FLINT

 HIS FAULTS, HIS FRIENDSHIPS AND HIS FORTUNES

 FLINT

 His Faults, His Friendships and His Fortunes

 BY

 MAUD WILDER GOODWIN

 AUTHOR OF "THE HEAD OF A HUNDRED, " "WHITE APRONS, " "THE COLONIAL CAVALIER, " ETC. 

 BOSTON LITTLE, BROWN, AND COMPANY

 1897

 _Published_, _1897_, BY LITTLE, BROWN, AND COMPANY. 

 University Press: JOHN WILSON AND SON, CAMBRIDGE, U. S. A. 

 Dedicated to Miriam. 

 TABLE OF CONTENTS. 

 * * * * * *

 CHAPTER PAGE

 I. THE DAY OF SMALL THINGS 1

 II. MINGLED YARN 11

 III. OLD FRIENDS 35

 IV. THE DAVITTS 57

 V. THE OLD SHOP 71

 VI. THE GLORIOUS FOURTH 87

 VII. ON THE BEACH 102

 VIII. THE MARY ANN 125

 IX. NORA COSTELLO 139

 X. FLYING POINT 154

 XI. THE POINT OF VIEW 174

 XII. "PIPPA PASSES" 188

 XIII. A SOLDIER 205

 XIV. TWO SOUL-SIDES 218

 XV. A BIRTHDAY 236

 XVI. YES OR NO 252

 XVII. A LITTLE DINNER 270

XVIII. A MAIDEN'S VOW 289

 XIX. A SLUM POST 303

 XX. THE UNFORESEEN 323

 XXI. GOD'S PUPPETS 338

 XXII. THE END 356

 Flint:

 His Faults, His Friendships, and His Fortunes

 CHAPTER I

 THE DAY OF SMALL THINGS

 "Say not 'a small event. ' Why 'small'? Costs it more pain that this ye call 'A great event' should come to pass Than that? Untwine me from the mass Of deeds which make up life, one deed Power should fall short in, or exceed. "

 _The following chapter is an Extract from the Journal of Miss Susan Standish, dated Nepaug, July 1, 189-. _

We are a house-party. 

To be sure we find pinned to our cushions on Saturday nights a grayishslip of paper, uncertain of size and ragged of edge, stating withcharacteristic New England brevity and conciseness the amount of ourindebtedness to our hostess; but what of that? The guests in thosestately villas whose lights twinkle at us on clear evenings from thepoint along the coast, have their scores to settle likewise, andthough the account is rendered less regularly, it is settled lesseasily and for my part, I prefer our Nepaug plan. 

We are congenial. 

I don't know why we should be, except that no one expects it of us. Wehave no tie, sacred or secular, to bind our hearts in Christian love. We have in fact few points in common, save good birth, good breeding, and the ability to pay our board-bills as they fall due; butnevertheless we coalesce admirably. 

We are Bohemian. 

That is, our souls are above the standards of fashion, and our incomesbelow them, and of such is the kingdom of Bohemia. A life near toNature's heart, at eight dollars a week, appeals to us all alike. 

We are cross. 

Yes, there is no denying it. Not one of us has escaped the irritationof temper naturally resulting from ten days experience of the fogwhich has been clinging with suffocating affection to earth and sea, putting an end to outdoor sport and indoor comfort, taking the curlout of hair, the starch out of dresses, the sweetness out ofdispositions, and hanging like a pall over all efforts at jollity. 

Irritation shows itself differently in each individual of ourcommunity. As is the temperament, so is the temper. 

Master Jimmy Anstice, aged twelve, spends his time in beating a tattooon the sofa-legs with the backs of his heels. His father says: "Stopthat!" at regular intervals with much sharpness of manner; but lacksthe persistent vitality to enforce his command. 

My nephew, Ben Bradford, permanently a resident of Oldburyport, andtemporarily of Cambridge, sits in a grandfather's chair in the corner, "Civil Government" in his lap, and "Good-Bye, Sweetheart, " in hishand. Even this profound work cannot wholly absorb his attention; forhe fidgets, and looks up every few minutes as if he expected thesunshine to walk in, and feared that he might miss its firstappearance. 

I, for occupation, have betaken myself to writing in this diary, having caught myself cheating at solitaire, --a deed I scorn when I amat my best. 

Doctor Cricket, his hands nervously clasped behind him, has beenwalking up and down the room, now overlooking my game andremonstrating against the liberties I was taking with the cards (as ifI had not a right to cheat myself if I like!) and then flying off topeer through his gold-bowed spectacles at the hygrometer, which willnot budge, though he thrusts out his chin-whisker at it for thefortieth time. 

"The weather is in a nasty, chilly sweat, " he says grumpily; "if itwere my patient, I would roll it in a blanket, and put it to bed withten grains of quinine. "

"Not being your patient, and not being dosed with quinine, it may bebetter to-morrow, " Ben retorts saucily. 

Ordinarily, the Doctor takes Ben's sallies with good-humored contempt. To-day, he is in other mood. He smiles--always a bad sign with him, asthe natural expression of his truly benignant mood is a fierce littleterrier-like frown. 

"My poor boy!" he says sympathetically. "The brain is going fast, Iobserve. Steep a love-story, and apply it over the affected part!"

I see Ben wrestling with a retort; but before he has it to his mind, something happens. The door opens and a girl enters. Ben's face lightsup. The sunshine has come. 

There is something more than a suggestion of sunshine about WinifredAnstice, even to those of us who are neither of the age nor the sex tofall under the glamour of sentimental illusions. I have oftenspeculated on the precise nature of her charm, without being able tosatisfy myself. She is not so extraordinarily pretty, though her hairripples away from her forehead after the American classic fashion, towhich style also belongs the little nose, straight in itself, but seton at an angle from the brow, which, to my thinking, forms a pleasingvariation from the heavier, antique type. The classic repose is whollylacking. The eyes are arch, bright, and a little daring; the mouthalways on the verge of laughter, which is not quite agreeable, forsometimes when there is no visible cause for amusement, it gives onean uncomfortable feeling that perhaps he is being laughed atunbeknown, and a person need not be very stingy not to relish a jokeat his expense. 

Perhaps this sounds as if Winifred were hard, which she is not, andunsympathetic, which she never could be; but it is not that at all. Itcomes, I think, of a kind of bubbling over of the fun and spiritswhich belong to perfect physical condition and which few girls havenowadays. I suppose I ought not to wonder if a little of this vigorclings to her manner, making it not hoidenish exactly, but differentfrom the manner of Beacon Street girls, who, after all said and done, have certainly the best breeding of any girls the world over. Bendoesn't admire Boston young ladies; but then he hates girls who arewhat he calls "stiff, " as much as I dislike those whom he commends as"easy. " Of course he gets on admirably with Winifred, who accepts hisadoration as a matter of course, and rewards him with asemi-occasional smile, or a friendly note in her voice. 

After all, Winifred's chief charm lies in her voice. For myself, Iconfess to a peculiar sensitiveness in the matter of voices, --anunfortunate peculiarity for one condemned to spend her life in asea-board town of the United States. Like Ulysses, I have enduredgreatly, have suffered greatly; but when this girl speaks, I amrepaid. I often lose the sense of what she is saying, in the purephysical pleasure of listening to her speech. It has in it asuggestion of joy, and little delicate trills of hidden laughterwhich, after all, is not laughter, but rather the mingling of areminiscence and an anticipation of mirth. I cannot conceive where shepicked up such a voice, any more than where she came by that carriageof the head, and that manner, gracious, yet imperative like a youngqueen's. Professor Anstice is a worthy man and a learned scholar; butthe grand air is not acquired from books. 

"How glum you all look!" Winifred exclaims, as she looks in upon us. 

At his daughter's entrance, the face of Professor Anstice relaxes by awrinkle or two; but he answers her words as academically as though shehad been one of his class in English. 

"_Glum_ is hardly the word, my dear; it conveys the impression ofunamiability. "

"Precisely, " persists Mistress Winifred, not to be put down, "that isjust the idea you all convey to me. "

"Why shouldn't we be unamiable, " answers Ben, eager to get into theconversation, "when there is nothing to amuse us, and you go offupstairs to write letters?"

"You should follow my example, and _do_ something. When I wentupstairs Miss Standish was in a terrible temper, scowling at the aceof spades as if it were her natural enemy; but since she has taken towriting in that little green diary that she never will let me peepinto, she has a positively beatified, not to say sanctified, expression. And there is Ellen Davitt hard at work too, and ascheerful as a squirrel--just listen to her!"

With this the girl stands still, and we listen. The waitress in thenext room, apparently in the blithest of spirits, is setting thetea-table to the accompaniment of her favorite tune, sung in a high, sharp, nasal voice, and emphasized by the slapping down of plates. 

 "Tell me _one_ thing--tell me trooly; Tell me _why_ you scorn me so. Tell me _why_, when asked the question, You will always answer '_No_'-- No, sir! No, sir! No-o-o, sir--No!"

The voice is lost in the pantry. Smiles dawn upon all our faces. 

"A beautiful illustration of the power of imagination!" says Dr. Cricket. "Ellen is contentedly doing the housework because she fanciesherself an heiress haughtily repulsing a host of suitors. It is thesame spirit which keeps the poet cheerful in his garret, or a youngNapoleon in his cellar, where he dines on a crust and fancies himselfan emperor. "

"Steep an illustration and apply it over the affected part!" drawlsBen. 

The Doctor prepares to be angry; but Winifred, scenting the battle andeager to keep the peace, claps her hands and cries out, "Excellent!"with that pretty enthusiasm which makes the author of a remark feelthat there must have been more in his observation than he himself haddiscovered. 

"There, Ben, if you are wise you will act on this clever suggestion ofDr. Cricket's, and travel off to the land of fancy, where you can makethe weather to suit yourself, where fogs never fall, and fish alwaysbite, and sails always fill with breezes from the right quarter, andwhiff about at a convenient moment when you want to come home--oh, Isay!" she adds with a joyful upward inflection, "there's the sun, andI am going for the mail. "

"I'll go with you, " volunteers Master Ben. 

"Thank you, but Mr. Marsden said that I might drive his colt in thesulky. "

"Not the _colt_!" we all cry in chorus. 

"The _colt_, " she answers with decision. 

"Not in the sulky?"

"Yes, in the sulky. "

"Surely, Professor Anstice--" I begin; but before I have time formore, Winifred is out of the room, and reappears, after ten minutes, strangely transformed by her short corduroy skirt and gaiters, her capand gauntleted gloves, to a Lady Gay Spanker. I do not like to see herso; but then I am fifty years old, and I live in Massachusetts. Perhaps my aversion to the sporting proclivities of the modern womanis only an inheritance of the prejudices of my ancestors, who thoughtall worldly amusements sinful, and worst of all in a woman. Even theMayflower saints and heroes had their cast-iron limitations, and wecan't escape from them, try as we will. We may throw over creed andcatechism; but inherited instinct remains. The shadow of Plymouth Rockis over us all. 

Just here I look up to see Winifred spin along the road before thehouse, seated in a yellow-wheeled sulky, behind the most unmanageablecolt on this side of the Mississippi, as I verily believe. Of courseMr. Marsden is very glad to have the breaking process taken off hishands; but if I were Professor Anstice I don't think I should like tohave my daughter take up the profession of a jockey. I must admit, however, that she looks well in that tight-fitting jacket, with thebit of scarlet at her throat, and her hair rippling up over the edgesof her gray cap. 

I wonder why I chronicle all this small beer about Winifred Ansticeand old Marsden's colt. I suppose because nothing really worth notinghas occurred, and it is not for nothing that a diary is called acommonplace book. I find that if I wait for clever thoughts andimportant events, my journal shows portentous gaps at the end of theweek, and I promised myself that I would write something in it everyday while I was at Nepaug. For my part, I enjoy the old-fashioneddiary, --a sort of almanac, confessional, receipt-book, and daily paperrolled together; so I will just go on in my humdrum way. As it is onlyfor myself, I need not fear to be as garrulous and egotistical as Iplease. Besides, a journal is such a good escape-valve for one'sfeelings! Having written them out, one is so much less impelled toconfide them, and confidences are generally a mistake--yes, I am sureof it. They only intensify feelings, and at my age that is notdesirable. At twenty, we put spurs into our emotions. At fifty, we putpoultices onto them. 

 CHAPTER II

 MINGLED YARN

 "The web of our life is of a mingled yarn, good and ill together. "

The road from the station at South East to Nepaug Beach was long anddusty, tedious enough to the traveller at any time, but especially onthis July afternoon when the sun beat down pitilessly upon its aridstretches, and the dust, stirred by passing wheels, rose in chokingmasses. 

Jonathan Flint, however, surveyed the uninteresting length of highwaywith grim satisfaction. It was the inaccessibility and general lack ofpopular attractions which had led him to select Nepaug as a summeringplace. Mosquitoes and sand-fleas abounded; but one need not say"good-morning" to mosquitoes and sand-fleas, it is true. The fare atthe inn was poor; but one was spared that exchange of inanities whichmakes the average hotel appear a kindergarten for a lunatic asylum;and, finally, the tediousness of the journey was a safeguard againstthe far greater tedium resulting from the companionship of "nauseousintruders, " striding in white duck, or simpering under rose-linedparasols. 

The horse which was drawing the ramshackle carryall in which Flintsat, toiled on with sweating haunches, switching his tail, impatientof the flies, and now and then shaking his head deprecatingly, as ifin remonstrance against the fate which destined him to work so hardfor the benefit of a lazy human being reclining at ease behind him. 

Flint was, indeed, the image of slothful content, as he sat silent bythe side of old Marsden, who drove like a woman, with a rein in eachhand, twitching them uselessly from time to time, and clucking like ahen to urge on his horse when the sand grew unusually deep anddiscouraging. 

Ignoring his companion, or dreading perhaps to let loose the floods ofhis garrulity by making any gap in the dam of silence, Flint sat idlyinspecting his fishing-tackle, shutting it up, then drawing it out, and finally topping it with the last, light, slender tip, quiveringlike the outmost delicate twig of an aspen as he shook it over theside of the carryall. In fancy, he saw it bending beneath the weightof a black bass such as haunted the translucent depths of afreshwater pond a mile or two away. In fancy, he could feel thetwitch at the end of the line, then the run, then the steady pull, growing weaker and weaker as the strength of the fish was exhausted. Suddenly into the idler's lotus-eating Paradise came a rushing sound. A sharp swerve of the horse was followed by an exasperating crackle, and, lo! the beloved fishing-rod was broken, --yes, broken, and thatdelicate, quivering, responsive, tapering end lay trailing in the dustwhich whirled in eddies around a flying vehicle. 

Flint saw flashing past him a racing sulky drawn by a half-tamed colt, and driven by a girl--if indeed it was a girl and not, as he was atfirst inclined to think, a boy in petticoats. 

The young woman took the situation jauntily. She reined in the colt, adjusted her jockey-cap, and pulled her dog-skin gauntlets furtherover her sleeves. 

"I beg your pardon, " she called out as Flint's wagon overtook her. "I'm awfully sorry to have broken your rod; but I saw that we had roomto pass, and I didn't see the pole hanging out. It never occurred tome, " she added with a dimpling smile, "that any one would be fishingon the Nepaug road. "

Flint had labored hard to subdue the outburst of profanity which wasthe first impulse of the natural man, and had almost achieved apassing civility, but the smile and the jest put his good resolutionsto flight. The milk of human kindness curdled within him. 

"You could hardly, " he answered, raising his hat, "have been moresurprised than I was to see a horse-race. "

A trace of resentment lingered in his tone. The mirth died out of thegirl's eyes. She returned his bow quietly, leaned forward and touchedthe colt with the tassel of her whip. The creature reared and plunged. 

"Great Heavens!" exclaimed Flint, preparing to jump out and go to herassistance. 

"Let her alone!" said Marsden, with unmoved calmness, shifting thetobacco from one side of his mouth to the other. "That girl don't needno guardeen. She's been a-drivin' raound here all summer, and I reckonshe knows more about managin' that there colt'n you do. It's my colt, and I wouldn't let her drive it ef she didn't. "

"I hope to thunder you won't again, at least while I'm about, unlessyou intend to pay for damage to life and property, " Flint answeredtestily. 

By this time colt and driver had been whirled away in a cloud, Elijah-like. 

"Nice kind of a girl that!" said Flint to himself with savage, solitaire sarcasm. He felt that he had appeared like a fool; and itmust be a generous soul which can forgive one who has been both causeand witness of such humiliation. To conquer his irritation, Flintproceeded to take his injured rod to pieces, and repack it gloomily inits bag of green felt. When he looked up again, all petty annoyancesfaded out of his mind, for there ahead of him, behind the little patchof pines, lay the great cool, cobalt stretch of ocean, unfathomablydeep, unutterably blue. 

The young man felt a vague awe and exaltation tugging at his heart. But the only outward expression they gained was a throwing back of thehead, and a deep indrawing of the breath, followed by the quiteuninspired exclamation, "Holloa, there's the ocean!"

"Why shouldn't it be there?" inquired the practical Marsden. "Youdidn't think it had got up and moved inland after you left, did you?"

"Well, I didn't know, " Flint answered carelessly. "I've seen it comein a good two hundred feet while I was here, and I couldn't tell howfar it might have been carried, allowing for its swelling emotionsover my departure. But I'm glad to see it at the old stand still; andthere's the pond too, and the cross-roads and the Nepaug Inn. Ideclare, Marsden, it is like its owner, --grows better looking as itgets old and gray. "

Marsden's face assumed that grim New England smile which gives noticethat a compliment has been received and its contents noted, but thatthe recipient does not commit himself to undue satisfaction therein. 

"Yes, " he responded, "the old inn weathers the winters down herepretty middlin' well; but it's gettin' kind o' broken down, and itsdoors creak in a storm like bones that's got the rheumatiz. I wish Icould afford to give it a coat o' paint. "

"Ah!" said Flint, with a shrug, "I hope, for my part, you never can! Ican see it now as it would be if you had your way--spick and span inodious, glaring freshness, insulting the gray old ocean. The onlyrespectable buildings in America are those which the owner is too poorto improve. "

Marsden turned sulky. He did not more than half understand Flint'sremarks; but he had a dim impression that he was being lectured, andhe did not enjoy it; few of us do. 

Flint, however, was wholly unconscious of having given offence. Itwould have been difficult to make him understand what there wasobjectionable in his remark, and indeed the offence lay more in thetone than in the words. Flint's sympathies were imperfect, and he hadno gift for discerning the sensitiveness which lay outside his sphereof vision. To all that came within that rather limited range, he waskind and considerate; beyond, he saw nothing and therefore feltnothing. 

Yet he himself was keenly sensitive, especially to anythingapproaching ridicule. He had not yet forgiven his parents, forinstance, for naming him Jonathan Edwards. He was perpetually alive tothe absurdity of the contrast. 

"What if the great Jonathan _was_ an ancestor! Why flaunt one'sdegeneracy in the face of the public?" As soon as he arrived at yearsof discretion, he had proceeded to drop the Jonathan from his name;but it was continually cropping up in unexpected places to annoy him. The very trunk strapped onto the back of the carryall, thatsole-leather trunk which had travelled with him ever since he startedoff as a freshman for the university, was marked, in odiouslyprominent letters, "Jonathan Edwards Flint. "

It provoked him now as he reflected that that female Jehu must haveseen it as she drove by. Perhaps that accounted for the suspicion of asmile on her face. He didn't care a fig what she thought, and helonged to tell her so. 

The most tedious road has an ending, and the Nepaug highway was noexception, except that instead of a dignified and impressive ending, it only narrowed to a grass-grown track, and finally pulled up in thebackyard of the Nepaug Inn. The inn had stood in this same spot sincethe days of Washington, and there was a tradition that he had spent anight beneath its roof, though it puzzled even legend-mongers toinvent an errand which could have taken him there, unless he wasseized with a sudden desire for salt-water bathing, and even then itmust have been of a peculiar kind, for the inn stood far back from theocean, at the head of a salt-water pond, shadeless and low-banked, amere inlet of the sea. 

This pond, however, was the great attraction of Nepaug to Flint, forin one of its coves lay an ungainly boat of which he was the happyowner. She was a bargain, and, like most bargains, had proved a dearpurchase. True, the hull had cost only five dollars and the sails ten;but she yawed so badly that a new rudder had become a necessity, andthat article, being imported, cost almost more than hull and sailstogether. When all was done, however, and a new coat of paint applied, Flint vowed she was worth any sixty-dollar boat on the pond. Onceafloat in "The Aquidneck" (for so Flint had christened her, findingher a veritable "isle of peace" to his tired nerves) he seemed tobecome a boy again. The Jonathan in him got the upper hand. All thesuper-subtleties of self-analysis which in other conditions paralyzedhis will, and congealed his manner, gave place here to the genial glowof careless happiness. 

It was his fate to be dominated alternately through life by thediffering strains in his blood: one, flowing through the veins of theold Puritans, chilled by the creed of Calvin; the other, of a moreexpansive strain perpetually mocking the strenuousness of itscompanion mood. Flint's friends were wont to say, "Flint will dosomething some day. " His enemies, or rather his indifferents, scoffingly asked, "What _has_ Flint ever done anyway?" Flint himselfwould have answered, "Nothing, my friends, less than nothing; but morethan you, because he is aware that he has done nothing. "

The morning after Flint's arrival at Nepaug broke clear and cloudless, yet he was in no haste to be up and actively enjoying it. Instead, helay a-bed, taking an indolent satisfaction in the thought that nobustling duty beckoned him, and amusing himself by a leisurely surveyof the various corners of his bed-room. 

It was scarcely eight feet in height, and the heavy, whitewashed beamsmade it look still lower. In the narrow space between the ceiling andwainscot, the wall was covered with an old-fashioned paper, florid ofdesign, and musty of odor. On the mantel-shelf stood two brasscandle-sticks with snuffer and extinguisher. As Flint stared idly atthem, wondering what varied scenes their candles had shone upon, hiseyes were drawn above them to a picture which, once having seen, hewondered that he could ever have overlooked so long. It was a portraitof great beauty. He propped himself on his elbows to study it moreclosely. 

"It looks like a Copley, " he said to himself, "or perhaps a GilbertStuart. How the devil could such a picture get here, and how could Ihave failed to see it last year? I must have it--of course I must! Itis absurd that it should be wasted here! I wonder if Marsden knowsanything of its value?"

Here Flint fell back upon his pillow and found, to his disgust, thathis metaphysical conscience was already at work on the problem of theequity of a bargain in which the seller is ignorant of facts known tothe buyer, and whether the buyer is in honor bound not to takeadvantage of his professional training. 

The picture which had given rise to this long and complicated train ofthought was the portrait of a young woman in Quaker dress, her hairrolled back above a low and subtle brow, her lace kerchief demurelyfolded over a white neck. Her head was bent a little to one side, andrested upon her hand. At her breast sparkled a ruby, --a spot of rich, luminous flame. 

"That is odd, " thought Flint. "I fancied Quakers never worejewels--conscientiously opposed to them, and all that sort of thing. Perhaps this damsel was a renegade from the faith, or perhaps this wassome heirloom, --a protest against the colorless limitations of thecreed. Queer thing the human soul. Can't be formulated, not even toourselves. Sometimes I've seen people show more of their real selvesto utter strangers at odd moments than their nearest and dearest getat in a life-time. "

This disjointed philosophy beguiled so much time, that Flint was lateto breakfast. His fellow-boarders, a pedler and a fisherman, had goneabout their business, and he sat down alone at the oilcloth-coveredtable, and twirled the pewter caster while he waited for his egg to beboiled. It was one of his beliefs that a merciful Heaven had grantedeggs and oranges to earth for the benefit of fastidious travellers whocould wreak their appetites in comparative security, especially ifthey did their own cracking and peeling. At length the breakfastappeared, and with it the innkeeper, who sat down opposite Flint. 

He had many weighty questions to put. 

Should oakum or putty be used in the seams of "The Aquidneck"?

Should he pack the dinner-basket with beef or ham sandwiches?

Would Flint take lines for fishing, or a net for crabbing?

When all these were settled, Flint's thoughts drifted back to theportrait in the bed-room overhead. He began his questioning somewhatwarily. "I suppose you've lived in this house for some time?"

"Wall, ever since I wuz born. "

"And your father before you?"

"Yes, and my gran'father before him, and hisn fust. "

"Ah, I see--an old homestead; and that portrait in my room is the wifeof 'hisn'?"

"Not exactly--we never had no womenfolks in our family ez looked likethat--stronger built is ourn, with more backbone, and none of thatlackadaisical look raound the eyes. "

"Pre-cisely, " answered Flint. "And how does it happen that thislackadaisical-eyed portrait has hung so long without getting packedoff to the garret?"

"Wall, you see, " began Marsden, slowly and with evident relish, "thet's quite a story about thet theer. "

"Yes?" said Flint, with a rising inflection which invited furtherconfidence. 

"Yes, indeed, " answered Marsden, expanding still further and strokinghis chin-whisker as he proceeded. "You see 't wuz this way--CaptainWagstaff--he wuz the portrait's uncle--wall, he wuz in command of afleet that lay in the harbor up yonder, in the Revolutionary War. Whenhe wuz ashore, he spent most of his time to this haouse; and when hissister down to Philadelphy died, leavin' this daughter and no one totake care on her, he brought her on here to live with him. He'd beenbrought up a Quaker, --'Friend, ' he called it, --though he did fight forhis country, and right enough, sez I. Wall, this girl, --Ruth, her namewuz, --she came here and stopped awhile; and then there wuz a fight offthe shore between the Captain's ship and a British cruiser. Thecruiser wuz run down and sunk; but one of the officers they picked upwaounded and brought ashore, to this house, and Miss Ruth she set towork takin' care on him. 

"Wall, what with cossettin' of him, and all sorts of philanderin', shegot kinder soft on him, and one day, fust any one knowed, she'd jestrun off with him. "

"And what did the Captain say to that?" asked Flint, more interestedthan he was wont to be in Marsden's narratives. 

"The Captain? Oh, they say he took on about it like thunder, and sworehe'd never forgive her. But Ruth, she sent him her marriage lines, andwrote him what a good husband she'd got; and after the war wuz over, she kep' a-beggin' the Captain to come over and live with them. Hewouldn't go; and I don't know ez I blame him any. Europe is so furoff, and such a wicked place--seems onsafer ez you get old. NewEngland's the best place in the world to die in, and so he thought. 

"Howsumever, she kep' a-sendin' him money and things; and one day thercame this here box--I've often heard my gran'mother tell how shelooked on when 't wuz opened, and this picter turned out. Gran'ma wuzonly a little thing, and she didn't know what to make of it all; forthe Cap'n, he cried like a baby when he seen it. He had it taken upright away to his room (thet's whar you're a-sleepin') and hung overthe mantel jest whar he could see it from his bed. Thar it stayed ezlong ez he stayed on airth, and when he lay a-dyin', --He died, youknow, in that very bed you're a-sleepin' in--only o' course themattress is new--the old one wuz a feather-bed. My gran'mother wuzwith him at the end, and she said he stretched out his arms to thepictur, same ez ef 't ed been his niece herself; and he sort o' criedout, 'God bless you, Ruth! I wish I'd 'a' understood you better!'Wuzn't that a queer thing for him to say when he wuz a-dyin'?"

"Poor Ruth!" murmured Flint, with that placid, mild melancholy born ofa sad story heard under comfortable circumstances. His fancy travelledback to the damsel in her Quaker dress, and he fell to wondering ifthe garb had been donned, with innocent hypocrisy, to please her olduncle, or if she always wore it in her faraway new home. 

When he had got so far in his musings, his host recalled him to thepresent by continuing, "I dunno ez we've a very good claim to thepictur; but there ain't no heirs turned up, so ez the Cap'n wuz alittle behind in his board bills, we sort o' kep' it. "

Flint sat drumming with his fingers on the table, while his host stillmaundered on after the fashion of old age, which has so few topicsthat it cannot drop them with the light touch-and-go of youth. 

Flint had already firmly determined that he would be the possessor ofthat portrait; but he was too shrewd to make any further advances now. 

Instead, he turned again to the subject of "The Aquidneck, " and, rising, made his way to the porch, where he almost walked over aspeckled hen so nearly a match for the floor that his near-sightedeyes failed to perceive her, paying as little heed to her clucking andfluttering as he bestowed upon the smiles of a girl who stood in thedoorway and moved, with conspicuous civility as he passed. He stalkedaround to the corner of the porch where stood his long boots, forwhich he exchanged his low ties of russet leather, and, picking upfishing-tackle and crabbing nets, started off at a brisk pace for theshore of the pond, leaving Marsden to follow with the pail of dinner. 

When all these were stowed away in the locker of "The Aquidneck, "together with a straw-covered flask and a volume of Omar Khayyam, Flint bade a cheerful good-bye to Marsden, who stood rolling up hisshirt-sleeves, and giving copious advice. The amateur skipper cast offfrom the little dock, lowered the centreboard, and stretched himselflazily in the stern, with one hand on the tiller. Peace was in hisheart, and a pipe in his mouth--what could man ask more of the gods?

The white sails of "The Aquidneck" fluttered in the light breeze as iftremulous with the ecstasy of motion. The sea, beyond the lowgrass-covered sand-bar which enclosed the pond, lay bright and smoothto southward, its surface dotted with craft of various sizes. Hereskimmed a white-winged schooner; there panted and puffed a tugabsurdly inadequate to its tow of low-lying coal-barges. Far on thehorizon, a swelling island raised its bulk, purple as Capri, againstthe golden haze. 

Flint might have been a better sailor had he not been so good aswimmer; but, having no fear of the consequences of a sudden bath, hetook all risks, sailed into the very apple of the eye of the wind, andhabitually fastened his sheet, --a practice strongly reprehended by oldMarsden. 

"There's a new boat on the pond, " said Flint to himself, as acat-rigged craft, white-hulled with a band of olive, shot out frombehind a point of rock. "Her lines are rather good. A good sailoraboard too, I should say, for she runs free and yet steady. I'd liketo try a race with the chap some day; maybe it would be hardly fair ifhe's a new comer, for I know the pond like--Damn it! what's that?"

_That_ was a sunken rock which Flint, in his self-satisfied musings, had failed to keep a lookout for. It had struck "The Aquidneck" full(or _vice versa_, which amounts to the same thing); and here was apretty pickle. Navigation is like flirtation: all goes smoothly tillthe shock comes, and then everything capsizes, with no chance forexplanation. 

"The Aquidneck" began to fill, and then to sink so rapidly thatFlint, not caring to risk entanglement in the sheets, thought itprudent to jump overboard, and struck out lustily for the shore. Fortunately for Flint, the shore was near and the water shallow. Unfortunately, the shore was at the end further from the inn, hisclothes were soaking, and his tobacco and whiskey flask in the locker, already under water in the midst of mud and eel-grass. 

Determined to make the best of a bad situation, Flint swam ashore, calmly disposed his coat and knickerbockers over the bayberry bushes, and seated himself, in his dripping under-garments, to dry in the sunto consider his next move. 

"Certainly things couldn't be much nastier, " he grumbled. "Yes, theycould too, " he added, as he heard a female voice calling from beyondthe screen of bayberry bushes. 

"Boat ahoy! What's the matter?"

Flint's first impulse was to hide; but fearing the voice and its ownermight come ashore to investigate the extent of the calamity, hehastily donned his outer clothing and emerged, like a dripping seal, from his retreat. "All right!" he called out. 

"All wrong! I should say, " the voice replied; and in an instant heknew it for the voice which had called to him from the sulky on theprevious afternoon. 

"That girl is a hoodoo!" he muttered. 

"Can I do anything for you?" inquired the voice, with thatsuper-solemnity which results from the effort to conceal amusement, --asolemnity doubly insulting to its object, implying at once hisabsurdity and his vanity. 

"Thank you!" answered Flint, stiffly; "if you will be kind enough tosend some one over to give me a lift, I will be greatly obliged. "

"Why not get in with us? Luff her in, Jim!" With this the girl and hercompanion, a boy of twelve years old, bare of leg and freckled offace, brought the boat around, and Flint climbed aboard with rather abad grace. 

To tell the truth, he was in a fit of the sulks. I admit that thesulks are not heroic; but Homer permitted them to Achilles, and whyshould I conceal the fact, unpleasing though it be, about my lesserhero. 

Doubtless his ancestor, Jonathan Edwards, would have felt a likediscomposure, had his pulpit given way under him in the presence ofhis congregation; and even that other fiery orator, Patrick The Great, might have lost his balance had his new peach-colored coat split upthe back, when he was hurling death and destruction upon tyrants andpleading for liberty or death. To be ridiculous with equanimity is thecrowning achievement of philosophy. 

The boy addressed as "Jim" stared at Flint with open-mouthedenjoyment. 

"You didn't fetch where you meant to, did you?"

"Hush, Jim!"

"Why, Fred, what am I saying wrong now? You're always hushing me up. Ididn't mean to guy him, but he did look so jolly glum. "

Seeing that intervention was vain in this quarter, his sister essayeda change of topic, and, womanlike, rushed on to the one she had moststeadfastly promised herself to avoid. 

"Were you fishing when the accident happened?" She stopped and colorednervously. 

"No, " observed Flint, dryly. (His remarks were the only dry thingsabout him. ) "My fishing-rod happened to be broken. It is of noconsequence however, " he hastened to add, seeing her blush deepenpainfully. "The fish about here are not gamey enough to make fishingan exciting sport. Do you find it so?"

"I never fish. "

"Ah, I am surprised. "

"I hate to see the poor things suffer--"

"You are too tender-hearted?"

"Say rather too weak-nerved--I should not care if every fish in thesea died a violent death after prolonged suffering, provided I was notobliged to watch the process. "

Flint smiled. 

"But don't you know these cold-blooded creatures can't be made tosuffer? I dare say the keenest enjoyment a fish ever feels is when hisnervous system is gently stimulated by a hook in his mouth. "

"Perhaps--I don't know--I tell you it is no question of sympathy. Itis simply physical repulsion; and then I loathe the soft slipperinessof the bait. "

"That's so, " put in the boy at the tiller. "Fred groans every time Iput a worm on the hook, and squeals when the fish flop round in thebottom of the boat, especially if they come anywhere near her skirts. "

"Fred, " repeated Flint to himself, "I might have known she would havea boy's name--" Aloud, he said: "I suppose, Master Jim, you have foundall the best fishing-grounds in the pond. "

Jim softened visibly at this tribute to his skill. 

"Well, I know one good one over at Brightman's, and I'll show it toyou to-morrow, if you like. "

His sister shot a warning glance from under her level eyebrows. 

"Don't make plans too far ahead, Jim. Sufficient unto the day, youremember--and unless this gentleman gets dry and warm soon, I amafraid he will spend some days to come under the doctor's care. Haven't you some brandy or whiskey?" she asked, turning more fullytoward Flint, and noticing for the first time that his lips were blueand his teeth chattering in spite of his efforts at unconcernedconversation. 

"Yes, " he answered; "a flask full of excellent old whiskey--overthere, " and he pointed disconsolately to the line of green water wherethe tell-tale fluttered above the wrecks of "The Aquidneck. "

The young lady knit her brows in puzzled thought, "What is in ourlocker, Jim?"

"Bread and butter, cocoanut balls and ginger-ale. "

"Get out the ginger-ale. "

"But it is your luncheon, " deprecated Flint. 

"No, it isn't--it is your medicine. Try it. "

Flint pressed the iron spring, and poured down the spluttering liquid, striving to conceal his wry face. 

"Bully, ain't it?" exclaimed Jim, not without a tinge of regret forlost joys in his tone. 

"Excellent!" returned Flint, perjuring himself like a gentleman. 

"It is better than nothing, " Miss Fred answered judicially. "I willsend Jim up to the inn with some brandy; Marsden's stuff is rankpoison. I had some once this summer when I was ill, and straightwaysent off to town for a private supply. If you feel able to exercise, Ishould advise you to let us put you off at this point, and make a runacross country to Marsden's. "

"I don't know how to thank you, " Flint murmured as Jimmy pulled therow-boat up, and the young man prepared to climb in after him. 

"There is no occasion for thanks. But if you insist on a debit andcredit account, please charge it off against the ruin of yourfishing-rod. "

"I am humiliated. "

"You?"

"Yes; I must have been a model of incivility. "

"No; it was I who was in fault, rushing about the country like ajockey riding down everything in sight. "

"Who except a fool would have had a fishing-rod trailing half-wayacross the road?"

"Look here, " grumbled Jim, "I can't hold this dory bumping against theside of the boat forever--"

"Don't be impertinent, Jim. Besides apologies never last long. It isonly explanations which take time--"

Flint jumped from the gunwale of the sail-boat into the dory, and tookthe oars. As he headed for shore, he turned his eyes once more to thesail-boat, and the glimpse that he had of its skipper he carried forlong after--the vision of her standing there in the stern, against thestretch of blue water, her soft handkerchief of some red stuff knottedabout her throat above the gray jacket, her felt hat thrust up infront above the waves of her hair, and her eyes smiling with frankmirthfulness. 

 CHAPTER III

 OLD FRIENDS

 "It's an ower-come sooth For age and youth, And it brooks wi' nae denial, That the oldest friends Are the dearest friends, And the new are just on trial. "

Flint was glad enough on reaching the inn to creep into bed. In spiteof his cross-country run he was chilled through. Little shivers randown his back, and his hands and feet seemed separated by spaces ofnumbness from the warmth of his body. The brandy arrived, and heswallowed some eagerly; but it had little effect on his chilly apathy. The dinner-bell clanged below. Flint heard it, but he paid no heed tothe summons. He had forgotten what it was to desire food. A blurbefore his eyes, and an iron band about his head, occupied hisattention to the exclusion of the outside world. 

By three o'clock the headache-fiend had entered into full possession, had perched itself in the centre of consciousness, and seemed toFlint's excited nerves to be working its octopus claws in and outamong the folds of his brain. 

Waves of pain vibrated outward to his ears and eyes. He watched theshade against the blindless window flap to and fro. Each streak oflight admitted, struck the sufferer like a blow. He got up, went tothe washbasin and sopped a towel, which he bound about his head andlay down again--no relief. He could endure it no longer. He droppedhis boots one after the other on the floor, till at length Marsdenheard the signal of distress, came lumbering up the stairs, andthumped upon his door. 

Flint bade him come in and state in the fewest possible words whetherthere was any doctor within reach. 

"There was. "

"How long would it take to fetch him?"

"About half an hour. "

"Let it be done. "

Again Flint sank into a sort of stupor, from which he was awakened bya knock, and the entrance of a nervous, little wiry gentleman whoseclothes of rusty black had the effect of having been purchased in afit of absence of mind. 

The sufferer roused himself as the physician came in. 

"The doctor?"

"Yes. "

"My name is Flint, and I sent for you to give me a dose of morphine. "

"My name, sir, is Cricket, and I'm damned if I do any such thing. "

"Why did they send for you then?"

"They sent for me to see what I thought you needed--not to take yourorders for a drug. I am not an apothecary. "

"More's the pity!" returned Flint, flouncing across to the inner sideof the bed, and turning his back unceremoniously upon his visitor. 

Dr. Cricket received this demonstration with unconcern. He took outhis thermometer and shook it against his wrist. Then resting one kneeon the bed he thrust the thermometer into his recalcitrant patient'smouth, saying: "Don't crunch on it, unless you want your mouth full ofglass, and your belly full of mercury. Now for the pulse. Ah! toofast--I expected as much. "

He took out the thermometer and held it to the light. "Over onehundred--see here, young man, it's well you sent for me when you did. "

"I wish I hadn't. "

"So do I, from a professional point of view. Nothing so good fordoctors' business as delay in sending for us. As it is, I fear I can'tconscientiously make more than two calls, or keep you in bed afterto-morrow. "

"But what are you going to do for this accursed pain in the head?"

"Oh, that's of no consequence--only a symptom. It's the fever thatworries me. "

"Oh, it is--is it? Well, it is the pain that worries me, and if youdon't do something about it, I'll fire your old bottles out of thewindow. "

"Very good. Then I will send back to Mrs. White's for more bottles anda straight-jacket to boot--"

"So you live at Mrs. White's, do you?"

"No, sir, I do not _live_ anywhere in summer--I board. "

The doctor chuckled over his little joke as genially as if it hadnever seen the light before; but humor does not appeal to a man with aheadache, and antique humor least of all. 

"That's where Miss Fred and that freckled-faced brother of hersstay--isn't it?" Flint continued. 

"Ah, do you know the Anstices?"

"Not I--that is, I never saw the young woman till yesterday; but tothe best of my belief she is not human at all, only an evil genius ofthe region who goes about with incantations which cause fishing-rodsto break at the end, and boats to run onto rocks. "

"So--ho! You were the skipper of 'The Aquidneck, ' were you? Well, well! no wonder you're laid up with a chill. We nearly burst ourblood-vessels, laughing over Miss Fred's account of you, rising uplike a ghost out of the eel-grass, and the topmast of your boatsticking up out of the water like a dead man's finger. "

Dr. Cricket's little black eyes twinkled with enjoyment as he recalledthe scene. The misguided man fancied he was helping to take hispatient's thoughts off himself, and, having measured out his powdersand potions, he took his departure, leaving Flint inwardly raging. 

To be made the butt of a boarding-house table! Really it was too much;and this girl, of whom he had begun to think rather well--this girldoubtless mimicked his disconsolate tones and his chattering teeth, and made all manner of fun of his sorry plight. 

Folk with a headache see life quite out of focus; and at the moment itreally would have been a comfort to Flint to know that this mockingmaid had been drowned, or struck by lightning, or in any fashiondisabled from repeating the story of his discomfiture. He writhed andtwisted, and at last fell asleep, still alternately vowing never toforgive, and never to give her another thought. 

In the morning when he woke, free from pain and, except for a certainlanguor, quite himself again, he wondered at his childishness of thenight before, though in spite of reason a certain sub-consciousresentment lingered still. 

At seven o'clock Matilda Marsden knocked at his door and gave warningthat the breakfast-hour drew near. 

"I say, " he called in response, "will you please send some one with apitcher of hot water? I'll have my breakfast in bed. "

Flint knew perfectly well that she would bring the water herself; butit was necessary to keep up the fiction of intermediate agency indeference to her position. 

From October until June she was "Miss Marsden, " in a shop of a smallNew England town; and when from June to October she condescended tobecome plain "Tilly, " and to lend her assistance to her parents at theNepaug Inn, she made it distinctly understood that she did so withoutprejudice to her social claims. 

She waited at the table to be sure; but she shaded her manner withnice precision to meet the condition of the guest she served. To thetimid pedler, she was encouraging; to the encroaching commercialtraveller, she was haughty, and to Flint gently and insinuatinglysympathetic. 

Flint, on his part, treated her with the deference which he accordedto all women; but it never occurred to him to consider her as anindividual at all. To him she was simply an agency for procuring foodand towels; and when she lingered on the stairs, or at the doorway, making little efforts at conversation, he cut her ruthlessly short. 

The result of this mingling of courtesy and neglect was of course thatthe girl fell promptly and deeply in love with the young man, cut outfrom the current magazines every picture which bore the slightestresemblance to his features, and went about sighing sighs and dreamingdreams, in a fashion at once pathetic and ridiculous. Flint, meanwhile, always obtuse on the side of sympathy, went his way whollyoblivious of her state of mind. How should he know that his rolls werehotter and his coffee stronger than those of his fellow-boarders, orthat to him alone was accorded the friendly advice as to thecomparative merits of "Injun pudd'n" and huckleberry pie, whichconstituted the staple of desserts at the inn?

This morning, as usual, he was wholly unconscious of the effort tobeautify the tray set down outside his door. It meant nothing to him, that the pitcher holding the hot water was of red and yellow majolica, that the coarse napkin was embroidered with a wreath of impossibleroses, and the coffee-cup bore the legend "Think of me" in giltlettering. In fact the only thing which attracted his attention at allwas a pile of letters on the tray. He glanced hastily over theenvelopes, swallowed his breakfast, and returned to closer inspectionof the correspondence. The first letter which he opened was written bythe editor of an English "Quarterly, " informing him that his recentcritique on Balzac had found favor in high places, and that the"Quarterly" would like to engage a series. 

Flint tried not to seem, even to himself, as pleased as he felt. 

The next note was of a different tone, a grieved rejoinder from ayoung author whose book had been reviewed by Flint with more lightthan sweetness. Less stoical to reproaches than to compliment, Flintkicked vigorously at the bedclothes, as though they had been theoffending note-writer. 

"Great Heavens!" he growled. "Does the man think his budding geniusmust be fed on sugar-plums? What I said about him and his book waseither true or false; and here he spends his whole sheet prating about'sensitive feelings, ' as if they had anything to do with the matter. "

Oh, imperfect sympathies! How large a part you play in the unhappinessof the world!

The third envelope on the tray was yellow, and contained a large, careless scrawl on a half-sheet of business paper; but it seemed toafford Flint unalloyed delight. 

"Brady coming to-day!" he almost shouted aloud. "That is what I calljolly. I would like to see forty Dr. Crickets keep me in bed. "

Brady and Flint had been college friends in the old days, at Harvard, and after that for years had drifted apart. Flint betaking himself toa German university, and Brady to a business career in Bison, aflourishing town of the great Northwest, wherein he too had flourishedmightily, and whence he sent imploring messages to Flint, begging himnot to waste his life in the effete civilization of New York, but tocome out and get a view of real folks in the fresh new world of theWest. 

To these messages Flint had replied with more candor than courtesy, that the only fault he had to find with New York was its lack ofcivilization, that he was saving every nickel in hopes of getting awayfrom it to eastward, and that if he were condemned to spend his lifein Bison, or any other prairie town, he would make short work ofmatters with a derringer. 

This slight difference of opinion had not at all interfered with theattachment of the two; and few things would have roused Flint to suchenthusiasm as this expectation of a fortnight--a leisurely, gossiping, garrulous, quarrelsome fortnight--with his old friend. Theprospect of the visit was a better tonic than any contained in thelittle doctor's black-box. Indeed it drove all thoughts of doctors andtheir medicines so completely out of his head that he was quitesurprised when, having dressed and descended to the ground-floor, hesaw Dr. Cricket standing at the foot of the stairs, wiping theperspiration off his forehead with a large silk handkerchief. 

The Doctor looked fiercely at him from under his shaggy eyebrows. 

"Is this Mr. Flint?" he asked, as if unable to believe the testimonyof his eyes. 

"It is, " Flint answered with unconcern. 

"Why did you get up?"

"Because I formed the habit in my youth. "

"Didn't I tell you to lie in bed till I came?"

"I don't remember. "

The Doctor quivered with rage. 

"I am an old man, sir, " he said, "and I've walked a mile in the heatof this devilish sun, and all for a patient who is determined to killhimself, and such a fool that it doesn't matter much whether he doesor not. "

Flint smiled. 

"Every man, you know, must be either a fool or a physician when hereaches maturity. Some may be both. However, since you were kindenough to come to my assistance last night, I cannot be induced toquarrel with you this morning, and you ought to be the last man tofind fault with me for feeling the benefit of your medicine soonerthan you expected. "

Dr. Cricket was as easy to be placated as to be stirred to anger; andwhen Flint urged him to come into the stuffy little office and partakeof a lemonade with the addition of a stronger fluid from a bottle inFlint's room, he forgot his wrath or drowned it in the cooling drink, and at length parted in kindliness, only bidding his patient wearcabbage-leaves in his hat, and be sure to take wraps in case of achange in the weather, not forgetting to put on his "gums" if hewalked on the wet beach. 

When he had gone, Flint found the Doctor's gold-bowed spectacles in achair. "Brady and I will walk up with them this evening, " he said tohimself. "Perhaps I was not as civil to the old gentleman as I mighthave been. "

When Marsden learned that Flint was planning an expedition to SouthEast, he suggested that he would "take it kindly" if Flint could makeit convenient to bring down a few packages of groceries, as some ofthe store supplies had run out, and the relays were not expected untilthe next day. 

Flint reproached himself for weakness in complying, and growled stillfurther when he saw the length of the list which Marsden handed to himas he took his seat in the carryall. 

"What a cursed fool I am, " he muttered as he drove off, "to hire thisman's beast for the privilege of doing his errands!"

The three-o'clock train puffed into the station at South East nearlyan hour behind time. The period of waiting in the intense mid-day heathad not improved Flint's temper. For all his hearty greeting to Brady, he could not shake off a sense of irritation, intensified by the factthat he had no one on whom to wreak it. 

Brady's trunk was strapped onto the carryall, the various bottles, jugs, and packages which Flint, with such unusual urbanity, hadconsented to bring down to the Beach for Marsden, were stowed awayunder the seat, and nothing remained but the mail. To get this Flintdrew up at the post-office. The postmaster was a grouty oldstore-keeper who, through political influence, retained his positionin spite of the efforts of the town's-folk to oust him. This afternoona line of wagons stood at the door, and a line of men stood at thelittle window within. Seeing his own name in the list of those forwhom there were letters, Flint waited for the window to open, and tookhis place in the line. When he reached the window, he asked for hisletter. 

"No letter for you, " growled the postmaster. 

Flint stepped out of line and consulted the list. There was nomistake. Again he presented himself before the window. 

"What cher want?"

"My letter. "

"Ain't no letter, I told cher. "

"Perhaps you will be kind enough to look at the list. "

The postman, in the worst of humors, went to a drawer of his desk, and, after much hunting about and turning over of parcels, he found aletter which he threw out at Flint without a remark. Flint took italso in silence, turned away and resumed his place at the end of theline. Again he returned to his old post before the little window. Thistime the postman grew purple with rage. 

"Get out o' this you! What cher want now?"

"I simply wish, " answered Flint, in his low, clear, gentlemanly voice, "to tell you that you have behaved like an insolent blackguard, anddeserve to be removed from office. "

Flint's words were the signal for a storm of applause from theloiterers, and he walked out a hero. He was in a more amiable frame ofmind when he climbed into the carryall. The old horse, feeling hishead turned homeward, needed less urging than usual, and the young menlolled back, talking busily of old times and new. 

Brady was a typical business-man of the West, --cheerful, practical, abit boastful, square-shouldered, clear-eyed and ruddy-faced, confidentof himself, proud of his surroundings, sure that there were noproblems of earth or Heaven with which America in general, and PhilipBrady in particular, were not fitted to cope. 

Before he had uttered a dozen sentences, Flint began to realize howfar apart they had drifted in the ten years since they had met. Heexperienced a vaguely hopeless sense of complexity in the presence ofhis friend's bustling frankness. He felt almost a hypocrite, and yetit seemed to him that any attempt at self-revelation would be useless, because the relative value, the _chiaro-oscuro_ of life, was sodifferent to each. He took refuge, as we all do under suchcircumstances, in objectivity--asked heartily for the health of eachmember of Brady's family, listened with polite interest to thestatistics of the growth of Bison, and then began to wonder what heshould talk about next. As he cast his eye downward, a very practicalsubject suggested itself, for he saw with dismay that the cork wasout of the molasses jug, from which the sticky fluid had already oozedforth, and was rapidly spreading itself over the floor of thecarryall. 

"This is what comes of being obliging. Just look at this mess! What intime are we going to do about it, Brady?"

Brady, being a man of action, wasted no energy in discussion. Hejumped to the ground, pulled out first his overcoat and gripsack, fortunately unharmed, then the paper parcels of oatmeal and hominy, sticky and dripping. Swiftly corking the jug, he lifted it out of thecarryall, together with the oilcloth strip, and deftly stood bothagainst a fence by the roadside. Flint watched him with admiration. Hefelt himself supremely helpless in the presence of the direfulcalamity. How was he ever to get these bundles into condition to beput back into the wagon? How cleanse the oilcloth and the fatal jug?

No house was in sight. 

Flint stood gloomily gazing down at his boots covered with the oozybrown fluid. "Jupiter aid us!" he exclaimed; and as if in answer tohis call, "a daughter of the gods, divinely tall, " rose on theirsight, coming towards them from over the ridge of the hill. She cameon swiftly, yet without hurry. She walked (a process little understoodby the feminine half of the world, hampered as they are by their staysand tenpenny heels). This woman neither hobbled, nor waddled, nortripped. With the leg swinging out from the hip (no awkwardknee-movement, yet no stride), she swept down the hill as serenely asthough she were indeed a messenger sent by Jupiter to theirassistance. Beside her trotted a large dog who now and againexcursionized in search of tempting adventure, but as constantlyreturned to rub his head lovingly against his mistress's skirt, andlick her hand, as if to assure her that, in spite of his wanderingpropensities, his heart remained faithful. 

"The hoodoo!" muttered Flint. 

"What a pretty girl!" exclaimed Brady. 

The object of these widely differing criticisms moved steadily nearer. She wore a white gown. A basket was on her arm, and her wide-brimmedstraw hat was pulled low over her eyes to shield them from the sun. She was close upon the scene of accident before she discerned it. Catching at the same moment a look of annoyance on Flint's face, sheswerved a little, as if with intent to pass by, like the priest andthe Levite, on the other side; then, reassured by Brady's look ofhalf-comic despair, she set down her basket and paused. 

"You have met with an accident, I see, " she observed, as casually asthough she had never before heard of any catastrophe in connectionwith Flint. "The molasses worked, I suppose. It will, sometimes, if itis not tightly corked. It was stupid in the grocer not to warn you. "

"It is kind of you, " said Brady, "to lay the accusation of stupidityso far off; but, wherever it lies, the results are the same, and weare in a bad way. "

"What can we find to wipe these things off with?" the good Samaritanasked, making common cause in the misfortune. 

"Nothing, " answered Flint, with extravagant gloom, striving as hespoke to cleanse his shoes by rubbing them against the grass-grownbank. 

The girl put her finger to her lips, --a characteristic gesture whenshe was puzzled. Then, unfastening her basket with sudden energy, sheexclaimed: "Why won't this do? Here is some sea-moss which I wastaking to an old woman who lives a little further down the road. Shemakes some stuff which she calls farina out of it, and grievesbitterly that she is no longer young and spry enough to gather it forherself along the shore. My basket is full of this moss, and if wecould wet it in the brook down yonder, we might sponge off the thingswith it, and then dry them with big leaves, backed up by thosenewspapers which I see you have in your parcel of mail. "

"What a clever notion!" Brady said, as he plunged down to the brook, and came up again with the dripping moss. He and the Samaritanscrubbed merrily away, while Flint stood by with an uncomfortablesense that he was out of it all, and that no one but himself knew orcared. 

When comparative cleanliness was restored, and the bundles returned tothe bottom of the wagon, the girl scrambled down to the brook, and, pushing back her wide cuffs, knelt by the water, where she washed thetraces of sticky substance from her long slender fingers. 

"You have relieved us from a very awkward situation, " said Flint, asshe rose; "but your basket of moss is spoiled and your long walkrendered futile. Surely you will permit us at least to drive youhome. "

"Thank you, no. Mrs. Davitt will like to talk a while, and to knowthat I have not forgotten her and her farina. So I will bid you 'goodafternoon. '"

"That is the most charming girl I ever met, " observed Brady, as hestood watching her disappear around the turn of the road. 

"Did you ever meet one who was not?" asked Flint. 

"The way she took hold was magnificent, " continued Brady, unmoved byhis companion's raillery. "And then when it was all over she was sounself-conscious; and the best of all was her politeness in neverlaughing at us, for really, you know, we must have looked ratherridiculous, standing gawking there like two escaped imbeciles. "

This allusion irritated Flint, as he remembered the last twooccasions, when she had borne herself less seriously. The recollectioncolored his first remark, after they had clambered into the carryall, and persuaded Dobbin to resume his leisurely trot. 

"I am afraid myself, inconsistent as it seems, I should have liked herbetter if she had not taken hold in such a capable, mannish fashion. There is a certain appealing dependence which is rather becoming to awoman--to my thinking, that is--it is an old-fashioned notion, Iadmit. "

"Well, I must say I don't think an attitude of appealing dependencewould have been very serviceable to us to-day; and as an habitualstate of mind, while it may be very attractive, it seems to implyhaving some one at hand to appealingly depend upon. Our sex must havereciprocal duties; but I don't notice that you have offered yourselfas a support for any of these clinging natures. "

"Nevertheless, " answered Flint, "if I ever did fall in love, it wouldbe with a woman of the clinging kind. But don't let us get to talkinglike a couple of sentimental schoolgirls! Here we are, anyway, at thelast turn of the road, and there is Nepaug Beach. How does it strikeyou?"

"It reminds me, " said Brady, smiling, "of the Walrus and theCarpenter:--

 "'They wept like anything to see Such quantities of sand. If this were only cleared away They said it would be grand. '"

"Brady, you are a sentimentalist! You sigh for brooks and willows and, for all I know, _people_. "

"Flint, you are a misanthrope! You have searched out this God-forsakenstretch of sand just for the purpose of getting away from your kind. Now I have hunted you to your lair, and I propose to stay with you fora fortnight; but I am not to be dragooned into saying that I thinkyour resort is a scene of beauty, for I don't; but that is a jolly, old, gray, tumbled-down building over there--a barn, I suppose. "

"No, sir; that is the Nepaug Inn. As it has neither porters, waiters, nor electric bells, you are expected to shoulder your own luggage andmarch upstairs--second room to the right. Whoa, there!" he called outto the old horse a full minute after the animal had come to a deadhalt in front of the inn door. The noise, however, served its purposein bringing Marsden to the door, and loading the old inn-keeper withimprecations for their unlucky experience with the molasses, Flintleft him to struggle with the contents of the wagon, while he himselfescorted Brady up the narrow, sagging stairs, and ensconced him in aroom next his own, --a room whose windows looked out like his over thepurple stretch of ocean, now opalescent with reflection of the clouds. 

"Where do you take your bath?" Brady asked, looking round somewhathelplessly. 

"In there, you land-lubber!" answered Flint, pointing out to sea;"isn't the tub big enough?"

Brady laughed, a hearty, boyish, infectious laugh. "All right, " hesaid, "only it seems rather odd to come East for pioneering. Did youknow, by the way, that I am to be in New York this winter?"

"No!"

"Yes. Our house is just establishing a branch office there, and I amto be at the head of it. "

Flint chuckled. 

"Bison establishing a branch office in New York! The humor of thething delights me. "

"I don't see anything so very funny about it, " answered Brady, rathertestily; "but I have no stomach for a quarrel till I have had somesupper--unless you sup _out there_, " he added with a lordly wave ofhis hand towards the ocean in imitation of Flint's gesture. "I hope, at any rate, our evening meal is not to be of farina. The associationsmight be a little too strong even for my appetite. "

 CHAPTER IV

 THE DAVITTS

 "The short and simple annals of the poor. "

After taking leave of Flint and his companion in misfortune, Winifredquickened her pace. The lengthening shadows warned her that if sheintended to return to the White House before supper was over, she hadno time to lose. 

"Come, Paddy!" she said, laying her hand with a light, caressinggesture on the shaggy red-brown head of the Irish setter, which hadkept closer guard than ever since the meeting with the strangers inthe road, --"come, Paddy! we must make a sprint for it. "

The dog, glad enough to be allowed the luxury of a gallop, set offpell-mell, and Winifred followed at a gait which soon brought her, flushed and out of breath, before the unpainted house where the Davittfamily made their abode. It was not characterized by great order ortidiness. Clothes-lines, hung with underwear of various shapes andsizes, decorated the side-yard, and proclaimed Mrs. Davitt's calling. A whole section of the front fence had taken itself off. The gateswung aimlessly on one rusty hinge, and a brood of chickens wanderedat will over the unmown grass before the house: yet the place was notwholly unattractive, for it bore evidences of human love andhappiness; and, after all, these are the objects for which the mostorderly and elegant mansions exist, if indeed they are so fortunate asto attain them. These are the essence of a home. 

An old dory filled with geranium and nasturtium brightened the centreof the yard. Beneath the wide spreading maples, which lent theirunbought adornment to the shabby old house, hung a child's swing, andnear by stood a rickety express-cart, to which an unlucky goat wastethered by a multi-colored harness made of rope, tape, and bits ofcalico. The driver of this equipage, a tow-headed lad of some fiveyears old, stood with his thumb in his mouth, gazing with open-eyedamazement at the young lady who thought it worth while to walk sofast. 

"Good afternoon, John!" said Winifred, when she had regained herbreath. "Is your mother at home?"

The practice of answering questions is an acquired habit, and comesonly after long acquaintance with society. Children left in a state ofnature rarely think it necessary or even safe to commit themselves sofar. John Davitt only pulled his thumb out of his mouth, poked hispink toes deeper into the grass, and gave a hitch at the singlesuspender supporting the ragged knickerbockers which formed two-thirdsof his costume. 

"Oh!" continued the visitor, not in the least disconcerted by the lackof response to her advances, "you don't want to leave your goat longenough to go and ask about your mother, do you? Well, I should notlike to be asked to leave my colt if I were driving. People should dotheir own errands, I think, and not be bothering other folks withtheir business. You will not be afraid of my dog if I leave him herewhile I go into the house, will you?"

"Whath hith name?" asked John, discovering for the first time that hehad a tongue and knew its use. 

"Paddy, " answered the visitor. 

"I uthed to have a brother Paddy. He died. "

"Then you must make friends with the dog for his sake. Would you liketo see how my Paddy can chase a stone?" With this Winifred picked up alarge pebble, and threw it far down the road. Paddy, with a bark ofanimated enjoyment, made after it, with wagging tail and ears laidback against his head. John laughed loud, wrinkled up his little pugnose and showed his white teeth. 

"Now when he brings it back, you throw it again, and I will go in andtry to find your mother; I think I see her now, " she added, as sheturned the angle of the house and caught a glimpse of Mrs. Davitt, seated in the wooden rocking-chair beside the kitchen-table, paringpotatoes. 

To the casual glance she was only a homely old Irish woman who mighthave been the original of "The shape which shape had none. " The onlysemblance of waist was the line drawn by her gingham apron-string. Herform bulged where it should have been straight, and was straight whereit should have curved. Her face, however, had a gentle motherliness, and still bore traces of the comeliness which had marked it a quarterof a century earlier, when, as Bridget O'Hara, she had set sail from"the owld counthry" to try her fortune in the new. 

After a few months' experience of city life over here, she had driftedto South East, where she found employment in a thread factory whichstood on the bank of the tiniest stream that ever, outside of England, called itself a river. Its current ran swiftly, however; its mimicfalls were forced into the service of trade; and the wheels of thethread factory whirred busily, except when bad times brought wheelsand bobbins to a standstill. 

For three years after her arrival in South East, Bridget O'Hara stoodbeside her wheel, and fed her bobbin faithfully. Her blue Irish eyeswere bright in those days, and her cheeks red as the roses of CountyMeath, where the thatched homestead of the O'Haras lifted its humblehead. More than one of the men working in the factory took notice ofthe blue eyes and the red cheeks, and would have been glad to securetheir owner for a wife; but she was not for any of them. Before shehad been in the village six months, she had given her faithful heartto Michael Davitt, the young New England fisherman whose boat laybelow the bridge which she crossed every morning on her way to herwork in the factory. Many a time on bright spring mornings sheloitered on the bridge, leaning over its wooden railing to watchMichael as he washed out his boat, and made ready for the day's sail. Sometimes the talk grew so absorbing that the factory bell sounded outits last warning call before Bridget could tear herself away, andafterward, through the long day, shut up among the whirring wheels, inthe dust and heat of the big dreary room, she kept the vision of thewhite flapping sail, and of Michael Davitt standing by the tiller ofthe boat under the bridge. 

At last the fisherman asked her to marry him, and she accepted himjoyously, undismayed by the diminutive proportions of their unitedincomes. 

"Sure, Mike dear, " Bridget had declared cheerfully, "what's enough forwan will be enough for two, and you'll never feel the bit I'll beafther atin'. "

This specious theory of political economy has beguiled into matrimonymany a young couple who fail to take account of the importantdifference that what is enough for two may not be enough for three, and still less for three times three. So it fell out with the Davitts. For the first year of their married life, Bridget went on working inthe factory, and kept her tiny tenement tidy, and Michael mended netson the doorstep, and sold fish in summer, and loafed in the winter incontented assurance that life would continue to treat him well. Butthe next year opened less prosperously. Bridget was compelled to giveup her work in the factory, and when, in the middle of a particularlyrigorous winter, a baby was born to the house of Davitt, the outlookwould have appeared discouraging to any one less optimistic thanBridget. But she found much cause for satisfaction in the thought thatthe baby had come at this particular time, when Michael could be athome to help take care of the house; and above all in the reflectionthat the baby was a boy, "who'd not be thrubblin' any wan long, forbefore we know it, Mike, me jewel, he'll be lookin' afther you andme. "

Part of her self-congratulation had justified itself, for the babyLeonard had grown up into one of those helpful, "handy" lads whosometimes are sent to be the salvation of impecunious households. Atan incredibly early age, he began to feel the responsibilities of thefamily on his manly little shoulders, and as the procession of smallDavitts entered the world, he took each one under his protecting care. Dennis, Ellen, Maggie, Tommy, Katie, and John had found their way intothe family circle, and no one hinted that there was not place andporridge for the last as well as the first. 

As the years went on, Michael Davitt lost whatever alertness oftemperament he might once have possessed. New England seems to endowsome of her children with such a surplus of energy, that she iscompelled to subtract a corresponding amount from the share of others. Michael Davitt was one of the others. His experiences as a fishermanhad persuaded him that it was useless to put forth effort, unless hehad wind and tide in his favor. Consequently, his life was spent inwaiting for encouragement from the forces of nature, --encouragementwhich never came; so that at last he gave up the struggle, and sat bythe chimney-corner all winter, as contentedly as he sat on the sternof his boat all summer, ready to move if circumstances favored, butserene under all conditions. His silence was as marked as hisserenity. On occasions, he could be moved to smiles, but seldom tospeech. He sat quiet and unmoved amid the family hubbub, his longlimbs twisted together, his arms folded above his somewhat hollowchest, and his protruding tusks of teeth firmly fastened over hisnether lip, as if constraining it to silence. 

Tommy might lift off the cover of the beehive, and rush into the houseshrieking with wrath and terror over the result; Maggie might upsetthe milk, and John drag the kitten about the room by its tail, --nomatter! the father of the family continued to sit unmoved as Brahma. But when Leonard entered the door, some appearance of life began toshow itself in Michael. He untwisted his legs, moved a little to makeroom on the settle, and even went so far as to make an entering wedgeof conversation with a "Well, Leon!"

Leonard Davitt was a boy to warm any father's heart, --stout andstrong, hearty and frank, cheerful as the day was long, with the smileand jest of his race ready for any chance comer. This light-heartednesshad made him a favorite not only in his own family, but among all theyouth and maidens who dwelt in the outlying farmhouses around SouthEast; but of late an unaccountable change had come over the lad. Thismerry, careless happiness had deserted him. He had taken to goingabout with hair unbrushed, and a "dejected 'havior of his visage. "

The noisy mirth of his little brothers and sisters irritated him, andtheir noisier quarrels exasperated him. He kept away from them as muchas he could, and when he was not off in his boat, he sat on the fenceunder the maples as taciturn as Michael himself. The children wonderedat him, and gradually began to draw away at his approach, instead ofrushing toward him as of old. Maggie, who was fifteen now, and workedin the factory, suspected the cause of his trouble, and once venturedto rally him on "the girl that was so cool she'd give a man the mittenin summer;" but her pleasantry was ill-received. Leonard scowled ather, and stalked away muttering to himself. 

His mother saw him from her window, and she too knew what was thetrouble with her boy; but she only dropped a few tears among thepotato-parings, and resolved to make griddle-cakes for supper, --asthough Leonard were still a child whose heart could be cheeredthrough his stomach. As Mrs. Davitt laid down her knife to wipe hereyes, she heard the barking of a dog, and then a rapid double knock onthe half-open kitchen-door. 

"Come in, Miss, " she said, rising and wiping her hands on her ginghamapron. "Come in and take the rocker. Don't be standin' when sittin'down is chape enough, even for the poor. It's yourself hezn't forgotme, nor me bit o' farina. "

"No, indeed, Mrs. Davitt, I did not forget you: but you won't get yourfarina after all; for I met some poor men in distress, and I handedover all the sea-moss to them. "

"Poor craytyurs! Wuz they that hungry they could ate it raw?"

"Hardly, " answered Winifred, smiling at her remembrance of thepeculiarly well-fed looking recipients of her bounty, "they were nothungry at all; but they had come to grief with a molasses jug. Thecarriage and everything in it was sticky, and I don't know what theywould have done to get it clean without your moss; but you shallsurely have some more to-morrow, and now tell me how you are feeling. "

"Is it meself? Thank ye kindly, me dear. I'm jest accordin' to thecommon, save where I'm worse; me legs ache me nights, and I fale thewashin' in me back some days; but if me moind wuz right, it's littleI'd moind the thrubble in me bones. "

"Why, what is wrong, Mrs. Davitt?" Winifred asked with sympathy in hervoice. "The children all look well. John's cheeks are red as apples, and Katie is as round as a butter-ball. "

"Oh, the childers is all right, " answered Mrs. Davitt, with an air ofmystery, but evidently not unwilling to be pressed further as to thesource of her trouble. 

"Surely it is not your husband? He looked better than usual thismorning when he came around to the White House, and he had as fine acatch of fish as I have seen this summer. "

"Yea, himself's all right. "

"Then it must be Leonard; but I am sure he is a boy of whom any mothermight be proud. "

"Proud? Yea, but many's the proud heart is the sore heart. "

"Tell me all about it, " said her young visitor, laying her delicatehand on the red fingers which still clasped the bone-handled steelknife. Mrs. Davitt looked down for a moment in silence, playing withthe bent joint of her stiff third finger, then she broke out with afierceness in curious contrast to her usual gentle speech. 

"It's that Tilly Marsden. Bad luck to her for a bowld hussy! She'sput the insult on Leonard. "

"The insult?"

"Yea, 'tis the same as an insult for all the neighbors to take noticeof, whin a gurrl ez hez been kapin' company with a man fur goin' ontwo years, walks by him now with her nose in the air, lek wan wuz toogood to be shpakin' with the praste himself. "

"Don't be too hard on Tilly, Mrs. Davitt, " remonstrated Winifred, soothingly. "Perhaps she is fond of Leonard still, but does not wanthim to feel too sure of her. I dare say you were a little like thatyourself, when you were a girl. "

"Thrue fer ye, me dear!" Mrs. Davitt answered, with that delightfulIrish readiness to be diverted from her woes to a more cheerful frameof mind. "Thrue fer ye! I'd never let Michael be sayin' me heart wuzcaught before ever he'd shpread the net. "

"Then, depend upon it, Tilly feels the same. "

"Mebbe it's the thruth you're afther findin' out; but I misthrust, andit's meself will never fergive her if she breaks the heart of the bestby in the counthry. "

The possibility was too much for the sorrowful mother. She threw herapron over her head, and abandoned herself once more to despair, swaying to and fro disconsolately in the black wooden chair from theback of which the gilt had been half rubbed away by quarter of acentury of rocking. 

"Do you think it could possibly do any good for me to talk withLeonard?" Winifred ventured, quite dubious in her own mind of thewisdom of the proceeding. 

"Ow, if yez would, 'twould like be the savin' o' the by. He'll notbear any of us to shpake wid him at all at all. "

"Very well then, I will try to get him to talk about it. Only don't bedisappointed if I do not succeed! The chances are that he will notlisten to me. "

"Not listen to yoursilf, is it!" cried Mrs. Davitt, once moretransported to the heights of hope. "Sure, the saints in Hiven wouldlay down their harps to hear your swate vice. Yes, and aven to look atye, as ye shtand there, in that white dhress, jist like what wan o'thimsilves 'ud be wearin'! How becomin' ye are to your clothes!"

Winifred smiled at the subtle flattery; but before she could muster anappropriate acknowledgment, she caught sight of Leonard loitering atthe gate. 

"There is Leon now; I will ask him to walk part way home with me. Itis growing dark, and you know, " she added, laughing, "how timid Iam!"

Mrs. Davitt smiled in answer to the laugh, for Winifred's daring wasthe talk of the countryside. She dried her eyes, and peered over herspectacles at her visitor as she picked her way among the chickens, feathered and human, who thronged about the doorstep, to the spotwhere Leonard stood, listlessly hanging over the gate gazing idly upand down the road. 

Mrs. Davitt's heart beat anxiously as she marked the girl stop tospeak to him, and when at last she saw him turn and walk beside her upthe road, followed suspiciously by Paddy with the basket in his mouth, she burst out into a tearful torrent of joy and thanksgiving. 

 CHAPTER V

 THE OLD SHOP

 "Ah! poor Real Life, which I love, can I make others share the delight I find in thy foolish and insipid face?"

The sun was already low in the west, when Flint and Brady, havingsupped heartily on boiled lobster and corn bread, lighted their pipesand strolled toward the door of the tiny shop which leaned up againstthe inn as if for support. A bird, looking down upon it in his flight, might have mistaken it for some great mud-turtle, so close did itsprawl along the ground. 

For some years it had served as a turkey-house on the farm; but asMarsden had begun to discover possibilities of profit in a shop whichshould both draw custom to the inn, and find customers in the chanceguests of the tavern, he had turned his attention to the work oftransforming the poultry-house into a village store, and had beensurprised to find how well it adapted itself to its new purpose. True, the beams ran across only a few inches above Marsden's head; but thatwas rather an advantage than otherwise, for they thus made anexcellent substitute for counters, and the wares were well displayedand within easy reach. Along one beam hung a row of boots of everystyle and size, --from giant rubbers, reaching to the thighs, in whichthe Nepaug farmers went wading for seaweed fertilizer, to the clumsybaby shoes, jauntily set off with a scarlet tassel at the top, in thatpathetic effort of the poor to express in their children's dress thepoetry so scantily supplied in their own lives. Another beam was hungwith wooden pails, and a third gleamed with the reflections ofbright-new tinware. 

On the shelves opposite the door lay bright hued calicoes flanked byjars of peppermint candies, some of which were rendered doublyirresistible to youthful customers by being cut in heart-shape anddecorated with sentimental mottoes chiefly in verse. 

Marsden fitted his shop so well, that he seemed little more than ananimated bundle of secondhand goods. His cowhide boots were thefellows of those that dangled from the fourth beam. His gayly checkedflannel shirt harmonized delightfully with the carriage robes in thecorner, and the soft brown-felt hat toned æsthetically with the plugtobacco in the case behind him. 

When Flint and Brady looked in at the door, a girl was standing at thecounter, turning over the pile of calicoes. She had brought with hera pailful of blueberries which she evidently wished to barter for aremnant of the prints. She showed much disappointment when Marsdendeclined to trade except upon a cash basis. 

"What might this be wuth?" she asked at length, pointing to a red andwhite calico on the second shelf. Marsden, Yankee-like, answered herquestion by another. "What'll ye give fur it? It's the end of thepiece, and I dunno but I'd as lives you'd hev it ez anybody. "

"Wall, " answered the girl, cautiously, "I wouldn't give no more'n sixcents a yard for it. "

"Take it along, " said Marsden, wrapping it, as he spoke, in coarsebrown paper. As he handed it to her he said: "I _wuz_ goin' to offerit to you for five cent. "

The girl's face fell. 

"You see, " whispered Flint to Brady, "there never was a woman whocould really enjoy anything unless she thought she had paid less thanit was worth. It is my own belief that Eve bought the apple from theSerpent as a bargain, and that Satan assured her that he would nothave sold it to Adam at double the price. "

As the maiden withdrew, a buggy rattled up to the door of the littleshop. In the broad strip of light formed by the lamp opposite thedoor, the creaking vehicle stopped short. A dumpy female in anondescript black garment took the reins, while her male companiondescended heavily, putting both feet upon the step, and cautiouslylowering himself to the ground close beside the spot where Flint andBrady stood. Once assured that he had reached the ground in safety, heproceeded to take off his wrinkled duster, fold it tenderly, and layit on the seat, from beneath which he pulled out a bulky bundle, securely tied up in bed-ticking. 

Flint watched the rustic with idle curiosity, as the old man enteredthe store and deposited his bundle on the counter. Marsden sat on achair with no back, nursing his knee and assuming indifference to theentrance of the new-comer. 

"Be thar any market naow for _quilts_, or _be_ thar?" asked the oldfarmer, somewhat anxiously, while untying the knots of his parcel. 

"I dunno ez thar be, and I dunno _ez_ thar be, " Marsden answered. 

Both parties seemed to understand each other perfectly. Theyapproached as warily as two foxes. When the roll was finally spreadout on the counter, the dim lamplight flickered over a patchwork quiltof the familiar log-cabin pattern, gay with colors as varied as thoseof Joseph's coat. 

"What cher s'pose yer could give fur this?" the new-comer asked witha relapse into unwary eagerness, and an irrepressible pride in thisevidence of the household industry of his women folk. 

"Dunno, I'm sure, " said Marsden, slowly, shifting his quid of tobaccoand spitting meditatively on the floor. "Shop-keepin' 's all a reskanyhow. I'll give yer seventy-five cents for it though, jest for agamble; but nobody has much use for quilts in this weather, except tohide their heads under from the skeeters. "

"Truth will out, " whispered Flint. "Marsden always declares thatmosquitoes are unknown at Nepaug. "

The owner of the quilt shook his head dubiously. 

"Couldn't you go a dollar on it?" he queried. "It took my wife a monthto make it, sewin' evenin's. "

"Did--did it?"

"Yaas, 'n' it's made out of pieces of the children's clothes, and someon 'em 's dead--and associations ought to caount for somethin'. "

"Will it last?" questioned the cautious Marsden, twitching it this wayand that, and testing the material with his thumb-nail, which he keptlong and sharp apparently for the purpose of detecting flaws indry-goods. 

"Wall, " assumed the other, somewhat nettled by the purchaser'sskepticism, "I reckon it'll last ez long ez a dollar will. "

"Mebbe, " said Marsden, quite impressed by the logic of this laststatement. "Anyhaow I'll give you ninety cents, and that's my lastfigger. "

The man glanced furtively over his shoulder at the female in thebuggy, who sat twitching the reins impatiently, then he hitched upcloser to Marsden and held out a dime. 

"Take it, " he whispered, "'n' give me the greenback. I promised Iwouldn't let it go fur less'n a dollar, 'n' I dassent. "

The two men winked at each other like brothers in the freemasonry ofmarried life, and the knight of the duster disappeared in thegathering dusk. His departure emptied the little shop, and Flint andBrady entered and seated themselves on a couple of kegs on oppositesides of the door. 

"Ef it's all the same, gentlemen, " drawled Marsden. "I'd recommend youto take another seat with yore pipes, fur one of them kags is filledwith ile, and the other with gun-paowder. "

Brady jumped up in haste, and felt of his coat-tails as though theymight even then be on fire. 

Even Flint moved with greater alacrity than usual, quite concurring inthe wisdom of seeking another seat, especially as the new one broughthim opposite the low doorway, through which he could see the sky, andwatch the night drawing in over bay and cove. 

On the fence-rail opposite, a flock of turkeys had composed themselvesto sleep. The crickets in the corn-field were tuning their wings fortheir habitual evening concert. The night-moth flapped heavily againstthe small, square window-pane. 

It was a scene bare but tranquil; and Flint was possessed by itsdreary charm. The dim quiet of the twilight suited him; and it struckhim jarringly, like a false note in an orchestra, when there fell onhis ear a high, shrill voice, exclaiming, --

"Pa, ma wants to know if the yeast-cakes have come. "

Tilly Marsden gave a little start of surprise, as she came down thesteps from the house-door, at the sight of Flint and Brady, who roseat her entrance, and removed their pipes from their mouths. 

"Enter woman--exit comfort, " thought Flint. 

"I hope you're better, Mr. Flint, " said Tilly, edging a little nearerhim while her father searched among the blue boxes for the desiredyeast-cakes. 

"Thanks. "

"Wasn't the sun awful hot up to town?"

"Quite so. "

"But you didn't get sun-struck?"

"No. "

"I'm awful glad. I says to ma this morning, 'I do hope, ' says I, 'Mr. Flint has taken Pa's big white umbrella lined with green. You know hishead is so weak. '"

Flint felt Brady's amused glance upon him. "Thank you, " he answeredstiffly, "my head is quite well again. Come, Brady, " he added, turningto his friend, "if you are ready, we'll get our stroll before we turnin. "

"Here, Tilly, " said Marsden, at the same time, "here's the yeast-cake;but I don't see what ma wants with it, fur I gev her two thisarfternoon. "

Tilly blushed, and looked furtively toward the doorway where the youngmen stood. The girl had a kind of flimsy prettiness which suggested acotillon favor. Her hair was fluffy, and coquettishly knotted at theback with blue ribbon. Her freshly ironed white dress set off herhourglass figure, and the fingers on which she was continuallytwisting the rings were white and slender. Her lips were set in asomewhat simpering smile, and her voice was soft with a view toeffect. Brady watched her artless artfulness with some amusement. Whenthey had gone out, he hinted something to Flint in regard to theconquest he appeared to have made; but found him so loftilyunconscious that his jest fell flat, and he dropped the subject totake up a more serious theme as they strolled along the road, and atlength seated themselves where the turkeys had made their roost, onthe gray rail-fence in the moonlight. 

"I wonder, Flint, " said Brady, "if we shall be able to take up our oldassociation where we dropped it. "

"Of course not, " Flint answered, "don't imagine it for a moment!"

"I don't see why we should not. "

"You don't?"

"No, I do not. "

"Well, that fact alone is enough to show the gap between us. I can seeit plainly enough. You have spent these last ten years in active, quick decisions, accumulating energy, push, drive--what you callhustling; while I have been trying to see into things a little, tryingto find out what is worth hustling for--whether anything is. Now doyou suppose that two people with such opposite training are going tofit together like a cup and ball, as they used to do when they werechums in college, and had had no training at all?"

"I don't know, " said Brady, more dubiously. Then he went on, with theair of one who is not to be balked in speaking his mind, "I am notquite sure that I think your training has improved you. "

"Very likely not, " said Flint, imperturbably puffing away at his pipe. 

"I suppose, " continued Brady, "that it is very cultivating, andphilosophical, and up-to-date to lie back like that, and let your soulexpand, to wonder whether anything is worth while, and smile at thestruggle of the dull people around you who are foolish enough tobelieve that something is worth while; but I'll be hanged if I likeit. I would rather be the lowest of the warm-blooded animals than thehighest of the cold-blooded. I beg your pardon, " he added a littlelamely, "I did not mean to put it quite so strong as that. "

"You have made a very clear statement, my dear fellow. Don't weaken itby apologies. What you say of me is as true as gospel--truer perhaps. The only mistake you make is in ascribing to training what is reallyto be attributed to temperament. What is bred in the bone, you know--But never mind, I detest talking of myself. Now you have hadexperiences worth talking of; let us hear some of your doings outWest, there!"

Long and late that night the two friends sat together. Now that thefirst strangeness had worn off, and with it the consciousness of thedivergence of the roads which they had travelled since the old days, Flint began to find his liking springing up as strong as ever, onlythe liking was of a different kind. It was after midnight when he cameinto the house, and betook himself to his own room. As he was pullingoff his coat, he suddenly remembered his unopened letter. He smiledgrimly, as it recalled the scene at the post-office, the gloweringofficial, and the grinning bystanders. He was still smiling as he tookthe candle from the mantel-shelf and set it on the bureau, to which hedrew up his one rickety chair. He sat down and scrutinized the letteragain, and more closely. 

The envelope was a large, square one, with the editorial address ofthe "Transcontinental Magazine" in the left-hand corner. The writingwas in the large, loose scrawl of Brooke, the junior editor. He wrotein haste as usual. All at the office was going well, new subscriptionswere coming in fast, and if Flint would keep away long enough, thesuccess of the "Transcontinental" would be secure. The letter which heenclosed had been opened by mistake, being apparently a businesscommunication with no other address than "To the Editor;" but findingit personal in character, he forwarded it unread, and remained asalways, Flint's faithful friend, C. Brooke. 

The enclosed letter to which Brooke alluded presented acurious contrast to his own. The handwriting was firm, butdelicate--distinctively feminine. 

"I want to thank you, " so the letter began, "not only for accepting myverses on 'A Thimble, ' but also for the words of encouragement withwhich you accompany the acceptance. You say that you are especiallyglad to print the verses because they suggest a return to the type ofwomanhood of an earlier day, for which you retain an old-fashionedadmiration. Now, I scarcely know whether my verses are very deceitful, or whether it is the realest and truest side of my nature which findsexpression when I take my pen in hand. 

"I wonder if a bit of autobiography would bore you. I should feel thatit would most men; but I think of you as a genial, elderly gentlemanwith a face like Thackeray's, and with a broad human interest in allphases of life. "

Flint grinned. "So much, " he said to himself, "for the intuitions ofwoman. " Yet he felt a trifle vexed at being set down as elderly, andsecretly elated at the allusion to Thackeray, --as if a wide mouth, aturned-up nose, and eye-glasses carried with them fee-simple to "HenryEsmond" and the "Newcomes. "

"I am twenty-two years old!" the letter went on. "As a young girl Iknew nothing of city life. My father owned a sheep ranch in theNorthwest, and there I grew up, roaming about as freely as the sheepthemselves. I learned to ride and to shoot. Until I was a woman grown, I never took a needle in my hand. Perhaps it may seem strange to you, but out of this aloofness from feminine pursuits there grew up withinme a sort of reverence for the feminine ideal. I felt a vague awe, such as I imagine strikes a man at sight of a rose-lined parasol, or athimble laid on a pile of stitchery. It is this sense of the poetry ofwomen's occupation which must give what little value they possess tomy verses; and perhaps you will not care for any more now that youknow they are no part of the real _me_, but only an ideal. "

The letter was signed "Amy Bell, " and the only address given, a NewYork post-office box. 

"A pretty name, " said Flint to himself, as he studied it, "a verypretty name!" Then he fell to musing on how this girl must look; andhe found himself making a likeness from the picture over the mantel, only he would have the face a trifle rounder, with a dimple in eithercheek, and a hint more of tenderness in that firm under-lip, whosesmile savored of delicate irony. His thoughts unconsciously revertedto the reflections of the morning, as he looked at the portrait. 

"How shy we all are of self-revelation!" he murmured, as he folded theletter slowly, and slid it into his vest-pocket; "and then, when wehave gone about for years hedging ourselves in with barriers of ice, suddenly some emotion thaws them, and out flow all the tides offeeling which we have been damming up so long. " Flint's musings endedin a determination to answer this letter, and to answer it now whilethe genial mood was on him. The writer had taken pains to give littleclue to her identity. Well, he would answer her from behind the sameveil of impersonality. She need never know how widely she had missedher guess in her picture of him. She might keep her poor littleillusions--yes, "elderly gentleman" and all. He would speak to her, asone soul might speak to another, unhampered by all the trammels ofoutward circumstance. It was his to offer help, sympathy, encouragement, and he dispensed it in no stinted measure. 

As he drew pen and paper towards him, there swept over him a sense ofthe oneness of humanity, and a vision of what the world might be, ifman were tenderer, and woman held the wider vision. Such a training ashers, he wrote to Amy Bell, might give her something of both, mightgrant her a standpoint from which she could see clearer than mostwomen, just because she saw life in larger outlines, undimmed bydetail, --a life as different from that of the average woman as thesweep of the garments of the Greek caryatides from the fussy, beruffled gowns of the nineteenth-century women. The question, thevital pressing question in her case, was how she would use thisfreedom. Should it slip into the hardness of the new woman, on the onehand, or, on the other, allow itself to be fettered to the dulness ofevery-day decorum, her opportunity would be lost; but if she couldhold the delicate equilibrium where she stood, --self-poised, and yetswaying to the influences which must work on every soul for itshighest development, plastic yet firm, --then he believed, firmlybelieved, that there might lie in her a power for which the worldwould be the better and the richer. 

"There!" said he, as he blotted and sealed the letter. "That, I shouldsay, is as prosy and didactic as a discourse of my venerated ancestor. I wonder if the tendency to sermonize runs in the blood. I dare say ifI had the good fortune to have any religious convictions, I shoulddogmatize over them in the pulpit, and pound the cushions asvigorously as any itinerant evangelist. Well, well! heredity is aqueer thing. We think we get away from it, but it is always croppingup in unexpected places. Our ancestors are like _atra cura_, and ridebehind every man's saddle. "

The clock struck three as he finished his musings. He pushed away hischair, and set back the lamp on the mantel. The light, flaring alittle in the draught from the open window, lent a startling look oflife to the portrait above it. Flint seemed almost to hear the voiceof the dying sea-captain whispering: "God bless you, Ruth--I wish Ihad understood you better!"

Upon his exalted mood the morning voice of a barnyard cock brokemockingly. 

"Pshaw!" he exclaimed, "what a fool I am!--and at my age, too. I amashamed. And, by the way, we never took back Dr. Beetle's--no--Dr. Cricket's spectacles. Well-to-morrow will answer as well. "

 CHAPTER VI

 THE GLORIOUS FOURTH

_Extract from the Journal of Miss Susan Standish. Nepaug, July 4, 189-. _

A holiday, for some reason or other, is always longer than other days, even for people like me who live a life of ease and comparativeidleness, and who can make every day a holiday by abstaining fromunnecessary and self-imposed work. It certainly is curious that thismorning we rose an hour later, by way of compliment to our ancestors, who doubtless rose several hours earlier than usual on the day wecelebrate, and certainly did a hard day's work. 

After breakfast Mr. Anstice read the Declaration of Independencealoud, signatures and all. Then Jimmy recited part of a highlypatriotic address, beginning, "Give up the Union? Never!" He workedhis arm in the gestures with all the grace and agility of apump-handle. His voice, to be sure, came out very strong on theprepositions and conjunctions, and sank to a whisper on the explosiveclimaxes; but we all voted it a masterpiece of elocution, and hisfather really thought so. When these exercises were over, Dr. Cricketand I played a game of chess, in which he insisted that I should takethe part of the British, while he represented the Americans. 

In spite of a severe struggle with my patriotic emotions, I feltcompelled to do justice to the side thus thrust upon me, and Iconducted my campaign with such vigor, that it was Washington who wascompelled to hand over his sword to Cornwallis, and I swept the lastAmerican pawn triumphantly off the board as the dinner-bell rang. 

The afternoon rather dragged. I came to the conclusion that the secretof the length of a holiday lies in the severity of the effort to enjoyone's self. At our age the truest happiness lies in absorption inwork, --a kind of active and bustling Nirvana. Having come to thisconclusion, I pulled out the golf-stockings I am knitting for Ben, andfell to work, with the result that it was tea-time before I knew it. 

Winifred made quite a diversion by coming down dressed as Columbia, ina white muslin with blue sashes and a big bunch of red roses. She hadmade a helmet of card-board and covered it with gold paper. In onehand she held a long lance of the same shiny stuff, and in the othera big flag. We all laughed and sang and shouted, and had a fineold-fashioned, emotional Fourth. It did me good. 

After tea, I had a surprise in a call from Cousin John's son. In fact, the call was a surprise on both sides. This is how it came about. Theday before yesterday, Dr. Cricket, who is a good creature, thoughself-opinionated and always differing from me, was called to see apatient over at the inn; and yesterday, making his second call, heleft his gold-bowed glasses, and spent the afternoon bewailing hisloss, for he fancied they had slipped out of his pocket when he satdown on the beach to rest. The patient, who is a young man (of somepretensions to gentility, I understand, although a New Yorker), discovered them in the office (otherwise bar-room) of the inn, andwalked over to bring them this evening. With him was Philip Brady, whom I have not seen these ten years; but I should have known him in amoment from his likeness to Cousin John. He is a fine young man, anddoes credit to the family. I think Winifred will like him. 

Dr. Cricket was on the porch when they came; and when he saw theglasses, he was ready to fall upon the young men's necks while theywere yet a long way off. He really was quite ridiculous with his"Bless my soul!" "Very kind upon my honor!" "Now Richard is himselfagain!" and I don't know what more, hopping about meanwhile like thecricket, who was no doubt his ancestor in pre-historic times, andpulling up chairs for men twenty years younger than himself. I have nopatience with too much vivacity in middle-aged people; when we turnfifty, dignity is all we have left, and we'd better make the most ofit. 

When the Doctor had thanked his visitors five times over for what wasreally a small matter for two able-bodied young men, he insisted ontheir sitting down, and turned round to me, --I hate being dragged intoa situation, --"Miss Standish, " said he, "I want you to know Mr. Um--ah--Flint, I believe? and his friend, Mr. Um--ah--What is thename, may I ask?"

"I can tell you, " said I, coming forward and really looking up for thefirst time (for I am trying to train myself not to stare and peer assome of my age do when their sight is failing)--"I can tell you andsave your visitor the trouble. His name is Philip Brady, and hisfather is my cousin. "

Dr. Cricket looked thoroughly taken aback. This I rather enjoyed, forhe is always prying into affairs and saying, "I rather suspect so andso, " with his nose held out as if he got at his intuitions by thesense of smell. 

"You don't say so, " was all he could get out this time; and meanwhilePhilip called out, in his hearty voice, "Holloa, Cousin Susan!" andkissed me a little louder than I liked; but that is the differencebetween Bison and Boston. Perhaps I am hard to suit, for hiscompanion's manner seemed to me as much too repressed as Philip's wastoo exuberant. He had the air of holding his mental hands behind himand warning off social intruders with a "Let us not enter upon toofamiliar a basis of mutual acquaintance, " and yet he was not broughtup on Beacon Street, and I was, which makes it all the worse. He is ahandsome man, --that is, his features are regular, his teeth are fine, and the little tuft of white hair above the temple gives a marked airof distinction. Altogether, he has a peculiarly well-groomed effect;but his face is like a mask, --one does not get any inkling of what isgoing on behind it. The eye-glasses too seem to take all expressionout of the eyes, and leave them mere inquisitors for discovering thesentiments revealed by those who don't wear similar shields. I noticethe same thing about Dr. Cricket. I can always get the best of him inargument unless he has his spectacles on. Then I become confused, forget my point, and the Doctor comes off triumphant. 

Of course, when the Doctor urged the young men to stay, they satdown, and Philip began at once to ask about the people in Oldburyport, whom he remembered very well, except their names. Everything waspleasant until Jimmy Anstice came along, as he always does when notespecially wanted, and began to tease about having the fire-works setoff. Nothing could be allowed to go on until they were brought out. Ifhe had been my child, he should have been soundly punished and sent tobed for whining and pulling at his father's coat-tails; but Mr. Anstice is amiable to the verge of inanity where Jimmy is concerned, and after saying, "My dear!" and "Yes, in a minute, " he allowedhimself to be fairly pulled out of his chair and into the house, fromwhich he shortly emerged with Jimmy, bearing between them an oblongpine box filled with packages of every shape and size, and smellingobjectionably of gunpowder. 

Of course this put an end to all rational conversation. Philip jumpedup to inspect the crackers and pin-wheels. To my surprise, Mr. Flintshowed no annoyance, but began to poke about among the Roman candlesand rockets, as if he rather liked it. Jimmy has taken a great fancyto him, it seems. I must admit that it is in a man's favor to be likedby boys and dogs. So they drove stakes into the grass, and set upinclined planes for the rockets; and, when it grew dark enough, Jimmyset off his first pin-wheel, amid a chorus of shouts of thatartificially enthusiastic sort common among older people at a juniorentertainment. 

The shouts brought Winifred out to the porch. She had taken off herhelmet, for which I was sorry, as it was very becoming. I introducedPhilip, who said, with a smile, that he thought they had met before;but Winifred did not seem to remember it. Now, if Winifred has afailing, it is thinking she knows just how everything ought to bedone; and after fidgeting about in her chair for a minute or two, shecalled out: "Why don't you set the rocket against that stone?" anddown she ran to arrange it herself. 

The rocket did go better in her way, but she was not satisfied eventhen. She must show them how to hold the Roman candles, which was veryimprudent with the loose sleeves of her muslin dress. Mr. Flint calledout: "Hold it out away from you! Further away!" but instead of payingany heed, she held it straight up in the air. She had forgottenherself entirely; and we were all watching the little fountain of firesending out its red, white, and blue colored balls when, all of asudden, I saw a line of fire creeping up Winifred's sleeve. She threwaway the candle, which lay sputtering on the ground; but that line offire on her arm seemed to grow and grow, and I watched it in helplessagitation. I suppose the thing was over in two minutes, though theyseemed hours to me. The instant Flint saw the accident, he strippedoff his coat, and, rushing up to Winifred, bound it tightly about her. Dr. Cricket brought out his bandages and liniments, and the arm wasbound up and in a sling before the girl really knew what had happened. 

She was quite bewildered, and looked about like a little child, fromone to the other. Then she turned to Mr. Flint, with a smile whichseemed to me not so very far from tears, and said:--

"This time, it was your turn. "

"This time, it was my fault. "

"Your fault?"

"Yes; it was stupid, my letting you hold it so. I knew it wasdangerous. "

Winifred shook her head, in a wilful little way of hers which alwaysreminds me of a Shetland pony. 

"Pardon me, but I think I should have done it whether you had let meor not. I should have had to pay pretty dearly for my venture though, if you had not been so quick, and as for the poor coat--" Here shepicked it up from the floor where it had fallen. "What a pity itshould have a hole right in front!--but Miss Standish will make it asgood as new, though. You never saw any one who can darn like MissStandish" (which is quite true). 

"Papa, " she added, turning to her father, who had been utterlyunnerved by the accident, and was now walking up and down with a vainpretence of calmness. "Papa, you can lend Mr. Flint a coat forto-night, can't you?"

"Oh, certainly, certainly! what will he have--a dressing-gown or aTuxedo?"

"Thank you, " said Flint, with gravity; "but, if the etiquette ofNepaug will not be violated by a shirt-sleeve costume, I can go as Iam, though indeed I do not like giving Miss Standish so much trouble, and the coat is a veteran anyway, only promoted to the Nepaug stationafter long service elsewhere. "

"Veterans always command my respect, " I answered, "and deserve atleast repairs at the hands of their country. "

"All very fine, " said Dr. Cricket; "but I advise you to wear your coathome to-night, even if you send it back to-morrow. It is easier tomend coats than constitutions. "

"And cheaper, " I suggested. 

"I'll tell you, " Winifred broke in, seeing Dr. Cricket glowering atme. "He shall neither risk a cold by going home in this night airwithout his coat, nor tear the sleeves out of papa's, which wouldsurely be half-a-dozen sizes too small. He shall wear my golf cape. Goup to my closet and get it, Jimmy!--the blue one lined with red. "

Jimmy, who having once been relieved of anxiety as to his sister'slife, had spent his time in maligning her as the cause of stopping hisfire-works exhibition, turned somewhat sulkily to obey her command; ashe went he fired a parting shot: "This is what comes of girls meddlingwith things they don't understand. "

"James!"

When Mr. Anstice says "_James_, " he is not to be trifled with; and hisson ventured no further remarks, only emphasized his feelings by avicious stamp on each separate stair as he ascended. While he wasprosecuting his search for the cloak, his sister sat in the big chairby the fireside, her head thrown back a little against the angleformed by the back and the side, which curves out like a great ear. Isaw Philip and Mr. Flint looking at her as the firelight climbed overher dress and touched her cheek, and I wondered what they thought ofher. 

To me, her face is one of the most interesting I have ever seen. Itevades description, and yet I feel tempted to try to describe it againand again, and to analyze its charms for myself. It is full ofdistinction, though the only really beautiful feature in it is thebrow, broad and low, from which her hair rolls back in that long, fullsweep. About her lips, there is the fulness that Leonardo gave hisMona Lisa, and the lips have the same subtle curves, with a smilewhose meaning is often of dubious interpretation, and tempts the eyesof her companion to return to them again and again to confirm his lastimpression. 

As for her character, I do not yet feel sure of it, though I haveknown her for years. Dr. Cricket says he understands her perfectly. Pshaw!

Ben says he and she agree in everything. Poor boy! The fact is, thatthe girl has one of those curious natures, absolutely unmoved andunmovable at the centre, but on the surface reflecting every one andeverything that comes in her way. 

Many men have loved her. I don't think she has ever cared for any one. The Mona Lisa smile comes over her lips when I question her about thisone or that. 

"Tell me now, " I said the other day, "did you never love any one?"

"Yes, and I do now. "

"Excellent. At last we shall have confidences. "

"And you like confidences?"

"I do--but no diversions--who is the youth?"

"I did not say it was a youth. "

"Well, it is not a dotard, I trust; but who is the man?"

"I did not say it was a man. "

"But you said--"

"I said I loved somebody, and that somebody is you, dear MissStandish. Indeed I do, and I am ready to fight a duel, if necessary, with Dr. Cricket to prove that my affection is deeper and loftier, andgenerally better worth having, than his. "

What can one do with a girl like that, who winds up with a littlemocking laugh and goes off whistling?

I wish she would not whistle. It is one of those mannish tricks ofhers which give a wrong impression. Her father ought to stop it; buthe is so fond of the girl, and thinks her so altogether perfect andbeyond cavil, that he lets everything go. She needs to have some onestronger than herself come into her life. I wonder if he ever will. 

It took Jimmy Anstice a long while to find that cloak. When hereturned with it, he was still sulky. 

"I don't see why I should have to go on Fred's errands, when shespoiled my fire-works. "

"Ah!" said Flint, "it was a pity about those fire-works. Suppose youbring them down to the inn to-morrow night, and we will set them offthere. "

Jimmy brightened up; but his sister rather resented the suggestion. "You need not be afraid to do it here, " she said; "I promise not tointerfere again. "

Mr. Flint ought to have said something civil; but he only turned toJimmy and proposed that they go out and gather up the rockets beforethe dampness spoiled the powder. 

"Here, are you going without the cloak after all?"

"Oh, thank you!" answered Flint, with sufficient graciousness, as hetook it from Professor Anstice's hand. 

To reach the door, he passed near Winifred's chair. As he did so hebent over and spoke to her. I could not hear what he said; but I sawan angry color come into her cheeks, and she answered:--

"Yes, as you say, we seem fated to bring each other ill luck. Let ushope we shall not meet often. "

I never heard Winifred make so rude a speech before. But, to mysurprise, it seemed to develop an unsuspected amiability in Mr. Flint. 

"That might be the worst luck of all, " he answered, still in thatprovoking half-tone of his, and, waiting no answer, he followed Jimmyout of doors. It seemed to me that Philip Brady would have liked totake advantage of the general stir to get in a word with Winifred; butI saw that the girl was really suffering with the burn on her arm, soI told him, without ceremony, that it was time he went home. 

Dr. Cricket, who seems to feel personally responsible for these youngmen, evidently thought my behavior ungracious and inhospitable. Tomake amends, he followed Philip to the door, and called out after himand Mr. Flint:--

"Oh, by the way, we're going up to Flying Point for a clam-bake someevening this week. Would you care to go too?"

"By all means, if you will be good enough to take us into the party, "Philip answered heartily. If his friend said anything, it was lost inthe fog which was rolling in thick from the ocean. 

I never take prejudices; but I often have an instinct about peoplebefore I know them, and this instinct tells me that I am not going tolike this Mr. Flint. He is so self-sufficient, --not conceited, butcompletely satisfied with his own judgments. When he asks any one'sopinion, he does it as if it were a mere matter of curiosity how sucha person might feel, not with any idea of being influenced. I canstand this from a person with strong convictions; but this young manseems to have none. He actually smiled when I quoted Dr. Channing. 

"Perhaps you never heard of him, " I said, a little irritated by thatsupercilious smile of his. 

"Oh, yes, " he answered; "but he was at such pains to set himself up inopposition to my ancestors, that family pride compels me to resent it, though my personal prejudices may be in his favor. "

I cannot abide such trifling. It seems to make it ridiculous in anyone to be in earnest. 

P. S. --Dr. Cricket asked me to-day if I would marry him. I told him hewas an old fool; but I could not make him believe it. 

 CHAPTER VII

 ON THE BEACH

 "The curving land, with its cool white sand, Lies like a sickle beside the sea. "

The next morning dawned cloudless. Nature, radiant in her bountifulsplendor, seemed to give herself to man, who, in response, thrilledwith something of the primal impulse which stirred his pulses in thegolden days before he had separated himself from the beneficentcurrents of the Earth Mother's vitality to shut himself up withinbrick walls with artificial heat, artificial light, and artificialstimulants. 

On such a day, it is good to be alive. Flint felt the sunshine in hisblood as he stepped out into the fresh, open air. For a while hehesitated as to the use to which he should put the morning in order tosecure the utmost of its bounty. Then he bethought him of his duty inreturning the blue golf cape which he reproached himself as an idiotfor having taken. Brady had gone crabbing with Marsden, so Flint couldnot delegate the duty to him, as he had intended. Accordingly, slinging the wrap over his shoulder, in the middle of the morning, hestarted on the path which ran along among the scrub-oak and blueberrypatches, to lose itself on the curving stretch of beach which laybetween the inn and Captain's Point, where stood the Whites' houseknown in the region of Nepaug as "The White-House. "

The Point stretched along at the mouth of the little harbor, one sidethrust boldly out cliffwise into the ocean, the other sliding by softdegrees to the margin of the salt-water lagoon. On the crest of thecliff, and commanding a fine view of both sea and shore, rose theWhite-House, originally owned and built by a sea-captain who could notlive without the sea, even when he had ceased to live on it. For yearsthe Captain took his daily walk on the little platform railed in fromthe slanting roof, and scanned the horizon with his glass, taking noteof every sail, till at length he walked and gazed no more, and hisgrave was made in the little hollow that dips behind the house. Theplaces which had known him knew him no more, and the house was let tostrangers. 

The Point, however, retained his name; and the white railing aroundthe Captain's walk gleamed in the sunlight from the crest of the cliffas bright as when he leaned upon it to sweep the face of the waterswith his glass. 

Flint did the Captain the honor to bestow a passing thought on himthis morning, to be vaguely sorry for him, and to reflect that it wasreally a fine thing to be above ground when the sun was shining likethis. To be sure, life had its vexations; but they were so brief, andthere was so much time in which to be dead!

Flint had not gone many paces along the beach before he saw JimmyAnstice digging clams out on the oozy flats left bare by the recedingtides, his knickerbockers rolled well up on his legs, and a great pailset on the mud beside him. 

The boy's hat was pushed far back on his head, and the sun fell fullon his face. Even at this distance, the resemblance to his sister wasso marked as to be almost comical. The eyes were the same. The nose, with its unmistakable upward turn, a burlesque on the short, straightone which lent piquancy to Winifred's face. The soft, subtle curve ofher cheek developed in Jimmy to a hardened rotundity inevitablysuggesting the desire to pinch it, which one feels toward the tomatopin-cushions on exhibition at church fairs. 

Nevertheless, despite freckles bestowed by nature, and grimeartificially acquired, Jimmy Anstice was a well-looking lad, and addeda distinct note of human interest to the barren flats, as he stood, spade in hand, staring at Flint. 

"Come out here!" he called. 

"No, thank you, " answered Flint. "Not with my boots on. What are youabout? Clamming, I suppose. "

"Oh, no--fishing!" answered Jimmy, with fine sarcasm. "Come and helpme pull in the mackerel, can't you?" Then he turned his back and beganhis digging once more. At the same moment Flint caught a glimpse of ared hat against a seaweed covered rock. Obeying an impulse which wasrather a surprise to himself, he directed his course toward it. Hefound, as he surmised, that it belonged to Winifred Anstice, who satreading, comfortably ensconced with her back against the low sandbank, and her feet stretched out in front of her. She looked up at Flint'sapproach, but made no change in her attitude as he came and stood overher. He found it a little harder than he had expected to make aconversational beginning. After a second's hesitation he asked:

"How is the wrist?"

"Better, thanks! but still in close confinement, " Winifred answered, throwing back her shawl and revealing the bandaged arm. 

"You had a narrow escape. "

"Very. "

"I hope you have not felt the need of the cape you were kind enough tolend me. I was just on my way to carry it home. "

"And, having found the owner, you need not pursue your journey anyfurther. "

Flint felt inwardly chagrined. This, then, was her interpretation ofhis stopping to speak to her, --that he might be rid of his trouble. 

"Thank you, " he said stiffly; "but unless you need it, I prefer totake it back to the house. "

"Very well, " said his companion, "as you please. " Then, movedevidently by a prick of conscience, "Perhaps you will rest awhilebefore climbing the hill. "

As she spoke, she moved a little that he might share the shadow of thebank. 

"Don't move on my account, " Flint said. 

"Oh, " answered Winifred, smiling, "I owe you a decent civility, sinceyou saved my life last night. "

"Don't mention it. Actions should be judged by what they cost, notwhat they come to; and mine cost nothing but the hole in my coat, which I don't doubt is already better than repaired under MissStandish's skilful handiwork, so pray dismiss the subject from yourthoughts. There are few, I fancy, who find it so hard as you to acceptanything at the hand of another. It vexes you not to be the one alwaysto give aid and comfort. If I knew you better, I might venture tohint that it smacks of spiritual pride. "

"You generalize widely after an acquaintance of four days. "

"One sees character more clearly sometimes by the flashlight of afirst meeting, than when the perception is blurred by more frequentopportunities. "

Again the smile, inscrutable and mocking; the eyes looked into hiswith a gay defiance. 

"Perhaps you will be good enough to give me the benefit of these firstimpressions of my character. They are as comprehensive, no doubt, asthose of the British traveller in America. Tell on, as the childrensay. "

"Pardon me, I have said too much already, under the circumstances. Praise would be impertinence, and criticism insolence. "

"You shall have absolution in advance. Begin then!" she added, with alittle nod of command. "What is the most striking trait of mycharacter on first acquaintance?"

"Well, if you will have it, I should say it was a restlessness whichyou probably call energy; but it is a different thing. Energy isabsorbed in the object which it seeks to attain. Restlessness isabsorbed in the attaining. "

"Hm! what next?"

"Next? Next, comes a quality almost invariably allied to suchrestlessness as yours, --ambition. You may have all sorts of finetheories about equality and that kind of thing; but you wantpower--power over the lives with which you come in contact--power forgood of course; but it must be yours and wielded by you. It is notenough that things should get along somehow. They must go right inyour way. "

Winifred laughed. 

"Ah! you say that because I wanted to show you how to set off a rocketlast night. "

"I should say you showed us quite satisfactorily how _not_ to set offa rocket last night. "

"Don't let us revert to that episode, about which we shall probablynot agree. But go on. Let me hear more of your impressions. They arequite diverting. "

"No more. I dare not presume further upon my advance absolution. Rather let me ask you to return candor for candor, and give me yourimpressions of me and my character, or lack of it. "

"I have formed none. "

"Is that quite true?"

"No, " said Winifred, looking up, "it is not true at all. I formedimpressions within the first ten minutes after I had seen you, only Icalled them, more modestly, prejudices. "

"Prejudices? They were unfavorable then. Good! Let us have them!" andFlint settled himself more comfortably, bracing his head against hisclasped hands; and, leaning back against the bank of sand, he satwatching the little tufts of coarse grass springing up close besidehim. Still Winifred was silent. At last Flint began himself:--

"You thought me rude and churlish, I suppose?"

"I certainly did not think you were Bayard and Sidney rolled together;but I admit you had some provocation, " she answered lightly, "at leastin our first meeting. When I demolished your new fishing-rod, I thinkyou might have accepted my apologies more gracefully; and I think youneed not have been so particularly uncivil when Jimmy and I tried tocome to your assistance on the pond. I have not yet recovered from thereproof conveyed on that occasion by your manner, which plainlyindicated that, in your opinion, it would have been more tactful forus to sail by, and ignore your disaster, or treat it as an episodewhich did not call for explanation or remark. I should have felt dulyhumiliated, no doubt; but I have become hardened to rebuffs, since Ihave been at Nepaug, for I meet with many, as I go about like a beggarfrom door to door in South East. "

"Distributing tracts?" Flint asked, with eyebrows raised a little. 

"No. "

"Collecting statistics, perhaps?"

"Not at all; my errand is neither philanthropic nor scientific. "

"Private and personal, that is, and not to be farther pursued byimpertinent inquiry?"

"Oh, I have no objection to telling you, since you are not a native. Iam searching for my great-great-grandmother. "

Flint looked at his companion uneasily. She smiled. 

"No, I have not lost my senses. Such as they are, I have them all. Ido not expect to find this ancestress of mine in the flesh, norsitting in any one of the splint rockers behind the checkeredwindow-panes of the old South East houses. It is only her portrait forwhich I am searching as for hid treasure. "

"Ah!"

"Yes, her portrait. I feel certain it is hidden away somewhere inSouth East. "

"How very odd!"

"Odd? Not at all, as you will say when you come to hear the story ofthe original. But perhaps it would bore you to listen?"

"Go on; I am all attention. "

"Well, to begin with, my great-great-grandmother was a very prettygirl. "

"I can believe it. "

Winifred looked quickly round, but her companion's eyes were fixedupon the horizon with an abstracted gaze which lent an air ofimpersonality to his words. So she began again:

"Yes, she was a young Quakeress, born, I believe, in Philadelphia; buther father and mother died, and she came to South East, to live withher uncle, when she was about eighteen. The story of her girlhood israther vague; but somehow she fell in love with an English officer, and made a runaway match which turned out better than such affairsusually do; for his relatives received her favorably, and she made herhome with them at Temple Court in Yorkshire--doesn't that sound like abook? Well, her uncle died, and she never came back to this country;but her grandson came in the early part of the century, and, followingthe traditions of his race, fell in love with an American girl. Theywere married and settled in Massachusetts. But once, when they werevisiting at the old home, my grandmother saw a portrait of herhusband's grandmother hanging in the great hall at Temple Court. Shewas fascinated by its beauty; and when she heard the story of therunaway bride, who was an American like herself, she determined tohave a copy of the portrait, and talked of engaging one of the Londonartists to make it for her. An old servant told my grandfather thathe remembered seeing another, painted at the same time and sent overto this uncle in America. The man was sure that the address of theuncle was South East. Many a time I have heard my grandmother tell thestory, which so fired my youthful fancy that I dreamed of it foryears, and at last I persuaded papa to come down here this summer, andlet me hunt for the picture. But I am tiring you, I am afraid. "

Flint pulled his hat lower over his eyes. 

"Pray go on; I am immensely interested. "

"Thank you. Well, the desire for the recovery of the portrait is nolonger a sentiment with me, --it is a passion. My daily occupation nowis driving about and asking for a drink of water, or inquiring aboutearly vegetables, chickens, goslings, --anything which will afford aplausible excuse for penetrating into the dark halls or stuffyfore-rooms. Of course I rule out the modern houses. I have even triedthe tavern here at the beach; but the only decorations of the wallswere 'Wide Awake' and 'Fast Asleep, ' and other chromos of the samepronounced and distressing variety. "

Flint took off his eye-glasses, and began to wipe them tenderly withhis delicate handkerchief. 

"Perhaps, " he began, when he was interrupted by a wild whoop justabove. It was from Jimmy Anstice, who shared the delusion, common tohis age and sex, that nothing is so amusing as a sudden and unexpectednoise. 

"Oh, Jimmy!" his sister exclaimed. 

"Oh, Jimmy!" mocked the boy. "I am glad to find that you are alive. I've been watching you two these ten minutes, and you've sat as stillas if Mrs. Jarley hadn't wound you up yet. "

"She hasn't, " said Winifred, somewhat inconsequently. "Have youfinished digging your clams? What time is it?"

"I've dug all the clams I'm going to; don't intend to get all the foodfor the boarding-house, " answered Jimmy, somewhat sulkily, leavingFlint to answer the last question. 

"It is ten minutes after twelve, " he said, looking at his watch. 

"Dear me!" ejaculated Winifred, "I had no idea it was so late. Ipromised Dr. Cricket to play chess with him at twelve. "

She rose as she spoke, and stretched out her hand for the golf cape;but Flint kept it quietly, and started on by her side. 

"Are you going all the way to the house?" Jimmy asked. 

"If your sister permits. "

"Oh, then, you might as well take the other handle of this basket. "

"Jimmy!" exclaimed Winifred, "I'm ashamed of you. "

"Well, you needn't be. You'd better be ashamed of yourself, saying onething to a fellow's face, and another behind his back. Sitting therefor an hour talking with Mr. Flint, as if he were your best friend, when only last night you said--"

"Jim, how near the shore should you say that sloop lay?" Flintinquired in even tones. 

"'T ain't a sloop at all; it's a schooner, " returned Jim, contemptuously. 

"Why, to be sure, so it is. How stupid in me! I suppose all mynautical learning went down in 'The Aquidneck. ' By the way, Mr. Bradyand I are talking of going up to the wreck soon to try what can be gotout of her by diving. Wouldn't you like to go along?"

"Wouldn't I!" responded Jimmy, _con brio_. "Don't you forget it!"

His sister gave a dubious glance over the boy's head at Flint; but heonly smiled in return. This smile so transformed his face that thegirl beside him fell secretly to wondering whether her instinct ofcharacter-reading, upon which she prided herself, had not played herfalse in the case of this man, and whether she might not be calledupon for a complete reversal of judgment, --so apt we are to mistakethe momentary mood for the index of character. 

They walked on in silence along the margin of the bank, Flint with thecape thrown over one arm, while he and Jimmy carried the basket, heavywith clams, between them. The blue water shoaled into emerald at theirfeet; a single white gull soared and swooped above their heads. Thelong sunburned grasses swayed in the summer wind, and the cloudsfloated tranquilly over all. 

How tiny the three human figures seemed in the wide setting of earth, sea, and sky!

As they passed the bluff on the other side of the cove from Captain'sHill, Jimmy suddenly dropped his side of the basket of clams. "Hi!" heexclaimed. "Why can't we go up into the light-house, now Mr. Flint iswith us?"

"Not to-day, " answered his sister, repressively. "Mr. Flint may haveother engagements, and then, you know, Dr. Cricket is waiting for hisgame of chess. "

"As for me, " said Flint, "I was never more at leisure; and as for yourappointment with the Doctor, I advise you to adopt my motto: 'Betternever than late. '"

Winifred hesitated. 

"Oh, come on!" persisted her small brother. "Don't be a chump, Fred. You never used to be. "

"Lead on, " answered his sister; "rather than be considered anything soignominious, I would scale more alarming heights than those of thelight-house, though I confess its winding staircase is not without itsperils. "

The path to the light-house led through a patch of bayberry bushes. Winifred stooped, as she passed, and gathered a handful, which shecrushed in both hands, taking in a deep breath of their spicy aroma. 

"Are they so good?" Flint asked, smiling at her childish enjoyment. 

"Try and see!" she answered, holding them out to him in the cup of herjoined hands. 

Flint bent his face over them for an instant. Then Winifred suddenlydropped her hands and shook the fragrant leaves to the four winds. Flint smiled again, for her gesture said as plainly as words: "Here Iam being friendly with this man, to whom I intended to be as frigid asan iceberg. "

Flint responded as if she had spoken. 

"Do you never forgive?" he asked. 

"No, " answered Winifred, impetuously. "I never forgive; but I have ahorrid facility for forgetting. "

"Cherish it!" exclaimed her companion. "It is the foundation of manyof the Christian graces. "

As they drew nearer the light-house, they felt the salt sea-windstrong in their faces. The bluff was so gale-swept that the trees, few, small, and scrubby, had caught a slant to westward, and thescanty vegetation clung timidly to the ground, like some tiny statewhose existence depends upon its humility. From the edge of the bluffrose the light-house, --a round stone building, dazzling in its coat ofwhitewash. Far up in the air its plate-glass windows gleamed in themorning sun. 

The keeper was standing in the open door, and cheerfully consented toshow the visitors over the premises. Loneliness is a great promoter ofhospitality. 

As they peeped into the tiny kitchen, with its shining brasses and itswhite deal floor, Winifred exclaimed at the exquisite neatness of thehousekeeping. 

"It is a man's, you see, " Flint commented with pride. "No doubt weshall drive you from the domestic field yet. "

"I should think the position of light-house-keeper would suit youexcellently, " Winifred replied, oblivious of the slant at her sex. "Your desire for solitude would surely find its full satisfactionhere. "

"There might be much worse occupations certainly, " Flint began; but hesaw that Winifred's attention had been diverted by the keeper, who hadalready begun to mount the stairs, talking, as he moved, with afluency which denoted a long restrained flow of sociability. Winifredwas glad to be saved the trouble of replying, for the unceasingclimbing put her out of breath, and she felt that she might have beendizzy, but for the railing under her left hand. 

At last they arrived in the little room with its giant reflectors ofsilvered copper, and its great lamp set on a circular table. Outside, ran a narrow balcony with iron railing. Winifred stepped out onto theledge, clinging nervously to Jimmy, who professed a great desire tosit on the railing. The wind here was so strong that it gave one afeeling that the building was swaying, though it stood firm as a cliffof granite. 

Flint leaned over the railing. "See!" he said, "there is a great whitegull which has beaten itself to death against the light, and fallenthere, close to that fringy line of mottled seaweed on the beach. "

"Don't!" exclaimed Winifred, turning pale, and leaning further backagainst the light-house wall. 

Flint saw in an instant that she was feeling dizzy, but thought itbest for her to ignore the fact. 

"Come, " he said, "we must be going down now, unless Dr. Cricket is tolose his game entirely. You go first, Jim! I will come next. "

Jimmy started down, whooping as he went, for the pleasure of hearinghis voice echo and re-echo from the bare walls. 

Flint glanced somewhat anxiously at Winifred. He saw her put her footupon the first stair and then draw back. At the same instant he caughtthe cause of her terror. Her bandaged wrist prevented her grasping thebalustrade, or getting any better support than the smooth wall towhich to cling. 

"Put your hand on my shoulder, and count the steps aloud as you go. "He spoke like one who does not question obedience; and, somewhat toher own surprise, Winifred found herself meekly doing as she was bid. 

The last part of his advice was even better than the first, for itoccupied her mind, and also gave her the encouragement of feeling thatat each step she had lessened the distance between her and _terrafirma_ by one. 

Flint felt the hand upon his shoulder tremble like a leaf; but henever turned his head, only moved steadily onward and downward, with aregularity and solidity which soon told upon Winifred's nervousdizziness. 

When she reached the ground, and stood once more in the sunlight ofthe open doorway, she looked at him with a little tremulous smile. "Ahundred and seventeen!" she exclaimed. "I am sure I shall neverforget how many steps there are leading to the Bug Light. "

"What a fool you are, Fred!" Jimmy remarked, with family frankness. 

"I am, " admitted Winifred. "No one knows it better than I, except, perhaps, Mr. Flint. "

"I know nothing of the kind, " her companion answered with unwontedcordiality. "Any one may be subject to a fit of dizziness, and to beminus an arm under such circumstances makes the situation reallyuncomfortable. We must try it again some day, to give you anopportunity to prove to yourself that it was only an affair of themoment. "

"Dear me!" thought Winifred to herself, "why can't he always be nicelike that! He seems to be a queer kind of stratified rock; you neverknow what you are going to strike next. "

Aloud, she said, "I fancy, Jim, it must be past the White-House dinnerhour, and papa has grown worried and sent out scouts to look for youand me. See, here is Ben Bradford!"

Looking down the road, Flint saw approaching them a tall, long-leggedyouth whom he dimly remembered among the group on the porch of theWhite-House the night before. His hair was parted in the middle, andthickly pomaded to restrain its natural inclination towards curling. His ears were large, and set on at right angles to his face. His nosewas Roman, and its prominence had rendered it peculiarly sensitive tosunburn. His manners were too frank to be polished. As he joined themnow, he succeeded in making it evident at once that Flint's furtherpresence was entirely superfluous. This juvenile candor would have hadno effect, had not Winifred supplemented it by saying:--

"Mr. Bradford will take charge of me and my cape, Mr. Flint; I reallycannot consent to trouble you further. "

Her manner was equivalent to a dismissal. Flint handed over the cape, as she bade him, to young Bradford's eager grasp, bowed, and turnedhis steps homeward. As he strolled along, he felt a curiously suddenchange of mood, from the elation of the morning to a depression halfphysical, half mental. 

"I wonder, " he said to himself, "if this is not another phase of myinheritance from Dr. Jonathan. I remember the old gentleman used tocomplain that his constitution was an unhappy one from birth, attendedwith 'flaccid solids, sizy and scarce fluids, and a low tide ofspirits. ' The description amused me in my youth; but I begin to havean uncomfortably sympathetic sense of his state of mind and body. Iwonder, by the way, what _he_ would have done about that portrait. Inever heard that he or any other Puritan gave away his property toany extent; and this portrait I regard as virtually mine. To be sure, I have not paid for it; but I had fully determined to purchase it, and--Yes, to all intents and purposes, it belongs to me. Now, to beexpected to give it up, just because I happen to hear of some one elsewho wants it too, is asking a little too much. If I had avoided thegirl, as I intended, I should never have heard of her search for herbeloved great-grandmother. No, my mind is made up; I shall keep thatpicture--of course I shall. I am glad I put it into the closet beforeBrady came. "

 CHAPTER VIII

 THE MARY ANN

 "Our deeds are like children that are born to us: they live and act apart from one's own will. "

The weather of the morning, with its golden clearness, was toobeautiful to last. By noon the gold had paled. The high wind which hadprevailed earlier in the day subsided; but the swelling waves, whichbroke with thud after thud upon the shelving beach, gave evidence of agale still whirling somewhere off the coast. The clear-cut lines ofthe distant cliffs faded to dim, quiet masses. Far out on the horizonrose a line of phantom hills, --a line which, as night drew in, movedslowly shoreward, rising as it came, shutting out sail after sail, point after point, till at last it met the land and shut out the seaitself. There is something weird and uncanny about the approach of afog, stealing thus unperceived out of the heart of sunshine and blueweather. It has in it a hint of death. 

Flint felt the weight of it. His mind was shut in upon its ownresources, and did not find them altogether satisfactory. Brady addedlittle to the gayety of nations. He came in from his day on the watersunburned, tired, and as nearly cross as it lay in his genialdisposition to be. He swallowed his supper, and made haste to stowhimself away in bed, leaving Flint to choose between a conversationwith Marsden and the self-communion which was his least congenialoccupation. 

For an hour or so, he loitered in the little shop, listening idly tothe yarns which Marsden rolled as sweet morsels under his tongue: ofthe whale which the fishermen had caught off the beach, a sea-monsterof untold length, breadth, and thickness, which had been sold for athousand dollars; of the marvellous experiences of his father, ascaptain of a trading-vessel in the "East Injies;" and finally of thefire-ship which he himself had seen hanging between sea and sky, outyonder between the island and the mainland. 

"You say you saw it yourself?" Flint asked, partly from listlesscuriosity, and partly with an eye to the society of psychicalresearch. 

"True as yo' 're a settin' thar. 'Twas one night nigh onto fifteenyears ago, --good deal such a night as this heer. The old cow wuz sickthat night, and as I wuz out to the barn, puttin' hot cloths on hertill past midnight. Ez I wuz comin' into the house, I looked out, andthere, jest where the mist was breakin' away, hung a ship, lookin'like a light under a cloud. "

"Did you call any one?" queried Flint. 

"Call any one? Lord! I was too scared to move hand or foot; I jeststood gapin' at her till she faded clean out o' sight. "

"Mirage, I suppose, " Flint murmured to himself, "unless the old fellowis lying out and out, which is not likely. " Then, aloud, as he rose, stretching himself lazily, "If you ever see the fire-ship again, whileI am here, let me know. I have always wanted to see a wreck, and aphantom wreck is better than none. "

"Don't go to talkin' too much about it, " said Marsden, mysteriously. "They say it brings bad luck. "

"Apparently it brings bad luck for anybody but you to do the talking. Well, I think I will leave you before I am tempted to a loquaciousnesswhich might bring down a curse on the house of Marsden. "

Smiling to himself over the old man's superstition, Flint climbed thestairs to his own room, as softly as possible, lest Brady's wrath atbeing waked descend upon him. Having closed his door cautiously, hesat down by the open window, enjoying the soothing dampness of the fogas it came rolling in laden with the pungent fragrance of the saltmarshes. 

He sat a long while in the darkness. Even the Bug Light, which shoneon ordinary nights from the tip end of Bluff Point, this eveningformed only a paler shade in the universal grayness. 

His thoughts turned to the scene of the morning. He remembered thewide-stretching purple of the sea, the yellow shell-strewn sand, thepatch of coarse grass on the bank against which Winifred Ansticeleaned. He remembered to have noted how perfectly her dun-coloreddress had harmonized with the environment, so much so, that, but forthe patch of red in her hat, he might have passed her as a part of theinanimate nature of the beach. He remembered, too, the touch of herhand on his shoulder there in the light-house, and the sound of hervoice as she counted the steps, "One--two--three--four. " Then he fellto thinking more closely than he had yet done of the girlherself, --that curious blending of subtlety and simplicity, of reserveand frankness; he had never seen anything quite like it. What a queercoincidence that she should be a descendant of this Ruth, in the roombehind him! Now she spoke of it, there was a suggestion ofresemblance, faint, but haunting. This must have been the secret ofhis desire to study her face again, and yet again, that day on thepond, to determine the source of the sense of familiarity which eventheir first meeting had given him. 

How charming her frankness about the portrait had been! Ah, there therecollection ceased to be altogether agreeable! He twisted a little inhis chair, and screwed the end of his moustache into his mouth, as herecalled his own lack of response when the portrait was mentioned. Hadhe been deceitful? No, certainly not that, for he had conveyed nofalse impression by word or gesture. Disingenuous? Perhaps, but afterall he was in nowise pledged to equal frankness, because his companionchose to be confidential. Suppose, though, Winifred Anstice shouldcome to the inn; should hear from old Marsden of the portrait; shouldlearn that it was hanging in his room, and he had made no sign!

The train of thought was perplexing, and not altogether pleasing. Flint was not sorry to have it interrupted by a call upon hisattention in the appearance of two figures below, looming dim andghostlike in the fog. Just beneath his window, they paused in theirwalk, and their voices came up to him first indistinctly, then withmore and more clearness. The tones Flint recognized at once asbelonging to Tilly Marsden and to Leonard Davitt, the young fishermanwhose scarlet shirt was often to be seen on the clamming grounds, andwhose rich baritone voice came ringing over the pond as he sat in hisboat hauling in his nets. 

To-night, it was subdued, and at first scarcely rose above a murmur;at length Flint caught the words:--

"I shall never ask you again. "

"I hope to goodness you won't!" answered the shriller tones of theinnkeeper's daughter. 

"That isn't a very nice way to speak, Tilly. "

"Well, it's _my_ way, and my name isn't 'Tilly;' it is MatildaMarsden, and very polite folks call me 'Miss. '"

"Some day you'll find out that it isn't the politest folks that's thetrustiest, or sticks to you the faithfullest. Don't you remember twoyears ago, Tilly, when I was going to the Banks, how you kissed megood-bye, and how you promised--"

"Never mind what I promised. I was only a child anyway. "

"Well, you didn't think so then, and neither did I. Mebbe, the timewill come when you'll think you acted wiser then, than you're a-doin'now. "

"Oh, you needn't take the trouble to warn me, Mr. Leonard, about mybeing foolish to give you up. You're not the only man in the world. "

"Oh, yes, " responded Leonard, nettled at last, "I knew very well thatwas the trouble; and I know who the other man is; and all I can sayis--"

"Hush, " cried Tilly, with a little turning of her head, and quicklylaying her hand on Leonard's arm. "Don't you say another word, LeonardDavitt, if you ever want me to speak to you again. "

At this, Flint's conscience got the better of him, and he rose andclosed the window noisily enough to startle the speakers below, as heperceived with some amusement. 

"What a little minx that girl is!" he said to himself as he turned tolight the lamps. "I have half a mind to devote myself to convincingLeonard that she would make his life miserable if she married him, andthat he is worth ten of her; but I don't suppose he could be made tobelieve either. Men are such fools when they are in love! By Jove!that portrait is like Miss Anstice!"

This last ejaculation escaped him as he held the lamp above the mantelwhere all his books were piled in heterogeneous confusion. One by onehe scanned their covers, with the half intention of the idler whoreads for pure diversion, and at length he drew out a volume of Dumas. He set his lamp--a large one with double burners--on the table by thewindow; and tilting his chair on the back legs, resting his shouldersagainst the wall, he plunged into the mysteries of "The Forty-Five. "

In a few minutes he was absorbed, as only Dumas has power to absorbhis readers. The man of action in that great romancer exercised a sortof hypnotic power over Flint. The robust virility passed into thesinew of his soul. The romance possessed him utterly, and left himwithout even the power to criticise. It was he himself who stood inQueen Catherine's box, and watched the spouting of Salcide's blood, ashe was drawn by the horses in the arena beneath. He sat secretedbeside Chicot in the great arm-chair in the King's bed-room. He tookpart in the serenade beneath the balcony of the mysterious lady in theRue des Augustines. He joined the hunting of the wolf in Navarre; andfinally he had plunged into the fight between the French and Flemings, with such intensity of reality that it scarcely surprised him to hearthe booming of a gun. 

"It is those rascally Flemings!" he thought for a moment. "Up and atthem, Joyeuse!" Then suddenly he rubbed his head like one striving torecall wandering wits. His chair came down with a crash. He took outhis watch. It marked three. Again the gun! He threw up the window. Thefog was breaking fast, and lights were visible too far out for thethe land, too near for a vessel at sea; unless, Great Heavens! it was, it must be, a ship grounded off the Point. For an instant, the thoughtof Marsden's fire-ship flashed across his mind; but his head was tooclear to be fooled in such fashion. 

Banging on Brady's door, he shouted:

"A wreck off the Point! I'm going down to the shore!"

"Hold on! Wait for me, can't you?" called Brady, still half asleep. 

"No; there's no time to lose. I may be of use. Come on as fast as youcan!"

As Flint rushed downstairs, he met Marsden coming out of his room, lantern in hand. The old man's face was ashen gray, and his fingersfumbled at the buttons of his coat. 

"Did you hear it?" he said in a trembling, shaken voice. "It's the gunof a ship in distress. Many's the time I've laid awake a-listenin' forit when the wind was wild and the sea lashin' up over the rocks; andnow it's come on a night as ca'm as a prayer-meetin'. I told you nogood would come of our talk this evenin'. "

"Is there any life-saving station near?" Flint asked, as they stumbledalong the road in the dark. 

"No, not near as you might say. Ten miles away is as bad as ahundred. "

Once out of doors, they started on a run down the road which led tothe shore. The booming of the gun grew louder in their ears; and dimlythrough the mist they caught sight of a vessel lying keeled over onher side well in shore. Flint was conscious of a not wholly unpleasingexcitement as he watched her. As yet his mind had found no room forthoughts of individual suffering. It was a wreck, and he had alwayswished to see a wreck. 

The thoughts passing through his mind did not delay his footsteps, andhe made such good speed that, half way to the shore, he had leftMarsden far behind, and struggled on alone through the last few rodsof heavy sand. 

When he reached the beach, several people were gathered there already:Ben Bradford and Dr. Cricket, with that dishevelled air which alwaysmarks a midnight alarm; Michael and Leonard Davitt, who slept in theirfisherman's hut by the pond, in order to get an early morning start, and were therefore first at the scene of excitement. 

Michael felt all the importance of his position as first witness, andwith unusual loquacity was giving an account of the catastrophe to thegroup around. 

"I can't nohow account for it, " he said; "that captain must be anescaped idjit to go on a lee-shore a night like this. "

"Had the fog lifted when she struck?" queried Marsden. 

"Well, it was jest a-waverin', breakin' up like, and then shuttin'down agin. The idjit must er thought he was off the Bug Light, wherethe water's deep right up close in; but why should he a-thoughtso?--that's the question. "

"Well, it is a question that can wait, I should think, " said Brady, who had come up panting from his run. "The most important question is, what are you going to do about it? There's not much danger, I suppose, as long as the night is as calm as this; though there's such a groundswell on it looks as if there must have been a big storm at sea. Seehow she pounds on the reef out there! She is likely to go to piecesbefore many hours, I should say, and if a wind springs up, as it'spretty sure to do with morning, it would be an ugly lookout. "

"Is there a life-boat anywhere?" asked Flint. 

"Yes, " said Leonard, somewhat scornfully, "in the pond. " (Hepronounced it pawnd. )

"They must have boats on the ship, " said Marsden; "seems to me I see'em launchin' one now. " At this the men on shore huddled closertogether, as though four could see farther than one. 

Yes, there was no doubt of it. The misty dawn showed forms standing onthe slanting deck of the ship, and a boat hoisted, held out, and thendropped into the waves, which were already rising with the risingwind. 

"They'd best make haste, " muttered Michael, uneasily; "if the sea getsup, they'll go down. "

It seemed an age to the little waiting group before the boat put offfrom the ship. The wind had begun to blow in cold and strong. Flintbuttoned his coat tight to his chin, and still he shivered. On thelittle boat came, now dipping almost out of sight in the hollow of thebig green waves, now rising like a cork upon their crest. 

"Hurrah!" cried Brady, "they're almost in. "

"Hm!" said Michael, "not yet, by a long sight! The danger comes whenthey git into the breakers. "

Flint was enough of a sailor to know that the fisherman spoke truth. Alittle later, he saw the white, combing foam break over the boat. Hedrew his breath quicker, and caught his under-lip between his teeth. 

"There's four men in her, " said Marsden, making a telescope of hisclosed hands. 

"Five, " said Leonard, --"five, and one of 'em is a woman!"

Flint unbuttoned his coat and threw it off. 

"What are you about?" asked Brady. "You'll get your death of cold. "

Flint made no answer, but, stooping, unfastened his boots, and kickedthem off. Rapidly as he undressed, he was too slow; for, as the boatreached the tenth breaker, a great wave struck her a little on theside, and over she went, spilling out her contents as heedlessly asthough they had been iron or lead in place of flesh and blood. In aninstant, Flint was in the surf, and striking out for the spot where hehad seen a woman's shawl. 

"Curse it!" cried Leonard, "why can't I swim, and me a sailor!"

"I'd orter a-learned yer, Leon, and thet's a fact. Look at him! He'sgot her. He's a pullin' of her in. Make a line, men! Make a line!Quick as thunder, and the last man grab 'em when they come withinreach!"

In answer to Michael's words, the men hastily formed in line, andmoved out till Brady stood chest-deep in water. It was a wiseprecaution, for Flint, though a good swimmer, found his task too hardfor him. He felt like a man in a nightmare with a weight of lead uponhis chest; and arms that must move, and could not move, and yet mustagain. 

Dimly, a sense of possible escape for himself came over him. Whyshould two drown in place of one? He had but to let go this weight andstrike out. Why not?

Why not indeed? This man held to no altruistic creed. His doctrines, had he expounded them quite coolly, would have claimed thatself-preservation was the first law of Nature, and that Nature was thebest guide. But now, with no time for reason, by the flashlight ofinstinct, intuition, inheritance, --call it what you will, --he foundhimself absolutely physically unable to let his load slip. With thisstranger he would live or die, most likely die!

With the last thought, he felt a numbness creep over him. The limbsrefused to obey the will. The will itself was paralyzed. Blankdarkness fell around; the end had come. 

He awoke to consciousness with a painful gasp, to find himselfstretched out on the sand, and to hear Dr. Cricket's voice soundingfar away, saying: "He'll be all right soon. Keep on working his arms, Ben! Here comes Marsden with the brandy and warm blankets. " Thenfollowed a vague sensation of swallowing fire, and a blissful warmthcreeping along his veins as though Nature had taken him to her heartonce more. 

Languidly, he unclosed his eyes. What did it all mean: the wavesroaring close at hand; the driftwood fire burning hard by; the circleof anxious faces? Through his dim senses ran the lines long familiar, never till now fully realized:

 "The tall masts flickered as they lay afloat The crowds, the temples wavered, and the shore. "

What made everything wobble about like that? Was he dying? What hadbrought him here, anyhow? Then, with a rush, it all came back. Raisinghimself on one elbow, he looked about inquiringly. "Where is she?" heasked, and fell back exhausted by the effort of speech. 

"Here and safe, " answered a woman's voice which he recognized as thatof Winifred Anstice. "The captain and crew are saved too. "

"Could they all swim?" Flint questioned feebly. 

"Hold your tongue!" cried Dr. Cricket, with more good sense than goodmanners. "Your business now is to save your strength. Leave questionsfor later in the day. If that coffee is done, Ben, pass it round. Wewill all have a pull at it. "

The commonplace of the daily routine is a blessed relief after theoverstrained excitement of a great catastrophe. We eat and drink, andlife seems real once more. Even Dr. Cricket was drawn for a momentfrom his patient's side to the circle gathered about Ben Bradford, who stood with the steaming coffee-pot in one hand, and a tin dipperin the other. Nectar and ambrosia, served from jewelled plate, couldnot have offered more temptation to the appetite of the weary group. Flint, lying a little apart, was conscious that Leonard Davitt wasstanding beside him, staring down into his face. As the youngfisherman turned away, Flint heard him say, below his breath: "Damnhim!"

 CHAPTER IX

 NORA COSTELLO

"We pass through life separated from many people as by a wall of glass. We see them, we are conscious of their presence; but we never touch. "

The evening following the wreck of "The Mary Ann" found the friends incouncil, who included most of the summer population of Nepaug, gathered around the White-House hearth, on which blazed a hospitablefire, doubly cheering in its radiant contrast to the gatheringdarkness without. The wind, which had risen to half a gale, rattled atthe window panes and roared down the chimney. The sound of the boomingsurf, as the great waves hurled themselves against the dunes, madeitself heard, even through the heavy pine doors and shutters. Thefoam, which yesterday curved in lines of delicate spray below theheadland, was now lashed into a lather of white terror. Above itthrough the twilight rose, dim and ghostlike, the masts of thewrecked vessel. 

The dreariness outside lent an added charm to the snug and cheerfulcosiness within the little parlor, the inmates of which drew closerthan usual, as they talked in somewhat subdued voices. 

Jimmy Anstice lay on his back upon the hearth-rug, his head pillowedupon Paddy, and his knees braced one on top of the other. Ben Bradfordsat on a chair tipped back against the wall, with his thumbs thrustthrough the armholes of his corduroy vest. Winifred lounged upon thehaircloth sofa with one foot surreptitiously tucked under her. Everyone's attitude suggested a degree of comfort rare in society. Awonderful sense of intimacy is imparted by perils undergone together, or profound experiences shared. They seem to sweep away, as with awhirlwind breath, that thick veil of convention and commonplace whichshroud many acquaintances from beginning to end. At these times thereal nature has shown itself, as it does only in the great crises oflife; and, once revealed, it can never wholly conceal itself again. 

At the White-House that evening, the wreck was discussed over and overfrom every point of view. Each person wished to describe the momentwhen he awoke to the apprehension of the calamity, --what he said anddid, thought and planned. Such conversations lead one to believe thatthe chief pleasure of the resurrection will lie in the comparison ofpost-mortem experiences on first awakening. 

Dr. Cricket said that when he first heard the booming of guns, half-asleep as he was, he dreamed that the statue of William Penn wasfalling off the dome of the Philadelphia city hall. 

Miss Standisth said that she was broad awake; but had happened not tocatch any sound till she heard the commotion of people moving aboutdownstairs. This she took to mean that breakfast-time had arrived, andthat this was destined to be another dark day like the freak of naturefamous in the colonial annals. 

"I heard Fred call out--" Jimmy Anstice began; but his sisterinterrupted, "Please, Jimmy, leave me out. You know Papa forbade youto talk about me in company. "

"My dear, " remonstrated her father, mildly, "don't speak so abruptlyto your little brother. "

Thus, in one shape and another, every one said his say. 

Flint alone, of the entire group, was silent, almost surly. Hesubmitted without comment to being ensconced in the greatchintz-covered chair. He even swallowed, under protest, the variouspills and potions which Dr. Cricket presented to him at intervals; butthe most adroit questioning on the part of Miss Standish failed toelicit any information as to his sensations or emotions, past orpresent. Brady, who understood his friend better than all the rest, strove to shelter him by talking longer and laughing louder thanusual; but this Miss Standish resented as much as Flint's silence, andset it down to flippancy. Her ethical training impelled her to striveto improve the occasion to these young people. She shook her graycurls, and cleared her throat several times before her conversationalopening arrived. 

"I hope, Mr. Flint, " she said at last, "that you feel as strongly asthat poor girl upstairs, the mercy of the divine Providence whichbrought you to the rescue at that critical moment, and enabled you tosave a life. "

Something in Miss Standish's tone irritated Flint. 

"If, for 'divine Providence, ' you will substitute 'lucky accident, ' Iwill agree to it as heartily as either you or she. If you persist indragging in Providence, I must really beg leave to inquire whereProvidence was when the ship struck. "

The silence which reigned in the room was like the space cleared for asparring-match. The old combative instinct of the primitive man arisesin the most civilized, and makes him delight in a fight. Brady lookedamused; Winifred a little apprehensive; Mr. Anstice preserved adignified neutrality; and Miss Standish fumbled with her cameo brooch, and smoothed the folds of her skirt, as if to make sure that all wasin order before entering upon a possibly ruffling contest. 

"I suppose--" she began; but old Marsden, who sat on the other side ofthe fire, and who was no respecter of persons, broke in: "I've heerd adeal about how you all felt, and what you all thought; but what I'dlike to know is what really happened. The men at the inn wont talkwithout their captain gives them leave; and Dr. Cricket has got himand his sister shut up in their rooms, to git over the shawk. Nowperhaps the Doctor can tell us how it wuz thet thet air ship wentaground on a sandy coast, in a ca'm night like the last. "

"Captain Costello says it was the light in the tavern-window which hemistook for the Bug Light off the point; but how could that have been, when it was past two o'clock, and I'll answer for it that no one atNepaug was ever found awake after nine?"

Dr. Cricket questioned with the inflection of a man who neitherexpects nor desires an answer. Indeed, he had only paused for breath, when Flint, from his easy chair on the other side of the fireplace, broke in:--

"So I am to blame for the whole thing. "

"You!"

"You don't say so!"

"Was the light yours?"

"What on earth were you doing at that hour?"

"Not quite so many questions at once, friends, if you please. My brainis still a little waterlogged, and my thoughts work slowly. I onlyremember sitting down about ten o'clock to read a novel, and the firstthing that roused me was the gun, which for the moment I took for theattack of the enemy of whom I was reading. I rushed out, halfexpecting to find the tavern surrounded, and to have to risk my lifein its defence, and instead--"

"Instead, " put in Winifred Anstice, very quietly, "you risked yourlife to save some one else, --Nora Costello, the Captain's sister, spent the whole morning in tears, because Dr. Cricket would not lether leave her room to go and tell you how grateful she was. "

"Hysterical, I suppose, " said Flint. 

Winifred, who had opened her lips to say something more, shut themclosely again, and sat back with the air of a person determined tohave no further share in the conversation. 

Dr. Cricket hastened to occupy the floor. "A charming girl--upon myword, a charming girl--if she _is_ a Hallelujah lassie. "

"A what?" ejaculated Brady. 

"A Hallelujah lassie--Feminine of Salvation Soldier, don't you know!Why, she had one of the coal-scuttle bonnets hanging by its draggledstrings round her neck when Flint pulled her in, and a number of 'TheWar Cry' was in the pocket of her dress, when we stripped it off. "

"Oh, " said Brady, with a touch of disappointment in his tone, "I tookher for a different sort of a person; she looked quite the lady. "

"So she is, young man, " answered Dr. Cricket, with his fierce littlefrown. "There is no doubt of that. She told me her story this morning. I wanted her to rest; but the poor thing was so nervous I thought itwould hurt her less to talk than to keep still. "

Flint smiled sardonically. The Doctor's little foible of curiosity hadnot escaped his observant eye. 

"You would have done much better to shut her up; but what did shesay?" queried Miss Standish. 

Flint smiled again. But the Doctor began briskly:--

"Why, it seems that the Costellos are the children of a Scotchminister; though, from his name, I should guess that he had a dropmore or less of Irish blood in his veins, and their looks show it too. They were brought up in a manse on one of those brown and bare Scotchmoors. The boy was to be educated for the church, like his father;but when he was seventeen, he grew restive under the strictness of histraining, turned wild, and ran away. For ten years they had no word ofhim. The father reproached himself for having been too hard on theboy; and he never stopped loving and praying for him. On hisdeath-bed, he charged Nora--that's the girl's name you know--to sellall the things in the manse, and start out into the world to find herbrother, and never to give up the search as long as she lived. "

"That is always the way, " said Flint, with a shrug: "the reward ofvirtue is to be appointed trustee of vice--no assets--assume all theliabilities. "

"Hm! wide, of the mark this time, Mr. Flint. The very day after herfather's death, Nora Costello received a letter from her brother, saying that he was ashamed to come home without first securingforgiveness, and asking his sister to intercede for him, and to meethim in London with the news of his pardon. "

"Exactly, " resumed Flint with irritating calmness. "Prodigal son sendspostal card stating that he is prepared to receive overtures lookingto a resumption of family relations. No questions asked. "

"He has not seen Captain Costello, has he, Dr. Cricket? or he wouldbe more sparing of his jibes. "

"Never mind, Miss Winifred, Mr. Flint is ashamed of having played thehumanitarian this morning, so he is trying to atone by double cynicismthis evening; but don't let him interrupt my story again, under painof being sent back to the tavern, instead of taken care of in Mrs. White's best bed-room, under the charge of the best doctor (though Ido say it) in Philadelphia. 

"Well, as I was about to say, Nora Costello came up to London; andthere she found her brother, a brown and bearded man in command of aschooner, 'The Mary Ann, ' plying between New York and Nova Scotia. Hehad been looking forward joyfully to his homecoming; but when helearned of his father's death, he was all broken up, and talked aboutits being a judgment of God on himself. "

"Rather severe on his father, " grumbled Flint; but no one heeded him, and the Doctor continued:--

"Costello felt so awfully cut up, that one night he came near drowninghimself; and after that his sister did not dare leave him alone, butwent about everywhere with him; and one night they came upon aSalvation Army meeting, with drums and torches and things, in thestreets of the East End. General Booth was there; and, my soul! tohear that girl talk, you would think he was the archangel Gabriel, with the sword of the Lord in his hand. "

"It was Michael who carried the sword, " came from Flint's corner, exasperating even Brady beyond endurance. 

"Come, Flint, you're too bad. Hold your tongue, can't you, and let therest of us hear the story! That girl is a trump. "

"You 're right, sir, " echoed the Doctor, cordially, "a trump she was, and her brother too, for that matter. General Booth preached that day, as it happened, about remnants, and argued how a man might make themost of the remnants of a life, as well as of a meal, even if the bestpart was gone. Well, the talk sort of heartened up Angus Costello;and, after the meeting, he and his sister went up to the General, andNora asked to be taken into the Army. She went in as a private; andwhen Angus came back to Nova Scotia, Nora came with him, and wasassigned to duty, first in Montreal, and then in New York. She hasrisen already to be an officer, and, I judge, a valuable one. She wasoff this month on sick-leave for her brother's ship, taking a vacationfrom overwork, I suspect. "

"What is her work?" asked Brady, leaning forward with his square chinpropped on his hands, which, in their turn, were supported by hisknees, --an attitude to which he was prone when self-forgetful. 

"Her work? Oh, I don't know! Everything I suppose. Taking care of sickpeople in tenements, talking, and singing, and selling copies of the'War Cry, ' in offices and liquor-saloons. "

Brady frowned. "I don't like it, " he said. "She's too pretty, withthose little curly rings of hair round her pale face, and with thosebig blue eyes. Why don't they send some old maid on such errands?"

"Because they want to sell their papers, " answered Miss Standish, dryly. 

The talk around the fire had gone on so eagerly that the attention ofthe group was utterly absorbed; and every one started as if anapparition had appeared in their midst, when a slim figure in a darkdress, against which her face looked doubly white, glided noiselesslyinto the room. With eyes fixed in almost trance-like far-sightedness, she moved towards Brady, and laid her hand upon his sleeve. 

"My brother, " she said, "it is you have risked your life to save mine. God gave you back both. What will you be doing with your share?"

"I--I--I'm awfully sorry, don't you know!" stammered Brady, terriblyembarrassed; "but it wasn't I who did it. "

"Here is the man, Miss Costello, to whom you owe your life, " said theDoctor, who dearly loved a "situation, " turning as he spoke, with alittle flourish, to the place where Flint had stood; but thatgentleman had taken advantage of the mistake to bolt into the bed-roombehind him. He would have bolted into the pond, rather than submit tobe thanked publicly in this fashion. 

"He's gone!" exclaimed Dr. Cricket, in disappointment. 

"Ah!" said Nora Costello, with a quick, sympathetic smile, "it's verranatural. He did not wish to be thanked. Perhaps he is right. Afterall, it is to the good God himsel' that our thanks are owing. "

She knelt on the rug, as simply as she would have taken an offeredchair, and spoke to some invisible presence, as naturally as she wouldhave spoken to any of those in the room. Brady was shocked at first, at the conversational tone. It was so realistic that he opened hiseyes, half expecting to see the Someone--the Something--so evidentlyapparent to the girl herself. 

Having once opened his eyes, he forgot to close them again. The actualso pursued him, that he ceased to seek the spiritual presence. Thefirelight, playing over the girl's face, threw strange lights, andshadows half unearthly. She seemed a spirit, of whom no ordinaryrestraints of the familiar social life were to be expected. 

When her prayer was finished, she rose as simply as she had knelt, though now two large tears stood on the long fringe of her eyes. 

"Good-night, friends!" she said with a confiding glance around. "Ithink I shall be able to get the sleep now. God bless you all!"

When she was gone, the hush was unbroken for several minutes. At lastWinifred spoke. 

"I don't know how the rest of you feel, but somehow I have a sensationof being a lay figure in the shop-window of life, and having all of asudden seen a real woman go by. "

"Jove! what eyes she has!" said Brady, continuing thoughts of his own, rather than answering Winifred's speech. 

"Really, " said Ben Bradford, "it wasn't unpleasant at all. "

"Unpleasant!" exclaimed his aunt. "Well, I should say not, unlessheaven is unpleasant, and angels, and the Judgment Day, which Idaresay it will be for you, Ben Bradford, unless you mend your ways. Good-night! I'm going up to see that the child has a hot-water bag toher feet, and a mustard plaster on her chest. The Salvation Army needsan efficient ambulance corps. "

"Hm!" said Dr. Cricket, as Miss Standish disappeared. "Mary may havechosen the better part; but I pity the household that's all Marys. Give me a Martha in mine every time!

"That reminds me, " he added briskly, "that I must look after mypatient, and not let him pitch himself into that bed, which has notbeen aired for a week; and nobody in this house knows the differencebetween damp sheets and dry ones. Do you know, Mr. Brady, " hecontinued, as he rose from his chair with a little rheumatic hitch, "Ihave taken a great shine to that queer friend of yours. I don't knowhow it is, but I suspect it is because he is such a contrast to mostfolks. It's a comfort to meet a man who keeps his best foot back. "

"Oh, Flint is a brick!" said Brady, with enthusiasm. "I have known himto do the nicest things. There was a fellow once in college--he wasrather pushing socially, and nobody liked him--but he was 'a dig, '"and he got sick from studying too much. None of the rest of us everfell ill of that trouble; but he did, and he was so poor he didn'twant to let any one know about it, for fear he would be obliged tosend for a doctor. It was found out though; and one day a doctor andnurse turned up at the fellow's room, --said they'd been asked not tosay who sent them; but they stayed and pulled him through. He neverknew who his benefactor was; but I did, and you may judge of mysurprise, when the fellow got about, to see Flint cut him on thestreet. 

"'What in thunder did you do that for?' I asked, for I was dumfoundedto see him do it. 

"'Because the fellow is a cad, and would be taking all sorts ofadvantages. Better ignore the acquaintance at the start. '

"'Then why did you do what you did for him?'

"'I don't know, I'm sure!' Flint answered. 

"That's just the sort of fellow Flint is. He may seem crusty, but inany emergency he is a man to tie to. "

"If life were a series of emergencies, " said Winifred, reflectively, "Mr. Flint would be invaluable; but in every-day existence, one doesnot quite know what to do with him. "

"I can put up with a great deal, " said Ben Bradford, "from a chap likethat, who shows real sand and pluck when a crisis comes. I mean totell Mr. Flint to-morrow that I think he's a daisy, and go down on mymarrow bones for the things I have thought and said about him before. "

"I wouldn't, if I were you, Ben, " observed Winifred, with an amusedsmile; "for I doubt if Mr. Flint has ever had the dimmest idea thatyou have not been thinking well of him all along. "

 CHAPTER X

 FLYING POINT

 "We'll maybe return to Lochaber no more. "

Far up the pond, at no great distance from the spot where "TheAquidneck" had met her untimely and ignominious end, Flying Pointthrust out its tongue of land into the rippling water, which stole inand out between its tiny coves so gently that scarcely a murmur couldbe heard, except when a northeaster lashed the pond into a mimic sea;and then the teapot tempest was so outdone by the giant waves outsidethe bar, that it passed unnoticed, like the fury of a child beside therage of a grown man. 

The Point took its name from the flights of ducks which passed over itin vast numbers in the spring and autumn, their dark, irregularsquadrons black against the intense blue of sea and sky. Its low bluffof gleaming sand was crowned by a grove of tall pines, through whichpurled a tiny brook perpetually prattling to the sea of its littleinland life. Below the bank, stretched out a rod or more of levelbeach where fires might be lighted and cloths spread by those whowished to return to the gypsy habits of their forebears and sit downas Nature's guests, to simple fare of their own cooking and serving. 

A midsummer pilgrimage to Flying Point was a regular feature of theseason with the dwellers at the White-House; and it was a point ofhonor for the old-timers to declare that last year's expedition was inevery way more successful than that of the present season. Newcomersendured this superiority in silence, consoled by the prospect ofenjoying the same triumph themselves next summer. 

Several times the date of this year's expedition had been set, and asoften changed. The last date had been fixed for the eighth of July;but the excitement of the wreck, and the reaction of lassitude whichfollowed that catastrophe, put to flight, for a time, all thoughts ofamusement, and a fortnight elapsed without an apparent ripple on thecalm of existence at Nepaug. 

On the second day after the wreck, Angus Costello and his sister tooktheir departure for New York, --he to collect the insurance on theill-fated "Mary Ann, " she to report again for duty in the Army. Withthe going of the Costellos, quiet settled down once more; but thedwellers on the Point found themselves impatient of the very reposefor which they had sought Nepaug. Rest had turned to inanimation, quiet to dulness, peace to stagnation. 

Flint, usually unaffected by environment, found himself incapable ofany intellectual or physical exertion. He could not work. He could noteven loaf alone. Brady was an indifferent companion, subject to fitsof absence of mind, --more unsocial than absence of body. 

There was only one resource left; the young men betook themselves tothe White-House. Life there could not be wholly dull, while aperpetual sparring match was going on between Miss Standish and Dr. Cricket, while Professor Anstice smoked his pipe serenely on thecorner of the piazza, and Ben Bradford openly adored Winifred, heedless of outside observation or amusement. 

Ben himself was an endless source of entertainment to Flint, sovividly did his demeanor recall the rapidly receding days of his ownyouth, when he too had felt the constraint which is born of theassurance that all the world is fixing its gaze upon us and ouractions. 

Ben never dreamed that he could be taken humorously. He regardedhimself with a deep seriousness, and planned innocent littlehypocrisies with a view to their effect on the public. He was anxiousto be supposed to handle a large correspondence, and took pains tosort his mail in public, fingering a number of letters in his leathercase with a reflective air, as if he were considering what repliesthey demanded, although their worn envelopes revealed them to the mostcasual observation as at least a fortnight old. 

He had the sensitiveness of youth, and spent much useless effort inthe endeavor to discover what people meant by their words and deeds;when, nine times out of ten, they meant nothing at all, but were onlystriving to fill up the gaps of life with idle observations ordiversions. He himself was fond of side remarks, intended to besatirical, but falling rather flat, if dragged out into the prosaiclight of general conversation, as sometimes happened when MissStandish caught a word or two and exclaimed aloud: "What was that, Ben? Won't you give us all the benefit of that last observation?"

Ben loved his aunt; but he did not like her. 

She interfered sadly with his pose as a man of the world, by relatinganecdotes of his infancy, and stating the precise number of yearswhich had elapsed since the occurrence. 

On the occasion of one of the daily visits of Flint and Brady, theywere made aware of unmistakable signs of a domestic unpleasantness. They were no sooner seated, than Ben picked up again the grievancewhich their arrival had compelled him to drop. 

"You have told that story four times already this summer, Aunt Susan, "he remarked truculently; "and I don't think it is of great interest tothe public at any time to know that I took a bite out of each one ofthe Thanksgiving pies when I was five years old. "

"I have _not_ told it before, and you were _six_ when it happened, which was fourteen years ago next November, " Miss Standish answered. 

Winifred Anstice, foreseeing a battle, made haste to the rescue. Shecalled out from her hammock:--

"When are we going to Flying Point? I think we all need change of airfor our--ahem!--nerves. "

Woe to the person who undertakes to divert the lightning from meetingthunder-clouds; unless he be well insulated, he is sure to fall victimto his own well meant efforts. 

"Winifred, my dear, " sniffed Miss Standish, "you may remember that itwas only this morning when _I_ asked when we were going to FlyingPoint that you answered, 'Never, I hope--I detest picnics. '"

"Did I?" laughed Winifred; "well, it's true, and I cannot deny it. "

"I must agree with you there, " said Ben. "A picnic is an occasionwhen all the food is picked and all the china nicked. "

"A picnic, " said Winifred, "is a place where you can accumulate anindigestion without incurring an obligation. In this, it is an advanceupon a tea-party. "

"Picnicking with people you know is a bore, Picnicking with people youdon't know is a feat of endurance, " echoed Flint. 

"Professionally, I am in favor of them, " threw in Dr. Cricket. "Ioften feel like saying, with the old Roman, 'This day's work shallbreed prescriptions. '"

"Oh, come now!" said Brady, "you're all trying to be clever. This isonly talk. I think a picnic is great fun, especially a tea-picnic, where you boil coffee, and light a camp-fire, and perch about on therocks over the water. You would appreciate that last privilege, if youlived out on the prairies, where there is no water, and the rocks areall imported. "

"Bully for you!" shouted Jimmy Anstice, who had been sitting by withhis hands clasped over the knees of his stockings to conceal the holesfrom his sister's observant eye, but none the less eagerly followingthe conversation. "You're a peach; and why can't we go to-night?"

"That boy is all right, " said Brady, smiling. "He knows enough totake the current when it serves. Off with you, Jim, while the tide isout, and dig your basket of clams! Come on, Flint, and we will jointhem at the Point! How will you go, and when?"

"I think we'd better go up in the Whites' sail-boat. There'll be roomfor one of you, " said Miss Standish, looking meaningly at her nephew, for she had not yet forgiven Flint's indifference. 

"That's good, " Flint said cheerfully. "You take Brady. He's betterballast; and I'll row up in my dory. "

"A good excuse for coming late and leaving early, " said Winifred, mockingly. 

Flint bowed and smiled imperturbably, without troubling himself tooffer a contradiction. 

Miss Standish swept past him with her Plymouth Rock manner. "I will goand look after the supper, " she remarked, and added, as she reachedthe door, "however much people may sniff, there's nobody, so far as Iknow, who is superior to food. "

Nepaug picnic suppers had been reduced to scientific principles underMiss Standish's rule. There was a picnic coffee-pot and apicnic-dipper, a set of wooden plates and a pile of Japanese papernapkins. All these went into one basket, together with cups andglasses and knives and forks. Another, still more capacious, held thesandwiches and biscuit, the cake and coffee, the pepper and salt, beside the jar of orange marmalade, and the pies surreptitiouslyborrowed from the pantry, where they were reposing upon the lardershelf, tranquilly awaiting the morrow's dessert. Everything was neatlystowed away, --no crowding, no crumbling. Miss Standish was willing totake any amount of trouble; all she asked was to be appreciated. 

Flint certainly did not appreciate her. Her particularity he found"fussiness, " her energy annoyed him, and her well-meant interest inothers appeared to him insufferable busy-bodyism. More than once thatafternoon he remembered her with a sense of irritation. "A confoundedold maid, " he called her to himself as he pushed off his dory from thebeach below the inn. 

But no matter how irritable the frame of mind in which he started, hecould not help being soothed by the tranquillity of the scene aroundhim as he went on. The west was one sheet of orange. The brilliancy ofthe sunset had faded to a tenderer tone. The spikes of the pointedfirs on the mainland stood dark against it. Over in the east, the moonwas rising, pale and spectral, with all her ribs showing like askeleton leaf. Jupiter shone out more clearly as the darknessdeepened and the shadows fell more heavily along the strip of shore. 

 "The gray sea and the long black land; And the yellow half-moon, large and low, "

Flint quoted to himself. "What is it that comesnext? Something about

 "'A mile of warm sea-scented beach. '

Must have been curiously like this. Where is Flying Point anyhow? Oh, yes; there's the camp-fire. "

"Here comes Flint, " cried Brady, as he heard the grating of the prowof the dory on the gravel. 

"I should think it was time, " grumbled Miss Standish, who had beenmaking great sacrifices to keep the coffee hot. For some inscrutablereason, all the people with whom Flint came in contact felt impelledto do their best for him, let their opinion of him be what it would. 

"Well, we thought you must be lost!" called Brady from the height ofthe rocks. "We have all had supper; but we have kept some for you. "

"Thanks, " answered Flint, from below, "I am sorry you had the trouble, for I took mine at the tavern before I started. "

This was more than the descendant of Miles Standish could bear. Witha bang, she emptied the coffee-pot and knocked out the grounds, as herancestor had shaken the arrows out of the snake-skin to replace themwith bullets. Henceforth, she was implacable; and yet Flint neverdreamed that he had given offence. Imperfect sympathies again!

Winifred Anstice, whose misfortune it was to be peculiarly sensitiveto disturbances in the atmosphere, jumped up from under the pine whereshe had been sitting with Brady. "Come, " she said, "let's all sit downaround the fire. I want Leonard to recite for us. Will you, Leon?"

Flattered, yet embarrassed, the young fisherman rose from hisoccupation of tying up the baskets, and drew nearer. As he stood infront of the fire, Flint looked at him with a thrill of æstheticadmiration. His red shirt, open at the throat, showed a splendid chestand a neck on which his head was firmly and strongly poised. His hair, curling tightly, revealed the well-shaped outline of the skull, andthe profile was classic in its regularity. "And that little fooldoesn't know enough to fall in love with him!" thought Flint. 

"What'll you have, Miss Fred?" asked Leonard. 

"Whatever you like. "

"Wal, then, ef you'd jes ez lief, I'll say 'Marmion. ' I was learnedit at school. " Throwing off his cap and striking a dramatic pose, hebegan:--

 "The Douglas round him drew his cloak. "

It is marvellous, the power of strong feeling to communicate itselfthrough all barriers. True emotion is the X-ray which can penetrateall matter, --yes, and all spirit too. 

The hackneyed words burned again with the freshness of their primalenthusiasm. Again Douglas spurned, and Marmion flung him back scornfor scorn. It was not acting. Leonard Davitt could never have thrownfire into a rôle which did not appeal to him; but this lived. He puthis soul into it, and he drew out the soul from his audience. 

"I must go now, " he said, when he had finished, having ducked his headshyly in response to the applause, and picked up his cap. "I'm goin'off at sunrise. "

"Where are you going, Leon?" queried Winifred Anstice, coming up tohim where he stood not far off from the spot where Flint, in deadshadow, leaned against the trunk of a giant pine. 

"Goin' off bars-fishin' for a week with the men from the Pint, "Leonard answered, and then added in a lower tone, "you won't forgetyour promise, Miss Fred. "

"No, I will not forget; but you must try not to cherish hard feeling. "

"Oh, I don't say it's his fault. Mebbe it's hers. "

"Perhaps it's nobody's, and perhaps there's no harm done afterall, --at any rate, none that can't be undone. "

"Yes, there is, " Leonard answered gloomily. "The past can't never comeback, and things won't never be the same. "

"Oh, cheer up!" Winifred answered more hopefully. "Your going away isthe best thing under the circumstances, and I'll do what I can foryou; but I wish it were anything else. "

"Thank you, marm, and good-bye!" With another shy duck, Leonard lethimself down over the rocks and sculled out into the strip of ripplingmoonlight which stretched across the bay. 

The moonlight fell also upon Winifred Anstice's face as she stoodlooking after him, and showed a pathetic little quiver about themouth. An instant later, she dashed the back of her hand across hereyes, and exclaimed, half aloud, "It's too bad; I've no patience withhim. "

"What a clear night it is!" said Flint, stepping out from the shadows. 

Winifred started a little. "I thought you were sitting by the fire, "she said rather abruptly. 

"Indeed, " Flint answered. It was one of his peculiarities never to bedrawn on to the explanations to which most people are driven by themere necessity of saying something. After all, he had as good a rightto the place where he was as Miss Anstice herself. Miss Ansticeperhaps was thinking the same thought, for she made no response, onlystood twisting and untwisting a bit of lawn handkerchief which badefair to be worn out before it reached home. At length, with the air ofone nerving herself to a difficult task, she turned about and facedFlint. Lifting her clear gray eyes full to his, she beganhesitatingly:--

"Mr. Flint. "

"Yes, Miss Anstice. "

"Will you do me a favor?"

"Assuredly. "

"No, not an 'assuredly' favor, but a real favor. "

"If I can. "

"Will you do it blindly?"

"No, I will do it with my eyes open. "

"You cannot. "

"Try me!"

The girl shifted her eyes from his face to the path of moon beams inwhich Leonard's boat floated far off like a dark speck against theripples of light. When she went on, it was in a lower tone, with anote in her voice which Flint had never heard there before, --the noteof appeal. 

"I am going to ask you a very strange thing, " she said; "I would notask it if I could see any other way. "

"Surely, Miss Anstice, you cannot doubt my willingness to oblige youin any way. You have only to command me. "

"But it is not to oblige me. It is--oh, dear! I can't explain, but Iwant you to go away. "

Flint rose instantly. 

"No, no, not away from this spot, but from Nepaug. That's it, " shewent on insistently; "I want you to leave Nepaug. "

Flint stared at her for a moment, as if in doubt whether to questionher sanity or her seriousness. The latter he could not doubt, as helooked at her eager attitude, her hands tightly interlaced, her headbent a little forward, and a spot of deep red sharply outlined oneither cheek. Suddenly the meaning of her conversation with Leonardflashed across his mind; but it brought only further puzzlement. Hemotioned Winifred to sit down upon the great tree which lay its lengthon the earth, overthrown by the last storm, and with stones andupturned dirt still clinging to its branching roots. 

"Are you sure, " he said gravely, as he took a seat beside her, --"areyou sure that you are doing right to keep me in the dark?"

"I think so; I hope so. "

"Of course I know you would not ask such a thing if there were notsomething serious back of it all; and since it so nearly concerns me, it seems to me I have a right to know it. "

Dead silence reigned for some minutes. Then Winifred said, speakinglow and hurriedly:

"Yes, you are right; I ought to tell you, --I know I ought; but it isso hard. Why isn't it Mr. Brady! He would understand. "

"Perhaps if you would explain, " Flint began with unusual patience. 

"Well, then, it is about Tilly Marsden, who has been engaged these twoyears to Leonard Davitt; and now she refuses to marry him, and hethinks it is because she is in love with someone else. _Surely_ youunderstand _now_. "

"No, upon my soul, I don't. You can't mean that the littleshop-girl--the maid-of-all-work at the inn--is--thinks she is in lovewith--"

"With you; exactly. "

"But I have hardly spoken to her. "

The silence which followed implied that the situation was none theless likely on that account. The implication tinged Flint's mannerwith irritation. 

"I suppose I am very dull; but I confess I don't understand thesepeople. "

"Have you ever tried to understand them?" returned Winifred, with asudden outburst of the indignation which had long been gathering inher heart against the man before her. 

"Haven't you always thought of them only as they ministered to yourcomfort, like the other farm animals? Is it really anything to youthat this narrow-minded girl has conceived a very silly, but none theless unhappy, sentiment for you?"

"I--" began Flint, but the flood would have its way. 

"Oh, yes, it annoys you, I dare say. You feel your dignity a littletouched by it; but does it move your pity, your chivalry? If itdoes--Oh, go away!"

Flint would have given much to feel a fever heat of anger, to flameout against the audacity of the girl with an indignation overtoppingher own; but he only felt himself growing more cold and rigid. He toldhimself that she had misunderstood him hopelessly, utterly. There wasa certain aggrieved satisfaction in the thought. He had risen, andstood leaning against a tree. Winifred wondered at her own courage, asshe saw him standing there stiff and haughty. 

"I shall go, of course, " he said at length. "My absence seems to bethe only sure method of producing universal content. But let me askyou one question before I go. Do you consider me to blame in thisunlucky business?"

Winifred parried the question by another. 

"Why should I tell you, when you don't care in the least what Ithink?"

"If I did not, I should not ask you, and I think I have a right todemand an answer. "

"I can hardly answer you fairly. Is ice to blame for being ice and notsun? We cannot say. We only know that we are chilled. I always havethe feeling that with those you consider your equals, you might begenial and responsive; but the joys and sorrows of the great world ofuninteresting, commonplace people about you have no power to touchyour sympathies. Of course, in a way, it is not your fault that younever noticed Tilly Marsden's manner--"

"I am not a cad who goes about investigating the sentiments of--ofwomen like that. But you have your impressions of my character fullyformed, and I shall not be guilty of the folly of trying to changethem. To-morrow, I shall relieve Nepaug of my objectionable presence, and, I hope, you will cease to fear me as a disturbing element when Iam far away at my office-desk. "

"You are going back to New York?" echoed Winifred, uncertainly, realizing all of a sudden what it was that she was sending him awayfrom, and to what she was consigning him. 

"Yes, of course, " Flint answered a little impatiently. 

"I am sorry, " the girl began lamely. It was just dawning upon her thatit was not so easy to control the destinies of other people, as shehad fancied. 

"Oh, that is all right!" her companion responded more cheerfully; "NewYork in summer is not half so bad as you people who never stay thereprobably imagine. "

"I don't know, " said Winifred; "to me it seems dreadful to be shut upinside brick walls, or walking on hot paving-stones, when one might besitting under green trees, or by rolling waves, breathing in the freshcountry air. But I suppose I feel so because while I was growing up Inever lived in a large city. "

"Indeed! How was that? I should think your father's profession wouldhave kept him in the city. "

"Oh, it does now, of course; but for years after my mother's death hewas so broken down that he could not bear to mix with people at all, and he chose to bury himself out on a Western ranch, and there I grewup with no more training than the little Indian girls who used to cometo the house with beads and things to sell. It was a queer life for agirl; but it was great sport. "

Winifred had almost forgotten her companion for the moment in herthoughts of the past; but as he rubbed his hand across his forehead inthe effort to recall something, she mistook the gesture for a sign ofweariness, and reproached herself for her egotistical garrulity. 

"I do wish, " she said hastily, "that there were some way out of thisunlucky matter, --some way which would not send you back sounseasonably. "

"Never mind that, " Flint answered; "my vacation was almost at an end, anyway. I am really needed now at the office of the 'Trans-Continental. '"

"The 'Trans-Continental'?" echoed Winifred. "Do you work on thatmagazine?"

"Yes, I do a little writing for it occasionally. "

"Then perhaps you know the editor--the chief editor, I mean. "

"Yes, he is a friend of mine. "

"I envy you the privilege of calling such a man your friend. Oh, youmay smile if you choose, but perhaps, after all, you do not know himas well as I do. I have never seen him, I don't even know his name, and yet I have a clear picture of him in my mind. And he has been sokind--so good to me. His letters have helped me more than he will everknow. " Here a sudden thought seemed to strike the girl, and shelifted beseeching eyes to his face. 

"You won't try to make him dislike me, will you? I know you never didlike me. I saw it the first time we met, when I was driving thatwretched colt, and we ran over your fishing-rod, and then, the nextday on the pond, and ever since, things have steadily kept going wrongbetween us. So, of course, it would be quite natural for you to talkabout it all to him; and then he would never like me any more, and Ido want him to. "

For an instant Flint felt a mad desire to keep up the illusion; but hehimself was too much shaken to have played his part if he would. 

"Miss Anstice, " he said, "_I_ am the editor of the'Trans-Continental. '"

Without another word, he swung himself down by the pine-bough to thegravelly beach, and, pushing off the dory, slipped out over the samemoonlit course which Leonard had travelled. Winifred watched him tillhis boat had rounded the Point; then she turned back to the camp-firein a daze. Do what she would, she could not shake off the spell ofthose last words: "_I_ am the editor of the 'Trans-Continental. '"

 CHAPTER XI

 THE POINT OF VIEW

_Extract from the Journal of Miss Susan Standish. Nepaug, August First. _

 [_From which it will appear that contemporary journals are not always trustworthy. _]

This August weather is really unbearable. Nobody but flies can behappy in it, and they are part of the general misery. I sleep with ahandkerchief over my face to keep off the pests; but I invariably waketo find one perching on every unprotected spot, and the others buzzingabout my ears, and making such a noise that I can't sleep a wink afterfive o'clock. 

It is a very long time between five o'clock and breakfast. It would bea sufficient incentive to a blameless life, to know beforehand thatyou were to be condemned to think over your past for three mortalhours every morning. 

This is what I do; and though I suppose I have been as respectable asmost people, I find cold shivers running down my back when I remembersome things, and the blushes of a girl of sixteen mounting to mywrinkled forehead, when I think of others. On the whole, the sillythings are the worst. I think at the Judgment Day I would ratheranswer up to my sins than my sillinesses--especially if my relativeswere waiting round. The only way I can turn my thoughts out of theuncomfortable reminiscent channel which they make for themselves atfive o'clock in the morning, is to think as hard as I can aboutsomebody else. Lately, I don't find this so difficult; for ourhousehold here at Nepaug includes some interesting people, and, moreover, some very queer things have happened lately, I thank Heaven, I have none of Dr. Cricket's curiosity; but I should be ashamed if Iwere so indifferent to those about me as not to take an interest intheir concerns. This interest has led me of late to ponder on recentevents, and speculate as to their causes. 

When I asked some very simple and natural questions of WinifredAnstice, she snapped at me like a snapping-turtle; but I did notdiscontinue my investigation on that account. On the contrary, Iresolved to be all the more watchful; and when it comes to putting twoand two together, there are few who have a more mathematical mind thanSusan Standish. 

On Friday evening, we had a picnic supper at Eagle Rock. 

Mr. Flint (superior as usual) preferred to go in the only societywhich interests him, and therefore set off _alone_ in his dory. Hisabsence did not have any visibly depressing effect on the party in thesail-boat. Winifred was at her very best; and Philip Brady seemed toappreciate her. If I were a matchmaker, I should have tried to throwthem together, for they do seem just cut out for each other; in spiteof all my efforts to give them opportunities of making each other'sacquaintance on intimate terms, they never appeared to take advantageof them. But on Friday it was different. In the first place, anythingmore warm-blooded than an oyster must have fallen in love withWinifred at first sight on that evening. She wore a white flannelyachting-dress, and a red-felt hat cocked up on one side, and as shestood against the sail in the sunset, she was--Well, I'm too old to besilly; but really that girl is something worth looking at when she isnice. To-day, she looked like a frump, and talked like a fury. 

The wind on Friday died out soon after we started; and at one time Iwas afraid Mr. Flint would have the satisfaction of getting to thePoint before us; but, providentially, it sprang up again and, indeed, I need not have worried, for it seemed he was afraid of being bored, and did not start till six o'clock. Brady says he was always likethat, even in college; that when they were invited anywhere, Flintwould always put off the start, and would say, "Your coming awaydepends on your hostess; but your going depends upon yourself. "

"If it had been _my_ house, " said I, "his _staying_ away would havedepended on his hostess. I have no patience with a rude man. "

"Flint rude?" said Philip. 

"Most decidedly rude, I should say. "

"Oh, but he is not rude. He is only indifferent. "

"Indifference is rudeness. "

"Then I'm afraid, Miss Standish, " broke in Winifred, "we must all berude to most of the world. That is, unless we belong to the SalvationArmy, like Nora Costello, and take an interest in everybody or ratherevery soul. "

"Very remarkable girl, that Nora Costello, " said Philip. "I don'tquite know what it was that made her so interesting. "

"_I_ know, " answered Winifred, with a little laugh; "it was herlooks. "

"Or her manner, " suggested Philip. 

"Oh, her manner without her looks would not have carried at all. Manners are only thunder. It is looks that strike. "

"You should know, " Philip said quite low. Just at this moment JimmyAnstice, with that exasperatingly inopportune way of his, calledout:--

"Look, Fred! Did you see that fish jump? Gracious! He must have goneup two feet! What makes a fish jump? Papa, Papa, do you hear me? Whatmakes a fish jump?"

"I don't know, my dear; I suppose to get food, or because he wantsair. "

"Then why doesn't he jump oftener?"

It has always been one of Professor Anstice's pet theories that achild's mental development is promoted by the stimulation ofintellectual curiosity. As a result, Jimmy has been encouraged to askquestions to an extent which the world at large finds somewhattiresome. For my part, I think one of the most useful accomplishmentsconnected with the tongue is the art of holding it; and I believe inits early acquirement by the young. 

After Jimmy's curiosity in regard to the habits of fish had expendeditself, there was no more _tête-à-tête_. Everybody was shouting thisway and that; and then the boat brought up at the rocks, and those ofus who could jump, jumped out, and those who couldn't, clambered out;and Jimmy Anstice flopped into the water above his knees, as usual, and had to sit by the fire getting dry, when he should have beenrunning errands and making himself useful. Small boys, being neitherornamental nor interesting, should be either useful or absent. 

Winifred and Brady started off after driftwood. I invited Ben to helpme with the coffee; but he said, "Presently, " and made off after theother two. Really, that boy may come to something if he selects hisprofession with care. He can't see when he's not wanted, which maymake him a success in the ministry. 

Well, at last, we got our two fires started, and the tableclothspread; and the coffee tasted so good I just hoped Mr. Flint wouldcome to have some, because he made some disagreeable remarks in themorning on the subject of picnics. Some people are never satisfiedunless they can spoil the enjoyment of others. 

While we were eating, everybody was jolly and all went well, exceptthat Philip would tell stories, --Western stories about "commercialgents" and "drummer hotels" and such things. He tells a story verywell; but he also tells it very long. With the tact upon which Ijustly pride myself, I tried to shut him up or draw him off; but eachtime Winifred would bring him right back, with "What was it you werejust going to tell, Mr. Brady?" or "As you were saying when MissStandish began, " I was a good deal annoyed, for I couldn't quite makeout whether she was really interested, or whether she was making funof us both. Now I have a very keen sense of humor; but I don't like ajoke at my expense. At last Philip offered to give us a comic poemfrom the "Bison Spike;" but _that_ I _couldn't_ stand; and I pretendedthat the coffee was boiling over, and Winifred jumped up to attend toit. Philip, of course, went to her assistance, and afterward, as hestood before the fire with Winifred beside him, I could not helpthinking what a fine looking couple they would make. His golf suitbrought out the fine proportions of his stalwart figure. The firelightplayed over his firm chin, his broad, square forehead, and his frank, kind eyes. He would make a good husband for any girl; and a judiciouswife could soon break him of his habit of telling stories. 

I dare say they would have had an interesting talk, if Ben Bradfordhad not come up with his hands full of stone chips, which he callsarrowheads. That ridiculous boy walks the furrows of old Marsden'spotato-fields for hours together, with the sun blistering the back ofhis neck, quite contented if he brings home a dirty bit of stone, which his imagination fits out with points and grooves. At FlyingPoint, he had apparently reaped a rich harvest of these treasures. Hiscompanions inspected them with civil but languid curiosity. While theywere turning them this way and that, and striving hard to beconvinced that the bulkiest had undoubtedly been employed by theIndians as a pestle for corn-grinding, we heard the grating of a boaton the beach. Of course it was Mr. Flint. 

Ben called out to him to hurry up and have some coffee before it wascold; to which he coolly answered that he had had supper before hestarted; and there I had put off ours half an hour for him, and thenkept the coffee boiling another half hour! I would have liked to shakehim. 

Winifred saw that I was justly indignant; and though she can be aspeppery as anybody over her own quarrels, she is always bent onsmoothing down other people; so she called out:--

"Well, fortunately, Mr. Flint, you are not too late for 'the feast ofreason and the flow of soul;' and I am sure you did not get that allalone there at the inn. " I wondered if he appreciated that rather neatlittle stab. Winifred does those things well, with a demure mannerwhich leaves people in doubt whether her remarks are vicious or simplyblundering. "Come, Leon, " she added, turning to young Davitt, "youknow you promised to recite something for us. "

Leonard stood up like a boy at school, and recited the speech from"Marmion" where he and Douglas give it to each other like Dr. Cricketand a hom[oe]opathic physician. Then he bobbed his head, just like aschoolboy again, and said he must go. Winifred followed him, andspoke to him, almost in a whisper. What they were talking about Icould not catch; but I heard her say, "I will do it for you, Leon; butI wish to goodness it were anything else. " Then Leonard answered, justas if she had given him some great thing: "Oh, thank you, thank you!"and then he disappeared. At the same moment Mr. Flint took his placeby her side. 

Instead of joining us all, and making a jolly party, what does he dobut stand in the shadow of the three big pines talking to Winifred inthat insultingly low voice which seems to imply that people arelistening. I did, however, catch one or two things. I distinctly heardWinifred say: "Oh, do go away!" and I heard him say: "I hope you willcease to fear me when--" There I lost it again; but what could itmean? Winifred _fear_ him!--fear _him_! She, who never feared the faceof clay! There is only one explanation, and yet that is too wildlyimprobable!

I never saw any one more unlikely to inspire an affection. Flint byname and Flint by nature, --cold and hard as rock itself; and for agirl like Winifred! It never could be!--and yet, I confess, I don'tknow what to think. 

After they had talked together for some time, he swung himself downthe bank, pushed off the dory, and we saw him pulling rapidly into themiddle of the bay. 

"Well, if that doesn't beat the Dutch!" said Dr. Cricket. 

"Hi, there!" cried Ben; and Brady, standing up, waved his hat, andhallooed through his hand with a volume of voice that could be heardall the way to Nepaug. But though Flint hallooed in return, he neverchanged his course, nor slackened his speed. 

When Winifred came back to us, a color like flame burned in hercheeks, and her eyes were bright with unshed tears. No one but menoticed it. Every one fell upon her with questions. 

"What's the matter?"

"Why did he leave so suddenly?"

"Why did he come at all?"

"What did he have to say for himself?"

"Was this rude, or only indifferent?"

"Don't bury me under such an avalanche of inquiry, " said Winifred, with a little artificial laugh. "There really is nothing verymysterious about Mr. Flint's departure. He is not a flying Dutchman. Idon't think he wanted to come at all; but he was afraid we mightthink something had happened if he failed to appear. Ben, the fireneeds another log. Mr. Brady, did you bring your banjo, as youpromised?"

This was a master-stroke, --divert and conquer, --presto, Ben was offafter wood, and Philip tuning up for alleged "melodies;" but I was notso easily put off the track. 

"It took him some time to make his excuses, " I said to her aside. Shelooked up quickly. 

"You are too shrewd to be put off like the others, Miss Standish; butdon't say anything more, --I'm so awfully tired. "

The poor girl did look used up, and I knew she was longing to gethome, so I coughed violently, and asked Dr. Cricket for my shawl. 

"You are taking cold, " said he. 

"Oh, don't mention it, " I answered. 

"But I will mention it, " persisted the dear old goose. "You mustn'tstay out in this damp air. "

"Don't let me break up the party. "

"The party is all ready to break up, and it's time it did. "

"Oh, yes, " added Winifred in a tone of relief. "Do let us be going. "

So that was the end of our Flying Point expedition. I might haveforgotten the episode in the shadow of the three pines, or at any ratehave come to the conclusion that I had failed to catch the truemeaning of the words I heard; but for the sequel. 

The next morning Mr. Flint appeared on the porch as usual, but insteadof the cap and flannel shirt, the knickerbockers and canvas shoeswhich formed his familiar Nepaug costume, he was attired in ordinarycitizen's dress. I must admit that the straw hat, linen collar, andclose-fitting blue suit were decidedly becoming; and, bitter as I feltagainst him on Winifred's account (she came down to breakfastconfessing that she had not slept a wink), I was forced to admit thatMr. Flint was a gentleman, --even a gentleman with a certaindistinction. 

"Yes, " he answered to the chorus of questions which met him, "I amgoing back to town to-day. Yes, as you say, Mr. Anstice, quiteunexpected; but business men can't expect the vacations that fall tothe lot of college professors. Dr. Cricket, I believe you said youwere going on to New York to-night. I shall be glad if you will dropin and have breakfast with me to-morrow morning at 'The Chancellor. 'That will give me the latest budget of news from Nepaug. Have you anycommissions, Miss Standish? What, none? I assure you, my eye formatching silks is quite trustworthy. Now you, Jim, have moreconfidence in me, --what can I send you from town?"

"A fishing-rod. "

Flint and Winifred Anstice turned and looked at each other. What itmeant, I don't know; but I saw her color up to her hair. The othershad turned away for a moment to watch a schooner which had just comein sight round the Point. Flint went up close to Winifred and said:"And you--what will you have?"

"Your pardon. "

"That you cannot have, for you don't need it. Will you take my thanksinstead?"

"You are too generous. "

"With thanks?--that is easy. They are 'the exchequer of the poor. '"

"I trust, Mr. Flint, " said Professor Anstice, who, having withdrawnhis attention from the schooner, could now bring it to bear nearerhome, --"I trust we may not altogether lose sight of you after thesepleasant days together, I shall be glad--"

"Papa!"

"Yes, my dear, I know you should be included. My daughter and I willbe glad to see you at our house on Stuyvesant Square. " With this hepulled out a card, but, discovering in time that it contained theaddress of his typewriter, he returned it to his pocket andsubstituted his own. 

"I thank you, " said Flint, with more of human heartiness in his voicethan I had ever heard before, --"I thank you, and I shall not fail toavail myself of the privilege. Here comes the carryall! Good-bye!"

A moment later he was gone. Dr. Cricket goes by the night boat thisevening, and Philip Brady leaves on Monday. How dull we shall be!

 CHAPTER XII

 "PIPPA PASSES"

The train for New York came along duly, and Flint clambered into it asquickly as the impediment of his luggage permitted. He stowed away hisbelongings in the car-rack, --his bag, umbrella, and the overcoat whichseemed a sarcasm upon the torrid heat of the car. A flat, squarepackage which formed part of his luggage he treated with morerespectful courtesy, giving it the window-seat, and watching with carelest it slip from the position in which he had propped it. 

When the engine ceased to puff, and the bell to ring, when the wheelsbegan to revolve and the landscape to move slowly out of sight, Flintleaned out of the window for one more glance at the dull littlecluster of houses, beautiful only for what it connoted; then he drewin his head, and settled himself against the cushions of wool plush towhich railroad companies treat their passengers in August. 

He was not in an enviable frame of mind. He felt like a fool who hadbeen masquerading as a martyr. He had given up two weeks of vacation, of rest and comfort and health-giving breezes fresh from theuncontaminable ocean, to go back to the noisy pavements, the clangingcar-bells, the noisome odors of the city, --and all for what? Simplybecause a jealous fisherman and a hysterically sympathetic young womanchose to foist it upon him as his duty. 

Duty? Why was it his duty? What was duty after all? Did it not includedoing to yourself as others would have you do unto them? Decidedly, hehad been a fool. As for Tilly Marsden--here a vague and--shall Iconfess it?--not wholly uncomplacent pang smote him, as he rememberedher red eyes, and the trembling of her hand as she set the doughnutsbefore him this morning. There was one who would for a day or two, atleast, genuinely regret his departure. Let that be set off against theaggressive benevolence of Miss Standish's parting, indicating, as itdid, unalloyed satisfaction. 

From Miss Standish, his thoughts wandered to the other inmates of theWhite-House. Ben Bradford at this hour would be lounging over the golffield, driver in hand, making himself believe that he was takingexercise. Dr. Cricket, no doubt, was playing chess with Miss Standish(beating her, he hoped); and Winifred Anstice--what was she doing?Leaning back, perhaps, in the hammock, as he had seen her so oftenlately, with one arm thrown over her head, pillowed against the massof cardinal cushions. Was she feeling a little remorseful, andbestowing a regretful thought upon the man whom she was driving awayfrom all the coolness and comfort which she was experiencing? If hecould be sure of that, he could forgive her; but, as likely as not, she was driving cheerfully about the country behind Marsden's colt, smiling, perhaps, as she recalled the series of misadventures whichhad marked her acquaintance with the supercilious stranger whosecivility she and her colt had put to rout. 

Flint's morbid musings had taken more time than he realized, for atthis point, to his surprise, the conductor thrust his head in at thedoor shouting, _New_ London, as if the passengers were likely tomistake it for the older city on the other Thames. Here a boy cameaboard the train with a basket laden with oranges, scallopedgingerbread, and papers of popcorn labelled, "Take some home. "

The misguided youth tried to insinuate a package into Flint's lap, butwas met with an abrupt demand to remove it with haste. His successor, bearing a load of New York afternoon papers, fared better. Flintselected an "Evening Post, " and, leaning back in his corner, stroveto find oblivion from the wriggling of the small child in front, andthe wailing of the infant in the rear of the car. 

Hotter and hotter, the blistering sun beat upon the station; and, asthough the misery were not already great enough, an engine, pantingapparently with the heat, must needs draw up close beside Flint'swindow. 

In vain did he try to concentrate his attention upon the Condition ofthe Finances, the Great Strike in Pittsburg, or the Latest DynamitePlot in Russia. Between him and the printed page rose the vision ofcool, translucent waves crawling up the long reach of damp sand tobreak at last upon the little shelf of slippery stones. Could it bethat only yesterday he was tumbling about in that surf, and to-day_here_? He thought vaguely what a good moral the contrast would havepointed to the sixteenthly of one of his great ancestor's sermons;then he fell to wondering if the old gentleman's theology would havestood the strain of an experience like this. Fancy even this carfuldoomed to an eternal August journey! Ah, the car is moving again!Thank Heaven for that! Purgatory after Hell approaches Paradise. 

On and on the train jogs, over flat marshes, past white-spiredchurches, and factory chimneys belching forth their quota of heat andsmoke. The twin rocks, which guard New Haven, loom in view at last;and Flint feels that he is drawing towards home. If it were not forthe square, flat package, he would get out and stretch his legs by awalk on the platform. As it is, he picks up the package tenderly, andtransports it to the smoking-car. The air here, although filled withsmoke, seems more bearable. The leather seats, too, are moretolerable, as his hand falls on them, and, best of all, he can lighthis pipe here. With the first puff dawns a serenity with which neitherfaith nor philosophy had been able to endue the journey hitherto. 

After all, what are two weeks?--a mere trifle; and he can make it upby a run down to the Virginia Springs in October. This will give agood quiet time too, for the foreign "Review" critiques. The librariesare empty at this time of year, and he can study in peace. Of coursethere will be a pile of letters waiting for him. 

With that reflection, came, irresistibly, the thought of WinifredAnstice, and their curious, mutually deceptive correspondence. In theswiftly thronging events of the last twenty-four hours, he hadscarcely had time to let his mind dwell upon that strange clearing upbetween them last night. He smiled, unconsciously, as he rememberedthe look of utter bewilderment in those great eyes of hers. 

"Candy, sir, peanuts, oranges, and gingerbread! Popcorn in papers!Take some home?" With this the train-boy, quite oblivious that thiswas the same person who had met his advances so cavalierly in theother car, again held out an olive branch, this time a cornucopiamarked "Ridley, best broken candy. "

To his own surprise, Flint felt himself fingering in his pocket for adime, and heard himself say, "That's all right, I don't want thestuff. Take it in to that little chap in a striped suit, in the nextcar, --dirty little beggar, wriggled like an eel all day. This willprobably make him wriggle all night. Never mind, serves him right. "

The boy grinned. 

A passenger in the next seat turned round. 

"It is pleasant, " he said with a smile, "to see such kindness of heartsurvive on a day like this. "

"Sir, " answered Flint, "don't mistake me for a philanthropist. I makea small, but honest livelihood at a different calling. "

The man's smile died out in a little disappointment; and he turnedagain to his paper. Imperfect sympathies! Flint took up his paperalso, and read until the sudden shutting off of light warned him thatthe train had entered the tunnel. Through the checkered darkness, hemade his way back; his flat, square package under his arm, to theother car, where all was in the confusion of preparation for arrival. The pale little mother of the wriggling boy looked up, as he entered. 

"Thank you, sir, " she began; "it was very kind in you--"

"Not at all, madam; the boy would have been much better without it, "Flint answered. The art of being thanked gracefully is a difficultone, and Flint had never acquired it. 

The train came to a standstill with a jerk which, but for Flint's handput out to steady her, would have thrown the pale little woman to thefloor. He stopped at the car-steps, lifted her and her bundles, herboy and her bird-cage, to the platform, then, touching his hathurriedly, as if in nervous fear of being thanked again, he made offat full speed to the outlet, where his ears were greeted with thefamiliar sounds of--

"Cab, sir? Cab? Cab? Have a cab?" which sounded like the chorus of aChinese opera. "No, I won't have a cab, unless you intend to treat meto a free ride, " Flint remarked, ironically, to the nearest applicant, and then swung himself aboard the yellow car at the corner. 

As it made its way downtown, he was struck with the strangeness whichthe city had assumed, after so short an absence. It did not look likeNew York at all; and he could not remember noticing before how largea part of the population lived on the street. It reminded him ofNaples. He was forced to admit, too, that it had a certain charm ofits own, --a charm which deepened as he reached "The Chancellor, " thebachelor apartment-house which did duty for a home to a score ofunmarried men. He was met by the janitor with a cordiality born of theremembrance of many past gratuities. Yes, his telegram ("wire, " theman in uniform called it) had been received, and his rooms were inorder. He pulled out his latch-key and turned it in the lock. The dooropened on an interior pleasantly familiar, yet piquantly removed fromthe dulness of every-day acquaintance. The matting was agreeable tohis foot. The green bronze Narcissus in the corner beckonedinvitingly; above all, the porcelain tub in the bath-room beyond, withits unlimited supply of water, and sybaritic variety of towels, appealed to him irresistibly. Into it he plunged with all despatch, and emerged more cheerful, as well as less begrimed. 

An hour later, clad in fresh linen, white vest, and thin summer suit, he sallied forth in search of dinner. He felt that he had earned agood one, and did not intend to scrimp himself. After a moment'sdeliberation, he turned into Fifth Avenue, and, at Twenty-sixthStreet, made his way through the open door of Delmonico's. He sawwith pleasure that his favorite table (the second from the corner onthe street, not too conspicuous, and yet commanding the avenue) wasvacant. He slipped into the chair which the waiter drew out for him, and took up the bill of fare. With the sight of the menu, he felt hisflickering appetite revive; but it was still capricious, and would notbrook the thought of meat. Little-Neck clams, of course. They seemedto convey a delicate intimation to the waiting stomach of favors tocome. Soup? No, too hot for soup. Frogs' legs à la McVickar? Yes, hewould have those, though he did not exactly know what "à la McVickar"indicated, and felt that he should lose caste with the waiter byinquiring. When that functionary recommended a bite of broiledtenderloin, prepared with Madeira sauce, and the addition of freshmushrooms and a small sweetbread, he allowed himself to be persuaded. An English snipe, with chicory salad and some cheese, with coffee, completed his order. Oh, and a pint of Rudesheimer with it!

The waiter departed; and Flint, not hungry enough to be impatient, settled back in his chair with the damp evening paper unopened besidehim. The sigh he gave was one of satisfaction, rather than regret. Hisgastronomic taste was to some extent feminine. He cared as much forthe service as for the thing served, and found a carnal gratificationin the shining glass and the table linen, smoothed to the verge ofslipperiness. Really, he wondered how he could have endured the NepaugInn so long. 

A hand laid upon his shoulder caused him to turn his head quickly. 

"Halloa, Graham! You here?"

"Yes, we sail on the 'Etruria' to-morrow, --only in town over night. Beastly hot, isn't it? My wife is here. Come over, won't you, and letme present you?"

Now Mr. Jonas Harrington Graham, though one of the most fashionable, was by no means the best beloved of Flint's acquaintance; and it waswith an inward conviction of perjury that he murmured, "Most happy, I'm sure, " and made his way to the table by the centre window whichthe Grahams had selected. The lady already seated there was sleek andwell appointed. Flint noticed that the people at the other tables didher the honor to prolong their casual glance to an instant's criticalinspection. The women studied her costume of black with white lace asif wondering whether the confection of a Parisian artist might not besuccessfully duplicated by a domestic dressmaker (as it never can, ladies). The men's gaze generalized more, but had in it a hint ofapprobation which Flint found offensive. He did not relish the ideaof making one of a restaurant party which challenged observation; buthe perceived at once that it was unavoidable. Mrs. Graham was verygracious, and insisted, with much emphasis, that he should take hisdinner with them. 

"You _must_ come and dine with us at our table. You look _so_ lonelyover there, " she remarked. "I have some sympathy with bachelors. Myhusband was one once. "

"Yes, " answered Flint; "I knew him in those pre-madamite days. "

This allusion was too occult for Mrs. Graham. She smiled the smile ofassent without apprehension, and asked if Flint had been at Bar Harborthis summer. He should have been; it was _so_ pleasant. The young manfelt a wild desire to set forth the rival charms of Nepaug, and urgeher to try it next season. The thought of her and her husband settledat the inn made him smile as he saw her lift a roll in her delicatelyringed fingers, and smooth back the lace of her cuffs. What wouldhappen, he wondered, if she were seated before a Nepaug dinner, with aNepaug tablecloth and napkin?

"I have not been so far afield as Mount Desert, " he answered, with anirrepressible smile at his own thoughts. "I stayed in town till July, and then I went to Nepaug. Perhaps you never heard of that delightfulsummer resort?"

"Nepaug? Nepaug?" repeated Mrs. Graham, with as near an approach toreflection as she ever permitted herself. "Why, that's where WinifredAnstice was going! Do you know Winifred Anstice?"

"Do _you_ know her?" Flint questioned in his turn, in some surprise. 

"Oh, dear, yes; we met her one summer when we were travelling in theWest. We were visiting on the same ranch. Mr. Graham quite lost hishead over her; didn't you, dear?"

"Well, I was a little touched. She showed up uncommonly well outthere, --rode a broncho, and beat all the men firing a pistol. "

"Yes, " his wife added, "and then so clever--so _frightfully_ clever. Why, I've seen her _reading_ before breakfast, and not a novel either. You and she must have enjoyed each other; for Mr. Graham tells me youare--"

"Frightfully clever, too? Don't believe any such slander, I beg ofyou, Mrs. Graham! It is not fair to blast a man's reputation like thatat the very outset. What chance would there be for me in society, ifsuch a rumor got abroad?"

"Well, " responded Mrs. Graham, "there's a great deal of truth in whatyou say. It's very nice of course to be lively and good company, andall that; but when it comes to right down cleverness, and particularlybookish cleverness, it does stand in a man's way socially. At thesmartest houses, they don't want to be talked down, and still less tobe written up afterward. I don't feel so myself. I just _dote_ onliterary people; but then I am called positively blue. "

"What was there to do at Nepaug?" asked Mr. Graham, who had notfollowed the intricacies of his wife's remarks. "Any good shooting?"

"I'm afraid not, unless you rode a cow and shot at a goat, " Flintanswered, and was rather relieved to have the conversation drift awayon to the comparative merits, as hunting-grounds, of the differentsections of the country. The subject was not specially exciting toFlint; but it was at least impersonal, and he felt an unaccountableaversion to hearing any further discussion of Winifred Anstice. 

The diners had advanced to the meat course, --Graham havingcomplimented Flint so far as to duplicate his order, with the additionof an ice for Mrs. Graham and Pommery Sec for the party, --when a noisewas heard further up the avenue. The sound drew nearer, and the notesof a brass band tooted a lively tune which re-echoed from the walls ofthe Brunswick, and drew a crowd from the benches of the square. Several people in the restaurant left their places, and came to thewindow to investigate the commotion. Flint himself rose, napkin inhand, and stood under the blaze of the lights, looking out. 

"Oh!" exclaimed Mrs. Graham, raising her lorgnon as the processioncame in sight, "it's that horrid Salvation Army!"

"Bless me! so it is, " assented her husband, adjusting his eye-glass. "Pretty girl, though, that--in the front row with the tambourine. "

Flint's eyes followed his companion's, and saw Nora Costello walking afew paces in advance of her comrades, the electric light from thenorthern edge of the square falling on her pale face and rings ofdark, curling hair. 

The tambourines jangled discordantly; the brass instruments were outof tune; the rag-tag crowd surged about, some jeering, somecheering, --everything in the environment was repellent, but in themidst shone that pale face like a star. 

Attracted by the brilliant lights within, or perhaps impelled by thatcurious psychic law which arrests the attention of one closelywatched, the girl turned her head as she passed their corner, and hereyes met those of Flint; she smiled gravely, and he bowed. 

Graham saw the interchange of glances, and looked at the man besidehim, with the raised eyebrows of amused comprehension. Flint couldhave shot him. 

"I don't see, " said Mrs. Graham, returning to her venison, "why theylet those creatures go about like that, making everybodyuncomfortable. They are very annoying. "

"Yes, very. So were the early Christians, " murmured Flint, as hehelped himself to the mushrooms. 

"I never studied church history, " said Mrs. Graham, a littlerepressively. She felt that the conversation was bordering onblasphemy, and sought to turn it into safer channels. She beggedFlint, whom, she looked upon, in spite of his denials, as alarminglycultivated, to recommend a course of reading for the steamer, so thatshe might be "up" on the associations of the English lakes. 

"You know, " she said, "I just _adore_ Wordsworth. I think 'Lucy Grey'and 'Peter Bell' are too sweet for anything, and the 'Picnic'--no, Imean the 'Excursion' is my favorite of them all. So light andcheerful; I'm glad the dear man did take a day off once in a while. "

Flint gravely promised a Life of Wordsworth, to be sent to the"Etruria" to-morrow, and then, bidding his companions adieu, he passedout into the night. 

His mood, as he strolled up the avenue, was far from complacent. Hefelt a contempt for himself, as the sport of every passing impression. It was not enough, it seemed, that he should have cut short a summervacation, and come hurrying back to the city at Winifred Anstice'sbehest. He must vibrate to every whim about him. He had found, withinward disgust, that he was raising his elbow to shake hands with theGrahams, instead of holding his hand at the customary, self-respectingangle; and that he might be still further convicted of weakmindedness, he had a sense of being in some inexplicable fashiondominated by the vision of Nora Costello and her comrades. Not that heexperienced any sudden drawing to the Salvation Army; he felt, to thecore, its crudeness, its limitations, its social dangers. His reasonassured him that its methods threatened socialism and anarchy. Hecould have demolished all General Booth's pet theories by an appeal tothe simplest logical processes, but that it seemed absurd to applylogic to so crude a scheme. "Nevertheless, " said conscience, "thesepeople are striving, however blunderingly, to better the condition ofthe forlorn, the wicked, and the wretched. What are _you_ doing aboutit?" He had almost framed a defence, when it suddenly occurred to himthat he was under no accusations, except from his own soul, and suchthoughts and impulses as had arisen at sight of Nora Costello, movingin the world outside the social wall behind which he had intrenchedhimself. 

"I suppose, " he said to himself, with a shrug, "if I were living inthe Massachusetts of a hundred years ago, I should be considered in ahopeful way to conversion. Now, we have learned just how far we mayindulge an emotion, without allowing it to eventuate in action. "

Yet the passing of Nora Costello, like the passing of Pippa in thepoem, had left its light, ineffaceable touch on at least one life thatnight. 

 CHAPTER XIII

 A SOLDIER

 "'T was August, and the fierce sun overhead Smote on the squalid streets of Bethnal Green; And the pale weaver, through his windows seen In Spitalfields, look'd thrice dispirited. 

 "I met a preacher there I knew, and said: 'Ill and o'erworked, how fare you in this scene?' 'Bravely!' he said; 'for I of late have been Much cheered with thoughts of Christ, the _living bread_. '"

Nora Costello was even more moved than Flint by their chance meeting, if meeting it could be called, under the white light of the lamps ofMadison Square. On leaving Nepaug, she had resolutely shut out of hermental horizon the acquaintances that she had made in her few daysthere. She felt instinctively that any further continuance of theassociations would be fraught with embarrassing complications, if notactual perils. These people belonged to a world to which she was asdead as though she had taken the black veil in a convent. 

As the daughter of the manse, in her young girlhood she had come incontact with people of refinement and some wealth; people of keenperceptions if somewhat pronounced limitations; and she realized thatin enlisting in the Salvation Army, she had not only shocked theirprejudices beyond repair, but had wrenched herself out of theirsympathies in a degree which could not have been exceeded by an actualcrime on her part. 

Time had in some measure healed the sensitiveness which had beensorely wounded by the withdrawal and disapproval of these earlyfriends; but she seemed to feel all reflected and renewed in her briefacquaintance with the strangers at Nepaug, especially in herintercourse with Miss Standish. There is a curious resemblance, whichlies deeper than outward circumstances, between New England andScotland. The same outward environment of frugal poverty, the sameinward experience of intense religious exaltation, continued fromgeneration to generation, produced in early New England a type closelyallied to the Scotch Covenanters, and many resemblances still lingeramong their descendants, widely as they may be removed from theprimitive conditions which formed their ancestors. 

Miss Standish's manner was marked by all the old Covenanters'directness, and in spite of her prepossession in Nora Costello'sfavor, showed clearly that she looked upon her as an extremist, if nota fanatic. 

"What took you into that Salvation Army?" she had asked, as she sat byNora's bedside in the upper front chamber of the White-House. 

"A divine call, I hope, " Nora had answered. 

"Couldn't you have done just as much good in some of the churches?"

"Very likely, but there's many will be doing that work, and there's noover-crowding among us highway-and-hedgers. "

Nora remembered a curious little look on Miss Standish's face, as ifshe thought the answer savored of sarcasm. This expression had led heron to further explanation:--

"I know just how folk will be feeling about the Army. I know how Ifelt myself before I signed the Articles of War, --as if it was muchlike joining a circus-troop, going about so with a brass band. "

"Well, isn't it?" asked Miss Standish, bluntly. 

Nora colored, but answered amiably: "No, it does not look so to menow, --whiles there's things in the Army work for which I've no likingmyself, the noise and a'; but such things are not for you and me. Wecan get our spiritual aid and comfort somewhere else; but these arelike a snare spread for the souls we are hunting, and when you see therough men come round us like those in the London streets, it's fairwonderfu' how they be taken wi' the drums and torches. "

"Humph!" sniffed Miss Standish, "it is as easy to gather converts witha drum as to collect flies round a lump of sugar, --men will alwayscome buzzing about where there is any excitement. The question is, Have you got the fly-paper to make 'em stick?"

At Nepaug Nora had smiled at Miss Standish's blunt questions; buthere, in the depression of spirits caused by overwork and the deadenedatmosphere, the words came back to her with overwhelming force. Whenshe rose on the morning after seeing Flint standing in the window atDelmonico's, she found more than one importunate question arising inher mind. Was it worth while after all--the sacrifice she was making, the work, the worry, and above all the contact with so much thatoffended her taste and judgment?

Were not those people behind the curtains, with their purple and finelinen, more nearly right than she? They at least found and gavepleasure for the moment--while she--? Then there swept over her therecollection of the drunkard who had shouted loudest in the hallelujahchorus and reeled home drunk after the meeting, of the penitent girlwhom she had seen one night dissolved in tears, the next out on thestreets again at her old calling, --"Yes, " she admitted sadly, "MissStandish is right. It is one thing to catch them, but another to keepthem. " If it had been only the sinners, she would not have minded somuch, but there were some things about her fellow-officers-- Hereshe stopped, for her loyalty would not allow her to go on, even inthought. This mood of depression was not an uncommon thing in NoraCostello's life, but she sought the antidote in prayer and work. 

After her morning devotions, she spent an hour in setting her room torights; watering the plants on the window-sill, feeding the bird inthe cage, and then, after a breakfast of the most frugal sort, shestarted on her way to her post. Although it was not yet eight o'clockwhen she emerged from the door of the tenement-house where she lodged, a haze of heat hung over the city like a pall, the sun was alreadybeating with a sickening glare upon the sidewalk, which still showedsigns of having been made a sleeping place by those who found theircrowded quarters within too suffocating for endurance. On thedoorstep, worn with the feet of the frequent passers, sat a wearywoman, nursing her baby. Nora's heart sank as she noticed the deathlypallor of the little thing. She stopped, bent over, and listened toits breathing. Then she lifted the eyelid streaked with blue, andlooked into the fast dimming eye. 

"That bairn needs a doctor, " she said to the mother. "Come with me;there is a dispensary on the next block. "

Rising stupidly, with her infant in her arms, the woman in dullobedience followed her down the sun-baked block to the door marked:

 "DISPENSARY. 

 "PATIENTS TREATED FREE FROM TEN TO TWELVE O'CLOCK. "

Nora looked at the sign in discouragement; instinct told her that twohours of delay would be fatal. The child was evidently nearing a stateof collapse. Turning about entirely baffled, Nora's eyes fell upon anelderly man coming down the street at a brisk trot, a travelling bagin one hand and a large white umbrella in the other. He was evidentlya gentleman, --which was strange, for gentlemen did not often appear inBayard Street. What was stranger still, he looked up at the numbers ofthe houses as if he were seeking a friend, and, strangest of all, atthe sight of herself he took off his hat, and her astonished gazerested upon Dr. Cricket. 

"Well, well, Captain, " the little Doctor cried, peering at her withhis near-sighted frown. "I _am_ in luck. I came down on the nightboat, and hurried over here right away; but we were so late I wasafraid you might have got off to headquarters to report for duty. Ipromised Miss Standish when I left Nepaug that I would surely see youon my way through New York. She felt so worried about your coming backso soon to this town, which is like a bake-oven, --or would be if itsmelled better. "

All this the good Doctor poured forth so rapidly that Nora could notget in a word edgewise. When at length she found space to utter areply, she cried out, "Oh, Doctor, never mind me, but take pity onthis bairn! It's in an awfu' way. "

"Pooh, Pooh, nothing of the sort!" answered the Doctor, withprofessional cheerfulness, before he had fairly glanced at the child. Then aside to Nora: "We must get into the dispensary somehow. Water, hot and cold, are what the child needs. It is near a convulsion. "

At this juncture, as eight o'clock was striking, the dispensary clerkarrived, key in hand, and, seeing the emergency, put all the resourcesof the building at the disposal of Dr. Cricket, who soon brought abetter color to the little face, and handing the child, rolled in ablanket, to the mother, bade her keep it cool. The woman lookedblankly at the rising wave of heat outside; Dr. Cricket too lookedout, and felt the shadow of her hopelessness fall on himself. "Here, "he said suddenly, pressing a bill into her hand, "take that; get yourbaby dressed and onto the Coney Island boat as quick as you can. "

The woman took the bill and crumpled it in her fingers; but she turnedaway without uttering either thanks or protest. 

"You must na mind the ongraciousness o' the puir mither, " Nora said, as they turned away. "She is too fashed and clear worn out to have anysense o' gratitude left. " In her excitement the girl dropped into anearer approach to dialect than marked her ordinary speech. 

"My dear young lady, " said the Doctor, "do you suppose I hold youresponsible for the manners of Bayard Street? You won't be here to beheld responsible for anything long if this heat lasts. I wish to thedevil (excuse me!) I could get you out of the hole. We need just sucha person as you at our Sanatorium in Germantown. What do you say tocoming to try it for two months at least?"

The offer chimed in so with her morning thoughts that it seemed toNora a direct temptation of the devil, and she thrust it away almostangrily. 

"Never be speaking o' such a thing! Do you think I would desert nowwhen the war is raging?"

"I don't know anything about your Salvation Army jargon, " answered theDoctor, with equal brusqueness; "if it's the war with sin you'retalking about, you needn't be afraid of lack of fighting wherever yougo--I'll wager Philadelphia can furnish as lively service as NewYork. "

Nora laughed, showing her white teeth in genuine amusement. 

"Well, I'm fearing you're richt, Doctor, and you must na fancy I dinnarecognise your kindness in wanting to get me out of 'this hole;' butI'm called to work right here, and I must 'stay by the stuff, ' likethe men in the Bible. "

"Then my taking the trouble to come here without any breakfast goesfor nothing, " said the Doctor, a little crossly. He liked his own way, and he liked to help people, and this girl was balking him in bothdesires. 

"Good for nothing!" cried Nora. "You must na say so. You dare na sayso, when God put it into your hands to save a life! Dinna ye rememberthe story of Abdallah, and how the golden leaf of his clover, the mostprecious leaf he found on earth, was the life which it was given tohim to save?"

Nora stopped in her words, as in her walk, for they had reached thecorner where her division headquarters stood. Dr. Cricket made noanswer to her little sermon--only put out his hands in response tohers, and gave her a grip like a freemason's. "Maybe you're rightafter all, " he said, "and I like your pluck, right or wrong. Onlyremember, if you want help, or think better of my offer, just drop aline to Dr. Alonzo Cricket at the Sanatorium. "

When the good-byes were said, Nora stood a moment watching theDoctor's little figure moving jerkily down the street under its whiteumbrella. "I believe he was sent, " she said to herself. "I must try tobe to some other puir soul what he has been to me this day. "

At her desk at headquarters Nora found a memorandum of four letters tobe written, --three to men in the prison at Sing-Sing. These shedespatched speedily, with the aid of a typewriter; but the fourth shewrote with her own hand, for it was in answer to one from an orphangirl who was coming to New York in search of work, and who desired tobe put in the way of finding a safe boarding-place. Nora's heart wastouched by a peculiar sympathy at the thought of the girl'sloneliness, so closely allied to her own, and she wanted her to feelthat it was a friend, and not merely an officer of the Army, whoresponded to her appeal, and held out the right hand of fellowship. 

It was eleven o'clock when the letters were written, and Nora randownstairs to vary her industry by cutting out baby-clothes in theworkroom. Just as she was taking the shears in hand, however, news wasbrought in of an accident to a factory-girl who had crushed her footin the machinery, and had been brought home to her lodgings in thehouse on the next corner. 

To this house Nora went, and found the girl alone, and weeping morefrom loneliness than suffering. The doctor had left, promising to comeagain, and to send an ambulance later in the day, to take the suffererto the hospital. Nora knocked gently at the chamber door. 

"Come in!" a voice from within answered wearily. 

The visitor, standing in the doorway, was impressed by the drearinessof disorder which reigned inside. Such a room would have beenimpossible to Nora herself while hands and knees and a scrubbing-brushwere left to her. In one sweeping glance she took in the hastilydumped clothing on the floor, the bureau heaped with mussy finery, thefly-specked window-pane, and soiled bed-spread. 

"Who are you?" asked the girl, raising her head from the pillow. "Oh, one of those Salvation Army women, " she added, as she caught sight ofthe dark bonnet. 

"Yes, " answered Nora, "I heard of your accident and that you were allalone. I have come to try to help you. "

"You can't. Nobody can help me. I wish I was dead. " With this the girlburied her face in the pillow and resumed her half-hysterical weeping. 

Nora wisely wasted no words in trying to prove her ability to help, but began quietly to hang up the clothes, to slip the soiled lace andbrass chains from the top of the bureau into the drawer, to close theblinds, and fold a towel over a basin on the chair within reach of thesufferer. 

"There, " she said, "maybe if you could wash you'd feel a bit morecomfortable, and I'll run round to my lodgings--they're not faroff--and back in no time. "

When she reappeared, it was with a snowy white dimity spread takenfrom her own bed, a pitcher of ice-water, and a large palm-leaf fan. When the bed was re-made, the self-appointed nurse seated herself bythe bedside of the sick girl, promising to stay until the coming ofthe ambulance, and settling down to listen to all the details of theaccident, which seemed to give the victim a grewsome satisfaction inrehearsing. 

When the ambulance arrived, and the patient departed, the nurse beganto realize that it was three o'clock, and that she had had no foodsince seven. As the Bible-reading was at four, she had time only for ahastily swallowed cup of tea, and a slice of bread and butter, with abit of cold meat, before the reading, after which she went home, bathed, rested, and supped, before presenting herself again atheadquarters for the night duty, which called her to patrol thestreets with a companion officer (a dull, rather coarse woman, who"exhorted" and sang through her nose) until after midnight. 

Then she went home and to bed, inwardly thanking Heaven for her happyday. She felt, as she would have said, that she had been "awfu'favored. "

 CHAPTER XIV

 TWO SOUL-SIDES

 "Thanks to God, the meanest of his creatures Boasts two soul-sides--one to face the world with, One to show a woman when he loves her. "

A man's character is like the body of a child, --it grows unequally andin sections. Certain qualities in Flint had lain throughout thesethirty-three years wholly undeveloped and unaffected by the culture ofother characteristics. In his case the dormancy of the sympatheticside of his nature was no doubt largely due to the absence of thoseclose family ties which call out in most of us our first sense of thekinship of the race. 

Flint had no recollection of either father or mother, and he was anonly child. On his mother's death, he was sent to the home of an uncleand aunt in Syracuse. They received him without enthusiasm, and onlybecause it was inevitable that the child should be cared for, andthere was no one else to undertake the task. Flint sometimes recalled, with a feeling of bitterness against Fate, those early years ofrepression, when silence and self-obliteration were the only merits orattractions asked for in the orphan boy. 

Those formative years might have proved a much drearier period but forthe circumstance that his uncle's house was provided with a library, made up of books of all grades and qualities. To these volumes youngJonathan was at liberty to help himself without let or hindrance, provided he handled them with care. 

Mr. Mullett Flint was a collector of books, but not a reader. Elzevirsand Aldines and first editions bound by Rivière pleased him as so muchpottery might have pleased him, and he took great pride in relatinghow the value of his purchases had increased on his hands. Hisguidance in the paths of literature would not have been of greatbenefit to his nephew had he been disposed to offer it; but, in fact, he wasted little thought either on the contents of books or on hisnephew's mental progress. His tastes, interests, and ambitions laywholly in the business world, in the making of money, and the handlingof mercantile affairs of magnitude. Had Jonathan, as he grew older, shown more sharpness and sagacity, some bond of sympathy, if notattachment, might have formed itself between the two. As it was, theydrifted farther and farther apart. The uncle looked with a shrug ofhis shoulders at the boy curled up in one of the library arm-chairs ona Saturday morning, poring over a volume of the Waverley Novels, whenhe himself was briskly making ready to betake himself to business. 

"I wish that boy had any enterprise. I'd rather see him breakingwindows or shooting cats out the back door than dawdling like that, "he said once to his wife. 

"Yes, " answered that worthy lady, --"and he wears out the furnitureso!"

Mrs. Mullett Flint was one of those heavy, apathetic women who seem tohave a special attraction for brisk, energetic men of Mr. Flint'stype. If he ever made the discovery that apathy and amiability are notidentical, he never revealed his disappointment to the world, --perhapsfor the same reason that he kept silence over the failure of otherinvestments, lest the rumor should injure his reputation forshrewdness as a business-man. 

From the beginning Mrs. Mullett Flint had taken one of her apatheticdislikes to the little Jonathan. He was no kindred of hers, and shethought it rather hard at her time of life to have her housekeepingput about by a boy whose feet were always muddy and who had areprehensible habit of tucking them under him when he sat down, as hedid with utter lack of discrimination in the matter of relative valuesin furniture. Her manner toward the child was not intentionallyunkind, but it was wholly devoid of the tenderness which is asnecessary to the growth of a child as air and sunshine to a plant. Shealways called him by his full name, which sounded strangely prim andformal applied to the little kilted figure with its thatch of blackhair. He recalled distinctly once going up to the long pier-glassbetween the two windows and stroking his own hair as he had seen amother across the street do for her boy at the window opposite, andthen saying softly, in imitation of supposed maternal tones, "Johnny!Dear little Johnny!"

Such moods of sentiment were exceedingly rare in Flint's earliestinfancy, and grew rarer as he advanced in life. At twelve he was sentto boarding-school, and thence to college, with scarcely an intervalof home life. In college he formed several friendships; but in each hewas and felt himself the superior, whereby he lost the inestimableprivilege of looking up. 

There had been a decided difference of opinion between Mr. MullettFlint and his nephew in regard to the choice of a college. Mr. Flintstrongly urged that the family traditions should be preserved, andthat Jonathan should pursue his education under the shadow of oldNassau, "where giant Edwards stamped his iron heel. " The nephew was asstrongly prejudiced against Princeton as the uncle in its favor. Hedeclared that the educative effect of living for four years withinsight of his venerated ancestor's grave in President's Row was morethan offset by other considerations, and that if the influence of thedeparted still lingered about the college halls he was as likely tofall under the spell of Aaron Burr as under that of Jonathan Edwards. With all the headstrong will of youth he determined to go to Harvard, and carried his point, though not without a degree of friction, whichalienated him still farther from his uncle. 

It was, therefore, with immense surprise that, on Mr. Flint's death, which occurred in Jonathan's junior year at college, the young manlearned that his uncle had left him his library and a substantialshare of his fortune. The terms of the will were not flattering. "Tomy nephew, Jonathan Edwards Flint, " so it ran, "I leave this amount, realizing that the money left him by his father is inadequate for hissupport, and that he will never have the energy to make a living forhimself. "

The widow wrote a conventional note of combined self-condolence andcongratulation for Jonathan over his inheritance. Between the linesFlint quite easily read that her latent aversion to him was augmentedby her husband's bequest. 

"I have decided, " she wrote, "to go at once to London, where I shallprobably reside for some years. I shall therefore strip my house offurniture preparatory to renting. I will pack up the books which nowbelong to you, and await your instructions as to the address to whichyou would like them forwarded. Should we not meet again--and I presumeyou will agree with me that it is hardly worth while to interrupt yourstudies at Cambridge for a trip to New York before the steamersails--pray accept my best wishes for your future happiness andprosperous career. "

With this cool leave-taking Flint's association with his aunt had cometo an end. The books, which were his earliest friends, followed himabout from place to place, until at length they had found a home onthe walls of his study in "The Chancellor. "

The work of his first solitary evening after his return from Nepaugwas to pull off the sheets and newspapers with which the caretaker ofhis room had vainly striven to protect them against the all-pervadingdust of summer. He sat in his easy-chair, running over the titles withthe endeared eye of long familiarity. 

There stood a set of Edwards's treatises, in eight ponderous volumes;their leaves yellow with age, and cut only here and there at irregularintervals. "Freedom of the Will" and "The Nature of Virtue" jostled"Original Sin;" and "The History of Redemption" leaned up against"God's Last End in the Creation of the World. "

On the same shelf, as if with sarcastic attempt to mark the logicalsequence, Flint had placed a black-clad row of John Stuart Mill'sessays, while Hume and Hobbes looked out above and below. It amusedFlint, as he sat there alone, to fancy these polemical gentlemenissuing from their bindings and sitting down together around hisevening lamp, to talk things over. "Probably, " he mused, with thatidle pensiveness which is the lazy man's apology to himself for notthinking, "the thing which would surprise them most would be to seehow much they held in common. If they could get rid of the cant oftheology and the jargon of metaphysics, they would find that they werenot so far apart after all. But I don't know that that would gratifythem so much, --certainly not the old parson, for he belonged to theChurch Militant if ever any one did, and dearly loved to belabor hisenemies with the spiritual weapons too heavy for any but him tohandle. Well, it _was_ a temptation to let something fly, be it Bibleor brickbat, at the head of the average dullard. How was it that somepeople did not find the average man dull? There was Winifred Anstice, for instance, --she seemed to find something interesting in every oneshe met. Perhaps because she did not try to approach them on theintellectual side at all, but took them into her sympathies andsoothed their troubles, as he remembered that mother across the wayfrom his uncle's house soothing the little son and wiping away histears. "

_Perhaps, after all, she was right and he was wrong. _ It was almostthe first time in Flint's life that he had ever definitely formulateda confession that his attitude towards life in general was not what itmight be. Once formulated, it began to grow upon him curiously. Hefound himself reviewing whole courses of conduct, and testing them bynew rules and standards. 

At first these rules and standards were cold and rigid abstractions;but gradually they took on a faint echo of personality, and he foundhimself speculating on what Winifred Anstice would have done or said, on occasions when he felt himself to have been harsh and hard. Thishaunting influence was intensified by the presence of the portraitwhich he had brought away from Nepaug; the picture of the gray-robedQuakeress, with the soft dark eyes, and the white lace, and the pointof flame at her breast. 

He had lost all appreciation of its artistic qualities. The mottledsoftness of the curtained background against the folds of the woollenstuff gave him no pleasure now, --at least, he never thought of it. Hiswhole attention was absorbed in that faint hint of resemblance toWinifred Anstice which lay chiefly in the full eyelids and the subtle, shadowy, evanescent smile which said at once so much and so little. 

He could not tell how it fell out, but at last the time came when headmitted the source of its charm. He recalled the time sharply longafter, and how he had risen hastily, and paced the floor with hishands thrust deep into his pockets. That it should come to this--he, Jonathan Flint, a man whose gray hairs--here he stepped before themirror and studied the tuft of prematurely white locks upon hisforehead--whose gray hairs ought to have brought with them wisdom, orat least common sense, --that he should fall to sitting for hours infront of a picture like any schoolboy of eighteen! Really, it was tooabsurd!

He would send off the portrait to the cleaner to-morrow, and then whenit was properly framed, it should be sent to Miss Anstice with hiscompliments, and so an end of the whole matter. He would never see itagain. 

_Nor the original?_

This query was so insistent that it seemed to come from outside hisconsciousness, and to demand an answer. He stopped short in his walkas it struck him. Then, alone as he was, he colored to the temples, and gave a little gasp. Like an overwhelming tidal wave there sweptover him the realization that his will was mastered by a power aboveit, mightier than itself; that his seeing Winifred Anstice again washardly a question of volition any longer, any more than breathing wasa matter of will--that he _must_ see her--that the chief question ofhis future was whether she cared to see him. 

This train of thought did not tend to anything very cheerful. Oneafter another he recalled their interviews, on the road, in the boat, on the beach, and again at Flying Point. Her manner on each of theseoccasions had been sufficiently pronounced to leave him in no doubt ofher opinion; and at the last two meetings her words had been even moreexplicit. She had called him a man of ice. She had taxed him with thenarrow limits of his sympathies. "Well, " said Reason, "did you notgive her cause for all she said and more? Weren't you an odious, crabbed, supercilious cad?"

Flint took a savage satisfaction in admitting every accusation whichhe could bring against himself, in recalling the light irony withwhich Winifred Anstice had witnessed his blunders, and the direct, downright anger with which she had dealt out her judgments there atthe Point. Only one drop of comfort could Flint extract from thememory of that interview, and he smiled cynically as he remembered thewarmth which marked her description of her friend, the editor of the"Trans-Continental. " When the surprises of the sudden enlightenmentand the emotion of the moment had passed away, which feeling, he askedhimself, would remain in her mind, --the liking for the ideal or thedisliking of the experienced? For both there was not room, yet eachwas intense. It was a curious psychological problem. At a furtherremove it would have afforded him a keen intellectual pleasure tospeculate upon the probable working of a woman's heart under suchconditions. As it was, he found himself incapable either of solvingthe problem or of letting it alone. His mind dwelt upon itcontinuously. He was almost inclined, like Eugene Aram, to tell hisstory disguised to strangers, and listen to their idle speculations. Brady was a comfort at this time. He was so responsive in hissympathies and so obtuse in his perceptions. It was possible to talkall round a subject to him with no fear that his imagination wouldtravel a step farther than it was led. It needed no urging, either, for he appeared to have a sentiment of his own for Nepaug and all itsassociations, and drew towards it as naturally as a moth to a flame ora woman to a mirror. 

Indeed, Brady often dwelt spontaneously upon the various episodes ofthe days at the beach, --the fireworks, the shipwreck, the evening atFlying Point. He was a capital mimic, and loved to imitate Dr. Cricketstriding up and down the room, with his hands clasping his elbowsbehind his back and his chin-whiskers thrust out before as a herald ofhis approach. Then casting aside all the scruples which should havebeen raised within him by ties of blood, he would give a burlesque ofMiss Standish peering out from beneath her little gray curls at theworld, and rapping out her opinion of those around her in good setterms. 

After her came Mr. Anstice, looking busily in every corner for thebook he had in his hand. This the mimic followed by a representationof Ben Bradford, with hand propped on knee and chin on hand, gloomingfrom his corner upon Winifred Anstice, when she ventured to addresssome one else. 

"I cannot do Miss Anstice, " Brady confessed one evening. It wasOctober then, and the two friends were sitting together in Flint'sroom. "She has too much humor. The more humor there is in an originalpoem, for instance, the harder it is to parody, and so with people. The grand, gloomy, and peculiar are easy enough, let them be ever soaugust; but the light, delicately ironical manner is a difficult thingto exaggerate. "

"Yes, " assented Flint, "the heaviness of touch necessary to caricaturespoils the effect. "

"Precisely, " said Brady, "and it is as difficult to take off her looksas her manner. Her expression is too changeable to leave anycharacteristic fixed in the mind. The fact is, Miss Anstice is almosta beauty at times. "

"You think so?" responded Flint, with half-closed eyes. 

"Yes, I do really--in a way--not like that Madonna-type of NoraCostello. "

"No, certainly not like her. "

"But still she has a style of her own. "

"Oh, yes, quite so--as you say, she has a style of her own. "

"You are very cool on the subject; but you should have heard a man atthe club go on about her, when he heard that we had spent our vacationat Nepaug. "

"I should scarcely think, " said Flint, opening and closing hismatch-box with a quick, nervous movement, "that you would have allowedher name to come up at the club. "

"Oh, hang it, Flint, that is going pretty far! I don't know that MissAnstice's name is too sacred to be mentioned in general society; andas for the club, --why, if it is not made up of gentlemen, what did youput me up for?"

It was seldom that Brady got off so much of a speech, and he felt alittle elated by seeing his friend without an answer for the moment. 

"Besides, " he continued, "nothing was said, except about what astunning girl she was. 'Handsomer than ever, ' Livingston said, 'sinceshe came home. '"

"So the Anstices are at home?"

"Yes, and Cousin Susan is coming down next week to visit them. Shewrote me to be sure to call. "

"I shall try to go before Miss Standish arrives. "

Brady laughed. 

"You and Cousin Susan never did hit it off very well. "

"Excuse me, I think she hit me off very well; the fact is, the _femmesole_ after fifty becomes either pious or pugnacious. Miss Standish isboth. "

"You are prejudiced, as usual, and malicious, too, under the guise ofimpartiality. Miss Standish is a benevolent woman, with anirresistible bent towards doing people good even against their will. "

Flint groaned assent. "Alas, yes, " he muttered. 

"She is a fine woman, " continued Brady, "and a fine-looking one too, as Dr. Cricket will testify, for on my soul I think the old dufferwants to marry her. "

"I wish he would, and rid the world of an officious old maid. "

"'Old maid' is an opprobrious term. Miss Standist is a well-preservedsingle woman. "

"Hold there, Brady! She is really not sugary enough for a preserve; Ishould say rather well canned. But never mind, I can forgive her someacidity toward myself, in consideration of her sweetness to NoraCostello. She has really been good to that girl. "

"Who could help it!" exclaimed Brady, unguardedly. Then he cleared histhroat with a nervous little cough, and began again with would-beunconcern: "By the way, I don't know whether I told you, that the dayafter you left Nepaug, Jimmy Anstice picked up a gold brooch on thebeach, just where you came ashore after the wreck. It was a homely, old-fashioned thing, with a gold-stone centre big enough for atombstone; but Jim brought it to me with all the pride of adiscoverer. I turned it over, and on the back I saw engraved in thegold, 'To Nora from her Mother, on her birthday, November tenth, ' Ofcourse I knew in an instant that it belonged to Nora Costello. Then itcame to me how the girl spent most of the day while she was at Nepaugwandering up and down on the beach. Of course she was looking for herbrooch; but she was afraid, if she said anything, it would look likeaccusing somebody; and besides, very likely with her queer ideas shefelt that she ought not to have kept any piece of jewelry, even if itwas her mother's. "

"You seem to have studied her feelings rather closely. "

"Why, of course, when one meets a pretty girl like that--and reallyyou know she is the prettiest I ever saw--"

"How long is it since you said the same of Miss Anstice?"

"Ah! that was before I met Nora Costello. 'Time's noblest offspring ishis last. ' But if you will keep still and listen, instead ofinterrupting all the time, you will hear something about the littleplot which Miss Anstice and Cousin Susan and I have laid among us. "

"Well--"

"I should say it was well. Just you wait and see. Cousin Susan is towrite to Nora. "

"Nora?" commented Flint, with raised eyebrows. 

"Yes, Nora, " repeated Brady, somewhat defiantly. "If I said CaptainCostello you would not know whether I was talking of her or herbrother. "

"Oh, yes, I should, " said Flint, "for you never talk of him at all;but never mind that--go on with your revelations of this deepconspiracy. "

"You don't deserve to hear; but as it gives me pleasure to tell you, Iwill. Cousin Susan writes to the Costellos to come to the Anstices'house on the evening of November tenth. They arrive. We are therealready. Tableau--old Nepaug minus Dr. Cricket and Ben Bradford--and abouquet for Mistress Nora, with her brooch hanging from it in a littlebag which Miss Standish was manufacturing when I came away. Now isn'tthat a scheme?"

"The tenth of November, " responded Flint, as though the latter part ofthe sentence had escaped him--"and am I to be invited?"

"Why, of course!" exclaimed Brady, impatiently. "Weren't you the oneto save her life? Worse luck to you for having the honor fall to yourshare!"

"Then, " said Flint, with that curious obliviousness of the importantparts of his companion's remarks, --"then in common civility I ought tocall there beforehand. "

"Ah! Flint, I'm glad to see you waking up to some decent sense ofsocial observances. "

"What time is it?" asked his friend, absently, oblivious of the watchin his pocket. 

"Quarter before eight, " Brady answered. 

"Then out of my room with you, for I have just time to dress and getdown there. If one must do these things, the sooner they are out ofthe way the better. "

 CHAPTER XV

 A BIRTHDAY

 _An Extract from the Journal of Miss Susan Standish, New York, November 12. _

It is nearly two weeks since I left Oldburyport, and in spite of theAnstices' hospitality I have been homesick ever since. When we reachmiddle age nothing suits us so well as village life. The small eventsoccupy and divert our minds without wearying them with the bewilderingwhirl of the city. The interest of our neighbors in us and ouraffairs, which is annoying in youth, becomes more grateful as lifegoes on, and we discover how little real thoughtfulness and interestin others the world contains. As for the narrowing influences ofvillage life, I don't see that people in Oldburyport are any moreprovincial or prejudiced than they are in New York, --not so much so, Ireally think, for they are forced by the very smallness of theircircle to find their interests in the affairs of the great world, andthe lack of social excitements gives them so much more time forreading. To be sure, when people are unhappy there is less to diverttheir minds, and when they are irritable they feel more at liberty tovent their tempers, because they know folks cannot get away from themso easily. I confess I was not sorry to take leave of Cousin John, though I did feel sorry for him, as he sat there all alone with hisgouty foot up on the chair in front of the Franklin stove in thesitting-room. He is not satisfied with Philip, and seems to hold meresponsible. He would like to have Phil come home to live and becashier of the bank. 

Cousin John thinks the world revolves round the Oldbury bank; and Isuppose it is natural he should, seeing how long he has beenpresident, and what a fine reputation it has the country round. 

Of course Philip does not see it in the same light, and it seems hemade some ill-advised speech, --said he would rather turn sexton andbury other people than be buried alive himself in a hole like that, which was not a nice thing for him to say to his father, --but that wasno reason why Cousin John should swear at him, and tell him he wassick of his capitalist airs, and he for one should not be surprised ifhe came some day to beg for aid from the bank he thought tooinsignificant to be worthy of his attention. 

Philip was furious. "Bankrupt I may be some day, " he answered, "but Ipromise you I will go to the poorhouse before ever I ask help of youand your infernal bank. "

This was the state of mind in which they parted, when Philip had comehome for his first visit in years. I could have shaken them both fortheir obstinacy and lack of common sense; but it is always so when menlive alone. They need a woman about the house to accustom them tobeing contradicted. Now if Philip married a girl like Winifred, shewould soon straighten things out. I can see now how Cousin John woulddote on her and pretend not to care very much, and scold sometimeswhen he had the gout; but all the while be her slave and spend hislife trying to give her pleasure. That is what ought to happen, so ofcourse it won't. Instead, Philip will go and marry some uncomfortablesort of person with a mission. Oh, dear! what if it should be--?There, I will not allow my mind to turn in _that_ direction. I have asort of superstition that thinking too much about any unfortunatething helps to bring it about. I think it must be this city life whichmakes me feel so blue and discouraged. The fact is, I do not like NewYork. In the first place, because it is not Boston; and in the secondplace, because it _is_ New York. There is too much of everythinghere--too much money, too much show, too many lamps, andsofa-pillows, and courses at dinner. Then everybody seems to beeverlastingly at work getting ready to live. Here is Winifred, forinstance, tearing up and down for hours after upholsterers andpaper-hangers, toiling about from shop to shop, and from Broadway toSixth Avenue, matching samples and trying æsthetic effects which noone but herself cares anything for when they are accomplished. And bythe end of the day she is so tired that she falls asleep when I readaloud to her in the evening. 

"Why do you fuss so about everything?" I asked her the other day. "Wedon't fuss in Boston. "

"That accounts, " she answered, --which was not very civil, Ithought. She has certainly grown very queer this fall. She told methis morning that she thought the Unitarians were as bigoted asanybody. Now she never would have said a thing like that this summerwhen she was living in the open air. It's my opinion that two thingsare telling upon her, --furnace heat and the influence of that Mr. Flint--especially the last. Why, it just seems to me as if she weretrying to make herself over into the kind of woman he would be likelyto like. She has dropped her old hoidenish ways and goes about as primas a Puritan. She says she is always like that in the city, and thather Nepaug ways are only a reaction; but I don't believe it. He comeshere a great deal, that is certain; and I don't think it is verygentlemanly, after her begging him, as I heard her with my own ears, to go away. But he is too selfish to care what any one wants buthimself. For some reason or other it suits his plans just now to tryto please Winifred. 

The first night I was here Winifred was telling him about MariaPolonati, the little Italian girl who sells flowers at the corner ofthe Square, and how she had made friends with her, and learned allabout her "padre" and her "madre" and the playmates she had leftbehind her in the "bella Napoli. " Winifred knows how to tell a thingso it seems to stand right out like the old Dutch women in thepictures, and I could see that Mr. Flint was taking it all in, for allhe said so little; and so he was, for the next time he came he walkedright up to Winifred's chair and dropped a great bunch of violets intoher lap. 

"The little girl at the corner sent you these, " he said; and Winifredsmiled as if it were the most natural thing in the world for thatcross-grained egotist to do a thing like that. He did it rathergracefully, I admit; but a Boston man would have done it just as well, if he had only thought of it. 

Of late Mr. Flint has taken to dropping in once or twice a week of anevening to play whist, --he and Winifred against her father and me. NowI like to beat as well as any one; but I do like some show oforganized resistance, and this young man's playing is what I callimpertinently poor, as if he did not think it worth while to try. Winifred seems just as well satisfied to be beaten as to beat, and theProfessor takes a guileless and childlike satisfaction in his triumphwhich is quite pitiable. I take pains to let Mr. Flint see that I atleast am not taken in; but he only smiles in that exasperatinglynon-committal way of his, as if it mattered little enough to him whatI thought one way or the other. After the game is over he gets achance for a few minutes' talk with Winifred while I am hunting up myknitting and her father his pipe, and it is my belief that it's justthose few minutes that he looks forward to all the evening, while heis ignoring his partner's trump-signal and leading from his weak suit. 

Winifred has caught a very annoying trick of turning to him on alloccasions, as if waiting to know what he thought before making up hermind. Altogether I don't like the look of things at all. 

Of course there was no getting out of inviting Mr. Flint to the littlebirthday party which we were planning for Nora Costello. To tell thetruth, nobody but me seemed to want to get out of it. ProfessorAnstice says he is the most agreeable man that comes to the house, andwhen I confided to him that I was afraid Winifred would fall in lovewith him, he answered: "She might do worse. She might do much worse. "That was all the consolation I got in that quarter, and with Winifredherself it was as bad. I thought it might do good to recall some ofher early impressions, which seem to have changed so mightily of late. 

"Don't you remember, " I said, "how you called him a refrigerator?"

"Did I?" she said with a little laugh. "Well, he was rather frigid inthose days. "

"Yes, and you said how disagreeable his manners were, and howthoughtless he was of every one but himself. "

At this Winifred colored up as if they hadn't been her own very words. "If I said it, " she answered with a little toss of her head, "or ifanybody else said it, it was a stupid slander, which grows stupiderevery time it is repeated. "

I was a little nettled myself at her answering me like that. "Youdidn't think so, " I said, "when you begged him to go away fromNepaug. "

At this Winifred jumped straight up from her chair, running her handthrough her hair in a way she has when she is excited--"Did you hearthat? Then you must have been listening, " she cried out, as if shewere accusing me of chicken-stealing. 

"If you think that of me, Winifred, the sooner my trunk is packed thebetter, " I answered, as stiff as the Captain's monument on DuxburyHill. 

In an instant Winifred was on her knees by my side, and had thrown herarms around my neck. 

"No, no, dear Miss Standish, I do not think it, and I ought not tohave said it. It only made me feel so badly to think of any one'shaving overheard my secret, which after all was not my own. "

Now here was my chance to find out the very thing which had beenbothering my old head all these weeks. I had only to pretend to knowand I should hear it all, for Winifred was in one of her rareconfidential moods. But that inconvenient New England conscience ofmine not only would not let me pretend, but it pricked me a littlewith Winifred's accusation of having listened. Perhaps if my ears hadnot been strained just a trifle, I should not have caught as much as Idid of the conversation at Flying Point. Anyway, I felt bound toconfess now. 

"I did not hear anything but just your asking him to go away, and hisanswering rather reluctantly that he did not want to, but he would. "

"Then, " said Winifred, "you are bound to take my word for the meaningof the snatch of talk you heard, and I tell you that he acted like agentleman and a very honorable gentleman; moreover, that from thatgood hour I began to be ashamed of my rash estimate of him (I alwaysdo jump in overhead in my judgments) and am only waiting for a chanceto tell him so frankly, and to ask him to forget all my rudespeeches. "

After this there was no more to be said. I only pray to be kept fromarguing. The habit of making comments has brought me into more troublethan all my other vices put together. Well, this time grace was givenme to hold my tongue. When I saw a note addressed in Winifred's handto "J. Edwards Flint, Esq. , " I did not even observe that it would havebeen as well to let her father write it, nor did I say what Ithink, --that I hate to see a man chop off his first name with acapital and write his middle name in full. It always looks like analias. The man who does it is either trying to attract attention ortrying to get rid of it. 

Everything else about the birthday scheme ran as smooth as a ribbonfrom Jordan & Marsh's. I begged leave to make the cake, and it cameout of the oven done to a turn, white as snow inside and a goldenbrown on the crust. Nora Costello and her brother came at eighto'clock just as they had promised, with unfashionable promptness. Theylooked somewhat surprised to see the house so lighted up, and Noragave a timid little glance at Winifred's rose-colored waist (a womandoesn't forget how clothes look just because she joins the SalvationArmy); but she herself was a picture in spite of her dress--perhapsbecause of it, for the close-fitting blue gown, with its plain band atthe neck and sleeves, set off her fine features and the noble carriageof her head. The chief decoration of her dress was a scarlet ribboncoming diagonally from the shoulder to the belt, marked "Jesus is MyHelper. " I did wish she had not felt called to make a guy of herselfwith that thing; but she seemed so unconscious of it herself that Ishould have forgotten it too if Mr. Flint had not been coming; but Ihate to see a scoffer like him get hold of anything ridiculous inreligion. Now we Unitarians stand midway between scepticism andsuperstition. I wonder everybody can't see it as we do. 

I am bound to say, however, that Mr. Flint behaved exceedingly well. Athorough acquaintance with the world seems to give pleasanter mannerssometimes than a religious nature. Anyway, he came forward and greetedher very handsomely. He handed her a little volume of Thomas à Kempis, "For those leisure hours which you never have, " he said. The girllooked mightily pleased but a little bewildered, and still more sowhen Philip Brady followed with a great bunch of the reddest of redroses (trust men for always picking out red flowers--I don't believethey know there is any other color). Tied by a satin ribbon to theflowers was the little blue bag which I made at Nepaug, and inside itlay the lost brooch. I never saw any such delight as shone on NoraCostello's face when she drew out the pin. She looked from one toanother of us, then at the pin in her hand, which she turned about andabout, crying over it softly. At length she brushed away her tears andsmiled a real child's smile of pure pleasure. "Look, Angus!" sheexclaimed, holding out her treasure to her brother, "the lost isfound. Do you mind the day Mither gave it me, and how she bade me havea care, for that I was a heedless lass and like to lose it?"

"Ay, I mind it, " answered her brother, a flush of gratified pride andaffection mounting to his high cheekbones. "How can we thank thesekind folks?"

"How indeed!" echoed Nora. "Oh, how good it is to have it back!" sheexclaimed, fondling the brooch as though it had life and could feel. "But where did you find it, and why--Ah! I see, " she added, as sheturned it in her hand--"you dear, good folks--and here it was onlythis morning I thought the Lord had clean forgot 't was my birthday. "

I wish I could recall on paper the little foreign accent of the Scotchgirl which seemed to add so much to the charm of her simple speech. Her big drooping eyes were wet with tears, and the little homesicknote in her voice made an irresistible appeal to the hearts of thosewho heard it, --at least it did to mine, and I sneaked away behind thelid of the grand piano, which was open, to get out my pockethandkerchief, for I did not choose to make a spectacle of myself, andI don't know how to cry prettily, like Nora Costello. My nose getsred, and my eyes look as if I were addicted to the use of intoxicatingliquors. 

When I emerged from behind the screen of the piano, I saw Philip Bradystanding over Nora Costello, and looking down at her in a way thatmade my heart jump. She is a sweet girl, and a good girl, and abeautiful girl; but really this wouldn't do at all. Fancy CousinJohn's son going round with a drum, keeping company with atambourine. Shades of Dr. Charming forbid! Now why couldn't it havebeen Mr. Flint? That would have been poetic justice. Conversion of anatheist--marriage on the platform in presence of the Army. She is toogood for him; but still I would have given my blessing--but hereeverything is snarled up and getting worse all the time. 

The surprises of the evening were not over yet, for the mostremarkable remains to tell. While we were all sitting at table(Winifred did look startlingly handsome under the pink candle-shades)the bell rang, and a messenger boy appeared. 

Could he not leave the package? Professor Anstice asked, when he hadsigned the ticket the boy took out of his hat, where for someinscrutable reason New York messengers carry everything. 

No, he was ordered to give it to Miss Anstice herself. 

"Very well, " said Winifred, "bring it in by all means. Perhaps someone has mixed things a little, and fancies that it is _my_ birthdaythat we are celebrating. "

So in came the package, and with it a great bunch of violets, and acard which said, "The little girl at the corner sends you these. "

I saw Winifred's hands tremble as she untied the ends of the package. The wrappings fell off and she saw a picture. 

"What--who is it?" Winifred asked, turning from one to another of uswith bewilderment in her eyes. 

"A relative of yours, I believe, " Mr. Flint answered quietly. "Hername is Ruth. She formed the habit of eloping in her youth, and hadnot the heart to refuse my entreaties to run away with me when I leftNepaug. "

Then in an instant it flashed across Winifred and all of usthat this was the portrait for which she had been searching allsummer (any one might have recognized it, for the resemblance toWinifred about the eyes and mouth is unmistakable), and she knew ofcourse that Mr. Flint had been the one to find it. Her way of takingthe affair was very characteristic. There was no tearful tremulousgratitude like Nora Costello's, but a great overflow of pride andgladness. Rising, with her just filled wine glass in her hand, and herhead thrown back a little as if in a pride which had a shade ofdefiance in it, she called out, "A health!--a health! Here's to mygreat-great-grandmother, the runaway bride, and to the generous manwho restored her to the bosom of her family!"

Every one looked bewildered, but all laughed and drank the toast (Inoticed that the Costellos drank theirs in water), and then began toask questions as fast as they could talk. The health broke up thefeast, and every one crowded about the portrait. As Winifred and Mr. Flint stood close behind me, I overheard, this time without intention, upon my honor, an exchange of remarks between them. 

"You have shown yourself very generous, Mr. Flint, " Winifred remarked. "You will not surely be so _un_generous as not to let us make somelittle return for your gift. I am not ignorant that such a portraithas a value besides that of sentiment. "

"You touch me there on a sore point, Miss Anstice, " Mr. Flintanswered. "I am afraid the person to whom you are really indebted isold Marsden, for I knew if I offered him anything like the real valueof the picture, he would hold it for the price of a Raphael. So I madehim set his own price, which the sly old dog thought a staggering one, and which I found so absurdly low that I shall feel bound to rememberhim handsomely at Christmas. "

"You are jesting, " Winifred answered, speaking lower; "but I am inearnest. Can we not persuade you to let us pay for this picture? Forthe pleasure you have given us we never could repay you. "

"If it is a question of payment, " said Mr. Flint, sinking his voicestill lower, "I am so deep in your debt that it would bankrupt me tostraighten our accounts. If it is a question of generosity, and Ishould come to you some day and ask--"

"Did you say it was a Copley?"

This question from Philip broke in upon Mr. Flint's aside. He answeredwith some asperity, "No, it was painted in England before Copley'stime. It is unsigned, but the artist, I should say, was first-rate. "

After this response Mr. Flint turned his head in an instant; but thecharm was snapped. Winifred had slipped away, and the company wasbreaking up. How the man would hate me if he knew that it was I whoset Brady on to ask that question!

Winifred is tired to-day, and took her breakfast in bed. Iwonder--Pshaw, what good does it do to wonder?

 CHAPTER XVI

 YES OR NO

 "A man's homage may be delightful until he asks straight for love, by which a woman renders homage. "

The Anstices' house stood on the sunny side of Stuyvesant Square. Itbelonged to the type common in the lower part of the city fifty yearsago, --a type borrowed from Beacon Street, as Miss Standish was fond ofpointing out, and never improved upon for comfort. Its red-brick frontswelled outward, not in the awkward proportions of the modernbay-window, which suggests some uncomfortable protuberance; but with agracious sweep from the front door to the limits of the next property. In front ran a balcony with a finely wrought iron balustrade, overwhich clambered a wistaria vine hung with purple clusters in thespring, and green with foliage throughout the summer. 

The front door was framed by glass side-lights set in delicate ovalmouldings, and above, the colonial fan-light lined with silk fluted ina rising-sun pattern, gave additional cheerfulness to the hallwithin. 

This hall was of generous proportions, and suggestive of land sold bythe foot rather than by the inch. At the back a white staircase railedwith mahogany wound its way to the second story, and at the right abroad silver-knobbed mahogany door opened invitingly into thedrawing-room. 

The charm of the Anstice drawing-room lay in its being no drawing-roomat all, but just a living-room, reflecting the taste and habits of thepeople who occupied it. Jim's parrot usurped the window, where hechattered in the sun all day, and flew about at his will, much to theinjury of the curtains. Between the windows and the white casing ofthe mahogany door, stood an old desk strewn with papers in someconfusion; for Professor Anstice was fond of bringing his writing fromthe study on the upper floor to Winifred's domain. The piano occupiedthe opposite side of the room, the coffin-like gloom of its polishedrosewood enlivened by a tall vase brilliant now with thechrysanthemums which autumn had brought. A shaded lamp glowed on atable loaded with books and drawn cosily to the side of a deep couch, and on the other side of the fire, which shot out little hisses ofheat on this chilly afternoon, stood the tea-table, with its delicateold-fashioned silver, its transparent china cups, and the plates ofhot toasted muffins and ethereally thin bread-and-butter sandwicheswhich McGregor brought in punctually at five every day. 

The old butler was the one extravagance of the Anstice ménage, and asWinifred said, she saved his wages out of the china that he didn'tbreak, --which was one way of looking at it, --and then, McGregor was somuch more than a butler! He was housekeeper and parent's assistant andfamily counsellor all in one. He advised Professor Anstice as to theweight of overcoat called for by the temperature outside. He remindedJimmy of his mittens and rubbers, and his respectful but significantglances informed Winifred of the exact estimation in which he held herguests. 

Flint was a special favorite, and the bow he accorded him wasequivalent to a benediction. 

"Yes, sir, " he said this afternoon, "Miss Anstice is in the parlor. Iam just taking in the tea. " Having relieved the visitor of his hat andcoat, he ushered him in with the air of a protector, and then, afterdrawing the curtains and lighting the alcohol lamp under the silverkettle, he withdrew noiselessly and deferentially. 

"What a treasure that man is!" said Flint, looking after him as hedisappeared. "He is better than forty coats of arms as a guarantee ofrespectability, and the welcome which he extends to callers is aperpetual testimonial to the hospitality of the household. "

"Ah, " Winifred answered, smiling, "you say that because you belong tothe most favored nations. You might not think him so genial if you sawthe frigidity with which he receives some of our guests. "

"Then I suppose I have only to be thankful that McGregor has not yetcaught a hint of my real character, as set forth last summer sovividly by his mistress, and I think I have one more friend in thehousehold; what do you say to that, Paddy?"

The dog had risen from his comfortable doze in front of the fire, andstood stretching himself, with two shaggy paws thrust out in front. When he heard his name called he wagged his tail and came up toFlint's chair, by which he squatted, laying his tawny head cosilyacross the visitor's lap. 

"Come here, Paddy; don't make yourself a nuisance!"

The dog listened calmly to his mistress's invitation, wagged his tailagain, and winked his sleepy eyes, but made no motion to obey. 

Flint patted the dog's head. 

"This is too bad!" Winifred exclaimed, in assumed indignation. "Jimmyhas already learned to oppose my opinions by quotations from what Mr. Flint thinks and says; but I will not have Paddy taught to defy myauthority. "

"Go, Paddy!" said Flint, moving his chair further back. "Your mistressregards me as a dangerous character, and considers it her solemn dutyto remove every one in her charge from the risk of the injuriouseffects of my society. "

In spite of Flint's jesting tone there was a hint of bitterness in hisvoice. The dog, in some surprise at the sudden withdrawal of hishead-rest, stood up, looking from one to the other, apparently indoubt as to the rival claims. At length old habits of allegianceasserted themselves, and he seated himself in the angle between thetea-table and his mistress's chair. 

Winifred's mood suddenly seemed to have changed from gay to grave. Shesat for a moment or two in silence, her hand softly playing withPaddy's long ear, and her head bent ever so little to one side. 

"Mr. Flint, " she said at last, somewhat abruptly, "I want to tell youa little story; but first let me make your tea. Do you take lemon?"

"Yes, if you please. "

"And sugar?"

"One lump--no, thanks--no more. "

"Try this brown-bread sandwich. Now, lean back in your chair andlisten. Once there was a girl--"

"No!"

"Yes, there was, and she was a very stupid girl, and all the stupiderthat she thought herself rather clever. She fancied that she was veryacute in reading character, and she trusted a great deal to instinct, and first impressions, and all that sort of rubbish by which womenexcuse themselves from taking the trouble to use their reason. Well, once upon a time, this girl met a man whom she did not like. Hervanity was touched, in the first place, because he disapproved of herand showed his disapproval. "

"What a cad he must have been!" Flint put in. 

"Now you are no better than the girl I am telling you about--going offlike that on insufficient evidence. The girl made up her mind at oncethat the man must be at fault, since he failed to appreciate her, --allour estimates are based on vanity, you see in the last analysis, --soshe proceeded to fit him out with a character to match her ideal ofhim. He was to be selfish and cold, and regardless of everybody buthimself, and supercilious and domineering, and endowed with all theother agreeable qualities which go with those engaging epithets. Thisanswered very well for a while, and I am bound to admit that at firstyou--I mean he--seemed to play the part which she had assigned to himvery satisfactorily; but presently little things began to come to herknowledge which refused to fit into the picture she had made of him. He had a friend who let slip stories of inconsistently kind things hehad done for a man whom he had known in college, pooh-poohing them allthe time as folly. "

"Rubbish!"

"Exactly what the girl said. They didn't go with the character of thekind of man that she had made up her mind this was to be, so she wouldnot believe them, and kept repeating every disagreeable thing she hadever heard him say as an antidote against any change of impression. But stupid as she was, she was not quite dishonest, even with herself, and when gradually her eyes were opened to the wrong which she haddone him in her own mind, she longed for an opportunity to make himsome amends; but all the opportunities came to him, and the coals offire were heaped on her head till she began to feel them quite too hotfor comfort. So at last she resolved, on the first occasion when shesaw him alone, to ask his pardon very humbly for all her misdoings andmisthinkings. Now, if she did, what do you think the man would say?"

Flint had set down his tea untasted, and sat staring steadily intothe fire, yet no detail of Winifred's dress or attitude escaped him. He noted the glint of the firelight playing on the buckle of herlittle slipper; he watched it climb over the sheen of the gray-silkdress, higher, higher, till it reached the bare throat, and flushedthe already flushed cheek to a deeper carnation. He felt the appeal inthe girl's attitude as she leaned ever so little towards him. Hecaught the tremulous note in her voice. His own was less steady thanits wont as he answered:--

"How do you know that the girl was not right in her firstestimate? For my part, I think a man who presumed to show thedisapproval you speak of, and to say disagreeable things on slightacquaintance, fully justified her opinion of him; and if he seemed tochange later, I should think it probable that something in her hadshamed him out of his coldness and his selfishness. As for thesuperciliousness, I should be inclined to set down the appearance ofthat to the charge of an unconquerable shyness masquerading in theguise of self-assertion, --I have known men like that, --but the otherqualities I believe were there. I suspect it was a reversal of the oldstory of Pygmalion and Galatea, as if he were slowly turning fromstone to flesh, yet still held back by the old chill of stonyhabit, --an imprisonment which could only be broken by a word fromher. Is there any chance that you will ever speak it--Winifred?"

"Oh, no--no!" the girl answered brokenly. "Don't say anything more!"

"I love you, " Flint continued, as if the statement were necessary tohis vindication. 

"Oh, but why do you tell me?"

"Because I choose to have you know, --because I must tell it. I loveyou. I love you. " He repeated the words with a persistence not to beput aside. Winifred was inwardly furious with herself for her ownstupidity in giving him such an opening; but then, as she toldherself, who could have foreseen it, with this man of all men! Theshock of the surprise took her breath away, and robbed her of herusual self-command. She still strove to take the situation lightly, totreat it picturesquely, like a love-scene on a Watteau fan. 

"Here is another proof of your generosity, " she said, with a halftremulous, wholly adorable little smile. "I asked for pardon and youoffer love. "

Flint would not be put off so. "Ah, but I ask for so much more than Ioffer, " he said. 

"And--if I cannot give it?"

"Why, then, " he answered steadily, "I shall still carry with methrough life something you cannot take away if you would, --the idealwhich these weeks have held up before me. If it is not for your besthappiness to marry me, loving you as I do, I would not have you do it. The matter is in your hands--a simple 'Yes' or 'No' is all I ask. "

"But life is too complicated to be settled by a word like that. Itcould not be 'Yes'--but what if it is 'No'?"

She paused a moment, and then, hurried on by a tidal wave of feeling, she burst out: "Oh, I don't suppose you can understand it; but much asI like you, --and I do like you now, --I feel as though if I promised tomarry you, I might absolutely hate you. "

"Oh, yes, " Flint answered quietly, "I can quite understand it; I thinkI should feel in the same way if I were not perfectly sure I loved aperson. "

Winifred felt herself touched by his quick response and perfectcomprehension of her state of mind; but her feeling was too intense, too direct and too importunate, to be stayed in its utterance. 

"I cannot marry you. I never could promise. I am sure of it. Forgiveme!"

Flint rose and stood by the mantel, toying absently with a bronzemodel of the Praxiteles Faun which rested on its shelf. 

"It is all right, " he said, "and I shall always thank you for it all, and say God bless you, whatever happens; only for a while I must goaway and make my life over a bit in the light of all this. "

"Why must you go away?"

"Because--" Here Flint paused, and began to walk the floorimpatiently. "Oh, if you can ask that, I could not make youunderstand. It is useless to go on talking. "

"No, " said Winifred, now with fuller command of herself, "it is notuseless; it is necessary. We must make each other understand. If wecannot do it now, how much less afterward! It always seems to me as ifit were selfish folly in men and women to act as if their love werethe only reality in the world, so that they forget everything thatthey owe to other people. Yes, " she added, gathering strength as shewent on, "I think it would be selfish in you to consider onlyyourself, or even yourself and me, in this matter, and I think itwould be foolish if--if you really care for me, as you say you do, tothrow away all my interest and regard and sympathy just because I donot consent to marry you. If you would only put that idea out of yourhead, I think I could be of some service to you. I know you could beof great service to me. "

As Winifred uttered these words she sat looking up at him withwide-open, childlike eyes, a hint of pathetic appeal in her voice. 

Flint paused a moment, as one who counted the cost of his words. Thenhe said slowly: "It shall be as you wish; but on your own head lie therisks. When a man has once said, 'I love you, ' the woman to whom hesays it sees it in his eyes and hears it in his voice forever after. Itell you, " he went on, setting down the faun hard on the mantel, "loveis like the spirit which the Arabian fisherman let out of the shell. It can never be shut up again--never--never--never!"

Winifred stirred a little, but did not lift her eyes. 

"You shall try this precious scheme of friendship, " Flint continuedhotly. "It is not a new experiment. It is well worn, and so far in theworld's history it has not proved a great success; but try it if youwill, only you shall make me one return. I shall never ask you againfor your love. It is not a plaything to be teased for in such childishfashion. You tell me you will not give it to me. Well and good. But ifever--" here he paused and shut his eyes for an instant, as if uponsome inward vision, --"if ever you should come to feel differently, Idemand it as my right that you shall tell me so honestly. You know metoo well to think I could ever change. "

"I accept the risk, " Winifred answered steadily. "You shall neverregret this concession, and by-and-by, when we both grow old, you willlook back and see that such a friendship is the best thing that couldbefall you and me. "

The girl spoke with quick decision of manner. It was characteristic ofher not to question for a moment the wisdom of her decision, theinfallibility of her own judgment, or her power to regulate the lifeand destiny of those around her. 

Flint smiled, as one smiles at the eager illusions of a child. He wasgoing to speak further; but the ringing of the door-bell warned himthat the interview was at an end. 

"So be it!" he said, coming over to the side of the fireplace whereWinifred stood, --for she too had risen. "Since it is not to begood-bye, then, I will bid you good-night. "

He took the hand which she extended, and raised its slenderfinger-tips to his lips. "That is for friendship, " he murmured; thenturning it, he laid a swift kiss upon the delicate pink palm, --"andthat is for love, " he whispered, and was gone. 

On his way out he passed Miss Standish, who had just come in from aconcert. She gave a little nod of scant civility, suggestive ofdisapproval, and instead of turning in at the parlor door, made herway directly to her room. 

As the hall door closed after Flint, Winifred Anstice felt as if somedoor had closed also in her life. She sat for some time in her lowchair, leaning forward, with her hands clasped about her knees, andher pretty brows knit, gazing into the embers. At length, with alittle vexed shake of the head, she rose, and paced the long room; butthe whirl and rush of thought were too importunate for her presentmood, and she paused in her walk at last, and betook herself to thetable, with its litter of new books and magazines. She picked up the"Fortnightly Review, " and opened mechanically where a silver book-markpointed to an article on "Balzac and his Followers" marked withemphatic notes of assent or protest. It was another reminder. Sheimpatiently shut the covers sharply together and returned to hervigils before the fire. 

There is no woman living who is not somewhat shaken by a proposal ofmarriage. It is a peremptory challenge, which forces her, for themoment at least, to consider a certain man not as one of a class, --asa member of the conventional, calling, smiling, chaffing circle, --butas an individual, passing suddenly from all this surface trifling to alife and death reality--saying as Jonathan Flint had said this night:"Give me all or nothing. I will have no half loaves. Let us have anend of pretences and evasions. For once at least you shall listen, andbe told the truth flowing at lava heat out of a man's heart. " It wasby no means a new experience to Winifred Anstice. As a younger girl, although no coquette, she had found a certain charm of romance infinding herself the heroine of a love-affair in real life; but as shegrew older she felt more and more shrinking from such sentimentalcrises, and a more and more genuine regret as she saw the candidcomradeship of one friendship after another sacrificed to theabsorbing egotism of passion. 

One by one she had let these lovers slip out of her life, andacknowledged to herself that it was better so; but when it came toJonathan Flint, she had found herself impelled to the impetuousprotest for which she already half blamed herself in her heart. But inself-exculpation she argued with the embers, which seemed to wink ather from the hearth, that there were more considerations than one inthe matter; that as she had told Mr. Flint, modern life was toocomplex to be compressed into a "Yes" or "No. "

As she was pondering, her eyes fell upon the portrait, --Ruth'sportrait, hanging there over the mantel. 

"I wish you were here, Grandmamma, " Winifred exclaimed, looking up atit, "to help me clear up the muddle in my mind! I have a kind offeeling that _you_ would understand. "

The girl's sentimental musings were rudely interrupted by a racebetween Jimmy and Paddy, who came rushing through the room, regardlessof tea-tables or rugs. 

"Jump for it, Paddy!" cried Jim, snatching a piece of cake from thetray, and holding it high in air. 

"Don't, Jimmy! You will upset the table. "

"Come on then, Paddy, we'll jump in the hall, where there is no girlto be nervous--I hate nervous people. "

"Whose cane is that, McGregor?" he asked, as he saw an unfamiliarwalking-stick on the hall table. 

"It belongs to Mr. Flint--he must have forgot it, " the butleranswered. 

"I say, Fred, has Mr. Flint been here?" Jimmy called out from thebaluster, over which he was leaning at imminent risk to life and limb. 

"He has, " Winifred answered repressively. 

"Did he say anything about seats for the football game on ThanksgivingDay?"

"He did not. "

"Then I think I'd better sit right down and write to him, for he toldme not to let him forget about it, and all the best seats will betaken if he does not attend to it soon. "

"Papa, " appealed Winifred to her father, who had come in and wastaking off his coat in the hall, "you won't let Jimmy write to Mr. Flint, will you?"

"I _will_ write, " said the voice from the stairs, "and I'll tell himhow cross you are. I did once, and he only laughed. "

"Jimmy!"

"Yes, I did. It was that day when you would not let me go fishing withhim. I told him you were quite nice sometimes, but you could be horridto people when they did things that didn't suit you, and he said thatwas just the way you struck him. "

"Papa!" cried Winifred, now thoroughly out of temper, "will you forbidJimmy to talk me over with strangers? It is really too much, the waythat boy's tongue runs on. "

"You understand him, don't you?" the Professor asked mildly, lookingover his gold-bowed spectacles. 

"Yes, but other people don't. "

"Are they so much less clear-sighted than you?" With this gentlesarcasm her father slowly mounted the stairs, leaving Jimmy makingfaces of triumph through the open door. 

It is often a curious experience in the contrasts of life for a girlto see herself from the family point of view, after catching therose-colored reflections which the admiration of an outsider throwsupon her character. 

 CHAPTER XVII

 A LITTLE DINNER

 "Wreathe the bowl with flowers of soul. "

The suppressed excitement of the afternoon lent an added flush andsparkle to Winifred's face as she entered the study where her fatherand Miss Standish were playing chess together after the family dinner. Self-absorbed as she was at the moment, she found leisure to be struckwith the picture of the two sitting there; her father's head, with itsaustere profile outlined against the green curtain, which castsoftened reflections over his white hair, and Miss Standish, crisp anddainty as a sprig of dried lavender, her gray curls quivering with theexcitement, and her white hands hovering anxiously over rooks andpawns. 

Miss Standish looked up as Winifred came in, radiant in her newevening gown, for she was to dine with the Hartington Grahams, who hadrecently returned from England and opened their town house for theseason. 

"I thought it was to be a _little_ dinner, " said Miss Standish, looking with some disapproval at the bare shoulders rising above thebillowy ruffles of rose-colored chiffon. 

"It is--'just a small affair, ' Mrs. Graham wrote me. Besides, it istoo early in the season for anything formal. In fact, she would hardlyask her most fashionable friends at this time of year. But she mustget round somehow, " Winifred finished with a little laugh. 

"In Boston, " said Miss Standish, "you would be overdoing it to wearthat kind of a gown to such an affair, but here people seem to have nosense of gradation. They take literally Longfellow's advice to theyoung poet seeking success: 'Do your best every time. '"

"I don't see, " said Winifred, "why the advice is not just as good fordress as for poetry, --except that gowns wear out and poems don't. Isthe carriage there, McGregor, and Maria ready? Well, good-night, Papa;look out for your queen, and don't let Miss Standish checkmate youwith any of her Boston tricks!"

"I think, " Jimmy called out after her from the corner of the big sofa, where he lay curled up like a dormouse, "if you would do your best on_my_ dress, instead of making me wear this old suit, it would strike abetter average in the family. "

As McGregor closed the carriage door, Winifred was conscious of acertain satisfaction that she was not to spend the evening at homewith the family. Her restlessness craved a vent, and she wanted topostpone =all= opportunity for reflection. 

There was something about the Grahams which always appealedto the girl. Their environment suited her æsthetically. Forthemselves, --why, one could not have everything--and then they werenever alone. 

The carriage stopped before Mrs. Graham's house, and the door openedalmost before she had mounted the steps. 

As she passed along the hall, a wave of fragrance from lavishlydisposed flowers floated out to her through the drawn portières, andshe caught a glimpse of the softened light of many lamps-shaded to theeye but festive to the fancy. "Decidedly, " thought Winifred, "it isagreeable to be rich, and next to being rich one's self, the bestthing is to associate with rich people. Money is such a smoother ofrough ways! and then the vast opportunities of being nice to otherpeople that come of a purse at leisure from itself to soothe andsympathize. " She smiled to herself at her bold adaptation of thepoet's sentiments, and mounted the stairs with a quickened step, reflecting suddenly that she had not marked the time accurately andmight be late. Her glance in at the door of the dressing-roomreassured her. At least she was not the last, for in front of themirror stood a portly, bediamonded dame, gazing intently into theglass and putting the last touches to her toilet with stolidequanimity. 

"Want to come here?" she asked, pausing in her elaboration of herwater-waves, and nodding affably to Winifred. 

"No, =I= thank you, " Winifred answered, seating herself in the loweasy-chair, while the maid pulled off her velvet overshoes. 

"Chilly to-night, isn't it?" the lady continued pleasantly, desirousof putting the new-comer at her ease. 

Winifred acquiesced in the views of the weather expressed, and a hintof the chilliness seemed to have crept into the interior. Heragreeable anticipations of the evening were vaguely dampened, and shecould not quite forgive the innocent cause. "Why will women with rednecks wear light blue and diamonds!" she wondered, "and what canreconcile her to looking in the glass?"

With a little shake of the head to make sure that her hairpins werefirmly anchored, and a futile effort to smooth the rebellious curls ather neck, Winifred glided past the lady in front of the mirror, whoseemed no nearer the completion of her toilet than when she hadentered. At the door of the rear room stood a short, bald-headed manwith a patient expression on his face, as of one who had spent a largeshare of his life waiting for his wife. He glanced with some surpriseat the swift reappearance of the girl whom he had watched as she cameup the stairs so short a time before. 

"That girl beats the ticker, " he said to himself as she passed him;"she'll make some man happy if she keeps it up. "

The clock was striking eight as Winifred entered the drawing-room. "Itis quite a feat to be on time in this city of long distances, " saidher hostess. 

"How delightful to be appreciated!" responded Winifred, with abrilliant smile. "I was just pluming myself on being so prompt, but Isee the others are still more so. " Here she swept a rapid glance overa seated group at the other end of the room. 

"I suppose it is hardly more prompt to be too early than too late, soyou are still entitled to the palm. "

The voice which came from close beside her drew the blood to hercheek; but as the words went on, her nervous tremor subdued itself, for the tone said to her as clearly as words, "Everything is to beignored. We are on the social stage, and must play our parts. You maytrust me. "

Winifred felt a wave of relief sweep over her. She thanked the speakerwith her eyes. To her hostess she said lightly, "Mr. Flint is as muchof a purist as ever--no; don't leave us together. He and I have beenquarrelling over the tea-cups this afternoon. I will let you take upthe defence, while I go over to speak to your sister, Miss Wabash, inthe corner--and isn't that Captain Blathwayt with her?"

"Yes, he crossed with us on the 'Lucania'; remembered meeting you inCheyenne or some other outlandish Western town--thinks you the mostcharming American he ever met. "

"How clever of you!" said Winifred over her shoulder, as she movedaway. "Reflected flattery is the most alluring kind. "

As Mrs. Graham turned to greet two newcomers, Flint was left alone, with no hindrance to the occupation of watching Winifred Anstice. Shestood with her back toward him and her head slightly turned, so thathis eye took in the delicate line of cheek and chin, broken by theshadows of a dimple, the curve of the neck, and the soft little curlsthat nestled at the base of the hair. A woman is always much handsomeror much plainer than usual in evening dress. 

As Flint looked at Winifred, he felt an absurd jealousy of themonocled Englishman who presumed to show his admiration so plainly. His reflections were ended for the time being by the voice of hishostess saying, "Will you take my sister in to dinner?" As he movedacross the room, Winifred and Captain Blathwayt passed out together, just ahead of Miss Wabash and himself. He scarcely knew whether tofeel regret or relief to find that the width of the table was to bebetween him and Winifred. It certainly had the advantage of shuttingoff all necessity for the conversation _farcie_ of the conventionaldinner, which he felt would be an impossibility between him and herto-night. 

With Miss Wabash the _vol-au-vent_ of talk seemed the most naturalthing; and Flint dashed at once into a jesting, somewhat daring tone, which she took quite in good part, and when her attention was claimedby the bald-headed broker on the other side, his neighbor on the left, a double-chinned dowager, with a pearl necklace half hidden in thecreases of her neck and a diamond aigrette in her hair, proved no lessgarrulous if somewhat less sprightly. 

She had much to tell of the loss of her diamonds by a burglary lastweek, and of their recovery through the agency of detectives whosecharges were exorbitant. She acquainted Flint with every detail ofthe conduct of the family and the servants, the police and thedetectives. As she went on, people began to listen, and the talkaround the table, which had lagged a little, started up more brisklythan before. 

"I have noticed, " said Winifred to Captain Blathwayt, "that there aretwo subjects which will make even dull people lively, --burglaries andmind-cure. "

"Aw, I don't know much about burglaries, --never had one in the family;but I think a lot about mind-cure and all that sort of thing. "

"Confirmation of my theory!" said Winifred, with an impertinence whichfelt safe in banking on the lack of perception in the person whosedignity was assailed. 

"Do you believe in the mind-cure?" asked Miss Wabash, who had caughtthe phrase across the table. 

"It depends on the mind, " Flint answered. 

"Oh, no, it doesn't; not at all. That's the first principle of thescience. You only need to resign yourself and let the influence flowover you. "

"Does it make any difference whose influence it is?"

"Oh, I suppose so. It must be trained influence, and it seems to workbetter when it is paid for. "

"Most things do, " observed Flint. 

"My cousin says--"

Flint never knew exactly what Miss Wabash's cousin did say, for atthat point in the conversation his attention was irresistiblyattracted by the talk of his opposite neighbors. 

"Now there's a lot in it, I'm sure, " the man of the monocle wassaying, bending toward Winifred with what Flint consideredobjectionable propinquity, --"telepathy, don't you know, and--and allthat sort of thing. I had no idea I was to meet you to-night, but as Iwas standing on the doorstep I remembered how you looked at thatdinner out in Cheyenne, and a remark you made to me--do yourecollect?"

"The dinner, perfectly; the remark, not at all. "

"Well, I sha'n't repeat it, for it was deucedly severe on the English. Really, you know, we're not half bad; but you don't care for yourcousins over the water, I am afraid. Do you?"

"I think the cousins over the water are much like those on thisside, --the relationship is simply an opportunity for intimateacquaintance. Some Englishmen are the most charming of their sex;others are--well, quite the reverse. "

"To which do _I_ belong?" asked the Captain, turning toward her moreopenly and leaving his terrapin untasted, which meant much withBlathwayt. 

"Can you doubt?" Winifred responded with a radiant but whollynon-committal smile. Self-possessed as she was outwardly, however, shefelt Flint's eyes upon her, and experienced a sense of annoyance atthe attitude of both men. 

Her host on the other side came to her relief at the moment. 

"Blathwayt, " he said, leaning over, "you must try this wine. It issome my wine-merchant in Paris sent over ten years ago, --a specialvintage, --and don't let the terrapin go by, for there's nothing elseworth while before the canvas-backs. I'll let you into the secret too, Miss Anstice, " he added with an expression closely approaching a wink. 

"Thanks, " said Winifred, rather wearily, "I am not an epicure. "

"Oh, but you can be trained to be!" Graham answered encouragingly. "Itis mainly a question of practice, though I must say that I was bornwith the taste, --inherited from my father, I believe; and I've heardhim tell how once when I was five years old I scolded the butler forsending up the Burgundy iced. "

"How precocious!" murmured Winifred. 

"Well, of course, that was unusual; but if children were taken youngand had half the attention paid to their palates that folks give totheir eyes and ears, with their fool drawing-teachers andmusic-masters in the attempt to enable them to bore somebody withtheir twopenny accomplishments, we should soon have a race ofgourmets; and gourmets make cooks. No chef can do his best withoutappreciation. For the matter of that, a cook must be born, --he musthave the feeling for his business. Now there was a fellow inEngland--My dear, " he called out to his wife at the other end of thetable, "was it Windermere or Grassmere where we had those excellentbreaded trout?"

"I forget, " Mrs. Graham answered; "but I know it was the one whereWordsworth lived. Which was that, Mr. Flint?"

"Now don't interrupt us, " Miss Wabash said in her loud, unshadedtones; "Mr. Flint has just consented to let me tell his fortune by hishand. "

Flint looked rather foolish. He was in that awkward position where itseemed equally fatuous to assent or decline; but deciding on theformer course, he held out his hand, saying, "Spare my character asfar as you conscientiously can, Miss Wabash, and remember inextenuation of my shortcomings that I did not have the advantage ofbeing brought up in Chicago. "

All tête-à-tête conversation now ceased, and the attention of thecompany was riveted upon Flint and his neighbor. Winifred felt herselfgrowing intensely nervous. She had no fear of Miss Wabash'sextraordinary power of divination, but she had still less confidencein the delicacy of her perceptions, and she dreaded some remark whichwould embarrass her through Flint's embarrassment. 

In her present high-strung condition, her apprehension made her alittle faint for a moment. The centrepiece of orchids and roses seemeda vague mass of rather oppressive color and perfume. The women's facesand necks looked like reddish blobs with flashes of light where thejewels came. The broad white expanse of the men's shirt fronts aloneretained a certain steadiness. Hastily she grasped her glass ofchampagne and drained it dry. It was the first wine she had tastedthat night, and it braced her nerves at once. Fortunately no oneobserved her paleness, for everybody's attention was fixed upon MissWabash as she bent over Flint's open palm. 

"A surprising hand!" that young lady was saying; "really in some waysquite the most interesting I ever came across. I must report it toChiro. The fingers very pointed--that ought to indicate idealism, butthe knots on the joints imply practical critical sense. It looks asthough the mind were always grasping at some ideal and were held backby the critical faculty. "

"Don't blink your points, Mamie!" called out the host, facetiously. Atthis allusion to sporting reminiscences, all the men laughed, but thewomen rather resented the interruption, as a frivolous treatment of aserious subject. 

"You have learned your profession thoroughly, " said Flint, coloring alittle in spite of himself. "I shall begin to be afraid of you inearnest, if you are so discerning. "

"Oh, I have only begun!" answered Miss Wabash, kindled by success togreater vivacity. "That thumb shows marked firmness (see, I canscarcely bend it back at all); perhaps, if I knew you better, I shouldsay obstinacy. "

Every one laughed. 

"The fingers, " she went on, "show more sensitiveness; and themounds--oh, those mean a great deal! Mars is firm and prominent--whatyou undertake you will carry through, if it kills you and everybodyelse. "

"What a fellow to buy on margin!" said the broker. 

"He doesn't seem to have succeeded in getting married for all hisperseverance, " laughed Mr. Graham. 

Winifred, in spite of her emotion, found time to reflect on thevulgarity of the phrase, and shivered a little. Flint colored, thoughhe held his hand quite steady. 

"Perhaps he'll buy her sixty, " chuckled the broker, pleased with histechnical wit. 

"He'd better hurry up, " said Miss Wabash, "for his life-line is short. He's had experiences though. May I tell them, Mr. Flint?"

"I give you permission. "

"Well, then, you were in love once a long time ago, but there werereasons why you couldn't marry, and so you gave up the affair and havenever really cared for any one since; but two or three women have beendesperately in love with you. "

"Mademoiselle, respect the seal of the confessional!" said Flint, smiling, but drawing away his hand with a quick instinctive motionwhich did not escape Winifred. 

"Ho! ho!" called out Graham, "perhaps there is more in palmistry thanI thought. Go on, Mamie, and give us the history of the Salvation Armyepisode and the Hallelujah lassie!"

Flint cursed inwardly, cursed everything and almost everybody, himselfmost of all. What was he here for? What if Graham _was_ the chiefstockholder in the "Trans-Continental, " he was a coarse-grainedsensualist, with whom no gentleman should associate. (This estimate byno means did Graham justice, but Flint was not in a judicial mood. )Then this crack-brained girl with her foolish fake of a theory--and hehad been idiot enough to fall into this trap, and now Winifred wouldthink he had boasted of Nora Costello as a conquest, perhaps braggedabout saving her life. Oh, the whole thing was past endurance!Meanwhile everything around moved on mechanically. He heard his hostsay impatiently, "My dear, if you keep that épigramme of lamb waitingmuch longer, we'd better give up dining and take to holding hands allround. "

At this there was a general taking up of forks and a subdued buzz ofconversation. It was rather a relief when the candle-shade took fireand Flint had an excuse for rising to seize it before the butler couldreach it. 

The dinner ended at last, though it seemed as if it never would. As heheld aside the velvet curtains for the ladies to pass, Flint strove tocatch Winifred's eyes, to judge, if he might, what impression Graham'sremark had made; but Blathwayt held her in talk till the threshold wasreached, and the curtain dropped behind her without a glance inFlint's direction. 

She held her head a little higher than usual as she moved beside Mrs. Graham into the music-room. A wave of contempt was sweeping over her, as she reviewed the dinner, its gilding, its gluttony, and itsunspeakable dulness, and she felt that she had sold her birthright ofself-respect for a mess of pottage. 

Miss Wabash sat down at the piano and sang "Oh, Promise Me, " and oneor two other gems from DeKoven's latest opera, and then the ladiesadjourned once more to the library. 

The Grahams' library was a large square room, diversified by twoshallow bay-windows such as only a corner house permits. It was ceiledand finished in heavy Flemish oak, and the walls above the lowbookcases were hung with tapestry. Easy-chairs and softly upholstereddivans filled every nook and corner. It was really, Winifred decided, an ideal library, --or would have been if there had been any booksbehind the silk curtains hung over the shelves. 

As they entered the room Miss Wabash drew Winifred to a seat nearherself on the sofa. 

"Green mint or Chartreuse?" the hostess asked, as the littleice-filled glasses were set on the low table by her side. 

Winifred declined the cordials, but sat sipping the coffee out of thetiny Dresden cup, while she listened to the wearisome platitudes ofMrs. Graham and her guests. From time to time her eye was caught bythe flashing of the jewelled pendulum of the clock on the mantel, inthe drawing-room across the hall, and her mind dwelt ironically onsome lines she had read somewhere:--

 "Ah! who with clear account remarks The ebbing of Time's glass, When all his sands are diamond sparks That dazzle as they pass!"

She smiled a derisive little smile, all to herself, as she thought howsmall a power lay in jewelled pendulums to make a brilliant evening, and she felt a certain thrill of pride at the thought that herassociations lay in a world removed from all this smotheringmaterialism. The lavish sumptuousness which till now had appealed toher rather strongly, seemed suddenly tainted with vulgarity, and herthoughts wandered half unconsciously to the bare little room where shehad gone to see Nora Costello. The name brought a slight quickening ofher pulses, and she wanted time to think over things alone. 

As the men came in from the dining-room Miss Anstice's carriage wasannounced, and she rose to bid her hostess good-night. 

"Must you run away so early, my dear?"

"Thank you, yes; I promised Papa to come home early. He likes to seeme before he goes to bed, and to hear an account of my evening. "

"You will be at home at five to-morrow, and I may bring CaptainBlathwayt?"

"Any friend of yours, of course, " murmured Winifred, in a tone whichcould hardly have proved encouraging to the vanity or incipientsentiment of the guardsman. 

"If you will permit me, " said Flint to Graham as Winifred came downthe stairs, "I will put Miss Anstice into her carriage, and then comeback for that last cigar. "

Never in his life had Flint so raved against his own lack of readinessas now, when he felt the passing moments slipping by, and could findno words to set himself right in the eyes of the woman he loved, --thewoman whose little gloved hand rested on his arm. Judge then of hisfeeling when, smiling up into his eyes with perfect friendliness, Winifred said under her breath, "Why do we go there--you and I? Theyreally aren't our kind at all. "

The remark carried with it full assurance that no words uttered byHartington Graham had power to shake for an instant her faith in theman whom she had called her friend; but beyond that her confident useof the word _our_, as if their interests and associations were thesame, thrilled him with a sort of intoxication. 

"Oh, thank you!" was all that he could find to say to express hiscomplicated state of mind. 

"I do not deserve any thanks at all, " Winifred answered. "I ought tobe well scolded for speaking slightingly of people whom I have justbeen visiting. I do not often do such ill-mannered things, and Ishould not have said it to any one but you. "

Again Flint thrilled at the unconscious flattery. 

"Will you come in to-morrow afternoon?" she asked, as he shut thecarriage door. 

"To meet Captain Blathwayt? No, thank you. "

"The day after then. "

"So be it--till then, farewell!"

Flint re-entered the house with his heart beating like a trip-hammer. 

 CHAPTER XVIII

 A MAIDEN'S VOW

 "A maiden's vow, old Calham spoke, Is lightly made and lightly broke. "

As the cab rattled down the avenue, Winifred sank back against thecushions. She sat in the corner in a sort of daze, marking the glimmerof the electric lights, which seemed so many milestones in her life, as she passed them one after another. After all, it is experiencewhich marks time, and in this day Winifred Anstice had tasted more oflife than in many a year before. Crashing into her world of calmcommonplace had fallen the dynamite bomb of an overwhelming emotion. Her present, with all its preoccupying trifles, lay in wrecks abouther. For the future--it was too tumultuous to be faced. 

She was like a person who has been walking in the darkness along afamiliar road, and suddenly feels himself plunging over an unsuspectedprecipice. She was conscious of nothing but a gasping sense ofdizziness--all control of herself and her life seemed passing out ofher hands into those of another, and she scarcely knew whether to beglad or sorry. Was it only this afternoon that she had looked upon amarriage with Jonathan Flint as impossible? If she had thought so afew hours ago, why not now? Nothing had occurred since. Notranscendent change had come over him or her--why should it all lookso different to her now? Perhaps, she told herself, this mood toowould pass like its precursor. She dared not feel sure ofanything--she who had swung round the whole compass of feeling like aweather-vane before a thunder-storm. 

These introspective reflections brought back irresistibly the feelingswith which she had read Flint's letter, little dreaming that it washis, --the letter so full of wise and friendly counsel. She rememberedhow, as she read, she had been filled with a yearning desire to riseto the ideal her unknown counsellor had set before her, and filled toowith a longing that Fate might send it in her way, to be something tohim, to return in some measure the spiritual aid and comfort which shehad received at his hands. 

"Well, " she told herself gloomily, "the opportunity had come, and thiswas how she had used it--not only by denying his petition, --that, ofcourse, was inevitable, feeling as she did, --but by accusing him ofselfishness, by insisting that he should accept her terms offriendship. _Friendship_, bah!--how stale and flat it sounded! Couldshe not have devised some newer way of wounding an honorable man whohad offered her his heart?"

It seemed to her excited consciousness that she must appear to him avain and empty coquette, eager to retain a homage for which sheintended no return. When once he awoke to that view, his love woulddie out, for he was not a man to continue devotion where he had lostrespect; and so it was all over, or as good as over, between her andhim. 

The cab lurched sharply across the tracks at Twenty-Third Street, jostling Winifred's flowers and fan out of her lap. The maid stoopedto pick them up. As she returned them she caught a glimpse of the setlook in the face of her mistress. 

"Are you feelin' bad?" she asked. 

"No, no, I am quite well, Maria, only a little tired--are we nearhome?"

"Yes'm, we've passed Gramercy Park, and there's the steeples of St. George's that you see from your windows. "

"Yes, yes, I see. Here we are close at home. You may go to bed, Maria, after you have lighted the lamp in my room. I shall not need youto-night. "

"Well, well, " thought the maid, "something's the matter sure. I neverknew no one more fussy about the unhooking of her gown. She can't domuch herself, but she does know how things ought to be done, andthat's what I calls a real lady. "

"Winifred, my dear, is that you?" Professor Anstice called, as therustle of his daughter's dress caught his ear on the stair. 

"Oh, Papa, are you awake still?"

"_Still!_ Why it is not so very late!" said her father, as Winifredentered the study and threw herself into the deep upholstered chairbeside the fire, which was just graying into ashes in the grate. 

Her father was sitting in his cane-seated study-chair with aconglomeration of volumes piled about the table. His face, perhapsfrom the reflection of the green-shaded student-lamp, looked pale andworn. His shoulders, too, seemed to Winifred's abnormally quickenedperception to have caught a new stoop. The fact forced itself upon herconsciousness with a sudden, swift pang, that her father was growingold. She had never thought of age in connection with him before. Toher he had been simply and sufficiently "my father, " without thoughtof other relations or conditions; but now it rushed upon her with awave of insistent remorse, that his life was slipping by, while shewas doing so little for his happiness. A rather bare and dreary lifeit seemed to her now, as she contemplated its monotony; for Winifredhad no appreciation of "the still air of delightful studies. " Herworld was peopled with live, active figures, always pushing forward, seeking, striving, loving. And her father had loved once. Yes, thattoo struck her now, almost with a shock of surprise. He, too, hadasked for some one's love as ardently, perhaps, as Jonathan Flint forhers. More than that, he had won the love he sought. Won it and lostit again. Could it ever come to that for her? The thought smote herwith an intolerable sharpness. 

Mr. Anstice was a strange man to be the parent and guardian of such agirl as Winifred. The world for him was bounded by the walls of hisstudy. Even his teaching seemed an interruption to the real businessof his life, and he turned his back upon his class-room with asensation of relief. 

He was not a popular professor among the body of the students; but theunfailing courtesy of his manner, and the solidity of his scholarship, won the respect of the many, and the esteem and warm admiration of thefew. 

His bearing, in spite of the scholar's stoop, was marked by a certaindistinction, and the lines of his worn face curiously suggested thefresh curves which marked his daughter's brow and cheek. The beauty ofyouth is an ivorytype; the beauty of age is an etching, bitten out bythe burin and acid of thought, experience, and sorrow. 

The prevailing mood with James Anstice was one of gentle weariness. Hefelt that his life was ended, and that the years were going on in asort of monotonous anti-climax. Yet, in spite of this undertone ofdepression, his manner was responsive, genial, even gay at times, andhe lived much in the reflected light of Winifred's youth and energy. 

If it caused him some surprise that any one should want anything asmuch as Winifred wanted everything for which she cared at all, hetreated her enthusiasms with amused toleration, and made as mucheffort to secure for her the successive desires of her heart as thoughthey had assumed the same importance in his own mind as in hers. 

To-night he forced himself away from his own train of thought with aneffort, to throw himself into Winifred's evening experiences. Hewatched her for some time as she sat in silence, with head bentforward and gloved hands clasped about her knee. 

"Well, little girl, " he said at last, "you seem to have fallen into abrown study. Was the dinner so dull?"

"No, Papa, not dull exactly; rather brilliant in some ways. "

"I understand--brilliant materially, dull spiritually, like themantles those fellows wore in the Inferno--gilt on the outside, andlead within. 'Oh, everlastingly fatiguing mantle!' I am gladder thanever that I stayed at home. "

"I am glad too, for I think you would have been bored, and when youare bored you make no concealment of the fact. "

"Of course not, --why should I? If I seemed to be having a good time, Ishould be compelled to go through it again. No, society is organizedfor people under twenty-five. They really enjoy it. For the rest ofthe world it is a sham. "

Winifred smiled absently. 

"Who was there?" Professor Anstice asked at length, pushing away hisbooks as if bidding them a reluctant good-night. 

"Oh, no one whom you know, I think, except Mr. Flint. "

"Flint? Does he go to such things?"

"Yes, and appears to find them sufficiently entertaining, though Ifancy he must be decidedly over twenty-five. By the way, " she added, with an elaborately careless aside, "what do you think of Mr. Flint, on the whole?"

"I think, for a clever man, he plays the worst game of whist I eversaw. "

"Yes, yes, " admitted Winifred, with light mockery in her tone; "butwhat do you think of him in lesser matters, --general character, forinstance?"

The Professor looked at his daughter with a little quizzical sadnessin his faded gray eyes. He began to perceive the drift of her banter. 

"It would be difficult to state exactly what I think of him when youput it so broadly as that, " he answered. "Flint's character iscomplex. He has in him the making of a fine man; but the question is, will it ever be made? He seems to me abnormally lacking in personalambition, --does not seem to care whether he is heard of or not, --has asort of contempt for the little neighborhood notorieties which givemost men pleasure. It is as if he were taking a bird's-eye view ofhimself, and every one else, and they all looked so small that thetrifling variations in prominence did not matter. "

Winifred looked at her father in silent surprise. She had no idea thathe had made such a study of the younger man. He paused for a moment;but meeting his daughter's absorbed gaze, he continued: "The thingwhich gives me most hope of Flint is his genuine devotion to truth. Positive or negative truth--it is all the same to him. Now, many aman is loyal to his convictions; but very few are loyal to theirdoubts. He will 'come into port greatly or sail with God the seas. 'Fine line that, isn't it? The sound is quite majestic if you say itover aloud--'Come into port--'"

"But, Papa, " interrupted Winifred a little impatiently, "you weretalking of Mr. Flint. "

"To be sure, so we were, --at least I was; but I should like to hear alittle of your opinion of him. A woman's estimate of a man is alwaysworth having, though not always worth heeding. You see too much inhigh lights and deep shadows, not enough by clear daylight; still, Ishould like to know how Flint strikes you. I remember at first youfound him absolutely disagreeable. "

"Yes, Papa. "

"But of late you have seemed to change your mind, or at least to feelless prejudice against him. "

"Yes, Papa. "

A silence fell between them after this. At length Winifred rose andturned down the lights. Then she drew a low stool to the side of herfather's chair, and sitting down by his knee began to rub her handgently up and down over the broadcloth. 

"Papa, " she said after a while, "I haven't been very nice to you; haveI?"

"Nonsense, child, --what put such an idea into your head? As if I hadhad any happiness in all these years since--since your motherdied--except through my children!"

"Oh, yes, I know you have found your happiness in taking care of us, but I have found my happiness in being taken care of; and I haveenjoyed having my own way and doing the things I liked, and now Iwould give--oh, so much!--if I had been different. "

"What does this mean?" exclaimed Professor Anstice, anxiously fumblingabout Winifred's wrist in the vain effort to find her pulse. "Are youill? You have not had a hemorrhage or anything, have you?"

"Don't worry about me, dear! I shall live to plague you for many ayear yet. I'm as well as can be, except for the mind ache. " Here shegave a nervous little laugh. The Professor looked down at her, sittingthere on the stool, her head drooping to the side as he remembered tohave seen it years ago when she was a little chidden child. The wavinghair hid her face from his sight, --all but the delicate oval of thecheek and the curve of the full, rounded chin. 

"Winifred, " he said gently, "I think you have something to tell me. "

"Yes, I have, only I don't know how to begin. "

"Is it, perhaps, about Mr. Flint?"

"Yes, about Mr. Flint, " Winifred admitted. 

"He has been asking you to marry him?"

"Yes, asking me to marry him, " Winifred repeated, still like a childreciting her catechism. 

"And you promised. "

"No, I did not, " Winifred answered with sudden energy; "I told him Inever could, would, or should marry him, --that I would go on beingfriends with him as long as he liked, but on condition that he gave upthe other idea entirely. "

Professor Anstice reached out his thin white scholarly fingers andstroked the rebellious waves of his daughter's hair. 

"Winifred, " he said, "you are always acting on impulse. You never taketime to consider anything, but jump and plunge like a broncho. Now letus talk this matter over calmly: I am afraid you have made amistake--a serious mistake, my dear, though it may not be too late toremedy it. "

"There is nothing to remedy, " said Winifred, with a tremulous attemptat cheerfulness; "he asked me and I said 'No, ' and he said he shouldnever ask me again, and I said I hoped he wouldn't, or something likethat, and so the matter ended; and I am always going to live with youand be good to you, --and you won't be sorry for that, will you?"

"I should be very sorry if it came about so. Listen, Winifred. Becauseyou see me a delver in dusty old books, you think perhaps that I don'tknow what love is; but I tell you as I grow older it comes to fill alarger and larger part of the horizon, to seem perhaps the onlyreality. I don't mean just the love of a man for a woman, but thegreat throbbing bond of human affection and sympathy; and of all thekinds of affection, there is none that has the strength and toughnessthat belong to the love of husband and wife. I wish you to marry, Winifred, --I have always wished it, --only let it be to a true man, mydear, --let it be to a true man!"

"Father, he _is_ a true man, " said Winifred, speaking low and with atimidity wholly new to her. 

"I think so, --I earnestly believe it. He seems to me to have moreability, more strength, and more tenderness than he has shown yet. Some wrong ideas have twisted themselves persistently among the veryfibres of his life and warped it; but it is not yet too late to tearthem away. "

"Some one else may do it, " said Winifred, in exaggerateddiscouragement, "I let the opportunity slip by. He will never ask meagain, and as for me--do you think I will ever go to any man with theoffer of my love? Not if my heart broke for him!"

"He said he would never ask you again?"

"Yes, Papa; he said it twice. "

"Well, if he said it twice fifty times, it was a lie, or would havebeen if he had not believed it himself at the time. Never fear but youwill have a chance to tell him that you have changed your mind, andwithout any wound to your pride either. "

"Oh, Papa!" cried Winifred, rising and throwing her arms about hisneck, "you are such a comfort!"

The old clock on the landing of the stairway struck one. 

"There, it is morning already, " said her father. "Off to bed with you, else I shall have no one to pour out my cup of coffee to-morrow. " Ashe spoke, he gently unclasped her arms from about his neck, but shewould not go quite yet. 

"If--if--all this should ever come about, are you quite sure you wouldbe willing to have me leave you?"

"Quite sure, my dear. It is the natural thing, and what is naturalmust be right. Now, good-night. "

Winifred wiped away the tears which had been hanging on the fringe ofher eyelashes, and after a parting hug gathered up her wraps and sweptaway to her room. Her father watched her tenderly till the last traceof her gown had vanished up the stairs; then he closed the doorsoftly, took a miniature from its case in the drawer, laid it on thetable, and bowed his head on both arms above it. 

"'Father and Mother both. ' Yes, that was what I promised, and that iswhat I must be so far as I can, and may God help me!" he murmured. 

 CHAPTER XIX

 A SLUM POST

 "Sounding brass and a tinkling cymbal. "

Despair fells; suspense tortures. The forty odd hours which laybetween the ending of the Grahams' dinner and the promised interviewwith Winifred Anstice stretched out into an eternity to the impatienceof Flint. By turns he tried occupation and diversion; yet his earcaught every tick of the clock, which seemed to his exaggerated fancyto have retarded its movement. He found it so impossible to work athis office that he packed up his papers and started for home. 

"What! going so early?" called Brooke from his desk. 

"Yes, a man cannot do any work here with this everlasting steam-drilloutside. "

"You are growing too sensitive for this world, Flint. We shall have tobuild you a padded room, like Carlyle's, on top of the building. "

Flint vouchsafed no answer. He posted out and up Broadway as if hewere in mad haste. Then suddenly recollecting that his chief purposewas to kill time, he moderated his stramming gait to a stroll. At ajeweller's on Union Square he paused, and turned in, ostensibly toorder some cards; but passing out he stopped surreptitiously beforethe case of jewels. The rubies interested him most. How well theywould look against a certain gray-silk gown! Should he ever dare-- Hecaught a meaning smile on the face of the clerk, and bolted out of thedoor. 

He paused again at a fashionable florist's shop tucked deftly in amongthe theatres of central Broadway. The men at the counter were busilyengaged over curiously incongruous tasks, --one binding up a cross oflilies, another a wreath for a baby's coffin, and a third preparing aberibboned basket, gay with chrysanthemums, for a dinner-table. Heedless, like us all, of every one's experiences but his own, Flintstood by, waiting impatiently for the clerk who was putting the lastlily in the cross. From the great heaps of roses which stood about heselected an overflowing boxful of the longest-stemmed and mostfragrant. The clerk smiled as he watched his recklessness. "I've seen'em like that, " he said to himself, "and two or three years afterthey'll come in and ask for carnations, and say it doesn't matter ifthey _were_ brought in yesterday. "

Unconscious of the florist's cynical reflections, Flint tossed himhis card, and emerged once more to add one to the moving mass ofhumanity on the street. At Madison Square he dropped in at the cluband looked over the latest numbers of "Life" and "Punch. "

Still time hung heavy on his hands. He looked at his watch; it wasjust five o'clock, --exactly the time when that objectionable Blathwaytwas to call in Stuyvesant Square. Still two hours before dinner. 

He left the club, crossed over to Broadway, and jumped onto theplatform of the moving cable-car at imminent peril to life and limb. He rode on in a sort of daze, till he was roused by a sudden jerk andthe conductor's call of: "Central Park--all out here!" Moving with themoving stream of passengers, he stepped out of the car, and refusing agreen transfer ticket he crossed the street and entered the park atthe Seventh Avenue gate, where the path makes a sudden dip from thelevel of the street. The sun was near its setting, and the chilly windhad swept the walks clear of tricycles and baby carriages. Thegray-coated guardian of the peace blinked at him from his sentry box. Otherwise he had the park to himself, and found an intense pleasure inthe solitude, the keen air, and the sharp outlines of the drearyautumn branches against the gorgeous sky. 

The west had that peculiar brilliancy which the dwellers on Manhattanwould recognize as characteristic of their island in November, ifthere were not so few who ever get a peep at the sky exceptperpendicularly at noonday, as they emerge from rows of brownstonehouses or overshadowing buildings of fabulous height. Flint was in nomood to sentimentalize over sunsets. The intensely human interestsbefore him drove Nature far away, as a cold abstraction akin to death;yet half unconsciously the scene imprinted itself upon his senses, andlong afterward he recalled distinctly the pale grayish-blue of thezenith shading into the rare, cold tint of green, and that againbarred over with light gossamer clouds, beneath which lay the glowingbands of orange, red, and violet. 

As the sun dropped, the temperature followed it. The wind whistledmore keenly through the bare branches. Flint turned up the collar ofhis overcoat, thrust his hands into his pockets, and quickened hispace. 

The relief of rapid motion told upon his overstrained condition. Bythe time he had rounded the lakes he was calmer. The ascent of thesteep, rock-hewn steps of the ramble rested his nerves as much as ittaxed his wind, and as he came stramming down the mall, his mind wassufficiently detached from its own hopes and fears to be able torealize that the overhanging elms recalled agreeably the long walk atOxford, and that the Cathedral spires were fine in the gathering dusk, as one emerged from the Fifth Avenue entrance. The return to the worldof men stimulated him, and the long undulating waves of electriclights seemed to beckon to him hopefully as he went on. 

The afternoon was gone. That was one comfort, he said, as he reachedhis own room. It would take half-an-hour to dress for dinner, and thatmeal might be prolonged to cover another hour; but the evening stillstretched onward, seeming interminable to his restless fancy. It was arelief when Brady came in and suggested that they drop in at a meetingof the Salvation Army to be held at a slum post in a region of thecity known as Berry Hill. 

"Will I go?" he said, echoing the question of his friend, who stoodlooking out of the window with an appearance of indifference, whichdeceived no one. "Yes, I will; but I want you to understand that Idon't go as you do, out of pure emotional piety, but only to see andhear Nora Costello. "

"Well, she is worth it, isn't she?" Brady responded. 

"Worth a trip down-town? Without doubt; but that is not the questionthat is lying down in the depths of the locality you are pleased tocall your heart. Come, now, " he added, walking across to the windowand throwing his arm over Brady's shoulder with one of his rareexhibitions of affection, --"come; make a clean breast of it, and letus talk the thing out from A to Z. _Imprimis_, you are in love withNora Costello. "

Brady started and moved away a trifle, but made no effort at denialtill after a minute, when he said rather weakly, "What makes you thinkso?"

"_Think_ so! Why, man, I must be deaf, dumb, and blind not to _know_it. Do you suppose I believed that a man at your time of life, broughtup as you have been, had suddenly gone daft on this Salvation Armybusiness?"

"It's a 'business', as you call it, that does more good than all thechurches put together, " answered Brady, hotly. 

"Hear him!" echoed Flint, mockingly. 

"Hear this son of New England actually declaring that there may be away to heaven which does not lie between church-pews or start from apulpit!"

"Flint, you are a scoffer. "

"What do I scoff at?"

"Religion. "

"Pardon me, but I do not. "

"Well, theology, anyway. "

"Ah, that is a different matter. "

"You call yourself an agnostic. "

"No, I don't. 'Agnostic' is too long and too pretentious a word. Iprefer to translate it and call myself a know-nothing. "

"Don't you believe in God and a future life--and--and all that sort ofthing?" Brady ended rather disjointedly. 

"Don't you believe Mars is inhabited? and that the lines on itssurface are canals for irrigation?"

"I don't know, " answered Brady, whose mental processes were simple. 

"Neither do I, " said Flint; "and what is more, neither does any man, any more than he knows about God and a future life; and so why shouldwe go to making up creeds and breaking the heads of people who don'tagree with us when we are all just guessers, and probably all of uswrong?"

"Then you would take away faith out of the world?"

"Not I, --at least not unless I could see something to take its place, which at present I don't; and as for these poor devils who areconsoling themselves for their hard lot in this world by theexpectation of a soft thing in the next, I would not be such a bruteas to shake their confidence if I could, and I don't blame them muchif in addition to their heaven they set up a hell where, inimagination at least, they can put the folks who have been having atoo good time here while they were grunting and sweating under theirweary load. "

"Then I wonder you have not more sympathy with an organization likethe Salvation Army, which is doing its best to lighten the burden ofthe grunters and sweaters. "

"Ah, " answered Flint, "I had forgotten the Salvation Army, --it seemsso small a branch of a big subject. I am glad you brought me back. Butlet us go a little further back still, for you know it was not theArmy at all that we started to discuss, but only one of its officers, with a slender little figure and a pale face and a big pair of rathermournful dark eyes. "

"Oh!" said Brady, taken somewhat off his guard, "but you should seeher when she is pleased! They light up just as if a torch had beenkindled in them. "

"Oh, they do, do they?" said Flint, with genial raillery; "well, yousee I never saw her so pleased as that. "

"Why, don't you remember on her birthday, when I gave her back thelocket?"

"I remember the occasion; but I had precious little chance to see howher eyes looked, for you stood so close to her that nobody else couldcatch a glimpse. I did see something, though. "

"What?"

"I saw _you_, and any one more palpably sentimental I never did see. "

"Well, what of it? It isn't a crime, I suppose--"

"That depends, " Flint answered dryly. 

Brady shook off his hand. "What do you mean by that?" he askedangrily. 

"I mean, " said Flint, folding his arms and looking at his friendsteadily, "that you have come to the cross-roads. You cannot go on asyou are. You must either give up hanging about Nora Costello, or youmust make up your mind to marry her. "

"And why not, pray, if I could induce her to accept me?"

"Great Heavens!" cried Flint; "has it gone so far as that?"

"Yes, it has, " answered Brady, as defiantly as though Flint hadrepresented his whole family circle; "and if she will marry me I shallbe a proud and happy man. "

"And your relatives, --the Bradfords and Standishes and all?"

"Plymouth Rock may fall on them for all I care, " exclaimed Brady. 

"And how about the tambourines and torches?"

Brady colored a little, but he stood his ground manfully. 

"I shall never presume to dictate, " he answered. "I will go my way andshe shall go hers; and if I can lend a helping hand to any of the poorwretches she is trying to save, I shall do it, if I have to take offmy kid gloves and get down into the gutter, as many a better man hasdone before me. "

"Well, " answered Flint, "if that is the way you take it I have nothingmore to say. But if you don't object I would like to be present whenyou announce the engagement to Miss Standish. "

"Miss Standish be hanged!" cried Brady. "It is a question of MissCostello, I tell you. My only anxiety lies right there. If you hadever been in love you would know how it feels. "

"I can imagine, " Flint answered, taking up his pipe and lookingscrutinizingly into the bowl; "I have read about it in books. Butcome! if we are going to the rally we must be about it. It is nearlyeight by my watch. How long is the confounded thing--excuse me--I meanthe gospel gathering?"

"If you are going to make fun of it, Flint, you would better stay athome, " said Brady, stiffly. 

"No, no, forgive me, Brady! I meant nothing of the kind; it is myaccursed habit of joking when I am in earnest, and being so solemnwhen I try to be funny that I am never in harmony with the occasion. Go on; I will close the door. I ought not to go, for I half expectBrooke of the Magazine. No matter; I will leave word for him. "

As they passed the janitor, Flint said, "I shall be back by ten. Ifany one comes to see me you have the key of my rooms, and let anyvisitor come in and wait. "

"All right, sir!"

"And see that the fire is kept up. "

"Yes, sir. "

Flint shivered as he passed out of the warm, heavily carpeted hallsinto the chilly night of late November. 

"To-morrow will be Thanksgiving, won't it?" Brady observed. 

"Yes, and judging by the number of turkeys on this avenue there willbe no family without one. I heard last year of a poor widow who had_six_ sent her by different charitable institutions. That is what Icall a pressure of subsistence on population. "

Something in Flint's manner jarred upon his companion. It seemed likea determined opposition to any undue influence of sentiment oremotion. Brady could not have defined the attitude of his friend'smind; but he felt it, and resented it to the extent of keepingsilence after they had taken their seats in the car of the elevatedroad. 

There were few other passengers, and the car smelled of lamp-oil. Allsurrounding influences tended to depress Brady's ordinarily buoyantspirits, and he wished he had stayed at home, or at any rate had leftFlint behind. Meanwhile his companion, apparently wholly oblivious ofthe frigidity of his companion's manner, sat with his hat pulled overhis eyes, and his face as undecipherable as the riddle of the Sphinx. 

As the cars stopped at a station half-way between the up-townresidences and the downtown offices, in the slum belt of the city, Brady buttoned up his overcoat and rose, saying shortly, "We get outhere. "

"He has been here more than once, " was Flint's inward comment; but hemade no reply, only followed in Brady's footsteps down the ironstairs, and under the shadow of the elevated track for a block or two, when Brady made a sharp wheel to eastward. 

"Is this our street?" asked Flint, speaking for the first time. 

"Yes, this is our street. Turn to the right--there where you see thered lantern hanging out from the second story. "

"Ah, you know the neighborhood well, I see. Lead on, and I willfollow. How dark it is down here!"

"Yes, electric lights are reserved for the quarters where you richpeople live. "

"_You_ rich people!" Flint smiled to himself. "Pretty soon, " hethought, "Brady will be classing me among the greedy capitalists whoare battening on the sorrows of the poor. " He was almost conscious ofa feeling of guilt as he recalled the fresh, pure air of the park andcontrasted it with this atmosphere. The name of Berry Hill seemedcuriously inappropriate for the level streets lined with tumble-downtenements; and its suggestion of the long-ago days when vine-claduplands swelled between the narrowing rivers, and little childrensteeped their fingers in nothing more harmful than the blood ofberries, lent an added pathos to the gloom of the contrasting present. 

The slum post was a forlorn wooden building which had quite forgotten, if it had ever owned, a coat of paint. The windows of the lower storywere guarded by a wire netting, behind which reposed the treasures ofthe poor under the temporary guardianship of the pawnbroker. On oneside lay bits of finery, tawdry rings of plate and silver set withsham diamonds and pearls, which if the product of nature, would havebankrupted a Rothschild. In among them were infants' rattles andspoons marked for life with the impress of baby teeth. Behind thesmaller articles hung a row of musical instruments, fifes and fiddlessadly silent, and hinting of moody, mirth-robbed homes. Behind theseagain, by the dim light within, Flint caught a glimpse ofmiscellaneous piles of household articles wrung from the reluctantowners who had already parted with vanity and mirth, and now mustbanish comfort too. 

The door on one side of the window stood open, and a rather dim lightwithin showed a bare hall-way with a worn shabby staircase leading tothe room above. Flint and Brady toiled up two flights. "The path toheaven is not to be made too easy, is it?" said Flint, pausing to takebreath. 

"No; did you expect elevators?" his friend asked with some asperity. 

Flint's good humor was not to be shaken, however. 

"To heaven? Why, yes. Angels' wings I've always understood were to beat our service. Here it seems not. "

At the door Brady stopped to drop a quarter into the basket labelled"Silver contribution, " held by a buxom and not unpleasing young womanin the Army uniform. 

"They understand the first principles of the church, I see, " Flintwhispered. "They have dropped the communion, but they keep thecontribution-box. "

Brady did not attend to him. As the two men entered, several turned tolook at them. Clearly they were not of the class expected. Brady, however, nodded to one or two, and he and his friend sat down on abench near the door, in the corner of the hall. Flint wished it werein order to keep his hat on to shield his eyes from the unshaded gas, which struck him full in the face. But he resigned himself to that, aswell as to the heat and the odor, and charged it off to the account ofa new experience. 

The interior was bare and cheerless, colorless save for the torn redshades above the high dormer windows, and the crudely painted mottoesover the platform and around the wall. "_Berry Hill for God!_"sprawled along one side, flanked by "_Remember Your Mother'sPrayers!_" and in front the sinner's trembling gaze was met by thedepressing suggestion, "_What if you Was to Die To-night?_"

The ceiling was low, and the air already over-heated andover-breathed. Flint was an epicure in the matter of air. He lookedlongingly at the door, which offered the only method of escape. But hehad come for the evening, and he made up his mind to endure to theend. 

A Hindoo was speaking as they came in, shaking his white turban withmuch vehemence, and waving his small delicate hands in the air as hetold of "The General's" work in India, and how he had been drawn bythe gospel (which he pronounced go-spell) to give up his rank in theBrahmin caste, to wander over the world as an evangel. 

"Queer, " muttered Flint, "that every converted Hindoo was a Brahmin. Booth seems to have had great luck with the aristocracy. "

For a few moments the strangeness of the Hindoo's speech amused Flint;then he grew bored, and finally irritated. He took out his watch, looked at it conspicuously, then closed it with an audible click. Ifthere is a depressing sound on earth it is the click of a watch to theear of an orator. The speaker felt it, and looked round deprecatingly, reflecting perhaps that however superior in morals, Occidentals havesomething to learn of the Orientals in manners. 

When the high-caste Hindoo sat down, there was much clapping of handsand shaking of tambourines, and then to the tune of Daisy Bell rose achorus of, --

 "Sinner, Sinner, give me your answer, do!"

Flint felt a convulsive twitching at the corner of his mouth, but hehad sworn to himself that he would betray no levity. Brady looked souncomfortable that his friend pitied him. There is much which disturbsus, chiefly through the sensibility of others. At the end of thesinging, a man rose to tell of what the Army had done for him inrescuing him from the gutter; but his legs were so unsteady and hisspeech so frequently interrupted by hiccoughs that an audible titterran around the room, and there was great propriety in the songfollowing his remarks. 

 "If at first you don't succeed, Try, try again. "

The room grew hotter, the lights more trying, the bench harder. Thehumor of the situation began to die out in Flint's mind, and gave wayto a wave of repulsion and of pity for his friend who was about tocondemn himself to these associations for life. His mind, which hadwandered from the scene around him, was recalled by the sound of avoice, so different from the preceeding ones that it fell like angelictones upon a world far beneath. 

"My friends, " said the voice, which was of course Nora Costello's, "you have listened this night to stories of sin and suffering, ofstruggle, of victory, and sometimes of defeat. "

"Like the tipsy gent's, " a man called out with a coarse laugh. 

"Yes, like his. Would you jeer and gibe if you saw a man sinking inthe waves time after time in spite o' rafts and life-preservers thrownout to him from the ship?"

A shamed silence showed that the question had struck; but the speakerwas not satisfied with silence. She went on driving the shaft home. "Would you laugh if you saw a man trying to climb out of a burningbuilding and beaten back time after time by the flames?"

(Cries of "No, no. ")

"Then why should you laugh over a poor wretch who is struggling withworse flames and in danger of being dragged down to more terriblefires of endless punishment?"

"Fire! Fire!" cried some one in the hall. For a moment Flint took thisto be like the "No, no" of a moment before, --only a running comment onthe speaker's words, --but at the same instant his eye caught thecurling of a thin blue line of smoke in the corner, and he rememberedthe furniture and flimsy flummery stored on the lower floor. Hemeasured the distance to the door. There was no one between him andit. He would have little difficulty in escaping if he started on theinstant--_but these others!_

"The place will go up like a rocket, " he said to Brady, "but a panicis worse. Hold the door with me!"

"Take me, meester; I'm stronger nor him!" said a broad-shoulderedcoal-heaver, who had overheard their whisper. 

With this the three men made a bolt for the door, and formed in linein front of it, with their stout walking-sticks in hand. 

"Keep your seats. We will knock down the first man who moves. There'sno danger!" Flint shouted. For an instant the crowd wavered. It wouldhave taken only one more impulse to turn it into a mob. Nora Costellosaw the danger, and seizing her tambourine she began on a ringing Armychorus. The audience fell in with such energy that it drowned therattle of the fire engines. 

"Don't be alarmed, " said a fireman, sticking his head in at the door, "the fire is out, and the danger over. Five minutes more, though, " headded in an undertone to Flint, "would have done the business, andthen, I reckon, we might have spent a week looking for bodies in theashes. "

"Come, Brady, let us go; I want some fresh air, " said Flint, when theexcitement had subsided and another convert had begun his sing-songconfession and adjuration. 

"Go, then, " answered his friend; "I shall wait to the end. I am goingto walk home with Miss Costello. Yes, " he went on, in response to hisfriend's questioning glance, "it's to-night or never. "

"Then I won't wait, " said Flint; "only come in to-morrow and tell mehow you fared. "

It was with a feeling of exultation that Flint found himself again onthe street. "How grewsome it would have been, " he thought, "to becarried off in a job lot like that! I can imagine nothing worse, except perhaps to be killed in a crush at a bargain-counter. "

 CHAPTER XX

 THE UNFORESEEN

 "C'est toujours l'imprévu qui arrive. "

The ruling thought in Flint's mind as he emerged from the crowded roomand made his way down the shaky stairs to the outer door, was of thephysical delight of inhaling fresh air. He drew in two or three deep, lung-filling breaths, then he opened his coat and shook it to the airas he had seen doctors do after coming out of a sick-room. 

"Decidedly, " he said to himself, "slumming is not my vocation. If Iwere drafted into the Salvation Army, I should plead to be permittedto join the open-air brigade. My sympathy with the poor in general, and drunkards in particular, is in inverse proportion to the nearness. Poor Brady! I wonder how he will endure being unequally yoked togetherwith a believer. Suppose Nora Costello refuses him. No, he is safeenough, if it is being safe to have her return his love. I saw herlook up as we came in, and though she never glanced in our directionagain till the cry of 'Fire!' came, I saw her look of appeal then, and his response. Oh, there is no doubt about her accepting him; butthe question is, not how does she feel now, but how will she feel ayear or two years from now? As I grow older, I grow more conservativeon these things. There is such an amount of wear and tear in theordinary strain of married life that I hate to see cruel and unusualones added. If Winifred Anstice should ever or could ever-- There, Iwill not allow myself even to think about it, for it would be so muchharder to give it up afterward if I am compelled to, and, after all, what chance is there that a girl like Winifred would be willing tospend her whole life with a man whose nature and character are sodifferent from hers!"

Flint had been walking rapidly, and his musings had so filled his mindthat he saw with surprise that he had reached the corner where theSixth Avenue elevated and surface cars curve together for theirstraight-away race to the Park at the end of the course. He wasconscious of a certain added rush of spirits at finding himself oncemore on the edge of a familiar world, --a world where the sin was atleast conventionalized and the misery went about well dressed. Alreadythe scene at the slum post had taken on in his mind a distance whichenabled him to regard it humorously, and he amused himself inrehearsing the scene as he would set it forth to Brooke when hereached "The Chancellor. "

As he turned a corner, he noticed just in front of him in the sidestreet leading toward Fifth Avenue a young woman carrying a paperparcel, and looking up a little nervously at one number after another. She wore a Canada seal jacket, and a wide felt hat topped with noddingplumes which made a large effect for the investment. Over the jackethung a gilt chain holding a coin purse, the latest fad of thefashionable world. 

As Flint's footsteps quickened behind her, she turned her head alittle timorously. At last she stopped, and as he caught up with hershe began, "Could you tell me--" Then she stopped short. 

"Miss Marsden!" exclaimed Flint, in amazement. "What in the worldbrings you here?"

"To see New York, " the girl began a little flippantly, but ended moretremulously, "and to see you. "

"But where are you staying?"

"Nowhere--that is, I came down on the train this afternoon, and Ithought I'd go to a hotel, and then I meant to write you a noteto-morrow and ask you to come and see me; but a lady I met on thecars, she was real kind, and she said she guessed I'd find it costmore 'n I reckoned on to go to a hotel, and so she gave me thisaddress where a friend of hers lived. She said she was a perfect lady, and would take good care of me. Not that I need anybody to do that!"

This last with that curious mixture of innocence, ignorance, andsophistication, incredible outside America, where the self-dependentgirl so early becomes sufficient for herself and too much for everyone else. 

Flint took the address from her hand, and studied it for a minute. "That will not do at all, " he said quietly, as he threw the bit ofpaper into the gutter. Then he took out his watch. "Half-past nine. You have just time to catch the night train for South East. "

The girl's face fell. "I'm not going to South East, " she saidsullenly. "I wrote Pa that I was going off for Thanksgiving, with afriend from Boxbury. "

"Then why not go back to Boxbury? That's still an easier trip, and Ican let you have the money. "

Flint's tone, which was always low, had dropped still deeper; but theearnestness of his manner made itself felt, and a casual passer-by, catching the word "money, " slowed up his walk, and turned his head foran instant's inspection of the couple. Flint raged inwardly at thevulgarity of the situation thus thrust upon him. To his companion, however, the glance of the passer-by conveyed nothing more than arecognition of her good looks, to which she was not averse. She stoodstill a moment, rubbing her ringed and ungloved hand back and forwardover the sanded iron imitation brownstone fence by which she hadpaused. Then, as Flint, feeling the conspicuousness of theirstationary attitude, made a movement to walk on, she broke out with anote of genuine feeling, --

"It's no question of money. I came away because I couldn't stand itany longer. I wanted so to see you and to tell you what a lot I caredabout you, and I thought perhaps--"

"Don't go on!" said Flint, a trifle sternly. "You are a silly littlefool; but you ought to know better than to say things like that to aman who never did and never could care anything for you. "

"Then you despise me and my love!" said Tilly, with passion half real, half premeditated for effect. She had rehearsed this scene many timesin her own mind. 

"Despise you? Not I, " Flint answered; "and as for your love, a real, genuine affection is about the last thing in the world to be despised. Whether it is returned or not, it does not matter; and besides, " hereFlint paused a minute and then went on, "in that I have much sympathywith you, for I too love some one who has refused to marry me. "

It was with a sense of inward surprise that Flint heard himselfrevealing the secrets of his inmost heart to this tawdry young girl;but Brady's words were ringing in his ears: "I think I would try tohelp save a soul, if I had to take off my kid gloves or even go downin the gutter to do it. "

Tilly Marsden had not enough nobleness of nature to take in the spiritof his confidence. To her his words implied some hope for herself. 

"Perhaps, " she said brokenly, "if you couldn't get her you might takeme. " As she looked up at him pleadingly, with real tears standing onher long eyelashes and the flush of a genuine emotion on her cheeks, Flint was conscious that she was very, very pretty. 

Her prettiness would not at any time have held any temptation for him. The inherited austerity of his blood and a fastidiousness oftemperament beyond the appeal of this chromo beauty would haveprevented it in any case, but just now he was under the spell of anexaltation which lifted him above even the possibility of such danger. He had stood on the Mount of Transfiguration and looked into the eyesof spiritual love. Its light still shone above and around him, andshed its influence over the whole world. All dark thoughts, allbasilar instincts shrank back abashed before that white light. The oldmonogamous instinct of the Anglo-Saxon race, which has kept it soundat the core in spite of a thousand vices, held this man as true to thewoman whom he wished to marry as if she were indeed his wife. 

Tempted he was not, but most wofully disturbed in mind he certainlywas. Having destroyed the dubious address, he felt himself to haveassumed in a measure a responsibility for this foolish girl's future, her immediate future at least. His mind traversed rapidly all thepossible courses open to him. He must take her somewhere. Hotels andboarding-houses were alike impossible. He thought of Nora Costello;but he could not bring himself to ask her to share the narrow limitsof her one room with this be-furbelowed young person, and then itwould involve so many awkward explanations. There was only one personwho would understand. By a process of exclusion, his thoughts weredriven more and more insistently toward seeking aid from WinifredAnstice. 

He felt to the full the delicacy and difficulty, not to say theabsurdity, of his position, in seeking to place the woman who lovedhim under the protection of the woman he loved, but it was the onlycourse which seemed even possible. 

"Come, " he said suddenly to Tilly, with an authority which the girl'swill was powerless to resist. "Since you will not go home, you must becared for here. I will take you to a friend of mine, and you must doas she tells you. "

"And what if I won't go?" said the girl, with a feeble effort atself-assertion. 

"Then I will leave you here. Only never hold me responsible for theruin that lies before you clear as Hell. "

The girl quailed before the energy of his words. 

"Cab, sir?" called the driver of a hansom the lights of which hadtwinkled from a judicious distance for some time past. 

Flint raised his finger in acquiescence, and the hansom rattled up tothe curbstone. Flint handed Tilly Marsden into it with his habitualdeference, gave a street and number to the driver, and, jumping inhimself, slammed to the half doors with a clang which echoed along thesilent street. The driver cracked his whip over the horse's head as ifhe were about to drive him at a desperate pace; but the animal, familiar with the noisy demonstration and recognizing it as intendedfor the encouragement of the passengers within the vehicle and notconveying any special warning to himself, set off at his customaryjog-trot. 

A man who had been standing in the shadow of a house moved out andstood a moment under the quivering nimbus of the electric light. Hisbrow darkened as he looked after the retreating cab. 

"Curse him!" he muttered. 

Flint and his companion drove on unwitting of the vengeance-breedingwrath behind them. For a time they kept silence, each absorbed in hisown thoughts. Flint was unpleasantly conscious that the girl wascrying behind her veil, but realizing that he had no consolation tooffer, he wisely let her alone, and before many minutes the novelty ofher surroundings began to tell upon Tilly's grief. 

"Whose house is that?" she asked in a broken voice, as they passed abrilliantly lighted hotel. She had read so much of the palaces of themillionnaires that a fourteen-story private dwelling did not strikeher as at all unexpected. 

"She will recover, " Flint murmured cynically to himself. His mind wasworking rapidly now. Like many contemplative men, once roused todefinite action he was capable of great energy and direct executiveability. He planned every detail of the coming interview, met everyemergency, was prepared for every event. 

As the cab drew up before the Anstice door, he noted with relief thatthe lights above were bright and those on the parlor floor subdued. "No company, thank Heaven! and the family upstairs, " was his comment. What he most dreaded now was Winifred's being out. He wondered if inthat event he should have courage to ask for Miss Standish, and hadalmost persuaded himself that he would, when McGregor, to the comfortof his soul, admitted that Miss Anstice was at home and withoutvisitors. Flint felt a little cut by McGregor's glance of suspicion athis companion. It seemed to connote the opinion of the world, and tomake his position more difficult than ever. He determined, however, tocarry things with a high hand. 

"Show this young woman into the dining-room, McGregor, and close thedoors. Then take this card to Miss Anstice, and ask if I may see herfor a moment on important business. "

The old butler stumbled upstairs, murmuring, "Well, it's a queerbusiness, and I can't make it out; but he's the right sort, he is. "

As Flint waited in the drawing-room, he was dimly conscious of theperfume from the roses in the jar on the piano, conscious too that hewas standing on the very spot where he had kissed Winifred's handyesterday. Was it really only yesterday? It seemed an age ago. 

The spell was broken by the sound of a light step on the stair, andthe appearance of Winifred herself in the doorway, --Winifred in hergown of soft gray silk, with a bunch of his roses at herbelt, --Winifred as he had never seen her before, with the gladness ofunrestrained welcome in her eyes, with shy words of love almosttrembling on her lips. 

Flint started forward, then thought of the girl behind the closeddoor, and hesitated. Surely they could postpone happiness for a timeto bind up the bruises of that foolish wayfarer who was none the lessto be pitied that her wounds were self-inflicted. 

Winifred's quick perception took in at once the agitation of his faceand manner. 

"You are in trouble!" she said, coming close to him with swiftsympathy. 

"Yes, in trouble and in perplexity. I have come to you for help. "

"I am glad you have come to me, " the girl said simply, and stood withuplifted eyes waiting for him to go on. 

"Don't look at me like that, " Flint cried out; "when you do I canthink of nothing but you, and to-night we must both think about someone else. "

"Who is it? What is it? Tell me from the beginning. "

Flint was profoundly moved by the instant putting aside of allthoughts of self in the desire to be of service. 

"How dared I ask her to marry me?" he thought. Aloud he said: "Listen, Winifred, and know that I am trying to tell you the white truthwithout reserve or evasion. I come to you because you are the onlyperson who will need no explanation of the past, to unravel the evilof the present. I went with Brady this evening to a meeting of theSalvation Army at a slum post down on Berry Hill, where Nora Costellowas to speak--"

"Oh, why didn't you let me go too?"

"You shall go if you like sometime; but I am glad you were not thereto-night, for there was a fire, and something near a panic--"

Winifred turned white and moved nearer to him. 

"Don't be alarmed!" he said; "nothing happened. The fire was soon putout, and people settled back in their seats. But I grew restless, andconcluded not to wait for Brady; so I started to walk up alone--"

"Alone?" echoed Winifred, "through that quarter! Why, Nora says it isas bad as Whitechapel. "

"Perhaps, " said Flint, with a nervous laugh; "but my walk was entirelyuneventful till I reached our own highly respectable part of the city. As I was turning into Fifth Avenue, out of one of the side streetsabove Washington Square, I saw a girl looking up at the houses. As Icame along she stopped to speak to me, and to my amazement I found itwas Tilly Marsden. "

"_Tilly Marsden?_"

"Yes, she had come down to spend Thanksgiving here in the city. Shehad been expecting, it seems, to go to a hotel; but a woman on thetrain gave her the address of some friend, and she was looking up thisunknown landlady when I came along. "

"Little fool!" said Winifred, with finely feminine exasperation. 

"She is--beyond a doubt she is; but still--"

"But still, " said Winifred, with a vanishing smile, "you naturallyhave more sympathy with her folly than I have. " (At this momentWinifred had forgotten the charge of lack of sympathy which she hadbrought against the man before her three months ago. ) "The questionis, of course, what is to be done with her?"

Flint felt an immense sense of relief at Winifred's practical words, which seemed to remove the situation from the element of tragedy torather sordid commonplace. 

"That's it exactly, " he said helplessly. "I thought of taking her toNora Costello. "

"That would not do at all, " said Winifred, positively. "I amdisappointed in you. If you had trusted to my proffer of friendshipyesterday, you would have brought her to me. "

"I--I did, " hesitated Flint; "she is in the rear room there. But themore I think of it, the more I feel as if I could not have her herenear you. She is--"

"You need not tell me what Tilly Marsden is, " Winifred interrupted. "Iknow her of old. She is silly and pert, and cheaply sensational; butshe is not vicious, and if she were, our duty would be the same. Youmay leave her with Miss Standish and me. We will take care of her, andtry to make something of her. "

"I suppose I ought to say 'Good-by' to her?"

"By no means. Go, and leave her to me. "

"Have you no word for me at parting?"

"No, not now, --all that can wait. "

"Good-night, then, since you will let me say nothing more. "

Winifred answered with a farewell glance, full of confidence and oflove. Then the door closed after Flint, and Winifred threw open thefolding-doors into the dining-room. 

"How do you do, Miss Marsden?" she said, taking Tilly's hand. 

The girl looked at her, stupidly bewildered. 

"You do not recognize me, I see, but I remember you from seeing youwith Leonard Davitt down at Nepaug. "

Tilly blushed painfully, but Winifred took no notice of herembarrassment. 

"Mr. Flint said you were belated in your trip to the city, so hebrought you to us for the night, " Winifred continued, as if it werethe most natural episode in the world. 

"And did he tell you--"

"He told me nothing else. He was in a hurry, I suppose. "

"Then he is gone?"

"Yes, he is gone, and I am glad, because it is time you went to bedafter you have had such a tiresome journey. Come upstairs. I am goingto give you the little room next Miss Standish's. You remember herperhaps--she was at Nepaug too. To-morrow we will talk over anythingyou wish to tell me. Come!"

 CHAPTER XXI

 GOD'S PUPPETS

 "God's puppets best and worst are we, There is no last or first. "

The breakfast-hour in the Anstice household was regularly irregular. Amovable fast, Professor Anstice called it. On the morning ofThanksgiving Day the hand of the old Dutch clock pointed to nine whenWinifred Anstice entered the dining-room. 

A freshly lighted fire blazed on the hearth. The lamp beneath thesilver urn blazed on the table. Toasted muffins and delicate dishes ofhoney and marmalade stood upon the buffet. 

"Will you wait for Mr. Anstice?" McGregor asked as she entered. 

"No, McGregor, I am like time and tide, and wait for no man or womaneither; but you need not hurry, for I will look over my mail while theeggs are boiling, --just four minutes, remember. I don't want thembullets, nor yet those odious slimy trickling things which seem onlyheld together by the shell. "

McGregor smiled, --a smile it had cost him twenty years of service inthe best families to acquire, --a smile which expressed respectfulappreciation of the facetiousness intended without any personal sharein it. He never allowed himself to be more amused than a butler shouldbe. 

Winifred Anstice dropped into the chair which he held for her, andtook up, one by one, the letters which lay on the silver tray by herside. They proved a strange medley, as the morning mail of a New Yorkwoman always is, --a dozen "At Home" cards, Receptions, Teas, "days" inDecember, all put aside after a passing glance for future sorting; anappeal for aid, by a widow who had done washing for the family twentyyears ago, and was sure for the sake of old times Miss Anstice wouldlend her a small sum, to tide over the cruel winter when her son couldget no work; a note from Mrs. De Lancey Jones, stating that a fewexcellent seats for a performance to be given for the benefit of the"Manhattan Appendicitis Hospital" could be had from her; there was agreat rush for the tickets, but she wanted if possible to keep a fewfor her friends, and would Miss Anstice kindly let her know at once ifshe desired any?

Miss Anstice smiled a sceptical smile, which deepened into a laughwhen she picked up the next note, which stated that Mrs. Brown-Livingston was also holding back a number of the samemuch-sought tickets for her friends, but would part with a few to MissAnstice if informed at once. 

"What frauds these mortals be!" exclaimed Winifred, laying bothrequests aside to amuse her father later. 

At the next envelope she colored hotly, for she recognized thehandwriting instantly. Indeed it was an easily recognizablesuperscription and of very distinct individuality, --a back-hand whichat first glance gave the impression that it must be held up to themirror to be read, but on closer scrutiny looked plainer than theupright round hand of the copy-books. It did not need the "F" upon theseal to tell Winifred Anstice from whom it came. She opened it, as sheopened all sealed documents, with a hairpin, though two paper-cuttersof silver and ivory lay at her hand on the tray. 

The note was brief. It was dated "University Club, Midnight, " and hadno beginning, as if the writer could think of none befitting hisfeeling. 

"I am distracted, " it began abruptly, "with the contest of fears andhopes, regret and satisfaction. If I seem to have unloaded upon you aburden of responsibility which was justly mine, I beg you to believethat I did it only because I could see no other way, and even then Imeant only to ask you to share it. In place of this, withcharacteristic generosity you insisted upon assuming the whole. Thismust not be. Pray name some hour when I may come to you, and let it beto-morrow. You don't know how far off that seems. "

Only that, and then the signature. It was a strange note from a lover;but to Winifred Anstice it was full of the assurance that the man towhom she had given her heart (for she admitted it to herself now) wasof a nature large enough to put himself and his own feelings aside andto believe that she too was capable of the larger vision, therenunciation of present happiness for pressing duty. The highest planeupon which those who love can meet is this of united work and unitedself-sacrifice. 

Winifred's eyes glistened as she read, and when she had finished, sheslipped the note into her pocket for a second reading. As she did so, Miss Standish entered. 

"I declare, Winifred, you get more morning mail than a Congressman. "

"Yes, " said Winifred, "and my constituents make larger demands. "

"It seems to me, " said Miss Standish, "that you engage in too manyprojects. You do not give yourself time to attend to your own needsat all. "

"Oh, never fear for that!" answered Winifred. "One's own needs poundat the door; the needs of others only tap. How did you sleep lastnight?"

"Finely. I was so tired after that picture exhibition that I couldhardly keep my eyes open. I was glad enough to creep off to bed bynine o'clock; but do you know I had a confused dream of voices in theroom next mine, --the little one with the green and white hangings. Ithought I heard your voice, and then a stranger's, and I seemed tocatch the word 'Nepaug. ' Isn't it curious how dreams come without anyreason whatever?"

"H'm! Sometimes it is, as you say, very curious; but in thisparticular instance there was nothing very miraculous about it, sinceyou did hear voices and you very likely caught the word 'Nepaug, ' forit was certainly mentioned. "

"How's that?" questioned Miss Standish, sharply. She did not relishthe idea of having missed any unusual happenings. 

Winifred was a little vexed by the note of curiosity in her voice, andshe answered without undue haste, "Yes, it was I and Tilly Marsden;you remember her, perhaps, --the daughter of the inn-keeper. "

There were two things most exasperating to Miss Standish, --one to besupposed to know what she did not and thereby to be cheated ofacquiring the information, the other to be suspected of not knowingwhat she remembered perfectly. 

"Not know Tilly Marsden! Well, you must think I am losing myfaculties. I wish you would not waste your time in telling things Iknow as well as you do; but what I would like to hear is how she cameto be in this house. "

"Mr. Flint brought her, " answered Winifred, with unkind brevity. 

"Ah!" commented Miss Standish, with an upward inflection, "and did heexplain how it happened that she was under his protection?"

"I did not insult him by inquiring, " flashed Winifred, "and I will nothave him insulted in my presence. "

Miss Standish looked at the girl over her glasses, as if she suspectedher of having lost her wits. We are all of us surprised by a responsewhich seems to us vehement beyond the proximate cause of the presentoccasion; we fail to allow for the slow-gathering irritation, theunseen sources of excitement which collect in the caverns of the mindlike fire-damp ready to explode at the naked flame of one flickeringcandle. Winifred had the grace to be instantly ashamed of herimpulsive irritability. She had already set before herself thestandard of self-control which she saw and reverenced in Flint. 

"Excuse me, " she said. "I was awake almost all night, and am tired andnervous. Mr. Flint met Tilly Marsden by accident in the street. Shedid not know where to go, and so he brought her here. My fatherapproved, " she added a little haughtily. 

"But why did she appeal to Mr. Flint?" pursued Miss Standish, whoclung to her inquiries like a burr. 

"Because she was in love with him, " blurted out Winifred, irritatedbeyond the power of silence. "Can't you see! _This_ was why I askedhim to leave Nepaug last summer. "

"Tilly Marsden in love with Mr. Flint!" echoed Miss Standish, amazedbeyond the desire to appear to have suspected it all along. "I can'tunderstand it. "

"I can, " said Winifred; "I can understand it perfectly. Poor girl! Iam heartily sorry for her. "

"Well, you needn't be, " responded Miss Standish, with an asperity bornof impatience at her own lack of astuteness. "For my part, I have nodoubt she has enjoyed the situation thoroughly from beginning to end. No, don't talk to me. I know those hysterical people. All they careabout is making a sensation and being the centre of attention. It ismy opinion that she has made fools of you and Mr. Flint too. As forher being in love with him, nonsense! She would have fallen in lovewith a wax figure at the Eden Musée, if it wore better clothes thanshe was accustomed to. It tickles her vanity to fancy herself in lovewith a gentleman. It is the next best thing to having him in love withher. "

"Don't you think you're a little hard on her?" asked Winifred, whosefeelings were unusually expansive this morning. 

"I think you are entirely too soft about her, " Miss Standish answered. "It is sickly sentimentalism like yours which is filling the hospitalswith hysterical patients. Let 'em alone and they'll come round fastenough. "

"How do you account for my sickly sentimentalism when I have no heart, as you told me the other day?" commented Winifred demurely, withdowncast eyes. 

"Most natural thing in the world, " said Miss Standish, rising to anargument like an old war-horse to the sound of a trumpet. "Tenderheartedness is touched by the sufferings of others. Sentimentality is touched by your feeling for them, which is the mostenjoyable form of sadness. "

At this point McGregor, who with admirable discretion had retreated tothe pantry, reappeared, served Miss Standish with coffee and eggs, andagain vanished, closing the door behind him. 

"Really, " cried Winifred, half laughing, half vexed, "you're as bad asMr. Flint, with your fine-spun differences. "

"There, Winifred, you've said enough. Whatever the provocation, youcould not have hit back harder, --to say I am like Mr. Flint. "

"It _was_ rather more than the truth warrants, " answered Winifred, with a little spot of color flaming up in her cheeks like adanger-signal. 

"I hope so, " Miss Standish continued, oblivious of the red flag. "Imust say, Winifred, I think you let him come here too much. "

"You don't like him?"

"No, I confess I don't. "

"Then you needn't like me, either, for _I_ like him so much that I amgoing to marry him. "

Miss Standish laid down her egg-spoon, and sat staring at Winifred. 

"Well!" she exclaimed at length, "this does beat all. "

Winifred opened her lips to reply, when her attention was called tothe maid who came hurrying into the room with her cheesecloth dusterin one hand and a folded piece of paper in the other. 

"The young woman, mum, as you said I was to call at nine, --well, sheisn't in her room, and the bed doesn't look as if it had been slept inat all, and I found this on the bureau. "

Winifred caught at the paper and read it breathlessly. It wasaddressed to herself. 

"Good-by, " it said, "and thank you for taking me in. I suppose I oughtto be very grateful. I came here because I could not help it, and I amgoing away without taking a meal, or sleeping in your bed. I don'tlike being taken on charity. If it had not been for you, Mr. Flintmight have cared for me, same as the hero did in 'The UnequalMarriage. ' I saw last night it was you he was talking about when hesaid there was somebody he wanted to marry who wouldn't have him. Myheart is broken; but I mean to have _some_ enjoyment, which Icouldn't, if I stayed here with you and that poky Miss Standish. Ithink it was real mean of Mr. Flint to bring me here anyhow. "

 Yours truly, "MATILDA MARSDEN"

She tossed the letter across the table to Miss Standish, and touchedthe bell under her foot. 

"McGregor, " she said, as the man appeared, "did you hear any one goout of the house this morning?"

"I thought I did, Miss Winifred, about six o'clock, beforelight, --that is, I was justly sure I heard the front door shut; butwhen I got there it was all right, except the outer door was unlocked, and that often happens when your father is at the Club. He do forgetnow and then. "

"Three hours' start!" said Winifred to herself, then aloud: "McGregor, go at once to 'The Chancellor' and leave word for Mr. Flint to comehere. Wait--I will send a note. Oh dear! why didn't I foresee thispossibility?"

"Come!" said Miss Standish, who, even in her excitement, could swallowthe last of her cup of hot coffee, --"come, let us go upstairs and seeif the foolish girl has not left some clew!"

As Winifred and Miss Standish passed out at the parlor door, MasterJimmy entered from the hall, sleek and smiling in his holiday attire. "Great Scott!" he ejaculated. "What started Miss Standish off likethat? Our stairs make the old lady puff when she takes 'em on theslow, and at this rate Fred will have to carry her half-way. Something's up, that's evident. Never mind, I'm not in it. McGregor, "he called, "bring on those griddle-cakes; I smell 'em cooking. Quicknow, while there's no one here to count how many I eat! Hurrah forThanksgiving!"

McGregor failed to appear at Master Jimmy's call, and when Maria came, she said he had been sent out on an errand. 

"What's up?" asked Jimmy, between mouthfuls. 

"Oh, nothing--nothing--I wonder will they have the police?"

"Cops!" cried Jimmy, waking up for the first time to a genuineinterest in the family excitement. "Has any one gone off with thespoons? It would be just my luck to have had a burglar in the houselast night and me never got a pop at him with my air-gun loaded andclose by the bed. "

"It's no burglar, " said the maid, with mystery in her tones. 

"Not McGregor drunk!" shouted Jimmy, with a scream of delight. "Thatwould be too good a joke. "

"McGregor drunk, indeed!" sniffed Maria, indignantly. "If every one ascame to this house was as good as McGregor, it would be a fine thing;but when it comes to takin' in all sorts and making a Harbor of Refugeout of a respectable home--I'm not surprised _whatever_ may happen. "

"Oh, hold your tongue, Maria. Don't be a fool! Get me some more cakes, while I go up and ask Fred what's the matter. It won't take _her_ halfan hour to get it out, I'll bet. "

With this cheerful observation Jimmy vanished, and Maria disappeareddown the kitchen stairs, declaring that that boy was "a perfectgintleman. "

When Flint entered the Anstices' drawing-room a little later, Winifredwas standing by the window, and though she turned away quickly, it wasevident that she had been watching for him. 

The thought thrilled him. 

"What shall we do? Oh, what shall we do?" she broke out, as he came upto her. 

He took her hands; they were burning hot. 

"First of all, I will tell you what _not_ to do, " Flint answered. "Youare not to work yourself into a fever of distress over thisunfortunate business. The responsibility is not yours but mine, andthe burden of anxiety is to be mine and not yours. "

"Oh, never mind me! What about Tilly Marsden? It is dreadful to thinkof her wandering about this great city entirely alone--and she such asimpleton. Of course, it's hopeless to try to find her. Papa says so. "

"Not so hopeless as you think, " said Flint, with a trifle moreassurance than he felt in his inmost heart. "New York stands for twothings to a girl like her, --the shops and the theatres, --her ideas ofthe 'amusement' she speaks of in the note you sent me would be limitedto one of these. Now, as this is a holiday, none of the shops wouldbe open, and that limits it to the theatres. I shall have detectivesat the door of every theatre this afternoon. "

"How clever you are, " murmured Winifred, "how clever and howsympathetic! You have such feeling for everybody in trouble. "

This was too much for even Flint's sense of humor, which had sufferedsomewhat, as every one's does, from the process of falling in love. His lips twitched. 

"Then I am not more obtuse than any one you ever saw, when thesufferings of others are involved?"

"Don't, pray, don't bring up the things I said that night!" criedWinifred, blushing rosy red. 

"This is no time for jesting, dear, I know, " Flint answered, comingclose to her as she stood against the filmy lace curtain. "No timeeither for jesting or hoping; only your words did give me a gleam ofencouragement to think that perhaps a girl who changed her mind somuch in a few weeks might have wavered a little in a few days. Is itpossible--Winifred, before I go away, as I must at once--could youfind it in your heart to say 'I love you'?"

Winifred made him no answer, at least in words; but she came close tohim, and laid both hands on his arm with a touching gesture oftrustful affection. 

So absorbed were they in one another that they did not notice how nearthey stood to the window, or that the curtain was too diaphanous quiteto conceal them from view. Suddenly into their world of ecstaticoblivion came a crash, a sound of falling glass, a dull thud againstthe wall opposite to the window. 

"Great Heavens!" cried Flint, looking anxiously at Winifred. "What wasthat? Are you sure you're not hurt, my darling?"

Even as he spoke, another report was heard outside, and, throwing openthe curtains, they saw a man on the other side of the street staggerand fall. Flint rushed to the door, down the steps and across thesidewalk. A crowd had already collected. 

"He is dead, --stone dead, " said one, kneeling with his hand over hisheart. 

"Queer, isn't it--on Thanksgiving Day too?" said another. 

"Who is he?--a countryman by his looks, " said a third. "Fine-lookingchap, too, with that crop of curly hair and these broad shoulders. "

"Faith!" murmured an old woman, "it's some mother's heart 'ull bleedthis day. " And pulling out her beads, she knelt on the sidewalk to saya prayer over the parting soul. 

The prostrate form lying along the pavement had a certain tragicdignity, almost majesty, in its attitude. One arm was pressed to theheart, the other thrown out in a gesture of abandonment to despair. The revolver, which had dropped from the nerveless hand, lay stillsmoking beside the still figure. From a wound in the left temple underthe dark curls the blood trickled in a red stream. Death was in hislook. The lips were turning blue, and the eyes glazing rapidly. 

Flint came close to the dying man, and then shrank back with aninvoluntary start of horror. "Leonard Davitt!" he murmured below hisbreath. In an instant the whole situation was clear to him. By one ofthose flashlights which the mind sometimes sheds on a scene before it, making the hidden places clear and turning darkness to daylight, hegrasped the truth. He knew that by some unlucky chance Leonard hadcome to New York, had seen him and Tilly Marsden in conversation, hadseen them come here together, had fancied that he was wronged. Thenthis morning again he must have seen him with Winifred at thewindow, --Winifred mistaken for the girl he loved, --and then jealousyquite mastered the brooding brain, and the end was _this_. 

As Flint stood over the boy's body, a great weight of sadness fellupon him. He felt like one of the figures in a Greek tragedy, innocentin intent, but drawn into a fatal entanglement of evil, and made aninstrument of woe to others as innocent as himself. The blue sky abovein its azure clearness seemed a type of the indifference of Heaven, the chill of the pavement a symbol of the coldness of earth. Thesethoughts, chasing each other through his brain with lightningrapidity, still left it clear for action. 

"Stand away there, and give the man air!" he cried, clearing a littlespace. "Go for a doctor, somebody, --quick!"

"Oh, can it be Leonard Davitt!" whispered Winifred under her breath, as pale and trembling with emotion she drew near the edge of thecrowd. "Poor boy! What shall we say to his mother?"

"Hush!" Flint answered. "May we carry him into the house?"

"Of course--of course. Oh, do hurry with the doctor. Perhaps he is notdead, after all. "

With that ready adaptiveness which in Americans so often supplies theplace of training, four of the men stepped forward, and lifting thebody gently bore it up the steps and through the open door into thedrawing-room, and laid it on the lounge just under the bullet-hole inthe wall. 

A doctor bustled in, box in hand. He made no effort to open his case, however. One look was sufficient. 

"Death must have been instantaneous, " he said. "What a queer thing, --asuicide on Thanksgiving Day!"

 CHAPTER XXII

 THE END

 _Extract from the Journal of Miss Susan Standish, Oldburyport, December 1. _

It is good to be at home again. I said it over to myself many a timeyesterday, as I was helping Mary to take the covers off the familyportraits, and sitting in front of the old andirons with the firelightdancing in their great brass balls. I felt it when I sat down at mymahogany table and laid my fingers on the ebony handle of the oldsilver coffee-pot. Things come to have a distinct individuality, almost a personality, and we unconsciously impute to them a responseto our feeling for them. It seemed to me that the old claw-foot sofawas as glad to get me back as the cat herself, and the door swung widewith a squeak of welcome. My desk too stood open with friendlyinvitation, and on it lay a couple of letters. The first was from BenBradford. It was so long since I had heard from the boy that I openedhis letter first. I wrote him last month, sending him some news andmore good advice. I counselled him to stop thinking about WinifredAnstice or any other girl, and throw himself into his studies, to makea record which should do credit to the Bradford name. He replies thatthe advice is excellent; only one drawback, --it cannot be done. He hastried throwing himself into his studies, but they closed over himwithout a trace. Talk about records, --he will be glad enough if hegets through his examinations without a dead flunk. As for notthinking about Winifred, he says I have not helped him to the desiredend by what I wrote about Mr. Flint and his attentions. Of course, Bensays, he could not expect that Winifred would wait for him. In thesedays no man could hope to marry until he was white-headed like thatFlint; but as for himself he never did or should see any woman whom hecould love except Winifred Anstice. 

To try to throw off his depression and discouragement, he had gonearound last evening to call on Fanny Winthrop, who was studying atRadcliffe this year and staying on Mount Vernon Street. She sent herlove to her "dear Miss Standish, " and if I had any message to send inreturn he would be happy to carry it, as he and she were to act in"The Loan of a Lover, " and he was likely to see a good deal of her inthe course of the next week or two. 

This letter has relieved my mind greatly. It is evident that Ben'sheart is built like a modern ship, in compartments, so that though onebulkhead suffers wreck, the vessel may still come safe to amatrimonial haven. 

Fanny Winthrop is a plain little girl with a round face and thetraditional student spectacles; but a merry pair of dimples twinklingwith a fund of cheery humor, and then--a Winthrop! That will pleasehis mother, I am sure. But I am no matchmaker. I never think of suchthings unless they are forced upon me, as they have been lately. 

The other letter on my desk was from Philip Brady. I had missed hiscall that last evening in New York. He writes, as if it were asurprising piece of information, that he is going to marry NoraCostello, provided she can gain the consent of her superior officers, and he delegates to me the pleasant duty of breaking the news to hisfamily circle. "This, " he says, "will be easy for you who have knownNora, and who were the first to discover her charm and the solid meritwhich goes so much deeper than charm. "

Here is a pretty state of things!

What am I to do? I can see Cousin John's face when he hears the words"Salvation Army. " He has always scoffed and scolded and sworn at themere mention of the business, and his opinions are very "sot, " as theOldbury farmers say. He is, in fact, the only obstinate member of ourfamily; but I will let him know that he cannot talk down SusanStandish. I mean to go right over to his house after dinner and haveit out with him. I shall tell him that Nora Costello is adaughter-in-law to be proud of (as she is), and that I dare say, if hewishes it, she will leave the Salvation Army (which she never will);that, at any rate, he must send for the girl to come on to visit him;that if he does not, _I_ shall; and that I heartily approve the match. 

I call myself a truthful woman, and the proof of it is that when I dostart out to tell a lie, it is a good honest one, not a deft littleevasion such as runs trippingly from the tongue of practiseddeceivers. 

I suppose the news of Philip's engagement will be spread all over townbefore night. I feel now as though I should not object to a little ofthat indifference to the affairs of one's neighbors which I found sodepressing when I was in New York. Not that I am any less loyal toOldburyport; if anything, I have grown more loyal than ever. 

I love the deep snow and the trees bare as they are, and the squaredown the road a piece, and the post-office, and the trolley cars. Ourcars go fast, but not too fast, --just fast enough, and they have nodead man's curve. Folks in Oldburyport die a natural death. They arenot killed by the cable or run over by bicycles, or, what is quite asbad, hurried and worried to death by the rush of life, as people arein New York. I declare I felt as if I had lived an age in the month Iwas there; but then, why shouldn't I, with so much happening and suchexciting and distressing things too! It seems as if everything wentcrooked. Now, if my advice had been taken in the beginning--but nobodyever will take advice except in Oldburyport. 

It makes me wrathy to think of Winifred Anstice marrying that Mr. Flint, who is so dangerously irreligious, and Philip Brady marryingNora Costello, who is so injudiciously religious, and then poorLeonard Davitt throwing away his life for that pert, forward, foolishTilly Marsden, who has gone back to her shop-counter, pleased, for allI know, with all the excitement she raised! If corporal punishment inearly youth were strictly adhered to, there would be fewer TillyMarsdens in the world. In Oldburyport, I am happy to say, we believein corporal punishment. 

Poor Leonard! I have not got over his death yet. It was all so sad andso unnecessary. But I am not sure that he is not better off as he isthan he would have been married to that girl. His mother took to herbed when she heard the news, and the doctor thinks she will not livelong. So Tilly Marsden will have that death on her conscience, too, orwould if she had a conscience to have it on. 

There might very easily have been a third, for they said the firstbullet which Leonard fired must have come within an inch of JonathanFlint's head. I should have supposed such an escape must have softenedeven him. I thought it was a good time to impress the lesson, so Ipointed to the bullet buried in the wall. 

"Mr. Flint, " said I, "can you look at that and not believe inProvidence?"

Instead of being convinced, as I thought he would, he only pointed toLeonard's body lying under it and said nothing. 

I hate these people who are given to expressive silences. It takes oneat a disadvantage. Silence is the only argument to which there is noanswer. At the time I could not think of anything to say to him, though, since I got home, I've thought of ever so many. It is easierto think, I find, in Oldburyport. 

Except for the last terrible days I had a beautiful time in the city, and as I look over my diary I am quite overwhelmed to see how manythings Winifred did for me. She is a dear girl! I have promised toembroider all the table linen for her wedding outfit. I console myselfby reflecting that Mr. Flint is a descendant of Jonathan Edwards, andif she wants me to like him, I suppose I must try, though I mayconfess right here to my diary that for years I have been wanting herto marry Philip Brady. She ought to have done it, but we are all foolswhere matrimony is concerned. 

 P. S. I have promised to marry Dr. Cricket. 

 * * * * * *

 THE END.