 JOYCE'S INVESTMENTS

 A STORY FOR GIRLS

 By FANNIE E. NEWBERRY

 Author of "All Aboard, " "Bubbles, " etc. , etc. 

 A. L. BURT COMPANY, PUBLISHERS, NEW YORK. 

 Copyright, 1899, By A. I. BRADLEY & CO. 

 "Women have the genius of charity, A man gives but his gold; Woman adds to it her sympathy. "

[Illustration: "What a bright-eyed baby! May I come in for a minute andtalk with you?" said Joyce. ]

CONTENTS. 

 I. Legal Advice

 II. Old Friends

 III. Joyce's Interests

 IV. The Works and Workmen

 V. Among the Cottages

 VI. Fresh Glimpses

 VII. The Hapgoods and Nate

 VIII. Littleton Reviewed

 IX. Dan

 X. At the Bonnivels'

 XI. The Social House

 XII. The House-Warming

 XIII. Some Encounters

 XIV. Joyce and Her Manager

 XV. Mother Flaherty's Telephone

 XVI. On a Trail

 XVII. Dodo

 XVIII. Nate Tierney

 XIX. In the Cage

 XX. Sorrow

 XXI. In the Lock-up

 XXII. A Visit to Lozcoski

 XXIII. Waiting for the Train

 XXIV. Night Watchers

 XXV. Camille Speaks Out

 XXVI. Not Welcome

 XXVII. Night Happenings

 XXVIII. Visiting the Shut-ins

 XXIX. A Dream Ended

 XXX. A Railroad Wedding

JOYCE'S INVESTMENT. 

CHAPTER I. 

LEGAL ADVICE. 

The old lawyer caressed his smoothly shaven chin and gazed out at JoyceLavillotte from under his shaggy eyebrows, as from the port-holes of acastle, impressing her as being quite as inscrutable of aspect andalmost as belligerent. She, flushed and bright-eyed, leaned forward withan appealing air, opposing the resistless vigor of youth to theimpassiveness of age. 

"It is not the crazy scheme you think it, Mr. Barrington, " she said inthat liquid voice which was an inheritance from her creole ancestry, "and I do not mean to risk my last dollar. You know I have means thatcannot be touched. Why should you be so sure I cannot manage theWorks--especially when Mr. Dalton is so capable and----"

The lawyer uttered something between a grunt and a laugh. 

"It's Mr. Dalton who will manage it all. What do you know of the Works?"

"No, he will not, Mr. Barrington. The factory, of course, is hisprovince, but the village shall be mine. You think, because I am not yettwenty-two, that I do not know my own mind, but you forget how long Ihave been motherless; and a girl has to think for herself when hermother goes. "

"But your father?"

"You knew my father. " The tremble in the young voice hardened into ahaughty note, and she drew back coldly. 

Mr. Barrington heaved a perplexed sigh. 

"I know I ought to oppose you to the death, even! You'll never have suchanother chance to sell out, and the sum safely invested in bonds andmortgages, would keep you like a princess. "

"I don't want to be kept like a princess. I don't choose to make use ofthat money for myself, Mr. Barrington--I can't. There is enough of mymother's for my few needs. I was brought up simply, and I am glad! If Isell the works, as you desire, I shall still give the proceeds away. Hadyou rather I built a hospital, or founded a girl's college, or set up amission to the South Pole? I'd rather build a town on rationalprinciples. "

The haughtiness had melted now, and the smile with which she ended washard to resist. A younger man would have yielded sooner, but Mr. Barrington was a sharp, practical financier, and furthermore, he hadwhat he believed to be the best good of his client at heart. She was ofage and, under the conditions of her late father's will, absolutemistress of a great fortune. It was aggravating to find she had nointention of sitting down to enjoy this in a comfortable, lady-likemanner, but must at once begin to develope schemes and plans whichseemed half insane to him. Why should this new generation of women be sostreaked with quirks and oddities, so knobby with ideas, when they mightbe just as helpless and charming as those of his own day, and givethemselves blindly to the guidance of astute men like himself? It wasmaddening to contemplate. Here was one who could be clothed in purpleand fine linen and fare sumptuously every day, without so much aslifting her little white finger, and she was planning an infinity ofcare and worriment, possibly the loss of everything, rather than a calmacceptance of her rosy fortune. It fairly disgusted him!

His vis-à-vis, watching him with her keen dark eyes, read these thoughtsas if his brain had been a printed page before her, and in spite ofherself laughed outright; in his very teeth--a merry little peal asspontaneous as a sunburst. 

"Pardon me!" she begged, trying vainly to control herself, "but you didlook so hopeless, Mr. Harrington. I know I'm a nuisance to you, and Iappreciate that this solicitude for my interests is more than I've anyright to expect when I disappoint you so. If you were not so old afriend I wouldn't feel so guilty. Yet in spite of all--I am resolved. "

She said the last three words quite gently, with a level gaze that methis own frowning one and held it. She did not nod nor bridle, and herair was almost deprecating in its modesty, but he felt the battle wasover and she was the victor. She would be her own mistress, girl thatshe was, and he could not turn her. He leaned back in a relaxed attitudeand asked in a changed voice, "Will you then care to retain the servicesof Barrington and Woodstock?"

There was not a hint of triumph in tone or manner as she answeredquickly, "Most certainly, if I may. There will be a constant need of your advice, I know. And now, Mr. Barrington, shall we settle the matter of salary, or do you prefer to make a separate charge for each occasion?"

His smile was rather grim as he arose and took down a bundle of papersand documents, slipped them rapidly from hand to hand, then laid them inorder before him. 

"I think the salary might be best for you, " he answered. 

"So do I, " blithely, "for I shall probably bore you to death!"

This matter having been satisfactorily adjusted, the lawyer, with arather ironical air, observed, "If I am not trenching upon forbidden ground, might I ask a few morequestions concerning this scheme of yours?"

"As many as you like, sir. "

"Thank you. I take it for granted you will retain Mr. Dalton asmanager?"

"Yes. "

"And most of the employees as at present?"

"All, for aught I know. "

"And you speak of building up a town--just what does that mean to yourown mind?"

"I'll try to tell you. You know at present there are only the buildingsfor the Works, the branch track and engine sheds, and the few rows ofuncomfortable cottages for the families of the men. There is no school, no church, no library, no meeting-place of any kind, except the grocerystore and saloon; and those bare, staring rows of mean houses, justalike, are not homes in any sense of the word. I want to add all suchcomforts--no, I call them necessities--and more. "

"More? As what, for instance?"

"Well, "--she drew a long breath and settled back in her chair with anestling movement that made the hard man of business feel a certainfatherly yearning towards her, and at last said slowly, "I can't quiteexplain to you how I have been led to it, but this thought has becomevery plain to me--that every real need of humanity must (if this worldbe the work of a perfect Being) have its certain fulfilment. Most peoplethink the fulfilment should only be looked for in another and betterworld. I think it might, and ought, to come often in this, and that wealone are to blame that it does not. "

"Wait! Let me more fully understand. You think every need--what kind ofneeds?"

"All kinds. Needs of body, mind, and soul. "

"You think they can be fully gratified here?"

"I think they might be. I believe there is no reason, except our ownignorance, stupidity, prejudice, and greed, that keeps them from beinggratified here and now. "

"But child--that would be Heaven!"

"Very like it--yes. And why shouldn't we have Heaven here, sir? God madethis world and pronounced it good. Would the Perfect One make a brokencircle, a chain with missing links, a desire without its gratification?That would be incomplete workmanship. When either my body or my soulcalls out for anything whatsoever, somewhere there is that thingawaiting the desire. Why relegate it to another world? There must becomplete circles here, or this world is not good. "

"But, my dear girl, these are rather abstruse questions for your littlehead. "

"I did not think them out, Mr. Barrington. They grew outof--circumstances--and some one a good deal wiser than I made meunderstand them. But they grew to stay, and I can't get rid of them. That is one of the thoughts, ideas--what you will, and this is theother. A man can do little alone, but men can do anything workingtogether in perfect sympathy. "

"Oh, co-operation--yes!"

"Co-operation, as you say. With perfect co-operation and a perfectcommunication, so that each need may be answered readily--these are theideas I wish to work out. "

"Work out--how?"

"In my village. "

He frowned at her in puzzled petulance. 

"I don't understand a word. "

"And it's almost impossible to make one understand, sir. Just wait andwatch the working of my plan. Mr. Barrington, have you ever had asurplus of anything that you would gladly share with another, if youknew exactly where it was most needed?"

"Yes, " smiling suddenly, and glancing into a corner where was aheaped-up, disorderly looking set of shelves from which the books hadoverflowed upon the floor. "I was thinking, the other day, that if Iknew just the right young lawyer I would be glad to give him some ofthose Reports. "

"That's it! That's what I mean. Somewhere, some struggling lawyer islonging for books and cannot get them; you have too many and are longingto be rid of them. There are the two halves of a complete whole; don'tyou see?"

"Certainly--if they could be brought together. "

"Well, I want to try and bring them together. "

"In your village? But how? Do you imagine you can play Providence to awhole settlement, and complete all its half circles?"

"No, sir, I've no thought of that. I simply want to make it possible forthem to play Providence to each other. But it would take all day to tellyou just how. You have a clue now, and suppose you watch me work it out. I shall probably come to you often for advice, and I must not take upmore of your time to-day. "

She arose, with a brisk movement, and began fastening her fur collar, inspite of his detaining gesture. 

"No, no, " she laughed, "don't tempt me! When I mount my hobby it carriesme fast and far. Save yourself from its heels. But I will come again. "

He laughed with a hearty note. 

"You know when to dismount, evidently, and just in time to whet one'scuriosity, too. I may be asking to ride it myself, next. Well, do comeagain--but wait! What's the name of your new town?"

"I've been puzzling over that, Mr. Barrington. I wanted in some way tohave my family name connected with it, and yet not so distinctly as tobe suggestive, either. There is the English of it--of course it's a freetranslation--that might do. I don't care to hint at my ideas in thename, so perhaps----"

"Lavillotte?" he questioned. "What is the English of it. "

"'The little town, ' but Littletown----"

"Why not drop the w?"

"And make it Littleton? Well, why not? I rather like that! It seemsimpersonal; it explains nothing. "

"Except its smallness, " laughed the lawyer, "and that would be apparentanyhow, I suppose. "

She laughed with him. 

"I'm afraid so. Yes, I believe it will do. Littleton! It really suitsme. "

"There! Didn't I tell you? I've named your model town already; I shallbe galloping side by side with you before you know it. Off with you now, hobby and all!"

But she passed out smiling and satisfied. When Mr. Barrington took thattone she knew he was the old friend again, and not the legal adviser;and much as she respected the lawyer, she far preferred the friend, to-day. 

CHAPTER II. 

OLD FRIENDS. 

Miss Lavillotte descended in the elevator and hurried out to her waitingbrougham, and stopped an instant with her foot on the step, to turn akindly, inquiring gaze upon the elderly coachman, who held the door openbefore her. An amused twinkle grew in his honest eyes as he gravelyresponded to the glance with the words, "No, Miss Joyce, I'm not tirednor cold--where next?"

"If you are certain, Gilbert; but it was a good while, and"--"It's mildand pleasant to-day, Miss Joyce. "

"Well, it's good of you to think so. Then drive to the Bonnivels, and Iwon't be so long this time. "

"Take all the time you want, Miss Joyce. "

He gently shut the door upon her and, mounting to the box, drovecarefully away through the thronged streets, turning westward andleaving the neighborhood of legal offices to plunge into the somewhatunsavory precincts given over to markets and fruit venders, passingwhich, he gradually emerged into the less frequented lengths of avenueleading far out into the suburbs. It was a long and not too pleasantdrive, but Joyce Lavillotte was too busy with her thoughts to mind, andGilbert Judson too intent upon the safe guidance of her spirited team tocare. The dreamer inside was indeed surprised when he stopped and, glancing out, she saw they had reached their destination. 

It was a corner house, frame-built, and of a comfortable, unfashionableaspect, set down in a square which showed its well-kept green even inwinter. The lace-hung windows were broad, sunny and many paned, and agilded cage flashed back the light in one of them. Joyce flung it aneager glance of expectancy and ran lightly up the steps of the squareporch, as if overjoyed to be there. Before she could ring, the door wasflung open with the outburst, "I knowed it was you! I saw you froo de window. " She caught up thelaughing child with a loving word. "Of course you knew me, sweetheart!Where's mama, and Auntie, and 'Wobin', and all?"

The brown curls bobbed against her shoulder and the red lips met her ownin frank affection. 

"Dey's heah, but Wobin's wunned away. "

"Wunned away? The naughty dog! Ah, Dorette, there you are! How's theblessed mother?"

"Better, Joyce; no pain in several days. Come in, dear--she'll be soglad! Oh, Joyce I did think when all restrictions were removed----"

"Ah! no, dear. You knew I would observe every form of respect. I havebeen nowhere yet. "

She glanced down meaningly at her black gown, and Dorette's olive skinflushed in a delicate fashion. 

"I beg your pardon. You are right, as usual. Come in to ma mère. "

Joyce followed the sweet-faced young woman, still carrying the littlechild who was so like her, and thus entered the large and pleasantliving-room of the old house. In the embrasure of one broad window, seeming to focus all the light which streamed in freely through thethin, parted curtains, sat a woman in a gown of soft white wool, madewith artistic simplicity. Her face had the same soft cream tint as hergown, and the hair, turned back in loose waves from her broad forehead, was of a purplish black, occasionally streaked with gray. All thefeatures were clean-cut and delicate, but the expression in the largeblack eyes was that vague, appealing one which too surely indicates theutter loss of sight. 

Evidently the woman, still exceptionally beautiful in her maturity, washopelessly blind. 

Joyce quickly set down the little one, and advanced on winged feet. 

"Ma mère, " she said in a voice almost of adoration, as she dropped toher knees beside the woman's chair, "Ma mère, I have come back. "

"Dear one! Ma petite!" exclaimed the other in liquid southern accents, reaching out a delicate, trembling hand, which the girl caught andkissed devotedly. "We have longed for you. But we knew you would come!Let me see your face, child. "

Joyce turned it upward and remained very still while the other lightlytouched brow, eyes, lips, and chin, in a swift, assured fashion. 

"Ah, you are truly the same little Joyce. There is the breadth betweenthe eyes like an innocent child's, the straight, firm little nose like aGreek outline, the full curved lips--do you still pout when angry, chèrie?--and that square, decided turn to the chin, more apparent thanever. You have grown, Joyce; you are a woman now. "

"Yes, mother, but still a baby to you, and I want always to keep the oldname for you, no matter how I grow. Ma mère, you have grown younger, andare more beautiful than ever. "

"No flattery, mignonne! It is not good for me. Sit down here and tell usall there is to tell. You are very lonely, now?"

"I am alone--yes. "

Joyce drew a chair close beside the other and sat down, while the olderwomen smiled slightly. 

"Yes, there is a difference. They tell me you are very rich. "

"Too rich, dear mother; it frightens me!"

"Money is a great power, my child. "

"And a terrible responsibility, as you have always taught me, ma mère. "

"True. We have both known happy days without it. Still----" "If it hadonly come in the right way, Mother Bonnivel!" cried the girl in anirrepressible outburst, "But oh! there's a stain on every dollar. I mustspend my whole life trying to remove the stain, trying to make it honestmoney. Do you remember our little French fable? How the cursed coin ofthe oppressor left its mark in boils and burns, until it had beensanctified by relieving the starving child? I must sanctify what myfather--snatched--ma mère. "

"And you will, Joyce--I know that. "

"Yes, I mean to, God helping me. I have just come from a stormyinterview with dear old Mr. Barrington, but I have won him over at last. Yet, it is you, mother, who will do it all, for I shall simply carry outyour plans and----"

"My plans? what, Joyce! I have never----"

"Oh no, because you had not the means, so what was the use? But all thesame it is you. Didn't you supply all the ideas, all the longings andthe foresight? Every bit of it is what you have instilled into me frombabyhood. "

"They are your own dreams--yours and Leon's. Now let us make themreality. But where did Dorette go, and where is Camille? I want you allto hear--and good Larry, too. "

"Then stay the day with us, dear. Larrimer will not be home tillevening, and there is so much to talk about. "

"Shall I? Oh, how blissful to think I can! I will go out and sendGilbert home, then. He has waited for me so patiently all the morning. Dear Mother Bonnivel, is it wicked that I can't be sad and regretful, but that the freedom is so sweet--_so sweet_?"

"It is natural at least, my love. Go and dismiss Gilbert until to-morrowmorning. It will be too late for your long ride home after our seveno'clock dinner. Then hurry back. I begrudge every minute you are gone. "

Joyce sped gaily away, and returned minus her hat and furs. 

"I left them in the hall, " she explained, as Dorette looked upquestioningly, having just re-entered. "Are you glad I'm to stay, Dodo?Do give me some sewing now, Dorey, just in the old way. Is there nothingto do for baby?"

"Nothing! Indeed you'd think there was something, to see the way shegoes through her clothing. She's a perfect terror, Joyce! Well, takethis bit of a yoke--can you hemstitch as neatly as ever?"

"Try me; I don't know. Ellen does everything now. "

"You have a maid?"

"Oh yes, I could not live alone. But Ellen is scarcely that. She is toostaid, too old and respectable. She is my companion, rather. "

"And you are still in that great hotel?"

"Yes, our rooms were taken for a year, and the time is not up for somemonths yet, so it seemed best. And we are quite independent there. Welive as quietly in our suite of rooms as if we were in a separate flat. And our places at table are reserved in a far corner of the great salon, so that by timing ourselves we avoid the crowd, and we do not becomeconspicuous. "

"Yes, I understand. One can live much as one elects to anywhere, " saidMadame Bonnivel, caressing little Dodo as the child leaned against her. 

"I don't know, " laughed Joyce. "There have been times when we didn'tthink so--did we, Dorette? Oh, it is so good--so good to be here!"

Over their needle-work the talk ran on, largely reminiscent incharacter, and mostly in a joyous strain. The young matron, Mrs. Larrimer Driscoll, was evidently no ready talker, but her interest wasso vivid that she was a constant incitement to Joyce, who seemed to havebroken bounds, and was by turns grave and gay, imperious and pleading ina succession of moods as natural as a child's and almost as littlecontrolled. Presently she who has been referred to as Dodo's auntie, Miss Camille Bonnivel, entered and, after one swift look at the guest, who stood smilingly awaiting the outbreak of her astonishment, threw upboth hands and flew across the room. 

"Joyce!" she cried, "Joyce Lavillotte! So the proud heiress of a hundredacres--mostly marsh-land, but no matter!--has condescended to our lowestate. Shall I go down on one knee, or two?"

"On four, if you have them, you gypsy! Come, kiss me and stop thisnonsense. Dear! How you have grown, you tiny thing. You must be nearlyto my elbows by this. "

"Elbows! I'm well on towards five feet, I'll let you know. But you aresuperb, Joyce--'divinely tall and most divinely fair'; isn't that it?Come, stoop to me. "

They kissed heartily, the dark little creature standing on tiptoe, whileJoyce bent her head low, then Dodo claimed attention from "Cammy, " andamid bursts of laughter and sometimes a rush of sudden tears, the talkflowed on, as it can only flow when dearest friends meet after longseparation, with no estrangement and no doubts to dim the charms ofrenewed intercourse. 

CHAPTER III. 

JOYCE'S INTERESTS. 

Joyce had not exaggerated when she spoke of the settlement about theWorks as a desolate, unpicturesque, uninviting spot, and Camille hadskirted the truth, at least, when she referred to the inherited acres as"marsh lands. " Had she named them a desert instead, though, she wouldhave been nearer correct, for is not a desert a "great sandy plain?" Sowas the site of the great factories known as the Early Glass Works. Theyseemed to have been set down with no thought but to construct--a shelterfor costly machinery; as to those who worked it, let them manage anyhow. The buildings were massive and expensive where used to protect senselessiron and steel; low, squalid, and flung together in the cheapest waywhere used to house sentient human beings. 

In a certain spasm of reformation they had been purchased by James J. Early after a venture in his gambling schemes so surpassingly"lucky"--to quote himself--that he was almost shamed into decency by itsmagnitude. He even felt a thrill of compunction--a very briefthrill--for the manner in which two-score people, who had trusted him, were left in the trough of ruin while he rode high on the wave ofsuccess. Almost trembling between triumph and contrition, he had beenseized with the virtuous resolve to quit speculation for honestindustry, and his investment in these glass-works was the result. Through his wildest plunging he had been shrewd enough never to risk hisall in one venture--in fact, he never took any great risks for himself, except so far as his immortal soul was concerned--consequently whendeath overtook him and he, perforce, laid down the only thing he valued, his fortune, it had reached proportions of which figures could give butlittle idea. His daughter Joyce, sole heir-at-law, was almostoverwhelmed by the burden of these millions, especially as she realizedhow dishonestly they had been acquired. She thoroughly appreciated themethods taken to possess them (one cannot say earn in this connection)and her sensitive soul shrank in terror from benefiting only throughothers' misfortunes. If she could not gather up and restore, she mightat least bestow wherever help seemed most needed, thus perhaps in timelifting the curse she felt must rest on these ill-gotten gains. WithJames Early's usual policy he had spent money at the Works only where itwould increase the value of the plant, and the working power of themachinery. The idea of wasting a dollar in making the homes of hisemployees more attractive, or in putting within their reach mental andmoral helps, had never even occurred to him. Treeless, arid, and flat, the country stretched away on every side, only broken by one or twoslight knolls separating the Works from a small river that intersectedthe land at some distance. In the midst of this plain stood the greatbuildings, belching forth smoke from their tall chimneys, while, radiating from this busy nucleus, were several rows of mere barracks, known as the cottages of the workmen. 

It should be the daughter's policy to make this district blossom as therose, and to make its people happy and contented. 

You have doubtless noticed the seeming discrepancy between the namesborne by Joyce and her father, and this is its explanation. The marriageof the scheming Yankee, James Early, into the then wealthy and powerfulfamily of Lavillotte, old-timers of Louisiana soil, was considered theopposite of an honor by them, with the exception of the young girl, educated in the north, who had been fascinated by his fine looks andglib tongue. Therefore, when Joyce was born, an edict was issued by itsleading members--two patriarchal uncles who held control of theproperty--that she should be cut off from her maternal rights in thefamily estate unless allowed to take the family name. Now, the loss ofmoney was to J. J. Early the only loss worth mentioning, so hereluctantly consented, with but one stipulation--that she should bearhis middle name, which was Joyce. Having assured themselves that Joycewas a proper Christian cognomen, suitable to a woman, they yielded thepoint, and Joyce Early was made Joyce Lavillotte by due process of lawbefore old enough to know, much less to speak, her name. That thisproperty was largely lost during the civil war, leaving the Earlysalmost destitute at the time that broken-spirited lady died, had neveraltered this fact; nor was it changed when, later, after the death ofboth uncles, the property in partially restored shape came to the girl, so bound beneath legal restrictions, that she could never have themanagement of anything but the income. In fact, so engrossed had Earlybecome in his own money-making, by this, that he had little thought tobestow upon a daughter who could never sympathize in what made life'sinterest for him. He had controlled her existence to his own purposes, knowing that an acknowledged home and daughter somehow give a man castein the community, but outside of certain restrictions, and very gallingones, he had let her severely alone. Now that liberty and great meanshad fallen to her, what use should she make of them?

She stood a moment looking around her, after she had alighted from thetrain at the little brown one-room station-house, trying to take it allin at one glance of her brilliant eyes. She had never been here before, but she had had countless photographs made, and supposed herselfthoroughly acquainted with the spot. But, to some minds, photographs areconfusing things, jumbling up the points of compass in an unreliablemanner. Joyce found that it was almost as strange as if never picturedout before her, and a great deal uglier than she had supposed. Sheshivered as she gazed around upon the bleakness everywhere, perhapslargely accentuated by a gray, chilly morning of early spring, with thesmall patches of snow, left by winter, blackened and foul. Ellen Dover, at her elbow, remarked plaintively, "There, Miss Joyce, I knowed you'd need your sealskin such a day, " towhich the girl only answered, with an odd smile, "Even a sealskin couldn't stop that shiver, Ellen; it might make itworse, indeed. Come, I think this is the way to the office. Doesn't itsay something over that door at the right? Yes, there it is--come on!"

They traversed a considerable space of uneven ground crossed andrecrossed by the narrow-gauge tracks upon which the sand and grit trucksran, avoiding one or two localities where steam shot upward from theground in a witch-like and erratic manner, with short angry hisses andchopping sounds that suggested danger, and finally stood before the doordesignated "OFFICE" in plain lettering. Joyce looked around at hercompanion with a perplexed little laugh. 

"Do we knock, Ellen? How does one do at a place like this, --just walk inas it 'twere a shop, or wait till you're let in, as at a house?"

"Goodness me!" bridled Ellen, gazing at the uninviting exterior. "Whyshould you be knocking and waiting when you own the whole business, I'dlike to know? Just push in and tell who you be--that's what I'd do. "

"Oh, I think not, Ellen--would you? I'd rather err on the safe side, seems to me. Do let's be polite, at least! Yes, I'll knock, " and a timidrat-tat-tat, made by a small kid-covered knuckle, announced the firstvisit of the present owner of the great Early Works. 

After an instant's delay the door was partly opened, and a preoccupiedface, with perpendicular lines between the keen gray eyes, was thrustout impatiently, with the words, "Well, why don't you come in? What--Oh, excuse me, ladies. Good-morning!What can I do for you?"

"Is Mr. Dalton in?" asked Joyce embarrassedly. 

"Yes, I am he; please walk in. You'll have to excuse the litter here. I've been too busy to let them clean it up. Here's a chair, Miss--andhere, ma'am"--calmly overturning two close beside the desk, that wereheaped with papers. 

Having thus seated his guests, the man stood in an inquiring attitude, surreptitiously glancing at Joyce who seemed to him almost superhumanlybeautiful in that dusty place, for her pink flush and shy eyes onlyaccentuated her charms. She found it necessary to explain the intrusionat once, but was so nervous over just the right form ofself-introduction required that she rather lost her head, and stammeredout, "I--I thought I'd like to see the works and--and you"--then stopped, feeling how awkward was this beginning. 

A smile flitted over his grave countenance. 

"I am before you, " he said, bowing somewhat elaborately. "If looking atme can do anybody any good----"

She checked him with a somewhat imperious gesture. 

"I am Joyce Lavillotte, " she said, growing cool again, "and I would liketo look the place over. "

The sentence died into silence before an ejaculation so amazed andlong-drawn it made Joyce's eyes open wide. The man looked ready to burstinto laughter, yet full of respect, too. At length he broke out, "I beg your pardon! I am so surprised. I supposed you were a man. It'syour name, probably, that deceived me--and then I never thought of agirl--a young lady--caring to examine into things, and asking forstatistics, and so on. Then your handwriting--it was so bold. And yourmethods of expression--well, I have been completely fooled!"

He stopped the voluble flow of words, which Joyce felt instinctively tobe unlike himself, and gazed at her again in a forgetfulness somewhatembarrassing. Joyce was trying to think of something to say when hebroke out once more, "Yes, I supposed of course you were a man, and notso very young, either. I had pictured you the moral image of yourfather"--he stopped an instant, then asked with a sort of regretful notein his voice--"he _was_ your father?"

"Yes, " said Joyce coldly. "Only I bear my mother's name for certainprivate reasons. "

"Yes. I had thought Lavillotte was merely a middle name. We have alwaysspoken of--of you--as young Early, here. But excuse me! I am very gladto see you, Miss Lavillotte. You wish to go over the works, you say?"

"Yes, if perfectly convenient. And I want, if possible, to go inside oneor two of the houses, if I may. Could it be managed, Mr. Dalton?"

"Assuredly. Just let me announce you, and they'll be honored----"

"But wait a minute!" Joyce was gathering her wits again. 

"Is the idea general here that I am a man?" smiling up into his face soblithely that his eyes reflected the light in hers. 

"Why, yes, I'm afraid it is. You see we know so little of Mr. --of yourfather--in a personal way, and all I have said has been under thatimpression. I humbly beg your pardon for it, Miss Lavillotte. "

"No, you needn't. I'm not sure but I shall thank you for the mistake, indeed. Let me think a minute. Yes, I believe I shall leave myselfundiscovered for a time, at least. I may see things more exactly as theyare in that way. But don't they know my name at all, Mr. Dalton?"

"I think not. You have only been mentioned as Early's son, I am certain. There has been no occasion to speak of the heir except to one or two, and I know the name Early was given him. "

Joyce could scarcely keep from laughing outright at his tone and manner, for he could not yet conceal his sense of the unexpected, even theludicrous, in this dénouement. And if it so impressed him, might it notalso make her something of a laughing-stock among her people, as sheliked to call them? Would they give her credit for knowing enough to tryand promote their interests in all she did? The idea of remainingincognito appealed still more strongly to her, and she said slowly, "I don't exactly relish the role of impostor, but it might bejustifiable in this case. Mr. Dalton, I want to make improvements herethat shall benefit the people directly, and I don't want to begin byhaving them laugh at me--as you are doing. "

He glanced up quickly at the reproachful tone, but catching the gleam offun in her eye relaxed happily. 

"I didn't mean to, " he said contritely, "but you took me so by surprise!I am ready, now, to do whatever you wish done, and there shall be nomore laughing. "

"Well, then, could we not--this is Miss Dover, Mr. Dalton--couldn't wepass as acquaintances of yours, say? Don't people ever come to look theWorks over?"

"Not often, but they might. And shall I invent new names for you both?"His manner was as alert as Joyce's own, now, and the perpendicular lineswere nearly smoothed out between his eyes. 

"No. If, as you say, my name is unknown we will not dye ourselves toodeeply in deception. I think I'll remain Joyce Lavillotte, thank you!Can we start at once?"

He seemed pleased at her eagerness, but gave her handsome mourningcostume a perplexed glance. 

"Assuredly, only--I don't know much about such things, but aren't youpretty well dressed to go around in the worst parts? There are somedirty places, though it's clean work in the main. I know you wish to bethorough, " with an approving glance, "so I mention it. You haven't anyold frock that you could get at near by?"

At this instant Ellen was heard to give a little sniff and both turnedtheir gaze upon her, Dalton's questioning, and Joyce's laughing anddeprecatory. 

"Did you speak, Ellen?" she asked mischievously. 

"No 'm, I didn't, but I was just a-thinkin' that if you'd 'a' listenedto me and wore your old Henrietta-cloth----"

"But as usual I did not listen, Ellen, and we won't scold now aboutunimportant matters. Lead on, Mr. Dalton; we're ready. "

The man reached for his hat, closed his ledger carefully upon the pen hehad been using, then opened an inner door, and stood aside to let thempass on through a short, narrow entry, from which another door led themdirectly into the noise and vapors of the Works. 

CHAPTER IV. 

THE WORKS AND WORKMEN. 

It would not be best to attempt a detailed description of the EarlyGlass Works, lest the subject prove so interesting we forget our story. There are few industries so fascinating to watch, or even to read about, as that of glass-blowing, and on this inspection morning Joyce had tokeep reminding herself that she had come, primarily, to study theworkmen and not the process, so absorbed did she frequently become inthe latter. 

The Early Works made a specialty of flint-glass crystal, and cut andengraved ware for domestic and ornamental use, also of the finerqualities of shades for lamps and chandeliers. As Joyce lingered againand again to watch the swift and graceful shaping of the moltensubstance, while airy stem or globe were blown into being by the breathof man, to be afterwards carved into exquisite designs upon theemery-wheel, or graven against the spindle, all with a dexterity thatseemed simply marvelous to her ignorance, she decided in her own mindthat a master at glass working was not an artisan, but an artist. 

Mr. Dalton seemed amused at her child-like delight, and tried to explainall she observed in language not too technical for her comprehension. But often she became too absorbed to question, or even listen, at whichtimes he stood silently by, watching with open admiration her fair, expressive face. 

Dalton was, in a sense, a self-made man, having begun as stoker of oneof the annealing furnaces when both he and the Works were young. He hadclimbed steadily, serving his apprenticeship in each department, andstudying at a night-school, when such were in operation, until thesudden demise of Mr. Early had lifted him from the position of foremanto that of manager, by right of a thorough understanding of thebusiness. He was a plain thoughtful-seeing man, in his thirties, whoshowed by his terse speech, practical manner, and business garb that hehad no intention of forgetting his work-a-day life in his presentelevation. Perhaps he had never so keenly felt how entirely it had beena work-a-day life until this morning. 

After a time Joyce ceased to feel dazed over the dull roar of thefurnaces, the flash and glow of the fiery masses of molten glass aslifted from the pots, the absorbing sight of the blowing, rolling, clipping, joining, cutting, and engraving, and the precision and silenceof the white-aproned, sometimes mask-protected workmen. She could beginto notice individuals and study faces. 

She stopped, finally, close by the marver of a young man--boy she calledhim to herself--the precision of whose workmanship was that of amachine. He was shaping a slender, long-stemmed, pitcher-like vase madein three parts, foot, body and handle, afterwards joining them in oneexquisitely fine whole, after the manner of the Clichy crystal ware. Hewas a remarkable looking being, she thought, divided between studyinghis face and admiring his workmanship. Though somewhat deformed, with acurving back and high shoulders, the face that crowned this misshapenfigure might have been the original of one of those intaglios of Venice, which seem to reproduce all that is refined and choice in humanfeatures. He had the broad brow, delicate, sensitive nose, curved andmobile lips, and the square, slightly cleft chin that make up an almostperfect outline. Yet the large dark eyes bore an expression of suchhopelessness, such unyouthful gravity, that the whole face seemedgloomed over, as when a heavy cloud shuts out the brilliant sunshine ofan August day. He did not deign so much as a glance towards thevisitors, but like an automaton blew the graceful bulb, shaped it uponhis marver, with a light, skilful blow detached it from hisblowing-iron, received from his assistant the foot and joined the two, with a dextrous twist and turn shaped the slender handle and added that, all the time keeping his "divining-rod" (as Joyce named it to herself)turning, rolling, advancing, receding, as if it were some inspired wand, impelled to create the absolutely beautiful in form and finish. As theyslowly passed on Joyce breathed out involuntarily, "Poor boy! He seems too sad even to wish for anything. "

Dalton gave her a quick, keen glance. 

"You have guessed it, Miss Lavillotte. He's got where he doesn't care. He is one of our finest workmen, and a good fellow, but he is sounsocial and gloomy the other boys all shun him. "

"Do you know his story?" asked Joyce with interest. 

"Why, yes, I know something of him. It isn't much of a story, though, "laughing a little. "We don't go much into romancing here. He had a twinbrother that was as handsome as he in the face, and straight and tallinto the bargain; in fact, as fine a fellow as you'll see in acentury--and he shot him last year. "

"Shot him?" Joyce recoiled in horror. 

"Yes, accidentally of course. Their father had been a soldier in thecivil war, and in some way the rifle he carried, with his name and thedate scratched on the trigger-plate, was sent to the boys by a comradeafter his death. Dan, there, was handling it, supposing it unloaded asusual, when it went off and shot his brother, who was leaning over him, right through the heart. That's all. "

"_All!_" Joyce breathed the word with a meaning, practical George Daltonscarcely understood, and they proceeded in silence. 

One other of the workers attracted the girl, as instantly, and partiallydistracted her thoughts from Dan. This was a girl with a peculiar face;not handsome. Joyce could only think of one descriptive word--high. Pale, with dark coloring in hair and eyes, she seemed somehow remote, lifted above the common life about her, like one living in a world ofher own. She, too, seemed absorbed in her work of engraving, and did notfor an instant remove her eyes from her delicate task, as she slowlyturned and pressed the globe against the spindle, working out thepattern etched in the film covering its surface. But Joyce asked noquestions about her as they passed on. 

"Now for the homes, " she said, after the long tour of the buildings wascompleted. "How can we gain entrance without seeming to intrude? Had webetter all try to go? It will seem like a regular incursion, won't it?"

Mr. Dalton smiled. 

"If you could let me out, I'd be grateful. I've a big day's work laidout on the time-books and accounts, for to-morrow's pay-day. But ofcourse, if you need me----"

"No, no. It has been very good of you to give us so much time. If I wereonly an agent, now, and had something to sell----"

"'Twouldn't be a bad scheme, Miss Lavillotte, in case you really want tosee them as they are. If you had some new-fangled baking dish, or astory paper, or----"

Joyce looked up with a flashing glance, and turned to Ellen, whoreceived the notice with a sniff and a restrained smile. 

"You have one, Ellen. We bought it on the train, It's full of picturesand short stories. "

"Yes 'm, I've got it. You left it on the seat and I picked it up. "

"And now your frugality is to be rewarded. But wouldn't it be prying, Mr. Dalton?"

"Possibly. But wouldn't it be, anyway? I gather you have some goodreason for wishing to see these people at home. "

"I have. I want to know just how and where to help them best, but I hateto act in an underhanded way. And yet, if the paper would serve to giveme entrance I'd try not to prevaricate in the least. "

"I think you may be trusted, Miss Lavillotte. "

"Ellen, will you stay here in the office while I try it alone?"

"If you tell me to I s'pose I must, but I think it's a wild-goose chaseanyhow, " was the disapproving answer. "I can tell you what you'll findwell enough, " sniffing disgustedly, "and that is babies, bad smells, dirt, and scolding. I've been there afore!"

Joyce laughed gaily. 

"Give me the story paper, Ellen. I'm going to find all those things, surely, but more--much more, as you'll see in time, " and, snatching thesheet from her maid's reluctant hand, she was off with a merry look backat the two, who watched her till she had rounded the corner of the greatbuilding and disappeared. 

"It's a queer streak!" muttered Dalton, as he turned back into thelittle office room, which had never looked so dim and dingy before. "Fora girl that's rich and handsome----"

"Don't see what there is so queer in being good!" returned Ellenbelligerently. "Just 'cause she's got a heart and sense beyond her yearsfolks calls her a freak. Of course it cuts, but she only laughs and goeson just the same's ever. I get so mad, sometimes, I'd like to stomp on'em, but she just looks at me smiling brave-like, with her lipstwitching a bit, and says, 'Never mind so long's we're surely right, 'and then I can't say a word. "

Dalton looked at her reflectively. He was not used to women, and itstruck him, once or twice, that this elderly companion would have likedto dictate to her young mistress, had the latter allowed it. So, notfeeling quite sure of his ground, he remarked vaguely, "I suppose a girl like that would be naturally wilful--having everythingheart could wish. But----"

"Well then, I'll let you know she isn't, " snapped Miss Dover. "Wilfulindeed!" and seating herself with resentful suddenness she glared at himtill he was glad to bury himself in his books, and try to forget theexcitements of the morning in figures. 

CHAPTER V. 

AMONG THE COTTAGES. 

Joyce, laughing to herself, tripped across the ground occupied by theworks, and, after a hurried glance along the first row of cottages, selected one at random and making straight for it, knocked with sometrepidation, but no delay. She heard herself announced inside by achildish voice in descriptive fashion--"Say, ma, it's a girl in swellclothes--hurry!" and began to question if she were too well dressed, even in her plain black garb, for her part. Certainly there was an airabout her not common to the traveling agency people, but whether it wereentirely due to her garments may be doubted. 

After considerable scurrying about inside, plainly distinguished throughthe thin planking, the door was gingerly opened a few inches and atouzled head appeared in the slit. 

"Good-morning, 'm, " spoke the head with an inquiring accent, whichplainly meant, "And what do you want?"

Joyce partly ignored the woman and her brusquerie, for the pretty curlypate of a baby clinging to her skirts, and her ready smile was for him, as she said, "What a bright-eyed baby! May I come in for a minute and talk to you?"

The mother thawed to that, and the door fell wide apart. "Why, yes, comein, come in! I'm washing to-day, but there's no great hurry's I knowson. Sit there, won't ye? It's more comfor'ble. "

Quite willing to be "more comfor'ble, " if at no one's expense, Joycesank into the old cane rocker, still beaming upon the baby, who shylycourted her from amid the damp folds of his mother's skirts. 

"He's pretty smart for 'leven months, " affirmed the latter, lifting himto her knee, and dropping into the wooden chair opposite with a sense ofutter relaxation that struck the caller as being the next thing tounconscious grace, even in that lank, slatternly figure. "He can goclear 'round the room by takin' hold o' things. I guess you like babies, 'm?"

"I like some babies--and yours is a beauty; large, too. I had thoughthim much older. "

"Yes, he's as big as I care to lug--that's certain! Dorey, go and stirdown the clo'es in the boilin' suds, and be quick about it, too! Don'tye know better'n to stand starin' at folks like a sick cat?" This, to alittle girl, presumably the herald of Joyce's approach, who had beenpeeping in through the crack of a rear door. 

Joyce, dreading a storm, asked politely, "You have two children, have you?"

The woman laughed with something of a bitter cadence. "Oh yes, and sevenmore atop o' them. There's two between baby and Dorey, and five older. My three oldest is in the Works, and Rache is about the best handthey've got, if I do say it. Rache earns good wages, I tell ye--better'nthe boys. But then, what with tobacco and beer, and beauin' the girlsaround to dances and shows, and all, you can't expect a fellow to havemuch left for his own folks. And my other two gals is workin' out intown. Dorey, stop jouncin' them hot clo'es up an' down in the suds!You'll git scalt with 'em yit. "

"Do any of your children go to school?" asked the caller, quickly. 

The woman laughed shortly. 

"Where'd they go? There ain't no schools around here, and we ain'twanting any, either, since our time with that one last year. 'Twas areg'lar sell! The gal what kep' it asked a nickel a week for every young'un, and left us right in the middle of a term, 'cause she said itdidn't pay. Stuck-up thing she was, too! Couldn't see nothin' lower'nthe top of her own head, I couldn't abide her! No, if you're thinkin' ofgettin' up any of them kinter-gardens you might as well give it up, "eying Joyce suspiciously. "We don't want 'em. "

"But would you object to a free public school?" asked Joyce with apatient air. 

"Oh, I don't know's I should object, " tolerantly. "Rache, she's a greathand to read, and she takes in a magerzine, too, but I never could seethe sense o' spendin' time and money that way. If she marries she'll hevto come down to scrubbin' and cookin', and tendin' baby, same's her ma;and if she's an old maid, why, there's the Works, or goin' out tohousework, and either way I don't see just where an eddication comesin. "

"It might help her to some easier employment, " suggested Joyce, butrather faintly, for the woman's airy loquacity disconcerted her. 

"It might, an' then it mightn't. I've seen girls as got above theirbusiness come down a good deal lower than what they started from, and Isay, let well enough alone. There's lots of born ladies that ain't nosofter spoken than my girl Rache, and she's good to me and the young'uns. I don't want anybody spoilin' my fam'ly by these highfalutin'notions. "

The woman assumed a Cornelia expression that almost daunted poor Joyce, who was half a coward at heart, anyhow, so she meekly rose to go. 

"I won't delay you from your washing any longer; good-by, " she said, nodding at the baby, who showed pearly teeth in return; and she passedout, nor realized until later that she had not posed as a canvasserhere, unless in an educational sense. 

She felt just a trifle discouraged by the unflinching attitude of thisSpartan mother, and was proportionately surprised when, obeying a callto enter at the next door, she stepped into a bright, tastefullyfurnished apartment with flowers in the window and magazines on thetable. Near by, in a large invalid chair reclined a girl--nay, a woman, as Joyce decided after the second look, though a small creature--busilyembroidering upon a little frame, while on a small, detachable table, now screwed to the arm of her chair, was a bright array of silks, andbeside them a half-open book, with a pencil slid between its leaves. Shegave Joyce an inquiring glance, and waited for her to speak. The latterflushed a little, scarcely knowing how to introduce herself, but asecond look towards the magazines touched up her memory, and she begangraciously, "I see you are a reader. I wonder if you would care for the paper I havehere, " and she handed it over for inspection. 

"Ah, I cannot tell if 'tis so; pray be seated ma'amselle. Yes, I likemooch those peectures and those patterns. They do help in my work. " Heraccent was distinctly foreign, yet every word was so plainly enunciatedthat it was easy to understand her. "You do sell this?" she asked. 

Joyce was nonplussed, but caught at her waning wits enough to answer, "Not this copy. It is only for you to look at. "

"Ah yes, "--quickly, with a merry smile, "It ees a sahmple, eh?"

"Yes, a sample copy, but if you think you could use it in your work Iwill see that you have it every month. "

"And the expense of it?" She looked up apprehensively. "That, too, mustbe considered. "

"Surely. You see it says ten cents a number, or one dollar a year. But Ithink I might furnish you a sample copy free, if you would speak a goodword for it among your neighbors. Not to trouble yourself any, ofcourse. "

"That is most kind, and I could do it. The girls do coom in and listenas I read, by times. It is a great deal that books do for one like me, ma'amselle. They are my friends, my coomfort. They, and my vork. "

"I can well believe it. And what beautiful work you do! Doesn't it tireyou while in that reclining position? You look so delicate. "

"But I am so mooch bettare--quite near to well once more. I do this, while my sister, she work in the glass-house. She is all well andstrong--my sister. "

"That is good! And you live here alone together?"

"Yes, we do. We come across from Havre together--we, the two--and wethink we will make a fortune, now we have lost our parents, and have nobig strong brother. And then it is I that must get sick, and when thefevaer do go after the long weeks, it takes with it all my strength, andso I cannot yet walk. "

"Poor little woman! But you have such a pretty room--how kind yoursister must be. "

"My Babette? Ah, she is so bright, so gay. She will not let me say thatwe have been onlooky--oh no! She say, 'You here, I here, nevare mind anyother thing. ' So she coomfort me. "

"And do you send this beautiful embroidery into the city?"

"Yes, I do. To an eschange for womans. I have teeket and that make meone member. "

"I see; 'tis an excellent plan. But who keeps house for you?"

"Oh, that is an easy thing. I do skin off the potatoes and schop up themeat for the hash, and Babette, she do sweep with the broom and set outthe table. And while we work she can tell me all there is going aboutoutside, and I can tell how mooch bettare I am doing this day--do notyou see?"

"I see you must be very happy together! But do you stay alone all day!And what if you need something, meanwhile?" she laughed. 

"See?" with a comprehensive sweep of the hands, "I have everything. Butfor fear I do get sick, see this?"

She put out her hand to a rope dangling along the wall close beside her. "When I pull hard once Lucie, in the next house, knows that I would liketo see her, but it is not bad; when I pull twice then she must indeedrun quick, for I need her. She is so good, little Lucie!"

By her motions Joyce knew she was speaking of the house upon theopposite side from that where she herself had just called. So, feelingshe must economize her time, and anxious to learn all she could, sheasked at once, "Who is this Lucy? Please tell me about her. "

There was a way with Joyce that made people like to confide in her. Shewas so bright and pretty, so interested, and so free from guile, thathearts opened to her as blossoms to the sun. One could not long bereserved in her presence. The invalid smiled upon her and chatted on inher odd English, telling of the children next door lately leftmotherless, where the oldest girl, Lucy, aged sixteen, was bravelykeeping house for father, and looking after two younger girls, a babyboy, just learning to toddle alone and a younger baby of a few months. It was evident a great friendship existed between this littleFrenchwoman and the maiden, and that there was mutual helpfulness intheir intercourse, Lucy bringing youthful cheer and strength to exchangefor thoughtful lessons in some of the finer ways of living, not commonhere. 

"I hope her father is very good to her!" cried Joyce, becoming at once apartisan of the plucky child, upon whom the other was showeringencomiums. "Only sixteen, and doing all that! Is he a fine workman? Doeshe earn much?"

"Yes, when he do work. " The embroiderer bent over her frame with reneweddiligence, and shut her lips together in a determined way. 

"I understand, " said Joyce quickly, with a little sigh; "he isn't quitesteady?"

"I would nevare say ill of him. He mean well--oh, yes! But he do notknow when it is time to leave off. He take one drink, that make him talkloud and laugh; he take two, that make him swear bad worts and knockround the furniture; he take t'ree, that make him come home and beatthos poor leetle girls till it make your heart sore! And poor Lucie willtry so hard, and then he will be so oogly--but I should not so speak toa strangare. "

"Don't let that trouble you; it shall go no further. I will try and seethis Lucy, soon. What is her other name?"

"It is Hapgood, ma'amselle. I pray you to forget I have ill spoke of aman who means to be kind, but so troubled he must try somehow to forgethis cares. Many men are like that. And of a truth there is no place togo for rest. In the small house the children do cry and quarrel, andtired Lucie will scold at times, and he does come home so weary, himself. If all is not to please him he snatches his hat and goesrushing away--but where? The only place that makes welcome is thesaloon--you know it. "

"Yes, yes, I do know. And the poor children, too! They ought to haveplaces where they can be jolly and make a noise besides in these barrenstreets. Tell me, Mrs. ----"

"I am not that, " laughing merrily, "I am Marie Sauzay, and my sister, she is Babette, though everybody makes it Bab for short, and she likesthe little name. "

"I can imagine it is like her--short and sweet. Well, Ma'amselle Marie, tell me this. Is there no public hall here--no place of meeting wherethe people may go for music, or pleasure. Don't you have anyamusements?"

"Amusements!" Marie laughed outright. "And who would care to amuse us, who have to work? No, no, that is not to be thought of. That Mr. Early, who is the high boss, he would laugh at such a question. What have we todo with amusements?"

Joyce winced at what seemed to her a direct slur upon her father'smemory, but knew it was just. She could fairly hear him laugh as Mariespoke, sitting back in an easy attitude, perhaps mixing a julep andcackling amusedly in that peculiar voice that was curiously like ascolding woman's. How often she had heard him say, "Don't try to mixbusiness and philanthropy, my dear. It won't work. As well hope tocombine oil and water. You would only spoil the one and make a mess ofthe other. The working-classes are best off when let quite alone. If youdon't want them to override you, be careful to keep them well down. Oncelet them see you mean to give them any leeway, and they are only contentwith a revolution. You can give away as much as you like in charity, butjust leave me to manage the Works, if you please. "

She sighed once more, and rose to her feet. 

"Thank you for your courtesy, " she said, happening to remember herostensible errand. "I shall send you the paper soon, and may some daysee you again. Good-by!"

She passed out, smiling back at the little woman until she had softlyclosed the door, then her young face relapsed into grave thoughtfulness. 

"How large and formidable evil seems when one sets out to battle withit!" she murmured. "I wonder, is it really so powerful, or does itdiminish on a closer view, like all things seen through a mist? Can Iever accomplish what I have determined upon? Well, at least I can dietrying, as Leon used to say. "

She smiled, and a soft look crept over her face though she had set herlittle teeth in stubborn fashion. She bent her head as if in retrospect, and walked some distance, apparently forgetful of her purpose, beforeshe finally selected another door at random, and sought admittance. 

CHAPTER VI. 

FRESH GLIMPSES. 

It was high noon when Joyce came quickly into the office, her face paleand set, and a strange expression in her eyes. 

"Mr. Dalton, " she said, without any preliminaries, "did you know thatGus Peters has been frightfully burned with some of the molten glass, this morning, and has no one to take care of him? His hands and arms areso bad he is perfectly helpless, and there's no one in the house but astupid child that is too frightened to do anything but stare. Isn'tthere a doctor here, or somebody? Ellen, you and I must attend to him, if there isn't. He is suffering awfully!"

"That Gus Peters!" said the manager with a disgusted accent. "He alwayswas an awkward lout. Of course there's a doctor--why didn't he send forhim?"

"Send! Haven't I told you there was nobody to wait upon him? How couldhe send, mad with pain as he is, and that child scared out of all thewits it ever had? And no telephone, nor even an errand-boy anywhere. Howcan I get the doctor? Which way shall I go? Don't you appreciate thefact that something must be _done_!"

She was talking so fast and excitedly the man could only stand and gazeat her, but spurred by her impatient gesture he broke out beseechingly:

"Please wait a minute, and I'll send a boy. But you needn't worry so!These accidents are happening--that is, often happen. They get used tothem. It's because Gus is new at the business. Excuse me a moment. "

He disappeared through the door into the work-room, and Joyce tramped upand down the office as if caged, now stopping to look out of the dingywindows, now leaning over the desk as if to examine the papers upon it, but with a face set in such troubled lines it was obvious she sawnothing. Ellen looked on with an unflinching expression. She wasevidently used to these moods, and did not favor them, but wisely heldher peace. 

Presently Mr. Dalton returned, looking a bit anxious and grim. 

"They've gone for Dr. Browne and he'll see to Gus all right. But youlook very tired. Won't you go home with me to dinner? I have 'phoned myaunt to----"

"'Phoned? Why, I thought--I don't see----"

He smiled indulgently. 

"Oh, it's an individual affair I had put up. I found it inconvenient notto have some method of communication as we are nearly ten minutes' walkapart. "

"Ah yes, it is inconvenient--especially in cases of real need, such asdinner, for instance. Thank you, but I think----"

Ellen, who had risen at Mr. Dalton's first word of dinner, now advancedwith alacrity. 

"I hope we can go somewheres, " she exclaimed with asperity, "for I'm allone cramp setting still so long. And you know you'll have a headache ifyou don't eat something, Miss Joyce; you allays do. "

The latter laughed impatiently. 

"Oh, my headaches! You feel them more than I do, Ellen. However--well, yes, Mr. Dalton, thank you, we will be very glad to accompany you. Nowtell me, please, where is there some good, kind man or woman to go andnurse that boy?"

"You mean Gus? Oh, really, Miss Lavillotte, he couldn't pay anybody ifyou sent them. The neighbors will look after him. They're kind in suchcases. Let's see"--bowing his guests out of the door and locking itbehind him--"Gus keeps bachelor's hall with two or three of the otherboys, doesn't he? Oh, they'll see to him--don't you worry! There'll be acrowd to wait on him, now it's nooning hour. They are positively happywhen there's an accident to stir them up. It breaks the monotony. Thisway, please, it's a bit rougher than by the street, but cuts off half ablock. Perhaps, though, you'd rather----"

"No, no, this way's all right. Mr. Dalton, " sternly, "were you everbadly burned?"

The man turned with a sharp movement, and looked at her. "Why I--I don'tknow that I ever was. Not seriously, you know. "

"Well, _I_ have been. "

Joyce pushed up the sleeve of her jacket and drew down her glove with aquick motion, full of repressed intensity. He had just a glimpse of ared scar on the white flesh when, with as sudden a motion and a rosyflush, she dropped her arm and let the sleeve fall over her wrist, thenadded more gently, "One knows how it hurts when one has suffered oneself. I was only eightyears old, but I have never forgotten the day I tripped and fell againsta red-hot stove--and I had the tenderest and most constant care, too. "

Had Joyce been looking at her companion's face she would no doubt havebeen made furious by its expression. If ever a laugh struggled in aman's eyes, trying to break bounds, it struggled now in George Dalton'sgray orbs! After an instant, which Joyce fondly imagined was given tosilent sympathy, he said gently, "Burns are serious things, I know. Miss Lavillotte, I began stroking forthe furnaces here when I was eight years old. I think"--looking off inan impersonal manner, as if reckoning a problem, --"that from that timeon to fourteen, at least, I was never without burns on face, hands orarms. Probably I grew used to them. "

Joyce looked up quickly. He was quite serious now, and seemed almost tohave forgotten the subject up between them. Joyce felt suddenly veryyoung, and she devoutly wished she had never consented to thisdetestable visit with her manager. Then pride came to her aid, and sheasked deliberately, with an intrepid air, "I doubt if people ever really get used to pain. Do you think the doctorwill be through with that boy in half an hour?"

"Possibly. Of course I don't know the extent of his injuries. "

"Let us hurry then, " doubling her pace. "I shall have none too much timebefore the 2. 39 train, and we must take that, as I have an engagement inthe city. Ellen, am I tiring you?"

The maid smiled grimly. She understood this as an overture for peace, knowing her young mistress was never so thoughtful and conciliatory asjust after being most unreasonable and peremptory. She rightlyconjectured that the girl was already ashamed of her sharpness, andwished to make amends in some way. Mr. Dalton's slower comprehension ofwomankind was bewildered by these rapid changes. Having inwardlydecided, in spite of Ellen's favorable testimony, that here was a younglady who had been allowed her own way more than was good for her, he wasleft stranded on the shore of his own conjectures by her present tone. He had mentally dubbed her a sort of princess, determined to have hersay in everything; now she seemed a child eager to be led by any one. But Ellen was answering with fine sarcasm. 

"I might walk faster, too, if I hadn't got 'most paralyzed on themwooden chairs. But never mind! Keep right on--I guess I can manage toget there, if I try hard. "

Fortunately for her legs and temper, they stopped presently before arather ornate cottage, with several peaks and a turret, which was setdown in the midst of a square lawn that looked unnaturally green toJoyce in comparison with the bareness all about it. Grass, except inlong scraggy tufts here and there, or in sparse blades in some odd fencecorner, was not prevalent at the Works. Joyce liked all that was trimand beautiful, but just now this house and lawn, so new and snug andsmiling, jarred upon her like a discordant note. What business had he tolive where fresh paint and large windows and broad verandas should mockat the poverty and squalor of all the other houses? She felt it almostas a personal insult. 

Mr. Dalton, to whom a neat home of his own was still a novelty, was atrifle hurt by her lack of enthusiasm. He had really looked for agirlish "Oh, how pretty!" and somewhat resented Miss Lavillotte's quietway of saying, "I see you have been able to make yourself comfortable, even in thisforbidding spot, Mr. Dalton. "

But he answered cheerfully, "Oh, yes, yes. It seems good to have a home after so many years offifth-rate boarding houses. And the best of it is, my good aunt, who hashad a hard time breasting the world, enjoys it even more than I. "

The girl did not speak at once. She was distinctly ashamed of herself. Then she broke out quickly:

"I see. It was most good of you. I am hasty as an ill-tempered child inmy judgments! Mr. Dalton"--she stopped before the neat iron gate in thelow fence, which he was holding open for her to pass through, andbarring the way, said rapidly, "as we will have to work together in allthat is done here, I may as well say at once--I am often quick, irascible, unkind. I want things to move at once, and when they don't itmakes me cross. It isn't because I--I have money, though--you mustn'tthink it. I am not such a cad! It's just my nature, that's all. I can'thelp it, and it cuts me up when I come to my senses more than itpossibly can anybody else. There! Shall we be friends and co-workers, ornot?"

She held out her small gloved hand, and as he warmly clasped it, a flushthat was so strange to his bronzed cheek it fairly colored for its owntemerity, made his face foolishly warm. He laughed out like a boy. 

"Why, you are the boss, of course, " he said with a ring of delight inhis voice. "I shall do exactly what you tell me to--how could I helpit?"

"No, you must help it, " gravely. "I really am young and inexperienced, as Mr. Barrington says. But these ideas are better than I--they reallyare! When you come to see what I mean, and what I want to do, you willapprove, I am sure. "

She was so eager for this approval that he felt positively dazed by thesituation. He could not follow such spiral flights, such swoopings anddartings of mood. He could only look on and be ready to her hand theinstant she might alight beside him. So he only murmured, "Depend uponme for any assistance whatever!" thinking meanwhile, with a sense ofrelief, "Aunt Margaret will understand her; she's a woman. "

They had barely stepped within the modern hall when a tall figureadvanced between the heavy portières at one side to meet them. Mrs. Margaret Phelps was rather finely formed, but had no other beauty excepta heavy head of silvery white hair. Yet Joyce thought, for a homelywoman she was the best-looking one she had ever seen! There was senseand kindness in her face, as well as a certain self-respect, which drewout answering respect to meet it. She acknowledged her nephew'sintroduction with that embarrassed stiffness common to those unused tosocial forms, but the grasp of her large hand was warm and consoling, and her voice had a hearty genuineness, as she remarked, "My nephew, George, says you've been looking at the Works. It isn't manyyoung ladies would care to come so far outside of the city just to seethem. They wouldn't think it worth while. "

Joyce exchanged a quick glance with Dalton and knew her identity had notbeen divulged, so answered easily, "Oh, don't you think so? It was like an enchanted land to me thismorning! It was all so far beyond me I could only look on and wonder;but to watch a vase grow into perfect form at a breath was a real marvelof creation. "

"Well, yes, I guess it's so. I always feel that way, too, when I see anengine. It seems such a grand thing that anybody could get the parts allfitted together, and then dare to start it when it was done. You canunderstand how folks may learn figures and poetry, and evenengineering--but to go back and make the things they have to learnabout; that beats me!"

Joyce laughed with her, while Mrs. Phelps took her wraps, thenrelinquished them to Ellen, who stood by like a sentinel awaiting theirmovements. She seemed to find the presence of the maid somewhatembarrassing, and followed her laden figure into the hall, to whisper, "Say, I've got a real nice lady sewing for me. Wouldn't you like to getacquainted with her?"

"Don't know as I mind, " returned Ellen, and followed into the next room. During the space his aunt was absent, Dalton took up the conversationwhere it had dropped. 

"We always think things are hardest to do that are out of our sphere, don't we? I suppose, now, you and Aunt Margaret could both understandmaking a dress, couldn't you?"

"Oh yes, even though I could not do it, " laughed Joyce. 

"Well, and I can imagine building the engine, but as for the frock"--helooked at her and made a gesture of impotence--"I should never evenattempt it, though I were to lose my head for not trying. In the firstplace, " glancing from the trim, smooth, tailor-made black gown of hisguest to the home-cut skirt and shirt-waist of his aunt, just entering, and dimly discerning the difference, "I never thought of it before, butI cannot even conceive how you get into and out of the things. I supposeyou do, for I see you women in different ones at times, but my thoughtwould be that they must grow upon you"--he was looking at Joyce--"as thecalyx around a blossom. It all seems merged into you, somehow. I neverfelt it so before. "

Mrs. Phelps laughed with hearty enjoyment. 

"It's the cut of it, George! You never felt that way looking at me, or--or Rachel Hemphill, say--did you?"

"Why no; it seems a new sensation, " laughing half shamefacedly. "But itmay be just because the talk called it up. Isn't dinner ready--well, Ithought it was time. "

A somewhat strident-sounding bell announced it, and the three passeddirectly into the next room, furnished so conventionally there wasabsolutely nothing upon which to let the eyes rest in surprise, orpleasure. But it was painfully neat and regular, and both aunt andnephew were secretly satisfied that it must impress even this youngheiress as a perfectly proper dining-room. And it did. 

Ellen and the "nice lady, " who had been sewing for Mrs. Phelps, joinedthem at once, and the talk languished as each was called upon to helpthe other in a wearisome round of small dishes, which it seemed to Joycewas like the stage processions that simply go out at one side to come inat the other. But when she tasted of these she no longer begrudged theirnumber. They were each deliciously palatable, having a taste so new toher hotel-sated palate that she could almost have smacked her lips overthem in her enjoyment. She had a healthy girlish appetite and themorning had been long. She positively wanted to pass back one or two ofthe saucers for refilling, but was ashamed of her greediness. Had sheknown that it would have rejoiced Mrs. Phelps for days to be thushonored by real appreciation of the dainties she had herself prepared, she certainly would have done so. Even Ellen forgot to sniff, and allset to with a vigor that rather precluded conversation. 

She thought about it afterwards, as she sat in the train, moving rapidlycitywards, and wondered why there had been such positive pleasure in themere taste of food. She had sat and minced over rich dishes day afterday, and never felt that exquisite sense of wholesomeness andrecuperation. 

She turned to Ellen. 

"Did you ever eat such nice things before? What made them so good, anyhow?"

Ellen smiled with unusual relaxation. 

"They was nice, wa'n't they? Well, I'll tell you what my mother used tosay, and she was the best cook in Eaton county, by all odds. Them thingsmade me think of her to-day. She used to say that 'twas with cookingjust like 'twas with church work, or anything else. You'd got to putheart into it, as well as muscle. She said these hired cooks just put inmuscle and skill, and they stopped there. But when a mother was cookingfor her own fam'ly she put in them, and heart besides, and that was whymen was allays telling about their mother's cooking. That was what shesaid, and I guess she come as near to it as most folks. "

"I guess she did, " assented Joyce. "Well, if I can put into my work thesame quality Mrs. Phelps puts into her cooking I shall make a success ofit; won't I, Ellen?"

"Don't ask me!" was the quick response, as the maid drew herself up intothe austere lines she affected. "You must remember hearts don't amountto much till they've been hammered out by hard knocks. You'll do yourbest, I presume, but what can a young thing like you understand?However, they's one thing"----

"Well, what's that?" as Ellen paused abruptly. 

"Oh nothing. I was just thinking you could make anybody do anything youwant 'em to, and that goes a good way. Well, well, I s'pose there is_some_ advantage in being young!"

CHAPTER VII. 

THE HAPGOODS AND NATE. 

The spring was backward that year, and on its first evening of realsoftness and beauty the houses of Littleton seemed turnedwrong-side-out, like a stocking-bag, upon the streets. Every door-stephad its occupants, every fence rail its leaning groups (though fenceswere scarce in Littleton), and the left-overs gathered in and around thesaloon, familiarly known as Lon's. Among the loungers on its broad, unroofed platform, sat two men, tilted back in wooden armchairs, talkingin that slow, desultory fashion common among those who use hands morethan tongues in their battle with life. 

"Yes, " drawled one, as he cut off a generous slice from the cake offine-cut in his hands, "yes, I'm not saying but the town'll look betterwhen it's done, but what's it being done for? That's what I want toknow. 'Twon't make the plant any more valuable, will it?"

"It orter, " was the response as the other knocked the ashes from hisblack pipe, blew through its stem, and proceeded to fill it from a dirtylittle bag drawn from his ragged coat pocket. "Good houses is better'nshanties, ain't they?"

"Of course they're better, but that's just it. We can't none of us payany more rent than we're payin' now; so what'll he do about it?"

"Who?"

"The new man that owns it--young Early, ain't it?"

"Oh, the son; yes. It's just half way possible he thinks we ought tohave something better'n pig-styes to live in!"

"Well, he isn't any Early then! I've see the old man, and I know. Straight's a glass rod, and not caring shucks for anything but hismoney. He'd grind a feller down to biled-tater parings, if he could. "

It was Lucy's father just speaking, and his name of William Hapgood hadbeen shortened to Bill among the villagers, who seemed to have littleuse for family cognomens where family pride was not a failing. He was asmall man with a rasping voice and sharp nose, while the bristlinggrowth about his chin was red and his hair brown. All this denotedtemper, but not the deep and lasting kind; rather the flash-in-the-pansort, common enough among shrewish women, and only common in men of thistype. Just now his tone was bitter. 

"Well, it's a change for the better anyhow, Bill, " said the other, whowas large, dark, stolid, and kindly. "They've shortened our hours, andallowed the shillin' a week extry. That's something. "

"Oh, everything's something. I hain't seen no call to go down on mymarrer-bones yet, though. You allays did slop over at nothing, Nate. "

"Oh, but what's the use o' bein' so everlastingly cranky andonreasonable?"

"I ain't onreasonable. I say it's you're that, when you're so pleasedwith the least thing. See here! Did you ever see a big boss that wouldgo halvers with his men in flush times, and of his own notion pay 'emextry? No, you never did. But when the fires are mostly out, oh! then wemust live on half wages and be thunderin' thankful to git that. I saythere ain't one o' them that cares a copper cent for one of us, 'ceptjust for what he can git outen us. I'm blessed if I believe they eventhink of us as men at all--just lump us off with the machinery, like. One man, one blowpipe, one marver--and the man least 'count of all. "

The other chuckled softly, then waved his hand towards a group ofshapely cottages off at the right. 

"When you get into one o' them new houses, with a piazzer acrost thefront, and plenty of windows, and a grass plot, and see Lucy washin'dishes at the little white sink with the hot and cold water runnin' freeout of silver fassets, and know you don't have to tote yourdrinkin'-water a block, and ketch what rain-water you can in a bar'l, you won't feel so gritty, Bill!"

The other smiled somewhat sheepishly, pleased in spite of himself at thepicture, but rallied to the challenge with--

"But what's it all _for_? That's what gets me. I can't and won't pay nomore rent, and that's settled. "

"Don't be allays looking fur traps, Bill. "

"And don't you be walkin' into 'em open-eyed, Nate. No sir, you mark me!We ain't got to heaven yet, and in this world o' woe folks don't go andspend a big lot o' money just to make it easier fur the folks that'sunder 'em--'tisn't nater. "

"It mayn't be your nater, nor mine, but it may be some folkses. Well, argy as you may, the place don't look the same, now does it? D'ye mindthe houses they've finished off? Well they're leveling off the yardsaround 'em, and seedin' 'em to grass. Fact! I see it myself. And 'notherthing. They're filling up that old flat-iron place, where we used tocart rubbish to, and hauling trees to set out as they get it leveleddown. If 'twa'n't perfectly ridiculous I'd say 'twas to be a park--justimagine a _park_!"

Both laughed gruffly, while a loiterer or two, just passing in or outthe swing doors, who had stopped to listen, joined in. 

"The thing 't really is so, " observed one of these with his hand on thedoor, "is that they're a-goin' to have a church. It's so, Bill! Groundwas broke for it to-day, and I've seen the plan, and who do you think'sgoin' to boss the job?"

"Who? Oh, some big architec' from town, of course, " sneered Hapgood. 

"Now, that's where you're off the track. It's Gus Peters. "

"What? Gus Peters!"

Both men looked up, startled into real interest. 

"How did it happen?" asked Nate. 

"Don't know. It seems he's been studyin' the business, evenings and all. He's allays mooning over plans and drawings; and so they've give the jobto him. "

"Well, I never!" cried Hapgood. "That awk'ard--why, he can't finish offa glass rod without break-in' it, or burning himself!"

"No, he's no blower!" laughed the other. "Nary kind, I reckon. But theydo say he's great on drawing plans. I'm glad there's something he cando, and I guess it was a lucky day for him when he burnt his arms sobad. We thought he'd have to go on the county, sure, with his hands sohelpless, but he seems to 've got along first-rate. "

"Did he have an accident policy?"

"Don't know. Never heard of none. They say some relation or other's beenkeepin' him in cash. Have a drink, Bill?"

"Well, don't care if I do. It's gettin' thirsty weather these warmdays. "

Nate Tierney, the dark man, looked after him and chuckled again. 

"It most generally is thirsty weather for Bill, " he ruminated alone asthe men crowded within. "Guess I'll go along and take a look at Lucy andthe babies. Kinder seems to me if I had a lot o' nice little gals likethat I wouldn't git thirsty quite so often--but I don't know. Thestuff's powerful comfortin' when you git tired of rememberin'--I'venoticed that. "

He strolled slowly down the lane-like street between the rows of houses, like peas in a pod for sameness, and stopped, with a smile on his honestface, as a little girl burst suddenly from the door of one and, closelypursued by another, just a step higher, ran shrieking with laughingfright right into his outstretched arms. 

"There! I've caught you now, " he cried, then called to the pursuer. "What you up to, Rufie, chasing Tilly so? Do you want to scare her intoan idjit?"

Tilly, nestling in happy defiance within the shelter of his strong arm, tried to tell her woes, while Rufie dancing hotly about outside, declared in even shriller tones that Tilly deserved a slap and shouldget it, adding invitations to the younger girl to come out and see ifshe wouldn't, which were of doubtful persuasiveness. At this moment Lucyappeared in the doorway, the little baby in her arms and a larger oneclinging to her skirts, to look anxiously and angrily after her youngersisters. 

"I've got 'em safe, Lucy, " called Nate, restraining his laughing captiveand grasping at the other girl, "I'll bring in the pris'ners--don't youworry! Now, girls, be good, can't ye? What did Tilly do, Rufie, thatmakes you so fierce after her?"

"Stole my ribbon, the little----"

"Eh, eh! Stole is a big word for young lips, " interrupted the man, whilethe accused protested, "I didn't neither! I was just lookin' at it to see if 'twould match mynew dress a lady guv me. "

"Oh, looking!" was Rufie's sneering rejoinder. "Where is it now? Didn'tI see you tuck it in your pocket, you thief o' the----"

"Sh--h! That's not nice talk for a pretty gal like you, Rufie. Don'tcall names like a hoodlum. Where's the ribbon, Tilly?"

"There, you old stingy!" bringing it forth with a flirt, to slap itacross her sister's face, at which the later snatched it eagerly with afew choice epithets, which flowed as easily from her young lips as ifshe had been ages old in sin. 

Nate looked from one to the other, and the amused smile died out of hisface. 

"I don't like you when you're that way, girls, " he said in a hopelesstone. "See how you worry sister!" for Lucy was calling fretfully, "I do wish you two could be still one second! Tommy was asleep, and babyalmost, when you began screeching like a fire engine and racing andslamming through the house--where's pa, Nate?"

"Pa? Oh, he--he's around uptown some'ers. "

"I s'pose 'some'ers' means up to Lon's, as usual, " snapped the girlbitterly. "He might better live there and be done with it. "

She was a slight creature, too pale and worn for even the naturalprettiness of youth, but her large, lovely eyes suggested that in a morefortunate environment she might have been described as beautiful, bythat stretch of imagination which chroniclers of the great are allowed. Many a so-called beauty of high caste has shown less natural endowmentthan did poor Lucy, but dragging care had wiped out the life and sparkleuntil, no one thought of her as attractive, even--only pathetic. 

The man let go of the squabbling children to lift the fretting baby fromher weary arms, and followed her into the unkempt room, which madealmost the sole scene in her onerous life. 

"You ain't got your dishes done yet, either; have you, child?" he askedin sympathizing tones. "Well, well, I'll keep the youngsters while youred things up. Here, girls, you come now and help sister, while I 'tendbaby, and we'll have things comfortable in a jiffy. Let's all try and begood together. "

The admonition proved effectual. Soon the girls were quietly at work, and the little baby's startled eyes closed beneath the influence of thegentle lullaby crooned by this rough-looking man, from whom some daintywomen might have shrunk in fear, had they met him on the public street. When the little one was safely deposited in his wooden cradle, the otherbaby, scarce two years older, being consigned to an uncomfortable nestbetween restless Rufie and Tilly, in a bed scarcely wide enough forthem, the tired oldest sister dropped down on the door-step near kindold Nate, who sat tilted back against the house wall, the legs of hiswooden chair boring deep holes in the sandy soil. 

"You're pretty tired, ain't ye?" he asked with strong sympathy. "It dosorter seem as if you had more'n your share sometimes, Lucy--it do, certain sure!"

"I'd just give up if 'twa'n't for you and Marry, " she returned wearily, crouching in a forlorn heap, with elbows on knees and chin in palms. "It's hard enough for women that's got their own young ones, and canmind 'em and make 'em mind. I can't do nothing with ours, and when I goto pa he just gets cross and lights out. And then he comes home--well, you know how. He hit me with a stick, last night. "

Nate's strong teeth came together with a click. 

"He did? The old----" His sentence ended in a mutter. 

"Oh, you can curse him"--she laughed drearily--"but what good does itdo? It don't take the ache out o' that welt on my arm and back any. Theskin's broke and it smarts. "

She began to cry in a slow, patient way. 

"It's queer I don't get used to it, " she said presently, for Nate hadnot tried to answer, but was puffing like a locomotive over wet rails athis stub of a pipe. "I ought to by this time, but I don't. I s'pose it'sbecause when pa's good he's real good, and so kind it makes it hurt allthe more when he's off. Oh dear!" She gave a long sigh, pitifullyunyouthful in its depth of misery. "I was 'most glad when ma got throughwith it all, and could rest and look so sort of peaceful in her coffin. But I dunno. She kept more offen me than I knew of, I guess, and it'sgrowin' worse all the time. "

Nate started up, letting his chair fall back with such force as tothreaten total extinction to its legs. 

"It's a sin and shame, and I know it!" he said in his deepest voice. "But you keep up your courage, Lucy. When things 'gets to the bottomthey're bound to go up again, for they never stand still. "

He stood up and knocked his pipe clean against the wooden chair seatwith vigorous thumps that seemed to relieve him, and started towards thestreet. 

"Where you going?" asked Lucy remonstrantly. "I didn't mean to nag atyou, Nate. "

"Don't I know it? And what if you did? Guess I'm big enough to stand it. You just talk to me all you feel like; but see here, little girl, Iwouldn't be talkin' to nobody else--I wouldn't. "

"Not to Marry?"

"Oh well, that French woman don't so much matter, 'cause most folkswouldn't understand even if she tried to tattle, and I guess she don't. But not to Mis' Hemphill--she's a most su'prisin' gossip, ye know--norto the Murfrees, nor Flahertys, nor nobody. These is fam'ly affairs, Lucy, and they ain't for public ears. I'm going down to Lon's now, andyour pa'll get home soon--very soon. I'll see to that, " grimly. "Now, good night, and don't you shed another tear, will ye?"

He patted her shoulder kindly as he stepped past her, and Lucy looked upwith grateful eyes. 

"If he's off, Nate, will you come with him?" she whispered fearfully. 

"Bet yer life!" was the emphatic answer as he lumbered away on greatclumping shoes, true knight as any that used to ride away on a horsejust as clumsily arrayed in armor, and perhaps that romantic rider wasno better equipped in mind or heart than this glass-blower of thenineteenth century. 

CHAPTER VIII. 

LITTLETON REVIEWED. 

There never was a truth more tersely expressed than in the vulgar oldproverb, "Money makes the mare go. " Before Joyce's energy and Joyce'sdollars work progressed with rapid strides, and Littleton, as seen on acertain June morning of that year, would never have suggested the bare, ugly collection of buildings she had visited the March before. They hadturned the flat sandy plain into a grassy park, with little cottages ofpicturesque exterior set down all over it at random, apparently, forthey faced in all directions; while the green-bordered highways wound inand out among them, like satin ribbon with a velvet edge. Even theWorks, themselves, were in the midst of a level lawn, and that partwhich had been seamed and gullied with footpaths winding about amongheaps of sand, or unsightly refuse of fruit and broken glass, was nowneatly paved wherever there was no opportunity for verdure to grow. 

The two long rows of ugly houses were no more. They had beendisintegrated, so to speak; some turned this way, some that, and someremoved altogether. On those retained for use additions had been built, verandas added, windows enlarged, and many conveniences planned withindoors. Trees and vines had also been planted outside, and the inevitablegrass-seed sown broadcast. The men had a joke among themselves thatyoung Early had been obliged to take a seed-store on a debt, and wasthus disposing of his stock. The "flat-iron, " once watched with awondering hope, had become a park in truth, the young trees growinghealthily in the open space upon which the houses looked, whileflower-beds were all abloom. Here and there were benches by the broadwalks, and at the narrower end a light wire fence guarded a considerablespace, over which was set the sign, "CHILDREN'S PLAY-GROUND. "

Here the turf could not be so well kept, for there were swings, teeters, small man-power merry-go-rounds, and an enticing pond of wading depth, where fleets might be sailed in summer, skates made to glide in winter. 

At one side a great archway opened into a long and wide covered way, orviaduct in its original sense, where were more swings and trapeze bars, and here the little ones could play on rainy days. This arched tunnelled from the park to a school-house, so pleasant in appearance thatevery bright window and graceful stairway seemed to extend an invitationto the passing child. 

Within were tinted walls with tempting lengths of blackboard, charmingcolored prints hung up in artistic disarray, with globes in the corners, modeling tables in convenient lights, a piano near the rostrum, and theneatest of chairs and desks. 

Rufie and Tilly sat in each of these separately, and declared, "if itwasn't for the studying they'd like to live there right along. " Mrs. Hemphill, Rachel's mother, also perambulating through with greatcuriosity, and three small children clinging to her skirts, pronouncedit "fine enough, goodness knows, but wait till you see them teachers!"This rather damped the children's enthusiasm, for by Mrs. Hemphill'smanner one would have imagined those teachers little less than monsters. 

What caused greatest comment, however, was a stately building justopposite the point of the flat-iron, which brought it very close to thecenter of the town, and but a stone's-throw from the little church, which was the embodied dream of Gus Peters, turning pain into beauty, and making the scars of his burned arms and hands only a record ofglorious days and heavenly nights, because at last he had been enabledto put to practical use the talent that was in him. 

As the plaintive song of the teakettle may have been but the wail ofimprisoned power, until Watts set it free to work out its gloriousdestiny, so the boy's surly ways had been his own protest against adestiny that seemed enchaining him to an uncongenial work, for which hebrought neither love nor patience. In more congenial labor his soul hadbroadened, his heart grown warmer, his very looks had improved--But wewere talking of the great house near the church. This stately pile, withbroad halls from which lofty rooms opened on either side, might be aprivate dwelling on a large scale, to be sure; yet, instead of chambersabove, there was one very large apartment with two or three smallerrooms off, that were being fitted up as a kitchen and dressing-rooms. This building proved a puzzle to these work-people. They could not findany use for it, as they strolled by twos and fours through itsunfinished expanse. Nate Tierney suggested that young Early was cominghere to live, and that this great upper chamber was to be his ball-room, where he could have his routs and banquets, the kitchen being in handyproximity. Most of the villagers accepted this explanation, as nothingbetter offered, and commented either in pious disdain, or honest envy. 

"He'd have to give big parties, to fill this, " remarked Hapgood, slipping clumsily about on the polished floor, "and what's he got thatstage at t'other end for?"

"Why, the musicianers, of course, " declared Nate. "Jim! but it's fine, ain't it?"

"Umph! How some folks can fling theirselves. It makes you feel 't ain'tmuch use of tryin', don't it?"

"Tryin' for what?" laughed Nate. "Big parties? They're welcome to allthe fun they can get out en them, Bill. How'd you and I look slidin' andstumblin' around over that floor of glass, anyhow? No siree! Give methat neat little porch you've got, with Lucy's vine a-growin' 'round it. It'll beat this all hollow!"

"Oh well, that ain't bad, to be sure, " allowed Hapgood with somereluctance. 

"Bad! I should say not. "

"Well, I'll own up, Nate, it is an improvement, and Lucy is as chipperover it as can be. To have a settin'-room, too, besides the kitchen, tickles her most to death. But what gets me is the 'lectric lights andno extry charge. "

Hapgood's face, which always reddened easily, was now a dazzling hue. Hewent on excitedly, "You jest turn 'em on, so--and there you are, light as day and nocharges--same old rent and lights flung in!"

"And heatin' too, Bill. You'll sense the meaning o' that more, nextwinter. Think of nateral gas for us fellows, and cute little stoves andgrates; where you can jest turn it on and off with a thumbscrew. No woodsplittin' and sawin', no luggin' baskets of coal, no dust, no smoke, nocharges. My! Bill, it's 'most too good to b'lieve. "

"Look out we don't crow too soon, Nate. It's less'n a month sense we'vehad it that way, and you don't know; they may tuck it onto us----"

"Dalton says not. "

"Perhaps he don't know. Did you ask him?"

"Yes, and he said the new boss was a--a philandroper, or something. Heseemed kind of tickled over it, too, as if he thought it was a kind oftomfoolery, or joke, that mightn't last. "

"If it's a freak, no more it will. "

"Oh well, we'll get the good of it while it does. You can't live anymore'n a day to a time, so what's the use worryin'? Summer's here, andthe place is gettin' purtier every day, and it just does a feller'sheart good to watch them youngsters racin' and shoutin' in that oldflat-iron--'member how we felt it never could be a park, and for us? Butyou see 'tis, and a special place for the young'uns, too. That ought toclinch the thing, I'm sure!"

So they wondered, questioned, and commented, but never thought ofconnecting these sunny marvels with the handsome girl, who wasoccasionally seen strolling about, either with the older woman, who hadbeen ticketed as her old-maid aunt, or with Mr. Dalton, supposed by allto be some distant relative. Joyce had been very careful to act throughagents, and though the workmen sometimes thought she showed a "heap ofcuriosity, " they never imagined that it was her little head whichplanned and originated every detail of the work they carried on. Notthat Joyce could really make a plan--that was beyond her. But she andMadame Bonnivel, together, instructed the intelligent architectsemployed, even down to the minute contrivances for saving work and time, that were introduced into the cottages. 

Even Gus Peters had never fathomed the mystery of his own surprisinggood fortune. Before night had fallen, on the day he was burned, anelderly woman of serene visage had appeared in his bachelor den, anddeclaring herself a nurse sent by friends, had proceeded to make himmore comfortable than he had believed possible, with those achingmembers touching up every nerve to torture. 

She had served him with delicate food and drink, dressed his burns withsoftest touch, given him some soothing potion, and prepared a daintilyclean bed for him to rest in. When he awoke, after the first refreshingsleep in many hours, she was still there, and the room seemed likeanother place, so restfully clean and orderly had she made it. Guslooked around with contented eyes, which finally fell upon her andlingered there. For the minute he half suspected it was still a dream, and feared to really waken. But, catching his gaze, she smiled and saidin an unmistakably wide-awake voice, "You had a good sleep, didn't you? The worst is over now, and you'llsoon mend. It won't be long now to the itching stage. "

She laughed pleasantly and went on with her work in a placid way. Gusdiscovered, with a little shock of surprised delight, that she wasdarning a sock--could it be his sock? He asked the question with aneagerness that amused her. 

"Of course. Why. Are you afraid I'll spoil it?"

The humor of this made him laugh also, for the idea of spoiling socksthat were little but holes would make any one smile who felt warm, rested, and free from pain. 

"How did you happen to come?" he asked again, a bit timidly. 

"I was sent, " she returned. "It's my business--to nurse those who arenot rich. It makes a different profession of it, where one must often behouse-keeper and cook, as well as attendant on the sick, you see. "

"Yes, indeed. You're good at keeping house, I reckon. It must havelooked a mountain to you to get order out of the mess here. "

"I've seen worse places. Now, it's about five o'clock and I'll give yousome breakfast, and dress your arms. Then, if you feel comfortable, I'lltake a nap myself. "

"To be sure. And are you going to stay all day?" wistfully. 

"Of course, and to-morrow too, perhaps. "

She folded her work in deft fashion, putting thimble and thread away ina bag which, in time, became something of a marvel to Gus, who declareda man never wanted anything but she'd find it in that bag; then wentabout preparing breakfast, and soon Gus was sipping what seemed likenectar to the poor fellow, who was used to decoctions that might have aname, but neither looked nor tasted like any known drink. 

"Well, that _is_ coffee!" he cried gratefully. "Say, Mrs. ----"

"Keep, " she interposed quietly. 

"Mrs. Keep, I don't like to be prying, but--but, you understand, I'mpoor? I can't pay much, and you're way up in your business, I see. Perhaps----"

She smiled in motherly fashion. 

"Don't bother your head about that. I am paid, and well paid. You aresimply to take things as they come, and hurry to get well. I'm glad tosee you can eat. "

"Eat? It would be a queer man that couldn't with such a breakfast beforehim! I guess some fairy must have blessed my cradle when I was born. Inever knew, before, I was heir to good luck. Well, there might be worsethings than burned hands. Now do me up in fresh rags, Mother Keep, andyou shall have as long a nap as you like. I won't even sneeze if you saynot. "

Mother Keep stayed a week, and left Gus well on the way to a perfectcure, with no scars remaining as a record of his awkwardness. She oftentalked with the lad, finding it easy to probe him. He talked ardently ofhis one love, the study of architecture, showing her many plans, andexplaining how he saved every penny to spend it in lessons at theInstitute, and in materials for this absorbing work. One of theseplans--that of a small church, simple in design, yet with real eleganceof outline and convenience of arrangement, impressed her greatly. 

"I wish you would let me take this away with me, " she said. "I willreturn it after a little. "

Gus, who would have almost taken off one of the fast-healing arms forher, had she asked it, assented at once, inwardly hoping she would notsoil the beautiful drawing, nor, womanlike, forget all about returningit. When she left, it went with her, and Gus missed both the woman andthe drawing that evening. He might indeed have been really melancholy, but some of the boys came in and rather drove away the gentler thoughtsof the past few days in their noisy mirth and games. 

Still, something of that gentle influence lingered. Gus tempted Rufiewith a penny, and coaxed her into brushing up the floor now and then, while he took to hanging up his discarded garments, rather than droppingthem in a heap. It was a few evenings later, and he had begun using theleast burned hand to some purpose, when a strange man called, and askedif he ever submitted plans in competition. Peters rather mournfullyconfessed that he had, but with little success, except in one instance, when he had taken a prize in an amateur competition. After a talk onsuch matters the stranger mentioned, as if incidentally, that plans wererequested for a small church about to be built in Littleton; why did notPeters compete? Instantly the young man's thought flew to his drawings, now in Mother Keep's possession. If he had those he might venture. Butcould he not reproduce them? Oh! if his hands were only well. If MotherKeep would but remember what was of so little consequence to her, but somuch to him. 

He lay awake long, that night, dreaming dreams of future success, butawoke to a disheartening sense of pain and impotence. There were noletter-carriers in the village, and Gus seldom had reason forfrequenting the post-office unless on a bright day, to meet the girls. As he should not begin work to-day, however, he thought he would strollin that direction. The office, a mere box in one corner of a provisionstore, was presided over by a woman in spectacles, the wife of thestore-keeper. As Gus stood leaning against the side of the door, one armstill in bandages and a sling, a figure entered, passing him quickly by, as if intent on business. He recognized Miss Lavillotte, who had been sokind to him the day he was burned, and waited patiently till she shouldturn from the little office window, and give him greeting. 

Presently she did turn; then, after a quick, intent look, advancedsmilingly. 

"You are much better?" She asked eagerly. "You look almost well. "

"I am, thank you! I had fine care, you see. "

"Did you? That was good!"

"I should say! The queer thing is, I don't know where she came from, norwhere she's gone to. "

"Who?"

"Mother Keep--as I call her. She was fine! She'd cure anything, Ireckon. "

Joyce laughed, her eyes shining. 

"And she really saved you some suffering?"

"She made me almost enjoy it!" laughing blithely. "I wish she'd write tome. I'd like to know her address. "

"Perhaps she has. Have you inquired?"

"Goodness! no. I never thought to. Do you suppose she would?"

"I'm not supposed to know much about her, but if, as you say, she waskind I should think she'd feel enough interested to write and ask howyou are getting along without her. Shouldn't you?"

"Possibly. I'm going to inquire, anyhow. Say, Mrs. Blake, got anythingfor Augustus F. Peters this morning?"

The woman slid a small package of letters through her fingers, as sheanswered, "Yes, two things if I ain't mistaken. Here's the letter, and I'll findthe roll in a minute. "

"Aha! Good! I was afraid she'd forget that. It must be my drawings. "

"Your drawings?" asked Joyce interestedly. "Are you an artist, then?"

"No. But I'd like to be an architect. They are some plans of a littlechurch that I've been working on a long time. I never expected to makeanything out of them, only practice, but----"

He hesitated and Joyce looked up, inquiring and sympathetic. He gave alittle choke and continued:

"Well, they say young Early means to build a church here and has calledfor plans and specifications. Guess it's advertised in some of thepapers, but I don't take any. So I thought I'd submit mine--though itwon't be any use, I presume. Still, it's worth trying. "

"It's always worth trying. I certainly should. And, do you know, I'm abit interested in the study of architecture myself, and have some books. Wouldn't you like to look them over, now you're unable to work? You'rewelcome to them for as long as you like to study them. "

"Wouldn't I like them! If you knew how I've wanted to get hold of suchthings, but they cost awfully. I'll be careful, Miss Lavillotte, and putstrong paper covers on them. You're sure you'd just as soon let me havethem?"

He was like a boy in his enthusiastic joy. 

"Perfectly sure. Will you come around, or shall I send them? Come tothink, I'll do the latter when Gilbert has the carriage out, thisafternoon. They are large and heavy. And don't fail to send in yourplans; I shall be anxious to hear if you succeed. "

She tripped out, while Gus watched her, an odd expression on his face. Then turning to the woman who was holding out the precious roll, he saidbluntly, "It don't cost a thing to give a man a kind and hopeful word, but howmany girls like that would do it? She's a lady!"

He walked away as if on air. He was no longer the awkward lout, stolidlyworking at uncongenial toil. He had a hope, a purpose, a plan, and hissometimes sullen face was transformed into manly alertness and strength. 

From that time on he forgot his burns, and Nature took them in hand, healing the broken flesh in her most clean cut fashion. Scarcely a scarremained, and on the day he received the brief notice that his planswere accepted it seemed as if the scars fell from his soul also, leavingit cleaner, stronger, better. He had found his rightful work, and thatis inspiration to any man. 

CHAPTER IX. 

DAN. 

Factory hours were over, and Dan Price issued from the heated place, hisold coat over his arm, and his neck bared to what little breeze therewas, as he turned his moist face in the direction of home. There was noloitering among the boys, no waiting for any special girl. 

Dan had no boon companions, no home ties, no courting to carry on. He"kept company" with no one but himself. The one room he called home wasin one of the houses still untouched by the changes going on, a remnantof the once ugly row, now largely broken into, but not wholly destroyed. 

For, with that perversity of inanimate things which attends every largeenterprise to retard in every possible manner, through bad weather, thenon-arrival of needed materials, loss, breakage, accident, and the"soldiering" of the workmen, many hindrances had arisen, and whilewonders had been accomplished much remained to be done. But what hadtried Joyce almost beyond endurance was to find that her greatestopposition came from the people she was trying to benefit. Often shefound herself, through her builders, butting against a wall of humanperversity and stupidity fairly insurmountable. 

More than one family, and these in the poorest homes, utterly refused toallow of any improvements, resisting the entrance of the workmen, as ifthis were an armed incursion of some enemy. In vain Dalton explainedthat it was only to make them more comfortable, that it should not costthem a penny, that the discomforts of a week, a month, would changetheir barracks into modern homes. They sullenly defied him to interfere, and would none of these "new-fangled notions" he tried to describe inglowing terms. 

"'Tain't fair, boss, and we ain't going to stand it!" shouted one manfrom his door-step, rotting from the misdirected leakage of the roof. "If we keep the rent paid up you've no right to disturb us in our ownhomes. If we want changes, or improvements, we'll let you know quickenough. Till we do just let us alone, can't ye? It's all we ask. "

Even Dalton, between the Scylla of Joyce's determination and theCharybdis of her people's perversity, sometimes lost his temperentirely, and could do nothing but anathematize them for a "pesky set offools" right to their faces. So a part of the old buildings stillremained, and in Bachelor's Row, where the rooms were mostly let to menwithout families, lived Dan, forlornest of all in the block. It seemed, to-day, as if the bare, paintless shanties looked worse than ever, bycontrast with their improved surroundings, while an air of neglect anddisheartenment lingered about them, impalpable but as plainly perceivedas an odor. Naked, shutterless, porchless, and hot, they stood in theblazing afternoon sunshine, as obtrusive as the wart on a man's nose, and as ugly. When Dan's dark gaze was uplifted to them he scowledfiercely, and muttered, "Out of the frying-pan into the fire! I can never stand it inside, to-night. Guess I'll take to the woods. "

He stepped from the small front platform directly into a room whichsmelled strongly of leather and tobacco, where two oldish men withgrizzled beards were sitting--one in an apron, cobbling shoes on thebench by the one window; the other, evidently a caller, close by theopen door, reading something from a newspaper and gesticulating ratherwildly. A sardonic gleam flashed across Dan's handsome face as he passedthem with a nod, and disappeared in the room beyond. This was his own, where he stinted himself in other ways that he might keep it unshared, thus insuring the strict privacy he courted. 

It was very small and its boards were bare, but he had saved space bymaking himself a bunk, in lieu of a bed, which, hung on hinges, could behooked up out of the way when not in use. For the rest, a couple ofchairs, a chest of drawers, and a table with a little oil stove forcooking purposes composed the meagre furnishings. But each bit of wallspace was occupied in a manner that astonished one at first glance, forup to the height of four feet were shelves partly filled with books andmagazines, while above them, reaching to the ceiling, were fastened pinecases protected by glass, in which were collections of butterflies andbeetles arranged in a manner that awoke admiration even in those whoknew nothing of entomology. But to-day the room was stifling, and eventhe stiff beetles on their pins seemed to droop in the fierce glare ofthe sunshine streaming in. 

With an impatient "Whew-w!" Dan went hastily about, selecting suchthings as he needed for his impromptu camp of a night, and soon wasready; a blanket tightly rolled around net and tackle, and some food inhis dinner-pail. 

Coming out into the yard through the rear door, he stepped under a roughlean-to of a shed, and soon emerged with his wheel, which, being gearedto suit his peculiar form, made him look almost like a caricature whenmounted. He fastened his paraphernalia in place, steered it around infront and was just mounting when the man with the newspaper issued fromthe cobbler's room, talking loudly, "I tell you, it's no good! Toil and moil every day from your firstbreath to your last, and what good does it bring you? Independence?Humph! You are as much a slave as any nigger bought for cash. Comfort? Aheap of that! You'd be better housed and fed in any county-house. Respect? Get yourself charged with a crime and see whether it's any goodto have been an honest, hard-working man. I tell you----"

He stopped and Dan, who had buckled his last strap, looked up to seewhy. He divined instantly, and that same sardonic smile passed over hisface once more. Mr. Dalton was approaching, and the speaker, but nowclimbing the heights of oratory with the paper flourished like astandard before him, shrank suddenly into himself and seemed to fallaway, as if he would annihilate himself if he could. Finding thatimpossible he sank into his chair and began a vague remark about theshoe his host was half-soling, all which the latter took as amatter-of-course, not seeming to notice, even. 

Dan pedaled away, laughing harshly. 

"Fool!" he muttered. "One would think, to hear him, he was the only onenot a coward amongst us, when the truth is he's the biggest one of all. Old Tonguey Murfree would cringe to the devil for ten cents worth ofpatronage, and then cheat him out of half of it, if he could. "

He made his wheel fly in a sort of frenzy of disgust, but the freshwind, sweeping his hot face like the besom of peace, soon drove awaythis temporary chagrin, bringing to him the best comfort life gave inthose days--the gentle influence of Nature. For, just in proportion asDan shunned humanity he courted her, and though he felt herrelentlessness through every fibre of his suffering being, he felt hercharm as well, and could not quite resist it. 

He rode fast and far, till the level road, through a turn or two, brought him into a well-wooded tract where bluffs and willow clumpssuggested running streams. He left the road and, dismounting, guided hiswheel between projecting roots and stumps, down through a windingcow-path which led to a lick below. Here, discarding shoes and stockingshe waded the stream, and entered a charming dell where nature had beenlavish of adornment. In fact, one might almost have thought time andhuman ingenuity had assisted nature, for a wild grapevine was so linkedfrom bough to bough between two tall trees as to form a perfect bower, and as if to protect the opening from intrusive onlookers, a sort of_chevaux-de-frise_ of tall ferns waved their graceful banners up to meetthe drooping lengths of vine waving from the tree. 

Toward this bower Dan bent accustomed steps, sliding his wheel into acopse of young oaks that hid it completely, then parting the growingferns, as if he needed no guide to tell him just where thewell-concealed opening might be. As he, stooping, entered, the gracefulfronds sprang back to position, like sentinels who have separated aninstant to let the master pass, but quickly resume place to guard hishidden presence well. 

Inside, Dan glanced about and saw with pleased eyes the undisturbed, familiar aspect of the spot. In one corner was a large heap of dryleaves, which might have drifted there last Fall, but did not, and inany case made an excellent bed for a camper. In another, aninnocent-looking tree-root projected from the earth. With a quick jerkDan dislodged it, showing an excavation below, which had been neatlywalled in with stones. Removing the largest one, at the bottom, hedisclosed a rough box sunken in the soil, from the compartments of whichhe drew forth all the articles he needed for his simple supper--an oldcoffee-pot, an alcohol lamp with its attendant rubber-corked bottle, afrying-pan of small dimensions, a can of shaved bacon, salt, pepper, andso on. 

By this time a look of peace, yes, even a sort of tame joy, had replacedDan's gloomy expression, and one could see that, in a way, he was happy. Getting out his fishing-rod from its enveloping blanket he presentlyemerged, recrossed the stream, and soon could be seen pushing out intothe midst of it, poling an old punt up stream. Anchoring presently in asmall cove where the water was deep and cool, he sat in silentwatchfulness, occasionally jerking out a perch bass, sometimes apickerel, but for the most part so still he might have been the occupantof a "painted boat upon a painted" stream. Yet all the time the softinfluences of the hour and place were weaving their spell about him. Thesun was now only a great half-round of red upon the horizon's line, andway up to the zenith tiny clouds that were like sheep in a meadow caughthere and there its scarlet tinge. It was very still, yet all alive withwoodsy sounds. Now a belated cicada swung his rattle as if in a fright, next a bull-frog, with hoarse kerchug! took a header for his eveningbath. Once, later on, when the shadows were falling, a sleepy thrushsettled upon a twig near by, and sang his good-night in sweetest tones. About this time he heard a farm-boy calling anxiously through theneighboring wood for the lost Sukey of the herd, and at times a dustyrumble announced a wagon jolting homeward over the unseen road away tohis right. Dan's sense of satisfaction was possibly heightened by thismingling of nearness and remoteness. He had all life at his ear, so tospeak, yet held it back by his will, as one might listen at the receiverof a telephone and yet refuse to yield up one's own presence by openingthe lips in response. And here there was no "central" to cut him off, though he held the situation long. 

At last, in the soft dusk, which wrapped him like a mother's arms, hepoled noiselessly down stream, secured the punt, dressed his fish withthe dexterity of a practised woodsman, and washing them neatly in theriver, waded back to his camp. Again the root handle was lifted, thealcohol lamp filled and lighted, and while the coffee boiled over that, the fish, laid on the slices of bacon, were set to sizzle comfortablyover a tiny fire of sticks and leaves built in the stony hollow. Dan washungry and ate with keen relish. He had produced knife, fork and spoonfrom his sunken cupboard, but his frying-pan served for both plate andplatter, and the cover of his dinner-pail for cup. The bread anddoughnuts he had brought from home helped out the repast, which had allthe relish and wholesomeness of the out-door meal which has been foragedfor by personal effort. 

Oddly enough in these tobacco-ridden days, Dan did not smoke. When hehad neatly cleaned away the remnants of his feast and replaced root andstone, he spread his blanket out under the stars, and tucking onerolled-up corner under his head for a pillow, lay long into the night, gazing up into the heavens which formed his only roof. 

It was a moonlighted evening, and the fleecy clouds we have noted movedin and out of her path in a stately dance, with winning grace, aseastern Nautch girls might dance their way into the favor of a haughtysheik. 

Dan at first saw all, but reflected nothing of this beauty in histhought. His animal nature satisfied, he craved nothing as yet. Butpresently memory and remorse knocked for admittance--the twain wereseldom long banished. They sat like skeletons at every banquet. At abound thought flew back to that day when his brother had fallen beforehis eyes. 

Dan groaned as the awful vision loomed before him. He saw again thetrickling blood, the strange, astonished protest on that dying face, with its eyes turned up to his. That was what he could not bear--thatWill should have believed he did it, even in carelessness. If theunspoken reproach of that last minute could be removed Dan felt he wouldbe a free man once more. But that hung over him like a curse. 

"I didn't do it, Will!" he moaned half aloud. "I wasn't even foolingwith the trigger, as you thought. If I'd been careless in that way--butI wasn't. I never see a gun without thinking it may be loaded, andthough we both believed that one wasn't still I was careful. But itcaught either in your sleeve or mine--nobody will ever know, and itkilled you and left me to live on. Who did it, Will? It wasn't you; itwasn't me. Was it the devil, or was it God himself? What is that awfulSomething that makes things happen just when you're guarding against'em? For that's what I was doing. I had just looked up to caution youwhen you pressed so close, and then came the stroke!" He groaned again, as if in physical pain, then presently went on in a moaning voice: "Oh, Will, if you can hear me, believe me and not what other folks may say. They all believe it was me, but that I was so crazy over it I couldn'tbear to own up; and the doctor bid them let me alone or I should go mad. But Will, it is not true. You must hear me, wherever you are. _It is nottrue!_"

He broke into a passion of sobs, and rolling over, muffled his face inthe blanket's folds. Even in that solitude some living being might hear, and the thought that anyone should ever witness this agony of soul, should ever lay the lightest touch upon that sacred wound, was tortureto him. 

Poverty, orphanage, and physical weakness had always set him apart, butwhile Will lived he had not greatly minded. He had kept in touch withhis world through its greatest favorite, that handsome, witty brother;and it had been the same when Will was praised, or courted, as if it hadbeen himself. Death had torn from him the best part of himself, and asif this loss were not cruel enough simply as a loss, it had left behindthe conviction that in dying that worshiped brother believed the one whowould gladly have died for him to be his slayer. No wonder Dan moanedand writhed, incapable of comfort. He wonder he shunned everybody, knowing what they believed of him. 

No wonder he groped in black despair and could not yet look up, orlisten to the voices of consolation that might have come to him indifferent moods. 

It was night for Dan in more senses than one. 

CHAPTER X. 

AT THE BONNIVELS'. 

The Bonnivels were at dinner, one evening, somewhat before the eventsrelated in the past few pages, and were discussing in lively tones along letter which had come from Leon that day--Leon Bonnivel, the absentson and brother who was in a ship of war off the South Atlantic coast. He had just been advanced to a first lieutenancy, and the family werejubilant in consequence. 

For the Bonnivels had known hard times in their southern home, whenDorette and Leon were little, and his appointment to the Naval schoolhad been the first lightening of their fortunes, Dorette's marriage toan honest young fellow in a good situation the second. 

That Madame Bonnivel and Camille were never allowed to feel theirdependence upon Mr. And Mrs. Larrimer Driscoll took from its bitterness, yet it was to Leon both looked as the family's true head, by whoseadvancement all would certainly be gainers. They loved the spiritedyoung soldier-sailor as helpless women do love their braves, who go outfrom them to fight the battles of life, and they watched his career withtheir hearts' pendulums swinging between pride and dread--joy and alarm. 

Madame Bonnivel's face was now radiant, while her sightless eyes sparklewith enthusiasm. Dorette looked placidly pleased, Larry kindlysympathetic, while Camille showed her delight in her rattling tongue andeager gestures. "We must tell Joyce, " she cried, squeezing Dodo's arm ina vain effort to express all she felt. "She is as fond of him as we are. Maman, how old was she when the Earlys came to board with us?"

"About two, and the dearest baby!" answered Madame with readiness, fornext to talking of Leon she loved to talk of Joyce. "Her poor mothereven then was marked for death, and when she passed away, during one ofher husband's frequent absences, I took her baby right into my arms andheart. "

"And Leon must have been about five then?"

"Half-past five, as he used to say, and Dorette here was seven. Such ahouseful of babies!"

"Luckily I had not appeared on the scene then, " laughed Camille. "I'mafraid I was not a welcome guest. "

Her mother turned fond, reproving eyes upon her, while Dodo broke inbetween big mouthfuls of oatmeal and milk, "But me was dere, jus' de same. Me 'members all about it. "

"Oh, you remember more than the rest of us have forgotten!" cried herauntie, catching the child's chubby arm and shaking little trills ofmerriment out of her, at which the young father exclaimed with mocksavagery. 

"Will you never leave that child alone, Gypsy? You're always squeezingor pinching her. "

"But I lubs her so!" with a shower of pats and punchings. "I could eather up. "

"Better stick to your dinner--it's a good one! My wife is chef of thisestablishment. "

Dorette's soft eyes met his in a fond, merry glance. 

"Thank you, Larry! You always appreciate good things. "

"Don't I, though! But go on, mother. You were telling us about thebabies. "

"You know it all as well as I. We loved little Joyce as our very own, and when her father took her away--for somehow he never liked us, Ithink because I once spoke too plainly about his neglect of his delicatewife--when he took her to a woman he had engaged to look after her, shemoaned and cried in the most pitiful way, refusing all food and beggingday and night for 'ma mère, ' as she had learned to call me. Nothingwould pacify her, and at length in desperation he brought her back. Wewere poor then, but I did not receive her because of the board money hewould pay----"

"Did you keep it in a ginger-jar, Mother?" put in Larry, with a chuckle. She caught his meaning quickly, and returned at once, "I was about to add, because I knew from past experience there would belittle of it to hoard, even in a ginger-jar. James Early was not asprompt a payer as collector, " dryly. "No, I took back my baby because weall missed her so, especially Leon, who had wailed all day and half thenight, calling on 'Doyce! Doyce!' even in his dreams, poor little man!It was the end of the second day when Mr. Early, looking decidedlysheepish, reappeared with his little daughter--about this time, in fact. I can see, even now, the look of perfect rest and happiness upon hertear-stained little face as she nestled into my arms that evening, whileLeon and you, Dorette, fairly radiant with joy, bent above her. I neversaw one of you show one moment's jealousy, which was a bit odd, forJoyce was an imperious baby, and exacted a great deal of my attention. But how charming was her good-nature! That night she sat throned on myknees, like a little princess, and patty-caked, threw kisses, went tomill and to meeting, and said over her whole short vocabulary of Frenchand English words, so gracious and lovely that even your studious fatherpushed back his books and papers to join the frolic. We were wonderfullyhappy that night! I think the child is magnetic. She gives out her ownhappiness like electric sparks. She never can bottle it up and enjoy itselfishly. "

"And she stayed till she was fifteen?"

"Yes. Then her father began to make money, and he made it----"

"Hand-over-fist, " interposed Larry. 

"Exactly. And I never saw one so puffed up with pride and vain-glory. Itwould have been funny, only that he made us feel it so tragically. Hetore Joyce away--the word is not an exaggeration for she fought him atevery point and only yielded to positive compulsion. He put her into afashionable school and bade her have nothing more to do with those'down-at-the-heel Bonnivels. ' It was a trifle hard after the love andcare we had lavished upon her. "

"It was beastly!" muttered Larry between his shut teeth. "Did he nevergive you even gratitude, let alone money?"

"No. He measured out a niggardly sum for her board, and gave it overwith the air of munificently rewarding me. I would have refused toaccept it, but your father was gone, then, and I nearly blind. I couldnot let my little ones suffer to gratify my own pride. I took it, but Idared not speak for fear I should say too much. I simply bowed my headin acknowledgment, and thanked God when he was gone, because I had beenable to control myself!"

"But Joyce did not see that?" put in Dorette. 

"No, I am glad to say she did not. The scene with her had ended with herpassionate rush to the carriage, where she was lying back on the seathalf fainting amid her tears. "

"Oh, how cruel!" cried Camille, almost in tears herself. 

"And when you had gone blind through your constant embroidering to keepyour little tribe together--Joyce and all!"

"Never mind, dear! Larry came then and saved us all. "

She turned a sweet glance upon her son-in-law, which made him flush withpleasure. 

"I don't know about that saving process, mother. I've pretty oftendeclared in my own mind that Dorette and you came along just in the nickof time to save _me_. "

"Me too, " put in Dodo, insistent on general principles. 

"And me!" added Camille, laughing and squeezing the baby afresh, hermoods as quick to change as those of capricious April, always. 

"Yes, the whole shirackety of you, " returned Larry, folding his napkin. "And Joyce has made amends since, I'm sure. "

"Indeed she has, dear child!"

"But mother, even Joyce has never given----"

"Hush, Camille! Don't say it. Joyce knows we are entirely comfortable, and she has large plans to carry out. She gives us unstinted love andgratitude. Joyce has never failed me yet. "

Camille was silenced. She caught Dodo out of her high chair, and madethe movement from table general. 

They had scarcely reached the homelike living-room when the doorbellsounded a quick peal that rang through the house. It made the Madameexclaim, "Why, that sounds like her now!" and, sure enough, in a moment Joycestood, laughing, in their midst. 

"Are you glad to see me?" she cried merrily, passing her greetingsabout, but returning to the mother's side directly. "I had Gilbert bringme over, for I've something to talk about; and may I stay all night?"

A universal cry of assent having answered her, she turned, with herbrightest smile, to Larry. 

"Will the honorable householder dismiss my coachman, then?" and as, withan exaggerated bow and flourish, he disappeared to execute thecommission, she turned swiftly upon Madame Bonnivel. "Ma mère, aren'tyou paler than you should be? What is the matter?"

"I've had just a trifle of a headache, chèrie, nothing worthmentioning. "

"I don't like those headaches--do see Dodo! Her eyes are falling asleepwhile she is running about; if she stops one instant she'll be a goner!"

All laughed as the child opened her drooping lids to their widest, anddeclared she "was dest as wide awake as a hen, " but papa, who hadre-entered, caught her regardless of protests. 

"I'll put her to bed, Dorette. You stay and visit, but don't, Joyce, tell quite all you know till I get back. Come, Sleepyhead! Papa'll tellabout the little red hen"--aside to Joyce--"It's my stock yarn. Couldn'ttell another to save my head, and studied that out, word for word, onpurpose. But luckily she wants it every time. I should be bankrupt ifshe didn't. Come now, say good-night to all like a lady, Toddlekins. "

"Oh, don't bother her, Larry. Joyce can take the ceremony for granted, "put in the affectionate aunt, who could not bear that any should teasebaby except herself. 

"Yes, there's my kiss, " throwing it, "and don't get her roused up, Larry. I've things to discuss. "

"All right. We go, but I return. _Au revoir. _ And talk woman'sfoolishness till I get back--do! I want to be here when you get off thelatest fallals. "

But she began tamely enough. 

"I saw something in the paper the other day that I want to ask about. Isit your house here that is advertised for sale?"

Madame Bonnivel nodded, and Dorette answered, "Yes, isn't it too bad? The owner has died and the estate is to beturned into money wherever possible. We can stay until it is sold, orcan leave by giving a fortnight's notice at any time, if we prefer. "

"And then where will you go?"

"Oh, we haven't planned that far, " said Camille. "I say, let it be inthe suburbs. I hate to think of an apartment, again. "

"But, my dear, there are far pleasanter ones than we used to know, " putin her mother gently. "I do regret leaving here, though. It will bedifficult to find another place, within our means, where we will find somuch room out-doors and in. Poor Dodo will miss the grassy yard. "

"And Dodo's grandmother, too, " added Camille. "You ought to see howchummy they are, Joyce, out under our one maple. "

Joyce was looking at that spiritual woman with an expression thatarrested the girl's thought and words. It was the look of one who longs, hopes, yet fears, and mingled withal was that adoring fondness she oftenshowed this mother of her heart. 

"I see, ma mère. You cannot go into an apartment. It would meanimprisonment for you. And so--and so--oh! I don't know just how to getit out, but--I have had two of the houses at Littleton especially fittedup, and they are close together in what will soon be a great lawn. Theyare very much alike, but altogether different--that is, they are justdifferent enough not to be tiresomely similar and--where was I?"

All broke into laughter. Joyce's confusion was too funny. 

"I think you were in either a maze of syntax, or of building-lots; Iscarcely know which, " remarked the Madame, evidently overflowing. 

"Well, there are two houses--that is sure. One is for me, and theother"--she looked all about with a beautiful smile, nodded brightly atLarry who appeared opportunely in the doorway, and laid a tender hand onMadame's knee--"the other is for ma mère, if she will only be goodenough to live close beside her naughty baby, and help her along inlife. "

"Oh, Joyce! Joyce, " cried that lady, catching the hand between her own, while with a sharp little sound Camille sprang to her feet, Dorettemeanwhile breaking into a laugh almost like Dodo's for innocent joy. 

"I knew you, Joyce!" said she, and Madame, caressing the girl's hand, added tremulously, "My dear, dear child!"

"And so I'm no longer to be proprietor and boss, " cried Larry, comingforward. "Oh, I've heard you plotting and planning. Mother Bonnivel, areyou going to turn us Driscolls out of doors, now you've come into yourpalace?"

"Oh dear, no palace! Just a comfortable home with room enough to swingall Dodo's kittens in, " laughed Joyce, to keep back the tears, for thedear mother's joy upset her. 

"I should dread a palace, chèrie, " said the latter, then turned to theyoung husband of her daughter, whom she loved as a son. "We've had nomine and thine so far, Larrimer, and we won't begin now. "

"Oh!" was Camille's outburst, "how perfectly charming it is to have itcome from Joyce. If it was anybody else mother could never be induced totake it. Do tell us more, Joycey love--how far out is Littleton by rail?Could Larry live there and go in to his work? Could I go on with mymusic and cadet teaching?"

"It is forty minutes ride by rail. You saw the town before anything wasdone and in early spring. You would not know it now. It is green whereit was brown, clean where it was dirty, trim where it was shabby. Itbegins to look like a great park, and the cottages are reallyornamental, as well as comfortable. Our homes are to overlook the townand face the park at its broad end--you know it is triangular inshape--and they are already at the decorating stage. I did not want togo further without letting the rest of you have your say. "

"Oh, delicious!" cried Camille. "I do think planning out pretty rooms isperfectly fascinating. Can't you tell us something how they are built?"

Joyce laughed, and took from her pocket a large sheet of letter paper, looking meanwhile with half suffused eyes towards Madame. 

"Do you remember, ma mère, " she said tenderly, "how we used to sew andplan together in those old days when we were so poor in money and sorich in dreams?"

"Indeed I do, Joyce. "

"And, one winter's day, when the house was so cold we had to huddleclose around the old wood stove and shiver, do you remember telling howwe would have our home if we could, and how perfectly it should bewarmed in winter and cooled in summer? We all got enthusiastic over it;there were you and Dorette and I, while Camille lay fast asleep in hercradle; and first one, then another, would propose some convenience, until we forgot the cold entirely. Finally you cried gaily, 'Wait, I'lldraw a plan. These are good ideas for somebody, if not for us. Give me apencil and paper Joyce, ' and presently you showed us what you haddrawn. "

"Oh, yes! The pretty house with the dumb waiter going from cellar toattic, and the soiled clothes dump from the upper floors to the laundry, and the store-room down-stairs for trunks and heavy furniture, and--"

"And the long drawers under the deep window-seats for best gowns, " brokein Dorette with unusual excitement, "and the little cedar closet forfurs, and the elegant lighted closets. I remember the plan perfectly. But that--is that it, Joyce?"

"This is the very self-same drawing, " said the latter merrily. 

"I had wondered what became of it, then forgot it entirely, " laughed theMadame. "So you have had it all the time?"

"Yes, I stole it. And, ma mère, the house is built. There are the verylittle nooks, sunny and warm, that you planned in the library forreading and writing; the pretty Dutch kitchen with its long low window, and the central hall with its wide fireplace. They are all real now, nota dream any more. And they are yours. You have only to take possession, after giving a few orders to the decorators about colors, and so forth. If you say so, Gilbert shall drive us out to-morrow. We can take Dodo, and carry a luncheon to picnic by the wayside. It will be a lovelyouting. Won't we, everybody?"

But somehow words came tardily just then. Larry had caught Joyce's hand, and was pumping it up and down somewhat wildly, while his lips quiveredunder his mustache; Madame Bonnivel had a trembling grasp upon the otherhand, while Dorette and Camille were each kissing an ear, or aneye--they could not see for tears and did not care anyhow, so long as itwas a bit of Joyce. Till, flinging her arms about them all, she brokeout into a sudden passionate, "Oh, dear people! _My_ people! Let's clingtogether. I've nobody in all the world but you!" At which heart-breakingcry the mother quickly responded, "Why, child, you are a part of us. We have had you always when we could. Do you suppose we would ever let you go?"

So Joyce turned her giving into begging, and in assuring her of the loveand loyalty she longed for, all forgot their words of thanks till Larrysaid whimsically, "I'm afraid things are getting a little mixed here, and I'm not quite certain, now, whether we're to be grateful to Joycefor a beautiful home, or she to us for deigning to live beside her. "

This set Camille off into a near approach to hysterics, and let them allgently down to earth once more. 

Presently the Madame began in her tender voice, which could never seemto interrupt, "We haven't told our news yet, Joyce. It pales a little before yourgrand tidings, but I think it will interest you still. Leon has beenpromoted. "

Joyce turned quickly, her face all aglow, her eyes like stars. 

"Oh, is it true? Then he is first lieutenant?"

"Yes, with special work in the engineering department, and such kindwords from his higher officers in their congratulations! We had thoughtour cup of joy quite full when you came in; now it has overflowed. "

"And mother was telling all about you and Leon when you were little, "put in Camille in so oblivious a tone that Larry, catching some fun inthe situation, laughed outright. 

"What a giggler you are, Larry! Just like a school-boy, " admonished thegypsy-maid, frowning at him. "What she said about their childishdevotion was very touching, I thought, and not at all funny. "

Even Madame Bonnivel joined in his hearty laugh, now, and poor Joyce, tohide her burning cheeks, broke out, "Come, Camille, where's your mandolin? I haven't heard you play for anage. 'Do let's play and be cheerful!'"

"Just what Leon always used to say! All right, I'll give you my lastserenade; it's awfully sweet. Turn down the lights, Larry. Now, you mustall imagine you are on the water in Venice, and that I'm stealing by inmy gondola to call up my lady, love from sleep. She's up in thetower-room of that dingy old castle yonder. Hus-sh all!"

They were silent in the dim room, but Joyce's heart was still beatinghard. Would Leon be as pleased as they? She hoped they would tellhim in just the right way, he was so proud, and on the dainty"tinkle-tinkle-tum" of the stringed instrument her thoughts floatedoutward over the broad sea, to find her childhood's mate again. 

CHAPTER XI. 

THE SOCIAL HOUSE. 

The large building which had caused so much comment was at lengthfinished, and the mystery solved. It was indeed a mansion, with roomsfor recreation and study, but it was neither for young Early, nor anyother one person. It was, instead, the joint property of all thevillage, and to be known as the Littleton Social House. On the lowerfloor was a library, with well-lighted nooks, to be used asreading-rooms; beyond that were the art-rooms one for modeling in clay, one for sketching, and a third inner, sky-lighted, place forphotography. On the other side of the great hall was a large music-roomwith a canvas floor, containing a piano and cabinet organ, also shelvesfor music numbers, and a raised dais for art orchestra. Beyond was apleasant parlor, from which opened a small apartment provided withconveniences for quiet table games; and all these were neatly fittedwith strong easy chairs, tables, and cabinets, the walls beingbeautified with many good photographs from paintings of masters, bothold and new. 

The supposed "ball-room, " above, developed into a gymnasium andentertainment hall, with a rostrum and curtains, where lectures, concerts, pictured views, and little dramas might be given; andsurrounding this were roof balconies, with palms, vines, and pottedplants, making them into bowers of beauty and coolness. Here were seatsand tables where the warm and weary might stray for a cooling drink oflemonade, or an ice, served at a price within the means of the verypoor. A trim little widow, whose husband when living had been a trustedemployee, and who was trying her best to raise her young family withouthim, had been set up in this restaurant, apparently by Mr. Dalton, andprovided with the necessary outfit, for which she was to pay a livingrental during the summer months. The chance seemed heaven-sent to thepoor young creature, who had nearly succumbed before her heavy toil atthe washtub, for she was too delicately formed for such labors. 

The janitorship of the whole large building brought independence toanother family where the capable mother dying had left a crippledhusband and two young girls to struggle on as best they could. With theyouthful help of these sturdy girls he could undertake the office ofcaretaker, and, as pretty living rooms were furnished them in the high, airy basement, the family felt almost as if they had been transported toParadise after the terrible experiences of the past winter, with a mereshed for shelter, the coal running short at too frequent intervals, andmeat only compassed as a rare luxury on the "lucky" days when one or theother could pick up an extra nickel, or two, by some special goodfortune. 

To all the questions and conjectures over this miracle of a house Mr. Dalton opposed an impassive front. "It is none of my doing, " he averredbrusquely. "I never should have thought of it, and wouldn't have builtit if I had, no matter who furnished the money, for I don't believeyou'll appreciate it, or take care of it. But all I've got to say is, ifany one of you do abuse it, and go to spitting on the floor, or hackingup the woodwork, or pulling things out of shape in any way, you'll belower than any truck that I care to have around, and you'll have me todeal with when I'm at my ugliest--you understand what that means!"

The men, who had been grouped in the yard after hours, talking it over, and whose hail for information as he passed by had brought out hisvigorous remarks, looked at each other and grinned half sheepishly. Thenone spoke up sturdily:

"I guess we know good manners when we see 'em, boss! We ain't pigs, nortramps. "

Dalton laughed in his curt fashion. 

"You know well enough, but you don't care pretty often. If young Earlyis decent enough to give you boys a chance at some pleasure, you want toshow you appreciate it--that's all. And when you get your invite to thehouse-warming, you'll be expected to show up as the gentlemen you can bewhen you try. "

Billy May, once a sailor, straightened up and touched his cap. 

"Ay, ay, sir!" he bellowed, as if receiving orders in a towering gale, at which all laughed and Dalton, smiling in spite of himself, passed on. 

The invitations came in good time, and were in a somewhat comprehensiveform, each being addressed to the householder in person, with the words, "and whole family" added. No family was forgotten, but as the buildingcould not accommodate the whole village, two evenings were set for thereception and opening, all the names up to N, in alphabetical order, being chosen for Tuesday evening and the rest for Wednesday, whiledifferent hours were mentioned that there need be no crowding, though itwas discovered later that no matter at which hour one arrived, the mostof them staid till the very latest mentioned, loth even then to leavethe, to them, novel scene. 

A day or two before this pleasant event, which had set the whole towninto a delightful turmoil of expectation and comment, a couple offamilies quietly moved into the two neat, but by no means sumptuousdwellings, lately built on the little knoll over against the broad endof the park, and facing it. You will remember that the school-house wasat one side, the church near by, while the Social house fronted thenarrow point, with a street between. Thus the two homes overlooked parkand buildings, exactly facing the Social house, though at a distance, while the Works at the other extreme of the village were half hidden byintervening buildings, and soon would be quite overshadowed by the manytrees lately set out. 

These were the homes which Joyce had built for herself and theBonnivels. Both of them, though fitted with many conveniences andfinished with taste, were of moderate cost, there being not oneextravagance, and only the modicum of room actually needed for refinedliving, in either. Many a rich woman has thought nothing of putting moreexpense into the fitting of one room, even, than Joyce had laid out onher whole house. Indeed that reserved for Madame was much the costlierof the two. Yet, with the pretty outlook across the green trianglebefore the doors, the high situation, the soft roll of the lawnssurrounding them, and the majesty of the one immense maple which stoodbetween the buildings, and had grown for a quarter of a century inlordly majesty, appropriating to itself all the juices of the soil foryards around, until it was the famed landmark of that region, theseplaces were more attractive than many more palatial which fairly dauntthe stranger with their cold magnificence. These smiled in one's facewith a hospitable welcome. 

Moving was not a difficult operation for Joyce, as she had little heavyfurniture to take from the hotel; and it had been a labor of love andjollity to run about with Dorette and Camille, selecting and arranging, first submitting everything to Madame's superior and almost faultlessjudgment. And here the girl's passion for sharing--she liked the wordbetter than giving--often asserted itself. Obstinately declaring thatshe should be wretched in a home where everything "smelled of itsnewness, " she had coaxed and cajoled her friends until, almost withouttheir realizing it, there had been such a division of the old Bonniveleffects and the new Lavillotte purchases that both houses presented apretty equal mingling of the ancient and modern. For instance, Joycebegged the small round table with claw legs from their dining-room, tosend in its place one of the handsomest large mahogany rounds she couldprocure. So Ellen's room was neatly furnished with Madame Bonnivel'ssquare heavy set, stately if not graceful, while the latter's bloomedout with pier-glass and satinwood of the daintiest. The Bonnivels' worncane chairs somehow found places on Joyce's veranda, while a newhalf-dozen rockers, of quaint and comfortable shape, took their placesthrough the pretty living rooms next door. 

"I feel, " said Joyce gaily, "so much more respectable than if my thingswere all new. These good old plantation souvenirs give to my indefiniteoutlines a deep rich background that brings me out in stronger colors. "

For, with all her wealth and power, Joyce often felt this"indefiniteness, " as she called it. She knew people were wont to ask, "Who is she? Where is her family?" and to look with some misgiving on agirl too rich to pass unnoticed, yet too poor to own a family and a pastabout which she was free to babble. She found that riches set one outfrom the crowd as does the search-light which cannot be dodged nordimmed, and sometimes she would have flung every dollar away, and givenup all her pet schemes, just to have crept into the safe shelter of theBonnivel home as a real child of that house, to become as happilyobscure as Dorette, or Camille. 

The Tuesday night of the first house-warming fortunately fell upon acool evening, when no one could much mind the occasional sprinkle ofrain, so glad were they of a change from the fierce heat and drought ofthe past fortnight. As it was, the clouds brooded low, and the breezeheld the freshness of showers near by, while now and then the moonpeered through a rift and lit up the hushed darkness, which was likethat of a chamber where sleep comes after pain. 

The Social house, gleaming with electric lights to the very summit ofthe flag-staff above its roof, from which the stars and stripes waved inlanguid contentment, was not only near the center of the town, geographically, but also in aim and interest, to-night. The half-worldwhich was not invited till to-morrow was anxious to see how the otherhalf would look in gala costume, to-night; and a stranger, suddenlydropped into the neighboring streets, would have had to look twice toconvince himself these neat-looking females, tripping that way, were thewives and daughters of artisans who worked for a few shillings a day. Fortunately summer dress-goods cost little, and there were but few ofthe girls who had not compassed a new six-cent muslin, or at least "doneup" an old one into crisp freshness. The men were equally disguised bysoap, water, and shaving, with coats instead of shirt-sleeves, but thesecould not simulate the fine gentleman so readily as could theirdaughters the fine lady. 

Among these self-respecting Americanized families there was occasionallyseen a sprinkling of those who disdained any approach to dudishness, orhad not yet grasped it as anything that could possibly pertain tothemselves, and these--mostly new importations from Poland orItaly--strode dauntlessly up to the wide-open doors in the deep Grecianportico, the men in clumping shoes and the women in little head shawls, jabbering noisily with wonder and curiosity. 

Mr. Dalton, under sealed orders, had placed himself, with his aunt, nearthe outer doorway of the broad entrance hall to receive the guests, andwhen Joyce's party appeared all were welcomed exactly as had been theother arrivals. 

Their entrance was rather imposing, though, despite precautions, forfirst came Larry with Madame, then Dorette with Joyce, and lastlyCamille leading Dodo, with Ellen stalking at their side, the verypicture of a duenna. Somewhat in the rear Gilbert and two other maids, Kate and Thyrza--this latter from the Bonnivel house--followed withdubious looks, feeling probably that they were neither "fish flesh, norgood red herring, " in this motley assemblage, which offered no suchcompanionship as they were accustomed to. 

Joyce's eyes shone like stars, and even in her plain white Suisse gown, without an ornament except the rings upon her fingers, there was a sortof regal splendor about her that made every eye turn to watch her as sheentered. After Mrs. Phelps had greeted them all with evident pleasure athaving them for neighbors, they found an easy-chair for Madame, whereshe might listen and feel the happy surging of the crowd about her. Assoon as seated she gently pushed Joyce away. 

"Go, " she whispered. "You want to see and talk with as many as possible. I shall do nicely alone. All of you go, and then you can tell me morewhen you come back. It will be fun to compare experiences. Who hasDodo?"

"I have her just this minute, " said Camille, "but she has sighted Larryand I can't hold her. He is talking to two men in the window at yourleft, and looking handsome as a picture! There, for goodness' sake, go, if you must! I do believe the little tyke has torn my new dimity, clutching at it so. Come, Joyce, let's go and speak to those girls. Theylook positively wretched in their best clothes, poor things!"

"You go, " said Joyce. "I see my old friend Mrs. Hemphill--Rachel'smother, you know. See her, there with the three children? We must makethe most of ourselves, and you can jolly up the girls better than I. I'mgoing to bring some of the interesting people to you, ma mère. You'llknow how to talk to all of them, but you shan't be bored!"

"We need no special vocabulary to be kind, " smiled Madame. "I will soonmake friends right here, and I'm not afraid of being bored. Peoplealways talk to the blind, and smile on the deaf. Run along!"

Joyce gave her a love-pat, and hurried after Mrs. Hemphill who, with astrong grasp on her little ones, was stemming the tide of humanity witha somewhat defiant mien, while her head was swinging around as if on apivot, so determined was she not to miss the sight of a singledecoration or picture, nor the passing of a single guest. She stopped tospeak to a much wrinkled dame in a real Irish bonnet, with a flappingfrill, who was smiling so broadly as to display with reckless abandonher toothless gums. 

"Purty foin, ain't it?" this one laughed, as they stopped abreast ofeach other so suddenly that the babies nearly fell over backward. "Andsay, " lowering her voice so that Joyce barely caught the words, "they dobe tellin' they's to be sand-whiches, an' coffee, an' rale ice-cramebyme-by. Does ye b'lave it?"

"Umph! It gets me what to b'lieve, these days, " muttered Mrs. Hemphill, with a backward slap at one of the children who, upon hearing theenumeration of goodies, began to tease for some. "What's ailin' you now?"she cried fiercely. "Want somepin to eat, you say? You want a trouncin', that's what you want!" lifting the little thing with a motion tendererthan her words. "Ain't it all the craziest doin's? But say, Mis'Flaherty, they tells me you won't go into one of the new houses, nohow. "

"And why should I, tell me thot!" began Mrs. Flaherty on a high key, just as Joyce stepped graciously forward, with the words, "Isn't this the Mrs. Hemphill I remember?"

The latter turned quickly. 

"Hey? Oh, why yes, I do mind you now. Let's see, you come to sell awashin' machine, didn't you? Or was it a story-paper? Oh! no, now Iknow, " darting suspicious glances over the head of the child in herarms, "you was talkin' about schools and tryin' to get one up. "

"Well, partly, " answered Joyce, rather crestfallen, and glanced up tomeet the dancing eyes of Larry, who was passing by and caught thehigh-keyed sentence. "But you know I have come here to live now, and Iassure you I am not a teacher--just a private citizen. "

"Do tell! Well, I thought you was something or other--they's sech a raftof agents along; though my Mary tells me 'tain't a circumstance to thecity--Mate works out in the city. Let me make you acquainted with Mis'Flaherty. She's the lady what lives in Bachelor's Row and takes inboarders and washin's--now, Johnny, you stop a-tuggin' at my skirts, will ye? You've started the gethers a'ready. --She ain't exactly abachelor herself, but she's next to it--a widder woman. He! he!"

Mrs. Hemphill's laughter was so much like the "crackling of thorns undera pot" as to be far from pleasant. Joyce hastened to speak. 

"But I can't see why you preferred not to move, Mrs. Flaherty. Don't youlike the new houses?" she asked, a bit anxiously, looking from one tothe other and feeling decidedly wet-blanketed. 

"Oh, they'll do, " nodding the cap frills vigorously. "It ain't fur theloikes o' me to be sayin' anythin' agin 'em, but I never did take tothese new-fangled doin's, 'm. I've heered tell how them water pipes'llbe afther busting up with the first frost, just like an old gun, and Idon't want any sich doin's on my premises. No _sir_! I ain't so old butI can pump water out of a well yet, and it's handy enough. ' 'Tain'tmore'n just across the strate, and whin 'tain't dusty, nur snowy, nurmuddy, it's all right enough. "

"Well, I don't carry water when I can make it run by turning astopple--not much I don't!" cried Mrs. Hemphill vigorously, meanwhiletilting back and forth on heels and toes with a jolting motion which wasgradually producing drowsiness in the infant she held. "And my man saysit can't freeze in them pipes 'cause the nateral gas is goin' to run dayand night and keep 'em hot. And Nate Tierney, he says 't water an' heatan' lightin' is goin' to be jest as free, in our town, as sunshine an'air is everywhere. That's what Nate says, and if it's true it's a mightybig load off 'n us poor folks, and that's certain!"

"But we're goin' to be taxed for 'em, " put in another woman, joining thegroup--a lanky creature with washed-out eyes, and lips that she seemedin danger of swallowing, so sunken were they. 

"How's that?" cried Mrs. Hemphill, sharply. 

"It's to be some way put onto the men in their drink and tobacco--so myman says--and it'll make it a cent more on a glass and a plug. My mansays everybody what brings any into this town's got to pay somethin' furthe privilege, and that goes into the heatin' and lightin' fund. And hesays it's a blamed shame, and the men won't stand it, either! Fur'sthat's concerned, what do they care whether we're warm or cold, so 'tthey gits their dram?"

Just here Rachel Hemphill came rapidly towards them. 

"Mother, " she began, then looked askance at Joyce, whose eyes, nowsomewhat troubled, turned eagerly to meet her glance. 

"Well, what is it now?" asked the mother crossly, for, though she likednothing better than to sit and praise Rachel by the hour, she alwayskept her belligerent attitude toward her family, as if afraid she mightrelent too much if she once gave way an inch. 

"I was going to say, " the girl continued excitedly, with another glanceat Joyce, "you'll miss the concert, if you don't hurry. It's upstairs inthe big room, and they're all hustling for seats. And mother, " droppingto a whisper, "our Kip is to sing!"

"Kip? You don't say! Who told you? Let's hurry! Johnny, come along andstop dragging your feet. I'll lay the babby down some'ers and go rightup; he's sound fur an hour or two, I hope. You're coming, Rache?"

"Yes, in a minute, " for Joyce had stepped towards her with outstretchedhand, partly barring her way. 

"My name is Lavillotte, " she said, "and I have seen you several times. The Bonnivels and I have just moved into the two houses at the other endof the park, and we want to get acquainted with our neighbors. "

Rachel's cool fingers dropped into Joyce's eager jeweled ones, and fellaway again. 

"You will find but a small set of your kind of people here, MissLavillotte. There's the doctor's family, Mr. Dalton's, and one or twoothers. I'm just one of the working girls, " and before Joyce could speakto protest she had turned away with a proud look, and hastened after hermother. 

CHAPTER XII. 

THE HOUSE-WARMING. 

Joyce had never been used to rebuffs. Feeling like a child who has hadits gift of sweeties flung back into its face she turned slowly toretrace her steps towards Madame Bonnivel, and even in the short circuitof the crowded rooms she more than once caught words of criticism andunfriendly comment. One man, who was gesticulating largely with hissomewhat grimy hands, uttered these words while she slid and sidledthrough the unyielding group about him, almost like one trying to avoida blow--

"Generous! Who says he's generous? Don't you fool yourselves. We'll haveto pay for it somehow, you mark my words. Young Early's like his father, only 'cuter. He's going to work things up till he makes folks think thistown's a little Eden and then, when more workers wants to come herebecause it's sort o' neat and pretty, he'll begin to squeeze us on thewages, and if we dare to kick he'll say coolly, 'Go, if you don't likeit. There's plenty ready and waiting to take your place. ' Oh, I know'em, root and branch, and we ain't no more'n just a pack o' cards intheir hands. They shuffle us, and deal us round where we can help 'em torake in the most chips, and when they're done with us--pouf! away we gointo the fire, for all they care. "

Joyce, fairly stung, made a quick movement towards him, then, remembering herself drew back, while the man, turning at the minute, smiled and made way for her. She was only a pretty girl to him, and hehad not Rachel's discerning eyes, to observe that she was out of herclass here, and never for an instant imagined what his tirade had meantto her. 

When Joyce reached the Madame she was trembling a little, and pressedherself against that lady's chair, longing for comfort. Yet, in reply tothe Madame's greeting she answered with but one word. She was afraid totrust herself with more. The blind woman's keen instinct divined thatsomething was amiss. She had been talking placidly with many, and hadalso heard all sorts of comments and conjectures, so could imagine thefeelings of this warm-hearted girl who had been giving so freely, andwho longed for some little expression of appreciation and gratitude inreturn. But fearing themselves surrounded she could not speak quitefreely, so she clasped Joyce's trembling fingers warmly while she quotedwith an arch, smiling face. 

 "Perhaps it was well to dissemble your love, But why did you kick me down-stairs?"

Joyce had to laugh heartily amid her gloom, and felt better for theoutburst. 

"It's what I want to know, myself!" she cried warmly. "Have I quitedeserved it all?"

"It's the way of the world, my dear. But I've something to tell you, onmy side. I have just been talking to a young girl--I think they call herLucy--and she is so glad and happy over this house and itspossibilities! I wish you could have heard her talk. She says her motheris dead, and she is busy all day with the housework and babies. Butto-night some good friend she called Nate, as I remember, who is notinvited till to-morrow evening, said he would sit with the children andshe should come with her father. It's the first party she was ever at, and she has a new muslin for it, and some dear Marry, as she called her, gave her a bit of nice lace for the neck, and it has been all bliss andrapture! Her voice was fairly tremulous with happiness, Joyce. "

"O!" cried the latter, feeling better and better, "It must have beenLucy Hapgood. I wish I could have seen her, myself. Which way did shego?"

"I don't know, dear. Who is near us now? No one very close, is there?"

"No--at least all are busy with their own affairs. "

"Then I will say this; remember always that you are not doing thesethings for gratitude, nor praise. That has always been understood, hasn't it?"

"Yes, yes, of course. But--but it's hard to have abuse, ma mère!"

"They don't mean it for you, chèrie. Are they not all nice to you, personally?"

"They treat me well enough, yes. But not as if they really care for me. "

"And why should they, on so short acquaintance! Remember, they do notdream who their good fairy really is. And you must always tell yourselfit is not _you_ they repulse. You simply stand for the class that hasoppressed and cheated them. They denounce "young Early" to-night, simplyfor the sake of what has gone before. They cannot believe in realfriendliness all at once, and they look coolly on you, imagining youhave no interests in common with them. They look across a gulf ofsuffering and privation at you, who seem never to suffer, and their eyesgrow hard and stony. Can you wonder? You should not be either surprised, or hurt. "

"But they don't treat you so, mother. And you are of my class, as youcall it. "

"Am I? Well, granting all that, you forget I am blind. My afflictionbrings me more in touch with them. I would have no feeling ofsuperiority--I could not; so they come nearer to me, perhaps. Or else Ihave fallen among pleasanter people. Look your sweetest now, and tryonce more. I'm sure you will find some warmer currents in this frozenstream, if you sound it well. "

Joyce smilingly pressed the gentle hand that caressed her own. 

"I'll make another plunge, " she said more hopefully. "Ah! here's Mr. Dalton. I think he looks a bit _triste_, too. Good evening again, Mr. Dalton. I want to ask you a question, please. Can you tell me who isthat man with the brown hair and bristling red beard, over in that groupby the door--there, he is just moving on. "

"That? Oh yes, I see. Why, his name is Hapgood--Bill Hapgood, as we allcall him. His girl Lucy is here somewhere--a good child, sadlyoverworked. He's no good, though; always quarreling with his bread andbutter, and much too fond of the saloon. "

"Lucy Hapgood's father!" exclaimed Joyce under her breath, turningsurprised eyes upon Madame Bonnivel, as if that lady could meet herspeaking glance. 

And so she could in spirit, for her perceptions amounted almost tomind-reading. A smile of amusement lit up her sweet face, as she criedmerrily, "Father and daughter, are they? What a coincidence!"

Dalton looked from one to the other, uncomprehending. 

Then his gaze lingered on Joyce's flushing cheek. As she made no effortto explain he said, presently, "I thought Mrs. Bonnivel might like somerefreshments, and I told Mr. Driscoll, if he would take his wife andsister I would come for you two ladies. But he said they had gone homewith the baby. "

"Have they? And what has become of Mrs. Phelps?" asked Joyce, feelingsomewhat forsaken by her clan. 

"She went in with the doctor some time ago. I rather think she has left, too. She had a headache, or something. "

Joyce glanced around her with a dissatisfied expression. 

"No, " she said, "this won't do! We might as well all have stayed at homeas to come here just for a supercilious glance or two, while we huddletogether. And yet--whom can I ask to take me?"

Dalton, with his eyes upon her, wondered. Had she been at a ball, amongher own kind, who would not have wanted her? Even had no hint ofpossessions gone abroad, she was peerless in beauty and brightness. Hemade a queer little sound which Madame caught, and laughed softly. 

"You could ask anybody to take _me_, " she said with evident amusement, "and possibly, if Mr. Dalton tries hard, he may find somebody even totake you, Joyce. I scarcely think they would refuse him. "

He evidently appreciated her fine sarcasm. 

"I could try hard, " he returned, "provided I am too good for the office, myself. Let me see. I suppose Miss Lavillotte will not be satisfiedunless I bring somebody as unattractive as possible--wait, I have it!"

With a quick "Excuse me!" he hurried away, soon to return with agrizzled man of uncertain age, who certainly was not attractive, thoughso greatly improved by clean linen and a stiff collar that Dalton hadnoticed the change at once. He was, in fact, the very man whom Dan sooften heard haranguing in the cobbler's shop, and knew as TongueyMurfree, though when voting he registered as Joseph H. 

With an air of exaggerated courtesy Dalton led him up and introducedhim. 

"Mrs. Bonnivel, Miss Lavillotte, let me present Mr. Murfree, well knownof all in Littleton because of his eloquence. I'm sure he will be gladto take you out to supper, and give you his latest views on--well, sayanarchy. "

The man winced a little, and his florid face took on an added color. Inhis embarrassment he giggled like a bashful boy, and scraped one footbehind him in a low obeisance. 

"Glad to please the lady, I'm sure, " he muttered, quite at his wits' endwhat to do next. 

Joyce rather resented the hint of derision in all this, and steppingforth a bit proudly, said at once, "Thank you. If you'll just pilot me through to the refreshment room, Mr. Murfree--that is, if you know the way. "

"Bet I do, 'm, and had a taste and sup myself, but I'm not backward togo again. The coffee's rare good, 'm, an the san'wiches very satisfying. But"--in a confidential tone, as they moved slowly through thethrong--"whoever's a-doing of all this has made one big mistake, ma'am, and that's a fact. "

"Indeed! How is that?"

"Well, it's on the drinks, 'm. He might at least have give usginger-beer, or pop, if he's teetotal, as they say. It 'ud seem morenateral, somehow, to be drinking stuff outen a glass. But take it alltogether it's a pretty decent show, and the pictures and funnygraph, upin the big room, was fine. But if it's jest a scheme to play some newgame on us they needn't try it. We've got our eyes peeled, and we don'tget tooken in again. Old Early played it up pretty cute once, or twice, and we bit like suckers, only to wake up with a strong hook in ourgills; but this young feller hasn't got the old one's experyunce, andhe'll make a mess of it, if he tries any dodges. You jest set that down, 'fore you forgit it!"

"I don't see what dodge there can be in opening a pleasant house to youand giving you a nice party, " returned Joyce, trying to keep her tonefree of resentment. 

"Oh well, we can't tell, yet. But maybe you ain't heard that they'regoing to have fees, and tax the liquors, and all that? Well, I have, andI say 'tain't fair, and he'd better not try it on us! We know ourrights, and we're going to have 'em. "

He made a flourish with his hands that nearly knocked the hat from agirl in the path they were slowly treading, and the young owner turnedsuddenly. It was Lucy Hapgood. 

"Look out there, you"--she began, then catching sight of Joyce sheblushed a little, ducked a courtesy, and turned once more to the man. 

"What's the matter with you now, Tonguey Murfree? Ain't this good enoughfor you? You'd blow if you was in a palace, sitting on a throne, I dobelieve. You'd find some trick about it, some'ers. "

Joyce met her laughing eyes and felt a hearty liking for her. 

"You and I aren't looking for tricks, are we?" she said. "Have you had agood time?"

"Boss! and I hate to go, but I ought to, 'cause poor Nate'll be sleepy, and he has to get to work early mornings. He stayed with the young 'unsfor me. "

"And you have seen everything, Lucy?"

"Guess I didn't miss much, " laughing happily, "My! but the supper wasgood. I only wished I could eat more, or else take some of it home. Iain't much on the cooking yet. "

"You'll soon learn, " encouraged Joyce. "How would you enjoy joining acooking class, and learning how to do it all?"

The girl's honest gray eyes twinkled under the the long dark lashes, which gave them such pretty shadows. 

"Would they let you sample the truck they cooked? Guess I could standit, then! But I don't get much time for folderols. "

Joyce saw that her escort was uneasy at the delay, so said good-nightcheerily and followed him. But her fastidious ideas received a shock atthe scene which met them before the refreshment-rooms. Two of theparlors had been fitted up with chairs, ranged closely around the walls, and a table heaped with cups and plates, in the center. About sixtycould be accommodated in each, but three times that number werescrambling for admittance outside. 

The attendants appointed at these doors seemed powerless to keep order, and Larry had planted himself before one and was trying to pacify thehungry crowd, and promote harmony. For the shoving, pushing and swearingwere not all good-natured, though largely so. 

"Hold on there!" he called to a bull-headed Pole, who had just thrustaside a little girl so roughly she cried out with pain, "Hold on!There's enough to eat, and time enough to eat it in, but nobody getsinside here unless he brings his manners with him. This isn't pay-day, nor the menagerie, nor a bread riot; it's just a party of ladies andgentlemen, and we've all got to brace up and remember it. Ladies first, now, and stand aside there to let these folks out, or there can'tanybody get in. No hurry! No hurry! the cooks will keep the coffee hot, and the sandwiches haven't even begun to give out. Hello, Joyce! Do youwant to come now?"

"No, no, we'll wait, " nodding gaily. "Let these others in who havewaited longer. "

The Pole turned to look at her, while he stood stolidly in the path, asclose to the door as he could crowd, and his expression startled her. The gaunt eyes gleamed like those of a wolf, and over the high bonesabove the sunken cheeks the skin glistened, as if so tightly stretchedas to be in danger of bursting. She felt that the man had been indesperate straits, and while recoiling before the evil sullenness of hislook, she felt a deep pity for the pain in it. She turned to Murfree. "Who is that?" she had it on her tongue's end to ask, but the look inhis face drove the query out of her mind. With hands clenched at hisside, eyes staring through his glasses, and lips curled fiercely backfrom his set teeth, yellowed horribly with tobacco, the man was alsogazing at the Pole, too intent to remember her presence. 

CHAPTER XIII. 

SOME ENCOUNTERS. 

Joyce watched him a moment, fascinated. Presently he drew a long breath, and the tense features relaxed. He seemed gathering himself, together, and after a short interval of silence, during which she pretended to beabsorbed in the crowd which was streaming through the door, he said in alow, husky voice:

"Say 'm, if you don't mind, and seeing's your ma is right here"--hereferred to Madame Bonnivel who was slowly approaching on Mr. Dalton'sarm--"I guess I'd better git out o' this crowd and go home, I ain'tfeeling very well and--good-night!"

He slipped aside without more ado, ducked his shock head, and, beforeshe had time to collect her surprised senses, had melted away in thethinning swirls of humanity, and was gone. 

"What! Deserted already?" laughed Mr. Dalton with malicioussatisfaction, as he caught the expression on her face; but, softeninginstantly, he added, "Well, you're lucky! What I had expected was thatyou would never be rid of him till he had talked you bl--" He checkedthe word on his lips, remembering, his companion's affliction. 

She laughed out merrily. 

"How can one talk another blind? We should say deaf, I think. The blindalways enjoy the merry clatter of tongues. Why did he leave, Joyce?"

"I don't just understand. He didn't feel well, he said. "

"Oh, you overpowered him, Miss Lavillotte! He is not used to beauty andgrandeur. I am a little afraid of it myself!" His own audacity, whichsurprised himself it was so unlike him, made George Dalton color like agirl, and he fairly shrank behind the Madame's tall figure to concealhis rising color. But Joyce did not notice. She was so intent on whatshe had just seen, as to be oblivious now. She took the dear lady's armwith a delightful sense of security, and observed in as matter-of-fact away as she could assume:

"We'll have to wait, anyhow, for the people seem actually ravenous, poorthings! I drew back to let them by, and thought we would go home----"

"No, you can come, " cried Larry, bustling up to them. "Everybody isseated and I've found some extra chairs and a retired corner for youladies, where you can see without being seen. Dalton and I will wait onyou. Follow me. "

He led them across a screened corner and seated them within one of theeating-rooms, nearly hidden behind the well-heaped table, which had beenpushed back into an angle of the wall. As Joyce looked about her thePole was nearly opposite, and sat gorging the large sandwich, handed himupon his plate, in a greedy manner that fairly horrified her. There wassomething animal-like, ghoulish even, in his clutching haste; yet it waspitiable, too. 

"Mr. Dalton, " she asked, "who is that man?"

He followed the guarded glance of her eye and looked a moment with aperplexed frown. 

"I really can't tell, " he said at length. "Yet it seems as if I ought toknow, too. I hardly think he's one of our men, unless he has come verylately. He isn't exactly what you'd call a beauty; is he, MissLavillotte?"

"Far from it. He looks as if he had suffered awfully, don't you think?"

"Oh possibly--suffering, or sin--one can scarcely tell which it may beat a glance. I'll step and get you the cream and sugar, Mrs. Bonnivel. "

Joyce continued to watch the man furtively, neglecting her own food. Every time the sandwiches went by he snatched at them, gulping down hiscoffee, between whiles, in great hot swallows that made his dreadfuleyes stand out still more than was natural. Used as the attendants wereto irregularities in this non-etiquetical company, they showed theirdisgust plainly at his boorishness. Two of them stopped a moment nearJoyce's corner, to discuss him in no measured terms. One said, "Not another thing does he get here, the brute! If he thinks we'rekeeping a free lunch counter for the likes of him he's mistaken. Hehasn't got common decency. "

Joyce saw him clear the last crumb from his plate, and glance furtivelyto and fro from under his bent brows, with a movement that filled herwith disgust and pity. 

"The poor wretch is starving!" she thought. "The sight and smell of fooddrive him wild. Where can he have been?"

Even as she was thinking this there was a general movement, and he toorose from his place with the rest. Cup in hand, he neared the table asif to deposit it there before leaving; but his eyes were on ahalf-emptied tray of the sandwiches just placed there, and as he stoopedto set down the cup he made a quick movement, and scooped up a littleheap of the slices into the hollow of his hands, from which they slidinto a coat pocket with dextrous suddenness. Some one stepped forwardwith an exclamation at which, with one bound, he sprang between theMadame and Joyce, dodged behind the screen, and when the attendantreached it, had disappeared. The latter turned back with a crestfallenair. 

"Did you see that?" he cried excitedly. "I never saw such a hog!"

Joyce rose, and touched him lightly on the arm. 

"I think it's hardly worth making a fuss about, " she said gently. "Heseemed very hungry--starving, indeed. There's plenty of everything, isn't there?"

"Oh, yes, but it makes me mad to be so imposed on! I don't believe thefellow belongs here, anyhow. "

"He looked like a sailor to me, " she observed thoughtfully. 

"Umph! Like a jail-bird I should say, Miss. Will I bring you some morecoffee now?"

"No, nothing more, thank you. Just kindly take my cup. "

Larry came up to them, wiping the perspiration from his brow. 

"Whew! but I'm used up. Aren't you ready to go home, mother? And youJoyce--do you want to stay all night? If I can once get you safely outof this, I shall be glad!"

"Safely out--why do you speak like that, Larry?"

"Then you haven't heard anything here?" looking from one to the other, surprisedly. 

"Nothing save what you are hearing now, the clatter of many tongues andplates. Why, my son?"

"Oh! nothing, only there has just been a pretty sharp scrimmage outside. That ugly-looking fellow I had to rebuke for rudeness, out here, waspushing his way to the outer door in the way he seems to affect, when heran plump into an old party--let's see, they said his name was Murphy, Ithink, or something like that--and of a sudden--well! they sprang ateach others' throats like a couple of tigers. They were right in themidst of it, and every one too astonished to move, when in came a coupleof the city police, gave one look, and in a trice had my ugly man throwndown and were putting on the bracelets. It seems, the fellow's anescaped convict, and has been hiding around here in the woods for weeks. He must have been so nearly starved as to lose all caution before comingto so public a place. I can't understand it, myself, but I presume hewould have escaped unmolested, only for the fight. Dalton, " turning tothe manager who had just returned from his prolonged absence, "what doesit all mean, anyhow? I suppose you saw the fracas?"

"No, I got there just as it was all over, and I can't tell you muchabout it. They've taken the man away, and Murfree, too. The latter ispretty badly used up and can't talk. That was as savage a brute as Iever saw!"

"He was a desperate man, " said Joyce, still feeling the stirrings ofpity. "He was nearly starved to death, and there was something awfulbetween him and that Murfree--I could see that. "

"You could?" The manager gave her a wondering glance. 

"Are you very observing? No one seems to know any reason for hisspringing upon Murfree so. "

"There _was_ a reason, " persisted Joyce. "They had met before, I'mcertain. Come, ma mère, let's go home. "

"You are tired, child. Yes, we will go at once. It must be late. "

Joyce's tone had expressed more than weariness, and Madame Bonnivel'sheart ached for her disappointment and chagrin. She took the girl's handand drew her along. 

"Larry, you'll stay with Mr. Dalton and help preserve order! Gilbert canaccompany us. "

"Oh, if I must, " shrugging his shoulders. "But I feel that a motion forall to adjourn would be in order; don't you, Dalton?"

"All right! We'll clear the rooms in no time. "

Joyce stopped him with an uplifted hand. 

"They must go when and as they choose. It is _their_ party. Please don'tinterfere in the least. Come Madame, we can slip out unnoticed. Nobodyneeds us here. "

The two stepped briskly on, and Dalton, watching Joyce, shook his headruefully, then turned to Larry. 

"It's too bad she's just as she is. It means a lot of heartbreaks anddisappointments. Pity women can't take the world as it is. "

"Well, perhaps--provided they don't leave it as it is. I am inclined tobelieve it's that kind of woman who is responsible for the fact that theworld does grow better as the centuries pass. And those who know JoyceLavillotte would scarcely care to change her. "

"No, no; nor I! It was of herself I was thinking. She's got to sufferso. One hates to see a person take a cloud for something tangible andkeep falling off, to be bruised and beaten. If she could alwayssoar--but the falls will come. "

He sighed, and Larry laughed. 

"She'd rather bear the falls than never soar. Let her alone!"

"Oh, of course; it's all one can do. But--it hurts. "

The last words were in a whisper, so lost on Larry, who had just turnedto speak with the phonograph exhibitor now making ready to depart. 

Meanwhile, the Madame and Joyce had hastily gathered up their wraps, andwere waiting an instant in the hall till Gilbert could make his way tothem from the corner out of which they had beckoned him, (nothing loth, for he was half asleep, ) when Rachel passed them quickly, her own wrapon her arm. She looked flushed and animated. Her cold, indifferent maskseemed to have fallen from her face. Her mother was awaiting her, thesleeping baby folded in her shawl. 

"Well, d'ye have a good time?" she asked, as the daughter joined her. 

"So good I can hardly believe it's real, mother!" was the glad answer. Then, catching sight of the ladies near by, she bowed slightly, with ashy smile at Joyce. 

"Good-night, " she said softly, flushing a little. "Are you going, too?It's been fine, hasn't it?"

In her surprised pleasure Joyce forgot to answer, except with a vigorousnod and smile, but in an instant she whispered in a brightening tone, "It was Rachel, ma mère. Did you hear?"

"Yes, I did. I could hear the joy in her tone, too. It has been a goodtime for many, I know, and gladness will soften the hardest and coldest, Joyce. Don't falter because wrong must still be, daughter. People haveto be educated in enjoyment as well as in anything else. It may not beone of the first, or best, things in life, but it has its uses, and theyare many. My Joyce is not working for appreciation, nor for praise, butjust to better these who have become peculiarly her own people. Let usbe patient, dear. "

And Joyce, though bruised and worn, was not quite beaten, though theevening had been so far from realizing her anticipations. Lucy andRachel had been pleased, at least. That was something!

CHAPTER XIV. 

JOYCE AND HER MANAGER. 

"In _every_ house, Miss Lavillotte? Beg pardon, but have you consideredthe cost?" Mr. Dalton wore his business face, with its sternestexpression, and it did not relent even when he looked up into hers. 

Joyce smiled in spite of it, and fished out a newspaper-clipping fromher plethoric pocket-book, which she handed her manager with aceremonious air. He read it, and his visage grew perplexed andmiserable. 

"M-mm, 'grand entertainment. Five hundred for flowers. Gown of hostessembroidered in seed pearls. Jewels a thousand, and at least ten'--areyou sure this is what you meant me to read? You know it's all Greek tome!" looking down with deprecation into her laughing, upturned eyes. 

"Perfectly sure. You see who gave that entertainment?"

"Yes, I see. "

"Is she a richer woman than I? Has she a larger income?"

"About the same, I presume. "

"And the expenses she incurred, as detailed there, were for oneevening?"

"Yes. Doubtless this is greatly exaggerated, though. These news itemsabout swelldom usually are, aren't they?"

"I cannot tell, not belonging to swelldom, myself. But granting allthat, and allowing even half off, if you say so, it will still exceedwhat this plan is to cost me. And my little fun is not for one loneevening, but for a whole year, in which nearly five hundred people willshare and be benefited--not simply amused or bored. "

"You are good at arguing, Miss Lavillotte, and your money is your own. If you wish to squander it that way"--He stopped abruptly, warned by theflash of her eye. 

"I had not used that word in this connection, " she said coldly, "but youmay if you choose. "

"Well, " he returned, in some desperation, "we'll drop the word'squander, ' then, if it is offensive to you. But you must allow you arespending a great deal, mustn't you? Some of it is well spent, I'lladmit, and--and it's none of my business at all--but when it comes totelephones and for those people--please don't be angry, MissLavillotte!--it does seem absurd. "

Joyce laughed good-naturedly. His distress was genuine. 

"I know it must from your point of view, but now pray listen to mine. Ibelieve that there are certain essentials of easy living that ought tobe practically free to all, and might be, if managed correctly. Ofthese, four are air and water, light and heat, and the fifth is promptcommunication with your fellow-men. When my grandmother was a girl itcost a neat little sum to send a letter anywhere, and hundreds offamilies, unable to bear the expense of correspondence, lost sight ofeach other, often for years, sometimes for life, in the unavoidableseparation which must come to all growing households. After a time thismatter appealed so strongly to thinking men that they decided to make agreat national matter of it, and they established a wonderful mailservice, and have kept lowering the rates and adding to the perfectionof the service, until now hardly any one is so poor he cannot write aline to a friend, if only on a postal card. Now a quicker, better meansof communication is given us in the telephone and telegraph, and I claimthat these should also be regulated and run by government in theinterests of the people, and thus made available to all at nominalrates. I can't control Congress, but I can control Littleton with itsfew hundred souls, and that I mean to do in this. Every house shall haveits 'phone, that every person may have the opportunity to express hiswants at once, or to call in help, if needed. "

Dalton gave a hopeless shrug. 

"They'll use them for gossiping, mostly. "

"No, that is to be regulated. The time allowed for each separate usewill be short, and if any abuse the privilege they will be cut off. "

"Humph! Do you expect one central to manage it all?"

"Yes, one officer, but not one girl. I shall have four people, all told, two girls for day hours and two men for night hours. I intend to havethem work in relays--four hours off and four on. It is too nervous astrain for longer hours than that. The night operators will have a cotfor the one off duty, so that if anything unusual happens the waking onecan call the other. I think it must be doleful to stay alone in such aplace during those gruesome night hours. I couldn't have it at all. "

Dalton laughed outright. 

"Positively, Miss Lavillotte, you are too funny! Do you expect to doaway with everything disagreeable in your model village?"

"I wish I could, but I do not hope for that. Disagreeable people, whooppose one in everything, will always exist, I fear. " Her tone wasinnocently sad. "But I do mean to try and eradicate what isunnecessarily disagreeable, if scheming can do it. And now, if you arethrough laughing, Mr. Dalton, I will tell you how I propose to pay forthis telephone service without feeling it so severely as you seem tothink I shall. "

"I am listening, madam. "

"Well, I have made a contract, only awaiting your approval andsignature, to furnish the glass insulators and the jars, so manythousand a year--wait! I have the figures here somewhere. I never couldremember figures--ah! here it is--in exchange. "

"You have? Well, I declare! You really do show aptitude for business, I'll have to own. "

"Don't I?" laughing with as much pleasure as a child that has turnedscolding into praise. "I'm delighted about it in more ways than one. Itwill give employment to our unskilled hands, who are now idle half thetime. Even the children can turn a penny on their holidays, if theylike. "

Dalton caught at the paper and looked it over with careful scrutiny, hisface lighting as he gazed. 

"Really!" he said at length, glancing up to give her an approving nod, "really, this isn't bad--that is, I mean you have made a good bargain, for all I can see, and given us the opportunity to work up a new linethat may prove lucrative. I wouldn't have thought it of a girl--a younglady like you. "

She laughed amusedly. 

"I'm glad I have been able to please you at last, Mr. Dalton! Theelectricians will begin wiring the town in a few days. They will put ina cheap style of 'phone, as it is not looks we are after butconvenience, and will hurry the work right through. " She stopped withsome hesitation of manner, but looked as if more was to come, and hermanager gave her a respectful, questioning glance. 

"There's another thing, " she said presently in a rather faint voice, "the central office is also to be an exchange. "

"A--what?"

"An exchange. You see, that's really my main reason for having the'phones. I want my people to learn what the one right principle ofexchange is. We talk about money being the medium of exchange, and assuch it is thought to be the best thing on earth. Yet the greed of it isthe root of all evil. I want to come back to first principles a little, and exchange from man to man, without this pernicious medium that hasfilled us with covetousness and a lack of consideration for others. Iwant to see if people are really so callous and cold to each other asthey seem, or if this unreadiness to help is only because we are toogreatly separated by the many mediums interposed--which prove barriersinstead of channels. I want to find if every need cannot somehow, somewhere, meet its fulfilment, unless death itself has shut out theway. It is too limited a field, here, to learn absolutely, but it maygive us some idea, and then----"

Mr. Dalton had settled back into his chair with a non-committalexpression, and was drumming on the desk before him. 

"I'm afraid, " he murmured in a concise tone, "that you are talking abovemy head. "

Joyce, rudely aroused from her introspective vision, looked at himrather blankly a moment, then sprang to her feet. At first she seemedoffended, then cried briskly, with a mischievous air, "And through my hat? I know that is what you wanted to say! Well, nevermind. Some people hunt for north poles, some for new continents in thetropics, some are content with finding an unclassified species of bug. Iwant to experiment with human needs and longings a bit. It is my fadjust now. You know fads are fashionable. "

"Miss Lavillotte, did any one ever tell you that you are a despot?"

"I?" Joyce's eyes opened their widest, "I a despot!"

"Yes. You want to rule as absolutely as any Czar; but not only that; youwant to play the part of Providence, and watch the workings of yourwill----"

"Stop! Mr. Barrington said that, and I told him I wanted my people toplay that part to each other. And I am right. It was the teaching ofChrist. 'Do it in My name'--surely it _is_ right! Mr. Dalton, it isunfair, even ridiculous, if I may so speak, to lay all our mistakes andmisdemeanors at the door of our Creator. He gives us sense, reason, patience, ingenuity. What are they for? To be hidden in a napkin tillsome crushing calamity comes and shakes us out of our indifferenceenough to make us exercise them? No! They are given us to preventcalamity, to wrest from earth, air, and sea what is needed for ourcomfort. He gave man _dominion_. That does not mean just sitting backand bearing with resignation. It means using every faculty to reducecontending forces to our requirements. Patience is not half a virtuewhen it simply implies an uncomplaining endurance because one thinks hemust endure. The patience that will _not_ endure, but tries and triesagain to rectify the ill is the best patience. It never turns aside, never lays down its tools, always has a new plan when the old is crushedout--that is the real patience! You call me a despot--you are unjust! Itis only that you don't understand, I do not want to rule for the sake ofpower, but because people are so supine they will not learn to rulewithout being pushed into it. I do want to learn to shape circumstances, but not to control Littleton. I do wish to teach them whatself-government really means, though. And see how I am placed. Here isthis great fortune which I will not use for myself partly because myneeds are simple, partly because--well, because I won't. Thus I am givenan opportunity few can have. Many have my ideas without the money; a fewhave the money without the ideas. It happens I have both, and I mean totry for myself whether it is not possible for a community to live onlittle money and yet have the comforts--yes, even what some consider theluxuries--of life, simply through perfect co-operation, swiftcommunication, and a governing power that is centered in their wishesfor their best good. "

She stopped abruptly and put her palms to her face with a child-likemovement. Her cheeks were hot and flushed. 

"How silly to get so excited! You will question my plans with reason ifI cannot keep my head in argument. "

"One has to question till one can thoroughly understand. These arethoughts I have never gone into, Miss Lavillotte, I have been in dangerof forgetting that there was anything more in life than justmoney-making. Will you tell me more, some day?"

His humble tone melted Joyce. 

"Any time you like. And you know, Mr. Dalton, you are the real managerof it all. I shall have to look to you for the practical application ofmy possibly unpractical ideas. When I soar too high you must jerk medown to level ground. "

"I begin to think I might like a cloud-ride myself occasionally, justfor variety's sake, " he laughed. "And I'll do whatever you tell me to, Miss Lavillotte, " he added stoutly. "If the Works go to the dogs, allright, but you shall be obeyed! Only--may I ask a question?"

"Certainly. "

"Have you put something safely away for your future where it can't beaffected by things here?"

"Have I? Certainly not! Do you think I would make myself safe and surewhen I might be wrecking so many? No, but unfortunately, on my mother'sside, they are cautious. My great-uncle takes care of the right I havethere, and I have never been allowed to meddle with it. He sends me twohundred dollars a month, and this is all I need for my living. "

"Do you mean?"--His expressive glance swept her well-dressed person andshe raised her hand protestingly. 

"Don't ask too many questions!" she laughed. "Ellen used to be in agreat modiste's establishment and knows the tricks of the trade. Mydress and table cost me less a year than most women of means spend in amonth. But good-by--oh! I forgot to say, Marie Sauzay is to be one ofthe telephone girls. "

"Marie? The cripple?"

"Yes, she will go to and fro on a tricycle chair, and can thus eke outher sister's earnings. The knowledge that she can do this will almostmake her well, I know. She is so ambitious! A messenger has beennegotiating with her and told me of her delight in the prospects. Theother girl will be a trained one sent by the company. Will you select mynight men? They must be sober fellows--possibly somebody can be foundwho is not good in the Works. "

"I'll see to it, and, Miss Lavillotte----"

"Well?"

"Who put all these ideas into your head, please? You are so young!"

She smiled, while blushing deeply. 

"Won't you give me any credit for originality, Mr. Dalton? How can onetell where one picks up ideas? They are like pebbles in our pathway;sometimes we never even see them, but carelessly scuff them aside as wewalk. Then the sun of somebody's genius shines out and shows them to begems, and we hasten to pick them up and claim them for our own. I havebeen taught when to watch for the sun's shining--that's all!"

She waved her hand, nodded, and hurried out of the office, leavingDalton gazing after her with an eager, baffled face. 

CHAPTER XV. 

MOTHER FLAHERTY'S TELEPHONE. 

There was great merriment in Littleton over the advent of the telephone. The women gossips gathered with their babies in their arms and even themen (whom no one would venture thus to name) smoked and stood about ingroups during all the long summer evenings, to discuss this latestmarvel. Among them, with many differences of opinion, there was muchlaughter and disclaiming. Old Mrs. Flaherty declared, amid her giggles, that "the two eyes av the craythur fairly give her a turn, " and whenasked to explain she pointed to the gongs at the top of the apparatus. Lucy Hapgood had heard of live wires, and shrank from touching even thereceiver till repeatedly assured there was no danger of electrocution. And when at last she did consent to put it to her ear, and heard herfather calling to her from Cole's grocery, she shrieked with astonishedawe. For the telephone was as little known in this hamlet as if it hadbeen situated a thousand miles from the metropolis, instead of less thantwo-score. The limitations of poverty are great, and even fifty-centfares to the city were seldom compassed, except where, possibly, a legalholiday and a wedding fell on the same day, and the occasion was madememorable by an outing. Even then the returned travelers would havelittle to relate, except such scenes as clustered around the great depotwith its neighboring lodging-houses and saloons. Of parks, galleries, museums, libraries, and palatial dwellings, these tourists scarcelydreamed, and never thought to visit. All dread those things they do notunderstand, and these people would have told you they had no wish to seesuch places; they were out of their line. 

So all of the older and more conservative Littletonians looked with opendisfavor upon the new "speaking machines, " and some absolutely refusedto use them. In fact, a few did not hesitate to say such doings smackedof the evil one, and one old dame set her sudsy arms akimbo and stoutlydefied the electricians to enter her house. 

"You kin string up them wires from here to Jerichy, if you want to, " shesaid sternly, letting her lance-like eyes rove in scornful leisure overtheir equipment, "but you can't bring 'em inside my dure. No, sir! Idon't want any voices rousin' me up at all hours of the day an' night. If folks at 'tother end o' town wants to speak to me they knows where tofind me. I'm a respictable widdy lady what keeps to home and minds myown washin', and they can't no man nor woman, nuther, get a chance tosass me through any mash-ine. No, sir! I know that young Early. He's gota scheme to see all thet's a-goin' on amongst us day and night, and Iwon't have it. Tain't decent, and they ain't no law on his side. So jestgit along with you now, and don't take up my time a-wranglin', for I'vegot work to do, if you haven't. "

The men, who had stood in dazed silence, looking sheepishly at eachother, went meekly on their way, and one home, at least, boasted notelephone. Indeed, to establish that exchange which was Joyce's dream, seemed for a time a ridiculous failure. The attempt to make these peopleunderstand that only good was intended them seemed positively useless. When it was again and again reiterated, by means of printed dodgers shedbroadcast among the homes, by Dalton's talks to the boys in the factoryat the closing hour, even by Marie Sauzey's urgings over the wire fromthe central office, that every stringent need, or helpful offer, was tobe communicated to her by telephone, they simply winked at each other, and, hanging up the receiver, whispered to any who happened to bepresent, "Didn't I tell you, now? It's spies they are, and nothin' else. Sorra aword do they get out o' me this day!"

But one morning, poor old Mother Flaherty suffered a sad accident whenquite alone in her cottage. Trying to balance herself on an uncertainchair, in her effort to reach a bottle of medicine on the top shelf ofher cupboard, her rickety support gave way and let her down with cruelcelerity. Her poor old bones were brittle and snapped with theconcussion. When she tried to raise herself, after her momentary groansand exclamations, she found it impossible, for the left femur wasbroken. She wavered for a time between spells of semi-consciousness, androusings to fresh shrieks and wails, the pain growing momently moreagonizing and the floor more intolerable in its cold and hardness. Butthe shouts of some children out at play drowned her feeble old voice inhappier sounds, and no one heard. She had given herself up to a lonely, horrible death when her wild, roving gaze fell upon the telephone notthree feet away, and she remembered the oft-repeated injunction to tellher wants into its non-committal ear. She had no faith in the thing, andwas half-afraid of it, believing it a temptation of Satan, but thesituation had become unbearable. Flesh weakened and spirit failed. Shewould try it as a last resort, then cross herself and die. Draggingherself painfully with groans and sobs, she managed to reach up with abroomstick and jog a faint ring out of the gong, at the same timeshouting at it in a fury of horror and anxiety, "Help! Help! Help! I'm kilt intirely. I want a do-octhor!"

The confused sounds that reached Marie were vibrating with trouble anddespair, but that long-drawn "do-octhor" came plainly enough for her toknow what was needed, though she could get no response to her agitatedquestioning. She called Dr. Browne up at once, and sent him flying. PoorMrs. Flaherty, meanwhile, had sunk back, almost spent with her painfulexertion, thinking in her desolation, "It's no good at all, at all! And now I must die unshriven, wid thatawful sin on me sowl. "

But suddenly the blissful clatter of a man's quick footsteps arousedher, and she saw, as in a vision, the door thrown wide, and the doctor'scommiserating face bending above her. His outbreak, "Well, well, well, this _is_ a fix!" sent comfort to her failing consciousness as, with agroan of relief, she slipped into blissful oblivion. 

There was no time for talk that day, but when the old creature wasresting in her cast, with her nerves soothed into quietude, the next, she looked up at her daughter, who had hurried to her bedside, and askedhuskily, "Norah, tell me thrue; was it the spakin'-mash-ine did it?"

"Did what, mother?"

"You know, don't yez? Did it bring the docthor?"

"Why, yes. When you called up the central, of course they 'phoned thedoctor, and so----"

"Norah, will yez shtop thot gabblin', now? What does I be knowin' ofcenthrals, and all thot? Can't you answer plain, yis or no? Did thespakin'-mash-ine get me the docthor?"

"Yes, mother, it did. "

"Thin I'm beholden to it. And I take back all me hard woords andthochts. Give me another sup o' thot cordial, now, till I go to slape. And ye may tell the neighbors, fur me, thot I've thried and I know yezcan get what ye nade fur the askin' out o' thim mash-ines. Now be offwid yez--I'm going to slape. "

Of course the word spread, and those who had been wise enough to saylittle in disfavor of the innovation plumed themselves upon theirsuperior information, while the ranters against it were temporarilysilenced. Joyce, who was burning with impatience over their slowacceptance of her benefits, fairly ached to go among them with vigorousexhortations, even commands, but the Madame restrained her. 

"I wouldn't, Joyce, " she said in her ruminant tone. "Let them find outthings for themselves. It is the only true wisdom, and nobody wants evencake thrust down his throat. Try the Lord's way, child. We are slower inaccepting His good gifts than these people are to believe in yours, yetHe waits patiently, and in time we learn their worth. "

One morning, however, soon after Mrs. Flaherty's accident, Joyce made anerrand into the central office, and while waiting for some distantconnection to be made ventured to ask some questions of Marie who, alertand bright-eyed, sat in her wheeled chair, so adjusted that theswitch-board was within easy reach. 

"You don't have much to do here, they tell me, " she began, smiling atthe little Frenchwoman in friendly fashion. 

Marie now knew Miss Lavillotte as the resident on the knoll, who waspopularly supposed to be interested in schools, possibly with theintention of teaching some day, and who had means enough to run a modestestablishment of her own. She answered eagerly, "But, yes, by times I do. It is the young people that do use it most, though. Dose old ones, they so mooch vork do all the day that they willnot yet take time to learn so that it seem not strange to them. It willbe otherwise in time. "

"Do they tell their needs at all?" began Joyce, when Marie had to answera call, and sat smiling in that way which seems meaningless to alooker-on while some one's voice holds the attention at the other end. Presently she answered in quick tones. "Yes, it is so indeed. I willmake note, and see if it may have answer. Yes. Oh, but that is true!Yes. All right, Good-by. "

Joyce longed, yet hesitated, to ask what the communication had been, when Marie turned to her. 

"You but now did ask, 'Do they tell their needs?' and this was one. "

"Really? What was it? Pray tell me! Could it be gratified? I'd so liketo know. "

Marie smiled at the eagerness of her visitor. 

"I tell you, then. It was Mr. Gus Peters, who want somebody to make himone easel, with a drawing-board that will slide up and down easy, forone nice sharp knife with three blade that he will give in exchange. Helaugh w'en he say it, as if he think it no use, though. "

"But it ought to be of use. Let's think, Marie. Who can do such things?Somebody that needs a nice knife. Some bright boy, say, with a head forsuch work. "

Marie thought a minute. 

"There is a boy, " she said slowly. "He is not good for mooch, but helike that whittle kind of work, I know. "

"Poor child! His mother, she is dead, and his father he have no time tobe kind to him, I think, so he wander about and pick up the job here andthere. It is he that might do this easel. "

"Just the thing! Only he couldn't get the materials together, Ifear--wait! Where does he live?"

"In a leetle house back behind of the Vorks, and a seester zat ees olderdo housekeep, I believe. She is--not good. " Marie spoke reluctantly, andturned sad eyes upon Joyce. 

"Oh! that is dreadful, " cried the latter. "Perhaps--ah! a ring. "

Marie was kept busy awhile, several calls succeeding each other rapidly. 

"Ah! they do plan to make me confuse, " she laughed presently, turningback to Joyce. "See! I have these demands, and they do all laugh as theysay them. Lucie Hapgood, she desire a nice ribbon blue for her hat; Mrs. Myron, where a new baby is come, do want a somebody to sit wiz her zisafternoon, so her seester get a leetle rest! Joe Granger, whose vife isaway, do long for one goot dinner zis noon and they do need for MotherFlaherty a chair which will raise and lower, zat she may rest from herbed. "

"Dear me, it _is_ a jumble!" laughed Joyce. "Well, let me help you out. Don't Lucy's children all go to school now, except the baby?"

"The leetle baby--yes. "

"Then couldn't she take it over to Mrs. Myron's till school is out, andlook after that lady, who perhaps would give her the blue ribbon to payfor the service? And ask Norah Flaherty if she won't let Joe Grangercome there to dinner, if he will hunt up the chair for her mother--andsend Joe to me for the chair. You will have to keep reminding them thatan exchange means always giving something for what they get; and if Iwere you, Marie, when they began to tell of a want I should ask at once, "But what have you to give?" That is the important part. You see GusPeters understood it. "

"Yes, I see. And some one haf tell you all ze whole plan, I see too, "returned Marie, looking at her somewhat wonderingly. 

"Why, ye-s, I know about it, and it does interest me greatly. It's likea puzzle, somehow. Two and two may not always make four, but they willcertainly make something. Do you mind my planning with you a little?"

"Not one bit, dear Mees. "

"Then let's fix Gus Peters out. Why not phone to that boy--what's hisname?"

"Wolly, zey call him zat ozzer name, it ees very deficult to speak and Iforget. "

"Oh well, Wolly will do. You know his number on the circuit?" Mariepointed it out and called up the house. Wolly was not there, but hissister seemed to think any job would be welcome. The only thing was, hehad no tools and no lumber, neither had he money to buy them, "Now, if some good person who haf ze lumbare would but need something, "laughed Marie. 

"Wait! I have it. Gus is an architect. There is a great deal of buildingbeing done. Possibly Gus could turn himself in some way to get thelumber for the boy. "

"And gif the knife, too?"

"The work ought to be worth it. May I talk to Gus?"

"To be sure, " giggling enjoyably, for the whole thing seemed a huge joketo the French girl, and even to Joyce it began to seem rather acomplicated affair. She felt certain, still, that her principle was allright, but began to perceive that, even so, its practical working mightbe almost an impossibility. 

"If I could always be on hand to adjust matters!" she thought inwardly. "But I can see that when they really begin to use their 'phones at all, as most owners of them do, this exchange business would become a ratherunwieldy affair. " Then Joyce sighed so profoundly that Gus heard it atthe other end, even as he spoke his "Hello!"

A moment's talk with him adjusted that matter. He said readily enoughthat he could get the youngster what he needed without the leasttrouble--all he wanted was to be sure and get a decent working easel, and the knife would be forthcoming. So Joyce, relieved for the present, turned eagerly again to Marie. 

"How about Lucy? Will Mrs. Myron give her the blue ribbon?"

"She ask eef peenk would not do, and I say, talk wiz Lucie, and she do. Zat is ze way, of course. When one does say what one need we will say, 'try zo-and-zo, ' and in time efery body will be serve, and eferybodyhappy. "

"How quick you are to catch the idea, Marie! It will surely adjustitself as you get used to it. And oh! if it will work. If they can betaught----"

Joyce caught the other's astonished glance and checked herselfinstantly, annoyed enough that she had come so close to self-betrayal. 

"You see how interested even I can get, " she laughed, flushing withembarrassment. "It is silly of me, but it does seem such a novel scheme, and one that might help all without impoverishing any, if rightly used. I have really been anxious to watch its practical working. Thank you forletting me bother you so. "

"'Tis no bodder. I like to see you always, Mees Lavillotte. Come oftenand again. "

"I will be glad to. And, Marie, when you come to a dead-lock--do youknow the meaning of that?--when you cannot fit any want with anotherwant, as we have been doing now, just 'phone to me and perhaps I canhelp you. Never be afraid of asking for anything that is really needed. I have plenty of time, and such things interest me. And I have ways ofgetting things that make it easier than for some. You will remember thisand surely call upon me?"

"It is verra good you do care, " observed Marie, still a good bit amazed. 

"You see I have chosen to make my home in Littleton, and I want to beone with you. I want to be helpful, as well as to get help. "

"Zat ees a good way to feel. Littleton--zet ees our new name, I hear. Itdo sound strange to me yet. We nevare haf a name before. It was just theVorks. "

"Do you like the name?"

"Eh, what matters?" flinging out her hands in a way that proved herParisian blood and birth. "It will do as well as any other, Littleton--Lavillotte--How strange that your name does mean 'the littletown, ' also! Did you know?"

"Does it?" Joyce felt it was time to flee. This Frenchwoman was too keento be easily answered. She nodded brightly, perhaps at the question, perhaps to say adieu, and crying back over her shoulder, "Remember myrequest!" hurried away, laughing within herself at her narrow escape. 

CHAPTER XVI. 

ON A TRAIL. 

Dan Price was not a guest either opening night at the social house. Onthe contrary, the first evening, the events of which have been related, he took his dinner pail and tackle, and despite the somewhat showerystate of the atmosphere, pedaled out of the settlement towards hiswoodland haunt as fast as will and muscle could carry him. He had asupreme contempt for all these new "notions" at the Works, which helooked upon as the somewhat crazy hobbies of a man too young to realizewhat they meant, and too rich to care how he squandered his money. Heknew that to go back to the old ways, after a taste of the new, wouldmake that state of slavery seven times worse than before. Better letthem alone in what they had become used to; and, for his own part, hewanted no patronizing, he told himself, nor anybody laying down the lawas to how he should spend his leisure, either. Out of hours he was hisown master, at least, and nobody need interfere. There were things inlife worse than physical hardships--experience had sternly taught himthat. 

He would scarcely fling a glance in the direction of the well-lightedbuilding, towards which already the younger tide of humanity wassetting, and his dark face took on a sneer when he noted their evidentexcitement over the event. 

"Always caught with something new!" he muttered to himself. "One wouldthink it more decent to give up hoping sometime, but they never seem to. Haven't we been cheated with fair promises year after year--promisesthat were as empty as a glass bulb? And yet they all bite just asreadily as ever. Even the chronic grumblers, like Murfree, Hapgood, andthat gang, are beginning to come over. It makes me tired!"

As he reached a certain cottage he pedaled faster than ever, and withhis head bent nearly to the handle-bars, flew by without a glance, orpause. Yet, without looking, he had discerned Rachel standing on the newsquare porch, exceptionally trim and stiff in a light muslin, while thechildren swarmed about her admiringly. He could also hear Mrs. Hemphill, from indoors somewhere, screaming her commands to the scattered familyin a high key, though no one seemed paying the slightest attention. Hadhe been able to see out of the back of his head, as they say some womencan do, he would have discovered that the smile died out of Rachel'sface as he whizzed by, that she gazed after him a moment with a soberlook, then turned and went into the house, answering her mother'sremarks with a sharp, "Well, what is it?"

Dan, meanwhile, tore ahead, leaving all artificial lights behind him, and sighed with relief when loneliness wrapped him around, so that hemight relax a bit and take a long breath, for he was weary. 

It was still far from being really dark, though dusky in the shadows, and, as he was wading the brook, something that was not a shadow seemedto move amid the darker smudges of the vine tangles and underbrushsurrounding his little bower. He stopped splashing and peered intently, but saw nothing to confirm the impression and concluded it was but thewaving of a branch, or the leap of a squirrel from bough to bough. Butno sooner had he stepped foot on the soil than he saw someone had beenhere since his last visit, at least three weeks before. Vines had beentorn down so that the entrance was visible, there were traces of acamp-fire on the sands at his feet, and he could see broken tree-twigsand limbs scattered about, as if in preparation for another. A chillcrept over him at thought of this intrusion, and he looked around, halffearfully, as if expecting that someone might spring out from the deeperwood and dispute possession with him. 

Keeping an anxious lookout to sides and rear he hastily entered thelittle leaf-tent, and saw, with a sort of despair, that it had beenoccupied. He almost groaned to see the scattered leaves from his bed inthe corner, but was somewhat consoled to find that evidently no one haddiscovered the opening below. 

"Some tramp, " he thought. "It's queer they should find this place, soentirely off their routes, though. I wonder if that was the brute I sawskipping out, then? I've a notion to hunt him down. He's spoiled my restfor to-night, anyhow. And I never can feel safe again till I know who itwas, and what it wanted. "

But the possession of his wheel hampered him. He did not like to leaveit, perhaps to be stolen, and it would be almost impossible to make hisway through the brush with it. In a quandary he stepped forth again, tostand an instant among the over-hanging vines, making up his mind. Hewas so placed as to be invisible from the brookside, though he could seeit plainly through the vine's interstices, and in that instant there sawa flash of something black against the vista of light, and he knew, rather than saw, that a man had leaped across the brook where itnarrowed suddenly, further down. The spray of the up-leaping water, ashe jumped short, sparkled in the pale rays of a rising moon. 

At this his resolution was formed. The man, whoever he was, hadevidently headed for town. Dan decided instantly, to cross the brookhigher up, at another narrow spot, take to the road, mount his wheel, and ride by this piece of woods as if with no object in view, then, whenwell ahead, hide in some good place and intercept him--or at least seewho he might be. It did not take him long to recover the road, mount hiswheel, and start. Nobody was yet in sight, but he had not expected tosee anybody. The tramp would doubtless skulk along behind the fencestill sure Dan was gone, then come out and trudge after as fast aspossible. Such was the program the young man mapped out for him, atleast. Once, as he toiled through a sandy reach, he was sure he saw thefellow skulking behind a rail fence, but he whistled negligently as hesprinted by and did not seem to notice, though the perspiration starteda little at thought that this might be a desperate character, on hisvery heels, and well armed. 

He kept up his pace, anxious to get to a certain spot he had fixed uponas his point of lookout. He presently reached it and, slowing up, gazedwell about him. Nobody was in sight, and dusk was now real darkness. Still the moon, when not obscured by clouds, shone brightly. Just nowtheir veil was thick, and a slight shower was beginning to fall. Ifthese should part, any one crossing the road before him would showclearly against the sky. 

He dismounted, hid his wheel behind a thick growth of untrimmed poplarsaplings, and made himself comfortable in the dry bed of a ditch whichcrossed the road and was bridged over with a few planks. In the shadowcast by this bridge he crouched and, leaning against a boulder, settledhimself for patient waiting. A great bull-frog, which had dropped out ofsight at his approach, soon returned again, and croaked hoarsely of hispersonal affairs. For, in wet weather, this was a marshy spot, and heremembered happier days. Presently the clouds parted and the moon sent abrilliant spear shaft through the rent, making it almost like day. Astartled peewit cried out, from his nest under the planking, that he hadoverslept, but was calmed into drowsiness by his wife's assuring tones;and a noisy beetle of some kind boomed and buzzed around, as ifintoxicated by the very thought of daylight. Listening intently, amidall this soft murmur of sound, Dan presently began to hear afar therhythmic beat of footsteps, falling hard and fast upon the beaten soil. His man was approaching. 

He gathered himself together and slowly rose, creeping close to thewooden buttress of the bridge and staying well in its shadow. Thefootsteps grew plainer, and now, into the well-lighted road, a figureswung with long, wavering strides. It was not tall, but very spare, andwas crowned with a bullet head set between high shoulders. But the face, as it flashed into and out of the narrow strip of moonlight, seemedstrangely familiar, yet unnatural too. 

Dan with difficulty repressed his exclamation of astonishment, andstrained forward to make certain if this really were the man he took himto be. But turning neither to right nor left, the fellow plodded on, evidently in a labored way, and was almost instantly swallowed up in theshadows. The watcher drew a long breath. 

"_Was_ it Lozcoski?" he muttered presently. "Why, how did the man getout? And what does he want around here? He must be crazy to come intothis neighborhood! If Murfree should know he wouldn't be comfortable, Ireckon. I believe I ought to follow him and make certain somehow--Imust! No telling what might happen, if they should meet. "

He hurriedly led out his wheel, remounted it, and sped onward, determined to keep the man in sight. His amazement was great to findthat the trail led straight as beaten paths would permit, to the verydoor of the new Social house, now filled with lights and people, andforming a conspicuous object in the little hamlet. Dan reached there buta rod or two behind his man, and saw him slip into the open doors andmingle with the crowd. 

He began to think the likeness which had led him this last chase was anillusion, after all, and that the fellow must be some new workman, whohad by chance discovered his woodland retreat and considered it publicproperty. 

But if that man were Lozcoski then Murfree ought to know. For, thoughDan did not fancy the ranter and his ways, he was his close neighbor andbelonged to the same union, which was reason enough why he owed him thisduty. 

Smoothing himself into shape as well as he could, the lad hid his wheelunder the portico and stepped inside, trying to look bold in order tocover his bashful qualms, for he was as afraid of a social crowd as afox of a pack of hounds. It was thoroughly brave of him to face theselights and people to warn a man not a special friend, and proved theloyal strain in his nature. Possibly, had he stopped to think, he mighthave weakened and fled. But the excitement of the chase still dominatedhim, and he had given himself no time for consideration before plungingin. Now, the buzz of talk and laughter sounded all about him; somebodyslapped him on the back with a laugh of astonishment, and he began torealize what an impossible sort of thing he had done. 

He wanted to turn and run out into the blessed darkness, but they hemmedhim in, and, dazed by what seemed to him the luxury on every side, hehesitated and was lost. For, just then, a group of the younger peoplesurged by and wrapped him around in a whirl of merry chaff. 

"Hello! Here's Dan. "

"Come along, Dan! Thought you wasn't going to any party, eh?"

"Couldn't stand it outside, could you, boy?"

"Thought to-morrow was your night, Dan, but you're welcome, old fellow!"

They seized him by each arm, and, overcoming his mute resistance, dragged him into the first parlor. He managed to wriggle loose after abit, however, and watched his opportunity made a dart for the smallerone off, and rushed into an alcove somewhat in shadow, intending toescape entirely later on. As he stumbled into its shelter some one, halfhidden by the tall back of a chair, turned and met him face to face. Itwas Rachel Hemphill, and she was as pale as he when she realized who hadso summarily invaded her retreat. 

"Why, Dan!" she said under her breath. "Is--are you--what has happened?"

"Sh-h! Rachel. " He stepped past her and wedged himself in behind thechair, where he was well protected. "I've got no business here. I ain'tdressed up. But I followed a man--I thought I knew him. Say, Rachel, doyou remember Lozcoski?"

"Lozcoski? Why--oh, do you mean that low fellow that tried to fire theWorks?"

"That's the fellow. "

"Of course I do! Why?" She stepped closer and stood over him--she wastaller than he--in such a way that no one could see him from the roombeyond. "But Dan, he's in prison, isn't he? Don't you know how they saidhe raved and took on in his jargon, and nobody could understand him. Hecouldn't speak English at all, could he?"

"Not much. They managed to make out he was furious with Murfree, though--I suppose because he denounced him--and evidently was makingthreats against the old man. At any rate he kept up some kind of a howlabout him all the time. I s'pose I ought to make sure, and let Murfreeknow, if 'tis him. "

"You don't mean that Lozcoski's here, do you?"

"Well, that's the question. I--I wish you'd look him up for me, Rachel. I ain't fixed up for this, and I want to get out. "

He spoke almost pathetically, shrinking back into his corner like ascared child, and Rachel's eyes began to dance. Something in thesituation pleased her wonderfully. That Dan, who had scarcely spoken toher since the tragedy of his brother's death, should be cringing andpleading before her, all his prideful gloom quivering into a girlishterror of being seen in old clothes, was very satisfying to her. Shewould have liked to prolong the situation, but could not bring herselfto torture her old playmate. 

"I'll go, Dan, " she whispered, "and you stay here till I get back. I'llbring Murfree to you, for he might not pay any attention to me. Nobody'll notice you if you keep this big chair before you. Just squatdown on that round footstool thing in the corner. I'll be back in aminute. "

Dan squatted, nodding meekly. Rachel adjusted the chair with attention, then hurried away, after a last glance at her captive, a new light onher really high-bred face. As she passed out into the hall she saw hermother in loud and busy talk, and hurried to her side. 

"I've decided not to go quite yet, " she said quickly, "so don't wait ifyou're ready. "

"Oh, you have? What's up? Thought you was 'most tired to death just now. You don't look much tuckered, seems to me. "

Rachel laughed lightly. 

"Well, I'm beginning to find some fun in it, mother! I want to stay alittle longer. I've got the shawl you sent me for--it lay on a big chairwhere you left it--and now I'm hunting up something else. Good-night, and don't wait for me. "

She flitted on, her mother and companion gazing after her. 

"Looks loike Rache has found a beau, or is looking for one, " giggledMother Flaherty, showing her yellow fangs with unpleasant recklessness. (This, you will remember, was before her accident. ) But Mrs. Hemphillresented this with dignity. 

"I guess you must 'a' forgot she and Will Price was keepin' comp'ny whenthat gun went off and shot him. She don't never say much--Rachedon't--but she's gret to remember. And she ain't lookin' for beaux yet, I can tell you. "

But the old Irishwoman only bobbed her wide cap borders to and fro andgiggled again, as if not wholly convinced. 

It was while Rachel thus stopped in the hall to speak with her motherthat Larry was haranguing the crowd at the doors of the refreshmentrooms, and when she presently returned to poor Dan, still crouched uponthe hassock, her report was as follows:

"I saw Tonguey Murfree going in to supper with that handsome MissLavillotte--and a queer thing, too, for her to notice him, Ithought--but all of a sudden he left her at the very door and rushed outthrough the front hall, so I guess he went home. But Dan, I had just aglimpse of a man pushing his way in, and it made me think of Lozcoski. But such a looking face! It was a mere glimpse, but I could only thinkof some animal. It wasn't just human. Do you suppose it was him?"

"Don't know, " said Dan. "Anyhow it's all right, if Murfree keeps out ofhis way, and he will probably, if he's gone home. I'll stay till theycome out from supper, and see the man again. "

He said this in an odd voice, and did not look at Rachel. He seemed tobe making concessions to somebody, and to be ashamed of doing it. Aftera look into his upraised eyes, which were full of a trouble she couldnot quite fathom, she dropped into the sheltering chair, and saidgently, "Dan, I've wanted a talk with you so long! Have I done anything to makeyou give me the cold shoulder? Or--or is it just that I make youthink--of him?"

He threw up one hand, as if to ward off a blow. 

"I can't let anybody talk about that. Don't Rachel!"

"I won't, I won't, Dan! I didn't mean to hurt you, " soothingly. "But youmake me feel, somehow, as if I had been doing something wrong to you, and you know I wouldn't, Dan. We were all such good friendstogether--then. "

Her dark eyes looked down upon him pleadingly, and her fine face showedan emotion greater than her limited vocabulary could express in words. 

Sometimes, though, words are less explanatory than looks. If Dan hadonce glanced up--but his eyes seemed glued to the floor. It was of hardwood, and its polished surface danced before him as he tried to steadyhimself to answer. 

"I ain't blaming you, " he muttered, "only--"

"Only what, Dan?"

He made a movement of his head that suggested a trapped animal, thensuddenly stood up and looked at her, as if in desperation. She rosealso, pale and startled. 

"Don't you s'pose I know how you feel?" he murmured, while his largeeyes glowed like coals in the shadows. "You're kind, but--but I don'twant--pity. I know how I must seem to you, even if you try not to giveup to it. When 'twas as it was I've got sense enough not to stay aroundand remind you----"

But just then there was a shout, a rush, excited cries and screams. Someone knocked over the chair which had screened them so loyally, and fromwhich Rachel had just risen. Dan had caught one word, "Fight! Fight!"and conscience-smitten over his negligence in warning Murfree, sprangtowards the hall from which the cries came, leaving Rachel alone. Butshe felt no special interest in a rough encounter between two mentowards whom she was utterly indifferent. Their fate could not thrillher as did the memory of Dan's burning words. What did they mean? Hadshe the clue to conduct on his part which had grieved her sorely. Shecould not help a glow of expectation, and a thrill of pleasure. It wasat this moment Joyce caught the radiant look on her face, and shared toa degree in that hidden gladness, through the sweet sympathy andfriendliness of the glance she gave the girl who had half repulsed herbut an hour, or two, before. 

CHAPTER XVII. 

DODO. 

It was a glorious morning. Joyce, romping around the lawn chased byDodo, and much wound up with the cocker spaniel, Robin, did not seeGeorge Dalton as he entered her grounds from the front entrance, opposite the park. There was no reason why he should not mount the frontsteps and ring the doorbell, but a carriage-way led to a side entrance, and he felt certain that the gay laughter he could hear belonged to theperson he had come to seek. So, guided by his ears, he followed thisdriveway till he could see the frolicking trio, then stopped abruptlybefore being himself discovered, and stepped behind a bed of tallcannas, where he deliberately peeped through the interstices of themassive foliage, his eyes shining with pleasure over the pretty sight. 

It seemed a pity to him that he must tell his business and see thatlaughing young face settle into the maturer lines of thought andcalculation. He would have liked to keep care and trouble far from it. But Robin, darting and tumbling about after a ball, pitched erraticallyin any direction but the right one from Dodo's plump little paw, soonfound him out, and the puppy set up such a terrific barking as compelledattention. 

"I surrender!" he cried, with a deprecating look at Joyce as he emerged. "I was just--just botanizing, you know. " Delighted that she broke intomerry laughter over the palpable fib he joined in, adding presently, "Pardon me, but you all looked so jolly! And you know I don't often seeyou this way. "

"I should hope not!" hastily pinning up a stray tress, and wrapping hergown frills around a rent made by the over-eager spaniel. "Down, Robin, down! You tear one to pieces when you get so excited. Pray come in, Mr. Dalton, and Dodo dear, run home with Wobin a little while now. We'llfinish our play later. "

Before Dodo had time to raise a protest, Mr. Dalton broke in, pleadingly, "Mightn't we sit here, Miss Lavillotte? I see chairs under the big tree, and it's so charming out there. "

"Oh, yes, " added Dodo, seeing her advantage, "we can tay out heah, Doyce, an' I'll talk to my doggy while you talk to--dat ozzer one, "nodding her head shyly towards Dalton. 

"Why Dodo!" cried the young hostess, half shocked, though wholly amused. But as Dalton again broke out she joined him, Dodo quite impersonallyadding her cadenza. 

She was delighted to feel that Joyce was not going to be sober anddisagreeable with this visitor, and send her home before her play wasout. 

"I think we'll get on thus paired off--I and the other dog, " he said, taking the chair Joyce indicated and dropping luxuriously back into itsspreading seat, with his hands laid along its broad arms. "Howdelightful this is! Who could have dreamed, a twelve-month ago, thatthis scraggy bluff could be made into such beautiful homes, and that thedismal flat-iron below, dumping-place for tincans, frit, and cinders, asit was, could bloom out into that neat grassy park with growing treesalong its walks, and flower-beds everywhere. Truly, money talks. "

"Not money alone, Mr. Dalton. Something else must talk with it, seems tome. "

"Oh, energy and taste to be sure. "

"And good will. "

"Granted, but----"

"Oh! Oh! Oh!" in shrieks from Dodo, who flies to Joyce's arms, Robintearing beside her, vindictively shaking something limp and tousled inhis sharp white teeth. "It's mine dolly, mine dolly. Oh, Doyce!"

The rag doll rescued from oblivion and Robin boxed, Mr. Dalton thoughtit time to introduce his business, and began:

"I came, as always, on a matter which concerns your affairs, MissLavillotte. I wanted to say----"

"Isn't my Doyce doin' to hab 'fweshments foh her comp'nay, " broke in aninsinuating little voice, in sweetest accents. "I comed back to tell you'twould be perlite. Dat's de way my mamma does, " and Dodo, first on onefoot, then the other, performed a sort of fetish dance around the two, praying for the burnt offerings. 

"Yes, yes, presently Dodo. Go on in, and ask Katie to send out cakes andlemonade, if you like. Now, Mr. Dalton. "

"Yes, as I was about to say, I wanted----"

"Tan we hab tookies?" from Dodo. 

"Of course, cookies if you want. Now run along!"

"Tan we hab toast-tookies?" persisted the bit of femininity. 

Dodo had a way of lumping everything in the line of cookery that wasbrown and crisp under the name of "toast, " from potatoes to pie. Thecookies she referred to were simply a toothsome molasses cake, spreadout thin and cut into crisp delicious squares, which Katie kept in a jarwith rounded sides, after breaking apart. That jar was a mine of richesto the child, and those sweeties her pet confection. In fact, she hadreadily taken the large contract of keeping the jar from overflowing, and was the principal consumer of "toast cookies. " Smiling helplessly, Joyce assented. 

"Yes, toast-cookies it shall be. "

She gave the child a little push and nodded towards her manager to urgehaste. He galloped ahead. 

"I wanted to say that this escaped criminal does prove to be Lozcoski, the man I told you of who attempted once to fire the Works. He hadheaped kindlings, dipped in kerosene, wherever a bit of woodwork gaveopportunity to start a blaze. He was caught by Murfree, and----"

"I telled her, Doyce, " panting with the haste of her precipitate return. "I telled her, and she said 'Umph!' but I dess she will. Say, Doyce----"

"Hush, Dodo! Mr. Dalton is talking, and you _must_ be quiet. Shall Ihold you?"

"No, no, I don't want to be church-'till. I want to womp. "

"Well, go and 'womp' then, bless you! And be quick about it. "

"But I wants to eat first. "

"Talk fast, Mr. Dalton. She is pouting now, and you may get in asentence or two. "

He met her merry look with a very kindly one. 

"I see you _can_ be patient, Miss Lavillotte. Well, as this Lozcoski setfire to your Works and was imprisoned on that indictment, he has beenrearrested to serve out his sentence. He escaped from prison one nightwhen a fire in the dormitories had demoralized the discipline. He----"

"It's tomin'! It's tomin'! Dere's de lemmade and tookies, Doyce. See, see?"

The young lady put a white hand over the child's restless lips andnodded vigorously towards her manager, who continued rapidly:

"He hid in the woods till that night of the party, waiting for a chanceat Murfree, I presume, for he is bitter against him yet. But, drivendesperate by hunger, he came into town, and the smell and sight of thefeasting nearly crazed him, I imagine. So----"

"Doyce! Doyce! Heah's Katie waitin'. Where'll we hab de table? Why don'tyou pay 'tention to Katie? Where's de table-cloff? Oh, oh, if she putsit down on dat twee-bench Wobin will eat it all up!"

Joyce put out a warning hand again, and kept her eyes on Dalton's. 

"And so--and so--dear me! I'm all in a mix-up. Can't remember what I wasgoing to say, but the gist is, you will have to go into court to swearsomething----"

"Doyce, I fink you is aw-wful naughty! Pooh Katie is _so_ tired. "

"Well, you see Mr. Dalton--it's no use. Let us eat and drink, forto-morrow we die! Dodo, you are the great American nuisance, in person. Katie, give me that tray and run back for the little rustic stand in thearbor--oh, thank you, Mr. Dalton! Now, Dodo, sit down there and don'tspeak till you have eaten that cookie all up. "

"Two tookies, Doyce. Two-o tookies!"

"Very well, two or twenty, only that you remain tongue-tied meanwhile. Shall I give you a glass, Mr. Dalton?"

"It's dood!" from Dodo, sipping ecstatically from her special littlemug, filled by Katie, and taking great scalloping bites out of hersquare cake, while Robin, planted directly before her, but asquiveringly as if on coiled springs, watched every bite, snapping hisown jaws each time in acutest sympathy. 

"Yes, and two-o tookies, please, " laughed the man with a warm feeling ofcomfort and sweetness wrapping him round like a soft blanket. "And let'sgive it up for a while and be happy. "

"Why not?" returned Joyce, obliviously. "Here's the plate of cakes atyour elbow. Eat them all if you will. There are plenty more. "

A shriek from Dodo, who has dropped half of hers and seen itincontinently snapped up and gorged by Robin. Of course the shriek endsin a choking cough, as her mouth is full, and Mr. Dalton has to snatchher up and turn her face downwards, while Joyce paddles her little backtill the morsel is ejected. When they have all got their breathsagain--the dog meanwhile having sneaked a whole cake from the plate andfled to a safe distance--they subside into a restful silence for aspace. George Dalton's hair is somewhat rumpled, and Joyce's cheeks arered. Neither laughs outright, but both long to. It is a decided relieffrom the tension when a maid appears from the other house, and Miss Dodois carried off for her nooning nap, kicking vigorously. They sit backand sip their iced drinks relishingly. The morning is warm and Joyce'slovelocks are tightly curled against her wet forehead. She mops itdaintily with a bit of cambric and lace, and he watches her silently, while the branches of the tree above his head sway softly against eachother, and the leaves whisper confidingly way up in the clear ether. 

The busy man feels the charm of it as he has seldom felt such thingsbefore, and Joyce feels his pleasure and is glad over it, but secretlythinks it quite time for him to finish his business and be gone. Herappearance is far from tidy, and she is half expecting a friend from thecity out to luncheon. At length, in a dreamy way, he takes up thenarrative so often interrupted. 

"I was going to give a few more details about the Pole. You knew aboutthe way he acted in the Social-house--his ravenous ways over the food?"

"Yes, I saw him, " shuddering a little. 

"He had been starving for three days. The officers were fast on histrack and arrested him hot from the fight. Had he not seen Murfree Ipresume he would have made his way back to the woods safely. But theycame in by train just in time to learn of his queer actions and nab him. Not a minute too soon, either. He had nearly choked the life out of hisaccuser. "

"How is Murfree, Mr. Dalton?"

"Pretty well used up. I never saw him so completely cowed. It knockedall the eloquence out of him for once. The man is a crank and anagitator. I have kept my eye on him for some time. He is a fairly goodworkman in his line, though, and just now can't do much harm, as timesare easy and these new improvements of yours keep the people busy withother interests. But he would stir them all up, if he could. "

"And the other--Lozcoski--is he in prison again?"

"No, he was hurt, too. He is in the jail hospital. What with hisstarving and all, he is quite ill. There is some legal hitch, too, abouthis re-commitment, and you and I are to be summoned to testify as tovarious matters concerning the Works. It will necessitate a journey intotown. And shall I plan to go with you?" He was quite the businessmanager again. 

"Certainly, if you will be so kind. "

"I would advise taking Mr. Barrington with us to the jail. He can coachus as to details. "

"Yes, " said Joyce thoughtfully. "And we must try and get at the bottomof the affair this time. Must you go now?" for he had risen with aresolute air. 

"Indeed I must. I don't know when I have spent such a lazy--andhappy--morning!"

"Next time we'll have to banish naughty Dodo. Isn't she a persistentbaby?"

"A very charming one, though. Good-morning!"

He made her a stiff little bow, and hurried away without so much as onelook behind him. But as he passed the next house, and heard a voice nearsome upper window crooning a lullaby, he smiled to himself, andwhispered, "Blessed little Dodo! Sweet sleep and happy dreams. "

CHAPTER XVIII. 

NATE TIERNEY. 

The heated spell was succeeded by a week of chilling rains. These madethe children appreciate the arcade leading from the park to theschool-house, and one afternoon they were romping up and down its cementroadway, just after school was out. Even Mrs. Hemphill's younger broodwas there, for the delight of the youngsters in their classes, whichembraced lessons in carpentry, husbandry, electrical science, cookery, sewing, nursing, and so on, had so infected them that they simply couldnot be kept at home. 

Joyce's school, planned to the least detail, under the Madame'sinstruction, was not quite like any other known. Text-books were used, to be sure, and classes were, in a sort, graded, but books played asmaller part than usual in the teachings of each day, and every task ofthe pupils was so put into actual practice as to make it a lesson ofexperience, if possible. 

For instance, little Tirza Hemphill, before she learned to rattle offher table of dry measure, as other school children do, had discoveredits scale for herself, by practical application. A series of measureswas set out in a row, from pint to bushel, while a great box of shelledcorn stood by, and she was told to begin with the smallest in order tofind out for herself how many times it must be emptied into the next tofill it, and so on to the bushel. The increased size of the receptaclehere, made it necessary to take the rest on trust, but being assured byactual measurement that the pints, quarts, and bushels were correct, shewas prepared to believe the rest. 

As to the classes in needle-work, cookery, and house service, theyanswered the purpose of recesses between the book lessons, and wereconsidered great fun by the girls, while the boys equally enjoyed theirhammering, out-door husbandry, and telegraph operating. 

It took room, but they had plenty of that in Littleton, and one part ofthe ample school grounds was the farm and garden. It took tools, andthey cost money, but some were very primitive, often made by the moreingenious lads, themselves; and when Wolly of the unpronounceablesurname actually made a little wheeled cultivator, the harrow being thetooth from a broken horse-rake, and the two wheels a relic from adefunct doll-wagon, he was considered the hero of the school. It took astove and kitchen, but they used the one in the Social-house, going toand fro in procession, with a teacher in charge. 

It was indeed a novel school, and one just out from a stiff, starched, eastern graded Grammar school might have raised his hands in holyhorror. Still there was no lack of method, nor of discipline, and eachclass, be it held out-doors or in, was made to understand that good workwas required. All was orderly enough, even when the noon class wentthrough the ceremony of serving a neat meal, and eating it in quietdecency. 

The older pupils were intensely interested in the banking class, theteacher acting as president, and two or three being chosen as cashier, teller, and clerk. They were furnished with neatly stamped coins andbills, such as are sold for toy money, and the rest of the class becamedepositors and learned how to draw and deposit, to count readily, tomake change, to make out checks, to compute interest, discount bills, buy drafts, etc. , etc. 

Once Mr. Dalton asked Joyce, with that cynicism which belonged to him, "Why do you have the poor little beggars taught this sort of business?That they may learn to value the money they may never possess?" and shehad flashed around upon him with the answer, "They will possess it! Do you for an instant believe our scholars are tobe kept in bondage to one solitary trade? They will not all beglass-blowers, I can promise you. "

In fact, already these little financiers were substituting real moneyfor the spurious pretense, and Saturday mornings they came to deposittheir penny savings in the bank kept by their teacher, or to draw, withinterest, their savings of weeks. In order to encourage frugality, thisinterest was compounded, after the principal had been left in bank forthree months, silver to be returned where only copper had beendeposited. Behind all this stood Joyce's useful millions and theMadame's guiding hand. 

It was not a great while before the mothers began to come in with theirpetty savings, also, and after a long talk with Mr. Barrington, one day, a real banking institution was incorporated, with the stock issued indollar shares. Mr. Barrington, as president, headed the list ofstockholders with a hundred, Miss Lavillotte following withseventy-five, while Mr. Dalton, Madame Bonnivel, and Larry Driscoll wereall down for fifty, or less. 

It was a delightful little bank, where pennies stood for dollars, whereeveryone had confidence in everybody else, where no other banks couldmake or break, and where the assets were so in excess of the liabilitiesthat it could not be touched by panic. Every three months there was tobe a change of clerks, though the officers were retained. This was togive each scholar an opportunity of learning all the practical routineof a bank, also, to offer facilities for the handling and counting ofmoney. 

I have enlarged upon the bank more than its relative importancewarrants. Really, the domestic economy classes were given greaterprominence in the school, and the changes these well-taught childrengradually introduced into their sordid home life were many andexcellent. 

Mother Flaherty was so electrified over the tin of light, sweet rollsher little grand-daughter made for supper, one evening, that she caughtit up with the dish-towel and ran a block to Mrs. Hemphill's, to displaythe golden-brown beauties before allowing one of the family to touchthem. But, a few days later, Mrs. Hemphill, not to be outdone, invitedMother Flaherty in to tea, and they were served to a neat little meal byTirza and Polly, where every article, from the smoking-hot croquettes tothe really delicate custard and cakes, was the work of these two littlegirls. It was an honest rivalry, which hurt nobody, and the men, betterfed at their evening meal, began to linger at home to join in thechildren's geographical and other games, picked up at school, or toaccompany their families over to the Social-house, to listen to theorchestra made up of their older sons, to hear Miss Lavillotte play andsing, to witness an exhibition of kinetoscope pictures, or sometimesjust to meet other friends and simply bask in the light and ease of thepretty rooms. They almost forgot Lon's place, even, as they gazedcontentedly about, and enjoyed the bright open fire in the immense hallgrate, which these cool nights made welcome. 

While the pendulum of our narrative has been swinging back and forththrough these many months of effort, the children whom we left playingin the arcade are still awaiting us, enjoying their out-door freedom, but well protected by its roof from the damp weather. Their modes ofplaying are not quite the same as those of a year ago. There isboisterousness, to be sure, but less cruelty, and far less profanity. The dogs join merrily in the frolics, now, with no dread of old tin-canattachments, and even little crippled Dosey Groesbeck lingers about onhis crutches, not expecting them to be knocked from under him, as usedto be the case. 

They are cleaner, also, for it is not true that the poor naturally lovedirt. They get used to it, because often they have no conveniences forbathing, and sometimes every drop of water must be sought at a distanthydrant, and carried up two or three rickety flights of stairs beforeavailable for use. This makes it so precious that they learn to dowithout it. Joyce never forgot the picture of one little waif of twoyears, brought in from the streets, taking its first warm bath in a tub, an embodiment of delight, splashing, laughing, dipping, screaming, in avery ecstasy of happiness. Repeatedly, the attendant tried to removeher, only to yield to her cries and entreaties against her own judgment, until the little creature had to be forcibly removed and consoled with anew wonder--a delicious cup of warm, creamy milk in which sweet crackerhad been crumbled. Accepting her change of heavens with tranquillity, the new Ariadne fell asleep in the warm enveloping blanket, worn outwith sheer pleasure. 

So the Littleton children, having the bathing facilities of the rich, ifnot on so gorgeous a scale, were a really trim, decent lot to-day, andtheir merry voices reached Nate Tierney, going rapidly along the street, outside, making him waver, hesitate, then turn in, with a smile on hishonest face. He was a favorite with the younglings. With cries of "Nate!Nate!" "Hello, Nate!" "Be on my side, Nate!" they surrounded him, anddragged him into their game of Indian-and-white man, a willing captive. 

"Well now, " he laughed, "do you think it's quite fair to turn a fellerinto an injun off hand, like that? However, if I've got to be one, I'llbe an awful one, you bet: A red, ramping, roaring old Apache, that'llthink nothing o' scalping and tomahawking everything he can ketch. Beoff now, or I'll snatch the whole pack of you, and make you run thegauntlet. One--two--three--GO. "

They were off, shrieking with excited fun, all white men for the minute, with one big Indian driving them before him. The arcade could notcontain them in this wild rush for safety, and they streamed into andacross the park, Nate at their backs, giving the most approved Apachewar-whoop between his shouts of laughter. 

As he stopped in the street beyond, out of breath, calling merrily, between his gasps, that they weren't playing fair to run so far andleave him all alone, he noticed his friend, Hapgood, just turning in atthe door of his now neat cottage, further down the block. He stoppedyelling to give the man a critical stare. 

"Off his base a bit, hey?" he muttered. "Stepped into Lon's as he comeby, and didn't stop at one glass, nuther. If Bill warn't sech anall-round good feller I'd call him a fool! A man 'ts got jest a wifemight look into a glass now and then. Like as not she could bring him totime, if he went too far. When he's got wife and children both, heoughter go it easy and stop off short and quick; but when he's gotchildren and no wife, and just a slim little gal like Lucy to look afterthings, why, he ought never even to look toward a green door? I ain't noteetotaller, goodness knows! But men 't ain't got no sense oughtn't tobe fathers. Guess that's why I'm an old bach, " laughing a little. 

The children, swarming back with taunting cries, broke in upon hismeditations, and dragged him into one more race. He was bounding nimblyafter them, the young pack in full cry, when he saw something that frozehis blood, and stopped him as suddenly as if by a wall of rock. It wasLucy, wild-eyed and white-faced, dashing out of the house-door, whileclose at her heels raced her father, a stick of stove wood raised inair, as if to strike. Liquor and passion had made him an utter maniacfor the minute. Clasped close in the poor girl's arms was the littlebaby, its head pressed so tightly against her breast that it could notcry out. Lucy, flying for life, was evidently too spent and breathlessto make a sound, either. 

With a hoarse cry of horror, Nate took a great leap forward and flunghimself, with the fury of a mad bull, between the girl and her naturalprotector, meeting Hapgood's onslaught with head down and handsextended. The latter, blind with his insensate fury, plunged ahead, unable to stop himself if he would. It looked as if Nate's skull wouldbe laid open with the billet of wood. 

But just as Hapgood would have felled the obstruction, neither knowingnor caring what it might be, he stubbed his toe and went down like alog, the stick flying out of his hand, and hitting the ground harmlesslyjust beyond. In an instant Nate had grasped it, and stood over theprostrate inebriate in his turn. It is well said, "Beware the fury of apatient man. " Slow Nate Tierney was white to his lips, now, beneath thebronze of years, and the knotted veins of his temples throbbedperceptibly. For perhaps the first time in his life he was thoroughlyangry. 

"Lie there, you brute! You scum!" he cried in a deep harsh voice, unrecognizable as his own. "You'll chase your own children, will you?You'll hit your little Lucy with sticks like this, will you? And shesavin' the poor baby in her arms. Dog! I've a mind to brain you whereyou lie. "

The scared children, looking on, wondered if this could indeed be Nate. The drunken man on the ground, winking and blinking through blearedeyes, tried to remember if he had ever seen that marble-faced avengerbefore. Lucy, peering fearfully through the front window behind lockeddoors, hardly knew which to dread the more, her passionate unreasoningfather, or this new and strange edition of her good-natured old friend. 

Nobody spoke or moved for an instant, while Nate stood there, the man'slife in his hand, then slowly he lowered the uplifted weapon, caughtHapgood by the collar, and dragged him to his feet. 

"I won't soil my hands with the killing of you, Bill Hapgood!" hemuttered. "The cage is the place for mad dogs, and there you go. Nowmarch!"

"Now Nate, what you up to?" whined the other, pretty well sobered by allthis. "Le' go o' me, can't you? 'Tain't any of your funerals, is it?"

"It may be if I kill you, " was the grim answer. "March!" and he gave thewretched Hapgood a smart tap with his improvised billy that sent him onseveral paces. 

Then, to his utter discomfiture, out popped Lucy, red with indignation. 

"Nate Tierney, what you doing with my father? Where you going to takehim to? Let him alone, I say. Let him alone!" Her voice rang outshrilly, as she came forward, trembling with anger, and herknight-errant looked up at her in a daze of wonderment. Could this beLucy?

"I'm a-goin' to take him where he won't have a chance at you again verysoon, child, " he answered gently. "I'm a-goin' to put him in thelock-up. "

"The lock-up!" shrieked Lucy. 

"The lock-up?" yelled the children. 

"The lock-up!" roared the prisoner, galvanized into action by thissupreme horror. With one mighty effort he wrenched himself loose andturned upon Nate, fighting like a tiger. 

It was a short battle. Taken by surprise Tierney was for a minuteoverpowered, but as he felt his only weapon, the stick, slipping fromhis grasp he put forth all his strength and caught it back with adesperate grip. Half fallen backward in the struggle he made a wild passin the air. He heard a crashing noise that seemed to rend his own soulapart. Then the thud of a heavy body as it fell. And then, heaven andearth seemed to stand still for one awful minute as, feeling no furtherresistance, he raised himself and looked down upon his friend, WilliamHapgood. Inert and still he lay, with his skull crushed in just abovethe left temporal bone. 

CHAPTER XIX. 

IN THE CAGE. 

Sometimes an eternity of suffering is condensed into a single minute, yet that suffering is so like a dream, because of the paralyzed brain, that one cannot fully realize it until afterwards. As Nate Tierney stoodover his victim, nerveless and faint, with eyeballs starting from theirsockets, he realized the lowest deep of hell, yet as if it had beenanother man whose agony he looked upon. It was quite beyond his ownenduring. Lucy's horrified shriek brought him more fully to his senses, and the screams of the children who scattered in every direction, cryingas they ran on, only to creep back after a moment drawn by that prurientcuriosity which is the one natural tie left between the buzzard and man. 

It afterward seemed to Nate as if in that one horrible, helpless minutea hundred shapes had suddenly encompassed him, risen out of the earthperhaps, so rapidly did they crowd about him, hemming him in. Amid thewild confusion some one thought to summon the marshal, another Mr. Dalton, still another the doctor, and these three strode upon the scenein time to see poor Nate lifting his old friend's head, to whisperhoarsely, "Oh, Bill! I didn't mean it. I didn't mean it!" in a wail that wouldhave melted granite. 

He looked up as Dr. Browne thrust everybody aside, and begged pitifully:

"Oh, can't you mend it, doctor? It's broke in, but can't you mend it? Ididn't go to do it. I just swung the stick. Can't you mend it?"

The doctor knew at the first glance that there was no mending for thatmortal hurt. But it was hard to say so in answer to that wild white facequivering at his feet. 

"Get back, Nate, " he said kindly, stooping to the body. "I'll see whatcan be done. Let somebody that's stronger than her help to carry him, "and at his gesture, two or three onlookers stepped forward obeying ward. 

As they lifted the lifeless form, Nate, still stupidly kneeling besideit as if unable to move, the slow-dripping blood from that crushedtemple fell on his upturned face, and trickled down into the stubble ofhis unshorn beard. Lucy, amid her frantic cries, saw it and fell backhalf fainting, into the arms of Babette, who hastily led her away insideher own rooms, assisted by Rachel, who came quickly to her aid. Thebaby, nearly dropping from her sister's nerveless arms, was caught byDan before it reached the ground, and the little thing clung to him, wailing feebly in its fright and misery. So, not knowing what else todo, he followed the girls indoors, a part of the women pressing after. But most of the crowd trailed in the wake of the little procession whichwas being led by the doctor into the Hapgood cottage, only to bepromptly shut out at the door. 

Dalton went inside with the doctor, but the marshal put a hand on Nate'sshoulder, and said under his breath, "Come, Tierney. "

Nate looked at him dully. 

"Yes, indeed, I'll do anything for him, anything you say. Won't they letme sit by him, don't you think?"

The man of law looked into the other's face amazedly. Didn't heunderstand yet? he wondered. 

"You can't do anything now, " he said. "Just come along wi' me. Don't youknow what you've done, man alive?"

Nate looked at him an instant and staggered where he stood. 

"Go on, " he said thickly, after that one instant's horrified perception. "I'm ready, " and he spoke no more. 

The marshal hustled him quickly through the crowd and down the street, to the little building known as the lock-up. It was the place to whichhe had meant to consign Hapgood a bit ago. The crowd buzzing after likeflies around a dead horse, surged up to the door and leaned against it, outside. It was a small square building, scarcely larger than asmoke-house, with two tiny barred windows up under its roof, and onethick door, clamped with iron, in front. It was built of stone laid incement up to within three feet of the eaves, and finished out withtimber. There was no way of heating it, and it held absolutely nomovable furniture. A bunk projected two feet from one of the cementedwalls, eighteen inches above the stone floor, bare planks, withoutmattress or blanket. That was all. A cage, indeed, as Nate had called itin his anger of a short time since, which had so completely vanishednow. But he little cared for its bareness in that misery of the soulwhich so far transcends bodily suffering. 

"I'll bring you in a blanket and a comfortable of my wife's to make upyour bed, and a basin and pitcher of water. I don't want to be hard onan old chum. I'll fix you up real snug while you stay, and you just tryand settle down to make the best of it. You can't gather up spilledmilk, Nate, nor spilled blood, neither. Now I'm going, but I'll comeback pretty soon, and don't worry. "

Nate still did not answer, nor move. But as the door closed heavily hislips parted. 

"Dead! Dead! No, _no_, NO!" and a strong shudder took possessionof him, as uncontrollable as an ague fit. 

When the marshal returned, a few moments later, with the comforts he hadpromised, Nate still sat there, gray, haggard, and speechless. Thekind-hearted jailer looked askance at him, and hesitated to ask him torise that he might arrange the bunk. When he did proffer the requestNate stared at him a moment, as if unhearing, then slowly rose andlooked down at the planks he had been sitting on, seemingly seeing themfor the first time. Then he continued the survey, letting his eyes, already bloodshot with excitement and misery, scan the narrow place. 

"So, " he said finally, in a low, hoarse whisper, smiling up into theofficer's face with an expression that almost started the tears even tothose hardened orbs, "So, you're going to bury us both--Bill and me. Himin a grave and me in a tomb--Bill and me. I never thought 'twould belike that--Bill and me. Buried together--Bill and me. " He continued tomutter the words over and over, and when the keeper left the building heshook his head sadly. 

"Poor Nate! It's touchin' him in the brain, I reckon. Hope he won't losehis reasons afore the trial comes on, though. He'll need 'em then if heever does. Blarst his foolishness! What did he mix in for, anyhow?"

CHAPTER XX. 

SORROW. 

Joyce had just returned from a half day in the city with Camille, whomshe had been treating to some first-class music, and was just crossingthe lawns to her own door, when she saw George Dalton come swiftlyacross the road from the park. She turned towards the walk to greet him, but her happy face fell as she saw the perturbed expression upon his. 

"What is it?" she asked, looking down upon him from the ascending walk, which led somewhat steeply up to her veranda steps. "There is sometrouble?"

"Yes. " He gained her vicinity with a long stride, and said gently, "It'strouble beyond even your helping, this time. Lucy Hapgood's father isdead. "

"Dead? Why, has he been ill? I didn't know. Why wasn't I told sooner?"

"No, not ill. He was killed--struck down in anger by Nate Tierney. "

"By Nate? Good Nate, who has been so kind; who was such a friend? Ican't believe it!"

"Nor I, hardly. Only poor Bill is dead with a broken skull, and Nate inthe lock-up. The man--Hapgood, of course--came home drunk, and beganabusing Lucy. Nate saw her running from him and snatched the billet ofwood that her father was chasing her with. Then they fought, and Billwas finished. It happened not two hours ago. "

You will perceive that Dalton told the story as he had heard it, notjust as it happened. But his version was the one generally accepted atthat time. Joyce clasped her hands together with a passionate movement. 

"Dreadful! Dreadful! Poor Lucy; poor Nate!"

"You don't say poor Bill, Miss Lavillotte. "

"No, it is the living who are to be pitied here, and Nate most of all. He did it for Lucy's sake, I know; it was to save her from her father'sfury. There can be no doubt of that. Did you say that he is already inthe lock-up? Where is that?"

He told her. 

"I must go to Lucy first, " she mused. "How does the poor child bear it?"

"Badly for a time, but she is more quiet now. The French sisters andRachel are with her, and a lot of other women, who might be spared. "

"Miss Joyce, dinner is ready, " called Ellen from the veranda with a sourvoice, for she resented being kept waiting. 

"Come in and eat with us, " said Joyce, laying a hand lightly on Dalton'sarm. "It will not take us long, and then I can go with you. Won't you, please?"

He colored with pleasure, for her manner was most friendly. Just somight she speak to Mr. Driscoll, he thought. 

The little meal was something of a revelation to the man. Ellen carved, and a neat maid handed the plates about on a silver salver. There wereflowers on the table, and little else, it seemed to him. Yet, as onecourse followed another, he felt it to be a bountiful meal, even for thehealthy man's appetite that he possessed. It did not please his palateany better than his aunt's excellent dinners, but he felt there wereintricacies and embellishments in some of these unknown dishes that herbest skill had never compassed. He began with some nervousness, butJoyce's simple, homelike manner soon dispelled it, and they ended overthe fruit and coffee in most friendly converse, he telling, she hearing, many particulars of the Hapgood family, that were new to her. 

Long before he had concluded Joyce was smiling over a thought which hadbeen growing upon her for some time. George Dalton was not soindifferent to these people of hers as he would often try to appear. Evidently he watched them, understood them, even, possibly, sympathizedwith them. They were not mere machines to him, as she had once felt theywere. He did have an interest that was close and personal, and notwholly of a business character, however much he might try to conceal itunder his cool manner. 

They soon reached the Hapgood door, around which still clustered a crowdof the neighbors, the men stolidly smoking, the women whispering indetached groups, all with that expectant air which attends upon a tragicincident. They made way respectfully for the manager, but lookedsomewhat wonderingly upon his companion, probably questioning what couldbe her interest in the event. Dalton pushed through the press, keepingher close in his wake. But once within the door no conventional barrierswere interposed. The gloomy distance and silence attendant upon the lasthours of the great were not in the way of friendly sympathy, orunfriendly intrusion, here. The back door stood wide open, and peoplecame and went, while the children's sobs mingled with the curt, outspoken directions of the undertaker and the clatter of dishes, whichsome obliging neighbor was washing at the kitchen sink. The body of themurdered man lay on the bed in a small room off the littlesitting-room--an apartment so tiny that the door had to be left open, sothat the implements of this last service to his body might overflow intothe larger room. Lucy, pale and swollen-eyed, was rocking the babybefore the little gas grate, with her back that way, the child withwide, wakeful eyes gazing solemnly up into her suffering face, tryingvainly to puzzle out the situation. Babette, a pretty girl with a roseand lily face, was soothing Rufie and Tilly near by, while Mrs. Hemphill, with her own baby in her arms, kept a sharp lookout both onthis little group, and upon the two men in the small bedroom. It seemedto Joyce that the place was aswarm with bustling humanity, and struckher with a sharp pang that the little children should see and hear somuch of these gruesome details. Just as they entered Mrs. Hemphill'shigh-pitched voice was making a remark--

"No, 'tain't easy to dispose of young'uns that's left orphans. Children's like tooth-picks--most folks prefers their own, " and Joycecould imagine why Lucy's expression was so tense and drawn. 

She stepped quickly to the young girl's side and, stooping, tenderlykissed her cheek. Lucy looked up wonderingly an instant, then burst intoa fresh flood of tears, while Joyce held the weary little head againsther side, smoothing its pretty hair with soft fingers, but saying noword. Presently the bereaved girl sobbed out, "It's so good of you tocome!" and she answered softly, "I was glad to, Lucy. I want you to letme help in someway. " She drew a chair forward and looked at theunwinking baby, but did not offer to take it. She felt that the sisterdrew quietness and comfort from the warmth and pressure of its littlebody. But in gentle tones she began asking questions of Babette as tothe plans and needs for the next few days; and, in listening to hersuggestions and promises of assistance, Rufie and Tilly ceased sobbingand drew closer, while even Lucy soon leaned forward, talkingunreservedly. The baby, seeing that normal conditions were apparentlyrestored, at last began to blink, and finally fell away into happydreamland. When Joyce rose to go a sense of comfort pervaded the group. Lucy, fully assured that her father would be laid away with fittingceremony and that she and the children--though what was she but a childherself, poor thing!--should be decently arrayed in mourning apparel, began to take on a less worried expression. As she also rose, to lay thebaby aside on an old lounge in the corner, where the older baby wasalready asleep, Joyce beckoned to Dalton and conferred with him aminute, then drew on her wrap, to leave. 

As Lucy turned, the manager spoke a few words to her. 

"Oh, will you, sir?" cried the girl as he finished. "My! but that takesa load offen me. And I can stay in the dear little house, and keep thechildren, just like I allays did!"

He nodded, and Lucy glanced with a perplexed look from him to Joyce. 

"Seems like you're both doing this, and I ought to thank you both, " shesaid. "I was feeling pretty bad before you come in. I couldn't seenothing ahead but to put the children in a Home and go out to service, and--and it 'most killed me!" her lips quivering anew. 

Joyce smiled and took her hand. 

"Thank him, " she said, with a glance up into his eyes. "But you can keepa few kind thoughts for me too, Lucy. I will take it upon myself toattend to your mourning, as I said. "

"And you won't forget the veil, Miss Lavillotte?"

"No indeed!" smiling down into the eager young face. "But Lucy"--shebent closer, to speak just above a whisper--"I'm going to poor Nate, now. Have you no kind message to send to him?"

"No, _no_!" came out sharply, like a suppressed shriek. "He did it! Howcould I?"

"But to help you, child. It is terrible, I know, and I will not pressthe matter if it is more than you can bear to speak of it. But, surely, you feel that what Nate did was not intentional? He was shielding you, defending you. Oh, Lucy I would not arraign your father, but I can'thelp pitying poor Nate, who has been such a friend to you!"

Lucy turned abruptly and went towards the fire, where she stood amoment, shivering perceptibly, a desolate little figure. Soon she raisedher head, flung a glance towards Mrs. Hemphill, whose watchful eyes weregloating over the scene, then with a beckoning look towards Joyce walkedto the back door. Joyce instantly followed her, leaving her escort inlow-toned talk with the undertaker. 

"I can't say a word before her, " whispered Lucy with a backward jerk ofher thumb, "she tattles so! Nate used to tell me not to. But about--I--Ican't send no word. He killed my father? Don't you see? _He killed myfather. _"

There was such an intensity of trouble and despair in the whisper thatit started tears in the eyes of Joyce. 

"I can only repeat, my dear, it was not intentional. He was besidehimself with trouble and passion; and it was all for you. "

"Yes, but 'twas awful, awful! Pa was the red-mad kind, you see; so hotand spunky you couldn't do nothing but run from it. You knew it didn'tmean much--just a tantrum that he'd come out of slick enough byme-by, and then be good as pie to make up. But Nate's! 'Twas the awfulwhite-mad kind. I never saw it in him before, and I could see it meant awhole lot. It scared all my scare about pa right out of me. It--I can'ttell you how it made me feel! 'Twas like seeing into the bad place, Iguess. I knew something had got to break, and it did. 'Twas poor pa'sskull. How can I dare to say good words to Nate, when _he_ lies likethat in there?"

She pointed backward with a gesture that was tragic in its simplicity, and Joyce could scarcely find words for further argument. But her keensympathy was with Nate. She had that rare tenderness which goes withacute perceptions, and cannot be complete without them. She could putherself in another's place and actually feel another's woes. She feltpoor Tierney's so strongly that she sent up a prayer for guidance beforeanswering, very softly, "My child, Christ forgave from the very cross. "

"But you see I can't _forgive_, because--Oh, you don't know, you don'tknow. I'm so awful, so wicked!"

She pressed her clasped hands before her mouth as if to shut somethingback, while Joyce gazed at her, perplexed and uncomprehending. 

"You can't forgive, Lucy? Perhaps not, just yet. But you can pity. Letme at least tell poor Nate that you are sure he would not have done itonly in great anger, and you'll try to forgive him. Mayn't I say that?"

"Y-yes, make it up any way you like only--only----"

"Only what, Lucy?"

But the girl shook her head. 

"I can't tell you. You don't understand. Just say anything you want to. "

She turned and ran indoors, then popped out again and sprang down thesteps. 

"Miss Lav'lotte. "

"Yes. "

"Please don't forget the black hat and veil. Have it very heavy, andvery black, and very long, won't you? Oh pa, poor, poor pa!" and, breaking into loud wailing, Lucy disappeared within. 

The girl's manner puzzled Joyce. It seemed to her that Lucy attachedimmense importance to so trivial a thing as a mourning veil, yet shecould not feel that this was all girlish frivolity and shallowness. Something in the child's whole manner disputed such a suggestion. Neither was her attitude towards Nate quite clear. She said she couldnot forgive, yet instinctively Joyce felt that neither did she entirelycondemn. Could it be that deep within her she not only forgave, butcondoned, and that her almost feverish desire to appear in the trappingsof extreme woe was induced by the consciousness that she was not sofilled with resentment and horrified grief as she ought to be?

She was still revolving these queries when Dalton joined her and led heraround to the front, debouching so as to avoid the few scattered groupsstill outside. He did not offer his arm, but kept close at her side, ready to aid instantly should she make a misstep amid the unfamiliarsurroundings. Once he steadied her as she slipped from the single plankthat made the walk around the cottage, but instantly withdrew hissustaining hand. Not until they were walking along the street, with itselectric lights at each intersection, did either speak. Then Joyce askedsuddenly, "Will Lucy ever consent to see Nate again? Can the old-time friendshiphelp, in any degree, to soften her towards him?" George looked down uponthe sweet face beside him, so filled with sympathy and concern, andchecked some impulse to answer hastily. After a little he said in adeliberate voice, as if weighing each word, "Dear Miss Lavillotte, when death comes into a life like yours it meansgrief, pure and simple. Other thoughts and interests are put aside. There is no compulsion, no haste. They can wait. But it is not so withthe people we have been to see. There is so much besides the simplesense of loss and bereavement. A thousand anxieties crowd so closely theholier sorrow is half shut out. Sometimes, much as we shrink fromacknowledging it, the gain is more than the loss. Perhaps it leavesfewer mouths to feed. Perhaps it takes away a continual menace andterror. You can't conceive of feeling that a father means onlya--tormentor. But--think of it. "

He felt Joyce shiver beside him, and stopped abruptly, shaken by asudden consciousness that had never before occurred to him. Could it bethat out of her own experience she did comprehend? She looked uppiteously and her face was white in the dusk. 

"Yes, I could, " she murmured in a husky whisper. "I know, I understand. "

He dared not speak he was so filled with emotion. It had rushed over himin a flood. To think she had suffered so--_she_! In a minute herplaintive voice broke upon him once more. 

"It's like this. Lucy can't be so sorry as she ought to be, and it isdreadful to her. It is like those fearful dreams when we long to getsomewhere and cannot take a step, or ache to cry out and cannot make asound. She aches to feel sorrier; she is ashamed that she cannot. Butgrief sits back and laughs at hers, and will not be coaxed into hercompany. It nearly kills her that it is so, for she is a good, conscientious girl who wants to do and to be right--oh, poor littleLucy!"

He took her shaking hand and drew it gently within his arm. She wasweeping behind her veil, and he felt the passion in her outburst. He wasnot stupid; he had known James Early. He could feel to his soul what waspassing in hers, and the revelation wrung him as no sorrow had everwrung him before. If he but dared to comfort her, to assure her thathere was a friend who would stand between her and every wrong in future!After a little he dared trust himself to answer. 

"Miss Lavillotte, I think life is always harder than it looks from theoutside--yet easier, too. At the worst something comes to help out. And, just because it is so hard, it can be no sin to be glad and happy whenHeaven gives us the chance. No decent person will kick a man when he isdown; neither does fate. When you talk to Lucy again just tell her toenjoy all she can, and honor her poor father by believing that, whereverhe may be now, he will be glad to know she is trying to be happy. "

If the words held double solace no one could guess it by Dalton'smanner. It was decidedly matter-of-fact above its tenderness. Joyce didnot answer, except by a long sighing breath, but there was relief in itssound. Her hand still rested in the arm of her manager, and a feeling ofsafety and contentment gradually stole into her heart, often sore forher own loneliness, as well as over the woes of others. 

CHAPTER XXI. 

IN THE LOCK-UP. 

The marshal unlocked the door of Nate's narrow cell and held his lanternaloft with a cheery, "Hello! Tierney. Brought you company, you see, " andthe prisoner rose slowly from his bunk, blinking and staring in thelight, with an expectant air. It died out quickly, and murmuring in abroken voice, "Oh, I thought it might be--evening, Mr. Dalton; evening, Miss, " helooked helplessly around for a chair to offer Joyce. 

The sheriff had brought one, which he placed for her, and Dalton bracedhimself against the wall, his hands in his pockets, while the officersat down sociably beside his prisoner, on the bunk. 

"Nate, " said George, without preamble, "we don't want to pry into youraffairs, nor trouble you in any way, but if we can help you we will beglad to--Miss Lavillotte and I. We believe you are man enough to wish toknow the worst, without mincing, whatever it may be, and have come totell you all. Your old chum, William Hapgood, is dead. The blow you gavehim in your anger was harder than you meant. It crushed in his temple. He never knew what killed him. " Nate looked up quickly. 

"I didn't give him no blow, sir--not intentional, that is--I just swungthe fire-stick in spite of me, and his head run agin it. I had been mad, but I'd got it under me. I'd dropped the stick to my side, and was goin'to lead him away, when Lucy's screech made me 'most crazy for a minute, and I didn't know rightly what I was doing. But 'twan't murder was in myheart. I'll swear to that! All I thought was to keep him off and seewhat ailded Lucy. It seemed so dumb queer to have her go fur me 'cause Iwas a-goin' to shet up her pa where he could cool off a bit! Women'squeer cattle, though, " he ruminated slowly, moving his head up and down. 

Dalton shrugged his shoulders, then looked at Joyce and said gently, "You mean we don't always understand them. "

"Well, that's it, I s'pose. 'Twas going too fur, I presume, for me tosay I'd take him to the lock-up. You see, that was a disgrace, and nomistake. It hurted her feelings an' then she turned agin me. "

"But she let me bring a message, " interposed Joyce quickly, though hermanner was not assured. "I am certain she is sorry for you, and that shemeans to try and forgive you. " Nate turned and looked at her severalseconds, as if collecting his wits. 

"It's sorter hard to understand, " he said at last, in a hopeless tone. "I did it all for her--all but the part that I didn't do at all, forthat was an accident and nothin' else--and she says she'll try toforgive me! I've heered of 'em pardoning men out o' state's prison afterfifteen or twenty years, maybe, 'cause they found they'd never done thething they was put in fur. _Pardoning_ 'em out, mind you! I never couldunderstand that. Seems as if it ought to be t'other way, but they go ondoin' it just the same, so I s'pose I'm off on that, too. The fact is, things is pretty complexited sometimes. I can't get the right end, nohow. "

"Nate, " said Dalton, "do you claim you didn't mean to hit Hapgood--notat all?"

"Of course I didn't mean to. Hadn't I had him down, with the stick in myhand, right over him, and didn't I drop it, and take him by the collar, as easy as an old shoe, and tell him to come along?"

"But how, then"----began Dalton. 

"Wait, sir, and I'll tell you straight. "

Nate had risen and stood opposite the manager, his eyes glowing out fromthe yellow glare of the lantern, which was set on the floor in theirmidst. Joyce watched him from her chair, and the officer, also risen, leaned against the bunk, his gaze never leaving the speaker. 

"'Twas this way. When Lucy called out so sharp, and come running out, Isaid 'twas to the lock-up I was going to take him. At that everybodyscreeched, and Bill turned on me like a mad bear. He's a grittyfighter"--He paused and looked around in his slow way----"I s'pose Ioughter say was, now. Bill _was_ a gritty fighter allays and he nearlyknocked the breath outen me with his first blow. I felt the stickslidin' away from me, and knew 'twas my only holt. If Bill got the besto' me I was done fur. He was a mighty good fighter, and quicker'n a cat. I gripped at the stick and lost my balance, so't I nearly fell overbackward. My arms flew out, spite of me, and the big stick struck wild. It killed poor Bill. But can't you see I didn't do it, Mr. Dalton?Before God, I ain't guilty of the murder of Lucy's father! I was mad, but not like that. "

Dalton stepped forward and put out his hand. 

"I believe you, Nate. I'm glad you told me!"

They shook hands warmly, and Joyce thrilled in sympathy. 

The two talked a while longer, then all said good-night, but not beforeNate had been promised the best counsel money could procure. As Joyceshook hands with him, Nate held her soft fingers an instant, and lookedsearchingly into her face, upon which the smoking lantern shed a fitfullight. 

"It's good of you to take so much trouble for me, " he said. "Did youcome, 'cause Lucy asked you to?"

"Not exactly. I meant to come, anyhow, but was glad to bring you wordfrom her. "

She felt she could not bluntly tell him that Lucy had avoided speakingof him, especially when she was not at all certain as to the girl's realfeeling in the matter. But, alive to all the suppressed wistfulness inthe man's look and tone, she yearned to comfort him, so saidimpulsively, "Mr. Tierney, you must remember Lucy is terribly upset, now. Her fatherlies there, dead by a cruel blow, and she does not know that it waspurely accidental. He may not have been kind, but with all his faults hewas her father. You wouldn't think so much of Lucy if she forgot that. You'd want her to think first of him, and the poor little orphanedchildren. "

"It's right you are, Miss!" grasping her hand heartily once more. "She'sa good girl, is Lucy, and does her duty, allays. I'm glad she don'tforget it now. But it 'most drives me mad to be shut up here where Ican't help her out any. She'll be needing everything these days. "

"She shall want for nothing, Nate. Mr. Dalton will tell you the Worksare to pay Mr. Hapgood's funeral expenses, and continue his wages forthe present. And we women, who are neighbors, will look after the deargirl in other ways. Don't worry about Lucy a minute! Just keep your mindclear to tell your story exactly as it is, and your acquittal iscertain. "

He looked down into her fair, upturned face and thought that even in thesmudgy lantern's glow it looked like the face of some ministering angel. His own rugged visage worked with emotion. He could have kneeled to her, kissed her hand, touched the hem of her gown. But he only gave back herhand in a gentle manner, and said, "Thank you, ma'am! I'll trust 'em all with you. "

CHAPTER XXII. 

A VISIT TO LOZCOSKI. 

Joyce was called into the city by the Lozcoski affair the very next day. She was accompanied by George Dalton, also by a tablet filled withmemoranda. There were things to buy for the Bonnivels, the Hapgoods, andfor her own household. There was counsel to secure for Nate, somebusiness to transact with Mr. Barrington, and, lastly, the Lozcoskimatter. She could not expect anything but a busy, tiresome day. Thegaunt, haggard face of the Pole haunted her by times, and in the trainshe suddenly remarked to her manager, "I can't feel right over that Lozcoski! Every time I think of him I havea feeling that, somehow, he hasn't had fair play. There was an awfulanger and despair in his look when he saw Murfree, and an awful terrormet it. There has been wrong somewhere between those two men. You aresure the Pole had a fair trial?"

"Why, I suppose so. Of course he couldn't make himself understood verywell without an interpreter, and they had difficulty in findingone--indeed had to give it up, I think--but there seemed no doubt of thematter. "

"But why couldn't they find an interpreter?"

"Well, as I understand it, the man comes from some remote part of thecountry, and speaks a villainous patois that even an educated person ofhis own land can scarcely make out. He is very ignorant, and slow topick up our tongue. "

"Was Murfree his only accuser?"

"Virtually. Still, his written deposition was so clear one could notgainsay it, I have heard. "

"Written? Why did he not appear in court?"

"He was ill at the time, I believe. The fact is, it all happened oncewhen I was east on business, and I really know but little about it, except from hearsay. "

"Possibly this accounts for Lozcoski's anger against the man. Ignorantas he is, he has no sense of justice, perhaps. But he has sufferedcruelly, and I can't help feeling that there is something he resentswith all his soul. "

"How imaginative you are! Don't you think all wrong-doers resent theirpunishment?"

"No, I do not. Many times in my life I have felt that I was not gettingthe full measure of my dues in that way. In fact, the hardest things inmy experience have not come to me in the guise of reproof. I could notconnect them with any of my ill doings. They just came out of a clearsky, as it were. Often, when I have been naughtiest, I have seemed toescape with less of pain and trouble than when I have been trying to beexceptionally good. "

"Perhaps you were not logical enough to trace out cause and effect. "

"Possibly not. " She looked at him reflectively a moment. "I _am_ veryillogical, I fear. I once told myself that anything I might want to doto help Littleton would be over your dead body, almost. And, now, Inever make a move without looking to you for the encouragement andsupport that make it perfectly satisfactory. I ought to have read youbetter from the first!"

Dalton rigidly suppressed the tremor of emotion that shook him from headto foot, and after an instant's pause answered in a cool tone, "A man generally makes his employer's interests his own, doesn't he?"

She laughed sweetly. 

"Am I your employer? It seems funny, doesn't it? But you need not try toexplain it all away through your loyalty to my interests. I won'tbelieve that. You are just as much interested in these people as I am. You know every man, woman, and child by name and nature--now 'fess!Don't you?"

"I'd be a chump if I did not make that a part of my business, at leastto some extent. Of course I know some better than others. "

They fell into silence after that. George had no desire to talk. It wasenough to sit close beside a presence which meant the personification ofpurity and sweetness to him. Silence is never intrusive, She can sitbetween lovers, even, and shed a benediction upon both. It is onlynervousness and fear that will drive her away. Joyce spoke first, in atone almost of relief, "Here we are! Now, shall we go first to Mr. Barrington?"

"When I have all these weightier matters off my mind I can better enjoymy feminine errands, I imagine. "

"Certainly. And I hope we'll find him in. "

He reached down her umbrella and followed her from the coach. Thebrakeman winked at the porter, and jerked a thumb towards them, as theywalked leisurely down the platform. 

"Best looking bride I've seen this season!" he remarked emphatically. "And the groom's got no eyes for any one else. Gee! Don't her clothesfit, though?"

"It's her figger fits, " laughed the fat porter, with an unctuouschuckle. "Coffee sacks 'uld look well on her. "

Mr. Barrington soon put them on the right path for their legal quest, and before noon they were following a turnkey along a dim stonecorridor, which led to the hospital cell where Lozcoski was confined. Athird party trailed respectfully in their rear. He was an interpreterwhom Joyce had insisted upon securing, at a rather startling sum--for hewas reported versed in every patois of Poland--that they might have anopportunity to converse freely with his countryman, before the latterwas called upon to testify in the matter. 

As the cell door opened before them a wild figure started up from thebunk, and stared through the gloom with great eyes. Joyce drew back, half startled, and Dalton spoke quickly, in a tone of authority. 

"Bring this lady something to sit on outside here. She can't go inthere. "

A chair was brought, and he stood close beside her, repeating herlow-toned requests aloud to the interpreter. 

"Speak to him and tell him he has nothing to fear, that he is simply totell an honest story of why he tried to fire the Works, and that alljustice shall be granted him. "

At first Lozcoski did not seem to listen. Crouched in an attitude ofhopeless submission, he would not even raise his eyes as theinterpreter's voice skipped over the hard consonants of his nativetongue. 

But presently his head was thrown back and he spoke in a quick, passionate tone. He was answered in a soothing voice, then took up theword himself, and getting well started, went on faster and faster, gradually straightening himself, and beginning to gesticulate with hishands. Once he raised the right hand and spoke low and impressively, while both he and the interpreter bowed their heads. With every sentencethe latter's manner became more interested, and his short interrogationsmore eager. At last, as the narrative flowed on, he did not attempt tointerrupt for some time, then he raised a hand, spoke a sentence in anauthoritative manner, and turned to Dalton, seeming to think he was theperson to whom he should defer. 

"He tells a strange story, sir, " said he in English, "and he has swornto its truth by the most terrible oath in our religion. Shall I tell itto you now?"

"Yes, but speak low, " said Dalton, looking towards Joyce, who nodded. 

"It seems he, and the man who witnessed against him, both belong to thesame secret society--a Nihilistic affair, I take it, --and are sworn toeternal brotherhood, of course. Once, this man he mentions was in dangerof the law, and our prisoner here risked his life to save him. He doesnot explain all the details, but he was obliged to fly from Poland, andcame to this country. Arrived here he tried various ways of making aliving, and finally shipped as a sailor on a ship of war. He served fortwo months on the war-ship "Terror"--Joyce at this word looked up instartled fashion and turned pale--"but becoming disabled by a fall fromthe rigging, was left in hospital before its next cruise on the Floridacoast. When he recovered sufficiently to be discharged he was told thata branch of his Nihilistic society was in this city, and would lookafter him, if he could get here. He managed to beat his way through, andwas helped to work of various kinds for a month, or so. At length, onenight at a meeting of the society, he encountered his old friend, andgreeted him warmly. The man treated him well enough then, and theyrenewed their old intimacy, the other promising to find him a steady jobat some big factory near by. His promises did not materialize, and ourprisoner here appealed to him again and again, for he was destitute. Finally, at one of the monthly meetings, the old chum sought him out, and with a somewhat excited air said he was ready now to do him aservice, if he would come along home with him that night. Our prisoner, who had been so exceptionally slow in acquiring the English languagethat he found it difficult to secure work anywhere, listened to hispromises with much gratitude, and went along. The man took him to asmall village surrounding some big works, and kept Lozcoski shut in hisroom through the whole of the next day, explaining that scab workmenwere around and they must move carefully. That night the man roused himfrom sleep and told him to come along, for there was work for him atlast. It was to be night work, but that was the best he could do forhim. Suspecting no harm, he gladly went along and, directed by theother, was set to piling certain light trash against different parts ofthe building. The place was unlighted except by the glow of the furnacesinside, and he did not clearly know what he was doing. The otherdirected every movement, then left him standing in the deep shadow of anangle in the building, saying he would return in a moment. He was goingafter the boss. Lozcoski waited a long time. After a while there wereloud shouts, and he could see that there was a glare all about him, asif of fire. He stepped out to see what had happened, and saw menrunning. Suddenly his chum sprang around the angle and caught him by theshoulder, pressing him forward. The men, at his call, turned and sawhim. They were surrounded, and the chum talked loudly, and seemeddenouncing our friend here. At any rate, they seized him and took himoff to jail. He vainly tried to make some one comprehend the right andwrong of it, but could not make himself understood. Even the interpreterprovided could not thoroughly understand him, and took his exciteddenunciations against the traitor as the ravings of one half insane withtrouble. He does not rightly know, even yet, what he is imprisoned for, but his whole soul is bitter against that man, and he means to kill himyet, if it is the last thing he does on earth!"

George and Joyce looked at each other. 

"You divined it, " he murmured. 

"Yes, to a certain extent. This Lozcoski must have justice, and so--somust Murfree. "

"Yet you will hate to punish him, I can see!" His eyes, looking downinto hers, were soft and shining, and held that little twinkle of tenderridicule which he seemed to reserve for her. She no longer resented it, however. She knew the loyalty that tempered it. She said in the same lowtone, "I want a question asked. "

"The queen has but to command. "

"Thanks, sir courtier. Ask who commanded that war-ship they spoke of. "

Dalton turned to the interpreter, who put the question. 

Lozcoski shook his head in replying, and the other explained, "He hasforgotten. "

"Then let him tell about the night he came to the Social-house, "suggested the "queen, " and the narrative was resumed. 

It was not long. Lozcoski, while in prison, brooded over the wrong donehim, day and night. When the fire gave him opportunity, he managed toescape with two other convicts, and leaving them at the first chance, hemade his way to Littleton, resolving never to leave there until he hadpunished his man. He had chanced upon Dan's retreat, evidently, and hadlived as he could for days, but on extremely short rations, as thefields were all harvested and berry time over. At night he would walkinto town and wait around, hoping to see his victim. But the old man waswary and nearly always traveled in company. If Lozcoski had possessed arevolver he could have made short work of him, but having no means toprocure any he had to wait for a personal encounter. The night he cameto the Social-house he had been three days without food, and was insanewith hunger. He had but two ideas in his disordered brain--to eat, andto kill. He must do the first in order to gain strength for the second. Even the actual sight of his enemy, before the door of the refreshmentroom, could not detain him from the food that he had caught sight ofthrough the door. His hunger partly appeased, he had started out boldlyto find Murfree, who fled for home on seeing him. Finding no one there, however, and afraid to be alone, he had rushed back again, feelingsafety in numbers. He was just in time to meet his avenger in the hall, and in spite of the onlookers, the Pole's terrible onslaught had nearlyfinished him. 

Dalton put several searching questions, then assuring the prisoner, through the interpreter, that matters should be righted, and hissurroundings made comfortable at once, they left him with a new look onhis worn face. 

After leaving the interpreter, well satisfied with his morning's work, they were standing at a corner waiting for a trolley, when Joyce said ina weary voice, "Is that all we have to do together?"

Dalton glanced down at her, and his lips twitched a little at thecorners. 

"For the present, I fear. Luncheon comes next, doesn't it? I hadhoped--but I heard you accept Mr. Barrington's invitation to his house. "

"Yes, " absently. "Then I won't see you again?"

"What train did you think of taking for home?"

"I want to take the 5. 13, if I can make it, but may have to wait for the6. 05. Which do you take?"

"I'll be there for the 5. 13. "

"All right!" cheerfully. "I'll try and be there. It's so much pleasanterto have company. Is this my car?"

He helped her on, and stepped back to await his own, going to anotherpart of the city. 

"Poor little thing!" he thought. "How the contact with crime sickensher. I can always see it. Yet she will not swerve from her good work, though she might sit lapped in luxury. They say those soldiers whosicken and tremble when going into the fight often make the bravestheroes. She is the pluckiest little fighter I ever saw, but it isherself she conquers--and me!"

CHAPTER XXIII. 

WAITING FOR THE TRAIN. 

It was a hard day for Joyce. Luncheon was late at Mr. Barrington's, andthe purchases she must make took her far and near. It seemed impossibleto get through for the 5. 13 train; but she was somewhat astonished tofind herself rushing from counter to counter, and eagerly consulting herlittle watch for fear she should miss it. 

"But what if I do?" she asked herself. "I told them not to hurry dinner, and I can be at home soon after seven by the next train. What's the usein making myself ill by scrambling about like this?"

Yet, despite all arguing, as the moments fled her eagerness increased, and though she would not say, even to her own soul, "It is becauseGeorge Dalton is taking that train, " still something did say it withinher, in utter disregard of her own proud disclaiming of any such motive. She even neglected one or two quite important purchases of her own, sothat she might board a car for the distant depot with a minute or two ofleeway, as she calculated. 

But we have all heard about those plans that "go agley. "

To her impatience the delays seemed endless, and she fairlyanathematized herself, because she had not run a block or two to acab-stand, and bidden one race the distance for double fare. Greattrucks seemed determined to appropriate the rails and ignore allsignals. At one place a jam of traffic stopped them entirely for aspace. At a certain railway crossing they had to wait before the gates, Joyce in an ill-concealed agony of impatience, while a long freighttrain steamed slowly by. She felt half tempted to spring out and walk, then calmed herself with a contemptuous, "How silly! I can take the next train. It will be tedious waiting, andno wonder I dread it, but I can buy something at the news-stand toread. "

She scarcely waited for her car to stop when opposite the long, massivestone building, and, rushing through the great, ever-swinging doors, shetraversed the office corridors with rapid tread, her hands too full ofpackages to consult her watch. But twisting her head to see the roundclock, just above the entrance, with its great brass weights ponderouslydoling off the time, in plain view, she started with dismay, for itshands remorselessly pointed to fourteen minutes past five. One minutelate. It was too provoking! She felt the tears close, and dashed on downthe long steps leading to the passenger gates, at the risk of fallingfull length. She hoped against hope that some unprecedented event mighthave delayed the train. But as she sped along beside the cruel steelnetting that shut her from the railway tracks, she realized that she wasbaffled. The one she was interested in was already pulling out from theend of the long depot. She could see it through the lace-work of steel, and knew every hope was gone. She must calm herself and wait. But shecould not refrain from watching it a moment, with hungry eyes, pressedlike a child's against the barrier. It was carrying George home, and shewas left behind! She felt like a deserted waif, and looked it. Somebody, watching the little pantomime from behind a baggage truck not far away, read in the gaze almost more than he dared to believe. 

"Her disappointment is not on your account, you booby!" he told himselffrankly. "Don't be an idiot. "

Joyce turned sadly, wearily, towards the waiting-room. 

Her drooping figure, so unlike her usual erect and joyous bearing, proclaimed her dejection, as well as fatigue. 

She felt utterly spent. 

She had not reached the room when a hand lightly touched her shoulder. She turned quickly to meet George Dalton's smiling gaze, and her ownface amply reflected his gladness. As he saw it a new expression leapedto his eyes. They were brilliant--were they triumphant, too? But hecontrolled himself to speak in an even, sensible tone. 

"Let me take your packages. You are loaded down. "

"Oh, it is you?" cried Joyce, catching her breath. "You didn't take thetrain then? Were you late, too?"

"I couldn't seem to get away, somehow, " he answered with nonchalance, heaping the packages up methodically on one arm, and avoiding herglance. "But we've plenty of time for the next, " laughing mischievously. "Can you stand it to wait an hour?"

"I'll have to, won't I?" But she did not look oppressed by theanticipation, he could see. 

"We'll try and mitigate its horrors, " he remarked as they slowly mountedthe stairs. "I'll secure the best rocker the room affords, and all theperiodicals on the stand, if you say so. "

"Oh, must I read?" she cried naively. "I thought we might talk, perhaps. "

He looked away suddenly. He dare not meet her softened gaze just then. 

"We will do whatever you wish, " he said in a steady tone, after aminute. "Now, let's see. "

They had reached the room, and he took a calm survey of it, in all itsdetails. Then he marched up to a small urchin who, with much effort, wasrocking a large chair to and fro, his chubby legs just reaching to theedge of its broad seat. 

"I'm afraid you are working too hard, my son, " he remarked blandly. "Just take these pennies, and drop them in the slot of that machine overin the farthest corner--see? There's no knowing what will drop out inreturn. "

"I know!" cried the youth all agrin. "It's butter-scotch, or gum. I'veseed that kind before. "

He toddled briskly off with the handful of pennies and Dalton drew thevacated chair into a quiet nook, where the light fell softly and thecrowd did not gather. 

"Follow! Follow!" he called in a low tone over his shoulder, and, smiling happily, Joyce obeyed. 

He seated her, heaped her many parcels on a convenient marble slab nearby, then stood and looked at her a moment. 

"I think you'll do, " he observed in a whimsical tone, "but there's onething more. "

"Yes, a chair for you, " she returned eagerly. 

His bronzed cheek took on a perceptible tinge of red. 

"Thank you! I would not mind sitting on the floor, I think--just there, "and his tan toe lightly touched a spot just beyond the edge of her gown. "But, for custom's sake, I'll find a chair. We are not Turks, you see. "

He strode away quite out of sight, but after some time returned, dragging an arm chair over the tiling. In his other hand he gingerlyheld a quaint little Indian basket, gaily stained, and inwoven withsweet-scented grass. It was heaped with great yellow peaches, each witha crimson cheek, while, flung carelessly among them, were clusters ofgrapes in their perfection, purple-blue and whitish-green, promisingrare sweetness and flavor. 

"They were the best I could find, but scarcely good enough for you, " heremarked deprecatingly, as he placed the basket in her hand. 

"Oh, beautiful! What delicious fruit! And where did you ever find such apretty, fragrant basket?"

"Have you never noticed the old squaw, who sits mutely amid her waresnear the traffic gate? She declared this her choicest creation, hermasterpiece, indeed. I am so glad you admire it!"

"The whole thing is lovely. It makes me hungry to look at this fruit, and yet it seems too pretty, just as it is, to spoil by dipping intoit. "

He laughed and, selecting the largest peach of all, began to pare itwith his own pocket-knife, making a plate and napkin of his newspaper. With careful slowness he pared and stoned and quartered it, then handedher the segments on a bit of the paper torn from a clean spot. 

"Such immense pains!" she laughed, as she received the offering. 

"It is very little I can do for you, " he murmured in return, and lookedoff through the window, though nothing but an expanse of unlighted brickwall could be found beyond. 

Joyce did not answer. She ate her fruit slowly, as if luxuriating in itstaste. Presently she looked up. 

"And won't you eat any of my peaches?" she asked archly, with alingering emphasis on the "my. "

"Indeed I will!" reaching with eager haste for the one she offered. 

She had selected the finest one left and, as his fingers touched it, sheclung to it an instant. 

"So you _will_ take a peach from me?" she said, with an odd expression;"Especially after being the one to secure it to me. "

"Oh yes, with pleasure. "

"I'm glad your pride has limits, " laughing and flushing a little. "Somepeople are proud over everything. "

"I am proud over seeing you enjoy my little gift. "

"And I am proud over being the recipient of your gift, which strikes meas not being so 'little' as you seem to think it. After all, this matterof giving and taking should be very simple; don't you see? Thesurcharged cloud pours its electricity into the empty one, and both areequalized. But has the full cloud any more to boast of than the other?"

He smiled. 

"I think I never saw any one so ingenious in pleas for the sharingsystem. Possibly, if you were the empty cloud you would feeldifferently. "

"I hope not. I think it takes a larger nature to receive nobly than togive nobly. "

"So do I. It takes a nature so great few men have attained to it, " hesaid quickly. "I acknowledge that I have not. "

"'A fault confessed is half redressed', " murmured Joyce. 

"_Is_ pride a fault?" he asked quickly. 

"Isn't it? According to the Bible it's a large one, almost a crime. " Herlaughing eyes sought his, and she continued, "Now, I haven't a particleof pride. I've eaten one peach and I want another. Moreover, I want itpared and quartered. "

They were almost as isolated in their little corner as if in a nook ofthe woods. The crowds surged to and fro, and its units were "but astrees walking" to their oblivious eyes. Joyce was discovering new depthsin George Dalton's nature. He was a thinker, and as his thinking hadgrown out of contact with men, rather than from grubbing in books, itwas often of a unique and picturesque kind. 

He saw the ludicrous in everything, and, with all his practicality, there was a strain of romance so fresh and young mingled with it, thatit made a boy of him whenever he was dominated by it. He was the boyto-night, and as he leaned towards Joyce, talking in an undertone, hiseye bright, his laughter frequent, his manner full of respectfulfriendliness, she forgot that he had ever seemed hard, cold, and givenover to business alone. 

At length the call of a train at some distant doorway startled Joyce, and she glanced around. 

"Isn't that our train he's calling? It can't be! But I'm afraid it is. "

Each consulted a watch, and looked guiltily at the other. 

"It has been very short, " said Joyce involuntarily. 

"And very sweet!" added George below his breath. "Well, come on, littleparcels. One-two-three-four--have I got them all? Why--what is it?"

The girl's face had a piteous look as it was turned to his. 

"I had forgotten it all--the Hapgoods, Lozcoski, poor Nate! We were aseasy as if there were no trouble anywhere. It all rushed over me oncemore, and I felt, for the instant, that I could never bear it again. Butyou will help me? You'll understand now, and not think me foolish andcrazy, as you sometimes do?"

"Do I? I did not know it. I'll stand by you in everything, never fear!Come, child, or we'll miss this train, too. "

She preceded him without a word, and he was glad to keep quite behindfor a little, for when he remembered how he had called her "child" hisface was hot with embarrassment. He had never forgotten before. Had shenoticed? Her face told him nothing. 

As they hurried out through the gates and down the platform to theirwaiting train, the passengers were descending from another, justarrived. Hastily crossing this tide transversely two men, arm in arm, passed them close in the busy throng. 

There was a familiar look about one of them, Joyce thought, as she hadjust a side glimpse while hurrying by. But, absorbed in her own haste, she did not notice particularly. George stopped short and turned for aninstant, then kept on just behind her. He had recognized Nate, and knewhim to be in charge of an officer, doubtless being conveyed to thecounty jail. He had not expected this event till morning, and had meant, himself, to prepare the poor fellow for it. Saddened and angry that theman had been so summarily dealt with, Dalton's face took on its sternestlook, which Joyce caught as they seated themselves. 

Not knowing its cause, she was startled and chagrined at the change. What had she said, or done, to cause it?

Silently ruminating amid the sweet experiences of the day she failed tofind any clue, till he at length said, with a sigh. 

"I have something to tell you. I thought at first I would keep it tomyself, but I'd rather tell you, myself, than have you hear itelsewhere. They've taken poor Nate away. Did you notice, just now----"

"Was that he--with the tall man arm in arm? And was the tall man anofficer?"

George nodded to both questions. 

"Yes, I'm sorry to say. "

"Oh, poor Nate. He will be heart broken. Why couldn't they have left himthere? Till after the funeral at least. Oh, my friend, we have been toothoughtless to-day! Our people at home have been suffering. "

"And, had you been the sufferer, would you begrudge others a bit ofjoy?"

"No, no, indeed!"

"Then why be self-reproachful now? We have done what we could for them, and that is all even they could ask. We will not spoil the day withregrets, or self-upbraidings, now. "

He spoke in a deep voice, and added hesitantly, after a moment, "I have not had so much happiness, myself, but that I am greedy of it. This day will stand out from all the days of my life. On it you, JoyceLavillotte, called me, George Dalton, friend!"

CHAPTER XXIV. 

NIGHT WATCHERS. 

The funeral of William Hapgood was over. Death had dignified him, andfew ventured to speak of him as "Bill, " just now. Lucy had weptconvulsively in her very long and very black veil, and Tilly and Rufiehad sniveled on either side of her, after a last shrill quarrel overwhich should wear the black jacket, and which the cape with a blackribbon bow, that Joyce had provided. 

The whole village had attended the obsequies at the pretty new church, and favorably commented thereon. Mrs. Hemphill thought it a "turriblewaste" that they did not have the silver name-plate taken off thecasket, however, and declared solemnly:

"Them that buries silver's like to dig fur copper 'fore they dietheirselves. "

But the women were all deeply impressed with Lucy's genteel mourningcostume, and felt an added respect for the little creature in hertrailing crêpe. Marie and Babette were in and out continually, aidingand suggesting, and Rachel had stayed with Lucy every night. 

During one of these she and Babette had been asked to "sit up with thecorpse, " Gus Peters and Dan being chosen to share their vigil. It hadtaken much urging to induce Dan to feel it his duty, but at last he hadgiven in with a good grace, and appeared with Gus promptly at theappointed hour. With these people a funeral was often the forerunner ofa wedding. It was quite the proper thing for those "keeping company"together to sit out the long night hours beside the dead, and too oftena keg of liquor was tapped, over which hilarity reigned to a ghastlydegree. 

There was no danger of that in this case, though. Neither Gus, nor Dan, was of the drinking set, and Lucy had a horror of the stuff, so wouldnot have it in the house. All was decorum over the body of the man whohad been ruined by his own appetite. 

They sat around the fire the cool fall evenings required, and talked inlow tones. Once in a while one or another of the boys would step intothe little room off, a minute, then come quietly back to the group. BillHapgood had good care that night. But after a time the little groupseemed to disintegrate into pairs. Gus and Babette, sitting side by sideon the old lounge, dropped their voices to whispers, while Dan andRachel, somewhat withdrawn from each other, slowly rocked in two oldcane chairs. As Dan returned to his seat after one of his short absenceswith the dead, he flung a glance toward the other couple and remarked, sotto voce. 

"Gus is getting lots of cheek since he come to be an architect. Therewas a time he darsn't look at Bab. "

"He always liked her, though. "

"Oh, of course. Who don't? She's pretty and good and gay. But she feltabove Gus, once. "

"Did she? I never thought so. "

"_He_ thought so. She would hardly notice him. "

"Sometimes, " said Rachel slowly, "folks feel offish themselves, andimagine everybody else does. I've heard Freda Wilkes talk about folksslighting her, when she'd go along the street with her head so high theycouldn't anybody reach up to her. I'm some that way myself, mother says. But I don't know it till it's over. I get to thinking, and forget what'saround me. It seems to me, often, as if there was a lot more things inthis world--yes, and people too--than we can see around us. I don'tbelieve in ghosts, either, at least not the scarey kind, but sometimes Iseem to get off this earth into something higher and better. It's then Iforget folks. But it isn't pride. I never feel how little and ignorant Iam as at those times. "

Dan rocked on silently and looked at the fire. 

He loved to hear Rachel talk. There was a peculiar cadence in her voice, a rich depth, unusual in young women. There was not a shrill nor commonstrain in it. That "high" look Joyce had noted went with high thoughts, and a voice undertoned by a beautiful soul. Dan felt this withoutthinking it out in so many words. Another idea began to force its wayinto his moody brain. Just because Rachel had this unusual quality, thispower of looking inward, might she not understand the complexities ofhis life better than others? He wondered in his tense silence, but didnot raise his eyes to see. 

His silence finally chilled Rachel, and she, too, began to stare at thefire. The low talk of the other couple ceased and Gus said, explanatorily, "We were just speaking of Mr. Dalton and Miss Lavillotte. Bab thinksthat'll be a match. "

"She's good enough for a king, " said Babette, "and as pretty and grandas a princess, and he is our king here. Why shouldn't it be all right?"

"She's different from him, though, " returned Rachel slowly. "She's beenbrought up different, Mr. Dalton has made himself a gentleman, but shedidn't have to be made. She is a lady born. "

"She must have money, too, " said Gus. "She's real generous, I hear; andI guess it's true, for I know she has a kind way with her. "

"I don't know about her having much money, " said Rachel, "but she seemsto feel that we all belong to her, somehow, and that she's got to lookafter us. If the Works, and the whole town, too, was her own shecouldn't be more interested. "

"She consults lots with Dalton, " spoke up Dan. "But they say they'reconnections of some kind, and he looks after what property she's got. "

"Then she has means?" asked Babette. 

"Must have considerable, " replied Gus. "That old fellow that works forher told me, once, that if she wanted to she could make a big splurge, but she wouldn't do it. He hinted as if she had reasons for being sointerested here, but I couldn't pump a thing out of him. I guess helikes to boast pretty well, and he thinks she made the earth, anyhow. "

"It's queer, " mused Rachel, "that the new boss has never appeared in allthese changes and improvements. I should think he'd want to see forhimself what's going on. If he cares enough to do so much, he ought tocare enough to come and look on. "

"But he's in Europe, ain't he?"

"What makes you think so, Dan?"

"I asked Mr. Dalton, once, if he'd be here before we put in the newannealing furnace, just to see what he'd say, and he answered that hethought not. It would be a long time before young Early would reachthese shores. So I concluded he was across the water. "

"You didn't like Miss Lavillotte at first, did you, Rachel?" asked youngPeter. 

The girl laughed out, a low laugh in deference to the dead. 

"Yes, I liked her so well I tried not to notice her! I expected she'd dosomething high and mighty to make me mad, so I held myself back. But Ifound I didn't need to. I was soon ashamed of it. She can't help lookingdifferent from others. A china cup isn't to blame for looking finer andwhiter than a brown jug. It's made so!"

"Speaking of cups and jugs makes me hungry, somehow, " observed Gus, glancing about him. 

"Didn't they say something about a lunch for us, Bab?"

"Yes, it's all fixed there in the cupboard. Want me to make you a cup ofcoffee? You know I can make good coffee, Gus. "

Babette could not help being coquettish, even amid solemn surroundingsat two o'clock in the morning. As she spoke she glanced sidewise at theyoung man and tossed back her pretty curling locks from her forehead. Ina few minutes the coffee-pot was slowly steaming over the little gasgrate, a delicious odor beginning to exude from its spout. 

The girls, with quiet movements, drew a small table before the hearth, and set out thereon cold meat, bread, and milk, also the inevitable pieof the Americanized workman. The boys helped them, or pretended to, andeven Dan grew sociable under the sense of close companionship and goodcheer. 

They had finished their impromptu meal, but were still at the table, thoroughly enjoying themselves, half forgetful of the awesome figure inthe next room, when out of the weird stillness came a sudden cry, and adull thud, as of some body falling against a solid obstruction. 

Babette clutched at Gus, while Dan's hand involuntarily closed overRachel's, outstretched in terror. Then, ashamed of the momentary start, he drew it away and rose from his chair. 

"Sit still, " he said, "till I look into this. "

He stepped into the little room, Gus at his heels, but both turned backat once, assured all was right there. 

"It's outside, " said Dan, in a low voice. "Some drunken man, probably. You stay with the girls, and I'll go out and see. "

"Not much, " said Gus indignantly. "Guess I'm no more afraid than youare!"

He had no idea of appearing cowardly before the girl of his heart. Butshe clung to him. 

"Oh Gus, I'm scared to death! Don't go. "

Dan had already let himself out, bidding Rachel lock the door behindhim. She turned now to Babette. 

"Come, come, Bab!" she said. "We are not going to be nervous andfrighten the children. "

She was interrupted by a shriek, long and blood-curdling. The girlsclung together, and Gus rushed out after Dan, fearing something terriblehad occurred. A frightened cry from upstairs was almost a relief fromthe strain, and the girls fled back to the stairway door to meet Lucyand the little girls, who were huddled there in a great fright. 

"What is it?" they asked in a whispered chorus. "Is pa all right?"

Rachel was the only one calm enough to answer. 

"Some drunken fellow, likely. Come out by the fire, girls, or you'lltake cold. Dan has gone to see about it. "

"And Gus, " added Babette jealously, finding her voice to defend herlover. 

They all crouched together before the fire, Rachel bringing a shawl towrap around the scantily clad sisters, and the five enlarged upon theevent in all its details, as people do whose range of thought is notwide. The morning twilight was gray in the room when a noise outsidecaught their attention. 

"Dan! I know his step, " cried Rachel in a joyous tone, springing to openthe door. 

Lucy and the children fled to shelter behind the stairway door, andremained there to hear without being seen. Dan stumbled in with anexhausted air, and dropped into a chair. 

"Hasn't Gus come?" he asked. 

"No, where is he?" cried Babette excitedly. "You didn't leave him alonewith the thing, did you?"

Dan smiled. 

"The 'thing', as you call it, was poor old Murfree. He got out of bedwhile the nurse was asleep, and has been wandering around enough to killa well person. I did not know who I was following for a long time, forsure, but I suspected it was Murfree when I saw he was undressed. He ledme an odd chase, I tell you!"

"Oh, tell us all about it!" piped up Tilly from the stairway. 

Dan looked towards it, then broke into a laugh, perhaps the first realmirthful sound that had passed his lips since his brother's death. Itmade Rachel's heart beat faster with joy and surprise. 

"All right!" he said. "I will. It don't seem like a sick man could doit, but he did. He struck out for the Works as soon as I got outside andI after him. Didn't you hear him shriek. He was quite a ways ahead, andI let him keep so. Soon as I was sure about him I knew I oughn't tofrighten him by waking him too sudden. "

"Why, was he asleep?" This from Rufie. 

"Sure! But what he did was the queerest. He began dodging in and outaround the sheds, and every now and then he'd stoop and seem to befixing something. Then he'd motion like he was lightin' a match. I keptback and watched him. I knew by this time he was either doing oversomething he'd done before which had come to him in a dream, or elsesomebody had hypnotized him. He moved just like a machine. I keptthinking he'd drop, for it seemed as if he must be worn out, but hedidn't for a long time. "

"But where was Gus all this while?" asked Babette. 

"I don't know. I think he went some other way. I didn't see him againtill Murfree had led me along opposite of Dodge's cow-shed. As long asthe man was making for home I wouldn't disturb him. But right there whatI expected happened. He fell in a dead faint. And just then, mightyluckily for me, Gus came up. We couldn't manage him alone, so we calledup Jim Dodge out of bed, and he helped us get him into the house. Everybody was out hunting Murfree up, so we had to stay till I couldcall Dr. Browne by 'phone and we could get him warmed up once more. Ileft Gus there, to come and tell you, for I knew you'd worry. I guessthis night'll finish poor old Tonguey Murfree! Queer, wasn't it?"

He was looking at Rachel, and she answered, thrilling to the naturalnessof his look and tone, after these weary months of deepest gloom andsilence. The old Dan seemed to have come back to her out of the long, gruesome night. She understood, without explanation, that theseadventures had taken him out of himself, that care and thought forothers had lifted him above the murk of his own despair. He was asalert, interested, and ready to talk, as ever he used to be. As sheplied him with questions she longed in some tangible way to show herquickened sympathy and gladness. She wanted to clasp his hand, to touchhis arm, to smile up into his eyes. But she was proud; and then shefeared to break the happy spell. 

Instead, she set the coffee over, and when it had boiled, brought it tohis side. 

"I know you're tired and hungry, Dan. I'll fix you up a cup that willmake you fresh again. You like just a little milk, I know, but plenty ofsugar. And here's the last piece of pie. "

Rachel was true to the traditions of her class. She knew the way to aman's heart. Dan ate and drank, feeling that some barrier was downbetween them. This was not the Rachel of yesterday, who without seemingto repulse him, yet held herself so high and far he dare not believe inher kindness, even. Was it his hand that had swept that barrier away?Yet he had sworn never to do that while the memory of his brother stoodbetween them, for he firmly believed that Rachel had been Will'spromised wife. 

CHAPTER XXV. 

CAMILLE SPEAKS OUT. 

"There's George Dalton going to Joyce's again, " remarked Camille, turning from the library window which looked towards the other house. "They seem to find plenty of matters to discuss, lately. "

"I can well believe it, " replied her mother calmly. "What with hurryingto complete all the houses before snow falls, and looking after Nate'strial and Lucy's family, it keeps Joyce on the anxious seat. "

"Oh well, she likes it, " laughed the girl. "There, he's gone in now. Healways comes to the house to talk nowadays, instead of her going to theoffice. "

"It's a better plan, I think. "

"You always think everything is either good, better, or best, mother. But it seems to me----"

She stopped to study the Madame's sightless countenance, until that ladyasked, laughingly, "Well, what has cut you off, child? I imagine you suspended in mid-air. "

Camille joined in the laugh, but not too heartily. 

"I was going to say, it seems to me there's something more than businessin it all, ma mère. "

Madame Bonnivel looked up quickly. 

"Are you justified in saying that, daughter?"

"I don't know. I only spoke of the way in which it strikes me. Therenow! He's coming out, and Joyce with him. She has on her new jacket andher best walking hat. I do verily believe they are going into the city. And I was going myself this afternoon, then gave it up--how provoking!She looks odd, Joyce does. "

"How, odd?"

"Well, excited perhaps. She doesn't seem to see, or think, of anythingbut just what she is doing. I wonder if anything has happened, or ifit's just being with him?"

"Camille, dear, is it quite the thing to stand and comment on yourneighbor, so?"

"Why, it's only Joyce, mother. And I won't any longer. She's out ofsight now, anyway, and gone straight toward the station, too. But, Iwill maintain, she consults twice as much with that manager lately aswith you, mother. You know that as well as I do. "

A slight contraction of the Madame's smooth brow proved that the shafthad hit. 

"Yes, that is probable enough. It isn't to be wondered at, either. He isher manager, and an excellent one. Camille, did you say Leon enclosed anote to Joyce in his last letter to you?"

The girl's face broke into a mischievous grin. "What made you think ofthat just now, dear? Yes he did, but it was a short one, and she didn'tshow it to me. I wish he would come home!"

The Madame sighed. 

"So do I. After all, what prospects in life has a naval officer withoutprivate property? He must always be gone from home, where he may beexposed to unknown dangers. He can scarcely hope to form family ties. "

"Humph! Joyce's husband needn't be in the navy, if she doesn't like tohave him, mother. "

"Hush, child, don't be absurd! They are like brother and sister. "

"But they are not brother and sister, and I'm glad of it--if that Daltonwill keep his distance. I don't know but it's my duty to make up to him, myself. "

"Camille! Don't be coarse. "

"Coarse! You ought to hear most of the girls talk. Well, good-by. I toldJoyce I'd go and tend library this afternoon, and I must be off. I'llsend Dodo in to keep you out of mischief. "

She stooped to kiss the smooth cheek, where time had been sparing ofwrinkles, and her mother drew her down for a closer caress. 

"Adieu, my love. One of the lessons my blindness teaches me is that, agreat many times in this world, the hardest work we are given is just tosit one side and neither speak, nor act. It is then prayer becomes anunspeakable blessing. "

"Mother, you're awfully good! I won't meddle; don't worry. Here's Dodo. She hasn't learned that lesson yet, bless her heart! Now don't let Mammamope, Blossom. "

"Me'll tate tare ob her, S'e tan p'ay wiv mine Wobin, an' hol' minedolly. "

Camille disappeared, throwing kisses as she went. The library shementioned was one in connection with the school, and somewhat chaotic incondition. Joyce had bought a selected lot of good reading matter inpaper covers, with which to start a circulating library, and with theassistance of the Bonnivels, was getting it in shape. In the absence ofa catalogue the books were now numbered on the backs, and when issuedthe corresponding number, on a slip of paper marked the vacant place onthe shelf. In addition, the name of the drawer had to be recorded, making the work of distribution something of a task. As yet no regularlibrarian had been appointed. Joyce thought that either Dan or Rachelcould do the work satisfactorily, but both were valuable glass-workers, and Dalton demurred at giving up any of their time. So the matterrested. 

Though well into the Fall the day had come off sunny and mild. Asalways, in such weather, that part of the population not confined in thefactory was pretty well turned out of doors. Camille, crossing the parkfrom one end to the other, noted the women standing about in groups, orpassing from cottage to cottage, and wondered when they ever found timefor their household duties. She exchanged pleasant nods with those shemet--all liked her gay, gypsyish face and easy manners--and was in greatgood humor when the school-house was reached. 

It was still early and the children not dismissed, but already a largegroup of women were waiting in the library room. Among these, so demureand still as to seem oldest of all, waited Lucy Hapgood. Camille couldscarcely keep back a smile at sight of her incongruous attire. Her gownwas a cotton one of a washed out indigo-blue, with large polka spotsthat had once been white, before the other color had beclouded them. Over this, as if apologizing and condoning, streamed the sombre veil, more suitable for a widow than for that round-faced child. But Lucy drewit about her with a tender touch, as she sat apart, and Camille couldplainly note her satisfaction in its heavy folds. 

The latter at once began her work of distribution, that these olderpeople might be disposed of before the school children should cometrooping in. When Lucy's turn arrived, and she took her place before thelittle railing, like a veiled oriental mute, Camille looked down uponher with an air of good comradeship, and said, "I know you'll want something bright and wide awake. I don't believe youlike doleful books any better than I do. "

Lucy's demure face lightened, but she seemed to hesitate for a reply. 

"I did like that kind, " she said finally, "but now I don't know. Mis'Hemphill said I ought to read something sober, nowadays. There's a bookabout a girl that was took up because they thought she'd killed herfather, and they tried to torment and torture her into telling. "

"Good gracious! Such a book would be the death of you. Is she crazy?I'll pick you out something. Now, here's the loveliest story! It's abouttwo merry, sensible girls who found themself obliged to earn their ownliving. They did not sit down and cry, but just went about it, as gayand jolly as you please, and they had lots of funny adventures, butconquered in the end. I know you'd like it. "

Lucy looked at the volume wistfully. 

"Do you think I ought to?" she whispered. 

"Of course I do. Why not? Look it over, at least. "

She took the book, dipped into it here and there, looked at theillustrations, then glanced up with a flushing cheek. 

"I know I'd like it and, if you say so--"

"Certainly I say so. What's its number?"

"One hundred and twenty. "

"All right. Now, you read every word of it, and tell me how you like itwhen you bring it back, will you?"

Lucy tucked it carefully under her veil, but lingered. 

"Isn't Miss Lav'lotte going to be here to-day?"

"No, I think she went into the city, probably to see Mr. Nate Tierney. "

Camille spoke deliberately, turning to replace a volume in the largepine case as she did so. 

"Do--do you know where 'tis she goes to see him?" asked the girl in alow voice, glancing about her with a furtive air. 

Camille looked at her quickly. 

"Don't you know? Haven't they told you?'"

"Then he is in--jail?"

Camille nodded regretfully. 

"I kinder thought maybe Mr. Dalton might get him out, " was the nextremark in a despairing tone. 

"I hope they will soon, Lucy, but it takes time. Have you been to seehim yet?"

"I?" Lucy started, and stared at her. 

"Yes, you to be sure. He has been such a good friend of yours. Of coursethey'll do all they can--Mr. Dalton and Joyce--but you know him so muchbetter he could tell you things he wouldn't them. Then, he must getawfully lonely for his own friends. He suffers terribly over it all. "

"But--but--you know what he's in jail for?"

"Of course. But nobody believes he is guilty. Miss Lavillotte says, andso does every one, that it was just an accident. "

"He was mad at pa, though, fearful mad!"

"Yes, he owns to that. But he had gotten control of himself. He simplymeant to shut him up where he could not harm you. "

Lucy sighed. 

"I wish I was sure. Nate never lied to me in his life. If he'd say itsolemn and true I'd believe it. "

"Why don't you go to see him, then, and ask all about it?"

"Oh, I couldn't What would people say?"

She shrank back as if from a blow. 

"Do you always stop to think about that?" asked Camille with contempt. "Why don't you figure out what is really right and then go ahead? I do. "

Lucy studied her a minute, then asked in return, "Do you think it's right to care more for other folks than for your ownfamily?"

"I don't think it's natural, but, if you do, there must be somethingwrong with the family. We generally like those nearest to us, if they'lllet us. "

"Yes, that's so, " said the other eagerly, as if new light were coming toher. 

"As far as family is concerned, though, I like Joyce Lavillotte betterthan any cousin I have, almost better than my own sister, and she is norelation at all. "

"Isn't she?"

"Not the slightest. And my mother, I do believe, likes her better thananybody in the world. "

"Not better'n you--her own girl?"

"Just as well, I'm sure. And it's all right, too. I would not have itotherwise. They say this Mr. Tierney has always been kindness itself toyou and the children; I should think you ought to love him just as wellas if he were your big brother. "

"Do you think so--really?"

"I know it. "

Something of perplexed sadness fell away from the child's face, and justthen the measured beat of young feet being marched through the hallsproclaimed that school was dismissed. Lucy turned quickly and grasped atCamille. 

"Say, I don't know where to go nor how to get at him. I don't know whereto write to him, even. If you'd tell Miss Lav'lotte, don't you b'lieveshe'd go with me, or something? She's so kind. "

"Of course she would. I'll tell her. "

"And see here, you--you won't tell anybody else?" speaking low andhurriedly for the children were at the door. 

"Tell! Of course not! But Lucy, what ails you is you have been so usedto care and sorrow that you don't dare to catch the least ray ofsunshine that comes to you. Now, that's all wrong. You ought to talkwith my mother. Come and see us some day, on the knoll, will you? Comesoon. "

"Oh may I? How lovely to ask me!" Lucy's face fairly shone at thethought. "Good by, " she whispered, fairly squeezing Camille's littlebrown paw, "good-by. I'll come, sure, " and dropping the thick veil tohide smiles rather than tears, she glided out between the ranks ofimpatient children, who looked after her with awed interest. 

That evening Camille, full of frank curiosity, tripped across to theother house, tapping lightly on the side door opening upon the driveway, and entered without waiting for admission. The room she stepped into wasunlighted, except from the hall beyond, but crossing both she came intoa delightful little apartment, softly illumined with lamps which shed arosy light through their silken shades. A couple of logs burned on thebrass andirons of the fireplace with an aromatic odor that suggesteddeep pine woods. 

Before them a couch was drawn, upon which Joyce nestled lazily amid anest of pillows. At a table, little withdrawn, Ellen was reading aloudfrom a late magazine, the rosy light making her look almost young andhandsome to-night. She withdrew, after a word or two of greeting, whileJoyce without stirring, said drowsily, "I know you won't ask me to get up, Camille; you are too good-natured. Come, take this easy little rocker and tell me all you know. "

"No thank you. I've come to put you to the question, my lady! Who toldyou you could go off to the city with that handsome George Dalton when Ihad given up the trip just because I hated to go alone?"

"Had you? What a pity we did not know!" The lamps made Joyce's cheeks alovely color. "Of course our business would have been a bore to you, butwe could have met for a nice time somewhere, later. "

"How do you know it would have been a bore? And what was 'our' business, anyhow?"

"Camille, we are both convinced that poor Lozcoski has been unjustlyaccused, and Murfree is the real criminal. To get the Pole out ofprison, and to keep Murfree out, requires some man[oe]uvring, and a lotof 'lawing, ' as Gilbert calls it. "

"But why keep that old Murfree out? I should think he deserved all hecan get. "

"I suppose he does, but the poor man is so ill. It's a cruel world, dear--but a beautiful one, too!"

"Then, didn't you go to see the Tierney man?" asked Camille, moreinterested in that tragedy than the other. 

"Yes, we did. He has every comfort, and we secured him the best ofcounsel. We are sure he will be acquitted. "

Camille winked at the fire, a smile on her lips. That "we" tickled her. She glanced around at Joyce, who lay dreamily gazing into the blaze, hereyes and thoughts far away. She broke into a little laugh whichattracted the dreamer's attention, and as the latter turned her headsurprisedly, she said. 

"Do you realize how funny that 'we' and 'our' sound, Joycie dear? Sixmonths ago you thought little enough of George Dalton, and now he is ineverything you do. "

"Well, it's his business to be, child. Six months ago I did notunderstand nor appreciate him--now, I do. "

Camille gave a grunt. 

"We don't see anything of you at all, any more, " she flung out, almostspitefully. 

"I have been very busy, sweetheart. Did you eat pickled peppers forsupper? I wouldn't. They spoil your--complexion. "

Camille had to laugh at the tone of this, and at the other's merry eyes. 

"No, I didn't, and I've been good all day. I went to your old libraryconcern and attended to it beautifully, and I talked to Lucy like agrandmother, and gave her splendid advice. She really chirked upwonderfully, and tried to hide her smiles behind that ridiculous veil. Isn't she funny?"

"Or pathetic--which? But you've been a good child, I see. Now, try thesame process on me. I'm all tired out and need 'chirking, ' too. "

"You may be tired, but it hasn't struck in, Joyce. You're just beaminginside, and it shines through. "

Joyce laughed and snuggled down closer into her pillows. 

"What sharp eyes you have! So you don't approve of me unless I am wearyinside, as well as out?"

"I do too, only--well, this is just the way you used to look when wewere expecting Leon home, and we are not expecting him now. "

"Oh, you think I have mistaken the occasion? I see!" She spoke in a toneCamille knew of old which, though seldom used towards a Bonnivel, couldhold almost any one in check. So the girl went on rapidly, determined tohave her say out, "I won't beat about the bush any more. I believe you are perfectly happywith George Dalton, and don't want anybody else. Now, aren't you? Ownup!"

Joyce had burrowed so deeply by this time that only one pink ear wasvisible, and Camille was looking at this with a determined expressionwhen a quick, firm step was heard in the hall--in fact, more thanone--and Larry's voice called impatiently. 

"Where are you girls, anyhow? Can't you let a wanderer in without theceremony of an announcement?"

"Here!" called Camille rising, while Joyce hastily shook up the pillowsand arranged her hair. "What's wanted of us?"

"Very little, " cried Larry, bouncing in with a beaming face. "I'vesimply brought you a new beau, " and he pointed behind him to a tall, straight figure in dark blue, which stood at "attention, " smilinghappily. 

"Leon!" cried Camille, springing to his arms, and Joyce was thankful forthe instant's space in which to collect herself. 

When he turned quickly to her both hands were out to meet his own, butshe neither paled nor flushed as her eyes met his with a glance oftruest friendship and camaraderie. 

CHAPTER XXVI. 

NOT WELCOME. 

They visited long that evening, and Joyce slept late the next day. Whenshe arose Ellen hastened to inform her that Lucy Hapgood had telephonedto ask when she might call and talk with her a few moments, and that Mr. Dalton was below, waiting for a certain architect's drawing Joyce hadwished him to see, but would not let her be disturbed till she awoke ofher own accord. 

"I told him, if 'twas just a drawin' that I'd bring the pile of 'em, andlet him pick out what he wanted, seeing he was in a hurry, " explainedEllen, "but he seemed to think he'd better wait till you come, so I lethim. But I was bound I wouldn't wake you up, if he stayed all day!"

"Thank you, Ellen, but never fear to waken me when he--or any one--iswaiting. Has he been here long?"

"No, only ten minutes or so, and he's got that album 'ts got yourpictures ranged along ever sence you was a baby. I guess he'll gitalong. What shall I 'phone that Hapgood girl?"

"Ask her to come in an hour from now, if she can. Oh, is that my newhouse-gown? You have it all finished, and how pretty it is! Had I betterput it on?"

"That's what 'twas made for, wa'n't it? Of course!"

Ellen, herself, adjusted its lace and ribbons, then watched Joyce'sdescent to the lower floor with approving eyes. 

"There ain't many 'twould make her look so well on so little, that'scertain. But then again there ain't many that needs so little to make'em look well, so I guess it's a stand-off. And she's always pleasedwith what I do, and that's comforting, " she remarked to the balustrade. 

George Dalton stepped forward to meet his employer with extended hand, and did not immediately resign the fingers committed to his clasp. 

"I felt that I nearly walked you to death yesterday, " he observedapologetically, "and ought to assure myself of your health this morning. You look very fresh and beau--and ready for anything. "

"Oh, I am; though I was up half the night in addition, which explains mylaziness this morning. I suppose you know who has come?"

"No, I've not heard. Mr. Barrington hasn't ventured into the wilds, hashe? Or that other lawyer, Mr. West?"

"No. " Joyce shook her head, shrinking unaccountably from making thesimple statement, and wishing Ellen had been more communicative with thevisitor. "It's Madame Bonnivel's son, the naval officer, Leon. "

"Oh!"

The little exclamation was prolonged, and something seemed to die out ofthe young man's face. To her own disgusted surprise she felt herselftrembling and flushing. How silly it all was! The manager stepped backstiffly, and picked up his soft hat from the chair upon which he hadcarelessly tossed it when he came bravely in, a few moments since, feeling himself an assured and welcome guest. As he regained it the old, stern manner, almost forgotten of late, fell over him like a mantle. 

"This Bonnivel has been in the war, has he?"

"No, not in active service. They have been kept cruising between Floridaand Key West, on guard duty. His ship is the 'Terror'?"

"Ah!"

He looked at her, trying to remember where that name had come up before. Then it appeared to him in a flash. 

"Why, that's where Lozcoski served?"

"Yes, I suppose so. "

"And you tried to question him about the captain's name. "

"You see, I wanted to make sure that he was on that ship. His forgettingseemed to make it doubtful. "

"But is this Bonnivel captain?"

"Oh, no indeed, only lieutenant of the engineering corps. He is quiteyoung. "

He looked at her blankly, and felt himself Methuselah in histhirty-fourth year. He could not think of another question to ask, so, fingering his hat in awkward fashion, turned slowly as if to leave, hiserrand quite forgotten. 

Joyce felt the chill that had come over him, but could not see how todispel it. There seemed nothing to say, though there had been a thousandthings yesterday. How stupid she must seem!

"I--I'm expecting Lucy, " she brought out finally, catching at this strawof a subject gladly. "I wonder what she can want to see me about soparticularly. "

"Did you tell her she was to be subp[oe]naed as witness for theprosecution?" he asked, trying to be business-like. 

"No, I didn't. I'm afraid it will trouble her greatly. "

"Doubtless. " His manner dropped into listlessness, and by slow stages henow reached the door. He would have been out of it in a second when aquick tap on the other, which opened into a side corridor, was followedby the entrance of Camille, with her brother in tow. 

"Are you up at last?" she cried gaily. "We've been waiting hours foryou--oh, good morning, Mr. Dalton. "

That gentleman bowed stiffly from the doorway, and Joyce with an effort, drew herself together. 

"Good morning, Camille! Leon, this is Mr. Dalton, of whom you have heardso much in my letters. You will scarcely need to scrape acquaintance. What's on the docket this morning, Gypsy?"

Leon had advanced smilingly, with extended hand, prepared to fully likethe man who had been such an able assistant to Joyce. But the suddenconsciousness that it was only as her employee that this young officerhad thought of him, and Joyce's own outspoken declaration as to thecorrespondence between them, stung George Dalton to the quick. 

He was not versed in the ways of society, and this insecurity left himhelpless how to act in such an emergency. To ignore it never occurred tohim; he could only resent it. He bowed too low to see Leon's extendedhand, and saying frostily, "I am honored to meet you, sir!" turned onhis heel and stalked out with no further word. 

"The coolness of him!" cried Camille, indignantly, while her brother'sdark eyes turned astonishedly from one to the other. 

"Was I to blame? What ailed him anyhow?" he asked quickly. 

"Just a lack of good manners, " returned Camille in a disgusted tone. "One never knows where such people will break out next. "

Joyce felt something flare up so hotly within her that she had to turnaway, so that neither might notice her deep chagrin. She changed thesubject entirely by her next remark, and Dalton's name was not againmentioned. 

But when Camille proposed the drive the two had planned, Joyce foundLucy's promised call a sufficient excuse to decline going. Her neighborswould not be so easily put off, however. 

"How absurd, Joyce! 'Phone her to come later, can't you? We'll be backby two or three o'clock. You know Leon's furlough only lasts afortnight. "

"But it may be a grave matter with Lucy. Have you told Leon of ourtragic happenings, here? I believe I have not written them?" giving hima quick glance. 

"No, you haven't--nor anything else. I began to think you had dropped mefrom your list, Joyce. "

"I have been so busy. No, I must not put Lucy off just for my ownpleasure. "

"And ours. " Leon was studying her face with a thoughtful expression onhis own. She seemed unreal to him, somehow. 

"Oh, I shall claim all the rest of your day. I want you all to come overfor dinner to-night, down to Dodo. You won't disappoint me?"

"I don't know, " pouted Camille, unappeased. 

"Well, I do, " said Leon heartily, still oblivious to currents andcounter-currents. "I shall come at any rate, and I doubt not the restwill come trailing after. Perhaps, Joyce, you won't refuse a drive alonewith me, to-morrow?"

"We will see. "

"I know you have plenty of calls upon your time, but I won't keep youlong. Will you go?"

He looked straight into her eyes with the old commanding manner, whichshe had never been able to resist. She smiled and murmured "Yes, " but, to her own dazed surprise, her whole soul roused up to whisperemphatically "_No!_"

And she did not go, after all. When Lucy appeared it was to beg withtears that she might be taken to see poor Nate, and Joyce gladlypromised all that she desired. Her pride once broken down, Lucy sobbedand cried in an abandon of sorrow, letting her childish heart lie barebeneath Joyce's tender gaze. The latter told the child she could notleave that day on account of the dinner-party, but would be ready earlyin the morning for the first train. 

"I will have to excuse myself to Leon, " she thought with an oddlightening at her heart. 

And then, as the vision of his fine face and figure, his grace ofmanner, his joyous frankness and charm of conversation, rose before her, a wave of astonishment, almost of protest, swept over her till the tearsrose in her eyes. What had so changed her that she should be glad toavoid her old friend?

The dinner, as Camille remarked once or twice, was a strictly familyaffair. Mrs. Phelps, who happened in on an errand just as they weregathering, so reported it at her own tea-table, soon afterwards, withglowing comments on the "handsome young officer" who had just come home. 

Her nephew listened without replying, and did not finish his seconddelicate muffin, though she had baked them herself with the expectationthat he would dispose of several, as was his custom. She noticed, butset it down to some unknown bother over business, and wondered whetherthere had been trouble with any of the furnaces, or if some order hadbeen returned on his hands. She knew too much to ask, though. It wasnever easy to question George, even in his most relaxed moods. Joyce wasabout the only one who had ever attempted it successfully. 

The meal over, he wandered outside, and stood with his hands in hispockets, looking aimlessly around him, with a feeling of wonder mingledwith his sense of desolation. It had never occurred to him, before, tofind time hanging heavily on his hands, to wonder what he should donext. Work had always driven him, and even after his special hours wereover, there were countless duties for the manager. Then, it was alwayssuch a delight to find a few moments for reading, where he had so littleleisure that a lull was seized with avidity. 

But to-night the very thought of bills, or books, disgusted him! Heturned sharply away from the factory, and, avoiding the knoll at theother end of town, struck out for the open country. It happened to bethe road Dan so often traveled, though George did not know that. Hefound its scenes entirely new, had he noticed them. He was not a man whofound much time for country strolls. 

It was not yet dark, and the pink glow of a fine sunset still lingeredin the air, which was soft and still. The first frosts had tinged theoutermost leaves of the maples, and the sumach was brilliant in thehedges, yet the bulk of the foliage was still green, for in thatlocality winter held off, sometimes, until December ushered him in. Thegreen of the trees, vivified by the late rains, thrown out against thisrosy sky, was as satisfying as the odor of flowering currant in theearly spring. It made one love the world. The dust was beaten down intosmooth swirls in the road, and the footpath, worn in the sod alongside, felt hard as cement under his leather soles. The silence and beauty ofit all soothed him, and the rhythm of his own tramp, tramp, steadied hisnerves and relieved the tension at his throat. He began to relax fromjaw to instep, and presently found himself softly whistling one of thelate coon songs, with its quaint "rag-time, " which had caught his earand held his memory ever since he had heard it, a week or two ago. 

At a certain place the footpath broke and mingled with others. Glancingup and around, he saw a wood at his side, and just here a cattle-gate inthe rail fence, through which a herd had evidently passed, not longsince, to be milked and housed in the home barn for the night. The gatewas left carelessly open, as if it did not matter now, and, lured by thedark interior, he slipped in. 

It took a nimble winding in and out to avoid tree-roots, underbrush, andmarshy tracts, till at length he came to an open glade by a smallstream. It impressed him how regularly the trees grew about this glade. They seemed trimmed up just so high, like a hedge. After a moment'sthought, he discovered the reason. The trimming was done by the cattle, and the length of their stretched necks determined the height of thetrimming. A gardener with clippers could not have made a neater job ofit. 

Pleased with the beauty of the spot, he lingered some time. Nature'scharm was almost an unknown quantity to him, but it held him in closebonds to-night. After a while, as it darkened, he rose from the fallenlog upon which he had been sitting, and began to follow the littlestream, still wrapped in far-away thoughts. The twilight had settledinto a night that was moonless, but had that luminosity often seen onclear nights in late autumn. He could see all about him, even in thewood. As he reached another somewhat open space, coming upon it silentlyfrom behind a thick growth of underbrush, with only the narrow cow-pathto cut it, a sound arrested him, and, lying flat on the ground, he sawthe figure of a man. The sound was a groan. 

CHAPTER XXVII. 

NIGHT HAPPENINGS. 

He stopped, paralyzed into rigidity for the instant, and a sobbing voicebroke upon him, "Oh, if I could only know! Is she yours, or not? Why can't you come outof space and answer me? I would have given my heart's blood for you, yetit seems as if, all the time, I must seem to take yours. What was Rachelto you, Will? Answer! Answer!"

The cry was almost a shriek, but Dalton knew the voice, and, after theinstant's dazed astonishment, comprehended the scene. His first impulse, which he would have acted upon a few weeks since, was to steal awayundetected; his second, born of his own sadness to-night, was to stayand help the poor fellow, if he could. He took a step forward, and spokesoftly, "Dan!"

The boy sat up with a sudden jerk, and gazed at him, wide-eyed, white asthe froth in the stream's eddies. 

"Will!" he whispered. "Have you come at last?"

"No, no, Dan! It's I, Dalton. I just happened here, or possibly I wassent. How do we know, but Will directed me here? My poor boy, let me sitbeside you and tell you something. May I?"

Dan bowed his head respectfully, as he muttered, "Oh, the boss!"

"Listen, Dan. I know how this tragic death of your brother's has preyedupon you, and cut you off from your friends. But can't you see, in thelight of poor Nate's similar experience, how little you are blamed--how, instead, you are sympathized with? Have you heard a word from the boys, except pity for him? It was a terrible accident in both cases, and worsein yours, but neither you nor Nate can be blamed. "

"But they've got him shut up. "

"Until the matter can be tried, yes. I haven't a doubt of his acquittal, though, and it's better for Nate to be tried and acquitted, than to havethe affair left in doubt. "

"I almost wish they'd tried me. "

"Why, Dan, there was never even a charge against you. Everybody, fromthe coroner out, knew it was an accident. And Dan, I'm going to say onething more. Your brother was not engaged to Rachel Hemphill. I _know_that!"

Dan started. 

"How?" he whispered huskily. 

"From his own lips. It was only a few days before he--went. I came uponthem talking together, and Will, saying good-by to her, turned andjoined me, to ask some question, or other. I liked him well, as youknow, and began guying him a little about Rachel; and what do you thinkhe said?"

"What?"

"He laughed out in his happy way, and looked me in the face with dancingeyes. 'Why, don't you know--but of course you don't, ' he said, 'for Ifound it all out by accident, myself. Rache isn't the girl to giveherself away, and you mustn't let on if I tell you. ' I promised goodfaith and he bent over and said, low and gently, 'I'm awfully fond ofRache, but not that way. It's for a sister I want her, and perhaps I'llhave her, too. For I've found out she's gone on Dan--dear old Dan! Isn'tthat too good to be true?' And then he actually squeezed my hand in hisjoy. "

Dan had clutched at Dalton's knee, as if to steady himself, and satstrained forward, his whole being concentrated in the act of listening. At length he slowly turned his head, and gazed steadily into the other'seyes. A star, just above the little opening where they sat, lighted themwith its shining. Each could see to read the truth in the other's face. 

"You are speaking as before God, George Dalton?"

"As before God, Daniel Price. "

"Then may He bless you forever!"

Their hands clasped warmly and, after a little while, during whichneither had spoken, Dan stood up. 

"I want to go home and think about it, " he said. 

"And, first, I'm going to a place I have near here, to get some things. It's a place I won't need any more. I'm going to put the whole thingback of me, and live like Will did. Don't you think that will please himbest?"

"I know it will, Dan. "

"And Mr. Dalton, it ain't any of my business, but us folks can't helpnoticing how things are going with our bosses--specially when we're fondof them. I hope it's true about you and Miss Lavillotte, for I believeyou're just made for each other--you don't mind my speaking out?"

"No, Dan; it's all been speaking out to-night. Just between ourselvesand the Heaven up there. And, in that way, I'll say, I'm afraid, my boy, I'm afraid! She's away beyond me. "

"She's a beauty, and like a queen, but she isn't too good for you, sir. "

"Thank you, Dan, but you don't know all. "

Dalton had risen now, and they stood facing each other. Something in hisvoice made Dan look at him keenly. 

"Rachel has suspected something, and she's whispered it to me, sir. We've been wondering if there _is_ a 'young Early, ' and if thereisn't--" He stopped, and Dalton's hand pressed his arm. 

"Dan, I can trust you and Rachel?"

"To the death, sir!"

"Then, you understand. She is the one. She owns it all. You see, now, why I cannot aspire to her. "

"No, sir, I don't! I see why you're just the man to help her in doing agreat, good work, and making of us all the loyalest workmen that everlived. Don't you never give her up, sir, never!"

"Not if there are older claimants on the field?"

"But are there?"

"One has come--a spruce young naval officer--no, I'll be fair;--a fine, handsome, well-bred fellow, every inch a man in appearance. And shecorresponds with him. "

"But what could he do in her life, sir? He'd pull one way, and sheanother. Don't you give her up!"

"I'll hang till she shakes me, Dan!" laughed the other, lapsing into theslang of the men as his hopes rose. 

They said good-night and took their several ways, Dan to break up thelittle retreat in the woods, which he no longer needed, since hope andaction were to supersede despair and remorseful grief; Dalton to trampsturdily back to the village, resolved to wait and work. 

As he neared the settlement he noticed lights ablaze in Bachelor's Row, and many figures flitting about with hurried movements. He stopped toinquire the cause. Mrs. Hemphill edged her way close to him, breaking inbefore the slower speech of the man so questioned had forced its wayout. 

"Why, you see Murfree's dead, at last. He's been trying to fling hisselfout o' bed agin, an' it took three men to hold him. In the struggle hejust cullopsed and died. They wasn't nobody but Dan could keep him downlately, and Dan's gone some'ers to-night. "

She had scarcely finished when the lad, on a well-weighted wheel, sprinted into view. Dalton called him. 

"This way, Dan, " and he flung himself off. 

"What is it? Murfree off again?"

"Yes, " walking beside the boy as he led his wheel on a detour around thegroup. "Off forever, poor fellow! They were trying to keep him on thebed when he 'cullopsed, ' they tell me. "

The word had impressed Dalton, and he could not refrain from using ithimself, smiling over it in the darkness. But Dan did not notice. 

"I oughtn't to have left him, but I got so down-hearted I had to. Comearound through my room, and we can get in without forcing this crowd. Iwant to put up my bike. "

They were soon in the apartment which Murfree had occupied, just acrossfrom the cobbler's. Dr. Browne stood over the bed, and had the twowatchers guarding the door to keep out the frankly-curious peoplewithout. They thronged up to its lintels just as the surf pressesagainst the dykes, that are the doors of the land, to guard it from thatstrange old sea which would learn all its secrets, only to obliteratethem. The doctor looked up. "He is resting at last, " he said in brusquefashion, "and a good thing for everybody. Did you ever see this mark onhim, Dan? Regular tatooing, isn't it?"

They both examined the bare shoulder, and, on its curve into the arm, observed the red and blue marking, plainly defined on the white skin. Acircle formed of twisted snakes, head to head and with tailsintertwined, enclosed a monogram, apparently, but the letters were notEnglish in character, and so intermingled that none of the three couldseparate them. 

"I've seen that, or what's just like it, " said Dan hurriedly. "It'sstamped on some papers he give me to keep once, when he was himself fora few minutes. He said, if he died I might open 'em, and they'd securejustice. He didn't say justice to who. Then he went off again, mumblingand muttering. I never could find out just what he wanted me to do with'em. "

"We'll look into that, " said Dalton, who had his own ideas concerningthe dead man. "We can't do any more here, doctor?"

"No. I'll turn him over to these boys, now. They know what to do; andI've got to go back to Jim Dodge's to-night. His little girl's down withmeasles--severe case. "

Dalton busied himself for a few moments with Murfree's effects, then, beckoning Dan, they went back into the lad's room at the rear. 

"I wish you'd let me see those papers, " said Dalton, in hisauthoritative voice, and soon the two were pouring over a small book, written full; a document or two on parchment; a badge, in which theletters and the twisted serpents were wrought out of gun-metal into acheap-looking pin; and several letters. Neither said much as they passedthese from hand to hand, Dalton fully recognizing the right of hisworkman to know the full contents of what had been left in his care; theother never questioning the manager's interest and concern in allmatters pertaining to his employees. As Dalton rose to go, he said:

"My boy, you fully understand the importance of keeping this toyourself, till we need it in evidence?"

"Yes, sir; I do. "

"Well, I know you are to be trusted. Put them in some safe place, underlock and key, and wait till I give you the word. Good-night. "

He went out the back way, though the crowd was mostly dispersed now, and, as he gained the street, glanced over toward the park. At its otherend a light still gleamed in an upper window of the pretty house, and hehoped it was Joyce's window, for he was in that romantic stage, neverfully explained by the psychologists, where every inanimate thingbecomes interesting just in proportion to the nearness of its connectionwith one person--oftentimes a very ordinary young person to outsiders. 

It was decidedly out of his way, but he plunged into the park shadows, and hastened through it, then stood in the narrow street which separatedits broad end from Joyce's confines, and gazed up at the light. 

His devotion ought to have been rewarded--perhaps it was. 

Presently the glow fell off into a glimmer, but, as he was turning away, another sprang into brightness below. This he knew to be the library, and it gave him an idea which he was quick to act upon. He took asprinter's pace for home, and, as soon as he arrived there, madestraight for the telephone, where he called up Miss Lavillotte. In amoment her gentle "Hello!" came softly to his ears, and his face took onthe look of a satisfied idiot, or possibly an inspired poet seeking fora rhyme; the eyes upturned and the mouth open. 

"Do you know who is talking?" he asked. 

"Yes; Mr. Dalton. "

"You are right!" as if she had mastered an intricate problem. "And Iwould not have disturbed you, but I have great news for you. "

"Indeed?"

"Yes. Murfree died an hour or two ago, and has left papers that tell thewhole story, and exonerate Lozcoski. "

"How glad I am!"

"I knew you would be. There are other things, too. When can I see you?"

"Let me see. I have news, too. Lucy has broken down at last, and beggedme, all tears and softness, to take her to see poor Nate. We are goingin the morning at 8. 15. But that would be too early for you?"

"Not at all. And you and Lucy can't go alone to the jail. If you willallow me----"

"How if I command you?" merrily. 

"Then I can do nothing but obey. "

"Well, then, I do. We'll take the same train, won't we--that 8. 15?"

"Yes, of course. "

"Good-night, then. "

"Good-night--till morning. "

He distinguished a funny little sound, like a suppressed giggle, and ina clear, final tone came a last "Good-night, my friend!"

Then he heard her receiver click in its socket, and the decided tinkleof the bell shut him off. But he did not care. He was still her"friend. " He would be with her all to-morrow. His interests and herswere identical, and nobody should interfere without a struggle on hispart. 

Not that he meant anything overt, or aggressive. Only he would makehimself so necessary she could not do without him. 

CHAPTER XXVIII. 

VISITING THE SHUT-INS. 

Poor Nate fretted in confinement, but not for his own sake. He simplyignored his surroundings, not deigning to complain, or scarcely tonotice; but sought every opportunity to ask eagerly after the welfare ofLucy and her little family. He overwhelmed Mr. Barrington withquestions, somewhat to the bewilderment of the old gentleman, who couldnot distinctly grasp the idea that Nate was self-constituted protectorin place of the man he was accused of murdering. 

He flung his eager queries at Mr. Dalton, and more gently pelted Joyce;and the one or two "boys, " who had been admitted to his cell, departedwith the dazed consciousness that, instead of finding out "all about it"from Nate, as had been their intention, he had kept them busy tellinginsignificant home events, until they were pumped dry of every drop ofknowledge they possessed. 

But when the door opened that gray morning, and a little figure swathedin black came slowly in, Nate scarcely moved. He sat still on his bunk, staring at her till she threw back the long veil, and saidreproachfully, "Nate!"

"Is it really you, Lucy?" he asked, slowly rising and making a stepforward. "I never see you like this. I most thought 'twas your ghost. Set down, child. 'Tain't much of a place, but----" He drew out the onechair they allowed him in the narrow cell, and, as he placed it, Lucycaught his rough hand between her own. 

"Nate, aren't you glad to see me?" she cried, fresh tears springing toher already overtaxed eyes. 

He looked down at her, nodded gravely, and then laughed a little. 

"Why, in course I'm glad, Lucy! You know that without tellin', don't ye?I ain't much on talkin', Lucy, but you know me. "

Lucy stayed as long as they would let her, while Joyce and George sat ona stone bench in the corridor. The visit seemed short to them, but theturnkey was impatient long before the half-hour was up, feeling himself_de trop_ all around. After the strangeness wore off, something of theold natural friendliness came back into Nate's manner, and Lucy's tearsceased to flow, as her tongue wagged ever more cheerfully. 

They talked entirely about the little home-doings--Tilly's streak offacility in washing dishes without breakage; Rufie's month's record inschool; the big baby's latest attempt at the English vocabulary; and thelittle baby's first tooth. Lucy told, too, of Joyce's kindness andconstant oversight, and of Dalton's promise that her father's pay shouldnot be stopped this quarter at least. Scarcely a word of the tragedybetween them, or of the trial before Nate. 

Just as she was leaving, however, she said timidly, "Shall I come in toit, Nate--the trial, you know?"

"Guess likely you'll have to, my girl. You'll be a witness, you see. "

"Oh, will I, Nate? And for you? I'll try to help you all I can!"

"Well, no! I guess it's t'other side'll call you, Lucy. But don't youmind. Just tell the truth and shame the devil! Them lawyers is a trickypack, and they know how to mix a fellow up, till he don't know crystalfrom frit. But don't you worrit! The truth's stronger'n the whole packof 'em, and that's what I'm a-restin' on. You tell the truth as youb'lieve it, whether it's for me or agin' me, child, and it's all I'llask o' you. "

"Nate, I saw you didn't try to hit pa when you had the stick and wasright over him, but you'll own up you was awful mad?"

"Yes, I was: and for the first minute I was murderin' mad, 'count o'you. I'll own that. But, you seen when I got it under me and was leadin'him off peaceable, didn't you? I slipp'd back'ard and flung up my arms, and then the thing struck wrong. You couldn't think I meant that blow, Lucy?"

"No, I know you didn't. I see it all, now. I was so scared then Icouldn't think, but----"

"Time's up, miss, " said the officer resolutely, and Lucy hurried out, scarcely waiting to shake hands while the others merely gave Nate asmile and word through the barred door. 

They knew from his face it was all he needed to-day. 

 * * * * *

When Leon heard about the Pole who had shipped for a short time on the"Terror, " he listened to the talk of him with interest, and askedpermission to accompany Joyce and her manager at their next interview. By the time the four (for Camille was of the party, too) made their callat the jail, the faces of the two more frequent visitors were prettywell known there. Lozcoski, now well fed, and filled with hope andcomfort, through the communications of the interpreter, was not the sameman who had burst his way into the Social-house a few weeks ago. Hisstaring eyes had softened, his hollow cheeks rounded out, his prison-cuthair could not mat now, and through his clean-shaven lips white teethgleamed smilingly at times. The wolf had vanished, and the man was nowinstalled in the body that needed only refinement and thought to make itcomely. 

The minute Leon entered, alone, leaving the rest outside, he rosequickly and gave the naval salute--the inside of the hand to the templeheld palm forward--of a U. S. Man-of-war's-man to his superior officer. He had recognized the young lieutenant at once. This pleased LeonBonnivel, and he entered into brisk conversation with him, through theinterpreter, soon becoming convinced that the man told the truth abouthis service and its ending. Thus the chain of evidence which was to freean honest, but unfortunate man, grew link by link, and Joyce formed theclasp which held all together. 

She was allowed to enter after awhile, and the Pole's face lightedalmost into rapture at sight of her. He knew what she had done for him, and he felt that no ikon of his hut in the old country had ever seemedmore beautiful, or more worthy of his honor. He would have knelt to herreadily enough, but that his few months in America had taught him thatsuch demonstrations were not admissible on democratic soil. So he merelystood in awkward adoration, and beamed upon her. 

She spoke a few kind words, telling him his discharge papers would soonbe ready and that he was then to report for work in Littleton, if he sodesired, and was turning away when, after a quickly-spoken sentence byLozcoski, the interpreter said explanatorily, "He bids me thank you, lady, and give you the blessing of a man at peacewith his God. And he asks, where is your young husband that he may thankhim, also. "

"My husband!" stammered Joyce, while Leon turned sharply to gaze at herflushing cheeks. "Wh--what does he mean? I have no husband. "

The interpreter, trying to control his smiles, explained, and the Pole, after a disconcerted expression had crossed his face, smiled blandlyalso and, spreading out both hands, spoke again. 

"He begs the lady's pardon, " said the interpreter. "It was her betrothedthat he meant. The young man who is boss at the Works. He thought youwere married, rather than betrothed, ma'am. But he is glad to askblessings on your future union. "

What could Joyce say? To keep on explaining and protesting would beridiculous, and it suddenly flashed across her mind that the mistake wasnatural. As this Lozcoski had seen them together in close companionship, and intimate counsel, he had a right to believe what he did. Suchpersonal business relations, without marriage or betrothal, nearly assacred and irrevocable, would be an impossibility between two of theirage and social standing in his own country. 

So she simply bowed her head, accepted the murmured blessings of thegrateful prisoner, and hurried out, leaving the animated lexicon she hadhired--all one broad smile of intelligence now--to interpret her actionsas best he could. 

CHAPTER XXIX. 

A DREAM ENDED. 

Joyce could only hope nothing had been heard in the corridor, but herfirst surreptitious glance was not consolatory. Camille, with anexpression oddly commingled of mirth and petulance, was intensely busywith her glove-fastening, while the broad back of George Dalton, who wasapparently as busy gazing from a barred window against a stone wall, hada most uncanny look of intelligence about it. As for the sheriff--he didnot try to conceal the grin with which he looked at that back, and thenat Joyce, who would have given a large slice of her fortune for asheltering veil to cover her face, just then. As the party marched outinto the open air there was an appearance of constraint about them. Camille kept persistently at her brother's side, and Joyce was forced tofollow with George. He tried so hard to look non-committal that he onlysucceeded in looking thoroughly cross, and Leon was shut within himself, evidently dazed, but trying to think the thing out. 

The tension did not loosen as they made their way to the great depot, just in time to board the earlier of the "dinner trains, " at 5. 13. But, as they passed in, Joyce circumvented any further such pairing off bycalmly seating herself by Camille, and leaving the young men to adjustthemselves as they would. 

Few realize the many disagreeable trifles that accompany the movementsof any notable personage. Joyce was often pointed out as the greatheiress, who had eschewed city society to manage her business affairs inperson, and Leon's air, even in civilian dress, was observable. Manyeyes were turned upon the little party, who were presently seated neartogether in the train, and Joyce broke the spell of rigidity by leaningover to Leon and remarking, _sotto voce_, "If you had only worn your uniform everybody would have stared. Now Ithink there are as many as three who have not noticed us. Is there noway of stirring up those three?"

His ready laughter answered her sally, and the strain was relieved. 

But when they reached the home station Dalton proved that he was notlacking in tact, at least. Carelessly assuming that Joyce was thoroughlywell escorted, he bade the trio a cheerful good-night on the platform, and struck off for his own home, without even a backward glance. 

Leon nodded approvingly, all to himself. 

"The fellow has self-control, anyhow, " he thought, as he offered an armto Joyce and laughingly bade Camille follow in their wake, like a goodchild--for the walks were narrow. 

Arrived at the knoll, Joyce would not accept their invitation in todinner, declaring she dare not so disappoint her own cook, who would beawaiting her. Neither would the brother and sister accept of hercounter-invitation, saying that they had more than a cook to disappoint;namely, their mother, So they went their separate ways, but lightsstreamed across from window to window, like cables of trust andfriendship. 

It had not been an easy thing for Leon to see his mother alone in ahousehold which made her its center and circumference, but that evening, when she retired to her room, he followed close upon her steps. 

"Mayn't I come in, mother?" he asked, after tapping lightly. "I want anold-fashioned good-night talk. "

She welcomed him eagerly. 

"Find the best chair, dear, and draw it up by me, here. I do so enjoythis little grate on cool nights! I can feel the warmth, and imagine thelight, while it all fills me with comfort and peace. "

"In a minute, mother. Let me tramp about a little, first. I like to trymy sea-legs on a stretch of thick carpet, occasionally. Besides, I wantto look around. How snug and handsome you are here! That toilet-table isreally sumptuous, and these fine etchings show off well against thatsoft flesh tint on the walls. Mother, you have found a good son inLarry!"

"A dear, good son, Leon. But his means are not so large as his heart. This room is mostly Joyce's gift, you know. When she gave the house sheinsisted on personally superintending the fittings of this room. I toldher it was useless to waste beauty on me, but she said no surroundingscould quite suit me, except a certain kind, and she claimed tounderstand that style better than any one else. She is doing for us allthe time. "

"She could not be other than generous--but how she has changed, mother!"

"Changed! Do you think so?"

"How could I help thinking so? I left her a shrinking, clinging child. Ifind her a self-poised, queenly woman. Do you remember how I used toplan to protect and defend her? I was to earn money for her and you, andto ward off all trouble from you both. It was my youthful inspiration. Ireturn to find she needs neither money, position, protection, nordevotion. She has all, and more, than she desires. A defender would bean absurdity! All she can require now is a--manager. "

His mother turned about in her chair with a distressed look. 

"Leon, your tone is not bitter, but your words are. "

"No, indeed! I am merely stating facts. To be bitter would be foolish. But I see it all, mother. "

"Oh, Leon, it breaks my heart!"

"I feared it would, and that is why I want to talk with you. " He camecloser and drew up a chair. She caught his hand and held it in a closeclasp. "The strange thing is, it does not break my heart at all. "

He brought out each word with deliberate emphasis. Madame Bonnivel felther blindness then as never in her life before. Oh, to be able to searchhis eyes, to look down into his very soul! Would he deliberately deceivehis mother, to save her pain? Yet the touch of his hand was cool andcalm. 

"I thought you loved my Joyce!" she cried sharply, her nerves at atension. 

"I do. I always have. I always shall. And I admire her in addition, now. She is a noble, remarkable girl. But she is a duchess, a queen, and sheis as absorbed in her little kingdom as any German countess in her pettydomain. Its ways and doings are of supreme importance to her, and otherthings do not count. It is right enough she should feel so, and she willlead a useful life. But how could it ever accord with mine? She is LadyBountiful, and rules through love and wisdom. I am officer on aman-of-war, and command with sternness and inflexibility, never bendingto coaxing or cajolery. Her ambition is to serve and uplift; mine tohold down with a steady hand, that my men may do my bidding likeintelligent machines. We both may do good in our spheres, but we wouldinevitably pull apart, if we tried to unite them. Could I take the placeof prime minister to my lady, and content myself with carrying out herorders, and expending her money? I would die first!" He sprang up andbegan walking about again, his voice deepening as he progressed with hissubject. "Imagine me examining her books at the works, or potteringabout on errands of mercy among her glass-blowers! I, who can dailytread the magnificent decks of the 'Terror, ' and lead my squad onengineering feats that stir every drop of blood in my body to pride overour glorious achievements! Dearest mother, it wouldn't do. "

"But, if she loves you, she would give this all up----"

"And go with me? She couldn't, mother. You know that. There is no placefor women on a war-ship. "

"No, but you have furloughs occasionally. She might live here, just thesame----"

"With Dalton for her manager? No, thank you, mother! I am not such anidiot as that. "

"But Leon! Leon! It has been my dream for years. "

"And, like most dreams, is but a dissolving view. Let us hope this dreammay dissolve into a scene of deeper reality, which shall far exceed thevision. You are safely anchored here beside her, and in all love andfealty she is, and will be, your daughter. I shall always feel safe andhappy to know she is beside you. But the currents of my life run inbroader channels. The tide floats me far out into stirring, tryingscenes. I should mope myself to death here. I should hate and despise myinaction!"

"Leon, how your voice thrills! You love your work?"

"I never knew how much till now. I tell you, frankly, I returnedexpecting to marry Joyce, if she would have me. I am glad to understandthat she most assuredly would not. I cannot tell you how suffocatinglysmall seems the life of a private citizen of small means on shore. Mypay is little enough, we know, and I can never expect anything beyond afair living. But what is that to me? I am backed by a government thatgives me assurance, standing, power, wherever I may be. I have forfriends and associates the brave and honorable, the world over. I am asproud of my ship as other men of beautiful estates, and as fond of mybrave men as others of their children. I do love Joyce, even as Iwillingly relinquish her, but I know even she could not make up to mefor all I would give up in marrying her, and resigning my commission. Isee it as plainly as if inspired. Our ways must lie apart!"

"Leon, I see arguments are useless, and I will not plead for Joyce, evenwith my own son. "

"The pleading would have to be on the other side, dearest. Remember, shedoes not love me. "

"She did, and she would, but for this fortune and this work! Her fatheralways came between us in life; his accursed money must separate usnow--go, Leon! My soul is bitter within me. I shall be unjust andwicked, if I say one word more. "

He went slowly, reluctantly, looking back at her pale, drawn face in ananguish of pity. He knew that, brave as he had been, he had not made herwound the less. The dream of her life was ended. 

CHAPTER XXX. 

A RAILROAD WEDDING. 

There was a sudden outbreak of wild enthusiasm as the verdict was given, quickly checked by the court's gavel, then all craned their necks whilein a few kind words, the judge congratulated and dismissed the prisoner. Then counsel and friends gathered about Nate with outstretched hands, till his arm ached with the constant pumping, and his tongue was tiedwith the excitement and confusion. To steady himself he kept his eyesmostly on a little black figure, some distance away. It was close by theside of Miss Lavillotte, but its face never turned from watching him;and he knew that, from the hour the young girl had stood bravely incourt and exonerated him from all blame, she had put the sad past behindher and accepted a brighter, happier future. He was only longing, now, to reach her side, but even with Dalton's efforts it was almostimpossible to make their way through the press. Somehow, Nate's friendsseemed to spring up from everywhere, to-day. Each official, from jailerto judge, had learned to like him, the newspaper men were his staunchallies, and the jurors had a fellow-feeling for him. 

He had clung to the clean, unvarnished truth in dogged fashion, and hadso impressed all by his simple story, in which he seemed only trying totell facts, no matter how they bore upon himself, that even theprosecutor was out of conceit with his side of the case. 

So the gratulatory crowd gathered thickly about him, and the littlegroup of home-friends had to wait long before he could reach them, nearthe private door by the clerk's desk. 

Lucy, trembling all over, caught his hand as soon as she could reach it, and fairly pulled him from the court-room. "Let's get out of this!" shewhispered excitedly. "I can't breathe here. Oh, Nate, to think you aresafe and it's all over. Thank God! Thank God!"

"Come, " said Dalton to Joyce, who stood hesitantly, not sure there wasno more to attend to, "the carriage is below and we've just time to makeour train. We can say all our says in there. "

He took Joyce's arm with an odd mixture of tenderness, deference, andauthority, while the others followed their rapid pace. Once inside theclosed vehicle, Nate seemed less excited than any of them, speaking inthe same slow, even tones he always used. When Lucy, clinging to hishand, would break out, "Oh, isn't it good--isn't it too good, Nate?" hewould only smile and look down at her with a tender, "Why, yes, Lucy, it's good, but not too good, as I see. It's right, that's all. I didn't need shutting up, and I'm glad I didn't getsentenced that way. 'Twould 'a' come tough on you and the youngsters. "

"I expect there'll be something of a demonstration, Nate, " said themanager. "I had West 'phone the verdict to Littleton, and tell the boysto lay off the rest of the day. They'll be crazy, I presume! I know youdon't care for such things, but you'll have to put up with being a herojust this once. "

"Hope they won't do nothin' rash 'round them railroad tracks, " saidNate, a bit anxiously. "The boys sometimes forgits theirselves when theygets to celebratin'. They don't mean nothin', but they forgits. Who'dyou leave the babbies with, Lucy?"

"They're all going to be in school till three, for the teacher saidRufie might bring even the little baby to the kindergarten. Then Marry'sout of the office, and she'll keep 'em till we get there at half-pastfour. She won't let nothing happen. "

"Well, I'd 'a' been satisfied just to go home and set down and eat mysupper, but never mind, " sighed Nate in wistful fashion. "Folks iscur'ous about such things. Just because a man don't git sent up for whathe didn't do can't make a hero outen him, as I see. But it's nice of youall to care. " He looked at Joyce, sitting opposite with Dalton, he andLucy having been given the back seat together, and a smile played abouthis lips and eyes, crinkling the kindly muscles into radiating lines ofsunshine. "I've had lots o' thoughts, Miss Lav'lotte, since I've beenshut up, and I guess I've worked out something. It's a master place forworkin' out things in your mind--a jail is. "

"Is it, Nate? And what have you worked out, now?"

"Well, just this. First, it did seem queer that a handsome young ladyjust livin' on in our town, and no blood relation to nobody, should takesuch an int'rust in Lucy and me, to say nothin' of other folks. Ev'rytime 't you'd come, or send other folks to me, I kept askin' inside o'me, 'Now, what does that mean? What is it to her, anyhow?' Then, kindersudden like, it come to me once that ev'ry single one o' the good thingswhat's been the makin' o' Littleton begun to come along just about whenyou fetched up there. And when I'd figured on that a while, andremembered how you and the boss here was allays consultin' together, andhow you seemed to feel jest 's if you'd got stock in us, somehow, itcome to me all of a heap. "

"What came to you?" asked Joyce, her brilliant eyes flashing a laughingglance towards her seat-mate. 

"Why, that they mightn't be any young Early after all, and that 'twasjest possible--mind, I don't say as I've got all the twists and turns ofit--but that you might, somehow or other, stand fer him. You couldn't_be_ him, bein' a girl, of course, but stand fer him. Don't they haveproxers, or sponsors, or some such things in law, Mr. Dalton?"

That gentleman laughed heartily, and Joyce joined in with a merry peal. Even Lucy and Nate helped the chorus, though somewhat perfunctorily, notknowing just what they were laughing at. 

"How is it, Miss Lavillotte, are you standing sponsor for any one?"queried Dalton, as soon as he could get his voice. 

"I hope not!" she laughed in return. 

"Well, " put in Nate, looking from one to the other, "it seems funny toyou, I see; but if I ain't much mistooken I've heered the boss, here, talk about young Early more'n once. So they must be something to it, ofcourse. "

"There!" said Joyce. "You are convicted, Mr. Dalton. Can you setyourself right?"

"I can, if I may. "

"Well, do by all means, then. "

"Well, Nate, I began by first being deceived myself; then, being fairlylaunched in deception, I went on cheating others. There never was ayoung Early! No man is living by that name, that we know. "

Nate looked dazed, and Lucy craned forward anxiously. "Who does own theWorks, then?" she cried. "Can't we go on living in our pretty houses, and having the nice new ways? Who built the school, and the church, andthe Social-house?"

"Do you like the new, so much better than the old, way, Lucy? You havehad great sorrows since these changes, child. "

Joyce leaned forward to the girl, kindly. 

"I know, but if it had come before! How dreadful hungry and wretchedwe'd have been! And how would it have gone with Nate? Do you s'posethey'd ever 'a' cleared him, if they hadn't knowed he had rich friends?Oh, I can't bear to think of it before! It's like the diff'runce betweenbeing out in the cold and wet, with nobody to care, and being inside bythe fire, with ev'rybody good-natured. It's easier with the work, andwith the children, and with ev'rybody. There's lots of times, now, whenI couldn't help singin', only I'm ashamed to. And 'tisn't me only, butMarry, and Rache, and the youngsters, and all. It's like summer, come tostay. "

"Dear Lucy!" said Joyce. "You put it very pleasantly, I'm sure. But herewe are at the station--explanations later!" and the bustle of making atrain just about to start drew their attention elsewhere. 

Once within it, they could not find seats together, and perhaps neithercouple was disturbed because thus separated. George Dalton bent towardsJoyce, and said:

"So you are going to give it all away?"

"No, George, I expect you to do that. Just tell them plainly and simplywho I am, and what are our plans for the future. It is better not tokeep it longer when the--it--is so near. "

"How you shy at the word, Joyce! There are two or three with the samemeaning to select from, you know--wedding, nup----"

"Sh-h! George. Some one will hear you. "

"And suppose they do. Are you ashamed of it? I am not. I can't even hearone of those words without a thrill of happiness. And it isn't all forourselves, either, dearest. There is a great work before us, and manyare interested. To spend our lives together, doing for those who havebeen my friends ever since I was a poor, hard-working, lonely littlefellow--Ah! Joyce, it is a pleasant outlook!"

He turned to the window with softened eyes, and Joyce, through somestrange entangling of the thought threads, suddenly remembered her lastinterview with Leon before he returned to the "Terror, " nearly a monthago. His ardent, dominant nature had struck her as never before, whilehe talked glowingly of his life, his work, his ambitions. "He will makea magnificent man!" she had thought then. "Brave, resolute, a born rulerof men. But there is one idea he has not caught, by which my life is nowcontrolled--that the one who really ministers must have something of theservant in his make-up. We 'stoop to conquer' in humanitarianism, aswell as in other love. And Leon could not stoop. We are both masterfulin a way, but his mastery would overpower mine, and crush it out. Icould not be free to live as I have chosen, if he had any control overme, and yet, strangely enough, I once believed I owed all my ideas ofhelpfulness to him. I know, now, it was the dear mother who informed mymind, while Leon controlled my fancy. "

She was lost in her musings as the train shrieked out its on-coming callto the little one-room station-house, at Littleton. From the window theycould see that the whole town seemed to be gathered about its doors. Theplatform, tracks, and surrounding buildings were black with people. Asthe brakes were put on, lessening their speed and the roar of the train, cheer after cheer reached them from without. The air was full of wavingcaps, handkerchiefs, and aprons. Now they could begin to distinguishseparate groups and faces. Mrs. Hemphill, in the midst of her littlebrood, shook the gingham skirts of the baby in her arms, and old MotherFlaherty waggled her wide Irish border and waved her cane, in utterabandon. Dan and Rachel, standing together, looked fairly radiant; evenMarie was there on her tricycle, with Babette and Gus keeping guard overher, while Lucy's children, crowding near, were shouting themselveshoarse. Every one was on hand. Close by, the cobbler, having somewherepicked up a shoe to mend, waved it frantically by its leather string. Joyce's own carriage, with Gilbert proudly controlling the restivehorses, was drawn up beside the platform, and on its seat, reckless ofdanger, stood Camille waving the dust-cloth in utter forgetfulness ofwhat she had in her hand. In close proximity stood Dorette, and by Dr. Browne's side, in his shambling old buggy, sat Madame Bonnivel, directing the demonstrations of Dodo, on her lap. Nate looked at Lucy aninstant. 

"Say, child, " he said in a hesitant tone, "it's a shame to think I'mnobody but just Nate, when they've made such a fuss! Be we goin' to gitmarried, or ain't we? I s'pose we ought to, if I'm goin' to look afteryou and the babbies, and it seems as if 'twould sorter pay 'em for theirtrouble if we'd let 'em know it, or something. Folks allays likes tohear about weddin's. Say, why don't we just go along and git marriedright now? Might as well, and then they'd sure be satisfied. I see thepreacher a-standin' there, clost to thet ole maid of Miss Lav'lotte's, and if you say so--"

"But, Nate, I ain't dressed up! That is, not bridy, you know. "

He looked down at her--such a mite in her black swathings!--and smiled. 

"You ain't nothin' but a child, Lucy, and I'll have to be husband andfather, both. But I'll look after you close, dear, and be good to thebabbies. Come, I guess we'd better. Your clo'es is all right. "

Waves of cheers greeted Nate as he stepped outside, with Lucy in tow. The crowd surged forward toward the platform, but he waved them back. 

"Hello, boys!" he cried, raising his voice. "This is nice of you, butjest hold up a minute, please. We're goin' to have a weddin'--Lucy andme--'fore we all go home. Come, Lucy!"

He caught her hand in a firmer grip, and struggled toward the minister, his countenance strong in its intensity of purpose. Lucy's blossom face, that had been growing rounder and rosier every day, shone out like avision of hope against the long black veil, which streamed behind herlike a background of cloud floating away into the past. The crowd, eagerly watching, was silent with astonishment, and the young divinitystudent, taken thus unaware, looked really pale under his excitement. But he was a man of strong calibre and spirituality, with quickenedsympathies, and that insight into human nature which some people namemagnetism. He knew Lucy's story and Nate's. He felt this marriage was, under all the circumstances, right and best. Baring his head reverently, he stepped forward and raised his right hand. A solemn hush fell uponall. After a short invocation, which steadied his own nerves, andattuned all to the solemnity of the occasion, he put the momentousquestions in his most impressive manner, and Nate and Lucy made theirvows, the whole population of Littleton serving as witnesses. Theinstant the blessing was pronounced upon the wedded pair, Nate spoke upin a firm, loud voice--

"Now, friends, let's all go home and git our suppers. If you're so tiredas I be you'll need 'em. Come, Lucy, the babbies are fretting, andthere's Tilly tryin' to git to us. Come on!"

The crowd, laughing and crying, parted to let them through, Joyce andGeorge, still quite dazed, staring with the rest. Camille's voicearoused them. 

"Did you ever see anything so matter-of-fact! How he did take the windout of our sails! Well, let's go home, as he says. Dr. Browne has runoff with mother, but she wants you both--George and Joyce--to come homewith me to dinner. "

"Wait!" cried Joyce, suddenly finding her tongue. She beckoned toDalton, spoke a hurried word or two, and in a trice Nate, Lucy, and theHapgood children, down to the little baby, were packed into thecarriage, and Gilbert bidden to drive them home for the wedding journey. 

Then she waved them adieu, and turned to her friend and betrothed--

"Come, Camille; come, George, we three can walk!"

THE END. 

 * * * * *

A. L. Burt's Catalogue of Books for Young People by Popular Writers. 52-58 Duane Street, New York

BOOKS FOR GIRLS. 

Alice's Adventures in Wonderland. By Lewis Carroll. 

"From first to last, almost without exception, this story isdelightfully droll, humorous and illustrated in harmony with thestory. "--New York Express. 

Through the Looking Glass, and What Alice Found There. By Lewis Carroll. 

"A delight alike to the young people and their elders, extremely funnyboth in text and illustrations. "--Boston Express. 

Little Lucy's Wonderful Globe. By Charlotte M. Yonge. 

"This story is unique among tales intended for children, alike forpleasant instruction, quaintness of humor, gentle pathos, and thesubtlety with which lessons moral and otherwise are conveyed tochildren, and perhaps to their seniors as well. "--The Spectator. 

Joan's Adventures at the North Pole and Elsewhere. By AliceCorkran. 

"Wonderful as the adventures of Joan are, it must be admitted that theyare very naturally worked out and very plausibly presented. Altogetherthis is an excellent story for girls. "--Saturday Review. 

Count Up the Sunny Days: A Story for Girls and Boys. By C. A. Jones. 

"An unusually good children's story. "--Glasgow Herald. 

The Dove in the Eagle's Nest. By Charlotte M. Yonge. 

"Among all the modern writers we believe Miss Yonge first, not ingenius, but in this, that she employs her great abilities for a high andnoble purpose. We know of few modern writers whose works may be sosafely commended as hers. "--Cleveland Times. 

Jan of the Windmill. A Story of the Plains. By Mrs. J. H. Ewing. 

"Never has Mrs. Ewing published a more charming volume, and that issaying a very great deal. From the first to the last the book overflowswith the strange knowledge of child-nature which so rarely surviveschildhood; and moreover, with inexhaustible quiet humor, which is neveranything but innocent and well-bred, never priggish, and neverclumsy. "--Academy. 

A Sweet Girl Graduate. By L. T. Meade. 

"One of this popular author's best. The characters are well imagined anddrawn. The story moves with plenty of spirit and the interest does notflag until the end too quickly comes. "--Providence Journal. 

Six to Sixteen: A Story for Girls. By Juliana Horatia Ewing. 

"There is no doubt as to the good quality and attractiveness of 'Six toSixteen. ' The book is one which would enrich any girl's bookshelf. "--St. James' Gazette. 

The Palace Beautiful: A Story for Girls. By L. T. Meade. 

"A bright and interesting story. The many admirers of Mrs. L. T. Meadein this country will be delighted with the 'Palace Beautiful' for morereasons than one. It is a charming book for girls. "--New York Recorder. 

A World of Girls: The Story of a School. By L. T. Meade. 

"One of those wholesome stories which it does one good to read. It willafford pure delight to numerous readers. This book should be on everygirl's book shelf. "--Boston Home Journal. 

The Lady of the Forest: A Story for Girls. By L. T. Meade. 

"This story is written in the author's well-known, fresh and easy style. All girls fond of reading will be charmed by this well-written story. Itis told with the author's customary grace and spirit. "--Boston Times. 

At the Back of the North Wind. By George Macdonald. 

"A very pretty story, with much of the freshness and vigor of Mr. Macdonald's earlier work. .. . It is a sweet, earnest, and wholesome fairystory, and the quaint native humor is delightful. A most delightfulvolume for young readers. "--Philadelphia Times. 

The Water Babies: A Fairy Tale for a Land Baby. By CharlesKingsley. 

"The strength of his work, as well as its peculiar charms, consist inhis description of the experiences of a youth with life under water inthe luxuriant wealth of which he revels with all the ardor of a poeticalnature. "--New York Tribune. 

Our Bessie. By Rosa N. Carey. 

"One of the most entertaining stories of the season, full of vigorousaction, and strong in character-painting. Elder girls will be charmedwith it, and adults may read its pages with profit. "--The Teachers' Aid. 

Wild Kitty. A Story of Middleton School. By L. T. Meade. 

"Kitty is a true heroine--warm-hearted, self-sacrificing, and, as allgood women nowadays are, largely touched with the enthusiasm ofhumanity. One of the most attractive gift books of the season. "--TheAcademy. 

A Young Mutineer. A Story for Girls. By L. T. Meade. 

"One of Mrs. Meade's charming books for girls, narrated in that simpleand picturesque style which marks the authoress as one of the firstamong writers for young people. "--The Spectator. 

Sue and I. By Mrs. O'Reilly. 

"A thoroughly delightful book, full of sound wisdom as well asfun. "--Athenæum. 

The Princess and the Goblin. A Fairy Story. By George Macdonald. 

"If a child once begins this book, it will get so deeply interested init that when bedtime comes it will altogether forget the moral, and willweary its parents with importunities for just a few minutes more to seehow everything ends. "--Saturday Review. 

Pythia's Pupils: A Story of a School. By Eva Hartner. 

"This story of the doings of several bright school girls is sure tointerest girl readers. Among many good stories for girls this isundoubtedly one of the very best. "--Teachers' Aid. 

A Story of a Short Life. By Juliana Horatia Ewing. 

"The book is one we can heartily recommend, for it is not onlybright and interesting, but also pure and healthy in tone andteaching. "--Courier. 

The Sleepy King. A Fairy Tale. By Aubrey Hopwood And SeymourHicks. 

"Wonderful as the adventures of Bluebell are, it must be admitted thatthey are very naturally worked out and very plausibly presented. Altogether this is an excellent story for girls. "--Saturday Review. 

Two Little Waifs. By Mrs. Molesworth. 

"Mrs. Molesworth's delightful story of 'Two Little Waifs' will charm allthe small people who find it in their stockings. It relates theadventures of two lovable English children lost in Paris, and is justwonderful enough to pleasantly wring the youthful heart. "--New YorkTribune. 

Adventures in Toyland. By Edith King Hall. 

"The author is such a bright, cheery writer, that her stories are alwaysacceptable to all who are not confirmed cynics, and her record of theadventures is as entertaining and enjoyable as we might expect. "--BostonCourier. 

Adventures in Wallypug Land. By G. E. Farrow. 

"These adventures are simply inimitable, and will delight boys and girlsof mature age, as well as their juniors. No happier combination ofauthor and artist than this volume presents could be found to furnishhealthy amusement to the young folks. The book is an artistic one inevery sense. "--Toronto Mail. 

Fussbudget's Folks. A Story for Young Girls. By Anna F. Burnham. 

"Mrs. Burnham has a rare gift for composing stories for children. With alight, yet forcible touch, she paints sweet and artless, yet natural andstrong, characters. "--Congregationalist. 

Mixed Pickles. A Story for Girls. By Mrs. E. M. Field. 

"It is, in its way, a little classic, of which the real beauty andpathos can hardly be appreciated by young people. It is not too much tosay of the story that it is perfect of its kind. "--Good Literature. 

Miss Mouse and Her Boys. A Story for Girls. By Mrs. Molesworth. 

"Mrs. Molesworth's books are cheery, wholesome, and particularly welladapted to refined life. It is safe to add that she is the best Englishprose writer for children. A new volume from Mrs. Molesworth is always atreat. "--The Beacon. 

Gilly Flower. A Story for Girls. By the author of "Miss Toosey'sMission. "

"Jill is a little guardian angel to three lively brothers who tease andplay with her. .. . Her unconscious goodness brings right thoughts andresolves to several persons who come into contact with her. There is nogoodiness in this tale, but its influence is of the bestkind. "--Literary World. 

The Chaplet of Pearls; or, The White and Black Ribaumont. ByCharlotte M. Yonge. 

"Full of spirit and life, so well sustained throughout that grown-upreaders may enjoy it as much as children. It is one of the best books ofthe season. "--Guardian. 

Naughty Miss Bunny: Her Tricks and Troubles. By ClaraMulholland. 

"The naughty child is positively delightful. Papas should not omit thebook from their list of juvenile presents. "--Land and Water. 

Meg's Friend. By Alice Corkran. 

"One of Miss Corkran's charming books for girls, narrated in that simpleand picturesque style which marks the authoress as one of the firstamong writers for young people. "--The Spectator. 

Averil. By Rosa N. Carey. 

"A charming story for young folks. Averil is a delightfulcreature--piquant, tender, and true--and her varying fortunes areperfectly realistic. "--World. 

Aunt Diana. By Rosa N. Carey. 

"An excellent story, the interest being sustained from first to last. This is, both in its intention and the way the story is told, one of thebest books of its kind which has come before us this year. "--SaturdayReview. 

Little Sunshine's Holiday: A Picture from Life. By Miss Mulock. 

"This is a pretty narrative of child life, describing the simple doingsand sayings of a very charming and rather precocious child. This is adelightful book for young people. "--Gazette. 

Esther's Charge. A Story for Girls. By Ellen Everett Green. 

". .. This is a story showing in a charming way how one little girl'sjealousy and bad temper were conquered; one of the best, most suggestiveand improving of the Christmas juveniles. "--New York Tribune. 

Fairy Land of Science. By Arabella B. Buckley. 

"We can highly recommend it; not only for the valuable information itgives on the special subjects to which it is dedicated, but also as abook teaching natural sciences in an interesting way. A fascinatinglittle volume, which will make friends in every household in which thereare children. "--Daily News. 

Merle's Crusade. By Rosa N. Carey. 

"Among the books for young people we have seen nothing more unique thanthis book. Like all of this author's stories it will please youngreaders by the very attractive and charming style in which it iswritten. "--Journal. 

Birdie: A Tale of Child Life. By H. L. Childe-Pemberton. 

"The story is quaint and simple, but there is a freshness about it thatmakes one hear again the ringing laugh and the cheery shout of childrenat play which charmed his earlier years. "--New York Express. 

The Days of Bruce: A Story from Scottish History. By GraceAguilar. 

"There is a delightful freshness, sincerity and vivacity about all ofGrace Aguilar's stories which cannot fail to win the interest andadmiration of every lover of good reading. "--Boston Beacon. 

Three Bright Girls: A Story of Chance and Mischance. By Annie E. Armstrong. 

"The charm of the story lies in the cheery helpfulness of spiritdeveloped in the girls by their changed circumstances; while the authorfinds a pleasant ending to all their happy makeshifts. The story ischarmingly told, and the book can be warmly recommended as a present forgirls. "--Standard. 

Giannetta: A Girl's Story of Herself. By Rosa Mulholland. 

"Extremely well told and full of interest. Giannetta is a trueheroine--warm-hearted, self-sacrificing, and, as all good women nowadaysare, largely touched with enthusiasm of humanity. The illustrations areunusually good. One of the most attractive gift books of theseason. "--The Academy. 

Margery Merton's Girlhood. By Alice Corkran. 

"The experiences of an orphan girl who in infancy is left by her fatherto the care of an elderly aunt residing near Paris. The accounts of thevarious persons who have an after influence on the story are singularlyvivid. There is a subtle attraction about the book which will make it agreat favorite with thoughtful girls. "--Saturday Review. 

Under False Colors: A Story from Two Girls' Lives. By SarahDoudney. 

"Sarah Doudney has no superior as a writer of high-toned stories--purein style, original in conception, and with skillfully wrought out plots;but we have seen nothing equal in dramatic energy to thisbook. "--Christian Leader. 

Down the Snow Stairs; or, From Good-night to Good-morning. By AliceCorkran. 

"Among all the Christmas volumes which the year has brought toour table this one stands out facile princeps--a gem of the firstwater, bearing upon every one of its pages the signet mark ofgenius. .. . All is told with such simplicity and perfect naturalnessthat the dream appears to be a solid reality. It is indeed a LittlePilgrim's Progress. "--Christian Leader. 

The Tapestry Room: A Child's Romance. By Mrs. Molesworth

"Mrs. Molesworth is a charming painter of the nature and ways ofchildren; and she has done good service in giving us this charmingjuvenile which will delight the young people. "--Athenæum, London. 

Little Miss Peggy: Only a Nursery Story. By Mrs. Molesworth. 

Mrs. Molesworth's children are finished studies. A joyous earnest spiritpervades her work, and her sympathy is unbounded. She loves them withher whole heart, while she lays bare their little minds, and expressestheir foibles, their faults, their virtues, their inward struggles, their conception of duty, and their instinctive knowledge of the rightand wrong of things. She knows their characters, she understands theirwants, and she desires to help them. 

Polly: A New Fashioned Girl. By L. T. Meade. 

Few authors have achieved a popularity equal to Mrs. Meade as a Writerof stories for young girls. Her characters are living beings of fleshand blood, not lay figures of conventional type. Into the trials andcrosses, and everyday experiences, the reader enters at once with zestand hearty sympathy. While Mrs. Meade always writes with a high moralpurpose, her lessons of life, purity and nobility of character arerather inculcated by example than intruded as sermons. 

One of a Covey. By the author of "Miss Toosey's Mission. "

"Full of spirit and life, so well sustained throughout that grown-upreaders may enjoy it as much as children. This 'Covey' consists of thetwelve children of a hard-pressed Dr. Partridge out of which is chosen alittle girl to be adopted by a spoiled, fine lady. We have rarely read astory for boys and girls with greater pleasure. One of the chiefcharacters would not have disgraced Dickens' pen. "--Literary World. 

The Little Princess of Tower Hill. By L. T. Meade. 

"This is one of the prettiest books for children published, as pretty asa pond-lily, and quite as fragrant. Nothing could be imagined moreattractive to young people than such a combination of fresh pages andfair pictures; and while children will rejoice over it--which is muchbetter than crying for it--it is a book that can be read with pleasureeven by older boys and girls. "--Boston Advertiser.