the end 
 oY all this," said Dan sadly. "It is almost 
 too dreadful to think of. Father must have 
 taken your boots, Ellen dear. The night 
 before last he took a bird-cage ; that was 
 the reason I had all my birds in my bed- 
 room last night. It is very, very dreadful. 
 Poor dear mother ! Poor dear Joshua ! I 
 do wish you were here now to advise us 
 what to do ! " 
 
 And the three children then drew closer 
 together, and strove to comfort each 
 other. 
 
 " Dry your eyes, Ellen," said Dan stout- 
 ly ; " brighter days will come. Susan, have 
 you a pair of old boots that you can lend 
 to Ellen ? " 
 
 Susan ran out of the house and returned 
 with a pair of boots which she had bought 
 at a second-hand clothes-shop, and which 
 Ellen was very thankful for, although they 
 were much too large for her. 
 
 Mr. Taylor came home at midnight in a 
 state of drunken delirium. He had drunk 
 deeply — so deeply, that when he slammed 
 the street-door behind him, he found him- 
 self in the midst of a thousand mocking 
 eyes, growing upon him and blasting him 
 with their hideous looks ; and as he groped 
 his way in terror up the dark stairs, a thou- 
 sand misshapen hands strove to bar his 
 progress. They fastened on him and clung 
 to him ; and the faster his trembling hands 
 beat them down and tore them away, the 
 more thickly they multiplied. So, fighting 
 and suffering and groaning in his agony, 
 the drunkard staggered to his room, and 
 Dan and Ellen shuddered as they lay and 
 listened. Well for them that they could 
 not see as well as hear ; well for them that 
 they could not see him pick the crawling 
 things (existing only in his imagination) 
 off his bed-clothes and throw them olT with 
 loathing ; that they could not see him, 
 bathed in perspiration, writhing in his bed 
 and fighting with his punishment. He could 
 not endure it. It was too horrible to 
 bear. 
 
 The room was full of creeping shapes, 
 visible in the midst of the darkness. He 
 would go out into the streets, into the light, 
 where they could not follow him. Where 
 was the door ? He felt about the walls for 
 it. It was gone ; he was closed in, im- 
 prisoned with his teiTors. He beat about 
 with his hands deliriously. The window 1 
 ah, they had not closed that ! He dashed 
 at the panes, and tearing open the case- 
 ment with his bleeding fingers, fell from a 
 height of twenty feet, and met a drunkard's 
 death. 
 
DAN DECLAKES IT IS LIKE A ROMANCE. 
 
 67 
 
 CHAPTER XIIL 
 
 DAN DECLARES THAT IT IS LIKE A 
 ROMANCE. 
 
 The old gentleman with the hour-glass 
 who never sleeps does not look a day older, 
 and yet four seasons have played their 
 parts and have passed away. The white 
 hairs in George Marvel's head are multi- 
 plying fast, and he grumbles at them as 
 usual, but has given up the task of jiulling 
 them out. Great changes have taken 
 place among Joshua's friends; and Dan, 
 lookirig up from his work, remarks some- 
 times that it is almost like a romance. 
 Judge if it is. 
 
 When Mr. Taylor was buried — when 
 the shame of his death was forgotten and 
 only sorrow for it remained — the children 
 found themselves in one of those social 
 difBculties from which many wiser persons 
 than they are unable to extricate them- 
 selves. For the first three or four weeks 
 after their father's death, Mrs. Marvel and 
 Susan had between them managed to de- 
 fray the small expenses of the house ; but 
 the tax was heavy — too heavy for them to 
 continue to bear. One day, however, un- 
 expected help came. George Marvel, in 
 his quiet way, had conceived a great idea, 
 and in his quiet way had carried it out. Here 
 were these two children thrown upon the 
 world. Not children exactly perhaps, for 
 they were nearly seventeen years of apce ; 
 but one was a cripple, and the other was a 
 girl. Tliey had been good children, and 
 their character stood high in the neighbor- 
 hood. Who ought to assist them V The 
 neighbors. Some one must take it in hand, 
 and why not he as well as any other per- 
 son ? No sooner had he made up his mind 
 than he set to work. He went round to 
 the neighbors personally, and told them 
 what his errand was. Poor as they were, 
 they gave their mites cheerfully, with 
 scarcely an exception. AVhen he had 
 made the round of the neighbors, he went 
 to the workshops, and the men there gave 
 their penny each, and the boys their half- 
 pence ; and so swelled the total. His own 
 employers and fellow-workmen were more 
 liberal than any. He did not forget his 
 tradesmen, his butcher and baker and gro- 
 cer. They all gave ; and the result was 
 that, at the end of the three weeks during 
 which he had been employed in his self- 
 imposed task, he had a sum of not less 
 than twelve pounds four shillings in his 
 possession, to hand over to Dan and Ellen 
 to assist them through their trouble. The 
 night he made up his accounts, he told 
 his wife what he had done, and she blessed 
 him for it, and was silently and devoutly 
 
 grateful that Providence had given her a 
 husband with such a heart. 
 
 The following evening George Marvel 
 visited the children, with his bag of money 
 in his coat-tail pocket. Ellen was at work, 
 and although she looked pale in her black 
 dress, she looked very pretty. The good- 
 ness of the heart always shows itself in 
 the face. 
 
 Now Dan had been thinking all day, and 
 indeed for many previous days, that he 
 ought to consult some mature person as to 
 what he was to do. You must understand 
 that Dan, notwithstanding that lie was so 
 much younger than Susan, considered him- 
 self the head of the family. He had his 
 plans, but he wanted advice concerning 
 them. Up to the present time, liis busi- 
 ness in trained birds had not flourished. 
 It could not be said to have commenced, 
 for he had not sold a bird. He had de- 
 cided Mr. Marvel would be a proper person 
 to ask advice of, and by good luck here 
 Mr. Marvel was. 
 
 " Have you a few minutes to spare, sir ? " 
 " Yes, surely, Dan," replied Mr. Marvel. 
 " I want to take your advice, sir," com- 
 menced Dan after a slight hesitation. " Yoa 
 know how we are situated, and how sud- 
 denly our misfortunes have come upon us. 
 Well, sir, we must live ; we must have 
 bread-and-butter. Now the only scape- 
 grace out of the lot of us is me — don't 
 interrupt me, Ellen, nor you, sir, please. 
 Susan is earning her bread-and-butter and 
 something more. Ellen is earning enough 
 to keep her ; and I am the only idle one of 
 all of us, and I am the only one who is 
 eating bread-and-butter and is not earning 
 it." 
 
 " But, Dan." interposed George Marvel. 
 " No, sir, please ; let me go on. 1 have 
 been eating the bread of idleness all my 
 life, and I am eating it now. It isn't right 
 that I should do so. I ought to earn my 
 own living. But how ? 1 am not like other 
 boys, and cannot do what other boys can 
 do. One thing is certain : I can't let Ellen 
 work for me, and it would break my heart 
 to part from her ; and she would feel it quite 
 as much as I should. — Yes, Ellen, keep 
 your arm round my neck, but don't speak. 
 — I tried to earn money, you know that. 
 I trained some birds, and put them in the 
 window, thinking that some one would buy 
 them. But no one has. I havn't earned 
 a penny-piece, and every bit of bread I 
 put into my mouth has been 2)aid for by Su- 
 san and Ellen." 
 
 Notwithstanding his eagerness, his tears 
 choked him here, and he was compelled to 
 pause before he resumed. In the mean 
 time, obedient to his wish, neither Ellea 
 nor All-. Marvel spoke. 
 
68 
 
 JOSHUA MAKVEL. 
 
 " Now, sir, this is my idea. I have got 
 now twenty-two birds ; tliey can do all sorts 
 of tricks : they can whistle tunes ; they can 
 climb up ladders ; some of them can march 
 like soldiers and can let off guns ; some of 
 them can draw carts. Would it be con- 
 sidered begging, if I, a lame boy, who have 
 no other way of getting bread-and-butter, 
 made an exliibition of these birds, and got 
 some one to wheel me about the streets, 
 and stop now and then so that I might put 
 the birds through their tricks ? I shouldn't 
 be ashamed to accept what kind persons 
 might give me, or might drop into a little 
 box which I would take care to have han- 
 dy. I wouldn't do it in this neighborhood. 
 I would go a long way oiF — three or four 
 miles perhaps — into the rich parts of Lon- 
 don, where people could better afford to 
 give. But would it be considered begging ? 
 That is what 1 want to ask your advice 
 upon, sir." 
 
 George Marvel's breath was completely 
 taken away. The enthusiastic manner in 
 which Dan had spoken, no less than his 
 admiration of the proposed scheme, had 
 caused him to forget liis errand for the time. 
 " Wait a minute," he said somewhat excit- 
 edly, " I must think ; I must walk about a 
 bit." But no sooner had he risen than the 
 weight of the money in his coat-tail pocket 
 brought him to his sober senses, and he sat 
 down again. 
 
 " Dan," he said, taking the lad's hand 
 affectionately in his, " you are a good boy, 
 and I am glad that you are Joshua's friend. 
 I will answer your question and give you 
 my advice, as you ask it. In any other 
 case than yours I think it would be beg- 
 ging ; but I don't think it would be in yours." 
 
 " Thank you, sir," said Dan gratefully. 
 
 " Mind, I think even in your case it would 
 not be exactly what I should approve of, 
 if you had any other way of getting a liv- 
 ing." 
 
 " You think as I do, sir ; but I have tried, 
 as you see, and I have not succeeded." 
 
 •' Try a little longer, Dan." 
 
 " How about next week's rent, sir ? " 
 
 " You can pay it," replied George Mar- 
 vel, " and many more weeks' besides. I 
 have a present for you in my pocket ; " 
 and he pulled out the bag of money and 
 put it on the table. " In this bag is twelve 
 pounds four shillings, which your friends — 
 yours and your sisters' — have clubbed to- 
 gether for you, and that is what brought 
 me here to-night." 
 
 '• O sir ! " cried Dan, covering his face 
 with his hands. 
 
 " This money has been got together be- 
 cause all of us round about here love you. 
 I sha'n't give it to you all at once. You 
 shall have it so much every week ; and I 
 
 should advise you — as you ask for my ad- 
 vice — to continue training birds for sale 
 and putting them in your window. Try a 
 little while longer. A customer may come 
 at any minute. And one customer is sure 
 to bring another." 
 
 " How can I thank you and all the good 
 people, sir ? " said Dan, with a full heart. 
 
 " Never mind that now," said George 
 Marvel. 
 
 If he had known that it would have been 
 so difficult and painful a task, it is not un- 
 likely he would have remitted it to his wife 
 to accomplish. Pi-e tending to be in a great 
 hurry, he rose to go, and, pressing Dan's 
 hand and kissing Ellen, went home to his 
 wife and told her of Dan's wonderful idea. 
 
 Ellen and Dan were very happy the next 
 morning, and set about their work cheer- 
 fully and hopefully. Dan wrote a new an- 
 nouncement concerning the birds, and the 
 windows were cleaned, and presented a 
 regular holiday appearance. In the midst 
 of his work, Dan, looking up, saw a face 
 at the window that he recognized. It was 
 that of a young man who had been in the 
 habit of looking in at the window near- 
 ly every day for the last week, and of whom 
 Dan had observed more than once, that 
 he looked like a customer. 
 
 " There he is again, Ellen," said Dan ; 
 " the same man. Why doesn't he come in 
 and ask the price of them ? " 
 
 He had no sooner spoken the words than 
 the man's face disappeared from the window, 
 and a knock came at the street-door. 
 
 " Run and open the door, Ellen. I 
 shouldn't wonder if he has made up his 
 mind at last." Dan's heart beat loud with 
 excitement. " How much shall I ask for 
 them ? " he thought. " Oh, if he buys a 
 couple of them, how happy I shall be 1 " 
 
 The parlor-door opened, and the man 
 entered ; decidedly good-looking, dark, with 
 a fresh color in his face, and with black 
 hair curling naturally. The first impres- 
 sion was favorable, and Dan nodded ap- 
 provingly to himself. The man had curi- 
 ously fiat feet, which, when he walked, 
 seemed to do all the work without any as- 
 sistance from his legs ; and although his 
 eyes were keen and bright, they did not 
 look long at one object, but shifted restless- 
 ly, as if seeking a hiding-place where they 
 could retire from public gaze. 
 
 " I have been attracted by the birds in 
 the window," he said, coming at once to 
 to the point, much to Dan's satisfaction. 
 " Can they really perform what the paper 
 says ? Can they really sing ' God save the 
 King,' and draw up their own food and 
 water ? " 
 
 " They can do all that, sir ; but you shall 
 see for yourself. — Ellen I Where is El- 
 
DAN DECLARES IT IS LIKE A ROMANCE. 
 
 69 
 
 len ? " Dan called ; for he Tvantcd her to 
 assist him, and she had not followed the 
 Btrano;er into the room. 
 
 " Ah, Ellen," said the stranger, dwelling 
 on the name. " Is that the young lady 
 who opened the door for me ? " 
 
 " Yes, sir. — Ellen ! " Dan called again. 
 
 " Allow me," said the stranger ; and he 
 went to the door, and called in tones which 
 slipped from his throat as if it was oiled, 
 " Ellen I Ellen ! " Then he turned to Dan, 
 and questioned : " Your sister ? " 
 
 " Y''es, sir." 
 
 " Ah," said the man greasily, " she is ex- 
 tremely like you. Allow me. I will bring 
 the cage to the table." 
 
 He brought the cage from the window, 
 and placed it before Dan. At that moment 
 Ellen entered the room. The man's eyes 
 wandered all over her as she took her seat 
 at the table. She did not return his gaze, 
 but bent her head modestly to her work. 
 
 " Y'^our sister's name is Ellen," he said, 
 *' and yours ? " 
 
 " Daniel," said Dan ; " Daniel Taylor." 
 
 " Daniel ; a scriptural name. Mine is 
 also a Scriptural name : Solomon, Solomon 
 Fewster. Solomon was a wise man ; I 
 hope I take after him." 
 
 " I hope so, I am siu-e, sir," said Dan 
 somewhat impatiently ; for he was anxious 
 to get to business. " Now, sir, if you will 
 please to look and listen." 
 
 He blew through the tin whistle ; and 
 the bullfinches piped " God save the King." 
 
 " Very pretty, very pretty," said Solomon 
 Fewster, nodding his head to the music. 
 " And you taught them yourself? " 
 
 " Y''es, sir. But it isn't as if they will 
 only sing for me ; they will sing for you, or 
 for Ellen, or for any one who blows the 
 ■whistle." 
 
 "And they will sing for Ellen if she 
 breathes into the whistle ? " said Solomon 
 Fewster. " Will Ellen breathe into the 
 whistle with her pretty red lips ? Allow 
 me." 
 
 He took the whistle from Dan and handed 
 it to Ellen ; and she reluctantly gave the 
 signal to the birds, who willingly obeyed it. 
 ^Ir. Fewster took the whistle trom her and 
 blew ; and the birds for the third time piped 
 the air. Then Dan directed his attention 
 to the wooden whistle, and to the wonders 
 performed by the birds at its dictation. 
 Nothing would j)lease Mr. Fewster but that 
 Ellen should place the wooden whistle be- 
 tween her " pretty red lips," as he called them 
 again, and " breathe into it." He said that 
 " breathe " was more appropriate to Ellen's 
 pretty lips than " blow." He, using the 
 whistle after her, cast upon her such admir- 
 ing looks, that he really made her uncom- 
 fortable. The performance being over. 
 
 Dan gazed at Mr. Fewster with undisguised 
 anxiety. He had intended to be very cun- 
 ning, and to appear as if he did not care 
 whether he sold the birds or not ; but the 
 efibrt was unsviccessful. 
 
 " Well, well," said Mr. Fewster ; " and 
 they are really for sale V Poor little things ! 
 I asked the price of bullfinches yesterday 
 at a bird-fancier's, and the man olfered to 
 sell them for four pence each. Not that 
 these are not worth a little more. There 
 is the trouble of training them ; of course 
 that is worth a trifle. Still bullfinches are 
 bullfinches all the world over ; and bull- 
 finches, I believe, are very plentiful just 
 now — quite a glut of them in the market." 
 He paused, to allow this information to set- 
 tle in Dan's mind, before he asked, " Now 
 what do you want a pair for these V " 
 
 " What do you think they are worth, 
 sir ? " asked Dan, much depressed by Mr. 
 Fewster's mode of bargaining. 
 
 " No, no, Daniel Taylor," said Mr. Few- 
 ster, in a bantering tone, " I am too old a 
 bird for that ; not to be caught. Remember 
 my namesake. Y'^ou couldn't have caught 
 him, you know ; even the Queen of Sheba 
 couldn't catch him. I can't be buyer and 
 seller too. Put your price upon the birds ; 
 and I will tell you if they suit rae." 
 
 " Y'^ou see, sir," said Dan frankly, " you 
 puzzle me. The training of these birds has 
 taken me a long time. You would be sur- 
 prised if you knew how patient I have to be 
 with them. And you puzzle me when you 
 make so light a thing of my teaching, and 
 when you tell me that bullfinches are a glut 
 in the market. If the bullfinches you can 
 get in the market will suit you, sir, why do 
 you not buy them ? " 
 
 " Well put, Daniel, well put," said Mr. 
 Fewster good-humoredly. " Still, you must 
 fix a price on them, you know. How much 
 shall we say ? " 
 
 " Fifteen shillings the pair," said Dan 
 boldly. 
 
 ]Mr. Fewster gave a long whistle, and 
 threw himself into an attitude of surprise. 
 Dan shifted in his seat uneasily. 
 
 " A long price," said Mr. Fewster, when 
 he had recovered himself; " a very long 
 price." 
 
 " I couldn't take less, sir," said Dan- 
 
 " Not ten shillings ? Couldn't you take 
 ten shillings ? " suggested Mr. Fewster, 
 throwing his head on one side insinuat- 
 ingly. 
 
 There was something almost imploring 
 in the expression on Dan's face as he 
 said, — 
 
 "No, sir, I don't think I could. You 
 haven't any idea what a time they have 
 taken me to train. I hoped to get more for 
 them," 
 
70 
 
 JOSHUA MAEVEL. 
 
 " I tell you what," said Mr. Fewster, witb 
 sudden animation. " Ellen shall decide with 
 her pretty red lips. What do you say, 
 Ellen? Shall I give fifteen shillings for 
 them?" 
 
 " They are worth it, I am sure, sir," said 
 Ellen timidly. 
 
 " That settles it," said Mr. Fewster gal- 
 lantly. " Here is the money." 
 
 And laying the money on the table, Mr. 
 Fewster took the cage, and shaking hands 
 with Dan, and pressing Ellen''s fingers ten- 
 derly, bade them good-morning. 
 
 Dan's delight may be imagined. It was 
 intensified a tew day's afterwards, when Mr. 
 Fewster called again, and bought another 
 pair of birds ; Mr. Fewster at the same time 
 informed Dan that it was likely he might 
 become a constant customer; and so he 
 proved to be. 
 
 In the course of a short time, Dan found 
 himself in receipt of a regular income. 
 Other customers came, but Dan could not 
 supply them all, as Mr. Fewster bought the 
 birds almost as soon as they were trained. 
 Very soon Dan thought himself justified in 
 making a proposal to Susan. The proposal 
 was that they should all live together in 
 the house where Dan carried on his busi- 
 ness. The only obstacle to the carrying 
 out of the arrangement was Susan's deter- 
 mination not to leave Basil and Minnie 
 Kindreil. But why should not Basil Kin- 
 dred and his daughter come as well ? asked 
 Dan ; there was plenty of room for them, 
 and it would be such company. And after 
 the lapse of a little time, the result that Dan 
 wished for was accompUshed, and Basil and 
 Minnie and Susan were living with them. 
 They were a very happy family. The par- 
 lor-window had been altered to allow more 
 space for the bird-cages ; and Dan, looking 
 around sometimes upon the group of happy 
 faces, would remark that it was almost like 
 a romance. 
 
 And so indeed it was, notwithstanding 
 that the scene was laid in the humblest of 
 humble localities. 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 THE STRANGE COURSES OF LOVE. 
 
 Perhaps one of the most absurd ques- 
 tions that could be put to a person would 
 be to ask him how old he was when he was 
 born. Yet the little old-men's faces pos- 
 sessed by some babies might furnish an ex- 
 cuse for 'such a question. The shrewd look, 
 the cunning twinkle, the pinched nose, the 
 
 peaked chin, the very wrinkles — you see 
 them all, though the child be but a few 
 weeks old. All the signs of worldly cun- 
 ning and worldly wisdom are there, ready 
 made, unbought by worldly experience ; 
 and as you look at them and wonder how 
 old the little child-man really is, the object 
 of your curiosity returns your look with 
 scarcely less speculation in his eye than you 
 have in yours. You are conscious that you 
 are no match, except in physical strength, 
 for the little fellow lying in his mother's 
 lap or sprawling in his cradle ; and a curi- 
 ous compound of pity and humiliation al- 
 flicts you in consequence. 
 
 Some such a child as this was Solomon 
 Fewster before he attained to the dignity 
 of boyhood ; his parents and their friends 
 agreed in declaring that he was a cunning 
 little fellow, a knowing little fellow ; they 
 would poke their fingers in the fat creases 
 of his neck, and would sportively say, " Oh, 
 you cunning little rogue ! " " You knowing 
 little rogue ! " and he would crow and 
 laugh, and endeavor to utter the words 
 after them. He was so accustomed to the 
 phrase, and grew to be so fond of it, that 
 when he was old enough to understand its 
 meaning, his chief desire seemed to be to 
 prove himself worthy of it. It falls to the 
 lot of but very few of us to compass our 
 desires. Solomon Fewster was one of the 
 fortunate exceptions. He was dubbed a 
 cunning little rogue, before he knew what 
 such praise meant ; and (could it be that 
 he was unwilling to trade under false pre- 
 tences ?) when he did know, he educated 
 himself to deserve it, and succeeded. A 
 small percentage of the old-men babies 
 retain their old-men's looks as they grow 
 to boyhood; specimens of these can be 
 seen any day in our courts and alleys. 
 This was not the case with Solomon Fews- 
 ter ; as he grew, the old-man's look faded 
 from his face, and the spirit of " a cunning 
 little rogue " took root in his heart, and 
 flourished there. His parents dying when 
 he was a child, he was left to the charge of 
 a bachelor uncle, an undertaker by trade, 
 who adopted and educated him. When 
 he was taken from school — where he was 
 the cunniugest boy of them all — he was 
 initiated into the mysteries of the undertak- 
 ing business, and when he was of age he 
 was intrusted with a responsible position, 
 and his uncle made a will leaving every 
 thing to him. He proved himself an inval- 
 uable ally ; was grieved to the heart at the 
 losses sustained by his uncle's customers ; 
 wept when he assisted at measurements ; 
 was broken-hearted when the clay was 
 taken from the house ; and sobbed with aa 
 almost utter prostration of spirit when he 
 receipted the account, and signed Payment 
 
THE STRANGE COURSES OF LOVE. 
 
 71 
 
 in Full. He entered heart and soul into 
 the business, and thoroughly enjoyed it. 
 Whether it was because he looked upon 
 himself as the future master of the estab- 
 lishment, or because it was congenial to his 
 nature, he strove by every means in his 
 power to extend the connection ; and being 
 as acute and sensible as a man of double 
 his age, his efforts were successful and the 
 business ilourished. Death was most obli- 
 ging to him, and waited and fawned upon 
 him at every step he took. If his sjiirits 
 became depressed because trade was slack, 
 a fortunate epidemic restored him to his 
 usual cheerfulness, and orders poui'ed in ; 
 and it is no disparagement of him, as an 
 undertaker, to state that he buried his 
 friends and acquaintances with melancholy 
 satisfaction. When he was twenty-three 
 years of age his uncle died. lie paid the 
 old gentleman every possible mark of re- 
 spect : had the coffin lined with white satin ; 
 wept till his face was puffed ; entered the ex- 
 pense of the funeral in the ledger to the debit 
 of the deceased, and wiped off the amount at 
 once as a bad debt. Then he set to work 
 vigorously upon his own account. He had 
 his name painted over the door, and issued 
 circulars to every house for miles round. 
 In those circulars he announced that he un- 
 dertook and conducted funerals cheaper 
 than any other undertaker in London ; said 
 that one trial would prove the fact ; and 
 respectfully soUcited the patronage of his 
 friends and the public. His appeal was 
 successful ; his trade increased ; and Solo- 
 mon Fewster was generally spoken of as a 
 man on the high-road to prosperity. 
 
 When Solomon Fewster first saw Ellen, 
 she was seventeen years of age, and he was 
 seized with a sudden admiration for her 
 pretty face and graceful figui-e. He had 
 never seen a girl so winsome ; and when 
 they met again, he followed her admiringly 
 to her home, and saw the exhibition of 
 the bullfinches in Dan's window. Here 
 was an opportunity to stare at her ; and he 
 enjoyed the cheap pleasure again and 
 again until Dan noticed his face at the 
 window. Then a happy thought entered 
 Mr. Fewster's niiud. The birds certainly 
 were wonderfully intelligent, and their 
 clever tricks would most likely render them 
 easy of disposal. He entered into commu- 
 nication with a West-end fashionable bird- 
 fancier — the farther away from Dan the 
 better, he thought — and the bird-fancier 
 (who had a connection among fine ladies) 
 informed him that if the birds could really 
 do all that he stated, a profitable trade 
 might be established between them. 
 " What a fine opportunity," thought Solo- 
 mon Fewster, " of introducing myself to 
 the pretty girl in the light of a benefac- 
 
 tor ! " Then came the first interview and 
 the first purchase. The pair of bullfinches 
 he bought for fifteen shillings he sold for 
 thirty ; and the following week the fashion- 
 able bird-fancier asked for more. Thus it 
 was that Solomon Fewster made his grow- 
 ing passion for Ellen a means of putting 
 money in his purse ; and thus it was that 
 he came to be looked upon as a privilegod 
 visitor to the house. 
 
 The Old Sailor also found his way to the 
 house. He was not as frequent a visitor as 
 Mr. Fewster, but he was a more welcome 
 one. The Old Sailor might have been a 
 child, his heart was so green ; and he had 
 such a fund of stories to tell, and he told 
 them with such simplicity and enthusiasm, 
 believing in them thoroughly, however 
 wild they were, that his hearers would 
 hang upon his words, and laugh with 
 him, and sorrow with him according 
 to the nature of his narrative. They 
 spent the pleasantest of jjleasant evenings 
 together, and when Praiseworthy Meddler 
 told his sea-stories, IVIinnie would sit very 
 quiet on the floor — a favorite fashion of 
 hers — listening eagerly to every word that 
 dropped from his lips. Then Basil Kin- 
 dred would read Shakspeare when he 
 could be coaxed into the humor, and would 
 keep them spell-bound by his eloquence. 
 He had ceased wandering in the streets 
 and begging for his living. Necessity was 
 his master there. He was stricken down 
 with I'heumatic fever, which so prostrated 
 him that he was unable to pursue his va- 
 grant career. They had a very hard task in 
 inducing him to remain with them. 
 
 " Live upon you, my dear lad ! " he ex- 
 claimed loftily. " No ; I will perish first ! " 
 
 " There is enough for all, sir," replied 
 Dan. " Do not go. I would take from you 
 
 — indeed, indeed I would ! — could we 
 change places. And there is Minnie, sir," 
 
 — with such a wistful tender glance 
 towards Minnie, who was growing very 
 beautiful, — "what would she do? But 
 not for her nor for you do I ask this, sir. 
 It is for me ; for Ellen and Susan and 
 Joshua. How happy he will be to find 
 you here when he returns ! You and Min- 
 nie, that he talked of so often, and with 
 such affection ! Then think, sir. You 
 would not like to be the means of breaking 
 up our little happy circle ; and it is happy, 
 isn't it, Minnie ? " 
 
 " Ah, yes, Dan ! " replied Minnie, with an 
 anxious look at her father. " Only one is 
 wanting to make it perfect." 
 
 " And that one is Joshua," said Dan, di- 
 vining whom she meant, and grateful to 
 her for the thought. 
 
 " And that one is Joshua," she repeated 
 softly, placing her shell to his ear. " Do 
 
72 
 
 JOSHUA MARVEL. 
 
 you hear it ? Is it not sweet, the singing 
 of the sea ? " 
 
 But all argument and entreaty would 
 have been thrown away upon Basil if it 
 had not been for Minnie. It was she who, 
 when they were alone, prevailed upon him 
 to stay. 
 
 " Your mother suffered for me and died 
 for me," he said to her, as he lay upon his 
 bed of pain. " How like her you are grow- 
 ing, Minnie! Well, well, one is enough. I 
 will stay, child, for your sake." 
 
 And she kissed him and thanked him, 
 and whispered that he had made her 
 happy. 
 
 The next day she told Dan in a whisper 
 that lather was not going away ; and Dan 
 clapped his hands, and quietly said, 
 " Bravo ! " 
 
 " And Joshua used to speak about us ? " 
 she remarked, with assumed carelessness. 
 
 " Often and often, Minnie," answered 
 Dan. 
 
 " And really speak of us affectionately ? " 
 " Ah ! if you had only heard him I You 
 know what a voice he has — like music." 
 
 A sudden flush in her face, a rapid beat- 
 ing at her heart, a rush of teai's to her 
 eyes. None of which did Dan notice, for 
 her eyes were towards the ground. A little 
 while afterwards she was singing about the 
 house as blithe as a bird. Dan, stopping 
 in the midst of his work, listened to the 
 soft rustle of her dress in the passage, and 
 to her soft singing as she went up the 
 stairs; and a grateful look stole into his 
 eyes. 
 
 " Not to hear that ! " he said. " Ah, it 
 would be worse than death ! But she is 
 going to stay, birdie," nodding gayly to one 
 of his pets ; " she is going to stay ! " 
 
 Dan told Minnie of the pretty f mcies he 
 had in connection with his friend ; of the 
 manner in which his love had grown, until 
 it was welded in his heart for ever and 
 ever; of Joshua's care and self-devotion 
 towards him, the poor useless cripple. He 
 told her of his fancy about the dream- 
 theory, and how he had believed in it, and 
 of the experiments he had made. And 
 Minnie listened with delight, and sympa- 
 thized with Dan — ay, and shed tears with 
 him — and showed in every word she ut- 
 tered how thoroughly she understood his 
 feelings. 
 
 " I have dreamed of him over and over 
 again," said Dan ; " but of course I don't 
 know, and indeed I can't believe, that I 
 have dreamed of him as he is. He is a man 
 by this time, Minnie ; and — let me see I — 
 he is standing on his ship, with his bright 
 eyes and handsome face " — 
 
 "Yes! " interrupted Minnie eagerly. 
 " Made brighter and handsomer by Uving 
 
 on the open sea and away from narrow 
 streets. I can see the spray dashing up 
 into his eyes, and he shaking it off laugh- 
 ing the while." 
 " Yes, yes I " said Minnie enthusiastically. 
 " You can see him too, Minnie. 1 feel 
 that you can. Is he not handsome and 
 brave ? I can hear him say, as he looks 
 round upon the grand sea and up at the 
 beautiful clouds, — I can hear him say, 
 'Dan is here with me, although I cannot 
 see him.' He has me in his heart, as I 
 
 have him. It was a compact. We were to 
 be always together, and we are. Dear Jo ! " 
 He paused a while, and Minnie, her hands 
 clasped in her lap, gazed before her, and 
 saw the picture painted by Dan's words. 
 Many such conversations they had, and the 
 theme was always the same. 
 
 Shortly after the death of Mr. Taylor 
 the Old Sailor came to see the children. 
 He did not know of the loss they had sus- 
 tained ; and when he heard that iDoth father 
 and mother were dead, he was much grieved. 
 The news so disconcerted him that he rose 
 to go three or four times, and each time 
 sat down again, as if he had something on 
 his mhid he wished to get rid of first. As 
 a proof that he was mentally disturbed, he 
 dabbed his fiice more frequently than usual 
 with his blue-cotton pocket-handkerchief, 
 folding it up carefully before he put it in 
 the breast of his shirt, as if he were folding 
 up his secret in it, and afterwards taking it 
 out and unfolding it, as if he had made up 
 his mind at last to disclose what that secret 
 was. When he found courage to speak, 
 Dan learned that the bullfinches which 
 Joshua and he had presented to the Old 
 Sailor were dead. 
 
 " Died yesterday morning, my lad," said 
 the Old Sailor; " died just as we were be- 
 o;inning to understand each other. Sailor 
 birds they were, and they could climb ropes 
 as well as any bird in the service." 
 
 " I am sorry they are dead, sir," said Dan ; 
 " but I can give you another pair." 
 
 " No, Dan, no. I'll not have any more; 
 they wouldn't be safe." 
 
 " Not safe ? " 
 
 " There was a mutineer in the crew, mj 
 lad," said the Old Sailor, dropping his 
 voice. " It comes awkward for me to tell 
 you ; but you ought to know — and duty 
 before every thing. The pretty birds were 
 poisoned." 
 
 "Who could have been so cruel as to 
 poison the innocent creatures?" asked 
 Dan sorrowfully. 
 
 " That damned copper-colored son of a 
 thief who cooked for me 1 " replied the Old 
 Sailor excitedly. " You saw him when you 
 were on my ship. He had rings in his 
 ears." 
 
THE STRANGE COURSES OF LOVE. 
 
 73 
 
 "I remember. He was a Lascar, you 
 told us." 
 
 " The treacherous doo; I " exclaimed the 
 Old Sailor wrathf'ully, dabbini; his face. 
 " But I did what was right to him. I 
 flogged him with a rope's end till he couldn't 
 stand." 
 
 " He knew that Joshua gave you the birds, 
 sir ? " 
 
 " Ay, he knew it. To tell you the truth, 
 my lad, I christened the birds Josh and Dan, 
 and used to call them by their names. They 
 were as sensible as human beings, and I 
 gave them decent burial. 1 sewed them in 
 canvas, and weighted it with shot, and 
 slipped it ofl" a plank. I'll not have any 
 more of them, Dan. That lubberly thief 
 would crawl on boai-d one night and murder 
 them too. No, no, my lad ; no more birds 
 for me." 
 
 " Well, then, I'll tell you what we'll do," 
 said Dan. " I will give you another pair 
 of birds, and I will keep them for you, and 
 you will come here sometimes and see how 
 they are getting along. That's a good idea, 
 isn't it, sir ? " 
 
 The Old Sailor admitted that it was, and 
 thus it fell out that he became a visitor to 
 the house. Dan bought a toy ship, with 
 sails and masts and slender ropes all com- 
 plete, and taught the birds to climb the ropes 
 and masts, which they did dettly, although 
 not in sailor fashion, hand-over-hand ; and 
 his thoughtful conceit filled the Old Sailor 
 with infinite delight. 
 
 It was Susan's good fortune not to meet 
 the Lascar for many months after the event- 
 ful occurrence in which Joshua had played 
 so prominent a part. But one evening, 
 when she and Ellen were returning home, 
 she met him face to face. 
 
 " Stop 1 " cried the Lascar, noticing Su- 
 san's agitation with secret pleasure. " You 
 don't forget me, do you ? " 
 
 Ellen, raising her eyes, saw and recog- 
 nized the Lascar, and was recognized by 
 him at the same moment. 
 
 " Ah ! " he said, " I remember you. You 
 came one day with a lame boy and that 
 young thief Joshua Marvel — curse him ! 
 — to see Mr. Meddler's boat." 
 
 Ellen tried to hui-ry Susan along, but the 
 Lascar stood directly in their path. 
 
 " Not yet, my beauty. You are about 
 the prettiest girl I've ever seen. ^^Tiat's 
 yom* name ? " 
 
 Ellen was not so overcome with fear as 
 to entirely lose her self-possession. Had 
 she been alone, she would have run away. 
 But Susan was clinging to her, almost 
 fainting with terror. On the opposite side 
 of the road she saw a man walking towards 
 them. 
 
 " Help ! " she cried ; but she could have 
 
 bitten her lip with vexation when she found 
 that it was Solomon Fewster who respond- 
 ed to her appeal. However, there Solo- 
 mon Fewster was, ready to grai)plc with 
 the enemy and to die in Ellen's defence. 
 The occasion for a display of heroism was 
 as good as he could have desired. 
 
 " AV'here is he ? " he cried valiantly ; 
 " where's the villain who has dared to 
 frighten ray pretty Ellen '? " 
 
 He said this with such a presumptuous 
 air of being her defender by natural right, 
 that Ellen was annoyed and displeased. 
 But she could not be uncivil to him. Slie 
 thanked him for coming to their help, and 
 he asked to be allowed to see them home. 
 But Ellen refused, and although he pleaded 
 hard, she was firm. 
 
 She was especially angry because of his 
 calling her his pretty Ellen. Glad as she 
 would have been of a protector, she rightly 
 thought that it would be giving Mr. Few- 
 ster encouragement if she allowed him to 
 assume that office. So, with many distress- 
 ingly-tender protestations, he took his de- 
 parture, congratulating himself upon the 
 adventure, and Susan and Ellen walked 
 homewards. 
 
 Ellen was very anxious to know all 
 about the Lascar, and why Susan was 
 frightened at him. Susan told her all, and 
 Ellen's fiice glowed with delight at Joshua's 
 courage. 
 
 " Brave Joshua ! " she exclaimed. " Isn't 
 he a hero, Susan ? " 
 
 Notwithstanding that she had not recov- 
 ered from her fright at meeting the Lascar, 
 Susan could not help smiling at Ellen's en- 
 thusiasm. 
 
 " He was to be away a year," said Ellen, 
 " and it is now two years and four months." 
 
 " And how many weeks, and how many 
 days, and how many hours ? " interrupted 
 Susan, half gayly. " You could tell, I dare 
 say, Ellen, couldn't you, if you were put 
 to it ? " Ellen looked shyly at Susan. 
 " What a change he will find in you, my 
 dear ! " Susan continued tenderly. " In 
 the place of a plain little girl he will find 
 a very pretty woman." 
 
 " Susey ! calling me a woman ! " 
 
 " Well, you are, dear, or you will be 
 when he comes back. I wonder " — 
 
 But Susan did not say what it was she 
 wondered at, but stopped, most unaccount- 
 ably, in the middle of the street and kissed 
 Ellen in a motherly kind of way. The ca- 
 ress set Ellen a-blushing, and she fell into 
 a state of happy musing;. They were very 
 near home when a voice at their side 
 said, — 
 
 " You thought you had escaped me, eh ? " 
 
 It was the voice of the Lascar, who had 
 dogged them until he found an opportunity 
 
74 
 
 JOSHUA MARVEL. 
 
 of speakinof to them without attracting at- 
 tention. Their hearts beat fast, but they 
 did not turn their heads. 
 
 " Don't say a word," whispered Ellen, 
 " don't speak, don't stop, don't look ! We 
 shall be home directly." 
 
 " So Joshua Marvel hasn't come back 
 yet," he said with bitter emphasis. " He 
 is a long time gone ; but wait till he comes. 
 I go every da}- to see the cross I put against 
 him, and it grows brighter and brighter. I 
 curse him every night. Perhaps he thinks 
 that I forget. He shall see if I do." He 
 gasped this at intervals, for the girls were 
 now almost running in their terror. " Tell 
 him," hissed the Lascar, " when he comes 
 home that I poisoned that old thief s birds 
 because Joshua gave them to him, and be- 
 cause the old thief used to call one of them 
 by his name. Curse him ! And you ! " he 
 exclaimed savagely, touching Susan's arm. 
 "See you — remember! My shadow fol- 
 lows you from this day, you damned witch 1 
 for it was because of you that he came 
 across me. Oh, you live there, do you ? 
 Dream of my shadow, you cat, to-night. It 
 sliall stand at your bedside. Blot it out if 
 you can." 
 
 He had worked himself into a horrible 
 rage ; his passion made a madman of him ; 
 yet he did not attempt to stop them as they 
 darted in at the door, but stood aside and 
 looked at the house, and marked it and 
 lingered about it for half an hour after- 
 wards. In the mean time Ellen and Susan 
 had run into their bedroom and locked the 
 door. It was a long time before they re- 
 covered from their agitation. Susan was 
 in an agony of terror ; all her old fears 
 came with stronger force upon her. She 
 pressed her fingers upon her eyes and threw 
 herself upon the ground, .shuddering and 
 moaning. 
 
 " Do you see his shadow, Ellen ? " she 
 moaned. " Do you see it ? " 
 
 " There is nothing in the room but you 
 and me, dear Susey," said Ellen, smooth- 
 ing Susan's hair, and striving by every 
 means to soothe her. " Why, I am braver 
 than you, and I am ever so much younger. 
 What have we to be afraid of ? A drunk- 
 en man ! You stupid Susey ! And as for 
 shadows, who believes in them ? " 
 
 " I do. I have seen them and felt them. 
 I have heard them creeping after me in the 
 dark, and I have been frightened to turn. 
 I have felt their breath upon my face — 
 and it is like death — like death ! " 
 
 All Ellen's efforts to tranquillize her were 
 unavailing. Susan did not leave her room 
 again that evening, and during the night 
 that followed she awoke a dozen times, and 
 her fevered imagination conjured up the 
 shadow of the Lascar standing at her bed- 
 
 side, pointing to a cross of blood which 
 shone with cruel distinctness in the midst 
 of the darkness. 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 SOLOMON FEWSTER GIVES THE LASCAR A 
 FLOWER. 
 
 Early in the new year letters from 
 Joshua reached home. With what joy they 
 were read ! In one of them he wrote : " I 
 remember saying that I should be home in 
 twelve months ; but that time has passed, 
 and another twelve months, and nearly an- 
 other, and still there is no talk of returning. 
 If I stay away much longer you won't know 
 me when you see me. Upon my word, I 
 think if I were to open the door now and 
 walk in suddenly, you would be puzzled to 
 know whether I was really myself or some- 
 body else." 
 
 When they read this they all raised their 
 heads and looked towards the door, wishing 
 that Joshua would turn the handle and 
 walk into the room. 
 
 The evening of the day on which the let- 
 ters arrived was spent in grand state in 
 Dan's house. Every member of the Mar- 
 vel family was there, and the Old Sailor, 
 and Solomon Fewster as well ; so that the 
 little parlor was quite full, and all the chairs 
 had to be brought from the bedroom and 
 the kite-hen to provide seats for the com- 
 pany. The letters were read aloud, and 
 commented upon and rejoiced over. 
 
 " It isn't as good as Joshua's being here," 
 said Dan, looking round with a happy face ; 
 " but it is next door to it. I tell you what 
 pleases me almost as much as any thing in 
 the letters — it is that Jo's a favorite with 
 the men. Hear what he says : " I play to 
 them on my accordion two or three times 
 a week, and according to them I am a 
 splendid musician — which I am not, you 
 know, for I only play simple tunes. 
 Last week the captain sent for me and told 
 me that some passengers who were on 
 board wanted to dance, and wished me to 
 play for them. Of course I fetched the ac- 
 cordion at once. You should have seen 
 us ! I played for them twice after that 
 night ; and yesterday Avhen we arrived at 
 Sydney — Oh, Dan ! such a lovely place, 
 with such a bay ! — they gave me a sover- 
 eign, which I put into Ellen's purse. Tell 
 Ellen that ! " 
 
 A blush came into Ellen's face, and her 
 heart beat more quickly, when she heard 
 that Joshua was so careful of the purse she 
 had worked for him. 
 
FEWSTER GIVES THE LASCAR A 
 
 Filled with such like matter, the letters 
 could not fail to be a source of delight. 
 Dan was commissioned to scive Joshua's love 
 to Ellen, and Ellen was asked to pay a visit 
 to the Old Sailor, and to tell him that 
 Joshua was doing his duty. Susan received 
 messajjes for Basil and Minnie, and was to 
 tell Minnie that Joshua would bring her 
 some beautiful shells — "shells in which 
 Minnie can hear the waves singing to each 
 other in whispers," Joshua wrote, almost 
 poetically. 
 
 Minnie, sitting in her corner, scarcely 
 spoke a word ; she was thinking of the sail- 
 or-lad wlio had been so kind to her, and she 
 was looking with the eyes of her mind upon 
 the picture which Dan had painted of 
 Joshua, with his handsome face and free 
 waving hair, standing on the deck, and 
 lau<ihin2:ly shaking the spray from his eyes. 
 
 The Old Sailor nodded approval as the 
 letters were read, and then traced Joshua's 
 course on a map which he had brought with 
 him, stopping many times to tell the eager 
 on-lookers of the wonders and the glories 
 of the beautiful South Pacific. The map 
 was spread on the table, and it was not an 
 unattractive picture to see them all clus- 
 tered round the Old Sailor, peeping over 
 his shoulders and under his arms, as with 
 his great forefinger he followed the ship 
 from port to port. Mrs. Marvel, who had 
 taken to spectacles, found them of but little 
 use to her on this occasion, for the obstinate 
 tears came into her eyes and dropped into 
 the ocean which the Old Sailor's forefinger 
 was ploughing. Minnie leaned over Dan's 
 shoulder, and the table was so small that 
 she had to put her arm round Dan's neck 
 and to put her face close to his, so that she 
 might see. A strange feeling of happiness 
 came upon Dan as her cheek nestled close 
 to his ; a feeling of happiness so exquisite 
 that all his senses were merged in it. The 
 common parlor, the eager faces peering at 
 the map, the pleasant voice of the Old Sail- 
 or explaining the route, all faded from before 
 him, and he was conscious of nothing but 
 Minnie's presence. He felt the warm con- 
 tact of a soft hand ; it was Minnie's hand, 
 which in her eager abstraction she had 
 placed on his. He folded it in his, and she 
 allowed it to rest there. It was like a 
 dream. He feared to move, and held his 
 breath lest he should awake. A sudden 
 murmur of voices — voices that sounded for 
 a moment as if they came from afar off — 
 aroused him ; he looked into IMinnie's face, 
 and saw it lighted up with a happiness that 
 seemed to be a reflex of his own ; and as 
 she turned her eyes to his, so luminous a 
 beauty dwelt in them that he could have 
 fallen at her feet and worshipped her. But 
 the dream was at an end — the blissful si- 
 
 lence which had cncoft>):^^l him wasiji 
 vaded. Minnie had returned to her cerflSr, 
 and his friends were speaking together, 
 and laughing, and appealing to him upon 
 some point which he had not heard. Dan 
 still felt the warm pressure of Minnie's hand 
 and the soft contact of her cheek ; and un- 
 observed he rested his lips upon the palm 
 which had clasped hers, and kissed it softl j 
 and wonderingly. 
 
 There was only one person in the party 
 who did not feel happy. ITaat one wa« 
 Solomon Fewster. Directly he entered tha 
 room he had been gi'eeted with the joyful 
 tidings ; and understanding that he was ex- 
 pected to share in the general excitement of 
 pleasure, he professed a delight which he did 
 not experience. That afternoon he had pur- 
 chased a rare flower, Avhich it was his in- 
 tention to present to Ellen. He had brood- 
 ed over the idea for several days, and had 
 decided that it would be a good thing to do. 
 As he entered the room with the flower in 
 the button-hole of his coat, he was already 
 primed with a few complimentary words 
 which he had learned by heart to say to 
 Ellen, when he presented his gift. Ellen 
 had never before looked so pretty, he 
 thought. Her eyes were brighter, and there 
 was a more joyous animation than usual in 
 her manner. She greeted him with a 
 smile so much more gracious than he was 
 accustomed to receive from her, that he con- 
 gratulated himself upon the purchase of tha 
 flower. She gave him her hand with more 
 than her usual warmth, and when he ven- 
 tured gently to press it, she did not resent 
 the liberty. The fact was, she did not ncn 
 tice it. She was full of joy, and, as is the 
 case with all amiable natures, she dispensed 
 gleams of her happiness to all with whom 
 she came in contact. Unless we are too 
 much engrossed in our own special cares, 
 we sometimes meet with such like happy 
 faces in the streets — fa'ces which seem 
 to say, " We are happy ; be happy with 
 us " — faces which, although quite strange 
 to us, which we have never seen before and 
 may never see again, will kindle with a 
 smile of welcome upon the smallest en- 
 couragement. 
 
 But Solomon Fewster was terribly dis- 
 comfited when he learned the reason of her 
 cheerfulness and animation ; it was because 
 letters had been received from Joshua. He 
 determined not to present his flower jusi 
 then, for he read something in Ellen's 
 blushes that sorely galled him. He could 
 not help thinking that the fuss they were 
 making about a common sailor-boy, and the 
 laughing and the crying they indulged in 
 over Joshua's stupid letters, were utterly 
 ridiculous, and in a sort of way derogatory 
 to himself, Dan's best patron. 
 
76 
 
 JOSHUA MARVEL, 
 
 As the night wore on, his anger and 
 uneasiness increased ; and yet he lingered 
 until the last moment, torturing himself 
 with all kinds of speculations as to what 
 was the nature of the teeling that Ellen 
 entertained for Joshua. Every expression 
 of gladness that fell from her lips concern- 
 ing Joshua and Joshua's career was painful 
 to him, and it was with a bitter heart that 
 he left the house, with the flower still in 
 his coat. He was hot and feverish as he 
 closed the street-door behind him, and he 
 was not sorry to find that a heavy rain was 
 falling. He took off his hat and bared his 
 head to the rain. Witliin the house he 
 had been compelled to repress expression 
 of his feehngs ; it was a relief to him now 
 to feel that no one was by, and that he 
 could speak out at last. And the first 
 words he uttered, as he smoothed his wet 
 hair and put on his hat, were, " Damn 
 Joshua Marvel ! I would give money to 
 drown him ! " As he spoke the words aloud, 
 he was conscious of a slouching figure at 
 his side. Although it was raining, the 
 night was not quite dark ; there was enough 
 light for him to notice that the man who 
 had approached him was in rags — most 
 probably a beggar. Muttering that he had 
 nothing to give, Solomon Fewster walked 
 on. But the man was not to be so easily 
 shaken oflf, and Mr. Fewster being in an 
 eminently quarrelsome mood turned upon 
 him, and repeated in no civil tone that he 
 had nothing to give. 
 
 "I have not asked you for any thing," 
 said the man, surlily, " though if I had, 
 you might speak to me more civilly, Mr. 
 Fewster." 
 
 They were passing a lamp-post, and, at- 
 tracted by the utterance of his name, Mr. 
 Fewster stopped and said, — 
 
 " How do you know my name ? " 
 
 "I know it; that is enough," was the 
 answer. 
 
 " Ah ! " said Mr. Fewster, regarding the 
 Lascar with curiosity and recognizing him, 
 " I have seen you before, my man." 
 
 " That is not saying much against me, 
 master," said the Lascar, rather sneeringly. 
 " I have seen you before ; so we're equal." 
 
 " And whenever I have seen you, it has 
 been in this street," continued Mr. Few- 
 ster. 
 
 " And pretty well whenever I have seen 
 you, it has been in this street," retorted the 
 Lascar ; " you seem to be as fond of it as 
 I am." 
 
 " And generally of a night." 
 
 " The same to yon, master ; and what 
 then ? The street is free to me as it is to 
 you. Look you. I know more than you 
 are aware of. If it comes to that, why do 
 you go so often to that house ? " The sud- 
 
 den look of discomposure that flashed into 
 Mr. Fewster's face was not lost upon the 
 Lascar, who had seen him walking by 
 Ellen's side more than once, and who had 
 stealthily followed them on every occasion. 
 " Look you, master. What one man does 
 for love, another man does for hate." 
 
 ' Hate of whom ? What do you 
 mean ? " 
 
 " The people in that house have re- 
 ceived letters from Joshua Marvel to-day." 
 
 " Well, what of that ? " 
 
 " What of that ! " cried the Lascar, in 
 a voice of suppressed passion, and yet 
 with a cunning watchfulness of Mr. Few- 
 ster's face, as if he were watching for a 
 cue to speak more plainly. " Well, noth- 
 ing much, master ; except that I should 
 like to know when the cub is coming 
 home." 
 
 Islx. Fewster could not help an expres- 
 sion of satisfaction passing into his eyes as 
 he heard Joshua spoken of as a cub, and 
 the Lascar saw it and took his cue from 
 it. 
 
 "What do you want to know for? 
 What is Joshua Marvel to you ? " 
 
 " He Is this to me," cried the Lascar, the 
 dark blood rushing into his face and mak- 
 ing it darker ; " that if I had liim here, I 
 would stamp upon him with my feet, and 
 spoil his beauty for him I He is this to me, 
 that if I could twist his heart-strings I 
 would do it, and laugh in his face the 
 while I See me now, master ; look at me 
 well. I did not ask you for money, for I 
 know you, and I know you don't give 
 nothing for nothing. But I might have 
 asked you, and with reason, for I want it. 
 Look at my feet " (Mr. Fewster noticed, 
 for the fii'st time, that the Lascar's feet 
 were bare) ; " Look at my clothes — rags. 
 That old thief, Praiseworthy Meddler, 
 kicked me ofl" his barge where I've hved 
 and slept this many a year. And every 
 blow he struck at me went down to Joshua 
 Marvel's account, and makes it heavier 
 against him. See you; the Lascar dog 
 never forgets. I've sworn an oath, and I'll 
 keep it. I've put a cross against him, and 
 he shall see it when he is dying." 
 
 Solomon Fewster looked at the wretch 
 before him, quivering with passion and 
 shivering with cold, and deliberately 
 cracked his fingers one after another. 
 When the operation was concluded, he 
 said, lightly, as taking no interest in what 
 the Lascar had said, — 
 
 " That is your business, my friend ; not 
 mine. I will tell you as far as I know 
 about this young gentleman who has 
 served you so well. He is not coming 
 home yet a while, I believe — not before 
 the end of the year, perhaps. I dare say 
 
FEWSTEE GIVES THE LASCAR A FLOWER. 
 
 77 
 
 you'll manage to see him when he does 
 come lionie." 
 
 " Yes, I'll manage to see him then," said 
 the Lascar, Avilh a suddon quietude of 
 manner and with a furtive look at ]\Ir. 
 Fewster's tace — a look which said, " You 
 are tryinsc to deceive me, master ; let us 
 see who is the more cunning — you or I." 
 Then aloud, " Thank you for answering my 
 question. You say it is not your business, 
 tiiis hate of mine for Joshua IMarvel. Yet 
 there may be something in common be- 
 tween us, for I've seen you walking with 
 the girl who worships Joshua Marvel." 
 
 " How do you know that she worships 
 him ? " demanded Mr. Fewster, thrown off 
 his guard, his heart beating loud and fast. 
 
 " Because I am not blind. I know that 
 as well as I know that you have as much 
 cause to hate him as I have. I am like a 
 cat ; I watch and watch. Y'^ou are too 
 young, my master, to mask your face ; and 
 I have seen that in it that you wouldn't 
 like to speak." 
 
 " Mind what you are saying," said Mr. 
 Fewster, with his knuckles at his teeth ; 
 " you are on dangerous ground." 
 
 " \Vhy should I mind ? " questioned the 
 Lascar, with a curious mixture of fierce- 
 ness and humility in his voice. My 
 tongue's my own. I have nothing to lose : 
 judge you if you have any thing to gain. 
 Mind you, I stop at nothing. I am not 
 squeamish. Y'^ou are a gentleman ; I am a 
 vagabond. I can do what you daren't. I 
 can help you to what you want, perhaps ; 
 and you can help me." 
 
 The cunning of the Lascar was too deep 
 for Mr. Fewster. The Lascar saw as 
 clearly as if he had been told that Solomon 
 Fewster loved Ellen Taylor, and he seized 
 instinctively upon Ellen's love for Joshua 
 as the lever by which he was to gain 
 power over Mr. Fewster. In the present 
 conversation the men were not evenly 
 matched ; the Lascar had all the advantage 
 on his side. Subtle as Mr. Fewster was, 
 his love blinded his judgment, and his hate 
 led him to consider that this man might be 
 useful to him. 
 
 " I can help you, you tell me," he said. 
 ««How?" 
 
 " I am cold to the bone," said the shiver- 
 ing wretch. " Treat me to some rum." 
 
 They walked until they reached a pub- 
 lic-house ; then Mr. Fewster gave the Las- 
 car money. 
 
 " Go in and drink, but don't get drunk." 
 
 " Ain't you coming in, master ? " 
 
 "No," said Mr. Fewster, with a look of 
 contempt at the Lascar's tatters. " You 
 can buy a bottle of rum, and bring it out 
 with you. And mind, when you come out, 
 don't walk by my side ; follow me." 
 
 Five minutes afterwards they were walk- 
 ing in single file towards Mr. Fewster's 
 place of business, wlnsre he lived. When 
 tliey arrived at the door, Mr. Fewster hesi- 
 tated. He wanted to talk to the Lascar, 
 to get out of him all he knew about Ellen 
 and Joshua ; yet, looking at the Lascar, he 
 hesitated. The man divined what was in 
 his mind, and saiel, — 
 
 " There is a policeman coming along on 
 the other side of the way. Go to him and 
 say, ' Look at this man ; I have occasion 
 to speak to him on a matter of business ; 
 but he is a disreputable dog, and I want 
 you to watch the house. Knock in an 
 hour, and if I don't answer, or if you hear 
 any noise, force open the door.' Say that 
 to him, or something like it, and give him 
 a pint of beer, and you will be all right." 
 
 " Come along," said Mr. Fewster, stung 
 by the Lascar's quiet sneer; "I am not 
 frightened of you." 
 
 " Y'ou have no need to be, master. You 
 can use me like a dog, if you give me to 
 eat and drink." 
 
 " Like a dog ! " echoed Mr. Fewster, 
 with a laugh. " Well, suppose I regard you 
 in that light ; it may be useful." 
 
 ]\Ir. Fewster struck a light in the shop, 
 in which there were at least a score of 
 coSius — respectable cofiins, solemnly black 
 as coffins should be, with respectable nails 
 to match. 
 
 " Waiting for tenants," he remarked, 
 pleasantly, to the Lascar. " Tlie cheap 
 ones — common deal — are in the work- 
 shop at the back." Mr. Fewster put the 
 candle down upon a cofiin, and looked 
 complacently upon his wares. " Hand- 
 some, are they not ? This one, now, with 
 lacquered handles and silvered plate for 
 name, age, and virtues, what should you 
 say to that ? " 
 
 " Shouldn't care much for it," said the 
 Lascar, with evident repugnance. "It 
 would be more suitable for such as you, 
 master. A cheap one — of common deal 
 — will be good enough for me, when mj 
 turn comes." 
 
 " Quite good enough, I should say." 
 
 " Y'ou are not going to stop here talking, 
 are you ? " inquired the Lascar, seeing that 
 Mr.Fewster evinced no disposition to move. 
 
 " ^^^ly, don't you like it, you dog ? " re- 
 torted Mr Fewster, with a spice of his na- 
 tive humor. 
 
 " No, I don't ; it smells of worms." 
 
 With a pleasant laugh 'Mr. Fewster led 
 the way into his sitting-room, and set Ught 
 to the fire and Ut a second candle. 
 
 " This is better," said the Lascar, hud- 
 dling before the fii-e. " Ah, this is good, 
 this warmth ; it is life I Have you ever 
 slept out in the cold, master ? " 
 
78 
 
 JOSHUA MAKVEL. 
 
 " No, you dog," answered Mr. Fewster. 
 
 He had recovered his self-possession and 
 much of his usual equanimity. 
 
 " I have ; in the cold and wet, for two or 
 three nights together." 
 
 " There was the Union," suggested Mr. 
 Fewster. 
 
 " I have been there often enough. Some- 
 times I was too late ; sometimes there were 
 too many of us; sometimes I didn't care 
 even for that shelter." 
 
 " ^Vould you like to sleep. in my shop? I 
 think I could trust you there." 
 
 " I think you might. I shouldn't be 
 likely to steal a coffin. I shouldn't care to 
 sleep there, master, and that's flat. If I 
 woke up in the dark, I should see dead men 
 lying in the coffins. I wouldn't mind it so 
 much if the coffins were plain deal ones ; 
 but black — ugh ! " 
 
 Mr. Fewster laughed loud and long. Cof- 
 fins were playtliings to him — toys symbol- 
 ical of the joys of life. He laughed mer- 
 rily as he set food on the table, the Lascar 
 watching him with greedy eyes the while. 
 " Fall to, you dog ! ""said Mr. Fewster ; and 
 like a dog, devoid though of a dog's gener- 
 ous nature, the Lascar fell to, and devoured 
 the bread and cheese. Meanwhile Mr. 
 Fewster helped himself to a large glass of 
 rum. He was one of the soberest of under- 
 takers, who, as a rule, are not the soberest 
 of men. He drank but very rarely; but 
 when he did, all the worst part of his na- 
 ture dispoi'ted itself, in revenge for being 
 generally kept so much under control. 
 Now as he drank his rum — and he drank 
 it neat — he became savage, vengeful, des- 
 perate. He had never felt till now how 
 deeply he loved Ellen Taylor. He had 
 loved her in a light way from the first, and 
 his love had grown quietly, and had been 
 fed by her avoidance of his attentions. 
 Her behavior towards him had deepened 
 his love and intensified it. Yet all along, 
 notwithstanding that he felt he was not as 
 agreeable in her eyes as he would wish to 
 be, he thought that to have he had only to 
 ask. " They, poor working people," he 
 thought, " earning just enough to keep them, 
 living as it were from hand to mouth, inust 
 feel flattered and honored by my attention 
 — by the attention of a man who has a 
 prosperous business and an account at the 
 bank." As for marriage, he had not thought 
 of that till lately. But Ellen had so firmly 
 and so steadily repulsed him in any ad- 
 vances he liad plucked up courage to make, 
 that he had resolved to lower himself and 
 ask her to be his wife. Having determined 
 to make the sacrifice, he considered that 
 the road was clear to him. He reasoned 
 with himself thus : " She thought perhaps 
 that I did not mean honorably by her, and 
 
 that is the cause of her treating me so cold- 
 ly ; but when she learns my real intentions 
 she cannot but feel flattered, and must ac- 
 cept me." 
 
 He thought over these things as he sat 
 before the fire entirely engrossed by love for 
 Ellen and hate for Joshua. The Lascar had 
 helped himself to the spirits, and as Mr. 
 Fewster sat studying the fire, he sat study- 
 ing his host. That it was a study that in- 
 terested him and pleased him was evident 
 from the satisfied expression in his face, 
 and from the satisfied manner in which he 
 rubbed his hands gently over one another. 
 
 " Well, you dog ! " exclaimed Mr. Few- 
 ster insolently. 
 
 " Well, master ? " replied the Lascar 
 meekly. 
 
 " Have you had enough, you dog ? " 
 
 " Plenty, thank you, master." 
 
 The Master took another drink of rum, 
 and the Dog followed suit. The Master 
 regarded the Dog with a contemptuous as- 
 sumption of superiority. The Dog regarded 
 the Master with becoming humbleness. 
 But the Dog had the best of it, although he 
 did cast down his eyes. 
 
 " Look up, you dog," said Mr. Fewster. 
 
 The Dog looked up. 
 
 " Wliat would you do to Joshua Marvel 
 if you had him here, with no one by ? " 
 
 The Lascar, who had been playing idly 
 with the knife with which he had cut his 
 supper, raised it, and with a fierce action 
 struck at the air. Then, springing to his 
 feet, lie threw aside his chair, and kneeling 
 on the ground, made motions with his fin- 
 o-ers as if he were strangling an enemy. 
 
 " H-m ! " exclaimed Mr. Fewster, looking 
 at the upturned face, blazing with vindio- 
 tiveness, that fronted his. " Dangerous." 
 
 " That's my business. I'll risk the dan- 
 o-er of it. See you — shall I speak plairH 
 Fy?" 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " This girl that you love worships tha 
 man that you and I hate " — 
 
 " Say that you hate, you dog," interrupt- 
 ed Ml-. Fewster. " I'll have no partnership. 
 I am master." 
 
 " I ask your pardon, master. The girl 
 that you love worships the man that I hate. 
 She is waiting for him to come home ; so 
 am I. I have sworn death to him. When 
 he comes home, the girl that you love will 
 have no eyes for any one but him. What 
 chance will you have with her then ? " 
 
 " Stop. You are too fast. Speak of 
 yourself and of them without reference to 
 me. Don't iterate with your damnable 
 tongue about the girl that / love. The girl 
 that I love, I'll have " — 
 
 " So you shall, master, if I can help yon." 
 
 " When I want your help, I'll ask for ift. 
 
FEWSTER GIVES THE LASCAR A FLOWER 
 
 79 
 
 Now go on with your story, and heed my 
 caution." 
 
 With rendy wit the Lascar fell into Mr. 
 Fewster's humor. 
 
 " This girl that I speak of — as pretty a 
 picture of ilesh and blood as eyes ever saw 
 — is loved by a gentleman who in a sort of 
 way luxs lowered himself to think of her. 
 But the gentleman has made up his mind 
 to have her, and when a gentleman makes 
 op his mind, who shall stop him ? He goes 
 one night to the house where this pretty 
 girl lives — I shouldn't wonder if the very 
 llovver that the gentleman wore in his but- 
 ton-hole wasn't irttended for her " — 
 
 " You are a clever dog, you ! " said Mr. 
 Fewster, half in anger, half in admira- 
 tion. 
 
 " Thank you. master. With the flower 
 in his button-hole the gentleman goes to the 
 house where his pretty girl lives, and there 
 he spends the evening, and hears read, I 
 dare say, some letters, which she has re- 
 ceived from his rival, who is a sailor — I only 
 speak from fancy, master ; set me right if 
 you can." 
 
 " How can I set you right when I know 
 nothing about it, you dog, except by saying 
 that I shouldn't think it likely she received 
 any letters ? " 
 
 " Thank you, master. My fancy was 
 wrong, I've no doubt. The gentleman, 
 then, is obliged to listen to some letters 
 which have been received from abroad, and 
 is obliged to listen to affectionate words ut- 
 tered by the girl he loves for his rival far 
 away — mind, master, I don't know this, I 
 only suspect it — and he sees, too, in her 
 face, that when her sailor-boy comes home, 
 she will open her arms to his rival, to his 
 enemy, whom he hates, and would like to 
 see put out of the way." 
 
 " How do you know that last ? " 
 
 " I have seen it in his face ; I have heard 
 it in his voice. I happened to see the gen- 
 tleman come out of his sweetheart's house 
 one rainy night, not long ago ; and I hap- 
 pened to hear the gentleman mutter that he 
 would give money if that sailor-lover was 
 drowned." 
 
 " If I were the gentleman, and you told 
 me this to my face, I should say that vou 
 lied." 
 
 " Of course you would ; but what should 
 you know of it ? Still, master, confess that 
 the story is a likely one as far as it has 
 gone." 
 
 " Tliere is more of it to come, then ? " 
 asked Mr. Fewster, who had turned his 
 back so that the Lascar should not see his 
 face. 
 
 " There is more of it to come. But say, 
 first, it is a likely story as far as I have told 
 it," said the Lascar a little doggedly. 
 
 "It is likely enough. I have heard 
 stories more strange." 
 
 " Where did I leave off? Oh I about my 
 hearing this gentleman say, as he stood 
 bareheaded in the rain, that he wished his 
 rival were dead. Now that was a Ibrtimate 
 hearing for me. Not that I should take ad- 
 vantage of what I heard ; not tliat I should 
 go to the pretty girl's brother, and then tell 
 him what I had heard the gentleman say 
 about his sailor-friend ; not that I should 
 go to the pretty girl herself and say, ' Be- 
 ware of the gentleman ; he means mischief; 
 if he can ruin your lover he will.' That 
 would be a mean thing to do ; for it would 
 upset the gentleman's chances with the girl 
 that he loves. No ; I should go to the gen- 
 tleman and say, ' I hate this absent lover, 
 and any thing that I could do to make him 
 suffer, I would do cheerfully. You would 
 do the same. But you are a gentleman, 
 and I am a dog. You mustn't be seen in 
 the matter. What you want done do 
 through me. Never mind how mean it is, 
 how dirty it is ; do it through me. And all 
 the return I want for it is enough to buy food 
 and shelter, and perhaps a drop of grog and 
 a bit of tobacco.' That wouldn't be much 
 to ask in return for what I may be able to 
 do for him." 
 
 " But no gentleman would compromise 
 himself by entering into a bargain with a — 
 a" — 
 
 "A dog, master — say a dog; it is good 
 enough lor me," interposed the Lascar with 
 a careless laugh. 
 
 " With a dog like you. I don't see how 
 the affair could be arranged with a proper 
 understanding as to what was expected to 
 be done." 
 
 " It could be arranged easily enough, 
 master. I might ask the gentleman, sup- 
 posing he had a flower in his button-hole, 
 to give me that flower, and not say another 
 word. That would be a proper understand- 
 ing for both of us." 
 
 Mr. Fewster rose, and put aside the cur- 
 tain of the window. The rain was coming 
 down hard and fast, and the wind was tear- 
 ing furiously through the streets." 
 
 " A fine storm for a ship to be in near 
 rocks, master," said the Lascar, who had 
 risen, and was standing by his side. 
 
 " It is time for you to be going," said Mr. 
 Fewster, turning abruptly away from the 
 window. 
 
 " In such a night as this ! " exclaimed the 
 Lascar. " And I with no place to put my 
 head in ? " 
 
 " You are homeless, then ? " The Lascar 
 nodded. " Well, I take you into my ser- 
 vice. It would be hard if no one could be 
 found to do a good turn for a poor devil lik« 
 you." 
 
80 
 
 JOSHUA MARVEL. 
 
 " Tliat it would, master," said the Lascar, 
 standing in an attitude of expectation ; 
 " and thank you. Could you spare that 
 flower out of your coat ? " 
 
 Blinded by passion, inflamed by jealousy, 
 Mr. Fewster detached the flower, and threw 
 it to the Lascar, whose eyes gleamed with 
 satisfaction as he put it in his pocket. 
 
 " You can sleep in the out-house," said 
 Mr. Fewster ; " and as every dog should 
 have a kennel, I dare say you can find a 
 coffin to lie in." 
 
 " No, thank you, master ; I will lie on 
 the ground." He poured Avhat remained of 
 the rum into his glass, and raised it to his 
 lips. " Here's luck, and my faithful service 
 to you. You may depend upon me, for my 
 heart is in my work." 
 
 CHAPTER XVL 
 
 CHRISTMAS-EVE AT HOME. 
 
 A HAPPIER party was never assembled 
 within four walls than is now gathered to- 
 gether within the fom* walls of Mr. Mar- 
 vel's kitchen. That it is Christmas-eve is 
 proclaimed by the two little hoops which 
 hang from the ceiling, circled by colored 
 Chi'istmas candles ; and that the kindly in- 
 fluence of the time has fallen in full measure 
 upon the wood-turner's house may be read in 
 the faces of George Marvel and his family 
 and guests. Sarah Marvel, whose 2ilace in 
 this history is but a small one, has grown into 
 a comely young woman ; and, indeed, the 
 four years which have elapsed since Joshua's 
 departure have changed all his friends for 
 the better. Those of them who were young 
 when he left are no longer boys and girls, 
 excejat in their hearts, which are as young 
 as ever, and which are pulsing with love 
 for the absent hero. Not to be absent for 
 long now; for Joshua is coming home. They 
 cannot tell the exact day of his arrival ; it 
 may be a week yet, or a month ; but the 
 sails of his ship are spread for dear home. 
 So, as they sit round the fire, there is a 
 happy light in their eyes, and they look at 
 each other and smile, and laugh musical 
 little laughs. 
 
 "It is more than four years ago," said 
 George Marvel, " that one night as we were 
 sitting round the fire, as it might be now, 
 Josh said all of a sudden, " I should like to 
 go to sea." Those were the very words he 
 said " I should like to go to sea." And 
 it came so sudden-like, that mother there 
 began to cry. " So you want to be a sailor, 
 Josh ? " I asked. " Yes," he answered ; " a 
 
 sailor first, and then a. captain." Do you 
 remember, mother ? And now my boy is 
 coming home a man ; and here we are this 
 happy Christmas-eve, talking of him, and 
 thinking of him, and hoping to see him 
 soon after the New Year. Said mother that 
 night, ' Sup230se Josh is shipwrecked, what 
 would you say then?' What would I say 
 then ? \Vliat did I say then ? I said that 
 Josh wasn't going to get shipwrecked, and 
 that there's more danger on the land than 
 on the sea. And I was right, I was ; and 
 mother wasn't." 
 
 Mrs. Marvel smiled contentedly at the ' 
 reproof, and nodded in confirmation of her 
 husband's words. , 
 
 " And when Mr. Praiseworthy Meddler I 
 came to see us for the first time," continued ^ 
 Mr. Marvel, " he said the very same thing 
 that I said about the dangers of the sea. 
 And talking of Mr. Meddler, here he is, I 
 do believe ; and that makes our party com- 
 plete." 
 
 The last words had been suggested by a 
 great stamping and puffing outside in the 
 passage ; and presently the door opened, 
 and Praiseworthy Meddler, covered with 
 snow, stood in the entrance. 
 
 " A merry Christmas to you all ! " he 
 said, peeling off" his glazed coat. " No, no 
 my lasses, don't come near me ; you'll spoil 
 your pretty ribbons." 
 
 But the girls would not be denied, and 
 clustered round him, assisting him to take 
 off' his coat, and to shake the snow from his 
 cap and hair. A pleasant figure he was to 
 look at as he stood there, his honest face 
 beaming with health and pleasure, encir- 
 cling the waists of Ellen and Minnie, who 
 nestled to him as confidingly and lovingly 
 as if they were his daughters. A sprio- of 
 mistletoe hanging over the door caught his 
 sight, and he stooped and gallantly" kissed 
 the gu'ls, who pretended resistance, and 
 sprang laughing from his arms. Then he 
 shook hands all round, and taking the seat 
 that was waiting for him near the Avarmest 
 part of the fire, remarked that the snow was 
 two inches thick on the pavement, and that 
 it was coming down heavily still. It re- 
 minded him of a great snow-storm by which 
 he was overtaken in a cruise in the north. 
 That, of course, led to entreaties for a snow- 
 story, and the Old Sailor, in his homely 
 way, told them a story of icebergs and 
 polar-bears, which kept them entranced for 
 nearly an hour, and which was all the more 
 delightful because it ended happily. 
 
 The story being concluded, they talked 
 noisily and merrily as to what they should 
 do next in honor of Christmas. In the 
 midst of the conversation, Ellen, who was 
 sitting next to Dan, felt her hand tightly 
 clasped. Looking up, she saw upon his 
 
CHRISTMAS-EVE AT HOME. 
 
 81 
 
 face a listening expression of such painful 
 intensity tliat she asked him, in a whisper, 
 what he was listeuini;; to. He i)ut his (inj^er 
 to his li]is and told her — with a strange 
 abstractedness in his manner — that he was 
 going out of the room, and that he wished 
 her to come with him without attracting at- 
 tention. 
 
 " We shall be back presently," said Ellen 
 to Mrs. Marvel, as she assisted Dan with 
 his crutches. 
 
 When they were in the passage, she felt 
 that he was trembling, and she anxiously 
 asked if he was unwell. 
 
 " Not l)odily, " he answered ; " I want to 
 look in the street." 
 
 They went to the street-door, and, opening 
 it softly, looked out. The snow was falling 
 fast, and the unpretentious houses, covered 
 with their white mantle, looked surprisingly 
 quaint and beautiful. A man, who passed 
 on the opposite side of the way as they 
 opened the door, was the only sign of life 
 beside themselves in the street. The man 
 slouched onwards, and dragged his feet 
 along the pavement in a brutish kind of 
 way, tearing a black gash in the pure white 
 snow, out of sheer wantonness as it seemed. 
 It looked like a desecration. 
 
 '• Ellen," said Dan, when the man was 
 out of sight, " I would not tell my fancies 
 to any one but you. I am not happy. All 
 last night I was dreaming of Joshua." 
 
 " That was good, dear," said Ellen. 
 
 " It was not good, Ellen. My dreams 
 were bad ones. They were too confused 
 and indistinct for me to remember them 
 clearly. But the impression they left upon 
 me was that Joshua was in danger ; I can- 
 not tell in what way or from whom. I did 
 not hear a word of the story Mr. Med- 
 dler just told us. I was thinking of I don't 
 know what — and all of a sudden, Ellen, I 
 fancied that I heard Joshua's voice." 
 
 " That is because he is so near us." 
 
 " Near us ? Yes. He is very near us ; 
 nearer than you imagine." 
 
 " How do you know, dear ? " 
 
 " I feel that he is ; and strange to say, 
 Ellen, the feeling does not seem to bring 
 me pleasure." 
 
 " O Dan ! " 
 
 " It is so, Ellen ; I cannot help it. That 
 Joshua is near us, I am certain. See : is 
 there anybody in the street ? " 
 
 Ellen looked up and down. No ; there 
 was no person to be seen, and she said so. 
 
 " How beautiful the night is, Dan ! " 
 
 " Yes, like fairyland, almost," said Dan. 
 " It hurts me to see that black track on the 
 other side, where the man was walking. 
 Did you notice how he slouched along ? 
 Look at that shadow at the end of the street. 
 Is it the same man, I wonder ? " 
 
 
 The shadow lingered for a few moments, 
 as if undecided wliich road to take, and 
 then disappeared again. 
 
 " Dan, dear," whispered Ellen, " you 
 said that you would not tell your fancies to 
 any one Ijut me." 
 
 " Well, Ellen ? " 
 
 " May I whisper something, my dear ? " 
 she asked very tenderly. 
 
 " 1 es. 
 
 " Would you not tell them to Minnie ? " 
 
 She was supporting Dan, and his hand 
 was round her neck ; a nervous twitching 
 of his fingers told her that her question 
 was a momentous one. 
 
 " Dear Ellen," he answered in an agitated 
 voice, " I do not think I would — at least 
 j ust yet — because — because " — 
 
 " Because what, dear ? " 
 
 " Because I am not sure, Ellen," he said, 
 with a sob which he strove in vain to sup- 
 press. " Do not say any thing more, dear. 
 My heart is very sad." 
 
 She obeyed him, and kissed him, and 
 then, with a lingering look at the wondrous 
 white outlines of eaves and roofs, and at 
 the wondrous white carpet with which the 
 earth was clad, they closed the street-door 
 and re-entered the kitchen. There they 
 were greeted with the news that Basil Kin- 
 dred was going to describe and read a play 
 to them. The play which Basil had se- 
 lected was Shakspeare's " Tempest," with 
 which none of them was acquainted but 
 Minnie and Dan. Minnie clapped her 
 hands in delight. 
 
 " We will all have characters," she said. 
 " You," to her father, " shall be Prospero. 
 You," to the Old Sailor, " shall be Ste- 
 phano. You," to Ellen, " shall be Miranda ; 
 and I will be Ariel. What a pity it is that 
 Mr. Fewster is not here ! — he should be 
 Caliban. If Joshua were here, he should 
 be Ferdinand." 
 
 " Who is Ferdinand ? " asked Ellen. 
 " Ferdinand is a prince, and is in love 
 with Miran — no ! " Minnie exclaimed 
 suddenly and impetuously, the blood rising 
 into her face, " he should not play Ferdi- 
 nand ; he should not play at all. Look at 
 me. I am Ariel." 
 
 With a swift motion, she unloosed her 
 hair and let it fall around her shoulders. 
 Bewitchingly graceful and bewitchingly 
 beautiful, she bent in obeisance to Pros- 
 pero, and said with a happy inspiration, — 
 " Do you love me, master ? " 
 And he, partly in accordance with her 
 pretty conceit and partly from fatherly 
 afi'ection, placed his hand upon her head 
 and answered, — 
 
 " Dearly, my delicate Ariel." 
 Then, motioning her to be silent, Basil 
 Kindred, book in hand, commenced to tell 
 
82 
 
 JOSHUA MAEVEL. 
 
 the story, reading passages now and again 
 in illustration of the beautiful fancy, and 
 giving appropriate vocal distinctness to each 
 character ; so that his hearers could under- 
 stand without difficulty who it was that 
 was supposed to be speaking. He was in 
 his happiest humor, and he lingered lovingly 
 upon the theme. The fooling of Trinculo, 
 the brutislmess of Caliban, the tenderness 
 of Miranda, the majesty of Prospero, the 
 daintiness of Ariel, were all faithfully por- 
 trayed ; and his audience followed the 
 course of the story with eager delight. 
 When he had given utterance to that 
 grandest of poetical images, 
 
 " We are such stuff 
 As dreams are made of, and our little life 
 Is rounded with a sleep," 
 
 he paused, and a deep silence fell upon the 
 room, a silence that was broken by Dan 
 exclaiming, — 
 
 " Hark 1 a knock at the door I " 
 Was it the magnetism of love that caused 
 their hearts to flutter with joy — that 
 caused Mrs. Marvel to rise tremblingly 
 and say that she would go and open the 
 door ? But her limbs failed her, and Min- 
 nie, cryin^:, " I will go 1 " ran out of the 
 room. They below, listening in a state 
 of strangely-anxious expectancy, heard 
 Minnie ask " Who is there ? " and heard 
 her open the door. Almost at the same 
 moment they heard a cry of joy, followed 
 inmediately by a sharp cry of pain. They 
 ran up stairs and saw Minnie kneeling in 
 the snow, supporting on her bosom the 
 head of a man dressed in sailor-fashion, 
 and pressing her lips to his neck, from 
 which the blood was flowing. The pure 
 snow was crimson-stained ; and Mrs. Mar- 
 vel, in an agony of fear falling on her 
 knees by Minnie's side, looked into the 
 flice of the wounded man, and recognized 
 the features of her sailor-boy just returned 
 from sea. 
 
 CHAPTER XVH. 
 
 THE DOG AND HIS MASTER. 
 
 Upon that same Christmas-eve Solomon 
 Fewster sat in his room a moody unhappy 
 man. He was alone ; but if angry thought 
 could have found palpable shape, the room 
 would have been thronged with ugly forms. 
 He had refused the invitation which Mrs. 
 Marvel had given him to join the Christmas 
 .party, simply because, when she invited 
 -him, she happened to say something in joyful 
 
 tones of Joshua's expected return. The mere 
 mention of Joshua's name was sutlicient to 
 inflame him ; and he had at once refused 
 her in a lofty manner, saying that he had 
 another engagement for the eveninij. The 
 Lascar had done his work well. There is 
 no death for jealousy : it sleeps, but it never 
 dies. And the Lascar had been careful 
 that even the temporary bliss of forget- 
 fulness should be denied to his master. 
 Less force of cunning than he was endowed 
 with would have served his purpose with 
 such a man as Solomon Fewster. 
 
 The good influence of the time did not 
 touch Solomon Fewster's heart. He was 
 completely engrossed by two sentiments — 
 love for Ellen, hate for Joshua. The very 
 circumstance that upon this Christmas-eve 
 he had wilfully deprived himself of the 
 painful pleasure of being in Ellen's com- 
 pany he laid to Joshua's door. Every 
 happy face he saw that day deepened the 
 hate he bore to Joshua ; for if it had not 
 been for that absent enemy, he would have 
 been as happy as the best of them. Once 
 during the evening he went into the open 
 space at the rear of his house, and saw his 
 neighbors' windows lighted up, and heard 
 sounds of merriment issue from the rooms. 
 " Who is it that prevents me from being as 
 happy as they are ? " he muttered. " Who 
 is the cause of my remaining here to-night, 
 fretting my heart out, instead of sitting 
 next to the girl that I love more than my 
 life ? " He unlocked the gate in the rear of 
 his premises, and strolled along the narrow 
 lane into which it opened. The houses in 
 the lane were mere hovels, yet there was 
 not one of them that was not brilliantly light- 
 ed, and the echoes of laughter and singing 
 floating from their walls denoted that care 
 had been sent to the right-about for that 
 evening, at least. The sounds were so dis- 
 I)leasing to him that he returned to his room 
 and resting his face in his hands,' raised 
 up the picture of Ellen, fair and bright and 
 beautiful. He was a calculating, unfeeling 
 man ; and if it had so happened that there 
 had been no obstacle to the smooth course 
 of his love, he might have remained so to 
 the end of his days, and might never have sus- 
 pected that there were points in his character 
 which would not bear too close a scrutiny. 
 But the means by which we are brought to 
 a knowledge of ourselves are oftentimes very 
 strange. The majority of us go down to 
 our graves without suspecting that there 
 are powerful forces hidden within us, which, 
 had opportunity for display been allowed 
 them, would have materially altered the 
 tenor of our lives, whether for good or for 
 evil. Solomon Fewster's love for Ellen 
 was the most ennobling feeling he had ever 
 experienced. His hatred for Joshua, and 
 
THE DOG AND HIS MASTER. 
 
 83 
 
 the tboujlits and desires prompted by that 
 hate were tlie most ^•illanous. It is strange 
 that the hate wliicli (lis;rraced him, not the 
 love which L'nnobled him, should liave made 
 Lim conscious of his delects. It was that 
 very hatred that brought to him the knowl- 
 edge that lie was not a good man ; and 
 that caused him to rellect that, if his love 
 were returned, it would be the means of 
 making him better. His thoughts were 
 taking this direction now, and he was still 
 sitting with his face resting in his hands, 
 when he was startled by the sound of the 
 gate being violently dashed aside. He re- 
 membered that he had forgotten to fosten 
 it. Betbre he had time to rise, the latch of 
 the door was lifted, and the Lascar glided 
 in like a white spectre. With a strange 
 feverishness of manner, the Lascar turned 
 the key in the door, and at the same mo- 
 ment stooped and listened, holding up a 
 warning finger as a caution for Solomon 
 Fewster to be silent. He remained in that 
 position tor two or three minutes ; then I'ose 
 upright, and drew a long breath. 
 
 " What now ? " demanded ^Ir. Fewster 
 angrily, and yet with a consciousness that 
 the Lascar had sufficient cause for his 
 abrupt entrance. " What thieves' trick 
 have you been up to to-night, you dog ! 
 that you run in here as if the police were at 
 your heels ? " 
 
 " They are not," said the Lascar, shak- 
 ing the snow from his clothes, dog-like ; 
 " and that's a good thing, master, for you 
 and for me." 
 
 " For me, you dog ! You dare to say 
 that ! " 
 
 " I forgot to close the gate," said the 
 Lascar, taking no notice of Mr. Fewster's 
 exclamation. He went out, and having 
 locked the gate, re-entered ; and. seeing a 
 bottle on the table, said, " What's this ? 
 Rum ? He did not wait to be invited, but 
 helped himself freely, and spread his cold 
 hands betbre the fire. " I am numbed to 
 the bone. It's precious cold being out in 
 the snow all day. I didn't hope to find you 
 at home, master. I thought you would be 
 enjoying yourself like a oentleman. I ran 
 in here, finding the gate open, not knowing 
 where to run. It is snowing flist — that's 
 one comtbrt — and my footsteps will soon 
 be filled up." 
 
 All the while he spoke he was busily oc- 
 cupied warming his fingers and blowing on 
 his knuckles. 
 
 " Now, explain the meaning of all this," 
 said Mr. Fewster. 
 
 " Give me something to eat first, master. 
 I haven't tasted food since the morning." 
 
 Mr. Fewster pointed to the cupboard ; 
 and the Lascar took bread and meat, and 
 ate swiftly and ravenously. 
 
 " My service to you, master," he said, 
 glass in hand, " and a merry Christmas." 
 
 When he had emptied the glass, he threw 
 a knife on the table. It was a clasp-knife, 
 and the blade was open. There was a tri- 
 umphant demonstrativeness in the action 
 that instantly attracted Mr. Fewster's at- 
 tention. He saw blood upon the blade — 
 blood scarcely dried. Whose blood was it ? 
 A mist floated before his eyes. It was 
 there but a moment ; but in that moment a 
 picture presented itself to him in the midst 
 of a lurid cloud — a picture of a handsome 
 sailor, smitten by an assassin's hand, falling 
 to the ground. Then the figures were lost 
 in a glare of bri'zht blood and bright snow ; 
 and they, in their turn, were lost in black 
 shade. Although the vision lasted but a 
 moment, It produced the curious effect upon 
 him of having been enveloped in darkness 
 for a long time ; and the sudden awakening 
 to consciousness caused him to shade his 
 eyes with his hand, as if the light in the 
 room were too strong for him. Awake 
 again, the Lascar's familiar action and 
 bearing smote him with a sense of danger. 
 The instinct of self-preservation whispered 
 to him that his good name might be im- 
 perilled by further association with the 
 man. It was clear that the Lascar had 
 done a desperate deed — a deed which, al- 
 though he shuddered to think of it, had 
 perhaps removed his enemy from the scene. 
 But if so, it was murder. The merest 
 whisper, the faintest breath of suspicion, 
 would be his ruin, not only with the world, 
 but with Ellen. He would pay for services 
 — yes ; but he would take no risk. It be- 
 hoved him to be wary. 
 
 " They've had a merry party down 
 yonder," said the Lascar, with a motion of 
 his head in the direction of Mr. Marvel's 
 house. " I made certain you were there, 
 master. I've been hanging about the street 
 all night in the cold. I've been on the 
 watch ; shall I tell you for whom ?" 
 
 " No ; I want to know nothing," replied 
 Mr. Fewster, measuring his words care- 
 fully. '• Understand me once and for all. 
 Whatever you do you do on your own re- 
 sponsibility ; and I will in no way be asso- 
 ciated with it or with you. If you presume 
 to associate me with any acts of violence 
 on your part, I wash my hands of you. 
 Nay, more : I will set those upon you who 
 will not let you escape easily." 
 
 " I understand you, master," said the 
 Lascar, without the least show of resent- 
 ment. '' But go on ; you have more to say. 
 I'll wait till you've done." 
 
 " You dog, you ! You break into my 
 house as if you had a right here ! You tell 
 me, as if I were interested in knowing, that 
 the poUce are at your heels, and that you 
 
84 
 
 JOSHUA MARVEL. 
 
 are afraid of your very footsteps being 
 tracked ! You have the presumption to say 
 that it is a good job for me that it is not so ! 
 You throw down this knife before me with 
 blood upon it 1 What is it to me whose 
 blood it is, or what crime you have com- 
 mitted ? What if it were to be discovered 
 that you had rendered yourself liable to the 
 law, and then had been seen to come here ? 
 If I did my tluty, I should go for a police- 
 man, and hand you into his charge, and so 
 be rid of you." 
 
 The Lascar listened without the slightest 
 sign of discomposure. He even nodded 
 approvingly as he said, — 
 
 " There's only you and me, master. You 
 wouldn't speak so if anj'body else was by. 
 Don't fear ; I know what you mean well 
 enough. There's no chance of our misun- 
 derstanding each other, though you're a 
 better actor than I am, and that's a fact. 
 Rest you easy. No one saw me come here ; 
 and no one shall see me go out. As for the 
 police, I know as well as you that it would 
 suit your game as little to set them on me 
 as it would suit my game for them to be set 
 on. But you're right in threatening me 
 with them. It belongs to your part; for 
 you are master. And it belongs to my 
 part to take what you say kindly ; for I am 
 a dog. I am satisfied so long as I get 
 enough to keep me; and I'm not greedy, 
 as you know." 
 
 Solomon Fewster was extremely discon- 
 certed by the Lascar's coolpess. It proved 
 to him that he was in the Lascar's power, 
 and that the Lascar knew it. He was dis- 
 concerted also by the conviction that forced 
 itself upon him, that the Lascar measured 
 his indignation at its proper worth. But 
 he could not belie his nature. It was im- 
 possible for him to be straightforward ; even 
 in his villany he was compelled to be cun- 
 ning. He would take care that he com- 
 mitted himself as little as possible by word 
 of mouth. He was burning to hear what 
 the Lascar had to tell, but he would not 
 ask. He drew his breath hard, and it was 
 i with difficulty that he restrained his im- 
 patience during the long pause that fol- 
 lowed ; for the Lascar was as determined 
 as he not to be the first to break the si- 
 lence. At length, feeling that he was 
 being mastered, he turned wrathfully upon 
 the Lascar, and questioned, " Well ? " 
 
 " Well ! " was the quiet answer. 
 
 " If you have nothing more to say, you 
 can go." 
 
 " I have something more to say, but I 
 am waiting for permission to speak." 
 
 There was an assumption of insolent hu- 
 mility in the Lascar's tone ; and Mr. Few- 
 ster bit his lip as he said, " Your tongue's 
 your own ; I can't stop you." 
 
 " Tliank you, master ; " with a cringing 
 expression of satisfaction for the concession. 
 " Since I was employed in my present ser- 
 vice — I mean, since a certain night when 
 a kind-hearted gentleman gave me a flower, 
 the leaves of which I have kept carei'ully in 
 paper, so that I shouldn't forget what I had 
 to do — I have been more watchful than 
 ever in the task I had set myself to per- 
 Ibrm. I have been better able to do that 
 than I useil to be, because the same kind- 
 hearted gentleman has generously supplied 
 me with money, so that I have had all my 
 time at my own disposal. He also sup- 
 plied me with Information. The task I had 
 to perform was to revenge myself upon 
 Joshua Marvel for stepping between me 
 and my afiiiirs, and for doing me Injury. ' 
 A little while ago the gentleman told me 
 that Joshua Marvel was expected home 
 soon ; and then I determined that not a 
 night should pass and find me lajcging. 
 Not only my hate, but my faithful duty to 
 my master, macle me determined in this. 
 I set myself to watch for the return of the 
 sailor Joshua ; and during my watch I dis- 
 covered a curious thing. I discovered that 
 the gentleman in whose service I am ap- 
 peared very often in the street I was watch- 
 ing, and that he was in the habit of linger- 
 ing there late at night. He never did 
 any thing else but look up at the bedroom- 
 window of a certain pretty gii'l, whose 
 shadow I have often seen on the blind ; 
 and he never went away until the light in 
 her room was extinguished. I was care- 
 ful that he should not see me, for it was 
 no business of mine ; and I know when I 
 ought to keep in the background. Besides, 
 I admired him for it ; for I knew that he 
 loved this girl, and that Joshua Marvel 
 stood in his way. Regularly every day I 
 went to the docks to see if the Merry 
 Andrew — Joshua Marvel's ship — had ar- 
 rived ; and as good luck would have it, the 
 ship came in this very morning. When I 
 learned that, I went back to my watch in 
 the street the gentleman is so mightily 
 fond of. I knew that Joshua Marvel 
 wouldn't be able to get away from his 
 ship directly it got Into port ; and I guessed 
 that it was more likely than not that he j 
 wouldn't let his people at home know of | 
 
 his unexpected arrival. No ; he would 
 surprise them. It would be so pleasant 
 on Christmas-eve to break In upon them 
 suddenly, and be petted and kissed, es- 
 pecially by one" — 
 
 " The devil take you ! " cried Solomon 
 Fewster fiercely, grasping the table with 
 such force that it trembled with the trem- 
 bling of his hand. " Tell your story with- 
 out preaching, can't you ? " 
 
 "I'll try, master. I hung about the 
 
THE DOG AND HIS MASTER. 
 
 85 
 
 street the whole day, eatin<T nothing, and 
 drinking very little. I might have been 
 fro7A'n, if my purpose hadn't kept me warm 
 I di<hi't grumble because I had to wait. I 
 wanted him to come at night, and he came 
 when I wanted. It isn't much more than 
 an hour ago " — here he dropped his voice 
 to a whisper — " that I saw a sailor turn 
 the corner of the street where pretty Ellen 
 Taylor lives. He had an accordion under 
 his arm, and a cage in his hand covered 
 with a blue pocket-handkerchief; and he 
 stoi)ped two or three times to look at the 
 houses, and nodded to them as if he was 
 wishing them a meriy Christmas. I fol- 
 lowed him, like a cat, and opened my 
 knite. He was singing — I couldn't catch 
 the words — and to judge from that and 
 from the way he walked, I should say he 
 was as happy a man as any in London. 
 He never once looked behind him ; if he 
 had, I would have struck him down. He 
 stopped before the house where his father 
 and mother lived, and stooped to the key- 
 hole anil listened. I was close upon him 
 — waiting ! If he hadn't been so much 
 occupied, he might have smelt me at his 
 back. But it wouldn't have saved him if 
 he had seen me ; he would only have been 
 struck down the sooner. While he was 
 listening at the keyhole, he laughed quiet- 
 ly, enjoying the surprise he was going to 
 give his people. When he had his laugh 
 out, he knocked at the door. Presently I 
 heard a woman's voice inside the house 
 ask, " Who's there ? " " It's Josh," said 
 my man. I heard a cry of pleasure ; 
 and as the door was being unfastened, I 
 raised my knife, and stabbed him in the 
 back. 
 
 " And killed him ? " cried Solomon Few- 
 ster involuntarily. 
 
 " I don't know. He fell ; and as I ran 
 off, I caught a glimpse of a woman kneel- 
 ing by him in the snow, and raising his 
 head to her bosom." 
 
 Solomon Fewster groaned. Without 
 another word he opened the door by which 
 the Lascar had entered, and walked into 
 the open air. The snow-fall had ceased, 
 and the stars were shining. The moon, 
 too, had risen, and clouds of light and 
 deep shade were gliding swiftly across it, 
 while everchanging shadows were playing 
 on the snow. In the distance he heard the 
 waits ; they were a long way off, and the 
 strains of music fidl upon his ears chastened 
 and mellowed. He was in danger ; he had 
 allied himself with this man, who made so 
 light of the shedding of blood ; and he had 
 been made a confederate in perhaps a mur- 
 der. Not that he had any compunction ; 
 not that he had any pity. Nothing would 
 have rejoiced him more than to have heard 
 
 that Joshua had been killed in a mutiny 
 had been wrecked, or had lost his life on 
 sea or on land by any means, so that he 
 was not im])licated in it. The feelings 
 that disturbeii him now were purely selfish ; 
 he had to save himself from suspicion, sup- 
 posing any discovery were made. Perhaps 
 it would be best, after all, to speak plainly 
 to the Lascar. There were no witnesses, 
 and it did not matter much what he said. 
 If Joshua were dead, the Lascar must be 
 got rid of at any sacrifice of money. Thus 
 resolving, he returned to the room. TTie 
 Lascar was sitting patiently before the fire, 
 and did not even raise his eyes as Mr. 
 Fewster entered. " He did not know what 
 I went out tor," thought Mr. Fewster. " I 
 might have gone for a policeman, and if I 
 had brought one in, he would have declared 
 I was his accomplice." 
 
 " Has it left off snowing, master ? " 
 asked the Lascar. 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Then it wouldn't be quite safe for me 
 to go away to-night — safe for you, I 
 mean." 
 
 " You can stop here to-night." 
 " Thank you, master. Have I done 
 well ? " 
 
 " It doesn't matter whether I say you 
 have done well or ill ; so, to save argument, 
 suppose I say you have done well. Now, 
 attend. If what you have done to-night 
 should turn out to be " — 
 
 " Say murder, master," said the Lascar, 
 seeing that Mr. Fewster hesitated to speak 
 plainly. " I don't mind." 
 
 " If it should turn out to be that, have 
 you considered that you are in danger ? " 
 
 " I haven't thought of it, master, and 
 that's a fact. But if I am in danger, so 
 are you." 
 
 " That may or may not be. The only 
 danger I am in is from what you might 
 say ; and, supposing I had spoken to you 
 only once in my life, you would be free to 
 say any thing of me, or of any one else, for 
 that matter. What you might say wouldn't 
 be evidence, you know." 
 
 " True, master ; but, at all events, I 
 could ruin yoiu- chances with pretty Ellen 
 Taylor." 
 
 " What satisfaction would that be to 
 you ? " 
 
 "Every satisfaction," said the Lascar 
 with a kindling eye. " If any one hurts 
 me, I hurt him." 
 
 " As you have hurt Joshua Marvel, be- 
 cause he hurt you." 
 
 " And because I am in your service," 
 said the Lascar doggedly. " Don't forget 
 that, please ; I don't intend to forget it. 
 If this is to be a fiur argument, let it be 
 fair. If it is to be acting, let it be acting. 
 
86 
 
 JOSHUA MARVEL. 
 
 What I have done tonight is half for me 
 aud half for you : equal shares." 
 
 " I told you once that I would have no 
 partnerships," said INIr. Fewster in a steady 
 voice, " and I will have none ; but I don't 
 mind coming to a distinct understanding. 
 If what you have done to-night should turn 
 out at its worst " — 
 
 " Or its best," interrupted the Lascar 
 'sneeringly. 
 
 " It will not be safe for you to remain in 
 the country. To please you> I will say it 
 will not be safe for you or for me." 
 
 " Ah ! " exclaimed the Lascar thouirht- 
 fully. " I think I understand you. Well, 
 in that case there are plenty of countries I 
 shouldn't mind going to ; or I might go 
 aboard ship again. How much will you 
 give me ? " 
 
 " A Iiundred pounds." 
 
 " Agreed, master, — if it should turn out 
 at its worst, as you say. But if it does not, 
 I stay, mind you." 
 
 " That is your affixir." 
 
 " As much yours as mine, master," said 
 the Lascar with determination. 
 
 " What makes you harp upon that, you 
 dog ? " exclaimed Mr. Fewster, firing up. 
 
 " Necessity," replied the Lascar coolly. 
 He liked the life of indolence he had been 
 leading, and he did not intend torelinqu sh 
 his hold of Solomon Fewster. " I have no 
 money, and no means of living. You have 
 acted fairly to me up to now, and you 
 must continue to do so. You can afford it, 
 that's certain. I know what it is you fear. 
 You fear that it should be known that I am 
 in your service. Well, no one shall know 
 it from me ; and I will never come here 
 again. You know where I stay. What 
 you have to give me, leave there for me ; 
 and when you want me, send for me. I am 
 your dog, ready to do your bidding. I 
 can't speak fairer. There's no occasion 
 for any more palaver. I'm tired and sleepy ; 
 I can sleep here, before the fire." He 
 stretched himself on the ground by the 
 side of the fire. " Silence gives consent, 
 they say. If you don't speak, I shall un- 
 derstand that the affair is settled. You 
 wanted a distinct understanding, you 
 know." 
 
 He closed his eyes, and listened for the 
 answer. The answer came — in silence ; 
 for Solomon Fewster spoke not another 
 word that night. The Lascar, made 
 drowsy by the glare from the fire, courted 
 sleep ; and it came to him, as it comes to 
 better men. And Solomon Fewster sat, 
 looking down upon the form of the man 
 who could blast his good name by a word, 
 and thought — ^Vhat? Once during the 
 night the Lascar awoke with a shiver. 
 The fire had gone out ; but Solomon Few- 
 
 ster was still sitting at the table with a 
 haggard look upon his face, as if he had 
 suddenly grown old. 
 
 CHAPTER XVm. 
 
 THE RIVALRY OF LOVE. 
 
 A SILENCE almost like the silence of the 
 grave reigned in the house of the Marvels. 
 If, by some chance, a blind man had found 
 his way there, he might reasonably have 
 wondered whether it was tenanted by 
 ghosts or human beings. The persons in 
 the house walked about it with such a 
 ghostly motion that scarcely a footfall could 
 be heard. The doors were opened and 
 shut as tenderly as if wounds were being 
 handled, and as if rough treatment would 
 cause them to cry out with pain. The very 
 voices were hushed and low, and what was 
 said was said in whispers. The blow by 
 which Joshua had been struck down was a 
 severe one, and wounded many besides 
 himself Notwithstanding Minnie's efforts, 
 Joshua had lost a great deal of blood, and 
 was laid on a sick-bed for many weeks. 
 For a long time the doctor feared for his 
 life ; but good nursing and a strong consti- 
 tution were in his favor. 
 
 " But mind you, Mrs. Marvel," the doc- 
 tor had said, half-a-dozen times, " nothing 
 ivould have saved him — not even his con- 
 stitution, and it's a good one ; not even the 
 nursing he has had, and no man ever had 
 better — nothing tvould have saved him if 
 Miss Kindred had not behaved like a hero- 
 ine. You may thank that young lady for 
 saving your son's life. If she hatln't stopped 
 the flow of blood with her lips, all the doc- 
 tors in London couldn't have kept him in 
 the world for twenty-four hours." 
 
 When Minnie was told of this, she went 
 to her room and locked herself in. 
 
 " I have saved him I " she said to herself, 
 weeping tears of delicious joy. " I have 
 saved his life ! Oh, what happiness ! I 
 could die now, I am so happy ! " 
 
 It might have been better for her if she 
 had died then with those words upon her 
 lips. 
 
 During the time that Joshua was in the 
 greatest danger, Mrs. Marvel would allow 
 no one but herself to sit up with him at 
 night. She had a bed made up on the 
 floor, and rested there, taking, indeed, but 
 little sleep, until Joshua was out of danger. 
 Minnie, especially, had jileaded hard to be 
 allowed to sit up with her ; but Mrs. Mar- 
 vel was firm. Although she would not have 
 
THE RIVALRY OF LOVE. 
 
 87 
 
 confessed it even to lier.-^elf, she was jealous 
 of the girl's solicitude ; and once exju-essed 
 herself angrily because Minnie had offered 
 to give Joshua his medicine. Afterwards, 
 seeing Minnie in tears, Mrs. Marvel kissed 
 her and begged her pardon in a gentle, 
 motherly wa)', which made Minnie cry the 
 more. Mrs. Marvel foinid Minnie more 
 difficult to manage than Ellen. Ellen was 
 wonderfully undemonstrative and wonder- 
 fully obedient. And besides, Ellen was 
 never in the way when she was not wanted, 
 and was always at hand the instant she 
 was required. There was an instinctive 
 sympathy between Mrs. Marvel and Ellen 
 which did not exist between Mrs. Marvel 
 and Minnie. The good mother loved both 
 the girls, but she loved Ellen like a daugh- 
 ter. In the second week of Joshua's illness 
 a circumstance occurred which, for a short 
 time, occasioned Mrs. Marvel much anxious 
 thought. Joshua being more feverish than 
 usual — for three weeks he was delirious, 
 and did not know where he was, or who 
 were tending him — the girls hovered about 
 the room (in their anxiety to be of some as- 
 sistance) rather later than Mrs. Marvel 
 generally allowed them. 
 
 " Go to bed, girls," said Mrs. Marvel. 
 
 Ellen rose obediently, and kissing Mrs. 
 Marvel, and asking to be called if Mrs. 
 Marvel wanted assist;>nce in the night, 
 went softly out of the room. But Minnie 
 lingered behind, and with a yearning, wist-- 
 ful look at Mrs. Marvel, begged, in the 
 softest of whispers, to be allowed to sit up 
 with her. 
 
 " No, child," said Mrs. Marvel, " I can't 
 think of it. You would be of no use to me 
 to-morrow if you were to sit up to-night." 
 
 " Oh, yes, 1 should 1 " said Minnie, still 
 pleading ; *' you don't know what a strong 
 girl I am. l)o let me stop with you ! Do 
 let me think that I can do something to 
 help you ! " 
 
 " You can do a great deal if you obey 
 me, Minnie ; and you do assist me very 
 much, my dear ; but I will not let you sit 
 up to-night. Hush ! " For here Joshua 
 said something aloud, and murmured fever- 
 ishly in his sleep. When he was quiet, 
 Mrs. Marvel said, " Don't distress me, dear 
 Minnie ; go to bed, like a good girl." 
 
 Minnie, with deep sighs, went to the bed- 
 side to look at Joshua and to ijid him a si- 
 lent good-night — Mrs. Marvel regarding 
 her jealously the while — and then crept 
 out of the room in tears. The girls being 
 gone, Mrs. Marvel telt more contented. 
 She sat down by her son's bedside, and, 
 with that lightness of touch which nothing 
 but a mother's pure love or that of a wife 
 can impart, smoothed the bed-coverings, 
 and brushed the hair from Joshua's eyes. 
 
 At about eleven o'clock the handle of the 
 door was genlly turned, and Mr. Marvel 
 entered, lie had no boots on, and she had 
 not ln'ard him come up from the kitchen. 
 Clasping his wife's hand, he leaned over the 
 bed to catch a glimpse of Joshua's face. 
 
 " He is better to-night, George," she 
 said ; " he is getting along nicely. The 
 doctor said to-day that he will soon be sen- 
 sible." 
 
 George Marvel nodded, and put his lips 
 to his wife's cheek. 
 
 '' You must be very tired, Maggie." 
 
 She rejilied by a bright smile. 
 
 " Shall I sit up for an hour while you lie 
 down ? " 
 
 " Yes, father," knowing it would please 
 him. " Have you had supper ? " 
 
 A nod. 
 
 " And your beer ? " 
 
 Another nod. 
 
 " And your pipe ? " 
 
 " Yes ; Ellen got every thing ready nicely. 
 She is like you were when you were a girl, 
 Maggie." 
 
 " Better than me, father." 
 
 " That's not possible, wife." Ah ! how 
 her heart fluttei-ed as he said the word 1 
 She trembled in his arms like a girl. " Now 
 lie down ; I'll wake you in an hour." 
 
 She had but to close her eyes — being 
 satisfied that her darling son was in good 
 hands — and she was asleep. George Mar- 
 vel watched for an hour, and perhaps a lit- 
 tle longer, and then touched his wife, who 
 was instantly awake. Alone again, Mrs. 
 Marvel resumed her loving vigil. Not a 
 sound was to be heard except the occasional 
 prattle of Joshua, now of Dan and the birds, 
 now of '* father " and " mother," now of El- 
 len, now of Minnie an<l her shell. Mrs. 
 Marvel had already learned, through those 
 unconscious confessions, that her son's 
 heart was as tender and as good as it had 
 been before he had started in life for him- 
 self A few minutes after the church-clock 
 had struck two, ]\Irs. Marvel fancied she 
 heard a soft breathing outside the bedroom- 
 door. She listened intently, thinking she 
 must have been deceived ; but no — the 
 soft breathing, as of some one asleep, came 
 distinctly to her ears. She went to the 
 door and opened it, and, lying at the foot 
 of the stairs in the narrow passage, she dis- 
 covered Minnie, in her night-dress, fost 
 asleep. The girl had evidently kept awake 
 until Ellen and Sarah were asleep, and had 
 then stolen down stairs, and had sat outside 
 the door of the sick-room until she had been 
 overpowered by fatigue. Mrs. Marvel 
 stooped over the sleeping gu-1 and whis- 
 pered, — 
 
 " Minnie 1 " 
 
 The sound of her name, chiming in with. 
 
88 
 
 JOSHUA MARVEL. 
 
 some dreaming fancy, brought a happy 
 smile to the girl's lips, and she an- 
 swered, — 
 
 " Yes, Joshua ! " 
 
 A look of pain passed into Mrs. Marvel's 
 face ; she knelt by Minnie's side, and gen- 
 tly raising the girl's head, she whisj^ered 
 again, — 
 
 " Minnie ! You'll catch your death of 
 cold lying here." 
 
 Minnie, still sleeping, encircled Mrs. 
 Marvel's neck with her arms, and mur- 
 mured, as she nestled close to the anxious 
 mother's breast, — 
 
 " Joshua ! Love me ! Love me, Josh- 
 ua! " 
 
 Mrs. Marvel trembled as she looked upon 
 the gii'l's fair face, made fairer by the hap- 
 py smile playing about the lips, and she 
 felt a sudden chill at her heart. 
 
 " Oh, my poor Minnie ! " she said be- 
 neath her breath. " Oh, my pooi-, poor 
 Iklinnie ! " 
 
 Then by a strong efibrt, she raised the 
 girl, and so awoke her. 
 
 Before Minnie had time to recover full 
 consciousness, her name, uttered by Josh- 
 ua in his fevered sleep, I'ell upon her ears. 
 With a glad cry she sprang i'rom Mrs. 
 Marvel's arms into the sick-room ; but 
 Mrs. Marvel stepped swiftly before her, and 
 taking her two hands prisoner, said, in a 
 voice which, although very low, was stern 
 and decided, " I am seriously angry with 
 you, Minnie." 
 
 The sudden movements, the light in the 
 room, and, above all, Mrs Marvel's stern 
 voice, restored Minnie to her senses. She 
 dropped her head, and a hot blush of shame 
 stole over her neck and face, while the 
 hands which Mrs. Marvel held turned cold 
 as ice. All Mrs. Marvel's sternness was 
 gone, and jyity only remained. 
 
 "Forgive me," Minnie pleaded. 
 
 " I do, child," said Mrs. Marvel, more 
 agitated than Minnie was. " I was obliged 
 to speak sternly, or I should not have 
 been able to wake you. Go to bed now, 
 and be more obedient for the future." 
 
 Minnie walked humbly into the passage, 
 whither Mrs. Marvel followed her. 
 
 " Ah, not like that ! " sighed Minnie, as 
 Mrs. Marvel turned to enter the room. 
 " Not like that ! Kiss me, and say again 
 that you forgive me." 
 
 And Mrs. Marvel, distressed and pitiful, 
 kissed Minnie, who clung to her for a few 
 moments, sobbing quietly, and then crept 
 to bed. 
 
 But who had struck the blow? ^Vho 
 was it that, waiting with malicious cunning 
 until Joshua's foot was on the threshold of 
 the home where so many loving hearts 
 
 were eager to welcome him, had foully 
 struck him down ? Susan was the only 
 one who had any suspicion ; but she did 
 not mention it, for she had not seen the 
 Lascar lor many months. When Minnie 
 was questioned, she declared that she saw 
 no one in the street. A neighbor asked 
 why one of the men in the house did not 
 look for footsteps in the snow and follow 
 up the track. They could not tell why 
 they had not done so ; it would have been 
 the right thing to do, undoubtedly, but it 
 had not occurred to them. When Joshua 
 was sufficiently recovered, he could not 
 assist them. He was examined and cross- 
 examined closely. Did he suspect any of 
 the sailors V No ; he was good friends 
 with every person on board ; was even a fa- 
 vorite with the captain and officers. Ah ! 
 perhaps it sprang from that, they said ; 
 one of his mates might have been jealous 
 of him. No ; he was certain not one of 
 them was. His own opinion was that he 
 had been stabbed by a thief who wanted to 
 rob liiui. But there ! what was the use of 
 bothering about it ? Here he was, getting 
 well and strong again, when it might have 
 been so much worse. Thank God, in a 
 few weeks he would be as well as ever ! 
 The day that Joshua was out of danger, 
 the doctor told him that his life had been 
 saved by Minnie. <■ 
 
 " In what way, sir ? " asked Joshua. 
 
 " Don't you remember that, when you 
 were struck " — commenced the doctor. 
 But Joshua interrupted him by saying that 
 he remembered nothing from that moment. 
 
 " I was walking along, too much occu- 
 pied with the happiness of coming home 
 to think of any thing else. I remember 
 looking at the houses in the street, and 
 stopping before our house. I heard voices 
 inside, or I thought I did. Indeed, it 
 might havcf been fancy. I stooped to lis- 
 ten, and then knocked. Some one asked 
 — ah, now I remember! It Avas Minnie's 
 voice asking who was there. Just as I an- 
 swered, a dizziness came over me ; I did 
 not even know that I was struck." 
 
 " As you answered," said the doctor, 
 taking up the narrative where Joshua 
 dropped it, " Minnie opened the door. 
 She saw you falling, and saw blood flow- 
 ing from your neck. She threw herself by 
 your side, and put her lips to the wound, 
 and pressed so as to cause the blood to 
 flow less freely. I honestly believe that if 
 she had not done that, your life would not 
 have been saved." 
 
 Joshua did not pursue the conversation, 
 and the doctor did not recur to the sub- 
 ject again. The tbllowing afternoon Josh- 
 ua said to his mother, — 
 
 " Mother, I want to speak to IVIinnie." 
 
 ^J 
 
THE RIVALRY OF LOVE. 
 
 89 
 
 Mrs. Marvel, a little uneasily, -went for 
 Minnie, who came and sat by Joshua's 
 bed. 
 
 "Are you better, Joshua?" asked the 
 girl. 
 
 " Yes, dear Minnie," answered Joshua. 
 
 They spoke in whispers. Joshua put 
 out his hij; hand, and JMinnie clasped it. 
 
 " Your hand is quite cold, Minnie." 
 Minnie, indeed, was very aL^itated. " I 
 owe you my life, dear Minnie, and I want 
 to thank you for it. It almost seems to 
 me, alter what I have been told, as if my 
 life belonged to you. Thank you, dear 
 little i\Iinnie — you used to like me to call 
 you that ! — thank you a thousand thou- 
 sand times. I shall never be able to repay 
 you ! " 
 
 " I don't want payment. Joshua," said 
 Minnie, when the wild beating of her heart 
 was subdued. " It brought its own pay- 
 ment with it. It is, and ever will be, my 
 sweetest remembrance. O Joshua ! as the 
 greatest unhappiness that ever could occur 
 to me would be " — (to lose you, she was 
 about to say, but she checked the words in 
 time) — " to know that you would not re- 
 cover, so the greatest happiness that I 
 have ever experienced is to think that I 
 have done you some little service." 
 
 " Little service ! The greatest service, 
 the most devoted action that woman 
 could do to man ! Perhaps — who knows V 
 — one day I may be ahla to repay you in 
 my own way." As if those words were 
 not sufficient for her, who would have given 
 her life for his. " Stoop down JMinnie ! " 
 She inclined her head to the pillow. " Lit- 
 tle Minnie, little Minnie ! " he whispered 
 tenderly, and he placed his lips to her 
 cheek. " Thank you for your devotion." 
 
 It was fortunate for IMiunie that it was 
 dusk, and that her back was towards Mrs. 
 Marvel, or the good mother would have 
 had further cause for anxiety and uneasi- 
 ness in Minnie's trembling form and flushed 
 face. As it was, there was a long silence 
 in the room ; and Mrs. Marvel, approach- 
 ing softly to the bed to see if Joshua was 
 asleep, broke the happy reverie into which 
 Minnie had fallen. 
 
 Solomon Fewster came to the house 
 every day to incjuire after Joshua, and went 
 away every day with content in his face 
 and despair in his heart. If ever a man 
 played a double pjtrt, he played it during 
 that time. " If he would but die 1 " he 
 thought many and many a time. " If mor- 
 tification would set in, or erysipelas, or 
 something that would kill him ! " And " I 
 am truly happy to hear it," he said, many 
 and many a time, to Mrs. Marvel, as in 
 answer to his inquiries she told him that 
 Joshua was inq^roving rapidly. " I have 
 
 brought a little jelly for him," which Mrs. 
 Marvel received thankfully. At other 
 times he would bring a chicken or some 
 other delicacy to tenqit Joshua's a[)petite, 
 and would walk from the house wiih ear- 
 nest wishes that what he leil would ch(jke 
 the invalid. " I shall never forget IMr, 
 Fewster's kindness," said Mrs. Marvel. 
 '• I feel (juite angry with myself; for I did 
 not giv(^ him credit for so much gooil feel- 
 ing. But it is just in such times as these 
 that a man shows the real goodness of his 
 heart." And IMr. Fewster met with his 
 reward immediately ; for they were all 
 grateful to him tor his attention to Joshua. 
 Mr. Marvel always had a hearty word for 
 him, Minnie always a bright look, Ellen 
 always a kind welcome now. But it was 
 both sweet and bitter to him. " Ellen 
 looks kindly upon me," he thought, and 
 thought truly, " because I profess myself 
 kind to Joshua. Will it ever be other- 
 wise V Yes ; if money can make it so, it 
 shall be. And money can do much." 
 
 Yes, money can do much ; but it cannot 
 buy love, although it is often paid for it. 
 
 The most delicious three months of Josh- 
 ua's lifie dated from the day on which the 
 doctor declared hira to be out of danger. 
 He lived in an atmosphere of love. Lov- 
 ing hearts, loving hands, loving looks, 
 loving thoughts, surrounded him. Is it 
 better to have those than to be great and 
 rich and poweriul? Too modest for ambi- 
 tion are such blessings. Yet are they the 
 sweetest, the holiest attributes of life. Of 
 life, Avhich is nothing without pleasui'es 
 which cost money. Of life, which is not 
 worth the living without fine linen and 
 rich food. Of life, which is useless Avith- 
 out the restless striving, the absorbing am- 
 bition, which make up the sum of human 
 progress. Of Life, the Paradox ! . 
 
 Something which has fallen out of its 
 proper place may be mentioned here. 
 When Joshua was carried into the house 
 on that memoral)le Christmas night, two 
 things that had fallen from his hands were 
 picked up from the snow and carried in 
 after him. One of these was his accordion, 
 the other was a white cockatoo in a cage, 
 which Joshua had brought home from the 
 South Seas. Whether it was that the 
 cockatoo was overwhelmed at finding itself 
 in a strange land, or that it deemed it ne- 
 cessary to be silent in the distressing cir- 
 cumstances of the case, it certainly behav- 
 ed itself in a most exemplary manner, and 
 gave no indication that it possessed a 
 tongue. The cockatoo was taken to Dan's 
 house, which was but a very few doors 
 from Joshua's, and two or three days after- 
 wards Dan was startled Ijy hearing his 
 name called in a strange loud voice. He 
 
90 
 
 JOSHUA MARVEL. 
 
 looked up at Ellen, and asked if she had 
 spoken. She had just time to say " No " 
 •when her name was called in the same 
 stranpje loud voiee. 
 
 " Wh}^, it's the cockatoo ! " exclaimed 
 Dan. 
 
 Sure enourrh, it was the cockatoo, which, 
 now that its tongue was loosened, made as 
 much use of it as a woman could have 
 done. Its stock of language was not large, 
 consisting only of a shrill " Dan I " a shrill 
 " Dan and Jo ! " a shrill " Ellen ! " a shrill 
 " Minnie ! " and a softer articulation of 
 " Bread-and-cheese and kisses ! and kiss- 
 es ! and kisses ! " winding up with a volley 
 of kisses, which it continued until it was 
 completely out of breath. No stronger 
 proof of Joshua's attachment could have 
 been received by Dan and Ellen. Dan 
 was much aifected by it. 
 
 " You see how he was thinking of us all 
 the time he was away," he said to Ellen, 
 with tears in his eyes. " What shall I do 
 if he dies ! " 
 
 But Joshua did not die, and it was not 
 very long afterwards that Dan was sitting 
 in his friend's bedroom, surrounded by his 
 birds as usual. It was like the old time 
 come over again. Here they were, man 
 and man, talking oiten as if they were 
 boys. So much had to be told ! The loss 
 of Dan's i)arents, Dan entering into busi- 
 ness, and how they all came to be living 
 together. " Wonderful, wonderful ! " said 
 Joshua, again and again. "Like a story 
 in a book." 
 
 "Just what I said," said Dan; "like a 
 romance." 
 
 Who should come to the house one day 
 but theteptain of Joshua's ship, the '• INIer- 
 ry AndlWl," ? The part he plays in this 
 story is a small one, but eventtul enough in 
 all conscience. He was a shrewd man of 
 business and a good officer. It was to his 
 interest to liav<^good men about him ; for 
 he was the principal owner of the ship, and 
 he was remarkabl^ sensible in any matter 
 affecting his interests. He had heard of 
 what had occurred to -'Joshua, and he was 
 very sorry for it, because Bte had been so 
 satisfied with Joshua's conduct on board 
 his ship, that he had determined to make 
 the young sailor his third mate on the next 
 voyage. Therein he showed his eccentri- 
 city ; most other captains would have cho- 
 sen a man who had already filled that posi- 
 tion satisfactorily. But Captain Liddle 
 liked to judge for himself, and Joshua had 
 found fiivor in his eyes. The young sailor 
 was steady and attentive, and had made 
 some progress in the study of navigation. 
 There was one especial reason why Captain 
 Liddle wanted steady men with him on his 
 next voyage. He was about to get mar- 
 
 ried, and he was going to take his young 
 wife with him. There was great excite- 
 ment in the house when Captain Liddle 
 announced himself. Joshua, who was in 
 bed, wanted to rise, but Captain Liddle 
 would not allow him. 
 
 " Lie easy, lie easy. Marvel," he said : 
 " you'll get better all the sooner." 
 
 " I hoped to come with you, sir, on your 
 next voyage," said Joshua. 
 
 " Well, I had some thought of that my- 
 self," said Captain Liddle. 
 
 " Do you go out soon, sir ? " 
 
 " Not ibr three months. Marvel ; perhaps 
 not for four. The ship's undergoing a 
 thorough overhauling. She'll have a pre- 
 cious freight in her next trip." 
 
 " What loading, sir ? " 
 
 Captain Liddle's eyes twinkled. " -Fe- 
 male. Lie easy, lie easy. Marvel ; " fdr- 
 Joshua had given another start. " Mrs. 
 Captain Liddle. I shall be married soon, 
 and my wife goes out with me." 
 
 Joshua murmured respectful congratula- 
 tions. 
 
 " Thank you, thank you. Marvel. Now, 
 I'll tell you what I have come especially 
 for. First, though, how long before you are 
 well ? " 
 
 " I am well now, sir." 
 
 " Strong, I mean ; able to get about and 
 do your work like a man." 
 
 " Not for two months, I am afraid, 
 sir." 
 
 " That will do. Now, then. You get 
 strong in two months, and you shall go oiit 
 with me in my next trip as third mate of 
 the ' Merry Andrew.' Lie easy, lie easy,- 
 Marvel. What do you say to it, eh ? " 
 
 " Say to it, sir ! O " — 
 
 " Lie easy, lie easy, my lad. Wlien you 
 (jet strong come to the ship, and write a few 
 lines soon telling me how strong you are 
 "•etting. Mrs. Marvel, your son is a good 
 sailor, and will make a good officer. And 
 this is Dan, that you told me of once ? A 
 good head ; but not so strong in the legs as 
 Marvel, eh ? " 
 
 " No, sir," said Dan with a bright smile, 
 for he was overjoyed at Joshua's good for- 
 tune ; " biit it wouldn't do for all of us to be 
 stronii, sir ; consider the doctors." 
 
 " Why, here is a ship, ropes and sails and 
 all 1 And birds ! " 
 
 Obedient to Dan's signal, the sailor-birds 
 flew up the ropes, and stood on the slender 
 cross-trees, as proud as if they had passed 
 their lives in the service. 
 
 " Good — good ! " said Captain Liddle. 
 " For sale, eh ? " 
 
 " No ; they are not mine sir ; they belong 
 to an old sailor." 
 
 " Very proj^er. Ali, young lady," to 
 Minnie, who had been in the room, but ia 
 
THE EIVALRY OF LOVE. 
 
 91 
 
 the backj:^roun(l, durincc the captain's visit ; 
 " and what do you think ot'the sea? " 
 
 "If J had been a man, sir," said Minnie 
 modestly and quietly, " I should like to 
 have been a sailor." 
 
 '•Very proper — very proper. Good- 
 day, Marvel. Get strong as quickly as 
 you can. You'll have to superintend 
 cariio." 
 
 Mr. JNIarvel, comin';; home at ni2;ht, was 
 told the good news before he had time to 
 take the comlbrter from his neck. He ran 
 up stairs at once to his son's room. " A 
 sailor first, and then a captain," he exclaim- 
 ed, recalliug Joshua's words when he first 
 announced his wish. " Do you remember, 
 Josh ? " 
 
 " Yes, father, yes," said Joshua eagerly. 
 
 " It's better than being a wood-turner. 
 Josh," said George Marvel triumphantly. 
 
 " I should think so, indeed. You'll see ! " 
 
 " There, Maggie ! " observed Mr. Marvel 
 to his wife later on in the evening. " What 
 did I tell you ? And you was against it all 
 the while, and wanted him to be a wood- 
 turner. He'll be a captain before he's 
 thirty." 
 
 " Ho is spared, I hope, for great things." 
 said ]\L's. Marvel meekly ; " and to be a 
 blessing to us all." 
 
 That same night, Dan and Joshua and 
 Ellen spent some very happy hours together. 
 Minnie was with Susan attending her 
 fixther, so that the three were undisturbed. 
 Mrs. Marvel opened the door once ; but 
 seeing the group, and observing how en- 
 grossed they were, she shut it softly, and 
 went down again into the kif chen. Once, 
 also, George Marvel was going out of the 
 kitchen, when his wife called to to him, — 
 
 " Where are you going, father ? " 
 
 " To Joshua's room." 
 
 " Don't go, George. Come and sit down ; 
 I want to speak to you." 
 
 Mr. Marvel resumed his seat, and Mrs. 
 ^larvel refilled his pipe and handed it to 
 him, with a light, " There ! smoke your 
 pipe, and don't be so restless." 
 
 He took a few whiffs, and asked who was 
 with Joshua. 
 
 " Ellen and Dan ; and they aie very 
 happy and comfortable. I peeped in once, 
 and I wouldn't disturb them." 
 
 " Oh ! " said Mr. Marvel reflectively dwell- 
 ing lengthily upon that smallest of words. 
 
 " I have reasons, George," said Mrs. 
 Marvel quietly. " I never saw Ellen look 
 so happy and pretty as she looks to- 
 night." 
 
 Mr. Marvel nodded two or three times 
 with an expression of satisfaction. " Do 
 you think, mother," he commenced ; and 
 then he paused, and repeated, " Do you 
 think, mother, that " — and then he paused 
 
 again, as if he had said enough to make hia 
 meaning clear. 
 
 " Yes, I do, George," said I\Irs. Marvel. 
 " I had my doubts, but now I really think it 
 will be so." 
 
 " That will be a real good thing ; " rub- 
 bing his hands. " Here's hoping so 1 " and 
 he drank a full glass of beer to his mysteri- 
 ous toast. 
 
 What was going on up stairs that the 
 wood-turner and his wife were loath to in- 
 terrupt ? Merely a recalling of old reminis- 
 cences and a closer drawing together of 
 three hearts, which might have been one, 
 tor the undivided affection for each other 
 with which they were filled. 
 
 " Thinking of then, when every thing be- 
 fore us was so uncertain, and of now, when 
 everything before us is so bright and clear," 
 said Joshua, " makes me almost believo 
 that our ways are shaped for us, and that, 
 if we strive to do our duty, our reward is 
 certain." 
 
 " It is too deep a question for us, Jo," 
 said Dcm ; " so many considerations spring 
 out of it. As to whether every good man 
 is happy. . As to whether every man who 
 strives to do right is spared pain and misery. 
 At all events, it is certain that the very best 
 thiuij to do is to do what is right, and to be 
 straightforward and honest. It is not too 
 often done, I am afraid. I haven't seen 
 any thing of the world, but it strikes me 
 that that is not the way of it." 
 
 " If ever I am captain of a ship — and I 
 may be, Dan — it looks promising " — 
 
 " That it does, Jo." 
 
 " You shall come with me a voyage. I 
 will have every thing snug for you ; ham- 
 mock on deck the same as that day Ave 
 spent with the Old Sailor — ah, what a 
 day was that ! " 
 
 '■ I can recall every moment of it ; from 
 the night before, when Ellen stood at the 
 window watcliing the rain, and my waking 
 up in the morning waiting for you to come 
 — oh, so anxiously ! And the flowers, and 
 the birds — the poor birds ! — and the 
 In-oakfast, and the ridel I tell you what, 
 Jo, stories could be made out of these 
 things. But the day wouldn't have been 
 the day it was if Ellen had not been with 
 us." 
 
 Ellen smiled, and her eyes sparkled. 
 
 " Every thing c-onnecteil with it is so 
 vivid to my mind just now," said Joshua, 
 '■ that it only wants one thhig to make it 
 complete ; and that is for Ellen to sing 
 ' Bread-and-Checse and Kisses,' as she 
 sang it in the Old Sailor's cabin." 
 
 Ellen, in a low voice, sang the song; and 
 they were silent for a long while, nii:sing 
 happily. Then Joshua made a remark that 
 his pillow was not nicely arranged, and 
 
92 
 
 JOSHUA MARVEL. 
 
 Ellen smoothed it for him. Her arm ne- 
 cessarily was round his neck for a moment 
 — only for a moment by her own will ; for 
 when she would have withdrawn it, Joshua 
 held it there, and she, with impulse as pure 
 as pure heart and mind could make it, 
 allowed it to remain. What wonder that 
 a silence of longer duration followed ? 
 
 Ah ! if a magic spell had fallen upon 
 them then, a spell that would have trans- 
 fixed them and made their ha^Dpiness eter- 
 nal I 
 
 Not one of them knew how long that 
 blissful trance lasted. It was broken by the 
 slightest sound — it might have been the 
 opening of a door, or even the light tread 
 of our old friend the tortoise-shell cat — but 
 whatever the sound was, the trance was at 
 an end, and they were all awake again. 
 Ellen withdrew her arm, and, with down- 
 cast eyes, hurriedly left the room. Joshua 
 turned to Dan, and holding out his hand, 
 said, " Dan, take my hand, and say, Brother 
 Jo." 
 
 " I do. Brother Jo ! " 
 " That's good ; isn't it, Dan ? " 
 " Yes, Jo/' 
 
 " Brothers more than in heart, Dan, as 
 we have always been. But Brothers really 
 and truly, if Ellen says yes." 
 
 " Ellen loves you, Jo. You have but to 
 ask." He paused for a little while before 
 he spoke again. " There is something in 
 my mind thut it is right you should know. 
 It is the only thing I have ever kept from 
 you ; but now, since you have told me 
 about yourself and Ellen " — 
 " Did you ever doubt it, Dan ? " 
 " I wasn't certain, Jo. You have re- 
 moved a great weight from my heart. It 
 seems strange that now, when I see the 
 almost certain prospect of your future being 
 as bright as we used to hope it would be — 
 it seems strange that I cannot say I am 
 happy. Yet one thing would make me so 
 perf(2ctly." 
 
 " There is no cloud between you and me, 
 Dan ? " 
 
 " None — nor ever will be, brother of my 
 heart. But a great hope, shadowed by a 
 great fear, has entered into my soul — a hope 
 which fulfilled, would make earth heaven 
 for me. Is it too precious a thing to pray 
 for ? It seems so to me. I tremble as I think 
 of it. But if it is not to be, I hope I shall 
 soon die." 
 
 " Dan 1 " cried Joshua in alarm, for Dan's 
 last words were like a cry of agony. 
 
 " Haven't you seen it, Jo ? Haven't you 
 suspected it ? I love her so that, if I knew 
 she were lost to me, I scarcely think I could 
 live. I love her so that, if she were lost to 
 me, some stronger motive, some stronger 
 feeling than any I can now think of^ would 
 
 have to animate me to make my future less 
 black than the blackest night." 
 
 " You mean Minnie, Dan ? " 
 
 " Yes ; she is my hght. Ah, Jo ! How I 
 love her! I have never spoken of it till 
 now ; I have never dared to breathe it. 
 And now that I speak of it for the first 
 time, it frightens me." 
 
 " Nay, ban, take courage. You are 
 frightened by shadows." 
 
 " If I could think so ! " mused Dan in a 
 less agitated voice. " What can I, a cripple, 
 ofier her ? Love ? Yes, I can offer her 
 that, pure and undefiled. Nothing more 
 — nothing more I Keep my secret, Jo." 
 
 " Yes, Dan," said Joshua sadly. 
 
 " If all should come right in the end, Jo ! 
 You and Ellen, and me and Minnie ! " 
 
 He trembled, and burying his face in his 
 hands, thought of the happy night when- 
 the Old Sailor traced Joshua's course on 
 the map, and when Minnie's arm was round 
 his neck and her cheek had touched his. 
 How many times had he thought of those 
 few blissful moments, and what balm and 
 comfort had the memory brought him ! 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 SUNSHINE AND CLOUD. 
 
 " George," said Mrs. Marvel to her 
 husband one night, when they were alone 
 in their room, " what has come over Mr. 
 Ivindred ? He is quite changed." 
 
 "I've noticed it too, mother," said Mr. 
 Marvel, " but I haven't thought of it much, 
 because, to tell you the truth, I don't be- 
 lieve he is quite right here" — touching his 
 forehead. 
 
 Mrs. Marvel had not mentioned to any 
 one — not even to her husband — how 
 Minnie had distressed her during Joshua's 
 illness. The girl had not asked her to keep 
 silence upon the subject ; indeed, no word 
 had passed between them about it ; but 
 Mrs. Marvel judged that it would be best 
 for INIinnie's sake, and for Joshua's also, to 
 let the matter rest. Since the night when 
 Mrs. Marvel had discovered Minnie lying 
 asleep at Joshua's door, the girl had given 
 her no further cause for displeasure. Mrs. 
 Marvel's fears were dispelled ; for Minnie 
 showed nothing more than a friendly in- 
 terest in Joshua's recovery. But if the 
 good mother had been less openly observant 
 of Minnie's every look and action, her fears 
 would have grown stronger. For after the 
 interview between Joshua and Minnie, 
 when Joshua had thanked her and kissed 
 
SUNSHINE 
 
 her, Mrs. Marvel set herself the task of 
 closely observing; ^Minnie's conduct towards 
 Joshua. And ^linnie discovered it, and so 
 behaved herself that Mrs. Marvel was 
 thrown completely ofl" her guard. Minnie 
 displayed a carelessness and an indifference 
 concerning Joshua's health, at which Mrs. 
 Marvel at any other time would have been 
 hurt ; but now she was silently prateful, in 
 the belief that her fears were groundless. 
 
 Joshua was better. With the exception 
 of a scar upon his neck, where the Lascar 
 had stabbed him, he was as well and strong; 
 as ever he had been. He had grown into 
 a fine handsome man ; and the affectionate 
 disposition which had characterized him as 
 a boy seemed to have become stronger with 
 bis strength. The affection that existed 
 between liim and Dan was unchanged and 
 unchangeable. He took as much delight in 
 the birds as ever he had done ; and, not- 
 withstanding that he and Dan were men 
 now, with deepened passions and stronger 
 aspirations, thou* hearts were as tender to 
 each other as in the younger days of their 
 friendship, when they mingled their tears 
 together over the death of Golden Cloud. 
 
 Every thing was bright before them. 
 Dan had not spoken to Minnie of his love 
 for her ; but he was made happy by a grad- 
 ual change in her behavior towards him. 
 She grew more and more affectionate, 
 spoke softly to him, looked kindly at him. 
 and did not repulse the little tender advan- 
 ces he dared to make to her now and then. 
 
 " When you are gone to sea, Jo,"' he said 
 to Joshua in the course of a conversation 
 in which, in the fulness of his joy at Min- 
 nie's kindness, he had unbosomed himself 
 to his friend, " I shall speak to her, and tell 
 her I love her." He spoke very slowly, 
 and his eyes were toward the gi'ound ; it 
 was so sacred a subject with him, that his 
 voice trembled when he spoke of it. " Once 
 on a time, before I knew her, Jo. you, and 
 you alone, filled my heart ; but I had no 
 idea then of a man's passions and a man's 
 fears. I think I should have disbelieved 
 any person then who told me that you 
 would have a rival in my heart. But you 
 have, Jo ; although you are not less loved 
 for all that." 
 
 " I understand you, Dan, and am content. 
 I am proud of your love. If I were to lose 
 it, the sweetness would go out of life." 
 
 " So it would be with me, Jo ; but you 
 can never lose it — never, never. I think 
 you and I know what love is. In the midst 
 of all our trouble when you first went 
 away — trouble that came upon us so sud- 
 denly that I began to be frightened of it — 
 I found consolation in thinking of our love 
 for each other. IMisfortunes came. Never 
 mind, I thought ; Joshua loves me. Moth- 
 
 AND CLOUD. , . - 93 
 
 er died, father dieof ; "Wcf V«|-eleft peranncss ; 
 and I thought of \'yu^ anil was couii'ortcd. 
 You had grown so ^^JlsiJ^ If^f^^"- 'i'^e the 
 roots of a tree, Jo — ^^^^*ItT](a.cl cea.^cd 
 to love you, my heart wouI^fetBe^jeaswd to 
 beat. It is the same now ; but Minnie is in 
 my heart side by side with you. I shall 
 tell her, you know, by and by. By and 
 by," he repeated softly. " The thought of 
 it is like heaven to me ; for I have begun 
 to hope." 
 
 It was on that same afternoon that Ellen 
 was sitting in her bedroom looking at her 
 lace in the looking-glass. She was fair; 
 and she knew it, and was proud of it. But 
 it was not vanity that caused her to sit, 
 with her chin upon her hands, looking into 
 the glass. Of a very modest type of wo- 
 manhood was Ellen ; not a heroine of the 
 Joan-of-Arc order, who, with all her false 
 glitter about her, would have been a woman 
 after very few men's hearts. Ellen was of 
 the quiet order of women, of whom there 
 are thousands growing up in happy English 
 homes, thank Heaven ! and who are blessed 
 and contented and happy, notwithstanding 
 their sisters' unwomanly cries about woman's 
 rights. May English women like Ellen, 
 modest and constant and loving, increase 
 and multiply with every succeeding year ! 
 Ellen was thinking of herself a little, as 
 she looked into the glass, and of Joshua a 
 great deal. He had not spoken to her yet ; 
 but he would soon, she knew. And as she 
 sat and saw her pretty face looking at her, 
 whose step but Joshua's should she hear 
 coming up the stairs V He went into the 
 adjoining room — Dan's room; and she 
 heard him moving about, and — yes ; sing- 
 ing ! Singing what ? Why, " Bread-and- 
 Cheese and Ivisses." The heroine's name 
 in the song is Kate ; but Joshua sang, — 
 
 " I said to Xell, my darling wife, 
 In whom my whole life's bliss is, 
 ' What have you got for dinner, Nell ?' 
 ' ^V^ly. bread-aud-cheese and kisses 1 ' " 
 
 He said to Nell, his darling wife ! The 
 happy tears ran down Ellen's face ; but 
 they were soon dried ; and Ellen kept very 
 quiet, fearing that Joshua might hear her 
 move. But Joshua Avent down stairs sing- 
 ing; and then Ellen smiled at herself in 
 the glass, and peeped at herself through 
 her fingers ; and it wasn't an ugly picture 
 to look at, if any one had been there to 
 see. 
 
 It was all settled without a word passing 
 between them. I don't believe there ever 
 was such another courtship. They were 
 sitting in Mrs. Marvel's kitchen : only four 
 of them — father, mother, Ellen, and Josh- 
 ua. It really looked like a conspiracy that 
 no other person came into the kitchen that 
 
94 
 
 JOSHUA MARVEL. 
 
 night; but there they were, conspiracy or 
 no" conspiracy. There was Mrs. Marvel, 
 knitting a pair of stockings for Joshua ; not 
 getting along very fast witli them, it must 
 be confessed': for her spectacles required a 
 great deal of rubbing. And there was Mr. 
 Marvel, smoking his pipe, throwing many a 
 furtive look in the dh-ection of Joshua and 
 Ellen, who were sitting next to each other, 
 happy and silent. There is no record of 
 how long they sat thus without speaking ; 
 but suddenly, although not abruptly, Joshua 
 put his arm round Ellen's waist, and drew 
 her closer to him. It was only a look that 
 passed between them; and then Joshua 
 kissed Ellen's lips, and she laid her head 
 upon his breast. 
 
 " Mother ! father ! look here ! " 
 Mrs. Marvel rose, all of a tremble, and 
 laid her hand upon Ellen's head, and kissed 
 the young lovers. But Mr. Marvel behaved 
 quite differently. He cast one quick satis- 
 fied look at the two youngsters ; and then 
 turned from them, and continued smoking 
 as if nothing unusual had occurred. 
 
 " Well, father ? " exclaimed Joshua, 
 rather surprised at his father's silence. 
 " Well, Josh ! " replied Mr. Marvel. 
 " Do you see tliis ? " asked Joshua, with 
 his arm round Ellen's waist. 
 
 Ellen, blushing rosy red, looked shyly at 
 Mr. Marvel ; but he looked stolidly at her 
 in return. 
 
 " Yes ; I see it, Josh," said Mr. Marvel, 
 without any show of emotion. 
 " And what do you say to it ? " 
 " What do I say to it. Josh ? " repUed IMr. 
 Marvel with dignity. " Well, I believe I'm 
 your father ; and, as such, I think you should 
 ask me if I was agreeable. I thought it 
 proper to ask vvj father. Josh. It isn't be- 
 cause I'm a wood-turner " — 
 
 " No, no, father," interrupted Joshua ; " I 
 made a mistake. Ellen and I thought " — 
 
 " Ellen and you thought," repeated Mr. 
 Marvel. 
 
 " That if you were agreeable " — contin- 
 ued Joshua. 
 
 " That if I was agreeable," repeated Mr. 
 Marvel. 
 
 " And if you would please to give your 
 consent " — said Joshua, purposely prolong- 
 ing his preamble. 
 
 " And if I would be pleased to give my 
 consent," repeated Mr. Marvel with a slight 
 chuckle of satisfaction. 
 
 " That as we love each other very much, 
 we would like to get married." 
 
 " That's dutilul," said Mr. Marvel, lay- 
 ing down his pipe, oracularly. " I'm only 
 agreeable. Josh, because I am old, and be- 
 cause I am married. As I said to mother 
 the other night, when we was talking the 
 matter over — ah 1 you may stare ; but we 
 
 know all about it long ago. Didn't we, 
 mother ? Well, as I was saying to mother 
 the other night, if I was a young man, and 
 mother wasn't in the way, I'd marry her my- 
 self and you might go a-whistling. Shiver 
 my timbers, my lass ! " he cried, breaking 
 through the trammels of wood-turning, and 
 becoming suddenly nautical, "come and 
 give me a ki«s." 
 
 Which Eilen did; and so the little com- 
 edy ended happily. Joshua, having a right 
 now to sit with his arm round Ellen's waist, 
 availed himself of it, you may be sure. If 
 Ellen went out of the room, he had also 
 a right to go and inquire where she was go- 
 ing ; and this, curiously enough, happened 
 four or five times during the night. If any 
 thing could have added to the happiness 
 of Mr. Marvel — except being any thing 
 but a wood-turner, which, at his age, was 
 out of the question — it was this proceeding 
 of Joshua's. Every time Joshua followed 
 Ellen out of the room, Mr. Marvel looked 
 at his wife with pleasure beaming from his 
 eyes. 
 
 " It puts me in mind of the time when I 
 came a-courting you, mother," he said. 
 " How the world spins round 1 It might 
 have been last night when you and me 
 were saying good-by at the street-door. " 
 
 Mrs. Marvel had not spoken to her hus- 
 band without cause of the change that had 
 taken place in Basil Kindred. A very re- 
 mai'kable change had indeed taken place 
 in him. A mistrustful expression had set- 
 tled itself upon his face, accompanied by a 
 keen hungry watchfulness of all that oc- 
 curred around him. He gave short an- 
 swers, and was snappish and morose. Yet 
 not a look, not a word, not a gesture es- 
 cape his notice. He did not avoid his 
 friends ; he rather courted their society. 
 He repelled their advances, but he sat 
 among them, watching. Every sense was 
 employed in that all-absorbing task. What 
 was it that he was trying to discover? 
 
 The change was so sudden. A few days 
 a^o he was, as he had ever been hitherto, 
 frank and cheerful, — even gay sometimes. 
 Now, all that was gone. In place of frank- 
 ness, mistrust ; in place of cheerfulness, 
 gloom. Susan was the only one, with the 
 exception of his daughter, to whom he did 
 not speak with a certain bitterness. His 
 manner to all the others was as though some 
 sensitive chord in his nature had been sorely 
 wounded — as though all men were his foes 
 — as though his faith in what was gooil and 
 noble in human nature had been violently 
 disturbed. 
 
 See him now. He and Minnie have been 
 sitting together for hours. He has been 
 strangely stern and strangely tender to her 
 
SUNSHINE AND CLOUD. 
 
 95 
 
 in turn?, but she is used to his -waywai'd 
 moods. lie has detained her by his side 
 all the morniuir, upon one and another idle 
 pretext; and slie, as it" wishful to jileaseliim. 
 has humored ]iim,and been wonderliilly sub- 
 missive and obedient. But onee she had fall- 
 en into a reverie — not a liappy one — and 
 he had broken it by askiu'^ her in a harsh 
 voiee what she w^as dreaming about. She 
 replied only by a startled look, and resumed 
 her work, whieh had been lying idly in her 
 lap. Repentant of his harshness, he turned 
 his head from her to hide the sudden spasm 
 which passed into his face. 
 
 " Are you ill ? " she asked. 
 
 '' N«, dear child." 
 
 " In pain ? " 
 
 " No, dear child." 
 
 Presently she put aside her work, and rose 
 to leave the room. 
 
 " ^\Tiere are you going ? " he asked in a 
 strangely anxious voice. 
 
 " To see i\Irs. Marvel," was her answer. 
 
 " Sit you down," he cried sternly. 
 
 She hesitated and lingered by the door, 
 beating the ground with her foot irresolute- 
 ly. Seeing that, he grasped her wrist firm- 
 ly, and hurt her without intending to do so. 
 The muscles of her face quivered, but not 
 from the pain. 
 
 " O JNIinuie, my child ! " he cried ; then, 
 releasing her, " have I hurt you ? " 
 
 " No," she answered in a hard voice. 
 " Why do you not wish me to go to Mrs. 
 Marvel's house ? You have forbidden me 
 before." 
 
 " You trouble them too much." 
 
 " That is not your reason, father," she said 
 in the same hard voice. " You are hiding 
 something from me." 
 
 " Are you not hiding something from me, 
 Minnie ? " he asked, looking anxiously into 
 her face. 
 
 " What should I hide from you ? " she 
 asked, in reply, coldly and evasively. " I 
 am not well, father. I can't stop in this 
 room. I will not go where you do not wish 
 me." 
 
 He did not detain her, and she glided 
 swiftly out of the room. He was about to 
 follow her, when a dizziness came upon him, 
 and ho sank into a chair. It was only by a 
 strong effort of will that he kept himself from 
 fainting. 
 
 " My strength is deserting me," he mut- 
 tered, his breath coming thick and fast ; 
 " scarcely a day passes but this weakness 
 comes upon me." He held up his hand ; it 
 trembled like a leaf. " Have I I'ailed in my 
 duty to her ? Is it my fault that she does 
 not confide in me? Or is this a wicked 
 lie ? " He took a letter from his pocket and 
 read it, not once, but many times. " No," 
 he groaned ; '• it is true. I feel that it is 
 
 true." He rose to ins feet and felt like one 
 just risen from a sick bi'd. He was as weak 
 as a child ; so weak, indeeil, tliat the con- 
 sciousness of his weakness brought tears into 
 his eyes; and he said in a voice of anguish, 
 •' Now, when my child's h;i ppiness — her 
 honor, perhaps — depends upon my watch- 
 ful care, I am lieljjlcss. If 1 had some one 
 t!iat I could trust ! some one to help me ! " 
 He heard a step upon the stairs. It was 
 like an answer to his wish. " It is Susan," 
 he muttered ; " the one being that I know 
 in the world who would serve me faithfully. 
 " Susan, Susan ! " 
 
 She heard him, although his voice was 
 faint and low, and entered the room. 
 Alarmed by the traces of illness in his face, 
 she hastened to his side. 
 
 " You are ill," she said, assisting him to a 
 seat. " Can I do any thing for you ? " 
 
 " Yes," he answered. " You can do 
 much. You can be my friend." 
 
 " Your friend 1 " she exclaimed. Had 
 she not always been his friend ? But there 
 was a deeper meaning in liis voice than she 
 had ever heard before, and his appeal sent 
 thrills of pleasure to her heart. 
 
 "I am ill," he continued ; "but it is more 
 from weakness than any thing else. I am 
 not in pain. A dizziness seizes me, as it 
 seized me just now, and I feel as if my 
 senses were leaving me. 1 can scarcely 
 stand ; and I have no one to trust to." 
 
 " Not Minnie? " she said softly and won- 
 deringly. 
 
 " Hush ! Minnie, of all others, must not 
 be told of this. Can I trust you ? " 
 
 " I would work till I dropped to serve 
 you." 
 
 A flush came into his fiice. 
 
 " To serve me and Minnie ? " he said. 
 
 " Yes ; to serve you and Minnie." 
 
 " Give me your sacred promise that what 
 passes between us now. will never be di- 
 vulged, will never be spoken of, by you, un- 
 less my tongue is sealed, and the time 
 comes when it may be necessary to speak." 
 
 " Does it concern you ? " she asked 
 with a natural hesitation ; for there was a 
 fcverishness in his manner that alarmed 
 her. 
 
 " It concerns me and Minnie." 
 
 "I promise." 
 
 " Faithfully and sacredly ? " 
 
 " Faithfully and sacredly." 
 
 He took her hand and pressed it, and 
 then gave her the letter, and asked her 
 to read it. It contained but a few words, 
 but they were sufticient to cause a look 
 of horror to start into her eyes. 
 
 " Can it be true ? " she asked, more of 
 herself than of him ; and her trembling 
 lips turned white and parched in an in- 
 stant. 
 
96 
 
 JOSHUA MAEVEL. 
 
 " Susan," said Basil Kindred, " I have 
 lived long enough in the world to know its 
 fialseness. In years gone by, men have 
 smiled in my face and shaken me by the 
 hand, and I have learned afterwards, that 
 while their manner spoke me fair, there 
 was treachery in their hearts. My Ufe has 
 been a hard one, what with false friends 
 and bitter poverty ; but I bore it all pa- 
 tiently, and lived — lived, when a hundred 
 times voices have whispered in my ear, 
 ' Die, and be at peace ! ' I had an object to 
 live for — Minnie, my darling child ! So I 
 lived and suffered, rather than die and 
 leave her unprotected. It was a bitter, bit- 
 ter hfe. You can guess how hard a thing 
 it was for me to find food for her, and how 
 often she had to go without it, before the 
 the day when you and that boy — I cannot 
 utter his name — came to our rescue. From 
 that time until this dark cloud" — he 
 placed his hand on the letter — " fell upon 
 me, I have been happy. And now, when 
 I need all my strength to fulfil my duty as 
 a father — when it seems to me a crime 
 that I should allow her to go from my side 
 — this weakness strikes me down." 
 
 " Does she know ? " 
 
 " She knows, and must know, nothing. 
 But she must be watched. If there be no 
 truth in this letter — and there may not 
 be " — 
 
 " I pray not ! Oh, I pray not ! " cried 
 Susan. " For others' sakes as well as 
 yours." 
 
 "I understand you; if there be no 
 truth in it, no one need know of it but you 
 and I." 
 
 "What shall I do?" 
 
 " Watch her and him, without seeming 
 to do so," said Basil Kindred. "K she 
 goes out, follow her if you can without let- 
 ting her see you, and let me know all you 
 see and hear. Mind, I say all ; keep noth- 
 ino- fx'om me. You have promised sacred- 
 ly." 
 
 " I will do what you bid me." 
 
 He raised her hand to his lips, and in 
 the midst of her great sorrow his action 
 brought a liappy feeling to her heart. 
 When she was gone, Basil Kindred un- 
 locked a desk and took out a clasped book, 
 in which he wrote a few lines. " It is ne- 
 cessary," he sighed, "tor my memory is 
 lost to me sometimes, and I cannot recall 
 events ; and it may save me from doing an 
 injustice." Then he replaced the book and 
 locked the desk. 
 
 That night, in her room, Susan sat upon 
 her bed and bowed her head to her knees, 
 sobbing, " O my poor Dan 1 O my poor, 
 poor Ellen ! if, after all these years, you 
 should find him false 1 " 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 THE ONLY DUTY THAT MINNIE CAN 
 UNDERSTAND. 
 
 The " Merry Andrew " was nearly ready 
 for sea again, and Joshua, having been 
 duly installed as third mate, was busily em- 
 ployed superintending cargo. The Old Sail- 
 or was immensely delighted, and took an 
 active interest in Joshua's doings. When 
 he was told of the engagement between 
 Joshua and Ellen, he smacked Joshua on 
 the back and shook his hand again and 
 again, and kissed Ellen a dozen times, the 
 old rogue ! as if he were the lucky man, 
 and Joshua had nothing to do with it. He 
 took a private opportunity of entei'ing into 
 a confidential conversation with the young 
 lovers, and told them he had made over 
 his barge and all his little property to El- 
 len and Joshua jointly, "for better or 
 worse," he added, with a vague idea that 
 those words were necessary in the circum- 
 stances of the case. And he took many 
 other opportunities of instructing Joshua 
 in the duties of mate and master, and also 
 in navigation and astronomy. He was 
 more exacting than any Marine Board 
 would have been, and his instructions and 
 examinations were of a very severe and 
 precise character. But he had a willing 
 and apt pupil in Joshua; and he delighted 
 Ellen by whispering to her confidentially 
 that Joshua would make as fine a mariner 
 as could be ibund in the service. The ex- 
 aminations generally took place when only 
 the Old Sailor, Joshua, and Ellen were to- 
 gether ; and then Joshua propounded, to 
 the satisfaction of his teacher, such prob- 
 lems as, how he would send a top-gallant 
 yard down in a gale of wind ; what he would 
 do if he wanted to shiver his main-topsail 
 yard when the leeches were taut and the 
 main yard could not be touched : how to 
 turn in a dea<l-eye ; what he would do if 
 he wanted to tack on a lee shore, and the 
 ship wouldn't come round, and there was 
 not room to wear ; and so on, and so on. 
 The Old Sailor was not satisfied with sim- 
 ple answers, but insisted upon the why and 
 the wherelbre ; so that what with working 
 and studying and sweethearting, Joshua's 
 time was well taken up. Ellen herself be- 
 came quite learned in certain matters con- 
 cerning Joshua's profession, and made him 
 laugh heartily by the wise air she assumed 
 when she repeated the twelve signs of the 
 Zodiac, which she had learned by heart 
 perfectly, from Aries to Pisces. Joshua, re- 
 peating after her, would purposely leave 
 out Gemini or Aquarius, or another sign, 
 and would instantly be taken to account 
 In this simple way many happy hours were 
 
THE ONLY DUTY MINNIE CAN UNDEr.STAND. 
 
 97 
 
 passed. Tlio Old Sailor had a fjreat likiii^j 
 lor Captain Liddle, bt'cause he was a thor- 
 ough trailer, and Captain Liddle admired 
 the Old Sailor for the simplicity of his char- 
 acter. 
 
 " You are in luck's way," said the Old 
 Sailor to Joshua: " you are sailing under a 
 good master — not a land saint and sea 
 devil — but a good officer and a kind man ; 
 and you have the dearest and the truest- 
 hearted lass in the world to stand by you 
 through life. Do your duty, Josh, to her 
 and to your ship." 
 
 " I will do my duty to both, sir, you may 
 depend." 
 
 The Old Sailor took out his pocket- 
 handkerchief, and thoughtfully dabbed his 
 face. " 1 don't doubt that you will, my 
 lad," he said, " and to Dan as well." Now 
 the Old Sailor uttered these last words 
 with a significance that seemed intended to 
 convey a deep meaning. His action was 
 appropriately mysterious. He looked 
 round cautiously, after the best manner of 
 stage robbers, and hooked Joshua nearer to 
 him by a motion of his forefinger. Hark 
 ye, my lad," he whispered, guiding the 
 words to Joshua's ear by placing his open 
 palm on one side of his mouth ; " Hark ye. 
 Do you suspect any thing Y " 
 
 Joshua oi>ened his eyes very wide at 
 this ; he had not the slightest consciousness 
 of the Old Sailor's meaning. 
 
 " You don't y " continued the Old Sailor 
 in the same mysterious manner. " So much 
 the better. I didn't suppose you did. 
 Now, supposing — mind, I only say sup- 
 posiu'jf, my lad — supposing you were 
 asked to do a very out-of-the-way thing for 
 Dan's sake, but a thing notwithstanding 
 that you would be very glad to do " — this 
 with a chuckle expressive of intense enjoy- 
 ment — " would you do it ? " 
 
 " AVould I do it, sir ! " exclaimed Joshua 
 warmly. " I don't think you or any one 
 could ask me to do a thing for Dan's sake, 
 that I shouldn't be glad to do." 
 
 " Just my opinion," said the Old Sailor, 
 still in the same charnel-house whisper; 
 " and if Dan's happiness depended upon 
 your doing this out-ol-the-way thing " — 
 
 " Why, then, sir, more eagerly and will- 
 ingly than ever." 
 
 '• That's plain sailing ; it might come to 
 pass, or it mightn't," said the Old Sailor, 
 returning his handkerchief to its abiding- 
 place in the bosom of his shirt, to denote 
 that the conversation was at an end. 
 
 But this did not satisfy Joshua. " What 
 might come to pass, sir V " he asked. 
 
 The Old Sailor winked craftily at Joshua, 
 and said, " All I've got to say is, that it 
 might come to pass or it mightn't." 
 
 And try as he would, that was all the 
 7 
 
 satisfaction Joshua could obtain from the 
 Old Sailor. 
 
 In the mean time Basil Kindred's condi- 
 tion had become so serious, that he was 
 unable to leave his room, and he was un- 
 reasonably obstinate in his refusal to see a 
 doctor. Ik', knew well enough what was 
 the matter with him, he said, and doctors 
 could not relieve him. But one day, urged 
 by Dan, Minnie brought a doctor to his 
 bedside without consulting him. 
 
 " Your daughter brought me," said the 
 doctor, seeing that Basil was displeased, 
 and wisely judging that mention of his 
 daughter would calm him. 
 
 Basil called Minnie to him and kissed 
 her. " Go out of the room, child,'' he said ; 
 " what passes between me and the doctor 
 must be private." 
 
 Minnie obeyed, and went down stairs to 
 sit with Dan, and the doctor remained with 
 his patient for half an hour. As the doctor 
 came down, Minnie opened the door of 
 Dan's room, and the doctor entered. 
 
 '• Well, sir ? " asked Dan. 
 
 " Y'our father is suffering from rheuma- 
 tism and low fever," said the doctor, ad- 
 dressing Minnie. " I have left a prescrip- 
 tion in his room ; run and get it." 
 
 Minnie went up stairs, and the doctor 
 said to Dan, " You are very anxious about 
 Mr. Kindred." 
 
 " Yes, sir, very anxious, both for his sake 
 and for Minnie's." 
 
 " Minnie — ah ! yes, his daughter. Well, 
 I may tell you in confidence what I must 
 not tell her. He is sufi'ering from some- 
 thing more than rheumatic fever. He has 
 a disease wliich may prove fatal at any 
 moment. A strong mental shock would 
 very likely prove fatal to him. His mind 
 is far from tranquil at the present time, 
 and it is absolutely necessary that he should 
 have quiet and repose. Good-morning." 
 
 Grieved as Dan was to hear this, it re- 
 lieved him, for it enabled him to account 
 for the sudden change in Basil Kindred's 
 manner which had so perplexed him. It 
 also served to account for a change he had 
 observed in Minnie. It was not that she 
 was less friendly towards him ; on the con- 
 trary, she had on many occasions been 
 more tender to him than usual. But the 
 frank cordiality of her manner was gone ; 
 she was more reserved, and an engrossed 
 expression, evidently born of painful 
 thought, had settled upon her face. Dan 
 had watched it with the sensitive eye of 
 love, wondering what had brought it into 
 her face. Now he knew the cause : her 
 father's illness brought gloomy forebodings 
 to her heart and made her anxious. " Does 
 she ever think that I love her V " thought 
 Dan, " and that I am only waiting for the 
 
98 
 
 JOSHUA MARVEL, 
 
 proper time to tell her that my life is 
 devoted to her ? " He would have spoken 
 that very day, but a sentiment of true deli- 
 cacy restrained him. The feeling that 
 closed his lips upon the subject for the 
 present could not have existed in any but 
 a chivalrous nature. 
 
 When Joshua came home in the evening, 
 Dan told him what the doctor had said. 
 Joshua was silent for a little while before 
 he spoke. " It is very singular," he then 
 said, " that what you have told me should 
 make me easier in my mind. Both JVlin- 
 nie's and Mr. Kindred's manner lately have 
 given me great pain, filling me with un- 
 easiness, which I have vainly struggled 
 against. It is made clear to me now." 
 
 " Why, that was also my feeling, Jo," 
 exclaimed Dan almost gayly. " Another 
 proof of the sympathy between us." 
 
 " I shall go and see Mr. Kindred. I am 
 ashamed of myself to have allowed such 
 small feelings to exist. I ought to have 
 made more allowance for his sufferings." 
 His hand was resting upon Dan's shoulder. 
 He inclined himself so that he could see 
 the face of his friend. " And Minnie ? " 
 he asked in that attitude. " How is it with 
 you and her ? " 
 
 " I am more hopeful than ever, Jo ; but 
 it would not be right for me to speak to her 
 in her trouble." 
 
 " That is like you, Dan," said Joshua 
 approvingly. " Ever tender — ever con- 
 siderate — ever just. No; you must not 
 speak until Mr. Kindred is better. You 
 must wait." 
 
 Dan nodded assent, and Joshua went up 
 stairs to Basil Kindred's room. He paused 
 at the door and listened. No sound came 
 from within, and he received no answer to 
 his knock. He opened the door softly. 
 The room was in darkness. 
 
 " Who is there ? " was asked in the ab- 
 stracted voice of one just aroused from 
 sleep. 
 
 " It is I — Joshua. Shall I get a light ? " 
 
 " No ; " with a sudden fierceness. " What 
 brings you here ? " 
 
 The want of friendliness in Basil Kin- 
 dred's voice was very painful to Joshua, 
 and it was only by a great effort that he 
 was enabled to maintain his composure. 
 " What is the meaning of this, sir ? " he 
 asked, very gently. 
 
 " Of what ? " 
 
 " Of your changed manner towards me, 
 sir. And not to me only, but to all of us. 
 Have we done any thing wrong — have / 
 done any thing wixjng ? If I have, it has 
 been done unconsciously, and it is but just 
 that you should not leave me in ignorance 
 of my fault. I came up to you now, sir, to 
 ask that we should be to each other as 
 
 we once were — as we were before I went 
 to sea — as we were on the first day of our 
 meeting, when you said, ' God bless you, 
 Joshua Marvel.' I have never forgotten 
 that, sir. I do not speak to you for myself 
 alone ; I speak for all of us, who hold you, 
 I am sure, in the tenderest respect and re- 
 gard." Joshua spoke feelingly, and his 
 words had the effect of soflening Mr. Kin- 
 dred's manner. 
 
 " You are right," he said sofbly and very 
 slowly ; " it is not just. Sit here by my 
 side." Joshua sat where he was bidden, and 
 waited for Mr. Kindred to resume. " Dis- 
 temper of the mind accompanies distemper 
 of the body," continued the sick man, " and 
 you must lay some part of my unfriendli- 
 ness to that cause. I am sick in body, and 
 therefore peevish, and therefore, perhaps, 
 unjust. Sick men have sick fancies. They 
 magnify straws, even as, lying here in the 
 dark, I can, by the power of my will, mag- 
 nify the shadows that rest within this room 
 and make them ' palpable to feeling as to 
 sight.' Joshua Marvel, I owe you much ; 
 }-ou saved me and mine from starvation. I 
 am glad that you are here now, and that 
 you met my fretfulness with patience ; for 
 there is that within my mind, not newly 
 born, but newly risen, that I would gladly 
 not forget again. All the happiness of the 
 last few years I owe to you, for it was for 
 your sake we were welcomed here." 
 
 " The pleasure your society has given to 
 all those dearest to my heart, sir, is recom- 
 pense a thousand-fold." 
 
 " Those dearest to your heart ! " repeated 
 Basil Kindred musingly. " ^^lio are tlaey ? " 
 
 " You ought to know, sir," replied Joshua, 
 surprised at the question. 
 
 " It is but a whim — a sick man's whim 
 — but tell me : of all those dearest to your 
 heart, whom would you place first ? Do 
 not hesitate to answer me. We are in the 
 dark, and I cannot see your face." 
 
 " In the dark or in the light, before all 
 the world, if it were necessary, I could 
 name but one, whom you know well." 
 
 " Still, to satisfy me, name her." 
 
 " Ellen, sir. You know that she is to be 
 my wife." 
 
 " I have heard so. Take my hand. I 
 wish you the happiness that faithful love 
 deserves. No worldly haj^piness can be 
 greater. It makes a heaven of earth, in 
 whatever sphere of life it comes. And if, 
 as it was with me, the partner of your 
 faithful love is called away before you, the 
 remembrance of her goodness and purity 
 will dwell forever in your heart, like a di- 
 vine star." His voice had grown so sol- 
 emn, that Joshua could only press his hand 
 in reply. Presently Basil Kindred spoke 
 again. " Your past life should be a guar- 
 
THE OXLY DUTY MINNIE CAN UNDERSTAND. 
 
 99 
 
 antee for the future. You have been f lith- 
 ful in your I'riemlship; you should be faith- 
 ful in your love." 
 
 " You do not doubt it, sir? " 
 
 " I cannot doubt it ; your conduct gives 
 doubt the lie. The shadows seem to be 
 cleariu'T away. I liave much to say yet, if 
 you will sit with me a little while." 
 
 "I am glad to do so, and happy to hear 
 you speaking to me again in your old kind 
 manner." 
 
 " It is so hard to reconcile," mused Basil 
 speaking as much to himself as to Joshua. 
 " From whom can the accusation have 
 come V And the motive — what can be 
 the motive? Joshua, answer me — have 
 you an enemy ? " 
 
 " No, sir, not one that I know of." 
 
 " Reflect a little. Can you bring to mind 
 any circumstance that occurred during the 
 years that you have been away to induce 
 you to suppose that some one is conspiring 
 to do you injury ? " 
 
 " I am more than surprised at your ques- 
 tion, sir ; 1 am grieved that you should ask 
 it, and apparently with reason. To my 
 knowledge I have not a bad friend in the 
 world." 
 
 "Your surprise is natural," said Basil; 
 " but though you may think my remarks 
 strange, do not think they are prompted by 
 unkindness. I have good reasons for what 
 I say. I hold this conversation sacred, 
 Joshua. As it may be the last we shall 
 ever have, let what is said between us be 
 said in perfect confidence." 
 
 " Agreed as to that, sir ; but you must 
 not say that this is the last conversation 
 we shall ever have." 
 
 " When do you go to sea again ? " asked 
 Basil Kindred, taking no heed of Joshua's 
 remonstrance. 
 
 " In less than a fortnight. We set sail 
 first for Sydney, New South Wales, then 
 for China, then for home. A short trip. 
 We shall not be away long this time." 
 
 " Before you return, I shall have gone 
 on a longer voyage than you are about to 
 take. Nay, do not interrupt me. I have 
 received warning — bodily, not spiritual, 
 and therefore not open to doubt. It is im- 
 possible that I can Uve much longer. And 
 with this conviction strong within me, I am 
 tortured by an an.xiety that racks me with 
 a mightier pain than that which even as I 
 speak pierces me to the maiTOw." 
 
 Joshua was profoundly shocked at the 
 disclosure ; he had not thought it was so 
 bad as that. Instinctively he knew what 
 the anxiety was by which Basil was tor- 
 tured, and Basil answered his thought. 
 
 "You guess what my anxiety springs 
 from. W^hat will become of Minnie when 
 I am gone ? " 
 
 If he had seen ! If in that darkened 
 room a vision had appeared to answer him, 
 could he hav(' believed that it woiUd come 
 to pass ? But silence was his only answer 
 for a tiTue ; for Joshua was revolving in his 
 mind whctlier it would be wise and merci- 
 ful — whether he had any right to speak 
 to Basil Kindred about Dan's love for Min- 
 nie. The conversation between them was 
 sacred and confidential, and the sick man's 
 tone when he spoke of the bodily warnings 
 he had received was so impressive, that it 
 carried conviction with it. It would be 
 like speaking to a dying man, and it would 
 be serving his friend. 
 
 " That is my great anxiety," continued 
 Basil ; " were my mind relieved upon that 
 point, I should fear nothing, for death is 
 my smallest terror. I suffer deserved mis- 
 ery when I say that even I, her father, do 
 not know her nature thoroughly, and that 
 I fear to think to what extent her impulse 
 might carry her. But I know that she 
 needs guidance, and that she cannot con- 
 trol herself I have taught her ill, or rather 
 have not taught her at all. I have been 
 remiss in my flitherly duty — not inten- 
 tionally, God knows ! But I see it now — • 
 I see it now." Even in the dark he turned 
 his face from Joshua, the more completely 
 to hide his tribulation. " There is but one 
 duty she can understand — the duty of 
 love. She knows no higher. She com- 
 prehends that, because it is instinctive. 
 She has her mother's devoted nature, and 
 would sacrifice herself for the only duty- 
 she can comprehend, as her mother sacri- 
 ficed herself for me. But she could not be 
 made to understand that under certain cir- 
 cumstances love may be sinful." 
 
 Joshua, following his train of thought, 
 heard Basil's words, but scarcely under- 
 stood their sense. Still he said, — 
 
 " She loves you, sir." 
 
 " Yes, she loves me as a father, and by 
 that love I have unconsciously controlled 
 her. But that power has gone from me. 
 Our minds are strangers ; they used not to 
 be so. Once she hid nothing from me ; 
 now as I watch her I see in her eyes the 
 attempt to hide her thoughts, and I cannot 
 express to you my agony in knowing that 
 her heart and mind are not open to me, as 
 they have hitherto been. If I knew — if I 
 only knew, I should be satisfied ; for 
 then I might protect her. Sometimes 
 I think that another kind of love has 
 come to her, and has shadowed the love 
 she bore for me. But for whom ? Do you 
 know ? " 
 
 He asked the question in a singular tone 
 of fierceness and entreaty ; but Joshua 
 was thinking of Dan, and did not reply. 
 Have I the right to speak? he thought; 
 
100 
 
 JOSHUA MAEVEL. 
 
 and an affirmative answer did not come 
 clearly to his mind. 
 
 " You are silent," continued Basil in a 
 quieter tone. "Are you concealing any 
 thing from me ? " 
 
 " Wh;it should I conceal from you, sir ? " 
 asked Joshua in reply, after a pause. 
 
 Basil Kindred sighed, as the words so 
 hesitatingly spoken came from Joshua's 
 lips. 
 
 " Young men are often thoughtless in 
 their actions," he said mildly, as if wishful 
 to rob the remark of direct significance ; 
 " they do not know the depth and earnest- 
 ness of some womanly natures. Listen, I 
 will tell you my story ; it may be a lesson 
 and a warning to you." 
 
 C 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 love's sacrifice. 
 
 When I was a young man, I was an 
 enthusiast. My mother had died when I was 
 a child. My father was a clergyman, and 
 wished to educate me for the church. But 
 my heart was not in my studies, and I did 
 not satisfy his expectations. I was too 
 fond of poetry and plays, my tutors told 
 him; sterner studies were distasteful to 
 me, and they met with nothing but disap- 
 pointment from so unwilling a pupil. I 
 was also diflicult to control ; would indeed 
 submit to no control. On several occasions 
 when a company of players came to the 
 place in which 1 was being educated, I had 
 stolen away to the theatre, remaining there 
 until nearly midnight. My tutors spoke 
 the truth. From the first night that I 
 stepped inside the walls of a theatre and 
 saw a tragedy, my fate was fixed. I was 
 fascinated, entranced. 1 had never con- 
 ceived any thing so grand, so noble, so 
 heroic. Mine was a pure passion ; glitter 
 possibly had its effect upon my mind, but 
 no base ingredient was mixed with my de- 
 termination to become an actor. \Vliat 
 nobler calling could there be than that 
 which clothed the noblest of all the arts 
 with living fire, which made dead heroes 
 speak and move and live again? My 
 father received the report with displeasure. 
 He looked upon a theatre as the abode of 
 all tlie views. He spoke to me and expos- 
 tulated with me, and I argued with him until 
 I angered him. Then he took me from 
 school, and kept me at home, so that he 
 might wean me from my wicked notions. 
 I had not been home a month before a com- 
 pany of players paid our town a visit. I 
 
 was aglow with excitement. My father 
 warned me not to go ; I told him frankly 
 that I would. He locked me in my bed- 
 room ; and I made a rope of the sheets, 
 and let myself out of the window. I came 
 home late, and my father opened the door 
 for me. He was so strict a disciplinarian, 
 that my disobedience was a crime in his 
 eyes. He told me so sternly, and told me 
 also that unless I complied Aviih the rules 
 of his house, and with his coounands as a 
 father, I must find a home elsewhere. He 
 had other children, and he declared that I 
 should not contaminate them by my exam- 
 ple. When I ventured to expostulate with 
 him, he stopped me peremptorily. There 
 was no sign q^' tenderness in his manner. 
 He was harsh and hard. He forgot that I 
 inherited some share of his own determina- 
 tion, and that I was as likely to be immova- 
 ble in my ideas as he was in his. I felt 
 that I could have answered him by argu- 
 ments as fbi'cible as his, and, with the not 
 uncommon egotism of youth, I believed that 
 I could have convinced him. But he would 
 not listen to me, and I was compelled to sit 
 silent and inwardly rebellious while he laid 
 down the htrd rules by which my life was 
 to be guided. The glittering splendor of 
 the play I had witnessed that night was 
 vivid to my mind while his cold words fell 
 upon my ears. The tragedian upon whose 
 musical impassioned utterances I had hung 
 entranced, was one of the greatest that 
 ever trod the stage ; the play I liad seen 
 was one of the grandest of England's grand- 
 est poet. What ! was it a crime to come 
 within the iufiueuce of such a teacher ? I 
 could not believe it ; I would not believe it. 
 My father said my inclinations were sinful, 
 impious, misbegotten, and preached to me 
 sternly, uncompromisingly, until my heart 
 
 — beating with indignation at his injustice 
 
 — was as hard to him as his was to me. 
 Then he left the room with a cold good- 
 night, and I went to bed. But before I 
 went to sleep, I took from my box the 
 volume of Shakspeare containing the play 
 that I had seen, and as I read the noble 
 verse, the men and women who took part 
 therein came and insiiired me with the no- 
 bility of their speech. 
 
 On the ensuing Sabbath my father preach- 
 ed against play-liouses and players. It is not 
 necessary for me here to dilate upon his ar- 
 guments ; they were the common arguments 
 generally used against actors and their 
 abominations. Players were creatures of 
 the devil, working in his service for the 
 damnation of souls. There was no heaven 
 for them ; by their lives they earned dam- 
 nation, and they received their wages in 
 another life. It was a strong sermon — "a 
 beautiful sermon," as I heard many men 
 
LOVE'S SACRIFICE. 
 
 101 
 
 and women say to each otiier as they 
 walked from tlie jilace of worship ; but it 
 filled me with indi;^nation. It was a chal- 
 lenge thrown out to me, and I accepted it. 
 I do not attempt to justify what I did ; but 
 it seemed to me as if I should be false to 
 myself if I did not do it. On the following 
 evening I went to the theatre early, and se- 
 cured a seat in the most conspicuous posi- 
 tion, and sitting there the whole night 
 through, I applauded with more than my 
 usual enthusiasm, and even — perhaps I 
 should be ashamed to say it — Avith pur- 
 posed demonstrativeness. It was like giv- 
 ing the lie to my father's teaching ; but I 
 did not think of it then in that light. I was 
 bound in honor to a cei-tain course of action, 
 and I pursued it. When the play was over, 
 I walkiid about the town for an hour, filled 
 with fervent passionate admiration for what 
 I had witnessed. It was jjast midniirht 
 when I knocked at my father's door. No 
 answer came. I knocked again. Still no 
 answer. I was standing in perplexity as 
 to what I should do, when a piece of paper 
 fluttei'cd on to the pavement from a window 
 above. I jacked it up, and saw that it was 
 addressed to me. It was in my father's 
 handwriting, and it told me in a lew simple 
 words that, as I had chosen to commit a 
 sinful outrage upon his cloth, and upon his 
 sermon of the previous day, he disowned 
 me as a son and cast me off. A postscript 
 was added, to the effect that, upon my call- 
 ing at or sending to a certain place every 
 week, I could receive a small sum of money 
 sufficient to keep me from want, but that if 
 I adopted the stage as a calling, the money 
 would be withheld. In the event of my 
 adopting the stage, my fiither asked me as 
 a favor to change my name. I never re- 
 ceived a farthing of the money ; I would 
 have died rather than have taken it. I 
 started that night from my native town, 
 and I have never seen one of my family 
 since. 
 
 I need not dwell upon the details of the 
 next few years. The recollection is too 
 painful to me. When I walked away from 
 my father's house, I solemnly resolved never 
 to set foot in it again ; I renounced all 
 claims of kindred, and said to myself 
 proudly and confidently, " I am alone in the 
 world, without Iriends, without family. I 
 am free to adopt what course in life I think 
 best. I will show my father, by my career, 
 tliat I am right, and he is wrong." I 
 changed my name to the name by which 
 you know me. Speaking to you as I am 
 speaking now, with the solemn darkness 
 around us, with something like a sense of 
 death upon me, I cannot hide from you any 
 thing that comes to my recollection. The 
 simple reason for my changing my name was, 
 
 that it laid my father under an obligation 
 tome. The motive was unw(jrthy; but it 
 is hard to reconcile tiie lol'ty asjurations 
 and the dcs])icable sentiment that in the 
 same moment may animate a single mind. 
 Well, I marched into the W(n'ld friemlless 
 and unknown, filled with an arrogant cour- 
 age, almost with defiance. I had a watch 
 and a little money ; I sold my watch to in- 
 crease my wealth, and before I had spent 
 my last shilling, I gained admission to a 
 company of players, ami commenced life as 
 an actor. I had seen these actors on the 
 stage, and had been ins|)ired by them ; but 
 my amazement was great when their pri- 
 vate lives were open to me. The men and 
 women who had inspired me were poor 
 struggling creatures, living almost begging 
 lives, and suffering almost incredible hard- 
 ships. The salaries they were supposed to 
 receive were barely sufficient to pay for 
 food and lodging ; but the money that was 
 taken at the doors of the theatre was often of 
 such trifling amount, that at the end of the 
 week the players were compelled to be con- 
 tent with half, ay, with a fourth the sum due 
 to them. They all shared alike ; there Avas 
 none among them who took the lion's share 
 while the others starved. The leading 
 tragedian received a guinea a week, and 
 was thankful when he got it. I have seen 
 him play iNIacbeth, knowing that he had 
 not tasted food since breakfast ; and have 
 seen him come off the stage at the end 
 of the play and faint, not from enthusiasm 
 and excitement, but from sheer hunger. 
 From this you can form some idea of my 
 sufferings; but I never wavered. I was 
 indomitable in my resolve. Disenchanted 
 as I was to some extent, I saw fame and 
 glory before me, and I followed the beckon- 
 ing shadows that lured me on. And then 
 I saw so much to admire in the lives of my 
 poor companions — so much self-sacrifice, 
 so much devotion, so much virtue — that 
 I was proud to suffer with them. " Cliil- 
 dren of the devil," I had heard my fatiier 
 call them. A strong resentment against 
 him possessed me when I became a witness 
 of their privations patiently borne, of their 
 self-sacrifices cheerfully made. All this 
 while — though I endured hunger and 
 every species of worldly misery ; though I 
 had to walk, many and many a time, forty, 
 fifty, and sixty miles, through wet and mud, 
 in boots and shoes that scarcely held to- 
 gether ; though I often slept in the open 
 air, by the side of hay-stacks and under 
 hedges — all this while I was advancing in 
 my profession, and enthusiastically believed 
 that the day would come when I should be 
 fixmous and prosperous. So I grew to be a 
 man, more firmly hoping, more firmly be- 
 lieving. I was what is called leading man; 
 
102 
 
 JOSHUA MABVEL. 
 
 I was at the head of my profession, and , 
 ■was only waiting; for the tide — being pre- 
 pared for it — that was to lead me to fame 
 and fortune. But young as I was, the life 
 I had led had already destroyed my con- 
 stitution. Rheumatism had planted itself 
 firmly in my bones, and want of nom'ishing 
 food had so weakened me, that I felt like 
 an old man. It was only the fire of enthu- 
 siasm that sustained me. I believed myself 
 to be what I represented at niglit ; I lost all 
 consciousness of my poor self while I was 
 acting ; and would often come from the 
 theatre with the dream strong upon me, 
 and in my sleep weave fancies sulEciently 
 bright and beautiful to recompense me for 
 the material hardships of my working life. 
 
 I was at the height of my powers, when 
 it was both my happiness and my misery to 
 come to a town where we had arranged to 
 stop for a fortnight, and where I gained 
 such honors in the shajie of applause as had 
 never before fallen to my lot. It was a 
 prosperous town, and our two weeks' stay 
 was so remunerative, that we thought it ad- 
 visable to lengthen our visit. We staid 
 for six weeks — for six happy weeks. The 
 place rang with my praises. I was a won- 
 der, a genius ; such acting had never been 
 seen. Throughout the whole of my career 
 I had preserved my self-respect; what I 
 suffered, I suffered in silence. I com- 
 plained to no one, and I never forgot my 
 determination to prove, what perhaps my 
 father might one day be forced to own, that 
 an actor may be as good a man as a clergy- 
 man. Being therefore, in my habits of life, 
 Somewhat above my companions, and hav- 
 ing been so successful in the town, I was 
 courted by some of the towns-peojile, and 
 received invitations to their houses. I was 
 what is termed, I believe, a social success ; 
 and I was proud of it. Here was I, an act- 
 or, moving in as good society as was my 
 father, a clergyman. Who was right now, 
 he or I. During the second week of our 
 stay, I was invited to an evening party ; 
 and as my part in the performance for that 
 night would be finished by nine o'clock, I 
 was enabled to accept the invitation. Fatal 
 night — happy night ! That night was 
 the real conmencement of my life ; it shaped 
 my career in this world, and it makes me 
 look forward with joy unspeakable to the 
 world beyond, where I shall rejoin the 
 mother of my darling child. Her family 
 were well born, and occupied a high posi- 
 tion in the town. They were looked upon 
 as leaders of fashion ; and I learned that 
 night that they were among the principal 
 patrons of the theatre, and that her 
 father had passed the highest encomiums 
 upon me. They were not present at the 
 party, and their daughter was accompanied 
 
 by her aunt, an eccentric wealthy lady, 
 with whom she resided dm-ing the greater 
 part of the year. I had the good fortune 
 to find favor in the eyes of this lady, who 
 had a passion for celvbrities, and she invited 
 me to her house. The invitation arose in 
 this way ; she had been to the theatre on 
 the previous evening, and a gentleman in 
 her company had taken exception to one 
 of my readings. She mentioned it to me, 
 telling me that she had insisted that I was 
 right, and at the same time confessed to 
 me, that she had not the slighest idea upon 
 the subject, and had been prompted to side 
 with me only for the reason that the gen- 
 tleman was the most insufferably-conceited 
 person on the f\ice of the earth. 
 
 " He is not satisfied unless he is master 
 in every thing," said the old lady with won- 
 derful warmth ; " he is dictatorial, self- 
 willed, ungenerous, and supercilious — so 
 much so, that he will scarcely condescend 
 to argue a jioint upon which he has express- 
 ed an opinion. Nothing would please me 
 more than to be able to bring evidence 
 against hhn respecting your reading." 
 
 It so happened that my reading was the 
 correct one, and that the emendation made 
 by the gentleman was unsupported by au- 
 thority. I told her so, and she was delighted. 
 
 "But it will be. of no use my telling him 
 what you say," she said ; " and it would 
 not be proper to bring you together for the 
 purpose of quarrelling about it." 
 
 Then I suggested a way. I would con- 
 sult two or three old editions of Shak- 
 speare we had in the company, and have 
 fair copies of the passage made from them, 
 with any notes or annotations that might 
 be attached to it. There was no occasion, 
 I said, to let the gentleman know that I 
 supplied the evidence ; it would be sufficient 
 for him to see the quotations and the au- 
 thorities, and he would be able to test their 
 correctness for himself She thanked me 
 warmly, and I frankly owned to her that I 
 was almost as much interested in the mat- 
 ter as she was herself. 
 
 " Ah ! you are a student," she said, tap- 
 ping me with her fan, " and are not actu- 
 ated by such small motives as I am." 
 
 I told her that it had been my nature, 
 ever since I remembered myself, to be in 
 earnest in what I did. Success could not 
 be attained without earnestness, I said ; 
 and such a spirit was not thrown away 
 even when exhibited in the smallest matters. 
 The old lady was pleased with my conver- 
 sation, and asked me to bring the written 
 quotations to her house the tbllowing day. 
 She then introduced me to her niece. 
 
 Bear with me for a little while. AVhen 
 I commenced, I intended to be more brief, 
 but 1 have been carried away by a tide of 
 
LOVE'S SACRIFICE. 
 
 193 
 
 memories. These things that T have spo- 
 ken of have dwelt in my mind, but mention 
 of them has not passed my tongue; not 
 even my daughter has ever heard from me 
 the story of my Ufe. All the memories 
 that are dearest to me are stirred into life 
 by my speech; and in the midst of the 
 darkness in this room, where nothing hiiniau 
 exists but ourselves, I see my wile as I saw 
 her that night for the first time — as I shall 
 see lier soon in a better land. 
 
 Good and evil, eonseiously wrought, are 
 not of this world alone ; mind you that, 
 Joshua Marvel. They bear their fruit 
 hereafter. In what way or in what shape 
 we do not know — but they bear their fruit. 
 I never loved but one woman in my life, 
 and never was false to Iier, even in thought. 
 I never harbored an unworthy sentiment 
 towards lier. 1 loved her trul}', purely, 
 solely, as she loved me. If I had done her 
 wrong, and, loving her, had played false 
 with another by a single act, by a single 
 word of encouragement, even if it were 
 weakly given in a moment of weakness, I 
 could not look into this darkness as I do 
 now without fear and shuddering. 
 
 (What was it that passed into the room ? 
 The deep darkness that prevailed, no less 
 tlian the intense interest with which Joshua 
 followed the course of Basil's story, prevent- 
 ed him from seeing. Yet it was no less 
 ''certain that the door was gently opened, 
 and that a person with noiseless Ibotfall 
 entered the room, and, wrapped in shade, 
 stood silent in listening attitude.) 
 
 She loved me, and sacrificed herself for 
 me. Loving me, she conceived it to be 
 her duty to follow me ; she forsook friends 
 and family, and imperilled her good name 
 forme; and in this solemn moment, when 
 all the dearest memories of my life give life 
 to my words, life to my thoughts, I bless 
 her for it ! Her devotion, unworldly as it 
 was, was sanctified by love. There is no 
 earthly sacrifice that love will not sanctify ! 
 
 (A sound, half sigh, half sob, floated on 
 the air, but so light tliat Joshua doubted if 
 he had heard it. It readied Basil's ears. 
 Rising in bed, lie clutched Joshua by the 
 shoulder, and wliispered in trembling tones, 
 " Can spirits speak, and make themselves 
 heard ? Did you hear any thing V " 
 
 " Something like a sigh, I thought," said 
 Joshua; "and yet it is not possible." 
 
 Rising, he walked to the door ; but who- 
 ever it was that had entered so noiselessly 
 had so departed. 
 
 " There is no one here ; it must have 
 been fancy." 
 
 Basil sank down in the bed, exhausted 
 
 by emotion, and it was long before he re- 
 sumed his story. During the silence, Joshua 
 thought of Ellen, and was ha])py. Such 
 love as Basil Kindreil had 8pi)ken of, Ellen 
 had given to him. " But she will not have 
 to sacrifice herself for me," he thought; 
 "hers and mine will be a happier lot, I 
 hope." Yet Basil's life was grand and 
 noble. " Like a great stcjrm at sea," thought 
 Joshua, " and two small boats, lashed to- 
 gether, contending against it vainly." His 
 thoughts were interrupted by Basil's voice.) 
 
 I need not describe her. Minnie is like 
 her ; but she was more beautiful even than 
 Minnie. I went to the aunt's house, and 
 was a frequent visitor there. Alice and I 
 loved each other from the fir,st. How I 
 won her pure heart, I do not know. I will 
 not say I was unworthy of her ; for I was 
 animated by a true ambition, and I was 
 earnest and conscientious in all I did. I did 
 not decei\e her; I told her exactly what I 
 was, what I had suffered, and what I hoped 
 to gain. She paid no heed to worldly mat- 
 ters ; she loved me, and that was enouo-h. 
 She sympathized with me in ray ambition, 
 and said it was a noble one. Her words 
 were like wine to me ; they strengthened 
 and encouraged me. During the last week 
 of our contemplated stay in the town I was 
 stricken down by rheumatic fever, and was 
 confined to my bed for nearly two months. 
 The other members of the dramatic com- 
 pany waited for me for a few days, hoping 
 I would get well ; but I grew worse, and 
 they were too poor to remain idle ; so they 
 left without me, and I was alone in the 
 place. 
 
 I was delirious for a long time, and knew 
 no one about me. How well I remember the 
 day when consciousness returned ! I opened 
 my eyes, wondering where I was, and what 
 had occurred yesterday to cause me to feel 
 so deliciously weak ; but I could not under- 
 stand it, and I lay contented and hajipy, as 
 if newly born into a world of peace and 
 blissful repose. But as I lay — it might 
 have been for a few moments or a few hours 
 — • a soft murmur of voices fell on my ear. 
 I did not turn immediately in the direction 
 of the sound ; I was content to lie and 
 listen to the murmur, and had no desire to 
 analyze it — it so harmonized with my con- 
 dition — there was such a sense of luxuri- 
 ous ease in it : it was like the soft lapping 
 of the sea upon a shore of velvet sand 1 
 But with returning consciousness, my mind 
 was gradually aroused into activity ; and 
 in the whispering of voices, a familiar note, 
 sweeter and more musical than the rest, 
 came to me. Lazily I turned my head, and 
 saw my darling Alice. Our eyes met, and 
 it Avas like a flash of light. I understood 
 
104 
 
 JOSHUA MARVEL. 
 
 in that instant that tshe had been my min- 
 isteruig an-gel during my sickness. A look 
 of pity and love was in her eyes as I turned 
 to her, and she glided to my side and took 
 my hand in hers. 
 
 " Alice (hirling ! " I whispered. My voice 
 was ti'emulous as a blade of grass in the 
 summer air. 
 
 " Dear Basil ! " she said in re])]y. 
 
 No heavenly happiness can be greater 
 than that wliich entered my grateful heart 
 at that moment. All sense of sight and touch 
 ami hearinj; — all heart and soul and mind 
 — were merged in the exquisite belief that 
 iiiwrajiped me then — in the faidi that eou- 
 SLituted itself a part of me, inseparable, in- 
 dissoluble, that is mine through all time — 
 that she and I were one for ever and 
 ever ! 
 
 She sat with me until my landlady 
 warned her that it was time to go. When 
 she was gone, I learned that not a day had 
 passed since my sickness that she had not 
 come to see me. 
 
 " Alone? " I asked. 
 
 " Yes, alone," my landlady said, adding 
 that she had not spoken to any one of the 
 young lady's visits, as they might have 
 been misconstrued. 
 
 The signilieant tone in which she said 
 this caused me to reflect that Alice's visits, 
 if discovered, would expose her to the 
 world's censure, and I begged my landlady 
 to preserve silence upon the subject. 
 
 1 will not linger upon this part of my 
 story. Alice's visits Avere discovered ; and 
 one day, when 1 was nearly well, and when 
 I was sitting by the window waiting for her 
 beloved presence, I received a visit Irom 
 her aunt. 
 
 I saw the unpleasant news in her face 
 directly she entered the room. She com- 
 menced by saying she was glad to see I 
 was nearly well, and that she trusted I 
 would not take advantage of a young girl's 
 indiscretion. 
 
 " It was by the merest accident I discov- 
 ered that my niece has been in the habit of 
 coming to see you every day," said the old 
 lady ; " and she has been very rash and in- 
 discreet; you must see that, I'm sure." 
 
 I did not see it, and I uAd her so. 
 
 " Nonsense ! " exclaimed the old lady ; 
 " you are a man, and you know the ways 
 of the world and its judgment. As a man 
 of honor, you must not encourtxge my niece 
 in her lolly." 
 
 " Is it a folly to love ? " I asked. 
 
 But the old lady would not listen to ar- 
 gument, and she demanded my promise 
 that I would not see my darling again. 
 
 Firmly I refused to give it, unless Alice 
 asked me to do so. We were pledged to 
 each other, I said, and it was out of my 
 
 power to break the engagement, unless 
 Alice witched it broken. 
 
 The old lady was terrified by my firm- 
 ness ; and when she asked me what I meant 
 to do, and I told her that I meant to marry 
 her niece, she exclaimed aghast, — 
 
 '• Marry her ! and you an actor 1 " 
 
 " Yes ; and I an actor," I answered 
 proudly. 
 
 She kept with me for more than an hour, 
 begging .and eiitreaang ; but she could not 
 move me. I was contending ibr what was 
 dearer to me than life, and an old woman's 
 worldly arguments could not make me false 
 to myself and to my love. She tempted 
 me too — offered me money to leave the 
 town. After that, I was silent; I would 
 speak to her no more upon the subject. 
 When she had exhausted herself, and rose 
 to go, I opened the door for her; and be- 
 fore she went out, I thanked her lor her 
 hos[)itality to me, and expressed my regret 
 that I should have been the means of caus- 
 ing her pain. She made no reply ; but I 
 fancied I saw a pitying expression on her 
 face as she j^assed out. 
 
 I was overwhelmed by despair, and might 
 have been guilty of 1 don't know what 
 extravagance, had not my darling fore 
 seen my misery, and provided against it. 
 Within an hour of the departure of Alice's 
 aunt, a note was given to me by my land- 
 lady. It was from my darling herself. 
 She knew her aunt's errand ; she knew that 
 I was true to her ; and she told me not to 
 lose heart, for she was mine, and mine 
 only, and would be true to me till death. 
 Truly, ihose words were like oil upon the 
 troubled waters ; my mind was instantly 
 composed, and a deep ])eace and joy fell 
 upon me. The last words of her little note 
 were to the effect that she would find 
 means to write to me again soon ; and she 
 begged me not to go away until she saw 
 me. 
 
 So I waited, and grew strong ; and time 
 passed, until there came an evening when 
 we met — met never to part again. It was 
 a solemn meeting ; there was no hesitation 
 on one side, or entreaty on the other. We 
 walkeel up and down in tlie rear of a wood- 
 side inn ; and my landlady, whom I had 
 asked to accompany me, stood a little dis- 
 tance from us. My darling told me that 
 her family were about to take her to the 
 Continent, and that she saw no way of re- 
 sist ing. " There is one," I said. And as I 
 said this, I stood by the side of an old elm, 
 and she stood with droo])ing head before 
 me. " There is one. We are pledged to 
 each other till death. If I parted from you 
 now in the belief that we should not meet 
 again, I would pray to God to end my life 
 here where I stand." 
 
LOVE'S SACRIFICE. 
 
 105 
 
 " Tell mo what T shall do," she answered, 
 "and I will do it." 
 
 " Follow me," I said. " Share my life, 
 hard thoii'j;h it may be. Be mine, as I am 
 yours. Let us walk together till death, 
 and after it." 
 
 She placed her hand in mine, and an- 
 swered me in the words of R(Uh, and I 
 folded her to my breast, and kissed her. 
 
 So, accompanied by my landlady, we 
 turned our backs to the town where we 
 first met, and the next day we were 
 married. 
 
 Ah, how happy we were, and how our 
 lives seemed spread before us like a bright 
 holiday, which was to be spent in a land 
 where the air was always sweet — where 
 the flowers were alwa^-s blootning ! No 
 thought of winter ; but it came, with its 
 frost and snow, and racked me with a re- 
 newal of the old pains. I conl 1 have borne 
 them cheerfully, if they had not sometimes 
 jjrevented me from working. We I'ell into 
 poverty ; and through all its bitterness she 
 never complained, and never gave me one 
 word of reproach. Nay, often and often, 
 when she saw that ny sufferings were in- 
 creased by the thought that I had asked 
 her to share my poor life, she comforted 
 me and clieered me with tender speech, 
 that fell like balm upon my soul. I strug- 
 gled on in my profession, gaining a])plause 
 always, but never seeming to mount a step 
 nearer to the goal where fame and fortune 
 stood ])eckoning me. My wife had written 
 to her flimily without my knowledge ; but 
 not one of them replied except her good 
 aunt, who sent her a small sum of money. 
 When Minnie was born she wrote again, 
 but the old lady was dead. Still, somehow 
 we managed : om- wants were small, and 
 our happiness was perfect. We had to 
 travel about a groat deal ; and when we 
 had not sufficient money to pay our coach- 
 fares, Ave walked, and made the way light 
 for each other by cheering words. Many 
 scores of miles have I — the great trage- 
 dian, as they called me in the bills — car- 
 ried our little Minnie in my arms, lulling 
 her to sleep, or pointing out to her the 
 beauties of nature, as they peeped at us out 
 of hedgerows, or as they sprang up in the 
 gardens of great mansions, where they 
 were not hidden by grim walls, as if 
 then* owners were jealous lest the poor 
 toilers on the road should enjoy their lovely 
 forms and colors. Now and then we got 
 a lift on a wagon, and the music of the 
 bells on the hoi-ses' necks often lulled IVIin- 
 aie to sleep. We seldom staid in one 
 place longer than a fortnight ; but once we 
 stopped in a town for nearly fom- months, 
 playing thi'ee nights a week. That was a 
 happy time. I used to come home from 
 
 the theatre when my work was done, and 
 Alice anil I would sit in olu* humble lodg- 
 ings until late in the night, talkiu'i of such 
 matters as were nearest to oiu- hearts ; 
 ])ainting the future in bright colors, and 
 wH'aving fancies ab(jut our Minnie, who 
 would sometimes be lying awake on her 
 THOther's lap, and whose little lingers would 
 clasp one of mim; as the ivy clasps the oak. 
 We maile many I'riends — i'alse friends most 
 of them, atti'acted by my wife's beauty — 
 friends whose speech was fiiir, but whose 
 thoughts were treacherous. But rocks on 
 which many a woman's good name and 
 happiness have been wrecked melted like 
 snow before my wife's purity. And still 
 we struggled on, hoping against hope, until 
 there came a time whicli cast a shadow on 
 me never to be removed except liy death. 
 It was in the autumn of the year. My 
 wife had been ill, and I had to nurse her 
 and carry her about, and study and work, 
 while my heart was almost breaking ; for 
 the doctors had told me she recpured wine 
 and nourishing food, and I was earning 
 barely sufficient to pay for the commonest 
 necessaries. One night when I left the 
 theatre, the rain was pouring down like 
 a second deluge. I had been playing 
 the principal parts in tragedy and com- 
 edy, and I came into the street hot and 
 flushed with my exertions. It was the last 
 night I ever played. The rain soaked me 
 to the skin ; but I took no heed of that ; I 
 was too anxious to reach home. I crept 
 into our one room, and found my wife 
 asleep. I sat Ijy her side; and looked at her 
 pale face, and recalled the past. I saw her 
 as she had been five years before, a bright 
 and beautiful girl ; and as she was now, 
 pale and wan as a ghost. I heard her 
 whisper, "Until death, Basil — until 
 death ! " I threw myself on my knees by 
 the bedside, and hid my face on the bed in 
 utter prostration ; and while I knelt, my 
 body turned cold as ice, then hot as fire, 
 and a feeling like the feeling of death came 
 upon me. '• Is it death ? " I asked myself; 
 and I almost rejoiced at the thought that 
 we might pass away together. When I 
 raised my head, the room seemed to be 
 thronged with visible fancies. The light 
 and brilliancy of the theatre; the dark 
 night with its down-pour of rain ; Alice as 
 she was when I first met her ; my father's 
 study, and he and I looking defiantly at 
 each other ; all these pictures, and many 
 others, were before me, and for a moment 
 seemed to be in harmony with each other. 
 Unutterable confusion among them fol- 
 lowed ; and then a darkness fell upon me. 
 Weeks passed before the darkness cleared 
 away. When I recovered my senses, I 
 found my patient angel nursing me, although 
 
106 
 
 JOSHUA MARVEL. 
 
 she was scarcely stronger than I was. But 
 what will not a woman's love accomplish '^ 
 We were not in the same town in which I 
 had fallen sick. She had removed me to a 
 village some twenty miles distant from my 
 native place. I did not discover this until 
 I was able to rise and move about. I was 
 but a shadow of myself; all my strength had 
 left me, and I was like a child. I was to 
 discover something worse than that. I was 
 to discover that my memory was gone, and 
 that, although I could repeat snatches of 
 parts I had played, I could not, study as 
 hard as I would — and I tried diligently 
 dui-ing my convalescence — get the complete 
 parts into my head. My wife helped me 
 — looked at the book while I stumbled on — 
 prompted me, encouraged me, bade me rest 
 tor a day and try again. All in vain. If I 
 was rehearsing the scenes in " Ilamlet," 
 speeches and lines uttered by Macbeth and 
 Lear, interpolated themselves, and I grew 
 hopelessly confused. 
 
 So, then — my occupation was gone ; my 
 ambition was at an end. The knowledge 
 would have been bitter enough to bear had 
 I been by myself; but there were my wife 
 and daughter, my darling Minnie, my pa- 
 tient suffering Alice, to provide for, and I 
 in debt, without a penny in the world, and 
 without any means of driving white-faced 
 hunger from my dear ones. The despairing 
 coiniction almost brought on a relapse, and 
 it was only by the strongest eilbrtof will that 
 I kept my senses. But I could not get 
 strong ; rheumatism had fastened itself too 
 firmly in my bones, and would not be driven 
 away ; and I was afflicted with distressful 
 shudderings and with feverish attacks, dur- 
 ing which I knew no one about me. Winter 
 was coming on fast. Every atom of cloth- 
 ing that could be spared had been sold by 
 my wife ; what she must have suffered, dear 
 angel ! can never be told. Was it my self- 
 ishness or blindness that prevented me from 
 seeing death written in her face V I did not 
 see it — I did not suspect it — until the time 
 when her cold body lay before me. She 
 sutFered — yes; she could not disguise that 
 from me ; but the pleasant smile and the 
 cheerful look of content and hope with which 
 she always answered my wistful gaze, 
 blinded uie to her condition and to the ex- 
 tent of her sufferings. I did not ask her why 
 she had brought me to the village — I 
 guessed that it was because I had known it 
 in my happier days, and because it might 
 induce me to think of my father, and of the 
 advisability of asking help from him. She 
 did not say a word upon the subject. She 
 knew the story of my boyish life, and was 
 content that I should do as I thought best. 
 But she was a mother as well as a wife, and 
 she deemed it to be her duty to bring me 
 
 where, if I so pleased, T might possibly ob- 
 tain assistance. I thought over it. and, bit- 
 ter as it was, I saw that my duty lay clear 
 before me. I would sacrifice my pride and 
 htimble myself to my father. And yet I 
 hesitated — hesitated until one morning my 
 wife came into the rooili looking so strange 
 that I passed my hand before my eyes, 
 wondering if I were awake. 
 
 " Alice I " I cried. 
 
 She came to my side with a cheerful look. 
 Her beautiful hair, that had hung down to 
 her waist was gone. I took her upon my 
 knee, and folded her in my arms, and sob- 
 bed like a little child. She soothed and 
 comforted me. 
 
 " It will grow again," she said, knowing 
 but too well that before that time came she 
 would be beneath the daisies. " The land- 
 lady wanted money, and every thing was 
 sold but that. See, I can pay her." 
 
 " All ? " I asked. 
 
 " No, not all," she said cheerfully ; " but 
 perhaps some good fortune will come to us." 
 
 That morning I wrote to my father. I told 
 him that I was married to a gentlewoman, 
 noble, good, and pure, that we had a child, 
 and that I was ill and in want. But no 
 answer came. I wrote again, begging him 
 to reply and to assist us. Still no answer. 
 And meanwhile my wife was lading before 
 my eyes, and our landlady clamored for 
 what was due to her. Oh, if I could have 
 sold my blood fbr money, I would have done 
 it, wdien I heard her coarse tongue revile 
 my wife ! I tottered into the passage. 
 
 " Woman ! " I cried, " you shall be paid. 
 I will go and get money." 
 
 " Where ? " asked my wife in a faint 
 voice. 
 
 " At my father's," I answered. " Come, 
 we will go and lay our sorrows at his feet." 
 
 I took Minnie in my arms, and we 
 started in the direction of my native town. 
 It was not until we had walked four or five 
 miles that we discovered how weak we 
 were. We were penniless and hungry, and 
 Minnie was crying fbr food. I went into 
 a pul)lic-house, and begged for some. I 
 was turned out without ceremony ; but a 
 common woman, who was di'inking with a 
 tinker, ran alter me — God bless her for it ! 
 — and put a biscuit into Minnie's hand. 
 We struggled on. A mile nearer. My 
 wife grew white in the face, and her lips 
 were black. And as I looked at her, there 
 came by her side the image of what she 
 was, ruddy, bright-eyed, rosy-lipped. I 
 saw it, I tell you. The impalpable shape 
 of the beautiful girl, radiant with health, 
 walked with light step by the side of the 
 careworn haggard-fiteed woman. I must 
 have been crazed. She saw in my face 
 the disturbed condition of my mind. 
 
LOVE'S SACRIFICE. 
 
 107 
 
 " Courage 1 " she whispered, taking my 
 arm. 
 
 I laughed, and looked around. Fortu- 
 nately, no one was near us, or I should 
 have robbed him — weak as I was, despair 
 woiild have given me strength. I have 
 asked myself since, if it would have been 
 a crime, and have not found the answer. 
 Ten miles were com[)asscd when a stoi-m 
 came on — a dreadl'ul ])itik'ss storm, in 
 which the slanting wall of rain before us 
 seemed to shut out hope. We toiled 
 through it, fainting from weariness and 
 hunger ; we toiled through it, until I fell 
 prone to the earth. My wife knelt by me 
 in the wet grass, and implored me to make 
 another effort for her sake, tor our child's. 
 I tried to rise, but could not. All that I 
 could do was to drag myself to a clump of 
 trees, where I lay exhausted. Every word 
 that passed between us irom that time is 
 too deeply engraven on my mind ever to 
 be forgotten. 
 
 " Wife," I said, " the struggle is over. 
 Kiss me and forgive me." 
 
 In the midst of her agony, a sweet smile 
 irradiated her face. I could not see it, 
 but I knew it was there by her voice. 
 
 " Forgive you, husband ! " she exclaimed, 
 as she kissed me. " We have nothing to 
 forgive each other. Pity and love are all 
 that I feel now. Love for you and our 
 darling Minnie," — and she placed our lit- 
 tle darling's hand on my aching eyes — 
 " and i^ity for your great suS'erings." 
 
 Not a word of herself! Her pure un- 
 selfish nature was triumphant over all. 
 As surely as we have hands to feel and 
 eyes to see, such love as hers is heaven- 
 born, and dies not with the flesh ! 
 
 " Rest here," she said, jjlacing our child 
 in my arms. " I will go and seek help. 
 Keep up your heart while I am gone." 
 
 I had no power to stop her, and she left 
 me and was lost in the gloom. Hours 
 must have passed, though it was night when 
 I awoke. I had fallen Into sleep, and in 
 my dreams all the circumstances of my life 
 played their miserable parts ; from the 
 dawn of my ambition down to the words 
 of my wife, " I will go and seek help. 
 Keep up your heart while I am gone." 
 When those words were uttered, I followed 
 my wife, in my dream, as she stumbled on 
 through the darkness. Suddenly I lost 
 her; then a whisper of pain stole upon 
 me, and I heard her murmur, " Come to 
 me, Basil ; I am dying. A strength born 
 of fear enabled me to rise shuddering to 
 my feet. " Alice ! " I cried. No voice 
 answered me, but I still seemed to hear 
 the echo of the words, " Come to me, Basil ; 
 I am dying." With iMinnie in my arms, I 
 followed the sound. Some wonderful 
 
 chance directed my steps ariglit. How far 
 I walkeil, I do not know. The rain was 
 still falling, but there was a glimmering 
 light in the sky to guide me. The trees, 
 past which I crept painfully and wearily, 
 were bare of leaves ; their naked branches 
 were emblematical of the desolation of my 
 heart. I crept onward until I came to a 
 spot where I saw a form lying on the 
 ground. No need to tell me whose form 
 it was that I saw before me. No sound 
 came from the lips, no sign of life was ob- 
 servable in the limbs. The ghostly echo 
 of the cry, " Come to me, Basil ; I am dy- 
 ing I " died away upon the wind as I fell 
 by the side of my darling, who had sacri- 
 ficed her life for me. I raised her head 
 on my lap, and looked into her white face. 
 The eyelids quivered, opened; a look of 
 joy leaped into her eyes. 
 
 " Oh, my darling, my darling ! " I wailed ; 
 "wait for me." 
 
 I inclined my head to her lips, for they 
 were moving. 
 
 " I will wait for you, Basil. There ! " 
 And she looked up to heaven, while the 
 cruel rain jjoured down upon her face. 
 
 I placed Minnie's lips to hers, and the 
 child clasped her little arms round her 
 mother's neck. 
 
 " Live, Basil," she said slowly and pain- 
 fully, " live for her. No, no ! " fearing that 
 I was going from her, " do not leave me 
 yet I " 
 
 Her fingers tightened on mine, and she 
 closed her eyes. I leaned over her to pro- 
 tect her from the rain. In that supreme 
 moment of sacrifice a smile rested on her 
 lips. 
 
 ■•' Till death, and after it, Basil, my love 1 " 
 she whispered. 
 
 And her soul passed away into the win- 
 try night. 
 
 " You are crying," said Basil Kindred, 
 after a long pause. " My story has touched 
 your heart. I have told it to you for the 
 purpose of opening your eyes to Minnie's 
 nature. She is like her mother, without 
 her mother's teaching. She is a wild flower ; 
 the impulse of her mind is under the control 
 of the impulse of her heart. She is oblivi- 
 ous of all else, defiant of all else. Those of 
 her friends who have the consciousness of 
 a higher wisdom than she possesses — those 
 of them who can recognize that the prompt;- 
 ings of such a heart as hers may possibly 
 lead her into dangerous paths — must guide 
 her gently; tenderly. If any betray her, 
 he will have to answer for it at the Judg- 
 ment-seat. Joshua, you said to me, when 
 you entered this room, that you had not 
 forgotten the blessing I gave you on the 
 first day of our meeting. 1 repeat that bless- 
 
108 
 
 JOSHUA MARVEL. 
 
 in^. In all your actions that deserve bless- 
 ings and prosperity, I say, God bless and 
 prosper you, Joshua Marvel ! Now leave 
 me." 
 
 Joshua's face was wet with tears, and his 
 heart was throbbing with sympathy for 
 Basil as Ik; walked down stairs. In the pas- 
 sage lie heard a footfall that he knew to be 
 ]VIinnie's. It was too dark to see her face. 
 
 " Is that you, Minnie ? " 
 
 " Yes, Joshua," she answered, in a low 
 voice. " You have been sitting with father." 
 ■ " 1 es. 
 
 " I have been wishing to speak to you, 
 and I was alraid I might not get the oppor- 
 tunity, for lather is very strange to me. 
 When does your shi]* sail, Joshua? " 
 
 '' In a very few days, Minnie." 
 
 " I should so much like to see it, if there 
 was no harm in my coming." 
 
 " What harm can there be, Minnie ? " 
 exclaimed Joshua. " Come to-morrow to 
 the docks at twelve o'clock when the men 
 are at their dinner. Bring Ellen or Susan 
 with you, and ask for the '• Merry Andrew," 
 and I will show you over it." 
 
 " Thank }0u, Joshua. Good-night." 
 
 " Good-night, Minnie." 
 
 As their hands met, Susan, carrying a 
 light, came from the kitchen. Joshua did 
 not wish' Susan to see the tears on his face, 
 and he turned hastily away as she ap- 
 proached. But she did not appear to no- 
 tice either him or Minnie, as she passed to 
 the upper part of the house ; and the next 
 moment INIinuie glided away, and Joshua 
 entered the room where Dan and Ellen 
 were sitting. 
 
 The following day Joshua, lookiucr over 
 the bulwarks of the " Merry Andrew," saw 
 Minnie standing in bewilderment amidst 
 the busy life and the confusion of bales and 
 cases on the wharf. He was surprised to 
 find that she was alone. He hastened to 
 her side, and asked her why Ellen or Susan 
 had not come with her, and received lor re- 
 ply that she had thought they were both 
 too busy, and had not liked to ask them. 
 
 " But you don't mind my coming by my- 
 self, Joshua, do you ? " she said, looking 
 into his fiice. 
 
 '■ No," he said, returning her gaze. Her 
 eyes were sparkling with youth and health, 
 and her cheeks had a bright color in them 
 from the brisk walk she had taken in the 
 crisp air. " But I would have preferred 
 your not coming alone." 
 
 " I will go back rather than offend you." 
 
 " OU'end me ! " he exclaimed. " You are 
 a stupid to talk of offending me. And as 
 for going back, that would be sheer non- 
 sense now you have taken the trouble to 
 come." 
 
 It was impossible to look at her without 
 pleasure ; she was as beautiful as the spring. 
 A good many of the sailors turned to take 
 another peep at her, and thought what a 
 lucky fellow tiie third mate of the " Merry 
 Andrew " was to have such a lass as that to 
 come and see him. But he was in luck's 
 way right round, they said to each other as 
 they walked along. Joshua, not wishing to 
 submit Minnie to their prying looks — al- 
 though, being human, he was proud of them 
 a little bit, it must be confessed — took her 
 hand to lead her up the gangway. It was 
 not easy for Minnie to get aboard, and 
 Joshua had almost to carry her. 
 
 " How strong you are," she said, " to be 
 able to carry a big girl like me ! And this 
 is your ship.'' 
 
 " It is lumbered up at present, IVIinnie," 
 lie said ; " but when we are at sea, and the 
 decks are cleared, and the sails are set, and 
 we are tlying along before a fair wind, it is 
 a little better than this, I can tell you. I 
 can smell the sweet spray now, as it comes 
 dashing up." His nostrils dilated at the 
 mere thought of the ocean, and involunta- 
 rily he passed his hand before his eyes, 
 clearing away imaginary spray. 
 
 " How beautiful it must be ! " exclaimed 
 Minnie. 
 
 Joshua abated a httle of his enthusiasm. 
 " It's all very well in fine weather, Avhen 
 the wind and sea are kind ; but you would 
 be frightened at storms." 
 
 " Not if you were on the ship, Joshua," 
 she said dreaniingly, but in so soft and low 
 a voice that he did not catch the words; 
 yet he looked at her keenly ; but she did 
 not notice his gaze, for she was wrapped in 
 thought, and her eyes were tm-ned from 
 him. So still did she stand, that Joshua 
 touched her sleeve to attract her attention. 
 She started, as if he had aroused her from 
 sleep, and then they went over the shij) to- 
 gether. She was very anxious to see every 
 thing, and they had a busy half-hour. The 
 last part of the ship they went into was the 
 saloon. 
 
 " Captain Liddle has been very particu- 
 lar about the saloon," Joshua said, " for his 
 wife is coming with us this voyage. Here 
 are their cabins — one for the captain and 
 his wife, and this httle one adjoining lor 
 her maid." 
 
 INlinnie peeped into the cabins, and won- 
 dered how ladies could live in such a dark 
 place. Joshua had to explain that the cab- 
 ins were dark because the ship was in dock, 
 and that when they got out at sea there 
 was light enough for any thing. Then they 
 ascended to the deck aiain, and Minnie 
 thanked Joshua and prepared to go. Just 
 at that moment Joshua saw — or fancied 
 he saw — Susan standinii on the wharf. 
 
NEVER TO RETURN. 
 
 109 
 
 She was standin^T quite still, and lier eyes 
 were fixed on the poop of the " Merry An- 
 drew." 
 
 " Why, there's Susan I " he exclaimed ; 
 and, leaving Minnie on deck, he hurried 
 down the gangway. But the woman was 
 gone, and he could find no trace ot" her. 
 He returned to Minnie in a state of per- 
 plexity. 
 
 "I thought I saw Susan on the wharf," 
 he said. 
 
 " You must have been mistaken, Josliua," 
 said Minnie ; " she was hard at work at 
 home when I left. If it had been Susan, 
 she would not have gone away when you 
 went towards her." 
 
 " I sup])ose I must have been mistaken. 
 Good-morning, Minnie ; take care of your- 
 self going home." 
 
 He led her down the gangway, and 
 Minnie made her way, like a gleam of sun- 
 shine among the throng of rough working- 
 men, who stood aside to let her pass, and 
 sent admiring looks after her. During his 
 work that afternoon Joshua thought nmch 
 of her, and of her father's anxiety concern- 
 ing her. " Mr. Kindred is right," he 
 thought. " Minnie requires gentle tender 
 guidance ; such guidance as Dan can give 
 her, and will have the right to do soon, I 
 I hope. She can have no better teacher, 
 wiser counsellor, than Dan ! " 
 
 So he mused and worked, and saw no 
 signs of the dark clouds that were gathering 
 about him. 
 
 . CHAPTER XXn. 
 
 NEVER TO RETURN. 
 
 Could a map be made of the mental life 
 of a man whose career has been marked by 
 the commonest of commonplace incidents, 
 and from that map a tale were woven, it 
 would transcend in interest the most event- 
 ful story that can be found in the wonder- 
 world of fiction. Space, matter, and all 
 the abstract relations of the Great System, 
 affect the meanest order of mind, and pro- 
 duce the strangest of contrasts between the 
 outer and inner life of men. Not more 
 strange perhaps, but certainly more beauti- 
 ful, are the contrasts presented in men of a 
 liigh order of intelligence. As in the case 
 of Dan. Quiet as were the grooves in 
 which his material life moved, compassed 
 as it was by a few narrow streets, his ideal 
 life was a romance. It glowed with poetic 
 beauty, and was filled with graceful images, 
 like a peaceful lake in whose wacers are re- 
 
 _t^ 
 
 fleeted the glorios of grand sunsets andy 
 the delicate lines ;nid colors of uigh 
 clouds andoverliangiiig trees. Had it been 
 Dan's fiite to mix with the world, his sensi- 
 tive nature would have rendered him the 
 most uidiappy of beings. The selfishness 
 with whicii the world abounds, and with 
 which he would have been brought in con- 
 tact, would have made his life a misery. 
 Wishful to see good in every thing, he would 
 have seen its reverse in so many things, 
 that his enduring faith in the jjurity and 
 goodness of those upon whom he fixed his 
 affections might have been weakened. His 
 friends were few, but all his heart was 
 theirs, and no doubt of their truth found 
 place in Ids mind. Not to suspect belonged 
 to the nobility of his nature. 
 
 Otherwise, he might have found cause 
 for suspicion in what was occurring around 
 him. Three days before Joshua's final de- 
 parture from home, Basil Kindred locked 
 himself in his room, and denied himself and 
 Minnie to every person but Susan. She, 
 and she only, attended to his wants, and 
 faithfully obeyed his wishes. To all in- 
 quiries the one answer received, through 
 Susan's lips, was, that he was too ill to be 
 seen, and that he required the constant at- 
 tendance of his daughter, who could not 
 leave his room. Even Mrs. Marvel could 
 not shake his resolution, and was surprised 
 to find that Susan encouraged him, and 
 would not assist her in her kind endeavors. 
 
 " It is not good for Minnie," remonstrat- 
 ed Mrs. Marvel, " to be cooped-up in that 
 room all day. She can nurse her father — 
 it is only right she should — but her health 
 will suffer if she does not have fresh air." 
 
 " Mr. Kindred knows what is best for 
 himself and Minnie," returned Susan in a 
 voice that trembled, despite her efforts to 
 be firm. " He has asked me to nurse him, 
 and to keep everybody out of his room un- 
 til he is better ; and I mean to do it. If I 
 can't do it here, I shall take him away 
 where he won't be disturbed." 
 
 " Let me go up and see him," persisted 
 Mrs. Marvel. " I may be able to do him 
 some good." 
 
 " You can't do him a bit of good," re- 
 plied Susan uncompromisingly," and he 
 won't let anybody but me go into his room." 
 
 '■ Sick people don't always know what is 
 best tor them, my dear. We are all of us 
 very much distressed and anxious about 
 Minnie and her flxther. They are more 
 than friends to us, and perhaps you do not 
 guess what Minnie is to " — But Mrs. Mar- 
 vel was stopped in her speech by a fierce 
 exclamation from Susan. The good moth- 
 er was not sorry for the interruption ; 
 she had been about to refer to Dan's love 
 for ^Minnie, which her delicau) and keea 
 
110 
 
 JOSHUA MAEVEL. 
 
 instinct had discovered, and the thought 
 came to her that perhaps it would not 'be 
 wise to speak of it. Slie was not the less 
 surprised at Susan's agitation, and at the 
 frightened look Avhich immediately after- 
 wards flashed into Susan's eyes — a look 
 which asked, " What have I said ? Have 
 I betrayed my trust ? " But the next mo- 
 ment Susan resumed her determined man- 
 ner, and no entreaties of Mrs. Marvel could 
 move her. When Mrs. Marvel told her 
 husband of the interview, he said he Avas 
 sure that Basil Kindred was not right in 
 his head, and that the best thing to do 
 would be to let the sick man have his own 
 way. As for Susan, Llr. Marvel said, she 
 was always strange — they were a pair, she 
 and Basil Kindred. 
 
 So no further attempt was made by any 
 of them to see Basil Kindred and Minnie 
 until the day when Joshua was going to 
 sea. On that day Joshua went to Basil's 
 room, and knocked. Susan came out of 
 the room into the passage, and stood with 
 her back to the door. 
 
 " I have come to say good-by," said 
 Joshua ; " and I should like much to speak 
 to Minnie and Mr. Kindred before I leave. 
 Go in Susey, and ask him to see me." 
 
 Susan returned the usual answer, but 
 Joshua's entreaties caused her to waver. 
 She re-entered the room, and Joshua heard 
 Basil's voice speaking to her. Then Susan 
 came out again, and said, — 
 
 " Mr. Kindred is too ill to see you — he 
 told me to say so." 
 
 " And Minnie ? " 
 
 " Minnie ! " echoed Susan ; and then in 
 a low troubled voice, " Minnie is asleep." 
 
 Joshua was inexpressibly pained. 
 
 " I must be content, I suppose," he said, 
 sighing ; " but I am deeply grieved. Some- 
 thing seems to have come between us lately, 
 and 1 shall go away leaving a mystery be- 
 hind. I wonder sometimes if I am the 
 cause of this estrangement. If I am, I 
 hope all will be set right when I am out of 
 the way." 
 
 " I hope so," said Susan, with a singu- 
 larly earnest look. 
 
 " You hope so ! Then I am the cause, and 
 you believe it. Take care, Susan, that 
 you are not assisting in bringing unhappi- 
 ness among us." 
 
 " It is tor you to take care," said Susan, 
 with bitter emphasis, " that you do not do 
 so." 
 
 " What do you mean ? " asked Joshua, 
 in amazement. " Tell me. I have a right 
 to ask, Susan, for you will one day be my 
 sister." 
 
 Joshua had taken her hand as he spoke, 
 but she snatched it from him angrily. 
 
 " I can tell you nothing that you do not 
 
 know," she said hurriedly. " If I am to be 
 your sister, I have only one thing to say 
 to you." 
 
 " Well ? " he inquired, in an offended tone, 
 for he was angered by Susan's manner. 
 
 " Be true to Ellen," she said, with quiver- 
 ing lips and in a softer voice. 
 
 " Is that your fear ? " he exclaimed al- 
 most gayly. '■ Be true to Ellen ! Why, 
 Susey, I love her with all my heart and 
 soul. But there ! words go for nothing. 
 Time will show. Bid Minnie and Mr. 
 Kindred good-by for me, and say I was 
 sorry I could not see them before I went 
 away." 
 
 He put out his hand, and mechanically 
 she took it in hers ; but she unloosed it im- 
 mediately with a shudder, and left him ab- 
 ruptly. He was compelled to be content 
 with that good-by, unsatisfactory as it was, 
 and he walked to his home, where Dan 
 had been staying for the last few days, eat- 
 ing there, and sleeping, in Joshua's room. 
 Sitting in their bedroom alone on those 
 last few nights, when all but themselves in 
 the house were sleeping the friends renewed 
 their vows of faithful love, and spoke of 
 many things in the future which both of 
 them desired. In one of these conversa- 
 tions Joshua put into Dan's hands a writ- 
 ten paper, which made Dan and Joshua's 
 tather masters of his small savings and of 
 wages that would be due to him from the 
 London owners of the " Merry Andrew." 
 
 "In case any thing happens to me," said 
 Joshua, in explanation. 
 
 " Not tor any other reason, Jo," said 
 Dan, ' ' for I shall never want the money." 
 
 " Father may want a little. It is all his 
 and yours. As to your never wanting 
 money, I wish I could feel sure of it." 
 
 " You may, Jo ; I am earning quite 
 enough with my birds. Mr. Fewster gave 
 me an order yesterday for four canaries 
 thoroughly trained to do all the best and 
 newest tricks." 
 
 Joshua uttered a dissatisfied " Hm ! " at 
 the mention of ]\Ir. Fewster's name. Dan 
 understood it, for Joshua had contracted 
 what Dan said was an uni-easonable dislike 
 for Solomon Fewster. Now, in reply to a 
 remonstrance from Dan, Joshua said, — 
 
 " But you don't like him, Dan." 
 
 " I don't know that," said Dan, consider- 
 ing. " When you put it to me so plainly, 
 I am rather inclined to say I do like him ; 
 for I cannot give a reason for not doing so. 
 I can give a reason for liking him ; he buys 
 my birds " — 
 
 " And sells them at a profit, I'll be 
 bound." 
 
 " Perhaps ; he has a right to do so, if he 
 pleases. 1 did think at first that he bought 
 them for himself, but of course I was mis- 
 
NEVER TO RETURN. 
 
 Ill 
 
 taken. However, whatever he does with 
 them, he buys them and j)ays tor them : 
 that's enough for nie. You could <rive as 
 good a reason fur likinp; him. lie was kind 
 to you when you were ill." 
 
 " Oh, yes ! brought me jellies and 
 thinirs " — 
 
 " And you ate them and relished them," 
 said Dan, laughing. 
 
 " I diiln't know that he had brought 
 them, or I wouldn't have touched them. 
 I remember in one of our coasting-trips we 
 had a passenger on board who wrote for 
 newspapers, and who was said to be a very 
 clever man. Certainly he talked like one. 
 He used to talk to me, as much perhaps be- 
 cause I was a pood listener, as for any 
 other reason. Well, a favorite subject 
 with him was what he called magnetic 
 sympathy. He would just have suited you. 
 l)an ! He said that the natural magnetism 
 which makes persons like or dislike one an- 
 other, without apparent reason, is never 
 wrongly directed." 
 
 " A kind of instinct," remarked Dan re- 
 flectively. 
 
 " He said, too, that as there are certain 
 things in chemicals that won't mix, being 
 opposed in their natures, so there are per- 
 sons who have natural antipathies " — 
 
 " And won't mix — like you and ^Ir. 
 Fewster," interpolated Dan. 
 
 " Just so. Besides that, I have a good 
 many little reasons for not liking Mr. Few- 
 ster." 
 
 " Firstly," prompted Dan. 
 
 " He never looks me in the face." 
 
 " Secondly." 
 
 " He has a horribly smooth voice." 
 
 " Tliirdly." 
 
 "He has flat feet — ugly flat feet. I 
 shall always hate men with flat feet. Tlien 
 every thing about him shifts and shufiles. 
 But don't let us talk about him any more. 
 I can't keep my temper when he is in my 
 thoughts." 
 
 The conversation drifted into other sub- 
 jects, and Solomon Fewster was dismissed. 
 
 It was Dan's whim to have all his birds 
 on a table for Joshua's inspection on the 
 morning of his friend's departure. 
 
 " Although we are men now, Jo," he 
 said, " I should wish us to keep our boyish 
 fancies fresh and green always in our 
 hearts. There is plenty of room for them, 
 notwithstanding that hfe is a more serious 
 thing to us than it was." 
 
 There they were, the modest linnets, the 
 saucy tomtits, the defiant blackbirds, the 
 handsome canai-ies. Among the latter 
 were four which Dan pronounced to be 
 " real beauties ; " they were of a beautiful 
 orange color, and the feathers in their tails 
 and wings were of a deep black. These 
 
 were the canaries which Dan had spoken 
 of as having been " onlered " for Solomon 
 Fewster. As they were admiring them, 
 Solomon Fewster's step was lieard in the 
 passage, and the man himself entered to 
 wish Joshua good-by. He was profuse in 
 his good wishes, to which Joshua listened 
 in silence, uttering no word but "good-by" 
 as Fewster (juitted the room. It so hap- 
 pened that, during the pauses in his expres- 
 sions of good will to Joshua, Solomon Few- 
 ster looked at the canaries which Dan had 
 purchased for him, and handled them with 
 words of approval. When he was gone, 
 Joshua, who had thrown his handkerchief 
 carelessly upon the table, said, — 
 
 " That man hates me, Dan, more than I 
 hate him." 
 
 " My dear Jo," said Dan, " how can you 
 be so fanciful ? " 
 
 " Forewarned is fore-armed, Dan. I hecr 
 of you not to trust him ; I beg of you not 
 to believe he is any thins but a cruel false 
 man. He wishes me ill — else why do I 
 instinctively shrink from the touch of his 
 hand '? He wishes me ill — else why is 
 this V " Joshua removed his handkerchief, 
 and Dan saw one of his beautiful canaries 
 dead upon the table. " As he talked to 
 me with his smooth tongue," continued 
 Joshua. " wishing me well in his hateful 
 voice, he crushed the life out of this poor 
 bird. Is that no sign of a false bad heart ? 
 Had his thou^rhts been as gentle as his 
 words, would this have happened ? " Dan 
 was silent ; he could not defend Solomon 
 Fewster by another word. " Let us say 
 good-by here, dear Dan. Mother and fa- 
 ther are waiting for me, and many of the 
 neighbors also, to give me God-speed in a 
 better fashion and with kinder hearts than 
 that cruel man. Good-by, dearest friend. 
 God send you all that your heart de- 
 sires ! " 
 
 " Thank you, dear friend. You know 
 the one thing I desire to render me per- 
 fectly happy — Minnie's love. Say, ' God 
 speed you in that venture ! ' Jo." 
 
 " God speed you 1 Dan, it comes upon 
 me now to ask you one question. You do 
 not doubt me, do you ? " 
 
 " Doubt you, Jo ! No, nor never can." 
 
 " The answer is from your heart. I 
 should not have asked but that some things 
 have distressed me lately, and I should in- 
 deed be unhappy if I thought you had the 
 shadow of a doubt of me. It may be that 
 our voyage will not be prosperous ; it may 
 be that I may never live to return. If I do 
 not — nay, Dan, I am impelled to speak 
 thus — if I do not, believe me to have 
 been always the same to you. Believe 
 that I never wavered in my love or my 
 truth, and that to the last I held you in my 
 
112 
 
 JOSHUA MARVEL. 
 
 heart, as I hold you now, gentlest, dearest, 
 best of friends." 
 
 Dan drew Joshua's face to his and kissed 
 it. 
 
 " We are one, Jo," he said softly ; 
 " nothing can divide our hearts. God 
 bless and protect you, and bring you safely 
 back." 
 
 The leave-taking between Joshua and 
 his parents was of a very different nature 
 from the la=it, when he was leaving home 
 for the first time in his life. Then Mr. and 
 Mrs. ^larvel were beset with doubts as to 
 whether the step Joshua was about to take 
 was for the best. Now, these doubts were 
 dissolved. He had gone on his venture a 
 bright happy boy, and had returned a 
 bright happy man. lie had started on the 
 lowest round of the ladder, and had already 
 mounted many steps. Third mate already ! 
 What might he not attain to? They 
 were proud of him, and with just cause. 
 All the neighbors were proud of him, too ; 
 he was a prince among them. The family 
 were quite a distinguished family in the 
 neighborhood, as having for their represen- 
 tative a young man who had been all over 
 the world — a man who had not only seen 
 the sea, but who had been on it. A little 
 crowd of neighbors had gathered about 
 the house to give Joshua a parting hand- 
 shake. The information of their having 
 gathered for that purpose was imparted to 
 Joshua by his father with an air of pride. 
 
 " I've lived in this neighborhood for 
 nearly fifty years, Josh," said George Mar- 
 vel, " and I've never but once seen so 
 many of the neighbors on the lookout at 
 one time." 
 
 " When was that, father ? " asked Josh- 
 ua, humoring his father's vanity. 
 
 " That was when a carriage with two 
 white horses came through the street, and 
 stopped in it for full five minutes. It was 
 the first carriage that ever was seen here, 
 and the last, for that matter. You remem- 
 ber, mother ! " 
 
 " Yes, George." 
 
 " I wish you could have stopped with us 
 until the last minute. Josh," continued 
 George Marvel ; " but Mr. Meddler was so 
 mightily anxious that you should spend to- 
 night and to-morrow with him at Graves- 
 end, that he couldn't well be refused, being 
 so good a friend. Do you think your ship 
 will sail to-morrow ? " 
 
 " To-morrow or next day, daddy." And 
 Joshua put his arm round his mother's 
 neck, and t^he looked up at her big son with 
 affectionate pride. 
 
 " In three or four months you'll be among 
 the savages again," observed George Mar- 
 vel contemplatively and admiringly. 
 
 " I shall see plenty of them, I dare say, 
 
 father. They come down to Sydney from 
 what the peo})le call the interior.'' 
 
 " And they arc black all over, eh, Josh ? " 
 asked George Marvel, who was never 
 tired of a repetition of Joshua's adven- 
 tures. 
 
 " A kind of brown-black rather," an- 
 swered Joshua, " with eyes like pieces of 
 lighted coal." 
 
 " And not a bit of clothing ? " 
 
 " An old blanket, some of them ; nothing 
 at all, a good many. A sailor gave one a 
 pair of trousers, and the fellow tied them 
 round his neck by the legs." 
 
 " Dye see what strange things there are 
 in the world, mother, that we never knew 
 of? " observed George Marvel to his wife. 
 '• That comes of being a wood-turner all 
 one's lift?. — Josh, if you have children, 
 don't make wood-turners of 'ein." 
 
 " I won't, father," said Joshua, laughing ; 
 " but I'm not certain either that I'd make 
 sailors of them." 
 
 " There, father 1 " IVIrs. Marvel could not 
 help saying triumphantly, " what do you 
 say to that ? Joshua is coming round to 
 my old way of thinking." 
 
 " Now, one would think," said George 
 Marvel, appealing to an invisible audience, 
 " that Joshua's done a bad thino- by bein"- 
 a saiior. 
 
 " Well, no," said Joshua ; " I've nothing 
 to grumble at ; I've been very lucky, and 
 I'm thankful for it. But it is- a hard life 
 for a common sailor. He's bullied here 
 and buffeted there, and is obliged to be up 
 at all times of the night and day sometimes, 
 and he gets soaked and soaked until he 
 hasn't a dry thing to put on. Then, when 
 he's dead-beat and turns in, he hasn't been 
 asleep an hour perhaps when all the watches 
 are called on deck, and there he is again, 
 half dead with sleep, wondering whether 
 he is dreaming or not, till he is woke up 
 with a vengeance by the water trickling 
 down his back, and the wind blowing as if 
 it would blow his eyes clean out of his 
 head." 
 
 Mrs. Marvel shivered with apprehension 
 at Joshua's description ; and he with ready 
 tact continued, — 
 
 " But that's not often ; and even when 
 an inexperienced man would suppose there 
 was great danger, there really is none at 
 all. For the most part, it is fair and beau- 
 tiful ; and when you are bowling along 
 under a steady breeze, with all sails set, 
 surrounded by a bright cloud and bright 
 water, there isn't a more glorious life in the 
 world. If you wei'e to see the shij), mothei 
 dear, on a calm day, with the sails like 
 birds' white wings, with a deck as clean as 
 this kitchen, and the sailors sitting about 
 mending sails and splicing ropes, while the 
 
THE OLD SAILOR SETS MATTERS STRAIGHT. 
 
 113 
 
 grand all)ntros.«es are flyin;^ over us, and 
 shoals of beaut it'ul fish are leapiiii^ Hke deer 
 in tlie sea — if you were to see it then, you 
 would almost wish you had been <a man, st) 
 that you nii'^ht be a sailor. And throu.;h 
 all ' there's a sweet little cherub that sits 
 up aloft, to keep watch for the life of poor 
 Jack.' " 
 
 " Indeed, my dear," exclaimed Mrs. Mar- 
 vel, satisfied wi'.h the sentiment of the 
 quotation, thoucrh its meanini^ was not quite 
 clear to her ; '• I'm glad to hear that." ■ 
 
 " Dear old mother ! " said Joshua, in 
 secret delight at her simplicity, kissing her. 
 
 " But the best of it all is," said George 
 Marvel, " it makes a man of you ; your 
 muscle's like a bit of iron. Feel mine, 
 Josh — like a bit of soft putty. That 
 comes of being a wood-turner." 
 
 " Ellen and Mr. Meddler went down to 
 Gravesend two hours ago," said Mrs. Mar- 
 vel to Joshua, who was tying his accordion 
 in his jiocket-handkerchief. 
 
 Joshua nodded. Brave as he had in- 
 tended to be, spasms were rising in his 
 throat. 
 
 " You have all your things, dear ? " 
 
 "Yes, every thing." 
 
 He turned to take a last look at the 
 homely kitchen, noting in that momentary 
 glance the position of every piece of furni- 
 ture and of the crockery on the dresser. 
 The yellow-haired cat was too old now to 
 do any thing but lie on the hearth before 
 the fire; and Joshua stooped and patted its 
 head. "Wiien he rose and put his hand on 
 the back of a chaii*, it seemed to him as if 
 that common piece of wood and every 
 other inanimate thing in the room were 
 familiar friends. The very shape of the 
 room was dear to him. The dear old 
 kitchen ! how many happy hours had he 
 passed in it ! He could have knelt and 
 kissed the floor, his heart was so tender. 
 As it was, he touched the table and the 
 mantle-shelf, over which the bright sauce- 
 pan-lids were hanging, lovingly with his 
 fingers, and with dim eyes walked slowly 
 away. His arm was round his mother's 
 waist as they went up stairs to the street- 
 door, and he put his face to her neck and 
 kissed it — a favorite trick of his when he 
 was a child. It brought to her suddenly 
 the fancy that her son was a baby-boy still ; 
 and she caressed his curly head as a young 
 mother might have done. Mr. Marvel of 
 course was too manly to give way to such 
 weakness ; but nevertheless he clasped 
 Joshua's hand with a clinging fondness, 
 and the tune he was humming in proof of 
 his manliness came rather huskily from his 
 throat. It was a triumphant moment for 
 him when he opened the street-door, and 
 stood on the step with his wife and Joshua ; 
 
 for there in the street were many of his 
 neighbors, who pushed forward to shake 
 Joshua's hand, and to wish him God-speed; 
 while some of the women slyly gave him 
 " a lucky touch." 
 
 " One word, dear mother," said Joshua, 
 drawing mother and father into the passage, 
 whereat all the neigiil)ors fell away, and 
 turned their backs to the door, there being 
 nothing there really worth noticing. " Take 
 care of my darling Ellen for me. And 
 Dan too ; he may need it." 
 
 " They are our children, Joshua, next to 
 you," said ]Mrs. Marvel. 
 
 " You think to yourself, when you are 
 away, Josh," said Mr. Marvel, with his 
 finger in a button-hole in Joshua's jacket. 
 " ' There is Ellen, my wife that is to be ; 
 and there is Dan, my dearest friend ; and 
 there is father and mother with them every 
 day, loving them almost as much as they 
 love me, and almost as proud of them.' 
 You think that. Josh, and you'll think 
 right." 
 
 " I am sure of it. Once more, good-by ; 
 God bless you all ! " 
 
 And so, with tender embraces, hearty 
 neighborly farewells, and waving of hands, 
 Joshua, with his accordion under his arm, 
 bade farewell to his dear old humble home. 
 
 CHAPTER XXm. 
 
 TUE OLD SAILOR SETS MATTERS 
 STRAIGHT. 
 
 Havixg made over the whole of his 
 worldly property to Joshua aTid Ellen " for 
 better or worse," it was reasonable that 
 Praiseworthy Meddler should have con- 
 siderable weight in the family council of 
 the Marvels. The arrangement whereby 
 Joshua left his home a day before his ship 
 was to sail was entirely of the Old Sailor's 
 making ; he and he alone was responsible 
 for it. Naturally enough, when he had at 
 first proposed it, he had met with opposi- 
 ti(jn — especially from Mrs. iSIarvel, who 
 wished Joshua to remain with them until 
 the last moment. But. after a private con- 
 versation with the Old Sailor, she had 
 yielded to his wish, and had even used 
 arguments to induce Joshua's readier com- 
 pliance. Tliat being obtained, the Old 
 Sailor informed them'that he had _ a lady- 
 friend at Gravesend, name Mrs. Eliza Fris- 
 well, who was a married woman herself with 
 a family, and who kept a respectable 
 board inir-house, with whom he had arranged 
 that Ellen should stay until the anchor of 
 
114 
 
 JOSHUA MARVEL. 
 
 the " Merry Andrew " was wei<;he(l ; sub- 
 stantiating his statement by a letter from 
 Mrs. Eliza Friswell to Mrs. Marvel, in which 
 Mrs. Eliza — as the Old Sailor called her 
 
 — undertook to look after Ellen as " one 
 of her own." On the niornins; of Joshua's 
 departure from Stepney, the Old Sailor, 
 dressed in his best, and decorated with a 
 bunch of flowers in honor of Ellen, had 
 called for his pretty lass and had taken her 
 away, leaving a message that if Joshua did 
 not arrive at Gravesend exactly at the ap- 
 pointed time, Ellen had consented to run 
 away with him — to wit. Praiseworthy 
 Meddler — and get married. Very proud 
 was the Old Sailor of his charge, and very 
 tender and confidential was the nature of 
 his communications to her as they made 
 their way to Gravesend. What it was that 
 made her blush and laugh and cry in turns 
 
 — what it was that made her serious one 
 moment and glad the next — was known 
 only to themselves. Certainly no one was 
 taken into their confidence until they ar- 
 rived at Mrs. Eliza's, when, with a fatherly 
 kiss, he delivered Ellen into the charge of 
 that estimable matron. Mrs. Eliza's hus- 
 band was a boatman, rough and strong as 
 a boatman should be : with a great red face 
 and great red hands, and with a voice that 
 rumbled from his great deep chest with such 
 thunderous power as to render such a thing 
 as a whisper physically impossible. He was 
 tlie owner of a ileet of four boats, which had 
 been bought and paid for in shrimps and 
 watercresses, or, at all events, with the 
 profits made by Mrs. Eliza out of those deli- 
 cacies, which she purveyed to the easily- 
 satisfied amorous British public, with stale 
 bread-and-butter and an imitation of tea, at 
 nine pence per head. 
 
 Praiseworthy Meddler was fraternizing 
 with Mrs. Eliza's husband when Joshua 
 made his appearance. Mrs. Eliza's hus- 
 band immediately sheered off, and the Old 
 Sailor took Joshua in tow. In response to 
 the Old Sailor's remark that he was late, 
 Joshua, who felt very despondent, said that 
 parting from those at home took a longer 
 time than he had expected. 
 
 " Ay, my lad," said the Old Sailor 
 gravely, " 'tis a hard word, good-by, when 
 said to those we love. A long time with 
 Dan, I dare say now ? " 
 
 " Yes, sir ; but it didn't seem long. Time 
 flies faster at some times than others." 
 
 " Ay ; flies fastest when we most want it 
 to hold out. Mother and father all 
 right ? " 
 
 " As right as may be, sir. Crying more 
 now, I know by my own feelings, than 
 when I was with them. Kept up for my 
 sake, sir, to give me couKage." And Joshua 
 turned aside. 
 
 " No need to be ashamed of your tears, 
 my lad. Gentle thoughts and a gentle heart 
 go together. Some people say 'tis unmanly 
 to cry, but I wouldn't give much for the 
 man who never cried, or who wasn't some- 
 times so near it as to feel a gulping in the 
 throat. 'Tis as much crying, that is, as if 
 the tears were rolling down his face. I've 
 felt like it myself, I'm glad to say." 
 
 " You are very kind to me, sir." 
 
 " You deserve it. Josh, you deserve it, 
 thou-ih I've a doubt that you're a bit blind 
 to some thmgs. 
 
 " To what things, sir ? " 
 
 " Gently my lad, gently. Plenty of time 
 to talk." 
 
 The gravity of the Old Sailor was con- 
 tagious, and Joshua felt that the good old 
 fellow was about to say something which he 
 deemed of importance. 
 
 " Where is Ellen, sir ? " 
 
 " In the house with Mrs. Eliza. She is 
 happy and comfortable, my lad ; and when 
 you and me have had our bit of talk, we 
 will go in to her. She knows that we're 
 together, and that we've got something to 
 speak about. As you turned the street, she 
 put her pretty head out of window there — 
 you didn't know the house or you'd have 
 seen her do it, like a true sailor as you 
 are — and when she saw us togetlier, she 
 put her pretty head in again, satisfied. And 
 you left everybody at home all right, eli ? 
 Grieving naturally to be sure, but other- 
 ways all right ? " 
 
 " Yes, sir." 
 
 " Let us walk as we talk," said tbe Old 
 Sailor, hooking his arm in Joshua's, and 
 walking in the direction of the river. " Or 
 we shall talk better in a boat, perhaps ; 
 Mrs. Eliza's husband shall paddle us about 
 the while." 
 
 " But I should like to see Ellen just for 
 one minute first. 
 
 " To begin your kissing, eh, my lad ? " 
 said the Old Sailor, with a roguish laugh. 
 " No, no ; you'll have plenty of time for 
 that. I'm in command now, and 1 11 have 
 no mutineering, or I'll put you in irons. 
 You'll not like them as well as Ellen's pretty 
 arms." Notwithstanding the light nature 
 of the Old Sailor's words, Joshua detected 
 a serious mood beneath them, and with a 
 good grace he walked to the landing-place 
 and stepped into the boat which Mrs. Eliza's 
 husband held ready. 
 
 " So you were a long time with Dan, my 
 lad," remarked the Old Sailor, when they 
 were launched. " What did you talk about 
 mostly ? " 
 
 " The old things, sir, — ourselves most- 
 ly V " 
 
 "You have no secrets from Dan, my 
 lad ? " 
 
THE OLD SAILOR SETS MATTERS STRAIGHT. 
 
 115 
 
 " Ko, sir, none." 
 
 " And he has none from you ? " 
 
 "None, sir." 
 
 " And yet I'll be bound," said the Old 
 Sailor, loolvin<r steadily at Joshua, and ooin- 
 pelliu'j; Joshua to return his gaze, " that 
 there was soniethinLj which you might have 
 spoken of ha<l you not been restrained l)y 
 a feelin", say, of kindness to Dan. What, 
 now ? " 
 
 " There rcm^ something, sir," replied 
 Joshua, wondering what tliis conversation, 
 so singularly commenced, would lead to. 
 
 " Ah ! " ejaculated the Old Sailor, rub- 
 bing his knees in a satisfied manner ; " let 
 us hear what that something was." 
 
 '• You speak so earnestly, sir," said 
 Joshua, inwardly questioning himself, " that 
 I must be careful not to conceal any thing 
 from you — not that I have any reason nor 
 that I wish to do so, but something might 
 escape me. I must first say, though that 
 you must not expect me to break any con- 
 fidence — that supposing Dan had a secret, 
 and had imparted it to me, I should not be 
 justified in telling that secret to any one 
 else." 
 
 " Fair and honest, my lad ; what I ex- 
 pected from you." 
 
 "Well, then, I have been sorry to find 
 that Mr. Kindred " — 
 
 "Minnie's father — yes," interrupted the 
 Old Sailor, with a sharp look at Joshua. 
 
 " Has been changed to all of us lately, 
 and especially to me ; and I have been sor- 
 ry to think that it is because of something 
 which I have done that he is so changed." 
 
 " You know of nothing. Josh ? " 
 
 " Nothing — absolutely nothing ; and 
 that's what grieves me. If I did know, I 
 should be able to justify myself. Why, sir, 
 tills morning he refused to see me when I 
 went to wish him good-by, and refused to 
 let me see Minnie. I did not speak of 
 this thing to Dan because of my love for 
 him." 
 
 " And because," said the Old Sailor, 
 " supposing that Dan had a secret and had 
 imparted it to you, you thought that Dan 
 would be easier in his mind — in conse- 
 quence of his secret — if he did not know 
 of Mr. Kindred's strange refusal to see you." 
 
 " Just so, sir." 
 
 " Could I guess this secret of Dan's ? " 
 questioned the Old Sailor. " Could an old 
 tar like me, who wouldn't be supposed to 
 know much of boys and girls and their 
 whims and whams, venture to guess that 
 this secret of our dear friend Dan's was all 
 about a woman ? " 
 
 Joshua did not reply. 
 
 " And such a woman ! " continued the 
 Old Sailor. "With eyes as bright as the 
 stars, and with hair like a mermaid's. As 
 
 cunning as a mermaid too ; not wickedly 
 cunning — no, no ; but 'tis in her to l)e so ; 
 and she needs weaning from it, like a babe." 
 
 Very gentle was the Old Sailor's voice ; 
 and greatly did Joshua wonder, not at its 
 gentleness, for that was natural to the old 
 man, but at tin; wisdom of the words that 
 came from liis lips. All his roughness was 
 gone ; all his pleasantry was gone ; all his 
 simplicity was laid aside for the time ; and the 
 Old Sailor spoke as if all his life he had 
 been studying woman's nature until he was 
 master of its comj>lexities. But such deep 
 wisdom often comes from very simplicity. 
 
 " Lord love you, my lad ! " he said, " how 
 blind you have been ! Here has been a 
 woman's heart laid bare to you, and you 
 have not suspected it." 
 
 Joshua trembled with apprehension. 
 
 " For Heaven's sake, sir," he implored, 
 " speak more plainly ! " 
 
 "I intend to do so, Joshua; for this is 
 the solemnest time of your life. I have 
 considered the matter deeply, and I can see 
 but one right thing to do ; but I am run- 
 ning ahead too fast. Steady there, steady. 
 As I said a time ago, here has been a wo- 
 man's heart laid bare to you, and you have 
 not suspected it. What woman, now ? But 
 'tis not right to ask, mayhap." 
 
 " Ask me any thing, sir ; I will answer 
 truly." 
 
 " "What woman do you love ? " 
 
 " Ellen." 
 
 " Ellen ? And Ellen only ? " 
 
 " And Ellen only. None other ; nor ever 
 shall, if it is given to man to know his 
 heart." 
 
 " Good ! Answered like yourself; an- 
 swered like the lad I used to see looking 
 out on the river that runs to the sea ; like 
 the lad my old heart warmed to because 
 there was honesty in his f;ice ; like the lad 
 who has grown to be a man, and who sits 
 afore me now with truth in his eyes." 
 
 " Thank you for that, sir." 
 
 " What woman does this lad, now grown 
 to be a man, love '? Ellen — the pretty 
 Ellen, the truest-hearted, gentlest-hearted, 
 kindest-hearteil, dearest lass on all the high 
 seas. W^hat woman does Joshua's friend Dan 
 love ? That's a question I ask myself. 'Tis 
 easily answered. Minnie — Minnie with 
 the mermaid's hair, and with eyes bright as 
 the stars. Does Minnie love Dan ? Y'es ; 
 but not as Dan wants her to love him. 
 Why ? Because there is some one in the 
 way." 
 
 " ^Vllo, sir ? " Joshua was constrained to 
 ask, but dreading the answer. 
 
 " She loves Dan's friend Joshua better 
 than she loves Dan. Let that friend, who 
 sits afore me now, search his heart and his 
 mind, and let him say what he thinks. He 
 
116 
 
 JOSHUA MAEVEL. 
 
 knows her nature; has been her fi-iend 
 since she was a girl ; and, cunning as a wo- 
 man may be, no woman can be cunning 
 enough to hide her love always from the 
 man she lovesJ, though she may hide it from 
 all the rest of the world. It happens some- 
 times in a man's life that he may be uncon- 
 scious of a thing for years perhaps, it being 
 present to him all the time, until, sometimes 
 in one way, sometimes in another, a sudden 
 light is thrown upon it, and he sees in a 
 flash what he has been blind to all his life 
 before." 
 
 " You are right, sir," said Joshua sadly. 
 " It has happened to me now. I have been 
 blind." 
 
 As he sat, sadly looking at the evening 
 shadows reflected in the river, every cir- 
 cumstance connected with his intimacy with 
 Minnie came to his mind wilh an interpre- 
 tation ditFerent from that it had borne be- 
 fore. Her pretty fancy of the shell, which 
 he had thought of often as a childish con- 
 ceit, bore a ditlerent meaning now. Ten- 
 der looks and simple acts, which had pleased 
 him at the time, gathered strength, and be- 
 came more than tokens of mere friendship. 
 Child as she was when he first went to sea, 
 he recognized now that she had more than 
 the strength of a child ; that even then, in- 
 deed, she was almost a woman. When he 
 came back, a man, she had saved his life ; 
 and when he thanked her for it — surely 
 he could do no less! — she told him that 
 she did not want thanks, for the having 
 saved his life would ever be her sweetest 
 remembrance. " Little Minnie, little Min- 
 nie," he had said, kissing her, '• thank you 
 for your devotion." He remembered that 
 she trembled, and that something like a 
 sob escaped her when he had kissed her. 
 Had he done wrong ? Was he to blame V 
 All he had done had been innocently done, 
 as from a brother to a sister. And her feel- 
 ings were known to others when they had 
 been hidden from him. Minnie's secret 
 was known to her father and to Susan. 
 That was the reason Avhy Basil Kindred 
 had questioned him so strangely, and had 
 told him the story of his life. Words ut- 
 tered by Basil, which had borne no direct 
 signification when they were spoken, came 
 to him now witii startling vividness. 
 " Young men are often thoughtless in their 
 actions," Basil had said ; " they do not 
 know the depih and earnestness of some 
 womanly natures." The revelation that 
 had come to him served also to account for 
 Susan's singular conduct that very morn- 
 ing. 
 
 " So," he thought ; " they believe I have 
 been playing with Minnie's feelings ; and 
 both of them have condemned me. And I 
 
 too dreadful to think of. What can I do? 
 Oh, what can I do ? " 
 
 The unspoken words rended him to the 
 soul ; he was enveloped in a despairing 
 <larkness. But a greater terror than all 
 fell upon liim when he thought of Dan. In 
 such a momentous crisis as that through 
 which Joshua's mind was passin'j, nothing 
 of the past is unremembered. Words which 
 otherwise are borne in mind only by their 
 sense come l)ack as if they were just being 
 uttered. When Dan had imparted to 
 Joshua the secret of his love for Minnie, he 
 had said, " A great hope, shadowed by a 
 great fear, has entered my soul ; a hope 
 which, fulfilled, would make earth heaven 
 for me. Is it too precious a thing to pray for? 
 It seems so to me. I tremble as I think of it. 
 But if it is not to be, I hope I shall soon 
 die." And Joshua heard again that cry 
 from Dan's soul, almost word for word. The 
 sacred nature of the love exi>ting between 
 Dan and Joshua needs to be understood to 
 realize the terrible fear that smote Joshua 
 at the present time. If Dan should ever 
 come to believe him false, he would not wish 
 to live ; for the salt would have gone out 
 of his life forever. 
 
 For full a quarter of an hour Joshua was 
 wrapped in painful thoutrht ; and the Old 
 Sailor had not disturbed him. But now, 
 as he raised his tearful eyes to the Old 
 Sailor's face, the Old Sailor laid his hand 
 gently upon Jo>hua's knee, and said, — 
 
 " Well, Joshua, and how do vou make it 
 out?" 
 
 " As bad as it well can be, sir. This is 
 the hardest stroke I have ever had. I do 
 not think that even you can undei-stand 
 how hard it is for me." 
 
 " Because of Dan ? " 
 
 " Because of Dan, sir. I have no need 
 to hide Dan's secret from you now — you 
 know it ; but if Dan should be disappointed 
 in his love for Minnie, I don't know what 
 etTect it would have upon him. All this is 
 very terrible. I don't need to assure you, 
 sir, that I have been entirely blameless, 
 and that I have never treated Minnie 
 In any way but that of an honored sis- 
 ter." 
 
 " You do not, my lad," said the Old Sail- 
 or, with an evident ijrightening up in his 
 manner; "I am satisfied of that. But 
 what do we do when a storm comes ? Do 
 we run and bury our heads in our ham- 
 mocks, or do we stand up like men to meet 
 it and battle with it ? — as we are going to 
 meet this storm, which has come upon us 
 unaware, and from no fault of our'n. Like 
 men. Josh; we're going to meet it like 
 men. I am looking it straight in tlie face. 
 No wonder it made you stagger when it 
 come upon you sudden. It set my old head 
 
THE OLD SAILOR SETS MATTERS STRAIGHT. 
 
 117 
 
 a-fliinking when I found it out — though it 
 oulv come upon mc by dei^rees, and after a 
 deal of wateliiug. Just yon think a bit 
 now, Josh, and tell uie if you don't see 
 any way of getting the ship oif the roeks." 
 
 "I can see no way, sir," said Josluia, 
 after a little anxious pondering; "all is 
 dark around me." 
 
 The Old Sailor laughed a quiet little 
 laugh. 
 
 "Lord, Lord ! how blind these young- 
 sters are ! Here's a sailor that's lost his 
 reckoning, and running the danger of see- 
 ing his ship break up before his eyes; and 
 all the while there's a smooth-water bay 
 close alongside him, and a friendly craft 
 vrail-ing to give him a hand." 
 " "Where is that bay, sir V " 
 " Steady, my lad, steady. Let's see what 
 •we've got to do. Firstly, our duty to every 
 body, right round. Next, to make two 
 persons, who ought to know better, ashamed 
 of themselves for misjudging of us. Next, 
 to make every thing so snug that our friend 
 Dan sha'u't suQ'er from any fliult of our'n. 
 Next, to teach a gentle lesson to a mer- 
 maid of a girl who's got a notion in her 
 head that's no business to be there, but who 
 otherways is as good as gold. It's a riddle, 
 my lad, and I've got the key to it in my 
 pocket." 
 
 " May I see it, sir ? " 
 " You may, and shall. Josh," said the 
 Old Sailor, with a sly chuckle. " It was to 
 give you the key, that I brought you out 
 here to talk." 
 
 And the Old Sailor took from his breast 
 his blue-cotton pocket-handkerchief, upon 
 ■which was imprinted the twelve-hundred- 
 ton ship, with all its sails set to a favor- 
 able breeze. There was a knot in the 
 handkerchief, which the Old Sailor undid 
 with his teeth, keeping his eyes fixed upon 
 Joshua's face all the while. The knot 
 being untied, the Old Sailor took from the 
 handkerchief a very small parcel in silver 
 paper, and handed it to Joshua in per lee t 
 silence. 
 
 Joshua opened the silver paper, and 
 found in it a wedding-ring. 
 
 He looked at the tiny symbol with a 
 beating heart, and a glimmering of the 
 Old Sailor's meaning dawned upon his 
 mind. 
 
 " That's the key, my lad," said the Old 
 Sailor, with a triumphant expression on his 
 honest, weatherbeaten face ; " that's the 
 key to it all. You put that ring upon 
 pretty Ellen's finger to-morrow morning 
 early, and what happens? ^Vliy, you 
 spend your honeymoon here in Gravcsend 
 with your liitle wife ; and when the ' Mer- 
 ry Andrew' sets sail, — which won't be 
 to-morrow, Josh ; I've found that out, — 
 
 Ellen goes back to Stepney with that pretty 
 hit of gold on her finger. Says she, ' I'm 
 married — married to Joshua.' ' Mar- 
 ried ! ' says they, all but one of 'em ; ' mar- 
 ried ! ' And surprised they are, all but 
 one of 'em. ' Who made you do it V ' says 
 they, all but one of 'em. 'Mr. Meddler,' 
 says she ; ' Mr. Meddler made me do it. 
 lie's a hard-hearted old shark, and he 
 maik me do it. But I'm not sorry for it,' 
 says she ; ' I'm glad of it. And I'd do it 
 over again to-morrow ; for I've got a true- 
 hearted man for a husband, and all I've got 
 to do is to pray that he may come back 
 safe to me and to all of us.' With that 
 they all fill a-kissing one another, which 
 is but ri'zht under the circumstances. 
 What happens then? Says Susan, ' I was 
 mistaken ; Joshua is as he always was.' 
 Says Mr. Kindred, ' Minnie is safe. God 
 ble'ss Joshua for doing what he has done.' 
 Says Mmnie to herself, ' Ic's no use my 
 loving a married man. I've been a foolish 
 girl, lind what I've got to do is to love 
 Joshua like a brother, as he has always 
 loved me — like brother and sister; that's 
 all we can ever be to one another.' Then 
 she turns to Dan, and loves that tender- 
 hearted friend, — who ought to have been 
 a man six foot high, with his limbs as 
 sound as our'n, — ami loves him as he 
 ought to be loved. And I shouldn't won- 
 der, my lad, that when you come home 
 from this trip, Dan will say to you, 'Here 
 is my wife, Jo, my own dear IMiunie ; and 
 we're as happy as the day is long.' The 
 consequence of all of which is, that every 
 thing turns out as it ought to turn out, and 
 as we all want it to turn out." 
 
 The Old Sailor drew a long breath after 
 this peroration, and dabbed his face in a 
 manner expressive of a high state of exul- 
 tation and excitement. Joshua was no 
 less moved. He toyed with the wedding- 
 riu^T as gently and affectionately as if it 
 were already "on Ellen's finger. Truly, to 
 him it was more than a piece of plain 
 gold ; it was a symbol of love. If it had 
 been a precious life, he could not have han- 
 dled it more tenderly. Tears came into 
 his eyes as he looked at it, and his heart 
 beat more strongly with love for Elleuas 
 he pressed the ring to his lips. At which 
 action the Old Sailor gave his knee a great 
 slap; and falling back, in the excitement 
 of his triumph, upon Mrs. Eliza's husband, 
 nearly upset a boat for the first and only 
 time in his life. 
 
 " And that is the reason, sir," said 
 Joshua, " that you wished me to spend my 
 last day at Gravesend with Ellen V " 
 
 "That is the reason, my lad, and no 
 other." 
 
 " But how did you find all this out? " 
 
118 
 
 JOSHUA MARVEL. 
 
 " The fact of it is, my lad," replied the 
 most unsuspicious and guileless old tar that 
 ever crossed salt water, " I put this and 
 that tocjether. I put this and that to- 
 gether," he repeated with an air of amaz- 
 ing cunning. " It came first in a simple 
 way. When you were ill, I went one day 
 to see Minnie's father; and Avhen I went 
 into his room, I found that he was out. 
 Minnie was there, though : but she didn't 
 see me. She was sitting on the ground by 
 her father's bed, with a shell, at her ear, and 
 was singing some words softly to herself; 
 and I heard her repeat your name, Joshua, 
 over and over again. It might have been 
 a babe singini, her voice was so low and 
 sweet. But I didn't like to hear it, for all 
 that ; and from that time, ray lad, I began 
 to watch, and to put this and that together. 
 Lord love you ! if you hadn't been so 
 ■wrapped up with Ellen, you would have 
 found it out yourself soon enough. You 
 see, if Minnie had been a little girl, that 
 shell and her singing wouldn't have mat- 
 tered ; but being a woman, it did." 
 
 "And Ellen, sir. Have you told her 
 what you have told me ? " 
 
 " Just as much as wouldn't wound her 
 sensitive heart, the dear lass. Not a word 
 about Minnie. I've put it more as if it was 
 your doing and my wish, being an unrea- 
 sonable old shark, you know, and because 
 I had a right to have my own unreasonable 
 way. I told her Td set my heart on it, 
 and so had you." 
 
 " And her answer ? " 
 
 " That pretty little lass says, ' If Joshua, 
 that I love dearer than all the world ' — 
 them's her very words, ' dearer than all the 
 world ' — ' wishes me to marry him down 
 here at Gravesend, it will be my pride and 
 my joy to do as he wishes, now and always.' 
 Something else she says too. But before 
 I tell you what that something else was, let 
 me know what you think about it, Josh." 
 
 " What can I think, sir, after what you 
 have told me, but that I believe it is the 
 best and only way to set all matters straight? 
 It is a task both of love and duty — love to 
 Ellen, duty to Dan and Minnie. Yet I 
 have one regret. I have often pictured in 
 my mind what a proud day our wedding- 
 day would be to mother," — his voice fal- 
 tered here, — " and how her dear face would 
 have brightened when our hands were 
 joined ! " 
 
 " That's the very something else that 
 Ellen says to me. Josh," said the Old Sail- 
 or, beaming with satisfaction. " Says she, 
 ' I should like to have Josh's mother at the 
 wedding.' Says I, ' My dear, Josh's moth- 
 er will be at the wedding.' " 
 
 " No 1 " exclaimed Joshua with a sudden 
 start of surprise. 
 
 " Yes," cried the Old Sailor dabbing hia 
 face gleefully. "Says I, ' My dear Josh's 
 mother will be at the wedding. She will 
 come down to Gravesend to-morrow morn- 
 ing early, and will go back quietly in the 
 afternoon.' And when Ellen tells 'em 
 at home all about it, mother will be the 
 only one among 'em who won't be sur- 
 prised." 
 
 " Enough said, sir." said Joshua, his 
 heart filled with wondering happiness. " I 
 don't know what I have done to deserve 
 such friends as I've got. Let us get back 
 to Ellen." 
 
 AVith that, Mrs. Eliza's husband, who had 
 behaved more like a machine than a man 
 during the long interview, pulled briskly to 
 shore. 
 
 It was dusk when they walked along the 
 street where Mrs. Eliza lived ; but Joshua 
 saw Ellen standing at the door waiting for 
 them. He hastened to her eagerly, and 
 with his arm around her waist, drew her 
 away from the little light that was left. 
 She was trembling ; but his strong arm sup- 
 ported her. 
 
 " So you are to be my little wife to-mor- 
 row ? " he said in a voice of exceeding 
 tenderness. 
 
 She clung closer to him, and hiding her 
 face, although it was dark, answered him in 
 the softest of soft whispers, " Yes, if you 
 are satisfied that it shall be so." 
 
 " It will be for the best, darling," he 
 whispered, embracing her. 
 
 How proud he was of her ! and what a 
 memorable night they passed with the Old 
 Sailor ! The best room in the house had 
 been brightened up for them to have tea 
 in ; and after tea. Joshua and Ellen strolled 
 by the waterside for an hour, which 
 seemed about five minutes long, talking as 
 lovers have talked since the Creation. 
 Meanwhile, the Old Sailor stood at the 
 door, smoking his pipe with infinite sati.*- 
 fiiction at the thouaht of having set all 
 matters straight. While he thus stood, a 
 man approached with the evident intention 
 of making an inquiry of him ; but catching 
 sight of the Old Sailor's face, the man ut- 
 tered a hasty exclamation and abruptly 
 crossed the road, making a pretence of 
 being intoxicated. It was but a pretence, 
 but it deceived the Old Sailor, who set it 
 down in his mind that the man was a sailor 
 on the spree. " Going to join the ' Merry 
 Andrew ' to-morrow, perhaps," he thought ; 
 " and fuddling himself, as most of 'em do 
 the first and last nights ashore. A rare old 
 swiller is Jack! Never knows when he 
 has had enough. Must always take another 
 drop." 
 
 The man's thoughts were of a different 
 kind. "NVlien he had turned the corner of 
 
THE OLD SAILOR SETS MATTERS STRAIGHT. 
 
 119 
 
 the street, he walked more leisurely, and 
 drew such a breath as one draws when he 
 has escaped a dan'jjer. His first muttered 
 words were '' He diiln't see me; " his next, 
 '' What the devil briii'^s him here ? " Tliat 
 liis mind was disturbed by the sight of the 
 Olil Sailor was evident ihnii his manner ; 
 and it was evident also, by the wary looks 
 he cast about him. that he was bent already 
 on no itUe mission and neetled nothing fresh 
 to occupy him. " A good job it; was dark," 
 he muttered, directing his steps to the wa- 
 terside ; " if he had seen me, he would 
 have been sure to tell Marvel, and it might 
 have given rise to suspicion. Where is 
 that dog of a Lascar, and what the devil 
 does he mean by kee])ing me waiting ? " 
 The words were scarcely uttered when his 
 face grew deadly white, and an ugly twitch- 
 ing came about the corners of his lips, at 
 what he saw before him. It was merely a 
 man and woman — evidently lovers — who 
 were walking slowly along, in earnest con- 
 versation. He was about to follow them, 
 when his arm was touched by a new-comer, 
 in a sailor's dress. 
 
 " Here I am, master," said the new-com- 
 er. 
 
 " See there, you dog ! " exclaimed Solo- 
 mon Fewster, pointing to the lovers. " See 
 there ! What brings her here ? " 
 
 The Lascar looked after them, shading 
 his eyes with his hand, and shrugged his 
 shoulders. "Joshua Marvel and Ellen 
 Taylor ! " he said, with a careless laugh. 
 " Doing a little sweethearting on the sly. 
 If you had the chance, you'd do the same 
 yourself. See, they're turning back this 
 way ; let us get out of sight." 
 
 They stood aside, and as the lovers, 
 passed, heedful of nothing, conscious of 
 nothing, but their own great happiness, 
 their faces met, and a kiss passed between 
 them. In his torment of jealousy, Solomon 
 Fewster grasped the Lascar's shoulder so 
 tightly as to make the man wince. The 
 dog shook himself free from his master, and 
 said, " Well, he'll be away soon, and you'll 
 have the pretty Ellen all to yourself 
 Come, now ; I don't want to stop here all 
 night. Let us say what we've got to say, 
 and be done with it." 
 
 Solomon Fewster walked away a few 
 steps to recover his composm'e, and when 
 he had mastered his agitation, returned to 
 the Lascar. 
 
 " I shipped this morning, through an 
 agent," said the Lascar ; " here are my pa- 
 pers." 
 
 " It is too dark for me to see them ; I must 
 take your word that you have done what 
 you say." 
 
 " You have taken my word before, mas- 
 ter, and you have found me faithfuh You 
 
 keep your part of the bargain ; I shall keep 
 mine. It is my interest to do so." 
 
 " Yes, your interest," said Solomon Few- 
 ster, with somewhat of a bitter emphasis. 
 " You have cost me enough, you dog." 
 
 Notwithstanding that their positions of 
 master and dog might have been appro- 
 l)riately reversed, the old fiction was kept 
 up between them, with insolent arrogance 
 on one side, and with mock humility on 
 the other. Neither of them deceived the 
 other. 
 
 " I might have cost you more, master," 
 replied the Lascar ; " but go on." 
 
 " Let us see, then, if we are agreed upon 
 the position of matters, and if we under- 
 stand one another. When a certain thinor 
 happened last Christmas, which nearly cost 
 a whelp his life, you thought it necessary 
 for your safety " — 
 
 " We thought it necessary for our safety," 
 corrected the Lascar. 
 
 " To take yourself off somewhere, so as 
 not to be seen, and therefore not suspected. 
 Out of sight out of mind. In accordance 
 with that understanding you went to a cer- 
 tain watering-place, and lived at my ex- 
 pense until you got into a drunken quarrel 
 with your drunken mates, in which one of 
 them received a cut across the face. The 
 same night — being within a week of the 
 present time — you thought it advisable to 
 leave that district, and you accordingly did 
 so, coming down here to Gravesend, and 
 apprising me that you were in danger of 
 arrest and in want of money." 
 
 '• You talk like a book," said the admir- 
 ing Lascar, with a laugh. 
 
 " I came down to see you, and to advise 
 you " — 
 
 " Taking such an interest in me, master ! " 
 interrupted the Lascar, with another and a 
 louder laugh. 
 
 •' And I told you that as in England a 
 man who is too free with his knife is likely 
 to be deprived of his liberty for a longer 
 time than he would probably consider 
 pleasant, the best thing you could do — the 
 police being on the lookout for you — would 
 be to join a ship bound for a distant port, 
 and so get clear of danger. Is that fahly 
 stated ? " 
 
 " Pretty fairly for you, master. It is for 
 me to say, that so long as I am out of dan- 
 ger your safety is secured. But that's a 
 matter, of course, that you don't think 
 much of" 
 
 " It happening, as it does not often hap- 
 pen with such dogs as you," continued Solo- 
 mon Fewster, taking no other notice of the 
 Lascar's taunt than was indicated by a con- 
 temptuous emphasis on the word " dogs,'' 
 " that you were for once open to reason, you 
 agreed with me that it would be best for you 
 
120 
 
 JOSHUA MARVEL. 
 
 to get out of the country. As luck would 
 have it, Joshua Marvel's ship, the ' Merry 
 Andrew,' was shortly to start for New 
 South Wales, and as part of the crew was 
 to be en2;ac;ed at Gravesend, where you 
 were skulking about, you set your mind 
 very strangely upon going in the same ship 
 with the whelp, and according to your own 
 statement, have accomplished your desire 
 to-d:iy." 
 
 " I didn't find it a very difficult thing, 
 master. Sailors are none so plentitiil. Go 
 on." 
 
 " When I found that you were deter- 
 mined to go in Joshua Marvel's ship, I 
 bc'aring in mind that you have been as 
 faithliil as it is in the nature of such a dog 
 as you to be, told yoii that the night before 
 the ship sails, I would come down and give 
 you a i'iiw necessaries which you said you 
 required." 
 
 " Such as twenty-five pounds in gold," 
 said the Lascar. 
 
 " Such as twenty-five pounds in gold," 
 repeated Solomon Fewster, taking some 
 packets from his pocket. 
 
 " Such as a six-bladcd knife." 
 
 '• Such as a si.\-bladed knife." 
 
 " Such as anotlier knife with one blade." 
 
 " Such as another knile with one blade." 
 
 " Such as a silver watch and a silver 
 chain." 
 
 '• Such as a silver watch and a silver 
 chain." 
 
 " Bah ! " exclaimed the Lascar, in a voice 
 of intense scorn, as he received the arti- 
 cles, one after another. " Look at the sky, 
 master." 
 
 It was intensely dark ; the clouds were 
 black, there was no moon, and not a star 
 was discernible. Solomon Fwwster looked 
 up, and said, " Well '? " 
 
 '' What can you see, master ? " 
 
 " Nothing." 
 
 " Look at me " — he had walked away a 
 i'ew paces. " Can you see me ? " 
 
 " I can see your form." 
 
 '• Not my face, nor my eyes ? " 
 
 " No, you dog ! " answered Solomon Few- 
 ster hotly, for the Lascar's voice was con- 
 temptuously insolent. 
 
 " Bah ! you are worse than I am. Too free 
 with my knife, am I V I wonder whether 
 you would be too free with your knile 
 — in the dark? In the light I know you 
 wouldn't be. You wouldn't have the pluck 
 to use it. Look you, master : the first part 
 of what you said was pretty well as things 
 happened ; but the last part — Well, jou 
 and me know all about that. And yet, al- 
 though we're in the dark, and can't see each 
 other's face, nor each other's eyes, you 
 haven't pluck enough to tell the truth ; you 
 haven't pluck enough to say even to me. 
 
 here in the dark, with no one by, that when 
 I tbund that the ' Merry Andrew ' was going 
 to sea, I said to you, ' What a fine thing it 
 would be for me to go in the same ship as 
 Joshua Marvel, and to take advanta<j;e of 
 any thing that might happen to do him a 
 good turn ! ' and that then you mentioned — 
 quite accidentally, of course — that if any 
 thing should hajjpen to him through me, 
 you would give me fifty pounds if the 
 ' Merry Andrew ' came home without 
 Joshua Marvel. You haven't pluck enough 
 to say jhat then I said, ' Done ! ' ami done it 
 was; but that I — knowing you, master — 
 made a point of having something in ear- 
 nest of the bargain — such as twenty-five 
 pounds in gold ; such as a six-bladed knife ; 
 such as another knife with one blade ; such 
 as a silver watch and chain. Bah ! If it 
 wasn't that I was such a cursed fool when 
 my blood is up, that I don't know what I 
 do, and that, because of that, it is safer for 
 me to leave the country than to remain in 
 it, I would stop and feed upon you — I 
 Avould, by God ! — and worry the heart out 
 of such a coward." 
 
 " You've been drinking," said Solomon 
 Fewster, with difficulty suppressing his 
 anger. 
 
 '• UTiat if I have ? I know what I am 
 saying well enough. I have had too much 
 of your airs of superiority, and of your lies 
 and your acting. Why, do you think that 
 I would ever have done your dirty work, if 
 it hadn't served my purpose ? Do you 
 think that if I hadn't sworn an oath, and 
 marked it with my blood, to be revenged 
 upon that damned upstart, Joshua Marvel, 
 ibr what he did to me, I would go in his 
 ship V Look you ! I will do my share of 
 the work, never fear, master ; but I would 
 have done it for next to nothing, if you 
 were a man instead of a sneak ! " 
 
 '• You dog ! " cried Solomon Fewster, in 
 an uncontrollable burst of jiassion. '' You 
 have my money, ray knives, and my watch 
 upon you at this moment. I have haif a 
 mind to give you into custody for robbing 
 me." 
 
 An exclamation of anger escaped the 
 Lascar, and Solomon Fewster cursed him- 
 self inwanlly Ibr his in judiciousness the 
 moment the words had passed his lips. A 
 long silence fbllowed. a silence lengtliened 
 by Scjloraon Fewster's fears; for he knew 
 that he was in the Lascar's power, and 
 could not consider himself safe while his dog 
 was in the country. 
 
 " I didn't mean that," he said, with an 
 awkward eifort at conciliation ; " but you 
 were wrong to provoke me." 
 
 The Lascar did not reply, and Solomon 
 Fewster's alarm mcreased every moment. 
 " Why don't you speak V " he asked. 
 
THE OLD SAILOR SETS MATTERS STRAIGHT. 
 
 121 
 
 "I've been tliinkino:, master," then said 
 tlic La.-car wiih a quiet lauizli — "I've 
 been thinking that a man isn't safe with 
 sneh a sneak as you, and I've made up my 
 mind." 
 
 « To what ? " 
 
 "To this ; and if you don't do it. I'll <ro 
 6trai;2;ht to Joshua Alarvel and his pretty 
 Ellen, and open their eyes to what you 
 are." 
 
 "And ruin yourself," said Solomon Fews- 
 ter, trembliuL^ in every limb like the eow- 
 ard he was. 
 
 "And ruin myself," said the Lascar com- 
 posedly, '' and you along with nie." 
 
 " You do not know what you are say- 
 ing." 
 
 '• You shall see," said the Lascar, mov- 
 ing slowly away. 
 
 " Stoj) ! What is it you want me to do ? " 
 
 " If the 'Merry Andrew' returns without 
 Joshua Marvel, and I, having done my 
 work, come to you for my wages, it isn't 
 unlikely that you'll hatch some charge 
 against me which I sha'n't be able to face, 
 for you are rich and I am poor. I will j)re- 
 vent this. You shall come with me now to 
 my lodging-house, and you shall scratch 
 uj)on the inside of my watch, " From Solo- 
 mon Fcwster to his Lascar friend," and 
 you shall give me a paper saying as how 
 you made me a present of the knives and 
 the money because I have earned them. 
 This is what I have made up my mind to, and 
 what I intend to have done, as sure as 
 there is a sky above us. What's more, I'm 
 not going to have any palaver about it. If 
 you don't Ibllow me to my lodgings, where 
 I am going this very minute, I'll peach 
 upon you, by God ! " 
 
 Without another word, he walked to- 
 wards the town ; and S jlomon Fewster, in 
 a tumult of tear and vain passion, followed 
 him to his lodging, and unwillin_dy gave 
 him his bond. That being done, the Las- 
 car repeated that he might be depended 
 upon tor fulfilling his task; and Solomon 
 Fewster took his leave with the conscious- 
 ness that the basest of dogs consideix'd 
 himself superior to the master who used 
 him. 
 
 Early the following morning Mrs. Mar- 
 vel came down to Gravesend, and all prep- 
 arations having been made by the Old 
 Sailor, Joshua and Ellen were married. It 
 was the quietest and happiest of weddings. 
 There were but two guests — Mrs. Eliza, 
 in a blaze of red ribbons, and Mrs. Eliza's 
 husband, whose futile efi'orts to speak in 
 whispers were the only evidences to Josh- 
 ua and Ellen that the events of the morn- 
 ing were real. Every thing but that irre- 
 pressible voice was so hushed and subdued, 
 
 that it seemed to belong more to a dream than 
 any thing else. But it was a hajijiy dream, 
 marred liy no cloud, made bright by j)erfect 
 love. There was no happier person in the 
 party than Mrs. ISIarvel. 
 
 '• Now you are truly my daughter," she 
 whispered to Ellen, "and really belong to 
 me." 
 
 " I can't believe that I am awake, moth- 
 er," said Joshua to Mrs. JNIarvel, as they 
 two stood a little apart from the others; 
 " yesterday I had no thought of this. I won- 
 der if Dan is thinking of me ! When will 
 you tell him ? " 
 
 "None of them will know, dear, until 
 Ellen comes back, and that won't be until 
 your ship is gone. Mr. Meddler says it 
 will not sail for two days, so }our honey- 
 moon will be longer than you exjjected." 
 
 " And father ! how surprised he will be 1 " 
 
 " He will approve, my dear, when I tell 
 him all." 
 
 When she told him all ! That means, 
 thought Joshua, when she tells him about 
 Minnie. But he said nothing aloud in 
 answer. Minnie was in both his and his 
 mother's thoughts, but neither of them 
 mentioned her name. 
 
 " Look at her, Josh," said ]\Irs. Marvel, 
 
 turning with affectionate j)ride to where 
 
 Ellen stood, hanging tearfully upon the 
 
 i Old Sailor's arm; "no man ever had a 
 
 greater treasure." 
 
 Joshua, gazing at the modest figure of his 
 dear little woman, thought of the compari- 
 son he had once drawn between Ellen and 
 Minnie. "Minnie is like the sea; Ellen 
 like a peaceful lake." Every thing about 
 her — her dress, her trustful face, the calm 
 light in her eyes — was suggestive of peace- 
 ful love, a haven of refnore from the storms 
 of life. She turned to him, and he hurried 
 to her side, and took her arm on his. 
 
 " Darling," he whispered, " it seems too 
 wonderful to be real. I am afraid that I 
 shall wake up presently, and find that it is 
 all a dream." 
 
 Thank God, that while this world of 
 ours is pulsing with mean ambitions and 
 unworthy strivings, with heartless pleasures 
 and vicious desires, flowers of circumstance 
 such as this bloom sometimes in the lives 
 of the poorest among us. 
 
 Dinner was taken in Mrs. Eliza's private 
 parlor which abounded in family relics of 
 great price, among which were especially 
 consj)icuous two brown-stone mandarins, 
 who wagged their heads upon the mantle- 
 shelf; two large pieces of wliite coral under 
 glass shades; some stuffed parrots similarly 
 protected from the ravages of time ; and an 
 impossible castle made with small shells. 
 It was April weather with all the company, 
 and smiles and tears alternately chaseil one 
 
122 
 
 JOSHUA MARVEL. 
 
 another. Mrs. Eliza's husband proposed 
 the toast of " The new-married couple," 
 but, atteinptinf^ to make a speech, could 
 only c;et out the words, " And may they 
 ever," Avhicli he repeated four or five times, 
 without being able to explain himself. How- 
 ever, the toast was drunk not the less cor- 
 dially, Mrs. Eliza's husband and the Old 
 Sailor jj^iving three times three in hearty 
 sailor fashion. Then, it being nearly time 
 for Mrs. Marvel to go back to Stepney, the 
 Old Sailor rose, glass in hand, and said, — 
 
 " Mi's. Marvel, lady, if you was my own 
 mother, my dear, which you couldn't be, 
 seeing that I am old enough to be your 
 father, but if you was my own mother, I 
 couldn't honor you more. Some women 
 are sent into the world expressly to be 
 mothers ; you're one of 'em, and a noble 
 one you are, and a credit to Britannia. 
 Here's may Josh and his lass ever be a 
 pride to your heart, lady, as they have ever 
 been, anil may Josh be a skipper before 
 he's thirty 1 And if a rusty old sailor hke 
 me, lady, can ever serve you, my dear, I 
 shall be proud to be commanded by su.h a 
 commander." 
 
 With that he drained his glass, and turn- 
 ing it upside down, took Mrs. Marvel's 
 hand and kissed it, like the gallant knight he 
 was. Amid tears and embraces and bless- 
 ings, Mrs. Marvel took her de]7arture, es- 
 corted by the Old Sailor ; and the lovers 
 were leil to their quiet honeymoon. Tiie 
 " Men-y Andrew " did not sail until two days 
 afterwards, as the Old Sailor had said. All 
 too swiftly flew by the hours in that brief 
 time : and Joshua and Ellen found it harder 
 to part than they had ever done before. 
 
 " I am pledged to you forever, darling," 
 said Joshua, as they stood together during 
 the last few minutes. 
 
 " And I to you, dear." 
 
 " I want a curl, Ellen ; not to remind me 
 of you, but to have something of you al- 
 ways near me." 
 
 She cut off one of her brown curls, and 
 he kissed her and it, and placed it in the 
 Bible Dan had given him. 
 
 " How shall I count the days, darling ! 
 But I shall see you through all my work. 
 It is time for me to go. My undying foith- 
 ful love for you. My undying faithful love 
 for Dan. And now, put your arms about 
 my neck, and say ' God bless you, and 
 bring you safely back 1 ' " 
 
 " God bless you, and bring you safely 
 back, my dear, my heart's treasure ! " 
 
 Her strength failed her here, and she 
 was sinking to the ground. 
 
 " Take her, sir," said Joshua to the Old 
 Sailor, who was standing a little apart. 
 " May Heaven reward you for all your 
 kindness 1 " He stooped and kissed her 
 
 once more, and whispering, "I leave my 
 heart behiml me," hurried with uneven 
 steps to the boat in waiting for him. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 FAI-SE FRIEND OK TRUE? 
 
 " I WISH Ellen was at home," said Dan 
 to himself, as he sat alone in the parlor 
 which served as his training-room ; " the 
 house is quite lonely without her." Joshua 
 had been gone from Stepney for four days, 
 and, knowing how Dan would miss Ellen, 
 Mrs.Mai'vel had insisted thathe should stop 
 at her house during that time. " There will 
 be no one to attend to you, my dear," Mrs. 
 Marvel had said to him ; " Mr. Kindred is 
 ill, and Minnie and Susan are fully em- 
 ployed waiting upon him." Dan acknowl- 
 edged the superior claims of Mr. Kindred 
 on Minnie's and Susan's attention, and con- 
 sented to stop at Mrs. Marvel's house un- 
 til Ellen returned. Now that Joshua was 
 gone, however, he could not help thinking 
 it strange that Minnie had not found time 
 to run in and see him, if only for two or 
 three minutes. He expressed this to Mrs. 
 Marvel, who replied that Mr. Kindred was 
 suffering much, she believed, and did not 
 like Minnie to be away from him, loving 
 her so dearly. " But it will be all right, 
 my dear, when Ellen comes back," she said, 
 " she will be able to assist the girls in their 
 nursing." The uneasiness which Dan would 
 have otherwise experienced at not seeing 
 jNIinnie was allayed by the knowledge that 
 she was doing her duty. Still he was glad 
 when the morning came upon which Ellen 
 was to return ; for patient as he was, he 
 was hungering to see Minnie. And now 
 at last he was at home in his own little 
 parlor, waiting almost impatiently for El- 
 len. He heard a sound in the passage, and 
 he raised his hand in a listening attitude. 
 " Ellen ? No ; Susan." The door opened, 
 and Susan entered. Accustomed as he was 
 to Susan's strange manner and to the alter- 
 ations in it — morose one day and remorse- 
 fully affectionate the next — he had never 
 seen her as as he saw her now. Her face 
 was pinched as with some great agony, her 
 hands wandered restlessly about her dress 
 and over one another, her eyes dilated as 
 he remembered them in the old days when 
 she was tormented by the fear that terrible 
 shapes were stealing upon her unaware. 
 Yet, notwithstanding these distressing 
 symptoms of a mind disturbed to its very 
 uttermost, there was something stUl more 
 
FALSE FRIEND OR TRUE ? 
 
 123 
 
 painful in her appearance. This was the 
 eflbrt to n])poar cahu and selt-possessed, 
 evidencL'd in the attempts she made to keep 
 her hands still and her eyes i'rom wander- 
 ing around. But she could ntjt bring color 
 to her whifce lace, nor composure to her 
 quivering lips. No nerves are more dilli- 
 cult to master than those which directly 
 affect the mouth, and many a hard-grained 
 strong-minded man has betrayed himseh' 
 by a twitching of" his lips, which he has 
 found it impossible to control. Dan had 
 not seen Susan for more than a week, and 
 he was appalled at the change in her. His 
 fii'st thought was of Minnie. 
 
 " What has happened, Susan ? " he cried. 
 "Minnie is not ill?" 
 
 He betrayed himself in the tone of 
 anguish in which he made the incjuiry. 
 Susan twisted her fingers so tightly together 
 that the blood left them, but she telt no 
 pain. 
 
 " ^\1iy should Minnie be ill ? " she asked. 
 " You have not seen her, then ? " 
 
 " Thank God ! " Dan thought to himself; 
 " it is not an.xiety for Minnie that has 
 changed her so." 
 
 " And her father, Susan ? " he said aloud, 
 more softly. 
 
 " Her father ! " exclaimed Susan, ap- 
 proaching Dan so that he could take her 
 hand ; it was like ice. " Basil ! He is 
 stricken almost to death. I don't know what 
 to do ; and I am pledged, miserable wo- 
 man that I am — I am pledged not to 
 speak ; not to divulge what 1 know 1 " 
 
 " Poor Susey ! " said Dan soothin'jjly, and 
 in a tone of earnest sympathy, thinking that 
 Susan's last words referred to what the 
 doctor had told him of Basil's heart-disease. 
 " Poor Mr. Kindred ! I am grieved to the 
 soul to hear it." 
 
 She strove to free her hand from his 
 grasp ; but he retained it. 
 
 " Tell me about Minnie, Susey," he im- 
 plored. "Ah, if you knew how I am yeai-n- 
 ing to see her — how I am yearning to con- 
 sole her 1 " 
 
 At this appeal, so strong a trembling took 
 possession of her, that her words, to any 
 but the acutest sense, would not have been 
 distinguishable. 
 
 " You, Dan ! " she said, tightening her 
 grasp upon his hand. " You yearning to 
 see her ! You yearning to console her I 
 Why?" 
 
 " Susey, you will help me when I tell 
 you. You will let me see her when I tell 
 you. I love her ! " 
 
 " My God ! " 
 
 A deathlike silence followed, and Dan 
 was almost frightened to break it, but he 
 was constrained by his fears to speak. 
 
 " There is a hidden meaning in your 
 
 words, Susan," he said in hushed tones, 
 " that I cannot fathom. Give me some clew, 
 if you have any love for me." 
 
 " I can give you nime," she answered hur^ 
 riedly, " until I am released from my pledge. 
 Do not ask me any thing else — 1 don't 
 think I am conscious of what I am saying. 
 I will go up to Basil — to Mr. Kindred — 
 and beg of him to see you. What is that ? " 
 
 It was merely a knock at the street-door ; 
 but in Susan's nervous condition the sound 
 was sufficient to cause her to start in alarm 
 from Dan's side. 
 
 " Only a knock at the door, Susey. You 
 have overtasked yourself, my dear, with 
 nursing." 
 
 Susan hastened to the street-door, and 
 Dan heard a voice ask if Mr. Basil Kindred 
 lived there. " Yes," answered Susan. 
 " Here is a letter for him ; is it right ? " 
 " Quite right." And taking the letter from 
 the messenger, Susan went up stairs to Basil 
 Kindred's room. She had left the street- 
 door open, and before another minute had 
 passed, sunshine entered the house — sun- 
 shine, in the person of Ellen, who, radiant 
 with joy, ran into the house and into the 
 parlor, and clasping Dan round the neck, 
 called him by the dearest of names, and 
 kissed him again and again. What a bright 
 flower she was ! What a lovely flower she 
 was ! W^hat nameless beauty had passed 
 into her face, that caused Dan to thrill with 
 pride that she was his sister, and caused him 
 to wonder at the same time what change it 
 was that had come over her and added to 
 her loveliness ? The sombre aspect of the 
 room was gone ; the chill, the fear, the 
 dread of Susan's meaning was gone ; the 
 terror that had no reason in it, as flir as he 
 could see, was gone. For sunshine had en- 
 tered the house. 
 
 " O my dear, dear Dan ! " she cried, 
 shedding tears in the fulness of her joy. "O 
 my darling, darling brother 1 1 am so 
 happy to be with you again 1 " 
 
 She kissed Iiis face a dozen times again, 
 and hid hers on his neck, and kissed that 
 too, until from Dan's heart, infected by her 
 happiness, every particle of fear planted 
 there by Susan's manner had fled. Truly, 
 she was sunshine — the best, the dearest, 
 the warmest. 
 
 " My dear, dear Ellen 1 " said Dan, re- 
 turning her affectionate embrace, " how 
 happy I am that you are back ! I liave 
 been thinking how lonely the house is with- 
 out you. But " — holding her face between 
 his hands and looking at it, biight and 
 blushing and beautiful — " you have grown 
 positively lovely. What have you been 
 doin'i with yourself these last four days ? " 
 
 W^hat had she been doing witli herself? 
 She laughed softly at the question, then 
 
124 
 
 JOSHUA MARVEL. 
 
 ran and shut the door, and came back and 
 sat on the fioor at his I'eet, tucking up her 
 dress to save it from the dust. Slie was 
 in such a flutter even then — takinj^ 
 Dan's liand and fondling it — that he 
 waited to speak until she was more com- 
 posed. Presently she grew quieter, and 
 resting her head on his knees, said, — 
 
 " Now, Dan, I am quiet. Ask me ques- 
 tions." 
 
 " To commence, then, when did you 
 come l)ack V " 
 
 " This very minute." 
 
 " Who brought you back ? " 
 
 " JVli-. Meddler." 
 
 " The dear old friend ! Why didn't he 
 come in to see me V " 
 
 " For reasons. He said that we had best be 
 left alone, so that we might chat. He is 
 coming to see you to-night." 
 
 " When did Joshua's ship go away ? " 
 
 " The day before yesterday." 
 
 " Why, you little puss, you've been Inlay- 
 ing truant ! " 
 
 "Mr. Meddler persuaded me; and yes- 
 terday Mr. Meddler and Mrs. Eliza and me 
 went ibr a ride in the country." 
 
 " What a grand young lady you've got to 
 be ! And Jo ! What about Jo ? " 
 
 She nestled to him more caressingly ; and 
 he, passing his hand over her face, drew it 
 away, with tears upon it. 
 
 "Crying, Nell? ' 
 
 " For hap23iness, Dan — for very happi- 
 ness, my dear 1 What about Jo, you ask. 
 I will sjieak his exact words — almost liis 
 last, dear — " ' My undying taithful love for 
 Dan.' " 
 
 " Dear Jo ! my dear, dearest brother ! " 
 
 " That was not all he said, Dan ; we 
 were speaking of you all the day — you 
 were never out of our thoughts, never out 
 of his, I am sure. He is the dearest friend, 
 the truest friend, the most faithl'ul, the most 
 constant, that happy man or woman ever 
 had ! " 
 
 " He is all that you say, dear Ellen, and 
 I thank Heaven for giving him to us." 
 
 " Any more cjuestions, Dan V " 
 
 " No ; I can't think of any." 
 
 " Then I must tell you something Avithout 
 being asked," said Ellen : " I am the hap- 
 piest woman in the world." 
 
 She arose, and standing at the back of his 
 chair, clasped him round the neck, folding 
 her hands one in the other, so that he should 
 not see her wedding-ring. Then she in- 
 clined her lips to his ear, and was about to 
 whisper the precious secret which made her 
 the happiest woman in the world, when an 
 agonized scream rang through the house. 
 With affrighted looks they turned to each 
 other for an explanation. 
 
 " It is Susan," said Dan, all his fears re- 
 
 turning. " I have not had time to tell you, 
 Ellen, but her manner just now frightened 
 me. For Heaven's sake assist me up stairs ! " 
 
 With his crutch under one arm, and his 
 other round Ellen's neck, he went to Basil 
 Kindred's room, and, pushing open the 
 door, entered. Basil Kindred was sitting 
 motionless in his chair, before a table on 
 which were writing-materials ; liis head 
 was thrown back as if he were asleep ; one 
 hand was on his heart, and the othei', from 
 which a letter had fallen, was hanging list- 
 lessly down. And kneeling by his side was 
 Susan, with a look of horror on her white 
 face. But Minnie ! where was JNIinnie ? 
 No one had gone out of the house ; if she 
 had come down stairs, Dan must have 
 heard her. He sank into a chair and gazed 
 about him vacantly. It was not that the 
 power of thought had left him, but that he 
 was afraid to think. Susan, rocking her- 
 self to and fro, her face turned away, had 
 taken no notice of their entrance. 
 
 " Ask her where JNIinnie is," said Dan to 
 Ellen. He had tried to utter the words 
 two or three times, but his throat was 
 parched ; and now liis voice sounded so 
 strange to him, that he wondered if he or 
 some one else had spoken. 
 
 " Susan ! " said Ellen, placing her hand 
 on Susan's shoulder. " Susan, where is 
 Minnie V " 
 
 But Susan did not heed her ; and Ellen 
 raising her eyes from Susan's face to that 
 of Basil Kindred, retreated appalled to 
 Dan's side. It looked like the face of one 
 to Avhom death had come suddenly ; per- 
 fectly peaceiul, but terrible to see. Still 
 she found strength to whisper to Dan, " Be 
 strong, my dear, be strong. Shall I run 
 and tetch mother ? " 
 
 " Mother ! " echoed Dan, with the same 
 doubt upon him as to whether he or some 
 one else were speaking. " Mother ! Oh ! 
 IMi's. Marvel you, mean - — Jo's mother." 
 
 " Yes, dear, Jo's mother and ours. Shall 
 I run and fetch her ? " 
 
 " No, not yet. What is that paper by 
 his side ? Pick it up ; give it to me." 
 
 Averting her eyes from Basil's face, 
 Ellen picked up the letter and gave it to 
 Dan. " It is Minnie's writing," she whis- 
 pered. 
 
 " Hark ! " said Dan. 
 
 It was the cockatoo that Joshua had 
 brought home that startled him. It was 
 screeching down stairs, '' Dan, Ellen, Min- 
 nie ! Bread-and-cheese and kisses ! and 
 kisses, and kisses ! " ending Avith the usual 
 running lire of kisses, until it lost its breath. 
 ^\Tien the bird was (]uiet, Dan looked at 
 the letter in his hand. 
 
 " Minnie's writing," he said, trying to 
 read it ; but the words swam in his fading 
 
THE DEAD WITNESS. 
 
 125 
 
 sight. " Read it, Ellen ; I cannot make it 
 out." 
 
 Ellen took the letter from his trembling 
 hand, and read : — 
 
 " Father, — I have not gone from you 
 because I do not love you. but because it 
 was my fate to do what I have done. I 
 could not resist it. I have nothing to say 
 in justification of my conduct, except the 
 words I heard you use to Joshua when you 
 were telling him of my mother. I came 
 into the room while you were speaking ; it 
 was d.irk, and neither you nor Joshua saw 
 me. AVhat you said of my mother then 
 sank into my mind, and I can never forget 
 it. Do you remember ? ' She loved me 
 and sacrificed herself for me. Loving me, 
 she conceived it to be her duty to follow 
 me ; she forsook iriends and family for me, 
 and I bless her for it. Her devotion, un- 
 worldly as it was, was sanctified by love. 
 There is no earthly sacrifice that love will 
 not sanctify.' As my mother did, so I have 
 done. It will be useless senrching for me; 
 for when you read this, I shall be hundreds 
 of miles away on the sea. If you guess my 
 secret, keep it for the sake of my good 
 name ; and for the sake of my good name 
 do not let any other eyes but yours see this 
 letter. If it were possible for me to have 
 a wish fulfilled, I would pray that I might 
 die before this reaches you. On my knees 
 I ask you to foz'give your unhappy 
 
 " ]NilNNIE." 
 
 No one but Ellen noticed the entrance 
 of Solomon Fewster while the letter was 
 being read ; and she, with a warning finger 
 to her lips, restrained him by that gesture 
 from coming forward. So he stood silent 
 and attentive within the doorway. As the 
 ■words came slowly and painfully from El- 
 len's lips, each of them cut into Dan's heart 
 like a knife. Ellen had seen his sufferings, 
 and would have ceased reading, but that 
 he motioned her to proceed. 
 
 " So, then," said Dan, after a long and 
 painful pause, " IMinnie is gone. What 
 have I to live for now ? I would have been 
 content if she had only been near me ; if I 
 could have heard her voice or the rustle of 
 her dress to assure me of her beloved pres- 
 ence. "Without that, my life is dark in- 
 deed. But where has she gone ? " 
 
 He asked the question of himself; but 
 Susan, starting to her feet, answered him. 
 
 " AVh'ire has she gone V Where else but 
 to sea in the ' ]\Ierry Andrew,' with your 
 false friend Joshiui Marvel V And the 
 knowledge of it has killed her father 1 " 
 
 " It is false ! " cried Dan in a clear ring- 
 ing voice. " It is false, you bad sister ! " 
 
 " It is true, Daniel Taylor," said Solo- 
 
 mon Fewster in his smooth oily voice. " I 
 have here a letter from a sailor on board 
 the ' Merry Andrew,' informing me that 
 Minnie and Joshua are on the same ship." 
 
 At this corroborative testimony, Susan 
 fell upon her knees, and raised her arms. 
 
 " Curse that false friend ! " she cried. 
 
 But Ellen fell at her side, exclaiming, 
 " O Susan, Susan, restrain your tongue I 
 For all our sakes — for my sake ! lie is 
 my husband I " 
 
 Whereat Solomon Fewster, upon whose 
 face there had hitherto been an ill-concealed 
 expression of triumph, crushed the letter 
 he held in his hand, and muttered a bitter 
 curse. 
 
 And Dan, folding Ellen in his arms, 
 said, — 
 
 " Hush, my sister, hush 1 Blessings on 
 your wedding-ring I Blessings on your 
 husband and my true friend ! AVe shall 
 live to see him give the lie to slanderous 
 tongues. I have something to live for now 
 — to defend the honor of my brother ! " 
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 THE DEAD "WITNESS. 
 
 When Ellen felt the comforting protec- 
 tion of Dan's arms, and heard the words to 
 which he gave utterance in the nobility of 
 his soul, the despair by which she had been 
 overwhelmed vanished like snow before the 
 sun, and left her an unhappy, but not a 
 hopeless woman. 
 
 '• This, then, was your secret,"' said Dan 
 to her, as she lay in his arms; "your mar- 
 riage with Jo. It is the proof of his faith- 
 fulness, my dear. For me, I needed none. 
 No heart but mine can judge my friend ; no 
 tongue shall malign him unanswered while 
 I am by." 
 
 " Good, noble brother," she sobbed, " to 
 comfort me thus in the midst of your own 
 great grief! I do not doubt him; I love 
 him — love him — love him I My faithful 
 darling 1 
 
 The reproachful looks she cast at Solo- 
 mon Fewster, no less than the passionate 
 tenderness of her words, stung him to the 
 soul. In truth he had received a severe 
 blow. AAlien the Lascar's letter was deliv- 
 ered to him, and he read the amazing news 
 that ^linnie ■\vas on board the '' Meriy An- 
 drew," he exulted in the triumjih that 
 awaited him. " Ellen is mine," he thought. 
 " That fool of a whelp has played straight 
 into my hand ! " As such mean souls aa 
 Fewster's delight in detecting the meanness 
 
126 
 
 JOSHUA MARVEL. 
 
 of others, he was rejoiced at the thought 
 that Joshua had been playing false with 
 Minnie, although, before reading the Las- 
 car's scrawl, he had no suspicion of it. He 
 walked to Dan's house exultant, and deemed 
 himself fortunate in being in time to wit- 
 ness the tragic scene in Basil Kindred's 
 chamber. But when he heard Ellen's dec- 
 laration that Joshua was her husband, a 
 groan of despair escaped him, and he be- 
 came almost desperate in the sudden and 
 unexpected dashing down of all his hopes. 
 This feeling lasted'but a very little while. 
 His scheming mind was busy at work cal- 
 culating the chances for and against him, 
 and rays of light soon illumined the dark- 
 ness. " If the Lascar keeps his word, and 
 Joshua does not return," he thought, " all 
 may yet be well." Even when Ellen flung 
 at him the words, " I love him — love him 
 — love him ! " he said to himself, " Believ- 
 ing that he will come back to vindicate 
 himself We shall see." 
 
 Notwithstanding this conflict of thought, 
 his professional instinct led him to the side 
 of the inanimate tbrm of Basil Kindred. 
 He placed his ear and hand to the dead 
 man's heart; and then, with heartless 
 solemnity he lifted the gaunt form in his 
 arms, and laid it on the bed. Susan's eyes 
 asked him, " Dead 'i " 
 
 " Dead," he answered aloud. " It looks 
 like a sudden stroke." 
 
 Dan covered his face; and Ellen shud- 
 deringly turned her e}es from Solomon 
 Fewster. 
 
 " It is not my fault," he said, as if 
 Ellen's looks conveyed an accusation. 
 " Neither this, nor the letter I have 
 received. It would not have been the act 
 of a friend to keep such a thing to himself. 
 What would you have thought of me, if 
 you had discovered that I had received 
 such a letter, and had concealed it ? " 
 
 " No one accuses you, sir," said Dan 
 sadly. " Indeed how could you be to 
 blame ? These things have come of them- 
 selves, and from no fault of ours. But," 
 and his eyes kindled, and he laid his hand 
 soothingly on Ellen's head, " we will have 
 no word spoken against Jo. He is dearer 
 to us absent than present ; he is dearer to 
 us now, when Susan's voice accuses him, 
 and when you come to add your testimony 
 to hers, than he has ever been before." 
 
 " I liave not come to add my testimony 
 to hers," said Solomon Fewster, with a 
 well-assumed warmth of manner. " It is 
 no testimony of mine ; it is no accusation 
 of mine. This letter surprised and grieved 
 me almost as much as it has you." 
 
 " May I see the letter, sir V " 
 
 " Certainly." He had almost said " with 
 pleasure," but checked himself in time. 
 
 Dan took the letter, which was written 
 an an uneven and dirty piece of paper, 
 and read aloud : — 
 
 " Master, — Joshua Marvel has run 
 away with a young woman that lives in 
 Daniel Taylor's house — him as trains the 
 birds. They are both of 'em on board the 
 ' Merry Andrew.' I send tliis by the pilot, 
 and told him that you would pay him for 
 putting it into your hands. My faiihful 
 service to you. When I come back, I 
 hope to get what you promised me. 
 
 " Aboard the ' Merry Andrew.' " 
 
 " There is no name to it," said Dan. 
 " Who sent it ? " 
 
 " A sailor on the ship," replied Solomon 
 Fewster ; " a man who has done odd jobs 
 for me, and whom I have assisted." 
 
 " But how does he know me ? " 
 
 " Through the birds, and through my 
 telling him of you, I suppose. He has 
 been in the street often, and knows who 
 live in the house. He is a failbful honest 
 fellow, and I dare say thought it his duty 
 to tell me about Miss Kindred, so that I 
 might acquaint her friends." 
 
 " ' "When I come back, I hope to get 
 what you promised me,' " said Dan, read- 
 ing from the letter. 
 
 "''I promised him money if he brought 
 home some foreign birds," answered Solo- 
 mon Fewster readily, " such as parrots and 
 cockatoos, and other likely birds, for you to 
 train for me." 
 
 Meanwhile Susan had covered the dead 
 man's face, and sat moaning on the floor. 
 To her Dan addressed himself, calling her 
 by name ; but it was not until he had 
 i-epeated it two or three times that her 
 attention was aroused. She took her 
 hands from before her eyes, and looked at 
 him vacantly. There was no sign of in- 
 telligence in her face as she spoke ; it 
 seemed as if the light of reason had fled, 
 and as if the words she uttered belonged 
 to a lesson she had learned and was foi-ced 
 to repeat. 
 
 '• I promised him faithfully and sacredly 
 — yes ; they are the very words : he made 
 me say them after him, ' Faithfully and 
 sacredly,' — that I would never tell unless 
 his tongue was sealed, and the time came 
 when it was necessary to speak. Is the 
 time come V " 
 
 " It is, Susan," said Dan, a new fear at 
 his heart ; " it is come." 
 
 " Is the time come V " she repeated, turn- 
 ing to the motionless form on the bed, and 
 waiting for the answer in the awful silence 
 that followed. " I was the only one he 
 truste<l. Not a soul but me was to come 
 into the roomj and they didn't — no I 
 
THE DEAD WITNESS. 
 
 127 
 
 kept my promise faithfully and sacredly. 
 He said to me, ' If I die, and Joshua 
 Marvel has betrayed my daughter, <x'nc. 
 this book to Dau, and te-U him it contaius 
 the words of a dying man.' "' She rose to 
 her feet, and taking a book which was 
 lying on tlie desk, gave it to Dan. " Now 
 you can tell him, when he asks you, that I 
 obeyed him to the last, iiuthfuUy and 
 sacredly." 
 
 A listening expression flashed into her 
 face, and slie inclined her body to the 
 door. With feverish haste she ran down 
 stairs and into the street ; but returned 
 presently, muttering, "She is not come; 
 tlicre's no sign of her; " and resumed her 
 station by the side of the bed. 
 
 It is night, and Dan is sitting alone in 
 his bedroom. An unopened book is before 
 him : it is the book that Susan gave him 
 by Basil Kindred's desire. He has not 
 read a line in it. Between him and Ellen 
 it has been tacitly agreed that whatever is 
 written in it shall be read by them, and by 
 them alone, at night. Another book is 
 also before him : it is a Bible, and it is 
 open. 
 
 Dan is waiting for Ellen. The grief 
 that reigns in the house, and in that of 
 Mrs. Marvel, cannot be written here. It is 
 too deep, too overwhelming for expression. 
 Mrs. ISIarvel is in the house now. All that 
 she knows is that Basil Kindred is dead, 
 and that Minnie is gone : she has no 
 knowledge of the terrible suspicion that 
 hangs like a deadly cloud over the good 
 name of her beloved son. But the news 
 of the death and the flight : they could not 
 be concealed, although no one is aware 
 how they became known : has gone forth 
 into the neighborhood ; and little knots of 
 the neighbors have hung about the house 
 all the evening and night, discussing the 
 strange events. Even now, notwithstand- 
 ing that it is near midnight, a dozen street- 
 doors are open, each with its assemblage 
 of gossippers, chiefly feminine, prattling, 
 not at all sorrowfully, about the wonderful 
 news. There is much head-shaking and 
 raising of hands ; but whatever may be 
 the meaning of this play of heads and 
 hands, it certainly does not express grief 
 The neighborhood is rather bare of histori- 
 cal events; and those that have just 
 occurred are godsends. Given to the 
 neighbors round about the merit of all the 
 kindliness of heart they deserve, they 
 really enjoy their gossip, and show their 
 enjoyment of it. A stranger walking 
 through the street might have reasonably 
 supposed that the dwellers therein had 
 been making general holiday. 
 
 Dan's face is very pale as he sits, with no 
 
 sign of impatience upon him, expectant of 
 Ellen's coming. The door opens, and Mrs. 
 Marvel enters. She draws (hjwn theljlind — 
 the moonlight has been streaming in upon 
 his face, giving it a more painfid j)allor 
 than that whicli rests on it when the moon 
 is shut out — and sits down l)y his side in 
 silence for a while. She draws his head 
 upon her breast, and kisses hiin ; his arm 
 steals round her neck, and he sheds tears, 
 and kisses her in return ; but few words 
 pass between them. 
 
 " Susan ? " he asks. 
 
 " She is in bed, my dear," she answers. 
 
 " Has she said any thing ? " he asks anx- 
 iously. 
 
 " She has not spoken, my dear." 
 
 He gives a soft sigh of relief. She knows 
 that he is waiting for Ellen, and she will 
 not linger. She kisses him again in her 
 motherly way, and bids him good-night ; 
 and soon alter Ellen enters the room. 
 
 A great change has taken place in Ellen. 
 All the girlishness has gone out of her 
 face, and in its stead is an expression of 
 quiet trustfulness in which there is much 
 sadness, but no doubt. It is as though she 
 is prepared to defend and believe in her 
 husband's honor, though all the world con- 
 demn him. She closes the door gently, 
 and draws a chair next to Dan. Then 
 those two fiiithful souls, to each of whom 
 the bitterest of trials has come, look into 
 each other's eyes, and are comforted by 
 what they see. They exchange no words 
 of sympathy ; none are needed from one to 
 the other. They make no effort to conceal 
 their sorrow ; it must be borne, and they 
 must sutler. But for Joshua's sake, and 
 for Minnie's, they must be brave and hope- 
 ful. 
 
 Does Ellen acknowledge this, and in 
 her heart of hearts is she disposed to be 
 generous to the unhappy girl who has 
 brought this great misery upon them V Yes 
 — she feels nothing but pity tor Minnie. 
 The influences which actuate mental feel- 
 ing are so delicate and various, that it is 
 difficult even to the most profound of pa- 
 thognomists to dissect the commonest of 
 motives, and rightly account for it. We 
 all pride ourselves, in a greater or less de- 
 gree, upon our knowledge of character, 
 and believe that we know full well what 
 prompted So-and-so to do such-and-such a 
 thing. But in truth, in nothing do we show 
 more ignorance than in arrogating to our- 
 selves the power of divining character and 
 motive. Strive as we may to be just and 
 calm and reasonable — strive as we may to 
 banish for the time the small feelings of 
 uncharitableness which we are conscious 
 of harboring, and which necessarily warp 
 our judgment — we must from very necessi- 
 
128 
 
 JOSHUA MARVEL. 
 
 ty argue in a certain measure from our own 
 point of view. Otherwise we should be 
 infallible, and juries would never return a 
 wrong verdict, and judges would never 
 commit an error of judgment. Otherwise 
 rogues would have their due ; and some of 
 them would not, as they do now, live in 
 fine liouses, and eat and drink of the best. 
 It is impossible to put yourself in another 
 man's place. 
 
 Most women in Ellen's situation would 
 have thought of Minnie with inexorable 
 animosity. Not so Ellen. The knowledge 
 that Dan loves Minnie would alone have 
 been sufficient to disarm harsh or bitter 
 feeling. But that influence is not neces- 
 sary. She has the firmest faith in Joshua's 
 honesty and virtue, and firmly believes 
 that when lie returns home, please God, all 
 will be explained. In the mean time, her 
 duty is clear. Joshua's good name is at 
 stake. In face of all adverse circumstance 
 and sentiment, she must uphold it, and de- 
 fend It if necessary. 
 
 Thus it is that as she and Dan sit look- 
 ing sadly at each other, Dan is comforted 
 by what he sees, and she is no less so. 
 Their mutual foith in the purity of the ab- 
 sent dear ones is inexpressibly consoling to 
 them. Unconsciously eacli gives to the 
 other strength to bear the bitterness of tlie 
 shock. But when their eyes turn to the 
 book which they are to read to-ni^ht, they 
 hesitate and tremble, What may not 
 those dumb pages reveal ! The place, the 
 time, and all its surrounding circumstances 
 are solemn and mournful. Tlie presence 
 of Death ; the silence that strikes greater 
 terror than brazen tongue of accusation ; 
 the gloom of the mean apartment, in the 
 corners of which lurk fears made awful by 
 the black shadow which inwraps them — 
 these things and their infiuence impress 
 with a deeper sadness those two young 
 hearts. What wonder that they hesitate 
 and tremble as they look upon the book in 
 which the words of their dead I'riend are 
 recorded ? Josliua is on the sea, and each 
 moment adds to the distance that separates 
 Lim from his friends ; Minnie is gone also ; 
 Basil, alas, is dead ; and all that remains 
 to light the mystery is the dumb witness 
 that lies before them. But hesitation soon 
 yields to indomitable faith. 
 
 " Ellen," says Dan, laying his hand upon 
 the book, " perhaps the worst of this day's 
 trials is here. Are you prepared for it ? " 
 
 " Yes, Dan," answers Ellen with a steady 
 light in her eyes. 
 
 " Susan's words were very dreadful," 
 continues Dan ; " but she does not know 
 Jo as we know him. Come, we will read 
 what is here written. And if it accuses 
 your dear husband and my dear friend, our 
 
 hearts will defend him. His memory will 
 be dearer to us because he is unjustly ac- 
 cused ; and we will wait hopefully and pa- 
 tiently for his return, please God, and 
 never, never waver." 
 
 And drawing Ellen closer to him, Dan 
 openetl the book, and in a subdued voice 
 read what follows. 
 
 CHAPTER XXVI. 
 
 BASIL KIXDRED's DIARY. 
 
 I MAKE this record for various reasons, 
 the strongest of which is the conviction that 
 I have not long to live. Although my 
 mind is in a state of sad confusion, what I 
 write shall be no phantasy of the brain. I 
 pledge myself to this. And I pledge my- 
 self also to throw down my pen when the 
 suspicion comes upon me that, because of 
 my fears and my agony, I am writing what 
 is not strictly the fact. If I do not thug 
 pledge myself, and death comes upon me 
 unaware, this mute witness might be the 
 cause of bringing undeserved unhappiness 
 to persons whose conduct towards me has 
 been wonderfully good and noble. 
 
 Let me read what I have written. Yes, 
 it is clear, and it gives me the assurance 
 that, to-day at least, I shall be able to ex- 
 press myself clearly. I pause over every 
 word. I am careful of the construction of 
 every sentence. For I mu§t be just. I 
 could not rest in my grave if my fear spoke 
 instead of my reason. 
 
 AVliat is it tliat immediately prompts me 
 to commence this record? A letter — 
 signed by no name, delivered by I know- 
 not whom. The writing is strange to me ; 
 I have never before seen its like. It lies 
 before me now, upon my desk. 
 
 It is nia;ht. I am alone, and Minnie is 
 at Mrs. Marvel's house. Let me carry 
 back my thoughts to the time wlien I first 
 made the acquaintance of the good peo- 
 ple with whom I have lived for years — 
 for many happy years — during which 
 Minnie has grown from a child to a woman. 
 
 I hail left her at home, poor child ! hungry 
 and unhappy. She had asked me in the 
 morning for food, and I had none to give 
 her, nor any money to buy it for her. The 
 previous niglit we had eaten our last piece 
 of bread. I went out of our little room, 
 tolling her I was going to get food for her. 
 I toiled in the streets all the day, and was 
 not fortunate enough to receive a penny. 
 My sufferings were great, almost too great 
 for human endurance, but I was compelled 
 
BASIL KINDRED'S DIARY. 
 
 129 
 
 to bear them for the sake of INIinnie. 
 Nothing but the consfiousnoss that, if I 
 wont home without food, my child mi;^ht 
 die from want, supported me. Late in the 
 afternoon I was in tlie streets declaiming, 
 when some boys among the crowd which 
 surrounded me threw stones at me. One 
 of the stones wounded me in the forehead, 
 and I think I must have fainted. Two 
 persons came to my assistance — .a woman 
 and a boy. The woman was Susan Taylor, 
 the boy was Joshua Marvel. They assisted 
 me home, and the next thing I remember 
 was Susan bathing my wound and making 
 tea for me. The boy Joshua had brought 
 in some food lor us. My gratitude was 
 great, for his charity had saved my child. 
 I blessed him that night before he left us. 
 
 From that time he was a constant visitor 
 to our wretched lodging, and from that 
 time I never knew want. I grew to love 
 him. He was to be a sailor, and it was a 
 pleasure to me to listen to the enthusiastic 
 outpourings of his mind. He had a friend, 
 Dan, whom I had not then seen ; and the 
 loving manner in which he spoke of that 
 friend, seemed to me to be an assurance of 
 the goodness of his own heart. He was the 
 principal subject of conversation between 
 me and my daughter, and she, dear child ! 
 grew to love him too. Before he went to 
 sea, the woman Susan Taylor — the sister 
 of Joshua's friend Dan — came to live in 
 the house in which I lodged, and was very 
 kind to us. Joshua went to sea, and I felt 
 a void in my heart as if I had lost a son. 
 Minnie grieved as much as I did — perhaps 
 more — for she had never had a companion, 
 and Joshua's visits were looked upon as a 
 kind of holiday. We consoled ourselves 
 for our loss by speaking of him often and 
 by looking forward to his return home. 
 Minnie derived much pleasure irom a child- 
 ish conceit in which she indulged. She 
 had a shell, and she used to place it to her 
 ear and listen to the soft singing, to remind 
 her of the sea and of Joshua, she said. I 
 thought it was a pretty fancy ; but had I 
 feared then what I fear now, I would have 
 crushed the shell to powder beneath my 
 heel. 
 
 Some time after Joshua left, circum- 
 stances occurred which caused me to re- 
 move to the house of Joshua's friend Dan. 
 I was loath to do so when it was first pro- 
 posed by Susan ; but the argument used by 
 Susan, who was devoted to us, that Minnie 
 would have a companion of a suitable age 
 in her sister Ellen, prevailed upon me. 
 That was the sole cause of my removal to 
 the house in which I am now living. I had 
 reason to be grateful for the change. 
 Minnie, who used to have many unhappy 
 moods, was happy and cheerful in the so- 
 
 ciety of her new friends. And I was x\o/ 
 less so. I found that Joshua's jiarents 
 were good simple people whom to know 
 was to love. A girl could have had no 
 better companion than Ellen, who is one of 
 the pearls of womanhood. But before them 
 all, I learned to love J>an. I had never met 
 with so pure a mind, with so constant a na- 
 ture. A cripple almost from his birth, it 
 seemed as if the good (lod had endued him 
 with the purest thought and the sweetest dis- 
 position to compensate for the misfortune he 
 had met with. He might truly say, with our 
 great poet, " Sweet are the uses of ad- 
 versity." 
 
 Some happy years passed, during the 
 whole of which Joshua was at sea. At rare 
 intervals letters from him were received, 
 and the perusal of these letters gave us all 
 
 — for we were like one family — the great- 
 est pleasure. At length he returned. It 
 is not long since — but a few short weeks 
 
 — that he arrived home. He was expect- 
 ed, but not so soon. His coming wag 
 eagerly looked for — he was the hero of the 
 two houses. The night of his return was 
 memorable. It was Christmas-eve, and we 
 were all assembled in Mrs. Marvel's kitchen, 
 celebrating the blessed time with joyful, 
 grateful hearts. Minnie persuaded me to 
 read a play. I chose the " Tempest," that 
 loveliest creation of the poet's mind. She is 
 not present, but I can see her as she unloosed 
 her hair and stood before me, bright and 
 bewitching as Ariel could have been. " Do 
 you love me, master?" she asked. I an- 
 swered in the words of Prospero, " Dearly, 
 my delicate Ariel." ... I resume my pen, 
 which I had laid aside, thinking that I 
 was being betrayed by my feelings, and 
 that I was indulging in an exaggeration of 
 sentiment. But no. I have read over 
 what I have written, and I am satisfied. 
 
 I was in the midst of the lovely story 
 when a knock came at the street-door. 
 Minnie went out of the room to open the 
 door. A silence followed. Presently a 
 scream struck fear to all our hearts. We 
 ran up stairs, and found that Joshua, having 
 returned sooner than he was exj)ected, had 
 been stabbed by a coward's hand when his 
 foot was on the threshold of his home. Tlie 
 house of joy was turned into a house of 
 mourning. I have no need to set down 
 here the events of the next few weeks, that 
 bring me to the present day. Sufficient to 
 say that Joshua lingered for some time be- 
 tween life and death, and to the joy of all of 
 us was declared out of danger three weeks 
 ago. I have been confined to my chamber 
 with my old complaint nearly the whole of 
 that time. Susan has attended to me 
 chiefly ; for seeing Minnie's anxiety to as- 
 sist Mrs. Marvel in her trouble, I have al- 
 
130 
 
 JOSHUA MARVEL. 
 
 lowed her to be much away from me. Al- 
 thout^h IMinnie has not spoken of it, I have 
 learned that she, according to the doctor's 
 statement, saved Joshua's life by pressing 
 her lips to the wound in his neck and stop- 
 ping in some measure the effusion of blood, 
 which might have been fatal to him. It 
 gave me pleasure to hear this ; for no ser- 
 vice, purposed or accidental, could pay for 
 the kindness we have received from the good 
 people with whom we have lived so happily. 
 
 So ! I have temperately set down all tliat 
 has occurred up to the present, or rather up 
 to four days ago, when I received the letter 
 which lies before me now. I will not at- 
 tempt to describe the effect it had upon me. 
 It seemed to change the current of my blood. 
 If there be truth in it, is there, can there be, 
 truth in man ? Before pinning it in the 
 book, I copy it word for word : — 
 
 " A well-wisher warns Mr. Basil Kin- 
 dred that Joshua Marvel is playing false 
 with his daughter. The writer has no pur- 
 pose to serve in writing this, and does not 
 wish to be known. The information he 
 gives is given in kindness. Minnie Kindred 
 loves Joshua Marvel, who takes every secret 
 opportunity that presents itself to prosecute 
 his bad designs upon a simple girl. It is 
 right that Mr. Basil Kindred should be made 
 acquainted with the real character of the 
 hypocrite, who is fair to a man's face and 
 false behind his back." 
 
 With some girls and with some people, 
 the best way to do with such a letter would 
 be to show it to those concerned. But I 
 dare not do this. It would bring unhappi- 
 ness and mistrust among these confidino- 
 good people. 
 
 And I fear for Minnie. I fear that the 
 writer, whoever he may be, is right when he 
 says that my dai-ling child loves Joshua. 
 And I, knowing her nature, feel that if un- 
 happily she has contracted a love for Joshua, 
 the discovery of it in this manner would 
 bring misery upon her for life. No ; she 
 must not see the letter — must not have a 
 suspicion of it. 
 
 AH Joshua's previous life contradicts the 
 accusation. ' It was the simplicity and kind- 
 liness of his nature that attracted me to him. 
 If he is fair to a man's face and false behind 
 his back, he is false to his friend Dan ; and 
 I, knowing Dan's heart, know that there 
 could be no blacker treachery than that ; for 
 I have at times suspected that Dan loves ray 
 Minnie. Yes ; I may tell that secret to tiiis 
 mute friend, although I have never other- 
 wise whispered it. On one particular night 
 when we were all assembled together, read- 
 ing a letter from Joshua, and when Mr. 
 Praiseworthy Meddler was tracing the 
 course of Joshua's ship upon the map, I de- 
 tected in Dan's manner something more than 
 
 a feeling of friendship for Minnie. Since 
 then, other small evidences have forced 
 themselves upon me, and I have not been 
 unprepared for the disclosure of Dan's love. 
 Would it be a good thing for Minnie ? Yes ; 
 if she returned his love. Although he is a 
 cripple, she could have no better mate : he 
 is all that is noble and good, and he would 
 make her happy, if she could learn to love 
 him. 
 
 If she could learn to love him ! These 
 words have caused me to think if Minnie 
 could ever learn to love — have caused me 
 to ask myself if love is not intuitive to her, 
 as it was to her mother. My anxiety is 
 deepened by the thought. I am afraid to 
 think fm-ther. 
 
 Every thing depends upon Joshua. If she 
 loves him, and he encourages her, he is false 
 to his friend, false to honor. My duty is 
 plain. I must watch first, and discover if 
 or there be any foundation for the accusation, 
 if it emanates from spite and vindictiveness. 
 
 I close the book and lock it in my desk, 
 for fear other eyes than mine should see what 
 I have written. 
 
 Notwhhstanding the bodily pain I have 
 suffered, I have so far controlled it as to visit 
 Mrs. Marvel's house during the last three 
 days, and to sit with the young people as if 
 nothing ailed me. I am beset with doubt. 
 I know not what to think. I have watched 
 every look, every movement; and I am 
 afraid that my anxiety has caused me to be 
 uncivil and abrupt. I do not think that any 
 one but Mrs. Marvel has noticed my anxiety 
 or any change in me ; but I have observed 
 her somtimes look at me questioningly, as if 
 wondering at my changed manner. 
 
 That Minnie has an affection for Joshua 
 is certain : she strives to prevent it being 
 observed, and I think no one suspects her. 
 li there is any secret understanding between 
 her and Joshua, I have not discovered it. 
 He treats her kindly and affectionately, but 
 he is chiefly attentive to Ellen. But still 
 the letter says that he avails himself of 
 " every secret opportunity " to see her. If 
 that be true, it is not likely that he would 
 betray himself in the presence of his friends. 
 I must act upon the results of my observa- 
 tion. I must endeavor to keep Minnie from 
 visiting Mrs. Marvel's house so frequently ; 
 it may prevent her feelings from ripening 
 into love. In a few weeks Joshua will be 
 away, and then all danger will be over for a 
 time. I am, indeed, loath to believe any 
 wrong of him ; he seems to have preserved 
 the simplicity of character and the goodness 
 of heart for which I used to admire him. 
 
 I am glad I commenced this record ; for 
 my thoughts are often very confused, and 
 my memory is impaired. 
 
BASIL KINDRED'S DIARY. 
 
 131 
 
 Although my uneasiness increases with 
 respect to Minnie, I have heard good news : 
 Joshua is engajred to be niarriixl to Ellen. 
 Do I need any other jjroot'of Joshua's hon- 
 esty ? It would be monstrous it' 1 did ; and 
 yet I cannot regard him with the old feel- 
 ings ot'ati'ection, lor jNlinnie is unhappy, and 
 he is the cause. One day I accuse my<elf" 
 of injustice towards hiiu ; another day I 
 almost hate him, and curse the circum- 
 stance that made me and Minnie ac- 
 quainted with him. ^Vould to God that he 
 were gone ! Every hour that he stops is 
 an additional agony to me. 
 
 Minnie has been sullen and rebellious 
 because I have sometimes prevented her 
 from going to Mrs. Marvel's house. She 
 has not always obeyed me. I must speak 
 more firmly to her ; " I must be cruel only 
 to be kind." 
 
 A day of agony. I have not been able 
 to leave my room. Minnie was with me 
 all the morning : but before she came to 
 me, I had received another communication, 
 in the same handwriting as the last. It 
 contained but a few words, — 
 
 " The friend who warned Mr. Basil 
 Kindred before, warns him again. Joshua 
 Marvel is a smooth-tongued villain. In his 
 character of a hero he is playing false with 
 two simple girls at one time." 
 
 Who can this friend be? I have no 
 friends out of these two houses. But who- 
 ever he is, he is right, I fear, as to Minnie, 
 and may be right as to Joshua — the mere 
 writing of the name gives me pain. The 
 receipt of the few words I have just copied 
 opened my wounds, and they bled afresh. 
 I detained Minnie with me all the morning; 
 and when she wanted to quit the room, I 
 invented pretexts to induce her to remain. 
 She was not at her ease ; I saw that plainh'. 
 Once or twice I am afraid that I sjDoke 
 harshly to her ; but she was painfully sub- 
 missive — almost humble. At length she 
 rose, with the intention of leaving the room. 
 I asked her where she was going. She an- 
 swered, to see Mrs. Marvel. I grasped her 
 hand, and bade her resume her seat. She 
 asked me why I did not wish her to go to 
 Mrs. Marvel's house ; and when I said it 
 was because I thought she troubled the 
 Marvels too much, all the hardness and 
 obstinacy in her nature came into play, and 
 she answered in a voice that might have 
 come from lips of stone, that that was 
 not my reason, and that I was hiding some- 
 thing from her. For the first time I be- 
 trayed myself. I asked her if she was not 
 hiding a secret from me ; and she returned 
 me an evasive reply. She left the room, 
 and I was about to follow her, when I was 
 seized with a terrible dizziness. My 
 
 strength deserted me, and I was afraid I 
 was about to die. The attack passed away, 
 and left me as weak as a child. 
 
 I pause in my recital of the day's events 
 to make two declarations. The first is, that 
 I ain certain, from my sensations this day, 
 that a sudden shock would be fatal to me ; 
 I am afraid that my heart is diseased. The 
 second is, that if Idle suddenly, and Joshua 
 has betrayed my child, he is my murderer 
 in the sight of God and man — as much my 
 murderer as if he were to come into the 
 room this moment and plunae a da^iier in 
 my lieart ! 
 
 How awful are these words 1 As I look 
 at them, they seem to rise in judgment 
 against me. " Thou shalt not bear false 
 witness against thy neighbor." Am I bear- 
 ing false witness against Joshua ? Am I to 
 be the cause of bringing unhappiness to 
 fHends but for whom Minnie and I might 
 have perished from hunger V Still do I 
 cling to the hope that lives in uncertainty. 
 Still do I strive to believe that my fears 
 have grown without reason, and that they 
 are like the monstrous shadows that mock 
 us on the Avails and ceiling of a room whose 
 only light is a flickering tire. Above every 
 other consideration, I must be just. If no 
 eye but mine reads these lines, I shall have 
 done no harm in writing them. If it should 
 happily result that Minnie's love is not 
 deeply rooted — if it should happily result 
 that Joshua has not been tampering with 
 her affections, and that he goes away spot- 
 less, as I Avould fain believe him to be — 
 let me determine to destroy this record. It 
 tjiust be done. Determining to do this — 
 willing it Avith the whole strength of my 
 mind — I shall be able to do it even before 
 I am stricken down, if it be feted that I am 
 to die suddenly. Should it be otherwise — 
 should he prove to be false — this record 
 shall remain as an evidence of his treacher- 
 ous heart. 
 
 When Minnie left me, and I discovered 
 that I was too feeble to follow her, I thought. 
 Oh, if I had some one I could trust — some 
 one to help me ! And as I thought, Susan 
 entered the room. In her I confided ; to 
 her I told my fears ; and after pledging her 
 sacredly to secrecy, I showed her the letter 
 I have received. She has promised to 
 watch Joshua, and she will be faithful. 
 Now I shall know whether I have cause for 
 fear ; now I shall know whether Joshua 
 Marvel is false or true. 
 
 I do not think I shall ever be able to 
 leave my room. It is more than a week 
 since I wrote in this book. True, I have 
 had nothing to say until now. Minnie has 
 been tender and affectionate to me ; she 
 has been absent at various times during the 
 
132 
 
 JOSHUA MAEVEL. 
 
 day ; but when she is with me, she is all 
 that a child should be. I have left her free 
 to come and go, knowing that Susan was 
 watching that she should come to no harm. 
 I sometimes think that she is fighting with 
 her soul ; tor a new-born sadness has settled 
 upon her face. Yestei-day I saw her sit- 
 ting bv the window, with her hands clasped 
 in her" lap, and a deep-seated sorrow in her 
 eyes. I have seen her mother sit so in the 
 old days long, long ago — in the old days 
 that seem to belong to another life. I had 
 been asleep; and when I awoke, I saw 
 Minnie wrestling with her sorrow. I called to 
 her twice before she heard me ; and when 
 she came to my side, she had the air of one 
 who has been suddenly aroused from a 
 dream. Darling child, I pray to God to 
 o-ive you strength to bear alHiction, if it 
 comes to you ! K any sacrifice that I could 
 make would lessen your pain, how gladly 
 would I make it ! 
 
 Last night Susan slept with her, and in 
 her sleep heard her murmur Joshua's name. 
 It proves that he is in her thoughts ; but it 
 proves nothing more. I hear a step upon 
 the stairs, (iood-night, dumb witness of 
 my grief! 
 
 How shall I commence ? All my pulses 
 Are throbbing with rage and apprehension. 
 Proof has come. Joshua ]\Iarvel is a 
 damned false-hearted villain ! 
 
 I write with pain and difficulty. My 
 heart is beating so violently, that I am 
 obliged to stop to calm myself, for fear of 
 consequences. Calm myself! Can I do 
 it? 1 nuist. I will lay down my pen, and 
 wait until I have subdued the tumult of 
 passion which rages within me. 
 
 Sol I am calmer. It is well that I 
 stopped, or what the doctor warned me of 
 mi"-ht have occurred. And I want to live 
 — Oh, how I want to live ! 
 
 Susan is sitting in the room with me ; 
 for I am afraid of being alone, to-night of 
 all nights. I am glad that I have kept this 
 record ; I am glad that, if I die suddenly, 
 the guilt of an infamous recreant will be 
 brought to light by means of this evidence. 
 
 About noon to-day — I am writing this 
 at night — Minnie brought a doctor to my 
 bedside. I had steadily refused to see one 
 before; for I knew what I was suffering 
 from, and I knew that the doctor's art was 
 powerless to cure me> But I was not dis- 
 pleased that Minnie brought him ; it was 
 her anxiety and love — for she does love 
 me — that caused her to disobey my wishes. 
 I sent Minnie out of the room, so that I 
 might speak to the doctor in private. He 
 told me nothing new ; as well as suffering 
 from rheumatism and low fever, I have 
 heart-disease. He told me what I abready 
 
 knew — that I might die suddenly, without 
 any other furewarnings than those I have 
 already received. He went away after ut- 
 tering the usual platitudes. Late in the 
 afternoon I fell asleep ; and when it was 
 dark, I heard a step in the room ; asking 
 who was there, Joshua's voice answered me. 
 I spoke to him bitterly out of the bitterness 
 of my heart, and he answei'ed me quietly 
 and feelingly. He said he had noticed with 
 sorrow that I was changed; that he was 
 not conscious of having done any wrong. 
 He begged that I would be to him as I was 
 before lie first went to sea, and when I had 
 blessed him. I could not see his face ; but 
 his. voice was tremulous with emotion; and 
 when he appealed to my sense of justice, I 
 softened to him, for I had no evidence 
 against him but the suspicion which had 
 been created by the warning letters I had 
 received. I had it fii-st in my mind to tell 
 him all ; but my pride and my considera- 
 tion for Minnie's feelings restrained me. 
 Instead of doing that, I resolved to probe 
 him ; and, that my agitation might not be- 
 tray me, I refused to have a light. We 
 spoke in the dark. I elicited from him that 
 he was engaged to Ellen, whom he de- 
 clared he loved before all the world. Upon 
 that, his hand in mine, I wished him the 
 happiness that faithful love deserves. When, 
 after that, Minnie became the subject of 
 conversation, there was a hesitancy in his 
 manner that aroused my slumbering suspi- 
 cions. Then I spoke so plainly to him — 
 though telling him nothing about the let- 
 ters — that he could not have misunder- 
 stood me. I told him that my heart was 
 diseased, and that I could not live much 
 longer. I told him that I was tortured by 
 anxiety for Minnie's future ; that she needed 
 guidance and control ; that she knew only 
 one duty — the duty of love ; and that she 
 could scarcely understand that, under cer- 
 tain circumstances, love may be sinful. I 
 told him that she was changed, that she 
 was hiding something from me, and that I 
 was afraid some such love as I had 
 spoken of had come to her. And when I 
 asked him if he knew \>v suspected to whom 
 that love was given, he was silent, and did 
 not answer me. Was not that silence suffi- 
 ciently damning? I asked liim if he were 
 concealing any thing from me, and he equiv- 
 ocated. What should he conceal from me ? 
 he asked. At that answer I almost gave 
 up hope ; but my child's happiness was at 
 stake, and I persevered. I resolved to tell 
 him the story of my life, that he might learn 
 how Minnie's mother sacrificed herself for 
 love ; that he might learn what Minnie's 
 nature, being like her mother's, really was ; 
 and to what extent she would go where 
 her heart was engaged. It was an appeal 
 
BASIL KINDRED'S DIARY. 
 
 133 
 
 to liim for mercy. How has he treated that 
 apjieal ? 
 
 I told him the story of my Hfe ; I laid 
 bare my heart to liiin. I lived over again 
 the ajiony of my wife's death. I told him 
 that Minnie was like her mother, without 
 her mother's teaching ; that the impulse of 
 her mind was under the control of the im- 
 pulse of her heart ; that those who knew 
 it must guide her gently, tenderly ; and 
 that if any man betrayed her, he would 
 have to answer for it at the Judgment-seat. 
 
 Could tongue speak more plainly than 
 mine did ? Could any man who was not 
 totally devoid of honor and humanity have 
 listened to my trembling words unheed- 
 ingly ? I appreciate at its proper worth 
 the code of morality by which many heart- 
 less men are guided ; but I never believed 
 it possible that man could be so base as 
 Joshua has proved himself to be. Here is 
 a proof of his villany. Within a few min- 
 utes after my story was ended — within a 
 few minutes after he left my room, cry- 
 mg in sympathy with me — he was fond- 
 ling Minnie in the passage below. Susan 
 can prove it. They were in the dark, and 
 Susan came up from the kitchen with a 
 lighted candle, and discovered them. Their 
 hands were in each other's clasp ; and when 
 Joshua Marvel saw the light and Susan, 
 he turned away his head, so that she should 
 not see his face. They parted on the mo- 
 ment ; and Susan, not appearing to notice 
 them, passed them by, and, faithful woman 
 as she is, came straight to me, and told me 
 what she had seen. 
 
 " Fair to a man's face, and false behind 
 his back " — ay, that he is ! But not for 
 him, for whom my indignation can find 
 no fitting name, do I care. For Minnie 
 are all my thoughts. How can I act 
 towards her ? How can I warn her V 
 Tell her that he is false ! that he is lying 
 to her ! that to listen to him is shame ! 
 She would smile at my words ; and if sV. 
 dared not scorn, would pity the tongue that 
 uttered the calumny. I must think ; J 
 must think. In the mean time, she must 
 not be allowed to go about without being 
 closely watched. Susan will do that for 
 me. It will not be for long. He will be 
 away soon, thank God ; and when he is 
 gone, I can resolve what to do. Perhaps 
 he may never come back. With all my 
 heart I pray — No, I dare not pen the 
 words. The thought of Ellen and Dan, and 
 his gentle mother, stops me. I give them 
 here my heartfelt thanks, for all their noble 
 kindness to me and Minnie. But for him — 
 the treacherous son, the false friend, the 
 perjured lover — I vow never willingly to 
 look upon his face again. 
 
 My passion has exhausted me. I turn 
 
 to the first page of this record, and I see 
 there the pledge that I would throw down 
 my pen when the suspicion came upon me 
 that because of my fear and my agony I 
 am writing what is not strictly the fact. I 
 read over what I have written this night; 
 and I solemnly declare that every word is 
 true, as 1 hope to meet my wife in heaven ! 
 But a few words more. When I return 
 this book to my desk, I shall tell Susan to 
 place it in Dan's hands, if I die before Min- 
 nie is safe. A step upon the stairs I It is 
 my darling child's ! — 
 
 Another day of misery has passed, and I 
 have received farther damning proof that 
 Joshua Marvel is tampering with Minnie's 
 affections. In my present state of mind, 
 it will be best forme to write down Susan's 
 statement, word for word. I cannot trust 
 myself. I call her to me, and bid her re- 
 late, without passion, and without preju- 
 dice, what she saw to-day. What follows 
 is from her own lips. 
 
 Susan's Statemext. 
 
 " I noticed this morning that Minnie was 
 more restless than usual. Whenever I 
 looked at her, she looked at me back again; 
 as much as to say, what do jou mean by 
 staring at me in that way ? I coukln't help 
 thinking that she knew I was watching her 
 and I felt uncomfortable. But I watched 
 her for all that, as I promised you I would. 
 Wlien she went out of the room, I made 
 believe that I wanted to go out too. Now 
 I think of it, she must have gone out of the 
 room on purpose to try me ; because the 
 second time I followed her, she turned upon 
 me in the passage, and looked at me in 
 such a manner that I was frightened. Be- 
 tween eleven and twelve o'clock I was in 
 the kitchen, helping to cook the dinner ; 
 and when I came up stairs, Minnie was 
 gone from the house. I ran round to Mrs. 
 Marvel's, and she wasn't there. Scarcely 
 knowing what to do, I slipped on my bon- 
 net and shawl, and went into the streets to 
 look for her. All at once it came into my 
 mind, that if I should find her anywhere 
 it would be at the docks, where Joshua's 
 •^hip was, and where Joshua was working. 
 I ran there as hard as ever I could, and just at 
 the entrance of the docks I caught sight of 
 Minnie. I was regularly out of breath, and 
 my only fear now was that she might see 
 me. So I kept out of the way as 
 much as I could, and followed her cjuietly. 
 When she got near the ships she stopped 
 shoi't ; and presently Joshua, who was look- 
 ing over the side of his ship, as if he was 
 expecting some one, came down to where 
 shf^ was standing, and began talking to her. 
 
184 
 
 JOSHUA MAEVEL. 
 
 He seemed a little bit uneasy — perhaps, 
 because there were so many people about, 
 and because, I thought, he didn't want Mn- 
 nie to be noticed, for all the workmen and 
 sailors were staring at her. They went up 
 a plank on to Joshua's ship ; and Joshua 
 had his arm round her waist. They stood 
 by the side of the ship, looking towards the 
 river, talking together. I never took my 
 eyes off" them, and I am certain — though, 
 of course, I couldn't hear them — that they 
 were talking of something very particular. 
 All at oncel lost sight of them ; they had 
 gone to a part of the ship where I couldn't 
 see them. I think they must have been 
 out of my sight tor nearly a quarter of an 
 hour ; and "when they returned, Joshua 
 looked to the place where I was standing 
 by the side of some large cases, and came 
 oiF the ship towards me. I was frightened 
 that he would catch me, and I ran away. 
 When I was safe, I turned, and saw Joshua 
 and Mnnie together coming from the ship. 
 . Minnie walked out of the docks by herself, 
 and I followed her home, and waited in the 
 street a little before I went into the house 
 after her. But I no sooner got inside the 
 door, than Minnie met me in the passage ; 
 she hadn't taken her bonnet off". I didn't 
 seem to notice her ; but she came into the 
 kitchen after me. ' Where have you been, 
 Susan ? ' she asked me, so sudden-like that 
 I was almost taken otF my guard. ' Out 
 for a walk,' I said. ' Have you been to 
 the docks ? ' she asked me. ' No,' I said ; 
 but I felt my face turning red as I told the 
 story. I thought she was done with her 
 questions ; but she soon commenced again. 
 * Are you going out again ? ' she asked. I 
 said. No, I wasn't. ' / am,' she said ; ' I am 
 going out for a walk.' And she ran up 
 stairs and out of the house. I didn't know 
 what to do ; and I came to you, and you 
 told me not to watch her any more to-day." 
 
 It is evident that Minnie is suspicious of 
 Susan, and I know that Susan is no match 
 for her. Ill as I am, I can see but one thing 
 to do — I must wait and hope. That the 
 innate goodness and purity of Minnie's 
 heart will keep her from harm, is my ear- 
 nest prayer. I will be, if possible, more ten- 
 der and loving to her than I have hitherto 
 been. I dare not speak plainly to her ; I 
 believe, if I did, that she would go away 
 from us, and we should never see her again. 
 If I were well, it would be diff"erent. I 
 should take her from here until Joshua 
 Marvel had sailed. 
 
 What can I say of him? It is clear that 
 Minnie went to the docks by appointment, 
 and that he expected her. I have appealed 
 to him vainly. After what passed between 
 us — after the knowledge he has gained 
 
 that I am aware of his treachery — he has 
 shown himself, in this clandestine meeting 
 with Minnie, to be totally devoid of honor. 
 I leave him to his conscience and to the 
 judgment of his friends. May occasion 
 never come for them to learn how they are 
 deceived in him 1 
 
 Two days more have passed. In a week 
 Joshua Marvel's ship sails. I believe from, 
 that moment I shall begin to grow better. 
 Then I shall make new plans for the future. 
 The future ! Alas, my future on earth will 
 soon come to an end 1 See how I contra- 
 dict myself One moment saying that I 
 shall begin to get better when Joshua is 
 gone ; the next, that my end must soon 
 come. But 'tis in the nature of such a state 
 of i'eeling as mine to be hopeful one minute, 
 and despondent the next. The best thing 
 for Minnie would be, that she should be 
 impressed and touched by Dan's love for 
 her — of the existence of which I am sure, 
 having thought much of Dan's manner to- 
 wards her — and that she should consent to 
 marry him. It is not certain that she loves 
 Joshua ; after all, nearly the whole — nay, 
 the whole — of the evidence is circumstan- 
 tial. It is but natural that she should have 
 an aff"ection for him ; the nature of the in- 
 timacy, his kindness to her and me, the 
 very circumstances attendant upon his re- 
 turn home, make that a necessity. Indeed, 
 indeed, it would be most unnatural if an 
 aifection did not exist between them. The 
 mere writing of these words is comforting 
 to me. I know that they are at variance 
 with much that I have previously written ; 
 but at one time I am writing out of my de- 
 spair, at another time out of my hope. I 
 write now out of my hope. Joshua Mar- 
 vel will soon be gone, and I am assured 
 that no farther meeting has taken place be- 
 tween him and Minnie. Minnie's behavior 
 to me has been most kind. She is growing 
 more and more like her mother every day. 
 There appears to have arisen in her some 
 consciousness that my claims to her love 
 are more binding upon her than those of 
 any other person. I have passed some 
 very happy hours with her. 
 
 She said a strange thing to me this 
 morning. " Father, do you think I should 
 make a good actress ? " The question 
 startled me, for it brought back to me some 
 memories of my past lite. Minnie, when a 
 little child, was often in her mother's arms 
 in the theatre where I happened to be play- 
 ing ; her mother would be waiting for me per- 
 haps, and would not leave our little darling 
 alone in the room. Minnie has no definite 
 remembrance of those times and circumstan- 
 ces, I think ; but shadowy impressions of the 
 scenes she then almost unconsciously wit- 
 
BASIL KINDRED'S DIARY. 
 
 135 
 
 ncssed are stamped upon licr miixl. Upon 
 tliis theme I questioiu'd lier soiiiewbnt curi- 
 ously this morniiij;, and i'ounil that these ex- 
 periences had had their eilect upon her, and 
 that she lias vau;ue remembrances of bi'au- 
 titiil creatures beautifully dressed, walkini^ 
 in gardens in the midst of light. Ah, if 
 she were aware of the reality 1 If she knew 
 what jioor struggling men and women these 
 beautiful creatures were, and what a 
 mockery were the beautiful dresses and the 
 lovely gardens in which they lived their 
 artificial lives ! But 1 did not disenchant 
 her. Life is bitter enough ; if a gleam of 
 brightness can be thrown upon it by the 
 indulgence of a harmless fancy, it is good. 
 In the midst of our conversation, Minnie 
 suddenly lett the room, and in about half 
 an hour returned completely metamor- 
 phosed. She went out of the room a fair 
 lovely girl ; she returned a dark tawny wo- 
 man, looking at least half a dozen years 
 older ; but still beautiful, very beautiful. I 
 gazed at her in wonder. By what means 
 had she effected such a marvellous change 
 in herself? She explained, first asking me 
 if I knew her again. Knew her again ? 
 Could she by a,ny disguise hide herself from 
 my knowledge ? But suppose I had only 
 seen her once in my life, she asked, then did 
 I think I should have known her again V I 
 did not exactly know how to answer that, 
 and although she pressed me to give her an 
 answer, I could not. I was delighted to 
 see her in the new light in which she pre- 
 sented herself to me ; it was almost an as- 
 surance that some portion of my fears was 
 groundless. She explained to me that in 
 the box containing her clothes were some 
 remnants of the wherewithals I once used 
 in my profession, such as colors and a few 
 wigs. I had forgotten them, not having 
 had occasion for them for so long a time. 
 And she confessed that she had often 
 amused herself with these things. Indeed, 
 in the middle of her explanation she stoop- 
 ed and hid herself from my sight, and rose 
 in the wig I used to wear when I played 
 '"Hamlet." She had tucked up her beauti- 
 ful hair with the skill of an actress, so that it 
 was completely hidden by the wig ; and as 
 she stood betbre me, I saw in her some 
 shadowy resemblance of myself as I was in 
 days gone by. I could not but be delighted 
 with her light humor; it almost entirely 
 dispelled my fears. Then she took oft' the 
 wig, and washed the color out of her face, 
 and sat by my bedside quietly. I am used 
 to her variable moods, and therefore, al- 
 though I was sorry to see that her sportive- 
 ness had fled, and that a more serious mood 
 took its place, I was not surprised. Never 
 in all her life has she shown me such ten- 
 derness as she exhibited towards me this 
 
 day. "I shall always love you, fiither," 
 "'•" said to me, more than once. Dear 
 
 to me, more tnan once, 
 child ! Darling treasure of my heart 1 
 good angels guard you. 
 
 All 
 
 The cup of happiness is dashed from my 
 lips. Something so strange, so unexpected, 
 has happened, that, simple as it is, I scarce- 
 ly know how to set it down, or what to 
 augur from it. 
 
 Minnie has gone ! 
 
 Where — for how long — for what pur- 
 pose — I do not know. She has gone from 
 her home, from me. 
 
 Early this morning, while I was waiting 
 to see her dear face, I was thinking of 
 something strange that occurred in the 
 night, wondering whether it formed part 
 of my dreaming fancies or had actually oc- 
 curred. It was this : — 
 
 The house was very quiet. It was the 
 most solemn part of the night, whea 
 troubled life is most like peaceful death. 
 The healthfulness of dreamless sleep is 
 denied me, as it is denied to all men 
 whose minds are harassed. For many 
 weeks I have not enjoyed an hour's 
 repose, and so confused are the images 
 that pass through my mind when I am 
 alone, that I am often in doubt whether 
 the scenes in which I am taking part are 
 real or fanciful. I was in this condition 
 last night at the time of which I am writ- 
 ing. While I was thinking or dreaming 
 of Minnie and her mother, I heard a soft 
 footfall in the room. The impression that 
 some one was in the room was strong upon 
 me, and when I felt a kiss upon my face, 
 and my pillow being smoothed by a gentle 
 hand, I was almost convinced that it was 
 Minnie. The presence remained with me 
 for 1 know not what length of time ; I do 
 not know when I lost it, or when it depart- 
 ed, but when I called "Minnie ! " no voice 
 answered me. When daylight came, I de- 
 termined to ask Minnie if it was she who 
 had entered my room in the night. I 
 waited impatiently for her appearance, but 
 she did not come. Susan came, and I asked 
 her if Minnie was down yet; Susan had 
 not seen her. I bade her go and tell Min- 
 nie to come to me ; she returned and said 
 that Minnie was not in bed, nor in any part 
 of the house. As Susan told me this, she 
 came to my bedside, and, stooping, picked 
 up a paper which must have fallen frora 
 beneath my pillow. There was writing oh 
 it — Minnie's writing. It was addressed 
 to me, and it told me that Minnie had left 
 me, not from any want of love, but because 
 she was miserable and unhappy. She said 
 said she knew that she had been watched ; 
 that a feeling she could not control had 
 compelled her to leave for a time ; that she 
 
136 
 
 JOSHUA MARVEL, 
 
 ■would write again or see me in a few days; 
 and she beLi;ged me to believe that no one 
 but herself was to blame for what she had 
 done. She asked me, too, not to be 
 anxious as to how she would live, for she 
 had provided for that. 
 
 The first thing I did was to desire Susan 
 to loek the door, and on no aceount to al- 
 low a person to enter the room. For the 
 thought Hashed upon me, that if it were 
 known that Minnie had lel't her home 
 clandestinely, her good name would suffer. 
 She had done a foolish thing, — ay, it was 
 a cruel thing to leave me thus ; but it was 
 done in all innocence, I am sure, and in 
 ignorance of the world's judgment upon 
 such an act. I, her father, must protect 
 her good name ; no breath of slander must 
 be allowed to touch her. Therefore I 
 judged it imperative that the secret of her 
 departure should be known only to Susan 
 and me. I gave Susan the letter to read, 
 and when her tears were dried, my plan 
 ■was formed. It is well tor me that J have 
 such an attached and faithful friend as 
 Susan. Without her, I should be lieli)less 
 indeed. I explained my wishes to her, and 
 she promised to obey thein im]:)licitly — ami 
 she will. The Marvels and Dan and Ellen 
 are to be told that Minnie cannot leave 
 me; that my illness has increased, and I 
 require her constant attendance. And on no 
 pretence whatever is any one of them to 
 be allowed to come into the room. The 
 door is to be always locked, and when Su- 
 san goes out of the room, she is to lock the 
 door and take the key with her. I am 
 afraid that Susan judges Joshua even more 
 harshly than I do ; for she suggested that 
 she should watch his movements, in the 
 expectation that some clew might be gain- 
 ed. Her evidence of to-day is all in his 
 favor. She ascertained that he went this 
 morning direct fi-om home to liis ship ; 
 that he worked there tor six hours, and 
 that he came home direct to Ellen. No, I 
 cannot associate him wiih Minnie's disap- 
 pearance. I have been thinking as cohe- 
 rently as I could as to what is most likely 
 the cause of her leaving home, and the 
 most hopeful conclusion I can arrive at is 
 this : That Minnie has an attachment for 
 Joshua, which, in the face of his engage- 
 ment with Ellen, she feels it is her duty to 
 subdue ; that it is painiiil to her to be a 
 witness of Ellen's ha[)piness ; and that, 
 fearful lest she should betray her attach- 
 ment, she has left the neighborhood until 
 Joshua has gone upon his voyage. 
 
 I am re-assured. This conclusion is 
 reasonable as well as hopetul. 1 must bear 
 ■with the misery of her absence — ah, how 
 I miss her beloved face ! — in the hope 
 that my darling will return to me when he 
 
 is gone, and that she will regain her peace 
 of mind, and be to me as she has hitherto 
 been ; chastened perhaps, but not entirely 
 unhappy. 
 
 Are you thinking of me, IMinnie ? Can 
 you realize the depth of my love for you, 
 my dearest ? If such a thing exists in the 
 flesh as spiritual comumnion with those we 
 love, you will know, darling treasure of my 
 heart ! that my thoughts, my blessings, my 
 prayers are with you now. 
 
 In two days Joshua's ship will sail, and 
 then my darling will come home. The 
 secret of her departure has been well kept. 
 No one knows or suspects. There is a 
 rare faithfulness in Susan's nature. If she 
 possessed all the graces of womanhood, she 
 could not be nobler than she is. 
 
 I need all my strength to enable me to 
 bear with jMiimie's absence ; so constantly 
 do my tliouglits dwell upon lier, that at 
 certain times I lose consciousness of what 
 has taken place, and detect myself listen- 
 ing for her footstep. At other times I am 
 engrossed by the i(?ea that many years 
 have passed since I last saw Minnie. When 
 this impression is upon me, Minnie appears 
 to me not as a woman, but as a child. 
 
 Joshua Marvel has gone. Thank God ! 
 Now I may expect Minnie to return. Any 
 moment uuxy bring her to my loving arms 
 again. I am haunted by the ghosts of 
 footsteps on the stairs. I know afterwards 
 that my fancy has conjured them up; but 
 if they were re d, I could not hear them 
 more plainly. They are Minnie's footsteps 
 always. I hear them first in the passage 
 leading from the street — I stop and listen. 
 Softly yet swiftly they come nearer and 
 nearer to me, till they are outside my door. 
 Then I say to myself, " She is lingering 
 for a while, thinking of the hai)piness I 
 shall feel when she opens the door and 
 runs to my side." But the long silence 
 that follows tells me that the steps I heard 
 were created by my fancy, and that I have 
 still to wait for the accomplishment of my 
 dearest hope. 
 
 Before Joshua left, he came to the door, 
 and asked to see me and IMiunie to bid us 
 good-by. His desire to see Minnie was 
 assuring, for it convinced me that the rea- 
 sons I assigned for her leaving are correct. 
 But I would not see him — I could not; 
 for if he came into the room, he would 
 discover Minnie's absence. 
 
 I am thankful to think that my forced se- 
 clusion will soon be at an end. How the 
 minutes lag! Come, Minnie! Come, mj 
 darling child ! 
 
 How shall I be able to endure this ag- 
 
BASIL KINDRED'S DIARY. 
 
 137 
 
 ony? It is night; yesterday moniing 
 Jushua Marvel left to <io on his vo}a;i;e, 
 and there is no siij;!! of Minnie. What can 
 I think V II IS any calamity befallen her V 
 Is she lyinir sick, helpless anywhere, and 
 must I remain here, gnawhi;j; my heart 
 away- with the knowledge that I am power- 
 less to help her ? O God, who only wit- 
 nesselh my sutlerings, send my darling 
 home to me to-niglit 1 If in my life I have 
 erred, and deserve jjunishment — if the in- 
 junction I laid upon the woman who loved 
 me, and wliom I loved with all my strength, 
 was a crime, and if I am to sutler for the 
 misery of her wedded lite, being the cau,-e 
 of it — deal with me as thou wilt ; but let me 
 look once fliore u])on the face of my darling ! 
 
 The third day. My life is being tortured 
 away. I believe that I shall die before see- 
 ing Minnie. The prescience of death is 
 upon me. Every few minutes Susan runs 
 into the street to see if Minnie is coming ; 
 but there is no sign of her. The slightest 
 sound in the house causes my heart to beat 
 so violently that I am afraid. I try to 
 think, but I cannot ; I can only fear. These 
 few words have taken me long to write. I 
 cannot read what I have previously writ- 
 ten. I have tried to do so, but the words 
 swim before my eyes. I can write no more 
 to-day. 
 
 With a despairing mind I trace these 
 words slowly and painfully. They are 
 powerless to express my feelings. 
 
 Death is near. I know it. Not by phy- 
 sical pain am I warned, but I know it. I 
 saw my wile last night. She stood by my 
 side for full an hour. It is a sign that my 
 hour is come. 
 
 Susan is below, looking for Minnie, per- 
 haps — looking fijr Minnie, who will never, 
 never come. . . . 
 
 I take up my pen again. What lies be- 
 fore me ? A letter. Susan brought it up 
 a while ago, and gave it to me. But when 
 I saw the writing on the cover, I had not 
 courage to open it, so I placed it in the 
 desk. It is addressed to me in Minnie's 
 writing. And on the cover are these words : 
 " The ' Merry Andrew ; ' John Steele, pilot." 
 The letter, then, comes from the " Merry 
 Andrew," and is in Minnie's writing. What 
 follows ? That Minnie is on board the 
 " Merry Andrew " with Joshua Marvel I I 
 must read it — I must, if it strike me dead ! 
 
 That was all that was written. Dan 
 read every word of the manuscript aloud, 
 but was compelled by emotion to pause 
 many times. During the silence that fol- 
 lowed, one thought rose uppermost in their 
 minds. Ellen thought, '* How will Dan 
 
 bear this ? " And Dan had the same 
 thought with respect to Ellen. Is such no- 
 ble unsellishiiess rare? Let us hope not. 
 For the first and only time in the; course of 
 this narrative, the writer pauses to speak 
 of a jiersonal experience of devotion and 
 unselfishness. It was before him during 
 his boyhood in the person oi' his mother; 
 and it is to her, and to the patient, unmur- 
 muring gentleness with which she bore the 
 trials of her life, that her children owe 
 whatever little of good there may be in 
 their nature. It is from his experience of 
 his mother's life of goodness and self-sacri- 
 fice that he knows that the noble unselfish- 
 ness of Dan and Ellen is not, thank God, a 
 creation of his fancy. And as he writes 
 these words in the nudst of a great city, 
 with all the whu-1 of its busy life around 
 him, he is glad to think that in it — in gi-eat 
 mansions and mean houses, in sight of gar- 
 dens where Nature makes holiday, and of 
 dirty streets and courts where bright leaf 
 never gi-ows — flowers of human life which 
 the world shall never see are blossoming 
 tenderly and holily, and living gentle hves 
 for others' good. 
 
 For a long time no word was spoken by 
 Ellen and Dan. Then Dan turned and 
 looked in Ellen's face. She met his gaze 
 pityingly, almost appealingly. He an- 
 swered her with a sad smile, in which 
 there was much sweetness. 
 
 " You were the first to guess my love for 
 Minnie," he said ; '' and only to Jo did I 
 ever confess it. But do not fret for me, 
 my dear ; she can never be to me what I 
 was daring enough to hope she would be 
 one day. My love for her is not less strong, 
 but my hope is buried now." 
 
 She could say nothing but " Oh, my poor 
 Dan ! Oh, my poor Dan 1 " 
 
 " Nay, why ? " he answered in his gentle 
 voice ; " what could I have offered her ? 
 What right had I, a cripple, to entertain 
 the hope V I dared to hope that she, 
 bright, strong, and full of healthful life, 
 would tie herself to a weak, sickly thing 
 like me. I dared to hope that she would 
 love me. I fed my heart upon delusions ; 
 I can see it now. But I can love her still 
 — can believe in her still — shall have 
 faith in her purity as long as my heart 
 shall beat, and after that — ay, who 
 knows?" He paused for a little while 
 before he resumed : " What you and I 
 have in our thoughts, my dear, we must 
 speak of; in that lies our only consolation. 
 And we must not shrink from it ; for our 
 duty, no less than our love, demands it." 
 
 And yet she did shrink, fearing what 
 was coming. 
 
 " What wonder that she should love 
 Joshua?" continued Dan, unflinchingly 
 
138 
 
 JOSHUA MAKVEL. 
 
 determined to look the truth in the face, 
 and not to spare himself, althouL^h as he 
 spoke his quivering lips and tremulous 
 voice betrayed his agitation. " We who 
 know how good and brave he is are able to 
 understand that she could not help loving 
 him. But he — no, he played no false 
 part by her." He placed his hand upon 
 the Bible, and the action gave a deeper 
 solemnity to the declaration. " Some sus- 
 picion he may have entertained that her 
 feelings towards him were warmer than 
 they ought to have been ; and I well know 
 the grief such suspicion brought to him. 
 But he could not mention it — he dared 
 not speak of it for iNIiunie's sake — fur 
 mine. I can trace a meaning now in the 
 last words he said to me. ' You do not 
 doubt me, Dan ? ' he asked. I answered, 
 ' No, nor never could.' And then he said 
 he should not have asked, but that certain 
 things had distressed him lately. Poor 
 Jo ! Yes, he must have guessed Minnie's 
 secret, and, knowing my love for her, 
 trembled lest I should turn against him. 
 Turn against him ! my best, my dearest 
 friend ! When I do, it will be time for me 
 to die. Believe that I never wavered in 
 my love or my truth, and that to the 
 last I held you in my heart as I hold you 
 now, gentlest, dearest, best of friends ! " 
 
 Unconsciously he had uttered the very 
 words which Joshua addressed to him, 
 and he spoke them as if Joshua were 
 standing before him. 
 
 " As for what we have read to-night, we, 
 and we alone, can rightly understand it. 
 He who wrote it in his agony knows now 
 that Joshua's heart is as pure as Minnie's 
 honor." 
 
 " Those strange letters poor Minnie's fa- 
 ther received,"" whispered Ellen ; " who 
 wrote them ? " 
 
 " Who stabbed Jo when he came home ? " 
 asked Dan in reply. '• Whoever did that 
 wrote tlie letters. Jo has an enemy." 
 Then, with a sudden remembrance of 
 Joshua's warning against Solomon Fewster, 
 he cried in a louder tone than he had 
 hitherto used, "Mr. Fewster!" With 
 eager impatience he turned over the pages 
 of Basil Kindred's diary, and lighted upon 
 the original letters. They were pinned 
 on blank pages at the end of the diary, and 
 were written on soiled sheets of blue let- 
 ter-paper. "No," said Dan, examining 
 them ; " the writing is strange to me. We 
 must wait until Jo comes back ; all will be 
 explained then." 
 
 The candle had burnt low in the socket 
 by this time, and Dan had just said, " I 
 think we had better try to sleep for a little 
 while, Ellen," when they heard sounds of 
 some one walking softly about the house. 
 
 " There is no one here but Susan," said 
 Ellen, in a tone of quiet surprise. 
 
 " No one but " — said Dan, and then 
 paused, awestruck by the thought of that 
 only other one in the house, who lay 
 stark and dead in the room above. 
 
 They listened to Susan's Ibotsteps, and a 
 new fear entered their hearts. There was 
 a soft stealthiness in the footfall, as if Susan 
 were hunting for some one who was hiding 
 from her. 
 
 " Shall I go and see ? " asked Ellen. 
 
 " Hush ! " whispered Dan. 
 
 Susan's footsteps, soft and stealthy as 
 those of a cat, were in the passage. Pres- 
 ently the door was opened cautiously, and 
 Susan entered, and suttly closed the door 
 behind her. She did not notice either 
 Dan or Ellen, but looked about the room 
 inquiringly, then went to the window and 
 ])ulled up the blind. The moon was high 
 in the heavens, and the light streamed 
 down upon her face, making it ghastly. 
 
 " Susan ! " cried Dan. 
 
 But she did not heed him ; she peered 
 anxiously through the window into the 
 street, shading her eyes with her hand. 
 
 " Is she asleep ? " Avhispered Ellen. 
 
 " I don't know," said Dan in a troubled 
 voice ; " it is dreadful to see her with that 
 expression on her face." 
 
 It was an expression of suppressed 
 watchfulness ; that her firmly-compressed 
 lips and wandering eyes were at variance 
 might have been due to the peculiar cir- 
 cumstances of her life ; but in the cunning 
 and revengeful determination in her face 
 there was no sign of indecision. It was as 
 though she had staked her life on the ac- 
 complishment of a task. 
 
 As she turned from the window and 
 approached Dan, he seized her hand. 
 
 " Susan," he said, gently, " speak to me, 
 my dear. What is the meaning of this ? " 
 
 She laid her hand upon his head, and said, 
 
 " Poor Dan 1 And you loved her, and 
 she is lost to you." 
 
 " Not lost, Susey," he said, detaining her 
 hand and humoring her, for he was afraid 
 that her reason was gone ; " not lost. She 
 will come back." 
 
 "She will never come back — never, 
 never ! When she hears that he is dead 
 — he is lying dead up stairs, Dan — she 
 will never come back ; she will drown her- 
 self first ; for she loved him, and me too ; 
 and would have loved you, Dan, but for 
 that false-hearted friend." 
 
 " You must not say that, Susey," said 
 Dan, pointing to Ellen, who had turned 
 aside weeping. " Look at Ellen. He is 
 her husband, and he is not false-hearted. 
 For her sake you must have kinder, juster 
 thouixhts towards Jo." 
 
WHAT THE NEIGHBORS THINK OF IT. 
 
 139 
 
 But Susan ilid not catch the sense of his 
 "words. Ail that she understood was, that 
 he was speaking in defence of Joshua. 
 
 "All in his favor," she muttered. "If 
 any one is to blame, it is Minnie — that's 
 what all of you will say. But I know bet- 
 ter ; I know better. Didn't I watch theui ? 
 Didn't I see him making love to her on tiie 
 ship V Didn't I see the poor dear that's 
 lying dead up stairs tortured slowly to 
 death? And don't I know who killed 
 him ? " 
 
 " Who, Susan, who ? " asked Dan, hold- 
 ing his breath, 
 
 " Joshua Marvel," said Susan, between 
 her set teeth, with no change upon her 
 face. " And as God's my judge, I will 
 bring him to justice ! You are his friends 
 — I know that : you'll try to hide him 
 from me ; but I'll do what I've made up 
 my mind to, if I drop down dead the min- 
 ute after." 
 
 She twisted her hand from Dan's grasp, 
 and crept slowly into the passage, and 
 thence into the street. And there she 
 stood for many minutes, with the same ex- 
 pression of implacable animosity on her 
 face, waiting for the return of Basil Kin- 
 di'ed's murderer. 
 
 CHAPTER XXVn. 
 
 WHAT THE NEIGHBORS THINK OF IT. 
 
 The events that have been described, 
 proved to be something more than a nine- 
 days' wonder. The neighborhood was re- 
 markably bare of exciting incidents, and 
 nothing so stirring as the sudden death of 
 Basil Kindred and the flight of Minnie 
 had happened within the memory of the 
 oldest inhabitant. Besides that, there was 
 one element in the occurrences which, 
 above all others, added zest and flavor to 
 them — this was the element of mystery. 
 Here was a family, which might be looked 
 upon as the most respected family in the 
 neighborhood ; for there was no question 
 about the position held by the Marvels. 
 Every one of the neighbors liked them, and 
 every one of the neighbors had a good 
 word for them. They had lived in the 
 neighborhood — they and their fathers 
 and grandfathers before them — for many 
 scores of years, and no shadow of re- 
 proach had ever rested upon a single 
 member of the family. They had always 
 been steady, industrious, and sober, and 
 had been held up as examples, time out of 
 mind, by wives to their husbands, and par- 
 
 ents to their children. They were homely, 
 hospitable, and sociable, and, although they 
 might very well have done it, had never 
 held their heads al)ove their fellows. If 
 any nuile accjuaintance wanted a word of 
 advice, he went to Mr. Marvel for it ; and 
 the advice received was generally found to 
 be sound, and was always admitted to be 
 good. If any one was sick, Mrs. Marvel 
 always came forward to help and assist, in 
 her small way, and was always ready to 
 sit up of a night if it were net-essary, and 
 to do some portion of the househokl work 
 if it were needed. And what she did was 
 done so unostentatiously and (juietly that 
 it never left a sting behind it, and never — 
 strange as it may sound — elicited any thing 
 but gratitude. Joshua was a model of a 
 son, and the neighbors had been proud of 
 him. Take them for all in all, the Marvels 
 were a credit to the locality. And yet, as 
 you shall presently see, notwithstanding 
 their irreproachable character, notwith- 
 standing the credit in which they were 
 held, notwithstanding that they were fa- 
 mous for all the virtues under the sun, a 
 very remarkable change was to take place 
 in the estimation in which they were 
 held. 
 
 Then as to the Taylors. There had 
 been many transitions of feeling regarding 
 them when the parents were alive. They 
 had not been a credit to the neighborhood. 
 The meek uncomplaining life which Mrs. 
 Taylor had led had been entirely lost sight 
 of in the drunken dissolute habits of the 
 head of the family. Perhaps it was because 
 of this bad conduct on the part of Mr. 
 Taylor that the virtues of the good wife 
 had not been taken into account ; and the 
 fact remained, that it was not until after 
 Mr. Taylor's death — the manner of which 
 was disgraceful, and left a blot upon the 
 family name — that any strong affection 
 was mingled with the pity Avith which Dan 
 and Ellen were regarded. There were so 
 many singular circumstances connected 
 with the family history. First, there was 
 Susan letting Dan fall out of the window 
 when he was a baby and breaking his legs. 
 Many of the neighbors, with young families 
 of their own, remembered the time when 
 they were boys and girls, and when Susan 
 was twitted and jeered at for being Dan's 
 murderer. Then Susan's strange manner 
 and slovenly dress — not it must be admit- 
 ted, that her slovenliness had very much to 
 do with the feeling — had not rendered her 
 a favorite ; and she was often spoken of 
 as being soft and not quite right in her 
 mind. 
 
 Then came that part of Mr. Taylor's 
 career when (it having been wliispered 
 about that he had been the death of hia 
 
140 
 
 JOSHUA MAEVEL. 
 
 ■wife he fell into deeper and deeper dis- 
 sipation, and when he was to be seem regu- 
 larly eveiy night tumbling out of the pub- 
 lic-house, and reeling home in a state of in- 
 toxication. It is surprising how hard many 
 wives, whose husbands were not quite free 
 from the reproach of over-indulgence, were 
 upon the failings of Mr. Taylor. He was 
 a " drunken beast," a " disgrace to the 
 street," and so forth. And yet, as you have 
 seen, they were proud of the beautiful 
 friendship that existed between Dan and 
 Joshua, and apprecia*^ed the good conduct of 
 Ellen from the time that she was big enough 
 — she was }oung enough, Heaven knows, 
 when her duties commenced — to assist in 
 the cleaning and washing. But the fa- 
 tlier's drunken habits stained the family rep- 
 utation, and not all the washing and wring- 
 ing could wash it clean at that time. Then 
 came the shameful death of the drunkard. 
 From the date of that occurrence, the posi- 
 tion of the family l)egan to improve, and 
 the engagement of Ellen and Joshua lifted 
 them up still further in the estimation of 
 their neighbors. 
 
 Lastly, there were Basil Kindred and 
 Minnie. Neither of them had ever been 
 favorites out of their own small circle. Basil 
 Kindred had held his head above them, 
 and Minnie was too much of a lady for 
 " such poor folks as us." All the grown-up 
 girls disliked her because she was superior 
 to them, and because she did not associate 
 with them. Therefore neither father nor 
 daughter obtained sympathy, and there 
 was very little pity expressed for Basil's 
 death. As for Minnie, she was generally 
 condemned. The neighbors in speaking 
 of her and her flight said, " she was always 
 a forward thing ; " and some even went so 
 far as to call her a " stuck-up slut." They 
 never expected any thing better of her, not 
 they. 
 
 The mystery was, how it all became 
 known ; for it was known, every detail of 
 it, the day following that on which Basil 
 Kindred had died. Every person, for 
 about a dozen streets round about, knew 
 all the particulars almost as soon as Mr. 
 and Mrs. Marvel were made acquainted 
 with them — knew that Minnie had run 
 away, knew that she was in Joshua Mar- 
 vel's ship, knew that the intelligence of the 
 flight had caused her father's death. Then 
 they began to be wise in their generation, 
 after the usual manner of human herds, 
 and before nightfall of the second day it 
 was recognized as an established fact, that 
 it had been a cunningly-planned plot from 
 first to last, and that Joshua and Minnie 
 had run away together. 
 
 There is no accounting for these revul- 
 sions of feeling, and it is perhaps best not 
 
 to attempt to analyze them. So much 
 small malice and miserable uncharitable- 
 ness would be brought to light, that we 
 should be ashamed of the exposure — be- 
 ing liable to such influences ourselves. Jo- 
 shua's character had hitherto been irre- 
 proachable ; he had been almost loved by 
 many, and liked and admired by all. Sud- 
 denly he is tainted by suspicion, and by 
 suspicion only. There is not a tittle of di- 
 rect evidence against him. But the suspi- 
 cion is enough ; directly it is whispered, it 
 swells and grows, like the cloud which is 
 at first " no bigger than a man's hand," and 
 Joshua's good name is wrecked i n the storm 
 that follows. 
 
 The additional grief that this general 
 verdict inflicted upon Joshua's parents may 
 easily be imagined. They had to learn 
 that " slander's edge is sharper than the 
 SAvord," and that thou'^h their dear son 
 were " chaste as ice and pure as snow, he 
 should not escape calumny." But they did 
 not receive these lessons meekly. They 
 fought and protested against them with all 
 the strength of their loving souls. They 
 might as well have tried to stop a fierce 
 wind with the palms of their hands. 
 
 One of their bitterest experiences was 
 the knowledge that there was a difference 
 of sentiment between them. They did not 
 all believe alike. All of them, except Su- 
 san, believed alike in the innocence and 
 purity of Joshua ; but not so with respect 
 to Minnie. The mercy that Dan and Ellen 
 accorded to her was denied to her by Mr. 
 and Mrs. Marvel. Neither of them thought 
 well of her ; and although Mrs. Marvel's 
 verdict was less harsh than that of her hus- 
 band, she too, gentle and forgiving as was 
 her nature, could not forgive and hold dear 
 the unhappy girl who had brought this 
 great misery npon them. What Minnie 
 had done was nothing less than a crime in 
 the eyes of the good mother and good 
 woman. 
 
 But Minnie had one champion — Susan. 
 It was generally reported, a few days after 
 the tragic occurrence, that Susan had gone 
 mad because of Basil Kindred's death ; and 
 a whisper went about, that, mad as she was, 
 she was fixed to the one idea of bringing 
 Joshua to justice. Susan's madness, if mad- 
 ness it was, took a very mild form. She 
 did not speak upon the subject, but she be- 
 lieved thoroughly in Minnie's innocence 
 and Joshua's guilt ; and she was ever on the 
 watch to bring that false friend to justice. 
 She was always peering about her and 
 hunting for Joshua. She contracted a 
 strange habit of suspecting that he was 
 hiding in the place she last left, and when 
 she went out of the house, returned, after 
 going a few paces, to see if the man she 
 
WHAT THE NEIGHBORS THINK OF IT. 
 
 141 
 
 was waitino; for was in the passage. If she 
 opened a gate and shut it behind her, she 
 walked back to it and looked about her, 
 expectant. Never a night ])assed but she 
 rose from her bed and went into the street, 
 waiting fi)r Joshua ; in tlie dead of night, 
 when all others were asleep, she would sit 
 at her window and look into the street, 
 waitinu^ paiiently. "NVlieu they discovered 
 this habit at home, they tried to break her 
 of it; but their efforts were unavailing. 
 By and by, this proceeding began to be ex- 
 ceedingly popular in the neighborhood, and 
 popular opinion veered round to Susan's 
 view ; INIinnie was not so thoroughly con- 
 demned, and the blame was entirely laid on 
 Joshua's shoulders. And when the neigh- 
 bors openly expressed their sympathy to 
 Mr. Marvel because Joshua had "turned 
 out bad," he resented it angrily in his dog- 
 matic obstinate way, until he began to 
 quarrel with them. He was so indignant, 
 so hurt, so unhappy, that he refused to 
 speak to his old acquaintances, and grad- 
 ually they fell off from him, and a coldness 
 sprang up which made his life a misery. 
 Still, he and all that were bound to him 
 cherished the hope that when Joshua came 
 home all would be cleared up. But Mr. 
 Marvel made up his mind that he would 
 never forgive his neighbors for their suspi- 
 cions. Months passed, and the estrangement 
 between him and his acquaintances grew 
 stronger ; his home, too, was not a happy 
 one. He grew morose and ill-tempered, 
 and would not speak to his wife upon the 
 subject of Joshua and Minnie; and when 
 she found that he was determined upon this 
 point, she wisely forbore to press him, know- 
 ing his nature. 
 
 Before the advent of another spring, 
 Ellen became a mother. Her situation had 
 been concealed from all but Dan and Mrs. 
 Marvel ; even Mr. Marvel did not know it 
 until the child was born. It was a girl ; 
 and when the news was buzzed about the 
 neighborhood, Joshua and Minnie started 
 again into a notoriety which had been on the 
 wane. Again the busybodies were at work, 
 and again the busy tongues wagged more 
 volubly than before. It was a matter for 
 resentment with the neighbors that they 
 had not been made acquainted with Ellen's 
 situation ; it was depriving them of a legiti- 
 mate privilege. But Ellen and her two 
 confidants had kept the secret well ; and 
 now the young mother nursed her child in 
 privacy, and seemed only anxious to keep 
 it from prying and unsympathizing eyes. 
 No news had been received of Joshua or of 
 his ship ; and although Mr. Marvel went 
 every other day to the London agents of 
 the "Merry Andrew," they had nothing to 
 tell him. Now that the child was born, their 
 
 anxiety for news of Joshua increased. But 
 still they received none. Weeks passed, 
 months passed, until the suspense became 
 almost maddening. Ellen nursed the baby, 
 and rejoiced that the pretty little thing had 
 Joshua's eyes, and yearned for Joshua to 
 see them. Mr. Marvel looked more angrily 
 upon his old ac(}uaintances, who were ready 
 to quarrel with him afresli for his sour 
 looks. Mrs. Marvel suffereil in patience, 
 and strove by assumed cheerfulness to 
 lighten the loads the others had to bear. 
 Susan waited and watched. And Dan 
 waited and hoped — When there came a 
 time ! — 
 
 Ellen was in Mrs. Marvel's kitchen ; her 
 baby was in her iap, and she was gazing at 
 and worshipping, for the thousandth thou- 
 sandth time, the baby's beautiful eyes, and 
 beautiful fingers and nails, and the round 
 cheeks, and the pretty raoutli and chin, so 
 like Joshua's. It was evening, and Mr. 
 Marvel was expected home every minute, 
 with news from the agents about Joshua's 
 ship. Ellen began singing this to baby — 
 singing in a low soft voice how father would 
 soon come from over the seas to see his own 
 little darling — his dear darling precious ; 
 and she was in the midst of this, enriching 
 the theme with twenty different forms of 
 endearing expression, when Mr. Marvel 
 staggered into the kitchen. There was a 
 wild look in his face, and his hands were 
 trembling. He was drunk. 
 
 " O father ! " cried Ellen. 
 
 " Where's mother? " he asked in a husky 
 voice. " Where's mother? " he repeated in 
 a louder tone. 
 
 His wife answered the question by com- 
 ing into the kitchen. She had seen him 
 reel into the house, and had followed him 
 at once. She knew he had been drinking, 
 but she did not reproach him. He saw in 
 her face the knowledge and the forbearance, 
 and he said, — 
 
 "Yes, I've been drinking; I was bound 
 to. O mother, mother I how shall I tell 
 you ? " 
 
 Her lips framed some words, but she 
 could not utter them. She sank into a 
 chair and gazed at him with blanched 
 cheek, with quivering lips, with blurred 
 eyes. 
 
 Hush, baby, hush ! you have never seen 
 your father's face, and you do not under- 
 stand now what one day will be told you 
 — what George Marvel has had to drink 
 brandy to give him courage to tell his faith- 
 ful wife — 
 
 That the good ship, the " Merry Andrew," 
 has foundered, and that every soul on 
 board, Joshua and Minnie included, has 
 gone down to the bottom of the sea. Not 
 one saved — not one. 
 
142 
 
 JOSHUA MARVEL. 
 
 CHAPTER XXVin. 
 
 ON BOARD THE " MERRY ANDREW." 
 
 While the " Merry Andrew " was lying 
 at Blackwall takinn; in cargo, Capt. Lid- 
 die, like the shrewd captain he was, had 
 caused it to be notified that he would be 
 happy to take a certain number of passen- 
 gers to the New World at fifty pounds per 
 head. It happened, as it usually happens 
 in such like cases, that just at that time 
 the exact number of persons that the ship 
 could accommodate found either that Great 
 Britain was too crowded for them to move 
 freely in, or that at length the hour had 
 arrived for them to make a fresh start in 
 life. The captain of the " Merry Andrew " 
 offered them the necessary opportunity. 
 His ship would take them to a country where 
 they would be able to turn without being 
 elbowed. And there was no doubt that 
 the start they contemplated would be a 
 fresh one, inasmuch as in the new land 
 their heads would be where their feet were 
 now, and night was day and day night, and 
 cherries grew with their stones outside, 
 and many other wonders were common- 
 places of everyday life. Accordingly, 
 these enterprising souls, much to Capt. 
 Liddle's satisfaction, paid their fifty pounds 
 per head for four months of quiet misery on 
 the sea. By that stroke of business Capt. 
 Liddle served two purposes. He put money 
 in his pocket as chief owner of the vessel, 
 and he provided society for his wife, who 
 was to accompany him on the voyage. 
 Mrs. Liddle was a cheerful little body, 
 who, although she was thirty years of age, 
 had as much sentiment as a tender-hearted 
 miss of eighteen. Her engagement with 
 Capt. Liddle had been a long one. It was 
 now more than twelve years since she first 
 saw him and fell in love with him, as he 
 did with her; but she happened to be 
 blessed in a father who entertained not 
 uncommon ideas as to the value of money, 
 and as to the difference it made in a man, 
 especially in a man who presumed to fall 
 in love with his daughter. At that time 
 Capt. Liddle was only second mate, and 
 his matrimonial overtures were pooh-poohed 
 by Capt. Prue, which was the name and 
 title of his wife's fiither ; Bessie Prue was 
 hers. Capt. Prue (retired from the service) 
 declared that he loved sailors and loved the 
 sea, and that nothing would please him 
 better than that his Bessie should marry 
 a sailor. But then, that sailor must be 
 a captain, he declared, and that captain 
 must be absolute owner of the ship he com- 
 manded. Having passed the principal part 
 of his life on sea, in a position where his 
 word was law, he was, as most old sea-cap- 
 
 tains are, intolerant of opposition. Having 
 given the word, he would not depart from 
 it. Consequently, second-mate Liddle 
 found that all his arguments and rhapso- 
 dies were as wind — a fluid which is much 
 more useful at sea than on land, however 
 it is produced. Bessie, as it proved, pos- 
 sessed a goodly share of her old father's 
 determination of character. Having fallen 
 in love with second-mate Liddle, and hav- 
 ing deteruiincd to marry him or die an old 
 maid, she informed her lover that if he 
 would be faithfid to her, she would be 
 faithful to him — a form of declaration 
 which has been very popular from time 
 immemorial. The pledge being sealed by 
 the infatuated ones in the usual manner — 
 that is, with much protestation, with much 
 unnecessary solemnity, (as if they were 
 doomed to execution, and were to be be- 
 headed within a few hours), with many 
 kisses and tender embracings — Bessie 
 went to her father and apprised him, melo- 
 dramatically, of her determination. 
 
 " You wouldn't marry without my con- 
 sent?" was the obstinate old captain's 
 question, after a little consideration. They 
 were absurdly happy, these two determined 
 persons. Bessie was the apple of his eye, 
 the pride of his heart ; she had not a wish, 
 except the wish matrimonial, that he would 
 not have made any sacrifice to satisfy. 
 " You wouldn't marry without my consent, 
 my pretty ? " he repeated anxiously, for 
 she did not answer his question immedi- 
 ately. 
 
 " I won't, on one condition," replied 
 Bessie categorically ; " and that is, that 
 you won't ask me or wish me, or try to 
 persuade me to marry anybody but John 
 Liddle ; for I love him with all my heart, 
 and I wouldn't give him up — no, not 
 to be made Lord High Admiral." 
 
 " I give you my promise, my pretty," 
 said (iapt. Prue, secretly admiring his 
 daughter's determination, and loving her 
 the "more for it; "I'll never ask you, nor 
 wish you, nor try to persuade you to marry 
 anybody but John Liddle." 
 
 It may be guessed how wiUingly the old 
 sea-captain gave the pledge, when it is 
 known that he looked forward with abso- 
 lute dread to the time when Bessie might 
 be taken fi-om him to another home. He 
 would give her any thing, help her to any- 
 thing but a husband. What right had any 
 body else to her? Why, the ship would 
 go on the rocks without her ! " And when 
 John Liddle is skipper and owns a ship," 
 he added, " I'll give my consent free and 
 willing." In which last words Capt. Prue 
 was not quite ingenuous. But the compact 
 was made and adhered to. Second-mate 
 Liddle was informed of it, and was com- 
 
ON BOARD THE "MERRY ANDREW." 
 
 143 
 
 pclled to abide by it. He trusted to 
 chance, as many other men, not lovei-s, have 
 done before him; and he derived coiisohi- 
 tion from the thought, that when Capt. 
 Prue and Bessie pled;^ed their word, it 
 would need something very extraordinary 
 and unlooked-tbr to induce them to break 
 it. He rose from second mate to first 
 mate, from first mate to skipper ; and when 
 he returned from his voyages, he found 
 Bessie faitlii'ul and true, and received a 
 hearty welcome from her father. And 
 during these long and many years of pro- 
 bation, he learned to love his true-hearted 
 little woman more deeply than he had done 
 at first ; she taught him to understand what 
 love really was ; she taught him the true 
 beauty of it, the holiness of it — that it was 
 something more than a sentiment, some- 
 thing higher than a passion ; she taught 
 him to understand that it was a sacrament. 
 
 It seems fated for this story, that its nar- 
 ration should necessitate, for the most part, 
 the depicting of the higher virtues, and 
 what is most noble and self-sacrificing in 
 our natures. But it should be none the 
 less acceptable because of that. 
 
 A short time after Bessie's lover became 
 skipper, a relative of his died, and left him 
 some money. Directly he came into pos- 
 session of it, he bought a share in the 
 " Merry Andrew." Bessie was then twen- 
 ty-six years of age, as pretty as ever, and 
 as fresh at heart as ever. One would have 
 thought that her father would have spoken 
 to her of his own accord, there and then, 
 and that he would have given her the 
 reward of her faithfulness and devotion. 
 But the truth must be told ; he was a selfish 
 old curmudgeon, and he trembled at the 
 thought of losing her. So once more Capt. 
 Liddle sailed away from his lady-love on 
 the voyage in which our Joshua commenced 
 his apprenticeship at sea. The "Merry 
 Andrew " was away, as you know, for more 
 than four years ; and when it returned, and 
 Capt. Liddle went to see his Bessie, he 
 found her in mourning. Her father was 
 dead. Before he died he had made her 
 the only reparation in his power. The last 
 codicil to his will, written a few weeks be- 
 fore his death, contained expressions of his 
 love for her, his admiration of her lover, 
 his consent to their marriage, and his re- 
 gret that he had not consented to it years 
 ago. But it is so easy to regret ajler a 
 thing has occurred which we might have 
 prevented or remedied. I have not yet 
 made up my mind as to the value of death- 
 bed repentance. Neither am I satisfied 
 that we may sin properly for six days in 
 the week, in a comfortable knowledge that 
 we can evade the penalty by crying, "I 
 have sinned ! " on the sabbath. 
 
 However, the departed Captain Prue 
 had been in all other respects a kind and 
 tender father, and no word of rt'iiroach 
 passed the lips of Bessie an<l John Liddle. 
 They were not too old for the enjoyment of 
 life's blessings. Two months before the 
 present sailing of the " Merry Andrew " 
 they were married ; and it is not to be 
 doubted that the circumstances of their en- 
 gagement promised them a lasting happi- 
 ness. 
 
 Mrs. Liddle had a maid, a beautiful 
 brown-complexioned girl, whose appear- 
 ance might have suggested some suspicion 
 of a gypsy breed, had it not been for her 
 manners, which showed a refinement no 
 gypsy-girl could have acquired in her va- 
 grant life, and for her eyes, which were gray 
 desj)ite their brightness. The circiun- 
 stances of her becoming Mrs. Liddle's 
 maid were somewhat peculiar. She had 
 presented herself to that lady a few days 
 before the " Merry Andrew " sailed, and 
 stating that she had heard by accident 
 that Mrs. Liddle wanted a maid to accom- 
 pany her on the voyage, as'Ked to be 
 engaged in that capacity. There was 
 something so winsome about the girl, that 
 ]Mrs. Liddle — who had not succeeded in 
 engaging a maid willing to brave the ter- 
 rors of a sea-voyage — was at once attract- 
 ed to her, and lent a sj-mpathizing ear to 
 her story of being alone in the world and 
 without friends. Perhaps it was Mrs. Lid- 
 dle's romantic happiness that caused her to 
 be less prudent than usual ; but certain it 
 is that the girl was engaged, and, setting 
 about her dtities at once, proved so apt and 
 attentive, that ^Irs. Liddle congratulated 
 herself upon her decision. Captain Liddle 
 did not interfere in the matter; but when 
 he first saw the girl her face seemed famil- 
 iar to him, and he glanced at her more 
 than once, wondering where he had met 
 her. But he could not settle the doubt, 
 and the matter was not of sufficient impor- 
 tance to permanently engage his attention. 
 Tlius it was that Minnie succeeded in ob- 
 taining a passage in the " Merry Andrew," 
 and in being near to the man who was 
 dearer to her than all other earthly consid- 
 erations. She was not influenced by any 
 dishonoring passion ; she simply desired 
 not to be parted from the man she loved. 
 She did not want him to see her or speak 
 to her — at least, so she thought at 
 that time ; it was sufficient ibr her to know 
 that she was in the same ship with him, 
 and that she would perhaps now and again 
 catch a glimpse of her hero, without his 
 knowing that she was by. When she first 
 made up her mind to leave her home, she 
 did not pause to consider what would be 
 the consequences of her rash act. She 
 
144 
 
 JOSHUA MARVEL. 
 
 was unliappy there and utterly miserable ; 
 everybody was acjainst her ; and when she 
 discovered, as she did discover, that Susan 
 was playing the spy upon her, she became 
 defiant and more resolved. She loved her 
 father and honored him ; but she loved 
 Joshua with all the passion of her passion- 
 ate nature, and in her mistaken sense of 
 right and wrong, the stronger love usurped 
 the place of duty, and made her oblivious 
 of all else. She was blinded by love, and 
 by love in which there was not a shade of 
 impure pas.^ion. 
 
 She had had at first a wild idea of dress- 
 ing herself in sailor's clothes, and had saved 
 a few shillings towards the purchasing 
 of them ; but her success with Mrs. Liddle 
 set that aside. When she went on to the 
 ship with her mistress, she was careful that 
 Joshua should not see her ; but indeed, if 
 tliey had met face to face at that time, it is 
 not likely that he would have recognized 
 her in her disguise ; for his thoughts were 
 with Ellen, and his heart was too full as 
 yet to be curious about the passengers. 
 But the Lascar saw her, and was puzzled 
 about her directly he set eyes upon her face. 
 He watched her like a cat, and yet he could 
 not make up his mind about her. He had 
 seen her often in Stepney, but he could 
 scarcely believe that tJie fair gu'l with the 
 beautiful hair and this dark gypsy with the 
 short curls were one and the same. He 
 knew her name and all about her from Sol- 
 omon Fewster, and he was quite ready to 
 believe in the villany of Joshua. Re- 
 solved to make sure of the value of his 
 suspicions, he contrived to pass close hy her 
 as she was taking some bandboxes down 
 stairs to the saloon, and as he passed her, 
 he muttered the name of '* Minnie Kin- 
 dred." A start, a frightened look over her 
 shoulders, and the dropping of the baml- 
 boxts down the stairs, were sufliicient con- 
 firmation of his doubts ; and before the 
 pilot left the ship he gave him a scrawl for 
 Solomon Fewster to the effect that Joshua 
 and Minnie had run away together. He 
 was cautious enough also to send upon 
 another piece of paper a private scrawl to 
 Solomon Fewster, saying he was not quite 
 sure, but that Fewster would know how to 
 act if Minnie were missing from home. 
 
 But wlien the Lascar next saw Minnie's 
 face, which was not until the " Merry An- 
 drew " was a thousand miles the other side 
 of the Bay of Biscay, his doubts returned, 
 and he thought that, after all, he must have 
 been mistaken. He did not know the cun- 
 ning of Minnie. In the startled glance she 
 had thrown over her shoulder when her 
 name was pronounced, she had marked the 
 Lascar's face, so that she was sure she 
 would know it again ; and when, after the 
 
 lapse of weeks, she detected him gazing at 
 at her, she looked at him so boldly and 
 contemptuously that he drooped his eyes 
 before her. What added to his perplexity 
 was, that he never saw Joshua speak to her, 
 never saw him look at her. When she 
 came on deck, which she did very rarely, 
 and never unless her duty to her mistress 
 called her there, she was careful not to 
 give Joshua an opportunity of speaking to 
 her or of looking closely at her ; and he, 
 detecting in her manner a wish to avoid 
 any little attention he might have it in his 
 mind to offer her, did not trouble himself 
 even by giving her a thought. She was as 
 distant and reserved to all the ofliicers ; 
 anel in a little wdiile it began to be under- 
 stood, that the handsome gypsy-maid did 
 not wish to be spoken to by any one on board 
 but her mistress ; and her wish was scru- 
 pulously respected. 
 
 To readers who are not well acquainted 
 with ship-life, it may seem strange that 
 Minnie should have been able to keep her- 
 self so free from observation ; but there 
 really can be — and there often is — as 
 much exclusiveness on board a passenger- 
 ship as there is in society on land. You 
 may live in a ship for months, and travel 
 for thousands upon thousands of miles over 
 the seemingly interminable waste of waters, 
 without having any more personal knowl- 
 edge of those who sleep wi[hin a few yards 
 of you than you would have of them if you 
 and they were living at the extreme ends 
 of a great city. When the long, long voy- 
 age is at an end, and the ship is being 
 piloted into the bay that skirts the land of 
 Pisgah, men and women whom you do not 
 remember ever to have seen before appear 
 magically on deck ; and you wonder where 
 they come from, and how it is you have not 
 set eyes on them during all the time that 
 you and they have been living in the won- 
 derful house of wood and iron that has 
 brought you safely over the raging seas. 
 
 Joshua knew the Lascar directly he saw 
 him on board, and was not pleased to find 
 that he was one of the crew. But the 
 man did his duty, and worked as well 
 and apparently as willingly as the other 
 sailors ; and as he was uniformly respectful, 
 Joshua could not, even if he had been so 
 inclined, treat him harshly with any sense 
 of justice. 
 
 And so the " Merry Andrew," containing 
 within its wooden walls its load of human 
 love and hate, cleaves through the ocean 
 onward to its goal steadily and patiently, 
 while before it, with every new rising of 
 the sun, a monotonous hill of waters, never 
 varying, never changing, lies in the gray 
 distance mocking its progress. Through 
 cold weather, through hot weatber, burnt 
 
ON BOARD THE "MERRY ANDREW." 
 
 145 
 
 up in the torrid zone, and cliilled by winds 
 which rush from ice-bound waters ; through 
 days when scarce a ripple can be seen on 
 the grand ocean's breast, and others when 
 the waves leap at its throat furiously, as an 
 enemy might do ; through nights when 
 the moon rises tlircateningly in tlie 
 heavens, like a blazing ball of lurid fire, 
 suggesting thoughts of a dreadful to-mor- 
 row ; and through dark nights, solemnly 
 beautilul, when the track of the vessel is 
 marked by the brilliant Medusaj (the 
 sailor's girdle of Venus) whicli gleam and 
 shine — a line of living light — in the 
 wondrous sea : through all these, with 
 unerring faitli, the sliip pursues its way 
 steadily and patiently to the garden of the 
 world. Now the captain smells the breeze, 
 and hoarse cries, unintelligible to all but 
 the initiated, travel about the ship to clap 
 on sail and make good use of the breath 
 of Boreas. Then the ship dashes on like 
 a god drunk with joy, dives into awful 
 depths, and climbs water-mountains that 
 a moment ago threatened to fall in upon 
 it and dash it to pieces. The curling seas 
 break over the deck, and the toilers that 
 are battling with wind and wave cling fast 
 for dear life to ropes and spars ; Avhile 
 ever and anon a water-titan, more angry 
 than his fellows, breaks against the side 
 with such tremendous force that the vessel 
 reels and quivers beneath the mighty 
 shock. So ! the breeze slackens and dies 
 away ; the anger of the sea subsides, and 
 after many days the ship is becalmed. 
 Then the passengers lie about the white 
 deck in happy indolence, and muse and 
 dream of the great whale they saw a while 
 ago, hung round with sea-weed and barna- 
 cles ; of the cloudless night, star-gemmed 
 above and below ; of the beautiful South- 
 ern Cross and the strange Magellan 
 clouds ; and while they muse and dream, 
 the white sky stares clown lazily into blue 
 peaceful waters. Every one on board is 
 contented with the change, excepting the 
 skipper, who paces the deck restlessly and 
 prays for the breeze to spring up — taking 
 advantage of the calm, however, like the 
 good skipper he is, to splice ropes, and 
 make new sails and mend old ones. Soon 
 wind and water wake into life again, and 
 the waves sparkle, and the fresh breeze 
 blows merrily, when a sudden cry rings 
 through the ship that a man is overboard. 
 The next moment every soul on board is 
 bending over the bulwarks, watching the 
 retreating form of the sailor, who is float- 
 ing on his back, gazing with agonizing 
 dread at the cruel beaks of the swan-white 
 albatrosses, which are already hovering 
 above him. Quickly the ship is put 
 about; a boat, with rowers in it, is low- 
 10 
 
 ered into the sea ; and after the lapse of 
 many anxious moments a wild cheer rings 
 through the air, as the man saved from 
 death, is dragged into the boat. lie tells 
 afterwards to eager listeners — he is a no- 
 table man on board from that day forth — 
 how it seemed to him that he was floating 
 on his back for full a day, and how the 
 only fear he felt was that the albatrosses 
 would pick out his eyes. Then the follow- 
 ing week a young man died who was in a 
 consumption when he was first brought on 
 to the ship, and who had hoped that the 
 warm breezes of the South would give him 
 a new lease of life ; but he was never to 
 breathe the balmy southern air. The 
 little colony of human beings is very sad 
 when the funeral service is read over the 
 body, and the canvas coffin slips with a 
 dull thud into the sea ; and a fear arises 
 that some calamity is near. And surely 
 that night there is a fearful storm. The 
 wind howls and roars ; heavy seas dash 
 down the two men at the wheel ; the sails 
 split into a thousand shreds ; masts and 
 spars crack like reeds. The sobs and 
 lamentations of the passengers are dread- 
 ful to hear. Minnie, creeping from her 
 cabin into the saloon, sees a dozen men 
 and women, half-dressed, on their knees, 
 praying for mercy and forgiveness, making 
 vows of reformation, and indulging in aU 
 the fear-impelled evidences of a suddenly 
 awakened contrition. Pursued by the 
 conviction that in a few minutes she and 
 all in the ship will meet their doom, she 
 yearns with all her soul to see Joshua, to 
 touch him, to whisper in his ear that 
 Minnie is by his side. Then, if he will 
 but take her hand, she will be content to 
 go down with him into the solemn depths 
 of the awful sea. She creeps to the wet 
 stairs leading to the deck, only to find that 
 the hatches are fastened down, and that 
 she is a prisoner. She tears at the cruel 
 door that separates her from Joshua, until 
 her fingers bleed and her strength gives 
 way. She calls aloud to him, but she" can- 
 not hear her own voice, so weak is it and 
 so overwhelming is the roar of the storm. 
 She sinks, despairing, at the foot of the 
 stairs, and in the agony of her mind and 
 the terror of the time so entirely loses con- 
 sciousness, that the cold waters which steal 
 down the hatchway are powerless to arouse 
 her. But with the next rising of the sun 
 the storm has passed away, and the cap- 
 tain looks joyful, and the sailors sing 
 blithely at their work, and the passengers 
 foro-et their vows of reformation. So the 
 ship sails on and on, until land is sighted, 
 and the passengers begin to prepare their 
 best clothes to go on shore in. Then 
 comes a quiet evening when the " Merry 
 
146 
 
 JOSHUA MAEVEL, 
 
 Andrew " drops quietly down the beautiful 
 bay, and as evening deepens into night, 
 a thousand twinkling lights from distant 
 hills welcome the wanderers and gladden 
 their hearts. How peaceful, how lovely, 
 is the night 1 The balmy air, the restlul 
 sound of dipping oars, the floating strains 
 of music that come from a neighboring 
 ship, the beautiful star-lit waters — all 
 these bring grateful feelings to weary trav- 
 ellers, and silent prayers of thankfulness 
 arise to Heaven for the mercy that has 
 brought them safely through the perils of 
 the mighty sea. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIX. 
 
 THE WRECK OF THE " MERRY 
 ANDREW." 
 
 Built in the bed of a beautiful valley 
 and on gardened slopes rising from the 
 waters which run to the sea, lies Sydney, 
 the fliir city of the South. It is spring al- 
 though the month is October. The heavens 
 are bright with bright clouds, the air is 
 sweet with perfume from tree and flower, 
 the bay is gemmed with gardened isles and 
 promontories. Outside the heads which 
 protect the bay and make it a safe I'efuge 
 for mighty fleets, the sea dashes against 
 hoary rocks which stand defiant of its 
 wrath ; but to-day, swayed by the influence 
 of smiling sun and cloud, the grim old walls 
 sport with the huge waves, splinter them 
 into silver spray, and send them, laughing, 
 back into the sea. In the fair land girt by 
 the blue waters of the South Pacific are 
 orange-groves, the fragrance of whose snow- 
 white blossoms is in harmony with the time 
 and place, and coral-trees with bright 
 scarlet flower, and trees of peach, loquat, 
 and bread, and lull-slopes where the vines 
 grow, and myriad other evidences of Na- 
 ture's beneficence. All things that see the 
 light contribute to the beauty of spring. 
 
 " 'Tis the garden of the world," said 
 Captain Liddle to his wife, as they stood 
 apart from the others on board the " Merry 
 Andrew ; " " 'tis the garden of the world," 
 he repeated, gazing at the lovely hills and 
 gloriously-tinted sky with that sense of 
 gratitude which it is so good for a man to 
 experience. 
 
 Her thoughts were in harmony with his, 
 but she did not answer him immediately. 
 She, too, was sensible of the beautiful scene 
 around them, and stood by his side in silent 
 thankfulness. To-morrow, the " Merry 
 Andrew," having discharged her cargo, and 
 
 taken in another (chiefly hard wood), was 
 to set sail for China, where she had a char- 
 ter for London. It was of London — of 
 home — that the captain's wife was think- 
 ing, and presently her thoughts found simple 
 expression. 
 
 " Yes, John," she said ; " it is indeed a 
 garden — a beautiful garden ; but it is not 
 home." 
 
 " Why now, Bessie," said the captain, 
 looking down smilingly upon the wife he 
 had waited and worked for as anxiously as 
 Jacob did for Rachel, " could you not con- 
 tent yourself here ? " 
 
 « All my life, John ? " 
 
 " All your life, my dear." 
 
 " No," she said without hesitation ; " I 
 should always be pining for home. Even 
 if we were poor, and it were a necessity 
 that we should live here, I don't think I 
 could manage to quite content myself. But 
 as it is " — 
 
 " As it is, Bessie " — repeated her hus- 
 band, in secret delight at his wife's enthusi- 
 asm. 
 
 " As it is, John," she responded soflly, 
 " ' there's no place like home.' " 
 
 Captain Liddle hummed a few bars of 
 the Englishman's household hymn ; and 
 then, looking to that part of the ship where 
 Joshua was busy, said : " There is some one 
 on board, Bessie, who is even more anxious 
 to get home than you are." 
 
 " Who can that be, John ? " 
 
 " My handsome mate, as you call him, 
 Joshua Marvel. He was expressing his 
 delight to me yesterday that we should be 
 not away longer than we thought we should 
 when we started. And when I asked him 
 what made him so impatient to get home, 
 he told me that he was married three days 
 before we left Gravesend. How would you 
 have liked that ? " 
 
 " I wouldn't have allowed you to go," 
 said Mrs. Liddle, with a very positive shake 
 of the head. 
 
 " Easily said, little woman ; not so easily 
 managed, though, if I had been third mate 
 instead of captain. Thank your stars that 
 you married a captain." 
 
 " So I do, John," said Mrs. Liddle ten- 
 derly — so tenderly, that her husband would 
 have stooped and kissed her, if they had 
 been alone. " Was it a love-match ? " 
 
 "Marvel's? Certainly, I should say. 
 When I went to his house in London to see 
 him, I saw a very beautiful girl in his room. 
 Perhaps it is to her that he is married." 
 
 " Very beautiful, sir V " exclaimed Mrs. 
 Liddle, with a toss of her head. " I am 
 almost inclined to take you to task for that ; 
 but I'll ask you, instead, to describe her." 
 
 " I can't, Bess ; 'tis not in my line. I 
 tell you what, though • your maid would be 
 
THE WRECK OF THE "MERRY ANDREW." 
 
 147 
 
 like her, if she was fair instead of brown, 
 and if she had long hair." 
 
 " Mtikino; eyes at my maid, sir ! " cried 
 Mrs. Liddle, with a pretty wilfulness. 
 " When I get you home, I shall lock you 
 up." 
 
 Captain Liddle laughed, and pinched his 
 wife's cheek. 
 
 '■• I am glad it was a love-match," she 
 said ; " I like Mr. Marvel all the better for 
 that. You ought to do something I'or him." 
 
 " I shouldn't be surprised, Bessie, if Mar- 
 vel was second mate on our next voyage," 
 was the captain's reply. " Now go and see 
 to the stowing away of your curiosities." 
 
 Dm-ing the time that the " Merry Andrew " 
 had been lying in Sydney Harbor, Mrs. 
 Liddle and her gypsy maid had been liv- 
 ing on shore, and liad only come on board to- 
 day. Her husband's last remark referred 
 to a number of parcels which were scat- 
 tered about the poop, containing curiosities 
 she had collected in that strange new world 
 — such as feathers and skins, and curious 
 weapons and plants — designed to astonish 
 her friends at home. 
 
 Captain Liddle's intention to promote 
 Joshua had been quietly whispered by the 
 sailors to one another for some weeks past, 
 although the captain, from motives of pru- 
 dence and a proper regard for discipline, 
 had made no mention of his intention, even 
 to his wife, until now. Captain Liddle re- 
 spected Joshua, and often engaged him in 
 familiar conversation. He saw much to ad- 
 mire in the young sailor, and recognized in 
 him qualities, both intellectual and profes- 
 sional, of a far higher standard than those 
 exhibited by liis other officers. A sailor 
 more deeply impressed than Joshua was 
 with the highest qualification a sailor can 
 possess, duty, never walked the deck of a 
 ship ; and this merit, added to a quick nat- 
 ural intelligence, made him a great favorite 
 with Captain Liddle. He was much liked, 
 also, by the sailors ; for while his sense of 
 duty made him firm, his kindliness of heart 
 made him gentle. Sailors resemble women 
 in one particular : the more they respect a 
 man, the better they like him. Joshua, 
 however, had two bitter enemies on board : 
 one was the Lascar, who was compelled to 
 conceal his hate ; the other was the second 
 mate, Scadbolt by name, who made no se- 
 cret of his animosity. Scadbolt, being 
 both an inefficient officer and one who liked 
 to shirk his work, had been sharply spoken 
 to by Captain Liddle on several occasions. 
 From this may have sprung the rumor of 
 his intended deposition ; and when it 
 reached his ears, it made him venomous. 
 Between Scadbolt and the Lascar about 
 this time there sprang up a kind of intelli- 
 gence with regard to Joshua, which boded 
 
 him no good if he should chance to get into 
 their power. No conversation passed be- 
 tween them on the sul)ject ; but each knew 
 instinctively that the other hated the up- 
 start third mate of the'' Merry Andrew." 
 
 With his usual foresight and shrewdness, 
 Captain Liddle had announced his readi- 
 ness to take a small number of pa^^sengers 
 to China, or to London by way of China — 
 rather a roundabout route home, it must be 
 confessed, but one which recommended it- 
 self to certain colonists from its novelty, 
 and from the opportunity it afTorded them 
 of seeing something of the wonderful land 
 where so many Sons of the Moon lived and 
 had their being. Captain Liddle knew 
 what he was about by stating that he could 
 provide accommodation for only a few pas- 
 sengers, for only a few took passage. Here 
 is the way-bill : — 
 
 Mr. and Mrs. Pigeon and daughter, the 
 latter five years of age. 
 
 Mr. Bracegirdle. 
 
 Stephen and Rachel Homebush, brother 
 and sister. 
 
 James Heartsease. 7 
 
 Harry Wall. j" 
 
 Rough-and-Ready. 
 
 So that there were nine passengers in 
 all, including little Emma Pigeon. 
 
 The crew numbered twenty-eight persons, 
 all told ; and these, with the passengers and 
 the captain's wife and her maid, made the 
 total number of souls on board thirty-nine. 
 
 Mr. Pigeon was the son of a wealthy 
 squatter, who had lately died. Desirous of 
 o-ivin'T his wife and child better advantages 
 than could be obtained in the colony, he 
 had sold out his property, and was now on 
 his way home, for the purpose of settling 
 in the " old country." He was a rough 
 kind of a gentleman at the best, as might 
 be expected of one who had, been brought 
 up in the bush ; but he had a tender heart, 
 and was passionately devoted to his wife 
 and child. i\Irs. Pigeon was a sparkling 
 little creature, full of life and bustle, never 
 still, and with a laugh so merry and conta- 
 gious, that every soul on board felt glad 
 when it was first heard on the ship. Little 
 Emma, as the child was called, was a small 
 edition of her mother, with precisely the 
 same natural gayety of disposition. The 
 fiimily were in high glee at the prospect of 
 going " home " (even Little Emma, born in 
 The bush, had been taught so to call it), and 
 found in the pleasures of imagination some 
 compensation for the natural sorrow they 
 felt in leaving the bright and beautiful land 
 of the South. 
 
 Mr. Bracegirdle was a mystery. No one 
 knew any thing about him ; and as no one 
 inquired, and he was not communicative, 
 his antecedents could only be guessed at. 
 
148 
 
 JOSHUA MAEVEL. 
 
 Steplien and Rachel Homebusli were a 
 hard-featured morose-looking couple, whose 
 piety was generally recognized as unim- 
 peachable, but whose good-nature was cer- 
 tainly open to question. And this induces 
 the reflection, that it is singular how often 
 piety and sourness go hand in hand. It 
 almost seems as if, with the majority of so- 
 called pious people, religious contemplation 
 chills the generous impulse, and hardens 
 the heart instead of softening it. The 
 light of truth tails on them not like dew, 
 but like a miasma. 
 
 James Heartsease and Harry Wall are 
 bracketed in the way-bill, as they were 
 bracketed in heart. They were friends who 
 had travelled together all over the world. 
 They were enthusiastic sketchers ; and it 
 was whispered that they were writing a 
 book, which caused them to be looked up to 
 with a kind of veneration. 
 
 Rough-and-Ready was as great a mysteiy 
 as Mr. Bracegirdle, but whereas nothing 
 was known of Mr. Bracegirdle's antecedents, 
 so many stories Avere current concerning 
 Rouoh-and-Ready, tbat the difficulty was to 
 hit upon the right one. None of them 
 Avere at all creditable to him. One story 
 was, that he was a bushranger ; another, 
 that he was a stockman, who had shot down 
 any number of blacks ; another, that he 
 was a runaway convict. The name he 
 chose to go by fitted any one or all of these 
 stories. He engaged his passage in the 
 name of Mr. Rough ; but before he had 
 been on board half an hour, every sailor 
 knew him as Rough-and-Ready. The lady 
 passengers cast cold looks upon him ; but 
 the sailors adored him ; and he, taking the 
 aversion of the women and the admiration 
 of the men very philosophically, was as 
 nmch at home on board the " Merry An- 
 drew " as the captain himself. Captain Lid- 
 die saw nothing objectionable in Rough- 
 and-Ready. He was prone, as you know, to 
 form his own judgments of people, and 
 was one of the small minority of men in 
 the world who decline to be led by the 
 nose. There was nothing very smooth or 
 polished about Rough-and-Ready, as was 
 implied by his name ; but he had a bright 
 eye, a free manner, and a civil tongue — 
 sufficient recommendations to Captain Lid- 
 die's good favor. 
 
 At the appointed time the " Merry An- 
 drew " weighed anchor, and started lor Chi- 
 na. Joshua rubbed his hands, and thought 
 with a light heart of his pretty Ellen and his 
 i'riend Dan, and his old mother and father, 
 and that good friend the Old Sailor. He 
 saw himself walking along the familiar 
 street in Stepney, and saw all the neigh- 
 bors running out to greet him, and saw 
 Ellen, his own dear little wife, fluttering 
 
 into his arms, and nestling there as prettily 
 as could be. What wonder that his face 
 grew bright, and that he went about his 
 work with a cheerfulness that brought a 
 darker scowl into the face of the Lascar ! 
 This worthy had not advanced a single 
 step towards the furtherance of the scheme 
 to which he had in a sort of measure 
 pledged himself to Solomon Fewster before 
 he left Gravesend. True, he had gone on 
 board the " Merry Andrew " with the 
 vaguest of ideas as to the manner in which 
 he should be able to carry out his inten- 
 tions regarding Joshua. The fact was, that 
 he had been only anxious to get away from 
 Encrland tor a time ; the brawl in which he 
 had been engaged and had used his knife 
 was a serious one, and he was frightened 
 for his own safety. But he had jjlayed his 
 cards cunningly with Solomon Fewster, and 
 had succeeded in extracting money and 
 valuables from his cowardly master; thus 
 providing for his safety, and putting money 
 in his purse at the same time. Joshua had 
 kept a sharp eye upon him during the whole 
 of the voyage, and he was compelled to be 
 careful and wary ; for he knew that Joshua 
 was a favorite Avith the captain, and that he 
 would be clapped in irons upon the first 
 sign of insubordination. Then he was dis- 
 appointed in finding that not another sailor 
 on board but himself owed Joshua a grudge, 
 or was envious of him ; so that he was alone 
 in his hate until that instinctive understand- 
 ing took place between him and the second 
 mate Scadbolt, which made Joshua a mark 
 for their mutual animosity. The Lascar 
 would have dearly liked to do Joshua an ill 
 turn ; but he could not see his way to the 
 accomplishment of his wish. But even 
 from this thwarting of his desire he derived 
 a kind of malicious satisfaction ; for he 
 could not help thinking with pleasure of 
 the dismay and disappointment Solomon 
 Fewster would experience Avhen Joshua 
 came home safe and sound. He could not 
 help chuckling to himself as he thought, 
 " \Vliat a way he'll be in Avhen the ' Merry 
 Andrew ' gets into Blackwall, and how he'll 
 storm and swear 1 But he'd better mind 
 what he's about with me. I owe him one 
 for that threat of giving me into custody 
 for stealing the things he gave me." Cer- 
 tainly no such sentiment as " Honor among 
 thieves " found place in the breast of the 
 Lascar. 
 
 And Minnie ? She had not calculated 
 the effect of living within herself, as she 
 had been compelled to do. Loving Joshua 
 as she did with all her heart and soul, she 
 had deceived herself by believing that she 
 would be happy if she were only in the ship 
 with him. Happy she would have been, 
 had he known her and spoken kindly to 
 
THE "WRECK OF THE "MERRY ANDREW." 
 
 149 
 
 her ; bnt the gulf tliat divided thora seemed 
 to her to be wider than it would have been 
 had thousands of miles of ocean been be- 
 tween them. She had time for reflection 
 on board ship ; and reflection, althou2:h it 
 did not turn the current of her love, nor 
 lessen it, added to her misery. At one 
 time during the voyage she had been so 
 unhappy that she was almost on the point 
 of throwing herself overboard ; and indeed 
 had she known of the marriage between 
 Joshua and Ellen she might really have 
 done so. Happily for her she was not 
 aware of the marriage, and was spared the 
 contemplated sin. But she was on a rack 
 of love and doubt, and was truly unhappy 
 in the present, and despairing in the future. 
 She went about her work in a dull mechan- 
 ical way, keeping aloof from every one, and 
 never goin^ on deck unless her duties 
 called her there. Mrs. Liddle saw that the 
 poor (jirl was miserable, and questioned her. 
 But liere Minnie's rebellious nature came 
 into play ; she shut her heart against the 
 proffered sympathy, and returned cold an- 
 swers to her mistress's kind questions. Mrs. 
 Liddle was sorry, bi;t not otfended; she 
 saw that the girl was struggling with a 
 great grief. " A love affair, depend upon 
 it John," she said to her husband ; and she 
 respected Minnie's desire not to have her 
 confidence openly intruded upon. Minnie's 
 behavior on board inspired Mrs. Liddle 
 with the conviction that her maid was a 
 thoroughly good girl, and she could overlook 
 a great deal in a girl who behaved so well. 
 And notwithstanding ilinnie's retired be- 
 havior, she was an object of interest to all. 
 The officers and sailors called her " the shy 
 beauty," " the pretty gypsy-maid," '• the 
 brown-faced little beautj^ ; " and, when she 
 came towards them with her eyes downcast, 
 made way for her with almost as much def- 
 erence as they did for the captain's wife. 
 But she spoke no word to any one of them, 
 and lived her life of self-imposed isolation 
 in grief and silence. 
 
 The wind was fair, and a favorable voy- 
 age was anticipated. Sail after sail was 
 clapped on, and Captain Liddle walked up 
 and down the d«ck with a beaming face 
 and in a state of high satisfaction. Five 
 of the passengers were below in the first 
 agonies of sea-sickness. Four were on deck 
 — the two friends, James Heartsease and 
 Harry Wall, Stephen Homebush, and 
 Rough-and-Ready. The friends had trav- 
 elled too many thousands of miles upon the 
 ocean to be troubled by sea-sickness now ; 
 they had struggled with and vanquished 
 that fell enemy years ago. Rouiih-and- 
 Ready was not the sort of man to give in ; 
 he treated sea-sickness as he treated every 
 thing else that came to him in a threaten- 
 
 ing: shape — he laughed in its face. Per- 
 haps previous experience enabled him to 
 do so with impunity. Stephen Homebush 
 was not so fortunate. He had a large 
 stock of bile, and (speaking after the man- 
 ner of a well-known great man) when he 
 had got rid of a great deal, he would have 
 a great deal left. He certainly got rid of 
 a great deal upon this occasion ; and accus- 
 tomed as he was to wrestle against yearn- 
 ings of the flesh and terribles foes, this foe 
 was too powerful for him. and this yearning 
 of the flesh sent him into a deep ])it of 
 tribulation from which he saw no chance 
 of escape. Some kind friend had advised 
 him not to go below when he was attacked ; 
 and in accordance with that advice he re- 
 mained on deck, possessed by a spirit so 
 fiendish as not only to set at nau'^ht the 
 pious exhortations of the worthy Stephen, 
 but even to change words of piety into ut- 
 terances that sounded very like anathemas. 
 Even in the midst of his agony, he looked 
 rotind for some one, as was his wont in his 
 happier moods, upon whom to pour the 
 vials of his spleen ; for Stephen Homebush 
 had this peculiar conviction with respect 
 to himself. His invariable verdict when 
 tribulation visited other persons was, that 
 it was a just punishment — it was a visita- 
 tion of the Lord. But there was no such 
 acknowledgment regarding any vexation 
 by which he was afflicted. In that case 
 his opinion was, that he was suffering for 
 the sins of others, and the conviction was to 
 him a sufficient proof of his own worthiness 
 and of the wickedness and unworthinessof 
 every other person. He looked round for 
 some one on whom to vent his spleen ; but 
 no person met his eye^ut Rough-and- 
 Ready, whose merry face and cheerful man- 
 ner were an additional sting to the mis- 
 erable Stephen. Rough-and-Ready nodded 
 encouragingly to the pale-faced Stephen, 
 who was leaning against the bulwarks, and 
 said cheerfully, and really from no ill-na- 
 tured motive, — 
 
 " You will be better by and by, 'Mr. 
 Homebush. Besides, it will do you 
 good." 
 
 These last words were unfortunately 
 chosen ; for the afflicted Stephen — who had 
 heard the discreditable stories attached to 
 R)ugh-and-Ready, and who had already 
 judged him as a sinner of the first magni- 
 tude — glared at the speaker, and said with 
 difficulty, " Scoffer, sinner ! " 
 
 He intended to add, " Repent ! " but a 
 sudden paroxysm compelled him to confide 
 that exhortation to the waves. 
 
 Rough-and-Ready laughed gayly, and 
 turning on his heel, met the captain, and 
 fell into step with him. 
 
 " Some of the sailors are grumbUng," ob- 
 
150 
 
 JOSHUA MARVEL. 
 
 served Rough-and-Ready, "because we 
 have set sail on a Friday." 
 
 " Grumble ! " exclaimed Captain Liddle, 
 pettishly. " Ay, and they'll grumble till 
 the end of the voyage. I have had that 
 sort of thing occur to me before. This is 
 the fifth time I have started on a Frid;\y, 
 and nothing more unusual ever occurred 
 than occurred at any other time. But the 
 men wouldn't believe it, and won't believe 
 it now. If a head-wind comes, it is because 
 we set sail on a Friday ; if we're becalmed, 
 because we set sail on a Friday; if there's 
 a squall, because we set sail on a Friday ; 
 if a man tumbles overboard, because we set 
 sail on a Friday ; if we lose a spar, if a 
 sail is split, because we set sail on a Fri- 
 day. I do believe, if one of them cuts his 
 finger, he thinks, ' Curse the skipper ! 
 What the something unmentionable did he 
 set sail on a Friday for ? ' " 
 
 " I have no doubt, skipper," said Rough- 
 and-Ready, smiling and pointing to Stephen 
 Homebush, whose head was hanging over 
 the bulwarks, as if its owner were curious- 
 ly interested in the swelling of the waves, 
 "that Mr. Homebush is quite ready to 
 side with the men, and to declare that 
 he is sea-sick because you set sail on a Fri- 
 day." 
 
 Captain Liddle smiled at the pious suf- 
 ferer, and shrugged his shoulders. It was 
 evident, although he said nothing upon the 
 subject, that he had already formed a not 
 too favorable opinion of Stej^hen Homebush. 
 
 For the first three days the prognostica- 
 tions of the sailors, that " something " was 
 sure to happen because the voyage was 
 commenced upon a Friday, did not seem 
 Ukely to be realized. The weather was 
 fine, the wind was fair, and every stitch of 
 canvas was set. But the grumbling did 
 not cease, and for a very good reason. 
 Scadbolt and the Lascar did their best to 
 keep the subject warm, and between them 
 managed to foment and increase the dissat- 
 isfaction. Captain Liddle, cognizant of 
 this, became stern and strict, and took but 
 little rest. He did not know who it was 
 that was encouraging the men ; he suspect- 
 ed Scadbolt, and, estimating his second 
 mate at his proper worth, he wanted but 
 the slightest confirmation of his suspicions 
 to take prompt action against the offender. 
 By this time the passengers had recovered 
 from their sea-sickness, and begun to assem- 
 ble on the deck. Stephen and Rachel 
 Homebush set to work vigorously in their 
 task of reclaiming the sinners, in which 
 category every person but themselves on 
 board was included ; but though they prayed 
 (for others), and groaned (for others), and 
 " wrestled " (for others), their efforts were 
 not crowned with success. Indeed, the 
 
 only person who tolerated them at all was 
 the man who had the worst character, and 
 whom nearly everybody avoided. Rough- 
 and-Ready was a treasure to the pious 
 couple. To him, as the most illustrious 
 sinner within their reach, they imparted 
 the knowledge of their own goodness and 
 of everybody else's wickedness ; him they 
 informed that their special mission (out of 
 heaven) was to lead him to the waters of 
 grace, and that his special mission was to 
 be led thereto by them. They prayed for 
 him wrathfully, in stony voices, and would 
 have wept over him, had he allowed them 
 to do so. And when they found that they 
 made no impression upon hiin (for it was 
 only his good-nature that induced him to 
 listen to them), they groaned the louder, 
 and prayed the longer, and wrestled the 
 more, because of the hardness of man's 
 heart. It was a curious thing, seeing how 
 good they were and how bad he was, to ob- 
 serve the conduct of Little Emina, Mrs, 
 Pigeon's five-year-old dan<T!iter, towards the 
 saints and the sinner. The little child ran 
 away from the saints, and cried and strug- 
 gled when Rachel Homebush took her hand ; 
 but when she saw the sinner, she ran into 
 his arms with perfect confidence, and sub- 
 mitted to be tossed in the air and to be 
 kissed by him very much as if she liked it. 
 But then children have no judgment. 
 
 Towards the close of the thh-d day the 
 wea her became threatening, and the sails 
 were taken in. This set the grumblers at 
 work more busily than > ever. Some time 
 before midnight, the watch bein^ in charge 
 of the second mate, Captain Liddle came 
 unaware upon two of the men who were 
 grumbling, and sternly asked them what 
 they were grumbling at. The Lascar was 
 one of the twain, and of course he did not 
 reply ; but the other man, being pressed by 
 the captain, pulled at his forelock, and said 
 that the sailors weren't pleased because the 
 voyage had been commenced on their un- 
 lucky day. 
 
 " And that's the cause of this rough 
 weather, eh ? " questioned Captain Liddle 
 sarcastically. 
 
 " Yes, your honor," was the reply. " Why, 
 even the second mate says so." 
 
 " Does he ? " cried Captain Liddle, turn- 
 ini- wrathfully upon Scadbolt, who at that 
 moment approached them. " What do you 
 mean, Mr. Scadbolt, by spreading disatis- 
 faction among the crew ? " 
 
 Brought face to face with the man to 
 whom he had spoken, Scadbolt, who was 
 no coward, gave him a tlireatening look, 
 and said, — 
 
 "Well, sir, I've an objection to setting 
 sail on Friday ; and, as you see, the men 
 have the same objection." 
 
THE WRECK OF .THE "MERRY ANDREW" 
 
 151 
 
 " I see quite cnouo;h to warn you to be 
 careful," said Captain Liddle in a deter- 
 mined tone ; '• I have warned you before, and 
 I warn you now for the last time. Keep 
 your objeetions to yourself, sir, and trouble 
 yourself only with your duty. — And you, 
 men, attend to yours, and let me hear no 
 more of this nonsense. You know me well 
 enough to know that I will not be trifled 
 with." 
 
 The men slouched away, and Scadbolt 
 was obliged to suppress his passion lor the 
 time : but it burned the fiercer for that. 
 
 The next day the weather became 
 worse, and circumstances thus gave a color 
 to the dissatisfaction, which grew stronger 
 every hour. But the captain was equal 
 to both emergencies ; like a good sailor and 
 a stout captain he grappled with the storm 
 that raged without, and with that scarcely 
 less dangerous one that raged within. He 
 was seldom off the deck, and when he did 
 go down to snatch an hour's rest, he left 
 Joshua on board to watch in his place. 
 For Captain Liddle was no*^ slow to discov- 
 er that Joshua was the man of all the other 
 men on the ship upon whose faithfulness 
 he could best depend. He said this many 
 times to his wife, and often spoke to her in 
 praise of Joshua. Minnie heard this, and 
 heard also of the dissatisfaction among the 
 sailors, and how Scadbolt, the second mate, 
 had fomented the dissatisfaction. About 
 this time a whisper spread among the pas- 
 sengers that there were three or tour sailors 
 in the crew who only wanted a favorable 
 opportunity to break into open mutiny. 
 Confirmation of this was given by the cap- 
 tain, on the third day of the bad weather, 
 when the ship was scudding along under 
 bare poles. He, coming down hastily into 
 the saloon, went into his cabin, and made 
 his appearance in a fiew minutes with a belt 
 buckled round his waist and two pistols in 
 it. The passengers, looking at each other 
 in astonishment, received another shock 
 presently by the surprising appearance of 
 Kough-and-Eeady. His dress hitherto had 
 been of a respectable character — black 
 coat and waistcoat and tweed trousers ; but 
 now he had on a red-serge shirt, and a 
 rough billycock-hat, and buckskin riding- 
 trousers, and boots that reached half-way 
 up his thighs, and a red-silk sash round his 
 waist, with knife and pistol stuck therein. 
 You may guess the alarm he caused among 
 the ladies ; the only passenger who seemed 
 pleased at the change in his appearance 
 was little Emma Pigeon, who skipped round 
 him delightedly, and clapped her hands in 
 approval of his bright-colored shirt and 
 sash. Rough-and-Ready caught the child 
 in his arms and gave her a hearty kiss, and 
 nodded cordially to the fellow-passengers 
 
 who had so studiously avoided him. They 
 were so frightened at his desperate a])pear- 
 ance, that they Ibrgot to frcjwn upon him 
 as they were wont to do. Rough-and-Rea<ly 
 then going on deck, walked up to Captain 
 Lidille, and said, — 
 
 " You can depend upon me, skipper. 
 I've seen this sort of thing before." 
 
 Captain Liddle gave him a look of grate- 
 ful acknowledgment, and they made their 
 way into the nudst of a knot of sailors Avho 
 were standing irresolutely about Scadbolt 
 and Joshua. Joshua was cool but per- 
 fdexed, and Scadbolt was in a furious rage. 
 
 " Whose watch is this ? " asked Captain 
 Liddle. He knew well enough, but he had 
 a motive for asking. 
 
 " Mine, sir," answered Joshua. 
 
 " What are the men hanging about for? " 
 
 " I gave an order, sir, and Mr. Scadbolt 
 countermanded it." 
 
 " Give your order again, Mr. Marvel." 
 
 Joshua did so ; and as Scadbolt, in a 
 voice thick with passion, was desiring the 
 men not to obey it, Captain Liddle very 
 promjjtly knocked him down. Calling two 
 of the sailors by name. Captain Liddle or- 
 dered them to put the second mate in irons. 
 After the confusion which followed the ex- 
 ecution of this order had partially subsided, 
 Captain Liddle cried out, — 
 
 " Now, then, what have you to complain 
 of? Speak out like men." 
 
 At this one of the sailors stepped for- 
 ward, and said respectfully, — 
 
 '• Well, your honoi", some of us think it 
 would have been better if we had stopped 
 in port another day." 
 
 " That's a matter of opinion," said the 
 captain. " You have a right to yours, but 
 I have a right to mine also, and I am mas- 
 ter of this ship. Now I ask yoti as sensi- 
 ble men and good sailors, is it right that 
 you should forget your duty because we 
 don't agree upon a certain point ? Do you 
 know what this means, my men ? " point- 
 ing to Scadbolt. " It means mutiny. 
 What would any one of you do if you 
 were skipper in my place ? You would put 
 a stop to it at once, as I have done, and as 
 I intend to do. I'll do it by reason, if 
 you'll let me, and I'll say nothing of any 
 other means, lor I don't want to use them. 
 I speak you fair, men, and I mean you fair. 
 What do you say, now, to treating me as 
 I treat you ? " 
 
 Acquiescent murmurs ran round the crew, 
 most of whom had gathered together dur- 
 ing the scene. " And at such a time 
 as this too," continued Captain Liddle, 
 " though it would be all the same in fair 
 weather or foul. I'll tell you something 
 that many of you, as good mariners, sus- 
 pect already. We are near a dangerous 
 
152 
 
 JOSHUA MARVEL. 
 
 coast — how near I do not know, for I have 
 not been able to take a sight for two days. 
 And it's at such a time as this that this 
 bad sailor — I found out before we got into 
 the Bay of Biscay that he wasn't as good 
 as he ought to be — it's at such a time as 
 this that he tries to get you into trouble. 
 Come, now, have I spoke you fair ? " 
 
 " Yes, you have ; spoke like a man ! " a 
 dozen voices said. 
 
 " That's well said. Whoever is on my 
 side step over to me." 
 
 Every man — even the Lafecar, too much 
 of a coward to stand aloof — stepped to 
 the captain's side and saluted him. 
 
 " I'm proud of my crew," was the cap- 
 tain's simple remark after this. " Now go 
 to your duty." 
 
 As the captain walked on to the poop, 
 Rough-and-Ready said, 
 
 " Tliat was well done, skipper ; but there 
 are two or three black sheep among 'em, 
 for all that." 
 
 " I know it," replied Captain Liddle, 
 with a significant look. " I shall keep a 
 sharp look-out on them. I've got a man 
 on board that's a match for a dozen black 
 sheep, or I'm very much mistaken." 
 
 Ilough-and-Ready laughed and turned 
 on his heel, and Captain Liddle went down 
 to say an encouraging word to his wife. 
 
 On the eighth day the captain, suspect- 
 ting that they were in the vicinity of the 
 Minerva Shoal, near which there were 
 some dangerous rocks, ordered a sharp 
 lookout to be kept for broken water. All 
 the passengers were by this time in a state 
 . of great alarm, and although Captain Lid- 
 dle tried to cheer them by encouraging 
 words, his anxious face belied his speech. 
 Perhaps the one who suffered the most 
 from terror was Stephen Homebush. His 
 teiTor was so great that he forgot his mis- 
 sion, and flew to others for consolation, in- 
 stead of imparting it. Such men as he 
 are most true to their calling when the 
 weather is fine. It was a miserably dark 
 night. The captain, completely tired out, 
 had gone down to his cabin for a little rest. 
 All the passengers, with the exception of 
 Rough-and-Ready, who never seemed to 
 sleep, and yet was the freshest man of them 
 all, had retired to their beds with hearts 
 filled by gloomy forebodings of what the 
 morrow might bring ; and there they lay, 
 tossing about, listening to the raging wind 
 that was driving them perhaps to certain 
 death. In the captain's cabin were Mrs. 
 Liddle and her maid. There was some- 
 thing in the present danger that was to 
 Minnie almost a relief from the horrible 
 monotony of her life. Her seh'- imposed 
 silence had become unbearable, and she 
 fretted under it until her health was in 
 
 danger of giving way. So that this change, 
 with all its terrors and uncertainties, was 
 an absolute relief to her. She was too sad 
 and unhappy to be frightened at the pros- 
 pect of death. Had the future held out 
 to her any hope of happiness, she would 
 have prayed to live ; but as it was — " Bet- 
 ter to die," she thought, " and so end all." 
 There is no doubt that this miserable state 
 of her mind was due to the want of proper 
 moral training in her childhood. Thrown 
 completely upon herself; with no mother's 
 love to teach her what is often taught by 
 love's instinct alone, that such and such 
 impulses and thoughts are weeds that de- 
 stroy, and such and such are flowers that 
 beautify : doomed to the almost sole com- 
 panionship of a father whose misfortunes 
 had rendered him an unfit teachei', it is 
 scarcely to be wondered at that she should 
 have been oblivious of the true duty of life. 
 
 " Bessie," said Captain Liddle to his 
 wife, " I have come down for an hour's 
 sleep. I can rest with confidence, for Mar- 
 vel is keeping the watch." 
 
 Mrs. Liddle nodded, and gave him a 
 sweet little smile that was like wine to him ; 
 and Minnie heard him say, in answer to a 
 whisper from his wife, " We are in God's 
 hands, Bessie, and must trust to His mercy." 
 
 " We are in God's hands, and must trust 
 to His mercy," thought Minnie as she left 
 the cabin ; " and Joshua is keeping the 
 watch. Death may be very near. Will it 
 be wrong to speak to him ? " Mechanically 
 she made her way to the deck, stumbhng 
 two or three times and bruising herself. 
 But she felt no pain. " I should like to die 
 near him," she thought ; " if he would take 
 my hand in his, I should be content and 
 happy." 
 
 Nothing but darkness surrounded her on 
 deck. She clung to a rope, appalled by the 
 mournfulness of the scene. Not a star was 
 to be seen in the heavens, and the sky and 
 water were as black as the night. So 
 solemn, so mournful was every thing around, 
 that the ship seemed to be rushing into a 
 pit of death, where no light was. She could 
 not see her hand before her, but all at once 
 her heart beat wildly at the sound of 
 Joshua's voice. He was speaking to 
 Rough-and-Ready, and they were quite 
 near her, although she had not seen them. 
 Even now she could but barely discern 
 their forms in the gloom. Joshua had just 
 made a remark that Rough-and-Ready 
 must have been a great traveller. 
 
 " Yes," answered Rough - and - Ready, 
 " I've been about a pretty great deal. I've 
 led a Avild life ; but then, you see, I never 
 had any one to care for but myself." 
 
 " Never ? " questioned Joshua, in a tone 
 that had a dash of pity in it. 
 
THE "WRECK OF THE "MERRY ANDREW." 
 
 153 
 
 " Never but once, and that was only for 
 a little while. But what matters 'i* It will 
 be all one by and by." 
 
 " I should be sorry to tliiak you meant 
 that," coutinuud Joshua ; " it would be a 
 sad belief that, at such a tiuie as this." 
 
 " You speak as if you didn't believe it, 
 at all events," said llough-and-Ready, in 
 tones as soft as a girl's ; " but then your 
 cu'cumstances are diiferent to mine. You 
 are young ; I am " — 
 
 " Not old." 
 
 " Old enough for twice your years. Then 
 you have friends at home, mayhap ? " 
 
 " Ay, dear ones." 
 
 " Mother and father ? " 
 
 " Ay ; God bless them ! " 
 
 " Wife perhaps ? " 
 
 Joshua gave a gasp that sounded almost 
 like a cry of pain. 
 
 " Ah, well," continued Rough-and-Ready, 
 " if we were to go down this minute, I 
 don't know the man or v/oman who would 
 say ' Poor fellow ! ' Avhen my fate was 
 known. I leave no one behind me, and my 
 death would bring no grief to a single soul. 
 Perhaps my condition is the happier of the 
 two." 
 
 " Not so," said Joshua sadly ; " and I 
 hope — indeed I believe — that you don't 
 mean what you say. I have a friend at 
 home — Dan, his name — to whom the news 
 of my death would be the bitterest grief. 
 I have dear ones at home, whose lives 
 would be lives of mourning if I were not to 
 leturn. I know this, and feel the pain that 
 they would experience should it be God's 
 will that we are not to escape this peril. 
 But, strange as it may sound, 1 would not 
 spare them the pain if it were in my power. 
 Could I, by a wish, destroy the memories 
 that make my Ufe dear to me and them — 
 dearer than you imagine — and so pluck 
 from their hearts and minds the sting that 
 my death would bring to them, I would not 
 do so. For after death, there is life 1 " 
 
 " You believe in the immortality of the 
 soul, mate V " 
 
 " Surely ; and you ? " 
 
 Rough-and-Ready made no reply. 
 
 " ' Tis often difficult to believe in what 
 we don't understand. On such a night as 
 this — bleak, dreary, awfully solemn — 
 with death waiting for us within a few 
 yards perhaps — it is dithcult to believe 
 that there are spots on the earth where the 
 sun is shining and where the flowers are 
 blooming." 
 
 " That's true, mate ; you speak more like 
 a scholar than a sailor. Shake hands." 
 
 " I learned a gre;it deal from the friend 
 of whom I have spoken," said Joshua, 
 grasping Rough-and-Ready's hand. " What 
 is that ahead of us ? " 
 
 A dark cloud. Impossible to sec whether 
 it belonged to earth, or air, or Avater. A 
 moment atter he uttered the words, the man 
 who was keeping the look-out cried that 
 there was land ahead. Joshua hastily gave 
 some orders, and was making his way to 
 the saloon to arouse the captain, when he 
 was almost thrown oiY his legs by a terrible 
 shock. Involuntarily he threw his arms 
 around Minnie, who was clinging to the 
 rope. She held him fast for a moment, and 
 he cried, — 
 
 " Who is this ? " 
 
 " It is me," she said ; " cling to me." 
 
 " Don't stir," he whispered rapidly, filled 
 with a wild amazement at the familiar 
 tones of Minnie's voice ; " if it were not 
 that I know I am not dreaming, I could be- 
 lieve a spirit spoke, and not a woman. But 
 keep you here ; do not move for your life." 
 
 The next instant all was confusion, and 
 cries and lamentations filled the air. Cap- 
 tain Liddle was on deck barefooted, and all 
 the passengers were there in their night- 
 dresses, clinging to ropes and spars, praying 
 and crying and wringing their hands. 
 Great seas washed over the ship, drowning 
 the cries for a brief time ; the night was so 
 dark that their true sittiation could not be 
 discovered, and imagination added to their 
 terrors and magnified them. The captain 
 could do literally nothing ; for the ship ap- 
 peared to have been hfted on to the rocks, 
 and kept bumping against them in its en- 
 deavors to get free. And yet there was sea 
 all around them. Some of the passengers 
 had sought shelter under the lee of the 
 cuddy, among them the captain's wife, Mr. 
 and Mrs. Pigeon and Little Emma, and 
 Steven and Rachel Homebush. Many 
 times during the night Avas the voice of 
 Stephen Homebush heard, calling upon the 
 Lord to save Jam; while his sister Rachel, 
 braver than he, stood by his side, with a 
 stern set face, in silence. The cheery laugh 
 of Mrs. Pigeon was stilled, but she was not 
 so overcome by terror as not to be a com- 
 fort to her husband and child ; during the 
 dark night those three clung together and 
 comforted each other as well as they were 
 able ; while the captain, making his way 
 from one group to another, bade them not 
 lose heart ; for the ship seemed to be keep- 
 ing together, and Avhen da}light came their 
 condition might be found to be less desper- 
 ate than it appeared. 
 
 " Besides," he Avhispered to the male 
 passengers, " we have three or four rascals 
 among the sailors, and for the sake of the 
 women we must keep ourselves cool and 
 self-possessed." 
 
 To his wile he said simply, — 
 
 " Well, Bessie, this is a bad job. I ought 
 not to have allowed you to come with me." 
 
154 
 
 JOSHUA MAKVEL. 
 
 " I would sooner be liere with you, Jolin," 
 she said, kissing him, " than I would be at 
 home in safety." 
 
 " Brave little heart," he wliispered to him- 
 self as he walked away from her. " Yet I 
 could bear it better if I were alone." 
 
 James Heartsease and Harry Wall kept 
 together, as friends should, all through the 
 night. They felt not a particle of fear ; 
 they thought it was very grand and very 
 {iwful, and spoke in calm tones of what the 
 morrow might bring. 
 
 " Don't think we shall see China, Jim," 
 said Harry. 
 
 " Perhaps not. Hope no body will be 
 hurt " was the reply. " What a grand paint- 
 ing this would make ! " 
 
 A few minutes after Joshua had left Min- 
 nie, he came to the cuddy, where Mrs. Lid- 
 die had sought protection. 
 
 " Mr. Marvel," she called to him, " have 
 you seen my maid Y " 
 
 Then it came upon him that the woman 
 to whom he had clung when the ship struck 
 was the gypsy-maid who had kept herself so 
 reserved, and he said, " Yes my lady ; do 
 you want her V " 
 
 All the officers called the captain's wife 
 "my lady," and she was proud of the title. 
 
 " Yes," she answered ; " I wish you could 
 bring her to me, poor girl ; she is iriendless 
 and unhappy, poor child ! " 
 
 " Has she no friends at home, my lady ? " 
 Joshua could not help asking. 
 
 " None, I believe." 
 
 The word " home " reached little Emma 
 Pigeon's ears, and as she nestled in her 
 mother's arms, the child cried, " Mother, 
 are we going home ? " 
 
 " Yes, yes, my deai'," sobbed Mrs. Pigeon ; 
 " try to go to sleep, there's a darling." And 
 she rocked the child, and sang a Uttle song 
 about birds and angels. 
 
 Joshua, steadying himself as he walked 
 cautiously to where Minnie was standing, 
 wondered to himself whether it was fancy 
 that had made the gypsy-maid's voice sound 
 so fiimiliar to him ; a sea washing over the 
 deck, drenched him to the skin, and as he 
 stood upright and shook the water from his 
 clothes, the memories that were stirred with- 
 in him brought to him a picture of the dear 
 old kitchen at Stepney, with himself half- 
 naked, barefooted, and with the water 
 streaming from him, standing at the door. 
 The vision may have occupied but a mo- 
 ment, but the picture was complete ; father, 
 mother, Ellen, Dan and the birds, the Old 
 Bailor, all were there. But where was Min- 
 nie? Why, by his side, with short curly 
 hair and brown gypsy-face. " Am I mad '? " 
 he exclaimed, as he dashed the waters from 
 his eyes. But when he reached the spot 
 where Minnie stood, and she clasped his 
 
 hand and said, " Thank God, you are safe I " 
 his amazement grew. 
 
 " I cannot see your face," he whispered, 
 with his arm round her, for the better pro- 
 tection of both ; " but your voice is strange- 
 ly familiar to me. Do I know you ? " 
 
 " Yes. But do not press me farther. 
 Wait till the light comes. Shall we live 
 till then ? " 
 
 " I hope so." 
 
 " Will you promise me to keep near me 
 till daylight comes ? It is my dearest wish 
 — my only one." 
 
 " I promise," he said, strangely agitated, 
 " until my duty calls me away." 
 
 " And even then, you will come back 
 when you have done your task, and stand 
 by my side ? " 
 
 " I will, my poor girl. I have come now 
 to bring you to the captain's lady." 
 
 " She sent you lor me ? " 
 
 " Y'es." 
 
 " She is a good lady. But wait a little ; 
 I have something to say first." Many mo- 
 ments passed before she spoke again, and in 
 the pause a grateful prayer went up from the 
 girl's heart even for the small blessing of 
 gentle sjjeech from her hero's lips. " You 
 have made me very, very happy. Until to- 
 night — for many, many months past — I 
 have been most unhappy." She bent her 
 lips to his hand and kissed it. " Now an- 
 swer me. We are in great peril ? " 
 
 " The gi-eatest, I fear." 
 
 " But a danger threatens you of which 
 you are not aware. Listen. The second mate, 
 he who was put in irons the other day " — • 
 
 " Scadbolt — go on." 
 
 " Is loosed." 
 
 " By whom ? " 
 
 " I don't know. But he is loosed, and 
 but five minutes since was near me with a 
 sailor whom I think I know, although I could 
 not see him. Listen. I must whisper, for 
 he may be near us now. They were talk- 
 ing of you, and they swore — O my God ! — 
 they swore to have your life." 
 
 " They spoke of me by name ? " 
 
 " By name — Joshua Marvel." 
 
 " Y'^ou think you know the sailor who was 
 talking to Scadbolt. Is he a dark man ? " 
 
 " Yes ; a Lascar I think." 
 
 "You are right. He owes me an old 
 grudge." 
 
 " Scadbolt said that this coast is one of the 
 most dangerous upon which a ship could 
 strike. He believes he knows pretty well 
 where we are, and that it will be a fight for 
 the boats " — 
 
 " We have only two, the jolly-boat and 
 the long-boat ; he may be right." 
 
 " Be on your guard ; tell the captain ; be 
 prepared." 
 
 " We will ; and you " — 
 
JOSHUA IS PROMOTED. 
 
 155 
 
 " I can protect myself. Feel this." 
 
 " A knife 1 " 
 
 " I picked it up. Let them beware." 
 
 Another lurch of the vci-sel made them 
 cling closer to each other. During all the 
 hoiTor of the scene, Joshua had not dared to 
 ask whether it really was ]\linnie to whom 
 he was speaking ; he feared to know the 
 truth. jNlinnie on the ship with him ! and 
 Ellen at home — and Dan — he dared not 
 think of it. 
 
 '• Come he said ; " I will take you to the 
 captain's lady. Cling fast to me." 
 
 " Sav a few words to me." 
 
 " What are they ? " 
 
 " God bless and forgive you." 
 
 " God bless and forgive you ! From my 
 heart." 
 
 '• He will, 1 think," said the girl, as if com- 
 muning with herself. " I have not felt so 
 happy for a long time past. Death has no 
 terror for me if you are kind ! " 
 
 CHAPTER XXX. 
 
 JOSHUA IS PROMOTED. 
 
 When daylight came — and oh, how 
 they watched for it, and prayed for it ! — 
 they saw clearly their great peril. The 
 ship was rolling amongst a mass of sharp 
 rocks jutting upwards from the sea. They 
 saw tlie points of these rocks on all sides 
 of them ; but no friendly land was in view. 
 
 " The ship is lost," said Captain Liddle 
 to Joshua, whom he looked upon as his 
 right-hand ; " she is breaking up last. Our 
 next cliance is the boats." 
 
 It was a wonder indeed how the "Merry 
 Andrew " had kept together during the 
 ni 'lit, with the tremendous beating she hatl 
 received from the rocks ; if she had been 
 in deeji water, she must inevitably have 
 sunk. 
 
 Joshua had told Captain Liddle of the 
 understanding between Scadbolt and the 
 Lascar, as overhead by Minnie ; and now the 
 cajjtain walked to where the two conspira- 
 tors were standing in conversation with 
 other sailors. Scadbolt was endeavoring 
 to persuade them to sieze the jolly boat, 
 and leave the passengers to shift for them- 
 selves. 
 
 " What is that you are saying ? " cried 
 the captain breaking in amongst them, and 
 grasping Scadbolt by the shoulder with a 
 grasp of iron. " More incitings to mutiny ! 
 Take heed, sir 1 Give me but a little strong- 
 er cause — nay, dare to lay a finger upon 
 boats or provisions without leave — and, 
 by God, I'll throw you into the sea I " 
 
 " Will you stand this, men ? " shouted 
 Scadbolt, writhing in the captain's grasp. 
 
 The Lascar made a movement towards 
 the captain, and the glitter of a knife 
 Hashed in the light; but a blow from Josh- 
 ua sent him reeling, and in an instant 
 the knife was torn from his hand. 
 
 " Remember ! " said Joshua in a low 
 voice. " You had a lesson from me years 
 ago. Wliat the captain does to Scadbolt, 
 I do to you, you treacherous cur." 
 
 " I ren)ember," muttered the Lascar, pre- 
 senting the singular aspect of a man cowed 
 by fear and raging with furious passion at 
 the same time, " I swore to have your 
 heart's blood, and I'll have it ! Look you ! 
 the end has not yet come. Give me my 
 knife." 
 
 Joshua looked at the knife ; it was one- 
 bladeil, with a clasp — one of the articles, 
 indeed, which the Lascar had wi-ested from 
 Solomon Fewster's tears. 
 
 " You asked me once before for a knife 
 I took from you," he said ; " then I broke 
 it before I gave it back. But this — this 
 I mean to keep." 
 
 "Now then my men," cried the captain, 
 in a cheery voice, " this is the second time 
 that this damned rascal has tried to step 
 between you and me. What I feared then 
 has happened now. The ship is breakln;^ 
 up, and can't hold together tor many days, 
 and if the weather gets worse, may break 
 up in a day. There are certain chances 
 in our favor, every one of which will be 
 destroyed unless we act in friendly concert 
 and like men. This scoundrel has tried to 
 make you believe that your interests and 
 the interests of the passengers are in o]jpo- 
 sition. He lies 1 I declare to you, as a 
 captain and a man " (if he had said a gen- 
 tleman, all would have been ruined), " that 
 your lives and your safety are as dear to 
 me, as those of anybody else on board — 
 excejit my wife," he said softly yet stout- 
 ly, and murmurs of " Bravo, skipper ! Bra- 
 vo ! you're a man 1 " broke even from the 
 lips of those sailors who were most disposed 
 to be won over by Scadbolt. " AVell then, 
 you hear me declare now, as I have de- 
 clared before, that I mean you fair. An I 
 I declare moreover, that our only chance 
 of safety is in union. Once again — With 
 me, — or Against me ? " 
 
 " With you ! with you, skipper ! " 
 
 During this scene, Joshua did not know 
 that Minnie was standing near him. Now, 
 releasing the Lascar with warning words, 
 he turned and saw her. She met liis gaze 
 unflinchingly, and a hot blush mantled 
 over her neck and face. He gazed at her 
 for so long a time, that she drooped her 
 head before him, and stood in an attitude 
 of pleading. But he could not doubt the 
 
156 
 
 JOSHUA MARVEL. 
 
 evidence of his senses. Her manner, no 
 less than her appearance, convinced him. 
 It was Minnie, indeed, who stood before 
 him. 
 
 He covered his eyes with his hand, and 
 stagiiered to the saloon. If a thousand 
 despairing and undeserved deaths had 
 stared him in the face, he could not have 
 been more shocked and bewildered. He 
 sat down and tried to think. What was 
 the meaning of it ? What did they know at 
 home ? What did they know ? What 
 might they suspect ? He saw himself and 
 the Old Sailor together in the boat at 
 Gravesend, and heard that faithful old 
 friend tell hiin of Minnie's love for him, 
 and what it was his duty to do. He had 
 seen his duty clearly then : love for Ellen 
 no less than duty — affection for his friend 
 and brother, no less than love and duty — 
 impelled him to the right and honorable 
 course of making Ellen his wife. And 
 then ! Why, within three days of that 
 consummation of his dearest hope, he and 
 Minnie were together on board the " Merry 
 Andrew." If they at home knew it, suspect- 
 ed it even, must they not believe that his 
 whole life was a monstrous lie ? that he 
 had planned, plotted, deceived, schemed, 
 to prove how utterly false he was to the 
 woman who adored him, to the man who 
 believed in him, to the kind mother and 
 father who loved him better than Benja- 
 min was loved ? For a few moments he 
 lost all consciousness of present peril. The 
 ship beat amongst the rocks ; the seas 
 dashed over the deck : he heard them not, 
 felt them not. He took from his breast 
 Ellen's picture and the lock of hair she had 
 given him at their parting, and kissed them 
 again and again while his tears ran on 
 them. Strangely enough, there came to 
 his ears then, in the midst of his agony, his 
 father's hearty exultant voice, saying, 
 " This is better than being a wood-turner 
 all one's life, isn't it, Josh ? " He shivered 
 and sobbed and cried, " O Dan, Dan, do 
 not forsake me ! " and sti'etched forth his 
 hands as if his friend were near. A hand 
 upon his shoulder aroused him, He looked 
 up, and saw the captain's wife. She 
 was a brave woman, and had done much 
 during the night to sustain the courage of 
 the others. 
 
 " There is a man's work to do on deck," 
 she said to him gravely and sweetly. " You 
 are not growing faint-hearted ? " 
 
 " No, my lady," he answered, " not fiiint- 
 hearted at the prospect of death ; but I 
 have received a shock worse than death." 
 
 She did not stop to ask for an explana- 
 tion of his meaning — time was too pre- 
 cious ; but she took the picture of Ellen 
 and looked at it. 
 
 " My wife, my lady," he said, with a 
 sob. 
 
 A troubled expression crossed her fea- 
 tures, and she said encouragingly, — 
 
 " Nay, all hope is not gone ; we may 
 succeed in I'eaching land, or some ship may 
 see us and pick us up. But all private 
 grief must give way now for the general 
 good. There are not too many faithful 
 men on board ; the lives of others depend 
 on them. If they lose heart, and yield to 
 the selfishness of their grief, we are lost." 
 
 Joshua jumped to his feet and wiped his 
 tears. 
 
 " They are not unmanly tears, my lady," 
 he said bravely ; " I can justify them to 
 you when there is no pressing work to do. 
 Thank you for calling me to my duty." 
 
 She smiled brightly on him and shook 
 hands with him. When he got on deck, 
 the captain was giving orders to lower the 
 jolly-boat ; but as the boat was being low- 
 ered, the broken water caught her and 
 splintered her to pieces. The sailors and 
 passengers looked with dismay at the frag- 
 ments of the boat drifting away and dash- 
 ing against the jagged rocks. " What 
 next ? " they all thought. 
 
 " Try the longyboat, men," cried the 
 captain. And in accordance with his in- 
 structions, the long boat — the only one 
 left — was launched over the vessel's side ; 
 but as she hung in the tackle, a huge wave 
 dashed up and filled her. It was imper- 
 ative that the water should be bailed out of 
 her. 
 
 " Who will do it ? " asked the captain, 
 loath to give an order in which there was 
 almost certain death. Joshua was about to 
 start forward, when Minnie's hand upon his 
 arm restrained him. Before he could shake 
 off the grasp, the first mate, crying, " I'm a 
 single man ; I've no wife and children 
 waiting for me at home ! " jumped into the 
 boat up to his waist in water, and began to 
 bail it out. But he had not bailed out a 
 dozen gallons when the stern-post was 
 jerked out of the boat, which was left 
 hanging in the tackle. The shouts of the 
 men and the screams of the women apprised 
 him of his danger ; and as he looked about 
 to see how he could remedy the disaster, 
 the fore-tackle got adrift, and the boat was 
 battling with cruel rocks and water. The 
 force of the current was too powerful for 
 her. The captain threw out lines to the 
 unfortunate man, but he could not catch 
 them. But if he had, he would have been 
 bruised to death by the sharp rocks. The 
 moment before he went down, he waved a 
 good-by to those on board. A long silence 
 followed. The women looked anxiously at 
 the captain, but saw no hope in his face. 
 Then with a gesture to all to follow him, 
 
JOSHUA IS PROMOTED. 
 
 157 
 
 be went down to the saloon, and there read 
 prayers, and commended them to God. lie 
 was not what is understood as a religious 
 man ; but knowing the danger in which 
 they stood, he conceived this to be a duty. 
 That done, he said, " Men and passengers, 
 we have one chance left, and only one. 
 Out ot" our masts and spars we can make a 
 raft sufiiciently large to hold all of" us. 
 Then we may be able to reach some friendly 
 land. To stay on board and wait, and not 
 work, is certain death. Even as it is, a raft 
 will take us some days to make, and the 
 ship may break to pieces before it is done. 
 But we must trust to God for that. What 
 we've got to do is to work like men, for our 
 own sakes, for the sake of the women, and 
 for the sake of wives and children at home. 
 Some of you have these, I know. It is not 
 for me, now that we are in such a strait, to 
 say, do this, or do tliat ; although under 
 any circumstances I sliall insist upon dis- 
 cipline and order. I can't make you work, 
 and tlierefore I submit for your appi'oval the 
 plan I think best for general safety. Have 
 any of you a better one to proj>ose ? " 
 
 " No, no ! " was tlie unanimous cry. 
 
 " Very well ; then we'll determine upon 
 this. And for the better carrying out of 
 our design, I appoint Mr. Marvel second in 
 command. He is first mate now. If any 
 thing happens to me, you will look to him. 
 When the rafl is made, and safely launched 
 — if it please God that it shall be so — we 
 will set down necessary rules for all on 
 board. Until that time there is but one 
 rule — to work. Every man on board must 
 work — passengers and all ; and every man 
 must aid me in preserving order." 
 
 The caj^tain's manly speech infused hope 
 into every heart ; and exclamations of 
 " Good ! " " Bravo skipper ! " " Well said, 
 sir ! " followed his last words. 
 
 " One other thing," he said, in a more 
 determined voice : " to my certain knowl- 
 edge, we have unfortunately among us two 
 men who have endeavored to spread dis- 
 satisfaction and add to our confusion. I 
 will not point out these men ; they are 
 known to me and all of you. They are 
 men, though, as we are, so far as the value 
 of life to each of us goes ; and it is only fair 
 that they should have equal chances with 
 us. But this I declare, by my dear wife's 
 life ! If these men do not work, and if 
 they attempt any thing that is not for the 
 general good, I will shoot them with my 
 own hand 1 ISi'ow then, to the deck ! " 
 
 Not a man among them who did not take 
 off his coat and set to work with a will. 
 There were a great many loose spars on 
 board, which, with the mizenmast, Avere 
 found to be sufficient for their purpose. 
 They tried to cut down the mainmast ; but 
 
 there was so much danger in the attempt 
 that it was relin(niished. For three days 
 they worked like slaves. The rocks served 
 as a resting-place for the ends of the largest 
 spars, which were firmly lashed together 
 and nailed ; the light and short spars were 
 used for the centre of the raft, upon which 
 a kind of platform was raised on Avhich 
 many of the shipwrecked persons could lie 
 out of the water ; a mast to carry sails was 
 also rigged up. The raft was not finished 
 too soon ; they could not have stopped 
 another day on the ship. While the work 
 was going on, three of the sailors lost their 
 lives, so that already their number was 
 lessened by four. The raft being ready, it 
 was launched with great difficulty. The 
 next anxious question was provisions ; and 
 the result of their inquiry blanched many a 
 cheek. All the bread was spoiled by the 
 salt water, and most of the preserved meat 
 had been lost, in consequence of having 
 been brought on deck when they tried to 
 launch the boats. They also made another 
 disheartening discovery. They could only 
 find two small kegs to hold water. Still, 
 when the first shock of these discoveries 
 was over, they were borne bravely, almost 
 cheerfully. The women, excepting Rachel 
 Homebush, were the cause of this ; they 
 smiled upon the workers, encouraged them, 
 and made them hojjeful in spite of them- 
 selves. Even Mrs. Pigeon recovered some 
 of her good spirits ; and knowing that her 
 merry laugh was a comfort to the men, she 
 laughed often when she was not inclined 
 for mirth. The little child, Emma, was the 
 only truly happy one of the party, and her 
 presence drove away many a hard thought. 
 Rough-and-Ready had his anxious intervals, 
 but he worked with a will. Between him 
 and Joshua a strong attachment sprung up ; 
 each admired the manliness of the other. 
 He was also particularly kind to Minnie, 
 and she grew accustomed to look upon him 
 with confidence, and to trust in him. The 
 night before the raft was launched, Joshua 
 persuaded Captain Liddle to take a night's 
 rest. 
 
 " It will be all the better for you and all 
 of us, sir," said Joshua. 
 
 " But you too, Marvel," said Captain 
 Liddle, " you want rest as much as I. I 
 don't believe you have had two hours' sleep 
 since we struck." This was really true • 
 both Joshua and the captain had been in 
 defatigable. 
 
 " Never mind me, sir," said Joshua, witl; 
 a sad sweet smile. " You have your wife 
 to attend to. Besides, I promise that I will 
 rest to-morrow night, if you will give me 
 leave." 
 
 " You are a noble fellow. Marvel ; " and 
 Captain Liddle gazed admiringly at the 
 
158 
 
 JOSHUA MARVEL. 
 
 young sailor. " I have often wondered how 
 you acquired certain qualities that are not 
 common to the ordinary sailor." 
 
 " I don't know, sir ; I doubt if they were 
 ever in me. They must have been put 
 there by my friend Dan, who is nobleness 
 itself." 
 
 " Dan ? Ah ! the lame boy with the won- 
 derful birds; that I saw at your house. I 
 liked his face." 
 
 " He is the dearest fellow " — Joshua 
 turned away his liead. 
 
 The next day the provisions and the 
 charts and instruments, and many thin"-s 
 that would be useful, such as blankets, tools, 
 and writing materials, were stowed safely 
 on the raft. Of the provisions there was a 
 very small store : twenty tins of preserved 
 meat, a small quantity of sugar, about a 
 gallon of rum, and two kegs of water. By 
 the time every thing useful was stowed 
 away and secured, and the passengers were 
 safely on the raft, it was evening, and within 
 three hours the " Merry Andrew " broke com- 
 pletely up. The raft, having parted its 
 moorings, forced by the strong current, was 
 carried to sea, and the passengers watched 
 the last of the ship with unmixed fcelincrs 
 of sadness. The women shed tears, and all 
 of them, men and women, felt as if they 
 had lost a friend. When the vessel was 
 out of sight a stronger feeling of desolation 
 stole upon the unhappy group, and Rough- 
 and- Ready had many looks of astonishment 
 cast upon him as he rubbed liis hands and 
 said in a cheerful voice, " This is splendid. 
 Now we can be comfortable." But it was 
 well for them that they had some stout 
 hearts on board. 
 
 The direct allusion made by Captain 
 Liddle to Scadbolt and the Lascar had had 
 its effect upon those worthies ; they knew 
 that their lives depended upon their conduct. 
 But they found means to exchange confi- 
 dences, and they resolved to revenge them- 
 selves on both Joshua and the captain 
 when opportunity served. "Wait till we 
 make land," said Scadbolt ; " they shall 
 smart then the pair of them. Ill teach 
 both of them the meaning of ' general 
 good ! ' " The Lascar's old feeling of hate 
 for Joshua had been revived in all its inten- 
 sity by the late scene between them. 
 
 " I'll have my knife back," he muttered 
 to himself as he lay on the raft the first 
 night, at a little distance from Joshua, 
 watching him with venomous looks, " and 
 his heart's blood with it." 
 
 Not a movement, not a glance, escaped 
 Minnie's notice. Aware of the feelings of 
 hate entertained by the Lascar for Joshua, 
 she set herself the task of watching over 
 Joshua's safety. He, overpowered by fa- 
 tigue, had been persuaded by the captain 
 
 to take some sleep, and when he lay down 
 Minnie crept to his side and remained 
 there during the night. He slept long and 
 peacefully through the solemn night and 
 after the gray morning had dawned, dream- 
 ing of home, of Dan and Ellen, and mur- 
 muring their names with a smile upon his 
 lips. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXL 
 
 ox THE RAFT. 
 
 Joshua, opening his eyes, saw Minnie 
 sitting by his side. She, seeing that he 
 was awake, moved quietly away wifhout a 
 word, and went to where the other women 
 were lying. He had been so fatigued when 
 he lay down to rest, that his sleep had 
 been very profound ; and when he awoke, 
 the full sense of his situation did not come 
 upon him. Minnie, sitting by his side with 
 her brown face and short curls, was the 
 first thing he saw ; and it seemed to him 
 for a brief space that he was dreaming. 
 But when she moved away and joined the 
 other women, he remembered the perils 
 they had encountered, and the terrible po- 
 sition in which they were placed. He 
 would have called to her, but that some 
 feeling restrained him ; and although he 
 thought much of her during the day, he 
 was glad that he had not spoken to her. 
 Besides, his attention was diverted for a 
 time to another circumstance. Some of the 
 men were clamoring for breakfast. Neither 
 Scadbolt nor the Lascar was among the 
 murmurers ; these last consisted of the 
 weakest of the party, who were less able 
 than the others to bear hunger, and to whom 
 the fear of starvation made it appear as if 
 they had been already fasting a day. 
 
 " Breakfast ! breakfast ! " they cried. 
 
 " Wait till ten o'clock," said the captain, 
 in a stern determined voice ; " you can't be 
 hungry already. If you don't cease mur- 
 muring, I will put off breakfast until 
 twelve." 
 
 This threat silenced them. 
 
 In the mean time the captain called 
 his council together, and consulted with 
 them. There were four in the council : 
 himself, Joshua, Rough-and-Ready, and an 
 old sailor named Standish, who had been 
 wrecked twice before, and who consequently 
 was looked upon as a distinguished person- 
 age. At eight o'clock the captain read 
 prayers. Then the men, with the excep- 
 tion of the council, sat idly watching the 
 water, and looking out for a fish. The 
 morning was fine ; one of the sailors noted 
 
ON THE RAFT. 
 
 159 
 
 for quaint sayincTS remarked that tlie 
 weather had no business to be fine; it was 
 a niockerv. At ten o'clock the captain 
 piped all hands; the call was answered 
 readily, but there were no signs of break- 
 fast. 
 
 " Be seated," said the captain. 
 
 They all sat down, with the exception 
 of the captain and his three counsellors. 
 The captain stood in front, his supjwrters 
 behind. 
 
 " We who stand," said the captain, 
 " have been constituted by me, commander 
 of this ship, into a council for the discussion 
 and deliberation of all matters relating 
 to the general welfare. The fairness of the 
 selection will recommend itself to the crew, 
 for the council is composed of three sailors 
 and one passenger. Are you content ? " 
 
 " Yes, yes ! " cried a large number. 
 
 Up rose Scadbolt. 
 
 " Let us hear first what you have to say 
 about the provisions," he said. " I am not 
 one who says yes without consideration." 
 
 " That's fair too," broke from half a 
 dozen throats. 
 
 Captain Liddle eyed Scadbolt steadily. 
 Scadbolt returned his gaze. He knew that 
 in the position he had assumed, he could 
 command the sympathies of a certain num- 
 ber, and the knowledge gave him confi- 
 dence. 
 
 " Well, it is fair," said the captain ; " and 
 a reasonable suggestion is always reasona- 
 ble, never mind who makes it. The council 
 have drawn out a set of rules this morning, 
 w-hich I have here writ down on paper. If 
 you approve of them, you will approve 
 of the council ; do I understand that ? " 
 
 " Yes, yes 1 " 
 
 The captain produced his paper and 
 commenced. 
 
 "Rule 1. All questions in dispute, with 
 the exception of such as are properly 
 within the province of the duties of Cap- 
 tain Liddle — ^ whose orders as Captain of 
 the ' Merry Andrew,' we promise to obey 
 and uphold to the death — shall be decided 
 by the majority." 
 
 " Agreed ! " some cried. 
 
 " Stop ! " exclaimed Scadbolt ; " how 
 about the women ? We are not going to 
 let them vote. 
 
 Thought Captain Liddle, "This is no 
 common scoundrel ; he puts in speech what 
 many a nitilcontent would only dare to 
 think." Said Captain Liddle aloud, " That 
 was not mentioned by the council. I don't 
 suppose the women would wish to vote ; a 
 proper man would not have mentioned it. 
 Decided, however, that the women do not 
 vote." 
 
 In arguing with Scadbolt, Captain Lid- 
 dle committed a grave mistake ; it put 
 
 them upon a kind of equality, and from 
 that moment Scadbolt could boast of being 
 the leader of a party, small as it might b«. 
 
 " Rule 2," continued Captain Liddle. 
 " The small stock of provisions shall be 
 equally divided between every soul on 
 board " — 
 
 A little faint cheering here broke out. 
 
 " But, in consequence of the small- 
 ness of the supply, the cpiantity to be meas- 
 ured out to eat'h pers<jn shall be regulated, 
 as occasion demands, by the Captain and 
 his council." 
 
 No demur was made to this. 
 
 " Rule 3. That all fish, birds, or food of 
 any kind which may be found in air or 
 water shall be added to the general stock, 
 and shall be fairly and equally divided." 
 
 " Unfair ! " exclaimed Scadbolt ; " each 
 man is entitled to what he can catch in air 
 or water." 
 
 " Not so," replied the captain ; " for 
 what then would become of the women ? — 
 Men, I appeal to you : does this man, who 
 speaks while you are silent, represent your 
 views ? " 
 
 Two or three voices answered, " Yes ; " 
 a score answered, " No." 
 
 " Good," said the captain ; " he represents 
 but one in a dozen ; and even the two or 
 three of you who seem to side with him may 
 be brought to see the selfishness of what he 
 advocates. If he had his way, the weak 
 would be left to die ; the strong alone 
 should live, and have a chance of being 
 saved. Is this fair ? is it manly ? is it hon- 
 est ? " 
 
 " Every man for himself, and God for us 
 all," muttered Scadbolt trying to fan the 
 flame. 
 
 " Then the strongest man would crush 
 the rest, and might would take the place 
 of right," continued the captain, begin- 
 ning to see that he had made a mistake in 
 listening so patieiitly to Scadbolt. " We 
 were never nearer to death than we are 
 this day ; but shall that make us forget 
 that we are men ? Shall that turn us into 
 brutes ? We have helpless women depend- 
 ing upon us, and upon our manliness. Tliey 
 shall be shown no fi\vor in the way of pro- 
 visions ; they shall divide equally with us, 
 share and share alike. But, by God, the 
 one who seeks to deny them their fair 
 chance of life, dies by my hand ! " 
 
 " I am with you, captain," cried Rough- 
 and-Ready. 
 
 " And I," said Joshua. 
 
 " And I," said the sailor wdio had been 
 twice wrecked. 
 
 " And I," " And I," from most of the 
 rest. 
 
 " Decided, then, that all food that may 
 be found in air or water shall be added to 
 
160 
 
 JOSHUA MARVEL. 
 
 the general stock, and shall be fairly and 
 equally divided." 
 
 Scadbolt did not dare demur. 
 
 " Rule 4. That, recognizing; the full ex- 
 tent of our dread peril, and knowing that 
 death stares us in the face, we resolve to 
 die like men, if it be God's will ; and thus 
 resolving, we solemnly declare that, sup- 
 posing all our food to be gone, we will not 
 eat human flesh " — 
 
 A shudder ran round the attentive group, 
 and Mrs. Pigeon fainted ; but Captain Lid- 
 die proceeded firmly, — 
 
 " Nor draw lots as to who shall be 
 killed to feed the rest. This we solemnly 
 resolve, in fear of the Lord, out of common 
 humanity, and out of respect for ourselves 
 as Christian men." 
 
 Assented to in silence ; not one of them 
 could realize the horrible craving, born of 
 raging thirst and hunger, that had come 
 upon men in such a strait as theirs. 
 
 " That is all," concluded the captain 
 after a long pause. " You approve, then, 
 of the council and these rules V " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Now to breakfast. Water, for the first 
 week, will be served out twice a day — a 
 quarter of a pint in the morning, and a 
 quarter of a pint in the evening — half a 
 pint a day to each person. Of food we 
 have only preserved meat and sugar, and 
 very little of either. One table-spoonful 
 of preserved meat will be served out to 
 each person at eleven o'clock every morn- 
 ing, and at five o'clock one ounce of sugar. 
 Of rum we have about a gallon : a tea- 
 spoonful will be served out to each person 
 once in every other day, in the morning or 
 in the evening, as he may choose. The 
 general stock of provisions will not be 
 touched by any one on board, except in 
 presence of all, and it will be guarded by 
 two of the council ; the penalty of tamper- 
 ing with the stock, or of attempting to 
 steal any portion of it, will be death. And 
 God give us strength, and send us happy 
 deliverance ! " 
 
 When breakfast was served, the men lay 
 about the raft idly, watching the water for 
 fish, which they were not successful in 
 catching, and rising every now and then to 
 scan the horizon for a sail. Some slept or 
 tried to sleep ; some talked over the 
 chances of deliverance ; some spoke in 
 whispers of what they had heard from men 
 who had been wrecked. While tlie pro- 
 visions were being measured by the cap- 
 tain, the other three of the covmcil stood 
 by with cocked pistols, ready to fire 
 should a rush be made. IMost of the men 
 took their spoonful of preserved meat, and 
 ate it quickly and greedily, some of them 
 at one gulp ; but a few, wiser than their 
 
 fellows, retire<l with their portion, and sit- 
 ting down, ate it very slowly. These last 
 were the best satisfied. The council were 
 busy enough all the day ; assisted by Mr. 
 Pigeon and the two friends, AVall and 
 Heartsease, they were employed in re-ar- 
 ranging every thing on the raft, and in 
 making things more comfortable for the 
 women. A kind of low tent was built, 
 under cover of which the women could lie 
 down and rest, sci'eened from the men ; but 
 it was only used at night ; for at first the 
 women mixed with the men during the day, 
 and made themselves useful. Mrs. Pigeon, 
 of her own accord, crept to where the sail- 
 ors were lying about, and asked if they 
 wanted any thing mended. At first they 
 were too surprised to reply ; but presently 
 a dozen voices answered her. One wanted 
 a pair of socks darned ; another had half 
 a dozen rents in his shirt ; and in a very 
 little while Mrs. Pigeon's hands were full. 
 She made her way back to her female com- 
 panions, and throwing a heap of clothes in 
 the midst of them, pi'oposed that they 
 should set to work at once. Soon all of 
 them, with the exception of Rachel Home- 
 bush, were busily and cheerfully at work ; 
 and while their fingers were plying, Mrs. 
 Pigeon sang snatches of songs. It was as 
 little hke a picture of shipwrecked persons 
 as one could imagine. But it was a pic- 
 ture that did an immense amount of good. 
 The men looked at the women admiringly, 
 and Rough-and-Ready's eyes glistened 
 every time they wandered that way. 
 
 " A pretty bunch ! " he observed to 
 Joshua. 
 
 Joshua nodded hopefully, for the sight 
 cheered him. 
 
 " That's a good little woman of yours," 
 said Rough-and-Ready, turning to Mr. 
 Pigeon. Rough-and-Ready held a very 
 diflerent position now from what he did 
 when he first stepped aboard the " Merry 
 Andrew ; " he was a general favorite with 
 men and women. Even Rachel Homebush 
 cast glances of approval at him. 
 
 "I tell you what," answered Mr. Pigeon 
 in a confidential tone ; " I've not seen much 
 of women — you know out there in the 
 bush they're rather scarce — and we had 
 some hope of getting home " — 
 
 '^^ Had some hope!" interrupted Rough- 
 and-Ready. " Say Jiaiw some hope. Lf 
 there's one thing in the world that makes 
 me certain of it, it is that picture there," 
 pointing to the women. 
 
 " I am heartily glad to hear you say so. 
 Have some hope, then, of getting home, 
 where the streets are crowded with women 
 they say. But there isn't one among 'em 
 to come up to her. Although there were 
 not half a dozen lasses to choose from 
 
ON THE RAFT. 
 
 161 
 
 when I first made up to her, I'd choose her 
 now out of a million." 
 
 Having delivered himself of these, his 
 articles of faitli in his wife, he sat down by 
 her side, and held her cotton for her as she 
 stitched and sewed. 
 
 Meantime the current and their one sail 
 carried them along at the rate of about 
 two miles an hour. No land was in sight, 
 and there was no sign of a ship, although 
 during the day many a false alarm was 
 given. The weather remained fine. The 
 light wind died away in the evening, when 
 the thin crescent of a new moon came out 
 in the sky. It was welcomed as a good 
 omen ; and the women looked at it, and 
 smiled at one another, the foolish things I 
 as if the silver crescent were a messenger 
 of good tidings. Then the stars came out 
 brightly — another good omen. Many a 
 one on the raft thought, " This is better 
 than being jammed on the rocks in the 
 ' Merry Andrew ; ' we are moving towards 
 safety. If we do not see a ship, we may 
 see land, and may manage to get ashore." 
 References were made to Robinson Crusoe 
 and the Swiss Family Robinson ; not in a 
 gloomy, but in a cheerful spirit. It was 
 the admirable bearing of the men in com- 
 mand, no less than the virtues of the 
 women, that contributed to this state of 
 hopeful feeling. The sailors were also 
 comparatively contented ; most of them 
 had a little stock of tobacco — some more, 
 some less — the chewing of which gave 
 them comfort. Each man hoarded his 
 store more jealously than a miser hoards 
 his gold ; but some were greedier than 
 others, or craved for it more, and could not 
 withstand the temptation of chewing it 
 almost wastefully, certainly not prudently. 
 But then sailors are not a prudent class of 
 men. 
 
 To Joshua, who was sitting musing of 
 home, came Rough-and-Ready, and sat 
 beside him. 
 
 " You don't smoke ? " asked Rough-and- 
 Ready. 
 
 " No." 
 
 " That's not sailor-like." 
 
 Joshua shrugged his shoulders, and 
 smiled. 
 
 '• Nor chew? " 
 
 « No." 
 
 " Here is a little piece of tobacco. 
 Chew it." 
 
 Joshua put it in his mouth and chewed 
 it, because he thought it was, after all a 
 certain kind of food, and might make him 
 less hungry. But it made him sick. 
 
 Rough-and-Ready laughed a little when 
 he saw the efliect of it, and presently said, 
 so that no one else should hear, " You 
 must learn to chew." 
 
 U 
 
 " Wliy ? " 
 
 " It will help to keep you alive when the 
 provisions run out. I have a dozen 
 pounds of tobacco strapped round me ; it 
 was my own, so I thought I had a right to 
 it. By and by it will come in handy. I 
 wish I could teach the women to chew." 
 
 " If the men knew you had so much," 
 said Joshua, " your life would not be safe." 
 
 " I know that. I had an idea at first ot 
 handing it to the skipper for general use ; 
 but I thought better of it. There are a 
 few on board to whom I don't think I'd 
 give an ounce to save their lives. What 
 is that in your handkerchief ? " 
 
 " My accordion." 
 
 " Do you play ? Of course, though, or 
 you wouldn't have it. I should like to 
 hear some music." 
 
 Joshua untied his handkerchief and 
 took out his accordion. The night was 
 very still, and the soft tones floated in the 
 air, and seemed to linger about the raft as 
 it glided through the sea. The quiet bub- 
 bling of the water as it stole through the 
 openings between the spars, as if in sport, 
 was in consonance with the melody and the 
 still night and the beautiful peaceful 
 heavens. Men who were lying at full 
 length sat up when the music commenced, 
 and were the better for it. The women 
 crept from out their shelter, and listened 
 and shed tears, not entirely unhappy. 
 Surely it was a night of good omens. As 
 Joshua played, his thoughts wandered 
 back to his boyish life, and to the tender 
 conversations that had taken place be- 
 tween him and Dan. Often he stopped as 
 he mused and thought ; but presently his 
 fingers would be on the keys again, play- 
 ing a few bars of " Poor Tom Bowling," 
 and other more cheerful songs of Dibdin, 
 which the Old Sailor loved so well. They 
 came back to him, the memories of that 
 happy time. Their anxiety about their 
 birds, when they first commenced to train 
 them ; the death of Golden Cloud, and the 
 after conversation which he had never for- 
 gotten, in the course of which they had 
 read together of the wreck of Robinson 
 Crusoe. Why, it seemed all to have come 
 true ! Here he was, wrecked, certainly 
 not alone, and therefore better oiF than 
 Crusoe was, but wrecked for all that. But 
 under what circumstances, and with what 
 a dreadful web of suspicion surrounding 
 him ! Oh, if he could see the end of it ! 
 It was horrible to think that he might die 
 — he and all of them on the raft ; and 
 that Dan might believe him false because 
 of Minnie. It would not bear thinking of. 
 He ceased playing, and bathed his fevered 
 head and face. Often and often had; he 
 said to himself, in former storms and 
 
162 
 
 JOSHUA MARVEL. 
 
 former scenes, the words that Dan had 
 impressed upon him ; and now he tried to 
 fancy that Dan could see him, and knew 
 that he was true. 
 
 Rough-and-Ready, seeing that Joshua 
 was engrossed in thought, did not disturb 
 him, and presently dozed ofi'. How long 
 he had been asleep he did not know ; but 
 he woke up with a curious impression upon 
 him. He must have slept long, for the 
 night was far advanced, and no sound was 
 heard but the plashing of the water 
 against and through the spars. The im- 
 pression was this : that he and Joshua 
 were lying side by side (as, in fact they 
 were) asleep, and that a woman suddenly 
 came between them. Her back was to 
 him, her face turned to Joshua ; that she 
 sat down so, and so remained, for an hour 
 and more, making no movement, uttering 
 no sound ; but he could tell that all the 
 while she was watching Joshua's sleeping 
 form. That then she inclined herself 
 gently to Joshua, and pressed her lips to 
 his hand : and that rising to go, she turned 
 her face to Rough-and-Ready, and he saw 
 that it was Mrs. Liddle's gypsy-maid. So 
 far his fancies went. Starting into a sitr 
 ting position, he saw Minnie a few paces 
 from him, making her way to where the 
 women were lying. 
 
 Now this set Rough-and-Ready thinking 
 — for more reasons than one. Had he 
 been dreaming, or had it really occurred ? 
 If it had occurred, it must have been love 
 that prompted her. He had observed her 
 the previous night sitting near Joshua; 
 but then it had not been so noticeable, for 
 there was no kind of order on the raft. 
 How long had she known Joshua? He 
 was the more perplexed because he had 
 never seen the two in conversation, and 
 because of the mystery surrounding the 
 acquaintance. He was troubled, too ; for, 
 rough as he was, and old enough to be Min- 
 nie's father, he had taken a tender interest 
 in her, and the discovery he had just made 
 came upon him like a shock. 
 
 Every person on the raft was asleep 
 with the exception of the men in the 
 watch and himself. He did not feel in- 
 clined to lie down again, so he sat and 
 thought of things. In such a solemn 
 scene, and at such solemn moments the 
 spirit of nature works wonders in the 
 minds of the roughest men — quickens the 
 sympathies, and stirs into life the tenderest 
 memories. It was so with Rough-and- 
 Ready at the present time. Incidents in 
 his life which had been so long unremem- 
 bered that he wondered how he thought 
 of them now, came vividly before him. 
 His 'home — his mother — small domestic 
 joy-s and griefs — a brother who died when I 
 
 they were both children, with whom he 
 used to play and pelt with daisies — 
 Good God ! what kind of a bridge was 
 that in his life that spanned that time 
 and this? By what strange steps had he 
 walked from then to now ? The stars 
 grew less bright and paled out of the 
 skies ; the water grew grayer in the brief 
 space before the morning's dawn. Soon 
 in the east a thin line of water at the edge 
 of the horizon quickened into life, and Na- 
 ture's grandest wonder began to work in 
 the dawning of a new day. The water- 
 line, a mere thread at first, but broadening 
 with every second that marked the flight 
 of gray shadows, was rosy with blushing 
 light. Purple clouds, fringed with won- 
 drous colors, surrounded the clear space, 
 in which presently the glorious sun rose 
 grandly from the golden bed of waters ; 
 and as it rose, sky and sea rejoiced. At 
 one time, for a few moments, the sea was 
 like a field of golden corn waving in the 
 sun's eye ; but soon it deepened, till it and 
 the heavens, that looked down into its 
 mighty depths, were filled Avith flaming 
 restless light, which in their turn gave way 
 to softer shadows. Many a sunrise had 
 Rough-and-Ready seen, but never one that 
 he had watched so steadily as this ; but 
 it seemed as if his thoughts were in har- 
 mony with it. 
 
 Late in the day, Rough-and-Ready asked 
 Joshua how long he had known Mrs. Lid- 
 dle's maid. Joshua looked at him curi- 
 ously, but did not reply. He had not 
 spoken to Minnie since they had been on 
 the raft, and had, indeed, taken pains to 
 avoid her. She did not intrude herself 
 upon him; she submitted in patience to 
 the silence he imposed upon her by his 
 manner. But a strange phenomenon took 
 place in her. While the others grew 
 weaker and paler and more unhappy, she 
 seemed to gather fresh strength, and 
 actually grew rosier and more hardy. 
 The dark color, too, was dying out of her 
 face. 
 
 "I have a reason for asking," said 
 Rough-and-Ready, as an excuse for his 
 question. 
 
 Joshua nodded, not unkindly, but with a 
 troubled face. 
 
 " There is a strange story connected 
 with your question," he said ; " so strange 
 and so painful, that I cannot give you an 
 answer." 
 
 " I thought there was some mystery 
 in the afi'air," observed Rough-and-Ready ; 
 " but I will not press upon your confidence. 
 Do you know that the night before last she 
 watched by you the whole time you ; were 
 asleep ? " 
 
 " Watched by me ? " ' 
 
ON THE RAFT. 
 
 " Ay. And last night, too, for some 
 time — I don't know for how long." 
 
 Joshua gave Rougli-and-Ready an amaz- 
 ed look, and turned away to where Minnie 
 was sitting. She saw him coming towards 
 her, and her heart beat fast. 
 
 " Why have you watched near me for 
 two nights V " he asked, without looking at 
 her. 
 
 " You have enemies on the raft," was 
 the answer, very quietly given. 
 
 " I know ; Scadbolt and the Lascar. 
 But I can take care of mj-self." 
 
 " Not when you are asleep," she said, 
 almost in a whisper. 
 
 What could he do? 
 
 say 
 
 ? Tosjether on the 
 
 What could he 
 raft in the preS' 
 
 ence of Death, trom which only something 
 very like a miracle could save them, could 
 he be stern and harsh to her? And his 
 great misery was, that he knew and felt 
 his power. He knew that an unkind word 
 from him to this young girl was as bitter 
 as death could be. 
 
 " You are like the rest of us, I suppose," 
 he said, gently ; " growing very weak." 
 
 " I do not think so," she answered, 
 trembling at the gentleness of his voice ; 
 "I feel strong as yet. Shall we be 
 saved ? " 
 
 " We are in God's hands," he said. " I 
 think there is but little chance of being 
 picked up, or even of making friendly 
 land." 
 
 Neither addressed the other by name. 
 
 " If the end comes, and you know it, 
 and I am not near you, will you try and 
 find me, and say a kind word to me before 
 I die ? " 
 
 He gave her the promise, and hurried 
 suddenly from her, for his heart was fit 
 to break, and he dared not trust himself to 
 say more. 
 
 The third day passed, and the fourth. 
 No sign of succor near. Hope began 
 to die. 
 
 On the sixth morning, when the roll 
 was called, one of the passengers did not 
 answer to his name. It was Mr. Brace- 
 girdle. 
 
 " He is asleep," said one. 
 
 They shook him, but he did not move. 
 He was dead. This was the first death, 
 and it affected them deeply. Before he 
 was sewn in the canvas, he was searched, 
 in the anticipation of finding something 
 useful. A surprising discovery was then 
 made. He had in his pocket-book and 
 round his waist bank-notes and bills for 
 more than ten thousand pounds. But 
 nobody knew any thing about him ; he 
 died, as he had lived among them, a 
 mystery. After his body was slipped into 
 the sea, a whisper went about that the 
 
 f 
 
 4i6t been^libnestly 
 
 money found oil 
 come by. 
 
 That same night two sailors were 
 washed into the sea. When it became 
 known, there were some among them who 
 secretly rejoiced in the thought that tliere 
 would not be so many mouths to feed. 
 Nearly a third of the provisions was eaten, 
 and the women were very weak. Little 
 Emma Pigeon held out the best; but that 
 was because her mother, from even her 
 small portion, gave some to her child be- 
 tween the times of serving out the provis- 
 ions ; the child also was petted and 
 nourished by the other women. Rough- 
 and-Ready was especially considerate to 
 the females. Joshua saw him chewing 
 something, and wondered what it was. 
 Noticing the look of inquiry on Joshua's 
 face, Rough-and-Ready enlightened him. 
 
 " I am eating leather," he said. 
 
 Joshua stared at him. Then Rough- 
 and-Ready took from his pocket a dozen 
 very thin strips of leather which he had cut 
 out of his boot, and told Joshua that he had 
 found a new food. He gave Joshua a 
 couple of strips — very thin they were, al- 
 most like a wafer — and Joshua set to work 
 on them, and after some difficulty, chewed 
 them to a pulp and swallowed them. 
 
 " There's nothing like leather," said 
 Rough-and Ready with a quiet laugh. " It 
 wants strong teeth, but it fills up an empty 
 place in the stomach." 
 
 The next day Joshua noticed that 
 Rough-and-Ready received his tablespoon- 
 f'ul of preserved meat in his handkerchief, 
 and later on he saw Rough-and-Ready slyly 
 feeding little Emma with a portion of the 
 meat, and then go to her mother and slip 
 what remained into her hand. 
 
 Now and then a few small fish were 
 caught. There being no means of cooking 
 them, the women refused their share with 
 horror, but the men ate them raw. They 
 also snared some birds, and ate them in the 
 same manner. 
 
 On the twelfth night Scadbolt and the 
 Lascar lay side by side awake. Nearer 
 than they to the edge of the raft lay a ship- 
 mate, chewing tobacco. 
 
 " All mine is gone," said Scadbolt envi- 
 ously. 
 
 " And mine," said the Lascar, with a 
 horrible look at the man who was chewing. 
 
 " I think he must have a good lot left. I 
 heard him boast of it last week." 
 
 " Two men are better than one." 
 
 " Wait till that black cloud touches the 
 moon ; then stop his mouth ; I'll do the 
 rest ! " 
 
 The black cloud travelled on and on, 
 crept before the moon, and soon shut out its 
 liorht. When the moon shone again upon 
 
164 
 
 JOSHUA MAEVEL. 
 
 the waters there was one man less on the 
 raft, and Scadbolt and the Lascar were 
 chewing tobacco greedily ! 
 
 These two men had a line out in the 
 water, with a small hook at the end of" it. 
 The Lascar felt it jerk. He pulled in the 
 line ; there was a fish at the end of it, 
 weighing more than a pound. He took 
 from his pocket a six-bladed knife, opened 
 the largest blade, and cut the fish in two 
 equal parts. He gave one to Scadbolt, and 
 ate the other himself. So that they should 
 not be observed, they lay down on their 
 faces while they ate. 
 
 " That was a good bit of luck," said 
 Scadbolt ; " I feel stronger." 
 
 " If the skipper caught us, he would throw 
 us overboard," whispered the Lascar. 
 
 " Ple'd try to ; but one man is as good as 
 another now. Let us do this and take care 
 of ourselves ; we shall outlast the others. I 
 wish they were all dead — all but two." 
 
 " Ay, Joshua's Marvel's one. I know 
 what you mean. You'd like to have the 
 doing of him. So would I. Who's the 
 other ? " 
 
 " The gypsy-maid. She's a rare beauty." 
 
 The Lascar did not say any thing to this. 
 He had seen enough since they had been on 
 the rait to convince him that his first suspi- 
 cions were right, and that the gypsy-looking 
 girl really was Minnie. Notwithstanding 
 their desperate condition, he had cast many 
 admiring glances at her. 
 
 " How fine," he thought, " to strike at 
 Joshua Marvel through her ! " 
 
 CHAPTER XXXn. 
 
 SAVED FROM THE SEA. 
 
 The first among the passengers to com- 
 pletely give way was Stephen Homebush. 
 He had observed no manner of discretion 
 in eating his food, and had always swal- 
 lowed it hastily, so that it did him but little 
 good. Contrary to what might have been 
 expected of him as a man of pious parts, 
 he was the most selfish of all the passen- 
 gers. Instead of praying for mercy, he 
 rebelled in thought and speech against the 
 mislbrtune which had overtaken him. Pie 
 did not think of the others. It was his 
 fate that was so hard. The prayers that 
 he had so liberally offered up for other lost 
 men were not for him now that he was lost. 
 All other men were sinners, — so he had 
 preached. There was no grace in any of 
 them. He came to impart it to them. 
 Let them open their rebellious hearts, and 
 
 receive it, while there was yet time. To 
 all kinds of men had he preached this, 
 striking at them hard, trying to frighten 
 them with threatened penalties if they re- 
 fused to believe as he believed. He came 
 to give them grace ; did he himself require 
 none ? 
 
 What kind of faith is that which believes 
 all other taiths wrong and sinful ? What 
 is the test of faith ? Sincerity ? Ay, for 
 me ; but not for you. 1 am sincere ; I am 
 born in the grace of God. But you 1 Fall 
 down and repent 1 
 
 Such had been the preaching of Stephen 
 Homebush. But now that the earth was 
 crumbling from beneatli his feet, and the 
 New Life was before him, he prayed neither 
 for others nor for himself. He maintained 
 a sullen rebellious silence, faithful to his 
 nature for the first time in his life. His 
 mood, no less than the scanty supply of 
 food and his manner of eating it, drove 
 him mad ; and within a fortnight of his 
 sojourn on the raft, he was crawling and 
 staggering about, uttering a dreadful jum- 
 ble of prayers and blasphemies. His sister 
 Rachel attended to him as well as her 
 strength allowed her ; but he struck at her 
 often, and often cursed her and himself. 
 It was terrible to see and hear. He did 
 not suffer long. One day he ran from 
 one part of the raft to another, raving that 
 a sail was in sight. At first they thought 
 that he might be right, but they soon dis- 
 covered that he was raving. But he saw 
 the ship coming nearer and nearer. His 
 sister was the only one who had patience 
 to bear with him. He described the ship 
 to her, and described the men and 
 women that were on the deck; and 
 she shuddered as she recognized in his 
 descriptions acquaintances and relatives 
 every one of whom was dead. 
 
 " Here it comes," he said, standing up 
 in his eagerness, " nearer — nearer ! I 
 shall be able to jump on board presently." 
 
 She strove to restrain him ; but he broke 
 from her wildly, and gave a leap on to the 
 imaginary ship. He sank at once, and was 
 seen no more. 
 
 The forlorn woman sat stupefied, and 
 never moved. Hours afterwards, Rough- 
 and-Ready, taking pity upon her condi- 
 tion, spoke to her, and bade her take com- 
 fort. The sense of what he said was lost 
 to her, but she understood the sympathy 
 that was expressed in his voice, and she 
 looked at him gratefully while tlie tears 
 rolled down her tiace. He placed his hand 
 upon her shoulder, and said gently, " Poor 
 woman ! poor woman 1 " She took his hand 
 in hers, and clung to it, as if her only hope 
 of life was there. He could not disengage 
 his hand except by force ; so he sat by hei 
 
SAVED FROM THE SEA. 
 
 165 
 
 for an hour and more, until she released 
 him. Then he crept to where the women 
 were lying; there was cointbrt in being 
 close to them. 
 
 One of their most frightful experiences 
 was the sight of the sharks snapping at the 
 bodies as they were thrown into the sea. 
 A great number of these creatures followed 
 the raft day and night, scenting their prey. 
 Each of the unfortunates thought, as he 
 saw the sharks tearing at the body of his 
 fellow creature, " Perhaps it is my turn 
 next." About the twentieth day they 
 caught at least a dozen rock cod, but after 
 that they caught no fish for many days. 
 Soon their fresh water was nearly gone ; 
 for some time past they had only half a 
 pint a day ; now the quantity was reduced 
 to a quarter of a pint. Some tins of the 
 preserved meat were also found to be 
 putrid : the women could not touch it ; but 
 a tew of the sailors Scadbolt and the Lascar 
 among them, devoured it greedily. When 
 another new moon rose, the courage of 
 nearly every one of them was gone ; hope 
 had fled too. They looked upon themselves 
 as doomed. 
 
 A curious conversation took place be- 
 tween the two friends, Harry Wall and 
 James Heai'tsease. In the morning they 
 had refused their portion of food. 
 
 " Save it for the women, sir," they said 
 to the captain. 
 
 He expostulated with them, and tried to 
 prevail upon them to take it, but he did 
 not succeed. 
 
 " Sir," said James Heartsease, " we are 
 going to lie down to die. We both of us 
 feel that our time has come. To rob the 
 poor women of any more food would be 
 simple barbarity. I should like to shake 
 hands with you." 
 
 Captain Liddle shook hands with them ; 
 and after that they crawled to the 
 women, and shook hands with them, and 
 kissed little Emma Pigeon. Then 
 they crawled away, and lay down side by 
 side. 
 
 " The end has come, Jim," said Harry. 
 
 " All right, Hal," said James ; " it is 
 only a matter of a few years — perhaps 
 not so long as that. If we bad had plenty 
 to eat, it might have come just the same. 
 After all, what is time V Draw a breath, 
 and it is gone. It isn't so hard to give 
 up a few years when you think of that. 
 Besides " — But here he paused. 
 
 " Besides what, Jim ? " 
 
 " We are alone ; we have no women- 
 ties — no wives, no sweethearts. If we 
 had, 1 think we should both try to live as 
 Jong as we could." 
 
 " I think so too. Tis a good job we 
 are alone in the world." 
 
 " Did you notice the women, Ilal ? 1 
 don't think they'll last long." 
 
 " One of them won't," said Harry. 
 " Mrs. Pigeon will soon go. Well, you 
 know the reason of that." 
 
 " Yes ; she gives all her food to her lit- 
 tle girl. Women are good creatures, Hal." 
 
 " Such as she are. Jim, old boy, a sud- 
 den weakness has come over me. Put 
 your face closer to mine — I want to kiss 
 you. Good old boy — good old boy ! " 
 
 They did not speak for some time after 
 that. Heartsease was the first to break 
 silence. 
 
 " Hal, old fellow," he said, " we shall 
 meet somewhere by and by." 
 
 " Sure to," said Harry ; " somewhere, 
 somehow. It is awfully grand to think of 
 
 — it is good to believe. I am glad I never 
 did any great wrong to sting me now. Jim, 
 depend upon it, there is only one true re- 
 ligion ; that is, the religion of being kind 
 and tender and unselfish — the religion of 
 doing unto others as you would others 
 should do unto you, and of living a good 
 life. Give me the man who does that, and 
 who believes in the goodness and greatness 
 of God. All the rest is mummery. We 
 have agreed upon that, haven't we old 
 boy?" 
 
 " Ay, times out of mind." 
 
 " Now, I tell you what I am going to do. 
 I don't want to quite starve to death — it 
 would be too painful ; it's frightful to bear 
 even now. I don't want to commit suicide, 
 although to throw one's self into the water 
 just now would be, in a certain measure, 
 justifiable. I am going to draw myself 
 close to the edge of the raft ; then I am 
 going to sleep. If the waves should chance 
 to wash me over in the night — good I 
 Let them ; then I shall know something." 
 
 " All right, Hal ; I'll lie by your side. 
 Good-night, old fellow." 
 
 " Good-night." 
 
 When the sun rose again, those two good 
 friends had gone to their rest, to meet again 
 Somewhere — Somehow I 
 
 So day after day passed, and their num- 
 bers continued to grow fewer, until there 
 were no more than eighteen on the raft. 
 In the first quarter of the second new moon 
 
 — that is, when they had been on the raft 
 for more tlian thirty days — Mrs. Pigeon 
 died. When the news went round, there 
 were few dry eyes among the poor creatures. 
 Every one loved her, even to Scadbolt and 
 the Lascar, whose clothes she had mended. 
 It was a wonder how she had lasted so long, 
 for it was with the greatest difficulty she 
 could be prevailed upon to take food ; she 
 gave it all to her little daughter. When, 
 almost by force, a small portion had been 
 put into her mouth, Joshua had seen her 
 
166 
 
 JOSHUA MARVEL. 
 
 take it out to feed Little Emma. That is 
 why the child lived while the mother 
 starved to death. Between Mrs. Pigeon 
 and Minnie a strong affection had sprung 
 up. Minnie scarcely ever left the side of 
 the dying woman, and what little she could 
 do to ease her last hours — it was but lit- 
 tle, God knows ! — she did tenderly and 
 cheerfully. Minnie knew that Mrs. Pigeon 
 was starving herself, so that her little girl 
 might live. The beauty of that sacrifice 
 Minnie was well able to comprehend. She 
 would have done the same. . But she was 
 terribly unhappy. She knew by Joshua's 
 manner, and by the few words that he 
 spoke to her — kind one day, constrained 
 the next — that her conduct had added to 
 his unhnppiness. She had seen hin» look 
 at her with such a look of fear and wild 
 amazement in his eyes, as to convey to her 
 the impression that she had done him a 
 great wrong. But so blinded was she by 
 her love, that she could not quite under- 
 stand the meaning of this ; indeed, she did 
 not pause to consider. The night before 
 Mrs. Pigeon died, Minnie lay by her side, 
 talking in whispers. But few words were 
 spoken at a time ; Mrs. Pigeon was too weak. 
 The mother lay with her child in her arms, 
 and her husband sitting close to her, his 
 hands clasping his knees, and with an ex- 
 pression of stony despair in his face. So 
 he had sat for three or four days, answer- 
 ing his wife vacantly, and with the air of 
 one whose mind was a blank. Little by 
 little, Minnie had told Mrs. Pigeon her 
 story ; and the dying woman, notwith- 
 standing her own great trouble, had wept 
 with Minnie, and sympathized with her. 
 But Mrs. Pigeon, as well as expressing 
 her sympathy, had striven to make 
 Minnie aware of the fault she had com- 
 mitted. 
 
 " You see, my dear," she gasped in her 
 weak voice, " he has left a sweetheart at 
 home, and he fears that if it were known 
 that you were in the ship with him, she and 
 his other friends might^believe that he had 
 played flilse with them." 
 
 " I never thought of that before," sobbed 
 Minnie. '• I only thought of one thing : I 
 loved him, and I wanted to be near him. 
 I didn't want him even to know ; and those 
 at home had no idea of what I was going 
 to do — they can't even suspect." 
 
 " But Mr. Marvel fears they may. Then 
 think, my dear, was it not wrong to leave 
 your father ? " 
 
 " It was — I see it now ; but I did not 
 think of it then. But O Mrs. Pigeon, if 
 he would only forgive me ! If I ask him, 
 he will ; but the answer would come out of 
 the goodness of his heart, and while he 
 ibrirave he would still condemn me. I 
 
 know it, I know it, for he has never once 
 called me by my name." 
 
 Soon after that, Mrs. Pigeon fell into a 
 doze ; and waking when it was near mid- 
 night, whispered, " Minnie ! " 
 
 " Yes," answered Minnie. ' She had been 
 sleeping too, but so lightly that a whisper 
 was sufficient to awake her. 
 
 " I have not long to live, my dear," said 
 Mrs. Pigeon ; " and I should like to pass 
 my last minutes alone with my husband 
 and child, and to speak to no one but them 
 — to think of no one but them. But be- 
 fore I go, I should be glad to say good-by 
 to Joshua Marvel. Can you bring him to 
 me ? Say that I am dying." 
 
 Repressing her sobs, Minnie crept to 
 where Joshua was standing on the lookout. 
 lie had grown thin and gaunt like the others ; 
 his feet were bare, the only pair of shoes 
 he had possessed having been rotted by 
 the salt water ; his clothes hung about him 
 in tatters ; and his face was covered with 
 hair, which, having not yet grown to a 
 decent length, atlded to the wretchedness 
 of his appearance. The moon had gone 
 down, and Joshua, shading his eyes with 
 his hand, was looking out to sea, possessed 
 with the fancy that he saw a sail many 
 miles away. This had now become a very 
 common illusion ; scarcely a man on board 
 who did not see imaginary sails and ships 
 a dozen times a day. With a weary sigh 
 Joshua dropped his hand. 
 
 " It is folly," he muttered ; " there's no 
 hope." 
 
 Minnie timidly touched his sleeve, but 
 did not succeed in attracting his attention. 
 Then she called softly, " Joshua ! " And 
 he gave a gasp, and tm-ned and saw her ; 
 but there was not light enough for him to 
 see the tears upon her face. 
 
 " Mrs. Pigeon has sent me for you," said 
 Minnie. " She is dying, and wants to wish 
 you good-by." 
 
 He followed her in silence to where Mrs. 
 Pigeon was lying. 
 
 " Is it so bad ? " he asked gently, as he 
 leaned over her close enough to see her poor 
 thin face. 
 
 " Y'^es," she murmured. " Sit by me for 
 a few minutes." 
 
 He sat down, and took her wasted hand 
 in his : it was like the hand of a skeleton, 
 thin and cold — a hand already dead, 
 though it closed on Joshua's fingers. 
 
 " Every one speaks well of you," said 
 Mrs. Pigeon in broken tones : " I have 
 heard the captain speak many times of 
 your courage and goodness and constancy." 
 
 " I have been glad to hear it, and am 
 glad to hear it again," replied Joshua ; '• it 
 is my best reward as a sailor." 
 
 " You have a kind heart, I am sure," 
 
SAVED FROM THE SEA, 
 
 167 
 
 continued the dying woman. " 1£ it were 
 in your power to lessen the bitter grief that 
 even a mere acquaintance might suffer, you 
 would do so." 
 
 " I think I would." 
 
 " I am sure you would ; if only for the 
 sake of thot e you love at home, and to 
 whom you w juld wish that others might be 
 kind when grief comes to them. You will 
 forgive me for speaking thus; but I am 
 dying, and I am a woman. I cannot say 
 much more ; I am too weak. If I could 
 see you do one little thing, I should be 
 glad." 
 
 " I will do any thing you ask." 
 " Because a dying woman asks you ; but 
 do it from your own kind impulse as well. 
 That is what I wish. You know who it is 
 that is sitting by us now." 
 
 " Yes," he answered with a troubled 
 glance at Minnie. 
 
 " She has been very good to me, very 
 kind, very, very patient. And she is so 
 young ! Soon you and she may follow me. 
 Think of that." 
 
 " ^yhat is it you would have me to do ? " 
 " I would have you be kind to this poor 
 child ; I would have you, at this awful time, 
 show to her the love that a brother might 
 show to a sister. She has committed a 
 fault ; forgive her for it ; let her atone for 
 it. Be not you the one to cast the stone at 
 her. And when you speak to her, speak 
 from your heart ; for she can read and 
 understand, as all loving women can, the 
 music of the voice." 
 
 " Minnie," said Joshua, turning to her. 
 Mrs. Pigeon had loosed his hand ; and now 
 he held out his two hands to Minnie. It 
 was the first time he had called her by her 
 name. 
 
 " Joshua," she said, with deep sobs, her 
 hands in his, and bowing her head upon 
 his shoulder until her lips almost touched 
 his face. 
 
 Was it treasonable to Ellen that he 
 should permit it ? Surely not, surely not, 
 at such a tune. 
 
 " You have made me glad," said Mrs. 
 Pigeon. " Now go. GooJ-by. Heaven 
 send you peace ! " 
 
 " And you ! " they both said. 
 Mrs. Pigeon nestled her face close to that 
 of her little daughter, and soon afterwards 
 died peacefully. 
 
 Then, for the first time, Mr. Pigeon 
 seemed to awake to the reality of things. 
 Kneeling by the side of his wife, he called 
 softly, " Emma ! Emma ! " And receiving 
 no answer, shook her gently, and smoothed 
 the hair from her white face. 
 
 " Be comforted," said Joshua to him. 
 " Comforted ! " he repeated with a pon- 
 dering look, as if he were considering what 
 
 meaning there was in the word. He kissed 
 her passionately, and whisjiered something 
 in her ear, and waited lor the answer that 
 could not come. '■ My God ! " he cried 
 suddenly, " she is dead ! " 
 
 Minnie placed Little Emma before him, 
 thinking that the sight of his little girl 
 mi;4ht lessen his grief; but he took no 
 notice of the child, and sat the whole day 
 nursing the dead body of his wife in his 
 lap. One tin of preserved meat was all 
 that remained now of their stock of pro- 
 visions. They brought his small share to 
 him ; but he motioned them away im- 
 patiently and fretfully. They went to him, 
 and endeavored to make him understand 
 that, lor the sake of the others, he should 
 allow the remains of his wife to be placed 
 in their poor shroud of sacking; but he 
 met them savagely, and tlireatened to bite 
 at them and strangle them if they did not 
 let him alone. 
 
 " For the sharks to eat," he whispered to 
 the inanimate form ; " they want to throw 
 you into the sea for the sharks to eat, my 
 darling. But I'll tear their hearts out be- 
 fore they part us." 
 
 \Vhen the silver crescent looked down 
 again upon the despairing group, Joshua 
 tried once more to comfort the man, and 
 said, with a heavy heart, that perhaps at 
 the last moment a ship might pick them up. 
 But though he uttered the words, he did 
 not believe in them. 
 
 " And if it does," muttered Mr. Pigeon 
 hoarsely, " what do I care now ? You 
 don't know what it is to lose the woman 
 you love." He staggered to his feet with 
 the beloved form in his arm. " You want 
 to take her from me ; that is why you 
 speak the lying words. But nothing shall 
 part us — nothing." 
 
 Her face was lying upon his shoulder, 
 and her fair hair was hanging loosely down 
 over his breast. He took some of the hair 
 in his mouth ; and as Joshua saw him stand- 
 ing thus in the moon's light, he thought he 
 had never seen a picture so utterly despair- 
 ing. Thus the man stood, motionless, for a 
 time, until the captain's lady crept to his side, 
 and tried to console him. Poor thing ! she 
 was terribly weak, and the words came 
 from her lips slowly and wearily. He 
 gazed at her vacantly while she spoke, then 
 turned his eyes to his dead wife. 
 
 " Emma," he said, " don't fear ; nothing 
 that they say shall make me give you up. 
 We will go together — we will go together." 
 
 He cast one last look at the peaceful 
 heavens, and whispering, " Lord, receive 
 us ! " clasped his wife more closely to him, 
 and jumped into the sea. Two or three 
 heads turned at the plash ; but no other 
 notice was taken of the event. Thev were 
 
168 
 
 JOSHUA MARVEL. 
 
 all too weak and despairing. The cap- 
 tain's wife gasped, with heart-bi'oken 
 sobs, — 
 
 " Poor dears ! poor dears ! Their trou- 
 bles are over; they are happier than we 
 are." 
 
 "Yes, my lady," said Joshua; "but I 
 would not end my life like that. We are 
 in the hands of the Lord ; our lives belong 
 to Him." 
 
 He stretched himself at full length upon 
 the raft, and took Ellen's picture and the 
 lock of hair from his breast, and kissed 
 them again and again. They, and the 
 Bible that Dan had given him, were his 
 most precious possessions. AVlien he looked 
 up, Minnie and Little Emma were close 
 to him. He took the child's hand ; and 
 they remained together during the long, 
 long night. 
 
 A dreadful announcement was made the 
 n^t day. The water that was served out 
 was the last — one tablespoonful each ex- 
 hausted the store ; all the provisions were 
 used up also. It seemed, indeed, as if the 
 best thing they could do would be to die 
 at once by their own hands. The rules 
 made by the council were no longer thought 
 of. Something to eat, something to drink : 
 these were the only laws now. When the 
 next man died, the sailors looked longingly 
 at the body. The Lascar had his knife 
 open, and was about to use it, when Cap- 
 tain Liddle called to him to stop. 
 
 "WhyV" asked the Lascar, with a 
 savage flourish of his knife. 
 
 " Why ? " echoed the other men : there 
 were only six of them left altogether. 
 
 " Because fish is better to eat than 
 human flesh," said the captain. 
 
 " So it is," said one ; " but we haven't 
 any more fishing-line." 
 
 " Come now," said the captain, " even 
 without that we can manage to catch a 
 shark perhaps. Wait a few minutes. I'll 
 think of a way." 
 
 And sure enough, very soon he devised 
 a snare. First a running-bowling knot 
 was made ; then they cut a leg off the man 
 that was dead (terrible to write, but true), 
 and lashed it to the end of an oar ; while 
 on the end of another oar they hung the 
 snare in such a way that the fish, to get at 
 the bait, was compelled to come through it. 
 There were plenty of sharks ; and it was 
 not long before one fell into the trap. It 
 was dragged on to the raft; and a few 
 blows from an axe soon killed it. After 
 that, the man was sewed in sacking, and the 
 funeral-service was read over him, as it 
 had been over all the others who had been 
 buried in the sea. 
 
 During all this time it was evident that 
 they were near the coast, and yet they 
 
 never saw it. The captain said that they 
 were in the vicinity of the north-east coast 
 of Australia — a part of the continent 
 which had been very little explored. Here 
 came in Rough-and- Ready's experience. 
 He knew something of the country, he said. 
 It was inhabited by the most savage of the 
 Australian natives, and no white man had 
 as yet had the courage to penetrate far 
 into the country. 
 
 •' Yet we might make the coast," said 
 Rough-and- Ready, " and not see a native 
 for a long time, if we could manage to live ; 
 for I don't believe there are a great many 
 of them. Cannibals they are ; but, for all 
 that, I should be glad to get among them. 
 We might succeed in working oiu* way 
 down to a cattle-station." 
 
 " Would there be really a chance of 
 that ? " asked one or two. 
 
 " About a hundred to one against us," 
 replied Rough-and- Ready carelessly ; " but 
 that would be better than nothing." 
 
 Rough-and-Ready gave them a descrip- 
 tion of some natives that he had seen, and 
 told of their manner of living, their treach- 
 ery and wildness. It was not very com- 
 forting to hear; the prospect of reaching 
 land, and finding themselves in the midst 
 of such savages, was very dismal. 
 
 The suffei'ing that they had now to bear 
 — that of thirst — was the most awful ex- 
 perience of all. Some of them grew deli- 
 rious, and saw gardens and pools of fresh 
 water. " My lady " was one of these. She 
 whispered to her husband that a beautiful 
 garden was within a few yards of them, 
 and that they should reach it presently. 
 She described the flowers and trees, and 
 the cool fruit waiting to be plucked. And 
 as the vision faded, she clutched him by 
 the hand, and cried. " John, John ! What 
 are they doing ? We are going the wrong 
 way. O my God ! we have passed it — it 
 is gone ! " and lay exhausted. The words 
 came from her parched throat with diffi- 
 culty ; and Joshua shuddered as he touched 
 her face : it seemed to be on fire. Soon, 
 however, the gardens dotted with clear- 
 water fountains, and with trees laden with 
 refreshing Iruit, grew again for the delirious 
 woman. She saw them in the water, in 
 the air, in the heavens — so bright, so de- 
 liciously cool, that her heart almost burst 
 in the vain attempt she made to reach 
 them with her hand. A little rain fell 
 mercifully, and yet mockingly ; for nearly 
 every thing on board was so impregnated 
 with salt as to render the pieces of rags 
 and canvas that were held out to catch 
 heaven's tears no better when they were 
 soaked than if they had been dipped into 
 the sea. Rough-and-Ready took the lining 
 out of his wide-awake hat; and he and 
 
SAVED FROM THE SEA. 
 
 1G9 
 
 Joshua held it out until it %vns soaked with 
 the bles.-<ed drops. Tiie first use thvy made 
 of the piece of wet rag was to moisten the 
 women's lips with it, and then the little 
 girl's and their own. Little Emma lived 
 still ; and Minnie had taken charge of her. 
 As Joshua moistened Mrs. Liddle's lips, 
 the captain, who was lying beside her, 
 motioned him. 
 
 " It is all over with me. Marvel," he 
 gasped ; "I haven't long to live. If by 
 God's mercy you are rescued, report me at 
 home, and say I did all in my power to 
 save the ship." Joshua pressed the dying 
 captain's hand. " Mind, you are first 
 in command now. In a few hours you will 
 be captain. You have risen cpiickly," he 
 said with a faint smile. " Beware of Scad- 
 bolt and that Lascar dog. When I am 
 dead, take my boots — you have none — 
 and what of my clothes may be useful to 
 you ; take the log-book too, and keep it 
 safe. There is a record in it of Scadbolt's 
 conduct, and your promotion. It will be 
 necessary in case a ship picks you up. 
 Scadbolt was your superior officer when we 
 left the port of Sydney ; and he might 
 bring a charge against you, which, without 
 the log-book, you Avould not be able to refute. 
 
 Joshua thanked the captain for his 
 thoughtfiilness, and expressed a hope that 
 it was not so bad with lilm as he feared. 
 Then the captain told Joshua how, a few 
 days before, he had struck his head against 
 a piece of iron, and how he had lost a quan- 
 tity of blood. Joshua put his hand to the 
 back of the captain's head, round which a 
 piece of canvas was tied, and felt a great 
 gash there. 
 
 " I did not tell any one ; but it so weak- 
 ened me, that I thought I was about to die 
 then. This is a piteous sight ! " pointing 
 to his wife. She lay, pale as death, with 
 her eyes wide open, gazing at the gardens 
 in the air. The tears rolled down Joshua's 
 face. " Bury us together," continued the cap- 
 tain. " There are two or three pieces of iron 
 you might put into the canvas with us, so 
 we may sink at once. You will do this ? ' " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 Captain Liddle pressed Joshua's hand, 
 and creeping close to his wife clasped her 
 in his arms. In the mean time Rough-and- 
 Keady was busy squeezing drops of fresh 
 water into a bottle. He saved nearly a pint. 
 
 Shortly after that, Joshua was the first 
 to see land. He went to tell the Captain, 
 but could not arouse him ; his heart still 
 beat, but very faintly. Night came on 
 soon ; and when day dawned again the 
 land was gone. Rough-and-Ready came 
 to Joshua with a grave face. He said noth- 
 ing ; but Joshua understood him. They 
 ■went to where the lifeless bodies of the I 
 
 captain and his wife lay, and sewed them 
 in canvas, and placed inside tlie jiic'ces of 
 ii'on, as Joshua had promised. Joshua 
 read the burial-service as the bodies were 
 thrown into tlie sea. They sank at once. 
 
 " Not numy of us left," observed Ruugh- 
 and-Ready. " I should like to see land 
 again. If we don't sight it soon, we may 
 find that the worst has not yet come. It is 
 as Scadbolt said when the rules were being 
 read, ' Every man for himself now, and 
 God for us all.' But come what may we'll 
 stick to each other and to the women." 
 
 " It does my heart good to hear you speak 
 so," said Joshua. " I know what you 
 mean : the worst men are left against us ; 
 but we are a match for them, I think. See, 
 here's the log-book, with the poor skipper's 
 last words : " I apjioint Joshua Marvel caf)- 
 tain of this raft, made out of the spars of 
 the ' Merry Andrew,' and intrust to him the 
 charge of the surviving ])assengers and 
 crew. — John Liddle, Master of the 'Merry 
 Andrew.' " 
 
 Rough-and-Ready touched his hat in 
 sailor fashion. 
 
 " While we are at sea, captain," he said, 
 " I will obey your orders." 
 
 A thrill ran through Joshua as he heard 
 himself called captain. Captain ! But of 
 what a crew 1 The promotion had come 
 all too soon. 
 
 Before long he had to exercise his au- 
 thority. They were being driven on to a reef 
 by a strong current. It was necessary to 
 get the raft into deep water before dark. 
 He gave his orders ; and although both 
 Scadbolt and the Lascar saw the wisdom of 
 them, they refused to obey. 
 
 " I am captain," said Scadbolt. " You 
 will obey my orders now." 
 
 Then Rough-and-Ready took a double- 
 barrelled pistol from his belt, and gave its 
 fellow to Joshua. They covered Scadbolt 
 and the Lascar with them. 
 
 " Obey orders ! " cried Rough-and-Ready 
 in as loud a voice as he could command. 
 " Obey orders ! Speak anotiier word of 
 disobedience, and you are dead men 1 " 
 
 The rebellious men were cowed. With 
 scowling faces they worked as Joshua di- 
 rected : and with some trouble they got the 
 raft clear over the reef, and floated it into 
 deeper water. The night that followed 
 was a night of great anxiety. Joshua knew 
 that they were near land ; and he and 
 Rough-and-Ready kept watches of two 
 houi's' duration in turn. The reason of this 
 was, that they did not deem it safi; to sleep 
 both at the same time ; for they suspected 
 that Scadbolt and the Lascar were only 
 waiting for the opportunity to fall upon 
 them and kill them. 
 
 " We have all the fire-arms, thank good- 
 
170 
 
 JOSHUA MARVEL. 
 
 ness," said Rough-and- Ready, "and all the 
 powder and shot. We are masters while 
 we can keep these." 
 
 He had kept a sharp guard over the fire- 
 arms, and hud indeed secretly dropped 
 three guns into the sea. " Better there than 
 in those rascals' hands," he wisely thought; 
 " we mustn't cumber ourselves with too 
 much lumber." 
 
 In the night Joshua whispered to Rachel 
 Homebush and Minnie that to-morrow prob- 
 ably would decide their fate. They revived 
 somewhat at the news, and IVIinnie directed 
 Joshua's attention to little Emma Pigeon. 
 
 " She has not spoken all day," said INIin- 
 nie anxiously. 
 
 Joshua placed his hand on the little 
 girl's heart ; it beat, but very faintly. 
 
 " She will live, Minnie," said Joshua, 
 "if we can reach land; we are certain to 
 find food then." 
 
 While they spoke, Minnie kept Joshua's 
 hand in hers ; it was her only comfort, 
 poor child. He was kneeling by her side, 
 and she saw in his face that he had no 
 harsh thoughts for her. They had not ex- 
 changed a word about their friends at 
 home, but Minnie said to-night, — 
 
 "Joshua, when you first came to our 
 little room — do you remember ? — what 
 should we have thought if a wizard had 
 told us this ? " 
 
 " What, indeed ! " replied Joshua ; and 
 then, after a pause, " Do you suffer much, 
 Minnie ? " 
 
 '••"Not now. Ah, Joshua, if I can only 
 live to repay you ! " 
 
 " Keep up your courage, Minnie, and 
 pray that we may reach friendly land — 
 any land — to-morrow," was his answer. 
 
 She did pray fervently, and when day- 
 light came they saw land. It did not look 
 very friendly. A long line of dark savage- 
 looking rocks was what they saw ; tower- 
 ing gloomily and threateningly for the 
 most part, but with many a little inlet, 
 which offered them a favorable chance of 
 lauding, as Joshua's seaman's eye dis- 
 cerned. There were only eight living per- 
 sons now on the raft out of the thirty-five 
 who first took shelter there. Five men — 
 to wit, J(jshua, Rough-and-Ready, Scad- 
 bolt, the Lascar, and the sailmaker ; two 
 women — Rachel Homebush and Minnie, 
 and the little girl Emma. The men 
 worked and watched with a will. Private 
 animosities were for the time forgotten ; 
 but for all that, Rough-and-Ready was never 
 off his guard. Every thing looked fair, 
 when suddenly up sprang a land breeze, 
 and they were driven to sea again ; the 
 hope that had been kindled died away. 
 They caught a cod, but the women turned 
 from it with loathing. Then Joshua thought 
 
 of a fine thing. The sun was high in the 
 heavens. He took a piece of rag and 
 washed it and dried it; then he took a 
 magnifying glass out of a telescope, and 
 caught the sun's fire on to the rag. He 
 had wood ready, and they made a fire on 
 the raft. The sailors ate their portion of 
 the fish raw ; but Joshua put his and the 
 women's and Rough-and-Ready's on the 
 wood, and roasted it. Before they gave 
 this delicious food to the women, they 
 moistened their lips with a little of the 
 water that was still left in Rough-and- 
 Ready's bottle ; the moistening and the 
 food were new Ufe to them all. Minnie 
 chewed a little of the fish and placed it in 
 the child's mouth ; the child swallowed it, 
 with difticulty at first, and seemed to grow 
 stronger soon afterwards ; she had been 
 better nourished than the others. As if in 
 reward for this good thought of Joshua's, 
 the wind shifted to a sea breeze, and a 
 couple of hours before mid-night they 
 were di-iven on to land. It required the 
 greatest care and the most delicate hand- 
 ling to steer the raft safely through the 
 rocks ; but it was done. Scadbolt and the 
 Lascar were about to sci-amble on to the 
 rocks, when Rough-and-Ready, in a voice 
 of thunder — he seemed suddenly to have 
 recovered his full strength — commanded 
 them to stand. Not his voice, but his pis- 
 tol, enforced obedience. 
 
 " Why ? " demanded Scadbolt. 
 
 " Because you are treacherous dogs," 
 roared Rough-and-Ready ; " because you 
 are not men, but savages ; because I know 
 how such scum are to be treated. Ah ! 
 scowl as you will ! but I have shot better 
 men than you down before to-night, and 
 I'll shoot you down if you dare to stir, as I 
 would a brace of treacherous dingos or 
 Blacks — they're much the same. The 
 women and child are to be saved first. 
 Why, if we allowed you to get ashoi'e, you'd 
 strike us from the rocks before we got a 
 footing ! I know you, you see, you skunks. 
 Marvel, take the women and little girl 
 ashore first, one by one. I'll keep guard 
 here the while. Sailmaker, assist Mr. 
 Marvel." 
 
 By this last mastei-ly stroke Rough-and- 
 Ready enlisted the sailmaker on his side, 
 for a time at least. For the sailmaker and 
 Joshua were man to man, and Joshua had 
 fire-arms. So, with difficulty, the women 
 and child were conveyed on to the rocks in 
 safety ; then Rough-and-Ready bade Joshua 
 take ashore what things would be useful 
 from the raft. Among other things, Joshua 
 took ashore two axes, all the nails he could 
 find, and some iron pots. The women also 
 had some things they were anxious to pre- 
 serve — needles and thread and such like. 
 
SAVED FROM THE SEA. 
 
 171 
 
 All this occupied nearly two hours, and was 
 not accomplished without difficulty. S(.':id- 
 bolt and the Lascar stood sullenly by, the 
 while. Rouo;h-and-Ready was in his ele- 
 ment ; he absolutely revelled in the task he 
 had set himself. It was as good as ment 
 and drUik to him to watch those two rascals 
 and beat them tlirouifh their fears. When 
 Joshua and the sailmaker had completed 
 their task, RoU'j;h-and-Ready joined them 
 on the rocks. After him Scadbolt and the 
 Lascar scrambled on to land, and began to 
 look hungrily about them. It was a fine 
 night; the moon was nearly at its full. 
 The first thing Rough-and-Ready did was 
 to cast a glance at the women lying help- 
 less on the rocks ; the next thing he did 
 was to smooth his mustache with his hand 
 in a thoughtful manner ; the next, to send 
 a dark look at Scadbolt and the Lascar, 
 who were prowling about on the rocks in 
 search of shell-fish ; the next, to lay his 
 hand in a familiar manner upon the sail- 
 maker's shoulder. 
 
 "I say, mate," said Rough-and-Ready, 
 " have you a wife at home ? " 
 
 "Two." 
 
 Rough-and-Ready whistled loud and long, 
 and followed up the whistle with a laugh. 
 
 " It's no joke," said the sailmaker. 
 
 " One isn't, much less two," replied 
 Rough-and-Ready, with a wink ; " but 
 never mind them now." 
 
 " I'm content." 
 
 " You seem a good-hearted fellow, sail- 
 maker, and as you have two wives, you 
 must think a great deal of womankind." 
 
 "I love 'em," — looking at the two poor 
 creatures lying near them. 
 
 "I'm a bushman myself," said Rough- 
 and-Ready, with assumed carelessness ; " I'd 
 as soon be where I am as in any part of 
 the world. I am at home here. What do 
 you say, mate ? Shall we be friends V " 
 
 " Glad to be." And the two men shook 
 hands, Rough-and-Ready hugging himself 
 for his successful diplomacy. 
 
 " You're a man after my own heart," 
 said Rough-and-Ready, really appreciating 
 the crisp utterances of the sailmaker, who 
 evidently was not a word- waster. " Seems 
 to me tliat the first thing we've got to do is 
 to bring the women round ; mustn't let them 
 die, eh ? " 
 
 " Certainly not." 
 
 " There's a split in the camp," continued 
 Rough-and-Ready. " Those two rascals 
 prowling about in search of something to 
 eat, would be glad of an opportunity to get 
 rid of us ; and then God help the women ! 
 At all events let us three stick together 
 — you and me and Captain Marvel. 
 Agreed ? " 
 " Agreed." 
 
 " Good. What I want to do is to get 
 fresh water for us and the women ; I know 
 how to look for it. Will you keep guard 
 over the women with Captain Marvel till I 
 return V " 
 
 '■ Yes." 
 
 Rough-and-Ready placed a loaded pistol 
 in the sailmaker's hand — he did it with- 
 out hesitation — and that act completed 
 the concjuest. Joshua, standing by, had 
 heard the conversation, and now shook 
 hands with the sailmaker. Scadbolt and 
 the Lascar had also seen the conference. 
 
 " They've bought him over," said the 
 Lascar. 
 
 " Never mind," replied Scadbolt, " there 
 will be plenty of opportunities." 
 
 In less than an hour Rough-and-Ready 
 returned. He had taken two bottles with 
 him, and brought th^m back filled with 
 bright, clear, fresh water. He had his 
 wide-awake hat in his hand ; it evidently 
 contained something good, lie was so care- 
 ful in carrying it. Joshua put his hand in, 
 and started back with a cry ; he had grasped 
 a nettle. 
 
 " Careful, careful," said Rough-and- 
 Ready, laughing at Joshua's grimaces; 
 '• don't be too eager to take hold of things. 
 A great deal of the woud-growtli round 
 about here is covered with thorns, and si-^ie 
 of them are poisonous to the blood. This 
 isn't, though ; 'tis an old friend." 
 
 He took out of his hat two small branches 
 with long spines upon them ; the branches 
 were covered with fruit resembling a small 
 apple. 
 
 " Good to eat V " asked the sailmaker. 
 
 " Shouldn't have brought them other- 
 wise," answered Rough-and-Ready, in un- 
 conscious imitation of the sailmaker's 
 manner of speaking. 
 
 The sailmaker took some of the fruit and 
 ate it, and would have taken more, but that 
 Rough-and-Ready's hand restrained him. 
 
 " That's not the way for a man to eat 
 who has been nearly starved for six weeks," 
 he said, "unless he Avants to kill himself 
 right out. Here, make yourself useful ; 
 but take a little water to drink first." 
 
 Rough-and-Ready measured a s::;.,ll 
 quantity of water, and gave the sailmaker 
 and Joshua to drink. He had thrown 
 down a couple of pieces of wood when he 
 said " Make yourself useful," and the sail- 
 maker, after drinking, asked him what tlie 
 wood was for. 
 
 " A good job for you two that you have 
 me for your mate," said Rough-and-Ready 
 good-humoredly ; " you might stand a 
 chance of starving else. The enemy "— - 
 with a nod of his head in the direction of 
 Scadbolt and the Lascar — " won't be half 
 as well off as we shall be. Just watch me." 
 
172 
 
 JOSHUA MARVEL. 
 
 He took his knife and cut from the wood 
 two pieces, in one of which he made a kind 
 of groove, which he placed upon the ground. 
 " This is off the black fig-tree, and is the 
 best wood there is for making fire. Now 
 rub away into the groove, steadily, like 
 this, and keep rubbing. It's hard work; 
 but never mind ; it's worth the labor." 
 
 He disappeared again, leaving the sail- 
 maker at work, and returned with an arm- 
 ful of dry sticks and leaves. Soon fire 
 came into the wood, the sparks dropped on 
 to the dry leaves, and a blaze was kindled, 
 that brought astonishment into the eyes of 
 Scadbolt and the Lascar. Before the fire 
 was made, the indefatigable bushman had 
 gone down the rocks this time, and had 
 returned with a hat full of mussels. These 
 he put on the fire to cook ; and then sat 
 down and rubbed his hands in a high state 
 of satisfaction. Joshua had not been idle ; 
 he had attended to the women and child, 
 and had given them a little water, which 
 was like nectar to them. They were too 
 weak to exert themselves ; so the men sat 
 by them and ate supper, and gave them to 
 eat, sparingly, under the direction of 
 Rough-and-Ready, who was regarded by 
 the others with unbounded admiration. 
 The warmth of the fire was very comfort- 
 ing to them, for although summer was 
 coming, their long sojourn on the i-aft had 
 chilled their blood. 
 
 " Well now, " said Rough-and-Ready, 
 when supper was over, " I think we ought 
 to be very grateful for our escape. It was 
 touch-and-go with us. We sha'n't be very 
 strong for a few days; and that's what 
 we've got to do first : to get strong. Then 
 we can look about us." 
 
 " Where are we ? " whispered Minnie. 
 
 " As well as I can make out, my dear, 
 we are somewhere on the north-east coast 
 of the continent of Australia ; where I 
 don't believe a white man ever trod foot 
 before. That's something, isn't it ? We're 
 the first bits of civilization that these rocks 
 have ever seen." 
 
 " Is there any chance of a ship seeing 
 us ? " 
 
 " I doubt it ; but for my part I don't 
 want a ship to see me ; I've had enough of 
 ships. I feel at home here, or I shall feel 
 so in a little while. I don't doubt but 
 what we shall be able to get plenty to eat 
 and di'ink, and that's our first great need. 
 Try and sleep for an hour now. Strength 
 is what Ave want, remember." 
 
 Rachel Ilomebush turned to him and 
 held out her hand. She was grateful for 
 being saved, but she did not speak. The 
 three men arranged to get a little rest also, 
 watch and watch in turn. It was Rough- 
 and-Ready's watch first. Before Joshua 
 
 lay down, he went to see if Minnie was 
 asleep. Her eyes were closed, but she was 
 aware of his approach. 
 
 " That is you, Joshua ? " 
 
 "Yes, Minnie. Do you think you can 
 sleep ? " 
 
 " I don't know ; I am strangely excited. 
 I thank God that you are saved. Joshua," 
 rising to a sitting posture and taking his 
 hand, " you will not be mikind to me now 
 that we are out of danger ? " 
 
 " Surely not, Minnie. What makes you 
 ask ? " 
 
 " I was afraid, that was all." 
 
 Here the little child murmured some- 
 thing. Minnie placed her ear to the girl's 
 lips. 
 
 " She asked who was talking to me, and 
 I told her you," said Minnie, taking Little 
 Emma upon her lap. " She wants you to 
 kiss her." 
 
 Joshua stooped and kissed the little girl, 
 and she put her arms round his neck, and 
 asked where papa had gone to. Joshua 
 turned away, and pressing Minnie's hand, 
 was soon afterwards in the land of dreams. 
 So, during the night, they slept and watch- 
 ed, and in their troubled dreams felt the 
 rocks moving and swaying beneath them. 
 Every now and then they started in terror, 
 and clutched what was nearest to them, as 
 if life was slipping away; they suffered 
 over again the agonies of thirst, and moved 
 their parched lips entreatingly. When it 
 was Joshua's watch, he observed the suffer- 
 ings of his sleeping companions ; he guessed 
 the cause, for he had suffered himself in 
 like manner. With merciful though tful- 
 ness he moistened their lips with fresh 
 water ; the women smiled and grew more 
 composed ; perhaps at that moment they 
 dreamed that an angel was bringing them 
 life and health. Minnie's head was lying 
 on her hand, and her face was exposed to 
 the light. It was sun-burnt, but the gypsy 
 stain was dying out of it. Her hair too 
 was growing lighter and longer. Joshua 
 looked up at the sky and round about him 
 at the strange scene. Over his head the 
 light of day was just breaking, but the 
 dusky shadows still lay upon the waters. 
 Behind him a faint light, heralding the 
 sun, was quivering on distant wood and 
 upland. 
 
 " Dan made me promise," he said softly 
 to himself, as the wonderful strangeness of 
 his position came upon him, " when I was 
 seeing strange sights in strange places, to 
 think, " Dan is here with me. although I 
 cannot see him." Is Dan here with me 
 now ? Is it possible that he can have the 
 vaguest idea of me as I stand, heart- wreck- 
 ed, in this wild country? I will try to 
 believe so; I will try to believe that he 
 
ON THE ROCKS. 
 
 173 
 
 and Ellen see me as I am, know me as I 
 am, and pity me. I could die here now 
 contentedly, if that were a conviction. 
 Ellen, dear wife 1 Dan, dear friend 1 dear 
 mother and father ! stand fast to me, and 
 believe that I never wavered in my love 
 and my truth ! " 
 
 This was his theme that he thought of 
 and mused upon, while all the others were 
 asleep. Tlie rocks were burnished with 
 golden light before they awoke. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXm. 
 
 ON THE ROCKS. 
 
 As the sailmaker was stretching himself, 
 Rough-and-Ready, who was already stir- 
 ring, said, — 
 
 "I say, mate what name shall we call 
 you by ? " 
 
 " Isn't Sailmaker good enough ? " was 
 the Irish answer. 
 
 " It's good enough ; but it's no name." 
 
 " Tom, for short, then." 
 
 " That'll do, Tom ; it's like your talk, 
 short, and to the point." 
 
 From that time they talked of him as 
 Tom the Sailmaker. 
 
 " We're going to look for something for 
 breakfast, Marvel," said Rough-and-Ready. 
 " Don't wake the women — let them have 
 their sleep out. And keep your eye on 
 those two rascals yonder. If they come to 
 close quarters, have no mercy. They'd 
 have none on you. Come along, Tom." 
 
 They returned some two hours after- 
 wards, with smiling faces. The women 
 gathered hope from their cheerful coun- 
 tenances. The sailmaker was loaded with 
 wood to replenish the fire, which had not 
 been allowed to go out during the night. 
 
 " We're going to have a fine breakfast," 
 said Rough-and-Ready, flourishing half a 
 dozen plump pigeons. He chuckled as he 
 exhibited them ; but he had no time for 
 trifling. There was more serious business 
 to attend to — the cooking of the pigeons. 
 
 With those and a lew mussels they 
 made a breakfast fit for kings and queens. 
 The two malcontents in the distance had 
 no fire and no pigeons ; they made their 
 breakfast ofl[' cold shell-fish, and looked with 
 envious eyes at the cooking going on among 
 the other party. 
 
 " Ah, ah, my fine fellows ! " cried Rough- 
 and-Ready, waving half a roasted pigeon 
 in the air ; " what d'ye think of mutineer- 
 ing now ? " 
 
 They could not hear him, but they un- 
 derstood his taunting action. 
 
 Said Rough-and-Rcady to the women, 
 when breakfast was finished, — 
 
 " Can you handle a pistol ? Could you 
 pull the trigger of one straight in the face 
 of man or beast, if danger threatened ? " 
 
 They looked at him inquiringly. 
 
 " You mi^ht have to do it," continued 
 Rough-and-Ready ; " so you had better 
 learn, and be prepared." 
 
 " But why ? " they asked. 
 
 " You see, my dears, there are two par- 
 ties of us. Here we are. one party. Yon- 
 der are two rascals, another party. We are 
 not the best of friends, we two parties. If 
 they could get rid of us, they would. By 
 fair means they can't ; but they might try 
 foul. Now I take it that we men have to 
 look after you and protect you — and you 
 may depend upon us for doing our best, my 
 dears. We must see to every thing — food, 
 lodging, protection from storms and from 
 savage Blacks. That may take us away 
 from you sometimes, and those rascals 
 might steal upon you unaware. Or another 
 thing might happen : we might fall sick. 
 Then who will protect you ? Or another 
 thing — But, pshaw! there are a dozen 
 other reasons why you should learn to 
 use fire-arms."' 
 
 Without more ado he showed them how 
 to load a pistol and fire it, and indeed was 
 not content until they did it to his satis- 
 faction. Minnie was the more expert of 
 the two ; she soon learned. Then said 
 Rough-and-Ready, — 
 
 " Now, we are going to take a walk. A 
 mile, I dare say. We shall be followed, 
 you'll see ; the enemy will want to know 
 where we are ^oing." 
 
 Rough-and-Ready took Little Emma in 
 his arms, the sailmaker assisted Rachel 
 Homebush, and Joshua attendeil to ^linuie. 
 As Rough-and-Ready expected, Scadbolt 
 and the Lascar followed them at a distance. 
 Rough-and-Ready led the way over the 
 rocks, on to sand, into forest. They were 
 nearly an hour before they came to the end 
 of their journey, for the women were very 
 weak and could walk but slowly. Without 
 any forewarning, Rough-and-Ready stop- 
 ped. 
 
 " Here is another thing I have to teach 
 you. A native call." 
 
 And to their astonishment, he put his 
 hands to his mouth and emitted a shrill cry, 
 that rang through the woods and seemed 
 to linger there. The word he uttered was 
 " Coo-ee ! " and the sound was composed of 
 two notes, she second an octave higher than 
 the first. He made them all repeat the 
 cry atter him many times, and made them 
 dwell on the notes as long as their breath 
 lasted. 
 
 " If we miss each other, and lose our way, 
 
174 
 
 JOSHUA MARVEL. 
 
 that cry will be a si2;nal. You have no 
 idea how far it will travel, if you dwell long 
 enoiiiih on the notes. Now, you" (to the 
 men) " stop here for a little while. You, 
 (to the women) " follow me." 
 
 They obeyed him unhesitatingly. He 
 led the women over a rise in the woodland, 
 where the trees were thickly grouped ; and 
 when they were on the declivity on the 
 other side, they saw at the base of the rise 
 a lovely creek of fresh water sparkling in 
 the sun. 
 
 " You will not be disturbed for an hour," 
 he said, and darted away. 
 
 They divined the meaning of this deli- 
 cate thoughtfulness. and with full confi- 
 dence in him and his party they made 
 their way to the creek, and bathed and 
 combed their hair. (I vouch for the comb, 
 but am not prepared to say where it came 
 from, for the cunning of woman is beyond 
 me.) The men looked at them with aston- 
 ishment when they came back, sleek and 
 trim. They appeared to have grown a 
 dozen years younger. They blushed and 
 smiled as the men gazed at them, and Lit- 
 tle Emma lisped. " It was so nice 1 " Even 
 Rachel looked brighter and more womanly. 
 
 After them, the men went in turns and 
 bathed, and by that time they were hungry 
 enough for their dinner. Rough-and-Ready 
 had already provided it, having shot a suf- 
 ficient number of birds for three or four 
 meals. Nothing could satisfy them after 
 dinner but to go to the rocks, and look sea- 
 ward for the sight of a ship. Rough-and- 
 Ready declared it was useless. " Time 
 thrown away," he said. " If we see a ship, 
 we have no means of signalling it; and 
 even if we had, 'tis a thousand to one that 
 they would not see the signal." But all- 
 potent as his authority and advice were in 
 every other matter, he could not prevail 
 upon them to cast away the hope of being 
 rescued by that means. Before night came 
 they made their way back to the woods, 
 ancl constructed some rough tents with 
 branches of trees, to sleep in. As they 
 were collecting suitable timber, Rough-and- 
 Ready, who never omitted an opportunity 
 to instruct his companions in the resources 
 of the country, called their attention to a 
 group of curiously-twisted trees, which he 
 said were apple-trees, although there was 
 no fruit on them. On nearly every one of 
 them, three or four feet from the ground, 
 was a lame knob, bulging out like a tumor. 
 
 " See how bountiful Nature is," said 
 Rough-and-Ready. " You need seldom be 
 in want of water or food, if you know the 
 secrets of the bush." 
 
 He dug his knife into one of the knobs, 
 and fresh water ran out of the wood. 
 They tasted it, and found it very sweet. 
 
 It was a beautiful night, and they sat 
 talking for some time before they retired 
 to rest. Their strength was recruited by 
 the nourishing food they had eaten, and by 
 the bath they had had. They had not seen 
 the Lascar or Scadbolt since the morninor, 
 and they deemed it prudent to keep watch 
 during the night. Now that the first ex- 
 citement of being saved was over, their 
 thoughts turned to their unfortunate com- 
 panions who had found a grave in the cruel 
 sea, and they shed pitiful te'ars over the 
 memory of the dead. 
 
 Rough-and-Ready's experience of the 
 Australian natives was largely drawn upon 
 during the night. Although he said noth- 
 ing of his past career, it was evident that 
 he was well acquainted with every thing 
 appertaining to Australian bush-life. His 
 descriptions of the natives were not com- 
 forting ; he described them as treacherous, 
 mean, and cruel. As to their chances of 
 escape, he declared that there was no hope 
 from the sea. Their best plan would be to 
 try and work their way southward, but not 
 for some time, until they were quite strong. 
 
 " We will camp here," he said, " for two 
 or three weeks at least, and try and learn 
 something about the country." 
 
 But he told Joshua, when they two were 
 alone, that he only said that to console the 
 women. 
 
 " We can manage to live here ; but to 
 get south we should have to cross country, 
 where we should almost certainly be starved 
 to death or butchered by the Blacks." 
 
 The prospect was dismal indeed ; they 
 seemed to be cut off from the world. 
 
 Notwithstanding that the women 3hud- 
 dered and trembled as they listened to 
 Rough-and-Ready's account of the natives, 
 with whom they were almost certain to 
 come in contact soon, the subject was too 
 fascinating to be avoided. So, being com- 
 pelled to talk about them, he spoke of 
 many strange things concerning them. 
 The conversation turning upon their super- 
 stitions, he told his hearers of the savage 
 beliefs in water-spirits and land-spirits, who 
 are all females, and walk about without 
 heads; of the Oorundoo, who comes out of 
 the water to di-own bad wives ; of the Ba- 
 lumbal, a gentle race of spirits who live 
 upon the sweet leaves of fiowers ; of the 
 Bunyip, a monster who lives in the large 
 lakes, and who issues therefrom to seize wo- 
 men and children ; of Potoyan, a spirit of 
 darkness, whose Whisper strikes terror ; 
 and of many other singular beliefs. 
 
 Said Rough-and-Ready, "There is no 
 surer way to frighten the blacks than 
 through their superstitious fears. Their 
 ' doctors ' can work upon them as they 
 please." 
 
BITTER REVELATIONS. 
 
 175 
 
 Joshua h.afl taken care of his accordion, 
 and had preserved it ahnost uninjured. He 
 played, and tliey all listened wondiu'ingly 
 to the soft notes of " Home, sweet home," 
 floating througli the woods. It was like a 
 dream ; they could scarcely believe they 
 were awake. When lie ceased playing, a 
 melancholy cuckoo-note came from the 
 distant woods. 
 
 " ' Tis tlie niorc-pork, a night-bird," said 
 Rough-and-Ready. " I never beard it sing 
 in the day." 
 
 They retired to their beds of dry leaves 
 soon after that, and dreamed of the strange 
 things they had heard. But Joshua could 
 not sleep. Some time before midniglit — it 
 might have been an hour — he rose and 
 ■wandered away from the camp, through 
 the solemn woods. He took no notice of 
 the groups of majestic trees through wliich 
 he walked — here masses of the silver- 
 leaved iron-bark ; there thick clusters of 
 the gigantic palm, woven together, as it 
 were, by luxuriant vines trailing through 
 their topmost branches. Strange effects of 
 light and shade were produced by this nat- 
 ural network ; but Joshua took no heed of 
 them, nor of tlie other wonders of the 
 woods by whicli he was encompassed. A 
 sense of awful desolation was upon him ; 
 tremblingly lie retraced his steps till he 
 came to the camp, where he sank upon the 
 ground exhausted by emotion. The full 
 moon rose and shed its light upon him. He 
 took from liis breast the Bible whicli Dan 
 had given liim, and read upon its first page, 
 " From Dan, with undying love and confi- 
 dence." Those words did much to calm 
 him ; lie kissed them, and pressed the book 
 to his heart, and gradually fell into a deep 
 sleep. • 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIV. 
 
 BITTER RKVELATIONS. 
 
 Here in the grand Australian woods are 
 two tents — gnnyahs, Rough-and-Ready 
 calls them — built of tea-tree bark, bound 
 round by vine creepers. They are in the 
 form of a hive, and are wonderfully pictur- 
 esque and comfortable. Up to this time, 
 the castaway dwellers in these gunyahs 
 have been undistm'bed by savages, and this 
 has been a matter of surprise to all but 
 Rough-and-Ready. " Wait till after the 
 rainy season," he has said a dozen times ; 
 " we shall have plenty of them then." 
 Rough-and-Ready has made this "rainy 
 season " a pretext for lingering near the 
 spot where they first camped after their 
 
 rescue. It would be suicide, he told them, 
 to attempt to move at present ; they would 
 not be able to make their way through the 
 country. But indeed all of them, with the 
 exception of Joshua, were content to remain 
 where they were ; they dreaded to en- 
 counter the horrors of the wild country 
 through which they would have to pass. 
 Joshua was the only one who fretted at 
 their life of inaction. It seemed to him the 
 cruellest thing to remain passive while El- 
 len and Dan and his parents were waiting 
 for him at home. But what could he do? 
 Without the assistance of Rough-and- 
 Ready he was powerless ; and that wise 
 man of the woods declared emphatically 
 that it would be madness to stiU't upon 
 such an expedition. So Joshua was com- 
 pelled to wait for events to shape his des- 
 tiny, and fretted and worried because he 
 could take no hand in the direction of them. 
 It was a good thing for him that he had 
 plenty to do ; he might else have lost his 
 reason. Rough-and-Ready was the best of 
 physicians ; he would not allow any of his 
 companions to be idle, and he took care to 
 supply them with more work than they 
 could conveniently accomplish. He derived 
 a huge pleasure from this cunning proceed- 
 ing, and had many a sly laugh to himself 
 because of it. The building of the gunyahs 
 was a matter in which he took especial de- 
 light, and he and his mates labored at them 
 for many days ; when they were finished, 
 Rough-and-Ready declared that they were 
 better than the finest stone houses that 
 ever were built. Tlie women took delight 
 in them also, and decorated them with the 
 prettiest creepers they could find. During 
 all this time they were not molested by 
 Scadbolt and th^ Lascar. In their rambles 
 through the woods they occasionally came 
 upon traces of the two rascals and caught 
 distant glimpses of them, but they never 
 came to close quai-ters. Once Scadbolt had 
 attempted to make overtures ; but he was 
 warned off with small ceremony by Rough- 
 and-Ready, who declined to parley with 
 him. 
 
 On a certain moonlight night, not many 
 nights ago, Rough-and-Ready invited 
 Joshua to accompany him on an expedi- 
 tion. Coming to a place where the mooQ 
 was shining over the tops of the gum-trees, 
 Rough-and-Ready motioned Joshu:i to be 
 still, and in a few minutes they heard a 
 call, half scream, half chatter. Presently 
 Rough-and-Ready raised his gun, pulled 
 the trigger, and down came two animals 
 shaped like cats, with long brushy tails, 
 sharp claws, and something like thumbs on 
 their hind feet. 
 
 " ' Possmns," said Rough-and-Ready in 
 explanation. 
 
176 
 
 JOSHUA MAEVEL. 
 
 He had founrl out a haunt of these ani- 
 mals, and that night they brourrht back 
 more than a dozen, some ring-tailed, some 
 silver. They could only be shot on moon- 
 light nights, said Rough-and-Ready, and 
 are chiefly found wlaere the gum or p(;pper- 
 mint-tree abounds. They had a splendid 
 harvest, and in a week they collected 
 nearly a hundred. Rough-and-Ready was 
 mighty particular about the skinning of 
 them, and about rubbing the fleshy parts 
 of the skins with fine wood-ashes before 
 fixing them on the trees to'dry. They also 
 caught a score or so of the sugar-s(purrel, 
 whose fur is real chinchilla. Upon these 
 skins Minnie and Rachel are busy now with 
 needle and thread, making caps for the 
 men. It is a strange sight to see such evi- 
 dences of civilization in the wild woods. 
 The women had begged Rough-and-Ready 
 to spare the lives of two young opos- 
 sums which were found alive in their moth- 
 ers' pouches, and he, knowing that they 
 could be easily tamed, had readily consent- 
 ed. They were the most docile and liarm- 
 less little things, and soon became domesti- 
 cated, if such a word may properly be used 
 in the life I am describing. At the present 
 time, one of them is hanging head down- 
 wards, with its tail curled round the branch 
 of a tree, in a state of serene happiness and 
 content. The other is with Little Emma, 
 who is sitting not far from the women, play- 
 ing with it in the midst of a great heap of 
 wild flowers she has collected. 
 
 The females are not alone. Two of the 
 men are away, but Joshua is in sight, busy 
 with his axe cutting up a tree for slabs. 
 To tell truth, Rough-and-Ready is not de- 
 sirous of moving from the woods where 
 they are now camped, unless they are com- 
 pelled to do so by the savages or by unfore- 
 seen circumstances. They are camped upon 
 high land, where they are comparatively 
 safe from floods ; the country round about 
 is fairly stocked with game ; and there is 
 water in abundance — somewhat of a rare 
 circumstance, and, rarer still, the water is 
 sweet. As for the life itself, none could 
 be more attractive to him. The slabs that 
 Joshua is cutting now are designed for a 
 fence round their homestead. " Even if 
 Blacks come," thought Rough-and-Ready 
 " and they are not inclined to be friendly, we 
 may frighten them away with our guns." 
 He is very sparing of their powder and 
 shot, of which tliey have not too large a 
 store, and has taught his companions to 
 make and lay many kinds of cunning snares 
 for game. He is a thorough bushman, and 
 in his present circumstances is certainly 
 the right man in the right place. 
 
 The character of Rachel Homebush ap- 
 pears to have completely changed. The 
 
 trials she has gone through have softened 
 her hitherto hard nature. No stony-voiced 
 exhortations to repent drop from her lips ; 
 she is humanized and humbled. But a 
 short time since she was intolerant, arro- 
 gant, harsh, and proudly-insolent in her 
 armor of sanctity ; but now she has doffed 
 that armor, and has inward doubts of her- 
 self She believes in the goodness of others. 
 She is less sanctified and more godly. 
 
 Said Rough-and-Ready to Joshua, when 
 they were talking of the women, — 
 
 '' Rachel Homebush is a different crea- 
 ture to what she was. She is not so good 
 as she was, and I think she's all the better 
 for it." 
 
 Joshua smiled at this paradox, and said, — 
 
 " At all events she has a different opin- 
 ion of you." 
 
 " Think so, mate ? " asked Rough-and- 
 Ready, a little anxiously. " I'm sorry for 
 it, in one way. There's only one woman " — 
 But he paused unaccountably in the 
 middle of his speech, looked at Minnie, who 
 was a few yards away, looked at Joshua, 
 and walked off whistling. 
 
 Here is the picture. Two liives, bright 
 with flowering creepers ; Rachel and Min- 
 nie sitting in the shadow of the hives, on 
 stumps of trees, making fur caps ; a 'pos- 
 sum hanging by its tail, studying gravita- 
 tion ; the little child, not far away, lying 
 on the ground, surrounded by wild flowers, 
 playing with her pet ; in the distance, Joshua 
 busy with his axe ; surrounding and encom- 
 passing all, bright sky and lovely forest. 
 Rachel, raising lier eyes from her work, 
 looks at the child in the midst of her gar- 
 den, and a soft expression rests upon her 
 face. The child sees the look, and thrust- 
 ing the 'possum in the bosom of her frock, 
 runs towards Rachel witli a handful of flow- 
 ers. Rachel kisses the child, strokes the 
 silky coat of the 'possum, and selecting a 
 piece of wild jasmine, places it in her 
 bi-east. Then Little Emma goes to the 
 back of Minnie, and twines some of the 
 brightest flowers in Minnie's beautiful hair ; 
 and after falling back and admiring the 
 effect of her handiwork, whispers to Min- 
 nie to get up, for she wants to show her 
 something. Minnie smiles and rises, and 
 they walk hand in hand to whe a Emma's 
 wild flowers are, but the child leads her 
 farther on, in the direction of Joshua. 
 Made aware of the child's intention, Min- 
 nie falters, and tries to release her hand 
 gently ; but Little Emma clings to her, and 
 laughingly strives to pull her along. 
 Joshua's attention is attracted to tlie gen- 
 tle struggle, and, coming forward, he asks 
 the meaning of it. The child explains 
 that she wanted Joshua to see how pretty 
 the flowers looked in Minnie's hair, and 
 
BITTER REVELATIONS. 
 
 177 
 
 that Minnie tried to run away. Joshua 
 looks at Minnie, who stands trembling 
 before him, as if she were guiUy of some 
 deep offence. Her bosom is heaving, her eyes 
 are luminous with tears, her face is bright 
 with blushes, and the ti!ll-tale blood dyes 
 her fair neck. Surely lie has never looked 
 upon a more beautiful picture I He says 
 some kind words to her, and she goes back 
 to her place near Rachel, and he to his 
 work. But, within a few minutes after- 
 wards, he swings his axe over his shoul- 
 der, and walks away in deep thought. 
 The bees are humming about him, many- 
 colored locusts and golden-green grasshop- 
 pers flit among the tangled brushwood, gor- 
 geous butterflies skim through the air ; the 
 gaudy beetle creeps lazily along ; the pray- 
 ing mantis, with its leaf-like wings, darts 
 before him ; the tree-frog utters its strange 
 cry ; a great lizard, with a frill round its 
 neck, disappears at the sound of his step. 
 He walks past these and myriad other won- 
 ders of the woods, until the character of 
 the country changes, and he finds himself 
 among rocky gullies, with many a fissure 
 in the stony ranges that lead down to them. 
 The buzz of woodland life has ceased ; 
 unfathomable silence seems to dwell in these 
 rocky hills and valleys. But suddenly a 
 sharp shrill note sounds upon the air. It 
 is a bird's note, but no mate's voice replies. 
 It is like himself, solitary in the midst of 
 this ungracious scene, which frowningly 
 proclaims, " Love finds here no dwelling- 
 place." Again the note sounds, and as he 
 makes his way toward it, curious to see 
 what kind of bird haunts so desolate a 
 place, he hears a fiunt echo answer — a 
 voice with no soul in it, he thinks in his 
 then melancholy mood. He comes to the 
 opening of a small cave, the walls of which 
 assume fantastic shapes in the dim light. 
 And there, uttering its wail, to which only 
 mocking echoes make response, he sees the 
 Sohtary AVarbler standing alone in the 
 centre of the cave, like the Cain of its race. 
 He sighs and walks on — over the rocky 
 range, into woodland again, where the 
 ground dips, and where the rich soil is 
 teeming with new wonders ; and coming to 
 a great pool, he sits down by its side. He 
 has been to this spot before. Chancing 
 upon it by accident in one of his rambles, 
 he was attracted by its beauty, and by the 
 singular effect of the shifting shadows upon 
 the bosom of the pool, whose surface is al- 
 most covered by lovely pink -and -white 
 water-lilies. He looks now into the water, 
 and sees his haggard face reflected between 
 the beautifully-colored lilies. And sin- 
 gularly enough he sees at the same time, 
 with the eyes of his mind, the picture of 
 Minnie as she stood before him, with eyes 
 n 
 
 downcast and the flowers in her hair. It 
 is because he was disturbed by thought of 
 her that he h^ft his work. He knows her 
 secret but too well. She loves him with all 
 her soul. She tells it in every look, in 
 every word ; every little act of hers towards 
 him is imbued with dangerous tenderness, 
 and yet she is unconscious of wrong. 
 Every day she grows more devoted — every 
 day grows more beautiful. And it is a part 
 of his great misery to feel that her society 
 gives him pleasure as well as pain. He is 
 storm-tossed by a conflict of feeling. In this 
 conflict no miserable vanity finds place, al- 
 though it might be well excused in most 
 men in such a position ; nor is he by a 
 thought false to Ellen. But Minnie is de- 
 pendent upon him, lives upon his kindness, 
 asks nothing from him but gentle speech. 
 Shall he deny her this ? Shall he be false 
 to his nature, and be harsh where harshness 
 would be brutality ? He is strong ; she is 
 weak. Her power is in her weakness ; his 
 weakness is in his strength. She leans upon 
 him for support, and rules by submission. 
 
 Something stirs behind him. A sound 
 so light that it might have been produced 
 by the fall of a leaf or by the swaying of a 
 bough from which a bird has flown. Josh- 
 ua, whose senses have been quickened by 
 his late experience, turns rapidly, and meets 
 the Lascar face to face. In the woods 
 thought and action are twin-like. Quick 
 as lightning Joshua's pistol is in his hand, 
 and the muzzle is pointed straight at the 
 Lascar's breast. 
 
 " Stand ! " cries Joshua, " if you value 
 your life." 
 
 The Lascar stands motionless, his hands 
 behind him. 
 
 " Show your hands and what is in them, 
 or I fire." 
 
 The Lascar shows his hands — a large 
 piece of rock in one. He had seen Joshua 
 sitting by the pool, and had intended to 
 brain'' him with the stone. At Joshua's 
 command, he drops the stone. A bitter 
 smile wreathes Joshua's lips, and something 
 like a savage instinct whispers to him to 
 shoot his enemy dead upon the spot. But 
 the thought that it would be nothing less 
 than murder restrains him. The Lascar 
 sees the struggle in Joshua's face, and trem- 
 bles ; miserable wretch as he is, he has not 
 conquered the fear of death. _ He is re-as- 
 sured when Joshua drops his hand and 
 moves away, still facing him. At this, fear 
 being subdued, the venom in his nature 
 begins to work. Shall he let his enemy 
 depart without a sting? He commences 
 with a piece of bravado. 
 
 " Ah," he exclaimed, " you have robbed 
 me, but you can't make up your mind to 
 murder me." 
 
178 
 
 JOSHUA MARVEL. 
 
 " Robbed you ! " exclaims Joshua, for- 
 getting for a moment. " Of what ? " 
 
 " Of my knife. Give it me back. I 
 can't hurt you with it. You are more than 
 a matcli for me with your pistols. How do 
 you think I can live without a knife ? " 
 
 Joshua makes no reply to this appeal to 
 his humanity, and moves off a few steps, 
 warily. 
 
 " I suppose you think yourself a manly 
 sort of fellow," continues the Lascar, mov- 
 ing step for step with Joshua, but keeping 
 at a safe distance nevertheless, " robbiu'T 
 people of their knives, threatening to mur- 
 der them, and running away with an inno- 
 cent girl, and ruining her ! " 
 
 " You villain ! " exclaims Joshua, quiver- 
 ing at this reference to Minnie, "do not 
 make me forget myself I " 
 
 " So far as to shoot a man in cold blood ! " 
 sneers the Lascar. " But don't forget that 
 the first time you struck me it was for run- 
 ning after a woman. What better are you 
 than me ? I ran after a woman, not an in- 
 nocent girl. Perhaps you'll say you didn't 
 trick her from her father's house, and make 
 love to another girl, her friend, all the 
 while, and that girl the sister of the man 
 you pretended such fondness for ! Going 
 to be married to her too, I heard. But I 
 can tell you something you don't know. 
 You were precious sly with your sweet- 
 heart, Ellen Taylor, in Gravesend ; she 
 wouldn't suspect you, I dare say you thought, 
 if you had her down at Gravesend until the 
 ship sailed — she wouldn't have an idea 
 then that your other sweetheart, Minnie 
 Kindred, with her face stained brown, was 
 waiting for you on board the ' Merry An- 
 drew.' Ah ! you played a cunning game, 
 you pink of perfection, j'ou sailor-hero ; but 
 I outwitted you, I think, in a way you're 
 not aware of." 
 
 " How ? " asks Joshua, constrained to 
 listen. 
 
 " How ? I watched you, and was paid 
 for it. You little thought that, did you ? 
 I'll tell you something more. The man 
 who paid me for watching had a fancy for 
 your sweetheart Ellen : you've no need to 
 ask me who he is, for you'll not find out 
 through me. I did my duty to him, and he 
 paid me for it. Why, directly I set eyes on 
 that brown-laced gypsy-maid aboard the 
 '.Merry Andrew,' I says, ' Minnie Ivindred, 
 by God ! ' and I set a trap for her, and she 
 fell into it. Then what did I do ? I sent 
 a letter to my master by the pilot, and told 
 him to go to Minnie Kindred's father, and 
 to Dan, and to your mother and father, and 
 to your other sweetheart, Ellen, and let 
 them know that you had run away with the 
 girl, and that you parted from Ellen Tay- 
 lor one niiiiute, and was courting Minnie 
 
 Kindred aboard ship the next. Was that 
 a good game to play ? Was I as cunning 
 as you ? Was that paying you for what 
 you first did to me ? Do you remember 
 what I said, when you called me a dog of a 
 Lascar ? I told you that the Lascar do"' 
 never forgets — never, never ! Why, now 
 I look into your face, I could hug myself to 
 think that we're wrecked, and tliat we shall 
 die and rot here, every one of us, and that 
 your sweetheart (who's my master's sweet- 
 heart now, I'll be sworn) and your friends 
 know you for what you are — a mean false 
 hound I I put a cross against you once, 
 and I swore to have your heart's blood. 
 Have I had as good ? Think of it, and tell 
 me if I have had my revenge." 
 
 But he docs not wait to be told. There 
 is so dangerous a look in Joshua's face, that 
 he darts away and disappears in the bush. 
 It is well for him that he has escaped, for 
 Joshua is maddened by what he has heard. 
 Truly the Lascar has struck at him with a 
 cunning hand. The agony of his soul is 
 shown in the convulsive twitching of his 
 features, in his white lips, and in the veins 
 of his strong hand, which swell almost to 
 bursting as he grasps a stout branch for 
 support. So he remains fighting with his 
 agony with a bleeding heart, for full half 
 an hour. This knowledge that he has 
 gained is more bitter than all the rest. He 
 knows the worst now. The evidence against 
 him is awful in its completeness. " Even 
 the Old Sailor will believe me guilty," he 
 thinks, and groans aloud at the thought. 
 But there is one duty before him to do. He 
 must tell Minnie. This last resolve comes 
 upon him when the force of his first passion 
 is somewhat spent. Between him and Min- 
 nie no word has ever passed of those at 
 home ; their very names have been avoided. 
 But Joshua now makes up his mind that 
 silence on this subject must be broken. It 
 muKt ; both for Minnie's sake and his own. 
 
 It is past sundown. The day has been 
 very hot, and the shadows of night bring 
 cooler breezes, grateful to the senses of the 
 castaways. Joshua has drawn Minnie a 
 little apart from the others ; she, yielding 
 to his slightest wish, accompanies him to a 
 part of the forest where they can talk un- 
 observed. His first impulse is to ask her 
 why she came on board the "Merry Andrew" 
 unknown to him, and why she had disguised 
 herself from him ; but he spares her this 
 pain, and takes from his breast Ellen's por- 
 trait and her lock of hair, and Dan's Bible. 
 He hands Minnie the Bible. 
 
 " Do you know what this is ? " he asks. 
 
 " Yes," she answers ; " it is the Bible that 
 Dan gave you." 
 
 " Read what is on the first page." 
 
 She reads the inscription : " From Dan to 
 
BITTER REVELATIONS. 
 
 179 
 
 his dearest friend and brother, Joshua. 
 Wilh unilyint; love and confidence." 
 
 " You know the love that existed between 
 Dan and me, Minnie ? " 
 
 ♦' I know. It is perfect. Why do you 
 say existed ? Surely it exists ! " 
 
 '" I don't know ; I'm afraid to think. 
 Your words are in some sort comforting 
 to me ; for they prove you have acted in 
 ignorance, and that you have not wilfully 
 ■wronged me." 
 
 She looks at him imploringly. 
 
 " I'ou will understand presently," he says. 
 
 He takes Ellen's lock of hair, and presses 
 it to his lips, and kisses Ellen's portrait al- 
 so. The hot blood flushes into INIinnie's face, 
 then suddenly deserts it, and she clasps her 
 bands convulsively. She is but woman, after 
 all. Y''et she controls her agitation suffi- 
 ciently to ask in an unsteady voice, — 
 
 " Is it necessary to speak further of this, 
 Joshua ? " 
 
 " It is more than necessary," he replies ; 
 " it is imperative. My duty and my honor 
 demand it." 
 
 She bows her head ; he pauses a while, 
 and when he speaks again, it is in a softer 
 tone. 
 
 " Minnie, do you know that Dan loved 
 you ? " 
 
 " Loved me ! " 
 
 " Ay, with all the strength of his constant 
 heart." 
 
 " I did not know it. I thought he 
 liked me, but I had no idea it was as you 
 say." 
 
 " He told me in confidence some time be- 
 fore I left. My heart bleeds as I recall that 
 conversation. No girl could hope to be more 
 fondly, more faithlully loved. "\Mien the 
 ' Merry Andrew ' left Gravesend, I said to my- 
 self, ' \Mien I return, Minnie will be Dan's 
 wife,' for I could not but believe that you 
 would have learned to appreciate the worth 
 of such a love as his. But it was not to be." 
 
 " No. it was not to be," says Minnie sadly. 
 " If I had known, it could not have been ; 
 if I had remained at home, it could not have 
 been. Y'^ou, who knew Dan so well, do you 
 not know something of me also ? I under- 
 stand the motive that impels you to speak to 
 me of these things, and I honor you the more 
 for it. It is another proof of your goodness 
 jind generosity " — 
 
 " Minnie, Minnie ! " he cries, " do not 
 speak to me like that 1 " 
 
 "I must; I cannot help myself. Have 
 you so poor an opinion of me — do you know 
 so little of me — as to think I would marry 
 a man I did not love ? Rather than that, I 
 would choose for him I loved the bitterest 
 lot that liie can offer — misery, shame, hu- 
 miliation — and be content. Dan is all that 
 you say ; but I did not love him, did not de- 
 
 ceive him. If he told you so, he told you 
 what is false." 
 
 " He did not tell me so, but said that from 
 your manner to him sometimes, he hoped to 
 win your love." 
 
 " Must I shame myself to justify myself ? " 
 she cries recklessly. " I was happy in his 
 company because he was your friend, and 
 because he loved you. I was happy in his 
 company because he spoke of you, and be- 
 cause — Joshua, have pity on me and for- 
 give me 1 O my heart, my heart ! " 
 
 He catches her fainting form, for she is 
 falling. Weeping, she turns her face from 
 him and hides it in her hair. Soft breezes 
 play among the branches of the trees, stir- 
 ring them into worshipping motion, and the 
 more-poi'k, with its sad-colored plumage, flits 
 by on noiseless wings, uttering his melan- 
 choly note. Joshua waits until ^Minnie is 
 more composed ; presently her sobs grow 
 fainter and she leaves the shelter of his arm, 
 and stands a little apart from him, with her 
 face still averted. 
 
 " I do pity you," he then says, " and for- 
 give you. What I have said and what I 
 have done springs from no feeling of unkind- 
 ness to you, Minnie. God knows, in such a 
 strait as ours, such a feeling would be worse 
 than cruel. But there are certain things of 
 which I am afraid you are ignorant, that I 
 must speak of and that you must hear. Do 
 you know that, before I left home, I was sus- 
 pected of playing with your feelings — of 
 making love to you clandestinely, and so be- 
 traying the friend whom I would have laid 
 down my life to serve ? " 
 
 " No, no, Joshua, do not tell me that ! " 
 
 " It is the truth ; but I did not know it 
 until after I had bidden good-by to mother 
 and father and Dan, in Stepney. "V^^lere 
 were you on that day ? " 
 
 '•I — I was not at home," she falters. 
 
 " Y''ou had loft, then. I Avent to ymxr 
 father's room to wish you and him good-by. 
 He refused to see me. I asked to see you, 
 and Susan told me you were asleep. I was 
 deeply grieved ; and I can understand now 
 what caused Susan to beg me imploringly to 
 be true to Ellen. What a cowardly villain 
 they must believe me to be ! Y'our father 
 suspected me ; Susan suspected me. If I 
 had died that Christmas night at mother's 
 door, it would have been happier for me ! 
 Minnie I thanked you once tor saving my 
 life ; but I cannot 'thank you now, for you 
 have made me the unhappiest of men." 
 
 She does not answer him, but stands be- 
 fore him trembling and suffering, as before 
 a judge, enduring her punishment and ad- 
 mitting the justice of it. 
 
 " It is part of my unhappiness," he con- 
 tinues, " that I have to speak thus to you ; 
 it is part of my unhappiness that I have to 
 
180 
 
 JOSHUA MARVEL. 
 
 show you the consequences of your rash 
 conduct. Listen: To-day I saw the Las- 
 car ; he came behind me steahhily, to kill 
 me, I believe ; but I turned and saw him in 
 time. I could have shot him dead where 
 he stood ; indeed, some savage prompting 
 urged me to do so, but I held my hand and 
 was spared the crime. This man hates me, 
 Minnie. In an encounter I had with him 
 before I fii-st went to sea, I struck him and 
 hurt him. He has had a bitter revenge 
 upon me. He saw you on board the ' Merry 
 Andrew ' before the pilot left the ship, and 
 recognized you, despite your disguise." 
 
 Minnie holds her breath. She remem- 
 bers how the Lascar whispered her name in 
 her ear the first day she went aboard. 
 
 " He did a devilish thing then. He wrote 
 a letter home, saying that I had run away 
 with you, and that we were together on 
 board the ' Merry Andrew.' " 
 
 She falls on her knees before him, and 
 raises her hands supplicatingly, and begs 
 him again to ibrgive her, and to believe 
 that she knew nothing of this, and that if 
 she had known — 
 
 "If you had known, Minnie," he says, 
 "•ently raising her, "you would not have 
 done what you have. But you did not stop 
 to consider, poor child ! You see the con- 
 sequences of that letter, do you not ? Sus- 
 pecting me, your father told me the story 
 of his life, to warn me not to betray you. 
 Suspecting me, Susan implored me to be 
 true to Ellen. Dan confided to me his 
 love for you, and I listened to and sympa- 
 thized with him. Well, what must he and 
 all of them think, when they have learned 
 that you and I are together on board the 
 * Merry Andrew ' ? And I have something to 
 tell you more painful than all the rest." 
 
 He puts Ellen's portrait into her hand. 
 
 "Do you know who this is ? " 
 
 Her eyes are blurred by tears, and she 
 sees Ellen's sweet face through the sorrow- 
 ful mist. 
 
 " It is Ellen's," she says. 
 
 " It is my wife ! " 
 
 As Joshua utters these words, earth and 
 heaven fade in Minnie's sight; nothing is 
 visible, nothing is palpable to her senses, 
 but the knowledge that flashes upon her, 
 that her love, instead of being her glory, is 
 now her shame. " There is no earthly sac- 
 rifice that love will not sanctify," her fa- 
 ther had said. Could love sanctify such a 
 sacrifice as she had made — a sacrifice that 
 had brought disgrace and dishonor upon 
 the man "she loved ? For the first time 
 some slight consciousness of her error 
 breaks upon her, and she looks upon her- 
 self as a shameful thing. As Joshua, wit- 
 nessing her agony, moves a step nearer to 
 her, she cries, " No, no, do not touch me 1 " 
 
 and with a wild shudder sinks upon the 
 ground. He, animated by sincerest com- 
 passion, throws himself by her side, lays 
 his hand upon her head, and raises her 
 face to his. She bows her head upon his 
 shoulder, and sobs her grief out there. By 
 every means in his power — by gentle 
 speech, by tender act — he strives to soothe 
 her, and succeeds. And then, true to his 
 purpose, he finishes his story — tells her 
 what occurred between him and the Old 
 Sailor at Gravesend ; how surprised he was 
 to find that the good old man, and even his 
 own mother, had seen Minnie's fancy for 
 him, and had devised the cure for it ; and 
 how, prompted by duty and by his love for 
 Ellen (he dwelt much on that), he had 
 married her quietly at Gravesend, and had 
 spent there the three happiest days of his 
 life. And when his story is finished, and 
 she has learned all, they sit hand in hand, 
 very quiet and sore-smitten, until Minnie, 
 in a singularly-subdued voice, asks what 
 she shall do : as if, having committed this 
 fault, and brought such terrible suspicion 
 upon him, he has only to tell her how to 
 atone for it, and she will straightway do it. 
 Sadly he replies, " What can you do, Min- 
 nie ? Nothing — nothing but wait. There 
 is, to my mind, not the barest chance of es- 
 cape. We shall make our graves in this 
 wild forest ; but we must live so — you and 
 I, my dear — that upon my death-bed I 
 shall be able to think that I have been true 
 to my wife, true to my friend. Life is not 
 the end of all things." 
 
 Meekly she assents. He calls her 
 "Sister," and kisses her; and then they 
 rejoin their companions, who are seated by 
 the gunyahs, cooking turtles' eggs found by 
 Rough-and-Ready, the discoverer. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXV. 
 
 SURPRISED BY SAVAGES. 
 
 The wisdom of Rough-and-Ready's plan 
 of action was soon proved. One night, 
 thunder awoke them from sleep. The 
 thunder that breaks over the housetops, 
 and the lightning that flashes in at the 
 window-panes of a populous city, are very 
 diflerent from what are heard and seen in 
 mountain ranges and great wastes of for- 
 ests. Nature seems to be toned down in 
 the city ; in the forests and mountains she 
 is grandly beautiful in repose, terrifically 
 beautiful in travail. The thunder-peala 
 
SURPRISED BY SAVAGES. 
 
 181 
 
 •were so loud and awful, that the women 
 and child lay claspinp; each other in speech- 
 less fear. Like savage Titans the sound 
 swept down upon them, and rushed through 
 the forests and over the mountains and into 
 them in search of echoes. Tlie lightning 
 darted upon the trees, and ran along the 
 branches, and leaped through the woods into 
 the bowels of the earth. Every thing that 
 lived in stream and woodhmd, in rocky 
 range and dark lagoon, sought shelter from 
 thestorm, of which Sound was but the 
 herakl. Presently it came, the swift rush 
 of waters, like a second deluge, filling the 
 creeks and rivers, and Hooding all the land. 
 Great torrents rushed down the mountain- 
 side into the low land, sweeping all before 
 them. The storm raged the whole night 
 through, abating slightly when morning 
 dawned. It was well for the castaways 
 that they had a little food stored by, tor 
 they could not go out in search of any. 
 The second night the women begged the 
 men to stay with them : so they all occupied 
 the women's gunyah, lying side by side in 
 the dark, and whispering to each other lit- 
 tle words of comfort. All but Rachel 
 Homebush, who was struck dumb by fear. 
 The second night's storm was more terrific 
 than the first, and about midnight so tre- 
 mendous a peal of thunder broke over them, 
 that they started up in dread. 
 
 " Who screamed ? " asked Rough-and 
 Ready. But his voice was not heard ; and 
 swift upon the heels of the thunder another 
 vivid lightning-flash, instantly followed by 
 a terrific burst of thunder, darted thi-ough 
 the gunyah, and struck them olind for 
 many moments. Then, during a slight lull, 
 Rough-and-Ready asked again, — 
 
 " Who screamed ? " 
 
 " Not I," said Joshua. 
 
 " Nor I," said the sailmaker. 
 
 The women did not speak. Joshua's 
 heart beat with a new fear as he whis- 
 pered, — 
 
 " Minnie ! INIinnie ! speak to me. You 
 are not hurt ? " 
 
 And tears of thankfulness came into his 
 eyes as Minnie answered in a trembling 
 voice, — 
 
 " No, Joshua ; I am only frightened. Let 
 me hold your hand." 
 
 " Where's the child ? " he asked. 
 
 " Rachel has her. Rachel ! Rachel ! " 
 
 No voice replied. Thoroughly alarmed, 
 they called to her again and again, and to 
 the child, but could not rouse them. They 
 were in the deepest darkness. 
 
 Presently Rough - and - Ready said, 
 " Hush ! we must wait for the light." 
 
 They waited for the light, and by the 
 first faint glimmer they saw Rachel and the 
 child lying down peacefully, the woman 
 
 with the child folded in her arms. Light 
 had come to them before the others I 
 
 Rough-and-Ready, who was the first to 
 discover it, turned to his companions, with 
 the tears streaming down his face and 
 beard. 
 
 " Comfort her" he said to Joshua, point- 
 ing to Minnie. 
 
 Joshua put his arm round Minnie and 
 turned her fape from where the woman and 
 child lay. 
 
 " Poor Rachel ! Poor Little Emma ! " 
 he said. " Be brave, Minnie, my dear. Do 
 not give way, for my sake." 
 
 He knew what words to utter to give her 
 strength to bear the shock, and he made use 
 of his power with a wise compassion. 
 
 Her poor white lips trembled as she said 
 to him, — 
 
 " Pray for one thing for me, Joshua. 
 Pray that I may not die before I have made 
 atonement." 
 
 " Hush, hush, my dear ! " he replied ; 
 " there is none to make. It is I who rather 
 should have to make it, for my hardness to 
 you. Be comforted, my dear." 
 
 The words came from his heart. He 
 would have been unfeeling indeed if he had 
 not learned to appreciate the beautiful un- 
 selfishness of ISliunie's love ; her meekness, 
 her faithfulness, her devotion, her unmur- 
 muring submission, could not fail to have 
 a powerful effect upon such a nature as 
 his. 
 
 The men went into their gunyah, and 
 before night came again had made a rouah 
 coffin of bark. The next morning they dug 
 a grave, and stood round it bareheaded, 
 while the rain was fallins. They kissed 
 the child's face and poor Rachel's also be- 
 fore the cover was put on the rude coffin. 
 Amid deep sobs — the men were not 
 ashamed of their tears — Joshua read pray- 
 ers ; some vine-creepers were thrown into 
 the grave ; the earth was piled up into a 
 mound : and they went back sadly to their 
 tent. The loss of some one very near and 
 dear to them could not have been more 
 severely felt. From that time forth it be- 
 came a practice for Joshua to read a chap- 
 ter out of the Bible every morning and 
 evening. 
 
 The rainy season lasted for three weeks, 
 and during' this lime they lived very mis- 
 erably. Minnie thrived, however — per- 
 haps "because Joshua was tender to her. 
 The hot weather came, and they were able 
 to go in search of food. But Minnie was 
 never left alone. Joshua and she wQre 
 waiting one evening for the return of 
 Rougl>and-Ready and the sailmaker, but 
 Rough-and-Ready came back without his 
 companion. He looked round in some 
 anxiety. 
 
182 
 
 JOSHUA MARVEL. 
 
 " Hasn't the sailmaker returned ? " 
 
 " No," said Joshua ; " you went out to- 
 gether." 
 
 " I know ; but I missed him a couple of 
 hours ago, and although I have searched 
 for him and coo-eed for him everywhere, I 
 haven't been able to find him." 
 
 The sailmaker did not make his appear- 
 ance. To the surprise of his companions, 
 Rough-and-Ready, after dark, fired half a 
 dozen shots from his pistol into the air. 
 
 " You look surprised," he said ; " well, 
 now " (to Minnie), " can you bear a shock V 
 Will you promise to be brave if I tell you 
 something ? " 
 
 She nodded. 
 
 "It is only something that I have been 
 e^pecting. I think that the sailmaker is 
 wilh the natives." 
 
 " Why do you think so ? " asked Joshua. 
 
 " For good reasons. I saw some tracks 
 of them when I was hunting for Tom. 
 Perhaps they have captured him." 
 
 " lie had his pistols." 
 
 " Frightened to use them, perhaps ; or 
 perhaps there were a lot of the Blacks, and 
 he thought it would bo foolish and useless. 
 Besides he is new to them. He's all right, 
 thou'/h ; they won't hurt him, for he's a 
 plucky fellow. Now, mind. When you 
 first see the natives, and indeed always 
 after that, show no fear of them. What I 
 am going to say is to my mind a most fool- 
 ish thing ; but thei'e's the faintest chance in 
 the world that, making friends with them, 
 you might make your way down south, 
 from one tribe to another, in a few months, 
 and come upon some cattle station. But, 
 lord ! there's one chance for you, and a 
 hundred against you." 
 
 " Why do you say ' you ' ? " asked Min- 
 nie. '• ' We,' rather." 
 
 " No, my dear," said Rough-and-Ready 
 with a blush. " I have two reasons for 
 saying you and not we. The first reason 
 is not a reason — it is a presentiment. I 
 shall die in the bush. The second reason 
 is a plainer one. It wouldn't be pleasant 
 for me to get into civilized company in New 
 South Wales." 
 
 " AVhy ? " 
 
 Rough-and-Ready looked at her with 
 admiration, and said, very inappropriately, 
 as she thought, — 
 
 " Do you know that you have made me a 
 better man V " 
 
 " A better man ! " she exclaimed. 
 " Why, you are a good man, and a brave 
 man. too." 
 
 " You think so. So let it be," he said, 
 half seriously, half gayly. " I'm not going 
 to spoil your delusion just yet." 
 
 They saw no signs of the savages that 
 night. They did not retire until late, and 
 
 Rough-and-Ready went many times short 
 distances in different directions to look for 
 the natives, but they did not appear. 
 Joshua took out his accordion and played. 
 Rough-and-Ready listened thoughtfully, 
 and when Joshua had finished an air, he 
 said, — 
 
 " I told you, when we first came ashore 
 here, that there is no surer way to frighten 
 the blacks than through their superstitions 
 fears. Your playing to-night, connected 
 with the near presence of the savages, 
 brings that remark back to me ; and I'll 
 tell you why. That music of jours may 
 possibly be a great power with them. They 
 have never heard any thing like it. K you 
 don't lose your self-possession when you get 
 among them — and you must take care not 
 to, for Minnie's sake ; her life may depend 
 upon your corn-age — you may obtain an 
 influence over them by means of your 
 accordion. Sound for which they cannot 
 account has a wonderful effect upon them. 
 Here you have it. Don't forget what I say. 
 Come, now, I can hear no sign of the black 
 devils. You take some rest. I'll wake 
 you in a couple of hours. 
 
 So they watched in turns dm-ing the 
 night. 
 
 " What is the best thing to do," asked 
 Joshua the following evening, "when the 
 savages come ? — to make friends with 
 them, or try to frighten them ? " 
 
 " There are too few of us to fight," an- 
 swered Rough-and-Ready. "We might 
 frighten them for a time, but they would 
 be sure to come back in larger numbers. 
 Then we haven't too much powder and 
 shot left. No ; the best and wisest course 
 will be to be friendly with them, if possi- 
 ble. I have heard of white men living with 
 them for many years. I saw an English- 
 man myself once who had been with them 
 for five years. He was glad enough to get 
 away from them ; but they treated him 
 kindly, he said. One man, whom I never 
 saw, lived with them for thirty years. His 
 name is Buckley, and he is living now." 
 
 "Do you know any thing of his 
 story V " 
 
 " I'll tell you what little I know. He 
 was a bricklayer in Cheshire — came from 
 Macclesfield, I've heard. A great big 
 hulking lazy fellow he was — brick-making 
 was too hard work for liim, so he enlisted 
 as a grenadier. A fine grenadier he must 
 have looked — he was six feet six inches in 
 his stockings. But grenadiering didn't sat- 
 isfy his wants. He was a natural vagabond 
 like myself, and he got into trouble, and 
 was sentenced to transportation. So he 
 and three or four hundred other natural 
 and unnatural vagabonds, being deemed 
 fine material for the purpose, were sent out 
 
SURPRISED BY SAVAGES. 
 
 183 
 
 to form a colony. Buckley and his mates 
 ■were put ashore at Port Phillip ; but the 
 governor, whose name was Collins, liked 
 the place as little as the convicts, and he 
 moved them oil" to Van Dieman's Land. 
 Then they began to talk of escapin;jj. They 
 didn't know any thina; of the interior of the 
 country; but they tliought, j)erhaps, that 
 any thing was better than the devil's life 
 they led as convicts. Buckley got away 
 ■with two mates, of whom nothing more was 
 ever heard. About twelve months alter he 
 escaped, he fell in with the natives, and 
 lived with them for more than thirty years. 
 During the whole of that time he never 
 saw a white man. At length he heard 
 from the tribe he was living with, that some 
 men with skins the same color as his had 
 been seen within a few miles of the native 
 camp. They belonged to a band of ex- 
 plorers headed by a man named Batman. 
 Buckley went in search of them, and pre- 
 sented himself to them. You can imagine 
 ■what a sensation he created ; a white giant, 
 who had forgotten how to speak English, 
 with native weapons hung round his body, 
 and a kangaroo-skin rug his only clothing. 
 He soon picked up a bit of English, and 
 was taken to a white settlement, where he 
 was made a pet and a wonder of He 
 nii"ht have done good service lor the white 
 people with the natives, for they say he has 
 great intluence with them. But my opin- 
 ion of him is, that he is a lazy, skulking 
 thief, and that living with the savages, 
 where he hadn't to work for his food, just 
 suited him. I expect that some part of his 
 influence over them was produced by his 
 tremendous height and big limbs. How- 
 ever, he is among the whites again, with a 
 free pardon granted him, I've heard, and 
 earning his living as he has earned it all 
 his life — by doing nothing." 
 
 During the recital of this story, which 
 Eough-and-Ready declared was veracious, 
 every word of it, he was busy baking a 
 fresh-water turtle, which he had caught 
 that day while he was fishing in a lagoon. 
 The turtle was baked in its shell, and they 
 made a delicious supper off it. They had 
 arranged to fish for eels that night, and 
 Rough-and- Ready said, — 
 
 " iCome along ; it's of no use being fright- 
 ened by thinking of the natives ; we must 
 get accustomed to them. We shall soon 
 see them, and Tom with tliem." 
 
 They took all their fii-e-arms. Minnie 
 had two pistols in her belt, and Joshua and 
 Rough-and-Ready, besides pistols, had guns 
 slung across their shoulders. Each of them 
 wore a cap made of the beautiful fur of the 
 sugar-squirrel. They walked through the 
 quiet wood, looking sharply about them as 
 they went along, but neither heard nor saw 
 
 any signs of the natives. When they came 
 to the lagoon, Rough-and-Ready tuld them 
 he was going to show them a line way of 
 catching eels without trouble. He had 
 his lire-sticks with him, and in half an hour 
 he had a great fire blazing by the side 
 of the lagoon. Attracted by the light, the 
 eels came swarming towards them ; and in a 
 very short time they caught as uuuiy as they 
 desired. Loaded with their spuil, they 
 made their way back to their gunyahs; 
 and as they got near them, they saw a dark 
 figure glide swiftly away from the spot into 
 the bush. 
 
 " A native," said Rough-and-Ready. 
 " We must look out to-night." 
 
 " Or Scadbolt, or the Lascar, do you 
 think ? " suggested Joshua, supporting Min- 
 nie, who was clinging to him in alarm. 
 
 " No ; a white man couldn't move away 
 with such a cat-like motion. I fancy I saw 
 his dark skin." 
 
 Thereupon Rough-and-Ready, for the 
 purpose of familiarizing Minnie with the 
 idea of living with the savages, and so less- 
 ening her fears, commenced talking of 
 them, and continued talking for a couple 
 of horn's. By which time Minnie's fears 
 really loere lessened. 
 
 " What a nmuber of stars have fallen the 
 last few nights remarked Joshua. 
 
 " Ah, you have noticed that 1 " said 
 Rough-and-Ready. " And if you observe, 
 they have fallen immediately over this 
 spot, in the direction of the sea. Well, those 
 shooting-stars may have brought the na- 
 tives here ; for although some tribes believe 
 that danger lies where stars fall, or that 
 they indicate the direction of hostile tribes, 
 others have a kind of belief that a great 
 and good spirit may be seen where they 
 fall. They believe that there is a new sun 
 every day and a new moon every night, 
 One tribe throws up the sun at daybreak, 
 and another tribe catches it at sunset." 
 
 Here they were interrupted by cries of 
 fear, and by the running towards them of 
 some person who fell at their feet trem- 
 bling and grovelling. It was the Lascar, 
 who was evidently in a state of horrible 
 fright. He looked more like a wild beast 
 than a man. What few clothes he had on 
 were torn and tattered, his nails were long, 
 and his disordered hair and grovelling fears 
 deprived his features of any likeness to hu- 
 manity. 
 
 " The savages, the savages," he cried. 
 
 He had chosen what he considered the 
 lesser of two evils ; his white foes were pref- 
 erable to black cannibals. Rough-and- 
 Ready looked down upon him contemptu- 
 ously, and touched him with his toot. 
 
 " The cowardly rufhan ! " he said. " I'd 
 sooner trust the Blacks than such as he. 
 
184 
 
 JOSHUA MARVEL. 
 
 Where's his rascally mate, I wonder — Get 
 up ! " he cried, and administered so smart a 
 kick to the prostrate wretch that he jumped 
 up on the instant, imploring mercy. 
 
 " Be silent, you chattering imp of dark- 
 ness ! " roared Rough-and- Ready ; " be si- 
 lent, and answer me. You've seen the 
 Blacks, I sujjpose ? " 
 
 The Lascar muttered an affirmative. 
 
 " Well, what are you frightened at ? 
 Why don't you go and make friends with 
 them? They haven't muchthe advantage 
 of you in color, and you are more of a wild 
 beast than they are. Frightened of being 
 eaten, eh? Faugh ! they'd spear you and 
 throw you away ; you're not good enough 
 even for them." The Lascar trembled the 
 more at this ; he was a true coward. " AVliat 
 d'ye think of mutineering now, eh ? Answer 
 me, you copper-coloi-ed devil, or I'll make 
 an end of you — where's yom* mate. Scad- 
 bolt ? " 
 
 " I don't know ; I haven't seen him for 
 days. 
 
 " Ah, two of a trade never agree. I 
 thought you'd be cutting each other's 
 throats. Captain Marvel, here's one of 
 your crew who tried to raise a mutiny. As 
 if that was not enough, he has murdered 
 his mate." (It is a fact that Scadbolt was 
 never heard of again, nor was any thing 
 ever known of his fate.) " Now then, you, 
 as captain of the 'Merry Andrew,' pro- 
 nounce judgment — death, nothing less — 
 and I'll take him away and execute it, as 
 truly as I'm a living man I " 
 
 There was something so determined in 
 Rough-and-Ready's speech, and something 
 so threatening in his action, that the Las- 
 car leaped away in mortal fear. Whereat 
 Rough-and-Ready laughed loud and long, 
 and fired a shot in the air to frighten the 
 Lascar the more. 
 
 In the morning, while they were at break- 
 fast, two savages suddenly made their ap- 
 pearance, about twenty yards fi'om where 
 they were sitting. They appeg,red so sud- 
 denly, that they seemed to have started 
 out of the ground. 
 
 " Now, Minnie," said Rough-and-Ready 
 quietly, " don't scream out, and don't show 
 any alarm. By the look of those fellows 
 they are friendly, and do not mean to harm 
 us." 
 
 Minnie conquered her fears bravely, al- 
 though her heart was beating fast, and by 
 the direction of Rough-and-Ready they 
 went on with their breakfast, to all appear- 
 ance quite unconcerned, and as if the pres- 
 ence of the savages was the most natural 
 thing in the world. The two men who 
 stood gazing at them were naked, with the 
 exception of a girdle of emeu-feathers round 
 their waists ; their color was pale black ; 
 
 they were tall, with thin limbs and fine 
 chests, and their hair was thick and curly. 
 They had spears in their hands, about seven 
 feet long, made from the stem of the tea- 
 tree. 
 
 Seeing that they stood quite quiet, 
 Rough-and-Ready held up part of an eel 
 towards them, and smiled, and nodded his 
 head gently. Whereupon the two savages 
 looked at each other, said a few words, and 
 disappeared. Both Joshua and Mmnie 
 drew a long breath of relief, for which Rough- 
 and-Ready was inclined to be cross with 
 them. 
 
 " They will be back presently," he said, 
 " in company." 
 
 They had not long to wait. In less than 
 half an hour the two who had first present- 
 ed themselves returned with nearly a score 
 of others. To the joy of the castaways, 
 they saw Tom the sailmaker in the rear, 
 and they nodded and smiled at him. See- 
 ing that the savages, who had been jabber- 
 ing among themselves, made signs to the 
 sailmaker ; and after the display of much 
 pantomime, he came towards his mates. 
 They shook hands with him, and Rough- 
 and-Ready asked him how he was. 
 
 "Jolly," he replietl. He told them in 
 crisp sentences, all of them in answer to 
 Rough-and-Ready's questions, that the na- 
 tives seemed disposed to be friendly, and 
 that they were not half so bad as they 
 looked. 
 
 Rough-and-Ready, accompanied by Tom, 
 then walked half a dozen yards in the di- 
 rection of the savages, and held out his 
 hands to them. Tom looked at the savages, 
 touched Rough-and-Ready on the breast, 
 and then himself, with sufficiently expres- 
 sive pantomime, to denote, " We two are 
 one." Minnie and Joshua stood in the 
 background, side by side, with linked arms. 
 The savages, coming a little nearer, point- 
 ed to them, and jabbered unintelligibl}', as 
 much as to say, " What do you do here ? 
 Who are you ? " Joshua, observing the suc- 
 cess of Rough-and-Ready's pantomime, 
 touched Minnie on the breast, and then 
 himself, conveying the same meaning, " We 
 two are one." 
 
 Here it must be told that Minnie had re- 
 gained her naturally fair complexion, and 
 that her hair, also fair, had grown to a 
 great length. Tall and well-formed, with 
 bare arms beautifully shaped, with pure 
 complexion, with dreamy eyes, with long 
 hair hanging loosely down, and with the 
 charm and grace of youth upon her, she 
 stood before them in her strange dress of 
 civilized cotton and woodland fur ; and her 
 singularly-beautiful appearance had a pow- 
 erful efi'ect on the savages. They ap- 
 proached Rough-and-Ready, and felt his 
 
SURPRISED BY SAVAGES. 
 
 185 
 
 clothes, and made friends with him in their 
 primitive fashion ; but tliey kt'j)t some dis- 
 tance from Josliua and Minnie, rey,arding 
 her with looks of reverence and astonish- 
 ment. Presently, after much grimacing 
 and flashing of hands and fingers, Rough- 
 and-Ready came towards Minnie, and, to 
 her surprise, bowed low before her, and 
 stood in an attitude of respectful worship. 
 The savages, who were watching him atten- 
 tively, saw only his back ; but if they had 
 seen the merry twinkle in his eyes, they 
 would have been as puzzled as Minnie was. 
 
 " I've heard say that every woman is an 
 actress," he said, smiling. " Prove your- 
 self one now, for all our sakes, by not mov- 
 ing, and by listening to me attentively. 
 Your conduct may decide our fate. I ha^ e 
 told you what significance the natives at- 
 tach to shooting - stars, and how they 
 either avoid the direction in which they fall 
 or are impelled there by some powerful 
 superstition. Fortune has favored us. I 
 don't understand a single word these sav- 
 ages utter; but I understand from their 
 actions that they are so amazed at your 
 appearance as to entertain a belief that you 
 are not quite mortal — that, in fact, you 
 are a superior spirit. If they can be kept 
 in this belief (supposing they entertain it), 
 it will be of immense service to us. If you 
 are brave enough not to show fear, they 
 will almost be certain not to attempt to 
 harm us." 
 
 No better speech could have been spo- 
 ken to Minnie to inspire her with confidence 
 and courage. But she turned to Joshua 
 first, and asked, " Shall I do this ? " 
 
 " Yes," he answered ; " I think it will be 
 well, if you can nerve yourself to it." 
 
 Smiling at the " if," she said softly, " For 
 your sake, Joshua," and then, with queen- 
 ly motion, walked towards the savages, 
 conquering her disgust at their appearance. 
 They awaited her approach ; and when she 
 was within a few steps of them, an old 
 graybeard came forward, and held out his 
 hands, saying some words expressive of re- 
 spectful welcome. Minnie understood as 
 much by his expressive action. She touched 
 his hands, and waved hers, biddin<T them 
 welcome, and beckoning to Joshua, touched 
 him on the breast, and placed her hand 
 upon his shoulder. Then, smiling placidly 
 upon the dusky group, she walked away 
 with Joshua, and sat down in the shade of 
 the gunyah. Whatever meaning her panto- 
 mime had conveyed, it evidently excited 
 great interest among the savages. They 
 conversed earnestly and excitedly, and 
 pointed to the sky and to the earth, describ- 
 ing by their motions the action ot a star 
 falling gently to the ground. 
 
 " Bravely done," said Rough-and-Ready 
 
 to Minnie. " Whatever notion they have 
 in their heads, it is one that will do us no 
 harm. See, they are moving off, taking 
 the sailmaker with them." 
 
 And, indeed, the natives went away in 
 a body, leaving behind them four u\' their 
 party, however, who squatted upon the 
 ground, with their eyes fixed upon the cast- 
 aways. 
 
 " They are left to watch us," said Rough- 
 and-Ready ; " but I think we may make 
 ourselves easy about their being disposed 
 to be friendly. 
 
 He and Joshua went about their pursuits 
 as usual ; but to keep up the fiction con- 
 cerning Minnie with the natives who were 
 watching them, they would not allow her 
 to work, and treated her with such marks 
 of deference as could not fail to impress 
 the savages. During the day, Rough-and- 
 Ready offered food to the savages, who ac- 
 cepted it. To show their gratitude, two 
 of them went away into the forest, and re- 
 turned with a quantity of honey in a reed 
 basket, which they placed at Minnie's feet, 
 and which she partook of to their evident 
 satisfaction. 
 
 " There isn't the slightest mistake," said 
 Rough-and-Ready merrily, " that the devil 
 isn't half so black as he is painted." 
 
 They were left apparently undisturbed 
 for two days, when the natives returned, 
 with different descriptions of food — sweet 
 roots many of them, pleasant and good to 
 eat. " They have some plan in their 
 heads," said Rough-and-Ready. He was 
 right. Early the next morning the natives 
 gave them to understand that they were 
 going farther inland, and that the white 
 people were to accompany them. " Now 
 we shall see something," observed Rough- 
 and-Ready as they plunged into the for- 
 est. They walked for three days before 
 they came to the native camp. They made 
 short stages to accommodate Minnie. Dur- 
 ing this time, Minnie kept close to Joshua, 
 as if to protect him ; but Rough-and-Ready 
 mixed freely with the natives, and made 
 some snares for game, which he gave to 
 them, and with which they were much 
 pleased. When they were within a few 
 miles of the camp a number of the tribe, 
 chiefly women and children, came out to 
 meet them. Soon they arrived at the 
 camp, and were surprised at its pictur- 
 esqueness. It consisted of about a dozen 
 roumy huts, roofed and thatched with bark 
 and reeds. At a short distance from the 
 huts was a large pool, the vegetation 
 around which was singularly beautiful. 
 Among the strange trees which attracted 
 the notice of the castaways, the umbrella- 
 tree, with its dark leaves and crimson flow- 
 ers, seemed to them the most remarkable. 
 
186 
 
 JOSHUA MAEVEL. 
 
 There were also a large number of great fig- 
 trees, and magnificent palms with feathery 
 leaves. The "air was sweet with the per- 
 fume of lily and jasmine and the golden- 
 flowered thorn. There was one hut which 
 appeared but newly built ; it was prettier 
 than the others, and its sides were decorat- 
 ed with wild flowers and flowering vines. 
 Towards this the natives led Minnie, upon 
 whom the women and children looked in 
 awe and wonder. She, clasping Joshua's 
 hand, entered this hut, and sank upon the 
 bed of dry leaves, wondering what was 
 next to come. She begged Joshua to stop 
 with her, for she was frightened of being 
 left alone. So, after partaking of the food 
 which the natives brought to them, he lay 
 down near the mouth of the hut, and she 
 at the farther end on her bed of leaves. 
 Joshua could see the glories of the sunset 
 from where he lay ; and he saw the fire 
 die out of the sky, and saw the stars come 
 out. But he was tired with his day's walk, 
 and sleep overpowered him, although he 
 tried to keep awake. Early in the morn- 
 ing they rose, and walked towards the 
 banks of the pool, — 
 
 " To where the weed of green and red 
 Its floating carpet gaylv spread. 
 Whereon the emerald frog reclined, 
 Fanned by the fragiance of the wind; 
 And all was darkened by the shade 
 The water-weeping branches made — 
 Save where a paler, tenderer green 
 Made bright the beauty of the scene. 
 The birds flashed down, to drink or lave. 
 With varied note and joyous stave. 
 And plunging sidelong from the reeds. 
 That wavered mid the water-weeds. 
 Plashed in the Btream so cool and calm, 
 O'erhung by many a fern-tree palm ; 
 And bell-bird peels, whose silvery chimes 
 Found in the rippleri water rhvmes. 
 Throughout the perfumed thicket rang. 
 Wtieuce the tali-headed bulrush sprang." 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVL 
 
 OWER OF MUSIC. 
 
 The natives were busy preparing for a 
 grand Correboree, which, being interpreted, 
 means a grand gathering and celebration 
 in honor of some imposing event. Scouts 
 were sent out in every direction, and every 
 hour brought fresh comers, who evinced 
 the greatest possible curiosity in the white 
 people. At one time nearly sixty members 
 of a different tribe arrived in a body, and 
 a fierce jabbering took place between the 
 old men of the tribes. Rough-aiid-Ready, 
 who had by this time picked up a few native 
 words, came to Minnie and Joshua with a 
 look of concern on his face. 
 
 " They are quarrelling about us," he said. 
 " As far as I can understand, this new tribe 
 lay claim to us for having been found in a 
 country which they say is theirs. I think I 
 know how they will settle it, if they settle 
 it at all peaceably." 
 
 " How ? " asked Joshua anxiously. 
 " They will separate us — two for each of 
 the two strongest tribes." Minnie caught 
 Joshua's hand convulsively. " I know what 
 you mean, my dear," said Rough-and- 
 Ready, a little sadly ; " you and Joshua 
 must not be parted. And indeed, it would 
 not be right ; you belong to one another. 
 Well, the sailmaker and I will go our way 
 and you will go yours. Only you must be 
 cunning and keep together. Joshua, to- 
 night, be tore the natives go to sleep, play 
 a iew soft airs upon your accordion. You 
 and Minnie must be in your hut together 
 while you play. And don't let them see 
 the accordion. The music will fill them 
 with wonder, and it will be a strong reason 
 with them why you should not be parted. 
 But indeed, my dear, if you continue to act 
 your part well there will be no lear of 
 that." 
 
 " You are a good man," said Minnie 
 gratefully, holding out her hand to Rough- 
 and-Ready. 
 
 He took it and pressed it to his lips, and 
 held it in his with infinite tenderness. 
 
 " No, my dear," he said, '' I am not a 
 good man. You liave seen me at my best. 
 I am a convict, and when I came on board 
 the • Merry Andrew,' I was trying to es- 
 cape from the colony. There's many a 
 black mark against me which I doubt will 
 never be wiped out in this world. I was a 
 little sinned against at first, it is true, but I 
 had my revenge afterwards ; I couldn't be 
 meek and humble under undeserved pun- 
 ishment. There ! that's all I shall tell you 
 about myself Your imagination must fill 
 in the outlines. And, mind you ! you can't 
 make me out worse than I am. I am glad I 
 have made this confession, lame and bald as 
 it is ; it has relieved my mind." He turned 
 his back to them, with a motion which said, 
 " You see what a vagabond I am ; I am not 
 fit company for such as you." 
 
 But Minnie laid one hand upon his 
 shoulder, and with the other turned his face 
 towards hers. 
 
 " You are a good man," she repeated 
 earnestly, looking into his eyes, which were 
 filled with tears, " and I honor and respect 
 you." 
 
 " And I, too," said Joshua, grasping his 
 hand heartily. " If it should be our good 
 fortune to meet under happier circum- 
 stances than these, I will show my gratitude 
 to you." 
 
 " There, there, there 1 " exclaimed 
 
THE POWER OF MUSIC. 
 
 187 
 
 Rougli-and-Ready, half roughly, half ten- 
 derly ; " enough said about tlie past. We 
 sha'n't be together much longer, as I've told 
 you, and as you'll soon find. We must 
 take things as they come, and make the 
 best of them. Do you know the natives 
 have a curious fancy about you ? " he said 
 to Minnie. " There was once in their tribe 
 a young woman of rare beauty and virtues, 
 who was idolized by all I don't know how 
 long ago this was, and it is only by j)iecing 
 stray words and actions together that I 
 have been able to understand it. Well, 
 this young woman, by some means or other, 
 was transtbrnied into a star. They believe 
 you to be her, having taken mortal form 
 again to visit them. 'Tis a pretty fancy, 
 isn't it ? " 
 
 " But I am white, and " — 
 
 " She was black," interrupted Rough-and- 
 Ready gayly. " That is easily accounted 
 for ; they believe that when they die they 
 jump up white. If you were of their color, 
 they would not have the fancy about you." 
 
 By the evening there were not less than 
 a hundred and fifty savages collected to- 
 gether. Although the weather was warm, 
 they were lying down before their camp- 
 fires, with the exception of one group of 
 about twenty old men and doctors of the 
 principal tribes, who were earnestly en- 
 gaged in discussing matters relating to the 
 white people. An old chief of the tribe 
 who had first discovered the castaways was 
 on his feet, declaiming violently, with ex- 
 travagant action, in which, nevertheless, 
 there was much dignity. Opara was his 
 name. His hair and beai'd were white, and 
 his face and body were scored with ugly 
 seams gained in battle, or in the exercise 
 of the strange rites and ceremonies of his 
 tribe. On his neck and breast, and from 
 his shoulders to his hips, were still to be 
 seen, old as he was, the gashes made in his 
 youth to entitle him to the dignity of man- 
 hood. A great chief was Opara — wise in 
 council, fearless in battle, and had been the 
 most skilful of all his tribe with boomerang 
 and spear, and middla, and in throwing the 
 wirra. 
 
 " The strangers are ours," he said ; " the 
 sacred crow, Karakorok, witnesseth that 
 they are ours by right. The heavens were 
 filled with light, and great voices thundered. 
 We listened in awe. Fire rent the moun- 
 tains, and made new caverns sacred. Light 
 dived into raging waterfalls, cutting the 
 earth. We waited full a moon. The storm 
 ceased ; the spirits spoke no more. We 
 waited another moon. The stars tell near 
 the sea — into it. We went there, wanting 
 to know. We brought the strangers back. 
 They are ours." 
 
 Up rose Wealberrin, chief of the other 
 
 tribe. No less famous lie than Opara. 
 White-bearded, too, and tattooed from top 
 to toe, and no less cunning with war and 
 hunting wea[)ons. Ai'ound his waist was a 
 belt made of the hair of the enemies he 
 had slain in battle. 
 
 " Not so," he suit!. " The land is ours. 
 There, in Pandarri Kurto (heaven's cav- 
 ern), lie our mintapas — our doctors. 
 There are our hunting-grounds — our fish- 
 ing-lands. There we make men of our 
 sons. Shall I take Opara's food, and call 
 it mine by right ? He would reply as be- 
 comes a warrior. If I ask, he would give. 
 But I ask not now. The land is ours. What 
 is found on the land is ours." 
 
 " Once lived Mirgabeen," said Opara. 
 '' Bright-eyed, fleet-footed, hollow-backed. 
 Her tongue spoke the music of the birds. 
 Her dark hair hung down to her arched 
 feet. She could shroud her glory in it — 
 as night the day. She was beloved by all. 
 Too bright for earth, she lives in the laeav- 
 ens now, a star. She looks down on me. 
 She hears me speak. So dwelt with us a 
 maid, whose supple limbs cleaved the wa- 
 ter, who sang the music of the woods. The 
 trees bent to her as she walked. The 
 branches bowed before her, and whispered 
 to her, and she replied. She left us tor the 
 grand vault where moons are made. AV^;;t 
 was ours is ours. She has come back to 
 us. She is ours." 
 
 " So be it," said Wealberrin. " The 
 others then are ours. Opara has spoken." 
 
 " She has with her a mate," said Opara, 
 " whom she has touched upon the breast. 
 Let Wealberrin take two — we two. Then 
 we shall have peace. 
 
 Wealberrin would have replied, but as he 
 rose to his feet a wondering expression stole 
 into his face, and into the faces of all as- 
 sembled there. For from Minnie's gunyah 
 issued sounds so soft and sweet that the 
 night-birds hushed their voices to listen. 
 The breeze was so light that the melodious 
 notes hung upon the air, and lingered long 
 before they died away. The sava'i:es 
 clutched each other, and stood transfixed 
 with tear and wonder. What voices wore 
 these that were s])eaking ? In thJr 
 dreams they had never heard any thing 
 so sweet. Opara had said it. Minnie 
 had come from the vault where the moons 
 are made, and was speaking to the 
 spirits of another world. Motionless, with 
 bended heads or with forms inclined to- 
 wards the sound, they stood like figures of • 
 stone, in reverential attitude. And did not 
 move a limb when the music ceased ; for a 
 shadow fell upon the moonlit space, and 
 Minnie came to the opening of the gunyah 
 and looked in dumb amazement at the 
 sti'ange scene before her. 
 
188 
 
 JOSHUA MARVEL. 
 
 And now the day has come upon which 
 the grand ceremony of the Corroboree is to 
 be celebrated. The rival tribes have set- 
 tled their dispute. Rough-and-Ready, who 
 is the Chorus of the party, tells his friends 
 that Jo.shua and Minnie are to remain with 
 Opara's tribe, and that he and the sailmaker 
 are to be attached to Wealberrin's. Joshua 
 hints at resistance, but Rough-and-Ready 
 declares it would be madness. 
 
 " If there was no woman in the case," he 
 says, " I might counsel differently ; but for 
 Minnie's sake we must have no fighting. 
 We miglit kill a score or two of the natives, 
 but you must bear in mind there are half a 
 thousand of them here now. Then their 
 sjaears are poisoned. Suppose one should 
 strike Minnie. No, no; submission is our 
 best course." So, with much grief, they 
 are (.'ompelled to make up their minds to 
 submit. 
 
 All day long, there is great feasting. An 
 emeu has been hunted down, and the fat 
 carefully distributed among the natives ; 
 honey and sweet roots have been brought 
 in in abundance, and the bushes have been 
 stripped of their fruit. Rude seats of vines, 
 decorated with flowers, have been placed 
 for Minnie and Joshua in front of their 
 gunyah, and in front of the seats a kind of 
 arclied screen of leaves and branches has 
 been erected, through the network of which 
 they can see and be seen. When night 
 comes, fires are lighted, the flickering flames 
 of which give birth to monstrous shadows 
 that flit about the trees, and fill the woods 
 with grotesque shapes. INIinnie and Joshua 
 watch with a kind of wonder the shadows 
 created by the fire nearest to them. Now 
 the light goes down, and the black shapes 
 dart through the woods, or rufl swiftly along 
 the branches, ravenously, and with cruel 
 intent, as it appears ; anon, the flame leaps 
 up, and the shadows fly and shift restlessly 
 about, with lightning speed, as if suddenly 
 surprised by an enemy. Their attention, 
 however, is soon diverted from these inani- 
 mate creations. The natives are assem- 
 bling. Men, women, and children troop in 
 from all quarters, and seat themselves round 
 and about the fires in somewhat orderly 
 fashion. There cannot be less than five or 
 six hundred of them. All being seated, a 
 long silence ensues, broken at length by a 
 circle of singers, who chant a monotonous 
 song, narrating how they had journeyed to- 
 wards the sea into which stars were falling, 
 and how they had found the strangers, and 
 brought them to their camp. As they sing 
 this song over and over again, they beat 
 time with their clubs. A brave then chants 
 a tradition of one of their ancient chiefs, 
 who was compelled to fly before a hostile 
 tribe ; all his young warrious were slain, 
 
 and he alone escaped ; but his enemies de- 
 termined to put an end to him, set fire to 
 the bush around him, and he was encircled 
 by a net of flame. Suddenly the earth 
 opened, and water stole U23 from the 
 caverns and extinguished the fire, and so 
 the chief was saved, and a great river was 
 made, in which fish was plentiful. In the 
 midst of the silence which follows this 
 song, a man springs from out the shadows. 
 His face is crossed with lines of red and 
 yellow, and his body is jJainted white. In 
 his hand is a branch of gi-een leaves, and a 
 great tuft of emeu-feathers is on his head. 
 He stands perfectly still for full a quarter 
 of an hour, looking into the sky for the 
 spirits of dead men. What inspiration 
 falls upon him at the end of that time it 
 would probably be difficult to explain ; but 
 he waves his branch of green leaves to 
 and fro, and the singers strike up another 
 song, and the musicians beat time as before 
 with their war-clubs, while the chief actor 
 in the scene rushes about, and flourishes 
 his arms in a gradually-worked-up state of 
 the wildest excitement. He vanishes in the 
 shade as suddenly as he had apj^eared, and 
 in his jjlace leap a dozen men. presenting 
 so startling an appearance that Minnie 
 clasps Joshua's hand in sudden alarm. 
 Flowers are twined round their ankles 
 and above their knees. Some have tails or 
 dingoes wound about their heads, others 
 wreaths of down from the white cockatoo ; 
 some have tails of wallabies attached to 
 their peaked beards, and all have feathers 
 in their hair. White rings are round their 
 eyes, their noses are striped, and lines of 
 red, yellow, and black are painted from 
 their shoulders and breasts down to their 
 waists, where a white ring encircles them. 
 The singers burst into song again, and the 
 hideously-decorated figures begin to dance, 
 advancing towards the singers and retreat- 
 ing from them ; their motions at first are 
 slow and tremulous, but soon they are leap- 
 ing and jumping frantically from side to 
 side, each trying to out-tire the others, 
 with such violent exertion as to cause them 
 presently to fall upon the ground in a state 
 of exhaustion. As soon as each recovers, 
 he rises, and dances by himself, and the 
 women utter cries of commendation, and 
 beat the ground in ecstasy. These perform- 
 ers are followed by others, who dance in a 
 serpentine line, until they present the ap- 
 pearance of a serpent coiling and uncoiling 
 itself; as they dance, they make a hissing 
 sound with their tongues, to imitate the 
 hissing of a serpent. And so through the 
 night the Corroboree continues, until, thor- 
 oughly worn out, the savages retire to their 
 rest, and the woods that a while ago were 
 filled with such stranire life and sound, are 
 
THE POWER OF MUSIC. 
 
 189 
 
 lying quiet and solemn in the peaceful light 
 of the stars. 
 
 Wealberrin and his tribe are ready to 
 start, and Rough-and-Ready and the sail- 
 maker have come to wish Minnie and 
 Joshua good-by. They go into the woods, 
 out of sight of the natives, and sit sadly 
 upon trunks of trees that have been 
 blown down by storms. 
 
 " I have heard say, or have read some- 
 where," says Rough-and-Ready, striving to 
 speak gayly, '• that life is made up of meet- 
 ings and partings, so that this is quite a nat- 
 ural thing, and not to be repined at. What 
 we've got to do is to make the best of 
 things." 
 
 " It might be worse," says Tom the sail- 
 maker, good-naturedly assisting Rough-and- 
 Ready to cheer Minnie's spirits. 
 
 " Bravo, Tom ! " exclaims Rough-and- 
 Ready. " It might be a good deal worse. 
 We have escaped greater dangers than the 
 present one, and if we act wisely and 
 bravely we shall es(«ape this. But it all 
 depends upon ourselves, and if we lose 
 courage, we lose all. You must bear that 
 in mind,' my dear. Why, this day twelve 
 months we may be talking together, and 
 smiling at these experiences which now 
 seem so hard to bear ! " 
 
 But Minnie only smiles sadly Ln reply, 
 and Joshua asks Rough-and-Ready if there 
 is any thing they can give him to enable 
 him to bear them in remembrance. 
 
 " Nothing is needed," replies Rough-and- 
 Ready. " We have not been together for 
 a very long time, but our acquaintanceship 
 has been sufficiently eventful to cause us 
 never to be able to forget each other. Yet 
 I should like one thing," with a tender 
 glance at Minnie. 
 
 " What ? " she asks, learning by his look 
 that it is something in her power to give. 
 
 " A piece of your hair, Minnie," he says. 
 
 Minnie desires Joshua to cut off a lock 
 with his knife, and he cuts a thick tress 
 and gives it to Rough-and-Ready, who 
 winds it round his finger and puts it into 
 his pocket. 
 
 '• Now," says he, " for a little sensible 
 talk. Your sole aim must be to endeavor 
 to work your way near to the settled dis- 
 tricts, where you may have the chance of 
 falling in with white people. Southward 
 lies your chance of being rescued. Every 
 day the squatters are coming farther inland 
 in search of new ground for cattle-stations, 
 and every day this fresh opening up of the 
 country adds to the chances of escape. 
 Whosesoever lot it is to first fall in with 
 our countrymen must tell them that there 
 are two white people living with one of the 
 native tribes who are desirous of getting 
 
 into civilized company again. That will 
 make them look out for us perhaps. You 
 will find that stockmen and bushmen are as 
 fine and manly a set of fellows as you 
 would desire to meet. I think you have 
 the best chance of first hearing the crack 
 of a stockman's whip, for your iribe is more 
 of a southern one than ours." Then Rough- 
 and-Reaily told them, as much for the pur- 
 pose of diverting ^linnie's attention from 
 the sad parting near at hand as for any 
 other, of the wonderful enterprise of the 
 Australian pioneers of progress, of the dan- 
 gers they cheerfully encounter, of the un- 
 known country they bravely plunge into, 
 of the hardships they bear and make light 
 of, and of the grand future that awaits the 
 beautiful Australian continent. 
 
 '• To my thinking," he says with enthusi- 
 asm, "there is no life that contains so 
 much pure enjoyment as the life of a back- 
 woodsman. I would not change it for any 
 other — only I would prefer, for occasional 
 mates and companions, white people instead 
 of savages. I don't believe man was in- 
 tended to Uve in close cities." 
 
 " But even such a life as you describe," 
 says Joshua, " leads to the making of great 
 cities. The pioneers go first, and the 
 masses follow." 
 
 " That's the worst of it," says Rough- 
 and-Ready ; " they follow, and are not con- 
 tent to live naturally. They make streets 
 and cramp them up with just room enough 
 for a score of men to walk abreast in. 
 Down in Sydney there are streets, as you 
 know, where not a half a dozen men could 
 walk abreast through ; but that's the way 
 of all cities, large or small. Directly new 
 land is opened up, in troop the masses, as 
 you call them, who make their streets and 
 build their houses as if there wasn't an 
 inch of ground to spare ; while all around 
 them are thousands and thousands of miles 
 of lovely country, with trees and flowers, 
 and fi'uit, and fish, and game, inviting them 
 to come and enjoy life as it ought to be en- 
 joyed ! " 
 
 " Well," says Joshua, " 'tis the way of 
 the world. Yoii were never intended to 
 live in cities, that's clear." 
 
 "I don't know. I dare say, once upon a 
 time, I should have thought I was mad if 
 such ideas as I have now had entered my 
 head. I wasn't always so rough as I am 
 now. But cities are necessary, I suppose ; 
 and it's folly to talk as I do. Why, I don't 
 doubt that in less than fifty years a city will 
 be built even here in these wild woods ; 
 and perhaps on this very spot where we 
 now sit they'll build a prison." He speaks 
 these last words with a dash of bitterness : 
 but he soon shakes of his cynical humor, 
 and proceeds to speak of more important 
 
190 
 
 JOSHUA MARVEL. 
 
 matters concerning the present. "Be es- 
 pecially careful of one thing," he con- 
 cludes, " never by any chance let them see 
 your accordion." (Joshua had it slung 
 round his shoulders, wi-apped in a bag 
 of fur which Minnie had made for it.) 
 " When you play, let the natives hear the 
 music, not see where it comes from. By 
 that means you will best preserve your in- 
 fluence and Minnie's over them. And 
 bear in mind — work southward." 
 
 Here two natives make their appearance, 
 and after looking attentively at the white 
 people, glide away quietly. 
 
 " 'Tis time to go," says Rough-and- 
 Keady, jumjiing to his feet ; " that is their 
 delicate way of telling us that they are 
 waiting." Minnie, with streaming eyes, 
 raises her tkce to his. He stoops and 
 kisses her, and says tenderly, " God bless 
 and protect you, my dear ! " The four of 
 them shake hands sorrowfully, and part — 
 never again to meet on earth. So Rough- 
 and-Ready and Tom the sailmaker disap- 
 pear from the yearning gaze of their 
 Irieuds, and from this story ; and Joshua 
 and Minnie are left thus strangely alone. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVH. 
 
 HARSH JUDGMENTS. 
 
 The foundering of the "Merry An- 
 drew " and the loss of every soul on 
 board were duly recorded in the news- 
 papers, and utterly shattered the happiness 
 of that humble home in Stepney wherein 
 love and content had dwelt for so many 
 years. If Mrs. Marvel's daughter Sarah, 
 who has played an insignificant part in 
 this history, had been at home, unmarried, 
 her parents might have derived relief and 
 consolation in watching the progress of 
 her fortunes ; but Sarah had had the rare 
 good fortune to be quickly wooed and 
 quickly won by a country mechanic, and 
 her subsequent career has nothing in 
 common with these pages. So that Mr. 
 and Mrs. Marvel were left alone in their 
 unhappy position. They could not bear to 
 live longer in the house in which Joshua 
 Lad been born and reared, and they agreed 
 to Dan's proposition, that they should move, 
 and live with him and his sisters. What 
 added to their unhappiness was, that they 
 were at war with every one of their neighbors. 
 When the news of the loss of the " Merry 
 Andrew " reached Stepney, the neighbors 
 one and all decided that Joshua was guilty, 
 and many of them declared that the pun- 
 
 ishment which had overtaken him was a 
 just visitation. To listen to this in silence 
 seemed to Joshua's family to be nothing less 
 than flat treason ; they fought stoutly and 
 earnestly against the calumny, and de- 
 fended the character of their lost son Avith 
 all tlie strength of their loving hearts. 
 But vainly. The neighbors persisted in 
 their belief until George Marvel gave out 
 that if he caught any man speaking 
 against the dead, he would thrash him. 
 He had not long to wait to give effect to 
 his words. He came home one day with a 
 black eye and a bruised face. " I've been 
 fighting Bob Turner," he said in explana- 
 tion, " for taking away our Josh's good 
 name." Now Bob Turner was a favorite 
 in the neighborhood, and the cause in 
 which he received a drubbing was not his 
 alone, but all his neighbors' as well. Was 
 free and fair speech to be burked by such 
 an obstinate and opinionated old fellow as 
 George Marvel ? Were they to be de- 
 prived of their legitimate privilege of 
 gossiping and tittle-tattling ? Things had 
 come to a pretty pass, when a man was to 
 be allowed to bully all his neighbors 
 because they wouldn't agree with him. 
 The fight between Bob Turner and George 
 Marvel was an exciting topic of conversa- 
 tion in every house for a dozen streets 
 round; and a unanimous vei'dict was 
 given in favor of Bob Turner, who was 
 looked upon in some sort of way as the 
 general champion of the ituportant privi- 
 lege of Tittle-tattle. Much sympathy was 
 expressed for him, inasmuch as he had 
 been taken home after the fight with a bat- 
 tered nose and bunged-up eyes, and could 
 not go to his work for a week afterwards. 
 During that week George Marvel thrashed 
 another man, and called a woman un- 
 pleasant names ; and when the woman's 
 husband demanded an explanation, he 
 received one. of such a nature as to convert 
 him instantly into an active enemy. Then 
 Bob Turner, convalescent, made his 
 appearance in the streets again, with 
 traces of disfigurement in his face ; and 
 burning with animosity and shr.me, armed 
 himself with a stone tied in the corner of 
 his pocket-handkerchief, and, swinging his 
 sling defiantly, expressed his regret that 
 Joshua had been drowned, for thereby the 
 gallows had been cheated. George Mar- 
 vel, hearing this, went in search of his 
 enemy Bob, and came away again with his 
 liand so disabled by a blow from the sling, 
 that he also could not work for a week. 
 At which Bob Turner rejoiced, and all the 
 neighbors rejoiced with him. After that 
 George Marvel refused to speak to any 
 of his work-mates, and they, in retaliation, 
 passed a resolution sending him to " Gov- 
 
HARSH JUDGMENTS. 
 
 191 
 
 entry " for six months ; winch sending to 
 " Coventry " may, to the uninitiated, be 
 described as the very refinement of cru- 
 elty, inasmuch as it i(i;nores the offender's 
 existence, and condemns him not to be 
 spoken to by any of his fellow-workmen. 
 This enforced silence was a dreadful pun- 
 ishment to George Marvel. He bore it 
 patiently enou;ili for two or three weeks ; 
 but then it became a horrible torture. To 
 sit at his work day after day, and week 
 after week, utterin'j; no word, and with his 
 woi"k-mates avoidinn; his very look, was 
 almost maddening. It drove him to some- 
 thing which I am sorry to have to record ; 
 it drove him to drink. And the habit that 
 began to grow upon him was of the worst 
 kind. Having no one to drink with him, 
 he drank by himself, and soon began to 
 carry a flat bottle in his pocket, liberally 
 supplied with that national curse — Gin. 
 
 Although it may be objected of George 
 Marvel that in his behavior towards his 
 neighbors he carried things with too high a 
 hand, he acted only in strict accordance 
 with his nature ; and indeed, if he had 
 been less dictatorial and more conciliatory 
 it is likely that the same result would have 
 been produced. It was not to be expected 
 of him to be gentle and self-suffering under 
 the dreadful accusation that was brought 
 against his son, when Mrs. Marvel's con- 
 duct was taken into consideration. She 
 could not listen patiently to the revilings 
 of the neighbors ; to remonstrate with 
 them, to speak gently to them, to beg of 
 them to be more merciful in their speech, 
 would have been an injustice to the mem- 
 ory of her son. Every tender remem- 
 brance connected with him — and ah, how 
 many there were, and how she cherished 
 them ! — urged her to defend him. And 
 she did defend him, with all her mother's 
 love, and with flaming eyes and agitated 
 breast ; told the revilers that they ought 
 to be ashamed of themselves, and that 
 they must be bad and wicked themselves, 
 else they could not set their tongues to 
 such bad and wicked accusations of the 
 best son that ever blessed a mother's eyes. 
 Poor thing ! it was a sad sight to see 
 her make her indignant defence in public, 
 and then to see her in her room — pale, 
 powerless, trembling — sink into a chair, 
 overcome by the agony of her grief. It 
 was not long before white hairs began to 
 multiply, and before the cheerful look quite 
 died out of her face. And Dan and Ellen 
 worked on, and never lost their faith in 
 the dear one who was lost to them ; and 
 Susan, notwithstanding what had befallen, 
 Btill watched and rose in the night, and 
 went into the street, awaiting the return of 
 Basil Kindred's murderer. But no word 
 
 of him passed her lips ; she worked at her 
 dressmaking in silence, and never uttered 
 a cheerful word. A blight had fallen upon 
 those once happy homes. 
 
 They had, however, two friends and con- 
 stant visitors. Praiseworthy l\h'ddler and 
 Solomon Fewster. Through good and evil 
 report, these two friends remained faithful to 
 them, although from widely-different mo- 
 tives. Considering all the circumstances, 
 every thing had turned out very fortunate 
 for Solomon Fewster. He confessed as much 
 to himself exultantly, and curiously enough, 
 gave himself some credit for having 
 brought it about. Every tittle of evidencie 
 against Mm had been destroyed ; no suspi- 
 cion rested against him. Joshua was 
 drowned ; and Ellen remained, looking 
 prettier in her black dress th m he had 
 ever seen her. He was sure of her now. 
 He had only to wait. She had an encum- 
 brance, certainly, which he would gladly 
 have dispensed with — her baby-girl, born 
 in sorrow. But he made up his mind that 
 he would be kind to her, if she lived ; and 
 this resolve, to his own thinking, atoned 
 for any hand he may have had in Joshua's 
 misfortunes. When he saw Ellen with her 
 baby in her lap, he thought, and thought 
 rightly, that he had never seen a more 
 beautiful sight. " One day," he said to 
 himself, " I shall see her with a child of 
 mine upon her breast ; " and he dreamed 
 with tender pleasure, and with no pangs of 
 conscience, of the happy time to come. 
 
 So time passed on, and no ray of sun- 
 shine illumined the darkness of that un- 
 happy home. Things were going from bad 
 to worse. George Marvel was not a con- 
 firmed drunkard, but he drank more than 
 was good for him ; and his reputation as a 
 cunning workman was on the wane. He 
 did not work regularly either ; he was often 
 absent, and earned less money. His wife 
 expostulated with him many times, and 
 begged him not to drink. He listened with- 
 out impatience, and said, " It's of no use, 
 Maggie ; if I didn't drink I should go mad. 
 I'm an altered man to what I was, and I've 
 brought it all on myself." 
 
 " Kay, George," she said, " you cannot 
 say that and mean it." 
 
 (It is to be noticed as a singular thing 
 that now she never called her husband 
 " father," and indeed had not done so since 
 the news of Joshua's death had reached 
 them. The delicacy and thoughtfulness of 
 a faithful wife's love are not to be ex- 
 celled.) 
 
 " I can say that and mean it, Maggie," 
 he replied ; " I have been the cause of all 
 this. I wasn't content that my son should 
 be a wood-turner ; no, I drove hhn to sea 
 and away from all of us. We might have 
 
192 
 
 JOSHUA MARVEL. 
 
 been as happy as the day is long if he had 
 remained at home. And he would have 
 remained but for me. I remember what 
 you said, Maggie, as well as if you'd said it 
 last night : ' If Joshua is shipwrecked, 
 don't forget that I warned you betbrehand." 
 
 " O George ! " cried Mrs Marvel, in an 
 agony of remorse, " how can you bring my 
 wicked words up against me now V " 
 
 "I do not bring tliem up against you, 
 wife ; I bring them up against myself. And 
 they were wise and good words — not 
 wicked ones. I ought to 'have listened to 
 them ; but I was obstinate and pig-headed, 
 and thought, like a fool, that I knew better 
 than you. Ah ! but it's too late to alter 
 what is past ; and I've brought death to 
 our son and misery to you, and shame on 
 all of us." 
 
 Then he refused to listen to her longer, 
 and walked away to chew the cud of his 
 remorse, and to drink more gin. To her 
 and to the others in the house he was gen- 
 tle : but to everybody else he was a bear. 
 One night he came home in a condition 
 which may be described as neither drunk 
 nor sober. Dan and Ellen were sitting to- 
 gether, and the baby — to whom they had 
 given Mrs. Marvel's name of Maggie — 
 was lying in the cradle, when he came into 
 the house. It belonged to his humor not 
 to show himself ashamed of his new bad 
 habit : when he was drunk he did not slink 
 away and hide himself, but exhibited a 
 kind of reckless defiance, for which it 
 would have been as hard for him as for 
 others to account. So upon this occasion 
 he came into the room, quickly followed by 
 his wife, who never watched him out of 
 doors, but who attended to him in the house 
 as if he were a child. He took his seat in 
 the chair which Ellen placed for him, and 
 sat moody and silent while Mrs. Marvel 
 quickly set iiis supper before him. But he 
 could not eat it. He pushed the food from 
 him fretfully, and took his wife's hand and 
 patted it, and then said suddenly, — 
 
 " Maffgie, we must go away from here." 
 
 " Go away, George 1 " she exclaimed. 
 " Where to V " 
 
 " I don't know ; but I can't stop here 
 much longer. If I do, I shall bring fresh 
 disgrace upon you. I can't live this life 
 any longer; it is killing me. We have al- 
 ready lost our good name and our good 
 character in the neighborhood, and where 
 I used to get respect I now get contempt. 
 And, Maggie, I am afraid of myself! A 
 new workman came into the shop to-day, 
 and I heard Bob Turner tell him about us 
 and about our poor lost boy, and speaking 
 of him in such a way — Dan ! Ellen ! " he 
 cried, appealing to them in justification of 
 himself " could you stand by quietly and lis- 
 
 ten to shameful words spoken of our Josh" 
 ua ? Could you restrain yourself if you 
 heard him spoken of as a — Oh, but I 
 cannot say it ! '' 
 
 Ellen rose, with flashing eyes and cheeks 
 burning with honest indignation. 
 
 " No," she exclaimed ; " I could not, 
 father. I should tell the wretch he was a 
 coward and a villain." 
 
 " I told him so — your very words : I 
 called him a coward and a villain ; and I 
 almost had my hand on his throat, when 
 the other men interfered. But there 
 was a row in the place for an hour : for I 
 was admost mad. And then the master 
 called me into his room, and told me — 
 what do you think ? Why, that he was 
 very sorry to see the change that bad taken 
 place in me lately ; that he was very soiTy 
 to see that I had taken to drink ; that I 
 was a good workman, and that I had 
 worked well for him for a many years ; but 
 that if I couldn't behave myself as I used 
 to do, I must find another shop. That was 
 a pretty thing to say to me ! — the best 
 workman he ever had, and the steadiest 
 too — no, I can't say that now ; but I could 
 up to a little time ago. I had a mind to 
 take off my apron, and fling it in his face, 
 but thought of all of you stopped me. Instead 
 of that, I asked him what he would have 
 done in my place supposing he had had a 
 son ; but he stopped me there, and said 
 that he was talking business, and not senti- 
 ment. With that I flung myself out of the 
 room, and swore I'd join the Chartists, and 
 teach the masters one day that workmen 
 have hearts " — But Mr. Marvel broke down 
 here and glared about him in violent agita- 
 tion. 
 
 They let him be, and waited till he was 
 calmer ; they had studied how best to hu- 
 mor him. Then Mrs. Marvel said : — 
 
 " What do you think we had best do, 
 George ? " 
 
 " I don't know," he answered somewhat 
 roughly; "I'm not fit to give advice. I 
 was dead against you when you didn't want 
 our poor boy to go to sea, and I'm rightly 
 served for it ; but I'll never advise again. 
 I'll be led now, not lead." 
 
 At this point, Dan, purposely, but with- 
 out attracting observation, pushed the cra- 
 dle so as to awake baby, and thus caused 
 a diversion. After that, he quietly gave 
 Ellen and Mrs. Marvel to understand that 
 he wanted to speak to Mr. Marvel alone, 
 and the women presently glided out of the 
 room. George Marvel took no notice of 
 their departure, and indeed did not notice 
 it until Dan aroused his attention. Then 
 he said, — 
 
 " Where's Ellen and the wife ? " 
 
 " Gone to bed, sir," replied Dan ; " and 
 
HARSH JUDGMENTS. 
 
 193 
 
 I'm glad of it, because I wanted to speak to 
 you." 
 
 George IMarvel gave Dan a disturbed 
 look, and said, — 
 
 " Won't another time do, Dan ? " 
 
 " No, sir ; I want to say what I have to 
 say now, particularly." 
 
 George Marvel nodded, and someliow or 
 other, the flat bottle in wliich he carried 
 his gin obtruded itself unpleasantly upon 
 his notice. It made a bulge in his pocket, 
 and he tried to hide it from Dan, but did 
 not succeed. 
 
 " Will you give me leave to speak of cer- 
 tain things in the past, sir, and not consider 
 it a liberty ? " asked Dan. 
 
 " Say what you like, Dan ; I can't con- 
 sider any thing you say a liberty." 
 
 " Ah — then I may speak of another 
 thing presently, which makes us all very 
 unhappy." (George Marvel sliifted un- 
 easily upon his chair, and wished lie could 
 get rid of the flat bottle which made itself 
 so conspicuous in his breast-pocket.) " We 
 have gone through many changes in our 
 humble life ; but for the most part we have 
 been very happy. Do 3'ou remember, sir, 
 when father died, how perplexed I was as 
 to how we should live, and how, when 
 every thing seemed to be a failure, and 
 there didn't seem to be a ray of hope, you 
 came to me with twelve pounds four shil- 
 lings, in a bag, which you had collected for 
 us among the neighbors ? " (George Mar- 
 vel groaned, and thought, " ^Vhat would 
 the neighbors say to me now if I went to 
 them on such an errand ? But I was re- 
 spected then.") " Well, sir, from that time 
 fortune smiled upon us, and we got on, un- 
 til the unhappy day came. You know, sir, 
 what fither died of; it causes me shame 
 and sorrow to think of, although it is a long 
 time ago. I remember how Ellen and I 
 used to sit here, in this very room, and 
 tremble when we heard his step in the pas- 
 sage — she was frightened, but I was more 
 ashamed than frightened. There was the 
 day poor mother was buried — I shall never 
 forget that night when we sat here in the 
 dark ; Mrs. Marvel was very kind to us 
 that day, but indeed she was always that. 
 Jo's mother couldn't be otherwise." 
 (George Marvel gave a gasp, and lowered 
 his head.) " It cuts, sir, to speak of Jo in 
 this way ; I feel it as well as you. But it 
 may do good. Now I'll tell you what I 
 thought that night of poor mother's funeral, 
 when I heard father stumbling in the pas- 
 sage. I thought it was cruel and unkind to 
 mother ; I thought that even if he had the 
 right to bring shame on himself (which I 
 am certain he hadn't, for no man has), he 
 had no right to bring it on us ; I thought 
 that perhaps poor mother died sooner than 
 17 
 
 she might have done if fiither had been a 
 steady and sober man. For father earned 
 very little money, and mother had to work 
 very hard to make both ends meet. I have 
 known her get up in the winter mornings 
 at five o'clock, and work and slave till near 
 midnight, and all because of father's idle- 
 ness. Now tell me, sii', you whom I have 
 always looked up to because you are a just 
 man, could any thing justify father in lead- 
 ing the life he did V " 
 
 " Nothing, Dan," replied George Marvel, 
 in a low voice. 
 
 " He did not even have the excuse of a 
 great grief," said Dan courageously and 
 tenderly. " Why, when he died that 
 dreadful death, shamed and shocked as I 
 was, I looked upon it as a mercy to him 
 and to us that he was taken away. Yet, 
 going a long way back, to the time when I 
 was very young, I remember that father 
 was not so very bad ; he used to drink a 
 little, but was not always drunk. It grew 
 upon him, I suppose, until it mastered him, 
 and made him what he became." Cer- 
 tainly, Dan proved himself the cunningest 
 of physicians ; he had brought home to 
 George Marvel a consciousness of the abyss 
 towards which he was walking, and had 
 executed his task tenderly, wisely, and 
 without giving offence. " Now, come, sir," 
 continued Dan boldly ; " let us look things 
 straight in the face. You said you must 
 go away from here — you mean all of us, 
 of course. Have you any idea where we 
 should move to ? " 
 
 "None, Dan. Only one thing is plain 
 to me — ay, much plainer to me after what 
 you have said — and that is that I must go 
 from this neighborhood, where once I held 
 up my head and was respected, but where 
 now every man and woman is my enemy. 
 I never will be friends with them again — 
 never ! If they held out their hands to me 
 now, I should refuse them, after what they 
 have said of our poor dead boy." 
 
 " Dead boy ! " mused Dan. " Are you 
 certain, sir, that Jo is dead ? " So startled 
 was JNIr. Marvel by the question, that he 
 gazed at Dan in speechless astonishment. 
 "I haven't spoken of it to anybody else,, 
 but something tells me that our Joe is 
 alive. Yes, sir, you may well stare at me, 
 for every other person but you and Ellen 
 and Mrs. Marvel would call me mad for 
 saying such a thing. I can. give you no 
 reason for the belief — for it is a beliefj not 
 a fancy. Haven't you heard, sir, of men 
 being wrecked on strange lands, and living 
 there for many years after they were sup- 
 posed to be dead ? Haven't you heard of 
 men living amongst savages, and suddenly 
 appearing among their friends years and 
 vears after they were lost? Some such 
 
194 
 
 JOSHUA MAKVEL. 
 
 thing, happily, may have occurred to 
 Jo." 
 
 " But it's two years now since Josh went 
 away," gasped Mr. Marvel ; and then 
 added, " Don't tell mother, Dan ; it would 
 drive her out of her senses." 
 
 " I shall wait before I tell her, but I shall 
 tell Ellen when the proper time comes. 
 Hope isn't a bad thing, sir." 
 
 " But hope without reason," suggested 
 Mr, Marvel. 
 
 " Except the reason that exists and the 
 comfort that exists in thinking of the cases 
 that we have read of in stories of ship- 
 wrecked men who have been preserved 
 from death. But hope is a good thing 
 always, whether it comes from reason or 
 fancy. And if you can believe as I believe, 
 it will be the better and not the worse for 
 you. Indeed, indeed, sir, you don't know 
 how earnest I am in this. Think of the 
 friendship that exists between me and Jo ; 
 I believe it to be something better and 
 higher , than ordinary friendships among 
 boys and men. It has grown up with us, 
 until it has become almost a part of our 
 very being. We are never out of each 
 other's thoughts ; when he was away on his 
 first voyage he was always thinking of me, 
 and I of him. And that Christmas niglit 
 that he came home — do you know what 
 happened then, sir ? Ellen can tell you 
 that during the whole of that day I was 
 uneasy about Jo ; I had dreamed of him 
 the night before, and my dream made me 
 unhappy, for I was convinced that he was 
 in danger. I had no reason for that, nor 
 had I any reason for telling Ellen tbat Jo 
 was very near us an hour before he came 
 to the door. But unhappily, it all came 
 true as I feared. Now, sir, I have thought 
 often that if Jo was dead, I should feel it 
 and know it — and I don't feel it and don't 
 know it. Something keeps whispering to 
 me, " You will see him again, be with him 
 again." And I believe that I shall. For 
 last night, sir, I dreamed of Jo, and Jo was 
 alive ; and as sure as we're sitting here 
 talking, we shall see Jo one day, and all 
 the dreadful mystery that looks so black 
 against him will be cleared up." 
 
 Mr. Marvel jumped to his feet, and walk- 
 ed excitedly about the room. There was 
 something contagious in Dan's enthusiasm. 
 So eai-nest, so thrilling was Dan's voice, that 
 Mr. Marvel's heart beat high with the hope 
 in which there was no reason. 
 
 " I have not done yet, sir. When you 
 said to-night that you must go away from 
 here, I was amazed, for it seemed to belong 
 to part of my dream. Jo seemed to say to 
 me, ' I can't come to you, Dan ; come to 
 me.' Anil I want to go to him " — 
 
 Mr. Marvel stopped suddenly in his walk, 
 
 and stood before Dan with a startled look 
 on his fece. 
 
 " I want to go to him, or as near to him 
 as I can. The last place Jo was heard of 
 was at Sydney, and the ship is supposed to 
 have foundered somewhere near the Aus- 
 tralian coast. Well, sir, if by any means it 
 can be managed, we ought to go to Aus- 
 tralia." 
 
 " All of us ! " exclaimed Mr. Marvel. 
 
 " All of us," repeated Dan. " Why not ? 
 We are miserable here — unhappy here. 
 We haven't, as you say, a friend in the 
 place. Everybody is against Jo, and be- 
 lieve him to be bad, while we know him to 
 good. I agree with you, sir, that if those 
 we thought were our ti-iends and who have 
 spoken against Jo were to hold out their 
 hands to me, I would not take them. It 
 would be treasonable to Jo. To live 
 on here in this way would only be adding 
 to our unhappiness. I dare say we could 
 manage to get along out there. Mr. Med- 
 dler says it is a rising place, and a splendid 
 country for a poor man to get along in. 
 You could take your tools, and could get 
 work. I could take my birds, and should be 
 able to get plenty there that I could train. 
 Why, sir, it would be a splendid thing, and 
 the best for all of us." 
 
 " I believe it would — I believe it would," 
 said Mr. ]\Iarvel, his voice trembled with 
 eagerness ; " but where is the money to 
 come from ? " 
 
 " We have forty pounds of Jo's, sir, that 
 he left for you and n:e ; I wouldn't mind it 
 being spent that way. That wouldn't 
 be any thing like enough, I know ; but I 
 think I have a friend. However, sir. let us 
 think over it for a little while. I am glad 
 tbat we've had this talk. You'll forgive 
 me. sir, won't you, for what I said in the 
 first part of it ? " 
 
 George Marvel made no reply, but, 
 standing by Dan, put his arm affectionately 
 round the neck of his son's friend ; then lefl 
 the room, and comforted his wife by a very 
 simple act. He took the flat bottle out of 
 his pocket, and said, " Maggie, I have done 
 with this ; I shall never fill it again." And, 
 happily for him and all of them, he kept his 
 word. 
 
 CHAPTER XXVm. 
 
 MR. MARVEL SHAKES THE DUST FROM 
 HIS FEET. 
 
 Dan took the Old Sailor in to his confi- 
 dence, and the impracticable old fellow ex- 
 citedly proposed that they should leave 
 
MR. MARVEL SHAKES THE DUST FRO 
 
 Stepney and come and live with him in his 
 barge. But as Uan declared that that was 
 impossible, the Old Sailor's hopes fell down 
 to zero. 
 
 " We can't live in this neighborhood 
 much longer," said Dan ; " it wouldn't so 
 much matter to me, for I'm always indoors, 
 but it does to Jo's father. I know what he 
 must sulier. You see, what we want is a 
 friend." 
 
 " Ah ! " said the Old Sailor, " what you 
 want is a friend. Well, we'll talk of this 
 again by and by." 
 
 " He went down stairs to see Ellen, and 
 found her crying over her baby. 
 
 " Come, come, my dear," he said ; " this 
 won't do ; you'll be making an old woman 
 of yourself in no time." And he dried her 
 eyes with his handkerchief 
 
 " You're the only friend we've got now," 
 said Ellen sadly. 
 
 The Old Sailor thought : " Says Dan, 
 ' What we want is a friend.' Says Ellen, 
 ' You're the only friend we've got.' " And 
 he put this and that together, as he had 
 done once before in the memorable conver- 
 sation he had had with Joshua at Graves- 
 end, when he set all matters straight. 
 
 " What were you crying for, my lass ? " 
 he said aloud. 
 
 " Ah, sir ! " replied Ellen, " I don't mind 
 telling you. I was looking down at baby, 
 and thinking that when she is old enough 
 to understand things — and baby is very 
 quick, and almost understands already, 
 don't you, my pet ? — she will hear such 
 stories from iil-natured people about father, 
 as will make her as unhappy as her poor 
 mother is. When I thought that, sir, I be- 
 gan to cry, and was almost wicked enough 
 to believe that it would be better for both 
 of us to die than to live amongst such bad- 
 hearted people." 
 
 The Old Sailor did not stop long, but 
 walked away in profound thought. 
 
 Soon after that, another misfortune oc- 
 curred. George Marvel told them that he 
 bad left his situation. " i gave it up of my 
 own accord, Maggie," he said to his wife, 
 to whom he first spoke upon the subject ; 
 " If I hadn't, I should have done something 
 that would have made the master give me 
 warning, and I should have been disgraced. 
 I can't make sure of myself now ; my blood 
 boils up so when I hear a word dropped 
 about Josh, that every thing swims before 
 my eyes. I can't help it, my dear. Don't 
 blame me." 
 
 She did not blame him, but said she was 
 sure he had done what he thought was for 
 the best. 
 
 " I've worked in the shop, man and boy, 
 for more than thirty years," he said husk- 
 ily, " and I doubt if I shall get another. 
 
 FEET, 
 
 195 
 
 Trade's overdoiJ^C^gpod many men are / 
 out, and I'm notX^tfQQuag as I was. \/ 
 don't quite see the eiwvcS"-it, M.ig^ic." 
 
 She cheered him and comforted him, and 
 he wont out the next morning in search of 
 work, feeling very much ashamed of him- 
 self It was like begging. He came home 
 disheartened and footsore, and hadn't a 
 cheerful word or look for any one. " A 
 nice ending this is ! " he said bitterly. "But 
 I brought it all on myself I shouldn't 
 have driven our boy to sea." He seemed 
 to think it was nothing but strict justice 
 that he should take all the blame upon 
 himself. He earned so little money, that 
 presently he had to break into Joshua's 
 legacy to him and Dan, and it began to 
 melt like magic. Things were getting very 
 bad. The dress-making work, too, was 
 slackening, and Susan and Ellen had many 
 idle days. 
 
 Solomon Fewster observed all this with 
 inward satisfaction, although outwardly he 
 sympathized with them, and was proiiise 
 in his offers of assistance. But they would 
 not accept any thing from him ; and very 
 soon the proceeds of the birds he continued 
 to purchase from Dan became their most 
 dependable source of revenue. Notwith- 
 standing that he was careful never to say a 
 word of the past that would be distasteful 
 to them, he did not make much way in 
 their good graces. They did not show this, 
 however ; he was consistent in his offers of 
 assistance and in his friendly behavior, 
 and they could not show ingratitude ; but 
 their instincts were against him. He al- 
 lowed a year to pass before he spoke to 
 Ellen of his love for her, and even then he 
 thought it best first to make sure of the 
 co-operation of her friends. He addressed 
 himself in the first place to George Marvel, 
 who opened his eyes very wide, and was 
 indeed very much astonished at Mr. Fews- 
 ter's declaration. He had never suspected 
 that ]\Ir. Fewster had an attachment for 
 Ellen. 
 
 " I loved her before she was married," 
 said jSIr. Fewster to him ; " but then 1 saw 
 that she loved your poor son, and I was too 
 honorable to interpose. So I did not dis- 
 tress her by telling her of my love." 
 
 Mr. Marvel thought that that was manly 
 and straightforward, but asked Mr. Fews- 
 ter why he spoke to him upon the sub- 
 ject. 
 
 " You are in a sort of way Ellen's fa- 
 ther," replied Mr. Fewster, " and it is due 
 to you that I should speak to you first. 
 I should not be justified otherwise in offer- 
 ing myself to Ellen. I have something to 
 say also, if you will excuse me for taking 
 the liberty " — 
 
 Seeing that Mr. Fewster hesitated, Mr. 
 
196 
 
 JOSHUA MARVEL. 
 
 Marvel bade him proceed, and then the 
 wooer cunningly placed before Mr. Marvel 
 certain advantages that would accrue to 
 him if Ellen consented. 
 
 '•' I should feel it my duty," said Mr. 
 Fewster, " to see that the man I look upon 
 as Ellen's father is properly cared for." 
 
 " Never mind that," said Mr. Marvel ; he 
 had recovered from his astonishment, and 
 felt a sort of displeasure at Mr. Fewster's 
 proposal. " Never mind that," he repeated 
 dryly, " but tell me what it is you want me 
 to do." 
 
 " I want you to give your consent, Mr. 
 Marvel, and to assist me." 
 
 " Assist you in making a woman love 
 you, ]\Ir. Fewster ! " exclaimed Mr. ^Marvel. 
 " No, no ; the matter rests with you and 
 Ellen. It is none of mine, and any feeling 
 I may have in the matter it is but right I 
 should keep to myself." 
 
 '' But you won't say any thing in my dis- 
 favor," urged Mr. Fewster, alarmed at Mr. 
 Marvel's coldness of manner, and thinking 
 to himself that when Ellen was his wife, 
 he would have as little as possible to do 
 with the Marvels. 
 
 " I shall say nothing to Ellen one way 
 or the other," replied Mr. Marvel moodily. 
 " I have no doubt Ellen knows what is 
 due to herself. And to Joshua," he was 
 about to add, but he only thought the words ; 
 they did not pass his lips. When Mr. 
 Fewster went away, Mr. Marvel was very 
 despondent, and thought with some bitter- 
 ness that he would have spoken to Ellen's 
 lover very differently, if he hadn't been so 
 low down in the world. So discouraged 
 was IVIr. Fewster by his interview with 
 Mr. Marvel, that he did not speak to any 
 other members of the family, not even to 
 Dan, but came straight to the point at once 
 with Ellen. After all, whom else did it 
 concern but Ellen and himself ? She was 
 sitting in the kitchen, working ; baby was 
 in the cradle, and upon Ellen's face were 
 traces of tears. When she and baby were 
 alone, her tears flowed too readily now. 
 Solomon Fewster had prepared himself 
 carefully for the occasion. He was attired 
 in his best, and presented quite a holiday 
 appearance. He bought a bunch of flowers 
 fur Ellen, of which he begged her accept- 
 ance. With a little hesitancy of manner, 
 she took them from his hand and placed 
 them on the table. There is something in the 
 air of a wooer that betrays his purpose to 
 the woman he loves, and when Ellen looked 
 into Mr. Fewster's face and saw this, she 
 rose hurriedly, and stooped to take baby 
 out of the cradle, intending to leave the 
 room. But Llr. Fewster's hand upon her 
 arm restrained her. 
 
 " Nay, Ellen," he said awkwardly, 
 
 \ 
 
 baby alone for a little ; don't disturb her 
 
 — she looks so pretty in her sleep." And 
 calling up a look of admiration in his face, 
 he contemplated baby with an appearance 
 of affectionate interest, which Avould have 
 won its way to the heart of most mothers 
 at once. But not to Ellen's. Mr. Fews- 
 ter's tender manner brought back to her 
 the memory of all his disagreeable atten- 
 tions when they were first acquainted, and 
 she waited in silent apprehension for what 
 she dreaded was to come. But round about 
 the bush went Mr. Fewster. 
 
 " Things are very much changed, Ellen," 
 he observed. She would have resented his 
 calhng her by her Christian name on the 
 present occasion, although he had oflen 
 done so before ; but he was Dan's patron 
 and their chief dependence, and she did 
 not dare to object. " Very much changed," 
 he repeated. "Mr. Marvel, poor fellow, 
 looks quite shabby. He has a difficulty in 
 getting work, I believe. Very sad — very 
 sad. But it's the way of the world. One 
 man up, another man down. Lucky man 
 that who can always keep up." 
 
 " He is inded, Mr. Fewster," said Ellen, 
 constrained to say something in reply. 
 '• But we can't help misfortunes coming." 
 
 " No ; but we can often turn bad fortune 
 into good. Now, looking lately at Mr. and 
 jSIrs. Marvel, who are far from happy, poor 
 things ! far from happy, I have been think- 
 ing what a beautiful thing it would be to 
 make them easier in their mind as regards 
 their worldly circumstances, for there is no 
 doubt that that constitutes the greatest 
 part of their unhappiness. As for the other 
 part of their unhappiness — family grief — 
 time will soften that. But time doesn't 
 soften poverty if it is always with you. It 
 is a sad thing, a very sad thing, but it is so 
 unfortunately. Tliere is no harder misfor- 
 tune in the world than poverty." 
 
 " Yes, there is, Mr. Fewster," said Ellen, 
 who had taken baby on her lap as a kind 
 of protection. " There are griefs of the 
 heart which are bitterer to bear than pov- 
 erty." 
 
 " I stand corrected. But then that will 
 be the case with the few, not with the many 
 
 — with the few who are superior to most 
 people, and who are the more to be ad- 
 mired for the possession of such excellent 
 virtues. I know one woman who is far 
 above all others in this respect, and whom 
 I therefore love and admire fur above all 
 other women." Ellen trembled and turned 
 very pale, but Mr. Fewster proceeded rap- 
 idly, fearful lest he had been too precipi- 
 tate, " Coming back to Mrs. Marvel — would 
 it not be a good thing to make her com- 
 fortable in her mind about her worldly 
 .circumstances ? " 
 
MR. MARVEL SHAKES THE DUST FROM HIS FEET. 
 
 107 
 
 " It would be — a very good tbing," 
 answered Ellen» in a low tone. 
 
 " And it can be done. There is one per- 
 son who has it in her power to do this for 
 Mrs. Marvel." Again Mr. Fewster paused 
 until Ellen asked, "Who is that person, 
 Mr. Fewster?" 
 
 " You," be said eagerly. " You can do 
 this, and at the same time you can make a 
 man who has loved you from the first day 
 be saw you the happiest man in the world." 
 
 " Stop, sir 1 " cried Ellen, in a firm voice. 
 " You must not say what you were about 
 to say. It would be iblly — worse than 
 folly — it would be wicked for me to pre- 
 tend not to understand you. It would be 
 merciful to me, and best for both of us, that 
 you should not say any thing more now. I 
 have no heart for any thing but my grief 
 and my child. 
 
 So earnestly did she speak, that Fewster 
 was fain to desist. The only words he 
 said were, " You shall see how I respect 
 and love you : your word is my law ; " and 
 straightway left her. But he did not leave 
 her despairingly. One little word that 
 Ellen had unconsciously uttered filled him 
 with hopeful anticipation. She had said, 
 " It will be merciful to me, and best for 
 both of us, that you should not say any 
 thing more now." She had put no impres- 
 sion upon the word ; but the wish that 
 " keeps the word of promise to the ear " im- 
 bued it with a distinct utterance to Solo- 
 mon Fewster's sense. " I must not say 
 any thing more noio," he thought ; " that 
 opens the way for the future. I must be 
 content for a little while." He thought he 
 had made a good move, and that he was 
 sure to win the game. 
 
 When he was gone, Ellen caught her 
 baby to her bosom, and ran to Dan's room 
 for consolation — almost, as it seemed to 
 her, for protection. There she found George 
 Marvel sitting in an attitude of sadness. 
 He had not had an hour's work for the 
 last fortnight, and half of Joshua's savings 
 was spent : but barely twenty pounds re- 
 mained. When that was gone ! Well, 
 that was what was fermenting in George 
 Marvel's mind now. When that was gone, 
 what was he to do ? Sit down and starve ? 
 Without doubt, they could not all live 
 upon Dan's earnings ; for Dan and his sis- 
 ters earned barely enough to keep them- 
 selves. He groaned in bitterness of spirit 
 to think that he, the only man in the house 
 who could work, was doomed to idleness. 
 He had striven hard, and still strove, to 
 obtain employment — with what success 
 has been narrated. He felt at times as if 
 he would be justified in demanding work, 
 instead of begging for it. Indeed, on one 
 occasion he had asked for work in some- 
 
 what defiant tones, and, being refused, had 
 spoken out of the bitterness of his heart, of 
 the injustice and hardship that stood in 
 his way of earning food, l)eing willing to 
 work for it honestly. The only answer 
 he received was an order to (juit the shop 
 immediately, if he did not wish to be given 
 in custody. The sentiments to which he 
 had given utterance were st)on made known 
 to many masters in the trade, some of 
 whom afterwards, in reply to his applica- 
 tions, said they did not want any Chartists 
 in their workrooms. His case was a des- 
 perate one indeed. The problem which 
 he was trying to solve as Ellen entered the 
 room after her interview with Solomon 
 Fewster was a common one enough, more's 
 the pity. He would have expressed it in 
 very simple words : " I must work to live. 
 I am able to work, and willing. I cannot 
 get work. How am I to live ? " Ellen 
 saw the trouble in his face, and sat down 
 by his side. He gave her just one glance, 
 and learned what had occurred ; for he 
 had seen Solomon Fewster go out of the 
 house. 
 
 " I know what has occurred, my dear," 
 he said anxiously. " Mr. Fewster has 
 been speaking to you. And your answer ? " 
 
 " 1 have no need to tell you, father," 
 said Ellen, raising her eyes to his. She 
 said nothing of the bribe Fewster had 
 offered for her love. 
 
 George Marvel saw that Ellen had re- 
 fused Mr. Fewster, and he nodded grave 
 approval ; yet, from a sense of justice, was 
 compelled to ask, — 
 
 " Have you considered all the circum- 
 stances, Ellen ? Have you considered the 
 future ? " 
 
 " I don't know," she answered ; " I only 
 know that I have done what is right, and 
 what is due to my dear Joshua's memory." 
 
 All this was Greek to Dan, and it had to 
 be explained to him. He listened in si- 
 lence, and was very thoughtful afterwards. 
 He let the matter drop, however, until he 
 and Ellen were alone ; and then he told 
 her, gently and by degrees, of his belief 
 that Joshua was not lost, and of his ear- 
 nest desire to go over the seas and com- 
 mence a new life. She, listening eagerly, 
 almost breathlessly, pressed his hand to her 
 lips and kissed him again and again, and 
 was absolutely so simple as to share his 
 belief. Hope revived within her ; and 
 when Dan said, " You are not widowed 
 yet, dear; of that I feel assured," she 
 blessed him for the words in which there 
 was no reason. 
 
 Other troubles came. Solomon Fewster, 
 strong in cunning, made a new move in the 
 game. His orders began to fall off, and in 
 a short time he bought one bird where 
 
198 
 
 JOSHUA MARVEL, 
 
 formerly he had bought three. Perhaps 
 he thought, "If love won't drive Ellen 
 into my arms, necessity may." It was a 
 cruel device, mean and merciless, and it 
 struck fresh terror to their hearts. They 
 could do nothing but wait and watch the 
 tide come up. And things grew so bad 
 for them that they had to content them- 
 selves with two meals a day, and those but 
 poor and scanty ones. Their condition 
 was a strange parallel to that of the unfor- 
 tunate passengers of the " Merry Andrew " 
 on the raft. There are wrecks 6n land as 
 sad as any in the records of the sea. 
 
 Solomon Fewster, of course, was profuse 
 in his regrets at the falling-off of the busi- 
 ness, and oifered to lend Dan and Ellen 
 money, which they refused. He renewed 
 his offer many times, not offended at the 
 refusal, " He wants to buy Ellen," thought 
 Dan ; " but he doesn't know her. Jo said 
 once that Ellen was not the kind of a girl 
 for a heroine. Would he say so now, if he 
 could see her, I wonder '? " 
 
 It was in this way that he often thought 
 of Joshua as of one who would be restored 
 to them some day. He had fixed the belief 
 firmly in his mind, and nothing could shake 
 it. He had no hope of ever seeing Minnie 
 again. She was as one who had passed 
 out of his Ufe forever. But she lived in 
 his mind and in his heart, and came to him 
 in his dreams. And in the light, often 
 and often, he would muse u^wn her tender- 
 ly and lovingly. 
 
 So they lived on, and the tide of adver- 
 sity rose higher and higher, until they 
 were compelled to begin to pawn things. 
 But a better time was coming. The Old 
 Sailor passing a pawn-shop one day in 
 Dan's neighborhood — he was on his way 
 to Dan's house — saw Ellen hurry out of 
 the shamefaced door. He was so _stao;ger- 
 ed that he allowed her to escape his sight. 
 He had had no idea that things were so 
 hard with them as that. When he recov- 
 ered himself, he gave his chest a great 
 thump, called himself " a blind old swab," 
 and made his way to Dan's house. He 
 went straight down to the kitchen, prying 
 old interloper as he was, and caught Ellen. 
 in the act of counting a few — very few — 
 small pieces of silver and copper in Mrs. 
 Marvel's hand. He was so distressed, that 
 the blood rushed into his face. He only 
 desired to see Ellen alone and speak to her, 
 and here he was shaming them in their pov- 
 erty. The tender-hearted old fellow was fit 
 to sink into the ground, he was so remorse- 
 ful. He stammered out a few words of apol- 
 ogy, said he thought Ellen was alone, but 
 that Dan would do as well. He went up 
 to Dan, and to Dan's astonishment locked 
 the door. Then he inclined his head melo- 
 
 dramatically, to be sure that no one was 
 listening, and, being satisfied, drew a chair 
 close to Dan's. 
 
 " Hark ye, my lad," he said : " can you 
 and I speak to the point, and without beat- 
 ing about the bush ? " 
 
 " I think we can, sir," replied Dan, smil- 
 ing ; the Old Sailor's voice always did him 
 good. 
 
 " Frankly, then," said the Old Sailor, 
 " do you find it a hard matter to live ? " 
 
 " Very hard, sir." 
 
 " No money in the house, eh ? " 
 
 "None, sir." 
 
 " And business falling off? " 
 
 " Fallen off would be more correct, sir. 
 My earnings for the last month not more 
 than ten shillings." 
 
 " And Mr. Marvel ? " 
 
 " About a day's w^rk in the week, sir." 
 
 " And the money that poor Josh left ? " 
 
 " All gone, sir." 
 
 " O Dan ! " groaned the Old Sailor, " why 
 wasn't I told of this ? " 
 
 Dan gave him a sad look, but made no 
 other reply. 
 
 " And the poor mother," continued the 
 Old Sailor, " how must she have suffered ! 
 And Ellen, poor lass ! and the little one ! 
 Dan, Dan ! if I don't feel to you as if you 
 were my son, I could find it in my heart to 
 be angry with you ! " 
 
 " Nay, sir," urged Dan gently, " you are 
 not to blame. We are unfortunate, that is 
 all. We are not the only ones, I dare say." 
 
 " Come, now, open your mind to me. 
 Look things in the face. What do you 
 see before you this time twelve months V " 
 
 The practical question was hke a blow, 
 and Dan trembled. The answer came 
 from his reason in which there was no 
 hope. 
 
 " What do I see before me this time 
 twelve months ? Worse poverty than this 
 — and this is hard enough, God knows ! 
 We are growing poorer every day, and 
 every day it is a puzzle where to-morrow's 
 food will come from. All our friends have 
 fallen off from us ; when Ellen and Jo's 
 mother go into the streets, not one pleasant 
 face greets them. They come back, sad 
 and suffering. And they must bear it 
 while they remain in this neighborhood, if 
 they are to be true to Jo. 1 can under- 
 stand now how some good people are made 
 bad by the world's injustice. It won't 
 make them bad, I can answer for that ; but 
 I'm not so sure of Mr. Marvel. I haven't 
 seen a smile on his face for months ; his 
 nature seems to be completely changed. 
 I am almost afraid to think what remorse 
 might drive him to, for he is continually re- 
 proaching himself with being the cause of 
 all our misfortunes. He says he drove Jo 
 
ME. MAEVEL SHAKES THE DUST FEOM HIS FEET, 
 
 199 
 
 to sea, when his influence would have kept 
 him at home ; and this thought stings him 
 day and night. As for me, 1 earn very 
 little money now. And I am so stupid," 
 he added, with an odd smile, yet thought- 
 ful withal, " as to repine sometimes that we 
 can't live without silver and copper." 
 
 The Old Sailor dabbed his face with 
 his handkerchief in a state of great excite- 
 ment during this recital, and was com- 
 pelled to wait until he was cool before he 
 said, " So, taking them altogether, things 
 are very bad." 
 
 " Taking them altogether, sir," said Dan, 
 "I don't see how they could be worse. 
 We have only one consolation." 
 
 " What is that, Dan ? " asked the Old 
 Sailor eagerly, with a faint hope that it 
 was something tangible. 
 
 " Our faith in Jo, and our knowledge 
 that he is good and true, as we have always 
 known him to be. Poor Jo ! " 
 The Old Sailor groaned. 
 " You can't live on that, Dan," he said. 
 "No, sir," replied Dan with rare sim- 
 plicity ; " but it is a great comfort, never- 
 theless." 
 
 The Old Sailor pressed Dan's hand. 
 " 'Tisn't so bad a world," he murmured 
 more to himself than to Dan, " despite its 
 injustice." Then aloud : " What would be 
 the best thing for all of you to do, Dan, un- 
 der the circumstances ? " 
 
 " There is but one thing, sir ; and I 
 might as well wish for cheese from the 
 moon as wish for that." 
 
 " Perhaps not, Dan, perhaps not. Tell 
 your wish." 
 
 " I want some money." 
 " Ah ! how much V " 
 
 " Enough to take us to Australia, where 
 we could commence a new life." 
 
 " You hinted at that some time ago, 
 Dan." 
 
 « Yes, su"." 
 
 " That's what you meant when you said 
 you wanted a friend ? " 
 " Yes, sir." 
 
 " And I took no notice of it, like a hard- 
 hearted old hunks as I am. Do you know 
 why I took no notice of it, Dan V " 
 " No, sir." 
 
 " Because I didn't want to part from you 
 — because I didn't want to lose the only 
 friends I have in the world — because I 
 thought only of myself, and how lonely I 
 should feel when you and my little Ellen 
 and the good mother were thousands of 
 miles away. Well, well ! Old as I am, I'm 
 not too old to learn from younger heads. 
 Look you, my lad ! But stop — we'll have 
 the women up." 
 
 The Old Sailor went down into the 
 kitchen where Ellen and Mrs. Marvel were, 
 
 and took a hand of each, and led them 
 gravely up stairs into Dan's room. 
 
 " This is a family council, my dears," he 
 said, kissing them, " where we are to speak 
 our minds without hesitation. Dan has 
 been making things ch'ar to me, and I see 
 a good deal to which I've been blind, self- 
 ishly blind, more shame to me. ^Micn the 
 storm came on, I had an idea that you might 
 be able to weather it ; but you were not 
 strong enough, and human hearts have not 
 beeji so kind to you as winds and waves are. 
 The winds howl to-day, but a calm comes 
 to-morrow ; the waves dash over you for a 
 time, but presently the sea grows smooth. 
 That's at sea ; 'tis different on land some- 
 times. You have found it so, my dears, 
 eh?" 
 
 They sighed assent, and waited in a state 
 of painful expectancy for what was to come. 
 
 " And here you are with every sail split, 
 with every spar broken, with bulwarks 
 dashed in, and every thing adrift. And 
 around you cruel tongues and unjust hearts. 
 What ! with all this craft in view, won't 
 one come forward, and ask. What cheer? 
 Not one? And yet you've held out a help- 
 ing hand many a time, my dear " (to Mrs. 
 Marvel), " as I well know, and spared a 
 spar here and a bit of canvas there, with 
 a willing heart and a free hand. But you 
 are pearls, you women, and teach us good- 
 ness. The Lord love you, and send you 
 happier days ! " 
 
 He almost broke down here ; but he re- 
 covered himself by a great effort, and 
 continued, somewhat huskily at first : — 
 
 " Ah, my dears, I've been in storms, but 
 never a worse than this has been to you. 
 Look up, my lass ! " he cried to Ellen, and 
 pointing upwards to the dingy paper ceil- 
 ing in so earnest a tone that he found all 
 of them followed the direction of his finger, 
 while a new-born hope entered their hearts. 
 " Look up ! D'ye see the clouds a-breaking ? 
 D'ye see the sun tipping the edges with 
 white light ? If you don't, take my word 
 for it, the storm's over, and a friendly craft 
 is bearing down upon you." He paused 
 awhile before he spoke again. " ' You see,' 
 says Dan to me, ' what we want is a friend.' 
 Says Ellen to me, the very same day, 
 ' You're the only friend we've got.' What 
 did I do ? Clap on sail and bear down 
 upon you ? Not I ! " 
 
 " Nay, sir," interposed Dan. 
 " Hold your tongue, Dan ; I deserve to 
 have the cat for my behavior. Now, hark 
 ye. Before my poor lass here was married 
 to Josh — don't cry, my dear — I made 
 over my little bit of money to them jointly, 
 for better or worse. I dare say it will come 
 to a matter of two hundred pounds. Will 
 that be enough, Dan V " 
 
200 
 
 JOSHUA MARVEL. 
 
 Dan's sobs prevented a reply, and the 
 women sat silently thankful. 
 
 " So look upon that as settled," said the 
 Old Sailor, rising ; " and make your ar- 
 rangements. I'll see what ships are going 
 out, and '11 let you know to-morrow." 
 
 He left the room abruptly, unable to bear 
 the thankful looks and tears of his friends. 
 Besides which, he was almost unmanned at 
 the thought of parting from them. They 
 were the only friends he had in the world, 
 as he had said ; and when they were gone, 
 he would be left lonely in his old age. The 
 thought flashed across him to go with them, 
 but he dismissed it at once. Not only was 
 he too old to cross the seas, but he felt he 
 could not leave his barge near the old 
 Tower Stairs. 
 
 " I should be like a fish out of water," 
 he thought ; " and besides, I should only be 
 an encumbrance to the poor souls. I shall 
 be in my dotage soon, and they have trou- 
 bles enough of their own. No ; I'll stop 
 and lay my bones in Old England." 
 
 So the faithful old soul set to work at 
 once, and left himself with the very barest 
 pittance to live on, in order to get together 
 sufficient money for the necessities of his 
 friends. 
 
 The news so"on spread. Some of the 
 neighbors said it was a good job they were 
 going ; some were envious ; and a few re- 
 pented of their harshness. These last 
 went so far as to make slight advances to- 
 wards Mr. and Mrs. Marvel. ^Mr. Marvel 
 looked at them angrily, and responded with 
 hard words ; but his wife, a true peace- 
 maker, was more conciliatory. When she 
 remonstrated with him, and begged him to 
 consider that they were sorry because they 
 had concurred in the general verdict of 
 condemnation of Joshua, he said, — 
 
 " Let be, Maggie ; if they're sorry for 
 what the've said aljout Josh, the more 
 shame for them for hurting us as they did. 
 You can do as you like ; I sha'n't mind your 
 shaking hands with them. But for me, I've 
 said I'll never forgive them, and I never 
 will." When Susan was told that they 
 were going to Australia, her dull vacant 
 face suddenly lit up. 
 
 " We shall be near /u'm," she muttered ; 
 " near Minnie too. Poor Minnie ! where is 
 she ? " 
 
 The next moment her old manner was 
 upon her, and she relapsed into vacancy 
 again. 
 
 But there was one by whom the news of 
 their intended departure was received with 
 a chill of angry despair. Solomon Fewster 
 could scarcely believe it when he was told. 
 He hurried to the house, blaming himself 
 for his stupidity in trying to starve Ellen 
 into acquiescence. 
 
 " This would never have come about," 
 he thought, " if they had not been driven 
 to it by necessity. I ought to have shown 
 myself a greater friend than ever to Dan. 
 Gratitude would have made Ellen love 
 me." 
 
 To obtain Ellen's love had become a 
 mania with him. The farther she was re- 
 moved from him, the stronger grew his de- 
 sire. " Perhaps it is not yet too late," he 
 thought. He broke into Dan's room in 
 feverish haste, and cried, — 
 
 " Good news, Dan 1 I've got a customer 
 for four birds, and he wants them at once." 
 
 '' Here are two bullfinches and two ca- 
 naries," replied Dan with a queer smile ; " I 
 thought you would have wanted them ear- 
 lier. I have others ready, if )'ou want 
 more." 
 
 "I'll take them by and by," said Solo- 
 mon Fewster ; and then treated Dan to a 
 long account of the late dulness and the 
 expected revival of trade, and to the cer- 
 tain prospect of there being a great demand 
 for Dan's birds presently. Dan listened in 
 silence, and discomfited Solomon Fewster 
 by charging a higher price than usual for 
 the bullfinches and canaries. Solomon 
 Fewster thought it would be fatal to hesi- 
 tate, and he paid the money with apparent 
 willingness ; and Dan gave another queer 
 little smile as he put the money in his 
 pocket. Then Fewster referred to the 
 rumor, and Dan said it was true. 
 
 " We shall sail in about a month," said 
 Dan. 
 
 " But why go at all ? " asked Fewster. 
 
 " We are not able to get a living here, 
 sir," said Dan. He did not tell everybody 
 cf his fancy about Joshua. 
 
 "If that's your only reason," urged 
 Fewster, " stop, and let me be your friend. 
 I promise that you shall never want, 
 especially if — if" — 
 
 But he could not get the intended ref- 
 erence to Ellen gracefully off his tongue. 
 
 " I understand you, sir," said Dan ; " but 
 nothing that you can say can keep us 
 here." 
 
 At this point Mr. Marvel entered, and 
 Fewster left. Between the two men there 
 had been an utter absence of cordiality 
 since Fewster's overtures respecting Ellen. 
 Besides, Mc. Marvel had suspected why 
 Fewster's commissions for birds had fallen 
 off, and had made Dan acquainted with his 
 suspicions ; and this, indeed, was the rea- 
 son why Dan, whose eyes were open to 
 Fewster's meanness, had taken a secret 
 pleasure in charging him a high price for 
 his present purchase. 
 
 Solomon Fewster tried by every means 
 to induce them to stay, but his efforts were 
 unavailing. The passages were taken, the 
 
ME. MARVEL SHAKES THE DUST FEOM HIS FEET. 
 
 201 
 
 day was fixed. Tlie Old Sailor made 
 special arrang;ements for the accommoda- 
 tion of Dan's birds on board ship, and Dan 
 bought a ninnbcr of young songsters to 
 train on the voyage out, although the Old 
 Sailor shook his head ami expressed grave 
 doubts whether the birds would live. As 
 the day of departure appi'oached, the ex- 
 citement in the neighborhood grew stronger, 
 and public opinion veered steadily round 
 in favor of the Marvels. The band of the 
 remorseful ones received fresh recruits daily, 
 until, when the day arrived, there were not 
 a dozen of the neighbors who were not 
 sorry for the judgment that had been pro- 
 nounced against Joshua, and who did not, 
 in one way or another, give exjiression to 
 their sorrow. Mr. Marvel would not listen 
 to them ; the others did, and took pleasure 
 in listening to apologies which were in some 
 sort a vindication of Joshua's character. 
 But Mr. Marvel declared bitterly that he 
 would shake the dust from his shoes the 
 day he left Stepney, and that he was only 
 too thankful to escape from the nest of 
 vipers. 
 
 " You women," he said, " are too soft- 
 hearted for justice : if a scoundrel who has 
 wronged you comes crying to you, you look 
 kindly on him, and cry with him, out of 
 the tenderness of your hearts. But for me, 
 when I think of the many years we've lived 
 here, with never a black mark against us 
 — when I think of the good turns we've 
 done for this one and that one, and of the 
 manner in which they have returned our 
 good ofhces, I'm fit to choke with passion. 
 They tried to disgrace me, and would have' 
 seen us starve without offei'ing us bit or 
 sup. But now that we're going, well ofi" 
 as they think, they come whining round us, 
 sorry for the mud they threw at us. The 
 mud didn't stick, that's one comfort. I 
 could dash my fist in their faces when I 
 think of it ! " 
 
 So matters went on until the morning 
 came when they were to go aboard the sfhip 
 at Blackwall. They had a few little odds 
 and ends to take with them, and a cart was 
 at the door to convey them to the docks. 
 All the women and children in the neigh- 
 borhood flocked round the cart to see the 
 last of the emigrants. First Ellen, with 
 her child, got in ; the women kissed their 
 hands to her, and murmured to each other 
 that she looked older than her years. 
 Ellen's eyes were blinded with tears as she 
 looked up at the old house and at the famil- 
 iar faces in the crowd. Susan was the 
 next : she looked vacantly at the throng, 
 and turned her eyes to her lap, taking no 
 further heed of them. Dan followed with 
 his birds, and listened gravely, and not 
 without tenderness, to the farewells which 
 
 greeted him. After him came Mr. and 
 Mrs. Marvel. 
 
 " Good-by, my dear ; God bless you 1 
 God take you safely over, my dear ! " 
 
 In twenty dillerent ways were these fare- 
 wells and good wishes expressed, and Mrs. 
 Marvel pressed her hand upon her heart, 
 and sobbed till she could not distinguish a 
 face in the crowd that surrounded her. 
 
 " Get in INIaggie," said George Marvel ; 
 and then, delil)erately and gravely, stooped 
 and took ofi" his shoes. lie climbed into 
 the cart in liis stockings, and bending over 
 the wheel, shook the dust from his shoes. 
 " I'll take no dust from here with me," he 
 said in a louil tone ; " I leave that and your 
 lying words behind me. I loved you once, 
 and loved these streets ; but I've hated you 
 and them from the time you turned upon 
 us and made our lives bitterer than mis- 
 fortune had already made them. By and 
 by, you can tell the men I've worked with 
 and been kind to, that I was glad to go 
 from the place where I was born, and that 
 I shook the dust from my feet before I went 
 away." 
 
 Then, amid a dead silence, the cart lum- 
 bered away from Stepney on to Blackwall. 
 There they found the Old Sailor waiting for 
 them. " I will keep with you until you are 
 fairly off," he said. They were thankful 
 enough for his company, and as he did what 
 he could to cheer them, and they had plenty 
 of work to do in their cabins, they soon be- 
 came more cheerful and hopeful than they 
 had been for many a day. Soon the ship 
 was at Gravescnd, a place fraught with sad 
 and sweet memories — for Ellen especially. 
 Mrs. Friswell, at whose house the wedding 
 was celebrated, came aboard to see them, 
 and admired the baby, and whispered to all 
 of them, in turns, that if there ever lived a 
 man with a heart tender enough tor twenty 
 men, that man was the Old Sailor, and no 
 other. No need to say with what hearti- 
 ness they all indorsed this sentiment. 
 
 A surprise awaited them. On the morn- 
 ing of the ship's sailing, there came climb- 
 ing up the side Solomon Fewster. He ao- 
 costed them gayly. 
 
 " You were wondering, I dare say, why 1 
 hadn't been to wish you good-by." 
 
 " We thought you would be sui-e to come, 
 althou<rh at the last moment," answered 
 Dan. ° 
 
 Solomon Fewster first rubbed his hands 
 and then his chin. 
 
 " No need to say good-by," he said, Avith 
 a conscious look at Ellen ; " I am going 
 with you." 
 
 They were too much astonished to re- 
 ply. 
 
 "Yes," he continued; "when my best 
 friends were going, I didn't Uke the idea of 
 
202 
 
 JOSHUA MARVEL. 
 
 stopping behind. So I've sold my business 
 upon capital terms — capital terms. A good 
 sum down, and a share in the profits for the 
 next ten years. Shall be able to make 
 plenty of money in Australia, eh, Mr. Med- 
 dler ? " 
 
 " No doubt, no doubt," said the Old 
 Sailor, with a disturbed look. 
 
 Solomon Fewster, divining that his ab- 
 sence would be agreeable to them, hurried 
 away to look after his boxes. 
 
 " I am sorry he's going," said Dan ; " but 
 it can't be helped. We must make the best 
 of every thing, not the worst." 
 
 In the tender conversation that ensued, 
 consequent upon their parting from the 
 Old Sailor, Solomon Fewster was for- 
 gotten. 
 
 " Write to me as often as you can," said 
 the Old Sailor, " and I will do the same to 
 you, though my old joints are getting stiff. 
 You'll soon be settled down somewhere, 
 and you can let me know. 'Tis a sad word 
 — good-by. But I shall soon be saying 
 good-by to all the world, my dears." 
 
 He sat among them until the last mo- 
 ment, and first wished Susan good-by. 
 
 Tlien said George Marvel, as he and the 
 Old Sailor stood hand in hand, amidst the 
 confusion of ropes and cases, " If there had 
 been hearts like yours among our neigh- 
 bors, my poor Josh's name would not have 
 been blackened. Heaven will reward you. 
 I couldn't honor my own father more than 
 I honor you." 
 
 The Old Sailor quivered at the stroke ; 
 he could better have stood a hard knock. 
 He kissed Ellen tenderly, and she him ; 
 and he put a ribbon round baby's neck 
 with a little silver whistle at the end of it. 
 " In memory of me, my dear," he said. 
 
 '• I will teach her that it is the symbol of 
 the heart of a good man, dear sir," said El- 
 len, her eyes full of tears ; " and when she 
 is an old woman — if she lives to be such — 
 it may happen that she will show it to her 
 children, and tell them her mother's sad 
 story, and how her life was sweetened by 
 the kindest, dearest, best " — Sobs choked 
 her voice. 
 
 The Old Sailor waited a while until she 
 recovered, and then said, with exquisite 
 tenderness, — 
 
 " If she will sound the whistle sometimes 
 when she is a young woman, and I am in 
 my grave, I shall hear her perhaps." He 
 smiled thoughtl'uUy at this conceit. And 
 then iblded Ellen in his arms, and saying, 
 " God bless yoii, my lass ! " released her and 
 turned to Dan and Mrs. Marvel. She took 
 his hand and kissed it ; she could have 
 knelt to him, her heart was so fiill — too 
 full to speak. 
 
 " I know, I know, my dear," he said, and 
 
 kissed her. " I asked you once if you 
 would like to be a sailor, Dan ; do you re- 
 member ? " His arm was resting on Dan's 
 shoulder, and Dan drew it round his neck 
 and laid his face upon it. The action con- 
 veyed such tender meaning, that the tears 
 rolled down the Old Sailor's cheeks. 
 
 " When I see Joe," said Dan, " I may tell 
 him that you never doubted him '? " 
 
 " Ay, Dan," replied the Old Sailor aloud ; 
 but thought, " I shall see him before you do, 
 my lad." He would not disturb Dan's faith 
 by uttering the thought. 
 
 " Do I remember your asking if 1 would 
 like to be a sailor ? " continued Dan. " Ah, 
 yes ! what of that day can I ever forget ? 
 You taught me to splice a rope, and I 
 showed you Jo's heart and mine spliced, so 
 that nothing could sever them. And the 
 poor birds shipwrecked, as Jo is. We little 
 thought then, did we, sir?" The Old 
 Sailor grasped Dan's hand, and the next 
 minute was in his boat ; and the ship was 
 swinging round, hiding him from the loving 
 gaze of his friends. 
 
 Through the river that runs to the sea 
 the ship makes its way slowly and grandly. 
 In the ship's stern, looking with dimmed 
 eyes over the bulwarks, are Dan and El- 
 len and Mr. and Mrs. Marvel. Good- 
 by, dear friend ! Good-by, dear heart ! 
 Smaller and smaller grows the ship in his 
 eyes. Can they see him still ? he is lost 
 in the whirl of boats. No ; he is standing 
 up, cap in hand. Good-by, faithful simple 
 heart, richer in your honest goodness than 
 if you were endowed with all the jewels 
 that lie concealed in earth's dejjths. He 
 is lost to them now, and they shall see him 
 no more — here ! 
 
 Lost? No. He is with them every night 
 in their prayers — he dwells in their hearts. 
 To their dying days they think of him ten- 
 derly. Blessings on the dear Old Sailor I 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIX. 
 
 so NEAR AND YET SO FAR. 
 
 " Minnie ! " 
 
 " Yes, Joshua." 
 
 " That is all 5 I thought you were 
 asleep." 
 
 " You are very kind to me, Joshua. I 
 feel a little better to-day, I think." 
 
 " That's a good hearing, Minnie. Get 
 strong, my dear, for my sake." 
 
 " All ! If I could ; but I fear — I fear." 
 (This last to herself, under her breath.) 
 " Sit nearer, Joshua." 
 
so NEAR, AND YET SO FAR. 
 
 203 
 
 Many moons hnd passed, and with the 
 exception that IMinnie had grown very 
 weak, only one event of importance had 
 occurred shice the departure of Rough- 
 and-Ready and Tom the saihnaker. Tliat 
 event was the death of the Lascar ; and 
 the discovery made a deep impression on 
 Joshua. It oecm'red within a few weeks of 
 the parting of the tribes. The tribe of 
 which Opara was the chief, observing that 
 Minnie was drooping, resolved to return to 
 the spot where they had found her. By 
 easy stages they travelled near to the rocks 
 where the castaways had landed, and rest- 
 ed there some days, in the belief that Min- 
 nie would regain her health. The mysteri- 
 ous influence she had over them was never 
 weakened, and as she and Joshua were insep- 
 arable, he shared in the favor which was 
 shown to her. She saw this, and would 
 not allow him to cjuit her side, fearful lest 
 harm should betall him. One evening she 
 and Joshua had wandered from the native 
 camp to the pool where the Lascar had 
 stolen u])on him, with the intention of 
 killing him ; and they talked together of 
 the villain, and wondered what had be- 
 come of him. They saw a wonderful sight 
 as they sat and talked. From the distant 
 woods rose an immense army of flying 
 foxes, not less than four or five thousand 
 in number, flying in a straight line to a 
 distant pool. When they arrived over the 
 water, they dipped down to drink in regu- 
 lar order, keeping their ranks, so that pres- 
 ently they presented the shape of a perfect 
 curve. Joshua and Minnie watched the sin- 
 gular flight until the last of the animals had 
 satisfied its thirst ; shortly afterwards the 
 entire flock disappeared. As they retraced 
 their steps to the native camp, Joshua ob- 
 served something unusual lying on the 
 ground. It looked like a crouching animal, 
 and Joshua drew ilinnie aside fearing that it 
 might be a dangerous creature ; but it re- 
 mained perfectly still, and Joshua, drawn 
 thereto by an irresistible impulse, slowly ap- 
 proached the spot. To his horror he tbund 
 that it was a human creature — dead ; and 
 turning the face recognized the Lascar. So ! 
 his enemy was dead, and this was the end 
 of his animosity. The circumstances of 
 the eventful meeting when he had rescued 
 Susan from the Lascar's pursuit came to 
 Joshua's mind as he looked upon the dead 
 form. " His hate of me would not have 
 lived so long," thought Joshua, " if it had 
 not been fed by other means. Whom did 
 he reier to when he spoke of his master 
 the day he stole upon me with the stone ? 
 But that is past discovery now ! " The 
 dead man's face was distorted by agony, as 
 if he had died in torture, and Joshua look- 
 ed around for the cause of death. There 
 
 were a variety of trees near the spot — 
 among them some stinging trees. Jo.shua 
 knew the fatal effect of the deadly tree, and 
 divined that the Lascar had fallen from one 
 of the higher trees, which he must have 
 climbed in search of food, into the poison- 
 ous nettles, and so been stung to death. 
 He could not have been dead above a few 
 hours. Joshua turned away, and told Min- 
 nie. 
 
 " You will not leave him there unburied, 
 Joshua ? " said Minnie. 
 
 " No, Minnie, it would not be right. He 
 was our enemy, but there is an end to all 
 that now. Sit down on this trunk, my 
 dear, and I will be kinder to him in death 
 than he was to me in life." With his knife 
 and a stout stick he removed sufficient soil 
 to lay the dead man in ; as he moved the 
 body, a silver watch fell from a pocket. 
 Joshua picked it up, and involuntarily- 
 opened it. There was an inscription on 
 the case, roughly scratched in, and Joshua 
 read, " From Solomon Fewster to his 
 Lascar li-Iend." Joshua's heart beat loud- 
 ly as he read these words. He felt that he 
 was on the eve of a discovery. " They 
 knew each other," he thought in amaze- 
 ment ; and then, like a flash, it came upon 
 him that Solomon Fewster was the master 
 for whom the Lascar said he was workiu'T. 
 Eagerly he searched the Lascar's pockets 
 for more evidence ; and found it in the 
 shape of the following document : " To my 
 Lascar friend : I give you twenty-five 
 pounds in gold, and a silver watch and 
 two knives for services you have rendered 
 me in connection with J. M. And I prom- 
 ise you twenty-five pounds more in gold, if, 
 when you return in the ' Merry Andrew,' 
 you have accomplished what has been 
 agreed upon between us. — S. F." 
 
 Joshua read this document twice, and 
 then looked round, as if in expectation of 
 meeting Solomon Fewster fiice to face. 
 
 " Let me fix the villain's features in my 
 mind," he thought; "I will raise him before 
 me, so that when we meet, in this world or 
 the next, I may bring his treachery home 
 to him." With the eyes of his mind he 
 saw Solomon Fewster's false face, and he 
 dashed his fist into the air with a loud cry. 
 " Fool ! " he muttered, recovei-ing himself; 
 " am I growing as much a savage as those 
 amongst whom I live ? Was it Fewster or 
 this villain who stabbed me when I came 
 home ? " He looked down, and seemed to 
 find his answer. " It was your hand that 
 struck the blow, and he employed you. He 
 was too much of a coward to do it himself, 
 and he paid you for your services as you 
 have told me. And he wanted to get me 
 out of the way, so that he might win the 
 love of my Ellen." A bitter smile came to 
 
204 
 
 JOSHUA MAEVEL, 
 
 his lips, passed away, and a sweeter ex- 
 pression took its place. " To win the love 
 of my Ellen ! No, he can never do that ; 
 she is mine till death, and after it, and is 
 as true to me as I am to her. Ellen, dear 
 wife ! hear me, and be comtbrted." 
 
 Concealed beneath his covering of fur, 
 was a small bag, made of stout skin, well 
 dried, containing Ellen's portrait, her lock 
 of hair, Dan's Bible, and the page from 
 Captain Liddle's log-book, appointing him 
 captain. Into this bag he put the silver 
 watch and Fewster's document. 
 
 •' Rest there," he muttered. " When I 
 am dead, chance may direct these relics 
 into the hands of my friends. I will write 
 a statement myself of certain things, and 
 place it with these. Be merciful, O God ! 
 and keep firm the faith of my friends." 
 
 The appeal was like a prayer, and its 
 utterance soothed him. He laid the Las- 
 car's body in the shallow grave, and covered 
 it as well as he could with earth and leaves 
 and branches. Then he returned to Min- 
 nie, and they walked to the camp. He did 
 not tell her of his discovery. It would 
 have made her more unhappy. 
 
 On another occasion they were sitting to- 
 gether in the woods, in silence and resig- 
 nation. They had sat so for full half an 
 hour, and not a word had passed between 
 them; their thoughts were with their 
 friends, thousands of miles away. Sud- 
 denly there came to their ears the tinkle 
 of a bell. They started, and looked at 
 each other in wonder. A wild hope 
 entered Joshua's heart. The sound was 
 faint but distinct. It was like an evidence 
 of approaching civilization. Presently it 
 sounded again, and was followed by other 
 bells of different tones, but each note being 
 clearly uttered. Tinkle, tinkle, tinkle ! till 
 the woods were filled with music. Creep- 
 ing slowly and softly in the direction of the 
 sounds, they discovered the cause. The 
 sounds were not produced, as they had 
 hoped, by bells on the necks of cattle, but 
 by a congregation of small birds of a green- 
 ish-yellow color, who, perched upon the 
 branches of trees, in a spot where the trees 
 tbrmed a circle, were singing to each other 
 their sweetest songs. Disturbed by the 
 approach of footsteps, the birds hid them- 
 selves among the leaves, and were silent ; 
 but Minnie and Joshua remained perfectly 
 still, and soon the sweet sounds were heard 
 again, and the concert was resumed, to the 
 delight of the hearers. 
 
 For many evenings after this Joshua and 
 Minnie came to the spot to listen to the 
 melody of the bell-birds. It was on one of 
 these evenings that an idea in association 
 with the birds presented itself to Joshua. 
 Why should he not employ a little of his 
 
 idle time in training some of the birds with 
 which the beautiful woods abounded, as 
 Dan and he used to do in their boyish days ? 
 He trembled with delight at the thought, 
 and was eager to begin. It seemed to 
 bring him nearer to Dan and the beloved 
 ones at home. He told Minnie of his 
 fancy, and she encouraged it. He would 
 set about it at once ; but first he must 
 make a cage. He made one of wicker- 
 work, sufficiently large to hold a score of 
 birds ; and in a very little while his cage 
 was inhabited by birds as beautiful and 
 almost as docile as any he had taught at 
 home. 
 
 All this while they were allowed by the 
 natives to do pretty well what they pleased. 
 Food was supplied to them regularly, and 
 they were not expected to work or hunt for 
 it. Scarcely a night passed without Joshua 
 played his accordion in the shade of their 
 hut, and the singular fancy which the 
 natives entertained respecting Minnie was 
 strengthened by these mysterious melodious 
 sounds. From time to time the natives 
 shifted their camp, according to the seasons, 
 and they invariably regulated their day's 
 walking by Minnie's strength. Uncultured 
 and savage as these ignorant creatures 
 were, they were tender and kind to Minnie 
 and Joshua, and showed them a thousand 
 little attentions which could only have been 
 prompted by the most delicate considera^ 
 tion. Joshua's fancy about the birds was 
 quite a natural thing in their eyes. Min- 
 nie wanted the birds to talk to ; she under- 
 stood the mysterious voices of birds and 
 trees. Their reverence for her was in- 
 creased when they saw her one day with a 
 golden-crowned honey-sucker upon her fin- 
 ger. This was one of the first birds which 
 Joshua had tamed ; he was careful to give 
 it its favorite food, — the blossoms of the 
 blue gum-tree when it was in flower, and at 
 all times honey and sweet leaves, and had 
 anticipated the effect it would produce 
 upon the natives, when they saw it perch- 
 ing contentedly upon Minnie's finger. 
 
 "See!" said Opara, "the birds know 
 our Star ; she talks to them the language 
 of the trees. From us they fly, and hide 
 themselves in clouds ; but she bids them 
 come, and they rest upon her bosom." 
 
 Soon other birds were tamed and trained ; 
 and the wonder spread to distant tribes, 
 who made long journeys to see the Star of 
 Opara's tribe, who understood the voice 
 of Nature, and talked with all the children 
 of the Great Mother ; for so the simple sav- 
 ages interpreted it. 
 
 But Minnie grew weaker and weaker. 
 She concealed her weakness as much as 
 possible from Joshua, who was very tender 
 to her, very, very kind. He had quite 
 
so NEAR AND YET SO FAR. 
 
 205 
 
 forgiven her; no cloud disturbed the 
 harmony of their strange lives. Bearing 
 always in mind the advice which Rough- 
 and-Keady had given them to endeavor to 
 make their way southward, and knowing 
 the one great wish of Joshua's heart, she 
 had used all her influence with the tribe to 
 induce them every time they shifted their 
 camp to move in that direction, and had 
 succeeded so far, that every season found 
 them nearer to the settled districts. But, 
 although three years had passed, they had 
 not seen the slightest signs of civilization. 
 
 Once Joshua was in a terrible state of 
 agitation. He was gathering sweet leaves 
 for his birds, when " Crack I " went the 
 sound of a whip. He uttered a joyful cry, 
 and threw himself upon the ground with 
 all his heart in his ears, for he had not 
 caught the direction of the sound. 
 " Crack ! " went the whip again. He ran 
 swiftly towards it, and listened again. 
 Rough-and-Ready had told him many 
 times to keep his ears sharp open for the 
 crack of a vrliip, and here it was, at last, 
 after weary, weary waiting. 
 
 " You will find most likely," Rough-and 
 Ready had said, " that it is a stockman 
 looking after some stray cattle. Then you 
 will be all right." 
 
 The thoughts that crowded upon Josh- 
 ua's mind in the few moments that elapsed 
 between the cracking of the whip would 
 occupv an hour to describe ; they may be 
 summarized thus : " That is a stockman's 
 whip, lliank God for it ! I shall see him 
 presently, and he will wait while I fetch 
 Minnie. Then we will go to where his 
 companions are, and I will get some pres- 
 ents for our kind friends the natives. Min- 
 nie will soon grow strong ; thank God ! 
 We will go down to Sydney, and get pas- 
 sage home in the first ship. Then — then 
 — O Ellen, Ellen I O Dan, dear friend ! 
 dear mother and father I All will come 
 right — all will be set right. Thank 
 God ! " 
 
 " Crack, crack ! " Nearer — nearer. He 
 was close to it, but saw nothing. He looked 
 round carefully, watchfully. '• Crack 1 " 
 Over his head. He turned his eyes to the 
 clouds, and saw a bird — the whip-bird — 
 flying over the trees, uttering its " crack ! " 
 as it flew, taking his hopes with it, and 
 bearing them away to where perhaps he 
 would never meet with them again. 
 
 And Dan is sitting in a wooden hut built 
 near the banks of a beautiful river. Seas 
 do not divide him from his friend. They 
 both live on the same bit of land, ignorant 
 of each other's whereabouts. The same 
 continent holds those two faithful hearts. 
 What is Dan doing ? who are with him ? 
 
 what kind of a place is this where he and 
 they reside ? 
 
 A village in which dwell not more than 
 a few hundred inhaljitants. Not free from 
 care, for care is human ; but happier than 
 inhal)itants of great cities are. There 
 is plenty of work for hands to do ; more 
 than there are hands to do it. What 
 luxury there is, is the luxury of nature — 
 rich fruits, bright flowers, clear atmosphere, 
 sweet air, lovely skies, grand sunrises and 
 sunsets, and sparkling watercourses whose 
 banks teem with graceful shapes and love- 
 ly color. Here a city is to be formed, and 
 they who live in it and are content shall 
 see it grow up to strength — ay, to man- 
 hood — and shall have a share in its in- 
 creasing wealth. First, tents of canvas to 
 live in ; now huts of wood ; by and by 
 houses of stone. But these last, though 
 they be stronger, will not bring more en- 
 during happiness. And here is Dan, with 
 his birds, as usual. He earns money enough 
 now. Not a hundred miles away, in the 
 capital of the colony of which this little vil- 
 lage is a speck, lives a dealer who comes 
 regularly to Dan's wooden house, and buys 
 such birds as he has trained, and pays hand- 
 somely for them. Not Solomon Fewster. He 
 also is in that rising capital, and Dan will not 
 sell him a bird. Not that Solomon Fewster 
 needs them ; for he is making money fast, 
 and the miserly passion of accumulation is 
 growing very strong in him. His business 
 carries him often to Dan's village, — twice a 
 month, perhaps ; and regularly every two 
 or three months he makes some kind of 
 overture to Ellen, who shakes her head, 
 and sometimes answers him, and sometimes 
 evades the subject. Dan has remonstrated 
 with him, and has begged him never to re- 
 fer to the subject again. But he answers, — 
 "I cannot help it, Dan. If you knew 
 what love was, you would know that a man 
 can no more help loving than he can help 
 feeling. It was love that first brought me 
 to your house in Stepney. I didn't want 
 the birds ; but so that I might have the 
 privilege of coming to the house — and of 
 doing you and Ellen a good turn at the 
 same time, mind, Dan — I took a deal of 
 trouble to find dealers in birds who would 
 buy them of me at the same price I paid you 
 for them ; and I shouldn't be telling an un- 
 truth if I said that I lost money by many of 
 the birds I paid you for. One man I sold to 
 failed, and I had to take a composition. 
 Well, I didn't know then that Ellen loved 
 Joshua ; nothing was said between them ; 
 and when he first went away he wasn't old 
 enough to know his own mind. He came 
 back, and when he was ill I didn't show a 
 bad spirit to him. After Ellen and he 
 were engaged, I did not desert you ; and I 
 
206 
 
 JOSHUA MAKVEL. 
 
 didn't annoy Ellen by forcing my atten- 
 tions upon her. You spoke to me once 
 about that unfortunate canary that died in 
 my hand when I bade Joshua good-by. 
 You can't think that I killed it purposely. 
 But you may be able to form some idea of 
 my feelings (which can't always be sup- 
 pressed, Dan), and of the restraint I had to 
 put upon myself when in the presence of 
 the man who had taken from me the most 
 precious thing in the wor^d to me — El- 
 len's love — and you can put down the 
 poor canary's death to that cause. I've no 
 need to say any thing more. I've loved 
 Ellen all along, and "I've always treated 
 her with respect and consideration. You 
 mustn't debar me from the chance of being 
 happy ; Ellen may change her mind one 
 day. It is many years now since I first 
 saw her, a girl ; and that I am content 
 now to wait and hope ought to be sufficient 
 proof of my disinterestedness and sincer- 
 ity." 
 
 To such-like pleading Dan finds no re- 
 ply, and so they go on as usual. 
 
 To Dan, as he sits with his birds, comes 
 Ellen with her peaceful sad face. She has 
 not found happiness, but she has found 
 peace. Solomon Fewster is not her only 
 suitor. Every single man in the village is 
 enamoured of her, and would be glad to 
 make her his wife. But she tells her story 
 to all with a womanly purpose. She is 
 married, and her husband went out as third 
 mate of the " Merry Andrew," and the 
 ship was lost and all hands, as it is sup- 
 posed. But she cannot believe that her 
 husband is dead ; something tells her that 
 he is alive — living upon some uninhabited 
 shore mayhap, and looking forward to the 
 time when, by the mercy of God, they shall 
 be together again. Her story is repeated 
 from one to another ; and some kind souls 
 who have been in the colony a few years 
 come to her and Dan with little scraps of 
 information concerning the "Merry An- 
 drew," such as the finding of a piece of a fig- 
 ure-head which belonged to her husband's 
 ship, and other similar evidence, which con- 
 vince them that the " Merry Andrew " was 
 lost off" the Australian coast. " Is it not 
 possible," asks Dan, " that some of the crew 
 may have been saved, and may be dwelling 
 now on some part of the uninhabited Aus- 
 tralian coast ? " " Quite possible," they 
 answer : and they relate such instances as 
 they know of vessels being wrecked, and 
 of some of the sailors being saved and 
 found years after they were supposed to be 
 lost. Dan and Ellen derive much comfort 
 from these narrations. 
 
 Ellen's little child Maggie is the pet 
 of the village. At the present moment she 
 is playing with her goat in the paddock at 
 
 the back of the house, breathing in health 
 with fresh air. To-night, when she says 
 her prayers, she will pray that God will 
 please send her father home — a prayer 
 joined in by all of them every night. 
 
 Who is this ? Susan. In no whit 
 changed. With the same strange watchful 
 manner upon her as in the old days in 
 Stepney, but never uttering a word con- 
 cerning Joshua. Sometimes she will go 
 for days without speaking to a soul, and a 
 smile never crosses her lips. 
 
 And this gentle woman, going about the 
 house quietly, doing her work cheerfully, 
 with a sweet smile for every one she comes 
 across, and by whose side the little Maggie 
 is content to sit in silence with her hands 
 folded in her lap? This is Mrs. Marvel. 
 You would know her if you had only seen 
 her once, although her hair is nearly white 
 now ; for hers is one of the peaceful faces 
 that dwell in your memory and remind you 
 of your mother. As for her hair being 
 nearly white — for the matter of that, so 
 is Mr. Marvel's. It would not do for him 
 to pay for every white hair that is pulled 
 out of his head, as at the commencement 
 of this story. 
 
 They sit together on this evening, as is 
 their wont, and as they used to do in the 
 dear old kitchen in Stepney, and talk of 
 Joshua. And George Marvel smokes his 
 pipe, and his wife darns — more slowly 
 than in the old days, for her sight is not 
 so strong as it was — and Dan trains his 
 birds and reads to his friends. They have 
 been sorely afflicted, but faith and love 
 have banished despair. 
 
 On this very evening, hundreds of miles 
 away, Joshua is sitting on the ground in 
 his gunyah, amusing himself and Minnie 
 with his birds. She is reclining on her 
 'possum-skin rug, looking affectionately 
 and gratefully at Joshua, who has grown 
 very wise in the different habits and 
 natures of the strange birds he has before 
 him. With what care he has collected 
 them ! Here is the quaint kingfisher, flit- 
 ting about as contentedly as it used to flit 
 among the dead trees that lie on the banks 
 of creeks. Joshua, watching it one day, 
 saw it suddenly dart into the water with 
 such eagerness that it was completely sub- 
 merged ; he thought it was drowned, but 
 the next instant it appeared above the 
 surface with a small fish in its mouth, with 
 which it hopped, exultant, into the wood- 
 land again. It is a handsome bird, and a 
 singular-looking one too, with its beak 
 about a quarter as long as its body, and its 
 light crimson breast and azure back and 
 shrewd brown eyes. Here is the moun- 
 tain bee-eater, the wondrous blending of 
 colors in whose pJumage suggests the fancy 
 
so NEAR AND YET SO FAR. 
 
 207 
 
 that its feathers must have been dyed in 
 the jrlorious sunsets of the South, and that 
 it first saw the light when rainbo\vs 
 ■were sliining. Here are the honeysuckers, 
 yellow-eared, blue-cheeked, and golden- 
 crowned ; and the crimson-throated mana- 
 kin, with its pleasant song; and the 
 spotted finch, with red eyes ; and the 
 scarlet-backed warbler ; and the pretty 
 thrush, black-crowned and orange-breasted, 
 whose loping in the early morning was the 
 cheeri'uUest of all the birds ; and the yel- 
 low-nnnpcd fiy-catcher, fussing about, and 
 chattering like a magpie. All these are 
 here, and many others ; and Joshua often 
 tliinks how delighted Dan would be with 
 them. Joshua and Minnie are clothed 
 completely in fur garments ; all their civ- 
 ilized clothes are gone. Joshua's hair has 
 grown so, that his face is quite covered 
 with it. 
 
 " Would they know me at home, INIin- 
 nie, if they could see me as I am ? " he 
 asks. 
 
 " I doubt it," she replies ; " but they 
 would know your voice." 
 
 " Shall we ever see them again ? " he 
 asks, more of himself than of her. 
 
 She sighs, and does not answer. He 
 may ; she prays that he will. But she ! 
 The breeze sighs with her, as she thinks 
 that she will never again look upon the 
 faces of her friends. Well ! perhaps it is 
 better so. She desires no happier lot than 
 to die in Joshua's arms, with his eyes look- 
 ing kindly upon her. She has been grow- 
 ing weaker raid weaker every day ; she does 
 not complain, but he often regards her 
 with apprehensive looks, and prays that 
 she may not be taken from him. They 
 live together as brother and sister; the 
 love he bears for her is as pure as the love 
 he bears for liis mother. He speaks to her 
 often of Dan, and she listens with sweet 
 patience. But he does not understand 
 that her love for him is part of her very 
 nature, and that it cannot be transferred 
 — that it cannot change. He does not 
 understand it, does not know it ; he de- 
 ludes himself with the hope that, if it 
 should mercifully chance that they should 
 reach home, the dear hope of Dan's lite 
 may be realized, and that Minnie's love 
 and Dan's belief in her purity may 
 brighten the days of his friend. She 
 knows that Joshua entertains this hope, 
 and does not pain him by telling him how 
 false it is. 
 
 So the days pass, and the seasons 
 change. In accordance with Minnie's 
 wish, the tribe moves farther and farther 
 southward, and is rewarded by finding 
 plenty of game in the woods, and fish in 
 the rivers and pools. Summer dies, and 
 
 the beautiful autumn brings strength to 
 Alinnie ; but the succeeding winter strikes 
 her down. Her savage friends and wor- 
 shippers are grieved to the heart at her 
 weakness, and she, true to her purpose 
 and to Joshua, makes them understand 
 that health and strength for her lie south- 
 ward, and urges them on towards the 
 settled districts. 
 
 " If we are saved," says Joshua, " I 
 shall owe all my happiness to you. Minnie. 
 Once you gave me life ; now perhaps you 
 will give me what is better than life." 
 
 A look of content rests in her eyes as he 
 says this, and she muses upon it for days 
 afterwards, murnmring the words to her- 
 self before she falls asleep. Speaking to 
 her of her father at one time, he is "sur- 
 prised to hear her say, " Father is dead, 
 Joshua." 
 
 " How do you know ? " he asks, startled. 
 "I feel it — here," pressing her hand to 
 her heart; "I have dreamt that I saw 
 him and mother together. Some things 
 come to us intuitively ; we do not need to 
 be told." 
 
 " Do you know any thing else about those 
 at home ? " he asks, half awed by her sol- 
 emn tone. 
 
 " No ; but one other thing I know that I 
 ought not to keep from you." 
 
 He waits in silence for what is to come, 
 dreading to speak. She takes his hand ; 
 hers is hot with fever. 
 
 " Do not think me imkind," she says, 
 " but for many weeks I have felt impelled 
 to tell you, and now that the time is draw- 
 ing near, I must no longer keep it from 
 you. Can you guess what it is, my 
 dear ? " 
 
 " O Minnie ! Minnie ! " he cries, fall- 
 ing on his knees at her feet ; "do not tell 
 me that you are going to leave me ! " 
 
 "I cannot help it, dear," she says, ten- 
 derly. " Before the spring dies I shall leave 
 you. I shall spend my summer in another 
 world." She repeats the words, as though 
 they conveyed to her some deeper meaning 
 than they implied. " Yes, I shall spend my 
 summer in another world. My heart has 
 been wintered in this." 
 
 He strives to reason her out of her 
 belief, — tells her that it is foncy ; but 
 she gently checks him, with " Nay, dear 
 Joshua. 'Tis but a little time to spring. 
 Let us talk of other things." 
 
 Soon the buds begin to come, and the 
 leaves grow green. Minnie hides her 
 weakness, says that she feels stronger, and 
 Joshua begins to hope. But he does not 
 know what motive she has in this ; he 
 does not know that she puts on an appear- 
 ance of strength, so that she may not 
 retard their course southward. In many 
 
208 
 
 JOSHUA MARVEL. 
 
 of their inarches she sustains her fainting 
 heart by strength, of love. " Nearer, 
 nearer," she -whispers to herself; "he shall 
 owe all his happiness to me." 
 
 Come there to the camp one day some 
 members of another tribe, who speak of 
 bavins seen men of the color of Joshua 
 and Minnie a couple of hundred miles to 
 the south, mounted on strange animals. 
 These aboriginal wanderers, indeed, are at 
 variance with one another : some say that 
 men and animals are one ; others, that 
 they are distinct creatures. Opara tells 
 Joshua and Minnie, who are able by this 
 time to understand the native tongue, and 
 to make themselves understood. 
 
 " What Opara says is good," says Min- 
 nie. " We will go towards these men. 
 They are our brothers. They will give 
 me back my strength." 
 
 Opara being gone, Minnie asks Joshua 
 what he thinks. Joshua, with eager voice 
 and sparkling eyes, cries that they are 
 stockmen on horses, as Rough-and-Ready 
 had told them. 
 
 " All will yet be well," he says, hiis voice 
 trembling with joyful emotion ; " in a few 
 months perhaps we shall be among white 
 people again." 
 
 She listens in silence : and presently, in 
 accordance with their nightly custom, he 
 takes his accordion from its bag of fur, 
 and plays the sweetest airs he knows. 
 " Poor Tom Bowling " and " Bread-and- 
 cheese and lusses" are his jiriucipal 
 tliemes; and as he plays, the newly-in- 
 spired hope stirs into life his dearest mem- 
 ories, and brings before him those pictures 
 of his boyish days that he most loves to 
 dwell upon. 
 
 CHAPTER XL. 
 
 FAITHFUL UNTO DEATH. 
 
 The river runs onward like a sparkling 
 stream, now rushing between high banks 
 of forest land, dotted here and there with 
 miniature islands of rocks covered with 
 lichens and shrubs, now settling into a 
 still-looking reach, its surface covered with 
 delicate mauve-colored water-lilies. Near 
 to a great grove of palms upon the river's 
 bank the native camp is fixed ; and not far 
 from the spot the channel tbrms a descent, 
 more steep than abrupt, where it is cut up 
 into hundreds of brawling streams by 
 islands of beautiful shrubs. The natives 
 have pitched their camp here, in accord- 
 ance with Minnie's wisli ; they have been 
 
 marching southward for more than a week' 
 and Minnie has borne up bravely ; but her 
 strength has failed her at last, and she is 
 compelled to succumb. It is understood 
 among_ them that their Star is sick, and 
 the mintapas (doctors) are anxious to 
 practise their heaUng arts upon her, but 
 their efforts are firmly and gently repulsed 
 by Joshua. For this, they look upon him 
 with no friendly eye, and but for Opara 
 his life among them would not be so pleas- 
 ant as it has been. He pays no heed to 
 them ; his anxiety concerning Mnnie en- 
 grosses all his thoughts now. 
 
 She is sinking fast, and has grown so 
 weak that he is obliged to carry her about. 
 The spot she most loves is where the 
 river is still and quiet ; there she will 
 lie for hours, with Joshua by her side, 
 watching the shifting shadows of the 
 clouds in the water's depths. She says 
 but little ; but every time her eyes turn to 
 Joshua, they are filled with gratitude and 
 love. Once she expressed a desire to 
 write something, and Joshua makes a 
 little ink with paint and gum-juice, and 
 makes a pen from a duck's quill ; but pa- 
 per he has none. 
 
 " Your Bible," says Minnie. 
 
 He gives it to her, and she writes a few 
 lines on the blank page at the end. Then 
 she tears out the leaf, and folding it care- 
 fully says, " This is for Dan, when you see 
 him " (having a full faith that Joshua and 
 Dan will meet); "do not read it, but 
 place it carefully by." 
 
 He puts it with Ellen's lock of hair in 
 the bag he wears round his neck. 
 
 That same night a change comes over 
 Minnie. He has been away from the hut 
 for a few minutes, and when he returns he 
 sees her sitting in a listening attitude 
 with her hand to her ear. 
 
 " Minnie I " he exclaims ; but she holds 
 up a warning finger, and says, — 
 
 " Hush, Joshua ! I am listening to the 
 singing of the sea. Is it not sweet ? " 
 
 His heart beats rapidly, and he takes 
 her disengaged hand in his, and asks her 
 what she has in the hand she is holding to 
 her ear. 
 
 " It is a shell," she says. She shows it 
 to him, and her face assumes the exact 
 childlike expression of pleasure and sim- 
 plicity it wore in the fiirewell interview he 
 had with her before he first went to sea. 
 
 " You know me, Minnie ? " he says, dis- 
 tressed. 
 
 " Yes, dear Joshua ! What a question I 
 But you must not be angry with me. I 
 took the shell — but I took it for you." 
 
 "Nay but, Minnie," he says, striving to 
 arrest her wandering thoughts ; " listen to 
 me " — 
 
FAITHFUL UNTO DEATH. 
 
 209 
 
 " Call me little Minnie," she pleads like 
 a child, in the softest of voices. 
 
 " Little Minnie 1 " he sighs, with an 
 almost broken heart. 
 
 " Little Minnie ! Little Minnie ! " she re- 
 peats. " The shell is singin;^ it. Hush ! " 
 She remains silent for some time after this, 
 and Jo^-hua deems it best not to disturb her. 
 An hour may have passed when she calls 
 to him. 
 
 '• Say that again, Joshua," she says. 
 
 AVondering, he asks her what it is she 
 wishes him to repeat. 
 
 " Na\'," she answers, " that is to tease 
 me. But you must say it after me, word 
 for word : ' What you did, you did through 
 love, and there could not be much wrong 
 in it.' " He recognizes his own words to 
 her, and in a troubled voice he repeats, 
 " What you did, you did through love, and 
 there could not be much wrong in it." 
 
 " I am satisfied," she says ; " you have 
 made me happy. I shall try to sleep 
 now." 
 
 N He covers her with a rug, and watches 
 by her side during the night. 
 
 He has no heart for his birds, and were 
 it not that she takes a childish delight in 
 them, and is glad to have them around her, 
 he would have taken them to the woods 
 and set them free. She does not recover 
 consciousness of her true position ; she be- 
 lieves that she and Joshua are children to- 
 gether, and — it may be happily — all the 
 horrors through which she has passed have 
 faded from her mind. Her great delight 
 is to play with the birds and listen to her 
 shell. Sometimes the iancy that he is at 
 sea possesses her, and she talks to him of 
 himself, as she used to talk to Dan, and 
 coaxes him to tell her the story of the 
 death of Golden Cloud and other incidents 
 of his boyish life. In this condition she 
 remains for many days, until the time 
 comes when she awakes from a deep sleep, 
 and says, in her weak voice, " I have been 
 dreaming, Joshua. I thought we were 
 children again." Then opening her hand 
 with the shell in it, looks at it, blushing, 
 and says, "It is the old shell, Joshua. 
 You remember." 
 
 " Do you feel stronger, Minnie ? " 
 
 " No, dear ; I shall not grow stronger. 
 It will be as I told you a little while ago. 
 Spring is not gone yet ; but it will be soon. 
 Have they asked about me ? " meaning the 
 natives. 
 
 "Yes, many times every day, Minnie; 
 and have brought their choicest food for 
 you regularly." 
 
 " They have been very kind to us. 
 Kough-and- Ready was not quite right about 
 them. I used to tremble with fear when 
 he spoke of them. Poor Rough-and-Ready 
 
 and poor Tom 1 What has become of 
 them, I wonder ! " 
 
 They muse sadly over the memory of 
 those two good friends. 
 
 " Some lives are very hard, Joshua," she 
 continues. " His was, I am sure. 1 sup- 
 pose it was as he said, and that he has done 
 bad things. Yet how kind and gentle he 
 was to us 1 It is hard to reconcile ; but it 
 seems to me, my dear, that our lots are 
 shaped for us. We can't help our feelings ; 
 we don't make them ; they come, and we 
 must act as they prompt us to act. Opara 
 and the savages now : they couldn't help 
 being born savages, and they have had no 
 good teaching. Don't think me wicked for 
 what I am going to say, my dear." 
 
 " No, Minnie ; go on." 
 
 " Well, I can't help believing that a good 
 deal of what is called wrong is not wrong, 
 and that bad is not always bad. I can't 
 explain exactly Avhat I mean, but I feel it." 
 She appears to think that she has got out 
 of her depth, and suddenly changes the 
 subject. " Take me out, and let me see 
 Opara. You must carry me ; I am not as 
 heavy as I was." 
 
 He lifts her in his arms, and carries her, 
 with her arm roimd his neck, out of the hut 
 towards the savages. They crowd round 
 her, and she speaks a few words to them, 
 and smiles upon them. Then, by easy 
 stages, he carries her to her favorite spot 
 by the river's side, and there they rest. 
 
 " All rivers have currents, Joshua ? " 
 
 " Yes, my dear." 
 
 " Even this, that looks so still and 
 quiet ? " 
 
 " Even this, my dear ; the current is run- 
 ning, although you cannot see it. But re- 
 member, the river is not so still evei'y where. 
 A very few miles away it is full of life ; it 
 is rushing over the rocks, and is never still 
 for an instant day and night." 
 
 " Strange 1 So restless there, so quiet 
 here ! It has been so with me : so restless 
 there, so quiet here! Look! we can see 
 the fish in the clear depths. How beauti- 
 fully the wild jasmine smells ! " 
 
 He gathers a little for her, and a bunch 
 of fringed violets, and she puts them in her 
 breast. Then she encourages him to talk 
 of home, and listens with sincere pleas- 
 ure to his praises of Dan. 
 
 " It is good to be loved by such a heart," 
 she muses. 
 
 " Ah, Minnie ! " he ventures to say, " if 
 it could have been with him as he once 
 hoped it would ! " 
 
 " About me ? " she replies unhesitatingly. 
 " Does not that seem to be a proof that our 
 lots are shaped for us V Tell him that I 
 was very, very sorry, and that I begged 
 him to forgive me." 
 
210 
 
 JOSHUA MARVEL. 
 
 But it is chiefly about Joshua's mother 
 that she speaks, and wishes that /ier mother 
 had lived. In the midst of the conversa- 
 tion she fiiUs into a Ught slumber, and 
 opening her eyes half an hour afterwards, 
 resumes fiora the point where they had left 
 off, as if there had been no interval of si- 
 lence. 
 
 On another occasion they are together 
 on the same spot, and Joshua is telling her 
 of a beautiful part of the river's bank 
 which she had not seen. ' " The river is 
 narrow there, and even more peacei'ul than 
 this," he says. " The trees on both sides 
 bend over the water until the to[)most 
 branches almost touch, so that the river is 
 in shade. The sun was peeping through 
 the arch of branches, lighting up the water 
 bere and there, and the golden light 
 streaked the white leaves of the lilies, over 
 which the pretty lotus-bird was running 
 with so light a step as not to stir the flow- 
 ers." 
 
 " How beautiful ! " she says softly. " At- 
 night, when the moon is shining on the 
 wat^r and the lily-leaves through the arch 
 of branches, how grand and peaceful it 
 must be! Joshua, bend your head, my 
 dear. When I am gone, let nie be buried 
 there. Nay, don't cry ; but promise." 
 
 In a broken voice he jJi'omises her, and 
 she is content. Then she bids him bring 
 Opara to her ; and the aged chief comes 
 and sits by her side. 
 
 " 0[)ara," she says, taking Joshua's hand 
 and kissing it, " this my brother and I are 
 one. You understand V " 
 
 " I understand," he answers ; and Josh- 
 ua wonders what it is she is about to say. 
 
 " You see how weak I have grown, 
 Opara. Look at my hand ; you can see 
 the light through it." 
 
 " Say, my daughter," asks Opara : " you 
 who know the language of birds and flow- 
 ers, — you who know the mysteries of the 
 Grand Vault, — can you not make yourself 
 strong V " 
 
 " No, Opara ; I am wanted." 
 
 " Cannot our mintapas make you 
 strong V " 
 
 "No, Opara; their skill is not for me. 
 Tell them so ; and tell them I tliank them, 
 and will not forget them. Listen. Many 
 moons ago, I walked in the woods, where 
 the leaves were singing to each other, and 
 where the wind whisi)ered strange things 
 as it travelled through the trees. I heard 
 a voice ; I hstened ; and I was told that 
 when the next summer came, I should be 
 wanted — There ! " 
 
 Opara gravely followeil the motion of her 
 hand, as it pointed upwards. 
 
 " The summer is coming, and I must go. 
 Do not disturb me then ; my brother will 
 
 see to me ; and tell your young men and 
 women to let me rest." 
 
 " I will tell them, and they v>ill obey. 
 Will our daughter return to us V " 
 
 Minnie catches at this question eagerly, 
 and clasps Joshua's hand with a firmer 
 clasp. 
 
 '• 1 will return, if you will do one thing 
 for me." 
 
 " Opara will do it." 
 
 " It will take many days to do." 
 
 " If it takes many moons to do, it shall 
 be done." 
 
 '• Opara's name shall be known in .ue 
 Grand Vault," says Minnie in an earnest 
 tone. " Take heed of my words. Those 
 men of the same color as my brother, of 
 which you were told some time ago, you 
 have not seen them V " 
 
 " No." 
 
 " They ai-e southward. My brother has 
 a message for them from me. lie has 
 promised to deliver it to them ; but he does 
 not know the country. If he goes by him- 
 self, bad men of other tribes may meet him 
 and take him with them. If you and some 
 of your young men will accompany him 
 south until he sees the strangers, or is near 
 to them, I will return to you by and by, 
 and your tribe shall never want food. The 
 strangers will be kind to you, and will give 
 you goofl things. Will Opai-a do this, and 
 IM'otect my brother ? " 
 
 " Opara will do this, and will protect 
 your brother." 
 
 " Good." She gives the old chief her 
 hand, and he places it on his eyes, and de- 
 parts gravely. 
 
 Joshua for a time is too agitated to 
 speak. This last proof of her devotion is 
 the crowning sacrifice of her life. She is 
 the first to break the silence. 
 
 " Joshua, my dear, I have made atone- 
 ment V " 
 
 He can only say, " O my dear, my dear, 
 how unworthy I am in my own eyes I " 
 
 " Nay, nay," she says soothingly, " you 
 are all that is good and noble. A better 
 heart, a purer, never beat. I have com- 
 mitted a great fault, and have done; you a 
 great wrong — unconsciously, my dear, aad 
 without thought ; and, by the mercy of our 
 Father, I have been able to atone for it. 
 Think of me as a child, my dear, who has 
 loved you with all her heart, despite her 
 wilfuhiess. Take me in your arms as you 
 would a child, and say that you forgive 
 me." 
 
 He takes her in his arms, and, to satisfy 
 her, sobs out the words she wishes to 
 hear. Her face is close to his. 
 
 "This kiss for Ellen," she whispers; 
 " this lor your dear, kind motlier ; this for 
 Dan. Tell all of them of my fancy, that I 
 
JOSHUA AND THE OLD WIZAK 
 
 wish to live in their mind?, not as a woman, 
 but as a child — as a child wlio erred 
 through love, and who had not been taught 
 to understand what duty was. Who said 
 this, " There is no earthly sacrifice that 
 love will not sanctify." 
 
 " Your father 1 " he whispers, amazed. 
 
 " I heard him ; I was in the room when 
 he blessed my mother lor devoting her life 
 to him." 
 
 Presently she asks him to fetch his birds, 
 and he runs and brings them. He opens 
 ^ ; cage, and they hop about her content- 
 edly, "lie gathers some wild flowers, and 
 places them by her side. Shortly after- 
 wards she directs his attention to the 
 fringed violets, which do not live an hour 
 after they are gathered. " They are with- 
 ering," she says. " Do not pluck any more 
 of tiie pretty things ; let them live." He 
 supports her in his arms ; and she watches 
 tlie birds with glistening eyes, and whis- 
 pei-s that they remind her of dear Dan. 
 Then she falls asleep, with her face turned 
 to Joshua. He does not disturb her. 
 Every thing around is very still and quiet. 
 He thinks of th(5 restless river a few miles 
 away, and of Minnie's words, " So restless 
 there, so quiet here ! It has been so with 
 me." The afternoon passes; the sun is 
 going down, and the heavens are filled with 
 wondrous color. Minnie has been asleep 
 for a long while now. Shall he arouse 
 her? Her fair face is perfectly still, and 
 a smile is on her lips. " Minnie ! " he 
 whispers. Her hand is on her heart, and 
 in her hand the shell. She does not 
 speak ; and a darkness comes upon him, 
 and his heart grows cold as he presses his 
 lips to hers. She has gone to spend the 
 summer of her life in another world. 
 
 Opara holds the last words of ]\Iinnie 
 sacred. To the expressed desire of the 
 doctors of the tribe to inter Minnie accord- 
 ing to their rites, he says, " Our daughter 
 has spoken, and Opara has promised. Her 
 brother will see to her. Let her rest." So, 
 on the following night, Joshua is standing 
 alone oy Minnie's grave, which he has 
 strewn with wild flowers. In the rude 
 cofHn of bark, which he has cut and made 
 with his own hands, he places also the 
 sweetest-smelling flowers he can find. Her 
 shell he leaves in her hand, and cuts a long 
 tress from her hair. " For Dan," he mur- 
 murs. 
 
 He buries her in the place he had de- 
 scribed to her, and where she had expressed 
 a wish to be laid. It is just sucji a night 
 as she pictm-ed. The moon is streaming 
 through the interlaced branches on the 
 beautilul lilies and the peaceful water. He 
 reads prayers from Dan's Bible, and falls 
 
 upon his knees ; and, __,__. 
 
 words of her father recur to hirn, and he 
 rc])eats their sense prayerfully : " She is a 
 wild flower; the impulse of her mind is 
 under the control of the impulse of her 
 heart. She is oblivious of all else, defiant 
 of all else. Those of her friends who have 
 the consciousness of a higher wisdom than 
 she possesses, those of them who can recog- 
 nize that the promptings of such a heart 
 as hers may possibly lead her into danger- 
 ous paths, must guide her gently, tenderly. 
 If any betray her, he will have to answer 
 for it at the Judgment-seat ! " 
 
 "Judge me," he cries aloud, raising his 
 arms to heaven, " and so deal with me I 
 This dear angel lies in her grave pure as 
 at her birth. But she will sjieak for me, 
 dear, honored sister ! " 
 
 In the distance, standing in the shadow 
 of the trees, are the natives, their bodies 
 streaked with white. They do not intrude 
 upon Joshua's sorrow. Slowly he piles the 
 earth upon the faithful heart, and kisses 
 the earth with passionate grief. When he 
 is calmer, he reads his Bible by the moon's 
 light; and, as he reads, peace comes to 
 him. 
 
 CHAPTER XLI. 
 
 JOSHUA AND THE OLD WIZARD. 
 
 FoK two weeks the natives mourned for 
 Minnie. Their grief was sincere, notwith- 
 standing that it was expressed in barbar- 
 ous fashion — such as painting their bodies 
 white with pipeclay, and inflicting painful 
 gashes upon their breasts and arms with 
 shells and stones. They obsei'ved Joshua 
 gathering wild flowers to place upon her 
 grave, and every day after that, the women 
 and children collected the prettiest and 
 rarest flowers they could find, and deco- 
 rated Minnie's grave with them. During 
 this time a terrible feeling of desolation 
 came upon Joshua. If Opara failed to 
 keep the promise he had given Minnie, 
 what would become of him? He thought 
 of some words Dan had spoken to him in 
 one of their boyish conversations, when 
 they were talking of Robinson Crusoe. 
 Dan had said he thought it strange that 
 Robinson did not forget how to speak his 
 native language, and had wondered that 
 he didn't go mad. This remembrance was 
 terrible to Joshua. At night, when he was 
 alone in his hut, he would speak to himself, 
 and would tremble at his voice ; and stop- 
 ping sometimes with half-uttered words 
 
212 
 
 JOSHUA MARVEL. 
 
 upon his tongue, would be seized with sud- 
 den terror as at an unfamiliar sound. But 
 at the end of a fortnight, Opara came to 
 Joshua, and said, " Our days of mourning 
 are over ; but the image of our daughter 
 ■will dwell forever in our hearts. To-night 
 we hold a council. Shall we tarry yet 
 a while, or shall we prepare to depart ? " 
 
 " I have a message for my brothers and 
 hers," replied Joshua. " They live south- 
 ward. Is that the direction Opara will 
 take V " 
 
 " Opara will do as he has promised," 
 said the old chief with dignity, " and will 
 accompany you to the south." 
 
 " My sister will be glad if her message 
 is delivered soon ; " and Joshua's heart beat 
 quickly at the pi'ospect of deliverance. 
 
 Opara gravely bent his head ; and that 
 night it was decided that twenty young 
 men and doctors of the tribe, including 
 Opara, should start in a couple of days, 
 with Joshua, for the south. When Joshua 
 was informed of this, he went to Minnie's 
 grave, and shed tears of joy, and gathered 
 a little of the earth, and placed it in the 
 bag round his neck which contained his 
 most precious possessions. On the ap- 
 pointed morning they started early, accom- 
 panied by the entire tribe ; but by noon 
 all the stragglers had departed. In a few 
 days their road lay through very rough 
 country, where, although fruits and birds 
 were plentiful (it being summer), Opara 
 said they would not be able to live in the 
 winter. Their great difficulty was to ob- 
 tain water, for the creeks and water-courses 
 were drying up; and Joshua was filled 
 with admiration at the resources of the na- 
 tives, who found water in places — digging 
 it out of trees, indeed, very often — where 
 a stranger would never have dreamed of 
 searching for it. When Joshua saw them 
 strike their stone weapons into a tree 
 whence cold bright water flowed, he could 
 not help thinking of Moses striking the 
 rock. A favorite food with them was a 
 species of shrubby plant which they called 
 Kai'kalla, and which yielded a rich luscious 
 fruit ; and they ate, with intense relish, 
 many species of grubs which they cut out 
 of the bark of trees. 
 
 Among the party was one famous wiz- 
 ard and doctor, who was not disposed to 
 look upon Joshua with the same tinendly 
 eye as the others did. When INlinnie was 
 ill, he had been especially desirous of ex- 
 ercising his arts upon her, and of restoring 
 her to health, by which means his reputa- 
 tion with the tribe would have been enor- 
 mously Increased ; and when IVIinnie died, 
 he entertained the belief that he could 
 have saved her if he had been allowed. 
 This doctor's name was NuUaboin, and he 
 
 had joined Joshua's escort because he 
 thought that he might, by watching Joshua's 
 movements, obtain some kind of knowledge 
 that might be useful to him. 
 
 During the latter days of Minnie's ill- 
 ness Joshua had not played his accordion, 
 which, it must be borne in mind, the natives 
 had never seen. Joshua had kept it jeal- 
 ously concealed in its covering of fur, and 
 had never played it in sight of the natives. 
 It was at the end of the second week of 
 their journey, when Joshua was looking 
 out anxiously for traces of white settlers, 
 that a circumstance occurred which boded 
 him great danger. He had wandered, as 
 he had been in the habit of doing every 
 night, a long distance irom where the na- 
 tives pitched their camp. From time to 
 time Opara and his party had met natives 
 of difftjrent tribes, with whom they had 
 conversed (though sometimes with difficulty, 
 for their dialects dilfered) concerning the 
 white men ; and on this morning a strange 
 native had given them such information as 
 led Opara to tell Joshua that he believed 
 he would soon be able to dehver Mnnie's 
 message to her brothers. Interpi-eting by 
 this that the stranger they had met had 
 seen something of Englishmen, Joshua, in 
 the night, wandered farther from the camp 
 than usual, in the vague hope that he might 
 come upon traces of his countrymen. He 
 saw none, and yet thou||ht they might be 
 near. An idea struck him. " Why should 
 I not play my accordion ? " he thought. 
 "I might be within a short distance of my 
 deliverers, and not know it. The sound of 
 civilized music might reach their ears, and 
 they would come to me." He acted upon 
 the thought without delay. For the first 
 time tor many weeks, he took his accordion 
 from its covering (it was slung round his 
 shoulders by a strap of dried skin), and 
 walked through the woods, playing, and 
 swinging the instrument in the air, so that 
 the sound should travel lar. He little 
 dreamed of the effect he produced. NuUa- 
 boin was tracking him — had tracked him 
 every night in his wanderings. Hitherto 
 NuUaboin had learned nothing ; but now 
 directly the music struck upon his ears, he 
 was so amazed as almost to betray himself. 
 The idea that flashed tlu-ough that cunning 
 savage mind was as singular as it was origi- 
 nal. It was neither more nor less than 
 that Joshua held Minnie's spirit imprisoned 
 in the strange instrument from which the 
 melodious sounds proceeded. They were 
 the same as used to proceed from Minnie's 
 hut, when it was imagined she was speak- 
 ing with 'invisible shapes. What wonders 
 might he not perform, could he obtain pos- 
 ses'sion of that power I The mysterious 
 spkits of air and heaven would speak to 
 
JOSHUA AND THE OLD WIZARD. 
 
 213 
 
 him, and would tell him strange things. 
 But how could he obtain it — how ? Joshua 
 was strong — too strong I'or him. lie was 
 an old man — ay, he was an old man, and 
 these spirits, if he could speak to them in 
 their language, might teach him how to be- 
 come young again. The courses of his 
 blood quickeneil through the old wizard's 
 veins at the wild hope, and he picked up a 
 stone and cut at his breast in his excite- 
 ment. He could not hope to wrest the 
 magic power from Joshua singly. He must 
 enlist his companions on his side. His in- 
 fluence was great, but Opara's was greater. 
 He dreaded that aged chief "If Opara 
 knows," was his cunning thought, " Opara 
 will claim it for himself No, no; it is 
 mine, Nullaboin's. Here me, Pulyalanna ! 
 Strike Opara with your thunder to-night ! 
 Strike him dead ! He has lived long 
 enough." But as he thought, he started 
 away in terror. Among the trees, some 
 twenty yards away, he saw a crouching fig- 
 ure, which he took to be one of the fabu- 
 lous Purkabidnies, that roam through the 
 woods at night to slay black men. It was 
 but the charred stump of a tree, but it was 
 sufficient to cause Nullaboin, the wizard, to 
 fly from the spot in direst terror, towards 
 the camp. He lay awake until Joshua re- 
 turned, and noted with his lynx eyes that 
 Joshua wore the magic instrument strapped 
 round his shoulders. The following day 
 he took occasion to speak to Joshua in a 
 subtle manner, as thus : " Nullaboin dreamt 
 last night of his daughter the Star." 
 
 Joshua nodded. 
 
 " She spoke to me. Her voice was like 
 the voice of the birds. I shall see her 
 soon." 
 
 Joshua gave him a startled look. 
 
 " Has her brother seen her ? " 
 
 " No." 
 
 " Has she not spoken to him ? " 
 
 "No." 
 
 " Nullaboin is a great mintapa, and his 
 daughter knows his power." 
 
 All this was Greek to Joshua, and he 
 did not encourage the old wizard to con- 
 tinue his revelations. But during that 
 day and the next, Nullaboin was busy 
 working upon the credulous minds of the 
 younger natives, and found but little diffi- 
 culty in inflaming their curiosity. Joshua's 
 eagerness had become almost painful by 
 this time ; and when they were travelling 
 over plains, every speck on the horizon be- 
 came a horseman in his anxious eyes. Oc- 
 casionally they had to make their way 
 through dense scrub, where there were but 
 few trees ; but for the most part their road 
 lay through the woods, where tall timber 
 was abundant. Under any other circum- 
 stances, Joshua would have found the life 
 
 he was leading wonderfully interesting, fa- 
 tiguing as it was. Now they were wend- 
 ing their way through a gully, the heights 
 on each side of which were so thickly 
 wooded as almost to shut out the light of 
 heaven ; now they were on a plain some- 
 what thinly dotted with trees, when sud- 
 denly a young savage would dart off in 
 pursuit of a bee which his wonderful sight 
 had detected fifty feet high in the air. 
 Away buzzed the bee through the clear air, 
 and, with his eyes fixed upon the tiny in- 
 sect, after it flew the savage joined by 
 other young men of the party, the older 
 men follcfwina; more leisurely. With uner- 
 ring sight the hunters ran until the bee 
 settled upon a tree; and with wondrous 
 speed the bee-hunter, seeing the sugai*-bags 
 in the topmost branches, climbed the trunk, 
 cutting notches in the bark for his toes 
 with his stone hatchet, until he reached the 
 sweet store, with which he loaded himself, 
 and then rejoined his companions. Now 
 they caught an enormous guana, more than 
 five feet in length, upon which the natives 
 feasted ; and saw strange specimens of the 
 mantis, which looked like rotten pieces of 
 dead twigs until they were touched, when 
 they crawled away by the aid of their 
 abundant misshapen limbs. Now they 
 came to a place where, surrounded by al- 
 most impenetrable scrub, in which patches 
 of wild bananas grew, were a number of 
 fresh-water lagoons, filled with reeds and 
 weeds of every description, and abounding 
 in screeching cockatoos and beautifully-col- 
 ored ducks. "While Nullaboin was busy 
 with his scheme for obtaining the magic 
 box in which he imagined Minnie's spirit 
 was imprisoned, some members of a strange 
 tribe came to the party, one of whom, to 
 Joshua's amazement, was singing in imper- 
 fect English a verse of the ballad, " He 
 promised to buy me a bunch of blue rib- 
 bons." * The singer knew no other words of 
 English : but he contrived to make Joshua 
 understand that he had been among white 
 men, which, indeed, was sufficiently evident 
 from his singing. 
 
 " Opara," said Joshua, with sparkling 
 eyes, " my brothers are near." 
 
 " It is well," was Opara's simple reply. 
 " Opara will have performed his promise. 
 "When his daughter returns to her tribe, 
 she Avill thank Opara." 
 
 But by this time Nullaboin's plans were 
 matured; and that night, when Joshua 
 wandered into the woods, his heart filled 
 with "-rateful feelings towards the faithful 
 savages, he was followed stealthily by Nul- 
 laboin, and a half-a-dozen braves who had 
 joined in his plot. 
 
 * A fact. 
 
214 
 
 JOSHUA MARVEL. 
 
 " At last ! " tliought Joshua, visions of 
 happiness to come floating before his eyes 
 — " at last ! Perhaps to-morrow I shall 
 see the faces of my countrymen, and then, 
 and then " — But he could not "think 
 clearly ; lor as the images of those dearest 
 to him came before him, the false face of 
 Solomon Fewster seemed to cast a shadow 
 upon his happiness. He leaned against a 
 silver-leaved gum-tree, and tried to calm 
 liimselt; and iu a little while succeeded. 
 Ellen was true to him, he was sm'e. And 
 Dan ? " Is he training his birds still ? " he 
 thought. " How has he borne his gi-eat 
 grief? " He saw before him the dear old 
 kitchen in Stepney, exactly as he had seen 
 it last; every chair and every piece of 
 crockery was iu its exact place. Every de- 
 tail of those last few minutes at home pre- 
 sented itself clearly to him : his yearning 
 look at the old familiar room ; his wallving 
 up the stairs to the street-door with his face 
 hidden iu his mother's neck, and she caress- 
 ing him, as she had done when he was a 
 little cliild. Almost unconsciously he had 
 taken out his accordion, and his fingers 
 wei'C wandering over the keys, playing 
 softly those au'S most in consonance with 
 his thoughts. He even murmured the 
 words of " Tom Bowling : " 
 
 "Here, a sheer hulk, lies poor Tom Bowling, 
 The darling of our crew.'' 
 
 " Dear Old Sailor ! How glad I shall be 
 to see his honest face ! " And he saw the 
 Old Sailor take a wedding-ring out of a 
 piece of silver-paper, with a triumphant 
 expression upon his face, as he had done iu 
 that memorable interview in Gravesend, 
 when — wliiz ! Good God ! what was this ? 
 The sky seemed to come down upon the 
 earth, and he sank thi-ough it — down ! 
 down ! — 
 
 Nullaboin, snatching the accordion from 
 the falling man, hugged it to his naked 
 breast, and glided swiftly away, followed 
 by his confederates. Tliey must have tra- 
 versed full four miles before they paused, 
 and then they looked cautiously around, to 
 assure themselves that they were alone. 
 The old wizard had kept the instrument 
 tightly pressed to liis bosom during the 
 flight, so that no sound had proceeded from 
 it; but now, when they paused, his grasp 
 relaxed. His hand was on the keys : and 
 and as the accordion gradually distended 
 itself, a slow wail issued from it, which so 
 terrified him that he let it fall to the ground, 
 so that the weak and plaintive sound was 
 followed by a harsh and sudden jangle of 
 all the notes. A])palled at this angry cry, 
 which was to them full of fearful meaning, 
 the younger savages, with palpitating 
 
 ' hearts and dismayed faces, flew from the 
 spot, and left Nullaboin alone with the ter- 
 rible prize. He stood like a statue for 
 many minutes, although the thick beads of 
 perspiration were roiling down his face and 
 beard, and then cautiously approached the 
 prostrate mystery. Encouraged by its si- 
 lence, he stooped over it, and, after his sav- 
 age fashion, entreated it to speak to him. 
 No answer came. A^'llat should he do? 
 A sudden light came into his eyes. Min- 
 nie's spirit was imj^risoned there, and she 
 was angry. He would release her. He 
 li ted the accordion gently from the ground, 
 and timidly pressed his finger upon one of 
 the higher keys. The response was gen- 
 tle, almost piteous ; it was an appeal to 
 him. 
 
 " O Star of the tribe ! " he whispered, 
 " Nullaboin will set you free. Make him 
 great ! " 
 
 He took a small green-stone mogo 
 (hatchet) from his girdle, and carefully cut 
 a long hole in the cloth. He held his hand 
 over it to grasp the spii'it; but he saw 
 nothing, heard nothing. He waited ; noth- 
 ing came. He took it in his hand, and 
 waved it up and down ; no sound issued 
 from it. The spirit had fled, and the old 
 wizard was left despau'ing. 
 
 Joshua felt no pain. A delicious sense 
 of rest was upon him. Of all the memo- 
 ries that came to him in his di-eams, the 
 happy holiday he had spent with Dan and 
 Ellen on the Old Sailor's barge was the 
 most vivid. He lived once more through 
 the whole of that happy day — stood in 
 Dan's room in his holiday clothes, with 
 food for the birds which were to be pre- 
 sented to the Old Sailor — went down to 
 breakfast, and saw Ellen's yearning look 
 as they talked of the coming pleasiu*es of 
 the day — saw her run out of the room 
 and run in again, almost mad with delight 
 because Susan had obtained p^mission for 
 her to accompany the lads — rode in the 
 creaking cart through dingy "Wliitechapel 
 — saw Dan swinging in the hammock and 
 gazing at him affectionately while he was 
 rowing — heard every word of the Old 
 Sailor's sea-stories over again — sat on the 
 deck in the twilight in a state of delicious 
 happiness by Ellen's side, and went down 
 into the saloon, and heard the Old Sailor 
 sing, and then Ellen, her favorite song of 
 " Bread-and-cheese and Kisses." After 
 that a darkness came upon him, and he 
 opened his eyes, and saw the stars shining 
 in the heavens ; but they were shut out 
 immediately afterwards, and he was stand- 
 ing on the deck of the " Merry Andrew " the 
 night the ship struck on the rocks ; holding 
 Minnie in his arms ; the dead faces of his 
 
FAITHFUL HEARTS. 
 
 215 
 
 shipmates crowded upon him, rising from 
 the cruel sea with tlie exiR-t expression 
 upon tlieir fcatm-es that they wore when lie 
 last saw them ; then came his encounter 
 with the Lascar in the woods ; and that 
 memory brought to him the lace of" Solo- 
 mon Fewster, which lingered long ; but it 
 faded in its turn, and gave way to other 
 fancies, the most enduring of which was 
 the river near which Minnie was bm-ied, 
 and the refi-ain of her words, " So restless 
 there, so quiet here ! " dwelt in his mind 
 through the long night. 
 
 When he awoke it was daylight. He 
 struggled to his feet, but could scarcely 
 stand for weakness. He had been struck 
 by a boomerang on the temple, and had lost 
 a great deal of blood. He was so weak 
 and bewildered that, even now that he was 
 awake the past incidents of his life were 
 strangely mingled in his mind. It was not 
 until after long mental pondering and sift- 
 ing of incidents that the true knowledge of 
 his position and of what had occm'red to 
 him dawned upon his senses. He looked 
 round for his accordion ; it was gone. 
 Then he thought, " Opara has betrayed me 
 at the last moment. They have stolen my 
 accordion, and they have left me here for 
 dead. But they may return at any mo- 
 ment to strip me of what I have about 
 me. " Weak and faint as he was, he 
 crawled cautiously towards the most thick- 
 ly-wooded part of the forest, and there 
 concealed himself. " What now ? " he 
 thought. " Must I wait for death ? " For 
 indeed he was too weak to walk. His 
 heart almost fiinted within him. 
 
 " Now, when I was so near to deliverance," 
 he groaned aloud, shedding bitter tears, 
 " to be thus dashed back to misery ! " But 
 even as he uttered the words, he heard the 
 crack of a stockman's whip. Crack ! It 
 rang through the woods and through his 
 heart. Not the mockery of a whip-bird 
 this time ! No, no ; it was too near ; and 
 it was followed by the sound of horses' 
 hoofs and by the sound of English voices. 
 Thank God I thank God 1 
 
 CHAPTER XLH. 
 
 FAITHFUL HEARTS. 
 
 On a pleasant summer evening Dan and 
 Ellen and Geoi-ge Marvel were sitting in 
 the shade of the veranda which surround- 
 ed three sides of their house. The house 
 was built of wood, and was all on one tloor, 
 and there was a garden in the front and in 
 
 the rear. George Marvel was smoking his 
 pipe as usual, and having by this time got 
 used to the short clays, which were the 
 only ones he could now obtain, had just 
 declared that he enjoyed a short pipe as 
 well as a long one; "though I couldn't 
 stomach them at first, Dan, as you know." 
 Dan nodded in ac(juiescence ; he had no time 
 to reply ; for at that moment a great shout- 
 ing was heard, and the mail-cart wjis seen 
 driving round the corner towards them. 
 The arrival of the mail-cart in the village was 
 an event of the utmost importance, and was 
 always greeted with cheers by the excited 
 popidation. There was a mail-service once 
 a fortnight, and sometimes it would be a day 
 or two behind, which was most serviceable 
 to the inhabitants of the village, as giving 
 them something to be anxious about and to 
 talk about. The driver ( who was con- 
 tractor for the mail, owner of the mail-cart, 
 and driver of it, all in one ) had one inva- 
 riable excuse when he was late ; he had 
 been waiting for the birds. Now, when 
 Dan first heard this, he, without knowing 
 its meaning, felt instantly attracted to the 
 driver of the mail, whose name was Ramsay ; 
 and when he had an explanation from the 
 lips of a neighbor to whom Ramsay had 
 given a lifl ( he was always giving kindly 
 "lifts" to one and another), Dan was dis- 
 posed to be affectionately familiar with 
 him. This feeling being reciprocated by 
 Ramsay, an intimacy sprung up between 
 them, the consequence of which was, that 
 Ramsay, after delivering his mails to the 
 postmaster ( a rheumatic old woman, deaf, 
 and almost blind), came as regularly as a 
 clock to have a smoke and a chat with Dan 
 and the Marvels. A curious character was 
 Ramsay ; a man who had seen better days — 
 Who had, indeed, once been very wealthy 
 — who had been plundered and deceived 
 from his yuuth upwards — and who yet re- 
 tained a kindliness to every living thing 
 with which he cam.' in contact. Thus, his 
 waiting for the bii'ds : it was whimsical, 
 pretty childish, some said ; consisting in stop- 
 ping wliichever of his two steady old mares 
 he was driving, immediately he saw a bird 
 on the bush track before him. " Get out of 
 my way, little bird," he would say in a sin- 
 gularly gentle voice, and he would give his 
 whip a flick at the back of his cart, which 
 had not the slightest effect in disturbing 
 the little creature that blocked the road. 
 But Ramsay could no more drive past it 
 than he could drive through a wire fence ; 
 and he often found it necessary to descend 
 from his cart, and walk softly towards the 
 bird, which, having probably by that time 
 finished its pecking, would jerk up its cun- 
 ning head towards the intra, ler, and leisure- 
 ly take flight to the nearest tree, where it 
 
216 
 
 JOSHUA MAEVEL. 
 
 would watch the lazy old mare trotting 
 along, and would receive perhaps a comical 
 " Good-morning, little bird ! " from the gen- 
 tle-hearted mail-contractor. 
 
 "When Ramsay had delivered his mail to 
 the rheumatic old female postmaster, he 
 would look over the letters and newspapers 
 (five minutes was long enough to sort the 
 lot of them) to see whether there was any 
 thing for Dan and Mr. INIarvel. On this 
 evening there was a newspaper ; and Ram- 
 say, taking possession of it, walked leisure- 
 ly to the house of his Mends. Ellen's child, 
 Maggie, saw him, and ran to him for a jump 
 in the air, and he stopped to indulge her 
 until he was out of breath, when he was 
 glad to deliver her into her mother's charge, 
 shaking his head laughingly in answer to 
 her cries for " more ! " 
 
 "Hi, Mrs. Wattles!" he shouted to a 
 woman who was passing. " There's a letter 
 for you at the post-office." Which sent 
 ]\Irs. Wattles off, in eager haste, to receive 
 her missive. 
 
 " You're a day late," said Dan, as Ram- 
 say opened the gate. 
 
 "Waiting for the birds, Dan; couldn't 
 get along "for the creatures. Here's a 
 newspaper for you." 
 
 The newspaper had an English postage- 
 stamp upon it, and there was something 
 marked inside. 
 
 " It's from the Old Sailor ! " cried Dan, 
 and pressed it to his lips, and so did Ellen, 
 and all those simple foolish people, in turns, 
 one after another. The paragraph that 
 was marked related how a ship, with all 
 hands, was reported lost ten years ago, and 
 there was nothing more heard of her until 
 a week before the newspaper was printed, 
 when into the London Docks came a vessel 
 from China, which had been driven out of 
 her course, luckily, and had in consequence 
 picked up six men off an island, who had 
 been living there for many years ; and how 
 that these men belonged to the crew who 
 were supposed to have gone to the bottom 
 ten years before. You may imagine that 
 they read this paragraph half a dozen times 
 at the least, having Joshua in their minds aL 
 the time, and that Ellen and JMrs. INIarvel 
 disappeared for a few minutes to have a cry 
 together. While they were away, the men 
 sat silent and grave, Dan reading the news- 
 paper, and George Marvel and Ramsay 
 smoking their pipes. 
 
 Now, once in every month — that is, by 
 every other mail — Ramsay had to deliver 
 a mail-bag at a cattle-station known as 
 Bull's Run. The station was between forty 
 and fifty miles distant from the village, and 
 Ramsay took two days for the journey, out 
 of a merciful regard for his old mare. As 
 he had to start for Bull's Run early in the 
 
 morning, he did not stay late with his 
 friends, but bade them good-night at about 
 nine o'clock. When he was gone, the Old 
 Sailor became the subject of conversation, 
 and every circumstance of their intimacy 
 was recalled and dwelt upon with loving 
 afiection. Every night they sat together 
 — Susan as well, although she never joined 
 in the conversation — talking of one thing 
 and another. Time had softened their 
 grief, but it had not made them less con- 
 stant; their hearts beat as fondly and 
 devotedly for Joshua as ever they had 
 done. 
 
 Susan and Mr, and Mrs. Marvel had 
 gone to bed; Ellen and Dan were alone. 
 Between these two an undefinable sympathy 
 existed; they could almost read each 
 other's thoughts; and this night Ellen 
 lingered when the others had retired to 
 rest, because she had read in Dan's face 
 the signs of something more than usually 
 imjjortant in his mind. For a long time 
 they were silent ; the stillness of every thing 
 around impressed them deeply. The 
 nature of their thoughts, and the stillness 
 of the night, in which there was something 
 solemn, brought to both of them the 
 memory of another night, years ago, when 
 they had sat alone, as they were sitting 
 now, with Basil Kindred's unopened diary 
 before them. 
 
 "Ellen," said Dan, playing with her 
 fingers thoughtfully, " I have dreamed of Jo 
 lately more often than usual, and to-night my 
 thoughts dwell upon him so strongly that I 
 shall not go to bed for a while." 
 " I will sit up with you, my dear." 
 The windows in the room were folding 
 windows, and reached to the ground. 
 Ellen opened them ; and she and Dan were 
 presently sitting beneath the veranda, he 
 upon a chair, she upon the ground, with her 
 head resting in his lap. 
 
 " Do you remember that Christmas night, 
 Ellen, when Jo came home ? " 
 "Yes, Dan." 
 
 " And the strange impression I had upon 
 me that Jo was near us, although I had no 
 actual knowledge of it ? " 
 " Yes." 
 
 " I can see the street as we saw it then, 
 Ellen, with its covering of snow, and that 
 cruel black gash in it which the only man 
 who passed tore with his feet. It was like 
 an ill-omen. You see nothing to disturb 
 the beauty of the scene, Ellen ? " 
 
 " No ; but why do you ask, my dear ? " 
 "Because I have upon me to-night the 
 same feeling that I had then ; because, not^ 
 withstanding that it is almost madness 
 to say it and believe it, I believe that Jo is 
 near us." 
 "Danl" 
 
FAITHFUL HEABTS. 
 
 217 
 
 "To no one else but you would T say 
 this, my dear. vLon;:; dwellin'ji; upon one 
 subject fills the mind witli sin^nilar thought 
 concerning it, and it may be that this feel- 
 ing that is upon me now is but the creation 
 oflhe wildest fancy. Yet there are strange 
 influences within us and around us for 
 which we cannot account, and which affect 
 us in mysterious ways. When I first knew 
 that it 'was Jo's wish to be a sailor, and 
 that we should be parted, I tried with all 
 my mind and soul — it may be that it was 
 a fooUsh, childish foncy, Ellen, but I had it 
 — to create such a heart sympathy between 
 us that we could never be parted in spirit. 
 I had some wild ideas then of being able to 
 dream of what he was doing and seeing 
 when he was thousands of miles away from 
 our little room in Stepney. Of course they 
 came to nothing ; but it would be strange, 
 indeed, if this earnest striving of mine had 
 not produced some feeling within me which 
 time only can test. You remember what 
 poor Minnie's father used to say : ' There 
 are more things in heaven and earth than 
 is dreamed of in our philosophy.' " 
 
 So they sat together talking and musing, 
 and it was past midnight before they re- 
 tired to rest. 
 
 Early in the morning, the whimsical mail- 
 contractor was jogging along towards Bull's 
 Run ; he had to stop so many times for the 
 little birds in the road, that his progress 
 was slow ; but he had reckoned upon these 
 impediments, and he arrived at the station 
 not more than a couple of hours after the 
 usual time. That was the end of his jour- 
 ney ; the following day he had to make his 
 way back to Dan's village. The residence 
 of the owner of BuU's-Run station was 
 built of slabs split from the bloodwood- 
 tree ; the roof was of shingle ; and the in- 
 terior of the house was lined with rich dark- 
 red cedar, which gave it quite a cosey, 
 comfortable appearance. The workmen's 
 huts were built of palm-tree slabs, and the 
 roofs were thatched with strong sword- 
 orass, which grew in great profiision on the 
 banks of a river within a few miles of the 
 homestead. Ramsay was always welcomed 
 at Bull's Run ; the men and women on the 
 station — for, primitive as it was, there 
 were women and children living on it — 
 used to cluster round him, and ask him for 
 news from the villages tlii'ough which he 
 passed, and the smallest items were received 
 with thankfulness, and eagerly listened to. 
 On this occasion, Ramsay had but little 
 news to tell, and his budget was soon ex- 
 hausted. In return, they told him theirs : 
 one of the bulls had torn a man's arm open ; 
 a child had been lost for a whole ni^ht, and 
 all the men were out searching for it miles 
 away, and it was found the next morning 
 
 within half a mile of the hut ; three bush- 
 rangers, splendidly mounted, pissed the 
 station last week at full gallop; one of the 
 shepherds had come in with a cock-and-a- 
 bull story of gold being found somewhere 
 or other ; another shepherd liad gone mad ; 
 Yellow-hammer Jack and his wife had had 
 a row ; and — but Oh ! this was the best bit 
 of the lot ! — a man had been brought in 
 by two stockmen who were looking for lost 
 cattle, and had found him instead ; he was 
 almost dead, and had been living a long 
 time with the Blacks. He seemed a decent 
 kind of fellow, had been a sailor, he said, 
 but was strangely silent about himself — 
 for good reasons, some of the ill-natured 
 ones said. Any ways, the man was Vjetter, 
 although still very weak, and intended to 
 start the next morning for Sydney ; nothing 
 would stop him. 
 
 " A long tramp for a weak man," said 
 kind-hearted Ramsay; "if he's a decent 
 fellow, I'll give him a lift." 
 
 As he said this, there came towards the 
 group, walking very slowly, a strange-look- 
 ing man. with a beard down to his breast, 
 dressed in skins and fiirs ; he had a stick 
 in his hand, and seemed to require its 
 support. They pointed to him, and said 
 that was the man. Ramsay looked at him 
 keenly, and the air of melancholy that 
 rested in the man's eyes impressed the 
 mail-contractor with a feeling of pity. 
 
 " A'sailor, eh ? " he thought ; " and living 
 with the savages. Wonder what he lived 
 with them for ? " Then he thought of Dan's 
 and Ellen's anxiety concerning strange 
 sailors and castaways, and that perhaps 
 they would be glad to see this man. He 
 said nothing, however, but was up the next 
 morning early, and saw the man start on 
 his road with slow and painful steps. A 
 few minutes afterwards the old mare was 
 harnessed, and its tail was turned to Bull's 
 Run. Soon he came up to the man, and 
 as he did so, two purple-breasted robins 
 pecking at a bit of honeysuckle barred his 
 progress. " Get out of my way, little 
 bh'ds," said the mail-driver, pulling up his 
 mare ; and he gave a soft flick with his whip 
 in a direction where the robins were not. 
 The words reached the man's ears, and he 
 turned his head in surprise, and saw the 
 little comedy. A gentle, sweet smile rested 
 on his lips, and he looked at the mail-driver 
 almost gratefully. Ramsay smiled in retm-n, 
 and again bade the little robins get out of 
 his way; and presently they took flight, 
 each with a tiny piece of the sweet flower 
 in its beak. Then the old mare jogged 
 lazily along, and the strange-looking man 
 gazed wistfully after the cart. Ramsay, 
 looking back, saw the wistful expression, 
 and stopped at once. " Hi, mate 1 " 
 
218 
 
 JOSHUA MARVEL. 
 
 Joshua came slowly forward. 
 
 " ^Vliere you bound for ? " 
 
 " Sydney." 
 
 " Going to walk all the way ? " 
 
 " If I can," sighed Joshua ; and could not 
 help adding, " and if I don't die on the 
 road ! " 
 
 " Jump up, mate ; I can give you a lift 
 for forty miles." 
 
 " I have no money," and Joshua turned 
 away, with a sob. 
 
 " I don't want your money ; I want your 
 company. But how were you going to live, 
 if you've fto money ? " 
 
 "I should trust to the Providence that 
 has so wonderfully delivered me," thought 
 Joshua, but made no reply aloud; though 
 it could be seen in his eyes, which were 
 filled Avith tears. 
 
 "Jump in," said Ramsay, imperatively 
 and kindly, " without another word." 
 
 And without another word Joshua climb- 
 ed into the cart. 
 
 " I dare say now," said Ramsay in the 
 course of conversation, as the old mare trot- 
 ted steadily on the road, " that you won- 
 der what made me so anxious for your com- 
 pany. Well, I'll tell you. In the village 
 where I shall put up to-morrow afternoon, 
 and which is forty odd miles on the road 
 to Sydney, live some people I'm very fond 
 of, who had a sailor friend that they've not 
 heard of for a long while." 
 
 " Ah ! " sighed Joshua ; " I know- Avhat 
 their feeling must be. Did they love him ? " 
 
 " Love him ! Well, you shall see for your- 
 self; if, in return for the lift I am giving 
 you, you won't mind talking to them a bit." 
 
 " I shall be glad to ; it may remind me 
 of my own friends." 
 
 " Where are your friends ? — Now, 
 Dozy ! " this to the old mare, who had 
 stopped suddenly short ; " what d'ye stop 
 for ? The sense of the creature ! " he 
 added proudly, pointing to a bird some yards 
 in front of them. " Get out of my way, 
 little bird ! " 
 
 " When I first heard you say that," said 
 Joshua, " I was sure you had a kind heart." 
 
 '' Fond of birds yourself, mate ? " 
 
 " Very, very fund. The tenderest re- 
 membrances of my life are connected with 
 them." 
 
 Ramsay cast a sharp glance at the half- 
 savage. 
 
 " Been long among the Blacks, mate ? 
 or isn't the story true ? " 
 
 " It's true enough. Long among them ? 
 Ay — years , but I don't know how long." 
 
 Joshua, indeed, had lost count of time. 
 
 " From choice ? " 
 
 " No ; but I've told my story to no one 
 yet. It would scarcely be believed. But 
 tell me about your friends and the sailor." 
 
 " There's a mother there, that lost a son 
 when she lost her sailor " — j Joshua pressed 
 his fingers to his face, and sobbed convul- 
 sively at the thought of his own dear moth- 
 er, who had lost a son when she lost her 
 sailor ; and the mail-driver felt a choking 
 in his throat, and had to wait a few mo- 
 ments betbre he could proceed. " And a 
 father that lost a son at the same time. 
 And a wife that lost a husband. And a 
 friend that lost a friend. And a little child 
 that can hardly be said to have lost a father, 
 for she never saw her father's face." 
 
 " Merciful God ! " 
 
 " What's the matter, mate ? " 
 
 For Joshua was trembling — like a child ; 
 and great sobs came from his chest — like 
 a man. 
 
 " You remind me — you remind me," 
 sobbed Joshua. " Don't think me unmanly, 
 don't think me mad. I have been sorely, 
 sorely tried ! " 
 
 Whereat Ramsay stopped the mare, and 
 got out of the cart, and went into the bush 
 to look for birds. He must have had a 
 great difficulty in finding them, he was away 
 so long ; and the old mare stood perfectly 
 still and contented the while, twitching her 
 tail to knock off the flies, which was the 
 only spirited action she was ever known to 
 be guilty of. When they were jogging 
 along again, they did not speak a word for 
 a full hour, and then it was Joshua who 
 spoke first, taking up the thread where it 
 had been dropped. 
 
 " The child who has never seen her fa- 
 ther — a girl then ? " 
 
 " Yes, mate." 
 
 " How was it that she had never seen 
 him ? " 
 
 '■Married her mother; went away to 
 sea, and never heard of since." 
 
 " How old is the child ? " 
 
 " Five years, I should say." 
 
 " If you knew," said Joshua in a slow 
 trembling voice, " what a chord you have 
 touched in my heart, you would pity me. 
 Forgive me tor my strange manner, and 
 answer me. The mother who has lost a 
 son ; describe her." 
 
 " An angel. I'm not good at picking 
 faces to pieces ; but when I look at her, 
 she reminds me of my own mother, dead 
 and gone this many a year. Never thinks 
 of herself; always putting herself out for 
 other people — bless her old fiice I And 
 yet she's not so old, although her hair is 
 nearly white — that's from grief." 
 
 " The father who lost a son ? " 
 
 " A fine fellow ; a little self-willed and 
 obstinate ; a wood-turner." 
 
 A long, long silence. The mail-driver 
 did not break it, nor did he intrude upon 
 his companion's thoughts. " Twit-twit- 
 
FAITHFUL HEARTS. 
 
 219 
 
 twit!" came from tlie throats of some dia- 
 mond sparrows, which were Hitting among 
 the gma-tree branches and a flock of scarlet 
 lowry j)arrots floated through the bush that 
 lined the road on either side, their won- 
 derfully-gorgeous plumage lighting up the 
 dark trees with brilliant light. 
 
 " The wife that lost a husband, and the 
 friend that lost a friend ? " 
 
 " Treasures both ; brother and sister." 
 
 "One other question — where do they 
 come irom V " 
 
 " London. I don't know what part." 
 
 A nii^t floated before Joshua's eyes, and 
 he remained like one in a dream during the 
 afternoon — wondering, hoping, fearing. 
 When they were near to the village the 
 following afternoon, Joshua said, — 
 
 "It may be that you have rendered me 
 one of the greatest services that a man can 
 possibly render another. K it be as I 
 scarcely dare to hope, we shall know each 
 other tor long after this. Complete the 
 service by doing one little thing more. 
 Drive past the house where your friends 
 live and point it out to me, so that I may 
 descend and walk to it alone when we are 
 at the end of your journey." 
 
 Ramsay nodded. It was about five 
 o'clock when the mail-cart rattled into the 
 village. The contractor for the mails al- 
 ways made a great clatter when he came in, 
 as if he had been driving for liis life — a 
 fiction which, although no one believed in, 
 he thought it desirable to keep up. " It 
 looks government-like," he said. 
 
 Solomon Fewster is in the garden at the 
 rear of the house, pleading his suit to Ellen 
 for the twentieth time. She stands silent 
 until he has finished a rhapsody, in Avhich 
 love and money are strangely commingled. 
 
 " Think of the time I have waited, El- 
 len," he says; "think of tlie constancy of 
 my affection, and of the position I can offer 
 you. I am making money fast, and only 
 wait for you to say yes, to buy a house for 
 us, whicli in three years will be worth three 
 times what they ask for it. What is the use 
 of your wasting your life in this out-of-the- 
 way village when all the attractions of a 
 city-life are open to you ? Come now, give 
 me your hand, and reward the man who 
 has been your constant friend and lover, 
 and who can make you rich." 
 
 But Ellen is insensible to the splendor 
 of the offer ; indeed, she is weary of it and 
 him, and she tells him so spiritedly, 
 and yet cannot repulse him. At length she 
 says, — 
 
 " Mr. Fewster, there must be an end to 
 this. I shall never, never marry again ; and 
 even if I did," she adds, to put a stop to 
 what has become persecution, " I should 
 
 not choose you ; " and leaves him with this 
 arrow in his heart. 
 
 He stands amazed. Not choose him I 
 Why, a thousand girls would jump at him. 
 Not here perhaps, for womankind was a 
 scarce commodity ; but at home, or any- 
 where where girls were more plentiful. 
 Not choose liim ! He follows her into the 
 house, wounded and mortified, and into 
 Dan's ro(jm, where Mr. Marvel and Dan 
 are at work. Mr. Marvel has all his tools, 
 and does a great deal of wood-turning — 
 having, indeed, more than he can do — and 
 is putting by money. He scarcely looks 
 up as Solomon Fewster walks in, somewhat 
 defiantly ; and as no one speaks to him, an 
 awkward silence ensues upon his entrance ; 
 broken by Mr. Marvel, who, noticing Ellen's 
 flushed face, observes, — 
 
 " Been teasing Ellen again, lilr. Few- 
 ster y " 
 
 " Teasing her, indeed ! " exclaims Solo- 
 mon Fewster loftily; "honoring her, I 
 should say." 
 
 The flush upon Ellen's face deepens at 
 this, and she casts such a look of aversion 
 at Mr. Fewster that all the blood rushes 
 into his face, and he says some injudicious 
 words about ingratitude, and about what 
 one might expect if one condescended to 
 lower himself as he had done. 
 
 Upon this George Marv^el starts to his 
 feet in a great heat, and exclaims, — 
 
 " What do you mean by ingratitude, and 
 by lowering yourself, Mr. Fewster ? AVhat 
 gratitude do we owe you ? " 
 
 " Ask Dan," says Mr. Fewster, — " ask 
 Dan who it was bought his birds to keep 
 you when you were starving, and when no 
 one else would look upon you. But it serves 
 me right for noticing you and helping you, 
 instead of treating you as all your neighbors 
 did. I ought to have known what return I 
 might expect." 
 
 " And I dare say you got your return," 
 says George Marvel, " when you sold Dan's 
 binls at a good profit. As for Dan selling 
 his birds to keep us from starving, tliat was 
 no business of yours, so long as you got 
 value for your money. That is a matter 
 between Dan and me ; and Dan's satisfied 
 with the way that account stands, or I'm 
 mistaken in him." Dan presses George 
 Marvel's hand. " Thank you, Dan. Now, 
 as to lowering yourself, Mr. Fewster. Do 
 you mean to tell me that you would be low- 
 ering yourself if Ellen here was free to 
 marry you, and would accept you ? You 
 mean-spirited dog ! I'm a good deal older 
 than you are ; but if you were not in my 
 house, I would thrash you for speaking as 
 you have done, as I've thrashed others in 
 Stepney when they let loose their lying 
 tongues at us. Get out of the place, and 
 
220 
 
 JOSHUA MARVEL. 
 
 never set foot in it again ! " Attracted by 
 the loud voices, Susan and Mrs. Marvel, 
 with Ellen's child, have come into the 
 room ; and Mrs. Marvel now goes to her 
 husband's side and lays her hand upon his 
 arm. " Nay, Maggie — let be ; I'm not go- 
 ing to hurt him ; I wouldn't lay a finger 
 upon him here ; and I don't want to any- 
 where else ; only, don't let him cross me if 
 he says a word against us out of this house. 
 — Dan!" he cries, "do you want to see 
 Mr. Fewster here again ? " 
 
 "No, sir; I think it will, be best if Mr. 
 Fewster will keep away from us." 
 
 " And you, Ellen ? what do you say ? 
 
 " I never wish to see him again. For the 
 sake of what is past, I would have been 
 content to see him, if he would have ceased 
 from persecuting me ; but after what he has 
 said to you, I hope he will leave us in 
 peace." 
 
 " You hear," exclaims George Marvel ; 
 " we are happy enough without you. Go, 
 and never darken this door again ! " 
 
 Solomon Fewster looks round, almost 
 savagely; his face is white with passion, 
 and all the vindictiveness of his bad nature 
 comes into play. 
 
 " You are happy enough without me ! " 
 he sneers, with his knuckles to his mouth. 
 
 " Don't make too sure of that. I have been 
 your friend hitherto. What if I now make 
 myself your enemy? What if, when I go 
 from this house, I spread about mij version 
 of your reason for leaving London ? What 
 if I tell your neighbors here of the real 
 character of your sailor-hero, and how, be- 
 cause of his villany, all your friends turned 
 their backs upon you " — 
 
 But he has no time to say more ; for the 
 door, which has been partly open, swings 
 on its hinges, and Joshua enters. 
 
 Not one of them recognizes him. In his 
 strange garb, with his fur-cap pulled over 
 his eyes, and with his face covered with 
 hair, no trace of Joshua is discernible ; and 
 yet they look at him spell-bound, waiting 
 for him to speak. He gazes at the forms 
 of all the dear ones, and grasps the back of 
 a chair to steady himself. He takes them 
 all in at a glance, and sees in one brief mo- 
 ment the changes in them that time has 
 made. His mother's white hair ; the deep- 
 ened wrinkles in his father's face ; Ellen 
 more matronly than she was, but fair and 
 pleasant to look at as when she was a girl ; 
 Susan, like an old woman ; Dan grown a 
 little stouter, and with the same dear boy- 
 ish light in his eyes and on his face — but 
 the child, clinging to Ellen's apron and 
 looking at him wonderingly with Ellen's 
 eyes and his ! — 
 
 He had thought, before he entered, that 
 he would be strong, but he has no more 
 
 control over himself for a few moments 
 than a straw in a fierce wind. Then mut- 
 tering, " Justice first ! " he turns upon Sol- 
 omon Fewster a glance of hate and scorn, 
 and grasps him by the shoulder with so 
 powerful a grasp, that Fewster writhes with 
 pain. 
 
 " I heard your last words," he says. 
 
 But directly he speaks, a thrill runs 
 through them, and they are running to- 
 wards him with outstretched arms, when 
 he cries, — 
 
 " Stand off I By what strange chance I 
 find you, I can scarcely imagine. But do 
 not come nearer to me for a little while, or 
 I shall fall dead at your feet ! " 
 
 Awe-struck and trembling they obey 
 him. 
 
 " I would not touch one of your dear 
 hands till you have heard me and judged 
 me, though death were the penalty for de- 
 priving myself of the joy ! I would not receive 
 one kiss from your honored lips upon my 
 cheek till you have heard me and judged 
 me, though I were sure that my tongue 
 would be paralyzed in the utterance of what 
 I have to say I Some part of your suffer- 
 ings, some part of yom* pain, I know from 
 my own suffering and pain, and I will clear 
 myself before your eyes, so help me Thou ! 
 or go forever from my sight ! " 
 
 Susan is running to him with cries of 
 " Justice I justice ! " and is about to throw 
 herse'f upon him, when George Marvel's arm 
 restrains and keeps her back. " Be still, 
 madwoman ! " he mutters sternly, and stands 
 by her side, watchful of her, and no less 
 watchful and attentive of every word that 
 falls from his son's lips. 
 
 Joshua takes the cap from his head, and 
 lets it fall to the ground, still keeping his 
 strong grasp upon Solomon Fewster, whose 
 cowardly blood grows thin as he writhes 
 and listens. 
 
 " Justice ! " echoes Joshua. " You shall 
 have it, and so shall this base dog, whose 
 presence pollutes the air I breathe. Listen 
 well. Of another matter that we must 
 speak of presently, and which is near and 
 dear to all our hearts, I will say nothing 
 before him. But in the 'Merry Andrew ' in 
 which I sailed from Gravesend, and which 
 is now at the bottom of the sea, with many 
 dear brave souls that were aboard her, was 
 a villanous sailor — a Lascar, from whose 
 hands I once rescued the woman who calls 
 for justice, and who struck me down on 
 that dreatlful Christmas-eve when I first 
 came home from sea. He shrinks and 
 trembles beneath my grasp, this false friend, 
 of whose bad heart I warned my brother 
 Dan before the ' Merry Andrew ' sailed. At 
 one time during the voyage, when we were 
 in danger, there was an attempt at mutiny, 
 
FAITHFUL HEARTS. 
 
 221 
 
 and this Lascar was one of the cowardly 
 wretches who endeavored to spread dissatis- 
 faction. When we were in dread peril, 
 this Lascar sailor and a mutinous mate, 
 whom we had to put in irons, strove hard 
 \)o injure me and the captain — Heaven rest 
 his soul ! — and, happily, failed. The ship 
 was wrecked, and we had to abandon her, 
 and take to a raft which we had made ; 
 and on that raft we sulfered more than six 
 weeks hunger and thirst, and every species 
 of misery. Out of the entire crew and 
 passengers only seven were saved, among 
 them being myself and this Lascar sailor 
 and his confederate, the mutinous mate. 
 Before the captain died, he appointed me 
 to succeed in the command, and I have the 
 record from the log-book about me now. 
 We got ashore. How we lived, you shall 
 hear from me by and by ; but once the Las- 
 car (whom we suspected of having killed 
 his confederate) stole upon me, and but 
 that I turned my head in time, I should not 
 be here now to expose the villany of this 
 cowardly wi'etch. Foiled in his devilish 
 design, he told me then that he had been 
 set to trap me, and was paid for it. Some 
 time after that, I found the Lascar dead in 
 the forest ; and before I buried him — not 
 wishing to leave a human creature, ho\v- 
 ever vile, to be eaten by birds and beasts 
 — I obtained evidence which proved to me 
 that the wretch who writhes now within 
 my grasp was the master who paid him to 
 ruin, and perhaps to murder me." 
 
 " A clever lie," Solomon Fewster man- 
 ages to say, though he is shaking from ter- 
 ror. 
 
 " A lie ! I have the proofs. Be thankful 
 that I have met you here, among those who 
 are all that the world holds dear for me. 
 If I had met you in the forest, in the midst 
 of such scenes as I have witnessed lately, 
 I would not have answered for your life." 
 
 Joshua hurls Solomon Fewster from him 
 with such force that he falls, almost stunned, 
 in the corner of the room. Then Joshua 
 takes from his neck the bag containing his 
 relics, and selects from them the silver 
 watch and the dociunent which Fewster 
 had given the Lascar, and after reading 
 aloud the document and the inscription on 
 the watch, lays them upon the table. 
 
 " Here are the proofs of yom- crime and 
 your villany," he says to Fewster. "Be 
 thankful if you are allowed to escape pun- 
 ishment. Go, and go quickly, and without 
 a word 1 " He stands aside to let the man 
 pass ; and Solomon Fewster, without a 
 word or a look to any one there, passes 
 out of the room, and out of the village. 
 And is never seen in it again. 
 
 "When they are alone, Joshua turns to 
 Susan, and, in a softer voice, says, — 
 
 " Susan, you cried for justice. Upon 
 
 mel " 
 
 " Yes, upon you. "Where is Minnie ? 
 ^Vllat have you done with Minnie ? " 
 
 The big tears roll down Joshua's beard 
 at the mention of her name. 
 
 " You think I took her away ? " 
 " You know you diil." 
 " Then truly, if all of you believe as 
 Susan believes, my life is darker than the 
 darkest night." With upraised hand he 
 checks them from speaking ; but he sees in 
 their faces what gives him precious com- 
 fort. " When I went away from Graves- 
 end," he says in a soft and gentle voice, I 
 had no knowledge that ]\Iinnie was aboard. 
 When we got to Sydney I did not know it. 
 My duties occupied all my time. We 
 sailed from Sydney, and I was still in ig- 
 norance. But on the night the ' Merry 
 Andrew ' struck on the rocks I heard her 
 voice for the first time. I suppose she 
 thought that we were lost, and in her 
 agony she made herself known to me ; 
 but I did not see her — the night was too 
 dark. \^Tien I saw her the next day, I 
 saw to my amazement that she had stained 
 her face, and that her hair was not so lon<T 
 as she used to wear it. We were together on 
 the raft. We were together on the shore. 
 She was one of the seven who were saved. 
 We lived together lilie brother and sister. 
 "When the savages discovered us, they had 
 a strange flxncy respecting her, and she 
 obtained great influence over them. She 
 used all her influence to protect me, and 
 but for her I should have lived and died 
 where the tribe we fell amongst chiefly 
 wandered — in the north, many hundreds 
 of miles from here." He takes from his 
 bag Ellen's portrait, the lock of her hair 
 he had cut before he left Gravesend, and 
 Dan's Bible. He places these on one side. 
 " What is left, Dan, is yom-s. Tliis tress, 
 cut not many weeks ago ; this jiaper, 
 which she desfred me to give you, and 
 which I have never read ; this earth, 
 which I gathered from her gi-ave ! Before 
 she died, she sent you all her dearest love, 
 and a kiss for mother, Dan, and Ellen. 
 She died pure as she had lived, dear, 
 faithful, mistaken heart ! As I hope for 
 redemption, I speak the truth. If you 
 believe me, take me to your hearts again, 
 and let me live in them as I know I once 
 lived ! " 
 
 As he once lived ! as he had always 
 lived ! They cluster round him, and kiss 
 him, and sob over him. Had he not been 
 saved from the deep — ay, and from greater 
 perils — to comfort them? And they put 
 his little daughter in his arms, who asks, 
 hearing that he was her father, " Has Grod 
 sent my father back ? God is very good." 
 
222 
 
 JOSHUA MAEVEL. 
 
 O fjood faifliful motlier I can this great 
 bearded man be your son ? Not often can 
 such a cluster of loving hearts be seen — 
 faithful to each other, believing in each 
 other's goodness and purity, in face of 
 terrible adverse circumstance. Their faith- 
 fulness is a proof of their own worth. To 
 the pure all things are pure. But hush ! 
 for Minnie's last words; Dan is reading 
 them aloud. 
 
 " I have learned, too late, the conse- 
 quences of my fault. But I, and I alone, 
 am to blame. No one knew it ; no one 
 suspected it ; no one aided me in it. I am 
 writing this upon a page of Dan's Bible, 
 and it seems to me like an oath. I cannot 
 live long. I am dying. But a long-life's 
 devotion could not repay Joshua's brotherly 
 care. All good angels guard him and you! 
 If Joshua is preserved to give you this — 
 and I believe he will be — think, while 
 you read it, that my spirit is near ; and 
 forgive me, dear Dan and Ellen. My love 
 to you both, and to good INIrs. Marvel and 
 Joshua's father ; and to Susan, who must 
 have no bad thoughts of Joshua. God 
 bless you, and send you happiness I 
 
 "Minnie." 
 
 Dan and Joshua sit talking together 
 until late in the night. Ellen and ]\Ir. 
 and Mrs. Marvel are sitting up also, but 
 in another part of the house. They know 
 that Dan wants to speak to Joshua of 
 Minnie, and they leave the friends undis- 
 turbed. 
 
 Wliat is said to each other by the two 
 faithful friends cannot be written here ; 
 but it may be easily understood by those 
 who have read these pages. Joshua tells 
 Dan as much as time will allow of his 
 and IMinnie's lives, and is tender and 
 indignant in turns, as Dan relates to him 
 the history of the family in Stepney after 
 the sailing of the " Merry Andrew." Be 
 
 sure that the Old Sailor is not forgotten. 
 If tender speech and loving thought are 
 worth any thing, the Old Sailor is rich 
 indeed. 
 
 Their eyes are wet with tears, and their 
 hands are in each other's clasp. Joshua 
 has just finished his relation of Minnie's 
 death, and of her words about the river — 
 " So restless there, so quiet here ! " — when 
 a knock comes at the door, and Ellen 
 enters. He takes her in his arms, and 
 they sit, the three of them, and talk in a 
 state of wondering happiness. 
 
 Another knock at tlje door — Mr. and 
 ]\Irs. Marvel. The magnetism of love has 
 drawn them all together. 
 
 " It reminds me of the night before you 
 first went to see, Jo," says Dan. Do you 
 remember ? The knocks at the door one 
 after another." 
 
 " Josh," said George Marvel to his sou, 
 a fortnight afterwards, " what are you 
 going to do ? " 
 
 " ^Vhat do you mean, daddy ? " asked 
 Joshua in return. 
 
 "What do I mean? Well, you don't 
 want to go to sea again ? " 
 
 " No, I shouldn't like to leave Ellen and 
 Dan and all of you again." 
 
 " Well, then, what are you going to do ? 
 You must do something." 
 
 Mrs. Marvel sat silent, and smiled a 
 little smile, but very slyly, so that no one 
 should see it. 
 
 " You can get plenty of work as a wood- 
 tm-ner, daddy ? " 
 
 " Yes, Josh, a good deal more than I 
 can do — and well paid for it too." 
 
 "Well, daddy, I think" — 
 
 " Yes, Josh, you think " — 
 
 "I think I'll learn wood-turning, if 
 you'll teach me." 
 
 Whereupon George INIarvel, after the 
 slightest amount of hesitation, rose and 
 kissed his wife. 
 
 ^trmtsiM 
 
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 1961 
 
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 1