ALL HE KNEW

A Story

BY

JOHN HABBERTON

AUTHOR OF "HELEN'S BABIES, " "BRUETON'S BAYOU, " ETC. 

MEADVILLE PENN'AFLOOD AND VINCENTChautauqua=Century Press

1890

MATTHEWS, NORTHRUP & CO. , ART-PRINTING WORKS, BUFFALO AND NEW YORK. 

ALL HE KNEW. 

CHAPTER I. 

As the Capital Express train dashed into the village of Bruceton onebright afternoon, a brakeman passing through a car was touched on theshoulder by a man, who said, --

"The man that left this in the seat in front got out three stationsback. You don't s'pose he'll want it again an' send back for it, doyou?"

The brakeman looked at an object which the speaker held up as he spoke:it was a small fig-box, such as train-boys sometimes succeed inimposing upon the traveling public, and it still contained severalfigs. 

"Want it again?" said the brakeman, with a scornful curl of the lipthat gave his black moustache a Mephistophelian twist, "of course not. He left it there so's to get rid of it, like most of 'em do. I wouldn'tbuy one of them boxes of--"

The brakeman suddenly ceased talking, and put both hands on thepassenger's shoulders with the movement peculiar to train-men whoseduty it is to rouse sleeping passengers, the effect always being tomake the victim throw his head slightly backward. Then the brakemanlooked a moment into the face before him, --it was small, weak-eyed, andcharacterless, --and continued, --

"Why, Sam Kimper, I didn't know you from Adam! That broad-brimmed lowhat makes you look like somebody else. When did you get out?"

"This mornin', " said the passenger, dropping his eyes. 

"Did, eh? Well, you needn't feel so bad about it, old man. Anybody'slikely to get in trouble once in a while, you know. You got catched;some other folks 'most always don't; that's about the difference. Let'ssee; how long was you--how long have you been away?"

"I was _sent_ for two years an' a half, " said the passenger, raisinghis head again and looking almost manly, "but, Mr. Briggs, I got allthe shortenin' of time that's allowed for good conduct, --ev'ry day ofit. If you don't believe it, I'll prove it to you. My term begun on the11th of August, eighteen hundred an'--"

"Never mind the figures, old man: I'll take your word for it. "

"But I wanted you to be sure; I thought mebbe you'd tell other folksabout it, seein' you're a good-hearted feller, an' know ev'rybody, an'I never done you no harm. "

"I'll tell 'em anyway, " said the brakeman, cheerily; "I ain't no saint, but I'm always ready to help a fellow up when he's down. I've got toget to the rear now, to uncouple a car we have to leave here. S'long, Sam. "

"Say, Mr. Briggs, " said the passenger, hurrying along behind thebrakeman, "you don't s'pose there's any chance for me to get a job inthe railroad-company's yard, do you?"

The brakeman turned with a sharp look which speedily softened as he sawan earnest appeal in the little man's face. 

"Well, Sam, " he replied, his words dragging slowly along, "the yard'salways full, an' men a-waitin'. You'd have to give bonds for goodbehavior, an' honesty, an'--"

"Never mind the rest, Mr. Briggs, " said the ex-convict, shrinking aninch or two in stature. "I didn't know about that, indeed I didn't, orI--"

"Well, you needn't be a-Mr. -Briggs-in' me, anyhow, " said the brakeman. "I was only Jim before--you left town, Sam, an' I want you to go oncallin' me Jim, just the same. Do you understand that, confound you?"

"Yes, Mr. --Jim, I do; an' may God bless you for sayin' it!"

"Here we are; good luck by the car-load to you, Sam. " Then the brakemanlooked back into the car and roared, --

"Bruceton. "

The discharged prisoner consumed a great deal of time and distributedmany furtive glances as he alighted, though he got off the train on theside opposite the little station. The train remained so long that whenfinally it started there was no one on the station platform but theagent, whose face was not familiar to the last passenger. 

A gust of wind brought to the platform a scrap of a circus-poster whichhad been loosened by recent rain from a fence opposite the station. Theagent kicked the paper from the platform; Sam picked it up and lookedat it; it bore a picture of a gorgeously-colored monkey and the headand shoulders of an elephant. 

"Ain't you goin' to put it back?" he asked. 

"Not much, " said the agent. "I don't rent that fence to the circus, ormenagerie, or whatever it is. "

"Can I have it?"

"Findings are keepings, " said the agent, "especially when they ain'tworth looking for; that's railroad rule, and I guess circus-companieshaven't got a better one. "

The finder sat down on the platform, took a knife from his pocket, andcarefully cut the monkey and the elephant's head from the paper. Thenhe walked to the end of the platform and looked cautiously in thedirection of the town. A broad road, crossed by a narrow street, ledfrom the station; into the street the little man hurried, believinghimself secure from observation, but just then the door of a coal-yardoffice opened, and Judge Prency, who had been county judge, and DeaconQuickset emerged. Both saw the new arrival, who tried to pass themwithout being recognized. But the deacon was too quick for him;planting himself in the middle of the sidewalk, which was as narrow asthe deacon was broad, he stopped the wayfarer and said, --

"Samuel, I hope you're not going back to your old waysagain, --fighting, drinking, loafing, and stealing?"

"No, deacon, I ain't. I'm a changed man. "

"That's what they all say, Samuel, " the deacon replied, not unkindly, "but saying isn't doing. Human nature's pretty weak when it don't leanon a stronger one. "

"That's how I'm leanin', deacon. "

"I'm glad to hear it, Samuel, " said the deacon, offering his hand, though in a rather conservative manner. 

"Sam, " said the judge, "I sentenced you, but I don't want you to thinkhard of me and take it out of my orchard and chicken-coop. It wasn'tyour first offence, you know. "

"Nor the tenth, judge. You did just right. I hope 'twas a warnin' toothers. "

"I think it was, " said the judge, thrusting both hands into his pocketsand studying the wall of the station as if it were the record of hisown court. "I think it was; and here's my hand, Sam, and my best wishesfor a square start in life. "

As the judge withdrew his hand he left behind a little wad of paperwhich Sam recognized by sense of touch as the customary Americansubstitute for the coin of the realm. The poor fellow did not know whatto say: so he said nothing. 

"Hurry along to your family, Sam. I hope you'll find them all well. I've told my wife to see to it that they didn't suffer while you wereaway, and I guess she's done it: she's that kind of woman. "

Sam hurried away. The deacon followed him with his eyes, and finallysaid, --

"I wonder how much truth there was in him--about leaning on a higherpower?"

"Oh, about as much as in the rest of us, I suppose. "

"What do you mean?" The deacon snapped out this question; his wordssounded like a saw-file at work. 

"Merely what I say, " the judge replied. "We all trust to our religionwhile things go to suit us, but as soon as there's something unusual tobe done--in the way of business--we fall back on our old friend theDevil, just as Sam Kimper used to do. "

"Speak for yourself, judge, and for Sam, if you want to, " said thedeacon with fine dignity, "but don't include me among 'the rest of us. 'Good-morning, judge. "

"Good-morning, deacon. No offence meant. "

"Perhaps not; but some men give it without meaning to. Good-morning. "

"I guess the coat fits him, " murmured the judge to himself, as hesauntered homeward. 

CHAPTER II. 

Sam Kimper hurried through a new street, sparsely settled, crossed alarge vacant lot, tramped over the grounds of an unused foundry, andfinally went through a vacancy in a fence on which there were onlyenough boards to show what the original plan had been. A heap of ashes, a dilapidated chicken-coop, and a forest of tall dingy weeds were theprincipal contents of the garden, which had for background a smallunpainted house in which were several windows which had been repairedwith old hats and masses of newspaper. As he neared the house he saw ina cove in the weeds a barrel lying on its side, and seated in the mouthof the barrel was a child with a thin, sallow, dirty, precocious faceand with a cat in her arms. The child stared at the intruder, whostopped and pushed his hat to the back of his head. 

"Pop!" exclaimed the child, suddenly, without moving. 

"Mary!" exclaimed the man, dropping upon his knees and kissing thedirty face again and again. "What are you doin' here?"

"Playin' house, " said the child, as impassively as if to have had herfather absent two years was so common an experience that his return didnot call for any manifestation of surprise or affection. 

"Stand up a minute, dear, and let me look at you. Let's see, --you'retwelve years old now, ain't you? You don't seem to have growed a bit. How's the rest?"

"Mam's crosser an' crosser, " said the child; "Joe's run away, 'causethe constable was after him for stealin' meat from--"

"My boy a thief! Oh, Lord!"

"Well, we didn't have nothin' to eat; he had to do it. "

The father dropped his head and shuddered. The child continued:"Billy's goin' to school now; Jane's servant-gal at the hotel; Tomplays hookey all the time, an' the baby squalls so much that nobodylikes her but Billy. "

The man looked sad, then thoughtful; finally he put his arm around hischild, and said, as he kissed and caressed her, --

"You're to have a better dad after this, darlin'; then maybe themother'll feel pleasanter, an' the baby'll be happier, an' Tom'll be agood boy, an' we'll get Joe back somehow. "

"How's you goin' to be better?" asked the child. 

"Goin' to give us money to buy candy an' go to all the circuses?"

"Maybe, " said the father. "I must go see the mother now. "

The child followed her father to the house; there was not muchexcitement in the life of the Kimper family, except when there was aquarrel, and Mary seemed to anticipate some now, for she drawled, asshe walked along, --

"Mam's got it in for you; I heerd her say so many a time sence you wartook away. "

"The poor thing's had reason enough to say it, the Lord knows, " saidthe man. "An', " he continued, after a moment, "I guess I've learned totake whatever I'm deservin' of. "

As Sam entered his house, a shabbily dressed, unkempt, forlorn lookingwoman sat at a bare pine table, handling some dirty cards. When shelooked up, startled by the heavy tread upon the floor, she exclaimed, --

"I declare! I didn't expect you till--"

"Wife!" shouted Sam, snatching the woman into his arms and covering herface with kisses. "Wife, " he murmured, bursting into tears and pressingthe unsightly head to his breast, --"wife, wife, wife, I'm goin' to makeyou proud of bein' my wife, now that I'm a man once more. "

The woman did not return any of the caresses that had been showeredupon her; neither did she repel them. Finally she said, --

"You _do_ appear to think somethin' of me, Sam. "

"Think somethin' of you? I always did, Nan, though I didn't show itlike I ought. I've had lots of time to think since then, though, an'I've had somethin' else, too, that I want to tell you about. Things isgoin' to be different, the Lord willin', Nan, dear--wife. "

Mrs. Kimper was human; she was a woman, and she finally rose to theoccasion to the extent of kissing her husband, though immediatelyafterward she said, apparently by way of apology, --

"I don't know how I come to do that. "

"Neither do I, Nan; I don't know how you can do anythin' but hate me. But you ain't goin' to have no new reason for doin' it. I'm goin' to bedifferent ev'ry way from what I was. "

"I hope so, " said Mrs. Kimper, releasing herself from her husband'sarms and taking up the cards again. "I was just tellin' my fortune bythe keerds, havin' nothin' else to do, an' they showed a new man an'some money, --though not much. "

"They showed right both times, though keerds ain't been friends to thisfamily, confound 'em, when I've fooled with 'em at the saloon. Where'sthe baby, though, that I ain't ever seen?"

"There, " said the woman, pointing to a corner of the room. Sam looked, and saw on the floor a bundle of dingy clothes from one end of whichprotruded a head of which the face, eyes, and hair were of the sametint as the clothing. The little object was regarding the new arrivalin a listless way, and she howled and averted her head as her fatherstooped to pick her up. 

"She's afraid you're goin' to hit her, like most ev'ry one does whenthey go nigh her, " said the mother. "If I'd knowed you was comin'to-day, I'd have washed her, I guess. "

"I'll do it myself now, " said the father, "I've got the time. "

"Why, you ain't ever done such a thing in your life, Sam!" said Mrs. Kimper, with a feeble giggle. 

"More's the shame to me; but it's never too late to mend. When'll Billyget home, an' Tom?"

"Goodness knows; Billy gets kep' in so much, an' Tom plays hookey sooften, that I don't ever expect either of 'em much 'fore supper-time. They talk of sendin' Tom to the Reform School if he don't stop. "

"I'll have to stop him, then. I'll try it, anyway. "

"It needs somebody that can wollup him harder'n I can; he's gettin' toobig for my stren'th. Well, if here they don't both come! I don't knowwhen I've seen them two boys together before, 'less they was fightin'. I wonder what's got into 'em to-day. "

The two boys came through the back yard, eying the house curiously, Billy with wide open eyes, and Tom with a hang-dog leer from under thebrim of his hat. Their father met them at the door and put his armsaround both. 

"Don't do that, " said Tom, twitching away, "that sort o' thing's forwomen, an' gals an' babies. "

"But I'm your dad, boy. "

"Needn't make a baby of me, if you be, " growled the cub. 

"I'd give a good deal, old as I am, if I had a dad to make a baby of methat way, if 'twas only for a minute. "

"Oh, don't be an old fool, " said Tom. 

"I heerd in the village you'd been let out, " said Billy, "an' so Ifound Tom an' told him, an' he said I lied, an' so we come home to see. Did you bring us anythin'?"

"Yes, " said the father, his face brightening, as he thrust his handinto his pocket and took out the fig box. "Here, " as he gave a fig toeach of the children and one to his wife, "how do you like that?"

"Good enough, " growled Tom, "only I don't care for 'em unless I have awhole box. I lift one out of a train-boy's basket at the station oncein a while. "

"Don't ever do it again, " said the father. "If you want 'em any time sobad you can't do without 'em, let me know, an' I'll find some way toget 'em for you. "

"An' get sent up again for more'n two year?" sneered the boy. 

"I don't mean to get 'em that way" said the father. "But I've gotsomethin' else for you. " Here he took the circus pictures from hisbreast, where they had been much flattened during the severaldemonstrations of family affection in which they had been involved. "Here's a picture for each of you. "

Billy seemed to approve of the monkey, but Tom scowled and said, --

"What do I care for an elephant's head, when I seen the whole animal atthe show, an' everythin' else besides?"

"S'pose I might as well get supper, though there ain't much to get, "said the wife. "There's nothin' in the house but corn-meal, so I'llbile some mush. An', " she continued, with a peculiar look at herhusband, "there ain't anythin' else for breakfast, though DeaconQuickset's got lots of hens layin' eggs ev'ry day. I've told the boysabout it again an' again, but they're worth less than nothin' athelpin' things along. The deacon don't keep no dog. Now you've gothome, I hope we'll have somethin'. "

"Not if we have to get it that way, " said Sam, gently. "No morestealin'; I'll die first. "

"I guess we'll all die, then, " moaned Mrs. Kimper. "I didn't s'posebein' sent up was goin' to skeer all the spirit out of you. "

"It didn't, Nan, but it's been the puttin' of a new kind of spirit intome. I've been converted, Nan. "

"What?" gasped Mrs. Kimper. 

"Thunder!" exclaimed Tom, after a hard laugh. "You goin' to be ashoutin' Methodist? Won't that be bully to tell the fellers in thevillage?"

"I'm not goin' to shout, or be anythin' I know of, except an honestman: you can tell that to all the fellers you like. "

"An' be told I'm a blamed liar? Not much. "

Mrs. Kimper seemed to be in a mournful revery, and when finally shespoke it was in the voice of a woman talking to herself, as she said, --

"After all I've been layin' up in my mind about places where there waspotatoes an' chickens an' pigs an' even turkeys that could be got an'nobody'd be any the wiser! How will we ever get along through thewinter?"

"The Lord will provide, " croaked Tom, who had often sat under thechurch window during a revival meeting. 

"If He don't, we'll do without, " said Sam, "but I guess we won't sufferwhile I can work. "

"Dad converted!" muttered Tom. "Dad converted! d'ye hear that?" saidhe, hitting his brother to attract attention. "I must go down to thehotel an' tell Jane; she'll steal me a glass of beer for it. Converted!I'll be ashamed to look the boys in the face. "

CHAPTER III. 

The Kimper family thinned out, numerically, as soon as the frugalevening meal was despatched. Tom and Billy disappeared separatelywithout remark; Mary put on a small felt hat which added a rakish airto her precocious face, and said she was going to the hotel to see ifsister Jane had any news. Half an hour later, the cook, all thechamber-maids, waiters, bar-keepers, and stable-boys at the hostelrywere laughing and jeering, in which they were led by Jane, as Mary toldof her father's announcement that he had been converted and would haveno more stealing done in the interest of the family larder. The funbecame so fast and furious that it was obliged to end in sheerexhaustion; so when Tom came in an hour later, he was unable to reviveit sufficiently to secure the stolen glass of beer which he hadcoveted. 

Sam Kimper did not seem to notice the disappearance of the more activeportion of the family. Taking the baby in his arms, he sat with closedeyes while his wife cleared the table. Finally he said, --

"Nan, ain't you got nothin' else to do?"

"Nothin', that I know of, " said the wife. 

"Come an' set down alongside o' me, then, an' let me tell you aboutsomethin' that come about while I was in the penitentiary. Nan, a manthat used to come there Sundays found me a-cryin' in my cell oneSunday; I couldn't help it, I felt so forlorn an' kind o' gone like. I'd felt that way lots o' times before, when I was out an' around, butthen I could get over it by takin' a drink. There's always ways ofgettin' a drink, --sweepin' out a saloon, or cuttin' wood agin' winter, when the saloon'll need it. But there wasn't no chance to get a drinkin jail, an' I was feelin' as if the under-pinnin' of me was gone. 

"Well, the man said he knowed a friend that would stand by me an' cheerme up. His name was Jesus. I told him I'd heerd of Him before, 'causeI'd been to revival meetin's an' been preached to lots by one man an'another. He said that wasn't exactly the way he wanted me to thinkabout Him, --said Jesus used to be alive and go around bein' sorry forfolks that was in trouble, an' He once comforted a thief that was bein'killed in a most uncomfortable way, though Jesus was havin' a hard timeof it Himself about that time. 

"That hit me where I lived, for I--well, you know what I was sent upfor. He said Jesus was God, but he came here to show men how to live, an' he wanted me to think about Him only as a man, while I was introuble. He said the worse off a man was, the more sorry Jesus was forhim: so I said, --

"'I wish He was here now, then. '

"'He _is_ here, my friend, ' said the man. 'He's here, though you can'tsee Him. He ain't got nothin' to make out of you: neither have I: soyou needn't be afraid to take my word for it. I'll tell you some of thethings he said. ' Then he read me a lot of things that did make me feellots better. Why, Nan, that man Jesus was so sorry for men in jail thatHe went back on some high-toned folks that didn't visit 'em: just thinkof that!

"After a while the man said, 'You seem to be feelin' better. '

"'So I am, ' said I. 

"'Then believe in him, ' says he, 'an' you'll feel better always. '

"'I've been told that before, ' says I, 'but I don't know how. '

"The man looked kind o' puzzled like, an' at last says he, --

"'What's yer politics?'

"'I'm a Jackson Democrat, ' says I. 

"'All right, ' says he, 'but Andrew Jackson's dead, ain't he?'

"'So I've heerd, ' said I. 

"'But you still believe in him?' says he. 

"'Of course, ' said I. 

"'Well, ' says he, 'just believe in Jesus like you do in Andrew Jackson, and you'll be all right in the course of time. Believe that what Hesaid was true, an' get your mind full of what He said, an' keep itfull, remindin' yourself over an' over again for fear you forget it orother things'll put it out of your mind, an' you'll be happier whileyou're in jail, an' you won't get back here again, nor in any otherjail, after you've been let out. '

"Well, that was encouragin', for I didn't want to get in no jails nomore. When the man went away he left me a little book that didn't havenothin' in it but things Jesus Himself said. I read it lots; some of itI didn't understand, an' I can't get it through my head yet, but what Idid get done me so much good that I found myself kind o' changin' like, an' I've been changin' ever since. Nan, I want you to read it too, an'see if it don't do you good. We ain't been what we ought to be; it'sall my fault. The children ain't had no show; that's all my fault too, but it'll take all that two of us can do to catch up with 'em. I wantyou to be always 'side o' me, Nan. "

"We can't let 'em starve, " said the wife; "an' if what you'rebelievin' is goin' to keep you from pickin' up a livin' for 'em whenyou get a chance, what are we goin' to do?"

"I'm goin' to work, " said Sam. 

"Sho! You never done three days' work hand-runnin' in your life. " ThenMrs. Kimper gave a hard laugh. 

"I've done it over two years now, an' I guess I can keep on, if I getthe chance. I can stick to it if you'll back me up, Nan. "

"There ain't much to me nowaday, " said Mrs. Kimper, after a moment ortwo of blank staring as she held her chin in her hands and rested herelbows on her knees. "Once I had an idee I was about as lively as theymake 'em, but things has knocked it out of me, --a good many kind ofthings. "

"I know it, poor gal, " said Sam; "I know it: I feel a good deal thesame way myself sometimes; but it helps me along an' stren'thens me up, like, to know that Him that the visitor in jail told me about didn'thave no home a good deal of the time, an' not overmuch to eat, an' yetwas cheerful like, an' always on His nerve. It braces a fellow up tothink somebody's who's been as bad off as himself has pulled through, an' not stole nothin', nor fit with nobody, nor got drunk, but alwayswas lookin' out for other folks. Say, Nan, 'pears to me it's gettin'dark all of a sudden--oh!"

The exclamation was called out by the cause of the sudden darkness, which was no other than Deacon Quickset, who had reached the door-waywithout being heard. The deacon's proportions were generous; those ofthe door were not. 

"Samuel, " said the deacon, "you said this afternoon that you were achanged man, and that you were leaning on a strength greater than yourown. I want to see you make a new start and a fair one; and, as there'sa prayer- and experience-meeting around at the church to-night, Ithought I'd come around and tell you that 'twould be a sensible thingto go there and tell what the Lord's done for you. It will put you onrecord, and make you some friends; and you need them, you know. "

Sam was pallid by nature, more so through long confinement, but helooked yet more pale as he stammered, --

"Me--speak--in meetin'? Before folks that--that's always b'longed tothe church?"

"You must acknowledge Him, Samuel, if you expect Him to bless you. "

"I hain't no objections to acknowledgin' Him, deacon, only--I'm not theman to talk out much before them that I know is my betters. I ain't gotthe gift o' gab. I couldn't never say much to the fellers in thesaloon along around about election-times, though I b'lieved in theparty with all my might. "

"It doesn't take any gift to tell the plain truth, " said the deacon. "Come along. Mrs. Kimper, you come too, so Samuel will have no excuseto stay home. "

"Me?" gasped Mrs. Kimper. "Me?--in meetin'? Goodness, deacon, it givesme the conniptions to think of it! Besides, "--here she dragged herscanty clothing about her more closely, --"I ain't fit to be seen amongdecent folks. "

"Clothes don't count for anything in the house of the Lord, " said thedeacon, stoutly, though he knew he was lying. "Meeting begins athalf-past seven, and the sun's down now. "

"Nan, " whispered Sam, "come along. You can slip in a back seat an'nobody'll see nothin' but your face. Stand by me, Nan: I'm yourhusband. Stand by me, so I can stand by my only friend. "

"Deacon ain't no friend o' yourn, " whispered the trembling woman inreply. 

"I'm not talkin' about the deacon, Nan. Don't, go back on me. You're mywife, Nan; you don't know what that means to me now, --you reellydon't. "

Mrs. Kimper stared, then she almost smiled. 

"I mean it, Nan, " whispered the man. 

Mrs. Kimper rummaged for a moment in the drawers of a dilapidatedbureau, and finally folded a red handkerchief and tied it over herhead. 

"Good!" said the deacon, who had been watching the couple closely. "We'll go around by the back way, so nobody'll see either of you, ifyou don't want them to. I'll take Samuel along with me, and you candrop in wherever you think best, Mrs. Kimper. I'm not going back on anyman who is going to turn over a new leaf. Come along. "

CHAPTER IV. 

The church at which Deacon Quickset worshipped was not large, nor wasit ever well filled when prayer and experience were the onlyattractions. When Sam Kimper entered, however, the place seemed soimmense and the throng so great that nothing but the bulk of thedeacon, which had been prudently placed in the rear of the new convert, kept him from turning about and escaping into the darkness. Even whenplaced in a seat the outer end of which was occupied by the deacon, thefrightened man cast his eyes appealingly towards his keeper, --for suchwas the relation he felt the deacon bore towards him. Finally heslipped slowly along the seat and whispered, --

"Deacon, I can't speak; I can't think of a word to say. It's a shame tohave a fellow like me talkin' to good church-members about what theyknow more about than him. "

"You'll have to acknowledge Him before men, Samuel, if you expect Himto acknowledge you. "

"Well, I hain't any objections to ownin' up to ev'rybody I know. Didn'tI tell you an' the judge? Didn't I tell Nan and the children? I ain'tseen anybody else yet, or I'd told them too. But I can't say nothin' toa crowd like this; I don't know how. "

"He'll give you words, Samuel, if you've got the right heart in you. "

"Is that a dead-sure thing?"

"Certainly. "

Further argument and protest were ended by the formal opening of themeeting. It appeared to the deacon that the first hymn was sung withmore sound and spirit than usual, and on looking around he saw thecause: it was literally a "packed house, "--the first one the church hadever known on a prayer-meeting night. The deacon immediately let hisown voice out a little more, for he felt personally complimented by thelarge attendance. He had told a number of persons of Sam's conversionand of his own intention to have the man "put himself on record" beforea number of witnesses; evidently this word had gone about and causedthe great gathering. 

Prayers, hymns, and short speeches and confessions succeeded oneanother for a little while, and the deacon, glancing aside frequently, saw his charge look more and more uncomfortable, helpless, andinsignificant as the exercises continued. This would not do; shouldthe fellow become thoroughly frightened, he might not be able to sayanything; this would be disappointing to the assemblage, and somewhathumiliating to him who had announced the special attraction of theevening. Sam's opportunity must come at once; he, the deacon, did notdoubt that his own long experience in introducing people to the publicin his capacity of chairman of the local lecture committee would enablehim to present Sam in a manner which would strengthen the weak kneesand lift up the feeble heart. 

"Brethren, " said the deacon, arising during the closing cadence of ahymn, "the consolations of our blessed religion often reach a man inmost unexpected ways, and we have among us to-night a living example ofit. One of our fellow-citizens who left us, against his will, I maysay, about two years ago, found the pearl of great price in the cell ofa prison. He has come here to-night to testify to the hope that iswithin him. He feels that he is weak and halting of speech, but, blessed be the spirit of our Master, that makes all of us brothers, itdoes not take eloquence or superfluity of words to let out anythingthat the heart is full of. I ask the attention and sympathy of allpresent for our brother Samuel Kimper. "

As the deacon sat down he put his powerful arm under the shoulder ofhis companion, and Sam Kimper found himself upon his feet. Thefrightened man looked down at the cushion of the seat in front of him;then he tried to look around, but there was so much hard curiosity ineach face upon which his eyes fell that he speedily looked down againand leaned heavily upon the back of the bench upon which his handsrested. Finally he cleared his throat and said, --

"Ladies an' gentlemen, I've been in State prison nearly two years. Ideserved it. Lots of folks talked kind to me before I went; some of'em's here to-night, an' I thank 'em for what they done. A good many of'em talked religion to me, but the more they talked the less Iunderstood 'em. I guess 'twas my fault; I never had much head-piece, while some of them had. But when I was in the prison a man come alongthat talked to me about Jesus like I never was talked to before. Somehow I could understand what he was drivin' at. He made me feel thatI had a friend that I could foller, even if I didn't keep up with himall the time, owin' to things in the road that I hadn't knowed about. He told me if I'd b'lieve in Jesus as I b'lieved in Andrew Jackson, I'dpull through in the course of time. I've been tryin' to do it, an'while I was in the jail I got lots of new idees of how I ort to behavemyself, all from a little book that man left me, that didn't havenothin' in it but Jesus' own words. I'm a-goin' to keep on at it, an'if I can't live that way I'm goin' to die a-tryin'. I b'lieve that'sall I've got to say, ladies and gentlemen. "

There was an awkward silence for a moment after Sam sat down. Theminister in charge of the meeting said afterwards that the remarks werenot exactly what he had expected, and he did not know, at such shortnotice, how to answer them. Suddenly a hymn was started by a voicewhich every one knew, though they seldom heard it in prayer-meeting. Itbelonged to Judge Prency's wife, who for years had been the mainstay ofevery musical entertainment which had been dependent upon local talent. The hymn began, --

 Am I a soldier of the cross, and the assemblage sang it with great force and spirit. The meeting wasclosed soon afterwards; and as Sam, in spite of an occasional kindgreeting, was endeavoring to escape from the hard stare of curiouseyes, Mrs. Judge Prency, who was the handsomest and most distinguishedwoman in the village, stopped him, grasped his hand, and said, --

"Mr. Kimper, you gave the most sensible speech I ever heard in anexperience meeting. I'm going to believe in you thoroughly. "

Deacon Quickset, who was closely following his new charge, listenedwith fixed countenance to the lady's remark. He followed Sam from thechurch, snatched him away from the wife who had joined him, and said, --

"Samuel, that experience of yours rather disappointed me. It wasn't allthere. There was something left out, --a good deal left out. "

"I guess not, deacon. I said all I knowed. "

"Then you ought to know a good deal more. You've only got at thebeginning of things. No church'll take you into membership if you don'tbelieve more than that. "

"Maybe I'll know it in the course of time, deacon, if I keep ona-learnin'. "

"Maybe you will, --if you do keep on. But you didn't say anything aboutyour hope of salvation, nor the atonement, nor your being nothingthrough your own strength. "

"I couldn't say it if I didn't know about it, " Sam replied. "All mytroubles an' wrong doin's have come of not livin' right: so rightlivin' is all I've had time to think about an' study up. "

"You need to think about dying as well as living, " said the deacon. 

"Him that took care of another thief that was dyin' 'll take care of meif I get in that fix, I guess, if I hang on to Him tight. "

"Not unless you hang on in the right way, " said the deacon. "You mustbelieve what all Christians believe, if you want to be saved. You don'tfeel that you're prepared to die, do you?"

"I felt it a good many times, deacon, when I was in that jail; an'sometimes I half wished I could die right away. "

"Pshaw!" muttered the deacon. "You don't understand. You're groping indarkness. You don't understand. "

"That's so, deacon, if you mean I don't understand what you're drivin'at. "

"Don't you feel Christ in you the hope of glory?"

"I don't know what you mean, deacon?"

"Don't you feel that a sacrifice has been made to atone for your sins?"

"I can't follow you, deacon. "

"I thought not. You haven't got things right at all. You haven't beenconverted: that's what's the matter with you. "

"Do you mean, Deacon, " said Sam, after a moment, "that what I'mbelievin' about Jesus is all wrong an' there ain't nothin' in it?"

"Why, no; I can't say that, " the deacon replied, "but--but you'vebegun wrong end first. What a sinner needs most of all is to know abouthis hereafter. "

"It's what's goin' on now, from day to day, that weighs hardest on me, deacon. There's nothin' hard about dyin'; leastways, you'd think so ifyou was built like me, an' felt like I have to feel sometimes. "

"You're all wrong, " said the deacon. "If you can't understand thesethings for yourself, you ought to take the word of wiser men for it. "

"S'posin' I was to do that about everythin': then when Judge Prency, who's a square man an' a good deal smarter than I be, talks politics tome, I ought to be a Republican instead of a Jackson Democrat. "

"No, " said the deacon, sharply, for he was a Jackson Democrat himself. "I'll have to talk more to you about this, Samuel. Good night. "

"Good night, deacon. "

"He knows more'n you do about religion, " said Mrs. Kimper, who hadfollowed closely behind, and who rejoined her husband as soon as thedeacon departed. 

"He ought to, seein' his head-piece an' chances; an' yet I've heerdsome pooty hard things said about him. "

When the couple reached home, Sam looked at the long heap of straw andrags on which his children should have been sleeping, but which waswithout occupant except the baby. Then, by the light of the coals stillremaining in the fire-place, he looked through some leaves of thelittle book which the prison visitor had given him. When he arose fromthe floor, he said to himself, --

"I'll stick to Him yet, deacon or no deacon, --stick to Him as if He wasAndrew Jackson. "

CHAPTER V. 

Sam Kimper spent several days in looking about his native town forwork. He found many sympathetic assurances, some promises, and no workat all. Everybody explained to everybody else that they were sorry forthe poor wretch, but they couldn't afford to have a jail-bird around. 

Meanwhile, Sam's stock of money, accumulated by overwork in the Stateprison, and augmented by Judge Prency's present, was running low. Hekept his family expenses as low as possible, buying only the plainestof food-material and hesitating long to break a bill, though it wereonly of the denomination of one dollar. Nevertheless the little wad ofpaper money in his pocket grew noticeably thinner to his touch. 

His efforts to save the little he had in his possession were notassisted by his family. His wife, thanks and perhaps blame to thewifely sense of dependence upon her husband, had fallen back upon himentirely after what he had said about his intention as to the future ofthe family, and she not only accepted his assurances as bearing uponthe material requirements of several mouths from day to day, but shealso built some air-castles which he was under the unpleasant necessityof knocking down. The poor woman was not to blame. She never had seen aten-dollar bill since the day of her marriage, when, in a spasm ofdrunken enthusiasm, her husband gave a ten-dollar Treasury note to theclergyman who officiated on that joyous occasion. 

One evening Sam took his small change from his pocket to give his sonTom money enough to buy a half-bushel of corn-meal in the village. Ashe held a few pieces of silver in one hand, touching them rapidly withthe forefinger of the other, his son Tom exclaimed, --

"You're just overloaded with money, old man! Say, gi' me a quarter togo to the ball game with? I'm in trainin', kind o' like, an' I ain'tafeard to say that mebbe I'll turn out a first-class pitcher one ofthese days. "

"Tom, " said his father, trying to straighten his feeble frame, as hiseyes brightened a little, "I wish I could: I'd like you to go intoanything that makes muscle. But I can't afford it. You know I'm notworkin' yet, an' until I do work the only hope of this family is in thelittle bit of money I've got in my pocket. "

"Well, " said Tom, thrusting out his lower lip, slouching across theroom, and returning again, "I don't think a quarter's enough to troubleanybody's mind about what'll happen to his family afterwards. I'veheard a good deal from the mother about you bein' converted, andchangin' into a different sort of a man, but I don't think much of anykind of converted dad that don't care enough for his boy to give him aquarter to go to a ball game. "

"Food before fun, Tom, " said the father, resolutely closing his handupon such remaining silver as he had, and then thrusting the fistfulinto his pocket, --"food before fun. Ball isn't business to this familyjust now, an' money means business ev'ry time. When I was away an'couldn't help it, things mebbe didn't go as they ort to have gone, butnow that I'm back again, there shan't be any trouble if I know how tostand in the way of it. "

This expression of principle and opinion did not seem to impressfavorably the eldest male member of the second generation. Master Tomthrust out his lower lip again, glared at his father, took his hat, andabruptly departed. There was no dinner at the Kimper table that day, except for such members of the family as could endure slices of coldboiled pork with very little lean to it. Late in the afternoon, however, Tom returned, with an air of bravado, indulged in a number ofreminiscences of the ball game, and at last asked why supper was notready. 

"Tom, " asked the father, "why didn't you come back to-day with what Igave you money to buy?"

"Well, " said the young man, dipping his spoon deeply into a mixture ofhasty pudding, milk, and molasses, "I met some of the boys on thestreet, an' they told me about the game, an' it seemed to me that Iwouldn't 'pear half a man to 'em if I didn't go 'long, so I made up mymind that you an' the mother would get along some way, an' I wentanyhow. From what's in front of me, I guess you got along, didn't you?"

"Tom, " said the father, leaving his seat at the table and going aroundto his son's chair, on the top bar of which he leaned, --"Tom, of coursewe got along; there'll be somethin' to eat here ev'ry day just as longas I have any money or can get any work. But, Tom, you're pretty wellgrown up now; you're almost a man; I s'pose the fellers in town thinkyou _are_ a man, don't they? An' you think you're one yourself too, don't you?"

The young man's face brightened, and he engulfed several spoonfuls ofthe evening meal before he replied, --

"Well, I guess I am somebody now'days. The time you was in jail, Ithought the family had a mighty slim chance o' countin'; but I tumbledinto base-ball, an' I was pretty strong in my arms an' pretty spry onmy feet, an' little by little I kind o' came to give the family astandin'. "

"I s'pose that's all right, " said the father; "but I want you tounderstan' one thing, an' understan' it so plain that you can't evermake any mistake about it afterwards. When I put any money into yourhands to be used for anythin', it don't matter what, you must spend itfor that, or you must get an awful thrashin' when you come back homeagain. Do you understan' me?"

The feeding motions of the eldest male of the Kimper collection ofchildren stopped for an instant, and Master Tom leered at his father ashe said, --

"Who's goin' to give the thrashin'?"

"I am, Tom, --your father is, --an' don't make any mistake about it. He'll do it good an' brown, too, if he's to die used up right awayafterwards. This family is goin' to be decent from this time on; thereain't to be no more thieves in it, an' any member of it that tries tomake it diff'rent is goin' to feel so bad that he'll wish he'd neverbeen born. Do you understan'? Don't go to thinkin' I'm ugly: I'm onlytalkin' sense. "

The cub of the family looked upward at his father from the corners ofhis eyes, and then he clinched his fists and turned slightly in thechair. Before he could do more, his parent had him by both shoulders, had shaken him out of the chair, thrown him upon the floor, and wasresting upon him with both knees. 

"Tom, " said Sam to his astonished son, "you was the first boy I everhad, an' I'd give away my right hand rather than have any real harmcome to you, but you've got to mind me now, an' you've got to do ituntil you're of age, an' if you don't promise to do it now, rightstraight along, from this time forth, I'll give you the thrashin' now. That ain't all, either, you've got to be man enough to stand by yourdad an' say somethin to the fellers, an' explain that you're goin' tostop bein' a town loafer, an' are goin' into decent ways. "

Tom was so astonished by this demonstration of spirit that he made allthe desired promises at once, and was released. 

But Tom was not the only juvenile member of the family who was in needof reformation. Mary, little Mary, not far beyond twelve years of age, demanded money to replenish her own wardrobe. 

"Mary, " said her father, "we're poor; we can't afford fancy fixin's. This ain't very cold weather. You've good enough clothes on you tokeep you warm: what d'you want o' somethin' else?"

"What do I want o' somethin' else?" echoed the child, going to the doorand tossing an imitation doll into the ash-heap, "why, I want betterclothes, so't the fellers about town'll pay some 'tention to me, likethey do to sister Jane. "

The slight, bent form of the father straightened up, as he asked, quickly, --

"Does the fellers around town pay attention to your sister Jane?"

"Why, of course they do, " said little Mary, entirely unable totranslate the gaze which her father bent upon her. "Jane never getsthrough her work at the hotel before there's a lot o' fellers hangin'round the door an' wantin' to see her, an' takin' her out to getice-cream or sody-water, or to go to the circus if there's one in town, or to go to the dramatic representation, --that's what they call it onthe bills, --if there happens to be one in the village that night. "

"Wife, " said Sam, turning to his helpmate, "what wages does Jane get?"

"Six dollars a month, " said the wife. 

"Does she bring any of it home? Does the family get the good of any ofit?"

"Not one cent, " said Mrs. Kimper, with a pitiful whine. "She says shehas to wear decent clothes at the hotel or they won't keep her thereany more. "

Sam Kimper stayed awake all that night, although his manners to hisfamily next morning were those of a staid and respectable citizen whohad nothing upon his mind but the ordinary duties of the day. 

Nevertheless, he was out and about soon after breakfast, and hewandered through every street of the village in which any business wasbeing done. Again and again he asked for work, and as often the offerwas refused or declined or relegated into the uncertain future for adecision. The surplus in his pocket had grown lamentably small. As hemade his way homeward in a physical and mental condition which made itimpossible for him either to argue to himself or to express a sense ofhope to any extent, he passed the shop of Larry Highgetty. Larry was ashoemaker. Sam had worked at shoemaking while he was in State prison. He felt, although Larry might have been offended at the imputation, that there ought to be a fellow-feeling between them; so he venturedinto the shop. Larry was sitting at his bench with a lady's shoe in onehand and with his head leaning against the wall of the room. From thestertorous noise which escaped his nostrils, it was quite evident thathe was asleep, and an odor which filled the room left the visitor inno doubt as to the nature of the opiate which had induced Larry'smid-day nap. 

"You seem to be takin' business very easy, Mr. Highgetty, " said Sam, with an apologetic air, as he closed the door behind him, and Larryawoke. "Pay must be gettin' better?"

"Better?" said Larry, rubbing his eyes. "I don't want it to be anybetter than it is now. Besides, people's comin' in all the time fasterthan I can tend to 'em; ev'rybody wants his work done first an' iswillin' to pay extra price to get it. Better, is it? Well, yes; Ishould say that no such luck had struck shoemakers in this town in along while. "

"You haven't half finished what you're on now, Larry, " said Sam, takingthe shoe from the cobbler's hand and looking at it. 

"That isn't all of it, " said the cobbler, with a maudlin wink at hisvisitor. "I don't know when I'll have it finished, if I keep on feelin'as I do now. It's pretty tough, too, bekase that shoe belongs to Mrs. Judge Prency, an' she's comin' for it this afternoon; but I'm thatsleepy that--" Larry's head gently sought the wall again. 

"An' a very good woman she is, Larry. Brace up, my boy, why don't you, an' finish your work?"

"Eh? Say 'Brace up' to somebody that's not got anythin' in him tobrace him down. She kin wait for her shoe while I'm havin' my aise an'forgettin' all about work. "

"When did you promise the shoe to her?" asked Sam. 

"Oh, sometime this afternoon, " said Larry, "an' she hasn't come in hereyet. Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof, ye know the good booksays, Sam. Maybe she won't come in till to-morrow; she's a busy woman;nobody knows where she's goin' or what she's doin' throughout the day, an', to tell ye the truth, I thought to myself I'd shut up the shop an'go home, so if she came there'd not be anybody here to tell a loieabout it. "

"Well, Larry, wouldn't it do just as well if there was somebody here totell the truth about it?"

"Oh, there, now, Sam, " said the shoemaker, rallying himself for aninstant; "they tould me that you was converted in jail, an' that soundsa good deal like it. Now, Sam, I want to tell ye if ye want to argy onthe subject of the truth, or any other of the moral sintiments, withany man whatsoever, ye don't want to come to a shoemaker's shop an'find a fellow who's just had three drinks in him at somebody else'sexpense. Now go 'way; come 'round here to-morrow when I'm sober, an'I'll own up to everything you say, no matter what it is. "

"That won't get Mrs. Prency her shoes, " said Sam. "Go home an' go tobed, an' let me finish that shoe in your hand, an' if she comes hereit'll be ready for her, an' if she don't you won't have anything onyour conscience, --not so far as she's concerned. "

The cobbler took possession of himself with a tremendous effort, andlooked sharply from his bleared eyes for an instant as he said, --

"An' what do you know about shoemakin'?"

"As much as two years in State prison could learn me, Larry; though Idon't think you need to have asked me. "

"It's all right, me boy; I take it back; an' if ever I'm sent to Stateprison myself you may ask it of me ten times over; that's the Biblerule, I belave. Now I'll go home to my wife an' family, an' if youchoose to finish that shoe an' stay here until Mrs. Judge Prency comesin to get it, why, you're quite welcome to do the work an' keep thepay; I tould her fifty cints. "

Sam began work upon the bit of repairing which he had taken from theshoemaker's hands, and although it was not of the routine nature whichall of his jail-work had placed in his hands, he knew enough of therequirements of an ordinary shoe to do what was necessary. While he wasworking, the room suddenly darkened, and as he looked up he saw Mrs. Judge Prency herself. 

"Why it's Mr. Kimper! Are you working here?"

"Only to finish a job that was promised for this afternoon, Mrs. Prency. "

"Where's Larry?"

"He felt very badly, " said Sam, "an' he wanted to go home, an' Ipromised to finish his work for him. I believe this is your job, ma'am?" said he, holding the shoe in the air for an instant. 

"Yes, " said the judge's wife. "I will sit down for a moment, if youwill allow me, while you finish it. "

"Certainly, ma'am, " said Sam, plying the needle and awl vigorously. Helooked up only for a second at a time during the next few moments, butwhat he saw impressed him very favorably. Mrs. Prency was not a youngwoman, but apparently she had a clear conscience and a good digestion, for she sat with an entirely satisfied and cheerful air, with hershoulders against the back of the chair, as if it were a real pleasureto rest against something, while her cheeks flushed, probably from theexertion of a rapid walk from some other portion of the town. Like anyother woman of good health, good character, and good principles, shewas a pleasing object to look upon, and the ex-convict looked at heras often as he dared, with undisguised and respectful admiration. Butsuddenly the uplifting of his eyes was stopped by a remark from thelady herself, as she said, --

"Sam--Mr. Kimper, I've heard some remarks about your speech at theexperience-meeting the other night. You know I was there myself; youremember I spoke to you as you came out?"

"Mrs. Prency, I know it; an' that isn't all; I'll remember it just aslong as I live. I'd rather have been the dyin' thief on the cross thansaid what I said in that church that night, but I was asked to do it, an' the more I thought about it the more I thought I couldn't say no. But I didn't know what else to say. "

"You did quite right, Mr. Kimper: you spoke like a real, true, honestman. If it's any comfort to know it, I can tell you that my husband, the judge, thinks as I do. I told him what you said, --I remembered itall, word for word, --and he said to me, --these are exactly hiswords, --'I believe that is an honest man, and that he is going toremain an honest man. '"

Sam bent over the shoe a little closer, and said, in a faint voice, asif he were talking to himself, --

"What Judge Prency says about human natur ort to be true. If there'sany other man in this county that's had more opportunities of knowin'all about it, I don't know who he can be. "

There was silence for a moment or two. Sam quickened his labors uponthe shoe, and the lady bent her gaze closely upon the shoemaker. Atlast she said, --

"Mr. Kimper, don't mistake the meaning of what I am going to ask you. Iam a member of the church, myself, and I have as hearty an interest inyou and sympathy for you as the best friend you have. But I want to askyou one thing, merely out of curiosity. Has any one questioned you, since, about what you said that evening?"

"Nobody but Deacon Quickset, ma'am. "

"Ah? Deacon Quickset? Did he say anything that annoyed you in any way?"

"I can't say that he did, ma'am; though he kind o' filled my mind withdoubts an' gave me a sort o' sleepless evenin'. "

"I'm very sorry for that. There's some one else who may trouble yousomewhat, and I'm sorry to say that if he does I shall be to blame forit. He is a young lawyer. His name is Reynolds Bartram. "

"I know him, ma'am; at least, I know him by sight. He's of very goodstock, ma'am. His folks have been in this county a longtime, from whatI've heerd, off an' on. "

"Very true, " replied Mrs. Prency; "but he has peculiar views, and whenhe hears of any one who believes--believes in religion as you do, he isquite likely to visit him and to ask a great many questions. "

"Well, ma'am, if he comes in on me anywhere, an' asks any questions, an' they're on the subject I talked about that night at the churchmeetin', why, I'll say anythin' I know an' everythin' I believe, an' ifhe says anythin' on the other side, why, all I've got to say is, hecan't change my mind the least bit. "

"I'm very glad to hear you say so, " said Mrs. Prency. "Ah, is the shoedone, entirely done? Good. Very much obliged. It's quite as good as Mr. Highgetty himself could have made it. Fifty cents, I believe? Is thatsatisfactory?"

"Quite satisfact'ry, ma'am, " said the substitute, as he rose from hisbench and removed his hat, which had been on his head during theinterview. Mrs. Prency started towards the door, but stopped suddenlyand turned back. 

"Mr. Kimper, the young man, Mr. Bartram, of whom I spoke to you, --Ireally believe he is inclined to come and talk to you, and perhaps talka great deal, about what you seem to believe very sincerely and what hedoesn't believe at all. I hope you won't change your mind throughanything that can be said to you by a person of that kind, or by anyperson whatever?"

"Mrs. Prency, " said the cobbler's substitute, taking his hat from thebench on which he had placed it and circling it in his hand as if hewere endeavoring to stimulate his mental faculties, "whatever I believeon that subject I'm goin' to stick to, an' nobody, not even if he isthe best lawyer in the county, or your husband himself, or the judge ofthe biggest court in the United States, is goin' to change my mindabout it. "

"Thank you, Mr. Kimper. I might have known as much from what I heardduring your remarks the other night. I only wanted to say to you thatMr. Bartram is a very smart talker and very quick to see whatevermistakes any one else may make. "

"If I make any mistakes, " said Sam, "it's because of somebody who's agreat deal smarter than I am, who don't back me up as much as I needfor the time-bein'. "

"Good-day, Mr Kimper, " said the lady. 

"Good-day, ma'am, " said the ex-convict. 

He stood in the dingy shop looking out of the window at the retreatingform of the lady, and then at the gathering clouds over the eveningsunset, and at the houses on the opposite side of the street, apparently that he might divert his mind from something. Then helooked at the coin which he had received for the work, as if it were anamulet or a charm. 

Suddenly his attention was distracted by the appearance, on the otherside of the street, of a very pretty young woman, accompanied by ayoung man in good attire and of fine bearing. 

"Well, well, " said the ex-convict, "I wonder if that's what it means?That's Bartram himself, as sure as I'm born, an' with him is Mrs. Prency's only daughter an' only child. Well, well!"

CHAPTER VI. 

As the summer lengthened into early autumn, Sam Kimper became more andmore troubled by the necessities of his family. He had been working dayafter day in the shop of his acquaintance the shoemaker, when there waswork enough for two, and earned enough to pay for the plainest food. But casual pay was not sufficient to all the necessities of a family aslarge as that for which Sam was responsible, particularly as the returnof the head of the family had reminded every one, from the mother downto the youngest child except the baby, of a number of needs of which noone seemed to have thought before. 

Mrs. Kimper herself, who was a feeble creature at best, shivered atevery wind that penetrated the broken windows, and insisted that unlessshe had some warm clothing very soon she would fall into a decline. Tom, who had not yet got his growth, was protruding physically from theends of his shirts and trousers, and assured his father that he neveragain could get into his last winter's jacket without subjectinghimself to a series of remarks by the boys in the town, which wouldmake him feel very uncomfortable. Billy, who had gone barefooted allsummer, as was the custom with the boys in town, came home late oneevening and announced triumphantly, --

"Dad, you needn't bother yourself about me any more about shoes. I'vegot a pair. See here!"

The head of the family took the new shoes into his hand and examinedthem. Then he dropped them with a sort of shiver, for they were of awell-remembered pattern, --that upon which he had worked for two yearsin the penitentiary. 

"How did you get 'em, Billy?" the father asked, at length. 

"Oh, I found 'em, " said the boy, with a wink at his elder brother, --awink which was returned to him in the shape of an evil leer. 

"Found 'em! Where? Tell me all about it, " said the father, very sharplyand sternly, for he remembered a time when he had "found" thingshimself. 

Billy looked appealingly at his brother Tom, but the elder brother puton a hang-dog look and sauntered out of the room and was afterwardsseen disappearing rapidly through the back yard. 

"Well, " said Billy, at last, with the air of one who was entirelyunbosoming himself, "I'll tell you how it was, dad. Down at Price'sstore there's a long string of shoes out at the door. They use 'em as asign, don't you know?"

"Yes, " said the father carelessly; "I've seen such signs. Go on. "

"Well, I need shoes awfully, you know, an' I've been tellin' the motherabout it for a week or ten days, an' she said she was tellin' you. Butmy feet gets awful cold late at nights and early in the mornin's. An' Ididn't want to bother you, knowin' that you hadn't any money to spare, 'cause the mother told me 'bout that too, an' cried about it. Well, itblowed like ev'rythin' this afternoon as I was goin' towards Price's, an' that string of shoes just whirled around like a kite-tail, an' atlast the bottom pair flew off into the street. An' I picked 'em up. "

"Findin's is keepin's, " said Mrs. Kimper. 

"Give me them shoes, my boy, " said the ex-convict. 

"You're goin' to take 'em away from me? Have I got to have cold feetsome more?" said Billy, appealingly. 

Sam thrust his hand into his trousers-pocket, took out a very thin wadof green paper, looked at it, and finally said, "No, I s'pose not. "Nevertheless he and the shoes disappeared from the house. 

In a short time Mr. Price, the owner of one of the village stores, received a call from the ex-convict, who said, --

"Mr. Price, one o' my boys found a pair o' shoes in the street in fronto' your store this afternoon durin' the hard blow, an', as they justfitted him, I came around to pay you for them. How much are they?"

Several men were standing about the stove in Price's store, the firehaving just started for the autumn and winter season, and, as theyheard Sam's remark, one of them uttered a long combination of word andwhistle that sounded very much like "Whew-w?" Sam turned quickly, recognized the man as one whom he knew to be not over-honest, andsaid, --

"When _you_ pay for ev'rythin' you get it'll be time to make fun ofsomebody else. But, Mr. Price, what I asked you was, what's the priceo' them shoes?"

The storekeeper was so astonished at such a question from a member ofthe Kimper family that, looking at shoes of the same quality which werelying in a box behind the counter, he actually mistook the cost-markfor the selling-price, and replied, "Only a dollar and a quarter, Mr. Kimper. "

Sam laid down the money, received some change, and departed, while themen who were lounging about the store began an active conversation asto whether that man was the fool he looked or whether he was notperhaps a regular sharper whose natural abilities and inclinations hadbeen cultivated during the two years he was in State prison. Theyunderstood, those evening loafers, that prisons were nominally for thepurpose of reforming criminals, but they had known a great manycriminals themselves, and their astonishment at seeing one whoapparently desired to do better than in his past life, and to makeamends for the misdeeds of his family, was so great that theconversation which ensued after the exit of the ex-convict was veryfragmentary and not at all to the point. 

The next morning Sam appeared bright and early at the shoe-shop ofLarry Highgetty. He had made an arrangement with the cobbler to dowhatever work might be assigned him and to accept as full paymentone-half the money which would be charged, most of it being forrepairs. As nearly as he could discover by a close questioning of theproprietor of the establishment, the entire receipts did not exceed twodollars per day, and the owner had so few responsibilities and so muchsurplus that he would be quite glad if he might lounge at one or otherof the local places of entertainment while some one else should do thework and keep the establishment open. Consequently Sam went at the workwith great energy, and little by little nearly all the work came to bedone by him. 

He had hammered away for a few minutes on a sole to be placed on thebottom of a well-worn shoe belonging to a workingman, when a newcustomer entered the shop. Sam looked up at him and saw ReynoldsBartram. He offered a short, spasmodic, disjointed prayer to heaven, for he remembered what the judge's wife had said, and he had knownReynolds Bartram as a young man of keen wit and high standing as adebater before Sam's enforced retirement; now, he knew, Bartram hadbecome a lawyer. 

"Well, Sam, " said Bartram, as he seated himself in the only chair andproceeded to eye the new cobbler, while the blows of the hammer struckthe sole more rapidly and vigorously than before, --"well, Sam, Iunderstand that you have been turning things upside down, and insteadof coming out of the penitentiary a great deal worse man than when youwent in, as most other men do, you have been converted. "

"That's my understandin' of it, Mr. Bartram, " said the ex-convict, continuing his inflictions upon the bit of leather. 

"Sam, " said Bartram, "I am a man of business, and I suppose you arefrom what I see you doing. I wish to make you a proposition: I will payyou cash for two or three hours' time if you will tell me--so that Ican understand it--what being converted really amounts to. "

The new cobbler did not cease an instant his attention to the work inhis hand. He merely said, --

"Mr. Bartram, you're a very smart man, an' I'm a very stupid one. Ifthere's a stupider man in town the Democratic local committee has neveryet been able to find him. You want to know what bein' converted means?You'd better go to Deacon Quickset, or the minister of some one of thechurches hereabouts. I can't explain anythin', I don't know anythin'but what I feel myself, an' the more I feel it the more I don't knowhow to talk about it. Deacon Quickset says it don't 'mount to much. Is'pose it don't--to him, he bein' so much smarter than me. But, so faras it goes, I can't be paid for talkin' about it, for it didn't cost menothin'. "

This was not what the visitor had expected; nevertheless, it is alawyer's business to know more than one way of putting a thing. 

"See here, Sam; I need a new pair of shoes, --soft leather, thin soles, good cut; do you suppose you know how to measure me for them?"

"Well, I guess I've found out that much, Mr. Bartram. "

"Go ahead, then; don't let me interfere with the measurement; but Iwant to ask you some questions; tell me what you can as you go along. You've been converted, they say, and you say so too. "

"Yes, sir, " said Sam, dropping the tape-line for a moment; "what otherpeople say I'm not responsible for, but I say it myself that I'm adifferent man. That's all I can say, Mr. Bartram; an', as I saidbefore, if you want to know more, you'd better ask somebody that's beenin that sort o' life longer than I have. "

"Nonsense, Sam! you are too modest. As they say in churches, the newestconvert has the strongest opinions. Now, you know what my business is. Strong opinions amount to everything in the legal business, and so Ihave come to you, just as squarely as I could go to any man in theworld about anything else that he understood, to ask you plainly whatyou know about this new life that you are said to be leading now. Tellit to me, out and out. Don't be afraid to keep back anything. Take allthe time you like at it. If you can't say just what you want to, try toput it as clearly as you can. I didn't come in to worry you. Rememberthat I really want some distinct information on the subject. "

Sam looked up keenly, and said, "Mr. Bartram, are you in earnest?"

"Sam Kimper, " said the young lawyer, "if I were not in earnest do yousuppose I'd come into this shop during the business hours of the dayand ask questions of this kind, when there are plenty of other people Icould go to and get the information I want, and perhaps a good dealmore? No, sir; I have come here to ask you because I thought thatwhatever you could say you would say in the fewest possible words andsay it right to the point. "

"But, Mr. Bartram, I'm not used to talkin' to lawyers. I never talkedto any but once, you know, an' then I don't think they had very muchrespect for what I said. I wasn't in a fix where anybody could have anyrespect for me. "

"This hasn't anything to do with those times, Sam, " said the lawyer. "Afriend of yours, who is a friend of mine, has told me that you talkedvery straightforward and honestly on this subject a few nights ago. That's more than I have been able to find anybody do in this town in along time. I don't mind saying to you that, according to what thepeople who are the most prominent in the church say, I'm a pretty hardcharacter. Therefore whatever you have to say you needn't be afraid toput very plainly. I simply want to know about myself; that's all. "

"Mr. Bartram, " said the cobbler, "as I've already said, you had a gooddeal better talked to somebody else. But, seem' you've come to me, I'veonly this to say to you, an' I hope you can make somethin' out of it, because I give you my word I've made more out of it than ever I did outof anythin' else on the face of the earth. I went to jail for stealin'. I hadn't ever been an honest man in my life. The only reason I hadn'tbeen in jail all my life was that I hadn't been caught. At last I wascaught, an' I was sent up, an' I don't mind sayin' that I think mysentence was mighty light, considerin' all the heavy mischief that I'ddone durin' my life. While I was in jail I was talked to by a man thatused to come through there to talk to the prisoners on Sundays. An'about all he said to me was to read me a lot o' things that JesusChrist said when He was alive in this world, an' told me to go aheadan' do all them things just as well as I knowed how to, an' if I did'em all well as far as I could I'd find out a good deal more in thecourse of time. "

"Go on, " said the lawyer. 

"I haven't anything to go on with, Mr. Bartram, " said the cobbler, "except that I took his advice, an' ain't ever been sorry for it, an' Iwish I'd got it a good deal sooner. I'm just the same oldtwo-an'-sixpence that I was before I went away. That is, I'm alwaystired an' always poor an' always wishin' I didn't have to do any work. But when there comes a time when I get a chance to do somethin' wrongan' make somethin' by it, I don't do it, although there was a time whenI would have done it. I don't keep from doin' it for anything that Ican make, 'cause I always go home a good deal worse off than I mighthave been. I hope you get something out of what I'm tellin' you, Mr. Bartram?"

"But, Sam, my dear fellow, " said the young man, "all this doesn't meananything; that is, so far as religion goes. You are simply trying tolive right, whereas you used to live wrong. Haven't you learned anymore than that?"

"Well, Mr. Bartram, " said Sam, ceasing to jot down measurements, andlooking at his stubby pencil as if he had a question to ask, "that'sall I've learned. An' I s'pose you bein' the kind o' man you are, --thatis, well born an' well brought up, plenty o' money an' never donenothin' wrong that you know of, --I s'pose that don't seem much to you;but I tell you, Mr. Bartram, it's a complete upset to my old life, an'it's such a big one that I've not been able to get any further since, an' I don't mind talkin' honestly to any fellow-man that talks about itto me. I don't mind sayin' honestly that it's so much more than I'mequal to livin' up to yet that I haven't had any time to think aboutgoin' any further along. See here, Mr. Bartram, can you tell mesomethin' I can do besides that?"

"Why, Sam, " said the lawyer, "that's an odd question to ask me. I haveseen you in church frequently since you were first a young man, tenyears older than I. You have been told frequently what else you oughtto do; and what I came in particular to ask you was as to how faryou've done it, or been able to do it, or were trying to do it. "

"You come to the wrong shop, then, Mr. Bartram, " said the cobbler. "When a man's been livin' wrong all his life an' has had somethin' putinto him to make him feel like turnin' round an' livin' right, thechange that's gone on in him is so big that it'll take him about half alifetime to get to where he can think about anythin' else. "

"Pshaw!" said the lawyer. 

"You said you wanted these shoes made out of soft leather an' withpretty thin soles, Mr. Bartram?"

"Yes, yes; make them any way you please. "

Then the lawyer left the room and closed the door with a crash thatcaused the new cobbler to look up apprehensively. 

CHAPTER VII. 

Little by little the Kimper family was made more comfortable and put inbetter condition for the coming winter. Broken window-panes weremended, though frequently only with bits of board closely wedged, cracks in the wall were stuffed with dried grass and plastered withmud, and clean straw replaced the dirty substitutes for beds andmattresses. The head of the family worked hard at the cobbler's shop, yet did not cease working when he reached home. 

Yet week by week Sam looked better than in old times. Conrad Weitz, themanager of the most popular drinking-place in the town, predicted thatthere would soon have to be a change for the worse. 

"He ain't drinkin' noding, " said Conrad; "and a feller dat's beendrinkin' all his life can't get along midout it afterwards. "

The vender of stimulants said this to Deacon Quickset, for the two menwere incessantly arguing over the liquor question, and never lost anopportunity of bringing up a new point about it when they met by anychance. Weitz was a public-spirited and intelligent citizen, and thedeacon believed that if his opinions about the moral nature of hisbusiness could be changed there would be a great gain for thetemperance cause in Bruceton. Besides, Weitz was a well-to-do man andsaved a great deal of money, some of which the deacon had invested forhim, and all of which the deacon desired to handle, for he was a man ofmany enterprises, and, like most other men of the kind, always had moreways than money. 

"You're all wrong about that, Weitz, " said the deacon, sitting upon anempty beer-barrel in front of the liquor-store. The deacon wasaccustomed to say, with a grim smile, that he was one of the very fewmen in business whose reputation would allow him to sit upon abeer-barrel without giving rise to any suspicions. 

"Deacon, " said the liquor-dealer, "you hadn't ought to talk about vatyou don't understand. How long since you stopped drinkin'?"

"Now, see here, Weitz, what do you mean, to ask me a question likethat? You ought to know well enough that I never drank in my life. If Ihaven't told you so again and again, I should think other people couldhave done it. "

"Never drank anyding, eh? never in your life? Vell, vell!" said theproprietor, caressing the beer-shop cat for a moment, "dat explains agood many dings about you dat I never understood before. I tell you vatI tink, deacon: if you'd been brought up in my country, mit all debrains you've got in your head, and yoost could'a'had a lot of Germanbeer put inside of you besides, you'd been about de finest man in deUnited States now. Den, besides dat, of course, you ought to belong tomy shurch, too. "

"Your church!" sneered the deacon. 

"Come, now, deacon, " said the shopkeeper, abruptly dropping the cat, "you can turn up your nose at my ideas all you vant, but you mustn'tturn it up at my shurch. I don't do dat to you, and don't you forgetit, eider. "

"That's all right, Conrad; I didn't mean to do it. Of course, every manwill believe the way he is brought up. But I hope you won't go totelling anybody else in this town that that poor convict ought to bedrinking and will have to do it again; because it might get to hisears, you know, and if it did it might break him down, and then he'd goto lying and stealing and loafing and fighting again, and there is noknowing whose chicken-coops and wood-piles would have to suffer. Yoursmight be one of the first of the lot. "

"Vell, " said the German, "is dat de vay you look at the question?"

"It's a fact, isn't it?"

"Yes, I s'pose it is. But I didn't tink dat vas de first ding for a manlike you to tink about ven you vas talkin' about a feller dat has brokeoff all his bad habits and is tryin' to be yoost right. "

The deacon felt awkward for a moment. He did not like to be reminded ofany of his faults by a neighbor, much less by one who belonged to achurch so widely different from his own. 

"Why, of course not, " said he; "of course, I am thinking about theman's eternal salvation and about his future; but, to tell you thetruth, I haven't got much faith in his professions. A man that don'tget any further than he has done, and that don't seem willing to learnfrom them that's his betters and has gone into such things a good dealdeeper than he has, ain't very likely to hold out. And the lastcondition of that man will be worse than the first. "

"Vell, " said the shop-keeper, "a good deal depends on dat. You vas amember of von shurch and I vas a member of anoder, deacon, and we cantalk togeder like brudders, --a little vay, anyhow. Now, I tell you vatit is: dere's a good many men in dis town dat's behavin' very decentdat don't belong to any shurch at all, and you'd yoost as lief discountdeir notes as you vould any oder man's, and you'd go into business mitdem yoost as qvick, and you'd take deir word for anyding yoost asqvick. If dat's de vay mit dem men, vy isn't it true dat Sam Kimper isa good deal better off mit vat he's got dan he vould be midout anydingat all in de vay of religion?"

"Oh, Conrad, " said the deacon, "you were brought up in darkness anderror! You don't understand. I've got that Sam Kimper on my mind somuch that I'm just keeping our minister after him all the time. "

"Vell, " said the shopkeeper, "I tell you vat I'll do, deacon. You letyour minister do all he can mit him, and ven he finds he can't donoding yoost you come an' tell me, an' den I'll send our priest afterhim. He's a good man. You can't say noding against him; you know youcan't. Neider can anybody else in dis town. "

"No, " said the deacon, "I don't mind saying, for I've said it a goodmany times before, that if Father Black belonged to my church, insteadof the one he does, I couldn't find a single thing to say or thinkagainst him. He is certainly a very good man, and doing a great deal ofgood among a lot of people that I didn't suppose ever could be kept outof mischief; but--"

"But he didn't keep 'em out of mischief in your vay. Dat's de trouble, isn't it? Come now, own up, like an honest man, and I von't go tellnobody else about vat you say. Own up, now; isn't dat de trouble? Dempeople dat you talk about as behavin' demselves is a good deal betterdan some dat's smarter and has got more money an' more advantages an'more friends, an' dey don't make nobody any trouble, an' yet you ain'tsatisfied mit 'em; an' mit deir shurch, yoost because dey don't doeveryding your vay. "

"Conrad, " said the deacon, putting on a lofty air, "you're a good manto do business with; you're a respectable citizen, except that you sellrum. But there's some things you can't understand, and it's no use forme to waste time talking to you about them. If your mind was clearer, if it had been enlightened in the true way, you would not be sellingrum, for instance. "

"Vouldn't I, dough? Vell, I yoost vant you to understand dere's nobetter business in dis town dan I am a-doin' right in dis shop. But ifI didn't tink it vas right, I vouldn't be doin' it at all. You talk indis country as if de rum-sellers vas de very vorst people in de vorld. I vant you to understand over in my country, dat's a good deal olderdan dis, and vere de peoples has had a good deal more experience, a mandon't get no right to sell liquor unless he is a first-class citizen inevery respect. It's a sign dat a man is honest an' sensible an' knowshow to manage oder men, if he gets de right to sell liquor. Dat's moredan you can say about _your_ business, Deacon Quickset. Any rascal cango in de business dat you is doin' now. "

"Well, " said the deacon, beginning to feel that he was on dangerousground, "this wasn't what we were talking about, anyhow. We began totalk about Sam Kimper; and I want you to promise me that you won't talkto anybody else about his needing liquor, and about his breaking downin the course of time unless he gets it. "

"Of course I von't talk about it, deacon. Do you s'pose I'm a fool? Doyou s'pose I vant to see people get drunk? No, sir; people dat getsdrunk don't come to my shop. Dey know dey couldn't get anyding if deydid. "

Meanwhile Sam Kimper went on, after the humble manner in which he hadbegun, to try to bring his family to his new standard ofrespectability. He introduced family prayers, much to the disgust ofhis son Tom and the amusement of his daughter Mary. The privacy offamily affairs was not entirely respected by the Kimper family, for Samsoon heard remarks from street loafers, as he passed along, whichindicated that the devotional exercises of the family had beenreported, evidently by his own children, and he heard quotations fromsome of his weak and halting prayers pass from mouth to mouth andelicit peals of coarse laughter. 

Nevertheless he found some encouragement. His son Tom was not quite somuch of a cub at home as he had been, and actually took to trying, in adesultory way, to find work, although his father's offer to teach himthe trade which had been learned in the penitentiary was declined verysharply and without any thanks whatever. Billy, the younger boy, had anaffectionate streak in his nature, which his father succeeded intouching to such an extent that complaints of Billy's truancy werenowhere near so numerous as they had been just after his father'sreturn. Mary, the youngest daughter, was a less promising subject. Herprecocity was of a very unpleasant order, and caused her father a greatdeal of annoyance. 

When everything else failed him, Sam had the baby for consolation. Thelittle wretch had been so utterly uncared for since its appearance thatit seemed surprised for some time by its father's demonstrations ofaffection, but finally the meaning of this seemed made known to it, probably in the way the same meanings are translated to babieseverywhere else, and from being a forlorn and fretful child itgradually became so cheerful that its own mother began to display someinterest in it and make a plaything of it, to her own manifestadvantage. 

But Jane, the elder daughter, who was a woman in stature and alreadyknew more of the world than is good for women in general, was aconstant source of anxiety to Sam. Many a night the unhappy fatherlingered in the neighborhood of the hotel, seeking for an opportunityto see his daughter and talk with her; not that he had much to say, butthat he hoped by his presence to keep more congenial company away fromher. When he heard any village gossip in the house, he always couldtrace it to his daughter Jane. Whenever Mary broke out with some newand wild expression of longing, he understood who put it into her mind. Whenever his wife complained that she was not so well dressed as someother women whose husbands were plain workmen, and expressed a wish forsome tawdry bit of finery, Sam could trace the desire, by very littlequestioning, back to his daughter Jane. 

He prayed about it, thought about it, groaned over it, wept over it, and still saw no means within his power to bring the girl back to aninterest in her family and to bring her up so that she should notdisgrace the name which he was trying to rehabilitate. But the morethought and effort he gave to the subject, the less seemed his chanceof success. 

CHAPTER VIII. 

Eleanor Prency was the handsomest girl in all Bruceton. Indeed, she sofar distanced all other girls in brilliancy and manners, as well as ingood looks, that no other young woman thought of being jealous of her. Among her sex she occupied the position of a peerless horse or athleteamong sporting men; she was "barred" whenever comparisons were made. 

As she was an only child, she was especially dear to her parents, whohad bestowed upon her every advantage which their means, intelligence, and social standing could supply, and she had availed herself of all ofthem apparently to the fullest extent. She was not lacking inaffection, sense, self-control, and a number of virtues which somegirls entirely satisfactory to their parents possessed in less measure. 

Nevertheless the judge and his wife were deeply anxious about theirdaughter's future. She was good--as girls go; she attended regularlythe church of which the family, including herself, were members; shehad no bad habits or bad tastes; her associates were carefullyselected; and yet the judge and his wife spent many hours, which shouldhave been devoted to sleep, in endeavoring to forecast her future. 

It was all a matter of heredity. At middle age the judge and his wifewere fully deserving of the high esteem in which they were held by theentire community. They were an honest, honorable, Christian couple, living fully up to the professions they made. In their youthful daysthey had been different--in some respects. Well off, handsome, andbrilliant, they had both been among the most persistent and successfulof pleasure-seekers. Reviewing those days, Mrs. Prency could say thatutter selfishness and self-love had been her deepest sins. Her husband, looking back at his own life, could truthfully say the same, but thedetails were different. He had looked upon the wine-cup and every otherreceptacle in which stimulants were ever served. He had tried everygame of chance and gone through all other operations collectively knownas "sowing one's wild oats. " Respect for his wife caused him to breakfrom all his bad habits and associations, at first haltingly and withmany relapses, but afterwards by joining the church and conforming hislife to his faith. But the inheritance of the child was from herparents, as they were, not as they afterwards became. 

Therefore the couple became anxious anew when they discovered thattheir daughter had become very fond of Reynolds Bartram, for the youngman forcibly reminded both of them of the judge himself in his earlydays, yet without Prency's strong and natural basis of character, whilethe daughter was entirely devoted to the pleasures of the day. IfBartram were to remain as he was, and his self-satisfaction to continueso strong as to be manifest upon all occasions and in all circumstancesthey foresaw a miserable life for their daughter. Hence Mrs. Prency'ssolicitude about young Bartram. 

One day Mrs. Prency made a business excuse to call again on thecobbler's assistant. 

"Mr. Kimper, " said she after leaving a dainty boot with someinstructions about repairs, "Reynolds Bartram came to see you, Isuppose, as I warned you he would?"

"Yes, ma'am, he came, " said the cobbler, selecting some buttons from abox and beginning to affix them to one of the lady's boots. 

"Did he talk with you on the subject that I supposed he would. "

"Yes, " said Sam, "he did; quite a long time. "

"Did you change your views at all under his arguments?"

"Oh, no, ma'am, " said the man, looking up with an eager expression ofcountenance. "How could I?"

"I'm so glad, " murmured the woman. "Well, what did he say?"

"I can't repeat all his words, Mrs. Prency, because he talks a gooddeal better than I do, you know, an' maybe I wouldn't give them thesense that they had, --the way that he meant them. "

"How did he seem to take what you said to him?"

"I'm afraid, ma'am, " said Sam, "that what I said didn't entirely suithim; because when I got through all he said was, 'Pshaw!'"

Mrs. Prency looked at the shoe through which the needle was rapidlypassing back and forth, and finally said, --

"He hasn't come again, I suppose?"

"Oh, yes, ma'am, he has, --several times. I never knew any other man tobe so much interested in the makin' of one pair of shoes as he has beenabout them that he ordered of me that day. He says they're not in anyhurry, an' yet he comes in every day or two to talk about them. "

"Indeed!" said Mrs. Prency, her face brightening. "Doesn't he talk ofanything but his shoes?"

"Yes, ma'am, " sighed Sam; "he comes back to the old subject always;an' it does seem to me as if the one thing he was thinkin' about an'tryin' to do was to break me down in what I've learned to believe. Itdon't seem, ma'am, to me that it's very big business for a smart fellerlike him to be in, when he knows what a common sort of a feller I am, an' what little I've got, an' how much I need all that I've got, if I'mgoin' to keep straight any more. "

"Mr. Kimper, " said the lady, "try not to look at it in that way. He isnot trying to break you down; he is trying to satisfy himself. Don'tgive way, and he dare not. If he did not believe a great deal of whatyou have been saying to him, he would not keep up his interest in it. Mr. Kimper, it may not seem possible to you, but there is a chance ofyour doing better work in the missionary cause for that young man thananybody and everybody else in this town has yet been able to do. "

"Oh, nonsense, Mrs. Prency!" said the cobbler, dropping the shoe andlooking up incredulously. "He's got a thousand times as much head-pieceas I have, an' if he can't learn what he wants to from other peoplethere ain't the slightest likelihood of my ever learnin' him anythin'. "

"Sam, " said Mrs. Prency, earnestly, "in the book that you have beenreading so industriously, from which you have learned so much, and fromwhich I hope you will continue to learn a great deal, don't youremember something that is said about the Lord having selected thefeeble ones of this world to confound the wise?"

Sam looked down meditatively at the dropped shoe, and replied in amoment, --

"Well, now you speak of it, ma'am, I think I do. "

"You certainly will believe that as much as everything else you haveread there?"

"Why, of course; I'll have to. "

"Very well, then; apply it to yourself, and try to be patient the nexttime that young man comes to annoy you. "

Sam rested his elbows on his knees and dropped the shoe again for amoment, and at last, resuming his work, said, --

"Well, I'll take your word for it, ma'am: you know a good deal moreabout such things than I do. "

Gradually the cobbler's face began to contract. His needle and threadmoved more and more rapidly through the buttons and the leather. Atlast he laid the shoe aside with an air of desperation, looked updefiantly, and said, --

"Mrs. Prency, I don't mean no offence, an' I ain't the kind of personthat meddles with other people's business, an' I hope you won't feelhurt or angry at anythin' that I'm goin' to say to you, because thereis somethin' behind it. So I hope you won't think I'm meddlin' withyour affairs, if you'll listen to me just a little while. I--I--"

"Well?" said the lady, for Sam seemed to be hesitating about what hewanted to say. 

"I don't hardly know how to say it, ma'am, an' I'm awfully afraid tosay it at all; but--well, there, Mrs. Prency, I guess I know why youare so very much interested in the religious welfare of that younglawyer. "

The judge's wife had naturally a very good complexion, but her faceflushed deeper as she looked inquiringly at the cobbler but saidnothing. 

"I've seen him, " said Sam, --"I can't help seein' things when I'm goin'along in the street, you know, or happen to look out through thewindows, --I've seen him in company once in a while with that daughterof yours, Mrs. Prency, --with that young lady that seems to me to be toogood to talk to any young man that lives in this town. He is very fondof her, though; nobody can help seein' that. "

"I suppose he is, " said Mrs. Prency, with an embarrassed manner. "Youngmen have very quick perceptions and correct tastes in matters of thatkind, you know. "

"Yes, ma'am, " said the cobbler, "and they don't differ much from youngwomen. Seems to me your daughter, ma'am, seems to think a good deal ofhim, too. Well, I don't wonder at it, for he's the finest lookin' youngfeller anywhere about here; an' if they go to thinkin' more and more ofeach other as they go on, you would like him to be a good deal betterman than he is. "

The judge's wife dropped her eyes and seemed in doubt for an instant asto whether to be angry or only amused. Finally she looked up franklyand said, "Mr. Kimper, you're a parent and so am I. I see you have been puttingyourself in my place. It is quite natural that you should do so, and itis very creditable to you that you have done it in the way you have. You are quite right in your surmise; but may I ask why you have spokento me about it in this way?"

"That's just what I was comin' to, ma'am, " said the cobbler. "I've gota daughter, too. I suppose you think she ain't fit to be mentioned inthe same day with that glorious gal of yours. "

"Oh, Mr. Kimper!" murmured the lady. 

"Well if you don't, I don't see how you can help doin' it; that's all. Your daughter is a lady. She shows in her everythin' that there is inher father and mother, an' everybody knows that they're the finestpeople hereabouts. My child is the daughter of a thief an' a brawleran' a loafer, an' she's a servant in a common hotel, which is about aslow down, I s'pose, as any gal can get in this town that don't go tothe bad entirely. Mrs. Prency, that gal has broke my heart. I don'thave no influence over her at all. You want me to help you out aboutyour daughter. I am goin' to do it just as far as heaven will give methe strength to do it. Now I want to throw myself right at your feetan' beg you, for the love of God, to try to do somethin' for _my_child. "

"Why, Mr. Kimper, certainly, " said the judge's wife. "I am very gladyou spoke to me about her. But, really, I have tried to do a great dealfor her. While you were away I used to send clothing to your wife forher, so that the child might be able always to make a proper appearanceat school. "

"Yes, ma'am, so you did, " said the cobbler, "an' it's a shame that Ishould ask anythin' else of you, for I know you're generous-hearted, an' the Lord knows there's enough other poor an' wretched people inthis town that needs lookin' after, an' I know you're doin' a good dealfor all of 'em. But this ain't a matter of poverty, Mrs. Prency; itgoes a good deal deeper than that. I'm not thinkin' about herappearance; she's better dressed now than she ort to be, though I don'tthink she shows much good taste in what she buys to put on her. But Iwant to have somebody take some interest in her that'll make her changeher thoughts an' feelin's about the way she's livin' an' the kind o'company she's keepin'. "

The judge's wife looked thoughtful, and Sam contemplated her withwistful eyes. There was a long silence. When at last Mrs. Prency spokeshe said, --

"Mr. Kimper, I think I know what you mean, but I am puzzled as to whatI can do and how I can do it. Can you suggest anything?"

"That's just the trouble, ma'am, " said Sam; "I can't; I don't know how. I've thought an' cried an' prayed about that gal more than anybody'dever believe, I s'pose, --anybody that knows me an' knows her too. But Ican't get no light nor no sense about it. But I'm only a man, Mrs. Prency, an' you're a woman. She's a woman too, an' it did seem to methat maybe you, with all you're good sense an' all yourgood-heartedness, could think of somethin', some way, that would bringthat gal back to what she ort to be before she goes an' does what hermother done--marry some worthless fool before she's old enough tomarry at all, an' then be helpless and downcast all the rest of herlife. "

"I might, " said the lady, after musing a little while, "I mightpossibly make her a place among my own servants, but I imagine shewould not care for such a position, for I have always discovered thatthe servants who have been in hotels are dissatisfied with any othersort of service. Besides, you probably do not wish her to associatewith the servant class, and it would be far better for her if she didnot. "

"She'd have to go, ma'am, if you was willin' to take her, " said thecobbler, "but, as you say, whether she'd stay or not is a question. Oh, Mrs. Prency, " said he, resuming his work again with violent energy, "it's the hardest question that ever come up to me in all my life. It'sharder than bein' in jail or breakin' off drinkin' or anythin' elsethat I ever tried. It's even harder than goin' to work; I give you myword it is. "

"Mr. Kimper, " said the lady, "I'll tell you what I'll do. I give you myword that I will think earnestly on the subject, and do it at once, andgive myself no rest until I have devised some plan to do what you haveasked me. "

"God bless you, ma'am! God bless you!" said the cobbler, dropping atear upon one of the grimy hands at work upon the shoe. 

CHAPTER IX. 

Reynolds Bartram was greatly annoyed by the results of the severalinterviews he had imposed upon the new assistant cobbler at Bruceton. He had silenced, if not conquered, all the other religiouscontroversialists of the town, and found the weak spots in the armor ofmany good people not given to controversy, whom he had beguiled intotalking on religious themes. Why he should want to converse at all uponsuch subjects puzzled the people of the town, all of whom had known himfrom boyhood as a member of a family so entirely satisfied with itselfthat it never desired any aid from other people, to say nothing ofhigher powers. Sometimes the Bartrams went to church for socialpurposes, but always with an air of conferring a favor upon the powerin whose honor the edifice was erected. 

But Bartram had good enough reasons for his sudden interest inreligion. He was in love with Eleanor Prency, and, after the manner ofhis family regarding everything that interested them, he wastremendously in earnest with his wooing. Like a judicious lawyer, hehad endeavored to make his way easier by prepossessing the girl'sparents in his favor; but when he began to pass the lines of pleasingcivility, within which he had long known the judge and his wife, he wassurprised to find an undercurrent of seriousness, the existence ofwhich in the Prency family he never had suspected. The judge appearedto estimate everything from the stand-point of religion andrighteousness; so did his wife; so, though in less measure, did thedaughter. 

Such nonsense, as the self-sufficient youth regarded it, was annoying. To visit a pleasant family with the intention of making a generalconquest and find himself confronted by a line of obstacles which healways had regarded as trifling, yet which he was unable to overcome, and to be told that religion was a reality because it had changed SamKimper, one of the most insignificant wretches in town, from a lazy, thievish drunkard to an honest, sober, industrious citizen, --all thiswas to make war upon Reynolds Bartram's constitutional opinions as tothe fitness of things. 

A change of opinion somewhere was necessary: so it must occur in thePrency family, and as soon as it could be brought about. This wasBartram's first conclusion, after an hour of deep thought. He hadstarted upon a love-making enterprise, and he objected to acomplication of interests. If the Prencys chose to talk theology in theprivacy of their family life, they were welcome to do so, but he wishednone of it, and, unless his head had lost its cunning, he believed hecould devise a method of preventing further inflictions of it. 

He convinced himself that his best method would be to discover andexpose the weakness, perhaps hypocrisy, of the wretched cobbler'sprofessions. Maybe Kimper meant all he said, and thought he believedsomething which was essential to religion; but had not scores of othercommon fellows in the town done likewise, during "revivals" and otherseasons of special religious effort, only to fall back into their oldways soon afterwards? It was all a matter of birth and training, arguedBartram to himself: the feeblest and most excitable intellects, theworld over, were the first to be impressed by whatever seemedsupernatural, whether it were called religion, spiritualism, mesmerism, or anything else. It was merely a matter of mental excitement: thestronger the attack, the sooner the relapse. Sam Kimper would losefaith in his fancies sooner or later; it might be somewhat cruel tohasten this result, but what was a little more or less of the life ofsuch a fellow, compared with the lifelong happiness of one of theBartrams, --the last of the family, and, as the young man fullybelieved, the best? Should the cobbler's fall be hastened, Bartramwould make it right; indeed, he would volunteer in his defense thefirst time he should again be arrested for fighting or stealing. 

But his plan did not work. Day after day he had made excuses to dropinto the cobbler's shop and worry the ex-convict into a discussion, butnot once did he depart without a sense of defeat. As he said tohimself, --

"What can be done with a man who only believes, and won't argue or goto the bottom of things? It's confoundedly ridiculous. "

During his last visit, he said, --

"Sam, if the power you profess to believe in can really work such achange as you think He has done in you, He ought to be able to doalmost anything else. Don't you think so?"

"That I do, " said the cobbler, working away. 

"You believe He has power to any extent, I suppose?"

"You're right again, Mr. Bartram. "

"Of course you think he loves you dearly?"

"I'm ashamed to think it, --that any such bein' should love agood-for-nothin' feller like me. But what else can I think, Mr. Bartram, after all that's gone on in me, an' what He's said Himself?"

"Very well; then, if He is so powerful and cares so much for you, Isuppose He brings you more work and better prices than any one else inyour business?"

Sam did not reply to this at once, but after a while he said, --

"It amounts to the same thing: He makes me work harder than I everknowed how to do before. That brings me more money an' gives me a hopeof gettin' along better after a while. "

"Oh, well, you have a family, --quite a large family, I believe. Does Hedo as much for your wife and children as for you?"

"Whatever He's doin' for me is done for all of us, Mr. Bartram. "

"Just so. But do you mean to say that what you're making enables you todo for your family all that you should?"

The cobbler's face contracted, under the shade he wore over his eyes. An evil smile overspread the lawyer's countenance. A little timepassed; the discussion was becoming sport, --such sport as the anglerfeels when a wounded fish, a hundred times smaller than he, isstruggling and writhing in agony on his hook. 

"You don't seem certain about it, Sam, " the tormentor finally said. 

"Mr. Bartram, " the cobbler answered in a little while, "what He donefor me came about so quiet an' unknown like that I don't know what hemay be doin' for the wife an' children. God knows they need it; an', asHe came to look after them that was needy, I don't believe He can makea mistake an' pass by my house. "

"But I should think you would be sure about it. You're so sure aboutyour own affairs, you know, --what are called your spiritual affairs. "

"I don't know, though, " said Sam, simply. 

"Have all the children got good shoes and stockings and warm clothes?Winter is almost here, you know. "

"No, sir, they haven't, " Sam sharply replied. 

The lawyer quickly caught the change of tone, and made haste toexplain:

"I didn't mean to disturb your peace of mind, Sam; I asked only inorder to learn how much foundation there was to your faith. Theyhaven't them, you say. How will they get them?"

"I'll earn 'em, " said the cobbler, with a savage dash of his awl whichone of his fingers barely escaped. 

"But suppose you can't; suppose trade slackens, or Larry takes a notionto a new helper. "

"Then I'll beg, rather than have 'em suffer. "

"And if folks won't give?"

"Then my folks'll have to go without. "

"In spite of your new, loving, strong friend, --your Saviour? If He'sall you take Him to be, aren't you sure He'll look out for yourfamily?"

"Mr. Bartram, " said the cobbler, resting for a moment, andstraightening his weary back, "if I was in trouble, --been doin'somethin' wrong, for instance, an' was hauled into court, an' had youfor my lawyer, --though of course I couldn't expect to have so smart aman, --I'd ort to believe that you'd do everythin' that could be donean' ort to be done, ortn't I?"

"Certainly, Sam, certainly, " said the lawyer, with his customaryprofessional look of assurance. 

"But I wouldn't know all about it in advance, would I? Even if you wasto tell me all you meant to do an' how you'd do it, I couldn't take itin. If I could, I'd be just as smart as you, --the idee!--an' wouldn'tneed you at all. "

Both suppositions were so wildly improbable that the lawyer indulged ina sarcastic smile. 

"Well, then, " continued Sam, "here's somebody helpin' me more than anyman ever could, --somebody that's smarter than any lawyer livin'. Is'pose you'll own up to that?"

The idea that any being, natural or supernatural, could be wiser thanone of the Bartrams was not pleasing to the lawyer, when suggested soabruptly, but it was conceded, after a moment of thought, by acondescending nod of the head. 

"Then, " Sam continued, "how am I goin' to be supposed to know all thatHe's doin' an' not doin' for me, an' when He's goin' to do somethin'else, or whether He's goin' to do it at all. If I was as smart as alawyer, I wouldn't need one; if I was as smart an' good as Him that'slookin' after me, there wouldn't need to be any God or Saviour, wouldthere?"

"Then you are satisfied He is God and Saviour, eh? Some wiser men havebelieved differently. "

"I only know what I was told an' what I've read for myself, sir. Theman that put me up to it told me not to try to believe everythin' thateverybody else did, but to believe as much as I could an' live up toit, bein' extra particular about the livin' up. "

"But you ought to know something--have some distinct idea--as to whomyou're believing in. What do you know about Him, after all?"

"I know, " said the cobbler, "just what I've told you before, whenyou've asked me the same question. I know He was once in the world, an'didn't do anybody any harm, an' done a good deal of good, an' taughtfolks to do right an' how to do it. Everybody believes that, don'tthey?"

"I suppose it's safe to admit that much. "

"Well, sir, I'm tryin' to foller Him an' learn of Him. I'm believin' inHim just like I believe in old Andrew Jackson. "

"Is that all?"

"That's enough, --as far as I've got. You're a good deal smarter than Ibe, sir: won't you tell me how to go further?"

The lawyer shook his head and departed. The cobbler fell on his kneesand buried his face in his hands. The lawyer, chancing to look in thewindow, saw the movement; then he drew his hat down over his eyes andsauntered off. 

CHAPTER X. 

The genuineness of the change which had come over Sam Kimper slowlybecame the subject of general conversation in Bruceton. Judge Prencyfrequently spoke of it; so did his wife; and, as the Prencys wereleaders of village society, whatever interested them became thefashion. People with shoes which needed repairing visited the newcobbler in great numbers, each prompted as much by curiosity as bybusiness, for they seldom haggled about prices. 

Sam's family, too, began to receive some attention. Mrs. Prency, havingfirst secured a promise from Sam that the children should go toSunday-school if they could be decently clad, interested several ladiesto the extent of bestowing some old clothing, which she hired a sewingwoman to make over into becoming garments for Billy and Mary. Mrs. Kimper, too, was enabled to dress well enough to appear in church, though she stipulated that she should go only to evening services. 

"I don't 'mount to much, Mrs. Prency, " said she to the family'sbenefactor; "there ain't much left of me as I once was, but I ain'tgoin' to have people look at me the way they do, any more than I canhelp. "

"The feeling does you credit, Mrs. Kimper, " said the lady, "but youwon't long be troubled that way. The oftener you let people see you, the less curious they'll be. "

Sam's new way of life, too, began to be discussed where men mostcongregated. Loungers at stores, the railway station, and thepost-office talked of the town's only ex-convict who had not yet goneback to his old ways. Most of the men who talked of him did it in aboutthe manner of spectators of the gladiatorial combats in ancient Rome:they admired the endurance and courage of the man, but seldom did itoccur to them to stretch out a hand to help him. There were exceptionsto this rule, however. An old farmer who had brought a load of wheat tothe station listened to the tale, asked a great many questions aboutthe case, and said, finally, --

"I s'pose you're all doin' all you can to help him along?"

The by-standers looked at one another, but no one answered in theaffirmative. One man at last found words to say, "Why, he's tryin' tohelp hisself along, and we're watchin' to see how he'll succeed. Now, Iwas along by his place this mornin', an' seen him carryin' in the lastwood from his wood-pile. 'Sam, ' I hollered, 'don't you want to buy aload of wood? I've got some I want to sell. ' 'I need it, ' said Sam, 'but I ain't got a cent. ' Well, mebbe I'd have trusted him for a loadif he'd asked me, but it occurred to me to stand off an' see how he'dmanage it. It's cold weather now, an' if he don't get it some way, hisfamily'll go cold. I went by there again at noon-time, but he hadn'tgot none yit. "

"He's as independent like, " said another, "as if he hadn't never beenin jail. "

"You're a pack of heartless hogs!" roared the farmer, getting into hiswagon and driving off. 

"Can't see that he's any different from the rest of us, " muttered oneof the by-standers. 

Could the group have known the trouble in the new cobbler's heart, ashe bent all day over his work and thought of the needed wood, theirinterest in the subject would have been enhanced. Sam's wife was acold-blooded creature; the baby was somewhat ailing; it would not dofor the fire to go out, yet the fuel he had carried in at morn couldnot more than last until evening. The little money that had come intothe shop during the day would barely purchase some plain food, of whichthere was never in the house a day's supply. He had not the courage toask credit for wood; his occasional attempts to "get trusted" had allfailed, no matter how small the article wanted. He looked for LarryHighgetty, his employer, to beg a small loan, but Larry, though he cameinto the shop every morning for his share of the previous day'searnings, could not be found that afternoon. 

Suddenly, when the sun was almost down, Sam remembered that a house wasbeing built several squares away. Carpenters always left many scrapsbehind them, which village custom allowed anyone to pick up. Thecobbler devoutly thanked heaven for the thought, closed the shop, andhurried away to the new building. The men were still at work, and therewas a great deal of waste lying about. 

"May I have some of these leavin's?" asked Sam of the master builder. 

The man looked down from the scaffolding on which he stood, recognizedthe questioner, turned again to his work, and at last answered, with ascowl, --

"Yes, I suppose so. It would be all the same, I guess, if I didn't sayso. You'd come after dark and help yourself. "

Sam pocketed the insult, though the weight of it was heavy. So was thatof the bits of board he gathered; but he knew that such thin woodburned rapidly, so he took a load that made him stagger. As he enteredthe yard behind his house, he saw, through the dusk which was beginningto gather, a man rapidly tossing cord-wood from a wagon to a large pilewhich already lay on the ground. 

"My friend, " gasped Sam, dropping his own load and panting from hisexertion, "I guess--you've made a--mistake. I ain't ordered a load ofwood from nobody. Guess you've come to the wrong house. "

"Guess not, " replied the man, who was the farmer that had freed hismind at the railway station during the afternoon. 

"This is Sam Kimper's, " explained the cobbler. 

"Just where I was told to come, " said the farmer, tossing out the laststicks and stretching his arms to rest upon them. 

"Who was it told you to bring it?" asked the resident. 

The farmer stooped and took a large package from the front of the wagonand threw it on the ground; then he threw another. 

"Won't you tell me who sent it?" Sam asked again. 

The farmer turned his head and shouted, --

"God Almighty, if you must know; and He told me to bring that bag offlour and shoulder of bacon, too. "

Then the farmer drove off, at a gait quite unusual in farm-teams. 

The cobbler burst into tears and fell upon his knees. When he arose helooked in the direction from which came the rattle of the retreatingwheels, and said to himself, --

"I wonder if that man was converted in the penitentiary?"

The story, when Sam told it in the house, amazed the family, thoughlittle Mary giggled long on hearing the name of the supposed giver. Nosooner was supper ended than the child slipped out of the house andhurried to the hotel to tell her sister Jane all about it. Within halfan hour the story had passed, through the usual channels, to alllounging-places that were open, and at one of them--the post-office--itwas heard by Deacon Quickset. It troubled the good man a great deal, and he said, --

"There's no knowing how much harm'll be done the fellow by that speech. If he thinks the Lord is going to take care of him in such unexpectedways, he'll go to loafing and then get back into his old ways. "

"Didn't the Lord ever help you in any unexpected way, deacon?" askedJudge Prency, who nearly every evening spent a few moments in thepost-office lobby. 

"Why, yes, --of course; but, judge, Sam and I aren't exactly the samekind of men, I think you'll allow. "

"Quite right, " said the judge. "You're a man of sense and character. But when Jesus was on earth did He give much attention to men of yourgeneral character and standing? According to my memory of therecord, --and I've re-read it several times since Sam Kimper'sreturn, --He confined His attentions quite closely to the poor andwretched, apparently to the helpless, worthless class to whom theKimper family would have belonged had it lived at that time. 'They thatare whole need no physician, '--you remember?--'but they that aresick. '"

"According to the way you seem to be thinking, Judge Prency, " said thedeacon, coldly, "them that's most deserving are to be passed by forthem that's most shiftless. "

"Those who deserve most are those who need most, aren't they, deacon?--that is, if anyone is really 'deserving, ' as we use the word. "

"Your notions would break up business entirely, if they were carriedout, " asserted the deacon. 

"Not at all; though I've never discovered that business is the firstinterest of the Almighty. "

"You mean to say that because I work hard and get a little fore-handedI ought to take a lot of shiftless folks and teach them to be lazy anddependent on me?"

"Certainly not, deacon. How you do jump at conclusions! There aren't alot of shiftless people in this town; there are very few; and even theymight be helped, and shamed into taking care of themselves, if you andI and some more fore-handed people were to follow our Master'sexample. "

"I've spoken to every unbeliever in this town about his soul'ssalvation, " said the deacon; "I've always made it a matter of duty. Christ came to preach salvation, and I'm following His example, in myhumble way. "

"Didn't He do anything else?" asked the judge. "You remember whatanswer He sent to John in prison, when the Baptist seemed to have lostheart and wondered whether Jesus were really He who should come? Hesaid that to the poor the gospel was preached, but He gave half a dozenother proofs, each of them showing special care for men's bodies. "

"Judge, you're talking materialism, " said the deacon. "It's a spiritthat's getting too common everywhere. "

"Oh, no, I'm not; I'm talking the words of Jesus Himself. Aren't theygood enough for you? or are you like children at the table who willtake only what suits them, and ignore everything else?"

"Such talks never do any good, judge, " said the deacon, buttoning hisovercoat and turning up the collar. "I've spent a good deal of my lifethinking about sacred subjects and trying to lead my fellow-men in theright way. You're not going to make me believe at my time of life thatI've been all wrong, and that Jesus Christ came on earth only to starta charity society. "

"Nor to teach people to live right?"

"He wants them first to know how to die right. I should think, judge, that Sam Kimper had been converting you over again and doing itbackwards. That fellow has only got hold of one end of theScripture--one little jag end of it. "

"Too small an end to be worthy of your attention, I suppose, deacon?"

"This is all wasted time and idle talk, Judge Prency, " said the deacon, leaving the place so quickly that he forgot to ask for his letters. 

CHAPTER XI. 

One bright, breezy October afternoon, Sam Kimper's daughter Jane got"an hour off" from her duties at the hotel, and proceeded to devote itto her highest ideal of possible enjoyment. There were many otherpleasures for which she longed, but, as they were unattainable justthen, she made the most of that which was within her reach for the timebeing. It was to array herself in her best and saunter to and fro inthe principal streets, look into shop windows, and exchange winks andrude remarks with young men and women with whom she was acquainted. 

Although her attire was about what one would expect of a drunkard'schild who had spent her later years in the kitchen and corridors of ahotel, Jane was not an unsightly creature. There must have been goodphysical quality in one side or other of her family, in pastgenerations, which was trying to reappear, for Jane had a fine figure, expressive eyes, and a good complexion. Had any one followed her duringher afternoon stroll, and observed her closely during her successivechance meetings with young men and women of her acquaintance, he wouldhave seen hard lines, coarse lines, ugly lines, in her face; yet whenin repose the same face was neither unwomanly nor without an occasionalsuggestion of soul. It was a face like many others that one may see onthe streets, --entirely human, yet entirely under the control ofwhatever influence might be about it for the time being, --the face of anature untrained and untaught, which would have followed either Jesusor Satan, or both by turns, had both appeared before it in visibleshape. 

During a moment or two of her afternoon out, Jane found herselfapproaching Mrs. Prency and Eleanor, those ladies being out on one ofthose serious errands known collectively as "shopping. "

"Do see that dreadfully dowdy girl!" exclaimed Miss Eleanor, whoseattire was always selected with correct taste. 

"She has never had any one to teach her to dress properly, my dear, "suggested the mother. 

"She might have some one who cared enough for her to keep her fromappearing in public in red hair and a blue ribbon, " said the daughter. 

"Such girls have no one to keep them from doing anything they like, mydear. Let us try to be sorry for them, instead of being disgusted. "

"But, mother--"

"Sh-h! she'll hear you. I'm going to bow to her; I wish you'd do thesame. "

"Mother!"

"To oblige me; I'll explain afterwards. "

The couple were now within several steps of Jane, who, with an oddmixture of wistfulness and scare, had been studying Eleanor's attire. When she saw both women looking at her, she began to take a defiantattitude, but the toss of her head was met by one of Mrs. Prency'sheartiest smiles, accompanied by a similar recognition from Eleanor. Short as was the time that could elapse before the couple had passedher, it was long enough to show a change in Jane's face, --a change sonotable that Eleanor whispered, --

"Did you ever see any one alter looks so quickly?"

"Never; but I sha'n't lose any opportunity to see it again, " said Mrs. Prency. 

"Mother, dear, " said Eleanor, "I hope you're not suddenly going torecognize every common person you may meet on the street. You're soenthusiastic. "

"And so different from my daughter in that respect, --eh, dear?"

"But, mother, you've always been so careful and fastidious about yourassociations and mine. I remember the time, only a year or two ago, while I was at school, when you would have been horrified if I'd hadanything to do with a creature like that. "

"You were a child then, my dear; you're a woman now. That girl is thedaughter of the poor fellow--"

"Sam Kimper?--that you and father talk of so frequently? Yes, I know;she was a horrid little thing in school, two classes below me. But, mother, I don't see why we ought to recognize her just because herfather has been in the penitentiary and behaved himself since he cameback. "

"Because she _needs_ recognition, dear child; because she gets it fromplenty of people of her own class, and if she has it from no others shenever will be any better than she is; perhaps she will become worse. "

"Oh, mother!" exclaimed Eleanor, with a toss of her handsome head, "such people never change. There were plenty of such girls in the sameclass with me in the public school, and they've all gone off andmarried common low fellows. Some of them were real pretty girls whilethey were young, too. "

"All the more reason why others of the same kind should have someencouragement to do better, my child. "

"But, mother, " persisted Eleanor, "what possible good will it do thatKimper girl for us merely to recognize her in the street?"

"You may do as much more for her as you choose, if you think merecourtesy is not enough. Eleanor, you are a healthy, happy girl; youknow--and I remember--all a girl's natural fancies and longings. Do youimagine that being badly born and reared can keep that girl from havingthe same feelings? She probably wishes she could dress as well as thebest, attract attention, be respected, have a real fine fellow fall inlove with her--"

"The idea!" exclaimed Eleanor, laughing merrily. "But suppose it wereall true; how can mere notice from us help her? I'm sure the minute wepassed her she made a face and envied me my better clothes. "

"You will think differently when you have more experience, my dear. When I was as young as you, I thought--"

"Oh, mother, there she is again, " said Eleanor, "crossing the street;she's turning right towards us. And, " murmured the young lady, afterassuring herself that it was really the same combination of red hairand blue ribbon, "how different she looks!"

"Because two women of some standing and position chanced to noticeher. Let's help the good work along, daughter. " Then, before MissEleanor had time to object, and just as the cobbler's daughter was infront of them, Mrs. Prency stopped, extended her neatly gloved hand, and said, with a pleasant smile, --

"How these girls do grow! You were little Jane only a year or two ago, Miss Kimper. "

Never before had Jane Kimper been addressed as "Miss. " The appellationsent color flying into her face and brightness into her eyes as shestammered out something about growing being natural. 

"You haven't grown fast enough, though, to neglect good looks, "continued Mrs. Prency, while Eleanor, endeavoring to act according toher mother's injunctions, drawled, --

"No, indeed!"

Then the cobbler's daughter flushed deeper and looked grateful, almostmodest, for girls read girls pretty fairly, and Jane saw that Eleanorwas regarding her face with real admiration. 

"You girls of the new generation can't imagine how much interest wewomen who used to be girls have in you, " said the judge's wife. "I'mafraid you'd be vain if you knew how much Eleanor and I have looked atyou and talked about you. "

"I didn't s'pose any lady that was anybody ever thought anything aboutgirls like me, " Jane finally managed to say. 

"You're greatly mistaken, my dear girl, " said the lady. "Nearly everyone in this world talks a good deal about every one else whom they knowby sight. You really can't imagine how much good it does me to see youlooking so well and pretty. Keep right on looking so, won't you? Thegirls of to-day must be our women a few years hence; that's what I keepimpressing upon my daughter day by day, --don't I, dear. "

"Indeed you do, mother. " Eleanor said it with a look at Jane which wasalmost a signal for sympathy: the cobbler's daughter was greatlymystified by it. 

"I don't see, " said Jane, after standing awkwardly for a moment inmeditation, "how a girl's goin' to be much of a woman that amounts toanything one of these days if she's nothin' to do now but dirty work ata hotel. "

"Maybe she could change her work, " suggested the lady. 

Jane's lips parted into some hard and ugly lines, and she replied, --

"Some things is easier sayin' than doin'. "

"Should you like a different position?" asked Mrs. Prency. "I'm sure itcould be had if people knew you wanted it. For instance, I need someone every day for weeks to come to help my daughter and me with oursewing and fitting. There are always so many things to be done aswinter approaches. I sometimes feel as if I were chained to mysewing-machine, and have so much to do. But I'm afraid such work wouldseem very stupid to you. It would mean sitting still all day, you know, with no one to talk to but Eleanor and me. "

Jane looked wonderingly at the two women before her. No one but them totalk to! She never had imagined an opportunity to talk to such peopleat all. She supposed all such women regarded her as part of the scum ofthe earth, yet here they were speaking pleasantly to her, --Mrs. Prency, a woman who naturally would fill the eye of an impulsive animal likeJane, --Eleanor, the belle of the town, --two women whom no one couldlook at without admiration. No one but them to talk to! All herassociates faded from Jane's mind like a fleck of mist under asunburst, as she answered, --

"If there's anything you want done that I can do, Mrs. Prency, I'drather work for you for nothin' than for anybody else for any money. "

"Come to my house as soon as you like, then, and we'll promise to keepyou busy: won't we, daughter?"

"Yes, indeed, " murmured Eleanor, who saw, in her mind's eye, a greatdeal of her work being done without effort of her own. 

"You sha'n't do it for nothing, however; you shall earn fully as muchas you do now. Good day, " Mrs. Prency said, as she passed on, andEleanor gave Jane a nod and a smile. 

The hotel drudge stood still and looked after the couple with wonderingeyes. The judge's wife dropped something as she walked. Jane hurriedafter her and picked it up. It was a glove. The girl pressed it to herlips again and again, hurried along for a few steps to return it, stopped suddenly, thrust it into her breast, and then, passing the backof her ungloved hand across her eyes, returned to the hotel, her eyescast down and her ears deaf to occasional remarks intended speciallyfor them. 

CHAPTER XII. 

Deacon Quickset was entirely truthful when he said to the keeper of thebeer saloon that he had worried his pastor again and again to call onthe repentant thief and try to bring him into the fold of the church;but he probably did not know that the said pastor had opinions of hisown as to the time and manner in which such work should be done. Dr. Guide, under whose spiritual ministrations the deacon had sat everySunday for many years, was a man of large experience in church work ofall kinds, and, although he was extremely orthodox, to the extent ofbelieving that those who already had united with his church were on theproper road to heaven, he nevertheless realized, as a practical man, that frequently there is more trouble with sheep in the road than withthose who are straying about. 

He had devoted no little of his time since he had been settled over theBruceton church to the reclamation of doubtful characters of all kinds, but he frequently confided to his wife that one of the mostsatisfactory proofs to him of the divine origin of the church was thatthose already inside it were those most in need of spiritualministrations. He had reclaimed some sad sinners of the baser sort fromtime to time with very little effort, but people concerning whom hefrequently lay awake nights were men and women who were nominally ingood standing in his own denomination and in the particular flock overwhich he was shepherd. 

He had therefore made no particular haste to call on Sam Kimper, beingentirely satisfied, as he told his wife, his only confidante, that solong as the man was following the course which he was reported to havelaid down for himself he was not likely to go far astray, whereas anumber of members of the congregation, men of far more influence in thecommunity, seemed determined to break from the straight and narrow wayat very slight provocation, and among these, the reverend doctor sadlyinformed his wife, he feared Deacon Quickset was the principal. Thedeacon was a persistent man in business, --"diligent in business" wasthe deacon's own expression in justification of whatever neglect hisown wife might chance to charge him with, --but it seemed to somebusiness-men of the town, as well as to his own pastor, that thedeacon's diligence was overdoing itself, and that, in the language ofone of the store-keepers, he had picked up a great deal more than hecould carry. He was a director in a bank, agent for several insurancecompanies, manager of a land-improvement company, general speculator inreal estate, and a man who had been charged with the care of a greatdeal of property which had belonged to old acquaintances now deceased. That he should be very busy was quite natural, but that his promisessometimes failed of fulfilment was none the less annoying, and once ina while unpleasant rumors were heard in the town about the deacon'sfinancial standing and about his manner of doing business. Still, Dr. Guide did not drop Sam Kimper from his mind, and one day when hechanced to be in the vicinity of Larry Highgetty's shop he opened thedoor, bowed courteously to the figure at the bench, accepted a chair, and sat for a moment wondering what he should say to the man whom hewas expected by the deacon to bring into his own church. 

"Mr. Kimper, " said the reverend gentleman, finally, "I trust you aregetting along satisfactorily in the very good way in which I am toldyou have started. "

"I can't say that I've any fault to find, sir, " said the shoemaker, "though I've no doubt that a man of your learnin' an' brains could seea great deal wrong in me. "

"Don't trouble yourself about that, my good fellow, " said theminister: "you will not be judged by my learning or brains or those ofany one else except yourself. I merely called to say that at any timethat you are puzzled about any matter of belief, or feel that youshould go further than you already have done, I would be very glad tobe of any service to you if I can. You are quite welcome to call uponme at my home at almost any time, and of course you know where I canalways be found on Sundays. "

"I am very much obliged to you, sir, " said the cobbler, "but somehowwhen I go to thinkin' much about such things I don't feel so much likeaskin' other people questions or about learnin' anythin' else as I doabout askin' if it isn't a most wonderful thing, after all, that I'vebeen able to change about as I have, an' that I haven't tumbledbackwards again into any of my old ways. You don't know what those waysis, I s'pose, Dr. Guide, do you?"

"Well, no, " said the minister, "I can't say that my personal experiencehas taught me very much about them. "

"Of course not, sir; that I might know. Of course I didn't meananything of that kind. But I sometimes wonder whether gentlemen likeyou, that was born respectable an' always was decent, an' has had thebest of company all your lives, an' never had any bad habits, can knowwhat an awful hole some of us poor common fellows sometimes get downinto, an' don't seem to know how to get out of. I s'pose, sir, theremust have been lots of folks of that kind when Jesus was around on theworld alive: don't you think so?"

"No doubt, no doubt, " said the minister, looking into his hat as ifwith his eyes he was trying to make some notes for remarks on thesucceeding Sunday. 

"You know, sir, that in what's written about Him they have a good dealto say about the lots of attention that He gave to the poor. I s'pose, if poor folks was then like they are now, most of them was that waythrough some faults of their own; because every body in this town thatbehaves himself an' always behaved himself manages to get along wellenough. It does seem to me, sir, that He must have gone about amongfolks a good deal like me. "

"That view of the matter never occurred to me, " said the reverendgentleman, "and yet possibly there is a great deal to it. You know, Mr. Kimper, that was a long time ago. There was very little education inthose times, and the people among whom He moved were captives of astronger nation, and they seem to have been in a destitute and troubledcondition. "

"Yes, " said Sam, interrupting the speaker, "an' I guess a good many ofthem were as bad off as me, because, if you remember, He said a gooddeal about them that was in prison an' that was visited there. Now, sir, it kind o' seems to me in this town--I think I know a good dealabout it, because I've never been able to associate with anybody exceptfolks like myself--it seems to me that sort of people don't get anysort of attention nowadays. "

The minister assumed his conventional air of dignity, and replied, quickly, --

"I assure you, you are very much mistaken, so far as I am concerned. Ithink I know them all by name, and have made special visits to all ofthem, and tried to make them feel assured of the sympathy of those whoby nature or education or circumstance chance to be better off thanthey. "

"That ain't exactly what I meant, sir, " said the cobbler. "Such folksget kind words pretty often, but somehow nobody ever takes hold of theman' pulls them out of the hole they are in, like Jesus used to seem todo. I s'pose ministers an' deacons an' such folks can't work miracleslike He did, an' if they haven't got it in 'em to pull 'em out, why, Is'pose they can't do it. But I do assure you, sir, that there's a gooddeal of chance to do that kind of work in this town, an' if there hadbeen any of it done when I was a boy, I don't believe I'd ever havegot into the penitentiary. "

Just then Dr. Brice, one of the village physicians, dropped into theshop, and the minister, somewhat confused, arose, and said, --

"Well, Mr. Kimper, I am very much obliged to you for your views. Iassure you that I shall give them careful thought. Good day, sir. "

"Sam, " said Dr. Brice, who was a slight, nervous, excitable man, "I'mnot your regular medical attendant, and I don't know that it's any ofmy business, but I've come in here in a friendly way to say to youthat, if all I hear about your working all day and most of the nighttoo, is true, you are going to break down. You can't stand it, my boy:human nature isn't made in that way. You have got a wife and family, and you seem to be trying real hard to take care of them. But you can'tburn the candle at both ends without having the fire flicker out in themiddle all of a sudden, and perhaps just when you can least afford it. Now, do take better care of yourself. You have made a splendid start, and there are more people than you know of in this town who are lookingat you with a great deal of respect. They want to see you succeed, andif you want any help at it I am sure you can get it; but don't kill thegoose that lays the golden egg. Don't break yourself up, or therewon't be anybody to help. Don't you see?"

The shoemaker looked up at the good-natured doctor with a quickexpression, and said, --

"Doctor, I'm not doin' any more than I have to, to keep soul and bodytogether in the family. If I stop any of it, I've got to stop carryin'things home. "

"Oh well, " said the doctor, "that may be, that may be. But I'm simplywarning you, as a fellow-man, that you must look out for yourself. It'sall right to trust the Lord, but the Lord isn't going to give any oneman strength enough to do two men's work. I have been in medicalpractice forty years, and I have never seen a case of that kind yet. That's all. I'm in a hurry, --got half a dozen people to see. Don't feeloffended at anything I've said to you. It's all for your good, youknow. Good day. "

The doctor departed as rapidly as he had entered, and the cobbler stolea moment or two from his work to think. How his thoughts ran he couldscarcely have told afterwards, for again the door opened, and the roomdarkened slightly, for the person who was entering was Father Black, the Catholic priest, a man whose frame was as big as his heart, hebeing reputed to be one of the largest-hearted men in all Bruceton. Everybody respected him. The best proof of it was that no one in any ofthe other churches ever attempted to do any proselyting in FatherBlack's flock. 

"My son, " said the priest, seating himself in the chair and spreading afriendly smile over his large, expressive features, "I have heard agreat deal of you since you came back from your unfortunate absence, and I merely dropped in to say to you that if it's any comfort to youto know that every day you have whatever assistance there can be in theprayers of an old man who has been in this world long enough to lovemost those who need most, you may be sure that you have them. "

"God bless you, sir! God bless you!" said the cobbler, quickly. 

"Have you connected yourself with any church here as yet?" asked thepriest. 

"No, sir, " sighed the cobbler: "one an' another has been pullin' an'haulin' at me one way an' another, tellin' me that it was my duty to gointo a church. But how can I do it, sir, when I'm expected to say thatI believe this an' that, that I don't know nothin' about? Some of 'emhas been very good tryin' to teach me what they seem to understand verywell, but I don't know much more than when they begun, an' sometimes itseems to me that I know a good deal less, for, with what one tells mein one way, an' another tells me in another way, my mind--and there'snot very much of it, sir--my mind gets so mixed up that I don't knownothin' at all. "

"Ah, my son, " said the good old priest, "if you could only understand, as a good many millions of your fellow-men do, that it's the businessof some men to understand and of others to faithfully follow them, youwould not have such trouble. "

"Well, sir, " said the cobbler, "that's just what Larry's been sayin' tome here in the shop once in a while in the mornin', before he startedout to get full; an' there's a good deal of sense in what he says, I'veno doubt. But what I ask him is this, --an' he can't tell me, an'perhaps you can, sir. It's only this: while my heart's so full that itseems as if it couldn't hold the little that I already believe an' amtryin' to live up to, where's the sense of my tryin' to believe somemore?"

Father Black was so unprepared to answer the question put thusabruptly, accompanied as it was with a look of the deepest earnestness, that there ensued an embarrassing silence in the shop for a moment ortwo. 

"My son, " said the priest, at last, "do you fully believe all that youhave read in the good book that I am told you were taught to read whileyou were in prison?"

"Of course I do, sir; I can't do anything else. "

"You believe it all?"

"Indeed I do, sir. "

"And are you trying to live according to it?"

"That I am, sir. "

"Then, my son, " said the priest, rising, "God bless you and keep you inyour way! Far be it from me to try to unsettle your mind or lead youany further until you feel that you need leading. If ever you want tocome to me, you are welcome at any time of the day or night, and whatyou cannot understand of what I tell you I won't expect you to believe. Remember, my son, the Father of us all knows us just as we are, andasks no more of any of us than we can do and be. Good day, my son, andagain--God bless you!"

When the priest went out, Sam rested again for a moment, and thenmurmured to himself, --

"Two ministers an' one doctor, all good people, tryin' to show me theway I should go, an' to tell me what I should do, an' me a-makin' onlyabout a dollar a day! I s'pose it's all right, or they wouldn't do it. "

CHAPTER XIII. 

Reynolds Bartram and Eleanor Prency rapidly became so fond of eachother that the people of the village predicted an early engagement. Theyoung man had become quite a regular attendant at church, --not that hehad any religious feeling whatever, but that it enabled him to look athis sweetheart for an hour and a half every Sunday morning and walkhome with her afterwards. Although he had considerable legal practice, it was somehow always his fortune to be on the street when the younglady chanced to be out shopping, and after he joined her theregenerally ensued a walk which had nothing whatever to do with shoppingor anything else except an opportunity for two young people to talk toeach other for a long time on subjects which seemed extremelyinteresting to both. 

Nevertheless, there were occasional clouds upon their sky. The youngman who loves his sweetheart better than he loves himself occasionallyappears in novels, but in real life he seems to be an unknown quantity, and young Bartram was no exception to the general rule. In likemanner, the young woman who loses sight of her own will, even when inthe society of the man whom she thinks the most adorable in the world, is not easy to discover in any ordinary circle of acquaintances. 

Bartram and Eleanor met one afternoon, in their customary manner, onthe principal street of the village, and walked along side by side forquite a way, finally turning and sauntering through several residencestreets, talking with each other on a number of subjects, probably ofno great consequence, but apparently very interesting to both of them. Suddenly, however, it was the young man's misfortune to see the twoKimper boys on the opposite side of the street, and as he eyed them, his lip curled, and he said, --

"Isn't it somewhat strange that your estimable parents are so greatlyinterested in the father of those wretched scamps?"

"Nothing that my father and mother do, Mr. Bartram, " said Miss Prency, "is at all strange. They are quite as intelligent as anyone of myacquaintance, I am sure, and more so than most people whom I know, andI have no doubt that their interest in the poor fellow has very goodgrounds. "

"Perhaps so, " said the young man, with another curl of his lip, whichexasperated his companion. "I sometimes wonder, however, whether menand women, when they reach middle life and have been reasonablysuccessful and happy in their own affairs, are not likely to allowtheir sympathies to run away with their intelligence. "

"It may be so, " said Eleanor, "among people of your acquaintance, as aclass, but I wish you distinctly to except my parents from the rule. "

"But, my dear girl, " said the young man, "your parents are exactly thepeople to whom I am alluding. "

"Then do me the favor to change the subject of conversation, " said theyoung lady proudly: "I never allow my parents to be criticised in myhearing by anyone but myself. "

"Oh, well, " said the young man, "if you choose to take my remarks inthat way, I presume you are at liberty to do so; but I am sure you aremisunderstanding me. "

"I don't see how it is possible to misunderstand anything that is saidso very distinctly: you lawyers have a faculty, Mr. Bartram, of sayingexactly what you mean--when you choose to. "

"Well, I can't deny that I meant exactly what I said. "

"But you can at least change the subject, can't you?"

"Certainly, if you insist upon it; but the subject has beeninteresting me considerably of late, and I am really wondering whethermy estimable friend, the judge, and his no less estimable wife may notbe making a mistake which their daughter would be the most effectiveperson in rectifying. "

"You do me altogether too much honor, sir. Suppose you attempt torectify their mistakes yourself, since you seem so positive about theirexistence. To give you an opportunity of preparing yourself to do so, Iwill bid you good day. " Saying which, the young woman abruptly turnedinto the residence of an acquaintance to make an afternoon call, leaving the young man rather more disconcerted than he would have likedto admit to any of his acquaintances. 

He retraced his steps, moodily muttering to himself, and apparentlyarguing also, for the forefinger of one hand was occasionally touchingthe palm of the other, and, apparently without knowing in whatdirection he was walking, he found himself opposite the shop of theshoemaker who had been the indirect cause of his quarrel with hissweetheart. 

"Confound that fellow!" muttered Bartram, "he's in my way wherever Imove. I've heard too much of him in the stores and the courts andeverywhere else that I have been obliged to go. I have to hear of himat the residence of my own sweetheart whenever I call there, and now Ifind Eleanor herself, who has never been able to endure any of thecommoner specimens of humanity, apparently taking up the cudgels in hisdefence. I wish I could understand the fascination that fellow exertsover a number of people so much better than himself. Hang it! I amgoing to find out. He is a fool, if ever there was one, and I am not. If I can't get at the secret of it, it will be the first time that Ihave ever been beaten in examining and cross-examining such a commonspecimen of humanity. "

Thus speaking, the lawyer crossed the street and entered the shop, but, to his disgust, found both the cobbler's sons there with their father. The boys, with a curiosity common to all very young people, andparticularly intense among the classes who have nothing in particularto think of, stared at him so fixedly that he finally rose abruptly anddeparted without saying a word. The boys went out soon after, and Billyremarked to Tom, as the two sauntered homeward, --

"Tom, what do you s'pose is the reason that feller comes in to see dadso much?"

"Gettin' a pair of shoes made, I s'pose, " said Tom, sulkily, for he hadjust failed in an attempt to extract a quarter of a dollar from hisfather. 

"The shoes that dad was makin' for him, " said Billy, "was done two orthree weeks ago, 'cause I took 'em to his office myself. But he comesto the shop over an' over again, 'cause I've seen him there, an'whenever he comes he manages to get talkin' with dad about religion. Healways begins it, too, 'cause dad never says nothin' about it unlessthe lawyer starts it first. "

"Well, " said Tom, "seems to me that if he wants to know anythin' onthat subject he could go to some of the preachers, that ought to know agood deal more about it than dad does. "

"Can't tell so much about that sort o' thing, " said Billy. "There'slots of men in this town that don't know much about some things thatknows a good deal about some others. You know when that dog we stolelast summer got sick, there was nobody in town could do anythin' forhim except that old lame nigger down in the holler. "

"Well, you're a sweet one, ain't you?" said Tom. "What's dogs got to dowith religion, I'd like to know? You ought to be ashamed o' yourself, even if you ain't never been to church. "

"Well, " said Billy, "what I was meanin' is, some folks seem to know agood deal about things without bein' learned, that other folks willgive their whole time to, an' don't know very much about. Every placethat I go to, somebody says somethin' to me about dad an' religion. Say, Tom, do you know dad's mighty different to what he used to bebefore he got took up?"

"Of course I do. He's always wantin' folks to work, an' always findin'fault with everythin' we do that ain't right. He didn't use to pay noattention to nothin'; we could do anythin' we wanted to; and here I am, a good deal bigger, an' just about as good as a man, an' he pays moreattention to me than he ever did, an' fusses at me as if I was littlebit of a kid. An' I don't like it, either. "

"Well, as he said to me t'other day, Tom, he's got to be pretty livelyto make up for lost time. "

"Well, I wish, then, " said Tom, meditatively, "that he hadn't neverlost no time, 'cause it's takin' all the spirit out o' me to behammered at all the time in the way he's a-doin'. I just tell you whatit is, Billy, " said Tom, stopping short and smiting the palm of onehand with the fist of the other, "I've half a mind, off and on, to goto steady work of some kind, an' I'll be darned if I don't do it, ifdad don't let me alone. "

"Mis' Prency was talkin' to me the other day about dad, " said Billy, "an' she asked me whether he wasn't workin' awful hard at home after heleft the shop, an' I said, 'Yes, ' an' she said, 'I hope you all do allyou can to help him?' an' I kind o' felt ashamed, an' all I could saywas that I didn't see nothin' I could help him about, an' she said sheguessed if I'd think a little while I could find out. Say, Tom, let'sgo to work a-thinkin', an' see if there ain't some way to give dad alift. Seems to me he's doin' everythin' for us all the whole time, an'we ain't doin' nothin' at all for him. "

"Oh, now, quit your preachin', " said the elder brother, contemptuously. "If you don't, I'll lamm you. "

The younger brother prudently lapsed into entire silence, and thecouple soon reached home. Tom strolled about the room, his lower liphanging down, bestowing glares of different intensity upon everyindividual and object present, and even making a threatening motionwith his foot towards the baby, who had crawled about the floor untilit was weary and fretful and was uttering plaintive cries from time totime. His mother was out of the house somewhere, and the baby continuedto protest against its physical discomforts until Tom indulged in aviolent expletive, which had the effect of temporarily silencing thechild and causing it to look up at him with wondering eyes. Tomreturned the infant's stare for a moment or two, and then, moved bysome spirit which he was not able to identify, he stooped and pickedup the infant and sat down in a chair. When his mother returned, shewas so astonished at what she saw that she hurried out of the house, down to the shop, and dragged her husband away and back to his home. When the door was opened, Sam Kimper was almost paralyzed to see hisbig son rocking the youngest member of the family to and fro over therough floor, and singing, in a hoarse and apparently ecstatic voice, --

 "I'm Captain Jinks of the Horse Marines. "

CHAPTER XIV. 

"Well, doctor, " said Deacon Quickset to his pastor one morning, "I hopeyou have persuaded that wretched shoemaker to come into the ark ofsafety and to lay hold of the horns of the altar. "

"My dear sir, " said Dr. Guide to his deacon, "the conversation I hadwith that rather unusual character has led me to believe that he isquite as safe at present as any of the members of my own congregation. "

"Oh, doctor, doctor!" groaned the deacon, "that will never do! What isthe church to come to if everybody is to be allowed to believe justwhat he wants to, and stop just when he gets ready, and not go anyfurther unless he understands everything before him? I don't need totell you, a minister of the gospel and a doctor of divinity, that wehave to live by faith and not by sight. I don't have to go over all thepoints of belief to a man of your character to show you what a mistakeyou are making, thinking that way about a poor common fellow that'sonly got one idea in his head, --one that might be shaken out of it veryeasily. "

"Deacon, " said the minister, "I am strongly of the impression that anybelief of any member of my congregation could be as easily shaken asthe one article of faith to which that poor fellow has bound himself. Idon't propose to disturb his mind any further. 'Milk for babes, ' youknow the apostle says, 'and strong meat for men. ' After he has provedhimself to be equal to meat, there will be ample time to experimentwith some of the dry bones which you seem anxious that I should forceupon him. "

"Dr. Guide, " said the deacon, with considerable dignity, "I didn'texpect this kind of talk from you. I have been sitting under yourministrations a good many years, and, though sometimes I didn't thinkyou were as sharp-set as you ought to be, still I knew you were a manof level head and good education and knew everything that was essentialto salvation; otherwise, why did the best college of our owndenomination make you a doctor of divinity? But I've got to let outwhat is in my heart, doctor, and it is this, that there is nostopping-place for any one that begins to walk the straight and narrowway; he has got to keep on as long as he lives, and if he don't he isgoing to be crowded off to one side. "

"You are quite right, deacon, " said the minister; "and therefore Iobject to putting any stumbling-blocks in any such person's way. "

"Do you mean to say, Dr. Guide, " asked the deacon, earnestly, "that allthe articles of faith that you have always taught us were essential tosalvation are to be looked at as stumbling-blocks when they are offeredto somebody like that poor dying sinner?"

"I mean exactly that, deacon, " said the minister, "and I mean stillmore, and I mean to preach earnestly on the subject in a short time, and at considerable length, that they have been stumbling-blocks to agreat many members of my congregation who should by this time be bettermen and women than they are. For instance, deacon, " said the minister, suddenly, looking very stern and judicial, "Mrs. Poynter has been to meseveral times to explain that the reason that she does not pay hersubscription to the last collection for the Missionary Association isthat she cannot get the interest on the mortgage that you have beenholding for her for a long time, and which, she says, you havecollected. "

"Dr. Guide, " said the deacon, icily, "religion is religion, andbusiness is business. You understand religion--to a certain extent;though I must own that I don't think you understand it as far as I oncethought you did. But about business, you must excuse me if I say youdon't know anything, especially if it's business that somebody else hasto carry on. If Mrs. Poynter don't like the way I'm doing business forher, she knows a way to get rid of me, and she can do it easilyenough. "

"Deacon, " said the minister, "I don't wish to offend you, but mattersof this sort may develop into a scandal, and injure the cause for whichboth of us profess to be working with all our hearts. And, by the way, the Browning children are likely to be sent away from the academy atwhich they are boarding, because their expenses are not paid, accordingto the terms of the trust reposed in you by their father. I have beenwritten to several times by the principal, who is an old friend ofmine. Can't the matter be arranged in some way so that I shall not hearany more about it? I have no possible method of replying in a mannerthat will satisfy the principal. "

"Tell him to write to me, doctor; tell him to write to me. He has nobusiness to put such affairs before anybody else. He will get hismoney. If he didn't believe it, he wouldn't have taken the children inthe first place. But I will see that you don't hear any more abouteither of these matters, and, as I am pretty busy and don't get achance to see you as often as I'd like, I want to say that it seems tome that now is just the time to get up a warmer feeling in the church. It's getting cold weather, and folks are glad to get together in a warmroom where there's anything going on. Now, if you will just announcenext Sunday that there's going to be a series of special meetings toawaken religious interest in this town, I think you will do a good dealmore good among those who need it than by worrying members of your owncongregation about things that you don't understand. I don't mean anyoffence, and I hope you won't take any; but when a man is trying to dobusiness for a dozen other folks and they are all at him at once, thereare many things happening that he can't very well explain. "

"I already had determined on a special effort at an early date, " saidthe pastor. "And still more: after two or three conversations with theman whom you were so desirous that I should call upon, I havedetermined to invite him to assist me in the conduct of the meetings. "

"What?" exclaimed the deacon, "bring in that thief and drunkard andignorant fellow, that is only just out of jail, to teach the way oflife to people that need to know it? Why, Dr. Guide, you must be losingyour mind!"

"As you intimated about your own business affairs, deacon, that is asubject upon which I am better qualified to judge than you. Themeetings will be held, and Mr. Kimper will be asked to assist. In fact, I already have asked him. I trust that his presence will not cause usto lose such valuable assistance as you yourself may be able to give. "

"Well, I never!" exclaimed the deacon; "I never did! It beats all! Why, if there was another church of our denomination in this town, I believeI'd take my letters and go to it. I really would!"

Nevertheless, the special meetings were immediately announced, and theybegan directly afterwards, and, according to the pastor's announcement, the ex-convict was asked to assist. His assistance did not seem toamount to much to those who came through curiosity to listen. But afterhe had made a speech, which, at the suggestion of Dr. Guide, had beencarefully prepared, but which was merely a rehearsal of what he alreadyhad said to numerous individual questioners, there was impressivesilence in the lecture-room, in which the meetings were to beconducted. 

"My friends, " said the pastor, rising soon afterwards, "when our Lordwas on earth, He once raised His eyes to heaven and said, 'I thankthee, Father, that thou hast hid these things from the wise and prudentand revealed them unto babes. ' I confess to you that I never was ableto understand the full meaning of this expression; but, as I havebecome more and more acquainted with our friend who has just spoken toyou, and have learned how fully his faith is grounded, and how entirelyhis life has been changed by what seems to us the mere beginnings of areligious belief, I am constrained to feel that I have yet a great dealto learn about my own profession and my own duty as a minister. Whathas just been said to you contains the essence of everything which Ihave tried to preach from my pulpit in twenty years. I wish it were inmy power to re-state it all as clearly as you have heard it thisevening, but I confess it is not. I fear to add anything to what youhave already heard, for I do not see how in any way I could make thisimportant subject any more clear to your comprehension. I willtherefore say no more, but ask, as is the custom, that anyone herepresent who desires to change his life and wishes the assistance of theprayers of God's people will please rise. "

As is usual in all such meetings, there was a general turning of headsfrom one side to the other. In an instant a single figure in the midstof the little congregation arose, and a second later a hoarse voicefrom one of the back seats, a voice which most persons present couldidentify as that of Sam Kimper's son Tom, exclaimed, --

"Great Lord! it's Reynolds Bartram!"

CHAPTER XV. 

The story that Reynolds Bartram had "stood up for prayers" went throughBruceton and the surrounding country like wildfire. Scarcely anyonebelieved it, no matter by whom he was told: the informer might be aperson of undoubted character, but the information was simplyincredible. People would not believe such a thing unless they could seeit with their own eyes and hear it with their own ears: so the specialmeetings became at once so largely attended that they were held in thebody of the church instead of the little basement called the"lecture-room. "

The most entirely amazed person in the town was Deacon Quickset. Neverbefore had he been absent, unless sick, from any special effort of hischurch to persuade the sinners to flee from the wrath to come; but whenDr. Guide announced that he should ask Sam Kimper to assist him in thespecial meetings, the deacon's conscience bade him halt and consider. Dr. Guide was wrong, --there could be no doubt of that: would it beright, then, merely for the sake of apparent peace and unity, for him, the deacon, to seem to agree with his pastor's peculiar views? Thedeacon made it a matter of prayer, and the result was that he remainedat home. 

That Reynolds Bartram had been the first-fruits of the new specialeffort was a statement which the deacon denied as soon as he heard it. Frequent repetition of the annoying story soon began to impress himwith its probability, and finally a brother deacon, who had beenpresent, set all doubt at rest by the assertion that Bartram had notonly been converted, but was assisting at the meetings. When, however, the attending deacon went on to inform his absentee brother thatBartram had attributed his awakening and conversion to the influence ofSam Kimper, Deacon Quickset lost his temper, and exclaimed, --

"It's all a confounded lie! It's a put-up job!"

"Brother Quickset!" exclaimed the astonished associate, with a mostreproving look. 

"Oh, I don't mean that _you lie_, " explained the angry defender of thefaith. "If you heard Bartram say it, he _did_ say it, of course. Butthere's something wrong somewhere. The minister's rather lost his headover Sam Kimper, just because the wretch isn't back in his old waysagain, and he's got a new notion in his head about how the gospel oughtto be preached. New notions have been plenty enough ever since truereligion started; there's always some man or men thinking out thingsfor themselves and forgetting everything else on account of them. Therewere meddlers of that kind back to the days of the apostles, andgoodness knows the history of the church is full of them. They've beenso set in their ways that no sort of discipline would cure them;they've even had to be hanged or burned, to save the faith from beingknocked to pieces. "

"But, brother Quickset, " pleaded the other deacon, "every one knows ourpastor isn't that sort of a person. He is an intelligent, thoughtful, unexcitable man, that--"

"That's just the kind that always makes the worst heretics, " roared thedeacon. "Wasn't Servetus that kind of a person? And didn't Calvin haveto burn him at the stake? I tell you, deacon, it takes a good deal ofthe horror out of those times when you have a case of the kind comeright up before your eyes. "

"What? Somebody being burned?" exclaimed the other deacon, raising hishands in horror. 

"No, no, " testily replied the defender of the faith. "Only somebodythat ought to be. "

"But where does the lying come in, that you were talking about?"

"I tell you just what I believe, " said Deacon Quickset, dropping hisvoice and drawing closer to his associate; "I believe Dr. Guidebelieves just what he says, --of course nobody's going to doubt thathe's sincere, --but when it's come to the pinch he's felt a littleshaky. What does any other man do when he finds himself shaky about animportant matter of opinion? Why, he consults a lawyer, and getshimself pulled through. "

"But you don't mean to say that you think Dr. Guide would go to a rank, persistent disbeliever in anything--but himself--like Ray Bartram, doyou, in a matter of this kind?"

"Why not? Ministers have often got lawyers to help them when they'vebeen muddled on points of orthodoxy. What the lawyer believes or don'tbelieve hasn't got anything to do with it: it's his business to believeas his client does, and make other folks believe so, too. Ray Bartramis just the sort of a fellow a man would want in such a case. He's gotthat way of looking as if he knew everything, just like his father hadbefore him, that makes folks give in to him in spite of themselves. Besides, he'll say or do anything to carry his point. "

"Isn't that putting it rather strong, Brother Quickset?"

"Of course it isn't. Don't I know, I should like to ask? Don't Ialways hire him myself?"

"Oh!" That was the only word the other deacon spoke, but his eyesdanced, and he twisted his lips into an odd grin. 

"Oh, get out!" exclaimed the pillar of orthodoxy. "You needn't take itthat way. Of course what I ask him to do is only right: if I didn'tthink so, I wouldn't ask him. "

"Of course not, brother. But think a moment: do you really believe thatany form of professional pride would persuade that young man--proud asLucifer, and just as conceited and headstrong, a young man who alwayshas argued against religion and against every belief you and I holddear--to rise for prayers in an inquiry meeting, and afterwards say itwas the Christian life of Sam Kimper, --a man whom a high-born fellowlike Bartram must believe as near the animals as humanity ever is, --tosay it was the Christian life of Sam Kimper that convinced him of thesupernatural origin and saving power of Christianity?"

"I can't believe he put it that way: there must be something elsebehind it. I'm going to find out for myself and do it at once, too. This sort of nonsense must be stopped. Why, if men go to takingeverything Jesus Christ said just as He said it, everything in theworld in the way of business is going to be turned upside down. "

Away went Deacon Quickset to Bartram's office, and was so fortunate asto find the lawyer in. He went right at his subject:

"Well, young man, you've been in nice business, haven't you?--trying togo up to the throne of grace right behind a jail-bird, while theleaders and teachers whom the Lord has selected have been spurned byyou for years!"

Reynolds Bartram was too new a convert to have changed his old self andmanner to any great extent: so he flushed angrily, and retorted, --

"One thief is about as good as another, Deacon Quickset. "

Then it was the deacon's turn to look angry. The two men faced eachother for a moment with flashing eyes, lowering brows, and hard-setjaws. The deacon was the first to recover himself: he took a chair, andsaid, --

"Maybe I haven't heard the story rightly. What I came around for was toget it from first hands. Would you mind telling me?"

"I suppose you allude to my conversion?"

"Yes, " said the deacon, with a look of doubt, "I suppose that's what wewill have to call it, for want of a better word. "

"It is a very short story, " said Bartram, now entirely calm, as heleaned against his desk and folded his arms. "Like every other man withany brains, I've always been interested in religion, intellectually, and have had to believe that if it was right, as I heard it talked, ithad sometimes got away from its Founder in a manner for which thereseemed to be no excuse. Everything was being taught by the servants, nothing by the Master. When I want to know your wishes, deacon, aboutany matter in which we are mutually interested, I do not go to yourback door and inquire of your servants: I go to you, direct. But whenpeople--you among the number--have talked to me about religion, they'vealways talked Peter and Paul and James and John, --never Jesus. "

"The Apostle Paul--" began the deacon, but the lawyer snatched thewords from his lips, and continued:

"The Apostle Paul was the ablest lawyer that ever lived. I've studiedhim a good deal, in past days, for style. "

"Awful!" groaned the deacon. 

"Not in the least, " said the lawyer, with fine earnestness. "He wasjust the man for his place and his time; 'twas his business to explainthe new order of things to the hard-headed Jews, of whom he had beenso notable a representative, that to convert him it was necessary thathe should be knocked senseless and remain so for the space of threedays: you remember the circumstance? He was just the man, too, toexplain the new religion to the heathens and pagans of his day, forthose Greeks and Romans were a brainy lot of people. But why should hehave been quoted to me, or any other man in the community? We don'thave to be convinced that Jesus lived: we believe it already. Thebelief has been born in us; it has run through our blood for hundredsof years. Do you know what I've honestly believed for years about a lotof religious men in this town, you among the number? I've believed thatJesus was so good that you've all been making hypocritical excuses, through your theology, to get away from this!"

"Get away from my Saviour!" gasped the deacon. 

"Oh, no; you wanted enough of Him to be saved by, --enough to die by;but when it comes to living by him--well, you know perfectly well thatyou don't. "

"Awful!" again groaned the deacon. 

"When I heard of that wretched convict taking his Saviour as anexemplar of daily life and conduct, it seemed ridiculous. If better mencouldn't do it, how could he? I had no doubt that while he was underlock and key, with no temptations about him, and nothing to resist, hehad succeeded; but that he could do it in the face of all his oldinfluences I did not for an instant believe. I began to study him, as Iwould any other criminal, and when he did not break down as soon as Ihad expected, I was mean enough--God forgive me!--to try to shake hisfaith. The honest truth is, I did not want to be a Christian myself, and had resisted all the arguments I had heard; but I was helpless whendear friends told me that nothing was impossible to me that was beingaccomplished by a common fellow like Sam Kimper. "

"Nothing is impossible to him that believes, " said the deacon, findinghis tongue for a moment. 

"Oh, I believe; there was no trouble about that: 'the devils alsobelieve, '--you remember that passage, I suppose? Finally, I began towatch Sam closely, to see if perhaps he wasn't as much of a hypocrite, on the sly, as some other people I know. He can't make much money onthe terms he has with Larry, no matter how much work reaches the shop. I've passed his shop scores of times, early and late, and found himalways at work, except once or twice when I've seen him on his knees. I've hung about his wretched home nights, to see if he did not sneakout on thieving expeditions; I've asked store-keepers what he bought, and have found that his family lived on the plainest food. That man isa Christian, deacon. When I heard that he was to make an exhortation atthe meeting, I went there to listen--only for that purpose. But as hetalked I could not help recalling his mean, little, insignificant faceas I'd seen it again and again when I was a younger man, dropping intojustices' courts for a chance to get practice at pleading, and he wasup for fighting or stealing. It was the same face: nothing can evermake his forehead any higher or broader, or put a chin where natureleft one off. But the expression of countenance was so different--sohonest, so good--that I got from it my first clear idea of what waspossible to the man who took our Saviour for a model of daily life. Ittook such hold of me that when the pastor asked those who wanted theprayers of God's people to rise, I was on my feet in an instant; Icouldn't keep my seat. "

"Then you do admit that there are some God's people besides SamKimper?" sneered the deacon. 

"I never doubted it, " replied the lawyer. 

"Oh, well, " said the deacon, "if you'll go on, now you've begun, you'llsee you've only made a beginning. By the way, have you got that Bittlesmortgage ready yet?"

"No, " said the lawyer, "and I won't have it ready, either. To draw amortgage in that way, so the property will fall into your hands quicklyand Bittles will lose everything, is simple rascality, and I'll havenothing to do with it. "

"It's all right if he's willing to sign it, isn't it?" asked thedeacon, with an ugly frown. "His signature is put on by his own freewill, isn't it?"

"You know perfectly well, Deacon Quickset, " said the lawyer, "thatfellows like Bittles will sign anything without looking at it, if theycan get a little money to put into some new notion. A man's home shouldbe the most jealously guarded bit of property in the world: I'm notgoing to deceive any man into losing it. "

"I didn't suppose, " said the deacon, "that getting religious would takeaway your respect for the law, and make you above the law. "

"It doesn't: it makes me resolve that the law shan't be used forpurposes of the devil. "

"Do you mean to call me the devil?" screamed the deacon. 

"I'm not calling you anything: I'm speaking of the unrighteous act youwant done. I won't do it for you; and, further, I'll put Bittles on hisguard against any one else who may try it. "

"Mr. Bartram, " said the deacon, rising, "I guess I'll have to take allmy law-business to somebody else. Good-morning. "

"I didn't suppose I should have to suffer for my principles so soon, "said the lawyer, as the deacon started; "but when _you_ want to beconverted, come see me and you'll learn I bear you no grudge. Indeed, you'll be obliged to come to me, as you'll learn after you think overall your affairs a little while. "

The deacon stopped: the two men stood face to face a moment, and thenparted in silence. 

CHAPTER XVI. 

When Eleanor Prency heard that her lover had not only been convertedbut was taking an active part in the special religious meetings, shefound herself in what the old women of the vicinity called a "state ofmind. " She did not object to young men becoming very good; that is, shedid object to any young man of whom she happened to be very fondbecoming very bad. But it seemed to her that there was a place wherethe line should be drawn, and that Reynolds Bartram had overstepped it. That he might sometime join the church was a possibility to which shehad previously looked forward with some pleasurable sense ofanticipation. She belonged to the church herself, so did her father andmother, and she had long been of the opinion that a little religion wasa very good thing for a young man who was in business and subject totemptation. But, as she regarded the events of the past few evenings asreported by people who had been to the meetings, she became more thanever of the opinion that a little religion would go a long way, andthat Reynolds Bartram had more than was necessary. 

To add to her annoyance, some of her intimate acquaintances who knewthat if the two young people were not engaged they certainly were veryfond of each other, and who regarded the match as a matter of course inthe near future, began to twit her on the possibility of her loverbecoming a minister should he go on in his present earnest course oftrying to save lost souls. The more they talked about her, in herpresence, as a minister's wife, the less she enjoyed the prospect. Minister's wives in Bruceton were sometimes pretty, but they neverdressed very well, and Miss Eleanor was sure, from what she saw oftheir lives, that they never had any good times. 

Fuel was added to the fire of her discontent when her mother announcedone morning that Jane Kimper had arrived and would assist the couple attheir sewing. To Eleanor, Jane represented the Kimper family, the headof which was the cause of Reynolds Bartram's extraordinary course. Eleanor blamed Sam for all the discomfort to which she had beensubjected on account of Bartram's religious aspirations, and she wasinclined to visit upon the new seamstress the blame for all theannoyances from which she had suffered. 

Like a great many other girls who are quite affectionate daughters, sheneglected to make a confidante of her mother; and Mrs. Prency wastherefore very much surprised, on entering the room after a shortshopping-tour, to discover the two young women in utter silence, Eleanor looking greatly vexed and the new sewing-woman very muchdistressed about something. The older lady endeavored to engage thecouple in conversation. After waiting a little while for the situationto make itself manifest, but getting only very short replies, she leftthe room and made an excuse to call her daughter after her. 

"My dear child, what is the matter? Doesn't Jane know how to sew?"

"Yes, " said Eleanor, "I suppose so; but she knows how to talk, too, andshe has done it so industriously and made me feel so uncomfortable thatI have not had any opportunity to examine her sewing. "

"My daughter, what can she have said to annoy you so much?"

"Oh, " exclaimed Eleanor, savagely snatching to pieces a bit of delicatesilk she held in her hand, "what every one else is talking about. Whatdoes any one in this town have to talk about just now, I wonder, exceptReynolds Bartram and the church? Why is it that they all think itnecessary to come and talk to me about it? I am sure I am not speciallyinterested in church work, and I don't believe any one who has talkedto me about it is, but I hear nothing else from morning till nightwhen any visitor comes in. I was congratulating myself that I had anexcuse to-day, so that I need not see any one who might call, but thatdreadful girl is worse than all the rest put together. She seems tothink, as her folks at home haven't anything else to talk about, and asher father is so delighted at the 'blessed change, ' as she expressesit, that has come over Bartram, that I should feel just as happy aboutit. "

"Well, daughter, don't you?"

"No, mother, I don't. I suppose it's perfectly dreadful in me to sayso, but I don't feel anything of the kind. It's just horrid; and I wishyou and father would take me away for a little while, or else let me gooff on a visit. People talk as if Ray belonged entirely to me, --as if Ihad something to do about it; and you know perfectly well I haven't. "

"Well, dear, is that any reason why you should be jealous of poor SamKimper?"

"Jealous!" exclaimed Eleanor, her eyes flashing: "he is the worst enemyI ever had. I haven't had so much annoyance and trouble in all my lifeas have come to me during the past two or three days through thatwretched man. I wish him almost any harm. I even wish he had never goneto the penitentiary"

Mrs. Prency burst out laughing. The young woman saw the blunder shehad committed, and continued, quickly, --

"I mean that I wish he had never got out again. The idea of a fellowlike that coming back to this town and talking and working on people'ssympathies in such a way as to carry intelligent people right off theirfeet! Here you and father have been talking about him at the tablealmost every day for a long time!"

"Well, daughter, you seemed interested in everything we said, andthought he might do a great deal of good if he were sincere andremained true to his professions. "

"Great deal of good? Yes; but, of course, I supposed he'd do it amonghis own set of people. I had no idea that he was going to invade theupper classes of society and make a guy out of the very young manthat--"

Then Eleanor burst into tears. 

"My dear child, " said the mother, "you are making altogether too muchof very little. Of course, it's impossible that everybody in the townsha'n't be surprised at the sudden change that has come over Mr. Bartram, but it ought to comfort you to know that all the better peoplein the town are very glad to learn of it, and that his example ismaking them very much ashamed of themselves, and that, instead of themeetings being conducted almost entirely by him and Sam Kimper, hereafter--"

"Him and Sam Kimper! Mother! the idea of mentioning the two persons inthe same day!--in the same breath! How can you?"

"Well, dear, they will no longer manage the meetings by themselves, buta number of the older citizens, who have generally held aloof from suchaffairs, have resolved that it is time for them to do something, soReynolds will very soon be a less prominent figure, and I trust youwill hear less about him. But don't--I beg of you, don't visit yourdispleasure on that poor girl. You can't imagine that she had anythingto do with her father's conversion, can you, still less with that ofMr. Bartram? Now, do dry your eyes and try to come back to your workand be cheerful. If you can't do more, you at least can be human. Don'tdisgrace your parentage, my dear. _She_ has not even done that as yet. "

Then Mrs. Prency returned to the sewing-room and chatted a little whilewith the new seamstress about the work in hand. Eleanor joined them ina few moments, and the mental condition of the atmosphere becamesomewhat less cloudy than before, when suddenly a stupid servant, whohad only just been engaged and did not entirely know the ways of thehouse, ushered directly into the sewing-room Mr. Reynolds Bartram. 

Eleanor sprang to her feet, spreading dress-goods, and needles, andspools of silk, and thread, and scissors, and thimbles, all over thefloor. Jane looked up timidly for an instant, and bent her head lowerover her work. But Mrs. Prency received him as graciously as if shewere the Queen of England sitting upon her throne, with her royal robesupon her. 

"I merely dropped in to see the judge, Mrs. Prency. I beg pardon forintruding upon the business of the day. "

"I don't suppose he is at home, " said the lady. "You have been at theoffice?"

"Yes, and I was assured he was here. I was anxious to see him at once. I suspect I have a very heavy case on my hands, Mrs. Prency. What doyou suppose I have agreed to do? I have promised, actually promised, topersuade him to come down to the church this evening and take part inthe meetings. "

Eleanor, who had just reseated herself, flashed an indignant look athim. The young man saw it; but if the spirit of regeneration had workedupon him to a sufficient extent to make him properly sensitive to thelooks and manners of estimable young women, he showed no sign of it atthe moment. 

"I am sure I wish you well in your effort, " said the judge's wife;"and, if it is of any comfort to you, I promise that I will do all inmy power to assist you. "

Then Eleanor's eyes flashed again, as she said, --

"Mother, the idea of father--"

"Well?"

"The idea of father taking part in such work!"

"Do you know of any one, daughter, whose character more fully justifieshim in doing so? If you do, I shall not hesitate to ask Mr. Bartram toact as substitute until some one else can be found. "

Then Eleanor's eyes took a very different expression, and she began todevote herself intensely to her sewing. 

"If you are very sure, " said Bartram, "that your husband is not athome, I must seek him elsewhere, I suppose. Good day! Ah, I beg pardon. I did not notice--I was not aware that it was you, Miss Kimper. I hopeif you see your father to-day you will tell him that the good work thathe began is progressing finely, and that you saw me in search to-day ofJudge Prency to help him on with his efforts down at the church. "

And then, with another bow, Bartram left the room. 

If poor Jane could have been conscious of the look that Eleanor bentupon her at that instant, she certainly would have been inclined toleave the room and never enter it again. But she knew nothing of it, and the work went on amid oppressive silence. Mrs. Prency had occasionto leave the room for an instant soon after, and Jane lifted her headand said, --

"Who would have thought, Miss, that that young man was going to be sogood, and all of a sudden, too?"

"He always was good, " said Eleanor, "that is, until now. "

"I'm sorry I mentioned it, ma'am, but I s'pose he won't be as wild ashe and some of the young men about this town have been. "

"What do you mean by wild? Do you mean to say that he ever was wild inany way?"

"Oh, perhaps not, " said the unfortunate sewing-girl, wishing herselfanywhere else as she tried to find some method of escaping from theunfortunate remark. 

"What do you mean, then? Tell me: can't you speak?"

"Oh, only you know, ma'am, some of the nicest young men in town comedown to the hotel nights to chat, and they take a glass of wine once ina while, and smoke, and have a good time, and--"

Eleanor looked at Jane very sharply, but the sewing-girl's face wasaverted, so that questioning looks could elicit no answers. Eleanor'sgaze, however, continued to be fixed. She was obliged to admit toherself, as she had said to her mother several days before, that Janehad a not unsightly face and quite a fine figure. She had heard thatthere were sometimes "great larks, " as the young men called them, atthe village hotel, and she wondered how much the underlings of theestablishment could know about them, and what stories they could tell. Jane suddenly became to her more interesting than she had yet been. Shewondered what further questions to ask, and could not think of any thatshe could put into words. Finally, she left the room, sought hermother, and exclaimed, --

"Mother, I'm not going to marry Reynolds Bartram. If hotel servantsknow all about his goings-on evenings, what stories may they not tellif they choose? That sort of people will say anything they can of him. I don't suppose they know the difference between the truth and a lie;at least they never do when we hire them. "

The mother looked at the daughter tenderly and shrewdly. Then shesmiled, and said, --

"Daughter, I can see but one way for you to relieve your mind on thatsubject. "

"What is that?" asked the daughter. 

"It is only this: convert Jane. "

CHAPTER XVII. 

As the special meetings at the church went on, Deacon Quickset began tofear that he had made a mistake. He had taken an active part in allprevious meetings of the same kind for more than twenty-five years. Theresults of some of them had been very satisfactory, and the deaconmodestly but nevertheless with much self-gratulation had recounted hisown services in all of them. 

"Whoso converteth a sinner from the error of his ways shall save a soulfrom death and cover a multitude of sins; that is what the good booksays, " said the deacon to himself one day, as he walked from his houseto his place of business; "and considering the number of people that Ihave helped to snatch as brands from the burning, it does seem to methat I must have covered a good many sins of my own, --such as they are. I'm only a human being, and a poor, weak, and sinful creature, butthere's certainly a good many folks in this town that would not havestarted in the right way when they did if it hadn't been for what Isaid to them. Now, here's the biggest movement of the kind going onthat ever was known in this town, and I'm out of it. What for? Justbecause I don't agree with Sam Kimper. I mean, just because Sam Kimperdon't agree with me. I don't suppose the thing would have come toanything, anyhow, if it hadn't been for that fool of a young lawyersetting his foot in it in the way he did. Everybody likes excitement, and it's a bigger thing for him to have gone into this protractedmeeting than it would be for a circus to come to town with four newelephants. It's rough. "

The deacon took a few papers from his pocket, looked them over, hisface changing from grave to puzzled and from puzzled to angry and backagain through a whole gamut of facial expressions. Finally, he thrustthe entire collection back into his pocket, and said to himself, --

"If he keeps on at that work, I may have as much trouble as he let onthat I would. I don't see how some of these things are going to besettled unless I have him to help me; and if he's going to be asparticular as he makes out, or as he did make out the other day, there's going to be trouble, just as sure as both of us are alive. Ofcourse, the more prominent he is before the public, the less he'll wantto be in any case in court that takes hard fighting, particularly whenhe don't think he's on the popular side. And there's that Mrs. Poynterthat's been bothering me to death about the interest on her mortgage: Ikeep hearing that she's at the meetings every night, and that she neverlets an evening pass without speaking to Bartram. Maybe all she'stalking about is some sinner or other that she wants to have saved; butif she acts with him as she does with me, I'm awfully afraid that she'sconsulting him about that interest. 

"I didn't think it was the right time of the year to start specialmeetings, anyhow; and I don't know what our minister did it for withoutconsulting the deacons. He never did such a thing in his life before. It does seem to me that once in a while everything goes crosswise, andit all happens just when I need most of all to have things go alongstraight and smooth. Gracious! if some of these papers in my pocketdon't work the way they ought to, I don't know how things are going tocome out. "

The deacon had almost reached the business street as this soliloquywent on, but he seemed inclined to carry on his conversation withhimself: so he deliberately turned about and slowly paced the waybackward towards his home. 

"I shouldn't wonder, " said he, after a few moments of silence, inwhich his mind seemed busily occupied, --"I shouldn't wonder if that wasthe best way out, after all. I do believe I'll do it. Yes, I will doit. I'll go and buy out that shoe-shop of Larry Highgetty's, and I'lllet Sam Kimper have it at just what it costs, and trust him for all thepurchase-money. I don't believe the good-will of the place and all thestock that is in it will cost over a couple of hundred dollars; andLarry would take my note at six months almost as quick as he'd takeanybody else's money. If things go right I can pay the note, and ifthey don't he can get the property back. But in the meantime folkswon't be able to say anything against me. They can't say then that I'mdown on Sam, like some of them say now, and if anybody talks aboutBartram and the upper-crust folks that have been helping the meetingsalong, I can just remind them that talk is cheap and that it's moneythat tells. I'll do it, as sure as my name's Quickset; and the quickerI do it the better it will be for me, if I'm not mistaken. "

The deacon hurried off to the shoe-store. As usual, the only occupantof the shop was Sam. 

"Where's Larry, Sam?" asked the deacon, briskly. 

"I don't know, sir, " said Sam, "but I'm afraid he's at Weitz'sbeer-shop. "

"Well, Sam, " said the deacon, trying to be pleasant, though his mouthwas very severely set, "while you're in the converting line, --which Ihear you're doing wonders at, and I'm very glad to hear it, --why don'tyou begin at home and bring about a change in Larry?"

"Do you know, deacon, " said Sam, "I was thinkin' about the same thing?and I'm goin' to see that priest of his about--"

"Oh, Sam!" groaned the deacon. "The idea of going to see a Catholicpriest about a fellow-man's salvation, when there's a special meetingrunning in our own church and you've taken such an interest in it!"

"Every man for his own, deacon, " said Sam. "I don't believe Larry caresanythin' about the church that you belong to, an' that I've been goin'to for some little time, an' I know he thinks a good deal of FatherBlack. I've found out myself, after a good deal of trouble in thisworld, that it makes a good deal of difference who talks to you aboutsuch things. Now, he thinks Father Black is the best man there is inthe world. I don't know anythin' about that, though I don't know ofanybody in this town I ever talked to that left me feelin' morecomfortable an' looked more like a good man himself than that oldpriest did one day when he come in here an' talked to me very kindly. Why, deacon, he didn't put on any airs at all. He talked just as if hewas a good brother of mine, an' he left me feelin' that if I wasn'tgood I was a brother of his anyhow. That's more than I can say mostother folks in this town ever did, deacon. "

The deacon was so horrified at this unexpected turn of the conversationthat for a little while he entirely forgot the purpose for which he hadcome. But he was recalled to his senses by the entrance of ReynoldsBartram. His eyes met the lawyer's, and at once the deacon lookeddefiant. Then he pulled himself together, and, with a mighty effort, remarked, --

"Sam, some folks say I am down on you, and that I don't sympathize withyou. Some folks talk a good deal for you, and to you, and don't doanything for you. But I just came in this morning for the sole purposeof saying this: You've had a hard row to hoe, and you've worked at itfirst rate ever since you got out of jail. I've been watching you, though perhaps you don't know it, and I came here to say that I believeso much in your having had a change--though I do insist you haven'tgone far enough--I came around to say that I was going to buy out thisplace from Larry, and give it to you at your own terms, so that you canmake all the money that comes in. "

Sam looked up in astonishment at the lawyer. The lawyer looked downsmilingly at the deacon, who was seated on a very low bench, andsaid, --

"Deacon, we're all a good, deal alike in this world in one respect: ourbest thoughts come too late. I don't hesitate to say that some goodthoughts, which I have heard you urge upon other people but which younever mentioned to me, have come to me a deal later than they should. But, on the other hand, this matter of making Sam the master of thisshop has already been attended to. I've bought it for him myself, andmade him a free and clear present of it last night in token of theimmense amount of good which he has done me by personal example. "

"Bless my soul!" exclaimed the deacon. 

"I don't mind saying, " continued the lawyer, "that if _you_ will go towork and do me half as much good, I will buy just as much property andmake you a free and clear present of it. I am open to all possiblebenefits of that kind nowadays, and willing to pay for them, so far asmoney will go, to the full extent of my income and capital. " The deaconarose and looked about him in a dazed sort of fashion. Then he lookedat the lawyer inquiringly, put his hand in his pocket, drew forth amass of business papers, shuffled them over once more, looked again atthe lawyer, and said, --

"Mr. Bartram, I've got some particular business with you that I wouldlike to talk about at once. Would you mind coming to my office, ortaking me around to yours?"

"Not at all. Good luck, Sam, " said the lawyer. "Good day. "

The two men went out together. No sooner were they outside the shopthan the deacon said, rapidly, --

"Reynolds Bartram, my business affairs are in the worst possiblecondition. You know more about them than anybody else. You have done asmuch as anybody else to put them in the muddle that they're in now. Youhelped me into them, and now, church or no church, religion or noreligion, you've got to help me out of them, or I've got to go to thedevil. Now, what are you going to do about it?"

"Is it as bad as that?" murmured the lawyer. 

"Yes, it's as bad as that, and I could put it a good deal stronger ifit was necessary. Everything has been going wrong. That walnut timbertract over on the creek, that I expected to get about five thousanddollars out of, isn't worth five thousand cents. Since the last time Iwas over there some rascal stole every log that was worth taking, andthe place wouldn't bring under the hammer half what I gave for it. Ihave been trying to sell it, but somehow everybody that wanted itbefore has found out what has been going on. This is an awfully meanworld on business-men that don't look out for themselves all the time. "

"I should not think you had ever any right to complain of it, deacon, "said the lawyer. 

"Come, come, now, " said the deacon, "I'm not in any condition to betormented to-day, Reynolds, --I really ain't. I'm almost crazy. Isuppose old Mrs. Poynter has been at you to get her interest-money outof me, hasn't she?"

"Hasn't spoken a word to me about it, " said the lawyer. 

"Well, I heard she was after you every night in the meeting--"

"She was after me, talking about one sinner or another of heracquaintance, but she didn't mention you, deacon. It's a sad mistake, perhaps, but in a big town like this a person can't think of everybodyat once, you know. "

"For heaven's sake, Bartram, shut up, and tell me what I have to do. Time is passing. I must have a lot of ready cash to-day, somehow, andhere are all these securities; the minute I try to sell them people goto asking questions, and you're the only man they can come to. Now, you know perfectly well what the arrangements and understandings werewhen these papers were drawn, because you drew them all yourself. Now, if people come to you I want you to promise me that you're not going togo back on me. "

The deacon still held the papers in his hand, gesticulating with them. As he spoke, the lawyer took them, looked at them, and finally said, --

"Deacon, how much money do you need?"

"I can't get through, " said the deacon, "with less than nine hundreddollars ready cash, or first-class checks and notes, this very day. "

"Humph!" said the lawyer, still handling the papers. "Deacon, I'll makeyou a straightforward proposition concerning that money. If you willagree that I shall be agent of both parties in any settlement of theseagreements which I hold in my hand, and that you will accept me as soleand final arbitrator in any differences of opinion between you and thesigners, I will agree personally to lend you the amount you need, onyour simple note of hand, renewable from time to time until you areready to pay it. "

"Ray Bartram, " exclaimed the deacon, stopping short and looking thelawyer full in the face, "what on earth has got into you?"

"Religion, I guess, deacon, " said the lawyer. "Try it yourself: it'lldo you good. "

The lawyer walked off briskly, and left the deacon standing alone inthe street. As the deacon afterwards explained the matter to his wife, he felt like a stuck pig. 

CHAPTER XVIII. 

"Tom, " said Sam Kimper to his eldest son one morning after breakfast, "I wish you'd walk along to the shop with me. There's somethin' I wantto talk about. "

Tom wanted to go somewhere else; what boy doesn't, when his parentshave anything for him to do? Nevertheless, the young man finally obeyedhis father, and the two left the house together. 

"Tom, " said the father, as soon as the back door had closed behindthem, "Tom, I'm bein' made a good deal more of than I deserve, but'tain't any of my doin's, and men that ort to know keep tellin' me thatI'm doin' a lot o' good in town. Once in a while, though, somebodylaughs at me, --laughs at somethin' I say. It's been hurtin' me, an' Itold Judge Prency so the other day; but he said, 'Sam, it isn't whatyou say, but the way you say it. ' You see, I never had no eddication; Iwas sent to school, but I played hookey most of the time. "

"Did you, though?" asked Tom, with some inflections that caused thecobbler to look up in time to see that his son was looking at himadmiringly; there could be no doubt about it. Sam had never been lookedat that way before by his big boy, and the consequence was an entirelynew and pleasurable sensation. After thinking it over a moment, hereplied, --

"Yes, I did, an' any fun that was to be found I looked after in themdays. I don't mind tellin' you that I don't think I found enough to payfor the trouble; but things was as they was. Now I wish I'd donediff'rent; but it's too late to get back what I missed by dodgin'lessons. Tom, if I could talk better, it would be a good thing for me;but I ain't got no time to go to school. You've been to school a lot:why can't you come to the shop with me, an' sit down an' tell me wherean' how I don't talk like other folks?"

Tom indulged in a long and convulsive chuckle. 

"When you've done laughin' at your father, Tom, " continued Sam, "he'llbe glad to have you say somethin' that'll show him that you ain't asmean an' low down as some folks think you be. "

"I ain't no school-teacher, " said Tom, "an' I ain't learned no fancyways of talkin'!"

"I don't expect you to tell me mor'n you know, " said the parent, "butif you've got the same flesh an' blood as me, you'll stand by me whenI'm bothered. The puppies of a dog would do that much for their parentin trouble. "

Tom did not answer; he sulked a little while, but finally entered theshop with his father and sat down, searched his mind a few moments, andthen recalled and repeated two injunctions which his last teacher hadmost persistently urged upon her pupils, --that they should not dropletters from the ends of words, nor say "ain't" or "hain't. " Then Samdevoted himself to practice by talking aloud, and Tom became so amusedby the changes in his father's intonation that he finally was obligedto go home and tell his mother and Mary. 

"Stop that, --right away!" exclaimed Mrs. Kimper, as soon as Tom gotfairly into his story. "Your father ain't goin' to be laughed at in hisown house, by his own family, while I'm around to stand up for him. "

"Oh, stuff!" exclaimed Tom, in amazement. Then he laughed as hereverted to his father's efforts at correct pronunciation, andcontinued his story. Suddenly he was startled by seeing his mothersnatch a stump of a fire-shovel from the hearth and brandish it overhis head. 

"You give up that talk right away!" exclaimed the woman. "Your fatheris astonishin' the life out of me ev'ry day by the new way he's talkin'an' livin'. He's the best man in this town; I don't care if he _has_been in the penitentiary, I'm not goin' to hear a bit of fun made ofhim, not even by one of his own young ones. "

All the brute in Tom's nature came to the surface in an instant, yethis amazement kept him silent and staring. It was such a slight, feeble, contemptible figure, that of the woman who was threatening topunish him, --him, Tom Kimper, whom few men in town would care to meetin a trial of strength. It set Tom to thinking; he said afterwards thespectacle was enough to make a brickbat wake up and think. At last heexclaimed, tenderly, --

"Mother!"

The woman dropped her weapon and burst into tears, sobbing aloud, --

"You never said it that way before. "

Tom was so astonished by what he saw and heard that he shuffled up tohis mother and awkwardly placed his clumsy hand upon her cheek. In aninstant his mother's arms were around his neck so tight that Tom fearedhe was being strangled. 

"Oh, Tom, Tom! what's got into me? What's got into both of us?Ev'rythin's diff'rent to what it used to be. It's carryin' me right offmy feet sometimes. I don't know how to stand it all, an' yet Iwouldn't have it no other way for nothin'. "

Tom could not explain, but he did something a great deal better; forthe first time since he ceased being a baby and his mother began totire of him, he acted affectionately to the woman who was leaning uponhim. He put his strong arm around her, and repeated the single word"Mother" often and earnestly. As for Mrs. Kimper, no furtherexplanation seemed necessary. 

After mother and son had become entirely in accord, through methodswhich only Heaven and mothers understand, Mrs. Kimper began to makepreparations for the family's mid-day meal. While she worked, herdaughter Jane appeared, and threw cold water upon a warm affectionalglow by announcing, --

"I'm fired. "

"What do you mean, child?" asked her mother. 

"Just what I say. That young Ray Bartram, that's the Prency gal'sfeller, has been comin' to the house almost ev'ry day while I've beenworkin' there, an' he's been awful polite to me. He never used to bethat way when him an' the other young fellers in town used to come downto the hotel an' drink in the big room behind the saloon. Miss Prencygot to askin' me questions about him this morning, an' the less I toldher the madder she got, an' at last she said somethin' that made me getup an' leave. "

"What's _he_ ever had to do with _you_?" asked Mrs. Kimper, after along, wondering stare. 

"Nothin', except to talk impudent. Mother, what's the reason a poor galthat don't ever look for any company above her always keeps findin' itwhen she don't want it?"

Mrs. Kimper got the question so mixed with her culinary preparationsthat she was unable to answer, or to remember that she already hadsalted the stew which she was preparing for dinner. As she wondered andworked, her husband came in. 

"Wife, " said Sam, "everything seems turning upside down. DeaconQuickset came into the shop a while ago. What do you suppose he wanted?Wanted me to pray for him! I said I would, and I did; but I was so tookaback by it that I had to talk to somebody, so I came home. "

"Why didn't you go talk to the preacher or Ray Bartram?" asked Mrs. Kimper, after the natural expressions of astonishment had been made. 

"Well, " said Sam, "I suppose it was because I wanted to talk tosomebody that I was better acquainted with. "

Mrs. Kimper looked at her husband in astonishment. Sam returned hiswife's gaze, but with a placid expression of countenance. 

"I don't amount to much, Sam, " Mrs. Kimper finally sighed, with ahelpless look. 

"You're my wife; that's much--to me. Some day I hope it will be thesame to you. "

There was a knock at the door, and as soon as Sam shouted "Come in!"Judge Prency entered. 

"Sam, " said he, "ever since I saw you were in earnest about living anew life, I've been trying to arrange matters so that your boy Joe--Isuppose you know why he ran away--could come back without getting intotrouble. It was not easy, for the man from whom he--took somethingseemed to feel very ugly. But he has promised not to prosecute. "

"Thank God!" exclaimed Sam. "If now I knew where the boy was--"

"I've attended to that, too. I've had him looked up and found andplaced in good hands for two or three weeks, and I don't believe youwill be ashamed of him when he returns. "

Sam Kimper lapsed into silence, and the judge felt uncomfortable. Atlast Sam exclaimed, --

"I feel as if it would take a big prayer and thanksgiving meeting totell all that's in my mind. "

"A very good idea, " said the judge; "and, as you have the very peoplepresent who should take part in it, I will make haste to remove alloutside influence. " So saying, the judge bowed in his most courtlymanner to Mrs. Kimper and Jane, and departed. 

"Let us all pray, " said Sam, dropping upon his knees. 

CHAPTER XIX. 

Eleanor Prency was a miserable young woman during most of the greatrevival season which followed the special meetings at Dr. Guide'schurch. She did not see Ray Bartram as much as of old, for the youngman spent most of his evenings at the church, assisting in the work. Hesang no wild hymns, nor did he make any ecstatic speeches; neverthelesshis influence was great among his old acquaintances and upon the youngmen of the town. To "stand up for prayers" was to the latter class thesupreme indication of courage or conviction; and any of them would havepreferred to face death itself, at the muzzle of a gun, to taking sucha step. But that was not all; Bartram had for some years been theleader of the unbelievers in the town; the logic of a young man who wassmart enough to convince judges on the bench in matters of law was goodenough for the general crowd when it was brought to bear upon religion. As one lounger at Weitz's saloon expressed himself, --

"None of the preachers or deacons or class-leaders was ever able todown that young feller before, but now he's just the same as gone andhollered 'enough. ' It's no use for the rest of us to put on airs afterthat; nobody'll believe us, and like as not he'll be the first man totell us what fools we be. I'm thinkin' a good deal of risin' forprayers myself, if it's only to get through before he gives me atalkin' to. "

When, however, the entire membership of the church aroused to the factthat work was to be done, and Judge Prency and other solid citizensbegan to take part in the church work, Bartram rested from his effortsand began again to spend his evenings at the home of the young womanwhom he most admired. A change seemed to have come over others as wellas himself. Mrs. Prency greeted him more kindly than ever, but Eleanorseemed different. She was not as merry, as defiant, or as sympatheticas of old. Sometimes there was a suggestion of old times in her manner, but suddenly the young woman would again become reserved and distant. 

One evening, when she had begun to rally him about something, andquickly lapsed into a different and languid manner, Bartram said, --

"Eleanor, nothing seems as it used to be between you and me. I wish Iknew what was wrong in me. "

The girl suddenly interested herself in the contents of an antiquatedphotograph album. 

"I must have become dreadfully uninteresting, " he continued, "if youprefer the faces in that album, of which I've heard you make fun timeand again. Won't you tell me what it is? Don't be afraid to talkplainly: I can stand anything--from you. "

"Oh, nothing, " said Eleanor, continuing to pretend interest in thepictures. 

"'Nothing' said in that tone always means something--and a great dealof it. Have I said or done anything to offend you?"

"No, " said Eleanor, with a sigh, closing the book and folding herhands, "only--I didn't suppose you ever could become a prosy, poky oldchurch-member. "

The reply was a laugh, so merry, hearty, and long that Eleanor lookedindignant, until she saw a roguish twinkle in Bartram's eyes; then sheblushed and looked confused. 

"Please tell me what I have said or done that was poky or prosy, " askedBartram. "We lawyers have a habit of asking for proof as well ascharges. I give you my word, my dear girl, that never in all myprevious life did I feel so entirely cheerful and good-natured as I donowadays. I have nothing now to trouble my conscience, or spoil mytemper, or put me out of my own control, as used frequently to happen. I never before knew how sweet and delightful it was to live and meet myfellow-beings, --particularly those I love. I can laugh at the slightestprovocation now, instead of sometimes feeling ugly and saying sharpthings. Every good and pleasant thing in life I enjoy more than ever;and as you, personally, are the very best thing in life, you seem athousand times dearer and sweeter to me than ever before. Perhaps youwill laugh at me for saying so, but do you know that I, who haveheretofore considered myself a little better than any one else in thevillage, am now organizing a new base-ball club and a gymnasiumassociation, and also am trying to get enough subscribers to build atoboggan slide? I never was in such high spirits and in such humor forfun. "

Eleanor looked amazed, but she relieved her mind by replying, --

"I never saw religion work that way on other people. "

"Indeed! Where have your blessed eyes been? Hasn't your own father beena religious man for many years, and is there any one in town who knowsbetter how to enjoy himself when he is not at work?"

"Oh, yes; but father is different from most people. "

"Quite true; he must be, else how could he be the parent of the oneincomparable young woman--"

"Ray!"

"Don't try to play hypocrite, please, for you're too honest. You knowyou agree with me. "

"About father? Certainly; but--"

"'About father?' More hypocrisy. You know very well what I mean. Dearlittle girl, listen to me. I suppose there are people scared intoreligion through fear of the wrath to come, who may become dull anduninteresting. It is a matter of nature, in a great many cases. Isuppose whatever is done for selfish reasons, even in the religiouslife, may make people uncertain and fearful, and sometimes miserable. But when a man suddenly determines to model his life after that of theone and only perfect man and gentleman the world ever knew, he does notfind anything to make him dull and wretched. We hear so much of Jesusthe Saviour that we lose sight of Jesus the man. He who died for us wasalso He whose whole recorded life was in conformity with the tastes andsympathies of people of His day. Do you imagine for an instant that ifHe had been of solemn, doleful visage, any woman would ever havepressed through a crowd to touch the hem of His garment, that she mightbe made well? Do you suppose the woman of Samaria would have lingeredone instant at the well of Jacob, had Jesus been a man with a facelike--well, suppose I say Deacon Quickset? Do you think mothers wouldhave brought their children to Him that He might bless them? Do youimagine any one who had not a great, warm heart could have wept at thegrave of his friend Lazarus, whom He knew He had the power to raisefrom the dead? Didn't He go to the marriage jollification at Cana, andtake so much interest in the affair that He made up for the deficiencyin the host's wine-cellar? Weren't all His parables about matters thatshowed a sympathetic interest in the affairs which were nearest to thehearts of the people around Him? If all these things were possible toone who had His inner heart full of tremendous responsibilities, whatshould not His followers be in the world, --so far as all human cheerand interest go?"

"I've never heard him spoken of in that way before, " said Eleanor, speaking as if she were in a brown study. 

"I'm glad--selfishly--that you hear it the first time from me, then. Never again will I do anything of which I think He would disapprove;but, my dear girl, I give you my word that although occasionally--toooften--I have been lawless in word and action, I never until now haveknown the sensation of entire liberty and happiness. You never againwill see me moody, or obstinate, or selfish. I'm going to be agentleman in life, as well as by birth. You believe me?"

"I must believe you, Ray; I can't help believing whatever you say. ButI never saw conversion act that way upon any one else, and I don'tunderstand it. "

Bartram looked quizzically at the girl a moment, and then replied, --

"Try it yourself; I'm sure it will affect you just as it does me. "

"Oh, Ray, no; I never can bring myself to stand up in church to beprayed for. "

"Don't do it, then. Pray for yourself. I don't know of any one to whomHeaven would sooner listen. But you can't avoid being prayed for by onerepentant sinner: have the kindness to remember that. "

"Ray!" murmured Eleanor. 

"And, " continued Bartram, rising and placing an arm around Eleanor'sshoulders, "the sooner our prayers can rise together, the sooner youwill understand me, believe me, and trust me. My darling, --the onlywoman whom I ever loved, --the only woman of whom I ever was fond, --theonly one to whom I ever gave an affectionate word or caress--"

There are conversations which reach a stage where they should be knownonly to those who conduct them. When Bartram started to depart, hislove-life was unclouded. 

"Ray, " said Eleanor, at the door, "will you oblige me by seeing SamKimper in the morning and asking him to tell his daughter that Iparticularly wish she would come back to us?"

CHAPTER XX. 

The revival into which were merged the special meetings at Dr. Guide'schurch continued so long that religion became absolutely andenthrallingly fashionable in Bruceton. Many drinking men ceased tofrequent the bar-room of the town, some old family feuds came to anend, and several couples who should have been married long before werejoined in the holy bonds of wedlock. 

Nevertheless, the oldest inhabitants agreed that never before had lifein Bruceton been so pleasant. Everybody was on good terms witheverybody else, and no one, no matter how poor or common, lackedpleasant greetings on the street from acquaintances of high degree. 

There had been some wonderful conversions during the meetings;hard-swearing, hard-drinking men had abandoned their evil ways, andwere apparently as willing and anxious as any one else to be informedas to how to conform their lives to the professions which they hadmade. All the other churches sympathized with the efforts which Dr. Guide's flock had been making, for they themselves had been affected totheir visible benefit. 

Dr. Guide himself became one of the humblest of the humble. Always aman of irreproachable life and warm heart, it never had occurred to himthat anything could be lacking in his church methods. But he also was aman of quick perceptions: so, as the meetings went on, and he realizedthat their impetus was due not at all to anything he had said or done, but solely to the personal example of Sam Kimper, he fell into deepthought and retrospection. He resolutely waived all compliments whichhis clerical brethren of other denominations offered him on what theywere pleased to call the results of his ministrations, and honestlyinsisted that the good work was begun by the example set by Sam Kimper, the ex-convict. 

Dr. Guide was an honest believer in the "church universal, " but he hadbeen trained to regard the Church of Rome as the "scarlet woman" ofRevelation, and whenever he met Father Black in the streets herecognized him only with a dignified bow. The day before the closingmeeting, however, he encountered the priest at the turning of acorner, --too suddenly for a change of manner. 

"My dear brother!" exclaimed Father Black, extending both hands andgrasping Dr. Guide's hands warmly, "God bless you for the good work youhave been doing!"

"My dear sir, " said the pastor, rallying all his powers to withstandthe surprise, "I am very glad that you are pleased to regard the workas good. "

"How can I help it?" said the priest, impetuously. "The spirit whichyour church efforts have awakened has spread throughout the town andaffected everybody. There are men--and some women--of my flock whomI've been trying in vain for years to bring to confession, so as tostart them on a new life. I've coaxed them, threatened them, prayed forthem with tears of agony, for what soul is not dear to our Saviour? Theworse the soul, the more the Saviour yearns to reclaim it. You rememberthe parable of the ninety-and-nine?"

"Who can forget it?" said the reverend doctor, tears springing to hiseyes. 

"No one, my dear brother, --no one, " replied the priest. "Well, my lostsheep have all come back. The invisible Church has helped the visible, and--"

"Is my Church, then, invisible?" asked Dr. Guide, with a quick relapseinto his old-time manner. 

"My dear brother, " exclaimed the priest, "which is the greater? Whichexists only for the other?"

"I beg your pardon, " said Dr. Guide, his face thawing in an instant. 

"Again I thank you from the depths of my heart, " said the old priest, "and--"

"Father Black, " interrupted the pastor, "the more you thank me themore uncomfortable I feel. Whatever credit is awarded, except toHeaven, for the great and unexpected experiences which have been mademanifest at my church, belongs entirely to a man who, being the lowestof the low, has set forth an example of perfect obedience. "

"That poor cobbler? You are right, I verily believe, and I shall go atonce to pour out my heart to him. "

"Let me go with you, Father--_Brother_, Black. I--" here Dr. Guide'sface broke into a confidential smile, --"I want to go to confessionmyself, for the first time in my life, if you will allow the cobbler tobe my priest. I want a reputable witness, too. "

Then the two clergymen, arm in arm, proceeded to Sam Kimper's shop, tothe great astonishment of all the villagers who saw them. 

That night, at the closing meeting of the revival series, Dr. Guidedelivered a short but pointed talk from the text, "Verily I say untoyou, the publicans and harlots go into the kingdom before you. "

"My friends, " said he, "these words were spoken by Jesus one day whenthe chief priests and elders, who were the types of the clergymen andformal religious people of our day, questioned Him about His works andHis authority. They had a mass of tradition and doctrine by which theywere justified in their own eyes, and the presence, the works, theteachings and the daily life of Jesus were a thorn in their flesh. Itannoyed them so that they crucified Him in order to be rid of His purerinfluence. We, who know more of Him than they, have been continuallycrucifying our Lord afresh by paying too much attention to the letterand ignoring the spirit. 'These things should ye have done, and notleft the others undone. ' I say these words not by way of blame, but ofwarning. Heaven forbid that I ever shall need to repeat them!"

As the congregation looked about at one and another whom the cap mightfit, everybody chanced to see Deacon Quickset arise. 

"My friends, " said the deacon, "I'm one of the very kind of peopleJesus meant when He said the words that our pastor took for his textto-night; and, for fear that some one mayn't know it, I arise to own upto it myself. Nobody's stood up for the letter of the law and the planof salvation stronger than I, and nobody has taken more pains to dodgethe spirit of it. The scales have fallen from my eyes lately, but Isuppose all of you have been seeing me as I am for a long, long time, and you've known me for the hypocrite that I now can see I've alwaysbeen. I've done a good many things that I oughtn't to have done. I'vetold half-truths that were worse than lies. I've 'devoured widows'houses, and for a pretence made long prayers, ' as the gospel says. Butthe worst thing I've done, and the thing I feel most sinful about, isthat when an unfortunate fellow-citizen of ours came back to this townand tried to live a right life I did all I could to discourage him andmake him just like myself. I want right here, encompassed about by amighty cloud of witnesses, to confess that I've done that man an awfulwrong, and I'm sorry for it. I've prayed to God to forgive me; but I'mnot going to stop at that. Right here before you all I want to ask thatman himself to forgive me, as I've asked him in private. I'm not goingto stop at that, either. That man's life has opened my eyes, in spiteof myself, to all the faults of my own; and I want to show my sincerityby promising, before you all, that I am that man's brother from thistime forth until I die, and that whatever is mine is his whenever andhowever he wants it. "

The deacon sat down. There was an instant of silence, and then asensation, as every one began to look about for the ex-convict. 

"If Brother Kimper feels inclined to make any remarks, " said Dr. Guide, "I am sure every one present would be glad to listen to him. "

People were slowly arising and looking towards one portion of thechurch. Dr. Guide left the pulpit and walked down one of the aislestowards the point where all eyes were centred. In a seat in the back ofthe church he saw the ex-convict, with one arm around his wife and theother around his daughter Jane: Sam looked smaller and moreinsignificant than ever, for his chin was resting on his breast andtears were chasing one another down his pale cheeks. Dr. Guide hurriedback to the altar-rail, and exclaimed, in his loudest and mostimpressive voice, --"Sing

 'Praise God, from whom all blessings flow!'"

THE END.