^ 
 
 This book 
 is presented to 
 Illinois Wesleyan 
 University by 
 
 PRESIDENT 
 MINOR MYERS, JR. 
 
 ❖ ❖ 
 
 Set Sr*'""''"'' 
 
 Pp. Box 2899 
 
 Bloomington, IL 617Q2-2899 
 
The Coloners Opera Cloak 
 
Digitized by the Internet Archive 
 in 2016 with funding from 
 
 University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign Alternates 
 
 https://archive.org/details/colonelsoperacloOObrus. 
 
The 
 
 Coloners Opera Cloak 
 
 By 
 
 Christine C. Brush 
 
 With Illustrations from Drawings by E. W. Kemble 
 and Arthur E. Becher 
 
 Little, Brown, and Company 
 
 1904 
 
Copyright^ iSyQy 
 By Roberts Brothers. 
 
 Copyrighty igojy 
 
 By Little, Brown, and Company. 
 
 University Press • yohn Wilson Son 
 Cambridge y U.S.A. 
 
FULL-PAGE ILLUSTRATIONS 
 
 From Drawings by Arthur E. Becher 
 
 ‘‘He triumphantly emerged, with a large blue cape 
 
 lined with scarlet ” Frontispiece 
 
 “The opera cloak hung on a chair by the fire ’ ’ Facing Page 8 3 
 “Tom was angry, but he couldn’t help 
 
 laughing” “ “152 
 
 “It was the Colonel’s opera cloak ” . . “ “252 
 
 ILLUSTRATIONS IN THE TEXT 
 
 From Drawings by E. W. Kemble 
 
 Introduction, heading Pcig£ i 
 
 Chapter heading . “ 7 
 
 Pomp “10 
 
 “ There was a pair of cavalry-boots under the 
 
 piano ” “12 
 
 Mr. Cavello “16 
 
 Chapter heading “24 
 
 “ At the sound of the closing door he sprang from 
 
 his seat ” “40 
 
Illustrations 
 
 “ Finally fled into a dark alley and eluded the 
 
 enraged lover ” Page 42 
 
 Chapter heading “44 
 
 “ He cooks his own food, and mends his own 
 
 clothes ” “46 
 
 ‘‘ While Mr. Ackerman was showing Leslie his 
 
 old-fashioned costumes” “ 56 
 
 Chapter heading “58 
 
 “One day Pomp appeared at the Doctor’s with 
 
 a large tray ” “61 
 
 “ He sent Bessie a parrot in a beautiful gilt cage ” “ 67 
 
 “‘I reckon he’s at a club, eating sweetbread 
 
 and quails’” “71 
 
 “ ‘ O you dear opera cloak ! ’ ” “ 73 
 
 Chapter heading “74 
 
 “She was dazzled by a light in her face” . . “86 
 
 “He held out to her the Colonel’s opera cloak ” “ 93 
 
 “ Endeavoring to raise his glaring white eyes over 
 
 the rails of the small iron fence ” ... “99 
 
 Chapter heading “105 
 
 “ Drawing the Colonel’s opera cloak about him, 
 
 . . . turned his face toward home” . . “ 118 
 
 “ ‘ Goes scootin’ round wid a cane, an’ one o’ 
 
 dem high-top hats, like Massa Tom’s’ ” “123 
 
 Chapter heading ‘'127 
 
 Mr. MacVickar “142 
 
 Chapter heading “ H 7 
 
 vi 
 
Illustrations 
 
 Uncle Peter i 5 3 
 
 ' An’ ye’ r sort o’ cased in ice ’ ” . . . . “ 158 
 
 Chapter heading “ 178 
 
 “A gentleman had driven up to the hotel door, 
 where the landlord was standing in portly 
 
 dignity ” . . . ‘‘ 185 
 
 ‘‘ He saw a little boy running at full speed past 
 
 him ” ‘‘ 2po 
 
 “ Leslie slipped away to her room, and cried her- 
 self to sleep ” 210 
 
 Chapter heading 216 
 
 Chapter heading “ 236 
 
 ‘‘ Pomp brought some cologne, and bathed her 
 
 aching head” “ 239 
 
 “ He took Tom for a fellow -sufferer ” . . . 244 
 
 “ A tall, stout man, with a slouched hat ” . . 249 
 
 ‘ Well,’ he went on, looking at her with his 
 
 ‘ smiling eyes,’ as Leslie called them” . . 251 
 
 Tail-piece - . . “ 262 
 
 vii 
 
1 HAVE no hero; I have no heroine. A 
 story without either seemed so shabby, and 
 incomplete a thing that I looked carefully over 
 my old men and women, my young men and 
 maidens, not omitting the small boys. 
 
 Colonel St. John was tall and handsome, — 
 “ a perfect specimen of a Southern gentleman,” 
 his wife said. But, having never met the Col- 
 onel, I could not make him my hero. 
 
 Mrs. St. John was handsome, slender, and 
 languid. How she did hate the North ! She 
 was not to my fancy, so I would not have her 
 for my heroine. 
 
 Dear little Leslie, the Colonel’s niece, — I had 
 half a mind to choose her. But she never 
 saved a life, and never wrote a page for a mag- 
 azine, not even “ Lines to E. S. L.” She never 
 
 I I 
 
Introduction 
 
 attended lectures, nor revelled in “ the True, 
 the Good, and the Beautiful;” and, if the truth 
 must be told, she spelled quite indifferently. 
 
 There was Tom Douglas, the Doctor’s son, 
 who fell in love with Leslie. If he had but 
 fallen in love with Miss Gertrude Henderson, 
 the handsome heiress, and followed her abroad, 
 what a hero and heroine they would have been! 
 In that case, what descriptions I might have 
 given of foreign parts, — of cathedrals and of 
 palaces 1 I could have made them wander in 
 the grand old galleries, and talk about the pic- 
 tures. I should have known exactly what to 
 say ; for have n’t I a pile of my cousin’s old 
 guide-books, from which I could extract the 
 height and width of every thing, as well as 
 though I had taken measurements myself? And 
 Tom could have made love in Westminster 
 Abbey or the Bois de Boulogne. But, dear me, 
 he fell in love instead with that foolish, shiftless 
 little Leslie. 
 
 If I had been satisfied with a good, noble, 
 unselfish man, I might have chosen Pomp; but 
 Pomp was only a colored man, a “ nigger,” an 
 old slave, who clung through thick and thin 
 — very thin — to his master’s family, and got 
 
Introduction 
 
 nothing in return. Only the angels would call 
 Pomp a hero. 
 
 Dr. Douglas would not do, of course: there 
 was nothing romantic about the Doctor. He 
 dosed the St. Johns among his other patients, 
 and got no return for the little bills he presented, 
 — that was all. “ What impudence in him to 
 send these things ! ” said Mrs. St. John, when 
 the Doctor’s collector appeared. “ How these 
 Northerners show their poor raising!” 
 
 The Doctor’s wife would not answer. Her 
 affairs were settled thirty years ago, when, in 
 white muslin and blue ribbons, she met the 
 young doctor at a college commencement. Be- 
 sides, she spent her time in seeing that her 
 Tom should not become Leslie’s hero! “Leslie 
 is a dear, sweet little girl,” she would say, in 
 that -disparaging, maternal tone well known to 
 eldest sons ; “ but for a wife, — I pity the 
 Northerner of whose home she is mistress ! ” 
 Then Tom would ask, in a cheerful tone of dis- 
 interested inquiry, “ Is there any Northerner 
 who wishes to marry her?” 
 
 There was Bessie Douglas, Tom’s sister; but 
 Bessie was not pretty enough for a heroine. It 
 is so much easier to have a pretty heroine. No 
 3 
 
Introduction 
 
 matter what silly things she may say or do, the 
 reader does not wonder at the hero’s falling in 
 love with her. A plain girl has to utter such 
 brilliant things, to satisfy the public! 
 
 There was a troop of little St. Johns, — 
 Arthur, Wilfrid, and Clarence; but they looked 
 so much alike, and were so tangled up, wearing 
 each other’s clothes indiscriminately, that this 
 small band of brothers would have filled the 
 office of hero to overflowing. 
 
 With so many grown-up white ladies and 
 gentlemen on hand, it would hardly have been 
 respectful to take Pomp’s grandson as hero, 
 although his name might well have suggested 
 the choice, — “ John Jasper Jackson.” Jackson 
 was not his last name, — he had none : it was 
 only one of his names. Jackson John Jasper, 
 or Jasper Jackson John, answered just as .well. 
 
 There was Mr. Cavello; but I knew so little 
 of Spaniards, — I only knew Mr. Cavello, — 
 and so little of Spanish, — only “ Senor ” and 
 “ San Salvador,” — and so little of Spanish 
 affairs, — only a few items about coffee and 
 sugar plantations and cigarettes, — that I hardly 
 felt equal to using Mr. Cavello. 
 
 But there was a being — I may call it that, 
 4 
 
Introduction 
 
 because it had being — which often warmed and 
 clothed the St. John family; which was with 
 them by day and by night, in pleasure and in 
 sorrow; which delivered them from dire dis- 
 tresses by land and sea; which neither ate their 
 food nor spent their money ; which did not 
 smoke, nor play, nor drink, like the Colonel. 
 This being I have chosen for my leading char- 
 acter. Enter 
 
 The Colonel’s Opera Cloak. 
 
 5 
 
I 
 
 L ittle Ned Douglas was fired with an 
 earnest desire to possess a certain scarlet 
 and gold ‘‘ Pilgrim’s Progress,” which had been 
 shown to the admiring eyes of the children in 
 his Sunday school, as a reward to the one 
 who should bring in the largest number of new 
 scholars. Ned had determined to win the prize. 
 
 Strange to say, the ‘‘ new scholars ” whom 
 Ned secured were all short of clothes. One day 
 he appeared, flushed and excited, at the dinner- 
 table, demanding three hats, a purple necktie, 
 two pairs of shoes, and a few handkerchiefs. 
 
 “ Have you found a boy with four feet, three 
 heads, a few noses, and only one neck?” asked 
 Tom. 
 
 “No!” cried little Ned, indignantly: “there 
 are three boys, and one is black. He ’s a friend 
 7 
 
The Colonel’s Opera Cloak 
 
 of the white boys, and they live in his house. I 
 played with them in the park one day, and they 
 are all splendid ! They used to be rich, and now 
 they are poor. I guess they are poor,” he added, 
 rather doubtfully, “ because they said they ’d all 
 come to Sunday school if I ’d get them shoes 
 and hats and handkerchiefs; and the little black 
 boy wanted a purple necktie. But they have 
 splendid jack-knives, and they eat candy all the 
 time, and chew Jenny-Lind gum! Their mother 
 lets them do it,” and little Ned looked reproach- 
 fully at his mother. 
 
 The new acquaintances were soon provided 
 with clothes, and they entered the school the 
 next Sunday. 
 
 “Isn’t it queer?” said Ned, some time after 
 this. “ Those splendid boys used to live in the 
 South, and they were as rich as kings, and had 
 lots of slaves. One of them said that zve got 
 his slaves away. I told him ’t was no such 
 thing. I told him that you and father used to 
 live in the South, but you did n’t touch their 
 slaves. Arthur — he ’s the biggest boy — says 
 his mother is sick, and wants you to come and 
 see her. She said she had n’t seen a real lady 
 for a year.” 
 
 8 
 
The Colonel’s Opera Cloak 
 
 “ Is n’t it papa she wants to see, if she is ill? ” 
 asked his mother. 
 
 “ Oh, no, mamma, it is you ; and she wants 
 you to come quick. She says she ’ll come to 
 church some day, maybe.” 
 
 Mrs. Douglas went the very next day, pro- 
 vided with the address on a card. She was sure 
 when she reached the house that Ned had made 
 a mistake; for it was in a fashionable part of 
 the city. 
 
 She found a handsome residence, with high 
 steps, on which two dirty white boys were play- 
 ing with a little black boy who was not so dirty. 
 
 “Does Mrs. St. John live here?” asked Mrs. 
 Douglas. 
 
 “ Yes, ma’am,” said one of the boys, rising 
 and taking off his hat. “ Won't you come in? ” 
 
 “ I’m Ned Douglas’s mother. Are you the 
 St. John boys?” she said, smiling. 
 
 “ Yes, ma’am,” replied the little fellow who 
 had already spoken. “ Mamma wanted to see 
 you very much. She ’s away from all her 
 friends here, and Ned said you ’d lived South. 
 Get up, you varmint ! ” he added pleasantly to 
 the colored boy, “ and see if the bell will go.” 
 
 The little chap rattled the knob, which had 
 
 9 
 
The Coloners Opera Cloak 
 
 evidently parted company with the bell, and 
 pounded on the door with his fists. 
 
 “ I ’ll tell you what to do, Jasper,” said one 
 of the boys : “ you crawl into the basement 
 window, and run and open the door.'’ 
 
 The little fellow was soon heard tugging at 
 the lock from the inside. After repeated efforts, 
 the door burst open, and sent him sprawling on 
 his back upon the hall floor, like a little turtle. 
 
 “ Dat ain’t no kind of a do’, Missus,” said he, 
 picking himself up, and rubbing his head : “ it 
 keeps a sayin’ it won’t open, an’, jus’ as yer 
 b’lieves it, out it hits an’ sends yer slambang! 
 Dat door ’s jus’ like my gran’fa’ : ’pears like 
 he ’s never goin’ to lick yer, no matter what 
 yer does; an’, fus’ thing, he fetches 
 yer a cuff, an’ over yer goes.” 
 While Jasper was thus 
 moralizing, Mrs. Douglas 
 looked about to see if the par- 
 lors were accessible. Hearing 
 a noise above, she involun- 
 tarily glanced up, and saw the 
 dark sallow face of a man, and 
 as much of his body as could be safely balanced 
 over the banisters, and heard a child’s giggle. 
 
 lO 
 
The ColoneFs Opera Cloak 
 
 At that moment, a moist little pellet struck 
 her cheek. Then followed a scuffle, a slap, 
 “ You nasty boy ! ” and the slamming of a door. 
 
 The front door was too securely closed, or 
 she would have retreated. 
 
 Just then a black man came up the basement 
 stairs, and bowed respectfully. 
 
 “Can I see Mrs. St. John?” asked Mrs. 
 Douglas. 
 
 “ Yes, Missus, if yer will have de goodness 
 to wait one moment whiles I opens de parlor 
 do’. De knob, I sees, is off,” he said, as calmly 
 as if it was quite usual for knobs to step out 
 on business. 
 
 He vanished into the back parlor, where a 
 murmuring conversation was soon heard. 
 
 The sliding-door groaned, and evidently ran 
 off its track. Then with a flourish, as if he 
 had that instant heard of the arrival there. 
 Pomp opened the front-parlor door. 
 
 Such a parlor! The shades were drawn to 
 the highest point, the lace curtains were tied 
 in knots; and, raising her eyes to the frescoed 
 ceiling, Mrs. Douglas saw that her unseen friend 
 of the spit-ball had not aimed his first at her, — 
 no, nor his twenty-first. 
 
The Coloners Opera Cloak 
 
 There was a pair of cavalry-boots under the 
 piano, and a pan of molasses-candy on top of 
 it. A bowl of broth stood on the centre-table. 
 
 The chair which Mrs. Douglas 
 took refused to hold her; 
 
 and the sofa was as com- 
 
 fortable as a seat in a coal- 
 bin, the springs being 
 broken and twisted. 
 
 Pomp retired into 
 the back parlor to in- 
 form “ Missus ” that 
 the lady was 
 in the other 
 
 room. 
 
 The rustle of 
 silk was now 
 heard, and the 
 beating of pillows. 
 No word was 
 spoken ; but Mrs. 
 
 Douglas was con- 
 scious of the pan- 
 tomime which was directing Pomp as he squeaked 
 about the apartment. 
 
 At last, he appeared at the sliding-door, which 
 
The Coloners Opera Cloak 
 
 had refused to close behind him, and asked her 
 in, with, “ Mrs. Douglas — Mrs. St. John.” 
 
 In a bed, in one corner of the finely furnished 
 room, Mrs. St. John half-sat, half-lay. She 
 motioned Mrs. Douglas to a chair, which the 
 poor lady tested with her hand before seating 
 herself. 
 
 Mrs. St. John was a young and very hand- 
 some woman. She wore a lilac silk waist, with 
 a lace shawl thrown over her shoulders, fast- 
 ened with a diamond pin. Mrs. Douglas saw 
 the skirt of the lilac waist over a chair at the 
 head of the bed: it only accompanied the lady 
 on walking excursions ! 
 
 Mrs. St. John was very languid. 
 
 “ You can’t tell how glad I am to see some 
 one who has lived South,” she said, in a low, 
 drawling voice. “ These Northerners are so ill- 
 bred. I hate to have my boys associate with 
 them, — it ’s so bad for their manners. I see 
 the difference in them already. I believe it ’s 
 in the air. 
 
 “ The war made things very hard for the 
 Colonel. He fought and fought ; and the 
 Northerners stole everything they could lay 
 their hands on. Why, the officers, generals 
 
 13 
 
The Colonel’s Opera Cloak 
 
 and all, would steal the rings off our fingers; 
 and they grudged us every mouthful we ate! 
 I was very young; I was married during the 
 war; but I saw enough of it. Why, one of 
 your generals — the head one, I reckon — tore 
 the ear-rings right out of a lady’s ears! The 
 Colonel lost all his slaves, and I lost all mine, 
 except Pomp : he knew what was good for him ! 
 The ungrateful things, — to clear out, after we 
 had fed and clothed them for generations! 
 
 “ The Colonel had heaps of money stolen by 
 your men. He owns heaps of land in Texas 
 now, where there are lead-mines; but he can’t 
 get much money out of it at a time, and so 
 Pomp has to keep things going as best he can. 
 It ’s very different from the good old days. 
 
 “ The Colonel brought us all here, and then 
 went out to his old mines. I 'm so much younger 
 than he, he ought to stay at home and look after 
 me. I was only sixteen when I was married. 
 
 “ The last time the Colonel was at home, he 
 brought back a Spanish gentleman, Mr. Cavello, 
 to visit. He met up with him in New Orleans. 
 The Colonel said he wanted to see the city, and 
 that he was a good friend of his. He goes to 
 his club to meals. 
 
 14 
 
The Coloners Opera Cloak 
 
 “ I think,” continued Mrs. St. John, — whose 
 slow words knew no pause, — “I think the 
 Colonel has had money of him, or he ’d never 
 be so polite to him.” 
 
 “ Do you know any thing about him ? ” the 
 Doctor’s wife ventured to ask. 
 
 “ Oh, he ’s what he says he is, — as rich as 
 can be ! He tells about his niggers and his 
 plantations, and he has good diamonds. I wish 
 he ’d take a fancy to the Colonel’s niece, — it 
 would be a good thing for her. 
 
 “ I never am very well,” she went on. ‘‘ I 
 like to lie down, — it ’s so much easier than 
 to sit up. It ’s so cold here that I never can 
 keep warm out of bed, and hardly in it. — Pomp! 
 Pomp ! ” 
 
 Mrs. Douglas had seen Pomp through the 
 door, nodding in one of the red satin chairs. 
 He started on hearing his name. 
 
 “ Pomp, my feet are cold I Bring me the 
 Colonel’s opera cloak.” 
 
 Pomp began a search. He looked in the 
 closet and behind the chairs, and finally went 
 on all fours under the bed, whence he trium- 
 phantly emerged, with a large blue cape, lined 
 with scarlet, with shining gilt clasps at the neck. 
 
 15 
 
The Colonel’s Opera Cloak 
 
 “ Oh, I was telling you about Leslie,” said 
 Mrs. St. John, after Pomp had tucked her feet 
 up, and settled himself for another nap. “ I 
 wish I could marry that girl 
 off to some rich Northerner. 
 She says she likes them. She ’s 
 seventeen now, and over. 
 When the summer comes, 
 I mean to get her a lot of 
 new dresses, and take her 
 to some fashionable resort 
 for a month, to see if I 
 can't get her 
 off. She has no 
 mother, and I 
 must do my duty 
 by her. I wish to mercy 
 Mr. Cavello would take a 
 fancy to her ! ” 
 
 There was a silence. Mrs. Douglas was 
 horror-stricken. 
 
 The Doctor’s wife feared that Mrs. St. John 
 expected her now to take her turn, in revealing 
 all the Doctor’s weak points. Disappointment 
 awaited her. Why, Mrs. Douglas only called 
 them “ the Doctor’s ways,” to herself. 
 
 i6 
 
The Colonel’s Opera Cloak 
 
 But no, Mrs. St. John was only taking breath 
 to go on with her own affairs. 
 
 “Pomp! Pomp! call Miss Leslie.” 
 
 Pomp opened the door into the hall, when 
 instantly there was a scampering and scuffling. 
 
 “ Yer unmannered boys, hain’t yer got no 
 digion, to make yer act like gent’men? Don’t 
 yer know de Bible, — ‘ ’Member yer fader an’ 
 moder to keep ’em holy ! ’ Peekin’ frou de do’ 
 at de strange lady, actin’ ’s ef yer was raised 
 Norf!” 
 
 Leslie St. John, having been summoned by 
 Pomp, came shyly into the room. Mrs. Doug- 
 las took to her at once. No one could help 
 it, she was so sweet. She drew the girl toward 
 her and kissed her, although she had only meant 
 to shake hands; and Leslie loved her from that 
 minute. 
 
 “ This is the Colonel’s niece, that I was tell- 
 ing you about,” said Mrs. St. John. “ She ’s an 
 orphan, and has n’t a cent. Well, I hope the 
 Northerners are satisfied, when they see the 
 poor starved orphans they made.” And Mrs. 
 St. John looked severely at Mrs. Douglas, as if 
 she had personally been upon the war-path. 
 
 Leslie hung her head : she did not fancy 
 2 17 
 
The Colonel’s Opera Cloak 
 
 being exhibited as a representative Southern 
 orphan. 
 
 The door now opened, and the boys rushed in. 
 
 “ Mamma,” cried one of them, “ excuse me 
 for interrupting you, but we must have a new 
 foot-ball at once.” . 
 
 “ Arthur, you shall not have one cent ! I ’m 
 going to buy coal this time! It ’s a very poor 
 way,” she added, turning to Mrs. Douglas, “ to 
 get it every few hours in a basket. Jasper for- 
 gets it, and the furnace gets low.” 
 
 “ I want a foot-ball, too,” said little Clarence, 
 slipping round to the bed-side. “ Arthur never 
 lets me play with his.” 
 
 “ Look a-here. Missus,” interposed Jasper, 
 with wide-open eyes, “ Massa Clar’nce don’t no 
 more need dat foot-ball dan he needs anoder foot. 
 Dem little ten cent toss-balls is good enough for 
 sech a little boy as Massa Clar’nce.” 
 
 “ ’T ain’t neither,” replied Clarence, aiming a 
 blow at Jasper. 
 
 “Where is that last foot-ball gone?” said 
 Mrs. St. John, languidly. 
 
 “ It ’s burnt up. Missus,” said Jasper. 
 
 “ Who burnt it? ” 
 
 “ Nobody ain’t burnt it but de furnace. Missus. 
 
 i8 
 
The Colonel’s Opera Cloak 
 
 Massa Arthur he put it in de coal-hod when he 
 got frou playin’, an’ I did n’t see it, an’ petched 
 it into de furnace.” 
 
 “ Yer ought to ’er looked,” said Pomp, in a 
 sharp tone, joining the group around Mrs. St. 
 John, which by this time suggested the death- 
 bed of Luther. “ Yer ought to ’er looked to 
 see ef de foot-ball was in de hod ! you ’re drefful 
 keerless. I ’spect some day you ’ll frow de silver 
 teapot, what ’s got Missus’ great-grand-moder’s 
 name on to it, into de furnace.” And Pomp cast 
 a sidelong glance at Mrs. Douglas. “Yer must be 
 more keerful to allers look in de hod : yer burnt 
 up one of my bes’ shoes t’ other day, yer knows.” 
 
 “ Oh, dear,” said Mrs. St. John, fretfully, “ do 
 go away : you want to kill me, I know. Here, 
 Arthur, take this twenty-dollar bill, spend five 
 dollars for all of you, and bring me back the 
 change.” 
 
 Before long, Jasper returned, and laid a bill 
 on the bed. 
 
 “I want — I want — let me see,” said Mrs. 
 St. John : “ why, I want fifteen dollars, and 
 
 here ’s only five.” 
 
 “ Why,” said Jasper, his eyes starting out 
 white and round, “ yer said how ’t every one on 
 
 19 
 
The Colonel’s Opera Cloak 
 
 ’em was to hev five dollars. Massa Arthur an’ 
 Massa Wilfrid dey got foot-balls an’ knives an’ 
 heaps o’ things, an’ Massa Clar’nce kicked ’em, 
 in de store, an’ hollared, an’ dey had to buy 
 him things.” 
 
 “ That ’s just the way those boys act since 
 they came North,” said the poor lady, feebly 
 shaking her head. 
 
 Pomp had been nodding again in the satin 
 chair. He roused himself at Jasper’s voice, and 
 came into the room. 
 
 “ I ’se gwine to market now. Miss Marie,” 
 said he to Mrs. St. John, “ an’ I wants five dol- 
 lars, ef yer pleases. Ef I don’t go now, I ’specs 
 yer ’ll give Massa Cavello a foot-ball next, an’ 
 den dare won’t be no mouf-balls for to eat when 
 de dinner-time comes.” 
 
 Mrs. St. John handed him the money. 
 
 “ Now you ’ve got the last cent. Pomp, and 
 I hope you ’re satisfied ! ” she said. 
 
 “ Ef I could ever git de fust an’ de middle 
 an’ de las’,” said Pomp to himself, “ I reckon 
 things would n’t go so contr’y as dey does now 
 in dis house.” 
 
 Mrs. Douglas was uneasy. What sort of a 
 woman was this? Who were these people? She 
 
 20 
 
The Coloners Opera Cloak 
 
 rose to go. Mrs. St. John begged her to come 
 in often. 
 
 Leslie sat in the shadow. 
 
 “ You must come and see me, my dear,” said 
 Mrs. Douglas, turning to her. 
 
 “ Do you really want me to come? ” asked the 
 girl, brightening. 
 
 “ Leslie ! ” said her aunt, in such a tone that 
 the girl blushed painfully. 
 
 “ Certainly I do,” said the Doctor’s wife. “ I 
 shall look for you next week.” 
 
 During the call, Mrs. St. John had mentioned 
 a friend of the Colonel’s, — Frank Merriam, — 
 whose wife Mrs. Douglas knew. As soon as 
 she reached home, she seated herself and wrote 
 to her friend : — 
 
 Dear Mary, — Did you ever hear of a Colonel 
 St. John? Who is he? Where is he? Where did 
 you hear of him? Did you ever see Mrs. St. John? 
 They have hired an elegantly furnished house on 
 Margrave Street, which now has the air of an auc- 
 tion-shop, — no, that is feeble, — nothing less than 
 an earthquake, assisted by chain-lightning, could 
 have wrought such changes ! 
 
 They evidently walk on the ceiling; the colored 
 servant sleeps in the red satin chairs ; they spill 
 broth over the Moquette carpets, and leave molasses 
 
 21 
 
The Colonel’s Opera Cloak 
 
 candy pans on the piano. Every thing is done that 
 ought not to be done, and nothing is done that ought 
 to be done. 
 
 They take presents of shoes from the Sunday 
 school, and spend fifteen dollars at once for foot- 
 balls and other toys. 
 
 There ’s a Spaniard visiting in the house, whom 
 the lady dislikes very much. 
 
 Do have instant mercy on my curiosity, and let 
 me hear from you. 
 
 She soon received the following reply : — 
 
 Dear Louise, — I have heard of Colonel St. 
 John. When? A few years ago, soon after our 
 marriage. Where ? At Saratoga, — where else 
 does one hear of people? Where is he? Every- 
 where. Who is he? He’s Colonel St. John. 
 
 I have asked Frank for particulars. He says they 
 belong to one of the first Southern families. The 
 Colonel is perfectly respectable, he says, — only 
 rather pompous and “ high-toned.” 
 
 They are poor, having lost every thing in the 
 war, except land of the Colonel’s, somewhere in the 
 South or West. Frank says he lives by selling a 
 piece now and then. There is supposed to be a 
 lead-mine, and it is really believed to be valuable, 
 so that he may be well-ofif some day. 
 
 I don’t know about the Spaniard. Frank says 
 they have a pretty niece: have you seen her? 
 
 22 
 
The Colonel’s Opera Cloak 
 
 Frank sends word that you must not forget to 
 mention their doings whenever you write. He went 
 to their house once. The chain-lightning and the 
 earthquake had been there also! 
 
 I saw the Colonel once at the opera. He looked 
 very picturesque. He wore a cloak lined with scar- 
 let, which gave him a gay, cavalier air. I wanted 
 Frank to buy one, — being romantic in those days, 
 — but he said he would sooner see himself in a 
 gray shawl, pinned at the neck, like old Mr. Simp- 
 son, — do you remember ? 
 
 I would n’t have written to a soul but you to-day, 
 for I have such a cold that I dare say my b’s are all 
 p’s, and my m’s are all b’s. Tell us more. 
 
 23 
 
II 
 
 B essie DOUGLAS was longing to see 
 the St. Johns. Mrs. Douglas’s account 
 of her call had amused Bessie and her friends, 
 Miss Wentworth and Gertrude Henderson, very 
 much. 
 
 “Why cant we have Leslie to tea?” asked 
 Bessie. “What do you suppose she’d wear? 
 Perhaps her aunt’s silk skirt, — perhaps the 
 cavalry-boots you saw in the parlor.” 
 
 “ Perhaps the red cloak which Mrs. Merriam 
 saw on the Colonel, and which I saw on Mrs. 
 St. John,” said Mrs. Douglas, laughing. 
 
 When Leslie was invited to the Doctor’s to 
 tea, she was delighted at first, and then her 
 spirits sank. 
 
 “ O auntie,” she said, “ I can’t go. My dress 
 is n’t nice enough.” 
 
 24 
 
The Coloners Opera Cloak 
 
 I ’ll lend you one of mine,” said Mrs. St. 
 John : “ it will fit you well enough, I reckon, if 
 you pin the waist over. You can have this lilac 
 silk, if you want it.” 
 
 There was a black and white checked silk 
 which Leslie would rather have had, but she 
 knew better than to ask for it; so she took the 
 one offered her, and tried to be thankful. 
 
 “ Yer doesn’t feel happy, does yer, honey?” 
 said Pomp, as he pinned her collar for her, on 
 the day of the visit. 
 
 “ No, Pomp. I would really rather stay at 
 home than wear this waist, but Aunt Marie 
 makes me go.” 
 
 What would yer have, ef I could find it for 
 yer?” asked Pomp, as though he was a good 
 fairy, able to give three gifts for any three 
 requests. 
 
 “ Well, Pomp, if I could have that little red 
 India shawl, I could cover up this waist; but I 
 don’t dare to ask for it, and, if you do, she won’t 
 give it to me.” 
 
 “ Oh, yes, she will ! ” said Pomp, confidently, 
 as he vanished into the back parlor. He rum- 
 maged the bureau-drawers and the wardrobe, 
 until Mrs. St. John fretfully inquired, without 
 
 25 
 
, The Colonel’s Opera Cloak 
 
 raising her eyes from her French novel, what 
 he wanted. 
 
 “ I 'se lookin’ for Massa Clar’nce' new shirt,” 
 replied Pomp. “ I never see how shirts does 
 act, gittin’ into all sorts o' places ! Ef I 'd made 
 clo’es, I 'd a gin 'em ears, so dey ’d come when 
 dey was called. Here yer am ! ” he cried tri- 
 umphantly, shaking out something. I thought 
 I ’d find yer, — none so deef as dem dat won't 
 hear.” And Pornp “ wobbed ” the shawl into a 
 white garment and hurried it out to Leslie. 
 
 Leslie could not remember what she had done 
 with her hat; and, as it was nearly dark, she 
 said she did n't mind, she ’d wear Clarence's. 
 
 Pomp looked at her admiringly as she set it 
 jauntily on her pretty head. Then he wrapped 
 the opera cloak carefully around her, and gazed 
 after her until she turned the corner. 
 
 Leslie had never seen any of the family, ex- 
 cept Mrs. Douglas, and hardly dared to ring the 
 bell and face them all. 
 
 As she hesitated on the steps, a young man 
 came up and put a latch-key in the door. He 
 knew in a moment that this odd-looking girl 
 was Leslie St. John. 
 
 “Have you rung, Miss St. John?” he asked. 
 
 26 
 
The Colonel’s Opera Cloak 
 
 I know you, for my sister told me you were 
 coming to tea.” 
 
 ‘‘ I have n’t rung,” said Leslie, dropping her 
 eyes. That was a bad habit, Tom thought, for 
 such pretty eyes. “ I was waiting a minute to 
 get courage. 1 don’t know your sister.” 
 
 “ You ’ll know her soon,” said Tom, feeling at 
 once as if he were protecting Leslie. “ She ’s 
 easy enough to get acquainted with. You know 
 my mother ? ” 
 
 Yes,” replied Leslie, “ and I think she ’s 
 lovely. She was so kind, to invite me. I ’ve 
 never been out to tea before in my life.” 
 
 What a time it had taken to fit that latch-key! 
 
 At the opening of the front door, Bessie came 
 into the hall. 
 
 “ Oh, how do you do? ” said she, so cordially 
 that Leslie at once felt at ease. “ Did you let 
 her in, Tom? ” 
 
 “ Yes, it was me, 
 
 With my little key, — 
 
 I let her in,” 
 
 said Tom, smiling. 
 
 “ Oh,” thought Leslie, “ what a handsome 
 fellow, and so kind and witty and elegant ! ” 
 
 She went into the parlor, but felt very timid 
 
 27 
 
The Colonel’s Opera Cloak 
 
 when she saw two fashionable young ladies 
 sitting cosily on the sofa by the fire; but she 
 laughed when Bessie introduced her. 
 
 “ Nobody ever called me Miss St. John before, 
 except your brother, on the steps. I forget 
 whom you mean : could n’t you call me Leslie ? ” 
 
 “ I could, and I will,” said Bessie. 
 
 Grace Wentworth made room for Leslie be- 
 side her. Gertrude Henderson looked her over : 
 Leslie felt her eyes, and was uncomfortable. 
 
 Miss Henderson did not say much. She leaned 
 back in her corner, and looked into the fire, hold- 
 ing her delicate hand before her face. How her 
 rings shone and glistened! 
 
 Grace Wentworth and Bessie and Leslie were 
 quite well acquainted by the time the tea-bell 
 rang. 
 
 Tom came in then, and Leslie noticed how 
 Miss Henderson's manner changed. She was 
 no longer listless : her eyes brightened, and she 
 laughed and talked, so that Tom had only a 
 chance to smile and nod to Leslie. 
 
 When they returned to the parlor after tea, 
 before the gas was lighted, Gertrude Henderson 
 played for them. Tom was on the sofa next to 
 Leslie, who had seated herself in the corner. 
 
 28 
 
The Coloners Opera Cloak 
 
 ‘‘How do you like her playing?’’ he asked, 
 leaning toward her, while the others were calling 
 for their favorite pieces. 
 
 “ Oh, it is splendid,” said Leslie, “ only we 
 ought to have lights, blazing lights, and every- 
 body should be dancing and wear gay dresses, 
 and there should be long mirrors everywhere to 
 make it brighter and gayer.” 
 
 “ Exactly! ” said Tom, looking at her with his 
 handsome smiling eyes, — “ that ’s exactly Ger- 
 trude’s music. I wonder how you ’ll like Grace 
 Wentworth’s ! ” 
 
 Tom did not talk any more to Leslie after 
 Miss Henderson ceased playing. He and Ger- 
 trude seemed to talk for all the rest. She was 
 very amusing, and Tom teased her. Leslie won- 
 dered how he dared to do so; but Miss Hender- 
 son seemed to like it. The others listened and 
 laughed. 
 
 After a while, Grace Wentworth played; and 
 Leslie was enchanted. 
 
 “Do you like that?” asked Tom. 
 
 “ Oh, I do, I do,” said Leslie : “ that ’s just the 
 kind I always knew I ’d like. I never heard it 
 before. I want to shut my eyes and forget every 
 thing.” 
 
 29 
 
The Colonel’s Opera Cloak 
 
 “And everybody?” asked Tom. “Can’t I 
 speak to you again?” 
 
 “ Oh, I did n’t mean that,” said Leslie, quite 
 shocked at her seeming rudeness. “ I only 
 meant that this was the sort of music for the 
 dark and quiet times. Do you like it?” 
 
 “ With all my heart,” said Tom. “ Don’t you 
 sing? You look as if you did.” 
 
 “ Oh, yes, I sing for myself, and for Pomp, 
 and to put Clarence to sleep, and for Mr. Cavello 
 — sometimes.” 
 
 “ You don’t sing Mr. Cavello to sleep, do 
 you?” asked Tom, laughing. 
 
 “ Mercy, no ! ” said Leslie. “ I reckon you 
 don’t know who Mr. Cavello is.” 
 
 “ Can’t you add me to the list of the people 
 you sing to ? Come, Grace is through ; ” and 
 Tom took her hand to lead her to the piano. 
 
 “ Oh, I don’t play a bit,” said Leslie, drawing 
 back ; “ I only sing. I ’d rather sing here in 
 the corner.” 
 
 “ Oh, do sing,” said Bessie and Grace, who 
 had been listening; “we like the voice alone.” 
 
 What queer singing it was! The room was 
 perfectly silent. Every one listened. Her voice 
 had a sweet, far-away sound. 
 
 30 
 
The Colonel’s Opera Cloak 
 
 ** The earliest pipe of half-awakened birds,” 
 Tom said to himself. 
 
 She sang to a swinging, chanting sort of 
 air, — 
 
 “ There was a little white cloud in the sky, 
 
 I saw it float and float ; 
 
 I said I will take it for a sign 
 Of my own dear sailor’s boat. 
 
 If the little white cloud shall safely sail 
 By the black cloud rack in the West, 
 
 I know my lad will come sailing, sailing 
 To the lass his heart loves best. 
 
 And the little white cloud, it safely sailed 
 By the black cloud rack in the West, 
 
 So I know my love will come sailing, sailing 
 To the lass his heart loves best.” 
 
 Another ! another ! ” cried Bessie. “ Your 
 voice is lovely. Don’t you think so, Gertrude? ” 
 
 “Yes,” said she. “With whom did you study. 
 Miss St. John? ” 
 
 “ I never studied at all, except when I went to 
 Miss Paynter’s boarding-school, and then I didn’t 
 learn much,” said Leslie, laughing. “ Her niece 
 came over from England, and she taught me 
 my songs. I had a fever when I was there, 
 and she took all the care of me, and was so 
 kind! She used to sing to me half through 
 the night, — it was better than medicine. She 
 sang another song that I like.” 
 
 31 
 
The Coloners Opera Cloak 
 
 “ Oh, do sing something else,” said Grace and 
 Tom at once. 
 
 The door-bell rang violently. 
 
 “Why do people have door-bells!” said Bessie, 
 impatiently. 
 
 A strange voice was heard in the hall. The 
 door opened to admit the visitor. Leslie shrank 
 back into the shadow. 
 
 Mrs. Douglas recognized the sallow face of 
 the gentleman who had balanced himself over 
 the banisters the day she called on Mrs. St. 
 John. 
 
 The lights were low, and the Doctor turned 
 them up. 
 
 “ I am Mr. Cavello,” said the stranger, stand- 
 ing in the middle of the room and bowing. 
 “ Mrs. St. John, she has sent me to have Miss 
 Leslie home.” 
 
 “ I told Pomp to come for me,” said Leslie, 
 from the dark corner. 
 
 Mr. Cavello turned toward her eagerly. 
 “ Your aunt needed Pomp, Miss Leslie.” 
 
 “Then why didn't the boys come?” she asked. 
 “ I told Pomp to send them, if he was busy.” 
 
 “ Myself wanted to come,’* said Mr. Cavello, 
 standing near her, and looking straight into her 
 32 
 
The Colonel’s Opera Cloak 
 
 eyes, as if no one else was in the room. “ I 
 wanted to come.” 
 
 “ I ’m not going now,” said Leslie, turning 
 her head away almost rudely. 
 
 Mrs. Douglas, to break the awkward silence, 
 introduced Mr. Cavello to the young ladies, 
 who were quite ready to be diverted by this 
 addition to their circle. 
 
 Leslie slipped away to the other sofa, and 
 seated herself by the Doctor, with a little smile 
 which said so plainly, May 1 ? ” that the good 
 Doctor shook up the sofa pillow, and said, Cer- 
 tainly, my dear, — certainly.” 
 
 Then Tom came, and asked her about her 
 songs, and she brightened in spite of the dark 
 looks which Mr. Cavello sent toward her, and 
 Miss Henderson’s open endeavors to entice Tom 
 to her side. 
 
 Soon Mr. Cavello was absorbed in Miss Went- 
 worth’s playing, and offered to sing a Spanish 
 song with the guitar ; and he showed Miss Hen- 
 derson the accompaniment, “ turn, turn, turn ; ” 
 then the minor chord, ‘‘ la, la, la, la, la.” — “ You 
 see how it runs.” Then he wrote the words 
 for Miss Wentworth, .who was delighted with 
 the air. 
 
 3 
 
 33 
 
The Coloners Opera Cloak 
 
 It was charming music. ]\Ir. Cavello's voice 
 was rich, and the dainty tinkle of the guitar 
 seemed like the sound of far-off water. 
 
 Aliss Wentworth said that, if she shut her 
 eyes, she could see a Spanish girl dancing in the 
 sunshine, with a rose in her hair and a lace scarf 
 flying. 
 
 “ Miss Leslie, she can dance to my music, and 
 make a prettier picture to your open eyes,” said 
 Mr. Cavello, turning toward her. “ Come, Miss 
 Leslie, you have a red shawl there.” 
 
 The color faded from Leslie's cheeks ; her 
 pretty enthusiasm was gone. 
 
 “ I cannot dance to your music, Mr. Cavello,” 
 she said. “ I 'm not a Spanish girl, — I don't 
 know how.” 
 
 The girls begged her to dance; but she shut 
 her lips tightly and shook her head, and they 
 saw that it was of no use *to urge her. 
 
 While Mr. Cavello was tuning the guitar, the 
 bell rang furiously again, and the hall was filled 
 with boys’ voices. The little St. Johns had 
 arrived in full force! 
 
 “ Mrs. Douglas,” said Arthur, coming for- 
 ward in his graceful way, “ Pomp sent us for 
 Leslie.” 
 
 34 
 
The Colonel’s Opera Cloak 
 
 But I am come for her, too,” said Mr. Ca- 
 vello. You may go back” — A third ring 
 drowned his words. A servant hurried to the 
 door. 
 
 “ Is Massa Cavello here ? ” said a funny little 
 voice. “ Is Massa Arthur here, an’ Massa Wil- 
 frid here, an’ Massa Clar’nce here, an’ Miss 
 Leslie here?” And Jasper appeared at the 
 parlor door. 
 
 ‘‘Who sent you here, Jasper?” said Arthur. 
 “ Go home ! ” 
 
 “ My gran’ fa’ told me to come an’ see ’f 
 yer ’d minded him, to come fur Miss Leslie. He 
 s’pected yer ’d done gone off to de theatre, an’ 
 forgot Miss Leslie; an’ she said how ’t she’d 
 never go home, never, if Massa Cavello corned 
 fur her.” 
 
 “ Well, we did come,” said Wilfrid ; “ but 
 we ’re going home, and Mr. Cavello’ is going to 
 take her back.” 
 
 “My gran’ fa’ said how’t Massa Cavello warn’t 
 fur to take her home,” said Jasper. 
 
 “ Go home }^ourself, and tell Pomp to mind 
 his own business,” said Arthur, shutting the par- 
 lor door in Jasper’s face, and quietly seating 
 himself, as if nothing had happened, 
 
 35 
 
The Coloners Opera Cloak 
 
 “ Please go on with your music. I ’m very 
 sorry to have interrupted you, ladies,” he said. 
 
 “Oh, dear!” whispered Leslie to Tom, who 
 was still by her. “ Oh, dear, I am so, so sorry ! 
 Your mother will never invite me here again. 
 I ’d rather have gone with Mr. Cavello than to 
 have had them all act so.” 
 
 The boys sat quietly for a while, and then, see- 
 ing that this was no party, and that no ice-cream 
 was forthcoming, bade the family good-night, 
 and ran out without one word to Leslie. 
 
 The girls were delighted with the new music, 
 and begged Mr. Cavello to give them another 
 song. 
 
 Tom took Leslie into the back parlor to show 
 her a picture he had been telling her about. It 
 was a bit of clover-field; and in a cleared place 
 in the foreground two little fairies, with pale 
 blue wings, were “ teetering ” on a blade of grass 
 thrown across a strawberry plant. 
 
 Leslie was pleased with it. 
 
 “ The lady who painted that dreamed it first, 
 I know,” she said. 
 
 “ But it was nh a lady, at all,” said Tom : “ it 
 was a young man, a friend of mine, — Bob 
 Simpson. He lives abroad now. I wish I 
 36 
 
The Colonel’s Opera Cloak 
 
 could show you his pictures. They are very 
 funny, — many of them. He ’s making money 
 fast. Funny pictures sell, — people like to be 
 amused.” 
 
 I think I should get tired of a funny picture,” 
 said Leslie. “ I could nt laugh very long at it. 
 I 'd rather borrow one, and send it home again. 
 But I don’t know any thing about pictures, as 
 you do.” 
 
 “ Do you remember Hamon’s ‘ Autumn,’ or 
 the ‘ Twilight ’ ? ” asked Tom. 
 
 “ No,” said Leslie. She did not like sentences 
 beginning, “Do you remember?” or “Do you 
 know ? ” 
 
 “ They are dainty little things. I know you ’d 
 like them. I ’ll bring you the photographs some 
 day,” he went on. 
 
 How delightful ! So there was to be a “ some 
 day ” to look forward to. 
 
 Neither of these young people was saying any 
 thing remarkable; but they were very much in- 
 terested in what they said. Tom was handsome, 
 and was making himself agreeable to the dark, 
 slender girl, who looked at him with shy admir- 
 ing eyes. He liked that better than any fine 
 thing she could have said; and she would not 
 37 
 
The Coloners Opera Cloak 
 
 have exchanged him for the most learned man 
 in the world. 
 
 “ If you don’t join us soon,” said Gertrude 
 Henderson, looking in and shaking her head at 
 Tom, “ I ’ll punish you ! I ’ll sing ‘ Silver 
 threads among the golden,’ or ‘ Taking the year 
 together, my dear,’ or ‘ O father, dear father, 
 come home to us now.’ ” And she looked so 
 handsome and spoke so bewitchingly that Leslie 
 wondered how he could help going to her. 
 
 “ Or ‘ Darling, kiss my eyelids down,’ ” said 
 Bessie, coming in and laughing. 
 
 ‘‘ I can kiss my own eyelids down very well, 
 thank you,” said Tom. “ If you ’ll find some 
 darling to kiss them up for me in the morning, 
 I ’ll be much obliged to you.” 
 
 “ Why don’t you go back ? ” said Leslie. “ I 
 am taking too much of your time, — you are so 
 kind.” 
 
 “ I ’m never kind. I am always selfish, and 
 please myself,” said the young fellow, looking 
 down at her. “ I stay here because I like to. I 
 don’t believe Mr. Cavello thinks I ’m very kind.” 
 
 When little Jasper was shut out of the parlor, 
 he had seated himself at the back of the hall to 
 enjoy the music; and, lulled by it, and soothed 
 
 38 
 
The Coloners Opera Cloak 
 
 by the warmth from the register near him, he 
 nodded off to sleep. 
 
 Suddenly he awoke. The music had ceased. 
 The opera cloak and a little hat hung on the rack 
 beside him. He rubbed his eyes, and remem- 
 bered where he was. Forgetting that he had 
 run off bare-headed, he snatched the hat from the 
 peg, threw the well-known cloak about him, and 
 dashed past the open parlor door at full speed. 
 
 Mr. Cavello looked over his shoulder. The 
 flying cape caught his eye, and at the sound of 
 the closing door he sprang from his seat, caught 
 his coat and hat from the hall table, and “ slam ” 
 went the door behind him. 
 
 None of the others had seen Jasper’s flight, 
 and so they were all wonder-struck at Mr. Ca- 
 vello’ s sudden departure. 
 
 “ Perhaps there ’s ‘ Spanish leave,’ as well 
 as ' French leave,’ ” said Bessie. Perhaps he 
 could n’t bear to say good-by : some people 
 can’t.” Then she burst out laughing. It was 
 certainly very funny; and Grace laughed, and 
 they all laughed until the tears ran down their 
 cheeks. 
 
 Tom and Leslie came from the back parlor to 
 share the fun. Mr. Cavello was gone, and the 
 39 
 
The Colonel’s Opera Cloak 
 
 family were crying with laughter. No one could 
 explain. 
 
 “ Mr. Cavello ” — said Bessie, and went off 
 into another spasm. 
 
 “ Mr. Cavello ” — said Grace Wentworth, and 
 then words failed her. 
 
 “ Of all your attendants. Miss Leslie,” said 
 Tom, “ I am the only one left. You ’ll let me 
 go home with 
 won’t you ? ” 
 
 “Thank you,” 
 
 I ’m ashamed 
 I must go now.’ 
 them good-night, 
 with Bessie into 
 The opera cbak 
 was gone, — so 
 was Clarence’s hat ! 
 
 They sought them 
 everywhere in vain. 
 
 “ Perhaps the 
 boys took them,” 
 said Leslie. 
 
 ‘‘ No,” said 
 Tom, “ I saw the boys go out. Mr. Cavello, 
 perhaps? ” 
 
 40 
 
The Coloners Opera Cloak 
 
 No/’ said Bessie. ‘‘ His hat was on the 
 table. He caught it on the wing.” 
 
 The cloak and hat were nowhere to be found. 
 So Bessie lent Leslie a pink cloud, — oh, how 
 pretty she looked in it ! — and a heavy shawl, 
 and Tom opened the door. 
 
 There stood Pomp, his white eyes shining. 
 
 The boys ain’t corhe home, nor Jasper 
 ain’t come home, an’ I was afeard Miss Leslie 
 would n’t come with Massa Cavello, so I come 
 along myself.” 
 
 They told him of the disappearance of the 
 cloak and of Mr. Cavello. 
 
 Pomp shook his head : it was too deep for him. 
 
 Now you’ll have just the escort you wanted,” 
 said Miss Henderson’s smooth voice; but Tom 
 said he must go too, to see that every thing was 
 right. He tucked Leslie’s hand in his arm, 
 much to the delight of Pomp, who ambled on 
 behind, proud of his darling’s conquest. 
 
 Mr. Cavello had seen Leslie leave home at dusk, 
 arrayed in the opera cloak and Clarence’s hat; 
 and so, when the flying red cape caught his eye 
 in the Doctor’s hall, he thought the girl was 
 slipping away from him with his rival, and, his 
 hot blood rising, he flew after her. 
 
 41 
 
The Colonel’s Opera Cloak 
 
 He had hardly run a block, when he saw that 
 the cloak was worn by a boy, and that boy, John 
 Jasper. Jasper was running at full speed; but, 
 
 << hearing quick steps behind, he 
 
 turned and saw Mr. Cavello mak- 
 ing after him. 
 
 Terror lent him 
 wings, and on he 
 rushed. What could 
 Mr. Cavello want but 
 to shake him ? And that 
 was what Mr. Cavello 
 certainly did want. 
 
 Up and down and 
 through narrow streets 
 Mr. Cavello chased the 
 little black boy, who 
 dodged and hid, and 
 finally fled into a dark 
 alley and eluded the 
 
 enraged lover. 
 
 “ I ’ll break every bone into his body,” said 
 Mr. Cavello, “ when I do 
 catch him ! ” But he did 
 not catch him! 
 
 As he reached the steps 
 42 
 
The Coloners Opera Cloak 
 
 of the St. Johns’ house from one direction, Tom, 
 Pomp, and Leslie approached from the other. 
 They hung back until he had gone in; and then 
 little Jasper appeared, out of breath and panting, 
 and told how Mr. Cavello had chased him, and he 
 “ had n’t done nothin’.” Jasper wore the cloak 
 and hat, and so it was all explained; and Tom 
 was able to clear up the mystery for the ladies 
 on his return. 
 
 Leslie said she should love the Colonel’s opera 
 cloak for ever, because it had saved her from 
 Mr. Cavello’ s escort. 
 
 43 
 
m 
 
 OM had met Leslie many times in the 
 
 street since the tea-party, and had walked 
 home with her. He thought her the very sweet- 
 est girl he had ever seen, but he reflected that 
 often before he had met “ the very sweetest 
 girl,” and then had changed his mind. But 
 this is different,” said the young fellow to him- 
 self : “ she seems to belong to me, somehow.” 
 He called on her one afternoon to give her 
 the photographs he had promised. ‘ I have 
 something else,” he said. “ My friend John 
 Ackerman, who paints so beautifully, has the 
 nicest wife ! I ’ll take you there some day.” 
 What, another “ some day,” thought Leslie. “ I 
 took tea with them the other evening, and she 
 gave me two little poems about these very pic- 
 tures, — they are favorites of hers, it seems, — 
 
 44 
 
The Colonel’s Opera Cloak 
 
 and I have brought them to you. Do you care 
 for verses?” 
 
 “ Yes,” said Leslie, I like just to say my 
 songs over for the sake of the words. And does 
 Mrs. Ackerman paint, too? I wonder if she 
 loves to make pictures and poetry ? I wish you ’d 
 ask her some time. I don’t know anybody who 
 makes poetry. I ’m so sorry in the spring and 
 summer that I can’t say how lovely it is.” 
 
 “ She does n’t call this poetry ; she said they 
 were rhymes,” said Tom. 
 
 “I’d like to paint,” said Leslie; “only I’d 
 have to paint splendidly, I suppose, to enjoy it.” 
 
 “ I don’t know that. I know an old fellow in 
 town who paints — I could n’t say horribly, for 
 the drawing is pretty good, and I ’ve seen worse 
 color; but the very thing that ought to be there 
 is n’t there. His landscapes never make me feel 
 
 ‘ I have been here before, 
 
 But how or when I cannot tell.’ 
 
 His portraits never make me say 
 
 ‘ As if her image in a glass 
 Had tarried when herself had gone.*” 
 
 Leslie thought Tom was making it up, quota- 
 tions and all, and she listened with admiration. 
 
 45 
 
The Coloners Opera Cloak 
 
 “ Do people buy the old man’s pictures?" 
 
 “ Oh, once in a while, — often enough to keep 
 him from starving. He lives behind a green 
 baize screen in his studio, which is a forlorn 
 little room, close under the 
 roof. He cooks his own 
 food, and mends his 
 own clothes, and 
 sleeps in some kind 
 of a sofa thing, 
 which he makes 
 y up at bed-time. 
 . The artists feel 
 sorry for him. 
 They help him 
 along ; and they 
 love him, too, 
 for his enthu- 
 siasm. He 
 thinks next 
 year and next year he ’ll be a great painter.” 
 
 “ Is n’t it strange,” said Leslie, “ that he has 
 such enthusiasm for an art he has no genius 
 for!” 
 
 “ Ackerman says he has talent for business, 
 but he ’d rather starve, as a painter, than earn a 
 46 
 
The Coloners Opera Cloak 
 
 good income in any other way. He has a patient 
 look on his face that is very touching, — poor 
 old Thompson ! I bought a picture of him once, 
 and gave it to a hospital. I hope it did n’t harm 
 any of the patients. I ’ve wondered whether 
 each picture disappoints him, or whether he only 
 thinks the world is dull at recognizing genius.” 
 Leslie was touched by this description. 
 ‘‘Where does he live?” she asked. “I’ll get 
 Uncle to buy some pictures of him, — they ’d 
 do for us ; — we don’t know as much about pic- 
 tures as you do.” 
 
 “ They would n’t answer for you,” said Tom. 
 “You are so quick to see beautiful things that 
 they would vex you all the time. You would 
 know a good from a bad picture, I am sure.” 
 Leslie was delighted with the praise. “ Well, 
 if we did n’t like his landscapes,” she said, 
 “ Uncle might have the boys’ portraits taken, 
 and mine.” 
 
 “Heaven forbid!” said Tom; and then he 
 laughed to think of the simper which Thompson 
 would invent for Leslie’s mouth. “ He must 
 have known Susan Fields sometime, I think. I 
 went to school to her when I was a little chap. 
 She wore a long curl behind each ear, and she 
 47 
 
The Coloners Opera Cloak 
 
 used to snap me on my head with her thimble. 
 The art-instruction she gave me was that, if I 
 wanted to make a face smile, I must turn the 
 corners of the mouth up ; if I wanted a despond- 
 ing expression, I must turn them down. What 
 stuff!” said Tom, bursting into a laugh at the 
 recollection. 
 
 “ Your friend Mr. Ackerman gets a great 
 deal of money for his pictures, I suppose,” 
 said Leslie : “ he paints good portraits, does n't 
 he? ” 
 
 “ Perfect,” said Tom. “ I M like to have him 
 paint you. He asked me if he might do so for 
 the Exhibition ; but I should n’t like to have your 
 face there, for people to make their idiotic com- 
 ments on.” 
 
 Tom stopped. What right had he to Leslie’s 
 face? 
 
 “Why, when did he see me?” asked Leslie, 
 in surprise. 
 
 “ One day when we were walking. He wants 
 you to come to his studio.” 
 
 “What could he want me for in a picture?” 
 said Leslie. “ Does n’t he know Miss Hen- 
 derson? She’s splendid, I think, — she’s so 
 handsome.” 
 
 48 
 
The Coloners Opera Cloak 
 
 Tom could n't help laughing. Ackerman 
 wanted a face for the line, 
 
 “ I never loved but ain.” 
 
 Gertrude Henderson! she would be a model 
 for a genre picture, in a long-trained French 
 dress, looking over her shoulder into a mirror, 
 or chirping to a parrot in a dainty boudoir. 
 
 “ You have n’t read the verses,” said Tom. 
 “Do you see? This young lady in the picture, 
 with her hand over her eyes, is Miss Autumn, 
 killing the flowers. The young gentleman be- 
 hind is Indian Summer, giving them another 
 chance.” 
 
 “I like this,” said Leslie, reading: — 
 
 * The foolish leaves, who long to follow 
 The southward flitting of the swallow ! * 
 
 “ I like to play that flowers and leaves are 
 alive, and know all that we do, and are sorry 
 and glad, and have friends, and all that.” 
 
 “ Mrs. Ackerman’s cousin married Simpson, 
 who painted the fairy picture you liked,” said 
 Tom. 
 
 “And does his wife paint, too?” asked little 
 Leslie, pitifully. Did all the ladies Tom knew 
 4 49 
 
The Coloners Opera Cloak 
 
 play and paint and write poetry, she asked 
 herself. 
 
 “ No, she is only bright and helpful to have 
 about,” said Tom. “ Simpson calls her ‘ Daily 
 Food.’ ” 
 
 “ That ’s a very nice name to be called,” said 
 Leslie. “ What does Mr. Ackerman call his 
 wife? ” 
 
 “ I don’t know, — Mary, I believe. They 
 don’t do their love-making before people, as the 
 Simpsons do. But Ackerman was glad enough 
 to get his wife. I know they had a very romantic 
 story. Mrs. Simpson told it to me.” 
 
 “ I wish you ’d read this aloud to me,” said 
 Leslie, holding out the verses : — 
 
 High up, upon the windy hill, 
 
 Swingeth a little Wild-rose still : 
 
 None had been seen for many a morn 
 Till the chill hour when this was born. 
 
 It swingeth east, it swingeth west. 
 
 It has no time for idle rest. 
 
 For never hath a Wild-rose seen 
 The world in aught save summer green, 
 
 And Sumach clump and Maple bough 
 With autumn’s fires are burning now. 
 
 To share the Rose’s lucky lot, 
 Blooms the last blue Forget-me-not; 
 
 50 
 
The Coloners Opera Cloak 
 
 And these two marvel much, I wis, 
 
 To see such wondrous sights as this, — 
 Like drifts of rain-clouds through the sky 
 The birds at eve go hurrying by ; 
 
 The bright leaves flutter on the wind, 
 
 As ill content to stay behind, — 
 
 The foolish leaves, who long to follow 
 The southward flitting of the swallow ! 
 
 At eve came Autumn to the hill. 
 
 Where swung the little Wild-rose still. 
 Where bloomed the blue Forget-me-not 
 Beside it, in a sheltered spot. 
 
 Like morning mist they saw her pass, 
 
 Nor stepped she on the crisp brown grass. 
 The West Wind met her coming down, 
 And flew to bear her trailing gown. 
 
 Within whose folds the Summer’s fair 
 Last flowers she bore with tender care, — 
 The purple Aster wet with dew. 
 
 The Goldenrod and Feverfew; 
 
 And gathered spears of golden wheat 
 From brown wild grasses at her feet. 
 
 She droops her head with plaintive grace 
 To hide her tearful eyes and face, 
 
 As deeming that an evil hour 
 Which marks the blighting of a flower. 
 Then on the little bloom of blue 
 A hollow golden cone she threw. 
 
 And on the Wild-rose, freshly blown. 
 Another little golden cone. 
 
 She lays her hands across her eyes, 
 
 Nor waits to hear their parting sighs. 
 
 51 
 
The Colonel’s Opera Cloak 
 
 As in the sunshine sails the mote, 
 
 See Indian Summer idly float — 
 
 A baby summer, sweet and fair — 
 Delicious languors on the air 
 And keen, fresh odors from the field, 
 
 A silvery mist the meadows yield 
 To veil the hills no longer fair. 
 
 And throw o’er all a dreamland air. 
 
 His golden rod with certain sway 
 Uplifts the golden cones away. 
 
 “ I Ve slept,” said little Rose, “ and what 
 Did’st thou, my dear Forget-me-not?” 
 
 A little child went singing by, 
 
 In childish treble clear and high, 
 
 “Sweet is the day the Lord was born. 
 And sweet the resurrection morn.” 
 Clearer and clearer trilled her voice, 
 
 “’T is the Lord’s day, let all rejoice ! ” 
 She took the path across the hill, — 
 
 “ F orget-me-not and Wild-rose still ? 
 
 O joy ! The mill-maid need not go 
 Without the flowers she longs for so.” 
 
 The little maiden in the mill 
 
 Lay on her bed so white and still, — 
 
 So white and still, she well might seem 
 A moonlight maiden in a dream. 
 
 “ Forget-me-not and love’s own red ! 
 
 The Lord hath sent them me,” she said. 
 When the last light had left the west, 
 The dead flowers lay on her dead breast. 
 
 52 
 
The Coloners Opera Cloak 
 
 “ Now read the other/’ said Leslie. It is 
 lovely to know the , story of a picture. Does its 
 name mean twilight, did you say ? ” 
 
 Tom read on. What is more delightful than 
 an audience of one, when that one is a pretty 
 girl with soft, dark eyes? 
 
 Tom looked up once in a while to see if Leslie 
 was listening. 
 
 Before the little candle’s light 
 
 Had showed the darkness of the night, 
 
 When slowly home, in full content. 
 
 The cows through herby pastures went, 
 
 The little herd-girl saw a sight 
 Which filled her with a strange delight: 
 
 The grassy hill rose black and high 
 On the pale background of the sky ; 
 
 There like a fire of glowing red 
 The scarlet Poppy waved its head ; 
 
 There, when the air was dead and still, 
 
 In village streets below the hill, 
 
 The little breezes danced all night, 
 
 And frolicked in the still moonlight. 
 
 She saw, as in a magic boat. 
 
 The Spirit of the Twilight float; 
 
 Clear on her brow, she saw the fair 
 White star of evening gleaming there. 
 
 Her fluttering mantle folded tight, 
 
 To cheat the chilly dews of night. 
 
 A North Wind, flercely rushing there. 
 
 Had sought to bear her through the air 
 He caught her in his rude embrace. 
 
 And showered wild kisses on her face. 
 
 53 
 
The Coloners Opera Cloak 
 
 Then came an East Wind, sweeping down 
 From wearied sick folk in the town ; 
 
 He tore her mantle wide apart, 
 
 And strove to chill her glowing heart. 
 
 A West Wind to her rescue flew, 
 
 But what could he between the two ? 
 
 A wind in silence from the south 
 Laid tender kisses on her mouth. 
 
 Her trembling limbs he closer drew. 
 
 Round her his warm, strong arms he threw, 
 And, folded in a close embrace. 
 
 With heart to heart and face to face. 
 
 They floated till the black of night 
 Had shut the star-gleam from her sight. 
 
 The little maiden, shy with awe. 
 
 Told not her mother what she saw ; 
 
 And, when the next morn shed its gleam, 
 She smiled, and thought it all a dream. 
 
 A painter, sketching in the shade. 
 
 Held converse with the little maid. 
 
 And from his glowing colors drew 
 This picture, beautiful as true. 
 
 With quiet face and earnest eyes, 
 
 The child looked on in still surprise. 
 
 So wonderful a thing it seemed 
 To paint the colors she had dreamed. 
 
 Then one who loved the picture well 
 Sought in a simple rhyme to tell 
 (As tints reflected in a pool) 
 
 The story of La Crepuscule. 
 
 Oh, what a voice Tom had! It was made 
 purpose to read poetry with, Leslie thought. 
 54 
 
The Coloners Opera Cloak 
 
 She pinned the photographs on the wall of her 
 room, and learned the verses by heart. 
 
 Some time after this, Tom took Leslie to the 
 studio. It was in Mr. Ackerman’s house. Oh, 
 such a beautiful house! The doorways were 
 curtained, and there were china plates on the 
 wall. That almost made Leslie laugh. The fur- 
 niture had tiles set in it, and it was painted beau- 
 tifully, and looked just as if it belonged to the 
 house, — as indeed it did. Mr. Ackerman had 
 designed every piece. 
 
 Leslie had never been in a studio before, and 
 she was delighted with the old furniture, the rugs 
 and tapestry, the vases, and all the odd things 
 which made up the orderly disorder. 
 
 And Mrs. Ackerman was so lovely, — no, not 
 lovely, — so charming. She took the young girl 
 around the room, and told her about the pretty 
 things, and made her forget herself altogether. 
 
 She “ gauged ” Leslie, as she called it, with 
 a little portfolio of pictures. Leslie nodded as 
 she turned them over, and said, “ That ’s lovely ! ” 
 or “ Oh, how pretty ! ” At last, Mrs. Acker- 
 man came to a picture of a wide plain without a 
 tree. On the far horizon the great moon was 
 rising. A shepherd followed by his flock was 
 55 
 
The Colonel’s Opera Cloak 
 
 going toward the moon. There was very little 
 color in the picture. 
 
 “Oh!” said Leslie, with a long-drawn sigh; 
 and she looked up with brightening eyes at Mrs. 
 Ackerman. 
 
 sunlight which gleamed through the gray clouds ; 
 and one, of a pure sky, and apple-trees in blossom. 
 These were Leslie’s favorites. 
 
 While Mr. Ackerman was showing Leslie his 
 56 
 
The Colonel’s Opera Cloak 
 
 old-fashioned costumes, Mrs. Ackerman took 
 Tom into her cozy corner. 
 
 “ She is sweet and sincere/’ she said. ‘‘ I hope 
 you ’ll bring her again. I covet her face for one 
 of John’s pictures. I tested her with my gaug- 
 ing portfolio, and she bore it bravely. It was a 
 pleasure to see the child divine the best things; 
 and she has never seen pictures, you say?” 
 
 “ No,” said Tom, “ but she seems intuitively 
 to choose the best in every thing.” 
 
 “Does she?” said Mrs. Ackerman, laughing. 
 Tom wanted to kiss her, he was so grateful 
 to her. Leslie little knew why he sang his 
 friend’s praises all the way home. 
 
 57 
 
IV 
 
 T he winter passed on, enlivened by various 
 events in the family on Margrave Street. 
 “ What about the St. Johns now? was often 
 the question, at tea-time, at the Doctor’s. The 
 St. Johns were always getting into trouble; and 
 they dragged the Douglas family into it, in one 
 way or another. 
 
 The boys “ made believe ” go to school, but 
 played truant half the time. Work of any sort 
 was not for the noble young scions of a house 
 of the “ Chivalry.” Until a royal road to learn- 
 ing was discovered, learning was relegated to 
 “ muckers,” as these young gentlemen styled the 
 Northern boys. 
 
 Living in the streets as they did, it was little 
 wonder that they made strange acquaintances. 
 A great lazy fellow, seeing how freely they threw 
 58 
 
The Colonel’s Opera Cloak 
 
 away money, once urged them into a partner- 
 ship in a pop-beer and peanut stand. When 
 Leslie found it out, she cried ; but Mrs. St. 
 John laughed. It struck her like a prank of 
 young princes. 
 
 “ They ’ll only lose money. They won’t make 
 a cent,” she said, as if the only harm could be in 
 making money. 
 
 Arthur St. John complimented little Ned 
 Douglas by confiding to him some coarse yellow 
 and green handbills, with instructions to ride in 
 the different horse-cars, and to hand the bills to 
 the passengers and throw them from the win- 
 dows. He was to spend his own money for 
 fares, and take his pay in pop-beer and peanuts, 
 so the “ pardner ” suggested. 
 
 The stand was in one of the business streets; 
 and “ Jim Kelly ” turned many a penny, while 
 the St. John boys had only the excitement and 
 the peanuts. 
 
 Tom saw his little brother one day stand- 
 ing on a corner, giving away handbills. He 
 took him by the ear, and walked him into a 
 doorway. 
 
 “ You little villain ! ” said he, reading one of 
 the bills, “what are you up to? Didn’t I tell 
 59 
 
The Coloners Opera Cloak 
 
 you not to play with those St. John boys, nor to 
 go to their house? ’’ 
 
 “ You go there yourself,” whined little Ned, 
 wriggling out of his big brother’s clutches. 
 “You go to see Leslie yourself! The boys say 
 you do. But Mr. Cavello ’s going to take her 
 away. She won’t have you! Let me go! ” 
 
 “ What do you think mother will say to you ? 
 I fancy that the spanking days are not over yet, 
 my young friend,” said Tom, with unnecessary 
 fervor. “ Come with me ! ” 
 
 Tom made Ned give the handbills to Mr. 
 Kelly, of the pop-beer stand, and paid him a 
 quarter for the peanuts the young “ drummer ” 
 had taken out for pay. 
 
 “ Let me see your license ! ” said he. 
 
 The big fellow was scared, and confessed that 
 he had none. 
 
 “ If this is n’t shut up to-morrow, I ’ll see you 
 in court, my friend,’* said Tom. 
 
 When the St. Johns, with mouths prepared for 
 peanuts, joyfully repaired to the corner the next 
 morning, the stand, the boy, the pop-beer, pea- 
 nuts and handbills had vanished like a vision of 
 the night. 
 
 6o 
 
The Colonel’s Opera Cloak 
 
 One day Pomp appeared at the Doctor’s, with 
 a large tray containing a Southern breakfast, — 
 hoe-cake, hominy and bacon. 
 
 ‘‘ Missus sends her compl’ments,” said the 
 old fellow. “ She ain’t very well. She ’s an 
 infidel sometimes. No, not ’zackly an infidel, 
 neither. She gits well mostly when dare ’s 
 new dresses, or suthin’ goin’ on, or de Colonel 
 comes home. I cooked 
 dis on purpose for 
 yer.” 
 
 Pomp had brought 
 the waiter through the 
 streets uncovered, with 
 the Colonel’s opera 
 cloak, which was 
 hooked round his 
 neck, flapping its red 
 wings on either side as 
 he walked, like a great 
 flamingo. 
 
 Bessie wondered how they had lived before the 
 St. Johns came to enliven their dull days. The 
 Southern breakfast was set on the sideboard for 
 Tom, as a sample of what Leslie’s husband would 
 have to eat. 
 
 6i 
 
The Coloners Opera Cloak 
 
 It ’s about time for another scene/’ said 
 Bessie, one afternoon. “ I wonder what they ’re 
 getting up now ! ” 
 
 One morning, not long after this, Leslie came 
 to the house, all trembling and tearful, to see 
 Mrs. Douglas. 
 
 Clarence was lost ! He had taken his breakfast 
 about ten o’clock the morning before ; for Leslie 
 remembered stepping over him as he was eating 
 it on the stairs. They hardly wondered when 
 he did n’t come in to dinner ; but when tea- 
 time came, and no Clarence, the family were 
 alarmed. 
 
 Pomp had gone out and asked everybody he 
 met; but nobody had seen Clarence. He went 
 to a policeman, who said the boy would probably 
 be at home by the time he got back. “ Lost boys 
 are always found at home,” he said. Leslie had 
 sat up all night, and Pomp had been to all the 
 police stations, and her aunt was almost crazy; 
 and would n’t Mrs. Douglas please, please come 
 to see her? 
 
 Mrs. Douglas was very sorry for them. They 
 were so shiftless that she yearned over them : so 
 shiftless that it was pathetic. 
 
 She hurried on her bonnet, and went with 
 62 
 
The ColoneFs Opera Cloak 
 
 Leslie, first sending little Ned with a note to 
 Tom’s office. 
 
 In a short time, Tom appeared at Mrs. St. 
 John’s, with a morning paper. He had just seen 
 this item : — 
 
 “ Yesterday, toward night, a man discovered 
 the body of a child in the water, by a lumber 
 pile near Libby’s Wharf. It was that of a boy 
 about nine years old. He was apparently dead. 
 His clothing was not marked. He wore a mixed 
 gray suit, odd shoes and stockings. One was a 
 man’s stocking marked with a stencil, the name 
 nearly illegible. It looked like Cavetto. The 
 boy wore a long blue cape, lined with red, fast- 
 ened with gilt clasps. It had probably buoyed 
 him up when he fell through the ice. He was 
 taken to the City Hospital.” 
 
 Mrs. St. John went into hysterics. Mrs. 
 Douglas and Pomp had their hands full with 
 her. 
 
 Tom and Leslie set out for the hospital. 
 Leslie wanted to run, but Tom called a carriage. 
 
 She sat in the superintendent’s office while 
 Tom made inquiries. He came back in a minute, 
 smiling. 
 
 ‘‘ The little scamp is alive! ” he said. 
 
 63 
 
The Colonel’s Opera Cloak 
 
 Leslie caught his hand and kissed it over and 
 over, much to the embarrassment of the little 
 old gentleman, with a plaid neck-tie, who sat at 
 the desk, his stiff white hair parted behind, and 
 peeping over each ear as if to spy what he was 
 writing. 
 
 Tom took Leslie to Clarence, and then rushed 
 back to carry the good news. 
 
 Clarence was cross. He would n’t let Leslie 
 kiss him. 
 
 ‘‘What did you put me here for?” he asked 
 faintly. “ I don’t like this big bedroom. I ’d 
 rather be home when I ’m sick.” 
 
 “My darling!” said Leslie, with tears in her 
 eyes, “ I have come to take you home. I did n’t 
 put you here. O Clarence, why did you run 
 away? Aunty is sick: she thinks you are dead. 
 Mr. Douglas has gone home to tell her that you 
 are alive, and to make her well. Did n’t you 
 know you ’d been almost drowned? ” 
 
 “ No,” said Clarence. “ Was I ? I knew I 
 went skating. I ’ve been asleep for a good while, 
 and when I woke up I was afraid, here.. I 
 thought maybe I was dead, and this was the way 
 they did in heaven.” 
 
 The doctor said Clarence must not be moved 
 64 
 
The Coloners Opera Cloak 
 
 for a day or two, and that Leslie might stay with 
 him all the afternoon. 
 
 Leslie held his hand, and whispered stories 
 to him, and hummed her songs so sweetly and 
 softly that Clarence soon fell into a deep sleep. 
 
 Tom made Bessie laugh at dinner. “ Mrs. 
 St. John was like the affectionate mother of the 
 ‘ Lost Heir,’ ” he said. “ She got on her dignity 
 at once when she found Clarence was not dead, 
 and said she should n’t speak to him for a week 
 for giving her such a fright, and she should 
 write to his father to have him put in the Reform 
 School ; and he should be whipped well for this ; 
 and that Leslie, who had nothing to do but to 
 look after the boys, should find, to her cost, that 
 this carelessness was not to be overlooked.” 
 
 “ Was n’t it funny,” added Tom, “ that ‘ O. C. 
 St. John, Esq.,’ as Bessie calls the opera cloak, 
 led to his discovery? I forgot, for a minute, 
 that the boy was supposed to be dead, and roared, 
 when I saw that in the paper! And there the 
 cloak was, hanging over the hospital cot like a 
 guardian angel with folded wings.” 
 
 “ And was it Mr. Cavello’s stocking he had 
 on? ” asked Bessie. 
 
 Of course,” said Tom. My only wonder 
 
 5 6s 
 
The Coloners Opera Cloak 
 
 is that that family don’t invent some way to 
 exchange heads.” 
 
 As if it was not enough for Leslie and Tom 
 to be in love, or on the way to it; and for poor 
 Mr. Cavello to be tearing his hair, as it were; 
 and for Gertrude Henderson to be tearing Les- 
 lie’s, so to speak, — poor little Arthur must needs 
 take his turn, and fall in love with Bessie, who 
 was five years older than he. He brought her 
 presents, he made pretty little speeches. Poor 
 Arthur! He was a handsome, attractive boy; 
 but he could not “ tell time,” and he spoke of 
 “ Hug Miller,” in the Game of Authors, to little 
 Ned’s horror. 
 
 One day he sent Bessie a parrot in a beautiful 
 gilt cage, and a lovely turquoise ring. 
 
 “ This is getting serious,” said Bessie, laugh- 
 ing. “ The boy has taken to coming to church, 
 and he glares at any one who speaks to me. 
 I thought he ’d call Deacon Watson out for a 
 duel, when he shook hands with me in the 
 aisle.” 
 
 Jasper appeared one day with a note from 
 Arthur, spelled horribly, requesting Bessie to 
 go to a “ concirt ” with him. Jasper was to 
 66 
 
The Coloners Opera Cloak 
 
 wait for an answer. He stood eating a russet 
 apple, and holding a red one in his hand. 
 
 “ What a beautiful apple you have there ! ” 
 said Mrs. Douglas, amusing herself 
 with the boy. Do you like red 
 or brown apples best ? ” 
 
 “Well,” said 
 Jasper, looking 
 very solemn, 
 as if he had a 
 most important 
 question to de- 
 cide, “ I loves de 
 brown best. De 
 red apple is de 
 puttiest ; but yer put 
 yer teef into it, it 
 squizzles up yer mouf; 
 but yer puts yer teef 
 into de brown apple, an’ yer keeps on puttin 
 yer teef in. Dese red apples is like some folks, 
 — dey charms de eye, but dere isn’t nothin’ 
 in ’em ! Dese brown apples, dey ’s like oder 
 folks, — dey ain’t so smarted up, but dey ’s good 
 inside.” 
 
 Mrs, Douglas laughed outright. She remem- 
 
 67 
 
The Coloners Opera Cloak 
 
 bered Jasper's moralizing at the front door on 
 her first call at the St. Johns’. 
 
 “ And do you like living in the North or South 
 best ? ” she asked. 
 
 “ Well,” said the boy solemnly, “ as fur as 
 watermillions goes, I likes de Souf best; but as 
 fur as de mince-pie goes, dat you give me one 
 day, I likes de Norf best.” 
 
 Mrs. Douglas sent for some mince-pie imme- 
 diately. Such a delicate hint and so fine a com- 
 pliment must be rewarded. 
 
 “ Do you ever go to school, Jasper? ” inquired 
 Mrs. Douglas, while he was busy with the en- 
 gaging pie, which had so endeared the North to 
 him. 
 
 “ Oh, yes. Missus,” he replied. “ I goes 
 putty reg’lar. I draws picters in a book some 
 days.” 
 
 What sort of pictures ? ” 
 
 “ Well, de teacher gives ’em to us. We ’s 
 done de pumps an’ coffins, an’ now we ’s on de 
 wine-glass. I larns, too, about de speres, de 
 moon an’ de stars. De sun is a yeller ball, yer 
 know, an’ it ’s ketched on to de globe wid a good 
 strong wire, an’ de moon ain’t so big, an’ is 
 white, an’ is ketched on wid anoder wire.” 
 
 68 
 
The Coloners Opera Cloak 
 
 Do you understand about the real sun 
 and earth and moon better, since you learned 
 that ? ” 
 
 ‘‘What, Missus?” 
 
 “ Do you understand that the globe is made 
 like this world you live on, only a great, great 
 deal smaller ? ” 
 
 “ Oh, no. Missus,” said Jasper ; and then he 
 added, rather surprised at Mrs. Douglas’s stu- 
 pidity : “ We don’t live on de globe, yer know. 
 We could n’t, — ’t ain’t no bigger dan dat,” 
 circling his arms. “ Massy gracious ! my gran’- 
 fa’s two feet would cover de world all up, ef it 
 wa’ n’t no bigger dan a globe.” 
 
 Then, feeling that he had exhausted Mrs. 
 Douglas’s capacity in globes, he went on to 
 arithmetic : — 
 
 “ I larns, ef a boy hes five chestnuts in one 
 han’, an’ two chestnuts in de oder han’, how 
 many chestnuts does dat boy hev ? Onswer, 
 seven chestnuts. 
 
 “ Ef Mary hes seven apples, an’ Susan hes 
 free apples, how many hes dey bof’ togedder? 
 Onswer, ten apples. 
 
 “ Ef John hes twelve alleys, — no, morbles, — 
 an’ ” — He was evidently going straight down 
 69 
 
The Colonel’s Opera Cloak 
 
 the page, when Bessie appeared with a note, 
 and he rushed off. 
 
 The next time Mrs. Douglas met Mrs. St. 
 John, she said to her that she was afraid she 
 did not know how Arthur was wasting his 
 money. He bought such expensive presents for 
 Bessie that it made them feel very uncomfort- 
 able, and they must return them to him. 
 
 “Oh, don’t!” said Mrs. St. John: “the poor 
 boy would feel so bad ; and I ’m sure it ’s a 
 very innocent way to spend money. I ’m only 
 glad he had sense to buy things like that.” 
 
 As the Colonel’s land had hung on his hands 
 of late, he had had very little money to send 
 home, and yet the boys had been more lavish 
 than usual. Unfortunately, they had bought ice- 
 cream, guns and parlor-skates instead of clothes ; 
 and Clarence w^s now obliged to stay in for 
 want of shoes. 
 
 One day there was not a mouthful to eat in 
 the house. The week before they had lived 
 on “ turkey and tart, and on chine, chine, 
 chine.” Pomp had now no meal to make a 
 hoe-cake, — so “ they had to let the hoe-cake 
 be.” 
 
 70 
 
The ColoneFs Opera Cloak 
 
 The morning mail brought no check from the 
 Colonel. Mrs. St. John was getting cross. 
 
 “ Come, Pomp,” said she, “ what are you go- 
 ing to do now? We ’ve got to eat, I suppose, if 
 the Colonel does think we can wait day after day 
 for our meals. I reckon he’s at a 
 
 club, eating sweetbread 
 
 ‘‘Oh, don’t yer 
 tered,” said Pomp. 
 
 “ I ’ll git yer a 
 nice brekfust putty 
 soon. Things ain’t 
 goin’ hard. Miss 
 Marie, yer ’se only 
 hungry.” Pomp 
 had a trick of his 
 own by which to raise money. 
 
 Toward dusk the next night, Tom was hurry- 
 ing home from his office, when a queer figure 
 creeping along in the shadow caught his eye. 
 There was a natural and an unnatural look about 
 it. He went closer ; and the man, feeling an eye 
 upon him, shrunk into the area of a house. Tom 
 passed on, and, turning the next corner, waited 
 a few minutes. Soon the man came in sight, 
 and in the light of the street-lamp Tom saw a 
 
The Coloners Opera Cloak 
 
 cringing Jew enveloped in the Colonel’s opera 
 cloak. 
 
 Tom dashed at it as if he was rescuing “ a 
 man and a brother,” and demanded of the Jew 
 where he had got the cloak. The little man, 
 frightened almost to death, said it was his. Tom 
 demanded again how he came by it, when Mr. 
 Isaaks confessed that he had had it so often in 
 his pawn-shop, with other things from the same 
 place, that he had come to look on it as one of 
 the family. He had just stepped out for a 
 moment to commune with nature before supper, 
 little dreaming what his sad fate was to be. 
 
 Tom let him go, and followed him home and 
 paid the amount due, and sent the Colonel’s opera 
 cloak to its owners by a boy, with directions to 
 leave it on the steps and ring the bell. 
 
 Tom would have laughed to see its reception 
 by the St. Johns. Pomp opened the door. The 
 cloak lay on the steps, like a lost lamb come back 
 to the fold, or a prodigal son, or a shipwrecked 
 mariner. 
 
 “ Oh, massy gracious ! ” said Pomp, bearing it 
 into the family circle in the front parlor, where 
 all the gas-lights were blazing, and the shades 
 were still raised. 
 
 72 
 
The Colonel’s Opera Cloak 
 
 “Massy gracious, Miss Leslie, what yer tink? 
 Dat ar op’ra cloak ’s done come ob hisself ; paid 
 his own pawn-ticket, an’ done rung de bell! I 
 see his brass knobs a-wigglin’ when I opened de 
 do’. De days ob de 
 mir’cles am returned.” 
 Little Clarence ran 
 to the old friend, 
 with open arms. 
 
 “ O you dear 
 opera cloak I I 
 wanted you aw- 
 ful bad to-day,” 
 he cried, with 
 delight. 
 
 “ De op’ra cloak 
 done come back. Missus,” 
 shouted little Jasper, running into the back 
 parlor, with white eyes shining. “ My gran’fa’ 
 done see him walk up de steps, an’ ring de do’, 
 an’ walk in de parlor, good as anybody! ’Pears 
 like he was a gent’man come to call.” 
 
 Even Leslie was glad : she always felt dis- 
 graced when their things were in pawn. But she 
 wished they could put Mr. Cavello in pawn, and 
 lose the ticket. 
 
 73 
 
S ometimes when Leslie visited Bessie, 
 Tom walked home with her through Para- 
 dise and the Elysian Fields, called by other people 
 Margrave Street and Montgomery Avenue. 
 
 One night they went five blocks too far, by 
 mistake. They laughed, and turned, only to 
 walk as much too far the other way; and then 
 they woke out of the dream-land in which they 
 had been so aimlessly wandering, and looked 
 for numbers, and discussed the merits of high- 
 stooped and basement houses, and over-ground 
 and under-ground railways. 
 
 It mattered little to them. Few steps or many, 
 under-ground and over-ground cars, carried them 
 at lightning speed into a fairy-land, where the 
 meanest things were set about with halos, and 
 “ Love, like snow, made all unseemly things 
 seem fair.” 
 
 74 
 
The Coloners Opera Cloak 
 
 Tom wanted to take Leslie to a concert. Her 
 face had lighted up so brightly at Gertrude Hen- 
 derson’s fine music, and softened so sweetly at 
 Grace Wentworth’s, that he wanted to see her 
 enjoy Thomas’s orchestra and the Glee-Club 
 singing. 
 
 He stood in his room, lost in thought, smoking 
 away at an unlighted cigar. 
 
 “ There never was a girl so sweet as Leslie, — 
 never, by George!” said the handsome young 
 fellow, bringing his hand down upon the mantel- 
 piece. ‘‘ I ’ll take her there. But, then, I sup- 
 pose she ’d wear one slipper and a cavalry-boot, 
 a silk waist and a petticoat ; a stove-pipe hat and 
 a white veil, one mit and a fur glove; and, over 
 all, the Colonel’s opera cloak ! Dear little Leslie, 
 she ’d look like a pink, even then, I believe.” 
 
 It gave Tom a twinge, however, to think of 
 placing Leslie near Gertrude Henderson, or any 
 of his fashionable friends; not because he was 
 ashamed of her, I truly believe, but because he 
 remembered Leslie’s quick blushes when things 
 were amiss in her dress or about the house. 
 
 I know!” said Tom. “I’ll take her to 
 drive, and it won’t be round the park either, but 
 out into the country and through by-way and 
 75 
 
The Colonel’s Opera Cloak 
 
 highway. Things must be getting summerish 
 by this time in the country.” 
 
 Tom had discovered a new way of going home 
 from his office. He went twelve blocks too far 
 up town, and across two avenues, in order to 
 pass Leslie’s house. He laughed at himself, and 
 called it his “ short cut.” 
 
 Leslie learned to watch for him. 
 
 He rarely came to call, but she counted the 
 day lost when she did not bow to him from the 
 parlor window; and Tom felt despondent about 
 his business, if he missed her face from between 
 the dingy lace curtains ; and then his kind 
 mother would say to her boy, when she saw the 
 shadow on his face, — 
 
 ‘‘No one ever got a great practice at once. 
 You are doing as well as any young lawyer.” 
 Poor woman ! One look from Leslie’s shy 
 eyes would have proved better comfort. 
 
 One day, while Tom was taking his “ short 
 cut,” it occurred to him to make a call on 
 Leslie, and set a day for a drive. 
 
 Pomp ushered him into the parlor, and went 
 to call Leslie. She was behind the curtains, 
 watching for Tom. She ventured forth when 
 Pomp had shut the door. 
 
 76 
 
The Coloners Opera Cloak 
 
 Poor old Pomp ! He did n’t come back. He 
 had seen her hiding in the curtains; he only- 
 laughed to himself. “ I reckons Miss Leslie ’s 
 done fotch Massa Tom ! He do’ ’no’ ef his 
 head or his heels am de place fur to walk on,” 
 he said. 
 
 Leslie was delighted at the idea of the drive. 
 Oh, she had wanted so to see the country! She 
 was always homesick in the city; and even in 
 the North there must be some blossoms now, or, 
 at least, a little green grass. 
 
 Her life was a dull one; and she looked on 
 Tom as a kind angel, who had promised her a 
 day’s trip to heaven. 
 
 When the day came, it was rather ‘‘ misty- 
 moisty.” Tom sought the family opinion about 
 the weather so earnestly, at breakfast, that they 
 asked if he was going to a balloon ascension. 
 
 “ Whiles I thinks it will rain, and whiles I 
 thinks it won’t,” said Bessie, in broad Irish, 
 mimicking old Dennis. 
 
 Tom kept his own counsel. He felt instinc- 
 tively that Gertrude Henderson would be more 
 kindly looked on than shy little Leslie, by the 
 family, even for a drive. 
 
 The sun came out in the afternoon. Tom 
 
 77 
 
The Coloners Opera Cloak 
 
 appeared at Mrs. St. John's with a smart buggy 
 and a fine horse. 
 
 Leslie had borrowed her aunt’s bonnet. Mrs. 
 St. John was quite cheerful at this advance on 
 Tom’s part. She almost offered her red India 
 shawl. 
 
 “ Now, Miss Leslie,” said Pomp, who had 
 gone out to hold the horse, yer ain’t got ’nuf 
 on, ef it comes on rainin’. Yer wait tell I fotch 
 de Colonel's op'ra cloak.” 
 
 Tom almost demurred. “ O. C. St. John, 
 Esq.,” had acquired such a personality at the 
 Doctor’s, that he was inclined to look on it as a 
 spy. He felt as if one of the family had been 
 forced on him. He expected Pomp to bring out 
 the three young cousins, Mrs. St. John, and Mr. 
 Cavello, next. 
 
 Mrs. St. John waved her- handkerchief from 
 the parlor, while Pomp was seeking for the cloak 
 in all its accustomed haunts. The boys balanced 
 themselves out of a window. 
 
 “ Hallo, Leslie ! Going to ride with a young 
 man! ho, ho, ho, ho! Good-by, Mrs. Douglas, 
 — good-by.” And little Jasper’s “ te, he,” was 
 heard above their voices. 
 
 Pomp laid the cloak over Leslie’s feet, and the 
 7S 
 
The Colonel’s Opera Cloak 
 
 two young people drove off with flushed cheeks. 
 Leslie was almost crying with shame. 
 
 After they passed the city limits, they came 
 into the well-kept roads of the suburbs. 
 
 “ How should you like to live in one of those 
 houses?” asked Tom, pointing to a^ Gothic villa, 
 with flower-beds laid out like a puzzle. 
 
 “ Oh ! ” said Leslie, I can’t bear that kind. 
 How dreadful it would be to walk round that 
 garden in and out, back and forth, up and down. 
 It ought to have a whipping-post, a pillory, and 
 the Mansion of Happiness in the middle.” 
 
 I don’t like it, either,” said Tom, though he 
 had thought it lovely a moment before, and had 
 put Leslie in the door-way, and was walking up 
 the path himself, all in the flash of an eye; but 
 now this dream faded as quickly as it had arisen. 
 
 “ Show me the kind of house you like,” said 
 he. 
 
 After they had passed through the long cov- 
 ered bridge, under which the river was roaring 
 and tumbling over its rocky bed, they reached 
 the country; and there Leslie found houses to 
 her mind, — old farm-houses, with sloping roofs ; 
 large family mansions, with walled gardens, and 
 elms on the lawns. 
 
 79 
 
The Coloners Opera Cloak 
 
 The little saxifrage was thick along the road, 
 — “ pussy-foot ” Leslie called it. She got out 
 to gather some, and Tom had to lift’ her down. 
 They took no time to notice the black clouds 
 which were scudding rapidly over the heavens. 
 
 Tom had hardly helped Leslie into the car- 
 riage, when large drops began to fall. 
 
 “We are very near a hotel now,” said he, — 
 “ one you will like. It is called the Half-Way 
 House, and kept in real country fashion.” 
 
 The rain was pouring in torrents when they 
 drove into the stable. A woman came out, and 
 led Leslie through a covered passage into the 
 house. 
 
 “ It is only an April shower,” said she. 
 “ I '11 warm you, and by that time it will be 
 over.” 
 
 There were long tables in the dining-hall, 
 well filled on court and cattle-show days, when 
 the Governor and other great men made 
 speeches. 
 
 In the little sitting-room was an open fire, and 
 here Tom ordered tea. A stern hair-cloth sofa 
 filled one side of the room. “ Excuse me,” one 
 would almost say before sitting on it. 
 
 “ I wish the fellow who cursed mankind with 
 8o 
 
The Colonel’s Opera Cloak 
 
 hair-cloth was forced to eat it all/’ said Tom, 
 eying the sofa. 
 
 Leslie laughed. 
 
 “ I wish our boys had one to jump on,” she 
 said : “ it would be better than red satin for 
 
 them.” 
 
 Over the high mantel-piece, “ Wide Awake ” 
 and “ Fast Asleep ” woke and slumbered. 
 
 “ I suppose it ’s safe to say,” said Tom, “ that 
 there is n’t a spot in this wide world unblessed 
 by at least one of those pictures. As the poet 
 says, — 
 
 ‘ The sea, the lone dark sea hath one,* 
 and again, 
 
 ‘Two are in the church-yard laid, 
 
 And two in Conway dwell.’ ” 
 
 Tom looked around. 
 
 Where ’s ‘ God bless our Home ^ ? Bessie ’s 
 afraid to marry, for fear that motto will be 
 given her. Here it is ; and ‘ Love one An- 
 other,’ — that ’s good ; and ' Welcome,’ — that 's 
 pleasant.” 
 
 Leslie wished he would n’t make fun of every 
 thing. She did n’t dare to admire any thing 
 except skies, flowers, and music. She had the 
 best of Tom there. 
 
 6 
 
 8i 
 
The Coloners Opera Cloak 
 
 They sat by the fire in the easy-chairs with 
 the bright patch cushions, — the chairs which 
 almost rocked themselves, — while tea was being 
 served on the large light-stand. 
 
 It seemed doubly pleasant, from the rain and 
 wind outside. That would only last through this 
 delightful tea: the woman had said it was only 
 a shower. 
 
 So Leslie smiled and beamed and laughed at 
 every thing Tom said; and she toasted the bread 
 a little more, and told Tom if he did n’t eat his 
 crusts she should put them on a high shelf for 
 his breakfast; and Tom thought what a jolly 
 thing it would be to have Leslie always at a 
 little table, laughing at him and warming his 
 toast. 
 
 Leslie said the tea was that horrid English 
 breakfast tea which tasted like hay; but Tom 
 said it was nectar, — he always knew he should 
 be able to tell the thing when he met it; and 
 he found ambrosia in the smoked beef omelet. 
 
 Leslie said he might put his elbow on the 
 table, and spread jelly on his bread, and sing, 
 and sit in his rocking-chair while he supped, 
 because this nice little time was “ just for 
 once.” 
 
 82 
 
The Coloners Opera Cloak 
 
 Tom’s spirits drooped for a minute, and then 
 he fortified himself with a “ We ’ll see.” 
 
 The opera cloak hung on a chair by the fire. 
 Tom felt rebuked that he had not asked it to 
 draw up ” and “ take a bite.” 
 
 When tea was over, Leslie sat in her chair 
 by the fire, and sang the little songs which 
 seemed to belong to her. The light shone 
 through her flossy hair, and made a halo about 
 her pretty head. She said she wished she could 
 “ purr.” 
 
 The old clock in the hall struck six. The rain 
 was driving as heavily as ever. The woman 
 came in to bring more wood, and Leslie rather 
 reproached her for the storm, — “You said it 
 would be over after tea.” 
 
 The woman laughed. “ Folks always look 
 for showers in April,” she said ; “ but this has 
 set in for the night, the men-folks seem to 
 think.” 
 
 “ Then we ought to go now,” said Leslie, 
 rising and taking a longing look at the fire. 
 “ I hope I sha’n’t spoil my bonnet,” she added. 
 
 The buggy was soon at the door. Tom had 
 pulled up the boot, and had borrowed a thick 
 robe. 
 
 83 
 
The Colonel’s Opera Cloak 
 
 Leslie lamented over her bonnet so much, 
 that the kind-hearted woman lent her a cloud, 
 which Tom was to return with the robe, and 
 put the bonnet into a box, and stowed it safely 
 under the seat. 
 
 The last dim light of day had faded in 
 the west ; and before they had gone far the 
 black night was upon them. The wind blew 
 furiously. They could not see one step before 
 them. 
 
 The roads were running rivers, and the rain 
 had dug deep gulleys by the road-side, into 
 which the wheels would slip now and then, and 
 nearly upset the carriage. 
 
 “ Do you know the road ? ” asked Leslie, in 
 a whisper. 
 
 “ Oh, yes. I Ve been here dozens of 
 times.” But Tom was rather inclined to think 
 that knowledge was of little avail in this 
 darkness. 
 
 After they had gone slowly along for an 
 hour the horse was thrown suddenly upon his 
 haunches, and the carriage gave a terrible lurch. 
 A crash was heard, and a deep voice : “ Vot 
 you vant here, runnin’ indo beobles dis vay? 
 Git out ! ” 
 
 84 
 
The Colonel’s Opera Cloak 
 
 The horse groaned and fell. Tom held the 
 reins with his right hand, and Leslie with his 
 left. 
 
 “ Don’t be frightened,” he said; “ I ’ll lift you 
 out;” which he did, and set her ankle-deep in 
 a puddle. 
 
 He and the German who had collided with 
 him held a consultation. 
 
 “ Ve can’t do som’thin’ vidout light,” said the 
 man, “ and I ton’t see no housen.” 
 
 “ I ’m leaning against a fence,” said Leslie, 
 to announce her discovery. “ Perhaps there ’s 
 a house behind it. I will see.” 
 
 Tom was sitting on the horse’s head to 
 keep him down; the German was righting the 
 buggy. 
 
 Leslie felt along the fence, and soon touched 
 a gate-latch. She found a gravel path, and, 
 stepping carefully along, she at last stumbled 
 upon a house, and called out triumphantly that 
 she had found one. 
 
 She pounded on the door, — perfect silence. 
 Again she pounded; and at last kicked with her 
 stout boots, — Clarence’s boots, rather. 
 
 Then she heard steps: the door rattled, and 
 she was dazzled by a light in her face, which 
 
 85 
 
The Colonel’s Opera Cloak 
 
 an old woman in a night-gown and ruffled cap 
 held over her head. 
 
 The old woman looked blankly into 
 the darkness. 
 
 • “ We have lost our way,” said Les- 
 lie’s voice, out of the night, “ and our 
 horse is dying, and a man has 
 run into us, and we 
 want some help.” 
 After the woman 
 had recovered from 
 her surprise, 
 she lowered 
 the light, and 
 looked Leslie 
 over. 
 
 “ Come in,” 
 she said, at last. 
 
 “ I ’ll wake up my 
 old man, and git him out. We just come 
 back from visitin’ my darter-in-law, and we 
 felt sort o’ wore out, and went off to bed 
 early.” 
 
 Leslie ran back to tell Tom that help was 
 coming. 
 
 When she returned to the 'house, the old 
 86 
 
The Coloners Opera Cloak 
 
 woman had roused her husband, who, being 
 deaf, did not start fair on the subject. 
 
 “ Whose horse did you say ? ” 
 
 I dunno, — a strange horse.” 
 
 “ Oh, a strayed horse, — strayed into the 
 garden-patch? ” 
 
 “ And there ’s a man and a woman ! ” 
 
 “ Oh ! a man. I thought you said a horse.” 
 
 ‘‘ And a woman.” 
 
 Oh ! I thought you said a man. Was she 
 afoot? ” 
 
 The old woman brought another light, and, 
 seeing Leslie shiver, she kindled a little fire in 
 the kitchen stove, and made her put her feet 
 on the hearth. She asked her a thousand ques- 
 tions: what the man’s name was, and where he 
 was “ settin’ out for; ” as if he was an emigrant 
 train. 
 
 Leslie told her their names, and where they 
 lived, and answered all her questions. 
 
 The old woman was delighted with her visitor, 
 offered her some mince-pie, and was hurt when 
 Leslie declined eating it. 
 
 “ ’T ain’t made with dried apples,” she said, 
 as if Leslie had insinuated that it was. 
 
 The man came back for another lantern. 
 
 87 
 
The Colonel’s Opera Cloak 
 
 '‘Is the horse dead?” Leslie screamed anx- 
 iously to him. 
 
 “ No, marm, he was only skeert a little. 
 Nothin’ ain’t the matter with nothin’.” 
 
 “ Ain’t you afeard,” asked the old woman, " to 
 go through the long bridge agin? It’s putty 
 rickety in the daytime; and it ain’t no better by 
 night, I can tell you. Folks says — though I 
 don’t know as it ’s trew — there ’s burglars about 
 there, and murderin’ a-goin’ on nights. You 
 remember them little narrer winders ’long the 
 sides, don’t you ? ” 
 
 “ Yes ; ” Leslie remembered them. 
 
 " Well, they say how they robs ’em o’ their 
 bosom-pins and chains, and then throws ’em out 
 o’ them winders.” 
 
 Leslie’s eyes opened with fright. 
 
 " I have n’t any jewelry,” she said. “ I won- 
 der if they ’ll believe me.” 
 
 “ Oh, I guess so,” said the old woman, en- 
 couragingly. " I never heard that they did n’t 
 believe folks.” 
 
 Tom came in. 
 
 " We ’re all ready, Miss Leslie. Nothing was 
 broken, and we shall go on very well, now.” 
 
 Tom borrowed the old man’s lantern, and 
 88 
 
The Coloners Opera Cloak 
 
 Leslie held it at arm’s length above her head, 
 while Tom drove. 
 
 The horse walked carefully along. Tom 
 laughed at Leslie’s fears of the bridge : he 
 had been through it at all hours of the day 
 and the night, and had never even heard of a 
 murder there ; and so she was quieted. But 
 those were solemn moments, going through the 
 covered bridge. “ Thump, thump, thump,” went 
 the horse’s echoing feet. It seemed as if he 
 were in a tread-mill, going over and over the 
 same ground. 
 
 Leslie held Tom’s sleeve all the time, and 
 drew a sigh of relief when the “ thump, thump,” 
 was deadened on solid ground. 
 
 It was ten by this time, and they had yet 
 some way to go. 
 
 “ I shall never forgive myself,” said Tom, 
 “ for the discomfort and fright I have given 
 you, and I ’ll never forget what a brave girl 
 you were, to hunt up that house in the dark. 
 Most girls would have fainted, or sat down and 
 cried. I took Gertrude Henderson out once, 
 and she fainted when the horse ran a little, 
 though I never lost control of him. It is a 
 comfort to see such a brave girl as you.” 
 
 89 
 
The Colonel’s Opera Cloak 
 
 Leslie's heart was flying with happiness. 
 
 “ Oh, don't say you are sorry you took me. 
 The drive out was beautiful, and the lovely little 
 tea I shall remember for ever. I never had such 
 a good time in my life. I was just as happy as 
 I wanted to be for once; and to-morrow even 
 this will be funny to laugh about.” 
 
 “ I *m afraid you '11 take cold,” said Tom, in 
 a tone that was rapidly becoming tender. 
 
 “ Oh, no, I sha'n't. I never take cold,” said 
 Leslie. “ I am so strong, nobody ever thinks 
 about me, or takes care that I don't get cold.” 
 
 “ I know somebody who thinks about you, 
 and who likes to take care of you.” 
 
 “Oh, yes, — Pomp,'’ said Leslie, innocently; 
 and then it flashed across her that he meant 
 himself ; but that could n't be. And Tom 
 
 thought he had said too much, and would vex 
 her, and so was silent. They rode along slowly, 
 letting the horse take his own pace. 
 
 It was eleven when they reached Mrs. St. 
 John’s. Tom nearly carried Leslie up the wet 
 steps. Pomp was watching, and opened the 
 door at the sound of their feet. Then Tom 
 brought in the bonnet-box, held Leslie’s hand 
 one long second, said “ good-night,” and was ofiF. 
 
 90 
 
The Colonel^s Opera Cloak 
 
 Pomp softly closed the door, and motioned 
 to Leslie to take off her boots, and tiptoe after 
 him to the kitchen. There he had a cup of 
 coffee for her, and made her put her feet in hot 
 water, while she related the incidents of the 
 drive. 
 
 He suddenly struck a tragic attitude : “ Miss 
 Leslie! Whar ’s de Colonel’s op’ra cloak?” 
 
 ‘‘Gracious, Pomp, I don’t. know! We had 
 such a warm robe, and Mr. Tom would wrap it 
 so close around me, that I never thought of the 
 cloak. I know we started with it. I must have 
 dropped it when the carriage tipped over. What 
 will Aunt Marie say ? ” 
 
 “Jus’ yer say nuffin, honey; only leave it to 
 me,” said Pomp, rolling his white eyes, and 
 looking as wise as an owl. “ I ’ll tend to de 
 op’ra cloak ! ” 
 
 What dreams Leslie had that night ! She 
 waded through rivers, and climbed mountains; 
 but Tom was always by, to help her; and his 
 voice was ringing in her ears when she awoke 
 the next morning. She could praise him to 
 Pomp, — that was a comfort ! 
 
 When Tom reached home, the family were 
 in bed. At breakfast, he said that he went out 
 
 91 
 
The Coloners Opera Cloak 
 
 of town in the afternoon. Luckily, a plate 
 fell and was broken, at that minute, and the 
 conversation turned from him and his affairs. 
 
 Endless were the demands, the next two 
 days, for the Colonel’s opera cloak. Pomp was 
 indefatigable in searching for it. He went 
 under beds, and in his pretended zeal peered 
 under the bureaus and wardrobe. 
 
 “ Don’t be a fool, Pomp,” said Mrs. St. 
 John, peevishly, “ looking where you could n’t 
 squeeze it. You ’d better look in your mouth 
 next ! ” 
 
 When Pomp was alone with Mrs. St. John, 
 he hinted mysteriously that Mr. Cavello “ might 
 tell suthin’, ef he keerd to, ’bout dat op’ra cloak. 
 When niggers set up for gent’men, nobody 
 could n’t never tell what dey ’d would n’t do to 
 Oder folks’s op’ra cloaks!” 
 
 “ What do you mean. Pomp, opening your 
 eyes at me like great cups and saucers?” said 
 Mrs. St. John, who did not mind a word more 
 or less, to strengthen a simile. 
 
 Pomp only shut his mouth tightly, and shook 
 his head very hard, and would not say any 
 more. 
 
 92 
 
The Coloners Opera Cloak 
 
 The third day after the drive, Mrs. Douglas 
 saw the queerest market-wagon in front of her 
 door, and heard a strange voice parleying with 
 the servant who had answered the bell. 
 
 She stepped into the 
 
 hall. An o 
 plaining to 
 as he called 
 that his 
 had remem- 
 where the 
 young gentle- 
 man lived, 
 and he had 
 brought home 
 his cape; and 
 he held out to 
 her the Colonel’s 
 opera cloak. 
 
 “ This does n’t 
 belong here,” said 
 Mrs. Douglas. “Where did you get it?” 
 
 The old man related in great detail how the 
 young lady knocked at his door, and how he 
 thought it was a hoss that had got into the sass- 
 garden; and how she had come in, and he had 
 93 
 
The Coloners Opera Cloak 
 
 gone out; and how the young gentleman sat on 
 the boss’s head, and how, after they had gone, 
 his woman wished she ’d made ’em stay all 
 night ; and how in the morning he ’d found the 
 gentleman’s red cape lying by his fence; and 
 how a bush had kept it from the rain and mud, 
 — pretty well for a bush ; and how his wife had 
 wanted him to fetch it home that day, and how 
 he could n’t, because his boss had to be shoed, 
 and he ’d had a stiff neck himself the next 
 day, and this was the fust time he ’d had a 
 chance, and how that they must n’t think strange 
 onto it. 
 
 He took it so thoroughly for granted that Mrs. 
 Douglas knew all about the affair, that she had 
 to ravel his story to get the right of it. She 
 thought that “ the gentleman ” must have been 
 Mr. Cavello, and could not imagine how the 
 old man had hit upon her house. 
 
 “Was it a very dark gentleman?” she 
 asked. 
 
 “ Oh, no, ma’am, — a light young man, with 
 a reddish moustache and blue eyes, I should 
 say; but it was ruther dark to tell eyes.” 
 
 “ Oh ! ” said Mrs. Douglas, light dawning 
 upon her, — “I understand. The cloak does 
 94 
 
The Coloners Opera Cloak 
 
 not belong here. I ’ll tell you where to take 
 it.” And she sent him to the house on Margrave 
 Street. 
 
 Mr. Cavello was standing on the steps, draw- 
 ing on his gloves. The old man took it for 
 granted that this was his house. 
 
 “ I Ve fetched your cape home,” he said. 
 
 “ Oh,” said Mr. Cavello. “ Where have you 
 found it? ” 
 
 “ Under a bush/’ said the old fellow. “ It 
 wa’n’t spoilt at all, now, was it?” 
 
 “ No. I will give you a dollar, if you shall tell 
 me where you have found it.” For nothing had 
 been heard for the last two days but lamentations 
 over the opera cloak. 
 
 The old man went carefully over the details 
 again, not omitting the stiff neck, and what “ I 
 said,” and what “ my woman said.” 
 
 Mr. Cavello’s blood was up. Here was 
 the pretty girl whom he wanted to marry 
 slipping off to drive with the Doctor’s young 
 puppy. 
 
 He threw the cloak to Pomp, whom he met 
 in the hall, as he entered the house. 
 
 Pomp carried it to Mrs. St. John’s room, his 
 eyes shining, round and white. 
 
 95 
 
The Coloners Opera Cloak 
 
 “ Look a-here ! ” said he, with a most signifi- 
 cant expression. “ Massa Cavello ’s ‘ foun' ’ de 
 Colonel’s op’ra cloak ! I fought he 'd fin' dat 
 ar cloak, when he heerd me a talkin’ so pinted 
 ’bout it, roun’ his do’, and ev’ry time I see him 
 in de house. I ’se jes’ cotched him wid it in de 
 hall.” 
 
 Pomp carried the cloak to the kitchen, and 
 looked it over by the light. The bush of which 
 the old man had boasted had hardly done its 
 duty. There were sad streaks of mud on the 
 outside, as well as upon the scarlet lining. 
 
 “ I reckon I ’d better see ’bout dat,” said 
 Pomp. “ Miss Marie ’ll done ax whar dat ’s 
 ben, — looks like ’t had ben on a spree, I do 
 declar’. I mus’ fotch it down to dat ar Chiny 
 nigger what swashes de Colonel’s shirts, an’ 
 irons ’em, when he ’s to home.” And he 
 carried it at once to Ah Chin’s laundry, to be 
 cleaned. 
 
 Bessie could n’t let the story rest. As if the 
 Colonel’s opera cloak did n’t belong already to 
 people enough, without Tom’s borrowing it! 
 She ignored Leslie in the matter, and asked 
 Tom to take her sack out to drive, some fine 
 day. She said that nothing that opera cloak 
 96 
 
The Coloners Opera Cloak 
 
 might do could surprise her; she expected to 
 see it riding on horseback, humming an air 
 from “ Robert le Diable,” or walking up the 
 church aisle. 
 
 She said it was a sort of goblin, a new form in 
 which some spirit was making its appearance; 
 for her part, she was afraid of it, and neither for 
 love nor for money would she stay in the dark 
 with it. 
 
 Come, Bessie,” said Tom, getting a little 
 vexed. “ If that joke can’t die a natural death, 
 let it die an unnatural one! Let this be the end 
 of the opera cloak! ” 
 
 “ Death ! ” Bessie shivered. “ If the opera 
 cloak died, that would n’t be the end of it ; though 
 it might be the end of me. It would come back 
 to haunt us, — I know it would. Just as the 
 clock struck one, I should see it stand by my 
 bedside, up in the air, on its invisible legs, 
 the gilt clasps gleaming like eyes. ‘ Come ! ’ it 
 would whisper, opening its flapping sides, ‘ I 
 seek ’ ” — 
 
 Bessie shut the door just in time to es- 
 cape the sofa pillow which Tom aimed at her 
 head. 
 
 Tom went out of town for a few days on 
 
 7 97 
 
The Colonel’s Opera Cloak 
 
 business. When he returned, the lawyer in 
 the next office told him that a colored man 
 
 had been knocking at his door every few min- 
 
 utes since he left. Tom wondered what was 
 to pay at the St. Johns’ now; he was obliged 
 to go to court to wait for a case of his to be 
 called up, but meant to see Leslie on his way 
 home. 
 
 As he entered the court-room, the clerk, in a 
 brown wig, black beard, and thick spectacles, 
 
 was reading from a large blue paper, in a loud 
 
 voice, that — 
 
 “ John J. Jackson, of aforesaid, laborer, 
 
 at aforesaid, on the tenth day of April, in 
 
 the year of our Lord 187-, with force and arms, 
 in and upon one Ah Chin, then and there in the 
 peace of said State being, an assault did make, 
 and him the said Ah Chin, with certain gravel 
 and mire then and there in the hands of him the 
 said Jackson held, did beat, bruise, wound, and 
 evil treat : against the statute in such case pro- 
 vided, and the peace and dignity of the State 
 aforesaid.” 
 
 The prosecuting attorney then arose and ad- 
 dressed the court, standing with his back to the 
 culprit, saying that the prisoner had been here- 
 98 
 
The Coloners Opera Cloak 
 
 tofore convicted upon this indictment: it was 
 his duty now to move for sentence. 
 
 He said he knew nothing of the details of this 
 particular case, having been out of town when 
 it was tried by his assistant; but that, from 
 the facts set forth in the indict- 
 
 had been making attacks of late upon the un- 
 offending Chinese residents of the city. Such 
 men as he should learn by a bitter lesson that 
 they are not the lords of this community. 
 
 He said he would present to the court, in 
 order that the particulars of the offence might 
 99 
 
The Coloners Opera Cloak 
 
 be fully understood, the evidence of the China- 
 man, and of the policeman who had made the 
 arrest. 
 
 At this point, an irrepressible smile began 
 to break over the face of the judge, and half- 
 smothered but increasing laughter was heard 
 in the court-room, above the thumping of the 
 sheriff’s stick. 
 
 Whereupon the prosecuting attorney, turning 
 round to see what was the matter, caught sight, 
 for the first time, of “ the prisoner,’’ — a thin, 
 small black boy, his face ashy with terror, his 
 wool sticking out in little tails all over his head, 
 vainly endeavoring to raise his glaring white 
 eyes over the rails of the small iron fence within 
 which he was impounded. 
 
 It was John Jasper Jackson. The prosecuting 
 attorney sat down, and joined in the laughter, 
 which now became general. 
 
 At this point, a high, wide policeman, in blue 
 and gold, with a fiery beard, and a mahogany 
 club in his belt, advanced, pushing a small yel- 
 low Chinaman before him, with a black em- 
 broidered gown, pointed shoes, and a pigtail. 
 
 The Chinaman was duly sworn, in sonorous 
 phrases, which he did not understand, “ to tes- 
 
 100 
 
The Colonel’s Opera Cloak 
 
 tify the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but 
 the truth, concerning the matter now in hearing,” 
 wondering meanwhile why the policeman wanted 
 to make him hold his right arm up in the air. 
 
 Ah Chin, in response to many subtly worded 
 inquiries, spoken in a loud, distinct tone, was 
 finally brought to say that the “ miggee boy ” 
 threw mud at his clean shirts, and tried to rob 
 him of “ big miggee’s ” red gown. 
 
 Here the officious policeman, to clinch the 
 story, with much crackling of brown paper, 
 unfolded, and held up at arm’s length, red side 
 out, the Colonel’s opera cloak. 
 
 Pomp, who had been vainly seeking Tom, 
 arrived at this moment, and was much struck 
 by the pageant. 
 
 “ Massy gracious ! ” he cried to the policeman. 
 ‘‘ Ain’t yer done enuf, to ketch one pore lettle 
 nigger boy, ’thout hookin’ de Colonel’s op’ra 
 cloak? ” 
 
 The policeman was then called to the witness- 
 stand, and, folding the cloak, — quite as if 
 he was the Colonel, — proceeded to tell what 
 he knew of the affair : how he had seen this 
 black boy before the Chinaman’s door, where 
 mud had evidently been thrown into the shop, 
 
 10 
 
The Coloners Opera Cloak 
 
 and had caught him with his fist full of wet 
 sand. 
 
 At this point, the prosecuting attorney rose, 
 and said that in the hurry of business he had 
 evidently been mistaken as to the age and size 
 of the offender, but that, nevertheless, he merited 
 a sharp punishment. 
 
 The clerk demanded of the prisoner if he had 
 yet found his “ counsel.” 
 
 John Jasper, who had caught sight of Tom 
 conferring with Pomp, encouraged by a wink 
 from the young man, called out in his high, thin 
 voice, — 
 
 “ Dar ’s Massa Tom, — he knows me, don’t 
 yer, Massa Tom? An’ yer knows de Colonel’s 
 op’ra cloak yer had de day yer took Miss Leslie 
 out to ride; an’ yer knows dat ’s our cloak, an’ 
 dat yeller man he hooked it, an’ I seed it bangin’ 
 in his ketchen door, an’ he would n't let me hev 
 it, an’ I frowed mud at him, an’ ” — 
 
 Tom was just rising, when the judge said, — 
 
 “ Mr. Douglas, this young desperado seems to 
 be a friend of yours : what can you tell us about 
 him? ” 
 
 Tom, who had been talking with Pomp, and 
 saw how matters stood, briefly explained to the 
 
 102 
 
The Coloners Opera Cloak 
 
 judge the mistake into which the boy had fallen. 
 He knew him to be a good boy, and, if the judge 
 would release him, he would be surety for his 
 good behavior: the trouble was simply that the 
 boy loved this opera cloak, “ not wisely, but too 
 well.” 
 
 His suggestion was at once carried out; and 
 Tom then and there entered into a solemn cove- 
 nant with the State. He acknowledged himself 
 bound, together with his heirs, that the afore- 
 said John J. Jackson, laborer, should keep the 
 peace and be of good behavior for the term of 
 twelve calendar months : in default of which, 
 he, the said Thomas Douglas, attorney at law, 
 would forfeit the sum of one hundred dollars 
 unto the aforesaid State, out of his goods and 
 estate, and, in default thereof, his body; and 
 thereupon he became the legal custodian of John 
 Jasper Jackson. 
 
 Tom meant to guard this fine story from 
 Bessie ; but at the tea-table the thought of 
 Jasper’s white eyes gleaming over the railing 
 came across him, and he burst into such a fit of 
 laughter that the family all jumped : and then 
 they insisted on sharing the joke. 
 
 103 
 
The Colonel’s Opera Cloak 
 
 Bessie woke up in the middle of the night, 
 and laughed. She hoped these delightful St. 
 Johns would never go away. To have them 
 at hand was like having a season ticket to a 
 circus. 
 
 104 
 
W HEN Mrs. Douglas was refurnishing her 
 back parlor, she had asked the Doctor, 
 as a sort of compliment, what color in a carpet 
 would please him best. The Doctor, gratified at 
 being consulted, replied, “ Let the carpet be red, 
 and let the paper have gold buttons on it ; ” — 
 she had already bought a Morris paper, with 
 dado and tiles, — “ and let the furniture be red, 
 too, — it looks so cheerful.” 
 
 Mrs. Douglas, like the wise woman that she 
 was, smiled on the Doctor, and forthwith went 
 her own way. 
 
 The Doctor was the man who had always 
 called “ gimp ” “ jimp,” till he had felt the en- 
 nobling influence of woman’s love; and who 
 still spoke of “ shams ” as “ mock pillows.” He 
 knew not a polonaise from an arab, strange to 
 105 
 
The Colonel’s Opera Cloak 
 
 say, after years of married life; and, when his 
 wife’s suit of Russian gray came home, he asked 
 in a grieved tone why she and Bessie never 
 wore “ red spencers.” 
 
 Well, the room was refurnished: a few red 
 chairs relieved its fashionable gloom, and the 
 open fire put a soul into it. A room, be it 
 ever so rich, is a tomb without an open fire and 
 sunshine. 
 
 The Doctor looked about him with pride, when 
 it was furnished. It was his taste, you know! 
 He did not miss the red carpet nor the gold spots 
 on the paper, which Mrs. Douglas had inter- 
 preted as being the “ gold buttons ” designated. 
 
 “ This is a room to live in,” he said; and he 
 slipped into his easy-chair by the fire, and put 
 his feet on the fender. 
 
 The rain was beating furiously on the panes, 
 and the wind was lashing the vines against the 
 windows. 
 
 The poor Doctor had been out the night 
 before and all day long in the rain, and he 
 prayed earnestly that pain might cease, or that, 
 if it should not, its victims might send for the 
 doctor around the corner. 
 
 “ This is the night of nights for Mrs. St. 
 io6 
 
The Coloners Opera Cloak 
 
 John to have the neuralgia,” said Bessie, in 
 an encouraging tone, as she peeped out of the 
 window. “ Her unselfish soul would revel in 
 sending poor Pomp out in this furious storm. 
 I seem to hear the night-bell, and Pomp’s ‘ Massa 
 Doctor, Miss Marie, she ’s ’most done dead wid 
 sort o’ fits in her mouf, — ’pears like to be de 
 toofache, ef anybody else had done got it. She ’s 
 been ’mos’ dyin’ all day, but she would n’t boder 
 nobody to git de doctor, tell in de middle ob 
 de night, ’cause she hates to boder folks in de 
 daytime.’ ” 
 
 “Stop, Bess,” said the Doctor, wearily. “You 
 make me tired. Heaven rest the sufferers to- 
 night, and delay Mrs. St. John’s neuralgia until 
 morning.” 
 
 About one o’clock, the Doctor’s night-bell was 
 pulled furiously; but he, poor man, was so over- 
 come with sleep, that he only dreamed that he 
 was late for the cars, and was making frantic 
 but ineffectual efforts to jump on to a morning 
 train. 
 
 A second ring awakened Tom, who put his 
 head out of the window. “Halloo!” said he. 
 “ Want the Doctor? ” 
 
 107 
 
The Coloners Opera Cloak 
 
 ‘‘Oh, massy gracious, Massa Tom!” Pomp’s 
 voice called from the darkness. “ Call de Doc- 
 tor, for massy’s sake: my little Jasper’s dyin’, 
 I ’se sure. Don’t wait for nuffin’ but de physic- 
 jugs, an’ come ’long, for he ’s got de croup or 
 de colic or de consum’tion, or suthin’. Miss 
 Leslie, she ’s a-holdin’ of him and nussin’ of him 
 whiles I runs here.” 
 
 Tom roused his father, who, with his eyes 
 half-shut, gathered up his medicines; and the 
 two set out together. Pomp had vanished in the 
 darkness. • 
 
 When they reached the house, Clarence, in 
 his night-gown, opened the door, crying with all 
 his might, — 
 
 “ O Doctor, do hurry and give Jasper some 
 stuff, for he ’s ’most dying! ” And the poor little 
 fellow burst into a howl of woe, and then threw 
 himself down on the stairs. 
 
 In the parlor, Leslie sat upon the broad, low 
 satin sofa, half-holding the sick child, who, pale 
 and weak, breathed only in faint groans. 
 
 She did not speak when they entered, and 
 hardly noticed Tom, — he seemed far away, 
 with the sunshine and the daylight. Tears were 
 slowly rolling down her pale cheeks. Tom 
 
 io8 
 
The Coloners Opera Cloak 
 
 wished he could kiss them away, and then was 
 ashamed of the thought, where one thought only 
 seemed in place; and he humbly and quietly 
 seated himself in the shadow. 
 
 The Doctor examined the boy, and asked 
 questions of the others. His throat had been 
 sore for several days, and he had “ felt sick, — 
 but not so sick that he could n’t tussle and 
 wrastle,” Clarence explained, as he stood shiv- 
 ering in his scanty raiment. 
 
 “ Doctor,” said Pomp, drawing him into a 
 corner near Tom, “ I mus’ tell yer de symp- 
 tims. John Jasper ain’t never dreffle strong, — 
 his constitution ain’t good. He ’s had de con- 
 sum’tion twice, an’ times an’ times he ’d a per- 
 ished, ef I had n’t ben a-lookin’ after him. Yes’- 
 day aft’noon he fell down on to his side, — de 
 side what ’s had de fits into it before ; an’ wid 
 his sore froat, an’ all, I know he ’s gwine fur 
 to die. 
 
 When de death-cravin’ come on, says I to 
 me, ‘ He ’s a-gwine to die.’ Fust, he axed fur 
 some tripe, an’ I cooked it fur him, an’ he eat it’ 
 all up. Den he axed fur some watermillion, — 
 pore boy, — but I could n’t git him none, ’cause 
 ’t ain’t de time fur watermillions. Den he axed 
 109 
 
The Colonel’s Opera Cloak 
 
 fur some pie, an' I giv him dat, an' he eat it all 
 up; an’ den he axed fur some fish, an’ I got dat, 
 an’ cook it an’ giv it to him, an’ he eat it all up. 
 I could n’t git no pigs’ feet fur him, so he axed 
 fur liver, an’ I got it an’ cook it, an’, don’t yer 
 b’lieve, he never eat one mou’ful of it! Den 
 I fought, he ’s gwine to die right away, dis 
 aft’noon. 
 
 “ After dat, he got better, an’ spoke up smart 
 an’ peart, an’ I fought p’r’aps we could bring 
 him round ; but now, Massa, he ’s gwine, — I ’ve 
 seen heaps of ’em gwine, an’ I knows de looks.” 
 
 “ I am afraid he is, my poor fellow,” said the 
 Doctor. 
 
 “ Don’t tell Miss Leslie,” said Pomp, eager to 
 spare his darling one pain. “ Don’t tell her, not 
 tell it comes.” 
 
 “ See, Jasper,” said Wilfrid, his trousers hang- 
 ing by one sdspender, ‘‘ you may have my foot- 
 ball.” 
 
 The poor little eyes unclosed, and the boy 
 opened his arms to receive it. 
 
 “ That ain’t nothing, Jasper,” added Wilfrid. 
 
 I ’ll give you my new six-bladed knife with a 
 file and a tooth-pick and a glove-buttoner.” 
 
 A faint smile touched the poor little face. 
 
The Coloners Opera Cloak 
 
 Tom never thought of laughing at the inap- 
 propriate gilt. 
 
 “ O Jasper,” cried Clarence, bursting into a 
 torrent of tears, and throwing himself on the 
 floor, “ you may have every thing I ’ve got, all 
 my marbles, and my new alleys, and the kite 
 and the gun, and every thing, if you ’ll only get 
 well ! And I ’ll let you slide on the banisters 
 every day, if you won’t die.” 
 
 The crying aroused the sick child, and at 
 the last words he opened his eyes and looked 
 about. 
 
 “ Massa Doctor,” said he, in a faint, choked 
 little voice, “ is I gwine to die sure? Is I gwine 
 to glory ’lone, ’thout nobody?” 
 
 “ Oh, I hope not, my little fellow. Swallow 
 this, and try to get well,” said the Doctor, in a 
 cheerful tone. 
 
 ‘‘ I has n’t never seen de Lord Jesus,” said the 
 child. “ But I done reckon I knows him. Ole 
 Sally, she loves to die, and she said he was alius 
 hangin’ ’bout de gate to fotch in de folks dat 
 wants to git in, an’ int’duce ’em to his frien’s. 
 I ain’t got nobody dar, ’cept Joseph an’ Moses 
 an’ dat crowd, an’ I wants to wait, Massa Doc- 
 tor, tell my gran’ fa’ goes fust, to be lookin’ out 
 
 III 
 
The Coloners Opera Cloak 
 
 fur me; fur it’s dreffle dark an' rainy to-night, 
 Massa Doctor, and I ’se afeerd dat de Lord 
 Jesus can’t see a lettle nigger boy when de 
 night ’s so black. I s’pect I ’d better holler my 
 name all de time, so he ’ll know I ’se a-comin’.” 
 
 After a few minutes, he broke the silence 
 again : — 
 
 “ I done wish I could wait, Massa Doctor, 
 tell my gran’fa’ an’ Miss Leslie ’s done gone; fur 
 my gran’fa’, he ’d know, de fust time I called 
 out, an’ I 'd see Miss Leslie a-comin’ to fotch 
 me, in a white dress, an’ tell me de supper 
 was waitin’ hot, like de day she did when I 
 got los’.” 
 
 Mrs. St. John, whose faint sobs had been 
 heard in the next room, appeared at the door 
 in her wrapper, with a severe look upon her 
 face. 
 
 “ Doctor,” said she, “ don’t you know of some 
 stuff to cure that child? I don’t see, for my 
 part, what ’s the good of having a doctor, if he 
 can’t cure a poor little darkey. We were often 
 ill South, but we always got well; and here we 
 are alive. I don’t know what the Colonel will 
 do to you, if you let that boy die.” 
 
 The Doctor took no notice of her, and she 
 
The Coloners Opera Cloak 
 
 went back to bed, convinced that she had stirred 
 him up to his duty. 
 
 Jasper opened his languid eyes. 
 
 1 wants to see de Colonel,” he piped, in a 
 high, thin voice, “ ef I ’se a-gwine to die. Massa 
 Doctor, can’t I live tell de Colonel gits home? 
 He said he ’d fotch me suthin’, an’ I wants to 
 see what it ’s gwine to be. I loves de Colonel, 
 an’ de Colonel loves me. He said I might 
 black his boots all de time, when he come 
 agin.” 
 
 Pomp quietly followed the Doctor’s orders, 
 and Leslie bathed the cold forehead and the 
 passive hands. She bent over the child, and 
 kissed him. It seemed to Tom, sitting in the 
 shadow, that an angel had appeared to do a 
 humble service. 
 
 Outside, the watchman paced the sidewalk, 
 and the rain drove against the windows. The 
 bells clanged four o’clock. 
 
 The little French clock ticked on: it was the 
 only bit of furniture that did its duty in that 
 ‘‘ rack-and-manger ” house. 
 
 In the dim parlor, love, the best of all things, 
 was surrounding and comforting the little black 
 boy, as his life was slowly wearing away. He 
 8 113 
 
The Colonel’s Opera Cloak 
 
 held the ball in his arms. The boys had poured 
 out their playthings around him, and he appeared 
 to be enjoying them. 
 
 Once in a while he was seized with a terrible 
 pain, and then it seemed as if the boys would 
 die with agony. Jasper was of the same age 
 as Clarence. I do not believe the boys knew any 
 difference in their affection for him and for 
 each other. Jasper and Clarence had often slept 
 together on the parlor sofa or on the stairs, when 
 sleep overtook them there. 
 
 The terrible spasm over, Jasper opened his 
 eyes, which looked large and white. 
 
 “ Ef I ’se gwine to die, Massa Doctor, an’ de 
 Colonel ain’t come home, I wants de Colonel’s 
 op’ra cloak frowed over me. Ef I ken smell de 
 Colonel’s cigar in it, an’ ef I shets my eyes, 
 ’pears like de Colonel ’s here. I ’mos’ hear 
 him say, ‘ Jasper, I ’se — fotched — you — 
 somethin’.” 
 
 Leslie looked at the Doctor with questioning 
 eyes, but found no encouragement in his look. 
 The little head grew heavy on her lap, the 
 breathing grew fainter and slower. Leslie drew 
 the opera cloak closer about the boy, as she felt 
 him shiver. 
 
The Coloners Opera Cloak 
 
 For a moment the room was silent. 
 
 ‘‘ My dear/’ said the Doctor, ‘‘ it is over. 
 Little Jasper has gone.” Then Leslie bent over 
 him and cried. She had tried so hard to keep 
 back the tears before. Pomp came to comfort 
 her, as if Jasper’s death had been a greater grief 
 to her than to him. 
 
 The boys, in utter misery, were sobbing loudly. 
 Mrs. St. John was endeavoring to faint, and 
 Pomp was needed to take care of her. Tom 
 took Leslie’s burning hands in his, hardly know- 
 ing what he did. 
 
 “ Come home with us,” said he. “ You have 
 done all you can: let the others do the rest.” 
 Although she shook her head, there was comfort 
 for her in his voice. 
 
 The gray light struggled in through the shades 
 with a dismal loneliness that the night had failed 
 to bring. 
 
 The boys, worn out with crying, crept away, 
 awed into stillness by the quiet of death. Their 
 little playfellow now seemed old and wise to 
 them, holding a secret they could not know; 
 and they turned from him in fear. 
 
 “ Nobody shall touch him but Pomp and 
 
 115 
 
The Colonel’s Opera Cloak 
 
 me,” said Leslie, all at once a thoughtful 
 woman. 
 
 She brought a night-gown for the little fellow, 
 and made a bed on the sofa to lay him on. 
 
 Pomp, to whom she had always turned for 
 comfort, was lost in admiration. 
 
 “ O Miss Leslie, honey,” said he, in a trem- 
 bling voice, “ don't yer do any more : yer acts, 
 chile, ’s ef yer was de gran’ fa’ of dis pore lettle 
 boy. Yer go to yer bed, an’ git a lettle sleep.” 
 
 “ O Pomp,” said the girl, “ don’t send me 
 to bed! You’ve sat up for me many a night 
 when I was sick or sorry; and I sha’n’t desert 
 you now in your trouble. Let the others go. 
 I will stay with you.” 
 
 The Doctor and Tom went away, and left the 
 tried friends together in the dreary house. 
 
 In the morning Mrs. Douglas went to see 
 Leslie. She knew that Mrs. St. John would 
 only appear as chief mourner, — not a helpful 
 character to assume. 
 
 The unruly door between the parlors had been 
 closed. Mrs. St. John had exchanged rooms 
 with Leslie : it made her nervous to be so near 
 a dead person. 
 
 Leslie was laying flowers about the parlor. 
 
 ii6 
 
The Coloners Opera Cloak 
 
 “ I shall never forget your sending me these,” 
 said she, going to Mrs. Douglas, with a tearful 
 smile. But Mrs. Douglas had not sent them. 
 
 ‘‘ Nobody can do any thing for me,” she 
 added. “ The boys have been so good, poor 
 fellows! They are almost sick with crying. I 
 am going with Pomp this afternoon, to buy a 
 place in the cemetery for poor little Jasper. Oh, 
 what a dreadful thing it is to die — or to live 1 ” 
 cried the girl, breaking down, and throwing her 
 arms about Mrs. Douglas, who took her to her 
 heart in real motherly fashion, smoothing her hair 
 and kissing her. 
 
 “ You must come to stay with us for a few 
 days, my dear, when this is over, and get rested,” 
 she said. 
 
 The next day Tom and Bessie went to the 
 house. The minister was there. He read a few 
 lines of comfort, and spoke words of kindness; 
 and then Pomp and the others took little Jasper 
 to his last resting-place. 
 
 They stood by the grave for a moment, while 
 Pomp muttered a short prayer, and reverently 
 raised his hat, — it was Mr. Cavello’s hat, — and 
 then, drawing the Colonel’s opera cloak about 
 him, he put Leslie and the rest of the company 
 117 
 
The Colonel’s Opera Cloak 
 
 into the carriages, and turned his face toward 
 home. 
 
 “ Dis yere death ’s a mighty myste’ous thing, 
 Miss Leslie,” said Pomp, as the two sat, a 
 
 short time 
 after this, 
 on the kitchen 
 stairs, waiting for the 
 kettle to boil. Stairs 
 were much approved of as seats by the St. 
 Johns : they were always safe ; and chairs were 
 treacherous, and never could be depended on. 
 “Yes, Pomp,” said Leslie: “a few days ago, 
 
 ii8 
 
The Coloners Opera Cloak 
 
 and we could ask Jasper what he knew or 
 felt or thought; and now, if we asked him, 
 he could n’t tell us so that we could understand.” 
 “ Why, Miss Leslie,” asked Pomp, in sudden 
 alarm, “why couldn’t we un’stan’ him? Yer 
 don’t ’spect he ’ll talk de wrong way, like de 
 Jew in de pawn-shop, or de Chinyman, does 
 ■yer, — so ’t I can’t un’stan’ him when I gits 
 dar? I hope he ain’t gwine to git so lamed dat 
 I shall hev to be int’duced to him! Does yer 
 tink. Miss Leslie, dey grows up, or stays de 
 way dey was when dey goes in?” 
 
 “ I don’t know,” said Leslie, who tried in her 
 simple way to be good, and in so trying wrought 
 out a sweet and Christlike religion. “ I don’t 
 know : only the hymn says, — 
 
 ‘ We shall know each other there.’ 
 
 I reckon. Pomp, it will be just as if we had been 
 away from our friends for a good while, and 
 when we saw them again, they were changed, 
 and were gentler and kinder and more beauti- 
 ful; and we should see that they were different, 
 and yet they ’d be the same. We ’d know them as 
 soon as they spoke, even though it was in a dark 
 room, and we did n’t know they were there.” 
 
 1 19 
 
The Coloners Opera Cloak 
 
 Pomp’s tearful eyes glistened with pride. 
 
 “ Dar ’s good comfort in dat, Miss Leslie,” he 
 said. “ ’Pears like de Lord ’s speakin’ froo yer. 
 ’Pears like I sees John Jasper now, all dressed up 
 an’ lookin’ as good as Massa Tom; yit he’ll be 
 my boy an’ yer boy; an’ I done reckon dat 
 chile won’t leave his eyes off dat gate a-watchin’ 
 fur yer an’ fur me. 
 
 “ De way to Prov’dence is pas’ findin’ out. 
 Miss Leslie,” added he, piously rolling his eyes. 
 “ Somehow, I don’t look wid no respec’, no more, 
 on de Colonel’s op’ra cloak. I feels, somehow 
 or nudder, dat ef dat cloak had done his duty, 
 dat chile would be tumblin’ downstairs or suthin’, 
 dis minute here. I tole Jasper, on Monday, not 
 to go out widout puttin’ on de op’ra cloak, fear 
 he ’d cotch cole in his chist ; an’ nowhar could 
 he fin’ it. ’Pears sometimes ’s ef dat cloak had 
 got legs on to it dat we can’t see, an’ jes’ walked 
 itself off an’ hid under tings an’ behin’ tings. 
 I should n’t never hev foun’ whar it was a-hidin’, 
 ef I hed n’t los’ my shoe, an’ I was scoochin’ 
 down, lookin’ under ev’ry ting, an’ dar was dat 
 op’ra cloak a-squeezin’ in ’tween de wall an’ de 
 sofy, whar nobody would n’t never hev looked 
 fur it. 
 
 120 
 
The Coloners Opera Cloak 
 
 “ Why, we might hev gone away from dis 
 house, an’ never hev foun’ it. Miss Leslie, an’ 
 what would de Colonel hev said? I reckon I 
 knows ! ” 
 
 “ O Pomp,” said Leslie, the tears filling her 
 beautiful eyes, “don’t wish Jasper back! He’s 
 better off than we are.” 
 
 “ Yes,” said Pomp : “ I reckon he ’s better off ; 
 an’ yit he was putty good off, when he was here. 
 Ef yer count up what folks calls massies, he 
 hed mos’ on ’em. He hed n’t no gran’ma’, 
 but there ’s a good many folks hain’t. I hain’t 
 got no gran’ma’, — no, nor no gran’ fa’, nuther; 
 but I don’ tink much ’bout it, ’cept when I 
 hears folks speakin’ on ’em. But how ’ll dis 
 be: — John Jasper’s mo’er died when he was 
 a little baby. She won’t know him : he won’t 
 know her, ’less his gran’ma’ tells him who she 
 is. But, den,” said Pomp, falling into confu- 
 sion in his genealogies, as many others have 
 done, “ his gran’ma’ she never seen Jasper I 
 It ’s me dat hed ought to passed away fust, 
 to hev hed tings all straighted up. ’Pears like 
 nothin’ don’t go straight, ef I is n’t dar to ’tend 
 to it.” 
 
 “ I reckon things will go right in heaven with- 
 
 I2I 
 
The Coloners Opera Cloak 
 
 out you, Pomp,” said Leslie, with a faint smile, 
 “ but I am sure they would n’t here in this family. 
 I wish we were like the Douglases. Every thing 
 goes so smoothly there, and they are so good! 
 They help poor people, and they go to mission- 
 schools.” 
 
 Pomp looked very solemn. 
 
 “ I used to be awful ’ligious,” he said. “ I 
 used to go to heaps o’ woods-meetin’s, an’ I hol- 
 lered louder ’n any one on ’em. Why, Miss 
 Leslie, I was baptized in de Rappahannick, in 
 jes’ de spot, in de very water, dat Gen’l Washin’- 
 ton was baptized in, — no, ’t was n’t Gen’l Wash- 
 in’ton, nuther : 't was Joyce Heth. I done ’mem- 
 ber she was Gen’l Washin’ton’s nuss! So I was 
 baptized on hysteric groun’, yer see! 
 
 “ Oh, I got ’ligion, in dem days, so dere wa’n’t 
 no doin’ nothin’ wid me; but,” Pomp sighed, 
 “ I ain’t hed no time dese las’ years fur ’ligion. 
 I ’se had to see to all o’ yer.” 
 
 “ They all ran away but you,” said Leslie : 
 “ that was when I was very little.” 
 
 “ Yes, dey got free, an’ so dey run off. Dey 
 said I was a fool to stay here; but I ’membered 
 what I done promise to ole Missus when she 
 was a-dyin’. Says she, ‘ Don’t yer never leave 
 
 122 
 
The Colonehs Opera Cloak 
 
 Miss Marie, ’cause she ’s hard to git ’long wid, 
 an’ nobody can’t git ’long wid her ’cept jes’ yen’ 
 An’ den de Colonel he got pore, an’ I wa’n’t 
 goin’ to clar out when my frien’s gits pore. 
 Dat ’s de time when yer wants yer frien’s. 
 
 “ My brudder he ’s in Phil’delphy. He ’s got 
 a barber’s shop, an’ he goes out ha’r-dressin’, — 
 he can’t do it no better nor I kin, — an’ he makes 
 heaps o’ money. He dresses up mighty fine, 
 dey says, an’ goes scootin’ 
 round wid a cane, an’ one 
 o’ dem high-top hats, like 
 Massa Tom’s. He ’s putty 
 high in meetin’s, too! He 
 passes de box, an’ he ’s one 
 ob de deacons. I ’$ 
 he’ll be powerful high 
 in de kingdom, 
 de good Lord 
 he ’ll ’cuse me, I 
 ’spect; fur I can’t 
 git no time to be 
 ’ligious, — dar ’s s 
 to do allers. I don’t seem to git froo. 
 
 “When. we gits settled agin, I must look up 
 my ’ligion. I ain’t kep’ but a little on ’t, — jes’ 
 123 
 
The Colonel’s Opera Cloak 
 
 to say my pra’ers, an’ do my duty, an’ love de 
 Lord an’ ev’rybody, — dat is, ev’rybody ’cept — 
 'cept Massa Cavello; but, den, he don’t ’mount 
 to much.” 
 
 “ I think that is pretty much the whole of 
 religion,” said Leslie. “ It always comforts me 
 to know that you pray for us. Pomp ; and I ’m 
 sure nobody in the world is so unselfish as you.” 
 “ Oh, I ain’t onselfish,” said Pomp. “ I has n’t 
 never done tings fur folks. I has n’t visited ’em 
 in prison, an’ I has n’t gin clo’es to nobody, an’ 
 I hain’t fed nobody what was hungry, — ’cept de 
 boys, of course : dey ’s ben hungry times ’nuf, 
 an’ I ’se put dere clo’es on times ’nuf, too. 
 
 “Now jes’ look at dat kittle!” cried Pomp. 
 “ I can’t talk to nobody, but dat kittle gits so 
 res’less an’ biles over, pokin’ up de kiver like he 
 could n’t wait tell I gits dar I ” 
 
 “ Pomp ! ” cried Clarence, coming to the stairs. 
 “ Hurry up there ! I ’m ’most starved to death. 
 Isn’t supper ’most ready?” 
 
 “ Well,” said Leslie, rising, “ I almost wish I 
 was where Jasper is. What ’s the use of being 
 raised, to wish, half the time, you had n’t been 
 born? ” 
 
 Pomp wiped his tears away. 
 
 124 
 
The Colonel’s Opera Cloak 
 
 “ Nobody has n’t ben sayin’ any ting to yer, 
 has he?” he asked, nodding his head in the 
 direction of Mr. Cavello’s room. “ I hes set 
 Massa Tom off for you ! I wishes de Colonel 
 would come back an’ see to dat nigger, — for I 
 ’spect he ain’t nothin’ else, — a-passin’ hisself 
 off for a gent’man.” 
 
 Mr. Cavello had been missing, while little Jas- 
 per lay dead in the house; and he now crossed 
 himself as he passed the parlor door. 
 
 Leslie despised him. What a mean, contempt- 
 ible little soul he had! How noble Tom’s was! 
 But, then, of course there was no one so kind, 
 so good, so handsome, so generous, so learned 
 as Tom! She could only gaze upon him from 
 afar : he could never care any thing for a girl 
 like her. 
 
 She thrilled with pain, as she compared herself 
 with Miss Henderson, about whom she had heard 
 Bessie tease him, and who made her feel so stupid. 
 Every thing about Miss Henderson spoke out: 
 the very ruffles plumed themselves, and hinted 
 at the shabby frills on Leslie’s dress. Her eyes 
 said, “ See how bright we are! ” and her smile, 
 “ How gracious I am ! ” When she played, her 
 white hands cried, ‘‘ Listen ! did you ever hear 
 
 125 
 
The Coloners Opera Cloak 
 
 such music? ” and, when she ceased playing, she 
 slipped so gracefully into her place, sometimes 
 saying, “ I ’m glad you enjoy it : it is one of my 
 favorite sonatas. How it recalls those heavenly 
 evenings in Heidelberg ! ” 
 
 Poor Leslie ! she did nt know where Heidel- 
 berg was. When she finished her simple songs, 
 her cheeks got red, and she wanted to put her 
 face in her hands. She wished she was a fine 
 young lady, like Miss Henderson. 
 
 Pomp had said he had set Tom off for her; 
 and, although she smiled when she thought of 
 it, it comforted her. 
 
 126 
 
VII 
 
 T he warm weather came that year all at 
 once. Mrs. St. John bloomed into life 
 with the flowers, and left her bed when they 
 arose from theirs. 
 
 She sent Leslie for patterns of muslins and 
 tissues ; and dress-makers and seamstresses 
 thronged the house. Her listless manner passed 
 away, and she fell enthusiastically into the dis- 
 cussion of flounces, frills, side-plaiting, and box- 
 plaiting. 
 
 The Colonel had sent home more money lately, 
 and they had been able to have new clothes and 
 a better table, and had paid fewer bills. Mrs. 
 St. John sent the Doctor an elegant dressing- 
 gown, — he had two already, — and to Mrs. 
 Douglas fresh flowers every day, but took no 
 more notice of the Doctor’s bill than if it had 
 
 127 
 
The Coloners Opera Cloak 
 
 never been sent. One May morning the sun 
 poured down as hot as in July; and, cheerful and 
 amiable and handsome, Mrs. St. John announced 
 that she was going out of town with Pomp, to 
 engage summer board. She had heard of a place 
 in the country which was just the thing. 
 
 The proprietor of the hotel was quite struck 
 by the appearance of this elegant Southern lady, 
 attended by a colored servant; and he exerted 
 himself to please her. 
 
 She must have all large rooms, and they must 
 all be on the front, and they must open into each 
 other. Two large rooms on the front were al- 
 ready engaged; but she said the people must 
 take some other rooms ; they could n’t expect, if 
 they only took two, to have a choice situation; 
 she wanted five large rooms. The polite land- 
 lord said he would see the “ other party,” and 
 try to arrange the matter. Mrs. St. John in- 
 quired particularly about the table, and looked 
 critically over the bill of fare. 
 
 She did not demur at the high price, but left 
 her decision hanging on the withdrawal of the 
 “ other persons.” 
 
 After three days, during which time the land- 
 lord had interviewed the “ party,” he wrote to 
 128 
 
The Colonels Opera Cloak 
 
 her that he had lost the people who had the 
 front rooms, but considered it best to let them 
 go, as her family was so large, and wanted so 
 many apartments. 
 
 Mrs. St. John dropped the letter behind her 
 bed, after reading it. “That horrid Yankee!” 
 she said. “ As if 1 did n’t know where I wanted 
 to go ! ” And she decided now to go to the 
 sea-shore. 
 
 After a few days, the man wrote again, and 
 then again; and, receiving no answer, he went 
 humbly to the “ other party,” and coaxed him 
 back at a reduced price. 
 
 Mrs. St. John and Pomp took a trip to the 
 sea-shore. The hotel was a very fine one, built 
 on rocks directly overlooking the sea. 
 
 The rooms were nearly all engaged; but she 
 made the landlord turn people in and out, and 
 finally arranged to go on the first of July, with 
 all her family, for the summer. 
 
 She wrote to the Colonel that she was going 
 there to get Leslie off ; that his horrid friend was 
 making love to her all the time, and would n’t 
 look at Leslie ; and that the Doctor’s son did not 
 commit himself, although she had given him 
 chances every day in the week and Sundays 
 9 129 
 
The Colonel’s Opera Cloak 
 
 beside; for she made Leslie go to church, and 
 had taken a seat for her right in front of the 
 Douglases; and she had tried to induce her to 
 take a class in the mission-school where Tom 
 taught ; but Leslie was so stubborn, and said she 
 did n’t know enough to teach, — as if that made 
 any difference! Now she should give her a last 
 chance. 
 
 The amiable Colonel, who was sojourning in 
 St. Louis, talking of claims and institutions, 
 and the poor, homeless, wandering, unhappy 
 millions of the colored race, and of the blue 
 blood and untrammelled spirits of the chivalry, 
 
 — but who had smiles for Northern land-pur- 
 chasers, and good-humoredly ate their dinners, 
 
 — replied that her idea was a good one, but not 
 to let the little girl marry any fellow who would 
 be unkind to her. 
 
 The first of July came, and the family set 
 off for the Elden House, in high spirits. Mr. 
 Cavello had gone to a neighboring city to dine 
 with a friend ; and Mrs. St. John had neglected 
 to tell him what day she was going; or, rather, 
 she decided to go while he was away. 
 
 The boys were all in new suits; Leslie wore 
 a dark blue flannel dress and a sailor hat; and 
 130 
 
The ColoneFs Opera Cloak 
 
 Pomp was arrayed in some “ clo’es he foun^ 
 roun’ de house.” And the carriage came, the 
 mansion was closed, and away they went. 
 
 Mr. Cavello, returning at dusk, was dismayed 
 at the deserted air of the house, where the win- 
 dows had always blazed with light. He rang 
 the bell : the handle came off, — it came off so 
 easily ! — and then he pounded, and then he 
 kicked. He went to the basement door; but for 
 once the curtains were down and silence reigned. 
 A servant near by, seeing his despair, told him 
 that the family all went off at noon, and that 
 the black man said they would n’t be back for a 
 good many weeks. 
 
 Mr. Cavello was in a rage. He struck his 
 thin wisp of a cane on the sidewalk, until it 
 broke. He raved in his native tongue, and, 
 judging from his manner, his language was 
 strong and pointed. 
 
 But he had to go away unsatisfied. He could 
 find no “ open sesame.” 
 
 The first week of the St. Johns’ stay at the 
 Elden House had passed, when Mrs. St. John 
 wrote to Bessie and Tom, inviting them to visit 
 her. 
 
 Bessie did not care to go: she said that she 
 
The Colonel’s Opera Cloak 
 
 was afraid of the opera cloak. Mrs. Douglas 
 remarked that she thought Tom would be a 
 brave young man to visit the St. Johns, and 
 make himself responsible, as it were, for them. 
 Tom declared that he was brave, and that life 
 had been dull since the opera cloak left town; 
 and he thought he would run down Thursday 
 night, and see how it was getting on. 
 
 When the coach drove up to the hotel piazza 
 that Thursday, it was about six o’clock. Ladies 
 who had gentlemen were promenading the piazza, 
 and ladies who expected them were standing 
 about the door waiting. 
 
 When Tom jumped out, he noticed at once 
 a pretty girl. It was Leslie, but so changed! 
 She had been driving, and wore her blue flannel 
 dress and sailor hat. The hat was pushed back, 
 sailor-fashion, on her head, and her hair was 
 ruffled by the wind. She had wild flowers in 
 her hand. She came up, smiling and blushing. 
 
 “ I am so sorry I was late ! I went to drive 
 with Mr. Merrill, and have only just returned. 
 I wanted to dress before you came.” 
 
 Tom took one instant to hate Mr. Merrill, and 
 then he wondered what celestial raiment, what 
 purple and fine linen, could be found to make 
 
 132 
 
The Colonel’s Opera Cloak 
 
 this beautiful being more beautiful. He could 
 not believe that this was the Leslie who had 
 worn her aunt’s clothes and Clarence’s boots, — 
 she was so charming, so stylish! Well, if Tom 
 had come down with even the little pointed end 
 of his heart untouched, or one of the scallops 
 at the top, it must have given way now! 
 
 Mrs. St. John came to meet him with great 
 cordiality; and Arthur and Wilfrid and Clarence 
 said it was “ high old jolly ” to see him again, 
 and, when they heard of Mr. Cavello’s attempt 
 to get into the house, they fairly jumped up and 
 down in delight. 
 
 Mrs. St. John was so handsome, and her 
 clothes were so elegant, and her niece was so 
 lovely, that the family were very popular at the 
 hotel; and Tom saw, with pride and fear, that 
 Leslie was the most attractive girl in the house. 
 
 There was to be a hop that evening, and Tom 
 was to come to Mrs. St. John’s door at eight 
 o’clock, to take her and Leslie downstairs. But 
 an old beau, of the kind which belongs to every 
 summer hotel, with gray hair and pink cheeks, 
 MacVickar by name, came, with all his soul 
 in his eyes, — his eyes were small, but he put 
 all his soul into them, — to beg the honor of 
 
 133 
 
The Colonel’s Opera Cloak 
 
 taking Mrs. St. John down; and so Leslie was 
 left for Tom. 
 
 Leslie had never seen any thing, and had never 
 been anywhere, except for a short time to a third- 
 rate boarding-school; and she thought that now 
 she was in Paradise. She did not have to pin 
 her dress-waists over; her boots fitted her; and 
 everybody was so lovely and kind and beautiful! 
 
 Mrs. St. John had let slip a word about the 
 great responsibility of having a young heiress 
 and a beauty on her hands : fortune-hunters were 
 so plenty, and artists and other fellows without 
 money took so kindly to a rich and handsome 
 girl, that her aunt must of necessity lead a life 
 of watchfulness, and sleep with one eye open. 
 
 All this summer, life was of rose-color for 
 Leslie. She walked, she drove, she kissed all 
 the babies, she told stories to the children, who 
 pursued her all over the house. She was engaged 
 days in advance for croquet ; and the light-haired, 
 weak little son of the rich ^Ir. Tileson begged 
 for a game a week ahead, and asked her, from 
 the top of the stage, to wear his colors — a 
 magenta ribbon — in her button-hole until he 
 returned. The handsome cadet from West Point 
 wrecked his best suit by cutting gilt buttons from 
 134 
 
The Colonel’s Opera Cloak 
 
 it to string upon little Tileson’s red ribbon; and 
 Mr. Bennett, who had been crossed in love by 
 the young lady who sat on the rocks all day and 
 sketched “ the sea, the lone, dark sea,’' asked 
 Leslie to let him carry her fan, to make the 
 mermaid jealous; and Leslie was sorry for him, 
 and made the young lady very jealous. The 
 old gentlemen admired Leslie: she opened their 
 papers for them; and for the gouty old fellow 
 who sat next her at the table she saved the choice 
 bits of lobster, and made believe she liked legs 
 best. When Mrs. Morris begged the little Ste- 
 venses not to drag their tin carts up and down 
 the piazza under her windows, Leslie promised 
 them a splendid story “ that long,” if they ’d 
 stay on the lawn. She seemed instinctively to 
 know how to get into people’s hearts. 
 
 Old Mr. Morris used to laugh at the shells 
 and buttons she wore on her ribbon, and called 
 it her scalp-string. 
 
 Would eight o’clock never come? Some 
 people think hours measure alike. It is not 
 so: happy hours are cut short, that weary ones 
 may be lengthened. 
 
 Leslie had been ready for an hour. Pomp 
 was on his knees before Mrs. St. John, lacing 
 
 135 
 
The Colonel’s Opera Cloak 
 
 her boots. She asked Leslie to peep out, and 
 see if Mr. MacVickar was waiting, and to go 
 out if he was. Leslie said no, but that Mr. 
 Tom was there. “ Then go and walk with him,” 
 said Mrs. St. John. 
 
 Leslie wore a white dotted muslin, made in 
 the simplest way. It was high in the neck, with 
 a little ruche, and had elbow-sleeves with ruffles, 
 and a long, plain skirt, ruffled around the bot- 
 tom. Mrs. St. John had put on the finishing 
 touch by adding a scarlet crape sash, and put- 
 ting a bit of geranium in her hair. She wore 
 white slippers and long gloves; and a fan of 
 white feathers was tied to her waist by a scarlet 
 ribbon. 
 
 Tom caught his breath, when this vision of 
 loveliness appeared before him. 
 
 “Don’t I look right smart?” said Leslie. 
 “Isn’t this dress pretty?” 
 
 “ Why, I never saw any thing like it in my 
 life ! ” said the young fellow, forgetting Gertrude 
 Henderson’s French dresses, which he had once 
 admired so much. 
 
 “ I don’t know as you ’ll go down with 
 me. Miss Leslie. I have n't a dress suit here. 
 You didn’t tell me there was to be a hop; 
 
 136 
 
The Coloners Opera Cloak 
 
 and I ’m no dancing man, any way,” added 
 Tom. 
 
 “ I don’t know how to dance, either,” said 
 Leslie, taking his offered arm, while they slowly 
 promenaded through the long hall. “ I know 
 the ‘ Lancers,’ and pieces of other dances ; but 
 I reckon I can get through. Can’t you dance 
 at all ? ” 
 
 “ I can dance the ‘ Lancers ’ or a cotillion,” 
 said Tom, “ if I am with somebody who is 
 good to me, and tells me in time when I am 
 to make a courtesy, and the dame to make a 
 bow.” 
 
 “ Oh, I know enough to tell that,” said Leslie, 
 ‘‘ so you ’d better dance with me. Hark ! they 
 are tuning their music. Let ’s walk on the 
 piazza.” 
 
 The night was soft and clear; all the little 
 stars had come out ; the great, dark sea stretched 
 far away; and the light-house lantern flashed 
 and disappeared, as Leslie and Tom, arm-in-arm, 
 watched it from the piazza, where they stood 
 alone. 
 
 Old Cannon Rock was booming, as the incom- 
 ing tide rushed into its sounding caverns. A 
 row-boat was moving through the water: they 
 
 137 
 
The Coloners Opera Cloak 
 
 could hear soft voices, and see the water fall in 
 golden rain from the oars. 
 
 “ I wonder,” said Leslie, leaning her head 
 against a pillar, “ if everybody is not perfectly, 
 perfectly happy, sometimes.” 
 
 “ I hope so, with all my heart,” said Tom, 
 wondering whether his day was coming. 
 
 “ Because,” continued Leslie, “ I think people 
 could bear to be hungry, and cold, and not have 
 people care any thing for them, and have things 
 go wrong all the time, — if they were only per- 
 fectly happy once. If it was when they were 
 young, they could say in the horrid days, ‘ I ’ve 
 been happy once, and it was good enough to pay 
 for these times ; ’ or, if all their lives had been 
 very hard and uncomfortable, they could say, 
 when the perfectly happy days came, ‘ This pays 
 for it all.’ Do you believe it is so?” 
 
 “I don’t know,” said Tom. ‘‘It seems as if 
 some people never had their day. Have you 
 ever been perfectly happy?” 
 
 “ Yes,” said Leslie, hesitatingly : “ I am al- 
 most perfectly happy to-night.” 
 
 “ What makes you happy ? Because you are 
 going to a dance, and there ’s to be some fellow 
 there that you want to see?” 
 
 138 
 
The Colonel’s Opera Cloak 
 
 ‘‘I’d like to murder him!” added Tom, to 
 himself. 
 
 Leslie did n’t say a word : she only looked out 
 to sea. 
 
 “ I beg your pardon,” said Tom, coldly. “ I 
 had no business to ask that.” 
 
 “Oh, yes, you had,” said Leslie’s soft voice; 
 “ and, if you had n’t, no matter. I never mind, 
 if people are only kind to me, what they say; 
 and you have been kinder to me than almost 
 anybody.” 
 
 “ What good fortune for me, that the Colonel’s 
 business detained him over to-night!” said Mr. 
 MacVickar’s thin voice to Mrs. St. John, as they 
 came upon the two young people standing in 
 the moonlight. “Old fool!” said Tom, in a 
 low tone. 
 
 “ ‘ Or when the moon was overhead, 
 
 Came two young lovers lately wed,’ ” 
 
 Mr. MacVickar added, waving his hand grace- 
 fully. Ha! ha! Not exactly appropriate, but 
 we hope it will be! And what will the other 
 adorers say to this. Miss Leslie, — Mr. Merrill, 
 and Mr. Tileson, and the host who bend the 
 knee? ” 
 
 139 
 
The Colonel’s Opera Cloak 
 
 Tom could gladly have flung Mr. MacVickar 
 into the sea. The two passed on. 
 
 “Well,” said Tom, trying to re-establish the 
 conversation, and wanting to hear Leslie repeat 
 her words. “ I was never kind to you. I only 
 wish I could be. If there was any thing I could 
 do to make you not almost, but perfectly ” — 
 
 They both started. A man hung suspended 
 in the air before them. Leslie caught Tom’s 
 hand in terror. He threw his arm about her; 
 when a wicked giggle sounded from the piazza 
 roof, and the man began to dance about, flapping 
 his legs in the air. 
 
 “ Say, Leslie, we ’ve heard all you said, — te, 
 he, he, he, he ! and all your beau said ! ” 
 
 The man flopped about. He was a pair of 
 pantaloons, a pillow, a hat, and the Colonel’s 
 opera cloak; and he was suspended by the neck 
 by a cord, and jiggled according to the fancy of 
 his creators. 
 
 Leslie was ready to cry. Tom caught the 
 hanging man, and nearly jerked the young, un- 
 trammelled spirits of the chivalry into early 
 graves ! They held on to the little railing above, 
 and howled. 
 
 “You shut up, there! You can’t get Leslie! 
 
 140 
 

The Coloners Opera Cloak 
 
 She ’s going to marry Mr. Merrill, — so, there ! 
 Ain’t you sweet on Leslie, — taking her to ride and 
 dumping her in a mud-puddle? — te, he, te, he ! ” 
 
 The band struck up. The dancers took their 
 places. Leslie beat time to the music with her 
 foot. 
 
 “ Let us go in and look on, it is so bright 
 and merry,” said she, ashamed and frightened. 
 ‘‘ You won’t mind what the boys said, will you? 
 I am so sorry! They say any thing when they 
 are teasing me.” 
 
 “ I don’t mind any thing they say : it ’s only 
 what you say that I mind,” replied Tom. 
 
 “ Come,” said the young girl, hurrying him on. 
 
 I do wish the boys would n’t tease me so.” 
 
 As they stepped into the light, Tom saw tears 
 on her long lashes ; and his manner softened. 
 
 ‘‘ Never mind,” said he : “ we don’t care what 
 they say.” 
 
 His tone comforted her, and she went happily 
 into the hall on his arm. 
 
 Mrs. St. John was quite in her element. Mr. 
 MacVickar leaned over her chair and fanned 
 her. Mr. Norton, who had only arrived that 
 night, had begged to be introduced ; and he 
 now had the honor of holding her bouquet. Mr. 
 
 141 
 
The Colonel’s Opera Cloak 
 
 Gray asked why she had been so selfish as to 
 find occupation for only two admirers. Had n’t 
 she another fan, or could n't the bouquet be 
 divided? Mrs. St. John said she would allow 
 him to button her glove ; and his 
 face glowed with joy at her 
 condescension. 
 
 Tom made so many mistakes in 
 the “ Lancers ” that Leslie could 
 not keep him in order. She 
 tried to dance a cotillion with 
 k the “ defender of his country,” 
 m as Mr. MacVickar styled the 
 1 handsome little innocent from 
 T West Point; but she laughed 
 so often at her own mistakes, 
 that her partner became a little vexed, and thought 
 that she was laughing at him. What in creation 
 had her family been thinking of, not to teach her 
 to dance! He shuddered at the thought of such 
 ignorance in a civilized and Christian country, 
 and wished he had his shiny buttons back. 
 
 Mrs. Morris, who peeped in through the win- 
 dows from the piazza, wondered how it hap- 
 pened that the people all looked like the very 
 ones she had seen, season after season, at hotel 
 142 
 
The Colonel’s Opera Cloak 
 
 hops. There were the weary old ladies, who 
 hid their yawns behind their fans, and who only 
 served as stations to run the young ladies back 
 to. They looked so much alike, that Miss Annie 
 or Miss Fannie had to say, as her escort con- 
 fidently took her to the wrong old lady, “ Oh, 
 no, this one is not my mamma ! ” 
 
 The music was fine ; and, as Tom and Leslie 
 had come to grief in their dancing, they went 
 again to the piazza, passing on their way Mr. 
 MacVickar, who said, — 
 
 “ What ! going to add two other stars to 
 night? ” 
 
 “ A hop is n’t as nice as I thought it would 
 be,” said Leslie, wrapped up in somebody’s shawl, 
 which Tom had pilfered on his way out. “ If it 
 really meant its name, I ’d like it. I like to laugh 
 when I dance, and to feel that I am having a 
 good time. All those people looked so solemn, 
 and as if they were to blame. It made me laugh 
 to see them.” 
 
 “ There is only one thing that is nice about a 
 hop, to me,” said Tom; “ and that is to walk on 
 the piazza in the moonlight, with the music and 
 the sound of the sea in my ears, and a pretty 
 girl who ” — 
 
 143 
 
The Colonel’s Opera Cloak 
 
 ‘‘ How do you do, Miss Leslie ! ” said Mrs. 
 Morris from the shadow. “ Are you enjoy- 
 ing the hop? I must thank you for rescuing 
 me to-day from those little Stevenses. When 
 I have a headache, their shrill voices scalp 
 me. And those tin carts! They are instructed 
 to trundle them under my window, I ’m con- 
 vinced. Why do they never play under their 
 mother’s? ” 
 
 Leslie laughed, and introduced Tom to the 
 lady; and then Mr. Tileson came, pale and 
 timid, to remind Miss Leslie that she had 
 promised to promenade with him, as she did n’t 
 waltz. 
 
 Tom wanted to slap the little fellow between 
 his’' hands, like a mosquito. It did n’t seem like 
 murder to kill any thing so thin. 
 
 The supper hall was bright with flags. To 
 Leslie’s fresh eyes, it was like a scene in the 
 “ Arabian Nights.” With her, it was the Thou- 
 sand and One Nights all in one; for Tom had 
 walked boldly up to little Mr. Tileson, and of- 
 fered Leslie his arm as if she belonged to him, 
 and Leslie had taken it as if she did. Mr. Tile- 
 son had let her go, smiling feebly, and then 
 wondered why he had let her go. 
 
 144 
 
The Colonel’s Opera Cloak 
 
 Tom was splendid. He found just the things 
 Leslie liked, and sent a waiter with them to 
 the piazza, where they had “ another little tea- 
 party.” Leslie said this was “ j^^st for twice;” 
 and what a queer, lovely, funny, dreadful time 
 that other tea-party in the country was! and 
 now, with her pretty clothes, she felt like a 
 girl in a story, and he was like a gentleman in 
 a story. 
 
 “The hero and heroine?” asked Tom. 
 
 Leslie laughed, and said, “ No : there is an 
 elegant young lady whose initials are ‘ G. H.,’ 
 who is the heroine.” 
 
 “ And a man, called Tileson, is the hero for 
 the other lady, perhaps,” said Tom. 
 
 Leslie said that if he were to belong to her, 
 she would put a dress and bonnet on him, and 
 call him Miss Tileson. 
 
 “ I ’m tired, Leslie,” said little Clarence, run- 
 ning up to her, and laying his head on her 
 shoulder. “Won’t you take me to bed? I’m 
 afraid, in this big house, and I can’t keep awake 
 any longer.” 
 
 “ Where is Pomp? ” asked Tom. “ He ’ll put 
 you to bed.” 
 
 “ I want Leslie,” said Clarence, defiantly. 
 
 10 145 
 
The Coloners Opera Cloak 
 
 Leslie arose. 
 
 “ I ’ll put him to bed, and then come back,” 
 she said. But it was a long time before she 
 came, for Clarence wanted a song and a story; 
 and then it was time for Mrs. St. John to be 
 tired, and so Leslie had to go with her, of 
 course. 
 
 “ Don’t sing any of your songs to these fel- 
 lows here,” said Tom, in a low tone, as he bade 
 her good-night, nodding over his shoulder into 
 the ball-room. “ Save them for another ‘ just 
 for this time,’ won’t you? ” 
 
 ‘‘ Yes,” said Leslie. And then she gave 
 him her little hand, and said, “Good-night;” 
 and Tom saw her white dress sweep up the 
 stairs. 
 
 He decided that he was tired enough to go in 
 now. 
 
 It is surprising how the music clashes, how 
 the lights grow dim and the people stupid, the 
 minute “ the only girl in the world ” is taken 
 away by her hard-hearted chaperone. 
 
 But there was a morning coming. 
 
 146 
 
T he next morning Mrs. St. John told Pomp 
 to keep the boys away from Leslie and 
 Tom; but the poor old fellow had his hands 
 more than full to obey her orders. 
 
 Wilfrid and Clarence viewed Tom with that 
 intense admiration which boys so often feel for 
 a “ grown-up fellow ; ” and Arthur looked on 
 him tenderly as Bessie’s brother, and amused 
 Mr. Morris by saying that he knew how Tom 
 felt, — he had been there himself. 
 
 Leslie and Tom sat on the breezy side of the 
 broad piazza, away from the group of ladies who 
 had their fancy-work out and were listening to 
 Mrs. Stevens as she read aloud. 
 
 “ I am afraid I am very lazy,” said Leslie, 
 looking at her idle hands ; “ but I don’t seem 
 to care for fancy-work, and I have no real work 
 to do. Pomp does the mending.” 
 
 147 
 
The Colonel’s Opera Cloak 
 
 “ There ’s a great deal of nonsense about 
 fancy-work/’ said Tom. “ I think it is far 
 more sensible to sit still and do nothing, than to 
 play at work in that way. Gertrude Henderson 
 bears off the palm for that sort of thing. I ’m 
 glad Bessie never took to it. You are the kind 
 of girl that would take hold of real work, and 
 do it well, if you needed to. Any thing you were 
 interested in, and thought you ought to do, 
 you would do.” 
 
 “Would I?” said Leslie, very much pleased 
 with Tom’s discovery. “Oh, I’d rather have you 
 say that than any thing! I’d like to be just 
 like Bessie. She makes such lovely cake and 
 jelly; and she trims her own bonnets; and then 
 she can play on the piano and speak French, 
 besides. The only thing I can do is hoe-cake,” 
 she added. “ I ’ve seen Pomp make that times 
 enough to know how. But I can only play on 
 the ” — She stopped and blushed. 
 
 “On what?” asked Tom, smiling. “On a 
 jewsharp, or an accordion? Out with it, Miss 
 Leslie.” 
 
 “ On something worse,” she replied. “ But I 
 don’t want to let you know : you ’ll think it so 
 unlady-like.” 
 
 148 
 
The Colonel’s Opera Cloak 
 
 You could n’t do any thing unlady-like, ” 
 said Tom, looking into her eyes. 
 
 “ Well, then,” said Leslie, “ I sing negro 
 songs with the banjo.” 
 
 Tom burst out laughing. 
 
 “Is that all?” he asked. “You must bring 
 your banjo out, when we go back to town, and 
 sing for me. Why, I ’d rather have my — I ’d 
 rather hear you sing with a banjo than any thing 
 I can think of in the way of music.” 
 
 “ Oh, would you? ” said Leslie, much relieved. 
 “ I thought you would think it was dreadful. I 
 will sing for you as much as you like. I know 
 heaps of songs.” 
 
 Clarence appeared at this moment, dragging a 
 chair after him, and stationed himself in front 
 of them, saying nothing, but gazing earnestly 
 into their faces. He fairly stretched his eyes 
 open so as not to wink, for fear of losing 
 something. 
 
 From a conversation he had heard between his 
 mother and Pomp, he had gathered that some- 
 thing remarkable was to happen that morning, 
 and he meant to be “ in at the death.” 
 
 Just now Pomp peeped round the corner of 
 the piazza. 
 
 149 
 
The Coloners Opera Cloak 
 
 “ Massa Clar'nce/' he called, in a loud whis- 
 per, “ I wants to speak to yer.” 
 
 “ You don't neither,’’ said Clarence. “ You 
 want to get me in, and I shan't go.” 
 
 “ I ’se got some cake fur }^er.” 
 
 “I don't want your old cake! You needn’t 
 roll your old eyes round at me! I ain’t doing 
 any thing, am I, Leslie? You think Leslie don’t 
 want me to hear her talk jivith Mr. Douglas. 
 They ain’t talking about any thing but music, 
 are you, Leslie?” 
 
 Poor Leslie! She did not know what to say. 
 
 “ Clarence, come here. I want to speak to 
 you,” called his mother. 
 
 ‘‘ I ain't doing any thing to them,” he replied, 
 in a fretful voice. 
 
 The ladies at the other end of the piazza ex- 
 changed glances, and smiled. 
 
 “ Clarence, come to me this moment ! ” Mrs. 
 St. John's voice was getting a little shrill. 
 
 Clarence rose, dragging his feet heavily after 
 him, and pouting. 
 
 “ I can't hear a word they say, — not a single 
 word,” he whimpered. “ He did n’t come down 
 just to see Leslie, I'll bet: did you, Mr. 
 
 Douglas? ” 
 
 150 
 
The Coloners Opera Cloak 
 
 “No, I came to see you,” said Tom; 
 “ and, if you had stayed on that chair a little 
 longer, I should have been able to see a good 
 deal of you. Come here, I want to speak to 
 you.” 
 
 Tom’s whispered communication had the de- 
 sired effect, for Clarence soon disappeared in the 
 bowling-alley. 
 
 The little boy whom he paid, with unusual 
 liberality, for setting up the pins, asked him if 
 that “ city swell ” was his uncle. 
 
 Clarence said no, but he guessed he would be, 
 pretty soon, when he married Leslie. 
 
 “ He ’ll be your cousin, then,” said the boy. 
 
 “ He won’t either,” replied Clarence : “ he ’s 
 too old to be my cousin, I tell you. Leslie ’s my 
 cousin.” 
 
 Soon Tom and Leslie set out for a walk. 
 
 “ Mr. Douglas! ” Clarence called out. “ What 
 kind of a walk are you going on, — a long one 
 or a short one?” 
 
 “ Oh, a very long one,” said Tom, in a tone 
 of discouragement. 
 
 “ Then I ’ll go with you,” said Clarence, cheer- 
 fully. “ That ’s just the kind of a walk I want 
 to take.” 
 
The Colonel’s Opera Cloak 
 
 “ Hallo! Massa Clar’nce,” cried Pomp. Yer 
 ma says how she wants yer. She ’s got suthin’ 
 fur yer.” 
 
 Clarence was becoming wrathful under this 
 constant surveillance, to which he was not accus- 
 tomed. He aimed a stone at Pomp, who beat 
 a hasty retreat. 
 
 At this moment, Wilfrid, who was driving 
 with a stable-boy, saw the party, jumped out of 
 the carriage, and joined them. 
 
 “Clarence, come along!” he whispered. “I 
 want to tell you something. Say, we ’ll make 
 fun of them.” 
 
 Tom had put Leslie’s hand through his arm, 
 and now Wilfrid offered his arm to Clarence. 
 He leaned toward him, he whispered to him, and 
 finally Tom and Leslie were startled by a series 
 of loud kisses behind them. 
 
 They turned in time to see the little rascals 
 “ taking them off.” 
 
 Tom was angry, but he could n’t help laugh- 
 ing. Wilfrid was looking very stern, and Clar- 
 ence was mincing his steps, “ lady-fashion,” and 
 had his mouth pursed up : “ like Leslie’s,” he 
 said. 
 
 Poor Leslie was almost crying. 
 
 152 
 
The Coloners Opera Cloak 
 
 “ Don’t mind the boys,” said Tom. “ What 
 do we care for their nonsense? ” 
 
 After this there were no butterflies to chase, 
 no birds to stone. The boys walked beside the 
 two young people, paying strict attention to 
 
 every word. 
 
 Tom thought the Evil 
 One had engaged their 
 services for that morning. 
 
 Late in the afternoon 
 there was to be a sailing- 
 party. 
 
 They all went down to 
 the wharf, and stood 
 about, waiting while Uncle Peter was hoisting 
 his sail. 
 
 Leslie knew Uncle Peter. He lived in a 
 neighboring fishing village, with his daughter- 
 in-law, Lany. His business in summer was 
 
 to take the hotel people out on the water in 
 his boat, which he called the “ Mary Adny,” 
 after a boat he had heard of which beat ” 
 in a Fourth of July race “ down to New 
 Bedford.” 
 
 Leslie was a great favorite of his. She was 
 U3 
 
The Coloners Opera Cloak 
 
 never sea-sick, and she never screamed in the 
 boat. 
 
 Mr. MacVickar was the general escort. 
 Little Mr. Tileson flirted with Miss Wilder, 
 to make Leslie jealous; but he only made her 
 grateful. 
 
 Tom had provided money for Wilfrid and 
 Clarence to go to the village for fishing-rods 
 and lines, and had thus procured a quiet after- 
 noon for himself, and frustrated the plans of the 
 arch-enemy. 
 
 Miss Wilder wore a white veil, which reached 
 to her nose, white gloves, a blue flannel dress 
 trimmed with broad white braid, — that was the 
 sailor part of the costume, — and carried a para- 
 sol lined with pink. She held a larger veil, in 
 which to entwine her head when she should 
 fairly have set sail, lest a sunbeam or a breeze 
 should strike her too roughly. 
 
 Leslie’s sailor hat was pushed off from her 
 face: it was certainly very little protection to 
 her. 
 
 “ Why don’t you follow that young lady’s 
 example,” asked Tom, in an undertone, “ and 
 wear a veil, to save your complexion ? ” 
 
 Oh, I love to feel the wind,” replied Leslie. 
 154 
 
The Coloners Opera Cloak 
 
 I can’t breathe with a veil on. I only get a 
 little darker : that does n’t matter. Miss Wilder 
 is a grand young lady, — she ’s a belle, they say, 
 — and I am — only Leslie.” 
 
 She said this so sweetly, that Tom wanted to 
 embrace her on the spot, though the assembled 
 world should behold; but he was prevented by 
 an armful of shawls and parasols, not to mention 
 the opera cloak, which Pomp at the last moment 
 had slyly intrusted to his charge, “ so as Miss 
 Leslie won’t cotch no cold when de night damps 
 comes along;” and, besides, Leslie had already 
 jumped aboard. 
 
 The boat was rather crowded. So, after they 
 had pushed off, Leslie and Tom went up before 
 the mast, where there was just room for two to 
 stand. 
 
 The air was sweet; there was a fresh breeze. 
 The ‘‘ Mary Adny ” flew along as well as if her 
 name had been spelled right. The little reefing- 
 lines, striking on the sail, made a sound like 
 light rain. The pennant fluttered. 
 
 Where were care and trouble! Not a cloud 
 was in the sky. It was a summer sea. 
 
 “ Play there is no one here, and sing that 
 little sea song,” said Tom, — “ the first one I 
 
 155 
 
The Colonel’s Opera Cloak 
 
 ever heard you sing. What a dear little song 
 that is! This is just the place for it.” 
 
 “ ‘ There was a little white cloud in the sky/ ” 
 
 sang Leslie. 
 
 Instantly there was quiet in the party. 
 
 “ Why, what a lovely song that is, Miss 
 Leslie ! ” cried Mr. MacVickar, when she had 
 finished it, clapping with one of his forefingers 
 upon the other. “ Why have we never heard 
 that siren voice before ? ” 
 
 “ You could hear it any time,” said Leslie, 
 “ if you listened at the door when I put Clarence 
 to bed. I sing to him every night.” 
 
 “ And why waste on that small boy what some 
 larger boys would purchase dearly ? ” 
 
 Leslie laughed. 
 
 “ O Miss Wilder,” she said to the young lady 
 with the pink parasol, “ do sing ! I heard you 
 one night in the parlor, when you did not know 
 I was listening.” 
 
 “ Oh, do ! ” they all urged. 
 
 But Miss Wilder could not be persuaded. 
 
 “ Oh, I never sing before strangers,” she said. 
 “ I sometimes warble a few wild notes for Papa. 
 That is all.” 
 
The Colonel’s Opera Cloak 
 
 Then they begged Leslie to go on. 
 
 She sang several songs, until Tom said she 
 would injure her voice in the open air. 
 
 “ Leslie,” whispered Mrs. Morris, “ stir Uncle 
 Peter up. Make him talk.” 
 
 Very little “ stirring ” brought him to the 
 surface. 
 
 “Wasn’t it hot this morning. Uncle Peter!” 
 said Leslie, turning around to him. 
 
 “ Wal,” said he, “ it wa’n’t what I call hot. 
 Ef yer ’d ben in the terrid zone, when yer felt 
 as ef yer was in a biler o’ hot water all day, 
 yer ’d know what hot was. 
 
 “ Folks is more contr’y on weather ’n on any 
 thin’ else. When it ’s hot, they want it cold ; 
 an’ when it ’s cold, they want it hot. I s’pose 
 they ’d like it lewkwarm all the time.” 
 
 “ What do you call cold weather. Uncle 
 Peter?” asked Tom. 
 
 “ I call cold weather when yer wear a coat o’ 
 ice all over yer, every one o’ the hairs on yer 
 head ’s an eyecicle, an’ ye ’r sort o’ cased in 
 ice.” 
 
 “ Where in the world did you get covered in 
 that way? In the North Sea?” asked Mrs. 
 Morris. 
 
 157 
 
The Coloners Opera Cloak 
 
 “ No, marm. It was down 
 to Nantucket, when I was a 
 young feller. I went out to 
 help git men off a sinkin’ 
 ship, an’ that ’s the way I 
 looked when I got home. 
 I looked putty queer, the 
 wimmin-folks said.” 
 
 “ Did you save the men? ” 
 “ Yes.” 
 
 “How many?” 
 
 “ Eight.” 
 
 “ How many men went 
 with you. Uncle Peter ? ” 
 
 “ Two, — my father an’ 
 my brother.” 
 
 “Wasn’t it dangerous?” 
 
 “ Yes.” 
 
 “ And you saved the lives 
 of eight men ! It was a shame 
 the Humane Society did n’t 
 give you a medal.” 
 
 “They did ! Bob yer heads, 
 — bob yer heads, — the sail ’s 
 goin’ over,” said Uncle Peter. 
 It was a fine place where 
 
 158 
 
The Coloners Opera Cloak 
 
 Leslie stood with Tom. They did not have to 
 notice the sail, and it seemed as if they two, stand- 
 ing side by side, impelled the boat forward, and 
 were going on and on, up the shining track, 
 into a land of sunshine. 
 
 “ Oh,” said Leslie, taking a long breath, “ I 
 should like to be a sailor. Should n’t I make a 
 good sailor, Uncle Peter?” 
 
 “Oh, splendid!” said he, with a scornful 
 laugh. “ Yer would n’t want to go more ’n one 
 crewse, I cal’late. How long would yer stick it 
 out on a wrack! How would yer like gittin’ 
 soaked through, for one thing?” 
 
 “ Oh, I don’t mind that ! I ’ve tried it,” said 
 Leslie, looking at Tom, and laughing. 
 
 “ She would n’t make no kind of a fisherman, 
 anyhow,” said Uncle Peter, addressing the com- 
 pany. “ The day she went blew-fishin’, she 
 a’most cried ’cause I hed n’t a hetchet to cut off 
 the fishes’ heads ’fore I pitched ’em into the 
 berril. She ’s drefful tender-hearted. She 
 could n’t never put no bait on.” 
 
 “ I could bait for frogs,” said Leslie, laughing, 
 “ because they use red flannel for that.” 
 
 “Sho!” said Uncle Peter. “That ain’t so! 
 I never heered on to it.” 
 
 159 
 
The Colonel’s Opera Cloak 
 
 “ I think the very wickedest and meanest 
 thing I ever heard/’ said Leslie, earnestly, 
 “ is the way they shoot gulls. They have a 
 boat sunk close down to the water’s edge, 
 near the shore, and they put branches all 
 around it to make it look like the ground ; 
 and then they wave a white handkerchief to 
 the poor birds, who think it is a friend 
 that wants to speak to them, and they come 
 hurrying down out of the sky, and, just as 
 they get near, the great horrid man jumps 
 up out of his hiding-place and shoots the poor 
 things.” 
 
 “ I wonder if ' gulling ’ people comes from 
 that?” asked Mrs. Morris. 
 
 “ Undoubtedly it comes from something,” 
 said Mr. MacVickar, “ and why not from 
 that ? ” 
 
 “ Now we are going to run through the 
 narrows into a bay,” said Leslie, “ and up to 
 an old wharf. Such a funny place! Did you 
 ever eat ice-cream on the roof of a house, Mr. 
 Douglas? ” 
 
 “ No,” said Tom. “ But I ’ve eaten it on the 
 floor of a house.” 
 
 “ Of course you have ; but that is a very dif- 
 i6o 
 
The Coloners Opera Cloak 
 
 ferent thing from the roof, under an awning, 
 looking off, far, far off to sea.” 
 
 Soon the party landed, and went merrily up 
 the rocks to a little saloon. The ladies insisted 
 on taking their shawls and wraps from the boat, 
 for fear they might be stolen if the old man 
 should go ashore. 
 
 Uncle Peter sniffed with scorn. 
 
 “ Mebbe this wharf or the fish-houses ’ll walk 
 out and kerry ’em off,” said he, with awful sar- 
 casm. “ I ’d better set here an’ watch ’em, 
 hedn’t I?” 
 
 ‘‘ Uncle Peter does n’t like that,” whispered 
 Leslie to Tom. “ He lives in this village. 
 That ’s his house over there, and all the people 
 are his relations, and such nice people! No one 
 ever steals. Why, I ’ll leave all my things in 
 the boat, and I shall feel safe if Uncle Peter 
 does go away from it.” 
 
 They had now reached the saloon. 
 
 “ Oh ! ” said Mr. MacVickar, while the man 
 was dusting the tables, and bringing on very 
 yellow and very pink ice-creams ; “I always 
 think, when looking on the sea, — 
 
 ‘ Roll on, thou deep and dark blue ocean, — roll ! 
 
 Ten thousand fleets sweep over thee in vain,”’ 
 
 II i6i 
 
The Colonel’s Opera Cloak 
 
 and he waved his hand toward Uncle Peter’s 
 boat; 
 
 “ ‘ Man marks the earth with ruin — his control ’ ” — 
 here he turned toward the saloon ; — 
 
 “‘his control — 
 
 Man marks the earth with ruin — his control ’ ” — 
 
 Stops with the shore,” said Tom, patching 
 out the verse. 
 
 “Yes,” said Mr. MacVickar; “and very true 
 it is, — beautifully true ! ” 
 
 Leslie was so proud that Tom could help him 
 out. What had n’t he read ! 
 
 The “ ice-cream man,” as Mr. Tileson called 
 him, brought a plate of fresh doughnuts covered 
 with powdered sugar. 
 
 “ What an odd thing to eat with ice-cream ! ” 
 said Miss Wilder, taking a third one, and dust- 
 ing the sugar from her dress. 
 
 “ A wisp-broom ought to go with each one of 
 these cakes,” said little Tileson. 
 
 They laughed, for they were all brushing 
 away at their clothes. 
 
 “ Pretty good, Mr. Tileson,” said Mr. Mac- 
 Vickar, — “very good indeed, sir!” 
 
 Mr. Tileson thought at once that he would 
 162 
 
The Colonel’s Opera Cloak 
 
 have the cook at home make some cakes of this 
 kind the next time they had company, and that 
 he would get off that bright joke again. 
 
 Tom looked at his watch. 
 
 “ I think we ’ll have to leave now, if I am to 
 catch my train,” said he. “ I might get Uncle 
 Peter to run me up, and let him come back for 
 you.” 
 
 “ Oh, no : we are ready,” they all said. 
 
 “ Why must you go to-night ? ” asked Mr. 
 MacVickar. 
 
 “ I have an engagement in town,” said Tom. 
 
 “ You are a man of engagements,” said Mr. 
 MacVickar, pointing his remark by a very quiz- 
 zical face. 
 
 “ Fool ! ” said Tom to himself, as he returned 
 the look without one gleam of intelligence. 
 
 Leslie had a little pitcher in her hand, when 
 she came out of the saloon. 
 
 “What in the earth is that?” asked Tom, 
 taking the pitcher from her. “ Are you going 
 to carry this to your aunt? It will melt before 
 you are half there.” 
 
 “ Oh, no,” said Leslie. “ It is for Uncle Peter. 
 I think he feels sort of lonely in the boat, all by 
 himself.” 
 
 163 
 
The Coloners Opera Cloak 
 
 You are a dear, good girl,” said Tom. “ You 
 are always thinking of other people. I wish I 
 was Uncle Peter.” 
 
 “ Oh, you need n’t wish that,” said Leslie, 
 shyly. “ I ’ll buy you some ice-cream, some- 
 time, if you care so much for it. Will you 
 have pink or yellow; and will you eat it from a 
 pitcher ? ” 
 
 ‘‘ I believe you are a little wicked,” said 
 Tom : “ just enough to keep you from flying 
 away.” 
 
 “ That sounds like Mr. MacVickar,” said 
 Leslie. “ He is always expecting ladies to 
 spread their wings, — even Mrs. Stevens, who 
 would need very strong ones ; and we al- 
 ways rival the stars; and he says something 
 about — 
 
 ‘ O woman ! in our hours of ease.’ ” 
 
 Tom thought of the next line, — how it fitted 
 Mrs. St. John; and then of himself, with a 
 terrible headache, and Leslie’s soft hands on 
 his head. 
 
 “ Wal,” said Uncle Peter, catching sight of 
 the ice-cream ; “ hain’t yer hed enough, but yer 
 must fetch a pitcher-full aboard ? ” 
 
 164 
 
The Coloners Opera Cloak 
 
 “ That ’s for you/’ said Leslie. “ You might 
 have gone up for some just as well as not. No- 
 body would have hurt your boat.” 
 
 The rest had now come up. 
 
 “ No,” said Uncle Peter, still displeased about 
 the suspicions of theft. “ One lady left her 
 rubber, an’ o’ course I did n’t darst to quit 
 while that was here : it might hev ben stole. 
 I see Deacon Soule sort o’ spyin’ round.” 
 
 Mrs. Morris and Leslie laughed heartily. 
 They knew Deacon Soule by sight, — a very 
 solemn-looking man, his hair all brushed up to 
 the top of his head, and braided in a flat little 
 braid, which looked as if some one had got inside 
 of his head to arrange it. 
 
 Uncle Peter ate the ice-cream with a relish, 
 and then set the pitcher and spoon on the wharf, 
 where the owner was to find them, — “ Ef 
 Deacon Soule don’t ketch sight on ’em fust,” 
 said Uncle Peter, grimly, as he pushed off. 
 
 They did not notice that the precious opera 
 cloak had fallen from the gunwale, where Leslie 
 had left it, and drifted to the shore, near by. 
 
 The sun was low. The sky was one glow of 
 gold and rose color, — a burning rose, that glo- 
 rified the sky and water, and lent a rich tint 
 
 165 
 
The Coloners Opera Cloak 
 
 to the trees, whose heavy reflection trembled 
 below. 
 
 “ ‘ Where the reflections, clear and strong, 
 
 Fall like an echo to a song,’ ” 
 
 said Mrs. Morris. 
 
 Leslie wished she could quote. She meant to 
 read, and learn things by heart, so as to be able 
 to do it. Everybody else could quote; and she 
 felt quite ashamed. 
 
 Quiet fell upon the little party. The lapping 
 of the water on the side of the boat was pleasant 
 to the ear.' 
 
 Tom trembled lest some one should sug- 
 gest “ Good-night, ladies ! ” or “ Soft o’er the 
 fountain.” 
 
 Mr. Tileson and Miss Wilder stood for the 
 figure-heads, this time. Leslie and Tom sat in 
 the stern. 
 
 “ Oh ! ” cried Leslie. “ Look at the little vil- 
 lage. It is all gold ! ” 
 
 A star burned on the steeple of the church, 
 and the village windows were aglow with the 
 setting sun. The houses were dark against 
 the yellow light. The little town was trans- 
 figured. 
 
 Leslie sighed with delight. 
 
 i66 
 
The Colonel’s Opera Cloak 
 
 Suddenly she put her hand on Uncle Peter’s, 
 as he held the tiller. 
 
 “ Stop ! ” she cried. “ See ! Wait ! There ’s 
 a man in the water ! ” 
 
 They all started to their feet. 
 
 “ I don’t see none,” said Uncle Peter, looking 
 back. “ Wher is he? I guess he’d holler, ’f 
 he wanted help.” 
 
 “ Maybe he can’t,” said Leslie. 
 
 ‘‘Where is he? Where is he?” they asked, 
 all at once. 
 
 “ Why, there ! ” Leslie pointed. “ In the little 
 cove, where we ran in. See! he is trying to 
 pull himself up by some bushes. I can see his 
 arms move.” 
 
 “ Perhaps it ’s Deacon Soule, after the spoon,” 
 said Tom. 
 
 Leslie looked reproachfully at him. There 
 were tears in her eyes. 
 
 Uncle Peter wanted to get home to supper. 
 
 “ I ’ll holler,” said he. “ An’ ef he don’t holler 
 back, I think he oughter be drownded.” 
 
 Uncle Peter put his hand to his mouth, and 
 called, — 
 
 “Hallo! Who be yer? Hallo!” 
 
 No answer. 
 
 167 
 
The Colonel’s Opera Cloak 
 
 Tom was in a great hurry to get back, so 
 as to have a little talk with Leslie before he 
 went to his train; for he had something on his 
 mind, and wanted to get it off. And what 
 chance had he had that day? 
 
 “Those boys!” he said to himself. “And 
 that confounded old cloak, last night! That 
 just spoiled my chance. If Uncle Peter should 
 go back now, the last hope would be gone. I 
 could barely catch the train.” 
 
 But he could not resist Leslie’s : “ Please 
 
 make him go back. Please, — please do.” 
 
 “ Come, Uncle Peter,” said Tom, “ I ’ll give 
 you half a dollar if you ’ll turn back. But you 
 have got to hurry.” 
 
 “ Oh, you must go back ! ” cried the ladies, 
 trembling. “You must. Uncle Peter!” 
 
 “ Why, the idea of leaving a man in that sit- 
 uation!” said Mrs. Morris. “It will never do. 
 I should feel like a murderer.” 
 
 “But, maybe, he has just slipped in, and is 
 pulling himself out,” said Mr. MacVickar, who 
 dreaded the night air on his rheumatic shoulder. 
 “ Let the boat lie still until we see.” 
 
 The figure remained quiet for a few seconds, 
 and then struggled wildly. 
 
The Coloners Opera Cloak 
 
 “ Nobody can’t drownd there,” said Uncle 
 Peter, “ ’nless he tries to. ‘ It ’s shoal in the 
 cove. I do believe it ’s a boy try in’ to scare us. 
 Hallo!” 
 
 “Who be yer? Who be yer?” he called 
 again. 
 
 “ Be yer? ” echoed from the cliff. 
 
 Uncle Peter was very indignant that the man 
 would n’t “ holler.” 
 
 “ Perhaps he ’s deaf,” said Leslie. 
 
 “ Or dumb,” said Miss Wilder. 
 
 “ Or contr’y,” said Uncle Peter. 
 
 “ Well, we will go back and see,” said Tom. 
 “ That ’s our business now.” And Leslie’s 
 grateful smile fully repaid him. 
 
 “Why don’t he get up?” asked Mrs. 
 Morris. They were all straining their eyes. 
 “ I should think he could. He has hold of the 
 bushes.” 
 
 “ Perhaps they give way when he pulls,” said 
 one of the party. “ Sometimes he gets tired, 
 and only holds on. Perhaps he fell into the 
 water, and is faint.” 
 
 “Why don’t he holler, then?” asked Uncle 
 Peter, keeping to his grievance. “ Time to 
 holler is when you want suthin’.” 
 
 169 
 
The Coloners Opera Cloak 
 
 The light was fading; the shadows deepened 
 in the little cove. 
 
 Miss Wilder was faint. 
 
 “ Will he have to be brought into the boat, 
 if he is dead?” she asked, with horror in her 
 tone. 
 
 “ Wonder nobody ain’t stole him,” said Uncle 
 Peter, sarcastically, “ along o’ the pitcher ! ” 
 
 Tom could hardly help laughing; but Leslie 
 looked so solemn that he did not dare to. Be- 
 sides, there the poor fellow was, struggling in 
 the water. 
 
 As the boat rounded into the cove, Tom sprang 
 up on the little cabin, and, holding on by the 
 mast, bent down, ready to catch the drowning 
 man. 
 
 A sudden breeze swept over the bay. The 
 man threw up his arms wildly. There was a 
 flapping of something red. 
 
 A shout went up from the boat. Tom leaned 
 over, and pulled on board the “ drownded man,” 
 — O. C. St. John, Esquire. 
 
 “ It is that old cloak of Mrs. St. John’s,” cried 
 Mrs. Morris, laughing. “ Now, Uncle Peter, 
 you see why he could n’t ‘ holler.’ ” 
 
 Leslie put her face in her hands. She was 
 170 
 
The Coloners Opera Cloak 
 
 ready to cry with shame. She had delayed them 
 all, and Tom would be vexed about losing his 
 train. But no one cared : it was an adventure. 
 
 “ I expected to help pull him in,” said Mrs. 
 Morris, ‘‘ and lay him on his left side, — no, on 
 his right, — which side is it that you lay drowned 
 people on ? — and get a medal. That ’s all I 
 mind, and I shall look to you for it, Leslie, 
 because he belongs to you.” 
 
 Uncle Peter’s good-nature was restored when 
 Tom slipped the promised coin into his hand. 
 
 “ When I thought it was a man,” said he, 
 confidentially, “ I was mad to hev him sich a 
 fool, — would n’t holler ! But, when I see it 
 was a cloth cape, I thought it was a pretty smart 
 cape, to make out he was a man.” 
 
 Leslie looked over the side of the boat, and 
 trailed her hand along in the water. Tom 
 wrapped a shawl about her, which Mrs. Morris 
 had handed him, and let his hand slide from her 
 shoulder until it touched hers lightly. 
 
 Don’t mind,” he whispered. ‘‘ It was noth- 
 ing at all : they all think it is funny.” 
 
 “ Don’t be vexed with me,” said Leslie, “ if 
 you lose your train. If it had really been a 
 man, you would n’t have minded.” 
 
 171 
 
The Colonel’s Opera Cloak 
 
 “ That ’s all right. There ’s plenty of time. 
 Vexed with you, Leslie! How could I be?” 
 Tom whispered in return. 
 
 “ Come, listen,” said Mrs. Morris : “I’m 
 
 going to tell a story. 
 
 “ Once upon a time there was a lady, a young 
 lady, who was so anxious to procure a medal 
 from the Humane Society, that one day she 
 hired a boat, and invited a large party of 
 friends to aid her in searching for a ship- 
 wrecked mariner. So out they went upon the 
 ocean, — Mr. MacVickar’s deep and dark blue 
 ocean,” — 
 
 “ Byron’s, madam,” said Mr. MacVickar : “ I 
 cannot claim that fine apostrophe.” 
 
 Mrs. Morris opened her eyes at Tom. 
 
 “ Well,” she continued, “ upon Byron’s deep 
 and dark blue ocean, on a fine summer after- 
 noon. The first thing they discovered, with 
 mingled feelings, was a floating object. Tears 
 filled their eyes, grief their bosoms. It was a 
 man and a brother. They neared him; they 
 thought of the medal ; they reflected that ^ he 
 was some mother’s son.’ 
 
 “ Suddenly it was discovered that it was 
 nothing but an old cloak; and then, when joy 
 172 
 
The Colonels Opera Cloak 
 
 should have possessed them, they fell a prey to 
 sadness. For, ah, where was the medal! 
 
 “ The others quickly recovered ; but this 
 young lady could not be comforted. She leaned 
 so far over the boat that an elderly lady, her 
 friend, was obliged to entreat a young gentle- 
 man to hold her in. I don’t wish to be per- 
 sonal; but, Mr. Douglas, don’t let the lady with 
 the Rob Roy shawl fall into the water.” 
 
 Leslie laughed. She knew that Mrs. Morris 
 had told the silly little story to divert her, and, 
 perhaps, too, to show her that she was making 
 too much of the affair. She took the lesson, 
 if such it was, and smiled. 
 
 “ I think you are very kind, not to be vexed,” 
 she said. “ I ’m afraid you will all lose your 
 suppers, and that Mr. Douglas will miss his 
 train, for the tide is running out.” 
 
 ‘‘Yes,” said Uncle Peter; “but ain’t I got 
 my oars aboard, an’ ain’t I got two arms? 
 Nobody won’t lose no suppers nor nothin’, I 
 bet, to-night.” 
 
 The tide had run out, however, so much that 
 they had to go ashore in a “ skift,” as Uncle 
 Peter called it, two at a time. 
 
 “ You go first, with Leslie, Mr. Douglas,” 
 U3 
 
The Coloners Opera Cloak 
 
 said Mrs. Morris. “Trains won’t wait, and 
 suppers will.” 
 
 Tom blessed her. Perhaps he would get his 
 chance yet. 
 
 They stepped into the skif¥. Uncle Peter 
 sculled them to the wharf, and left them. A 
 stable-boy was waiting there. 
 
 “ Did you want to ketch the train? ” he asked. 
 
 “ Yes,” said Tom, “ I must.” 
 
 “ Well, I ’ve had the horse harnessed ever so 
 long, a-lookin' for you. I thought you ’d be too 
 late. We ’ll have to hurry like sixty.” 
 
 “ Go up,” said Tom. “ I 'll come.” 
 
 He took Leslie’s hand in a firm, close grasp. 
 
 “ Good-by,” he said. 
 
 “All ready!” called the boy. 
 
 “ Good-by, Miss Leslie. I ’ll be down again 
 soon. Don’t forget me. Promise I ” 
 
 “ I ’ll promise,” said Leslie, softly. 
 
 “ You ’ll git left! ” called the boy. 
 
 “ Good-by! ” said Tom again. “ There comes 
 the skiff. Good-by ! ” 
 
 As soon as they reached the house, Mrs. 
 St. John called Leslie upstairs. She had been 
 watching for the party. 
 
 “ So Mr. Douglas caught his train,” said she, 
 
 174 
 
The Colonel’s Opera Cloak 
 
 shutting the door of her room. “ Well, Leslie, 
 did he make you an offer? ” 
 
 “ No.’’ 
 
 “Well, I declare; and after all the pains I 
 have taken to keep those boys away, and plan 
 this sail, and invite him here, he has slipped 
 away in the dark! I don’t believe he had any 
 engagement in town : he did n’t care to face me, 
 after such dishonorable conduct. I reckon he ’d 
 have done differently, if the Colonel had been 
 here. I wish he ’d just met up with him.” 
 
 Leslie said nothing. 
 
 “ Why don’t you speak ? ” said Mrs. St. John, 
 displeased at her silence. “ How much more 
 did you want me to do ? ” 
 
 “ Nothing,” said Leslie. 
 
 “Nothing!” repeated Mrs. St. John. “I 
 wonder how much would be done in the world, 
 if no one did any thing ! I ’ve spent days and 
 days in planning for you, and I live to hear 
 you say you want ‘ nothing ’ from me. Per- 
 haps Mr. Douglas did n’t have time, you will 
 say. How long would it take him to ask, ‘ Will 
 you marry me? ’ ” 
 
 “ I don’t know,” said Leslie, crying. 
 
 “ Well, I do,” said her aunt : “ about half 
 
The Colonel’s Opera Cloak 
 
 a minute; and he had twenty-four hours for 
 it.” 
 
 Leslie felt as if she had a sum to do: if a 
 man can offer himself in a half minute, how 
 many times can he offer himself in twenty-four 
 hours ? 
 
 She was utterly miserable. 
 
 There was a knock at the door. Mr. Mac- 
 Vickar wished to know if Mrs. St. John was not 
 coming down. 
 
 “ Certainly,” said Mrs. St. John. “ I am 
 coming down before long.” 
 
 In the parlor, she heard the story of the ship- 
 wrecked mariner. 
 
 “ We may safely say,” she remarked, “ that 
 there was one of this party who did n’t mind 
 being delayed, and would gladly have lost his 
 train. Poor Leslie, I do believe she will have 
 to marry Mr. Douglas, whether or no. He is 
 so determined. I never saw a man so in love 
 in all my life.” 
 
 Tom was rather low-spirited as he rolled 
 away over the country road. He had been 
 frustrated at every turn. He wished the old 
 opera cloak had been drowned for good. ‘‘ I 
 176 
 
The Coloners Opera Cloak 
 
 believe the Evil One left the boys, and entered 
 it, — that is, if it is n’t the very Evil One him- 
 self,” said Tom. “ I thought at one time O. C. 
 St. John was favoring me, to Mr. Cavello’s dis- 
 comfort ; but he has gone against me now. 
 He ’s making a clear coast for some other fel- 
 low. Mrs. St. John said Merrill was very at- 
 tentive to her. Of course. Why not? And 
 he has the inside track. 
 
 “ I wish I had pushed those boys and their 
 cloak into the sea last night. Gracious! That 
 was a chance, if they had n’t spoiled it. It was 
 on my lips that minute.” 
 
 Poor Tom smiled a grim smile. 
 
 “ Well, it ’s a queer world. I wonder how 
 all this is coming out.” ' 
 
 What a change it was to sit in the dreary car 
 with twoscore strange people, where the lamps 
 burned dimly, but smelt strongly. 
 
 Was it less than an hour since he held Leslie’s 
 hand 1 
 
 Tom looked out of the window. The moon 
 was sailing through light clouds. Happy moon ! 
 It was looking down on Leslie. 
 
 12 
 
 177 
 
IX 
 
 T he morning was delightfully cool ; the sea 
 sparkled in the sun with a brilliant and 
 dazzling brightness, “ which could only be 
 caught,” said the young lady who sketched, 
 “ by using coarse paper, and scratching little 
 specks of paint off after the ocean had been all 
 washed in.” 
 
 A group of old apple-trees near the hotel, 
 gnarled and covered with yellow lichens, bent 
 toward the land, bowed by the sea-winds of 
 many winters. 
 
 The gulls fluttered, and poised themselves over 
 the water in scattered flocks. 
 
 The far-off ships stood like phantoms on the 
 horizon’s rim. The atmosphere seemed to 
 tremble and vibrate. 
 
 The morning could not have been finer, if 
 Mrs. St. John had made it herself. She had 
 178 
 
The Colonel’s Opera Cloak 
 
 approached the feat, as nearly as possible, by 
 setting the day apart for a clam-bake; and she 
 complacently received the compliments of the 
 party, as she sat in a Shaker chair on the piazza, 
 after breakfast. 
 
 Mr. MacVickar sat beside her. He was quite 
 in accord with the day. He wore a light flannel 
 suit and a Panama hat. 
 
 The piazza was filled with ladies, busied with 
 the pleasant flurry of “ getting off.” 
 
 Leslie stood by the steps, with an armful of 
 shawls. The boys came hopping toward her 
 like frogs. 
 
 “ Say, Leslie,” said little Clarence, “ the 
 people who hired the big carriage yesterday 
 did n’t bring it back, and the picnic has got to 
 go in the little ones. I ’m jolly glad of it, for 
 I shall drive one horse.” 
 
 “ No, you won’t either,” retorted Wilfrid. 
 
 They would n’t trust you with any horse except 
 a saw-horse.” 
 
 “ They would, too,” said Clarence. “ I ’ll bet 
 I could drive a tandem team that could run 
 lickerty split, and smash every thing to pieces, 
 — so, there!” 
 
 The carriages came to the door. The people 
 179 
 
The Colonel’s Opera Cloak 
 
 who were going to the clam-bake stood about 
 waiting for Mr. MacVickar, who was the leader, 
 and who had promised to sing at dinner a song 
 about a young lady who drank only with her 
 eyes. 
 
 He was in high feather to-day, for all the 
 younger beaux had gone to the city, and the 
 papas and husbands were glad to throw the care 
 upon him. 
 
 The ladies took their novels and their fancy- 
 work, — calico birds to be sewed on to dish- 
 towels. Miss Nelson took her paint-boxes and 
 brushes, a jar full of water, a sketching-block, 
 a camp-stool, and a large white umbrella with a 
 shining ball on the top. Her palette hung from 
 her belt. Mr. MacVickar called her Art, and 
 asked if Literature and Science would not join 
 her at the clam-bake. 
 
 Mrs. St. John looked the carriages carefully 
 over, selected the easiest, and seated herself 
 in it. 
 
 At last they were ready to start, and there was 
 no room for Leslie. Every one exclaimed, but 
 no one offered to ride “ three on a seat.” 
 
 “ Please don’t mind me,” said Leslie. “ I am 
 tired to-day : I rowed so hard yesterday. I ’d 
 i8o 
 
The Coloners Opera Cloak 
 
 really rather stay at home. Do let me, Aunt 
 Marie.” 
 
 Mrs. St. John glanced around. She had the 
 most room in her carriage: Leslie would fall to 
 her share. 
 
 “ Well,” said she, smiling significantly at 
 the company, and then at Leslie, “ I suppose 
 young ladies must have a little time to meditate 
 and write long letters, once in a while.” 
 
 “Ah, Miss Leslie,” said Mr. MacVickar, ris- 
 ing and bowing, — 
 
 “ Your heart ’s in the city, 
 
 Your heart is not here ; 
 
 Your heart’s in the city, 
 
 A-chasing your — 
 
 Oh ! ” he exclaimed, sitting down in a very 
 forcible way, as the horses started. And away 
 they all whirled, bowing, and calling “ Good-by.” 
 
 Tom had brought “ Cousin Phillis ” to Leslie. 
 Oh, what a blissful day this would be to read it 
 in! There was no one to bother her. Even 
 Pomp had gone to the city in an early train, to 
 get from the house something which her aunt 
 had forgotten. 
 
 Leslie went to her room for the book; and, 
 seeing the opera cloak hanging on a chair, 
 
 i8i 
 
The Coloners Opera Cloak 
 
 she took it, and, equipped with that and a 
 large parasol, set off for a morning on the 
 rocks. 
 
 She walked along the beach until she came 
 to Cannon Rock, where she climbed to a seat 
 which almost overhung the sea. She made the 
 cloak into a cushion, propped the parasol up at 
 her side, and took up her book. 
 
 But soon the bright pebbles enticed her to 
 the beach. Tom had promised to have some 
 polished for her for a necklace. What a neck- 
 lace it would be, full of memories of the sky 
 and of sea, and of this wonderful summer, and 
 of Tom, above all! 
 
 She wandered along to a little wharf, where 
 Uncle Peter sat, swinging his legs over the 
 water. He was as brown and gnarled as the 
 apple-trees : he would have been as yellow with 
 lichens, had he sat still long enough. Almost 
 every thing here was covered with lichens and 
 moss. 
 
 The old man smiled on her as she approached, 
 and said, “ Hallo, Leslie! ” with that Yankee in- 
 dependence which is so amusing. “ Yer ain’t 
 lost nothin’, hev yer? I see yer a-lookin’ along 
 the beach.” 
 
 182 
 
The Coloners Opera Cloak 
 
 “ Oh, no,” she replied. “ I was only getting 
 some bright pebbles for a necklace.” 
 
 Uncle Peter shook his head, and laughed 
 scornfully. 
 
 “ I never see en’thin’ to beat city folks. 
 They ’ll kerry away enough stuff, when they 
 come here, to make an island. One ’oman paid 
 me for fetchin’ sea-weeds to her, an’ she give 
 me fifty cents for ten big hoss-foots. She was 
 as partic’lar to hev whole tails on ’em, as they ’d 
 ’a’ ben themselves when they was alive. I 
 thought I should hev died to keep from laughin’, 
 when^she was a-payin’ me.” 
 
 “ Oh,” said Leslie, “ she wanted them for 
 catch-alls. I have seen the ladies making them. 
 They put a puff of crimson silk behind them, 
 and bows of ribbon, and hang them on the 
 parlor wall.” 
 
 “ Lor ! ” cried Uncle Peter, in utter astonish- 
 ment. “ Yer don’t say so! I allers heave mine 
 to the hog. But the most sing’lar thing that 
 ’oman did,” continued Uncle Peter, “ was to hunt 
 up clam-shells an’ flat rocks, an’ paint pictur’s on 
 ’em. I ’ll bet her trunk wa’n’t no joke to h’ist, 
 when she went off! But, then, no city trunks 
 ain’t, when they fust come. I ’ve hefted ’em 
 
 183 
 
The Colonel’s Opera Cloak 
 
 sometimes, an’ I should think they was allers 
 full o’ rocks.” 
 
 “ I think stones and shells are lovely,” said 
 Leslie. “ I wish I could paint on them.” 
 
 “ I don’t wish to speak dis’espec’ful o’ 
 shells,” said Uncle Peter. “ Why, I ’ve picked 
 up shells myself, when I was oft on a South 
 Sea crewse. I scooped ’em up in my het to 
 fetch home; but they wa’n’t clam-shells, I 
 can tell yer ! They was all pink an’ yeller, 
 
 an’ gold an’ silver. I ’ll fetch yer a fistful 
 
 to-morrer. Lany keeps ’em in bottles on the 
 mantel-tree.” 
 
 “ Oh,” said Leslie, “ I should like them so 
 much ! I’d keep them always. But perhaps 
 your daughter won’t like to part with them. Is 
 she better to-day?” 
 
 “ I guess we ’ll fetch her round now,” replied 
 Uncle Peter. “ But I thought she ’d be hauled 
 up, one time. Lany ! why, she ’d give ’em to yer 
 herself. She don’t set no store by ’em.” 
 
 “ The sun is so hot,” said Leslie, “ that I think 
 I ’ll go back. I wish there were some trees 
 along the shore, so that you could sail under 
 them and anchor, and I could lie in the boat 
 and read.” 
 
 184 
 
The Colonel’s Opera Cloak 
 
 “ Oh, trees ain’t no good for shade,” said 
 Uncle Peter. “ It ’s rocks that shades. I know 
 a cove where we could run in an’ be as cold as 
 ice. I ’ll take yer there, ef yer want to go.” 
 
 “Oh, do!” cried Leslie. “That will be 
 lovely. I ’ll run back to the rock for my 
 things.” 
 
 A gentleman had driven up to the hotel door, 
 
 where the la 
 ing in portly d 
 St. John, doe 
 here ? ” he ask 
 
 “ Oh, yes,” said 
 
 lord, stepping to 
 buggy. “ But 
 the whole fam- 
 
 ily, in fact 
 most of my 
 guests, have 
 gone to a I 
 clam-bake. I ' 
 
 don’t expect 
 them back till 
 supper-time. 
 
 I ’m sorry they 
 
 185 
 
The Coloners Opera Cloak 
 
 are away, sir. You ’d better get out. Your horse 
 looks as if he had had a long run.” 
 
 The gentleman allowed a small boy, who ap- 
 peared at this moment, to take his horse, and 
 accepted the landlord’s invitation. 
 
 “ I tell you, sir,” said Mr. Saunders, after they 
 had seated themselves on the piazza, “ it is n’t 
 often you come across a Southern family like 
 the St. Johns, nowadays. They have four of 
 my best rooms for the summer, and think no 
 more of money than of just nothing at all, sir.- 
 They are very wealthy, as of course you know, 
 if they are friends of yours. The young lady 
 is an heiress, — untold wealth, in fact, I ’ve 
 heard, — and a very beautiful young lady she 
 is. The young men are quite carried away with 
 her. I believe she is to marry a young man 
 from the city. He was down here a few days 
 ago.” 
 
 “Oh! his name, it was Mr. Douglas?” asked 
 the gentleman. 
 
 “ Yes, that was his name. He came to attend 
 our hop; and a very nice hop it was. You 
 know him, I suppose ? ” 
 
 “ Yes, I do know him.” 
 
 “ Well, sir, won’t you walk in and look 
 
 i86 
 
The Coloners Opera Cloak 
 
 at the newspapers ? I am sorry they are 
 away.” 
 
 The red side of the opera cloak hung over the 
 rock, and now caught the landlord’s eye. At 
 that moment, also, a lithe figure in dark blue 
 appeared, far down on the beach. 
 
 “ Why, that ’s Miss St. John, now ! I thought 
 she ’d gone. I ’ll send a boy for her.” 
 
 “ No,” said the stranger. “ I will myself go 
 for her. You may put my horse in your stable.” 
 Mr. Cavello had been suspicious of Tom since 
 the day he last saw him in Margrave Street. 
 He was sure that Tom knew where the St. 
 Johns had gone, although he had made believe 
 he did not. After waiting in vain for an answer 
 from the Colonel, he had turned his steps to 
 the Doctor’s, when he knew Tom would be 
 at his office, to ask for Mrs. St. John’s address. 
 As he approached, he saw Ned playing on the 
 sidewalk. 
 
 “ How do you do, Mr. Cavello? ” said the little 
 fellow. “ You did n’t go to the beach with the 
 rest of them, did you ? ” 
 
 “No, I have not gone yet; but I go now. 
 I have lost the address. Can you tell it to 
 me?” 
 
 187 
 
The ColoneFs Opera Cloak 
 
 Oh, yes, I know the place. I went there 
 once last summer with Bessie. You can find 
 it easy enough. Tom went there last week.” 
 And the child gave him over and over again 
 the most careful directions, and sent his love 
 to the boys. 
 
 Mr. Cavello walked off in high spirits. He 
 would go to Mrs. St. John, and be very angry, 
 and tell her that he was to fight the Colonel 
 and young Mr. Douglas, and that he would 
 revenge himself on them all ; and he would 
 marry Leslie. She should never marry Mr. 
 Douglas. 
 
 Poor Mr. Cavello’s heart was really touched. 
 He had not known that he had one before, and 
 it was a real pleasure to make the discovery. 
 
 What there was of it must have been good, 
 for it was Leslie’s sweetness and goodness which 
 had won him. He had seen many more 
 beautiful girls, but never one like her. Oh, 
 if he could only carry her away to his plan- 
 tation, away from everiTody else, he would 
 buy her the most beautiful jewels and dresses, 
 and his slaves should wait upon her day and 
 night ; and a sense of something purer and finer 
 than he had ever known filled his soul, until 
 
 i88 
 
The Colonel’s Opera Cloak 
 
 he was lost in wonder and admiration of 
 himself. 
 
 Leslie had picked up the cloak, the parasol 
 and the book, and had begun to descend to the 
 beach, merrily humming to herself, when she 
 became conscious of some one approaching. 
 Was it Tom? Her heart almost stopped 
 beating. She looked up, and uttered a little 
 cry. 
 
 Mr. Cavello raised his hat. 
 
 ‘‘ Do not come down. Miss Leslie,” he called. 
 ‘‘ It is I who will come to you. You have a fine 
 place up there.” 
 
 Leslie sat down in despair, and Mr. Cavello 
 took his seat beside her, and held the sun- 
 umbrella over them both. 
 
 They seemed very cozy and friendly, the 
 landlord thought, as he stood looking at them 
 from a distance, with his hands in his pockets. 
 
 Leslie was silent after the first greetings. 
 
 ‘‘ I thought I would find where you had gone,” 
 said Mr. Cavello, fanning himself with his hat, 
 his anger fading in Leslie’s presence. “ Why 
 did you run away from me ? ” 
 
 “ Oh, I did n’t run away from you,” said 
 
The Coloners Opera Cloak 
 
 Leslie, earnestly. She had felt ashamed at the 
 way in which her aunt had treated him. 
 
 “ I should have written you,” she added, “ and 
 sent you the keys, only I did not know where 
 you were. It was too bad: your clothes were 
 all there.” 
 
 “ Oh, that was of little matter,” said Mr. 
 Cavello. “You know I had a room at the club, 
 where I went with my friends, and I had other 
 trunks there.” Leslie’s imagination was limited 
 in respect of wardrobes. “ But it was of your 
 unkindness I was troubled.” 
 
 “ They are all away to-day,” said Leslie, 
 taking no notice of his remarks. “ They have 
 gone to a picnic, and Pomp is in the city. I am 
 so sorry that I don’t know where he keeps the 
 keys; but I will send them to you.” 
 
 “ Oh, that is nothing,” said Mr. Cavello. “ I 
 have money enough. I can buy as much clothes 
 as I wish. I only used to stay at your aunt’s, 
 you know, because when my visit was done I 
 could not go away from you. But you did not 
 care. I had a beautiful gift for your aunt for 
 letting me stay there ; but she ran you all away.” 
 Mr. Cavello did not mention the money he 
 had lent the Colonel. 
 
 190 
 
The Coloners Opera Cloak 
 
 “ Oh, you must not care for me,” cried 
 Leslie, in distress, the swift color rushing to 
 her cheeks. 
 
 “ But I cannot help to love you,” said Mr. 
 Cavello. “ But I know very well you do not 
 like me, and you do like some one else.” 
 
 He looked so forlorn that Leslie’s tender 
 heart was touched. 
 
 “ Oh, I do not say that, — I do not think, — 
 nobody cares ” — 
 
 ‘‘If there is nobody else, perhaps you will 
 some time love me. I would get every thing for 
 you that women like. I have plenty of money,” 
 said Mr. Cavello. 
 
 “ That would not make any difference with 
 me,” said Leslie, gently. “ I do not care for 
 money, nor for diamonds, nor for any of the 
 things Aunt Marie likes. If I should ever marry 
 anybody, it would be just because I loved him, 
 and not for what he had. I would marry him, 
 if he was very, very poor, so that I should have 
 to work hard all the time.” 
 
 Leslie’s slender hands were crossed upon her 
 lap. Mr. Cavello touched them lightly. 
 
 “ What work could such little hands do ? ” 
 he said in a tender tone. 
 
The Colonel’s Opera Cloak 
 
 Leslie shook off his hand as if it had been 
 a viper. 
 
 “ Oh, do not talk so to me ! ” she cried pas- 
 sionately, the tears starting to her eyes. “ Am 
 I not unhappy enough, with nobody to care for 
 me, but that you must trouble me, too? I have 
 no mother, like most girls. Aunt Marie does n’t 
 love me. I shall never marry anybody. Who 
 would love me? Don’t speak to me! Don’t 
 say a word I ” 
 
 Mr. Cavello was startled. He had never seen 
 Leslie so excited. She was lamenting that 
 nobody loved her, and at the same time forbid- 
 ding anybody to think of her. 
 
 “ I will not say any more,” said he, “ if you 
 will stop crying. If you cannot love me, will 
 you not be my good friend always ? ” And he 
 held out his hand. 
 
 The change in his tone comforted the girl. 
 
 “ Oh, yes, I ’ll be your friend ; but do not 
 say such things to me any more.” 
 
 ‘‘You will know,” said Mr. Cavello, “ that I 
 am going away very soon. A week from to-day 
 the steamer sails, and you will never see me 
 any more, ever ; and I should like to know you 
 are my good friend, before I go. Will you do 
 192 
 
The Coloners Opera Cloak 
 
 me a last kindness, and go to a little drive with 
 me? ” 
 
 At the pleasant news of his speedy departure 
 Leslie grew cheerful, and said kindly, — 
 
 “ I ’ll go for a little while; but you must stay 
 and dine with me. If you will wait until Aunt 
 Marie comes home, I can get you the keys 
 to-night.” 
 
 She looked round to see the cause of the 
 sudden change in Mr. Cavello’s face. 
 
 “ Hallo ! ” said Uncle Peter, his red face 
 appearing over a rock. “ Changed yer mind 
 about goin’ out, hev n’t yer? ” 
 
 Uncle Peter’s curiosity had been too much for 
 him. He thought he must have a look at that 
 queer chap ” whom he had seen from afar. 
 
 “Found better company, hev yer?” said he, 
 with an unrestrained wink at Leslie. 
 
 “ This is a friend of my uncle’s, from the 
 city,” she said. “ I shall have to wait until some 
 other day for the sail, unless,” turning eagerly 
 to Mr. Cavello, “ you would rather sail than 
 drive. It is so lovely on the water, and your 
 horse must be tired.” 
 
 She shrank from a tete-d-tcte drive; but Mr. 
 Cavello did not. 
 
 13 
 
 93 
 
The Coloners Opera Cloak 
 
 My horse will be refreshed after dinner,” 
 he said. 
 
 “ Some other day, then. Uncle Peter,” said 
 Leslie. “ Don’t forget my shells.” 
 
 Mr. Cavello had some ideas of his own con- 
 cerning himself and other people. He thought 
 he was a very good-looking man, as, indeed, he 
 was, for those who like that style. Then he 
 thought he was a “ great catch,” with his fine 
 plantation and plenty of money; and, for those 
 who care for such things above all others, he 
 certainly was. He believed any woman must be 
 urged and coaxed and almost forced into saying 
 “ Yes.” Leslie was only making believe. Why, 
 he was very good to want to marry a girl who 
 had not a cent; and that was a very pretty and 
 complimentary speech she made about not mar- 
 rying for money. 
 
 And so Mr. Cavello felt rather comfortable, 
 upon the whole. 
 
 Leslie hoped he would forget the drive; but 
 he ordered the horse before dinner, and, when 
 they came out from the dining-room, the carriage 
 was at the door. 
 
 The folded cloak and the parasol lay in a chair 
 
 194 
 
The Colonel’s Opera Cloak 
 
 on the piazza. Mr. Cavello gave them to Leslie, 
 after she was seated. 
 
 She talked incessantly. She dreaded a silence. 
 Mr. Cavello exerted himself to be entertaining 
 by telling her about Cuba and the ways of living 
 there, until Leslie thought Cuba must be the 
 third heaven, to say the least. But she did not 
 want to go there, if it was. 
 
 While Mr. Cavello described his plantation in 
 glowing colors, Leslie was wishing this was the 
 rainy night of that happy drive, and that Mr. 
 Cavello was Tom. 
 
 “ What a sad world this is ! ” thought the girl. 
 “ Here is poor Mr. Cavello liking me ; and I like 
 Tom; and Tom cares for nobody, unless, per- 
 haps, for Miss Henderson. If Mr. Cavello had 
 only fallen in love with Gertrude, who is fond 
 of fine dresses and diamonds ! ” And Leslie’s 
 poor little brain was tired with trying to un- 
 ravel the mysteries of life, as have been many 
 wiser ones before. 
 
 She looked about her in surprise. “ Why, 
 Mr. Cavello,” she said, “ I never drove through 
 this town. What is it? What a long drive we 
 must have taken! It is four by that church 
 clock.” 
 
 ^95 
 
The Coloners Opera Cloak 
 
 “ I do not know the name of that town,” he 
 replied, “ but I know my way. Did you think 
 I had lost it?” 
 
 “Oh, no; only I think we had better turn 
 back. Aunt Marie will want me when she comes 
 home: Pomp is away, you know.” 
 
 “ You must not make yourself so very much 
 to people,” said Mr. Cavello, “ that they cannot 
 do without you.” 
 
 “ But Aunt Marie has always been waited on,” 
 said Leslie. 
 
 “ Well, we will go home very soon,”' said Mr. 
 Cavello, turning into another road. “ Remem- 
 ber, this is my latest drive with you.” 
 
 If sacrifice on her part could atone for rude- 
 ness on her aunt’s, she felt that she had done 
 her duty by Mr. Cavello. 
 
 “ Why, Mr. Cavello,” she cried, after a time, 
 “ what are we coming to? You have lost your 
 way! There is no such large place near the 
 hotel! Why, it is the city, isn’t it?” 
 
 “ Yes,” said Mr. Cavello, “ and I have brought 
 you here on purpose; and, my dear Miss Leslie, 
 I want to take you with me to my beautiful home, 
 away from this cold place. You are young: you 
 do not know about love. I will teach it to you. 
 
 196 
 
The Colonel’s Opera Cloak 
 
 You shall be my queen, and I will be your slave. 
 You say nobody does care for you here; and 
 why do you stay?” 
 
 He spoke with warmth; he tried to take her 
 hand. Leslie caught it away, and pressed against 
 the side of the carriage. She was very much 
 startled. 
 
 “ I know,” he cried, with passion, “ it is Mr. 
 Douglas you love; but you need not. He will 
 marry the handsome young lady. I know he 
 will marry her. And she hates you very much. 
 I saw, I saw ! ” 
 
 It was true: Leslie felt it in her soul. It was 
 nothing new that he had told her. Always, 
 always, always she had known it. 
 
 “ I have heard in the city that he marries her 
 soon,” said Mr. Cavello, improvising; and he 
 added : — 
 
 “ How will you stay here, while your aunt 
 does not want you, and you have no money? 
 Oh, come with me! I know a priest here: he 
 is my great friend. We will go there, and be 
 married ; and away in my home you will be glad 
 to forget this bad Mr. Douglas, who has tried 
 to make you love him. I will fight him, if you 
 should wish me.” 
 
 197 
 
The Coloners Opera Cloak 
 
 Leslie tried to speak. Her voice would not 
 come. She looked entreatingly at him. He 
 would not understand : he could not. He thought 
 she was considering: of course she would con- 
 sent, after what she considered the proper amount 
 of coquetting. His mind reverted to the num- 
 berless mammas who had tried to lasso ” him, 
 and the daughters who had shot arrows by the 
 quiverful. Surely, this poor little girl could not 
 refuse so great a chance. 
 
 Wealth was not happiness, as Mr. Cavello 
 knew; but that poverty and dependence meant 
 unhappiness, he felt very sure, and he was 
 aware that this girl had tasted them in their 
 bitterness. 
 
 They were now in the heart of the city. 
 People, glancing at the pretty girl and the dark 
 Spaniard, thought them lovers on a pleasure 
 drive. “ Well, the world is smooth enough for 
 some folks,” they sighed, and passed on. 
 
 “ Mr. Cavello,” said Leslie, “ do not say any 
 more to me. You must let me get out. You 
 surely don’t wish to marry a girl who does n’t 
 love you.” 
 
 “ Yes, I do,” said he, passionately. “ You will 
 like me by and by.” 
 
 198 
 
The Coloners Opera Cloak 
 
 No, I won’t!” cried Leslie. “I shall hate 
 you.” 
 
 “ Well, I cannot make you to marry me,” said 
 Mr. Cavello. “ If I could, I would do it. Your 
 aunt, she told me to marry you.” 
 
 Leslie’s cheeks flamed up. She did not feel 
 like fainting now. 
 
 “ Oh ! ” she cried, striking her hands together. 
 “ Why can’t I work, like other people, and take 
 care of myself! I must! I will! You say you 
 are my friend, but it is not true. I am not your 
 friend. I never want to see you again. Stop 
 your horse ! Let me get out ! I must go home ! ” 
 
 “ But listen to me,” cried Mr. Cavello, holding 
 her by the wrist: for Leslie had put her hands 
 on the reins. 
 
 Am I not a handsome man? Am I not a 
 rich man? Am I not a young man? Do I not 
 love you? What more do you want, in this long 
 earth, in me?” 
 
 Oh, nothing, nothing,” returned Leslie. 
 “ I ’d as lief you were homely and poor and 
 old.” 
 
 “ You would like me, if I was homely and 
 poor and old. Well, I cannot make myself 
 that,” said he, even to please you. Miss Leslie. 
 
 199 
 
The Colonel’s Opera Cloak 
 
 You are a very strange young lady. Oh, what 
 can I do to make you marry me? Tell me at 
 once that you will. I am not in my way to beg 
 young ladies to marry me. They do all wish to 
 do it without it.” 
 
 ‘‘ Then go and marry them ! ” cried Leslie, now 
 really frightened. “ Stop! I must get out! ” 
 Pomp, who had spent his day in the city, 
 searching the attic for things which he finally 
 found in the kitchen, and the parlor for things 
 which he found in the attic, was slowly trudging 
 along toward the depot, with bundles under each 
 arm, when he saw a little boy running at full 
 
 speed past him, swinging at arm’s length a blue 
 cape lined with red. 
 
 Pomp had been too intimate with the Colonel’s 
 opera cloak not to know it when he met it; but 
 how in the world had it got to the city? Pomp 
 
 200 
 
The Colonel’s Opera Cloak 
 
 flew after the boy, crying, ‘‘ Stop, thief ! Stop, 
 thief! ” 
 
 The boy turned up the first corner, and Pomp 
 rushed after him. The street was blocked by 
 carriages and horse-cars. Just as the boy 
 reached the crowd, he dashed up to a buggy, 
 and Pomp in another second had collared him. 
 
 “ Miss Leslie,” cried Pomp, looking into the 
 carriage, ‘‘ whar did yer come from?” 
 
 “ O Pomp,” cried Leslie. “ Take me home! ” 
 
 “ Let me go ! ” cried the boy, shaking himself 
 out of Pomp's unconscious grip. “ I saw the 
 lady lose the cape out of the carriage. 'T ain't 
 yourn ! ” 
 
 “ Oh, thank you ! Thank you ! ” said Leslie. 
 She had no money to give the boy. 
 
 Mr. Cavello turned the horse's head suddenly, 
 and started off in another direction. Pomp in- 
 stantly sprang for the bridle, and clung to it 
 with both arms, his legs tucked up under him 
 in a ludicrous fashion. 
 
 Mr. Cavello was furious. He stood up and 
 raised his whip to lash^ Pomp, when Leslie 
 seized his arm and held it. 
 
 “ Lift me out. Pomp ! ” she cried, and sprang 
 to the ground, with the cape in her hand, leaving 
 
 201 
 
The Colonel’s Opera Cloak 
 
 the parasol as a souvenir for Mr. Cavello. It 
 was very little, but it was something. 
 
 There was nothing more for Mr. Cavello to do. 
 
 Pomp picked up his scattered bundles, and 
 Leslie and he took a horse-car for the depot, in 
 as quiet and commonplace a way as if nothing 
 unusual had occurred. 
 
 A train had just gone, and there was a long 
 half-hour to wait for the next. The usual old 
 man came around with soap to sell, and the 
 usual old woman with pins and tape ; people 
 went in and out, and met their friends ; an 
 old lady was left, after waiting two hours for 
 her train; and an old gentleman came just too 
 late for his, and tried to get the ticket-office to 
 open its inexorable window. 
 
 Leslie sat, dazed and wretched. What was 
 life for? What was the use of living? Was 
 it always to go on in this way? Oh, if she 
 could only go away from them all, and never 
 see them again, — just she and poor old Pomp! 
 He was her only friend. If Tom cared any 
 thing for her, why didn’t he take her away? 
 Alas, he would never care about her. Had n’t 
 Mr. Cavello said so, and her aunt too? And 
 was n’t her heart beating “ never, never, never ” ? 
 
 202 
 
The Colonel’s Opera Cloak 
 
 While Pomp and Leslie were waiting in the 
 railway station, the picnic party returned. Mrs. 
 St. John was tired and cross. The clams, ac- 
 cording to the usual custom, had been either 
 half-baked or burned, and the corn nearly raw. 
 Mrs. Stevens’s sister had flirted shamefully with 
 Mr. MacVickar. 
 
 Mr. MacVickar himself wore a sort of dis- 
 hevelled air. He had grass-stains on his light 
 suit, as if he had wrestled too roughly with 
 Nature. But the oak-wreath around his hat, 
 and the corn-silk in his button-hole, gave him 
 the look of a hard-pressed conqueror. It seemed 
 unfair that the mild clam and unoffending maize 
 should have given him the Bacchanalian look 
 which he wore. 
 
 The young ladies, who had gone out with be- 
 witching, fluffy crimps over their foreheads, had 
 returned with little wisp brooms instead, — with- 
 out the handles, of course: for no simile is to be 
 run into the ground. 
 
 “Where is Leslie?” said Mrs. St. John, in a 
 cross tone. “ I should think Pomp might have 
 got home by this time, at any rate. The most 
 stupid day I ever knew in my life! Where can 
 Leslie be'l ” 
 
 203 
 
The Coloners Opera Cloak 
 
 Mr. Saunders passed her as she spoke. 
 
 “ Oh, a gentleman, a Spaniard, I should think 
 — I ’ve forgotten his name, — called to see you. 
 He dined with Miss St. John, and then took her 
 to ride.” 
 
 “ Mr. Cavello ! ” cried Mrs. St. John, in amaze- 
 ment. “ How did he know where to find us ! 
 When will they come back?” 
 
 “ I presume they ’ll be back to tea,” answered 
 the landlord. 
 
 “ Oh,” said Mrs. St. John, turning to the 
 ladies, her spirits rising. “ You should see Mr. 
 Cavello! He is an immensely wealthy Cuban. 
 Leslie’s money is nothing compared to his. He 
 would call her poor. 
 
 “ The way that man haunted our house ! I 
 was afraid he and Mr. Douglas, who was here 
 at the hop, would have a duel. I shall be thank- 
 ful when that girl is once off my hands. Leslie’s 
 lovers are too much for one poor woman to look 
 after. 
 
 “ If Leslie and Mr. Cavello arrange it this 
 afternoon, there will be another diamond wed- 
 ding. ‘ Signorina Fernando Cavello, nee St. 
 John,’ or whatever means ‘ born ’ in Spanish, 
 would n’t be bad on a card, would it ? ” said Mrs. 
 
 204 
 
The Coloners Opera Cloak 
 
 St. John, looking triumphantly around upon the 
 group of ladies. 
 
 “ There ar’n’t many girls,” she went on, “ who 
 would n’t have snapped such a catch up before ; 
 but she is so young and so attractive that she 
 can afford to take time. She does n't have to 
 swallow them whole.” And here Mrs. St. John 
 smiled sweetly and significantly on Mrs. Ste- 
 vens’s sister, who was by no means in her first 
 youth. 
 
 The ladies, who had meant to sup in their pic- 
 nic array, now decided to change their dresses, 
 and were quite excited as they recrimped their 
 hair by feeble candles. Mrs. Stevens’s sister gave 
 it up, and donned a jockey hat and a gay sack. 
 
 As soon as the tea-bell sounded, everybody 
 hurried downstairs. They hardly dared to go 
 to the table, for fear of missing the grand ar- 
 rival; for, as this was the middle of the week, 
 excitements were rare. 
 
 At last they went in, and watched, between 
 mouthfuls, for Leslie and her gay lover. 
 
 “ Dear me,” said Mrs. St. John, “ I am really 
 getting anxious. I hope Mr. Cavello will not 
 lose his way. I must order a hot supper kept 
 for them.” 
 
 205 
 
The Colonel’s Opera Cloak 
 
 After tea, the ladies repaired to the piazza. 
 They were too tired to talk. They listened to 
 the crickets, who, never weary, except of silence, 
 were chirping a quick reveille. The plash of the 
 waves softened the sharp sound. 
 
 The light was beginning to fade, when, far 
 down the road, appeared two figures, walking. 
 Mrs. Stevens put up her eye-glasses. The people 
 drew nearer. 
 
 “That looks like your niece, Mrs. St. John; 
 but of course it can’t be, — on foot.” 
 
 “ Hallo! ” cried little Clarence, who was walk- 
 ing on the piazza railing : “ there ’s Pomp and 
 Leslie.” 
 
 “ It is no such thing, sir,” said his mother. 
 “Go to bed this moment. It must be Mr. Ca- 
 vello. They have had an accident, I am sure.” 
 
 Long seconds of waiting followed. 
 
 Mrs. Stevens put up her glasses again. 
 
 “It is your niece and your servant,” she said. 
 “ I am afraid something has happened. But 
 don't be anxious, Mrs. St. John. Miss Leslie 
 is safe: she will explain all to us.” 
 
 Pomp came up the side steps wearily, his arms 
 full of bundles. Leslie’s face was pale, and the 
 traces of tears were about her eyes. 
 
 206 
 
The Coloners Opera Cloak 
 
 “What is the matter?” exclaimed Mrs. St. 
 John. “Is Mr. Cavello killed? Tell me at 
 once.” 
 
 “ Nobody is hurt, Aunt Marie,” said Leslie, 
 in a strained voice. “ Will you come to your 
 room, please?” 
 
 “ Well,” said the ladies to each other, “ there 
 is something very queer here, — going on a 
 drive, and walking home. If she refused the 
 man, he might at least have brought her back. 
 She must have expected him to-day: you know 
 she did not want to go with us. And she came 
 from the depot, too. There is something under 
 all this, you may be sure.” 
 
 Mrs. Stevens put up her eye-glasses and 
 looked quizzically at the ladies’ toilettes. A 
 little laugh went round the circle. They had 
 dressed, weary as they were, and had hurried 
 through tea, for the pleasure of seeing Leslie 
 St. John and old Pomp walk up the road. 
 
 One of the young ladies burst into a merry 
 laugh, and it jarred on Mrs. St. John’s ears as 
 it floated in at her window. 
 
 “ Well, Leslie,” said she, sitting bolt upright 
 on the hardest chair in the room, “ what does 
 this mean ? Here I ’ve ordered a hot supper 
 207 
 
The Coloners Opera Cloak 
 
 for you and Mr. Cavello; and there we were 
 sitting, waiting to see you drive up in fine style, 
 and, lo and behold, you come trudging along 
 the country road with an old nigger. I don’t 
 wonder the ladies are laughing. Spiteful 
 things ! ” 
 
 “ O Aunt Marie,” said Leslie, trembling so 
 that she could not stand, “ I ’ll tell you all about 
 it.” And she recounted the day’s adventure, 
 assisted in the last part by Pomp, who was un- 
 dressing Clarence in the next room. 
 
 ‘‘ If it had n’t been for Pomp,’’ said Leslie, “ I 
 don’t know what I should have done.” 
 
 “ No, she would n’t,” cried Pomp. “ When I 
 see de Colonel’s op’ra cloak rushin’ froo de 
 street, I fought de end ob de world am come. 
 I called out to him, an’ I run after him tell I 
 ketched him. Ef it hed n’t ben for dat op’ra 
 cloak, I ’specs by dis time Miss Leslie would 
 hev ” — 
 
 “ Be still. Pomp ! ” said Mrs. St. John. 
 
 “ I was so frightened,” continued Leslie, “ I 
 did n’t know where we were.” 
 
 “ Yer didn’t?” said Pomp, amazed. “Why, 
 yer was in de city! Whar did yer think yer 
 was? ” 
 
 208 
 
The Colonel’s Opera Cloak 
 
 “ I did n’t know what part of the city we 
 were in ; and oh ! he was so determined to 
 make me go to a priest’s with him, and get 
 married/' 
 
 . “ Well, for my life, I cannot see any thing so 
 wonderful in this. A gentleman asks you to 
 drive, and offers himself. I 'm sure that was 
 very honorable in him,” said Mrs. St. John, 
 sharply. “ There are very few rich, fashion- 
 able young men who want to marry a poor girl 
 without a cent to her name. I should think 
 you were old enough to know how pleased your 
 uncle would have been. I don’t see how you 
 could have refused such a chance.” 
 
 “ I wish I had married him, and then thrown 
 myself into the sea,” cried Leslie, with a flood of 
 tears. 
 
 “ Rather late in the day to repent now,” said 
 Mrs. St. John, sighing. “ I ’m sure I am only 
 thinking of your prospects, Leslie. Well, it 
 can’t be helped now. I only wish Mr. Douglas 
 was as anxious to get you. You would n’t jump 
 into the sea then, I reckon.” 
 
 Leslie slipped away to her room, and cried 
 herself to sleep. 
 
 Mrs. St. John was very much displeased with 
 14 209 
 
The ColoneFs Opera Cloak 
 
 Pomp : she would n’t let him unlace her boots 
 that night. 
 
 “ I just wish/’ said she, “ you would mind 
 your own affairs. What business of yours was 
 it, if Miss Leslie married Mr. Cavello?” 
 
 It wa’n’t my besiness ef 
 
 stoutly. “ Dis ain’t 
 no way, — to hev her driv’ into gittin’ married. 
 Yer done suited yerself. Miss Marie, ef yer 
 did n’t please ole Massa.” 
 
 “ O Pomp ! I should think you would be 
 ashamed to speak so to your poor, sick mis- 
 tress. The Colonel is away amusing himself, 
 and I am left in poverty, with these boys and 
 a niece all on my hands.” And Mrs. St. John 
 
 210 
 
The Colonel’s Opera Cloak 
 
 put on an injured air, and wiped her eyes, and 
 sighed. 
 
 “Oh, come, come!” said Pomp, cheerfully: 
 “ dis is n’t no way to go on. Yer ’s got free 
 beaucherful boys, an’ Miss Leslie; an’ yer ’s 
 young an’ harnsome, an’ de Colonel tinks dere 
 ain’t nobody else in de world only you. Don’t 
 tink no more ’bout Mr. Cavello. He wa’n’t de one 
 for Miss Leslie. I’se set Massa Tom off for her.” 
 “ Oh, yes ! ” said Mrs. St. John, despondently. 
 “ You can set him off, to the end of time ; but I 
 don’t believe he wants to marry her.” 
 
 “ I know he does,” said Pomp, confidently. 
 
 “ How do you know? ” inquired Mrs. St. John. 
 “ I know by de way he looks at her an’ acts 
 wid her.” 
 
 “ How does he look and act with her. Pomp? ” 
 “ Wall, he looks at her kind o’ steddy-like, an’ 
 den he looks at oder folks like as ef he ’d say, 
 
 ‘ Who yer, roun’ here, makin’ b’lieve yer ’r harn- 
 some, ’cause yer got eyes an’ nose an’ mouf? 
 Nobody ain’t wuth lookin’ at ’cept jes Miss 
 Leslie.’ An’ when she says suthin’, ef ’t ain’t no 
 more dan, ‘ Whar ’s my par’sol ? ’ or ‘ Pass me 
 de butter,’ he looks mighty pleased, ’s ef she 
 was de fust ’oman dat ever spoke a word, an’ 
 
The Colonel’s Opera Cloak 
 
 he looks roun’ to see ef ev’body ain’t list’nin’ 
 an’ a’mirin’ of her. Oh, yer see if Massa Tom 
 ain’t down here putty soon after her ! ” 
 
 After a time, Mrs. St. John allowed herself 
 to be comforted, and went to sleep, feeling that 
 she had done all that could be expected of her 
 towards righting the wrongs of life. 
 
 Leslie had such a headache that she did not 
 get up to breakfast. 
 
 Mrs. St. John had determined to put the best 
 face on affairs; and so she dressed herself care- 
 fully, and with a cheerful smile went down to 
 the dining-room. 
 
 She was not going to have these Yankees 
 think that Leslie had been jilted; but she had 
 not decided whether to say that Leslie had run 
 off with Mr. Cavello and been dragged back 
 by Pomp, or that Mr. Cavello had carried her off 
 against her will, and Pomp had rescued her; 
 whether to represent her as forsaking the love 
 of a splendid young fellow without money for 
 a world-worn man who had unlimited wealth, 
 or to give her the character of a young and 
 inexperienced girl, who had thrown away a 
 wonderful chance for the romance of love and 
 poverty. 
 
 212 
 
The Colonel’s Opera Cloak 
 
 Before she had fairly made up her mind what 
 to say, Mrs. Stevens, whose delicacy never over- 
 balanced her curiosity, drew her chair up close 
 to Mrs. St. John, and asked how Miss Leslie 
 was, and said that they were all so fond of 
 her that they hoped nothing unpleasant had 
 occurred. 
 
 “ Oh, no ! ” said Mrs. St. John. ‘‘ It was only 
 that old fool of a Pomp, who made a great fuss 
 out of nothing.” Then she went on to explain, 
 with a fine, easy flow of improvisation, that Mr. 
 Cavello, having heard of Mr. Douglas’s visit, 
 had become very jealous. So, after inviting 
 Leslie to drive, he had gone on until he reached 
 the city, and had tried to induce her to be mar- 
 ried that day, so as to secure her. But Leslie, 
 of course, like all girls, wanted a trousseau and 
 a grand wedding, and had not fairly made up 
 her mind what to do, when Pomp stumbled upon 
 the party, and urged Leslie to come home, and 
 made a sad picture of how her aunt would feel, 
 and what her uncle would say, until he finally 
 persuaded her to come back with him; and of 
 course Mr. Cavello was very angry, and told 
 Leslie to choose, once for all. 
 
 “ If she is going to marry him at all, I ’m sure 
 213 
 
The Colonel’s Opera Cloak 
 
 I wish she had done so yesterday, — if they 
 wanted to be romantic. It would have saved 
 me a world of trouble. We shall have another 
 scene in a day or two, when Mr. Cavello gets 
 over his pique. I hope he and Mr. Douglas 
 won't meet in the mean time. 
 
 Poor old Pomp thinks every one in the 
 family belongs to him ; and he meddles and 
 interferes, till I often wish he had run off 
 with the others; but he camt be sent off, of 
 course.” 
 
 Leslie became quite a sensation. The young 
 ladies looked at her with admiration. How 
 elegant to be ,run away with, like a girl in a 
 novel ! 
 
 “ I always supposed,” remarked Miss Mer- 
 riam, “ that when people ran away they had 
 post-horses and a postilion in bottle-green livery, 
 with pistols, and that the young lady’s head 
 was forever out of the window to see if her 
 papa was after them, and that a big brother was 
 invariably in hot pursuit. I never dreamed that 
 one could be so romantic with a stable-horse and 
 a buggy, and one old black man.” 
 
 The next two days passed, without a word 
 from Mr. Cavello. Mrs. St. John was vexed. 
 
 214 
 
The Coloners Opera Cloak 
 
 It looked as if he was going to drop the 
 affair. 
 
 The third day brought a letter from the 
 Colonel. Mrs. St. John read it on the piazza, 
 and, looking at Leslie, said, — 
 
 “ I ’ll see you, for a moment, in my room. 
 Here is something about you, my young lady.” 
 Of course they all thought Mr. Cavello was 
 trying to make up with the injured aunt. 
 
 “ Well,” said Mrs. St. John, rejoining the 
 group of ladies on the piazza, “ do pity me. 
 Leslie is so changeable that I can’t do any 
 thing. I never saw anybody so set, as they 
 say here. I sha’n’t say a word more. They 
 may settle it for themselves.” 
 
 215 
 
X 
 
 A WET spell ” had come, as Uncle Peter 
 said. It rained, day after day. 
 
 Mrs. St. John was indignant. 
 
 This was pretty weather for the sea-shore! 
 She had no thick dresses; and so she stayed in 
 bed, with the Colonel’s opera cloak about her. 
 
 Leslie had enough to do to amuse the boys. 
 She kept them in the bowling-alley as much as 
 she could. 
 
 One day a letter came from the Colonel. He 
 had some fine project in hand, and wanted them 
 all to come to him. 
 
 Mrs. St. John sent for the landlord, and rep- 
 rimanded him severely for bringing her there 
 under false pretences. 
 
 “ It ’s just like the middle of winter. You 
 live here every year, and of course you knew 
 about it. I should n’t feel legally obliged to pay 
 216 
 
The Coloners Opera Cloak 
 
 you a cent for the time I have been here, for 
 I came for the warm sun and for pleasant sea 
 air; but make out your bill, and I’ll pay it at 
 once. I must go back to town to-day, or I shall 
 be dead to-morrow.” 
 
 So Pomp and Leslie packed the trunks. Poor 
 Leslie ! Her “ next time ” was never to be here 
 by the beautiful sea, nor on these lovely country 
 roads. 
 
 They were ready for the noon train. The 
 landlord was very rude. He said that they had 
 engaged for the summer, and were bound to 
 pay for it ; but Mrs. St. John said, ‘‘ Yes, for 
 summer, not for winter.” She expected that he 
 would have sleighing before long, if he kept on 
 at this rate. 
 
 The poor man almost thought himself the 
 clerk of the weather, before she left. 
 
 Pomp had gone in an earlier train, to open 
 the house; and Leslie, who was the guide, mis- 
 took the time, and they had to wait an hour at 
 the station. 
 
 Leslie never forgot that hour. She almost 
 thought, from her aunt’s severe remarks, that 
 she had made it, and tacked it on to the usual 
 twenty-four. 
 
 217 
 
The Coloners Opera Cloak 
 
 At last, at dark, in a pouring rain, they reached 
 the house. 
 
 Pomp had made a fire in the furnace. Mrs. 
 St. John’s spirits rose as she grew warm. 
 
 “ We may as well go to the Colonel at once,’’ 
 she said. “ We could start to-morrow, if it 
 was n’t for our things here. What shall we do 
 with them? We shall have to auction them off, 
 I think. I 'm sure we have paid this landlord 
 enough, without giving him the things we have 
 bought ourselves. But I am afraid it will be a 
 heap of trouble to have an auction.” 
 
 “ Oh, no, it won’t,” said Pomp. “ It is n’t 
 never no trouble to sell tings : it ’s trouble to buy 
 ’em. Why, ef yer buy, yer has to go out, an’ 
 yer has to spend yer money; but, in sellin’, yer 
 jes stays in de house, an’ gits money fur tings 
 yer does n’t want an’ can’t kerry off wid yer, 
 nohow.” 
 
 ‘‘ But every thing is a trouble,” returned Mrs. 
 St. John. “ If it was n’t for the heat it would 
 make in the house, I ’d burn all our things up, 
 to save the trouble of selling them.” 
 
 Yer could n’t burn de piano up,” said Pomp. 
 “ Yer could n’t git it into de furnace.” 
 
 “ What an old fool you are ! ” said Mrs. St. 
 
 218 
 
The Colonel’s Opera Cloak 
 
 John. “ Let us look over the things, Leslie, and 
 make a list. Here ’s the piano, and that red 
 velvet chair, and those vases, and ” — 
 
 “ And the towel-rack, and the foot-rest, and 
 the slipper-case I bought at the church fair,” 
 added Leslie. 
 
 “Yes; and the gilt shaving-stand the Colonel 
 bought, the last time he came on. 
 
 “I suppose,” she added, turning to Pomp, 
 “ that there are heaps of broken things.” 
 “Yes, missus; but all on ’em ain’t ourn. 
 We ’ve broke a good many of de Ian’ lord’s. We 
 ain’t no right to sell dem, hev we?” 
 
 “ We ’ll put all our broken things into barrels, 
 and get rid of them in that way,” said Mrs. St. 
 John. 
 
 “ De barrels is all done broke dereselfs,” 
 replied Pomp. 
 
 “ Well, trunks, then,” said Mrs. St. John. 
 “ Don’t pick me up so. Pomp ! ” 
 
 “ De trunks ! Massy gracious ! ” cried Pomp. 
 “ Yer does n’t want to sell yer trunks, full o’ 
 broken traps, and kerry yer clo’es Souf in yer 
 ban’s, does yer?” 
 
 “ We shall have some on us,” said Mrs. St. 
 John, with dignity. “ Very few people travel 
 219 
 
The Coloners Opera Cloak 
 
 without clothes in this country, if they do in 
 yours. 
 
 “ But if you won’t use trunks,” she added, 
 “ tie the things up in sheets.” 
 
 “ De sheets ain’t ourn : dey b’longs to de 
 
 house. Dey would n’t hold much, any way. De 
 boys hes used ’em so much fur tents, an’ hes 
 wrastled so in bed, an’ fired de pillers roun’ so 
 free, dat de cases is — well, yer kin git in mos’ 
 anywhar, an’ out mos’ anywhar too; an’ de fed- 
 ders flies out o’ dem pillers like as ef yer was 
 shakin’ a chicken. Ef I was yer. Miss Marie, 
 I ’d leave dem broke tings fur de Ian’ lord to 
 cl’ar up.” 
 
 “ So I will. Horrid old thing ! It would 
 serve him just right,” said Mrs. St. John. 
 
 “ Now look at that ceiling, Leslie,” she added : 
 “did you ever see any thing like it?” 
 
 “ The boys did that,” said Leslie. 
 
 “ Well,” said Mrs. St. John, “ they learned to 
 make them here. I ’m sure I never heard of a 
 ‘ spit-ball ’ until I came North. What a house 
 this was to let to a gentleman’s family! We 
 have paid rent enough for it. Just look at that 
 spot on the sofa. Ugh! it is sticky.” 
 
 “ I reckon that was some of our medicine. 
 
 220 
 
The Colonel’s Opera Cloak 
 
 that we ’ve had round. That is n’t any thing,” 
 said Clarence. 
 
 “ And those lace curtains ! What a color ! 
 The landlord will do those up before he lets the 
 house again, if he has any kind of decency, — 
 which I should n’t judge he had,” said Mrs. St. 
 John. 
 
 “ They were fresh when we came,” said Leslie. 
 
 ‘‘Of course they were : he could n’t expect to 
 let a house with soiled curtains, could he?” 
 
 “ I reckon de piano ’ll fotch a heap,” said 
 Pomp, who had been attentively listening to the 
 conversation. “We ought to ’tend to de auction 
 tings now.” 
 
 “ You must rub up the piano. Pomp,” said 
 Leslie. “ You know Clarence and Wilfrid used 
 to spring on it dreadfully, when they ran round 
 the parlor over all the furniture.” 
 
 “ I wonder you would allow them to act so, 
 Leslie,” said Mrs. St. John. “ I should no more 
 think of jumping on a piano than on a looking- 
 glass.” 
 
 “ I danced a clog-dance on it one night,” said 
 Clarence ; “ and we put paper inside of it, and 
 Arthur thumped on the keys like a banjo. Oh, 
 it was awful funny music!” 
 
 22 
 
The Coloners Opera Cloak 
 
 Pomp examined the piano critically. 
 
 “ Some parts shows de boot-heels, but it 
 ain’t so bad as it mought be,” said he, — 
 it took a great deal to surprise Pomp, — “I 
 thinks a little grease would put it in putty good 
 shape.” 
 
 “ All the keys don’t go,” said Clarence. 
 
 There 's a pin in one. I can see it.” 
 
 “ You can shut it down, for the auction,” said 
 his mother. “ Oh, no, you can’t, either. I ’ll 
 wager a good bit they ’ll want to hear the tone : 
 it would be just like these Yankees. That chair 
 is all right, isn't it?” 
 
 “ Yes,” said Leslie. “ The springs are good, 
 — only, aunty, I think there are moths in it.” 
 
 “ Very likely. It was bought North,” said 
 Mrs. St. John. “ I would n’t trust a Northerner 
 while I turned my head round. It was bought 
 with moths in it, if they are there. We can’t 
 sell a chair better than we buy it, of course. 
 
 “ You can pin a tidy over that stained place 
 on the back, Leslie, and it can go with the 
 chair. 
 
 ‘‘ We must put a high price on every thing,” 
 she continued, “ because I ’ve always heard that 
 people insist on beating down, at auctions.” 
 
 222 
 
The Colonel’s Opera Cloak 
 
 “Who’s going to say, ‘Going, going, gone’?” 
 asked Clarence. 
 
 “ I s’pose I is,” said Pomp. “ I does ’mos’ 
 ev’ry ting.” 
 
 “ No,” said Mrs. St. John, “ I shall send for 
 a man who makes a business of it. If I am 
 going to have an auction, I ’ll have one.” 
 
 Pomp went at once to the grocer, who directed 
 him to an auctioneer. 
 
 The man came to look over the house, and 
 was surprised to see how little was to be sold; 
 but that was none of his business. He* said he 
 would set the day, and then advertise it a few 
 times. 
 
 “Advertise it!” exclaimed Mrs. St. John. 
 “ What in the world would you advertise it 
 for? You don’t suppose people are coming here 
 from the four corners of the earth, to buy a few* 
 old things, do you? Besides, I am going away 
 day after to-morrow. I ’ll have the auction to- 
 morrow. You’ve got a flag, haven’t you? I 
 never heard of an auctioneer who had not. 
 
 “ But be sure,” she called after him, “ not to 
 put up a small-pox flag, and make the people 
 afraid to come in.” 
 
 When the flag was flung to the breeze, Mrs. 
 
 223 
 
The Coloners Opera Cloak 
 
 St. John seated herself at a front window, to 
 inspect the people who came up the steps. 
 
 When any one appeared whose looks did not 
 please her, she called to Pomp not to let him in, 
 or to tell him it was n’t time, and that he would 
 better come back day after to-morrow; adding, 
 in a low tone, “ when we shall be all cleared up 
 and gone.” 
 
 Before the auction began, Mrs. St. John and 
 Leslie seated themselves in the back parlor, 
 where they could see what was going on, through 
 a crack between the sliding-doors. 
 
 Pomp stayed in the front parlor, where the 
 auction was to take place, to keep an eye on 
 things, and see that the auctioneer did his duty. 
 
 Several of the neighbors, to whom the St. 
 Johns had afforded a great deal of excitement, 
 and who knew that the house had been let fur- 
 nished, came in to look on. 
 
 About thirty people had assembled in the hall 
 and parlor at the appointed hour. 
 
 “ Pomp! Pomp! ” called Mrs. St. John. Pomp 
 went to the crack, and looked in with one eye. 
 
 “ I don’t like the looks of those men over 
 there,” said the lady, in a loud whisper, loud 
 enough to be heard by those standing near. 
 
 224 
 
The Colonel’s Opera Cloak 
 
 “ You must keep a sharp eye on them. They 
 look like Jews. We ought to have had a police- 
 man here, to watch.” 
 
 The people looked at each other, and felt like 
 pickpockets. 
 
 The auctioneer’s voice broke the silence. 
 
 “ The first thing offered for sale in this elegant 
 house is a superb piano, for which seven hun- 
 dred and fifty dollars was paid, six short months 
 ago.” 
 
 “ What a whopper! ” said Clarence. “ It only 
 cost three hundred, — the legs were so scratched 
 up.” 
 
 “ The lady assures me that seven hundred and 
 fifty dollars was its price,” said the man, looking 
 threateningly at the impudent boy who was try- 
 ing to ruin his sale. 
 
 Leslie glanced inquiringly at her aunt. 
 
 ‘‘ The man said it was marked at that price, 
 and was worth it, — only he let me have it 
 cheap,” said Mrs. St. John, in answer to her 
 look. 
 
 “Clarence!” she called. “Come into this 
 room, this moment.” 
 
 Every one turned toward the back parlor. 
 
 “ The tone is equal to that of a Steinway,” 
 15 225 
 
The Colonel’s Opera Cloak 
 
 continued the auctioneer. “ I might play ‘ Green- 
 ville ’ myself, but I suppose some one here can 
 display it to better advantage.” 
 
 No one stirred ; and so he ran his fingers over 
 the keys, and soon knocked off the instrument for 
 one hundred and fifty dollars, — “ Which was 
 enough for the old thing,” Mrs. St. John said. 
 
 “ Well, here is a clock. Who will bid on this? 
 It is an elegant French clock, — runs a week.” 
 
 “ It runs two, if you run with it,” said Wil- 
 frid : and he and Arthur laughed. 
 
 “ Did we buy that, or does it belong to the 
 house?” whispered Mrs. St. John to Leslie. 
 
 “ To the house, I think,” she replied. “ I 
 
 was n't here at the first, you know.” 
 
 “ I ’ll give you five dollars,” said a man. 
 
 “ Five-fifty,” said another. 
 
 “ Six dollars.” 
 
 Mrs. St. John beckoned to Pomp. 
 
 “ Nobody can’t buy dat,” Pomp called out, 
 in a loud voice, “ ’cause it does n’t b’long to us. 
 We forgot. Dat ’s de lan’lord’s clock.” 
 
 Every one laughed. 
 
 “ Well, here,” said the man, “ is a towel-rack, 
 not owned by the landlord, and worked by fair 
 fingers, doubtless. Some young bachelor would 
 226 
 
The Coloners Opera Cloak 
 
 find this priceless. Five dollars it is marked. 
 It is a bunch of white lilies worked on a back- 
 ground of — of — blue.'’ 
 
 “ Gas-light green,” said a young lady near 
 him. 
 
 On a background of gas-light green,” he 
 repeated. “ It is useful as well as ornamental, 
 and worth double its price.” 
 
 “ I only paid three for it,” whispered Leslie. 
 
 “ I knew they would beat him down, and so I 
 marked it five,” replied her aunt, with a business- 
 like air. 
 
 One dollar,” called a voice from the hall. 
 
 “ What a mean man! ” said Mrs. St. John, in 
 a loud whisper, which was heard in the front 
 parlor. 
 
 ‘‘ One dollar twenty-five, — one-fifty, — two 
 dollars.” 
 
 “ Gone, — at two dollars 1 ” 
 
 “ Stingy enough, I am sure,” said Mrs. St. 
 John, half-aloud. 
 
 “ This red velvet chair is in good condition. 
 Springs in order. Tidy goes with it, and gives 
 it a feminine and homelike air. As the poet 
 asks, — 
 
 ‘ What ’s a chair without a tidy ? ’ ” 
 
 227 
 
The Coloners Opera Cloak 
 
 It ’s a chair,” giggled Wilfrid’s voice from 
 behind the door. 
 
 The people looked at each other, and laughed. 
 They had never attended such a sale before. 
 The auctioneer was amused, too: it seemed like 
 playing at auction. 
 
 At length, after various bids, the chair was 
 sold. 
 
 A vase was just being carried off, when Mrs. 
 St. John remembered that that was n’t hers. 
 
 “ The pink pair are mine, — on the mantel- 
 piece,” she called, through the crack. 
 
 The woman who had bought the large vase 
 was very angry. 
 
 “ Why do you have an auction,” she asked, 
 “if you haven’t any thing to sell?” 
 
 “ We have,” replied Mrs. St. John, through 
 the crack. 
 
 “ Why don’t you sell it, then, and know your 
 own mind?” 
 
 “ Why don’t you buy the things we own, and 
 not the things which belong to the landlord ? ” 
 replied again the invisible proprietress. 
 
 “ These pink vases,” said the auctioneer, 
 pointing to the mantel-piece, “ are very rare, I 
 am told. The pictures on them are gems of 
 228 
 
The Colonel’s Opera Cloak 
 
 art, — shepherd and shepherdess, surrounded by 
 flock, — landscape in the distance. I have never 
 seen a pair like them before. I should judge 
 they were Sevres or Dresden china, only that 
 the mark of seven dollars shows that they must 
 be of less value. But perhaps their value was not 
 known. At any rate, they are very beautiful, 
 and evidently a great bargain, such as one meets 
 with only once in a lifetime.” 
 
 “ I did n’t know they were so valuable,” said 
 Mrs. St. John, in a low tone, to Leslie. “ I 
 bought them at a ninety-nine-cent store; but, if 
 they are such a bargain, I ’ll just keep them 
 myself.” 
 
 The people were beginning to bid, when Mrs. 
 St. John called out, — 
 
 “You need not sell those vases. I think I ’ll 
 keep them myself.” 
 
 A laugh went around the room. 
 
 “ The slipper-case and foot-rest, — will you 
 keep those too, Madame?” asked the auctioneer, 
 turning toward the crack. 
 
 “ You can sell them, if you get their value : 
 otherwise, I will keep them myself,” called out 
 the voice. “ I want ten dollars for the foot-rest, 
 and seven for the slipper-case.” 
 
 229 
 
The Coloners Opera Cloak 
 
 Nobody bid, and the auctioneer laid them 
 aside. 
 
 Pomp came forth from the back parlor. 
 
 “ Missus says she don’t know as she keers for 
 de slipper-case, after all, an’ she ’ll let it go for 
 free dollars, ef somebody ’ll buy de foot-rest for 
 four.” 
 
 Several spoke at once. A laugh was raised, 
 and the articles were knocked down. 
 
 “ Is this satin furniture for sale? ” asked some 
 one in the hall. 
 
 “ No.” 
 
 ‘‘ These draperies and mirrors ? ” 
 
 ‘‘ No, sir.” 
 
 “ Any thing in the other parts of the house? ” 
 
 “ No, Madame.” 
 
 “ What is for sale ? ” 
 
 “ Here is a trunk, for one thing, — locked, — 
 key can’t be found, — sold on speculation.” 
 
 “ Two dollars,” said a second-hand-clothes 
 man, who looked like a second-hand man. 
 
 Two seventy-five,” said his neighbor. 
 
 “ Massy gracious ! ” cried Pomp, “ don’t bid 
 no more! I done forgot till dis blessed minute 
 dat dat ar trunk was Massa Cavello’s. I ’spect 
 dar ain’t much in it, dr he ’d ha’ sent fur it. 
 
 230 
 
The Colonel’s Opera Cloak 
 
 Any how, dat ain’t ourn, an’ we ain’t got no 
 right to sell it. I ’ll fin’ out whar his club is, 
 an’ sen’ it to him, though he don’t desarve to 
 git it.” 
 
 “ This gilt shaving-stand,” resumed the auc- 
 tioneer, after Pomp’s episode, as he moved aside 
 the trunk, “ will go at a good bargain. In the 
 morning, when the light is perhaps rather dim, 
 or at eve, when the bureau-glass does not catch 
 a good light, this small stand can be easily 
 moved about, and afford comfort to the man 
 who would otherwise appear to his friends with 
 black court-plaster covering ghastly wounds, 
 made not by ‘ the envious Casca,’ but by his own 
 hand.” 
 
 A slight young man, who had the air of a 
 piano-tuner, and who had bid off the piano, 
 attracted the eye of the auctioneer. He had 
 light hair, smooth cheeks, and a thin mustache. 
 
 ‘‘ Here, young man, it would serve your pur- 
 pose well ! Shall I look to you for a bid ? ” 
 
 “ You ’d better help him get more hair : he 
 can’t raise what he wants now,” cried Wilfrid, 
 from behind the hall-door. 
 
 The young man wanted to kill him. 
 
 At last, the shaving-stand was disposed of. 
 
 231 
 
The Coloners Opera Cloak 
 
 “ Here is a boy's jacket, with a jack-knife in 
 the pocket, and a few marbles.” 
 
 The auctioneer could not help laughing: it 
 seemed so absurd to sell one old jacket, in this 
 elegant house. 
 
 At the words “jack-knife” and “marbles,” 
 Clarence rushed into the parlor, and when he 
 beheld the jacket he burst into a flood of tears. 
 
 “ Give me that jacket, you old fool! ” said he. 
 “ Those are the things I gave Jasper when he 
 was sick, and he 's dead now. I tell you, give it 
 to me. It ’s his jacket! ” 
 
 “ Oh, yes,” said Pomp, the tears running down 
 his cheeks : “ dat don’t go. I dunno whar dat 
 ar’ jacket come from now. Dat war what my 
 poor little gran’son hed on to him when he died, 
 a-lyin’ on dat very red satin solYy. No, no: we 
 can’t sell little dead boys’ clo’es! Miss Marie 
 ain’t so pore as dat yit.” 
 
 Two ladies got up hastily from the sofa: one 
 of them had to stop to pull away her sash-fringes 
 which adhered to the cover. 
 
 The auctioneer handed the jacket to Pomp, 
 hardly knowing whether to swear or laugh. 
 
 “ Well,” said he, “ we will try once more, 
 hoping that the party to whom this belongs is in 
 232 
 
The Colonel’s Opera Cloak 
 
 fine health and spirits, and willing to part with 
 his clothes.” 
 
 “ Here is a fine cloak, — a military cloak, 1 
 should say. It is of fine ” — 
 
 “ Oh! Nobody must n’t make no bid on dat,” 
 called Pomp, in a loud voice. “ Dat can’t be 
 sold, nohow : dat b’longs to de Colonel, an’ 
 
 wa’n’t never meant to be sold. Massy gracious! 
 Why, don’t you know ! Dat ’s de Colonel’s op’ra 
 cloak, — Colonel St. John’s.” 
 
 “No, don’t sell that!” cried Mrs. St. John, 
 through the crack. “ Of course that can’t be 
 sold: anybody might have known that. We 
 are not second-hand-clothes men.” 
 
 “ What did you put it here for, if it was n’t 
 to be sold?” asked the auctioneer, in a little 
 temper. 
 
 “ I did n’t put it dar,” said Pomp. “ It hed to 
 be somewhar or ’noder, did n’t it? I don’t ’spect 
 yer to sell yer own clo’es, jes’ ’cause dey happens 
 to be in dis house.” 
 
 “ I vould n’t puy dat gloak, if dare vant notin’ 
 more to puy in de vorld,” said the little Jew to 
 his friend. “ Dat gloak gum near to geddin’ me 
 inder drouble. I dought de devil vas in him dat 
 night.” 
 
 233 
 
The Colonel’s Opera Cloak 
 
 “ But he vas a goot gloak,” said his friend, 
 regretfully, looking after it. “ And de leedle 
 goat, — das vas a goot leedle goat. I likes to 
 puy gloes mit bockets in ‘em. I finds dings in 
 de bockets, somedimes.” 
 
 The little Jew looked admiringly at his friend : 
 he had learned a new point in business. 
 
 “ Well, is there any thing else to be sold ? ” 
 asked the auctioneer. 
 
 “ No,” said Pomp. “ Yer hev sold all dere is 
 and more ’n dere is.” 
 
 “ And now I hope you are satisfied,” said Mrs. 
 St. John, in a low voice. “ That man is a mono- 
 maniac, Leslie. He wants to sell every thing he 
 can lay his hands on.” 
 
 The people were soon gone, and Mrs. St. John 
 proceeded to settle with the auctioneer. 
 
 “ How much do you ask for selling these 
 things? Not much, of course, for they were 
 my own things.” 
 
 “ Well, five dollars will satisfy me,” said the 
 man. 
 
 “ I should think it might ! You had n’t rent 
 to pay, or any thing that other people have to 
 spend money for. Yours must.be a very paying 
 business,” she said. 
 
 234 
 
The Colonel’s Opera Cloak 
 
 Sinking into an easy-chair, after the auctioneer 
 was gone, she cried : “ I declare, I am almost 
 tired to death. I was never so sick of anybody 
 in my life as I was of that auctioneer. I thought 
 he never would get off till he had sold every one 
 of us ; and you ’d think, to hear him go on about 
 things, that he owned them all. I pity his wife, 
 if his tongue runs that way all the time.’’ 
 
 “ It makes yer feel kind o’ solemn too, does n’t 
 it,” said Pomp, “ to see tings go out o’ de house 
 yer ’s used to seein’ in it, — kind o’ like a fune- 
 real. I wanted to grab dem men by de ha’r, 
 when dey kerried off our planner.” 
 
 “ It would have been a pretty sight,” said Mrs. 
 St. John, to have had the police in. Dear, 
 dear, dear! How can the Colonel leave all this 
 care on me ? ” 
 
 “ Pomp,” she added, “ you count out the rent, 
 and put it into an envelope, and send it to the 
 landlord the morning we go away; for, if he 
 knows we are going, he ’ll be looking about and 
 asking impertinent questions. When he does 
 get here, he ’ll find his house all ready to move 
 right into; and we shall be out of his way, and 
 give him no trouble whatever.” 
 
 235 
 
XI 
 
 T he day after their arrival in town, Leslie 
 had sent Arthur to the Doctor’s. She 
 longed to find out, if possible, whether Mr. 
 Cavello had told the truth about Tom. She 
 could not believe it, when she remembered his 
 manner towards her, and the tones of his voice. 
 She was so sincere herself that it was hard for 
 her to believe that others were not so. Arthur 
 had returned with the melancholy news that the 
 family had all gone to the mountains. 
 
 How crookedly things do go sometimes! Oh, 
 how could she go away without thanking Mrs. 
 Douglas for her kindness, and Bessie, and the 
 Doctor, and Tom ! How could she go, and 
 never say “ Good-by ” to him ! 
 
 Poor little Leslie! There had been dull days 
 and tiresome days, and the tears had found their 
 236 
 
The Coloners Opera Cloak 
 
 way often and easily to her eyes; but there had 
 never been a cut like this! She cried herself to 
 sleep that night. 
 
 She sent Pomp to the Doctor’s to ask when 
 the family would return. The Doctor was at 
 home, and said he thought they would be back 
 in a week. 
 
 A week! A year would be no worse. She 
 could not tell them where she was going, for 
 her uncle had only designated a railway junc- 
 tion, where he was to meet them; and she did 
 not know how to leave any address, nor did her 
 aunt. 
 
 Mrs. St. John had lost her interest in Tom, 
 since he had failed to do his duty while at the 
 sea-shore. 
 
 “ I ’m sure he was near enough to it. Any- 
 body with half an eye could . see that ! Why 
 didn’t you bring him to the point?” she asked. 
 
 “ I could n’t do such a thing,” said Leslie, 
 with the tears in her eyes. “ I don’t know how.” 
 And she added, with spirit : “ I would n’t if I 
 could. If he cared any thing for me, he could 
 have told me : if he did n’t, I would n’t have had 
 him say so, if I could have made him ! ” 
 
 All very fine,” said Mrs. St. John, — very 
 
 237 
 
The Coloners Opera Cloak 
 
 fine, indeed ! — especially in a poor girl fed and 
 clothed by her relations, who are starving them- 
 selves to do it, — taking the very bread out of 
 their mouths, as it were. 
 
 “You never mean to marry, I suppose. You 
 sent Mr. Cavello away, you little goose ! ” 
 
 “ And would you really like me to marry Mr. 
 Cavello,” said Leslie : “a man nobody knows 
 
 any thing about, and whom I hate? Oh, why 
 did you never have me learn to do something, 
 so that I could sew, or sweep, or teach school, 
 to earn my own living? I would a thousand, 
 thousand times rather do any thing, than to 
 stay here, when you don’t want me ! ” 
 
 Leslie did not wait until night to cry, this 
 time. 
 
 Pomp was quite in despair at the unfortunate 
 turn affairs were taking. 
 
 “ Now, chile,” said he, patting her pretty 
 head, which was buried in her pillow, “ don’t 
 yer min’ what Miss Marie says. She don’ mean 
 nothin’. She 's kind o’ cross dis mornin’. She 
 frowed her shoe at me dis vary day. She did n’t 
 hurt me none, but I hollered, an’ put my harnd 
 up to my eye; an’ den she was skeert, an’ said 
 she did n’t mean to ; an’ I keeps it kind o’ shet 
 238 
 
The Colonel’s Opera Cloak 
 
 up, when I goes into her room, so ’s to keep her 
 skeert.” 
 
 O Pomp,” said Leslie, with a smothered 
 voice, “it isn’t that. I don’t 
 
 an’ tell her whar yer is, an’ yer ’ll hear putty 
 soon.” 
 
 239 
 
The ColoneFs Opera Cloak 
 
 “ Oh, I shall never see them again,” said 
 Leslie, — “ never again. And I can’t thank 
 them for being so kind to me. They ’ve been 
 kinder than anybody but you, Pomp. Oh, dear! 
 Oh, dear! I shall never see them again!” 
 
 Pomp brought some cologne, and bathed her 
 aching head, saying, — 
 
 “ Dar, now! dar, now! Don't yer cry no mo’. 
 Yer jes' go to sleep, an’ who kin tell what ’ll 
 happen when yer wakes up? ” 
 
 Nothing pleasant happened, however. Thurs- 
 day came, and the house was closed. 
 
 It was several weeks before the family were 
 settled. They boarded in one country place and 
 in another ; they went away from one city : they 
 went to another. 
 
 Finally, Mrs. St. John took to her bed, — it 
 was her weapon of defence, — and announced 
 that she should not move from that town until 
 fall : she ’d been whisked about enough. 
 
 That day, thinking that they seemed to be 
 settled for a fortnight, at least, poor Leslie 
 wrote a letter to Bessie. She looked out every 
 single word in the dictionary, even the thes and 
 the ofs. 
 
 240 
 
The Coloners Opera Cloak 
 
 We are staying at /’ wrote Leslie, 
 
 “ and shall be here for two weeks. After that, 
 uncle will take us to the country. He has some 
 business there which is very important, and 
 which he wants to look after himself. 
 
 “ I wish you would answer me before we go 
 there. I want toihear from you. I was so sorry 
 not to bid you good-by and thank you for all 
 your kindness. I shall never forget it. Give 
 my love to your mother, and my kind regards 
 to all the rest of your family.” 
 
 How she wanted to ask where Tom was: 
 what he was doing, saying, thinking ; how he was 
 looking; if he was well; if he remembered her. 
 
 “ Oh ! ” sighed she, “ if the things I ’ve thought 
 on to this paper could be read, what in the world 
 would they think of me? ” 
 
 Leslie gave the letter to her uncle to post. 
 And there in his deep pocket it rested for many 
 a day, while the girl watched and hoped and 
 longed for an answer. Every step by the door, 
 every knock, made her heart beat. 
 
 The two weeks went by, and no letter came. 
 She had thought just for a second, time and time 
 again, that Tom really liked her. But now she 
 saw he had only meant to be kind and pleasant. 
 i6 241 
 
The Colonel’s Opera Cloak 
 
 Oh, how she wished he had been cold and dis- 
 tant and cross, and had never made her think — 
 although he had never tried to make her think 
 • — that he was fond of her. That she was sure 
 of. No, he never would do so cruel a thing as 
 that. Of course, anybody would like Miss Hen- 
 derson best. Oh, dear! Oh, dear! 
 
 Then Leslie made up her mind that she would 
 never think of Tom again, never once. Only, 
 when she said her simple prayer at night, she 
 would ask God to make him happy always, even 
 if she must be unhappy. 
 
 The Doctor, whose head had little room for 
 the St. Johns and their affairs, forgot to speak 
 of their departure until Tom, on his return, said 
 that he had half a mind to run down to the sea- 
 shore, to call on the opera cloak. 
 
 “ Let me see,” said the Doctor. Pomp 
 came here one day to say they were all going 
 away, somewhere. I forget where, if he told 
 me. I don’t know whether they all went or 
 not.” 
 
 Tom walked to Margrave Street before going 
 to his office. The house was empty; the furni- 
 ture was gone; paperer and painter were hard 
 242 
 
The Colonel’s Opera Cloak 
 
 at work. Leslie had vanished, as utterly as if 
 she were dead. 
 
 Tom wrote to the Elden House, to learn the 
 St. Johns’ address. The landlord did not know 
 where they had gone. 
 
 Tom wondered why Leslie did not write. 
 She could write to Bessie, surely ; and she 
 must know that he could not guess what part 
 of the earth she had flown to, unless she told 
 him. 
 
 He was hurt through and through. Perhaps 
 Mrs. St. John had whisked the girl off, to marry 
 her to some old sinner with plenty of money. 
 And he had meant to have a square talk with 
 her, the next time he went down, in spite of 
 everybody and every thing. He would have done 
 so that time, except for the opera cloak. He had 
 never dreamed that the whole family could fly 
 off, like a flock of birds, without warning. He 
 had no need to wait until business came in to 
 marry, thank fortune, if Leslie had wanted 
 him. And he felt almost sure she did. He had 
 a snug little property which his grandmother 
 had left him. Well, what good was it now? 
 He did not know where on earth to look for 
 the girl. 
 
 243 
 
The Colonel’s Opera Cloak 
 
 He went to see the landlord of the city house. 
 He did not know where they had gone: he only 
 wished he did. His elegant 
 furniture was all ruined : 
 he believed they kept a 
 riding-school there. He 
 took Tom for a fellow- 
 sufferer. 
 
 So the summer passed 
 away, and the pleas- 
 ant days of Septem- 
 ber and October. 
 
 The Doctor’s fam- 
 ily had nearly lost their interest in the St. 
 Johns. Once in a while Pomp or his mis- 
 tress was quoted, or the opera cloak was re 
 ferred to. 
 
 One evening Tom went to Mrs. Ackerman’s, 
 and told her about the matter. 
 
 “ Don’t despair,” said she, looking at her hus- 
 band, who was working away at the other end 
 of the room. “ Every thing will come right, if 
 you care enough about her to wait and look, and 
 not fall in love with some other pretty girl. 
 John and I had a long hard time, but we feel 
 244 
 
The Colonel’s Opera Cloak 
 
 surer of each other than many who slip easily 
 into love and marriage.” 
 
 I have done all I can,” said Tom, “ and 
 that ’s very little. I think she did n't care a 
 cent for me, or she would have written to my 
 sister.” 
 
 “ Oh, a thousand things may have happened. 
 A letter may have been lost, — just think how 
 many are lost, to keep up that great place at 
 Washington ! — and she may be waiting to hear 
 from you.” 
 
 “ I have thought,” said Tom, “ that perhaps 
 her aunt has married her off, and so hustled her 
 out of my way; for I think she would have come 
 to like me, if she had stayed here, and no other 
 fellow had been in the way.” 
 
 “Come to like you!” said Mrs. Ackerman, 
 laughing. “ Why, my dear boy, it was as plain 
 as daylight that she had no eyes but for you. I 
 never saw a face speak more plainly. She was 
 a dear little girl, sweet and sincere. And yet 
 she had a look about her pretty mouth which 
 makes me think that Aunt St. John, could not 
 marry her off against her will.” 
 
 “ I ’ll tell you what I ’ll do,” said Tom. “ I ’ll 
 run on to the place where I last heard of the 
 
 245 
 
The Coloners Opera Cloak 
 
 Colonel. Perhaps I can track him at one of 
 the hotels : although I should n’t be surprised if 
 the family were living in Egypt, or had settled 
 at the South pole. They seem to own the magic 
 carpet, and travel at will.” 
 
 “ I would go,” said Mrs. Ackerman ; “ and, 
 perhaps when you see your little lady-love, 
 you ’ll find that the golden halo has disappeared, 
 and you ’ll wonder why you ever took a fancy 
 to her. And you ’ll at least get cured, if you 
 don’t come home engaged.” 
 
 “Get cured!” said Tom. “Thunder, I don’t 
 want to get cured! I don’t believe you know 
 what it ’s like.” 
 
 “Do I not?’’ said Mrs. Ackerman, smiling, 
 and raising her eyebrows. She liked Tom for 
 his pet. She liked to see him earnest and 
 determined. 
 
 “ She has never lived among people,” said 
 Tom, fearful lest the conversation should turn 
 from Leslie : “ she has never lived among people 
 who knew any thing. But I lent her some books, 
 and she got hold of the good points at once. 
 She wants to learn every thing.” 
 
 “ The child has been neglected, that is very 
 evident,” said Mrs. Ackerman ; “ but your mother 
 246 
 
The Colonel’s Opera Cloak 
 
 and Bessie would soon set her in order, and I ’ll 
 take her under my wing, if she ’ll be taken. We 
 are going abroad next year. What a very nice 
 thing it would be, if you would join us! It 
 would be the best thing in the world for your 
 little girl.” 
 
 “ Go on,” said Tom. “ Say more, tell me I ’m 
 engaged to her, tell me I ’m married to her, tell 
 me I ’m abroad. I will believe it all, — you have 
 such a way of putting things. Come, bring 
 Leslie out, — I know she ’s behind your screen^” 
 “ I wish she were,” said Mrs. Ackerman, 
 laughing. “ Stay to tea, Tom, and then go 
 home early. Start on your trip to-morrow, and 
 write me when you find your bonnie Leslie.” 
 Mrs. Douglas was very suspicious and very 
 anxious when Tom said he was going to take 
 a little trip; but she did not say a word, for fear 
 of putting something into his head which might 
 not be there. It was true, as Tom said: he 
 needed a change. He had been very cross 
 lately: his mother said he had been nervous. 
 
 Tom felt as if he had been hardly used. His 
 friends, when they were in his place, had smooth 
 enough sailing. They knew the street and num- 
 ber where the sweetheart lived; and the very 
 247 
 
The Colonel’s Opera Cloak 
 
 name was on the door ; and there was a bell that 
 would ring, and a person to answer it ; and 
 there was a parlor, and the young lady was in it. 
 
 Alas! his little girl was on Greenland’s icy 
 mountains or India's coral strand, for all he 
 knew. All the bells in creation would not bring 
 her in sight. 
 
 Bessie packed Tom’s clothes, and told him, if 
 he met the opera cloak, to commend her to it. 
 
 In a search after truth, or any thing else, it is 
 a comfort to have a definite point to aim at. 
 Tom had one. 
 
 He went to all the hotels. The St. Johns had 
 been at them all, at one time or another. He 
 went to the clubs. The Colonel had always 
 “ just gone out.” It seemed as if he was trying 
 to elude Tom, for he was evidently in the city. 
 
 I think myself that the waiters and servants 
 were in league with the free, genial, fee-bestow- 
 ing Colonel, and thought to rescue him from 
 this leech-like creditor; and part of the time 
 the Colonel really was out of town. 
 
 Tom had been looking about for a week. One 
 day he was straggling along the street, very 
 much discouraged, when he came upon a group 
 of gentlemen. They were listening to one of 
 24S 
 
The Coloners Opera Cloak 
 
 the number, — a tall, stout man, with a slouched 
 hat, — who was speaking very earnestly and 
 gesticulating with fervor. 
 
 Tom’s eye was caught. What was that he 
 saw before him! A blue cape, lined with red, 
 flapping in the breeze. There were gilt clasps 
 at the neck. Tom was about to embrace it and 
 water it with his tears, when it occurred to him 
 there might be other blue cloaks in the world. 
 But he boldly approached the wearer. 
 
 “Is this Colonel St. John?” 
 
 The gentleman turned and eyed him. 
 
 “I am Colonel St. John, sir!” 
 
 “ My name is Douglas,” said Tom. - “ I Ve 
 249 
 
The Coloners Opera Cloak 
 
 been trying to hunt you up for a week, to find 
 where your family are now. They lived near 
 us last winter, and I thought 1 would call, if 
 they were in town.” 
 
 “Douglas! Douglas!” Where had the Colonel 
 heard the name ? The young man was well 
 dressed, and a gentleman, — that .was evident. 
 Perhaps he would buy lead-stock. 
 
 The Colonel shook hands with Tom. 
 
 “ My family are in town,” he said, “ for a little 
 time. We are for a few days at the Lagrange 
 House. They 'll be glad to see you. Dine with 
 us to-night at six.” 
 
 Tom did not ask after Leslie. He could not 
 trust his voice. 
 
 He bade the Colonel good-by. He wanted to 
 give him his purse; he wanted to kiss him; he 
 thought him a ministering angel. 
 
 He hurried to the hotel, and met Leslie face 
 to face at the parlor door. 
 
 The moment they met, Tom knew it was all 
 right; and Leslie knew it, too. 
 
 “ I am staying in the city for a few days,” 
 said Tom; “and I came across the Colonel, and 
 found where you were. 
 
 “ Well,” he went on, looking at her with his 
 250 
 
The Colonel’s Opera Cloak 
 
 “ smiling eyes,” as Leslie called them, “ I guess 
 I won’t lie ! I came here to hunt you up, and 
 now I ’ve found you. Are you a bit glad to 
 see me ? ” 
 
 “ Yes, if you want me to 
 be,” said Leslie, half-crying, 
 half-laughing. 
 
 “ Is there no other fel- 
 low?” asked Tom. 
 
 “ No,” said Leslie, shak- 
 ing her head : nobody but 
 
 Pomp. Where is “Miss Hen- 
 derson ? ” 
 
 “ I don’t know, and I don’t care, — do 
 you? ” 
 
 “ No,” said Leslie, “ if you don’t.” 
 
 “ Come back with me and see her,” said Tom. 
 “ Will you, Leslie? ” 
 
 “ I ’ll tell Aunt Marie you are here.” And 
 the girl rushed up to her own room, and threw 
 herself on her bed, and hid her face in the 
 pillow. 
 
 “ He ’s come ! he ’s come ! ” she whispered. 
 
 She saw that her eyes were shining, as she 
 smoothed her hair, and that her cheeks were 
 flushed. She was glad she was pretty. 
 
 251 
 
The Colonel’s Opera Cloak 
 
 She went into her aunt’s room. 
 
 “ Aunt Marie, Mr. Douglas has come.” 
 
 ” The Doctor? ” asked Mrs. St. John, starting 
 up, “or his son?” 
 
 “ His son.” 
 
 “ Have you seen him ? Has he offered him- 
 self to you ? ” 
 
 “ Yes, — I don’t know,” said Leslie. 
 
 “Don’t know?” said Mrs. St. John crossly. 
 “ I reckon you would know, if he had ! What 
 did he say?” 
 
 “ He said he had come on purpose to hunt me 
 up; and he asked me if I would go back with 
 him to see Miss Henderson.” Leslie was a little 
 confused. 
 
 Mrs. St. John sank back upon the lounge. 
 
 “Did you say you would?” 
 
 “ I did n’t say any thing,” said Leslie. “ I 
 ran away.” 
 
 “ I believe you are a natural fool,” said her 
 aunt. “ Give me that dress on the chair. I ’ll 
 be down in a minute.” 
 
 Mrs. St. John was going to have no nonsense 
 this time. But there was no need of her assist- 
 ance. Tom came to meet her and took both 
 her hands in his. 
 
 252 
 
The Colonel’s Opera Cloak 
 
 “ I am so glad to see you," he said. Has 
 Leslie told you I came to take her back with 
 me, if she ’d go? Do you think she will? ” 
 
 The idea of taking her back had never entered 
 his head, before the words said themselves. 
 
 Mrs. St. John’s heart lightened. This was 
 plain talking: there was no need of beating the 
 bush. 
 
 “ I don’t know,” she said, as if she had many 
 minds on the subject. “ A great many men 
 have wanted Leslie. There was one rich Cuban, 
 — oh, you know Mr. Cavello, — and there are 
 a great many others. I ’ve thought Leslie would 
 make a great match.” 
 
 “ I have enough money,” said Tom, “ for two 
 of us. Did you know I had a little fortune of 
 my own? I wish it was a thousand times more, 
 for Leslie’s sake.” 
 
 This was pleasant. Mrs. St. John thawed. 
 
 “ Leslie likes you better than any of the others. 
 She confessed it before we left that cold place 
 where you live. So, money or no money, I must 
 let her go, I suppose.” 
 
 Tom wrote home that night that he had found 
 the St. Johns, and was engaged to Leslie, and 
 253 
 
The Coloners Opera Cloak 
 
 that he would be married in a week, and bring 
 her back. He was not going to let her slip away 
 again. She was so good that he knew they 
 would be delighted with her; and she could 
 hardly wait to see his mother. 
 
 He wrote to Mrs. Ackerman ; — 
 
 “ ‘ I ’ve chased the antelope over the plain,’ — 
 
 that ’s Leslie ; 
 
 ‘ The tiger’s cub I ’ve bound with a chain,’ — 
 that 's her aunt ; 
 
 ‘ And the young gazelle with his silvery feet 
 I ’ll bind for thee for a playmate sweet,’ — 
 
 that ’s myself. 
 
 “ I ’m going to bring Leslie home with me, 
 and make sure of her. I expect I shall have a 
 strong-minded woman on my hands yet. She 
 says she ’s going to learn every thing. 
 
 “ Thank you a thousand times for your kind- 
 ness. Leslie sends her love.’' 
 
 Pomp and the boys were delighted to see Tom. 
 The boys borrowed his neckties and his hand- 
 kerchiefs from his room, and wore them about 
 with charming abandon. 
 
 254 
 
The Colonel’s Opera Cloak 
 
 “ We ’ve all got one on/’ said Clarence, touch- 
 ing his necktie, at dinner, and pointing to the 
 other boys, as he nodded to Tom. Tom smiled 
 back. Dear boys! How he loved them. 
 
 Mrs. St. John gave Leslie a hundred dollars, 
 with which the Colonel had told her to “ buy 
 things.’’ Very little could be done in a week 
 toward a wedding trousseau; and Mrs. St. John 
 was tired, and told Leslie she had better wait, 
 and buy things when she got settled. 
 
 The Colonel gave her on the sly two hundred 
 dollars more. It was very generous in him, for 
 he had hard work to get along, just then. Tom 
 told Leslie that she had better keep it, and 
 send it back when she wrote to them : he had 
 enough for all her “ gewgaws.” 
 
 The Colonel blessed Tom, when that letter ar- 
 rived. He had not known, on a second thought, 
 how to get along without the money. 
 
 “ I found a song about you,” said Leslie to 
 Tom. “ I bought it at a music-store. I will 
 sing it for you some time. It is : — 
 
 “ ‘ Douglas, Douglas, tender and true ; ^ 
 but it made me cry, it was so sad.” 
 
 255 
 
The Coloners Opera Cloak 
 
 “ I don't think it is very sad to be ‘ tender and 
 true/ ” said Tom. “ I fancy you *d cry by and 
 by, if I was n’t.” 
 
 “ I sha'n't be sad any more,” said Leslie : 
 “I 'm perfectly happy ; and you know I said that 
 would pay me for all the unhappy days, — and it 
 does.” 
 
 “ Do you remember that tea of ours, and how 
 you warmed my toast, and how cozy it was 
 there?” said Tom. “I wanted to kiss you, — 
 but I knew you would be angry.” 
 
 “ I should have been angry,” said Leslie, “ but 
 I should have liked it, — I mean if I ’d thought, 
 — no, I mean ” — 
 
 “ Oh, you need n’t explain,” said Tom. “ It ’s 
 all right now.” 
 
 So they were married, — Leslie wearing the 
 white dress which she had worn at the hop. 
 Pomp had helped her sew, — for he was 
 “ quite a seamster.” Mrs. St. John put on the 
 flowers. 
 
 The boys all cried : they loved Leslie dearly. 
 Mrs. St. John pressed to her dry eyes a fine 
 handkerchief. Her mission was accomplished; 
 peace reigned in her soul. 
 
 256 
 
The Coloners Opera Cloak 
 
 The Colonel beamed with content: he was 
 glad to have Leslie happy. 
 
 Pomp was heart-broken for himself, but joyful 
 for his darling. 
 
 When Leslie bade them good-by, she kissed 
 Pomp, and hugged him, and cried with all her 
 heart. 
 
 Don’t yer cry,” said Pomp, smiling a dis- 
 torted smile through his tears. “ Don’t cry.” 
 Then he laid his hand on her head, and gave 
 her his benediction : — 
 
 “ May de Lord gib yer His massy-guard, an’ 
 make yer de light ob His eyes an’ de joy ob His 
 heart, an’ bress yer fur ever an’ ever. An’ now 
 go forth, an’ take yer place ’mong de nations ob 
 de ’arth, an’ flourish like a green-baize tree. 
 Amen.” 
 
 You used to give me awful cuts, Leslie,” 
 said Tom, when they were whirling away in the 
 cars, “ saying, ‘ just for once,’ or ‘ just for twice.’ 
 Now, my young lady, I have you ‘ just for 
 always.’ ” 
 
 ‘‘ It is very strange that no letter comes from 
 Tom,” said Mrs. Douglas. “ We have n’t heard 
 for a week.” 
 
 17 
 
 257 
 
The Colonels Opera Cloak 
 
 One afternoon an expressman drove up to the 
 Doctor’s house. He brought in an unknown 
 trunk and a big package, marked with their 
 number. 
 
 “ Tom will be here to tea,” said Mrs. Douglas, 
 cheerfully. “ I was really getting worried, al- 
 though I might have remembered how he hates 
 writing letters.” 
 
 “ Where did he get that strange trunk, and 
 what’s in this package?” said little Ned, cutting 
 the string. 
 
 There was a shout from all the family. 
 
 “ What have we done? ” cried Bessie, retreat- 
 ing, with an air of horror. 
 
 “ What is it ? ” said the Doctor, raising hi§ 
 eyes. 
 
 It was the Colonel's Opera Cloak! 
 
 “ The Opera Cloak ! ‘Not Lancelot, nor an- 
 other,’ ” said Bessie, “ but just him, himself. I 
 suppose this trunk is his. Perhaps Tom is inside.” 
 
 A telegram came a little later : “ Home at 
 seven.” 
 
 The tea-table was set in the back parlor. 
 The fire-light danced on the walls, and lighted 
 up the silver and the pretty china. A dainty 
 tea was made ready for Tom. : 
 
 258 
 
The Coloners Opera Cloak 
 
 A ring at the door. It was his voice, dear 
 fellow! How merry and happy he was! 
 
 But who was with him? 
 
 Leslie St. John! 
 
 “How lovely!” said Bessie, rushing to meet 
 her. “ What a surprise ! Did your aunt come 
 too, and all the boys?” 
 
 Leslie looked at Tom in dismay. 
 
 “ Good gracious, mother! ” cried Tom. “ Bes- 
 sie ! Everybody ! Did n’t you get my letter ? 
 Did n’t you know I was married ? ” 
 
 “ Married! Who are you married to? ” cried 
 little Ned, quite elated. “Gertrude Henderson?” 
 
 “ To Leslie, of course,” said Tom. “ Who 
 else could it be? ” 
 
 Mrs. Douglas sat down and cried. The Doc- 
 tor looked over his glasses. A dead silence fell 
 upon them. Leslie was still standing. Tom 
 was getting angry. Bessie laughed, — Tom 
 blessed her for that, — and ran to Leslie again, 
 and kissed her. 
 
 “ Come, Tom, you stupid,” said she, “ take of¥ 
 her things. She’s cold.” 
 
 “ My dear boy,” said Mrs. Douglas, “ we never 
 got your letter.” And she went to him, and put 
 her arms around his neck. 
 
The Colonel’s Opera Cloak 
 
 “ You know it now, mother,” said he. “ Don’t 
 you see Leslie?” 
 
 Poor Mrs. Douglas turned : Leslie’s sweet 
 
 face was wet with tears. 
 
 “ Oh, dear Mrs. Douglas, do love me,” she 
 cried: “I'll do just what you tell me.” 
 
 Then Tom’s mother took the girl in her arms, 
 — she had always had a tender place, down 
 in her heart, somewhere, for Leslie, — and they 
 kissed, and made friends. 
 
 The Doctor was pleased : he had always liked 
 her. 
 
 “ Come and sit in my chair, my dear,” said 
 he, trying to take off her bonnet, in his clumsy 
 man's way; “you must not wonder, if we seem 
 to be a little surprised.” 
 
 Leslie threw her arms around him, and cried 
 again. 
 
 So they all comforted her, and little Ned cried 
 because the others did. 
 
 “ You have an old friend here,” said Bessie, 
 shaking out the opera cloak as Leslie was lying 
 on the sofa after tea, her hand in Mrs. Douglas’s. 
 “ It came with the trunk.” 
 
 “ Why,” cried Leslie, starting up, “ where did 
 that come from, Tom?” 
 
 260 
 
' The Colonel’s Opera Cloak 
 
 “ I don’t know. Perhaps Pomp packed it up, 
 thinking you ’d be cold. I sent a package of 
 yours and your trunk here to-day by express.” 
 
 Then they had a great laugh; and Leslie was 
 taken into the family joke of the opera cloak, 
 and laughed with the rest. 
 
 “ O. C. St. John, Esq., is quite a match- 
 maker,” said Bessie : “ I wonder if he ’ll help 
 
 me out.” 
 
 The next morning a notice from the dead- 
 letter office announced that a letter for Mrs. 
 Douglas was held for postage. She sent for it, 
 and so, rather late in the day, read the important 
 announcement of Tom’s marriage. 
 
 Leslie asked to have the letter, to keep. 
 
 The opera cloak was hung up in the lower 
 hall. They were going to send it back to the 
 Colonel. 
 
 One day it disappeared. It was never seen 
 again. 
 
 Whether it was stolen, or whether it saw that 
 its mission to the St. John family was accom- 
 plished, and went off on an errand of mercy in 
 some other field of labor, never was known. But 
 this we do know: somewhere, somehow, it yet 
 261 
 
The Colonel’s Opera Cloak 
 
 exists. And if you ever happen to meet a blue 
 cloak, lined with red, with “ brass knobs ” at the 
 neck, — no matter where it is or on whom it is, 
 look on it with respect. You know its story. 
 It is 
 
 The Colonel’s Opera Cloak. 
 
 262 
 
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