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Proverb Stories. 
 
 BY 
 
 LOUISA M. ALCOTT, 
 
 AUTHOR OF "silver PITCHERS," " LITTLE WOMEN," " AN OLD-FASHIONED 
 
 GIRL," "little MEN," "EIGHT COUSINS," " ROSE IN BLOOM," 
 
 "under the lilacs," "jack and JILL," " WORK, A 
 
 STORY OF experience," " MOODS, A NOVEL," 
 
 "hospital sketches," "aunt jo's 
 scrap-bag." 
 
 BOSTON: 
 
 ROBERTS brothers. 
 
 1896. 
 
?z 
 
 h335 
 Pr 
 
 Copyright, 1S82, 
 By Louisa M. Alcott. 
 
 Copyright, 1896, 
 By J. S. P. Alcott. 
 
 5^\^ 
 
 University Press : 
 John Wilson and Son, CAMnRtDcB. 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 Being forbidden to write anything at present 
 1 have collected various waifs and strays to ap- 
 pease the young people who clamor for more, 
 forgetting that mortal brains need rest. 
 
 As many girls have asked to see what sort of 
 tales Jo March wrote at the beginning of her 
 career, I have added " The Baron's Gloves," as a 
 sample of the romantic • rubbish which paid so well 
 once upon a time. If it shows them what noi \o 
 write it will not have been rescued from oblivion 
 in vain. 
 
 L. M. ALCOTT 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Kitty's Class Day 5 
 
 Aunt Kipp 26 
 
 Psyche's Art 55 
 
 A Country Christmas 84 
 
 On Picket Duty 124 
 
 The Baron's Gloves 156 
 
 My Red Cap 251 
 
 What the Bells Saw and Said 271 
 
LOUISA M. ALCOTT'S WRITINGS. 
 
 Miss Alcott is really a benefactor of households. — H. H. 
 
 Miss Alcott has a faculty of entering into the lives and feelings of children 
 that is conspicuously wajiting in most writers who address them ; and to this 
 cause, to the cofisciousness among her readers that they are hearing about 
 feople like themselves, instead of abstract qualities labelled with names, the 
 popularity of her books is due. — Mrs. Sarah J. Hale. 
 
 Dear Aimt Jo ! You are embalmed in the thoughts and loves of thou-> 
 sands of little men and women. — Exchange. 
 
 Little "Women ; or Meg, Jo, 
 Beth, and Amy. With illustra- 
 tions. i6mo 
 
 Hospital Sketches, and Camp 
 and Fireside Stories. With 
 illustrations. i6mo 
 
 An Old-Fashioned Girl. With 
 uiustrations. i6mo 
 
 Little Men : Life at Plumfield with 
 Jo's Boys. With illustrations. i6mo 
 
 Jo's Boys and How they Turned 
 Out. A sequel to " Little Men." 
 Withportraitof " Aunt Jo." i6mo 
 
 Eight Cousins ; or, The Aunt-Hill. 
 
 "• With illustrations. i6mo . . . 
 
 ^ose in Bloom. A sequel to 
 
 " Eight Cousins." i6mo . . . 
 
 Under the Lilacs. With illustra- 
 tions. i6mo 
 
 Jack and Jill. A Village Story. 
 With illustrations. i6mo . . . 
 
 Work : A Story of Experience. 
 With character illustrations by Sol 
 Eytinge. i6mo 
 
 Moods. A Novel. New edition, 
 revised and enlarged. i6mo . . 
 
 A Modern Mephistopheles, and 
 A Whisper in the Dark. i6mo 
 
 Bilver Pitchers, and Indepen- 
 dence. A Centennial Love Story. 
 i6mo 
 
 proverb Stories. New edition, re- 
 vised and enlarged. i6mo . . . 
 
 Spinning-Wheel Stories. With 
 illustrations. i6mo 
 
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 Stories. With illustrations. i6nio 
 
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 Aunt Jo's Scrap-Bag. i6mo . $1.00 
 
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 Aunt Jo's Scrap-Bag. i6mo. . 1.00 
 
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 Third volume of Aunt Jo's Scrap- 
 Bag. i6mo 1.00 
 
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 Aunt Jo's Scrap-Bag. i6mo . . i.oo 
 
 Jimmy's Cruise in the Pinafore, 
 &c. Fifth volume of Aunt Jo's 
 Scrap-Bag. i6mo i.oo 
 
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 ing, &c. Sixth volume of Aunt 
 Jo's Scrap-Bag. i6mo .... i.oo 
 
 Little Women. Illustrated. Em- 
 bellished with nearly 200 charac- 
 teristic illustrations from original 
 designs drawn expressly for this 
 edition of this noted American 
 Classic. One small quarto, bound 
 in cloth, with emblematic designs 2.50 
 
 Little Women Series Compris- 
 ing Little Women ; Little Rlen ; 
 Eight Cousins ; Under the Lilacs; 
 An Old-Fashioned Girl ; Jo's 
 Boys ; Rose in Bloom ; Jack and 
 Jill. 8 large i6mo volumes in a 
 handsome box 12 00 
 
 Miss Alcott's novels in uniform bind- 
 ing in sets. Moods; Work Hos- 
 pital Sketches ; A Modern Mephis- 
 topheles, and A Whisper in the 
 Dark. 4 volumes. i6mo . . . 6.00 
 
 Lulu's Library. Vols. I., II., 
 111. A collection of New Stories. 
 i6mo t.oo 
 
 These books are for sale at all bookstores, or will be mailed, post-paid, on 
 x^eipt of pricey to any address. 
 
 ROBERTS BROTHERS, Publishers, 
 
 Boston, Mass 
 
PROVERB STORIES. 
 
 KITTY'S CLASS DAY. 
 
 " A stitch in time saves nine." 
 
 "/^ PRIS, Pris, I'm really going! Here's the in- 
 
 V_/ vitation — rough paper — Chapel — spreads — 
 Lj^ceum Hall — everything splendid ; and Jack to take 
 care of me ! " 
 
 As Kitty burst into the room and performed a rap- 
 turous pas seul, waving the cards over her head, sister 
 Priscilla looked up from her work with a smile of satis- 
 faction on her quiet face. 
 
 " Who invites you, dear? " 
 
 "Why, Jack, of course, — dear old cousin Jack. 
 Nobod}^ else ever thinks of me, or cares whether I have 
 a bit of pleasure now and then. Is n't he kind ? Ma}^ n't 
 I go? and, O Pris, what shall I wear?" 
 
 Kitt}^ paused suddenl}^ as if the last all-important 
 question had a solemnizing effect upon both mind and 
 body. 
 
 " Wh}', your white muslin, silk sacque, and new hat, 
 of course," began Pris with an air of surprise. But 
 Kitty broke in impetuously, — 
 
 "I'll never wear that old muslin again ; it's full of 
 darns, up to my knees, and all out of fashion. So is 
 
6 PROVERB STORIES. 
 
 m}^ sacqne ; and as for my hat, though it does well 
 enough here, it would be absurd for Class Da}-." 
 
 ' ' You don't expect an entirelj' new suit for this occa- 
 sion, — do you?" asked Pris, anxiously. 
 
 " Yes, I do, and I'll tell you how I mean to get it. 
 I 've planned ever3'thing ; for, though I hardly dreamed 
 of going, I amused myself by thinking how I could 
 manage if I did get invited." 
 
 " Let us hear." And Pris took up her work with an 
 air of resignation. 
 
 " First, my dress," began Kitty, perching herself on 
 the arm of the sofa, and entering into the subject with 
 enthusiasm. " I 've got the ten dollars grandpa sent me, 
 and with eight of it I 'm going to bu}" Lizzie King 's 
 organdie muslin. She got it in Paris ; but her aunt provi- 
 dentially — no, unfortunately — died ; so she can't wear 
 it, and wants to get rid of it. She is bigger than I am, 
 you know ; so there is enough for a little mantle or 
 sacque, for it is n't made up. The skirt is cut off and 
 gored, with a splendid train — " 
 
 "My dear, you don't mean 3'ou are going to wear 
 one of those absurd, new-fashioned dresses ? " exclaimed 
 Pris, lifting hands and eyes. 
 
 "I do! Nothing would induce me to go to Class 
 Day without a train. It 's been the desire of my heart 
 to have one, and now I will, if I never have another 
 gown to my back ! " returned Kitty, with immense 
 decision. 
 
 Pris shook her head, and said, " Go on! " as if pre- 
 pared for an}'- extravagance after that. 
 
 "We can make it ourselves," continued Kitty, " and 
 trim it with the same. It 's white with blue stripes and 
 
KITTTS CLASS DAY. 7 
 
 daisies in the stripes ; the loveliest thing j^ou ever saw, 
 find can't be got here. So simple, yet distingue, I know 
 you '11 like it. Next, my bonnet," — here the solemnity 
 of Kitty's face and manner was charming to behold. 
 " I shall make it out of one of m}^ new illusion under- 
 sleeves. I 've never worn them ; and the puffed part 
 will be a plenty for a little fly-awa}^ bonnet of the latest 
 style. I've got blue ribbons to tie it with, and have 
 only to look up some daisies for the inside. With my 
 extra two dollars I shall buy m}^ gloves, and pay my 
 fares, — and there I am, all complete." 
 
 She looked so happj^, so prett}', and full of girlish satis- 
 faction, that sister Pris could n't bear to disturb the little 
 plan, much as she disapproved of it. They were poor, 
 and every penny had to be counted. There were plenty 
 of neighbors to gossip and criticise, and plenty of friends 
 to make disagreeable remarks on any unusual extrava- 
 gance. Pris saw things with the prudent eyes of thirty, 
 but Kitty with the romantic eyes of seventeen ; and the 
 elder sister, in the kindness of her heart, had no wish 
 to sadden life to those bright young eyes, or deny the 
 child a harmless pleasure. She sewed thoughtfully for 
 a minute, then looked up, sa3ing, with the smile that 
 always assured Kitty the day was won, — 
 
 '' Get your things together, and we will see what can 
 be done. But remember, dear, that it is both bad taste 
 and bad economy for poor people to tr}^ to ape the rich." 
 
 "You're a perfect angel, Pris; so don't moralize. 
 I '11 run and get the dress, and we '11 begin at once, for 
 there is much to do, and only two days to do it in." 
 And Kitty skipped away, singing " Lauriger Horatius," 
 at the top of her voice. 
 
8 PROVERB STORIES. 
 
 Priscilla soon found that the giiTs head waa completely 
 turned b}^ the advice and example of certain fashionable 
 young neighbors. It was in vain for Pris to remonstrate 
 and warn. 
 
 " Just this once let me do as others do, and thor- 
 oughly enjoy myself," pleaded Kitty ; and Pris yielded, 
 saying to herself, " She shall have her wish, and if she 
 learns a lesson, neither time nor money will be lost." 
 
 So they snipped and sewed, and planned and pieced, 
 going through all the alternations of despair and triumph, 
 worry and satisfaction, which women undergo when a 
 new suit is under way. Company kept coming, for 
 news of Kitty's expedition had flown abroad, and her 
 young friends must just run in to hear about it, and ask 
 what she was going to wear ; while Kitt}' was so glad 
 and proud to tell, and show, and enjoy her little triumph 
 that many half hours were wasted, and the second da^- 
 found much still to do. 
 
 The lovely muslin did n't hold out, and Kitt}' sacrificed 
 the waist to the train, for a train she must have or the 
 whole thing would be an utter failure. A little sacque 
 was eked out, however, and when the frills were on, it 
 was " ravishing," as Kitty said, with a sigh of mingled 
 delight and fatigue. The gored skirt was a fearful job, 
 as an}^ one who has ever plunged into the mj'steries will 
 testify- ; and before the facing, even experienced Pris 
 quailed. 
 
 The bonnet also was a trial, for when the lace was 
 on, it was discoA^ercd that the libbons did n't match the 
 di'css. Here was a catastrophe ! Kitty frantically 
 rummaged the house, the shops, the stores of her friends, 
 and rummaixed in vain. There was no time to send to 
 
 *■&" 
 
 -^^ 
 
KITTY'S CLASS DAY. 9 
 
 the cit}' , and despair was about to foil on Kitt}', when 
 Pris rescued her by quietl}' making one of the small 
 sacrifices which were eas}^ to her because her life was 
 spent for others. Some one suggested a strip of blue 
 illusion, — and that could be got ; but, alas ! Kitty had 
 no mone}', for the gloves were already bought. Pris 
 heard the lamentations, and giving up fresh ribbons for 
 herself, pulled her sister out of a slough of despond with 
 two yards of " heavenly tulle." 
 
 " Now the daisies ; and oh, dear me, not one can I 
 find in this povertj'-stricken town," sighed Kitty, prink- 
 ing at the glass, and fervently hoping that nothing would 
 happen to her complexion over night. 
 
 "' I see plenty just like those on 3'our dress," answered 
 Pris, nodding toward the meadow full of 3'oung white- 
 weed. 
 
 " Pris, jou 're a treasure ! I '11 wear real ones ; they 
 keep well, I know, and are so common I can refresh my 
 bonnet anywhere- It's a splendid idea." 
 
 Away rushed Kitty to return with an apron full of 
 American daisies. A prett}^ cluster was soon fastened 
 just over the left-hand frizzle of bright hair, and the 
 little bonnet was complete. 
 
 " Now, Pris, tell me how I look," cried Kitty, as she 
 swept into the room late that afternoon in full gala 
 costume. 
 
 It would have been impossible for the primmest, the 
 sourest, or the most sensible creature in the world to 
 say that it wasn't a pretty sight. The long train, the 
 big chignon, the apology for a bonnet, were all ridicu- 
 lous, — no one could deny that, — but youth, beaut}', 
 and a happy heart made even those absurdities charm- 
 
10 PROVERB STORIES. 
 
 ing. The erect young figure gave an air to the crisp 
 folds of the delicate dress ; the bright ej'es and fresh 
 cheeks under the lace rosette made one forget its size ; 
 and the rippling brown hair won admiration in spite of 
 the ugly bunch which disfigured the girl^ head. The 
 httle jacket set '' divinely," the new gloves were as im- 
 maculate as white kids could be, and to crown all, 
 Lizzie King, in a burst of generosity, lent Kitt}^ the 
 blue and white Paris sunshade which she could n't use 
 herself. 
 
 ' ' Now I could die content ; I 'm perfect in all re- 
 spects, and I know Jack won't be ashamed of me. I 
 really owe it to him to look my best, you know, and 
 that's why I'm so particular," said Kitt}^ in an apolo- 
 g^ie tone, as she began to lay awa}^ her finer}^ 
 
 " I hope you will enjoy every minute of the time, 
 deary. Don't forget to finish running up the facing ; I 've 
 basted it carefully, and would do it if m}' head did n't 
 ache so, I really can't hold it up an}^ longer," answered 
 Pris, who had worked like a disinterested bee, while 
 Kitt}^ had flown about like a distracted butterfl3\ 
 
 " Go and lie down, 3'ou dear, kind soul, and don't 
 think of my nonsense again," said Kitt}^, feeling re- 
 morseful, till Pris was comfortably asleep, when she 
 went to her room and revelled in her finery till bed- 
 time. So absorbed was she in learning to manage her 
 train gracefully, that she forgot the facing till very 
 late. Then, being worn out with work and worr}^, she 
 did, what girls are too apt to do, stuck a pin here and 
 there, and, trusting to Priscilla's careful bastings, left 
 it as it was, retiring to dream of a certain Horace 
 Fletcher, whose aristocratic elegance had made a deep 
 
KITTTS CLASS DAY. 11 
 
 impression upon her during the few evenings she had 
 seen him. 
 
 Nothing could have been lovelier than the morning, 
 and few hearts happier than Kittj-'s, as she arra3'ed her- 
 self with the utmost care, and waited in solemn state for 
 the carriage ; for muslin trains and dewy roads were in- 
 compatible, and one luxurj^ brought another. 
 
 " M}' goodness, where did she get that stylish suit?" 
 whispered Miss Smith to Miss Jones, as Kitty floated 
 into the station with all sail set, finding it impossible to 
 resist the temptation to astonish certain young ladies 
 who had snubbed her in times past, which snubs had 
 rankled, and were now avenged. 
 
 ' ' I looked ever3'where for a muslin for to-day and 
 could n't find any I liked, so I was forced to wear my 
 mauve silk," observed Miss Smith, complacently set- 
 tling the silvery folds of her dress. 
 
 *' It's very prett}^ but one ruins a silk at Class Day, 
 you know. I thought this organdie would be more 
 comfortable and appropriate this warm day. A friend 
 brought it from Paris, and it 's like one the Princess of 
 Wales wore at the great flower-show this year," returned 
 Kitty, with the air of a young lady who had all her 
 dresses from Paris, and was intimatel}' acquainted with 
 the royal family. 
 
 ' ' Those girls " were entirely extinguished by this 
 stroke, and had n't a word to say for themselves, while 
 Kitty casually mentioned Horace Fletcher, Ljxeum 
 Hall, and Cousin Jack, for the?/ had only a little Fresh- 
 man brother to boast of, and were 7iot going to Lyceum 
 Hall. 
 
 As she stepped out of the cars at Cambridge, Jack 
 
12 PROVERB STORIES. 
 
 opened his honest bUic e3xs and indulged in a low whis- 
 tle of astonishment ; for if there was an3'thing he espe- 
 cially hated, it was the trains, chignons and tin}' bonnets 
 then in fashion. He was veiy fond of Kitty, and prided 
 himself on being able to show his friends a girl who was 
 charming, and yet not over-dressed. 
 
 " She has made a regular guy of herself; I won't tell 
 her so, and the dear little soul shall have a jolly time in 
 spite of her fuss and feathers. But I do wish she had 
 let her hair alone and worn that prett}^ hat of hers." 
 
 As this thought passed through Jack's mind he smiled 
 and bowed and made his wa}^ among the crowd, whisper- 
 ing as he drew his cousin's arm through his own, — 
 
 "Why, Kitty, 3'ou're got up regardless of expense, 
 are n't you? I 'm so glad you came, we '11 have a rous- 
 ing good time, and 3'ou shall see all the fun." 
 
 "Oh, thank 3'ou, Jack! Do I look nice, really? I 
 tried to be a credit to you and Pris, and I did have such 
 a job of it. I '11 make 3'ou laugh over it some time. A 
 carriage for me? Bless us, how fine we are!" and 
 Kitty stepped in, feeling that only one thing more was 
 needed to make her cup overflow. That one thing was 
 speedily vouchsafed, for before her skirts were smoothl3' 
 settled. Jack called out, in his heart3' wa3% — 
 
 "How are 3'ou, Fletcher? If you are bound for 
 Chapel I'll take 3'ou up." 
 
 " Thanks ; good-morning, Miss Heath." 
 It was all done in an instant, and the next thing 
 Kitty knew she was rolling awa3^ with the elegant 
 Horace sitting opposite. How little it takes to make a 
 young girl happy ! A pretty dress, sunshine, and some- 
 body opposite, and they are blest. Kitty's face glowed 
 
KITTTS CLASS DAY. 13 
 
 and dimpled with pleasure as she glanced about her, 
 especiallj^ when she, sitting in state with two gentlemen 
 all to herself, passed " those girls " walking in the dust 
 yritli a beardless boy ; she felt that she could forgive past 
 slights, and did so with a magnanimous smile and bow. 
 
 Both Jack and Fletcher had graduated the year before, 
 but still took an interest in their old haunts, and patro- 
 nized the fellows who were not yet through the mill, at 
 least the Seniors and Juniors ; of Sophs and Freshs 
 they were sublimely unconscious. Greeted by frequent 
 slaps on the shoulder, and hearty " How are 3'ou, old 
 fellows," they piloted Kitt}^ to a seat in the chapel. An 
 excellent place, but the girl's satisfaction was marred 
 b}" Fletcher's desertion, and she could not see anything 
 attractive about the dashing young lady in the pink 
 bonnet to whom he devoted himself, " because she was 
 a stranger," Kitty said. 
 
 Everybody" knows what goes on in the Chapel, after 
 the fight and scramble are over. The rustle and buzz, 
 the music, the oratory and the poem, during which the 
 men cheer and the girls simper ; the professors yawn, 
 and the poet's friends pronounce him a second Long- 
 fellow. Then the closing flourishes, the grand crush, 
 and general scattering. 
 
 Then the fun really begins, as far as the young folks 
 are concerned. They don't mind swarming up and 
 down stairs in a solid phalanx ; the}^ can enjoy half a 
 dozen courses of salad, ice and strawberries, with stout 
 gentlemen crushing their feet, anxious mammas sticking 
 sharp elbows into their sides,' and absent-minded tutors 
 walking over them. They can flirt vigorously in a torrid 
 atmosphere of dinner, dust, and din ; can smile with 
 
14 PROVERB STORIES. 
 
 hot coffee running down their backs, small avalanches 
 of ice-cream descending upon their best bonnets, and 
 sandwiches, butter-side down, reposing on tlieir delicate 
 silks. The}' know that it is a costl}' rapture, but they 
 carefulh' refrain from thinking of the morrow, and en- 
 ergeticail}^ illustrate the Yankee maxim which bids us 
 enjo}' ourselves in our early bloom. 
 
 Kitty did have " a rousing good time ; " for Jack was 
 devoted, taking her everywhere, showing her everything, 
 feeding and fanning her, and festooning her ti-am with 
 untiring patience. How many forcible expressions he 
 mentall}' indulged in as he walked on that unlucky 
 train we will not record ; he smiled and skipped and 
 talked of treading on flowers in a wa}" that would have 
 charmed Kitt}", if some one else had not been hovering 
 about " The Daisy," as Fletcher called her. 
 
 After he returned, she neglected Jack, who took it 
 coolly, and was never in the w-ay unless she wanted him. 
 For the first time in her life, Kitty deliberate!}' flirted. 
 The little coquetries, which are as natural to a ga}' 
 young girl as her laughter, were all in full play, and had 
 she gone no further no harm would have been done. 
 lUit, excited b}' the example of those about her, Kitt}" 
 tried to enact the fashionable 3^oung lad}", and, like 
 most novices, she overdid the part. Quite forgetting 
 her cousin, she tossed her head, twirled her fan, gave 
 allected little shrieks at college jokes, and talked col- 
 h'ge slang in a way that convulsed Fletcher, who en- 
 joyed the fun innnensely. 
 
 .lai'k saw it all, shook his head and said nothing; but 
 his luce grew rather sober as he watched Kitty, flushed, 
 dishevelled, and breathless, whirling round Lyceum 
 
KITTTS CLASS DAY. 15 
 
 Hall, on the arm of Fletcher, who danced divinelj', as all 
 the girls agreed. Jack had proposed going, bnt Kitty 
 had frowned, so he fell back, leaving her to listen and 
 langh, blnsh and shrink a little at her partner's flower}' 
 compliments and admiring glances. 
 
 *' If she stands that long she 's not the girl I took her 
 for," thought Jack, beginning to lose patience. " She 
 does n't look like mj^ little Kitt}-, and somehow I don't 
 feel half so fond and proud of her as usual. I know one 
 thing, my daughters shall never be seen knocking about 
 in that stj'le." 
 
 As if the thought suggested the act, Jack suddenly 
 assumed an air of paternal authority, and, arresting his 
 cousin as she was about to begin again, he said, in a 
 tone she had never heard before, — 
 
 " I promised Pris to take care of you, so I shall carry 
 you off to rest, and put yourself to rights after this game 
 of romps. I advise you to do the same, Fletcher, or 
 give your friend in the pink bonnet a turn." 
 
 Kitt}' took Jack's arm pettishly, but glanced over her 
 shoulder with such an inviting smile that Fletcher fol- 
 lowed, feeling very much like a top, in danger of tumbling 
 down the instant he stopped spinning. As she came out 
 Kitty's face cleared, and, assuming her sprightliest air, 
 she spread her plumage and prepared to descend with 
 eflfect, for a party of uninvited peris stood at the gate 
 of this Paradise casting longing glances at the forbidden 
 splendors within. Slowl}', that all might see her, Kitty 
 sailed down, with Horace, the debonnair, in her wake, 
 and was just thinking to herself, " Those girls won't get 
 over this very soon, I fancy," when all in one moment 
 she heard Fletcher exclaim, wrathfull}', "Hang the 
 
16 FROVERB STORIES. 
 
 flounces ! " she saw a very glossy black hat come skip- 
 ping down the steps, felt a violent twitch backward, and, 
 to save herself from a fall, sat down on the lower step 
 with most undignified haste. 
 
 It was impossible for the bystanders to help laughing, 
 for there was Fletcher hopping wildly about, with one 
 foot nicely caught in a muslin loop, and there sat Kitt}' 
 longing to run away and hide herself, yet perfectlj' help- 
 less, while every one tittered. Miss Jones and Miss 
 Smith laughed shrilly, and the despised little Freshman 
 completed her mortification, by a feeble joke about Kitty 
 Heath's new man-trap. It was onl}^ an instant, but it 
 seemed an hour before Fletcher freed her, and snatchiug 
 up the dusty beaver, left her with a flushed countenance 
 and an abrupt bow. 
 
 If it had n't been for Jack, Kitt}^ would have burst 
 into tears then and there, so terrible was the sense 
 of humiliation which oppressed her. For his sake she 
 controlled herself, and, bundling up her torn train, set 
 her teeth, stared straight before her, and let him lead 
 her in dead silence to a friend's room near b3\ There 
 he locked the door, and began to comfort her by making 
 light of the little mishap. But Kitt}^ cried so tragically, 
 that he was at his wit's end, till the ludicrous side of the 
 aflfair struck her, and she began to laugh h3'stericall3', 
 With a vague idea that vigorous treatment was best for 
 that feminine ailment. Jack was about to emptj^ the 
 contents of an ice-pitcher over her, when she arrested 
 him, b}^ exclaiming, incoherent!}', — 
 
 ''Oh, don't! — it was so funny! — how can j^ou 
 laugh, you cruel boy? — I'm disgraced, forever — take 
 me home to Pris, oh, take me home to Pris ! '* 
 
KITTTS CLASS DAY. 17 
 
 " I will, my dear, I will; but first let me right j'ou 
 up a bit ; you look as if you had been hazed, upon my 
 life 3'ou do ; " and Jack laughed in spite of himself at 
 the wretched little object before him, for dust, dancing, 
 and the downfall produced a ruinous spectacle. 
 
 That broke Kitty's heart ; and, spreading her hands 
 before her face, she was about to cry again, when the 
 sad sight which met her eyes dispelled the gathering 
 tears. The new gloves were both split up the middle aCnd 
 very dirt}^ with clutching at the steps as she went down. 
 
 " Never mind, you can wash them," said Jack, sooth- 
 ingly. 
 
 " I paid a dollar and a half for them, and they can't 
 be washed," groaned Kitty. 
 
 "Oh, hang the gloves! I meant your hands," cried 
 Jack, trying to keep sober. 
 
 " No matter for my hands, I mourn my gloves. But 
 I won't cry any more, for my head aches now so I can 
 hardly see." And Kitty threw off her bonnet, as if even 
 that airy trifle hurt her. 
 
 Seeing how pale she looked. Jack tenderly suggested 
 a rest on the old sofa, and a wet handkerchief on her hot 
 forehead, while he got the good landlady to send her up 
 a cup of tea. As Kitty rose to compty she glanced at 
 her dress, and, clasping her hands, exclaimed, tragi- 
 cally, — 
 
 " The facing, the fatal facing ! That made all the mis- 
 chief, for if I 'd sewed it last night it would n't have 
 ripped to-day ; if it had n't ripped Fletcher would n't have 
 got his foot in it, I should n't have made an object of my- 
 self, he wouldn't have gone off in a rage, and — who 
 knows what might have happened ? " 
 
 2 
 
18 PROVERB STORIES. 
 
 " Bless the what 's-its-name if it has settled him," cried 
 Jack. " He is a contemptible fellow not to stay and 
 help you out of the scrape he got jou into. Follow his 
 lead and don't trouble yourself about him." 
 
 '' Well, he was rather absurd to-da}^, I allow ; but he 
 has got handsome eyes and hands, and he does dance 
 like an angel," sighed Kitt}^, as she pinned up the 
 treacherous loop which had brought destruction to her 
 little castle in the air. 
 
 '' Handsome ej-es, white hands, and angelic feet don't 
 make a man. Wait till you can do better. Kit." 
 
 With an odd, grave look, that rather startled Kitt}', 
 Jack vanished, to retui'u presently with a comfortable 
 cup of tea and a motherly old lady to help repair 
 damages and soothe her by the foolish little purr- 
 ings and pattings so grateful to female nerves after a 
 flurry. 
 
 " I '11 come back and take you out to see the dance 
 round the tree when you 've had a bit of a rest," said Jack, 
 vibrating between door and sofa as if it was n't easy to 
 get away= 
 
 " Oh, I couldn't," cried Kitty, with a shudder at the 
 bare idea of meeting any one. " I can't be seen again 
 to-night ; let me stay here till my train goes." 
 
 " I thought it had gone, alread}^," said Jack, with an 
 irrepressible twinkle of the eye that glanced at the drag- 
 gled dress sweeping the floor. 
 
 ''How can you joke about it!" and the girl's re- 
 proachful eyes filled with tears of shame. " I know 
 I 've been very sill}', Jack, but I 've had my punishment, 
 and I don't need any more. To feel that 3'ou despise 
 me is worse than all the rest." 
 
KITTY'S CLASS DAY. 19 
 
 She ended with a little sob, and turned her face away 
 to hide the trembling of her lips. At that, Jack flushed 
 up, his eyes shone, and he stooped suddenly as if to 
 make some impetuous reply. But, remembering. the old 
 lady (who, by the by, was discreetly looking out of 
 window) , he put his hands in his pockets and strolled 
 out of the room. 
 
 "I've lost them both by this day's folly," thought 
 Kitty, as Mrs. Brown departed with the teacup. " I 
 don't care for Fletcher, for I dare sa}^ he did n't mean 
 half he said, and I was only flattered because he is rich 
 and handsome and the girls glorify him. But I shall 
 miss Jack, for I 've known and loved him all my life. 
 How good he 's been to me to-day ! so patient, careful, 
 and kind, though he must have been ashamed of me. 
 I know he did n't like my dress ; but he never said a 
 word and stood by me through everything. Oh, I wish 
 I 'd minded Pris ! then he would have respected me, at 
 least ; I wonder if he ever will, again ? " 
 
 Following a sudden impulse, Kitt}- sprang up, locked 
 the door, and then proceeded to destroy all her little 
 vanities as far as possible. She smoothed out her 
 crimps with a wet and ruthless hand ; fastened up her 
 pretty hair in the simple way Jack liked ; gave her once 
 cherished bonnet a spiteful shake, as she put it on, and 
 utterly extinguished it with a big blue veil. She looped 
 up her dress, leaving no vestige of the now hateful train, 
 and did herself up uncompromisingly in the Quakerish 
 gray shawl Pris had insisted on her taking for the even^ 
 ing. Then she survej'ed herself with pensive satisfac- 
 tion, saying, in the tone of one bent on resolutely morti- 
 fying the flesh, — 
 
20 PROVERB STORIES. 
 
 " Neat but not gaud}' ; I 'm a fright, but I deserve it, 
 and it 's better than being a peacock." 
 
 Kitt}' had time to feel a little friendless and forlorn, sit- 
 ting there alone as twihght fell, and amused herself by 
 wondering if Fletcher would come to inquire about her, 
 or show any further interest in her ; j^et when the sound 
 of a manly tramp approached, she trembled lest it should 
 be the victim of the fatal facing. The door opened, and 
 with a sigh of relief she saw Jack come in, bearing a 
 pair of new gloves in one hand and a great bouquet of 
 June roses in the other. 
 
 ' ' How good of you to bring me these ! They are 
 more refreshing than oceans of tea. You know what I 
 like, Jack ; thank 3'ou \eYy much," cried Kitty, sniffing 
 at her roses with grateful rapture. 
 
 " And you know what I like," returned Jack, with an 
 approving glance at the altered figure before him. 
 
 "I'll never do so any more," murmured Kitty, won- 
 dering why she felt bashful all of a sudden, when it was 
 only cousin Jack. 
 
 "Now put on your gloves, dear, and come out and 
 hear the music ; your train does n't go for two hours yet, 
 and you must n't mope here all that time," said Jack, of- 
 fering his second gift. 
 
 " How did you know my size? " asked Kitt}', putting 
 on the gloves in a hurry ; for though Jack had called her 
 " dear" for years, the little word had a new sound to- 
 night. 
 
 "I guessed, — no, I didn't, I had the old ones with 
 me; they are no good now, are they?" and too honest 
 to lie. Jack tried to speak carelessl}^ though he turned 
 red in the dusk, well knowing that the dirty little gloves 
 
KITTTS CLASS DAY. 21 
 
 were folded away in his left breast-pocket at that identi- 
 cal moment. 
 
 ''Oh, dear, no! these fit nicely. I 'm ready, if j^ou 
 don't mind going with such a fright," said Kitty, forget- 
 ting her dread of seeing people in her desire to get away 
 from that room, because for the first time in her life she 
 was n't at ease with Jack. 
 
 " I think I like the little gray moth better than the 
 fine butterfl}^," returned Jack, who, in spite of his invi- 
 tation, seemed to find " moping" rather pleasant. 
 
 "You are a rainy-day friend, and he isn't," said 
 Kitt}^, softl}^, as she drew him awa}^ 
 
 Jack's only answer was to lay his hand on the little 
 white glove resting so confidingly on his arm, and, keep- 
 ing it there, they roamed away into the summer twi- 
 light. 
 
 Something had happened to the evening and the place, 
 for both seemed suddenly endowed with uncommon 
 beauty and interest. The dingy old houses might have 
 been fairy palaces, for anything they saw to the con- 
 trary ; the dusty walks, the trampled grass, were regular 
 Elysian fields to them, and the music was the music of 
 the spheres, though they found themselves "Right in 
 the middle of the boom, jing, jing." For both had 
 made a little discovery, — no, not a little one, the great- 
 est and sweetest man and woman can make. In the 
 sharp twinge of jealousy which the sight of Kitty's flirta- 
 tion with Fletcher gave him, and the delight he found in 
 her after conduct. Jack discovered how much he loved 
 her. In the shame, gratitude, and half sweet, half bit- 
 ter emotion that filled her heart, Kitty felt that to her 
 Jack would never be " only cousin Jack " any more. 
 
22 PROVERB STORIES. 
 
 All the vanity, coquetry, selfishness, and ill-temper of 
 the clay seemed magnified to heinous sins, for now her 
 only thought was, " seeing these faults, he can't care for 
 me. Oh, I wish I was a better girl ! " 
 
 She did not say *' for his sake," but in the new 
 humility, the ardent wish to be all that a woman should 
 be, little Kitty proved how true her love was, and might 
 have said with Portia, — 
 
 " For myself alone, I would not be 
 Ambitious in my wish ; but, for you, 
 I would be trebled twenty times myself ; 
 A thousand times more fair. 
 Ten thousand times more rich." 
 
 All about them other pairs were wandering under the 
 patriarchal elms, enjoying music, starlight, balmy winds, 
 and all the luxuries of the season. If the band had 
 played 
 
 "Oh, there 's nothing half so sweet in life 
 As love's young dream — " 
 
 it is my private opinion that it would have suited the 
 audience to a T. Being principally composed of elderly 
 gentlemen with large families, they had not that fine 
 sense of the fitness of things so charming to see, and 
 tooted and banged away with waltzes and marches, 
 quite regardless of the flocks of Ilomeos and Juliets 
 philandering all about them. 
 
 Under cover of a popular medle}^, Kittj^ overheard 
 Fletcher quizzing her for the amusement of Miss Pink- 
 bonnet, who was evidently making up for lost time. It 
 was feeble wit, but it put the finishing stroke to Kitt3's 
 vanity, and she dropped a tear in her blue tissue retreat, • 
 
KITTY'S CLASS DAY. 23 
 
 and clung to Jack, feeling that she had never valued 
 him half enough. She hoped he did n't hear the gossip 
 going on at the other side of the tree near which they 
 stood ; but he did, for his hand involuntaril}- doubled 
 itself up into a very dangerous-looking list, and he 
 darted such fiery glances at the speaker, that, if the 
 thing had been possible, Fletcher's ambrosial curls would 
 have been scorched oif his head. 
 
 " Never mind, and don't get angry. Jack. They are 
 right about one thing, — the daisies in my bonnet were 
 real, and I couldn't afford any others. I don't care 
 much, only Pris worked so hard to get me ready I hate 
 to have my things made fun of." 
 
 " He is n't worth a thrashing, so we '11 let it pass this 
 time," said Jack, irefully, yet privately resolving to 
 have it out with Fletcher by and b3'. 
 
 " Wh}", Kitty, I thought the real daisies the prettiest 
 things about 3^our dress. Don't throw them awa}". I '11 
 wear them just to show that noodle that I prefer nature 
 to art ; " and Jack gallantly stuck the faded pos}' in his 
 button-hole, while Kitt}^ treasured up the hint so kindly 
 given for future use. 
 
 If a clock with great want of tact had n't insisted on 
 telling them that it was getting late, Kitty never would 
 have got home, for both the young people felt inclined 
 to loiter about arm in arm through the sweet summer 
 night forever. Jack had meant to say something before 
 she went, and was immensely surprised to find the 
 chance lost for the present. He wanted to go home 
 with her and free his mind ; but a neighborly old gentle- 
 man having been engaged as escort, there would have 
 been ver}^ little satisfaction in a travelling trio ; so ho 
 
24 PROVERB STORIES. 
 
 gave it up. He was ver}^ silent as they walked to the 
 station with Dr. Docld trudging behind them. Kitty 
 thought he was tired, perhaps glad to be rid of her, and 
 meekly accepted her fate. But as the train approached, 
 she gave his hand an impulsive squeeze, and said very 
 gratefully, — 
 
 " Jack, I can't thank you enough for your kindness 
 to your silly little cousin ; but I never shall forget it, 
 and if I ever can return it in anj' wa}^, I will with all my 
 heart." 
 
 Jack looked down at the j^oung face almost pathetic 
 now with weariness, humilit}^, and pain, yet very sweet, 
 with that new shj-ness in the loving eyes, and, stooping 
 suddenly, he kissed it, whispering in a tone that made 
 the girl's heart flutter, — 
 
 " I '11 tell you how 3^ou ma}' return it ' with all 3'our 
 heart,' by and by. Good-night, my Kitty." 
 
 " Have 3'ou had a good time, dear? " asked Pris, as 
 her sister appeared an hour later. 
 
 '' Don't I look as if I had?" and, throwing off her 
 wraps, Kitty revolved slowly before her that she might 
 behold every portion of the wreck. '' My gown is all 
 dust, crumple, and rags, my bonnet perfectly limp and 
 flat, and my gloves are ruined ; I 've broken Lizzie's 
 parasol, made a spectacle of myself, and wasted mone}^, 
 time, and temper ; yet my Class Day is n't a failure, for 
 Jack is the dearest boy in the world, and I 'm ver^-, very 
 happy ! " 
 
 Pris looked at her a minute, then opened her arms 
 without a word, and Kitty forgot all her little troubles 
 in one great joy. 
 
 When Miss Smith and Miss Jones called a few days 
 
KITTTS CLASS DAY. 25 
 
 after to tell her that Mr. Fletcher was going abroad, the 
 amiable creatures were entireh' routed b}- finding Jack 
 there in a most unmistakable situation. He blandly 
 wished Horace " bon voj-age," and regretted that he 
 would n't be there to the wedding in October. Kitty 
 devoted herself to blushing beautifully, and darning 
 many rents in a short daisy muslin skirt, " which I 
 intend to wear a great deal, because Jack likes it, and 
 so do I," she said, with a demure look at her lover, who 
 laughed as if that was the best joke of the season. 
 
AUNT KIPP. 
 
 Children and fools speak the truth.* 
 
 I. 
 
 W "HAT'S that sigh for, Polly clear?" 
 "I'm tired, mother, tired of working and 
 waiting. If I'm ever going to have any fun, I want it 
 now while I can enjo}^ it." 
 
 ' ' You should n't wait another hour if I could have my 
 way ; but you know how helpless I am ; " and poor Mrs. 
 Snow sighed dolefully, as she glanced about the dingy 
 room and prett}^ Mar}^ turning her faded gown for the 
 second time. 
 
 " If Aunt Kipp would give us the mone}- she is al- 
 ways talking about, instead of waiting till she dies, we 
 should be so comfortable. She is a dreadful bore, for 
 she lives in such terror of cb-opping dead with her 
 heart-complaint that she doesn't take an}^ pleasure in 
 life herself or let anyone else ; so the sooner she goes 
 the better for all of us," said Polly, in a desperate tone ; 
 for things looked very black to her just then. 
 
 " M}^ dear, don't say that," began her mother, mildly 
 shocked ; but a bluff little voice broke in with the forci- 
 ble remark, — 
 
 " She 's everlastingl}' telling me never to put off till to- 
 morrow what can be done to-day ; next time she comes 
 
AUNT KIPP. 27 
 
 I '11 remind her of that, and ask her, if she is going to 
 die, why she does n't do it?" 
 
 " Toady ! you're a wicked, disrespectful boy ; never let 
 me hear 3'ou sa}^ such a thing again about your dear 
 Aunt Kipp." 
 
 " She isn't dear ! You know we all hate her, and 3'ou 
 are more afraid of her than 3'ou are of spiders, — so 
 now." 
 
 The 3'oung personage whose proper name had been 
 corrupted into Toady, was a small boy of ten or eleven, 
 apple-cheeked, round-eyed, and curl3-headed ; arrayed 
 in well-worn, gray knickerbockers, profuseh' adorned 
 wdth paint, glue, and shreds of cotton. Perched on a 
 high stool, at an isolated table in a state of chaos, he 
 was absorbed in making a boat, entirel}^ oblivious of the 
 racking tooth-ache which had been his excuse for stay- 
 ing from school. As cool, sauc}^, hard-handed, and 
 soft-hearted a little specimen of young America was 
 Toady as you would care to see ; a tj'rant at home, a 
 rebel at school, a sworn foe to law, order, and Aunt 
 Kipp. This young person was regarded as a reprobate 
 by all but his mother, sister, and sister's sweetheart, 
 Van Bahr Lamb. Having been, through much anguish 
 of flesh and spirit, taught that lying was a deadly sin. 
 Toady rushed to the other extreme, and bolted out the 
 truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth, at all 
 times and places, with a startling abruptness that 
 brought wrath and dismay upon his friends and relatives. 
 
 " It 's wicked to fib ; you 've whipped that into me and 
 you can't rub it out," he was wont to sa}^ with vivid 
 recollection of the past tingling in the chubby portions of 
 his frame. 
 
28 PROVERB STORIES. 
 
 "Mind your chips, Toad}', and take care what 3'ou 
 say to Aunt Kipp, or you '11 be as poor as a little rat all 
 the da3"S of 3^our life," said Poll}^, warningl3\ 
 
 " I don't want her old mone}', and I '11 tell her so if 
 she bothers me about it. I shall go into business with 
 Van and take care of the whole lot ; so don't you preach, 
 Poll}'," returned Toady, with as much dignitj' as was 
 compatible with a great dab of glue on the end of his 
 snub nose. 
 
 " Mother, did aunt say anything about coming this 
 week?" asked Polly, after a pause of intense thought 
 over a breadth with three darns, two spots, and a burn. 
 
 "Yes ; she wrote that she was too feeble to come at 
 present, as she had such dreadful palpitations she did n't 
 dare stir from her room. So we are quite safe for the 
 next week at least, and — bless my soul, there she is 
 now ! " 
 
 Mrs. Snow clasped her hands with a gesture of dis- 
 may, and sat as if transfixed hy the spectacle of a pon- 
 derous lady, in an awe-inspiring bonnet, who came 
 walking slowly down the street. P0II3' gave a groan, 
 and pulled a bright ribbon from her hair. Toady mut- 
 tered, " Oh, bother!" and vainly attempted to polish 
 up his countenance with a fragmentarj' pocket-handker- 
 chief. 
 
 " Nothing but salt fish for dinner," wailed Mrs. Snow, 
 as the shadow of the coming event fell upon her. 
 
 '' Van will make a fool of himself, and ruin ever}'- 
 thing," sighed Poll^^ glancing at the ring on her finger. 
 
 ' ' I know she '11 kiss me ; she never will let a fellow 
 alone," growled Toad}', scowling darkl}'. 
 
 The garden gate clashed, dust fiew from the door-mat, 
 
AUNT KIPP. 29 
 
 a heavy step echoed in the hall, an imperious voice 
 called "Sophy!" and Aunt Kipp entered with a 
 flourish of trumpets, for Toady blew a blast through 
 his fingers which made the bows totter on her bon- 
 net. 
 
 " My dear aunt, I 'm very glad to see you," murmured 
 Mrs. Snow, advancing with a smile of welcome ; for 
 though as weak as water gruel, she was as kind-hearted 
 a little woman as ever lived. 
 
 " What a fib that was ! " said Toady, sotto voce. 
 
 " We were just saying we were afraid 3^ou wouldn't" 
 — began Mary, when a warning, "Mind now, Poll}^," 
 caused her to stop short and busy herself with the new- 
 comer's bag and umbrella. 
 
 "I changed my mind. Theodore, come and kiss 
 me," answered Aunt Kipp, briefly. 
 
 "Yes'm," was the plaintive reply, and, closing his 
 eyes, Toad}^ awaited his fate with fortitude. 
 
 But the dreaded salute did not come, for Aunt Kipp 
 exclaimed in alarm, — 
 
 " Mercy on us ! has the boy got the plague? " 
 
 "No'm, it's paint, and dirt, and glue, and it wow'# 
 come oflf," said Toady, stroking his variegated counte- 
 nance with grateful admiration for the stains that saved 
 him. 
 
 ' ' Go and wash this moment, sir. Thank Heaven, / 've 
 got no boys," cried Aunt Kipp, as if boys were some 
 virulent disease which she had narrowly escaped. 
 
 With a hasty peck at the lips of her two elder rela- 
 tives, the old lady seated herself, and slowly removed 
 the awful bonnet, which in shape and hue much resem- 
 bled a hearse hung with black crape. 
 
30 rnOVERB STORIES. 
 
 " I 'm glad 3'ou are better," said Mary, reverently re- 
 ceiving the funereal head-gear. 
 
 "I'm not better," cut in Aunt Kipp. "I'm worse, 
 much worse ; my da^'s are numbered ; I stand on the 
 brink of the tomb, and may drop at any moment." 
 
 Toady's face was a study, as he glanced up at the old 
 lady's florid countenance, down at the floor, as if in 
 search of the above-mentioned " brink," and looked un- 
 affectedly anxious to see her drop. "Why don't you, 
 then ? " was on his lips ; but a frown from Polly re- 
 strained him, and he sat himself down on the rug to 
 contemplate the corpulent victim. 
 
 " Have a cup of tea, aunt?" said Mrs. Snow. 
 
 " I will." 
 
 " Lie down and rest a little," suggested Polly. 
 
 "I won't." 
 
 " Can we do anything for you?" said both. 
 
 " Take my things away, and have dinner earty." 
 
 Both departed to perform these behests, and, leaning 
 back in her chair. Aunt Kipp reposed. 
 
 " I say, what 's a bore? " asked Toad}' from the rug, 
 where he sat rocking meditativelj' to and fro, holding on 
 by his shoe-strings. 
 
 " It 's a kind of a pig, very fierce, and folks are afraid 
 of 'em," said Aunt Kipp, whose knowledge of Natural 
 History was limited. 
 
 " Good for Polly! so you are!" sung out the bo}', 
 with the hearty child's laugh so i)leasant to most ears. 
 
 " AYliat do you mean, sir?" demanded the old lad}', 
 irefuUy poking at him with her umbrella. 
 
 " Wh}', Polly said you were a bore," explained Toad}^ 
 with artless frankness. " You are fat, you know, and 
 
AUNT KIPP. 31 
 
 fierce sometimes, and folks arc afraid of 3'oa. Good, 
 was n't it?" 
 
 " Veiy ! Mary is a nice, grateful, respectful, loving 
 niece, and I shan't forget her, she may depend on that," 
 and Annt Kipp laughed grimly. 
 
 "May she? well, that's jolly now. She was afraid 
 you would n't give her the money ; so I '11 tell her it 's all 
 right ; " and innocent Toad}' nodded approvinglj-. 
 
 " Oh, she expects some of my money, does she?" 
 
 "Course she does; ain't 3'ou always saying j'ou '11 
 remember us in your will, because father was 3'our 
 favorite nephew, and all that? I'll tell 3^ou a secret, if 
 you won't let PoU}^ know I spoke first. You '11 find it 
 out to-night, for 3'ou 'd see Van and she were sweethearts 
 in a minute." 
 
 " Sweethearts? " cried Aunt Kipp, turning red in the 
 face. 
 
 " Yes 'm. Van settled it last week, and Polly 's been 
 so happy ever since. Mother likes it, and / like it, for 
 'I 'm fond of Van, though I do call him Baa-baa, because 
 he looks like a sheep. We all like it, and we 'd all 
 sa}^ so, if we were not afraid of 3'ou. Mother and 
 Polly, I mean ; of course we men don't mind, but we 
 don't want a fuss. You won't make one, will you, 
 now? " 
 
 Anything more expressive of brotherlj^ good-will, 
 persuasive frankness, and a placid consciousness of 
 having " fixed it," than Toad3''s diYiy little face, it 
 would be hard to find. Aunt Kipp e3red him so fiercely 
 that even before she spoke a dim suspicion that some- 
 thing was wrong began to dawn on his too-confiding 
 soul 
 
62 PROVERB STORIES. 
 
 " /don't like it, and I'll put a stop to it. I won't 
 have an}^ ridiculous baa-baas in ni}^ family. If Mary 
 counts on ray raone}^ to begin house-keeping with, she '11 
 find herself mistaken ; for not one penn}^ shall she have, 
 married or single, and jou may tell her so." 
 
 Toad}' was so taken aback by this explosion that he 
 let go his shoe-strings, fell over with a crash, and lay 
 flat, with shovel and tongs spread upon him like a pall. 
 In rushed Mrs. Snow and Polly, to find the boy's spirits 
 quite quenched, for once, and Aunt Kipp in a towering 
 passion. It all came out in one overwhelming flood of 
 words, and Toady fled from the storm to wander round 
 the house, a prey to the deepest remorse. The meek- 
 ness of that boy at dinner-time was so angelic that Mrs. 
 Snow would have feared speedy translation for him, if 
 she had not been very angry. Pollj^'s red ej'es, and 
 Aunt Kipp's griflfinesque expression of countenance, 
 weighed upon his soul so heavil}^ that even rolj'-poly 
 pudding failed to assuage his trouble, and, taking his 
 mother into the china-closet, he anxiousl}' inquired " if» 
 it was all up with Polly ? " 
 
 "I'm afraid so, for aunt vows she will make a new 
 will to-morrow, and leave gygyj penny to the Charitable 
 Rag-bag Society," sighed Mrs. Snow. 
 
 " I did n't mean to do it, I truly didn't ! I thought 
 I 'd just ' give her a hint,' as you sa}'. She looked all 
 right, and laughed when I told her about being a bore, 
 and I thought she liked it. If she was a man, 1 'd thrash 
 her for making P0II3' cry ; " and Toady shook his fist at 
 Aunt Kipp's umbrella, which was an immense relief to 
 his perturbed spirit. 
 
 '' Bless the boy ! I do believe he would ! " cried Mrs. 
 
AUNT KIPP. 33 
 
 Snow, watching the little turke3'-cock with maternal 
 pride. '' You can't do that : so just be careful and not 
 make any more mischief, dear." 
 
 '' I '11 try, mother ; but I 'm always getting into scrapes 
 with Aunt Kipp. She 's worse than measles, an}- da}', — 
 such an old aggrawater ! Van 's coming this afternoon, 
 won't he make her pleasant again?" 
 
 "Oh, dear, no! He will probablj^ make things ten 
 times worse, he 's so bashful and queer. I 'm afraid our 
 last chance is gone, deary, and we must rub along as 
 we have done." 
 
 One sniff of emotion burst from Toady, and for a mo- 
 ment he laid his head in the knife-tray, overcome with 
 disappointment and regret. But scorning to yield to 
 unmanly tears, he was soon himself again. Thrusting 
 his beloved jack-knife, with three blades and a file, into 
 Polly's hand, he whispered, brokenly, — 
 
 " Keep it forever 'n' ever ; I 'm awful sorr}' ! " Then, 
 feeling that the magnitude of this sacrifice atoned for 
 everything, he went to watch for Van, — the forlorn 
 hope to which he now clung. 
 
 II. 
 
 a 
 
 Sophy, I 'm surprised at 3^our want of judgment. 
 Do you really mean to let your girl marry this Lamb ? 
 Why, the man's a fool ! " began Aunt Kipp, after din- 
 ner, by way of opening a pleasant conversation with 
 her relatives, 
 
 3 
 
34 PROVERB STORIES. 
 
 " Dear me, aunt ! how can j'on know that, when you 
 never saw him?" mildly returned Mrs. Snow. 
 
 " I 'ye heard of him, and that 's enough for me. I 've 
 a deal of penetration in judging character, and I tell 
 3'ou Van Bahr Lamb is a fool." 
 
 The amiable old lady thought this wonld rouse Polly, 
 against whom her anger still burned hotly. But Pollj^ 
 also possessed penetration ; and, well knowing that 
 jcontradiction would delight Aunt Kipp, she com- 
 pletely took the wind out of her sails, bj' coolly re- 
 marking, — 
 
 " I like fools." 
 
 " Bless my heart ! what does the girl mean? " ejacu- 
 lated Aunt Kipp. 
 
 " Just what I say. If Van is a fool, T prefer simple- 
 tons to wiseacres. I know he is shy and awkward, and 
 does absurd things now and then. But I also know 
 that he has the kindest heart that ever was ; is unselfish, 
 faithful and loving ; that he took good care of his old 
 parents till they died, and never thought of himself 
 while they needed him. He loves me dearl}^ ; will wait 
 for me a dozen 3^ears, if I say so, and work all his da3's 
 to make me happy. He 's a help and comfort to mother, 
 a good friend to Toady, and I love and respect and am 
 proud of him, though you do sa}' he is a fool," cried 
 Polly heartil3\ 
 
 " And you insist on marr3'ing him? " demanded Aunt 
 Kipp. 
 
 " Yes, I do." 
 
 " Then I wish a carriage innnediatel3', was the some- 
 what irrelevant repl}'. 
 
 '' Why, aunt, you don't mean to go so soon?" cried 
 
AUNT KIPP. 35 
 
 JNIrs, Snow, with a reproachful glance at the rebellious 
 roily. 
 
 "Far from it. I wish to sec Judge Banks about 
 altering ni}' will," was the awful answer. 
 
 Polk's face fell ; her mother gave a despairing sigh ; 
 Toad3', who had hovered about the door, uttered a sup- 
 pressed whistle of dismay ; and Mrs. Kipp looked about 
 her with vengeful satisfaction. 
 
 "Get the big carryall and old Bob, so the bo}' can 
 drive, and all of you come ; the trip will do you good." 
 
 It was like Aunt Kipp to invite her poor relations to 
 go and " nip their own noses off," as she elegantly ex- 
 pressed it. It was a part}' of pleasure that just suited 
 her, for all the fun was on her side. She grew affable 
 at once, w^as quite pressing in her invitation, regretted 
 that Sophy was too busy to go, praised Polly's hat ; and 
 professed herself quite satisfied with "that dear boy" 
 for a driver. The "dear boj'" distorted his young 
 countenance frightfull}^ behind her back, but found a 
 balm for every wound in the delight of being comman- 
 der of the expedition. 
 
 The big carryall appeared, and, with much creaking 
 and swaying Mrs. Kipp was got into the back seat, 
 where the big bonnet gloomed like a thunder-cloud. 
 Polly, in a high state of indignation, which only made 
 her look ten times prettier, sat in front with Toad}', who 
 was a sight to see as he drove off .with his short legs 
 planted against the boot, his elbows squared, and the 
 big whip scientifically cracking now and then. Away 
 they went, leaving poor Mrs. Snow to bewail herself 
 dismally after she had smiled and nodded them out of 
 si2;ht. 
 
3G PROVE RB STORIES. 
 
 "Don't go over an}' bridges or railroad crossings or 
 hy any saw-mills," said the old lady, as if the town 
 could be suddenly remodelled to suit her taste. 
 
 " Yes 'm," returned Toad}^ with a crack which would 
 have done honor to a French postilion. 
 
 It was a fine da}', and the Aoung people would have 
 enjoj'ed the ride in spite of the breakers ahead, if Aunt 
 Kipp had n't entertained the girl with a glowing account 
 of the splendors of her own wedding, and aggravated 
 the boy by frequent pokes and directions in the art of 
 driving, of which she was of course, profoundh' igno- 
 rant. Polly could n't restrain a tear or two, in thinking 
 of her own poor little prospects, and Toad}" was goaded 
 to desperation. 
 
 "I'll give her a regular shaking up ; it'll make her 
 hold her tongue and do her good," he said to himself, 
 as a stony hill sloped temptingly before him. 
 
 A sly chuck, and some mysterious manauvre with the 
 reins, and Bob stai'ted off at a brisk trot, as if he ob- 
 jected to the okl lady as much as her mischievous little 
 nephew. 
 
 " Hold him in ! Keep a taut rein ! Loixl 'a mercy, 
 he 's running away ! " shrieked Aunt Kii)p. or tried to 
 shriek, for the bouncing and bumping jerked the words 
 out of her mouth with ludicrous incolierency. 
 
 " I am hokling him, but he icill go," said Toady, 
 with a wicked triumph in his eye as he glanced back at 
 Polly. 
 
 The next minute the words were quite true ; for, as 
 he spoke, two or three distracted hens flew squalling 
 over the wall and scattered about, under, over, and be- 
 fore the horse, as only distracted hens could do. It 
 
AUNT KIPP. 37 
 
 was too much for Bob's nerves ; and, taking matters 
 into bis own bands, or feet, rather, he broke into a run, 
 and rattled the old lad}' over the stones with a velocit\' 
 which left her speecbless. 
 
 Polly laughed, and Toady chuckled, as they caught 
 glimpses of the awful bonnet vibrating wildly in the 
 background, and felt the frantic clutchings of the old 
 lad3''s hands. But both grew sober as a shrill car- 
 whistle sounded not far off; and Bob, as if possessed 
 by an evil spirit, turned suddenly into the road that led 
 to the railroad crossing. 
 
 " That will do. Toady ; now pull up, for we can't get 
 over in time," said P0II3', glancing anxiously- toward the 
 rapidl}' approaching puffs of white smoke. 
 
 ' ' I can't, Polly, — I really can't," cried the bo}^ tug- 
 ging with all his might, and beginning to look scared. 
 
 P0II3' lent her aid ; but Bob scared}' seemed to feel 
 it, for he had been a racer once, and when his blood 
 was up he was hard to handle. His own good sense 
 might have checked him, if Aunt Kipp had n't unfortu- 
 nately recovered her voice at this crisis, and uttered a 
 succession of the shrillest screams that ever saluted 
 mortal ears. With a snort and a bound Bob dashed 
 straight on toward the crossing, as the train appeared 
 round the bend. 
 
 " Let me out ! Let me out ! Jump ! Jump ! " shrieked 
 Aunt Kipp, thrusting her head out of the window, while 
 she fumbled madh' for the door-handle. 
 
 " O Toady, save us ! save us ! " gasped Polly, losing 
 her presence of mind, and dropping the reins to cling to 
 her brother, with a woman's instinctive faith in the 
 stronger sex. 
 
38 PROVERB STORIES. 
 
 But Toad}' held on manfull}', though his arms wore 
 nearly pulled off, for ''Never say die," was his motto, and 
 the plucky little lad would n't show fear before the women. 
 
 "Don't howl; we'll do it! Hi, Bob!" and with a 
 savage slash of the whip, an exciting cr}', a terrible 
 reeling and rattling, they did do it ; for Bob cleared the 
 track at a breakneck pace, just in time for the train to 
 sweep swiftly by behind them. 
 
 Aunt Kipp dropped in a heap, Polly looked up at her 
 brother, with a look which he never forgot ; and Toad}^ 
 tried to say, stoutly, "It's all right!" with lips that 
 were white and dr}- in spite of himself. 
 
 " We shall smash up at the bridge," he muttered, as 
 the}^ tore through the town, where ever}^ one obliginglj^ 
 shouted, waved their hats, and danced about on the 
 sidewalks, doing nothing but add to Bob's fright and 
 the party's danger. But Toady was wrong, — they did 
 not smash up at the bridge ; for, before they reached 
 the perilous spot, one man had the sense to fl}^ straight 
 at the horse's head and hold on till the momentaiy 
 check enabled others to lend a hand. 
 
 The instant they were safe, Poll}', like a regular 
 heroine, threw herself into the arms of her dishevelled 
 preserver, who of course was Van, and would have re- 
 freshed herself with hysterics if the sight of Toady 
 had n't steadied her. The boy sat as stiff and rigid as 
 a wooden figure till they took the reins from him ; then 
 all the strength seemed to go out of him, and he leaned 
 against his sister, as white and trembling as she, whis- 
 pering with an irrepressible sob, — 
 
 " O Polly, was n't it horrid? Tell mother I stood by 
 you like a man. Do tell her tjiat ! " 
 
AUNT KIPP. 39 
 
 If an}' one had bad time or heart to laugh, they cer- 
 tainly would have done it when, after much groping, 
 heaving, and hoisting, Mi's. Kipp was extricated and 
 restored to consciousness ; for a more ludicrously de- 
 plorable spectacle was seldom seen. Quite unhurt, 
 though much shaken, the old lady insisted on believing 
 herself to be dying, and kept the town in a ferment till 
 three doctors had pronounced her perfectl}' well able to 
 go home. Then the perversity of her nature induced 
 her to comply, that she might have the satisfaction of 
 dj'ing on the wa}", and proving herself in the riglit. 
 
 Unfortunatel}' she did not expire, but, having safely 
 arrived, went to bed in high dudgeon, and led Polly and 
 her mother a sad life of it for two wear}' da3'S. Having 
 heard of Toady's gallant behavior, she solemnh' ordered 
 him up to receive her blessing. But the sight of Aunt 
 Kipp's rubicund visage, surrounded by the stiff frills of 
 an immense nightcap, caused the irreverent bo}^ to 
 explode with laughter in his Iiandkerchief, and to be 
 hustled away b}' his mother before Aunt Kipp discovered 
 the true cause of his convulsed appearance. 
 
 " Ah ! poor dear, his feelings are too much for him. 
 He sees my doom in my face, and is overcome by what 
 you refuse to believe. I shan't forget that bo3''s devo- 
 tion. Now leave me to the meditations befitting these 
 solemn hours." 
 
 Mrs. Snow retired, and Aunt Kipp tried to sleep ; but 
 the murmur of voices, and the sound of stifled laughter 
 in the next room disturbed her repose. 
 
 '' They are rejoicing over my approaching end, 
 knowing that I have n't changed my will. Mercenary 
 creatures, don't exult too soon ! there 's time yet," she 
 
40 PROVERB STORIES. 
 
 imittered ; and presently, unable to control her euriosit}', 
 she crept out of bed to listen and peep through the kej^- 
 hole. 
 
 Van Bahr Lamb did look rather like a sheep. He 
 had a blond curl}- head, a long face, pale, mild e\'es, a 
 plaintive voice, and a general expression of innocent 
 timidity strongly suggestive of animated mutton. But 
 Baa-baa was a " trump," as Toad}' emphaticalh' de- 
 clared, and though every one laughed at him, ever}' one 
 liked him, and that is more than can be said of many 
 saints and sages. He adored Polly, was dutifully kind 
 to her mother, and had stood by T. Snow, Jr., in many 
 an hour of tribulation with fraternal fidelity. Though 
 he had long blushed, sighed, and cast sheep's eyes at 
 the idol of his affections, only till lately had he dared to 
 bleat forth his passion. Polly loved him because she 
 could n't help it ; but she was proud, and would n't 
 marry till Aunt Kipp's money was hers, or at least a 
 sure prospect of it ; and now even the prospect of a 
 prospect was destroyed by that irrepressible Toady. 
 They were talking of this as the old lady suspected, and 
 of course the following conversation afforded her intense 
 satisfaction. 
 
 •'It's a shame to torment us as she does, knowing 
 how poor we are and how happy a little of her money 
 would make us. I 'm tired of being a slave to a cruel 
 old woman just because she 's rich. If it was not for 
 mother, I declare I 'd wash my hands of her entirely, 
 and do the best I could for myself." 
 
 "Hooray for Polly ! I always said let her money go 
 and be jolly without it," cried Toady, who, in his char- 
 acter of wounded hero, reposed with a lordly air on the 
 
AUNT KIPP. 41 
 
 sofa, ciijo3ing the fragrance of the opedeldoc with which 
 liis strained wrists were bandaged. 
 
 "It's on 3'onr account, children, that I bear with 
 annt's temper as I do. I don't want anj'thing for my- 
 self, but I really think she owes it to your dear father, 
 who was devoted to her while he lived, to provide for 
 his children when he could n't ; " after which remarkably 
 spirited speech for her, Mrs. Snow dropped a tear, and 
 stitched away on a small trouser-leg which was suffering 
 from a complicated compound fracture. 
 
 " Don't you worry about me, mother ; I '11 take care 
 of myself and you too," remarked Toad}^, with the 
 cheer}^ belief in impossibilities which makes youth so 
 charming. 
 
 " Now, Van, tell us wiiat to do, for things have come 
 to such a pass that we must either break awa}^ altogether 
 or be galley-slaves as long as Aunt Kipp lives," said 
 Polly, who was a good deal excited about the matter. 
 
 " Well, really, my dear, I don't know," hesitated 
 Van, who did know w^hat he wanted, but thought it 
 mi2;ht be selfish to uro'e it. " Have vou tried to soften 
 your aunt's heart? " he asked, after a moment's medita- 
 tion. 
 
 "Good gracious. Van, she hasn't got an}^," cried 
 Polly, who firmly believed it. 
 
 "It's hossified," thoughtfully remarked Toady, quite 
 unconscious of any approach to a joke till every one 
 giggled. 
 
 " You've had hossification enough for one while, my 
 lad," laughed Van. " Well, Polly, if the old lady has 
 no heart you 'd better let her go, for people without 
 hearts are not worth much." 
 
42 PROVERB STORIES. 
 
 "That's a beautiful remark, Van, and a wise one. 
 I just wish she could hear 3'ou make it, for she called 
 you a fool," said Poll3% irefull}-. 
 
 " Did she? Well, I don't mind, I 'm used to it," re- 
 turned Van, placidly ; and so he was, for Polly called 
 him a goose every day of her life, and he enjoyed it 
 immensely. 
 
 " Then 3'ou think, dear, if we stopped worrying about 
 aunt and her mone^^, and worked instead of waiting, 
 that we should n't be any poorer and might be a great 
 deal happier than we are now? " asked Polly, making a 
 pretty- little tableau as she put her hand through Van's 
 arm and looked up at him with as much love, respect, 
 and reliance as if he had been six feet tall, with the face 
 of an Apollo and the manners of a Chesterfield. 
 
 " Yes, m}^ dear, I do, for it has troubled me a good 
 deal to see you so badgered b}^ that very uncomfortable 
 old lady. Independence is a verj^ nice thing, and pov- 
 erty is n't half as bad as this sort of slaver}'. But 3'Ou 
 are not going to be poor, nor worr}' about anything. 
 We '11 just be married and take mother and Toad}' home 
 and be as J0II3' as grigs, and never think of Mrs. K. 
 again, — unless she loses her fortune, or gets sick, or 
 comes to grief in an3' wa3'. We 'd lend her a hand then, 
 would n't we, Polh^? " and Van's mild face was pleasant 
 to behold as he made the kindh' proposition. 
 
 " Well, we'd think of it," said Polly, trying not to re- 
 lent, but feeling that she was going very fast. 
 
 " Let 's do it ! " cried Toad3', fired with the thought of 
 priA^y conspiracy and rebellion. " Mother would be so 
 comfortable with Polly, and I 'd help A^an in the store, 
 when I 've learned that confounded multiplication table," 
 
AUNT KIPP. 43 
 
 he added with a groan; "and if Aunt Kipp comes a 
 visiting, we'll just say ' Not at home,' and let her trot 
 off again." 
 
 " It sounds very nice, but aunt will be dreadfully of- 
 fended and I don't wish to be ungrateful," said Mrs. 
 Snow, brightening visibh\ 
 
 " There 's no ingratitude about it," cried Van. " She 
 might have done everything to make you love, and xq- 
 spect, and admire her, and been a happy, useful, moth- 
 erly, old soul ; but she did n't choose to, and now she 
 must take the consequences. No one cares for her, be- 
 cause she cares for nobody ; her mone}^ 's the plague of 
 her life, and not a single heart will ache when she dies." 
 
 " Poor Aunt Kipp ! " said Polly, softly. 
 
 Mrs. Snow echoed the words, and for a moment all 
 thought pitifully of the woman whose life had given so 
 little happiness, whose age had won so little reverence, 
 and whose death would cause so little regret. Even 
 Toady had a kind thought for her, as he broke the 
 silence, saying soberly, — 
 
 " You 'd better put tails on my jackets, mother ; then 
 the next time we get run away with, Aunt Kipp will 
 have something to hold on hy" 
 
 It was impossible to help laughing at the recollection 
 of the old lad}" clutching at the bo}^ till he had hardl}^ a 
 button left, and at the paternal air with which he now 
 proposed a much-desired change of costume, as if in- 
 tent on Aunt Kipp's future accommodation. 
 
 Under cover of the laugh, the old lady stole back to 
 bed, wide awake, and with subjects enough to meditate 
 upon now. The shaking up had certainly done her 
 good, for somehow the few virtues she possessed ,'?amo 
 
44 PROVERB STORIES. 
 
 to the surface, and the mental shower-bath just received 
 had produced a sahitary change. P0II3' would n't have 
 doubted her aunt's possession of a heart, if she could 
 have known the pain and loneliness that made it ache, as 
 the old woman crept away ; and Toad}' would n't have 
 laughed if he had seen the tears on the face, between the 
 big frills, as Aunt Kipp laid it on the pillow, muttering, 
 drearil}' , — 
 
 "I might have been a happj^ useful woman, but I 
 did n't choose to, and now it 's too late." 
 
 It was too late to be all she might have been, for the 
 work of seventy selfish \'ears could n't be undone in u 
 minute. But with regret, rose the sincere wish to earn a 
 little love before the end came, and the old perversit}' gave 
 a relish to the reformation, for even while she resolved 
 to do the just and generous thing, she said to herself, — ■ 
 
 ' ' They say I 've got no heart ; I '11 show 'em that 1 
 have : the}' don't want my mone}' ; I '11 make 'em take it : 
 the}' turn their backs on me ; I '11 just render myself so 
 useful and agreeable that they can't do without me." 
 
 III. 
 
 Aunt Kipr sat bolt upright in the parlor, hemming a 
 small handkerchief, adorned with a red ship, surrounded 
 by a border of green monkeys. Toady suspected that 
 this elegant article of dress was intended for him, and 
 yearned to possess it; so, taking advantage of his moth- 
 er's and Polly's absence, he strolled into the room, and, 
 seating himself on a high, hard chair, folded his hands, 
 
AUNT KIPP. 45 
 
 crossed his logs, and asked for a story with the thirst- 
 ing-for-knowledge air which httle boys wear in the 
 moral story-books. 
 
 Now Aunt Kipp had one soft place in her heart, 
 though it was partially ossified, as she very truly de- 
 clared, and Toady was enshrined therein. She thought 
 there never was such a child, and loved him as she had 
 done his father before him, though the rack wouldn't 
 have forced her to confess it. She scolded, snubbed, 
 and predicted he 'd come to a bad end in public ; but she 
 forgave his naughtiest pranks, always brought him 
 something when she came, and privately intended to 
 make his future comfortable with half of her fortunCc 
 There was a dash and daring, a generosity and integ- 
 rity, about the little fellow, that charmed her. Sophy 
 was weak and low-spirited, Polly prett3^ and head- 
 strong, and Aunt Kipp did n't think much of either of 
 them ; but Toady defied, distracted, and delighted her, 
 and to Toady she clung, as the one sunshin}- thing in 
 her sour, selfish old age. 
 
 When he made his demure request, she looked at him, 
 and her eyes began to twinkle, for the child's purpose 
 was plainly seen in the loving glances cast upon the pic- 
 torial pocket-handkerchief. 
 
 "A story? Yes, I '11 tell 3^ou one about a little bo}^ 
 who had a kind old — ahem ! — grandma. She was 
 rich, and had n't made up her mind who she 'd leave her 
 money to. She was fond of the boy, — a deal fonder 
 then he deserved, — for he was as mischievous a monke}^ 
 as au}^ that ever lived in a tree, with a curly tail. He 
 put pepper in her snufl[-box," — here Toady turned scar- 
 let, — "he cut up her best frisette to make a mane for 
 
46 PROVERB STORIES. 
 
 his rocking-horse,"— Toady opened his mouth impulj 
 sivelj, but shut it again without betraying himself- 
 " he repeated rude things to her, and called her ' an oldl 
 aggrewater, ' " — here Toady wriggled in his chair, and] 
 gave a little gasp. 
 
 " If you are tired I won't go on," observed Aunt 
 Kipp, mildh'. 
 
 " I 'm not tired, 'm ; it 's a very interesting stor}'," re- 
 plied Toady, with a gravity that nearly upset the old 
 lady. 
 
 '-' Well, in spite of all this, that kind, good, forgiving 
 grandma left that bad boy twenty thousand dollars when 
 she died. What do you think of tliat?" asked Aunt 
 Kipp, pausing suddenly with her sharp eye on him. 
 
 "I — I think she was a regular dear," cried Toady, 
 holding on to the chair with both hands, as if that 
 climax rather took him off his legs. 
 
 "- And what did the boy do about it? " continued Aunt 
 Kipp, curiousl}'. 
 
 "He bought a velocipede, and gave his sister half, 
 and paid his mother's rent, and put a splendid marble 
 cherakin over the old lady, and had a jolly good time, 
 and — " 
 
 •' What in the world is a cherakin?" laughed Aunt 
 Kipp, as Toady paused for breath. 
 
 "Why, don't you know? It's a angel cr3-ing, or 
 pointing up, or flapping his wings. They have them 
 over graves ; and I '11 give you the biggest one I can 
 find when you die. But I 'm not in a very great hurry 
 to have 3'ou." 
 
 "Thankee, dear; I'm in no hurry, myself. But, 
 Toady, the boy did wrong in giving his sister half; she 
 
AUNT KIPP. ^7 
 
 didn't deserve any; and the grandma left word she 
 was n't to have a penny of it." 
 
 ''- Really? " cried the boy, with a troubled face. 
 '' Yes, really. If he gave her any he lost it all ; the 
 old lady said so. Now what do you think?" asked 
 Aunt Kipp, who found it impossible to pardon Polly, — 
 perhaps because she was young, and pretty, and much 
 beloved . 
 
 Toady's eyes kindled, and his red cheeks grew redder 
 still, as he cried out defiantly, — 
 
 '' I think she was a selfish pig, — don't 3^ou? " 
 "No, I don't, sir; and I'm sure that little boy 
 was n't such a fool as to lose the money. He minded 
 his grandma's wishes, and kept it all." 
 
 ''No, he didn't," roared Toady, tumbUng off his 
 chair in great excitement. " He just threw it out a 
 winder, and smashed the old cherakin all to bits." 
 
 Aunt Kipp dropped her work with a shrill squeak, for 
 she thought the boy was dangerous, as he stood before 
 her, sparring away at nothing as the only vent for his 
 indignation. 
 
 ''It isn't an interesting story," he cried; " and I 
 won't hear any more ; and I won't have your money if 
 I may n't go halves with Polly : and I '11 work to earn 
 more than that, and we '11 all be jolly together, and you 
 may give your twenty thousand to the old rag-bags, and 
 so I tell you. Aunt Kipp." 
 
 "Why, Toady, my boy, what's the matter?" cried 
 a mild voice at the door, as young Lamb came trotting 
 up to the rescue. 
 
 " Never you mind. Baa-baa ; I shan't do it ; and it 's 
 a mean shame Polly can't have half; then she could 
 
48 PROVERB STORIES. 
 
 marry 3'ou and be so happ3^," blubbered Toad}^, running 
 to try to hide his tears of disappointment in the coat- 
 skirts of his friend. 
 
 "' Mr. Lamb, I suppose 3'ou are that misguided 3'oung 
 man? " said Aunt Kipp, as if it was a personal insult to 
 herself. 
 
 " Van Bahr Lamb, ma'am, if you please. Yes, thank 
 3-0U," murmured Baa-baa, bowing, blushing, and rump- 
 ling his curly fleece in bashful trepidation. 
 
 "Don't thank me," cried the old lad}^ "I'm not 
 going to give 3'OU anything, — far from it. I object to 
 you altogether. What business have 3'ou to come court- 
 ing my niece ? " 
 
 " Because I love her, ma'am," returned Van, w^ith 
 unexpected spirit. 
 
 " No, 3^ou don't ; 3^ou want her mone3^, or rather my 
 mone3\ She depends on it ; but 3'Ou '11 both be disap- 
 pointed, for she won't have a penny of it," cried Aunt 
 Kipp, who, in spite of her good resolutions, found it 
 impossible to be amiable all at once. 
 
 " I 'm glad of it ! " burst out Van, indignant at her 
 accusation. "I didn't w^ant Polly for the money; I 
 alwa3^s doubted if she got it ; and I never wished her to 
 make herself a slave to anybod3^ I 've got enough for 
 all, if we 're careful ; and when m3' share of the Van 
 Bahr propert3' comes, we shall live in clover." 
 
 " What 's that? What propertj^ are 3'OU talking of? " 
 demanded Aunt Kipp, pricking up her ears. 
 
 " The great Van Bahr estate, ma'am. There has 
 been a long lawsuit about it, but it 's nearl3' settled, and 
 there is n't much doubt that we shall get it. I am the 
 last of our branch, and m3' share will be a large one." 
 
AUNT KIP P. 4i 
 
 " Oh, indeed ! I wish you joy," said Aunt Kipp, witn 
 sudden affabiHty ; for she adored wealth, like a few 
 other persons in the world. " But suppose you don't 
 get it, how then ? " 
 
 " Then I shall tr}^ to be contented with my salary 
 of two thousand', and make Polly as happy as I can. 
 Money does n't always make people happy or agreeable, 
 I find." And Van looked at Aunt Kipp in a 
 way that would have made her hair stand erect if 
 she had possessed any. She stared at him a mo- 
 ment, then, obeying one of the odd whims that 
 made an irascible weathercock of her, she said, ab- 
 ruptly, — 
 
 ' ' If you had capital should 3'ou go into business for 
 yourself, Mr. Lambkin ? " 
 
 " Yes, ma'am, at once," replied Van, promptly. 
 
 " Suppose you lost the Van Bahr money, and some 
 one offered you a tidy little sum to start with, would you 
 take it?" 
 
 " It would depend upon who made the oifer, ma'am," 
 said Van, looking more like a sheep than ever, as he 
 stood staring in blank surprise. 
 
 " Suppose it was me, wouldn't you take it?" asked 
 Aunt Kipp, blandl^^, for the new fancy pleased her. 
 
 " No, thank you, ma'am," said Van, decidedly. 
 
 "And why not, pray?" cried the old lad}', with a 
 shrillness that made him jump, and Toady back to the 
 door precipitatel3\ 
 
 "Because, if 3'ou '11 excuse my speaking plainly, I 
 think you owe anything you may have to spare to your 
 niece, Mrs. Snow ; " and, having freed his mind. Van 
 joined Toady, ready to fly if necessary. 
 
50 PROVERB STORIES. 
 
 *' You 're an idiot, sir," began Aunt Kipp, in a rage 
 again. 
 
 " Thank 3'ou, ma'am." And Van actuall}^ laughed 
 and bowed in return for the compliment. 
 
 "Hold your tongue, sir," snapped the old lady. 
 ' ' You 're a fool and Sophy is another. She 's no strength 
 of mind, no sense about anything ; and would make 
 ducks and drakes of my money in less than no time if I 
 gave it to her, as I 've thought of doing." 
 
 " Mrs. Kipp, 3^ou forget who you are speaking to. 
 Mrs. Snow's sons love and respect her if you don't, and 
 they won't hear anything untrue or unkind said of a 
 good woman, a devoted mother, and an almost friend- 
 less widow." 
 
 Van was n't a dignified man at all, but as he said that 
 with a sudden flash of his mild eyes, there was some- 
 thing in his face and manner that daunted Aunt Kipp 
 more than the small fist belligerentl}' shaken at her from 
 behind the sofa. The poor old soul was cross, and 
 worried, and ashamed of herself, and being as feeble- 
 minded as Sophy in many respects, she suddenly burst 
 into tears, and, covering her face with the gay handker- 
 chief, cried as if bent on floating the red ship in a sea 
 of salt water without delay. 
 
 "I 'ma poor, lonel}', abused old woman," she moaned, 
 with a green monkey at each eye. '' No one loves me, 
 or minds me, or thanks me when I want to help 'em. 
 My money's only a worry ment and a burden, and I 
 don't know what to do with it, for people I don't want 
 to leave it to ought to have it, and people I do like 
 won't take it. Oh, deary me, what shall I do ! what 
 shall I do!" 
 
AUNT KIPP. 51 
 
 '' Shall I tell you, ma'am? " asked Van, gently, for, 
 though she was a veiy provoking old lad}', he pitied and 
 wished to help her. 
 
 A nod and a gurgle seemed to give consent, and, 
 boldly advancing. Van said, with blush and a stammer, 
 but a very hearty voice, — 
 
 '' I think, ma'am, if you'd do the right thing with 
 3^our money you 'd be at ease and find it saved a deal of 
 worry all round. Give it to Mrs. Snow ; she deserves it, 
 poor lad}', for she 's had a hard time, and done her duty 
 faithfull}- . Don't wait till you are — that is, till you — 
 well, till 3'ou in point of fact die, ma'am, tjrive it now, 
 and enjoy the happiness it will make. Give it kindly, 
 let them see you 're glad to do it, and I am sure you '11 
 find them grateful ; I 'm sure 3'ou won't be lonely any 
 more, or feel that you are not loved and thanked. Try 
 it, ma'am, just try it," cried Van, getting excited by the 
 picture he drew. " And I give you my word I'll do 
 my best to respect and love you like a son, ma'am." 
 
 He knew that he was promising a great deal, but for 
 Pollj^'s sake he felt that he could make even that Her- 
 culean eflTort. Aunt Kipp was surprised and touched ; 
 but the contrary old lady could n't make up her mind 
 to yield so soon, and wouldn't have done it if Toady 
 had n't taken her by storm. Having a truly masculine 
 horror of tears, a very tender heart under his tail- 
 less jacket, and being much " tumbled up and down in 
 his own mind " by the events of the week, the poor little 
 lad felt nerved to attempt any novel enterprise, even 
 that of voluntaril}" embracing Aunt Kipp. First a 
 grimy little hand came on her shoulder, as she sat snif- 
 fing behind the handkerchief; then, peeping out, she 
 
52 PROVERB STORIES. 
 
 saw fin fipple-cheeked face veiy near her own, with cj^eg 
 full of pity, penitence, and affection ; and then she 
 heard a choky little voice say earnest^, — 
 
 "Don't cry, aunty; I'm sorry I was rude. Please 
 be good to Mother and Polly, and I'll love and take 
 care of j^ou, and stand by you all my life. Yes, I'll — 
 I'll kiss you, I. will, b}' George!" And with one pro- 
 miscuous plunge the Spartan bo}" cast himself into her 
 arms. 
 
 That finished Aunt Kipp ; she hugged him close, 
 and cried out with a salute that went off like a pistol- 
 shot, — 
 
 " Oh, my dear, my dear ! this is better than a dozen 
 cherakins ! " 
 
 When Toady emerged, somewhat flushed and tum- 
 bled, Mrs. Snow, Polly, and Van were looking on 
 with faces full of wonder, doubt, and satisfaction. To 
 be an object of interest was agreeable to Aunt Kipp ; 
 and, as her old heart was really softened, she met them 
 with a gracious smile, and extended the olive-branch 
 generally. 
 
 ' ' Sophy, I shall give my money to you at once and 
 entirely, only asking that you'll let me stay with you 
 when Polly 's gone. I '11 do my best to be agreeable, 
 and you '11 bear with me because I 'm a crank}', soUtary 
 old woman, and I loved 3'our husband." 
 
 Mrs. vSnow hugged her on the spot, and gushed, of 
 course, murmuring thanks, welcomes, and promises in 
 one grateful burst. 
 
 "Poll}', I forgive 3'ou ; I consent to your marriage, 
 and will provide 3'our wedding finer}'. Mr. Lamb, you 
 are not a fool, but a very excellent young man. I 
 
AUNT KIPP. 53 
 
 thank 3'ou for saving my life, and I wish you well with 
 all my heart. You need n't sa}' anything". I 'm far 
 from strong, and all this agitation is shortening my 
 life." 
 
 Polly and Van shook her hand heartilj', and beamed 
 upon each other like a pair of infatuated turtle-doves 
 with good prospects. 
 
 " Toady, 3'ou are as near an angel as a boy can be. 
 Put a name to whatever 3'ou most wish for in the world, 
 and it's yours," said Aunt Kipp, dramatically waving 
 the rest away. 
 
 With his short legs wide apart, his hands behind him, 
 and his rosy face as round and radiant as a rising sun. 
 Toady stood before the fire survej'ing the scene with the 
 air of a man who has successfully carried through a diffi- 
 cult and dangerous undertaking, and was n't proud. 
 His face brightened, then fell, as he heaved a sigh, and 
 answered, with a shake of his curl}^ head, — 
 
 ' ' You can't give me what I want most. There are 
 three things, and I've got to wait for them all." 
 
 " Gracious me, what are they?" cried the old lady, 
 good-naturedly, for she felt better already. 
 
 " A mustache, a beaver, and a sweetheart," answered 
 Toady, with his eyes fixed wistfully on Baa-baa, who 
 possessed all these blessings, and was particularly en- 
 joying the latter at that moment. 
 
 How Aunt Kipp did laugh at this early budding of 
 romance in her pet ! And all the rest joined her, for 
 Toad^^'s sentimental air was irresistible. 
 
 "You precocious chick! I dare say 3'ou will have 
 them all before we know where we are. Never mind, 
 deary ; you shall have my little watch, and the silver- 
 
54 PROVERB STORIES. 
 
 headed cane with a boar's head on it," answered the old 
 lady, in high good-humor. " You need n't blush, dear ; 
 I don't bear malice ; so let 's forget and forgive. 1 shall 
 settle things to-morrow, and have a free mind. You 
 are welcome to my money, and I hope I shall live to 
 see you all enjoy it." 
 
 So she did ; for she lived to see Soph}^ plump, cheery, 
 and care-free ; Polly surrounded by a flock of Lamb- 
 kins ; Van in possession of a generous slice of the Van 
 Bahr fortune ; Toady revelling in the objects of his 
 desire ; and, best of all, she lived to find that it is never 
 too late to make oneself useful, happy, and beloved. 
 
PSYCHE'S ART. 
 
 " Handsome is that handsome does. 
 
 I. 
 
 /^NCE upon a time there raged in a certain city one 
 ^^-^ of those fashionable epidemics which occasionally 
 attack our youthful population. It wasn't the music 
 mania, nor gymnastic convulsions, nor that wide-spread 
 malady, croquet. Neither was it one of the new danceC 
 which, like a tarantula-bite, set every one a twirling, 
 nor stage madness, nor yet that American lecturing in- 
 fluenza which yearly sweeps over the land. No, it 
 was a new disease called the Art fever, and it at- 
 tacked the 3^oung women of the community with great 
 violence. 
 
 Nothing but time could cure it, and it ran its course 
 to the disma}^, amusement, or edification of the behold- 
 ers, for its victims did all manner of queer things in 
 their delirium. They besieged potteries for clay, drove 
 Italian plaster-workers out of their wits with unexe- 
 cutable orders, got neuralgia and rheumatism sketching 
 perched on fences and trees like artistic hens, and caused 
 a rise in the price of bread, paper, and charcoal, b}^ their 
 ardor in cra3^oning. The}^ covered canvas with the ex- 
 pedition of scene-painters, had classes, lectures, recep- 
 tions, and exhibitions, made models of each other, and 
 
56 PROVERB STORIES. 
 
 rendered their walls hideous with bad likenesses of all 
 their friends. Their conversation ceased to be intelli- 
 gible to the uninitiated, and the^^ prattled prettily of 
 " chiaro oscuro, French sauce, refraction of the angle 
 of the e3'e, seventh spinus process, depth and juiciness 
 of color, tender touch, and a good tone." Even in 
 dress the artistic disorder was visible ; some cast aside 
 crinoline altogether, and stalked about with a severe 
 simplicit}" of outline worth}' of Flaxman. Others flushed 
 themselves with scarlet, that no landscape which the^' 
 adorned should be without some touch of Turner's 
 favorite tint. Some were blue in ever}^ sense of the 
 word, and the heads of all were adorned with classic 
 braids, curls tied Hebe-wise, or hair dressed a la 
 hurricane. 
 
 It was found impossible to keep them safe at home, 
 and, as the fever grew, these harmless maniacs invaded 
 the sacred retreats where artists of the other sex did 
 congregate, startling those anchorites with visions of 
 large-eyed damsels bearing portfolios in hands delicatel}^ 
 begrimed with crayon, chalk, and clay, gliding through 
 the corridors hitherto haunted only by shabb}" paletots, 
 shadowy hats, and cigar smoke. This irruption was 
 borne with manly fortitude, not to say cheerfulness, for 
 studio doors stood hospitably open as the fair invaders 
 passed, and studies from life were generousl}^ offered 
 them in glimpses of picturesque gentlemen posed before 
 easels, brooding over master-pieces in " a divine de- 
 spair," or attitudinizing upon couches as if exhausted 
 by the soarings of genius. 
 
 An atmosphere of romance began to pervade the old 
 buildings when the girls came, and nature and art took 
 
PSYCHE'S ART. 67 
 
 turns. There were peepings and whisperings, much 
 stifled laughter and whisking in and out ; not to mention 
 the accidental rencontres, small services, and e3^e tele- 
 grams, which somewhat lightened the severe studies of 
 all parties. 
 
 Half a dozen young victims of this malady met daily 
 in one of the cells of a great art bee-hive called 
 "Kaphael's Rooms," and devoted their shining hours 
 to modelhng fancy heads, gossiping the while ; for the 
 poor things found the road to fame rather dull and 
 dusty without such verbal sprinklings. 
 
 "Psyche Dean, j^ou 've had an adventure! I see it 
 in your face ; so tell it at once, for we are as stupid as 
 owls here to-da}^," cried one of the sisterhood, as a 
 bright-eyed girl entered with some precipitation. 
 
 "I dropped my portfolio, and a man picked it up, 
 that 's all," replied Psyche, hunying on her gray linen 
 pinafore. 
 
 " That won't do ; I know something interesting hap- 
 pened, for you 've been blushing, and you look brisker 
 than usual this morning," said the first speaker, polish- 
 ing off the massive nose of her Homer. 
 
 " It was n't anything," began Pysche a little reluct- 
 antly. " I was coming up in a hurry when I ran against 
 a man coming down in a hurry. My portfolio slipped, 
 and my papers went flying all about the landing. Of 
 course we both laughed and begged pardon, and I 
 began to pick them up, but he would n't let me ; so I 
 held the book while he collected the sketches. I saw 
 him glance at them as he did so, and that made me 
 blush, for they are wretched things, you know." 
 
 " Not a bit of it ; they are capital, and 3'ou are a 
 
58 PROVERB STORIES. 
 
 regular genius, as we all agree," cut in the Homeric 
 Miss Cutter. 
 
 "Never tell people they are geniuses unless j'ou wish 
 to spoil them," returned Psyche severel}^ " Well, when 
 the portfolio was put to rights I was going on, but he 
 fell to picking up a httle bunch of violets I had dropped ; 
 3'ou know I alwa^^s wear a posy into town to give me 
 inspiration. I didn't care for the dusty flowers, and 
 told him so, and hurried away before any one came. 
 At the top of the stairs I peeped over the railing, and 
 there he was, gathering up every one of those half-dead 
 violets as carefully as if they had been tea-roses." 
 
 "Psyche Dean, you have met j^our fate this day!'* 
 exclaimed a third damsel, with straw-colored tresses, 
 and a good deal of weedy shrubbery in her hat, which 
 gave an Ophelia-like expression to her sentimental 
 countenance. 
 
 Psyche frowned and shook her head, as if half sony 
 she had told her little story. 
 
 " Was he handsome?" asked Miss Larkins, the be- 
 liever in fate. 
 
 " I did n't particularly observe." 
 
 " It was the red-headed man, whom we call Titian : 
 he 's always on the stairs." 
 
 "No, it wasn't; his hair was brown and curly," 
 cried Psyche, innocently faUing into the trap. 
 
 " Like Peerybingle's bab}" when its cap was taken 
 off," quoted Miss Dickenson, who pined to drop the 
 last two letters of her name. 
 
 "Was it Murillo, the black-eyed one?" asked the 
 fair Cutter, for the girls had a name for all the attitudi- 
 nizcrs and promcnadcrs whom they oftencst met. 
 
PSYCHE'S ART. 59 
 
 " No, he bad gray ej^es, and ver}^ fine ones they were 
 too," answered Ps3'che, adding, as if to herself, '' he 
 looked as I imagine Michael Angelo might have looked 
 when 3'oung." 
 
 " Had he a broken nose, like the great Mike ? " asked 
 an irreverent damsel. 
 
 "If he had, no one wonld mind it, for his head is 
 splendid ; he took his hat off, so I had a fine view. He 
 is n't handsome, bnt he '11 do something," said Psj'che, 
 propheticall}', as she recalled the strong, ambitious face 
 which she had often observed, but never mentioned 
 before. 
 
 "Well, dear, considering that you didn't 'partic- 
 ularly look ' at the man , joii 've given us a very good 
 idea of his appearance. We '11 call him Michael Angelo, 
 and he shall be your idol. I prefer stout old Rembrandt 
 m3'self, and Larkie adores that dandified Raphael," said 
 the lively Cutter, slapping away at Homer's bald pate 
 energetically, as she spoke. 
 
 " Raphael is a dear, but Rubens is more to m}^ taste 
 now," returned Miss Larkins. "He was in the hall 
 yesterday talking with Sir Joshua, who had his inevitable 
 umbrella, like a true Englishman. Just as I came up, 
 the umbrella fell right before me. I started back ; Sir 
 Joshua laughed, but Rubens said, ' Deuce take it ! ' and 
 caught up the umbrella, giving me a never-to-be-for- 
 gotten look. It was perfectly thrilling." 
 
 "Which, — the umbrella, the speech, or the look?" 
 asked Psj^che, who was not sentimental. 
 
 " Ah, 3'ou have no soul for art in nature, and nature 
 in art," sighed the amber- tressed Larkins. "I have, 
 for I feed upon a glance, a tint, a curve, with exquisite 
 
60 PROVERB STORIES. 
 
 delight. Rubens is adorable (as a study) ; that lustrous 
 e^-e, that night of hair, that sumptuous cheek, are per- 
 fect. He only needs a cloak, lace collar, and slouching 
 hat to be the genuine thing." 
 
 " This isn't the genuine thing by an}^ means. What 
 does it need?" said Psjxhe, looking with a despondent 
 air, at the head on her stand. 
 
 Man}^ would have pronounced it a clever thing ; the 
 nose was strictly Greek, the chin curved upward grace- 
 fully, the mouth was sweetly haughty, the brow classi- 
 cally smooth and low, and the breezy hair well done. 
 But something w^as wanting ; Psyche felt that, and could 
 have taken her Venus by the dimpled shoulders, and 
 given her a hearty shake, if that w^ould have put 
 strength and spirit into the lifeless face. 
 
 " Now / am perfectly satisfied with my Apollo, 
 though 3'ou all insist that it is the image of Theodore 
 Smythe. He says so himself, and assures me it will 
 make a sensation when we exhibit," remarked Miss 
 Larkins, complacently caressing the ambrosial locks of 
 her Smythified Phebus. 
 
 " What shall you do if it does not? " asked Miss Cut- 
 ter, with elegance. 
 
 "I shall feel that I have mistaken my sphere, shall 
 drop my tools, veil my bust, and cast myself into the 
 arms of Nature, since Art rejects me ; " replied Miss 
 Larkins, with a tragic gesture and an expression which 
 strongly suggested that in her e3'es nature meant Theo- 
 dore. 
 
 " She must have capacious arms if she is to receive all 
 Art's rejected admirers. Shall I be one of them ? " 
 
 Psyche put the question to herself as she turned to 
 
PSYCHE'S ART. Gl 
 
 work, but somehow ambitions aspirations were not in a 
 flourishing condition that morning ; her heart was not in 
 tune, and head and hands sympathized. Nothing went 
 well, for certain neglected home-duties had dogged her 
 into town, and now worried her more than dust, or heat, 
 or the ceaseless clatter of tongues. Tom, Dick, and 
 Harry's unmended hose persisted in dancing a spectral 
 jig before her mental eye, mother's querulous complaints 
 spoilt the song she hummed to cheer herself, and little 
 May's wistful face put the goddess of beauty entirely out 
 of countenance. 
 
 "It's no use ; I can't work till the clay is wet again. 
 Where is Giovanni?" she asked, throwing down her 
 tools with a petulant gesture and a dejected air. 
 
 "He is probablj^ playing truant in the empty upper 
 rooms, as usual. I can't wait for him any longer, so 
 I 'm doing his work myself," answered Miss Dickensocf, 
 who was tenderly winding a wet bandage round her 
 Jimo's face, one side of which was so much plumper 
 than the other that it looked as if the Queen of Olympus 
 w^as being hydropathically treated for a severe fit of 
 ague. 
 
 " I '11 go and find the little scamp ; a run will do me, 
 good ; so will a breath of air and a view of the parlv 
 from the upper windows." 
 
 Doffing her apron. Psyche strolled away up an unfre- 
 quented staircase to the empty apartments, which 
 seemed to be too high even for the lovers of High Art. 
 On the western side they were shady and cool, and, lean- 
 ing from one of the windows, Ps3'che watched the feath- 
 ery ti'ee-tops ruffled by the balmy wind, that brought 
 spring odors from the hills, lying green and sunny, far 
 
62 PROVERB STORIES. 
 
 away. Silence and solitude were such pleasant compan- 
 ions that the girl forgot herself, till a shrill whistle dis- 
 turbed her day-dreams, and reminded her what she 
 came for. Following the sound she found the little Ital- 
 ian errand-bo3" busily uncovering a clay model which 
 stood in the middle of a scantily furnished room near 
 
 by- 
 
 " He is not here ; come and look ; it is greatly beauti- 
 ful," cried Giovanni, beckoning with an air of import- 
 ance. 
 
 Ps3xhe did look and speedily forgot both her errand 
 and herself. It was the figure of a man, standing erect, 
 and looking straight before him with a wonderfull}' life- 
 like expression. It was neither a mythological nor a 
 historical character, Psyche thought, and was glad of it, 
 being tired to death of gods and heroes. She soon 
 ceased to wonder what it was, feeling only the indescrib- 
 able charm of something higher than beaut}'. Small as 
 her knowledge was, she could see and enjo}" the power 
 visible in every part of it ; the accurate anatomy of the 
 vigorous limbs, the grace of the pose, the strength and 
 spirit in the countenance, clay though it was. A ma- 
 jestic figure, but the spell la}^ in the face, which, while 
 it suggested the divine, was full of human truth and 
 tenderness, for pain and passion seemed to have passed 
 over it, and a humility half pathetic, a courage half 
 heroic seemed to have been born from some great loss 
 or woe. 
 
 How long she stood there I\yche did not know. 
 Giovanni went away unseen, to fill his water-pail, and in 
 the silence she just stood and looked. Her eyes kin- 
 dled, her color rose, despondency and discontent van- 
 
PSYCHE'S ART. 63 
 
 ished, and her soul was in her face, for she loved beaut}^ 
 passionately, and all that was best and truest in her did 
 honor to the genius of the unknown worker. 
 
 * ' If I could do a thing like that, I 'd die happ}^ ! " 
 she exclaimed impetuously^, as a feeling of despair 
 came over her at the thought of her own poor at- 
 tempts. 
 
 " Who did it, Giovanni? " she asked, still looking up 
 at the grand face with unsatisfied eyes. 
 
 *' Paul Gage." 
 
 It was not the boy's voice, and, with a start, Psj^che 
 turned to see her Michael Angelo, standing in the door- 
 wa}', attentivel}^ observing her. Being too full of art- 
 less admiration to think of herself just yet, she neither 
 blushed nor apologized, but looked straight at him, say- 
 ing heartil}^, — 
 
 " You have done a wonderful piece of work, and I 
 envy you more than I can tell ! " 
 
 The enthusiasm in her face, the frankness of her man- 
 ner, seemed to please him, for there was no affectation 
 about either. He gave her a keen, kind glance out of 
 the " fine gray eyes," a little bow, and a grateful smile, 
 saying quietly, — 
 
 " Then my Adam is not a failure in spite of his 
 fall?" 
 
 Psyche turned from the sculptor to his model with 
 increased admiration in her face, and earnestness in her 
 voice, as she exclaimed delighted, — 
 
 " Adam ! I might have known it was he. O sir, you 
 have indeed succeeded, for you have given that figure 
 the power and pathos of the first man who sinned and 
 suffered, and began again." 
 
64 PROVERB STORIES. 
 
 " Then I am satisfied." That was all he said, but 
 the look he gave his work was a ver}^ eloquent one, for 
 it betraj^ed that he had paid the price of success in 
 patience and privation, labor and hope. 
 
 " What can one do to learn 3'our secret? " asked the 
 girl wistfuU}', for there was nothing in the man's manner 
 to disturb her self- forgetful mood, but much to foster it, 
 because to the solitary worker this confiding guest was 
 as welcome as the doves who often hopped in at his 
 window. 
 
 '' Work and wait, and meantime feed heart, soul, 
 and imagination with the best food one can get," he 
 answered slowl}^ finding it impossible to give a receipt 
 for genius. 
 
 ' ' I can work and wait a long time to gain m}' end ; 
 but I don't know where to find the food you speak of? " 
 she answered, looking at him like a hungr}' child. 
 
 " I wish I could tell you, but each needs diflfcrent 
 fare, and each must look for it in diff'crent places." 
 
 The kindly tone and the sympathizing look, as well 
 as the lines in his forehead, and a few gra}^ hairs among 
 the brown, gave Psyche courage to say more. 
 
 " I love beauty so much that I not onlj- want to pos- 
 sess it m3'self, but to gain the power of seeing it in all 
 things, and the art of reproducing it with truth. I have 
 tried very hard to do it, but something is wanting ; and 
 in spite of my intense desire I never get on." 
 
 As she spoke the girl's eyes filled and fell in spite of 
 herself, and turning a little with sudden shamefaced- 
 ness she saw, lying on the table beside her among 
 other scraps in manuscript and print, the well-known 
 lines, — 
 
PSYCHE'S ART. 65 
 
 " I slept, and dreamed that life was beauty ; 
 I woke, and found that life was duty. 
 Was thy dream then a shadowy lie ? 
 Toil on, sad heart, courageously, 
 And thou shalt find thy dream to be 
 A noonday light and truth to thee." 
 
 She knew them at a glance, had read them many 
 times, but now they came home to her with sudden force, 
 and, seeing that his eye had followed hers, she said in 
 her impulsive fashion, — 
 
 " Is doing one's duty a good way to feed heart, soul, 
 and imagination ? " 
 
 As if he had caught a glimpse of what was going on 
 in her mind, Paul answered emphatically, — 
 
 " Excellent ; for if one is good, one is happy, and if 
 happ3", one can work well. Moulding character is the 
 highest sort of sculpture, and all of us should learn that 
 art before we touch clay or marble." 
 
 He spoke with the energy of a man who believed what 
 he said, and did his best to be worthy of the rich gift 
 bestowed upon him. The sight of her violets in a glass 
 of water, and Giovanni staring at her with round e3'es, 
 suddenly recalled Psj'che to a sense of the proprieties 
 which she had been innocently outraging for the last 
 ten minutes. A sort of panic seized her ; she blushed 
 deeply, retreated precipitately to the door, and vanished, 
 murmuring thauks and apologies as she went. 
 
 " Did you find him? I thought you had forgotten," 
 said Miss Dickenson, now hard at work. 
 
 '' Yes, I found him. No, I shall not forget," returned 
 Psyche, thinking of Gage, not Giovanni. 
 
 She stood before her work eying it intently for several 
 5 
 
0^ PROVERB STORIES. 
 
 minutes ; then, with an expression of great contempt 
 for the whole thing, she suddenly tilted her cherished 
 Venus on to the floor, gave the classical face a finishing 
 crunch, and put on her hat in a decisive manner, sa3'ing 
 briefl}^ to the dismayed damsels, — 
 
 " Good-b}^, girls ; I shan't come any more, for I 'm 
 going to work at home hereafter." 
 
 II. 
 
 The prospect of pursuing artistic studies at home was 
 not brilliant, as one may imagine when I mention that 
 Psyche's father was a painfully prosaic man, w^rapt in 
 flannel, so to speak ; for his woollen mills left him no 
 time for an3'tliing but sleep, food, and newspapers. 
 Mrs. Dean was one of those exasperating women who 
 pervade their mansions like a domestic steam-engine 
 one week and take to their sofas the next, absorbed b}^ 
 fidgets and foot-stoves, shawls and lamentations. There 
 were three riotous and robust young brothers, whom it 
 is unnecessary to describe except by stating that they 
 were boys in the broadest sense of that delightful word. 
 There was a feeble little sister, whose patient, suffering 
 face demanded constant love and care to mitigate the 
 weariness of a life of pain. And last, but not least by 
 any means, there were two Irish ladies, who, with the 
 best intentions imaginable, produced a universal state of 
 topsy-turviness when left to themselves for a moment. 
 
 But being very much in earnest about doing her dut}^, 
 
PSYCHE'S ART. G7 
 
 not because it was lier cliit}^ but as a means toward an 
 end, Ps3'che fell to work with a will, hoping to serve 
 both masters at once. So she might have done, per- 
 haps, if flesh and blood had been as plastic as cla}', but 
 the live models were so exacting in their demands upon 
 her time and strength, that the poor statues went to the 
 w^all. Sculpture and sewing, calls and crayons, Ruskin 
 and receipt-books, did n't work well together, and poor 
 Ps3'che found duties and desires desperately antagonis- 
 tic. Take a da}' as a sample. 
 
 '' The washing and ironing are well over, thank good- 
 ness, mother quiet, the boys out of the way, and May 
 comfortable, so I '11 indulge myself in a blissful daj' after 
 my own heart," Ps^^che said, as she shut herself into her 
 little studio, and prepared to enjoy a few hours of hard 
 study and happy da3'-dreams. 
 
 With a book on her lap, and her own round white arm 
 going through all manner of queer evolutions, she was 
 placidly repeating, " Deltoides, Biceps, Triceps, Pro- 
 nator, Supinator, Palmanis, Flexor carpi ulnaris — " 
 
 " Here 's Flexis what-j^ou-call-ums for you," inter- 
 rupted a voice, which began in a shrill falsetto and 
 ended in a gruff bass, as a flushed, dustA^ long-legged 
 bo3' burst in, with a bleeding hand obligingly" extended 
 for inspection. 
 
 " Mercy on us, Harry ! what have you done to 3'our- 
 self now ? Split 3"our fingers with a cricket-ball again ? " 
 cried Psyche, as her arms went up and her book went 
 down. 
 
 " I just thrashed one of the fellows because he got 
 mad and said father was going to fail." 
 
 "O Harry, is he?" 
 
68 PROVERB STORIES. 
 
 '' Of course he is n't ! It 's hard times for ever}' one, 
 but father will pull through all right. No use to ivy 
 and explain it all ; girls can't understand business ; so 
 you just tie me up, and don't wony," was the charac- 
 teristic reply of the 3'oung man, who, being three years 
 her junior, of course treated the weaker vessel with 
 lordl}^ condescension. 
 
 " What a dreadful wound ! I hope nothing is broken, 
 for I have n't studied the hand much yet, and may do 
 mischief doing it up," said Psjxhe, examining the great 
 grimy paw with tender solicitude. 
 
 " Much good 3'our biceps, and deltoids, and things 
 do 3^ou, if you can't right up a little cut like that," 
 squeaked the ungrateful hero. 
 
 "I'm not going to be a surgeon, thank heaven; I 
 intend to make perfect hands and arms, not mend dam- 
 aged ones," retorted Ps^xhe, in a dignified tone, some- 
 what marred bj^ a great piece of court-plaster on her 
 tongue. 
 
 " I should say a surgeon could improve that perfect 
 thing, if he didn't die a-laughing before he began," 
 growled Harry, pointing with a scornful grin at a clay 
 arm humpy with muscles, all carefullj' developed in the 
 wrong places. 
 
 "Don't sneer Hal, for you don't know an3'thing 
 about it. Wait a few 3'ears and see if 3'ou 're not proud 
 of me." 
 
 " Sculp away and do something, then I'll hurrah for 
 3'our mud-pies like a good one ; " with which cheering 
 promise the 3'outh departed, having etfectualh' disturbed 
 his sister's peaceful mood. 
 
 Anxious thoughts of her father rendered " biceps, 
 
PSYCHE'S ART. 69 
 
 deltoids, and things" uninteresting, and hoping to com- 
 pose her mind, she took up The Old Pauiters and went 
 on with the story of Claude Lorraine. She had just 
 reached the tender scene where, — 
 
 " Calista gazed with enthusiasm, while she looked 
 like a being of heaven rather than earth. ' My friend,' 
 she cried, ' I read in th}^ picture thy immortality ! ' As 
 she spoke, her head sunk upon his bosom, and it was 
 several moments before Claude perceived that he sup- 
 ported a lifeless form." 
 
 " How sweet ! " said Psyche, with a romantic sigh. 
 
 " Faith, and swate it is, thin ! " echoed Katy, whose 
 red head had just appeared round the half opened door. 
 "It's gingy-bread I'm making the day, miss, and will 
 I be puttin' purlash or sallyrathis into it, if ye plase ? " 
 
 " Purlash, by all means," returned the girl, keeping 
 her countenance, fearing to enrage Katy b}" a laugh ; 
 for the angry passions of the red-haired one rose more 
 quickly than her bread. As she departed with alacrity 
 to add a spoonful of starch and a pinch of whiting to 
 her cake. Psyche, feeling better for her stor}^ and her 
 smile, put on her bib and paper cap and fell to work on 
 the deformed arm. An hour of bliss, then came a ring 
 at the door-bell, followed b}" Biddy to announce callers, 
 and add that as "the mistress was in her bed, miss 
 must go and take care of 'em." Whereat " miss" cast 
 down her tools in despair, threw her cap one way, her 
 bib another, and went in to her guests with anything 
 but a rapturous welcome. 
 
 Dinner being accomplished after much rushing up and 
 down stairs with trays and messages for Mrs. Dean, 
 Psyche fled again to her studio, ordering no one to 
 
70 PROVERB STORIES. 
 
 approach under pain of a scolding. All went well tili, 
 going in search of something, she found her little sister 
 sitting on the floor with her cheek against the studio 
 door. 
 
 ' ' I did n't mean to be naughty, S}^, but mother is 
 asleep, and the bo3^s all gone, so I just came to be neai 
 you ; it's so lonely everywhere," she said, apologeticalh', 
 as she lifted up the heavy head that alwa3's ached. 
 
 ' ' The boys are very thoughtless. Come in and stay 
 with me ; you are such a mouse you won't disturb me. 
 Would n't you like to play be a model and let me draw 
 your arm, and tell you all about the nice little bones 
 and muscles?" asked Psyche, who had the fever very 
 strong upon her just then. 
 
 May did n't look as if the proposed amusement over- 
 whelmed her with delight, but meekly consented to be 
 perched upon a high stool with one arm propped up by 
 a dropsical plaster cherub, while Ps3xhe drew busil}^, 
 feeUng that duty and pleasure were being delightfully 
 combined. 
 
 " Can't you hold your arm still, child? It shakes so 
 I can't get it right," she said, rather impatientl3\ 
 
 "No, it will tremble 'cause it's weak. I tr3^ hard, 
 S3', but there doesn't seem to be much strongness in 
 me latel3\" 
 
 '' That's better ; keep it so a few minutes and I '11 be 
 done," cried the artist, forgetting that a few minutes 
 may seem ages. 
 
 " My arm is so thin you can see the bunches nicel3', 
 — can't 3'ou ? " 
 
 "Yes, dear." 
 
 Ps3'che glanced up at the wasted limb, and when she 
 
PSYCHE'S ART. 71 
 
 drew again there was a blur before her eyes for a 
 minute. 
 
 " I wish 1 was as fat as this white boy; but I get 
 thinner every da}' somehow, and prett}' soon there won't 
 be any of me left but my little bones," said the child, 
 looking at the winged cherub with sorrowful envy. 
 
 "Don't, my darUng ; don't say that," cried Psyche, 
 dropping her work with a sudden pang at her heart. 
 ''I'm a sinful, selfish girl to keep 3^ou here! 3'ou 're 
 weak for want of air ; come out and see the chickens, 
 and pick dandelions, and have a good romp with the 
 boys." 
 
 The weak arms were strong enough to clasp Psyche's 
 neck, and the tired face brightened beautifully as the 
 child exclaimed, with grateful delight, — 
 
 " Oh, I 'd like it very much ! I wanted to go dread- 
 fully ; but everybody is so busy all the time. I don't 
 want to pla}', Sy ; but just to lie on the grass with my 
 head in 3'Our lap while you tell stories and draw me 
 pretty things as 3'ou used to." 
 
 The studio was deserted all that afternoon, for Psj^che 
 sat in the orchard drawing squirrels on the wall, pert 
 robins hopping by, buttercups and mosses, elves and 
 angels ; while May lay contentedly enjoying sun and 
 air, sisterly care, and the " pretty things " «he loved so 
 well. Psyche did not find the task a hard one ; for this 
 time her heart was in it, and if she needed any reward 
 she surely found it ; for the little face on her knee lost 
 its weary look, and the peace and beauty of nature 
 soothed her own troubled spirit, cheered her heart, and 
 did her more good than hours of solitary study. 
 
 Finding, much to her own surprise, that her fancy was 
 
7'2 PROVERB STORIES. 
 
 teeming with lovely conceits, she did hope for a quiet 
 evening. But mother wanted a bit of gossip, father 
 most have his papers read to him, the boys had lessons 
 and rips and grievances to be attended to, May's hillab\' 
 could not be forgotten, and the maids had to be looked 
 after, lest burh' "cousins" should be hidden in the 
 boiler, or lucifer matches among the shavings. So 
 Psyche's da}' ended, leaving her ver^' tired, rather dis- 
 couraged, and almost heart-sick with the shadow of a 
 coming sorrow. 
 
 All summer she did her best, but accomplished very 
 little, as she thought : yet this was the teaching she most 
 needed, and in time she came to see it. In the autumn 
 May died, whispering, with her arms about her sister's 
 neck, — 
 
 •• You make me so happy, Sy, I wouldn't mind the 
 pain if I could stay a little longer. But if I can't, 
 good-by. dear, good-by." 
 
 Her last look and word and kiss were all for Psyche, 
 who felt tlien with grateful tears that her summer had 
 not been wasted ; for the smile upon the little dead face 
 was more to her than any marble i)erfectiou her hands 
 could have carved. 
 
 In the solemn pause wliith death makes in ever}' fam- 
 ily. Psyche said, with the sweet self-forgetfulness of a 
 strong yet tender nature, — 
 
 "••I must not tliink of myself, but try to comfort 
 them ; " and with this resolution she gave herself heart 
 and soul to duty, never thinking of reward. 
 
 A busy, anxious, luuudrum winter, for, as Harry 
 said, 'Mt was hard times lor every one." ^Ir. Dean 
 <i:rew ixnw with the weight of business cares about which 
 
PSYCHE'S ART. 73 
 
 he never spoke ; Mrs. Dean, laboring under the dehision 
 that an invahd was a necessary appendage to the family, 
 installed herself in the place the child's death left va- 
 cant, and the boys needed much comforting, for the 
 poor lads never knew how much they loved '^ the baby " 
 till the little chair stood empty. All turned to Sy for 
 help and consolation, and her strength seemed to in- 
 crease with the demand upon it. Patience and cheer- 
 fulness, courage and skill came at her call like good 
 fairies who had bided their time. Housekeeping ceased 
 to be hateful, and peace reigned in parlor and kitchen 
 while Mrs. Dean, shrouded in shawls, read Hahnemann's 
 Lesser Writings on her sofa. Mr. Dean sometimes for- 
 got his mills when a bright face came to meet him, a 
 gentle hand smoothed the wrinkles out of his anxious 
 forehead, and a daughterly heart sympatliized with all 
 his cares. The boys found home very pleasant with Sy 
 always there ready to " lend a hand," whether it was to 
 make fancy ties, help conjugate " a confounded verb," 
 pull cand}', or sing sweetl}^ in the twilight when all 
 thought of little May and grew quiet. 
 
 The studio door remained locked till her brothers 
 begged Psyche to open it and make a bust of the child. 
 A flush of joy swept over her face at the request, and 
 her patient e3^es grew bright and eager, as a thirsty trav- 
 eller's might at the sight or sound of water. Then it 
 faded as she shook her head, saying with a regretful 
 sigh, "I 'm afraid I 've lost the little skill I ever had." 
 
 But she tried, and with great wonder and delight dis- 
 covered that she could work as she had never done be- 
 fore. She thought the newly found power lay in her 
 longing to see the little face again ; fur it grew lilve 
 
74 PROVERB STORIES. 
 
 magic under her loving hands, while ever}^ tender mem- 
 ory, sweet tlionght, and devout hope she had ever cher- 
 ished, seemed to lend their aid. But when it was done 
 and welcomed with tears and smiles, and praise more 
 precious than any the world could give, then Ps3^che 
 said within herself, like one who saw light at last, — 
 
 " He was right ; doing one's duty is the way to feed 
 heart, soul, and imagination ; for if one is good, one is 
 happy, and if happy, one can work well." 
 
 III. 
 
 ' ' She broke her head and went home to come no 
 more," was Giovanni's somewhat startling answer when 
 Paul asked about Psyche, finding that he no longer met 
 her on the stairs or in the halls. He understood what 
 the boy meant, and with an approving nod turned to his 
 work again, saying, '' I like that ! If there is any power 
 in her, she has taken the right way to find it out, I sus- 
 pect." 
 
 How she prospered he never asked ; for, though he 
 met her more than once that 3'ear, the interviews were 
 brief ones in street, concert-room, or picture-gallcr}^, 
 and she carefully avoided speaking of herself. But, 
 possessing the gifted e^'cs which can look below the sur- 
 face of things, he detected in the girl's face something 
 better than beauty, though each time he saw it, it looked 
 older and more thoughtful, often anxious and sad. 
 
 " She is "ettinii: on," he said to himself with a cordial 
 
PSYCHE'S ART. 75 
 
 satisfaction which gave his manner a friendliness as 
 grateful to Ps3'che as his wise reticence. 
 
 Adam was finished at last, proved a genuine success, 
 and Paul heartily enjo3"ed the well-earned reward for 
 3'ears of honest work. One blithe Ma}^ morning, he 
 slipped earl}' into the art-gallery, where the statue now 
 stood, to look at his creation with paternal pride. He 
 was quite alone with the stately figure that shone white 
 against the purple draperies and seemed to offer him a 
 voiceless welcome from its marble lips. He gave it one 
 loving look, and then forgot it, for at the feet of his 
 Adam lay a handful of wild violets, with the dew still 
 on them. A sudden smile broke over his face as he 
 took them up, with the thought, " She has been here 
 and found my work good." 
 
 For several moments he stood thoughtfully turning 
 the flowers to and fro in his hands ; then, as if deciding 
 some question within himself, he said, still smiling, — 
 
 "It is just a year since she went home; she must 
 have accomplished something in that time ; I'll take the 
 violets as a sign that I may go and ask her what." 
 
 He knew she lived just out of the city, between the 
 river and the mills, and as he left the streets behind 
 him, he found more violets blooming all along the way 
 like flowery guides to lead him right. Greener grew the 
 road, balmier blew the wind, and blither sang the birds, 
 as he went on, enjoj'ing his holiday with the zest of a 
 boy, until he reached a most attractive little path wind- 
 ing away across the fields. The gate swung invitingly 
 open, and all the ground before it was blue with violets. 
 Still following their guidance he took the narrow path, 
 till, coming to a mossy stone beside a brook, he sat 
 
76 PROVERB STORIES. 
 
 down to listen to the blackbirds singing deliciously in 
 the willows over head. Close by the stone, half hidden 
 in the grass lay a little book, and, taking it up he found 
 it was a ppcket-diary. No name appeared on the %- 
 leaf, and, turning the pages to find some clue to its 
 owner, he read here and there enough to give him 
 glimpses into an innocent and earnest heart which 
 seemed to be learning some hard lesson patientl3\ 
 Only near the end did he find the clue in words of his 
 own, spoken long ago, and a name. Then, though long- 
 ing intensely' to know more, he shut the little book and 
 went on, showing by his altered face that the simple 
 record of a girl's life had touched him deeply. 
 
 Soon an old house appeared nestling to the hillside 
 with the river shining in the low green meadows just 
 before it. 
 
 " She lives there," he said, with as much certaint}' as 
 if the pansies by the door-stone spelt her name, and, 
 knocking he asked for Psyche. 
 
 " She 's gone to town, but I expect her home every 
 minute. Ask the gentleman to walk in and wait, Katy," 
 cried a voice from above, where the w^iisk of skirts was 
 followed by tj[ie appearance of an inquiring eye over the 
 banisters. 
 
 The gentleman did walk in, and while he waited looked 
 about him. The room, though very simply furnished, 
 had a good deal of beauty in it, for the pictures were 
 few and well chosen, the books such as never grow old, 
 the music lying on the well-worn piano of the sort which 
 is never out of fashion, and standing somewhat apart 
 was one small statue in a recess full of flowers. Lovely 
 in its simple grace and truth was the figure of a child 
 
PSYCHE'S ART. 77 
 
 looking upward as if watching the air}-- flight of some 
 butterfly which had evidently escaped from the chiysa- 
 lis still \y\ng in the little hand. 
 
 Paul was looking at it with approving eyes when 
 Mrs. Dean appeared with his card in her hand, three 
 shawls on her shoulders, and in her face a somewhat 
 startled expression, as if she expected some novel 
 demonstration from the man whose genius her daughter 
 so much admired. 
 
 "I hope Miss Ps3'che is well," began Paul, with 
 great discrimination if not originalit3\ 
 
 The delightfully commonplace remark tranquillized 
 Mrs. Dean at once, and, taking off" the upper shawl 
 with a fuss}^ gesture, she settled herself for a chat. 
 
 " Yes, thank heaven, Sy is well. I don't know what 
 would become of us if she was n't. It has been a hard 
 and sorrowful 3'ear for us with Mr. Dean's business em- 
 barrassments, my feeble health, and May's death. I 
 don't know that 3'ou were aware of our loss, sir ; " and 
 unaff'ected maternal grief gave sudden dignit}- to the 
 faded, fretful face of the speaker. 
 
 Paul murmured his regrets, understanding better now 
 the pathetic words on a certain tear-stained page of the 
 little book still in his pocket. 
 
 "Poor dear, she suff'ered everything, and it came 
 very hard upon Sy, for the chikl was n't happy with any 
 one else, and almost lived in her arms," continued 
 Mrs. Dean, dropping the second shawl to get her hand- 
 kerchief. 
 
 "Miss Ps3'che has not had much time for art-studies 
 tills year, I suppose ? " said Paul, hoping to arrest the 
 shower, natural as it was. 
 
78 PROVERB STORIES. 
 
 " How could she with two invaUds, the housekeeping, 
 her father and the boys to attend to? No, she gave that 
 up last spring, and though it was a great disappoint- 
 ment to her at the time, she has got over it now, I 
 hope," added her mother, remembering as she spoke 
 that Psyche even now went about the house some- 
 times pale and silent, with a hungry look in her 
 eyes. 
 
 " I am glad to hear it," though a little shadow passed 
 over his face as Paul spoke, for he was too true an 
 artist to believe that an}^ work could be as happy as 
 that which he loved and lived for. "I thought there 
 was much promise in Miss Psyche, and I sincerel}^ be- 
 lieve that time will prove me a true prophet," he said, 
 with mingled regret and hope in his voice, as he glanced 
 about the room, which betra^'ed the tastes still cherished 
 by the girl. 
 
 "I'm afraid ambition is n't good for women ; I mean 
 the sort that makes them known b}' coming before the 
 public in any way. But Sy deserves some reward, I 'm 
 sure, and I know she '11 have it, for a better daughter 
 never lived." 
 
 Here the third shawl was cast off, as if the thought of 
 Ps3'che, or the presence of a genial guest had touched 
 Mrs. Dean's chilly nature with a comfortable warmth. 
 
 Further conversation was interrupted b^^ the ava- 
 lanche of boys which came tumbling down the front 
 stairs, as Tom, Dick, and Harry shouted in a sort of 
 chorus, — 
 
 ''83^ my balloon has got awa}-; lend us a hand at 
 catching him ! " 
 
 " Sy, I want a lot of paste made, right off." 
 
PSYCHE'S ART. 79 
 
 '' Sy, I 've split my jacket down the back ; come sew 
 me up, there 's a dear ! " 
 
 On beholding a stranger the young gentlemen sud- 
 denly lost their voices, found their manners, and with 
 nods and grins took themselves away as quietly as 
 could be expected of six clumping boots and an un- 
 limited quantit}^ of animal spirits in a high state of 
 effervescence. As they trooped off, an unmistakable 
 odor of burnt milk pervaded the air, and the crash of 
 china, followed by an Irish wail, caused Mrs. Dean to 
 clap on her three shawls again and excuse herself in 
 visible trepidation. 
 
 Paul laughed quietly to himself, then turned sober 
 and said, "Poor Psyche!" with a sympathetic sigh. 
 He roamed about the room impatiently till the sound of 
 voices drew him to the window to behold the girl com- 
 ing up the walk with her tired old father leaning on one 
 arm, the other loaded with baskets and bundles, and 
 her hands occupied by a remarkably ugly turtle. 
 
 " Here we are ! " cried a cheery voice, as they en- 
 tered without observing the new-comer. "I 've done 
 all my errands and had a lovely time. There is Tom's 
 gunpowder, Dick's fish-hooks, and one of Professor 
 Gazzy's famous turtles for Harry. Here are your bun- 
 dles, mother dear, and, best of all, here 's father home 
 in time for a good rest before dinner. I went to the 
 mill and got him." 
 
 Psyche spoke as if she had brought a treasure ; and 
 so she had, for though Mr. Dean's face usually was 
 about as expressive as the turtle's, it woke and warmed 
 with the affection which his daughter had fostered till 
 no amount of flannel could extinguish it. His big hand 
 
80 PROVERB STORIES. 
 
 patted her cheek very gently as he said, in a tone of 
 fatherly love and pride, — 
 
 " My little Sy never forgets old father, does she?" 
 
 " Good gracious me, my dear, there's such a mess 
 in the kitchen ! Katy 's burnt up the pudding, put castor- 
 oil instead of olive in the salad, smashed the best meat- 
 dish, and here 's Mr. Gage come to dinner," cried Mrs. 
 Dean in accents of despair as she tied up her head in a 
 fourth shawl. 
 
 "Oh, I'm so glad; I'll go in and see him a few 
 minutes, and then I'll come and attend to everything; 
 so don't wony, mother." 
 
 ' ' How did you find me out ? " asked Psyche as she 
 shook hands with her guest and stood looking up at 
 him with all the old confiding frankness in her face and 
 manner. 
 
 " The violets showed me the way." 
 
 She glanced at the posy in his button-hole and 
 smiled. 
 
 " Yes, I gave them to Adam, but I did n't think 5'ou 
 would guess. I enjoyed 3'our work for an hour to-day, 
 and I have no words strong enough to express my 
 admiration." 
 
 " There is no need of any. Tell me about 3'ourself ; 
 what have you been doing all this year?" he asked, 
 watching with genuine satisfaction the serene and sunny 
 face before him, for discontent, anxiety, and sadness 
 were no longer visible there. 
 
 " I 've been working and waiting," she began. 
 
 " And succeeding, if I ma}^ believe what I see and 
 hear and read," ho said, with an expressive little wave 
 of the book as he laid it down before her. 
 
PSYCHE'S ART. 81 
 
 " M}^ diar}" ! I did n't know I had lost it. Where did 
 you find it? " 
 
 " By the brook where I stopped to rest. The mo- 
 ment I saw your name I shut it up. Forgive me, but I 
 can't aslv pardon for reading a few pages of that Uttle 
 gospel of patience, love, and self-denial." 
 
 She gave him a reproachful look, and hurried the tell- 
 tale book out of sight as she said, with a momentary 
 shadow on her face, — 
 
 ' ' It has been a hard task ; but I think I have learned 
 it, and am just beginning to find that my dream is ' a 
 noonday light and truth,' to me." 
 
 " Then you do not relinquish your hopes, and lay 
 down 3'our tools ? " he asked, with some eagerness. 
 
 "Never! I thought at first that I could not serve 
 two masters, but in trying to be faithful to one I find I 
 am nearer and dearer to the other. My cares and duties 
 are growing lighter every day (or I have learned to bear 
 them better), and when my leisure does come I shall 
 know how to use it, for my head is full of ambitious 
 plans, and I feel that I can do something now.'' 
 
 All the old enthusiasm shone in her eyes, and a sense 
 of power betrayed itself in voice and gesture as she spoke. 
 
 " I believe it," he said heartily. " You have learned 
 the secret, as that proves." 
 
 Psyche looked at the childish image as he pointed to 
 it, and into her face there came a motherly expression 
 that made it very sweet. 
 
 " That little sister was so dear to me I could not fail 
 to make her lovely, for I put my heart into my work. 
 The year has gone, but I don't regret it, though this is 
 all I have done." 
 
82 PROVERB STORIES. 
 
 ' ' You forget your three wishes ; I think the year has 
 granted them." 
 
 ''What were they?" 
 
 " To possess beaut}^ in 3'ourself, the power of seeing 
 it in all things, and the art of reproducing it with 
 truth." 
 
 She colored deeply under the glance which accompa- 
 nied the threefold compliment, and answered with grate- 
 ful humility, — 
 
 " You are very kind to say so ; I wish I could believe 
 it." Then, as if anxious to forget herself, she added 
 rather abruptly-, — 
 
 " I hear you think of giving 3'our Adam a mate, — 
 nave you begun yet ? " 
 
 " Yes, my design is finished, all but the face." 
 
 " I should think you could image Eve's beaut}', since 
 you have succeeded so well with Adam's." 
 
 " The features perhaps, but not the expression. 
 That is the charm of feminine faces, a charm so subtile 
 that few can catch and keep it. I want a truly womanl}' 
 face, one that shall be sweet and strong without being 
 either weak or hard. A hopeful, loving, earnest face 
 with a tender touch of motherliness in it, and perhaps 
 the shadow of a grief that has softened but not saddened 
 it." 
 
 " It will be hard to find a face like that." 
 
 " I don't expect to find it in perfection; but one 
 sometimes sees faces which suggest all this, and in rare 
 moments give glimpses of a lovely possibility." 
 
 "I sincerely hope you will find one then," said 
 Ps^xhe, thinking of the dinner. 
 
 " Thank 3'ou ; / think I have." 
 
PSYCHE'S ART. 83 
 
 Now, in order that every one may be suited, we will 
 stop here, and leave our readers to finish the story as 
 the}' like. Those who prefer the good old fashion may 
 believe that the hero and heroine fell in love, were mar- 
 ried, and lived happily ever afterward. But those who 
 can conceive of a world outside of a wedding-ring ma}- 
 believe that the friends remained faithful friends all 
 their lives, while Paul won fame and fortune, and Psyche 
 grew beautiful with the beauty of a serene and sunny 
 nature, happy in duties which became pleasures, rich in 
 the art which made life lovely to herself and others, and 
 brought rewards in time. 
 
A COUNTRY CHRISTMAS. 
 
 A handful of good life is worth a bushel of learning. 
 
 DEAR EMILY, — I have a brilliant idea, and 
 at once hasten to share it with you. Three 
 weeks ago I came up here to the wilds of Vermont to 
 visit m}^ old aunt, also to get a little quiet and distance 
 in which to survey certain new prospects which have 
 opened before me, and to decide whether I will many a 
 millionnaire and become a queen of societ}^ or remain 
 ' the charming Miss Vaughan ' and wait till the conquer- 
 ing hero comes. 
 
 " Aunt Plum}^ begs me to stay over Christmas, and 
 I have consented, as I always dread the formal dinner 
 with which my guardian celebrates the day. 
 
 " M}^ brilliant idea is this. I 'm going to make it a 
 real old-fashioned frolic, and won't 3'ou come and help 
 me? You will enjoy it immensely I am sure, for Aunt 
 is a character, Cousin Saul worth seeing, and Ruth a 
 far prettier girl than any of the city rose-buds coming 
 out this season. Bring Leonard Randal along with you 
 to take notes for his new book ; then it will be fresher 
 and truer than the last, clever as it was. 
 
 '' The air is delicious up here, societ}' amusing, this 
 old farmhouse full of treasures, and your bosom friend 
 
A COUNTRY CHRISTMAS. 85 
 
 pining to embrace you. Just telegraph yes or no, and 
 we will expect jou on Tuesday. 
 
 '' Ever 3'ours, 
 
 " Sophie Vaughan.' 
 
 *' They will both come, for they are as tired of city 
 life and as fond of change as I am," said the writer of 
 the above, as she folded her letter and went to get it 
 posted without delay. 
 
 Aunt Plumy was in the great kitchen making pies ; a 
 jolly old soul, with a face as ruddy as a winter apple, a 
 cheery voice, and the kindest heart that ever beat under 
 a gingham gown. Pretty Ruth was chopping the mince, 
 and singing so gaily as she worked that the four-and- 
 twenty immortal blackbirds could not have put more 
 music into a pie than she did. Saul was piling wood 
 into the big oven, and Sophie paused a moment on the 
 threshold to look at him, for she always enjoyed the 
 sight of this stalwart cousin, whom she likened to a 
 Norse viking, with his fair hair and beard, keen blue 
 e3'es, and six feet of manly height, with shoulders that 
 looked broad and strong enough to bear any burden. 
 
 His back was toward her, but he saw her first, and 
 turned his flushed face to meet her, with the sudden 
 ligliting up it always showed when she approached. 
 
 " I 've done it, Aunt ; and now I want Saul to post 
 the letter, so we can get a speedj^ answer." 
 
 " Just as soon as I can hitch up, cousin ; " and Saul 
 pitched in his last log, looking ready to put a girdle 
 round the earth in less than forty minutes. 
 
 *' Well, dear, I ain't the least mite of objection, as 
 long as it pleases you. I guess we can stan' it ef your 
 
86 PROVERB STORIES, 
 
 city folks can. I presume to say things will look kind 
 of sing'lar to 'em, but I s'pose that 's what they come 
 for. Idle folks do dreadful queer things to amuse 'em ; " 
 and Aunt Plumy leaned on the rolling-pin to smile and 
 nod with a shrewd twinkle of her ej^e, as if she enjoyed 
 the prospect as much as Sophie did. 
 
 " I shall be afraid of 'em, but I'll try not to make 
 you ashamed of me," said Ruth, who loved her charming 
 cousin even more than she admired her. 
 
 '' No fear of that, dear. They will be the awkward 
 ones, and you must set them at ease by just being 3'our 
 simple selves, and treating them as if they were every- 
 day people. Nell is very nice and jolly when she drops 
 her city ways, as she must here. She will enter into 
 the spirit of the fun at once, and I know j'ou '11 all like 
 her. Mr. Randal is rather the worse for too much 
 praise and petting, as successful people are apt to be, 
 so a little plain talk and rough work will do him good. 
 He is a true gentleman in spite of his airs and elegance, 
 and he will take it all in good part, if you treat him like 
 a man and not a lion." 
 
 "I'll see to him," said Saul, who had listened with 
 great interest to the latter part of Sophie's speech, evi- 
 dently suspecting a lover, and enjoying the idea of sup- 
 plying him with a liberal amount of " plain talk and 
 rough work." 
 
 "I'll keep 'em busy if that's what they need, for 
 there will be . sight to do, and we can't get help easy 
 up here. Our darters don't hire out much. "Work to 
 home till they marry, and don't go gaddin' 'round gettin' 
 their heads full of foolish notions, and forgettin' all tho 
 useful things their mothers taught 'em." 
 
A COUNTRY CHRISTMAS. 87 
 
 Aunt Plumy glanced at Huth as she spoke, and a 
 sudden color in the giiTs cheeks proved that the words 
 hit certain ambitious fancies of this pretty daughter of 
 the house of Basset. 
 
 " They shall do their parts and not be a trouble ; I '11 
 see to that, for you certainly are the dearest aunt in the 
 world to let me take possession of you and yours in 
 this way," cried Sophie, embracing the old lady with 
 warmth. 
 
 Saul wished the embrace could be returned by proxy, 
 as his mother's hands were too floury to do more than 
 hover aflectionately round the delicate face that looked 
 so fresh and young beside her wrinkled one. As it 
 could not be done, he fled temptation and " hitched up " 
 without delay. 
 
 The three women laid their heads together in his ab- 
 sence, and Sophie's plan grew apace, for Ruth longed 
 to see a real novelist and a fine lady, and Aunt Plumy, 
 having plans of her own to further, said " Yes, dear," 
 to every suggestion. 
 
 Great was the arranging and adorning that went on 
 that day in the old farmhouse, for Sophie wanted her 
 friends to enjoy this taste of country pleasures, and 
 knew just what additions would be indispensable to their 
 comfort ; what simple ornaments would be in keeping 
 with the rustic stage on which she meant to play the 
 part of prima donna. 
 
 Next day a telegram arrived accepting the invitation, 
 for both the lady and the lion. They would arrive that 
 afternoon, as little preparation was needed for this 
 impromptu journey, the novelty of which was its chief 
 charm to these blase people. 
 
88 PROVERB STORIES. 
 
 Saul wanted to get out the double sleigh and span, 
 for he prided himself on his horses, and a fall of snow 
 came most opportune!}" to beautify the landscape and 
 add a new pleasure to Christmas festivities. 
 
 But Sophie declared that the old 3"ellow sleigh, with 
 Punch, the farm-horse, must be used, as she wished 
 everj'thing to be in keeping ; and Saul obeyed, thinking 
 he had never seen anything prettier than his cousin 
 when she appeared in his mother's old-fashioned camlet 
 cloak and blue silk pumpkin hood. He looked remark- 
 ably well himself in his fur coat, with hair and beard 
 brushed till they shone like spun gold, a fresh color in 
 his cheek, and the sparkle of amusement in his eyes, 
 while excitement gave his usuall}' grave face the anima- 
 tion it needed to be handsome. 
 
 Away they jogged in the creaking old sleigh, leaving 
 Ruth to make herself pretty, with a fluttering heart, and 
 Aunt Plumy to dish up a late dinner fit to tempt the 
 most fastidious appetite. 
 
 " She has not come for us, and there is not even a 
 stage to take us up. There must be some mistake," 
 said Emily Herrick, as she looked about the shabby 
 little station where they were set down. 
 
 " That is the never-to-be-forgotten face of our fair 
 fiiend, but the bonnet of her grandmother, if m}" eyes 
 do not deceive me," answered Randal, turning to survc}' 
 the couple approaching in the rear. 
 
 " Sophie Vaughan, what do 3'ou mean by making 
 such a guy of 3'ourself ? " exclaimed Emil^^, as she kissed 
 the smiling face in the hood and stared at the quaint 
 cloak. 
 
 "I'm dressed for my part, and I intend to keep it 
 
A COUNTRY CHRISTMAS. 89 
 
 lip. This is our host, mj^ cousin, Saul Basset. Come 
 to the sleigh at once, he will see to your luggage," said 
 Sophie, painfully conscious of the antiquity of her array 
 as her e3'es rested on Emily's pretty hat and mantle, 
 and the masculine elegance of Randal's wraps. 
 
 The}^ were hardl}' tucked in when Saul appeared with 
 a valise in one hand and a large trunk on his shoulder, 
 swinging both on to a wood-sled that stood near by as 
 easil}^ as if they had been hand-bags. 
 
 " That is your hero, is it? Well, he looks it, calm 
 and comely, taciturn and tall," said Emily, in a tone of 
 approbation. 
 
 ' ' He should have been named Samson or Gohath ; 
 though I believe it was the small man who slung things 
 about and turned out the hero in the end," added Ran- 
 dal, surveying the performance with interest and a 
 touch of envy, for much pen work had made his own 
 hands as delicate as a woman's. 
 
 " Saul does n't live in a glass house, so stones won't 
 hurt him. Remember sarcasm is forbidden and sin- 
 cerit}^ the order of the day. You are country folks 
 now, and it will do you good to try their simple, honest 
 waj's for a few days." 
 
 Sophie had no time to say more, for Saul came up and 
 drove off with the brief remark that the baggage would 
 " be along right away." 
 
 Being hungry, cold and tired, the guests were rather 
 silent during the short drive, but Aunt Plumy's hospita- 
 ble welcome, and the savory fumes of the dinner await' 
 ing them, thawed the ice and won their hearts at once. 
 
 " Is n't it nice ? Are n't 3'ou glad you came ? '" asked 
 Sophie, as she led her friends into the parlor, which she 
 
90 PROVERB STORIES. 
 
 had redeemed from its primness by putting bright chintz 
 curtains to the windows, hemlock boughs over the old 
 portraits, a china bowl of flowers on the table, and a 
 splendid fire on the wide hearth. 
 
 "It is perfectl}^ jolly, and this is the wa}' I begin to 
 enjoy myself," answered Emily, sitting down upon the 
 home-made rug, whose red flannel roses bloomed in a 
 blue list basket. 
 
 " If I may add a little smoke to your glorious fire, it 
 will be quite perfect. Won't Samson join me ? " asked 
 Randal, waiting for permission, cigar-case in hand. 
 
 " He has no small vices, but you may indulge 3'ours," 
 answered Sophie, from the depths of a grandmotherly 
 chair. 
 
 Emil}^ glanced up at her friend as if she caught a new 
 tone in her voice, then turned to the fire again with a 
 wise little nod, as if confiding some secret to the reflec- 
 tion of herself in the bright brass andiron. 
 
 " His Delilah does not take this form. I wait with 
 Interest to discover if he has one. What a daisy the 
 sister is. Does she ever speak?" asked Randal, trying 
 to lounge on the haircloth sofa, where he was slipping 
 uncomfortably about. 
 
 " Oh yes, and sings like a bird. You shall hear her 
 when she gets over her shyness. But no trifling, mind 
 you, for it is a jealousl}" guarded daisy and not to be 
 picked b}^ any idle hand," said Sophie w\arningly, as 
 she recalled Ruth's blushes and Randal's compliments 
 at dinner. 
 
 " I should expect to be annihilated by the big brother 
 if I attempted any but the ' sincerest ' admiration and 
 respect. Have no fears on that score, but tell us what 
 
A COUNTRY CHRISTMAS. 91 
 
 is to follow this superb dinner. An apple bee, spinning 
 match, husking party, or primitive pastime of some 
 sort, I have no doubt." 
 
 ' ' As 3'ou are new to our ways I am going to let you 
 rest this evening. We will sit about the fire and tell 
 stories. Aunt is a master hand at that, and Saul has 
 reminiscences of the war that are well worth hearing if 
 we can only get him to tell them." 
 
 " Ah, he was there, was he? " 
 
 " Yes, all through it, and is Major Basset, though he 
 likes his plain name best. He fought splendidl}^ and 
 had several wounds, though onl}^ a mere boy when he 
 earned his scars and bars. I 'm very proud of him for 
 that," and Sophie looked so as she glanced at the photo- 
 graph of a stripling in uniform set in the place of honor 
 on the high mantel-piece. 
 
 " We must stir him up and hear these martial memo- 
 ries. I want some new incidents, and shall book all I 
 can get, if I may." 
 
 Here Randal was interrupted bj^ Saul himself, who 
 came in with an armful of wood for the fire. 
 
 " Anj^thing more I can do for 3^ou, cousin ? " he asked, 
 surveying the scene with a rather wistful look. 
 
 " Onl}^ come and sit with us and talk over war times 
 with Mr. Randal." 
 
 '' When I've foddered the cattle and done my chores 
 I 'd be pleased to. What regiment were you in ? " asked 
 Saul, looking down from his lofty height upon the slen- 
 der gentleman, who answered briefl\^, — 
 
 " In none. I was abroad at the time." 
 
 "Sick?" 
 
 *' No, busy with a novel." 
 
 " Took four 3'ears to write it? " 
 
92 PROVERB STORIES. 
 
 " I was obliged to travel and stud}" before I could 
 finish it. These things take more time to work up than 
 outsiders would believe." 
 
 " Seems to me our war was a finer stor}' than any 
 you could find in Europe, and the best wa}' to study it 
 would be to fight it out. If you want heroes and hero- 
 ines you 'd have found plenty of 'em there." 
 
 " I have no doubt of it, and shall be glad to atone 
 for my seeming neglect of them by hearing about your 
 own exploits, Major." 
 
 Randal hoped to turn the conversation gracefully , 
 but Saul was not to be caught, and left the room, sa}'- 
 ing, with a gleam of fun in his e^'e, — 
 
 " I can't stop now ; heroes can wait, pigs can't." 
 
 The girls laughed at this sudden descent from the 
 sublime to the ridiculous, and Randal joined them, feel- 
 ing his condescension had not been unobserved. 
 
 As if drawn by the merry sound Aunt Plumy ap- 
 peared, and being established in the rocking-chair fell to 
 talking as easily as if she had known her guests for years. 
 
 " Laugh away, young folks, that's better for diges- 
 tion than an}^ of the messes people use. Are you 
 troubled with dyspeps}", dear? You didn't seem to 
 take 3'our vittles very heart}", so I mistrusted you was 
 delicate," she said, looking at Emily, whose pale cheeks 
 and weary eyes told the story of late hours and a gay 
 Ufe. 
 
 "I haven't eaten so much for years, I assure you, 
 Mrs. Basset ; but it was impossible to taste all your 
 good things. I am not dyspeptic, thank you, but a 
 little seedy and tired, for I 've been working rather hard 
 lately." 
 
A COUNTRY CHRISTMAS. 93 
 
 "Be you a teacher? or have 3'ou a ' perfcssun,' as 
 they call a trade nowada3's ? " asked the old lady in a 
 tone of kindly interest, which prevented a laugh at the 
 idea of Emily's being anything but a beauty and a belle. 
 The others kept their countenances with difficulty, and 
 she answered demurely, — 
 
 ' ' I have no trade as yet, but I dare say I should be 
 happier if I had." 
 
 " Not a doubt on 't, my dear." 
 
 "What would you recommend, ma'am?" 
 
 "I should say dressmakin' was rather in your line, 
 ain't it. Your clothes is dreadful tasty, and do you 
 credit if you made 'em j^ourself," and Aunt Plumy sur- 
 veyed with feminine interest the simple elegance of the 
 travelling dress which was the masterpiece of a French 
 modiste. 
 
 " No, ma'am, I don't make my own things, I'm too 
 lazy. It takes so much time and trouble to select them 
 that I have only strength left to wear them." 
 
 " Housekeepin' used to be the favorite perfessun in 
 my day. It ain't fashionable now, but it needs a sight 
 of trainin' to be perfect in all that's required, and I 've 
 an idee it would be a sight healthier and usefuller than 
 the paintin' and music and fancy w^ork young women 
 do nowadays." 
 
 " But every one wants some beauty in their hves, and 
 each one has a different sphere to fill, if one can only 
 find it." 
 
 " ' Pears to me there 's no call for so much art when 
 nater is full of beauty for them that can see and love 
 it. As for ' spears ' and so on, I 've a notion if each of 
 us did up our own little chores smart and thorough we 
 
94 PROVERB STORIES. 
 
 need n't go wanderin' round to set the world to rights. 
 That 's the Lord's job, and I presume to say He can do 
 it without any advice of ouru." 
 
 Something in the homelj^ but true words seemed to 
 rebuke the three Usteners for wasted Uves, and for a 
 moment there was no sound but the crackle of the fire, 
 the brisk click of the old lady's knitting needles, and 
 Ruth's voice singing overhead as she made ready to join 
 the party below. 
 
 '' To judge by that sweet sound you have done one 
 of your ' chores ' very beautifully, Mrs. Basset, and in 
 spite of the follies of our day, succeeded in keeping one 
 girl healthy, happy and unspoiled," said Emily, looking 
 up into the peaceful old face with her own lovely one 
 full of respect and envy. 
 
 " I do hope so, for she 's my ewe lamb, the last of four 
 dear little girls ; all the rest are in the burying ground 
 'side of father. I don't expect to keep her long, 
 and don't ought to regret when I lose her, for Saul is 
 the best of sons ; but daughters is more to mothers 
 somehow, and I always yearn over girls that is left 
 without a broodin' wing to keep 'em safe and warm in 
 this world of tribulation." 
 
 Aunt Plumy laid her hand on Sophie's head as she 
 spoke, with such a motherly look that both girls drew 
 nearer, and Randal resolved to put her in a book with- 
 out delay. 
 
 Presently Saul returned with little Ruth hanging on 
 his arm and shyly nestling near him as he took the three- 
 cornered leathern chair in the chimney nook, while she 
 sat on a stool close b3\ 
 
 ''Now the circle is complete and the picture perfect. 
 
A COUNTRY CHRISTMAS. 95 
 
 Don't light the lamps yet, please, but talk away and let 
 me make a mental study of you. I seldom find so 
 cliarming a scene to paint," said Randal, beginning to 
 enjo}^ himself immensel}', with a true artist's taste for 
 novelty and effect. 
 
 " Tell us about your book, for we have been reading it 
 as it comes out in the magazine, and are much exercised 
 about how it 's going to end," began Saul, gallantly throw- 
 ing himself into the breach, for a momentary embarrass- 
 ment fell upon the women at the idea of sitting for their 
 portraits before the}' were read}'. 
 
 " Do you really read my poor serial up here, and do 
 me the honor to like it? " asked the novelist, both flat- 
 tered and amused, for his work was of the aesthetic sort, 
 microscopic studies of character, and careful pictures of 
 modern life. 
 
 " Sakes alive, why shouldn't we," cried Aunt Plumy. 
 " We have some eddication, though we ain't very gen- 
 teel. We 've got a town libr}-, kep up b}- the women 
 mostly, with fairs and tea parties and so on. We have 
 all the magazines reg'lar, ^and Saul reads out the pieces 
 while Ruth sews and I knit, my e3'es bein' poor. Our 
 winter is long and evenins would be kinder lonesome if 
 we did n't haA^e novils and newspapers to cheer 'em 
 up." 
 
 " I am very glad I can help to beguile them for 3'ou. 
 Now tell me what you honestly think of m}' work? 
 Criticism is always valuable, and I should really like 
 3'ours, Mrs. Basset," said Randal, wondering what the 
 good woman would make of the delicate anal3'sis and 
 worldl}' wisdom on which he prided himself. 
 
 Short work, as Aunt Plum}' soon showed him, for she 
 
96 PROVERB STORIES. 
 
 rfither enjoj'ed freeing her mind at all times, and de- 
 cidedl}' resented the insinuation that countr}' folk could 
 not appreciate light literature as well as cit}^ people. 
 
 "I ain't no great of a jedge about anything but 
 nat'ralness of books, and it reall}' does seem as if some 
 of your men and women was dreadful uncomfortable 
 creaters. 'Pears to me it ain't wise to be always pickin' 
 ourselves to pieces and pryin' into things that ought to 
 come gradual by way of experience and the visitations 
 of Providence. Flowers won't blow worth a cent ef 3'ou 
 pull 'em open. Better wait and see what Wi^y can do 
 alone. I do relish the smart sayins, the odd ways of 
 furrin parts, and the sarcastic slaps at folkses weak 
 spots. But, massy knows, we can't live on spice-cake 
 and Charlotte Ruche, and I do feel as if books was 
 more sustainin' ef they was full of ever3'-day people and 
 things, like good bread and butter. Them that goes to 
 the heart and ain't soon forgotten is the kind I hanker 
 for. Mis Terrj^'s books now, and Mis Stowe's, and 
 Dickens's Christmas pieces, — them is real sweet and 
 cheerin', to m}^ mind." 
 
 As the blunt old lad}^ paused it was evident she had 
 produced a sensation, for Saul smiled at the fire, Ruth 
 looked dismayed at this assault upon one of her idols, 
 and the .young ladies were both astonished and amused 
 at the keenness of the new critic who dared express 
 what they had often felt. Randal, however, was quite 
 composed and laughed good-naturedly, though secretly 
 feeling as if a pail of cold water had been poured over 
 him. 
 
 ''Man}" thanks, madam; you have discovered my 
 weak point with surprising accuracy. But you see I 
 
A COUNTRY CHRISTMAS. 97 
 
 cannot help ' picking folks to pieces,' as j'ou have ex- 
 pressed it ; that is ni}' gift, and it has its attractions, 
 as the sale of my books will testify. People like the 
 ' spice-bread,' and as that is the only sort my oven will 
 bake, I must keep on in order to make my living." 
 
 " So rumsellers say, but it ain't a good trade to foUer, 
 and I 'd chop wood 'fore I 'd earn my livin' harmin' my 
 feller man. 'Pears to me I 'd let my oven cool a spell, 
 and hunt up some homelj', happ}' folks to write about ; 
 folks that don't borrer trouble and go lookin' for holes 
 in their neighbors' coats, but take their lives brave and 
 cheerful ; and rememberin' we are all human, have pity 
 on the weak, and try to be as full of mercy, patience 
 and lovin' kindness as Him who made us. That sort 
 of a book would do a heap of good ; be real warmin' 
 and strengthenin', and make them that read it love the 
 man that wrote it, and remember him when he was dead 
 and gone." 
 
 " I wish I could ! " and Randal meant what he said, 
 for he was as tired of his own style, as a watch-maker 
 might be of the magnifying glass through which he 
 strains his eyes all day. He knew that the heart was 
 left out of his work, and that both mind and soul were 
 growing morbid with dwelling on the fault}-^, absiuxl and 
 metaphysical phases of life and character. He often 
 threw down his pen and vowed he would write no more ; 
 but he loved ease and the books brought money readily ; 
 he was accustomed to the stimulant of praise and missed 
 it as the toper misses his wine, so that which had once 
 been a pleasure to himself and others was fast becoming 
 a burden and a disappointment. 
 
 The brief pause which followed liis involuntary be- 
 7 
 
98 PROVERB SIORIES, 
 
 trayal of discontent was broken by Ruth, who ex- 
 claimed, with a girlish enthusiasm that overpowered 
 girlish bashfulness, — 
 
 " / think all the novels are splendid ! I hope you 
 will write hundreds more, and I shall live to read 
 'em." 
 
 " Bravo, my gentle champion ! I promise that I will 
 write one more at least, and have a heroine in it whom 
 3'our mother will both admire and love," answered Ran- 
 dal, surprised to find how grateful he was for the girl's 
 approval, and how rapidlj' his trained fancy began to 
 paint the background on which he hoped to copy this 
 fresh, human daisy. 
 
 Abashed by her involuntary outburst, Ruth tried to 
 efface herself behind Saul's broad shoulder, and he 
 brought the conversation back to its starting-point by 
 saying in a tone of the most sincere interest, — 
 
 ' ' Speaking of the serial, I am very anxious to know 
 how 3'our hero comes out. He is a fine fellow, and I 
 can't decide whether he is going to spoil his life marry- 
 ing that silly woman, or do something grand and gener- 
 ous, and not be made a fool of." 
 
 " Upon my soul, I don't know m3'self. It is very 
 hard to find new finales. Can't you suggest something, 
 Major? then I shall not be obliged to leave my stor}^ 
 without an end, as people complain I am rather fond of 
 doing." 
 
 ''Well, no, I don't think I've anything to oflfer. 
 Seems to me it is n't the sensational exploits that show 
 the hero best, but some great sacrifice quietl3' made by 
 a connnon sort of man who is noble without knowing 
 it. 1 saw a good many such during the war, and oftci: 
 
A COUNTRY CHRISTMAS. 99 
 
 wish I could write them down, for it is surprising how 
 much courage, goodness and real piety is stowed awa}' 
 in common folks ready to show when the right time 
 comes." 
 
 " Tell us one of them, and I '11 bless 3'ou for a hint. 
 No one knows the anguish of an author's spii'it when he 
 can't ring down the curtain on an effective tableau,'' 
 said Randal, with a glance at his friends to ask their aid 
 in eliciting an anecdote or reminiscence. 
 
 " Tell about the splendid fellow who held the bridge, 
 like Horatius, till help came up. That was a thrilling 
 stor}^, I assure you," answered Sophie, with an inviting 
 smile. 
 
 But Saul would not be his own hero, and said brieflj' : 
 
 ' ' Any man can be brave when the battle-fever is on 
 him, and it only takes a little ph3'sical courage to dash 
 ahead." He paused a moment, with his eyes on the 
 snowy landscape without, where twilight was deepening ; 
 then, as if constrained by the memory that winter scene 
 evoked, he slowly continued, — 
 
 " One of the bravest things I ever knew was done by 
 a poor fellow who has been a hero to me ever since, 
 though I only met him that night. It was after one of 
 the big battles of that last winter, and I was knocked 
 over with a broken leg and two or three bullets here and 
 there. Night was coming on, snow falling, and a sharp 
 wind blew over the field where a lot of us lay, dead and 
 alive, waiting for the ambulance to come and pick us 
 up. There was skirmishing going on not far off, and 
 our prospects were rather poor between frost and fire. 
 I was calculating how I 'd manage, when I found two 
 poor chaps close by who were worse off, so I braced up 
 
100 PROVERB STORIES. 
 
 and did what I could for them. One had an ann hlown 
 away, and kept up a dreadful groaning. The other was 
 shot bad, and bleeding to death for want of help, but 
 never complained. He was nearest, and I liked his 
 pluck, for he spoke cheerful and made me ashamed to 
 growl. Such times make dreadful brutes of men if they 
 have n't something to hold on to, and all three of us 
 w^ere most wild with pain and cold and hunger, for we 'd 
 fought ail day fasting, when we heard a rumble in the 
 road below, and saw lanterns bobbing round. That 
 meant life to us, and we all tried to holler ; two of us 
 were pretty faint, but I managed a good yell, and they 
 heard it. 
 
 " ' Room for one more. Hard luck, old bo3's, but we 
 are full and must save the worst wounded first. Take 
 a drink; and hold on till we come back/ says one of 
 them with the stretcher. 
 
 " 'Here's the one to go,' I says, pointin' out ni}' 
 man, for I saw by the light that he was hard hit. 
 
 *' ' No, that one. He 's got more chances than I, or 
 this one ; he 's 3"0ung and got a mother ; I '11 wait,' said 
 the good feller, touchin' my arm., for he 'd heard me 
 mutterin' to myself about this dear old lad3^ We 
 alwaj^s want mother when we are down, you know." 
 
 Saul's eyes turned to the beloved face with a glance 
 of tenderest affection, and Aunt Plunw answered with a 
 dismal groan at the recollection of his need that night, 
 and her absence. 
 
 " Well, to be short, the groaning chap was taken, 
 and m}' man left. I was mad, but there w^as no time 
 for talk, and the selfish one went off and left that poor 
 feller to run his one chance. I had my rifle, and guessed 
 
A COUNTRY CHRISTMAS. 101 
 
 I could hobble np to use it if need be ; so we settled 
 back to wait without much hope of help, everything 
 being in a muddle. And w^ait we did till morning, for 
 that ambulance did not come back till next daj^, when 
 most of us were past needing it. 
 
 "Ill never forget that night. I dream it all over 
 again as plain as if it was real. Snow, cold, darkness, 
 hunger, thirst, pain, and all round us cries and cursing 
 growing less and less, till at last only the wind went 
 moaning over that meadow. It was awful ! so lone- 
 some, helpless, and seeminglj' God-forsaken. Hour 
 after hour we lay there side b}^ side under one coat, 
 waiting to be saved or die, for the wind grew strong and 
 we grew weak." 
 
 Saul drew a long breath, and held his hands to the 
 fire as if he felt again the sharp suffering of that night. 
 
 " And the man? " asked Emily, softl^', as if reluctant 
 to break the silence. 
 
 " He was a man ! In times like that men talk like 
 brothers and show what they are. Lying there, slowly 
 freezing, Joe Cummings told me about his wife and 
 babies, his old folks waiting for him, all depending on 
 him, yet all read}^ to give him up when he was needed. 
 A plain man, but honest and true, and loving as a 
 woman ; I soon saw that as he went on talking, half to 
 me and half to himself, for sometimes he wandered a 
 little toward the end. I 've read books, heard sermons, 
 and seen good folks, but nothing ever came so close or 
 did me so much good as seeing this man die. He had 
 one chance and gave it cheerfully. He longed for those 
 he loved, and let 'em go with a good-by they could n't 
 hear. He suffered all the pains we most shrink from 
 
102 PROVERB STORIES. 
 
 without a murmur, and kept my heart warm while his 
 own was growing cold. It 's no use trying to tell that 
 part of it; but I heard prayers that night thf^t meant 
 something, and I saw how faith could hold a soul up 
 when everything was gone but God." 
 
 Saul stopped there with a sudden huskiness in his 
 deep voice, and when he went on it was in the tone of 
 one who speaks of a dear friend. 
 
 " Joe grew still by and b}^, and I thought he was 
 asleep, for I felt his breath when I tucked him up, and 
 his hand held on to mine. The cold sort of numbed 
 me, and I dropped off, too weak and stupid to think or 
 feel. I never should have waked up if it had n't been 
 for Joe. When I came to, it was morning, and I 
 thought I was dead, for all I could see was that great 
 field of white mounds, like graves, and a splendid 
 sky above. Then I looked for Joe, remembering; 
 but he had put my coat back over me, and lay stiff' and 
 still under the snow that covered him like a shroud, all 
 except his face. A bit of m}^ cape had blown over it, 
 and when I took it off' and the sun shone on his dead 
 face, I declare to you it was so full of heavenl}^ peace I 
 felt as if that common man had been glorified b}- God's 
 light, and rewarded by God's ' Well done.' That 's all." 
 
 No one spoke for a moment, while the women wiped 
 their eyes, and Saul dropped his as if to hide something 
 softer than tears. 
 
 *' It was very noble, very touching. And you? " how 
 did you get off* at last? " asked Randal, with real admi- 
 ration and respect in his usually languid face. 
 
 " Crawled off'," answered Saul, relapsing into his 
 former brevity of speech. 
 
A COUNTRY CHRISTMAS. 103 
 
 '* Why not before, and save yourself all that mis- 
 ery?" 
 
 " Could n't leave Joe." 
 
 '' Ah, I see ; there were two heroes that night." 
 
 "Dozens, I've no doubt. Those w^ere times that 
 made heroes of men, and women, too." 
 
 " Tell us more ; " begged Emily, looking up with an 
 expression none of her admirers ever brought to her face 
 by their softest compliments or wiliest gossip. 
 
 " I 've done my part. It 's Mr. Randal's turn now ; " 
 and Saul drew himself out of the I'uddy circle of fire- 
 light, as if ashamed of the prominent part he was play- 
 ing. 
 
 Sophie and her friend had often heard Randal talk, 
 for he was an accomplished raconteur^ but that night he 
 exerted himself, and was unusually brilliant and enter- 
 taining, as if upon his mettle. The Bassets were 
 charmed. They sat late and w^ere very merr}^, for Aunt 
 Plum}^ got up a little supper for them, and her cider was 
 as exhilarating as champagne. When they parted for 
 the night and Sophie kissed her aunt, Emily did the 
 same, saving heartil}^, — 
 
 " It seems as if I 'd known you all my life, and this 
 is certainl}^ the most enchanting old place that ever 
 was." 
 
 " Glad you like it, dear. But it ain't all fun, as you '11 
 find out to-morrow when you go to work, for Sophie 
 sa3's 3'ou must," answered Mrs. Basset, as her guests 
 trooped away, rashly promising to like everything. 
 
 The}^ found it difficult to keep their w^ord when the}^ 
 were called at half past six next morning. Their rooms 
 were warm, however, and they managed to scramble 
 
104 PROVERB STORIES. 
 
 down in time for breakfast, guided by the fragrance of 
 coffee and Annt Phi my 's shrill voice singing the good 
 old hymn — 
 
 " Lord, in the morning Thou shalt hear 
 My voice ascending high." 
 
 An open fire blazed on the hearth, for the cooking 
 was done in the lean-to, and the spacious, sunny kitchen 
 was kept in all its old-fashioned perfection, with the 
 wooden settle in a warm nook, the tall clock behind the 
 door, copper and pewter utensils shining on the dresser, 
 old china in the corner closet and a little spinning wheel 
 rescued from the garret by Sophie to adorn the deep 
 window, full of scarlet geraniums, Christmas roses, and 
 white chrysanthemums. 
 
 The 3'oung lad}-, in a checked apron and mob-cap, 
 greeted her friends with a dish of buckwheats in one 
 hand, and a pair of cheeks that proved she had been 
 learning to fty these delectable cakes. 
 
 "You do 'keep it up' in earnest, upon m}' word ; 
 and very becoming it is, dear. But won't 3'ou ruin 
 3'our complexion and roughen 3'our hands if j^ou do so 
 much of this new fancy-work?" asked Emilj', much 
 amazed at this novel freak. 
 
 "I like it, and really believe I've found my proper 
 sphere at last. Domestic life seems so pleasant to me 
 that I feel as if I 'd better keep it up for the rest of my 
 life," answered Soi)hie, making a pretty picture of her- 
 self as she cut great slices of brown bread, with the 
 earl}' sunshine touching her happy face. 
 
 " The charming Miss Vaughan in the role of a farmer's 
 wife. I find it dillicult to imagine, and shrink from the 
 
A COUNTRY CHRISTMAS. 105 
 
 tliought of the wide-spread dismay such a fate will pro- 
 duce among her adorers," added Randal, as he basked 
 in the glow of the hospitable fire. 
 
 " She might do worse ; but come to breakfast and do 
 honor to my handiwork," said Sophie, thinking of her 
 worn-out raillionnaire, and rather nettled by the satiric 
 smile on Randal's lips. 
 
 '' What an appetite earlj^ rising gives one. I feel 
 equal to almost anything, so let me help wash cups," 
 said Emily, with unusual energy, when the hearty meal 
 was over and Sophie began to pick up the dishes as if 
 it was her usual work. 
 
 Ruth went to the window to water the flowers, and 
 Randal followed to make himself agreeable, remember- 
 ing her defence of him last night. He was used to 
 admiration from feminine eyes, and flattery from soft 
 lips, but found something new and charming in the 
 innocent delight which showed itself at his approach in 
 blushes more eloquent than words, and shy glances from 
 eyes full of hero-worship. 
 
 " I hope you are going to spare me a posy for to- 
 morrow night, since I can be fine in no other wa}^ to do 
 honor to the dance Miss Sophie proposes for us,'' he said, 
 leaning in the ba}^ window to look down on the little girl, 
 with the devoted air he usually wore for pretty women. 
 
 ' ' Anj'thing you like ! I should be so glad to have 
 you wear my flowers. There will be enough for all, and 
 I 've nothing else to give to people who have made me as 
 happ3' as cousin Sophie and you," answered Ruth, half 
 drowning her great calla as she spoke with grateful 
 warmth. 
 
 "You must make her happy by accepting the invita- 
 
106 PROVERB STORIES. 
 
 tion to go home with her which I heard given last night. 
 A peep at tlie world would do you good, and be a 
 pleasant change, I think." 
 
 "Oh, ver}^ pleasant ! but would it do me good? and 
 Ruth looked up with sudden seriousness in her blue 
 e3X's, as a child questions an elder, eager, ^xt wistful. 
 
 " Why not? " asked Randal, wondering at the hesita- 
 tion. 
 
 ' ' I nright grow discontented with things here if I saw 
 splendid houses and fine people. I am very happy 
 now, and it would break my heart to lose that happi- 
 ness, or ever learn to be ashamed of home." 
 
 "But don't you long for more pleasure, new scenes 
 and other friends than these? " asked the man, touched 
 by the little creature's loyalty to the things she knew 
 and loved. 
 
 "Very often, but mother says when I'm ready the}^ 
 will come, so I wait and tr}^ not to be impatient." But 
 Ruth's eyes looked out over the green leaves as if the 
 longing was very strong within her to see more of the un- 
 known world Ij'ing beyond the mountains that hemmed 
 her in. 
 
 " It is natural for birds to hop out of the nest, so I 
 shall expect to see you over there before long, and ask 
 you how you enjo^^ your first flight," said Randal, in a 
 paternal tone tbat had a curious efl'ect on Ruth. 
 
 To his surprise, she laughed, then blushed like one 
 of her own roses, and answered with a demure dignity 
 that was very pretty to see. 
 
 " I intend to hop soon, but it won't be a very long 
 flight or very far from mother. She can't spare me, 
 and nobody in the world can fill her place to me." 
 
A COUNTRY CHRISTMAS. 107 
 
 *' Bless the child, does she think I'm goiiis; to make 
 love to her," thought Randal, much amused, but quite 
 mistaken. Wiser women had thought so when he as- 
 sumed the caressing air with which he beguiled them 
 into the little revelations of character he liked to use, 
 as the south wind makes flowers open their hearts to 
 give up their odor, then leaves them to cany it else- 
 where, the more welcome for the stolen sweetness. 
 
 "Perhaps you are right. The maternal wing is a 
 safe shelter for confiding little souls like you. Miss 
 Ruth. You will be as comfortable here as your flowers 
 in this sunny window," he said, carelessly pinching 
 geranium leaves, and ruflfling the roses till the pink 
 petals of the largest fluttered to the floor. 
 
 As if she instinctively felt and resented something in 
 the man which his act sj'mbolized, the girl answered 
 quietly, as she went on with her work, "Yes, if the 
 frost does not touch me, or careless people spoil me too 
 soon." 
 
 Before Randal could reply Aunt Plum}" approached 
 like a maternal hen who sees her chicken in danger. 
 
 "Saul is goin' to haul wood after he's done his 
 chores, mebbe you'd like to go along? The view is 
 good, the roads well broke, and the da}" uncommon 
 fine." 
 
 " Thanks ; it will be delightful, I dare say," politely 
 responded the lion, with a secret shudder at the idea of 
 a rural promenade at 8 a. m. in the winter. 
 
 " Come on, then ; we'll feed the stock, and then I'll 
 show you how to yoke oxen," said Saul, with a twinkle 
 in his eye as he led the way, when his new aide had 
 muffled himself up as if for a polar voyage. 
 
108 PROVERB STORIES. 
 
 "Now, that's too bad of Saul! He did it on pur« 
 pose, just to please you, Sophie," cried Ruth presently, 
 and the giris ran to the window to behold Randal 
 bravel}^ following his host with a pail of pigs' food in 
 each hand, and an expression of resigned disgust upon 
 his aristocratic face. 
 
 " To what base uses ma}' we come," quoted Emilj^, 
 as they all nodded and smiled upon the victim as he 
 looked back from the barn-3'ard, where he was clam- 
 orously welcomed b}' his new charges. 
 
 " It is rather a shock at first, but it will do him good, 
 and Saul won't be too hard upon him, I 'm sure," said 
 Sophie, going back to her work, while Ruth turned her 
 best buds to the sun that they might be ready for a 
 peace-offering to-morrow. 
 
 There was a merry clatter in the big kitchen for an 
 hour ; then Aunt Plum}^ and her daughter shut them- 
 selves up in the pantrj' to perform some culinary rites, 
 and the young ladies went to inspect certain antique 
 costumes laid forth in Sophie's room. 
 
 " You see, Em, I thought it would be appropriate to 
 the house and season to have an old-fashioned dance. 
 Aunt has quantities of ancient finery stowed awa}^, for 
 great-grandfather Basset was a fine old gentleman and 
 his family lived in state. Take your choice of the 
 crimson, blue or silver-gra}' damask. Ruth is to wear 
 the worked muslin and quilted white satin skirt, with 
 that coquettish hat." 
 
 "Being dark, I'll take the red and trim it up with 
 this fine lace. You must wear the blue and prim- 
 rose, with the distracting liigh-heeled shoes. Have 
 you any suits for the men?" asked Emily, throw- 
 
A COUNTRY CHRISTMAS, 109 
 
 ing herself at once into the all-absorbing matter of 
 costume. 
 
 " A claret velvet coat and vest, silk stockings, cocked 
 hat and snuff-box for Randal. Nothing large enough 
 for Saul, so he must wear his uniform. Won't Aunt 
 Plumy be superb in this plum-colored satin and immense 
 cap?" 
 
 A delightful morning was spent in adapting the faded 
 finery of the past to the blooming beauty of the present, 
 and time and tongues flew till the toot of a horn called 
 them down to dinner. 
 
 The girls were amazed to see Randal come whistling 
 up the road with his trousers tucked into his boots, blue 
 mittens on his hands, and an unusual amount of energy 
 in his whole figure, as he drove the oxen, while Saul 
 laughed at his vain attempts to guide the bewildered 
 beasts. 
 
 *' It 's immense ! The view from the hill is well worth 
 seeing, for the snow glorifies the landscape and reminds 
 one of Switzerland. I 'm going to make a sketch of it 
 this afternoon ; better come and enjoy the delicious 
 freshness, J'oung ladies." 
 
 Randal was eating with such an appetite that he did 
 not see the glances the girls exchanged as the^^ promised 
 to go. 
 
 " Bring home some more winter-green, I want things 
 to be real nice, and we have n't enough for the kitchen," 
 said Ruth, dimpling with girlish dehght as she imagined 
 herself dancing under the green garlands in her grand- 
 mother's wedding gown. 
 
 It was very lovely on the hill, for far as the eye could 
 reach lay the wintr}^ landscape sparkhng with the brief 
 
110 PROVERB STORIES. 
 
 beaiitj' of sunshine on virgin snow. Pines sighed over- 
 head, hardy birds flitted to and fro, and in all the trod- 
 den spots rose the little spires of evergreen ready for 
 its Christmas dut3\ Deeper in the wood sounded the 
 measured ring of axes, the crash of falling trees, while 
 the red shirts of the men added color to the scene, and 
 a fresh wind brought the aromatic breath of newly 
 cloven hemlock and pine. 
 
 "How beautiful it is ! I never knew before what 
 winter woods were like. Did 3'ou, Sophie?" asked 
 Emily, sitting on a stump to enjoy the novel pleasure 
 at her ease. 
 
 "I've found out latel}' ; Saul lets me come as often 
 as I like, and this line air seems to make a new creature 
 of me," answered Sophie, looking about her with spark- 
 ling e3^es, as if this was a kingdom where she reigned 
 supreme. 
 
 " Something is making a new creature of j^ou, that is 
 ver}^ evident. I have n't 3et discovered whether it is 
 the air or some magic herb among that green stuff 3'ou 
 are gathering so diligently ; " and Emily laughed to see 
 the color deepen beautiful!}' in her friend's half-averted 
 face. 
 
 " Scarlet is the onl)' wear just now, I find. If we are 
 lost like babes in the woods there are plenty of Red- 
 breasts to cover us with leaves," and Randal joined 
 Emily's laugh, with a glance at Saul, who liad just 
 pulled his coat off. 
 
 " You wanted to see this tree go down, so stand from 
 under and I '11 show you how it 's done," said the farmer, 
 taking up his axe, not unwilling to gratify his guests 
 and displa}' his manly accomplishments at the same time.. 
 
A COUNTRY CHRISTMAS. Ill 
 
 It was a fine sight, the stalwart man swinging his 
 axe with magnificent strength and skill, each blow 
 sending a thrill through the stately- tree, till its heart 
 was reached and it tottered to its fall. Never pausing 
 for breath Saul shook his 3'ellow mane out of his eyes, 
 and hewed awa}', while the drops stood on his forehead 
 and his arm ached, as bent on distinguishing himself as 
 if he had been a knight tilting against his rival for his 
 lady's favor. 
 
 " I don't know which to admire most, the man or his 
 muscle. One doesn't often see such vigor, size and 
 comeliness in these degenerate daj's," said Randal, 
 mentally booking the fine figure in the red shirt. 
 
 "I think we have discovered a rough diamond. I 
 only wonder if Sophie is going to try and polish it," 
 answered Emil}", glancing at her friend, who stood a 
 little apart, watching the rise and fall of the axe as in- 
 tentl}' as if her fate depended on it. 
 
 Down rushed the tree at last, and, leaving them to 
 examine a crow's nest in its branches, Saul went off to 
 his men, as if he found the praises of his prowess rather 
 too much for him. 
 
 Randal fell to sketching, the girls to their garland- 
 making, and for a little while the sunny woodland nook 
 was full of lively chat and pleasant laugliter, for the air 
 exhilarated them all like wine. Suddenly a man came 
 running from the wood, pale and anxious, saying, as he 
 hastened by for help, " Blasted tree fell on him ! Bleed 
 to death before the doctor comes ! " 
 
 '" Who? who? " cried the startled trio. 
 
 But the man ran on, with some breathless repl}', in 
 which only a name was audible — ' ' Basset." 
 
112 PROVERB STORIES. 
 
 "The deuce it is!" and Randal dropped his pencil, 
 while the girls sprang up in dismay. Then, with one 
 impulse, they hastened to the distant group, half visible 
 behind the fallen trees and corded wood. 
 
 Sophie was there first, and forcing her wa}" through 
 the little crowd of men, saw a red-shirted figure on the 
 ground, crushed and bleeding, and threw herself down 
 beside it with a cry that pierced the hearts of those who 
 heard it. In the act she saw it was not Saul, and covered 
 her bewildered face as if to hide its jo}^ A strong arm 
 lifted her, and the familiar voice said cheeringly, — 
 
 " I 'm all right, dear. Poor Bruce is hurt, but we Ve 
 sent for help. Better go right home and forget all 
 about it." 
 
 "Yes, I will, if I can do nothing;" and Sophie 
 meekly returned to her friends who stood outside the 
 circle over which Saul's head towered, assuring them of 
 his safety. 
 
 Hoping they had not seen her agitation, she led Emily 
 away, leaving Randal to give what aid he could and 
 bring them news of the poor wood-chopper's state. 
 
 Aunt Plumy produced the " camphire " the moment 
 she saw Sophie's pale face, and made her lie down, 
 while tlie brave old lady trudged briskl}' off" with band- 
 ages and brandy to the scene of action. On her return 
 she brought comfortable news of the man, so the little 
 flurry blew over and was forgotten b}' all but Sophie, 
 who remained pale and quiet all the evening, tying ever- 
 green as if her fife depended on it. 
 
 " A good night's sleep will set her up. She ain't 
 used to such things, dear child, and needs cossetin'," 
 said Aunt Plumy, purring over her until she was in her 
 
A COUNTRY CHRISTMAS. 113 
 
 bed, with a hot stone at her feet and a bowl of herb tea 
 to quiet her nerves. 
 
 An hour later, when Emily went up, she peeped in to 
 see if Sophie was sleeping nicely, and was surprised to 
 find the invalid wrapped in a dressing-gown writing 
 busily. 
 
 " Last will and testament, or sudden inspiration, 
 dear ? How are you ? faint or feverish, delirious or in 
 the dumps ! Saul looks so anxious, and Mrs. Basset 
 hushes us all up so, I came to bed, leaving Randal to 
 entertain Ruth." 
 
 As she spoke Emily saw the papers disappear in a 
 portfolio, and Sophie rose with a 3^awn. 
 
 " I was writing letters, but I'm sleepy now. Quite 
 over my foolish fright, thank you. Go and get your 
 beauty sleep that you may dazzle the natives to-mor- 
 row." 
 
 ''So glad, good night;" and EmiU' went away, 
 saying to herself, " Something is going on, and I 
 must find out what it is before I leave. Sophie can't 
 blind me." 
 
 But Sophie did all the next da}^ being delightfully 
 gay at the dinner, and devoting herself to the young 
 minister who was invited to meet the distinguished nov- 
 elist, and evidently being afraid of him, gladl}'' basked 
 in the smiles of his charming neighbor. A dashing 
 sleigh-ride occupied the afternoon, and then great was 
 the fun and excitement over the costumes. 
 
 Aunt Plumy laughed till the tears rolled down her 
 cheeks as the girls compressed her into the plum-colored 
 gown with its short waist, leg-of-mutton sleeves, and 
 narrow skirt. But a worked scarf hid all deficiencies, 
 
 8 
 
114 PROVERB STORIES. 
 
 and the towering cap struck awe into the soul of the 
 most frivolous observer. 
 
 ^' Keep an e^'e on me, girls, for I shall certainl}^ 
 split somewheres or lose my head-piece off when I 'm 
 trottin' round. What would m}^ blessed mother saj' if 
 she could see me rigged out in her best things ? " and 
 with a smile and a sigh the old lady departed to look 
 after " the boys," and see that the supper was all right. 
 
 Three prettier damsels never tripped down the wide 
 staircase than the brilliant brunette in crimson brocade, 
 the pensive blonde in blue, or the rosy little bride in old 
 muslin and white satin. 
 
 A gallant court gentleman met them in the hall with 
 a superb bow, and escorted them to the parlor, where 
 Grandma Basset's ghost was discovered dancing with a 
 modern major in full uniform. 
 
 Mutual admiration and many compliments followed, 
 till other ancient ladies and gentlemen arrived in all 
 manner of queer costumes, and the old house seemed 
 to wake from its humdrum quietude to sudden music 
 and merriment, as if a past generation had returned to 
 keep its Christmas there. 
 
 The village fiddler soon struck up the good old tunes, 
 and then the strangers saw dancing that filled them with 
 mingled mirth and envy ; it was so droll, yet so hearty. 
 The young men, unusually awkward in their grand- 
 fathers' knee-breeches, flapping vests, and swallow-tail 
 coats, footed it bravely with the buxom girls who were 
 the prettier for then- quaintness, ajid danced with such 
 vigor that their high combs stood awr}', their furbelows 
 waved wildly, and their checks were as red as their 
 breast-knots, or hose. 
 
A COUNTRY CHRISTMAS. 115 
 
 It was impossible to stand still, and one after the 
 other the cit}^ folk yielded to the spell, Randal leading 
 off with Ruth, Sophie swept away b_y Saul, and Emily- 
 being taken possession of by a young giant of eighteen, 
 who spun her around with a boyish impetuosity that 
 took her breath awa}-. Even Aunt Plum}^ was discov- 
 ered jigging it alone in the pantr}^ as if the music was 
 too much for her, and the plates and glasses jingled 
 gaily on the shelves in time to Money Musk and Fishers' 
 Hornpipe. 
 
 A pause came at last, however, and fans fluttered, 
 heated brows were wiped, jokes were made, lovers ex- 
 changed confidences, and every nook and corner held a 
 man and maid carrying on the sweet game which is 
 never out of fashion. • There was a glitter of gold lace 
 in the back entr}^, and a train of blue and primrose 
 shone in the dim light. There was a richer crimson 
 than that of the geraniums in the deep window, and a 
 dainty shoe tapped the bare floor impatientl}^ as the 
 brilliant black eyes looked everywhere for the court 
 gentleman, while their owner listened to the gruflT prattle 
 of an enamored bo}^ But in the upper hall walked a 
 little white ghost as if waiting for some shadow}' com- 
 panion, and when a dark form appeared ran to take its 
 arm, saying, in a tone of soft satisfaction, — 
 
 " I was so afraid you would n't come ! " 
 
 " Why did you leave me, Ruth? " answered a manly 
 voice in a tone of surprise, though the small hand slip- 
 ping from the velvet coat-sleeve was replaced as if it 
 was pleasant to feel it there. 
 
 A pause, and then the other voice answered de- 
 murel}^, — 
 
116 PROVERB STORIES. 
 
 "Because I was afraid my head would be turned by 
 the fine thuigs 3'ou were sayhig." 
 
 " It is impossible to help saying what one feels to 
 such an artless little creature as you are. It does me 
 good to admire anything so fresh and sweet, and won't 
 harm you." 
 
 " It might if— " 
 
 " If what, my daisy?" 
 
 " I believed it," and a laugh seemed to finish the 
 broken sentence better than the words. 
 
 " You may, Ruth, for I do sincerel}' admire the most 
 genuine girl I have seen for a long time. And walking 
 here with you in 3'our bridal white I was just asking m3'self 
 if I should not be a happier man with a home of my own 
 and a little wife hanging on my arm than drifting about 
 the world as I do now with only myself to care for." 
 
 ' ' I know you would ! " and Ruth spoke so earnestly 
 that Randal was both touched and startled, fearing he 
 had ventured too far in a mood of unwonted sentiment, 
 born of the romance of the hour and the sweet frankness 
 of his companion. 
 
 " Then you don't think it would be rash for some 
 sweet woman to take me in hand and make me happ}', 
 since fame is a failure ? " 
 
 " Oh, no ; it would be easy work if she loved 3'ou. 
 I know some one — if I only dared to tell her name." 
 
 "Upon my soul, this is cool," and Randal looked 
 down, wondering if the audacious lad}^ on his arm could 
 be shy Ruth. 
 
 If he had seen the malicious merriment in her e3'es he 
 would have been more humiliated still, but tlie3' were 
 modestl3^ averted, and the face under the httle hat was 
 
^ COUNTRY CHRISTMAS. 117 
 
 fall of a soft agitation rather dangerous even to a man 
 of the world. 
 
 '^ She is a captivating little creature, but it is too 
 ftoon for anything but a mild flirtation. I must delaj^ 
 further innocent revelations or I shall do something 
 rash." 
 
 While making this excellent resolution Randal had 
 been pressing the hand upon his arm and gently pacing 
 down the dimly lighted hall with the sound of music in 
 his ears, Ruth's sweetest roses in his button-hole, and a 
 loving little girl beside him, as he thought. 
 
 "You shall tell me by and by when we are in town. 
 I am sure you will come, and meanwhile don't forget 
 me." 
 
 "I am going in the spring, but I shall not be with 
 Sophie,** answered Ruth, in a whisper. 
 
 " With whom then? I shall long to see you.'* 
 
 " With my husband. I am to be married in May." 
 
 " The deuce you are ! " escaped Randal, as he stopped 
 short to stare at his companion, sure she was not in 
 earnest. 
 
 But she was, for as he looked the sound of steps 
 coming up the back stairs made her whole face flush 
 and brighten with the unmistakable glow of happy love, 
 and she completed Randal's astonishment by running 
 into the arms of the young minister, saying with an irre- 
 pressible laugh, '' Oh ! John, why did n't you come 
 before?" 
 
 The court gentleman was all right in a moment, and 
 the coolest of the three as he offered his congratulations 
 and gracefully retired, leaving the lovers to enjoy the 
 tryst he had delayed. But as he \yent ^own stairs his 
 
118 PROVERB STORIES. 
 
 brows were knit, and he slapped the broad railing 
 smartl}' with his cocked hat as if some irritation must 
 find vent in a more energetic way than merel}' saying, 
 " Confound the little baggage I " under his breath. 
 
 Such an amazing supper came from Aunt Plumy's big 
 pantry that the city guests could not eat for laughing at 
 the queer dishes circulating through the rooms, and 
 copiously partaken of by the heart}' young folks. 
 
 Doughnuts and cheese, pie and pickles, cider and tea, 
 baked beans and custards, cake and cold turkey, bread 
 and butter, plum pudding and French bonbons, Sophie's 
 contribution. 
 
 " May I offer you the native delicacies, and share your 
 plate. Both are very good, but the . china has run 
 short, and after such vigorous exercise as 3-ou have had 
 3^ou must need refreshment. I 'm sure I do ! " said 
 Randal, bowing before Emily with a great blue platter 
 laden with two doughnuts, two wedges of pumpkin pie 
 and two spoons. 
 
 The smile with which she welcomed him, the alacrity 
 with which she made room beside her and seemed to 
 enjoy the supper he brought, was so soothing to his 
 ruffled spirit that he soon began to feel that there is no 
 friend like an old friend, that it would not be difficult to 
 name a sweet woman who would take him in hand and 
 would make him happy if he cared to ask her, and he 
 began to think he would b}- and by, it was so pleasant 
 to sit in that green corner with waves of crimson bro- 
 cade flowing over his feet, and a line face softening 
 beautifully under his eyes. 
 
 The supper was not rouiantic, but the situation was, 
 and Emily found that pie ambrosial food eaten with the 
 
4 COUNTRY CHRISTMAS. 119 
 
 man slic loved, whose 03x3 talked more eloqiientl}' than 
 the tongue just then busy with a doughnut. Ilutli kept 
 awa}', but glanced at them as she served her compan}", 
 and her own happ^^ experience helped her to see that 
 all was going well in that quarter. Saul and Sophie 
 emerged from the back entry with shining countenances, 
 but carefull}' avoided each other for the rest of the even- 
 ing. No one observed this but Aunt Plumy from the 
 recesses of her pantry, and she folded her hands as if 
 well content, as she murmured fervently over a par* 
 full of crullers, " Bless the dears ! Now I can die 
 happy." 
 
 Every one thought Sophie's old-fashioned dress im- 
 mensely becoming, and several of his former men saiOf 
 to Saul with blunt admiration, " Major, you look to- 
 night as you used to after we 'd gained a big battle." 
 
 "I feel as if I had," answered the splendid Major, 
 with eyes much brighter than his buttons, and a hearfc 
 under them infinicely prouder than when he was pro- 
 moted on the hold of honor, for his Waterloo was won. 
 
 There was more dancing, followed b}' games, in which 
 Aunt Plum}^ shone pre-eminent, for the supper was oft 
 her mind a,ad she could enjoy herself There were 
 shouts of merriment as the blithe old lady twirled the 
 platter, hiwted the squirrel, and went to Jerusalem like 
 a girl of sixteen ; her cap in a ruinous condition, anC{ 
 every seajn of the purple dress straining like sails in a 
 gale. It was great fun, but at midnight it came to an 
 end, and ihe 3^oung folks, still bubbling over with inno- 
 cent jollity, went jingling away along the snowy hills, 
 unanimously pronouncing Mrs. Basset's party the bes^ 
 of the season. 
 
120 PROVERB STORIES, 
 
 " Never had such a good time in my life ! " exclaimed 
 Sophie, as the famil}' stood together in the kitchen 
 where the candles among the wreaths were going out, 
 and the floor was strewn with wrecks of past joy. 
 
 "I'm proper glad, dear. Now 3'ou all go to bed 
 and lay as late as 3'ou like to-morrow. I 'm so kinder 
 worked up I could n't sleep, so Saul and me will put 
 things to rights without a mite of noise to disturb 3'ou ; " 
 and Aunt Plumy sent them off with a smile that was a 
 benediction, Sophie thought. 
 
 ''The dear old soul speaks as if midnight was an 
 imheard-of hour for Christians to be up. What would 
 she say if she knew how we seldom go to bed till dawn 
 in the ball season ? I 'm so wide awake I 've half a 
 mind to pack a little. Randal must go at two, he saj'S, 
 and we shall want his escort," said Emilj^ as the girls 
 laid away their brocades in the great press in Sophie's 
 room. 
 
 " I 'm not going. Aunt can't spare me, and there is 
 nothing to go for yet," answered Sophie, beginning to 
 take the white chrysanthemums out of her prett}' hair. 
 
 " My dear child, 3'OU will die of ennui up here. Ver}^ 
 nice for a week or so, but frightful for a winter. We 
 are going to be very ga}', and cannot get on without 
 3'OU," cried Emity, dismayed at the suggestion. 
 
 " You will have to, for I 'm not coming. I am very 
 happy here, and so tired of the frivolous life I lead in 
 town, that I have decided to try a better one," and 
 Sophie's mirror reflected a face full of the sweetest 
 content. 
 
 " Have 3'OU lost your mind? experienced religion? or 
 any other dreadful thing? You always were odd, but 
 
A COUNTRY CHRISTMAS. 121 
 
 this last freak is the strangest of all. What will your 
 guardian saj^, and the world ? " added Emily in the awe- 
 stricken tone of one who stood in fear of the omnipotent 
 Mrs. Grund}'. 
 
 ^'Guardy will be glad to be rid of me, and I don't 
 care that for the world," cried Sophie, snapping her 
 fingers with a J03'fiil sort of recklessness which com 
 pleted Emily's bewilderment. 
 
 " But llr. Hammond ? Are 3'ou going to throw awa}^ 
 millions, lose your chance of making the best match in 
 the cit}^ and driving the girls of our set out of their 
 wits with env}^ ? " 
 
 Sophie laughed at her friend's despairing cry, and 
 turning round said quietly, — 
 
 " I wrote to Mr. Hammond last night, and this even- 
 ing received my reward for being an honest girl. Saul 
 and I are to be married in the spring when Kuth is." 
 
 Emily fell prone upon the bed as if the announcement 
 was too much for her, but was up again in an instant to 
 declare with prophetic solemnity, — 
 
 " I knew something was going on, but hoped to get 
 you away before you were lost. Sophie, 3'ou will re- 
 pent. Be warned, and forget this sad delusion." 
 
 " Too late for that. The pang I suffered yesterdaj^ 
 when I thought Saul was dead showed me how well I 
 loved Mm. To-night he asked me to stay, and no 
 power in the world can part us. Oh ! Emily, it is all 
 so sweet, so beautiful, that everything is possible, and I 
 know I shall be happy in this dear old home, full of love 
 and peace and honest hearts. I only hope you may 
 find as true and tender a man to live for as m}' Saul." 
 
 Sophie's face was more eloquent than her fervent 
 
122 PROVERB STORIES. 
 
 words, and Emil}' beautifully illustrated the inconsis- 
 tenc}' of her sex b}" suddenly' embracing her friend, with 
 the incoherent exclamation, "I think I have, dear! 
 Your brave Saul is worth a dozen old Hammonds, and 
 I do believe 3'ou are right." 
 
 It is unnecessary to tell how, as if drawn b}' the irre- 
 sistible magic of sympathy, Ruth and her mother crept 
 in one by one to join the midnight conference and add 
 their smiles and tears, tender hopes and proud delight 
 to the joys of that memorable hour. Nor how Saul, 
 unable to sleep, mounted guard below, and meeting 
 Randal prowling down to soothe his nerves with a 
 surreptitious cigar found it impossible to help confiding 
 to his attentive ear the happiness that would break 
 bounds and overflow in unusual eloquence. 
 
 Peace fell upon the old house at last, and all slept as 
 if some magic herb had touched their eyelids, bringing 
 blissful dreams and a glad awakening. 
 
 " Can't we persuade you to come with us. Miss 
 Sophie ? " asked Randal next day, as they made their 
 adieu X. 
 
 ''^I'm under orders now, and dare not disobey my 
 superior officer," answered Sophie, handing her Major his 
 driving gloves, with a look which plainly showed that she 
 had joined the great army of devoted women who enlist 
 for life and ask no pay but love. 
 
 " I shall depend on being invited to your wedding, 
 then, and yours, too, Miss Ruth," added Randal, shak- 
 ing hands with '^ the little baggage," as if he had quite 
 forgiven her mockery and forgotten his own brief lapse 
 into sentiment. 
 
 Before she could reply Aunt Plumy said, in a tone ot 
 
A COUNTRY CHRISTMAS. 123 
 
 calm conviction, that made them all laugh, and some of 
 them look conscious, — 
 
 '' Spring is a good time for weddin's, and I should n't 
 wonder ef there was quite a number." 
 
 '' Nor I ; " and Saul and Sophie smiled at one another 
 as they saw how carefully Randal arranged Emily's 
 wraps. 
 
 Then with kisses, thanks and all the good wishes that 
 happy hearts could imagine, the guests drove awa}^^ to 
 remember long and gratefully that pleasant country- 
 Christmas. 
 
ON PICKET DUTY. 
 
 " Better late than never." 
 
 " TT THAT air you thinkin' of, Phil?" 
 VV " My wife, Dick." 
 
 " So -was I ! Ain't it odd how fellers fall to thinkin* 
 of thar little women, when they get a quiet spell hke 
 this?" 
 
 " Fortunate for us that we do get it, and have such 
 memories to keep us brave and honest through the trials 
 and temptations of a life like ours." 
 
 October moonlight shone clearly on the solitary tree, 
 draped with gray moss, scarred by lightning and warped 
 by wind, looking like a venerable warrior, whose long 
 campaign was nearly done ; and underneath was posted 
 the guard of four. Behind them twinkled many camp- 
 fires on a distant plain, before them wound a road 
 ploughed by the passage of an army, strewn with the 
 relics of a rout. On the right, a sluggish river glided, 
 like a serpent, stealthy, sinuous,, and dark, into a seem- 
 ingly impervious jungle ; on the left, a Southern swamp 
 filled tlie air with malarial damps, swarms of noisome 
 life, and discordant sounds that robbed the hour of its 
 repose. The men were friends as well as comrades, for 
 though gathered from the four quarters of the Union, 
 
ON PICKET DUTY. 125 
 
 and dissimilar in education, character, and tastes, the 
 same spirit animated all ; the routine of camp-life threw 
 them much together, and mutual esteem soon grew into 
 a bond of mutual good fellowship. 
 
 Thorn was a Massachusetts volunteer ; a man who 
 seemed too early old, too early embittered by some 
 cross, for, though grim of countenance, rough of speech, 
 cold of manner, a keen observer would have soon dis- 
 covered traces of a deeper, warmer nature hidden behind 
 the repellent front he turned upon the world. A true 
 New Engiander, thoughtful, acute, reticent, and opin- 
 ionated ; yet earnest withal, intensely patriotic, and 
 often humorous, despite a touch of Puritan austerity. 
 
 Phil, the " romantic chap," as he was called, looked 
 his character to the life. Slender, swarthj^, melancholy- 
 e^'ed, and darkly-bearded ; with feminine features, mel- 
 low voice, and alternately languid or vivacious manners. 
 A child of the South in nature as in aspect, ardent and 
 proud ; fitfully aspiring and despairing ; without the 
 native energy which moulds character and ennobles life. 
 Months of discipline and devotion had done much for 
 him, and some deep experience was fast ripening the 
 youth into a man. 
 
 Flint, the long-limbed lumberman, from the wilds of 
 Maine, was a conscript who, when government de- 
 manded his money or his life, calculated the cost, and 
 decided that the cash would be a dead loss and the claim 
 might be repeated, whereas the conscript would get both 
 pay and plunder out of government, while taking excel- 
 lent care that government got ver}^ little out of him. 
 A shrewd, slow-spoken, self-reliant specimen, was Flint ; 
 3'et something of the fresh flavor of the backwoods 
 
126 PROVERB STORIES. 
 
 lingered in him still, as if Nature were loath to give him 
 up, and left the mark of her motherl}' hand upon him, 
 as she leaves it in a dry, pale lichen, on the bosom of 
 the roughest stone. 
 
 Dick " hailed " from Illinois, and was a comely young 
 fellow, full of dash and daring ; rough and rowd}', gen- 
 erous and jolly, overflowing with spirits and ready for a 
 free fight with all the world. 
 
 Silence followed the last words, while the friendly 
 moon climbed up the sky. Each man's e3'e followed it, 
 and each man's heart was busy with remembrances of 
 other ej-es and hearts that might be watching and wish- 
 ing as theirs watched and wished. In the silence, each 
 shaped for himself that vision of home that brightens so 
 many camp-fires, haunts so many dreamers under can- 
 vas roofs, and keeps so man3^ turbulent natures tender 
 b}^ memories which often are both solace and salvation. 
 
 Thorn paced to and fro, his rifle on his shoulder, 
 vigilant and soldierly, however soft his heart might be. 
 Phil leaned against the tree, one hand in the breast of 
 his blue jacket, on the painted presentment of the face 
 his fancy was picturing in the golden circle of the moon. 
 FHnt lounged on the sward, whisthng softly as he 
 whittled at a fallen bough. Dick was flat on his back, 
 heels in air, cigar in mouth, and some hilarious notion 
 in his mind, for suddenly he broke into a laugh. 
 
 "What is it, lad?" asked Thorn, pausing in his 
 tramp, as if willing to be drawn from the disturbing 
 thought that made his black brows lower and his mouth 
 look grim. 
 
 " Thinkin' of my wife, and wishin' she was here, 
 bless her heart ! set me remcmberin' how I see her fust, 
 
ON PICKET DUTY. 127 
 
 and so I roared, as I alwa3's do when it comes into ih^ 
 head." 
 
 " How was it? Come, reel off a 3'arn, and let 's hear 
 houw yeou hitched teams," said Flint, always glad to 
 get information concerning his neighbors, if it could be 
 cheapl}^ done. 
 
 " Tellin' how we found our wives would n't be a bad 
 game, would it, Phil?" 
 
 " I 'm agreeable ; but let 's have your romance first." 
 
 " Devilish little of that about me or any of m}^ doin's. 
 I hate sentimental bosh as much as you hate slang, and 
 should have been a bachelor to this day if I had n't seen 
 Kitty jest as I did. You see, I 'd been too bus}' larkin' 
 round to get time for marryin', till a couple of 3'ears ago, 
 when I did up the job double-quick, as I 'd like to do 
 this thunderin' slow one, hang it all ! " 
 
 " Halt a minute till I give a look, for this picket is n't 
 going to be driven in or taken while I 'm on guard." 
 
 Down his beat w^ent Thorn, reconnoitring river, road, 
 and swamp, as thoroughlj' as one pair of keen eyes 
 could do it, and came back satisfied, but still growling 
 like a faithful mastiff on the watch ; performances which 
 he repeated at intervals till his own turn came. 
 
 " I did n't have to go out of my own State for a wife, 
 you 'd better believe," began Dick, with a boast, as 
 usual ; " for we raise as fine a crop of girls thar as any 
 State hi or out of the Union, and don't mind raisin' Cain 
 with any man who denies it. I was out on a gunnin' 
 tramp with Joe Partridge, a cousin of mine, — poor old 
 chap ! he fired his last shot at Gettysburg, and died 
 game in a wa}' he did n't dream of the da}- we popped 
 off the birds together. It ain't right to joke that way ; 
 
128 PROVERB STORIES. 
 
 I won't if I can help it ; but a feller gets awfullj' kind of 
 heathenish these times, don't he? " 
 
 " Settle lip them scores byme-by ; fightin' Christians 
 is scurse raound here. Fire awa}', Dick." 
 
 " Well, we got as hungry as hounds half a dozen mile 
 from home, and when a farmhouse hove in sight, Joe 
 said he 'd ask for a bite, and leave some of the plunder 
 for pay. I was visitin' Joe, did n't know folks round, 
 and backed out of the beggin' part of the job ; so he 
 went ahead alone. We 'd come out of the woods behind 
 the house, and while Joe was foragin', I took a recou- 
 noissance. The view was fust-rate, for the main part 
 of it was a girl airin' beds on the roof of a stoop. Xow, 
 jest about that time, havin' a leisure spell, I 'd begun to 
 think of marryin', and took a look at all the girls I met, 
 with an eye to business. I s'pose ever}' man has some 
 sort of an idee or pattern of the wife he wants ; pretty 
 and plucky, good and ga}^ was mine, but I 'd never 
 found it till I see Kitty ; and as she did n't see me, I 
 had the advantage and took an extra long stare." 
 
 " What was her good p'ints, hey ? " 
 
 " Oh, well, she had a wide-awake pair of eyes, a 
 bright, jolh^ sort of a face, lots of curl}' hair tumblin' 
 out of her net, a trig little figger, and a pair of the 
 neatest feet and ankles that ever stepped. ' Prett}',' 
 thinks I ; ' so far so good.' The way she whacked the 
 pillers, shook the blankets, and pitched into the beds 
 was a caution ; specially one blundorin' old feather-bed 
 that would n't do nothin' but sag round in a pig-headed 
 sort of way, that would iiave made most girls get mad 
 and give up. Kitty did n't, but just wrastled with it 
 like a good one, till she got it turned, banged, and 
 
ON PICKET DUTY. 129 
 
 spread to suit her ; then she plumped down in tlic 
 middle of it, with a sarcy little nod and chuckle to lier- 
 si'ir, that tickled me mightil}'. ' riucky,' thinks I, 
 * better 'n' better.' Jest then an old woman came flyin' 
 out the back-door, callin', ' Kitty ! Kitty ! Squire Part- 
 ridge's son 's here, 'long with a friend ; been gunnin,' 
 want luncheon, and I 'm all in the suds ; do come down 
 and see to 'em.' 
 
 '''Where are they?' says Kitt}-, scrambhng up her 
 hair and settlin' her gown in a jiffy, as women have a 
 knack of doin', 3^ou know. 
 
 "'Mr. Joe's in the front entry; the other man's 
 somewheres round, Billy saj^s, waitin' till I send word 
 whether they can stop. I darsn't till I 'd seen 3'ou, for 
 I can't do nothin', I 'm in such a mess,' says the old 
 lady. 
 
 " ' So am I, for I can't get in except bj- the entry 
 window, and he '11 see me,' says Kittj', gigglin' at the 
 thoughts of Joe. 
 
 " ' Come down the ladder, there 's a dear. I '11 pull 
 it round and keep it stidd}-,' says her mother. 
 
 " ' Oh, ma, don't ask me ! ' sa3's Kitt}', with a shiver. 
 ' I 'm dreadfully scared of ladders since I brcke my arm 
 off this very one. It 's so high, it makes me dizz}^ jest 
 to think of.' 
 
 " 'Well, then, I'll do the best I can; but I wish 
 them bo3'S was to Jericho ! ' sa3's the old lady, with a 
 groan, for she was fat and hot, had her gown pinned 
 up, and was in a fluster generall3'. She was goin' ofl 
 rather huff3', when Kitt3^ called out, — 
 
 "'Stop, ma! I'll come down and help j^ou, only 
 ketch me if I tumble.' 
 
 9 
 
130 PROVERB STORIES. 
 
 " She looked scared but stiddy, and I '11 bet it took as 
 much grit for her to do it as for one of us to face a ])at- 
 ter}^ It don't seem much to tell of, but I wish I may 
 be hit if it was n't a right down dutiful and clever thing 
 to see done. When the old lady took her off at the 
 bottom, with a good motherly hug, ' Good,' thinks I ; 
 ' what more do you want ? ' " 
 
 " A snug little propert}^ would n't a ben bad, I reck- 
 on," said Flint. 
 
 "Well, she had it, old skin-flint, though I didn't 
 know or care about it then. What a jollj^ row she'd 
 make if she knew I was tellin' the ladder part of the 
 story ! She alwa3's does when I get to it, and makes 
 believe cry, with her head in my breast-pocket, or any 
 such handy place, till I take it out and swear I '11 never 
 do so ag'in. Poor little Kit, I wonder what she 's doin' 
 now. Thinkin' of me, I '11 bet." 
 
 Dick paused, pulled his cap lower over his e3'es, and 
 smoked a minute with more energ}" than enjoj'ment, for 
 his cigar was out and he did not perceive it. 
 
 ''That's not all, is it?" asked Thorn, taking a 
 fatherly interest in the 3'ounger man's love passages. 
 
 "Not quite. 'Fore long, Joe whistled, and as I 
 always take short cuts ever3whar, I put in at the back- 
 door, jest as Kitty come trottin' out of the pantr}- with 
 a big berrj'-pie in her hand. I startled her, she tripped 
 over the sill and down she come ; the dish flew one way, 
 the pie flopped into her la}), the juice spatterin' ni}^ 
 boots and her clean gown. I thought she 'd cny, scold, 
 have hysterics, or some confounded thing or other ; but 
 she jest sat still a minute, then looked up at me with a 
 great blue splash on her face, and went ofl" into the 
 
ON PICKET DUTY. 131 
 
 good-naturedest gale of laugliin' j'ou ever hoard in 
 your life. That finished me. 'Gay,' thinks I; 'go 
 in and win.' So I did ; made love hand over hand, 
 while I stayed with Joe ; pnpposed a fortnight after, 
 married her in three months, and there she is, a tip- 
 top little woman, with a pair of stunnin' boys in her 
 arms ! " 
 
 Out came a well-worn case, and Dick proudly dis- 
 played the likeness of a stout, much bejewelled 5^oung 
 woman with two staring infants on her knee. In his 
 sight, the poor picture was a more perfect work of art 
 than any of Sir Joshua's baby-beauties, or Raphael's 
 Madonnas, and the little story needed no better sequel 
 than the young father's praises of his twins, the covert 
 kiss he gave their mother when he turned as if to get a 
 clearer hght upon the face. Ashamed to show the ten- 
 derness that filled his honest heart, he hummed " King- 
 dom Coming," while relighting his cigar, and presently 
 began to talk again. 
 
 " Now, then, Flint, it's your turn to keep guard, and 
 Thorn s to tell his romance. Come, don't try to shirk ; 
 it does a man good to talk of such things, and we 're all 
 mates here." 
 
 " In some cases it don't do an}^ good to talk of such 
 tilings ; better let 'em alone," muttered Thorn, as he re- 
 luctantly sat down, while Flint as reluctantly departed. 
 
 With a glance and gesture of real affection, Phil laid 
 his hand upon his comrade's knee, saving in his per- 
 suasive voice, " Old fellow, it will do you good, because 
 I know you often long to speak of something that 
 weighs upon you. You've kept us steady many a 
 time, and done us no end of kindnesses; why be too 
 
132 PROVERB STORIES. 
 
 proud to let us give our sympatln^ in return, if nothing 
 more ? " 
 
 Thorn's big hand closed over the slender one upon 
 his knee, and the mild expression, so rarelj' seen upon 
 his face, passed over it as he replied, — 
 
 "I think I could tell you almost anything if you 
 asked me that wa}', my boy. It is n't that I am too 
 proud, — and you 're right about m}' sometimes wanting 
 to free my mind, — but it 's because a man of forty don't 
 .just like to open out to young fellows, if there is any 
 danger of their laughing at him, though he ma}' deserve 
 it. I guess there is n't now, and I '11 tell you how I 
 found my wife." 
 
 Dick sat up, and Phil drew nearer, for the earnest- 
 ness that was in the man dignified his plain speech, and 
 inspired an interest in his history, even before it was 
 begun. Looking gravel}^ at the river and never at his 
 hearers, as if still a little sh}' of confidants, yet grateful 
 for the relief of words. Thorn began abruptly : — 
 
 "I never hear the number eighty- four without clap- 
 ping my hand to my left breast and missing my badge. 
 You know I was on the police in New York, before the 
 war, and that 's about all you do know 3'et. One bitter 
 cold night I was going my rounds for the last time, 
 when, as I turned a corner, I saw there was a trifle of 
 work to be done. It was a bad part of the city, full of 
 dirt and deviltr}' ; one of the streets led to a ferr}', and 
 at the corner an old woman had an apple-stall. The 
 poor soul had dropped asleep, worn out with the cold, 
 and there were her goods left with no one to watch 'em. 
 Somebod}^ was watching 'em, however ; a girl, with a 
 ragged shawl over her head, stood at the mouth of an 
 
ON PICKET DUTY. 133 
 
 alley close b}^ waiting for a chance to grab something. 
 I'd seen her there when I went b}^ before, and mis- 
 trusted she was up to some mischief; as I turned the 
 corner, she put out her hand and cribbed an apple. 
 She saw me the minute she did it, but neither dropped 
 it nor ran, only stood stock still with the apple in her 
 hand till I came up. 
 
 " 'This won't do, m}- girl,' said I. I never could be 
 harsh with 'em, poor things ! She laid it back and 
 looked up at me with a miserable sort of a smile, that 
 made me put my hand in my pocket to fish for a nine- 
 pence before she spoke. 
 
 " ' I know it won't,' she says. ' I did n't want to do 
 it, it 's so mean, but I 'm awful hungry, sir.' 
 
 '' ' Better run home and get your supper, then.* 
 
 " ' I 've got no home.' 
 
 ^' ' Where do you live?' 
 
 " 'In the street.' 
 
 ' ' ' Where do you sleep ? ' 
 
 *' ' Anj'where ; last night in the lock-up, and I thought 
 I 'd get in there again, if I did that when you saw me. 
 I like to go there, it 's warm and safe.' 
 
 '' ' If I don't take you there, what will you do? ' 
 
 '' 'Don't know. I could go over there and dance 
 again as I used to, but being sick has made me ugly, 
 so the}^ won't have me, and no one else will take me 
 because I have been there once.' 
 
 " I looked where she pointed, and thanked the Lord 
 that they would n't take her. It was one of those low 
 theatres that do so much damage to the like of her ; 
 tliere was a gambling place one side of it, an eating 
 saloon the other. I was new to the work then, but 
 
134 PROVERB STORIE:s. 
 
 though I 'd heard about hunger and homelessness often 
 enough, I 'd never had this sort of thing, nor seen that 
 look on a girl's face. A white, pinched face hers was, 
 with frightened, tired-looking eyes, but so innocent ! 
 She was n't more than sixteen, had been prett}' once, I 
 saw, looked sick and starved now, and seemed just the 
 most helpless, hopeless little thing that ever was. 
 
 ' ' ' You 'd better come to the Station for to-night, and 
 we '11 see to you to-morrow,' says I. 
 
 " ' Thank you, sir, ' saj'S she, looking as grateful as 
 if I 'd asked her home. I suppose I did speak kind of 
 fatherly. I ain't ashamed to say I felt so, seeing what 
 a child she was ; nor to own that when she put her little 
 hand in mine, it hurt me to feel how thin and cold it 
 was. We passed the eating-house where the red lights 
 made her face as rosy as it ought to have been ; there 
 was meat and pies in the window, and the poor thing 
 stopped to look. It was too much for her ; off came her 
 shawl, and she said in that coaxing wa}^ of hers, — 
 
 " ' I wish you'd let me stop at the place close by and 
 sell this ; they '11 give a little for it, and I '11 get some 
 supper. I 've had nothing since j'esterda}^ morning, 
 and maj^be cold is easier to bear than hunger.' 
 
 "'Have you nothing better than that to sell?' I 
 sa^^s, not quite sure that she was n't all a humbug, like 
 so man}^ of 'em. She seemed to see that, and looked 
 up at me again with such innocent e3^es, I could n't 
 doubt her when she said, shivering with something 
 beside the cold, — 
 
 "'Nothing but myself.' Then the tears came, and 
 she laid her head down on ni}'- arm, sobbing, — ' Keep 
 me ! oh, do keep me safe somewhere ! '" 
 
ON PICKET DUTY. 135 
 
 Thorn cboked here, steadied his voice with a resolute 
 hem ! but could only add one sentence more, — 
 
 '' That's how I found my wife." 
 
 " Come, don't stop thar. I told the whole o' mine, 
 you do the snme. Whar did you take her? how 'd it all 
 come round? " 
 
 ''Please tell us. Thorn." 
 
 The gentler request was answered presentl}', very 
 stead il}^, very quietly. 
 
 " I was alwa^'s a soft-hearted fellow, though you 
 would n't think it now, and when that little girl asked 
 me to keep her safe, I just did it. I took her to a good 
 woman whom I knew, for I had n't an}^ women fo\ks be- 
 longing to me, nor any place but that to put her in. She 
 stayed there till spring working for her keep, growing 
 brighter, prettier, every day, and fonder of me, I thought. 
 If I believed in witchcraft, I should n't think myself 
 such a fool as I do now, but I don't believe in it, and 
 to this day I can't understand how I came to do it. To 
 be sure I was a lonel}' man, without kith or kin, had 
 never had a sweetheart in my life, or been much with 
 women since my mother died. Maybe that 's why I 
 was so bewitched with Marj^ for she had little ways 
 with her that took your fanc}^ and made you love her 
 whether you would or no. I found her father was an 
 honest fellow enough, a fiddler in some theatre ; that 
 he 'd taken good care of Mary till he died, leaving pre- 
 cious little but advice for her to live on. She 'd tried to 
 get work, failed, spent all she had, got sick, and was 
 going to the bad, as the poor souls can hardly help 
 doing with so man}' read}^ to give them a shove. It's 
 no use trying to make a bad job better ; so the long 
 
136 PROVERB STORIES. 
 
 and short of it was, I thought she loved me ; God 
 knows I loved her ! and I married her before the 3'ear 
 was out." 
 
 " Show US her picture ; I know you 've got one ; all 
 the fellows have, though half of 'em won't own up." 
 
 "I've only got part of one. I once saved my little 
 girl, and her picture once saved me." 
 
 From an inner pocket Thorn produced a woman's 
 housewife, carefully untied it, though all its implements 
 were missing but a little thimble, and from one of its 
 compartments took a flattened bullet and the remnants 
 of a picture. 
 
 ' '- 1 gave her that the first Christmas after I found 
 her. She was n't as tidy about her clothes as I liked to 
 see, and I thought if I gave her a handy thing hke this, 
 she 'd be willing to sew. But she only made one shirt 
 for me, and then got tired, so I keep it like an old fool, 
 as I am. Yes, that 's the bit of lead that would have 
 done for me, if Mary's likeness had n't been just where 
 it was." 
 
 "You'll like to show her this when you go home, 
 won't you? " said Dick, as he took up the bullet, while 
 Phil examined the marred picture, and Thorn poised 
 the little thimble on his big finger, with a sigh. 
 
 "How can I, when I don't know where she is, and 
 camp is all the home I 've got ! " 
 
 The words broke from him like a sudden groan, when 
 some old wound is rudel}^ touched. Both of the young 
 men started, both laid back the relics they had taken 
 up, and turned their eyes from Thorn's face, across 
 which swept a look of shame and sorrow, too significant 
 to be misunderstood. Their silence assured him of theii' 
 
ON PICKET DUTY. 137 
 
 S3'mpathy, and, as if that touch of friendliness un- 
 locked his heavy heart, he eased it b}- a full confession. 
 When he spoke again, it was with the calmness of re- 
 pressed emotion, a calmness more touching to his mates 
 than the most passionate outbreak, the most pathetic 
 lamentation ; for the coarse camp-phrases seemed to 
 drop from his vocabular}' ; more than once his softened 
 voice grew tremulous, and to the words " m}' little girl," 
 there went a tenderness that proved how dear a place 
 she still retained in that deep heart of his. 
 
 " Bo3'S, I 've gone so far ; I may as well finish ; and 
 you '11 see I 'm not without some cause for my stern 
 looks and wa^ s ; 3-ou '11 pit}^ me, and from you I '11 take 
 the comfort of it. It's onl}^ the old story, — I married 
 her, worked for her, lived for her, and kept my little 
 girl like a lady. I should have known that I was too 
 old and sober for a 3'oung thing like that, for the life she 
 led before the pinch came just suited her. She liked to 
 be admired, to dress and dance and make herself pretty 
 for all the world to see ; not to keep house for a quiet 
 man like me. Idleness wasn't good for her, it bred 
 discontent ; then some of her old friends, who 'd left her 
 in her trouble, found her out when better times came 
 round, and tried to get her back again. I was awa}' all 
 da}^ I did n't know how things w^ere going, and she 
 was n't open with me, afraid she said ; I was so grave, 
 and hated theatres so. She got courage finally to tel] 
 me that she was n't happ}^ ; that she wanted to dance 
 again, and asked me if she might n't. I 'd rather have 
 had her ask me to put her in a fire, for I did hate 
 theatres, and was bred to ; others think they 're no 
 harm. I do ; and knew it was a bad life foi a girl like 
 
138 PROVERB STORIES. 
 
 mine. It pampers vanity, and vanit}^ is the Devil's 
 iielp witli sucli ; so I said No, kindly- at first, sharp and 
 stern when she kept on teasing. That roused her spirit. 
 ' I will go ! ' she said, one day. ' Not while you are my 
 wife,' I answered back ; and neither said any more, but 
 she gave me a look I did n't think she could, and I 
 resolved to take her away from temptation before worse 
 came of it. 
 
 "tl did n't tell her m}^ plan ; but I resigned my place,' 
 spent a week or more finding and fixing a little home 
 for her out in the wliolesome countr}', where she 'd be 
 safe from theatres and disreputable friends, and maybe 
 learn to love me better when she saw how much she 
 was to me. It was coming summer, and I made things 
 look as home-like and as prett}' as I could. She liked 
 flowers, and I fixed a garden for her ; she was fond of 
 pets, and I got her a bird, a kitten, and a dog to play 
 with her ; she fancied ga}' colors and tasty little matters, 
 so I filled her rooms with all the handsome things I 
 could afford, and when it was done, I was as pleased 
 as any boy, thinking what happy times we 'd have to- 
 gether and how pleased she 'd be. Boj'S, when I went 
 to tell her and to take her to her little home, she was 
 gone." 
 
 "Who with?" 
 
 ' ' A¥ith those cursed friends of hers ; a part}' of them 
 3eft the cit}^ just then ; she was wild to go ; she had 
 money now, and all her good looks back again. Thc}'^ 
 teased and tempted her ; I was n't there to keep her, 
 and she went, leaving a line behind to tell me that she 
 ioved the old life more than the new ; that my house 
 was a prison, and she hoped I'd let her go in p^i-^ice- 
 
ON PICKET DUTY. 139 
 
 That almost killed me ; but I managed to bear it, for I 
 knew most of the fault was mine ; but it was awful 
 bitter to think I had n't saved her, after all." 
 
 '' Oh, Tliorn ! what did you do? " 
 
 "Went straight after her; found her dancing in 
 Philadelphia, with paint on her cheeks, trinlvcts on her 
 neck and arms, looking prettier than ever ; but the 
 innocent eyes were gone, and I could n't see my little 
 girl in the bold, handsome woman twirling there before 
 the footlights. She saw me, looked scared at first, then 
 smiled, and danced on with her eyes upon me, as if she 
 said, — 
 
 " ' See ! I 'm happy now ; go away and let me be.' 
 
 "I could n't stand that, and got out somehow. Peo- 
 ple thought me mad, or drunk ; I did n't care, I onl}^ 
 wanted to see her once in quiet and try to get her home. 
 I could n't do it then nor afterwards hj fair means, and 
 I would n't try force. I wrote to her, promised to for- 
 give her, begged her to come back, or let me keep 
 her honestly somewhere awa}' from me. But she never 
 answered, never came, and I have never tried again." 
 
 " She was n't worthy of 3'ou, Thorn ; jom jest forgit 
 her." 
 
 "I wish I could! I wish I could!" In his voice 
 quivered an almost passionate regret, and a great sob 
 heaved his chest, as he turned his face awaj^ to hide the 
 love and longing, still so tender and so strong. 
 
 '' Don't say that, Dick ; such fidelit}' should make us 
 charitable for its own sake. There is alwa3^s time for 
 penitence, always certainty of pardon. Take heart, 
 Thorn, you may not wait in vain, and she may yet re- 
 turn to you." 
 
140 PROVERB STORIES. 
 
 II 
 
 I know she will ! I 've dreamed of it, 1 've pra3'ed 
 for it ; every battle I come out of safe makes me surer 
 that I was kept for that, and when I 've borne enough 
 to atone for m}" part of the fault, I '11 be repaid for all' 
 m}' patience, all my pain, by finding her again. She 
 knows how well I love her still, and if there comes a 
 time when she is sick and poor and all alone again, then 
 she '11 remember her old John, then she '11 come home 
 and let me take her in." 
 
 Hope shone in Thorn's melanchoty eyes, and long- 
 suffering, all-forgiving love beautified the rough, brown 
 face, as he folded his arms and bent his gra}^ head on 
 his breast, as if the wanderer were already come. 
 
 The emotion which Dick scorned to show on his own 
 account was freelj^ manifested for another, as he sniffed 
 audibl}', and, bo3^-like, drew his sleeve across his e^^es. 
 But Phil, with the delicate perception of a finer nature, 
 felt that the truest kindness he could show his friend 
 was to distract his thoughts from himself, to spare him 
 any comments, and lessen the embarrassment which 
 would surel}^ follow such unwonted confidence. 
 
 " Now I '11 relieve Flint, and he will give 3'ou a laugh. 
 Come on, Hiram, and tell us about your Beulah." 
 
 The gentleman addressed had performed his duty b3^ 
 sitting on a fence and "righting up" his pockets, to 
 beguile the tedium of his exile. Before his multitudi- 
 nous possessions could be restored to their native sphere, 
 Thorn was himself again, and on his feet. 
 
 " Sta}' where you are, Phil ; I like to tramp, it seems 
 like old times, and I know you 're tired. Just forget 
 all this I 've been saying, and go on as before. Thank 
 you, bo3's ! thank 3'ou," and with a grasp of the two 
 
ON PICKET DUTY. 141 
 
 hands extended to him, he strode away along the path 
 ah'cad}^ worn by his own restless feet. 
 
 " It 's done him good, and I 'm glad of that ; but I 'd 
 like to see the little baggage that bewitched the poor old 
 bo}^, would n't 3'ou, Phil? " 
 
 "Hush! here 's Flint." 
 
 " What 's up naow ? want me tew address the meeting 
 hey? I'm willin', only the laugh's ruther ag'inst me, 
 ef I tell that story ; expect you '11 like it all the better 
 fer that." Flint coiled up his long limbs, put his hands 
 in his pockets, chewed meditatively for a moment, and 
 then began, with his slowest drawl : — 
 
 "Waal, sir, it's pretty nigh ten j^ear ago, I was 
 daraster daown tew Oldtaown, clos't to Banggore. My 
 folks lived tew Bethel ; there was only the old man, and 
 Aunt Siloam, keepin' house fer him, seein' as I was 
 the only chick he hed. I hed n't beared from 'em fer a 
 long spell, when there come a letter say in' the old man 
 was breakin' np. He 'd said it ever}' spring fer a 
 number er years, and I did n't mind it no more 'n the 
 breakin' up er the river ; not so much, jest then ; fer the 
 gret spring drive was comin' on, and my hands was tew 
 full to quit work all tew oncet. I sent word I 'd be 
 'long 'fore a gret while, and byme-b}^ I went. I ought 
 tew hev gone at fust ; but thej^ 'd sung aout ' Wolf ! ' so 
 often I warn't scared ; an' sure 'nuff the wolf did come 
 at last. Father hed been dead and berried a week when 
 I got there, and aunt was so mad she would n't write, 
 nor scurcely speak tew me for a consider'ble spell. I 
 did n't blame her a mite, and felt jest the wust kind ; 
 so I give in every way, and fetched her raound. Yeou 
 see I hed a cousin who 'd kind er took my place tew 
 
142 PROVERB STORIES. 
 
 hum while I Tvas off, an' the old man bed left him a good 
 shce er his money, an' me the farm, hopiu' to keep me 
 there He'd never liked the lumberin' bizness, an^ 
 Lankwed arfter me a sight, I laound. W^al, seen, 
 haow 't was, I tried tew please him, late as it was ; but 
 ef there was ennylhing I did spleen ag'inst it was farm- 
 in', 'specially arfter the smart times I 'd ben heym , up 
 Oldtaown way. Yeou don't know nothin' abaout it; 
 but ef yeou want tew see high dewin's, jest hitch onto a 
 timber-driye an' go it daown along them Lakes and riyers, 
 sav from Kaumchenung.amooth tew Punnobscot Bay. 
 Guess yeou 'd see a thing or tew, an' find liyin' on a log 
 come as handy as ef you was born a turtle. 
 
 " Waal, I stood it one summer ; but it was the long- 
 est kind of a job. Come fall I turned contry darned 
 the farm, and yaowed I'd go back tew loggm . Aunt 
 bed got fond er me by that time, and felt dreadful bad 
 abaout my leayin' on her. Cousin Siah, as .0 called 
 JoXh, did n't cotton tew the old woman, though he did 
 tw hel. cash ; but we hitched along fust-rate She was 
 'tached tew the place, hated tew hey it let oi sold, 
 t ou'ht I'd go to everlastin' rewin ef I took tew um- 
 b rin' ag'in, an' heyin' a tidy little sum er money aU her 
 oZ sh'e tJok a notion tew buy me off. ' llu-am se. 
 she 'ef yeou '11 stay to hum, merry some smart girl, 
 an' kerry on the farm, I'll leaye yeou the hull er my 
 fortin. Ef yeou don't, I'll leaye eyery cent on 't tew 
 Siah, though he ain't done as waal by me as yeou hev 
 Con .,' sez she, ' 1 'm l.reakin' up like brother ; I sha t 
 wurry any one a gret .l,ile, and 'fore spring I dessa, 
 you'U hey cause tew rejice that yeou done as Aunt bi 
 counselled yeou.' 
 
ON PICKET DUTY. 143 
 
 *' Now, that idee kinder took me, seein' I bed n't no 
 overpaourin' love fer cousin ; but I brewdid over it a 
 spell 'fore I 'greed. Fin'll}', I said I'd dew it, as it 
 warn't a hard nor a bad trade ; and begun to look 
 raound fer Mis Flint, Jr. Aunt was dreadf 1 pleased ; 
 but 'mazin pertickler as tew who was goin' tew stan' in 
 her shoes, when she was fetched up ag'inst the etarnal 
 boom. There was a sight er likely women-folks raound 
 taown ; but aunt she set her foot daown that Mis Flint 
 must be smart, pious, an good-natered ; harnsome she 
 did n't sa}' nothin' abaout, bein' the humliest woman in 
 le State er Maine. I hed my own calk'lations on that 
 'p'int, an' went sparkin' two or three er the pootiest gals, 
 all that winter. I warn't in no hurr}^, fer merryin' is 
 an awful resk}- bizness ; an' I wan't goan to be took in 
 by nobudd}'. Some haouw I could n't make up my mind 
 which I 'd hev, and kept dodgin', all ready to slew 
 raound, an' hitch on tew ary one that seemed likeliest. 
 'Long in March, Aunt, she ketched cold, took tew her 
 bed, got wuss, an' told me tew hurry up, fer nar}^ cent 
 should I hev, ef I warn't safely merried 'fore she stepped 
 out. I thought that was ruther craoudin' a feller ; but 
 I see she was goan sure, an' I 'd got inter a way er con- 
 siderin' the cash mine, so that it come hard to hear 
 abaout givin' on 't up. Off I went that evenin' an' asked 
 Almiry Nash ef she 'd hev me. No, she would n't ; I 'd 
 shillj-shallyed so long, she 'd got tired er waitin' and 
 took tew keepin' compan}^ with a doctor daown ter 
 Banggore, where she'd ben visitin' a spell. I didn't 
 find that as hard a nub to swaller, as I 'd a thought I 
 would, though Almiry was the richest, pootiest, and 
 good-naterest of the lot. Aunt larfed waal, an' told me 
 
144 PROVERB STORIES. 
 
 tew try ag'in ; so a couple er niglits arfter, I spruced up, 
 an' went over to Car'line Miles's ; she was as smart as 
 old cheese, an' waal off mtew the barg'in. I was just 
 as sure she'd hev me, as I be that I 'm gittin' the rew- 
 matiz a settin' in this ma'sh. But that minx, Almiry, 
 hed ben and let on abaout her own sarsy way er servin' 
 on me, an' Car'line jest up an' said she warn't goan to 
 hev annybuddy's leavin's ; so daown I come ag'in. 
 
 *' Things was gettin' desper't by that time ; fer aunt 
 was failin' rapid, an' the story hed leaked aout some 
 way, so the hull taown was gigglin' over it. I thought 
 I'd better quit them parts; but aunt she showed me 
 her will all done complete, 'sceptin the fust name er the 
 legatee. 'There,' sez she, 'it all depends on yeoii, 
 whether that place is took by Hiram or Josiah. It 's 
 easy done, an' so it's goan tew stan till the last minit.' 
 That riled me consid'able, an' I streaked off tew May 
 Jane Simlin's. She wan't very waal off, nor extra 
 harnsome, but she was pious the worst kind, an' dreadf 1 
 clever to them she fancied. But I was daown on my 
 luck ag'in ; fer at the fust word I spoke of merry in', she 
 showed me the door, an' give me to understan' that she 
 could n't think er hevin' a man that warn't a church- 
 member, that had n't experienced religion, or even ben 
 struck with conviction, an' all the rest on 't. Ef anny 
 one hed a wanted tew hev seen a walkin' hornet's nest, 
 they could hev done it cheap that night, as I went 
 hum. I jest bounced intew the kitchen, chucked my 
 hat intew one corner, my coat intew 'notlier, kicked the 
 cat, cussed the fire, drawed up a chair, and set scaouUn' 
 like sixty, bein' tew mad fer talkin'. The young woman 
 that was nussin' aunt, — Bcwlah Blish, by name, — was 
 
ON PICKET DUTY. 145 
 
 a cooking grewel on the coals, and 'peared tew under- 
 stan' the mess I was in; bnt she didn't say nothin', 
 only blowed up the fire, fetched me a mug er cider,.. an' 
 went raound so kinder quiet, and sympathizin', that I 
 found the wrinkles in my temper gettin' smoothed aout 
 'mazin' quick ; an' 'fore long I made a clean breast er 
 the hull thing. Bewlah larfed, but I did n't mind her 
 doin' on 't, for she sez, sez she, real sort o' cunnin', — 
 
 "'Poor Hiram! they didn't use jqow waal. Yeou 
 ought to hev tried some er the poor an' huml}^ girls ; 
 they 'd a been glad an' grateful fer such a sweetheart 
 as yeou be.' 
 
 " I was good-natered ag'in by that time, an' I sez, 
 larfin' along with her, ' Waal, I 've got three mittens, 
 but I guess I might 's waal hev 'nother, and that will make 
 two pair complete. Say, Bewlah, will 5'eou hev me? ' 
 
 " 'Yes, I will,' sez she. 
 
 " 'Reelly?' sez I. 
 
 *' ' Solemn trew,' sez she. 
 
 " Ef she 'd up an' slapped me in the face, I should n't 
 hev ben more throwed aback, fer I never mistrusted she 
 cared two chips for me. I jest set an' gawped ; fer she 
 was ' solemn trew,' I see that with half an eye, an' it 
 kinder took m}^ breath awa}^ Bewlah drawed the 
 grewel off the fire, wiped her hands, an' stood lookin' at 
 me a minuet, then she sez, slow an' quiet, but tremblin' 
 a little, as women hev a way er doin', when they've 
 consid'able steam aboard, — 
 
 " ' Hiram, other folks think lumberin' has spilt yeou ; 
 
 / don't ; the}" call 3'ou rough an' rewd ; / know you 've 
 
 got a real kind heart fer them as knows haow tew find 
 
 it. Them girls give yeou up so eas^', 'cause they never 
 
 10 
 
146 PROVERB STORIES. 
 
 loved 3'eon, an' ycou give them up 'cause you only 
 thought abaout their looks an' mone3\ I 'm huml^-, an' 
 I 'm poor ; but I 've loved yeou ever sence we went a- 
 nuttin' 3'ears ago, an' yeou shook daown fer me, kerried 
 my bag, and kissed me tew the gate, when all the others 
 shunned me, 'cause my father drank an' I was shabby- 
 dressed, ugi}^, an' shy. Yeou asked me in sport, I 
 answered in airnest ; but I don't expect nothin' unless 
 yeou mean as I mean. Like me, Iliram, or leave me, 
 it won't make no odds in my lovin' of yeou, nor helpin' 
 of 3'eou, ef I kin.' 
 
 '''T ain't easy tew sa}^ haouw I felt, while she was 
 goin' on that wa}" , but m}' idees was tumbUn' raound 
 inside er me, as ef half a dozen dams was broke loose 
 all tew oncet. One thing was ruther stiddier 'n the 
 rest, an' that was that I liked Bevvlah more 'n I knew. 
 I begun tew see what kep' me loafin' tew hum so much, 
 sence aunt was took daown ; wh}' I wan't in no hurry 
 tew git them other gals, an' haow I come tew pocket m}' 
 mittens so easy arfter the fust rile was over. Bewlah 
 was humly, poor in flesh, dreadful freckled, hed red 
 hair, black e3^es, an' a gret mold side of her nose. But 
 I'd got wonted tew her ;^ she knowed m}' ways, was a 
 fust rate housekeeper, real good-tempered, and pious 
 without flingin' on 't in yev face. IShe was a lonely 
 creeter, — her folks bein' all dead but one sister, who 
 did n't use her waal, an' somehow I kinder ^-earned over 
 her, as they say in Scripter. P^or all 1 set an' gawped, 
 I was coming raound fast, though I felt as I used tew, 
 when I was goin' to shoot the rapids, kinder breathhss 
 an' oncertin, whether I 'd come aout i-ight side up or not 
 Queer, warn't it? " 
 
ON PICKET DUTY. 1-1:7 
 
 ^' Love, Flint ; that was a sure symptom of it." 
 
 " AVaal, guess 'twas ; an3'way I jumped up all of a 
 sudden, ketched Bewlali raound the neck, give her a 
 hearty kiss, and sung aout, ' I '11 dew it sure 's my 
 name 's Hi Flint ! ' The words w^as scarcely out of my 
 inaouth, 'fore daown come Dr. Parr. He 'd ben up tew 
 see aunt, an' said she would n't last the night threw, 
 prob'ly. That give me a scare er the wust kind ; an' 
 when I told doctor haow things was, he sez, kinder 
 jokin', — 
 
 " ' Better git merried right away, then. Parson Dill 
 is tew come an' see the old lady, an' he '11 dew both jobs 
 tew oncet.' 
 
 " ' Will 3^eou, Bewlah? ' sez I. 
 
 *' 'Yes, Hiram, to 'blige yeou,' sez she. 
 
 "With that, I put it fer the license; got it, an 
 was back in less 'n half an haour, most tuckered 
 aout with the flurr}- of the hull concern. Quick as 
 I 'd been, Bewlah hed faound time tew whip on her 
 best gaoun, fix up her hair, and put a couple er white 
 chrissanthj^mums intew her hand' chif pin. Fer the fust 
 time in her life, she looked harnsome, — leastways 1 
 thought so, — with a prett}' color in her cheeks, some- 
 thin' brighter 'n a larf shinin' in her eyes, and her lips 
 smilin' an' tremblin', as she come to me an' whispered 
 so 's 't none er the rest could hear, — 
 
 " 'Hiram, don't yeou dew it, ef yeou 'd ruthor not. 
 I 've stood it a gret while alone, an' I guess I can 
 ag'in.' 
 
 " Never j^eou mind what I said or done abaout that ; 
 but we was merried ten minutes arfter, 'fore the kitchen 
 fire, with Dr. Parr an' aour hired man, fer witnesses j 
 
148 PROVERB STORIES. 
 
 an' then we all went np tew aunt. She was goan fast, 
 but she understood what I told her, hed strength tew fill 
 up the hole in the will, an' to sa}', a-kissin' Bewlah, 
 ' Yeou '11 be a good wife, an' naow 3'eou ain't a poor 
 one.' 
 
 " I could n't help givin' a peek tew the will, and there 
 I see not Hiram Flint nor Josiah Flint, but Bewlah 
 Flint, wrote every which wa^^, but as plain as the nose 
 on yer face. ' It won't make no odds, dear,' whispered 
 m}^ wife, peekin' over mj^ shoulder. ' Guess it won't ! ' 
 sez I, aout laoud ; ' I 'm glad on 't, and it ain't a cent 
 more 'n j^eou derserve.' 
 
 " That pleased aunt. ' Riz me, Hiram,' sez she ; an' 
 when I 'd got her easy, she put her old arms raound m}' 
 neck, an' tried to say, 'God bless you, dear — ,' but 
 died a doin' of it ; an' I ain't ashamed tew sa}^ I boo- 
 hooed real hearty, when I laid her daown, fer she was 
 dreadf'l good tew me, an' I don't forgit her in a hurry.'' 
 
 " How 's Bewlah? " asked Dick, after the little tribute 
 Df respect all paid to Aunt Siloam's memory, by a mo- 
 mentarj^ silence. 
 
 " Fust-rate ! that harum-scarum venter er mine was 
 the best I ever made. She 's done waal b}' me, lies 
 Bewlah ; ben a grand good haousekeeper, kin kerry on 
 the farm better 'n me, any time, an' is as dutif'l an' lov- 
 in' a wife as, — waal, as ann^'thing that is extra dutif'l 
 and lovin'." 
 
 ' ' Got an}' boys to brag of ? " 
 
 "We don't think much o' bo3's daown aour way; 
 they 're 'mazin' resk}- stock to fetch up, — alluz breakin' 
 baounds, gittin' intew the paound, and wurryin' 30ur 
 life aout somehaow 'nother. Gals naow doos waal; 
 
ON PICKET DUTY. 149 
 
 I Ve got six o' the likeliest the is goin', every one on 
 'em is the veiy moral of Bewlah, — red hair, black ej'es, 
 quiet waj^s, an' a mold 'side the nose. Baby's ain't 
 gro'.ved yet ; but I expect tew see it in a consid'able 
 state o' forrardness, when I git hum, an' would n't miss 
 it fer the world." 
 
 The droll expression of Flint's face, and the satisfied 
 twang of his last words, were iiTesistible. Dick and 
 Phil went off into a shout of laughter ; and even Thorn's 
 grave lips relapsed into a smile at the vision of six little 
 Flints with their six little moles. As if the act were an 
 estabhshed ceremon}^, the ' ' paternal head " produced 
 his pocket-book, selected a worn black-and-white paper, 
 which he spread in his broad palm, and displaced with 
 the air of a connoisseur. 
 
 " There, thet 's Bewlah ! we call it a cuttin' ; but the 
 l^roper name 's a sill3'-hoot, I b'leeve. I 've got a harn- 
 some big degarrytype tew hum, but the heft on 't makes 
 it bad tew keny raound, so I took this. I don't tote it 
 abaout inside m}^ shirt, as some dew, — it ain't my way ; 
 but I keep it in my wallet long with my other valleu'bles, 
 and guess I set as much store by it as ef it was all 
 painted up, and done off to kill." 
 
 The " sillj^-hoot" was examined with interest, and 
 carefully stowed away again in the old brown wallet, 
 which was settled in its place with a satisfied &lap ; then 
 Flint said briskl}-, — 
 
 " Naouw, Phil, 3'eou close this iuterestin' and in- 
 structive meeting ; and be spry, fer time 's most up." 
 
 " I have n't much to tell, but must begin with a con- 
 fession which I have often longed but never dared to 
 oiake before, because I am a coward." 
 
150 PROVERB STORIES. 
 
 '' Sho ! who 's goan to b'lceve that o' a maii who fit 
 like a wild-cat, wiiz offered permotion on the field, and 
 reported tew headquarters arfter his fust scrimmage. 
 Try ag'in, Phil." 
 
 " Physical courage is as plentiful as brass buttons, 
 nowadays, but moral courage is a rarer virtue ; and I 'm 
 lacking in it, as I '11 prove. You think me a Virginian ; 
 I 'm an Alabamian by birth, and was a Rebel three 
 months ago." 
 
 This confession startled his hearers, as he knew it 
 would, for he had kept his secret well. Thorn laid his 
 hand involuntarily upon his rifle, Dick drew off a little, 
 and Flint illustrated one of his own expressions, for he 
 " gawped." Phil laughed that musical laugh of his, and 
 looked up at them with his dark face waking into sudden 
 life, as he went on : — 
 
 " There 's no treason in the camp, for I 'm as fierce 
 a Federalist as any of 3'ou now, and 3'ou ma}' thank a 
 woman for it. AVhen Lee made his raid into Penns3'l- 
 vania, I was a lieutenant in the — well, never mind 
 what regiment, it has n't signalized itself since, and I 'd 
 rather not hit m\' old neighbors when they are down. 
 In one of the skirmishes during our retreat, I got a 
 wound and was left for dead. A kind old Quaker found 
 and took me home ; but though I was too weak to talk, 
 I had my senses by that time, and knew what wont on 
 about me. Everything was in confusion, even in that 
 well-ordered place ; no surgeon could be got at first, 
 .^nd a flock of frightened women thee'd and thou'd one 
 •tnother over me, but had n't wit enough to see that I 
 was bleeding to death. Among the faces that danced 
 before my dizzy e3'es was one that seemed familiar, 
 
ON PICKET DUTY. 151 
 
 pro])abl3' because no cap sniToiindcd it. I was glad 
 to have it bending over me, to hear a steady voice sa}-, 
 ' Give me a bandage, quick ! ' and when none was 
 instantly forthcoming to me, the young lady stripped 
 up a little white apron she wore, and stanched the 
 wound in m}^ shoulder. I was not as badty hurt as I 
 supposed, but so w^orn-out, and faint from loss of blood, 
 the}^ believed me to be dying, and so did I, when the 
 old man took off his hat and said, — 
 
 "'Friend, if thee has anything to say, thee had 
 better sa}^ it, for th^e probabl}^ has not long to live.' 
 
 " I thought of m}' little sister, far awa}^ in Alabama, 
 fancied she came to me, and muttered, ' Amy, kiss me 
 good-by.' The women sobbed at that ; but the girl 
 bent her sweet compassionate face to mine, and kissed 
 me on the forehead. That was my wife." 
 
 ' ' So you seceded from Secession right away, to pay 
 for that lip-service, hey?" 
 
 "No, Thorn, not right away, — to my shame be it 
 spoken. I '11 tell you how it came about. Margaret 
 was not old Bent's daughter, but a Massachusetts girl on 
 a visit, and a long one it proved, for she could n't go till 
 things were quieter. While she waited, she helped take 
 care of me ; for the good souls petted me like a baby 
 when the}^ found that a Rebel could be a gentleman. I 
 held m}^ tongue, and behaved m}^ best to prove my 
 gratitude, you know. Of course, I loved Margaret 
 very soon. How could I help it? She was the sweet- 
 est woman I had ever seen, tender, frank, and spirited ; 
 all I had ever dreamed of and longed for. I did not 
 speak of this, nor hope for a return, because I knew she 
 was a hearty Unionist, and thought she onlj' tended me 
 
152 PROVERB STORIES. 
 
 from pity. But suddenly she decided to go home, and 
 when I ventured to wish she would staj' longer, she 
 would not listen, and said, ' I must not sta}' ; I should 
 have gone before.' 
 
 "The words were nothing, but as she uttered them 
 the color came up beautifully over all her face, and her 
 eyes filled as they looked away from mine. Then I 
 knew that she loved me, and my secret broke out 
 against my will. Margaret was forced to listen, for I 
 would not let her go, but she seemed to harden herself 
 against me, growing colder, stiller, statelier, as I went 
 on, and when I said in my desperate wa}', — 
 
 " 'You should love me, for we are bid to love our 
 enemies,' she flashed an indignant look at me and 
 said, — 
 
 " ' I will not love what I cannot respect ! Come to 
 me a loyal man, and see what answer I shall give 
 you.' 
 
 " Then she went away. It was the wisest thing she 
 could have done, for absence did more to change me 
 than an ocean of tears, a year of exhortations. L3ing 
 there, I missed her every hour of the da}', recalled every 
 gentle act, kind word, and fair example she had given 
 me. I contrasted my own belief with hers, and found 
 a new significance in the words honesty and honor, and, 
 remembering her fidelity to principle, was ashamed 
 of m}' own treason to God and to herself. Educa- 
 tion, prejudice, and interest, are difficult things to over- 
 come, and that was the hottest fight I ever passed 
 through, for as I tell you, I was a coward. But love 
 and loyalty won the da}', and, asking no quarter, the 
 Rebel surrendered." 
 
ON PICKET DUTY. 153 
 
 *'Phil Beaufort, 3'oa're a brick!" cried Dick, with 
 a sounding slap on his comrade's shoulder. 
 
 " A brand snatched from the burnin'. Hallelujah ! " 
 chanted Flint, seesawing with excitement. 
 
 ' ' Then 3^ou went to find your wife ? How ? Where ? " 
 asked Thorn, forgetting vigilance in interest. 
 
 "Friend Bent hated war so heartily that he would 
 have nothing to do with paroles, exchanges, or an^^ 
 martial process whatever, but bade me go when and 
 where I liked, remembering to do b}^ others as I had 
 been done b}^ Before I was well enough to go, how- 
 ever, I managed, b}' means of Copperhead influence and 
 returned prisoners, to send a letter to my father and 
 receive an answer. You can imagine what both con- 
 tained ; and so I found myself penniless, but not poor, 
 an outcast, but not alone. Old Bent treated me like a 
 prodigal son, and put money in my purse ; his pretty 
 daughters loved me for Margaret's sake, and gave 
 me a patriotic salute all round when I left them, the 
 humblest, happiest man in Pennsylvania. Margaret 
 once said to me that this was the time for deeds, not 
 words ; that no man should stand idle, but serve the 
 good cause with head, heart, and hand, no matter in 
 what rank ; for in her ej'es a private fighting for libertj^ 
 w^as nobler than a dozen generals defending slavery. I 
 remembered that, and, not having influential friends to 
 get me a commission, enlisted in one of her own Massa- 
 chusetts regiments, knowing that no act of mine would 
 prove m\" sincerity' like that. You should have seen her 
 face when I walked in upon her, as she sat alone, busied 
 with the army work, as I 'd so often seen her sitting by 
 my bed ; it showed me all she had been suflTering in 
 
154 PROVERB STORIES. 
 
 silence, all I should have lost had I chosen darkness 
 instead of light. She hoped and feared so much she 
 could not speak, neither could I, but dropped ni}^ cloak, 
 and showed her that, through love of her, I had become 
 a soldier of the Union. How 1 love the coarse blue uni- 
 form ! for when she saw it, she came to me without a 
 word and kept her promise in a month." 
 
 "Thunder! what a harnsome w^oman ! " exclaimed 
 Flint, as Phil, opening the golden case that held his 
 talisman, showed them the beautiful, beloved face of 
 which he spoke. 
 
 '' Yes ! and a right noble woman too. I don't deserve 
 her, but I will. We parted on our w-edding-day, for 
 orders to be off came suddenl}', and she would not let 
 me go until I had given her my name to keep. We 
 were married in the morning, and at noon I had to go. 
 Other women wept as we marched through the cit}^, 
 but my brave Margaret kept her tears till we were gone, 
 smiling and waving her hand to me, — the hand that 
 wore the wedding-ring, — till I was out of sight. That 
 image of her is before me day and night, and da}' and 
 night her last words are ringing in m}- ears, — 
 
 " ' I give 3'ou freel}^, do your best. Better a true 
 man's widow than a traitor's wife.' 
 
 '' Boys, I 've onl}^ stood on the right side for a month ; 
 I 've only fought one battle, earned one honor ; but I 
 believe these poor acliievements are an earnest of the 
 long atonement I desire to make for livc-and-twenty 
 years of blind transgression. You sav I fight well. 
 Have I not cause to dare much? — for in owning many 
 slaves, I too became a slave ; in helping to make many 
 freemen, I liberate myself. You w^onder why I re- 
 
ON PICKET DUTY. 155 
 
 fused promotion. Have I any right to it 3'ct? Are 
 tliere not men who never sinned as I have done, and 
 beside whose sacrifices mine look pitifully small? You 
 tell me I have no ambition. I have the highest, for I 
 desire to become God's noblest work, — an honest man, 
 — living, to make Margaret happy in a love that every 
 hour grows worthier of her own, — dying to make death 
 proud to take me." 
 
 Phil had risen while he spoke, as if the enthusiam of 
 his mood lifted him into the truer manhood he aspired 
 to attain. Straight and strong he stood up in the moon- 
 light, his voice deepened by unwonted energy, his eye 
 clear and steadfast, his whole face ennobled by the re- 
 generating power of this late loj'alt}^ to countr}-, wife, 
 and self, and bright against the dark blue of his jacket 
 shone the pictured face, the only medal he was proud 
 to wear. 
 
 Ah, brave, brief moment, cancelling years of wrong ! 
 Ah, fair and fatal decoration, serving as a mark for a 
 hidden foe ! The sharp crack of a rifle broke the still- 
 ness of the night, and with those hopeful words upon 
 his lips, the young man sealed his purpose with his 
 life. 
 
THE BARON'S GLOVES; 
 
 OR, 
 
 AMY'S ROMANCE. 
 
 "All is fair in love and war." 
 
 HOW THEY WERE FOUND. 
 
 '' l^HAT a long sigh ! Are joii tired, Amy ? " 
 "Yes, and disappointed as well. I n 
 
 never 
 
 would have undertaken this joarne3' if I had not thou-ht 
 It would be full of novelty, romance, and charmin^ ad- 
 ventures." ° 
 
 " Well, we have had several adventures." 
 " Bah ! losing one's hat in the Rhine, getting left at 
 a dirty little inn, and having our pockets picked"^ are not 
 what I call adventures. I wish there were brigands in 
 Germany — it needs something of that sort to enliven its 
 stupiditj'." 
 
 " How can you call Germany stupid when vou have a 
 scene like this before you?" said Helen, with a sioh of 
 pleasure, as she looked from the balcony which over- 
 hangs the Rhine at the hotel of the - Three Kings" at 
 Coblentz. Ehrenbreitstein towered opposite, the\)road 
 river glittered below, and a midsunnner moon lent its 
 enchantment to the landscape. 
 
 As she spoke, her companion half rose from the low 
 chair where she lounged, and showed the pretty, piquant 
 
THE BARON'S GLOVES. 157 
 
 face of a young girl. She seemed in a half melancholy, 
 half petulant mood ; and traces of recent illness were 
 visible in the languor of her movements and the pallor 
 of her cheeks. 
 
 ''Yes, it is lovely; but I want adventures and 
 romance of some sort to make it quite perfect. I don't 
 care what, if something would only happen." 
 
 "My dear, 3'ou are out of spirits and wear}^ now, 
 to-morrow 3^ou'll be yourself again. Do not be un- 
 grateful to uncle or unjust to 3'ourself. Something 
 pleasant will happen, I 've no doubt. In fact, some- 
 thing has happened that 3'ou ma}^ make a little romance 
 out of, perhaps, for lack of a more thrilling adventure." 
 
 "What do 3^ou mean?" and Amy's listless face 
 brightened. 
 
 "Speak low; there are balconies all about us, and 
 we may be overheard," said Helen, drawing nearer after 
 an upward glance. 
 
 " What is the beginning of a romance?" whispered 
 Amy, eagerly. 
 
 " A pair of gloves. Just now, as I stood here, and 
 you la}^ with yoxxv eyes shut, these dropped from the 
 balcony- overhead. Now amuse yourself by weaving a 
 romance out of them and their owner." 
 
 Amy seized them, and stepping inside the window, 
 examined them by the candle. 
 
 " A gentleman's gloves, scented with violets ! Here 's 
 a little hole fretted by a ring on the third finger. Bless 
 me ! here are the initials, ' S. P.,' stamped on the in- 
 side, with a coat of arms below. What a fop to get up 
 his gloves in this style ! They are exquisite, though. 
 Such a delicate color, so little soiled, and so prettily 
 
158 PROVERB STORIES. 
 
 ornamented ! Handsome hands wore these. I 'd ILlve 
 to see the man." 
 
 Helen laughed at the girl's interest, and was satisfied 
 if an}' trifle amused her ennui. 
 
 " I will send them back b}'^ the kellner, and in that 
 wa}' we may discover their owner," she said. 
 
 But Amy arrested her on the wa}' to the door. 
 
 " I 've a better plan ; these waiters are so stupid 
 you '11 get nothing out of them. Here 's the hotel book 
 sent up for our names ; let us look among the da3-'s ar- 
 rivals and see who ' S. P.' is. He came to-daj^, I'm 
 sure, for the man said the rooms above were just taken, 
 so we could not have them." 
 
 Opening the big book, Amy was soon intentl}' poring 
 over the long hst of names, written in many hands and 
 manj' languages. 
 
 " I 've got it ! Here he is — oh, Nell, he 's a baron ! 
 Is n't that charming ? ' Sigismund von Palsdorf, Dres- 
 den.' We must see him, for I know he 's handsome, if 
 he wears such distracting gloves." 
 
 " You'd better take them up yourself, then." 
 
 '' You know I can't do that ; but I shall ask the man 
 a few questions, just to get an idea what sort of person 
 the baron is. Then I shall change ni}- mind and go 
 down to dinner ; shall look well about me, and if the 
 baron is agreeable I shall make uncle return the gloves. 
 He will thank us, and I can say I 've known a real 
 baron. That will be so nice when we go home. Now, 
 don't be duennaish and sa}- 1 'm sill}', but let me do as I 
 like, and come and dress." 
 
 Helen submitted, and when the gong pealed through 
 the house, Major Erskine marched into the great salle a 
 
THE BARON'S GLOVES. 159 
 
 manner, with a comely niece on each arm. The long 
 tables were crowded, and they had to run the gauntlet 
 of many eyes as they made their way to the head of the 
 upper table. Before she touched her soup, Amy glanced 
 down the line of faces opposite, and finding none that 
 answered the slight description elicited from the waiter, 
 she leaned a little forward to examine those on her own 
 side of the table. Some way down sat several gentle- 
 men, and as she bent to observe them, one did the 
 same, and she received an admiring glance from a pair 
 of fine black eyes. Somewhat abashed, she busied her- 
 self with her soup ; but the fancy had taken possession 
 of her, and presently she whispered to Helen, — 
 
 ' ' Do you see any signs of the baron ? " 
 
 *' On my left ; look at the hands." 
 
 Amy looked and saw a white, shapely hand with an 
 antique ring on the third finger. Its owner's face 
 was averted, but as he conversed with animation, the 
 hand was in full pla}^, now emphasizing an opinion, now 
 lifting a glass, or more frequentl}^ pulling at a blond 
 beard which adorned the face of the unknown. Amy 
 shook her head decidedly. 
 
 " I hate light men, and don't think that is the baron, 
 for the gloves are a size too small for those hands. 
 Lean back and look some four or five seats lower down 
 on the right. See what sort of person the dark man 
 with the fine eyes is." 
 
 Helen obeyed, but almost instantly bent to her plate 
 again, smiling in spite of herself. 
 
 " That is an Englishman ; he stares rudel}', says ' By 
 Jove ! ' and wears no jewelry or beard." 
 
 *' Now, I 'm disappointed. Well, keep on the watch, 
 
160 PROVERB STORIES. 
 
 and tell me if you make any discoveries, for I will find 
 the baron." 
 
 Being hungry, Am}^ devoted herself to her dinner, till 
 dessert was on the table. She was languidly eating 
 grapes, while Helen talked with the major, when the 
 word " baron " caught her ear. The speakers sat at a 
 table behind her, so that she could not see them with- 
 out turning quite round, which was impossible ; but she 
 listened eagerly to the following scrap of chat : — 
 
 ''Is the baron going on to-morrow?" asked a gay 
 voice in French. 
 
 "Yes, he is bound for Baden-Baden. The season is 
 at its height, and he must make his game while the ball 
 is rolling, or it is all up with the open-handed Sigis- 
 mund," answered a rough voice. 
 
 "Won't his father pardon the last escapade? " asked 
 a third, with a laugh. 
 
 " No, and he is right. The duel was a bad affair, 
 for the man almost died, and the baron barely managed 
 to get out of the scrape through court influence. When 
 is the wedding to be ? " 
 
 "Never, Palsdorf sa3^s. There is everj'thing but 
 love in the bargain, and he swears he '11 not agree to it. 
 I like that." 
 
 " There is much nobleness in him, spite of his vaga- 
 ries. He will sow his wild oats and make a grand man 
 in time. B}^ the by, if we are going to the fortress, we 
 must be off. Give Sigismund the word ; he is dining 
 at the other table with Power," said the gay voice. 
 
 " Take a look at the prett}^ English girl as 3'ou go 
 by ; it will do your ay as good, after the fat Frauleins we 
 have seen of late," added the rough one. 
 
THE BARON'S GLOVES. 161 
 
 Three gentlemen rose, and as tlie}^ passed Amy stole 
 a glance at them ; but seeing several pairs of eyes fixed 
 on herself, she turned away blushing, with the not 
 unpleasant consciousness that "the pretty English 
 girl" was herself. Longing to see which Sigismund 
 was, she ventured to look after the young men, who 
 paused behind the man with the blond beard, and 
 also touched the dark-e^^ed gentleman on the shoulder. 
 All five went down the hall and stood talking near the 
 door. 
 
 " Uncle, I wish to go," said Amy, whose will was law 
 to the amiable major. Up he rose, and Amy added, as 
 she took his arm, "I'm seized with a longing to go to 
 Baden-Baden and see a little gambling. You are not a 
 wild young man, so 3'ou can be trusted there." 
 
 "I hope so. Now you are a sensible little woman, 
 and we '11 do our best to have a gay time. Wait an in- 
 stant till I get m}^ hat." 
 
 While the major searched for the missing article the 
 girls went on, and coming to the door. Amy tried to 
 open it. The unwiekty foreign lock resisted her eflforts, 
 and she was just giving it an impatient little shake, when 
 a voice said behind her, — 
 
 " Permit me, mademoiselle ; " at the same moment a 
 handsome hand turned the latch, the flash of a diamond 
 shone before her, and the door opened. 
 
 " J^m, monsieur, ^^ she murmured, turning as she 
 went out ; but Helen was close behind her, and no one 
 else to be seen except the massive major in the rear. 
 
 " Did 3^ou see the baron?" she whispered eagerh^, as 
 they went up-stairs. 
 
 *' No ; where was he? " 
 
 11 
 
162 PROVERB STORIES. 
 
 " Pie opened the door for me. I knew him bj- his 
 hand and ring. He was close to 3'ou." 
 
 "I did not observe him, being busy gathering up 
 my dress. I thought the person was a waiter, and 
 never looked at him," said Helen, with provoking in- 
 difference. 
 
 '' How unfortunate ! Uncle, you are going to see the 
 fortress ; we don't care for it ; but I want 3'ou to take 
 these gloves and inquire for Baron Sigismund Palsdorf. 
 He will be there with a party of gentlemen. You can 
 easily manage it, men are so free and eas3\ Mind 
 what he is like, and come home in time to tell me all 
 about it." 
 
 Away went the major, and the cousins sat on the 
 balcony enjoying the lovely night, admiring the pictur- 
 esque scene, and indulging in the flights of fanc}^ all 
 girls love, for Helen, in spite of her three-and-twenty 
 years, was as romantic as Am}" at eighteen. It was 
 past eleven when the major came, and the only greeting 
 he received was the breathless question, — 
 
 ''Did you find him?" 
 
 " I found something much better than any baron, a 
 courier. I 've wanted one ever since we started ; for 
 two young ladies and their baggage are more than one 
 man can do his duty by. Karl Hoffman had such ex- 
 cellent testimonials from persons I know, that I did not 
 hesitate to engage him, and he comes to-morrow ; so 
 henceforth I've nothing to do but devote mj'self to 
 you." 
 
 "How very -provoking ! Did you bring the gloves 
 back?" asked Amy, still absorbed in the baron. 
 
 The major tossed them to her, and indulged in a 
 
THE BARON'S GLOVES. 163 
 
 hearty laugh at her girUsh regrets ; then bade them 
 good-night, and went away to give orders for an early 
 start next morning. 
 
 Tired of talking, the girls lay down in the two little 
 white beds alwa3^s found in German hotels, and Amy 
 was soon continuing in sleep the romance she had be- 
 gun awake. She dreamed that the baron proved to be 
 the owner of the fine eyes ; that he wooed and won her, 
 and they were floating down the river to the chime of 
 wedding-bells. 
 
 At this rapturous climax she woke to find the air full 
 of music, and to see Helen standing taU and white in 
 the moonlight that streamed in at the open window. 
 
 "Hush, hide behind the curtains and listen; it's a 
 serenade," whispered Helen, as Amy stole to her side. 
 
 Shrouded in the drapery, they leaned and Ustened till 
 the song ended, then Amy peeped ; a dark gi'oup stood 
 below ; all were bareheaded, and now seemed whisper- 
 ing together. Presently a single voice rose, singing an 
 exquisite little French canzonet, the refrain of which 
 was a passionate repetition of the word '■' Amie." She 
 thought she recognized the voice, and the sound of her 
 own name uttered in such ardent tones made her heart 
 beat and her color rise, for it seemed to signify that the 
 serenade was for them. As the last melodious murmur 
 ceased, there came a stifled laugh from below, and 
 something fell into the balcony. Neither dared stir till 
 the sound of departing feet reassured them ; then creep- 
 ing forward Amy drew in a lovely bouquet of myrtle, 
 roses, and great German forget-me-nots, tied with a 
 white ribbon and addressed in a dashing hand to La 
 belle Helene. 
 
164 PROVERB STORIES. 
 
 " Upon my life, the romance has begun in earnest," 
 laughed Helen, as she examined the flowers. " You 
 are serenaded by some unknown nightingale, and I 
 have flowers tossed up to me in the charming old style. 
 Of course it is the baron. Amy." 
 
 '^I hope so; but whoever it is, they are regular 
 troubadours, and I'm dehghted. I know the gloves 
 will bring us fun of some kind. Do you take one and 
 I '11 take the other, and see who will find the baron 
 first. Is n't it odd that thej^ knew our names ? " 
 
 "Amy, the writing on this card is very like that in 
 the big book. I ma}- be bewitched by this mid-summer 
 moonlight, but it really is very like it. Come and 
 see." 
 
 The two charming heads bent over the card, looking 
 all the more charming for the dishevelled curls and 
 braids that hung about them as the girls laughed and 
 whispered together in the softly brilliant light that filled 
 the room. 
 
 "You are right; it is the same. The men who 
 stared so at dinner are gay students perhaps, and read}' 
 for any prank. Don't tell uncle, but let us see what 
 will come of it. I begin to enjoy myself heartily now — 
 don't you?" said Amy, laying her glove carefully 
 away. 
 
 "I enjoyed mj^self before, but I think ' Za helle 
 Helene^ gives an added relish to life, Amie^" laughed 
 Nell, putting her flowers in water ; and then both went 
 back to their pillows, to dream dehghtfully till morning. 
 
THE BARON'S GLOVES, 165 
 
 II. 
 
 KARL, THE COURIER. 
 
 '' Three days, at least, before we reach Baden. How 
 tiresome it is that uncle won't go faster ! " said Am}^, 
 as she tied on her hat next morning, wondering as she 
 did so if the baron would take the same boat. 
 
 '' As adventures have begun, I feel assured that they 
 will continue to cheer the wa}^ ; so resign yourself and 
 be ready for anything," replied Helen, carefully arrang- 
 ing her bouquet in her travelling-basket. 
 
 A tap at the door, which stood half open, made both 
 look up. A tall, brown, gentlemanly man, in a gray 
 suit, with a leathern bag slung over his shoulder, stood 
 there, hat in hand, and meeting Helen's eyes, bowed 
 respectfully, saying in good English, but with a strong 
 German accent, — 
 
 " Ladies, the major desired me to tell you the carriage 
 waits." 
 
 '' Why, who — " began Amy, staring with her blue 
 ej'es full of wonder at the stranger. 
 
 He bowed again, and said, simply, — 
 
 " Karl Hoffman, at your service, mademoiselle." 
 
 ' ' The courier — oh, yes ! I forgot all about it. Please 
 take these things." 
 
 And Amy began to hand him her miscellaneous col- 
 lection of bags, books, shawls and cushions. 
 
 I'd no idea couriers were such decent creatures," 
 whispered Amy, as they followed him along the hall. 
 
 " Don't you remember the raptures Mrs. Mortimei 
 
166 PROVERB STORIES. 
 
 used to have over their Italian courier, and her fiinn}' 
 description of him ? ' Beautiful to behold, with a night 
 of hair, eyes full of an Infinite tenderness, and a sump- 
 tuous cheek/ " 
 
 Both girls laughed, and Amy averred that Karl's e^-es 
 danced with merriment as he glanced over his shoulder, 
 as the silvery peal sounded behind him. 
 
 "Hush! he understands English; we must be care- 
 ful," said Helen, and neither spoke again tiU thc}^ 
 reached the carriage. 
 
 Everything was ready, and as they drove away, the 
 major, leaning luxuriousl3^ back, exclaimed, — 
 
 " Now I begin to enjoy travelling, for I'm no longer 
 worried by the thought of luggage, time-tables, trains, 
 and the everlasting perplexity of thalers, kreutzers, and 
 pfenniges. This man is a treasure ; ever3'thing is 
 done in the best manner, and his knowledge of matters 
 is really amazing." 
 
 "He's a very gentlemanlj^-looking person," said 
 Amy, eying a decidedly aristocratic foot through the 
 front window of the carriage, for Karl sat up beside the 
 driver. 
 
 "He is a gentleman, my dear. Many of these 
 couriers are well born and educated, but, being poor, 
 prefer this business to any other, as it gives them 
 variety, and often pleasant society. I 've had a long 
 talk with Hoffman, and find him an excellent and ac- 
 complished fellow. He has lost his fortune, it seems, 
 through no fault of his own, so being fond of a roving 
 life, turned courier for a time, and we are fortunate to 
 have secured him." 
 
 "But one doesn't know how to treat him," said 
 
THE BARON'S GLOVES. 167 
 
 Helen. '' I don't like to address him as a servant, and 
 yet it 's not pleasant to order a gentleman about." 
 
 "Oh, it will be easy enough as we go on together. 
 Just call him Hoffman, and behave as if you knew noth- 
 ing about his past. He begged me not to mention it, 
 but I thought you 'd like the romance of the thing. 
 Only don't either of you run away with him, as Ponson- 
 by's daughter did with her courier, who was n't a gen- 
 tleman, by the way." 
 
 " Not handsome enough," said Amy. " I don't like 
 blue eyes and black hair. His manners are nice, but 
 he looks like a gipsy, with his brown face and black 
 beard : does n't he, Nell?" 
 
 "Not at all. Gipsies haven't that style of face; 
 they are thin, sharp, and cunning in feature as in nature. 
 Hoffman has large, well-moulded features, and a mild, 
 manly expression, which gives one confidence in him." 
 
 " He has a keen, wicked look in his blue eyes, as you 
 will see, Nell. I mean mischievously, not malignantl}^ 
 wicked. He likes fun, I 'm sure, for he laughed about 
 the ' sumptuous cheek ' till his own were red, though he 
 dared not show it, and was as grave as an owl when we 
 met uncle," said Amy, smiling at the recollection. 
 
 " We shall go b}^ boat to Biebrich, and then by rail 
 to Heidelberg. We shall get in late to-morrow night, 
 but can rest a day, and then on to Baden. Here we 
 are ; now make yourselves easy, as I do, and let Karl 
 take care of everything." 
 
 And putting his hands in his pockets, the major 
 strolled about the boat, while the courier made matters 
 comfortable for the daj'. So easily- and well did lie do 
 his duty, that both girls enjoyed watching him after he 
 
168 PROVERB STORIES. 
 
 had established them on the shady side of the boat, with 
 camp-stools for their feet, cushions to lean on, books 
 and bags laid commodiously at hand. 
 
 As they sailed up the lovely Rhine they grew more 
 and more enthusiastic in their admiration and curiosity, 
 and finding the meagre description of the guide-books 
 very unsatisfactory. Amy begged her uncle to tell her 
 all the legends of picturesque ruin, rock and river, as 
 they passed. 
 
 "Bless me, child, I know nothing ; but here's Hoff- 
 man, a German born, who will tell you everything, I 
 dare say. Karl, what 's that old castle up there ? The 
 young ladies want to know about it." 
 
 Leaning on the railing, Hoffman told the story so 
 well that he was kept explaining and describing for an 
 hour, and when he went awa}^ to order lunch, Am}^ de- 
 clared it was as pleasant as reading fairy tales to listen 
 to his dramatic histories and legends. 
 
 At lunch the major was charmed to find his favorite 
 wines and dishes without any need of consulting 
 dictionary or phrase-book beforehand, or losing his 
 temper in vain attempts to make himself under- 
 stood. 
 
 On reaching Biebrich, tired and hungry, at nightfall, 
 everything was ready for them, and all went to bed 
 praising Karl, the courier, though Amy, with unusual 
 prudence, add^d, — 
 
 " He is a new broom now ; let us wait a little before 
 we judge." 
 
 All went well next da}- till nightfall, when a most un- 
 toward accident occurred, and Helen's adventures began 
 in earnest. The three occupied a coupe^ and being 
 
THE BARON'S GLOVES. 169 
 
 weary with long sitting, Helen got out at one of the 
 stations where the train paused for ten minutes. A 
 rosy sunset tempted her to the end of the platform, and 
 there she found, what nearly all foreign railway stations 
 possess, a charming little garden. 
 
 Amy was very tired, rather cross, and passionatel}^ 
 fond of flowers, so when an old woman offered to pull a 
 nosegay for "the gracious lady," Helen gladly waited 
 for it, hoping to please the invalid. Twice the whistle 
 warned her, and at last she ran back, but only in time 
 to see the train move awaj^, with her uncle gesticulat- 
 ing wildly to the guard, who shook his stupid German 
 head, and refused to see the dismayed 3^oung lady im- 
 ploring him to wait for her. 
 
 Just as the train was vanishing from the station, a 
 man leaped from a second-class carriage at the risk of 
 his neck, and hurried back to find Helen looking pale 
 and bewildered, as well she might, left alone and money- 
 less at night in a strange town. 
 
 " Mademoiselle, it is I ; rest easy ; we can soon go 
 on ; a train passes in two hours, and we can telegraph 
 to Heidelberg that they may not fear for you." 
 
 "Oh, Hofl^man, how kind of j-ou to stop for me! 
 What should I have done without 3^ou, for uncle takes 
 care of all the money, and I have only my watch." 
 
 Helen's usual self-possession rather failed her in the 
 flurry of the moment, and she caught Karl's arm with a 
 feminine little gesture of confidence very pleasant to see. 
 Leading her to the waiting-room, he ordered supper, 
 and put her into the care of the woman of the place, 
 while he went to make inquiries and dispatch the tele- 
 gram. In half an hour he was back again, finding Helen 
 
170 PROVERB STORIES. 
 
 refreshed and cheerful, though a trace of anxiety was 
 still visible in her watchful e^'es. 
 
 " All goes excellenth^, mademoiselle. I have sent 
 word to several posts along the road that we are coming 
 by the night train, so that Monsieur le Major will rest 
 tranquil till we meet. It is best that I give 3'ou some 
 money, lest such a mishap should again occur ; it is not 
 likely so soon ; nevertheless, here is both gold and 
 silver. With this, one can make one's way ever3^where. 
 Now, if mademoiselle will permit me to advise, she will 
 rest for an hour, as we must travel till dawn. I will 
 keep guard without and watch for the train." 
 
 He left her, and having made herself comfortable on 
 one of the sofas, she lay watching the tall shadow pass 
 and repass door and window, as Karl marched up and 
 down the platform, with the tireless tramp of a sentinel 
 on duty. A pleasant sense of security stole over her, 
 and with a smile at Amj^'s enjoyment of the adventure 
 when it was over, Helen fell asleep. 
 
 A far-off shriek half woke her, and starting up, she 
 turned to meet the courier coming in to wake her. Up 
 thundered the train, ever}^ carriage apparentl}^ full of 
 sleepy passengers, and the guard in a state of sullen 
 wrath at some delay, the consequences of which would 
 fall heaviest on him. 
 
 From carriage to carriage hurried Karl and his charge, 
 to be met with everywhere b}' the cr}', " All full," in 
 many languages, and with every aspect of inhospitality. 
 One carriage onl}^ showed two places ; the other seats 
 were occupied by six students, who gallantly invited 
 the lady to enter. But Helen shrunk back, sa3ing, — 
 
 " Is there no other place ? " 
 
THE BARON'S GLOVES. 171 
 
 '' None, mademoiselle ; this, or remain till morning," 
 said Karl. 
 
 " Where will yon go if I take this place ? " 
 
 "Among the luggage, — anywhere; it is nothing. 
 But we must decide at once." 
 
 "Come with me; I'm afraid to be locked in here 
 alone," said Helen, desperate^. 
 
 " Mademoiselle forgets I am her courier." 
 
 " I do not forget that j^ou are a gentleman. Pray 
 come in ; m}' uncle will thank 3'ou." 
 
 " I will," and with a sudden brightening of the eyes, 
 a grateful glance, and an air of redoubled respect, Hoff- 
 man followed her into the carriage. 
 
 They were off at once, and the thing was done before 
 Helen had time to feel anything but the relief which the 
 protection of his presence afforded her. 
 
 The young gentlemen stared at the veiled lady and 
 her grim escort, joked under their breath, and looked 
 wistfull}^ at the suppressed cigars, but behaved with 
 exemplary politeness till sleep overpowered them, and 
 one after the other dropped off asleep to dream of their 
 respective Gretchens. 
 
 Helen could not sleep, and for hours sat studying the 
 unconscious faces before her, the dim landscape flying 
 past the windows, or forgot herself in reveries. 
 
 Hoffman remained motionless and silent, except when 
 she addressed him, wakeful also, and assiduous in mak- 
 ing the long night as easy as possible. 
 
 It was past midnight, and Helen's heavy eyelids were 
 beginning to droop, when suddenly there came an awful 
 crash, a pang of mortal fear, then utter oblivion. 
 
 As her senses returned she found herself lying in a 
 
172 PROVERB STORIES. 
 
 painful position under what had been the roof of the 
 car ; something lieavy weighed down her lower limbs, 
 and her dizz}' brain rung with a wild uproar of shrieks and 
 groans, eager voices, the crash of wood and iron, and 
 the shrill whistle of the engine, as it rushed away for 
 help. 
 
 Through the darkness she heard the pant as of some 
 one struggling desperatel}^, then a cry close by her, 
 followed by a strong voice exclaiming, in an agony of 
 suspense, — 
 
 '' My God, will no one come ! " 
 
 "Hoffman, are you there ? " cried Helen, groping in 
 the gloom, with a thrill of joy at the sound of a familiar 
 voice. 
 
 " Thank heaven, 3'ou are safe. Lie still. I will save 
 you. Help is coming. Have no fear ! " panted the 
 voice, with an undertone of fervent gratitude in its 
 breathless accents. 
 
 ' ' What has happened ? Where are the rest ? " 
 
 " We have been thrown down an embankment. The 
 lads are gone for help. God only knows what harm is 
 done." 
 
 Karl's voice died in a stifled groan, and Helen cried 
 out in alarm, — 
 
 " Where are 3"ou? You are hurt?" 
 
 " Not much. I keep the ruins from falling in to 
 crush us. Be quiet, the^^ are coming." 
 
 A shout answered the faint halloo he gave as if 
 to guide them to the spot, and a moment after, five 
 of the students were swarming about the wreck, in- 
 tent on saving the three whose lives were still in 
 danger. 
 
THE BARON'S GLOVES. 173 
 
 A lamp torn from some demolished carriage was held 
 through an opening, and Helen saw a sight that made 
 her blood chill in her veins. Across her feet, crushed 
 and bleeding, lay the youngest of the students, and 
 kneeling close beside him was Hoffman, supporting by 
 main strength a mass of timber, which otherwise would 
 fall and crush them all. His face was ghastly pale, his 
 eyes haggard with suffering and suspense, and great 
 drops stood upon his forehead. But as she looked, he 
 smiled with a cheer}^, — 
 
 '' Bear up, dear lady, we shall soon be out of danger. 
 Now, lads, work with a will ; my strength is going 
 fast." 
 
 Thej^ did work like heroes, and even in her pain and 
 peril, Helen admired the skill, energ}", and courage of 
 the 3^oung men, who, an hour ago, had seemed to have 
 no ideas above pipes and beer. Soon Hoffman was free, 
 the poor senseless youth lifted out, and then, as tenderly 
 as if she were a child, they raised and set her down, 
 faint but unhurt, in a wide meadow, already strewn with 
 sad tokens of the wreck. 
 
 Karl was taken possession of as well as herself, forced 
 to rest a moment, drink a cordial draught from some 
 one's flask, and be praised, embraced, and enthusiasti- 
 cally blessed by the impetuous youths. 
 
 " Where is the boy who was hurt? Bring him to me. 
 I am strong now. I want to help. I have salts in my 
 pocket, and I can bind up his wounds," said Helen, soon 
 herself again. 
 
 Karl and Helen soon brought back life and sense to 
 the boy, and never had human face looked so lovely as 
 did Helen's to the anxious comrades when she looked 
 
174 PROVERB STORIED. 
 
 up in the moonlight with a joj^ful smile, and softly whis- 
 pered, — 
 
 " He is alive." 
 
 For an hour terrible confusion reigned, then the panic 
 subsided a little, and such of the carriages as wer 
 whole were made ready to carry awa}^ as man^^ as possi • 
 ble ; the rest must wait till a return train could be sen 
 for them. 
 
 A struggle of course ensued, for ever}^ one wished U 
 go on, and fear made man}' selfish. The wounded, the 
 women and children, were taken, as far as possible, and 
 the laden trahi moved away, leaving many anxioua 
 watchers behind. 
 
 Helen had refused to go, and had given her place to 
 poor Conrad, thereby overwhelming his brother and com- 
 rades with gratitude. Two went on with the wounded 
 lad ; the rest remained, and chivalrously devoted them- 
 selves to Helen as a body-guard. 
 
 The moon shone clearly, the wide field was miles from 
 any hamlet, and a desolate silence succeeded to the late 
 uproar, as the band of waiters roamed about, longing for 
 help and dawn. 
 
 " Mademoiselle, 3'ou shiver; the dew falls, and it is 
 damp here ; we must have a fire ; " and Karl was aw.i}' 
 to a neighboring liedge, intent on warming his delicate 
 charge if he felled a forest to do it. 
 
 The students rushed after him, and soon returned in 
 triumph to build a glorious fire, which drew all forlorn 
 wanderers to its hospitable circle. A motley assem- 
 blage ; but mutual danger and discomfort produced mu- 
 tual s3-mi)athy and good will, and a general atmosphere 
 of friendship pervaded the party. 
 
I THE BARON'S GLOVES. 175 
 
 " Where is the brave Hoffman?" asked Wilhelm, the 
 
 blond student, who, being in the Werther period of 
 
 I, youth, was alread}^ madlj' in love with Helen, and sat 
 
 , t her feet catching cold in the most romantic manner. 
 
 \. ''Behold me! The little ones cry for hunger, sol 
 
 msack the ruins and bring awa}" m}^ spoils. Eat, 
 
 binder, eat and be patient." 
 
 As he spoke, Karl appeared with an odd collection of 
 
 caskets, bags, and bottles, and with a fatherly air that 
 
 von all the mothers, he gave the children whatever first 
 
 ippeared, making them laugh in spite of weariness and 
 
 • lunger by the merry speeches which accompanied his 
 
 J gifts. 
 
 '\ " You too need something. Here is your own basket 
 ^ with the lunch I ordered you. In a sad state of confu- 
 ■ sion, but still eatable. See, it is not bad," and he deftly 
 spread on a napkin before Helen cold chicken, sand- 
 , wiches, and fruit. 
 
 I| His care for the little ones as well as for herself 
 touched her and made her eyes fill, as she remembered 
 that she owed her life to him, and recalled the sight of 
 his face in the overturned car. 
 
 Her voice trembled a little as she thanked him, and 
 
 the moonlight betraj^ed her wet eyes. He fancied she 
 
 was worn out with excitement and fatigue, and anxious 
 
 ; to cheer her spirits, he whispered to Wilhelm and his 
 
 inates, — 
 
 " Sing, then, comrades, and while away this tedious 
 night. It is hard for all to wait so long, and the babies 
 need a lullabj-." 
 
 The young men laughed and sang as only German 
 students can sing, making the night musical with blithe 
 
176 PROVERB STORIES. \ 
 
 drinking songs, tender love-lays, battle-hj^mns, and 
 Yolkslieder sweeter than any songs across the water. 
 
 Every heart was cheered and warmed by the magic 
 of the music, the babies fell asleep, strangers grew 
 friendly, fear changed to courage, and the most forlorn 
 felt the romance of that bivouac under the summer . 
 sky. 
 
 Dawn was reddening the east when a welcome whistle, 
 broke up the camp. Every one hurried to the railway, 
 but Helen paused to gather a handful of blue forget-me- 
 nots, saying to Hoffman, who waited with her wraps on 
 his arm, — 
 
 ''It has been a happy night, in spite of the danger 
 and discomfort. I shall not soon forget it ; and take 
 these as a souvenir." 
 
 He smiled, standing bare-headed in the chilly wind, 
 for his hat was lost, his coat torn, hair dishevelled, and 
 one hand carelessly bound up in his handkerchief. 
 Helen saw these marks of the night's labors and perils 
 for the first time, and as soon as they were seated de- 
 sired to see his hand. 
 
 "It is nothing, — a scratch, a mere scratch, I give 
 you my word, mademoiselle," he began, but Wilhelm 
 unceremoniously removed the handkerchief, showing a 
 torn and bleeding hand which must have been exquisitely 
 painful. 
 
 Helen turned pale, and with a reproachful glance 
 skilfully bound it up again, saying, as she handed a 
 silken scarf to Wilhelm, — 
 
 " Make of that a sling, please, and put the poor hand 
 in it. Care must be taken, or harm will come of it." 
 
 Hofiman submitted in bashful silence, as if surprised 
 
THE BARON'S GLOVES. Vi*J 
 
 and touched by the young lady's interest. She saw that, 
 and added gratefully, — 
 
 " I do not forget that you saved my life, though you 
 seem to have done so. My uncle will thank you better 
 than I can." 
 
 " I already have my reward, mademoiselle," he re- 
 turned, with a respectful inclination and a look she 
 could neither understand nor forget. 
 
 III. 
 
 The excitement and suspense of the major and Amy 
 can be imagined when news of the accident reached 
 them. Their gratitude and relief were intense when 
 Helen appeared next morning, with the faithful Hoffman 
 still at his post, though no longer able to disguise the 
 fact that he was suffering from his wound. 
 
 When the story had been told, Karl was put under 
 the surgeon's care, and all remained at Heidelberg for 
 several da3^s to rest and recover. 
 
 On the afternoon of the last day the major and young 
 ladies drove off to the castle for a farewell view. Helen 
 began to sketch the great stone lion's head above the 
 grand terrace, the major smoked and chatted with a 
 party of English artists whom he had met, and Ani}^, 
 with a little lad for a guide, explored the old castle to 
 her heart's content. 
 
 The sun set, and twilight began to fall when Helen 
 12 
 
178 PROVERB STORIES. 
 
 put up her pencils, and the major set off to find Am}', 
 who had been appearing and disappearing in ever}- nook 
 and cranny of the half-ruined castle. 
 
 Nowhere could he find her, and no voice answered 
 when he called. The other visitors were gone, and the 
 place seemed deserted, except by themselves and the old 
 man who showed the ruins. 
 
 Becoming alarmed lest the girl had fallen somewhere, 
 or lost her way among the vaults where the famous Tun 
 lies, the major called out old Hans with his lantern, and 
 searched high and low. 
 
 Amy's hat, full of flowers and ferns, was found in the 
 Lady's Walk, as the little terrace is called, but no other 
 trace appeared, and Helen hurried to and fro in great 
 distress, fearing all manner of dangers. 
 
 Meanwhile Amy, having explored ever}' other part of 
 the castle, went to take another look at the Tun, the 
 dwarf, and the vaults. 
 
 •Now little Anderl, her guide, had a great fear of 
 ghosts, and legions were said to haunt the ruins after 
 nightfall, so when Amy rambled on deeper and deeper 
 into the gloom the boy's courage ebbed away with every 
 step ; yet he was ashamed to own his fear, seeing that 
 she had none. 
 
 Amy wanted to see a certain cell, where a nun was 
 said to have pined to death because she would not listen 
 to the Margraf 's love. The legend pleased the romantic 
 girl, and forgetful of waning daylight, gathering damps, 
 and Anderl's reluctant service, she ran on, up steps and 
 down, delighted with little arched doors, rusty chains on 
 the walls, glimpses of sky through shattered roofs, and 
 all manner of mysterious nooks and corners. Coming 
 
THE BARON'S GLOVES. 179 
 
 fit hist to a narrow cell, with a stone table, and heavy 
 bolts on the old door, she felt sure this was poor Elfrida's 
 prison, and called Anderl to come on with his candle, 
 for the boy had lighted one, for his own comfort rather 
 than hers. Her call was unanswered, and glancing 
 back, she saw the candle placed on the ground, but no 
 Anderl. 
 
 " Little coward, he has run away," she said, laugh- 
 ing ; and having satisfied her curiositj", turned to retrace 
 her steps, — no easy task to one ignorant of the wa}', 
 for vault after vault opened on both sides, and no path 
 was discernible. In vain she tried to recall some land- 
 mark, the gloom had deepened and nothing was clear. 
 On she hurried, but found no opening, and reall}^ fright- 
 ened, stopped at last, calling the boy in a voice that 
 woke a hundred echoes. But Anderl had fled home, 
 thinking the lady would find her wa}" back, and prefer- 
 ring to lose his kreutzers to seeing a ghost. 
 
 Poor Am3^'s bewilderment and alarm increased with 
 every moment's delaj', and hoping to come out some- 
 where, she ran on till a misstep jostled the candle from 
 her hand and extinguished it. 
 
 Left in the dark, her courage deserted her, and she 
 screamed desperatelj', like a lost child, and was fast 
 getting into a state of frantic terror, when the sound of 
 an approaching step reassured her. 
 
 Holding her breath, she heard a quick tread draw- 
 ing nearer, as if guided b}^ her cries, and, straining 
 her e^^es, she caught the outline of a man's figure in the 
 gloom. 
 
 A sensation of intense jo}^ rushed over her, and she 
 was about to spring forward, when she remembered 
 
180 PROVERB STORIES. 
 
 that fis she could speak no German how could she ex- 
 plain her plight to the stranger, if he understand neither 
 French nor English? 
 
 Fear took possession of her at the thought of meeting 
 some rough peasant, or some rollicking student, to 
 whom she could make no intelligible appeal or expla- 
 nation. 
 
 Crouching close against the wall, she stood mute till 
 the figure was very near. She was in the shadow of an 
 angle, and the man paused, as if looking for the person 
 who called for help. 
 
 "Who is lost here?" said a clear voice, in Ger- 
 man. 
 
 Am}^ shrunk closer to the wall, fearing to speak, for 
 the voice was that of a young man, and a low laugh fol- 
 lowed the words, as if the speaker found the situation 
 amusing. 
 
 "Mortal, ghost or devil, I'll find it," exclaimed the 
 voice, and stepping forward, a hand groped for and 
 found her. 
 
 " Lottchen, is it thou? Little rogue, thou shalt pay 
 dearly for leading me such a chase." 
 
 As he spoke he drew the girl toward him, but with a 
 faint cry, a vain effort to escape. Amy's terror reached 
 its climax, and spent with fatigue and excitement, she 
 lost consciousness. 
 
 " Who the deuce is it, then? Lottchen never faints 
 on a frolic. Some poor little gh-l lost in earnest. I 
 must get her out of tliis gloom}^ place at once, and find 
 her party afterward." 
 
 Lifting the slight figure in his arms, the 3'oung man 
 hurried on, and soon came out through a shattered gate- 
 
THE BAROJSrS GLOVES. 181 
 
 way into the shrubbery which surrounds the base of the 
 castle. 
 
 La3'ing her on the grass, he gently chafed her hands, 
 eying the pale, prett}^ face meantime with the utmost 
 sohcitude. 
 
 At his first glimpse of it he had started, smiled and 
 made a gesture of pleasure and surprise, then gave him- 
 self entirely to the task of recovering the poor girl whom 
 he had frightened out of her senses. 
 
 Very soon she looked up with dizzy e3'es, and clasp- 
 ing her hands imploringly, cried, in English, like a be- 
 wildered child, — 
 
 '' I am lost ! Oh, take me to my uncle." 
 
 *' I will, the moment you can walk. Upon my soul, 
 I meant to help you when I followed ; but as you did 
 not answer, I fancied it was Lottchen, the keeper's 
 little girl. Pardon the fright I 've caused you, and let 
 me take you to your friends." 
 
 The true English accent of the words, and the hearty 
 tone of sincerity in the apology, reassured Am}^ at once, 
 and, rising, she said, with a faint smile and a petulant 
 tone, — 
 
 " I was very silly, but my guide ran away, my candle 
 went out, I lost the path, and can speak no German ; 
 so I was afraid to answer you at first ; and then I lost my 
 wits altogether, for it's rather startling to be clutched 
 in the dark, sir." 
 
 '' Indeed it is. I was very thoughtless, but now let 
 me atone for it. Where is your uncle. Miss Erskine ? " 
 asked the stranger, with respectful earnestness. 
 
 " You know my name?" cried Amy in her impulsive 
 way. 
 
182 PROVERB STORIES. 
 
 '' I have that happiness," was the answer, with a smile. 
 
 " But I don't know you, sir ; " and she peered at him, 
 trying to see his face in the darkness, for the copse 
 was thick, and twilight had come on rapidly. 
 
 *' Not yet ; I live in hope. Shall we go? Your uncle 
 will be uneasy." 
 
 " Where are we? " asked Amy, glad to move on, for 
 the Interview was becoming too personal even for her, 
 and the stranger's manner fluttered her, though she en- 
 jo3'ed the romance of the adventure immensely. 
 
 "We are in the park which surrounds the castle. 
 You were near the entrance to it from the vaults when 
 you fainted." 
 
 ' ' I wish I had kept on a little longer, and not dis- 
 graced mj^self by such a panic." 
 
 "Nay, that is a cruel wish, for then I should have 
 lost the happiness of helping you." 
 
 They had been walking side by side, but here were 
 forced to pause on reaching a broken flight of steps, for 
 Amy could not see the way before her. 
 
 ' ' Let me lead 3^ou ; it is steep and dark, but better 
 than going a long way round through the dew," he said, 
 offering his hand. 
 
 " Must we return by these dreadful vaults ? " faltered 
 Amy, shrinking back. 
 
 " It is the shortest and safest route, I assure you." 
 
 "Are you sure 3'ou know the way ? " 
 
 " Quite sure. I have lived here by the week together. 
 Do you fear to trust me ? " , 
 
 " No ; l)ut it is so dark, and everjlhing is so strange 
 to me. Can we get down safely? I see nothing but a 
 black pit." 
 
 I 
 
THE BARON'S GLOVES. 183 
 
 And Amy still hesitated, with an odd mixture of fear 
 and coqnetiy. 
 
 " I brought 3'ou up in safety ; shall I take you down 
 again ? " asked the stranger, with a smile flickering over 
 his face. 
 
 Amy felt rather than saw it, and assuming an air of 
 dignified displeasure, motioned him to proceed, which 
 he did for three steps ; then Amy slipped, and gladly 
 caught by the arm extended to save her. 
 
 Without a word he took her hand and led her back 
 through the lab3'rinth she had threaded in her bewilder- 
 ment. A dim light filled the place, but with unerring 
 steps her guide went on till they emerged into the 
 courtyard. 
 
 Major Erskine's voice was audible, giving directions 
 to the keeper, and Helen's figure visible as she groped 
 among the shadows of the ruined chapel for her 
 cousin. 
 
 " There are my friends. Now I am safe. Come and 
 let them thank you," cried Am}^, in her frank, childlike 
 warmth of manner. 
 
 "I want no thanks — forgive me — adieu," and 
 hastily kissing the little hand that had lain so confid- 
 ingly in his, the stranger was gone. 
 
 Amy rushed at once to Helen, and when the lost 
 lamb had been welcomed, chidden, and exulted over, 
 they drove home, listening to the very brief account 
 which Amy gave of her adventure. 
 
 " Naughty little gad- about, how could you go and 
 terrify me so, wandering in vaults with mj'sterious stran- 
 gers, like the Countess of Rudolstadt. You are as wet 
 and dirt}' as if you had been digging a well, yet you look 
 
184 PROVERB STORIES. 
 
 as if you liked it," said Helen, as she led Amy into their 
 room at the hotel. 
 
 " I do," was the decided answer, as the girl pulled a 
 handkerchief off her head, and began to examine the 
 corners of it. Suddenly she uttered a cry and flew to 
 the hght, exclaiming, — 
 
 "Nell, Nell, look here! The same letters, ' S. P.', 
 the same coat of arms, the same perfume — it was the 
 baron ! " 
 
 "What? who? are jou out of your mind?" said 
 Helen, examining the large, fine cambric handkerchief, 
 with its delicately stamped initials under the stag's head, 
 and three stars on a heart-shaped shield. " Where did 
 you get it ? " she added, as she inhaled the soft odor of 
 violets shaken from its folds. 
 
 Amy blushed and answered shyly, "I didn't tell 
 you all that happened before uncle, but now I will. My 
 hat was left behind, and when I recovered my wits after 
 my fright, I found this tied over my head. Oh,. Nell, 
 it was ver}- charming there in that romantic old park, 
 and going through the vaults with him, and having my 
 hand kissed at parting. No one ever did that before, 
 and I like it." 
 
 Amy glanced at her hand as she spoke, and stood 
 staring at it as if struck dumb, for there on her fore- 
 finger shone a ring she had never seen before. 
 
 "Look! look! mine is gone, and this in its place! 
 Oh, Nell, what shall I do?" she said, looking half 
 frightened, half pleased. 
 
 Helen examined the ring and shook her head, for it 
 was far more valuable than the little pearl one which, 
 it replaced. Two tiny hands of finest gold were linked 
 
THE BARON'S GLOVES. 185 
 
 together fibont a diamond of great brillianc}^ ; and on the 
 inside appeared again the initials, " 8. P." 
 
 " How did it happen?" she asked, rather sternl}^ 
 " Upon m}' word, I don't know, unless he put it on 
 while I was stupidlj^ fainting. Rude man, to take ad- 
 vantage of me so. But, Nell, it is splendid, and what 
 shall I do about it ? " 
 
 " Tell uncle, find out the man and send back his 
 things. It really is absurd, the manner in which Ger- 
 man boys behave ; " and Helen frowned, though she was 
 strongly tempted to laugh at the whole thing. 
 
 '' He was neither a German nor a boy, but an Eng- 
 lish gentleman, I 'm sure," began Amy, rather offended. 
 " But ' S. P.' is. a baron, 3'ou know, unless there are 
 two Richmonds in the field," broke in Helen. 
 
 " I forgot that ; never mind, it deepens the mystery ; 
 and after this performance, I 'm prepared for any enor- 
 mity. It 's m}' fate ; I submit," said Amy, tragically, 
 as she waved her pretty hand to and fro, pleased with 
 the flash of the ring. 
 
 " Amy, I think on the whole I won't speak to uncle. 
 He is quick to take offence, especially where we are 
 concerned. He doesn't understand foreign ways, and 
 ma^^ get into trouble. We will manage it quietly our- 
 selves." 
 
 "How, Nell?" 
 
 " Karl is discreet ; we will merely sa^^ we found these 
 things and wish to discover the owner. He may know 
 this ^ S. P.,' and, having learned his address, we can 
 send them back. The man will understand ; and as we 
 leave to-morrow, we shall be out of the way before he 
 can play an}' new prank." 
 
186 PROVERB STORIES. 
 
 " Have in Karl at once, for if I wear this lovelj- thing 
 long I shall not be able to let it go at all. How dared 
 the creature take such a liberty- ! " and Am}' pulled ofl 
 the ring with an expression of great scorn. 
 
 " Come into the salon and see what Karl says to the 
 matter. Let me speak, or jou will say too much. One 
 must be prudent before — " 
 
 She was going to say '' servants," but checked her- 
 self, and substituted " strangers," remembering grate- 
 full}^ how much she owed this man. 
 
 Hoffman came, looking pale, and with his hand in a 
 sling, but was as gravety devoted as ever, and listened 
 to Helen's brief stor}^ with serious attention. 
 
 ''I will inquire, mademoiselle, and^ let 3'ou know at 
 once. It is easy to find persons if one has a clue. Ma}^ 
 I see the handkerchief? " 
 
 Helen showed it. He glanced at the initials, and 
 laid it down with a slight smile. 
 
 " The coat-of-arms is English, mademoiselle." 
 
 ' ' Are you sure ? " 
 
 " Quite so ; I understand heraldry." 
 
 '' But the initials stand for Sigismund Palsdorf, and 
 we know he is a German baron," broke in Amy, for- 
 getting prudence in eagerness. 
 
 " If mademoiselle knows the name and title of this 
 gentleman it will not be hard to find him." 
 
 " We only fancy it is the same because of the initials. 
 I dare say it is a mistake, and the man is English. In- 
 quire quietly, Hoffman, if j^-ou please, as this ring is of 
 value, and I wish to restore it to its owner," said Helen, 
 rather sharpl}-. 
 
 '' I shall do so, mademoiselle," and with his gentle- 
 manly bow, the courier left the room. 
 
TtlE^ BARON'S GLOVES. 187 
 
 "^ Bless me, what's that?" cried Arh}', a moment 
 afterward, as a ringing laugh echoed through the 
 corridor, — a laugh so full of hearty and infectious mer- 
 riment that both girls smiled involuntarily, and Amy 
 peeped out to see who the blithe personage might be. 
 
 An old gentleman was entering his room near by, and 
 Karl was just about to descend the stairs. Both looked 
 back at the girlish face peeping at them, but both were 
 quite grave, and the peal of laughter remained a mj's- 
 tery, like all the rest of it. 
 
 Late in the evening Hoffman returned to report that 
 a party of young Englishmen had visited the castle that 
 afternoon, and had left by the evening train. One of 
 them had been named Samuel Peters, and he, doubtless, 
 was the owner of the ring. 
 
 A humorous expression lurked in the courier's eye as 
 he made his report, and heard Amy exclaim, in a tone 
 of disgust and comical despair, — 
 
 "Samuel Peters! That spoils all the romance and 
 dims the beauty of the diamond. To think that a 
 Peters should be the hero to whom I owe my safet}^, 
 and a Samuel should leave me this token of regard ! " 
 
 "Hush, Amy," whispered Helen. "Thanks, Hoff- 
 man ; we must wait now for chance to help us." 
 
 IV. 
 
 A POLISH EXILE. 
 
 " Room for one here, sir," said the guard, as the train 
 stopped at Carlsruhe next day, on its way from Heidel- 
 berg to Baden. 
 
188 PROVERB STORIES. 
 
 The major put down his guide-book, Amy opened her 
 eyes, and Helen removed her shawl from the opposite 
 seat, as a 3^oung man, wrapped in a cloak, with a green 
 shade over his eyes, and a general air of feebleness, got 
 in and sank back with a sigh of weariness or pain. 
 Evidently an invalid, for his face was thin and pale, his 
 dark hair cropped short, and the ungloved hand attenu- 
 ated and delicate as a woman's. A sidelong glance 
 from under the deep shade seemed to satisf}^ him re- 
 garding his neighbors, and drawing his cloak about him 
 with a slight shiver, he leaned into the corner and seemed 
 to forget that he was not alone. 
 
 Helen and Amy exchanged glances of compassionate in- 
 terest, for women always pit}^ invalids, especially if 3'oung, 
 comely and of the opposite sex. The major took one 
 look, shrugged his shoulders, and returned to his book. 
 
 Presently a hollow cough gave Helen a pretext for 
 discovering the nationality of the new-comer. 
 
 " Do the open windows inconvenience you, sir?" she 
 asked, in English. 
 
 No answer ; the question evidently unintelligible. 
 
 She repeated it in French, hghtly touching his cloak 
 to arrest his attention. 
 
 Instantly a smile broke over the handsome mouth, 
 and in the purest French he assured her that the fresh 
 air was most agreeable, and begged pardon for annoy- 
 ing them with his troublesome cough. 
 
 "Not an invalid, I hope, sir? " said the major, in his 
 bluff yet kindly voice. 
 
 " They teU me I can have no other fate; that my 
 malady is fatal ; but I still hope and light for my life ; 
 it is all I have to give my country now." 
 
THE BARON'S GLOVES. 189 
 
 A stifled sigh and a sad emphasis on the last word 
 rous(id the sympathy of the girls, the interest of the 
 major. 
 
 He took another surve}^, and said, with a tone of 
 satisfaction, as he marked the martial carriage of the 
 young man, and caught a fiery glance of the half-hidden 
 eyes, — 
 
 " You are a soldier, sir? " 
 
 " I was ; I am nothing now but an exile, for Poland 
 is in chains." 
 
 The words " Poland " and " exile " brought up all the 
 pathetic stories of that unhappy country which the three 
 listeners had ever heard, and won their interest at once, 
 
 " You were in the late revolution, perhaps?" asked 
 the major, giving the unhappy outbreak the most re- 
 spectful name he could use. 
 
 " From beginning to end." 
 
 *' Oh, tell us about it ; we felt much sympathy for 
 you, and longed to have you win," cried Amy, with such 
 genuine interest and pity in her tone, it was impossible 
 to resist. 
 
 Pressing both hands upon his breast, the young man 
 bent low, with a flush of feeling on his pale cheek, and 
 answered eagerly, — 
 
 " Ah, you are kind ; it is balm to my sore heart to 
 hear words like these. I thank you, and tell j-ou what 
 you will. It is but little that I do, yet I give my life, 
 and die a long death, instead of a quick, brave one with 
 my comrades." 
 
 " You are young to have borne a part in a revolution, 
 sir," said the major, who pricked up his ears like an old 
 war-horse at the sound of battle. 
 
190 PROVERB STORIES. 
 
 " M}' friends and mj'self left the Universit}' at Varso- 
 vie, as volunteers ; we did our part, and now all lie in 
 their graves but three." 
 
 " You were wounded, it seems?" 
 
 " Many times, i^xposure, privation, and sorrow will 
 finish what the Russian bullets began. But it is well. 
 I have no wish to see my country enslaved, and 1 cr.n 
 no longer help her." 
 
 " Let us hope that a happier future waits for you both. 
 Poland loves liberty too well, and has sufiered too much 
 for it, to be kept long in captivity." 
 
 Helen spoke warmly, and the young man listened with 
 a brightening face. 
 
 " It is a kind prophec}^ ; I accept it, and take courage. 
 God knows I need it," he added, low to himself 
 
 * ' Are you bound for Italj^ ? " said the major, in a 
 most un-English fit of curiosity. 
 
 ' ' For Geneva first, Italy later, unless Montreaux is 
 mild enough for me to winter in. I go to satisfy mj^ 
 friends, but doubt if it avails much." 
 
 " Where is Montreaux? " asked Am}^ 
 
 "Near Clarens, where Rousseau wrote his Heloise, 
 and Vevay, where so many English go to enjoy Chillon. 
 The climate is divine for unfortunates like m3^self, and 
 life more cheap there than in Itaty." 
 
 Here the train stopped again, and Hoffman came to 
 ask if the ladies desired an3'thing. 
 
 At the sound of his voice the j'oung Pole started, 
 looked up, and exclaimed, with the vivacity of a for- 
 eigner, in German, — 
 
 " By my life, it is Karl ! Behold me, old friend, and 
 satisfy me that it is thyself b}^ a handshake." 
 
THE BARON'S GLOVES. 191 
 
 " Casimer! What wind blows thee hither, my boy, 
 in such sad plight?" replied Hoffman, grasping the 
 slender hand outstretched to him. 
 
 " I % from an enem^^ for the first time in my life, 
 and, like all cowards, shall be conquered in the end. I 
 wrote thee I was better, but the wound in the breast 
 reopened, and nothing but a miracle will save me. I go 
 to Switzerland ; and thou ? " 
 
 " Where my master commands. I serve this gentle- 
 man, now." 
 
 " Hard changes for both, but with health thou art 
 king of circumstances, while I? — Ah well, the good 
 God knows best. Karl, go thou and bu}^ me two of 
 those pretty baskets of grapes ; I will please myself by 
 giving them to these pitying angels. Speak thej^ Ger- 
 man ? " 
 
 " One, the elder ; but they understand not this rattle 
 of ours." 
 
 Karl disappeared, and Helen, who had understood 
 the rapid dialogue, tried to seem as unconscious as Amy. 
 
 " Sa}^ a friendly word to me at times ; I am so home- 
 sick and faint-hearted, mj^ Hoffman. Thanks ; they are 
 almost worthy the lips that shall taste them." 
 
 Taking the two little osier baskets, laden with 3"ellow 
 and purple clusters, Casimer offered them, with a charm- 
 ing mixture of timidity and grace, to the girls, sa3ing, 
 like a grateful boy, — 
 
 ' ' You give me kind words and good hopes ; permit 
 that I thank you in this poor way." 
 
 " I drink success to Poland," cried Helen, lifting a 
 great, juicy grape to her lips, like a little purple goblet, 
 hoping to hide her confusion under a playful air. 
 
192 PROVERB STORIES. 
 
 The grapes went round, and healths were drunk with 
 much merriment, for in traveUing on the Continent it is 
 impossible for the gruffest, primmest person to long 
 resist the frank courtes}' and vivacious chat of for- 
 eigners. 
 
 The major was unusually social and inquisitive, and 
 while the soldiers fought their battles over again the 
 girls listened and took notes, with feminine wits on the 
 alert to catch any personal revelations which might fall 
 from the interesting stranger. The wrongs and suffer- 
 ings of Poland were discussed so eloquent^ that both 
 young ladies were moved to declare the most undying 
 hatred of Russia, Prussia, and Austria, the most intense 
 sympathy for " poor Pologne." All clay they travelled 
 together, and as Baden-Baden approached, the}' natu- 
 rally fell to talking of the ga}' place. 
 
 " Uncle, I must tr}^ my fortune once. I've set my 
 heart upon it, and so has Nell. We want to know how 
 gamblers feel, and to taste the fascination of the game 
 which draws people here from all parts of Europe," said 
 Amy, in her half-pleading, half-imperious way. 
 
 " You may risk one napoleon each, as I foolishl}' 
 promised j^ou should, when I little thought 3'ou would 
 ever have an opportunity to remind me of my promise. 
 It 's not an amusement for respectable Englishwomen, 
 or men either. You will agree with me there, mon- 
 sieur?" and the major glanced at the Pole, who replied, 
 with his peculiar smile : — 
 
 " Surely, yes. It is great foil}' and waste of time 
 and mone}^ ; yet I have known one man who found some 
 good in it, or, rather, brought good out of it. I have a 
 friend who has a mania for giving. His own fortune 
 
THE BARON'S GLOVES. 193 
 
 was spent in helping needy students at the University, 
 and poor professors. This displeased his father, and 
 he refused supplies, except enough for his simple per- 
 sonal wants. Sigismund chafed at this, and being skil- 
 ful at all games, as a gentleman may be in the way of 
 amusement, he resolved to play with those whose money 
 was wasted on frivolities, and give his winnings to his 
 band of paupers." 
 
 " How did it succeed, this odd fancy? " asked Helen, 
 with an interested face, while Amy pinched her arm at 
 the word " Sigismund." 
 
 *' Excellently. M}- friend won often, and as his pur- 
 pose became known it caused no unkind feeling, this 
 unusual success, for fortune seemed to favor his kind 
 object." 
 
 " Wrong, nevertheless, to do evil that good may come 
 of it," said the major, morally. 
 
 "It may be so; but it is not for me to censure 
 my benefactor. He has done much for my countrymen 
 and myself, and is so truly noble I can see no fault in him." 
 
 "What an odd name! Sigismund is German, is it 
 not? " asked Amy, in the most artless tone of interest. 
 
 " Yes, mademoiselle, and Palsdorf is a true German ; 
 much courage, strength, and intellect, with the gaj-ety 
 and simplicit}^ of a bo}^ He hates slaver}- of all kinds, 
 and will be free at all costs. He is a good son, but his 
 father is tjTannical, and asks too much. Sigismund 
 will not submit to sell himself, and so is in disgrace for 
 a time." 
 
 " Palsdorf! — was not that the name of the count or 
 baron we heard them talking of at Coblentz ? " said 
 Helen to Amy, with a well-feigned air of uncertainty. 
 
 13 
 
194 PROVERB STORIES. 
 
 " Yes ; I heard something of a duel and a broken 
 betrothal, I think. The people seemed to consider the 
 baron a wild 3'onng man, so it could not have been your 
 friend, sir," was Amy's demure reply, as she glanced at 
 Helen with mirthful eyes, as if to say, " How our baron 
 haunts us ! " 
 
 "It is the same, doubtless. Many consider him 
 wild, because he is original, and dares act for himself. 
 As it is well known, I may tell you the truth of the 
 duel and the betrothal, if 3'ou care to hear a little ro- 
 mance." 
 
 Casimer looked eager to defend his friend, and as the 
 girls were longing to hear the romance, permission was 
 given. 
 
 " In Germany, you know, the young people are often 
 betrothed in childhood by the parents, and sometimes 
 never meet till they are grown. Usually all goes well ; 
 but not alwa3's, for love cannot come at command. 
 Sigismund was plighted, when a boy of fifteen, to his 
 young cousin, and then sent away to the Universit}' till 
 of age. On returning, he was to travel a year or two, 
 and then marry. He gladly went awa}^ and with in- 
 creasing disquiet saw the time draw near when he must 
 keep his troth-plight." 
 
 '' Hum ! loved some one else. Very unfortunate to 
 be sure," murmured the major wdth a sigh. 
 
 " Not so ; he only loved his liberty, and pretty Minna 
 was less dear than a life of perfect freedom. He went 
 back at the appointed time, saw his cousin, tried to do 
 his duty and love her ; found it impossible, and, dis- 
 covering that Minna loved another, vowed he would 
 never make her unhappiness as well as his own. The 
 
THE BARON'S GLOVES. 195 
 
 old baron stormed, but the 3'oung one was firm, and 
 would not listen to a marriage without love ; but pleaded 
 for Minna, wished his rival success, and set out again 
 on his travels." 
 
 "And the duel?" asked the major, who took less 
 interest in love than war. 
 
 " That was as characteristic as the other act. A son 
 of one high in office at Berlin circulated false reports of 
 the cause of Palsdorf's refusal of the alliance — reports 
 injurious to Minna. Sigismund settled the matter in 
 the most effectual manner, by challenging and wounding 
 the man. But for court influence it would have gone 
 hardly with my friend. The storm, however, has blown 
 over ; Minna will be happy with her lover, and Sigis- 
 mund with his liberty, till he tires of it." 
 
 "Is he handsome, this hero of yours?" said Amy, 
 feeling the ring under her glove, for in spite -of Helen's 
 advice, she insisted on wearing it, that it might be at 
 hand to return at any moment, should chance again 
 bring the baron in their way. 
 
 ' ' A true German of the old type ; blond and blue- 
 eyed, tall and strong. My hero in good truth — brave 
 and loyal, tender and true," was the enthusiastic 
 answer. 
 
 " I hate fair men," pouted Amy, under her breath, as 
 the major asked some question about hotels. 
 
 "Take a new hero, then; nothing can be more ro- 
 mantic than that," whispered Helen, glancing at the 
 pale, dark-haired figure wrapped in the military cloak 
 opposite. 
 
 " I will, and leave the baron to you ; " said Amy, with 
 & stifled laugh. 
 
196 PROVERB STORIES. 
 
 a 
 
 Hush ! Here are Baden and Karl," replied Helen, 
 thankful for the interruption. 
 
 All was bustle in a moment, and taking leave of them 
 with an air of reluctance, the Pole walked awa}-, leaving 
 Amy looking after him wistfully, quite unconscious that 
 she stood in everybody's wa}^, and that her uncle was 
 beckoning impatiently from the carriage door. 
 
 " Poor bo}^ ! I wish he had some one to take care of 
 him," she sighed, half aloud. 
 
 "Mademoiselle, the major waits;" and Karl came 
 up, hat in hand, just in time to hear her and glance 
 after Casimer, with an odd expression. 
 
 V. 
 
 LUDMILLA. 
 
 " I WONDER what that young man's name was. Did 
 he mention it, Helen ? " said the major, pausing in his 
 march up and down the room, as if the question was 
 suggested by the sight of the little baskets, which the 
 girls had kept. 
 
 "No, uncle; but you can easily ask Hoffman," re- 
 plied Helen. 
 
 " By the wa}^, Karl, who was the Polish gentleman 
 who came on with us?" asked the major a moment 
 afterward, as the courier came in with newspapers. 
 
 " Casimer Teblinski, sir." 
 
 " A baron? " asked Am}^, who was decidedly a 3'oung 
 lady of one idea just then. 
 
THE BARON'S GLOVES. 197 
 
 "No, mademoiselle, but of a noble family, as the 
 * ski ' denotes, for that is to Polish and Russian names 
 what ' von ' is to German and ' de ' to French." 
 
 "I was rather interested in him. Where did 3^ou 
 pick him up, Hoffman ? " said the major. 
 
 " In Paris, where he was with fellow-exiles." 
 
 "He is what he seems, is he? — no impostor, or 
 an3'thing of that sort? One is often deceived, you 
 know." 
 
 " On m}' honor, sir, he is a gentleman, and as brave 
 as he is accomplished and excellent." 
 
 " Will he die? " asked Amy, pathetically. 
 
 " With care he would recover, I think ; but there is 
 no one to nurse him, so the poor lad must take his 
 chance and trust in heaven for help." 
 
 " How sad ! I wish we were going his wa}^ so that 
 we might do something for him — at least give him the 
 society of his friend." 
 
 Helen glanced at Hoffman, feeling that if he were not 
 already engaged by them, he would devote himself to 
 the invalid without any thought of payment. 
 
 " Perhaps we are. You want to see the Lake of 
 Geneva, Chillon, and that neighborhood. Why not go 
 now, instead of later? " 
 
 "Will you, uncle? That's capital! We need say 
 nothing, but go on and help the poor boy, if we can." 
 
 Helen spoke like a matron of forty, and looked as 
 full of maternal kindness as if the Pole were not out 
 of his teens. 
 
 The courier bowed, the major laughed behind his 
 paper, and Amy gave a sentimental sigh to the memory 
 of the baron, in whom her interest was failing. 
 
198 PROVERB STORIES. 
 
 They only caught a glimpse of the Pole that evening 
 at the Kursaal, but next morning they met, and he was 
 invited to join their part}' for a little expedition. 
 
 The major was in fine spirits, and Helen assumed her 
 maternal air toward both invalids, for the sound of that 
 hollow cough always brought a shadow over her face, 
 recalling the brother she had lost. 
 
 Amy was particularly merry and charming, and kept 
 the whole party laughing at her comical efforts to learn 
 Polish and teach English as they drove up the mountain- 
 side to the old Schloss. 
 
 " I 'm not equal to mounting all those steps for a \\QVf 
 I 've seen a dozen times ; but pray take care of the child, 
 Nell, or she '11 get lost again, as at Heidelberg," said 
 the major, when they had roamed about the lower part 
 of the place ; for a cool seat in the courtyard and a glass 
 of beer were more tempting than turrets and prospects 
 to the stout gentleman. 
 
 ^' She shall not be lost ; I am her bod3^-guard. It is 
 steep — permit that I lead you, mademoiselle ;" Casimer 
 offered his hand to Amy, and they began their winding 
 way. As she took the hand, the girl blushed and half 
 smiled, remembering the vaults and the baron. 
 
 "I like this better," she said to herself, as the}^ 
 climbed step by step, often pausing to rest in the em- 
 brasures of the loopholes, where the sun glanced in, the 
 balmy wind blew, and vines peeped from without, mak- 
 ing a pretty picture of the girl, as she sat with rosy 
 color on her usually pale cheeks, brown curls fluttering 
 about her forehead, laughing lips, and bright ej^es full 
 of pleasant changes. Leaning opposite in the narrow 
 stairway, Casimer had time to study the little tableau 
 
THE BARON'S GLOVES. 399 
 
 in many lights, and in spite of the dark glasses, to con- 
 vc}^ warm glances of admiration, of which, however, the 
 3'oung coquette seemed utterly unconscious. 
 
 Helen came leisurely after, and Hoffman followed 
 with a telescope, wishing, as he went, that his country- 
 women possessed such dainty feet as those going on 
 before him, for which masculine iniquity he will be par- 
 doned by all who have seen the foot of a German Frau- 
 lein. 
 
 It was worth the long ascent, that wide-spread land- 
 scape basking in the August glow. 
 
 Sitting on a fallen block of stone, while Casimer held 
 a sun-umbrella over her, Amy had raptures at her ease ; 
 while Helen sketched and asked questions of Hoffman, 
 who stood beside her, watching her progress with in- 
 terest. Once when, after repeated efforts to catch a 
 curious effect of light and shade, she uttered an im- 
 patient little exclamation, Karl made a gesture as if to 
 take the pencil and show her, but seemed to recollect 
 himself and drew back with a hasty, "Pardon, made- 
 moiselle." Helen glanced up and saw the expression of 
 his face, which plainly betrayed that for a moment the 
 gentleman had forgotten he was a courier. She was 
 glad of it, for it was a daily trial to her to order this 
 man about ; and following the womanly impulse, she 
 smiled and ofTered the pencil, saying simpl}', — 
 
 " 1 felt sure you understood it ; please show me." 
 
 He did so, and a few masterl}' strokes gave the sketch 
 what it needed. As he bent near her to do this, Helen 
 stole a glance at the grave, dark face, and suddenly a 
 disturbed look dawned in the eyes fixed on the gloss}^ 
 black locks pushed off the courier's forehead, for he had 
 
200 PROVERB STORIES. 
 
 removed his hat when she spoke to him. He seemed 
 to feel that something was amiss, shot a quick glance at 
 her, retm'ned the pencil and rose erect, with an almost 
 defiant air, 3'et something of shame in his ej^e, as his 
 lips moved as if to speak impetnousl}'. But not a word 
 did he utter, for Helen touched her forehead signifi- 
 cantly, and said in 'a low tone, — 
 
 " I am an artist ; let me recommend Vandyke brown, 
 which is not affected by heat." 
 
 Hoffman looked over his shoulder at the other pair, 
 but Amy was making an ivy wreath for her hat, and 
 the Pole pulling sprays for the absorbing work. Speak- 
 ing rapidly, Karl said, with a peculiar blending of merri- 
 ment, humilit}', and anxiet}^ in his tone, — 
 
 "Mademoiselle, jow are quick to discover my dis- 
 guise ; will you also be kind in concealing ? I have 
 enemies as well as friends, whom I desire to escape ; I 
 would earn my bread unknown ; Monsieur le Major 
 keeps my foolish secret ; may I hope for equal goodness 
 from yourself ? " 
 
 " You ma}^, I do not forget that I owe ni}^ life to 3'ou, 
 nor that you are a gentleman. Trust me, I never will 
 betray you." 
 
 " Thanks, thanks ! there will come a time when I 
 ma}' confess the truth and be myself, but not 3'et," and 
 his regretful tone was emphasized by an impatient ges- 
 ture, as if concealment was irksome. 
 
 '' Nell, come down to lunch ; uncle is signalling as if 
 he 'd gone mad. No, monsieur, it is quite impossible ; 
 3^ou cannot reach the harebells without risking too much ; 
 come away and forget that I wanted them." 
 
 Amy led the way, and all went down more quietly 
 
THE BARON'S GLOVES. 201 
 
 than the}^ came np, especially Helen and Hoffman. An 
 excellent lunch waited on one of the tables in front of 
 the old gatewa}^, and having done justice to it, the major 
 made himself comfortable with a cigar, bidding the girls 
 keep near, for they must be off in half an hour. Hoff- 
 man went to see to the horses, Casimer strolled away 
 with him, and the young ladies went to gather wild 
 flowers at the foot of the tower. 
 
 ' ' Not a harebell here ; is n't it provoking, when they 
 grow in tufts up there, where one can't reach them. 
 Mercy, what's that? Run, Nell, the old wall is coming 
 down ! " 
 
 Both had been grubbing in a damp nook, where ferns 
 and mosses grew luxuriantly ; the fall of a bit of stone 
 and a rending sound above made them fly back to the 
 path and look up. 
 
 Amj^ covered her e^^es, and Helen grew pale, for part 
 wa}' down the crumbling tower, clinging like a bird to 
 the thick ivy stems, hung Casimer, coolly gathering 
 harebells from the clefts of the wall. 
 
 " Hush ; don't cry out or speak ; it may startle him. 
 Crazy boy ! Let us see what he will do," whispered 
 Helen. 
 
 * ' He can't go back, the vines are so torn and weak ; 
 and how will he get down the lower wall ? for you see 
 the ivy grows up from that ledge, and there is nothing 
 below. How could he do it ? I was only joking when 
 I lamented that there were no knights now, ready to 
 leap into a lion's den for a lady's glove," returned Amy, 
 half angry. 
 
 In breathless silence they watched the climber till his 
 cap was full of flowers, and taking it between his teeth, 
 
202 PROVERB STORIES. 
 
 he rapidly swung down to the wide ledge, from which 
 there appeared to be no way of escape but a reckless 
 leap of many feet on to the turf below. 
 
 The girls stood in the shadow of an old gatewa}', un- 
 perceived, and waited anxiously what should follow. 
 
 Lightly folding and fastening the cap together, he 
 dropped it down, and, leaning forward, tried to catch 
 the top of a 3^oung birch rustling close by the wall. 
 Twice he missed it ; the first time he frowned, but the 
 second he uttered an emphatic, " Deuce take it ! " 
 
 Helen and Amy looked at each other with a mutual 
 smile and exclamation, — 
 
 '" He knows some English, then ! " 
 
 There was time for no more — a violent rustle, a boj^- 
 ish laugh, and down swung the slender tree, with the 
 young man clinging to the top. 
 
 As he landed safely, Helen cried, " Bravo ! " and Amy 
 rushed out, exclaiming reproachfully, yet admiringl}', — 
 
 ' ' How could you do it and frighten us so ? I shall 
 never express a wish before you again, for if I wanted 
 the moon you 'd rashl}' try to get it, I know." 
 
 " Certainement\ mademoiselle," was the smiling reply, 
 Casimer presented the flowers, as if the exploit was a 
 mere trifle. 
 
 "Now I shall go and press them at once in uncle's 
 guide-book. Come and help me, else 3'ou will be in 
 mischief again." And Amy led the way to the major 
 with hei flowers and their giver. 
 
 Helen roamed into one of the ruined courts for a last 
 look at a fountain which i)lcascd her eye. A sort of 
 cloister ran round the court, open on both sides, and 
 standing in one of these arched nooks, she saw Hoff*man 
 
THE BARON'S GLOVES. 203 
 
 and a 5'onng girl talking animated^. The girl was 
 pretty, well dressed, and seemed refusing something 
 for which the other pleaded eagerl}'. His arm was 
 about her, and she leaned affectionatel}^ upon him, with 
 a white hand now and then caressing his face, which 
 was full of sparkle and vivacity now. They seemed 
 about to part as Helen looked, for the maiden standing 
 on tiptoe, laughingl}' offered her blooming cheek, and 
 as Karl kissed it warml}', he said in Gennan, so audibly 
 Helen heard ever}' word, — 
 
 " Farewell, tc^j Ludmilla. Keep silent and I shall 
 soon be with 3'ou. Embrace the little one, and do not 
 let him forget me." 
 
 Both left the place as thc}^ spoke, each going a differ- 
 ent wa}^ and Helen slowly returned to her party, sajing 
 to herself in a troubled tone, — 
 
 '•'Ludmilla' and 'the little one' are his wife and 
 child, doubtless. I wonder if uncle knows that." 
 
 When Hoffman next appeared she could not resist 
 looking at him ; but the accustomed gravity was re- 
 sumed, and nothing remained of the glow and bright- 
 ness he had worn when with Ludmilla in the cloister. 
 
 VI. 
 
 CHATEAU DE LA TOUR. 
 
 Helen looked serious and Amy indignant when their 
 uncle joined them, read}" to set out b}^ the afternoon 
 train, all having dined and rested after the morning's 
 excursion. 
 
204 PROVERB STORIES. 
 
 " Well, little girls, what 's the matter now? " he asked, 
 paternally, for the excellent man adored his nieces. 
 
 '•'• Helen says it 's not best to go on with the Pole, and 
 is perfectly nonsensical, uncle," began Amj^, petulantl}^, 
 and not very coherentl3\ 
 
 *' Better be silly now than sorrj- b}^ and by. I only 
 suggested that, being interesting, and Am_y romantic, she 
 might find this 3'oung man too charming, if we see too 
 much of him," said Helen. 
 
 "Bless m}^ soul, what an idea!" cried the major. 
 "Why, Nell, he's an invalid, a Catholic, and a for- 
 eigner, any one of which objections are enough to settle 
 that matter. Little Amy is n't so foolish as to be in 
 danger of losing her heart to a person so entirely' out of 
 the question as this poor lad, is she? " 
 
 '* Of course not. You do me justice, uncle. Nell 
 thinks she ma^^ pit}^ and pet any one she likes because 
 she is five years older than I, and entireh' forgets that 
 she is a great deal more attractive than a feeble thing 
 like me. I should as soon think of losing m}^ heart to 
 Hoffman as to the Pole, even if he w^as n't what he is. 
 One may surely be kind to a dj'ing man, without being 
 accused of coquetry ; " and Amy sobbed in the most 
 heart-rending manner. 
 
 Helen comforted her b}^ withdrawing all objections, 
 and promising to leave the matter in the major's hands. 
 But she shook her head privately when she saw the ill- 
 disguised eagerness with which her cousin glanced up 
 and down the platform after the}^ were in the train, and 
 she whispered to her uncle, unobserved, — 
 
 " Leave future meetings to chance, and don't ask the 
 Pole in, if you can help it." 
 
THE BARON'S GLOVES. 205 
 
 *' Nonsense, my dear. You are as particular as your 
 aunt. The lad amuses me, and you can't deny 3'ou like 
 to nurse sick heroes," was all the answer she got, as the 
 major, with true masculine perversit}^, put his head out 
 of the window and hailed Casimer as he was passing 
 with a bow. 
 
 " Here, Teblinski, my good fellow, don't desert us. 
 We 've always a spare seat for you, if you have n't 
 pleasanter quarters." 
 
 With a flush of pleasure the young man came up, but 
 hesitated to accept the invitation till Helen seconded it 
 with a smile of welcome. 
 
 Amy was in an injured mood, and, shrouded in a 
 great blue veil, pensively reclined in her corner as if 
 indifferent to everything about her. But soon the cloud 
 passed, and she emerged in a radiant state of good 
 humor, which lasted unbroken until the journey 
 ended. 
 
 For two days they went on together, a very happy 
 part}', for the major called in Hoffman to see his friend 
 and describe the places through which they passed. An 
 arrangement very agreeable to all, as Karl was a favor- 
 ite, and every one missed him when away. 
 
 At Lausanne they waited while he crossed the lake to 
 secure rooms at Vevay. On his return he reported that 
 all the hotels and pensions were fall, but that at La Tour 
 he had secured rooms for a few weeks in a quaint old 
 chateau on the banks of the lake. 
 
 " Count Severin is absent in Eg3'pt, and the house- 
 keeper has permission to let the apartments to transient 
 visitors. The suite of rooms I speak of were engaged 
 to a party who are detained b}' sickness — they are 
 
206 PROVERB STORIES. 
 
 cheap, pleasant, and comfortable. A salon and four 
 bed-rooms. I engaged them all, thinking that Teblinski 
 might like a room there till he finds lodgings at Mont- 
 reaux. We can enter at once, and I am sure the ladies 
 will approve of the picturesque place." 
 
 " Well done, Hoffman ; off we go without dela}', for 
 I really long to rest my old bones in something like a 
 home, after this long trip," said the major, who always 
 kept his little troop in light marching order. 
 
 The sail across that loveliest of lakes prepared the 
 new-comers to be charmed with all they saw ; and when, 
 entering by the old stone gate, the}' were led into a large 
 saloon, quaintly furnished and opening into a terrace- 
 garden overhanging the water, with Chillon and the 
 Alps in sight, Amj^ declared nothing could be more per- 
 fect, and Helen's face proved her satisfaction. 
 
 An English widow and two quiet old German profes- 
 sors on a vacation were the only inmates besides them- 
 selves and the buxom Swiss housekeeper and her 
 maids. 
 
 It was late when our party arrived, and there was 
 only time for a hasty survey of their rooms and a stroll 
 in the garden before dinner. 
 
 The great chamber, with its shadowy bed, dark mir- 
 rors, ghostly wainscot-doors and narrow windows, had 
 not been brightened for a long time b}^ such a charming 
 little apparition as Am}^ when she shook out her air}^ 
 muslins, smoothed her curls, and assumed all manner of 
 distracting devices for the captivation of mankind. 
 Even Helen, though not much given to personal vanity, 
 found herself putting flowers in her hair, and studying 
 the effect of bracelets on her handsome arms, as if there 
 
THE BARON'S GLOVES. 207 
 
 was some especial need of looking her best on this 
 occasion. 
 
 Both were certainly great ornaments to the drawing- 
 room that evening, as the old professors agreed while 
 the}' sat blinking at them, like a pair of benign owls. 
 Casimer surprised them by his skill in music, for, though 
 forbidden to sing on account of his weak lungs, he 
 pla3'ed as if inspired. Amy hovered about him like a 
 moth ; the major cultivated the acquaintance of the 
 plump widow ; and Helen stood at the window, enjoying 
 the lovely night and music, till something happened 
 which destro3'ed her pleasure in both. 
 
 The window was open, and, leaning from it, she was 
 watching the lake, when the sound of a heavy sigh caught 
 her ear. There was no moon, but through the starlight 
 she saw a man's figure among the shrubs below, sitting 
 with bent head and hidden face in the forlorn attitude 
 of one shut out from the music, light, and gayety that 
 reigned within. 
 
 "It is Karl," she thought, and was about to speak, 
 when, as if startled by some sound she did not hear, he 
 rose and vanished in the gloom of the garden. 
 
 " Poor man ! he thought of his wife and child, per- 
 haps, sitting here alone while all the rest make merr}^, 
 with no care for him. Uncle must see to this ; " and 
 Helen fell into a reverie till Amy came to propose retiring. 
 
 " I meant to have seen where all these doors led, but 
 was so busy dressing I had no time, so must leave it for 
 m}' amusement to-morrow. Uncle says it 's a very 
 Radcliffian place. How like an angel that man did 
 pla}' ! " chattered Amy, and lulled herself to sleep by 
 humming the last air Casimer had given them. 
 
208 PROVERB STORIES. 
 
 Helen could not sleep, for the lonely figure in the 
 garden haunted her, and she wearied herself with con- 
 jectures about Hoffman and his myster3^ Hour after 
 hour rung from the cuckoo-clock in the hall, but still she 
 lay awake, watching the curious shadows in the room, 
 and exciting herself with recalling the tales of German 
 goblins with which the courier had amused them the day 
 before. 
 
 '' It is close and must}^ here, with all this old tapestry' 
 and stuff about; I'll open the other window," she 
 thought ; and, noiselesslj^ slipping from Amy's side, she 
 threw on wrapper and slippers, lighted her candle and 
 tried to unbolt the tall, diamond-paned lattice. It was 
 rusty and would not yield, and, giving it up, she glanced 
 about to see whence air could be admitted. There 
 were four doors in the room, all low and arched, with 
 clumsy locks and heavy handles. One opened into a 
 closet, one into the passage ; the third was locked, but 
 the fourth opened easily, and, lifting her light, she 
 peeped into a small octagon room, full of all manner of 
 curiosities. What they were she had no time to see, 
 for her startled eyes were riveted on an object that turned 
 her faint and cold with terror. 
 
 A heavy table stood in the middle of the room, and 
 seated at it, with some kind of weapon before him, was 
 a man who looked over his shoulder, with a ghastl}^ 
 face half hidden by hair and beard, and fierce black 
 eyes as full of malignant menace as was the clinched 
 hand holding the pistol. One instant Helen looked, the 
 next flung to the door, l)oltcd it and dropped into a 
 chair, trembling in ever}^ limb. The noise did not wake 
 Amy, and a moment's thought showed Helen the 
 
THE BARON'S GLOVES. 209 
 
 wisdom of keeping her in ignorance of this affair. 
 She knew the major was close b}', and possessing much 
 courage, she resolved to wait a little before rousing the 
 house. 
 
 Hardly had she collected herself, when steps were 
 heard moving softly in the octagon room. Her light 
 had gone out as she closed the door, and sitting close 
 b}^ in the dark, she heard the sound of some one breath- 
 ing as he listened at the ke3'-hole. Then a careful 
 hand tried the door, so noiselessl3" that no sleeper would 
 have been awakened ; and as if to guard against a 
 second surprise, the unknown person drew two bolts 
 across the door and stole away. 
 
 "Safe for a time; but I'll not pass another night 
 under this roof, unless this is satisfactorily cleared up," 
 thought Helen, now feeling more angr}^ than frightened. 
 
 The last hour that struck was three, and soon the 
 summer dawn reddened the sky. Dressing herself, 
 Helen sat by Amj-, a sleepless guard, till she woke, 
 smiling and ros}^ as a child. Saying nothing of her 
 last night's alarm, Helen went down to breakfast a little 
 paler than usual, but otherwise unchanged. The major 
 never liked to be disturbed till he had broken his fast, 
 and the moment they rose from the table he ex- 
 claimed, — 
 
 "Now, girls, come and see the mysteries of Udol- 
 pho." 
 
 "I '11 say nothing, 3^et," thought Helen, feeling 
 braver b}" daylight, yet troubled by her secret, for Hoff- 
 man miglit be a traitor, and this charming chateau a den 
 of thieves. Such things had been, and she was in a 
 mood to believe anything. 
 
 14 
 
210 PROVERB STORIES. 
 
 The upper stoiy was a perfect museum of antique 
 relics, very entertaining to examine. Having Ilnibhcel 
 tliese, Hoffman, who acted as guide, led them into a 
 little gloom}' room containing a straw pallet, a stone 
 table with a loaf and pitcher on it, and, kneeling before 
 a crucifix, where the light from a single slit in the wall 
 fell on him, was the figure of a monk. The waxen 
 mask was life-like, the attitude effective, and the cell 
 excellently arranged. Amy cried out when she first saw 
 it, but a second glance reassured her, and she patted 
 the bald head appro vingl}', as Karl explained, — 
 
 " Count Severiu is an antiquarian, and amuses him- 
 self with things of this sort. In old times there really 
 was a hermit here, and this is his effig}^ Come down 
 these narrow stairs, if you please, and see the rest of 
 the mummery." 
 
 Down they went, and the instant Helen looked about 
 her, she burst into a hysterical laugh, for there sat her 
 ruflSan, exactly as she saw him, glaring over his shoul- 
 der with threatening eyes, and one hand on the pistol. 
 They all looked at her, for she was pale, and her merri- 
 ment unnatural ; so, feeling she had excited curiosity, 
 she gratified it b}^ narrating her night's adventure. 
 Hoffman looked much concerned. 
 
 " Pardon, mademoiselle, the door should have been 
 bolted on this side. It usually is, but that room being 
 unused, it was forgotten. I remembered it, and having 
 risen earl}^ crept up to make sure that 3'ou did not 
 come upon this ugly thing unexpectedl3\ But I was 
 too late, it seems ; you have suffered, to my sorrow." 
 
 '' Dear Nell, and that was why 1 found 3'ou so pale 
 and cold and quiet, sitting by me when I woke, guard- 
 
THE BARON'S GLOVES. 211 
 
 ing mc lixithfully as 3'ou promised 3'ou would. IIow 
 brave and kind 3'Ou were ! " 
 
 " Villain ! I should much like to fire your own pistols 
 at you for this prank of yours." 
 
 And Casimer laughingly filhped the image on its 
 absurdl}^ aquiline nose. 
 
 " What in tlie name of common sense is this goblin 
 here for?" demanded the major, testily. 
 
 " There is a legend that once the owner of the chateau 
 amused himself by deco3'ing travellers here, putting 
 them to sleep in that room, and b}' various devices 
 alluring them thither. Here, one step beyond the 
 threshold of the door, was a trap, down which the un- 
 fortunates were precipitated to the dungeon at the bot- 
 tom of the tower, there to die and be cast into the lake 
 through a water-gate, still to be seen. Severin keeps 
 this flattering likeness of the rascal, as he does tlie monk 
 above, to amuse visitors b}^ daylight, not at night, 
 mademoiselle." 
 
 And Hoffman looked wrathfulty at the image, as if he 
 would much enjo}^ sending it down the trap. 
 
 " How ridiculous I I shall not go about this place 
 alone, for fear of lighting upon some horror of this sort. 
 I 've had enough ; come awa\' into the garden ; it 's full 
 of roses, and we may have as man}^ as we like." 
 
 As she spoke Amy involuntarily put out her hand for 
 Casimer to lead her .down the steep stone steps, and he 
 pressed the little hand with a tender look which caused 
 it to be hastily withdrawn. 
 
 "Here are your roses. Pretty flower; I know its 
 meaning in English, for it is the same with us. To give 
 a bud to a lady is to confess the beginning of love, a 
 
212 PROVERB STORIES. 
 
 half open one tells of its growth, and a full-blown one 
 is to declare one's passion. Do 3'ou have that custom 
 in your land, mademoiselle? " 
 
 He had gathered the three as he spoke, and held the 
 bud separately while looking at his companion wist- 
 fully. 
 
 '' No, we are not poetical, like your people, but it is 
 a pretty fancy," and Amy settled her bouquet with an 
 absorbed expression, though inwardly wondering what 
 he would do with his flowers. 
 
 He stood silent a moment, with a sudden flush sweep- 
 ing across his face, then flung all three into the lake 
 with a gesture that made the girl start, and muttered 
 between his teeth. 
 
 " No, no ; for me it is too late." 
 
 She affected not to hear, but making up a second 
 bouquet, she gave it to him, with no touch of coquetry 
 in compassionate ej'es or gentle voice. 
 
 " Make your room bright with these. When one is 
 ill nothing is so cheering as the sight of flowers." 
 
 Meantime the others had descended and gone their 
 separate ways. 
 
 As Karl crossed the courtyard a little child ran to 
 meet him with outstretched arms and a shout of satis- 
 faction. He caught it up and carried it awaj^ on his 
 shoulder, like one used to caress and be caressed by 
 children. 
 
 Helen, waiting at the door of the tower while the 
 major dusted his coat, saw this, and said, suddcnlj^, 
 directing his attention to man and child, — 
 
 " He seems fond of little people. I wonder if he has 
 any of his own." 
 
THE BARON'S GLOVES. 213 
 
 " Hoffman ? No, my dear ; he 's not married ; I asked 
 him that when I engaged him." 
 
 " And he said he was not? " 
 
 "Yes; he's not more than five or six-and- twenty, 
 and fond of a wandering hfe, so what should he want of 
 a wife and a flock of banthngs ? " 
 
 '' He seems sad and sober sometimes, and I fancied 
 he might have some domestic trouble to harass him. 
 Don't you think there is something peculiar about him ? " 
 asked Helen, remembering Hoffman's hint that her 
 uncle knew his wish to travel incognito, and wondering 
 if he would throw any light upon the matter. But the 
 major's face was impenetrable and his answer unsatis- 
 factory. 
 
 " Well, I don't know. Every one has some worry or 
 other, and as for being peculiar, all foreigners seem 
 more or less so to us, they are so unreserved and de- 
 monstrative. I like Hoffman more and more ever}^ day, 
 and shall be sorry when I part with him." 
 
 " Ludmilla is his sister, then, or he did n't tell uncle 
 the truth. It is no concern of mine ; but I wish I 
 knew," thought Helen anxiously, and then wondered 
 why she should care. 
 
 A feeling of distrust had taken possession of her and 
 she determined to be on the watch, for the unsuspicious 
 major would be easily duped, and Helen trusted more 
 to her own quick and keen eye than to his experience. 
 She tried to show nothing of the change in her manner ; 
 but Hoffman perceived it, and bore it with a proud 
 patience which often touched her heart, but never altered 
 her purpose. 
 
214 PROVERB STORIES. 
 
 VII. 
 
 AT FAULT. 
 
 Four weeks went by so rapidly that every one re- 
 fused to believe it when the major stated the fact at 
 the breakfast-table, for all had enjoj-ed themselves so 
 heartily that they had been unconscious of the lapse 
 of time. 
 
 "You are not going away, uncle?" cried Am}^, with 
 a panic-stricken look. 
 
 "Next week, my dear; we must be off, for we've 
 much to do yet, and I promised mamma to bring 3'ou 
 back by the end of October." 
 
 '' Never mind Paris and the rest of it ; this is 
 pleasanter. I 'd rather stay here — " 
 
 There Am}^ checked herself and tried to hide her face 
 behind her coffee-cup, for Casimer looked up in a way 
 that made her heart flutter and her cheeks burn. 
 
 *' Sorry for it. Amy ; but go we must, so enjo}^ .your 
 last week with all your might, and come again next 
 year." 
 
 " It will never be again what it is now," sighed Amy ; 
 and Casimer echoed the words " next 3'ear," as if sadly 
 wondering if the present year would not be his last. 
 
 Helen rose silently and went into the garden, for of 
 late she had fallen into the way of reading and working 
 in the little paviUon which stood in an angle of the wall, 
 overlooking lake and mountains. 
 
 A seat at the opposite end of the walk was Amy's 
 haunt, for she liked the sun, and within a week or two 
 
THE BARON'S GLOVES. 215 
 
 something like constraint had existed between the 
 cousins. Each seemed happier apart, and each was 
 intent on her own affairs. Helen watched over Amj-'s 
 health, but no longer offered advice or asked confidence. 
 She often looked anxious, and once or twice urged the 
 major to go, as if conscious of some danger. 
 
 But the worthy man seemed to have been bewitched 
 as well as the 3'oung folks, and was quite happ}' sitting 
 by the plump, placid widow, or leisurely walking with 
 her to the chapel on the hillside. 
 
 All seemed waiting for something to break up the 
 party, and no one had the courage to do it. The ma- 
 jor's decision took every one by surprise, and Am}) 
 and Casimer looked as if they had fallen from the 
 clouds. 
 
 The persistency with which the English lessons had 
 gone on was amazing, for Am}' usually tired of everj'- 
 thing in a day or two. Now, however, she was a de- 
 voted teacher, and her pupil did her great credit by the 
 rapidity with which he caught the language. It looked 
 like pleasant play, sitting among the roses daj' after 
 day. Amy affecting to embroider while she taught, Casi- 
 mer marching to and fro on the wide, low wall, below 
 which la}" the lake, while he learned his lesson ; then 
 standing before her to recite, or lounging on the turf in 
 frequent fits of idleness, both talking and laughing a 
 great deal, and generally forgetting everything but the 
 pleasure of being together. They wrote little notes as 
 exercises — Amy in French, Casimer in English, and 
 each corrected the other's. 
 
 All very well for a time ; but as the notes increased 
 the corrections decreased, and at last nothing was said 
 
216 PROVERB STORIES. 
 
 of nngrammatical French or comical English, and the 
 little notes were exchanged in silence. 
 
 As Amy took her place that day she looked forlorn, 
 and when her pupil came her only welcome was a re- 
 proachful — 
 
 " You are verj' late, sir." 
 
 " It is fifteen of minutes yet to ten clocks," was Casi- 
 mer's repl}', in his best English. 
 
 "Ten o'clock, and leave out 'of before minutes. 
 How many times must I tell you that?" said Am}', 
 severely, to cover her first mistake. 
 
 " Ah, not many times ; soon all goes to finish, and I 
 have none person to make this charming English go in 
 m}' so stupide head." 
 
 " What will you do then?" 
 
 " 1 Jeter myself into the lake." 
 
 " Don't be foolish ; I 'm dull to-day, and want to be 
 cheered up ; suicide is n't a pleasant subject." 
 
 ' ' Good ! See here, then — a little plaisanterie — what 
 jou call joke. Can you will to see it?" and he laid a 
 little pink cocked-hat note on her lap, looking like a 
 mischievous boy as he did so. 
 
 ' ' ' Mon Casimer Teblinski ; ' I see no joke ; " and 
 Amy was about to tear it up, when he caught it from 
 destruction, and holding it out of reach, said, laughing 
 wickedly, — 
 
 "The 'mon' is one abbreviation of 'monsieur,' but 
 you put no little — how do you sa}' ? — period at the 
 end of him ; it goes now in English — ' My Casi- 
 mer Teblinski,' and that is of the most charming ad* 
 dress." 
 
 Amy colored, but had her return shot ready. 
 
THE BARON'S GLOVES. 217 
 
 " Don't exult ; that was only an oversight, not a 
 deliberate deception like that 3'ou put upon me. It was 
 very wrong and rude, and I shall not forgive it." 
 
 ' ' Mon Dieu ! where have I gone in sinning ? I am 
 a 'polisson^ as I say each day, but not a villain, I swear 
 to you. Say to me that which I have made of wrong, 
 and I will do penance." 
 
 " You told me ' Ma drogha ' was the Polish for ' My 
 pupil,' and let me call you so a long time ; I am wiser 
 now," replied Amy, with great dignity. 
 
 " Who has said stupidities to yon^ that you doubt 
 me? " and Casimer assumed an injured look, though his 
 ej-es danced with merriment. 
 
 " I heard Hoffman singing a Polish song to little 
 Roserl, the burden of which was, ' Ma drogha, Ma drogha,' 
 and when I asked him to translate it, those two words 
 meant, ' My darling.' How dare you do it, ungrateful 
 creature that you are ! " 
 
 As Amy spoke, half-confusedly, half-angrily, Casimer 
 went down upon his knees, with folded hands and peni- 
 tent face, exclaiming, in good English, — 
 
 " Be merciful to me a sinner. I was tempted, and I 
 could not resist." 
 
 " Get up this instant, and stop laughing. Say your 
 lesson, for this will be 3^our last," was the stern reply, 
 though Amy's face dimpled all over with suppressed 
 merriment. 
 
 He rose meekly, but made such sad work with the 
 verb " To love," that his teacher was glad to put an end 
 to it, by proposing to read her French to him. It was 
 " Thaddeus of Warsaw," a musty little translation which 
 she had found in the house, and begun for her own 
 
218 PROVERB STORIES. 
 
 amusement. Casimer read a little, seemed interested, 
 and suggested that they read it together, so that he 
 might correct her accent. Amy agreed, and thej' were 
 in the heart of the sentimental romance, finding it more 
 interesting than most modern readers, for the giil had 
 an improved Thaddeus before her, and the Pole a fair(!r, 
 kinder Mary Beaufort. 
 
 Dangerous times for both, but therein lay the charm ; 
 for, tliough Amy said to herself each night, " Sick, 
 Catholic, and a foreigner, — it can never be," yet each 
 morning she felt, with increasing force, how blank her 
 day would be without him. And Casimer, honorably 
 restraining every word of love, yet looked volumes, and 
 in spite of the glasses, the girl felt the eloquence of the 
 fine eyes they could not entirety conceal. 
 
 To-day, as she read, he listened with his head leaning 
 on his hand, and though she never had read worse, he 
 made no correction, but sat so motionless, she fancied 
 at last that he had actual!}' fallen asleep. Thinking to 
 rouse him, she said, in French, — 
 
 " Poor Thaddeus ! don't you pit}' him ? — alone, poor, 
 sick, and afraid to own his love." 
 
 " No, I hate him, the absurd imbecile, with his fine 
 boots and plumes, and tragedy airs. lie was not to bo 
 pitied, for he recovered health, he found a fortune, ho 
 won his Marie. His sutferings w^ere nothing ; there was 
 no fatal blight on him, and he had time and power to 
 conquer his misfortunes, while I — " 
 
 Casimer spoke with sudden passion, and pausing ab- 
 ruptly, turned his face awa}', as if to hide some emotion 
 he was too proud to show. 
 
 Amy's heart ached, and lier eyes filled, but her voice 
 
THE BARON'S GLOVES. 219 
 
 was sweet and stead}', as she said, putting b}^ the book, 
 like one weary of it, — 
 
 '' Are you suffering to-day? Can we do anything for 
 you? Please let us, if we ma}-." 
 
 '' You give me all I can receive ; no one can help m}' 
 pain 3'et ; but a time will come when something may be 
 done for me ; then I will speak." 
 
 And, to her great surprise, he rose and left her, with- 
 out another word. 
 
 She saw him no more till evening ; then he looked 
 excited, pla3'ed stormil}-, and would sing in defiance of 
 danger. The troul^le in Amy's face seemed reflected in 
 Helen's, though not a word had passed between them. 
 She kept her e3'e on Casimer, with an intentness that 
 worried Amy, and even when he was at the Instrument 
 Helen stood near him, as if fascinated, watching the 
 slender hands chase one another up and down the kej^s 
 with untiring strength and skill. 
 
 Suddenly she left the room and did not return. Amy 
 was so nervous b}- that time, she could restrain herself 
 no longer, and slipping out, found her cousin in their 
 chamber, poring over a glove. 
 
 " Oh, Nell, what is it? You are so odd to-night I 
 can't understand 3-ou. The music excites me, and I'm 
 miserable, and I want to know what has happened," she 
 said, tearfull3-. 
 
 "I've found him ! " whispered Helen, eagerly, hold- 
 ing up the glove with a gesture of triumph. 
 
 " Who? " asked Amy, bhnded by her tears. 
 
 " The baron." 
 
 " Where ? — w^hen ? " cried the girl, amazed. 
 
 " Here, and now." 
 
220 PROVERB STORIES. 
 
 "Don't take my breath awaj^ ; tell me quick, or I 
 shall get hj'sterical." 
 
 " Casimcr is Sigismund Palsdorf, and no more a Pole 
 than I am," was Helen's answer. 
 
 Am}" dropped in a heap on the floor, not fainting, but 
 so amazed she had neither strength nor breath left. 
 Sitting by her, Helen rapidl}^ went on, — 
 
 " I had a feeling as if something was wi'ong, and 
 began to watch. The feeling grew, but I discovered 
 nothing till to-da3\ It will make 3'ou laugh, it was so 
 unromantic. As I looked over uncle's things when the 
 laundress brought them this afternoon, I found a collar 
 that was not his. It was marked ' S. P.,' and I at once 
 felt a great desire to know who owned it. The woman 
 was waiting for her mone}", and I asked her. ' Mon- 
 sieur Pologne,' she said, for his name is too much for 
 her. She took it into his room, and that was the end 
 of it." 
 
 " But it may be another name ; the initials only a 
 coincidence," faltered Am}', looking frightened. 
 
 " No, dear, it is n't ; there is more to come. Little 
 Roserl came crying through tlie hall an hour ago, and I 
 asked what the trouble was. She showed me a prettily- 
 bound prayer-book which she had taken from the Pole's 
 room to play with, and had been ordered by her mother 
 to carry back. I looked into it ; no name, but the 
 same coat-of-arms as the glove and the handkerchief. 
 To-night as he played I examined his hands ; they are 
 peculiar, and some of the peculiarities have left traces 
 on the glove. I am sure it is he, for on looking back 
 many things confirm the idea. He says he is a poUsson, 
 a rogue, fond of jokes, and clever at pla}ing them. The 
 
rilE BARON'S GLOVES. 221 
 
 Germans are famous for masquerading and practical 
 jokes ; this is one, I am sure, and uncle will be terribly 
 angr}" if he discovers it." 
 
 ^' But wh}^ all this concealment? " cried Amy. " Why 
 pla}^ jokes on us? You look so worried I know you 
 have not told me all you know or fear." 
 
 " I confess I do fear that these men are political 
 plotters as well as exiles. There are many such, and 
 they make tools of rich and ignorant foreigners to fur- 
 ther theii' ends. Uncle is rich, generous, and unsus- 
 picious ; and I fear that while apparentl^^ serving and 
 enjoying us they are using him." 
 
 " Heavens, it may be! and that would account for 
 the change we see in him. I thought he was in love 
 with the widow, but that may be only a cloak to hide 
 darker designs. Karl brought us here, and I dare say 
 it is a den of conspirators ! " cried Am}', feeling as if 
 she were getting more of an adventure than she had 
 bargained for. 
 
 " Don't be alarmed ! I am on the watch, and mean 
 to demand an explanation from uncle, or take you awa\' 
 on my own responsibilit}^, if I can." 
 
 Here a maid tapped to saj^ that tea was served. 
 
 *' We must go down, or some one will suspect trouble. 
 Plead headache to excuse your paleness, and I '11 keep 
 people away. We will manage the affair and be off as 
 soon as possible," said Helen, as Amy followed her, 
 too bewildered to answer. 
 
 Casimer was not in the room, the major and Mrs. 
 Cumberland were sipping tea side by side, and the pro- 
 fessors roaming vaguely about. To leave Amy in peace, 
 Helen engaged them both in a livel}^ chat, and her 
 
222 PROVERB STORIES. 
 
 cousin sat b}^ the window tiying to collect her thoughts. 
 Some one was pacing up and down the garden, hatless, 
 in the dew. 
 
 Amy forgot ever3'thing but the danger of such ex- 
 posure to her reckless friend. His cloak and hat lay on 
 a chair ; she caught them up and glided unperceived 
 from the long window. 
 
 "You are so imprudent I fear for you, and bring 
 3^our things," said a timid voice, as the little white 
 figure approached the tall black one, striding down the 
 path tempestuousl3\ 
 
 "You to think of me, forgetful of yourself! Little 
 angel of kindness, why do you take such care of me?" 
 cried Casimer, eagerly taking not only the cloak, but 
 the hands that held it. 
 
 " I pitied 3'ou because jou. were ill and loneh*. You 
 do not deserve my pity, but I forgive that, and would 
 not see you suffer," was the reproachful answer, as Amy 
 turned away. 
 
 But he held her fast, saying earnestly, — 
 
 " What have I done? You are angry. Tell me my 
 fault and I will amend." 
 
 " You have deceived me." 
 
 "How?" 
 
 " Will you own the truth? " and in her eagerness to 
 set her fears at rest. Amy forgot Helen. 
 
 " I will." 
 
 She could not see his face, but his voice was steadj^ 
 and his manner earnest. 
 
 "Tell me, then, is not j^our true name Sigismund 
 Palsdorf ? " 
 
 He started, but answered instantlj^ — 
 
THE BARON'S GLOVES. 223 
 
 ^' It is not." 
 
 " You arc not the baron?" cried Amy. 
 
 " No ; I will swear it if you wish." 
 
 "Who, then, are you?" 
 
 "Shall I confess?" 
 
 " Yes, I entreat you." 
 
 " Remember, 3'ou command me to speak." 
 
 "I do. Who are you?" 
 
 " Your lover." 
 
 The words were breathed into her ear as softly as 
 ardentl}', but they startled her so much she could find 
 no reply, and, throwing himself down before her, Casi- 
 mer poured out his passion with an impetuosity that 
 held her breathless. 
 
 " Yes, I love you, and I tell it, vain and dishonorable 
 as it is in one like me. I try to hide it. I say ' it can- 
 not be.' I plan to go awa}-. But you keep me ; you 
 are angel-good to me ; you take my heart, you care for 
 me, teach me, pity me, and I can only love and die. 
 I know it is folly ; I ask nothing ; I pray to God to 
 bless 3 ou alwa3's, and I sa3% Go, go, before it is too late 
 for 3'ou, as now for me ! " 
 
 " Yes, I must go — it is all wrong. Forgive me. I 
 have been very selfish. Oh, forget me and be happ3^" 
 faltered Amy, feeling that her only safety was in flight. 
 
 " Go ! go ! " he cried, in a heart-broken tone, yet still 
 kissed and clung to her hands till she tore them away 
 and fled into the house. 
 
 Helen missed her soon after she went, but could not 
 follow for several minutes ; then went to their chamber 
 and there found Am3^ drowned in tears, and terribly 
 aaitated. 
 
224 PROVERB STORIES. 
 
 Soon the stor}' was told with sobs and moans, and 
 despairing lamentations fit to touch a heart of stone. 
 
 "I do love him — oh, I do ; but I did n't know it till 
 he was so unhappy, and now I 've done this dreadful 
 harm. He'll die, and I can't help him, see him, or be 
 anything to him. Oh, I 've been a wicked, wicked girl, 
 and never can be happy any more." 
 
 Angry, perplexed, and conscience-stricken, for what 
 now seemed blind and unwise submission to the major, 
 Helen devoted herself to calming Am}', and when at 
 last the poor, broken-hearted little soul fell asleep in her 
 arms, she pondered half the night upon the still un- 
 solved enigma of the Baron Sigismund. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 MORE arYSTEKY. 
 
 '* Uncle, can I speak to you a moment?" said Helen, 
 very gravel}^ as they left the breakfast-room next morn- 
 ing. 
 
 '' Not now, my dear, I 'm bus}^" was the hasty reply, 
 as the major shawled Mrs. Cumberland for an early 
 promenade. 
 
 Helen knit her brows irefully, for this answer had 
 been given her half a dozen times latel}^ when she asked 
 for an interview. It was evident he wished to avoid all 
 lectures, remonstrances, and explanations ; and it was 
 also evident that he was in love with the widow. 
 
 *' Lovers are worse than lunatics to manage, so it is 
 
THE BARON'S GLOVES. 225 
 
 vain to try to get any help from him," sighed Helen, 
 adding, as her uncle was gallantl}' leading his stout 
 divinitj' away into the garden : " Amy has a bad head- 
 ache, and I shall stay to take care of her, so we can't join 
 your party to Chillon, sir. We have been there once, 
 so 3'ou need n't postpone it for us." 
 
 " Very well, my dear," and the major walked away, 
 looking much relieved. 
 
 As Helen was about to leave the salon Casimer ap- 
 peared. A single glance at her face assured him that 
 she knew all, and instantly assuming a confiding, per- 
 suasive air that was irresistible, he said, meekl3', — 
 
 " Mademoiselle, I do not deserve a word from you, 
 but it desolates me to know that I have grieved the little 
 angel who is too dear to me. For her sake, pardon that 
 I spoke m}^ heart in spite of prudence, and permit me to 
 send her this." 
 
 Helen glanced from the flowers he held to his beseech- 
 ing face, and her own softened. He looked so peni- 
 tent and anxious, she had not the heart to reproach 
 him. 
 
 ^' I will forgive yow and carry 3'our gift to Amy on 
 one condition," she said, gravely. 
 
 "Ah, 3^ou are kind! Name, then, the condition, I 
 implore you, and I will agree." 
 
 " Tell me, then, on your honor as a gentleman, are 
 you not Baron Palsdorf ? " 
 
 " On my honor as a gentleman, I swear to you I am 
 not." 
 
 " Are 3'OU, in truth, what you profess to be? " 
 
 "I am, in truth, Amy's lover, your devoted servant, 
 and a most unhappy man, with but a little while to 
 
226 PROVERB STORIES. 
 
 live. Believe this and pity me, dearest Mademoiselle 
 Helene." 
 
 She did pity him, her eyes betrayed that, and her 
 voice was very kind, as she said, — 
 
 " Pardon my doubts. I trust 3'ou now, and wish 
 with all my heart that it was possible to make you happj'. 
 You know it is not, therefore I am sure you will be wise 
 and generous, and spare Am}'' further grief hy avoiding 
 her for the little time we sta}^ Promise me this, Casi- 
 mer." 
 
 " I ma}^ see her if I am dumb ? Do not den}^ me this. 
 I will not speak, but I must look at my little and dear 
 angel when she is near." 
 
 He pleaded so ardently with lips and hands, and 
 eager e^'es, that Helen could not deny him, and when 
 he had poured out his thanks she left him, feeling very 
 tender toward the unhapp}^ 3'oung lover, whose passion 
 was so hopeless, yet so warm. 
 
 Amy was at breakfast in her room, sobbing and sip- 
 ping, moaning and munching, for, though her grief was 
 great, her appetite was good, and she was in no mood 
 to see an3'thing comical in cracking eggshells while she 
 bewailed her broken heart, or in eating houc^' in the act 
 of lamenting the bitterness of her fate. 
 
 Casimer would have become desperate had he seen 
 her in the little blue wrapper, with her bright hair loose 
 on her shoulders, and her pretty face wet with tears, as 
 she dropped her spoon to seize his flowers, — three dewy 
 roses, one a bud, one half and the other full}' blown, 
 making a fragrant record and avowal of the love which 
 she must renounce. 
 
 " Oh, my dear boy ! how can 1 give him up, when he 
 
THE BARON'S GLOVES. 227 
 
 is so fond, and I am all lie has? Helen, uncle must 
 let rae write or go to mamma. She shall decide ; I can't ; 
 and no one else has a right to part us," sobbed Am}', 
 over her roses. 
 
 " Casimer will not marry, dear ; he is too generous to 
 ask such a sacrifice," began Helen, but Amj^ cried in- 
 dignantly, — '• 
 
 "It is no sacrifice ; I 'm rich. What do I care for 
 his poverty?" 
 
 " His religion ! " hinted Helen, anxiousty. 
 
 " It need not part us ; we can believe what we will. 
 He is good ; why mind whether he is Catholic or Protes- 
 tant." 
 
 " But a Pole, Amy, so different in tastes, habits, 
 character, and beliefs. It is a great risk to marry a 
 foreigner ; races are so unlike." 
 
 " I don't care if he is a Tartar, a Calmuck, or any of 
 the other wild tribes ; I love him, he loves me, and no 
 one need object if I don't." 
 
 " But, dear, the great and sad objection still remains — 
 his health. He just said he had but a little while to live." 
 
 Amy's angry eyes grew dim, but she answered, with 
 soft earnestness, — 
 
 " So much the more need of me to make that little 
 while happy. Think how much he has suffered and done 
 for others ; surel}' I may do something for him. Oh, 
 Nell, can I let him die alone and in exile, when I have 
 both heart and home to give him ? " 
 
 Helen could say no more ; she kissed and comforted 
 the faithful little soul, feeling all the while such S3'mpa- 
 thy and tenderness that she wondered at herself, for with 
 this interest in the love of another came a sad sense of 
 
228 PROVERB STORIES. 
 
 loneliness, as if she was denied the sweet experience 
 that every woman longs to know. 
 
 Amy never conld remain long under a cloud, and see- 
 ing Helen's tears, began to cheer both her cousin and 
 herself. 
 
 " Hoffman said he might live with care, don't 3'ou 
 remember? and Hoffman knows the case better than we. 
 Let us ask him if Casimer is worse. You do it ; I can't 
 without betraying m^'self." 
 
 " I will," and Helen felt grateful for any pretext to 
 address a friendl}^ word to Karl, who had looked sad of 
 late, and had been less with them since the major be- 
 came absorbed in Mrs. Cumberland. 
 
 Leaving Am}^ to compose herself, Helen went awaj' 
 to find Hoffman. It was never difficult, for he seemed 
 to divine her wishes and appear uncalled the moment he 
 was wanted. Hardly had she reached her favorite nook 
 in the garden when he approached with letters, and 
 asked with respectful anxiet}^, as she glanced at and 
 threw them by with an impatient sigh, — 
 
 "Has mademoiselle anj- orders? Will the ladies 
 drive, sail, or make a little expedition? It is fine, and 
 mademoiselle looks as if the air would refresh her. 
 Pardon that I make the suggestion." 
 
 " No, Hoffman, I don't like the air of this place, and 
 intend to leave as soon as possible." And Helen knit 
 her delicate dark brows with an expression of great 
 determination. " Switzerland is the refuge of political 
 exiles, and I hate plots and disguises ; I feel oppressed 
 by some m3^ster3^, and mean to solve or break away from 
 it at once." 
 
 She stopped abruptly, longing to ask his help, yd 
 
THE BARON'S GLOVES 229 
 
 withheld b}^ a sudden sense of shj^ness in approaching 
 the subject, though she had decided to speak to Karl of 
 the Pole. 
 
 " Can I serve 3'ou, mademoiselle? If so, pray com- 
 mand me," he said, eagerly, coming a step nearer. 
 
 " You can, and I intend to ask your advice, for there 
 can be nothing amiss in doing so, since you are a friend 
 of Casimer's." 
 
 " I am both friend and confidant, mademoiselle," he 
 answered, as if anxious to let her understand that he 
 knew all, without the embarrassment of words. She 
 looked up quickly, relieved, yet troubled. 
 
 " He has told you, then?" 
 
 " Everything, mademoiselle. Pardon me if this 
 afflicts you ; I am his only friend here, and the poor 
 lad sorel}^ needed comfort." 
 
 " He did. I am not annoyed ; I am glad, for I know 
 you will sustain him. Now I may speak freely, and be 
 equally frank. Please tell me if he is indeed fatally ill ? " 
 
 " It was thought so some months ago ; now I hope. 
 Happiness cures many ills, and since he has loved, he 
 has improved. I always thought care would save him ; 
 he is worth it." 
 
 Hoflman paused, as if fearful of venturing too far ; 
 but Helen seemed to confide freely in him, and said, 
 softlj^ — 
 
 '*Ah, if it were only wise to let him be happy. It is 
 so bitter to deny love." 
 
 " God knows it is ! " 
 
 The exclamation broke from Hofl^man as if an irre- 
 pressible impulse wrung it from him. 
 
 Helen started, and for a moment neither spoke. She 
 
230 PROVERB STORIES. 
 
 collected herself soonest, and without turning, said, 
 quietly, — 
 
 " I have been troubled by a strong impression that 
 Casimer is not what he seems. Till he denied it on his 
 honor I believed him to be Baron Palsdorf. Did he 
 speak the truth when he said he was not ? " 
 
 "Yes, mademoiselle." 
 
 " Then, Casimer Teblinski is his real name?" 
 
 No answer. 
 
 She turned sharply, and added, — 
 
 "For my cousin's sake, I must know the truth. 
 Several curious coincidences make me strongl}' suspect 
 that he is passing under an assumed name." 
 
 Not a word said Hoffman, but looked on the ground. 
 as motionless and expressionless as a statue. 
 
 Helen lost patience, and in order to show how much 
 she had discovered, rapidly told the stor}' of the gloves, 
 ring, handkerchief, prayer-book and collar, omitting all 
 hint of the girlish romance the}^ had woven about these 
 things. 
 
 As she ended, Hoffman looked up with a curious ex- 
 pression, in which confusion, amusement, admiration 
 and annoyance seemed to contend. 
 
 "Mademoiselle," he said, gravely, "I am about 
 to prove to you that I feel honored by the confidence 
 you place in me. I cannot break m}^ word, but I will 
 confess to you that Casimer does not bear his own 
 name." 
 
 " I knew it ! " said Helen, with a flash of triumph in 
 her ej^es. " He is the baron, and no Pole. You Ger- 
 mans love masquerades and jokes. This is one, but I 
 must spoil it before it is plaj'cd out." 
 
THE BARON'S GLOVES. 231 
 
 *' Pardon ; mademoiselle is keen, but in this she is 
 mistaken. Casimer is 7iot the baron ; he did fight for 
 Poland, and his name is known and honored there. Of 
 this I solemnly assure 3'ou." 
 
 She stood up and looked him straight in the face. 
 He met her e^e to eye, and never wavered till her own 
 fell. 
 
 She mused a few minutes, entirelj' forgetful of her- 
 self in her eagerness to solve the myster}-. 
 
 Hoffman stood so near that her dress touched him, 
 and the wind blew her scarf against his hand ; and as 
 she thought he watched her while his eyes knidled, his 
 color rose, and once he opened his lips to speak, but 
 she moved at the instant, and exclaimed, — 
 
 "I have it! " 
 
 " Now for it," he muttered, as if preparing for some 
 new surprise or attack. 
 
 " When uncle used to talk about the Polish revolu- 
 tion, there was, I remember a gallant young Pole who 
 did something brave. The name just flashed on me, and 
 it clears up my doubts. Stanislas Prakora — ' S. P.' — 
 and Casimer is the man." 
 
 Helen spoke with an eager, bright face, as if snre of 
 the truth now ; but, to her surprise, Hoffman laughed, 
 a short, irrepressible laugh, full of hearty but brief 
 merriment. He sobered in a breath, and with an entire 
 change of countenance said, in an embarrassed tone, — 
 
 " Pardon m}^ rudeness ; mademoiselle's acuteness 
 threw me off my guard. I can say nothing till released 
 from my promise ; but mademoiselle may rest assured 
 that Casimer Teblinski is as good and brave a man as 
 Stanislas Prakora." 
 
232 PROVERB STORIES. 
 
 Helen's eyes sparkled, for in this reluctant reph^ she 
 read confirmation of her suspicion, and thought that 
 Amy would rejoice to learn that her lover was a hero. 
 
 "You are exiles but, still hope and plot, and never 
 relinquish your heart's desire ? " 
 
 *' Never, mademoiselle ! " 
 
 " You are in danger? " 
 
 " In daily peril of losing all we most love and long 
 for," answered Karl, with such passion that Helen found 
 patriotism a lovely and inspiring thing. 
 
 "You have enemies?" she asked, unable to control 
 her interest, and feeling the charm of these confidences. 
 
 " Alas ! yes," was the mournful replj', as Karl dropped 
 his eyes to hide the curious expression of mirth which 
 he could not banish from them. 
 
 " Can you not conquer them, or escape the danger 
 they place yon in ? " 
 
 " We hope to conquer, we cannot escape." 
 
 " This accounts for ^^our disguise and Casimer's false 
 name ? " 
 
 " Yes. We beg that mademoiselle will pardon us 
 the anxiety and perplexity we have caused her, and 
 hope that a time will soon arrive when we may be our- 
 selves. I fear the romantic interest with which the 
 ladies have honored us will be much lessened, but we 
 shall still remain their most humble and devoted ser- 
 vants." 
 
 Something in his tone nettled Helen, and she said 
 sharply, — 
 
 "All this maybe amusing to you, but It spoils my 
 confidence in others to know they wear masks. Is your 
 name also false ? " 
 
THE BARON'S GLOVES. 233 
 
 *'I am Karl Hoffman, as surely as the sun shines, 
 mademoiselle. Do not wound me by a doubt," he said, 
 eagerly. 
 
 " And nothing more?" 
 
 She smiled as she spoke, and glanced at his darkened 
 skin with a shake of the head. 
 
 " I dare not answer that." 
 
 " No matter ; I hate titles, and value people for their 
 own worth, not for their rank." 
 
 Helen spoke impulsively, and, as if carried aw a}' by 
 her words and manner, Hoffman caught her hand and 
 pressed his lips to it ardently, dropped it, and was 
 gone, as if fearing to trust himself a moment longer. 
 
 Helen stood where he left her, thinking, with a shy 
 glance from her hand to the spot where he had stood, — 
 
 " It is pleasant to have one's hand kissed, as Am}' 
 said. Poor Karl, his fate is almost as hard as Casi- 
 mer's." 
 
 Some subtile power seemed to make the four 3'oung 
 people shun one another carefully, though all longed to 
 be together. The major appeared to share the secret 
 disquiet that made the rest roam listlessly about, till 
 little Roserl came to invite them to a/e^e in honor of the 
 vintage. All were glad to go, hoping in the novelty and 
 excitement to recover their composure. 
 
 The vinej'ard sloped up from the chateau, and on the 
 hillside was a small plateau of level sward, shadowed 
 by a venerable oak now hung with garlands, while un- 
 derneath danced the chateau servants with their families, 
 to the music of a pipe plaj'ed by little Freidel. As the 
 gentlefolk approached, the revel stopped, but the major, 
 who was in an antic mood and disposed to be gracious, 
 
234 PROVERB STORIES. 
 
 bade Frcidel pla}- on, and as Mrs. Cnmlierland refused 
 his hand with a glance at her weeds, the major turned 
 to the Count's buxom housekeeper, and besought her to 
 waltz with him. She assented, and away the}" went as 
 nimbly as the best. Amy laughed, but stopped to 
 blush, as Casimer came up with an imploring glance, and 
 whispered, — 
 
 "Is it possible that I may enjoy one divine waltz 
 with 3"ou before I go ? " 
 
 Amy gave him her hand with a glad assent, and Helen 
 was left alone. Every one was dancing but herself and 
 Hoffman, who stood near by, apparently unconscious of 
 the fact. He glanced covertly at her, and saw that she 
 was beating time with foot and hand, that her e3'GS 
 shone, her lips smiled. He seemed to take courage at 
 this, for, walking straight up to her, he said, as coolly 
 as if a crown-prince, — 
 
 " Mademoiselle, may I have the honor? " 
 
 A flash of surprise passed over her face, but there was 
 no anger, pride, or hesitation in her manner, as she 
 leaned toward him with a quiet " Thanks, monsieur." 
 
 A look of triumph was in his eyes as he swept her 
 away to dance, as she had never danced before, for a 
 German waltz is full of life and spirit, wonderfuU}^ cap- 
 tivating to English girls, and German gentlemen make 
 it a memorable experience when they please. As they 
 circled round the rustic ball-room, Hoffman never took his 
 eyes off Helen's, and, as if fascinated, she looked up at 
 him, half conscious that he was reading her heart as she 
 read his. He said not a word, but his face grew very 
 tender, very beautiful in her sight, as she forgot ever}'- 
 thing except that he had saved her life and she loved 
 
THE BARON'S GLOVES. 235 
 
 him. When tho}^ paused, she was breathless and pale ; 
 he also ; and seating her he went awa}' to bring her a 
 glass of wine. As her dizz}' ej'cs grew clear. 'she saw 
 a little case at her feet, and taking it up, opened it. A 
 worn paper, containing some faded forget-me-nots and 
 these words, fell out, — 
 
 " Gathered where Helen sat on the night of August 
 10th." 
 
 There was just time to restore its contents to the case, 
 when Hoffman returned, saw it, and looked intensely 
 anno3^ed as he asked, quickly, — 
 
 ' ' Did you read the name on it ? " 
 
 " I saw only the flowers ; " and Helen colored beauti- 
 full}' as she spoke. 
 
 '' And read themV he asked, with a look she could 
 not meet. 
 
 She was spared an answer, for just then a lad came 
 up, saying, as he offered a note, — 
 
 " Monsieur Hoffman, madame, at the hotel, sends 
 you this, and begs 3'ou to come at once." 
 
 As he impatiently opened it, the wind blew the paper 
 into Helen's lap. She restored it, and in the act, her 
 quick e^'e caught the signature, " Thine ever, Ludmilla." 
 
 A slight shadow passed over her face, leaving it very 
 cold and quiet. Hoffman saw the change, and smiled, 
 as if well pleased, but assuming suddenly" his usual 
 manner, said deferentially, — 
 
 " Will mademoiselle permit me to visit my friend for 
 an hour? — she is expecting me." 
 
 " Go, then, we do not need you," was the brief reply, 
 in a careless tone, as if his absence was a thing of no 
 interest to any one. 
 
236 PROVERB STORIES. 
 
 *' Thanks ; I shall not be long away ; " and giving her 
 a glance that made her turn scarlet with anger at its 
 undisguised admiration, he walked away, humming gayly 
 to himself Goethe's lines, — 
 
 " Maiden's heart and city's wall 
 Were made to yield, were made to fall ; 
 When we 've held them each their day, 
 Soldier-like we march away." 
 
 " S. P. AND THE BARON. 
 
 Dinner was over, and the salon deserted by all but 
 the two young ladies, who sat apart, apparently ab- 
 sorbed in novels, while each was privately longing for 
 somebody to come, and with the charming inconsistency 
 of the fair sex, planning to fly if certain somebodies did 
 appear. 
 
 Steps approached ; both buried themselves in their 
 books J both held their breath and felt their hearts flut- 
 ter as they never had done before at the step of mortal 
 man. The door opened ; neither looked up, yet each 
 was conscious of mingled disappointment and relief when 
 the major said, in a grave tone, '' Girls, I've something 
 to tell you." 
 
 "' We know what it is, sir," returned Helen, cooll3\ 
 
 " I beg 3'our pardon, but you don't, my dear, as I 
 will prove in Ave minutes, if 3'ou will give me your 
 attention." 
 
THE BARON'S GLOVES. 237 
 
 The major looked as if braced up to some momentous 
 undertaking ; and planting himself before the two 3'oung 
 ladies, dashed bravely into the subject. 
 
 " Girls, I've played a bold game, but I've won it, 
 and will take the consequences." 
 
 " The}^ will fall heaviest on 3'ou, uncle," said Helen, 
 thinking he was about to declare his love for the widow. 
 
 The major laughed, shrugged his shoulders, and an- 
 swered, stoutty, — 
 
 '* I '11 bear them ; but you are quite wrong, my dear, 
 in your surmises, as yow will soon see. Helen is my 
 ward, and accountable to me alone. Amy's mother 
 gave her into m}^ charge, and won't reproach me for 
 anything that has passed when I explain matters. As 
 to the lads they must take care of themselves." 
 
 Suddenty both girls colored, fluttered, and became 
 intensely interested. The major's eyes twinkled as he 
 assumed a perfectly impassive expression, and rapidly 
 delivered himself of the following thunderbolt, — 
 
 " Girls, you have been deceived, and the young men 
 you love are impostors." 
 
 '' I thought so," muttered Helen, grimly. 
 
 " Oh, uncle, don't, don't say that ! " cried Amy, de- 
 spairingl3\ 
 
 " It 's true, m}^ dears ; and the worst of it is, I knew 
 the truth all the time. Now, don't have h3'sterics, but 
 listen and enjoy the joke as I do. At Coblentz, when 
 you sat in the balcony, two young men overheard Amy 
 sigh for adventures, and Helen advise making a romance 
 out of the gloves one of the lads had dropped. They 
 had seen you by day ; both admired you, and being 
 idle, gay young fellows, they resolved to devote their 
 
238 PROVERB STORIES. 
 
 vacation to gratifj'ing 3'our wishes and enjoying them- 
 selves. We met at the Fortress ; I knew one of them, 
 and liked the other immensel}^ ; so when the^^ confided 
 their scheme to me I agreed to help them cany it ont, 
 as I had perfect confidence in both, and thought a little 
 adventure or two would do you good." 
 
 " Uncle, 3^ou were mad," said Helen ; and Amy added, 
 tragically, — 
 
 " You don't know what trouble has come of it." 
 
 " Perhaps I was ; that remains to be proved. I do 
 know everything, and fail to see any trouble, so don't 
 cr^', little girl," brisklj^ replied the inexplicable major. 
 "' Well, we had a merry time planning our prank. One 
 of the lads insisted on playing courier, though I ob- 
 jected, lie 'd done it before, liked the part, and would 
 have his way. The other could n't decide, being j^ounger 
 and more in love ; so we left him to come into the 
 comedy when he was ready. Karl did capitallv, as you 
 will allow ; and I am much attached to him, for in all 
 respects he has been true to his word. He began at 
 Coblentz ; the other, after doing the mysterious at Hei- 
 delberg, appeared as an exile, and made quick work with 
 the prejudices of m}' well-beloved nieces — he}^ Amy?" 
 
 ''Go on; who are they?" cried both girls, breath- 
 lessl}^ 
 
 ' ' Wait a bit ; I 'm not bound to expose the poor 
 fellows to 3'our scorn and anger. No ; if 3'ou are going 
 to be high and haught}', to forget their love, refuse to 
 forgive their frolic, and rend their hearts with reproaches, 
 better let them remain unknown." 
 
 ''No, no; we will forget and forgive, only speak!" 
 was the command of both. 
 
THE BARON'S GLOVES. * 239 
 
 " You promise to be lenient and mild, to let them 
 confess their motives, and to award a gentle penance 
 for their sins ? " 
 
 " Yes, we promise ! " 
 
 " Then, come in, my lads, and plead for yom' lives." 
 
 As he spoke the major threw open the door, and two 
 gentlemen entered the room — one, slight and dark, 
 with brilliant black eyes ; the other tall and large, with 
 blond hair and beard. Angr}", bewildered, and shame- 
 stricken as they were, feminine curiosity overpow^ered 
 all other feelings for the moment, and the girls sat look- 
 ing at the culprits with eager eyes, full of instant recog- 
 nition ; for though the disguise was off, and neither had 
 seen them in their true characters but once, they felt 
 no doubt, and involuntarily exclaimed, — 
 
 "Karl!" 
 
 " Casimer." 
 
 "No, young ladies; the courier and exile are de- 
 funct, and from their ashes rise Baron Sigismund Pals- 
 dorf, m}^ friend, and Sidney Power, my nephew. I give 
 you one hour to settle the matter : then I shall return 
 to bestow mj blessing or to banish these scapegraces 
 forever." 
 
 And, having fired his last shot, the major prudentl}' 
 retreated, without waiting to see its effect. 
 
 It was tremendous, for it carried confusion into the 
 fair enemj^'s camp ; and gave the besiegers a momen- 
 tary advantage of which they were not slow to avail 
 themselves. 
 
 For a moment the four remained mute and motion- 
 less : then Amy, like all timid things, took refuge in 
 flight, and Sidney followed her into the garden, glad to 
 
240 PROVERB STORIES. 
 
 see the allies separated. Helen, with the courage of 
 her nature, tried to face and repulse the foe ; but love 
 was stronger than pride, maiden shame overcame anger, 
 and, finding it vain to meet and bear down the steady, 
 tender glance of the blue e^^es fixed upon her, she 
 drooped her head into her hands and sat before him, 
 like one conquered but too proud to cry "Quarter." 
 Her lover watched her till she hid her face, then drew 
 near, knelt down before her, and said, with an under- 
 tone of deep feeling below the mirthful malice of his 
 words, — 
 
 "• Mademoiselle, pardon me that I am a foolish baron, 
 and dare to offer you the title that j'ou hate. I have 
 served you faithfully for a month, and, presumptuous as 
 it is, I ask to be allowed to serve you all my life, 
 Helen, say joii forgive the deceit for love's sake." 
 
 " No; you are false and forsworn. How can I be- 
 lieve that anything is true ? " 
 
 And Helen drew away the hand of which he had 
 taken possession. 
 
 " Heart's dearest, 3-ou trusted me in spite of my dis- 
 guise ; trust me still, and I will prove that I am neither 
 false nor forsworn. Catechise me, and see if I was not 
 true in spite of all my seeming deception." 
 
 " You said your name was Karl Hoffman," began 
 Helen, glad to gain a little time to calm herself before 
 the momentous question came. 
 
 " It is ; I have many, and my famil}' choose to call me 
 Sigismund," was the laughing answer. 
 
 " I '11 never call 3^ou so ; you shall be Karl, the courier, 
 all your hfe to me," cried Helen, still unable to meet the 
 ardent eyes before her. 
 
THE BARON'S GLOVES. 241 
 
 " Good ; I like that well ; for it assures me that all 
 m}^ life I shall be something to 3'ou, my heart. What 
 next?" 
 
 "When I asked if you were the baron, you denied 
 it." 
 
 "Pardon! I simply said my name was Iloffman. 
 You did not ask me point blank if I was the baron ; had 
 you done so, I think I should have confessed all, for it 
 was \QYy hard to restrain myself this morning." 
 
 "No, not 3^et ; I have more questions;" and Helen 
 warned him awaj^, as it became evident that he no 
 longer considered restraint necessary. 
 
 "Who is Ludmilla?" she said, sharply. 
 
 "My faith, that is superb!" exclaimed the baron, 
 with a triumphant smile at her betrayal of jealous}*. 
 " How if she is a former love?" he asked, with a sly 
 look at her changing face. 
 
 " It would cause me no surprise ; I am prepared for 
 an}' thing." 
 
 " How if she is m}^ dearest sister, for whom I sent, 
 that she might welcome you and bring the greetings of 
 m}^ parents to their new daughter ? " 
 
 " Is it, indeed, so?" 
 
 And Helen's eyes dimmed as the thought of parents, 
 home and love filled her heart with tenderest gratitude, 
 for she had long been an orphan. 
 
 " Zez^c,^e?z, it is true; to-morrow you shall see and 
 know how dear 3'ou already are to them, for I write 
 often and they wait eagerly to receive 3'ou." 
 
 Helen felt herself going ver}^ fast, and made an effort 
 to harden her heart, less too easy victory should reward 
 this audacious lover. 
 
 16 
 
242 PROVERB STORIES. 
 
 '^ I may not go ; I also have friends, and in England 
 we are not won in this wild way. I will 3'et prove 3'ou 
 false ; it will console me for being so duped if I can 
 call you traitor. You said Casimer had fought in 
 Poland/' 
 
 " Crudest of women, he did, but under his own name, 
 Sidney Power." 
 
 '' Then, he was not the brave Stanislas? — and there 
 is no charming Casimer ? " 
 
 " Yes, there are both, — his and my friends, in 
 Paris ; true Poles, and when we go there 3'ou shall see 
 them." 
 
 " But his illness was a ruse? " 
 
 ' ' No ; he was wounded in the war and has been ill 
 since. Not of a fatal malad}^ I own ; his cough misled 
 3^ou, and he has no scruples in fabling to an3' extent. I 
 am not to bear the burden of his sins." 
 
 " Then, the romances he told us about your charitv, 
 your virtues, and — 3^our love of libert3' were false?" 
 said Helen, with a keen glance, for these tales had done 
 much to interest her in the unknown baron. 
 
 Sudden color rose to his forehead, and for the first 
 time his e3'es fell before hers, — not in shame, but with 
 a modest man's rani03'ance at hearing himself praised. 
 
 '' Sidney is enthusiastic in his friendship, and speaks 
 too well for me. The facts are true, but he doubtless 
 glorified the simplest b3^ his wa3^ of telling it. Will you 
 forgive my follies, and believe me when I promise to 
 pla3" and duel no more ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 She 3delded her hand now, and her C3'es were full of 
 happiness, 3'et she added, wistfully, — 
 
THE BARON'S GLOVES. 243 
 
 "And the betrothed, 3'oiir cousin, Mhina, — is she, 
 in truth, not dear to 3'ou ? " 
 
 "Very dear, but less so than another; for I could 
 not learn of her in years what I learned in a day when I 
 met 3^ou. Helen, this was begun in jest, — it ends in 
 solemn earnest, for I love my libertj^, and I have lost 
 it, utterly and forever. Yet I am glad ; look in my face 
 and tell me 3'OU believe it." 
 
 He spoke now as seriously as fervently, and with no 
 shadow on her own, Helen brushed back the blond hair 
 and looked into her lover's face. Truth, tenderness, 
 power, and candor were written there in characters that 
 could not lie ; and with her heart upon her lips, she 
 answered, as he drew her close, — 
 
 " I do believe, do love you, Sigismuud ! " 
 
 Meanwhile another scene was passing in the garden. 
 Sidne}^, presuming upon his cousinship, took possession 
 of Am}^, bidding her " strike but hear him." Of course 
 she listened with the usual accompaniment of tears and 
 smiles, reproaches and exclamatiouis, varied hy cruel 
 exultations and coquettish commands to go away and 
 never dare approach her again. 
 
 " Ma drogha, listen and be appeased. Years ago you 
 and I played together as babies, and our fond mammas 
 vowed we should one da^' mate. When I was a 3'outh 
 of fourteen and 3'ou a mite of seven I went awa3^ to 
 India with my father, and at our parting promised to 
 come bagk and marr3' 3'ou. Being in a fret because 3'Ou 
 could n't go also, you haughtily declined the honor, and 
 when I offered a farewell kiss, struck me with this ver3; 
 little hand. Do 3^ou remember it? " 
 
 " Not I. Too young for such nonsense." 
 
244 PROVERB STORIES. 
 
 " I clo, and I also remember that in m}^ boyish way 
 I resolved to keep m}^ word sooner or latei , and I 've 
 done it." 
 
 " We shall see, sir," cried Am}^ strongly tempted to 
 repeat her part of the childish scene as well as her cousin? 
 but her hand was not free, and he got the kiss without 
 the blow. 
 
 " For eleven years we never met. You forgot me 
 entirely, and ' Cousin Sidney ' remained an emptj' namCo 
 I was in India till four years ago ; since then I 've been 
 fl3-ing about Germany and fighting in Poland, where I 
 nearly got my quietus." 
 
 " My dear boy, were you wounded? " 
 
 " Bless you, yes ; and very proud of it I am. I '11 
 show you my scars some day ; but never mind that now. 
 A little while ago I went to England, seized with a 
 sudden desire to find my wife." 
 
 ' ' I admire your patience in waiting ; so flattering to 
 me, you know," was the sharp answer. 
 
 "It looks like neglect, I confess; but I'd heard 
 reports of your flirtations, and twice of your being en- 
 gaged, so I kept away till my work was done. Was it 
 true?" 
 
 " I never flirt, Sidney, and I was only engaged a 
 little bit once or twice. I did n't like it, and never mean 
 to do so any more." 
 
 "I shall see that you don't flirt; but 3'ou are very 
 much engaged now, so put on your ring and make no 
 romances about any ' S. P.' but m3'self." 
 
 " I shall wait till 3'ou clear 3'our character ; I 'm not 
 going to care for a deceitful impostor. What made you 
 think of this prank ? " 
 
THE BARON'S GLOVES. . 245 
 
 ** You did." 
 "I? How?" 
 
 *' When in England I saw your picture, though you 
 were man}^ a mile awa}-, and fell in love with it. Your 
 mother told me much about you, and I saw she would 
 not frown upon my suit. I begged her not to tell you I 
 had come, but let me find 3^ou and make myself known 
 wiien I hked. You were in Switzerland, and I went 
 after 3'ou. At Coblentz I met Sigismund, and told him 
 my case ; he is full of romance, and when we overheard 
 30U in the balconj" we were glad of the hint. Sigismund 
 was with me when 3'ou came, and admired Helen im- 
 mensety, so he was wild to have a part in the frolic. I 
 let him begin, and followed 3'ou unseen to Heidelberg, 
 meaning to personate an artist. Meeting 3'ou at the 
 castle, I made a good beginning with the vaults and the 
 ring, and meant to follow it up- by acting the baron, 3'ou 
 were so bent on finding him, but Sigismund forbade it. 
 Turning over a trunk of things left there the 3^ear before, 
 I came upon m3^ old Polish uniform, and decided to be 
 a Thaddeus." 
 
 " How well you did it ! Was n't it hard to act all the 
 time ? " asked Am3% wonderingl3^ 
 
 " Very hard with Helen, she is so keen, but not a bit 
 so with you, for 3'ou are such a confiding soul an3^ one 
 could cheat 3^ou. I've betrayed m3' self a dozen times, 
 and you never saw it. Ah, it was capital fun to pla3^ 
 the forlorn exile, study English, and flirt with my 
 cousin." 
 
 '' It was very base. I should think you 'd be devoured 
 with remorse. Are n't 3'ou sony ? " 
 
 " For one thing. I cropped my head lest you should 
 
246 PROVERB STORIES. 
 
 know me. I was proud of my curls, but I sacrificed 
 them all to you." 
 
 " Peacock ! Did 3'ou think that one glimpse of 3'our 
 black e3^es and fine hair would make such an impression 
 that I should recognize you again ? " 
 
 " I did, and for that reason disfigured my head, put 
 on a mustache, and assumed hideous spectacles. Did 
 you never suspect my disguise. Amy ? " 
 
 *' No. Helen used to say that she felt something was 
 wrong, but I never did till the other night." 
 
 ' ' Did n't I do that well ? I give you my word it was 
 all done on the spur of the minute. I meant to speak 
 soon, but had not decided how, when 3'ou came out so 
 sweetly with that confounded old cloak, of which I 'd 
 no more need than an African has of a blanket. Then 
 a scene I 'd read in a novel came into my head, and I 
 just repeated it con amove. Was I very pathetic and 
 tragical, Am}' ? " 
 
 ' ' I thought so then. It strikes me as ridiculous now, 
 and I can't help feeling sorry that I wasted so much pity 
 on a man who — " 
 
 *' Loves 3'ou with all his heart and soul. Did 3'ou cry 
 and grieve over me, dear little tender thmg ? and do 3'ou 
 think now that I am a heartless fellow, bent only on 
 amusing myself at the expense of others ? It 's not so ; 
 and you shall see how true and good and steady I can 
 be when I have any one to love and care for me. I 've 
 been alone so long it 's new and beautiful to be petted, 
 confided in, and looked up to b}' an angel like 3'ou." 
 
 He was in earnest now ; she felt it, and her anger 
 melted away like dew before the sun. 
 
 " Poor bo}' ! You will go home with us now, and let 
 
THE BARON'S GLOVES. 247 
 
 us take care of you in quiet England. You '11 play no 
 more pranks, but go sobeii}' to work and ^do something 
 that shall make me proud to be your cousin, won't 
 you?" 
 
 '' If you'll change ' cousin ' to ' wife ' I '11 be and do 
 whatever you please. Amy, when I was a poor, dying, 
 Catholic foreigner you loved me and w^ould have married 
 me in spite of everything. Now that I 'm joxxv well, 
 rich, Protestant cousin, who adores you as that Pole 
 never could, 3^ou turn cold and cruel. Is it because the 
 romance is gone, or because your love was onl}^ a girl's 
 fancy, after all ? " 
 
 "You deceived me and I can't forget it; but I'll 
 tr}','' was the soft answer to his reproaches. 
 
 " Are 3'ou disappointed that I 'm not a baron? " 
 
 "A little bit." 
 
 " Shall I be a count? They gave me a title in Po- 
 land, a barren honor, but all the}^ had to offer, poor 
 souls, in return for a little blood. Will 3'ou be Countess 
 Zytomar and get laughed at for 3'our pains, or plain 
 Mrs. Power, with a good old English name?" 
 
 '•'• Neither, thank you ; it's only a girlish fancy, which 
 will soon be forgotten. Does the baron love Helen ? " 
 asked Amy, abruptly. 
 
 " Desperately, and she?" 
 
 " I think he will be happy ; she is not one to make 
 confidantes, but I know hy her tenderness with me, her 
 sadness latelj^, and something in her way of brightening 
 when he comes, that she thinks much of him and loves 
 Karl Hoffman. How it will be with the baron I can- 
 not say." 
 
 "No fear of him ; he wins his wa}^ ever}" where. I 
 
24b PROVERB STORIES. 
 
 wish I were as fortunate ; " and the ga.y 3^oung gentleman 
 heaved an artful sigh and coughed the cough that always 
 brought such pity to the girl's soft eyes. 
 
 She glanced at him as he leaned pensivel}' on the low 
 wall, looking down into the lake, with the level raj's of 
 sunshine on his comely face and figure. Something 
 softer than pity stole into her 63^6, as she said, anx- 
 iously, — 
 
 " You are not realty ill, Sidne}^?" 
 
 " I have been, and still need care, else I ma}' have a 
 relapse," was the reply of this treacherous 3'outh, whose 
 constitution was as sound as a bell. 
 
 Amy clasped her hands, as if in a transport of grati- 
 tude, exclaiming, fervently, — 
 
 ' ' What a relief it is to know that you are not doomed 
 to — " 
 
 She paused with a shiver, as if the word were too 
 hard to utter, and Sidney turned to her with a beaming 
 face, which changed to one of mingled pain and anger, 
 as she added, with a wicked glance, — 
 
 " Wear spectacles." 
 
 " Ani}^, you've got no heart!" he cried, in a tone 
 that banished her last doubt of his love and made her 
 whisper tenderly, as she clung to his arm, — 
 
 " No, dear ; I've given it all to 3'ou." 
 
 Punctual to the minute. Major Erskine marched into 
 the salon, with Mrs. Cumberland on his arm, exclaim- 
 ing, as he ej^ed the four young people together again, — 
 
 "Now, ladies, is it to be 'Paradise Lost' or 'Re- 
 gained ' for the prisoners at the bar ? " 
 
 At this point the astonished gentleman found himself 
 taken possession of by four excited individuals, for the 
 
TTIE BARON'S GLOVES. 249 
 
 girls embraced and kissed him, the j'oiing men wrung 
 his hand and thanked liim, and all seemed bent on 
 assuring him that they were intensel}' happ}', grateful 
 and affectionate. 
 
 From this assault he emerged flushed and breathless, 
 but beaming with satisfaction, and sa3'ing paternally, — 
 
 "Bless 3'ou, m}^ children, bless you. I hoped and 
 worked for this, and to prove how well I practise what 
 I preach, let me present to you — mj' wife." 
 
 As he drew forward the plump widow with a face full 
 of smiles and tears, a second rush was made, and con- 
 gratulations, salutes, exclamations and embraces were 
 indulged in to ever}' one's satisfaction. 
 
 As the excitement subsided the major said, simpl}', — 
 
 "We were married yesterday' at Montreaux. Let 
 me hope that you will prove as faithful as I have been, 
 as happ3' as I am, as blest as I shall be. I loved this 
 lad}^ in my j^outh, have waited many 3'ears, and am re- 
 warded at last, for love never comes too late." 
 
 The falter in his cheery voice, the dimness of his 
 eyes, the smile on his lips, and the gesture with which 
 he returned the pressure of the hand upon his arm, 
 told the little romance of the good major's life more 
 eloquently than pages of fine writing, and touched the 
 hearts of those who loved him. 
 
 " I have been faithful for eleven j^ears. Give me my 
 reward soon, won't 3'ou, dear?" whispered Sidney. 
 
 "Don't marry me to-morrow, and if mamma is will- 
 ing I '11 think about it b}' and by," answered Am3\ 
 
 "It is beautiful! let us go and do likewise," said 
 Sigismund to his betrothed. 
 
 But Helen, anxious to turn the thoughts of all from 
 
250 PROVERB STORIES. 
 
 emotions too deep for words, drew from her pocket a 
 small pearl-colored object, which she gave to Amy with 
 mock solemnit}^, as she said, torning to la}^ her hand 
 again in her lover's, — 
 
 "Amy, our search is over. You may keep the 
 gloves ; / have the baron." 
 
MY RED CAP. 
 
 " He who serves well need not fear to ask his wages/ 
 
 IT was under a blue cap that I first saw the honest 
 face of Joe Collins. In the third 3'ear of the late 
 war a Maine regiment was passing through Boston, on 
 its way to Washington. The Common was all ahve 
 with troops and the spectators who clustered round 
 them to sa}" God-speed, as the brave fellows marched 
 awa}^ to meet danger and death for our sakes. 
 
 Ever}' one was eager to do something ; and, as the 
 men stood at ease, the people mingled freely with them, 
 offering gifts, hearty grips of the hand, and hopeful 
 prophecies of victory in the end. Irresistibly attracted, 
 m}^ boy Tom and I drew near, and soon, becoming ex- 
 cited by the scene, ravaged the fruit-stands in our 
 neighborhood for tokens of our regard, mingling candy 
 and congratulations, peanuts and prayers, apples and 
 applause, in one enthusiastic jumble. 
 
 While Tom was off on his third raid, my attention 
 was attracted by a man who stood a little apart, looking 
 as if his thoughts were far away. All the men were 
 fine, stalwart fellows, as Maine men usuall}^ are ; but 
 this one over-topped his comrades, standing straight 
 and tall as a Norway pine, with a face full of the 
 
252 PROVERB STORIES. 
 
 mingled shrewdness, sobriet}', and self-possession of 
 the t3'pical New Englander. I liked the look of him ; 
 and, seeing that he seemed solitary, even in a crowd, I 
 offered him my last apple with a word of interest. The 
 keen blue eyes met mine gratefully, and the apple be- 
 gan to vanish in vigorous bites as we talked ; for no 
 one thought of ceremony at such a time. 
 
 " Where are you from? " 
 
 " Woolidge, ma'am." 
 
 " Are you glad to go? " 
 
 " Wal, there's two sides to that question. I calk'late 
 to do mj^ dut^^ and do it hearty ; but it is rough on a 
 feller leavin' his folks, for good, maj'be." 
 
 There was a sudden huskiness in the man's voice that 
 was not apple-skins, though he tried to make believe 
 that it was. I knew a word about home would comfort 
 him, so I went on with m}^ questions. 
 
 " It is very hard. Do you leave a family? " 
 
 " My old mother, a sick brother, — and Lucind}'." 
 
 The last word was uttered in a tone of intense regret, 
 and his brown cheek reddened as he added hastily, to 
 hide some embarrassment, — 
 
 ''You see, Jim went last year, and got prett}' well 
 used up ; so I felt as if I 'd ought to take m}^ turn now. 
 Mother was a regular old hero about it and I dropped 
 everything, and come off. Lucind}' did n't think it was 
 my duty ; and that made it awful hard, I tell 3'ou." 
 
 "Wives are less patriotic than mothers," I began ; 
 but he would not hear Lucindy blamed, and said 
 quickly, — 
 
 " She ain't my wife yet, but we calk'latcd to be 
 married in a month or so : and it was wus for her than 
 
MY RED CAP. 253 
 
 for me, women lot so on not being disappointed. I 
 couldn't shirk, and here I be. When I git to work, I 
 shall be all right : the first wrench is the tryin' part." 
 
 Here he straightened his broad shoulders, and turned 
 his face toward the flags fluttering far in front, as if no 
 backward look should betray the longing of his heart 
 for mother, home, and wife. I liked that little glnnpse 
 of character ; and when Tom returned with empty hands, 
 reporting that ever}^ stall was exhausted, I told him to 
 find out what the man would like best, then run across 
 the street and get it. 
 
 "I know without asking. Give us jour purse, and 
 I '11 make him as happ}^ as a king," said the bo}^ laugh- 
 ing, as he looked up admiringly at our tall friend, who 
 looked down on him with an elder-brotherly air pleas- 
 ant to see. While Tom was gone, I found out Joe's 
 name and business, promised to write and tell his 
 mother how finely the regiment went ofi", and was just 
 expressing a hope that we might meet again, for I too 
 was going to the war as nurse, when the order to " Fall 
 in ! " came rolling down the ranks, and the talk was 
 over. Fearing Tom would miss our man in the con- 
 fusion, I kept my eye on him till the boy came rushing 
 up with a packet of tobacco in one hand and a good 
 supply of cigars in the other. Not a romantic oflering, 
 certainly, but a very acceptable one, as Joe's face 
 proved, as we scrambled these treasures into his 
 pockets, all laughing at the flurry, while less fortunate 
 comrades hel^^ed us, with an eye to a share of these fra- 
 grant luxuries by and by. There was just time for this, 
 a hearty shake of the big hand, and a grateful " Good- 
 by, ma'am ; " then the word was given, and they were 
 
254 PROVERB STORIES. 
 
 off. Bent on seeing the last of them, Tom and I took 
 a short cut, and came out on the wide street down 
 which so many troops marched that 3^ear ; and, mount- 
 ing some high steps, we watched for our man, as we 
 ah^ead}^ called him. 
 
 As the inspiring music, the grand tramp, drew near, 
 the old thi'ill went through the crowd, the old cheer 
 broke out. But it was a different scene now than in 
 the first enthusiastic, hopeful daj's. Young men and 
 ardent bo3's filled the ranks then, brave bj' instinct, 
 burning with lo^al zeal, and blissfully unconscious of 
 all that lay before them. Now the blue coats were 
 worn b}^ mature men, some gray, all grave and resolute : 
 husbands and fathers, with the memory of wives and 
 children tugging at their heart-strings ; homes left 
 desolate behind them, and before them the grim cer- 
 tainty of danger, hardship, and perhaps the life-long 
 helplessness worse than death. Little of the glamour 
 of romance about the war now : they saw it as it was, a 
 long, hard task ; and here were the men to do it well. 
 Even the lookers-on were different now. Once all was 
 wild enthusiasm and glad uproar ; now men's lips were 
 set, and women's smileless as they cheered ; fewer 
 handkerchiefs whitened the air, for wet eyes needed 
 them ; and sudden lulls, almost solemn in their still- 
 ness, followed the acclamations of the crowd. All 
 watched with quickened breath and brave souls that 
 living wave, blue below, and bright with a steelj' glitter 
 above, as it flowed down the street and awa}^ to distant 
 battle-fields already stained with precious blood. 
 
 "There he is! The outside man, and tallest of the 
 lot. Give him a cheer, auntie : he sees us, and remem- 
 
il/F RED CAP. 255 
 
 bers ! " cried Tom, nearl}^ tumbling off his perch, as he 
 waved his hat, and pointed out Joe Collins. 
 
 Yes, there he was, looking up, with a smile on his 
 brave brown face, m}' little nosega}^ in his button-hole, 
 a suspicious bulge in the pocket close b}^, and doubtless 
 a comfortable quid in his mouth, to cheer the weary 
 inarch. How like an old friend he looked, though we 
 had only met fifteen minutes ago ; how glad we were to 
 be there to smile back at him, and send him on his way 
 feeling that, even in a strange city, there was some one 
 to say, " God bless y/)u, Joe ! " We watched the tallest 
 blue cap till it vanished, and then went home in a glow 
 of patriotism, — Tom to long for his turn to come, I to 
 sew vigorously on the gray gown the new nurse burned 
 to wear as soon as possible, and both of us to think and 
 speak often of poor Joe Collins and his Lucindy. All 
 this happened long ago ; but it is well to recall those 
 stirring times, — to keep fresh the memory of sacrifices 
 made for us by men like these ; to see to it that the 
 debt we owe them is honestly, gladly paid ; and, while 
 we decorate the graves of those who died, to remember 
 also those who still live to deserve our grateful care. 
 
 II. 
 
 I NEVER expected to see Joe again ; but, six months 
 later, we did meet in a Washington hospital one winter's 
 night. A train of ambulances had left their sad freight 
 at our door, and we were hurrying to get the poor fel- 
 lows into much-needed beds, after a week of hunger, 
 
' 256 PROVERB STORIES. 
 
 cold, and unavoidable neglect. All forms of pain were 
 in my ward that night, and all borne with the pathetic 
 patience which was a daily marvel to those who saw it. 
 
 Trj^ing to bring order out of chaos, I was rushing up 
 and down the narrow aisle between the rows of rapidly 
 filling beds, and, after brushing several times against a 
 pair of the largest and muddiest boots I ever saw, I 
 paused at last to inquire why they were impeding the 
 passage-way. I found they belonged to a verj^ tall man 
 who seemed to be already asleep or dead, so white and 
 still and utterly worn out he looked as he lay there, 
 without a coat, a great patch on his forehead, and the 
 right arm rudel}^ bundled up. Stooping to cover him, I 
 saw that he was unconscious, and, whipping out my 
 brandy-bottle and salts, soon brought him round, for it 
 was onlj' exhaustion. 
 
 "Can 3^ou eat?" I asked, as he said, " Thank}^, 
 ma'am," after a long draught of water and a dizzy 
 stare. 
 
 "Eat! I'm starvin' ! " he answered, with such a 
 ravenous glance at a fat nurse who happened to be pass- 
 ing, that I trembled for her, and hastened to take a bowl 
 of soup from her tray. 
 
 As I fed him, his gaunt, weather-beaten face had a 
 familiar look ; but so man}' such faces had passed before 
 me that winter, I did not recall this one till the ward- 
 master came to put up the cards with the new-comers' 
 names above their beds. M3' man seemed absorbed in 
 his food ; but I naturally' glanced at the card, and there 
 was the name " Joseph Collins " to give me an addi- 
 tional interest in m}' new patient. 
 
 " Why, Joe ! is it really you? " 1 exclaimed, poui'ing 
 
MF RED CAP. 257 
 
 the last spoonful of soup down his throat so hastily that 
 I choked him. 
 
 '' All that 's left of me. Wal, ain't this luck, now? " 
 gasped Joe, as gratefully as if that hospital-cot was a 
 bed of roses. 
 
 ''What is the matter? A wound in the head and 
 arm? " I asked, feeling sure that no slight affliction had 
 brought Joe there. 
 
 " Right arm gone. Shot off as slick as a whistle. I 
 tell 3'ou, it 'b a sing'lar kind of a feelin' to see a piece of 
 your own body go flyin' awa}^, with no prospect of ever 
 coming back again," said Joe, trying to make light of 
 one of the greatest misfortunes a man can suffer. 
 
 " That is bad, but it might have been worse. Keep 
 up 3^our spirits, Joe ; and we will soon have you fitted 
 out with a new arm almost as good as new." 
 
 " I guess it won't do much lumberin', so that trade is 
 done for. I s'pose there 's things left-handed fellers can 
 do, and 1 must learn 'em as soon as possible, since my 
 fightin' days are over," and Joe looked at his one aiTu 
 with a sigh that was almost a groan, helplessness is such 
 a trial to a manly man, — and he was eminent^ so. 
 
 " What can I do to comfort j^ou most, Joe? I'll 
 send m}^ good Ben to help 3 ou to bed, and will be here 
 m3'self when the surgeon goes his rounds. Is tliere any- 
 thing else that would make you more easy ? " 
 
 " If you could just drop a line to mother to let her 
 know I 'm alive, it would be a sight of comfort to both 
 of us. I guess I 'm in for a long spell of hospital, and 
 I 'd la3' easier if I knew mother and Lncind3' warn't 
 frettin' about me." 
 
 He must have been suffering terribly, but he thought 
 17 
 
258 PROVERB STORIES. 
 
 of the women who loved him before himself, and, busy 
 as I was, I snatched a moment to send a few w^ords of 
 hope to the old mother. Then I left him " la^-in' easy," 
 though the prospect of some months of wearing pain 
 would have daunted most men. If I had needed any- 
 thing to increase m}" regard for Joe, it would have been 
 the courage with which he bore a ver}^ bad quarter of an 
 hour with the surgeons ; for his arm was in a dangerous 
 state, the wound in the head feverish for want of care ; 
 and a heav\^ cold on the lungs suggested pneumonia as 
 an added trial to his list of ills. 
 
 " He will have a hard time of it, but I think he will 
 pull through, as he is a temperate fellow, with a splendid 
 constitution," was the doctor's verdict, as he left us for 
 the next man, who was past help, with a bullet through 
 his lungs. 
 
 '^ I don'no as I hanker to live, and be a burden. If 
 Jim was able to do for mother, I feel as if I would n't 
 mind steppin' out now I 'm so fur along. As he ain't, 
 I s'pose I must brace up, and do the best I can," said 
 Joe, as I wiped the drops from his forehead, and tried 
 to look as if his prospect was a bright one. 
 
 " You will have Lucindy to help you, you know ; and 
 that will make things easier for all." 
 
 ' ' Think so ? 'Pears to me I could n't ask her to take 
 care of three invalids for my sake. She ain't no folks 
 of her own, nor much means, and ought to marry a man 
 who can make thiugs easy for her. Guess I '11 have to 
 wait a spell longer before I say anything to Lucindj' 
 about niarr3'in' now ; " and a look of resolute resignation 
 settled on Joe's haggard face as he gave up his dearest 
 hope. 
 
MY RED CAP. 259 
 
 " I think Lucind}" will have something to say, if she 
 is like most women, and you will find the burdens much 
 lighter, for sharing them between you. Don't worry 
 about that, but get well, and go home as soon as you 
 can." 
 
 " All right, ma^am ; '* and Joe proved himself a good 
 soldier by obeying orders, and falling asleep like a tired 
 child, as the first step toward recovery. 
 
 For two months I saw Joe daily, and learned to like 
 him very much, he was so honest, genuine, and kind- 
 hearted. So did his mates, for he made friends with 
 them all by sharing such small luxuries as came to him, 
 for he was a favorite ; and, better still, he made sun- 
 shine in that sad place by the brave patience with which 
 he bore his own troubles, the cheerful consolation he 
 always gave to others. A droll fellow was Joe at times, 
 for under his sobriety lay much humor : and I soon 
 discovered that a visit from him was more eflScacious 
 than other cordials in cases of despondenc}' and discon- 
 tent. Roars of laughter sometimes greeted me as I 
 went into his ward, and Joe's jokes were passed round 
 as eagerly as the water-pitcher. 
 
 Yet he had much to try him, not only in the ills that 
 vexed his flesh, but the cares that tried his spirit, and 
 the future that lay before him, full of anxieties and re- 
 sponsibilities which seemed so heavy now when the 
 strong right arm, that had cleared all obstacles away 
 before, was gone. The letters I wrote for him, and 
 those he received, told the little story very plainly ; for 
 he read them to me, and found much comfort in talking 
 over his aff"airs, as most men do when illness makes them 
 dependent on a woman. Jim was evidently sick and 
 
260 PROVERB STORIES. 
 
 selfish. Lucindy, to judge from the photograph cher- 
 ished so tenderly under Joe's pillow, was a pretty, weak 
 sort of a girl, with little character or courage to help 
 poor Joe with his burdens. The old mother was very 
 like her son, and stood b}^ him " like a hero," as he said, 
 but was evidently failing, and begged him to come home 
 as soon as he was able, that she might see him comfort- 
 ably settled before she must leave him. Her courage 
 sustained his, and the longing to see her hastened his 
 departure as soon as it was safe to let him go ; for 
 Lucind^^'s letters were alwa3's of a dismal sort, and made 
 him anxious to put his shoulder to the wheel. 
 
 " She always set consider'ble by me, mother did, bein' 
 the oldest ; and I would n't miss makin' her last days 
 happy, not if it cost me all the arms and legs I 've got," 
 said Joe, as he awkwardly struggled into the big boots 
 an hour after leave to go home was given him. 
 
 It was pleasant to see his comrades gather round him 
 with such hearty adieus that his one hand must have 
 tingled ; to hear the good wishes and the thanks called 
 after him by pale creatures in their beds ; and to find 
 tears in many e3^es beside my own when he was gone, 
 and nothing was left of hmi but the empt}^ cot, the old 
 gray wrapper, and the name upon the wall. 
 
 I kept that card among ni}- other relics, and hoped to 
 meet Joe again somewhere in the world. He sent me 
 one or two letters, then I went home ; the war ended 
 soon after, time passed, and the little story of my Maine 
 lumberman was laid away with man}' other exi)eriences 
 which made that part of my life a very memorable one. 
 
MY RED CAP. 261 
 
 m. 
 
 Some j^ears later, as I looked out of my window one 
 dull November day, the only cheerful thing I saw was 
 the red cap of a messenger who was examining the slate 
 that hung on a wall opposite my hotel. A tall man 
 with gray hair and beard, one arm, and a blue army- 
 coat. I alwaj's salute, figuratively at least, when I see 
 that familiar blue, especially if one sleeve of the coat is 
 empt}^ ; so I watched the messenger with interest as he 
 trudged awa}^ on some new errand, wishing he had a 
 better day and a thicker pair of boots. He was an un- 
 usuall}' large, well-made man, and reminded me of a 
 fine building going to ruin before its time ; for the broad 
 shoulders were bent, there was a stiffness about the long 
 legs suggestive of wounds or rheumatism, and the curly 
 hair looked as if snow had fallen on it too soon. Sitting 
 at work in my window, I fell into the way of watching 
 my Eed Cap, as I called him, with more interest than I 
 did the fat doves on the roof opposite, or the pert spar- 
 rows hopping in the mud below. I liked the steady way 
 in which he plodded on through fair weather or foul, as 
 if intent on doing well the one small service he had 
 found to do. I liked his cheerful whistle as he stood 
 waiting for a job under the porch of the public building 
 where his slate hung, watching the luxurious carriages 
 roll by, and the well-to-do gentlemen who daily passed 
 him to their comfortable homes, with a steady, patient 
 sort of face, as if wondering at the inequalities of for- 
 tune, yet neither melanchol}^ nor morose over the small 
 share of prosperit}- which had fallen to his lot. 
 
262 PROVERB STORIES. 
 
 I often planned to give him a job, that I might see 
 him nearer ; but I had few errands, and httle Bob, the 
 hall-boy, depended on doing those : so the winter was 
 nearly over before I found out that my Red Cap was an 
 old friend. 
 
 A parcel came for me one day, and bidding the man 
 wait for an answer, I sat down to write it, while the 
 messenger stood just inside the door like a sentinel on 
 duty. When I looked up to give my note and direc- 
 tions, I found the man staring at me with a beaming 
 yet bashful face, as he nodded, saying heartil}^, — 
 
 "I mistrusted it was you, ma'am, soon 's I see the 
 name on the bundle, and I guess I ain't wrong. It 's 
 a number of 3'ears sence we met, and you don't remem- 
 ber Joe Collins as well as he does you, I reckon ? " 
 
 "Why, how you have changed! I've been seeing 
 you every day all winter, and never knew you," I said, 
 shaking hands with my old patient, and very glad to 
 see him. 
 
 " Nigh on to twenty years makes consid'able of a 
 change in folks, 'specially if they have a pretty hard 
 row to hoe." 
 
 '' Sit down and warm yourself while you tell me all 
 about it ; there is no hurry for this answer, and I '11 pay 
 for your time." 
 
 Joe laughed as if that was a good joke, and sat down 
 as if the fire was quite as welcome as the friend. 
 
 "How are they all at home?" I asked, as he sat 
 turning his cap round, not quite knowing where to 
 begin. 
 
 I have n't got any home nor any folks neither ; " 
 and the melancholy words banished the brightness from 
 
MY RED CAP, 263 
 
 his rough face like a cloud. " Mother died soon after 
 I got back. Suddin', but she was read}-, and I was 
 there, so she was happ}'. Jim live^d a number of 3'ears, 
 and was a sight of care, poor feller ; but we managed 
 to rub along, though we had to sell the farm : for I 
 could n't do much with one arm, and doctor's bills right 
 along stiddy take a heap of money. He was as com- 
 fortable as he could be ; and, when he was gone, it 
 was n't no great matter, for there was only me, and I 
 don't mind roughin' it." 
 
 " But Lucindy, where was she?" I asked very natur- 
 aUy. 
 
 *' Oh ! she married another man long ago. Couldn't 
 expect her to take me and my misfortins. She 's doin* 
 well, I hear, and that 's a comfort anyway." 
 
 There was a look on Joe's face, a tone in Joe's voice 
 as he spoke, that plainl}^ showed how much he had 
 needed comfort when left to bear his misfortunes all 
 alone. But he made no complaint, uttered no reproach, 
 and loyally excused Lucindy's desertion with a simple 
 sort of dignit}' that made it impossible to express pity 
 or condemnation. 
 
 "How came you here, Joe?" I asked, making a 
 sudden leap from past to present. 
 
 " I had to scratch for a livin', and can't do much; 
 so, after tr3in' a number of things, I found this. My 
 old wounds pester me a good deal, and rheumatism is 
 bad winters ; but, while my legs hold out, I can git on. 
 A man can't set down and starve ; so I keep waggin' as 
 long as I can. When I can't do no more, I s'pose 
 there 's almshouse and hospital ready for me." 
 
 '^^ That is a dismal prospect, Joe. There ought to be 
 
264 PROVERB STORIES. 
 
 a comfortable place for such as 3 ou to spend your last 
 days in. I am sure you have earned it." 
 
 '' Wal, it does seem ruther hard on us when we've 
 give all we had, and give it free and hearty, to be left 
 to knock about in our old age. But there 's so many 
 poor folks to be took care of, we don't get much of a 
 chance, for we ain't the beggin' sort," said Joe, with a 
 wistful look at the wintry world outside, as if it would 
 be better to lie quiet under the snow, than to drag out 
 his last painful 3^ears, friendless and forgotten, in some 
 refuge of the poor. 
 
 " Some kind people have been talking of a home for 
 soldiers, and I hope the plan will be carried out. It 
 will take time ; but, if it comes to pass, yon shall be 
 one of the first men to enter that home, Joe, if I can 
 get you there." 
 
 *' That sounds mighty cheerin' and comfortable, 
 thanky, ma'am. Idleness is dreadful tr3'in' to me, and 
 I'd ruther wear out than rust out; so I guess I can 
 weather it a spell longer. But it will be pleasant to 
 look forrard to a snug harbor bymeby. I feel a sight 
 better just hearin' tell about it." He certainly looked 
 so, faint as the hope was ; for the melancholy eyes 
 brightened as if they already saw a happier refuge in 
 the future than almshouse, hospital, or grave, and, when 
 he trudged away upon my errand, he went as briskly as 
 if every step took him nearer to the promised home. 
 
 After that day it was all up with Bob, for I told my 
 neighbors Joe's story, and we kept him trotting busil3S 
 adding little gifts, and taking the sort of interest in him 
 that comforted the lonely fellow, and made him feel that 
 he had not outlived his usefulness. I never looked out 
 
MY RED CAP. 265 
 
 when he was at his post that he did not smile back at 
 me ; I never passed him in the street that the red cap 
 was not tonched with a military flourish ; and, when 
 any of us beckoned to him, no twinge of rheumatism 
 was too sharp to keep him from hurrjing to do our 
 errands, as if he had Mercury's winged feet. 
 
 Now and then he came in for a chat, and always 
 asked how the Soldiers' Home was prospering ; ex- 
 pressing his opinion that ' ' Boston was the charitablest 
 city under the sun, and he was sure he and his mates 
 would be took care of somehow." 
 
 When we parted in the spring, I told him things 
 looked hopeful, bade him be ready for a good long rest 
 as soon as the hospitable doors were open, and left him 
 nodding cheerfullj^ 
 
 IV. 
 
 But in the autumn I looked in vain for Joe. The 
 slate was in its old place, and a messenger came and 
 went on his beat ; but a strange face was under the red 
 cap, and this man had two arms and one eye. I asked 
 for Collins, but the new-comer had only a vague idea 
 that he was dead ; and the same answer was given me 
 at headquarters, though none of the busy people seemed 
 to know when or where he died. So I mourned for 
 Joe, and felt that it was very hard he could not have 
 lived to enjoy the promised refuge ; for, relying upon 
 the charity that never fails, the Home was an actual 
 fact now, just beginning its beneficent career. People 
 
266 PROVERB STORIES. 
 
 were waking up to this diitj^, money was coming in, 
 meetings were being held, and ah-ead}' a few poor fel- 
 lows were in the refuge, feeling themselves no longer 
 paupers, but invalid soldiers honorabl}" supported h\ 
 the State they had served. Talking it over one day 
 with a friend, who spent her life working for the Associ- 
 ated Charities, she said, — 
 
 " By the way, there is a man boarding with one of m}' 
 poor women, who ought to be got into the Home, if he 
 will go. I don't know much about him, except that he 
 was in the army, has been ver}^ ill with rheumatic fever, 
 and is friendless. I asked Mrs. Flanagin how she man- 
 aged to keep him, and she said she had help while he 
 was sick, and now he is able to hobble about, he takes 
 care of the children, so she is able to go out to work. 
 He won't go to his own town, because there is nothing 
 for him there but the almshouse, and he dreads a hospi- 
 tal ; so struggles along, trying to earn his bread tending- 
 babies with his one arm. A sad case, and in your 
 line ; I wish you 'd look into it." 
 
 "That sounds like my Joe, one arm and all. I'll 
 go and see him ; I 've a weakness for soldiers, sick or 
 well." 
 
 I went, and never shall forget the pathetic little 
 tableau I saw as I opened Mrs. Flanagin's dingy door ; 
 for she was out, and no one heard ni}^ tap. The room 
 was redolent of suds, and in a grove of damp clothes 
 hung on lines sat a man with a crying bab}' laid across 
 his lap, while he fed three small children standing at 
 his knee with bread and molasses. How he managed 
 with one arm to keep the baby from squirming on to 
 the floor, the plate from upsetting, and to feed the 
 
MY RED CAP. 267 
 
 liimgiy urchins who stood in a row with open mouths, 
 like young birds, was past 1113' comprehension. But he 
 did, trotting baby gentl}', dealing out sweet morsels 
 patienth', and whistling to himself, as if to beguile his 
 labors cheerfull}'. 
 
 The broad back, the long legs, the faded coat, the 
 low whistle were all familiar ; and, dodging a wet sheet, 
 I faced the man to find it was indeed m}^ Joe ! A mere 
 shadow of his former self, after months of suffering 
 that had crippled him for life, but brave and patient 
 still ; trying to help himself, and slow to ask aid though 
 brought so low. 
 
 For an instant I could not speak to him, and, en- 
 cumbered with bab}', dish, spoon, and children, he 
 could only stare at me with a sudden brightening of the 
 altered face that made it full of welcome before a word 
 was uttered. 
 
 " They told me you were dead, and I only heard of 
 3'ou by accident, not knowing I should find my old 
 friend alive, but not well, I 'm afraid ? " 
 
 "There ain't much left of me but bones and pain, 
 ma'am. I 'm powerful glad to see you all the same. 
 Dust oflT a chair, Patsey, and let the lady set down. 
 You go in the corner, and take turns lickin' the dish, 
 while I see company," said Joe, disbanding his small 
 troop, and shouldering the baby as if presenting arms 
 in honor of his guest. 
 
 " Wh}^ did n't you let me know how sick you were? 
 And how came they to think you dead?" I asked, as 
 he festooned the wet linen out of the way, and prepared 
 to enjo}^ himself as best he could. 
 
 " T did send once, when things was at the wust*, but 
 
268 PROVERB STORIES. 
 
 you had n't got back, and then somehow I thought 1 
 was goin' to be mustered out for good, and so would n't 
 trouble nobody. But my orders ain't come yet, and I 
 am dohig the fust thing that come along. It ain't much, 
 but the good soul stood by me, and I ani't ashamed to 
 pay my debts this way, sence I can't do it in no other ; " 
 and Joe cradled the chubby baby in his one arm as 
 tenderly as if it had been his own, though little Biddy 
 was not an inviting infant. 
 
 " That is very beautiful and right, Joe, and I honor 
 you for it ; but you were not meant to tend babies, so 
 sing your last lullabies, and be ready to go to the Home 
 as soon as I can get you there." 
 
 " Realty, ma'am? I used to la}^ and kind of dream 
 about it when I could n't stir without jellin' out ; but I 
 never thought it would ever come to happen. I see a 
 piece in the paper describing it, and it sounded dread- 
 ful nice. Should n't wonder if I found some of my 
 mates there. They were a good lot, and deservin' of 
 all that could be done for 'em," said Joe, trotting the 
 baby briskly, as if the prospect excited him, as well it 
 might, for the change from that damp nurser}^ to the 
 comfortable quarters prepared for him would be like 
 going from Purgatory to Paradise. 
 
 " I don't wonder you don't get well living in such a 
 place, Joe. You should have gone home to Woolwich, 
 and let your friends help you," I said, feeling provoked 
 with him for hiding himself. 
 
 '^ No, ma'am!" he answered, with a look I never 
 shall forget, it was so full of mingled patience, pride, 
 and pain. "I haven't a relation in the world but a 
 couple of poor old aunts, and they could n't do any 
 
MY RED CAP. 269 
 
 thing for me. As for asking help of folks I used to 
 know, I could n't do it ; and if you think 1 'd go to 
 Lucind}^ though she is wal off, you don't know Joe 
 Colhns. I 'd die fust I If she was poor and I rich, I 'd 
 do for her Uke a brother ; but I could n't ask no favors 
 of her, not if I begged my vittles in the street, or 
 starved. I forgive, but I don't forgit in a hurry ; and 
 the woman that stood by me when I was down is the 
 woman I believe in, and can take my bread from with- 
 out shame. Hooray for Biddy Flanagin ! God bless 
 her ! " and, as if to find a vent for the emotion that 
 filled his eyes with grateful tears, Joe led off the 
 cheer, which the children shrilly echoed, and I joined 
 heartily. 
 
 " I shall come for you in a few days ; so cuddle the 
 baby and make much of the children before you part. 
 It won't take 3^ou long to pack up, will it? " I asked, as 
 we subsided with a general laugh. 
 
 " I reckon not as I don't own any clothes but what I 
 set in, except a couple of old shirts and them socks. 
 M}' hat 's stoppin' up the winder, and my old coat is my 
 bed-cover. I'm awful shabby, ma'am, and that's one 
 reason I don't go out more. I can hobble some, but I 
 ain't got used to bein' a scarecrow yet," and Joe 
 glanced from the hose without heels that hung on the 
 line to the ragged suit he wore, with a resigned ex- 
 pression that made me long to rush out and buy up half 
 the contents of Oak Hall on the spot. 
 
 Curbing this wild impulse I presently departed with 
 promises of speed}^ transportation for Joe, and unlimited 
 oranges to assuage the pangs of parting for the young 
 Flanagins, who escorted me to the door, while Jog 
 
270 PROVERB STORIES, 
 
 waved the baby like a triumphal banner till I got round 
 the corner. 
 
 There was such a beautiful absence of red tape about 
 the new institution that it only needed a word in the 
 right ear to set things going ; and then, with a long 
 pull, a strong pull, and a pull all together, Joe Collins 
 was taken up and safely landed in the Home he so 
 much needed and so well deserved. 
 
 A happier man or a more grateful one it would be 
 hard to find, and if a visitor wants an enthusiastic guide 
 about the place, Joe is the one to take, for all is com- 
 fort, sunshine, and good-will to him ; and he uncon- 
 sciously shows how great the need of this refuge is, as 
 he hobbles about on his lame feet, pointing out its 
 beauties, conveniences, and deUghts with his one arm, 
 while his face shines, and his voice quavers a little as 
 he says gratefully, — 
 
 "The State don't forget us, you see, and this is a 
 Home wuth havin'. Long life to it ! " 
 
[Written in 1867.] 
 
 WHAT THE BELLS SAW AND SAID 
 
 " Bells ring others to church, but go not in themselves." 
 
 "'VyO one saw the spirits of the bells up there in the 
 -*-^ old steeple at midnight on Christmas Eve. Six 
 quaint figures, each wrapped in a shadowy cloak and 
 wearing a bell-shaped cap. All were gra3'-headed, for 
 they were among the oldest bell-spirits of the city, and 
 ' ' the light of other days " shone in their thoughtful 
 ej'es. Silently the}^ sat, looking down on the snow- 
 covered roofs glittering in the moonlight, and the quiet 
 streets deserted by all but the watchmen on their chilly 
 rounds, and such poor souls as wandered shelterless in 
 the winter night. Presently one of the spirits said, in 
 a tone, which, low as it was, filled the belfry with rever- 
 berating echoes, — 
 
 " Well, brothers, are your reports ready of the year 
 that now lies d3ing ? " 
 
 All bowed their heads, and one of the oldest answered 
 in a sonorous voice : — 
 
 " My report is n't all I could wish. You know I look 
 down on the commercial part of our citj' and have fine 
 opportunities for seeing what goes on there. It's my 
 business to watch the business men, and upon ra}^ word 
 I 'm heartil}^ ashamed of them sometimes. During the 
 war they did nobly, giving their time and money, their 
 
272 PROVERB STORIES. 
 
 sons and selves to the good cause, and I was proud of 
 them. But now too many of them have fallen back into 
 the old ways, and their motto seems to be, ' Every one 
 for himself, and the devil take the hindmost.' Cheat- 
 ing, lying and steahng are hard words, and I don't 
 mean to apply them to all who swarm about below there 
 like ants on an ant-hill — they have other names for 
 these things, but I 'mold-fashioned and use plain words. 
 There 's a deal too much dishonesty in the world, and 
 business seems to hq,ve become a game of hazard in 
 which luck, not labor, wins the prize. When I was 
 young, men were years making moderate fortunes, and 
 were° satisfied with them. They built them on sure 
 foundations, knew how to enjoy them while they lived, 
 and to leave a good name behind them when they 
 
 died. 
 
 ''Now it's anything for money ; health, happmess, 
 honor, life itself, are flung down on that great gaming- 
 table, and they forget everything else in the excitement 
 of success or the desperation of defeat. Nobody seems 
 satisfied either, for those who win have little time or 
 taste to enjov their prosperity, and those who lose have 
 little courage or patience to support them in adversity. 
 They don't even fail as they used to. In my day when 
 a merchant found himself embarrassed he did n't ruin 
 others in order to save himself, but honestly confessed 
 the truth, gave up everything, and began again. But 
 now-a-davs after all manner of dishonorable shifts 
 there comes a grand crash; many suffer, -but by some 
 hocus-pocus the merchant saves enough to retire upon 
 and live comfortably here or abroad. It 's very evident 
 that honor and honesty don't mean now what th^^y 
 
WHAT THE BELLS SAW AND SAID. 273 
 
 ased to mean in the days of old May, Iligginson and 
 Lawrence. 
 
 '^The}^ preach below here, and ver}^ well too some- 
 times, fojr I often slide down the rope to peep and 
 listen during service. But, bless you ! thc}^ don't seem 
 to lay either sermon, psalm or prayer to heart, for while 
 the minister is doing his best, the congregation, tired 
 with the breathless huny of the week, sleep peacefully, 
 calculate their chances for the morrow, or wonder which 
 of their neighbors will lose or win in the great game. 
 Don't tell me ! I 've seen them do it, and if I dared I 'd 
 have startled every soul of them with a rousing peal. 
 Ah, they don't dream whose eye is on them, they never 
 guess what secrets the telegraph wires tell as the 
 messages % b}', and little know what a report I give to 
 the winds of heaven as I ring out above them morning, 
 noon, and night." And the old spirit shook his head 
 till the tassel on his cap jangled like a little bell. 
 
 " There are some, however, whom I love and honor," 
 he said, in a benignant tone, " who honestly earn their 
 bread, who deserve all the success that comes to them, 
 and always keep a warm corner in their noble hearts 
 for those less blest than they. These are the men who 
 serve the citj' in times of peace, save it in times of war, 
 deserve the highest honors in its gift, and leave behind 
 them a record that keeps their memories green. For 
 such an one we lately tolled a knell, my brothers ; and 
 as our united voices pealed over the city, in all grateful 
 hearts, sweeter and more solemn than any chime, rung 
 the words that made him so beloved, — 
 
 '' ' Treat our dead boys tenderly, and send them home 
 to me.' " 
 
 18 
 
274 PROVERB STORIES. 
 
 He ceased, and all the spirits reverently uncovered 
 their gray heads as a strain of music floated up from the 
 sleeping city and died among the stars. 
 
 " Like 3'ours, m}' report is not satisfactory in all re- 
 spects," began the second spirit, who wore a very 
 pointed cap and a finely ornamented cloak. But, 
 though his dress was fresh and j'outhful, his face 
 was old, and he had nodded several times during his 
 brother's speech. "My greatest affliction during the 
 past year has been the terrible extravagance which 
 prevails. My post, as you know, is at the court end of 
 the city, and I see all the fashionable vices and folhes. 
 It is a marvel to me how so many of these immortal 
 creatures, with such opportunities for usefulness, self- 
 improvement and genuine happiness can be content to 
 go round and round in one narrow circle of unprofitable 
 and unsatisfactor}' pursuits. I do my best to warn 
 them ; Sunday after Sunday I chime in their ears the 
 beautiful old hymns that sweetly chide or cheer the 
 hearts that truly listen and believe ; Sunday after Sun- 
 day I look down on them as they pass in, hoping to see 
 that my words have not fallen upon deaf ears ; and 
 Sunday after Sunday they listen to words that should 
 teach them much, yet seem to go by them lilic the wind. 
 They are told to love their neighbor, yet too many hate 
 him because he possesses more of this world's goods or 
 honors than they ; they are told that a rich man cannot 
 enter the kingdom of heaven, yet they go on laying up 
 perishable wealth, and though often warned that moth 
 and rust will corru[)t, they fail to believe it till the worm 
 that destroys enters and mars their own chapel of ease. 
 Being a spirit, 1 see below external splendor and find 
 
WHAT THE BELLS SAW AND SAID. 275 
 
 much povert}' of heart and soul under the velvet and 
 the ermine which should cover rich and royal natures. 
 Our cit}' saints walk abroad in threadbare suits, and 
 under quiet bonnets shine the ejes that make sunshine 
 in the shady places. Often as I watch the glittering 
 procession passing to and fro below me, I wonder if, 
 with all our progress, there is to-da3' as much real piet}^ 
 as in the times when our fathers, poorly clad, with 
 weapon in one hand and Bible in the other, came weary 
 distances to worship in the wilderness with fervent 
 faith unquenched by danger, suffering and solitude. 
 
 '' Yet in spite of my fault-finding I love my children, 
 as I call them, for all are not butterflies. Man}" find 
 wealth no temptation to forgetfulness of duty or hard- 
 ness of heart. Many give freel}" of their abundance, 
 pit}" the poor, comfort the aflSicted, and make our city 
 loved and honored in other lands as in our own. They 
 have their cares, losses, and heartaches as well as the 
 poor ; it is n't all sunshine with them, and they learn, 
 poor souls, that 
 
 * Into each life some rain must fall, 
 Some days must be dark and dreary.' 
 
 " But I 've hopes of them, and lately they have had a 
 teacher so genial, so gifted, so well-beloved that all who 
 listen to him must be better for the lessons of charity, 
 good-will and cheerfulness which he brings home to them 
 by the magic of tears and smiles. We know him, we 
 love him, we always remember him as the year comes 
 round, and the blithest song our brazen tongues utter 
 is a Christmas carol to the Father of The Chimes ! '" 
 
 As the spirit spoke his voice grew cheery, his old 
 
276 PROVERB STORIES. 
 
 face shone, and in a burst of heart}" enthusiasm he flung 
 up his cap and cheered like a boy. So did the otliers, 
 and as the fairy shout echoed through the belfry a 
 troop of shadowy figures, with faces lovel^'or grotesque, 
 tragical or gaj- , sailed by on the wings of the wintrj' 
 wind and waved their hands to the spirits of the 
 bells. 
 
 As the excitement subsided and the spirits reseated 
 themselves, looking ten years ^^ounger for that burst, 
 another spoke. A venerable brother in a dingy mantle, 
 with a tuneful voice, and eyes that seemed to have grown 
 sad with looking on much misery. 
 
 " He loves the poor, the man we've just hurrahed 
 for, and he makes others love and remember them, bless 
 him ! " said the spirit. " I hope he'll touch the hearts 
 of those who listen to him here and beguile them to 
 open their hands to my unhappy children over yonder. 
 If I could set some of the forlorn souls in m}' parish 
 beside the happier creatures who weep over imaginary 
 woes as they are painted by his eloquent lips, that 
 brilliant scene would be better than an}' sermon. Day 
 and night I look down on lives as full of sin, self-sacri- 
 fice and suffering as an}^ in those famous books. Day 
 and night I try to comfort the poor b}' my cheery voice, 
 and to make their wants known by proclaiming them 
 with all my miglit. But people seem to be so intent on 
 business, pleasure or home duties that they have no 
 time to hear and answer my appeal. There 's a deal of 
 charity in this good city, and when the people do wake 
 up they work with a will ; but I can't help thinking that 
 if some of the money lavished on luxuries was spent on 
 necessaries for the poor, there would be fewer tragedies 
 
WHAT THE BELLS SAW AND SAID. 277 
 
 like that which ended 3-esterday. It 's a short stoiy, 
 easy to tell, though long and hard to live ; listen to it. 
 
 " Down yonder in the garret of one of the squalid 
 houses at the foot of my tower, a little girl has lived for 
 a year, fighting silently and single-handed a good fight 
 against poverty and sin. I saw her when she first 
 came, a hopeful, cheerful, brave-hearted little soul, 
 alone, 3'et not afraid. She used to sit all da}^ sewing 
 at her window, and her lamp burnt far into the night, for 
 she was very poor, and all she earned would barely give 
 her food and shelter. I watched her feed the doves, 
 who seemed to be her only friends ; she never forgot 
 them, and daily gave them the few crumbs that fell 
 from her meagre table. But there was no kind hand 
 to feed and foster the Kttle human dove, and so she 
 starved. 
 
 "For a while she worked bravely, but thepoor three 
 dollars a week would not clothe and feed "Snd warm her, 
 though the things her bus}^ fingers made sold for enough 
 to keep her comfortabty if she had received it. I saw 
 the prett3" color fade from her cheeks ; her ej'es grew 
 hollow, her voice lost its cheer^^ ring, her step its 
 elasticit}^, and her face began to wear the haggard, 
 anxious look that made its youth doubly pathetic. Her 
 poor little gowns grew shabb}^, her shawl so thin she 
 shivered when the pitiless wind smote her, and her feet 
 were almost bare. Rain and snow beat on the patient 
 little figure going to and fro, each morning with hope 
 and courage faintly shining, each evening with the 
 shadow of despair gathering darker round her. It was 
 a hard time for all, desperately hard for her, and in her 
 poverty, siii and pleasure tempted her. She resisted, 
 
278 PROVERB STORIES. 
 
 but as another hitter winter came she feared that in her 
 misery she might 3'ield, for body and soul were weak- 
 ened now by the long struggle. She knew not where 
 to turn for help ; there seemed to be no place for her 
 at any safe and happy fireside ; life's hard aspect 
 daunted her, and she turned to death, saying con- 
 fidingl}", ' Take me while I 'm innocent and not afraid 
 to go.' 
 
 " I saw it all ! I saw how she sold everything that 
 would bring mone}^ and paid her little debts to the 
 utmost penny ; how she set her poor room in order for 
 the last time ; how she tenderly bade the doves good- 
 by, and la}' down on her bed to die. At nine o'clock 
 last night as my bell rang over the city, I tried to 
 tell what was going on in the garret where the light 
 was dying out so fast. I cried to them with all my 
 strength, — 
 
 "'Kind souls, below there ! a fellow-creature is 
 perishing for lack of charity ! Oh, help her before it 
 is too late ! Mothers, with little daughters on your 
 knees, stretch out 3'Our hands and take her in ! Happy 
 women, in the safe shelter of home, think of her deso- 
 lation ! Rich men, who grind the faces of the poor, 
 remember that this soul will one day be required of 
 3'ou ! Dear Lord, let not this little sparrow fall to the 
 ground ! Help, Christian men and women, in the name 
 of Him whose birthday blessed the world ! ' 
 
 " Ah me ! I rang, and clashed, and cried in vain. 
 The passers-b}^ only said, as thej^ hurried home, laden 
 with Christmas cheer : ' The old bell is merry to-night, 
 as it should be at this blithe season, bless it ! ' 
 
 " As the clocks struck ten, the poor child lay down, 
 
WHAT THE BELLS SAW AND SAW. 279 
 
 sa3ing, as she drank the last bitter draught life could give 
 her, ' It's very cold, but soon I shall not feel it; ' and 
 with her quiet eyes fixed on the cross that glimmered 
 in the moonlight above me, she lay waiting for the sleep 
 that needs no lullab3\ 
 
 "As the clock struck eleven, pain and poverty- for 
 her were over. It was bitter cold, but she no 
 longer felt it. She lay serenely sleeping, with tired 
 heart and hands, at rest forever. As the clocks struck 
 twelve, the dear Lord remembered her, and with 
 fatherly hand led her into the home where there is room 
 for all. To-day I rung her knell, and though my heart 
 was heav}", 3'et my soul was glad ; for in spite of all her 
 human woe and weakness, I am sure that little girl will 
 keep a joyful Christmas up in heaven." 
 
 In the silence which the spirits for a moment kept, a 
 breath of softer air than any from the snowy world be- 
 low swept through the steeple and seemed to whisper, 
 "Yes!" 
 
 " Avast there ! fond as I am of salt water, I don't 
 like this kind," cried the breezy voice of the fourth 
 spirit, who had a tiny ship instead of a tassel on his 
 cap, and who wiped his wet eyes with the sleeve of his 
 rough blue cloak. " It won't take me long to spin my 
 3'arn ; for things are pretty taut and ship-shape aboard 
 our craft. Captain Taylor is an experienced sailor, and 
 has brought many a ship safely into port in spite of 
 wind and tide, and the devil's own whirlpools and 
 hurricanes. If you want to see earnestness come 
 aboard some Sunday when the Captain 's on the quar- 
 ter-deck, and take an observation. No danger of falling 
 asleep there, no more than there is up aloft, ' when the 
 
280 PROVERB STORIES. 
 
 stormy winds do blow.' Consciences get raked fore a»id 
 aft, sins are blown clean out of the water, false colors 
 are hauled down and true ones run up to the masthead, 
 and man}^ an immortal soul is warned to steer off in 
 time from the pirates, rocks and quicksands of tempta- 
 tion. He 's a regular revolving light, is the Captain, — 
 a beacon always burning and saying plainly, ' Here are 
 life-boats, read}" to put off in all weathers and bring the 
 shipwrecked into quiet waters.' He comes but seldom 
 now, being laid up in the home dock, tranquilly waiting 
 till his turn comes to go out with the tide and safely 
 ride at anchor in the great harbor of the Lord. Our 
 crew varies a good deal. Some of 'em have rather 
 rough voyages, and come into port pretty well battered ; 
 land-sharks fall foul of a good man}^ and do a deal of 
 damage ; but most of 'em carr^- brave and tender hearts 
 under the blue jackets, for their rough nurse, the sea, 
 manages to keep something of the child alive in the 
 grayest old tar that makes the world his picture-book. 
 We try to* supply' 'em with life-preservers while at sea, 
 and make 'em feel sure of a hearty welcome when ashore, 
 and I believe the year '67 will sail away into eternity 
 with a satisfactory cargo. Brother North-End made me 
 pipe my e\^e ; so I '11 make him laugh to pay for it, b}'' 
 telling a clerical joke I heard the other day. Bell-ows 
 did n't make it, though he might have done so, as 
 he 's a connection of ours, and knows how to use his 
 tongue as well as an}' of us. Speaking of the bells of a 
 certain town, a reverend gentleman affirmed that each 
 bell uttered an appropriate remark so plainly, that the 
 words were audible to all. The Baptist bell cried, 
 briskly, ' Come up and be dipped ! come up and be. 
 
WHAT THE BELLS SAW AND SAW. 281 
 
 dipped ! ' The Episcopal bell slowly said, ' Apos-tol-ic 
 suc-cess-ion ! apos-tol-ic suc-cess-ion ! ' The Orthodox 
 bell solemulj' pronounced, ' Eternal damnation ! eternal 
 damnation ! ' and the Methodist shouted, inviting!}', 
 ' Room for all ! room for all ! ' " 
 
 As the spirit imitated the various calls, as onl}- a 
 jovial bell- sprite could, the others gave him a chime of 
 laughter, and vowed the}' would each adopt some tune- 
 ful summons, which should reach human ears and draw 
 human feet more willingly to church. 
 
 '' Faith, brother, 3'ou 've kept 3'our word and got the 
 laugh out of us," cried a stout, sleek spirit, with a 
 kindl}' face, and a row of little saints round his cap and 
 a rosar}' at his side. " It 's verj' well we are doing this 
 year ; the cathedral is full, the flock increasing, and the 
 true faith holding its own entirely. Ye may shake your 
 heads if you will and fear there'll be trouble, but I 
 doubt it. We 've warm hearts of our own, and the best 
 of us don't forget that when we were starving, America 
 — the saints bless the jewel ! — sent us bread ; when 
 we were dying for lack of work, America opened her 
 arms and took us in, and now helps us to build 
 churches, homes and schools b}^ giving us a share of 
 the riches all men work for and win. It 's a generous 
 nation ye are, and a brave one, and we showed our 
 gratitude by fighting for 3'e in the da}' of trouble and 
 giving ye our Phil, and many another broth of a boy. 
 The land is wide enough for us both, and while we 
 work and fight and grow together, each may learn 
 something from the other. I 'm free to confess that 
 your religion looks a bit cold and hard to me, even here 
 in the good city where each man may ride his own 
 
282 PROVERB STORIES. 
 
 hobby to death, and hoot at his neighbors as much as 
 he will. You seem to keep 3'our piet}' shut up all the 
 week in jour bare, white churches, and onl}* let it out on 
 Sunda3's, just a trifle mustj^ with disuse. You set jour 
 rich, w^arm and soft to the fore, and leave the poor 
 shivering at the door. You give 3'our people bare walls 
 to look upon, common-place music to listen to, dull 
 sermons to put them asleep, and then wonder wlw 
 the}^ sta}' awa}^, or take no interest when they come. 
 
 ' ' We leave our doors open day and night ; our 
 lamps are alwa3's burning, and we ma3^ come into our 
 Father's house at an3' hour. We let rich and poor 
 kneel together, all being equal there. With us abroad 
 you '11 see prince and peasant side b3^ side, school-bo3' 
 and bishop, market-woman and noble lad3", saint and 
 sinner, praying to the Holy Mary, whose motherl3' arms 
 are open to high and low. We make our churches in- 
 viting with immortal music, pictures b3" the world's 
 great masters, and rites that are splendid S3'mbols of 
 the faith we hold. Call it mummery if 3'e like, but let 
 me ask 3'ou wh3' so many of 3'our sheep stray into our 
 fold ? It 's because they miss the warmth, the heart3', 
 the maternal tenderness which all souls love and long 
 for, and fail to find in your stern. Puritanical belief. 
 B3'' Saint Peter ! I 've seen manj" a lukewarm wor- 
 shipper, who for 3'ears has nodded in 3'our cushioned 
 pews, wake and glow with something akin to genuine 
 piet3^ while kneeling on the stone pavement of one of 
 our cathedrals, with Paphael's angels before his e3''es, 
 with strains of magnificent music in his ears, and all 
 al)out him, in shapes of power or beauty, the saints 
 and martyrs who have saved the world, and whose 
 
WHAT THE BELLS SAW AND SAID. 283 
 
 presence inspires liim to follow their divine example. 
 It's not complaining of ye I am, but just reminding ye 
 that men are but children after all, and need more 
 tempting to virtue than they do to vice, which last 
 comes easy to 'em since the Fall. Do your best in your 
 own ways to get the poor souls into bliss, and good 
 luck to ye. But remember, there's room in the Holy 
 Mother Church for all, and when your own priests 
 send ye to the divil, come straight to us and we 'U 
 take 3^e in." 
 
 " A truly Catholic welcome, bull and all," said the 
 sixth spirit, who, in spite of his old-fashioned garments, 
 had a youthful face, earnest, fearless eyes, and an 
 energetic voice that, woke the echoes with its vigorous 
 tones. ''I've a hopeful report, brothers, for the re- 
 forms of the day are wheeling into rank and marching 
 on. The war is n't over nor rebeldom conquered yet, 
 but the Old Guard has been ' up and at 'em ' through 
 the year. There has been some hard fighting, rivers of 
 ink have flowed, and the Washington dawdlers have 
 signalized themselves by a ' masterly inactivity.' The 
 political campaign has been an anxious one ; some of 
 the leaders have deserted ; some been mustered out ; 
 some have fallen gallantly, and as yet have received no 
 monuments. But at the Grand Review the Cross of 
 the Legion of Honor wiU surely shine on man3'' a brave 
 breast that won no decoration but its virtue here ; 
 for the world's fanatics make heaven's heroes, poets 
 say. 
 
 "The flock of Nightingales that flew South during 
 the ' winter of our discontent' are all at home again, 
 some here and some in Heaven. But the music of 
 
284 PROVERB STORIES. 
 
 their womanly heroism still lingers in the nation's mem* 
 or}^, and makes a tender minor-chord in the battle-hymn 
 of freedom. 
 
 " The reform in literature is n't as vigorous as I could 
 wish ; but a sharp attack of mental and moral dys- 
 pepsia will soon teach our people that French con- 
 fectionery and the bad pastry of Wood, Braddon, 
 Yates & Co. is not the best diet for the rising genera- 
 tion. 
 
 " Speaking of the rising generation reminds me of 
 the schools. They are doing well ; the}' alwaj's are, 
 and we are justly proud of them. There ma}' be a 
 slight tendency' toward placing too much value upon 
 book-learning ; too little upon home culture. Our girls 
 are acknowledged to be uncommonly pretty, witty and 
 wise, but some of us wish they had more health and 
 less excitement, more domestic accomplishments and 
 fewer ologies and isms, and were contented with simple 
 pleasures and the old-fashioned virtues, and not quite 
 so fond of the fast, frivolous life that makes them old 
 so soon. I am fond of our girls and boj'S. I love to 
 ring for their christenings and marriages, to toll proudly 
 for the brave lads in blue, and tenderly for the innocent 
 creatures whose seats are empty under ni}- old roof. I 
 want to see them anxious to make Young America a 
 model of virtue, strength and beaut}', and I believe they 
 will in time. 
 
 " There have been some important revivals in re- 
 ligion ; for the world won't stand still, and we must 
 keep pace or be left behind to fossilize. A free nation 
 must have a religion broad enough to embrace all man- 
 kind, deep enough to fathom and fill the human soul, 
 
WHAT THE BELLS SAW AND SAID. 285 
 
 high enough to reach the source of all love and wisdom, 
 aud pure enough to satisfy- the wisest and the best. 
 Alarm bell^ have been rung, anathemas pronounced, 
 and Christians, forgetful of their creed, have abused 
 one another heartilj'. But the truth always triumphs 
 in the end, and whoever sincerely believes, works and 
 waits for it, by whatever name he calls it, will surely 
 find his own faith blessed to him in proportion to his 
 charit}^ for the faith of others. 
 
 ^' But look ! — the first red streaks of dawn are in the 
 East. Our vigil is over, and we must fl}- home to wel- 
 come in the hohdaj's. Before we part, join with me, 
 brothers, in resolving that through the coming year we 
 will with all our hearts and tongues, — 
 
 * Ring out the old, ring in the new, 
 Ring out the false, ring in the truej 
 Ring in the valiant man and free, 
 Ring in the Christ that is to be.' " 
 
 Then hand in hand the spirits of the bells floated 
 away, singing in the hush of dawn the sweet song the 
 stars sung over Bethlehem, — "Peace on earth, good 
 will to men." 
 
 University Press : John Wilson and Son, Cambridge.