THE UNCALLED

A Novel

by

PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR

Author of "Lyrics of Lowly Life"

New YorkInternational Association of Newspapers and Authors1901

Copyright, 1898by Paul Laurence Dunbar

Copyright, 1898by Dodd, Mead and Company

North River Bindery Co. Printers and BindersNew York

 Dedicated

 TO MY WIFE

THE UNCALLED

CHAPTER I

It was about six o'clock of a winter's morning. In the eastern sky faintstreaks of grey had come and were succeeded by flashes of red, crimson-cloaked heralds of the coming day. It had snowed the day before, but a warm wind had sprung up during the night, and the snow hadpartially melted, leaving the earth showing through in ugly patches ofyellow clay and sooty mud. Half despoiled of their white mantle, thoughwith enough of it left to stand out in bold contrast to the bare places, the houses loomed up, black, dripping, and hideous. Every once in awhile the wind caught the water as it trickled from the eaves, and sentit flying abroad in a chill unsparkling spray. The morning came in, cold, damp, and dismal. 

At the end of a short, dirty street in the meanest part of the smallOhio town of Dexter stood a house more sagging and dilapidated inappearance than its disreputable fellows. From the foundation the wallsconverged to the roof, which seemed to hold its place less by virtue ofnails and rafters than by faith. The whole aspect of the dwelling, ifdwelling it could be called, was as if, conscious of its own meanness, it was shrinking away from its neighbours and into itself. A sicklylight gleamed from one of the windows. As the dawn came into the sky, awoman came to the door and looked out. She was a slim woman, and herstraggling, dusty-coloured hair hung about an unpleasant sallow face. She shaded her eyes with her hand, as if the faint light could hurtthose cold, steel-grey orbs. "It 's mornin', " she said to those within. "I 'll have to be goin' along to git my man's breakfast: he goes to workat six o'clock, and I 'ain't got a thing cooked in the house fur him. Some o' the rest o' you 'll have to stay an' lay her out. " She went backin and closed the door behind her. 

"La, Mis' Warren, you ain't a-goin' a'ready? Why, there 's everything tobe done here yit: Margar't 's to be laid out, an' this house has to beput into some kind of order before the undertaker comes. "

"I should like to know what else I 'm a-goin' to do, Mis' Austin. Charity begins at home. My man 's got to go to work, an' he 's got tohave his breakfast: there 's cares fur the livin' as well as fur thedead, I say, an' I don't believe in tryin' to be so good to them that 'sgone that you furgit them that 's with you. "

Mrs. Austin pinched up her shrivelled face a bit more as she replied, "Well, somebody ought to stay. I know I can't, fur I 've got a ter'blebig washin' waitin' fur me at home, an' it 's been two nights sence I've had any sleep to speak of, watchin' here. I 'm purty near brokedown. "

"That 's jest what I 've been a-sayin', " repeated Mrs. Warren. "There 'scares fur the livin' as well as fur the dead; you 'd ought to take careo' yoreself: first thing you know you 'll be flat o' yore own back. "

A few other women joined their voices in the general protest againststaying. It was for all the world as if they had been anxious to see thepoor woman out of the world, and, now that they knew her to be gone, hadno further concern for her. All had something to do, either husbands toget off to work or labours of their own to perform. 

A little woman with a weak voice finally changed the current of talk bysaying, "Well, I guess I kin stay: there 's some cold things at homethat my man kin git, an' the childern 'll git off to school bythemselves. They 'll all understand. "

"That 's right, Melissy Davis, " said a hard-faced woman who had gone onabout some work she was doing, without taking any notice of theclamorous deserters, "an' I 'll stay with you. I guess I 've got aboutas much work to do as any of you, " she added, casting a cold glance atthe women who were now wrapped up and ready to depart, "an' I was n't somuch of a friend of Margar't's as some of you, neither, but on anoccasion like this I know what dooty is. " And Miss Hester Prime closedher lips in a very decided fashion. 

"Oh, well, some folks is so well off in money an' time that they kinafford to be liberal with a pore creature like Margar't, even ef theydid n't have nothin' to do with her before she died. "

Miss Prime's face grew sterner as she replied, "Margar't Brent was n'tmy kind durin' life, an' that I make no bones o' sayin' here an' now;but when she got down on the bed of affliction I done what I could furher along with the best of you; an' you, Mandy Warren, that 's seen mehere day in an' day out, ought to be the last one to deny that. Furthermore, I did n't advise her to leave her husband, as some peopledid, but I did put in a word an' help her to work so 's to try to keepher straight afterwards, though it ain't fur me to be a-braggin' aboutwhat I done, even to offset them that did n't do nothin'. "

This parting shot told, and Mrs. Warren flared up like a wax light. "It's a wonder yore old tracts an' the help you give her did n't keep hersober sometimes. "

"Ef I could n't keep her sober, I was n't one o' them that set an' tookpart with her when she was gittin' drunk. "

"'Sh! 'sh!" broke in Mrs. Davis: "ef I was you two I would n't go onthat way. Margar't 's dead an' gone now, an' what 's past is past. Poresoul, she had a hard enough time almost to drive her to destruction; butit 's all over now, an' we ought to put her away as peaceful aspossible. "

The women who had all been in such a hurry had waited at the prospectof an altercation, but, seeing it about to blow over, they bethoughtthemselves of their neglected homes and husbands, and passed out behindthe still irate Mrs. Warren, who paused long enough in earshot to say, "I hope that spiteful old maid 'll have her hands full. "

The scene within the room which the women had just left was anything butan inviting one. The place was miserably dirty. Margaret had never beena particularly neat housewife, even in her well days. The old rag carpetwhich disfigured the floor was worn into shreds and blotched withgrease, for the chamber was cooking- and dining- as well assleeping-room. A stove, red with rust, struggled to send forth someheat. The oily black kerosene lamp showed a sickly yellow flame throughthe grimy chimney. 

On a pallet in one corner lay a child sleeping. On the bed, covered witha dingy sheet, lay the stark form out of which the miserable life had solately passed. 

The women opened the blinds, blew out the light, and began performingthe necessary duties for the dead. 

"Anyhow, let her body go clean before her Maker, " said Miss HesterPrime, severely. 

"Don't be too hard on the pore soul, Miss Hester, " returned Mrs. Davis. "She had a hard time of it. I knowed Margar't when she was n't so lowdown as in her last days. "

"She ought n't never to 'a' left her husband. "

"Oh, ef you 'd 'a' knowed him as I did, Miss Hester, you would n't neversay that. He was a brute: sich beatin's as he used to give her when hewas in liquor you never heerd tell of. "

"That was hard, but as long as he was a husband he was a protection toher name. "

"True enough. Protection is a good dish, but a beatin's a purty bittersauce to take with it. "

"I wonder what 's ever become of Brent. "

"Lord knows. No one 'ain't heerd hide ner hair o' him sence he went awayfrom town. People thought that he was a-hangin' around tryin' to git achance to kill Mag after she got her divorce from him, but all at oncehe packed off without sayin' a word to anybody. I guess he's drunkhimself to death by this time. "

When they had finished with Margaret, the women set to work to clean upthe house. The city physician who had attended the dead woman in herlast hours had reported the case for county burial, and the undertakerwas momentarily expected. 

"We 'll have to git the child up an' git his pallet out of the way, sothe floor kin be swept. "

"A body hates to wake the pore little motherless dear. "

"Perhaps, after all, the child is better off without her example. "

"Yes, Miss Hester, perhaps; but a mother, after all, is a mother. "

"Even sich a one as this?"

"Even sich a one as this. "

Mrs. Davis bent over the child, and was about to lift him, when hestirred, opened his eyes, and sat up of his own accord. He appearedabout five years of age. He might have been a handsome child, buthardship and poor feeding had taken away his infantile plumpness, and helooked old and haggard, even beneath the grime on his face. The kindlywoman lifted him up and began to dress him. 

"I want my mamma, " said the child. 

Neither of the women answered: there was something tugging at theirheart-strings that killed speech. 

Finally the little woman said, "I don't know ef we did right to let himsleep through it all, but then it was sich a horrible death. "

When she had finished dressing the child, she led him to the bed andshowed him his mother's face. He touched it with his little grimyfinger, and then, as if, young as he was, the realization of hisbereavement had fully come to him, he burst into tears. 

Miss Hester turned her face away, but Mrs. Davis did not try to concealher tears. She took the boy up in her arms and comforted him the bestshe could. 

"Don't cry, Freddie, " she said; "don't cry; mamma's--restin'. Ef youdon't care, Miss Prime, I 'll take him over home an' give him somebreakfast, an' leave him with my oldest girl, Sophy. She kin stay out o'school to-day. I 'll bring you back a cup o' tea, too; that is, ef youain't afeared--"

"Afeared o' what?" exclaimed Miss Prime, turning on her. 

"Well, you know, Miss Hester, bein' left alone--ah--some people airfunny about--"

"I 'm no fool, Melissy Davis. Take the child an' go on. "

Miss Hester was glad of the chance to be sharp. It covered the weaknessto which she had almost given way at sight of the child's grief. Shebustled on about her work when Mrs. Davis was gone, but her brow wasknit into a wrinkle of deep thought. "A mother is a mother, after all, "she mused aloud, "even sich a one. "

CHAPTER II

For haste, for unadulterated despatch, commend me to the county burying. The body politic is busy and has no time to waste on an inert humanbody. It does its duty to its own interest and to the pauper dead whenthe body is dropped with all celerity into the ground. The county isphilosophical: it says, "Poor devil, the world was unkind to him: he 'llbe glad to get out of it: we 'll be doing him a favour to put him at theearliest moment out of sight and sound and feeling of the things thatwounded him. Then, too, the quicker the cheaper, and that will make iteasier on the taxpayers. " This latter is so comforting! So the order iswritten, the funeral is rushed through, and the county goes home to itsdinner, feeling well satisfied with itself, --so potent are theconsolations of philosophy at so many hundreds per year. 

To this general order poor Margaret's funeral proved no exception. Themorning after her decease she was shrouded and laid in her cheap pinecoffin to await those last services which, in a provincial town, are themeed of saint and sinner alike. The room in which she lay was veryclean, --unnaturally so, --from the attention of Miss Prime. Clean muslincurtains had been put up at the windows, and the one cracked mirrorwhich the house possessed had been covered with white cloth. Thelace-like carpet had been taken off the floor, and the boards had beenscrubbed white. The little stove in the corner, now cold, was no longerred with rust. In a tumbler on a little table at Margaret's head stoodthe only floral offering that gave a touch of tenderness to the grimscene, --a bunch of home-grown scarlet and white geraniums. Some womanhad robbed her wintered room of this bit of brightness for the memory ofthe dead. The perfume of the flowers mingled heavily with the faintodour which pervades the chamber of death, --an odour that is like thereminiscence of sorrow. 

Like a spirit of order, with solemn face and quiet tread, Miss Hestermoved about the room, placing one thing here, another there, but everdoing or changing something, all with maidenly neatness. What achildish fancy this is of humanity's, tiptoeing and whispering in thepresence of death, as if one by an incautious word or a hasty step mightwake the sleeper from such deep repose!

The service had been set for two o'clock in the afternoon. One or twowomen had already come in to "sit, " but by half-past one the generalcongregation began to arrive and to take their places. They were mostlywomen. The hour of the day was partially responsible for this; but thenmen do not go to funerals anyway, if they can help it. They do notrevel, like their sisters, in the exquisite pleasure of sorrow. Most ofthe women had known pain and loss themselves, and came with readysympathy, willing, nay, anxious to be moved to tears. Some of them camedragging by one hand children, dressed stiffly, uncomfortably, andludicrously, --a medley of soiled ribbons, big collars, wide bows, andvery short knickerbockers. The youngsters were mostly curious andill-mannered, and ever and anon one had to be slapped by its mother intosnivelling decorum. Mrs. Davis came in with one of her own children andleading the dead woman's boy by the hand. At this a buzz of whisperedconversation began. 

"Pore little dear, " said one, as she settled the bow more securelyunder her own boy's sailor collar, --"pore little dear, he 's all alonein the world. "

"I never did see in all my life sich a young child look so sad, " saidanother. 

"H'm!" put in a third; "in this world pore motherless childern hasplenty o' reason to look sad, I tell you. "

She brushed the tears off the cheek of her little son whom she hadslapped a moment before. She was tender now. 

One woman bent down and whispered into her child's ear as she pointedwith one cotton-gloved finger, "See, Johnny, see little Freddie, there;he 'ain't got no mother no more. Pore little Freddie! ain't you sorryfur him?" The child nodded, and gazed with open-eyed wonder at "littleFreddie" as if he were of a new species. 

The curtains, stirred by the blast through the loose windows, flappeddismally, and the people drew their wraps about them, for the firelessroom was cold. Steadily, insistently, the hive-like drone ofconversation murmured on. 

"I wonder who 's a-goin' to preach the funeral, " asked one. 

"Oh, Mr. Simpson, of the Methodist Church, of course: she used to go tothat church years ago, you know, before she backslid. "

"That 's jest what I 've allus said about people that falls from grace. You know the last state o' that man is worse than the first. "

"Ah, that 's true enough. "

"It 's a-puttin' yore hand to the ploughshare an' then turnin' back. "

"I wonder what the preacher 'll have to say fur her. It 's a mighty hardcase to preach about. "

"I 'm wonderin' too what he 'll say, an' where he 'll preach her. "

"Well, it 's hard to tell. You know the Methodists believe that there 's'salvation to be found between the stirrup an' the ground. '"

"It 's a mighty comfortin' doctern, too. "

"An' then they do say that she left some dyin' testimony; though I'ain't never heerd tell the straight of it. "

"He can't preach her into heaven, o' course, after her life. Leastwaysit don't hardly seem like it would be right an' proper. "

"Well, I don't think he kin preach her into hell, neither. After awoman has gone through all that pore Margar't has, it seems to me thatthe Lord ought to give her some consideration, even if men don't. "

"I do declare, Seely Matthews, with yore free thinkin' an' freespeakin', you 're put' nigh a infidel. "

"No, I ain't no infidel, neither, but I ain't one o' them that sings, 'When all thy mercies, O my God, ' and thinks o' the Lord as if He was agreat big cruel man. "

"Well, I don't neither; but--"

"'Sh! 'sh!"

The woman's declaration of principle was cut short by the entrance ofthe minister, the Rev. Mr. Simpson. He was a tall, gaunt man, in a coatof rusty black. His hair, of an indeterminate colour, was slightly mixedwith grey. A pair of bright grey eyes looked out from underneath bushyeyebrows. His lips were close set. His bony hands were large andungainly. The Rev. Mr. Simpson had been a carpenter before he was"called. " He went immediately to the stand where lay the Bible andhymn-book. He was followed by a man who had entered with him, --a manwith soft eyes and a kindly face. He was as tall as the pastor, andslender, but without the other's gauntness. He was evidently a churchofficial of some standing. 

With strange inappropriateness, the preacher selected and gave out thehymn:

 Sister, thou wast mild and lovely, Gentle as the summer's breeze. 

With some misgivings, it was carried through in the wavering treble ofthe women and the straggling bass of the few men: then the kindly-facedman, whom the preacher addressed as "Brother Hodges, " knelt and offeredprayer. The supplication was very tender and childlike. Even by thelight of faith he did not seek to penetrate the veil of divineintention, nor did he throw his javelin of prayer straight against theDeity's armour of eternal reserve. He left all to God, as a child laysits burden at its father's feet, and many eyes were moist as the peoplerose from their knees. 

The sermon was a noisy and rather inconsequential effort. The preacherhad little to say, but he roared that little out in a harsh, unmusicalvoice accompanied by much slapping of his hands and pounding of thetable. Towards the end he lowered his voice and began to play upon thefeelings of his willing hearers, and when he had won his meed of sobsand tears, when he had sufficiently probed old wounds and made thembleed afresh, when he had conjured up dead sorrows from the grave, whenhe had obscured the sun of heavenly hope with the vapours of earthlygrief, he sat down, satisfied. 

The people went forward, some curiously, some with sympathy, to looktheir last on the miserable dead. Mrs. Davis led the weeping childforward and held him up for a last gaze on his mother's face. The poorgeraniums were wiped and laid by the dead hands, and then the undertakerglided in like a stealthy, black-garmented ghost. He screwed thepine-top down, and the coffin was borne out to the hearse. He clucked tohis horses, and, with Brother Hodges and the preacher in front, and Mrs. Davis, Miss Prime, and the motherless boy behind, the little funeraltrain moved down the street towards the graveyard, a common but patheticspectacle. 

Mrs. Warren had remained behind to attend to the house. She watched theshort procession out of sight. "I guess Margar't did n't have no linenworth havin', " she said to herself, "but I 'll jest look. " And look shedid, but without success. In disappointment and disgust she went out andtook the streamer of dusty black and dingy white crape from the doorwhere it had fluttered, and, bringing it in, laid it on the emptytrestles, that the undertaker might find it when he came for them. Shetook the cloth off the mirror, and then, with one searching look aroundto see that she had missed nothing worth taking, she went out, closingand locking the door behind her. 

"I guess I 'm as much entitled to anything Mag had as any one else, "said Mrs. Warren. 

CHAPTER III

By common consent, and without the formality of publication orproclamation, the women had agreed to meet on the day after the funeralfor the purpose of discussing what was best to be done with the boyFred. From the moment that Mrs. Davis had taken charge of him, he hadshown a love for her and confidence in her care that had thoroughlytouched that good woman's heart. She would have liked nothing betterthan to keep him herself. But there were already five hungry littleDavises, and any avoidable addition to the family was out of thequestion. To be sure, in the course of time there were two more added tothe number, but that was unavoidable, and is neither here nor there. Thegood woman sat looking at the boy the night after his mother had beenlaid away. He sat upon the floor among her own children, playing in thehappy forgetfulness of extreme youth. But to the mother's keen eye therewas still a vague sadness in his bearing. Involuntarily, the scene andconditions were changed, and, instead of poor Margaret, she herself hadpassed away and was lying out there in a new-made grave in bleak anddreary Woodland. She thought how her own bairns would be as motherlessand forlorn as the child before her, and yet not quite, either, for theyhad a father who loved them in his own quiet undemonstrative way. Thisshould have consoled her in the sorrows she had conjured up, but, like awoman, she thought of the father helpless and lonely when she had gone, with the children huddled cheerlessly about him, and a veil of tearscame between her and the youngsters on the floor. With a great rush oftenderness, she went and picked the motherless boy up and laid his headon her breast. 

"Pore Freddie, " she said, "I wish you could stay here all the time andplay with the other little ones. "

The child looked up at her with wondering eyes. "I kin stay till mammacomes back, " he answered. 

"But, Freddie dear, mamma won't come back any more. She 's"--the womanhesitated--"she 's in heaven. "

"I want my mamma to come back, " moaned the child. "I don't want her tostay in heaven. "

"But you must n't cry, Freddie; an', some day, you kin go an' seemamma. "

The child's curiosity got the better of his grief. He asked, "Is heavenfar, Mis' Davis?"

"Yes, dear, awful far, " she answered. But she was wrong. Heaven is notfar from the warm heart and tender hands of a good woman. 

The child's head drooped, and he drowsed in her arms. 

"Put him to bed, Melissy, --pore little fellow, " said her husband inhusky tones. He had been listening and watching them around the edge ofhis paper. The child slept on, while the woman undressed him and laidhim in the bed. 

On the morrow the women dropped in one by one, until a half-dozen ormore were there, to plan the boy's future. They were all poor, and mostof them had families of their own. But all hoped that there might besome plan devised whereby Margaret's boy might find a refuge withoutgoing to the orphans' asylum, an institution which is the detestationof women. Mrs. Davis, in expressing her feelings, expressed those of allthe others: "I hate so to think of the pore little feller goin' to oneo' them childern's homes. The boys goin' around in them there drabclothes o' theirs allus look like pris'ners to me, an' they ain't muchbetter off. "

"An' then childern do learn so much weekedness in them places from theolder ones, " put in another. 

"Oh, as fur that matter, he 'll learn devilment soon enough anywhere, "snapped Mrs. Warren, "with that owdacious father o' his before him. Iwould n't take the child by no means, though his mother an' me wasfriends, fur blood 's bound to tell, an' with sich blood as he 's got inhim I don't know what he 'll come to, an' I 'm shore I don't want to bea-raisin' no gallus-birds. "

The women felt rather relieved that Mrs. Warren so signally washed herhands of Freddie. That was one danger he had escaped. The woman inquestion had, as she said, been a close friend of Margaret's, and, assuch, an aider in her habits of intemperance. It had been apprehendedthat her association with the mother might lead her to take the child. 

"I 'd like to take Freddie myself, " Mrs. Davis began again, "but withmy five, an' John out o' work half the time, another mouth to feed an'another pair o' feet to cover would mean a whole lot. Though I do thinkthat ef I was dead an' my childern was sent to that miserable orphans'home, I 'd turn over in my grave. "

"It 's a pity we don't know some good family that 'ain't got no childernthat 'ud take him an' bring him up as their own son, " said a littlewoman who took _The Hearthside_. 

"Sich people ain't growin' on trees no place about Dexter, " Mrs. Warrensniffed. 

"Well, I 'm sure I 've read of sich things. Ef the child was in a bookit 'ud happen to him, but he ain't. He 's a flesh and blood youngsteran' a-livin' in Dexter. "

"You could n't give us no idee what to do, could you, Mis' Austin?"

"Lord love you, Mis' Davis, I 've jest been a-settin' here purty nigha-thinkin' my head off, but I 'ain't seen a gleam of light yit. You knowhow I feel an' jest how glad I 'd be to do something, but then my mangrowls about the three we 've got. "

"That 's jest the way with my man, " said the little woman who took herideas of life from the literature in _The Hearthside_. "He allus saysthat pore folks ought n't to have so many childern. "

"Well, it 's a blessin' that Margar't did n't have no more, fur goodnessknows it 's hard enough disposin' o' this one. "

Just then a tap came at Mrs. Davis's door, and she opened it to admitMiss Hester Prime. 

"I 'm ruther late gittin' here, " said the new-comer, "but I 've beena-neglectin' my work so in the last couple o' days that I 've had apower of it to do to-day to ketch up. "

"Oh, we 're so glad you 've come!" said one of the women. "Mebbe you kinhelp us out of our fix. We 're in sich a fix about little Freddie. "

"We don't want to send the pore little dear to the childern's home, "broke in another. 

"It 's sich an awful place fur young childern--"

"An' they do look so pitiful--"

"An' learn so much weekedness. "

And, as is the manner of women in council, they all began talking atonce, pouring into the new-comer's ears all the suggestions andobjections, hopes and fears, that had been made or urged during theirconference. 

To it all Miss Hester listened, and there was a soft glow on her facethe while; but then she had been walking, which may account for theflush. The child, all unconscious that his destiny was being settled, was playing with two of the little Davises at the other end of the room. The three days of good food, good treatment, and pleasant surroundingshad told on him, and he looked less forlorn and more like the child thathe was. He was clean. His brown eyes were sparkling with amusement, andhis brown hair was brushed up into the damp "roach" so dear to a woman'sheart. He was, thus, a far less forbidding sight than on the morning ofhis mother's death, when, dingy and haggard, he rose from his dirtypallet. As she listened to the varied remarks of her associates, MissHester allowed her eyes to wander to the child's face, and for a momenta tenderer expression grew about her lips, but in an instant it wasgone, and, as if she had been near committing herself to folly, she madeamends by drawing her countenance into more than its usually severelines. 

Mrs. Warren, who was always ready with a stab, and who had notforgotten her encounter of two days ago, spoke up with a littlemalicious laugh. "Miss Hester 'ain't got no family: mebbe she might takethe child. 'Pears like she ought to be fond o' childern. "

Mrs. Davis immediately came to the rescue. "We don't expect no sichthing of Miss Hester. She 's never been around childern, an' don't knownothin' about takin' keer o' them; an' boys air hard to manage, anyhow. "

"Oh, I should think Miss Hester could manage 'most anything, " was thesneering rejoinder. 

The women were aghast at such insolence. They did n't know what theeffect might be on Miss Prime. They looked at her in alarm. Her coldgrey eye impaled Mrs. Warren for an instant only, and then, paying nomore attention to her, she said quietly, "I was thinkin' this wholematter over while I was finishin' up my work to come here, an', says Ito myself, 'Now there 's Melissy Davis, --she 's the very one that 'ud bea mother to that child, ' says I, 'an' she 'd bring him up right as achild should be brought up. ' I don't know no more mannerly, nice-appearin' childern in this neighbourhood, or the whole town, furthat matter, than Melissy's--'"

"Oh, Miss Hester!" faltered Mrs. Davis. 

But Miss Prime went on, unheeding the interruption. "Thinks I, 'Melissy's got a houseful already, an' she can't take another. ' Then you comesinto my mind, Mis' Austin, an' says I, 'La me! she 's got three herself, an' is young yit; she 'll have her hands full to look after her ownfamily. ' Well, I thought of you all, an' some of you had families, an'some of you had to go out fur day's work; an' then there 's somepeople's hands I would n't want to see the child fall into. " (This withan annihilating glance in Mrs. Warren's direction. ) "You know what theBible says about the sins of the father; well, that child needs properraisin': so in this way the Lord showed it to me that it was my dooty totake up the burden myself. "

First there was an absolute silence of utter astonishment, and then, "Oh, Miss Hester!" broke from a full chorus of voices. 

"You don't reelly mean it, Miss Hester?" said Mrs. Davis. 

"I do that; but I want you all to understand that it ain't a matter ofpleasure or desire with me; it 's dooty. Ef I see a chance to save asoul from perdition an' don't take it, I am responsible, myself, to theLord for that soul. "

The women were almost too astounded to speak, Mrs. Warren not less thanthe rest of them. She had made her suggestion in derision, and here itwas being acted upon in sober earnest. She was entirely routed. 

"Now, Melissy, ef there ain't no one that disagrees with me, you mightas well pack up what few things the child has, an' I 'll take himalong. "

No one objected, and the few things were packed up. "Come, Freddie, "said Mrs. Davis tremulously, "get on yore hat. " The child obeyed. "You're a-goin' to be Miss Hester's little boy now. You must be good. "

Miss Prime held out her hand to him, but the child drew back and held tohis protectress's skirt. A hurt expression came into the spinster'sface. It was as if the great sacrifice she was making was beingbelittled and rejected by a child. Mrs. Warren laughed openly. 

"Come, Freddie, be nice now, dear; go with Miss Hester. "

"I want to stay with you, " cried the child. 

"Pore little dear!" chorussed the women. 

"But Mis' Davis can't keep the little boy; now he must go with MissPrime, an' sometimes he kin come an' see Mis' Davis an' play with Johnan' Harriet. Won't that be nice?"

"I want to stay with you. "

"Come, Frederick, " said Miss Prime. 

"Go now, like a good boy, " repeated Mrs. Davis. "Here 's a copper furyou; take it in yore little hand, --that 's a man. Now kiss me good-bye. Kiss John an' Harriet. "

The child, seeing that he must go, had given up resistance, and, doingas he was bidden, took Miss Prime's hand, sobbingly. Some of us do notlearn so soon to bow to the inevitable. 

"Good-bye, ladies. I must git back to my work, " said Miss Hester. 

"Good-bye, good-bye, Miss Hester, " came the echo. 

The moment the door closed behind her and her charge, there was a volleyof remarks:

"Oh, I do hope she 'll be good to him. "

"I wonder how she 'll manage him. "

"Pore child, he did n't want to go at all. "

"Who 'd have thought it of Miss Hester?"

"I wish I could have kept him myself, " said Mrs. Davis, tearfully. "Ithurt my heart to see him cling to me so. "

"Never you mind, Melissy Davis; you 've done yore whole dooty as well asyou could. "

Mrs. Warren rose and put her shawl over her head preparatory to going. "As fur my part, " she said, "I 'd 'a' ruther seen that child in thechildern's home, devilment or no devilment, than where he is. He won'tdare to breathe from this hour on. "

The women were silent for a moment, and then Mrs. Davis said, "Well, Miss Hester 's well-meanin'. "

CHAPTER IV

At the top of the mean street on which Margaret's house was situated, and looking down upon its meaner neighbours in much the same way thatits mistress looked upon the denizens of the street, stood Miss Prime'scottage. It was not on the mean street, --it would have disdained tobe, --but sat exactly facing it in prim watchfulness over the unsavourythoroughfare which ran at right angles. The cottage was one and a halfstories in height, and the upper half-story had two windows in frontthat looked out like a pair of accusing eyes. It was painted a dull leadcolour. In summer the front yard was filled with flowers, hollyhocks, bachelor's-buttons, sweet-william, and a dozen other varieties ofblooms. But they were planted with such exactness and straightness thatthe poor flowers looked cramped and artificial and stiff as a party ofangular ladies dressed in bombazine. Here was no riot nor abandon ingrowth. Everything had its place, and stayed therein or was plucked up. 

"I jest can't abide to see flowers growin' every which way, " Miss Primeused to remark, "fur all the world like a neighbourhood with differentpeople's children traipsin' through everybody else's house. Everythingin order, is my motto. "

Miss Hester had nearly arrived at her fortieth mile-stone; and sheeffected the paradox of looking both younger and older than her age. Younger, because she had always taken excellent care of herself. Herform had still much of the roundness of youth, and her step wassprightly and firm. She looked older than her age, because of the stronglines in her face, the determined set of her lips, and the general airof knowledge and self-sufficiency which pervaded her whole being. Throughout her life she had sacrificed everything to duty, whether itwas the yearning of her own heart or the feelings of those who lovedher. In the world about her she saw so much of froth and frivolity thatshe tried to balance matters by being especially staid and sternherself. She did not consider that in the seesaw of life it takes morethan one person to toss up the weight of the world's wickedness. Herexistence was governed by rigid rules, from which she never departed. 

It is hard to explain just what Miss Hester's position was among thedenizens of the poorer quarter. She was liked and disliked, admired andfeared. She would descend upon her victims with unasked counsel andundesired tracts. Her voice was a trumpet of scathing invective againsttheir shiftlessness, their untidiness, and their immorality, but herhand was as a horn of plenty in straitened times, and her presence insickness was a comfort. She made no pretence to being good-hearted; infact, she resented the term as applied to herself. It was all duty withher. 

Up through the now dismantled garden to the prim cottage she led the boyFred. The child had not spoken a word since he had left the house of hisfriend. His little heart seemed to be suddenly chilled within him. MissHester had been equally silent. Her manner was constrained andembarrassed. She had, indeed, tried to find some words of soothing andencouragement to say to the child, such as she had heard Melissa Davisuse; but she could not. They were not a part of her life's vocabulary. Several times she had essayed to speak, but the sentences that formed inher mind seemed so absurd and awkward that she felt them better unsaid. 

It is true that every natural woman has the maternal instinct, butunless she has felt the soft face of a babe at her breast and lookeddown into its eyes as it drew its life from her life, she can knownothing of that freemasonry of womanhood which, by some secret means toodeep and subtle for the knowledge of outsiders, wins the love ofchildhood. It is not so with men, because the childish mind does notdemand so much of them, even though they be fathers. To be convinced, look about you and see how many more bachelors than maids are favouriteswith children. 

Once within the house, Miss Hester was at an entire loss as to what todo with her charge. She placed him in a chair, where he satdisconsolately. She went to the bookshelves and laid her hand upon"Pilgrim's Progress;" then she reflected that Freddie was just fiveyears old, and she allowed a smile to pass over her face. But herperplexity instantly chased the expression away. "How on airth am Ia-goin' to do any work?" she asked herself. "I 'm shore I can't set downan' tell that child stories all the time, as I 've heerd tell o' folksdoin'. What shall I do with him?" She had had a vague idea that the timeof children was taken up in some way. She knew, of course, that they hadto be washed and dressed, that they had to eat three times a day, andafter all to sleep; but what was to be done with them in the mean time?

"Oh, " sighed the poor woman, "if he was only old enough to go toschool!" The wish was not entirely unmotherly, as motherhood goes inthese days, for it is not an unusual thing for mothers to send theirbabes off to kindergarten as soon as they begin to babble, in order tobe relieved of the responsibility of their care. But neither wishes norhopes availed. It was a living, present situation with which Miss Hesterhad to grapple. Suddenly she bethought herself that children likepictures, and she secured from the shelf a copy of the "BibleLooking-Glass. " This she opened and spread out on the child's knees. Heglanced at it a moment or two, and then began to turn the leaves, hiseyes riveted on the engravings. Miss Hester congratulated herself, andslipped out to work. The thought came to her, of course, that thenovelty of "Bible Looking-Glasses" could n't remain for ever, but sheput the idea by in scorn. "Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof. "The book was good while it lasted. It entertained the child and gave himvaluable moral lessons. This was the woman's point of view. To Fredthere was no suggestion of moral lessons. It was merely a lot of veryfine pictures, and when Miss Prime had gone he relaxed some of hisdisconsolate stiffness and entered into the contemplation of them withchildish zest. His guardian, however, did not abandon her vigilance, andin a few minutes she peeped through the door from the kitchen, where shewas working, to see how her charge got on. The sight which met her eyesmade her nearly drop the cup which she held in her hand and with whichshe had been measuring out flour for a cup-cake. With the book spreadout before him, Freddie was lying flat on his stomach on the floor, withhis little heels contentedly kicking the air. His attitude was theexpression of the acme of childish satisfaction. 

Miss Prime's idea of floors was that they were to be walked on, scrubbed, measured, and carpeted; she did not remember in all the extentof her experience to have seen one used as a reading-desk before. Butshe withdrew without a word: the child was quiet, and that was much. 

About this time, any one observing the cottage would have seen anold-fashioned phaeton, to which a plump old nag was hitched, driven upto the door and halted, and a man alight and enter at the gate. If theobserver had been at Margaret's funeral, he would instantly haverecognised the man as the Rev. Mr. Simpson's assistant, Mr. Hodges. Theman walked deliberately around to the kitchen, and, tapping at the door, opened it without ceremony and went in, calling out, "Miss Hester, MissHester, I 'm a-runnin' right in on you. "

"I do declare, 'Liphalet Hodges, you do beat all fur droppin' in on abody at unexpected times. "

"Well, I guess you 're right. My comin' 's a good deal like the secondcomin' o' the Son o' man 'll be. I guess you 're right. "

To Miss Prime, Eliphalet Hodges was always unexpected, although he hadbeen dropping in this way before her mother and father died, twentyyears gone. 

"Well, I 'low, 'Liphalet, that you 've heerd the news. "

"There ain't no grass grows under the feet of the talkers in this town, I tell you. "

"Dear me! a body can't turn aroun' without settin' a whole forest oftongues a-waggin' every which way. "

"Oh, well, Miss Hester, we got to 'low that to yore sex. The women folksmust talk. "

"My sex! It ain't my sex only: I know plenty o' men in this town who airbigger gossips 'n the women. I 'll warrant you did n't git this piece o'news from no woman. "

"Well, mebbe I did n't, but I ca'c'late there wa'n't no men there to gitit fust hand. "

"Oh, I 'll be bound some o' the women had to go an' tell a man the fustthing: some women can't git along without the men. "

"An' then, ag'in, some of 'em kin, Miss Hester; some of 'em kin. "

"You 'd jest as well start out an' say what you want to say withouta-beatin' about the bush. I know, jest as well as I know I 'm a-livin', that you 've come to tell me that I was a fool fur takin' that child. 'Liphalet, don't pertend: I know it. "

"Oh, no, Miss Hester; I would n't dast do nothin' like that; you know, 'He that calleth his brother a fool is in danger o' hell fire, ' an' I'low the Lord don't make it no easier when it happens to be a sister. No, Miss Hester, you know yore own business best, an' you 've got alongthis fur without bein' guided by people. I guess you 'll git through;but a child, Miss Hester, don't you think that it 's a leetle bitresky?"

"Resky? I don't see why. The child ain't a-goin' to eat me or burn thehouse down. "

"No, no, --none o' that, --I don't mean that at all; but then, you see, you 'ain't never had no--that is--you 'ain't had much experunce in thebringin' up o' childern, specially boys. "

"Much! I 'ain't had none. But I 've been brought up. "

"That 's true, that 's true, an' a mighty good job yore mother made ofit, too. I don't know of no spryer or stirrin'er woman around here atyore age. "

"At my age! 'Liphalet, you do talk as ef I was about fifty. "

"Well, ef I do, I ain't a sayin' what I want to say, so I 'd betterhush. Where is the little fellow?"

For answer, Miss Prime pushed the door open and bade him peep. Freddiewas still upon the floor, absorbed in his book. The man's face lightedup: he pulled the door to long enough to say, "I tell you, Miss Hester, that boy 's a-goin' to make a great reader or a speaker or somethin'. Jest look how wrapped up he is in that book. "

"Well, I do hope an' pray to goodness that he 'll make somethin' betterthan his father ever made. "

"Ef he don't under yore trainin', it 'll be because there ain't nothin'in him. --Come here, Freddie, " called Hodges, pushing the door open, andholding out his hand with a smile. The child got up from the floor andcame and put his hand in the outstretched one. 

"Well, I declare!" exclaimed Miss Hester. "I tried my level best to gitthat child to make up with me, an' he would n't. "

"It's jest like I say, Miss Hester: you 'ain't never had no experunce inraisin' childern. "

"An' how many have you ever raised, 'Liphalet?"

The bachelor acknowledged defeat by a sheepish smile, and turned againto the child. "You want to go a-ridin' in my buggy, Freddie?"

"Yes, sir, " said the child, unhesitatingly. 

"All right; Uncle 'Liph 'll take him out fur a while. Git his hat an'wrap him up, Miss Hester, so Jack Frost can't ketch him. "

The man stood smiling down into the child's face: the boy, smiling back, tightened his grasp on the big hand. They were friends from that moment, Eliphalet Hodges and Fred. 

They went out to the old phaeton, with Miss Prime's parting injunctionringing after them, "Don't keep that child out in the cold too long, 'Liphalet, an' bring him back here croupy. "

"Oh, now, don't you trouble yoreself, Miss Hester: me an' Freddie aira-goin' to git along all right. We ain't a-goin' to freeze, air we, Freddie, boy? Ah, not by a long sight; not ef Uncle 'Liph knowshisself. "

All the time the genial man was talking, he was tucking the lap-robesnugly about the child and making him comfortable. Then he clucked tothe old mare, and they rattled away. 

There was a far-away look in Miss Prime's eyes as she watched them tillthey turned the corner and were out of sight. "I never did see sich aman as 'Liphalet Hodges. Why, a body 'd think that he 'd been marriedan' raised a whole houseful o' childern. He's worse 'n a old hen. An' it's marvellous the way Frederick took to him. Everybody calls the childFreddie. I must learn to call him that: it will make him feel morehome-like, though it does sound foolish. "

She went on with her work, but it was interrupted every now and then bystrange fits of abstraction and revery, an unusual thing for thisbustling and practical spinster. But then there are few of us but havehad our hopes and dreams, and it would be unfair to think that MissHester was an exception. For once she had broken through her owndiscipline, and in her own kitchen was spending precious moments indreams, and all because a man and a child had rattled away in a ricketybuggy. 

CHAPTER V

"Goodness gracious, Mis' Smith, " exclaimed Mrs. Martin, rushingexcitedly into the house of her next-door neighbour, "you 'd ought toseen what I seen jest now. "

"Do tell, Mis' Martin! What on airth was it?"

"Oh, I 'm shore you 'd never guess in the wide, wide world. "

"An' I 'm jest as shore that I ain't a-goin' to pester my head tryin'to: so go on an' tell me what it was. "

"Lawsy me! what next 'll happen, an' what does things mean, anyhow?"

"I can't tell you. Fur my part, I 'ain't heerd what 'things' air yit. "Mrs. Smith was getting angry. 

"My! Mis' Smith, don't git so impatient. Give me time to git my breath:it 'll be enough, when I do tell you, to take away yore breath, jestlike it did mine. "

"Sallie Martin, you do beat all fur keepin' a body on the hooks. "

"T ain't my fault, Mis' Smith. I declare I 'm too astonished to speak. You know I was a-standin' in my window, not a-thinkin' nor expectin'nothin', jest like any person would, you know--"

"Yes, yes; go on. "

"I was jest a-lookin' down the street, careless, when who should I seedrive up to Miss Prime's door, an' hitch his hoss an' go in, but Brother'Liphalet Hodges!"

"Well, sakes alive, Sallie Martin, I hope you ain't a-considerin' thatstrange. Why, you could 'a' seen that very same sight any time thesefifteen years. "

"But wait a minute till I tell you. I ain't done yit, by no means. Thestrange part 'ain't come. I thought I 'd jest wait at the window and seehow long Brother Hodges would stay: not that it was any o' my bus'ness, of course, or that I wanted to be a spyin' on anybody, but sorterfur--fur cur'osity, you know. "

"Cert'n'y, " said Mrs. Smith, feelingly. She could sympathise with such asentiment. 

"Well, after a while he come out a-smilin' as pleasant as a basket o'chips; an' I like to fell through the winder, fur he was a-leadin' bythe hand--who do you suppose?"

"I 'ain't got a mortal idea who, " said Mrs. Smith, "unless it was MissHester, an' they 're married at last. "

"No, indeed, 't wa'n't her. It was that little Brent boy that his motherdied the other day. "

"Sallie Martin, what air you a-tellin' me?"

"It 's the gospel truth, Melviny Smith, as shore as I 'm a-settin' here. Now what does it mean?"

"The good Lord only knows. Leadin' that little Brent boy? Ef it was n'tyou a-settin' there tellin' me this, Mis' Martin, I would n't believeit. You don't suppose Hodges has took him to raise, do you?"

"How in the name of mercy is he goin' to raise any child, when thereain't no women folks about his house 'ceptin' old Marier, an' she soblind an' rheumaticky that she kin sca'cely git about?"

"Well, what 's he a-doin' with the child, then?"

"That 's jest what I 'm a-goin' to find out. I 'm a-goin' down to MissPrime's. Len' me yore shawl, Melviny. "

"You ain't never goin' to dare to ask her, air you?"

"You jest trust me to find things out without givin' myself away. Iwon't never let her know what I want right out, but I 'll talk it out o'her. "

"What a woman you air, Sallie Martin!" said Mrs. Smith, admiringly. "Butdo hurry back an' tell me what she says: I 'm jest dyin' to know. "

"I 'll be back in little or no time, because I can't stay, nohow. "

Mrs. Martin threw the borrowed shawl over her head and set off down thestreet. She and her friend were not dwellers on the mean street, and sothey could pretend to so nearly an equal social footing with Miss Primeas to admit of an occasional neighbourly call. 

Through the window Miss Prime saw her visitor approaching, and a grimsmile curved the corners of her mouth. "Comin' fur news, " muttered thespinster. "She 'll git all she wants before she goes. " But there was notrace of suspicion in her manner as she opened the door at Mrs. Martin'srap. 

"Hey oh, Miss Hester, busy as usual, I see. "

"Yes, indeed. People that try to do their dooty 'ain't got much time furrest in this world. "

"No, indeed; it's dig, dig, dig, and work, work, work. "

"Take off yore shawl an' set down, Sallie. It 's a wonder you don't takeyore death o' cold or git plum full o' neuralgy, a-runnin' around inthis weather with nothin' but a shawl over yore head. "

"La, Miss Hester, they say that worthless people 's hard to kill. Itain't allus true, though, fur there was poor Margar't Brent, she was n'tworth much, but my! she went out like a match. "

"Yes, but matches don't go out until their time ef they 're held downright; an' it 's jest so with people. "

"That 's true enough, Miss Hester. Was you to Margar't's funeral?"

"Oh, yes, I went. "

"Did you go out to the cimetery?"

"Oomph huh. "

"Did she look natural?"

"Jest as natural as one could expect after a hard life an' a harddeath. "

"Pore Margar't!" Mrs. Martin sighed. There was a long and embarrassedsilence. Miss Prime's lips were compressed, and she seemed moreaggressively busy than usual. She bustled about as if every minute wereher last one. She brushed off tables, set chairs to rights, and triedthe golden-brown cup-cake with a straw to see if it were done. Hervisitor positively writhed with curiosity and discomfiture. Finally shebegan again. "Margar't only had one child, did n't she?"

"Yes, that was all. "

"Pore little lamb. Motherless childern has a hard time of it. "

"Indeed, most of 'em do. "

"Do you know what 's become of the child, Miss Hester?"

"Yes, I do, Sallie Martin, an' you do too, or you would n't be a-settin'there beatin' about the bush, askin' me all these questions. "

This sudden outburst gave Mrs. Martin quite a turn, but she exclaimed, "I declare to goodness, Miss Hester, I 'ain't heerd a livin' thing aboutit, only--"

She checked herself, but her relentless hostess caught at the word anddemanded, "Only what, Mis' Martin?"

"Well, I seen Brother 'Liphalet Hodges takin' him away from here in hisbuggy--"

"An' so you come down to see what was what, eh, so 's you could be thefirst to tell the neighbourhood?"

"Now, Miss Hester, you know that I ain't one o' them that talks, but Ido feel sich an interest in the pore motherless child, an' when I seenBrother Hodges a-takin' him away, I thought perhaps he was a-goin' totake him to raise. "

"Well, Brother Hodges ain't a-goin' to take him to raise. "

"Mercy sakes! Miss Hester, don't git mad, but who is?"

"I am, that 's who. "

"Miss Prime, what air you a-sayin'? You shorely don't mean it. What kinyou do with a child?"

"I kin train him up in the way he ought to go, an' keep him out o' otherpeople's houses an' the street. "

"Well, o' course, that 's somethin', " said Mrs. Martin, weakly. 

"Somethin'? Why, it 's everything. "

The visitor had now gotten the information for which she was looking, and was anxious to be gone. She was absolutely bursting with her news. 

"Well, I must be goin', " she said, replacing her shawl and standing inembarrassed indecision. "I only run in fur a minute. I hope you 'ain'tgot no hard feelin's at my inquisitiveness. "

"Not a bit of it. You wanted to know, an' you come and asked, that 'sall. "

"I hope you 'll git along all right with the child. "

"I sha' n't stop at hopin'. I shall take the matter to the Lord inprayer. "

"Yes, He knows best. Good-bye, Miss Hester. "

"Good-bye, Sallie; come in ag'in. " The invitation sounded a little bitsarcastic, and once more the grim smile played about Miss Prime's mouth. 

"I 'low, " she observed to herself, as she took the cake from the ovenfor the last time, tried it, and set it on the table, --"I 'low that Idid give Sallie Martin one turn. I never did see sich a woman fur pryin'into other folks' business. "

Swift are the wings of gossip, and swift were the feet of Mrs. SallieMartin as she hurried back to tell the news to her impatient friend, wholistened speechless with enjoyment and astonishment. 

"Who would 'a' thought you could 'a' talked it out o' her so?" shegasped. 

"Oh, I led her right along tell she told me everything, " said Mrs. Martin, with a complacency which, remembering her reception, she was farfrom feeling. 

Shortly after her departure, and while, no doubt, reinforced by Mrs. Smith, she was still watching at the window, 'Liphalet Hodges droveleisurely up to the door again. 

"Well, Freddie, " he said, as he helped the child to alight, "we 've hada great time together, we have, an' we ain't frozen, neither: I toldMiss Prime that she need n't be afeared. Don't drop yore jumpin'-jack, now, an' be keerful an' don't git yore hands on yore apron, 'cause they're kind o' sticky. Miss Hester 'u'd take our heads off ef we come backdirty. "

The child's arms were full of toys, --a jumping-jack, a climbing monkey, a popgun, and the etceteras of childish amusement, --and his pockets andcheeks bulged with candy. 

"La, 'Liphalet, " exclaimed Miss Prime, when she saw them, "what on airthhave you been a-buyin' that child--jumpin'-jacks an' sich things? Theyain't a bit o' good, 'ceptin' to litter up a house an' put lightness inchildern's minds. Freddie, what 's that on yore apron? Goodness me! an'look at them hands--candy! 'Liphalet Hodges, I did give you credit furbetter jedgment than this. Candy is the cause o' more aches an' painsthan poison; an' some of it 's reelly coloured with ars'nic. How do youexpect a child to grow up healthy an' with sound teeth when you feed himon candy?"

"Now, Miss Hester, now, now, now. I don't want to be a-interferin'with yore bus'ness; but it 's jest like I said before, an' I willstick to it, you 'ain't never had no experunce in raisin' children. They can't git along jest on meat an' bread an' jam: they needcandy--an'--ah--candy--an' sich things. " Mr. Hodges ended lamely, looking rather guiltily at the boy's bulging pockets. "A little bitain't a-goin' to hurt no child. "

"'Liphalet, I 've got a dooty to perform towards this motherless child, an' I ain't a-goin' to let no foolish notions keep me from performin'it. "

"Miss Hester, I 'm a-tryin' to follow Him that was a father to thefatherless an' a husband to the widow, --strange, that was made only tothe widow, --an' I 've got somethin' of a idee o' dooty myself. You maythink I 'm purty presumptuous, but I 've took a notion into my head tokind o' help along a-raisin' Freddie. I ain't a-goin' to question yoreauthority, or nothin', but I thought mebbe you 'd len' me the child oncein a while to kind o' lighten up that old lonesome place o' mine: Iknow that Freddie won't object. "

"Oh, 'Liphalet, do go 'long: I scarcely know whether you air a man or achild, sometimes. "

"There 's One that says, 'Except you become as a little child'--"

"'Liphalet, will you go 'long home?"

"I 'spect I 'd better be gittin' along. --Good-bye, Freddie; be a goodboy, an' some day I 'll take you up to my house an' let you ride oldBess around. --Good-bye, Miss Hester. " And as he passed out to his buggyhe whistled tenderly something that was whistled when he was a boy. 

CHAPTER VI

The life of one boy is much like that of another. They all have theirjoys and their griefs, their triumphs and their failures, their lovesand their hates, their friends and their foes, much as men have them inthat maturer life of which the days of youth are an epitome. It would berather an uninteresting task, and an entirely thankless one, to followin detail the career of Frederick Brent as he grew from childhood toyouth. But in order to understand certain traits that developed in hischaracter, it will be necessary to note some, at least, of thecircumstances that influenced his early life. 

While Miss Prime grew to care for him in her own unemotional way, shehad her own notions of how a boy should be trained, and those notionsseemed to embody the repression of every natural impulse. She reasonedthus: "Human beings are by nature evil: evil must be crushed: _ergo_, everything natural must be crushed. " In pursuance of this principle, she followed out a deliberate course of restriction, which, had it notbeen for the combating influence of Eliphalet Hodges, would have dwarfedthe mental powers of the boy and cramped his soul beyond endurance. Whenhe came of an age to play marbles, he was forbidden to play, because itwas, to Miss Hester's mind, a species of gambling. Swimming was toodangerous to be for a moment considered. Fishing, without necessity, waswanton cruelty. Flying kites was foolishness and a waste of time. 

The boy had shown an aptitude at his lessons that had created in hisguardian's mind some ambition for him, and she held him down to hisbooks with rigid assiduity. He was naturally studious, but the feelingthat he was being driven made his tasks repellent, although he performedthem without outward sign of rebellion, while he fumed within. 

His greatest relaxations were his trips to and from his old friendHodges. If Miss Prime crushed him, this gentle soul comforted him andsmoothed out his ruffled feelings. It was this influence that kept himfrom despair. Away from his guardian, he was as if a chain that galledhis flesh had been removed. And yet he could not hate Miss Hester, forit was constantly impressed upon him that all was being done for hisgood, and the word "duty" was burned like a fiery cross upon his heartand brain. 

There is a bit of the pagan in every natural boy, and to give him toomuch to reverence taxes his powers until they are worn and impotent bythe time he reaches manhood. Under Miss Hester's tutelage too manythings became sacred to Fred Brent. It was wicked to cough in church, asit was a sacrilege to play with a hymn-book. His training was theapotheosis of the non-essential. But, after all, there is no rebel likeNature. She is an iconoclast. 

When he was less than ten years old, an incident occurred that will in ameasure indicate the manner of his treatment. Miss Prime's prescriptionfor making a good boy was two parts punishment, two parts admonition, and six parts prayer. Accordingly, as the watchful and sympatheticneighbours said, "she an' that pore child fairly lived in church. "

It was one class-meeting night, and, as usual, the boy and his guardianwere sitting side by side at church. It was the habit of some of thecongregation to bring their outside controversies into the class-roomunder the guise of testimonies or exhortations, and there to air theirviews where their opponents could not answer them. One such was DanielHastings. The trait had so developed in him that whenever he rose tospeak, the question ran around, "I wonder who Dan'l 's a-goin' to rakeover the coals now. " On this day he had been having a tilt with hisold-time enemy, Thomas Donaldson, over the advent into Dexter of a younghomoeopathic doctor. With characteristic stubbornness, Dan'l had heldthat there was no good in any but the old-school medical men, and hesneered at the idea of anybody's being cured with sugar, as hecontemptuously termed the pellets and powders affected by the newschool. Thomas, who was considered something of a wit and who sustainedhis reputation by the perpetration of certain time-worn puns, hadreplied that other hogs were sugar-cured, and why not Dan'l? This hadturned the laugh on Hastings, and he went home from the corner grocery, where the men were congregated, in high dudgeon. 

Still smarting with the memory of his defeat, when he rose to speakthat evening, he cast a glance full of unfriendly significance at hisopponent and launched into a fiery exhortation on true religion. "Somefolks' religion, " he said, "is like sugar, all sweetness and no power;but I want my religion like I want my medicine: I want it strong, an' Iwant it bitter, so 's I 'll know I 've got it. " In Fred Brent the senseof humour had not been entirely crushed, and the expression was too muchfor his gravity. He bowed his head and covered his mouth with his hand. He made no sound, but there were three pairs of eyes that saw themovement, --Miss Prime's, Eliphalet Hodges', and the Rev. Mr. Simpson's. Miss Prime's gaze was horrified, Mr. Simpson's stern; but in the eye ofMr. Hodges there was a most ungodly twinkle. 

When Dan'l Hastings had finished his exhortation--which was in realityan arraignment of Thomas Donaldson's medical heresies--and sat down, theRev. Mr. Simpson arose, and, bending an accusing glance upon theshrinking boy, began: "I perceive on the part of some of the youngermembers of the congregation a disposition towards levity. The house ofGod is not the place to find amusement. I never see young peoplederiding their elders without thinking of the awful lesson taught by theLord's judgment upon those wicked youths whom the she-bears devoured. Inever see a child laughing in church without trembling in spirit for hisfuture. Some of the men whom I have seen in prison, condemned to deathor a life of confinement, have begun their careers just in this way, showing disrespect for their elders and for the church. Beware, youngpeople, who think you are smart and laugh and titter in the sanctuary;there is a prison waiting for you, there is a hell yawning for you. Behold, there is death in the pot!"

With a terrible look at the boy, Mr. Simpson sat down. There was muchcraning of necks and gazing about, but few in the church would haveknown to whom the pastor's remarks were addressed had not Miss Prime, attheir conclusion, sighed in an injured way, and, rising with set lips, led the culprit out, as a criminal is led to the scaffold. How the boysuffered as, with flaming face, he walked down the aisle to the door, the cynosure of all eyes! He saw in the faces about him the accusationof having done a terrible thing, something unheard of and more wickedthan he could understand. He felt revolted, child as he was, at thereligion that made so much of his fault. Inwardly, he vowed that hewould never "get religion" or go into a church when he was big enough tohave his own way. 

They had not gone far when a step approached them from behind, andEliphalet Hodges joined them. Miss Prime turned tragically at hisgreeting, and broke out, "Don't reproach me 'Liphalet; it ain't notrainin' o' mine that 's perduced a child that laughs at old foks in theLord's house. "

"I ain't a-goin' to reproach you, Miss Hester, never you fear; I ain'ta-goin' to say a word ag'in' yore trainin'; but I jest thought I 'd askyou not to be too hard on Freddie. You know that Dan'l is kind o' tryin'sometimes even to the gravity of older people; an' childern will bechildern; they 'ain't got the sense, nor--nor--the deceit to keep asmooth face when they 're a-laughin' all in their innards. "

Miss Prime turned upon him in righteous wrath. "'Liphalet, " sheexclaimed, "I think it 's enough fur this child to struggle ag'instnatural sin, without encouragin' him by makin' excuses fur him. "

"It ain't my intention nor my desire to set a bad example before nobody, especially the young lambs of the flock, but I ain't a-goin' to blameFreddie fur doin' what many another of us wanted to do. "

"'Deed an' double, that is fine talk fur you, 'Liphalet Hodges! you atrustee of the church, an' been a class-leader, a-holdin' up fur sichonregenerate carryin's-on. "

"I ain't a-holdin' up fur nothin', Miss Hester, 'ceptin' nature an' thevery could n't-help-it-ness o' the thing altogether. I ain't a boy nomore, by a good many years, but there 's times when I 've set underDan'l Hastings's testimonies jest mortally cramped to laugh; an' ef it's so with a man, how will it be with a pore innercent child? I ain'ta-excusin' natural sin in nobody. It wa'n't so much Freddie's naturalsin as it was Dan'l's natural funniness. " And there was something verylike a chuckle in 'Liphalet's throat. 

"'Liphalet, the devil 's been puttin' fleas into yore ear, but I ain'ta-goin' to let you argy me out o' none o' my settled convictions, although the Old Man 's put plenty of argyment into yore head. That 'shis way o' capturin' a soul. --Walk on ahead, Frederick, an' don't belist'nin'. I 'll 'tend to yore case later on. "

"It 's funny to me, Miss Hester, how it is that Christians know so muchmore about the devil's ways than they do about the Lord's. They 'reallus a-sayin', 'the Lord moves in a mysterious way, ' but they kin allusput their finger on the devil. "

"'Liphalet Hodges, that 's a slur!"

"I ain't a-meanin' it as no slur, Miss Hester; but most Christians doseem to have a powerful fondness for the devil. I notice that they 'reallus admirin' his work an' praisin' up his sharpness, an' they 'd bemonstrous disappointed ef he did n't git as many souls as they expect. "

"Well, after all the years that I 've been a-workin' in the church an'a-tryin' to let my light so shine before the world, I did n't think thatyou 'd be the one to throw out hints about my Christianity. But we allhave our burdens to bear, an' I 'm a-goin' to bear mine the best I kin, an' do my dooty, whatever comes of it. " And Miss Hester gave anothersigh of injured rectitude. 

"I see, Miss Hester, that you 're jest bent an' bound not to see what Imean, so I might as well go home. "

"I think my mind ain't givin' way yit, an' I believe that I dounderstand plain words; but I ain't a-bearin' you no grudge. You 'vespoke yore mind, an' it 's all right. "

"But I hope there ain't no hard feelin's, after all these years. "

"Oh, 'Liphalet, it ain't a part of even my pore weak religion to bearhard feelin's towards no one, no matter how they treat me. I 'm jesttryin' to bear my cross an' suffer fur the Lord's sake. "

"But I hope I ain't a-givin' you no cross to bear. I 'ain't neverdoubted yore goodness or yore Christianity: I only thought that mebbeyore methods, yore methods--"

Miss Prime's lips were drawn into a line. She divided that line to say, "I know what the Scriptures say: 'If thy right hand offend thee'--"

"Hester, Hester!" he cried, stretching out his hands to her. 

"Good-night, Brother Hodges. I must go in. " She turned and left himstanding at the gate with a hurt look in his face. 

On going into the house, Miss Hester did not immediately 'tend to Fred, as she had promised. Instead, she left him and went into her own roomwhere she remained awhile. When she came out, her lips were no less set, but her eyes were red. It is hardly to be supposed that she had beenindulging in that solace of woman's woes, a good cry. 

"Take off yore jacket, Freddie, " she said, calmly, taking down a switchfrom over the clothes-press. "I 'm a-goin' to whip you; but, remember, Iain't a-punishin' you because I 'm mad. It 's fur the purpose ofinstruction. It 's fur yore own good. "

Fred received his dressing-down without a whimper. He was too angry tocry. This Miss Prime took as a mark of especial depravity. In fact, theboy had been unable to discover any difference between an instructiveand a vindictive whipping. It was perfectly clear in his guardian'smind, no doubt, but a cherry switch knows no such distinctions. 

This incident only prepared Fred Brent for a further infraction of hisguardian's rules the next day. One of Miss Prime's strictest orders hadto do with fighting. Whatever the boys did to Fred, he was never toresent it. He must come to her, and she would go to the boy's mother. What an order to give a boy with muscles and fists and Nature strongwithin him! But, save for the telling, it had been obeyed, although itis hard to feel one's self an unwilling coward, a prig, and thelaughingstock of one's fellows. But when, on the day after his unjustpunishment, and while still stung by the sense of wrong, one of thepetty schoolboy tyrants began to taunt him, he turned upon the youngscamp and thrashed him soundly. His tormentor was not more hurt thansurprised. Like most of his class, he was a tattler. The matter got tothe teacher's ears, and that night Fred carried home an ominous-lookingnote. In his heart he believed that it meant another application ofcherry switch, either instructive or vindictive, but he did not care. Hehad done the natural thing, and Nature rewards us for obeying her lawsby making us happy or stoical. He had gone up in the estimation of hisschoolfellows, even the thrashed one, and he felt a reckless joy. Hewould welcome a whipping. It would bring him back memories of what hehad given Billy Tompkins. "Would n't Miss Hester be surprised, " hethought, "if I should laugh out while she is whipping me?" And helaughed at the very thought. He was full of pleasure at himself. He hadsatisfied the impulse within him for once, and it made him happy. 

Miss Prime read the ominous note, and looked at her charge thoughtfully. Fred glanced expectantly in the direction of the top of theclothes-press. But she only said, "Go out an' git in yore kindlin', Freddie; git yore chores done, an' then come in to supper. " Her voicewas menacingly quiet. The boy had learned to read the signs of her facetoo well to think that he was to get off so easily as this. Evidently, he would "get it" after supper, or Miss Prime had some new, refined modeof punishment in store for him. But what was it? He cudgelled his brainin vain, as he finished his chores, and at table he could hardly eat forwondering. But he might have spared himself his pains, for he learnedall too soon. 

Immediately after supper he was bidden to put on his cap and come along. Miss Prime took him by the hand. "I 'm a-goin' to take you, " she said, "to beg Willie Tompkins's pardon fur the way you did him. "

Did the woman know what it meant to the boy? She could not, or her heartwould have turned against the cruelty. Fred was aghast. Beg his pardon!A whipping was a thousand times better: indeed, it would be a mercy. Hebegan to protest, but was speedily silenced. The enforced silence, however, did not cool his anger. He had done what other boys did. He hadacted in the only way that it seemed a boy could act under thecircumstances, and he had expected to be punished as his fellows were;but this--this was awful. He clinched his hands until the nails dug intothe palms. His face was as pale as death. He sweated with the consumingfire of impotent rage. He wished that he might run away somewhere wherehe could hide and tear things and swear. For a moment only heentertained the thought, and then a look into the determined face of thewoman at his side drove the thought away. To his childish eyes, distorted by resentment, she was an implacable and relentless monsterwho would follow him with punishment anywhere he might go. 

And now they were at Billy Tompkins's door. They had passed through, and he found himself saying mechanically the words which Miss Prime putinto his mouth, while his tormentor grinned from beside his mother'schair. Then, after a few words between the women, in which he heard fromMrs. Tompkins the mysterious words, "Oh, I don't blame you, Miss Hester;I know that blood will tell, " they passed out, and the grinning face ofBilly Tompkins was the last thing that Fred saw. It followed him home. The hot tears fell from his eyes, but they did not quench the flamesthat were consuming him. There is nothing so terrible as the just angerof a child, --terrible in its very powerlessness. Polyphemus is a giant, though the mountain hold him down. 

Next morning, when Fred went to school, Billy Tompkins with a crowd ofboys about was waiting to deride him; but at sight of his face theystopped. He walked straight up to his enemy and began striking him withall his might. 

"She made me beg your pardon, did she?" he gasped between the blows;"well, you take that for it, and that. " The boys had fallen back, andBilly was attempting to defend himself. 

"Mebbe she 'll make me do it again to-night. If she does, I 'll give yousome more o' this to-morrow, and every time I have to beg your pardon. Do you hear?"

The boys cheered lustily, and Billy Tompkins, completely whipped andashamed, slunk away. 

That night no report of the fight went home. Fred Brent held the masterhand. 

In life it is sometimes God and sometimes the devil that comes to theaid of oppressed humanity. From the means, it is often hard to tellwhose handiwork are the results. 

CHAPTER VII

Cynics and fools laugh at calf-love. Youth, which is wiser, treats itmore seriously. When the boy begins to think of a girl, instead ofgirls, he displays the first budding signs of a real growing manhood. The first passion may be but the enthusiasm of discovery. Sometimes itis not. At times it dies, as fleeting enthusiasms do. Again it lives, and becomes a blessing, a curse, or a memory. Who shall say that thefirst half-sweet pang that strikes a boy's heart in the presence of thedear first girl is any less strong, intoxicating, and real to him thanthat which prompts him to take the full-grown woman to wife? Withfactitious sincerity we quote, "The boy is father to the man, " and thenrefuse to believe that the qualities, emotions, and passions of the manare inherited from this same boy, --are just the growth, the development, of what was embryonic in him. 

Nothing is more serious, more pleasant, and more diverting withal, thana boy's brooding or exultation--one is the complement of theother--over his first girl. As, to a great extent, a man is moulded bythe woman he marries, so to no less a degree is a boy's character turnedand shaped by the girl he adores. Either he descends to her level, orshe draws him up, unconsciously, perhaps, to her own plane. Girls aremissionaries who convert boys. Boys are mostly heathens. When a boy hasa girl, he remembers to put on his cuffs and collars, and he does n'tput his necktie into his pocket on the way to school. 

In a boy's life, the having of a girl is the setting up of an ideal. Itis the new element, the higher something which abashes the unabashed, and makes John, who caused Henry's nose to bleed, tremble when littleMary stamps her foot. It is like an atheist's finding God, the suddenrecognition of a higher and purer force against which all that he knowsis powerless. Why does n't John bully Mary? It would be infinitelyeasier than his former exploit with Henry. But he does n't. He blushesin her presence, brings her the best apples, out of which heretofore hehas enjoined the boys not to "take a hog-bite, " and, even though theparental garden grow none, comes by flowers for her in some way, queerboyish bouquets where dandelions press shoulders with spring-beauties, daffodils, and roses, --strange democracy of flowerdom. He feels olderand stronger. 

In Fred's case the object of adoration was no less a person thanElizabeth Simpson, the minister's daughter. From early childhood theyhad seen and known each other at school, and between them had sprung upa warm childish friendship, apparently because their ways home lay alongthe same route. In such companionship the years sped; but Fred was adiffident boy, and he was seventeen and Elizabeth near the same beforehe began to feel those promptings which made him blushingly offer tocarry her book for her as far as he went. She had hesitated, refused, and then assented, as is the manner of her sex and years. It had becomea settled thing for them to walk home together, he bearing her burdens, and doing for her any other little service that occurred to his boyishsense of gallantry. 

Without will of his own, and without returning the favour, he had grownin the Rev. Mr. Simpson's esteem. This was due mostly to his guardian'sexcellent work. In spite of his rebellion, training and environment hadbrought him greatly under her control, and when she began to admonishhim about his lost condition spiritually she had been able to awaken asort of superstitious anxiety in the boy's breast. When Miss Primeperceived that this had been accomplished, she went forthwith to herpastor and unburdened her heart. 

"Brother Simpson, " said she, "I feel that the Lord has appointed me aninstrument in His hands for bringin' a soul into the kingdom. " Theminister put the tips of his fingers together and sighed piously andencouragingly. "I have been labourin' with Freddie in the sperrit ofChristian industry, an' I believe that I have finally brought him to arealisin' sense of his sinfulness. "

"H'm-m, " said the minister. "Bless the Lord for this evidence of theactivity of His people. Go on, sister. "

"Freddie has at last come to the conclusion that hell is his lot unlesshe flees unto the mountain and seeks salvation. "

"Bless the Lord for this. "

"Now, Brother Simpson, I have done my part as fur as the Lord has showedme, except to ask you to come and wrastle with that boy. "

"Let not thy heart be troubled, Sister Prime, for I will come as you askme, and I will wrastle with that boy as Jacob did of old with theangel. "

"Oh, Brother Simpson, I knowed you 'd come. I know jest how you feelabout pore wanderin' souls, an' I 'm so glad to have yore strong arm andyore wisdom a-helpin' me. "

"I hope, my sister, that the Lord may smile upon my poor labours, andpermit us to snatch this boy as a brand from eternal burning. "

"We shall have to labour in the sperrit, Brother Simpson. "

"Yes, and with the understanding of the truth in our hearts and minds. "

"I 'm shore I feel mighty uplifted by comin' here to-day. Do come up todinner Sunday, dear Brother Simpson, after preachin'. "

"I will come, Sister Prime, I will come. I know by experience the worthof the table which the Lord provides for you, and then at the sameseason I may be able to sound this sinful boy as to his spiritual stateand to drop some seed into the ground which the Lord has mercifullyprepared for our harvest. Good-bye, sister, good-bye. I shall notforget, Sunday after preaching. "

In accordance with his promise, the Rev. Mr. Simpson began to labourwith Fred, with the result of driving him into a condition of doggedrevolt, which only Miss Prime's persistence finally overcame. Whenrevival time came round, as, sure as death it must come, Fred regularlywent to the mourners' bench, mourned his few days until he had workedhimself into the proper state, and then, somewhat too coldly, it istrue, for his anxious guardian, "got religion. "

On the visit next after this which Mr. Simpson paid to Miss Prime, hetook occasion to say, "Ah, my sister, I am so glad that you pointed meto that lost lamb of the house of Israel, and I am thanking the Makerevery day that He blessed my efforts to bring the straying one into thefold. Ah, there is more joy over the one lamb that is found than overthe ninety and nine that went not astray!"

Mr. Simpson's parishioner acquiesced, but she had some doubts in hermind as to whose efforts the Lord had blessed. She felt a little bitselfish. She wanted to be the author of everything good that came toFred. But she did not argue with Mr. Simpson. There are some concessionswhich one must make to one's pastor. 

From this time on the preacher was Fred's friend, and plied him withgood advice in the usual friendly way; but the boy bore it well, forElizabeth smiled on him, and what boy would not bear a father's tonguefor a girl's eyes?

The girl was like her mother, dark and slender and gentle. She had noneof her father's bigness or bumptiousness. Her eyes were large and of ashade that was neither black nor brown. Her hair was very decidedlyblack. Her face was small, and round with the plumpness of youth, butone instinctively felt, in looking at it, that its lines might easilyfall into thinness, even pitifulness, at the first touch of woman'ssorrow. She was not, nor did she look to be, a strong girl. But her veryweakness was the source of secret delight to the boy, for it made himfeel her dependence on him. When they were together and some girlishfear made her cling to his arm, his heart swelled with pride and asomething else that he could not understand and could not havedescribed. Had any one told him that he was going through thehalf-sweet, half-painful, timid, but gallant first stages of love, hewould have resented the imputation with blushes. His whole trainingwould have made him think of such a thing with terror. He had learnednever to speak of girls at home, for any reference to them by him wassure to bring forth from Miss Prime an instant and strong rebuke. 

"Freddie, " was the exclamation that gave his first unsuspecting remarkspause, "you 're a-gittin' too fresh: you 'd better be a-mindin' of yorestudies, instead o' thinkin' about girls. Girls ain't a-goin' to makeyou pass yore examination, an', besides, you 're a-gettin' mannish; furboys o' yore age to be a-talkin' about girls is mannish, do you hear, sir? You 're a-beginnin' to feel yore keepin' too strong. Don't let mehear no more sich talk out o' you. "

There never was a manly boy in the world whom the word "mannish, " whenapplied to him, did not crush. It is a horrid word, nasty and full ofugly import. Fred was subdued by it, and so kept silence about hisfemale friends. Happy is the boy who dares at home to pour out hisheart about the girls he knows and likes, and thrice unhappy he whothrough mistaken zeal on the part of misguided parents is compelled tokeep his thoughts in his heart and brood upon his little apronedcompanions as upon a secret sin. Two things are thereby engendered, stealth and unhealth. If Fred escaped certain youthful pitfalls, it wasbecause he was so repressed that he had learned to hide himself fromhimself, his thoughts from the mind that produced them. 

He was a boy strong and full of blood. The very discipline that hadgiven a gloomy cast to his mind had given strength and fortitude to hisbody. He was austere, because austerity was all that he had ever knownor had a chance of knowing; but too often austerity is but the dam thatholds back the flood of potential passion. Not to know the power whichrages behind the barricade is to leave the structure weak for a haplessday when, carrying all before it, the flood shall break its bonds and inits fury ruin fair field and smiling mead. It was well for Fred Brentthat the awakening came when it did. 

In the first days of June, when examinations are over, the annualexhibition done, and the graduating class has marched away proud in thepossession of its diplomas, the minds of all concerned turn naturallytowards the old institution, the school picnic. On this occasion parentsjoin the teachers and pupils for a summer day's outing in the woods. Great are the preparations for the festal day, and great the rejoicingsthereon. For these few brief hours old men and women lay aside theircares and their dignity and become boys and girls again. Those who haveknown sorrow--and who has not?--take to themselves a day offorgetfulness. Great baskets are loaded to overflowing with the viandsdear to the picnicker's palate, --sandwiches whose corpulence would maketheir sickly brothers of the railway restaurant wither with envy, piesand pickles, cheese and crackers, cakes and jams galore. Old horsesthat, save for this day, know only the market-cart or the Sunday chaise, are hitched up to bear out the merry loads. Old waggons, whose wheelshave known no other decoration than the mud and clay of rutty roads, arefestooned gaily with cedar wreaths, oak leaves, or the gaudytissue-paper rosettes, and creak joyfully on their mission of lightnessand mirth. On foot, by horse, in waggon or cart, the crowds seek someneighbouring grove, and there the day is given over to laughter, mirth, and song. The children roll and tumble on the sward in the intoxicationof "swing-turn" and "ring-around-a-rosy. " The young women, with manyblushes and shy glances, steal off to quiet nooks with their imploringswains. Some of the elders, anxious to prove that they have not yet lostall their youth and agility, indulge, rather awkwardly perhaps, in theexhausting amusement of the jumping-rope. A few of the more staid walkapart in conversation with some favourite pastor who does not decline totake part in the innocent pleasures and crack ponderous jokes for theedification of his followers. Perhaps some of the more daring areengaged in one of the numerous singing plays, such as "Oh, la, MissBrown, " or "Swing Candy, Two and Two, " but these are generally frownedupon: they are too much like dancing, and time has been when some tooadventurous church-member has been "churched" for engaging in one. 

In such a merrymaking was the community which surrounded the high schoolat Dexter engaged when the incident occurred which opened Fred's eyesto his own state. Both he and Elizabeth had been in the prize ranks thatyear, and their friends had turned out in full and made much of them. Even Eliphalet Hodges was there, with old Bess festooned as gaily as theother horses, and both Miss Prime and Mr. Simpson were in evidence. Theafternoon of the day was somewhat advanced, the dinner had been longover, and the weariness of the people had cast something of a quietusover the hilarity of their sports. They were sitting about in groups, chatting and laughing, while the tireless children were scurrying aboutin games of "tag, " "catcher, " and "hide-and-seek. "

The grove where the festivities were being held was on a hill-side whichsloped gently to the bank of a small, narrow stream, usually dry insummer; but now, still feeling the force of the spring freshets, andswollen by the rain of the day before, it was rushing along at a rapidrate. A fence divided the picnic-ground proper from the sharper slope ofthe rivulet's bank. This fence the young people had been warned not topass, and so no danger was apprehended on account of the stream'soverflowing condition. But the youngsters at Dexter were no moreobedient than others of their age elsewhere. So when a scream arose fromseveral childish voices at the lower part of the hill, everybody knewthat some child had been disobeying, and, pell-mell, the picnickersrushed in the direction of the branch. 

When they reached the nearest point from which they could see thestream, a terrifying sight met their eyes. A girl was struggling in theshallow but swift water. She had evidently stepped on the sloping bankand fallen in. Her young companions were running alongside the rivulet, stretching out their hands helplessly to her, but the current was toostrong, and, try as she would, she could not keep her feet. A cry ofgrief and despair went up from the girls on the bank, as she made onefinal effort and then fell and was carried down by the current. 

Men were leaping the fence now, but a boy who had seen the whole thingfrom a neighbouring hillock was before them. Fred Brent came leapingdown the hill like a young gazelle. He had seen who the unfortunate girlwas, --Elizabeth, --and he had but one desire in his heart, to save her. He reached the bank twenty yards ahead of any one else, and plunged intothe water just in front of her, for she was catching and slipping, clinging and losing hold, but floating surely to her death. He struggledup stream, reached and caught her by the dress. The water tugged at himand tried to throw him over, but he stemmed it, and, lifting her up inhis arms, fought his way manfully to the bank. Up this he faltered, slipping and sliding in the wet clay, and weak with his struggle againstthe strong current. But his face was burning and his blood tingling ashe held the girl close to him till he gave her unconscious form into herfather's arms. 

For the moment all was confusion, as was natural when a preacher'sdaughter was so nearly drowned. The crowd clustered around and gave muchadvice and some restoratives. Some unregenerate, with many apologies andexplanations concerning his possession, produced a flask, and part ofthe whisky was forced down the girl's throat, while her hands and faceand feet were chafed. She opened her eyes at last, and a fervent "ThankGod!" burst from her father's lips and called forth a shower of Amens. 

"I allus carry a little somethin' along, in case of emergencies, "explained the owner of the flask as he returned it to his pocket, with anot altogether happy look at its depleted contents. 

As soon as Fred saw that Elizabeth was safe, he struck away for home, unobserved, and without waiting to hear what the crowd were saying. Heheard people calling his name kindly and admiringly, but it only gavewings to the feet that took him away from them. If he had thrown thegirl in instead of bringing her out, he could not have fled more swiftlyor determinedly away from the eyes of people. Tired and footsore, drenched to the skin and chilled through, he finally reached home. Hewas trembling, he was crying, but he did not know it, and had he known, he could not have told why. He did not change his clothes, but croucheddown in a corner and hid his face in his hands. He dreaded seeing anyone or hearing any person speak his name. He felt painfully conscious ofa new self, which he thought must be apparent to other eyes. 

The accident of the afternoon had cast a gloom over the merrymakings, and, the picnic breaking up abruptly, sent the people scurrying home, so that Miss Prime was at the house not far behind her charge. 

"Freddie, " she called to him as she entered the house, "Freddie, whereair you?" And then she found him. She led him out of the corner andlooked him over with a scrutinising eye. "Freddie Brent, " she saidsolemnly, "you 've jest ruined yore suit. " He was glad. He wanted to bescolded. "But, " she went on, "I don't care ef you have. " And here shebroke down. "You 're a-goin' to have another one, fur you 're a rightsmart boy, that 's all I 've got to say. " For a moment he wanted to layhis head on her breast and give vent to the sob which was choking him. But he had been taught neither tenderness nor confidence, so he chokedback the sob, though his throat felt dry and hot and strained. He stoodsilent and embarrassed until Miss Prime recovered herself and continued:"But la, child, you 'll take yore death o' cold. Git out o' them wetthings an' git into bed, while I make you some hot tea. Fur the life o'me, I never did see sich carryin's-on. "

The boy was not sorry to obey. He was glad to be alone. He drank thewarm tea and tried to go to sleep, but he could not. His mind was onfire. His heart seemed as if it would burst from his bosom. Somethingnew had come to him. He began to understand, and blushed because he didunderstand. It was less discovery than revelation. His forehead was hot. His temples were throbbing. It was well that Miss Prime did not discoverit: she would have given him horehound to cure--thought!

From the moment that the boy held the form of the girl to his heart hewas changed, and she was changed to him. They could never be the same toeach other again. Manhood had come to him in a single instant, and hesaw in her womanhood. He began for the first time to really knowhimself, and it frightened him and made him ashamed. 

He drew the covers over his head and lay awake, startled, surprised atwhat he knew himself and mankind to be. 

To Fred Brent the awakening had come, --early, if we would be prudish;not too early, if we would be truthful. 

CHAPTER VIII

If Fred Brent had needed anything to increase his consciousness of thenew feeling that had come to him, he could not have done better to getit than by going to see Eliphalet Hodges next day. His war of thoughthad gone on all night, and when he rose in the morning he thought thathe looked guilty, and he was afraid that Miss Prime would notice it andread his secret. He wanted rest. He wanted to be secure from any one whowould even suspect what was in his heart. But he wanted to see and totalk to some one. Who better, then, than his old friend?

So he finished his morning's chores and slipped away. He would not passby Elizabeth's house, but went by alleys and lanes until he reached hisdestination. The house looked rather silent and deserted, and Mr. Hodges' old assistant did not seem to be working in the garden as usual. But after some search the boy found his old friend smoking upon the backporch. There was a cloud upon the usually bright features, and the oldman took his pipe from his mouth with a disconsolate sigh as the boycame in sight. 

"I 'm mighty glad you 've come, Freddie, " said he, in a sad voice. "I've been a-wantin' to talk to you all the mornin'. Set down on the sideo' the porch, or git a chair out o' the house, ef you 'd ruther. "

The boy sat down, wondering what could be the matter with his friend, and what he could have to say to him. Surely it must be somethingserious, for the whole tone and manner of his companion indicatedsomething of import. The next remark startled him into sudden suspicion. 

"There 's lots o' things made me think o' lots of other things in thelast couple o' days. You 've grown up kind o' quick like, Freddie, sothat a body 'ain't hardly noticed it, but that ain't no matter. You 'reup or purty nigh it, an' you can understand and appreciate lots o' thethings that you used to could n't. "

Fred sat still, with mystery and embarrassment written on his face. Hewanted to hear more, but he was almost afraid to listen further. 

"I 'ain't watched you so close, mebbe, as I 'd ought to 'a' done, butwhen I seen you yistiddy evenin' holdin' that little girl in yore arms Isaid to myself, I said, ''Liphalet Hodges, Freddie ain't a child nomore; he 's growed up. '" The boy's face was scarlet. Now he was surethat the thoughts of his heart had been surprised, and that this best offriends thought of him as "fresh, " "mannish, " or even wicked. He couldnot bear the thought of it; again the tears rose in his eyes, usually sofree from such evidences of weakness. But the old man went on slowly ina low, half-reminiscent tone, without looking at his auditor to see whateffect his words had had. "Well, that was one of the things that set methinkin'; an' then there was another. " He cleared his throat and pulledhard at his pipe; something made him blink, --dust, or smoke, or tears, perhaps. "Freddie, " he half sobbed out, "old Bess is dead. Pore old Bessdied last night o' colic. I 'm afeared the drive to the picnic was toomuch fur her. "

"Old Bess dead!" cried the boy, grieved and at the same time relieved. "Who would have thought it? Poor old girl! It seems like losing one ofthe family. "

"She was one of the family, " said the old man brokenly. "She was morefaithful than most human beings. " The two stood sadly musing, the boy assad as the man. "Old Bess" was the horse that had taken him for hisfirst ride, that winter morning years before, when the heart of thechild was as cold as the day. Eliphalet Hodges had warmed the littleheart, and, in the years that followed, man, child, and horse had grownnearer to each other in a queer but sympathetic companionship. 

Then, as if recalling his mind from painful reflections, the elder manspoke again. "But it ain't no use a-worryin' over what can't be helped. We was both fond o' old Bess, an' I know you feel as bad about losin'her as I do. But I 'm a-goin' to give her a decent burial, sich as aChristian ought to have; fur, while the old mare was n't no perfessor, she lived the life, an' that 's more 'n most perfessors do. Yes, sir, I'm a-goin' to have her buried: no glue-man fur me. I reckon you 'rea-wantin' to know how old Bess dyin' an' yore a-savin' 'Lizabeth couldrun into each other in my mind; but they did. Fur, as I see you standin'there a-holdin' the little girl, it come to me sudden like, 'Freddie 'sgrown now, an' he 'll be havin' a girl of his own purty soon, ef he'ain't got one now. Mebbe it 'll be 'Lizabeth. '" The old man paused fora moment; his eyes rested on the boy's fiery face. "Tut, tut, " heresumed, "you ain't ashamed, air you? Well, what air you a-gittin' sored fur? Havin' a girl ain't nothin' to be ashamed of, or skeered aboutneither. Most people have girls one time or another, an' I don't know ofnothin' that 'll make a boy or a young man go straighter than to knowthat his girl's eyes air upon him. Don't be ashamed at all. "

Fred still blushed, but he felt better, and his face lightened over thekindly words. 

"I did n't finish tellin' you, though, what I started on. I got tothinkin' yesterday about my young days, when I had a girl, an' how Iused to ride back an' forth on the pore old horse right into this townto see her; an' as I drove home from the picnic I talked to the old nagabout it, an' she whisked her tail an' laid back her ears, jest like sheremembered it all. It was on old Bess that I rode away from my girl'shouse after her first 'no' to me, an' it seemed then that the animalsympathised with me, fur she drooped along an' held down her head jestlike I was a-doin'. Many a time after that we rode off that waytogether, fur the girl was set in her ways, an' though she confessed toa hankerin' fur me, she wanted to be independent. I think her father putthe idee into her head, fur he was a hard man, an' she was his all, hiswife bein' dead. After a while we stopped talkin' about the matter, an'I jest went an' come as a friend. I only popped the question once more, an' that was when her father died an' she was left all alone. 

"It was a summer day, warm an' cheerful like this, only it was evenin', an' we was a-settin' out on her front garden walk. She was a-knittin', an' I was a-whippin' the groun' with a switch that I had brought alongto touch Bess up with now an' then. I had hitched her out front, an' shekep' a-turnin' her eyes over the fence as ef she was as anxious as Iwas, an' that was mighty anxious. Fin'ly I got the question out, an' thegirl went all red in a minute: she had been jest a purty pink before. Her knittin' fell in her lap. Fust she started to answer, then shestopped an' her eyes filled up. I seen she was a-weak'nin', so I thoughtI 'd push the matter. 'Come, ' says I, gentle like, an' edgin' near upto her, 'give me my answer. I been waitin' a long time fur a yes. ' Withthat she grabbed knittin', apron, an' all, an' put 'em to her eyes an'rushed into the house. I knowed she 'd gone in to have a good cry an'settle her nerves, fur that 's the way all women-folks does: so I knowedit was no use to bother her until it was done. So I walks out to thefence, an', throwin' an arm over old Bess's back, I told her all aboutit, jest as I 'm a-tellin' you, she a-lookin' at me with her big meltin'eyes an' whinnyin' soft like. 

"After a little while the girl come out. She was herself ag'in, butthere was a look in her face that turned my heart stone-cold. Her voicesounded kind o' sharp as she said, ''Liphalet, I 've been a-thinkin'over what you said. I 'm only a woman, an' I come purty near bein' aweak one; but I 'm all right now. I don't mind tellin' you that ef I wasever goin' to marry, you 'd be my choice, but I ain't a-goin' to have myfather's sperrit a-thinkin' that I took advantage of his death to marryyou. Good-bye, 'Liphalet. ' She held out her hand to me, an' I took it. 'Come an' see me sometimes, ' she said. I could n't answer, so I went outand got on old Bess an' we jogged away. It was an awful disappointment, but I thought I would wait an' let my girl come aroun', fur sometimesthey do, --in fact mostly; but she has never give me a sign to make methink that she has. That was twenty years ago, an' I 've been waitin'faithful ever sence. But it seems like she was different from mostwomen, an' 'specially good on holdin' out. People that was babies thenhave growed up an' married. An' now the old companion that has been withme through all this waitin' has left me. I know what it means. It meansthat I 'm old, that years have been wasted, that chances have been lost. But you have taught me my lesson, Bess. Dear old Bess, even in yore lasthours you did me a service, an' you, Freddie, you have given me thestren'th that I had twenty years ago, an' I 'm a-goin' to try to savewhat remains of my life. I never felt how alone I was until now. " He wasgreatly agitated. He rose and grasped the boy's arm. "Come, Freddie, " hesaid; "come on. I 'm a-goin' ag'in to ask Miss Prime to be my wife. "

"Miss Prime!" exclaimed Fred, aghast. 

"Miss Prime was my sweetheart, Freddie, thirty years ago, jest like'Lizabeth is yor'n now. Come along. "

The two set out, Hodges stepping with impatient alacrity, and the boytoo astounded to speak. 

It was a beautiful morning at the end of June. The sense of spring'sreviving influence had not yet given way to the full languor andsensuousness of summer. The wind was soft and warm and fragrant. The airwas full of the song of birds and the low droning of early bees. Theriver that flowed between the green hills and down through Dexter waslike a pane of wrinkled glass, letting light and joy even into theregions below. Over the streets and meadows and hills lay a half haze, like a veil over the too dazzling beauty of an Eastern princess. The humof business--for in the passing years Dexter had grown busy--the roar oftraffic in the streets, all melted into a confused and intoxicatingmurmur as the pedestrians passed into the residence portion of the townto the cottage where Miss Prime still lived. The garden was as prim asever, the walks as straight and well kept. The inevitable white curtainswere fluttering freshly from the window, over which a huge matrimonyvine drooped lazily and rung its pink and white bells to invite thepassing bees. 

Eliphalet paused at the gate and heaved a deep sigh. So much dependedupon the issue of his present visit. The stream of his life had beenflowing so smoothly before. Now if its tranquillity were disturbed itnever could be stilled again. Did he dare to risk so much upon sohazardous a chance? Were it not better to go back home, back to his oldhabits and his old ease, without knowing his fate? That would at leastleave him the pleasure of speculating. He might delude himself with thehope that some day--He faltered. His hand was on the gate, but his facewas turned back towards the way he had come. Should he enter, or shouldhe go back? Fate decided for him, for at this juncture the door opened, and Miss Hester appeared in the doorway and called out, "Do come in, 'Liphalet. What air you a-standin' out there so long a-studyin' about, fur all the world like a bashful boy?"

The shot told. He was a bashful boy again, going fearfully, tremblingly, lovingly, to see the girl of his heart; but there was no old Bess towhinny encouragement to him from over the little fence. If he blushed, even the scrutinising eyes of Miss Prime did not see it, for the bronzelaid on his face by summers and winters of exposure; but he felt the hotblood rush up to his face and neck, and the perspiration breaking out onhis brow. He paused long enough to mop his face, and then, saying toFred, in a low tone, "You stay in the garden, my boy, until it 's allover, " he opened the gate and entered in the manner of one who leads aforlorn hope through forest aisles where an ambush is suspected. Thedoor closed behind him. Interested, excited, wondering and fearing, doubting and hoping, Fred remained in the garden. There were but twothoughts in his head, and they were so new and large that his poor boy'scranium had room for no more. They ran in this wise: "Miss Prime isUncle 'Liphalet's girl, and Elizabeth is mine. "

Within, Miss Prime was talking on in her usual decided fashion, whilethe man sat upon the edge of his chair and wondered how he could breakin upon the stream of her talk and say what was in his heart. At lastthe lady exclaimed, "I do declare, 'Liphalet, what kin be the matterwith you? You 'ain't said ten words sence you 've been a-settin' there. I hope you 'ain't talked yoreself entirely out with Fred. It does beatall how you an' that boy seem to grow thicker an' thicker every day. One'ud think fur all the world that you told him all yore secrets, an' wasafeared he 'd tell 'em, by the way you stick by him; an' he 's jest asbad about you. It 's amazin'. "

"Freddie 's a wonderful good boy, an' he 's smart, too. They ain't noneof 'em a-goin' to throw dust in his eyes in the race of life. "

"I 'm shore I 've tried to do my dooty by him the very best I could, an'ef he does amount to anything in this world it 'll be through hardlabour an' mighty careful watchin'. " Miss Hester gave a sigh that wasmeant to be full of solemnity, but that positively reeked withself-satisfaction. 

"But as you say, 'Liphalet, " she went on, "Fred ain't the worst boy inthe world, nor the dumbest neither, ef I do say it myself. I ain'ta-sayin', mind you, that he 's anything so great or wonderful; but I 'vegot to thinkin' that there 's somethin' in him besides original sin, an'I should feel that the Lord had been mighty favourin' to me ef I couldmanage to draw it out. The fact of it is, 'Liphalet, I 've took anotion in my head about Fred, an' I 'm a-goin' to tell you what it is. I've decided to make a preacher out o' him. "

"H'm--ah--well, Miss Hester, don't you think you 'd better let the Lorddo that?"

"Nonsense, 'Liphalet! you 'ain't got no insight at all. I believe inpeople a-doin' their part an' not a-shovin' everything off on the Lord. The shiftless don't want nothin' better than to say that they will leavethe Lord to take care o' things, an' then fold their arms an' set downan' let things go to the devil. Remember, Brother Hodges, I don't meanthat in a perfane way. But then, because God made the sunlight an' therain, it ain't no sign that we should n't prune the vine. "

Miss Hester's face had flushed up with the animation of her talk, andher eyes were sparkling with excitement. 

Eliphalet looked at her, and his heart leaped. He felt that the time hadcome to speak. 

"Miss Hester, " he began, and the hat in his hand went round and roundnervously. 

"'Liphalet, fur goodness' sake do lay yore hat on the table. You 'llruin the band of it, an' you make me as nervous as a cat. "

He felt a little dampened after this, but he laid down the offending hatand began again. "I 've been thinkin' some myself, Miss Hester, an' it's been about you. "

"About me? La, 'Liphalet, what have you been a-thinkin' now?" The "now"sounded as if his thoughts were usually rather irresponsible. 

"It was about you an'--an'--old Bess. "

"About me an' old Bess! Bless my soul, man, will you stop beatin' aboutthe bush an' tell me what on airth I 've got to do with yore horse?"

"Old Bess is dead, Miss Hester; died last night o' colic. "

"Well, I thought there was somethin' the matter with you. I 'm mightysorry to hear about the poor old creatur; but she 'd served you a longwhile. "

"That 's jest what set me a-thinkin': she has served me a long while, an' now she 's dead. Do you know what that means, Miss Hester? It meansthat we 're a-gittin' old, you an' me. Do you know when I got old Bess?It was nigh thirty years ago: I used to ride her up to this door an'tie her to that tree out there: it was a saplin' then. An' now she 'sdead. "

The man's voice trembled, and his listener was strangely silent. 

"You know on what errands the old horse used to bring me, " he went on, "but it was n't to be, --then. Hester, " he rose, went over to her, andlooked down into her half-averted face, which went red and pale byturns, --"Hester, 'ain't we wasted time enough?"

There was a long pause before she lifted her face: he stood watching herwith the light of a great eagerness in his eyes. At last she spoke. There was a catch in her voice; it was softer than usual. 

"'Liphalet, " she began, "I 'm right glad you remember those days. I'ain't never furgot 'em myself. It 's true you 've been a good, loyalfriend to me, an' I thank you fur it, but, after all these years--"

He broke in upon her with something like youthful impetuosity. "Afterall these years, " he exclaimed, "an endurin' love ought to be rewarded. Hester, I ain't a-goin' to take 'no' fur an answer. I 've got lots o'years o' life in me yet, --we both have, --an' I ain't a-goin' on with anempty home an' an empty heart no longer. "

"'Liphalet, you ain't a young man no more, an' I ain't a young woman, an' the Lord--"

"I don't care ef I ain't; an' I don't believe in shovin' everything offon the Lord. "

"'Liphalet!" It was a reproach. 

"Hester!" This was love. He put his arm around her and kissed her. "You're a-goin' to say yes, ain't you? You ain't a-goin' to send me awaymiserable? You 're a-dyin' to say yes, but you 're a-tryin' to forceyoreself not to. Don't. " He lifted her face as a young lover might, andlooked down into her eyes. "Is it yes?"

"Well, 'Liphalet it 'pears like you 're jest so pesterin' that I 've gotto say yes. Yes, then. " And she returned the quiet but jubilant kissthat he laid upon her lips. 

"After all these years, " he said. "Sorrow may last fur a night, but joycometh in the mornin'. It was a long night, but, thank the Lord, mornin''s broke. " Then, rising, he went to the door and called joyously, "Freddie, come on in: it 's all over. "

"'Liphalet, did that boy know what you was a-goin' to say?"

"Yes, o' course he did. "

"Oh, my! oh, my! Well, I 've got a good mind to take it all back. Oh, my!" And when Fred came in, for the first time in her life Miss Primewas abashed and confused in his presence. 

But Eliphalet had no thought of shame. He took her by the hand and said, "Freddie, Miss Hester's consented at last: after thirty years, she 'sa-goin' to marry me. "

But Miss Hester broke in, "'Liphalet, don't be a-puttin' notions in thatboy's head. You go 'way, Fred, right away. "

Fred went out, but he felt bolder. He went past Elizabeth's housewhistling. He did n't care. He wondered if he would have to wait thirtyyears for her. He hoped not. 

CHAPTER IX

So great has been our absorption in the careers of Fred Brent, MissPrime, and Eliphalet Hodges that we have sadly neglected some of thecharacters whose acquaintance we made at the beginning of our story. Butnature and Time have been kinder, --or more cruel, if you will. They haveneither passed over nor neglected them. They have combined with troubleand hard work to kill one of Fred's earliest friends. Melissa Davis isno more, and the oldest girl, Sophy, supplements her day's work ofsaleswoman in a dry-goods store by getting supper in the evening andmaking the younger Davises step around. Mrs. Warren, the sometime friendof Margaret Brent and enemy of Miss Prime, has moved farther out, intothe suburbs, for Dexter has suburbs now, and boasts electric cars andamusement parks. Time has done much for the town. Its streets are paved, and the mean street that bore the tumble-down Brent cottage and itsfellows has been built up and grown respectable. It and the street whereMiss Prime's cottage frowned down have settled away into a quietresidential portion of the town, while around to the east, south, andwest, and on both sides of the little river that divides the city, roarsand surges the traffic of a characteristic middle-West town. Half-way upthe hill, where the few aristocrats of the place formerly lived inalmost royal luxuriance and seclusion, a busy sewing-machine factory hasforced its way, and with its numerous chimneys and stacks literallysmoked the occupants out; at their very gates it sits like the commanderof a besieging army, and about it cluster the cottages of the workmen, in military regularity. Little and neat and trim, they flock there likethe commander's obedient host, and such they are, for the sight of themoffends the eyes of wealth. So, what with the smoke, and what with theproximity of the poorer classes, wealth capitulates, evacuates, and, with robes discreetly held aside, passes by to another quarter, and anew district is born where poverty dare not penetrate. Seated on a hill, where, as is their inclination, they may look down, literally andfiguratively, upon the hurrying town, they are complacent again, andthe new-comers to the town, the new-rich magnates and the half-richstrugglers who would be counted on the higher level, move up and swelltheir numbers at Dexter View. 

Amid all this change, two alone of those we know remain unaltered andunalterable, true to their traditions. Mrs. Smith and Mrs. Martin, thetwo ancient gossips, still live side by side, spying and commenting onall that falls within their ken, much as they did on that day when'Liphalet Hodges took Fred Brent for his first drive behind old Bess. Their windows still open out in the same old way, whence they can watchthe happenings of the street. If there has been any change in them atall, it is that they have grown more absorbed and more keen in followingand dissecting their neighbours' affairs. 

It is to these two worthies, then, that we wish to reintroduce thereader on an early autumn evening some three months after the eventsnarrated in the last chapter. 

Mrs. Martin went to her back fence, which was the nearest point ofcommunication between her and her neighbour. "Mis' Smith, " she called, and her confederate came hurrying to the door, thimble on and a bit ofsewing clutched precariously in her apron, just as she had caught it upwhen the significant call brought her to the back door. 

"Oh, you 're busy as usual, I see, " said Mrs. Martin. 

"It ain't nothin' partic'ler, only a bit o' bastin' that I was doin'. "

"You ain't a-workin' on the machine, then, so you might bring yoursewin' over and take a cup o' tea with me. "

"La! now that 's so kind o' you, Mis' Martin. I was jest thinkin' howgood a cup o' tea would taste, but I did n't want to stop to make it. I'll be over in a minute, jest as soon as I see if my front door islocked. " And she disappeared within the house, while Mrs. Martinreturned to her own sitting-room. 

The invited knew very well what the invitation to tea meant. She knewthat some fresh piece of news was to be related and discussed. Thebeverage of which she was invited to partake was but a pretext, butneither the one nor the other admitted as much. Each understoodperfectly, as by a tacit agreement, and each tried to deceive herselfand the other as to motives and objects. 

There is some subtle tie between tea-drinking and gossip. It is overtheir dainty cups that women dissect us men and damn their sisters. Someof the quality of the lemon they take in their tea gets into theirtongues. Tea is to talk what dew is to a plant, a gentle nourishinginfluence, which gives to its product much of its own quality. There aretwo acids in the tea which cultured women take. There is only one in thebeverage brewed by commonplace people. But that is enough. 

Mrs. Martin had taken her tray into the sitting-room, where a slightfire was burning in the prim "parlour cook, " on which the hot water wasstriving to keep its quality when Mrs. Smith came in. 

"La, Mis' Martin, you do manage to have everything so cosy. I 'm shore alittle fire in a settin'-room don't feel bad these days. "

"I jest thought I 'd have to have a fire, " replied Mrs. Martin, "fur Iwas feelin' right down chilly, though goodness knows a person does burnenough coal in winter, without throwin' it away in these early falldays. "

"Well, the Lord 's put it here fur our comfort, an' I think we 'rea-doin' His will when we make use o' the good things He gives us. "

"Ah, but Mis' Smith, there 's too many people that goes about the worldthinkin' that they know jest what the Lord's will is; but I have mydoubts about 'em, though, mind you, I ain't a-mentionin' no names: 'noname, no blame. '" Mrs. Martin pressed her lips and shook her head, acombination of gestures that was eloquent with meaning. It was too muchfor her companion. Her curiosity got the better of her caution. 

"Dear me!" she exclaimed. "What is it _now_?"

"Oh, nothin' of any consequence at all. It ain't fur me to be a-judgin'my neighbours or a-talkin' about 'em. I jest thought I 'd have you overto tea, you 're sich good company. "

Mrs. Smith was so impatient that she had forgotten her sewing and it layneglected in her lap, but in no other way did she again betray heranxiety. She knew that there was something new to be told and that itwould be told all in good time. But when gossip has become a fine art itmust be conducted with dignity and precision. 

"Let me see, I believe you take two lumps o' sugar an' no milk. " Mrs. Martin knew perfectly what her friend took. "I don't know how this teais. I got it from the new grocery over at the corner. " She tasted itdeliberately. "It might 'a' drawed a little more. " Slowly she stirred itround and round, and then, as if she had drawn the truth from the depthsof her cup, she observed, "This is a queer world, Mis' Smith. "

Mrs. Smith sighed a sigh that was appreciative and questioning at once. "It is indeed, " she echoed; "I 'm always a-sayin' to myself what amighty cur'us world this is. "

"Have you ever got any tea from that new grocery-man?" asked hercompanion, with tantalising irrelevance. 

"No: I hain't never even been in there. "

"Well, this here 's middlin' good; don't you think so?"

"Oh, it 's more than middlin', it 's downright good. I think I must gointo that grocery some time, myself. "

"I was in there to-day, and met Mis' Murphy: she says there 's greatgoin'-ons up at Miss Prime's--I never shall be able to call her Mis'Hodges. "

"You don't tell me! She and Brother 'Liphalet 'ain't had a fallin' outalready, have they? Though what more could you expect?"

"Oh, no, indeed. It ain't no fallin' out, nothin' o' the kind. "

"Well, what then? What has Miss Hester--I mean Mis' Hodges been doin'now? Where will that woman stop? What 's she done?"

"Well, you see, --do have another cup of tea, an' help yoreself to thatbread an' butter, --you see, Freddie Brent has finished at the highschool, an' they 've been wonderin' what to make him. "

"Well, what air they a-goin' to make him? His father was a goodstone-mason, when he was anything. "

"Humph! you don't suppose Miss Hester 's been sendin' a boy to school tolearn Latin and Greek an' algebry an' sich, to be a stone-mason, do you?Huh uh! Said I to myself, as soon as I see her sendin' him from thecommon school to high school, says I, 'She 's got big notions in herhead. ' Oh, no; the father's trade was not good enough fur her boy: sothinks Mis' 'Liphalet Hodges. "

"Well, what on airth is she goin' to make out of him, then?"

"Please pass me that sugar: thank you. You know Mr. Daniels offered hima place as clerk in the same store where Sophy Davis is. It was mightykind o' Mr. Daniels, I think, to offer him the job. "

"Well, did n't he take it?"

"Well, partly he did an' partly he did n't, ef you can understand that. "

"Sally Martin, what do you mean? A body has to fairly pick a thing outo' you. "

"I mean that she told Mr. Daniels he might work fur him half of everyday. "

"Half a day! An' what 's he goin' to do the other half?"

"He 's a-goin' to the Bible Seminary the other half-day. She 's a-goin'to make a preacher out o' him. "

Mrs. Martin had slowly and tortuously worked up to her climax, and sheshot forth the last sentence with a jubilant ring. She had wellcalculated its effects. Sitting back in her chair, she supped her teacomplacently as she contemplated her companion's astonishment. Mrs. Smith had completely collapsed into her seat, folded her arms, andclosed her eyes. "Laws a massy!" she exclaimed. "What next? Old Tom, drunken Tom, swearin' an' ravin' Tom Brent's boy a preacher!" Thensuddenly she opened her eyes and sat up very erect and alert as shebroke forth, "Sally Martin, what air you a-tellin' me? It ain'tpossible. It 's ag'in' nature. A panther's cub ain't a-goin' to be alamb. It 's downright wicked, that 's what I say. "

"An' so says I to Mis' Murphy, them same identical words; says I, 'Mis'Murphy, it 's downright wicked. It 's a-shamin' of the Lord's holycallin' o' the ministry. '"

"An' does the young scamp pertend to 'a' had a call?"

"No, indeed: he was mighty opposed to it, and so was her husband; butthat woman was so set she would n't agree to nothin' else. He don'tpertend to 'a' heerd no call, 'ceptin' Miss Hester's, an' that was acommand. I know it 's all true, fur Mis' Murphy, while she was n't jesta-listenin', lives next door and heerd it all. "

And so the two women fell to discussing the question, as they had heardit, pro and con. It was all true, as these gossips had it, that MissHester had put into execution her half-expressed determination to makea preacher of Fred. He had heard nothing of it until the day when herushed in elated over the kindly offer of a place in Mr. Daniels'sstore. Then his guardian had firmly told him of her plan, and there wasa scene. 

"You kin jest tell Mr. Daniels that you kin work for him half a dayevery day, an' that you 're a-goin' to put in the rest of your time atthe Bible Seminary. I 've made all the arrangements. "

"But I don't want to be a preacher, " the boy had retorted, with someheat. "I 'd a good deal rather learn business, and some day start outfor myself. "

"It ain't what some of us wants to do in this life; it 's what the Lordappoints us to; an' it 's wicked fur you to rebel. "

"I don't know how you can know so much what the Lord means for me to do. I should think He would give His messages to those who are to do thework. "

"That 's right, Freddie Brent, sass me, sass me. That 's what I 'vestruggled all the best days of my life to raise you fur. "

"I 'm not sassing you, but--"

"Don't you think, Hester, " broke in her husband, "that mebbe there 'ssome truth in what Freddie says? Don't you think the Lord kind o'whispers what He wants people to do in their own ears? Mebbe it was n'tnever intended fur Freddie to be a preacher: there 's other ways o'doin' good besides a-talkin' from the pulpit. "

"I 'd be bound fur you, 'Liphalet: it 's a shame, you a-goin' ag'in' me, after all I 've done to make Freddie material fit for the Lord's use. Jest think what you 'll have to answer fur, a-helpin' this unruly boy toshirk his dooty. "

"I ain't a-goin' ag'in' you, Hester. You 're my wife, an' I 'low 'atyour jedgment 's purty sound on most things. I ain't a-goin' ag'in' youat all, but--but--I was jest a-wonderin'. "

The old man brought out the last words slowly, meditatively. He was"jest a-wonderin'. " His wife, though, never wondered. 

"Mind you, " she went on, "I say to you, Freddie, and to yore uncle'Liphalet too, ef he upholds you, that it ain't me you 're a-rebellin'against. It 's yore dooty an' the will o' God that you 're a-fightin'. It 's easy enough to rebel against man; but do you know what you 'rea-doin' when you set yourself up against the Almighty? Do you want to dothat?"

"Yes, " came the boy's answer like a flash. He was stung and irritatedinto revolt, and a torrent of words poured from his lips unrestrained. "I 'm tired of doing right. I 'm tired of being good. I 'm tired ofobeying God--"

"Freddie!" But over the dam the water was flowing with irresistibleforce. The horror of his guardian's face and the terrible reproach inher voice could not check the boy. 

"Everything, " he continued, "that I have ever wanted to do since I canremember has been bad, or against my duty, or displeasing to God. Whydoes He frown on everything I want to do? Why do we always have to bekilling our wishes on account of duty? I don't believe it. I hate duty. I hate obedience. I hate everything, and I won't obey--"

"Freddie, be keerful: don't say anything that 'll hurt after yore madspell 's over. Don't blaspheme the Lord A'mighty. "

'Liphalet Hodges' voice was cool and tender and persuasive. He laid hishand on the boy's shoulder, while his wife sat there motionless, whiteand rigid with horror. 

The old man's words and his gentle touch had a wonderful effect on theboy; they checked his impassioned outburst; but his pent-up heart wastoo full. He burst into tears and rushed headlong from the house. 

For a time he walked aimlessly on, his mind in a tumult of rage. Then hebegan to come to himself. He saw the people as they passed him. He hadeyes again for the street, and he wondered where he was going. He feltan overwhelming desire to talk to some one and to get sympathy, consolation, and perhaps support. But whither should he turn? If'Liphalet Hodges had been at the old house, his steps would naturallyhave bent in that direction; but this refuge was no longer his. Then hismind began going over the people whom he knew, and no name so stuck inhis fancy as that of Elizabeth. It was a hard struggle. He was bashful. Any other time he would not have done it, but now his great need createdin him an intense desperation that made him bold. He turned and retracedhis steps toward the Simpson house. 

Elizabeth was leaning over the gate. The autumn evening was cool: shehad a thin shawl about her shoulders. She was humming a song as Fredcame up. His own agitation made her seem irritatingly calm. She openedthe gate and made room for him at her side. 

"You seem dreadfully warm, " she said, "and here I was getting ready togo in because it is so cool. "

"I 've been walking very fast, " he answered, hesitatingly. 

"Don't you think you 'd better go in, so as not to take cold?"

"Oh, I don't care if I do take cold. " The speech sounded rude. Elizabethlooked at him in surprise. 

"What 's the matter with you?" she asked. 

"I 'm mad; that 's what 's the matter. "

"Oh, Fred, you should n't get mad: you know it 's wrong. "

He put up his hand as if she had struck him. "Wrong! wrong! It seems Ican't hear anything else but that word. Everything is wrong. Don't sayany more about it. I don't want to hear the word again. "

Elizabeth did not know what to make of his words, so she said nothing, and for a while they stood in strained silence. After a while he said, "Aunt Hester wants me to be a preacher. "

"I am so glad to hear that, " she returned. "I think you 'll make a goodone. "

"You too!" he exclaimed, resentfully. "Why should I make a good one?Why need I be one at all?"

"Oh, because you 're smart, and then you 've always been good. "

The young man was suddenly filled with disdain. His anger returned. Hefelt how utterly out of accord he was with every one else. "Don't youthink there is anything else required besides being 'smart' and 'good'?"He himself would have blushed at the tone in which he said this, couldhe have recognised it. "I 'm smart because I happened to pass all myexaminations. I got through the high school at eighteen: nearly everyonedoes the same. I 'm good because I have never had a chance to be bad: Ihave never been out of Aunt Hester's sight long enough. Anybody could begood that way. "

"But then older people know what is best for us, Fred. "

"Why should they? They don't know what 's beating inside of us away downhere. " The boy struck his breast fiercely. "I don't believe they do knowhalf the time what is best, and I don't believe that God intends them toknow. "

"I would n't talk about it, if I were you. I must go in. Won't you comein with me?"

"Not to-night, " he replied. "I must be off. "

"But papa might give you some advice. "

"I 've had too much of it now. What I want is room to breathe in once. "

"I don't understand you. "

"I know you don't; nobody does, or tries to. Go in, Lizzie, " he saidmore calmly. "I don't want you to catch cold, even if I do. Good-night. "And he turned away. 

The girl stood for a moment looking after him; her eye was moist. Thenshe pouted, "Fred 's real cross to-night, " and went in. 

It is one of the glaring sarcasms of life to see with what complacency ashallow woman skims the surface of tragedy and thinks that she hassounded the depths. 

Fred continued his walk towards home. He was thinking. It ran in himthat Elizabeth was a good deal of a fool; and then he felt horrifiedwith himself for thinking it. It did not occur to him that the hardconditions through which he had come had made him mentally andspiritually older than the girl. He was thinking of his position, howperfectly alone he stood. Most of the people whom he knew would see onlyblind obstinacy in his refusal to be a minister. But were one'sinclinations nothing? Was there really nothing in the "call" to preach?So he pondered as he walked, and more and more the hopelessness of hispredicament became revealed to him. All his life had been moulded bythis one woman's hands. Would not revolt now say to the world, "I amgrown now; I do not need this woman who has toiled. I can disobey herwith impunity; I will do so. "

He went home, and before going in leaned his head long upon the gate andthought. A listless calm had succeeded his storm of passion. He went inand to bed. 

At breakfast he seemed almost cheerful, while Mr. Hodges was subdued. His wife had taken refuge in an attitude of injured silence. 

"Aunt Hester, " said the young man, apparently without effort, "I waswrong yesterday; I am sorry. I will do whatever you say, even to being apreacher. " Something came up in his throat and choked him as he saw abrightness come into the face and eyes of his beloved "Uncle 'Liph, " butit grew hard and bitter there as Mrs. Hodges replied, "Well, I 'm gladthe Lord has showed you the errors of your way an' brought you around toa sense o' your dooty to Him an' to me. "

Poor, blind, conceited humanity! Interpreters of God, indeed! We reducethe Deity to vulgar fractions. We place our own little ambitions andinclinations before a shrine, and label them "divine messages. " We setup our Delphian tripod, and we are the priest and oracles. We despisethe plans of Nature's Ruler and substitute our own. With our short sightwe affect to take a comprehensive view of eternity. Our horizon is theuniverse. We spy on the Divine and try to surprise His secrets, or tosneak into His confidence by stealth. We make God the eternal a puppet. We measure infinity with a foot-rule. 

CHAPTER X

When Fate is fighting with all her might against a human soul, thegreatest victory that the soul can win is to reconcile itself to theunpleasant, which is never quite so unpleasant afterwards. Upon thisprinciple Frederick Brent acted instinctively. What with work and studyand contact with his fellow-students, he found the seminary not so bad aplace, after all. Indeed, he began to take a sort of pleasure in hispursuits. The spirit of healthy competition in the school whetted hismind and made him forgetful of many annoyances from without. When somefellow-salesman at the store gibed at him for being a parson, it hurthim; but the wound was healed and he was compensated when in debate hetriumphed over the crack speaker of his class. It was a part of histraining to do earnestly and thoroughly what he had to do, even thoughit was distasteful, and it was not long before he was spoken of as oneof the most promising members of the school. 

Notwithstanding its steady growth toward citydom, Dexter retained manyof the traditions of its earlier and smaller days. Among them was thatof making the church the centre of its social and public life. For thisreason the young student came in for much attention on account of hisstanding in the religious college. Another cause which elicited thepraise and congratulations of his friends was his extreme youth. Thatcommunity which could send out a "boy preacher" always deemed itselfparticularly favoured by Providence. Dexter was no exception, and it hadalready begun to bestow the appellation upon young Brent, much to hisdisgust. He knew the species and detested it. It was mostly composed ofignorant and hypocritical young prigs, in whom their friends had seemedto see some especial merit and had forthwith hoisted them into aposition that was as foolish as it was distasteful. They were hailed asyouthful prodigies and exploited around the country like a patentmedicine or a side-show. What is remarkable at eighteen is not sostriking at twenty-eight. So when their extreme youth was no longer acause for surprise, the boy preachers settled down into every-daydulness, with nothing except the memory of a flimsy fame to compensatethe congregations they bored. 

Against this Frederick Brent fought with all his strength. He refusedinvitation after invitation to "talk" or "exhort, " on the plea that hewished to be fully prepared for his work before entering upon it. 

But his success at school militated against him, for the fame of hisoratorical powers was gradually but surely leaking out. The facultyrecognised and commended it, so he could not hope long to hide behindhis plea, although he dreaded the day when it would no longer serve hispurpose. 

Some of the "older heads" accused him of an unwarranted fear, ofcowardice even, and an attempt to shirk his evident duty. The truth ofit was that these same people wanted to hear him and then attack hismanner or his doctrine. They could not, would not forget that he was theson of old Tom Brent, the drunkard, and of the terrible, the unspeakableMargaret, his wife. They could not forget that he was born and lived thefirst years of his life on the "mean" street, when it was a meanstreet; and when any obstinate old fossil was told of the youth'spromise, he would shake his head, as who should say, "What good can comeout of that Nazareth?"

But the young man went his way and heeded them not. He knew what theywere saying. He knew what they were thinking, even when they held hishand and smiled upon him, and it filled him with a spirit of distrustand resentment, though it put him bravely on his mettle. While he was aman, and in the main manly, sometimes he was roused to an anger almostchildish; then, although he did not want to be a preacher at all, hewished and even prayed to become a great one, just to convince the oldfools who shook their heads over him. To his ears had crept, as suchtales will creep, some of the stories of his parents' lives, and, whilehe pitied his mother, there was a great fierceness in his heart againsthis father. 

But as in the old days when Miss Prime's discipline would have turnedall within him to hardness and bitterness Eliphalet Hodges stood betweenhim and despair, so now in this crucial time Elizabeth was a softeninginfluence in his life. 

As the days came and went, he had continued to go to see her ever sincethe night when he had stood with her at the gate and felt the bitternessof her lack of sympathy; but all that had passed now, and unconsciouslythey had grown nearer to each other. There had been a tacitunderstanding between them until just a few weeks before. It was on awarm spring evening: he had just passed through her gate and startedtowards the house, when the opening chords of the piano struck on hisear through the opened window and arrested him. Elizabeth had a pleasantlittle voice, with a good deal of natural pathos in it. As theminister's daughter, the scope of her songs was properly, according toDexter, rather limited, but that evening she was singing softly toherself a love-song. The words were these:

 If Death should claim me for her own to-day, And softly I should falter from your side, Oh, tell me, loved one, would my memory stay, And would my image in your heart abide? Or should I be as some forgotten dream, That lives its little space, then fades entire? Should Time send o'er you its relentless stream, To cool your heart, and quench for aye love's fire?

 I would not for the world, love, give you pain, Or ever compass what would cause you grief; And oh, how well I know that tears are vain! But love is sweet, my dear, and life is brief; So, if some day before you I should go Beyond the sound and sight of song and sea, 'T would give my spirit stronger wings to know That you remembered still and wept for me. 

She was alone in the room. The song was hardly finished when Brentstepped through the window and laid his hand over hers where they restedon the keys. 

"Why do you sing like that, Elizabeth?" he said, tremulously. 

She blushed and lowered her eyes beneath his gaze, as if she alreadyknew the words that were on his lips, or feared that her soul lay toobare before him. 

"Why do you think of death?" he asked again, imprisoning her hands. 

"It was only my mood, " she faltered. "I was thinking, and I thought ofthe song, and I just sang it. "

"Were you thinking of any one in particular, Lizzie?"

Her head drooped lower until her face was hidden, but she did notanswer. A strange boldness had come to him. He went on: "I listened asyou were singing, and it seemed as if every word was meant for me, Lizzie. It may sound foolish, but I--I love you. Won't you look at meand tell me that I am right in thinking you love me?" She half raisedher face to his and murmured one word. In it were volumes; he bent downand kissed her. It was the first time he had ever kissed a girl. He didit almost fearfully. It was a kiss in which reverence struggled withpassion. 

"You are to be my little sweetheart now, and I am to be in your thoughtshereafter when you sing; only we don't want any more such songs as thisone. I don't want to 'remember still and weep for you, ' I want to haveyou always by me and work for you. Won't you let me?"

Elizabeth found her tongue for a moment only, but that was enough forher lover. A happy light gleamed in his eyes: his face glowed. He wastransfigured. Love does so much for a man. 

From that time forward, when he was harassed by cares and trouble, hesought out Elizabeth, and, even though he could seldom tell her all thatwas in his heart, he found relief in her presence. He did not oftenspeak of his trials to her, for, in spite of his love for her, he feltthat she could not understand; but the pleasure he found in her companyput sweetness into his life and made his burdens easier to bear. 

Only once had a little shadow come between them, and the fact that solittle a thing could have made a shadow shows in what a narrow, constrained atmosphere the two young people lived. Young Brent still hadhis half-day position in the store, and when the employees of a rivalestablishment challenged Daniels's clerks to a game of baseball, he wasduly chosen as one of the men to uphold the honour of their house uponthe diamond. 

The young man was not fossilised. He had strength and the capacity forenjoyment, so he accepted without a thought of wrong. The Saturday came, the game was played. Fred Brent took part, and thereby brought ahornets' nest about his ears. It would scarcely have been so bad, butthe young man entered the game with all the zest and earnestness of hisintense nature, and several times by brilliant playing saved his sidefrom defeat. In consequence, his name was in the mouth of every one whohad seen or heard of the contest. He was going home that evening, feeling pleased and satisfied with himself, when he thought he woulddrop in a moment on the way and see Elizabeth. He had hardly got intothe house before he saw from her manner that something was wrong, and hewondered what it could be. He soon learned. It is only praise that isslow. 

"Oh, Fred, " said the girl, reproachfully, "is it true that you have beenplaying baseball?"

"Baseball, yes; what of it? What are you looking so horrified about?"

"Did you think it was right for you, in your position, to play?"

"If I had thought it was wrong I assuredly should not have played, " theyoung man returned. 

"Everybody is talking about it, and father says he thinks you havedisgraced your calling. "

"Disgraced my calling by playing an innocent game?"

"But father thinks it is a shame for a man who is preparing to do suchwork as yours to have people talking about him as a mere ball-player. "

The blood mounted in hot surges to the young man's face. He felt likesaying, "Your father be hanged, " but he controlled his anger, and said, quietly, "Elizabeth, don't you ever think for yourself?"

"I suppose I do, Fred, but I have been brought up to respect what myelders think and say. "

"Don't you think that they, as well as we, can be narrow and mistaken?"

"It is not for me to judge them. My part is to obey. "

"You have learned an excellent lesson, " he returned, bitterly. "That isjust the thing: 'obey, obey. ' Well, I will. I will be a stick, a dolt. Iwill be as unlike what God intended me to be as possible. I will be justwhat your father and Aunt Hester and you want me to be. I will let themthink for me and save my soul. I am too much an imbecile to attempt towork out my own salvation. No, Elizabeth, I will not play ball any more. I can imagine the horrified commotion it caused among the angels whenthey looked down and saw me pitching. When I get back to school I shalllook up the four Gospels' views on ball-playing. "

"Fred, I don't like you when you talk that way. "

"I won't do that any more, either. " He rose abruptly. "Good-bye, Elizabeth. I am off. " He was afraid to stay, lest more bitter wordsshould come to his lips. 

"Good-bye, Fred, " she said. "I hope you understand. "

The young man wondered as he walked homeward if the girl he had chosenwas not a little bit prim. Then he thought of her father, and said tohimself, even as people would have said of himself, "How can she helpit, with such a father?"

All his brightness had been dashed. He was irritated because the thingwas so small, so utterly absurd. It was like the sting of a miserablelittle insect, --just enough to smart, and not enough to need a strongremedy. The news of the game had also preceded him home, and hisguardian's opinion of the propriety of his action did not tend to soothehis mind. Mrs. Hodges forcibly expressed herself as follows: "I putbaseball-playin' right down with dancin' and sich like. It ain't nofittin' occupation for any one that 's a-goin' into the ministry. It 'sidleness, to begin with; it 's a-wastin' the precious time that 's beengiven us for a better use. A young man that 's goin' to minister topeople's souls ought to be consecrated to the work before he begins it. Who ever heerd tell of Jesus playin' baseball?"

Among a certain class of debaters such an argument is always supposed tobe clinching, unanswerable, final. But Mr. Hodges raised his voice inprotest. "I ain't a-goin' to keep still no longer. I don't believe theboy 's done a bit o' harm. There 's lots of things the Lord did n't dothat He did n't forbid human bein's to do. We ain't none of us divine, but you mark my words, Freddie, an' I say it right here so 's yore auntHester can hear me too, you mark my words: ef you never do nothin' worsethan what you 've been a-doin' to-day, it 'll be mighty easy for you toread yore title clear to mansions in the skies. "

"Omph huh, 'Liphalet, there ain't nothin' so easy as talkin' when Satin's a-promptin' you. "

"There you go, Hester, there you go ag'in, a-pattin' the devil on theback. I 'low the Old Boy must be tickled to death with all thecompliments Christian people give him. "

"A body 'd about as well be complimentin' the devil as to bea-countenancin' his works, as you air. "

The old man stopped with a piece half-way to his mouth. "Now jest listenat that! Hester Prime, ain't you ashamed of yoreself? Me a-countenancin'wrong! Sayin' that to me, an' me ol' enough to be--to be--well, I 'myour husband, anyway. "

In times of excitement he was apt to forget this fact for the instantand give his wife her maiden name, as if all that was sharp in herbelonged to that prenuptial period. But this storm relieved theatmosphere of its tension. Mrs. Hodges felt better for having spoken hermind, and Mr. Hodges for having answered, while the young man wasrelieved by the championship of his elder, and so the storm blew over. It was several days before Brent saw Elizabeth again; but, thanks tofavouring winds, the sky had also cleared in that direction. 

It was through such petty calms and storms that Fred passed the days andweeks of his first year at the seminary. Some of them were smallannoyances, to be sure, but he felt them deeply, and the sting of themrankled. It is not to be supposed, because there was no specificoutburst, that he was entirely at rest. Vesuvius had slumbered longbefore Pompeii's direful day. His mind was often in revolt, but he keptit to himself or confided it to only one friend. This friend was afellow-student at the seminary, a man older than Fred by some years. Hehad first begun a literary career, but had renounced it for theministry. Even to him Fred would not commit himself until, near the endof the year, Taylor declared his intention of now renouncing the studyof theology for his old pursuits. Then Brent's longing to be freelikewise drew his story from his lips. 

Taylor listened to him with the air of one who had been through it alland could sympathise. Then he surprised his friend by saying, "Don't bea fool, Brent. It 's all very nice and easy to talk about striking outfor one's self, and all that. I 've been through it all myself. Myadvice to you is, stay here, go through the academic discipline, and bea parson. Get into a rut if you will, for some ruts are safe. When weare buried deep, they keep us from toppling over. This may be a sort ofweak philosophy I am trying to teach you, but it is the happiest. If Ican save any man from self-delusion, I want to do it. I 'll tell youwhy. When I was at school some fool put it into my head that I couldwrite. I hardly know how it came about. I began scribbling of my ownaccord and for my own amusement. Sometimes I showed the things to myfriend, who was a fool: he bade me keep on, saying that I had talent. Idid n't believe it at first. But when a fellow keeps dinging at anotherwith one remark, after a while he grows to believe it, especially whenit is pleasant. It is vastly easy to believe what we want to believe. SoI came to think that I could write, and my soul was fired with theambition to make a name for myself in literature. When I should havebeen turning Virgil into English for class-room, I was turning out moreor less deformed verse of my own, or rapt in the contemplation of someplot for story or play. But somehow I got through school without adecided flunk. In the mean time some of my lines had found their wayinto print, and the little cheques I received for them had set my headbuzzing with dreams of wealth to be made by my pen. If we could onlypass the pitfalls of that dreaming age of youth, most of us would getalong fairly well in this matter-of-fact old world. But we are likely tofollow blindly the leadings of our dreams until we run our heads smackinto a corner-post of reality. Then we awaken, but in most cases toolate. 

"I am glad to say that my father had the good sense to discourage myaspirations. He wanted me to take a profession. But, elated by theapplause of my friends, I scorned the idea. What, mew my talents up in acourtroom or a hospital? Never! It makes me sick when I look back uponit and see what a fool I was. I settled down at home and began writing. Lots of things came back from periodicals to which I sent them; but Ihad been told that this was the common lot of all writers, and I ploddedon. A few things sold, just enough to keep my hopes in a state ofunstable equilibrium. 

"Well, it 's no use to tell you how I went on in that way for fouryears, clinging and losing hold, standing and slipping, seeing the prizerecede just as I seemed to grasp it. Then came the awakening. I saw thatit would have been better just to go on and do the conventional thing. Ifound this out too late, and I came here to try to remedy it, but Ican't. No one can. You get your mind into a condition where theordinary routine of study is an impossibility, and you cannot go backand take up the train you have laid, so you keep struggling on wastingyour energy, hoping against hope. Then suddenly you find out that youare and can be only third- or at best second-rate. God, what a discoveryit is! How you try to fight it off until the last moment! But it comesupon you surely and crushingly, and, cut, bruised, wounded, you slipaway from the face of the world. If you are a brave man, you say boldlyto yourself, 'I will eke out an existence in some humble way, ' and yougo away to a life of longing and regret. If you are a coward, you eitherleap over the parapets of life to hell, or go creeping back and fall atthe feet of the thing that has damned you, willing to be third-rate, anything; for you are stung with the poison that never leaves yourblood. So it has been with me: even when I found that I must choose acalling, I chose the one that gave me most time to nurse the serpentthat had stung me. "

Taylor ceased speaking, and looked a little ashamed of his vehemence. 

"This is your story, " said Brent; "but men differ and conditionsdiffer. I will accept all the misery, all the pain and defeat you havesuffered, to be free to choose my own course. "

Taylor threw up his hands with a deprecatory gesture. "There, " he said;"it is always so. I might as well have talked to the wind. "

So the fitful calms and Elizabeth's love had not cured Frederick Brent'sheart of its one eating disease, the desire for freedom. 

CHAPTER XI

It was not until early in Brent's second year at the Bible Seminary thathe was compelled to go through the ordeal he so much dreaded, that offilling a city pulpit. The Dexterites had been wont to complain thatsince the advent among them of the theological school their churches hadbeen turned into recitation-rooms for the raw students; but of "old TomBrent's boy, " as they still called him, they could never make thiscomplaint. So, as humanity loves to grumble, the congregations began tofind fault because he did not do as his fellows did. 

The rumours of his prowess in the class-room and his eloquence in thesociety hall had not abated, and the curiosity of his fellow-townsmenhad been whetted to a point where endurance was no longer possible. Indeed, it is open to question whether it was not by connivance of theminister himself, backed by his trustees on one side and the collegeauthorities on the other, that Brent was finally deputed to supply theplace of the Rev. Mr. Simpson, who was affected by an indisposition, fancied, pretended, or otherwise. 

The news struck the young man like a thunderbolt, albeit he had beenexpecting it. He attempted to make his usual excuse, but the kindly oldprofessor who had notified him smiled into his face, and, patting hisshoulder, said, "It 's no use, Brent. I 'd go and make the best of it;they 're bound to have you. I understand your diffidence in the matter, and, knowing how well you stand in class, it does credit to yourmodesty. "

The old man passed on. He said he understood, but in his heart the youngstudent standing there helpless, hopeless, knew that he did notunderstand, that he could not. Only he himself could perceive it in allthe trying horror of its details. Only he himself knew fully or couldknow what the event involved, --that when he arose to preach, tonine-tenths of the congregation he would not be Frederick Brent, student, but "old Tom Brent's boy. " He recoiled from the thought. 

Many a fireside saint has said, "Why did not Savonarola tempt the hotploughshares? God would not have let them burn him. " Faith is abeautiful thing. But Savonarola had the ploughshares at his feet. Thechildren of Israel stepped into the Red Sea before the waters parted, but then Moses was with them, and, what was more, Pharaoh was behindthem. 

At home, the intelligence of what Brent was to do was received indifferent manner by Mrs. Hodges and her husband. The good lady launchedimmediately into a lecture on the duty that was placed in his hands; butEliphalet was silent as they sat at the table. He said nothing untilafter supper was over, and then he whispered to his young friend as hestarted to his room, "I know jest how you feel, Freddie. It seems that Iought n't to call you that now; but I 'low you 'll allus be 'Freddie' tome. "

"Don't ever call me anything else, if you please, Uncle 'Liph, " said theyoung man, pressing Eliphalet's hand. 

"I think I kin understand you better than most people, " Mr. Hodges wenton; "an' I know it ain't no easy task that you 've got before you. "

"You 've always understood me better than any one, and--and I wish youknew what it has meant to me, and that I could thank you somehow. "

"'Sh, my boy. It 's thanks enough to hear them words from you. Now youjest calm yoreself, an' when Sunday comes--I don't know as I 'd ought tosay it this way, but I mean it all in a Christian sperrit--when Sundaycomes, Freddie, my boy, you jest go in an' give 'em fits. "

The two parted with another pressure of the hand, and it must beconfessed that the old man looked a little bit sheepish when his wifehoped he had been giving Fred good advice. 

"You don't reckon, Hester, that I 'd give him any other kind, do you?"

"Not intentionally, 'Liphalet; but when it comes to advice, there 'sp'ints o' view. " Mrs. Hodges seemed suspicious of her husband'scapabilities as an adviser. 

"There 's some times when people 'd a good deal ruther have sympathythan advice. "

"An' I reckon, 'cordin' to yore way o' thinkin' this is one o' them. Well, I intend to try to do my dooty in this matter, as I 've tried todo it all along. "

"Hester, yore dooty 'll kill you yit. It 's a wonder you don't gittired a-lookin' it in the face. "

"I ain't a-goin' to shirk it, jest to live in pleasure an' ease. "

"No need o' shirkin', Hester, no need o' shirkin'; but they 's somepeople that would n't be content without rowin' down stream. "

"An' then, mind you, 'Liphalet, I ain't a-exchangin' words with you, furthat 's idleness, but there 's others, that would n't row up stream, but'ud wait an' hope fur a wind to push 'em. " These impersonalities were asnear "spatting" as Mr. And Mrs. Hodges ever got. 

Through all the community that clustered about Mr. Simpson's church anddrew its thoughts, ideas, and subjects of gossip therefrom, ran likewildfire the news that at last they were to have a chance to judge ofyoung Brent's merits for themselves. It caused a stir among old andyoung, and in the days preceding the memorable Sunday little else wastalked of. 

When it reached the ears of old Dan'l Hastings, who limped around nowupon two canes, but was as acrimonious as ever, he exclaimed, tappingthe ground with one of his sticks for emphasis, "What! that young Brentpreachin' in our church, in our minister's pulpit! It 's a shame, --an'he the born son of old Tom Brent, that all the town knows was the worstsinner hereabouts. I ain't a-goin' to go; I ain't a-goin' to go. "

"Don't you be afeared to go, Dan'l: there ain't no danger that hisdocterns air a-goin' to be as strong as his father's whisky, " said hisold enemy. 

"Oh, it 's fur the likes o' you, Thomas Donaldson, to be a-talkin' o'docterns an' whisky in the same breath. You never did have noreverence, " said the old man, testily. 

"An' yet, Dan'l, I 've found docterns an' whisky give out by the samebreath. "

Mr. Hastings did not think it necessary to notice this remark. He wenton with his tirade against the prospective "supply:" "Why can't ElderSimpson preach hisself, I 'd like to know, instead o' puttin' up thatyoung upstart to talk to his betters? Why, I mind the time that that boyhad to be took out o' church by the hand fur laffin' at me, --at _me_, mind you, " the old man repeated, shaking his stick; "laffin' at me whenI was expoundin' the word. "

"That 's ter'ble, Dan'l; fur, as fur as I kin ricollec', when you 'rea-expoundin' the word it ain't no laffin' matter. "

"I tell you, Thomas Donaldson, the world 's a-goin' down hill fast: butI ain't a-goin' to help it along. I ain't a-goin' to hear that Brent boypreach. "

This declaration, however, did not prevent the venerable Dan'l frombeing early in his seat on the following Sunday morning, sternly, uncompromisingly critical. 

As might have been expected, the church was crowded. Friends, enemies, and the merely curious filled the seats and blocked the aisles. Thechapel had been greatly enlarged to accommodate its growingcongregation, but on this day it was totally inadequate to hold thepeople who flocked to its doors. 

The Rev. Mr. Simpson was so far recovered from his indisposition as tobe able to be present and assist at the service. Elizabeth was there, looking proud and happy and anxious. Mrs. Hodges was in her accustomedplace on the ladies' side of the pulpit. She had put new strings to herbonnet in honour of the occasion. Her face wore a look of greatseverity. An unregenerate wag in the back part of the church pointed herout to his companions and remarked that she looked as if she 'd spankthe preacher if he did n't do well. "Poor fellow, if he sees that facehe 'll break down, sure. " Opposite, in the "amen corner, " thecountenance of the good Eliphalet was a study in changing expressions. It was alternately possessed by fear, doubt, anxiety, and exultation. 

Sophy Davis sat in a front seat, spick and span in a new dress, whichmight have been made for the occasion. People said that she was makingeyes at her young fellow-salesman, though she was older than he. Mrs. Martin and her friend whispered together a little farther back. 

A short time before the service began, Brent entered by a side door nearthe pulpit and ascended to his place. His entrance caused a markedsensation. His appearance was impressive. The youthful face was whiteand almost rigid in its lines. "Scared to death, " was the mental note ofa good many who saw him. But his step was firm. As Elizabeth looked athim, she felt proud that such a man loved her. He was not handsome. Hisfeatures were irregular, but his eyes were clear and fearless. If acertain cowardice had held him back from this ordeal, it was surely notbecause he trembled for himself. The life he had lived and the battleshe had fought had given a compression to his lips that corrected anatural tendency to weakness in his mouth. His head was set squarely onhis broad shoulders. He was above medium height, but not loosely framed. He looked the embodiment of strength. 

"He ain't a bit like his father, " said some one. 

"He 's like his father was in his best days, " replied another. 

"He don't look like he 's over-pleased with the business. They say hedid n't want to come. "

"Well, I guess it 's purty resky work gittin' up to speak before allthese people that 's knowed him all his life, an' know where an' what hecome from. "

"They say, too, that he 's some pumpkins out at the college. "

"I 'ain't much faith in these school-made preachers; but we' ll soon seewhat he kin do in the pulpit. We 've heerd preachers, an' we kincompare. "

"That 's so: we 've heerd some preachers in our day. He must toe themark. He may be all right at college, but he 's in a pulpit now that hasheld preachers fur shore. A pebble 's all right among pebbles, but itlooks mighty small 'longside o' boulders. He 's preachin' before peoplenow. Why, Brother Simpson himself never would 'a' got a specialdispensation to hold the church all these years, ef it had n't been furthe people backin' him up an' Conference was afraid they 'd leave theconnection. "

"Well, ef this boy is anything, Lord only knows where he gets it, fureverybody knows--"

"'Sh!"

The buzz which had attended the young speaker's entrance subsided as Mr. Simpson rose and gave out the hymn. That finished, he ran his eyes overthe front seats of the assembly and then said, "Brother Hastings, leadus in prayer. "

The old man paused for an instant as if surprised, and then got slowlyto his knees. It was a strange selection, but we have seen that thisparticular parson was capable of doing strange things. In the course ofa supplication of some fifteen minutes' duration, Brother Hastingsmanaged to vent his spleen upon the people and to pay the Lord a fewclumsy compliments. During the usual special blessing which is askedupon the preacher of the hour, he prayed, "O Lord, let not the rarin'horses of his youth run away with Thy chariot of eternal truth. Lord, cool his head and warm his heart and settle him firm. Grant that he mayfully realise where he 's a-standin' at, an' who he 's a-speakin' to. DoThou not let _him_ speak, but speak through him, that Thy gospel may bepreached to-day as Thy prophets of old preached it. "

Throughout the prayer, but one thought was running through FrederickBrent's mind, and his heart was crying in its anguish, "Oh, my God, myGod, why do they hound me so?"

It is a terrible thing, this first effort before the home people, especially when home has not been kind. 

When he arose to meet the people's eyes, his face was haggard and hefelt weak. But unflinchingly he swept his eyes over the crowd, and thatinstant's glance brought before him all the panorama of the past years. There before him was the sneaking Billy Tompkins, now grown to thematurity of being called "Bill. " Then there was Dan'l Hastings. Oh, thatnight, years ago, when he had been marched up the aisle with crimsonface! In one brief second he lived it all over again, the shame, thedisgrace, the misery of it. There, severe, critical, expectant, sat hisguardian, the master-hand who had manipulated all the machinery of hislife. All this passed through his mind in a flash, as he stood therefacing the people. His face changed. The haggard look passed away. Hiseyes kindled, his cheeks mantled. Even in the pulpit, even in the houseof God, about to speak His word, the blood sped hotly through his veins, and anger burned at his heart. But he crushed down his feelings for themoment, and began in a clear ringing voice, "Judge not, that ye be notjudged. For with what judgment ye judge, ye shall be judged, and withwhat measure ye mete, it shall be measured to you again. " The lesson hedrew from the words was God's recognition of the fallibility of humanjudgment, and the self-condemnation brought about by ignoring theprohibition in the text. By an effort, he spoke deliberately at first, but the fire in his heart came out more and more in his words as heprogressed. "Blinded by our own prejudices, " he said, "circumscribed byour own ignorance, we dare to set ourselves up as censors of ourfellow-men. Unable to see the whole chain of life which God has forged, we take a single link and say that it is faulty. Too narrow to see Hisbroad plan, we take a patch of it and say, 'This is not good. ' There isOne who works even through evil that good may come, but we take the sinof our brother, and, without seeing or knowing what went before it orshall come after, condemn him. What false, blind, petty judges we are!You women who are condemning your fallen sisters, you men who areexecrating your sinful brothers, if Christ to-day were to command, 'Lethim who is without sin cast the first stone, ' look into your own heartsand answer me, how many of you would dare to lift a hand? How many ofyou have taken the beam out of your own eye before attempting to pluckthe mote out of your brother's? O ye pharisaical ones, who stand in thepublic places and thank God that you are not as other men, beware, beware. The condemnation that surely and inevitably shall fall upon youis not the judgment of Jesus Christ. It is not the sentence of theFather. It is your own self-condemnation, without charity, withoutforbearance, without love; 'for with what judgment ye judge ye shall bejudged. '

"Stand by the wayside if you will. Draw aside your skirts in thevainglory of self-righteousness from the passing multitude. Say to eachother, if you will, 'This woman is a sinner: this man is a criminal. 'Close your eyes against their acts of repentance, harden your heartsagainst their pleas for forgiveness, withhold mercy and pardon andcharity; but I tell you of One who has exalted charity into the highestand best of virtues. I bring you the message of One whose judgment istempered by divine love. He is seeing you. He is hearing you. Over theparapets of high heaven the gentle Father leans waiting to take into Hissoul any breath of human love or charity which floats up to Him fromthis sin-parched world. What have you done to merit His approval? Haveyou been kind, or have you been hard? Have you been gentle, or have youbeen harsh? Have you been charitable, or have you hunted out all theevil and closed your eyes to all the good? You have forgotten, O ye oflittle faith, you have forgotten, you without charity in your hearts, and you who claim to follow Christ and yet have no love for yourfellows, --you have forgotten that God is a God of wrath as well as oflove; that Christ hath anger as well as pity; that He who holds thehyssop of divine mercy holds also the scourge of divine indignation. Youhave forgotten that the lash you so love to wield over your brother'sback shall be laid upon your own by Him who whipped the money-changersfrom His temple. Listen! The day shall come when the condemnation youare accumulating against yourselves shall overwhelm you. Stop trying tosteal the prerogative of heaven. Judge not. God only is just!"

The silence throughout the sermon was intense. During the closing wordswhich have been quoted, it was like a presence in the chapel. The voiceof the preacher rang out like a clarion. His eyes looked before him asif he saw into the future. His hand was uplifted as if he would calldown upon them the very judgment which he predicted. 

Without more words he sat down. No one moved or spoke for an instant. Dan'l Hastings let his cane fall upon the floor. It echoed through thesilent place with a crash. Some of the women started and half cried out;but the spell was now partly broken. Mr. Simpson suddenly remembered topray, and the gossips forgot to whisper when their heads were bowed. There were some pale faces in the crowd, and some which the galling oftears had made red. There was in the atmosphere something of the sametense silence that follows a terrific thunder-clap. And so the serviceended, and the people filed out of church silent still. Some fewremained behind to shake the preacher's hand, but as soon as thebenediction was over he hurried out the side door, and, before any onecould intercept him, was on his way home. But he left a willingsubstitute. Mrs. Hodges accepted all his congratulations with complacentcondescension. 

"Dan'l, " said Thomas Donaldson, as he helped the old man down the churchsteps, "I was mistaken about the docterns an' the whisky. It wasstronger an' better, because it was the pure stuff. "

"I 'ain't got a word to say, " said Dan'l, "'ceptin' that a good deal ofit was jest sass. " But he kept mumbling to himself as he hobbled along, "Jedge not, fur you 're a-pilin' up sentences on yoreself. I neverthought of it that way before; no, I never. "

Brent did not come out of his room to dinner that afternoon. Mrs. Hodgeswas for calling him, but the old man objected. "No, Hester, " he said, "Freddie jest wants to be let alone. He 's a-feelin' now. "

"But, 'Liphalet, he ought to know how nice people talked about hissermon. I tell you that was my kind o' doctern. It 's wonderful how achild will learn. "

Notwithstanding his belief that his young friend wanted to be leftalone, the old man slipped into his room later on with a cup of tea. Theyoung man sat before the table, his head buried in his hands. Eliphaletset the cup and saucer down and turned to go, but he paused at the doorand said, "Thank the Lord fur the way you give it to 'em, Freddie. Itwas worth a dollar. " He would have hurried out, but the young man sprangup and seized his hand, exclaiming, "It was wrong, Uncle 'Liph, it waswrong of me. I saw them sitting about me like jackals waiting for theirprey; I remembered all that I had been and all that I was; I knew whatthey were thinking, and I was angry, angry. God forgive me! That sermonwas preached from as hot a heart as ever did murder. "

The old man stroked the young one's hair as he would a child's. "Nevermind, " he said. "It don't matter what you felt. That 's between you an'Him. I only know what you said, an' that 's all I care about. Did n'tyou speak about the Lord a-whippin' the money-changers from the temple?Ain't lots o' them worse than the money-changers? Was n't Christ divine?Ain't you human? Would a body expect you to feel less'n He did? Huh!jest don't you worry; remember that you did n't hit a head that was n'tin striking distance. " And the old man pressed the boy back into hischair and slipped out. 

CHAPTER XII

Beside an absolute refusal again to supply, Brent made no sign of therebellion which was in him, and his second year slipped quickly anduneventfully away. He went to and from his duties silent andself-contained. He did not confide in Mr. Hodges, because his guardianseemed to grow more and more jealous of their friendship. He could notconfide in Elizabeth, on account of a growing conviction that she didnot fully sympathise with him. But his real feelings may be gatheredfrom a letter which he wrote to his friend Taylor some two months afterthe events recorded in the last chapter. 

 "MY DEAR TAYLOR, " it ran, "time and again I have told myself that I would write you a line, keeping you in touch, as I promised, with my progress. Many times have I thought of our last talk together, and still I think as I thought then--that, in spite of all your disadvantages and your defeats, you have the best of it. When you fail, it is your own failure, and you bear down with you only your own hopes and struggles and ideals. If I fail, there falls with me all the framework of pride and anxiety that has so long pushed me forward and held me up. For my own failure I should not sorrow: my concern would be for the one who has so carefully shaped me after a pattern of her own. However else one may feel, one must be fair to the ambitions of others, even though one is the mere material that is heated and beaten into form on the anvil of another's will. But I am ripe for revolt. The devil is in me, --a restrained, quiet, well-appearing devil, but all the more terrible for that. 

 "I have at last supplied one of the pulpits here, that of my own church. The Rev. Mr. Simpson was afflicted with a convenient and adaptable indisposition which would not allow him to preach, and I was deputed to fill his place. I knew what a trial it would be, and had carefully written out my sermon, but I am afraid I did not adhere very strictly to the manuscript. I think I lost my head. I know I lost my temper. But the sermon was a nine days' wonder, and I have had to refuse a dozen subsequent offers to supply. It is all very sordid and sickening and theatrical. The good old Lowry tried to show me that it was my duty and for my good, but I have set my foot down not to supply again, and so they let me alone now. 

 "It seems to me that that one sermon forged a chain which holds me in a position that I hate. It is a public declaration that I am or mean to be a preacher, and I must either adhere to it or break desperately away. Do you know, I feel myself to be an arrant coward. If I had half the strength that you have, I should have been out of it long ago; but the habit of obedience grows strong upon a man. 

 "There is but one crowning act to be added to this drama of deceit and infamy, --my ordination. I know how all the other fellows are looking forward to it, and how, according to all the prescribed canons, I should view the momentous day; but I am I. Have you ever had one of those dreams where a huge octopus approaches you slowly but certainly, enfolding you in his arms and twining his horrid tentacles about your helpless form? What an agony of dread you feel! You try to move or cry out, but you cannot, and the arms begin to embrace you and draw you towards the great body. Just so I feel about the day of the ceremony that shall take me into the body of which I was never destined to be a member. 

 "Are you living in a garret? Are you subsisting on a crust? Happy, happy fellow! But, thank God, the ordination does not take place until next year, and perhaps in that time I may find some means of escape. If I do not, I know that I shall have your sympathy; but don't express it. Ever sincerely yours, BRENT. "

But the year was passing, and nothing happened to release him. He foundhimself being pushed forward at the next term with unusual rapidity, buthe did not mind it; the work rather gave him relief from more unpleasantthoughts. He went at it with eagerness and mastered it with ease. Hisfellow-students looked on him with envy, but he went on his wayunheeding and worked for the very love of being active, until one day heunderstood. 

It was nearing the end of the term when a fellow-student remarked tohim, "Well, Brent, it is n't every man that could have done it, but you'll get your reward in a month or so now. "

"What do you mean?" asked Brent. "Done what?"

"Now don't be modest, " rejoined the other; "I am really glad to see youdo it. I have no envy. "

"Really, Barker, I don't understand you. "

"Why, I mean you are finishing two years in one. "

"Oh, pshaw! it will hardly amount to that. "

"Oh, well, you will get in with the senior class men. "

"Get in with the senior class!"

"It will be kind of nice, a year before your time, to be standing in theway of any appointive plums that may happen to fall; and then you don'thave to go miles away from home before you can be made a full-fledgedshepherd. Well, here is my hand on it anyway. "

Brent took the proffered hand in an almost dazed condition. It had allsuddenly flashed across his mind, the reason for his haste and his addedwork. What a blind fool he had been!

The Church Conference met at Dexter that year, and they had hurried himthrough in order that he might be ready for ordination thereat. 

Alleging illness as an excuse, he did not appear at recitation that day. The shock had come too suddenly for him. Was he thus to be entrapped?Could he do nothing? He felt that ordination would bind him for ever tothe distasteful work. He had only a month in which to prevent it. Hewould do it. From that day he tried to fall gradually back in his work;but it was too late; the good record which he had unwittingly piled upcarried him through, _nolens volens_. 

The week before Conference met, Frederick Brent, residing at Dexter, byspecial request of the faculty, was presented as a candidate forordination. Even his enemies in the community said, "Surely there issomething in that boy. "

Mrs. Hester Hodges was delighted. She presented him with his ordinationsuit, and altogether displayed a pride and pleasure that almostreconciled the young man to his fate. In the days immediately precedingthe event she was almost tender with him, and if he had been strongenough to make a resolve inimical to her hopes, the disappointment whichhe knew failure would bring to her would have greatly weakened it. 

Now, Conference is a great event in the circles of that sect of whichCory Chapel was a star congregation, and the town where it convenes, or"sets, " as the popular phrase goes, is an honoured place. It takes uponitself an air of unusual bustle. There is a great deal ofhouse-cleaning, hanging of curtains, and laying of carpets, just priorto the time. People from the rural parts about come into town and settlefor the week. Ministers and lay delegates from all the churches in thedistrict, comprising perhaps half of a large State or parts of two, come and are quartered upon the local members of the connection. For twoweeks beforehand the general question that passes from one housewife toanother is, "How many and whom are you going to take?" Many are theheartburnings and jealousies aroused by the disposition of some popularpreacher whom a dozen members of the flock desire to entertain, whilethe less distinguished visitors must bide their time and be stuck inwhen and where they may. The "big guns" of the Church are all present, and all the "little guns" are scattered about them, popping and snappingevery time a "big gun" booms. 

But of all the days of commotion and excitement, the climax isordination day, when candidates for the ministry, college students, andlocal preachers are examined and either rejected or admitted to thecompany of the elect. It is common on that day for some old dignitary ofthe church, seldom a less person than the president of the Conferencehimself, to preach the sermon. Then, if the fatted calf is not killed, at least the fatted fowls are, and feasting and rejoicing rule theoccasion. 

This ordination day was no exception. A class of ten stood up beforethe examining committee and answered the questions put to them. Amongthem stood Frederick Brent. He wished, he tried, to fail in his answersand be rejected, even though it meant disgrace; but, try as he would, hecould not. Force of habit was too strong for him; or was it that someunseen and relentless power was carrying him on and on against his will?He clinched his hands; the beads of perspiration broke out on his brow;but ever as the essential questions came to him his tongue seemed tomove of its own volition, without command from the brain, and themurmurs of approval told him that he was answering aright. Never did manstruggle harder for brilliant success than this one for ignominiousfailure. Then some whisper in his consciousness told him that it wasover. He felt the laying of hands upon his head. He heard the oldminister saying, "Behold, even from the lowliest God taketh Hisworkers, " and he felt a flash of resentment, but it was only momentary. He was benumbed. Something seemed to be saying in his mind, "Will theold fool never have done?" But it did not appear to be himself. It wasafar off and apart from him. The next he knew, a wet cheek was laidagainst his own. It was Aunt Hester. She was crying and holding hishand. Afterwards people were shaking hands with him and offering theircongratulations; but he answered them in a helpless, mechanical way, ashe had answered the questions. 

He sat through the sermon and heard it not. But some interest revived inhim as the appointments were being read. He heard the president say, "Itgives me pain to announce the resignation of one who has so long servedin the Master's vineyard, but our dear brother Simpson has decided thathe is too old for active work, and has asked to be retired. While we dothis with pain and sorrow for the loss--though we do not wholly losehim--of so able a man, we feel that we cannot do better than appoint ashis successor in this charge the young man whom you have all seen sobrilliantly enter into the ranks of consecrated workers, the Rev. Frederick Brent. "

A murmur of approval went round the assembly, and a few open "amens"broke forth as the unctuous old ecclesiastic sat down. It sounded to theears of the young preacher like the breaking of waves on a far-offshore; and then the meaning of all that had happened sifted through hisbenumbed intellect, and he strove to rise. He would refuse to act. Hewould protest. He would tell them that he did not want to preach. Butsomething held him down. He could not rise. The light went blue andgreen and purple before him. The church, with its sea of faces, spunround and round; his head fell forward. 

"He has fainted, " said some one. 

"The excitement has been too much for him. "

"Poor young man, he has been studying too hard, working for this. "

They carried him out and took him home, and one of the elders offered aspecial prayer for his speedy recovery, and that, being recovered, hemight bear his new responsibilities with becoming meekness. 

When the young minister came to himself, he was lying on the bed in hisown room, and Mrs. Hodges, Eliphalet, and a doctor were bending overhim. 

"He 's coming round all right now, " said the medical man. "You won'tneed me any longer. " And he departed. 

"How are you now, Fred?" asked Mrs. Hodges. 

The young man closed his eyes again and did not answer. He had awakenedto a full realisation of his position, and a dull misery lay at hisheart. He wished that he could die then and there, for death seemed theonly escape from his bondage. He was bound, irrevocably bound. 

"Poor child, " Mrs. Hodges went on, "it was awful tryin' on his nerves. Joy is worse 'n sorrow, sometimes; an' then he 'd been workin' so hard. I 'd never 'a' believed he could do it, ef Brother Simpson had n't stuckup fur it. "

"She knew it, then, " thought Fred. "It was all planned. "

"I don't think you 'd better talk, Hester, " said her husband, in a lowvoice. He had seen a spasm pass over the face of the prostrate youth. 

"Well, I 'll go out an' see about the dinner. Some o' the folks I 'veinvited will be comin' in purty soon, an' others 'll be droppin' in toinquire how he is. I do hope he 'll be well enough to come to the table:it won't seem hardly like an ordination dinner without the principalperson. Jes' set by him, 'Liphalet, an' give him them drops the doctorleft. "

As soon as he heard the door close behind her, Brent opened his eyes andsuddenly laid his hand on the old man's shoulder. "You won't let anybodysee me, Uncle 'Liph? you won't let them come in here?"

"No, no, my boy, not ef you don't want 'em, " said the old man. 

"I shall have to think it all over before I see any one. I am not quiteclear yet. "

"I 'low it was unexpected. "

"Did you know, Uncle 'Liph?" he asked, fixing his eyes upon his oldfriend's face. 

"I know'd they was a-plannin' somethin', but I never could find outwhat, or I would have told you. "

A look of relief passed over Brent's face. Just then Mrs. Hodges openedthe door. "Here 's Elizabeth to see him, " she said. 

"'Sh, " said the old man with great ostentation; and tiptoeing over tothe door he partly drew it to, putting his head outside to whisper, "Heis too weak; it ain't best fur him to see nobody now. "

He closed the door and returned to his seat. "It was 'Lizabeth, " hesaid. "Was I right?"

For answer the patient arose from the bed and walked weakly over to hisside. 

"Tut, tut, tut, Freddie, " said Eliphalet, hesitating over the name. "You'd better lay down now; you ain't any too strong yet. "

The young man leaned heavily on his chair, and looked into his friend'seyes: "If God had given me such a man as you as a father, or even as aguardian, I would not have been damned, " he said. 

"'Sh, 'sh, my boy. Don't say that. You 're goin' to be all right; you're--you 're--" Eliphalet's eyes were moist, and his voice choked here. Rising, he suddenly threw his arms around Fred's neck, crying, "You aremy son. God has give you to me to nurse in the time of your trial. "

The young man returned the embrace; and so Mrs. Hodges found them whenshe opened the door softly and peered in. She closed it noiselessly andwithdrew. 

"Well, I never!" she said. There was a questioning wonder in her face. 

"I don't know what to make of them two, " she added; "they could n't havebeen lovin'er ef they had been father and son. "

After a while the guests began to arrive for the dinner. Many were theinquiries and calls for the new minister, but to them all Eliphaletmade the same answer: "He ain't well enough to see folks. "

Mrs. Hodges herself did her best to bring him out, or to get him to letsome of the guests in, but he would not. Finally her patience gave way, and she exclaimed, "Well, now, Frederick Brent, you must know that youair the pastor of a church, an' you 've got to make some sacrifices forpeople's sake. Ef you kin possibly git up, --an' I know you kin, --youought to come out an' show yoreself for a little while, anyhow. You 'vegot some responsibilities now. "

"I did n't ask for them, " he answered, coldly. There was a set lookabout his lips. "Neither will I come out or see any one. If I am oldenough to be the pastor of a church, I am old enough to know my will andhave it. "

Mrs. Hodges was startled at the speech. She felt vaguely that there wasa new element in the boy's character since morning. He was on theinstant a man. It was as if clay had suddenly hardened in the potter'shands. She could no longer mould or ply him. In that moment sherecognised the fact. 

The dinner was all that could be expected, and her visitors enjoyed it, in spite of the absence of the guest of honour, but for the hostess itwas a dismal failure. After wielding the sceptre for years, it had beensuddenly snatched from her hand; and she felt lost and helpless, deprived of her power. 

CHAPTER XIII

As Brent thought of the long struggle before him, he began to wish thatthere might be something organically wrong with him which the shockwould irritate into fatal illness. But even while he thought this hesneered at himself for the weakness. A weakness self-confessed holds thepossibility of strength. So in a few days he rallied and took up theburden of his life again. As before he had found relief in study, now hestilled his pains and misgivings by a strict attention to the work whichhis place involved. 

His was not an easy position for a young man. He had to go through theordeal of pastoral visits. He had to condole with old ladies who thoughta preacher had nothing else to do than to listen to the recital of theirailments. He had to pray with poor and stricken families whoseconditions reminded him strongly of what his own must have been. He hadto speak words of serious admonition to girls nearly his own age, whothought it great fun and giggled in his face. All this must he do, normust he slight a single convention. No rules of conduct are so rigid asare those of a provincial town. He who ministers to the people mustlearn their prejudices and be adroit enough not to offend them or strongenough to break them down. It was a great load to lay on the shouldersof so young a man. But habit is everything, and he soon fell into theways of his office. Writing to Taylor, he said, "I am fairly harnessednow, and at work, and, although the pulling is somewhat hard, I know myway. It is wonderful how soon a man falls into the cant of his positionand learns to dole out the cut-and-dried phrases of ministerial talklike a sort of spiritual phonograph. I must confess, though, that I amrather good friends with the children who come to my Sunday-school. Myown experiences as a child are so fresh in my memory that I rathersympathise with the little fellows, and do all I can to relieve thehalf-scared stiffness with which they conduct themselves in church andthe Sunday-school room. 

"I wonder why it is we make church such a place of terror to the youngones. No wonder they quit coming as soon as they can choose. 

"I shock Miss Simpson, who teaches a mixed class, terribly, by myfreedom with the pupils. She says that she can't do anything with hercharges any more; but I notice that her class and the school aregrowing. I 've been at it for several weeks now, and, like a promisingbaby, I am beginning to take an interest in things. 

"If I got on with the old children of my flock as well as I do with theyoung ones, I should have nothing to complain of; but I don't. They knowas little as the youngsters, and are a deal more unruly. They arecontinually comparing me with their old pastor, and it is needless tosay that I suffer by the comparison. The ex-pastor himself burdens mewith advice. I shall tell him some day that he has resigned. But I amgrowing diplomatic, and have several reasons for not wishing to offendhim. For all which 'shop' pray forgive me. "

One of the reasons for not wishing to offend the Rev. Mr. Simpson ofwhich Brent wrote was, as may be readily inferred, his engagement toElizabeth. It had not yet officially become public property, but few ofDexter's observant and forecasting people who saw them together doubtedfor a moment that it would be a match. Indeed, some spiteful people inthe community, who looked on from the outside, said that "Mr. Simpsonnever thought of resigning until he saw that he could keep the place inthe family. " But of course they were Baptists who said this, orEpiscopalians, or Presbyterians, --some such unregenerate lot. 

Contrary to the adage, the course of love between the young people didrun smooth. The young minister had not disagreed with the older one, soElizabeth had not disagreed with him, because she did not have to takesides. She was active in the Sunday-school and among the young people'ssocieties, and Brent thought that she would make an ideal minister'swife. Every Sunday, after church, they walked home together, andsometimes he would stop at the house for a meal. They had agreed that atthe end of his first pastoral year they would be married; and bothparent and guardian smiled on the prospective union. 

As his beloved young friend seemed to grow more settled and contented, Eliphalet Hodges waxed more buoyant in the joy of his hale old age, andhis wife, all her ambitions satisfied, grew more primly genial everyday. 

Brent found his congregation increasing, and heard himself spoken of asa popular preacher. Under these circumstances, it would seem that therewas nothing to be desired to make him happy. But he was not so, thoughhe kept an unruffled countenance. He felt the repression that hisposition put upon him. He prayed that with time it might pass off, butthis prayer was not answered. There were times when, within his secretcloset, the contemplation of the dead level of his life, as it spreadout before him, drove him almost to madness. 

The bitterness in his heart against his father had not abated one jot, and whenever these spasms of discontent would seize him he was wont totell himself, "I am fighting old Tom Brent now, and I must conquer him. "

Thus nearly a year passed away, and he was beginning to think of askingElizabeth to name the day. He had his eye upon a pretty little nest of ahouse, sufficiently remote from her father's, and he was lookingforward to settling quietly down in a home of his own. 

It was about this time that, as he sat alone one evening in the littlechamber which was his study and bedroom in one, Mr. Simpson entered andopened conversation with him. 

For some time a rumour which did violence to the good name of SophyDavis had been filtering through the community. But it had onlyfiltered, until the girl's disappearance a day or two before had allowedthe gossips to talk openly, and great was the talk. The young ministerhad looked on and listened in silence. He had always known and likedSophy, and if what the gossips said of her was true, he pitied the girl. 

On this particular evening it was plain that Mr. Simpson had come totalk about the affair. After some preliminary remarks, he said, "Youhave a great chance, dear Brother Brent, for giving the devil in thisparticular part of the moral vineyard a hard blow. "

"I don't clearly see why now, more than before, " returned Brent. 

"Because you are furnished with a living example of the fruits of evil:don't you see?"

"If there is such an example furnished, the people will see it forthemselves, and I should be doing a thankless task to point it out tothem. I would rather show people the beauty of good than the ugliness ofevil. "

"Yes, that 's the milk-and-water new style of preaching. "

"Well, we all have our opinions, to be sure, but I think it rather agood style. " Brent was provokingly nonchalant, and his attitudeirritated the elder man. 

"We won't discuss that: we will be practical. I came to advise you tohold Sophy Davis up in church next Sunday as a fearful example ofevil-doing. You need n't mention any names, but you can make it strongand plain enough. "

Brent flushed angrily. "Are there not enough texts in here, " he asked, laying his hand upon the Bible, "that I can cite and apply, withoutholding up a poor weak mortal to the curiosity, scorn, and derision ofher equally weak fellows?"

"But it is your duty as a Christian and a preacher of the gospel to usethis warning. "

"I do not need to kick a falling girl to find examples to warn peoplefrom sin; and as for duty, I think that each man best knows his own. "

"Then you are n't going to do it?"

"No, " the young man burst forth. "I am a preacher of the gospel, not aclerical gossip!"

"Do you mean that I am a gossip?"

"I was not thinking of you. "

"Let me preach for you, Sunday. "

"I will not do that either. I will not let my pulpit be debased byanything which I consider so low as this business. "

"You will not take advice, then?"

"Not such as that. "

"Be careful, Frederick Brent. I gave you that pulpit, and I can take itaway, --I that know who you are and what you come from. "

"The whole town knows what you know, so I do not care for that. As fortaking my pulpit from me, you may do that when you please. You put itupon me by force, and by force you may take it; but while I am pastorthere I shall use my discretion in all matters of this kind. "

"Sophy 's been mighty quiet in her devilment. She does n't accuseanybody. Maybe you 've got more than one reason for shielding her. "

Brent looked into the man's eyes and read his meaning; then he aroseabruptly and opened the door. 

"I 'm not accusing--"

"Go, " said the young man hoarsely. His face was white, and his teethwere hard set. 

"You 'll learn some respect for your elders yet, if--"

"Go!" Brent repeated, and he took a step towards his visitor. Mr. Simpson looked startled for a moment, but he glanced back into the youngman's face and then passed hurriedly out of the room. 

Brent let two words slip between his clenched teeth: "The hound!"

No one knew what had passed between the young pastor and Mr. Simpson, but many mutterings and head-shakings of the latter indicated that allwas not right. No one knew? Perhaps that is hardly correct, for onSunday, the sermon over, when Brent looked to find Elizabeth in herusual place whence they walked home together, she was gone. He bit hislip and passed on alone, but it rankled within him that she had soeasily believed ill of him. 

But he had not seen the last of the Rev. Mr. Simpson's work. It was theright of five members of the congregation to call a church-meeting, andwhen he returned for service in the evening he found upon the pulpit thewritten request for such an assembly to be held on Tuesday night. Heading the list of members was the name of the former pastor, althoughthis was not needed to tell the young man that it was his work. In angerhe gave out the notice and went on with his duties. 

"Somethin' must 'a' riled you to-night, Fred, " said Eliphalet whenchurch was out. "You give 'em a mighty stirrin' touch o' fire. It'minded me o' that old supply sermon. " Brent smiled mirthlessly. He knewthat the same feelings had inspired both efforts. 

On Tuesday evening he was early at church, and in the chair, as was thepastor's place. Early as he was, he did not much precede Mr. Simpson, who came in, followed by a coterie of his choicest spirits. 

When the assembly had been duly called to order, Brent asked, "Will someone now please state the object of this meeting?"

Mr. Simpson arose. 

"Brothers and sisters, " he said, "the object of this meeting is a verysimple one. From the time that I began to preach in this church, twenty-five years ago, we had purity and cleanness in the pulpit and inthe pew. "

Brent's eyes were flashing. Eliphalet Hodges, who had thought that theextra session was for some routine business, pricked up his ears. 

Simpson proceeded: "One in this flock has lately gone astray: she hasfallen into evil ways--"

"Brother Simpson, " interrupted Brent, his face drawn and hard withanger, "will you state the object of this meeting?"

"If the pastor is not afraid to wait, he will see that that is what I amdoing. "

"Then you are bringing into the church matters that have no businesshere. "

"We shall see about that. We intend to investigate and see why yourefused to hold up as a warning one of the sinners of this connection. We propose to ask whom you were shielding--a sinner in the pew, or asinner in the pulpit as well. We propose--"

"Stop!" The young man's voice broke out like the report of a rifle. "Stop, I say, or, as God sees me, here in His temple, at His very altar, I will do you violence. I speak to you not as your pastor, but as aman: not as an accused man, for you dare not accuse me. "

The church was in a commotion. In all its long history, such a scene hadnever before been enacted within the sacred walls. The men satspeechless; the women shrank far down into their seats. Only those twomen, the young and the old, stood glaring into each other's faces. 

"Remember, brethren, " said someone, recovering himself, "that this isthe house of God, and that you are preachers of the gospel. "

"I do remember that it is God's house, and for that reason I will notlet it be disgraced by scandal that would stain the lowest abode ofvice. I do remember that I am a preacher, and for that reason I will notsee the gospel made vindictive, --a scourge to whip down a poor girl, whomay have sinned, --I know not, --but who, if she did, has an advocate withGod. Once before in this place have I told you my opinion of yourcharity and your love. Once before have I branded you as mockeries ofthe idea of Christianity. Now I say to you, you are hypocrites. You arelike carrion birds who soar high up in the ether for a while and thenswoop down to revel in filth and rottenness. The stench of death issweet to you. Putridity is dear to you. As for you who have done thiswork, you need pity. Your own soul must be reeking with secret foulnessto be so basely suspicious. Your own eyes must have cast unholy glancesto so soon accuse the eyes of others. As for the thing which you, mineenemy, have intimated here to-night, as pastor of this church I scorn tomake defence. But as a man I say, give such words as those breath again, and I will forget your age and only remember your infamy. I see theheads of some about me here wagging, some that knew my father. I heartheir muffled whispers, and I know what they are saying. I know what isin their hearts. You are saying that it is the old Tom Brent in meshowing itself at last. Yes, it has smouldered in me long, and I amglad. I think better of that spirit because it was waked into life toresent meanness. I would rather be the most roistering drunkard thatever reeled down these streets than call myself a Christian and carouseover the dead characters of my fellows. 

"To-night I feel for the first time that I am myself. I give you backgladly what you have given me. I am no longer your pastor. We are wellquit. Even while I have preached to you, I have seen in your hearts yourscorn and your distrust, and I have hated you in secret. But I throw offthe cloak. I remove the disguise. Here I stand stripped of everythingsave the fact that I am a man; and I despise you openly. Yes, old Tom, drunken Tom Brent's son despises you. Go home. Go home. There may bework for your stench-loving nostrils there. "

He stood like an avenging spirit, pointing towards the door, and thepeople who had sat there breathless through it all rose quietly andslipped out. Simpson joined them and melted into the crowd. They wereawed and hushed. 

Only Mrs. Hodges, white as death, and her husband, bowed with grief, remained. A silent party, they walked home together. Not until they werein the house did the woman break down, and then she burst into a stormof passionate weeping as if the pent-up tears of all her stoical lifewere flowing at once. 

"Oh, Fred, Fred, " she cried between her sobs, "I see it all now. I waswrong. I was wrong. But I did it all fur the best. The Lord knows I didit fur the best. "

"I know you did, Aunt Hester, but I wish you could have seen sooner, before the bitterness of death had come into my life. " He felt strangelyhard and cold. Her grief did not affect him then. 

"Don't take on so, Hester, " said the old man, but the woman continued torock herself to and fro and moan, "I did it fur the best, I did it furthe best. " The old man took her in his arms, and after a while she grewmore calm, only her sobs breaking the silence. 

"I shall go away to-morrow, " said Brent. "I am going out into the worldfor myself. I 've been a disgrace to every one connected with me. "

"Don't say that about yoreself, Fred; I ain't a-goin' to hear it, " saidEliphalet. "You 've jest acted as any right-thinkin' man would 'a'acted. It would n't 'a' been right fur you to 'a' struck BrotherSimpson, but I 'm nearer his age, an' my hands itched to git a hold o'him. " The old man looked menacing, and his fist involuntarily clenched. 

"'Liphalet, " said his wife, "I 've been a-meddlin' with the business o'Providence, an' I 've got my jest desserts. I thought I knowed jestwhat He wanted me to do, an' I was more ignorant than a child. Furgiveme ef you kin, Fred, my boy. I was tryin' to make a good man o' you. "

"There 's nothing for me to forgive, Aunt Hester. I 'm sorry I 'vespoiled your plans. "

"I 'm glad, fur mebbe God 'll have a chance now to work His own plans. But pore little 'Lizabeth!"

Brent's heart hurt him as he heard the familiar name, and he turnedabruptly and went to his room. Once there, he had it out with himself. "But, " he told himself, "if I had the emergency to meet again, I shoulddo the same thing. "

The next morning's mail brought him a little packet in which lay thering he had given Elizabeth to plight their troth. 

"I thank you for this, " he said. "It makes my way easier. "

CHAPTER XIV

The story of the altercation between the young minister and a part ofhis congregation was well bruited about the town, and all united inplacing the fault heavily on the young man's shoulders. As for him, hedid not care. He was wild with the enjoyment of his new-found freedom. Only now and again, as he sat at the table the morning after, and lookedinto the sad faces of Eliphalet and his guardian, did he feel any sorrowat the turn matters had taken. 

In regard to Elizabeth, he felt only relief. It was as if a half-definedidea in his mind had been suddenly realised. For some time he hadbelieved her unable either to understand him or to sympathise with hismotives. He had begun to doubt the depth of his own feeling for her. Then had come her treatment of him last Sunday, and somehow, while heknew it was at her father's behest, he could not help despising herweakness. 

He had spent much of the night before in packing his few effects, andall was now ready for his departure as they sat at breakfast. Mrs. Hodges was unusually silent, and her haggard face and swollen eyes toldhow she had passed the night. All in a single hour she had seen the workof the best part of her life made as naught, and she was bowed withgrief and defeat. Frederick Brent's career had really been her dream. She had scarcely admitted, even to herself, how deeply his successaffected her own happiness. She cared for him in much the same way thata sculptor loves his statue. Her attitude was that of one who says, "Look upon this work; is it not fair? I made it myself. " It was as muchher pride as it was her love that was hurt, because her love had beencreated by her pride. She had been prepared to say, exultingly, "Lookwhere he came from, and look where he is;" and now his defectiondeprived her for ever of that sweet privilege. People had questioned herability to train up a boy rightly, and she had wished to refute theirimputations, by making that boy the wonder of the community and theirspiritual leader; and just as she had deemed her work safely done, lo, it had come toppling about her ears. Even if the fall had come sooner, she would have felt it less. It was the more terrible because sounexpected, for she had laid aside all her fears and misgivings and feltsecure in her achievement. 

"You ain't a-eatin' nothin', Hester, " said her husband, anxiously. "Ihope you ain't a-feelin' bad this mornin'. " He had heard her sobbing allnight long, and the strength and endurance of her grief frightened himand made him uneasy, for she had always been so stoical. "Had n't youbetter try an' eat one o' them buckwheat cakes? Put lots o' butter an'molasses on it; they 're mighty good. "

"Ef they 're so good, why don't you eat yoreself? You been foolin' witha half a one for the last ten minutes. " Indeed, the old man's food didseem to stick in his throat, and once in a while a mist would come upbefore his eyes. He too had had his dreams, and one of them was of manya happy evening spent with his beloved boy, who should be near him, ajoy and comfort in the evening of his life; and now he was going away. 

The old man took a deep gulp at his coffee to hide his emotion. Itburned his mouth and gave reason for the moisture in his eye when helooked up at Fred. 

"What train air you goin' to take, Fred?" he asked. 

"I think I 'll catch that eight-fifty flier. It 's the best I can get, you know, and vestibuled through, too. "

"You have jest finally made up yore mind to go, have you?"

"Nothing could turn me from it now, Uncle 'Liph. "

"It seems like a shame. You 'ain't got nothin' to do down inCincinnaty. "

"I 'll find something before long. I am going to spend the first fewdays just in getting used to being free. " The next moment he was sorrythat he had said it, for he saw his guardian's eyes fill. 

"I am sorry, Frederick, " she said, with some return to her old asperity, "I am sorry that I 've made your life so hard that you think that youhave been a slave. I am sorry that my home has been so onpleasant thatyou 're so powerful glad to git away from it, even to go into a strangecity full of wickedness an' sin. "

"I did n't mean it that way, Aunt Hester. You 've been as good as youcould be to me. You have done your duty by me, if any one ever could. "

"Well, I am mighty glad you realise that, so 's ef you go away an' fallinto sinful ways you can't lay none of it to my bringin'-up. "

"I feel somehow as if I would like to have a go with sin some time, tosee what it is like. "

"Well, I lay you 'll be satisfied before you 've been in Cincinnatylong, for ef there ever was livin' hells on airth, it 's them bigcities. "

"Oh, I have got faith to believe that Fred ain't a-goin' to do nothin'wrong, " said Eliphalet. 

"Nobody don't know what nobody 's a-goin' to do under temptation sich asis layin' in wait fur young men in the city, but I 'm shore I 've donemy best to train you right, even ef I have made some mistakes in my poorweak way an' manner. "

"If I do fall into sinful ways, Aunt Hester, I shall never blame you oryour training for it. "

"But you ain't a-goin' to do it, Fred; you ain't a-goin' to fall into noevil ways. "

"I don't know, Uncle 'Liph. I never felt my weakness more than I donow. "

"Then that very feelin' will be yore stren'th, my boy. Keep on feelin'that way. "

"It 'll not be a stren'th in Cincinnaty, not by no means. There is toomany snares an' pitfalls there to entrap the weak, " Mrs. Hodgesinsisted. 

It is one of the defects of the provincial mind that it can never seeany good in a great city. It concludes that, as many people are wicked, where large numbers of human beings are gathered together there must bea much greater amount of evil than in a smaller place. It overlooks theequally obvious reasoning that, as some people are good, in the largermass there must be also a larger amount of goodness. It seems a sourceof complacent satisfaction to many to sit in contemplation of the factof the extreme wickedness of the world. They are like children whodelight in a "bluggy" story, --who gloat over murder and rapine. 

Brent, however, was in no wise daunted by the picture of evil which hisguardian painted for him, and as soon as breakfast was over he got histhings in hand ready to start. Buoyant as he was with his new freedom, this was a hard moment for him. Despite the severity of his youthfultreatment in Dexter, the place held all the tender recollections he had, and the room where he stood was the scene of some memories that nowflooded his mind and choked his utterance when he strove to saygood-bye. He had thought that he should do it with such a fine grace. Hewould prove such a strong man. But he found his eyes suffused withtears, as he held his old guardian's hand, for, in spite of all, she haddone the best for him that she knew, and she had taken a hard, uncompromising pride in him. 

"I hope you 'll git along all right, Frederick, " she faltered forthtearfully. "Keep out of bad company, an' let us hear from you wheneveryou can. The Lord knows I 've tried to do my dooty by you. "

Poor Eliphalet tried to say something as he shook the young man's hand, but he broke down and wept like a child. The boy could not realise whata deal of sunshine he was taking out of the old man's life. 

"I 'll write to you as soon as I am settled, " he told them, and with ahusky farewell hurried away from the painful scene. At the gate the oldcouple stood and watched him go swinging down the street towards thestation. Then they went into the house, and sat long in silence in theroom he had so lately left. The breakfast-table, with all that was onit, was left standing unnoticed and neglected, a thing unprecedented inMrs. Hodges' orderly household. 

Finally her husband broke the silence. "It 'pears as if we had jestburied some one and come home from the funeral. "

"An' that 's jest what we have done, ef we only knowed it, 'Liphalet. We've buried the last of the Fred Brent we knowed an' raised. Even ef weever see him ag'in, he 'll never be the same to us. He 'll have newfriends to think of an' new notions in his head. "

"Don't say that, Hester; don't say that. I can't stand it. He is nevergoin' to furgit you an' me, an' it hurts me to hear you talk like that. "

"It don't soun' none too pleasant fur me, 'Liphalet, but I 've learnedto face the truth, an' that 's the truth ef it ever was told. "

"Well, mebbe it 's fur the best, then. It 'll draw us closer togetherand make us more to each other as we journey down to the end. It 's ourevenin', Hester, an' we must expect some chilly winds 'long towardsnight, but I guess He knows best. " He reached over and took his wife'shand tenderly in his, and so they sat on sadly, but gathering peace inthe silence and the sympathy, until far into the morning. 

Meanwhile the eight-fifty "flier" was speeding through the beautifulOhio Valley, bearing the young minister away from the town of his birth. Out of sight of the grief of his friends, he had regained all his usualstolid self-possession, though his mind often went back to the littlecottage at Dexter where the two old people sat, and he may be forgivenif his memory lingered longer over the image of the man than of thewoman. He remembered with a thrill at his heart what Eliphalet Hodgeshad been to him in the dark days of his youth, and he confessed tohimself with a half shame that his greatest regret was in leaving him. 

The feeling with which he had bidden his guardian good-bye was one notof regret at his own loss, but of pity for her distress. To Elizabethhis mind only turned for a moment to dismiss her with a mild contempt. Something hard that had always been in his nature seemed to havesuddenly manifested itself. 

"It is so much better this way, " he said, "for if the awakening had comelater we should have been miserable together. " And then his thoughtswent forward to the new scenes towards which he was speeding. 

He had never been to Cincinnati. Indeed, except on picnic days, he hadscarcely ever been outside of Dexter. But Cincinnati was the great cityof his State, the one towards which adventurous youth turned its stepswhen real life was to be begun. He dreaded and yet longed to be there, and his heart was in a turmoil of conflicting emotion as he watched thelandscape flit by. 

It was a clear August day. Nature was trembling and fainting in theecstasies of sensuous heat. Beside the railway the trenches which inspring were gurgling brooks were now dry and brown, and the reeds whichhad bent forward to kiss the water now leaned over from very weakness, dusty and sickly. The fields were ripening to the harvest. There was inthe air the smell of fresh-cut hay. The corn-stalks stood like a hostarmed with brazen swords to resist the onslaught of that other forcewhose weapon was the corn-knife. Farther on, between the trees, the muchdepleted river sparkled in the sun and wound its way, now near, now awayfrom the road, a glittering dragon in an enchanted wood. 

Such scenes as these occupied the young man's mind, until, amid theshouts of brake-men, the vociferous solicitations of the baggage-man, and a general air of bustle and preparation, the train thundered intothe Grand Central Station. Something seized Brent's heart like a greatcompressing hand. He was frightened for an instant, and then he waswhirled out with the rest of the crowd, up the platform, through thethronged waiting-room, into the street. 

Then the cries of the eager men outside of "Cab, sir? cab, sir?" "Let metake your baggage, " and "Which way, sir?" bewildered him. He did thething which every provincial does: he went to a policeman and inquiredof him where he might find a respectable boarding-house. The policemandid not know, but informed him that there were plenty of hotels fartherup. With something like disgust, Brent wondered if all the hotels werelike those he saw at the station, where the guests had to go throughthe bar-room to reach their chambers. He shuddered at it; so strong isthe influence of habit. But he did not wish to go to a hotel: so, carrying his two valises, he trudged on, though the hot sun of themid-afternoon beat mercilessly down upon him. He kept looking into thefaces of people who passed him, in the hope that he might see in oneencouragement to ask for the information he so much wanted; but one andall they hurried by without even so much as a glance at the dustytraveller. Had one of them looked at him, he would merely have said, mentally, "Some country bumpkin come in to see the sights of town and bebuncoed. "

There is no loneliness like the loneliness of the unknown man in acrowd. A feeling of desolation took hold upon Brent, so he turned down aside-street in order to be more out of the main line of business. It wasa fairly respectable quarter; children were playing about the pavementsand in the gutters, while others with pails and pitchers were going toand from the corner saloon, where their vessels were filled with foamingbeer. Brent wondered at the cruelty of parents who thus put theirchildren in the way of temptation, and looked to see if the little oneswere not bowed with shame; but they all strode stolidly on, with what hedeemed an unaccountable indifference to their own degradation. He passedone place where the people were drinking in the front yard, and saw amother holding a glass of beer to her little one's lips. He could nowunderstand the attitude of the children, but the fact, nevertheless, surprised and sickened him. 

Finally, the sign "Boarding Here" caught his eye. He went into the yardand knocked at the door. A plump German girl opened it, and, to hisquestion as to accommodation, replied that she would see her mistress. He was ushered into a little parlour that boasted some shabby attemptsat finery, and was soon joined by a woman whom he took to be the "ladyof the house. "

Yes, Mrs. Jones took boarders. Would he want room and board? Terms fivedollars per week. Had he work in the city? No? Well, from gentlemen whowere out of work she always had her money in advance. But would he seehis room first?

Wondering much at Mrs. Jones's strange business arrangement, Brentallowed her to conduct him to a room on the second floor, which lookedout on the noisy street. It was not a palatial place by any means, butwas not uncomfortable save for the heat, which might be expectedanywhere on such a day. He was tired and wanted rest, so he engaged theplace and paid the woman then and there. 

"You just come off the train, I see. Will you have luncheon at once, Mr. --?"

"Brent, " said he. "Yes, I will have some luncheon, if you please. "

"Do you take beer with your luncheon?"

"No-o, " he said, hesitating; and yet why should he not take beer?Everybody else did, even the children. Then he blushed as he thought ofwhat his aunt Hester would think of his even hesitating over thequestion. She would have shot out a "no" as if it were an insult to beasked. So without beer he ate his luncheon and lay down to rest for theafternoon. When one has travelled little, even a short journey isfatiguing. 

In the evening Brent met some of the other boarders at supper; therewere not many. They were principally clerks in shops orunder-bookkeepers. One genial young fellow struck up a conversation withFred, and became quite friendly during the evening. 

"I guess you will go out to the 'Zoo' to-morrow, won't you? That isabout the first place that visitors usually strike for when they comehere. "

"I thought of getting a general idea of the city first, so that I couldgo round better before going farther out. "

"Oh, you won't have any trouble in getting around. Just ask folks, andthey will direct you anywhere. "

"But everybody seems to be in a hurry; and by the time I open my mouthto ask them, they have passed me. "

The young clerk, Mr. Perkins by name, thought this was a great joke andlaughed long and loudly at it. 

"I wish to gracious I could go around with you. I have been so busy eversince I have been here that I have never seen any of the show sightsmyself. But I tell you what I will do: I can steer you around some onThursday night. That is my night off, and then I will show you somesights that are sights. " The young man chuckled as he got his hat andprepared to return to the shop. Brent thanked him in a way that soundedheavy and stilted even to his own ears after the other's lightpleasantry. 

"And another thing, " said Perkins, "we will go to see the baseball gameon Sunday, Clevelands and the Reds, --great game, you know. " It was wellthat Mr. Perkins was half-way out of the door before he finished hissentence, for there was no telling what effect upon him the flush whichmounted to Brent's face and the horror in his eyes would have had. 

Go to a baseball game on Sunday! What would his people think of such athing? How would he himself feel there, --he, notwithstanding hisrenunciation of office, a minister of the gospel? He hastened to hisroom, where he could be alone and think. The city indeed was full oftemptations to the young! And yet he knew he would be ashamed to tellhis convictions to Perkins, or to explain his horror at the proposition. Again there came to him, as there had come many times before, therealisation that he was out of accord with his fellows. He was not instep with the procession. He had been warped away from the parallel ofevery-day, ordinary humanity. In order to still the tumult in hisbreast, he took his hat and wandered out upon the street. He wanted tosee people, to come into contact with them and so rub off some of thestrangeness in which their characters appeared to him. 

The streets were all alight and alive with bustle. Here a fakir withloud voice and market-place eloquence was vending his shoddy wares;there a drunkard reeled or was kicked from the door of a saloon, whosenoiselessly swinging portals closed for an instant only to be reopenedto admit another victim, who ere long would be treated likewise. Aquartet of young negroes were singing on the pavement in front of ahouse as he passed and catching the few pennies and nickels that wereflung to them from the door. A young girl smiled and beckoned to himfrom a window, and another who passed laughed saucily up into his faceand cried, "Ah, there!" Everywhere was the inevitable pail flashing toand fro. Sickened, disgusted, thrown back upon himself, Brent turned hissteps homeward again. Was this the humanity he wanted to know? Was thisthe evil which he wanted to have a go with? Was Aunt Hester, after all, in the right, and was her way the best? His heart was torn by amultitude of conflicting emotions. He had wondered, in one of hisrebellious moods, if, when he was perfectly untrammelled, he would everpray; but on this night of nights, before he went wearily to bed, heremained long upon his knees. 

CHAPTER XV

Brent found himself in a most peculiar situation. He had hated thesevere discipline of his youth, and had finally rebelled against it andrenounced its results as far as they went materially. This he hadthought to mean his emancipation. But when the hour to assert hisfreedom had come, he found that the long years of rigid training hadbound his volition with iron bands. He was wrapped in a mantle of habitwhich he was ashamed to display and yet could not shake off. Thependulum never stops its swing in the middle of the arc. So he wouldhave gone to the other extreme and revelled in the pleasures whose verybreath had been forbidden to his youth; but he found his sensibilitiesrevolting from everything that did not accord with the old Puritan codeby which they had been trained. He knew himself to be full ofcapabilities for evil, but it seemed as if some power greater than hisheld him back. It was Frederick Brent who looked on sin abstractly, butits presence in the concrete was seen through the eyes of Mrs. HesterHodges. It could hardly be called the decree of conscience, because soinstantaneous was the rejection of evil that there was really no timefor reference to the internal monitor. The very restriction which he hadcomplained of he was now putting upon himself. The very yoke whoseburden he hated he was placing about his own neck. He had run away fromthe sound of "right" and "duty, " but had not escaped their power. Hefelt galled, humiliated, and angry with himself, because he had longseen the futility of blind indignation against the unseen force whichimpelled him forward in a hated path. 

One thing that distressed him was a haunting fear of the sights whichPerkins would show him on the morrow's night. He had seen enough forhimself to conjecture of what nature they would be. He did not want tosee more, and yet how could he avoid it? He might plead illness, butthat would be a lie; and then there would be other nights to follow, soit would only be a postponement of what must ultimately take place orbe boldly rejected. Once he decided to explain his feelings on thesubject, but in his mind's eye he saw the half-pitying sneer on the faceof the worldly young cityite, and he quailed before it. 

Why not go? Could what he saw hurt him? Was he so great a coward that hedared not come into the way of temptation? We do not know the strengthof a shield until it has been tried in battle. Metal does not ring trueor false until it is struck. He would go. He would see with his own eyesfor the purpose of information. He would have his boasted bout with sin. After this highly valorous conclusion he fell asleep. 

The next morning found him wavering again, but he put all his troubledthoughts away and spent the day in sight-seeing. He came in at nighttired and feeling strange and lonesome. "Whom the gods wish to destroy, they first make mad, " we used to say; but all that is changed now, andwhom the devil wishes to get, he first makes lonesome. Then the victimis up to anything. 

Brent had finished his supper when Perkins came in, but he brightened atthe young clerk's cheery salute, "Hello, there! ready to go, are you?"

"Been ready all day, " he replied, with a laugh. "It 's been prettyslow. "

"'Ain't made much out, then, seeing the sights of this little village ofours? Well, we 'll do better to-night, if the people don't see thatblack tie of yours and take you for a preacher getting facts for acrusade. "

Brent blushed and bit his lip, but he only said, "I 'll go up and changeit while you 're finishing your supper. "

"Guess you 'd better, or some one will be asking you for a sermon. "Perkins laughed good-naturedly, but he did not know how his words wenthome to his companion's sensitive feelings. He thought that his haste inleaving the room and his evident confusion were only the evidence of agreenhorn's embarrassment under raillery. He really had no idea that hiscomrade's tie was the badge of his despised calling. 

Brent was down again in a few minutes, a grey cravat having supersededthe offending black. But even now, as he compared himself with hisguide, he appeared sombre and ascetic. His black Prince Albert coatshowed up gloomy and oppressive against young Perkins's natty drabcutaway relieved by a dashing red tie. From head to foot the littleclerk was light and dapper; and as they moved along the crowded streetsthe preacher felt much as a conscious omnibus would feel beside apneumatic-tired sulky. 

"You can talk all you want to about your Chicago, " Perkins was rattlingon, "but you can bet your life Cincinnati 's the greatest town in theWest. Chicago 's nothing but a big overgrown country town. Everythinglooks new and flimsy there to a fellow, but here you get something that's solid. Chicago 's pretty swift, too, but there ain't no flies on us, either, when it comes to the go. "

Brent thought with dismay how much his companion knew, and felt apassing bitterness that he, though older, had seen none of these things. 

"Ever been in Chicago?" asked Perkins; "but of course you have n't. "This was uttered in such a tone of conviction that the minister thoughthis greenness must be very apparent. 

"I 've never been around much of anywhere, " he said. "I 've been hard atwork all my life. "

"Eh, that so? You don't look like you 'd done much hard work. What doyou do?"

"I--I--ah--write, " was the confused answer. 

Perkins, fortunately, did not notice the confusion. "Oh, ho!" he said:"do you go in for newspaper work?"

"No, not for newspapers. "

"Oh, you 're an author, a regular out-and-outer. Well, don't you know, Ithought you were somehow different from most fellows I 've met. I nevercould see how you authors could stay away in small towns, where youhardly ever see any one, and write about people as you do; but I supposeyou get your people from books. "

"No, not entirely, " replied Brent, letting the mistake go. "There areplenty of interesting characters in a small town. Its life is just whatthe life of a larger city is, only the scale is smaller. "

"Well, if you 're on a search for characters, you 'll see some to-nightthat 'll be worth putting in your note-book. We 'll stop here first. "

The place before which they had stopped was surrounded by a highvine-covered lattice fence: over the entrance flamed forth in lettersset with gas-lights the words "Meyer's Beer-Garden and Variety Hall. Welcome. " He could hear the sound of music within, --a miserableorchestra, and a woman singing in a high strident voice. People werepassing in and out of the place. He hesitated, and then, shakinghimself, as if to shake off his scruples, turned towards the entrance. As he reached the door, a man who was standing beside it thrust a paperinto his hand. He saw others refuse to take it as they passed. It wasonly the announcement of a temperance meeting at a neighbouring hall. Heraised his eyes to find the gaze of the man riveted upon him. 

"Don't you go in there, young man, " he said. "You don't look like youwas used to this life. Come away. Remember, it 's the first step--"

"Chuck him, " said Perkins's voice at his elbow. But something in theman's face held him. A happy thought struck him. He turned to hiscompanion and said, in a low voice, "I think I 've found a characterhere already. Will you excuse me for a while?"

"Certainly. Business before pleasure. Pump him all you can, and thencome in. You 'll find me at one of the tables on the farther side. "Perkins passed on. 

"You won't go in, my young friend?" said the temperance man. 

"What is it to you whether I go in or stay out?" asked Brent, in a toneof assumed carelessness. 

"I want to keep every man I kin from walkin' the path that I walked andsufferin' as I suffer. " He was seized with a fit of coughing. His facewas old and very thin, and his hands, even in that hot air, were blue aswith cold. "I wisht you 'd go to our meetin' to-night. We 've got apowerful speaker there, that 'll show you the evils of drink better 'n Ikin. "

"Where is this great meeting?" Brent tried to put a sneer into hisvoice, but an unaccountable tremor ruined its effect. 

He was duly directed to the hall. "I may come around, " he said, carelessly, and sauntered off, leaving the man coughing beside the doorof the beer-garden. "Given all of his life to the devil, " he mused, "drunk himself to death, and now seeking to steal into heaven by givingaway a few tracts in his last worthless moments. " He had forgotten allabout Perkins. 

He strolled about for a while, and then, actuated by curiosity, soughtout the hall where the meeting was being held. It was a rude place, in apoor neighbourhood. The meeting-room was up two flights of dingy, rickety stairs. Hither Brent found his way. His acquaintance of thestreet was there before him and sitting far to the front among thosewhom, by their position, the young man took to be the speakers of theevening. The room was half full of the motleyest crew that it had everbeen his ill fortune to set eyes on. The flaring light of two lard-oiltorches brought out the peculiarities of the queer crowd in fantasticprominence. There was everywhere an odour of work, but it did not hangchiefly about the men. The women were mostly little weazen-facedcreatures, whom labour and ill treatment had rendered inexpressiblyhideous. The men were chiefly of the reformed. The bleared eyes andbloated faces of some showed that their reformation must have been ofvery recent occurrence, while a certain unsteadiness in the conduct ofothers showed that with them the process had not taken place at all. 

It was late, and a stuffy little man with a wheezy voice and a very rednose was holding forth on the evils of intemperance, very much to hisown satisfaction evidently, and unmistakably to the weariness of hisaudience. Brent was glad when he sat down. Then there followedexperiences from women whose husbands had been drunkards and fromhusbands whose wives had been similarly afflicted. It was all thoroughlyuninteresting and commonplace. 

The young man had closed his eyes, and, suppressing a yawn, had justdetermined to go home, when he was roused by a new stir in the meeting, and the voice of the wheezy man saying "And now, brothers, we are tohave a great treat: we are to hear the story of the California Pilgrim, told by himself. Bless the Lord for his testimony! Go on, my brother. "Brent opened his eyes and took in the scene. Beside the chairman stoodthe emaciated form of his chance acquaintance. It was the man's face, now seen in the clearer light, that struck him. It was thin, very thin, and of a deathly pallor. The long grey hair fell in a tumbled mass abovethe large hollow eyes. The cheek-bones stood up prominently, and seemedalmost bursting through the skin. His whole countenance was full of theterrible, hopeless tragedy of a ruined life. He began to speak. 

"I' ll have to be very brief, brothers and sisters, as I have n't muchbreath to spare. But I will tell you my life simply, in order to warnany that may be in the same way to change their course. Twenty years agoI was a hard-workin' man in this State. I got along fairly, an' hadenough to live on an' keep my wife an' baby decent. Of course I took mydram like the other workmen, an' it never hurt me. But some men can'tstand what others kin, an' the habit commenced to grow on me. I took aspree, now an' then, an' then went back to work, fur I was a good hand, an' could always git somethin' to do. After a while I got so unsteadythat nobody would have me. From then on it was the old story. I gotdiscouraged, an' drunk all the more. Three years after I begun, my homewas a wreck, an' I had ill-treated my wife until she was no better thanI was; then she got a divorce from me, an' I left the town. I wanderedfrom place to place, sometimes workin', always drinkin'; sometimesridin' on trains, sometimes trampin' by the roadside. Fin'lly I driftedout to Californy, an' there I spent most o' my time until, a year ago, Icome to see myself what a miserable bein' I was. It was through one ofyour Bands of Hope. From then I pulled myself up; but it was too late. Ihad ruined my health. I started for my old home, talkin' and tellin' mystory by the way. I want to get back there an' jest let the people knowthat I 've repented, an' then I can die in peace. I want to see ef mywife an' child--" Here a great fit of coughing seized him again, and hewas forced to sit down. 

Brent had listened breathlessly to every word: a terrible fear wasclutching at his heart. When the man sat down, he heard the voice of thechairman saying, "Now let us all contribute what we can to help thebrother on his journey; he has n't far to go. Come forward and lay yourcontributions on the table here, now. Some one sing. Now who 's going tohelp Brother Brent?"

The young man heard the name. He grasped the seat in front of him forsupport. He seized his hat, staggered to his feet, and stumbled blindlyout of the room and down the stairs. 

"Drunk" said some one as he passed. 

He rushed into the street, crying within himself, "My God! my God!" Hehurried through the crowds, thrusting the people right and left andunheeding the curses that followed him. He reached home and groped up tohis room. 

"Awful!" murmured Mrs. Jones. "He seemed such a good young man; but he's been out with Mr. Perkins, and men will be men. "

Once in his room, it seemed that he would go mad. Back and forth hepaced the floor, clenching his hands and smiting his head. He wanted tocry out. He felt the impulse to beat his head against the wall. "My God!my God! It was my father, " he cried, "going back home. What shall I do?"There was yet no pity in his heart for the man whom he now knew to behis parent. His only thought was of the bitterness that parent's follyhad caused. "Oh, why could he not have died away from home, withoutgoing back there to revive all the old memories? Why must he go backthere just at this troublous time to distress those who have loved meand help those who hate me to drag my name in the dust? He has chosenhis own way, and it has ever been apart from me. He has neglected andforgotten me. Now why does he seek me out, after a life spent amongstrangers? I do not want him. I will not see him again. I shall never gohome. I have seen him, I have heard him talk. I have stood near him andtalked with him, and just when I am leaving it all behind me, all mypast of sorrow and degradation, he comes and lays a hand upon me, and Iam more the son of Tom Brent to-night than ever before. Is it Fate, God, or the devil that pursues me so?"

His passion was spending itself. When he was more calm he thought, "Hewill go home with a religious testimony on his lips, he will die happy, and the man who has spent all his days in drunkenness, killed his wife, and damned his son will be preached through the gates of glory on thestrength of a few words of familiar cant. " There came into his mind agreat contempt for the system which taught or preached so absurd andunfair a doctrine. "I wish I could go to the other side of the world, "he said, "and live among heathens who know no such dreams. I, FrederickBrent, son of Tom Brent, temperance advocate, sometime drunkard andwife-beater. " There was terrible, scorching irony in the thought. Therewas a pitiless hatred in his heart for his father's very name. 

"I suppose, " he went on, "that Uncle 'Liph"--he said the nametenderly--"has my letter now and will be writing to me to come home andhear my father's dying words, and receive perhaps his dyingblessing, --his dying blessing! But I will not go; I will not go back. "Anger, mingled with shame at his origin and a greater shame at himself, flamed within him. "He did not care for the helpless son sixteen yearsago: let him die without the sight of the son now. His life has cursedmy life, his name has blasted my name, his blood has polluted my blood. Let him die as he lived--without me. "

He dropped into a chair and struck the table with his clenched fists. 

Mrs. Jones came to the door to ask him not to make so much noise. Heburied his face in his hands, and sat there thinking, thinking, untilmorning. 

CHAPTER XVI

Next morning when Brent went down to breakfast he was as a man who hadpassed through an illness. His eyes were bloodshot, his face was pale, his step was nervous and weak. 

"Just what I expected, " muttered Mrs. Jones. "He was in a beastlycondition last night. I shall speak to Mr. Perkins about it. He had noright to take and get him in such a state. "

She was more incensed than ever when the gay young clerk came in lookingperfectly fresh. "He 's used to it, " she told herself, "and it does n'ttell on him, but it 's nearly killed that poor young man. "

"Hullo there, Brent, " said Perkins. "You chucked me for good last night. Did you lose your way, or was your 'character' too interesting?"

"Character too interesting, " was the laconic reply. 

"And I 'll bet you 've been awake all night studying it out. "

"You are entirely right there, " said Brent, smiling bitterly. "I haven't slept a wink all night: I 've been studying out that character. "

"I thought you looked like it. You ought to take some rest to-day. "

"I can't. I 've got to put in my time on the same subject. "

Mrs. Jones pursed her lips and bustled among the teacups. The idea oftheir laughing over their escapades right before her face and thinkingthat she did not understand! She made the mental observation that allmen were natural born liars, and most guilty when they appeared to bemost innocent. "Character, " indeed! Did they think to blind her to thetrue situation of things? Oh, astute woman!

"Strange fellow, " said Perkins to his spoon, when, after a slightbreakfast, Brent had left the table. 

"There 's others that are just as strange, only they think they 'resharper, " quoth Mrs. Jones, with a knowing look. 

"I don't understand you, " returned her boarder, turning his attentionfrom his spoon to the lady's face. 

"There 's none so blind as those who don't want to see. "

"Again I say, I don't understand you, Mrs. Jones. "

"Oh, Mr. Perkins, it 's no use trying to fool me. I know men. In myyounger days I was married to a man. "

"Strange contingency! But still it casts no light on your previousremarks. "

"You 've got very innocent eyes, I must say, Mr. Perkins. "

"The eyes, madam, are the windows of the soul, " Perkins quoted, withmock gravity. 

"Well, if the eyes are the soul's windows, there are some people whoalways keep their windows curtained. "

"But I must deny any such questionable performance on my part. I havenot the shrewdness to veil my soul from the scrutiny of so keen anobserver as yourself. "

"Oh, flattery is n't going to do your cause one mite of good, Mr. Perkins. I 'm not going to scold, but next time you get him in such astate I wish you 'd bring him home yourself, and not let him cometearing in here like a madman, scaring a body half to death. "

"Will you kindly explain yourself? What condition? And who is 'him'?"

"Oh, of course you don't know. "

"I do not. "

"Do you mean to tell me that you were n't out with Mr. Brent last nightbefore he came home?"

"I assuredly was not with him after the first quarter of an hour. "

"Well, it 's hard to believe that he got that way by himself. "

"That way! Why, he left me at the door of Meyer's beer-garden to talk toa temperance crank who he thought was a character. "

"Well, no temperance character sent him rushing and stumbling in here ashe did last night. 'Character, ' indeed! It was at the bottom of a pailof beer or something worse. "

"Oh, I don't think he was 'loaded. ' He 's an author, and I guess his eyegot to rolling in a fine frenzy, and he had to hurry home to keep itfrom rolling out of his head into the street. "

"Mr. Perkins, this is no subject for fun. I have seen what I have seen, and it was a most disgraceful spectacle. I take your word for it thatyou were not with Mr. Brent, but you need not try to go further anddefend him. "

"I 'm not trying to defend him at all; it 's really none of mybusiness. " And Perkins went off to work, a little bit angry and a gooddeal more bewildered. "I thought he was a 'jay, '" he remarked. 

To Brent the day was a miserable one. He did not leave his room, butspent the slow hours pacing back and forth in absorbed thought, interrupted now and then by vain attempts to read. His mind was in astate of despairing apprehension. It needed no prophetic sense to tellhim what would happen. It was only a question of how long a time wouldelapse before he might expect to receive word from Dexter summoning himhome. It all depended upon whether or not the "California Pilgrim" gotmoney enough last night for exploiting his disgraceful history to finishthe last stage of the journey. 

What disgusted the young man so intensely was that his father, afterhaving led the life he had, should make capital out of relating it. Would not a quiet repentance, if it were real, have been quitesufficient? He very much distrusted the sincerity of motive that made aman hold himself up as an example of reformed depravity, when the hopeof gain was behind it all. The very charity which he had preached sofiercely to his congregation he could not extend to his own father. Indeed, it appeared to him (although this may have been a trick of hisdistorted imagination) that the "Pilgrim" had seemed to take a sort ofpleasure in the record of his past, as though it were excellent to bebad, in order to have the pleasure of conversion. His lip involuntarilycurled when he thought of conversion. He was disgusted with all men andprinciples. One man offends, and a whole system suffers. He felt apeculiar self-consciousness, a self-glorification in his own misery. Placing the accumulated morality of his own life against the full-grownevil of his father's, it angered him to think that by the interventionof a seemingly slight quantity the results were made equal. 

"What is the use of it all, " he asked himself, "my struggle, involuntarythough it was, my self-abnegation, my rigidity, when what littlecharacter I have built up is overshadowed by my father's past? Whyshould I have worked so hard and long for those rewards, real orfancied, the favour of God and the respect of men, when he, after acareer of outrageous dissipation, by a simple act or claim of repentancewins the Deity's smile and is received into the arms of people withgushing favour, while I am looked upon as the natural recipient of allhis evil? Of course they tell us that there is more joy over the onelamb that is found than over the ninety and nine that went not astray;it puts rather a high premium on straying. " He laughed bitterly. "Withwhat I have behind me, is it worth being decent for the sake of decency?After all, is the game worth the candle?"

He took up a little book which many times that morning he had beenattempting to read. It was an edition of Matthew Arnold's poems, and oneof the stanzas was marked. It was in "Mycerinus. "

 Oh, wherefore cheat our youth, if thus it be, Of one short joy, one lust, one pleasant dream, Stringing vain words of powers we cannot see, Blind divinations of a will supreme? Lost labour! when the circumambient gloom But holds, if gods, gods careless of our doom!

He laid the book down with a sigh. It seemed to fit his case. 

It was not until the next morning, however, that his anticipations wererealised, and the telegraph messenger stopped at his door. The telegramwas signed Eliphalet Hodges, and merely said, "Come at once. You areneeded. "

"Needed"! What could they "need" of him? "Wanted" would have been abetter word, --"wanted" by the man who for sixteen years had forgottenthat he had a son. He had already decided that he would not go, and wasfor the moment sorry that he had stayed where the telegram could reachhim and stir his mind again into turmoil; but the struggle had alreadyrecommenced. Maybe his father was burdening his good old friends, and itwas they who "needed" him. Then it was his duty to go, but not for hisfather's sake. He would not even see his father. No, not that! He couldnot see him. 

It ended by his getting his things together and taking the next train. He was going, he told himself, to the relief of his guardian and hisfriend, and not because his father--his father!--wanted him. Did hedeceive himself? Were there not, at the bottom of it all, the naturalpromptings of so close a relationship which not even cruelty, neglect, and degradation could wholly stifle?

He saw none of the scenes that had charmed his heart on the outwardjourney a few days before; for now his sight was either far ahead orentirely inward. When he reached Dexter, it was as if years had passedsince he left its smoky little station. Things did not look familiar tohim as he went up the old street, because he saw them with new eyes. 

Mr. Hodges must have been watching for him, for he opened the doorbefore he reached it. 

"Come in, Freddie, " he said in a low voice, tiptoeing back to his chair. "I 've got great news fur you. "

"You need n't tell me what it is, " said Brent. "I know that my father ishere. "

Eliphalet started up. "Who told you?" he said; "some blockhead, I 'll bebound, who did n't break it to you gently as I would 'a' done. Actu'llythe people in this here town--"

"Don't blame the people, Uncle 'Liph, " said the young man, smiling inspite of himself. "I found it out for myself before I arrived; and, Iassure you, it was n't gently broken to me either. " To the old man'slook of bewildered amazement, Brent replied with the story of hismeeting with his father. 

"It 's the good Lord's doin's, " said Eliphalet, reverently. 

"I don't know just whose doing it is, but it is an awful accusation toput on the Lord. I 've still got enough respect for Him not to believethat. "

"Freddie, " exclaimed the old man, horror-stricken, "you ain't a-gettin'irreverent, you ain't a-beginnin' to doubt, air you? Don't do it. I knowjest what you 've had to bear all along, an' I know what you 'rea-bearin' now, but you ain't the only one that has their crosses. I 'ma-bearin' my own, an' it ain't light neither. You don't know what it is, my boy, when you feel that somethin' precious is all your own, to have areal owner come in an' snatch it away from you. While I thought yorefather was dead, you seemed like my own son; but now it 'pears like I'ain't got no kind o' right to you an' it 's kind o' hard, Freddie, it's kind o' hard, after all these years. I know how a mother feels whenshe loses her baby, but when it 's a grown son that 's lost, one thatshe 's jest been pilin' up love fur, it 's--it 's--" The old man paused, overcome by his emotions. 

"I am as much--no, more than ever your son, Uncle 'Liph. No one shallever come between us; no, not even the man I should call father. "

"He is yore father, Freddie. It 's jest like I told Hester. She was fursendin' him along. " In spite of himself, a pang shot through Brent'sheart at this. "But I said, 'No, no, Hester, he 's Fred's father an' wemust take him in, fur our boy's sake. '"

"Not for my sake, not for my sake!" broke out the young man. 

"Well, then, fur our Master's sake. We took him in. He was mighty lowdown. It seemed like the Lord had jest spared him to git here. Hester 'swith him now, an'--an'--kin you stand to hear it?--the doctor says he 'sonly got a little while to live. "

"Oh, I can stand it, " Brent replied, with unconscious irony. Thedevotion and the goodness of the old man had softened him as thought, struggle, and prayer had failed to do. 

"Will you go in now?" asked Eliphalet. "He wants to see you: he can'tdie in peace without. "

The breath came hard between his teeth as Brent replied, "I said I wouldn't see him. I came because I thought you needed me. "

"He 's yore father, Freddie, an' he 's penitent. All of us pore mortalsneed a good deal o' furgivin', an' it does n't matter ef one of us needsa little more or a little less than another: it puts us all on the samelevel. Remember yore sermon about charity, an'--an' jedge not. You'ain't seen all o' His plan. Come on. " And, taking the young man by thehand, he led him into the room that had been his own. Hester rose as heentered, and shook hands with him, and then she and her husband silentlypassed out. 

The sufferer lay upon the bed, his eyes closed and his face as white asthe pillows on which he reclined. Disease had fattened on the hollowcheeks and wasted chest. One weak hand picked aimlessly at the coverlet, and the laboured breath caught and faltered as if already the hand ofDeath was at his throat. 

The young man stood by the bed, trembling in every limb, his lips now aswhite as the ashen face before him. He was cold, but the perspirationstood in beads on his brow as he stood gazing upon the face of hisfather. Something like pity stirred him for a moment, but a vision ofhis own life came up before him, and his heart grew hard again. Here wasthe man who had wronged him irremediably. 

Finally the dying man stirred uneasily, muttering, "I dreamed that hehad come. "

"I am here. " Brent's voice sounded strange to him. 

The eyes opened, and the sufferer gazed at him. "Are you--"

"I am your son. "

"You--why, I--saw you--"

"You saw me in Cincinnati at the door of a beer-garden. " He felt as ifhe had struck the man before him with a lash. 

"Did--you--go in?"

"No: I went to your temperance meeting. "

The elder Brent did not hear the ill-concealed bitterness in his son'svoice. "Thank God, " he said. "You heard--my--story, an'--it leavesme--less--to tell. Something--made me speak--to you that--night. Comenearer. Will--you--shake hands with--me?"

Fred reached over and took the clammy hand in his own. 

"I have--had--a pore life, " the now fast weakening man went on; "an' Ihave--done wrong--by--you, but I--have--repented. Will you forgive me?"

Something came up into Brent's heart and burned there like a flame. 

"You have ruined my life, " he answered, "and left me a heritage ofshame and evil. "

"I know it--God help me--I know it; but won't--you--forgive me, my son?I--want to--call you--that--just once. " He pressed his hand closer. 

Could he forgive him? Could he forget all that he had suffered and wouldyet suffer on this man's account? Then the words and the manner of oldEliphalet came to him, and he said, in a softened voice, "I forgive you, father. " He hesitated long over the name. 

"Thank God for--for--the name--an'--forgiveness. " He carried his son'shand to his lips, "I sha' n't be--alive--long--now, --an' my--death--willset--people--to talkin'. They will--bring--up the--past. I--don't wantyou--to--stay an' have--to bear--it. I don't want to--bring any moreon--you than I have--already. Go--away, as--soon as I am dead. "

"I cannot leave my friends to bear my burdens. "

"They will not speak--of them--as they--will speak of--you, my--poor--boy. You--are--old--Tom Brent's--son. I--wish Icould take--my name--an' all--it means--along--with--me. But--promise--me--you--will--go. Promise--"

"I will go if you so wish it. "

"Thank--you. An'--now--good-bye. I--can't talk--any--more. I don'tdare--to advise--you--after--all--you--know--of me; but do--right--doright. "

The hand relaxed and the eyelids closed. Brent thought that he was dead, and prompted by some impulse, bent down and kissed his father'sbrow, --his father, after all. A smile flitted over the pale face, butthe eyes did not open. But he did not die then. Fred called Mrs. Hodgesand left her with his father while he sat with Eliphalet. It was notuntil the next morning, when the air was full of sunlight, the song ofbirds, and the chime of church bells, that old Tom Brent's weary spiritpassed out on its search for God. He had not spoken after his talk withhis son. 

There were heavy hearts about his bed, but there were no tears, nosorrow for his death, --only regret for the manner of his life. 

Mrs. Hodges and Eliphalet agreed that the dead man had been right inwishing his son to go away, and, after doing what he could to lightentheir load, he again stood on the threshold, leaving his old sad home. Mrs. Hodges bade him good-bye at the door, and went back. She was toobowed to seem hard any more, or even to pretend it. But Eliphaletfollowed him to the gate. The two stood holding each other's hands andgazing into each other's eyes. 

"I know you 're a-goin' to do right without me a-tellin' you to, " saidthe old man, chokingly. "That 's all I want of you. Even ef you don'tpreach, you kin live an' work fur Him. "

"I shall do all the good I can, Uncle 'Liph, but I shall do it in thename of poor humanity until I come nearer to Him. I am dazed andconfused now, and want the truth. "

"Go on, my boy; you 're safe. You 've got the truth now, only you don'tknow it; fur they 's One that says, 'Inasmuch as ye have done it untoone of the least of these, ye have done it unto me. '"

Another hearty hand-shake, and the young man was gone. 

As Fred went down the street, some one accosted him and said, "I hearyore father 's home. "

"Yes, he 's home, " said Fred. 

Tom Brent was buried on Tuesday morning. The Rev. Mr. Simpson, who, inspite of his age, had been prevailed upon to resume charge of hischurch, preached the sermon. He spoke feelingly of the "dear departedbrother, who, though late, had found acceptance with the Lord, " and heended with a prayer--which was a shot--for the "departed's misguidedson, who had rejected his Master's call and was now wandering over theearth in rebellion and sin. " It was well that he did not see the face ofEliphalet Hodges then. 

Dan'l Hastings nodded over the sermon. In the back part of the church, Mrs. Martin and Mrs. Smith whispered together and gaped at the two oldmourners, and wondered where the boy was. They had "heerd he was intown. "

Bill Tompkins brought Elizabeth to the funeral. 

CHAPTER XVII

In another town than Dexter the events narrated in the last chapterwould have proved a nine days' wonder, gained their meed of goldengossip, and then given way to some newer sensation. But not so here. This little town was not so prolific in startling episodes that shecould afford to let such a one pass with anything less than the fullestcomment. The sudden return of Tom Brent, his changed life, and his deathwere talked of for many a day. The narrative of his life was yet to be astock camp-meeting sermon story, and the next generation of Dexteriteswas destined to hear of him. He became a part of the town's municipalhistory. 

Fred's disappearance elicited no less remark. Speculations as to hiswhereabouts and his movements were rife. The storm of gossip which wasgoing on around them was not lost on Eliphalet Hodges and his wife. But, save when some too adventurous inquirer called down upon himselfMrs. Hodges' crushing rebuke or the old man's mild resentment, they wenttheir ways silent and uncommunicative. 

They had heard from the young man first about two weeks after hisdeparture. He had simply told them that he had got a place in the officeof a packing establishment. Furthermore, he had begged that they let hisformer fellow-townsmen know nothing of his doings or of his whereabouts, and the two old people had religiously respected his wishes. Perhapsthere was some reluctance on the part of Mrs. Hodges, for after thefirst letter she said, "It does seem like a sin an' a shame, 'Liphalet, that we can't tell these here people how nice Fred 's a-doin', so 's tolet 'em know that he don't need none o' their help. It jest makes mytongue fairly itch when I see Mis' Smith an' that bosom crony o' her'n, Sallie Martin, a-nosin' around tryin' to see what they kin find out. "

"It is amazin' pesterin', Hester. I 'm su'prised at how I feel about itmyself, fur I never was no hand to want to gossip; but when I hear oldDan'l Hastings, that can't move out o' his cheer fur therheumatiz, --when I hear him a-sayin' that he reckoned that Fred wasa-goin' to the dogs, I felt jest like up an' tellin' him how thingswas. "

"Why on airth did n't you? Ef I 'd 'a' been there, I 'd--"

"But you know what Freddie's letter said. I kept still on that account;but I tell you I looked at Dan'l. " From his pocket the old man took themissive worn with many readings, and gazed at it fondly. "Yes, " herepeated, "I looked at Dan'l hard. I felt jest like up an' tellin' him. "

"Well, no wonder. I 'm afeared I 'd 'a' clean furgot Freddie's wishesan' told him everything. To think of old Dan'l Hastings, as old he is, a-gossipin' about other people's business! Sakes alive! he needs everybreath he 's got now fur his prayers, --as all of us pore mortals donow, " added Mrs. Hodges, as she let her eyes fall upon her own wrinkledhands. 

"Yes, we 're old, Hester, you an' I; but I 'm mighty glad o' the faith I've been a-storin' up, fur it 's purty considerable of a help now. "

"Of course, 'Liphalet, faith is a great comfort, but it 's a greater oneto know that you 've allus tried to do yore dooty the very best youcould; not a-sayin' that you 'ain't tried. "

"Most of us tries, Hester, even Dan'l. "

"I ain't a-goin' to talk about Dan'l Hastings. He 's jest naturallyspiteful an' crabbed. I declare, I don't see how he 's a-goin' tosqueeze into the kingdom. "

"Oh, never mind that, Hester. God ain't a-goin' to ask you to find away. "

Mrs. Hodges did not reply. She and her husband seldom disagreed now, because he seldom contradicted or found fault with her. But if thisdictum of his went unchallenged, it was not so with some laterconclusions at which he arrived on the basis of another of Fred'sletters. 

It was received several months after the settlement of the young man inCincinnati, and succeeded a long silence. "You will think, " it ran, "that I have forgotten you; but it is not so. My life has been very fullhere of late, it is true, but not so full as to exclude you and goodAunt Hester. I feel that I am growing. I can take good full breathshere. I could n't in Dexter: the air was too rarefied by religion. "

Mrs. Hodges gasped as her husband read this aloud, but there was thesuspicion of a smile about the corners of Eliphalet's mouth. 

"You ask me if I attend any church, " the letter went on. "Yes, I do. When I first left, I thought that I never wanted to see the inside of ameeting-house again. But there is a young lady in our office who is verymuch interested in church work, and somehow she has got me interestedtoo, and I go to her church every Sunday. It is Congregational. "

"Congregational!" exclaimed Mrs. Hodges. "Congregational! an' he bornedan' raised up in the Methodist faith. It 's the first step. "

"He was n't borned nothin' but jest a pore little outcast sinner, an' asfur as the denomination goes, I guess that church is about as good asany other. "

"'Liphalet Hodges, air you a-backslidin' too?"

"No: I 'm like Freddie; I 'm a-growin'. "

"It 's a purty time of life fur you to be a-talkin' about growin'. You're jest like an old tree that has fell in a damp place an' sen's out afew shoots on the trunk. It thinks it 's a-growin' too, but them shootssoon wither, an' the tree rots; that 's what it does. "

"But before it rotted, it growed all that was in it to grow, did n't it. Well, that 's all anybody kin do, tree or human bein'. " He paused for amoment. "I 'ain't got all my growth yit. "

"You kin git the rest in the garden of the Lord. "

"It ain't good to change soil on some plants too soon. I ain't ready tobe set out. " He went on reading:

"'I 'm not so narrow as I was at home. I don't think so many things arewrong as I used to. It is good to be like other people sometimes, andnot to feel yoreself apart from all the rest of humanity. I am growingto act more like the people I meet, and so I am--'" the old man's handtrembled, and he moved the paper nearer to his eyes--"'I--' What 's thishe says? 'I am learning to dance. '"

"There!" his wife shot forth triumphantly. "What did I tell you? Goingto a Congregational church an' learnin' to dance, an' he not a year agoa preacher of the gospel. "

Eliphalet was silent for some time: his eyes looked far out into space. Then he picked up the paper that had fluttered from his hand, and asmile flitted over his face. 

"Well, I don't know, " he said. "Freddie 's young, an' they 's worsethings in the world than dancin'. "

"You ain't a-upholdin' him in that too, air you? Well, I never! You 'duphold that sinful boy ef he committed murder. "

"I ain't a-upholdin' nothin' but what I think is right. "

"Right! 'Liphalet Hodges, what air you a-sayin'?"

"Not that I mean to say that dancin' is right, but--"

"There ain't no 'buts' in the Christian religion, 'Liphalet, an' thereain't no use in yore tryin' to cover up Freddie's faults. "

"I ain't a-tryin' to cover nothin' up from God. But sometimes I git tothinkin' that mebbe we put a good many more bonds on ourselves than theLord ever meant us to carry. "

"Oh, some of us don't struggle under none too heavy burdens. Some of ushave a way of jest slippin' 'em off of our shoulders like a bag offlour. "

"Meanin' me. Well, mebbe I have tried to make things jest as easy furmyself as possible, but I 'ain't never tried to make 'em no harder furother people. I like to think of the Master as a good gentle friend, an'mebbe I 'ain't shifted so many o' the burdens He put on me that He won'tlet me in at last. "

"'Liphalet, I did n't say what I said fur no slur ag'in' you. You 're asgood a Christian man as--well, as most. "

"I know you did n't mean no slur, Hester. It was jest yore dooty to sayit. I 've come to realise how strong yore feelin' about dooty is, in theyears we 've been together, an' I would n't want you to be anydifferent. "

The calm of old age had come to these two. Life's turbulent waters tossus and threaten to rend our frail bark in pieces. But the swelling ofthe tempest only lifts us higher, and finally we reach and rest upon theArarat of age, with the swirling floods below us. 

Eliphalet went on with the letter. "He says some more about that littlegirl. 'Alice is a very nice and sensible girl. I like her very much. Shehelps me to get out of myself and to be happy. I have never knownbefore what a good thing it was to be happy, --perhaps because I havetried so hard to be so. I believe that I have been selfish andegotistical. ' Freddie don't furgit his words, " the old man paused tosay. "'I have always thought too much of myself, and not enough ofothers. That was the reason that I was not strong enough to live downthe opposition in Dexter. It seems that, after all your kindness to me, I might have stayed and made you and Aunt Hester happy for the rest ofyour days. ' Bless that boy! 'But the air stifled me. I could not breathein it. Now that I am away, I can look back and see it all--my mistakesand my shortcomings; for my horizon is broader and I can see clearer. Ihave learned to know what pleasure is, and it has been like a stimulantto me. I have been given a greater chance to love, and it has been likethe breath of life to me. I have come face to face with Christianitywithout cant, and I respect it for what it is. Alice understands me andbrings out the best that is in me. I have always thought that it wasgood for a young man to have a girl friend. '"

For an instant, Mrs. Hodges resumed her old manner. A slight wave fromthe old flood had reached the bark and rocked it. She pursed her lipsand shook her head. "He furgot Elizabeth in a mighty short time. "

"Ef he had n't he 'd ought to be spanked like a child. Elizabeth neverwas the kind of a mate fur Freddie, an' there ain't nobody that knows itbetter than you yoreself, Hester, an' you know it. "

Mrs. Hodges did not reply. The wavelet had subsided again. 

"Now jest listen how he ends up. 'I want you and Aunt Hester to comedown and see me when you can. I will send for you in a week or two, ifyou will promise to come. Write to me, both of you. Won't you? Yourchanged boy, Fred. ' Changed, an' I 'm glad of it. He 's more like anatural boy of his age now than he ever was before. He 's jest like ayoung oak saplin'. Before he allus put me in mind o' one o' themoleander slips that you used to cut off an' hang ag'in' the house in abottle o' water so 's they 'd root. We 'll go down, won't we, Hester? We'll go down, an' see him. "

"Not me, 'Liphalet. You kin go; but I ain't a-goin' nowhere to be runover by the cars or wrecked or somethin'. Not that I 'm so powerfulafeared of anything like that, fur I do hope I 'm prepared to gowhenever the Master calls; but it ain't fur me to begin a-runnin' aroundat my age, after livin' all these years at home. No, indeed. Why, Icould n't sleep in no other bed but my own now. I don't take to no sichnew things. "

And go Mrs. Hodges would not. So Eliphalet was forced to write andrefuse the offered treat. But on a day there came another letter, and hecould no longer refuse to grant the wish of his beloved boy. The missivewas very brief. It said only, "Alice has promised to marry me. Won't youand Aunt Hester come and see me joined to the dearest girl in theworld?" There was a postscript to it: "I did not love Elizabeth. I knowit now. "

"Hester, I 'm a-goin'. " said Eliphalet. 

"Go on, 'Liphalet, go on. I want you to go, but I 'm set in my ways now. I do hope that girl kin do something besides work in an office. Sheought to be a good housekeeper, an' a good cook, so 's not to kill thatpore child with dyspepsy. I do hope she won't put saleratus in herbiscuits. "

"I think it 's Freddie's soul that needs feedin. '"

"His soul 'll go where it don't need feedin', ef his stomach ain't'tended to right. Ef I went down there, I could give the girl somepoints. "

"I don't reckon you 'd better go, Hester. As you say, you're set in yoreways, an' mebbe her ways 'ud be diff'rent; an' then--then you 'd bothfeel it. "

"Oh, I suppose she thinks she knows it all, like most young people do. "

"I hope she don't; but I 'm a-goin' down to see her anyhow, an' I 'llcarry yore blessin' along with mine. "

For the next week, great were the preparations for the old man'sdeparture, and when finally he left the old gate and turned his back onthe little cottage it was as if he were going on a great journey ratherthan a trip of less than a hundred miles. It had been a long time sincehe had been on a train, and at first he felt a little dubious. But hewas soon at home, for his kindly face drew his fellow-passengers to him, and he had no lack of pleasant companions on the way. 

Like Fred, the noises of the great station would have bewildered him, but as he alighted and passed through the gate a strong hand was laidon his shoulder, and his palm was pressing the palm of his beloved son. The old carpet-bag fell from his hands. 

"Freddie Brent, it ain't you?"

"It 's I, Uncle 'Liph, and no one else. And I 'm so glad to see you thatI don't know what to do. Give me that bag. "

They started away, the old man chattering like a happy child. He couldnot keep from feasting his eyes on the young man's face and form. 

"Well, Freddie, you jest don't look like yoreself. You 're--you 're--"

"I 'm a man, Uncle 'Liph. "

"I allus knowed you 'd be, my boy. I allus knowed you 'd be. But yoreaunt Hester told me to ask you ef--ef you 'd dropped all yore religion. She 's mighty disturbed about yore dancin'. "

Brent laughed aloud in pure joy. 

"I knowed you had n't, " the old man chuckled. 

"Lost it all? Uncle 'Liph, why, I 've just come to know what religionis. It 's to get bigger and broader and kinder, and to live and to loveand be happy, so that people around you will be happy. "

"You 're still a first-rate preacher, Freddie. "

"Oh, yes, Uncle 'Liph; I 've been to a better school than the BibleSeminary. I have n't got many religious rules and formulas, but I 'mtrying to live straight and do what is right. "

The old man had paused with tears in his eyes. "I been a-prayin' furyou, " he said. 

"So has Alice, " replied the young man, "though I don't see why she needsto pray. She 's a prayer in herself. She has made me better by lettingme love her. Come up, Uncle 'Liph. I want you to see her before we go onto my little place. "

They stopped before a quiet cottage, and Fred knocked. In the littleparlour a girl came to them. She was little, not quite up to Fred'sshoulder. His eyes shone as he looked down upon her brown head. Therewere lines about her mouth, as if she had known sorrow that hadblossomed into sweetness. The young man took her hand. "Uncle 'Liph, " hesaid, "this is Alice. "

She came forward with winning frankness, and took the old man's hand inhers. The tears stood in his eyes again. 

"This is Alice, " he said; "this is Alice. " Then his gaze travelled toFred's glowing face, and, with a sob in his voice that was all for joy, he added, "Alice, I 'm glad you're a-livin'. "

THE END

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 BESIDE THE BONNIE BRIAR BUSH. 12mo, cloth, $1. 25 The same, with about 75 illustrations from photographs taken in Drumtochty by Clifton Johnson. 12mo, cloth, gilt top, 2. 00

 THE DAYS OF AULD LANG SYNE. 12mo, cloth, 1. 25 The same, with about 75 illustrations from photographs taken in Drumtochty by Clifton Johnson. 12mo, cloth, gilt top, 2. 00

 A DOCTOR OF THE OLD SCHOOL. From "Beside the Bonnie Briar Bush. " Illustrated from drawings made by Frederic C. Gordon. With a new portrait, and an introduction by the author. 12mo, cloth, gilt edges, 2. 00

 Also in Phenix series. 

 KATE CARNEGIE. With 50 illustrations by F. C. Gordon. 12mo, cloth, 1. 50

 THE UPPER ROOM. 16mo, cloth, _net_, . 50 Holiday edition, in white and gold, 16mo, boxed, _net_, . 75

 THE MIND OF THE MASTER. A Discussion of Topics of Practical Religion. 12mo, cloth, 1. 50

 THE CURE OF SOULS. Being the Yale Lectures on Theology. 12mo, cloth, 1. 50

 THE IAN MACLAREN YEAR BOOK. 12mo, cloth, 1. 25

 THE POTTER'S WHEEL. 12mo, cloth, 1. 25

 AFTERWARDS, and Other Stories. 12mo, cloth, 1. 50

 THE COMPANIONS OF THE SORROWFUL WAY. 16mo, cloth, . 75

 RABBI SAUNDERSON. From "Kate Carnegie. " With 12 illustrations by A. S. Boyd. 16mo, cloth (in Phenix Series), . 40

 Dodd, Mead & Company, Publishers 372 Fifth Avenue, New York

 FOUR NOTABLE BOOKS

 * * *

 WANTED: A MATCHMAKER

 A Christmas Story. By PAUL LEICESTER FORD, author of "Janice Meredith, " "Hon. Peter Stirling, " etc. With illustrations by H. C. Christy, and decorations by Margaret Armstrong. 8vo, cloth, $2. 00

 AS YOU LIKE IT

 By WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. With five full-page photogravure illustrations, and numerous drawings and decorations to accompany the text, by Will H. Low. 8vo, cloth, $2. 50

 Also LARGE PAPER EDITION, limited to 200 copies, beautifully printed and bound, $15. 00 net

Purchasers of this edition will receive an extra set of theillustrations, on Japan paper, with gold borders, in an envelope. These are very suitable for framing, and make a beautiful holidaypresent. 

 WONDERS OF NATURE

 Described by Great Writers, and profusely illustrated with views from nature. Edited by ESTHER SINGLETON. 8vo, cloth, $2. 00

 PIPPA PASSES

 By ROBERT BROWNING. With decorations and illustrations by Margaret Armstrong. 8vo, cloth, $1. 50

 * * *

 DODD, MEAD & COMPANY 372 Fifth Ave. , New York

 NEW JUVENILE LITERATURE

 MARTHA FINLEY

 ELSIE'S YOUNG FOLKS, by Martha Finley, author of the "Elsie" books. 12mo, cloth, $1. 25

It is unnecessary to do more than to announce a new "Elsie" book, for a multitude of young readers eagerly await the appearance ofeach new volume in the series. 

 HARRY THURSTON PECK

 THE ADVENTURES OF MABEL (for children of five and six), by Harry Thurston Peck. New edition. Illustrations by Melanie Elisabeth Norton. Large 12mo, $1. 00

These are simple stories told in such a way as really to interestchildren of five and six years of age, and not written over theirheads. The author has told them to his own child, and as theycharmed her, it is believed they will delight other children of herage. 

 ELISABETH W. CHAMPNEY

 ANNEKE, A LITTLE DAME OF NEW NETHERLANDS, by Elizabeth W. Champney, author of the "Witch Winnie" books. This is volume II in the series of "Dames and Daughters of Colonial Days. " 12mo, cloth, $1. 50

Mrs. Champney has projected a series in which the initial volume waspublished last autumn. The series gives great promise of interestand instruction for younger readers. 

 AMANDA M. DOUGLAS

 A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD WASHINGTON, by Amanda M. Douglas. Uniform with "A Little Girl in Old New York" and "A Little Girl in Old Boston. " 12mo, cloth, $1. 50

This is a continuation of the "Little Girl" Series which has beenso warmly welcomed. 

 DODD, MEAD & COMPANY, Publishers 372 Fifth Avenue, Corner 35th Street, New York

 THE MASTER CHRISTIAN

 By MARIE CORELLI

 The Most Talked-of Novel of the Season

 * * *

 IT IS UNTRUTHFUL

"Miss Corelli has libelled the whole Roman curia. "--_Dr. WilliamBarry. _

 IT IS NOT WELL WRITTEN

"It is a disappointing book. It is brilliant in spots, but as awhole it is a dismal failure!"--_San Francisco Chronicle. _

 IT IS NOT INTERESTING

"She emits a long-drawn melancholy howl. Six hundred solid pages ofsmall print, and nothing but words, words, words. "--_N. Y. Sun. _

 IT IS SACRILEGIOUS

"The book is one that jars on the religious sensibilitiesirrespective of creed. The religious part of the story is merelydenunciation. "--_Chicago Tribune. _

 IT IS IMMORAL

"The book if generally read by the young would be as destructive asthe immoral novel. "--_Watertown Herald. _

 IT IS TRUTHFUL

"That every one of her charges is true in substance I have not ashadow of doubt. "--_Dr. Joseph Parker. _

 IT IS WELL WRITTEN

"It is written with vigor, strength, and an abandon of fineexpression that carries all before it. "--_Philadelphia Item. _

 IT IS INTERESTING

"The story holds the interest from beginning to end. Of all herbooks, this is the most interesting and thrilling. "--_New YorkPress. _

 IT IS NOT SACRILEGIOUS

"The book is not irreverent. "--_Ian Maclaren. _

"The book is a bold attack on dogma and the creeds, and pleadseloquently for the pure love of Christ. "--_Chicago Inter Ocean. _

 IT IS MORAL

"There are many who will object to the book, but in spite of theirstrictures the book will find thousands of sympathizers who willcondone it. "--_Boston Journal. _

 * * *

 12mo, cloth, 610 pages, $1. 50

 * * *

 DODD, MEAD & CO. , Publishers New York

 NOVELS BY AMELIA E. BARR

 * * *

 Each 12mo, cloth, 60 cents. 

 1 JAN VEDDER'S WIFE. 2 A DAUGHTER OF FIFE. 3 THE BOW OF ORANGE RIBBON. Also 100 illustrations by Th. Hampe. 12mo, cloth, $1. 50. 4 THE SQUIRE OF SANDALSIDE. 5 A BORDER SHEPHERDESS. 6 PAUL AND CHRISTINA. 7 MASTER OF HIS FATE. 8 REMEMBER THE ALAMO. 9 THE LAST OF THE MACALLISTERS. 10 BETWEEN TWO LOVES. 11 FEET OF CLAY. 12 THE HOUSEHOLD OF McNEIL. 13 FRIEND OLIVIA. 14 SHE LOVED A SAILOR. 15 A SISTER TO ESAU. 16 LOVE FOR AN HOUR IS LOVE FOREVER. 17 CHRISTOPHER, AND OTHER STORIES. 18 THE HALLAM SUCCESSION. 19 THE LOST SILVER OF BRIFFAULT. 20 CLUNY MacPHERSON. 21 A SINGER FROM THE SEA. 22 THE LONE HOUSE. 23 SCOTTISH SKETCHES. 24 BERNICIA. 25 A KNIGHT OF THE NETS. 26 THE KING'S HIGHWAY. 27 A ROSE OF A HUNDRED LEAVES. Illustrated. 

 _Other books by Mrs. Barr. _

 MAIDS, WIVES AND BACHELORS. 16mo, cloth, $1. 25

 I, THOU, AND THE OTHER ONE. 12mo, cloth, illustrated, 1. 25

 THE MAID OF MAIDEN LANE. A sequel to "A Bow of Orange Ribbon. " 12mo, cloth, illustrated, 1. 50

 SOULS OF PASSAGE. 12mo, cloth, illustrated, 1. 50

 Dodd, Mead & Company, Publishers 372 Fifth Avenue, New York

 FOUR NOTABLE NOVELS

 Of these four Novels over 375, 000 copies have been sold

 * * *

 THE MASTER CHRISTIAN

 BY MARIE CORELLI

 12mo. Cloth. $1. 50. 

 "Written with vigor, strength, and often with an abandon of fineexpression that carries all before it. It is a novel to think aboutand discuss; to read attentively, and to read again. "--_PhiladelphiaItem. _

 JANICE MEREDITH

 BY PAUL LEICESTER FORD

 12mo. Cloth. Illustrated. $1. 50. 

 "A book that will make a historian of the novel reader, and anovel reader of the historian. "--_N. Y. Times. _

 RESURRECTION

 BY COUNT LEO TOLSTOI

 12mo. Cloth. Illustrated. $1. 50. 

 "Tolstoi shows here all the vigor of his early days. There is thesame pungency of diction, the same picturesque power. Not a personis introduced without a touch of vigorous individuality. . . . Thecharacters seem to start from the canvas. "--_The Athenĉum. _

 DR. DALE

 BY MARION HARLAND AND ALBERT PAYSON TERHUNE

 (Mother and Son)

 12mo. Cloth. $1. 50. 

 "The opportunity for rugged types, for sensational incidents andvivid contrasts in character and fortune have been seized upon inthe construction of the story, and turned to the advantage of thereader in a novel vividly realistic and dramatic. "--_PhiladelphiaPublic Ledger. _

 Dodd, Mead & Company, Publishers 372 Fifth Avenue, New York

 "A Great Series--And Good"

 * * *

 THE BOOKMAN CLASSICS

 The publishers believe that the time has arrived when the publicin America will support a handsomely printed edition of thestandard works in English literature. Starting with this belief, they have completed their plans for "THE BOOKMAN CLASSICS, " aseries destined to embrace the principal examples of English proseand verse, in pure literature which have successfully stood thetest of time. 

 By printing very large editions, the publishers will be able tooffer books that are equal in beauty to many "Editions de Luxe, " ata price only a little higher than the cheaply printed and badlymade 12mos now on the market. The volumes will be typographicallyall that the University Press can make them, and will containornamental titles, marginal decorations, especially designed foreach book, etc. , etc. They will be printed throughout in twocolors, on deckle-edged Mittineague paper, with frontispiece incolor, and will be well and handsomely bound. 

 Size, 12mo. Price, $1. 50 each

Now ready:--

 THE SENTIMENTAL JOURNEY ROBINSON CRUSOE THE SCARLET LETTER TOM BROWN'S SCHOOL DAYS

Other titles to be announced later. 

 Dodd, Mead & Company, Publishers New York

 Please mention THE BOOKMAN in writing to advertisers

 FOUR NOVELS WORTH READING

 * * *

 STRINGTOWN ON THE PIKE

 BY JOHN URI LLOYD

 12mo. Illustrated. $1. 50

A Kentucky story whose scope is as wide as the country itself. A book which none but an American could write. 

 THE MAID OF MAIDEN LANE

 BY AMELIA E. BARR

 12mo. Illustrated. $1. 50. 

The thousands who have read "_The Bow of Orange Ribbon_" will enjoya re-introduction to some old friends. 

 THE MASTER CHRISTIAN

 BY MARIE CORELLI

 12mo. Cloth. $1. 50. 

In this novel the author has surpassed all her former efforts. The most widely discussed book of the day. 

 THE ISLE OF UNREST

 BY HENRY SETON MERRIMAN

 12mo. Illustrated. $1. 50. 

A thrilling story of Corsica and Southern France during theFranco-Prussian war, having all the epigrammatic charm of "TheSowers. "

 Dodd, Mead & Company, Publishers New York

 * * * * * *

Transcriber's note:

 Minor punctuation errors have been corrected without note, and hyphenation has been regularized. Spelling variants used in dialect (except for the corrections noted below) have been retained. 

 Spacing of contractions in dialect (e. G. He 'll, you 've, there 's) has been retained and regularized. These were printed as half-spaces in the original book. Spaces in two part contractions (e. G. Could n't, had n't, sha' n't) have also been retained. However, ain't, 'ain't, don't, can't, wa'n't, and won't were all consistently printed without spaces, and appear that way in this e-book. 

 A few minor errors were corrected:

 1. "colored" to "coloured" (p. 53:"coloured with ars'nic"--"ou" spellings were used everywhere else in the original book except the advertisements in the back. )

 2. "skirk" to "shirk" (p. 146: "I ain't a-goin' to shirk it")

 3. "jest deserts" to "jest desserts" (p. 190)

 4. "afeard" to "afeared" (p. 243: "I 'm afeared I 'd 'a' clean furgot")

 One oe-ligature has been changed to oe (p. 58: "a young homoeopathic doctor").