! I I /\ STOftY OF BY JOHN TALBOT SMITH AUTHOR OF BROTHER AZARIAS," "SOLITARY ISLAND, HIS HONOR THE MAYOR," "A WOMA OF CULTURE," ETC. THIRD EDITION NEW YORK WILLIAM H. YOUNG & COMPANY 31 BARCLAY STREET 1897 COPYRIGHT, 1892 BY JOHN TALBOT SMITH All rights reserved CONTENTS. PAGE Chapter I. The Pilot's Son, i " II. Mr. Grady Admired the French, 12 " III. The Senior Partner, - 20 " IV. A Rehearsal, ... 29 " V. The Letter from Texas, - - 38 " VI. Vengeance Delayed, - 47 " VII. After the Play, .... 56 " VIII. The Pilot's Bargain, - - 69 " IX. Quiet Times, ... 78 " X. Tim Grady in Texas, - 85 " XI. An Odd Letter, .... 91 " XII. A Change of Heart, - - 103 " XIII. Winthrop's Temptation, - - 112 " XIV. The Steamer's Fate, - - 117 XV. Amed^e! 129 " XVI. A Texas Steer, ... 141 XVII. Banished, 153 XVIII. A Climax, .... 161 " XIX. Winthrop in Favor, - - - 175 " XX. A Lawn Party, 184 XXL- The Wedding, .... 199 XXII. A Revelation, ... 210 2088295 ii CONTENTS. PAGE Chapter XXIII. At Rest, 219 " XXIV. Rejected ! .... 230 " XXV. Open Confession, - - -239 " XXVI. The Fair, .... 250 " XXVII. AmedSe's Daughter, - - - 273 SARANAC. CHAPTER I. THE PILOT'S SON. In Saranac the world was celebrating New Year's Day, or as the villagers themselves would call it le Jour de Van, The day of all the year ; and because of a certain custom connected with this celebration a difficulty had sprung up in the household of Mrs. Sullivan, at five o'clock of the morning, which brought trouble to the hearts of her two grandchildren. Sara- nac was a border town, with a mixed population, American by instinct and training, French Canadian, Irish, English, and a mixture of all three at times in the matters of blood and sentiment. Hence there were all sorts of customs and traditions and senti- ments in Saranac, and all sorts of difficulties springing from them ; and one of these had intruded on Mrs. Sullivan on the unluckiest day of all the year for such a thing to happen. Because this good woman held it as an axiom almost, that the troubles of New Year's Day are sure to repeat themselves daily the entire year. She was therefore careful to make the festival one of unbounded joy, to banish all words, thoughts, and deeds smacking of sorrow. It was a heroic effort for a reminiscent mind, but success had so often re- warded the effort as to make it easy in the end. Mrs. Sullivan's eldest daughter one day married a young neighbor with French blood and a French name. This event had occurred eleven years before the story opens, the young man was now dead a year, and the daughter had returned with her two children to her mother's house. Mrs. Sullivan was annoyed at one feature of these incid .-nts. It was not only her daughter who came home, but also her daughter's French children, with pretty French names and fashions, the Sullivan blood prominent but ornamen- ted so daintily as to stir her wrath daily against " Frinch notions." The children and their mother spoke excellent French, and it seemed to the grand- mother that the Sullivan had been extinguished in the Lajeunesse. "Afther fightin' the Frinch for thirty years," she exclaimed to a friend, " here I have a houseful o' thim. Wirra, to think I'd ever see the day whin wan o' me name 'ud be a grandmother to Frinchmen!" The position however was not hopeless, and grand- ma's severity was never called out except to repress or condemn "Frinch notions" in her children. Her harshness on this point gave Remi and Elise a dread of offending her. And when New Year's morning came and it was necessary to ask grandma's blessing according to Canadian custom the first serious diffi- culty of life in grandma's home presented itself. They had always received papa's blessing on that happy day, and papa before he died had commanded them to ask it thenceforth from Grandma Sullivan. It was five o'clock in the morning, and down in the kitchen they could hear her clattering the dishes briskly while they stood in their white night-dresses at the head of the stairs talking. " You go first and ask her," said Remi in French, " and you can have my sled all day." " You're a boy, you ought to go first," said Elise, not caring much to bargain. " Let us not go at all," he ventured. " But papa, you forget, Remi," said Elise tearfully. "I don't forget, but what's the use of asking when there'll be a big fuss made and no good come of it." . " Well, you take my hand and let us go down even," said Elise, " and I'll ask her." "All right. But mind I run the minute she says ' that's another Frinch notion.' " They giggled a little over grandma's brogue, and then stole softly dowa the stairs. Only a vivid re- membrance of papa's command prevented a stampede from the door. There was a long and dreadful pause outside the kitchen. " I'm going back to bed," said Remi, but Elise threw open the door and both little figures bowed very sweetly to grandma as they wished her a happy New Year and kissed her and showed their gifts from mamma and Uncle Hugh. Then grandma being in a good humor the little diplomats knelt down at her knees and Elise said with her heart in her mouth : ' Please, grandma, give us your benediction." " Me what," said the astonished lady. " Your blessing, grandma," said Remi. " Another Frinch notion," snapped Mrs. Sullivan. " Yez have me tired wid 'em. Shure, haven't ye me blessin' mornin', noon, and night the year round, and why do ye be wantin' it New Year's Day above anny other time ? " " Papa told us to come to you," said Elise, holding Remi so tightly that he could not move. " Well, he had some sinse if he was Frinch," said the old lady, " the Lord rest his sowl this day ! It's not refusin' his orphans annythm' I'd be, an' the whole house is yours while ye're in it. But I'll have no Frinch notions here " " Please, grandma," sniffled Elise. "An* to day the first of the year to begin id in Frinch style I wouldn't do it for an angel, glory be to God, let alone a Lajeunesse " " To-morrow's just as good," said Remi. " But papa said to-day," and Elise puckered up her features for a good cry when grandma picked her up and kissed the wrinkles away, saying : " Don't cry on New Year's day, acushla, ye can take me binedictlon, or whatever ye call it - it's not much good anyhow an' don't have a wet eye or a cross word for any living sowl to-day." And grandma went on then to scold th'-nu for not being more like the Sullivans, and to praise them for remembering their father's wishes, and to describe the way her county in Ireland celebrated New Year's day without anything French or Protestant about it, only the pure, sweet Irish and Catholic way, which was better than any other in the whole world, until Elise nearly cried again with grief that her name was not Sullivan and she had not been born in Ireland. But the blessing of grandma was enough to make the day bright for the children, and they forgot their own names in the joy and fun of the festival. " As the day began, so it will end," said Mrs. Sulli- van to her daughter, in describing how her blessing had been given. " It s a Frinch day for this house God help us. I never see the like of it afore - it'll be Frinch here, an 1 Frinch there where'll ye put 'em all, Julia, I'd like to know, and yer relatives comin' to see ye, Tony Christmas, and Bony Batcheese. an' all the other beautiful names that belongs to 'em." " See here, mother," said Hugh, " you want to be careful how you step out to-day. This is the day for making up among old enemies, and as sure as Mrs. Bobeau meets you she'll speak to you, and perhaps kiss you right in the street." Mrs. Sullivan's indignation at the mere mention of such a scene was too great for words, and lest it might really come to pass she hurried away to Mass as the first bell was ringing, and so escaped a reconciliation. The snow was heavy on the ground. The sun did not honor the day with his appearance. The great Lake Champlain, on which Saranac stands, stretched away for miles in its covering of snow and ice, with black shores and grim mountains around. A man stood in the street reading a letter as Mrs. Sullivan passed by. " 'Appy Noo Yir," he said. " I s'pose Cap'n Sulli- van will be at church to day ?" " The same to you, Misther Rush ; I hope he will," said Mrs. Sullivan. " It's where every Christian ought to be." " If I don't see Mm this mornin', tell 'im I'll be round to night to 'ave a talk with 'im." " I will, sor," with chilling dignity, and under her breath, " Of course ye'll be round, ye'll all be round to see the Lajeunesses, but you won't see me, good man, if I can help it." It was really a French Canadian day, however, and Mrs. Sullivan found it hard to withstand the hearty and polite manner of the people. The churchgoers were out in force before she got half way up the street. They came in threes and fives and tens, whole family groups of three generations, the young ones laughing ever their awkward attempts to get the day's benediction from their parents, the old ones blocking the way with vigorous handshaking of friends. The streets of the town looked festive with the movement of the cheerful procession which Mrs. Sullivan unconsciously headed on the way to the church. A few neighbors tried to overtake her in vain. By this behavior she escaped the dreaded congratulations, and once inside the church she was secure for two hours. Even here the French idea pursued her. The green trimmings on the walls were put on in Canadian style, and the priest preach- ed a French sermon to please the majority of his people, who, nevertheless, understood and spoke Eng- lish well. " I'll be talkin' the language meself before I get home," said Mis. Sullivan at this last pinch to her feelings, and in a kind of despair she went out with the crowd, and was shaken and pushed and laughed at and talked to almost to her o ?n door where Mrs. Bobeau was waiting for her to put the seal on the degradation of the Sullivans by kissing her and asking her to be a friend once more. " And this is only the beginning" she sighed. The door bell was ringing constantly all the after- noon, and from the parlor came a steady flow of talk and laughing and the clinking of glasses with enough French conversation to exasperate her. Mrs. Lajeu- nesse and Captain Hugh Sullivan did the honors, and seemed to like it. They tried to coax her into the room, but her steady reply was, " I'm Irish Let the Frinch celebrate without me." And they did, quite used to the polite indisposition which Mrs. Sul- livan suffered from on New Year's Day. But the night being come, the townspeople went each to his own tea-table, and the home was left to its own. The lamps were lighted and the curtains drawn, and Mrs. Sullivan had the floor. " Now, mother,'' said the Captain cheerfully, " let us hear how you celebrated in the County Down or Limerick on this glorious day." " I was born in the County Limerick," said his mother, with dignity, "and rared in the County Down." " All Ireland," said Remi, " isn't as big as New York State." "Hush, Remi," said mamma, in a tone of warn ing. "The more shame to New York State," said Mrs. Sullivan, " to let a little island bate it all to pieces. The State is good enough. I can't find any fault on'y wid the people in it." The bell rang. " Ye might be in Ireland twenty New Year's Days," she continued, " an' the bell on the door wouldn't ring as often as this afternoon jist." " Because why ?" said the Captain. " Were there no bells ?" " Bekase why, sor ? Bekase the people had too much sense to go round bell-ringing anny day." 8 " Captain LaRoche to see Uncle Hugh," bawled Rerui from the parlor door. " He towld me he was comin' to see ye," said Mrs. Sullivan, " but I forgot all about it, I declare. Let him walk right in, child. Wan captain more won't spoil the broth." LaRoche was a swarthy lake sailor of sixty, griz- zled and weather-beaten, but good for twenty years more of the peaceful, healthful life which his kind en- joys on Lake Champlain. He bowed with his never- failing French courtesy to each person present, and when the greetings and inquiries were done, handed Hugh a letter. " See what you can make out of that," he said. The children took possession of him in a moment, while Hugh was reading, and wormed a short story out of him concerning the great storms on the lake and the great boats that had been wrecked. Then Hugh looked up from his letter. "I never well understood," he said, "just how your son got into trouble, and so perhaps I don't see what this letter means." " You were a boy, Cap'n," said LaRoche, " w'en Amedee got hisself into a mess he'll never git out of, I s'pose. Your mother knows about it. He was a smart boy, Amedee, too smart for his own good. He worked for Winthrop & Co., as clerk, and took to drinkin' an' carryin' on. That's wot brought him low, Cap'n. He took to helpin' hisself at last of their money. W'en it was found out he run away an' I hain't seen him sence." ** There was an awful row over it, wasn't there ?" said Rcmi, deeply interested. ' No, 'twas very quite. All I knowed about it was when Howard DeLaunay come tome and told me about it. Amedec was gone then with three thous- and dollars spent of their money. Winthrop wanted to follow him, but DeLaunay saie no. All they could do was to jail him. What was the use o' that when the money was gone. The story got out, o' course, and made it pretty hard for me an 1 the ol' woman. She hain't ever quite got over it. He was all we had to home, an' we couldn't make up our minds to losin' our boy that way. We never calc'lated on it." "No, God help ye, nor would anny wan," said sympathetic Mrs. Sullivan. " An' have ye never heard of him?" " That's a letter from him," pointing to the letter which Hugh had just read. " He writes onct in a while. He seems to be a wild sort of boy yit, an' stays mostly in Texas. What do you make of it, Cap'n ?" " I'll think over it," said Hugh carelessly. The old man folded the letter sadly and seemed disappointed. At a sign from Hugh the members of the family, one after another, excused themselves for a mo- ment, and did not return. The two men were alone together, although LaRoche did not yet per- ceive it. He had great respect for the opinion of young Sullivan, on whose boat he had been for many years a wheelsman. " Your son seems to think," said Hugh, " that he did not take as much money as they say." " Do you know what I thought when I read that letter ?" and the old man's eyes looked savage an in- stant. 10 " Better not say it, LaRoche, until you know more about it " " Well, look at the words, Cap'n." He unfolded the letter and read slowly as if he were spelling each word: " I met Jack Wilson out here not long ago, and heard all about you, and the stories they tell of me. Someone is lying, father, when it is said I stole over three thousand dollars. As there is a God above me I never took over two hundred from the safe, and that I no more intended to steal than if I took De- Launay's hat for an hour's walk. Put down those stories, father, every time." " W'en I read that letter," said the old man, " I'll tell you wot I thought. My boy was al'ays hones' as the day. I never knew 'im to steal. If he hadn't gone so quick, I'd 'a spent my las' cent to save 'im. W'en I read that letter I thought someone did that stealin' an' put it on to my boy. They made 'im be- lieve he took it, or that he took some, an' sent 'im off in a hurry like a real thief, and left us 'is mother an' me him a poor, brokeup thing in Texas His confused speech ended in a low, violent sob. " I'll tell you what you can do," said Hugh. " I guess you had better let me do it. You're not fit just now to do anything with such an idea as that. It's impossible. But I'll look up the circumstances that happened after Amedee ran away. I'll send him a good account of them, and ask him to send us his story. Then you can see how foolish this fancy is. I wish it was different. But it isn't. You'd better be- lieve that " " I mus' believe it," said LaRoche, " until the other II side has its say. You can look after it, Hugh. You're edicated, an' know jest how to go about it. It's fifteen years, you know. The ol' woman is crying at home now, for it's fifteen New Years she hasn't seen him. She has no hopes to see him ever any more." " Are you going to write to him soon ?" " He won't let us write often. Onct a year, some- times twice he sends us a new address. He's al'ays movin'. He sent us a new address this time, Osboroe, Texas." " Then leave all to me," said Hugh as he attended the old man to the door and bade him good night. He stood there thinking a few minutes over the passage in the letter. It might mean a good deal, and it probably meant no more than the defiant scrawl of a ruined adventurer, anxious to hold some place still in the esteem of his wretched parents. The common report of Amedee La Roche had made him a fast young man, not bad but foolish, who had spent all the money his hands could touch, and for his father's sake was spared the agony of pursuit and the shame of a prison. Hugh Sullivan had never before heard his father speak of him, and he was astonished to see how firm had been the recent hope that his son might yet prove himself an innocent and wronged man. This could be done only by proving some very respectable people respectable rascals, which in the present case would be the most daring and hopeless task any man could set himself. " Well, God help him," said Mrs. Sullivan when they were in the sitting-room again, " he has the father's heart and the father's sorra, even if he is a Frinchman," CHAPTER II. MR. GRADY ADMIRED THE FRENCH. The next morning asnow-and-wind storm had taken lodgings in Saranac. There was already a hard-packed covering of snow on the ground. The contributions of January and February were yet to come, and the first came generously. A west wind sent every snow- flake to the ground like a bullet from the gun ; where it attacked a street or a lonely building it sent the frightened snow dashing into the air against itself, and played all the pranks of a mad artist with a picture. In an hour Saranac was partly effaced and altogether defaced. Streets were filled up, houses shrouded from peak to foundation stone with daubs of snow, and sight of the world limited to a twenty-foot circle. The wind roared and shrieked without a second's abace- ment. A storm in Saranac, for a really harmless and beneficent creature, was as wild as a Texan broncho, and while it held possession of the town ended all oc- cupations except those which must go on in spite of death or weather. It stayed three days and often five, during which time Saranac fo^k ate apples, drank cider, cracked butternuts, ar.d told stories in an ad- mirable, never-out of fashion way. Mr. Tim Grady, who was a Saranac philosopher of eminence, and so many things besides that only along history might detail them, always found a strong reason for vis ting Mrs. Sullivan in stormy weather; 13 not only because her cider had a Celtic sting and her apples a Limerick flavor, but chiefly because Mrs. Sullivan was a skeptic as to Mr. Grady's learning and had to be convinced by illustration and overthrown by argument oftener than more credulous people. No sooner was the old gentleman prevented by bad weather from his usual tour of the town than he crossed the garden and knocked at Mrs. Sullivan's kitchen door, carrying in his hand the latest news from Limerick, and in his mind a few intellectual fireworks to knock the skepticism of the old lady dumb. Some said this and others said that concern- ing these visits. There was nothing to be said, how- ever, but what this story shall discover, the return of Mrs. Lajeunesse to her mother's home having blighted every hope that Tim Grady might have entertained towards his countrywoman. He was in the kitchen paring an apple as early as eight o'clock that stormy morning. Hugh was still abed. The children were playing in the parlor and chattering like birds in French, while Mrs. Sullivan listened in pleased won- der to the fluent tongues. "Isn't it wondherful, Misther Grady," said she, "how they can undherstand wan another, talkin' away wid such gibberish I an' thin in a minute they turn to English and away they go as fast in that as ever I could." Mr. Grady listened to this simple wonderment with a smile of pity widening his wide mouth, and a criti- cal glance for the pulp of the pared apple in his hand. "'Tis as you say, Mrs. Soollivan," he replied, " but if ye'll remimber Patrick Sweeny, that was brought 14 up two miles from your own father's house in Kilbeg his mother was a Sheehy of Youghal an' his father sint him for twelve years to Paris to study, why, woman dear, he had seven languages jist as pat to his tongue as butter to buttermilk." " Wor thim the Sweeny's of the Red barns ?" said Mrs. Sullivan. " The very same, ma'am. I mind me o' hearin' Patrick call home the min to dinner in the seven languages, an' his own aunt tould me he had the hair sthandin' on her head talkin' Haybrew to her the whole time she was there," " Was that the widdy Powers beyant the big hill ?" "The same, ma'am." "Faith, thin," said Mrs. Sullivan, "he must have talked her hair aff wid his Haybrew, for her poll was as smooth as a bullyard ball afore I left Limerick." "An' there was Cardinal Mezzofanti," continued Mr. Grady, not heeding this rebuke to his veracity, " he spoke fifty-eight languages before he died." "Where did he find 'em all to learn, Misther Grady? I thought there was only the Irish, an' Dutch, an' the Frinch besides the English. An' sure they're enough to bother our brains widout puttin' any more onto us. That's what I say." " Did ye ever hear tell o' the tower o' Babel," said Mr. Grady with that air which warned the old lady that the moment to crush her had arrived. "I did as well as other people," she answered boldly. " Well there's where he picked up his fifty eight, ma'am." " An' did he have to go as far as that for 'em, poor man?" Mr. Grady refused to pursue the subject any fur- ther, conscious that he had overwhelmed Mrs. Sulli- van if she were the sort of a woman to submit when knocked down and out. There was a silence of a few minutes until her greatest grievance jogging her mem- ory she cautiously opened her mind to Mr. Grady. "Yistherday was a great day for the Frinch," she said. " It was a great day for us all I hope, Mrs. Sulli- van." " Ay, but isn't it sfhrange how they all come out on that day wid colors an' ribbons an' silks an' velvets, an' make nothin' at all o' Christmas day just like hay- thens." " I never saw a woman that had so much agin the Frinch as you have," said Mr. Grady with a touch of severity. " Now if you knew, Mrs Sullivan " " I don't want to know." "If you knew, Mrs. Sullivan " " Why couldn't they let me alone, and take some- wan like yourself to play their thricks an " " If you knew, Mrs. Sullivan, all we owe to them " " All they owe to us, you mane, Misther Grady. Sure they owe everywan, an' it's not us that 'ud owe the likes o' them." " Now, I'll tell ye ma'am, why I admire the Frinch," said Mr. Grady with savage deliberation. " First of all to begin right here at home, they helped this coun- thry whin it needed help against England in the great an' glorious sthruggle for independence in '76. An' next," with increased vehemence, " they have been as good Catholics as wan 'ud wish to see till lately. An' best of all whin Irishmin wanted a home, which they i6 couldn't git annywhere else, Frinchrain gev it to thim. .An' whin Ireland wanted help she sint her soldiers to help her. Look at the Frinch ginerals that fought Orange William," this was a favorite figure with Mr. Grady and most exasperating to Mrs. Sullivan, " look at Gineral Humbert landin' his throops on the shores o' Bantry Bay, look at what the great Napoleon said to Emmet, * me heart is wid ye, but me hands are full,' look at" " Ay, luk, luk, luk, ' cried Mrs. Sullivan with scorn, " its a wondher yer eyes are not turned round wid lukkin' backwards. Well, ould man, I luk to Saranac, an' I see what I see, an' I don't care for Napoleon or Emmet or anny other great gineral. What did they know about the Frinch in Saranac ? An' I say I'll have none of 'em. You can have 'em all if you like." Mr. Grady did not reply. The warmth of the dis- cussion had disturbed the entire household, and the appearance of Hugh put an end to it, much as that young man would like to have it continued for the sole purpose of hearing the lectures on universal his- tory. He was to his astonishment still much im- pressed by the letter of Amedee LaRoche. It had taken such a hold of his fancy that try as he would he could not avoid picturing certain consequences sure to follow if its suggestions turned out facts. Hugh was not an imaginative man. He had few dreams, being altogether given to business, and too apt to pass over as trifling whatever would not bear i eduction to dollars and cents, or had not some rela- tion to them. But he said to himself again and again, what will happen to the DeLaunays if Annexe's letter tells the truth, and he went over all that he knew about this interesting family, and labeled it in his mind for immediate need. He foresaw a long series of events, curious and dreadful, that might never happen and were yet possible, ^nd might one day set themselves against pride, beauty, money and a good name. When Amede'e LaRoche ran away from Saranac, the firm whose funds he had spent to the sum of three thousand dollars, were David Winthrop and Howard DeLaunay. They were tanners. The for- mer was a man of means then, the latter was a man of means now. The rich man bad grown poor, and the poor man rich since that time. If there had been any harm done to Amedee LaRoche the junior part- ner hai done it, for he was then poor and desperate, a stranger in the town, and, as he had many times shown himself, a hard, grasping, perhaps unprincipled man. It was seventeen years since Mr. De Launay and his name had appeared in Saranac. Hugh, then a boy of eleven, recalled his well dressed handsome figure clearly. In polish and education he and his were far above anything that had ever been seen in the town. Until this day Sullivan did not know whence De Launay came, or to what locality or tribe he might belong. His wife was a retired, brilliant-looking woman who never talked, and his only child a handsome creature of Hugh's age with a sharp tongue, a fond- ness for private theatricals, and considerable beauty. They were known to be poor on their arrival. In five years the senior partner in the tanning business sold his interest to DeLaunay, and the latter's fortune then made had rolled up to large figures since. The story of the firm's gentleness in dealing with their clerk was often told and well known to everyone. Mr. DeLaunay agreed to bear two-thirds of the loss if Amedee were allowed to remain in exile unpun- ished. His motives were anything but sentimental or Christian. " It will cost too much to find him," he said, " and when found we have nothing to get from him. Let him go to the devil so long as he keeps out of Sara- nac." And that was the end of it, save for the mental agonies which the exile, who in his letters always ad- mitted his guilt, and his lonely father and mother had endured for fifteen years. "Pleasant drearrs, ' thought Hugh, "they must give Mr. Howard DeLaunay, if he had any hand in causing 'em." It was without any clear intention he questioned Tim Grady on the popular rumors concerning Ame- dee's flight. " Amedee was a nice boy," said Mr. Grady reflec- tively. " Why, he must be a man o' thirty- six be this time. Yis, he's thirty-six. It's thirty-six years ago this very month since I shtud for him along wid Mrs. Surprenant." " You his godfather ?" cried Hugh. " Shure, he's all mixed up wid 'em," said Mrs. Sul- livan, " an' he bringin' in his anshent history to de- find 'em." " I'm his godfather," said Mr. Grady. " I shtud for more children than any other man in Saranac, an' I say I never knew a nicer b'y than Amedee Patrick LaRoche. I gave him his middle name." 19 " And what happened to him that he should have turned out so badly ?" " What happens to any young man that drinks an' gambles, and goes with gamblers, as he did ?" said Mr. Grady sadly. " We warned him, but it was no use. He was gone a week afore anywan knew what 'ad happened." " It was a great pity," said Hugh. " It was," assented Mr. Grady, " but he kin thank his shtars that he wasn't sent to Dannemora prison. If he had to deal wid ould Winthrop he'd be there to-day. Howard DeLaunay showed himself a gintle- man that time, shuie." " I heard someone say on^e they didn't think he stole the money." "Who stole it, thin?" said Mr. Grady. Hugh shrugged his shoulders, and received a threatening glance from his mother for this display of a French notion. " That's what was done to me when I asked the question," said Hugh. " There's no use talkin' o' these things," said Mr. Grady, as he refilled his glass with cider, "'tis my firrum belief, an' of everywan that was livin' then, that Amede*e took that money, an' so ruined his parents an' himself." Hugh felt a lightness of spirits after this positive declaration from the godfather of the exile, and troub- led himself no more with old LaRoche's letter. For a time, however, he took pleasure in studying the elegant Mr. DeLaunay, as one looks upon the survivor of a great railway disaster ; and seeing Miss DeLau- nay's furs and velvets sweeping by occasionally, he fell to wondering at the nimble, graceful feet that some- times dance over hidden volcanoes. CHAPTER III. THE SENIOR PARTNER. The letter to Osborne, Texas, was written and sent promptly, so that Hugh had a cheerful word to give LaRoche when the old man asked him about it. It was plain from the father's face that his mind had slipped into the old groove again, and that he could wish the letter had not been sent. The excitement of the holiday season, and the hint in Amedee's letter had worked together to disturb a cool disposition. Good sense had returned. He might have seen, too, that Hugh was half sorry for sending the letter, and between them arose a silent agreement to say no more about it. It was a racing day for Saranac. A track had been made on the ice, and local trotters were flying by every nnment. A c"owd of men and boys were scat- tered along the ice track, the sun was shining, it was cold enough to freeze an Eskimo, Hugh was divided between a desire to see the races, and a wish to settle a money matter of six weeks standing with his friend John Winthrop. For in Saranac as elsewhere the poetic side of life had its place and its value in the market, and was not permitted to interfere with busi- ness. He decided in favor of Winthrop's private office, and John helped him to the decision by calling him in. The outer office was empty and the law- books had their backs t irned in orderly fashion to the central stove. Winthrop was looking at this stove 21 when his friend entered. He had bought it cf Hugh, and was not satisfied with it. Damon had sold Pythias a stove, shortly after the scaffold scene, and had beaten his Pythias four dollars on the value, the latter thought, and felt bad over it in consequence. This transaction might have looked ridiculous in ancient Syracuse, but in Saranac it was the correct thing ; and better yet, Damon was come after his money to Pythias. The two men really held a fine relationship to- wards each other, and only suspected its rare quality. They were Saranac born, in the same month of the same year. They had studied in the same school and from the moment their lives had come together a strong attraction had kept the two natures in close contact ever after. In twenty years they had not been a month apart. The same academy taught them the higher branches. When the war of the rebellion broke out they enlisted in the same regiment, and went through the four years without a wound or a separa- tion. The study of law had confined Winthrop to an office, work on the lake steamers took Hugh away every other night from home, but left him an entire winter for leisure. They had a great love for each other, and never spoke of it, as is the custom with northern peoples. They had become used to it as they were used to the lake at their doors, whose beauties they never talked about unless to strangers, since feeling had long ago exhausted language on such matters. All Saranac people have a fine taste for bargains. Winthrop was a descendant cf the Puritans and Sul- livan of Celtic princes ; they differed in religious be- 22 lief for one was a Catholic and the other nothing at all ; they differed in politics ; the Celt was cool and unsentimental in this instance, because it chanced that the Saxon was a hot headed enthusiast ; he was fair and Sullivan was dark ; but both were business men and appreciated the facts that Sullivan had sold his stove at a good price and Winthrop might have done better. " It works fairly," said John, " but there is no ash- pan and no check to the bottom draught. If I re- member rightly when you sold it to me you said it was all there." " So it was, what there was of it," said Hugh smil- ing. " You'll have to let me off four dollars. Fourteen is a steep price for the old hulk, and those important parts wanting." <; I paid forty for it a few years ago," said Hugh, " you ought to feel rich over your bargain. I don't want to rake up old sores, but if you don't mind I'll put my ashpan against your breech-loader and the check against your never to-be-forgotten meerschaum." "These are painful memories, Hugh." " They are. I'll forget them forever, though, if you will pay me for that stove, and maybe I might be weak enough to send you a new ashpan." The lawyer paid. " What news ?" " Tim Grady is giving lessons in universal history to my mother." "No?" " Fact. I attended one myself." " How does your mother take them ?" " As a hen takes water. You ought to get down 23 there some stormy day, Tim always comes in a storm, and take them in." " I would but the rehearsals are beginning " "I have an immense part,'' said Hugi mournfully. " I am the hero." "And you are sorry for it," said Winthrop with a groan, " with Miss DeLaunay for the hereine and so touching a character ! I wish I could act a very little bit to get such a position." " You can't act, ' said Hugh consolingly, " not even the littlest bit. When you get out on the stage you are not yourself and you are not your character. You are a talking-machine. It's good they give you little to say." " You are nothing extra," said John. " No. I am Hugh Sullivan all through. When I weep I cry as I used at school after a flogging, when I laugh the deck shakes. I wouldn't do for Gaston De Pumpkin, but as a plain, American sea-captain I am matchless. Now this Ingomar business of Miss De Launay's is to my taste As a barbarian, savage or tame, I have only to be natural, and the make-up will do the rest." " Perhaps you could tell me why at least I can't be John Winthrop," said the lawyer. " Oh, that's delicate ground," Hugh replied, and at once a dullness followed their former heartiness of manner. They dropped the rehearsal and talked business, in which Sullivan never lost interest. Win- throp's mind, while his tongue wagged, ran upon the peculiar fitness of his friend for the part of Ingomar. Miss DeLaunay made a beautiful and clever Parthe- nia, and to be her savage captor, to undergo the magi- 24 cal transformation which her tact and love brought about in his savage heart seemed a blisstul process to John Winthrop. He would have given much to know just what Hugh thoaght about it. His pretence of indifference might be honest. Winthrop thought it a pretence for one or two good reasons. Hugh was a handsome gentleman whom many believed worthy of such a woman as Parthenia, and although he had no more than a slight acquaintance with her family Par- thenia herself had invited him earnestly to take an important part in the drama, and had said to Win- throp and others, he has the very air of the mountain prince. As if, thought John, not one of us were like him ; and he strode once around the room after the manner of a tragedian. " Got the toothache ? " said Hugh in sympathy " No. Keep on with your story of the horse bar gain." Hugh did not notice the sarcastic tone as if Winthrop would like to have added, you talk of noth- ing else. The lawyer went on with his speculations until the door opened and his father entered. "Good-day, boys. ' He staggered into a chair with a heavy sigh. " Good racing down below," he stuttered when his breath had returned to him. " Wonder you boys weren't there." " I was just going," said his son. " I'll run down and see what Merritt's colt can do, and come back immediately." The old man buried his face in the newspaper until the door had closed on him, and then looked at Hugh with a sad but knowing smile. " He's dodging me you see, Sullivan. He hasn't 25 allowed me to speak to him alone since I found out" he paus.dfor a moment "what I suppose you all know" another pause "that he is visiting De Launay's too often." Hugh looked away and said nothing. " I have nothing against the girl. If he wants to marry her I don't object. But Hugh" - with a sud- denly broken voice " I know them. She will never care for him. They will certainly oppose him. If his heart gets fixed on her, and for nothing, I'm afraid I know what will happen. DeLaunay gave me the first knock-down I ever got. It wouldn't be strange if he got a chance to give me the last." Hugh felt a new interest in Amedee LaRoche and his recent letter. He had never been so near the secrets of the old firm as now, and with his usual audacity attempted to seize one of them " I never heard just how he happened to down you," said he. " It was not downing. He caught me at a nice mo- ment, and pushed me out of a business I had built up. I cared little then for I had better schemes on hand. But it was his meanness that made me mad. I took him in when he had nothing but a bare one thousand to his name. I thought he had more. He made me believe so. Oh, he was clever, more so than I was. He made his money out of me, and then when I was squeezed tight in a wheat trouble dumped me." " It wasn't exactly dishonesty, or anything of that sort ?" " If it had been," said Wmthrop with animation, " I'd have put him in jail and kept him there If I 26 could only, before I die, get my hands on his throat that way he'd be dead first. No, it was strictly a business trick. He was making money, and he couldn't let gratitude stand in the way. I began to go down from that. He went up. I guess it will be so to the end." "You don't remember Amedee LaRoche, do you?" said Hugh with some excitement. " We called him Stone," said Winthrop. " I re- member him. You didn't know him, did you ?" " His father showed me a letter from him a few days back. He seemed to be a smart fellow." " Very. He bled us for three thousand. DeLau- nay bore the most of it to save the boy from jail. I thought it kind of him then. Now I often wonder what trick he played on the boy that made him so kind." Hugh was electrified by the last remark. ' You suspected nothing since ?" " Why," said Winthrop laughing. " I have sus- pected everything. For years I have watched every step he took, and had his whole life looked up by de- tectives. He has a clean record, so much the worse for me. But if ever I catch him tripping, if he ever gives me a chance to down him, tnere'll be a fall, my countrymen, which Julius Caesar s was'nt nothing to." Hugh had a great respect for old Winthrop, and was pained at the evil look which accompanied these words. It was plain that but for the scaffold he would like to Ftrangle Howard DeLaunay with his own hands ; seeing Hugh's astonishment he said : * It sounds bloodthirsty, and perhaps I don't mean half of it. But it expresses my feelings to a dot. 27 Now what riles me mere is this affair of John's. That girl will take his mind away from him, and then bounce him. You know as well as I do what would happen then. I don't find any fault with the thing itself I'm in favor of it. But, Hugh, I want that boy to live as long as I do. I can't bear to think of him lying in my honse dead, and me looking at him. "See here," said Hugh, roughly breaking in upon this strain of feeling, " don't sniffle over a lancy. 1 hope it won't hapoen but it has happened to better men than you. They bore it, and so must you, if it comes. You've a good bit to blame yourself. You brought the boy up that way. He used to make me s-hiver in the at my with his talk. He always said if he were taken prisoner or badly wounded he would end his life himself." " Many a soldier did it," said Winthrop, " religious ones too." " Not from principle though as you would," said Hugh sourly. " Well, every man to his own taste," Winthrop an- swered. " What can I do to save this boy of mine." " Nothing. He is all right. I have no doubt he will marry Miss DeLaunay if he wishes. It will be a nice, tip-top way of settling all troubles between the parents." " But how about this broken life of mine," Winthrop said with feeling, "who will ever pay me ior tnat ?" " I don't know. I am sure of one thing. There's a plare where all broken things are made whole again, or smashed to nothing. Your case is referred there." 28 David Winthrop was a broken man. His white hair and sunken eyes were not however as painful to him as his withered fortunes. The memory of a long and useless struggle to retrieve what he had lost was fixed in his mind and made his thoughts and his words bitter. Hope no longer lighted his dull eye or warmed his chilled heart. His hopes had never been higher than his own nature. To be a power in the county and to die rich had been the only ambition of his life, and he was dying in middle age poor and insignificant and spiteful, without dignity and with bad humor. The world laughed at him even while it admitted his meriting a better fate, and snubbed him when he bought present glory with the bitter narra tion of past fame. It was an open secret, he had himself daring a fit of emotion declared that his son's happiness alene prevented him from putting an end to a wretched life. It seemed motive enough for suicide that his career was ended. Only the stronger motive of John's comfort prevented a catastrophe. To Hugh's last remark the old gentleman shrugged his shoulders. Just then the door opened and the ele- gint DeLaunay himself entered with velvety briskness and looked around. * Good-day, Winthrop," he said. " Is your son in?" " Take a chair and wait for him," said Winthrop ; "he'll be in directly just stepped out to see a race." " Captain Sullivan," said Mr. DeLaunay as he took the chair, "we hope to see you at the rehearsal to- morrow evening." " I'm going to take a whack at my part now," Hugh replied as he left the room, laughing over the 2 9 pleasant tete-a tete of the t^vo men. His mind was impressed with one thing. He did not say aloud to his own thoughts, he only knew he was glad that a letter had been sent t Osborne, Texas. CHAPTER IV. A REHEARSAL. Mrs. Sullivan observed her son's preparation for a visit to DeLaunay's with a disdainful eye. It was the n^ht of the second rehearsal, and whereas Hugh dis- liked amateur theatricals and fidgeted much over his promise to take part, to-night he felt a decent inter- est in the work and got himself up with care. His mother went on muttering asides not complimentary to Miss DeLaunay and the young maids of whom she was the chief in beauty and wealth. The old lady in common with most Irish mothers of the day, had a great jealousy of any woman who showed interest in her son. She could not make up her mind to hand him over to another woman, and although she cheerfully admitted to Tim Grady that the boy must go some day to his own house, her taste would not be suited with any young lady in Saranac. Her French neigh- bors in the county were never done marrying, or dis- cussing the preliminaries to marriage. A girl having reached sixteen was whisked into long dresses so sud- denly that only her own friends recognized her on the street. When a boy had attained his majority ^e might marry at once, and often he married before. And on those occasions so great was the rejoicing of all parties that Mrs. Sullivan's contempt for French notions was mingled with a great fear of 3 losing her own children in the same speedy way. She did lose her daughter, but Captain Hugh remained firm. The rehearsals threatened her peace of mind once more, and when Hugh sat down after dressing to fondle the children and chat for an hour she began her philippic against theatricals. Hugh was deeply in love with his own home and his relatives. His sister's children seemed to him like his own. Their pretty and sincere love for him, shown in many ways, touched his heart. For their mother, a pale, patient, sweet-tempered woman, he had the love of the brother and the friend. All were now de- pendent on him. When the idea of marriage pre- sented itself occasionally in a cloudy fashion to his mind he thought rather of these lour souls so closely knit to his and could not see any separation from them which would bring him more happiness. He was not an over sensitive man. His fiber was a trifle coarse in some places. His nature was deep however and honest, and he had the strong affections for his own peculiar to the race from which he sprang. " Reharesals," Mrs. Sullivan said with irony. " Has Regina Del-aunay nothin' else to do wid her money than throw it away an ould plays that the divil was father of?" "Why, mother," protested Mrs. Lajeunesse. " Well, it may be different in this counthry," said the mother in apology, "but at home ye might as well go an' sell yerself body an' sowl to ould Nick as turn play acthor. Here they think no more of it than gittin divorced an' marryin' agin as often as they like.'' "I'll tell Miss DeLaunay what you say," Hugh said gravely, " and perhaps she will let me off." "That she may," very fervently. " The toboggan was bad enough, but the reharesals are worse. I tould Tim Grady about 'em, an' he said no good could come of all this paintun', an' powdhenn', an' huggin', an' killin', an' the other goins-on yez do be havin' at 'em." " I'll never do it again," said Hugh as he put on his coat, and went out. He felt a kind of exhilaration as he stepped into the road. The DeLaunays had sud- denly become an object of interest to him. It was like a situation in a play. Power and wealth were reigning respectably on a hill as it were, and shame was threatening both with an overthrow. Hugh would not have a partiu it for all the money in DeLaunay's possession, but he was curious to see how near so suave, so elegant, so clever a man as he could come to ruin and escape it. It was intensely c@ld, fully twenty below zero. In the north such a temperature is dry and pleasant, even healthful. The moon was shining. The hard packed snow glittered in its light. Out on the lake a cleared space lighted with torches was crowded with skaters, and farther on stood the toboggan slide bright with Chinese lanterns and noisy with the rush of to boggans and the laughing of the crowd. SleigHs were passing along the road every minute to the music of their bells. The DeLaunay* mansion stood on the lake road. It was a solid, roomy, handsome building of the old style, enlarged but not improved under De Launay's ownership. A fine park surrounded it. All the front windows shone with light. The old brass knocker still hurg on the door though no longer used, and in the central hall a majestic stairway of polished 3 2 oak rose stately and slow to the next floer. It was a house of refinement and comfort. Hugh noticed some things which on his first visit escaped him. A few touches here and there in the shape of a picture, a statue, a crucifix hinted at the presence of a Catholic in the household. Then he recalled the fact that Mr. DeLaunay was supposed to be of that faith, his own word and his regular contribution to its needs being the witnesses. There was no other evidence. His wife and daughter were most amiable and indifferent believers in nothing. The amateur actors were assembled in the green room, a back apartment of green tints which was to serve as the green-room when the play appeared. It remained in Hugh's memory a long time as the setting of some peculiar scenes in connection with this history. Hugh was the last arrival, and received too much at- tention thereby. The popular captain of the lake steamer seemed to improve in manly beauty with the improvement in his surroundings, and each person present had a pleasant word for him. His entrance inspired them. Unconsciously he was a leader, and Miss DeLaunay had to admit, much against her will, that his influence reached even herself. The rehearsal began with spirit. Papa DeLaunay was an enthusiastic amateur and played father to Parthenia in an earnest, gentlemanly way. Hugh felt like a detective as he watched him, and tried hard to keep his eyes and thoughts on commonplace things. The elegant appearance of DeLaunay iarred him. His silver- white hair did not suit the head of a. crim- inal. The fine aristocratic features, the white hands, and graceful form opposed the notion of crime and 33 sin. Looking at the richness of the room Hugh thought of Dannemora prison and the Texan plains. He was simple-minded enough to be horrified by these contrasts, which had pleased and thrilled him in dramas. DeLaunay was conscious of the Captain's interested gaze, and sat beside him in an interval. " Well, what do you think of me as an actor ?" he said. Hugh, conscious of two senses in the question, fidgeted. " You do well for an old man," he said. The old man laughed. He had a musical throat. In his face there was scarcely a wrinkle. " What are you laughing at ?" said Hugh. " I am only fifty-five," he answered. " I don't call that old." " Nor I. You are a very clever actor," said Hugh with a seriousness that evidently startled Mr. De Launay. He looked sharply for an instant at Hugh, and then excused himself politely to resume his place in the play. It was not possible that conscience ever troubled a man with so serene a face and so benevo- lent an expression But Hugh in his innocence of finer human sensibilities fancied his last remark had struck home. Had Mr. DeLaunay remained a few minutes longer he might have said harsher things for the guilty conscience. The rehearsal went on, and Ingomar's acting gave every one special delight, and tortured John Winthrop with envy of it. He could act like a gentleman in his part, but it had no effect and had nothing to do with beautiful Parthenia, whose melting eyes looked tenderly on Hugh and whose white hands clasped Hugh's rougher ones in the scenes 34 between the savage chief and his captive. Miss De Launay was in love with Hugh's acting, although she k.iew he would amount to little in any other part. He was simply Hugh Sullivan, the captain of a lake steamer, in all that he did, and his orders to his sav- age band were given in the tone he would use to lazy deck-hands. But it was well done for an amateur, it was dashing, and she was satisfied. Then she saw that he was interested in her, that he surrendered to her charms (in the play) as if he were thinking of a real surrender in every day life. It was the last idea in his mind, however. He was wondering if in real life Miss Regina DeLaunay would be so royally brave for her father's sake, and would make such sacrifices for him as Parthenia made for her parent. Mrs. DeLaunay complimented him on his acting. She was a quiet-mannered woman, languid without being offensive, and did not seem to depend very much on her husband or daughter for her own com- forts. " It is pleasant for Regina to have an actor beside her," she said, " it gives her an occasion to exert her- self." Hugh thought irreverently that Mr. DeLaunay had never been the occasion of great exertion for his wife. " I hope you will be friends," continued Madame, " if for no other reason than to keep up these private theatricals. I admire them." "Miss DeLaunay has so many friends," said Hugh. " Not at all," replied the lady frankly, " she has not five in Saranac and New York together. That is her own affair. But it can be said to her credit that she has no enemies." 35 Hugh wondered much at the contrast between the lady's languid manner and her strong expressions. "John Winthrop would give much to act as you do," said Mrs. DeLaunay, " you are great friends I believe?" " Went to school together, fought through the war side by side, ma'am." "A pity you cannot act alike," with mild sar- casm. The rehearsal ended, tea was served in the green room and Regina did her Ingomar the honor of talk- ing with him ten minutes, to the intense jealousy of Winthrop. It was not a pleasant conversation by any means. Hugh watched her much as an old Ro- man might have regarded a Christian soon to be thrown to the lions, without being conscious that such observation might be offensive, and Regina, who wished to be divinely gracious to a plebian who acted so beautifully, was dismayed to find that Mr. Sullivan was not aware of her graciousness. " It is natural with some people to act well," said Regira, thinking of her own talents. " It must be natural to you." " Not at all," said Hugh, " I feel at first like a pig on ice. Afterwards I feel like a fish in a frying-pan. But there's plenty of fun in it." " You are a born Ingomar," said she, sure that in real life the barbarian chief would have talked in Grecian parlors of pigs and fish and frying-pans. " I would like to have been the real thing," he re- plied. She was touched with the compliment and the earnest look that went with it. 36 "For the sake of the real Parthenia?'' ihe said sweetly. " No, for the sake of the life. There must have been a pile of money in it," he said, thoughtfully. "I see you have your fortune to make yet, Mr. Sullivan." He became suddenly aware of her sarcasm. " Every man," he said laughing, " has that to do. He has the choice too of getting it honestly, or by playing Ingomar." " Perhaps," she answered slyly, " your talent for acting might be of use to you there." " It has helped many a man," said Hugh with a glance towards her father, which of course had no meaning to her. When she moved away to entertain another of the party Miss Regina felt that her ten minutes had been wasted. Hugh Sullivan was not only stupid but coarse, and seemed t o know nothing of the refinements of thought and speech. Pigs and fish and frying-pans ! She complained of him to John Winthrop. " You know how he has been brought up," said John, "his people are somewhat dull and rough, and 1 suppose he followed them. Mere Irish you kno v." ^" I am mere Irish," she said with dignity. " Not at all," answered John cheerfully. " You have some of the Celtic blood in you, bat it is blue not red. And your training, and your parents, Miss DeLaunay, and your creed. These are important circumstances. You are not merely Irish." *' No, I suppose not," mollified, " but if he is only what he is how could you have gro vn up together so intimate and friendly Damon and Pythias, you know." 37 Mr. Winthrop snapped his fingers, mentally at the legend. Physically he never did such a thing. " Damon and Pythias," he said, " were only a cir- cumstance to us. Probably that Hugh Sullivan, whose fibre is a little too coarse for you, saved my life at the risk of his own a half dozen times. We had the fever both. You ought to hav e seen his gentleness as a nurse. He has the fibre of a man, Miss DeLau- nay. I suppose he cannot make drawing-room speeches, and talks of coal and steam and money " " And pigs and fish and frying-pans," she added " That's a matter of taste, 1 ' he said smiling. " I know he's deficient in the finer sense. But if you like a man, brave, honest, religious, superstitious, too -all Catholics are superstitious your Ingomar is a specimen not to be found everywhere." * How very kind of you to say so. You interest me in him very much. I do admire a brave man, a strong one. I like to watch the lake boatmen in summer. Such vigor, such muscle ! But they swear dreadfully." John was satisfied. The jealousy which pinched his heart when he thought of Hugh's acting, had no reason for existence. Miss DeLaunay could never endure a man who talked of pigs in a parlor, and that was Hugh's fashion although he was anything but vulgar or stupid. Therefore he listened with pleasure to the parting compliments which Hugh received. " You will not fail us," said Regina earnestly, " at the next rehearsal. We cannot do without you." " I know it," he answered, " and I shall get around. But my mother is very much set against private thea- tricals. She says in Ireland you might as well sell your soul to the devil as turn play-actor." 38 " I must call on her, and change that opinion,*' said Reginia sweetly. " There is another side to Mrs. Sullivan's opposi- t : on," John said when all were gone. He was laugh- ing " In her eyes there is no one like her son, and she dreads the moment when beauty will take him from her." Regina joined in his laugh. The idea that a mere Irish peasant woman should fear to lose her son to the princess of Saranac was very amusing. Hugh heard her sweet laugh as he stepped onward down the avenue, and a touch of sadness came upon him. What a pity if the happiness which made her heart so light should suddenly be buried under black ruin. He felt a sudden wish to prevent such a catastrophe even at the expense of justice, and he determined in any case to have nothing to do with Li Roche and his scape- grace son. For the second time he was sorry the letter had been sent to Osborne, Texas. CHAPTER V. THE LETTER FROM TEXAS. When Captain La Roche touched Hugh's arm one night on the street and asked him to call at his house before nine o'clock he understood at once that a letter had arrived from Amedee. He answered shortly that it was too stormy a night and he had other business. The tone might have warned La Roche against press- ing his invitation. " I have a letter," said he, " from my son. I'm goin' to 'ave DeLaunay arrested to-morrow." Hugh turned upon him fiercely. 39 " How many have you told of this thing?'' he said. "No one but t>e ol' woman. She's so tickled I never saw anyone take on as she does. But we 'aven't tol' no one till we know what we're goin' to do." " 1 11 go down with you now," said Hugh. In spite of his own wishes he was forced to enter into a matter which boded so much evil to Retina DeLaunay, if only to protect her. He could not bear the thought of disgrace and sorrow coming to her, and being man of the world enough to know that publicity might be prevented in many ways he resolved then and there "to see her through it." It was a bitter night. The wind and the falling snow together made the time mournful. It seemed to Hugh as they plodded along the lighted streets that the people must know of the letter which LaRoche carried. By one of those coincidences so ironical and frequent they met most of the parties interested in the letter Mr. O Grady came out of the post-office ani greeted them, o'd Winthrop hobbled by, and Regina with her father flew past in a sleigh. LaRoche thinking of his letter paid no heed. The hoase-kitchen was a welcome spot on such a night. The wood stove threw out its grateful heat on the small neat room which Madame LaRoche kept always in spotless condition. The kerosene lamp, a dolphin erect on his tail in the attempt to swallow a glass bowl, was lighted and standing on its red knit cushion. The altar to the Mother of God, with blue, red and yellow cardlesticks, the crucifix above it, the holy water bottle and the blessed candle beside it had its proper corner. The rag carpet was madame's own 40 weaving. The rosebushes and geraniums on the shelf were her particular care. This was the room in which for fifteen years she had wept and prayed for the vindication of her son. Hugh when he looked on her calm worn face thought suddenly of his own mo- ther and felt a pity that was new to him for the woman. Her face now was joyful, but alas it would never lose the expression of sorrow fixed there by long grieving. Joy only lighted it strongly, but could not dispel the lines of grief. After all, he thought, it was only fair that the DeLaunays should taste the woe they had dealt to others. Madame LaRoche gravely welcomed Hugh. She regarded him highly. " I want you," said La Roche, " to read the letter to t^e ol' woman. You see I only tol' her 'ow it was. I'm rot a good reader you know. But I made it out for myself. You kin give it to her straight." He was nervous and could not speak without tremb- ling. When he handed the letter to Hugh his hands shook. The poor mother fixed her eyes on it with an expression that went to Hugh's heart. Her sole hope was there. The captain locked the door and read in a low tone the strange story which Amedee La Roche had written in distant Texas. " Dear father and mother," it began, " I don't know how to write this letter. I am afraid of myself since I received Mr. Sullivan's letter. He told me the whole story, how that villain DeLaunay " " He forgot himself," said the father. u Who could blame 'im." answered the mother bow- ing to the crucifix over the altar. "gave out that I had stolen over three thousand dollars," Hugh continued. " And so everyone has believed. That is what the fellows from Saranac that I met out here meant when they said puzzling things to me. But I must tell my own story at once, that you and mother may know the exact truth. Poor mother, what she must have suffered for me only God will ever know." Madame LaRoche bent her head and resolutely held back the tears that rushed to her eyes. " Mon pauvre fils," she thought, "c'est lui qui a souflert." " Here is the truth about the money I was said to have stolen from the firm. The week before I left I had been drinking pretty hard, and gambling, too, and most of my money had gone that way. I was not short in my accounts. I had not taken one cent from the firm. I never did. Often when I was out of money I took ten or twenty dollars from the safe. Both members of the firm knew it. I have taken as high as fifty dollars, and they did not object. " When I got out this time I took fifty dollars and spent it quickly on drink. Then I took fifty mo T e. It was one o'clock in the morning when I went to the office to take the second fifty. I was half drunk, but I had my senses. I had no idea of stealing. The boys were waiting for me in the saloon. I knew I could pay it back in the morning. I did not feel like a thief. I never stole in my life. You remember that well " " Remember," said LaRoche, with a sudden burst of feeling. "He was the honeses' boy, Hugh, that you never saw. He might drink an' gamble, but it went agin his gram to steal." " I did not light the lamp. I went straight to the safe, and with a candle to see by opened it and took out the money. There was yet two hundre I dollars there. When I closed the safe and timed round to go out there was DeLaunay standing with a pistol pointed at me. ' You thief,' he said." Madame LaRoche gave a slight shriek, and her husband to keep back the oath that sprang to his lips gripped the back of his chair. " I am no thief," I said. " I have a right to be hrre. I have taken a ^undred dollars, but I shall put it back w) en it is wanted " 'You go to jail this moment," he said, keeping the pistol pointed at me. " You are a common burglar. I have caught you m the act of breaking into this office and stealing f r om this safe. You will get five .}ears in Dannemora for this. You must come with me row to the constable. If you try to escape I will shoot you." "Then I thought of you, mother, and my heart fa'led. I begged of him for your sake to let me off. J offered to work a year without wages if he would let me go. He would not. I was getting ready to do something desperate when he said, ' Your parents are decent people, you are a disgrace to them. If you will start at once for Texas, and have no communica- tion with your friends for a year you can go 1 was glad to get such an offer. He provided me with money for my fare, but warned me if I broke the conditions he would clap me in o jail at any time." " I went past our house on my way to the railroad, and saw the light in the kitchen." " It was this very lamp," said Madame. "I knew you were waiting for me, mother, as you 43 always did, even when I wis worst. I wanted to go in and kiss you good-bye, hut DeLaunay had forbid den it. I looked in the window and saw you sitting there with your beads in your hand, waiting to hear my knock, and it broke my heart, mother, to think how long you might wait and never hear it again Then you looked up, and for fear that you might see my face, I stole away." " But I saw it, man Dieu" cried out Madame, tears of anguish streaming down her face. She rose and went to the window to point out the very pane against which the wind had piled high the snow. " I saw his face 'ere," she said ; " I thought it was a ghost. Wen he not come back that night, nex' mornin' I said my boy is dead." She returned to her seat, drying her eyes. Cap- tain Li Roche put another log in the stove. " I was on the boat then," he said, " but the women- folks said she took on terrible. She was al'ays cer- tain of seein' the face agin the glass. It seems now she did/' Hugh resumed his reading. " T got to Texas, and have stayed here ever since. I had a hope, that my stay here would not be long. I tried to be good for a while, but when hope went I got reckless. I have been anything but a good man, mother. But when I got Mr. Sullivan's letter, and when I read of the lies told about me in Saranac I felt that God was punishing me for my sins " " I took one hundred dollars. I did not steal them. If DeLaunay says I took three thousand dollars he lies. He took the money himself, and then laid it to me. That was why he sent me to Texas. That was 44 why he sent me letters without date or name threat- ening me if I came back I would go to jail. I un- derstand it well. Now, father, you must try to get me back. If I stay in Texas much longer I will die. I have been to confession and communion. I have a new scapular. I am trying by praying to God to get justice. Oh, how I have suffered for fifteen years, for what I never did " Madame LaRoche could control herself no longer, and burst into violent sobbing, the father was silent and busied himself with the fire. The letter ended at this point abruptly with an appeal for an immediate answer. There was sorrowful silence for a long time. When Madame was calm once more LaRoche said : " Any way, ol' woman, you're satisfied with your boy that he ain't no thief." " I knew he wasn't, always," "An' to morrow after I get Mr. DeLaunay arrested," he said to Hugh, "you k : n write an' tell the boy we're doin' what we kin to help him." Hugh did not reply except by a nod of his hear*. He had seen the expression on the Captain's face as he folded the letter and put it carefully in his pocket, a half smile around tne lips, anger and agony in the eyes and the lines of the face, violent determination in the glance he gave the letter. To turn him from any purpose formed under such emotion would be a thankless task. He simply said : " You must not be in a hurry, whatever you do " " That's true," answered the pilot quietly. " I've waited nigh onto fifteen years. Not much of a hurry is it?" "A mistake now would add fifteen years to that.'' 45 " Oh, I'll get a lawyer. It'll cost money, but if it took every cent I have that man must pay for what he did.'' " I wish you would take my advice," said Hugh, after doing some rapid thinking. " Not if it goes agin arrestin' Mr. DeLaunay." "That is not the way to talk, Joe," said Madame severely. "Mr. Sullivan is our friend. Do as he says. We can wait some more. Don't get mad w'en Amedee is all right." " You see," said Hugh, having no doubt whatever of DeLaunay's guilt, " when DeLaunay put this caarge on your son he insisted on his seeing none of his friends for a year. I don't know much about the case, but I suspect he wished to fix everything in that year so that Amedee could never prove anything against him He is a rich man now. The books that Amedee kept you remember were all falsified. He may have destroyed these books. Suppose you arrest him to- morrow, and a trial takes place next week Where are your witnesses? Who is going to prove that De- Launay stole the money and put the crime on your son ? And if the case is thrown out, what will pre- vent him from getting damages out of you, and taking away your property ? " The good sense of this came home to La Roche and angered him the more against the man whse position in spite of his crime wis yet so strong. "If he did that," he answered swinging the iron poker suggestively, " I would kill him " Madame LaRoche made the sign of the cross, and bowed in apology to the crucifix. " Of course I don't mean I'd do such a thing," said 46 her husband with a nervous laugh, " but I would feel like it. A poor man 'as no show agin a rich one. I know that." "I don't," Hugh replied shortly, "but the poor man must use his wits and his money, and not fight when he's sure to get whipped." After long hesitation aad thought LaRoche said, " Wat would you advise me t do ?" " See the priest. He's tke safest mati to take ad- vice from." The frown on LaRoche's brow lightened. For a moment he had suspected Hugh of an intention to turn him from his purpose. He became frank once more, and allowed Hugh to talk freely on the best way to attack DeLaunay. Delay was all the young man wanted. He could not see his way clearly to helping Regina, because he felt that justice must be done the poor vagabond in Texas, and this suffering household How to do it with as little disgrace for Regina as possible was his problem. It ocrurred to him that if once old David Winthrop gt these facts in his hands, nothing would save DeLaunay from the penalty of his crime. " The pries'," said LaReche, " is a good man. I think, ol' woman, I'll go up an* talk with him to-mor- row." " He is our true friea'," said Madame. " He 'as al'ays said with us, * Your poor boy is innocent.' " " I think we owe 'ira sme pw rent, an' I km bring it up to 'im at the same time. I'll go up the irst thing in the moniin'," " Would you like to hare me go with you ?" said Hugh. 47 " It would be the best thing for me/' LaRorhe an- swered readily. " Abcut ten o'clock's the time, an' I km meet you at the hotd.** Madame had begun to light all the candles on the litt'e altar, and when Hugh went to the door the room was in a blaze of light. " On doit remercier le feen Dieu pour ses graces," she said to her husband. " II a trouve" notre fils." " Good night," said the Captain. "Mille remerciments, Monsieur Sullivan," said Madame with deep emotion. " Pas de quoi," Hugh answered, stopping to take a second look at the little altar " Say a prayer for me there please. Prayers must be heard from such a beautiful shrine as that. Good night." He plunged into the storm. The fine, dry snow dashed into his face as he went up the street. A sleigh laden with furs stood before a residence, and Regina DeLaunay was coming down the steps to take a seat in it. She did not recognize him in the dark ness and storm. He was studying at that moment what possible plan could be devised to save her from shame and yet restore to honor and usefulness the poor exile in Texas. CHAPTER VI. VENGEANCE BELAYED A sleepless night left Captain La Roche with con- fused ideas and disturbed emotions. At first it seemed the right thing to do, to consult the priest. But he had dreamed of his boy tramping through Texa<=, after all his education and the promise of his youth ; 4 8 he feared Hugh Sullivan was not interested enough in proving his boy's innocence, being a friend of De Launay and a friend of the priest. How could he trust these people until I^eLaunay was safely in jail. He told his wife this. " Mr. DeLaunay won't stay long in jail," she re- plied. " He can give bail for thousands." " Anyway I'm going to have him arrested," he said. "Then I can see the priest afterwards." Madame did not attempt to change the will of the stubborn pilot. She was arranging the table for break- fast, and now began to ligkt the candles on the altar. '' What again !" cried LaRoche. " Is this a church we have. But we cannot take up a collection every Sunday ta pay for candles." He spoke in French seriously. Nevertheless he knelt down beside her to say his prayers and thank God for restoring to him his son. The door opened while they were praying, and Sol Tuttle came in with a blast of wind and snow which put out most of the candles. He dropped on his knees and waited until they had ended. " Reckon you're late or I'm early," said Sol com- fortably seating himself. He was thoroughly at home in LaRoche's company, and lighted his pipe imme- diately. " I hadn't said any prayers so fur, but I hev hed breakfast. So jes' pitch in an' don't mind me. This idee oi a altar in the house strikes me as pretty cute, Joe. Yo can't forgit your prayers even if you wanted to.' " It's the taste of the women folks," LaRoche ex- plained. It's the best o' taste, 1 ' said Sol. " I know you hain't got no such taste, cap'in, 'cause you're bringin' 49 up wan't jes' what it hed ought to be. T belmve in prayer, m' I reckon I believe in altars, too, s'long as Mrs La Roche hes faith in 'em." " I 'ave a little news for you this mornin,' " said La Roche with gravity. " It's big news for us, an' we're goin' to keep it quite for a time. I 'ad a letter from Amedee yestiddy, an' he says he didn't steal no three thousand dollars, an' he's soon comin' home to prove who did, an' I'm thinkitt* cf arrestin' Mr. DeLaunay for puttin' up a job n the boy for a thing he never did." Madame LaRoche was not surprised at this out- burst before an old friend of the family. The captain attacked his breakfast savagely while talkimg, and en- joyed the surprise expressed in his friend's face. Sol had laid aside his pipe for a moment, and was adjusting the information to his emotions. " That beats me holler," he said. Time had already beaten Sol so hollow that it was difficult to conceive t anything which ceuld increase his hollowness. He resumed his smoking. " Better tell him, too," said Madam shrewdly, "that Mr. Sullivan advised ye t& go to the priest afore you did anything else." " So he did," asserted LaRoche, " an' I'm net go- in'." Sol laid down his pipe hastily. " Yes you are gein' to the priest," said he with such earnestness that the captain laughed. " Yes, you are a goin' to the priest, an' I'm a-goin' too, for to take the pledge that I broke last month. Joe, it don't be come you to talk so slightin' of a good man. He oughter hev known this news about little Amedee afore us all." Madame LaRoche smiled to herself at this emphatic expression of opinion. " You think so," said LaRoche irritably. " There air a class o' men," Sol answered after a long pause, " like the condemned pickerel we ketch out on the bridge, all mouth; jest the same, they don't know how to choose their vittles. In other words they don't know a good thing when they see it." t to. I admire your pluck, sez she, but I ain't a-goin' to nuss you through another spell o' rheumatiz, sez she, and pay more money for doctor's bill an' medicine than you'd spend in whisky in three years. Well, sez I, if you say so, I'll drink it, but you've got to take the consequences. I must say, Mr. McManus, I was kinder reconciled to it. Sairey dosed me putty well for three days. Then I was well, an' if I'd a- 52 stopped thar, I reckon things would have been squar. I didn't stop. I went on a three days' toot, an' I broke Sairey up. She cried and scolded, and be tween us we made life right mis'able. Sez I yistiday, I've hed enough. This thing hez got to stop. So I come up here to do what I think is right, an' to take the pledge." "Very good," said the priest, "just go down on your knees and repeat these words after me please." " I promise the Almighty God that for one year I will abstain from all intoxicating drinks, and that I will do my best to discountenance the use of liquor in others. Amen." Sol repeated the first part of the pledge, but at the second part hesitated and looked at LaRoche who fidgetted in his chair. " You see," the latter explained, "he sells liquor." " Last year if you'll remember," said Sol, " I said that part another way." " Do you keep a saloon," asked the priest " No, I'm glad to say I don't. I supply a few friends with whisky from Canada. I don't trade with hard drinkers, oly with respectable people. I km promise to discourage any but those I trade with. There aint no need o' discouragin' them, for they're sober decent people." The pledge was so given, and Sol rose frm his kn'es. " I'm thankful to ye, Mr. McManus, an' I'm comin' up sometime to hear you preach " he said. " I've haern ye're a tip-top preacher, am I believe in preach- in'. " 53 " Now that he's done I'd like to pay ye last quarter's pew-rent, father," said the captain, eager to let his ffiend understand that he supported the church. This business was promptly despatched, and then LaRoche told his story slowly, but said nothing of his intention to arrest DeLaunay as soon as possi- ble. He simply asked Father McManus what was the best thing to do towards helping his son to get back his good name. The work of convincing a man of LaRoche's mental power that a certain course of action ought to be followed is herculean, and the priest did not care to undertake it. He did not think much of AmedeVs letters, and was more than doubt- ful of DeLaunay's guilt. " There is only one thing for you to do," he said. " Put the case into the hands f a good lawyer, and follow his advice. You have I think hard work be- fore you." " Why," asked the captaim. " Yoa must get proofs f all that your sen alleges. You must prove that DeLaunay stole the three thou- sand himself, before you can declare Amedee inno- cent. When you have done that your son's reputa- tion is as bad as ever, for he was caught committing a burglary, he admits that, and the moment DeLaunay hears of your suspicions of him he will drag the boy back and send him to jail for years. You cam't pre- vent that you know. So that you must be very secret, very slow, and get the best lawyer in the county to do everything.' The captaia was staggered, but he said defiantly. " I am goin' to have DeLaunay arrested this morning. I can't afford to pay no lawyer. I'm goin 54 to let the law do what it can. I guess it will do him some harm anyway." The priest assented with a gesture, and refused to discuss the matter. It was, he said, too serious a case for anyone to interfere with except lawyers and officers of the law. At this moment the door-bell rang and Hugh Sullivan apparently nettled at being laie entered. " I came upon this business of the captain's," he said to the priest " I suppose I am too late." ' The father," answered LaReche stubbornly " gives me the same advice that you give. But all the same I'm goin' to 'ave DeLaunay arrested to day. My son 'as been out in Texas fifteen years because of his doin's. My ol' woman 'as cried 'er eyes out al- most over 'im. Is these things goin' to be done on a poor man by a rich one, an' the rich one to go free an' suffer nothin' ?" " LaRoche is naturally sore on this matter," said the priest to Hugh, " and a little wild. I have ad- vised him to put the case into the hands of a good lawyer. He fears it will cost too much, when it can be done cheaply some other way." " There is no need of a lawyer," Hugh said quickly. " What we want to find out is if the old books of the firm of Winthrop & DeLaunay are still in existence. These books were said to be so fixed by Amede"e that he stole three thousand before he was discovered. The false entries could not have been made by him if he be innocent. They must have been made by DeLaunay himself in the items which he gave to his clerk for copying. I can hunt up these books better than a detective It will cost nothing, and may do the job for you, captain." 55 * You ought to accept Mr. Sullivan's help,'' the priest urged. " I * is the only way of saving your son. If you arrest Mr DeLaunay before these books are found he will destroy them, and then your chances are gone." " It seems to me," the pilot replied irritably, " you are all on Mr. DeLaunay 's side. You're all tryin' to save 'im from what he ought to git." Hugh took up his hat suddenly and the priest rose " I reckon you made a mistake in coming here," said Hugh laughing. " What you want is some one who will advise you to hang yourself because it suits you to be hanged. Good-morning, Father." La Roche stolidly followed him out, but his resolu- tion was shaken. " What do you think of this business," Hugh asked of the priest in an undertone as he was departing. " Pure nonsense ! His son is playing on him." " Guess I'll have to do what you all say," LaRoche muttered when ihey had proceeded some distance. ** I'll wait while you look for the books " "No you won't," said Hugh shortly. "If you cie- pend on me to manage the thing for you, you must put the whole case in my charge, give me your word you will say nothing about it to any one, and do just what I tell you from first to last. Don't think I am going into what may prove a nasty business, and leave you to smash the whole shop when you feel like it." LaRoche glared at him for a moment, then re- lapsed into thought. His slow mind was a long time getting to the point of view which made Hugh's offer appear advantageous as well as economical. "All right," he said at length. "I'll do it. I 56 promise everything. You go ahead and c'o what you like. You were all agin me, an' if you make mistakes let Amed6e blame you. But I don't like to do it." Hugh was satisfied and very much relieved. He would like to get hold of AmedeVs letter as a guar- anty of LaRoche's good faith, but to ask it would only rouse his suspicions. He said as they parted : " To make sure of your word give that letter to your wife, and have her put it under lock and key. Then you won't be tempted to show it to any one." " I kin keep my word an' the letter, too," said the cantain savagely. Hugh felt that he had blundered In hurting LaRoche's pride, but it did not trouble him. It was one of his deficiencies that he could not understand what great effects may result from little things. CHAPTER VII. AFTER THE PLAY. Hugh felt cheerful in having gained a respite for Regina. It was something of a triumph, for the jeal ous and suspicious nature of LaRoche was difficult to soothe and control. He took care during the week to see him and his good wife often that good disposi- tions might not weaken. He hardly kne v what his next move would be. His aim was to do Regina a service. She was a fine girl, and did not deserve to be included ia the disgrace that would fall upon her father. Hugh was not given to studying himself, al- though net unaware of hi? own good points in busi- ness matters. Therefore he never asked why he took so friendly an interest in the DeLaunays. Had an- 57 other questioned him he would have answered promptly and truly, ' When a man is in a scrape, and I can help him out I never refuse rny help.' Had it been sug- gested that Miss DeLaunay's charms might explain his readiness he would have laughed and said, " You are right A fellow likes to help a pretty girl above all things." This was precisely his mental condition now, and his only thought was the scheme which must satisfy both parties. He was sufficiently elated with 'his success and his hopes to make the next few days very pleasant for his loved Elise and Remi ; so pleas- ant in fact that Mrs. Sullivan said to her daughter in heart broken accents. " He's gone. He's engaged to her. Wor=e an' worse ! You married a Frinchman, an' he married a Prodestan'. What's the Sullivans comin' to at all, at all" Mr. Grady heard this complaint also and rejoiced. He first drew up philosophical consolation for Mrs. Sullivan. " This counthry, ma'am," said he, while the old lady almost transfixed him with her eye, "is already a conglomeration " " The Lord save us," under her breath. "Of divers races, the Frinch, the Germans, the Italians, the Negroes, the Irish and so forth. Now do ye suppose that these people are going to stay Frinch an' German an' Irish all their life ? " " I don't see why they couldn't, Misther Grady. I'm forty years in the counthry an' I'm as Irish to- day as the day I kem into it." " Is your daughther the same ? Isn't she Mrs. La- jeunesse now, ma'am? An' your grandchildren, are they Irish ? " 58 Mrs. Sullivan was dumbfounded for an instant. " That's the way it s gom' to be all through the counthry," continued Mr. Grady, " they'll mix an' mix until there's nothin' left of the constituent elements but pure American. So I don't see why Hugh shouldn't make up to Miss DeLaunay. She's a Piodestan', that's thrue. But take my word for it if she marries Hugh it '11 be before the priest. Sure DeLaunay himself is a Catholic." "Well, constitution elements or no constitution elements," said Mrs. Sullivan.'' "I don't want any more mixin' in mine. I've had too much of it, an' I don't thank any man to put sich notions as you have, Tim Grady, into my son's head. He's bad enough without 'em." " Oh, I don't put any notions into his head, ma'am, but what's the blessed truth. He's a dacent boy, an' I hope ye 11 have him long wid ye. But boys will be boys, ma'am, an' the day comes whin they go away to their own houses, an' lave the old folks to do as God wishes." Mr. Grady mindful of his own long departed chil- dren wiped his eyes. Mrs. Sullivan was softened. ' Fhrue for you," she said, *' it's nothin' but come an' go wid us all " Then Mr. Grady departed after advising the old lady on the method of dealing with her children. He took his way to the modest house of LaRoche. It was storming as usual : storm was the normal condition of the winter weather in Saranac. It made the cozy kit- chen of Madame LaRoche only the cosier and brighter. The kettle was singing on the stove, there was to be hot punch to night ; once in the week Madame al- 59 lowed the men this pleasure. In the bed-room the table was prepared for a game of draughts or of cards Such vanities were not tolerated in the room where the aUar stood. Tim sat down with a deep sense of comfort. No festivity that the great house might provide for its guests could touch his heart like a quiet game in the bed-room with the kettle singing a coming pleasure in his ears ard the storm roaring outside. His authonty on all matters was unquestioned in this house The captain and his wife looked upon h ; m as infallible. Secretly Mr. Grady thought they were right in so regarding him. He had never made a mis- take in his life. The world or rather the univer r e was managed on a theory which he had discovered and made his own. He was conscious of his rare intimacy w : th Providence, and an adept in explaining the profound language which he used in foretelling Its ways For like all prophets of this kind he sometimes mixed his facts, only to find later that had his language been properly interpreted it would have fitted the facts. Conscious of his own greatness Mr Grady was therefore fearless and calm on great occasions, and never hesitated to oppose himself to the whole world The three men, for Sol was one of the party, sat down to play at the moment the curtaia rose for the first act of Ingomar in DeLaunay's parlors. The punch glasses were regularly filled by Madame who laughed and prayed by turns in the kitchen, Her heart was full of joy to night, although a little heavy with the thought of distant Texas. Mr. Grady had prefaced the game with a dissertation on card? which led to a discussion. " Maybe you don't know row," said he to Tuttle, 6o " that cards were invented first to please an ould fool of a king, an' keep him from murdher." " I had an idee the devil invented 'em/ said Sol, whose pledge against all intoxicating liquors was sorely tried this evening. " He's used thim a great deal," assented Mr. Grady, " which only shows that ould Nick knows a good thing whin he sees it. But I don't care to be talkin' about him. Since the Fall he's been close enough to every soul of us widout wishin' him closer. There's more or less o' the divil in every man nowa- days." u Then he didn't invent 'em ?" " It's hard tellin' what he didn't invint," Mr. Grady replied. " Since the Fall he's had his finger in every pie." Sol had heard of the Fall and had a physical idea of it, believing that Paradise was situated on a plateau, off which Adam and Eva fell to strike the earth with bruised bodies and softened brains. He had often stated his belief to Mr. Grady. " It was nat'ral," he thought, " an' to be expected that if the brains of the first man and woman were a little soft that their descendants' brains should be somewhat softer. Then when Christ came He hard- ened 'em agin, for them as believed in Him. An' the more you believed the harder yer brains got to be. An' when they were hard enough to suit Jehovah you died, an' got h'isted back to Paradise. The hull thing sounded reasonable." "There's only wan thing against it," Mr. Grady said, repressing his scorn, "betthermen have given betther reasons for the Fall. The Scriptures don't say that Paradise was on a precipice. When Adam 6i fell he didn't fall off anything. He fell into sin. St Augustine says, an ; he's not to be named in the wan breath wid the Tuttles, that a darkness settled on our minds an' understandings, an' our wills got weak, an' we turned away from good sinse. That is why some of us don't know any betther than to fish for a livin', an' get dhrunk for fun." " An' play keerds," said Sol composedly, " an' think ourselves better'n our neighbors, an' use big words to cover up bare spots, an' forgit our o