The

Little City of Hope

A CHRISTMAS STORY

BY

F. MARION CRAWFORD

MACMILLAN AND CO. , LIMITED

ST. MARTIN'S STREET, LONDON

1907

_Copyright in the United States America, 1907_

CONTENTS

 PAGE

1. HOW JOHN HENRY OVERHOLT SAT ON PANDORA'S BOX 12. HOW A MAN AND A BOY FOUNDED THE LITTLE CITY OF HOPE 193. HOW THEY MADE BRICKS WITHOUT STRAW 354. HOW THERE WAS A FAMINE IN THE CITY 495. HOW THE CITY WAS BESIEGED AND THE LID OF PANDORA'S BOX CAME OFF 636. HOW A SMALL BOY DID A BIG THING AND NAILED DOWN THE LID OF THE BOX 747. HOW A LITTLE WOMAN DID A GREAT DEED TO SAVE THE CITY 878. HOW THE WHEELS WENT ROUND AT LAST 1059. HOW THE KING OF HEARTS MADE A FEAST IN THE CITY OF HOPE 116

I

HOW JOHN HENRY OVERHOLT SAT ON PANDORA'S BOX

"Hope is very cheap. There's always plenty of it about. "

"Fortunately for poor men. Good morning. "

With this mild retort and civil salutation John Henry Overholt rose andwent towards the door, quite forgetting to shake hands with Mr. Burnside, though the latter made a motion to do so. Mr. Burnside alwaysgave his hand in a friendly way, even when he had flatly refused to dowhat people had asked of him. It was cheap; so he gave it. 

But he was not pleased when they did not take it, for whatever he choseto give seemed of some value to him as soon as it was offered; even hishand. Therefore, when his visitor forgot to take it, out of pure absenceof mind, he was offended, and spoke to him sharply before he had time toleave the private office. 

"You need not go away like that, Mr. Overholt, without shaking hands. "

The visitor stopped and turned back at once. He was thin and rathershabbily dressed. I know many poor men who are fat, and some who dressvery well; but this was not that kind of poor man. 

"Excuse me, " he said mildly. "I didn't mean to be rude. I quite forgot. "

He came back, and Mr. Burnside shook hands with becoming coldness, ashaving just given a lesson in manners. He was not a bad man, nor amiser, nor a Scrooge, but he was a great stickler for manners, especially with people who had nothing to give him. Besides, he hadalready lent Overholt money; or, to put it nicely, he had invested alittle in his invention, and he did not see any reason why he shouldinvest any more until it succeeded. Overholt called it selling shares, but Mr. Burnside called it borrowing money. Overholt was sure that if hecould raise more funds, not much more, he could make a success of the"Air-Motor"; Mr. Burnside was equally sure that nothing would ever comeof it. They had been explaining their respective points of view to eachother, and in sheer absence of mind Overholt had forgotten to shakehands. 

Mr. Burnside had no head for mechanics, but Overholt had already made aninvention which was considered very successful, though he had got littleor nothing for it. The mechanic who had helped him in its constructionhad stolen his principal idea before the device was patented, and hadtaken out a patent for a cheap little article which every one at onceused, and which made a fortune for him. Overholt's instrument took itsplace in every laboratory in the world; but the mechanic's labour-savingutensil took its place in every house. It was on the strength of thevaluable tool of science that Mr. Burnside had invested two thousanddollars in the Air-Motor without really having the smallest idea whetherit was to be a machine that would move the air, or was to be moved byit. A number of business men had done the same thing. 

Then, at a political dinner in a club, three of the investors had dinedat the same small table, and in an interval between the dull speeches, one of the three told the others that he had looked into the inventionand that there was nothing in Overholt's motor after all. Overholt wascrazy. 

"It's like this, " he had said. "You know how a low-pressure engine acts;the steam does a part of the work and the weight of the atmosphere doesthe rest. Now this man Overholt thinks he can make the atmosphere doboth parts of the work with no steam at all, and as that's absurd, ofcourse, he won't get any more of my money. It's like getting into abasket and trying to lift yourself up by the handles. "

Each of the two hearers repeated this simple demonstration to at least adozen acquaintances, who repeated it to dozens of others; and after thatJohn Henry Overholt could not raise another dollar to complete theAir-Motor. 

Mr. Burnside's refusal had been definite and final, and he had been thelast to whom the investor had applied, merely because he was undoubtedlythe most close-fisted man of business of all who had invested in theinvention. 

Overholt saw failure before him at the very moment of success, with thenot quite indifferent accompaniment of starvation. Many a man as good ashe has been in the same straits, even more than once in life, and hassucceeded after all, and Overholt knew this quite well, and thereforedid not break down, nor despair, nor even show distinct outward signs ofmental distress. 

Metaphorically, he took Pandora's box to the Park, put it in a sunnycorner, and sat upon it, to keep the lid down, with Hope inside, whilehe thought over the situation. 

It was not at all a pleasant one. It is one thing to have no money tospare, but it is quite another to have none at all, and he was not farfrom that. He had some small possessions, but those with which he waswilling to part were worth nothing, and those which would bring a littlemoney were the expensive tools and valuable materials with which he wasworking. For he worked alone, profiting by his experience with themechanic who had robbed him of one of his most profitable patents. Whenthe idea of the Air-Motor had occurred to him he had gone into amachine-shop and had spent nearly two years in learning the use of finetools. Then he had bought what he needed out of the money invested inhis idea, and had gone to work himself, sending models of such castingsas he required to different parts of the United States, that the piecesmight be made independently. 

He was not an accomplished workman, and he made slow progress with onlyhis little son to help him when the boy was not at school. Often, through lack of skill, he wasted good material, and more than once hespoiled an expensive casting, and was obliged to wait till it could bemade again and sent to him. Besides, he and the boy had to live, andliving is dear nowadays, even in a cottage in an out-of-the-way cornerof Connecticut; and he needed fire and light in abundance for his work, besides something to eat and decent clothes to wear and somebody to cookthe dinner; and when he took out his diary note-book and examined thefigures on the page near the end, headed "Cash Account, November, " hemade out that he had three hundred and eighteen dollars and twelvecents to his credit, and nothing to come after that, and he knew thatthe men who had believed in him had invested, amongst them, ten thousanddollars in shares, and had paid him the money in cash in the course ofthe past three years, but would invest no more; and it was all gone. 

One thousand more, clear of living expenses, would do it. He waspositively sure that it would be enough, and he and the boy could liveon his little cash balance, by great economy, for four months, at theend of which time the Air-Motor would be perfected. But without thethousand the end of the four months would be the end of everything thatwas worth while in life. After that he would have to go back to teachingin order to live, and the invention would be lost, for the work neededall his time and thought. 

He was a mathematician, and a very good one, besides being otherwise aman of cultivated mind and wide reading. Unfortunately for himself, orthe contrary, if the invention ever succeeded, he had given himself upto higher mathematics when a young man, instead of turning his talent toaccount in an architect's office, a shipbuilding yard, or a locomotiveshop. He could find the strain at any part of an iron frame building bythe differential and integral calculus to the millionth of an ounce, butthe everyday technical routine work with volumes of ready-made tableswas unfamiliar and uncongenial to him; he would rather have calculatedthe tables themselves. The true science of mathematics is the mostimaginative and creative of all sciences, but the mere application ofmathematics to figures for the construction of engines, ships, orbuildings is the dullest sort of drudgery. 

Rather than that, he had chosen to teach what he knew and to dream ofgreat problems at his leisure when teaching was over for the day or forthe term. He had taught in a small college, and had known the raredelight of having one or two pupils who were really interested. It hadbeen a good position, and he had married a clever New England girl, thedaughter of his predecessor, who had died suddenly. They had been veryhappy together for years, and one boy had been born to them, whom hisfather insisted on christening Newton. Then Overholt had thrown up hisemployment for the sake of getting freedom to perfect his invention, though much against his wife's advice, for she was a prudent littlewoman, besides being clever, and she thought of the future of the twobeings she loved, and of her own, while her husband dreamed of hasteningthe progress of science. 

Overholt came to New York because he could work better there thanelsewhere, and could get better tools made, and could obtain more easilythe materials he wanted. For a time everything went well enough, butwhen the investors began to lose faith in him things went very badly. 

Then Mrs. Overholt told her husband that two could live where threecould not, especially when one was a boy of twelve; and as she would notbreak his heart by teasing him into giving up the invention as a matterof duty, she told him that she would support herself until it wasperfected or until he abandoned it of his own accord. She was very wellfitted to be a governess; she was thirty years old and as strong as apony, she said, and she had friends in New England who could find her asituation. He should see her whenever it was possible, she added, butthere was no other way. 

Now it is not easy to find a thoroughly respectable married governessof unexceptionably good manners, who comes of a good stock and is ableto teach young ladies. Such a person is a treasure to rich people whoneed somebody to take charge of their girls while they fly round andround the world in automobiles, seeking whom they may destroy. ThereforeMrs. Overholt obtained a very good place before long, and when thefamily in which she taught had its next attack of European fever and itwas decided that the girls must stay in Munich to improve their Germanand their music, Mrs. Overholt was offered an increase of salary if shewould take them there and see to it, while their parents quarteredGermany, France, Spain, and Austria at the rate of forty miles an hour, or even fifty and sixty where the roads were good. If the parents broketheir necks, Mrs. Overholt would take the children home; but this wasrather in the understanding than in the agreement. 

Such was the position when John Henry sat down upon the lid of Pandora'sbox in a sunny corner of the Central Park and reflected on Mr. Burnside's remark that "there was plenty of hope about. " The inventorthought that there was not much, but such as it was, he did not mean topart with it on the ground that the man of business had called it"cheap. "

He resolved his feelings into factors and simplified the form of each;and this little mathematical operation showed that he was miserable forthree reasons. 

The first was that there was no money for the tangent balance of theAir-Motor, which was the final part, on which he had spent months ofhard work and a hundred more than half sleepless nights. 

The second was that he had not seen his wife for nearly a year, and hadno idea how long it would be before he saw her again, and he was just asmuch in love with her as he had been fourteen years ago, when he marriedher. 

The third, and not the least, was that Christmas was coming, and he didnot see how in the world he was to make a Christmas out of nothing forNewton, seeing that a thirteen-year-old boy wants everything under thesun to cheer him up when he has no brothers and sisters, and school isclosed for the holidays, and his mother is away from home, and there isnobody but a dear old tiresome father who has his nose over a lathe allday long unless he is blinding himself with calculating quaternions forsome reason that no lad, and very few men, can possibly understand. JohnHenry was obliged to confess that hope was not much of a Christmaspresent for a boy in Newton's surroundings. 

For the surroundings would be dismal in the extreme. A rickety cottageon an abandoned Connecticut farm that is waiting for a Bohemian emigrantto make it pay is not a gay place, especially when two-thirds of thehouse has been turned into a workshop that smells everlastingly ofsmith's coal, brass filings, and a nauseous chemical which seemed to benecessary to the life of the Air-Motor, and when the rest of the houseis furnished in a style that would make a condemned cell look attractiveby contrast. 

Besides, it would rain or snow, and it rarely snowed in a decentChristian manner by Christmas. It snowed slush, as Newton expressed it. A certain kind of snow-slush makes nice hard snowballs, it is true, justlike stones, but when there is no other boy to fight, it is no good. Overholt had once offered to have a game of snow-balling with his son ona Saturday afternoon in winter; and the invitation was accepted withalacrity. But it was never extended again. The boy was a perfect terrorat that form of diversion. Yet so distressed was Overholt at theprospect of a sad Christmas for his son that he even thought ofvoluntarily giving up his thin body to the torment again on the 25th ofDecember, if that would amuse Newton and make it seem less dull for him. Good-will towards men, and even towards children, could go no furtherthan that, even at Christmas time. At least Overholt could think of nogreater sacrifice that might serve. 

For what are toys to a boy of thirteen? He wants a gun and something tokill, or he wants a boat in which he can really sail, or a live ponywith a real head, a real tail, and four real legs, one at each corner. That had been Newton's definition of the desired animal when he was sixyears old, and some one had given him a wooden one on rockers with thelegs painted on each side. Girls of thirteen can still play with dolls, and John Henry had read that, far away in ancient times, girlsdedicated their dolls, with all the dolls' clothes, to Artemis on theeve of their wedding-day. But no self-respecting boy of thirteen cares astraw for anything that is not real, except an imaginary pain that willkeep him away from school without cutting down his rations; and in theinvention and presentation of such fictitious suffering he beats all thedoll-makers in Germany and all the playwrights and actors in the world. You must have noticed that the pain is always as far from the stomach asis compatible with probability. Toothache is a grand thing, for nobodycan blame a healthy boy for eating then, if he can only bear the pain. And he can, and does, bear it nobly, though with awful faces. The littlebeast knows that all toothaches do not make your cheek swell. Then thereis earache; that is a splendid invention; it goes through your head likea red-hot corkscrew with a powerful brakeman at the other end, turningit steadily--between meals. Only certain kinds of things really serve tomake him stop. Ice-cream is one, and it takes a great deal of it. It iswell known that ice will cool a red-hot corkscrew. 

But this is a digression, for no boy ever has any pain at Christmas; itis only afterwards that it comes on; usually about ten days. 

After an hour Overholt came to the conclusion that he had better takePandora's box out to the cottage and sit on it there, since nothingsuggested itself to him, in spite of his immense good-will to accept anysuggestion which the spirit of coming Christmas might be kind enough tooffer; and if he could do nothing else, he could at least work at hismachine, and try to devise some means of constructing thetangent-balance, with the materials he had left, and perhaps, by thetime he was thoroughly grimy and the workshop smelt like the Biblicalbottomless pit, something would occur to him for Newton. 

He could also write a letter to his wife, a sort of anticipatoryChristmas letter, and send her the book he had bought as a little gift, wrapping it in nice white paper first, tied with a bit of pale greenribband which she had left behind her, and which he had cherished nearlya year, and marking it "to be opened on Christmas morning"; and theparcel should then be done up securely in good brown grocer's paper andaddressed to her, and even registered, so that it could not possibly belost. It was a pretty book, and also a very excellent book, which heknew she wanted and would read often, so it was as well to takeprecautions. He wished that Newton wanted a book, or even two or three, or magazines with gaily coloured pictures, or anything that older oryounger boys would have liked a little. But Newton was at that age whichcomes sooner or later to every healthy boy, and the sight of a bookwhich he was meant to read and ought to read was infinitely worse thanthe ugliest old toad that ever flops out of a hollow tree at dusk, spitting poison and blinking his devilish little eyes at you when youcome too near him. 

Overholt had been brought up by people who lived in peace and good-willtowards men, in a city where the spirit of Christmas still dwells, andsleeps most of the time, but wakens every year, like a giant of goodcourage and good cheer, at the sound of the merry bells across the snow, and to the sweet carol under the windows in the frosty night. TheGermans say that bad men have no songs; and we and all good fellows maysay that bad people have no Christmas, and though they copy the letterthey know not the spirit; and I say that a copied Christmas is noChristmas at all, because Christmas is a feast of hearts and not of poorbits of cut-down trees stuck up in sawdust and covered with lights andtinsel, even if they are hung with the most expensive gewgaws andgimcracks that ever are bought for gifts by people who are expected togive, whether they like or not. But when the heart for Christmas isthere and is beating, then a very little tree will do, if there be nonebetter to the hand. 

Overholt thought so, while the train rumbled, creaked, and clattered andjerked itself along, as only local trains can, probably because they areold and rheumatic and stiff and weak in the joints, like superannuatedcrocodiles, though they may have once been young express trains, sleekand shiny, and quick and noiseless as bright snakes. 

Overholt thought so, too; but the trouble was that he saw not even theleast little mite of a tree in sight for his boy when the 25th ofDecember should come. And it was coming, and was only a month away; andtime is not a local train that stops at every station, and then kicksitself on a bit to stop at the next; it is the "Fast Limited, " and, whatis more, it is the only one we can go by; and we cannot get out, becauseit never stops anywhere. 

II

HOW A MAN AND A BOY FOUNDED THE LITTLE CITY OF HOPE

Overholt's boy came home from school at the usual hour with his booksbuckled together in an old skate strap, which had never been very goodbecause the leather was too soft and tore from one hole to the next; butit served very well for the books, as no great strain was caused by anarithmetic thumbed to mushiness, a history in the same state, and ageography of which the binding gave in and doubled up from sheerweariness, while the edges were so worn that the eastern coast of Chinaand Siberia had quite disappeared. 

He was a good-looking lad, not tall for his age, but as tough as astreet cat in hard training. He had short and thick brown hair, a clearcomplexion, his father's energetically intellectual features, thoughonly half developed yet, a boldly-set mouth, and his mother's kindly, practical blue eyes. For surely the eyes of practical people are alwaysquite different from those of all others; and not many people arepractical, though I never knew anybody who did not think he or she was, except pinchbeck artists, writers, and players, who are sure that sincethey must be geniuses, it is necessary to be Bohemians in order to showit. The really big ones are always trying to be practical, like SirIsaac Newton when he ordered a good-sized hole to be cut in his barndoor for the cat, and a little one next it for the kitten. 

But Newton Overholt did not at all resemble his great namesake. He was apractical young soul, and had not yet developed the American diseasewhich consists in thinking of two things at the same time. John Henryhad it badly, for he had been thinking of the tangent-balance, his wife, his boy, and the coming Christmas, all together, since he had got home, and the three problems had got mixed and had made his head ache. 

Nevertheless he looked up from his work-table and smiled when his soncame in. 

"Everything all right?" he asked, with an attempt to be cheerful. 

"Oh yes, fine, " answered the boy, looking at the motionless model forthe five-hundredth time, and sticking his hands into his pockets. "I'monly third in mathematics yet, but I'm head in everything else. I wish Ihad your brains, father! I'd be at the head of the arithmetic class inhalf a shake of a lamb's tail if I had your brains. "

So far as mathematics were concerned this sounded probable to JohnHenry, who would have considered the speed of the tail to be a variablefunction of lamb, depending on the value of mother, plus or minus milk. 

"Well, " he said in an encouraging tone, "I never could remembergeography, so it makes us even. "

"I'd like to know how!" cried the boy in a tone of protest. "You coulddo sums, and you grew up to be a great mathematician and inventor. Butwhat is the good of a geographician, anyway? They can only makeschool-books. They never invent anything, do they? You can't inventgeography, can you? At least you can, and some boys do, but they go tothe bottom of the class like lead. It's safer to invent history thangeography, isn't it, father?"

Overholt's clever mouth twitched. 

"It's much safer, my boy. Almost all historians have found it so. "

"There! I said so to-day, and now you say just the same thing. I don'tbelieve one word of ancient history. Not--one--word! They wrote it abouttheir own nations, didn't they? All right. Then you might just as wellexpect them to tell what really happened, as think that I'd tell onanother boy in my own school. I must say it would be as mean as dog pieof them if they did, but all the same that does not make history true, does it?"

Newton had a practical mind. His father, who had not, meditated withunnecessary gravity on the boy's point of view and said nothing. 

"For instance, " continued the lad, sitting down on the high stool beforethe lathe Overholt was not using, "the charge of Balaclava's a truestory, because it's been told by both sides; but they all say that itdid no good, anyway, except to make poetry of. But Marathon! Nobody hada chance to say a word about it except the Greeks themselves, and theyweren't going to allow that the Persians wiped up the floor with them, were they? Why should they? And if Balaclava had happened then, thoseGreek fellows would have told us that the Light Brigade carried theRussian guns back with them across their saddles, wouldn't they? I say, father!"

"What is it?" asked Overholt, looking up, for he had gone back to hiswork and was absorbed in it. 

"The boys are all beginning to talk about Christmas down at the school. Now what are we going to do at Christmas? I've been wondering. "

"So have I!" responded the man, laying down the screw-plate with whichhe was about to cut a fine thread on the end of a small brass rod forthe tangent-balance. "I've been thinking about it a good deal to-day, and I haven't decided on anything. "

"Let's have turkey and cranberry sauce, anyway, " said Newtonthoughtfully, for he had a practical mind. "And I suppose we can haveice-cream if it freezes and we can get some ice. Snow does pretty wellif you pack it down tight enough with salt, and go on putting in morewhen it melts. Barbara doesn't make ice-cream as well as they do in NewYork. She puts in a lot of winter-green and too little cocoanut. Butit's not so bad. We can have it, can't we, father?"

"Oh yes. Turkey, cranberry sauce, and ice-cream. But that isn't a wholeChristmas!"

"I don't see what else you want, I'm sure, " answered the boythoughtfully. "I mean if it's a big turkey and there's enoughice-cream--cream-cakes, maybe. You get good cream-cakes at Bangs's, twofor five cents. They're not very big, but they're all right inside--allgooey, you know. Can you think of anything else?"

"Not to eat!"

"Oh, well then, what's the matter with our Christmas? I can't see. Noschool and heaps of good gobbles. "

"Good what?" Overholt looked at the boy with an inquiring glance, andthen understood. "I see! Is that the proper word?"

"When there's lots, it is, " answered Newton with conviction. "Of course, there are all sorts of things I'd like to have, but it's no goodwishing you could lay Columbus's egg and hatch the American eagle, isit?[Footnote: The writer acknowledges his indebtedness for this fact innatural and national history to his aunt, Mrs. Julia Ward Howe, to whomit was recently revealed in the course of making an excellent speech. ]What would you like, father, if you could choose?"

"Three things, " answered Overholt promptly. "I should like to see thatwheel going round, softly and steadily, all Christmas Day. I should liketo see that door open and your mother coming in. "

"You bet I would too!" cried Newton, dropping from bold metaphor tovulgar vernacular. "Well, what's the third thing? You said there werethree. "

"I should like you to have a real, old-fashioned, glorious Christmas, myboy, such as you had when you were smaller, before we left the housewhere you were born. "

"Oh well, you mustn't worry about me, father; if there's plenty ofturkey and ice-cream and the cream-cakes, I can stand it. Mother can'tcome, anyhow, so that's settled, and it's no use to think about it. Butthe motor--that's different. There's hope, anyway. The wheel may goround. If you didn't hope so, you wouldn't go on fussing over it, wouldyou? You'd go and do something else. They always say hope's better thannothing. "

"It's about all we shall have left for Christmas, so we may as wellbuild as much on it as we can. "

"I love building, " said Newton. "I like to stand and watch a bricklayerjust putting one brick on another and making the wall grow. "

"Perhaps you'll turn out an architect. "

"I'd like to. I never showed you my city, did I?" He knew very well thathe had not, and his father looked at him inquiringly. "No. Oh well, youwon't care to see it. "

"Yes, I should! But I don't understand. What sort of a city do youmean?"

"Oh, it's nothing, " answered the boy, affecting carelessness. "It's onlya little paper city on a board. I don't believe you'd care to see it, father. Let's talk about Christmas. "

"No. I want to see what you have made. Where is it? I'll go with you. "

Newton laughed. 

"I'll bring it, if you really want me to. It's easy enough to carry. Thewhole thing's only paper!"

He left the workshop and returned before Overholt had finished cuttingthe thread of the screw he was making. The man turned as the boy pushedthe door open with his foot, and came in carrying what had evidentlyonce been the top of a deal table. 

On the board he had built an ingenious model of a town, or part of one, but it was not finished. It was entirely made of bits of cardboard, chips of wood, the sides of match-boxes, and odds and ends of all sorts, which he picked up wherever he saw them and brought home in his pocketfor his purpose. He had an immense supply of such stuff stored away, much more than he could ever use. 

Overholt looked at it with admiration, but said nothing. It was thecollege town where he had lived so happily and hoped to live again. Itwas distinctly recognisable, and many of the buildings were not onlycleverly made, but were coloured very like the originals. He was so muchinterested that he forgot to say anything. 

"It's a silly thing, anyway, " said Newton, disappointed by his silence. "It's like toys!"

Overholt looked up, and the boy saw his pleased face. 

"It's very far from silly, " he said. "I believe you're born to be abuilder, boy! It's not only not silly, but it's very well done indeed!"

"I'll bet you can't tell what the place is, " observed Newton, a secretjoy stealing through him at his father's words. 

"Know it? I should think I did, and I wish we were there now! Here's theCollege, and there's our house in the street on the other side of thecommon. The church is first-rate, it's really like it--and there's theRoman Catholic Chapel and the Public Library in Main Street. "

"Why, you really do recognise the places!" cried Newton in delight. "Ididn't think anybody'd know them!"

"One would have to be blind not to, if one knew the town, " saidOverholt. "And there's the dear old lane!" He was absorbed in the model. "And the three hickory trees, and even the little bench!"

"Why, do you remember that bench, father?"

Overholt looked up again, quickly and rather dreamily. 

"Yes. It was there that I asked your mother to marry me, " he said. 

"Not really? Then I'm glad I put it in!"

"So am I, for the dear old time's sake and for her sake, and for yours, my boy. Tell me when you made this, and how you can remember it all sowell. "

The lad sat down on the high stool again before the lathe and lookedthrough the dingy window at the scraggy trees outside, beyond theforlorn yard. 

"Oh, I don't know, " he said. "I kind of remember it, I suppose, becauseI liked it better than this. And when I first had the idea I was sittingout there in the yard looking at this board. It belongs to a brokentable that had been thrown out there. And I carried it up to my roomwhen you were out. I thought you wouldn't mind my taking it. And Ipicked up scraps that might be useful, and got some gum, and old Barbaramade me some flour paste. It's got green now, and it smells likethunder, but it's good still. That's about all, I suppose. Now I'll takeit away again. I keep it in the dark closet behind my room, because thatdoesn't leak when it rains. "

"Don't take it away, " said Overholt suddenly. "I'll make room for ithere, and you can work at it while I'm busy, and in the evenings I'lltry and help you, and we'll finish it together. "

Newton was amazed. 

"Why, father, it's playing! How can you go to work at play? It would beso funny! But, of course, if you really would help me a little--you'vegot such lots of nice things!"

He wistfully eyed a little coil of some very fine steel wire which wouldmake a beautiful telegraph. Newton even dreamt of making the trolley, too, in the Main Street, but that would be a very troublesome job; andas for the railway station, it was easy enough to build a shed and aplatform, but what is a railway station without a train?

Overholt did not answer the boy at once, and when he spoke there was aqueer little quaver in his voice. 

"We'll call it our little City of Hope, " he said, "and perhaps we can'go to work to play, ' as you call it, so hard that Hope will really comeand live in the City. "

"Well, " said Newton, "I never thought you'd ever care to see it! Shall Igo up and get my stuff, and the gum and the flour paste, and bring themdown here, father? But the flour paste smells pretty bad--it might giveyou a headache. "

"Bring it down, my boy. My headaches don't come from such things. "

"Don't they? It's true that stuff you use here's about as bad asanything, till you get used to it. What is it, anyway?"

Overholt gave him the almost unpronounceable name of some recentlydiscovered substance, and smiled at his expression as he listened. 

"If that's its name, " said the boy gravely, "it sounds like the way itsmells. I wonder what a skunk's name is in science. But the flourpaste's pretty bad too. You'll see!"

He went off, and his father finished cutting the little screw while hewas gone, and then turned to look at the model again, and becameabsorbed in tracing the well-known streets and trying to recall theshops and houses in each, and the places where his friends had lived, and no doubt lived still, for college towns do not change as fast asothers. He was amazed at the memory the boy had shown for details; ifthe lad had not yet developed any special talent, he had at least provedthat he possessed one of those natural gifts which are sometimes aloneenough to make success. The born builder's eye is like an ear for music, a facility for languages, or the power of drawing from nature; all theapplication in the world will not do in years what any one of these doesinstantly, spontaneously, instinctively, without the smallest effort. You cannot make talent out of a combination of taste and industry. Youcannot train a cart-horse to trot a mile in a little over a minute. 

Newton returned, bringing his materials, to describe which would beprofitless, if it were possible. He had everything littered together intwo battered deal candle-boxes, including the broken soup-platecontaining the flour paste, a loathely, mouldering little mess thatdiffused a nauseous odour, distinctly perceptible through that of theunpronounceable chemical on which the Air-Motor was to depend for itsexistence. 

The light outside was failing in the murky November air, and Overholtlit the big reflecting lamp that hung over the work-table. There wasanother above the lathe, for no gas or electricity was to be had so farfrom the town, and one of old Barbara's standing causes of complaintagainst Overholt was his reckless use of kerosene--she thought it wouldbe better if he had more fat turkeys and rump-steaks and less light. 

So the man and the boy "went to work to play" at building the City ofHope, for at least an hour before supper and half an hour after it, almost every day; and with the boy's marvellous memory and the father'sskill, and the delicious profusion of fresh material which Newton keptfinding in every corner of the workshop, it grew steadily, till it was alittle work of art in its way. There were the ups and downs, the crookedold roads and lanes and the straight new streets, the little woodencottages and the big brick houses, and there was the grassy common withits trees and its tiny iron railing; and John Henry easily made posts tocarry the trolley wires, which had seemed an impossible dream to theboy, beyond all realisation; and one day, when the inventor seemedfarther from the tangent-balance than ever, he spent a whole afternoonin making a dozen little trolley-cars that ran on real wheels, made bysawing off little sections from a lead pencil, which is the best thingin the world for that, because the lead comes out and leaves nice roundholes for the axles. When the first car was painted red and yellow andran up and down Main Street, guided by the wire above and only needingone little artificial push to send it either way, it looked so real thatthe boy was in ecstasies of delight. 

"It's worth while to be a great inventor to be able to make things likethat!" he cried, and Overholt was as much pleased by the praise as anopera singer is who is called out three times before the curtain afterthe first act. 

So the little City of Hope grew, and they both felt that Hope herselfwas soon coming to dwell therein, if she had not come already. 

III

HOW THEY MADE BRICKS WITHOUT STRAW

But then something happened; for Overholt was tormented by the vagueconsciousness of a coming idea, so that he had headaches and could notsleep at night. It flashed upon him at last one evening when Newton wasin bed and he was sitting before his motor, wishing he had the thousanddollars which would surely complete it, even if he used the mostexpensive materials in the market. 

The idea which developed suddenly in all its clearness was that he hadmade one of the most important parts of the machine exactly the converseof what it should be; what was on the right should have been on theleft, and what was down should certainly have been up. Then the enginewould work, even if the tangent-balance were a very poor affair indeed. 

The particular piece of brass casting which was the foundation of thatpart had been made in New York, and, owing to the necessity for itsbeing finished very accurately and machine planed and turned, it hadcost a great deal of money. Already it had been made and spoilt threetimes over, and now it was perfectly clear that it must be cast overagain in a reversed form. It was quite useless to make the balance yet, for it would be of no use till the right casting was finished; it wouldhave to be reversed too, and the tangent would apply to a reversedcurve. 

He had no money for the casting, but even before trying to raise thecash it was necessary to make the wooden model. He could do that, and heset to work to sketch the drawing within five minutes after the idea hadonce flashed upon him. As his eye followed the lines made by his pencil, he became more and more convinced that he was right. When the roughsketch was done he looked up at the engine. Its familiar features seemedto be drawn into a diabolical grimace of contempt at his stupidity, andit looked as if it were conscious and wanted to throw the wrongly-madepiece at his head. But he was overwrought just then and could havefancied any folly. 

He rose, shook himself, and then took a long pull at a black bottle thatalways stood on a shelf. When a man puts a black bottle to his lips, tips it up, and takes down several good pulls almost without drawingbreath, most people suppose that he is a person of vicious habits. InOverholt's case most people would have been wrong. The black bottlecontained cold tea; it was strong, but it was only tea, and that is thefinest drink in the world for an inventor or an author to work on. WhenI say an author I mean a poor writer of prose, for I have always beentold that all poets are either mad, or bad, or both. Many of them mustbe bad, or they could not write such atrocious poems; but madness isdifferent; perhaps they read their own verses. 

When Overholt had swallowed his cold tea, he got out his drawingmaterials, stretched a fresh sheet of thick draughtsman's paper on theboard, and sat down between the motor that would not move and thelittle city in which Hope had taken lodgings for a while, and he went towork with ruler, scale and dividers, and the hard wood template fordrawing the curves he had constructed for the tangent-balance by a veryabstruse mathematical calculation. That was right, at all events, only, as it was to be reversed, he laid it on the paper with the under-sideup. 

He worked nearly all night to finish the drawing, slept two hours in abattered Shaker rocking-chair by the fire, woke in broad daylight, drankmore cold tea, and went at once to his lathe, for the new piece was inthe nature of a cylinder, and a good deal of the work could be done byturning. 

The chisel and the lathe seemed to be talking to each other over theblock of wood, and what they said rang like a tune in John Henry's head. 

"Bricks without straw, bricks without straw, bricks without straw, "repeated the lathe regularly, at each revolution, and when it said"bricks" the treadle was up, and when it said "straw" the treadle wasdown, for of course it was only a foot lathe, though a good one. "Sh--sh--sh--ever so much better than no bricks at all--sh--sh--sh, "answered the sharp chisel as it pressed and bit the wood, and made alittle irregular clattering when it was drawn away, and then cameforward against the block again with a long hushing sound; and Overholtwas inclined to accept its opinion, and worked on as if an obligingbrassfounder were waiting outside to take the model away at once andcast it for nothing, or at least on credit. 

But no such worthy and confiding manufacturer appeared, even on theevening of the second day, when the wooden model was beautifullyfinished and ready for the foundry. While the inventor was busy, Newtonhad worked alone in a corner when he had time to spare from his lessons, but he understood what was going on, and he did not accomplish muchbeyond painting the front of the National Bank in the City of Hope andplanning a possible Wild West Show to be set up on the outskirts; thetents would be easy to make, but the horses were beyond his skill, orhis father's; it would not be enough that they should have a leg at eachcorner and a head and a tail. 

He understood well enough what was the matter, for he had seen similarthings happen before. A pessimist is defined to be a person who haslived with an optimist, and every inventor is that. Poor Newton had seenthat particular part of the engine spoiled and made over three times, and he understood perfectly that it was all wrong again and must be castonce more. But he kept his reflections to himself and tried to thinkabout the City of Hope. 

"I wish, " said John Henry, sitting down opposite the boy at last, andlooking at what he had done, "that the National Bank in Main Street werereal!"

He eyed it wistfully. 

"Oh well, " answered the boy, "we couldn't rob it, because that'sstealing, so I don't see what particular good it would do!"

"Perhaps the business people in the City of Hope would be different fromthe bankers in New York, " observed Overholt, thoughtfully. 

"I don't believe it, father, " Newton answered in a sceptical tone. "Ifthey were bankers they'd be rich, and you remember the sermon Sundaybefore last, about it's being easier for the camel to get through therich man--no, which is it? I forget. It doesn't matter, anyway, becausewe can imagine any kind of people we choose in our city, can't we? Say, father, what's the matter? Are you going to cast that piece over again?That'll be the fourth time, won't it?"

"It would be, my boy, but it won't be. They won't cast it for nothing, and I cannot raise the money. You cannot make bricks without straw. "

He looked steadily down at the tiny front of the Bank in Main Street, and a hungry look came into his eyes. 

But Newton had a practical mind, even at thirteen. 

"I was thinking, " he said presently. "It looks as if we were going toget stuck some day. What are we going to do then, father? I was thinkingabout it just now. How are we going to get anything to eat if we have nomoney?"

"I shall have to go back to teaching mathematics for a living, Isuppose. "

"And give up the Motor?" Newton had never yet heard him suggest such athing. 

"Yes, " Overholt answered in a low tone; and that was all he said. 

"Oh, that's ridiculous. You'd just die, that's all!"

Newton stared at the engine that was a failure. It looked as if it oughtto work, he thought, with its neat cylinders, its polished levers, itsbeautifully designed gear. It stood under a big case made of thick glassplates set in an iron frame with a solid top; a chain ran through twocast-iron wheels overhead to a counterpoise in the corner, by whichdevice it was easily raised and lowered. The Motor was a very expensiveaffair, and had to be carefully protected from dust and all injury, though it was worth nothing at present except for old brass and iron, unless the new part could be made. 

"Come, my boy, let's think of something more cheerful!" Overholt said, making an effort to rouse himself and concentrated his attention on thepaper model. "Christmas is coming in three weeks, you know, and it willcome just the same in the little City. I'm sure the people will decoratetheir houses and the church. Of course we cannot see the insides of thehouses, but in Boston they put wreaths in the windows. And we'll have asnowstorm, just as we used to have, and we can clear it away afterwards!Wasn't there a holly tree somewhere near the College? You haven't putthat in yet. You have no idea how cheerful it will look! To-morrow we'llfind a very small sprig with berries on it, and plant it just in theright place. I'm sure you remember where it stood. "

"Real leaves would be too big, " observed the boy. "They wouldn't lookright. Of course, one could cut the branches out of tin and paint 'emgreen with red spots, and stick them into a twig for the trunk. But it'srather hard to do. "

"Let's try, " said Overholt. "I've got some fine chisels and some verythin brass, but I don't think I could draw the branches as well as youcould. "

"Oh, I can draw them something like, if you'll only cut 'em out, " theboy answered cheerfully. "Come on, father! Who says we can't make brickswithout straw? I'll bet anything we can!"

So they worked together steadily, and for an hour or two the inventorwas so busy in cutting out tiny branches of imaginary holly with a verysmall chisel that he did not look once at the plate glass from whichhis engine seemed to be grinning at him, in fiendish delight over hismisfortunes. There were times when he was angry with it, outright, as ifit knew what he was doing and did not mean to give in to him and letitself be invented. 

But now the tune of the lathe and the chisel still ran on in his head, for he had heard it through two whole days and could not get rid of it. 

"Bricks without straw, bricks without straw!" repeated the latheviciously. "Ever so much better than no bricks at all, sh--sh--sh!"answered the chisel, gibbering and hissing like an idiot. 

"You will certainly be lying on straw before long, and then I supposeyou'll wish you had something else!" squeaked the little chisel withwhich he was cutting out holly leaves, as it went through the thinplates into the wood of the bench under each push of his hand. 

The things in the workshop all seemed to be talking to him together, andmade his head ache. 

"I had a letter from your mother to-day, " he said, because it wasbetter to hear his own voice say anything than to listen to suchdepressing imaginary conversations. "I'm sorry to say she sees no chanceof getting home before the spring. "

"I don't know where you'd put her if she came here, " answered thepractical Newton. "Your room leaks when it rains, and so does mine. Youtwo would have to sleep in the parlour. I guess it'll be better if shedoesn't come now. "

"Oh, for her, far better, " assented Overholt. "They've got a beautifulflat in Munich, and everything they can possibly think of. Your mother'sonly complaint, so far as that goes, is that those girls are completelyspoilt by too much luxury!"

"What is luxury, exactly, father?" asked Newton, who always wanted toknow things. 

"I shall never know myself, and perhaps you never will either!" Thewretched inventor tried to laugh. "But that's no answer to yourquestion, is it? I suppose luxury means always having twice as much ofeverything as you can possibly use, and having it about ten times asfine and expensive as other people can afford. "

"I don't see any use in that, " said the boy. "Now I know just how muchturkey and cranberry sauce and ice-cream I really need, and if I getjust a little more than that, it's Christmas. I don't mean much more, but about half a helping. I know all about proverbs. Haven't I copiedmillions of 'em in learning to write. One reason why it's so slow tolearn is that the things you have to write are perfect nonsense. 'Enoughis as good as a feast!' All I can say is, the man who made that proverbnever had a feast, or he'd have known better! This green paint doesn'tdry very quick, father. We'll have to wait till to-morrow before we putin the red spots for the berries. I wish I had some little red beads. They'd stick on the wet paint now, like one o'clock. "

There were no red beads, so he rose to go to bed. When he had saidgood-night and had reached the door, he stopped and looked back again. 

"Say, father, haven't you anything you can sell to get some more moneyfor the Motor?"

John Henry shook his weary head and smiled sadly. 

"Nothing that would bring nearly enough to pay for the casting, " heanswered. "Don't worry about it, boy. Leave that to me--I'm used to it. Go to bed and sleep, and you'll feel like an Air-Motor yourself in themorning!"

"That's the worst of it, " returned the boy. "Just to sit there under aglass case and have you take care of me and do nothing, like a girl. That's the way I feel sometimes. "

He shook his young head quite as gravely as the inventor had shaken hisown, and went quietly to bed without saying anything more. 

"I don't know what to do, I'm sure, " he said to himself as he got intobed, "but I'm sure there's something. Maybe I'll dream it, and then I'lldo just the contrary and it'll come all right. "

But boys of practical minds and sound bodies do not dream at all, unlessit be after a feast, and most of them can stand even that without havingnightmare, unless two feasts come near together, like Christmas and abirthday within the week. 

A great-uncle of mine was once taken for a clergyman at a public dinnernearly a hundred years ago, and he was asked to say grace; he was agood man, and also practical, and had a splendid appetite, but he wasnot eloquent, and this is what he said:--

"The Lord give us appetites to enjoy, and strength to digest ALL thegood things set before us. Amen!"

And everybody said "Amen" very cheerfully and fell to. 

IV

HOW THERE WAS A FAMINE IN THE CITY

It rained in New York and it "snowed slush" in Connecticut, after itsmanner, and the world was a very dreary place, especially all around thedilapidated cottage where everything was going to pieces, including JohnHenry Overholt's last hopes. 

If he had been alone in the world he would have taken his small cashbalance and his model to the foundry, quite careless as to whether heever got a meal again until the Motor worked. But there was the boy tobe thought of, and desperate as the unhappy inventor was, he would notstarve his son as well as himself. He was quite sure of his littlebalance, though he had never had any head for figures of that sort. Itwas an easy affair in his eyes to handle the differential calculus, which will do anything, metaphorically speaking, from smashing a rock asflat and thin as a postage stamp, to regulating an astronomical clock;but to understand the complication of a pass-book and a bank account wasa matter of the greatest possible difficulty. Newton would have done itmuch better, though he could not get to the head of his class inarithmetic. That is the difference between being an inventor and havinga practical mind. As for Mrs. Overholt, she was perfectly wonderful atkeeping accounts; but then she had been taught a great many things, frommusic and drawing to compound interest and double entry, and she hadbeen taught them all just so far as to be able to do them nicely withoutunderstanding at all what she did; which is sound modern education, andno mistake. The object of music is to make a cheerful noise, which canbe done very well without pencil and paper and the rules of harmony. 

But Overholt could neither make a cheerful noise, nor draw a holly leaf, nor speak French, nor even understand a pass-book, though he hadinvented an Air-Motor which would not work, but was a clear evidence ofgenius. The only business idea he had was to make his little balancelast as long as possible, in spite of the terrible temptation to take itand offer it to the founder as a cash advance, if only he might have hispiece of casting done. Where the rest of the money would come from hedid not know; probably out of the Motor. It looked so easy; but therewas the boy, and it might happen that there would be no dinner forseveral days. 

On the first of December he cashed a cheque in the town, as usual; andhe paid Barbara's wages and the coal merchant, and the month's bill forkerosene, and the butcher and the grocer, and the baker, and that waspractically all; and he went to bed that night feeling that whateverhappened there was a whole month before another first came round, and heowed no one anything more for the present, and Newton would not starve, and could have his Christmas turkey, if it was to be the last he everate, poor boy. 

On the morning of December third it was still snowing slush, though itwas more like real snow now, and the air was much colder; and by and by, when Overholt had read a letter that Barbara brought him, he felt soterribly cold all at once that his teeth chattered, and then he was sohot that the perspiration ran down his forehead, and he steadied himselfagainst the heavy glass case of the Motor a moment and then almosttumbled into a sitting posture on the stool before his work-table, andhis head fell forward on his hands, as if he were fainting. 

The letter said that his account was overdrawn to the extent of threehundred and fifty-two dollars and thirteen cents, including the chequehe had drawn on the thirty-first, and would he please make a deposit athis earliest convenience?

It had been just a little mistake in arithmetic, that was all. He hadstarted with the wrong balance in his note-book, and what he thought wascredit was debit, but the bank where he had kept all the money that hadbeen put up for the Motor, had wished to be friendly and good-natured tothe great inventor and had not returned his cheques with N. G. On them;and if his attention had already been called to his deficit, he musthave forgotten to open the letter. Like all men who are much talked ofin the newspapers, though they may be as poor as Job's turkey, hereceived a great many circulars addressed by typewriter, and the onlyletters he really cared for were from his wife, so that when he was veryhard at work or much preoccupied the others accumulated somewhere in theworkshop, and were often forgotten. 

What was perfectly clear this morning was that starvation was sitting onthe doorstep and that he had no moral right whatever to the dinnerBarbara was already beginning to cook, nor to another to-morrow, nor toany more; for he was a proud man, and ashamed of debt, though he mixedup debit and credit so disgracefully. 

He sat there half an hour, as he had let himself fall forward, onlymoving a little, so that his forehead rested on his arm instead of hishands, because that was a little more comfortable, and just then he didnot want to see anything, least of all the Motor. When he rose at lastthe sleeve of his coat was all wet with the perspiration from hisforehead. He left the workshop, half shutting his eyes in order not tosee the Motor; he was sure the thing was grinning at him behind theplate glass. It had two round brass valves near the top that lookedlike yellow eyeballs, and a lever at the bottom with double arms and across-bar, which made him think of an iron jaw when he was in one of hisfits of nervous depression. 

But John Henry Overholt was a man, and an honest one. He went straightto the writing-table in the next room and sat down, and though his handshook, he wrote a clear and manly letter to the President of the Collegewhere he had taught so well, stating his exact position, acknowledgingthe failure of his invention, and asking help to find immediateemployment as a teacher, even in the humblest capacity which wouldafford bread for his boy and himself. Presidents and principals ofcolleges are in constant communication with other similar institutions, and generally know of vacant positions. 

When he had written his letter and read it over carefully, Overholtlooked at his timetable, got his hat, coat, and umbrella, and trudgedoff through the slushy snow to the station, on his way to New York. 

It was raining there, but it was not dismal; hurry, confusion, and noisecan never be that. He had not been in the city since the day when hemade his last attempt to raise money, and in his present state thecontrast was overwhelming. The shopkeepers would have told him that itwas a dull day for business, and that the rain was costing them hundredsof dollars every hour, because there are a vast number of people who buythings within the month before Christmas, if it is convenient and theweather is fine, but will not take the trouble if the weather is bad;and afterwards they are so glad to have saved their money that they buynothing of that sort till the following year. For Christmas shopping islargely a matter of temptation on the one side and of weakness on theother, and you cannot tempt a man to buy your wares if he will not evengo out and look at your shop window. At Christmas time every shopkeeperturns into a Serpent, with a big S and a supply of apples varying, withhis capital, from a paper-bagful to a whole orchard, and though theladies are the more easily tempted, nine generous men out of ten show nomore sense just at that time than Eve herself did. The very air hastemptation in it when they see the windows full of pretty things andthink of their wives and their children and their old friends. Evenmisers relax a little then, and a famous statesman, who was somewhatclose-fisted in his day, is reported to have given his young colouredservant twenty-five cents on Christmas Eve, telling him to go out toMount Auburn Cemetery and see where the great men of New England lieburied. And the man, I believe, went there; but he was an African, andthe spirit of Christmas was not in his race, for if it had moved him hewould have wasted that money on cream-cakes and cookies, reflecting thatthe buried worthies of Massachusetts could not tell tales on him. 

Overholt went down town to the bank where he kept his account andexplained his little mistake very humbly, and asked for time to pay up. The teller looked at him as if he were an escaped lunatic, but onaccount of his great reputation as an inventor he was shown to the deskof one of the partners, which stood in a corner of the vast place, whereone could converse confidentially if one did not speak above a whisper;but the stenographer girl could hear even whispering distinctly, andperhaps she sometimes took down what she heard, if the partner made asignal to her by carelessly rolling his pencil across his table. 

The partner whom Overholt saw was not ill-natured, and besides, it wasnear Christmas, and he had been poor himself when he was young. IfOverholt would kindly sign a note at sixty days for the overdraft itwould be all right. The banker was sorry he could not authorise him tooverdraw any further, but it was strictly against the rules, anexception had been made because Mr. Overholt was such a well-known man, and so forth. But the inventor explained that he had not meant to askany favour, and had come to explain how he had made such a strangemistake. The banker, like the teller, thought that a man who could notcount money must be mad, but was too civil, or too good-natured, to sayso. 

Overholt signed the note, thanked him warmly, and went away. He and hisold umbrella looked very dejected as he left the building and dived intothe stream of men in the street, but if he had paid any attention to hisfellow-beings he would have seen here and there a number who lookedquite as unhappy as he did. He had come all the way from the countryexpressly to explain his error, and had been in the greatest haste toget down town and have the interview over. To go home with the prospectof trying to eat a dinner that would be cold, and of sitting in hisworkshop all the afternoon just to stare at his failure until Newtoncame home, was quite another matter. If the weather had been lessdisagreeable he would have gone to the Central Park, to sit in a quietcorner and think matters over. 

As that seemed out of the question, he walked from the bank toForty-Second Street, taking an hour and a half over it. It was better togo on foot than to sit in a car facing a dozen or twenty strangers, whowould wonder why he looked so miserable. Sensitive people always fancythat everybody is looking at them and criticising them, when in fact noone cares a straw how they look or what they do. 

Then, too, he was in such a morbid state of mind about his debt that itlooked positively wrong to spend five cents on a car-fare; even thesmall change in his pocket was not his own, and that, and hundreds ofdollars besides, must be paid back in sixty days. Otherwise he supposedhe would be bankrupt, which, to his simple mind, meant disgrace as wellas ruin. 

It had stopped raining before he reached Grace Church, and as he crossedMadison Square the sun shone out, the wind had veered to the west, andthe sky was clearing all round. The streets had seemed full before, butthey were positively choking with people now. The shops drew them in andblew them out again with much less cash about them, as a Pacific whaleswallows water and spouts it out, catching the little fish by thousandswith his internal whalebone fishing-net. But, unlike the fishes, thepeople were not a whit less pleased. On the contrary, there wassomething in the faces of almost all that is only seen once a year inNew York, and then only for certain hours; and that is real good-will. For whatever the most home-loving New Yorker may say of his own greatcity, good-will to men is not its dominant characteristic, nor peace itsmost remarkable feature. 

Even poor Overholt, half crazy with disappointment and trouble, couldnot help noticing the difference between the expressions of the men hehad seen down town and of those who were thronging the shops and thesidewalks in Fifth Avenue. In Wall Street and adjacent Broadway a greatmany looked like more or less discontented birds of prey looking out forthe next meal, and a few might have been compared to replete vultures;but here all those who were not alone were talking with theircompanions, and many were smiling, and now and then a low laugh washeard, which is a very rare thing in Fifth Avenue, though you may oftenhear children laughing in the Park and sometimes in the cross streetsup-town. 

Then there was another eagerness in the faces, that was not for money, but was the anticipation of giving pleasure before long, and of beingpleased too; and that is a great part of the Christmas spirit, if it isnot the spirit itself. It is doubtless more blessed to give than toreceive, but the receiving is very delightful, and it is cruel to teachchildren that they must not look forward to having pretty presents. Whatis Christmas Day to a happy child but a first glimpse of heaven onearth?

Overholt glanced at the faces of the passers-by with a sort of vaguesurprise, wondering why they looked so happy; and then he rememberedwhat they were doing, and all at once his heart sank like lead. What wasto become of the turkey and the ice-cream on which Newton had built hishopes for Christmas? Would there be any dinner at all? Or any one tocook it? How could he go and get things which he would not be able topay for on the first of next month, exactly a week after the feast? Hisimagination could glide lightly over three weeks of starvation, but atthe thought of his boy's disappointment everything went to pieces, thepresent, the future, everything. He would have walked all the way downtown again to beg for a loan of only a few dollars, enough for that oneChristmas dinner; but he knew from the banker's face that such a requestwould be refused, as such, and he dreaded in his misery lest the moneyshould be offered him as a charity. 

He got home at last, weary and wretched, and then for the first time heremembered the letter he had written asking for employment as a teacher. He had been a very good one, and the College had been sorry to losehim; in two days he might get an answer; all hope was not gone yet, atleast not quite all, and his spirits revived a little. Besides, theweather was fine now, even in Connecticut; there would be a sharp frostin the night, and Newton would soon get some skating. 

V

HOW THE CITY WAS BESIEGED AND THE LID OF PANDORA'S BOX CAME OFF

Almost the worst part of it was that he had to tell his boy about hisdreadful mistake, and that it was all over with the Motor and witheverything, and that until he could get something to do they werepractically starving; and that he could not possibly see how there wasever to be ice-cream for Christmas, let alone such an expensive joy as, a turkey. 

He knew that Newton would not pucker up his mouth and screw his eyes tokeep the tears in, like a girl; and he was quite sure that the boy wouldnot reproach him for having been so careless. He might not seem to carevery much, but he would be terribly disappointed; that was the worst ofit all, next to owing money that he had no hope of paying. Indeed, hehardly knew which hurt him more than the other, for the disgrace ofdebt, as he called it, was all his own, but the bitter disappointmentwas on Newton too. 

The latter listened in silence till his father had finished, and hisboyish face was preternaturally thoughtful. 

"I've seen boys make just such mistakes at the blackboard, " he observedin a tone of melancholy reflection. "And they generally catch itafterwards too, " he added. "It's natural. "

"I've 'caught it, '" Overholt answered. "You have too, my dear boy, though you didn't make the mistake--that's not just. "

"Well, father, I don't know what we're going to do, but something hasgot to be done right away, and we've got to find out what it is. "

"Thank goodness you're not a girl!" cried Overholt fervently. 

"I'm glad too; only, if I were one, I should most likely die young andgo to heaven, and you'd have me off your mind all right. The girlsalways do in storybooks. "

He made this startling and general observation quite naturally. Ofcourse girls died and went to heaven when there was nothing to eat; hesecretly thought it would be better if more of them did, even withoutstarvation. 

"Let's work, anyhow, " he added, as his father said nothing. "Maybe we'llthink of something while we're building that railroad depôt. Don't yousuppose that now you've got so far the Motor would keep while youtaught, and you could go at it again in the vacations? That's an idea, father, come now!"

He was already in his place before the board on which the little Citywas built, and his eyes were fixed on the lines his father had drawn asa plan for the station and the diverging tracks. But Overholt did notsit down. His usual place was opposite the Motor, where he could see it, but he did not want to look at it now. 

"Change seats with me, boy, " he said. "I cannot stand the sight of it. Isuppose I'm imaginative. All this has upset me a good deal. "

He wished he had the lad's nerves, the solid nerves of hungry andsleepy thirteen. Newton got up at once and changed places, and for a fewminutes Overholt tried to concentrate his mind on the little City, butit was of no use. If he did not think of the Motor, he thought of whatwas much worse, for the little streets and models of the familiar placesbrought back the cruel memory of happier things so vividly that it wastorment. All his faculties of sensation were tense and vibrating; hecould hear his wife's gentle and happy voice, her young girl's voice, when he looked at the little bench in the lane where he had asked her tomarry him, and an awful certainty came upon him that he was never tohear her speak again on this side of the grave; there was the house theyhad lived in; from that window he had looked out on a May morning at thebudding trees half an hour after his boy had been born; there, in thepretty garden, the young mother had sat with her baby in the lovely Junedays--it was full of her. Or if he looked at the College, he knew everyone of the steps, and the entrance, and the tall windows of thelecture-rooms, where he had taught so contentedly, year after year, tillthe terrible Motor had taken possession of him, the thing that wasdriving him mad; and, strangely enough, what hurt him most and broughtdrops of perspiration to his forehead was the National Bank in MainStreet; it made him remember his debt, and that he had no money atall--nothing whatsoever but the few dollars in his pocket left afterpaying the bills on the first of the month. 

"It's of no use!" he cried, suddenly rising and turning away. "I cannotstand it. I'm sorry, but it's too awful!"

Never before had he felt so thoroughly ashamed of himself. He wasbreaking down before his son, to whom he knew he ought to be setting anexample of fortitude and common sense. He had forgotten the very namesof such qualities; the mere thought of Hope, whenever it crossed hismind, mocked him maddeningly, and he hated the little City for the namehe had given it. Hope was his enemy since she had left him, and he washers; he could have found it in his heart to crush the poor little papertown to pieces, and then to split up the very board itself for firewood. 

The years that had been so full of belief were all at once empty, andthe memory of them rang hollow and false, because Hope had cheated him, luring him on, only to forsake him at the great moment. Every hour hehad spent on the work had been misspent; he saw it all now, and the mostperfect of his faultless calculations only proved that science was ablatant fraud and a snare that had cost him all he had, his wife, hisboy's future, and his own self-respect. How could he ever look at hiswretched failure again? How could he sit down opposite the son he hadcheated, and who was going to starve with him, and play with a littleCity of Hope, when Hope herself was the lying enemy that had coaxed himto the destruction of his family and to his own disgrace? As forteaching again, who ever got back a good place after he had voluntarilygiven it up for a wild dream! Men who had such dreams were not fit toteach young men in any case! That was the answer he would get by post ina day or two. 

Newton watched his father anxiously, for he had heard that peoplesometimes went mad from disappointment and anxiety. The paleintellectual face wore a look of horror, as if the dark eyes saw somedreadful sight; the thin figure moved nervously, the colourless lipstwitched, the lean fingers opened and shut spasmodically on nothing. Itwas enough to scare the boy, who had always known his father gentle, sweet-tempered, and hopeful even under failure; but Overholt was quitechanged now, and looked as if he were either very ill or very crazy. 

It is doubtful whether boys ever love their fathers as most of them lovetheir mothers at one time, or all their lives. The sort of attachmentthere often is between father and son is very different from that, andboth feel that it is; there is more of alliance and friendship in itthan of anything like affection, even when it is at its best, with astrong instinct to help one another and to stand by each other in afight. 

Newton Overholt did not feel any sympathetic thrill of pain for hisfather's sufferings; not in the least; he would perhaps have said thathe was "sorry for him" without quite knowing what that meant. But he wasvery strongly moved to help him in some way, seeing that he wasevidently getting the worst of it in a big fight. Newton soon becameentirely possessed by the idea that "something ought to be done, " butwhat it was he did not know. 

The lid of Pandora's box had flown open and had come off suddenly aftersmashing the hinges, and Hope had flown out of the window. The boythought it was clearly his duty to catch her and get her into prisonagain, and then to nail down the lid. He had not the smallest doubt thatthis was what he ought to do, but the trouble lay in finding out how todo it, a little difficulty that humanity has faced for a good manythousand years. On the other hand, if he failed, as seemed probable, hewas almost sure that his father would fall ill and die, or go quite madin a few hours. He wished his mother were there; she would have knownhow to cheer the desperate man, and could probably have made him smilein a few minutes without really doing anything at all. Those were thethings women could do very well, the boy thought, and they ought alwaysto be at hand to do them when wanted. He himself could only sit thereand pretend to be busy, as children mostly do when they see their eldersin trouble. But that made him wild. 

"I say, father, " he broke out suddenly, "can't I do anything? Try andthink!"

"That's what I'm trying to do, " answered Overholt, sitting down at laston the stool before the work-bench and staring at the wall, with hisback turned to his son. "But I can't! There's something wrong with myhead. "

"You want to see a doctor, " said the boy. "I'll go and see if I can getone of them to come out here. " He rose as if to go at once. 

"No! Don't!" cried Overholt, much distressed by the mere suggestion. "Hecould only tell me to rest, and take exercise and sleep at night and notworry!" He laughed rather wildly. "He would tell me not to worry! Theyalways say that! A doctor would tell a man 'not to worry' if he was tobe hanged the next morning!"

"Well, " said Newton philosophically, "I suppose a man who's going to behung needn't worry much, anyway. He's got the front seat at the show andnothing particular to do!"

This was sound, so far as it went, but insufficient as consolation. Overholt either did not hear, or paid no heed to the boy. He left theroom a moment later without shutting the door, and threw himself down onthe old black horsehair sofa in the parlour. Presently the lad roseagain and covered up the City of Hope with the big brown paper case hehad made to fit down over the board and keep the dust off. 

"This isn't your day, " he observed as he did so, and the remark wascertainly addressed to the model of the town. 

He went into the other room and stood beside his father, looking down athis drawn face and damp forehead. 

"Say, father, really, isn't there anything I can do to help?"

Overholt answered with an effort. "No, my boy, there's nothing, thankyou. You cannot find money to pay my debts, can you?"

"Have you got no money at all?" asked Newton, very gravely. 

"Four or five dollars! That's all! That's all you and I have got left inthe world to live on, and even that's not mine!"

His voice shook with agony, and he raised one hand to his forehead, notdramatically, as many foreigners would do, but quietly and firmly, andhe pressed and kneaded the surface as if he were trying to push hisbrains back into the right place, so that they would work, or at leastkeep quiet. After that answer Newton was too sensible to ask any morequestions, and perhaps he was also a little afraid to, because questionsmight make his father worse. 

"Well, " he said vaguely, "if I can't work at the City I suppose I may aswell go out before it's dark and take a look at the pond. It's going tofreeze hard to-night, and maybe there'll be black ice that'll bear byto-morrow. "

Overholt was glad to be left alone, for he could not help being ashamedof having broken down so completely before the boy, and he felt that hecould not recover his self-control unless he were left to himself. 

He heard Newton go up the rickety stairs to his own room, where heseemed to be rummaging about for some time, judging from the noisesoverhead; then the strong shoes clattered on the staircase again, thehouse door was opened and shut, and the boy was off. 

VI

HOW A SMALL BOY DID A BIG THING AND NAILED DOWN THE LID OF THE BOX

Newton went to the pond, because he said he was going out for thatpurpose, and it might be convenient to be able to swear that he hadreally been down to the water's edge. As if to enjoy the pleasure ofanticipation, too, he had his skates with him in a green flannel bag, though it was quite out of the question that the ice should bearalready, and it was not even likely that the water would be alreadyfrozen over. However, he took the skates with him, a very good pair, ofa new model, which his father had given him towards the end of theprevious winter, so that he had not used them more than half a dozentimes. It was very cold, but of course the ice would not bear yet. Thesun had not set, and as he was already half-way to the town, the boyapparently thought he might as well go on instead of returning at onceto the cottage, where he would have to occupy himself with his bookstill supper-time, supposing that it occurred to his father to have anysupper in his present condition. The prospect was not wildly gay, andbesides, something must be done at once. Newton was possessed by thatidea. 

When Overholt had been alone for some time, he got up from the horsehairsofa and crept up the stairs, leaning on the shaky bannister like an oldman. In his own room he plunged his face into icy cold water again andagain, as if it were burning, and the sharp chill revived his nerves alittle. There was no stove in the room, and before midnight the waterwould be frozen in the pitcher. He sat down and rubbed his forehead andwondered whether he was really any better, or was only imagining or evenpretending that he was, because he wanted to be. Our own reflectionsabout our own sensations are never so silly as at the greatest momentsin our lives, because the tremendous strain on the higher facultiesreleases all the little ones, as in sleep, and they behave and reason asidiotically as they do in dreams, which is saying a good deal. Perhapslunatics are only people who are perpetually asleep and dreaming withone part of their brains while the other parts are awake. They certainlybehave as if that were the matter, and it seems a rational explanationof ordinary insanity, curable or incurable. Did you ever talk to alunatic? On the subject on which he is insane he thinks and talks as youdo when you are dreaming; but he may be quite awake and sensible aboutall other matters. He dreams he is rich, and he goes out and orderscartloads of things from shops. Pray, have you never dreamt that youwere rich? Or he dreams that he is a poached egg, and must have a pieceof toast to sit down upon. I believe that well-known story of a lunaticto be founded on fact. Have you never dreamt that you were somebody orsomething quite different from yourself? Have you never dreamt that youwere an innocent man, persecuted, tried for a crime, and sentenced toprison, or even death? And yet, at the same time, in your dream, youwere behaving with the utmost good sense about everything else. Whenyou are dreaming, you are a perfect lunatic; why may it not be true thatthe waking lunatic is really dreaming all the time, with one part of hisbrain?

John Henry Overholt was apparently wide awake, but he had been morallystunned that day; he was dreaming that he was going crazy, and he couldnot, for the life of him, tell whether he really felt any better aftercooling his head in the basin than before, though it seemed immenselyimportant to find out, just then. Afterwards, when it was all over, andthings were settled again, he remembered only a blank time, which hadlasted from the moment when he had broken down before the little Cityuntil he found himself sitting in the parlour alone before the suppertable with a bright lamp burning, and wondering why his boy did not comehome. The dream was over then; his head ached a good deal and he did notfeel hungry, but that was all; burning anxiety had cooled to leadencare. He knew quite well that it was all over with the Motor, that hisfriends at the College would find him some sort of employment, and thatin due time he would succeed in working off his debt to the bank, dollar by dollar. He had got his soul back out of the claws of despairthat had nearly flown away with it. There was no hope, but he could livewithout it because he must not only live himself, but keep his boyalive. Somehow, he would get along on credit for a week or two, till hecould get work. At all events there were his tools to sell, and theMotor must go for old brass, bronze, iron, and steel. He would see aboutselling the stuff the next day, and with what it would bring he could atleast pay cash for necessaries, and the bank must wait. There was nohope in that, but there was the plain sense of an honest man. He was nota coward; he had only been brutally stunned, and now that he hadrecovered from the blow he would do his duty. But an innocent man whowalks steadily to endure an undeserved death is not a man that hopes foranything, and it was like death to Overholt to give up his invention. 

The door opened and Newton came in quietly. His face was flushed withthe cold and his eyes were bright. What was the weight of leaden care tothe glorious main-spring of healthy thirteen? Overholt was proud of hisboy, nevertheless, for facing the dreary prospect of no Christmas sobravely. Then he had a surprise. 

"I've got a little money, father. It's not much, I know, but it'ssomething to go on with for a day or two. There it is. "

Newton produced three well-worn dollar bills and some small change, which his father stared at in amazement. 

"There's three dollars and seventy cents, " he said. "And you told me youhad four or five dollars left. "

Before he sat down he piled the change neatly on the bills beside hisfather's plate; then he took his seat, very red indeed and looking atthe table-cloth. 

"Where on earth did you get it?" asked Overholt, leaning back in hischair. 

"Well"--the boy hesitated and got redder still--"I didn't steal it, anyway, " he said. "It's mine all right. I mean it's yours. "

"Of course you didn't steal it!" cried John Henry. "But where did youget it? You haven't had more than a few cents at a time for weeks andweeks, so you can't have saved it!"

"I didn't beg it either, " Newton answered. 

"Or borrow it, my boy?"

"No! I wasn't going to borrow money I couldn't pay! I'd rather not tellyou, all the same, father! At least, I earned twenty cents of it. That'sthe odd twenty, that makes the three seventy. I don't mind telling youthat. "

"Oh, you earned twenty cents of it? Well, I'm glad of that, anyhow. Whatdid you do?"

"I sort of hung round the depôt till the train came in, and I carried aman's valise across to the hotel for him. He gave me ten cents. Some ofthe boys do that, you know, but I thought you wouldn't care to have medo it till I had to!"

"That's all right. It does you credit. How about the other ten cents?"

"Old Bangs saw me pass his shop, and he asked me to come in and saidhe'd give me ten cents if I'd do some sums for him. I guess he's prettybusy just now. He said he'd give me ten cents every day till Christmasif I'd come in after school and do the sums. His boy's got mumps orsomething, and can't. There's no harm in that, is there, father?"

"Harm! I'm proud of you, my boy. You'll win through--some day!"

It was the first relief from his misery the poor man had felt since hehad read the letter about the overdraft in the morning. 

"What I can't understand is the rest of the money, " said Overholt. 

Newton looked very uncomfortable again, and moved uneasily on his chair. 

"Oh well, I suppose I've got to tell you, " he said, looking down intohis plate and very busy with his knife and fork. "Say, you won't tellmother, will you? She wouldn't like it. "

"I won't tell her. "

"Well"--the boy hesitated--"I sold some things, " he said at last, in alow voice. 

"Oh! There's no great harm in that, my boy. What did you sell?"

"My skates and my watch, " said Newton, just audibly. "You see I didn'tsomehow feel as if I were going to skate much this winter--and I don'treally need to know what time it is if I start right by the clock to goto school. I say, don't tell mother. She gave me the watch, you know, last Christmas. Of course, you gave me the skates, but you'llunderstand better than she would. "

Overholt was profoundly touched, for he knew what delight the goodskates meant in the cold weather, and the pride the boy had felt in thesilver watch that kept such excellent time. But he could not think ofmuch to say just then, for the sight of the poor little pile of dirtymoney that was the sordid price of so much pleasure and satisfactionhalf-choked him. 

"You're a brave boy, " he said in a low tone. 

But Newton was indefinitely far from understanding that he had doneanything brave; he merely felt much better now, because he had confessedand had the matter off his mind. 

"Oh well, you see, something had to be done quick, " he said, "and Icouldn't think of anything else. But I'll go and earn that ten cents ofBangs every afternoon, you bet! And I guess I can pick up a quarter atthe depôt now and then; that is, if you don't mind. It isn't much, Iknow, but it'll help a little. "

"It's helped already, more than you have any idea, " said Overholt. 

He remembered with bitter shame how he had completely broken downbefore his son that afternoon, and how quietly the lad had gone off tomake his great sacrifice, pretending that he only wanted to see whetherthe pond was freezing. 

"Well, " said Newton, "I'm glad you don't think it was mean of me to goand sell the watch mother gave me. And I'm glad you feel better. You dofeel a good deal better, don't you?"

"A thousand times better!" answered Overholt, almost cheerfully. 

"I'm glad. Maybe you'll feel like working on the City a little aftersupper. "

"I was afraid Hope had given us up to-day, and had flown away for goodand all, " said the inventor. "But you've brought her home with youagain, bless you! Yes, we'll do some work after supper, and after you goto bed I'll just have one more good evening with the Motor before I giveit up for ever. "

Newton looked up. 

"You aren't going to give it up for ever, " he said in a tone ofconviction. "You can't. "

Overholt explained calmly enough that he must sell the machine for oldmetal the very next day, and sell the tools too. But the boy shook hishead. 

"You'll curl up and die if you do that, " he said. "Besides, if motherwere here she wouldn't let you do it, so you oughtn't to. The reason whyshe's gone to be a governess is because she wouldn't let you give up theMotor, father. You know it is. "

"Yes. It's true--but--" he hesitated. 

"You simply can't do it, that's all. So I'm perfectly certain you won't!I believe everything will come round all right, anyway, if you onlydon't worry. That's what I believe, father. "

"It's a hopeful view, at all events. The only objection to it is thatit's a good deal like dreaming, and I've no right to dream any more. When you see that I'm going to, you must make me sit up and mind mylesson!"

He even laughed a little, and it was not badly done, considering that hedid it on purpose to show how he meant to make the best of it all, though Hope would not do anything for him. He ate something too, if onlyto keep the hungry boy company. 

They went into the workshop, and found the bright moonlight streamingthrough the window that looked east. It fell full on the motionlessMotor, under its plate-glass case, and turned all the steel and brass tosilver and gold, and from the clean snow that covered the desolatenessof the yard outside the moon sent a white reflection upwards thatmingled with the direct moonlight in a ghostly sort of way. Newton stoodstill and looked at the machine, while Overholt felt about for matches. 

"If only it would begin to move now, just of itself!"

The man knew that it would not, and wished that the boy would not evensuggest such a thing, and he sighed as he lit the lamp. But all the samehe meant to spend half the night in taking a last farewell of theengine, and of all the parts on which he had spent months and years, only to let them be broken up for old metal in the end. 

The two sat down on each side of the little City and went to work tobuild the railway station; and after all, when Overholt looked at theCommon and the College and remembered how happy he had been there, hebegan to feel that since dreams were nothing but dreams, except thatthey were a great waste of time and money, and of energy and endurance, he might possibly find some happiness again in the old life, if he couldonly get back to it. 

So Hope came back, rather bedraggled and worn out after her longexcursion, and took a very humble lodging in the little City which hadonce been all hers and the capital of her kingdom. But she was there, all the same, peeping out of a small window to see whether she would bewelcome if she went out and took a little walk in the streets. 

For the blindest of all blind people are those who have quite made uptheir minds not to see; and the most miserable of all the hopeless onesare those that wilfully turn their backs on Hope when she stands at thenext corner holding out her hand rather timidly. 

But Overholt was not one of these, and he took it gladly when it wasoffered, and stood ready to be led away by a new path, which was not theroad to fame or wealth, but which might bring him to a quiet littleplace where he could live in peace with those he loved, and after allthat would be a great deal. 

VII

HOW A LITTLE WOMAN DID A GREAT DEED TO SAVE THE CITY

A fortnight earlier Mrs. Overholt had been much disturbed in her mind, for she read each of her husband's letters over at least three times, and Newton's fortnightly scrawls even oftener, because it was less easyto make them out; but she had understood one thing very well, and thatwas that there was no more money for the invention, and very little cashfor the man and the boy to live on. If she had known what a dreadfulmistake John Henry had made about debit and credit, the little womanwould have been terribly anxious; but as it was, she was quite unhappyenough. 

Overholt had written repeatedly of his attempts to raise just a littlemore money with which to finish the invention, and he had explained veryclearly what there was to do, and somehow she had always believed in theidea, because he had invented that beautiful scientific instrument withwhich his name was connected, but she was almost sure that in workingout his theory he was quite on the wrong track. She did not reallyunderstand the engine at all, but she was quite certain that when athing was going to succeed, it succeeded from the first, without manyhitches or drawbacks. Most women are like that. 

She had never written this to her husband, because she would do anythingrather than discourage him; but she had almost made, up her mind towrite him a letter of good advice at last, begging him to go back toteaching for the present, and only to work at the invention in his sparetime. Just then, however, she came across a paragraph in a Germannewspaper in Munich which said that a great scientific man in Berlin hadcompleted an air-motor at last, after years of study, and that it workedtolerably, enough to demonstrate the principle, but could never be ofany practical use because the chemical product on which it ultimatelydepended was so enormously expensive. 

Now Mrs. Overholt knew one thing certainly about her husband's engine, namely, that the chemical he meant to use cost next to nothing, so thatif the principle were sound, the Motor would turn out to be the cheapestin existence; and she was a practical person, like her boy Newton. 

Moreover, she loved John Henry with all her heart and soul, and thoughthim one of the greatest geniuses in the world, and she simply could notbear the idea that he should not have a fair chance to finish themachine and try it. 

Lastly, Christmas was coming; the girls she was educating talked ofnothing else, and counted the days, and sat up half the night on theedges of each other's beds discussing the beautiful presents they weresure to receive; and a great deal might be written about what they said, but it has nothing to do with this story, except that their chatterhelped to fill the air with the Christmas spirit, and with thoughts ofgiving as well as of receiving. Though they were rather spoiledchildren, they were generous too, and they laid all sorts of littletraps in order to find out what their governess would like best fromeach of them, for they were fond of her in their way. 

Also, Munich is one of the castles which King Christmas still holds inabsolute sway and calls his own, and long before he is really awakeafter his long rest he begins to stir and laugh in his sleep, and thejolly colour creeps up and spreads over his old cheeks before he thinksof opening his eyes, much less of getting up and putting on his crown. And now that he was waking, Helen Overholt felt the old loving longingfor her dear ones rising to her womanly heart, and she planned littleplans for another and a happier year to come, and meanwhile she boughttwo or three little gifts to send to the cottage in far Connecticut. 

But when she had read about the Berlin professor and his motor andthought of her own John Henry making bricks without straw and bearing upbravely against disappointment, and still writing so cheerfully andhopefully in spite of everything, she simply could not stand it anotherday. As I have said, King Christmas turned over just before waking, andhe put out a big generous hand in his sleep and laid it on her heart. Whenever he does that to anybody, man, woman, or child, a splendidlonging seizes them to give all they have to the one child, or woman, orman that each loves best, or to the being of all others that is most inneed, or to help the work which seems to each of them the noblest andthe best, if they are grown up and are lonely. 

This is what happened to Helen Overholt, in spite of her good sense andall her practical resolutions. As long as she had anything to give, JohnHenry should have it and be happy, and succeed, if success werepossible. She had saved most of her salary for a long time past, spending as little as she well could on herself. He should have it all, for love's sake, and because she believed in him, and because Christmaswas waking up, and had laid his great affectionate old hand on her. 

So it came to pass that when Overholt was pottering over the beautifulmotionless Motor, late at night, sure that it would work if he had alittle more money, but still more sure that it must be sold for oldmetal the next morning, to buy bread for the boy, even at that hourhelp was near, and from the hand he loved best in the world, which wouldmake it ten thousand times sweeter when it reached him. 

It was going to be an awful wrench to give up the invention, for now, atthe moment of abandoning it, he saw, or thought he saw, that he wasright at last, and that it could not fail. It was useless to try it asit was, yet he would, just once more. He adjusted the tangent-balanceand the valves; he put in the supply of the chemical with the long nameand screwed down the hermetic plug. With the small hand air-pump heproduced the first vacuum which was necessary; all was ready, everyjoint and stuffing-box was lubricated, the spring of the balance wasadjusted to a nicety. But the engine would not start, though he turnedthe fly-wheel with his hand again and again, as if to encourage it. Ofcourse it would not turn alone! He understood perfectly that the onepiece on which all depended must be made over again, exactly the otherway. That was all!

There was the wooden model of it, all ready for the foundry that wouldnot cast it for nothing. If only the wooden piece would serve for amoment's trial! But he knew that this was folly; it would not stand theenormous strain an instant, and the joints could not possibly be madeair-tight. 

He was utterly worn out by all he had been through during the long day, and he fell asleep in his chair towards morning, his head on his breast, his feet struck out straight before him, one arm hanging down beside himand his other hand thrust into his pocket. He looked more like a shabbylay figure stuffed with sawdust than like a living man. If Newton hadcome down and found him lying there under the lamplight he would havestarted back and shuddered, and waited a while before he could findcourage to come nearer. 

But the man was only very sound asleep, and he did not wake till theDecember dawn gleamed through the clear winter's sky and made theartificial light look dim and smoky; and when he opened his eyes it washe himself who started to find himself there in the cold before hisgreat failure, in broad daylight. 

Nevertheless, he had slept soundly, and felt better able to face all thetrouble that was in store for him. He stirred the embers in the stove, put in some kindling and a supply of coal, and warmed himself, stillheavy with sleep, and glad to waken consciously, by degrees, and to feelthat his resolution was not going to break down. 

When he felt quite himself he left the room and went upstairscautiously, lest he should wake the boy, though it was really time toget up, and Newton was already dressing. 

"I'll walk into town with you, " said Overholt when they were atbreakfast in the parlour. "It will do me good to get some air, and Imust see about selling those things. There's no time to be lost. "

Newton swallowed his hominy and bread and butter and milk, and reflectedon the futility of the sacrifice he had made, since his father insistedon selling everything for old metal; but he said nothing, because he wasdreadfully disappointed. 

Near the town they met the postman. As a rule Barbara got the mail whenshe went to market, and Overholt was not even going to ask the man ifthere were any letters for him. But the postman stopped him. There wasone from his wife, and it was registered. He signed the little receiptfor it, the man passed them on his rounds, and they slackened theirpace as Overholt broke the seal. 

He uttered a loud exclamation when he had glanced at the contents, andhe stood still in the road. Newton stared at him in surprise. 

"A thousand dollars!" he cried, overcome with amazement. "A thousanddollars! Oh, Helen, Helen--you've saved my life!"

He got to the side of the road and leaned against the fence, clutchingthe letter and the draft in his hand, and gazing into his son's face, half crazy with delight. 

"She's saved it all for me, boy. Do you understand? Your mother hassaved all her salary for the Motor, and here it is! Look at it, look atit! It's success, it's fame, it's fortune for us all! Oh, if she wereonly here!"

Newton understood and rejoiced. He forgot his poor little attempt tohelp, and his own disappointment, and everything except the presentglorious truth--not unadorned by the pleasant vision of the Christmasturkey, vast now, and smoking, and flanked by perfect towers of stiffcranberry jelly, ever so much better than mere liquid cranberry sauce;in the middle distance, behind the noble dish, a noble pyramid ofice-cream raised its height, and yellow cream-cakes rose beyond, likemany little suns on the far horizon. In that first moment of delightthere was almost a Christmas tree, and the mother's face beside it; butthat was too much; they faded, and the rest remained, no mean forecastof a jolly time. 

"That's perfectly grand!" Newton cried when he got his breath after hissurprise at the announcement. "Besides, I told you so. What did I say?She wouldn't let you give up the Motor! I knew she wouldn't! Who's rightnow, father? That's something like what I call a mother! But then shealways was!"

He was slightly incoherent, but that did not matter at all. Nothingmattered. In his young beatific vision he saw the bright wheel goinground and round in a perfect storm of turkeys, and it was all hismother's doing. 

Overholt only half heard, for he had been reading the letter; the letterof a loving wife who believes in her husband and gives him all she hasfor his work, with every hope, every encouragement, and every blessingand Christmas wish. 

"There's no time to be lost!" Overholt said, repeating the words he hadspoken in a very different mood and tone half an hour earlier. "I won'twalk on with you, my boy, for I must go back and get the wooden modelfor the foundry. They'll do it for me now, fast enough! And I can paywhat I owe at the bank, and there will be plenty left over for yourChristmas too!"

"Oh, bother my Christmas, father!" answered Newton with a fineindifference which he did not feel. "The Motor's the thing! I want tosee that wheel go round for a Christmas present!"

"It will! It shall! It must! I promise you that!" The man was almostbeside himself with joy. 

No misgiving disturbed him. He had the faith that tosses mountains asidelike pebbles, now that the means were in his hand. He had the littlefulcrum for his lever, which was all Archimedes required to move theworld. He had in him the certainty of being right that has sent millionsof men to glory or destruction. 

That day was one of the happiest in all his life, either before or, afterwards. He could have believed that he had fallen asleep at themoment when he had quite broken down, and that a hundred years of changehad glided by, like a watch in the night, when he opened his wife'sletter and wakened in a blaze of joy and hope and glorious activity. Nothing he could remember of that kind could compare with his pride andhonourable satisfaction when he walked into the bank two hoursafterwards, with his head high, and said he should be glad to take upthe note he had signed yesterday and have the balance of the chequeplaced to his credit; and few surprises which the partner who hadobliged him could recollect, had equalled that worthy gentleman'samazement when the debt was paid so soon. 

"If you had only told me that you would be in funds so soon, Mr. Overholt, " he said, "I should not have thought of troubling you. Here isyour note. Will you kindly look at it and tear it up?"

"I did not know, " answered Overholt, doing as he was told. 

It is a curious fact that the little note lay in a locked drawer of thepartner's magnificent table, instead of being put away in the safe withother and larger notes, where it belonged. It may seem still strangerthat, on the books, Overholt's account showed that it had been balancedby a deposit exactly equal to the deficit, made by the partner himself, instead of by crediting the amount of the note. But Overholt never knewthis, for a pass-book had always been a mystery to him, and made hishead ache. The banker had thought of his face some time after he hadgone out with his battered umbrella and his shabby shoulders rounded asunder a burden, and somehow the Christmas spirit must have come inquietly and touched the rich man too, though even the stenographer didnot see what happened. For he had once been in terrible straits himself, a quarter of a century ago, and some one had helped him just in time, and he knew what it meant to slink out of a big bank, in shabby clothes, his back bowed under the heavy weight of debt and failure. 

Overholt never knew; but he expressed his warm thanks for what nowseemed a small favour, and with his wooden model of the casting, done upin brown paper, under his arm, he went off to the foundry in LongIsland. 

Much careful work had been done for him there, and the people werewilling to oblige him, and promised that the piece should certainly beready before Christmas Day, and as much earlier as possible, and shouldbe made with the greatest exactness which the most precise machinery andthe most careful work could ensure. 

This being settled, Overholt returned to New York and went to two orthree places in the Bowery, well known to him, where he bought certainfine tools and pieces of the most perfectly turned steel spring, andseveral other small objects, which he needed for the construction of thenew tangent-balance he had to make for the reversed curve. Finally, hebought a silver watch like the one Newton had sold, and a new pair ofskates, presents which the boy certainly deserved, and which would makea very good show at Christmas, when they were to be produced. He felt asif he had come into a large fortune. 

Moreover, when he got out of the train at his own station he went intothe town, and ordered beforehand the good things for the feast, thoughthere were three weeks still, and he wanted to pay for them in advance, because he felt inside of himself that no one could be quite sure ofwhat might happen in twenty-one days; but the dealers flatly refused totake his money, though they told him what the things would cost. ThenOverholt did almost the only prudent thing he had done in his life, forhe took the necessary money and five dollars more and sealed it up in anenvelope, which he put away in a safe place. The only difficulty wouldlie in remembering where the place was, so he told Newton about it, andthe boy wrote it down on a piece of paper which he pinned up in his ownroom, where he could see it. There was nothing like making sure of thatturkey, he thought. And I may as well say at once that in this matter, at least, no untoward accident occurred, and the money was actuallythere at the appointed time. What happened was something quitedifferent, and much more unexpected, not to say extraordinary and evenamazing; and in spite of all that, it will not take very long to tell. 

Meanwhile, before it happened, Overholt and the boy were perfectlyhappy. All day long the inventor worked at the tangent-balance, till hehad brought it to such perfection that it would be affected by avariation of one-tenth of one second in the aggregate speed of tenrevolutions, and an increase or decrease of a tenth of a grain in theweight of the volume of the compressed air. It was so sensitive thatJohn Henry and Newton trod cautiously on the floor of the workshop so asnot to set it vibrating under the glass clock-shade, where it was keptsafe from dust and dampness. 

After it had been placed there to wait for the casting, the inventortook the engine to pieces and made the small changes that would benecessary before finally putting it together again, which would probablyoccupy two days. 

Meanwhile the little City of Hope grew rapidly, and was becoming animportant centre of civilisation and commerce, though it was only madeof paper and chips, and bits of matchboxes and odds and ends cleverlyput together with glue and painted; except the people in the street. Forit was inhabited now, and though the men and women did not move about, they looked as if they might, if they were only bigger. Overholt hadseen the population in the window of a German toy-shop one day when hewas in New York to get a new crocusing wheel for polishing some of thesmall parts of the engine. They were the smallest doll-people he hadever seen, and were packed by dozens and dozens in Nuremberg toy-boxes, and cost very little, so he bought a quantity of them. At first Newtonrather resented them, just because they were only toys, but his fatherexplained to him that models of human figures were almost necessary tomodels of buildings, to give an idea of the population, and that whenarchitects make coloured sketches of projected houses, they generallydraw in one or two people for that reason; and this was perfectlysatisfactory to the boy, and saved his dignity from the slight it wouldhave suffered if he had been actually seen amusing himself with mereplaythings. 

Overholt was divinely happy in anticipation of the final success thatwas so near, and in the daily work that was making it more and more acertainty, as he thought; and then, when the day was over, he was justas happy with the little City, which was being decorated for Christmas, with wreaths in the windows of the houses, and a great many moreholly-trees than had at first been thought of, and numberless littleChristmas booths round the common, like those in Avenue A, south ofTompkins Square, in New York, which make you fancy you are in Munich orPrague if you go and see them at the right hour on Christmas Eve. 

Before long Overholt received a short note from the President of his oldCollege, simply saying that the latter knew of no opening at present, but would bear him in mind. But that did not matter now. 

So the two spent their time very pleasantly during the next weeks; butthough Overholt was so hopeful and delighted with his work, he knew thathe was becoming nervous and overwrought by the great anticipation, andthat he could not stand such a strain very long. 

Then, two days before Christmas, he received a note saying that the newpiece was finished and had been sent to him by express. That was almosttoo much happiness to bear, and when he found the heavy case at thestation the next morning, and got it put on a cart, his heart was doingqueer things, and he was as white as a sheet. 

VIII

HOW THE WHEELS WENT ROUND AT LAST

The hush of Christmas Eve lay upon the tumble-down cottage, and on thesoft fresh snow outside, and the lamps were burning quietly in theworkshop, where father and son were sitting before the finished Motor. 

The little City was there too, but not between them now, though Newtonhad taken off its brown paper cover in honour of the great event whichwas about to take place. 

In order to be doubly sure of the result, and dreading even thepossibility of a little disappointment, Overholt had decided that hewould subject the only chemical substance which the machine consumed toa final form of refinement by heat, melting, boiling and cooling it, allof which would require an hour or more before it was quite ready. Hefelt like a man who is going to risk his life over a precipice, trustingto a single rope for safety; that one rope must not be even a littlechafed; if possible each strand must be perfect in itself, and all thestrands must be laid up without a fault. Of the rest, of the machineitself, Overholt felt absolutely sure; yet although a slight impurity inthe chemical could certainly not hinder the whole from working, it mightinterfere with the precision of the revolutions, or even cause theengine to stop after a few hours instead of going on indefinitely, aslong as the supply of the substance produced the alternate disturbanceof equilibrium which was the main principle on which the machinedepended. 

That sweetly prophetic evening silence, before the great feast of GoodWill, does not come over everything each year, even in a lonely cottagein an abandoned farm in Connecticut, than which you cannot possiblyimagine anything more silent or more remote from the noise of the world. Sometimes it rains in torrents just on that night, sometimes it blows araging gale that twists the leafless birches and elms and hickory treeslike dry grass and bends the dark firs and spruces as if they werefeathers, and you can hardly be heard unless you shout, for the howlingand screaming and whistling of the blast. 

But now and then, once in four or five years perhaps, the feathery snowlies a foot deep, fresh-fallen, on the still country-side and in thewoods; and the waxing moon sheds her large light on all, and Natureholds her breath to wait for the happy day, and tries to sleep butcannot, from sheer happiness and peace. Indoors the fire is glowing onthe wide hearth, a great bed of coals that will last all night, becauseit is not bitter weather, but only clear and cold and still, as itshould be; or if there is only a poor stove, like Overholt's, the widedoor is open, and a comfortable and cheery red light shines out fromwithin upon the battered iron plate and the wooden floor beyond; and theolder people sit round it, not saying much, but thinking with theirhearts rather than with their heads; but small boys and girls know thatinteresting things have been happening in the kitchen all the afternoon, and are rather glad that the supper was not very good, because therewill be the more room for good things to-morrow; and the grown-ups andthe children have made up any little differences of opinion they mayhave had before supper-time, because Good Will must reign, and reignalone, like Alexander; so that there is nothing at all to regret, andnothing hurts anybody any more, and they are all happy in just wishingfor King Christmas to open the door softly and make them all greatpeople in his kingdom. But if it is the right sort of house, he isalready looking in through the window, to be sure that every one is allready for him, and that nothing has been forgotten. 

Now, although Overholt's cottage was a miserable place for a professorwho had lived very comfortably and well in a College town, and althoughthe thirteen-year-old boy could remember several pretty trees, lightedup with coloured candles and gleaming with tinsel and gilt apples, theyboth felt that this was going to be the greatest Christmas in theirlives, because the motionless Motor was going to move, and that wouldmean everything--most of all to both of them, the end of the mother'sexile, and her speedy home-coming. Therefore neither said anything for along time while the chemical stuff was slowly warming itself andgetting ready, inside a big iron pot, of which the cover was screwed onwith a high-temperature thermometer sealed in it, and which stood on thetop of the stove where Overholt could watch the scale. 

He would really have preferred to be alone for the first trial, but itwas utterly impossible to think of sending the boy to bed. He was sureof success, it is true, yet he would far rather have been left tohimself till that success was no longer in the future, but present; thenat last, even if Newton had been asleep, he would have waked him andbrought him downstairs again to see his triumph. The lad's presence madehim nervous, and suggested a failure which was all but impossible. Morethan once he was on the point of trying to explain this to Newton, butwhen he glanced at the young face he could not find it in his heart tospeak. If he only asked the boy, as a kindness, to go into the next roomfor five minutes while the machine was being started, he knew what wouldhappen. Newton would go quietly, without a word, and wait till he wascalled; but half his Christmas would be spoilt by the disappointment hewould try hard to hide. Had they not suffered together, and had not theboy sacrificed the best of his small possessions, dearly treasured, tohelp in their joint distress? It would be nothing short of brutal todeprive him of the first moment of triumphant surprise, that was goingto mean so much hereafter. Yet the inventor would have given anything tobe alone. He was overwrought by the long strain that had so often seemedunbearable, and when the liquid that was heating had reached the righttemperature and the iron pot had to be taken off the stove, his handsshook so that he nearly dropped it; but Newton did not see that. 

"It's wonderful how everything has come out just right!" the boyexclaimed as he looked at the machine. "Out of your three wishes you'llget two, father, for the wheel will go round and I'm going to have aregular old patent, double-barrelled Christmas with a gilt edge!" Hissimiles were mixed, but effective in their way. "And you'll probably getthe other wish in half a shake now, for mother'll come right home, won'tshe?"

"If the trial succeeds, " Overholt said, still instinctively seeking toforestall a disappointment he did not expect. "Nothing is a fact untilit has happened, you know!"

"Well, " said Newton, "if I had anything to bet with, and somebody to betagainst, I'd bet, that's all. But I haven't. It's a pity too, now thateverything's coming out right. Do you remember how we were trying tomake bricks without straw less than a month ago, father? It didn't lookjust then as if we were going to have a roaring old Christmas this year, did it?"

He chattered on happily, looking at the Motor all the time, and Overholttried to smile and answered him with a word or two now and then, thoughhe was becoming more and more nervous as the minutes passed and thesupreme moment came nearer. In his own mind he was going over the simpleoperations he had to perform to start the engine; yet easy as they werehe was afraid that he might make some fatal mistake. He did not lethimself think of failure; he did not dare to wonder how he should tellhis wife if anything went wrong and all her hard-saved earnings werelost in the general ruin that must follow if the thing would not move. There was next to nothing left of what she had sent, now thateverything was paid for; it would support him and the boy for a month, if so long, but certainly no more. 

He was ready at last, but, strange to say, he would gladly have put offthe great moment for half an hour now that there was no reason forwaiting another moment. He sat down again in his chair and folded hishands. 

"Aren't you going to begin, father?" asked Newton. "What are you waitingfor?"

Overholt pulled himself together, rose with a pale face, and laid hisshaking hands on the heavy plate-glass case. It moved upwards by itschain and counterpoise, almost at a touch, till it was near the lowceiling, quite clear of the machine. 

He was very slow in doing what was still necessary, and the boy watchedhim in breathless suspense, for he had seen other trials that hadfailed--more than two or three, perhaps half a dozen. Every one who haslived with an inventor, even a boy, has learned to expect disappointmentas inevitable; only the seeker himself is confident up to a certainpoint, and then his own hand trembles, when the moment of trial iscome. 

Overholt poured the chemical into the chamber at the base, screwed downthe air-tight plug, and opened the communication between the reservoirand the machine. Then he took out his watch and waited four minutes, that being twice the time he had ascertained to be necessary for asufficient quantity of the liquid to penetrate into the distributorsbeyond. He next worked the hand air-pump, keeping his eye on the vacuumgauge, and lastly, as soon as the needle marked the greatest exhaustionhe knew to be obtainable, he moved the starting lever to the properposition, and then stepped back to watch the result. 

For a moment, in the joy of anticipation, a strange light illuminatedhis face, his lips parted as in a foretasted wonder, and he forgot evento drop the hand he had just withdrawn. The boy held his breathunconsciously till he was nearly dizzy. 

Then a despairing cry burst from the wretched man's lips, he threw uphis hands as if he had been shot through the heart, and stumbledbackwards. 

The Motor stood still, motionless as ever, and gleaming under thebrightly shining lamps. 

"Oh, Helen! God forgive me!"

With the words he fell heavily to the floor, and lay there, a nerveless, breathless heap. Newton was kneeling beside him in an instant. 

"Father!" cried the boy in agony, bending over the still white face. "Father! Speak to me! You can't be dead--you can't--"

In his mortal terror the lad held each breath till it seemed as if hishead must burst, then breathed once and shut his lips again with all hisstrength. Some instinct made him lay his ear to the man's chest tolisten for the beatings of his heart, but he could hear nothing. 

Half-suffocated with sudden mingled grief and fright, he straightenedhimself on his knees and looked up at the cursed machine that hadwrought such awful destruction. 

Then he in turn uttered a cry, but it was low and full of wonder, longdrawn out and trembling as the call of a frightened young wild animal. 

The thing was moving, steadily, noiselessly moving in the bright light;the double levers worked like iron jaws opening and shutting regularly, the little valve-rods rose and sank, and the heavy wheel whirled roundand round. The boy was paralysed with amazement, and for ten seconds heforgot that he was kneeling beside his father's fallen body on thefloor; then he felt it against him and it was no longer quite still. 

Overholt groaned and turned upon his side as his senses slowly came backand his agony tortured him to life again. Instantly the boy bent overhim. 

"Father! It's going! Wake up, father! The wheel's going round at last!"

IX

HOW THE KING OF HEARTS MADE A FEAST IN THE CITY OF HOPE

When Overholt understood what he heard, he opened his eyes and looked upinto his son's face, moving his head mournfully from side to side as itlay on the boards. But suddenly he caught sight of the engine. He gaspedfor breath, his jaw dropped, and his eyes were starting from theirsockets as he struggled to get up with the boy's help. 

His voice came with a sort of rasping scream that did not sound human, and then broke into wild laughter, interrupted by broken words. 

"Mad!" he cried. "I knew it--it had to come--my boy--help me to get awayfrom that thing--I'm raving mad--I see it moving--"

"But it really is moving, father! Wake up! Look at it! The wheel isgoing round and round!"

Then Overholt was silent, sitting up on the floor and leaning againsthis arm. Slowly he realised that he was in his senses, and that thedream of long years had come true. Not a sound broke the stillness, soperfect was the machinery, except a kind of very soft hum made by theheavy fly-wheel revolving in the air. 

"Are you sure, boy? Aren't we dreaming?" he asked in a low tone. 

"It's going like clock-work, as sure as you're born, " the lad answered. "I think your falling down shook it up and started it. That was all itwanted. "

The inventor got up slowly, first upon his knees, at last to his feet, never once taking his eyes from the beautiful engine. He went close toit, and put out his hand, till he felt the air thrown off by the wheel, and he gently touched the smooth, swift-turning rim with one finger, incredulous still. 

"There's no doubt about it, " he said at last, yielding to the evidenceof touch and sight. "It works, and it works to perfection. If itdoesn't stop soon, it will go on for twenty-four hours!"

Almost as much overcome by joy as he had been by despair, he let himselfsink into his seat. 

"Get me that tea-bottle, " he said unsteadily. "Quick! I feel as if Iwere going to faint again!"

The draught he swallowed steadied his nerves, and then he sat a longtime quite silent in his unutterable satisfaction, and Newton stoodbeside him watching the moving levers, the rising and sinking valverods, and the steadily whirling wheel. 

"She did it, my boy, " Overholt said at last, very softly. "Your motherdid it! Without her help the Motor would have been broken up for oldmetal three weeks ago. "

"It's something like a Christmas present, " Newton answered. "But then Ialways said she wouldn't let you give it up. Do you know, father, whenyou fell just now, I thought you were dead, you looked just awful! Andit was quite a long time before I saw that the Motor was moving. Andthen, when I did see it, and thought you were dead--well, I can't tellyou--"

"Poor little chap! But it's all right now, my boy, and I haven't spoiltyour Christmas, after all!"

"Not quite!"

Newton laughed joyfully, and, turning round, he saw the little Citysmiling on its board in the strong light, with the tiny red and greenwreaths in the windows and the pretty booths, and the crowds of littlepeople buying Christmas presents at them. 

"They're going to have a pretty good time in the City too, " the boyobserved. "They know just as well as we do that Hope has come to staynow!"

But Overholt did not hear. Silent and rapt he sat in his old Shakerrocking-chair gazing steadily at the great success of his life, that wasmoving ceaselessly before his eyes, where motionless failure had satmocking him but a few minutes ago; and as the wheel whirled steadilyround and round, throwing off a little breeze like a fan, the cruel pastwas wafted away like a mist by a morning wind, and the bright futurefloated in and filled its place altogether and more also, as daylightshows the distance which was all hidden from us by the close darknesswe groped in before it rose. 

Overholt sat still, and saw, and wondered, and little by little thewheel and the soft vision of near happiness hypnotised him, for his bodyand brain were weary beyond words to tell, so that all at once his eyeswere shut and he was sleeping like a child, as happy in dreamland as hehad just been awake; and happier far, for there was a dear presence withhim now, a hand he loved lay quietly in his, and he heard a sweet lowvoice that was far away. 

The boy saw, and understood, for ever since he had been very small hehad been taught that he must not wake his father, who slept badly at alltimes, and little or not at all when he was anxious. So Newton would notdisturb him now, and at once formed a brave resolution to sit boltupright all night, if necessary, for fear of making any noise. Besides, he did not feel at all sleepy. There was the Motor to look at, and therewas Christmas to think of, and it was bright and clear outside where thesnow was like silver, under the young moon. He could look out of thewindow as he sat, or at his father, or at the beautiful moving engine, or at the little City of Hope, all without doing more than just turninghis head. 

To tell the truth, it was not really a great sacrifice he was making, for if there is anything that strikes a boy of thirteen as more wildlyexciting than anything else in the world, it is to sit up all nightinstead of going to bed like a Christian child; moreover, the workshopwas warm, and his own room would be freezing cold, and he was so wellused to the vile odour of the chemical stuff, that he did not notice itat all. It was even said to be healthy to breathe the fumes of it, asthe air of a tannery is good for the lungs, or even London coal smoke. 

But it is one thing to resolve to keep awake, even with many delightfulthings to think about; it is quite another to keep one's eyes open whenthey are quite sure that they ought to be shut, and that you ought to betucked up in bed. The boy found it so, and in less than half an hour hisarm had got across the back of the chair, his cheek was resting on itquite comfortably, and he was in dreamland with his father, and quite asperfectly happy. 

So the two slept in their chairs under the big bright lamps; and whilethey rested the Air-Motor worked silently, hour after hour, and theheavy wheel whirled steadily on its axle, and only its soft and drowsyhumming was heard in the still air. 

That was the most refreshing sleep Overholt remembered for a long time. When he stirred at last and opened his eyes, he did not even know thathe had slept, and forgot that he had closed his eyes when he saw theengine moving. He thought it was still nine o'clock in the evening, andthat the boy might as well finish his little nap where he was, beforegoing to bed. Newton might sleep till ten o'clock if he liked. 

The lamps burned steadily, for they held enough oil to last sixteenhours when the winter darkness is longest, and they had not been lightedtill after supper. 

But all at once Overholt was aware of a little change in the colour ofthings, and he slowly rubbed his eyes and looked about him, and towardsthe window. The moon had set long ago; there was a grey light on thesnow outside and in the clear air, and Overholt knew that it was thedawn. He looked at his watch then, and it was nearly seven o'clock; forin New York and Connecticut, as you may see by your pocket calendar, thesun rises at twenty-three minutes past seven on Christmas morning. 

He sprang to his feet in astonishment, and at the sound Newton awoke andlooked up in blank and sleepy surprise. 

"Merry Christmas, my boy!" cried Overholt, and he laughed happily. 

"Not yet, " answered Newton in a disappointed tone, and rubbing his arm, which was stiff. "I've got to go to bed first, I suppose. "

"Oh no! You and I have slept in our chairs all night and the sun isrising, so it's merry Christmas in earnest! And the Motor is runningstill, after nine or ten hours. What a sleep we've had!"

The boy looked out of the window stupidly, and vaguely wished that hisfather would not make fun of him. Then he saw the dawn, and jumped up inwild delight. 

"Hurrah!" he shouted. "Merry Christmas! Hurrah! hurrah!" If anythingcould make that morning happier than it had promised to be, it was tohave actually cheated bed for the first time in his life. 

They were gloriously happy, as people have a right to be, and shouldbe, when they have been living in all sorts of trouble, with a greatpurpose before them, and have won through and got all they hoped for, ifnot quite all they could have wished--because there is absolutely nolimit to wishing if you let it go on. 

The people watched them curiously in church, for they looked so happy;and for a long time the man's expression had always been anxious, if ithad no longer been sad of late, and the boy's young face had beenpreternaturally grave; yet every one saw that neither of them even had anew coat for Christmas Day, and that both needed one pretty badly. Butno one thought the worse of them for that, and in the generous Good Willthat was everywhere that morning everybody was glad to see that everyone else looked happy. 

In due time the two got home again; the Motor was still working toperfection, as if nothing could ever stop it again, and Overholt oiledthe bearings carefully, passed a leather over the fixed parts, andexamined the whole machine minutely before sitting down to the feast, while Newton stood beside him, looking on and hoping that he would notbe long. 

The boy had his new watch in his pocket, and it told him that it wastime for that turkey at last, and his new skates were in the parlour, and there was splendid ice on the pond where the boys had cleared awaythe snow, and it was the most perfect Christmas weather that ever was;and in order to enjoy everything it would be necessary to get to worksoon. 

The two were before the Air-Motor, turning their backs to the door; andthey heard it open quietly, for old Barbara always came to call Overholtto his meals, because he was very apt to forget them. 

"We are just coming, " he said, without turning round. But the boyturned, for he was hungry for the good things; and suddenly a perfectyell of joy rent the air, and he dashed forward as Overholt turned sharpround. 

"Mother!"

"Helen!"

And there she was, instead of in Munich. For the rich people she waswith had happily smashed their automobile without hurting themselves, and had taken a fancy to spend Christmas at home; and, after the mannerof very rich people, they had managed everything in a moment, had pickedup their children and the governess, had just caught the fastest steamerafloat at Cherbourg, and had arrived in New York late on Christmas Eve. And Helen Overholt had taken the earliest train that she could manage toget ready for, and had come out directly to surprise her two in theirlonely cottage. 

So John Henry Overholt had his three wishes after all on Christmas Day. And everybody had helped to bring it all about, even Mr. Burnside, whohad said that Hope was cheap and that there was plenty of it to be had. 

But as for the little Christmas City in which Hope had dwelt and waitedso long, they all three put the last touches to it together, and carriedit with them when they went back to the College town, where they feltthat they would be happier than anywhere else in the world, even if theywere to grow very rich, which seems quite likely now. 

That is how it all happened. 

_Printed by_ R. & R. CLARK, LIMITED, _Edinburgh_. 

THE NOVELS OF

F. MARION CRAWFORD

_Crown 8vo. 6s. _

ARETHUSA. A LADY OF ROME. 

_Crown 8vo. 3s. 6d. _

MR. ISAACS: A TALE OF MODERN INDIA. DR. CLAUDIUS: A TRUE STORY. ROMAN SINGER. ZOROASTER. TALE OF A LONELY PARISH. MARZIO'S CRUCIFIX. PAUL PATOFF. WITH THE IMMORTALS. GREIFENSTEIN. SANT' ILARIO. CIGARETTE-MAKER'S ROMANCE. KHALED: A TALE OF ARABIA. WITCH OF PRAGUE. THREE FATES. DON ORSINO. CHILDREN OF THE KING. 

MACMILLAN AND CO. , LTD. , LONDON. 

THE NOVELS OF F. MARION CRAWFORD

_Crown 8vo. 3s. 6d. _

PIETRO GHISLERI. MARION DARCHE: A STORY WITHOUT COMMENT. KATHARINE LAUDERDALE. RALSTONS. CASA BRACCIO. ADAM JOHNSTONE'S SON. TAQUISARA. A NOVEL. ROSE OF YESTERDAY. CORLEONE. VIA CRUCIS: A ROMANCE OF THE SECOND CRUSADE. IN THE PALACE OF THE KING. MARIETTA: A MAID OF VENICE. CECILIA: A STORY OF MODERN ROME. THE HEART OF ROME. WHOSOEVER SHALL OFFEND... SOPRANO: A PORTRAIT. 

_Pott 8vo. 2s. Net. _

MAN OVERBOARD!

_Fcap. 8vo. 2s. _

LOVE IN IDLENESS. A BAR HARBOUR TALE. 

MACMILLAN AND CO. , LTD. , LONDON.