o 
 
 3 
 
 P 
 
 S o 
 3 » 
 
 sr p 
 
 g- c/i 
 
 O S - 
 S O- 1/1 
 
 OJ p p 
 
 o 
 
 3 £ p 
 
 rt « 3 
 3 o Q. 
 n e g 
 
 a 3 § 
 o - D ‘S 
 2 , 3 « 
 
 * s-S 
 
 g 5 ' w 
 
 *1 CfQ o 
 
 •"t ct- *"** 
 
 0> 3* p 
 
 §15 
 
 3 w 5 
 
 ?! 5 < 
 
 oj 3 
 
 3 Q* *< 
 o a> 
 c o 
 
 &is 
 *< 
 p 
 
 55* 
 
 W CA 
 
 P gf 
 •4 Cl 
 - ro 
 
 3 a 
 
 CTQ 
 
 w. D 
 
 P £L 3* 
 
 *C fP 
 
 ^33 
 
 ^33 
 5 ’ 0 
 
 X 3 Ui 
 
 5 -Hb 
 S' S S 
 •85 
 
 X _ p 
 
 ? s -- _ 
 
 SagO 
 
 c^J W 5 rt 
 
 o*v: 
 
 3 O 
 
 v- p 
 O 3 
 C „ 
 ^ 3 
 
 jt e. 
 
 ft *~ - 
 
 5 * o 
 
 Orq v- 
 
 <a o 
 
 3 
 
 Special Collection Springfield, Ohio, Rose Post Cards 
 
« U XT) O 
 y (U H 
 
 <1* > r* 
 
 Jo " « 
 
 <Tl « — r CC T-r 
 £ ^ 
 o 53 <u T3 
 
 ^ £xl C 
 
 « o ~ & 
 
 <”<C CO 
 
 3 <u 
 
 >S ^ v E 
 rt 5 *>«> 
 
 x> c ^ 5 
 
 - CO £ 8 
 
 §1 
 *-<H CTj 
 
 O X 
 
 ~ 8 
 
 gs 
 
 ^ QJ 
 
 £ <L> 
 O X! 
 
 b£ 
 
 -a 
 c 
 
 CL> . 
 c/} rt 
 
 •? rt 
 
 T3 
 4> 0> 
 
 £ ° 
 > 3 
 
 ■if o 
 
 g <D S c5 73 
 8tS * " 
 
 O. w 
 
 m 
 
 .2 u 
 
 • 'O 
 
 ^ 0 <u 
 
 oS 
 
 ^ c g 
 
 G 
 
 5 cu *5 *? 
 
 G> C/3 £ *1 
 
 ^‘55 b/) ! 
 
 P cn O , 
 
 0 rt 
 
 CU> -4-» 
 “ Cj 
 
 C3 
 
 _. X 
 T3 <L> 
 
 $ 
 
 »— < w 
 aj <Li 
 — p 
 
 ct3 
 
 M 0 S ^ 
 
 Cit . 
 
 *§3? 
 
 O 8-g" 5 
 
 ^js. g 
 
 QJ CU^ 
 
 C/5 
 
 B 
 o 
 o ■ 
 
 73.2 
 
 G X 
 
 u 
 
 3g- 
 
 g. ’p’g £^~Vo 
 ^\S2E 
 
 O 1 G £ O o <u 
 C3 O JJXi p 
 a? & ^ Cl, ^ cu 
 
 £§ a, 
 
 b r; 
 
 <D ^ 
 .ID 
 
 +-> *Td 
 <D 
 
 »^3is' 
 
 S " 
 
 T) ^ 
 
 V O 
 
 <g Pw 
 ctf ^ 
 
 ffi 2 
 
 r*-n Q 
 
 GT <D 
 
 P 1> 
 
 a- 
 
 cu 
 
 <u 
 
 d ^ a> - 
 X 
 
 £ £ O 
 
 £ > 4-> 
 
 03 <L> ^ 
 
 a> VG G 
 
 ' :i5-2^ 
 
 ~ t ~i QJ 
 
 3 u,£i 
 .. ^ o'C^ 
 
 ■s *» 
 
 u <u e rt 3 *r 
 
 oUg-S^ . 
 & -g ; co.s-h 8 
 
 ctJ ^ 
 
 ®o 
 
 t> V-i 
 
 > £-0 X G 
 
 i H T1 
 
 S-o- 
 
 a c^j 
 
 O *T3 2 *2 
 
 s*S « s § 
 
 rt , 
 
 <L> 
 
 a _, .rr *>* 
 
 . M-c 
 
 (-« , «—• 
 
 ^.v S . > **2 u 
 cS 
 
 •S E 3 
 
 cj 
 
 * <D ■ 
 
 W) u So'q 
 
 g >^’ 
 
 C t{*^ »— « 3 
 
 a> a> ^ ^ crj 
 
 ggo^ 
 
 °o^ W O 
 
 S s- c_j'® 
 rt g 
 
 •t!--a £ ° 
 
 •5 a) p 
 
 ^ C O a> 
 
 -S ^3.^" 
 
 *55 2 t? 
 
 §‘"8|« 
 (_> ^3 *G 
 a »-j <u 3 
 
 ^ Jq o 
 
 G 3 HH -o 
 u rt Oh c 
 O U H-» a> 
 
 , v tn 
 
 <u a> *o H vp 
 > 
 
 g o 2 
 
 ^ c/5 3 ^ ^ 
 rt ^ O OT ^ 
 
 
 O^ ^ 
 
 QJ G 
 
 ^ r: o 
 °h 
 
 E 
 
 ^ rt 
 a G 
 
 t ^ C *C lyi 
 > (L) ■+-* O h* 
 
 tuo 1 
 
 03 
 
 g,S ^"S’S) . 
 
 ^SS^O 
 ^ a-> S'E*^ x; 
 
 x) c « O 
 
 
 2 h 5 rt 
 ■5 S R c 
 
 §f> K 
 o 
 
 S G 
 
 >r O T? 
 
 G 
 
 S3 
 
 R 3 
 O 
 
 QJ 
 
 cG 
 
 biD 
 
 0 
 
 & 
 
 » 
 
 c 
 
 Q 
 
 X 
 
 w 
 
 a 
 
 H 
 
 fi 
 
 fi 
 
 a 
 
 « ! s e 
 
 C t+H G G <L> 
 
 'O C T5 o O J2 
 
 fl ;C 
 
 2 *§ 05 ^ \S ^ 
 
 £ <l» ^ G 2J 
 
 b' G> tj) 03 b/j 
 
 ^ p (/> oJ jc D/ ^ 
 
 u, w a u v_ 0 
 
 c« <-,■ G T? O S G 
 
 Qt <fl *T-J *4-4 
 
 Q O <l> S — 
 
 >3 fl so , 
 
 « ■> c s Sk 
 
 .5; ^ rt o " ' 
 
 o3 ^ . 
 O ;g 
 
 ^ G 
 
 u « ‘” « 
 
 _g , c« > 
 
 r <3>' '-• 03 U 
 
 H u 2 X O 
 •£ -5 o 3 -o 
 
 '5 rt ^ 
 
 i-ai « 
 
 •s-S’S 
 
 E 2 £ c § 
 
 43 o. g . E 
 
 <u ^ 2! ^ a> 
 
 S ° - ° > 
 03 *-<25 
 
 O i+h QJ ^ 
 
 <y C •+-* k> 00 
 
 O £ 4-» M-H 
 
 • G OJ c '-- 
 O ^ X X y 
 
 ^ r-^'G- 
 
 3.2^0 
 
 “ 3x£W 
 
 E ^ >, '* 
 
 ±3 be v- 
 
 G . 'Jo c <u 
 
 rt W: >.G > 
 
 > jo cj ao 
 
 O 
 
 a, 
 
 in 
 
 Q 
 
 .O 
 
 O 
 
 o 
 
 «s w 
 
 u S-H 
 
 o CO 
 CO 
 
 CO 
 
 i >» 
 
 c « c 
 
 G H-* • — 
 Cfl r— « 
 
 U ..S 
 
 G « 
 
 O O 
 
 l/l 
 
 l/J 
 
 3 *P 
 3 TO 
 
 < 
 
 STATE 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 POSTOFFICE 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 STREET ADDRESS OR R. F. D. | 
 
 1 
 
 1 
 
 
 1 
 
 
 1 
 
 M 
 
 ► ■ - 
 
 M 
 
 < 
 
 2 
 
 1 ■ 
 
 i 
 
 1 
 
 1 
 
 1 
 
 
 MISS JESSIE M. GOOD, Springfield, Ohio. 
 
 I enclose 10 cents for a five months’ trial subscription to The Household Journal combined with Floral Life. I believe 
 the friends whose names I have written above would like your catalogue. Send me the set of 10 Floral Post Cards, free. 
 
 My Name .... — — .....Street or R. F. D.- 
 
 State ~.~- — .Town 
 

 
 
 
 
CARL BARTLETT; 
 
 OR, 
 
 "What Can I Do ? 
 
 D. S. ERICKSON,, 
 
 AUTHOR OF “GOOD MEASURE, ” ET « 0 
 
 NEW YORK : 
 
 HURST & CO., Publishers, 
 
 122 Nassau Street, 
 
16 Jan 48 g Jacksonville pj^ 
 
 £7 3 
 
 Brf^rd, 
 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 9 ES, I should like to go, I cannot tell 
 you how much ; hut it is useless to 
 think of it, it is impossible,” said 
 Mrs. Bartlett. 
 
 “ Impossible ! I don’t see that it is. You 
 would like it, wouldn’t you, Arthur ? ” asked 
 Mr. Carletcn Randolph. 
 
 “ Oh yes, certainly I should ; and now I am 
 at leisure, as I never was before since 1 
 entered on active, responsible life.” 
 
 “ The best way is for you, Arthur, to go 
 
6 CARL, BARTLETT; OR, 
 
 with Carl ; you need the recreation and 
 change.” 
 
 Mr. Bartlett shook his head, but the lady 
 went on. “ Yes, you can go, and you will 
 write home very often, and tell us about all 
 that you see. The children and I will enjoy 
 your letters almost as much as if we saw for 
 ourselves.” 
 
 “You would enjoy the letters, no doubt; 
 but the description would not be the reality. 
 I cannot agree to start on the grand tour 
 without my wife ; thus much I will decide ; the 
 rest I leave with you : if you are sure you 
 would not be happy in going, to be parted 
 from the children for so long a time, why then 
 we remain at home ; but if you can devise any 
 plan for leaving your maternal cares on this 
 side of “ the big pond,” we will go. It would 
 be rather a sudden start, to be sure, but that 
 is all the better for the young folks, and I 
 suppose you do not need much time for pre- 
 paration.” 
 
• WHAT CAN I DO ? 
 
 7 
 
 “So it is the children who veto my bill,” 
 said Mr. Randolph. “ I don’t see any reason 
 why they should. Surely, my namesake, 
 Carl, is old enough to be trusted for a few 
 months ; so I should think is Emily, and as 
 for little Lulu, I have heard you say, she is 
 just as happy with mother as with you. I 
 don’t see that you have the slightest occasion 
 for anxiety.” 
 
 “ I should not feel the least for Lulu, she 
 and mother are such good friends, and I 
 hardly think that Emily would be much care 
 to her; but Carl — No, it would never do; 
 it’s too much of a burden to put upon her; 
 besides, she has petted him from his baby- 
 hood, and has always been so obedient to him 
 that she would not restrain him.” 
 
 “ So then, it comes to this ; that you refuse 
 to go, on account of Carl, a boy twelve years 
 old, not a bad boy either ; in fact, a pretty 
 good boy. You must stay at home to keep 
 
CARL BARTLETT ; OR, 
 
 him oat of mischief, lest he may cut his lin- 
 ger, or bump his head ; lest he may get into 
 some childish difficulty, you give up a chance 
 you may never have again. Here is Arthur ; 
 he says he can go. Who knows what may 
 happen in the business world next year to 
 keep him at home. I am released for a time. 
 I have planned for it these two years. I have 
 not said anything about it in my letters, for 
 fear I might be disappointed. I have thought 
 that you and Arthur and I would go over the 
 same route, stand in the same places, look at 
 the same beauties of nature and art, that I did 
 fifteen years ago. The only thing I wanted 
 then was, to have flay sister and my old crony 
 Arthur at my side, and many a time I have 
 promised myself, if my v life was spared, 
 I would have the pleasure without the lack. 
 Really, I did not think you would say, No.” 
 Mrs. Bartlett gazed upon her twin brother 
 whom she had seen only at long intervals 
 
WHAT CAN I i)0 ? 
 
 9 
 
 since he* marriage. His large practice as a 
 lawyer in a distant city, had left him but little 
 leisure. She would gladly have made almost 
 any sacrifice for his gratification ; but the 
 mother’s love, the mother’s tenderness, must 
 be, could be sacrificed for no one. The two 
 girls might be left in the charge of their 
 indulgent grandmother ; but Carl, generous, 
 whole-souled boy that he was, needed guid- 
 ance, needed the silken cord held in skilful, 
 gentle hands. She recurred to the many 
 times when grandmother had not had the 
 courage to say no, if “ looking-glass and 
 hammer,” or like suitable^ toys had been de- 
 manded. She "remembered that some of his 
 schoolmates were- not those she would have 
 chosen for her son’s associates. She thought 
 of many things that would hav^e entered no 
 other mind than that of an affectionate 
 mother, and she broke the silence that had 
 followed her brother’s appeal, by saying bo 
 
10 
 
 CARL Bit RTLETT ; OR, 
 
 seechingly, “ Don’t say anything more, dear 
 Carl : you know, you must know how glad I 
 should be to gratify you. You know too, 
 that for both Arthur and me to make the 
 round of European travels with you would be 
 inexpressibly delightful. Don’t say anything 
 more, please.” 
 
 Mr. Randolph had managed many a diffi- 
 cult case in court, had led many a forlorn 
 hope on legal battle ground, and had learned, 
 when he was driven from one mode or point 
 of attack, to try another. He was a very 
 persevering man, and now turned to Mr. 
 Bartlett. “ Really, Arthur, I do think Madge 
 carries this altogether too far ; cannot you 
 say a word for my side ? ” 
 
 “ I never interfere in her management of 
 our children,” was the reply ; “ she under- 
 stands them far better than I do. But, Mar 
 garet, cannot you think of some plan, some 
 one you would feel like trusting with your 
 care for six months ? ” 
 
WHAT CAN I DO ? 
 
 11 
 
 “ And you, too, Arthur ? No, I can think 
 
 of no one ; at least of only one person, and 
 
 she has already duties enough of her own. 
 
 # 
 
 I could not propose such a thing to her.” 
 
 “ Who is that ? ” asked Mr. Bartlett. 
 
 “ Maria Howard, my old friend ; you re- 
 member her, Carl ? ” 
 
 “ Capital, if we could only manage it,” 
 said Mr. Bartlett; “ but with her school — no, 
 we ought not to mention it to her.” 
 
 “ Is Carl in her school now ? ” asked Mr 
 Randolph. 
 
 “ No, she dismissed him a year ago ; she 
 does not wish to keep boys under her care 
 after they have reached a certain standing.” 
 
 “ I thought she was well posted in all the 
 higher branches.” 
 
 “Yes, she is; but she thinks it is better 
 for boys, as they grow older, to be taught 
 by a man. It is wonderful, though, with 
 what almost romantic attachment she inspires 
 
12 CAUL BARTLETT; OK, 
 
 every boy who has ever been under hei 
 tuition ; they are, to a man — to a boy, 1 
 mean — her faithful knights. She makes 
 them work, and work hard, too.” 
 
 “ Puts them on their mettle, I suppose, 
 and they find they have more capacity than 
 they thought,” said Mr. Randolph. 
 
 “ Yes, there is a good deal of encourage- 
 ment about her ; she contrives to make her 
 boys ashamed of doing anything but their 
 best.” 
 
 At this moment Mrs. Bartlett was called 
 out. Mr. Randolph, who had been walking 
 the floor with a quick tread, approached his 
 brother-in-law’s chair and said, — “Come, 
 Arthur, join me in a conspiracy, or give me 
 permission to carry one through in your 
 house. I don’t believe in meddling in family 
 affairs. I have a wholesome dread of flic 
 blows from both sides,” he continued, laugh 
 ing ; “ but in this case I will run the risk.” 
 
WHAT CAN I DO ? 
 
 IS 
 
 “ What now, Carl ? ” asked Mr. Bartlett. 
 
 “ Why, don’t you see Madge has made a 
 damaging admission. I propose to bring 
 Miss Howard into court, and then put the 
 said admission in as evidence against the 
 defendant.” 
 
 “ I don’t know about that,” said Mr. Bart- 
 lett. “ I never did try to deceive my wife.” 
 
 “ Oh, nonsense, we will undeceive her soon 
 enough.” Exit Mr. Randolph, in search of 
 his nephew. He met Mary in the hall, and 
 asked, “ Can you tell me whether Mr. Carl 
 has come in ? ” 
 
 “ Och, tu be shure, yes, sir, it’s in the 
 dinin’ rlioom, he is. Misther Corl and Miss 
 Merley a tearin’ up papers over ivery thing.” 
 
 The uncle did not stop to listen to the 
 complaints of the voluble maid of Erin, but 
 passed on to the dining room, where he found 
 Carl, “ the younger of that name,” at work 
 on a large kite. He had mucilage bottle and 
 
14 
 
 CARL BARTLETT ; OR, 
 
 newspapers on the floor, and was covering 
 the frame, two light sticks tacked crosswise, 
 with a twine drawn tightly around for ar. 
 edge. Emily was sitting on the sofa, making 
 bobs. 
 
 “ Oh, Uncle Carl,” said the boy, “ I do 
 wish you’d help me put this paper on. I 
 can’t make it stay where I want it to.” 
 
 “ It is some time since I have made a kite, 
 but I used to be a pretty good hand at the 
 business ; let me see if I have forgotten the 
 trade. I came in to have a talk with you, 
 but I can work and talk too. Carl and Emily, 
 do you love your mother much ? ” 
 
 Both the children looked up in wonder. 
 “ I don’t see why you should ask such a 
 question, uncle,” said Carl ; “ of course we 
 do.” 
 
 “ Yes, of course you do. A person who 
 loves another is willing to do a great deal for 
 the loved one. How much are you willing to 
 do for your mother ? ” 
 
WHAT CAN I DO ? 
 
 16 
 
 “ How much, Uncle Carl ? ” said the boy 
 “ Any thing in the world ; but what can I 
 do?” 
 
 “ What can I do ? ” echoed Emily. 
 
 “ Do you think you could live without her 
 for six or eight months ? Do you think you 
 could cheerfully let her go away and be gone 
 as long as that, if you knew she would enjoy 
 it very much ? Do you think you could help 
 her to go?” 
 
 “ Mamma going away ? ” said Emily, and 
 her chubby face stretched to twice its usual 
 length. 
 
 “ I declare,” said Carl, drawing a deep 
 breath, “ that’s pretty tough.” 
 
 “Yes, it is tough, but is not your love 
 for your mother tough enough to bear the 
 strain ? ” 
 
 “ It’s hard on a feller,” said Carl, drawing 
 another breath from the bottom of his lungs. 
 
 “ It is hard,” replied the uncle, “ but have 
 
16 
 
 CARL BARTLETT; OR, 
 
 you never been hard on her ? I know I was 
 sometimes, on my mother, and sorry enough I 
 have been since.” 
 
 Carl and Emily thought of the firm affec- 
 tion which had often met their wayward- 
 ness. 
 
 “ Yes, I will let her go,” said Emily. 
 “ Where is she going ? ” 
 
 “We do not know that she is going at all,” 
 replied Mr. Randolph, “ but I have been try- 
 ing to persuade her to go abroad with your 
 papa and myself, and she thinks her children 
 cannot spare her.” 
 
 “I can spare her,” exclaimed Carl. “I 
 will spare her. I’ll go and tell her so. I 
 won’t get mad once while she is gone ; I 
 won’t plague Em, and I won’t — I won’t do 
 any thing I oughtn’t. Will you, Em ? but it’s 
 pretty tough.” 
 
 “ Yes, yes,” said Mr. Randolph, almost 
 repenting his attempt to separate mother and 
 
' WHAT CAN I DO ? 
 
 1 ? 
 
 children even for a few months. “ Would it 
 be as tough if Miss Howard would come here 
 and stay ? ” 
 
 “ No, not half so tough.” 
 
 “ That would be grand,” said Emily. 
 
 “ I am going to see her,” said Mr. Ran- 
 dolph, “ and I may tell her that if she will he 
 your visitor while papa and mamma are ab 
 sent, you will be very hospitable, you will 
 both try to do what she wishes you to ; in 
 short, you will be just as good a boy and girl 
 as you can be.” 
 
 “ Yes, yes,” was the answer in chorus. 
 
 Mr. Randolph knocked at the door of Miss . 
 Howard’s school-room. “ I’m a black con- 
 spirator in search of a confederate,” said 
 
 he. 
 
 “ Ah ! ” said the lady, “ 1 thought you were 
 
 one of the brightest ornaments of the 
 
 bar.” 
 
 “ Well, then, if you like something more 
 
18 
 
 CARL BARTLETT ; OR, 
 
 legal, I am an officer summoning a witness.* 
 
 “ I am quite at a loss for your mean- 
 ing.” 
 
 “ To make a long story •short, Arthur and 
 I propose carrying my sister, Mrs. Bartlett, 
 off to Europe.” 
 
 “ A very good proposal ; but what can I do 
 to aid you ? ” 
 
 Mr. Randolph then accounted what had 
 passed that morning at Mr. Bartlett’s house, 
 and closed by saying, “ I have laid my case 
 before you. I really do not think you will 
 find my nephew and niece a very great care, 
 and my mother will attend to the remainder 
 of the household. Will my witness appear 
 and testify for me?” 
 
 “ You say you wish to take the next 
 steamer which sails from here ? ” 
 
 “ Yes, I am very desirous of engaging 
 staterooms in the Africa ; she sails in a 
 fortnight.” 
 
WHAT CAN I DO V 
 
 19 
 
 “ You can give me a few hours for con- 
 sideration ; till to-morrow, perhaps.” 
 
 “ Certainly. I do not wish to hurry you.” 
 “ To-morrow you shall have my decision.”* 
 Mr. Randolph took his leave. 
 
 The next afternoon he sat in the parlor, 
 turning over an illustrated copy of Pilgrim's 
 Progress, when Miss Howard entered. Mrs. 
 Bartlett was summoned and soon appeared. 
 The visitor lost no time in explaining the 
 object of her call. 
 
 “ Margaret, I hear you think of a Euro- 
 pean tour ; i am very glad of it, and have 
 come to propose that you leave Carl and 
 Emily in my charge. They will miss you, 
 of course, but I have been your guest so often, 
 that perhaps home will seem more like home 
 if I am here, and I can keep you constantly 
 informed of their welfare.” 
 
 “ You are very kind, Maria, but that is 
 loo much to ask of you.” 
 
20 
 
 CARL BARTLETT ; OR, 
 
 “ Indeed,” returned Miss Howard, smiling, 
 “ ] was not aware that you had asked it. 
 Then you are not willing to trust Carl and 
 •Emily with me ? ” 
 
 Mrs. Bartlett glanced at her brother, and 
 saw the expression of mingled triumph and 
 amusement on his features. 
 
 “ This is some of your work, Carl.” 
 
 “ I have gained my caso,” said tne lawyer, 
 w ith a hearty laugh. 
 
 u You always did manage to have your 
 own way,” retorted his sister. 
 
 u Nothing like trying what you can do,” 
 was the cool reply. 
 
 It was settled that Miss Howard should 
 remove to her friends’ house the following 
 week, that she might be fairly installed be- 
 fore their departure. 
 
 The state-rooms were engaged, and the two 
 weeks seemed to the children like a day, so 
 busy were they in helping to arrange for the 
 comfort of the travellers. 
 
WHAT CAN I DO ? 
 
 21 
 
 The last morning arrived, two hacks were 
 at the door ; the breakfast was scarcely tasted. 
 All found parting, as Carl had said, “ tough ” 
 work. The father and mother almost repented 
 their agreement. Mr. Randolph helped Mrs. 
 Bartlett into one of the carriages, rather un- 
 ceremoniously pushed Carl in after her, jumped 
 in himself, and took Lulu on his knee. Mr. 
 Bartlett assisted Miss Howard and Emily to 
 seats in the one in which he was to ride. 
 Down into the business streets they were 
 driven, by the market house, and soon found 
 their carriages helping to form a motley col- 
 lection of vehicles. Carts, drays, trucks, 
 market wagons, immense teamsters’ wagons, 
 chaises, carryalls, hacks and coaches com 
 posed a throng which seemed hopelessly en 
 tangled. Now stopping, now moving slowly, 
 after a trial of patience, our friends were 
 at last on board the ferry boat, Mr. Ran- 
 dolph’s carriage next to the chain, much to 
 
22 
 
 CARL BARTLETT; OR, 
 
 the alarm of Lulu, who put her head out 
 of the window as far as her small neck would 
 allow, and told Uncle Carl, “ Those liorthes 
 were walking right into the water, straight, 
 they thertainly were.” The engine com- 
 menced its regular strokes, and seemed to 
 Carl to say — 
 
 “ Ease her — stop her, 
 
 Any passengers for Joppa? ” 
 
 Not many minutes elapsed before the party 
 reached the deck of the ocean steamer. Mr. 
 Randolph took Carl and Emily below and 
 showed them the state-rooms ; then they went 
 down to see the immense engines, the fur- 
 naces with their glowing fires fed by grimy 
 men who looked as if they had passed their 
 lives in a coal mine. He explained all to 
 them as far as he could, and finally, taking 
 out his watch, said, “ Now we must go and 
 say good bye.” The time which Carl had 
 been dreading for a fortnight had come. He 
 
WHAT CAN I DO ? 
 
 23 
 
 must part with his father and mother from 
 whom he had never been separated for a 
 whole month before. Lulu and Em, they 
 would cry of course. Lulu was a little thing, 
 and besides, they were both girls ; but for a 
 boy to cry — and before so many people! 
 What should he do? He swallowed till he 
 was nearly choked, and then gave up the 
 effort to control himself as a bad job, rested 
 his head on his mother’s shoulder and sobbed. 
 Mr. Bartlett drew him away, and his uncle 
 led him to the carriage. Miss Howard fol- 
 lowed with Emily and Lulu. 
 
 “Come Carl,” said Mr. Randolph, “be a 
 man ; your mother is watching you ; don’t let 
 her go and leave you so ; look up bright, that 
 is one thing you can do for her.” 
 
 The boy summoned all his resolution, and 
 with a smiling face returned the parting salu- 
 tation. Mr. Randolph directed the hackman 
 to wait till the steamer was out of sight, and 
 
24 
 
 CAEL BARTLETT. 
 
 went back to his sister. The floating moil* 
 ster began to move ; the children watched it 
 till they could not distinguish it from the 
 vessels, and then returned to the house, which 
 seemed lonely and vacant. 
 
 Mrs Randolph opened the door. “ Oh 
 Grandma, why did not you go down with 
 us ? ” 
 
 “ When you have bid good bye as many 
 times as I have, my dear, you will want to say 
 it as quick as you can.” 
 
 “ Grammur, mamma’s going to thleep in a 
 little tinty room no big’n that,” said Lulu, 
 holding her small hands a few inches apai’t, 
 “ an’ the’s going to thleep on a shelf. Thee’ll 
 fall off, I know thee will.” 
 
 “ No darling, she won’t. Let us go up 
 stairs and tell stories.” 
 
 “ And we must off to school,” said Miss 
 Howard. 
 
CHAPTER II 
 
 [T was on the twenty-third of April 
 that Mr. and Mrs. Bartlett took leave 
 of their children. We will not follow 
 them on their travels ; it is with their 
 son and daughter that we are to become more 
 particularly acquainted. Through the young 
 people we may occasionally hear of papa, 
 mamma, and Uncle Carl. 
 
 For a few days time hung heavily on the 
 hands of brother and sister ; quiet had taken 
 the place of the activity of preparation ; play 
 seemed like work, and as for lessons, they 
 were drudgery. The thought of loved parents 
 came between numerator and denominator ; 
 between nominative and objective, and made 
 
 25 
 
26 
 
 CARL BARTLETT ; OR, 
 
 sad confusion. During the first week Emily 
 commenced in school hours, an average of 
 three letters a day, addressed to “ my dear 
 darling mamma.” One after another was 
 thrust into her desk, too much blotted with 
 tears to send. 
 
 Carl’s report, which he handed to Miss 
 Howard at the end of the month, showed a 
 state of things but little better. She had 
 borne patiently with Emily’s faulty recita- 
 tions, hoping that time would work a cure ; 
 but she had promised to write to the parents 
 once a week, if it were only a short note, and 
 give them a faithful account of their home 
 affairs. She must commence the fulfilment 
 of her promise that evening, and concluded 
 to appeal to her young friends for aid. 
 
 “ Not a very good record, Carl,” said she, 
 as she signed the school report. 
 
 il No, it ain’t,” replied the boy, in a blunt 
 tone. “ I can’t help it ; how can a feller get 
 
WHAT CAN I DO ? 
 
 27 
 
 his lessons when he’s all the time thinking 
 of something else ? ” 
 
 “ But why should a fellow be thinking of 
 something else when he ought to be learning 
 his lessons ? ” 
 
 “ I don’t see how a feller can help it. I 
 can’t, any way.” 
 
 “ I’m sure I can’t,” said Emily. “ When 
 I began to get my geography lessoit to-day, 
 I was looking on the map for London, and 
 then I thought that’s where mamma ’ll be 
 very soon ; and I wondered how far they’d 
 got now, and then I thought may be they’d 
 get drowned before they’d get there, and 
 they’d never come back, and I shouldn’t have 
 any father and mother and Uncle Carl, — 
 and ” — a flood of tears closed the sentence. 
 
 Miss Howard sincerely pitied the weeping 
 girl, and passed her arm about her waist as 
 she said, “ And so, learning the geography 
 lesson, which was your duty, a duty you could 
 
28 
 
 CAEL BARTLETT; OB, 
 
 perform, was neglected that you might spend 
 your time and faculties on something over 
 which you have no control, and in a way 
 which is an actual injury to you and your 
 father and mother.” 
 
 “ I don’t see what harm it can do father 
 and mother,” said Carl. 
 
 “ I will tell you a story which is exactly 
 in point. It is an old story. Perhaps you 
 nave heard it before ; but sometimes we can 
 see our own mistakes better if they are re- 
 flected in those of others. Years ago there 
 sailed from one of our northern ports a sea 
 captain ; a bluff, hearty man, who bore the 
 rough sea life without grumbling. At home 
 in his snug house, supplied with many com- 
 forts, he left a devoted wife, who, in every 
 gust that shook her blinds, every shower that 
 pattered on her tight roof, every clap of thun- 
 der that rattled over her head, every flash of 
 lightning that gleamed in her comfortable 
 
WHAT CAN I DO ? 
 
 29 
 
 rooms, formed imaginary gales, tempests, 
 water spouts or fires at sea for her husband. 
 One day the wind was very high, and at 
 night increased, till, as the sailors say, it 
 46 blew great guns.” The captain’s wife had 
 suffered tortures all day ; but when night 
 came, the increasing storm doubled and 
 trebled her anxiety. .The rain dashed against 
 the windows, and the wind bent the great 
 trees as if they had been switches. The poor 
 woman laid down, but did not sleep. How 
 could she ? She in her comfortable home, 
 while her husband was tossing on the waves, 
 it might be clinging to the wreck of his 
 good vessel ; it might be, alas, struggling 
 with the angry, cruel sea. No, she could 
 not sleep, she ought not to sleep while he 
 was in such peril. She went out into the 
 garden and climbed into a great brass kettle 
 which she had suspended from the limb of 
 a large tree ” 
 
so 
 
 CARL BARTLETT; OR, 
 
 “ What a foolish, silly woman,” said Emily. 
 
 “ And there she swung,” Miss Howard went 
 on, without noticing the interruption, “ taking 
 a strange sort of comfort in thinking that 
 she was undergoing privations resembling 
 those her husband was enduring, for by this 
 time she was fully persuaded that he was 
 wrecked, and if alive, was in the midst of 
 terrible peril. 
 
 “ A few days after, the ship Patriot hove 
 in sight. The wife gave up sighing, and be- 
 gan singing one of the old Scotch songs that 
 had been a favorite one with the captain 
 before they were married : 
 
 44 4 And are ye sure the news is true ? 
 
 And are ye sure he’s weil ? 
 
 Is this the time to think o’ wark ? 
 
 Ye jauds, fling by your wheel, 
 
 Is this a time to think o’ wark 
 When Colin’s at the door? 
 
 Bax down my cloak — I’ll to the quay, 
 
 And see him come ashore, 
 
WhAT CAJN 1 00 ? 
 
 31 
 
 For there's nae luck about the house. 
 
 There’s nae luck at a’ ; 
 
 There’s pae luck about the house 
 When our guidman’s awaV 
 
 “ Down to the wharf she went. One of 
 the first questions she asked her husband 
 was, ‘ Where were you the night of the 
 nl'teenth ? Wasn’t the storm awful ? I cer- 
 tainly thought you’d be wrecked ? ’ ‘ Storm ? 
 No. we haven’t run afoul any storm since we 
 sailed for home. We shipped a sea once in 
 a while, but we don’t call that anything.’ 
 ‘ Yes. the fifteenth ; you must have forgotten. 
 There was a terrible storm.’ ‘ No storm 
 where I was ; see, here’s the log-book. I 
 wrote in it just before I turned in. 1 always 
 do.’ ‘ Fifteenth. Moon full, mate’s watch 
 on deck, fair breeze, making five knots.’ ‘ I’ll 
 oe going home now,’ said Mrs. Captain. 
 ‘ You’re coming up to the house pretty soon. 
 ‘ Avast there. What you scudding off in such 
 etyle for? I’ll be your convoy if you will 
 
32 
 
 CARL BARTLETT ; Cm, 
 
 make fast till I can give my mate a te^ 
 orders.’ But the wife refused to wait, and 
 hurried off without her convoy. The hus- 
 band watched her almost running un the 
 wharf, wondered what had got into Pollv 
 now, and said to himself, 4 Hard craft to 
 steer, those women folks ; ’ and went to nnd 
 his first mate, singing as he went — 
 
 “ ‘ If my dear wife should wish to gang, 
 
 To see a neebor or a friend, 
 
 A horse or chair I will provide, 
 
 And a servant to attend. 
 
 But if my dear shall hain* the charg®, 
 
 As I expect she will, 
 
 And if she says, I’ll walk on foot, 
 
 By my word, she’ll hae her will.’ 
 
 “ Polly went liome as fast as her feet would 
 carry her. ‘ Charles, John, here, help me 
 down with this kettle, and get it put away 
 before the Captain comes.’ She never swung 
 in the brass kettle again.” 
 
 * Save. 
 
WHAT CAN I DO? 
 
 33 
 
 By the time Miss Howard had finished her 
 narration, Emily’s tears were dried. 
 
 “ Is that a true story, Aunt Maria ? ” asked 
 Carl. 
 
 Though Miss Howard was not related to 
 Mrs. Bartlett, her children had early learned 
 to call their mother’s friend “ Aunt.” 
 
 64 1 should not like to say that every circum- 
 stance happened as I have told it,” said she, 
 smiling ; 44 but is not the story true to life ? 
 Do not all, young and old, swing in brass 
 kettles ? 
 
 Now Emily, and I do not mean to say that 
 she is acting any worse or any differently than 
 thousands of others have done, but thousands 
 of others doing a certain thing, that does not 
 make it right or wise, — Emily has imagined 
 troubles for her parents and herself which 
 will probably never befall them or her, and 
 which she cannot prevent any more than that 
 fly walking on the glass. She has forgotten 
 
34 
 
 CARL BARTLETT; OB, 
 
 that her father and mother are under the pro* 
 tection of Him who ‘ holds the waters in the 
 hollow of His hand.’ Instead of trying to do 
 what she can to promote their happiness, she 
 has been doing what she could to cause them 
 discomfort. Carl, too, I am afraid it is not 
 very different with him.” 
 
 “ I’m sure I don’t see what I can do for 
 them,” said Carl, “ they are way off on the 
 ocean.” 
 
 “ I’m sure I can’t do any thing for them 
 now,” said Emily. 
 
 “ You can both do much. I must write to 
 your mamma this evening ; what shall I say ? 
 ‘ Carl and Emily think of nothing but their 
 papa and mamma, and constantly grieve over 
 their absence.’ ” 
 
 “ Oh, no,” said Carl ; “ don’t write that.” 
 
 “I don’t want mamma to feel bad about 
 me,” said Emily. 
 
 “ No, certainly you do net. I should liko 
 
WHAT CAN I DO ? 
 
 35 
 
 to write something like this. ‘ Your son and 
 daughter miss their father and mother much, 
 but now that the first few days are over, I am 
 very sure that they will study and play in 
 good spirits, and that you may think of them 
 as having bright faces and cheery voices.’ 
 May I write this with truth ? It depends up- 
 on you.” 
 
 Mrs. Randolph, who had come into the 
 room while Miss Howard was telling her 
 story, said, “ When your Uncle Carl was a 
 boy, he used to say sometimes, when he saw 
 any one looking sad: 
 
 ‘For what can’t be undone, boy, 
 
 He will not blubber on, boy ; 
 
 He’ll brightly smile, 
 
 Yet think the while 
 
 Of the friend that’s gone, boy.’ ” 
 
 “ Oh, I will try,” said Emily. “ I never 
 thought I was giving mamma trouble: it 
 doesn’t seem as if I could, she’s so far ofT 
 
36 
 
 CARL BARTLETT; OR, 
 
 “ Can’t you save some room for me to write 
 a little ? ” asked Carl. 
 
 “ Oh yes, I will do that.” 
 
 Carl took his cap and went out. The letter 
 was written and received. These were the 
 closing lines : 
 
 Dear Mamma : 
 
 I did feel pretty bad after you went ; but I 
 don’t feel so bad now. I have been over to 
 Georgie Graham’s playing ball, this afternoon, 
 and I had a first rate time. Em is up-stairs 
 now, with Grandma and Lulu, dressing dolls. 
 Aunt Maria tells us jolly stories, most as good 
 as Uncle Carl. 
 
 Your affectionate son, 
 
 Carl. 
 
 Our young friends were not perfect. Emily 
 was sometimes indolent and careless, and 
 Carl’s hasty temper manifested itself more 
 
WHAT CAN I DO ? 
 
 37 
 
 than once in sharp words and even blows; 
 but their love for father and mother was a 
 powerful incentive and restraint. Miss How- 
 ard, from week to week, reported their honest 
 efforts to please the absent ones, and they 
 frequently received the expression of their 
 parents’s gratification on the same sheet with 
 descriptions of wonderful people, places and 
 things. 
 
 One day there came a letter with a Prussian 
 stamp, and nearly covered with post-marks. 
 It was directed to 
 
 Mb. Oableton R. Bartlett, 
 
 Boston, 
 
 U. S A. 
 
 He knew the hand well. It was his 
 mother’s, and contained an account of a visit 
 she had lately made to a school. The de- 
 scription was interesting, but the closing 
 sentences of the letter was the best. Mrs, 
 
38 
 
 CARL BARTLETT. 
 
 Bartlett wrote, “We have missed none of 
 your letters, not one. We do not always 
 receive them regularly, but if we are without 
 one week, we are pretty sure to be paid by 
 finding two or three the next. You cannot 
 think, Carl and Emily, how much pleasure 
 it gives us to hear from you, that you are well 
 and happy. If I supposed that my children 
 were pining at home, that they could not be 
 blithe and joyous because papa and mamma 
 were away, I am afraid I should care little for 
 the beautiful things I am seeing. I am afraid 
 I should think only of my return to them. 
 Kiss Emily and Lulu for me, dear Carl. 
 Give love and hearty thanks to Grandmother 
 and Aunt Maria, and believe me, 
 
 Your ever loving 
 
 Mother. 
 
CHAPTER IH. 
 
 ^R. and Mrs. Bartlett left it to Miss 
 Howard’s decision where she should 
 pass the summer vacation with Carl 
 and Emily. She- was desirous that 
 their wishes should be gratified in the selec- 
 tion of a place, and one day, about the 
 middle of June, said to them, “ Vacation will 
 commence in three weeks ; where shall we 
 spend it ? ” 
 
 “ Oh, let’s go to the House,” said 
 
 Emily, naming one of the large hotels near 
 the White Mountains, where they had for- 
 merly been with their father and mother. 
 
 Carl spoke of a sea-shore resort where he 
 had once staid for a month, but said his 
 
CARL BARTLE'TT; OS, 
 
 40 
 
 father was there then, and he did not suppose 
 there would be much fun without him. 
 
 “ Where are you going, Grandmamma ? ” 
 asked Emily. 
 
 “ Cousin Amy wants Lulu and 1 should 
 make her a visit.” 
 
 “ That’s close by where your sister lives, 
 ain’t it, Aunt Maria ? ” asked Carl. 
 
 “About ten miles from Clifton, I think,” 
 replied Miss Howard. 
 
 The young people had often heard her 
 speak of her pleasant visits to Clifton, of her 
 nephews, and the orphan boy her friends 
 there had adopted. 
 
 “ Why couldn’t we go to Clifton ? ” asked 
 Emily ; “ then we could go and call on 
 Grandmamma and Lulu.” 
 
 “ Lulu come and call on Emmy,” said the 
 child ; “ make calls like big ladies.” She 
 took a small book from the table, snatched 
 Mrs. Randolph’s handkerchief, ran to the door 
 
WHAT CAN I DO ? 
 
 41 
 
 and came back with a mincing step, holding 
 the book with the handkerchief, as she had 
 seen her mamma’s friends hold their card- 
 cases. “How d’ye do, Missie Wandolph?” 
 “ How d’ye do, my dear ? ” “ How d’ye do, 
 
 Auntie ? ” she said, as she walked round the 
 room, offering her hand to one after another. 
 
 “ I shouldn’t wonder if Mr. Gray’s place 
 was very much like my Uncle Jacob’s, where 
 my mother used to take me when I was a 
 little girl,” said Mrs. Randolph, as soon as 
 the laugh which followed Lulu’s mimicry was 
 over. “ What wonderful times I did have, 
 and what terrible destruction of clothing was 
 the consequence. There was an immense 
 brush-heap one side of the house. I used to 
 think that some day that brush-heap would 
 be burnt up, but the next summer it was just 
 as large as ever. I suppose Uncle Jacob 
 added to it every winter as much as was used. 
 It was great sport for me to climb round on 
 
42 
 
 CARL BARTLETT; OR, 
 
 it, but it was rending, heart-rending for 
 pantaletts. It was the fashion then for girls 
 of my age to wear pantaletts reaching to the 
 ancle ; some of mine were very handsome, 
 with wrought edging and insertion. The 
 ends in the brush-heap paid no respect to my 
 embroidery, and one pair of pantaletts was 
 ruined before mother knew it. I went into 
 the house all tattered and torn. ‘ Hullo ! ’ 
 said Uncle Jacob , 1 what did you travel so far 
 through your pantaletts for ? ’ ” 
 
 “ Oh, Grandmamma, it don’t seem as if you 
 could have ever been a little girl like Lulu, 
 nor a big girl like me; it seems as if you 
 were always a real nice old lady, the same as 
 you are now,” said Emily, throwing her arms 
 about Mrs. Randolph’s neck, and kissing 
 her. 
 
 “ I am afraid I was a sad tom-boy ; but you 
 must not be one,” was the laughing reply. 
 
 “ ' 'bo’ll do pretty well if she turns out like 
 
WHAT CAN I DO l 
 
 43 
 
 Grandmother,” said Carl. “Can’t we go to 
 Clifton, Aunt Maria?” 
 
 “ I do not know. I had thought of it,” 
 said Miss Howard ; “ but perhaps we three 
 would be a larger party than my sister could 
 provide for.” 
 
 “ We won’t be the least bit of trouble,” said 
 Emily. 
 
 “ I will write to her. It may be she can 
 
 * 
 
 arrange for us,” said Miss Howard. 
 
 Emily waited for the reply with all the 
 patience she could command. A week passed 
 before it was received. Miss Howard slipped 
 the blade of her penknife along one end of 
 the envelope, drew out the well-covered sheet, 
 and was soon absorbed in reading some items 
 of Clifton news, entirely forgetting that young 
 eyes were watching the expression of her face, 
 and young ears were eagerly waiting to hea* 
 the decision. 
 
 “ Oh — h dear,” said Emily, after five 
 
44 
 
 GAEL BAETLETT; OB, 
 
 minutes had elapsed, “ I do wish she’d tell us 
 whether we’re going or not.” 
 
 “ I beg your pardon,” said Miss Howard. 
 “ I was so occupied with the last part of the 
 letter that I had almost forgotten that you 
 had a share in the first part of it. I will 
 read it.” 
 
 Mrs. Gray wrote that she should be happy 
 to see her sister and her young friends, if 
 they thought they could be comfortable, in 
 the rather crowded accommodations, which 
 were the best she had to offer. 
 
 “ I don’t believe we shall be any more 
 crowded than we were in the Clairevoie,” 
 said Emily. “ They gave us rooms up in the 
 attic ; how I did hit my head against the 
 slanting walls. Father said I would have 
 been a treasure to a travelling phrenologist ; 
 I could show new bumps every day.” 
 
 “ We’ll be comfortable enough,” said Carl. 
 “ I’ll carry up my tent and camp out. I’d 
 like it number one.” 
 
WHAT CAN I DO? 45 
 
 “ Oh, no,” said Miss Howard, “ we need 
 iiot either camp out or make a new system 
 of phrenology.” 
 
 Glad to leave the heat, dust and close air 
 of the city, Miss Howard, Carl and Emily 
 started for Clifton the first day of July. Mrs. 
 Randolph and Lulu were their travelling com 
 panions for nearly the whole journey. 
 
 Though Carl and Emily had often spent 
 a large portion of the summer at the sea- 
 shore or among the mountains, they had 
 never before been members oi' a farmer’s 
 household and enjoyed keenly the liberty, the 
 freedom from conventional restraints. 
 
 Robin Gray gave Carl a boisterous wel- 
 come. He had found the boys of that scat- 
 tered neighborhood poor substitutes for Erank, 
 and hailed the arrival of one about his own 
 age, who would be for two months his con- 
 stant associate. Emily joined the boys in 
 many a scheme, and was in great danger 
 
46 
 
 CARL BARTLETT ; OR, 
 
 of becoming, notwithstanding grandmamma’® 
 warning, a sad tom-boy. 
 
 One of their first exploits was swinging on 
 birch trees. Robin had had much expe- 
 rience, and was in some respects a good 
 teacher of the art. “ I’ll show you some 
 splendid trees to swing on,” said he. 
 
 “ Have you got a swing out there ? ” asked 
 Emily. 
 
 “ No, we swing on the trees.” 
 
 “ Don’t you want a rope ? ” said Carl. 
 
 “ No, no, you come and I’ll show you how. 
 It’s the greatest fun you ever had,” said 
 Robin, as he led the way to a clump of birch 
 trees. He selected a tall, slender one, stand- 
 ing a little apart from the others, and began 
 to climb. 
 
 “ That won’t bear,” said Carl. 
 
 “Oh, never you feai,” answered Robin, 
 still ascending, swinging, swinging, till his 
 feet nearly touched the grass ; then he let go 
 
WHAT CAN I DO ? 
 
 47 
 
 his hold, and dropped lightly to the ground. 
 “ Ah, that’s jolly,” said he. 
 
 Carl and Emily had breathlessly watched 
 him, expecting every moment to see the deli 
 cate tree-top break and fall with its burden ; 
 put when they saw him safe on terra firma 
 again, they entered more into the spirit of 
 the sport. Carl, after two or three trials 
 of smaller trees, found he could climb as 
 high as Robin. 
 
 “ Come, Em, you try it ; it’s grand. There’s 
 a tree just right for you.” 
 
 Emily looked at the tree with longing eyes, 
 wished girls could climb as well as boys, and 
 would have tested her agility had not a gentle 
 remonstrance prevented her. “ Take care ; 
 that is one of the things girls ought not to 
 do till they have had a good deal of expe- 
 rience.” 
 
 “ Then I don’t see how they are going to 
 do it at all,” returned Emily. 
 
48 
 
 CARL BARTLETT; OB, 
 
 U 1 don’t either,” said Deacon Goodwin, 
 smiling. 
 
 “ Oh, I see what you mean,” said Emily, 
 looking rather foolish. 
 
 “ Didn’t you use to climb birch trees when 
 you was a boy, Uncle David ? ” asked Robin. 
 
 “ And a good many other kinds of trees 
 too. It will do pretty well for you boys ; it 
 don’t harm you much to get a tumble once 
 in a while. Your aunt Marm has come ? ” 
 
 “ Yes, sir.” 
 
 “ Wonder if she and the young folks don’t 
 wan’t to go with me to-morrow to salt mv 
 sheep ? ” 
 
 “ I guess she’d like to. I’ll ask her,” said 
 Robin. 
 
 “ I can find room for you, too, but I didn’t 
 know as you’d care anything about it ; it’s 
 nothing new to you.” 
 
 “ Oh. I couldn’t go,” said Robin, “ I am 
 going over to the Wrights to help them fix 
 vp their rabbit pen.” 
 
WHAT CAN I DO ? 
 
 49 
 
 “ I’ll slop for you as I go along,” said 
 Deacon Goodwin, turning to Carl and Emily. 
 
 “ Thank you, sir,” said Carl. “We’d like 
 to go very much, and I know Aunt Maria 
 would.” 
 
 “ Salting sheep ! ” said Emily, as soon as 
 the old gentleman was out of sight ; “ why 
 don’t he salt them at home ? Is salt mutton 
 good ? ” 
 
 “ No, I guess not,” replied Robin. “ I 
 never ate any ; he didn’t say anything about 
 salting mutton, did he ? ” 
 
 “ Why, yes, he said salting sheep.” 
 
 “ Well, that ain’t salting mutton.” 
 
 “ What is the reason it ain’t ? ” asked Carl 
 “ You go with Uncle David, to-morrow, 
 and you’ll see.” 
 
 The next morning, true to his promise, 
 Uncle David, in his open wagon, stopped at 
 Mr. Gray’s door. He was one of the old 
 people to whom all the inhabitants of Clif 
 
50 
 
 CARL BARTLETT; OR, 
 
 ton claimed relationship. Nearly six feet ia 
 height, years had not bowed his well knit 
 form. His few remaining locks were white 
 as the driven snow ; but his ruddy cheeks 
 were almost as delicate as an infant’s, and 
 from those deep blue eyes, “ those windows 
 of the soul,” looked out the sincerity and 
 kindliness that dwelt within. Would that 
 some skilful artist could have made perma- 
 nent, on canvas, the form and features of 
 that New England farmer as he sat waiting 
 at Mr. Gray’s door, on that bright July morn- 
 ing. Coarse in his dress, his manners had 
 the polish which can be given only by con- 
 stant thought of the comfort of others, con- 
 stant forgetfulness of self. Old-fashioned, 
 sometimes, in phrase and pronunciation, he 
 was far from being an ignorant man. In 
 the long winter evenings he had found time 
 to store in his memory many historical facts ; 
 to enrich his mind with some of the choicest 
 
WHAT CAN I DO ? 
 
 Ol 
 
 thoughts of the older English divines, or to 
 listen to the words of authors of the day, as 
 they wei’e read by one of the family. For 
 thirty years he had been a deacon of Mr. 
 Cummings’ church. Those who shrank from 
 entering the minister’s study, often came to 
 Uncle David’s sitting room, or walked beside 
 him in the field, between the rows, as they 
 asked the counsel which might enable them 
 to bear the burden laid upon them. Many 
 a sorrowing one had taken up his cross again 
 and borne it cheerfully, secure that the secrets 
 he had confided to Uncle David were as safe 
 as if locked in his own heart. 
 
 Deacon Goodwin's calm, happy expression 
 would have led the careless observer to sup- 
 pose that he had known little of the trials 
 of life ; but his way had been one in which 
 feet less resolute than his would have fal- 
 tered. When others would have been tempted 
 to say, “ My trouble is greater than I can 
 
52 
 
 CARL BARTLETT; OR, 
 
 bear,” lie exclaimed, “ Though he slay me, yet 
 will I trust in him.” “ He that made him ” 
 had indeed caused “ his sword to approach 
 unto him.” Sons and daughters had been 
 given him ; but he and the wife of his youth 
 were left to go down the hill of life with no 
 son’s strong arm to lean upon — ministered 
 to by no daughter’s faithful hand. The aged 
 couple, though “ ready to depart,” still took 
 a deep interest in the welfare of friends and 
 neighbors, and were never more happy than 
 when the voice of childhood or youth was 
 heard in their dwelling. 
 
 But in our admiration for Uncle David, 
 we must not longer keep him waiting. When 
 Miss Howard came out, he was about to 
 alight. “ Do not get down, sir,” said she. 
 
 Carl will help me.” 
 
 “ If you will excuse me, I won’t,” he re- 
 plied. “I find I can’t get out of a wagon 
 'is - quick as I could twenty years ago.” 
 
WHAT CAN I DO? 
 
 m 
 
 The road for the first mile was smooth 
 and level ; the old horse jogged on at a mod- 
 erate trot. The bracing air and clear sky 
 were very exhilarating ; and Emily, almost 
 unconsciously, began to hum one of her school 
 songs. 
 
 “ Come,” said Uncle David, “ couldn’t you 
 sing so we can hear ? don’t keep all your 
 music for your own benefit.” 
 
 Emily sang ; Miss Howard and Carl joined 
 
 in. 
 
 '* Away ! away, we’ve a holiday, 
 
 And we’ll off to the woods together, 
 
 And free as the robin that sings on the spray, 
 
 ■We’ll bound o’er the bending heather. 
 
 Oh ! tell us not of the town so gay, 
 
 Give us forests with trees and flowers, 
 
 • Then off to the woods we’ll away, we’ll away, 
 
 So merry our holiday hours. 
 
 We’ll watch the birds in the woody vale, 
 
 As from bough to bough they are springing 
 Our voices shall echo from hill and from dale, 
 
 And frighten the squirrels with singing.” 
 
54 
 
 CAUL BARTLETT; OR, 
 
 Our readers are doubtless familiar with the 
 song, and we omit the repeats. 
 
 “ I like that,” said Uncle David ; “ perhaps 
 some day you’ll come and sing it to my 
 wife.” 
 
 “ Yes, sir, indeed we will.” And they 
 sang the holiday song again, testing the full 
 strength of their lungs in the third verse. 
 
 “Ha, ha, ha,” laughed Deacon Goodwin, 
 “ if you haven’t frightened the squirrels, you 
 have the sheep.” 
 
 A large flock of sheep, startled by the sing- 
 ing, were running across a rocky pasture. 
 
 “ What is droller,” said Miss Howard, 
 “ than to see a flock of sheep jump a wall ; 
 there they go, first one, then all the others 
 follow.” 
 
 & 
 
 The whole party laughed heartily as the 
 wave of woolly backs rolled over the stone 
 wall in one continuous stream. 
 
 “ Nov. let us sing, ‘ Up in the morning 
 early,’ ” said Miss Howard. 
 
WHAT CAN I DO ? 
 
 55 
 
 One song after another was sung as the 
 steady horse tugged up the steep hill, for 
 when Deacon Goodwin turned off the main 
 road, the ground was rising, and the wheels 
 grated over large stones, or settled into and 
 jerked out of holes, giving the occupants of 
 the wagon now a lurch to the right, now to 
 the left, then a bound from the seat, which 
 made them catch their breath. 
 
 “I — wish,” said Miss Howard, as she was 
 recovering her own equipoise and that of her 
 hat, which had brought up rather suddenly 
 against Uncle David’s broad shoulders, “I — 
 wish — the town of Clifton would mend its 
 ways.” 
 
 “ Begging your pardon,” replied Deacon 
 Goodwin, “these are not Clifton ways. It’s 
 good exercise. I thought I should be treating 
 you city folks to a rarity.” 
 
 After two miles ascending nearly all the 
 way, the horse stopped of his own accord at a 
 set of bars. 
 
66 
 
 CARL BARTLETT; OR, 
 
 “ Carl will take down the bars,” said Miss 
 
 Howard. 
 
 He jumped down, took out the rails, placed 
 them against the wall, and sprang again to 
 his seat. If the road had been rough, the 
 pasture was rougher. Our friends jolted on 
 till Uncle David said, “ I reckon we will find 
 sheep here ; if we don’t, we can walk the rest 
 of the way.” 
 
 He stopped in a hollow where the horse 
 could stand comfortably. 
 
 “ I don’t see any sheep,” said Emily, look- 
 ing all around. 
 
 “ Suppose you sit down here a minute or 
 two,” said Uncle David, pointing to an old 
 log, “ and we’ll see if we can’t hunt them 
 up.” 
 
 Miss Howard and Emily sat down, while 
 Carl helped the old gentleman take from the 
 wagon a small bag and a wooden measure. 
 Some salt was poured into the measure, and 
 Uncle David called, “ Kerday, Kerday, Ker- 
 
WHAT CAN f DO ? 
 
 57 
 
 day.” In an instant the hill-side was alive 
 with staid old sheep, and scarcely less staid 
 young lambs. They came over the crest of 
 every hillock, hurrying towards their owner. 
 
 “ Oh, do let me feed them,” said Emily, 
 running up to him. 
 
 “ You may try,” said he. 
 
 Emily took the measure, but every sheep 
 and every lamb turned as if actuated by one 
 will, and disappeared about as quick as they 
 had come. Emily called, “ Kerday, Kerday, 
 Kprday,” as Uncle David had done ; she went 
 Vy the hill in the direction in which some of 
 ihem had gone, and called again ; but the 
 only effect of her call, was to make the few 
 she caught sight of, to run farther from her, 
 and she gave the measure to Uncle David. 
 He called ; the sheep appeared again, but did 
 come near. “ I believe you’ll have to go and 
 stand off a little way,” said Uncle David. 
 
 Carl and Emily went and sat down beside 
 
58 
 
 CAUL BARTLETT; OR, 
 
 Miss Howard. Then the timid animals came 
 bleating about the farmer, and ravenously ate 
 the salt he scattered on the ground; some 
 of them tried to put their noses into the 
 measure. “Flora, Rose, Flossy,” he called; 
 and each one, knowing its name, came and 
 ate from his hand. As long as Miss Howard, 
 Carl and Emily remained quiet a few rods 
 away, the sheep crowded about Uncle David ; 
 but the moment either approached, the fright- 
 ened creatures scattered. Two or three times 
 Emily tried to coax one of the little lambs to 
 allow her to put her hand upon it ; but the 
 hand was that of a stranger, and the lamb 
 fled from it. 
 
 As soon as the sheep were satisfied they 
 were to be fed no more that day, they began 
 to crop the short grass around the rocks, 
 scattering here and there, and in a few mo- 
 ments only two or three were visible. 
 
 “ It makes me think,” said Carl, when they 
 
WHAT CAN I DO? 
 
 59 
 
 were on the way home, “ of that piece we 
 speak at school sometimes ; it’s in the ‘ Lady 
 of the Lake,’ isn’t it, Aunt Maria ? ” and he 
 repeated the description of Rhoderic Dhu’s 
 signal to his concealed mountaineers. 
 
 “ Yes,” said Uncle David, “ that is very 
 fine indeed ; but I can’t say I like the idea of 
 talking about ‘ plaided warriors armed for 
 strife,’ and our green hills at the same time. 
 Can’t you think of a description that suits my 
 flock of sheep better ? Think a moment : 
 you have heard it a great many times.” 
 
 “ Oh, yes sir, I know,” said Emily. 
 “And the sheep hear his voice: and he 
 calleth his own sheep by name, and leadeth 
 them out.” 
 
 “ Yes, that is it,” said Deacon Goodwin ; 
 “ and the sheep follow him ; for they know his 
 voice. And a stranger will they not follow, 
 but will flee from him ; for they know not the 
 voice of strangers. I am the good shep- 
 
60 
 
 CAEL BARTLETT. 
 
 herd and know my sheep, and am known of 
 mine.’ How lias our Saviour made holy 
 much of our plain, every day life. I never 
 sow a field, care for my sheep, or gather a 
 crop, but I praise Him for it.” 
 
CHAPTER IV. 
 
 our friends had been at Clif 
 four weeks, Frank Wellington 
 e home to pass the August va- 
 >n. 
 
 “ I haven’t seen a blackberry this sum- 
 mer,” said he, the next morning. 
 
 “ Let’s go and see if we can’t find some,” 
 said Robin. “ Frank will find them if they 
 are to be found. I believe he knows every 
 blackberry vine that grows.” 
 
 “ If you will bring me some,” said Mrs. 
 Gray, “ I will make some blackberry short- 
 cake and some pies.” 
 
 “How I have wanted some of mother’s 
 pies, some that I wouldn’t have to whittle 
 
 61 
 
62 
 
 CARL BARTLETT; OR, 
 
 before I could get a piece to put in my 
 mouth. Who joins the expedition ? ” said 
 Prank. 
 
 “I — I — I,” the three young people cried 
 at once. 
 
 “ There used to be some good places in 
 the edge of ’Squire Williams’ woods,” said 
 Frank. 
 
 They went and found the same spot where 
 the two boys had picked many quarts the 
 previous summer. 
 
 “ They ain’t so thick as they were last 
 summer,” said Robin, “ let’s go where they’re 
 thicker.” 
 
 “ We’ll pick what there are here,” said 
 Frank ; “ if we spend all the time hunting 
 round, we shan’t have any to carry home to 
 mother.” 
 
 “ There’s no fun picking such little scat 
 tering things,” returned Robin. 
 
 “I think they’re good,” said Carl, speak 
 ing with his mouth full. 
 
WHAT CAN I DO? 
 
 63 
 
 They tramped about among the long, 
 tangled vines ; but the bottoms of the bas- 
 kets were still visible, and Frank was tiring 
 of his slow progress, when a loud voice 
 startled him : “ What yer pickin’ them ber- 
 
 ries fur ? ” 
 
 “ Don’t they let you pick berries here, 
 where you’re a mind to ? ” said Carl, in an 
 under tone, to Robin. 
 
 “ Some folks don’t like to have you,” he 
 answered, “ but I never knew ’Squire Wil- 
 liams to make any fuss about it.” 
 
 Frank rose from his stooping posture, 
 turned and faced the new comer with a 
 smile. “ That you, Jotham ? ” I thought I 
 knew the voice.” 
 
 “ Yes, that’s me, ’taint no other feller, 
 Jotham Hodgkins, present,” returned ’Squire 
 Williams’ man, drawing himself up to his 
 full height. “ Don’t yer fellers know no bet- 
 ter’n ter pick them leetle misurbal things f 
 What’d yer come eout fur ? ” 
 
64 
 
 CARL BARTLETT; OR, 
 
 “ To get some blackberries, I thought,” 
 said Frank. 
 
 “ Wa-all, ef I was yer, I’d git ’em; them 
 ain’t blackberries, least ways I don’t call ’em 
 blackberries,” replied Jotham, shortening his 
 long nose till it was about half its usual 
 length, and making amends to the nasal 
 organ by thrusting out his lips. 
 
 “ What a queer man,” said Emily to her 
 brother. 
 
 The grimace was greeted with a shout of 
 laughter, and so acted upon Emily’s sense 
 of the ludicrous that it was half an hour 
 before she completely recovered her gravity ; 
 every few moments the droll face of the man 
 would come before her mind’s eye and pro- 
 voke merriment. 
 
 “ Them’s kinder like them things they liev 
 down in Marschuset ; they ain’t nothin’ but 
 shoe pegs with a skin drawed over ’em ; they 
 stews ’em up sometimes deown tlier, an’ 
 then they’s more shoe peggy ’n they was 
 
WHAT CAN I DO? 
 
 65 
 
 store. Better let ther birds heve them sorter 
 things they’re jist ’beout right fur ’em ; saves 
 ’em ther trouble ev bitin’ on ’em in two, they 
 hain’t got so big meouths as eourn,” and 
 Jotham looked at Carl, who had six or eight 
 berries in the palm of his hand, and was 
 throwing them into his wide open mouth all 
 at once. “ Come ’long uv a feller’s kneow 
 suthin’, he’ll show yer some blackberries as 
 is blackberries.” 
 
 “ Come, all,” called Frank. 
 
 Jotham strode through a corner of the 
 woods, the underbrush crackling beneath his 
 tread. The boys followed in single file, Frank 
 holding back the branches for Emily. They 
 came out on a field which looked as if soil 
 and stones had had a fierce battle, and the 
 stones had got the best of the struggle. In 
 spaces, a few rods apart, the young brambly 
 vines had sprung up and bore large berries 
 in such profusion that the green leaves were 
 almost hidden. 
 
66 
 
 CARL BARTLETT; OR, 
 
 “ Whew — w — w ” whistled Carl, as the 
 others, with many notes of admiration, began 
 to seize the ripe fruit with both hands. 
 
 “It won’t take long to get a basket full 
 here,” said Robin. 
 
 “ Fact it won’t,” said Frank. “ I never 
 saw this place before, Jotham, and I thought I 
 had scoured the country well for black- 
 berries.” 
 
 “ Guess likely you didn’t see this place 
 afore, cause why, ’twan’t here, yer see ; ther 
 ’Square an’ I, we burnt it over year fore lass ; 
 I used ter wonder what on airth was ther 
 good uv this ere place; ’tain’t no use ter 
 nobody ; all stuns, an’ rocks, an’ scrawny 
 bushes ; an’ neow, I kinder think ’twas good 
 ter be burnt over an’ bear tip-top blackberries. 
 I wonder,” said Jotham, apparently forgetting 
 that any one was listening, “ I wonder if 
 there ain’t some other miserable places an’ 
 folks in ther world that don’t seem to be good 
 for nothin’, as kinder want to be burnt over, 
 
WHAT CAN I DO ? 
 
 67 
 
 or suthin’ or ’norther, kinder want us folks as 
 is good fur suthin,’ ter do what we ken fur 
 em, an’ mebbe they’d be good fur suthin.” 
 
 “ Good in every thing ; isn’t there, Jo- 
 tham ? ” said Frank. 
 
 “Wall, ya — as, I reckon so,” he replied, 
 “ ony there ain’t no good in my stanin’ jabber- 
 in’ here, when I orter be gitten’ them berries 
 Miss Williams wanted.” 
 
 He went to a large clump of vines and 
 commenced gathering the fruit. Carl had 
 found in the midst of the same clump a great 
 smooth stone where he could sit at his ease 
 and pick into mouth or basket. 
 
 “ Like blackberries, I reckon ? ” said Jo- 
 tbam. 
 
 “ I guess I do.” 
 
 “ I reckon yer don’t git sich blackberries 
 as these be deown yer way, every day.” 
 
 “ Oh, we get pretty good ones,” said Carl, 
 unwilling to acknowledge the inferiority of 
 home supplies, ^ - ^ . 
 
CAEL BABTLETT ; OB, 
 
 68 
 
 “ Git all kinder smashed up afore yer git 
 ’em. I shouldn’t want ter stay no time in 
 Boston ; there’s some mighty mean folks 
 deown there.” 
 
 “ I’d rather live there than any where 
 else,” said Carl, uncertain which was most 
 incumbent on him, defence of his native city 
 or civility to the man who had procured him 
 such a feast. 
 
 “ Some mighty mean folks,” repeated Jo- 
 tliam, nodding his head. 
 
 “ No meaner than you have got here, I’ll 
 warrant,” retorted Carl, his face reddening 
 to the roots of his hair. 
 
 “ Wall, neow’ I’ll tell yer. When I was 
 ter ’Square Martin’s I went to Boston onct. 
 Yer see ther was er man there, Badger his 
 name was ; he had some sheep as come in er 
 vessel ; they come frum, frum — wall, never 
 mind, ’taint no odds where they come frum.. 
 He writ ter ’Square Martin as they wus come* 
 
WHAT CAN I DO? 
 
 69 
 
 an’ he was a wantin’ on him ter hev some, 
 they wus sich ’stonishin’ critters, an’ ef he’d 
 send fur ’em quick he’d git two or three on 
 ’em, but ef he wan’t quick he’d lose ’em, 
 ’cause there was sich er lot er fellers er 
 scramblin’ fur ’em, an’ wantin’ ter gin him 
 whole fortins fur one on ’em ; but seein’ ther 
 ’Square wus a old friend er hisen, he’d save 
 three on ’em fur him, jist one week, an’ he 
 mought heve ’em at ther ’stonishin’ low price 
 uv five hundred dollars a critter. Wall, ther 
 ’Square, he wouldn’t hear nothin’ but I must 
 go jist as fast as I could trot, an’ git them 
 ere sheep. I tell’d him he’d better let t’other 
 fellers heve ’em ; they wus willin’ ter pay sich 
 fortins fur ’em, ’twas kinder tough on Badger 
 ter take away sich a chance ter make money. 
 ’Twan’t no use ; the ’Square he was a master 
 feller fur buyin’ critters as had heathen names 
 to ’em, an’ they want nigh so good nuther, 
 half ther time, as ther regular Yankey land 
 
70 
 
 CARL BARTLETT ; OR, 
 
 o’ freedom ones wus. Wall, I went ’long; 
 he told me ter go straight ter Badger’s store. 
 The cars they come in ter that big stune de- 
 pot, yer know, an’ there wus an orful lot of 
 fellers actin’ like wild Injuns, hollerin’ ’beout 
 hackin’ somebody. I jumped eout, an’ one on 
 ’em came an’ stuck the butt eend uv his whip 
 right in my face' an’ hollered. I didn’t want 
 ter be fightin’ fust thing when I come ter 
 Boston, but I wan’t goin’ ter stand no non- 
 sense, no heow ; so ses I, ‘ ef that’s yer game, 
 come on ; ’ an’ begun haulin’ off my coat. 
 The feller, he dropped his whip an’ haw- 
 hawed, an’ another feller come up. 1 Where 
 do yer want ter go to ? ’ ses he. ‘ I want ter 
 go to Badger’s store,’ ses I, ‘ an’ I’ll be 
 ’bleeged ter yer ef yer ’ll tell me which way 
 ter travel.’ ‘ Jump in ter my kerridge,’ ses 
 he, ‘ an’ I’ll take yer there in no time.’ ‘ 1 
 don’t want ter take yer eout uv yer way,’ ses 
 I. ‘ Not ’tall,’ says he, edgin’ Tong to the 
 
WHAT CAN I DO? 
 
 71 
 
 door, 4 this way,’ an’ he opened the door of as 
 nice a kerridge as yer’d want ter see. 4 Jump 
 in,’ ses he. 6 1 jist as lief ride eoutside,’ ses 
 I. 4 All right,’ says he, 4 jump in.’ So I got 
 in an’ sot down, an’ ther feller, he rid eout- 
 side an’ driv. 4 ’Mazin’ perlite yer are,’ thinks 
 I. Wall, he druv ’long by some wood piles, 
 an’ some smoky lookin’ places, an’ some 
 places as looked like a berryin’ ground all 
 in a heap ; they had lots of 4 Sacred to the 
 memory of,’ least way I ’spose so, they looked 
 master like tomb stunes ; then the feller, he 
 druv along where there wus some stores with 
 caliker an’ flannel flappin’ reound ; I begun 
 to think he wa’n’t never goin’ to stop, so I 
 stuck my head eout ther winder. 4 Mister,’ 
 ses I, 4 I’m ’bleeged ter yer fur ther ride, but 
 ef it’s all the same ter yer, I’d like ter be tuck 
 straight ter Badger’s store ; but I den’t b’leve 
 he heard a word on it, ther teams made sich 
 a racket. Bimeby he stopped. I tried to 
 
?2 CARL BARTLETT; Oft, 
 
 git ther door open, but I couldn’t do nothin’ 
 with ther plaguy thing ; ther feller eoutside 
 jumped deown an’ whipped it open in er min- 
 ute. 4 Wall,’ ses I, 4 it’s ’mazin’ heow easy 
 ’tis ter do a job when yer know heow. I’m 
 ’bleeged ter yer, sir.’ But ther feller, he 
 looked kinder mad. ‘ Dollar,’ ses he. 4 Which 
 on ’em is Badger’s store ? ’ ses I. ‘ Oh, it’s 
 one on ’em reound here,’ says he ; ‘ foller yer 
 nose an’ yer’ll fine it. I want er doller fur 
 yer fare.’ ‘ I ain’t a goin’ ter give yer a dol- 
 ler,’ ses I, 4 didn’t yer ask me ter ride ? ’ 
 Then there wus a feller in a blue coat, he 
 come up. ‘ What’s the matter ? ’ ses he. 
 
 4 Why,’ says the feller that axed me ter ride, 
 
 4 I brought ther member from ther rural dis- 
 trict from ther depot an’ he won’t pay up.’ 
 
 ‘ Where wus yer goin ? ’ ses ther ’tother fel- 
 ler. 4 1 want ter go ter Badger’s store,’ ses 
 I. 4 Where’s that ? ’ says he. 4 1 don’t know,’ 
 ses I. 4 1 never was ter Boston afore. !• 
 
WHAT CAN I DO ? 
 
 7t 
 
 should think yer fellers ougliter know ’beout 
 yer own teown ; this chap said he knowd.’ 
 ‘ Wall,’ ses he, 4 give him fifty cents an’ then 
 I’ll show yer Badger’s store.’ ‘ Wall,’ ses I, 
 ‘ seein’ it’s you I’ll do it,” an’ I hauld eout 
 half er doller an’ gin the chap ; he jumped 
 on an’ druv off like a streak. 4 That’s what 1 
 call mean,’ ses I, 4 ask a feller ter ride an’ 
 then holler fur er doller.’ 4 It’s ther way he 
 gets his livin,’ ses he. 4 What does Mr. 
 Badger sell ? ’ 4 Cinnamon, an’ pepper, an’ 
 
 them things, I guess,’ ses I. 4 Oh, yes,’ ses 
 he, 4 Badger & Co., East Injy goods, this way.’ 
 4 No yer dont,’ ses 1, 4 you’ll be hollerin’ fur a 
 doller bimeby.’ The feller he grinned. 4 No,’ 
 ses he, 4 1 shan’t charge yer nothin.’ So we 
 travelled on a leetle ways, an’ he pinted 
 deown ther street. 4 There’s ther place yer 
 lookin’ fur,’ ses he. 4 Mr. Badger a friend uv 
 yourn ? ’ 4 No,’ ses 1, 4 he ses he’s a friend uv 
 
 the ’Square’s.’ 4 All right,’ ses he, 4 1 hooo 
 
f4 CARL BARTLETT; OR, 
 
 you’ll find yer friend ter home.’ Now don’t 
 yer think it’s kinder mean to ax a feller ter 
 ride, an’ then holler fur a doller ? ” 
 
 “ Why, that’s the way they earn money,” 
 said Carl. “ What did you get into his hack 
 for, if you did not mean to pay him ? Did 
 you get your sheep ? ” 
 
 “ Oh yes. I got the sheep. An’ when I 
 seed ’em, I didn’t wonder tlier feller wanted 
 ’em sent fur in er hurry. I dew b’leve them 
 poor critters ’d er been mutton ; ther kinder 
 mutton they call lanterns, too, I reckon, ef I 
 hadn’t er took ’em off his hand pretty tolera- 
 ble quick. I tell yer, ’twent agin ther grain 
 ter lay deown fifteen hundred dollars fur 
 ’em, when I didn’t know as they could say 
 ba — a — a when I got ’em home. I axed 
 Badger where the feller was as wanted ter 
 give me a fortin for one on ’em, ’caurse,’ ses 
 I, ‘ I’ll take ther ’sponsibility, like Gine’al 
 Jackson did, yer know, uv swappin’ one for a 
 fortin on ther Square’s ’ccount.’ ” 
 
WHAT CAN I DO? 
 
 75 
 
 “ What (3 id he say to that ? ” asked Carl 
 “ Wall, he sed when he toll ’em they 
 couldn’t have none uv ’em, they was drefful 
 disappint ; but neow they’d gone an’ buyed 
 somewhares else. ‘ I hope they ain’t got 
 took in,’ ses he. ‘ On the hule, I guess they 
 hain’t,’ ses I. Wall, I got them sheep hum, 
 an’ I fussed over ’em, an’ the ’Square he 
 fussed over ’em ; but t’want no sort er use on 
 airth. Yer see, they was poor weakly critters 
 ter begin with, an’ ther vyge wus drefful hard 
 fur ’em, an’ they want use t’ eour cold 
 winters, an’ we couldn’t do nothin’ with ’em ; 
 ef they’d er been Varmouut sheep we’d er 
 killed ’em long afore ; but they cost five hun- 
 dred dollers, an’ they wus worth five hundred 
 dollers, an’ they must be took care on five 
 hundred dollers. Wall, arter a while, I got 
 kinder tired out, an’ ses I ter ther ’Square, 
 ses I, ‘ ef them ere sheep was mine, I’d make 
 a present on ’em ter ther Agricultral S’city.’ 
 
CARL BARTLETT ; OR, 
 
 I didn’t mean no sich er thing, ’cause ’twant 
 fair ter gin ’em ter nobody. But ther ’Square 
 he was glad nufF ter get red er ther plaguy 
 critters, an’ bine bye ther papers said as how 
 ’Square Martin had gin some very valerble, 
 cuious sheep ter ther S’ city, an’ got er vote 
 uv thanks fur ’em. That ere vote uv thanks 
 wus ther mose he ever got fur them critters. 
 They wus cuious sheep, though, very cuious 
 sheep.” 
 
 “ The sheep man was mean,” said Carl ; 
 “ but all Boston people aint like him.” 
 
 “ Wall, mebbe not,” returned Jotham. 
 
 How long the stream of his talk might have 
 run on it is impossible to say. But if there 
 was no limit to the endurance of his tongue, 
 there was a limit to the capacity of the five 
 quart pail he had been filling with black- 
 berries. 
 
 “ There, ’twon’t holt er nuther one,” said 
 he. “ I’m goin’ ; yer ken stay es long as yer 
 Baind ter.” 
 
What can i do? 
 
 11 
 
 * We have got our baskets about full too “ 
 said Frank. “ Almost ready, Carl ? ” 
 
 “ Ay, ay, sir.” 
 
 The road home lay directly by Deacon 
 Goodwin’s door. 
 
 “ I’ll stop in at Uncle David’s, and see if 
 they don’t want my berries,” said Carl. 
 “ You’ve got enough for Mrs. Gray among 
 you, haven’t you ? ” 
 
 “Oh yes; more than she will want.” 
 
 Carl went in at the open door, while the 
 rest of the party waited at the threshold 
 He gave his berries to Uncle David. 
 
 “ Come in, all ; no standing on the door- 
 stone here. Wife, here is ‘ a nut-brown 
 maid’ and three ’Squires in waiting; they 
 want a glass of your mead.” 
 
 “ We didn’t say we wanted the mead,” said 
 Frank, coming in. 
 
 “ You can’t say you wouldn’t like some,” 
 retorted Uncle David. 
 
78 
 
 CARL BARTLETT ; OR, 
 
 Robin whispered to Carl that Aunt Good* 
 win’s mead was first rate. 
 
 “ Now for some Adam’s ale, out of the 
 north-east corner of the well,” said Deacon 
 Goodwin. 
 
 “ I will get it,” said Frank. 
 
 He took the large stone pitcher, ran out to 
 the well at the side of the house ; the well- 
 swoop creaked on its pivot, the iron-bound, 
 iron-bailed bucket descended, came back and 
 rested on the top of the square curb, over- 
 flowing with sparkling, pure, soft water, such 
 as no pump, faucet, or other modern improve- 
 ment yields. 
 
 “ Ah,” said Uncle David, as Frank placed 
 the pitcher at his right hand, “ there is 
 nothing like an open well with an old- 
 fashioned sweep ” 
 
 “ To make a poor old body’s arms ache,” 
 his wife struck in. 
 
 The icy cold water was poured into the 
 
WHAT CAN I DO ? 
 
 79 
 
 mead already in the tumblers, the effer- 
 verscing powder added, and the young people 
 drained the foaming glasses. 
 
 “ I declare, it does make a feller thirsty to 
 go blackberrying,” said Carl, setting down his 
 tumbler. 
 
 “ Do you like the mead ? ” asked Deacon 
 Goodwin. 
 
 Carl uttered an inarticulate note of admi- 
 ration. 
 
 “Have another glass,” said Mrs. Goodwin. 
 
 Before he could refuse, the mead was boil- 
 ing in his tumbler again, and he was advised 
 to drink it before it had done foaming. 
 
 Robin and some of his schoolmates had, a 
 short time before, formed a debating club, 
 which held meetings and passed resolutions. 
 On the way home he offered the following 
 preamble and resolution, which wore passed 
 by an unanimous vote. 
 
80 
 
 CARL BARTLETT. 
 
 “ Whereas, Uncle David is the jolliest old 
 deacon we ever saw, therefore, Resolved, It is 
 a pity there are not more luk* him ” 
 
CHAPTER V. 
 
 ARL, did you ever see two watch-dogs, 
 each with a blanket given him to take 
 care of, sit upon their blankets, and 
 every now and then growl at one 
 another, and show their teeth ? Something 
 of the same kind, on a large scale, is gener- 
 ally going on here on the continent of Europe. 
 Several great mastiffs sit, each on his own 
 blanket, eyeing all the others ; every little 
 while, one pounces on another’s blanket, tears 
 off a piece, and puts it on to his own. This 
 they call revising their maps. Meanwhile, 
 they are looking round and watching all the 
 other dogs near. If they see one getting 
 old, tired and sleepy, or sick, and losing his 
 
 81 
 
82 
 
 CARL BARTLETT ; OR, 
 
 teeth, so he caunot hold on to his blanket 
 tightly, then the wide-awake dogs come each 
 one to a corner of his own blanket. They 
 put their heads together, and try to make a 
 bargain to pull away the sick dog’s blanket, 
 and tear it up, so that every one can have a 
 piece. This they call ‘ a Peace Conference.’ 
 But, luckily for the old toothless dog, they 
 can seldom agree as to the part of his blanket 
 one dog or the other is to have. They have 
 not an atom of mother’s faculty ; we used to 
 say that she knew how to cut a pie so that 
 each one of us children had the largest piece. 
 But every single dog wants the largest piece 
 of the sick dog’s blanket, and is determined 
 that neither of the others shall have it. This 
 they call, “ maintaining the balance of 
 power.” 
 
 Now when the blankets are tearing, all 
 the small dogs should be kept out of the way. 
 The plain English of this long dog story is, 
 
WHAT CAN I DO ? 
 
 83 
 
 that the Emperor of Prance, the Emperor of 
 Prussia, and the Emperor of Austria and two 
 or three other men, who are said to wear 
 bejewelled crowns, it is little they really wear 
 them though, are preparing for war. Prob- 
 ably they will not go beyond preparation ; 
 but for fear they might, three American 
 sovereigns who always wear crowns, the ones 
 that nature gave them, lest they should be 
 detained in some places longer than they 
 wished, have made their progress more rap- 
 idly than they intended. This unexpected 
 haste will cause the said sovereigns to return 
 to their own dominions several weeks earlier 
 than they proposed. They therefore send 
 this missive to one of the princes to advise 
 him that when it reaches him, the said three 
 sovereigns will probably be crossing the terri- 
 tory of His Majesty, King Neptune. 
 
 Your mamma will write to Grandmamma 
 the week before we sail, so that you may 
 know just when to expect us. 
 
84 
 
 CARL BARTLETT ; OR, 
 
 By and with the advice and consent of the 
 other two sovereigns, who send greetings, 
 Carlton Randolph. 
 
 So Mr. Randolph wrote to his nephew, 
 under date August 10th. Three weeks later, 
 on Tuesday morning, the letter reached the 
 Gray homestead. Carl read it to Miss How- 
 ard and Emily. At first they could hardly 
 believe that, under cover of talk about mas- 
 tiffs, sovereigns, and so forth, Uncle Carl 
 really sent the joyful news ; that their dear 
 friends were every hour, every moment near- 
 ing home. 
 
 “ Uncle Carl don’t mean they are coming 
 now,” said Emily. 
 
 “ Of course he does,” replied Carl. 
 
 “ Olr dear,” I’m afraid they will get there 
 before we do ; we shall not go till next Mon- 
 day. Aunt Maria, do let us go right off; 
 can’t we go to-morrow ? ” 
 
 “ I do not think we could start to-morrow, 
 
WHAT CAN X DO ? 
 
 85 
 
 but we might be ready the day after; that 
 will he soon enough, I am quite sure. Sup 
 pose we ask Mr. Gray if he cannot let Frank 
 drive us over to see your grandmamma this 
 afternoon ? She may have later news.” 
 
 As this was somewhat like preparing for 
 the reception of the expected ones, it gave 
 a little relief to the impatient Emily; any- 
 thing was better than sitting still and doing 
 nothing. Mrs. Randolph had received no let- 
 ter of more recent date ; but coincided in the 
 opinion that a speedy return to the city was 
 advisable, and Thursday was agreed upon as 
 the day for leaving. 
 
 “ We want to be there in time to get 
 settled, so that every thing will look as if 
 we had not been away,” said Mrs. Randolph. 
 
 “ Only think,” said Emily, “ mother coming 
 home next week. When she went away, I 
 thought six months was an age ; now it does 
 not seem as if they had been gone more than 
 six weeks.” 
 
CARL BARTLETT; OR, 
 
 m 
 
 “ That is because you have been busy and 
 interested in your every day work and amuse* 
 ments,” said her grandmother. 
 
 “ You concluded to be cheerful for the sake 
 of helping your mother, and you have helped 
 yourself.” 
 
 “ To-morrow we will pack our trunks, and 
 Thursday we shall find you and Lulu in the 
 cars,” said Miss Howard. 
 
 The trunks were all ready, and Wednesday 
 afternoon Carl went to bid Deacon and Mrs. 
 Goodwin good bye. He stepped in without 
 knocking, in obedience to Mrs. Goodwin’s 
 often repeated invitation, “ Come right in, 
 always ; we are plain people, don’t stop to 
 knock.” He crossed the kitchen and entered 
 the sitting room. The whole aspect of the 
 room was changed, and in how short a time ! 
 Yesterday he had been there in high spirits, 
 and had shown his aged friends the foreign 
 letter. They had entered into his pleasure 
 almost as much as he had himself ; smilingly 
 
WHAT CAN I DO ? 
 
 67 
 
 listened to liis laudations of Uncle Carl, and 
 his enumeration of gifts which he knew were 
 on the way for him. Everything about the 
 unpretending room looked bright then ; now, 
 though the furniture was the same, the cur- 
 tains were drawn up, and the sunbeam lay 
 across the braided carpet just where it did 
 yesterday, yet all the cheeriness was gone. 
 What did it mean ? What did that room 
 lack ? Ah ! it lacked what had always been 
 its chief attraction ; that which had made its 
 homely appointments shine with a brilliance 
 gilding and mirrors can never give. It lacked 
 the light upon the faces of its occupants. 
 Mr. Gray was there. He had stopped on 
 his way from the Post Office ; there he had 
 learned that the weekly papers he had re- 
 ceived contained sad, unaccountable intelli- 
 gence for the venerable couple, and he had 
 come to offer his sympathy and aid. He 
 stood with the paper in his hand. Uncle 
 
88 
 
 CARL BARTLETT; 05, 
 
 David sat in his large, high-backed rocking- 
 chair, gazing at the neighbor, utter surprise 
 and bewilderment written on his face. Mrs. 
 Gocdwin sat beside her husband, her hands 
 clasped tightly around his right arm. 
 
 “I — I don’t understand,” said the old 
 gentleman, “ won’t you just read that again ? ” 
 Then, seeing Carl, he mechanically extended 
 his left hand, which the boy grasped as he 
 stood listening to Mr. Gray. 
 
 “MORTGAGEE’S SALE.” 
 
 “ Will be sold at public auction, Wednes 
 day, the fifteenth day of September, all the 
 right, title and interest said mortgagee has 
 in the estate in the town of Clifton, now 
 occupied by David Goodwin ; ” then followed 
 a description of the house, land, boundaries, 
 etc., and the advertisement concluded with 
 the words, “ Sale positive, subject to the mort- 
 gagor’s equity of redemption. 
 
 J. J. Downing, Mortgagee.” 
 
WHAT CAN I DO T 
 
 89 
 
 “ I don’t understand/’ repeated Uncle Da- 
 vid, “ there is no mortgage on my farm. I 
 did mortgage it to Mr. Downing for two thou- 
 sand dollars ; but I paid the money, every 
 dollar of it, two years ago.” 
 
 “ You got the money of ’Squire Williams, 
 didn’t you ? ” asked Mr. Gray. 
 
 “ Yes, and I offered to transfer the mort- 
 gage to him, but lie wouldn’t take it ; he said 
 my note was enough.” 
 
 “ Yes, I remember,” said Mr. Gray. “ I 
 was there at the time.” 
 
 “ Downing talked pretty hard,” said Dea- 
 con Goodwin, “ and threatened, once or twice, 
 to take possession ; the ’Squire heard him, 
 and told me I had better take the money of 
 him, and get rid of Downing altogether. lie 
 said I could pay him a little at a time, as it 
 was convenient.” 
 
 “ Why,” continued Deacon Goodwin, after 
 a short paus$, “ my father built this house, 
 
90 
 
 CARL BARTLETT; OR, 
 
 the most part of it ; he used to sit in this 
 chair ; he brought his wife here when they 
 were married. My mother used to wind up 
 that clock every week ; ” he pointed to the 
 tall, old-fashioned clock, ticking in the corner. 
 “ I was born here, my father and mother drew 
 their last breath here, and were buried from 
 here. I brought my wife here, a bride. Here 
 we reared our children. In this room two 
 have died in my arms. We have been young 
 here, we have grown old here, Lucy and I ; 
 we cannot go from here. You might as well 
 try to move one of those old elms out there, 
 that my father planted when he was a boy.” 
 
 “ You must not go from here,” said Mr. 
 Gray ; “ you have the papers ? We will go 
 to Mr. Murdock’s to-morrow and make it all 
 straight. Downing ought to suffer for this ; 
 it is a piece of small, mean spite. You were 
 on the School Committee when his boy was 
 turned out of school.” 
 
WHAT CAN I DO ? 
 
 91 
 
 “ Yes, so I was. I don’t want him to suf- 
 fer, though.” 
 
 “ You have the papers ? ” Mr. Gray asked 
 again. 
 
 “ Yes — no — Mr. Murdock has them. Let 
 me see, how was it ? This comes so sudden 
 I can’t think.” 
 
 “ Don’t you remember,” said Mrs. Good- 
 win, “ you sent Josiah — ? ” 
 
 “Yes, yes — that is it. Josiah took the 
 money to Mr. Downing, and then he left the 
 papers with Mr. Murdock to put on record.” 
 
 “ To have the discharge recorded,” said 
 Mr. Gray. “ Then Josiah paid the note. 
 How long before he left ? ” 
 
 “ How long was it, wife ? I can’t think.” 
 
 “ It was two days.” 
 
 Carl had been watching Mr. Gray’s face, 
 and saw a change come quickly over it when 
 Josiah was mentioned. 
 
 “ Well,” said the neighbor, “ I don’t see 
 
92 
 
 CARL BARTLETT; OR, 
 
 but we must go to Shiretown to-morrow and 
 see Mr. Murdock ; he can make it all right, 
 I hope,” he added, in an under tone. 
 
 “ I wish you would let me go with you,” 
 said Carl. 
 
 Uncle David turned to him, and, for the 
 first time since he had come on, appeared like 
 the Uncle David the boy had seen every day 
 for the last six weeks. “ No, my boy, we 
 old folks must not lay the burden of our 
 troubles on young shoulders.” 
 
 Carl gave Mr. Gray an appealing look. 
 “ If you don’t object, Uncle David,” said he, 
 “ Carl really wants to go.” 
 
 “ Just as you say,” was the reply. 
 
 “ What business has that man to sell Uncle 
 David’s house if he don’t owe him anything ? ” 
 asked Carl, as he and Mr. Gray were going 
 out of the gate. 
 
 “ That is the trouble. I am afraid he does 
 
 owe him.” 
 
WHAT CAN I DO? 
 
 93 
 
 “ Why, he says he has paid him.” 
 
 “ Yes, but he sent the money by Josiah.” 
 
 “ Who is Josiah ? ” 
 
 “ Oh, I forgot you didn’t know anything 
 about Josiah. He is Uncle David’s youngest 
 son, the only child he has living. He got 
 among a wild set at Parker’s Mills, and all 
 of a sudden he went away, nobody knows 
 where or why; now I don’t know but this 
 advertisement explains it.” 
 
 “ He wouldn’t take the money,” said Carl. 
 
 “ I shouldn’t think he could,” replied Mr. 
 Gray. “There wasn’t a finer boy in town, 
 two years ago; but he took to drink, and 
 then he run down fast enough. I didn’t 
 know but it would kill his father and mother, 
 at first ; but I suppose they think he will 
 come back, and besides, their religion has 
 carried them through a good deal of trouble.” 
 “ I don’t believe Josiah took the money,” 
 said Carl. 
 
94 
 
 Carl bartlett ; or, 
 
 “ Well, we may find out something to-mor- 
 row, but I hardly think Downing would dare 
 put such an advertisement in the paper if he 
 had no right to. It is bad enough if Uncle 
 David owes him ; in that case, it may be law, 
 but it is not honor, or justice, or decency.” 
 
 “ There,” exclaimed Carl, “ I never thought, 
 we are going home to-morrow. What shall 1 
 do ? I don’t want to go and not know how 
 Uncle David gets along.” 
 
 “ I didi^t think of that,” said Mr. Gray ; 
 “ perhaps Aunt Maria will stay another day.” 
 Miss Howard did not wish to break her 
 engagement with Mrs. Randolph, and decided 
 that she must carry out her plan, but yielded 
 to Carl’s earnest solicitation to grant* him 
 permission to remain and return alone on 
 Friday. 
 
 He went with Deacon Goodwin and Mr. 
 Gray to Shiretown. Their first call was at 
 the register’s office. The mortgage deed was 
 
WHAT CAN I DO ? 
 
 95 
 
 recorded, but there was no record of the dis- 
 charge. Next they went to Mr. Murdock’s 
 office. He was a young man who had a few 
 years before succeeded to his father’s busi 
 ness, but not to his warm, personal friendship 
 with many of the older men of the neighbor- 
 ing towns. The lawyer was very sure that 
 no such papers had been left with him. He 
 was very particular about all real estate trans- 
 actions, all transactions in fact, and no such 
 document could have escaped his notice, his 
 personal attention. Mr. Gray ventured to ask 
 whether they might not have been left in Mr. 
 Murdock’s absence. “ Then my clerk would 
 have called my attention to them,” was the 
 decided answer, and the lawyer took up his 
 pen with an air of offended dignity. 
 
 But one gleam of hope remained ; it was 
 just possible that some explanation might be 
 extracted from Mr. Downing. The chance 
 was so small, however, that Mr. Gray tried to 
 
96 
 
 CARL BARTLETT; OR, 
 
 induce Deacon Goodwin to wait the result 
 of the inquiry at the house of an acquaint- 
 ance. The kind-hearted man dreaded, for his 
 old friend, the exultation which he knew that 
 Mr. Downing would not conceal. But Deacon 
 Goodwin would listen to no such suggestion, 
 and they alighted to a large store. Three 
 names were on the sign over the door, Down- 
 ing being the third. When they went in, 
 Mr. Downing was standing behind the counter 
 near the door. He glanced at the party with- 
 out the least sign of recognition, walked de- 
 liberately to the rear of the long store and 
 commenced a conversation with a customer, 
 a clerk was waiting on. Mr. Gray found a 
 chair for Deacon Goodwin apart from buyers 
 and sellers, then followed Mr. Downing, and 
 accosted him, “ Deacon Goodwin wishes to 
 speak with you.” The shopkeeper honored 
 the visitor with a prolonged stare and said, 
 “ Oh, it is Mr. Gray, I shall be at liberty 
 
WHAT CAN I DO ? 
 
 97 
 
 soon,” turned to the customer and went on 
 descanting on the relative merits of certain 
 brands of flour. Mr. Gray, with difficulty, 
 kept in check his rising anger, when he re- 
 membered how often he had entered Mr. 
 Downing’s store in Clifton, and been received 
 by its smirking master, in expression and 
 deportment, the most obedient, most humble 
 servant. The farmer stood a few moments 
 waiting the pleasure of the insolent trader, 
 and then said again in a louder voice, “ Dea- 
 con Goodwin wishes to speak to you, Mr. 
 Downing.” 
 
 “ Don’t keep that old gentleman waiting on 
 my account,” said the customer, “you can 
 give me your opinion of the flour another 
 time just as well.” 
 
 “ Oh, certainly sir,” replied Mr. Downing, 
 “ only I wanted you to be sure and have the 
 best. Sell a man the best and he’ll come 
 again. That is motto.” Without a word 
 
98 
 
 CARL BARTLETT; OR, 
 
 to Mr. Gray, he turned on his heel and ap< 
 proached Deacon Goodwin. 
 
 “ Well, what do you want of me ? ” 
 
 “I see you have advertised my place for 
 sale.” 
 
 “Well, what if I have,” Mr. Downing 
 interrupted. “ Didn’t I tell you I should 
 have to sell if you didn’t pay up. Man alive, 
 I’ve got a family to support. I can’t afford 
 to throw away my money. I can’t afford to 
 let my capital lay idle. I can find a use for 
 every dollar of my money.” 
 
 “ I owe you nothing, Mr. Downing,” said 
 Deacon Goodwin. 
 
 “ Well, I declare. That is cool. Here you 
 are, a sanctimonious deacon, come and borrow 
 a man’s hard earnings, a man that’s got a 
 wife and children depending on him, and that 
 don’t pretend to be any better than his neigh- 
 bors ; and then, when he wants what belongs 
 to him, you say you don’t owe him any thing. 
 
WHAT CAN I DO ? 
 
 99 
 
 You’d better try that on somebody else ; 
 ’twon’t do for me.” 
 
 44 Mr. Downing,” Mr. Gray interposed, 
 44 respect Deacon Goodwin’s gray hairs, if 
 you have no respect for the character that 
 every one else reverences.” 
 
 44 Don’t make any difference to me whether 
 a man’s hair is red, white, or gray,” retorted 
 Mr. Downing. 44 Right’s right ; and I’ve a 
 right to what’s my own, and I mean to have 
 it.” 
 
 44 More than two years ago, my son Josiali 
 paid the debt I owed you,” said Deacon Good- 
 win, speaking in cool clear tones. 
 
 44 Your son Josiali ! How comes it then 
 that I have the note? If youi son Josiab 
 paid me that two thousand dollars, all I’ve 
 got to say is, let him come and tell me when 
 and where he did it.” 
 
 44 You have the note you say, Mr. Down 
 ing,” said Mr. Gray. 44 Deacon GoodwJj 
 would like to see it.” 
 
100 
 
 CAliL BARTLLTI; OR, 
 
 “ You make yourself very busy in other 
 people’s affairs. I don’t know as I’m under 
 any obligation to hunt over my papers for 
 your amusement.” 
 
 “ The note is one evidence of the debt,” 
 said Deacon Goodwin, with dignity, “ and I 
 should like to see it.” 
 
 Mr. Downing wheeled round, went to a 
 small room in the back of the store, very de- 
 liberately selected the note from a bundle of 
 
 papers he took from his private drawer in the 
 
 * 
 
 safe, returned, and held the note with both 
 hands before Deacon Goodwin’s face. The 
 aged man recognized the paper at once, and 
 said, as if speaking to himself, “ Oh, why did 
 Josiali go away ? ” 
 
 Yes, sure enough,” sneered Downing, 
 “why did Josiah go away?” 
 
 “ No more of that,” said Mr. Gray, grasp* 
 ing the shop-keeper’s shoulder. 
 
 “ You needn’t think you can frighten me 
 
WHAT CAN I DO ? 
 
 101 
 
 out of my rights,” said Mr. Downing, turning 
 pale. 
 
 “ I didn’t come here to quarrel with you,” 
 said Mr. Gray, releasing his hold as the man 
 stooped and slipped from under his hand. 
 
 “ Then we understand that you intend to 
 go on with this sale,” said Mr. Gray. 
 
 “ Certainly I do. I don’t put advertise 
 ments in the paper for child’s play.” 
 
 Carl lingered behind the two men as they 
 turned towards the door. He looked at Mr. 
 Downing standing with his hands in his 
 pockets, and a gloating, triumphant smile on 
 his face. “ I wish I was a man.” 
 
 “ You do, do you ? ” 
 
 “Yes, I do ; then you should not take 
 Uncle David’s place away from him.” 
 
 “ What could you do about it, young 
 man ? ” 
 
 Sick at heart Mr. Gray followed his old 
 friend from the store. The younger man did 
 
102 
 
 CARL BARTLETT ; OR, 
 
 not wish to intrude advice upon the elder, 
 and would not have known what counsel to 
 give, had any been asked. He could only 
 hope that Uncle David’s faith would again 
 guide him through deep waters, and secretly 
 prayed that he might be saved from the 
 threatened calamity. 
 
 When they drove up to the door, Mrs. 
 Goodwin’s anxious face appeared at the win- 
 dow, but she did not come to ask the result 
 of their investigations. No need of that : it 
 was written on the bearing of each. 
 
 “ If you can come in I should like to have 
 you,” said Uncle David, as he leaned on his 
 neighbor’s shoulder in getting out of the 
 wagon. 
 
 Carl looked at' Mr. Gray for directions. 
 “ You may drive right home, or come in, 
 just as you please,” said he, in an under 
 tone. The boy followed into the house. 
 Mrs. Goodwin took her husband’s hat from 
 
WHAT CAtt I DO? 
 
 103 
 
 him as he sank into the old rocking-chair, 
 laid it aside, and sat down by him. 
 
 “ Well, wife, we haven’t brought you much 
 comfort. We may have to leave this place, 
 but we will not, till we are obliged to : before 
 God, I believe it belongs to us, but we cannot 
 resist the action of the law. What weighs 
 upon me most is my debt to ’Square Wil- 
 liams. Our Father will soon take us to the 
 better country; we must set our house in 
 order ; we must owe no man anything if we 
 are driven from here. I see but one way of 
 doing what is honest in the sight of all men. 
 My poor Lucy, the good gift God has spared 
 to me so many years ; our pilgrimage here is 
 nearly ended, the shining ones are waiting for 
 us on the other side of the river ; the dark 
 valley may be brighter if we do not go to it 
 from this earthly home. Heaven’s eternal 
 door is just as wide open for those who are 
 destitute of earthly possessions, as for the rich 
 
104 
 
 CARL BARTLETl ' ; OR, 
 
 who find it hard to enter. The mansions will 
 be ready for us whether we fall asleep under 
 our own roof or under that which shelters the 
 town’s poor. ‘ Troubles past make heaven 
 brighter and its joys more sweet.’” 
 
 The wife made no reply, but sat with her 
 eyes fixed on her husband’s face, her hands 
 clasping his arm. He paused a moment, then 
 continued : “ I never thought it would come to 
 this, wife ; but there is no disgrace in it. I 
 see now that it was wrong for me to borrow 
 the money, but I wanted to help our boy, our 
 Samuel. I thought I could pay it if he 
 didn’t ; this would not have happened if he 
 had lived. But we did what we thought was 
 best at the time. We have done no wrong. 
 Wife, poverty is a disgrace when it is the 
 fruit of wrong doing. My poor wife,” said 
 Uncle David, gently stroking the gray hair 
 which the white lace cap did not cover. 
 
 “ Don’t, David ; don’t call me your poof 
 
WHAT CAN I DO? 
 
 105 
 
 wife. [ can bear it very well, but it is hard, 
 cruel or my Great Heart.” 
 
 Mr. Giay and Carl had been silent wit- 
 nesses of this scene. Mr. Gray felt that no 
 word of his ought to be interposed between 
 those of husband and wife, but he could re- 
 frain no longer. 
 
 “No, Uncle David, Clifton will never see 
 you in the poor-house. It wouldn’t really be 
 any disgrace to you, but it would be to a good 
 many others Just think how many of us 
 Clifton folks /ou have helped when we have 
 been in need of one sort and another. How 
 long you have been an honor to the church 
 here. No, no ; we must find some way to get 
 the money together ; but if worst comes to 
 worst, and Downing does sell this house over 
 your head, my doors are open to you, and I 
 know a hundred others will be.” 
 
 “ Yes, I’ve no doubt you’d all be ready to 
 do all you could to help me, but I could not 
 
106 
 
 CAEL BARTLETT; OB, 
 
 think it right to run in debt when I’ve no 
 prospect of paying. We thank you, Mr. 
 Gray, my wife and I ; you wouldn’t mean wo 
 should ever feel beholden to you, but it is 
 hard for an old man who has always lived on 
 his own land to be dependent.. If we go from 
 here, there will be something coming to me 
 after Mr. Downing’s claim is satisfied. We 
 will sell the house, the cows, every thing if 
 we must, and pay ’Squire Williams. I should 
 like to save some of those things that were 
 my fathers and my mothers, but they wouldn’t 
 belong to me if I was in debt.” 
 
 Mr. Gray saw that it was useless to argue 
 the matter and said, “ Don’t fail to call upon 
 me if I can be of the least service to you.” 
 Uncle David promised. 
 
 Carl must now say good bye, a heavy task 
 for him. He went up to Deacon Goodwin 
 and offered his hand, saying, “ I’ve got to go 
 home to-morrow. I wish I hadn’t. I wish 1 
 eould do something for you.” 
 
WHAT CAN I DO ? 
 
 107 
 
 “ I don’t see that you can, my son,” was 
 the old man’s reply. “Don’t be unhappy 
 about us ; remember, ‘ our help cometh from 
 the Lord ; ’ ” and he kissed the boy’s smooth 
 cheek. Mrs. Goodwin also kissed him, and 
 gave him a kind message to Emily, who had 
 made her adieux the day before. 
 
 Carl sat in the cars the next day completely 
 absorbed in thought. The near prospect of 
 his parent’s return did not divert his mind 
 from Uncle David’s trouble ; his heart was full 
 of sympathy, and his whole soul filled with 
 the desire to avert the impending blow. But 
 what could he do ? He, a mere boy, depend- 
 ent for food and raiment, with not a dime he 
 could call his own, but the moderate allow- 
 ance of pocket money his father supplied 
 every month, and permitted him to spend as 
 he pleased ; what was that when thousands 
 were talked of ? “ What can I do ? What 
 can I do ? ” he said again and again. The 
 
108 
 
 CARL BARTLETT ; OR, 
 
 question repeated and re-repeated, recalled, by 
 an association of ideas not clear to his mind, 
 the conversation with Miss Howard the week 
 after his mother’s departure. “ Aunt Maria 
 said,” thought he, “ that I would do some- 
 thing to help mamma while she was way off 
 on the ocean, and mamma herself says she 
 has a great deal better time because she 
 knows we don’t fret about her. Now doesn’t 
 it look as if I might do something for Uncle 
 David. How kind he has been to us ? Uncle 
 Carl, too ; he said we could help mamma.” 
 Uncle Carl ! Ah, there was a gleam there 
 Uncle Carl was a lawyer ; he had often heard 
 his father say that he hardly ever lost a case. 
 But would he be at home before the time Mr. 
 Downing had set for the sale. Well, if he 
 was not, he would understand all about it : he 
 would manage it some way. The more he 
 thought, the more sanguine he was that 
 through Mr. Randolph would come the deliv- 
 erance for Deacon Goodwin. 
 
CHAPTER VI. 
 
 weight off his mind, Carl could 
 think of the pleasure in store, and, 
 the journey ended, bounded up the 
 steps of his own home ready to join 
 heart and hand in the preparations going on 
 for the reception of the travellers. His 
 first question was, “ Has grandmamma had 
 another letter?” Yes, it had come that 
 morning. The day for sailing was the fourth 
 of September. “ They won’t get here till 
 Uncle David’s place is sold,” he thought, 
 “ but no matter ; Uncle Carl will make it all 
 right.” 
 
 The rooms were arranged, flowers were 
 ordered, and all things were in readiness. 
 
110 
 
 CARL BARTLETT ; OR, 
 
 Carl went one afternoon to the reading-room, 
 where he had often been before with his 
 father, and learned that the steamer had ar- 
 rived in New York. “ They will take the 
 night train and be here in the morning ; wo 
 must all be up with the lark,” said Mrs. 
 Randolph. 
 
 Soon after daylight the next morning, a 
 rail-road coach, filled with passengers and 
 loaded with baggage, rumbled along the 
 street and stopped at the door. “ Oh ! there’s 
 mamma,” cried Emily, as she almost fell 
 down the front steps, forgetful of her hasty 
 toilet, quite unconscious of the smiles of the 
 passengers, and utterly oblivious of the fact 
 that she was standing directly before her 
 mother and effectually barring her way to the 
 door. Carl was here, there, every where, 
 speaking now to his father, now to his uncle, 
 and trying to crowd a word on his mother’s 
 attention, which his sister appeared deter- 
 
WHAT CAN I DOV 
 
 111 
 
 mined to monopolize. “ Let us adjourn to 
 the house,” said Mr. Randolph, taking Emily 
 by both arms, and lifting her up to the door. 
 Mrs. Bartlett and Carl followed ; then the 
 driver could bring in the trunks ; there were 
 two large ones which had not the old, fa- 
 miliar travel-worn, battered air of the three 
 which left home in the spring. 
 
 There was so much to tell, and so much to 
 hear, that it was not till night when Carl was 
 in his own room, an hour later than his usual 
 bedtime, that he recollected that the time set 
 for the sale of Deacon Goodwin’s place had 
 passed. His last thought before falling asleep 
 was of the appeal he intended to make to his 
 Uncle Carl at the earliest possible moment in 
 the morning. Mr. Randolph did not come 
 down stairs till after the family were seated 
 at the breakfast table, and at once began an 
 amusing description of the perplexities of a 
 compatriot whom he had encountered at dif 
 
112 
 
 CABL BARTLETT ; OB, 
 
 ferent hotels, and who had all the French 
 he was owner of between the covers of a 
 stout dictionary and a slender phrase book. 
 Peal after peal of laughter interrupted the 
 account of Jonathan’s efforts “ parler Fran- 
 caise,” and Mr. Bartlett was at last obliged 
 to beg the postponement of the ludicrous 
 reminiscences, lest he should be compelled 
 go breakfastless to his business. 
 
 Carl took advantage of the lull in the con 
 versation, and said, “ Uncle Carl, can’t yon 
 get Uncle David’s place back for him ? ” 
 
 “ Uncle David ? that’s a new relative ; 
 sprung up lately, has he ? I never heard of 
 him before, but perhaps he is your relative 
 and not mine.” 
 
 “ He’s everybody’s relation,” said Emily, 
 “and the grandest old man you ever saw. 
 He’s splendid.” 
 
 “ Splendid, is he ? ” asked Mr. Randolph, 
 raising his eyebrows. “ How comes it that 
 
WHAT CAN I DO? 
 
 113 
 
 this splendid old gentleman has lost his splen- 
 did place ? ” 
 
 “ Oh, it isn’t a splendid place at all. He 
 
 borrowed some money the story of 
 
 Deacon Goodwin’s embarrassment was told 
 as intelligibly as Carl could do it. 
 
 Mr. Kandolph, accustomed to hear and 
 weigh evidence, and lacking the medium of 
 affectionate interest which influenced the 
 boy’s vision, saw at once the obstacles in the 
 way of a satisfactory settlement. 
 
 “ I don’t see much chance for your Uncle 
 David,” said he. 
 
 “ Oh, do, do something, do try,” besought 
 Carl. “ Papa said you was the best lawyer 
 he knew of.” 
 
 “It don’t make much difference whether 
 a lawyer is good or bad ; if he has nothing 
 to rest his case upon, he is pretty sure to be 
 beaten. Look out of the window there, Carl ; 
 see those men trying to move those heavy 
 
114 
 
 CARL RARTLETT ; OR, 
 
 stones for the new house. I’ve been watch* 
 ing them several minutes, and wondering 
 why they do not get something to rest their 
 iron bars upon. There comes the master 
 workman ; he has got a solid piece of tim- 
 ber ; he is putting it close to the stone, now 
 the men can pry. See, over goes the stone. 
 Give me something to pry against, and I am 
 not afraid to stand beside any man in the 
 profession. But just look at your friend’s 
 case, Carl. Here is an old gentleman bor- 
 rows money from this Mr. Downing and gives 
 him a mortgage on his farm for security. 
 So far they both agree. The creditor de- 
 mands payment. The debtor obtains the 
 amount of a friend. The evidence of that is 
 quite clear ; but instead of paying over the 
 money himself and securing the discharge, 
 he trusts the money to a young man whose 
 reputation is far from good, directs him to 
 pay the note and deposit the proof with the 
 
WHAT CAN I DO ? 
 
 115 
 
 old gentleman’s man of business. The young 
 man returns, reports that he has executed 
 his commission, but a few days after disap- 
 pears, and has not been heard from since. 
 The man of business has never seen the 
 papers ; they are in the hands of the creditor 
 who asserts that he never received the pay- 
 ment. Cannot you see the case has not a 
 leg to stand upon ? The lawyer who should 
 take up such a case would be a laughing 
 stock.” 
 
 Stated in this terse, relentless manner, Carl 
 could not but acknowledge that there was 
 little for Uncle David to rest his claim upon ; 
 that Mr. Randolph was indeed right. What a 
 sad downfall to his hopes. He had been so 
 sure that his uncle, with all his legal skill, 
 would find some way of clearing up his old 
 friend’s difficulties ; and now to have that 
 skill only used to make them stand out in a 
 slronger light! He sat a few moments in 
 
116 CARL BARTLETT; OR, 
 
 silent thought : he could not give up without 
 one more effort. 
 
 “ May be I have not told you everything, 
 Uncle Carl. May be I don’t understand all 
 about it. Uncle David said he knew the 
 place was his, and after we went to see Mr. 
 Downing, Mr. Gray said he was almost cer- 
 tain the man was telling lies about it.” 
 
 “ Yes, but my dear boy ! that is not evi 
 dence. You and I may be certain of a thing 
 in our own minds, and yet not be able to 
 persuade others to believe it. We must have 
 a very clear case before we can induce judges 
 or juries to go behind the records, in real 
 estate transactions. If it were not so, we 
 should never any of us know whether we 
 were to have a roof to sleep under. I am 
 sorry I can do nothing to help your old friend, 
 who has been so kind to you.” 
 
 “ You can’t think how good he was,” said 
 limily ; and the brother and sister vied with 
 
WHAT CAN I DO? 
 
 117 
 
 each other in setting forth the virtues of 
 Deacon Goodwin, until father and mother and 
 uncle felt that they too were acquainted with 
 the “ splendid old man.” 
 
 “ It is a pity, a sad pity,” said Mrs. Ran- 
 dolph, “that he should suffer so for the mis- 
 deeds of his son.” 
 
 “ A cruel piece of wicked selfishness on his 
 part,” said Mr. Randolph. 
 
 “ I don’t believe Josiah took the money,” 
 said Carl. “ He would not cheat his own 
 father that way.” 
 
 “ I am not so sure of that,” said Mr. Ran- 
 dolph. “ There is a stage in life which some 
 young people pass through, a stage which I 
 hope and believe my nephew and niece will 
 serve as they sometimes do the prosy pages 
 in a story book, skip it. I have heard it 
 called ‘the ungrateful age.’ When it is 
 reached, the youth feels his own importance 
 ip the world, and does not find others as 
 
118 
 
 CARL BARTLETT ; OR, 
 
 ready to acknowledge it as he wishes, or as 
 perhaps they should be. Confident of his 
 own abilities, and of the correctness of his 
 own opinions, impatient of parental guidance, 
 the experience of others is to him, only the 
 stone in the other end of the bag ; he knows 
 a far better way of carrying his corn to mill. 
 When a boy is in this irritable, self-sufficient 
 state of mind, then designing people find him 
 open to their advances : wicked associates 
 draw him into bad habits, or those old in sin 
 mould him in accordance with their own 
 plans. Many a poor fellow has been thus led 
 to commit deeds which have given him food 
 for bitter reflection all the remainder of his 
 life; deeds the thought of which he would 
 have scouted in calmer days, saying, ‘ Is thy 
 servant a dog, that he should do this great 
 thing ? ’ Now it appears to me this might 
 have been just this young man’s case ; well- 
 intentioned in the main, it may be, he has 
 
WHAT CAN I DO? 
 
 119 
 
 allowed himself to be led away, and had not 
 the courage to face the consequences of his 
 error, but left the aged father and mother to 
 bear them as best they might.” 
 
 “ Then you won’t try to help Uncle David,” 
 said Carl. 
 
 “ What can I do ? ” 
 
 The boy left the room without saying 
 another word ; his sister followed him to the 
 library, where they talked over their hopes and 
 their disappointments. 
 
 “ I have a plan in my mind,” said Mrs. 
 Bartlett, as soon as the young people were 
 gone. 
 
 “ Let us hear it,” said her brother. 
 
 “We have had a delightful tour ; we have 
 been delivered in times of peril, and we have 
 come back to find our loved ones in health 
 and our home all sunshine. ‘ From the 
 ground of my heart’ I am thankful; so I 
 know both of you are. I think the best way 
 
120 
 
 CARL BARTLETT ; OB, 
 
 to give thanks is to do something to make 
 others happy. Now let us bring our thank- 
 offerings, and see if we cannot drive away the 
 cloud that has settled over that old couple. 
 Arthur and I will furnish the means. Carl, 
 my brother, you must do the business. Am 
 I right, Arthur ? ” 
 
 “ My wife is always right,” replied Mr, 
 Bartlett. “ Draw upon me for the amount, 
 Carl.” 
 
 * 
 
 “ I think I will draw upon your humble 
 servant for a part,” returned Mr. Randolph. 
 “ I ought to have thought of this before. I 
 hope Deacon Goodwin will not refuse tho 
 gift.” 
 
 “ Oh, you can manage that. I don’t fear,” 
 said Mrs. Bartlett. 
 
 “ I will try. At any rate I believe in de- 
 spatching business. A hundred or two miles 
 is not much after the thousands we have 
 walked, sailed and rode over.” 
 
WHAT CAN I DO ? 
 
 121 
 
 Mr. Randolph was missing from the dinner 
 table. 
 
 “ Where is Uncle Carl? ” Emily asked. 
 
 “ He had business that called him away,” 
 her mother replied. “ He thought he should 
 be back in a day or two.” 
 
 “ It’s too bad for him to go off again just 
 as he has got home ; we wanted to see him 
 a little while.” 
 
 “ So it is,” chimed in Carl. 
 
 “ And it’s real mean of him not to help 
 Uncle David.” 
 
 “ So it is,” Carl again asserted. “ I don’t 
 believe but what he could if he had a mind 
 to.” 
 
 “ Come, come, my son,” Mr. Bartlett re- 
 monstrated. 
 
 “Well, I don’t care. He’s always telling 
 us to do all we can to help other people ; we 
 mustn’t say, can’t ; there’s nothing like, ‘ I’ll 
 try,’ and all that sort of thing.” 
 
122 
 
 CARL BARTLETT; OR, 
 
 “ That is right ; that is good advice. Isn’t 
 it ? ” asked the father. 
 
 “ I don’t see why it ain’t good advice for 
 him, if it is for me. Grown-up folks are 
 always advising us ; why can’t they take 
 some of it to themselves ? It makes me think 
 of what Aunt Maria was reading last Sunday. 
 The man said that a good many people 
 thought that all the^bad things the Bible said 
 were going to happen, were going to happen 
 to the Jews; and all the good things it 
 told about were going to happen to the 
 Christians. There’s lots of grown-up folks 
 that seem to think all the must, and ought 
 and try, are for us boys and girls ; and all the 
 ‘ do as you’re amind to ’ belongs to them.” 
 
 “ Did you ever see any boy or girl who 
 wants more than his or her share of the do 
 as you’re mind to ? It seems to me I have a 
 dim recollection of something of the kind. 
 We will excuse you from talking any more in 
 
WHAT CAN I DO ? 
 
 123 
 
 that way of your uncle, for some time you 
 may be ashamed of it.” 
 
 Carl, checked by his father’s reproof, swal- 
 lowed his dinner in silence, all the while 
 nursing his disappointment and vexation. 
 While he was uttering his complaints, Mr. 
 Randolph was in the lower cloud region, not 
 in reverie, and borne on the curling fumes of 
 a noxious weed, but in actual fact, in a rail- 
 road car, drawn by a locomotive, which puffed 
 and panted up the steep grades of the Green 
 Mountains, till the ponderous thing was on a 
 level with the fleecy clouds themselves. It 
 was vapor raging and struggling to be free, 
 that brought the monster and its burden 
 there ; it was vapor free, that floated beau- 
 teous in form and motion about it. Mr. 
 Randolph gathered from chance passengers 
 much of the information we will now give 
 our readers. 
 
CHAPTER VII. 
 
 [ HE fifteenth day of September was 
 fair. Every man in Clifton who 
 could possibly be present at the sale 
 was there, and quite a number came 
 from the neighboring towns. Deacon and 
 Mrs. Goodwin sat in their accustomed places 
 in “ the living room ; ” neighbors and friends 
 had followed Mr. Gray’s example, and thrown 
 open their doors, had begged them to accept 
 hospitality, if only for that day, well knowing 
 that many things would be said and done 
 which could not fail to wound the feelings 
 of the venerable couple. But Deacon Good- 
 win had steadily refused all such invitations, 
 
 124 
 
WHAT CAN I DO ? 
 
 125 
 
 reiterating his determination to remain in pos- 
 session of his rightful property, until com- 
 pelled to give it up. 
 
 A few of those who were on most intimate 
 terms with them, came, shook hands with the 
 old people, uttered a few sympathizing words, 
 and went out. Not one of the inhabitants of 
 Clifton, to their honor be it said, had a 
 thought of examining the premises with a 
 view to purchase. Mr. Downing officiously 
 conducted strangers over the house and farm, 
 enlarging upon the merits, regardless of the 
 question, whether his loudly expressed com- 
 mendations reached the ears of the occupants 
 or not. 
 
 Jotham Hodgkins moved about in the 
 crowd, eyeing and dogging the steps of any 
 stranger who seemed bent on investigations. 
 Mr. Downing came out of the barn with 
 two men, and the three passed directly into 
 the house. Jotham stood talking with Mr. 
 
120 
 
 CARL BARTLETT; OR, 
 
 Wright. “ Guess I’ll jest go an’ look arter 
 them chaps,” said ’Squire Williams’ man. 
 “ When I see that ere Downin’ reound ther 
 Deacon, I can’t think er nothin’ but one uv 
 them ere miserble flies as gits inter er horse’s 
 ears an’ draws ther blood ; seems es tho’ I 
 ought ter drive him off.” 
 
 Mr. Downing and the strangers were leav- 
 ing the sitting room just as Jotham entered 
 it ; their footsteps were soon heard above in 
 the attic, where were deposited many relics of 
 by-gone days. 
 
 “ They’re jest like them ere frogs yer read 
 on in the Bible,” said Jotham ; “ they come 
 inter ther house, an’ inter ther bed chamber, 
 an’ inter ther beds, an’ inter ther oven, an’ 
 inter ther kneadin’ troughs ; but them ain’t 
 no sich ’spectuble critters as frogs, them’s 
 toads, misuble toads. There, they’re up gar- 
 ret neow ; guess I’d better go an’ pitch ’em 
 eout ther winder.” 
 
WHAT CAN I DO ? 
 
 127 
 
 “ No, nOj Jotham,” said Deacon Goodwin, 
 “ they won’t be here long.” 
 
 Jotham waited in the house until he was 
 sure that Mr. Downing had left it ; then he 
 went out into the yard and found that the 
 auctioneer had arrived ; he was standing, 
 looking round on the assembled crowd. Jo- 
 tham elbow r ed his way up to him, and asked, 
 “ Yer ther feller that’s come ter auction this 
 ere farm ? ” 
 
 “ That is my business here,” was the reply. 
 
 “ Wall, sposin’ yer jest look er here er 
 minit;” and Jotham led the man to a spot 
 where he could, without being himself seen, 
 have a full view of Deacon Goodwin and his 
 wife. “ There, them’s ther old folks yer 
 goin’ ter turn eout er door ; he never lived 
 nowheres else, an’ his father lived here afore 
 him. There ain’t no better, piouser folks in 
 this teown than them ere ole folks, and them’s 
 ther folks yer goin’ ter send ter ther poor 
 
128 
 
 CARL BARTLETT; OR, 
 
 house ; neow, don’t yer feel ’shamed er yer- 
 self? Don’t yer think yer in kinder mean 
 bizness ? ” 
 
 The auctioneer fixed his bright eyes, for a 
 moment, on the face of his interlocutor, and, 
 realizing that his indignation was caused by 
 his warm interest in 5 the venerable deacon 
 and his wife, frankly answered, “ Yes, I do. 
 I knew nothing about the owner of the prop- 
 erty before I came here this afternoon.” 
 
 “ Give us yer fist,” said Jotham, extending 
 his brawny hand ; “ yer a cleverer feller than 
 I took yer fer. Most time, ain’t it ? ” 
 
 “ Wants only three minutes,” said the auc- 
 tioneer, taking out his watch with his left 
 hand, while Jotham shook his right. 
 
 “ Wall, I’d like to orate jest a leetle ; yer 
 won’t be in no great hurry ter begin fur five 
 minutes or so, I ’spose ? ” 
 
 “We cannot delay long. 
 
 “ Wall, then, here goes.” 
 
WHAT CAN I DO? 
 
 129 
 
 Jotham vaulted to the top of the fence, and 
 holding on by one arm to the gate-post, had 
 the other free for gesticulation. He com- 
 menced speaking in a loud voice. The scat- 
 tered groups collected about him and formed a 
 solid human barrier. Mr. Downing and the 
 two men who had been examining the house 
 and grounds were left on the outside of the 
 crowd 
 
 “ I ain’t much used ter oratin,” said Jo- 
 tham, “ but I ken tell folks what I know ; 
 neow I know this ere farm’s er putty good 
 farm. I dunno’ as some farms ain’t better 
 farms, but this ere farm’s putty good ; it’s got 
 upland an’ medder, an’ wood lot, jest ’beout 
 right. I’ve lived in Clifton three, four year, 
 an’ I kinder feel’s though I was Clifton folks 
 long on ther rest on ’em, an’ they knows 
 Uncle David putty well, an’ Clifton folks, they 
 don’t none on ’em want ter be tolt nothin’ 
 ’beaut this ere farm, ner ’beaut what sort uv 
 
130 
 
 CARL BARTLETT; OR, 
 
 er time the chap’ll heve es buys it. We’ve got 
 er plenty uv rale good fences reound here, but 
 we ain’t goin’ ter pull none on ’em ter pieces 
 jest ter git a rail ter give ther chap es lives in 
 Uncle David’s house er ride. There’s tar 
 ’nuff reound somewheres, an’ ther ain’t none 
 uv these houses reound here es ain’t got rale 
 good pillers in ’em stuffed with rale live goose 
 feathers ; neow we ain’t goin’ ter waste none 
 uv that ere tar, ner rip up none uv them ere 
 pillers ter give that chap er suit er close. 
 That ere chap’ll have er plenty er room in his 
 house, ’cause there won’t no Clifton folks 
 never trouble him cornin’ inter it ; they won’t 
 want ter sell him nothin’ ; they won’t want 
 ter buy nothin’ on him: he’ll heve jest as 
 good er time in this ere teown es ther feller 
 thought he should heve ef he could ony keep 
 tavern arter all ther rest uv ther folks was 
 dead.’’ 
 
 “ Isn’t it time to commence this sale, Mr. 
 Auctioneer ? ” shouted Mr. Downing. 
 
WHAT CAN I DO ? 
 
 131 
 
 The auctioneer, who was standing with his 
 back to Jotham, turned round, closed the 
 memorandum-book he had been writing in, 
 looked at liis watch, very deliberately re- 
 turned it to his pocket, and answered, “ Quite 
 time,” and began. 
 
 46 What am I offered for this parcel of real 
 estate ; what am I offered ; give me a bid, gen 
 tlemen, just start it, gentlemen ; any thing 
 you say, gentlemen, only give me a bid.” 
 
 Not a person answered. If any had come 
 with the intention of bidding, Jotham’s 
 speech, and the manifest favor with which it 
 was received, made them ashamed to speak. 
 
 The auctioneer paused for breath, and be- 
 gan again. 
 
 “ What am I offered for this very valuable 
 farm tillage mowing and wood-lot ; don’t all 
 speak at once gentlemen ; give me a thousand 
 dollars ? ” 
 
 Still no answer. 
 
132 
 
 CARL BARTLETT; OR, 
 
 “ Bidding don’t seem to be very lively, 
 Mr. Downing,” said the auctioneer. “ I think 
 ve shall have to postpone this sale till a fair 
 day, when we can gather a large company,” 
 and he descended from the block, amid shouts 
 of laughter. 
 
 “ I suppose you think you have done a 
 mighty smart thing, Jotham Hodgkins,” said 
 Mr. Downing, speaking so as to be heard by 
 all present ; “ but I don’t see it in that light. 
 If we had sold to-day, there might have been 
 something left for the deacon ; now, I’ll sell 
 at private sale for my claim and expenses.” 
 
 “ Them as buys ’ll git a fust rate title,” 
 retorted Jotham; but as he strode towards 
 ’Squire Williams’ house, ten minutes later, 
 his reflections were far from pleasant. 
 
 “ Ther fools ain’t all dead yet,” he mut- 
 tered, “ an’ I don’t know as Jotham Hodg- 
 kins ain’t one on ’em. Jotham Hodgkins* 
 yer’d better let oratin’ ’lone for the Alter ; 
 ’(ain’t yer trade.” - 
 
WHAT CAN I DO? 
 
 133 
 
 While “ doing his chores ” he was mentally 
 engaged in an effort to decide whether, by an 
 unwonted display of oratory, he had aided 
 Deacon Goodwin, or had plunged him deeper 
 into difficulty. 
 
 “ Wall, what’s did’s, did,” thought he, after 
 turning the matter over and over in his mind, 
 “ what’s did is did, an’ can’t be ondid. 
 There ain’t no use in cryin’ fur spilt milk 
 neether ; best way is ter see ef yer can’t git 
 neether pail full somewheres, do suthin’ so 
 ’twon’t be so bad arter all.” 
 
 Jotham thrust his hands into his pockets, 
 threw up his chin, and concluded, “I’ll 
 send the ’Square over ter Mr. Downings to- 
 morrer mornin’ an’ tell him ter holt on er 
 while, an’ I’ll trot reound an’ see ef we can’t 
 git the money tergether. Dunno as I ken ; 
 ain’t no harm tryin’. I ain’t got mor’n a 
 hundred or so loose cash jest neow. An’ 
 ther ’Square he’s short ’nuff jest neow ; lieve 
 
L34 
 
 CARL BARTLETT. 
 
 ter loose what he lent Uncle David, I s’pose. 
 Couldn’t be a wus time ter pick up a thousan’ 
 or tew dollers ’mong ther farmers ; ain’t 
 no harm tryin’ ; give ther deacon a leetle 
 breathin’ spell eny heow.” 
 
CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 IDE with me, Jaques,” said Mr. 
 Downing, as he unhitched his horse 
 from the front fence. 
 
 “Well, I suppose I might as 
 
 well.” 
 
 “ Going our way, Mins ? ” 
 
 “Yes.” 
 
 “ Get right in,” said Mr. Downing. “ I’ll 
 carry you as far as I go on your road.” 
 
 The two men whom he had depended on 
 as bidders accepted the invitation. 
 
 “ I’ll come up with that Jotham yet,” said 
 Mr. Downing. 
 
 “ Who is he ? ” 
 
 135 
 
136 
 
 CARL BARTLETT ; OR, 
 
 “ He’s a green country gawk that’s been 
 ’Squire Williams hired man for a few years.” 
 “ Oh, I supposed he was on his own land, 
 he flourishes round so.” • 
 
 “ To be sure he does. I’ll take some of 
 the flourish out of him though. What do 
 you say, Mins? want to buy that place for 
 twenty-five hundred dollars ? ” 
 
 “ I thought you said you’d sell it for your 
 claim.” 
 
 “ My claim and expenses. Back interest, 
 and so on.” 
 
 “ Wel-l, I don’t know.” 
 
 “ Why, man ! It’s worth twice that if it’s 
 worth a dollar.” 
 
 “ Yes, I know if the title was good ’t would 
 be ; but I don’t exactly like the notion of 
 putting money onto a piece of property a 
 man might be ousted out of.” 
 
 “ Who’s going to oust yer ? The old man 
 will never make out the money.” 
 
WHAT CAN I DO? 
 
 137 
 
 " No, I don’t s’pose he will ; but how about 
 that youngster ? ” 
 
 “ Josiah? He’ll never trouble you.” 
 
 “ I don’t know ’bout that,” interposed 
 Jaques ; “ he went off in a hurry ; who knows 
 but he’ll come back in the same way ? 
 Stranger things have happened.” 
 
 “ Oh, poll ! I tell you there ain’t the least 
 chance in the world of his coming back,” 
 said Mr. Downing. “ He’s got reason enough 
 for staying away. Don’t you s’pose, if he 
 should show his head in these parts, the first 
 thing would be, where’s that two thousand 
 dollars ? I tell you he hain’t got anything 
 to say to that question, and he’ll look out 
 mighty sharp not to run against it.” 
 
 “ What if he didn’t take the money away 
 with him?” said Jaques. 
 
 “ I tell you he did,” retorted Mr. Down- 
 ing. “ What’s become of it if he didn’t ? ” 
 
 “ I like the farm,” said Mins. “ With a 
 
188 
 
 CARL BARTLETT; OR, 
 
 smart man to carry it on, it would pay first 
 rate ; but I guess I’d better let it alone.” 
 
 “ Suppose we call it twenty-three hundred,” 
 said Mr. Downing. 
 
 “ I’ll think about it a little while first. 
 You see, the fact is, I ain’t very squeamish, 
 and if I could get clean papers I don’t know 
 but I might buy. But them two old folks 
 there, in that sitting room, they kinder foller 
 me. I s’pose I’d get used to it in a while, 
 but ’twould be a while before I could go into 
 that sitting room and not see ’em.” 
 
 “ That’s a fact,” said Jaques. 
 
 “ If they’d had any decency they’d have 
 cleared out before to-day,”' said Mr. Down- 
 ing; they had notice enough. I saw what 
 they were up to ; trying to make everybody 
 pity ’em, so they wouldn’t dare to bid. Well, 
 I can’t spend my time going back and forth, 
 make it twenty-two hundred.” 
 
 Mins hesitated. “ What do you say, Jaques. 
 Would you take the place ? ” 
 
WHAT CAN I DO ? 
 
 139 
 
 “ I don’t want it.” 
 
 ;i Why not ? It’s a good trade, isn’t it ? ” 
 
 “ I don’t know but it is.” 
 
 “ Why don’t you want it, then ? Afraid 
 of your wife ? ” Ha-ha-ha, laughed Mins. 
 
 “ No, I ain’t afraid of my wife ; but she 
 wouldn’t sleep a night in that house if she’d 
 seen the old deacon and his wife this after- 
 noon. If I should take the farm she’d be 
 sure to find it out, and then there would not 
 be a minute’s peace.” 
 
 “ My wife has to do as I say,” said Mr. 
 Downing. 
 
 “ So they say,” retorted Jaques. 
 
 “ Then you don’t advise me to buy,” said 
 Mins. 
 
 “I don’t advise you anything about it. 
 All I say is, I don’t want the place, and I 
 know my wife would not want it. This is the 
 road we take to ketch the up stage, isn’t 
 it?” 
 
140 
 
 CARL BARTLETT ; OR, 
 
 “Yes,” said Mr. Downing. “Well, Mr. 
 Mins, if you want that place for twenty-two 
 hundred dollars, you’d better take it quick ; 
 ’twon’t be in the market long at that price.” 
 
 “ I’ll let you know if I want it.” 
 
 Mr. Downing drove away, and the two men 
 walked rapidly to meet the stage. 
 
 “ That farm is cheap enough, Jaques.” 
 
 “ I don’t say it isn’t, but if you take my 
 advice, you’ll let that Downing alone. He 
 ain’t the sort of man I like to trade with.” 
 
 “ If I could hold the property two or three 
 years, then I should be safe enough.” 
 
 “ Yes, if the boy didn’t turn up.” 
 
 “ Downing is right enough about that. 
 He’ll be ashamed to show himself, and if he 
 should, he’ll find it hard work to oust me. I 
 should be in possession ; if he should come 
 home with half a dozen bags of gold on his 
 back, as the runaway boys do in the story 
 books, he could buy me off, and he’d have to 
 pay roundly for my improvements.” 
 
WHAT CAN I DO ? 
 
 141 
 
 “ You know your own affairs, but I shouldn’t 
 bo easy in that house, thinking all the time, 
 that like as not, it belonged to the old folks. 
 I’m just about sure there’s something wrong 
 there. If there ain’t, what does Downing 
 hurry up things so for ? They told me there 
 to-day, the first the old gentlemen knew of it, 
 was seeing the advertisement in the news- 
 paper ; and Downing didn’t leave a day ; he 
 set the time for the auction the very day the 
 last advertisement came out. You or I’d 
 think we ought to have more notice than 
 that.” 
 
 “ ’Tis rather rough.” 
 
 “ Kough ! I guess it is. If I’d known how 
 it was, I wouldn’t have set foot inside that 
 door. And I tell you what it is, Mins, if you 
 have anything to do with that place you’ll 
 rue it.” 
 
 “ May be I shall, but ’tain’t me that’s sell- 
 ing the old man up ; if I don’t buy the place, 
 somebody else will.” 
 
142 
 
 CARL BARTLETT; OR, 
 
 “Then it’ll be somebody else that’ll have 
 trouble about it. There’ll be trouble as sure 
 as fate. If there’s nothing worse, the whole 
 town will be against you ; it’ll be a good deal 
 
 as that chap said.” 
 
 * 
 
 “ I don’t care that for his bluster,” re- 
 turned Mins, snapping his finger and thumb 
 together. “ When a man tries to bully me, 
 I’m all the more determined to have my own 
 way.” 
 
 “ Why did you not bid, then ? ” 
 
 “ Oh, I thought I wouldn’t. Likely ’nough 
 the town’s people will be sulky, but that 
 would blow over before long.” 
 
 “ I’ve told you what I think.” 
 
 “ ’Bleged to you for the advice.” 
 
 “ That you don’t mean to take ? ” 
 
 “ I don’t know but I do.” 
 
 But the more the man thought of the cul- 
 tivated farm, capable of so much greater 
 improvement, and of the absurdly low price 
 
WHAT CAN I DO ? 
 
 143 
 
 at which it was offered, the less important 
 seemed Jaques objections and scruples. And 
 so he thought, and thought, of the induce- 
 ments to close the bargain, always thrusting 
 aside the picture as it would rise before his 
 mind’s eye, of the patriarch going out from 
 his inheritance. 
 
 ’Squire Williams was duly “ sent ” by Jo- 
 tbam the next morning to open negotiations 
 with Mr. Downing. Heartily sympathizing 
 with Deacon Goodwin, he was ready to act 
 upon any suggestion which gave hope of re- 
 lief. 
 
 Mr. Downing received ’Squire Williams 
 with ostentatious cordiality ; he wished his 
 partners to believe him to be on good terms 
 with the leading men of Clifton. 
 
 “ Good morning, ’Squire Williams, good 
 morning, sir.” 
 
 “ Good morning, Mr. Downing. You are 
 quite busy, I see. I will tell my business at 
 once.” 
 
144 
 
 CARL rartlett; or, 
 
 “ No busier than usual,” said Mr. Down- 
 ing, rubbing his hands, “ we are always busy, 
 in fact ; always glad to see our friends, 
 though.” 
 
 ’Squire Williams stated his errand. Mr. 
 Downing listened with a deferential air, shook 
 his head with a concerned air, and said, 
 “ Now I do wish, ’Squire Williams, you had 
 spoken of this yesterday ; then I could have 
 said yes or no, at once. I should be most 
 happy to oblige you, but I’m a man of my 
 word. . What I say, I mean ; what I mean, 
 I stick to. No, the fact is, I gave a man the 
 refusal of that place yesterday. I’m very 
 sorry, sir, but I know you wouldn’t have me 
 break my word.” 
 
 ’Squire Williams soon took his leave. 
 “ bowed out ” by the polite Mr. Downing, 
 who returned to his place behind the coun 
 tei, well pleased that he had had the cppor 
 tunity of refusing a favor to the former chair 
 man of Clifton School Committee. 
 
WHAT CAN I DO ? 
 
 145 
 
 In the course of the day, Mins appeared. 
 “ I’ve been thinking over that farm,” said he. 
 
 “ Been several in this morning, talking 
 about it,” said Mr. Downing. “ Let me see, 
 what did I offer it to you for ? Twenty-five 
 hundred, wasn’t it ? ” 
 
 “ Twenty-two at last.” 
 
 “ Twenty-two ? ” repeated Mr. Downing, 
 with well feigned surprise, “ too low, too 
 low. Don’t see what I was thinking of. I 
 could get more for it. I shall lose money, 
 but I’m a man of my word ; if I said so, I 
 shall have to let you have it. I always stick 
 to a bargain, if it does go against me.” 
 
 “ I’ve been thinking it over, and I guess 
 I might as well trade.” 
 
 “ Pay cash ? ” 
 
 “ Yes, cash down when I get the deed.” 
 
 “ When do you want it ? ” 
 
 “Well — you — see,” Mins stammered, took 
 a piece of twine from the counter, twisted it 
 
146 
 
 CARL BARTLETT; OR, 
 
 round liis finger, tied and untied it, put the 
 end into his mouth and began chewing it, 
 while Mr. Downing stood waiting for his 
 answer. 
 
 “ You see — the fact — is — when’s the old 
 deacon going to move ? ” burst at last from 
 his lips. 
 
 “ That needn’t give you any difficulty. 
 He’ll go when you are ready to come.” 
 “That’s it. I’d rather he’d go ’fore I 
 come.” 
 
 “ All right. He shall go when you say.” 
 
 “ You see, I’d like the place, and if it’s 
 going to be sold I might as well have it as 
 anybody ; but I can’t turn the old folks out. 
 I want to move week after next, say Tuesday, 
 and 1 don’t want to be moving in while lie’s 
 
 going out 1 mean, I can’t see the deacon 
 
 and the old lady there again.” 
 
 “ I see, I understand, I’ll attend to it.” 
 
 “ When the coast is clear, I’m ready to 
 take the deed and pay the money,’* 
 
WHAT CAN I DO? 
 
 147 
 
 “ It’s taken you some time to make it out. 
 Mr. Mins. There’s no occasion to be so 
 chicken-hearted. If you’ll come over the 
 middle of the week, say Wednesday, we’ll 
 finish up the business.” 
 
 Mins went out of the store feeling as if he 
 had been picking a pocket.” 
 
 “ I shall be glad when the job is off my 
 hands,” thought Mr. Downing, for though he 
 was determined to carry through to the very 
 end, his persecution of Deacon Goodwin, he 
 would gladly have escaped from facing his 
 victim again. If his harsh treatment had 
 been met by violent opposition or vituperation, 
 he would have been at home in the affair; 
 but to be confronted with calm, quiet dignity 
 he had not expected, and even now, when the 
 twenty-two hundred dollars was almost in his 
 grasp, he felt as if he had been baffled. 
 Truly Uncle David’s strength was “ to sit 
 still.” 
 
L48 
 
 CARL BARTLETT; OR, 
 
 But the message must be sent directly to 
 Deacon Goodwin. A written demand he 
 might not heed, and it was necessary for 
 Mr. Downing to know whether the premises 
 would be vacated without a resort to more 
 vigorous measures. He must go himself or 
 send a trusty messenger. Yes, that would 
 do ; he would send his son ; the errand could 
 be explained to him at dinner time. 
 
 Mr. Downing had nearly finished his meal 
 when his son came in. Mr. Downing swal- 
 lowed his food with astonishing rapidity, 
 passing large slabs of meat, bread, pudding, 
 etc., into his mouth, much as we have seen 
 two men load bricks, one standing on the 
 ground, taking two bricks into his hands at a 
 time, and with a slight toss, giving them to 
 the one in the cart. Mr. Downing never 
 wasted time over his food, but took in edibles 
 in a prompt, business-like manner. Seth 
 came into the dining-room, slung his hat 
 
WHAT CAN I DO ? 
 
 149 
 
 half way across the room with so dexterous a 
 twist of his wrist, that it landed on his 
 mother’s work table between the windows, 
 and carried sudden confusion into the pile 
 of garments and materials which the long- 
 suffering mender had labored upon and with 
 all the morning, when not engaged in more 
 active duties. Stockings, bits of cloth, and 
 spools, tumbled, fluttered or rolled to dark 
 corners, unheeded by Seth, who drew his 
 chair noisily back over the floor-cloth, seized 
 a full tumbler with both hands, and poured 
 the contents down his throat, then applied 
 himself to the disposing of “ solids ” much in 
 the paternal style. 
 
 Mr. Downing rose from the table, saying, 
 “ I want you, Seth, to go over to Clifton this 
 afternoon, and tell Deacon Goodwin I have 
 sold his place and he must leave by Wednes- 
 day night. If he doesn’t, I’ll send an officer 
 and put his traps out into the road.” 
 
150 
 
 CARL BARTLETT ; OB, 
 
 A knowing look came over Seth’s face; 
 he heard his father to the last word ; the 
 great boy threw back his head, opened his 
 large mouth and laughed aloud. 
 
 “ Now, you don’t think I am going to do 
 your dirty work for you ? No, thank you, you 
 may go yourself.” 
 
 “ I can’t go. I am very busy to-day. 
 Wales is sick, and Clark’s gone home. I 
 can’t leave.” 
 
 “ Well, Murdock is sick. I s’pose he is. I 
 ain’t seen him this morning, and Righter ’ll 
 want to go home. I can’t leave.” 
 
 “ It’s hard if my son won’t do an errand 
 for me.” 
 
 “ I say I won’t do your dirty work,” was 
 the angry retort. 
 
 This was not the first altercation between 
 father and son, and Mr. Downing knew that 
 he could not compel obedience. The next 
 day he went himself to Deacon Goodwin, and 
 
WHAT CAN I DO? 
 
 151 
 
 made his statement in scarcely less plain lan- 
 guage than he had put it in at his own table. 
 Uncle David made no answer. Mr. Downing 
 repeated, in a louder voice, what he had said. 
 Still no answer. Again he raised his voioe 
 and reiterated his demand. 
 
 “ I heard you the first time,” said Uncle 
 David, in his usual conversational tone. 
 
 “Well, I mean what I say.” 
 
 Again Mr. Downing was completely baffled ; 
 he might just as well have sent his directions 
 by mail, for he returned as wise as he came ; 
 he knew just as much of Uncle David’s inten- 
 tions when he entered the house as when he 
 left it. But Deacon Goodwin was prepared 
 for the summons ; they came in no ruder 
 form than he expected ; it now only remained 
 for him to carry out the resolution formed and 
 expressed two weeks before. 
 
CHAPTER IX. 
 
 GAIN the red flag fluttered from the 
 fence in front of Deacon Goodwin’s 
 house. Hardly twenty-four hours 
 had elapsed since he had asked Mr. 
 Gray to make the needed arrangements for 
 the sale of his personal property, but a motley 
 concourse had been gathered, called together 
 by that mysterious system of telegraphy 
 which exists in all country towns. A system, 
 which for promptness and despatch, rivals 
 signal fires and all old-fashioned styles of 
 communication, and in its diffusiveness, even 
 the electric messenger itself. 
 
 From house, from workshop, and from field 
 
 they came, men, women and children. Tho 
 162 
 
WHAT CAN I DO ? 
 
 153 
 
 occurrence was so unusual in that community, 
 that it called out the interest of all, the com- 
 miseration of most, and in some, it brought to 
 light that singular phrase of curiosity which 
 finds its gratification in the hints which a 
 household auction gives of family life. 
 
 “ I don’t see what on airth ’ll become on 
 the tongs,” said Jotham, gazing round. 
 
 “ The tongs ? ” asked Mrs. Gray, in utter 
 astonishment. 
 
 “ Yes, I shouldn’t think ther wus nobody 
 lef ter hum ter keep ther cat frum eatin’ on 
 ’em.” 
 
 “ I’ve left mine safe, that’s all I know. I 
 don’t trouble myself about my neighbors.” 
 
 “ Deacon’s over ter yer ’us.” 
 
 “ Yes, Mr. Gray persuaded him to stay 
 with as over Sunday, till he could get settled 
 up a little.” 
 
 “ He hain’t saved nothin’, hes he ? ” 
 
 “ Nothing but clothing and his father’s old 
 
154 
 
 CARL BARTLETT; OR, 
 
 Bible. It’ s got the family record in it, you 
 know.” 
 
 “ It’s kinder tough neow, ain’t it, ter see 
 all the old deacon’s furniture all pitched 
 reound, here, tliar an’ every whares, Tom, 
 Dick an’ Harry carryin’ on it off ? ” 
 
 “ I hope they’ll bid well ; Mr. Gray had 
 hard work to get the auctioneer to come. 
 He said he’d rather he’d get somebody else ; 
 it went against his feelings.” 
 
 “ ’Twould go agin a’ most enny man’s feel- 
 in’s ’cept Downing’s. He hain’t got no feel- 
 in’s. Ther auction chap is beginnin’.” 
 
 As the assembly was too numerous to be 
 accommodated in the medium sized rooms 
 of the farm house, the goods to be sold were 
 removed to the yard. The auctioneer pre- 
 faced the sale with an expression of kindly 
 feeling, in which he said he had no doubt all 
 present shared, for the venerable couple who 
 had gone out from their home that day, and 
 
WHAT CAN I DO? 
 
 155 
 
 appealed to each and every one to help him 
 make his account of sales as satisfactory as 
 possible. 
 
 One thing after another was held up, or 
 placed beside the block on which the seller 
 stood. Bidding was rapid ; when it began 
 to flag, Jotham’s voice was heard. “ Ain’t 
 goin’ ter heve them things goin fur no secli 
 price es that ; ” and he would double the last 
 offer. In one or two instances he bid a sec- 
 ond time before any one else had spoken. 
 
 “ Bidding on yerself, Jotham ? ” said a 
 man at his elbow. 
 
 “ Wall, yes, biddin’ on merself ef nobody 
 else won’t bid on me ; ef yer don’t want me 
 ter make er fool uv myself, bid up, that’s all.” 
 
 A good degree of enthusiasm was excited, 
 and each individual was determined not to 
 leave without some reminder of Uncle David. 
 There was not a person too poor to buy some 
 one thing that Uncle David or Mrs. Goodwin 
 
156 
 
 CARL BARTLETT; OR, 
 
 had used. Even Goody Busy Body cheerfully 
 unwound the yards of tape twisted about the 
 old stocking-foot, and laid down five dollars 
 for the spinning-wheel she had seen “ the 
 Deacon’s mother spinning her rolls on when 
 David Goodwin was a boy.” 
 
 When the books, the small library that had 
 been their owner’s solace in many troublous 
 times, were put up, Mr. Dalton bid the vol- 
 umes off, one after another. When the fur- 
 niture of the sitting room came under the 
 hammer, competition ran high ; but the old 
 clock, the straight, high-backed, flag-seated 
 chairs, the tall desk, the braided carpet, were 
 each and all knocked down to Jotham Hodg 
 kins, at prices far beyond their actual value. 
 
 “ Going to set up housekeeping, Jotham ? ” 
 asked Mr. Wright. 
 
 “ See ’beout it,” he answered, as he made 
 his way up to the table where James Gray 
 was receiving payment for articles sold. 
 
WHAT CAN I DO ? 
 
 157 
 
 At six o’clock all of Deacon Goodwin’s 
 personal property had passed into the pos- 
 session of others. The animals which he had 
 fed and petted, the table from which from 
 infancy he had thankfully taken his daily 
 bread, all, all were no longer his. The road 
 near the house, the green door-yard in front, 
 presented a busy scene. Wagons of every 
 description were being loaded with the dif- 
 ferent purchases. 
 
 Mr. Dalton sought out Jotham Hodgkins 
 in the crowd. “ I don’t wish to be prying, 
 Mr. Hodgkins,” said he, “but may I ask 
 what you purpose doing with the furniture 
 you have bought this afternoon ? ” 
 
 “ Well, I thought I wouldn’t tell nobody, 
 but I don’t mind tellin’ on you. You see, I 
 wus er thinkin’, that if Uncle David and Miss 
 Goodwin mus go ter ther poor’us, mebbe 
 ’twouldn’t seem so much like the poor’us, if 
 they hed some uv ther own furniture an’ 
 things reound ’em.” 
 
158 
 
 CAUL BARTLETT. 
 
 “Precisely, Mr. Hodgkins. I was quite 
 sure I read your kind heart correctly. And 
 it occurred to me that if you would take the 
 books that I have bought at the same time 
 that you did the furniture, and place them 
 in his room, you would be doing Deacon 
 Goodwin and myseif a favor.” 
 
 “ Sartain I will. I’ll go ' 5gbt ther 
 hay riggin’ an’ take ’em righv mg.” 
 
CHAPTER X. 
 
 T was while the sale was going on at 
 the Goodwin homestead, that a train 
 of cars came rumbling into the Shire- 
 town depot. The usual committee 
 of reception were there to view the up-train, 
 and see who had come from Boston, and who 
 from “ Belluses Falls.” Each passenger, as 
 lie stepped from the paltform, was scanned by 
 every member of the committee, and all but 
 one passed, apparently, a successful examin- 
 ation ; their faces were familiar, or they had 
 so much of the air of people of the region, 
 that no questions were asked. The single 
 exception held in his hand a small black 
 portmanteau, totally different from the russet 
 
160 
 
 CAEL BARTLETT; OB, 
 
 valises or leather bags which many of the 
 others clutched, and answered the salutation 
 of the man in shirt-sleeves, who accosted him 
 with, “ Take yer right up ter the hotel, sir,” 
 only by a shake of the head. His eye rested 
 on a boy, guiltless of shoes, jacket or vest 
 who was gazing at the newly-arrived as well 
 as the brim of his palm-leaf hat would allow. 
 The urchin and the hat had had the mis- 
 fortune to be out in a shower the day before, 
 and the hat-rim, indignantly resenting the 
 flood which poured upon it, persistently de- 
 termined to roll up ; its owner was as de- 
 termined that it should not, and turned it 
 down all round and held it ; the result was, a 
 hat good for shade, but baffling for scrutiniz- 
 ing eyes. 
 
 “ Will you show me the way to the court- 
 house, my lad ? ” said the stranger. 
 
 “ I hain’t yer lad,” returned the boy, who, 
 having made his declaration of independence, 
 
WHAT CAN I DO? 
 
 161 
 
 and entered his protest against being 44 held 
 to service,” ran before the new coiner. He 
 was fleet-footed, and would have soon been out 
 of sight, had not the people of Shiretown been 
 afflicted with a mania for posts, at the edge 
 of side-walks, before doors and gates ; in every 
 place where there was the least chance of 
 getting in a post there was one. Now to 
 pass quietly by a post, or to walk round it, 
 was not 44 dreamed of” in the young guides 
 44 philosophy.” He placed both hands on 
 each one, as it came in or beside his pathway, 
 lifted his body with a spring, till it was above 
 the acorn, horse’s head, or other tasteful 
 device with which Shiretown delighted to 
 ornament its pets, swung a foot on either 
 side, landed beyond, and ran on, as if there 
 had been no obstruction in his road. The 
 stranger watched the oft-repeated manoeuvre 
 with much amusement, thinking that with 
 some, of the taller, the nimble boy would find 
 
162 
 
 CARL BARTLETT; OR, 
 
 his match, and wondering what he would do 
 then ; but for any help the boy gave him, he 
 may be wondering on to this day, for he took 
 them all, short posts, and posts two feet taller 
 than himself in the same style, and came 
 down on his bare feet, apparently much re- 
 freshed. This varied kind of locomotion was 
 continued for five minutes ; then the boy 
 stopped at a corner, pointed to a red brick 
 building, and said, “ There yer be.” The 
 gentleman gave him twenty-five cents, which 
 he took with an indifferent air, and imme- 
 diately sought the advice of admiring friends 
 as to the investment of his newly-acquired 
 property. Corn-balls and pea-nuts was the 
 decision, and for the remainder of the day he 
 was a hero, a bounteous man of means, 
 distributing his favors ; but the next morning 
 his riches had melted away, and their former 
 owner settled to the level of his boon com- 
 panions. 
 
WHAT CAN I DO ? 
 
 163 
 
 One hour after the stranger entered the 
 court house, he was moving at a rapid rate 
 over the road between Clifton and Shiretown, 
 seated in an open buggy, with the sheriff of 
 the county at his side. As they came near 
 to Deacon Goodwin’s house, they met the 
 town’s people coming from the auction, each 
 with some portion of the household goods in 
 his hand, or on the vehicle in which he rode. 
 
 “ Too bad, too bad,” exclaimed the gentle- 
 man. “ Can’t you drive a little faster, Mr. 
 Sheriff?” 
 
 “ My horse is all a lather now,” said the 
 officer, as he touched the whip to the flank 
 of the panting beast. 
 
 They dashed into the yard just behind Jo- 
 tham and his hay-rigging, in which he was 
 intending to convey his own purchases and 
 Mr. Dalton’s to the poor farm. 
 
 The sheriff’s horse stopped. Each breath, 
 as it came and went, shook the whole frame 
 of the noble animal. 
 
164 
 
 CARL BARTLETT; DR, 
 
 The sudden arrival attracted the attention 
 of all, and every one stopped whatever work 
 he had in hand. Few were there who did 
 not recognize the officer, but the gentleman 
 who accompanied him was an utter stranger. 
 He stood up in the buggy, and, in a clear 
 voice, made the announcement : 
 
 “ An injunction has been issued restrain- 
 ing J. J. Downing, for six months, from sell- 
 ing the real estate of David Goodwin.” And 
 added, “ I propose that all those who have 
 purchased his personal property shall allow 
 it to remain upon his premises for that time. 
 I pledge myself to be responsible for all loss 
 or damage that may accrue. I refer you to 
 the sheriff at my side.” 
 
 “ It’s all right, is it, Mr. Evans ? ” asked 
 Mr. Gray. 
 
 “ All right,” was the reply, and the officer 
 produced a document from his side pocket. 
 Jotham stood in his hay rigging in mute 
 
WHAT CAN I DO ? 
 
 165 
 
 amazement, his liat pushed back and mouth 
 and eyes wide open ; but the fact that Deacon 
 Goodwin was not now in Mr. Downing’s 
 power soon gained a lodgment in his brain, 
 and he was ready for action. 
 
 He shouted, “ Put them ere things back 
 where they ’long, ev’ry one on ’em;” and 
 seizing his reins from the stake where he had 
 hung them, turned his hay-rigging round, re- 
 gardless of the wheels of his neighbors’ 
 wagons, and of the legs of the poor horses 
 which cringed and backed in their attempts 
 to avoid the ponderous vehicle. Once out 
 of the yard, he lashed old Jack till he had 
 forced him. into a half canter, half trot (it 
 must be confessed the faithful Jack was not 
 a graceful animal), and as he overtook one 
 after another going home with ' their recent 
 acquisitions, called, “ Take them things back, 
 take them things back, I tell yer ; there’s er 
 ’junction, the Deacon’s place hain’t goin’ ter 
 he solt.” 
 
166 
 
 CARL BARTLETT; OR. 
 
 The unexcitable old farmers and the moth- 
 erly dames had hardly wiped away the blind- 
 ing dust which the sheriff’s buggy had thrown 
 into their eyes, and wondered if Jotham was 
 not on the way to an insane asylum. Never- 
 theless, Jotham went clattering and shouting 
 an until he thought he had overtaken those 
 who were first to leave the sale. Other mes- 
 sengers went in other directions, and almost 
 every article was returned that night. Friend- 
 ly hands replaced them as well as they were 
 able, that the much-esteemed couple might 
 return, if they so wished, to the shelter of 
 their own roof. 
 
 When Jotham came back, the stranger was 
 standing stroking the face of the sheriff’s 
 horse. ’Squire William’s man eyed him with 
 much curiosity, and as great a degree of awe 
 as he ever allowed himself to feel for a fellow 
 man. 
 
 “ Know who he is ? ” he asked of James 
 Gray. 
 
WHAT CAN I HO? 
 
 16 ? 
 
 “ No, I never saw liim before.” 
 
 “ Don’t Evans know ? ” 
 
 “ Yes, I suppose so : but he was in a great 
 drive and went right off. He said he would 
 be back in half an hour, and left the stranger 
 to take care of his horse.” 
 
 “ Wonder lieow under ther sun, an’ mune , 
 an’ stars, he dun it,” said Jotliam, seeming 
 to think the mention of the heavenly bodies, 
 one after another, made his expression of 
 surprise more emphatic. 
 
 “ Oh, lie’s a lawyer ; they generally know 
 what they are about.” 
 
 “ Yes, s’spose they dew. I allers thought 
 that ef yer mortgaged yer farm, an’ yer 
 couldn’t pay, the chap’s that’s got the mort- 
 gage would turn yer eout ef he wus er mind 
 too, an’ nothin’ could stop him.” 
 
 “ So I thought.” 
 
 “ I’d like ter know heow he dun it : good 
 mind to ax him,” said Jotliam, sidling 
 
168 
 
 CARL BARTLETT ; OB, 
 
 towards the gentleman, who said, “ I think 
 this horse, he is a fine animal, would be more 
 comfortable if he had a good rubbing down.” 
 
 “ I’ll attend to that,” said James Gray, un- 
 hitching the traces and leading the horse 
 towards Deacon Goodwin’s barn. 
 
 “ And I,” continued the stranger, “ would 
 be glad to get back to Shiretown this evening ; 
 can I find a conveyance ? Mr. Evans is 
 obliged to go on farther.” 
 
 What an opportunity for Jotham to unravel 
 a mystery. “ It’s er chap ’beout my size that’ll 
 cake yer over there. Just yer come over ter 
 iher ’Squares, an’ see ther Square, an’ Miss 
 Williams shall give yer some supper, an’ I’ll 
 do up ther chores in no time.” 
 
 “ Perhaps you’d like to see the deacon,” 
 said Mr. Gray. 
 
 “ I should, indeed,” was the reply. 
 
 “ That’ll do, Jotham,” said Mr. Gray. 
 “As soon as you are ready, come round to 
 
WHAT CAN I HO? 
 
 169 
 
 my house and you will find the gentleman 
 there.” 
 
 “ Go ahead,” said the delighted Jotham, as 
 lie mounted his light, easy, running vehicle, 
 the hay rigging, and drove out of the yard. 
 
 “ Now,” said Mr. Gray to the stranger, “ I 
 will introduce you to Uncle David and his 
 wife, if you please.” 
 
 Mrs. Gray was already at home, busy in 
 the preparation of an unusually tempting 
 meal in honor of her visitors, who were in 
 the sitting-room, each trying to keep a cheer- 
 ful countenance for the sake of the other, 
 but each felt, though they were now respected 
 guests in a friend’s house, the shadow of the 
 pauper’s roof. The chill of the pauper’s 
 fireside had already penetrated to the core 
 of their hearts and made the slow-moving, 
 vital fluid still more tardy than ever ; the 
 bitter morsel from the table, which must be 
 shared with the disfigured in mind, body or 
 
170 
 
 CARL BARTLETT; OR, 
 
 soul, was, in thought, already within theil 
 lips, already forcing its way down their 
 parched throats. 
 
 Mr. Gray was startled to see the change 
 which the rough hand of trouble had wrought 
 in the venerable couple since the morning sun 
 had begun his race ; a change which time, 
 with its gentle touch, might not have brought 
 about in successions of summers and winters. 
 He ushered into the room the stranger whose 
 arrival had caused such a revolution in affairs 
 at the Goodwin farm. “ Deacon Goodwin 
 
 and Mrs. Goodwin, Mr. ; the gentleman 
 
 has brought some news for you, Uncle 
 David.” 
 
 At the mention of news, Mrs. Goodwin 
 rose hastily, came towards the stranger, laid 
 her hand on his arm, and said, “ Have you 
 seen Josiah? Is he well? When is he 
 coming home ? ” 
 
 “ No, madam. I wish I had brought you 
 
what can I do? 
 
 171 
 
 word of your son. I come for another pur- 
 pose.” 
 
 The poor woman, deserted of him who 
 should have been the prop of her declining 
 years, sank into a chair and covered her face 
 with her hands. The tears, which by strong 
 effort she had kept back all that day, now 
 refused to be controlled and streamed from 
 her eyes. Not a word was spoken. The 
 husband laid his hand on “ the auld wife’s” 
 shoulder, and the pent-up grief having found 
 its outlet, by degrees she became calmer, 
 dried her eyes, looked at the stranger and 
 said, “ I hope you will excuse me, sir. It’s 
 all very foolish of me, but maybe if you 
 could know how a mother feels when she has 
 laid her sons and her daughters, one after 
 another, in the grave, till only one is left, and 
 that one always in her mind and never in her 
 sight, always dying but never carried to his 
 rest, not alive it may be, but always watched 
 
m 
 
 CARL BARTLETT ; OR, 
 
 for. If you only could know what it is, may 
 be you wouldn’t think I was such a foolish 
 old woman after all.” 
 
 “ I see nothing foolish in a mother’s love 
 for an only son,” said the tall, bearded 
 stranger, stooping reverently and kissing the 
 furrowed forehead. 
 
 “ May you and yours never know a living 
 grief,” said the mother, taking his hand. 
 
 Deacon Goodwin, wishing to turn his wife’s 
 thoughts from their sorrow, had twice opened 
 his lips to speak ; but the words did not come. 
 He stood some moments before he could utter 
 a syllable ; then said, “ I did not understand 
 the gentleman’s name, Mr. Gray.” 
 
 “ My name is Carleton Randolph,” said 
 the gentleman, who was an old acquaintance 
 of our readers. 
 
 “ Mr. Randolph,” said Deacon Goodwin, 
 “ not our young friends’ Uncle Carl ? ” 
 
 “ I have a nephew, Carl Bartlett.” 
 
WHAT CAN I DO ? 
 
 173 
 
 “ Then I know you well,” said Deacon 
 Goodwin, grasping his hand. 
 
 “ And he has told me so much of his Uncle 
 David that I feel I know him well. We are 
 old friends,” said Mr. Randolph. 
 
 “ Mr. Randolph has been your friend to- 
 day,” said Mr. Gray. “ He has taken your 
 house out of Mr. Downing’s hands for a 
 while ; he can tell you how, better than I 
 can ; ” and the farmer went out to return to 
 the old house and aid in restoring order 
 there. 
 
 “ What was that Mr. Gray was saying ? ” 
 asked Deacon Goodwin. “ I’ve had so much 
 on my mind lately, and things come so harsh, 
 I don’t think I hear or understand as quick 
 as I used to.” 
 
 “ I’ve taken the liberty of interfering m 
 your affairs,” said Mr. Randolph, “ and your 
 home is yours for sis months longer.” 
 
 “ Then we shan’t be turned out of the old 
 
 house, after all ? ” 
 
174 
 
 CARL BARTLETT ; Ofi, 
 
 “ I hope not.” 
 
 “ Thank God,” said the white-haired man, 
 “ and thank you, the good God’s instru- 
 ment.” 
 
 The joyous expression on Uncle David’s 
 face made it look almost young again. 
 
 “ The matter is taken out of Downing’s 
 hand for the present,” said Mr. Randolph, 
 “ and we have time to look into his right to 
 pursue you as he has. If I understand cor- 
 rectly, you do not acknowledge the debt.” 
 
 “ Why,” said Deacon Goodwin, “ Mr. Down- 
 ing has all the papers ; he could prove his 
 claim in a court of law, I suppose. But for 
 all that, the debt has been paid. I sent my 
 own son ; my Josiah paid the money, and 
 left the mortgage with Mr. Murdock.” 
 
 “ What did he do with the note ? ” 
 
 “ That’s what we don’t know. He ought 
 to have destroyed it, or brought ii to me; 
 but he didn’t, and Mr. Downing has got it 
 
 99 
 
 now. 
 
WHAT CAN I DO ? 
 
 175 
 
 “ You are sure it is the same one ? ” 
 
 “ Oh, yes, I’ve seen it. I couldn’t mistake 
 it. The fact was, I borrowed the money to 
 let my son have it ; not Josiah, Samuel ; he 
 was older than Josiah. He had an offer to go 
 into a store as clerk, and if he could put in 
 two thousand dollars, the man agreed to take 
 him into the business in a year. Samuel 
 didn’t ask me to do it, but I knew he was a 
 steady, industrious boy, and I was sure he’d 
 do the best he could with the money, and I 
 thought he’d make a good business man. 
 He never liked farming; he always used to 
 be trading when he was quite small. Well, J 
 told him if he would agree to pay the interest, 
 and could find some one to take the mort- 
 gage, I was willing to let him have it. I 
 thought he would be able to take it up in a 
 year or two, and he thought so too. He said 
 he wouldn’t have me do it on any account, if 
 he was not^ pretty sure he could. The nest 
 
176 
 
 CARL BARTLETT; OR, 
 
 day lie came home and said Mr. Downing 
 would let him have the money. I’d rather 
 have taken it of almost any one else, hut I 
 didn’t know as I had any good reason for 
 feeling so, and I didn’t object. Well, Samuel 
 got along tolerably well for the first six 
 months. He worked pretty hard, to be sure ; 
 but he liked the place, and the people in the 
 store liked him, I believe. After that, things 
 seemed to go wrong. There were two or 
 three bad debts, and some of their stock that 
 they thought was going to rise, fell on their 
 hands. One thing after another was against 
 my son. At last, a man that lived close by 
 where he boarded, came over and told us he 
 was sick. Wife and I went and brought him 
 home. He had a run of fever; the fever 
 turned, but he never seemed to get up from it. 
 He worried about the mortgage, and what we 
 should do if he shouldn’t live to pay it, and 
 was so sorry he ever let me do it. I used to 
 
WHAT CAN I DO ? 
 
 177 
 
 think if he could only get rid of thinking of 
 that all the time, if he could only forget it, if 
 it was only for one hour a day, he might get 
 well. I suppose two thousand dollars does 
 not sound like much to you ; but it was a 
 good deal to us. We farmers, most of us, 
 make money slowly. My boy died, and I 
 never got any thing for the two thousand 
 dollars I put into the business. I kept on 
 paying the interest regularly ; but Mr. Down- 
 ing wanted me to pay the whole. He was so 
 hard on me two or three times, that at last I 
 managed, ’Squire Williams helped me to the 
 money, to pay the whole, and never expected 
 to hear from Mr. Downing again. I ought to 
 have been more careful. I ought to have 
 gone over to Mr. Murdock’s and got the 
 papers after he had had time to see to it ; but 
 I’ve always known Mr. Murdock, and his 
 father before him ; and I always thought any 
 thing was as safe at his office, as it was in my 
 
178 
 
 CARL BARTLETT ; OR. 
 
 bauds. I ought to have seen that the note 
 was taken care of ; but I didn’t ; and now 
 Mr. Downing has got it. It’s the right one, I 
 know, for Samuel wrote it. I know his hand 
 writing, and there was a small blot on it that 
 I made when I signed it. Yes, it’s the same 
 note.” 
 
 “ The discharge is not on your record, is 
 it?” 
 
 “ No, Mr. Downing wanted the mortgage 
 recorded at the county town, and I thought 
 it would be just as well to have him acknowl- 
 edge the discharge there ; it would save him 
 and Mr. Murdock trouble and some time. 
 When I was over to Shiretown I meant to get 
 the papers of Mr. Murdock, and I could have 
 it put on record here any time, you know. I 
 sent a line by my son, when he paid the 
 money, to Mr. Downing, asking him to go to 
 the lawyer’s office as soon as he could, and 
 Josiah was to have Downing make the paper 
 
WHAT CAN I DO? 
 
 179 
 
 right, and then carry it to Mr. Murdock’s 
 office and speak to him about it.” 
 
 “ He did as you directed.” 
 
 “ Yes, sir.” 
 
 “ It is the mortgagee who holds the papers. 
 You saw them, you say, the note and the 
 mortgage ? ” 
 
 “ I saw the note. I didn’t see the mort- 
 gage ; that is on record though. I suppose 
 the records will stand.” 
 
 “ Will you give me the exact date of this 
 payment ? ” 
 
 “ Wife can tell you that. She remembers 
 better than I do.” 
 
 Yes, the mother did remember. The day, 
 the hour, the moment when she last saw ker 
 son, and all the events which transpired at 
 that time were so linked with his departure, 
 that each was perfectly clear in her memory. 
 The year, the month, the day was given, and 
 noted in Mr. Randolph’s memorandum book 
 
180 
 
 CARL BARTLETT ; OR, 
 
 As he listened, his admiration for the ven- 
 erable father, the sorrow-stricken mother, in- 
 creased more and more. Not one word of 
 reproach for the wayward son, though he had 
 brought disgrace and suffering daily on them 
 while at home, and in his flight and unex- 
 plained absence, had plunged them into their 
 present difficulties. No suspicions harbored 
 in their minds of his integrity. The lawyer 
 could not push his inquiries as he had in- 
 tended. What though their son had rejected 
 the bread which his father’s house had pro- 
 vided, and gone out to feed on the husks 
 that the swine did eat,” they were anxiously 
 waiting to go and meet him and fall on his 
 neck and kiss him. He was their absent boy 
 to be guarded from false accusations. No, it 
 was from other sources that their friend must 
 gain the evidence of Josiah’s guilt or inno- 
 cence. 
 
 Mrs. Gray’s summons to the tea-table soon 
 
WHAT CAN I DO? 
 
 181 
 
 came. With an apology for the absence of 
 “ Mr. Gray and the boys,” she requested her 
 guests to be seated. It was not till they were 
 rising from the table that the master of the 
 house entered, and spoke in an under tone to 
 Mr. Randolph, who answered, in an audible 
 voice, “ Ah ! that is good. Many hands make 
 light work. I feared you would not do it.” 
 Then turning to Deacon Goodwin, he said, 
 “ Your friends and neighbors have replaced 
 your goods in the house, and will esteem it 
 a favor if you will use them as if they had 
 never been disturbed.” 
 
 “ Oh, can we go home to-night ? ” said 
 Mrs. Goodwin, looking imploringly in the 
 face of her husband. 
 
 “ I see nothing to prevent, if you wish it,” 
 said Mr. Randolph. 
 
 “ Hadn’t you better stay here to-night ? ” 
 interposed Mrs. Gray. 
 
 “ If we awake in the morning in our c®rn 
 
182 
 
 CARL BARTLETT; OR, 
 
 home, it will seem as if we had never left 
 it, David,” pleaded Mrs. Goodwin. 
 
 “ I was afraid the men folks had not made 
 it look very comfortable,” said Mrs. Gray ; 
 “ and I thought I could go over with you 
 in the morning and help you straighten things 
 out.” 
 
 Mr. Gray laughed. “ My wife hasn’t much 
 opinion of us men, if there is anything to be 
 done in doors,” said he. “ We had Mrs. 
 Wright and two or three others to help us, 
 mother.” 
 
 “ We are much obliged to you, Mrs. Gray,” 
 said Deacon Goodwin ; “ but I believe wife 
 is right, we old folks are better off in our 
 own home. Our own home ! Two hours 
 ago we could not say that we had a home 
 that we could call our own. We are indebted 
 to you, Mr. Randolph, that we can a little 
 longer say, our own home.” The words “ our 
 own home ” came again and again to his lips, 
 
WHAT CAN I DO? 
 
 183 
 
 as if he would exhaust all their sweetness in 
 the repetition. 
 
 “ Oh, no, my dear sir, if there is any in- 
 debtedness it is not in my favor. It was my 
 nephew’s enthusiastic account of his Uncle 
 David and Aunt Goodwin, that made me wish 
 to render them some return for the pleasure 
 they had given him.” 
 
 “ Won’t you come with us to our home,” 
 said Deacon Goodwin, “ and then you can tell 
 him that you saw us there.” 
 
 Mrs. Goodwin was already putting on bon- 
 net and shawl, in trembling haste, like that 
 of a child who fears second thoughts may 
 deprive her of a promised pleasure. With a 
 silent pressure of the hand, the venerable 
 woman took leave of her kind hostess. With 
 a hearty “ God bless you,” the husband passed 
 out. Mr.'Gray went with them, lest he might 
 have overlooked somewhat that would con- 
 tribute to their comfort. Mr. Randolph, that 
 
184 
 
 CARL BARTLETT ; OR, 
 
 he might see them reinstated in their own 
 home. 
 
 As they crossed the threshold, the white- 
 haired man raised his hat from his head ; 
 the two younger men almost unconsciously 
 followed his example, and stood with bowed 
 heads, while he repeated the words, “ Trust in 
 the Lord and do good ; so shalt thou dwell in 
 the land, and verily thou shalt be fed. De- 
 light thyself also in the Lord, and he shall 
 give thee the desire of thine heart. Commit 
 thy way unto the Lord, trust also in him, and 
 he shall bring it to pass. And he shall bring 
 forth thy righteousness as the light, and thy 
 judgment as the noon-day. Rest in the Lord, 
 and wait patiently for him ; fret not thyself 
 because of him who prospereth in his way, 
 because of the man who bringeth wicked 
 devices to pass.” 
 
 Mrs. Goodwin went from room to room, 
 opening one door after another, with the air 
 
WIIAT CAN I DO ? 
 
 185 
 
 and satisfaction of one examining a new hab- 
 itation ; but her husband was quite content to 
 find himself once more seated in his high- 
 backed rocking-chair, and exclaimed, “ Can it 
 be only a few hours since we went out 
 from here? it seems .more like weeks, like 
 months.” 
 
 It was not till Mr. Randolph saw him in 
 the sitting-room, where we have been so often 
 with our readers, that he fully realized the 
 unfeeling recklessness of the man who would 
 break up such a home with rude haste, would 
 drive such a man from his inherited hearth- 
 stone, with no more consideration than he 
 would cattle from an enclosure. These 
 thoughts were in his mind, when he looked 
 up, and saw Jotham at the gate waiting for 
 him. 
 
CHAPTER XI. 
 
 OTHAM’S “ chores ” were done that 
 evening with a speed worthy the pro- 
 gressive nineteenth century. The 
 sleepy, well-fed animals belonging to 
 ’Squire Williams, accustomed to his deliber- 
 ate manner of moving about among them, 
 were bewildered and far from pleased with 
 the off-hand mode he had adopted, and con- 
 sidered their dignity outraged by his un- 
 ceremonious, “ Get up ther.” “ What yer 
 ’beout ? ” “ Stan’ reoun’, I say,” and were 
 less tractable than usual. However, the 
 “chores” were done, and there was Jotham 
 at Deacon Goodwin’s gate, talking with 
 James Gray, who had waited to intercept him 
 
WHAT CAN I DO V 
 
 187 
 
 as he drove by. No wonder Mr. Randolph 
 smiled when he saw his charioteer in the open 
 wagon. His body was bent forward, so as to 
 bring his face within less than a foot of his 
 knees, the left hand, in which he held the 
 reins, rested on his left knee ; his right knee 
 supported his right elbow, and his right hand 
 his chin; a comfortable position, at least 
 Jotliam thought so, but one that rather inter- 
 fered with the use of the vocal organs ; still 
 Jotham would not be Jotham if he didn’t 
 talk, but as every syllable required an up- 
 ward motion of the jaw, the effect was very 
 ludicrous. 
 
 When Mr. Randolph appeared at the door, 
 Jotham was erect in an instant, threw up his 
 head as if looking for something in the blue 
 above, until his chin and his neck were nearly 
 in a straight line, then brought it down again 
 with movement much like the shutting of a 
 pocket-knife ; not one a boy has opened and 
 
188 
 
 CARL BARTLETT; OR, 
 
 shut till the corners are well rounded, but 
 one that has a good spring and shuts with 
 a sharp click. Having executed this ma- 
 noeuvre, which was to him in lieu of a bow, 
 he made room for Mr. Randolph. As soon 
 as they were fairly seated, the driver turned, 
 looked directly in his passenger’s face, and 
 asked, “ What may I call yer name, sir ? ” 
 
 “ My name is Randolph.” 
 
 “ Not neffu nor nothin’ ter old John ? ” 
 
 “ Old John ? ” 
 
 “ Yas. Old John Randolph uv Ronoke, 
 yer kneow. Good natur’d feller he wus, yer 
 kneow.” 
 
 “ No, no relation of his, that I know of.” 
 
 “ Wall, neow, heow’d yer dew it ? ” speak- 
 ing in the same tone that he used when he 
 wished to coax Rover towards him. 
 
 “ Do what ? ” 
 
 “ Why, put Downin’s pipe eout.” 
 
 “ Stop the sale, you mean ? ” 
 
WHAT CAN I DO ? 
 
 189 
 
 “ Yas, that’s what I mean. Heow on airth 
 d yer dew it ? ” 
 
 “ I got an injunction.” 
 
 “Wall, heow’d yer dew it? Where’d yer 
 git it ? What on airth is er ’junction ? 
 There’s er place deown berlow here where 
 er feller comes inter the cars an’ hollers, 
 ‘ Passengers for Soretogy, an’ sutliin’ or ruther, 
 take ’tuther cars ; ’ an’ there’s lots er tracks 
 cornin’ tergether all criss cross. That’s what 
 I thought yer called ’junction.” 
 
 “ Yes, that is a junction, but this is an in- 
 junction. You have got some pretty steep 
 hills round here.” 
 
 “ Thinks he’s goin’ to put me off ther 
 scent,” was Jotham’s mental comment as he 
 gave his companion a sideways look ; but he 
 was too keen to be turned from his purpose 
 in that way, and answered, “ Ya-as.” 
 
 “ Muddy at the foot of these hills in the 
 spring, is it not?” 
 
190 
 
 CARL BARTLETT ; OR, 
 
 “ Y-a-a-s.” 
 
 “ Do teams ever get stuck in the mud ? *’ 
 
 “ Y-a-a-s ; ” and after an instant pause, 
 “ There’s a mighty bad place dost ter where 
 Downin’ used ter keep his store.” Jotham 
 was on “ the scent.” Prom “ Downin’s store 
 to Downin’s ” business transactions, the way 
 was easy. 
 
 “ Suppose you should get your team set 
 at the foot of one of these hills, and another 
 man was backing on to you, what would 
 you do ? ” 
 
 “ I’d holler eout to him, Whoa-a,” said 
 Jotham, in a loud voice. 
 
 The horse stopped short in the middle of 
 the road. Jotham, entirely unprepared, illus- 
 trated the inertia of matter, and fell forward, 
 grasping the dasher. He recovered himself, 
 much to the amusement of Mr. Randolph, 
 whose hand on the back of the seat saved 
 him from a like accident. 
 
WHAT CAN I DO ? 
 
 191 
 
 “ Go alcng. What yer doin’ on,” said 
 Jotliam, as soon as he had gained his balance. 
 “Nobody ain’t talking ter yer, ger ’long,” 
 and he gave the misguided animal a sharp 
 cut with his whip. 
 
 “ Suppose he wouldn’t * who-a,’ ” said Mr. 
 Randolph, careful to speak in a low tone. 
 
 “Then I’d see if I couldn’t chock his 
 wheels fur him.” 
 
 “ Precisely. We have just put some blocks 
 under Mr. Downing’s wheels.” 
 
 “Wall, now, that’s good, but they won’t 
 halt, will they ? ” 
 
 “They will hold in this case for six 
 months.” 
 
 “ Couldn’t yer keep clappin’ on ’em un- 
 der ?■” 
 
 “ The blocks ? Yes, we could, if the 
 judges would give them to us.” 
 
 “ Oh, yer have ter git ’em uv the judges. 
 S’pose they keep er lot on ’em ready made,’ 
 
192 
 
 CAEL BARTLETT ; OB, 
 
 said Jotham, whose ideas of the nature of an 
 injunction were more than ever confused, 
 being now made up of railway tracks, wooden 
 blocks, and judges presiding in court. 
 
 “ No, they don’t keep them on hand ex- 
 actly,” said Mr. Randolph, laughing. “ The 
 fact is, the law is rather hard sometimes; 
 subjects a man to hardship, I mean.” 
 
 “ Guess it does sometimes, when it shuts er 
 feller up an’ he don’t want ter be, an’ most 
 alius he don’t.” 
 
 “ That is not exactly what I mean. Gen- 
 erally when a man is shut up it is ‘ for his 
 country’s good.’ But I am not speaking of 
 criminal cases now. I am talking of cases 
 where property of one kind or another is at 
 stake. In such cases, often a man will have 
 law on his side and he won’t have justice ; 
 isn’t it plain that he may use the law to do 
 his creditor or whatever his opponent may be, 
 a great injustice.” 
 
WHAT CAN I DO ? 
 
 193 
 
 “Yes, Is’pose so,” said Jotham, to whom 
 all this sounded like an irreverent invasion 
 of the majesty of the law. 
 
 “Very well. It is plain, too, that we can’t 
 have a law to meet every man’s case, but we 
 can have judges to whom any man can go by 
 his counsel if he pleases, and tell his story, 
 and ask for power to prevent his adversary 
 doing him wrong ; ask the right to say, give 
 me time to protect myself before this or that 
 injury is done me, or my property is taken. 
 Now that is just what I did in this case. 
 Here is Downing. As far as I have been able 
 to ascertain, he has law on his side. Deacon 
 Goodwin has not the first item of testimony 
 in his favor. Downing undertakes to enter 
 into possession of the property without giving 
 the mortgagor any reasonable notice ; there 
 is where he made a mistake ; that makes me 
 think that if he has the law on his side he 
 has not justice. That is what made me go 
 
194 
 
 CARL BARTLETT; OR, 
 
 into the court room and ask for an injunction. 
 Probably I could not have got it, if the judge 
 had not been a college class mate, and if I 
 had not found there the lawyer I studied 
 with, one of the kindest-hearted men that 
 ever breathed. We got a chance to represent 
 our case. That there was an old man turned 
 out of doors by the power of the law. We 
 represented that we wanted time to examine 
 the evidence ; that at least the old man ought 
 to have a chance to try and meet the claim. 
 The judge wanted to put it off and consider 
 the question, but Mr. Winnot, that is my old 
 friend, held up the case in such a light that 
 the judge could not say, no. Of all the men 
 to make an off-hand appeal, when his feelings 
 are interested, and he thinks lie has right on 
 his side, there is none I know of like Winnot. 
 The old man bereaved of his children, the 
 old wife, ‘ wrinkled, haggard and gray ’ to all 
 but" the husband ; to him ‘ young, blooming 
 
WHAT CAN I DO? 
 
 195 
 
 and fair ’ as on her wedding day. The old 
 man erect and vigorous, dwelling under the 
 roof that echoed to his first infant cry. The 
 bowed old man tottering forth with the weep- 
 ing wife, driven out by the scourge of the 
 law, wielded by a merciless hand, seeking 
 shelter from charity. 6 All we ask,’ said he, 
 6 is, that your honor, as the representative of 
 the State that cares for the welfare of the 
 citizens, will protect this defenceless, blame- 
 less old man, who has stood in his lot and 
 acted well his part in his day and generation, 
 that you will accord him time to defend him- 
 self from malicious persecution. In short, 
 that you will grant us an injunction staying 
 proceedings, that you will grant it without 
 delay. Even now we are wasting precious 
 time in mere words. Even now his household 
 gods are under the auctioneer’s hammer, being 
 scattered — ’ ” 
 
 “I didn’t see no gods,” interrupted JothaiUj 
 
196 
 
 CARL BARTLETT; OR. 
 
 who had been completely absorbed in the 
 narration. “ Deacon didn’t hev no gods. 
 Somebody or nuther, er missionary, I believe 
 ’twas, sent him one onct with er master lot 
 uv arms an’ legs an’ heads, but he lent it to 
 the Sunday school, an’ ’t got all smashed up. 
 Deacon didn’t hev no gods. What’s the law- 
 yer chap want ter talk that way fur? It’s 
 slanderin’ on him.” 
 
 “ He didn’t mean gods actually ; it was a 
 figure of speech. He meant that his house- 
 hold goods were being scattered.” 
 
 “ Oh — h goods. I thought yer said gods.” 
 
 “ I did say so. Mr. Winnot said so, but he 
 meant goods.” 
 
 “Wall, why on airth couldn’t he say so? 
 Figger uv speech ? Putty figger he’d make 
 uv er good, pious, Christian deacon hevein’ 
 gods in his house. I don’t think much uv 
 that lawyer chap.” 
 
 “ I have good reason to think well of him. 
 
WHAT CAN I DO ? 
 
 197 
 
 I shouldn’t have got my injunction without 
 him.” 
 
 “ Oh, yer’d er managed ter git it yerself, 
 an* wouldn’t hed ter bring in no heathen gods 
 ter help yer, I guess.” 
 
 “ At any rate, when the judge understood 
 how Downing had been trying to drive mat- 
 ters up, he gave us our injunction. There 
 again you see that Downing made a mistake 
 in being in such a hurry to grasp the 
 property.” 
 
 “ Couldn’t you haul his linch-pins eout, 
 an’ pull off his wheels ’tirely ? ” 
 
 “ I am going to see if I cannot,” re- 
 plied Mr. Randolph, whose every faculty was 
 aroused, so interested was he in Deacon 
 Goodwin’s cause. 
 
 “ Guess yer ken.” 
 
 Jotham had unbounded confidence in his 
 new-found friend’s ability to manipulate the 
 Downing rolling stock according to his own 
 
198 
 
 CARL BARTLETT; OR, 
 
 pleasure ; still, a little advice might not come 
 amiss. After thinking a moment, he re- 
 sumed his part in the conversation, speaking 
 in a low, confidential voice : “ Wall, neow, ef 
 yer wus ter tell tlier judge ’beaut ther deacon, 
 that lie’s er rail good, clever, pious man, an’ 
 hain’t got no children ter help him ’long, an’ 
 that ther old lady’s a rail nice, hard workin’ 
 woman, that’s allers dun her slieere, an’ 
 that they won’t nuther uv ’em be livin’ long 
 in this world no lieow, an’ ’twas er pity ter 
 be turnin’ on ’em eout, seeiu’ ’twouldn’t be 
 long they’d want ther old house ; — an’ ef yer 
 wus ter tell that Downin’s er misuble, good 
 fur nothin’ feller, allers talkin’ mighty fair 
 an’ nice, an’ allers tryin’ ter git ther better 
 uv somebody, neow don’t ye think he’d let yer 
 do it ? ” 
 
 “ Do what ? ” 
 
 “ Why haul Downin’s’ linch-pins eout ; or 
 ef he wouldn’t dew that, mebbe he’d give yer 
 
What can I do ? 
 
 199 
 
 some uv them ere blocks as ud holt long es 
 ther deacon wanted ter live in ther house.” 
 
 “ Perhaps he would ; but I rather try some 
 other way first.” 
 
 “ Wall, I guess yer knew what yer ’beout, 
 Mr. Randolph.” 
 
 “ You are a firm friend of Deacon Good- 
 win ? ” 
 
 “ He hain’t got no better.” 
 
 “ Can you keep a secret ? ” 
 
 “ Keep er secret ? Guess I ken take it in. 
 Tie it up. Take good care on it. Not let it 
 eout till yer tell me to, or yer come arter it 
 yerself.” 
 
 “ When my nephew first told me of this 
 case ” 
 
 “How come yer neffer ter know abeout 
 it?” 
 
 “ He was up here at Mr. Gray’s the last 
 Bummer ; you must have seen him.” 
 
 “ Oh yas, yas. He’s ther youngster as 
 
200 CARL BARTLETT; OR, 
 
 liked blackberries, an’ wus ser mad ’cause 1 
 sed tlier wus master mean folks deown ter 
 Boston. Ther deacon took a master likin’ 
 ter him.” 
 
 “ He has a high opinion of Deacon Good- 
 win. When he told me of the case, I thought 
 it was a perfectly plain one ; that the young 
 
 man, Deacon Goodwin’s son ” 
 
 “ Yas, I know, ’Siah.” 
 
 “ I thought Josiah had disposed of the 
 money among his low associates.” 
 
 Jotham shook his head. 
 
 “But some of my friends, and I agreed 
 with them, thought it a pity that the father 
 and mother should suffer in their old age, for 
 
 the rascality of a worthless boy ” 
 
 “ Ruther hard on ’Siali,” said Jotham. 
 
 “ And I came up here,” continued Mr. 
 Randolph, not noticing the interruption, 
 “ with the intention of buying up this Down- 
 ing’s claim. I found several men on board 
 
WHAT CAN I DO ? 
 
 201 
 
 the train who knew Deacon Goodwin, and 
 knew Downing, too. I learned from them 
 something of the way this affair had been 
 managed. The more I heard, the more I 
 thought it possible that Josiah Goodwin had 
 actually executed his commission, and that 
 Downing was taking advantage of the son’s 
 absence to pursue the father, and extort 
 money from him. His actions were cold- 
 blooded cruelty, if he had a right to bring 
 such suffering on the father and mother. 
 They are downright villainy if he is falsely 
 accusing the son.” 
 
 “ That’s it,” said Jotham. “ I dunno es I 
 want Downing ter lose nothin’ by ther deacon. 
 I dunno es I should feel dreffle bad nutlier, ef 
 he did, arter collarin’ on him so.” 
 
 “ What I want to know is, did Josiah pay 
 the note ? ” 
 
 “ Yas, that’s what yer want ter know 
 Wish I knowed ; I tell yer ef I did.” 
 
‘202 
 
 CARL BARTLETT; OB, 
 
 “ Perhaps you can help me.” 
 
 “ Help enny way I knowed heow. Allers 
 ready ter help.” 
 
 “ Ready to help Downing ? ” asked Mr. 
 Randolph, smiling. 
 
 “ No, I ain't ready ter help Downin’. He’s 
 on ther ’tuther side. Find eout which is tlior 
 right side, an’ then git holt an’ pull all yer 
 know. That’s what I say.” 
 
 “ You are a shrewd man, I see,” Jotliam 
 nodded, “ and you are a fast friend of Deacon 
 Goodwin’s.” 
 
 “ Hain’t got no faster ; that’s what I told 
 you.” 
 
 “You was in Clifton when Josiah left. 
 You knew him probably.” 
 
 “ Knowed him well.” 
 
 “ There might be some circumstances con- 
 nected with his going away that you could 
 tell me that might throw some light on the 
 affair. I should never use any information I 
 might get in this way against him.” 
 
WHAT CAN I DO ? 
 
 203 
 
 “ X ain’t afeard on it.” 
 
 “Or you may have a theory of your own 
 about his reason for leaving. What do you 
 think about it ? Was it on account of this 
 note being unpaid that he went from home so 
 suddenly and secretly ? ” 
 
 “ Now jest look er here ! ’Tain’t in reason 
 that er chap should sarve his own pa an’ ma 
 such er mean trick as that, is it ? ” 
 
 “ I can’t say. If I had known the young 
 man I could judge better. I have seen some 
 young people who were determined to have 
 their own way and enjoy their own pleasure, 
 whoever suffered in consequence.” 
 
 “Yas, so’ve I. There ain’t no selfisher 
 critter on this airth, than er youngster that’s 
 ’tarmined ter hev his own way, boy or gal, 
 I don’t kere which. But then yer see, ’Siah 
 want one er that sort. There wa’n’t er better 
 natured feller no wheres than ’Siah Goodwin. 
 Ef he’d onny let drink alone, an’ let that set 
 
204 
 
 CARL BARTLETT; OR 
 
 he got inter ’lone, he’d er been er tip-top 
 chap. Ses I ter him one day, ses I, ‘ ’Siah 
 Goodwin, what yer want to be goin’ reound 
 with them fellers fur? yer know yer don’t 
 like ’em. What yer want tu be muddlin’ 
 yerself with drink fur ? Yer know ’twill be 
 ther ruin on yer. ’Siah Goodwin,’ ses I, ‘ yer 
 er fool.’ ‘ I know it,’ ses he. ‘ No yer don’t, 
 nuther,’ ses I ; £ yer don’t know no such er 
 thing ; you act like er fool, though, an’ ef yer 
 ’ve got sense enuff ter know it, why don’t yer 
 stop.’ ‘ ’Tain’t easy stoppin’ when you’re 
 goin’ down hill,’ ses he. ‘ The furderer yer 
 git deown, ther harder ’tis ter stop, ain’t it ? ’ 
 ses I. He didn’t say nuthin’, an’ ’twon’t 
 many days arter that, afore he went off, an’ 
 sometimes I’ve kinder wondered ef that didn’t 
 have nothin’ ter do with it.” 
 
 “ Then you don’t think he went on account 
 of this money ? ” 
 
 “ No, I don’t.” 
 
WHAT CAN I DO? 
 
 205 
 
 “ You did not know of his being in partic- 
 ular need of money about that time.” 
 
 “ No, he want that I know’d on, but then 
 he might be yer know, an’ I know nothin’ 
 ’beout it.” 
 
 “ If I could get the least clew I could fol- 
 low it up. Deacon Goodwin, or his wife, 
 might be able to give me one. I intended to 
 have asked them, but I could not do it. You 
 know them better than I do ; perhaps they 
 would not think it strange if you were to ask 
 :.hem, especially as you were friendly to the 
 boy.” 
 
 “ Couldn’t do it. I ain’t easy scared, but 
 I couldn’t do that. There’s Mr. Gray or Miss 
 Gray, the old folks think er master sight on 
 them.” 
 
 “ I asked Mr. Gray. He could tell me 
 nothing, and said he did not think Deacon 
 Goodwin could. I suppose he did not care to 
 speak in disparagement of his son.” 
 
206 
 
 CARL BARTLETT ; OR. 
 
 “ Likely.” 
 
 “I must work in another direction then. 
 I am l’eady and should be glad to buy Down- 
 ing’s claim if it is a just one. I will buy it, 
 just or not, rather than have Deacon Goodwin 
 disturbed ; but, if I can help it, that man 
 Downing does not get a dollar from me, or 
 any one else, as premium for his brutal treat- 
 ment of the good deacon.” 
 
 “ I declare,” exclaimed Jotham, bringing 
 his open hand down on his knee with tremen- 
 dous force. “ What on airth ther reason I 
 didn’t think er that afore ? ” 
 
 “ What is it ? ” asked Mr. Randolph, 
 eagerly. 
 
 “ Why, that ere Seth Downin’s in Mr. 
 Murdock’s office.” 
 
 “ What, the mortgagees son ? ” 
 
 “ Yes, that’s him.” 
 
 “ And who is Mr. Murdock ? ” 
 
 “ Mr. Murdock over to Shiretown. Lawyer 
 
 Murdock.” 
 
WHAT CAN I DO ? 
 
 207 
 
 “ Ah. Deacon Goodwin’s lawyei.” 
 
 “Yes. He an’ his father afore him alius 
 done what law business ther deacon had; 
 ’twan’t much, I guess.’ , 
 
 “ And it was to his office that Josiah Good- 
 win should have carried the papers.” 
 
 “ I tell you he did kerry ’em there. That 
 Seth Downin’ knows he did. ’Pend on’t.” 
 
 “ What kind of a young man is he ? ” 
 
 “ He ain’t much uv a man. He’s er big 
 boy an’ er smart one too. They dew say he’s 
 getting ter be quite considerable uv er lawyer. 
 He’s one uv them chaps that’s goin’ ter be 
 rich, enny how.” 
 
 “ I understand. Not particularly honest.” 
 “No, not particJcler honest.” 
 
 “ I should hardly think that Deacon Good- 
 win would entrust business to a lawyer of 
 that class.” 
 
 “ The lawyer ain’t in that class, as I know 
 on ; it’s his boy I wus tellin’ on.” 
 
208 
 
 CARL BARTLETT J OR, 
 
 “An honest, honorable lawyer does not 
 often employ a tricky clerk.” 
 
 “ I don’t s’pose he knows it. I guess Seth 
 looks eout middlin’ sharp not ter let Mr. 
 Murdock hear him talk ther kind uv lingo 
 I hev, ’beout gittin’ forud uv folks. I never 
 seed Mr. Murdock but onct, then I didn’t see 
 nothin’ ’gin him, ony he helt his head kinder 
 high, ’nuff sight higher’n his father did afore 
 him. I saw him plenty er times, the old Mr. 
 Murdock I mean ; he used ter come over ter 
 see ther ’Square, yer know ; ’Square Williams, 
 him that I work fur. Ther ’Square he used 
 ter think er’ ’stonishin’ sight uv him, an’ 
 there ain’t no lionorabler man reound here 
 than ther ’Square ; a leetle set in his way 
 sometimes, ter be sure ; but he means jest 
 right. I never know’d nothin’ but Mr. Mur- 
 dock’s lionable. Ef there’s enny thing ’tain’t 
 all right in his office, I guess he don’t know 
 it, nor his clerk nuther. He’s been there 
 
WHAT CAN I DO ? 
 
 209 
 
 ever since I know’d enny thing ’beout ’em. 
 He ain’t very smart, looks kinder skeered all 
 ther time.” 
 
 “ A nervous man, I suppose.” 
 
 “ Yas, that’s it ; narvousy.” 
 
 “ It does not appear to be likely that young 
 Downing would take such a way as that to 
 make money, the danger of detection is so 
 great. However, that looks like a clew, and 
 we will follow it up. If there is anything to 
 be brought to light, we will do it.” 
 
 “ I guess yer’l find it eout, an’ yer’l find 
 it jest es I say. This ere is ther Shiretown 
 House.” 
 
 “You know, of course, that we must be 
 careful not to mention suspicions of any 
 kind. We might put some one on his 
 guard.” 
 
 “ I know all ’beout that. There’s a pond 
 over ’tuther side uv ther wall ; they dew say 
 there’s nice pickerel ter be ketched eout uv it, 
 
210 
 
 CARL BARTLETT. 
 
 Wall, ther feller es wants ter know what yet 
 an’ I’ve been talkin’ ’beout, better go ketch 
 one uv them pickerel; he’ll tell mor’n I 
 will.” 
 
CHAPTER XII. 
 
 UR readers may now wish to ask tho 
 same question which Mr. Randolph 
 found it so difficult to answer. Was 
 Josiah Goodwin’s sudden disappear- 
 ance from home the flight of a guilty youth, 
 fearing detection ? or, had Mr. Downing once 
 received the payment of the debt which he 
 now so clamorously and cruelly demanded. 
 In order that we may not be bewildered 
 among surmises, but reach a satisfactory 
 solution of the mystery, we must go back a 
 few years, and look at the history of soma 
 members of the Downing family. 
 
 When Seth’s expulsion from the hill school 
 had became an old story, and the gossip it 
 
 an 
 
2'12 
 
 ^ARL BARTLETT ; OR, 
 
 occasioned had subsided, he spent much of 
 his time in the store, until his father found 
 his presence there was adding to the already 
 fast increasing unpopularity of the establish* 
 ment. He was then requested, in terms 
 more explicit than elegant, to seek some other 
 lounging place. 
 
 Thus thrown upon their own resources, with 
 unlimited control of their time, many boys no 
 more mature in years than Seth, would have 
 found associates among the idle and vicious. 
 But he never lost sight of the fact that he in- 
 tended to push his way through the world, 
 and by fair means, or by foul, if it must be so, 
 gain a standing as a man of wealth, and he 
 often considered what path in life would be 
 most likely to lead to his good. 
 
 He looked with an interest rare in a boy of 
 his age, on the course of those men he had 
 a chance to scrutinize, and framed his theo- 
 ries as to why this one’s career was a success, 
 
WHAT CAN I DO ? 
 
 213 
 
 and that one’s a failure. He never let pass 
 an opportunity of being present at a gathering 
 of any description. Many a grave, pompous 
 man, who harangued an assembly or presided 
 at a conclave, would have been astonished had 
 he known that he was the object of such 
 disrespectful criticisms as were passing through 
 the brain of the lad in front. 
 
 A trial of general interest, which was in 
 progress at Sliiretown, drew Seth, with many 
 other Clifton people, day after day, to the 
 court house. He watched the proceedings 
 closely, noted the manner of different lawyers, 
 and thought wherein he, Seth Downing, 
 could have done better. A great opinion of 
 his own powers had Seth Downing. Before the 
 trial concluded, he had decided on his course 
 in- life ; it should be that of a lawyer. 
 
 “ Capital chance for a smart man there,” 
 thought he, as he noted the dexterity with 
 which one of the first (first in talent and first 
 
214 CAKL BARTLETT ; OB. 
 
 .n lack of conscience) criminal lawyers twisted 
 circumstances, distorted facts and misrepre- 
 sented testimony. Unbounded was his admi- 
 ration of the ability and practical skill of the 
 man, and from that day he had a model which 
 he intended to copy, and excel if possible. 
 
 “ There is no profession, no business like 
 that for a smart man to get in,” he concluded : 
 “ but then he’s got to study tremendously if 
 he’s going to make any thing at it. How in 
 the world am I going to get a chance to 
 study ? It’s no use to ask the old man to 
 send me to college ; might if he was a mind 
 to ; but he’s too mean. I’ll push ahead some- 
 way, though ; ‘ faint heart never won a fair 
 lady.’ ” 
 
 He had many good qualities. Industrious 
 and persevering when he had an object .in 
 view, quick-witted, yet a patient waiter, the 
 material for a man of note was there. But all 
 good qnalities were tnrned aside, and fouled by 
 
WHAT CAN I DO 7 
 
 215 
 
 the determination to outwit those he might 
 deal with, by his confidence in his own ability 
 to overreach. Had he heeded Jotham Hodg- 
 kins, he might have been saved many a disaj> 
 - pointment, and avoided many a pitlall on 
 life’s journey. 
 
 “ I tell you what ’tis, Seth Downin’,” 
 said Jotham, one day after Seth had been ex- 
 tolling the power of wits well used, “ I tell 
 yer what ’tis ; honest wits is very good, but 
 wits as ain’t honest ain’t ser good. Some 
 heow er feller es gots wits as ain’t honest, 
 does drefful shaller things sometimes ; they 
 seem ter git inter er chaps eyes, and sorter 
 blind him, like ther sun does ; an’ he don’t see 
 what he's runnin’ agin’, or what he’s trav- 
 ellin’ inter, an’ first thing he knows he comes 
 up ker smash, or comes down ker chunk. 
 
 “ Now yer see ’taint so with honest wits ; 
 they don’t get afore er fellers eyes so he can’t 
 see nothin’ ’cept what’s jest under his nose. I 
 
^16 
 
 CARL rartlett; or, 
 
 reckon they gits er hind on ’em an’ helps him 
 see all around on him. Be es smart es yer 
 mind ter be, Seth Downin’, but ef yer ain’t 
 honest, yer’ll be afeard all the time, some- 
 body ’ell come long an’ trip yer up. 
 
 “ It’s kinder like er man es used ter live 
 nigh where I did. He sot eout ter build 
 fences for folks. Wall, one day he was er 
 buildin’ fences fur er man, an’ ’twas a kinder 
 back road where nobody didn’t come much, 
 an’ he got ’long mighty fast ; yer see he 
 picked eout tlier short posts an’ them that 
 ’twant ser good es ’tuthers, an’ stuck ’em in ' 
 he didn’t hev ter dig only leetle holes, an’ he 
 airnt his pay ’mazin’ easy- 
 
 “ Wall, one dark night what does he do 
 but drive long that ere road. Wall, he got 
 long well ’nuff, till he come ter where he’d 
 bin buildin’ fences. ’Thad rained tolubte 
 hard, and blow’d toluble hard, a few days 
 ’long back, an’ ther wus er string uv his fence 
 
WHAT CAN I DO ? 
 
 217 
 
 layin’ right deown flat on the ground. Wall, 
 he couldn’t see it, an’ fust thing he know’d 
 he’d druv right straight inter it. Tlier hors, 
 he was a high-headed critter, an’ thar; kind uv 
 travellin’ wan’t very easy travellin’ for er 
 hors, an’ he got skecred an’ run, an’ throw’d 
 ther man eout an’ broke his leg and smashed 
 ther wagon all ter pieces, an’ hurt hisself so 
 bad he had ter be killed. 
 
 “ That ere man never walked straight arter 
 that. I dunno what was the reason, leg want 
 sot right or suthin’ ; he always limped arter 
 that. I never seed him but I wanted ter tell 
 him, ef he’d er taken er ’nuther day fur ther 
 fence, an’ put in more posts, an’ made er 
 good square fence, he’d er been ’nuff sight 
 better olf. He wouldn’t er lost er good boss 
 an’ wagon, an’ he wouldn’t er had ter go 
 limpin’ reound all the rest uv his life. When 
 er chap gits caught in what ain’t fair, he hes 
 ter dew er considerable limpin’ arter wards, I 
 
218 
 
 CARL BARTLETT; OR, 
 
 reckon,” said Jotham, who was apt to deliver 
 his ideas as his brain furnished them, in 
 happy ignorance of all rules of grammar and 
 rhetoric. 
 
 “ Ef yer want ter get on in ther world,” he 
 continued, “ an’ keep on steady, yer better be 
 honest, Seth Downin’.” 
 
 “ I know a man,” replied Seth, “ that is so 
 green he lets ivery body else get aheaC of 
 him. No wonder he’s always been behind 
 another man’s plough, and will be all his 
 days.” 
 
 “Yer’ d — ruther — be — under — ther — 
 harrer — fur stealin’ his apples — I s’ pose. 
 Wall, — I — hadn’t, but — there’s no count- 
 in’ fur tastes, I’ve hearn say,” drawled 
 Jotham. 
 
 Seth began to think he was in a hurry, and 
 soon disappeared. 
 
 “What an interminable tongue that Jotham 
 has got,” he said as he walked along, “ and a 
 
WHAT CAN I DO? 
 
 219 
 
 verdant chap like that, undertake to tell a 
 smart man how to get on in the world.” He 
 threw back his head and laughed one of his 
 loud laughs, 
 
 “ No use ter waste breath tellin’ on him 
 what he orter dew,” said Jotham ; “ he’s sure 
 to go crooked somehow.” 
 
 All Seth’s industry, perseverance, intellect 
 and patience, he determined should be brought 
 to bear on one object, the gaining of the 
 knowledge necessary to fit him to take his 
 place at the bar. With little hope of success 
 in that direction, yet resolute to leave no 
 means untried, he concluded to ask his father 
 for funds to enable him to commence prepara- 
 tion for college, but he was met with the usual 
 complaints of heavy expenses and business 
 losses. Seth well knew that it was useless 
 to urge his request, but patiently waited for 
 an opening which he might enter. He be- 
 came a constant attendant upon the court 
 
220 
 
 CARL BARTLETT ; OB, 
 
 when it was in session at Shiretown, and was 
 soon well known by the lawyers who habitu- 
 ally practised there, ingratiating himself by 
 persistent attentions, running errands for 
 them, carrying their bags, and occasionally 
 even finding references for them. Thus he 
 picked up many law terms and phrases. A 
 small beginning, but still, a beginning; he 
 was yet young and could afford to make slow 
 progress. 
 
 In one of his visits to Shiretown, he had 
 learned that Mr. Wales, senior member of the 
 firm of Wales and Clark, wished to be re- 
 lieved of some of his business cares, and that 
 the firm would take a partner. He lost no 
 time in repeating the intelligence to his father, 
 who received it grumblingly, but went the 
 next day to call upon them. 
 
 He found Seth’s statement to be correct, 
 and made a proposition to the partners, which 
 they agreed to take into consideration, but 
 
WHAT «AN I DO 
 
 221 
 
 fust asked why he wished to leave Clifton. 
 Mr. Downing replied that he was desirous 
 of getting into business in a larger place and 
 among more liberal minded people. The 
 partners had heard reports derogatory to him, 
 but thought they might be without founda- 
 tion ; and even if the hints thrown out had 
 foundation, his evident knowledge of business 
 would make him an acquisition to them, while 
 as junior partner, he would be under restraint. 
 
 Their conference resulted in the decision to 
 admit Mr. Downing into the firm, and it was 
 in order to make up the stipulated capital that 
 he had urged the discharge of Deacon Good- 
 win’s indebtedness. The family removed to 
 Shiretown, and Seth felt that he had taken 
 one step towards his object. He applied to 
 Mr. Murdock for the position of office-boy, 
 and offered to give his services for the use 
 of the lawyer’s books and an occasional direc- 
 tion at out his reading. Mr. Righter had been 
 
222 
 
 CARL BARTLETT; OR, 
 
 clerk for Mr. Murdock, senior, and held the 
 same place now that the son had taken pos- 
 session. Constant and faithful in his long- 
 continued attention to office routine, old age 
 was creeping upon him, and Mr. Murdock was 
 not unwilling to receive so cheap an assistant 
 in daily drudgery, especially as he knew that 
 Seth was a good and rapid penman. 
 
 Seth had taken another step. He entered 
 the office determined to serve his employer 
 with all his powers and make himself indis- 
 pensable there. He worked cheerfully and 
 diligently on the tedious documents given him 
 to copy, and was on the alert at all times. 
 Av every leisure moment he poured over one 
 or other of the calf-bound books, which, with 
 the exception of the daily newspaper, were 
 the only office literature. 
 
 Three months passed in this way, when 
 tne day, on going home to dinner, ho heard 
 the complaints which were familial’ to the ears 
 of all the Downing family. 
 
WHAT CAN I DO ? 
 
 223 
 
 “ There’s that mortgage of Deacon Good- 
 will’s,” Mr. Downing concluded, u I’ve asked 
 him for it time and time again. I can’t af- 
 ford to lose it.” 
 
 Such representations were so common that 
 they would have made no impression on the 
 mind of the son, had not Josiah Goodwin 
 stepped into the office a few moments after 
 his own return, and asked for Mr. Murdock. 
 
 “ He is not in,” said Mr. Righter. “ He 
 will be here in the course of an hour.” 
 
 “ Father wants him to see to that,” said 
 Josiah. “ Mr. Downing is coming in to see 
 him about it.” And he laid a paper on the 
 clerk’s desk, and went directly out. 
 
 At the same moment, the door on the 
 opposite ride of the room opened, a lawyer 
 whose office was in the same building, thnm 
 in his head and said, “ Just come and witness 
 this paper for me, will you, Righter ? ” 
 
 It was Mr. Righter’s custom, whenever any 
 
224 
 
 CARL BARTLETT; OR, 
 
 letter or paper was left in Mr. Murdock’s 
 absence, to place it in a certain pigeon-hole in 
 his desk, and when that gentleman returned, 
 the contents of the pigeon-hole, be they more 
 or less, were handed to him. The old clerk 
 depended more upon his methodical habits, 
 than upon his failing memory ; but upon this 
 occasion he was confused by the double call on 
 his attention, for when one thought had pos- 
 session of Mr. Righter’s brain, another could 
 not gain a lodgment, unless the first moved 
 on and made way. He descended from his 
 high office-stool, and hastily obeyed the sum- 
 mons, leaving Deacon Goodwin’s papers ly- 
 ing on the desk. 
 
 “ Ah,” thought Seth, “ the governor thinks 
 he’s mighty sharp. I don’t believe but Uncle 
 David has paid that mortgage, and he wants 
 to make it out he hasn’t. I’m as smart as he 
 is any day. We’ll see about that.” He 
 leaned over and took the paper from Mr. 
 
WHAT CAN I DO? 
 
 225 
 
 Rightcr’s desk. Seth never acknowledged his 
 relationship to his parent when he spoke of 
 him, or to him, but always called him gov- 
 ernor, old man, or by some like respectful 
 title. 
 
 He opened the paper ; out fell the note that 
 the boy’s father afterwards showed Deacon 
 Goodwin. As it fluttered to the floor, a step 
 was on the stairway. Seth had barely time 
 to secure the smaller paper, and thrust it with 
 the larger one, open, into his desk ; when 
 Mr. Murdock entered, he was intent upon a 
 volume of law reports. 
 
 In another moment Mr. Rigliter returned, 
 looked among the papers on his desk, and in 
 his desk, fidgeted i i his seat, and at last, in 
 answer to Mr. Murdock’s question, “ Any 
 thing for me, Mr. Righter ? ” handed him a 
 letter only. 
 
 An hour passed. Mr. Murdock sat turning 
 over a written document belonging to a case 
 
226 
 
 CARL BARTLETT; OR, 
 
 on which he was retained, arranging an argu- 
 ment in his mind. “ I wonder if he is ever 
 going home ? ” thought Seth ; “ he’s always 
 off before this time. Isn’t Righter ever going 
 to get that copy done ? ” 
 
 Scratch, scratch, scratch went the clerk’s 
 pen. 
 
 “ I’ll do the rest of that copy for you, Mr. 
 Righter,” he said aloud. 
 
 “ No, thank you,” was the reply. “ I don’t 
 like to see two hands on one page.” 
 
 Scratch, scratch still. 
 
 “ The old prig,” was Seth’s mental com- 
 ment. “ If he’d only give me a chance to 
 slip this mortgage into his desk, among his 
 papers, I’d be all right ; he’d think he’d 
 overlooked it.” 
 
 But no chance was given him. The clerk 
 finished his copying, took his hat from the 
 peg over his desk, brushed it with his elbow 
 with the air of a man who was trying to re- 
 
WHAT CAN I DO ? 
 
 227 
 
 call a straying thought, put it firmly on his 
 head, and vanished. 
 
 Mr. Murdock sat absorbed in his incipient 
 argument, and Seth sat apparently absorbed 
 in “ Reports of Marine Cases,” but really 
 debating with himself whether he should ven- 
 ture to go to Mr. Righter’s desk, whether he 
 could place the paper there without attracting 
 Mr. Murdock’s attention ; but the lawyer’s 
 eyes were sharp, his ears keen, and Seth well 
 knew what would be the consequences, were 
 he detected in meddling with aught intended 
 for his principal. 
 
 The perplexed boy was about to open his 
 desk, in order to fold the paper and tuck i , 
 wider the collection of scraps, memoranda, 
 and rejected copy ; but at that moment Mr. 
 Murdock turned round, and looking through 
 the door between the inner and outer office, 
 said, “ You there, Downing ? You need not 
 wait for me. I will lock the door to-night/' 
 
228 
 
 CARL BARTLETT; OR, 
 
 “ Hadn’t I better stop and take the keys su 
 1 can sweep out in the morning ? ” 
 
 “ No, you can stop at my house for them a3 
 you go by,” replied Mr. Murdock, coming to 
 a book case directly behind Seth’s stool, where 
 lie stood taking down volume after volume, 
 reading a page in one, a sentence in another, 
 and looking at the table of contents of a 
 third. 
 
 Still Seth lingered until Mr. Murdock said 
 tartly, “ I don’t wish you to wait, Downing.” 
 He dared not disobey, but was he to go and 
 leave that deed spread open,, within a few feet 
 of Mr. Murdock’s hand ? What if his em- 
 ployer should open the desk, as he often did. 
 It was not considered private property, but 
 his desk and Mr. Righter’s were simply recep- 
 tacles of business papers, and Mr. Murdock 
 felt at liberty to open either in the absence of 
 clerk, or student. Seth appropriated the 
 latter title. But there was no gainsaying the 
 
WHAT CAN I DO? 
 
 229 
 
 lawyer’s order, and the boy left the office bit- 
 terly reproaching himself. 
 
 “ What a fool I was to stick my nose in at 
 all. I could have found out all I wanted to 
 know some other way. Now if I’m caught, 
 it ’ll be no kind of use to say I didn’t mean to 
 pocket it, and it ’ll be all up with me there. 
 It’s all ‘ the old man’s ’ fault, too ; if he 
 hadn’t lied about it, I shouldn’t be in this 
 scrape.” 
 
 He started for the office in the morning, 
 earlier than usual, stopped at Mr. Murdock’} 
 house for the keys, but was told that he hal 
 already left home. With quick, heating heart 
 he hastened on to find the door of the lawyer’s 
 room nearly closed, and Mr. Kighter standing 
 beside his employer’s chair, both the men ex- 
 amining a paper closely resembling in size, 
 color, etc., the one that cost the boy so much 
 anxiety within the last eighteen hours. He 
 heard Mr. Murdock say as he folded it and 
 
230 
 
 CARL BARTLETT ; OR, 
 
 placed it in a drawex*, “ It is well that we have 
 it now, but I must look into this ; it must not 
 happen again.” Mr. Righter came out and 
 went to his desk. Mr. Murdock called Seth, 
 gave him a handful of letters, and asked him 
 to put them in the post-office at once. 
 
 “ That’s to get rid of me so he can talk it 
 over with Righter,” he thought, as he went 
 into the street. “ What was he to do now ? 
 He had just got things in train, his prospect 
 of getting on was fair, and now all was spoilt, 
 all his plans overturned. Murdock would not 
 let him stay in the office another day. But 
 could he do anything more than dismiss him ? 
 Might he not make more serious trouble? 
 Perhaps it would be best not to go back to be 
 turned out. But what then ? He could not 
 leave the town. No, he might as well go 
 back and take the consequences. There was 
 nothing else to do after all ; he should not 
 help anything by being frightened.” 
 
WHAT CAN 1 DO? 
 
 281 
 
 The distance he had to walk was short, but 
 thoughts came rapidly under the stimulus of 
 fear. In those few moments Seth suffered 
 touch, and w e could have pitied him, had not 
 all his distress been utterly selfish ; all caused 
 by the fear that his plans for individual ag- 
 grandizement might come to nought. Not a 
 thought of the disgrace and sorrow he might 
 bring on others ; not a shadow of the shame 
 which detection in a dishonorable act brings 
 to many who have no shame for the act itself. 
 No, we have no pity for the boy as he slowly 
 ascends the stairs, his mind made up “to 
 take what comes,” and thinking what he shall 
 say, and how he shall act, that the blow may 
 fall as lightly as possible. 
 
 Neither do we enter into his joy as he raises 
 the lid which he dared not lift last night, and 
 sees the dreaded, the hateful paper safe. Ah ! 
 but was it safe ? Had it not been placed 
 there in his absence ? Had he not been de- 
 
CARL BARTLETT; OK, 
 
 232 
 
 spatched on the errand so the trap might be 
 set for him ? Perhaps Mr. Murdock found it 
 last evening, and after consulting with Mr. 
 Righter, replaced it, intending to watch the 
 course of the purloiner. 
 
 Seth was as much perplexed as ever. 
 Should he produce the paper, acknowledge his 
 error, and explain the temptation? If Mr. 
 Murdock had really detected him, that was 
 the best course to pursue ; the only one which 
 afforded the least possibility of escape from 
 the dreaded consequences. If he had not 
 made the discovery, and the paper had re- 
 mained undisturbed, what a blunder to be the 
 first to call attention to it. 
 
 “ Better wait a while, and see if I can’t 
 find out something more.” So, as usual, 
 Seth decided against the straight forward 
 course, and before the morning had passed, 
 congratulated himself on having done so. 
 
 Mr. Righter’ s desk was in perfect order; 
 
WHAT CAN I DO ? 
 
 2 83 
 
 not a speck of dust was allowed a residence 
 there. In every pigeon-hole, every drawer, 
 the papers, pens, pencils, all were placed in 
 exactly straight lines. In the body of the 
 desk itself were packages of papers, each tied 
 up with three turns of red tape. Though the 
 condition of perfect neatness was constantly 
 existent, yet it was the old gentleman’s cus- 
 tom, at stated intervals, to go through a 
 process be called putting his desk in order. 
 If the ceremony was commenced, it must be 
 concluded before the methodical man could 
 give his attention to other matters. If 
 unexpected business came in, though Mr. 
 Righter never refused to attend to it, when 
 he did, his distress was so evident, that 
 Mr. Murdock rarely required the sacrifice. 
 Though annoyed at this, and other foibles of 
 his clerk, he had so sincere a respect for his 
 father’s right-hand man, and such confidence 
 in his integrity, that he cheerfully bore with 
 him. 
 
234 
 
 CARL BARTLETT; OB, 
 
 On this day, Mr. Murdock was especially 
 anxious to dispose of all minor matters before 
 the session of the circuit court,* which was 
 to commence next week. He took his news- 
 paper, hastily glanced over the contents, then 
 turned to speak to Mr. Righter ; but he was 
 already absorbed in the putting in order 
 process. 
 
 “Why, Righter, that neat desk of yours 
 was set to rights last week.” 
 
 “ Last week. Was it, Mr. Cornelius ? ” 
 the old clerk asked, in an absent tone. 
 
 Mr. Murdock gave up the hope of recalling 
 him to ordinary work, for an hour at least, 
 and summoned Seth to his aid. He was so 
 quick of apprehension, and so ready to 
 execute, Mr. Righter’s services were hardly 
 missed ; and Mr. Murdock was more than 
 ever convinced of the valuable qualities of his 
 office boy. 
 
 Mr. Righter opened bundle after bundle, 
 
WHAT CAN I DO? 
 
 235 
 
 turned over and examined every paper, re- 
 arranged them, and tied them up in just as 
 good order, but no better than they were 
 before. He overturned drawer after drawer, 
 to replace its contents just as they had been 
 previous to the somersault. The putting to 
 O - der was a much longer process than usual, 
 and did not appear to produce the content 
 that had always followed in time past. 
 
 Seth well knew the meaning of this un- 
 easiness, but it brought him some relief. As 
 he saw paper after paper taken up, and the 
 memorandum on the back carefully read, he 
 was more and more persuaded that the search 
 was for the document that now lay snugly 
 folded and concealed in his own desk. 
 
 The fear of immediate detection was en- 
 tirely removed, when Mr. Murdock gave him 
 a manuscript report, and asked him to make 
 some extracts from it, saying that it was 
 mailed a week before, and must have re- 
 
236 CARL BARTLETT ; OR, 
 
 mained at the Shiretown office two or three 
 days after it should have been delivered. 
 
 “ It is quite important,” he continued, 
 “ and there might have been a serious loss if 
 it had been delayed a little longer. When 
 the mail comes in, I will go over for the 
 letters, and speak to the post-master.” 
 
 “ I don’t see how it is,” said Mr. Righter, 
 as soon as Mr. Murdock closed the door. “ I 
 thought Josiah Goodwin brought something 
 for Mr. Murdock, yesterday.” 
 
 “ Did he ? ” said Seth, feigning surprise ; 
 “ if he did, you gave it to Mr. Murdock of 
 course.” 
 
 “No, it want with the other things for 
 him.” 
 
 “If he brought it, you will come across 
 it.” 
 
 “No, I’ve been over every paper in my 
 desk, and it is not there.” 
 
 “To be sure you have,” thought the boy, 
 
WHAT CAN I I}! 
 
 237 
 
 “ and how am I ever going to get it back 
 now.” 
 
 “ You’re sure he didn’t bring any thing 
 yesterday while you was here,” asked the 
 puzzled clerk. “ I couldn’t have dreamed 
 it.” 
 
 “No, I ain’t sure. I don’t know as 1 
 should know Josiah Goodwin now, I haven’t 
 seen him for so long. They say he is getting 
 into bad company. I can’t afford to have 
 much to do with such young men. I’ve got 
 to make my own way in the world.” 
 
 The latter part of this speech was for the 
 edification of Mr. Murdock, who was coming 
 up stairs. “ That is right, Downing. Al- 
 ways remember that if you are to be anybody 
 in the world, you must avoid the company 
 of the idle and dissipated,” said the lawyer, 
 as he passed into his private office. 
 
CHAPTER X1H. 
 
 ETH watched for a chance to return 
 the paper, to place it where it might 
 appear to have been mislaid. He 
 was in constant terror of detection, 
 listening to every footfall, expecting to recog- 
 nise that of his father coming to fulfil his 
 promise to Josiah. In trying to devise some 
 way out of his entanglement, he could think 
 of none that did not threaten exposure as well 
 <is promise relief. 
 
 Mr. Righter continued his search in his un- 
 certain half-dozed way, ransacking one part 
 of the office at one time, and another at 
 another, till not an inch was left unexplored, 
 and Mr. Murdock’s patience was well nigh 
 
 exhausted. 
 
 238 
 
WHAT CAN I DO ? 
 
 289 
 
 “ Poor Righter,” he said to Mrs. Murdock, 
 “ I don’t know but I shall be obliged to pen. 
 sion him off. I am afraid it would almost 
 kill the old man, but he acts strangely lately, 
 seems all in a mist, and Downing is running 
 down too ; he is not near as quick as he was 
 at first.” 
 
 In this way a week passed. Mr. Downing 
 did not come to discharge his obligation; 
 prompt when his own interests were at stake, 
 he was careless when others might suffer by 
 his neglect. 
 
 Seth carried the mortgage in his pocket; 
 it was a leaden weight ; nothing more nor less 
 to him than all his prospects for life in that 
 folded paper. But he dared not leave it in 
 his desk, lest “ that old mouser, Righter,” 
 should find it. He dared not leave it at 
 home lest he should lose the watched-for op* 
 portunity to get it off his hands. He saun- 
 tered into the store in the evening just a week 
 
240 
 
 CARL BARTLETT; OR, 
 
 after he had assumed the burden, and was 
 startled by hearing Josiah Goodwin’s name. 
 A group of men were in earnest conversation, 
 and Josiah Goodwin was the subject of their 
 remarks. Seth dared not venture near enough 
 to hear all they said, but he learned that 
 Deacon Goodwin’s son had left home unex- 
 pectedly and for some unknown reason. The 
 thought at once flashed into his mind that his 
 way of escape was before him. 
 
 He waited till his father was ready to leave 
 for home, and went with him, quite to the 
 parent’s surprise, for Mr. Downing and his 
 son were seldom seen in the streets of Shire- 
 town together. 
 
 “ What is that they wei;e saying about 
 Josiah Goodwin ? ” asked Seth. 
 
 “ Oh, I didn’t mind. He’s run away ; got 
 into some rascally scrape or other, I suppose ; ” 
 then came the threadbare sneer about minis- 
 ter’s sons and deacon’s daughters. 
 
WHAT CAN I DO? 
 
 241 
 
 “ I say, governor, when are you coming to 
 ae ) about that deed ? ” 
 
 “ What deed ? ” 
 
 “You know well enough. The mortgage 
 Tosiah Goodwin brought in last week.” 
 
 “ I don’t know. I’ll . come in soon. I’m 
 busy now. Has Mr. Murdock said any thing 
 about it ? ” 
 
 “ No. Do you suppose Josiah will come 
 back ? ” 
 
 “ I can’t tell. How should I know any 
 thing about it ? ” 
 
 Seth stopped under a street-lamp, opened 
 his coat, and drew a paper half-way out of his 
 breast pocket, held it long enough for his 
 father to read, “ Mortgage Deed from David 
 
 Goodwin ” thrust it back, when Mr. 
 
 Downing tried to seize it, and then buttoned 
 up his coat. 
 
 “ Where did you get that ? ” his father 
 asked eagerly. 
 
242 
 
 CARE BARTLETT ; OR, 
 
 “Oh, I got it, and Mr. Murd/;//. don’t 
 know any thing about it ; don’t krx>v V. i ever 
 been in the office.” 
 
 “ Have you got the note, too ? * 
 
 “ Yes, I’ve got the note, an Ji you needn’t 
 be in a hurry to come and aw Murdock, be- 
 cause he don’t know as it’s b& 2 n paid.” 
 
 The two walked on in silence, and entered 
 the house together. Seth v na relieved in one 
 particular; there was no danger that his 
 father would be the first t • bring his sin to 
 light. If it was discover. 1, he would very 
 probably denounce his son but he was on his 
 guard, and would not bet . ay him without an 
 inducement. 
 
 Mr. Downing’s greed ‘hr gold, his desire 
 for gain, honest or disl west, “ got into his 
 eyes,” as Jotham had sa r d to Seth. The gain 
 was magnified a thousand fold ; the chance of 
 exposure, and the probable consequences, di 
 mini shed or receded. 
 
WHAT CAN I DO V 
 
 243 
 
 “ There are two thousand dollars I might 
 have just as well as not, if I only knew 
 that boy wouldn’t come home. Suppose ho 
 should ; who’s going to believe him, when I’ve 
 got all the papers ? The old deacon won’t 
 live long, then I can come in, if Josiah don’t 
 come ; if he does, and there’s a fuss about it, 
 I can give up the papers, and say he was 
 drunk when he paid me;” and he concluded 
 to ask Seth for the coveted documents. 
 
 “ Seth, I can take better care of those 
 papers than you can. I’ll take them and put 
 them into the safe.” 
 
 With pretended reluctance Seth delivered 
 up the mortgage, the note being inside. Mr. 
 Downing carefully laid them in his private 
 drawer in the safe, turned the key on them, 
 and put the bunch of keys in his pocket. 
 
 Seth went into the office and found Mr. 
 Righter alone there, prying about in the half- 
 bewildered manner that had so increased 
 upon the old man of late. 
 
244 
 
 CARL BARTLETT ; OR, 
 
 “ They say Josiah Goodwin has gone 
 away,” he began. 
 
 “ Yes, I heard something of the kind ; he 
 is a poor lot ; we can spare him.” 
 
 “Wan’t you here when he brought some- 
 thing for Mr. Murdock ? I can’t remember 
 just clearly about it.” 
 
 “ I guess you can’t. You’ve asked me 
 (hat question a dozen times before. Why, 
 Righter, you must have been dreaming. 
 Josiah Goodwin hasn’t been in this office, to 
 my knowledge, since I’ve been here.” 
 
 “ Well, I don’t know ; perhaps 1 did dream 
 about it. If he’d brought any thing in, I 
 should have put it right there in my desk, 
 where I always put Mr. Murdock’s things.” 
 “ Of course you would. You’ve had a 
 dream about Josiah Goodwin, depend upon 
 it” 
 
 “ Well, may be I have.” 
 
 Seth was relieved ; the evidence of his guilt 
 
WHAT CAN I DO? 
 
 245 
 
 was not a constant care ; it was in another’s 
 keeping, and the danger was not his alone. 
 
 Mr. Righter gave up his fruitless search, 
 and settled back into his old routine. Above 
 all, Josiah Goodwin did not return. 
 
 “ How is Mr. Righter getting along ? ” 
 Mrs. Murdock inquired of her husband, a 
 few days after Seth had transferred so 
 large a portion of his burden to the paternal 
 shoulders. 
 
 “ He is doing much better. He is a re- 
 liable old man ; if he had been more efficient, 
 he would not have been my father’s clerk and 
 mine all these years ; that would have been 
 our loss. Downing, too, seems to have re- 
 covered his quick wits.” 
 
 So all went smoothly again at Mr. Mur- 
 dock’s office. 
 
 Meanwhile Mr. Downing had been to Bos- 
 ton to buy goods, and encountered Josiah 
 Goodwin, in the garb of a sailor, on one of 
 
246 
 
 CARL BARTLETT ; OR, 
 
 the wharves. He dogged the young man’s 
 footsteps till he saw him go on board a large 
 clipper ship, then asked who the owners were, 
 and managed to obtain from them that no 
 such name was on the register ; ascertained 
 the time set for sailing, and was down on the 
 wharf to see the clipper towed down the 
 harbor with Deacon Goodwin’s son on board, 
 Josiah had shipped before the mast under a 
 feigned name. 
 
 This information Mr. Downing did not bear 
 to the sorrow stricken parents ; it was kept 
 tor his own use. He carefully watched the 
 ship news, saw the report of the arrival of 
 the “ Winged Keel ” in one harbor, later in 
 another. Then for months there were no 
 tidings ; next short paragraphs appeared, ex- 
 pressing the fear that the “ Winged Keel ” 
 had gone to the bottom. 
 
 “ And the deacon’s son with her ; that’s 
 about the right place for him,” was Mr. 
 Downing’s reflection. 
 
WHAT CAN I DO? 
 
 247 
 
 Finally the “ Winged Keel ” was given up ; 
 it was months since she had been due at an 
 East Indian port and nothing had been heard 
 of her ; she was probably a total wreck and all 
 on board lost. 
 
 “ Now,” thought Mr. Downing, “ if the old 
 deacon would die, I should be all right.” 
 
 But the hale old man had no thought of 
 departing from the world to give the unprin- 
 cipled schemer an opportunity for further 
 wrong doing : he lived on in ignorance of the 
 plots against him. 
 
 The papers lay in the safe drawer ; to the 
 owner of the drawer so much idle capital. 
 He never saw them without regretting, that 
 he dared not put them to a good use. “A 
 good use ! ” Ah, yes, Mr. Downing, they shall 
 be put to a good use. 
 
 Again the greed for gain blinded him, and 
 suddenly, without consulting Seth, he deter- 
 mined “ to realize on the properly.” 
 
248 
 
 CARL BARTLETT; OR, 
 
 “ I’ll sell that old man out before he knows 
 what I’m about; then he may fight it out 
 with the buyer.” 
 
 “ That’s a pretty bold push, governor,” said 
 Seth, when the advertisement appeared in the 
 county paper, “ may be you can make it go, 
 but if you had asked my advice, I should have 
 told you to hold on a little longer. You’d 
 better burn up the deed ; it might be awkward 
 for you and your dutiful son if it should come 
 to light. Your signature is on the margin, 
 you know.” 
 
 “ I’ll look out for that.” 
 
 Seth supposed his warning would be heeded, 
 but his father thought the possessioh of the 
 paper was another proof of bis right to pursue 
 the course he had started on, and meant to 
 “ look out ” that the acknowledgment on the 
 margin should not be visible, if the document 
 itself was. 
 
 The result of the first auction, was quite 
 
WHAT CAN I DO ? 
 
 249 
 
 unexpected to him, and he would gladly have 
 receded, but that would be a confession of 
 weakness, and excite suspicion ; he must go 
 on ; hence his haste to conclude the bargain 
 with Mins. 
 
 Occupied by the extra business of court 
 week, Mr. Downing had not heard of the turn 
 of affairs at the Goodwin homestead, or of the 
 arrival of the stranger, who had been instru- 
 mental in bringing them about. Seth had 
 been sent by Mr. Murdock, in the middle of 
 the afternoon, to a neighboring town, and had 
 not returned till after the adjournment of the 
 court. His younger brother, who had been 
 despatched to Clifton on a reconoissance, 
 had reported the sale in progress. The con- 
 federates, father and son, each in the morn- 
 ing went to his occupation, sanguine that a 
 troublesome affair was nearly disposed of. 
 
CHAPTER XI Y. 
 
 T was late in the evening when Mr. 
 Randolph joined the party of lawyers 
 gathered in the small parlor of the 
 Shiretown House. The judge re- 
 ceived him with cordiality, and most of the 
 other gentlemen had seen him in the after- 
 noon at the court-house, though he was per- 
 sonally known to Mr. Winnot only. 
 
 Mr. Murdock eyed the new comer suspi- 
 ciously, and said to the elderly gentleman at 
 his elbow, “ Rather an unusual mode of pro- 
 ceeding that you and your friend brought 
 about this afternoon, was it not ? A stretch 
 of power, it strikes me, for a judge to inter- 
 fere in that way.” 
 aeo 
 
WHAT CAN I DO ? 
 
 251 
 
 “ The case was somewhat unusual.” 
 
 “ I don’t think it is well for a judge to be 
 hasty.” 
 
 “ No, I don’t, unless he has haste to meet. 
 I don’t like to see one man deal hastily with 
 another, when he thinks he has him in his 
 power. What would you have done in the 
 premises ? ” 
 
 “ I would have postponed the case. 1 
 would have examined it before giving a 
 decision.” 
 
 “ And let a respectable, hard-working man 
 be turned out of doors in his old age.” 
 
 “ Law is law.” 
 
 “ Yes, and justice is justice, and ought to 
 oe tempered with mercy.” 
 
 “ One man has rights as well as another,” 
 said Mr. Murdock. 
 
 “ Certainly he has. The judge’s decision 
 was rather rapid, to be sure, but it was not 
 final; the old gentleman now has time to 
 
252 
 
 CAUL BARTLETT; OB, 
 
 prove his rights, if he can, and Downing has 
 time to prove his claim. The judge’s course 
 was just what my own would have been, if I 
 had sat on the bench in his place.” 
 
 “ Downing’s proof is perfectly good ; and 1 
 don’t like to see a stranger come in and ob- 
 struct the regular course of law in that way,” 
 said Mr. Murdock, who was very tenacious 
 of his professional dignity. 
 
 “ Ah, that is it, is it ? ” thought Mr. Win- 
 not; “he is more plain spoken than civil,” 
 but he answered good-naturedly : “ If there is 
 any blame there, it belongs to me as much as 
 to Mr. Randolph ; but no matter ; I’m not 
 sorry yet that I helped him. He is coming 
 this way ; I will introduce you to him ; he will 
 do more to remove your unfavorable impres- 
 sions in five minutes, than I can in an hour.” 
 “ I wonder if he expects to go back of the 
 records,” said Mr. Murdock. 
 
 “ I don’t know what he intends to do,” was 
 
WHAT CAN I DO ? 
 
 253 
 
 Mi*. Winnot’s cool reply. “ I would go back, 
 or round, or over, or under the records, if I 
 could, to put a stop to injustice.” 
 
 Mr. Murdock, now thoroughly irritated, 
 was making his way towards the door, willing 
 to escape the introduction to Mr. Randolph ; 
 but he was stopped by a notorious bore, who 
 never lacked question ready to ask. “ Who 
 was that young man I saw in your office, this 
 morning ? I thought I’d seen him before.” 
 
 “ You know my clerk, Rigliter ; he is not a 
 young man though.” 
 
 “ No, no. I know him. The young man. 
 Don’t you remember he brought you your 
 letters from the post-office.” 
 
 “ That was my office boy, Downing.” 
 
 “ Oh, yes, I knew I had seen him before. 
 Son of Downing, the shopkeeper, is not he ? ” 
 “Yes.” 
 
 “ Pretty smart boy, isn’t he ? ” 
 
 As the bore was called by some of his legal 
 
254 
 
 CARL BARTLETT; OR, 
 
 brethren, a walking interrogation mark, hia 
 questioning propensities were a standing joke, 
 and the equanimity or the annoyance of his 
 victims was often a subject of remark. Well 
 aware of this, Mr. Murdock answered quietly, 
 while he chafed inwardly, “ Yes, he is a very 
 smart boy ; he has not been with me long, but 
 he knows as much law now, as some young 
 men do when they are admitted to the bar.” 
 
 The bore released him ; lookers on had 
 nothing to laugh at, but the impatient man 
 had not made his escape. It was Mr. Winnot 
 who stopped him this time. 
 
 “It appears to me that I have heard of 
 that Downing before. Was he not concerned 
 in some affair at Clifton not quite to his 
 credit ? ” 
 
 “ Wonder if that is his business,” thought 
 Mr. Murdock, who liked far better to criticise 
 than to have his own actions called in ques- 
 tion ; but he answered, “ I believe there was 
 
WHAT CAN I DO ? 
 
 255 
 
 some gossip about him, some boyish folly, I 
 suppose. I think he has got over that now. 
 Boys will be boys, you know. I don’t believe 
 in remembering all the sins of youth against 
 one ; give him a chance, I say.” 
 
 “ Oh, yes, of course ; still I have a good 
 deal of faith in the old saying, ‘ The boy is 
 father to the man ; ’ not that I would pro 
 nounce the boy who pulls olf a fly’s wing, or 
 tortures a defenceless kitten, a candidate for 
 the gallows, though I think it betrays a con- 
 temptible trait of character. But in the mat- 
 ter of honesty, and if I remember right this 
 was a matter of meum and tuum, the man 
 will closely resemble the boy ; if he deals 
 unfairly by his teacher, schoolmates, and so 
 on, he is almost sure to be a tricky, dishonest 
 man. That is good doctrine, is not it, Ran 
 dolph ? Mr. Randolph, Mr. Murdock. Mr. 
 Randolph has just returned from abroad. J 
 don’t know of any two men better fitted to 
 
266 
 
 CARL RARTLETT , OR, 
 
 compare notes than you two,” said Mr. Win 
 not, as he turned to look for the judge. Five 
 minutes after he interrupted his conversation 
 with that official to say, as he glanced smil- 
 ingly across the room, “ Murdock does not 
 feel so crusty as lie did. I thought Randolph 
 would bring him round. Yery good sort of a 
 man, Mr. Murdock, if he would not be always 
 taking care of his dignity ; but he will get 
 over that, I fancy.” 
 
 “ Oh, yes, I think so ; and as for Randolph, 
 I wish we could keep him this way ; I have 
 great confidence in his judgment. Have you 
 seen the last digest of our State laws ? ” The 
 judge never talked of court-room occurrences 
 outside the court house walls. 
 
 Mr. Murdock, living in an inland town, 
 seldom had an opportunity to recall his remi- 
 niscences of foreign travel, in conversation 
 with one fresh from “merry England,” and 
 had indeed lost sight of his irritation. One 
 
WHAT CAN X DO ? 
 
 257 
 
 after another left the room without either 
 of the two gentlemen, who were seated on the 
 sofa in close conversation, noticing that they 
 were in danger of being left in possession. 
 The single stroke of the clock on the chimney 
 piece arrested the attention of both. 
 
 u That can’t be right,” said Mr. Murdock, 
 rising and looking at his watch. “ Even so. 
 I have lost two hours of 6 nature’s sweet re- 
 storer,’ Mr. Randolph, but they are two such 
 hours as I have not spent this many a day. 
 You are a stranger in our State, I believe. If 
 it is in my power to do anything to make your 
 stay agreeable, I should esteem it a favor if 
 you would lay your commands upon me.” 
 
 “ I think it very probable I may trespass on 
 your kindness.” 
 
 “ No trespass, I assure you, sir.” 
 
 “ I would be very glad to consult you on 
 this affair of Deacon Goodwin’s, but it is late 
 this evening.” 
 
258 
 
 CARL BARTLETT; OR, 
 
 Mr. Murdock’s brow contracted slightly, 
 but he could not recede. 
 
 “ Come over and breakfast with me. Mrs. 
 Murdock is absent, and we can talk business, 
 over our chops and coffee.” 
 
 “ Nothing could suit me better.” 
 
 Mr. Murdock understood the duties of host, 
 and made his guest perfectly at ease, so that 
 he had no difficulty in introducing the subject 
 that engaged his thoughts. 
 
 “ You are acquainted with Deacon Good- 
 win, Mr. Murdock ? ” 
 
 “ Yes, slightly ; my father knew him very 
 well, but my acquaintance is a strictly pro- 
 fessional one. Those quiet Clifton farmers 
 don’t make much business for us. I had not 
 seen him for a long time till he came in a 
 week or two since to ask about this mortgage. 
 It is hard for the old gentleman to suffer for 
 young scape-graces’ exploits, but it is the old 
 story, the innocent for the guilty ; the same 
 
WHAT CAN I DO ? 
 
 259 
 
 thing is happening every day in different 
 ways. It was annoying to me to be called 
 upon for a document that was never deposited 
 with me.” 
 
 44 I suppose Downing’s interest could be 
 bought.” 
 
 44 He has sold it already, that is, he has 
 agreed to sell it ; the papers were to be signed 
 at my office to-day; your success yesterday 
 may delay the transfer.” 
 
 44 I was just in time.” 
 
 " Not a day to spare.” 
 
 “ I must secure that claim.” 
 
 44 It is not at all improbable that the pur- 
 chaser would transfer this bargain for a con- 
 sideration. It is a money-making affair on 
 his part. I presume he buys the place far 
 below its value.” 
 
 u Then the best way is to negotiate with 
 him before going to the mortgagee.” 
 
 44 Decidedly ; and if you will allow me to 
 
2fi0 CARL BARTLETT; OR, 
 
 advise, I will say that Mr. Downing has the 
 reputation of being a passionate man — ” 
 
 “ Yes, I see. He might not be able to ac- 
 commodate the man who had interfered in his 
 transactions.” 
 
 “ You have it, sir.” 
 
 “ This purchaser. Who is he ? ” 
 
 “ His name is Mins ; he is a rough sort of 
 a man, and if he will not take one sum he 
 will another ; money is more of an object to 
 him than it is to you, I opine.” 
 
 “ He is to be at your office this morning.” 
 
 “ Yes, he has some business to look after 
 there ; when that is finished I am to send for 
 Mr. Downing. Why not walk over with me ? 
 I can offer you an arm-chair and a newspaper, 
 and you will excuse my attending to business, 
 I know.” 
 
 “ Of course.” 
 
 Ten minutes later Mr. Randolph sat in Mr. 
 Murdock’s private office, newspaper in hand, 
 
WHAT CAN I DO ? 
 
 261 
 
 occupied one moment with moving accidents by 
 flood and field, another by studies in physiog- 
 nomy. Seth Downing’s eyes, nose and mouth 
 were being under consideration. He longed 
 to take the boy by the throat, and by the use 
 of good, strong muscle, force from him the 
 knowledge which the investigator was almost 
 sure was in Seth’s possession. But Mr. Ran- 
 dolph had a clue, one that would break 
 perhaps as soon as he attempted to follow it; 
 still the line of procedure was decided upon, 
 and it would not answer to risk any short 
 cuts, any “ breach of the peace.” 
 
 When Mins appeared, Mr. Murdock de- 
 spatched Seth to the court house. 
 
 11 1 shall be detained a short time, Down- 
 ing,” said he, “ and I would like to have you 
 remain till I come, and give particular atten- 
 tion to the case on trial, so as to report it 
 to me.” 
 
 “ So your governor didn’t make that trade 
 
262 
 
 CARL BARTLETT; OR, 
 
 quite so smooth as lie thought he was going 
 to ; haste makes waste sometimes,” were the 
 first words that Seth heard as he passed 
 between the posts in front of the court 
 house. 
 
 “ What trade ? ” 
 
 “ What trade, sweet innocent ? ” 
 
 The speaker, stimulated by an old grudge, 
 was delighted to narrate the occurrences of the 
 previous afternoon, and finished his recital by 
 saying, “ And Evans went right over with the 
 man that came in the cars, and they say the 
 old deacon is back again, snug in his house, 
 and I guess it ’ill be a job to oust him. Better 
 tell your governor, not to be in such a hurry 
 next time, because folks don’t like to see a 
 clever old man tipped out that way.” 
 
 “Tain’t my job,” said Seth. “I told the 
 governor ’twas too bad, but he knows a great 
 sight more law than I do. Thinks he does, at 
 any rate ” 
 
WHAT CAN I DO ? 
 
 263 
 
 He went into the court room, not at first to 
 watch the trial, but to consider what his own 
 course should be ; whether he should slip 
 out and warn his father, or trust to his hearing 
 the news by a chance informant. 
 
 “ The old man has got himself into the 
 scrape, and he may get himself out of it,” he 
 said to himself; and he turned his attention, 
 as well as his fears would allow, to testi- 
 mony and evidence. 
 
CHAPTER XV. 
 
 INS, determined not to trust Mr. 
 Downing’s word, had been early that 
 morning to see if the conditions of 
 the sale had been fulfilled. Instead 
 of finding the dwelling he expected to move 
 into, tenantless, he saw the same aged couple 
 that had occupied it when he was last there. 
 No indications of change were visible, save 
 the trampled grass and a slight appearance of 
 disorder about the house. He remembered 
 Jaques’ warning, and almost wished he had 
 heeded it. It was plain that Downing could 
 not, or would not fulfil his agreement. When 
 he reached Shi retown he learned what obstacles 
 
 264 
 
WHAT CAN I DO? 
 
 265 
 
 had been placed in the willing mortgagee’s 
 way. 
 
 “ I shan’t take those papers of Downing’s 
 to-day,” were his first words when the office 
 door closed behind Seth. “ He promised to 
 see that the place was vacated, and he hasn’t 
 done it, and they say he can’t do it for six 
 months ; he’s got to make me a consideration 
 if I wait that time.” 
 
 “ Why don’t you give up the bargain ? ” 
 asked Mr. Murdock. 
 
 “ Well, between you and I, I would, but it’s 
 a mighty good one, I think.” 
 
 “ Perhaps you could get some one to take it 
 off your hands for a reasonable consideration.” 
 
 “ I don’t think I should be hard to trade 
 with. I’d give up my chance for — say — five 
 hundred dollars.” 
 
 “ That would be doing pretty well, wouldn’t 
 it ; five hundred dollars for a bargain of two 
 thousand ? ” 
 
266 
 
 CARL BARTLETT ; OR, 
 
 “ Yes ; but it is a four or five thousand dol- 
 lar farm for twenty-two hundred.” 
 
 “ Is the title good ? ” interposed Mr. Ran- 
 dolph. 
 
 “ The lawyer here says it is ; he ought tc 
 know ; ” answered Mins, looking towards Mr 
 Murdock. 
 
 “ I consider it perfectly good. The land has 
 had so few owners the title is very plain ; the 
 records are clear,” said the lawyer. 
 
 “ I will take Mr. Murdock’s word for the 
 records, and I will give five hundred dollars for 
 your bargain if you will first satisfy me that 
 the mortgagee has a right to sell,” said Mr. 
 Randolph. 
 
 “ To be sure he has. There was some talk 
 about a runaway boy, but that is nothing that 
 touches the title.” 
 
 “ I am a little precise about such matters, I 
 believe,” said Mr. Randolph, “ and I would 
 like to see Mr. Downing’s proofs, the ones he 
 
WHAT CAN I DO ? 
 
 267 
 
 Das in his own hands, of his right to sell. If 
 I am satisfied with them I will close the bar- 
 gain.” 
 
 “ When ? ” 
 
 “ This morning, if you choose. If you and 
 Mr. Murdock will go with me to Downing, and 
 you will say that you wish to see the papers, 
 the note, and mortgage securing the note, 
 allowing me to he a looker on, if he produces 
 papers satisfactory to Mr. Murdock, your at 
 torney, I will at once pay the five hundred 
 dollars.” 
 
 “ When’ll you go ? ” 
 
 “ Now, if Mr. Murdock is at leisure.” 
 
 Mr. Murdock was not pleased, but as he 
 had no valid objection to offer, could not 
 refuse. He went with Mins and Mr. Ran- 
 dolph, thinking that the latter was much more 
 agreeable as a man of society than as a man 
 of business. 
 
 When half-way down the stairs, Mins 
 
268 
 
 CARL BARTLETT; OR, 
 
 stopped, turned about, and spoke to Mr. 
 Murdock. 
 
 “ I don’t know about this ; he can’t get me 
 into any scrape, can he ? ” 
 
 “ I do not see that you take any risk,” was 
 the answer. 
 
 The color forsook Mr. Downing’s cheek, 
 when he saw the three men step up on to the 
 long stoop in front of the store. 
 
 “ What had Mins come here for, and with 
 his lawyer, too ? That other man ; who was 
 he ?” 
 
 Again he fervently wished this job well off 
 his hands, but he must put a bold face on it ; 
 he was in for it now, and every thing might 
 depend upon his coolness. Mins walked 
 directly up and accosted him : “ I thought I’d 
 like to have Mr. Murdock take a look at them 
 papers before I took the deed.” 
 
 “ Good morning, Mr. Mins ; good morning, 
 Mr. Murdock,” said Mr. Downing, and he 
 
WHAT CAN I DO ? 
 
 269 
 
 added a ceremonious bov to the stranger. 
 “ I hope you are quite m ill to-day. What 
 papers was it you would like to see ? ” 
 
 “ Why, the papers about that farm I was 
 going to buy, you know. The note and mort- 
 gage.” 
 
 “ Well, I can show you the note. I am not 
 sure that I have the mortgage. I will get the 
 note however.” 
 
 Downing went to the small room where the 
 safe stood, intending to bring the note, but 
 Mins closely followed him ; Mr. Randolph 
 and Mr. Murdock brought up the rear. Mr. 
 Murdock stood in the doorway, while Mr. 
 Downing unlocked the drawer, and took out 
 the small slip of paper. He handed it, with- 
 out saying a word, to the lawyer, who turned 
 it over and carefully inspected it, saying 
 “ Yes, all satisfactory. I know Deacon 0» Ed- 
 win’s signature.” 
 
 Mins never allowed a sense of delicac; to 
 
270 
 
 CARL BARTLETT ; OR, 
 
 interfere with a despatch of business ; now ho 
 was impatient to hold the five hundred dollars 
 between his fingers. Why should not he lend 
 a helping hand ? While Mr. Downing’s back 
 was turned, he rapidly ran over the docu- 
 ments in the drawer, till he came to the one 
 labelled, “ Mortgage Deed from David Good- 
 win to John J. Downing.” 
 
 “ Here ’tis,” said he, reaching it over Mr 
 Downing’s shoulder to Mr. Randolph. 
 
 The guilty man turned quickly round, and 
 tried to seize the deed. 
 
 “ What right have you to meddle with my 
 papers ? ” he cried. 
 
 “ The right that every honest man has to 
 bring a rogue to justice,” Mr. Randolph an- 
 swered. 
 
 “ Now you see this won’t do,” said Mins, 
 seizing Mr. Downing by the wrists, and forc- 
 ing him back against the partition, powerless 
 in the hands of the strong ipan. 
 
WAAT CAN I DO ? 
 
 271 
 
 “ I can see no reason why you should ob- 
 ject to my examining this paper, Mr. Down- 
 ing,” said Mr. Murdock, taking it from Mr. 
 Randolph. He opened it and glanced at the 
 margin. 
 
 It was now the lawyer’s turn to be agitated. 
 “ My honor is at stake here,” said he. “ This 
 paper is not yours, Mr. Downing ; how came 
 it in your possession ? ” 
 
 “ What is it ? ” asked Mins. 
 
 “ Here is the acknowledgment in the usual 
 form of the payment of the note, and it is 
 signed, 4 John J. Downing.’ This man has 
 no more right, Mr. Mins, to sell Deacon 
 Goodwin’s property, than you have to sell 
 mine. I ask you how you come by papers 
 that belong to Deacon Goodwin, and not to 
 you,” Mr. Murdock demanded of the man 
 who had sank trembling into a chair. 
 
 “I — I — the fact was, Josiah was drunk 
 when he paid the money, and I thought I’d 
 take care of the papers for the deacon,” 
 
272 
 
 CARL 1ARTLETT ; OR, 
 
 “ Mighty good v jre you took of them for 
 him,” said Mins. 
 
 “ Were you drunk when you offered the 
 place for sale ? ” asked Mr. Murdock. “ I 
 should think you might have been. I did not 
 know you to be a man of intemperate habits.” 
 
 “ He wan’t drunk when he tried to get 
 twenty-two hundred dollars out of an honest 
 man, for what was not worth a straw,” said 
 Mins. 
 
 “ I wonder what his idea of honesty is,” 
 thought Mr. Randolph. 
 
 Completely bewildered and beside himself 
 with terror, Mr. Downing made a feeble effort 
 to escape. 
 
 “Not quite so fast,” said Mr. Murdock. 
 “ I shall sift this mattei • to the bottom. I 
 shall take measures at once to order your 
 arrest.” 
 
 “ Oh, don’t expose me, don’t expose me,” 
 implored the agonized n an. “ I’ll do any- 
 
WHAT CAN I DO ? 
 
 273 
 
 thing you say. I shouldn’t have thought of 
 it. I didn’t do it.” 
 
 “ I suppose you didn’t try to get twenty-two 
 hundred dollars out of me. Who done that, 
 if you didn’t, I’d like to know/ 
 
 “ You have not told me yet how these 
 documents came into your hands,” said Mr. 
 Murdock. 
 
 “ Don’t expose me, sir,” said Downing, in 
 piteous tones, glancing out into the store and 
 turning quickly from the eager looks that 
 were bent upon him, “ ’twas all Seth’s fault.” 
 
 “ Seth’s fault, was it ? I feared as much,” 
 said Mr. Murdock ; “ then this is more than 
 ever my business.” 
 
 Mr. Randolph could not help feeling a 
 gleam of pity for the abject man before him, 
 and a desire to shorten his sufferings, much 
 like that we feel for a writhing, mangled 
 snake. u We should be more quiet and less 
 liable to observation, I think, Mr. Murdock,” 
 said he, “ if we were to go to your office.” 
 
274 
 
 CARL BARTLETT ; OR, 
 
 “ I’ll tell you all about it, sir, only don’t 
 expose me here.” 
 
 “ Come along, then,” said Mins, taking him 
 roughly by the arm and drawing him toward 
 the front door of the store. 
 
 “ There’s a door this way,” said Downing, 
 looking pleadingly at Mr. Randolph. 
 
 No wonder he shrank from facing partners, 
 * clerks and customers. 
 
 “ Where’s your hat ? ” asked Mins. Down- 
 ing pointed to it. 
 
 “ Just you get it, will you,” said Mins. “ I 
 ain’t a going to let go this chap in a hurry ; 
 try to swindle an honest man out of twenty- 
 two hundred dollars. That the right one ? ” 
 and he took the hat from Mr. Randolph, 
 crushed it down over the culprit’s eyes, and 
 dragged him out of the small back door. 
 
 Mr. Rigliter looked up in astonishment 
 when Downing entered the office, Mins lead- 
 ing or rather pushing him, Mr- Mu "dock and 
 Mr. Randolph following, 
 
WHAT CAN I DO? 
 
 275 
 
 “ Righter, won’t you go over to the court 
 house and tell Downing I want him. You 
 can stay and take notes of the trial in his 
 place. 
 
 “ Now, Mr. Randolph, as I am a party to a 
 limited extent in this case, you will oblige me 
 by putting such questions to the culprit as you 
 may wish.” 
 
 “ Very well, if that is your choice. Mr. 
 Downing, will you answer the question that 
 has already been put to you, how came you to 
 retain those papers after the mortgagor’s ob- 
 ligation was discharged? ” 
 
 “ I didn’t retain them,” replied Mr. Down- 
 ing, rocking from side to side in his chair. 
 “ Josiah Goodwin took them over to Mr. Mur- 
 dock’s office.” 
 
 “ How did you procure them from there ? ” 
 
 “ I didn’t, I didn’t ! ’Twas Seth ; he got 
 them from the office.” 
 
 Mr. Murdock winced, and the vision of the 
 
276 
 
 CARL BARTLETT ; OR, 
 
 white-haired, man whom he had treated with 
 so little ceremony, was before him. 
 
 “ Seth, that is your son ? ” 
 
 “Yes” 
 
 “ Shall we wait, and let him speak for 
 himself?” asked Mr. Randolph, turning to 
 Mr. Murdock. 
 
 “ He will be here soon,” was the reply of 
 the thoroughly humbled lawyer. 
 
 Ten long, long minutes, they waited before 
 Seth’s footstep was heard on the stairs ; he 
 came up two steps at a time, opened the door 
 hastily, approached Mr. Murdock’s chair, and 
 offered him a roll of note paper, saying, “ I 
 should have come before, but I thought I’d 
 hear the witness through. I thought you'd 
 want the whole testimony.” 
 
 Mr. Murdoek motioned him aside, saying. 
 “ I will attend to that some other time. 
 Answer whatever questions this gentleman 
 may put to you.” 
 
WHAT CAN I D.O ? 
 
 277 
 
 Seth turned round, glanced at his father 
 with an expression of contempt, understood at 
 once, that his guilt had been brought to light, 
 and uttered a low whistle, which he followed 
 with, “What’s up now? What’s the matter 
 with the governor ? ” 
 
 “ Now, Mr. Downing,” said Mr. Randolph, 
 “ will you tell us how these papers came into 
 your possession, after you had delivered them 
 to Deacon Goodwin’s messenger.” 
 
 “ Who said he ever did deliver them,” de- 
 manded Seth ; and he strode across the room, 
 shook his father by the shoulder, and shouted 
 in his ear, “ Wake up, I say, old man ; what 
 do you let people bully you for ? ” 
 
 “ Young man,” interposed Mr. Randolph, 
 “ if you do not wish us to call in the strong 
 arm of the law, behave with some degree of 
 propriety.” 
 
 “ Who are you, I’d like to know ? ” 
 
 “ I am David Goodwin’s counsel. That is 
 
 enough for the present.” 
 
278 
 
 CARL BARTLETT; OR, 
 
 “ Downing, sit down in that chair, and 
 answer when you are called upon,” said Mr. 
 Murdock. “ I can have some pity for your 
 father, if his oldest son cannot.” 
 
 “ I haven’t any pity for him,” Mins inter- 
 rupted. “ Try to get twenty-two hundred 
 dollars out of an honest man.” 
 
 “ Did you ever hear of partakers and 
 thieves, Mr. Mins ? ” asked Mr. Randolph. 
 
 “ If you are innocent,” Mr. Murdock con- 
 tinued, without noticing the interruption, “ I 
 will protect you ; if not, it is my duty to place 
 you where you will receive the reward of your 
 deeds. Sit down in that chair.” 
 
 Seth swung himself into the seat indicated, 
 and did his best to retain a bold, unconcerned 
 air; if his prospects of advancment in that 
 office had come to nought, there was no use in 
 standing off and being ceremonious now ; but 
 he would not be crowded more than he could 
 help. 
 
WHAT CAN I DO? 
 
 279 
 
 Mr. Randolph repeated his question to Mr. 
 downing. “ How came you in possession of 
 those papers ? ” 
 
 “ Seth brought them from the office.” 
 
 “ Where J osiah left them ? ” 
 
 “ Yes, with Righter, one day when Mr. Mur- 
 dock was out. I should not have been in this 
 trouble, if it hadn’t been for Seth.” 
 
 “ Now see here, old man,” said the son, 
 “ it’s no use talking that way, ‘ I shouldn’t 
 have been in this scrape if it hadn’t been for 
 Seth.’ If you’d done as Seth told you you 
 wouldn’t have been in this trouble. You was 
 glad enough when you found Seth had the doc- 
 uments, and Josiah was gone, and you thought 
 you wouldn’t be found out. If you’d had a 
 little spunk you needn’t have got into this 
 scrape. What did you want to own right up 
 for ? Why couldn’t you look up saucy and say 
 Josiah never paid the money? It’s no use 
 trying to do any thing with you. 
 
280 
 
 CARL BARTLETT ; OR, 
 
 “ Here, Mr. I don’t know what you call 
 
 yourself,” Seth went on addressing Mr. Ran- 
 dolph, “ I’ll tell you just how it was. I can’t 
 stay here all day this way, and you won’t get 
 it out of him before night. You see, the old 
 man was pleading poverty one day, same as he 
 always is, and groaning about Uncle David’s 
 mortgage, saying he couldn’t get it, and all 
 that. Well, that very afternoon, Josiah Good- 
 win comes into the office and gives Righter a 
 paper for Murdock, and the same minute a man 
 comes and calls Righter out. Now you see, 
 Righter is a regular prig, and I never knew him 
 to go and leave a paper out of place before or 
 since, but he did that time, and I thought I’d 
 just see what the governor was about; so I 
 was just looking at the paper when Murdock 
 came along, and I couldn’t do any thing but 
 clap it into my desk. Murdock locked up that 
 night, and I couldn’t get a chance to put the 
 paper back. It seemed as if those two men 
 
WHAT CAN T HO ? 
 
 28 ) 
 
 had agreed to mount guard over me. I couldn’t 
 get any chance to get rid of that mortgage 
 unless I’d owned right up I’d taken it, and I 
 couldn’t do that, you know.” 
 
 “ No, I don’t know any thing of the kind,” 
 said Mr. Randolph. “ If you had acknowledged 
 your first wrong step, you would have saved 
 yourself and others much trouble.” 
 
 “ Well, I didn’t any way, and after Josiah 
 Goodwin went off, I showed ’em to the old man, 
 and he wanted ’em, and I let him have ’em. 
 I told him after he’d started to sell the place 
 he’d better burn up the mortgage, but he didn’t 
 do it, and now he knows whether I was right 
 or not. He's got me into a pretty scrape too, 
 and I ain’t much to blame either. 
 
 “ Don’t you see, if things hadn’t been just 
 as they were, I shouldn’t have this job on mj 
 hands ? If the old man hadn’t tried to throw 
 dust into my eyes, and if Righter hadn’t left 
 things laying round, and wasn’t such a moon- 
 
282 
 
 CARL BARTLETT; OR, 
 
 struck fellow, and if Josiah hadn’t left the 
 note in and then gone off, I shouldn't have 
 done it.” 
 
 “ I see,” said Mr. Randolph, “ that there 
 never was a rascal yet, who did not find wick- 
 edness ready for his hand, and excuses ready 
 for his tongue ; ” — he was about to add, “ I 
 cast it into the fire, and there came out this 
 calf; ” but remembering that all such allusions 
 would be lost on Seth, he turned to the father 
 and asked, “ Is that account correct ? ” 
 
 “ I think so,” was the reply. 
 
 “ Oh, yes, that is correct,” said Seth. 
 “ You’re lawyer enough to know, I suppose, 
 that when a man gets into a bad scrape, he 
 stands the best chance, to make a clean 
 breast of it.” 
 
 “We will dispense with your legal opinions, 
 Downing,” said Mr. Murdock. 
 
 “ I believe you won’t care to close your 
 bargain with Mr. Downing, Mr. Mins,” said 
 Mr. Randolph. 
 
WAAT CAN I DO ? 
 
 283 
 
 “ I wash my hands of it,” said Mins, who 
 Dad been looking uneasily towards the door 
 since Mr. Randolph’s hint about partakers 
 and thieves. 
 
 I don’t suppose you want me any more.” 
 
 “ No, I think not,” said Mr. Murdock, “ but 
 you will oblige me if you will stop at the court 
 house, and ask Sheriff Evans to come over 
 here, and bring a man he can trust with 
 him.” 
 
 “ Certainly,” said Mins, “ very happy to ; 
 and he made his escape, though not till he 
 had delivered his final decision to Mr. Down- 
 ing in this form. 
 
 “ You ’ll find Shiretown, too hot to hold 
 you, depend on that.” 
 
 The sheriff soon appeared, and with him a 
 broad shouldered man, in whose grasp Seth 
 had more than once seen a helpless prisoner. 
 
 “ Take young Downing into custody, Sla- 
 ter/’ said Mr. Murdock, and turning to the 
 
284 
 
 CARL BARTLETT ; OK, 
 
 sheriff, he added, “He will remain in youi 
 hands, until h Q can be brought to trial.” 
 
 Seth well knew that active resistance would 
 be utterly useless, and only lead to exposure 
 and closer watching. Slater looked upon his 
 employment as one in which high art might 
 be displayed, and was wont to say, “When 
 the prisoner goes ’long stiddy, why then I go 
 ’long stiddy. I keeps my eye on him putty 
 tight though, but there ain’t no use layin’ out 
 all your strength when you ain’t got nothin’ 
 but a leetle go-cart to trundle; better hold 
 back your reserve forces till you need ’em.” 
 Seth had been present when Slater’s re- 
 served force had been called into action, and 
 knew his own interest far better than to cause 
 it to be needed now ; so he walked beside the 
 officer, talking of some casual topic, but all 
 the while speculating whether the wits he 
 placed so much confidence in would not help 
 him now. The two reached the count/ W* 
 
WHAT CAN I DO ? 
 
 285 
 
 without exciting the curiosity of the few who 
 met Sheriff Evans’s deputy in company with a 
 lawyer’s office-hoy. 
 
 The ?/>n disposed of, Mr. Murdock turned to 
 the father and said, “ You will go to the 
 recorder’s with the sheriff, who will see your 
 acknowledgment properly recorded and cer- 
 tified.” 
 
 He handed the officer the mortgage, ex- 
 plained briefly the state of the case, and con- 
 cluded by saying, “ When the business is 
 finished, you will place the man in confine- 
 ment, and return the document to Mr. Ran- 
 dolph, the mortgagor’s agent.” 
 
 Mr. Downing had sat silent, aware that the 
 chains were being secured about him, and 
 that he was utterly powerless to cast them off. 
 Now, however, he gathered himself up for a 
 final effort, and said, “ You ain’t going to 
 take me away from my family, without giving 
 me a chance to see them once ; do remember, 
 sir, I am a husband and father.” 
 
286 
 
 CARL BARTLETT; OR, 
 
 “ I can send a man home with Mr. Down 
 mg,” said Sheriff Evans, sincerely pitying the 
 wretched supplicant. 
 
 “ If we can make the burden lighter for his 
 wife and children, I should be glad to do it, 
 so far as I am concerned ; and I am sure 
 Deacon Goodwin would,” said Mr. Ran- 
 dolph. 
 
 “ Very well ; then, Evans,” said Mr. Mur- 
 dock, “ please to attend to the business as I 
 requested, and we shall hold you responsible 
 for the prisoner.” 
 
 Evans’ regular force was not large, and 
 when extra demands were made upon him, he 
 was obliged to call in assistants, unaccus- 
 tomed to deal with men whose faculties were 
 all called into play by the desire for self- 
 preservation. It was not strange that pris- 
 oners sometimes eluded the vigilance of these 
 unpractised officers, and made their escape. 
 
 The weather, which had been warm and 
 
WHAT CAN I DO ? 
 
 287 
 
 pleasant., changed in the night ; the vane 
 veered round from west to north-east, and a 
 cheerless storm set in. One of the storms, 
 that in spring and fall so often chill, to the 
 very marrow of the bones, the dwellers in our 
 treacherous climate. 
 
 The night was dark, and the biting wind 
 rattled the casement and dashed the rain in 
 Mr. Downing’s face, as lie swung himself 
 down from a second-story window, and groped 
 his way toward the railroad-station, where he 
 stood cowering under a shed, waiting the 
 coming of a freight train that stopped at 
 Sliiretown regularly, about two o’clock in the 
 morning, to take in wood and water. When 
 it came, he clambered into a gravel-car at- 
 tached to the rear of the train, and curled 
 down into one corner, wet and miserable. 
 
 The train soon began to move, and Mr. 
 Downing thought that he was safe at least, till 
 he should reach the next stopping place, but 
 
288 
 
 CARL BARTLETT; OR, 
 
 before the engine was fairly under way, a hand 
 was laid on the edge of the car. The fugitive 
 drew himself up into as small a compass as 
 possible to elude the supposed pursuer, but tlie 
 new comer tumbled in, treading on the pros- 
 trate man in his hasty advent. 
 
 “ Hullo ! what’s that ? ” he muttered. 
 
 The father recognised the voice as that of 
 his eldest son, his partner in iniquity. “ Is 
 that you, Seth ? ” 
 
 “What, you there, governor. Well, that’s 
 droll we should both have taken passage in 
 this luxurious vehicle.” 
 
 “ Keep still, can’t you ; somebody will hear 
 you.” 
 
 “ No danger, the cars make such a racket. 
 [ say, governor, how’d you get away ? That 
 jail ain’t fit to hold an enterprising baby, if it 
 wanted to crawl out.” 
 
 “ I thought I’d got rid of you. I’ve suffered 
 enough by you ; this is the second time you’ve 
 
WHAT CAN I DO ? 
 
 289 
 
 broken up my business, and my home, by your 
 villainy.” 
 
 “Now see here, old man, you needn’t be 
 blackguarding me so. When I was a little 
 shaver, didn’t you tell me I must be smart 
 and make money and get the better of folks. 
 And didn’t I use to help you mix up things 
 after the store was shut, put sand into the 
 sugar, and meal into mustard, and all that 
 sort of thing. I was all right, this time ; it’s 
 you that’s broken up my business this time. 
 It’s you that’s got found out ; you’ll have to 
 learn to cover your own tracks better.” 
 
 Ah ! Seth, if you are ever well read in crim- 
 inal law, well acquainted with its workings, 
 you will learn that the precautions taken 
 against detection, are, after all, only mile posts 
 for the avenger. As the pioneer in the track- 
 less forests, blazes his way, chipping a frag- 
 ment from the bark of one tree and another, 
 as he passes, that others may follow in his 
 
290 
 
 CARL BARTLETT. 
 
 footsteps, so does the malefactor, in his attempts 
 at concealment, but leave guide-marks for the 
 pursuer. 
 
 Exposed to the pelting storm, the father and 
 s jn exchanged recriminations. W e leave them, 
 homeless wanderers. The middle aged man, 
 
 “ Cover’d with cold and wrapt in wretchedness,” 
 
 all his painful savings, all the muck rake 
 scrapings, all that he was possessed of, left 
 behind ; even the name that was his in help- 
 less infancy he dares not take with him. The 
 youth, verging on manhood, his prospects 
 blighted, his plans overthrown, we leave him 
 to burrow, mole eyed, in the tortuous ways of 
 deceit and fraud. Had he started in the full 
 sunlight of honesty and truth, he might have 
 run, side by side, with the fleetest in the race 
 of life. 
 
CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 ^HEN Mr. Randolph had seen Mr. 
 Downing and Seth safely, as he 
 supposed, in the hands of the offi- 
 cers, he hastened to the depot to 
 communicate with Mr. Bartlett. 
 
 Twenty minutes later, Carl and Emily were 
 in their mother’s dressing room helping to 
 unpack the trunks, the front door closed 
 noisily, and almost at the same moment their 
 father came into the apartment holding in his 
 hand a letter which he gave to his w r ife, but 
 he spoke to his son, “ Come, Carl, not a mo- 
 ment to spare ; if you are wide awake you can 
 lake the express train.” 
 
 Mrs. Bartlett read : 
 
292 
 
 CARL BARTLETT; OR, 
 
 “ Shiretown Sept. . 
 
 Despatch Carl by first train. Job 5. 12. 
 
 CARLETON RANDOLPH.” 
 
 “What does Carl mean? But no matter 
 for that now/ 7 said Mrs. Bartlett, “ we will 
 send you, and then we will see what the rest 
 means. He wants you to come to him, that 
 is clear.” 
 
 Emily had found "the text and cried, “I 
 know it is something about Uncle David.” 
 
 “Well well,” said Mr. Bartlett, “don’t 
 stop to talk ; get a bag, valise, the first you 
 can lay your hand upon and put in what he 
 must have. I ordered a hack as I came along ; 
 here it is now.” 
 
 A few toilet articles and a change of linen 
 were thrust into a bag. Carl took it, gaping 
 as it was, and jumped into the hack after his 
 father, who banged the door to, saying, 
 k Fitchburg depots as quick as possible.” 
 
WHAT CAN I DO ? 
 
 293 
 
 The haokman drove rapidly. 
 
 “ What’s he going this way for ? ” asked 
 the impatient Carl ; “ it’s a great deal the 
 farthest.” 
 
 “ He knows ” said his father “ the streets 
 are not crowded this way.” 
 
 When they reached the station, men were 
 jostling each other at the ticket office, each 
 eager to be served first, for the “ All aboard ” . 
 of the conductor admonished them that time 
 was precious. Mr. Bartlett pushed his way 
 up to the window and called for a ticket to 
 Shiretown. “ One for Shiretown for me too,” 
 came from behind, and an arm in a rough 
 blue sleeve was thrust over his shoulder. 
 
 The two tickets were supplied, and father 
 and son ran down the depot, closely followed 
 by the purchaser of the other ticket. All 
 three got into the rear car. 
 
 “It won’t do for me to stop,” said Mr. 
 Bartlett. “ I can trust you not to go out on 
 
294 
 
 GAEL BARTLETT; OR. 
 
 the platform ; look out for your uncle when 
 you get to Sliiretown.” 
 
 The seats were nearly all occupied, but 
 Carl found one beside a lady. She got out 
 soon, and the man he had seen at the ticket 
 office came and took the place, saying, “ You 
 are going the same way I am.” 
 
 A slight peculiarity of inflection, a dim 
 sense of something heard before, caused Carl 
 to look directly in the stranger’s face. His 
 features were those of a young man, but his 
 expression was aged in its anxiety, and his 
 eyes seemed as if they were watching intently 
 for something in the far distance. 
 
 “ Poor man,” thought Carl, he must have 
 been sick.” 
 
 Boys are seldom unsocial travellers, and the 
 man soon learned that Carl had spent, some- 
 time the past summer at Clifton. After say- 
 ing that he had been there once, he asked 
 many questions about Clifton people. When 
 
WHAT CAN I DO f 
 
 295 
 
 the train stopped at Shiretown, Carl’s atten- 
 tion was so completely taken up by his uncle, 
 that the stranger was forgotten. 
 
 “ This way, my boy,” said Mr. Randolph, 
 going to a carryall at the end of the station 
 house. A gentleman was sitting on the front 
 seat holding the reins. 
 
 “ This is my nephew and namesake, Carle 
 ton Randolph Bartlett, Mr. Murdock.” 
 
 Mr. Murdock shook hands with Carl, and 
 asked him to ride with him. Mr. Randolph 
 took possession of the back seat. 
 
 “ We had not time to get a lunch, Carl,” 
 said he, “ so I plead for a hungry boy, with 
 one of the waiters.” 
 
 “ That’s jolly,” said Carl, “ enough sight 
 better than that dark dining room at the 
 Shiretown house.” 
 
 He opened the lunch basket, Mr. Randolph 
 handed him, and found cold chicken, apple 
 pie, bread and butter, cake and a flask of milk. 
 
296 
 
 CARL BARTLETT; OR, 
 
 We will not specify the exact quantity of 
 each, but it was quite sufficient to satisfy the 
 cravings of a boy who had eaten nothing, 
 since breakfast, more substantial than popped 
 corn. 
 
 They had not ridden far before the trees, 
 houses, ect., at the roadside, began to look to 
 Carl like old acquaintances. 
 
 “ I’ve been over this road before,” said he. 
 I know it, yes, it’s the road to Clifton. Are 
 we going to Uncle David’s, Uncle Carl ? ” 
 
 “ You are good at exercising the Yankee’s 
 ruling passion,” was the answer. “ Mr. Mur- 
 dock and I have succeeded in finding the proof 
 of Deacon Goodwin’s right to his home, and 1 
 sent for you because I thought you would 
 like to be the one to give it to him.” 
 
 “ Your uncle gives me altogether too much 
 credit,” said Mr. Murdock ; “ it was he who 
 discovered the fraud. I am not much in- 
 clined to give advice out of my profession, 
 
WHAT CAN I DO ? 
 
 297 
 
 but you won’t object to take some from me 
 to-day. When you are a man, if you have 
 the business of others intrusted to you, don't 
 let your sense of your own importance prevent 
 your transacting it properly ; don’t think you 
 never can make a mistake. Then you will 
 not have to do what I am doing now, go and 
 beg an aged man’s pardon for treating him 
 brusquely, and for rewarding his implicit 
 trust in you by carelessness.” 
 
 “ You are too hard upon yourself, Mr. 
 Murdock,” said Mr. Randolph ; “ the mistake 
 was one that might have happened in many 
 an office, under such circumstances.” 
 
 “ The mistake is one that ought not to 
 happen in any office,” said Mr. Murdock. 
 
 The two gentlemen told Carl all there was 
 to be told of the way they discovered the 
 papers, and of their long concealment ; then 
 Mr. Randolph gave them into his nephew’s 
 hands. After that the boy was silent ; he was 
 
298 
 
 CAKL BARTLETT; OR, 
 
 trying to compose a speech for the occasion. 
 A great many long words passed through his 
 mind, but they would not fall into line, so 
 as to march from his tongue in good order 
 and single file. 
 
 When they stopped at Deacon Goodwin’s 
 door, his task was not done ; the long words 
 ran away in most cowardly style. With a 
 single leap the boy sprang to the ground, ran 
 round the corner of the house, found Deacon 
 Goodwin, and gave him the papers, saying, 
 “ Uncle David, there’s your mortgage. Josiah 
 paid it just as you said he did. Uncle Carl 
 found it for you.” 
 
 “ What bearers of good news you and Un- 
 cle Carl are. You were well named Carl, my 
 noble, spirited boy,” said Deacon Goodwin, 
 taking both Carl’s hands in his. “ Where’s 
 your Uncle ? ” 
 
 “ Oh ! I forgot. He is round at the front 
 
 door with Mr. Murdock.” 
 
WIIAT CAN I HO ? 
 
 299 
 
 Mrs. Goodwin had answered Mr. "Ran- 
 dolph’s knock. 
 
 “ We brought a spokesman with us,” said 
 the gentleman as he went in, “ but he has 
 suddenly vanished. Ah, there he is.” 
 
 Carl appeared holding Deacon Goodwin’s 
 hand, and talking rapidly. The story of the 
 recovery of the papers was repeated, and Mr. 
 Murdock said, “ As the gross misconduct of 
 an employee of mine has caused you all this 
 pain and anxiety, it was but due you that I 
 should come and express my sincere regret. 
 I will gladly make you any reparation in my 
 power; I suppose you are aware that you can 
 recover heavy damages from the perpetrator 
 of this fraud. I will take measures to bring 
 a suit at once.” 
 
 “ I would much rather you would not,” 
 answered Deacon Goodwin. “ I thank you 
 heartily, but I am quite contented to be left 
 in quiet possession of what is rightfully my 
 
 own.” 
 
soo 
 
 CARL RARTLETT ; OR, 
 
 “ Money would be no compensation, 1 
 know,” said Mr. Murdock. 
 
 The front gate creaked on its hinges. Carl 
 looked out of the window and exclaimed, 
 “ There’s the man that came up in the cars 
 with me ; he’s coming in here.” 
 
 * Mrs. Goodwin started from her chair and 
 threw her arms around the man’s neck. 
 “ My son, my son,” the mother cried ; it was 
 indeed the long lost son returned to his 
 father’s house. “ My son, my son, I thought 
 the good Lord would give you back to me.” 
 
 thread of many years 
 
 Had been sometimes soiled by tears, 
 
 Knotted, too, by cares and fears, 
 
 but Mrs. Goodwin’s love for, and her trust in 
 the good Lord had not flagged ; they would 
 have continued unshaken, had He never in 
 this world brought the wanderer home. 
 
 For a few moments Josiah seemed to forget 
 that there were others beside his parents in 
 
WHAT CAN I DO ? 
 
 801 
 
 the room ; but after he had again and again 
 embraced them, he turned, and seeing Carl, 
 said, “ So you are the boy who has been a 
 better son to my father and mother, than I, 
 their own flesh and blood have.” 
 
 “ I wish I had known you was Josiah,” said 
 Carl. 
 
 “ He told me a good deal about what has 
 been happening here for the last few weeks,” 
 said Josiah, “ and the rest I got from Mr. 
 "Wright ; he brought me along nearly all the 
 way. He told me what the boy didn’t ; who 
 it was that had friends to take up for my 
 father and mother when I had deserted them. 
 If you, sir,” he said, speaking to Mr. Ran- 
 dolph, “ had not found out Downing’s rascal- 
 ity just as you did, he might have destroyed 
 the proofs, and who would have taken my 
 word against the records ? ” and Josiah shook 
 hands heartily with both uncle and nephew. 
 
CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 R. MURDOCK, fearing he might be 
 an unwelcome witness of family 
 joys, proposed to Mr. Randolph 
 that they should start on their re- 
 turn to Shiretown. 
 
 “ I don’t want to go home and not see the 
 Grays, Uncle,” said Carl. 
 
 “ Mrs. Gray is not expecting us,” said Mr. 
 Randolph. 
 
 “ Oh, that’s no matter ; she’ll like it ; she 
 don’t get into a snarl at nothing.” 
 
 iff think we will trespass on Mrs. Gray’s 
 hospitality to-night,” said Mr. Randolph. 
 
 With heartfelt congratulations, Mr. Mur- 
 dock took leave of the united family. Still 
 
 302 
 
WHAT CAN I DO ? 
 
 303 
 
 Carl lingered. At last he went to Josiah, 
 and taking hold of his arm, said, “I wish 
 you’d tell us what made you go away.” fl 
 
 “ Perhaps J osiah does not care to tell you 
 that,” said Mr. Randolph. 
 
 “ I don’t want you to tell me if you don’t 
 want to,” said Carl. 
 
 “ I couldn’t say no to any thing you asked 
 me,” said Josiah; “I can’t say it would be 
 altogether pleasant to talk about my going 
 away, and I don’t suppose there’s any danger 
 of your getting where I did ; but if I can save 
 you from sailing at all on that tack, I’ll tell 
 you about it. 
 
 4 1 used to go over to Parker’s Mills pretty 
 often, and I got acquainted with some boys 
 about as old as I was ; they worked in the 
 factory there. One afternoon I was over 
 there, and one of the fellows, Ringold his 
 name was, asked me to stay in the evening 
 and have a game of whist with them, I told 
 
304 
 
 CARL BARTLETT; OR, 
 
 him I couldn’t play whist. ‘ Well, euchre,' 
 says he. ‘ I can’t play euchre, either,’ says I. 
 ‘.You don’t mean to say you don’t knowhow 
 to play whist or euchre,’ says he ; ‘ come 
 along, and we’ll show you how ; it’s time you 
 knew. 
 
 ‘ The first time I saw Ringold, I didn’t like 
 his looks at all. He was a short, fat fellow, 
 and had a horse-laugh, loud enough to bo 
 heard from one end of the town to the other ; 
 but after I had seen him a few times-, he 
 didn’t look so homely to me, and I got used 
 to his laughing. This time though, when he 
 laughed at me, he looked uglier than ever ; 
 and if I’d done just as I wanted to, I should 
 have gone right off, and let him have his 
 laugh out. 
 
 ‘ I was a fool I didn’t break away from him 
 then ; it would have been a good deal better 
 for me, and other folks too, if I had ; but the 
 fact was, if I did despise him, I couldn’t bear 
 
WHAT CAN I DO V 
 
 306 
 
 to have him laugh at me. So instead of 
 going right off, as I ought to, I stopped to 
 talk with him. 6 Oh, yes,’ says he, 6 1 see 
 how it is ; you’re afraid of the deacon. I’m 
 glad I ain’t a deacon’s son, with "the whole 
 meeting-house, and the old man to boot at my 
 back, chaining me up in the way I won’t go. 
 Nobody dares to tell me I shan’t shuffle a 
 •pack of cards.’ 6 Nobody tells me so,’ say* 
 
 I.* 
 
 “ I’m telling more of this than I should, but 
 I want the youngster to hear it. I don’t sup- 
 pose there is any danger of his getting in as 
 deep as I did, but it’s no harm for him to 
 know that there are people in the world, ^ 
 suppose they are round everywhere, he may 
 come athwart ’em; I say it’s no harm for 
 him to know from a fellow that’s been 
 through the mills, that there are people 
 all ready to laugh him into mischief. Aye \ 
 and all ready to laugh at him after they’ve 
 
306 
 
 CARL BARTLETT ; OR, 
 
 got him in. Father never did tell us we must 
 not play cards.” 
 
 “ The fact is,” Deacon Goodwin interposed, 
 “ cards have been the devil’s tool so often, 
 and have helped to drag so many poor young 
 men down, I didn’t want to see my boys 
 handling them.” 
 
 “ They didn’t handle ’em,” said Josiah. “ 1 
 don’t believe there was one of my brothers 
 that knew any thing more about cards than 
 father does. I’ll go on with my yarn. I 
 went. into the tavern with Ringold, into a side 
 room, where there were some fellows playing, 
 and took a hand. It wan’t long before I un- 
 derstood the rules pretty well. Ringold amt 
 the other fellows said I’d make a first rate 
 player, and before I got away, they made me 
 promise to come again the next night. 
 
 “ It was late when I got home, and the 
 folks were gone to bed. The next morning 
 father told me he didn’t like to have me out 
 
WHAT CAN i HO V 
 
 307 
 
 so late. He was all reasonable enough, but it 
 made me kind of mad, and I didn’t say much. 
 When it came towards night, I believe I 
 should have staid at home, but I felt cross, 
 and I’d promised Ringold and the other 
 fellows I’d come, and I thought they’d laugh 
 at me the next time I saw them if I didn’t, so 
 after supper, I slipped out and went over to 
 the tavern. 
 
 “ When we’d played a game or two, Rin- 
 gold said he was dry, and called for some 
 ale, and we had a glass all round. They told 
 me again what a splendid player I’d make, 
 and all that sort of thing. Well, it went on 
 so for a while, we’d have something to drink 
 every night, ale or cider, and then the cider 
 wasn’t strong enough, so they’d put brandy in 
 it ; then it got to be brandy and no cider, till 
 most every night I’d be fairly drunk. Some 
 nights I’d go home, and some I’d be too far 
 gone to go. I used to wake in the morning 
 
308 
 
 CARL BARTLETT ; OR, 
 
 with a headache, and I’d feel ashamed enough 
 of myself, and I’d think what a fool I was. 
 
 “ 1 was pretty sure, from some things that 
 leaked out, that Ringold was a sort of whipper 
 in for the tavern-keeper. He used to get 
 what he wanted to drink for nothing, if he 
 brought a good many customers. For all I 
 thought so, when it came night, I’d feel so 
 miserable and good for nothing, off I’d go 
 again. Or if I did stay away a day or two, I 
 couldn’t look any body in the face. There 
 was once or twice though, that I did try to 
 give up and get rid of those Parker Mills 
 fellows altogether. 
 
 “ The last time, I stayed at home for a weea 
 and worked on the farm, but the work seemed 
 harder than it used to, and I didn’t like it as 
 well, but I stuck to it for a week ; then I 
 heard father talking about the mortgage. I 
 told him I’d go over to Shirt town for him. 
 1 drove over there and paid the money, and 
 
WHAT CAN I DO? 309 
 
 left the mortgage at Mr. Murdock’s office, and 
 I never thought I’d left the note till I’d got 
 half way home ; but I thought it would be safe 
 enough there. 
 
 “ I meant to go right home, but when I got 
 abreast of the tavern at Parker’s mills, 
 Ringold came out. I found out afterwards 
 that he had seen me when I went along, and 
 was watching for me to come back. He 
 hailed me and wanted me to come in just a 
 minute, he said. I knew he’d been drink- 
 ing, but I went on with him to the room where 
 I’d been many a time. I don’t know why it 
 was that it never seemed so to me before, 
 perhaps they were worse than common H at 
 night. At any rate, they were drunk and I 
 sober. It had been pay-day that day, and 
 they had been playing for money, and some 
 of them were quarreling and but no mat- 
 
 ter, I hope my boy will never see such a place 
 
310 
 
 CARL BARTLETT ; OR, 
 
 “ I looked in a minute and then I turned 
 round and walked off. They called after me, 
 and some of ’em took hold of me, but I shook 
 ’em off and jumped into the wagon, and 
 whipped up the horse till I was out of sight ; 
 then I let him walk and I thought, — but I 
 don’t know as you care to hear what I 
 thought.” 
 
 “Yes, yes, we do,” said Mr. Randolph, 
 “ go on.” 
 
 “ Well, I thought here you are, Josiali 
 Goodwin, you’ve got as much brains naturally 
 as half the young fellows in the town ; you 
 used to have as strong an arm and as steady a 
 hand, as any young man need to have ; you 
 never used to be ashamed to stand beside any 
 young chap for looks, and you could be even 
 with the best of ’em in any thing you set out to 
 do. Now, how is it ? You can hardly put two 
 ideas together, and as for muscle — I held out 
 mj hand and it shook as if it was on a spiral. 
 
WHAT CAN 1 DO ? 
 
 m 
 
 What’s such a wrist as that good for ? What 
 sort of a looking face was that you saw in the 
 glass this morning ? All puffed and bloated, 
 and if you meet anybody you feel any respect 
 for, you want to skulk round a corner, so as 
 not to be seen.” 
 
 “ Just look at what you are giving up. 
 Mind, strength, nerve, respectability, all your 
 chance of ever being anybody in this world, 
 and in another — but I didn’t want to think 
 much about another world.” 
 
 “ And what is the other side of the bargain, 
 Josiah Goodwin ? ” said I to myself. “ What 
 do you get for all this ? You’re hail fellow, 
 well met, with such crew as you met to night, 
 that’s the other side of the bargain.” 
 
 “ And then I thought of my old mother, 
 and of the tears I saw in her eyes that morn- 
 ing when I couldn’t get my cup to my lips 
 without spilling half the coffee ; you see when 
 I’d been drinking, and stopped, I’d shake worse 
 than when I’d keep steady on. 
 
312 
 
 CARL BARTLETT; CR, 
 
 “ Then I thought of my father, that never 
 said a harsh word to me, for all I was his last 
 child, and was disgracing him, and breaking 
 his heart. 
 
 “ We will have no more of this,” says I, “ it 
 wouldn’t be any worse for father and mother 
 if I were dead ; if I can’t be a respectable man 
 here, I’ll go away and stay away till I can 
 come home a man that nobody need be ashamed 
 of.” 
 
 “ I went to New Bedford ; I thought if 1 
 could get a berth aboard a whale ship that was 
 going a long voyage I would. I couldn’t get a 
 berth there, and I went up to Boston. When 
 1 was there I came across Downing. I thought 
 he’d come home and tell he saw me, for he 
 took the trouble to find out what ship I sailed 
 in, and all he could, but I suppose he was look- 
 ing out for himself and not for me. I didn’t 
 speak to him, because I didn’t want to answer 
 his questions. He thought I didn’t see him. 
 
WHAT CAN I DO > 
 
 313 
 
 1 felt pretty bad then, no home, and no friends.’’ 
 
 “ Oh yes, Josiah, you have always had home 
 and friends.” 
 
 “ Yes, I know, Mother, but I had thrown 
 them away, as I had everything else. When 
 we sailed by Boston light I felt the worst. I 
 believe I should have come back then, if I 
 could. I had a pretty hard time of it for a 
 tew weeks. I was sick enough, but there was 
 no escape from duty ; sick or well, I must take 
 my watch on deck. I was a land-lubber and 
 didn’t know what I ought to do and what I 
 oughtn’t, and the sailors used to put upon me, 
 and laugh at me. You see, Carl, that’s your 
 name, isn’t it, ’tain’t easy getting away from 
 being laughed at. I suppose I did look doleful. 
 I felt bad enough any how, and the salt-junk 
 and hard tack, and black coffee, wasn’t much 
 like mother’s meat and light bread, and coffee 
 with cream in it. 
 
 44 After a while I got my sea legs on, and 
 
314 
 
 CARL BARTLETT; OR, 
 
 the salt air I wasn’t used to made me hungry 
 as a wolf. I could eat the biscuit and hard 
 junk if I did have to cut my meat with a jack 
 knife, and I drank my black coffee out of my 
 tin cup and smacked my lips over it. I got so 
 as to climb the rigging with the spryest of 
 them. I think the officers and the crew took 
 a liking to me. Some of the men said I’d be 
 a first rate sailor if I’d only be jolly. I 
 couldn’t be jolly, I was thinking of home all 
 the time. I used to keep the run of the dif- 
 ference in the bells and the old clock at home, 
 and I’d think what was going on there. If it 
 was six o’clock at Clifton, I’d think now they 
 are just sitting down to tea. If ’twas a little 
 later, I’d see the sitting room, father reading, 
 and mother with her knitting work, and old 
 Tab winking at the wood fire. I couldn’t be 
 jolly for I saw a good many such pictures as 
 that. 
 
 “ Well, to cut a long story short, we made 
 
WHAT CAN I DO ? 
 
 315 
 
 our first port all right, then we sailed for 
 another, and we were wrecked. I won’t stop 
 to tell you about that.” 
 
 “ I should like to hear about it,” said Carl ; 
 but Mr. Randolph, who noticed the painful 
 expression on Josiali’s face, interposed. 
 
 “ Not now, Carl. When Josiali’s sufferings 
 are not quite so fresh in his mind, perhaps he 
 will tell you about them ; you must not ask him 
 to now.” 
 
 “ Well, I can tell you about it, but I’d rather 
 let it be now. Everybody on board was lost 
 but six of us. I hope you will never go through 
 what I did, but if you are ever in an open boat, 
 with nothing to shade you from the sun right 
 overhead, without a drop of water ; glad to 
 chew a piece of your boot, crowded into a small 
 boat with men, so crazy w r ith thirst and hunger, 
 you’re afraid they’ll put their knives into your 
 throat; and you daren’t sleep, or if you do 
 sleep a minute or two, you dream of the green 
 
316 
 
 CARL RARTLETT ; OR. 
 
 grass you used to play on when you were a 
 little shaver, and of the well bucket, full and 
 dripping over, then wake, your tongue so 
 swollen you can’t keep it in your mouth : — 
 
 “ I say, if you ever know what such things 
 are, I hope you won’t have to remember a 
 father and mother whom you have deserted in 
 their old age. I hope you can’t have to remem- 
 oer that you have been a coward, and let boys 
 you despised lead you by the nose, till, like a 
 coward, you have run away from them. 
 
 “ I’ve been a coward and a deserter, but by 
 God’s help I’ll be so no longer. I’ll stand by 
 my colors. I’ll do my duty as well as I can, 
 where God has placed me. I have done what 
 I could to make as good a father and a mother 
 as boy ever had unhappy. Now, all I want to 
 know is, what can I do to make them happy ? ” 
 “ Come, Carl,” said Mr. Randolph, u 4 early 
 to bed and early to rise,’ is the rule at Mr 
 Gray’s, I suppose ; we must go.’' 
 
WHAT CAN I DO? 
 
 317 
 
 If “ early to bed ” was the rule of the Gray 
 homestead, it was not the order of that night. 
 1 Is occupants sat till a late hour talking over 
 the events of the last few weeks. After a time 
 Carl relapsed into silence. 
 
 “ I wonder what he is thinking about,” was 
 his uncle’s mental query, a query which the 
 boy soon answered, in this wise, u I used to 
 think that it was the fathers’ and mothers’ 
 business to take care of us boys and girls and 
 Bee that we had a good time, but I’ve found out 
 Jiat the boys and girls can do ever so much to 
 make their fathers and mothers comfortable, — - 
 ind ever so much to make them miserable too. 
 
STANDARD LITERATURE. 
 
 kfax series of standard -works Includes many of the acknowledged masterpieces of 
 historical and critical literature. Most of these works have hitherto been unac- 
 ■cessiblo to the general reader by reason of the high prices at which they have been 
 sold. These books are printed in large type, 12mo size, and neatly and strongly 
 bound in cloth. Price {$1.25 each. 
 
 THE WEALTH OF NATIONS. 
 
 AN INQUIRY INTO THE NATURE AND CAUSES OF THE 'WEALTH 
 OF NATIONS. By Adam Smith, LL.D., F.R.S. This volnme is a careful reprint 
 of the three-volume edition. 
 
 ADAM SMITH’S ESSAYS. 
 
 ESSAYS, P HI LOSOPHICAL AND LITERARY; including the “Theory 
 of Moral Sentiments,” “The Formation of Languages,” “Astronomical Inquiries, 
 Ancient Physics,” “Ancient Logic and Metaphysics,” “The Imitative Arts — Music, 
 Dancing, Poetry,” “The External Senses,” “English and Italian Verses,” &c. By 
 Adam Smith, LL.D., F.R.S. 
 
 MCCULLOCH’S POLITICAL ECONOMY. 
 
 THE PRINCIPLES OF POLITICAL ECONOMY, with a sketch of the 
 Rise and Progress of the Science. By J. R. McCulloch. With an Essay on In- 
 terest, and the Value of Money. By John Locke. 
 
 MONTAIGNE’S ESSAYS. 
 
 THE ESSAYS OF MICHAEL SEIGNEUR DE MONTAIGNE, with 
 Kotos and Quotations, and an Account of the Author’s Life, translated into English 
 by Charles Colton, Esq. 
 
 BOLXNG3ROKE ON THE STUDY AND USE OF HISTORY. 
 
 LETTERS ON THE STUDY AND USE OF HISTORY: “On Exile,” 
 “The Spirit of Patriotism,” “The Idea of a Patriot King,” “The State of Parties in 
 1744.” By Henry St. John, Lord Viscount Bolingbroke. 
 
 HUME’S ESSAYS. 
 
 ESS AYS, —LITERARY* MORAL, AND POLITICAL. By David Hums 
 (tho historian). 
 
 SIDNEY SMITH’S ESSAYS. 
 
 ESSAYS,— SOCIAL AND POLITICAL. By Rev. Sidney Smith. 
 
 MXLMAN’S HISTORY OF THE JEWS. 
 
 HISTORY OF THE JEWS. By H. EL Milman, D.D., late Dean of St. Paul’s. 
 
 HALL AM’S EUROPE. 
 
 VIEW OF THE STATE OF EUROPE DURING THE MEDDLE AGES. 
 
 By Henry Hallam, LL.D., F.R.AS. 
 
 LOCKE ON THE HUMAN UNDERSTANDING. 
 
 AN ESSAY CONCERNING THE HUMAN UNDERSTANDING. By 
 John Locke. With the Notes and Hlustrations of the author, and an Analysis of 
 his Doctrine of Ideas. Also, Questions on Locke’s Essay, for the use of students. 
 
 D’AUBIGNE’S HISTORY OF THE REFORMATION. 
 
 THE HISTORY OF THE REFORMATION OF THE SIXTEENTH 
 CENTURY, from its commencement to the days of Calvin. By J. H. Merlh 
 D’Aubigne, D.D. Translated from the author’s late French edition. 
 
 MILTON’S EARLY BRITAIN, &c. 
 
 BRITAIN UNDER TROJAN, ROMAN, AND SAXON RULE. By John 
 
 Mie ton. ENGL AND UNDER RICHARD HI. By Sir Thomas More. 
 
 THE REIGN OF HENRY VIL By Lord Bacon. Three books bound in one 
 volnme. 
 
 ESSAYS ON BEAUTY AND TASTE. 
 
 ESSAY ON BEAUTY. By Francis [Lord] Jeffrey ESSAY ON 
 
 TASTE. By Archibald Alison, LL.D. The two books in one volume. 
 
 Address HURST St CO. 122 Nassau St. N. Y. 
 
THE3 AMERIOAISr 
 
 POPULAR DICTIONARY 
 
 CONTAINING 
 
 EVERY USEFUL WORD 
 
 To be found in the English Language, with its 
 TRUE MEANING, DERIVATION, SPELLING AND PRONUNCIATION* 
 
 ALSO, A VAST AMOUNT OF 
 
 ABSOLUTELY NECESSARY INFORMATION 
 
 UPON 
 
 SfcVmce, Mythology, Biography , American History, Constitutors, Laws , Land Tides, 
 Cities, Colleges , Army and Navy, Rate of Mortality, Growth of Cities , 
 Insolvent and Assignment Laws, Debts, Rates of Interest , 
 and other Useful Knowledge , being a 
 
 PERFECT LIBRARY OF REFERENCE IN O NE HANDY VOLUME. 
 
 The publishers of the AMERICAN POPULAR DICTIONARY claim for it the np- 
 
 port of the public, for the following among many other important reasons 
 
 It contains EVERY WORD OF THE ENGLISH LANGUAGE that enters into speech or writing. 
 THE SPELLING of each word is precisely that" given by the best authorities. 
 
 THE DEFINITIONS are compiled from a majority of the best writers ofth English language. 
 THE PRONUNCIATION of every word is that settled upon by the ablest masters of this most Im- 
 portant branch of Grammar. 
 
 In addition to the perfections of this work as a Dictionary, it contains a vast amount wf information 
 upon MANY KINDS OF USEFUL KNOWLEDGE not to be found in any similar work; but all 
 ABSOLUTELY NECESSARY to every one who wishes to be acquainted with the leading subjects of con- 
 versation and composition. 
 
 By reference to tne annexed TABLE OF CONTENTS it will be found that the book;is really a co* r 
 eise and portable Cyclopedia of very useful and valuable information. From it a speaker or writer caa 
 glean an amount of real knowledge impossible to Qnd elsewhere collected in one book, 
 
 THE AMERICAN POPULAR DICTIONARYis printed from new type, with extra clear and legible 
 faoe. It isjbouad very strongly and neatly. 
 
 TABLE OF CONTENTS, 
 
 1. A Complete Dictionary of the Eng. Language* 
 
 2. A Complete List of Scripture Proper Names, 
 
 including Apocrypha, and their pronuncia- 
 tion. 
 
 8. American Geographical Names, with their der- 
 ivation, signification, and their pronuncia- 
 tion. 
 
 4. Nicknames of the States and Cities of the XT. S. 
 
 5. The Discovery and Discoverers of America. 
 
 6. The Aborigines of North America, showing 
 
 their tribes, location and number. 
 
 7. Early Settlers and Settlements of the United 
 
 States— nationality, location, date, 
 
 8. Troops of the American Revolution, c^ooWing 
 
 the number each State furnished. 
 
 9. Battles and Losses of the Revolution. 
 
 10. The Declaration of Independence. 
 
 11. The Signers of the Declaration of Independ- 
 
 ence, 
 
 12. The Presidents of the Continental Congress, 
 
 13. Constitution of the United States. 
 
 14. History of the American Flag. 
 
 15. Area and Population of the United States. 
 
 16., Population of all Cities and Towns in the U. 
 
 S. having a population of over 10,000. 
 
 17, Growth of American Cities having a popula- 
 
 tion of 50,000 and upward. 
 
 1 8. Public Debt of the United States, 1791 to 1879. 
 1;». The Amount of Paper Money in the United 
 
 States, of each denomination. 
 
 20. Analysis of the Public Debt of the United 
 
 States. 
 
 21. United States Public Lands— where they lie. 
 
 22. The Unifed States Public Land System. 
 
 23. Free Homesteads on the Public Lands, or how 
 
 to secure a homestead. 
 
 24 . Homestead and Exemption Laws of the U. S. 
 
 25 . The Canals of the United States — their length, 
 
 connecting points, number of locks, cost, Ac. 
 f bound ia oleth, gilt back. 
 
 26. The Municipal Debts of the United States. 
 
 27. Theological Seminaries in the United States, 
 
 denominations, professors, students, in each. 
 
 28. Occupations of the People of the U. S. 
 
 29. Army of the United States, with rates of pay. 
 
 30. Navy of the United States, with rates of pay. 
 
 81. Navy-yards of the United States. 
 
 82. Number of Men raised by each State for the 
 
 suppression of the Rebellion. 
 
 83. Churches In the United States, with statistics, 
 
 84. Price of commodities for the past fifty years. 
 
 85. Statutes of Limitations of the various States. 
 
 86. Interest Laws in the United States. 
 
 37. Insolvent and Assignment Laws of the differs 
 ent States. 
 
 88. Newspapers and Periodicals in theU. S. 
 
 89. Heads of the principal nations of the world. 
 
 40. The Carlisle Tables, showing how many per* 
 
 sons out of 10,000 will die annually. 
 
 41. The Railroads of the World— length, cost, &e. 
 
 42. Commerce, Debts, Ac., of the principal nations 
 
 43. National Debts of the various countries. 
 
 44. The Merchant Shipping of the world. 
 
 45. The Dominion of Canada, revenue, trade, Ac. 
 
 46. The Armies of the world, with full particulars 
 
 47. The Navies of tho world— numbers, cost, Ac. 
 
 48. Foreign Gold and Silver Coins — value. Ac. 
 
 49. Weights and Measures ofthe United States. 
 
 50. General Councils of the Roman Catholic 
 
 Church. 
 
 51. Chronological History of the United States. 
 
 52. List of Mythological and Classical Names. 
 
 53. Interest Tables, at 4, 6, 6, 7, 8 and 10 per et. 
 
 54. Examples of the Common Errors in Speaking 
 
 and Writing, with Corrections. 
 
 55. A Guide to the Pronunciation of Hard Words, 
 
 in the English and other languages. 
 
 56. A List of Objectionable Words and Phrase*. 
 
 and Inaccurate Expressions. 
 
 SentTto any address on receipt of prim. y 
 
 Price 50 Cents, 
 
 Address HURST & CO. 193 Nassau St. N.Xt 
 
MAGNET ^"HANDBOOKS. 
 
 JPrSc© 35 cents ea 61 i. , 
 
 bf modern etiquette for ladies and gentlemen. A 
 perusal of this book will enable every one to rub 
 off the rough husks of ill-breeding and neglected 
 education, and substitute for them gentlemanly 
 ease and graceful ladylike deportment ( as the case 
 may be), so that their presence will be sought for, 
 ana they will loarn the art of being not only thor- 
 oughly et home in all societies, but will have the 
 rarer gift of making everybody around them feel 
 easy, contented, and happy. This work is fully 
 op to the requirements of the times: it describes 
 the etiquette of our very best society. 
 
 > THE BOOK OF KNOWLEDGE, 
 and Sure Guide, to .Rapid Wealth. 
 
 ihe secrets of the different trades are fully de- 
 tailed, and the choicest recipes and formulas are 
 given for the making of different kinds of liquors, 
 including the new method of making cider with- 
 out apples. It is arranged for the use of liquor- 
 dealers, druggists, manufacturers, farmers, pied- 
 Jcal men, the household, confectioners, hunters, 
 trappers, perfumers, artists, &c. Many of the re- 
 cipes have been advertised and sold at sunxS rang- 
 ing from 25 cents to $500 ; and there are many 
 pew and highly valuable recipes never before pub- 
 lished. 
 
 magic, Cuuj ui mg, icgeiuemaui, ouu 
 prestidigitation. It is a complete expose of the 
 Wizard’s Art. Ho trick or illusion of importance 
 Is left unnoticed ; and the instructions and expla- 
 nations are so simple and exhaustive that a child 
 could perform the tricks. A study of this inter- 
 esting work would make any one thoroughly ex- 
 pert in amusing either a public or private audience. 
 
 THE HORSE-OWNER'S GUIDE? 
 and Complete Horse-doctor.— The 
 best work on the horse ever published. It should 
 be in the hands of every one who owns, works, or 
 cares for a horse. It is a book that is needed, — 
 cimple, concise, comprehensive, reliable, and prac- 
 tical,— giving the fullest and best information on 
 fill matters that relate to this useful animal. 
 
 THE TAXIDERMIST’S GUIDE.- A 
 
 complete mstructer m the art of collecting, pre- 
 paring, mounting, and preserving all kinds of an- 
 imals, birds, fishes, reptiles, and insects. Adapted 
 for the use of amateurs, travelers, and practical 
 workers. A number of the best recipes are given, 
 es used by the best taxidermists, for articles used 
 in the preservation and the setting up of animals. 
 Illustrated. 
 
 omplete guide to all kinds and forms of com- 
 mercial and mercantile transactions, including a 
 dictionary of all the terms and technicalities used 
 in commerce and in business houses. Correct 
 legal forms are given of bills, deeds, notes, drafts, 
 cheques, agreements, receipts, contracts, and other 
 Instruments of writing constantly necessary to all. 
 
 GILBERT’S BOOK OF PANTC - 
 •Yilme*. Acting Charades, Parlor 
 Theatricals., and Tableaux, it also 
 contains fifty Tableaux V lvants, or Animated Pic- 
 tnrea Persons who have never seen any of these 
 things acted can easily arrange and perform them. 
 For church fairs, school exhibitions, and parlor 
 entertainments, they are just the thing, being 
 easily produced and giving excellent opportunities 
 for both young and ~''- 1 * *«-*—*- 
 
 r 
 
 a L M y v'I^Is,^I£? 
 
 every human feeling and sentiment, such a* Love, 
 Friendship, Respect, Admiration, Good Wishes, 
 &c., including a great number of acrostics fojr 
 
 g roper names, all entirely original. Here all may 
 lid something to write at once eloquent and ap* 
 propriate, to suit every phase of feeling, sentiment, 
 or humor. 
 
 conqffete^ lett^vmter a^esHmFge nittemen. 
 
 It tells how to write a letter upon any subject out 
 of the writer’s “ own head.” It also contains the 
 “Art of Rapid Writing” by the abbreviation oi 
 longhand, and a “Dictionary of Abbreviations.” 
 This book contains all the points and features that 
 are in other letter-writers, with very much that id 
 new, original, and very important, and which can 
 not be found in any other book. 
 
 HOW TO WRITE SHORTHAND, 
 
 Without a teacher— A practical element* 
 ary guide to Stenographic Writing and Reporting. 
 A boy of twelve can by this method learn in a 
 week what it would take an adult a year to leara 
 by any other method. 
 
 . y remedies 
 
 for the ordinary ills of life, this book should be ii| 
 the hands of every person who is liable to an acci- 
 dent or subject to a disease. It tells what to do 
 and how to do it in the plainest uossible manneP. 
 
 . PRACTICAL F^ACieSAffS 
 find, ye n t r} ? o aulst’s ,Cu ld^ 
 
 ries of systematic lessons the learner is conducted 
 
 through the whole field of magic, conjuring, and 
 legerdemain. There are also given complete in- 
 structions for acquiring the art of ventriloquism. 
 
 The instructions are so very; simple and practical 
 that no one can fail to acquire this amusing art, 
 end become a proficient ventriloquist and polypli- 
 onist. Illustrated. 
 
 deceptions v 
 
 vented, including the latest tricks of the moat cel- 
 ebrated conjurers, magicians, and prestidigitators, 
 popularly explained, simplified, and adapted for 
 home amusements and social entertainments. To 
 lovers of the marvelous and ingenious this book 
 will bo a perpetual source of delight- Handsomely! 
 illustrated. | 
 
 and fishing. The instructions will enable any ono 
 to become thoroughly expert in the sports and 
 pastimes of the river, field, or forest. Illustrated. 
 
 OUT A™ ASTER.- AIT the popular dances 
 are given, and the whole illustrated-by numerous 
 cuts and diagrams, making the art so simple thafc 
 the most ignorant can become expert in it. 
 
 ■ PERSONAL BEAUTY? or, the Whole 
 
 Art of Attaining Bodily Vigor, Physical Develop- 
 ment, Beauty of Feature, and Symmetry of Forrrv 
 
 With 4-v*^ J — 
 
 With the Science of Dressing with Taste, El©, 
 gance, and Economy. Illustrated. 
 
 THE AMATEUR PAE NTER.— -A. man- 
 
 ual ol instructions in the arts of painting, varnish- 
 
 old to participate. 
 
 PRICE TWENTY-FIVE 
 
 ing, and gilding, with plain rules for the’ practice 
 of every department ox hoi ’ ... 
 
 CENTS 
 
 house and sign painting. 
 
 EACH. 
 
 Address HURST & QQ„ 1 gg Nassau Street, New York, 
 
M A C N E T~ f-TA N D B 0 0 K S. 
 
 PRICE TWENTY-FIVE CENTS EACH. 
 
 . , llity, 
 
 cheapness, this work is superior to any published. 
 Not only does it contain a vast number of reliable 
 and practical recipes and processes relating to the 
 fine arts, trades, and general manufactures, but it 
 gives full and explicit instructions for acquiring 
 and successfully practising numerous arts and pro- 
 
 making and working an Electric Telegraph, Mono- 
 chromatic and Crayon Painting, Vitremaine, and 
 many others of equal value and importance. 
 
 A SCIENTIFIC TREATISE ON 
 Stammering and Stuttering, and 
 
 Its cure.— We have here this difficult subject 
 treated so intelligently and plainly that any person 
 interested can read and learn the causes of the 
 peculiar and distressing impediments in his 
 speech. It thoroughly explains the different 
 causes that produce stammering, and then pro- 
 ceeds to make plain the means of cure, so that any 
 
 person with a determination to succeed, by follow- 
 self 
 
 fng the instructions given, can cure himself of this 
 most unhappy affliction, and at no expense but 
 the cost of the book. 
 
 THE REAL SECRET ART AND 
 
 3 happy wives, and bachelors become happy 
 
 husbands, in a brief space of time and by easy 
 methods. Also containing complete directions for 
 declaring intentions, accepting vows, and retain- 
 ing affections, both before and after marriage. 
 
 CHOICE VERSES FOR VALEN 
 
 wuuucii, tin, fciivci, guiuuu, 
 
 and diamond wedding anniversaries ; bouquet and 
 birthday presentations, autograph-album verses 
 and acrostics, and a variety of verses and poems 
 adapted to social anniversaries and rejoicings. 
 
 THE AMERICAN REFERENCE*. 
 
 BOOK.— A manual of tacts, containing a chron- 
 ological history of the United States ; the public 
 lands ; everything about the constitution, debts, 
 revenues, productions, wealth, population, rail- 
 roads, exemption, interest, insolvent and assign- 
 ment statutes of the United States, &c. 
 
 tborsbip.and practical mstructer m all Kinds ol lit- 
 erary labor. As an aid and instructer to those who 
 fiesire to follow literary pursuits permanently for 
 cofit, or to those who write for recreation and 
 ieasure, this book is indispensable. 
 
 2 ou how to go about learning all the popular 
 ranches of gymnastics, Every man and boy 
 ought to learn the different exercises described in 
 this book, if he wishes to live a healthy life, and 
 preserve a sound and vigorous body, a sharp eye, 
 and simple limbs. 
 
 elective marriage, your business prospects, yoi 
 "twe-aff'airs. The book iB a perfect oracle of fate. 
 
 i tongue, in fifteen easy l 
 accent, grammar, and pronunciation. 
 
 during the late civil war. 
 
 OUR KNOWLEPCE'.BOX; or, old 
 fwrets and new discoveries. ... . __ - 
 
 THE YOUNC WIFE’S, OWN 
 
 COOK-BOOK.- This very valuable manual 
 
 teaches plainly how to buy, dress, cook, serve, and 
 carve every Kind of fish, fowl, meat, game, and 
 vegetable. Also, how to preserve fruits and vege- 
 tables. and how to make pastry. 
 
 THE FAMILY CYCLOPEDIA.-A 
 
 complete and practical domestic manual for all 
 
 classes. This valuable and comprehensive work is 
 needed in every house. 
 
 THE ART OF SELF-DEFENSEs or. 
 
 Boxing without a Master.— With fort f 
 large illustrations, showing all tne different posi- 
 tions, blows, stops, and guards. By Ned Donelly, 
 Professor of Boxing to the London Athletic Club. 
 
 THE ART OF BEAUTIFYING AND 
 
 published. 
 
 logues ever written, — affording opportunities fcl 
 the display of every differetxt quality of action, 
 voice, and delivery,— suitable for scnools, acadas 
 mies, anniversaries, and parlor presentations. 
 
 SPI 
 
 expressly a v „ w 
 
 dren. Containing a large number of pieces, some 
 
 young ( 
 
 simple enough to please infants, while all are sura 
 to delight and improve children of every age. 
 
 HAWTHORNE’S TRAGIC RE- 
 CITER.— Containing the very best pieces ever 
 
 venge, Jealousy, and the other most melting, stir- 
 ring, and startling passions of the human heart. 
 
 
 Filled with the liveliest, jolliest, laughter-provok. 
 ing Btories, lectures, and other humorous pieces 
 
 Hawthorne’s Book of , Ready- 
 made Speeches on all subjects that can 
 occur, whether on serious, sentimental, or humor- 
 ous occasions. Including speeches and replies 
 at dinners, receptions, festivals, political meetings, 
 military reviews, firemen’s gatherings, and indeed 
 wherever and whenever any party, large or small, 
 is gathered to dine, to mourn, to congratulate, or 
 to rejoice. Appended to which are forms of all 
 kinds of resolutions, &c., with a great number of 
 
 sentiments and toasts. 
 
 , Theatricals at Home: or. Plays 
 
 for the Parlor. Plainly teaching how to dress. 
 
 make up, study, and perform at private theatrical 
 parties. To which are added how to arrange and 
 
 display tableaux vivants, shadow pantomimes, 
 drawing-room magic, acting charades, conun- 
 drums, enigmas, &c., with explanatory engravings. 
 
 one 
 
 card-games, games 
 
 0 , c __ , gai 
 
 games with pen and pencil Including many new 
 and all the old favorite amusements calculated to 
 make home happy e nd set the youngsters scream- 
 ing wild with innocent delight. 
 
 Game. Also, how to preserve and keep, fresh and 
 full of flavor, fruits, berries, and vegetables. To 
 which is added complete directions tor making 
 candies and choice confections. 
 
 Fishing with Hook and L|ne.— Tbta 
 
 : full directions for catching 
 
 book gives "plain and fulT _ 
 
 all the different kinds of fish found in America* 
 waters; the proper season for fishing for them, 
 and the bait, tackle, &c., to be used. 
 
 Honest Abe’s Jokes.— A collection 4 
 O’&kta&'C jokeg mA squibs e* Abraham LmcoBfr J 
 
 -M